A Future We'd Like To See 1.40 - Rain nor Sleet nor Snow By Twoflower (Copyright 1994) Half the fun of this job is the people you meet. Take the two guys that were in front of me that day, for instance. Here I was, cruising the backwaters of Yttia, and in swings a low-riding land rover. They fire a few warning blaster shots over my hood, then force me off the road. Now they probably expecting me to be so fear-stricken that I'll agree to anything, like some two-bit delivery boy. Ha. Two Yttian punks, like I figured. These XGF gang guys do NOT know how to dress. The one with the most leather and biker chains tapped on my window, careful not to break the glass. I flashed him my best service-with-a-smile grin, and rolled down the window. "What can I do for you, sir?" I grinned, trying not to sound too cocky. "This Yttian territory, xennix jky," he spat. "You gotta pay a toll if you wanna be alien around here." "Hmmm. I didn't see a toll booth. All my maps show this area as being quite toll-free, actually. Now, why don't you two boys just get back in your cute little modified rover there, maybe go back to school. Learn a trade. I have some great D.P.W. brochures I can give you. We've got a terrific health plan." "I don't work for humans," the punk snorted. He pulled out a cheesy little blaster pistol. "Now hand over your package, MAILMAN." "Aww, jeez... here I am trying to be civilized, and all you punks want to do is get nasty. You want nasty?" I reached under the seat and pulled out my repeating pulse- blaster, pointing the oversized barrel in his face. "Okay, we can get nasty. We can get really nasty. You've got two seconds before I proceed to get nasty. One, two." I casually yanked the trigger, letting fly a dozen blasts of energy. The punk had ducked already, but this was enough to set his furry ears on fire. I laughed, laughed like the lunatic I was as he ran screaming back to his land rover, beating out the flames with a leather-clad hand. They quickly powered up the rig and zipped off like a bat out of hell. Here's where you see the difference between us and normal delivery services. Here, we prevent a troublemaker from making any more trouble on a route. I slammed my rover into overdrive, and tapped a few buttons. Twin gatling guns... ancient weapons, really raw and gritty, mounted conveniently on the front hood. I made sure my hair and uniform were in place, and gunned the engine. They were fast little suckers, but nothing compared my hauler. I chased them to the highway onramp, spiraling up to the main Yttian thoroughfare. Traffic got 'em... nowhere to run. I cut loose with the guns, blasting holes the size of baseballs in the rear of the rover. The rear engine gave up and exploded, and the low rider soared neatly over the railing. I pulled over to the side and watched it fall. "THANKS FOR CHOOSING DISGRUNTLED POSTAL WORKERS FOR YOUR DELIVERY SERVICE, MOTHERFUCKERS!" I shouted, just before the wreck slammed into the ground and exploded. I paused for a few moments to take in the noise with glee, then kicked in the engine and nudged a few slow commuters out of the way. God, I love my work. * I showed up more or less on schedule, delivering my sack of envelopes and packages unharmed. They didn't tip real well until I pulled out my knife. Now, a lot of people don't like us. They say the D.P.W. is full of psychotics, pilots rejected by the Heavily Armed Ambassadors of Friendship and Fun for being too unstable. Well, they're right, but we have a higher success rate. See, the HAAFF is full of wimps and half-wits. Terminally depressed fighter jockeys with one foot in the grave, flying poorly-designed compact shuttles that defy physics. Sure, they can get your package from point A to point B, but odds are pretty strong that it won't be in the same shape, or the same number of pieces. We're not like that. We're a small company right now, but growing, adding on new members that the other courier groups reject. Illegal weaponry? Go ahead and use it. Our legal boys handle any whining. Heavily armored shuttles with extreme maneuverability? We've got 'em! Go ahead, take one out for a spin. We are THE bad-ass delivery squad. Nobody gets in our way. And if someone IS dumb enough to get in out way, we remove them efficiently to keep your parcels safe and secure. I gave the rover a last burst of acceleration, pulling hard right and shooting past the check point of the D.P.W. garage. Merv, the guard, knows me well enough. No need to bother him with messy check-in paperwork. I narrowly avoided a few outgoing starhoppers, and swerved into my parking space. I hit the wall full tilt, but hey, I've got an airbag and one hell of a bumper, so who cares? I unbuckled (safety first, you know), and hopped out. Smell that air! Dirty, crappy, full of carbons and filth. Cleaner than my apartment, however. I waved to a few of my friends, who were busy having an arm wrestling contest on Mel's hood. (Mel's really into spikes, and decked out his transport to that effect. I like his taste.) I waved my passkey in front of the garage elevator sensors, and