Free Reality 36 by Guy Haley

them.
      "Otto, eh? You still keeping company with him?"
      "Evidently."
      "Don't be facetious," Promethea thumped him in the shoulder. "Say hi from me," she said with genuine feeling. "I am pleased you came."
      "Nah, Pro, I always have to come in person. SurvNet's OK, but think of the data! It's a tsunami of shit. Most of it is so poorly graded, some of the system is one hundred years old, and it is so easily compromised… And, oh."
      She folded her arms.
      "Don't tell me, that wasn't what you wanted to hear exactly?" he said.
      The forest sang louder. He was relieved when she laughed.
      "You are rubbish, really, awfully rubbish. I am trying to make myself believe you give a damn about my music, Richards. You are not making it easy. Try lying once in a while.You might be good at finding things but it's a good job you aren't actually trying to find yourself a woman. You'd have a long wait."
      "You told me not to lie!" said Richards.
      "I'm fickle." She shrugged. "It's the way I was made."
      "And I'm doing my job properly, the way I was made. The SurvNet system is dumb and easy to fool," he said. "It requires involvement if you're to get anything useful out of it."
      "Tell that to the Four who runs it, I am sure he will disagree."
      Richards snorted. "I have. He did, but I don't care. Too often he and the people that use him – EuPol, the local plod" – Richards shrugged – "UNpol, you name it – lazy, overworked, corrupt, whatever. They've become reliant on the system, and the system is far too cocky. You have to do it yourself."
      "And masquerading as a human at my concert is the best way, is it?"
      "Launcey bought tickets, he's a music lover!" he said with a laugh.
      "You are following him now, in person, on foot?"
      "Sometimes, Pro, the old ways are the best. Hup! Wait! And there he is!" Richards waved his a hand through the air. A section of their shared reality wiped away to show the concert-hall bar back in the Real. The crowd stood frozen, movements of the people that made it up so slow as to be almost imperceptible, for the AIs were running at a high rate, subjectively slowing time in the Real. "Gah, he's a tricky one!" said Richards. "Hiding in plain view, eh? And it appears he's about to leave." The man, entirely unexceptional in appearance, was heading for the exit as if he were moving through glue. "Look at that, clever clever." He whistled in appreciation. Pushing his hat back, he bent forward into the wipe to get a closer look. "He's had his face altered, heat filaments wormed under his skin to mask his blood-vessel pattern for a show! His suit's got an olfaction unit, confuses the hell out of SurvNet systems when overlaid on a genuine human scent. Internal multi-pattern contacts, retina and iris, thinskin gloves, programmable fingerprints… That's the works, he's even altered his gait, you have to respect this guy!" Richards looked into Promethea's face, his own wide-eyed with excitement. "You know that's the easiest way to iden—"
      "Yes, Richards. I do know that, I am a Five like you. I know lots and lots, not just how to sing. Like I know you knew he was here, that you did not come to listen to me, I just wanted to hear you try to please me. Have you tagged him?"
      "His champagne should have had a little surprise in it," Richards admitted smugly.
      "Oh, Richards, you didn't dose my entire audience, did you?"
      Richards smiled sheepishly.
      "Richards!"
      "Come on, it'll do them no harm. I'll turn his on and turn theirs off. Dead easy, they'll never know. And providing he's not feeling ill and throws it up, I should be able to track him for ten hours or so…"
      "Stop showing off," she said with a scowl.
      "OK, OK." He held up his hands. "Guilty as charged. I can't help it. But if it makes you feel any better, I know piss-all about music, so there you go. I still like yours though," he added hurriedly. "I've got to