17.
 "Say, you do get to go home, don't you?"
She took out a hankie and blew her nose. Boooot! When she could speak again, she hinted ominously: "Sort of. Eventually."
Mick frowned. "What do you mean?"
She wailed: "I'm here for a thousand years! It still beats the permanent thing."
"Why? What did you do?"
"I said damn a lot, and fuck once in a while, and stole pencils from the office. Had impure thoughts."
"Oh boy, I'm probably in real trouble."
A bell began to ding repeatedly. The lights flashed gently.
"It's your time to go, Mick." She rose. Quite an attractive woman. "Actually, the Returns Section is Light Duty, so it's not too bad. I get weekends off to watch giant tractor pulls over in Mixed Singles. There is some small social life here."
He gripped the arm rests of his chair. "What do I do?"
"Nothing, just sit tight." She went to a console and pushed a button.
"You won't remember any of this. Still, we obviously can't send you back where you came from. Luckily, we have infinitely many alternatives to play with. We try to match a suitable outcome, since we feel we sort of owe ya. Bye!"
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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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