Extra Perceptory

Updated every Thursday.

Thursday, May 29

Installment N

"Hey Isaac!" I yelled.

I saw myself walking away from the front door as Atticus and I approached the house.

Amman still hadn't come home yet, but he was due any moment now.

"Where are you off to?" I asked myself as I sped off in the opposite direction.

"I'm off to go pick up the trolley that I left behind a few nights ago. Turns out it was turned into the police yesterday night." I replied.

"That's good. I'm gonna go ahead and take Atticus and Sigmund to the park, if you don't mind."

"That's fine, just don't get hurt." I walked away with an awkward limp. I would see my back was still sore.

I knelt down next to Atticus and said "Go fetch your brother." He went running towards the house with an unrivaled determination.

It was a beautiful day. Cold, but warm in comparison to the winter we were coming out of. It was rare to see the sun shining so brightly, so I knew it was a good idea to take advantage of the day.

Atticus and Sigmund came running from the house, and we made our way for the nearby playground.

"So, do you guys know why your parents gave you the names they did?"

"What do you mean?" Sigmund replied.

"Well, I'm just saying they don't sound very Italian to me."

"Our parents weren't originally Italian. Our mother was from Germany, and our father was from the U.S. They moved to Italy after they got married."

"Ah, that would make sense. I suppose."

"What do you think of Isaac?" Atticus asked.

"Isaac? Well, he's a great guy. He's always trying to act smart, but I don't think he's really as intelligent as he tries to seem. He's still the most powerful psychic our Academy has to offer, that's for sure. Why? What do you think of Isaac?"

"He's the greatest! I want to grow up to be just like him." Atticus smiled. His tiny body was having troubles keeping up with my pace, so I slowed my steps. Atticus was such a cute little boy.

"Don't say that." Sigmund interjected.

"Why not?" Atticus seemed shocked.

"Well . . . I just-" Sigmund diverted his eyes from his younger brother.

"Don't you want to be anything like your brother, Atticus?" I asked, returning his smile from earlier.

"Of course!" Atticus smiled again, and so did Sigmund.

We spent upwards of an hour in the park playing tag, capture the flag, and even hide and go seek once other kids started showing up.

I was hiding behind a bench near base with Atticus when I turned around to see myself walking up.

"Get up, are you ready to go?" I asked.

"What are you doing here, Pink? Go where?" I responded.

"Are you ready to go?" I reiterated.


"Are you ready to go?" the guard asked again, his voice was annoyed and impatient.

My eyes opened abruptly. I quickly sat up and looked around.

"Go where?" I asked, rubbing my eyes.

"Mira's office, she wants an explanation." The guard said while I threw the sheet to my side.

I got out of bed and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth and comb my hair, then I slipped on my uniform and left the room. The guard was waiting for my outside. He escorted me to Mira immediately, I didn't even have time to grab a bite to eat.

"Look the door." Mira snapped as I walked into her office.

"Good morning to you too."

I locked the door and sat down in the seat across from her desk.

"What the hell happened at that facility, Isaac?"

It was a lot more complicated than that, but I suppose I'd give it a good stab.

"Well, the place was crawling with Russians. What did you expect me to do?"

"Do you have any idea just how much that facility was worth to us? I went so far out of my way to make sure you got this mission, and how do you repay me? You blow the whole thing to dust!"

"In my defense, I wasn't actually the one who blew it up."

"Yeah? What happened then?"

"Well, it all started when me an Ashley were confronted with a scouting troop upon entry. So, naturally, I took control of the group and had all but one shoot themselves in their legs. The one that I left was my personal escort, and got me by security. After we were past all the locks, Ashley passed him out, and we proceeded to the main control room, which was heavily guarded, by the way."

"Did you get any information?"

"All I saw was blueprints for a lunar colony."

"A lunar colony?"

"Not just any lunar colony, it was called project castle. This was a fortress colony. Or at least, it would've been once it was finished."

"Son of a . . ." Mira looked into the distance for a second. "So how'd it blow up?"

"Like I said, we encountered heavy resistance from psychic troops."

"You and Ashley took care of them?"

"Have you not been paying any attention to me for the past three years, Mira? They were dead before they hit the ground. Ashley didn't even realize they were psymen, my psychic block was too powerful for them to even try anything.

"However, one of them escaped death and it just so happened they were in the middle of working on a mine field. He took the cargo full of mines and drove them right into the main electrical control system. It fried the transformers and overloaded all the circuits, everything went up in smoke."

