The Forgetting Machine by Pete Hautman Page B

by a stack of hay bales and was glaring up at me.
    The drone began to descend.
    â€œBilly.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œDo you have this thing under control now?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œI mean, really under control?” I was only about ten feet up, close enough to the ground that I figured I could survive a fall.
    â€œI think so.”
    I would have preferred Yes, absolutely, without question!
    â€œCan you make it go where you want now?”
    The drone jerked to my left.
    â€œSlowly!” I yelled. The drone slowed to a gentle walking pace. Billy guided it in a figure eight, lowered it a couple of feet, then raised it back up. It felt solid, not tippy at all. I got my knees up on the disk and arranged myself in a sitting, cross-legged position, but I didn’t let go of the edges. It was a nice sensation, like riding a magic carpet. Billy sent me drifting along the outside of the fence, then back.
    â€œCan you see through the phone camera?” I asked.
    â€œNot very well. It’s hanging kind of crooked.”
    â€œThere’s an odd-looking building behind the barn. Can you ease me over there so I can get a closer look?”
    â€œYou sure?”
    I wasn’t sure at all, but I said, “Yes.”
    â€œYou’re going to have to direct me. Once you’re on the other side of the barn I won’t be able to see you.”
    â€œOkay, but no more deadly heights, please. I don’t want to go any higher than I am right now.”
    â€œGot it. Three meters maximum altitude. You ready?”
    â€œLet’s go.”
    The drone drifted toward the building. It was a peculiar sensation. The antigravity disk was completely silent and rock solid. I could lean to either side to look down, and the disk didn’t tip at all. As I passed the barn, I caught a glimpse of several stainless steel cages through the window. The disk passed over the haystack. Brazie was on the other side, watching me. He seemed more puzzled than angry.
    I was passing the corner of the barn when the drone stopped abruptly.
    â€œHey!” I yelled.
    â€œSorry. I can’t see you anymore.”
    â€œWell don’t jerk to a stop like that. I almost fell off!” I hadn’t, really, but I wanted to make sure he was extra careful.
    â€œSorry. Now what?”
    â€œForward about thirty feet.” The drone eased forward, and the mystery building came into view.
    â€œStop,” I said. The disk eased to a complete stop. The mystery shed had white-painted metal sides and two windows with metal grates. Several electrical lines and coax cables fed into one end—a lot more than you’d expect from an outbuilding on a farm.
    â€œBring me forward and to the left, another thirty feet,” I said. The drone moved off to the right. “I said left!”
    â€œI can’t see which way you’re facing,” Billy said.
    â€œGo the opposite way you just did!”
    â€œOkay, okay!”
    The drone reversed course, taking me over an oblong cattle tank filled with greenish water and straight toward the back wall of the barn.
    â€œStop!” I yelled.
    The drone stopped, and it wasn’t a nice easy stop. I’d made the mistake of letting go of the disk, and I tumbled off.

22

Brazie
    Ten feet doesn’t seem like that far. It’s only the height of a basketball hoop. But falling that far and landing flat on your back . . . try it sometime. For a more complete experience, do it over a neglected cattle tank.
    I suppose landing in a tank full of slimy green water is better than landing on concrete or a bed of nails. Still, it was not an enjoyable experience. I came up spitting and coughing and yelling some words I refuse to repeat—at least not until the next time I get dumped in a tank full of scummy water.
    The drone, meanwhile, was hovering ten feet over my head. My phone was dangling by a single strip of duct tape from its underside.
    â€œYou dumped