“Yeah,” Anders said. “I’m gonna order some lunch, lemme get you something.”
What they had done, was they had hacked the shit out of those boxes that Kurt had built in his junkyard of a storefront of an apartment.
“These work?” Alan said. He had three of them in a big catering tub from his basement that he’d sluiced clean. The base stations no longer looked like they’d been built out of garbage. They’d switched to low-power Mini-ATX motherboards that let them shrink the hardware down to small enough to fit in a 50-dollar all-weather junction box from Canadian Tire.
Adam vaguely recognized the day’s street-kids as regulars who’d been hanging around the shop for some time, and they gave him the hairy eyeball when he had the audacity to question Kurt. These kids of Kurt’s weren’t much like the kids he’d had working for him over the years. They might be bright, but they were a lot… angrier. Some of the girls were cutters, with knife scars on their forearms. Some of the boys looked like they’d been beaten up a few times too many on the streets, like they were spoiling for a fight. Alan tried to unfocus his eyes when he was in the front of Kurt’s shop, to not see any of them too closely.
“They work,” Kurt said. He smelled terrible, a combination of garbage and sweat, and he had the raccoon-eyed jitters he got when he stayed up all night. “I tested them twice.”
“You built me a spare?” Alan said, examining the neat lines of hot glue that gasketed the sturdy rubberized antennae in place, masking the slightly melted edges left behind by the drill press.
“You don’t need a spare,” Kurt said. Alan knew that when he got touchy like this, he had to be very careful or he’d blow up, but he wasn’t going to do another demo Kurt’s way. They’d done exactly one of those, at a Toronto District School Board superintendents meeting, when Alan had gotten the idea of using schools’ flagpoles and backhaul as test beds for building out the net. It had been a debacle, needless to say. Two of the access points had been permanently installed on either end of Kurt’s storefront and the third had been in storage for a month since it was last tested.
One of the street kids, a boy with a pair of improbably enormous raver shoes, looked up at Alan. “We’ve tested these all. They work.”
Kurt puffed up and gratefully socked the kid in the shoulder. “We did.”