Jack Llewellyn Hughes

There was a familiar prickle on the edge of Martin’s awareness. He ignored it, or he tried to, but the tiny tickle in his nostrils began to bloom, slowly growing into an itch. His eyes widened and he took in a sharp intake of breath. He fought to breathe normally, to blink normally, to stay in control.

But then, nothing. The itch retreated and the pressure dissolved. His face relaxed.

Martin released his grip on the unopened packet of tissues in his pocket. The sun warmed his face and the pavement radiated heat through the soles of his shoes. It had passed. For now, at least, he was able to enjoy the summer’s day.

Gently pinching his nose as he passed through the gardens, he swiped his card at the station entrance and climbed the steps up to the busy platform. Two commuters stepped aside without looking, already making space for him. One moved his suitcase a couple of inches away.

The sign overhead confirmed that the train was running on time. A woman next to him gave him an irritated look and put in her earphones. He barely noticed and began humming tunelessly under his breath.

A wave of groans and chatter spread across the platform. Martin looked around to find the source of discontent, blinking in the sunlight as he did so. He looked up at the sign. 07.30 Horizons Park – On Time, it read.

He kept his eyes on it and, a few seconds later, it flickered and changed.

07.30 Horizons Park – Delay Anticipated Expt. 07.34.

Everyone around him had already set down their bags and had their noses pressed against their viewpads and digibooks. He pulled his rucksack off his shoulders, undid the clasp with his thumbprint and took out his own digibook. Its screen flashed to let him know that he had forgotten to charge it.

Shifting his weight as he struggled to return it to his rucksack, he stumbled slightly and almost clipped the corner of the suitcase that had been moved a few moments earlier. The commuter never looked up from his viewpad.

Martin muttered a quiet thanks and spent the additional four-minute wait looking at the adscreens on the platform opposite. Anticipate Your Own Accidents, one warned. He looked away until it was replaced with an ad for a stream he had forgotten about, a comedy that he was sure was going to be cancelled. FlowStreams must have predicted a bigger audience for season 2.

When the hovertrain finally arrived, Martin shuffled aboard, taking a seat opposite a young woman in a bright green suit. The carriage hummed softly as the doors closed and the train set off along its magnetic path. An automated voice informed the passengers that the delay had been due to a predicted passenger misstep at Vista Green.

Martin’s gaze drifted to the window as the train hovered effortlessly over rooftop gardens and between glass towers. Summer had swept over the planetoid overnight, restoring the radiant red of the fire-lilies to the city’s green patches, their colour like glowing embers in the morning light.

“Bless you,” said a voice. The woman was staring at him.

Martin looked at her. She wore no earphones and held no device, so there was no doubt she was talking to him. He opened his mouth to say something, although he was not sure what.

Then the prickle returned, a flutter deep in his sinuses. He sneezed, sharply and suddenly, into his elbow. His fathers had always told him not to sneeze into his hands.

He sniffed and wiped his nose with his sleeve. The woman opposite gave him a satisfied nod and a smile, as though she had completed a minor civic duty, and then turned her attention to the window.

“Thanks,” he said, opening his packet of tissues.

*

The hovertrain eased into Horizons Park and the commuters flowed out onto the platform in an unbroken line. Martin waited until the carriage was just about empty before alighting. He tried to match the unspoken choreography, but he narrowly missed a collision on the concourse when a woman stepped to the side without warning. The crowd there had already parted to admit her. He made an apology but she had already disappeared, swallowed by the crowd.

Outside, the plaza’s flowerbeds were aflame with lilies. Martin pinched his nose instinctively and crossed it as quickly as possible, spotting a queue outside of the old bookshop in one corner. He had insisted, on every visit to town as a boy, that he be taken to the shop to get the latest murder mystery novel from off-world, not that there was ever a risk of them running out. The murder mystery business could not survive long on a planetoid where everyone but him could foresee the ending.

The strong smell of coffee just about managed to enter his pinched nostrils. He released his grip to let the smell in and spotted the new sign above the bookshop’s door: Central Sipstation.

The screen of his watch confirmed that he had time. Martin joined the back of the queue and strained to make out the menu on the display beside the door. Every time he got close to reading the menu, another ad slid into place.

“Medium aero-brew latte with date caramel?”

A young lad in a brown apron had appeared next to him, holding a steaming mesh cup with “Martin Hale” written on it. A whole troop had materialised along the queue, all holding out cups. Everyone ahead of him took their cups with quiet thanks and dispersed into the city.

“Oh, I’ve not actually seen the menu yet,” Martin said.

“You’ll order this,” the lad said with a smile, politely but firmly. Once Martin had taken the cup from him and paid with a wave of his card, the lad and his colleagues disappeared back into the shop. Martin had never even heard of date caramel. He would make sure to look up the menu at lunch.

