by Joyce Good Henderson

Created on: June 15, 2009

Outer space

The morning after the assault, Jess continued to go over the events in her mind. Why would someone steal her life wristband? Only she could retrieve and use the information encoded on it. The theft created a nuisance more than anything else. She'd have to go to the Habitat Security offices to file a report and request a replacement. The new one might take a week or more, and she couldn't postpone her off-planet vacation in two days.

Adding to her worries, a protector had showed up at her front door with a request she accompany him to the Habitat Security offices. She hoped he'd brought the news of recovery of her wristband, or the arrest of a suspect. But, he answered none of her questions, deferring everything to the protectorate detective who wanted to interview her.

She waited for the detective in a small paneled office made to resemble an earth office of the 1970's. She didn't know why anyone wanted such an out-of-date and out-of-place office. Before she could read the certificates hanging on the wall, an older man in a loose-fitting gray suit entered the room, extended his hand and introduced himself as Detective Jerry Rivers.

If he smiled or tried to appear friendly, he might be a pleasant sort, Jess thought. Apparently that wasn't part of his job description. He remained silent, aloof, almost ignoring her presence. He gestured toward a wing back, leather chair near his desk, then searched a desk drawer while she sat down. He pulled out a couple pens before finding one that worked, then scribbled something on a form, planted himself in a wooden, swivel desk chair and began to shuffle papers. The act, copied from a vintage television show, did not impress Jess. She would have preferred dealing with someone who used a datascreen, although she had no doubt there was one embedded in the surface of the desk.

If there was one thing Jess hated, it was wasting time. She had clinic visits to make, work to finish, and packing for her trip. The unexpected hassle of losing her wristband added to her list of to-do chores for the day. She did not need to spend valuable time in a detective's office because of his disorganization.

She drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair and stared at the man, willing him to get the interview underway.

Excuse me, she finally said, only to be interrupted by the sound of a door behind her opening and

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