Tagged: 365

Written in 365 Parts: 101: The Expansion

Before The Expansion, the vast colonisation of space when humanity threw itself confidently to the far reaches of imagination, little travel was done outside of the Sol system. Humanity had little interest in the time it would take to reach even the closest neighbour eve if the radiation could be tolerated. The issue was not one of impending doom that gave humanity the impetus to leave its solar habitat. Sol, Terra, the colonies on Mars, Europa, Ganymede, Calisto, Titan and Enceladus thrives and will do so for as long as organic life wishes to exist upon them.

Humanity started this Expansion after the accidental discovery of suspension fields which was a significant time after the ability for human consciousness to be uploaded into a construct program. The suspension fields were vital to allow organic life to thrive in a newly colonised world. Humanity could accelerate up to a percentage of the speed of light using the manipulation of gravitons. However that still left decades or more of travel between potential habitable worlds. But once the vessels arrived they would be barren of life, little organic could survive the acceleration and deceleration never mind the vast ages that the travel may take. What would be used for food. What life could be used to help populate the world, to colonise and control.

Suspension fields held life in stasis. Not all life survived without issue. The simpler the genetic construction, the more likely they would be to survive the journey. Plants, microbes, insects survived in greater numbers than anything of a higher complexity. This was fortunate as such life is needed as the building blocks of colonisation. But it was still a challenge.

The ability to upload consciousness into a program. To allow simpler genetic material to be frozen and suspended. Coupled with medical advances in cloning and tank births allowed humanity to take complex lifeforms as partial electronic algorithms with simple genetic material to the far reaches of space.

Vast colony ships were sent to every potential habitable world over a period of centuries. Humanity threw itself to the stars with the knowledge that they could conquer and populate. There was a near galaxy worth of wealth to be utilised. Light might limit communication, but distance would not limit Influence.

Written in 365 Parts: 100: No Choice But to Stop

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know. You just went along with their request to live birth a baby without questioning what they were going to do, or why they needed to do it? That’s a very trusting stance, or you just didn’t care?”

“Yes I was trusting. Maybe a part of me didn’t, originally, care.  It wasn’t quite that simple. I wanted the wealth and they were offering a lot. I was already greatly desired due to being the close match, but I don’t believe that I was the only person they could have used at that time. I wanted to make sure I was chosen and I wanted to be rewarded. That’s why I signed their contracts and did their bidding. It was selfish, but I felt I had no choice.”

“Whose bidding?”

“Yee On Kline, the Corporation. That’s who did the procedures. They are the ones who looked after me. I assume they are also the ones who originally paid me.”

“So what’s to stop them taking the money away?”

“I am not a total fool. I invested wisely and got good returns. I also had the sense to make sure the only penalty was the return of the original investment. If they try to claw their money back they can do so through the courts and it would not ruin me. It also matters so little now. It has been long enough.”

“You must have heard something? Nobody said anything?”

“I know I wasn’t the only one on the program. And I know this isn’t the only time they tried.”

“The only time they tried?”

“To recreate Marsh. This isn’t the first Marsh and I doubt it will be the last. It takes them fifty years or so to make the copy complete. I guess after those fifty years they use Marsh in some way that makes them useless.”

“Well I wouldn’t put Marsh at being fifty years old.”

“It was thirty-four years ago that I gave birth to this Marsh.”

“Good to know. Where do they get the memories from?”

“I don’t know.”

“What else do you know?”

“Is Marsh alive?”

“I want answers.”

“I need to see him.”


“He’s my child.”


“I need to see him.”

“I never said they were still alive.”

“He has to be.”

“How do you know it is fifty years?”


“How do you know it was fifty years? How do you know it makes Marsh useless?”

“Because this isn’t the first child they took from me.”


“This Marsh is the eighth child I have had for them. I have been doing this for almost four centuries. But now I have no choice but to stop. That is why I broke them out of there. I needed to speak to them, to say sorry for the other Marsh’s I brought into this universe to be used for some forsaken reason. To say something. To see the man I carried eight times.”

“This is the eighth! And it was you? You broke Marsh out?”


“Why do you have no choice but to stop?”

“I’m dying.”

Written in 365 Parts: 99: His Mother

“You’re his mother?”


“If we are talking about the same person they look roughly your age. I gather then that you have a significantly extended life?”

