Pawn’s Gambit
“—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Breakfast had been oatmeal again, that god-awful freeze-dried pap that Angel Morris could never quite get to come out right, no matter how much or how little of the dispenser’s hot water she used. The coffee was worse than usual, too, tingling her tongue and leaving a strange aftertaste behind. Probably someone new had made the low bid for food services, and the new contract had started.
She finished eating and put the bowl and cup down the disposal chute to be dissolved, cleaned, and reassembled in time for lunch. Then she dressed herself in the most presentable of her light gray jumpsuits, and sat on the edge of her cot, watching one of the interchangeable sitcoms playing on the tiny screen set into the wall and wondering why the hell they even bothered with the TV in the first place. They ought to be able to feed the programs directly through the tiny CURL disk that had been implanted into the center of her forehead. Skipping the TVs might even save ...them enough money to buy some better shows.MoreLess
She finished eating and put the bowl and cup down the disposal chute to be dissolved, cleaned, and reassembled in time for lunch. Then she dressed herself in the most presentable of her light gray jumpsuits, and sat on the edge of her cot, watching one of the interchangeable sitcoms playing on the tiny screen set into the wall and wondering why the hell they even bothered with the TV in the first place. They ought to be able to feed the programs directly through the tiny CURL disk that had been implanted into the center of her forehead. Skipping the TVs might even save ...them enough money to buy some better shows.MoreLess
Write Review:
User Reviews: