I climbed out of the bush and looked back across the East River. The only evidence of my swift passage was a ripple in the water that, if I looked at it long enough, took on a vaguely humanoid shape. I signed a quick thank you to the form as it retreated back across the water. The next thing I did was to carefully remove the bags, making sure to get as little water on my suit as possible. The place along the river where I landed doubled as a park of sorts; mostly a lookout where people ran too using a dirt path underlaid with concrete in case weather conditions made the dirt unmanageable. All city parks were like that. They had a very natural look on the surface, but that look was crafted and curated and lined with enough artificial material that the park’s corporate owners could attest to park safety in case of lawsuit. Manhattan was like that in general.
I’d landed north of the Manhattan Bridge in an area sometimes referred to as the Pit. The area was slowly being torn down and rebuilt–gentrified in the same way old Harlem was transformed into Newtown and the people who look like me were pushed to the outer boroughs. I started up the steep road towards civilization, making sure I looked the part as I went. The Pit was a reconstruction area, but the parts that already were rebuilt represented the latest in technology and surveillance corporate scrip could buy. I’d be noticed sooner than later, and I needed to make sure I blended right in.
It took me ten minutes to slide into the flow of foot traffic on the east side. The streets felt like canyons due to the number of skyrakers packed closely together and jutting high into the morning sky. It was a wonder the city hadn’t collapsed on itself. It was an Island, after all, and what I knew of the underground suggested that most of the earth beneath the city was hollowed out up to nearly half a mile down.
Nobody paid me any notice, which was good. Time was running short for me to get to the appointment early. I wanted to case the place before I did.