“Of course. As you have already discovered, I am quite wealthy. The medical procedures to keep me looking young, regenerating and yet live a healthy life are expensive but well within my portfolio.”

“And Marsh is your child? What, did you donate an egg?”

“Not quite. Do we have to cover the mechanics of what occurred?”

“You’re damned straight we do. I want to know pretty much every detail. Most of me doesn’t want to believe you.So we will see what you have to say. If there is an elaborate lie that you are trying to spin?”

“There is not. Marsh, the name they are using, is my child. I am their mother. It is a complicated situation. But I gave birth to them.”

“Sure. Well what about the fact that they think they were born over a millenia ago? How do you explain that? Then there is the people trying to kill anyone connected to them. Then there is the fact that a wealthy socialite is slumming it below city levels looking for people who could get her killed. All of that needs more explanation. You seem to have some answers. So go for it. Tell me what is going on. Tell me what you know.”

“Please tell me, are they alive?”


“Yes. Can I see them?”


“This is hardly fair.”

“I would like explanations.”

“Very well. I will tell you what I know. They were born over a millenia ago. Though not in this current organic form.”

“So, a clone?”

“Not exactly. They had organic material from his original parents. Their gametes are stored in some very secure facility. They used them to recreate as closely as possible a natural reproductive phenomena of the original Marsh. Their is genetic manipulation of the chromosomes and DNA, there has to be. There must be a pattern of the original Marsh’s physiology somewhere, and that is matched. Then the zygote is implanted into a host parent for natural birth. They like the process to be as natural as possible”


“It increases the chances of the process being as close to authentic to the original. Tanks do not a human make. There are slight, but detectable, differences between a fetus raised in a tank and one raised in the womb. That’s what they told me.”

“So you were a surrogate?”

“Yes. I am a close enough biological replication of the original mother. Enough for the purposes of the experiment.”

“Why did you agree to that?”

“I wasn’t always wealthy. This wealth is a product of being that surrogate.”

“And what is the experiment intended to produce? Why do they need a close resemblance, to the manner of gestation, of Marsh?”

Written in 365 Parts: 98: Nice Boots

Drick walked into the small room that was being used as a sort of holding cell. On closer inspection the ridiculousness of the disguise being used by the organic was even more amusing. There was a stark contrast between the clothes and boots, but they also wore expensive undergarments. Drick recognised the logo of a designer clothing manufacturer who only used natural materials. Which were hellishly expensive on this planet. There were also the tattoos that were high quality, currently declaring the person was female and a sky-citizen. 

The icons for sky-citizen scrolled lazily behind the usual preferences and availability. It was a note that the organic had property above cloud level. It was an assumption of wealth and an automatic guarantee that they could get credit anywhere. It was also a huge giveaway that they were slumming it and they hadn’t done that much in their life as they could have disguised the tattoos.

Drick smiled and laughed a little while sitting down opposite the woman. It had the desired effect of making her look concerned as the laugh did not have any mirth to it. “Nice boots,” said Drick, “how much did they cost?”

“Who are you?” the woman used a stern demanding tone.

“I asked a question.” Drick stared into the woman’s eyes until they looked away. Drick gave them a speck of admiration for the defiance but waited for them to speak.

“I cannot recall.”

“Did you purchase them or were they a gift?”

“I bought them, why do you ask?”

“If you bought them you should be able to pull up the transaction on your banking screen. How much did they cost?”

“Why are you keeping me here? What does it matter how much my boots cost?” The woman’s voice was elevated and slightly shrill.

“How much did the boots cost?” asked Drick.

“I said I don’t know. I asked to be told why I am here.”

“How much did the boots cost?”

“Oh fifty thousand credits. What does it matter?”

“Thank you.” Drick smiled. “Nice tats.”


“I said nice tattoos.”

“Why does that matter? Everyone has them. Well everyone who comes from a tank has tank identification iconographics. Mine are hardly different to your own.”

“Except in cost. So you were born into wealth as well as being wealthy now. Is it independent or are we still surviving on some family harvest?”

“What makes you think I have wealth?”

“Nice Boots. Nice Top. Nice tattoos. Street clothes that were bought to look well worn while still having the smell of being freshly created. All of that. You merely confirmed it when you told me how much the boots cost and were so uncaring about the ridiculous sum.”

“That’s not that much.”

“It’s triple what a street worker earns in a year. You spent that on boots and you don’t think it is that much? So very wealthy and have been so for all your life. What brings you down to the under city sky queen?”

