But it had been quite different then. Back then she could see the rotted plums littering the pathway and kick them aside. Back then she could quickly look down and step over the cracks in the pavement. Back then she could peer up to the highest window of Edgar House and try to see the silhouette of Sylvester which was often there, or maybe just his grey cat watching a raven hop along the roof tiles.

It had been different. Back then she could see.

Agent V, what is your status? Report! I repeat, Agent V, what is your status? Do you copy?

M, this is V. I copy.

What is your status?

Loose and prowling in enemy command central. They’ll soon regret trying to put the padlocks down on ol’ Agent V. We’ll give them a one, and we’ll give them a two, and then how.

V, get your act together fast. Britain expects all men will do their duty. Over and out.

Hello delicious readers. Please be advised that my prize-winnowing short story “The Uncanny Valley” is available for general readership on the website of Asimov’s magazine. Take a look and let me know what you think.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve this. I got pretty good grades in school, before I dropped out. I just wanted a part time job, something that payed okay, with flexible hours. And now I’m locked in a basement in Somalia. Does that seem fair to you?”

“How do they find it, you reckon?” Mr. V asked Korea. “Secret landmarks on their treasure maps? I’m sure they bury all their loot somewhere out here. Maybe in tidal caves, we’ll have to keep a lookout.”

“No no,” said Assad. “They use the GPS, just like everyone else. And their treasure is not buried. They keep it in a safe in the house.”

“Typical,” said Mr. V. “These modern, so-called-pirates make me sick.”

“I do not understand,” Assad asked Korea, “if they buried their treasure, how would they be able to spend the money?”