PLEASE

The elderly reeg rattled with impatience.

Eric said, ‘I want to purchase an antidote to the addictive drug JJ-180. In order to break my addiction.’

YOU DID NOT NEED ME FOR THAT; THE RECEPTIONIST COULD HAVE TAKEN CARE OF YOU

Turning, the elderly reeg scrabbled haltingly off, eager to return to his work. Eric was left alone.

The receptionist returned with a small brown paper bag; she held it out to him, not with a jointed arm but with a mandible. Eric accepted it, opened it and looked inside. A bottle of pills. This was it; there was nothing more to be done.

THAT WILL BE FOUR THIRTY-FIVE SIR

The receptionist watched as he got his wallet; he took a five-dollar bill from it and passed it to her.

I AM SORRY SIR; THIS IS OUTDATED WARTIME CURRENCY NO LONGER IN USE

‘You can’t take it?’ he said.

WE HAVE A RULE FORBIDDING US TO

‘I see,’ he said numbly, and wondered what to do. He could gulp down the contents of the bottle before she could stop him. But then he would probably be arrested, and the rest could be visualized in an instant; once their police had examined his identification they would know that he came from the past. And they would be aware that he might carry back information affecting the outcome – which had obviously been favorable for them – of the war. And they couldn’t afford that. They would have to murder him. Even if the two races now lived in concert.

‘My watch,’ he said. He unfastened it from his wrist, passed it to the female reeg. ‘Seventeen jewel, seventy-year battery.’ On inspiration he added, ‘An antique, perfectly preserved. From prewar days.’