P Hillard - The Teller of Lies

There was no doorman in the lobby, but it didn’t matter to the target – she knew exactly where she was going. But instead of moving to the inter-level transmat, she proceeded down the stairs, to the basement.

Exactly what kind of kinky shit was this woman in to?

I continued after her, stopping at every corner to carefully look around before I followed. Being seen twice by a target was never good. I knew this from experience; on one of my first cases, my target – a lonely Pritan – had caught me watching him a few times, and had called the local police. That was not a good day for me.

The Yrggian turned into a room. Creeping forwards, and then crouching at the doorway, I peered in.

It was a large hall, with a ring of chairs at the centre. In the corner, there were cheap baked goods carefully positioned on an old table. There was the unmistakable vibe of polite enthusiasm and in the room. It was one of these sorts of meetings, then; the kind that my mother used to go.

Stirliks Anonymous.

The group inside said their “hello”s, their “how you doing”s, and their “how’s the partner”s, before the conversation eventually turned serious. I needed to get closer so I could get clear evidence of this meeting for my client. He’d need proof, after all.

Even by my standards, it felt like a breach of privacy to take a photograph of someone at one of these meetings. I could picture myself reacting to the hypothetical news that my mother’s meeting had been intruded upon in this same way. Nothing in the galaxy would be able to calm me down. Nothing, except perhaps cupcakes. Or whiskey.

The attendees sat uncomfortably in their seats, picking nervously at themselves, barely making eye contact with one another. Most were positioned so that they were most of the way off their chair – and most of their way towards the door.

Mum had started using the ‘Liks after Dad left. Something had changed in her in those last few months. My youthful self was perhaps unable to perceive exactly what was plaguing her. Whatever it was, she took the ‘Liks to forget. That was what they did, of course: they took in old memories – the bad ones – and wiped them from your mind. Why live a miserable life when you could live a joyful one?

It didn’t matter to these addicts too much that it wasn’t real. Whatever it was that Mum had experienced to drive her to this, we would never know – her memories of the period were no longer a reflection of reality.

I’d been about eight and my sister, Leya, fourteen. It had really been Leya who had run the household for those few years; trauma like this had a habit of making adults out of children. I had always intended to thank Leya for all she did for me back then, but as I watched her walk out that door that final time, the words were lost from my mouth.

I needed to see Mum. It had been too long. I was getting lazy with how often I went back to Terra. I plugged this in as a reminder on my console, and set my eyes on the job at hand, and getting closer to the group.

Spotting a strategically-placed bench to my left, I slowly, silently, crept towards it.

‘Please welcome, new member: Syl Raynor,’ an automated female Yrggian voice announced.

Hmm. OK. Not ideal.

The group all turned in their chairs to look at me, crouched down in the corner of the room.

‘…Hi,’ I offered them.

‘Welcome, welcome!’ a particularly jolly Aflet called out to me. He was the organiser, then. ‘Come on in, don’t be shy!’

I looked at the door; it was still open. I could still turn around and walk through it… but I would lose my opportunity to solve this case. I rose timidly into a standing position and proceeded towards the group.

My target, eyes widening as she looked at me, stood up and pointed. ‘It’s you!’ she shouted. Then, looking at the organiser, added, ‘She’s the one that’s been following me! She’s been stalking me!’

OK, maybe outside this building wasn’t the first time she’d seen me, then. My agency really needed to send me on more training courses. Always the Terran who got passed over for them, wasn’t it?

One of the attendees, sitting with their back to me, pounded a fist onto his knee. He stood from his seat, rising to a height of maybe two and a half metres. Not a little lad, by any means. Slowly, he turned to face me, and I could see the anger on his face – the nostrils flaring, the brow furrowed. The host held out his hands in instruction – or perhaps in appeal – for the Yrggian to remain calm.

‘Now, what do we do when we feel these negative emotions?’ he prompted. There was no reply from the tall, broad, attendee staring me down.

‘That’s right,’ the host continued, even though nobody had said anything, ‘We communicate how we feel ! Can we try that now?’

‘You dare ,’ the Yrggian began, voice raised, ‘Interrupt one of these meetings? Is nothing sacred any more?’

He pointed at my target.

‘This poor woman has been through enough ! She does not need you following her, giving her more to worry about. What the hell do you think gives you the right to barge in here?’

All signs suggested that my time in this room was about to come to an end. I whipped out my headpiece from my satchel, and without even bothering to put it on my head, aimed it in the direction of the target to capture her image.

Most of the group simply stared at me, faces pulled in various states of incredulity; it was only the Yrggian that took action. Face going red – even for an Yrggian – he began to plough towards me. With my height being as it were, it was almost certainly clear to anyone in the vicinity that this was a fight I would lose – were we to count on strength alone. I rolled up my right sleeve, revealing a device on my wrist, and grinned slyly as I switched it on. The EMP whirled into action, letting out a wave of radiation, and the lights went out.

‘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.