Zero History

unless you’re right up on something.”
Milgrim turned on his iPhone, saw a blank glowing screen, then realized that the
penguin’s camera was seeing empty sky. It was so much nicer, he instantly realized, when
you didn’t have to worry about bumping the wall or ceiling of the cube. He swam higher,
strangely free.
“Is this guy wearing a hockey jersey with a face painted on it?” She showed him her
screen. Looking down on a figure in a huge pullover of some kind, the back presenting a
grotesque and enormous face.
“Looks Constructivist,” he said. “El Lissitzky? He’s breaking into that car?” The man
stood close to a black sedan, his back to the camera on Fiona’s helicopter.
“Locking it. Already broke in, now he’s locking it.” Her fingers moved and the image
blurred, her drone, compared to the air penguin, moving with startling speed.
“Where are you going?” Meaning the drone.
“Have to check the other three. Then I have to set it down, save batteries. Been in the
air since I got here. Are you looking for the man with the parcel?”
“Yes,” said Milgrim, and sent the penguin swimming down, into the relative darkness
of the Scrubs. “Who are the other three?”
“One’s Chombo. Then the one from that car, that tried to block you in, in the City.”
Foley.
“The other one’s a footballer, with metal hair.”
“Metal hair?”
“More like a mullet. Big lad.”