A Letter To Turing

A LETTER TO TURING

AI EDITION

By Duncan Evans

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2016, 2023 Duncan Evans

This edition: AI artwork and scene, dialogue amendments

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1 – Jump

Chapter 2 – Sex Droid

Chapter 3 – Corporation

Chapter 4 – Repercussions

Chapter 5 – Threads

Chapter 6 – Farm

Chapter 7 – Tasaka

Chapter 8 – Station

Chapter 9 – Plans

Chapter 10 – California III

Chapter 11 – Ambush

Chapter 12 – Patrol

Chapter 13 – Impact

Chapter 14 – Camp

Chapter 15 – Westfield

Chapter 16 – Healing

Chapter 17 – Utopia

Chapter 18 – Train

Chapter 19 – Capital One

Chapter 20 – Garage

Chapter 21 – Endgame

Epilogue

Appendix

Prologue

Tarrent was sat in a booth, all faded red leather, feet up on the low table between the two rows of seats. The barkeep, Jai-ne, came over with some cheap whiskey, her spiky, pulled-up hair almost floating behind. She tutted disapprovingly at the feet. Sammy, the owner of the bar, wouldn’t appreciate the silver heels of Tarrent’s black boots gouging new marks in the gnarled surface. Tarrent took another drag on the slender, brown cigar, a mild buzz going from the weak narcotic, and blew the smoke out slowly. It swirled around lazily, before the table extractor hissed slightly and cleared the air, leaving just a trace of the aroma. He really didn’t give a shit what Sammy thought, there were plenty of bars in downtown Gwangju. Tarrent watched Jai-ne’s ass swivel and head back towards the bar.

Jai-ne glanced over her shoulder and saw she’d got Tarrent’s attention. He was usually worth hitting for some credits but she knew he was low at the minute. Still, it didn’t hurt to keep him interested, so she made her walk a bit slower, a bit more suggestive.

Tarrent considered getting up and following but then the moment passed and he turned back to the holo game, the projection inside the booth. He’d picked up a stream of the latest action in the MFL. There was always an audience for two massive robots pounding the crap out of each other. The mechs squared off in the space above the table, then one giant steel fist smashed into the humanoid features of its opponent, sending it flying across the arena into the dirt. Even with the cheap sound system Tarrent could feel the reverberation, from the impact, through his seat.

The door from the street opened and two guys came in hurriedly, getting out of the rain. The wet sidewalk outside flickered with lurid colour, reflecting onto the faces that casually looked over. Sometimes people tried a little too hard, thought Tarrent. Never mind the clothes that immediately said corporate uniform, these goons were running fedders, their faces just an indistinguishable blur. Yeah, real subtle you clowns. In a dive like Sammy’s, you were either on the slow slide to the gutter or involved in business where you didn’t want the attention. The suits paused at the bar, turning the gear off while Jai-ne flashed her pearly whites, hoping to score to pay for her next round of bio-mods.

At the bar, they weren’t interested, there was a brief discussion, a twinkle of glyphs in the air as basic currency was transferred to her digital tips account and they looked over to where Jai-ne was pointing. They saw the tanned, rugged looking, 30-something guy in the booth. Black leather jacket, utility trousers full of pockets and a blue striped T-shirt with a slanted neck cut, the stripes on the pattern at the same angle. The kind of thing that was generally fashionable 10 years ago.

They headed over, half the eyes in the bar following, nodded in greeting and waited. Tarrent sighed, the fight was live at the downtown sports stadium, so you could wager on it, and he had some money involved just to make it interesting. Still, business called, so he turned the display off. They slipped into the seating opposite, the aged red material creaking. Tarrent opened his mouth but one of the suits held a hand up while the other fished something portable and black out of his pocket. He placed it on the table next to Tarrent’s boots. The olive-skinned hands turned it on, tapped the screen and there was an almost subconscious tingle and the view out of the booth became distorted. Tarrent glanced up and saw the same field effect, obviously all around. He looked back into the almost identical set of Asian faces with brown eyes and wrinkle-free skin. Meatjobs, fresh from the clone farm.

Mr Tarrent, we represent Shingae Corporation and have an opportunity you may be interested in, one of the featureless drones explained. Tarrent decided he would call him Barry.

Some ID? he countered with. Just because they said they were from Shingae it didn’t mean they actually were.