climbed inside. There was a scream as the doors closed... someone must have won the arm wrestling match, and literally pinned the other guy's arm down. That's gotta hurt. The elevator descended deeper into the underground complex, past all the various floors of D.P.W. The training arenas, small arms ranges, ammo storage, legal department (four floors!), medical unit (five floors!). Finally, to the lowest level; dispatch. I strutted out, careful to duck, since Cinthia tends to blast any men stepping out of the elevator. She's got this little quirk, sort of an intense hatred of her ex-husband, and also very poor vision. If it has testicles, she'll probably fire. Better safe than sorry, logically. However, no bullets slammed into the back of the elevator. I looked up, trying to spot a familiar face. "Hey, Nedry! Where's Cinthia?" I screamed over the din of office work. "Dennis? That you?" Nedry shouted from across the room. "Cinthia's sick today. Stomach flu." "What, like hocking up a lung and emptying your stomach six times a day?" "Yeah." "Neat!" "You get that package delivered to H'ppeiTak?" Nedry asked, plowing through the desk-maze to approach me. One can only shout for so long. Longest I've lasted at top volume is seven days. "Yeah. Ran into a few locals, made sure they wouldn't bug us again." "Heard about that. The Yttian Traffic Council filed another complaint against you. You might be banned from their highways... that's fifty six complaints so far." "Really? Great! How many do I have to go?" "Fourteen. That's just the complementary toaster oven. The microwave's at one hundred even." "It will be mine, Nedry. It will be mine." "Good luck. Only person to rack up that many fines is Janice." Ah yes, the lovely Janice. Of course, she'd tear your intestines out if you called her that to her face. Never smiled. Attitude of... well, there's nothing I can compare it to. Just a loud, angry, nasty, argumentative THING. She had the highest success rate of any disgruntle. I was rather envious of that. "I'll catch up to her soon enough. What's my next assignment?" "It's a biggie, actually. We're gonna assign you a partner for it... they wanted extra security. Expect some resistance." "Joy! A partner. Hey, do me a favor. Mix up the callboards a little and get Janice on a few milk runs. I need to boost my score." "Can't. The boards are locked down. She's your partner on this run." My face fell. So much for getting a few more points... any I earned on this, she would too. I wouldn't get anywhere. "You seem upset," Nedry commented. "I thought you had been trying to get her to go out with you for weeks. Last time I had to take you to the burn ward, remember?" "Sure, but I just do that to annoy her... It's the score I'm more upset over." "Lords, man! Get over it! You can catch up later!" Nedry exclaimed. "Alright, alright! Whatever. At least SHE won't be gaining any on this run either. Which ship am... we, taking?" * Not bad. That's all I could say, NOT BAD. Much bigger than my ship. Had a self-contained sleeper unit, real navigational computer, even a fridge stocked with snacks and beer. And the weapons... blasters! Missiles! Even a nuke, although they're no fun. Too easy. Fun to watch, but too easy. "Get on board already," Janice yelled to me from inside the ship. "I gotta appointment with my eye doctor tomorrow and want to get back sometime this century." I kicked the hatch to get it to unfold, and stomped up the stairs. Yeah, there she was, slouched down in a seat, nose buried in a book. "What, no hello, how's it going, Dennis?" I asked. "Just drive," Janice requested. Not very nicely, either. I examined the front cover of her book. "Yttian Psycho. Nice selection." "I don't do smalltalk," she replied, never looking up from the book. "Okay," I shrugged, powering up the engines. * Boring, boring trip. I don't know why our clients requested the extra-security delivery, there was nothing out there. Yeah, space is a void and all, but occasionally you might bump into a pirate or a hijacker. Then fun begins, and I perk up. But this, this coasting along without a care, this is dull. Janice, also, was quite dull. She spent most of her time during the flight doing an extremely good job of ignoring me. Sure, she ignores me back at D.P.W. also, but here it's a bit more personal. We're in the same ship, and she still ignores me. What's a guy to do? I roamed towards the rear of the ship (Auto-pilot. Only way to fly) and poked around for something to do. I found it in the form of the ship's CD2 player. I browsed the rack... Men W/out Talent, Euphoria, The Black Crusade, Stomach Contents, and Jellied Hams. I selected the loudest, most annoying SC song I could find and popped it in the disc tray. The tray slid in quietly, then got loud. There's a saying that goes 'You can rate how good your stereo is by the amount of plaster it can displace'. I disagree. If it can't demolish a small house, it's simply not worth listening to. Naturally, I had it cranked up to 13 before even turning on the player. Then I turned it up s'more. I got through four or