"Why couldn't you do anything?"

"Did I mention that the guy I'm talking about was actually a high ranking Russian Esper? I tried to take control of his body, but he was too far away for me to use anything close to full force. He barely scrambled to the cargo. All he had to do from there was keep his foot on the accelerator. I decided to get us out of there. Besides, you can just get one of your slippers to take a look at the mental images I have of the blueprints anyway, why is it such a bid deal?"

"You're right, Pink. I could just have my espers waste their precious time analyzing your memories. You think we need any help building protected colonies? We need espers that are actually worth a damn!"

Mira stood up and started pacing across her room. She was obviously furious, but there was nothing I could do about it.

"Look on the bright side, Mira. At least I made it out alive, right?" I grinned.

Mira stopped pacing, then looked over at me with a blank expression, then muttered the word "Prick" under her breath and started pacing again.

Thursday, May 22

Installment M

The hull of the ship was a metallic gray. Wires and lines littered the walls. The dark pungent oder of machine lubrication and 6 sweaty men mixed together in my nostrils as the transport ship continued soaring towards our objective.

We were all packed like canned preserves. No wonder everyone back at psyboot called combat transports canned soldiers. My left arm itched, but there was nothing I could do. There was barely enough room for my elbows in the first place, perish the thought of actually moving them. The other troops were deep in conversation, they talked about guns, homes, wives, responsibilities. Things I knew nothing of.

The squad commander suddenly looked over at me. All the other men fell silent.

"So what are you doing here, boy?"

"I'm Issac Erlenmeyer."

"Pffffft. You think I don't know that? So what are you doing here, boy?" He chuckled briefly after having reiterated what he saw obvious.

"I have no choice."

"Why'z that?"

"I'm a psychic."

The men all used what little space they had to turn their heads toward me for a better look. I was lucky enough to have my mask on, the last thing I need right now is to let everyone know I'm Russian too.

"Good!" the commander exclaimed. "I thought those guys back at HQ were basket-cases sending us on this FUBAR stunt. Looks like we got some protection after all!"

The commander was Irish. He was fat with a long red beard, and an age that fit his words. I had no idea what half the words he used meant, but I suppose that comes from spending so much time on the French Foreign Legions. He's one of the few men to survive the initial Russian attack. He's earned a fierce reputation on the battlefield, and refuses to rank higher than a squad commander.

The rest of the crew are elites from the lunar Boadridge Military Academy. Not top of the line, but very prestigious all the same. Prestigious enough to be worth something, but still expendable enough to throw at the Russians like candy.

"How old are you, boy? Do you have a lady waiting for you?"

"I'm 18, sir. And yes."

"Ha ha! Good! What'ser name?"

"Lena, she's a psychic working for the technology institute back on Earth." I knew full well that Lena could never be mine, but a little white lie couldn't hurt.

The other men started conversing, and this time I joined in. We still had a few hours to kill before touch-down.

Because of the extremely powerful Russian Esper Military Force, as well as the Psychic influence back on Earth, being an American spy to Russia was, in every aspect, an impossibility. So, instead it's our job to steal information by force. The Commander started our briefing about half an hour before the scheduled touch down at the landing zone.

"Good evening, the name's Commander Russ. This mission is simple. We land, infiltrate the enemy work force, see what they're digging for, then get out with everything we can carry. If we meet any psymen along the way, try to capture them. We want them alive. To help us with that is our very own Issac Erlenmeyer. A Class III barrier wielding psychic ensign with a year of special training from the Brigadier General herself. This boy caught three Russian spies working at the Marshal's office that had been working there for years without anyone noticing!"

The troops around me started clapping. Two gave out some hoots and hollers, which I thought were unnecessary.

He knew this whole time? That's one way to rally the troops, I guess.

We naturally decided upon groups of two to check each other's pressure suits while the commander continued to go over the details of the mission.

In exactly two hours we would rendezvous with two marine squadrons, each with their own Esper. One of the espers was to stay back with the troops.

I'd love to stay with the troops, but I'm sure they'd love to have a girl.

The other two espers are to infiltrate the actual base and survey for the possible threat. Once the threat assessment has been made, it's up to the chief, our commander, to make a decision on whether or not to go in.

Our vessel came up on the dark appendage-like structure rising from the ground. It was tall, and obviously unfinished. Several moving parts, wires, lines, and internal components were easily visible from the outside, almost to the extent that the inner corridors would appear to be uninhabitable. I grabbed an extra oxygen cell from the first-aid kit, just in case. Getting trapped within that thing was not an unlikely possibility. But then again, it's still possible that I'll get the job of protecting the troops.


