YeahWrite Super Challenge #26 Final Round Prompts:
Genres: Sci-Fi + Picaresque
[Final Round: Honourable Mention #1]
When Russe arrives in the geoport of Proxima Centauri B in the Alpha Centauri system, he expects to make a standard drop off to one of his intermediary contacts. Keeve, however, has other ideas.
It should have been a routine drop off. Walk in with the goods; walk out with the credit chips. Easy.
Keeve never makes things easy.
You’d think her illegal existence would dampen her enthusiasm for rebellious acts. Most humans who owe their life to a forbidden physical tryst have the good sense to hop on a transit shuttle headed far out of the Alpha Centauri system.
Not Keeve. She chose to stay in the cesspit that is the northern geoport of Proxima Centauri B. She never should have existed, so she spends her life evading detection amongst other undesirables. Rather poetic, really. Her salvage shop, a collection of items all just as unlawful as her, is meticulous in its commitment to chaos.
Anyway, I don’t usually complain. She’s a useful intermediary who brings a lot of trade my way. Bit of smuggling here, bit of salvaging there. All tip offs are accepted.
But today, I’m complaining. And I’ve got a bit of reputation around this star system for achieving the impossible. So, if I’ve got a problem with this, you know it’s some mad shit.
“Why is she here?” I demand.
‘She’ is an incredibly attractive woman. Everything about her screams Heritage progeny: a product of the algorithm devoted to ensuring human viability in AlphaCen. Only specific genetic pairings are approved by Heritage. Without approval, you have no right to exist. Literally. It’s an ancient legacy carried over from the migration of humans from the Sol System millennia ago. So now we all pretend reproduction of our species can only ever happen in sterilised gestation pods overseen by AlphaCen scientists.
Except when someone thinks they can trick the system. Like Keeve’s parents. Lust, ego, a desperate need to feel connection in the endless vacuum of space… call it what you want. But let’s just say, Keeve has as many family members over for dinner as I do. Which is to say, none at all.
“Russe, this is Tawna—”
“Stop telling me shit I don’t want to know!” Why would I want to know the identity of the woman whose forbidden love letters I smuggle for a rather hefty fee?
Just because physical reproduction is illegal doesn’t mean the urges aren’t there. For some, anyway. It’s becoming more of a genetic aberration with each new generation.
But that does mean a rather lucrative trade on illicit communications. AlphaCen take a dim view of anyone without Heritage approval engaging in such activities. Shit, they barely tolerate those with Heritage approval communicating prior to submitting samples of their genetic code.
“I need you to take me to Toliman!” Tawna blurts out.
Toliman is in the Beta Centauri system. It’s where the recipient of her letters lives. It also has some of the most stringent security checks around. I can only guarantee smuggling handwritten letters because they’re such an archaic form of communication. A.I. scans would pick up anything else.
“I ship cargo, not sentient beings,” I say flatly.
“I can be useful.” She squares her shoulders. All puffed up and completely unintimidating.
I groan.
“Tawna, show him,” Keeve intervenes, flashing the woman an encouraging smile.
With a decisive nod, immediately undermined by a quick swallow, Tawna pulls out a sleek tablet. The screen is filled with complex designs. “I design quantum technology.”
The ground beneath my feet shifts – and it has nothing to do with gravitational axes. This is a set up: Keeve knows I can’t resist a good deal when I hear one.
Still, I’ll put up a fight. “So?”
Keeve huffs at my deliberate stupidity. “You get designs that Creyla can modify to your ship. She gets passage to BetaCen.”
Clearly, she’s thought this one through. Creyla, my ship’s engineer, is exceptionally skilled yet has not one iota of imagination. A typical trait of the Naeux. But with a detailed design to work from…
“Designs are one thing. Time is another.” Like I said, I’m putting up a fight. My reputation demands I don’t reveal being so predictable. “BetaCen doesn’t take long to reach. What can you really design for me in that time?”
“Well…” Tawna glances towards Keeve, who nods encouragement. “Nothing,” she admits. “But I was hoping that might be why—”
“Jayr is a doctor,” Keeve interrupts. “Let’s be honest, Russe, you need someone who’ll patch you up, no questions asked. And Tawna can have a design ready for when you inevitably turn up wherever they’re hiding out.”
Assuming their love affair isn’t discovered in the meantime. But that’s a gamble I can afford to take. It won’t be me sentenced to life on a deep space penal shuttle.
“And what do you get out of this?” I ask Keeve.
She grins. “To strike another furtive blow against the tyranny of AlphaCen doctrine.”
“Uh huh, sure.” Actually, that probably is enough for Keeve. She has this habit of believing in happy endings. Presumably not unlike her father on the night of her conception.
Blowing out my cheeks, I glance between the pair. It’s a dangerous proposal but what’s life without a little danger? Safe. And safe is unquestionably boring. Besides, I achieve the impossible, don’t I?
“I’ll take you,” I concede at last, “if you can get to my shuttle without raising suspicion. Dock Six-G. Three rotations or deal’s off.”
Babbling her gratitude, Tawna shoves two credit chips in payment for the letter delivery before rushing out of the shop.
Keeve and I stand in silence for a moment.
“Think she’ll actually make it?” Keeve ventures.
“To the ship or to Toliman?”
“Either.”
I shrug, pocketing my chip. “Not my problem.” I hand her the other chip for payment as the go-between. “You’ll let me know about any other jobs, right?”
“Actually, I did hear of something,” she drawls.
I raise a brow. “Let me guess, it fits in with travelling to BetaCen?”
A wide grins spreads across her face. “Just a simple job, Russe,” she assures me. “Routine.”
Now where have I heard that before?
C.A. Raine 