Hafman (1)

Here’s a rough cut of the first chapter of a new science fiction idea I’m toying with. Hope someone likes it.

Shivering, Hafman let his hands fall to his sides as he stamped his feet. His hands didn’t stop where they were supposed to and he looked down. With a curse, he remembered that they weren’t really his hands, so the pockets weren’t his either. As he tried to tuck his hands in his pockets he watched them pass through them like mist. He also took note of his failure to stamp properly. His feet floated an inch above the ground, always in sight of it but never actually touching it.

He’d only been rescued by the Artz-Geizt company a few months earlier and he wasn’t used to how they did things yet. A year ago he’d been a shapeless ectoplasmic blob so he wasn’t complaining, but it was a big adjustment having sense memories and desires implanted in his consciousness but no physical body to act on them. For what it was worth, his host self had style. The navy peacoat, tailored shirt, immaculate slacks and shiny shoes all looked sharp even if he couldn’t feel them.

Oh well, enough navel gazing. Eyes up, Hafman, you’re on the clock. He stood on the sidewalk of a bustling city street choked with a horde of large and small vehicles each fighting the others for position as torrential rain buried the scene in sound and water. A digital display in front of a building across the street said 12:02 am. At least he couldn’t get wet. Peering through the muck and gloom he caught sight of his intended target- an open cab across the intersection.

Hafman lifted his right arm and waved his left hand over the extended wrist. A small white rectangle lit in the space, and the head and shoulders of a healthier-looking mirror image of Hafman appeared in its center.

“Yes?” A tired-sounding voice said as the speaker rubbed his eyes and inspected his fingernails.

“I’ve finally found a cab, Mr. Holbrook. Sending you the info now and will let you know when I’m in position.”

“Very good, H. I will join when you give me the word.”

Mr. Holbrook yawned and pushed strands of gray-streaked brown hair out of his eyes. He said “thank you, H.” and broke the connection.

Hafman stared at his wrist for another moment before rousing himself and floating across the busy intersection. He flinched as he passed in and through a hurtling city bus, willing himself not to notice the handful of gasps and shocked facial expressions of some of the passengers.

He knew enough from his comparatively short time on the job to remember not everyone could afford ghost selves and their unnerving abilities were still shocking to most people. He couldn’t help being like this but that didn’t mean he should sneer when he scared the crap out of people just living their lives. If he wasn’t in a time crunch he’d have said sorry but he knew that would only worsen the effect.

He drifted into the back of the cab and pantomimed sitting in the seat. As he did this he touched a cuff button on the jacket and a blue rectangular shield appeared outside the cab with the Artz-Geizt logo hovering on its center, preventing other fares from entering and taking the spot. He pressed another button and let Holbrook know it was time.

He felt the shift at least and he still didn’t care for it. His essence tingled, and vibrated with an audible hum and he felt himself fade as he watched solid portions of Mr. Holbrook gradually replace him in the seat. Then something like a hook caught him from behind and yanked none too gently. Hafman closed his eyes and tried not to groan or complain audibly.

He opened his eyes again and saw the black wall of his soul box in front of him, aided by soft accent lights placed at strategic positions throughout the interior. Since he did not have a tangible form, there was not enough room to lay full length; instead there was just enough room to float in the most compressed version of himself. A digital display on the wall of the box in front of him listed the current time in red letters and below this a time in green, indicating when Mr. Holbrook would again require his services.

The thank you was an unexpected addition. Holbrook usually didn’t waste words on his new assistant. Hafman pondered this as he closed his eyes again, allowing everything but his head to fade into an insubstantial mist that pulsed with soul energy.