"Alright, and that leaves you two to go asses the situation." The commander said as he pointed towards me and the nearby esper after the squadrons met up.


"Hey, so what's your name?" The other esper asked me over the radio-link as we began to slowly make our way to the extrusion.

"Isaac. You?"

"A boy? You're a guy?"

"Yeah." I lifted the sun visor from my helmet so she could see my face. She responded in kind. I couldn't see much of her hair, but she appeared to be older than I was. I looked a little closer.

No way, there's no way it's . . .

"Pink, it's me. It's Ashley!" Shocked, I abruptly stopped to stare. I couldn't believe it.

"So what have you been up to?" Ashley asked with an excited tone.

"Not much, a lot of meditation. A few assignments here and there."

"Got yourself a girlfriend yet?"

"No, I doubt that will happen."

"What do you mean? You must be surrounded by women all the time. At least one of them must-"

"No," my cold tone echoed briefly through the radio. "Some people aren't made to marry, and I'm one of them. I'm too obsessed with my work to spend time with another person. Mira made me an ensign, and ever since I've either been meditating, researching, or training. I haven't even seen my father since our original landing here on the moon."

"But Pink, that was three years ago. You haven't left the moon since then?"


"What in the world do you do?"

"I told you, meditation and training. Mira has high expectations of me."

"It must get really lonely."

"As lonely as I make it."

It had been so long since I left the girls of Psy Academy. Everyone graduated and went on their way, Claire and I decided to go into the one year Military Academy on the moon. However, once I enrolled it became clear that I was no ordinary Psychic. Mira wanted to keep me away from everyone else, and she was good at it. I remembered back to Amman, Atticus, Sigmund, and all the others I've been deprived of in my isolation. I've been holding their memories back for so long, even the thought of their kind faces shot through my chest like a spike.

You'll get over it, Isaac. You always have before.

We were at the entrance of the facility. I was beginning to seriously doubt that anyone lay within, but there was only one way to know for sure. So, I grabbed the handle and swung it down reveling a new, perfectly operational, well-kept air-lock. A Russian soldier was staring me in the face, he immediately pulled out his pistol and held it to my nose.


Thursday, May 15

Installment L

It was a beautiful day outside. Spring made it's entry into the year by pumping the temperature up to a hot summer's day after a frost-filled week. Birds chirped outside while Amman prepared lunch. Lena was in the other room quizzing Atticus over his alphabet. Sigmund was laying in the backyard, working on the math homework Amman gave him. I was sitting at the computer desk, doing some research on a report I was writing about the recent discoveries I'd made in the field of psychic studies.

I received a message from Mira about a month ago, the day after I came home. She gave me a good inside scoop on all the events to come. A war is now raging between Russia and the U.S. Within the next year drafts are going to be sent out especially for people above the age of 18 who shows psychic promise. Every tactic I've ever read about is useless. The Army, Navy, and Air Force have become utterly obsolete. Nothing can be done without Psymen. The Russians have the most advanced psychic resources known to man at their disposal, and they aren't afraid to use them. Right now, the most the U.S. can do is lob bombs at Russia, but without the use of effective ground troops, we've already lost this war. The moment Russian troops hit our borders we might as well throw up the white flag, rather then waste the few psychics we have on trying to put up a defense. I tried to look at the situation from every angle I can, and the facts always fall on the same conclusion: America is ripe for the picking, and Russia has greedy hands.

Mira specifically told me to write about any conclusions I've made based on my experience with psychic potential, especially the powers Lena and I possess. But, in order to do so I need to get some of the scientific terminology down.

I closed my eyes and spaced into one of the African scientific databases. It was the only one I could find without any restrictions. I saw a long thread reaching out to the database, and gave it a good tug. It took a moment to load, but after a few seconds the database came whirling out of the dark abyss surrounding me. I did an inherent search of any material related to the words I was thinking, and found a handful of excellent papers submitted from a series of English and German psychologists. They're research was a few decades old, when the majority of the world was still skeptical to the existence of psychic powers, but It was effective none the less. Even if the research itself was inconclusive, at least the terminology was there.

I opened my eyes and started typing the vocabulary. As a memorization tool, I decided to say them out loud.

"Conglomerate -- a series or network of permanently interlinked minds."

"Interfering Field (IF) -- A series of electromagnetic waves that constantly radiate outwards interfering with any psychic impulses in the local proximity."

