THIRTY

Pierce had rolled up an office chair to watch the computer screen in Carney’s office.

The keyboard didn’t have any lettering but icons that matched the icons on the screen. Carney was fast, using the keyboard to open various files by punching the keyboard icons or directing the programs with the computer mouse. Occasionally, the computer requested input, which Carney did orally, speaking in a slow measured voice that the software obviously had been trained to recognize, for there were very few mistakes. Information was delivered in a soothing female voice from the computer speakers. Pierce marveled that all of it could be accomplished without any reading or writing.

“I’ve been in Appalachia for long enough,” Pierce said. “All I see are contradictions. It’s like living in Mayberry.”

Carney’s frown showed he didn’t understand.

“A fictional town, part of a popular television series from the last century,” Pierce corrected himself. “But, Sheriff, Mayberry had cars. You’ve gone even farther back in time, to horses and wagons. Yet you have as much tech as Outside.”

Carney clicked on another icon. Pierce wasn’t familiar with it. He realized that Appalachians did have an alphabet of sorts, like Egyptian hieroglyphics or Chinese characters.

“So why mix horses with high tech? Mayberry meets Star Trek?”

Carney sighed. He pulled out his vidpod. Pierce understood the sheriff was making it obvious again that the conversation was on official record.

“I don’t know what Star Trek is. I do know that Outsiders are slaves to technology, whereas Appalachians pick and choose. We’re a small country; we don’t need highways. And Greenhouse credits from the Outside make up a third of our exports.”

“Along with slave labor churning out computer chips.”

“I’m supposed to comment on that?”

“Probably not.” Pierce glanced at the vidpod. “Fine. I’ll shut up.”

Carney clicked at the keyboard again, then turned suddenly toward Pierce. “That’s why secession has worked. Outside minds its own business. We mind ours. We prefer not to murder unborn children. Or genetically manipulate embryos.”

“I said I’ll shut up already.”

Carney swung back to his computer screen. He clicked another icon on the keyboard. “Got it. The personal identification number on the vidpod that was moving around near the horse's location last night near the stable. Movement matches where we found the abandoned livery horse too.”

The female computer voice gave Carney a name. Paul Gentry.

“It’s one of Mason’s men. They don’t have to answer to local enforcement. Now we know who was out after curfew.”

“Mason helped your girl and the deputy escape?”

“Don’t think so.” Carney pointed at the computer screen. “Mason’s vidpod shows he went to a nearby factory, then to his cabin in the hills. He’s probably up there poaching deer.”

“You’re not curious about the side trip to the factory he took before that?”

“Nope,” Carney said, but Pierce watched him nod while he pointed at his vidpod. Carney was curious. But didn’t want that on record.

“I am,” Pierce said. “So take me there.”

“Well, it’s your call. Let me take care of sending a message.”

The sheriff held his vidpod at arm’s length and spoke into it. “Steve, I need some help here. I’ve been tracking the vidpod movements of Paul Gentry, one of Mason Lee’s men. Looks like he’s at home now. But his horse went somewhere without him. Stop by, will you? Get him to tell you what happened last night, then send the interview to my vidpod. Sooner is better than later; you know I’m good for returning the favor.”

Carney stopped speaking. He ran his fingers across the vidpod screen. “Done and sent. I guess we can go.”

Pierce stood and rolled the chair back away from Carney’s desk. “Let’s go by car this time. I didn’t like the horse much.”

In truth, he could take or leave the horse. But he, unlike Carney, knew that Mason Lee wasn’t really poaching in the woods, and having efficient transportation if quick pursuit became necessary wasn’t a choice.