It Looks Like You're Writing a Letter
Chapter 12

"Shit."

Thorner looked at Jeopardy. "What now?"

"He's there, he's in the church and he'sgone down to the bunker."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I can't track him undergroundbut he's down there."

They were only perhaps ten minutes behindTanner Griffen, but that was a lifetime. Thorner thought about what Griffen -either Griffen - could do in a confined space in 10 minutes. Kruke seemed likea tough guy, but his tech crew would be worse than useless to him and whateverGriffen was, he was dangerous. He willed the Volvo to go faster, andsimultaneously prayed it would keep going at all.

David had been quiet in the back for the pasthalf an hour. Jeopardy swivelled in her chair to look at him. "You OK backthere?"

David grunted. He was still shirtless, andsmeared in blood. He didn't know how he felt about killing himself. He knewwhat he was capable of, and if whoever was using his old profile had done theirhomework, he would be as ruthless as David. More so in fact, without the beigehandcuff on his wrist tethering him to civilised society. This prospect scaredhim.

The town sign for Fort Smith flew past thevehicle. "Alright, here we are," said Thorner, guiding the batteredcar up the main street and skidding to a halt in front of the church steps. "Anythingfrom Kruke?"

"Nothing," said Jeopardy, "let'sget in there."

They emptied themselves out of the crampedVolvo and sprinted up the concrete church steps and into the lobby. Thereceptionist smiled blankly at Thorner, not recognising him as they blusteredinto the building. "Good morning!" she said gaily to theirdisappearing backs as they ran into the church and down the central passageway.

A few townsfolk looked up briefly, annoyedat the distraction. Thorner reached the trapdoor first.

"Wait, I'll go first," saidJeopardy, cocking the revolver in her hand. She cautiously opened the trapdoorand started gingerly down the steel ladder, followed by Thorner and David.

When she got to the bottom, she crept downthe dimly lit corridor, listening for sounds of a struggle - there were none,just the usual humming, pinging and ticking of the computer equipment and theoccasional low murmur from one tech to another. She peered around the corner.All the techs were in their usual places, working contentedly in much the sameway hamsters run on wheels.

Suddenly, Kruke walked around the edge ofthe central computer bank, leaning over the shoulder of one of his operativesand pointing at a screen. Jeopardy stepped out and he saw her.

"Ah! Jeopardy! You're here, I saw youapproach in a hell of a rush - what's going on, and why have you brought Davidback?"

"Where's Griffen?" askedJeopardy, coldly.

Kruke smiled and waved his finger. "Dearchild, you still have much to learn. Griffen isn't here. Well, he was - but he'snot anymore."

Jeopardy looked confused, annoyed. Thornerand David entered the room, David lowering his machete almost disappointedly. "Whatdo you mean?"

Kruke puffed out his chest, looked pleasedwith himself. "We've been tracking the Griffen profile since the murder ofthe Senator, and we've watched it come back home to roost, as it were. However,we were never in any danger. There were certain aspects of his behaviour thatweren't right, weren't congruent with his personality or his geographicallocation. This is a subtle game, Jeopardy - that's the beauty of it, the art ofit. You can't just set a profile going and expect it to run like a real humanwould without a great deal of expertise."

"What are you talking about?"said Thorner, who was not following Kruke at all.

"Hello again, Mr Thorner, David,"he nodded at them both, then motioned to the screen he was watching when they hadcome into the room. "Look, here are a few examples. After the murder atthe hotel, Griffen goes down to the basement and into a car, then leaves andcomes straight back here. Strange thing to do, really, but stranger things havehappened. Now, halfway down Route 40, he's cut off by what looks like two Secofficers in a Sec vehicle. They set up a roadblock but he just sails straightthrough it, not around it, just through it. Doesn't change speed, direction, noflicker on his biometrics to show adrenaline dump or increased heart rate. That'snot right. He's kept exactly 90mph the entire trip, and no human could do that,even with cruise control. And the real kicker is, everywhere he stops, nobodymakes any social updates or notes that they've just had public enemy number onein their refuelling station or grocery store. He's a ghost."

"So it was some kind of AI?" saidThorner.

"Kind of - but not really artificialintelligence in the old sense. It's real intelligence, it's Griffen'sintelligence, based on every scrap of information in his old profile. Hisbehavioural patterns, his preferences, the whole deal. It just so happens thatin this case, the task was programmed poorly, didn't account for nuances."

"Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know, maybe it was done in arush, whoever grabbed the profile used it pretty quickly after David vacatedit."

