patches of lawn and ornamental shrubbery; in the dimness, a single household cat, one of the gray tabbies, strolled about its business.
“Lights on low,” Dev said. They cycled up. He picked up his plaid flannel bathrobe from over the back of a nearby easy chair, swung it around his shoulders, and slipped into it, briefly brushing at one sleeve: it was getting frayed. He could just hear Mirabel now: Look at the state of you. Eighth richest man in the world, but you can’t be trusted to buy clothes that don’t look like they came from Sears. In fact half the time they do come from Sears! You’re going to make me look bad in front of all the other billionaires’ wives.
Dev smiled slightly as he made his way across the private lounge, closing its far door behind him as he headed into the larger adjacent part of their suite, the breakfast bar and common room. The word “bar” probably wasn’t a properly descriptive name for something that took up a whole side of the room: a mini-kitchen with fridge and stove and dishwasher, and most importantly for a caffeine freak, the coffee island. Atop the black marble of its surface, the coffeemaker—which knew Dev’s rising habits and had as usual been primed by the household staff yesterday evening—now had a steaming glass pot of Ugandan Gold waiting for him. Dev reached up into the cupboard, rummaged around for a mug, and came down with a big white stoneware one. As he poured his coffee into it, Dev’s eye fell on the message emblazoned on one side: ARE YOU READY TO THROW THE SWITCH?
He laughed just once, under his breath, and went to the fridge to get some milk. Not even slightly, he thought. Another month’s debugging time would be a gift from heaven. But all we’ve got now are three days. And we’d bloody well just better be ready . . .
He came back with the milk carton and topped up the coffee cup. But you’re never ready, he could just hear Mirabel saying. If my dad hadn’t pushed you into the church, you’d still be standing outside making notes and saying “There’s just one more thing I want to fix,” and I’d still be standing at the altar . . .
Dev sat down in one of chairs behind the coffee island, cradling the cup and staring out across the interior compound. Here and there a light had already come on in the staff quarters on the other side: house security had doubtless sensed him turning on the lights, which they knew meant that pretty soon now Dev would be wanting the morning report—and that today he’d probably be wanting it more urgently than usual. He glanced at his watch. Sixty-six hours until we throw the switch. People who would normally have been on day shift were working strange hours at the moment, because they knew that Dev would be too. Bet it’s Milla bringing the report this morning, rather than one of her minions. But that would be in her style. As head of his corporate affairs management staff, Milla liked Dev to know that when something important was about to happen, she was right on top of it. And there was nothing more important in Omnitopia today and for the next three days than throwing that nonexistent but profoundly important switch, and keeping an eye on anything that could affect its throwing.
Dev sighed, got up from the breakfast bar and went to the dressing room door at the far side of the common room, where there was a set of gray sweats hanging on the hook behind the door. He pulled them on and went back to the breakfast bar, drank the rest of his coffee in a gulp, and rummaged in the bread drawer under the counter for a couple of croissants. By the time he’d found a plate and a mug for some tea, the bell near the door at the far side of the common room was sounding its soft chime.
He went to the door and opened it. Milla Andreas was standing there dressed in jeans and a white shirt, looking weary but cheerful: a slender young woman with short shaggy blonde hair, dramatically streaked. She held a sheaf of folders and her laptop in her arms. “Are you ready for me?” she said.
“Absolutely. Come on in.”
They headed back to the breakfast bar: Dev handed Milla her tea. “How was your evening?”