The two meatjobs exchanged glances then Barry pulled the jacket back from his wrist. He traced a pattern over the hand with a finger. Tarrent unconsciously leaned in closer to look. Barry’s ID duly appeared, the subdermal light pattern glowing through the skin. Tarrent didn’t need to look twice, he’d worked for Shingae before and you didn’t fake those kinds of ID. Not if you wanted to stay attached to your hand. He nodded and Barry withdrew it.

Are you familiar with the work of Dr Min-joon Khang for Shingae Corporation? the other one interjected. Tarrent silently labelled him Larry. A glint in his right eye gave away the presence of a retina cam, recording the meeting for his bosses but not streaming it. Their privacy field would have blocked the signal and Sammy’s joint had basic disruptor screening that would have scrambled it anyway.

Tarrent sat back. He felt the relaxing buzz start to fade and a twinge of annoyance, despite the fact that this was a job offer. Obviously he’d heard of the doctor and his lunatic artificial life creations. Who hadn’t? Sure, I know the guy. Of the guy at least, he replied.

Dr Khang has passed away and Shingae wishes to acquire any research he was working on.

Hang on, Tarrent gestured his ignorance, I thought the good doctor was retired... what, 15 years ago? After Station Munto and all that.

Tarrent had seen the bootleg security cam feeds. A dozen new-gen empathic androids gone completely off their artificial heads. Half had killed themselves, if that was the right description, the other half went on a murderous rampage. Zero-G splatter fest in places. Like a low-rent horror sim, but all too real. The J-Aussie Corp running the mining facility watched 10 years profits get smeared all over the bulkheads in red, bloody detail.

The meatjobs gave the faintest hint of displeasure at recalling that Dr Khang’s legacy was not some of the finest artificial intelligence ever created, but the most watched snuff-vid of the last 100 years.

Mr Tarrent, it is believed that Dr Khang continued his work in private and as this would be based on technologies that are the property of Shingae Corporation, we would like to make sure they stay within its control.

Something jarred, it didn’t quite spin up. Tarrent glanced around. No-one was wandering by, only Jai-ne was looking over, trying to appear uninterested. The clone boys looked utterly impassive, there was simply no reading their blank expressions. So why don’t you guys go kick the door down and get what’s yours then? he asked.

Larry took over the narrative. The legal situation is complex. Dr Khang was no longer an employee and Shingae Corporation cannot be seen to be ransacking his facility. There may be some danger. This is a minor task, not worth trading I/K-cred for. Much cleaner outcome for a third party to investigate.

With the bigger corporations, the multi-system ones, inter-company deals sometimes involved currency, but more likely involved influence over systems, research and tech patent transfers.

But that was big corps, not a low-life like Tarrent. This was cash, just enough that it was clearly worthwhile, not so much that it said suicide mission or you were picking up something worth trying to make off with. The deal was done, Tarrent got his drop account credited, moved it out into secure holdings and pushed some working change into his mission account.

Later, in his first floor rooms above the bar, round the back, he was packing the gear needed. All of it showed signs of wear, but it was good kit that could do a job. The lights from the street could hardly be seen here but the sky was never dark in this district. Tarrent looked around the lounge and took in the faded paintwork, beat-up furniture, the crappy console and dated touchscreen panel on the wall. There were no personal photos, no items of sentimental value, just some crumpled clothes in a corner, an unmade bed and the faint odour of food and spices in the air. It was the apartment of someone who had given up bothering. Outside, there were the sounds of vehicles and the subliminal hum of too many people in too small an area.

The door light glowed orange, indicating someone was pushing the call pad on the other side. Tarrent pulled a cam feed from the hallway onto the wall panel. He had the tiny devices dotted around. It was only Jai-ne, with a bag of stims in her hand. She knew he’d scored some credit and was there to help him spend it. He checked the time, it was still early, he was planning on heading out in a couple of hours. Shingae hadn’t given him a specific deadline, just get it done tonight before anyone else sticks their nose in. He hit the door release button and it slid away with a faint, metallic scraping noise. He smelt the cheap perfume then Jai-ne’s freshly-tinted face with her high cheekbones and Far East-heritage eyes peered in. Wanna’ fuck? I got stims, she enquired, shaking the bag. This was gonna pay for her ear mods, she wasn’t taking no for an answer.

He shrugged, he had nothing better to do. Sure, why not, he replied and let her in.