"But wait a minute," saidThorner, rubbing his forehead. He'd just realised how tired he was, how old hewas. "How can a computer program commit murder?"

Kruke shrugged and smiled again. "Itdidn't, Mr Thorner. It was just in the room while someone else did."

Thorner heard Jeopardy's leather creak nextto him as she shifted uncomfortably.

"There's one thing I think you'remissing, Kruke," said Thorner.

Kruke looked genuinely surprised, like aman who wasn't used to being wrong.

"I think I know why Griffen came backhere."

"Pray, enlighten us!"

"This is a trap. Griffen knew - thecreator of the Griffen profile knew - that we'd chase it. That's why it had usloop round and come back here. Someone wants us all together, here."

Thorner looked at the faces around him.Kruke looked puzzled. David looked terrified, nervous, like a junkie too longwithout a fix. Jeopardy looked icy cold, her empty hand twitching, agitated.The techs sat in front of the computers, oblivious to the conversation aroundthem. A silence fell in the room like heavy velvet.

"Fine," said Jeopardy. She tookthree stiletto gunshot steps to the centre of the room and wheeled around,levelling her revolver at Thorner. "I think it's high time we all had alittle chat. Why don't you have a seat over there, gentlemen?"

Kruke's face was unreadable, but somewherebetween rage, disappointment, and betrayal. "Jeopardy, what on earth isgoing on? Put that gun down at once!"

"Sorry Bill, I'm afraid I can't dothat - we're not in that stage of the game. If it helps, you're not my bossanymore, you never were, so as I've got the weapon - just do as I say."She waved the three men over to the spartan steel table and chairs in thecorner. They all cautiously and unwillingly sat down.

"Geeks, leave," Jeopardy barkedover her shoulder. The techs woke up from their Grid stupor and ambled andwaddled out of the room and up the steel ladder to the church. The sight of thereal-life firearm was all the convincing they needed.

"Now, how can I break this down foryou all?" she began, condescendingly. The revolver was still aimedunwaveringly at the group, none of them in any doubt that she would use it ifthey made a move towards her.

"Who killed Senator Rigsby?"demanded Thorner. Jeopardy tutted and shook her black bob from side to side.Her cruel red lips split into a smile.

"Not so fast, Henry my dear. All ingood time. I want to see how much of this you can work out for yourselves, itwill be amusing. David?"

David snapped back into the room, his mindand eyes had been somewhere else up to this point. "Huh?"

"Who do you think hired you to stealthe data from Wichita?"

"I didn't steal any data from Wichita,"he said, slowly, in a confused torpor. It appeared his psyche was breakingdown, the events of the past couple of days finally pulling the last remainingsupport structure from his personality. Jeopardy found this tremendouslyannoying.

"Okay, when you were Griffen, remember?You stole some memory cards in a very clumsy and inefficient manner, yes?"

"Yeah okay."

"Who hired you?"

"I don't know."

Jeopardy sighed. "There was only oneorganisation with the funds to pull off the extraction, and pay for Kruke'sservices, and all the rest of it."

David looked blankly at her, like he didn'tfollow and didn't care. His eyes were glassy. His brain defragging.

"OraCorp," deadpanned Thorner. "OraCorphired him to steal their own data."

"Well done Henry!" Jeopardy madea small, sarcastic clapping motion with her left hand on the barrel of therevolver. "I'm glad someone's paying attention."

"Alright," said Thorner, "sowhy would OraCorp hire a punk hacker to steal their own data, then spend theirown money to give the thief a new identity?"

"Ha! Well, this is the interestingbit, Mr Thorner - gumshoe extraordinaire. OraCorp don't care about TannerGriffen, or whoever he becomes after that. In all honesty - and I can say thisfrom my position - they don't care about any of us. We're literally littlefleshy tools to make things happen in the real, off-Grid world that the Gridcan't touch. Sometimes these things are kind of messy, and that can cause aproblem."

"That doesn't explain why they wouldwant their own data stolen," said Thorner, genuinely puzzled.

"Who gives a fuck about the data?"exploded Jeopardy, waving the revolver at them. "The data was just a wayto put Griffen in an untenable position. When he uploaded it from theauto-drone when he was being extracted, it went straight back into the OraCorpdatabases. It never left their hands, you get it? The data was a tool to putGriffen on the run. I thought you were getting this. What happened next,Thorner?"

