It Looks Like You're Writing a Letter
Chapter 3

Thorner's first stop after leaving themurky sandstone building that housed his office was the bar down the street.Thorner enjoyed a drink, but didn't consider that he had a problem - it wasother people who had a problem with it.

Back when Martha was alive, he'd rarelyfelt the need to drink but these days more often than not he found himself witha glass in hand. Aside from the welcome numbing effects, it was a good excuseto leave the house and be around people in one of the few physical socialenvironments that still existed.

It seemed that Ora had managed to digitise,analyse and emulate everything from war, to sex, to drugs. But they hadn'tmanaged to bottle the essence of hanging out in a flea-bitten dive, listeningto an old digital jukebox play the same ten songs over and over again, whileavoiding the approaches of desperate good-time girls. Perhaps the only realchange to the landscape was a widening of the class gap. Drinkingestablishments were either exclusive, members-only clubs for high rankingofficials and people high up the corporate ladder, or they were run-down ratholes populated with the dregs of society. Thorner was rarely allowed in theformer.

From a business point of view he oftenlearned a lot more through drunkenly conversing with barflies, street hoodlums,drug dealers and pimps than hobnobbing with CEOs.

It was called Bobby's Place, although whoBobby is or was had long since been forgotten. Thorner didn't think Bobby wouldbe too pleased with the state of the place if he ever came back. Pushing openthe sticky door, Thorner was hit with a miasma of synthetic smoke, stale beer,body odour and desperation. Ramshackle, vandalised chairs and tables werelittered about, but somehow most of the pink neon strip lighting still worked,giving the joint a sickly vibe.

It wasn't busy, so he made his way to thebar and sat on a high stool. Chiv the barman approached, wiping a lipstickedrim with a cloth that was definitely dirtier than the glass.

"Thorner. Good to see you man, what'sthe news?" Chiv was some kind of South American mongrel. One eye missingand stitched rudely shut, he had been a prizefighter in his prime until anerrant thumb ruined both his fighting career and his depth perception.

"Hi Chiv, let me have a beer wouldyou. Cold would be good."

Chiv laughed heartily. "Hey man, youknow my fridges are just for show!"

Thorner smiled thinly. "Warm is justfine."

The bottle was deftly opened and set infront of Thorner. Chiv may have been a hardened criminal but he took hisbartending duties seriously. Thorner nodded his thanks and handed the barkeeperhard currency. Chiv looked disgusted but took it anyway.

"Got a new job today," saidThorner, grimacing as he swigged the acrid liquid.

"No shit? Hey, good pay? Good jobyeah?"

"Pay is shitty, like all jobs. Couldbe interesting though."

"Who's missing this time? A hot littlechica? You want some help huh?" Chiv roared again, always replaceing himself amusing.Thorner smiled - Chiv was much better to have on your side than against you.

"Chiv, you hear about that OraCorpdata centre that got rolled over yesterday down in Wichita?"

Chiv grunted. "Fuck OraCorp. Whoeverstole their shit, I hope they sell it for big bucks."

Thorner decided not to point out the irony.Chiv, like everyone else in the bar, had their arm piece on, which regularlychimed or beeped. Chiv was as reliant on the data stream as anyone else. Evenas they were talking he reflexively glanced at it numerous times. It was like anervous tic, and nobody even knew they were doing it anymore.

"Did you hear anything about it?"

"Eeeeshhh... I heard that Griffen waslined up for it."

"Yeah, I had that already - who hiredhim?"

"Search me, man - somebody with lotsof dough. Word was he was tooled up big style for the job, you know what Imean?"

"Weapons?"

"Nah man, like a top secretexperimental scrambler supposed to give you like two full hours of grey-out. Aman can get a lot done in two hours!" Chiv made a gesture that wassupposed to represent some kind of sex act and guffawed again.

"Who makes that kind of gear? Wherewould you get it?"

"Uhh shit, I don't know man. Maybe youshould speak to the Reverend down on Eighth Street? He knows more about top-endtech than most, and I know he knows Griffen."

