Member-only story
Reconfiguring
A short story
I took a sip of my whiskey — synthetic, of course, nobody could get the real stuff anymore — and leaned back in my chair. The town was moving again, but our replacement suspension had worked its magic and everything was still. The only clue that we weren’t a fixed-place community was the slight hum of the electric motor.
It made sense. We’d been docked against Denver for almost three weeks: there had been more than enough time for repairs and trading. Once the blockers were out of the way, the townspeople voted on where to dock to next, and we began to roll towards the winner.
I flicked up a corneal display. San Francisco; same country, and not too far away. It would take us a little less than a day. This time we wouldn’t need structural repairs, so I figured we’d have the weekend, and then we’d move onto the next location. There was nothing in the destination backlog yet, but voting was already underway.
I flicked the corneal display closed again. Some people loved the convenience, but I hated the graft. It seemed unnatural. Give me those glass screens they had near the turn of the century, antiquated name and all. Gorilla glass. Like something out of an olde-time movie.
I tried to ignore the notification about seven unread messages from her.
