Wednesday has come around again and I’m happy to present this week’s flash fiction.
Baldric Joffrey slid onto the lift’s seat, turning his tablet face down. The driver glanced at him in the mirror, his slate gray skin only momentarily startling. Joffrey glanced at the driver’s neck. It lacked the tell-tell marks of a bot. Humanoid then.
“One-twenty–” The vehicle surged from the boarding dock and Baldric lurched to the side as the vehicle rocked violently. Raising a hand, he braced against the ceiling. “Hey! I didn’t tell you–”
“One-twenty-fifth Durmant Circle,” the driver rattled off. His gaze locked on Baldric briefly in again.
Baldric grunted. Great. His driver was a psychic.
“Prescient,” the driver said. Baldric opened his mouth to retort but the man cut him off again. “There’s a difference.”
The driver wove between vehicles at an intersection without slowing. Baldric glanced back. The beacon gleamed a brilliant crimson. He hadn’t imagined they should have stopped.
“I don’t obey traffic laws,” the driver stated. “But I deliver you to your destination. Safely.”
Baldric grunted and wrangled his harness into position. The statesman could’ve warned him about the lift, but, true to the driver’s words, they pulled into his destination, jerked to a halt, and the door slid open with Baldric safe.
Stepping out, the door slid closed as the statesman’s aid emerged from the building. “Next time send a less terrifying driver,” he said.
The aid peered at him quizzically. “We didn’t send anyone.”
“Then who–” Cutting himself off, Baldric stared at his empty hand. He’d left the pad.
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