“Who are you?”

“I am the person asking you questions.”

“What gives you the right to ask me questions?”

“Let me make this clear to you. If I thought I needed a right I would have expressed it. I could have drawn a weapon to threaten you with. Or have the rather bored looking bruiser in the corner punch you a few times to soften you up. Or I could just strip you of all that’s valuable and throw you onto the lowest levels with rags and a set of re-programmed idents. But I don’t need to pick any extreme method. I simply need to tell you that I am the one asking the questions. What I choose to inform you of other to that is my choice. I will not be answering your questions unless I believe it will significantly advance my own desires. Are we clear?”

“Yes. But maybe treating me with a shred of decency or compassion would get you better answers. Maybe giving me some answers might make me talk? Have you thought of those?”

“What’s your name?”




“Martha, what?”

“Martha Caprenis.”

Drick smiled and waited looking at the woman’s eyes. The woman tried the defiant glare again, and then looked away. Drick kept motionless, waiting. On an internal screen information was scrolling across as Rodero ran data to Drick continuously updated from the information that the woman provided, and other data they could prise from the grid. 

“Why are we waiting?” the woman, called Martha, eventually asked.

“Because I want your name.”

“I told you. It is Martha Caprenis.” Drick stared at her. This time she looked away even quicker. “You keep staring at me.”

“Name?” Drick kept the tone of their voice the same neutral level. It was having the desired effect.

“Martha Caprenis.” Angry.


“Martha Caprenis.” Angrier.


“Martha Caprenis.” Shouting.


“Martha Caprenis.” Shouting louder.


“Martha Caprenis.” Screeched.


“Martha Caprenis. Martha Caprenis, Martha Caprenis. Stop asking me” Almost a sob.


“Oh, stop it. My name is Candice. Candice Stamford.”

“Martha would be one of your employees. Identifies as female. Married to a person identifying as binary. Has a season ticket for the Western Reach sky elevator. Which means she likely works in the apartment you hold on the Western Reach. Not your holdings on Orbital Platform Eleven” Drick paused, and smiled.

A screen flickered into life on a wall and an image, taken twenty years before, appeared. “There you are,” said Drick looking at a group of young organics in expensive evening clothing, “at a fundraiser for the regional representative. How sweet, you mix with leaders, Miss Stamford.”

“When did you know?”

“That you were lying?”

“Yes. No. Who I was?”

“About ten minutes before I walked through that door.”

“Then why did you do this? Why ask me questions if you knew the truth?”

“Why are you looking for Drick?”

“Do you know them? I need to find them. I need to know if it’s true. If,” Candice had risen slightly from her seat.


“I need to know if he is really dead. Like the Judiciary reported. I need to know.”

“If who is dead?”

“Marsh. He uses the name Marsh. He has no idents.”

“Why do you need Drick? Surely the judiciary would know?”

“Because there are larger forces at work, I cannot believe that they would just kill him. They cannot have done that. So I need to know. I know that Drick has something to do with it. They have a long history of being clever and a trouble maker. They will know the truth.”

“You seem well informed. Then you would know that this is dangerous. You are in potential danger right now. Why risk it? What does this organic, Marsh, mean to you? Why are they so important to you?”

“It’s personal.”

“Do I really need to ask again, as it is getting tiring and I may have to try a different tactic. A less conversational approach. Why is Marsh important to you? Why would you come here yourself looking for Drick? Who is Marsh?”

“He’s my son. I am his mother.”

Written in 365 Parts: 97: What Am I Looking At?

“So what am I looking at?” Drick took the proffered holopad from Lane and fired up the display. They were sat in Drick’s van. Lane had requested an immediate meeting and Drick had complied. Asking the Union to bankroll a job while owing them a favour was treading on dangerous ground. So being ultra respondent to their summons seemed the wisest course of action.

“You tell me.” 

Drick raised an eyebrow and then shrugged and looked at the image. It was, presumably, a live feed from a room with a table and four chairs. One of the chairs was occupied by an organic. There was another stood in the corner of the room. The person at the table wore rough, loose-fitting, street clothes that looked as if they had been bought recently. They were out of keeping with the very expensive boots on their feet, and clearly sophisticated tattoo tags visible on their wrist and neck. The person in the corner of the room looked like a Union enforcer. Big, overly pumped up muscles, street clothing that looked as if it had been thrown in the trash years before. They were presenting as male and packing a gun under one arm. “Someone annoyed you?”