The Reverend actually was a Reverend.Thorner had come across him a few years ago in a missing boy case. He still ranone of the few remaining churches down by the docks. Thorner drained his beerand just about managed not to gag.

"Thanks Chiv, you've been veryhelpful."

"Hey, give that naughty little chica agood spanking from me, huh!" Chiv handily mimed the motion. Thornercringed.

"I'll do that Chiv. I've got to go.See you soon."

Thorner left Bobby's and hailed a passingcab. It slithered up to the curb like liquid mercury and silently opened itsdoor. He climbed inside to be faced with the usual message, NO IDENT DETECTED.He punched the manual override button and told the cab to take him to EighthStreet. The cab was going to be disappointed when he tried to pay with a paperbill.

He pulled up outside the Church of Our Lordthe Provider. The computer driver complained bitterly about the physicalcurrency Thorner stuffed into the little-used money slot next to the monitor.It was still legal tender, for now. Thorner surveyed the building.

At night, you could just make out that thebuilding used to be magnificent. The spire was now a dull rusty brown and theedifice had few angles left due to vandalism, neglect and erosion. It stillstood out on a street consisting mainly of gaudy shop fronts and personalisedholographic billboards enticing passersby to spend credits from their armpieces.

The lights were on, so Thorner climbed thesteps and went inside. Walking through the lobby he stopped to pick up aleaflet about night classes in programming. He had no interest himself, but forthe past thirty years everyone had been encouraged to learn how to code. Avariety of social programmes had sprung up, funded and controlled by OraCorp,to ensure a steady supply of tech-savvy workers from one generation to thenext. The general gist of this particular course was that it didn't matter howold or poor you were, there were subsidised PayCubes available in this verybuilding where you could take streaming classes taught by computers. It allseemed quite perverse to Thorner - computers building humans.

He entered the brightly lit, but completelyempty nave. The Reverend kept it spotlessly clean, contrasting sharply with thedilapidated exterior. Quiet organ music played from concealed speakers.

The old pews were no more, now replacedwith minimalist PayCubes. Thorner estimated there were around sixtyworkstations. His lack of interest in these machines sometimes surprised evenhim. On occasion he might stand and use one on the street to place an emergencyvideo call to a client if they insisted, but beyond that he had no use forthem. He walked slowly between the two blocks of workstations, his shoessounding loud and incongruous on the concrete floor. The building smelled offurniture polish and cheap scented candles.

The Reverend emerged from a side door. "CanI help you?"

Thorner started towards him, handoutstretched. "Henry Thorner, you may remember we met a few years ago?"

The Reverend's face warmed withrecognition. "Ah yes, Mr Thorner. Did you replace poor Daryl?"

"Yes sir I did."

"And was he...?"

"Yes. Unfortunately he was dead by thetime I got to him."

"Such a shame, that sweet child."

"I agree Reverend, I've lost a lot ofsleep over that case."

They paused, as if in brief mourning. TheReverend motioned for Thorner to sit on a padded bench near the front of thebanks of PayCubes. Thorner stretched his legs and loosened the buttons on hislong brown coat.

"So Reverend, how's the religionbusiness?"

The Reverend chuckled bitterly and pulledat his long silver beard. Thorner wasn't sure how old he was, but it couldn'tbe a day under seventy. He looked like a man with the weight of the worldbearing down upon him. "Not great, Mr Thorner. Not great."

"Call me Henry, please."

The Reverend nodded gratefully. "How'sthe replaceing people business? You still doing that?"

"Yeah, it's slow. People are gettingharder to lose."

"Physically perhaps," said theReverend, wryly. "Most of them are already lost, they just don't know it."

Thorner smiled. "Do you see anyonecoming back anytime soon? To church I mean - real church, with sermons andpreaching and hymns and all that good stuff we both remember?"

