“Foken donnerse kak.” Kel’s voice came through on Lee’s headset.
“Hey! Swear in a language everyone can appreciate, cunt.” Lee’s study was that of an average suburban household in Perth, Australia. It was night outside since Kel’s location was what would have been England—were he not worlds away.
The hours were odd, but it was a solid gig. Arrayed before Lee was one massive curved monitor with some smaller screens appended on the periphery for specific tasks. Jon’s bio feed and sense feed was on one of them. They would flatline once he entered the bunker, requiring direct activation his side to connect via RF. Everyone needed their privacy, after all.
This PC was naturally no ordinary computer—not a fucken Mac either. Power and data were connected up- and downstream tapping directly into the multiverse-wide grid and the Multi-World Web. It would never go down, and there was no testable upper limit on bandwidth.
“I have a mother-fucking patron, don’t I?” asked Kel.
“You know, most Divers would kill to get a patron.” Lee saw Jon’s bunker ping move to his quarters where his terminal was. Sight was one of the few things they could not do on Low Tech. The lenses in Jon’s eyes depended on rifts to divert the light and manipulate the image.
Full AR miniaturization on that scale was a ways away on Gamma 37-72. Not that Kel necessarily wanted it anyway. No function meant no spying and guaranteed privacy, a luxury the 21st and onwards all valued quite highly.
Kel replied, “most Divers do kill for patrons, that’s like half the job: pretending to be an action hero or some shit.”
Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.
Jon was not that kind of Diver, and Lee would never have stayed with him as long as he had otherwise. Kel was a special kind of crazy that you held onto when you found it.
“Do we have any information on who?” the Diver asked.
“It can’t be the usual; otherwise we’d have had opportunity to reject. I got no notices from HQ. Incoming cash was the only tip-off.”
“No formal contract then? Requests for privileges and the like?”
“Nah, Kel. Your feed has been pretty tight. Local Gamma HQ only got need-to-know stuff and data was drip-fed top-down instead of bottom-up. Whoever’s got their hand on the hose, it’s gotta be High Beta or maybe even Alpha.”
“Balls.”
A notification popped up on one of the screens: Personnel and Logistics. “Wait, I got something! Your Sawbones request has gone through. Damn, this ETA is way too fast! An expedited Dive for sure.”
“Those trans-human pricks hitched a ride down on my specialist request! What do I always say about good deeds; what do I fucking say, Lee?”
“I don’t think it applies this way round, Kel. Unless you’re doing the punishing.”
“You’re damn straight, I am. Ain’t nobody gives me free money without my say so!”
Lee continued reading, “Bra, this applicant is pretty well trained! No mug tho. Medical degrees up the wazoo: specializations in virology and genomics, minors in theoretical and applied physics, and paramedic training to boot. It’s like she’s tailor-made for us.”
Everyone had heard the rumours; no one wanted to believe them. That’s when the doorbell rang.
Lee’s voice wavered a bit.“Kel, someone’s at the door.”
“Please tell me the ETA doesn’t match. Pretty, pretty, please.”
“If you’re willing to risk Dive Shock, coz you’re a savant Alpha doctor, it does.”
“Ah, fok!”