The Survivor - Cristin Harber Page 0,24
on the rucksack-sized pot. “There it goes.”
Parker let out a breath, and they watched the drone and Doris level out and start the diagnostic sequencing.
“It’s going to work this time.” Parker set his laptop to the side and let the drone continue with its real-time adjustments.
Hagan and Liam’s phones beeped, and Hagan reported the plant’s temperature. “Doris is nice and cool despite the heat. Seventy-seven point nine degrees Fahrenheit.”
“And no heartbeat to speak of,” Liam added.
Parker pumped a fist in front of his chest. “And that’s how it’s done.”
The drone recalibrated as the concrete pot swayed, but it continued, reaching the air space between the two towers. Hagan squinted to see the note on the plant but couldn’t.
Their phones beeped with pressure warnings. Parker moved back to his laptop. Too late, the concrete pot shattered. Chunks rained between the hotel towers. Doris dangled and swayed. The drone rebalanced as the payload changed. Dirt sprinkled from her roots as the drone smoothly sailed toward the landing zone.
Parker cursed. Hagan choked on his laughter. Liam didn’t bother to hide how funny he found it and slapped his leg.
“Doris isn’t dead,” Hagan pointed out as the remaining chunk of the pot dropped to the safety net that spanned between the buildings. The area below had been closed off with temporary barriers adorned with warning signs and hard hat notices that they’d borrowed from the construction crew.
Liam wiped at his face. “She could be.” The roots dangled in the wind. “Crushed to death.”
The graphic and data indicated a drastic shift in the plant’s temperature but that the grip had corrected its pressure problems. Warnings flashed, then the AI recognized that Doris had sustained damage during transport.
Hagan chortled. “At least it’s learning.”
“At least we started with plants,” Liam added. “Betcha Camden volunteers to go first when we graduate to people.”
Hagan agreed. “He’d dare the thing to crush his ribs.”
Parker growled. “It just needs a little finesse.”
The drone reached the landing zone, sent a final diagnostic report on its cargo, and delicately released Doris into a crumbled pile of leafy vines, roots, and dirt. It purred quietly as it retracted its claws, hovered, and searched for a safe spot to put itself down, then landed.
The wind blew Doris, and the note fluttered and caught Hagan’s attention again. “Parker gets to do the honors.”
Parker muttered under his breath and closed his laptop. He crossed the roof and snagged the paper from Doris, unfolding it as his forehead creased.
“What’s it say?” Liam called.
The corner of Parker’s mouth tightened. He held up what looked like a photograph and returned to their station.
Hagan’s gaze narrowed. It wasn’t a picture. It was a meme. White, block-lettered text framed a picture. As the meme came closer, Hagan clearly saw the photograph was of Parker—with his eyes closed, possibly about to sneeze.
Hagan read the top line out loud. “Do you want a safety briefing?”
“Oh, shit,” Liam said, then read the bottom line. “Because that’s how you get us a safety briefing.”
Two superimposed arms had been photoshopped onto Parker, along with two thumbs up. Hagan couldn’t keep a straight face.
Parker crumpled the meme. “Those aren’t my arms.”
“Ya think?” Hagan slapped Parker on the back. “What about those hands?”
Liam doubled over. “It’s like they knew this would be a disaster.”
Parker scowled. “It wasn’t a disaster.”
“Doris didn’t die,” Hagan pointed out. “One out of four? Not bad.”
“It’s a potted plant,” Parker snapped. “They break, asshole.”
“Just like ribs,” Liam deadpanned.
“And femurs,” Hagan added.
Parker pinched the bridge of his nose. “Go away.”
Their hysterics grew.
Parker dropped his head back, as though he were praying to the Drone Gods that Hagan and Liam would disappear. “Go.”
As funny as Alma, Beatrice, Clementine, and Doris had been, it probably meant that Parker had a shit ton more work to do. Hagan glanced at Liam, who seemed to be on the same wavelength. “We’ll help you clean up this mess. Go get a beer.”
“Hagan will clean up. I’ll help.” Liam checked his watch. “I have to meet Boss Man in less than twenty minutes.”
“Sure you do,” Hagan laughed.
“You, go.” Parker waved Liam away, then nodded to Hagan. “Let’s go. Then we’ll clean up and grab some beers.”
For such a high-tech, nimble-in-the-air piece of machinery, Hagan had always thought this drone was a pain to secure. Thirty minutes later, and after more cursing than conversation, Hagan dusted off his hands as Parker closed the compartment that housed several drones.
“Now, about that beer.” Parker led the way to his laptop and packed his remaining gear.
Hagan