The year was 2079. The name assigned to me was 901246. I was in my military station in U-23, Sector 16, once known as Augusta, Maine. The scar across my left eye started stinging, so I applied some Murray Cream. I leaned back in my chair and put my feet up on the desk. I rolled up my sleeve and dialed my wife’s phone number on the pad engraved in my forearm. I heard her voice in my head: “Hey, honey. I dropped ‘2437 off at ‘0947’s and I’m on my way to your office with lunch.” “Spicy mustard?” I thought. “Spicy mustard. No pickles.” Came the reply. “Bye. Love you.” I thought. I heard an electronic voice say, “Transmission Ended.” Not ten minutes later, my wife walked in the door. We enjoyed a nice lunch together. As she put her hand to the doorknob, the ground rumbled and there was a loud boom.