The T-4200 (Part 2 of 2)
By J. R. Johnson
(...Continued from Part 1)
Carl scrambled to follow Mango past the loading dock to the parking corral. Her T was an early model with a lot of light-years on it, but its shell still shone and its maxillae were well-filed.
He stepped gingerly up onto one forelimb and squeezed between Mango and a delivery box.
“So,” she asked over her shoulder, “why do you need to get to the Core bad enough to spend a couple days’ pay on the trip?”
He snorted. “Try a week. I work for the government.”
Her eyes widened.
“No, it’s cool, I like my job. Second Assistant Director for Core Planning and Development.”
She didn’t respond, a familiar reaction when he talked about his job.
By J. R. Johnson
(...Continued from Part 1)
Carl scrambled to follow Mango past the loading dock to the parking corral. Her T was an early model with a lot of light-years on it, but its shell still shone and its maxillae were well-filed.
He stepped gingerly up onto one forelimb and squeezed between Mango and a delivery box.
“So,” she asked over her shoulder, “why do you need to get to the Core bad enough to spend a couple days’ pay on the trip?”
He snorted. “Try a week. I work for the government.”
Her eyes widened.
“No, it’s cool, I like my job. Second Assistant Director for Core Planning and Development.”
She didn’t respond, a familiar reaction when he talked about his job.