"Incompasitating Interfering Field (IIF) -- electromagnetic field that stuns and immobilizes those within the general vicinity."

"Accelerated Focused Lethal Electromagnetic Ray (AFLE) -- Single wave of focused electromagnetic waves that disrupts the electrochemical process of the brain, resulting in mental retardation, chronic paralysis, mental disabilities, comatose, stroke, aneurysm of the brain. (Several cases are awaiting diagnosis.)"

I stopped there. This was below me, I already had my own vocabulary for all these terms, and this only made things more complicated, and a whole hell of a lot darker and more depressing. I decided to start writing about the words I've already created. I'll see what Mira thinks of them.

"Psychic Impulse--A psychic wave with direction, that contains information.

"Secondary Impulse--A psychic wave created automatically, without creator input. Usually sent as a response or reaction, can be used as a natural distress signal towards other psychics."

I've never used it as a distress signal, but I've gone over every plan of action I can think of. Usability takes precedence in my analysis, I hope Mira doesn't get confused and start assuming.

"Slipping/Diving--Entering another person's conscious, retrieving sensory information, thoughts, memories, and even subconscious.

"Secondary Persuasion--The use of delicate psychic impulses in order to sway the mind being viewed towards one thought over another (can not be done against the will of the person.)

"Psychic Persuasion--The use of delicate psychic impulses to sway a person(s) against their will."

The list went on for pages.

So, I started my actual paper for Mira. I told her about my ability to absorb other people's memories, see tiny insignificant psychic impulses and locate them within milliseconds, and even my ability to use Lena's powers. I thought for awhile about whether or not I'd tell her about Atticus, but before I make him the center of attention I want to make sure he can actually cope with the fact that he does have psychic powers. A few lessons in meditation couldn't hurt either.

"Hey Atticus!" I yelled.

Atticus came running. "Yes?" He answered quickly. His eyes were wide, and his face quickly turned into a smile.

"How would you like Lena and I to show you some cool tricks?"

Lena's face turned a bright scarlet.

"Psychic meditation!" I quickly added.

I guess Max really was right about potty humor.

Thursday, May 8

Installment K

The psychic impulse wasn't cognitive, it was just a secondary. I nailed down the direction and put my trolley behind a nearby tree, hoping it would be there when I got back.

It was coming from behind the bookstore. I heard the owner's voice, he was enraged.

As I made my way around the corner, my eyes fell upon the scene of the owner brandishing a metal pipe in front of two small boys, one was crying as the other stood in front to protect him. The older had red-brown hair and freckles, he looked a bit older and obviously wasn't about to let anyone come in his way. The other was much younger, probably around four years old. He had straw-like blond hair and a skinny, lanky body. Standing up straight, he probably wouldn't even have come up to Amman's waist, but right now he was knelt down, crying.

Both of the boys looked towards me as I began running for the owner. Stares of disbelief spread across their faces, and probably my own. With a swift lunge I shifted all of my weight forward and took the owner to the ground with a loud smack as his back met the hard concrete of the alley.

"What in the . . ." the older boy said as the owner and I flew before his eyes.

During the excitement I slipped without thinking. The thoughts came at me so fast I couldn't always follow the thread. The owner had been harassing the boys for thievery, and they had been sleeping in this ally for the past two days. But the boys had been separated from their parents and had no where else to go. There was no question of whose side I was on. These kids had suffered more abuse from society than I could ever dream, and were about to see more at the hands of this crazy shop owner.

"You goddamn Russian!" The owner screamed as he shoved my body off of his. Without a moments hesitation, the owner grabbed a nearby metal trash can lid. Before I even got a change to stand, I felt blow after painful blow strike my back. The owner was in a rage as he continued his relentless assault.

The older boy started thinking about how he was going to kill the owner, I couldn't let that happen. What hit me next was miraculous. My thoughts focused themselves without effort and a warm euphoric feeling consumed my body. I lost myself for a moment.

I saw Mira with a man and women standing beside her. I was seeing them off as they entered the airport security entrance. A feeling of loneliness took over. I knew I wouldn't see them again for months.

These are Lena's memories. My mind must have soaked them up subconsciously. Suddenly my hands clenched together as my spine fell inward. I doubled over on the ground, immersed in pain. I couldn't open my eyes, my jaw seemed glued shut.

With Lena's memories, comes Lena's powers. But with Lena's powers comes Lena's struggle.