The Reverend looked impossibly sad. It wasa moment before he spoke again. "Henry, we both know religion is dead inthis country. Ten years ago, some people still came in on a Sunday and may evenhave said grace before meals, but not any more. I suppose people just got newhabits, like going to a sports game on Saturday or reciting those damnbrainless Grid memes round the water cooler at work. To my mind, everything hasjust..." He trailed off for a second, before recollecting himself: "Somehow,gradually so that nobody would notice, everything just got less... meaningful,I suppose. People stopped thinking about things, like they didn't need toanymore and even if they wanted to they didn't replace the time. It's hard for Godto fit in when there's no gap to accommodate Him."

"Are you talking about faith,Reverend?" asked Thorner.

The old man shrugged. "Perhaps, yes.The personal faith that people used to have - that space just doesn't existanymore. There's no need for grass because there are too many buildings andnowhere to grow it."

"But surely religion always meant morethan personal faith? I mean, faith is like a moral code, or your position onmatters of ethics, peculiar to yourself, right? How do you know men and womenof faith don't still exist out there, but they're just not attracted to thetrappings of organised service?"

"Let me ask you a question Henry - howmany good people do you see out there?" he gestured to the doorway. "Imean truly good, selfless people who operate out of some kind of communityspirit? People who want to improve their world, who truly respect the giftsgiven to them by God, or nature, or evolution or whatever you want to call it?"

Thorner had to stop and think. He recalledhis brief three-way conversation between himself, Chiv and Chiv's arm piece.Chiv had killed men - more than once - for insulting his sister. He waspleasant to Thorner, sure, but then, he had no reason not to be. Chiv sharedthe gossip he knew about the Wichita heist, but not out of any sense ofjustice. He genuinely did not care if Tanner Griffen was alive or dead. DidThorner himself care? This thought made him shiver. He wrapped his coat aroundhimself and avoided the Reverend's question.

"But Reverend, if you're so cynicalwhy do you still run this place? Why do you wear that collar?"

The Reverend sighed and leant back on thebench, stretching his hunched back. "Ah Henry. The question I ask myselfevery day. We do good work here still. We still provide that sense ofcommunity, where we can. We educate people who come in off the streets, makethem computer-savvy, give them prospects. Sure, none of them are likely tobecome OraCorp star programmers, but just that little we can give them makesthem a step above the average street bum - they can replace work."

"So you think getting them on the Gridis helping them?"

The old man cackled. "Ha! I knew itwhen I saw the cut of your coat - you've still not got yourself an arm piece!Well come on, you tell me - does being off the Grid help you?"

Thorner shook his head. "No Reverend,life is a struggle every day. Every day it gets harder to live the way I do. I'ma social pariah and can't function in society much longer."

"Exactly! But I assume you have asource of income that somehow you maintain - I'm guessing through yourreal-world connections? The people who know the people you know and all that?If you're not on the Grid, your contact list will be about 20 people, onaverage. Probably less if you're at the bottom rung of the ladder like my poorunfortunates. People cannot live in that bubble - they can't replace work, theycan't replace relationships. They curl up and they die, Henry. If my church doesnothing else, it prevents that - that social atrophy."

Thorner nodded slowly. The Reverend was ofcourse correct. Thorner's life worked as much as it did due to his network ofpre-Grid contacts from the police force, justice system, previous clients and atown's worth of miscreants, gangsters, junkies and other detritus. Fordifferent reasons, all these contacts would eventually die and his connections wouldbe severed. He had very few opportunities to replenish his network these days.Depressingly, the best he could hope for would that he would die before hisnetwork dwindled to nothing.

"A lot on your mind, chum?"chided the Reverend with a glint in his old blue eyes.

Thorner had clearly been silent for longerthan he realised. He forced a smile. "I don't understand this new world,Reverend."

"It's not new, Henry. It's always beenthis way, and you know it. It just creeps up on you by degrees. People arehappy. Not too long ago, people had an omnipotent being to look up to andtrust. Now they have the Grid, an omnipotent entity they carry around with themon their arm - with instant answers. God is a hard sell compared to Ora."He shrugged again and smiled wanly. "Anyway, you didn't come to see me tochat theology, I'm quite sure. What can I do for you?"

