Hellen flickered as she processed the information, and asked “Shall I process this data?” The A.I’s way of asking if I wanted it to learn morse code.

I shook my head to the negative “not unless you want to.”

Hellen flickered again processing, the A.I had a hard time with the idea of wants. After several seconds she finally replied “I have over five terabytes of unused storage. I will process this data.
I nodded “Ok then.”

I took care of some other business, and made my way across town to our meeting place.

The drive took me about an hour to get from my office in old town to the business center, and like in any city that has grown for a few decades there was a transition. As I left old town, and entered the new town the buildings changed into stone worked flattops. For lack of a better term downtown was the commercial district. It was where one went to find a professional anything, architect, lawyer, accountant etc. The stonework buildings ranged from five to seven stories and ranged from tan to brown as primary colors with lots of natural blues, purples, and greens making up the accents. These stonework flattops were topped with communication antennas, and rookeries for lesser leviathans. Large multi acre swaths provided more green works, and parks for all to enjoy.

The business center came into view next. Skyscrapers dotted the landscape, not the super skyscrapers of the Capitol that were over a mile tall; the tallest one here was fifty stories, but beautiful glass structures and more than just buildings. They were ecosystems, special capacitors collected waste heat from the building, natural sunlight was filtered in through windows, and where the sun couldn’t touch was light by incredibly energy efficient lights, fruiting plants grew inside, and out to freshen the air, give the people within a healthy snack, and collect even more waste heat, and were watered with the gray water. The building tops housed antennas, and rookeries for flying fauna.

The Garden cafe was a beautiful open air restaurant that resembled a very old school moorish tiled garden. Something resembling palm trees swayed in the wind as cliff hoppers, small bird-like carrion eaters took advantage of leftover food, and a low sitting fountain. In a corner table sat Mercer reading a tablet. As I approached, he put the tablet down, and greeted me “How ya doin buddy?” He extended his cybernetic hand, a black, and white number made of carbon polymers, titanium, and some ceramic parts.

I took it, and complimented him “quite the professional arm, you got there. Much better than that clunky, oversized one you had last time I saw you. You must be doing good!” I tested my grip on it, and he won, and I took a seat and asked “How can I help you?”

He smiled a bright white toothy smile; the guy stood at just slightly over two meters, and was just as capable as I was in a fight, but he was way smarter than I was, and I often wondered why he never took his exams, and became an officer. This was the guy that if you gave him the contents of the enemies garbage can, a naught magazine found in their latrine, and the newspaper found on a sergeant's desk, he could tell you what they were planning, and when they were most likely going to strike next. All while reading his favorite novel.

“Oh, I just wanted to catch up, is all.” I knew this guy well enough to know that this was mostly true. It had been a while since we had lunch together, and it was good to see old friends. But I also knew he had pressing business.

I didn’t say a thing.