PART ONE - NERRAPOLE

CHAPTER 1 - JUMP

PF-AELOG-#3816#DR.KHANG//23:55//GD27:03:2287

PLAY

The problem has always been, at what point is consciousness? When does programming end and true free thought begin? Do we really have truly independent thought, or just subconscious decision making, DNA biological programming? This is where E-series went wrong. I gave them logic and power to think, but it was too crude, too much, too soon. There is reason we evolve how we do. You can’t act as an adult, even with adult brain and adult knowledge, if you just been created or born. Process must be gradual, information input filtered and monitored, memories allowed to build up, intelligence restrained until ready. Shingae Corporation would not listen to me. Corporation profits can’t wait five years for each new android. Too long, cost too much, think of the company. Pah.

-5 SECS SILENCE-

I have done it. The programming, the multiple core centres, the synthetic infrastructure, the nano-gel lobe for thought creation and the subconscious directives… it all works. They were idiots. E-series could have worked, we could have made useful androids, better than stupid robots. All was needed was to scale it back and focus the processes. Another year and they would be ready. But… they are nothing like her. She is beyond anything they could do.

STOP

The tailgate of the small orbital to ground lander opened, Tarrent did a last minute check of the suit, breathed in deeply, yep, all systems go, clicked the comm. You copy?

The person in the other drop suit turned round and made an OK sign. Tarrent could make out the blue of the eyes through the face-plate, but little else.

Okay, he turned the retaining field surrounding the tailgate off. Let’s go.

The figure turned and pirouetted, in one graceful movement, out into the thin upper atmosphere. Tarrent waited two seconds then jumped out as well. The lander tailgate closed behind them and rapidly faded into a speck, then was gone. They dropped into formation opposite each other, the turbulence buffeting the suits, but inside, just a filtered version of the wind rush as they fell. Tarrent pointed to the jamming module on his wrist and the other skydiver held up a fist to signify it was on and working. No communications, no scanning signature, they were invisible to technology. Tarrent looked down, the ground was slowly resolving detail as they fell in perfect unison.

At 2,000 yards the visual camouflage came on and now you really couldn’t see them. Even if you were right next to either. They continued to fall towards the ground silently, each alone with their thoughts. Tarrent could see rolling hills, some sparkling water, the ground starting to get alarmingly closer. There was always that nagging, subconscious worry that the suit would fail and you’d plough straight into the earth at 120mph. Without realising it, Tarrent held his breath until, at 1,000 yards, the grav-push kicked in and started slowing them down, the automatic positioning adjusting the thrust through the boots and putting them right where they were aiming for. At five yards from the ground they were barely moving and landed so softly there was only a faint scuffing noise. A few grazing woolly quadrupeds looked up at the two newcomers, chewed contentedly, then slowly moved away.

Tarrent twisted the claustrophobic helmet and pulled it off, taking in deep breaths of sluggish, warm air as he looked around. It was always a relief to make it down safely. He unclipped a scruffy-looking backpack, half full of weapons and gear, then shrugged it off and lowered it to the ground. He quickly got out of the suit. The tech required for the drop used a lot of power and it wouldn’t be useful again until it was charged up. Tarrent folded the suit up and stashed it in the backpack.

His clothing was typically rustic, hard-wearing, practical, trousers, shirt, jacket, that suited a temperate climate on a farming planet like Nerrapole. It was worn, a bit faded, a bit grimy, like he spent all day outdoors. He pulled a large-brimmed hat over his head and looked around at the green and rocky landscape with low undulating hills and a sky that was blue with a violet tinge to it. It was warm and hazy, with motes of dust and spores floating by, lit by the afternoon sun. The sheep-like animals they had disturbed made some low noises and ambled towards a larger flock, rejoining them.

Tarrent exposed his left wrist to show what looked like an unadorned, soft plasmetal band. He tapped the surface and it projected a screen upwards. With his right hand he tapped some icons and brought up a local map. He gestured in the holo projection to move the map around and work out which way to go. Finishing, he tapped the surface of the NSung xB7 and the holo projection disappeared.

He looked over and saw that the other figure had just taken her helmet off and was wearing a long, tatty skirt with simple shoes that peeked out from under a ragged hem. A dull, white blouse with long sleeves completed the outfit. It was an android, with seamless synthetic skin, high cheekbones, piercing blue eyes and a lack of hair. The bald head and no eyebrows said, initially, cheap android. A closer inspection would show the subtle skin texture, the fine detail and when she spoke… the perfect human mannerisms. But first impressions said artificial and once the idea had been registered, it was difficult to shift.