"Griffen comes to Kruke for hisservices, which they had already paid for up front. He gets a nice shiny newprofile." As he spoke, it became crystal clear, and he felt like an idiotfor not spotting it sooner. "This left the Tanner Griffen profile empty,available as a patsy to commit the murder of the Senator. Very clever."

Jeopardy looked smug. "Isn't it? Youknow the funny thing? This kind of stuff happens all the time. You might notalways hear about it, but whenever there's a political assassination, or asmear campaign needs some hard physical evidence, or whatever, there's alwayssome miscreant involved who dies mysteriously shortly afterwards, or he'sgunned down by some Sec grunt who gets his fifteen minutes of fame to go on thetalk shows and boast about how he offed the man who offed his boss. Nice andtidy. The fact is, Senator Joe Rigsby was becoming a real pain in the ass forOraCorp. People were starting to listen to his anti-Grid babbling and it wasstarting to affect share prices. He had to go, and with Tanner Griffen underOraCorp control, they just put his profile in the hotel room when some Secspecial ops guy killed the Senator and his right-hand man, then that was that.Public enemy number one, at least until the next decent news story."

"So what's your part in all this?"Kruke finally spoke. His voice was that of a defeated man, cracked and parched.

"Oh, I'm just on the payroll likeanyone else," said Jeopardy in a singsong voice, "don't take itpersonally old man - I was here to keep an eye on your operation. You should begrateful, really - OraCorp sent you almost all your clients, and every time yousent a fresh new person out into the world, the one you left behind was takencontrol of by OraCorp and used for whatever they wanted. If you'd spent as muchtime tracking the old profiles as you did the new, you'd have spotted thistrend, how the old profiles always ended up dead after committing some crime orother."

"But why did you agree to go after theGriffen profile, if you knew it was a patsy? Why bring David and I along forthe ride?" said Thorner.

Jeopardy grunted. "You see these twoarm pieces? I told you, one for the Grid and one for Kruke. I get my ordersthrough the Grid, so all the time I'm in this stinking rat hole, I'm out ofcontact. I had to go along with Kruke's stupid plan until I got topside and gotnew instructions from the Company. They told me to chase Griffen back here withyou both so I could tidy up all the loose ends."

Kruke looked at the floor. "I can'tbelieve it. I treated you like a daughter."

"Yeah, well, you'll forgive me if Idon't have much of a need for father figures anymore Kruke. I'm interested inmoney and looking after number one."

"What about the Freemen, how do theyplay into this?" asked Thorner.

"They don't, they were a little fly inthe ointment, very irritating," replied Jeopardy, "they reallyscrewed up the timeline to be honest with you. It wouldn't be hard for thecompany to wipe them out but they're a threat to good, Grid-fearing folk sothey keep people on the straight and narrow. They're actually great advertisingfor the on-Grid lifestyle, if the alternative involves driving an old rustbucket around the desert, smelling of piss and eating roadkill."

"So what now?" asked David, hisjaw moving in slow motion, physically disconnected from his brain stem, downfor maintenance.

"Well, as Mr Thorner here rightlyguessed, the Griffen profile was a mechanism to get you all back here, becausethe last part of my mission is to close up Kruke's shop. Too many people knowabout it, and there's a couple of Sec guys chasing the Griffen profile who willend up here before too long. Your cover's been blown, Kruke - and there arescores of operations like this all over the country that the company can useinstead."

Kruke looked crestfallen. His littleempire, crushed by a slip of a girl, right under his nose. He felt small,insignificant and foolish for ever having thought he could operate above theGrid, above Ora, above OraCorp itself.

"Come on Bill, you didn't really thinkyou could hide from the company by sitting in a basement all day? You wildlyunderestimate the power and reach of the system. They can see everything ifthey want to. The things they don't see, they're just the things that they can'tmonetise or advertise to. It's that simple. It's not an evil empire, it's justa business like any other."

Thorner was about to lose his temper. "Abusiness like any other? How can you say that? Businesses shouldn't have peopleassassinated, run governments and public services, they shouldn't control whatpeople do, think, say - if OraCorp is truly driven by profits, it doesn't haveto do all this to get them!"

With pity in her eyes, Jeopardy turned toThorner. "Thorner. Listen to me, the Grid is just a tool. People made itwhat it is and OraCorp just supply where there's a demand. The connections areuseless to me, but I'm damaged. I'm not like normal people. Normal people -good people - they need the Grid now. They need to stay connected, it's part ofbeing human."

"It's nothing about being human!"shouted Thorner, "Freeman was right, it's an abomination!"

