‘Ahaha, see you later, motherfli-,’ I began.
‘Backup lighting activated,’ the automated voice announced, and once again I was in plain sight.
‘Dang,’ I uttered through pursed lips, ‘I’m really starting to hate her.’
The enraged Yrggian barrelled towards me, grabbed me by the clothes and hoisted me up effortlessly.
Now dangling, and unable to pull myself free, I asked my assailant, ‘You wouldn’t hit a woman, would you?’
He looked at me, eye narrowing, eyebrow raised. ‘You are a female of your species?’
I scoffed, pulled an overtly unimpressed face at him. ‘Woah, what’s that supposed to mean, mate? Rude.’
In one smooth flick of my left wrist, I whipped out my hidden blade and held it to the Yrggian’s throat.
‘What we gonna do now, then?’ I asked him.
He looked at me, his forehead clenching involuntarily, in that way Yrggians do when they’re thinking too hard.
Eventually, he released me, and I tumbled clumsily to the floor, landing on my arse.
As I scrambled backwards for the door, the broad Yrggian called after me. ‘We have your name, Syl Raynor!’
I fled the scene, trying to suppress the guilt that was blossoming in the pit of my stomach. It maybe hadn’t been my finest hour.
I entered my shuttle and activated the pre-programmed route back to my hotel. I watched my rear keenly for the next few minutes, and only once I was confident that nobody was following me did I send off the images to the client.
Soon, I got a reply from him, telling me that my contract was fulfilled and that the payment would be sent to my employers.
No tip, then. Damn. What was it with these posh types and not tipping?
It didn’t matter, at least the job was complete. I could now head to a local bar, relax, try out the Yrggian brandy which I’d heard so much about. I freshened up and was about to head out - when my Console beeped.
There was a new message… from the agency. My heart dropped; this wasn’t expected, and so the likelihood was that it wouldn’t be good.
‘What the hell is this?’ the message began. I skimmed the remainder of it, getting the general point: they were annoyed with me. At the bottom, I found an attachment.
Beneath a security image of me, taken in the basement where the meeting had been held, was a message in bold, red letters:
Wanted for questioning: Syl Raynor.
It was time to get off this planet for a while.
TERRA
THE MENDED WORLD
Carbon Sector
22-11-2337
2
Home Is Where The Nightmares Are
The Thames Delta, Terra - circa 2337
The transport ship glided down around the Crystal Palace, a tall glass spire piercing the heavens, with the EEO neon sign standing proudly towards the top. I watched the waves lick at Streatham Island’s flood defences as the ship queued to dock at the local shipyard.
This city had changed a hell of a lot over the past few hundred years. Until the mid-2100s, London was one of the largest capitals in the world. Of course, the Climate Crisis soon put an end to that, with large swathes of city being taken over by the sea. It wasn’t just in the continent of Europa, either. The capital of the Americas, Rio de Janeiro, was completely wiped off the map, with locals being relocated to the higher lands of Brasilia.
Where the Americas still had empty space, Europa did not. It had already grown hugely overpopulated by the time of the Climate Crisis, and so there was no land left on which to relocate anyone. Instead, we built upwards - towering structures pierced the skyline, and none peaked higher than the third Crystal Palace.
A long, winding bridge protruded from the northwestern-most point of Streatham Island, connecting the north side of what used to be London to the remaining strongholds in the south. This bridge snaked around the heavily-fortified Buckingham Palace, which was abandoned long ago, even before the last days of the monarchy. Then, it proceeded to the southernmost tip of the Great Willesden Estates, skirting around the now-uninhabitable Soho Marshlands.
‘Marshlands’ was an informal name, of course. There was nothing particularly marshy about Soho nowadays, except perhaps for the high water level. Instead of tall reeds and fine grasses, it was rubble that sprouted from the water - bricks, metal and the like.
We finally touched down at the Streatham Shipyard, and I joined another long queue: customs. It was almost laughable, the idea that a Terran might try to smuggle something into the planet. No Terran I’d ever known would have been capable of breaking the law in such an overt manner. How would they reconcile that with themselves? In fact, the worse I had ever seen a Terran do was drive their shuttle through a yellow light - and that was enough to elicit audible gasps from everyone in the vicinity. Full disclosure: I was that Terran.
It was visitors, I supposed, that the Terran government was concerned about. Who knows what such immoral species might bring on to their wonderful (if half-destroyed) planet? But they couldn’t just wave the Terrans through, of course. Treating species differently like that would have caused international outrage. Understandable, really. So we had to suffer through it in silence.
I brought up my console while I was in the queue, gave my mother an estimated time of arrival. She read the message and sent no reply. Typical. Or maybe she was just busy.
I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt this time, Mum.
When I eventually got through the shipyard security, I summoned a shuttle from my console, threw my lightly-packed bag in the back, and programmed in my mum’s address. This was the last time I would see this place, I noted; she was moving home tomorrow. I thought of those younger years spent in that home, in that cramped, dim space, and of staring out the windows that faced only other apartment blocks. It held