Lane spoke into a comm link, and on the screen Drick was watching the Union man spoke. “Look up at the camera,” they indicated towards the view.

Drick was looking at an unfamiliar face. “Who are they?”

“You don’t know them?”

“No, why? Should I?”

“They have been making enquiries about you. Well, not at first about you. They started in the market where you had your little shootout. They were mostly asking questions about what happened in that fight. They paid in untraceable credit bars and they paid well. Enough people spoke and they must have got your name from somewhere. Anyway, then they started asking at a few Union bars about you, and naturally that worked its way to my attention.”

“How long?”

“Started about an hour after you had the fight over the market. But that news got around really quick and there was no secret about who was having a fight. It was well mentioned which security forces had been stupid enough to shoot up in our territory.”

“Right. Well I don’t know them, but they are asking about me. What were they asking?”

“General details from the sounds of it. Your name, who you work for, whether you had an unusual male with you.”

“They actually said unusual male?”

“Pretty much.”

“Well that is even more interesting. I think I should probably talk to them.”

“Is that wise?”

“If I only did things that were wise I would likely never do anything at all.”

Written in 365 Parts: 96: Fill It Up

“Well I had good suspicion that they were not entirely who they thought they were. The implant was a clue as it made no sense to fit such an extensive model and then disable it. I thought it might have been used to simulate a history and make it more real. But what you are saying seems to contradict that.” Drick stared at Rodero and then sank the whole glass of vodka, “fill it up.”

The glass refileed and another appeared next to it, whisky with ice. Rodero sat down. “The memories are too real, Drick. The way that the neurons interact with each other, the map of pathways in the brain. They have to have been formed over the years and not implanted. You can’t grow this type of complexity. The only way to grow this would be to take the exact time.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you wanted to implant these experiences you’d have to grow a baby and then raise it in a constructed world. In a sensory tank. And slowly form the memories over time. Then you’d have a brain that worked like Marsh’s mind. Fast growing this, or implanting it, would leave traces of the fakery. Even with the best technology it is hard to replicate a natural protein exchange at the neurological level. You might be able to do a few, but the whole mind, it would be inconceivable.”

“But it isn’t inconceivable to keep someone in a tank and simulate their entire life.”

“It would take years, the same number of years that you needed to fake. And why would you do that?”

“I don’t know. There are a lot of things that I don’t know. If we suppose that Marsh was made this way, how would we go about finding out?”

“You’re asking me! Well I guess you’d need a specialist in genetics and pharmaceutical biology for that. They might also give you some insight as to why you would want to do such a procedure. Hell we know it would be expensive. And, you know, it sounds like a huge waste of time to do it. So I wouldn’t do it.”

“Everything that doesn’t profit you directly is usually a huge waste of time to you.”

“This is true.” Rodero laughed and took a generous drink of the simulated whisky. “Do you want me to keep digging. I think it might be helping Marsh to free up some of their memories.”

Drick drained the vodka and gently shook the glass to prod Rodero into filling it once again. “Then keep digging.”

Written in 365 Parts: 95: Who They Really Are

“You wanted to speak?” the virtual world enveloped them completely and Drick noticed the fine lattice work of a high level security mesh being woven into the external interfaces. Drick sent a few experimental queries and noted that all external access was denied inside this particular program. There were few internal links to explore. It was a fully lockdowned construct. “And I guess you wanted it to be private?”

“I did, to both,” said Rodero appearing once again as the older organic male in the crumpled suit.

“So what’s the problem, Rodero. This network is private and can only be accessed by a select few people at my explicit behest. Why do you need the extra levels of security?”

“I am a cautious person, you know that, and I am also feeling just a tiny bit spooked. As I have some information, well I think I have something, but I am not sure what it means and it is weirding me out just a little. Mostly as I have no idea what is going on or why.”

“Lots of things do that to you, Rodero, you have to admit that most of it is because you are in fact a little weird and paranoid .”

“Well thanks for that. I did a little bit of exploration around Marsh’s implants liked you asked me to.”

“I remember. I wanted to have some idea how long they have been in there. I mostly want to try and reconstruct some ideas about how long they may have been conscious and deduce some of what has been done to them.” Drick sat down on a tall chair that was placed next to a smooth white table. Without asking a cold drink appeared on the table. “I am not sure what I was hoping to find if I am honest.”