Jeopardy shook her head and looked down ather arm piece, she made a few light gestures and flicked her finger towards oneof the large monitors stacked beside her.

"Thorner, I've been looking into youand who you are. As soon as OraCorp knew you were accompanying Griffen, theysent me your full file. It's a big file, Thorner, bigger than you can everimagine. I read it on our little road trip together. I know about your life, Iknow what you've lost. I know about Martha."

Thorner felt rage building up inside, nottriggered by this new knowledge of OraCorp's intrusion into his life, but thatJeopardy had used Martha's name. Nobody had the right to say that name but him,not now. He felt his face flush, tasted the metallic tang of blood.

"Look, Thorner," Jeopardymotioned towards the monitor screen. Martha's face took up the top left handcorner. Thorner's stomach flipped, he looked away. "Look!" Jeopardyinsisted, and despite himself he turned his eyes back to the glowing screen.

It was Martha's profile. Thorner had onlyever seen it briefly over her shoulder when she was alive, and had assumed ithad long been deleted, but in fact the opposite was true. Her profile was alivewith old photographs, recently added by her friends - Martha laughing at a henparty years ago, tagged by the bride to be. Status updates mentioned her, themost recent only a few days ago, an ex-work colleague reminiscing about apresentation she had delivered while alive. Other, more personal remembranceslittered the screen, 'MARTHA WILL NVR 4GET U LUV SIS', 'BEST BOSS I EVR HD RIP'and on it went, seemingly every day someone on the Grid would mention MarthaThorner and her profile buzzed and glowed with the activity. She was alive. Ina strange way, the Grid served as a kind of afterlife that enabled anyone shehad touched during her actual lifetime to remember her, and still communicatewith her through shared memories and experiences to which she was party.

Thorner broke down and openly wept. Therevolver pointing at him could not have been further from his mind. He wantedto join her, even though he would not enjoy her perpetuity - all that was leftwas for him to hope for some kind of old-timey heaven, like the old preachersused to speak of in his father's day. Maybe then he could see Martha again.Surely OraCorp didn't own heaven?

"Do you see, Thorner?" askedJeopardy in a low voice that seemed to come from inside his skull, "TheGrid is there to help people, to connect them and keep them connected. In orderto do that it has to continue, and that means OraCorp must continue, no matterwhat the cost. If a few dissenting voices have to be silenced so that peoplecan stay on the Grid, surely that's a small price to pay?"

Thorner didn't answer - couldn't answer.His throat was choked with tears, his eyes blind with them.

"We're all just small cogs in the bigmachine, Thorner," she continued, gently. "I do what I can - it's toolate for me to join the rest of society, I've made too many enemies. You neverhad this excuse. You should have joined up, maybe you wouldn't have been solonely. Maybe you'd have had a better relationship with your daughter."

Thorner looked up at the blurry black cladshape, the red lips like the tail lights of a car in torrential rain. "Fuckyou," he managed to whisper through grief-swollen lips. He slumped to thefloor, his head in his hands.

"Jeopardy, stop this immediately,"ordered Kruke, standing up sharply. His military bearing and stern mannerunbent by the sudden swing in power.

Jeopardy casually turned to him, raised therevolver and shot him through the heart. The report of the gun was deafening inthe small space and it reverberated around the curved walls longer than it tookKruke's body to collapse onto the table, and from there onto the ground. He wasdead, his shirt spreading deep, dark red.

David jumped up instinctively and Thornersnapped out of his melancholy far enough to scramble backwards under the table.Jeopardy took two steps back and levelled the gun at the two remaining men.

"Well, gentlemen. I suppose this isgoodbye."

David stared at Jeopardy. His personalitywas flickering, twitching between two poles. His mind was like a video streamnot fully buffered, switching from a horror movie to a family cartoon and backa thousand times a second. He could no longer attach his physical form to theprofile ident at the top left of his arm piece's screen, or to the thoughts inhis head. Everything was disconnected, live wires sparking in the darkness,dangerous.

Time ground to a halt. He rewound hismemory like scrubbing the transport bar on a film clip, searching for that onemoment that revealed to himself who he really was. David Wilkinson was theofficial answer, Tanner Griffen having become detached and now leading his ownlife - he had been told to let that go. He had been told that option was nolonger available to him. But when his depressing beige arm piece had been takenfrom him, he reverted to being Griffen at the Freeman stronghold to get themout, and it felt good. It felt genuinely good, ecstasy even, to plunge hisshort pocketknife into the young guard's throat. The warmth of the other man'sblood on his skin felt like home to him.

