Milo Moon: It Never Happened Read Online Free PDF

happy birthday to you, happy birthday, Mr. Moon, happy birthday to you!’ Hilda sang, and Milo wondered how bad his day could really get now.
    Just as he was about to leave with Miss Harpinger, Milo heard a sound at the door. He went to the door and opened it. Cindy was scratching at the door. He picked him up and cuddled him fondly.
    ‘Can I feed Cindy before we go?’
    ‘Certainly Mr. Moon. Certainly,’ Hilda said, in a very sensitive and kind tone.
    Chapter 5 - Identity Crisis
    Milo sat in the passenger’s seat, as Hilda Harpinger drove him to his better late than never re-identification appointment. The car was a small electric two seater with a thin nylon roof that was remarkably similar to the taxi he has taken earlier. He had rarely been in a car except for today, and twice at that. He usually walked, as most people did in Sootere. Cars didn’t make much sense to Milo as they were hardly faster than walking anyway. And they made an ugly buzzing, humming noise.
    He was happy his cat was back and well fed, but was very concerned that he wouldn’t remember it when he returned. That is, if he was going to be returned. He was sure George had told him earlier in the day that a new chimeryon would be taking his place and that it would care for his cat.
    ‘Miss Harpinger?’
    ‘Yes, Mr. Moon.’
    ‘How far is it?’
    ‘Oh, about a five minute drive.’
    ‘Good. Could you possibly use that time to explain to me what in the Dickens has happened to me today?’
    ‘Oh I’m sure George explained everything to you,’ Hilda said, a little dismissively.
    ‘Have you ever been re-identified, Miss Harpinger?’ Milo asked, with a hint of sarcasm.
    ‘Everyone has. Everyone. It’s normal ARC procedure.’
    ‘So what does it feel like?’
    ‘It’s impossible to say. When you’re re-identified, or wiped as George said, you naturally have no memory of the process.’
    ‘So how do you know you’ve been re-identified?’
    ‘Because it’s on file,’ she said, as if this was irrefutable proof.
    ‘So I can check my file then? See who or what I was before?’
    ‘Oh no. Only security cleared officers of the ARC have access to the files,’ she explained.
    ‘But you’ve seen your own file?’
    ‘Of course not,’ she answered, as if it should have been obvious.
    ‘So how do you know for sure that you’ve been re-identified?’
    ‘Oh, so many questions. Look, I process the files of hundreds of life forces. So I have all the details of the transitions for all my clients. Your file is actually handled by George Smithe, who has the same number, but as there was a little hiccough with your processing today, and he is now off duty, I’m filling in for him,’ Hilda explained.
    ‘So you’ve seen my file?’
    ‘Yes of course, otherwise I wouldn’t be here driving you to your re-identification.’
    ‘But you’ve never seen your own file?’
    ‘That would be against all the regulations. No one’s allowed access to his or her own file. It’s logical.’
    ‘Can you tell me what I was before Milo Moon?’
    ‘Certainly not. That’s classified and totally confidential information. I would lose my job in a split second if I divulged classified information,’ she said, very firmly.
    ‘Miss Harpinger?’
    ‘Yes Mr. Moon,’ Hilda said, with a hint of impatience.
    ‘Do you play tennis?’
    ‘No, badminton actually, so very close. And you?’
    ‘I like table tennis.’
    It was nearing seven o’clock when Hilda Harpinger parked her car at the entrance of the building. It was getting dark, but Milo could just make out the sign above the door. ‘ ARC Processing Centre’ . It had a familiarity about it, but Milo had seen so many odd things today, a little bit of déjà-vu hardly seemed worth worrying about.
    ‘So, should I go in?’ he asked.
    ‘I’m coming with you, Mr. Moon. I’ll make sure you’re registered correctly, and that there are no further mix ups with your file,’ Hilda said, and they both got out of