Read Online There's Only One Quantum by William Bryan Smith - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: William Bryan Smith
Ads: Link
recognize him.
“The replicant,” he said. “The one that intercepted the message.”
“Oh, right,” she said. Her features softened then. “Steele. Quantum...”
“Who else? The caller made it seem as though there were more competitors than just Steele.”
“Maybe Devereaux, Tokei, Oxford, Atlas...it could be anyone. When you’re Quantum, the entire world is your competitor, whether it’s the box stores that anchor the strip mall or the mom and pop grocer on the corner.”
At that moment, Coe’s hand-held communicator buzzed. He removed it from his coat pocket. INCOMING: MITCHELL, it read. Coe answered it.
Mitchell’s image appeared. He looked disheveled. Purplish flesh ringed his eyes. “Revis is dead,” he said. “Suicide. He was found hanging from a tree in Druid Hill Park.”
Coe looked toward Ms. Hunter who covered her mouth with her hand. It was too convenient. He missed the message tonight. Revis had been a double agent for Steele and whoever Coe was supposed to meet. He’d missed that message, but this one was clear.
“What does this mean?” Coe asked Mitchell, anyway.
“I think we both know what it means,” he said.
The screen went black.
It was then that he noticed Ms. Hunter was weeping.
Athletes, and weekend warriors alike, push themselves toward higher levels of performance. We all strive to achieve our personal best. At Fly-Tech Athletic Footwear, it’s not just about being the number one maker of athletic performance shoes worldwide—which we have been for the last four years—but it’s also about striving for the best, creating value for the business and innovating for a better world. As environmental, social and economic challenges in our world proliferate, we’ve made a promise to ourselves and to you, the consumer, that what you wear on your feet will not be born of suffering. That’s why we have backed the Zero Sweatshop Initiative proposed by Senator Orion (R)...
Coe rode the train with her to her apt. She didn’t speak. She just stared out the window as she had at the cafe, watching the rain bead the glass, the lights of the city—of the snarled traffic—streak by. The interior of the train was dark, except for the eerie green-blue glow of digital readers. A man in the seat in front of him was reading the evening edition of The Intelligencier . The headline read: Body Found In Druid Hill Park. It was accompanied by a photograph of a modestly handsome man with dark wavy hair and a square chin. He wore small square eyeglasses. Under the photo was the caption: Collin Revis.
They got off in Blueberry Common. It was a quiet working class neighborhood. There was a dentist’s office on the first floor of her building. She lived on the third floor. He rode the elevator up with her.
“Thank you,” she said, “for accompanying me home.”
Coe said, “You don’t have to thank me.”
The elevator opened onto a dark hallway lit only by a small, solitary lamp with an amber shade. They stopped at a door marked 310.
“I’d invite you in, but—”
“I need to get home anyway,” he said.
“Of course.”
“Good night,” he said, and turned to go.
“I suppose you think it was a queer response,” she said.
Coe stopped.
“My getting emotional,” she said, “at hearing about Mr. Revis.”
Coe shrugged. “I assumed it was a normal reaction to hearing that someone you had worked closely with—an auditor whose reports you had transcribed—had passed away.”
She smiled, but her eyes were wet. “That’s exactly it.”
“You’re human,” he said.
“Good night, Mr. Coe.”
Coe managed a smile. “Good night, Ms. Hunter.”
He waited as she unlocked her door and entered. When he heard the door lock from the inside, he strode back to the elevator.
“We’re having a dust storm,” Janeiro said. Her hair was wet. It lay flat against her head. “The entire planet is covered.”
There was the usual delay between messages—their
“The replicant,” he said. “The one that intercepted the message.”
“Oh, right,” she said. Her features softened then. “Steele. Quantum...”
“Who else? The caller made it seem as though there were more competitors than just Steele.”
“Maybe Devereaux, Tokei, Oxford, Atlas...it could be anyone. When you’re Quantum, the entire world is your competitor, whether it’s the box stores that anchor the strip mall or the mom and pop grocer on the corner.”
At that moment, Coe’s hand-held communicator buzzed. He removed it from his coat pocket. INCOMING: MITCHELL, it read. Coe answered it.
Mitchell’s image appeared. He looked disheveled. Purplish flesh ringed his eyes. “Revis is dead,” he said. “Suicide. He was found hanging from a tree in Druid Hill Park.”
Coe looked toward Ms. Hunter who covered her mouth with her hand. It was too convenient. He missed the message tonight. Revis had been a double agent for Steele and whoever Coe was supposed to meet. He’d missed that message, but this one was clear.
“What does this mean?” Coe asked Mitchell, anyway.
“I think we both know what it means,” he said.
The screen went black.
It was then that he noticed Ms. Hunter was weeping.
Athletes, and weekend warriors alike, push themselves toward higher levels of performance. We all strive to achieve our personal best. At Fly-Tech Athletic Footwear, it’s not just about being the number one maker of athletic performance shoes worldwide—which we have been for the last four years—but it’s also about striving for the best, creating value for the business and innovating for a better world. As environmental, social and economic challenges in our world proliferate, we’ve made a promise to ourselves and to you, the consumer, that what you wear on your feet will not be born of suffering. That’s why we have backed the Zero Sweatshop Initiative proposed by Senator Orion (R)...
Coe rode the train with her to her apt. She didn’t speak. She just stared out the window as she had at the cafe, watching the rain bead the glass, the lights of the city—of the snarled traffic—streak by. The interior of the train was dark, except for the eerie green-blue glow of digital readers. A man in the seat in front of him was reading the evening edition of The Intelligencier . The headline read: Body Found In Druid Hill Park. It was accompanied by a photograph of a modestly handsome man with dark wavy hair and a square chin. He wore small square eyeglasses. Under the photo was the caption: Collin Revis.
They got off in Blueberry Common. It was a quiet working class neighborhood. There was a dentist’s office on the first floor of her building. She lived on the third floor. He rode the elevator up with her.
“Thank you,” she said, “for accompanying me home.”
Coe said, “You don’t have to thank me.”
The elevator opened onto a dark hallway lit only by a small, solitary lamp with an amber shade. They stopped at a door marked 310.
“I’d invite you in, but—”
“I need to get home anyway,” he said.
“Of course.”
“Good night,” he said, and turned to go.
“I suppose you think it was a queer response,” she said.
Coe stopped.
“My getting emotional,” she said, “at hearing about Mr. Revis.”
Coe shrugged. “I assumed it was a normal reaction to hearing that someone you had worked closely with—an auditor whose reports you had transcribed—had passed away.”
She smiled, but her eyes were wet. “That’s exactly it.”
“You’re human,” he said.
“Good night, Mr. Coe.”
Coe managed a smile. “Good night, Ms. Hunter.”
He waited as she unlocked her door and entered. When he heard the door lock from the inside, he strode back to the elevator.
“We’re having a dust storm,” Janeiro said. Her hair was wet. It lay flat against her head. “The entire planet is covered.”
There was the usual delay between messages—their
Similar Books