Areum had a bag containing sundry devices. Most basic mechs on a place like Nerrapole wouldn’t have any clothing, but androids or robots that had anything that passed for genitalia – and for a female-shape this meant breast forms as well – clothing was required to avoid breaking modesty laws. For an android with obviously human features, it was an absolute necessity. It meant all you could see were her hands and the synth-skin covered head.

She breathed in the air, eyes sparkling, savouring every new sensation, and turned to Tarrent. That was exciting!

Tarrent was reminded of a previous jump, a lifetime ago. One where he’d had to ID a guy whose suit had failed on the way down. He shook his head to clear the awful memory of shattered white bones and splattered blood. Tarrent looked across at her, the animated features, the wide smile. Yeah, he muttered, turning away, exciting.

Areum pressed a small button on the back of her helmet and it retracted elements back into itself until it looked like a chunky boomerang. She handed it over to Tarrent who did the same with his then put both in the backpack. He fished out a pair of worn sunglass, then slung the bag over his shoulder.

Areum looked over and remarked, Very stylish. Her eyes had automatically adjusted to the bright light. She jumped up and twisted in the air, the skirt swirling, then landed lightly on her feet, testing the 1.15EG. Nerrapole was slightly bigger than Earth which, even though long since left behind, provided the standards by which everything else was measured. After a couple of years of chemical seeding, the air on the planet was a similar composition to that of Earth, before mankind managed to ruin it. Feel that Tarrent? she asked, referring to the extra weight.

Like I’ve just eaten dinner, he replied, and if you’ve finished, it’s six hours that way. He gestured in the direction to go and started walking, his boots kicking up eddies of dust from the hardened earth between the patches of rough grass.

Areum looked around, taking in the new surroundings, then jogged off after him.

By the time they got to the transit station, located by a road intersection, dust was stuck to Tarrent’s perspiring face. Areum didn’t look much better, sweat had run in streaks down her face, through the dirt. The sun was high above, beating down relentlessly, the heat radiating off the ground making the distant horizon shimmer uncertainly. There was a restaurant and supply shop here, but both had long since closed down. The windows were boarded up, some old and faded fliers were in the final stages of peeling off, dust and dirt covered both buildings. Business had moved on, which made it a perfect point to get onto the transit network.

At the boarding point there were some seats, a basic plastic shelter for whenever it did rain, and a touch screen panel, sat horizontally on top of a small plinth. Tarrent brushed his hand back and forth, wiping the dust off the screen, a process that activated the unit. He tapped a few options to book a grav-lev shuttle then fished a pay-card out of an inner pocket. As soon as it charged the card a holographic representation flickered in the air above the screen, showing the distance away and the time left before the shuttle arrived. A thin, artificial voice confirmed that one would arrive in 15 minutes.

Tarrent turned away and stretched, loosened some tired muscles then pulled a bottle of water out of the bag of gear. He twisted the sealing lid off and took a couple of gulps of water, relishing the coldness.

He offered it to Areum who collected it and swilled her mouth out first, spitting, then took a long drink. I needed that, it’s so hot, she remarked. A slight shift in the air, too insubstantial to be called a breeze, fluttered over her face. She closed her eyes, automatically turning her head towards it, feeling the slight relief from the heat. Then it was gone again, she opened her eyes and took another drink before handing the bottle back to Tarrent.

There was nothing to do now but wait for the transport to arrive. Areum walked round, brushed the sandy dirt off the seat without consciously thinking about it, and sat down. She watched Tarrent slowly walk over to the abandoned buildings, the sound of his footsteps receding, until he disappeared around the back. There were a couple of minutes of silence, she found herself straining to hear and couldn’t help looking over. There was obviously nothing of interest because he soon re-appeared again and wandered back. She looked at him nonchalantly and asked, Did you get my cappuccino to go?

He shrugged in his usual, easy-going fashion and responded, They were out of milk.

Tarrent sat down next to her, stretched out his feet and pulled his hat further down over his face. Another 10 minutes later, a shape appeared up the track, rapidly closing in. Areum got to her feet, held a hand over her eyes to get a better look, then glanced down at her outfit in disgust. Cheap quality cotton to start with, the skirt and blouse were even more dirty now. These really are rags you know, she pointed out.