David Wilkinson listened to R&B andchart hits. He subscribed to instant newsletter information from chain storesand shopped wherever the personalised billboard advertisements told him to. Hedidn't believe in sex before marriage and chastised anyone who used curse wordson his profile timeline. Could he really inhabit this shell? He was moreworried that he could, that he would be swallowed up by this middle of theroad, inoffensive, decent person and that he would like it. He would meet amousey, quiet girl and settle down and that they would have plump littlechildren who got good grades at school. He would have to get a real job, with aboss, and do what he was told. He would have to conform.

He looked down at Kruke's body, the chestwound bubbling softly. He had never had a father, his junkie mother had neverknown his biological dad and he had never been interested in replaceing him.Kruke, intellectually at least, was the closest thing to a father figure hehad. And now, he had been taken away by this girl, working on behalf of theglobal colossus he had spent a lifetime robbing from, mocking, damaging in anyway he could. Was he in some way to blame for Kruke's death? Had he, anddigital criminals like him, driven the company to these kinds of tactics? Maybehis resistance had somehow legitimised the use of murder, force, kidnap andprofile theft by the enemy. Maybe he had more of a part to play than he caredto admit in this culture of subdued, secretive violence.

Suddenly, Jeopardy's attention was snappedto the other end of the room by heavy footsteps down the corridor.

Jeopardy span around to point the revolverat the source of the noise. A scruffy-looking man in a bloodstained brown suitstood at the entrance to the bunker, a modern-looking energy weapon held in hishand. It was pointed directly at Jeopardy.

"Officer Doherty, OraCorp SecurityDivision. Put down your weapon immediately," he barked, out of breath butstill hanging onto the last threads of authority.

Jeopardy just looked at him, her weaponstaring back, unblinking shiny chrome.

Doherty's eyes flicked from Jeopardy, tothe older man with bleary eyes sat under the table, to the shirtless young manin slacks, and finally to the dead man on the floor in front of them. "Whatthe fuck is going on here?"

Jeopardy sighed, looking nonchalant. Herrevolver didn't waver an inch. "It looks like we've got a stalemate,Officer," she purred.

"Who the hell are you?" demandedDoherty.

"That doesn't matter now. Not really.We share the same employer, you and I. It's possible we've been working atcross-purposes for some time, and what you see here is the outcome."

"Is that Kruke?" he motioned tothe corpse.

"Yes, it was. I have my orders, justlike you."

"My orders are to capture TannerGriffen, and I just saw my partner get blown in half, so you'll pardon me if Iseem a little edgy, but where the fuck is that little punk?"

"He's right here, Officer." Shemotioned behind her to where David was shivering, blood smeared, in theshadows. Doherty squinted at the scrawny youth, it could be Griffen, if he'dcleaned up a bit and had his tattoos removed.

"No! No. I'm, I'm David Wilkinson!"cried David, obstinately. Doherty was rapidly losing patience.

"And who's that?" Dohertymotioned to Thorner, who suddenly became aware of himself again and stood up.

Thorner steeled himself and spoke. "I'ma consultant. I was hired to replace Tanner Griffen."

Doherty looked exasperated, tired. Heturned his attention back to Jeopardy. "Miss, drop your fucking weapon."

Jeopardy took a step forward and raised herrevolver. Suddenly she jerked violently forward, then lay sprawled on theconcrete floor. David had tackled her viciously from behind and was proceedingto scramble for her weapon hand. She writhed underneath him, spinning around toface him so he was on top of her, wrestling with her wrists. His face was mad,gleeful - Tanner Griffen was in motion, like some primal force that devouredchaos and spat out violence and malevolence.

"Run! Get out, all of you! NOW!"he screamed to Thorner and Doherty. Thorner needed no further convincing andsprinted past the tangle of limbs on the floor and past Doherty to thecorridor. Looking back he saw Doherty pause, then start to back out of thebunker.

On the cold concrete floor, Griffen seemedstronger than the last time they had fought, his muscles supercharged by somesense of righteous indignation. He had clamped Jeopardy's hips to the floorwith his own, entwining her legs with his, and was pulling her revolver downover her head and between the two of them.

Jeopardy was convinced he was trying toshoot her in the abdomen with her own weapon, but as he painfully wrenched herright wrist round and away from her, she realised the muzzle of the gun was nowpointed directly into his own centre of mass. The barrel pushed deep into hispale flesh, icy cold and unforgiving.

