They were artificial, Gorangi-shaped, and they had badges. When he opened the door, one said, “Human Garrison Andrew Ong?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“We have orders to bring you to the spaceport. The shuttle is ready to return to the liner—”
“I’m not going.”
“The shuttle will only wait one more Tenth before it leaves—”
“I’m saying: I’m not leaving Gorang. Ever. I love it here.”
“You will need to apply for a residency permit. An agent from Population Control will need to interview you. Please do not leave your current location.”
“Gotcha.”
He shut the door, and they ambled off.
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