1c: Entry Point
The hotel room was sparse but clean, a small box room with a view of the port. I could see the ancient ships drift in and out, awkward, angular monstrosities cobbled together from the various seed ships that had landed during the past few centuries. Several of them still had the red and gold insignia of the Congregation emblazoned on their blackened surfaces, their sharp lines breaking through the thick green water.
On the road below a pretty blond woman sat in the front seat of a damaged vehicle, the whole of one side was scraped, the dark green paint flecked. She was another of the Congregation’s flunkies, probably part of the Sanctum. She was far too poised and professional to be a local. The only reason I knew she was there because she had wanted me to.
I sighed and returned to the opened briefcase. The tools of my trade laid out on the stained white sheets. A knife, a Tousle Gun and the various pictures, blueprints and files I needed for the contract. Nothing electronic, it could be too easily copied. Old fashioned paper was much easier to destroy, everything else nestled neatly inside my brain, waiting to be activated. That, of course, would die with me.
There was a knock at the door. Quickly I gathered up my things and replaced them into the briefcase, locking it to my DNA. I slide over to the door. “Who is it?”
“Are you the man?” A short, melodic but deep voice penetrated the room, the smell of roses sneaking under the door. I accessed the eye I had placed in the corridor; it showed the tall, attractive blond from the car outside. Quickly I checked to see if it was the same one, it was not. They were c-speck, a version I was unfamiliar with but definitely inner sanctum. I tensed, arching my back against the inner wall.
“Perhaps.” The eye showed she was unarmed but the ridge on her left hand indicated a supplemented spike, probably dispensing a nerve agent.
“We need to talk.” Her voice lacked enthusiasm.
I moved to the empty brown chair and trained the pistol I had taken from the fool on the door. “Really? What about?” I didn’t need to raise my voice; I knew she could hear me.
“Your presence here.”
“And what if I don’t want to talk?”
“Then you die.”
That’s what I loved about the c-specks, the always stuck to the point. I mentally ordered the door to unlock. “I suppose you had better come in then.”
On the road below a pretty blond woman sat in the front seat of a damaged vehicle, the whole of one side was scraped, the dark green paint flecked. She was another of the Congregation’s flunkies, probably part of the Sanctum. She was far too poised and professional to be a local. The only reason I knew she was there because she had wanted me to.
I sighed and returned to the opened briefcase. The tools of my trade laid out on the stained white sheets. A knife, a Tousle Gun and the various pictures, blueprints and files I needed for the contract. Nothing electronic, it could be too easily copied. Old fashioned paper was much easier to destroy, everything else nestled neatly inside my brain, waiting to be activated. That, of course, would die with me.
There was a knock at the door. Quickly I gathered up my things and replaced them into the briefcase, locking it to my DNA. I slide over to the door. “Who is it?”
“Are you the man?” A short, melodic but deep voice penetrated the room, the smell of roses sneaking under the door. I accessed the eye I had placed in the corridor; it showed the tall, attractive blond from the car outside. Quickly I checked to see if it was the same one, it was not. They were c-speck, a version I was unfamiliar with but definitely inner sanctum. I tensed, arching my back against the inner wall.
“Perhaps.” The eye showed she was unarmed but the ridge on her left hand indicated a supplemented spike, probably dispensing a nerve agent.
“We need to talk.” Her voice lacked enthusiasm.
I moved to the empty brown chair and trained the pistol I had taken from the fool on the door. “Really? What about?” I didn’t need to raise my voice; I knew she could hear me.
“Your presence here.”
“And what if I don’t want to talk?”
“Then you die.”
That’s what I loved about the c-specks, the always stuck to the point. I mentally ordered the door to unlock. “I suppose you had better come in then.”
posted by M D Richards at 9:25 AM
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