"Reverend, have you heard of a guynamed Tanner Griffen?"

"Sure, I've had dealings with Griffenin the past."

"Dealings? In what way?"

"Oh, he used to come in here, hack thePayCubes so they'd play porn on a loop none of us could switch off, or create abotnet out of all the machines to mine credits. Usual dumb kid hacker stuff butnothing too malicious."

"When did you last see him?"Thorner pulled a leather bound notebook and pencil out of his pocket andstarted jotting down notes. Even the Reverend raised his eyebrows at theanachronism.

"Eh... probably a couple of monthsback. He wanted a contact for a group out in Oregon, wouldn't tell me why."

"Group? What kind of group?"

"My church isn't the only one of itskind. Pretty much all of the church buildings still standing have beenrepurposed in this way - community PayCube clusters providing free Grid accessto the disadvantaged. I have a colleague out there running a similar operation."

"Did Griffen tell you why he wantedthe contact details of the Oregon group?"

"I'm afraid he didn't, but I gave himthe ident of the leader over there and he left happy enough. Not that the boyever had a smile on his face."

"Could you share that ident with me?"

"Of course, pass me your pencil - I'mpretty sure I can remember how to use one of these."

The Reverend scrawled a series of lettersand numbers on a blank page of Thorner's notebook. He squinted at his handiworkat arm's length, like an artist admiring a sketch. "Huh, not bad!"

Thorner checked it was legible. "Thankyou, Reverend, you've been a great help."

"Anything else I can do for you Henry?Sure I can't tempt you with some Grid-time?"

Thorner smiled. "No thank youReverend. It's funny, when I was a young man I couldn't be tempted into achurch, and now I'm an old man the situation is the same, but the reasons aredifferent."

"At least the Grid can't send you tohell and damnation!" The Reverend's tone was genuinely warm and cheery.

"Are you sure about that, Reverend?"asked Thorner, pointedly. "Take care Reverend, we'll speak again soon."

Thorner stood up, buttoned his coat againstthe brisk November air and left the church and its banks of twitching monitorscreens.

Back at his office building, Thornerstopped at the public PayCube on the street corner. Heavily vandalised butstill operable due to the bulletproof construction methods required of publicfacilities, the cracked screen winked at him. IDENT REQUIRED, then in tiny textat the bottom of the screen "or insert credits below". Thorner fisheda few credit coins out of his trouser pocket and inserted one.

Punching in an ident from memory, he leantagainst the cubicle wall and waited for the connection. Presently a young woman'sface filled the screen, unkempt and cross.

"What?"

"Linda, I need a quick favour."

"It's 12am and I have a big meeting inthe morning, why can you never call at a reasonable time of day?" Shebrushed blonde hair out of her eyes.

"If I give you an ident can you get mea name and contact information?"

"For pity's sake dad, when are yougoing to stop playing private detective, get an ident and get on the Grid? Youjust type that in and the data comes back - you're not making a deal with thedevil." She was genuinely angry. Thorner felt his stomach drop. She was 24and not his little girl anymore. But she was sensible and reliable, not someonehe felt the need to worry about. She was one part of his network that he wantedto keep connected more than anything, but since her mother died and she hadlanded a good job out of town, they had grown distant.

"Linda, I'm sorry to wake you, I losttrack of time. It's important, I've got a case."

Linda silently disappeared from view andreappeared with her arm piece, disconnected from her body but still powered upand operational. "OK, what's the ident?"

"Krukew76354."

Linda read from the screen in anexasperated tone. "William Kruke. 45. Caucasian. Retired Colonel in theSecurity Armed Forces, honourable discharge. Located currently at the Church ofthe Divine in Fort Smith, Oregon. No kids, likes blues music, allergic topeanuts - stop me anytime?"

"That's enough, thank you Linda. Ireally appreciate it."

"Can I go now?"

"Sure. Goodnight."

Linda disappeared and the screen went dark.The cold November wind whipped his wet coat collars into his cheeks. After amoment, he walked up the steps to his building and went back up to his office.