sweet deals
We finally got a good haul, a pull from one junkheap to another, but a paying job. Oberon is filled with crate upon crate of sugar, and it reminds me of the first days on Roller, a full hold and Caban as a genial salesman. Hands in his pockets, he whistled as he inspected the crates, and joking with Em about finding a boxrider half-drowned in sugar. Kon was also considerably cheered, and I managed to illicit looks from Ice that were not threatening but rather long-sufferingly amused as we had to listen to his endless puns about the cargo.
I used our brief stop to conduct business as usual, asking the bartender for recent news. She was new, and young, too young in my opinion to be taking on the hazardous job of bartender and contact for countless Runners. They tend to last a long time, know far too much, and end badly. Maybe she’d retire after her child was born, though I doubt she knows she’s pregnant yet.
The girl told me that Milano has had his business done by the Feds, and he won’t be out for the next several years, with the usual Runner’s charges (unlicensed trade, trespassing, unregistered ship, tariff violations, resisting arrest, unregistered firearms, the same we’d all get) along with broken parole. When I asked about the rest of his crew, she cocked her head and shrugged, “Dead.”
“Dead?”
“Pershing sent them out but they never come back. Contacts said they never showed, so a course Pershing hadta pay. Then Slick shows up in Delaya shot dead.”
The girl was too glib about it, and I doubted she’d seen much death here yet. I wondered if we died, who she’d report it to. The next travelers asking after…who? No one would care, no one would notice, if we never came back to this junkspot, they’d find another Runner to fill our place, with scarcely more than a “remember when”. Anyone who asked would figure we had our business done by the Feds or one of our kind, and we’d be added to the long list most Runners carry inside but refuse to acknowledge.
I shuddered, and remembered the vial waiting for me, all the viable possibilities of life. I thanked the girl and told her to eat another vitamin packet, it would help, and walked away from her quizzical eyes, back to where Caban waited. Suddenly I was flooded with the knowledge that Caban won’t let it happen. He’ll die before he’ll let us die, and nothing in me speaks to an early death for him. There is too much potential there.
Funny thing that those what crossed us would end up dead.
I used our brief stop to conduct business as usual, asking the bartender for recent news. She was new, and young, too young in my opinion to be taking on the hazardous job of bartender and contact for countless Runners. They tend to last a long time, know far too much, and end badly. Maybe she’d retire after her child was born, though I doubt she knows she’s pregnant yet.
The girl told me that Milano has had his business done by the Feds, and he won’t be out for the next several years, with the usual Runner’s charges (unlicensed trade, trespassing, unregistered ship, tariff violations, resisting arrest, unregistered firearms, the same we’d all get) along with broken parole. When I asked about the rest of his crew, she cocked her head and shrugged, “Dead.”
“Dead?”
“Pershing sent them out but they never come back. Contacts said they never showed, so a course Pershing hadta pay. Then Slick shows up in Delaya shot dead.”
The girl was too glib about it, and I doubted she’d seen much death here yet. I wondered if we died, who she’d report it to. The next travelers asking after…who? No one would care, no one would notice, if we never came back to this junkspot, they’d find another Runner to fill our place, with scarcely more than a “remember when”. Anyone who asked would figure we had our business done by the Feds or one of our kind, and we’d be added to the long list most Runners carry inside but refuse to acknowledge.
I shuddered, and remembered the vial waiting for me, all the viable possibilities of life. I thanked the girl and told her to eat another vitamin packet, it would help, and walked away from her quizzical eyes, back to where Caban waited. Suddenly I was flooded with the knowledge that Caban won’t let it happen. He’ll die before he’ll let us die, and nothing in me speaks to an early death for him. There is too much potential there.
Funny thing that those what crossed us would end up dead.
posted by Scout | 5:06 PM
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