Zero History

seen it.”
“Why?”
“Because their architecture tells them to forget it, and anyone who’s wearing it as well.
They forget the figure wearing the ugly T-shirt. Forget the head atop it, the legs below,
feet, arms, hands. It compels erasure. That which the camera sees, bearing the sigil, it
deletes from the recalled image. Though only if you ask it to show you the image. So
there’s no suspicious busy-ness to be noticed. If you ask for June 7, camera 53, it
retrieves what it saw. In the act of retrieval, the sigil, and the human form bearing it, cease
to be represented. By virtue of deep architecture. Gentlemen’s agreement.”
“Are they doing that now? Really?”
“Answering that would require a very woolly discussion of what ‘they’ can mean. I
imagine it’s literally impossible to say who’s doing it. It’s enough to say it’s being done.
In a sort of larval way, though it works quite well. We’re quite far ahead, here, with this
camera culture. Though we aren’t a patch on Dubai. I’m still getting bits and pieces of my
freeway performance, mailed in. Downside of having obsessive friends who like
computers. But none of those friends, I’d gladly wager, know about the ugly T-shirt. The
ugly T-shirt is deep. As deep as I’ve ever gotten, really. Deep and bad to know. After this
is over, regardless of outcome, you know nothing of the ugly T-shirt.”
“You’re really making me want to see it.”
“You will. I’m keen myself. Where did you go?”
“Back to the store that was the first place I asked anyone about Hounds.” She put the
designer’s gift on an armchair, took her jacket off, and went to sit close beside him, her
arm across his shoulders. “I met her. The designer.”
“She’s here?”
“Just leaving.”
“Big End’s been looking for something right under his nose?”
“I think there may have been some hiding in plain sight going on, but I’m sure she’s
enjoyed that. She’s the only person I’ve met who’s had the same job I have, so he’s
something of an issue for her.”
“You bonded?”
“I hope I never become as aware of him as she is. I suspect that not being on his side
has actually become a big part of who she is.”
“Sufficiently perverse and titanic arseholes,” he said, “can become religious objects.
Negative saints. People who dislike them, with sufficient purity and fervor, well, they do
that. Spend their lives lighting candles. I don’t recommend it.”
“I know. I’ve never really disliked him. Not the way some people do. He’s like some
peculiar force of nature. Not a safe one to be around. Like those rogue waves you told me
about, when we were in New York. I like him less now, but I imagine that’s because he’s
vulnerable, somehow. Has he told you what it is with Chombo?”
“No idea. Otherwise, I agree with you. He’s vulnerable. Gracie and Foley and Milgrim