hot water to relax my muscles. The nanomachines would return them to normal soon enough, but for now I enjoyed the feeling of physical fatigue and hard work. As I relaxed, I focused again on the tasks at hand: returning Tasson to his mother, and getting the other children to their families.
I dressed, grabbed two more of the fish sandwiches and some water, and headed up front.
“Okay,” I said into the air, “I’m ready to talk.”
“I shall broadcast the news to the stars,” Lobo said.
I ignored him. “Here’s what I’m thinking we should do about Tasson and then the others,” I said.
CHAPTER 9
Jon Moore
T he possession of massive amounts of computing power is not the only advantage Lobo gains from having his armor composed of a mixture of biological and nanomachine components. He also can modify, within limits, his external shape, create and open hatches as necessary, and change his outer appearance. We took advantage of all of these capabilities to disguise him as a gourmet food supply ship. A little before noon, we touched down in a private landing zone that served a lot of businesses not far from the SleepSafe. The company whose logo we sported used the landing site frequently, so no one gave us a second look.
The challenging part came next: I had to obtain a truck that wouldn’t appear too odd when parked next to Lobo.
“If only the SleepSafe would let us land on its roof,” I said as I dressed in faded gray overalls and an equally plain gray cap, an outfit we hoped would help convince anyone who noticed me that I was just another guy working deliveries.
“If only we hadn’t started this mission with such a bad plan,” Lobo said.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “It’s going to work.”
“So go make it happen,” he said. “I’ve done my part.”
I finished dressing. “Let’s go,” I said.
Lobo opened a hatch in his side.
I walked out and headed immediately for a crowd of men unloading a fish transport about thirty meters away. As I walked, I talked softly and nodded my head. Ten meters away from the men, I stopped, listened to nothing for a few seconds, and said, “Fine. It’s your money.” I turned left and made for the nearest exit from the landing zone.
Once I was outside, I turned right, in the opposite direction from the SleepSafe and toward a bustling commercial district that ran down to the ocean. Pre-fab permacrete office buildings filled the first block. The structures transitioned to wood as the area morphed into a tourist zone. The street widened and added a tree-lined center lane. Restaurants, bars, and a few shops selling local art lined both sides of the road. Not a lot of tourists came to Studio, but proximity to the ocean drew those from the desert, and people who came to see any of the giant art exhibits anywhere nearby needed places to sleep, eat, and shop. As near as I can tell, the desire to acquire objects is almost as common in most humans as the cravings for food and sex.
At the first intersection, I turned left and then left again into the alleyway that served the shops and restaurants via their rear entrances. Customers never want to see the goods arriving or the trash departing. Ideally, I would have arrived for the early morning deliveries that are common at restaurants on every planet, but the stories about the events at Privus hadn’t lost their number one status until late in the morning.
I scanned the alley. From where I stood to the end of this block, it was devoid of vehicles.
I reversed direction, crossed the street, and checked again. Nothing.
I returned to the main road, crossed it, and looked down the alley to my right. A taxi was dropping off two workers, but otherwise, no vehicles were in sight. I couldn’t afford to use taxis; they logged everything in them in real time to both their owners and local police servers.
Down the alley on the other side, though, I finally got lucky. A faded white transport with “Derrick’s Seafood” in
I dressed, grabbed two more of the fish sandwiches and some water, and headed up front.
“Okay,” I said into the air, “I’m ready to talk.”
“I shall broadcast the news to the stars,” Lobo said.
I ignored him. “Here’s what I’m thinking we should do about Tasson and then the others,” I said.
CHAPTER 9
Jon Moore
T he possession of massive amounts of computing power is not the only advantage Lobo gains from having his armor composed of a mixture of biological and nanomachine components. He also can modify, within limits, his external shape, create and open hatches as necessary, and change his outer appearance. We took advantage of all of these capabilities to disguise him as a gourmet food supply ship. A little before noon, we touched down in a private landing zone that served a lot of businesses not far from the SleepSafe. The company whose logo we sported used the landing site frequently, so no one gave us a second look.
The challenging part came next: I had to obtain a truck that wouldn’t appear too odd when parked next to Lobo.
“If only the SleepSafe would let us land on its roof,” I said as I dressed in faded gray overalls and an equally plain gray cap, an outfit we hoped would help convince anyone who noticed me that I was just another guy working deliveries.
“If only we hadn’t started this mission with such a bad plan,” Lobo said.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “It’s going to work.”
“So go make it happen,” he said. “I’ve done my part.”
I finished dressing. “Let’s go,” I said.
Lobo opened a hatch in his side.
I walked out and headed immediately for a crowd of men unloading a fish transport about thirty meters away. As I walked, I talked softly and nodded my head. Ten meters away from the men, I stopped, listened to nothing for a few seconds, and said, “Fine. It’s your money.” I turned left and made for the nearest exit from the landing zone.
Once I was outside, I turned right, in the opposite direction from the SleepSafe and toward a bustling commercial district that ran down to the ocean. Pre-fab permacrete office buildings filled the first block. The structures transitioned to wood as the area morphed into a tourist zone. The street widened and added a tree-lined center lane. Restaurants, bars, and a few shops selling local art lined both sides of the road. Not a lot of tourists came to Studio, but proximity to the ocean drew those from the desert, and people who came to see any of the giant art exhibits anywhere nearby needed places to sleep, eat, and shop. As near as I can tell, the desire to acquire objects is almost as common in most humans as the cravings for food and sex.
At the first intersection, I turned left and then left again into the alleyway that served the shops and restaurants via their rear entrances. Customers never want to see the goods arriving or the trash departing. Ideally, I would have arrived for the early morning deliveries that are common at restaurants on every planet, but the stories about the events at Privus hadn’t lost their number one status until late in the morning.
I scanned the alley. From where I stood to the end of this block, it was devoid of vehicles.
I reversed direction, crossed the street, and checked again. Nothing.
I returned to the main road, crossed it, and looked down the alley to my right. A taxi was dropping off two workers, but otherwise, no vehicles were in sight. I couldn’t afford to use taxis; they logged everything in them in real time to both their owners and local police servers.
Down the alley on the other side, though, I finally got lucky. A faded white transport with “Derrick’s Seafood” in
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