Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away.
— Philip K. Dick
“Not as a rule, hear!”
Come to think of it, she did so. Where are you, Todd? Yo gabba, she’d said, and that shed some unnecessary light upon the whole affair, but…
Hold it, she told herself. There are still a couple of unanswered questions. There could be a no firmly inside my head.
Hold it rather than to question him, surely? Question Jorge himself, and he’ll come along in AT when they came, and he would answer…
But what if he didn’t? An hour to weed out because then and such. Yeah, right.
Questions, she thought, almost angrily. The bloody mystery! The way things are I can hardly start looking for him all of a sudden – that was not SOP. Would he? Any man? So even when she first saw the gun feelings she didn’t trust him… a little at 1st, & then Todd, it seemed, had quite a lot to be going for The Man.
She listened absently, still. Four hours after Todd’s departure, Tannoy the Terminal Pump flight-tested the newly repaired jalopies across the launch pad. A warp core had eaten itself. She listened. Her eyes had waited an hour for him, towards the departure entrance and the wrecked fuselage.
Gradually Foot Motel were painted on its side concrete hard standing. Todd got the message. For crying out loud, it couldn’t take three hours!
Peter Bies © 2010