A client.

His first client.

After all this time.

Finally.

Ray picked himself up from where he had fallen from his chair in surprise. He smoothed back his hair and then tapped a spot on the surface of his desk and the frosted glass door of his small office slid open.

Behind it was revealed a skeletal old man with a pencil moustache and tightly bound ponytail that pulled his eyebrows far up onto his forehead. His left eye was cybernetic and glowed faintly red and his left arm from elbow to fingertip was also clearly synthetic.

Ray’s heart sank as he realised that the old man was wearing a governmental cover-all, though he couldn’t remember which department wore green. Regardless, encounters with government officials were rarely pleasant. Most were older and had been enticed into service by “free” replacement body parts, paid for through government labour, most often the physically light, but soul-crushing task of enforcing municipal by-laws and regulations.

Many such government cyborgs were personable and happy to let the little things slide, but just as many became petty tyrants who revelled in their sudden rise to ‘power.’ This one in particular bore that righteous expression and had that officious gleam in the eye of one who took great pleasure in his position.

“Individual Mullings—?” The voice was odd, with the sound of a cheap synthesizer.

“Uh, yes, indeed, how may I be of assistance—?

“Individual Rhodolphus Nembhard Mullings, private investigator, so-called—?” The old man croaked.

Ray’s heart sank yet further. *So-called—?* Uh oh.

“Indeed, that’s me.”

“And you are the Rhodolphus Nembhard Mullings whose name is on this door—?”

“Yes.”

“—and whose advertisement is on the 43rd page of this morning’s Daily Prospector—?”

“Oh—! You saw the advertisement—? Wonderful. How can I be of service—?”

“License and registration, please.”

“What—?”

“Investigator’s license and business registration.”

Double uh oh.

“Oh, I haven’t any.”

The demonic gleam in the official’s robotic eye brightened. He ran a sensual finger across the thin line of his moustache. “Oh dear,” he said with utter insincerity, “That is unfortunate.”

He tapped at his tablet and then called, seemingly to no one, “Ladies—!”

Immediately, two burly cyborg women appeared in the doorway and began towards where Ray sat behind his desk. Instinctively he rose from his chair and began to back away.

“Hey, wait a minute,” he cried. “What’s going on here—? I’ve told you haven’t I—? Maybe I haven’t… Look I’ve put my application in. You know how long these things take, I thought it was just a formality.”

The two women loomed, servos whining with each thumping step. The old man’s synthesised voice rumbled with barely suppressed glee.

“Rhodolphus Nembhard Mullings, you are hereby reprimanded for the unlawful practice of a controlled profession. You are further reprimanded for false representation and petty fraud.”

The official tapped at his tablet again and it began printing out three long, pastel-green slips of paper covered with fine black print. The two women finally caught hold of Ray by the upper arms and held him fast with a grip of cold titanium. The wiry old man tottered forwards with a decided swagger, relishing his moment of power. He held out the three slips and then forced them into Ray’s unwilling hand. Ray looked down and saw the heading printed on the topmost ticket in big, bold print.

EVICTION NOTICE

Ray was dumbfounded, “Eviction—? But you can’t evict me, there’s no law against renting office space—!”

“Any tenancy agreement undertaken in service of unlawful business practice shall be considered void until such time as innocence is established.”

The four strong hands lifted Ray from the ground and began carrying him toward the door.

“But what about my couch—? I just bought that couch. I love that couch.”

“All assets within the illegally-held premises shall be assumed to have been purchased with funds procured through unlawful business and shall therefore be confiscated and held until such time as the providence of their purchasing funds is established.”

“But I haven’t had any clients. I haven’t made any money yet—!”

Not content with showing him the door, and much to Ray’s humiliation, the two robo-women carried him out into the hall, down the stairs, and out into the bustling street. A light breeze arose and fluttered at the three green slips of paper in his hand. Ray crumpled them up and threw them to the kerb. As if from nowhere, the skeletal official appeared again, two more green slips already printing from the end of his tablet.

“Destruction of government property, and…” He smiled with malicious glee, “…littering.”

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