Arthur stands in his apartment—sparse, but lived in. Every object has a purpose. Nothing sits where it doesn’t belong.
The bell rings again.
He walks to the door and rests his hand against the viewer port.
The surface turns transparent. Two Civil Harmony Unit officers stand outside in dark, immaculate uniforms. Their mirrored visors hide their eyes.
Arthur opens the door slowly, the hinges creaking.
“Can I help you, officers?”
The first officer straightens. “Are you Mister Arthur Hammond?”
Arthur’s eyes narrow. “I am. What’s this about?”
The second officer steps forward. “Sir, step outside for a moment.”
Sarah’s voice drifts in from the White Void—a whisper close to his ear.
“What did you do?”
Arthur steps into the hallway, already cataloging a hundred ways he could kill both officers if it came to that.
“I’m not really sure what I could have done,” he says as the door slides shut behind him. “What’s this about?”
“Arthur Hammond… you’re under arrest.”
His face tightens—a flicker of pale shock. Old training surfaces like muscle memory. Distances. Angles. Timing.
“For what?”
He shifts his stance, eyes flicking between them.
A pause.
The first officer cracks a thin, deliberate smile. Arthur’s thoughts narrow to the two fastest ways to strike.
“Just messing with you,” the officer says. “Relax, buddy.”
The smile lingers a beat too long before fading.
“We’re just here to ask a few questions.”
Arthur doesn’t relax. He can’t.
“Sure,” he says. “Go ahead.”
He leans back against the wall, tension buried beneath practiced calm. The hallway hums with the low drone of recycled air.
“How long have you lived here?” one officer asks.
A calculated flicker of confusion crosses Arthur’s face.
“My whole life. Born here.”
“Do they know somehow?” Sarah whispers.
“Why?” Arthur asks evenly.
The first officer clasps his hands behind his back, smiling again.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
“There’s a discrepancy in City Resources records. This unit is listed as abandoned.”
Arthur smiles as if sharing a joke.
“That’s strange. I clearly live here. My name’s on the title.”
His tone hardens.
“You know that—you came to this address looking for me. I’m a junior. My father left me this place when he passed.”
“Well,” the officer says, “according to City Resources, you have ninety days to prove ownership… or vacate.”
The second officer produces a printed notice, stamped with the red City seal.
Arthur takes it without a word. The paper feels heavy. Real.
The officers linger a moment too long before finally turning away.
Arthur watches them leave. Then he shuts the door.
The latch clicks—sharp and final—like the cocking of a gun.
Arthur closes his eyes and steps into the Void.
A memory hides its true shape.
He walks across a near-empty lot, heat shimmering on the asphalt. The air hums with the faint echo of children playing somewhere far away.
Arthur scans the rows of hover cars, then turns toward the playground.
“You loved teaching here,” he says with a faint smile. “You were always happiest here.”
Sarah takes his hand, her hair lifting in the breeze.
“Yeah. It was fun.” She breathes in deeply. “The kids were amazing—so eager to learn.”
Arthur’s smile fades, his eyes sharpening.
“The bad news is the City Resource Office plans to take our property.”
Sarah settles into a swing as they reach the playground.
“We were planning to move anyway.” She glances up at him, teasing. “What’s the good news?”
Arthur sits beside her, the swing creaking softly.
“The good news is they didn’t actually arrest me.” He squeezes her hand. “And yeah—we were going to move soon anyway. Little Dreldon down the street’s got a receding hairline now.” He smirks. “But we could sell this place to fund the trip.”
She tilts her head—that look.
“Really? We have homes on three planets and land accounts on twelve. Including Earth.”
Arthur sighs, knowing he’s lost.
“We’ve been here eighty years,” he says quietly. “I kinda like this place.”
He glances toward the clouds, nostalgia flickering behind his eyes.
“Of course, it’s gone a little corrupt. If I show up with my title, I’ll probably end up arrested for disorderly conduct.” A slight laugh rattles loose.
Sarah leans against the swing’s chains, a sad but adventurous light in her eyes.
“So we’re leaving then.”
Arthur thinks for a long moment.
“Yeah. Only question is… someplace old, or someplace new?”