"Stop!" The younger boy shouted. I had forgotten that the owner was still pounding on my back with the trashcan lid, which was now bent, and creased in the middle.


The owner immediately ceased. He stood breathing heavily as drops of sweat left lines of moisture along his face.

Forget about us. Leave us all alone.

Instantly the owner threw the trashcan lid to the side, then turned to walk away. The lid made a loud "clang" as it cascaded across the concrete for a few seconds before coming to a spinning stop.

"Are you alright?" the older boy asked me. Immediately both of the boys rushed to my side. They probably thought the owner felt his deed was done and left of his own will. And maybe he did, maybe I've just grown delusional.

"Yeah . . . I'll be fine," I said. My head was pounding, and my back ached whenever in motion. After I stood up I tried to keep my spine straight, but my feeble attempt was denied by the realization that my arms and legs both rely on my spine in order to function. I took a few agony filled steps in a vain attempt to walk it off.

"You don't look fine. And you're bleeding . . . a lot."

I touched my back briefly, then brought my hand to face height, or the closest I could come. It was too dark to see the red, but I smelled the metallic bloody stench, then tasted the pungent copper as I raised the three fingers to my mouth.

"Don't worry," I said, "I have someplace I can go. It's really not far from here at all."

The older of the boys, Sigmund, got under my right arm. "Let's go."

And so, the three of us made our way back to my house. It was a short walk thanks to the help.


About ten minutes later I found myself sitting across the table from five-year-old Atticus Caro and nine-year-old Sigmund Caro. I slowly sipped my cup of coffee while the boys told me about their experiences. The boys took chocolate milk, with gratitude and never-ending thank-yous.

"We were born and raised in Italy." Sigmund began after a long sip.

"Our parents were scientists, and psychic researchers. They thought they could escape the coming war by moving here to work for Chekvey but that thought didn't last long. As soon as he found out they meddled with psychics, he revoked his offer. They didn't find out until they had already sold their home, car, everything, and bought two airplane tickets to the U.S. through the French government."

"Really? They tried to fly?" I asked, trying to remain courteous.

"I'm not sure on a lot of the details, but the mass-transit system they had back then was just a cheap knock-off of the North American Tran-system. It was too risky for most people."

"Sorry, go on," I said.

"You don't need to be sorry about anything!" Atticus chimed in.

"Anyway, our parents got to the United States, but they got sent right back. It was a big load the way they did it. They said the US quota for Italian immigration had already been met, and sent them right back home.

"So our parents ended up back in Italy, trying to get by however they could. Their only option was to join the military and face inevitable death by Russian psymen, but my parents were lucky. Once the military realized they needed a plan for the psymen, they pulled my parents from the front lines and put them in research positions.

"After a while the war was over and poverty was all over the place. But luckily, Mamma and PapĂ  had saved up enough money to get us to the U.S. They sent us over first, and said they would see us when we got there. But we never saw them again. It was easy, this place is practically begging to get robed. Our parents taught us how to live without a house. Never sleep in the same place twice, never steal from the same bread store more than three times, always spend whatever you have as soon as you get it. It's easy." Sigmund took in a deep breath and something in the inhalation told me it wasn't as easy as he made it sound.

"Thanks for telling me your story," I said. "But you won't have to live like that anymore. You can stay here now." I looked at the younger child. "But I have a question for you, Atticus. Do you ever get headaches, or feel like there's a pressure on the inside of your skull."

Atticus hadn't been paying any attention to what his older brother was saying, he was obviously very tired, and day-dreaming out the window. "Wha? Well, sometimes, I guess. Not more than anyone else."

"I see." I looked at the wide-eyed yet tired faces in front of me. "It should be time for bed. I'll make you guys a place to sleep."

"You really don't have to Isaac," Sigmund said, not able to hide the hope in his eyes.

"I want to."

"We would really appreciate it."

I let them share my bed, and lay silent in Amman's bed as my eyes began to glide shut.

Oh no! I forgot my trolley!

Thursday, May 1

Installment J

The soft crunch of the concrete beneath my feet provided a very satisfying sound. I made my way slowly through old town contemplating everything that had just been dumped on me. Any other child my age probably would've snapped under the pressure, but I've always had my suspicions that danger was near. The only question was how long it would take to show up.

