Segments
A Thursday Prompt story
© 2022 by Walter Reimer

Prompt: slice


“I come to awareness,” not necessarily in the same manner as one of Keith Laumer’s Bolos, as my cell phone’s alarm starts playing. I grope for the phone, silence the alarm, and sit up in the darkness.

“Good morning,” the Muse said behind me. “Today is Wednesday, the fifteenth of June – the Ides, in fact. We’re halfway through the month.”

I nod, still yawning and rubbing sleep from my eyes as the morning routine starts, each moment carefully following on from one previous. Check weight, check blood pressure, make coffee; all main processors were up to full speed before I stood up, and one bank start parsing through the dreams that the subprocessors worked through during the night. Most are discarded – what?

The Muse tugs at my tail. “What?” I ask.

“You have an appointment at ten o’clock,” she said, adopting the guise of a mouse femme wearing a business suit and studying a computer tablet. “Your exercise regime will start earlier.”

“Understood,” and I take a sip of my coffee as I sit down at the computer. Email, furry art, responding to messages or questions left unresolved from last night . . . all too soon, the coffee’s been drunk, so I get my sneakers on and head to the garage.

Bench press, and my daily mile walk, followed by breakfast. The Muse keeps an eye on the clock as I attend to the daily crossword puzzle and my remaining exercise.

“How much time allotted for the appointment?” I ask the mouse.

“No idea how long exactly,” the mouse said, “but you have two hours earmarked for it.”

“What’s after?”

“Well, lunch,” and I snort as I shut down the computer and start getting ready. It’s going to be a hot day, and for this appointment I must submit to the Tyranny of Trousers. Not looking forward to that. “There are a group who’ve requested your presence.”

“Oh?”

“Ka azrinrem e’t ka shlani.”

“Aka.” Oh goody, that crew. I was asked once if I live in that universe. Sometimes it feels like it. “Any idea what they want?”

“Just to say hello. It is the anniversary.”

Has it truly been forty-three years? Damn.

Well, that’s for a later time. Right now, I need to get moving, and make that appointment.

So, what I had earmarked for two hours actually took forty minutes, so that’s a good thing. I get home and start some writing, mining the previous night’s chat for some ideas and pointers.

I have the outlines of the scene mapped out, and I’m about to start fleshing everything out when I hear several voices in Kashlanin coming from the next room. I glance at the Muse, who’s now a vir. She clearly resents it, as she’s stooping to avoid hitting her head on the ceiling.

I give her a smirk and dodge out of the way of her tail.

My own tail wags as the kam in my living room stands and bows. I’m the only one he bows to. “Hello, Tarval,” I said. “What’s going on?”

“How much time do you have?” he asked. His wife and all five of his kids are here. Damn, the place is crowded. Fortunately they’re all sitting down, so I’m not staring up at all of them.

I waggle a paw. “Depends, really,” I say. “What can I do for you?”

Tarval chuckles. It sounds a little like running alongside a wooden picket fence and kitting the palings with a stick. “Can’t we sit and say hello to you? Must your time be measured out?”

“Ask yourself that question,” I reminded him, and his wife laughed, her tail teasing him.

“Yes, you got me there,” he said, giving Verin a sour look. “But of all the realities you’ve created over the years, we are the oldest. That has to count for something.”

I smile. “It does.” A wave of my paw, and the house flies away, replaced by the back patio of their estate on Jurkor. The weather’s a bit milder, and the sun’s going down.

“Who’s up for a barbecue?” I ask.