No Spoken Words

- and with that said, he turns away and walks into the darkened alley.
The metal tube hangs heavy in his pocket, and bounces off his thigh with
each step.
   The journey through the city takes a long time, since he cannot use
the subways or well-travelled streets. Security will be watching for
what he carries with scanner-gates and foot patrols - but Security is
over-stretched, and there are many back ways that simply do not merit
full-time surveillance.  His route is safe enough from them, but he
still starts once as a discarded newspaper is blown in front of him.
   He skirts the well-lit and busy city centre at one point, and pauses
to regard the bright lights and oblivious people at the other end of a
side-street.  Then he turns and walks on, so that he can finish the job.
   The tube is handed over at the side door of an anonymous factory unit
in exchange for an envelope with used banknotes.  He knows the sharp-
faced woman who accepts it, but does not like her; their communication
is limited to the transfer of goods and a nod.
   Dawn breaks as he trudges back towards the city centre.  He passes
though a scanner-gate near Security HQ rather than risk the attention of
a foot patrol; humans are harder to get around than machines.  The
crowds have already gone home and it is quiet.  In a way, he has the
world to himself - if only he wanted it so, this would be a good thing.
Still, he has money and there is a cafe open nearby; breakfast is in
order.
   Inside the steamy eating area, bacon and sausages are frying for a
few dozen working breakfasts.  He looks up at the menu mounted above the
counter.  Making a choice, he leans toward the cook and opens his mouth
to speak -


Timothy E. Morgan
tem@energid.demon.co.uk

The Sunburst Project, Week 8
http://www.chaoseed.com/btr/sbp/
5/13/00