He sipped the coffee as he headed toward the office, picking up the pace. The taste was frustratingly good.

Warm cup in hand, he joined the crowd spilling through the revolving gate of 9 Colonial and smiled at the security guards with their fire‑lily badges. He took the lift to the upper floors, the attendant pressing the button for him without a word, and finished what was left in his cup in a single gulp outside the office doors. He binned it and headed to his desk.

“Aleks, I’ve just had a call—”

“I can do—”

“Yeah, I told her 3 o’clock—”

“Thanks. Have—?”

“Sorted.”

The short walk from the entrance to his desk was enough to overhear how his colleagues’ exchanges had gone from overlapping to impenetrable. Taking his seat, he rubbed the side of his nose, hoping the pressure would ease. It did not.

Vanossa sprang to the side of his desk with a tablet tucked under her arm. “Morning, Martin! You’re looking a bit foggy if you don’t mind me saying so,” she said, not unkindly.

Martin tried to keep his voice light. “The lilies are pollinating with a vengeance this year,” he joked.

“Aww,” she said, with the gentle sympathy reserved for someone who had misplaced their keys. “Poor thing. It must be awful, being allergic to the very thing that helps everyone else stay ahead.”

“It’s just a kind of hay‑fever,” Martin said.

Vanossa smiled in that anticipatory way people did when they had already predicted his answer. “Yes, but for you it’s all year, isn’t it? And then summer hits and—” She made a vague gesture, as though describing a minor inconvenience. “You fall even further behind.”

“Yes, well, I manage.”

“Of course you do,” she said brightly, patting his shoulder. “We all know how hard you try. Anyway, we’ve shifted a few tasks around for you and given a few time-sensitive jobs to Aleks and Jordi. Just the jobs you wouldn’t mind.”

Martin’s cheeks got hot. “I didn’t ask for that.”

“You didn’t need to,” she said, already turning away. “We anticipated it.”

The pollen pricked at his sinuses. Jordi was filling up her water bottle at the column, glancing sympathetically at him. He looked away, put his head down and logged into the terminal as the office continued to buzz around him.

*

Martin ate his sandwiches in the empty cafeteria with a caramel latte, the newsreader on the vidscreen his only company. The woman behind the counter had thrust the drink into his hands when he entered, apologised for having no idea what date caramel was and disappeared onto the balcony to join everyone else.

He stayed where the air was filtered and stale, half-watching the news as the vents hummed steadily above him. Outside, the balcony was bright with chatter and laughter at jokes he had not heard. The fire‑lilies blazed in the hanging baskets like talismans warding him away. He wiped his nose with the last of his tissues and sipped his drink, cursing himself for forgetting to charge his digibook.

“Record‑high pollen count across the planetoid today,” the newsreader announced. “Experts predict psychic responsiveness will peak earlier than usual this summer, but you already knew that.” He flashed a smile and continued.

A shadow passed in the glass doorway and fellow paralegal Aleks stood there, blinking in the filtered light. Once his eyes adjusted, he gestured towards Martin’s table.

“I thought I’d come and sit in here, if that’s alright with you,” he said. “Only if you want company, of course.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Martin said. Aleks had not brought his lunch in from the balcony, he noticed, and his eyes drifted back to the door as someone burst into laughter.

“I don’t mind.”

“No, go and enjoy the sun. I’ll be fine,” Martin said. It was a lie.

Aleks hesitated for a moment and let out a breath. “Alright. I’ll see you later,” he said. He returned to his seat outside, effortlessly slipping back into the conversation. Martin put his sandwich down and sank into his chair, the balcony laughter fading behind the glass.

*

After stuffing his pockets with napkins from behind the cafeteria counter, Martin returned to the office floor and logged back in to the terminal. He realised he had forgotten to look up the Sipstation’s menu. His terminal reminded him that he had only an hour to finish the brief for Vanossa and get his e-tray in order before the meeting.

Swiping through the e-tray to find where he had left off, he saw a dozen messages from Jordi. “Client query resolved,” one said. “Enquiry made of the courts,” said another. “Brief to Chamber Pynnacle complete.” That was his job.

“Jordi?” Her head popped up from the next row. “Thanks for doing the brief to Pynnacle,” he found himself saying.

“No problem at all,” she said with a smile.

“It’s not attached, though. Could you send me the finished version?”

“Oh, I sent it off on your behalf. Check your sent-box,” Jordi said, turning back to her screen.

“Jordi, I need to see it before it goes,” he said weakly.

“V wanted it sent off before they started chasing!” came her voice. She had started typing away at something else. “I anticipated you’d approve!”

He raised his hands over his keyboard, hovering over the keys. The words on the screen blurred. His sinuses throbbed.