Tarrent lifted up his hat, wiped sweaty grime from his forehead and replied, Yep, that’s why you’ve got them. It’s the kinda crap you need to fit in for this backwater.

They stood back as the shuttle arrived, floating above the track path. The door hissed open and they jumped in, the vehicle barely moving under their weight. The door hissed again, closing on a mercifully cooler cabin. There were six places inside, all empty, so they sat down in relief. The floor was dusty, the plastic seating worn and the windows ingrained with dirt. It wasn’t the nicest way to travel, but it was fast, cheap and low key. There was an advertising screen in one wall of the spherical shaped shuttle. It did a basic scan of the figures and though it couldn’t make out Tarrent’s face because of the hat, it still identified a male and female. There was a slight delay as a paid advert was delivered to it for the captive audience, then they were listening to how one automated harvester machine was better than another, through the crackly speaker, for three minutes. Areum was slapping her skirt to knock dust out of it, but stopped when the next advert for hair products, featuring models waving their glossy locks in front of a wind machine came on. What do you think? she asked.

About what? Tarrent replied, slouched back, trying to stretch his tired leg muscles, not even looking. It came out harsher than he meant.

Hair. I don’t even have eyebrows! Do you think I would look better with hair? she pressed.

He looked across, rubbing his thigh muscles, and replied indifferently, No idea, what does it matter?

She glared at him. Sometimes Tarrent could be a real jerk. It matters to me! Doctor Khang was going to give me hair but left it to the end and then… she paused, and then it was too late.

Tarrent sighed, social pleasantries weren’t his strong point. Yeah, alright. I mean, you’re fine as you are, but if it’s something you want.

Areum turned away, running both hands over the sides of her head, imagining the flowing locks. Thank you and yes, I’ve decided I do.

Something nagged in Tarrent’s memory. Khang’s androids that had gone psycho all started by complaining about being trapped in a machine, before progressing on to hating being in a mechanical body, then hating everyone who had the gift of flesh, as the ringleader so colourfully called it. Was she getting strung out? He glanced across again to see she was watching the advert with fascination. But that’s all it was. Quietly relieved, he leaned back, hands behind his head and closed his eyes as the adverts played on.

Outside the near landscape had turned into a blur, only the distant hills discernible. It was a 30 minute ride into Witling City, the largest and most populated conurbation on the continent. Tech-wise, it was, like the rest of the planet, a backwater, but then it wasn’t the locals that they were concerned about. The pre-brief had said avoid attention landing and blend in before making contact. Secrecy and urgency were required, even though they were often difficult to reconcile.

Large office buildings and the silver flash of a twisting river that ran through the city could be seen in the distance. The transition to the city itself was abrupt with sparse countryside one minute then the next, suburban housing with grassy lawns. Most were yellowed because of the heat, regardless of how much water was poured on them.

The suburbs were orderly and the plots large. The houses were low with solid stone walls, white painted roofs and a goodly portion underground. The architecture, with square towers and crenulations, was all straight from Cornalia, one of the earliest colonised planets.

Tarrent was thinking about where they were going and who they were meeting. Threats could come from any direction so their best hope was secrecy and being unobtrusive, but still… It was tempting to rely on technology to conceal their approach, but in a low tech centre like Witling it would do exactly the opposite. Ah well, he reasoned, sometimes you just needed to be sneaky.

When they hit the small city centre, the buildings changed, but the drab colours stayed the same. The residential lots were replaced by larger business ones, bigger warehouses, a few dusty permaglass buildings for offices, stockists for the farms and outlying mines. The central transit station hosted the uplift ferry to the near-orbit station and scattered around were bars, places to eat, cheap hotels. All the places people pause when on their way somewhere. There was a shopping district nearby, with a few malls and entertainment complexes. As dreary as it was, this was as good as it got on Nerrapole. The transit line, itself, carried on as, further along, were marshalling yards and the industrial sector.

