"Every word," he replied.
The temporary group-testing remote was still in his pocket. He took it out and crouched beside Hope, who was looking up at the light bars with the awe she usually reserved for fireworks. He explained that once the final demonstration finished, the temporary commissioning control would be disabled and transferred with the acceptance equipment. The regular vehicle systems would then operate under the city's own authorized controls.
"You want to press it?" he asked.
Hope looked toward her mother. "Really? All twelve?"
"All twelve. Just once. We've checked that the area is clear, and everybody here knows it's a test."
Hope placed both thumbs on the middle button. Twelve light bars flashed red and blue together against the December snow, the service-bay windows, and the big red sign above them. Jaylen laughed so loudly the people behind him turned around. Erica wrapped an arm around Clayton while Sherman watched the cars with a quiet, satisfied smile.
Hope pressed the button again to stop the test. The control display changed to the commissioning-complete screen, and the technician confirmed that the temporary group-control function was now disabled under the handover procedure. No single private remote would command the finished fleet once it entered service. The light show had done its job, and this time nobody needed to be in handcuffs to prove who had built it.
After the crowd began to disperse, Jaylen came to Clayton holding the repaired identification badge. He had cleaned it again that morning, although Hope's gold star still carried the faint damage from the puddle. "Boss, you know something?" he said. "The badge was right the first time. We all knew it."
Clayton took it. "Yes," he said. "But the next person who stands on his own lot shouldn't need twelve police cruisers to make somebody read it. That's what I want them to remember."
The official vehicles departed gradually after acceptance, driven by authorized fleet personnel. Unit seven left near the end, its camera and control systems tested, its windshield clean. The little black tag that had once swung from its rearview mirror was gone. Nobody in the shop knew when it had been removed. The city storage records did not identify it as official equipment, and no one could prove why it had appeared there.
Sherman watched unit seven turn onto Route 9. "You still think about that man in the cap?" he asked.
"Every time I see a black notebook," Clayton replied. "But I've stopped trying to make him into an answer before I know the question."
That evening, the family celebrated with takeout food at home. Hope insisted that the test lights had been brighter when she pressed the button than they were when her father did it in September. Erica told her that was because she was looking at them from the right side of the handcuffs. Clayton laughed, and for once the joke did not hurt as much as the memory behind it.