Flight To Tomar Three
Here it is, 2549.76, and they still haven’t prevented the common cold. I’d been sneezing non-stop for hours. It wouldn’t be so bad but at every sneeze MIHA, or Mia as I disaffectionately call it, would demand a ‘check’ of my carbon based life-form unit. Machine Intelligence Health Assessor. BULLSHIT! I think that the person who programmed this P.O.S (short in the jargon for, you guessed it, Piece of Shit.) had no liking for the human species at all. I’m...