Future Days Anthology by Christopher Nuttall

Author:Christopher Nuttall [Nuttall, Christopher]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Castrum Press
Published: 2018-08-14T23:00:00+00:00

About Johnny Pez

JOHNNY PEZ LIVES IN BELLEFONTE, Pennsylvania and works in the hospitality industry. He has a bachelor's degree in history from the University of Delaware. He is best known for his Insanely Complete List of works in Isaac Asimov's Robot/Foundation series; and for the Drowned Baby Timeline, a multipart alternative history in which Hitler was drowned at birth.

Connect with Johnny here: www.castrumpress.com/johnny-pez.

The Caller

Lisa Timpf

I ring the doorbell at 224 Partridge Lane and step back, arms crossed.

Rule 1: Don’t intimidate the clients, I remind myself. I clasp my hands behind my back. There. That’s better.

The door swings open, revealing a woman dressed in forest-green slacks and a matching sweater. The outfit compliments her green-brown eyes. Her salt-and-pepper hair, styled in an easy-care cut, looks neatly combed. I consult my portacomp, check the image on the screen, and glance back up. Perfect match. Still, I follow the process, like I would with any Call.

“Sonja Bronston?” I ask, confirming.

She nods curtly. “You’re lucky you caught me in.” Sonja shoots a pointed glance at her gold-banded watch.

“Your schedule showed two hours of downtime. You volunteered at the animal shelter this morning, and you’re due at your part-time job at Account For It, Inc. in about 70 minutes.”

“Are you a hacker?” Sonja asks. Her expression curdles.

“Worse,” I reply, attempting levity. “I’m with the government.”

“Prove it.”

I tug the laminated identification badge from its usual resting spot in the right front pocket of my flak vest and allow her time to study it.

“Justine Michaelson,” she reads. “Department of--” She raises her head and her eyes widen.

“I think you know why I’m here,” I say, keeping my tone level. I stand perfectly still. If I move I might spook her, causing her to spring away like a startled deer.

She places her right hand on her hip and rakes me with an unflattering gaze, taking in the black uniform that conceals an ultra-thin, but effective, layer of bulletproof armor. I’ve done her the courtesy of raising my face shield, so she can see my features. Not exactly according to protocol, but I can see she isn’t packing a gun. Besides, she doesn’t seem the type.

Her face twists in a grimace.

“Are you –”

Impatient, I cut her off. “I’m not proud, nor am I mighty and dreadful. I’m tired of having John Donne spouted at me,” I say. “Besides, I’m not Death. Just an emissary.”

“That’s not what I was going to ask.” Sonja’s voice, to her credit, sounds calm. “Actually, I was about to inquire whether you wanted tea while we talk.”

She seems sincere. Also, not the type to try something stupid. I’m familiar with death in all its forms. Poison, I would detect.

“Thanks. That would be lovely. Something spicy, if you have it,” I answer. “Herbal, please. I’ve had enough caffeine.”

“Coffee’s not good for you, you know”.” She tosses the comment back over her shoulder as she heads down the tiled hallway, toward what I assume is the kitchen.

“Occupational hazard. Shift work,” I reply as I follow her, my soft-soled black boots noiseless on the hardwood.

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