It was too late at night to go to the stores back home in my town, so I decided to take the monorail system into old town. The dark landscape made for a familiar sight surrounding all the wreckage. The concrete of old buildings and cheaply made houses was crumbled up into sand left over from the war. Fragments of destroyed brick buildings still littered the area providing an eerie reminder of all the devastation that occurred. I personally loved walking around the old town. When I was a child Amman and I lived near here in an old apartment building that survived the war. Everyday after school I would explore the wreckage and bring home pieces of pipe, metal, or anything valuable looking that I could find. However the rubble had been stripped of anything of real value long before I was ever conceived.

Everyone else's parents wouldn't let them touch the the blocks of destruction, but Amman's only words were "Just don't hurt yourself." He knew how much I loved exploring. Making the area forbidden would only add to the adventure.

There were some spots on the road where blotches of asphalt peeked through the concrete and brick gravel. A car drove by quickly, and I realized that times had changed. I was a walking target. All of Amman's savings rested comfortably in my back pocket, and it wouldn't discriminate towards who spent it. I couldn't waste any more time swimming in my nostalgia, I needed to get out of here fast.

I started to jog briskly towards the old-town store, a hotel built during the war for soldiers on leave from the nearby air-base. Not long after the war ended, the owner was arrested for involving himself in a large scale prostitution ring. Now the hotel had been remade into a convenience store resembling a small mall. It sold just about everything, from car tune-ups to fresh baked bread. The only trouble was getting there in one piece.

I passed over the invisible line separating the new town from the old rubble. As I passed by a library I picked up a newspaper from the give-away stand. The headline was about the attack on the American colony, but there were still some good articles. I started reading one about the 3rd grade class at my old school. Apparently they raised over 50 dollars for the European aid fund.

That's impressive.

I continued reading as I walked the short distance to the store. I would need to take the transit system home when I had all my groceries with me. On the note, Amman told me if I didn't want to use the mass transit system, I could just buy a cart or something while I was there to help lug it all home. Worst come to worst, I'll just call one of Amman's teaching colleagues and try to get a ride from them. I'll see how much it weighs in the end, I suppose.

The streets were completely bare. As I walked, street lamps flicked on whenever I approached then went back to sleep again after I had walked under. The motion sensors were rudimentary, but effective. I made a little game in my mind, with each streetlight that I activated a new chunk of city terrain became illuminated. I made comparisons in my head as each new piece was lit up. It was sort of fun to stare at something in the distance for awhile, read my newspaper for a bit, then look at it again once it had become clearly visible.


My arm was stretched out behind me as I lugged the trolley filled with double wrapped packages of food, light-bulbs, replacement circuits, bottles of water, etc. It was too hard for me to carry 20 dollars worth of groceries back home, so I headed for the transit system.

Luckily for me, there was a terminal about two blocks down from the store. It appeared to have been renovated recently. It was clean and empty on the inside. Rows of waiting chairs filled the building with a counter on the far end of the wall. The tran attendant was reading a magazine. As I entered he looked up at me and spoke.

"Welcome to the tran, where's your destination?"

"Actually, I have a question. I live in the new town just a few miles from here, but there's no way I can make it with all this stuff. Can I just transit my groceries, then pick it up at the next terminal?"

"Sorry, but I can't do that. Legal reasons, we can't be responsible for anything that's lost or stolen."

"That's alright. I'd just like to buy a ticket for the next town over then."

"You mean the H2 terminal, or the H5 terminal?"

"The H2."

"If you're not sure I can look up the code for you."

"No, I'm positive that's the one. I've taken the tran system before."

"Alright. You'll need to get a luggage ticket too, that'll be 25 cents extra."

"25 cents? Just for some luggage?"

"Do you have enough?" The attendant looked up from his screen at me suddenly. "It's because luggage has no concept of time. It can never accumulate a time-debt."

"Yeah, that's true. Well, alright."

"That comes to 35 cents and a 13 minute time-debt. Have a good trip."

Damn that's expensive. Hope Amman doesn't mind.

I paid the attendant. He gave me my ticket and came around to unlock the the door to the back. After I was through, he showed me to my terminal system and gave me my coords. I walked into the threshold and out the other side. The new attendant came over to me right away.

"The current time is 2:56am. Did you have a nice trip?"

"Yeah, could I space for a second? I need to call a cab."

"Sorry, the internet hasn't been working here. Our satellite is under repair."

"Oh, that's alright. I can walk it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I live pretty close to here."

With that, I left the building and started off on my journey back home. It was raining now.

The newspaper said it wasn't suppose to rain until six. This isn't exactly anything new, though. I wonder what's going on at the climate building.

As I walked by the small bookstore by my home things began to look more and more familiar. That's when a psychic impulse hit me.