The back of someone’s head filled the lower part of the screens.
“Is that Alyssa?” Ethan asked.
“Yes.”
Ted upped the volume.
Kate: “No more apples?”
Alyssa: “No, they went fast.”
Kate reached into her basket and handed something to Alyssa.
“Freeze it,” Ethan said.
The image held—Kate’s arm outstretched.
“What is that?” Ethan asked.
“A green apple?”
Ted rolled video.
Kate: “You’re always bringing the loveliest fruits and veggies to us. I thought I’d bring you something from my garden.”
Alyssa: “What a gorgeous pepper.”
Kate: “Thank you.”
Alyssa: “I’ll have this tonight.”
Kate moved out of frame.
“Wanna see it again?” Ted asked.
“No, play the next one.”
They watched Kate and Alyssa rendezvous three more times.
Next day, on Main Street, the women passed each other and Alyssa shook her head.
The day after, at the riverside park, their paths crossed again.
This time, Alyssa nodded.
“Wonder what that was all about?” Ted said. He glanced at Ethan. “Any ideas?”
“Not yet.”
Ted played Alyssa and Kate’s last encounter.
It happened the day of Alyssa’s death at the community gardens, and the interaction was identical to their first.
Kate stopped at Alyssa’s vegetable stand.
They exchanged a few words.
Then Kate handed her another bell pepper.
Ted paused the video.
Ethan said, “There’s probably a note in that pepper.”
“That says what?”
“I don’t know. Meeting place and time? Instructions for Alyssa to remove her microchip? Explain something to me. I understand that when these Wanderers remove their chips you can’t track them. But don’t the cameras still pick up their movement?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Our cameras only key off microchip proximity and motion.”
“What does that mean exactly?”
“Look, there’s no way to monitor this town using the thousands of cameras all running at once. Most of the time, we’d just be scrolling through empty space. So our cameras key off the microchips. In other words, until a chip moves within range of a sensor, the camera is in sleep mode. It only transmits a video feed when a microchip pings it. And even then, when a chip is motionless for fifteen seconds, the camera reverts to sleep mode.”
“So what you’re saying is—”
“The cameras don’t run all the time. When a resident removes their microchip, for all intents and purposes, they become a ghost. Somehow, these Wanderers have figured out a way to game the system.”
“Show me.”
Ted brought up a new image, said, “Here’s the last thirty seconds we have of Kate on the night Alyssa was murdered.”
On the screens, a bedroom appeared.
Kate entered the room wearing a nightgown that fell to her knees.
Her husband followed.
They climbed into bed together, killed the lights.
The overhead camera switched to night vision.
The Ballingers lay absolutely still in bed.
After fifteen seconds, the feed went dark.
Next time it picked up, morning light filled the room, and both Kate and her husband were sitting up in bed.
“Reinserting their chips,” Ethan said.
To: David Pilcher
Mission #1055
Contact Report #2
Subject: Resident 308, a/k/a Kate Ballinger
Eighteen days post-initial contact, Ballinger approached me at the gardens and gave me a bell pepper. The pepper had been sliced open and there was a note inside that read: “Tracking chip on hamstring in your left leg. Cut it out in a closet, but keep with you until further notice.” Two potential rendezvous times were given for me to confirm I had removed the chip. The first at 1400 on Day 5312. The next at 1500 on Day 5313. If I failed to remove the chip by Day 5313, we would have no further interaction. No further contact was made on this date.