“Well I found something.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is?”

“I thought you might want to start on the drink first. It is a very strong vodka. Simulated but it will act the same.”

“What’s it mixed with?”

“More vodka, you might appreciate that.”

“What did you discover?” Drick traced a line in the condensation on the outside of the cold glass, and allowed a small smile as a rivulet of it ran down the side to pool at the base.

“I was tracing the implants interaction with glutamate and the neuron responses. It is a bit obscure but implants have to balance between an observation and replication routine if they want to simulate the exchange between pre and postsynaptic neuron exchange.”

“I hope to shit this isn’t going to be a full biology lesson.”

“It’s important. Look all implants have to do this if they want to replicate data exchange between neurons. Okay the exact mechanisms are not as important as the efficiency of the operational matrix. Basically the implant isn’t part of the brain but it has to mimic it. Especially when doing complex work. The better the implant the better the response, but more importantly the longer the implant has been embedded the more accurate the simulation. The implants become so good that they can actually replicate and replace any neuron exchange in the brain with virtually no discernable difference.”

“Go on.”

“And the longer they do it for the better they get at it. This can be measured and the efficiency matrix gives us a figure to guess at how long.”

“How exact is it?”

“Well it doesn’t display an exact figure in time, it gives a level of maturity. So if you examined my oldest implant you’d probably be able to work out that I had it implanted when I was in my late teens. It is that sort of time period.”


“Marsh has had his for pretty much all of his life.”

“All of his life? So he is either lying or has been programmed? How old is he?”

“It gets more odd than that Drick. I know this model of Implant. It is no more than thirty years since it was created in this system. Before that the Terran’s have probably had it for military use for maybe a century at most. The technology it uses is less than two centuries old. I think Marsh is the age they say they are, though I cannot be sure.”

“So there is no way that Marsh was born centuries ago.”

“This is where it gets weirder. I have examined all of his synaptic channels regarding what memories they have. They are complete and accurate. I am pretty sure that they happened at the ages of their life they remember. He has a memory of running in a countryside twenty years ago, when a child. That memory is there and it is about twenty years old.”

“So they faked that?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if you can fake that. Maybe. But building a construct like that and getting an organic brain to replicate it, act like it, that’s seriously difficult.”

“I need more information. You need to get me more information.”

“I know. Look there are a few people who might be able to help more, but your best bet is to find someone who knows what they did to Marsh and who they really are.”

Written in 365 Parts: 94: The Night

 On the high desert the suns set quickly. They lit the sky first with a bright yellow as they dipped towards the horizon. This colour faded as the first glowing orb sank below the horizon leaving a cool ice blue wash from the smaller brighter heavenly body. But soon the land was wreathed in the shroud of night. As the sky shot to black the temperature plummeted and the winds strengthened. 

The moons were visible in the sky, as they were on most evenings. The regular shapes of floating platforms in low orbit could be seen on the horizon, but no platforms lay in orbit above this plateau. There were satellites in stationary orbit for geolocation, communications and surveying, but these were tiny and not visible to the unenhanced eye.

It was cold. Without protection it would take less than an hour for an organic to die on the plateau. In the dome the figure turned up the heating on their internal suit and made sure the doorway was fully sealed. They had a small electrical heater but it had not fully charged from the solar panels on the dome and there were more essential systems for the limited power in the cells.

The figure powered up the orbital communications system and set it to a steady pulse. The device had the capability to broadcast on a broad spectrum but the figure had set it to a very specific frequency. They checked that there was enough power to last the device until dawn, there was. They took a moment to eat and drink from a small survival kit before pulling a small, compact, bedroll from the kit. They carefully got into the bedding and sealed it onto the suit.

It would be a long, cold, night. According to the schedule they were given the contact would arrive anytime in the next three days so this may be a boring wait. But the figure was used to waiting and they could use the sleep.

Written in 365 Parts: 93: The Desert

The desert, which was also a plateau, stretched for hundreds of kilometres in every direction from the transport hub. This was the reason the hub was located in that place, it was almost an equal distance from every small colony on this desolate northern continent. There was little life between the colonies and few who lived out there. Though in truth there was plenty of life and it wasn’t really a desert.

A desert is an arid place that is lacking in life or the means to support life. The plateau was literally covered with life. However most of it was microscopic bacteria, and most of the rest a type of lichen that gave the ground its yellow-green appearance. There was a lot of water in this land, trapped in the rocks, though the rainfall was lighter than the city, and was not engineered.