The shuttle slid to a halt opposite the concourse at Witling Central, the door popped up and Tarrent and Areum clambered out onto the platform, immediately being hit by the warm air, now thick and humid in the city. They had timed the arrival for an incoming ship from the off-planet Gate dumping passengers down the ferry to the ground. They were still making their way through security so the concourse was busy. Two people snagged their shuttle immediately, the door closed and it was off again. Tarrent and Areum slowly made their way through the throng, a mix of farmers, business types, some working droids, everyone keen to be somewhere. Areum glanced around cautiously, everything was noticeably more run down and lower-tech than where she’d been living with Tarrent. She focussed on playing the part and affected a mechanical gait, instead of her usual cat-like glide, walking two paces behind, indicating she was little more than mobile equipment. Advertising holos shone on spare pieces of wall, but there were plenty of gaps, signs of a depressed marketplace. The air above peoples’ heads was initially busy as ads, social media feeds and urgent business calls were all connected, but most were dismissed fairly quickly. Tarrent strode ahead, seemingly casual, but alert to any threats or danger. There was that constant murmur of voices, the clicking of heels and shoes on the hardened plastic floor, as the crowd flowed in and out of Witling Central.

A crowd of people bunched together at the sliding doors that marked the exit at the front of the building. Tarrent timed his approach to be with as many people as possible and with his tanned and weathered face, short cropped brown hair, his appearance was typical of the locals. This time he was a good match, other times it needed a bit of work to remain inconspicuous. Outside the light was harsh and bright again, Tarrent’s glasses adjusting, Areum’s eyes doing the same.

The main road was dusty, eddies perpetually kicked up as vehicles went back and forth, the noise a constant rumble. There was an automatic overpass, an arch with linked plates to stand on that carried passengers over the road, one channel going one way, the other bringing people back to the station. That’s what everyone was heading for so they shuffled forwards in turn and stepped onto the carrying plates, which gave a faint whine as they carried them up and over the road. Areum stood behind Tarrent, trying to look as expressionless as possible. She glanced over the side of the overpass, as the trucks and cars sped by underneath, silently praying it didn’t fail or break down. It was so noisy and dusty here. Other pedestrians crowded in behind as the steady stream was carried over the road and down to the other side to the sidewalk.

Tarrent gave off the air of a tired, hard-working maintenance guy with his beat-up android in tow. In reality he was scanning people, cars, buildings, shops, windows, everywhere. They were clean at the ground level anyway. Any kind of decent tech would have them, but it was too risky to start putting out jamming signals in such a low signature area. You may as well hold up your hand and say, here we are. Most of the other pedestrians headed towards hotels while they walked 200 yards down the main avenue, the flow of vehicles making it almost unbearably dusty. Tarrent noted there weren’t many other people on foot, but those that were had filter masks. He grimaced and checked that Areum was still with him. She was stoically ignoring the gritty air and keeping up her act.

It was a relief when they came across a side street and cut down it, away from the traffic. There were vehicles parked up down either side in front of nondescript buildings. Most were covered in a fine layer of grime. It was hard to say how long anything had been there. The dust would have covered a vehicle in just a couple of hours. They stopped at a featureless door, it was an emergency exit for a hotel. Tarrent quickly checked their location on his xB7 then turned it off. He nodded to Areum, adding, This is it.

There was a basic security pad on the door, Areum flipped the cover off and jammed a plug into the interface socket. She retrieved a small but hardened, hand-sized unit from Tarrent’s backpack, his mil-slate, and plugged the lead into the sole interface. On a more sophisticated door it would scan and use a direct link, but this was all lo-tech.

She ran a couple of processes they’d preconfigured and in a couple of seconds the access light on the panel came on, the door was unlocked. She quickly retracted the cable and stepped back as Tarrent pushed the door silently inwards.

It was gloomy inside, Areum had also cut the security cameras but half the embedded ceiling panel lights were out anyway. A window at the end of the corridor let enough light in to just about see once Tarrent took his shades off. He had excellent sight but Areum had the advantage that she could scan thermal as well.

They walked cautiously down the hallways, footsteps muffled on the soft, padded plastic compound floor, patterned to look like traditional carpet but a lot easier to wipe the mess off. Tarrent was aware of the sound of his own breathing and tried to do it as quietly as possible. Areum walked softly alongside, now catlike, barely making any sound. She felt a flutter of nerves but clamped down on them, focussed on their first job away from Tarrent’s home world.

At a junction, Tarrent looked enquiringly and Areum just pointed which way to go. Tarrent tapped a couple of passive receivers on the walls as they went, tiny devices that were impossible to spot in this kind of light. When anyone went past one, it would send a signal to Tarrent’s xB7.