"Do it," he hissed into her face,close enough that his spittle sprayed her. "Fucking do it, bitch."

She felt his hand close tighter on her own,squeezing her trigger finger. She felt the hammer pull back, digging sharplyinto her own ribs, until it reached the point where it could only strike. Thebullet left the barrel in a spear of searing hot gas, entering Griffen's chestand tearing without resistance through his body as if his bones, muscle andflesh were an afterthought.

On the way through, the amount of traumawas more than sufficient to send an instantaneous signal to the egg-sized blackimplant located under Griffen's sternum. It dutifully detonated, and thechemical reaction that resulted tore first his body apart, then Jeopardy's,before continuing to expand with blistering speed to engulf the entire bunkerin white heat. Plastics and metals vaporised, the concrete floor buckled andshattered, and the pressure in the bunker was such that the entire structurefailed massively and every element within it attempted by all laws of physicsto get as far away from the other elements as it could.

Doherty and Thorner had kept running oncethey had vaulted up the steel ladder and out of the trapdoor behind the pulpit.They had kept running all the way down the church hall, and through the lobby.They were halfway down the concrete steps when the explosion threw them bothoff their feet, and they rolled and caromed down the remaining steps to land ina heap at the bottom. Still scrambling as the ground cracked beneath them theypropelled themselves to the other side of the street and threw themselves downon a stubbly patch of yellow grass.

Thorner turned back to the church to see itstart to collapse in on itself like damp cardboard. Noise, dust and debrisfilled the air and chunks of rebar buried themselves in the red Volvo parkedoutside. Townsfolk were still running from the structure as it folded andtwisted. Fallout from the initial blast was only now starting to rain down in athick, ashen mist.

They lay there a long time, watching therescue teams screech up to the building, fire hoses aimed over the top of theruined roof, stretchers entering and emerging, stained red. People crying andwailing, the walking wounded. It was even longer before one of them spoke.

"So what happens now, Officer?"asked Thorner, "You going to take me in?" His body throbbed, everyinch of muscle on his weary frame hurt. It was an effort to blink.

Doherty propped himself up on his elbows,shook his head and motioned to his left forearm. "According to this, we'venever met."

Thorner pulled back his left coat sleeveand nodded. He sighed deeply. They watched the chaos, observed the scurryingemergency services as they busied themselves like worker ants, collecting andrepairing human life. Smoke drifted across their view, and each time itcleared, there was less church, less evidence of Kruke and his business, hisdouble-life. They inhaled, and each time they did, particles of what used to beJeopardy and Griffen entered their lungs and made them cough.

Presently, Thorner laughed humourlessly tohimself. "'It looks like you're writing a letter'."

"What's that?" said Doherty,squinting in the afternoon sun at the older man.

"'It looks like you're writing aletter'. That's the point my father said this all started - where we are now.There used to be a piece of word processing software, and if you startedwriting a document, a little animated paperclip would pop up and offer youhelp. It would say 'It looks like you're writing a letter'."

"And was he?"

"Was he what?"

"Was he writing a letter?"

Thorner smiled. "Usually not. But hesaid that was the point when we stopped watching computers, and they startedwatching us."

"He may well have been right. I takeit you think that's a bad thing?"

"Yes, I do."

"They're just computers, Thorner. Theykeep getting more and more powerful but they're no substitute for real humaninteraction, for real feelings and emotions. My partner died today, horribly.Just terrible. I watched him take his last breath. My feelings were as real nowas they would have been a hundred years ago. There's a lot of people in thisworld who want you to believe that Ora, the Grid or whatever is omnipotent,infallible. But I can tell you it's not. It makes mistakes, things fall throughthe gaps. I thought I knew my partner, I thought I had all his data on my armpiece, but it turns out I didn't know him at all. Not at all. Sometimes you'renot writing a letter, you know?"

Thorner knew Doherty was right.

"Should I ask what happened in there?"said Doherty.

Thorner shook his head. "Sorry aboutyour partner."

"Thanks." Doherty stood up andbrushed dirt from his trousers. He reached down and helped Thorner to his feet."What are you going to do now?"

"I guess I'll go back to Tulsa. Ithink I'll call my daughter."

"You should. Maybe think about gettingyourself a profile?"

"I think it's a little bit late forme, Officer."

Doherty smiled. "Fair enough."The two men shook hands and departed in different directions. Doherty turnedaway, and in the act of no longer observing Henry Thorner, made him disappear.