The sky above the desert was a near white that scattered the brilliance of the suns making it harsh to see without filters. The high level of sulphur in the atmosphere at this level was the cause of the white light that was in stark contrast to the icy blues above the southern lands. Here the atmosphere wasn’t so clean as the regeneration plants were few and far between. It would be decades, maybe even centuries, before the atmosphere at this height, and location, was suitable for long exposure without filtration.

Out here there were few large structures, plants or landscape to hide a figure. You could view for miles using just optical scanners. The land was flat with little differences in height to hide. The ground had been contoured into smooth undulations with no deep valleys of large rocks by years of erosion. 

The figure on the scooter was visible for almost a hundred kilometres with even modest visual enhancement. A detection drone would be able to view for a thousand kilometres in every direction. It was a good place for a meeting that you did not wish to be closely observed. If anyone tried to watch you would spot them a long way distant. It was likely why it had been selected.

The scooter came to a halt in a small hollow and the figure dismounted. After quickly scanning the horizon with a handheld monitor it unpacked the small cases from the side of the scooter. A few moments of disassembling and the scooter was packed away. A few minutes more and a small survival dome had been erected and anchored into position. Almost immediately the synthetic skin of the dome discoloured and began to resemble the ground it was sat upon. Within a few minutes it was invisible unless you were very close.

The figure set up a small device on the roof of the dome, a small rotating scanner. It checked that it was functional and then set it to be the same colour as the dome, rendering it almost invisible. The figure went inside the dome and sealed it up. They had taken the second pack inside with them.

Written in 365 Parts: 92: The Road to Nowhere

Hooper had brought the hover vehicle to a slow descent making sure that only the minimal number of sensors were used to land the craft. The computer seemed to be sulking ever since they had tuned down the systems. The craft had a full autonomous mode with a military grade artificial intellect as a host system. It could easily fly itself and engage in some battlefield maneuvers. However as part of that it tended to consider the craft as one might consider a body. Right now it probably considered that Hooper had taped its eyebrows to its scrotum and asked it to do the macarena.

Hooper had been following the faint trace of the stealth suit via satellite for close to fourteen hours. The quarry was uber cautious, as was Hooper.

After leaving the mortuary facility the quarry had driven a mad trail across several levels, sectors, and cross routes of the city. Looping around and back upon themselves in a seemingly random pattern that would allow them to monitor vehicles. they were checking for pursuit and evading auto-detection algorithms of traffic cameras. Hooper had watched in bored fascination. They were good. They had changed vehicles twelve times. They had used an intelligent random generator that still allowed them to monitor their own route. They also had some significant support from an upper city gang. No doubt paid for their services but worth noting for future observation.

Hooper had taken the time to nap, using a sleep inducer with a close monitor tied to the vehicle artificial intellect to wake them if anything interesting development occurred. They had also made sure to stop and eat, using a good diner on one of the lower levels that also had showers. The shower was a sonic affair, no water and very little in the way of comfort. But it worked. They didn’t smell like they had slept in a van which was the desired outcome.

The quarry had eventually determined they were not being followed. That is when they had driven to a despatch centre near the main commercial port. There they had driven the last of the vehicles into a shipping container. After a few moments a small knot of gangers had moved in and sealed up the container placing shipping bills upon it. Hooper had used a local scope while parked over a mile distant to watch them.

The gang left and forty minutes later the container was loaded onto a magnetic train for shipment. Hooper had let the train leave, the destination was easily determined. The train was headed for the mining centre almost on the other side of the world, and far to the north of the city. It was on a desolate plain at over four thousand metres altitude. Few went their except to make money in the mines.

Hooper had made sure to get well ahead of the train and into an extremely high orbit. The craft Hooper was using was fitted with stealth observation drones. These had been deployed and they monitored the train arriving and the container being unloaded and stacked with thousands of similar containers.

This facility was completely automatic. Dependent on the shipment designation, and who had paid for its storage, the container could easily sit there until the wind turned it into particles of dust. It was a great place to hide. After a short wait of thirty minutes, a figure left the container from the side door, and made sure to seal the door again with a mini-welding torch. 

Hooper did not have a tracker on this figure, but that wasn’t too much of an issue, not yet. Hooper watched as the figure fastened up an environment suit, then they unpacked a small hover scooter and headed out into the desert.