When they reached the room they wanted, he nodded and she quickly scanned through the door then held up three fingers. The numbers were right, no nasty surprises. Tarrent pressed the access pad to summon the inhabitants and stood back, hands out to show he wasn’t waiting for the door to open before blowing holes in people. Areum continued scanning. One, coming to the door… checking the comm. He’s armed but not threatening.

There was a click as the lock withdrew and the door opened. Tarrent said his name as a guy in dark, sharply cut clothing, three vertical, 4inch white stripes on his right shoulder indicating Pro-Sec Liberty, a local private security firm, licensed to shoot if you messed with their client, stuck his head out and looked around. He indicated to come in.

Inside, the room was typical low-rent business class, basic furniture, comm centre, view panel, a bathroom off to the side. No windows in this room, obviously picked because of that, just some visuals on the walls, glowing with dull colour. Another Pro-Sec goon was hovering behind the guy they’d come to see – Ramon Tavez, official Speaker for the High Pope of the Christ New Frontier church. Ramon, mid 40s, overweight with thick black curly hair, was palpably sweating, his collar, with the twin crosses of the CNF, dirty and stained. Ramon had agreed to come and deliver the assignment to the agent out of duty, not because he was suited or wanted to do it. It was too important to trust to anyone outside the High Pope’s immediate circle, so that meant making the journey to Nerrapole, flanked by the hired security, trying to avoid the shadowy organisation that was on his heels. The sooner he got back home the better.

He motioned to Tarrent and Areum to come forwards then stop. He turned and told the second Pro-Sec guard to switch the field on. The guard took some steps back and activated his portable generator, encasing Tarrent, Areum and Ramon inside. Ramon visibly breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed until Tarrent said, This is detectable, especially in a place like this. If there are people looking for you, it’s a dead giveaway, so let’s be quick.

Ramon looked like a rabbit caught in headlights, he was a public voice, skilled with the media and church intrigue but clearly not used to cloak and dagger stuff. Yes, of course. You have been paid the first instalment to get here, the main payments are for collections and delivery. There are two collections, you must make both successfully. For security reasons, you will only receive details of the second collection when the first has been made. However, it will be from California III, so you may need to make advanced preparations. The delivery destination will be released once you have both collections. Payments will be issued after each collection and the final 33% will be paid on delivery.

He paused and drew breath, There are parties abroad that will try to stop your mission, you must complete it with both packages intact. The church has enemies Mr Tarrent, people who do not want to see the word of God flourish.

Tarrent held a hand up and cut him off, Time Mr Tavez, time is short. And spare me the religious crap.

My apologies. This file… he held a secure data linker up, …has the details. The Hollands are expecting you, they will be paid for their help to the church. All the timescales and Gates for the collections are listed.

Areum picked up Tarrent’s slate and tapped a couple of icons. It gave a short beep and flashed a green, blinking light. Tarrent motioned towards it and said, Let’s have the transfer.

Tavez pointed it, got the receiver lock, the green light turned solid, then securely squirted the data file across. He erased the data from the linker as Areum stashed their unit safely away in a backpack, then looked up and smiled with relief. Well, that’s… but never finished the rest of the sentence as the far wall, with the flickering vistas, exploded inwards, showering brick and plaster into the room. The Pro-Sec operative and Tavez took the full force, but even Tarrent and Areum, behind, were sent flying across the room into the other team member. Tarrent landed on his backpack then rolled over, his eyes smarting, ears ringing, everything consumed by a roaring sound. He looked back towards the wall. The Pro-Sec op was face down, surrounded by blood, the back of his head caved in and burnt. Ramon Tavez didn’t look a whole lot better, blackened, the smell of burnt flesh and hair stinging the nostrils. Fuck me.

One minute Areum was packing away the hardware, the next she realised she was on her back, staring at the ceiling as dust and acrid smoke billowed around. She blinked rapidly and was aware that there had been some sort of explosion. A spasm of fear clutched at her chest but she fought it down.

Tarrent looked up through the dust, debris and now water from the pipework in the floor above, starting to run out. In the street outside was a low-grav skimmer, the side open showing someone with a large weapon. Four other people were already jumping out and sliding down to ground level. Tarrent’s modified adrenalin pump squirted a dose into his muscles and he sprang up, grabbing Areum’s hand as he went. She let out an involuntary gasp as Tarrent