He dropped his hands and looked out the window at the city leaving him behind.

*

When the time came, Martin slowly made his way to the designated meeting room to await the client. The attendant pressed the button in the lift before his foot had crossed the threshold and slid the doors shut behind him once they reached the next floor.

Vanossa was sitting at the table when he arrived, her posture crisp. She and Aleks, seated on her right, were smiling politely in anticipation of his arrival. In the middle of the table stood a vase of fire-lilies. His eyes immediately began to itch.

“Does no one in this city like an orchid?” he said, only half joking as he took his seat.

Vanossa gave a small, apologetic smile. “Branding. Just a reminder for off-world clients why they should instruct us.” She gestured towards the door. “Hold it a moment, won’t you?”

He stopped where he was and held the door open behind him. Mrs Colonwy appeared a moment later in a purple pinstripe suit, sunglasses perched on her head like a second pair of eyes. She shook hands briskly, already scanning the room for the next thing.

Once pleasantries were exchanged and Mrs Colonwy had taken her seat, Martin took his own at Vanossa’s side. A fresh packet of tissues and a glass of water waited for him, condensation already forming on the glass.

“We’ve sent the brief to Chamber Pynnacle,” Vanossa said by way of introduction. “Your barrister confirmed receipt and my assistant Jordi anticipates your husband’s solicitors will be agreeing to the fourteen-day extension shortly.”

That was news to Martin.

“Martin,” she continued. “Will be speaking with the expert this afternoon to ensure that everything will be in hand for the new deadline.”

“And what are they going to say?” Mrs Colonwy asked. All eyes turned on him.

“Oh, um.” The lilies stood in front of him, resolute and mocking. He took a tissue from the packet and bought a few seconds by wiping his nose. He tried to think. Had there been something in one of Jordi’s messages?

Mrs Colonwy looked at the tissue. Her expression tightened and she turned to his colleagues.

“There won’t be any issues, ma’am. I’ve already had sight of Mr Hale’s pre-attendance note,” Aleks said. He slid his viewpad over to Vanossa with the schedule of deficiencies up, completed and paginated with Martin’s name at the top. He had intended to finish it in the afternoon.

The meeting went on without his input for ten minutes with Vanossa and Aleks anticipating Mrs Colonwy’s every question and point of confusion. Eventually, Mrs Colonwy stood and shook Vanossa and Aleks’s hands with the warmth of someone whose day had been made that much easier.

“You handled the groundwork beautifully,” Vanossa said to Martin once Mrs Colonwy had left, escorted by Aleks. “I’ll send you the final paperwork to file. No need to worry about the schedule or the expert. Aleks has it all in hand.”

Martin nodded and left the room. The door shut behind him with a soft finality.

*

Back at his desk for the final stretch of the day, Martin pulled up the schedule of deficiencies on his screen and swiped listlessly through it. Aleks had anticipated every line he would have written. He closed it and rested his hands flat on the desk, watching the cursor hover over his own name.

“Bless you,” Jordi said, poking her head up from her desk.

“Would you wait until I’ve actually sneezed, Jordi?” he snapped.

Jordi’s smile fell. Around them, conversations stumbled and died as the office’s perfect choreography stuttered to a halt. Martin sneezed into his elbow. Every head turned toward him.

“Can just one thing happen to me before someone else gets there first?” he said, quieter now. “Just let me sneeze.”

Jordi returned to her work without a word and the office slowly started moving again. What was left in him was not anger anymore. That had dimmed the moment he saw her smile drop.

*

When the clock released him, Martin left the office, swinging his rucksack onto his shoulders and heading out without meeting anyone’s eye. He had avoided Aleks and Vanossa since the meeting and his only contact with Jordi had been forwarded e-post.

In an empty lift down to the ground floor, he thought about finding Jordi in the morning to say sorry. Any explanation would just sound like an accusation. And if he could find the words before Vanossa got to his desk, he would ask that he might, occasionally, be allowed to get there first.

Outside, the summer heat had faded to a gentle warmth accompanied by a breeze. He passed the flowerbeds glowing in the last of the light and headed towards the plaza outside Horizons Park. He decided not to take the hovertrain. The fire-lilies would soon be closing in on themselves for the evening, the reds fading in the dusk, so he would take the long walk home past Angel Gardens.

By the time he reached the plaza, the after-work queue outside the Sipstation had mostly cleared. Through the window he could see the same lad from that morning, apron a little more rumpled now, wiping down the counter. Martin stepped up to the menu.

The lad did not look at him but turned around and started reaching for the date caramel.

“Wait,” Martin said. “I haven’t decided yet.”

The lad turned around, his hand hovering. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said as though Martin had gone off-script. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” Martin said. “I’d just like a minute to choose.”