Happy Travels

“Are you still interested in the job, Ms. Brighton?” the AI inquired.

Torrance was not interested in the work itself. She needed the pay. If not now, then soon. Her savings were no longer as healthy as they’d once been. And even then, they hadn’t been enough. She had no credit amount in mind to equate with peace of mind.

She logged off the Intergalactic Employment Database without giving an answer. It had been six months since she’d been without a job. Half a year since her life had been upended. The aftermath continued to stay with her more so than the event. Her reflection stared back at her in the blank screen. She hadn’t bothered running a brush through her curls and it showed.

When the police found her alone in the freezer at her last job, she hadn’t told them how she’d come to be there. Not the truth. Her claim of accidently locking herself in was valid. She hadn’t meant to close the door behind herself and then the lights had gone out. The door wouldn’t have opened without a power source. The automatic switch had failed to engage.

It had felt so natural to lie. The truth wouldn’t come out. And how plausible was it that someone she used to know had turned up where she worked and ruined a life she’d been content with?

None of the other jobs available held any appeal. The database had plenty of job listings. Very few Torrance qualified for. Her savings were not yet drained though they wore thin. Severance pay from when the Blue Moon went out of business kept her rent paid up to date. The meager unemployment covered either groceries or electricity. One but not the other. And to think she’d considered using her savings to travel for a moment while talking to the very cause of her growing financial troubles.

The lone interview she’d had resulted in less pay than she’d ever brought home before. For a moment she’d considered giving in to desperation. A paycheck was a paycheck after all. But some newfound dignity had not allowed it.

An unfamiliar ping echoed throughout her living room. The AI system attempting to contact her again. She set her compact computer on her coffee table and sighed. Things would get better. It was only a matter of time. She just hoped her funds held out long enough for her to find a job she wouldn’t begrudge working.

A new lump in her secondhand couch teased another expense she could not yet cover without sacrificing something much more immediate.

Moping wouldn’t help. A shower and real food would. Despite the wonders of the artificial coffee in her favorite chipped mug, it did little to stop her growling stomach. She was low on groceries. A trip to the store would solve one problem only to create another by taking more out of her dwindling lack of income.

The current worse case scenario had her moving to another apartment. It wasn’t the first eviction notice she’d lived through. Not that it mattered. She was no longer even sure what did.

If Torrance ever had the opportunity to move, she’d avoid any and all moon colonies. Planets had less strict water laws accompanying their higher costs of living.

On the moon she lived, water from the pipes was rationed to ensure there was enough for all. The public baths downtown held little appeal right now. Her current state of unemployment left her with plenty of time to go so her water reserves for the month were at an all time high. Thank the stars something went right today.

Getting to her bare feet, she stretched. First a shower and then back to figuring out what she was supposed to do to keep getting by.

The ringing of her doorbell stopped her from making the trek to her bathroom. She expected no visitors. If her rent was paid, her landlord only visited the first of every month. Today was the eighth.

While human carriers still placed standard letters in mailboxes, packages had been delivered by drones exclusively since the twenty second century.

The one before her didn’t look like a person. She’d always thought it odd the most expensive ones still didn’t. This one on her doorstep looked almost like a skateboard from an era past. No frills or adornments. Deceptively simple in appearance. Titanium in color. It carried a tiny parcel. A little box wrapped in brown paper. No labels. Heavier than its small size suggested.

Limiting frivolous purchases helped keep her afloat. Torrance hadn’t ordered anything. Perhaps it was delivered to her by mistake.

The rolling drone stayed still until she picked up the package. Seconds later, folded itself up into a square and levitated. She watched as it flew towards the window down the hall. The sounds of beeping reprogrammed the electronic lock and off the drone went.

As she turned the box over, it opened itself. A DNA-activated parcel synched to be opened by her specifically. She’d never had the means to afford such a thing. Nor was there anyone to send anything to or receive from.

Inside lay a currency holder, resembling the handbags of centuries ago. Made of real leather if the fresh scent was anything to go by. It was full of gold coins. The only universal currency left throughout all colonized galaxies. She could now go anywhere and the monies would hold their value.

A note was also inside. Printed by a robot in the same handwriting the machines were programmed to replicate.

The tip I owe you. Happy travels.

The ink was printed in red.

The reason for her unemployment hadn’t left her a tip when he’d held a lazer pistol to her side.

No matter how many times she read the words they did not change. The gold was still there. As was the hair tie she hadn’t noticed before. The one taken from her months ago.

In the matter of a single delivery, all her impending money troubles were solved.

A glance around revealed no neighbors in the hall.

Torrance stepped back inside and slammed the door.

Holding the box in her hand, she stared at its contents. Realized it was heavier than it looked because it was real gold and not merely plated.

Returning to her second-hand couch, Torrance placed the bag on the table. She stared at it. Took a deep breath and weighed her options. If she turned the money in, there would be an investigation behind it. One that might reveal she hadn’t lied to law enforcement exactly but she had withheld the information they wanted to know. She’d overhead the police chief’s upset tirade about how a group of mercenaries kept getting away with brazenly committing crimes in plain sight without leaving any useful evidence behind. A feat Torrance would have thought impossible. Fingerprints, hair samples, something should have existed.

There was something more to the man who’d left her in the freezer of a diner.

She was not going to cry. She already had yesterday.

Tomorrow would be better.