Saturday, February 21, 2015

eye-witnesses in space station tycho | part 2

Yah, sure, I saw him. Weird little bald guy, with a goatee? Dark glasses?

Little bastard came jetting ‘cross the corridor last night, Ring One outta the first 45° past Doxy’s. His velocity was nuts, don’t know how he was pumping that much thrust outta those little legs. Think he might have had a small knife. Craziest part, he clipped straight ahead, and I lost sight of him.

What? I know that’s a counter 45° across Ring One. Did you not hear me call it crazy? Hey, I was coming straight off of a full shift troubleshooting the back-up bearings and gyros. Hadn’t had time for a drop of gin, and I don’t use dry gin.

You know what? You can check my clock card, and you can even check my fucking blood, BUT only after I check with my U-rep.

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I don’t know what else to say, ma’am. They body just disappeared. I don’t have any explanation.

No, ma’am. We followed full containment protocol. Yes ma’am, we checked the vid. It pops out between frames.

Yes ma’am, I know how many frames get cycled in a second.

No, ma’am. The blood in the alleyway has vanished as well.

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Crime? Hardly. I destroyed only a piece of myself, a lingering nagging bit of violent self-doubt. Assuredly, the body is no longer here to haunt you, madam?

Really, this is quite tedious. Some parts of myself are simply dogged in their small pursuits.

God? Functionally, I suppose that qualifier is suited. I am the only actuality, madam; you are simply a smaller, distant refraction of my singular self.

And, I might add, you are a distinctly fashion abhorrent corner of my vast cognitive distribution.
I have entertained your terrible shoulder-pads long enough, captain. I bid you adieu.

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You will find two reports in front of you, magistrate. One contains the truth; the other contains a conceivable accounting of events. Attached to both you will find my resignation.  

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