“Definitely new,” she says, excitement rising beneath her voice.
He stands, helps her up, and pulls her into a kiss, then twirls her out. As she spins free, he vanishes back to the real world—leaving her hand floating where his had been.
---
Later that night, Arthur shuts his eyes, stepping into the White Void.
Water ripples gently against his boots—shallow and endless. A soft piano hums somewhere nearby. Bookshelves stretch toward infinity.
Sarah sits cross-legged on the red couch, reading from a memory book—a trip to the Grand Canyon. The kids—still small enough to stay close, but brave enough to get into trouble. She smiles faintly as the moment washes through her.
Arthur approaches quietly, the gentle splash of water marking his steps.
“I brought some brochures to look at.”
He opens a memory book. With each page, a destination blooms—worlds and stars unfolding in soft holographic light.
They spend hours drifting through the possibilities, pages turning, then shifting back for another look.
“I really like this one,” Sarah says, pointing. A mountain range—green forests, blue lakes, snow-dusted peaks—bursts from the page.
A shadow crosses Arthur’s face.
“It’s run by the Daevos Company.” He shakes his head. “Not a good idea. They’ve had three failed colonies in two years.”
His voice hardens.
“Daevos underfunds its startups and hopes the settlers just figure it out.”
He studies her for a moment, then taps another page—a barren desert world.
“I think we should choose this one.” He smiles. “The company running this one has never failed.”
Sarah’s expression says absolutely not. She rises, pacing.
“I really like the other one. It’s beautiful.”
Arthur sees the sadness in her eyes.
“You know what,” he says softly, “let’s go with yours. If I’m right, we can help some people. Maybe even save lives. If I’m wrong—” A faint smile. “We still get an adventure.”
Her grin warms the space between them.
“Thanks for picking the one I wanted.”
She kisses him deeply, pulling him close.
“I chose last time,” Arthur says. “Only fair you choose now.”
She leans back, taking him with her. The Void shifts—becoming a bedroom filled with candlelight and lace curtains. He kisses her neck as the room glows, shadows dancing softly along the walls.
---
A few days later, Arthur transmits the ownership title to City Resource Command.
He packs quickly—efficient, practiced.
Sarah sits on the red couch, playing the violin. She lowers it.
“It’s a good thing you’re a minimalist.”
“Makes moving easier,” he smiles. “That’s for sure.”
He pauses before a wall of sketches—friends long gone, others just beginning their journeys. His voice softens.
“I wish I could keep them.”
“I know you do,” Sarah whispers. “But if we kept everything, we’d need freight ships.” She smiles gently. “And it’s not like you can’t just sketch them all again.”
Arthur stops at a framed sketch of an old friend.
“I really liked Salenc.”
Sarah brightens.
“He could play the guitar like nothing we’d ever heard.”
“It was a Zortho,” Arthur says, smirking.
“Zorthos,” she corrects, narrowing her eyes, her voice mocking Salenc’s.
She takes a breath.
“They’re just guitars with shorter necks—same strings, same sound—”
She stops, catching herself. “You’re smiling right now, aren’t you?”
Arthur laughs.
“Yup.”
He removes one frame—a sketch of their family, drawn when they first moved in. He wipes a tear from his cheek and slips it carefully into his bag.
Sarah knows which one he saved. She says nothing.
Arthur takes one last look around.
“I think that’s everything.” He hoists the bag onto his shoulder. “Only one thing left to do.”
Sarah’s voice is amused.
“Let me guess—you have a plan and a backup plan.”
Arthur flips the switch, darkening the room.
“Always,” he says, closing the door.
---
On his way to the travel terminal, Arthur steps into an information booth. Rain taps against the glass as the display flickers to life.
“This is the place,” he murmurs.
A violin plays softly in his ear.
“What are you picking up for the trip?” Sarah asks.
Arthur’s fingers blur across the controls.
“A failsafe. In case things go wrong.” A pause. “Pickup in six months or a year?”
Sarah hesitates. The violin slows; her voice turns distant.
“A year feels right. The last colonists barely got started in six months.”
Arthur nods, entering the command.
“A year then.”
He steps back into the rain—walking toward an uncertain adventure.
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