five earth-shattering notes, then the blaster bolt neatly melted the CD2 player into a puddle of plastic slag. I turned around in time to watch Janice holster her smoking sidearm and go back to reading. "You mind? I was listening to that," I protested. "I want it quiet," she replied. "Quiet's dull. Let's chat. See the last playoff game? Whooeee!" "Go away." "Look, what is WITH you?" I asked, with appropriate wild arm gestures. "I mean, either you're in a deep funk of some kind or that book is a serious pageturner. And since I've read it and found it dreary and poorly-organized, I know that can't be it." "I'm not talking about it. Go away." Yes, clearly this required extreme measures. If I was to maintain my sanity, I'd have to break her silence and get SOMETHING resembling conversation going. The only way to do that wasn't pretty. It could cost me my life, but I would have to risk it. "Ninety nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety nine bottles of beer..." I sung quietly to myself, wandering around the ship, while keeping an eye on the literary form of Janice. "If one of those bottles should happen to fall, ninety eight bottles of beer on the wall." "Must you sing that?" she asked, failing to look in my direction. "Why, does it bother you?" "Frankly, yes." "NINETY EIGHT BOTTLES OF BEER ON THE WALL, NINETY EIGHT BOTTLES OF BEER!!!! IF ONE OF THOSE BOTTLES SHOULD *HAPPEN* TO FALL--" "SHUT UP!" she screamed. Ah! Eye contact. We're getting somewhere. "Make a deal. You tell me what's got you so zoned out, and I stop Karoke Night." "Forget it." "Dreidel dreidel dreidel, I made it out of clay--" "Stop!" "There was a man who had a dog, and BINGO WAS HIS NAME-O--" She grabbed shakily for her G.P.W. blaster sidearm, waving it in my face. "Shut... up." "Oh, come on. You're gonna blow my head off over a little ditty? Look, just tell me what's wrong, and I'll draw my performance to a ha--" The ship lurched, automatically switching to attack thrusters. A few warning lights flashed in a very warning manner. "What the--?" "We're under attack," Janice replied totally emotionless. I quickly darted over to my chair, flinching only when I realized I was sitting on her book. "I see 'em. Swinging around... get something threatening powered up, I'm gonna have them in blast sights in a second or two." "I can't!" "Yes you can, it's the red button on the left! Look, I'll hit it." "Attention!" the communications speaker crackled, frequencies usually closed forced into action. "We, representing an anonymous client, want your cargo. Repeat, your CARGO. You may leave unharmed if you hand over your cargo." I tapped the comm panel. "Unknown big evil nasty-looking terrorist type, do you have any idea who you're dealing with?" "No, and I don't care. I have explicit orders to--" I muted the channel, and grinned to Janice. "Virgin territory!" I reopened it. "We'd like you to please broadcast back to your evil leaders that this is the Disgruntled Postal Workers courier service you're dealing with, and that we have very reasonable rates. Once you do that, we'll prepare for docking." "Ummm..." the voice said, confused. "Err. Okay, transmitted. Prepare to be boarded." "And prepare to taste vacuum, shit for brains," I laughed, closing the channel. "Okay, we're locked. Firing." Three missiles neatly arced out from under the ship, bearing down on their respective targets with pinpoint accuracy. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. (Shame you can't hear anything in space.) "Woooweee, look at all the pretty debris," I giggled, spinning around in my chair as the silver-coated dust zipped on by. "Life is good." I stopped spinning, facing Janice. "How come you didn't help me out there? I mean, yeah, walk in the park and all that, but a little backup--" "I'M BEING BLACKMAILED!" she screamed. "THERE! Are you happy?!" I paused. For a long time. "You're what?" "Being blackmailed. And now that they didn't get the cargo, odds are they're widebanding my secret now. I'm doomed." "Doomed? Come on, that's an exagerration. What could you have done that was so evil it would--" "I wore a plush dinosaur suit and sang songs about birdies and trees on Murflan children's TV," she admitted. "YOU WERE THAT INSIPID PURPLE CRETIN?!" I screamed, before my tact returned. "Umm. I mean. I know that, umm, well, that, uh." "Go on, get mad. I know a million Murfles currently want me dead on crimes against Murflanity for helping poison a generation of youngsters with cutesy ideas. I know everybody in the free universe hated that show. I feel so... dirty. I was young... I needed the money... anyone would have..." I hate it when they cry. When a woman has your arm behind your back and is about to rip it off I can handle, or when they yell at you for leaving the toilet seat up. Crying I'm not used to. "Look. Here, have a hankie." "That's your sleeve," she burbled. "I don't have anything else. Look, who is it that's blackmailing you with this?" "Some guy, I don't know..." she sniffed, wiping quite a bit of fluid on my arm. "Works for a rival corp... JakTechs Incorporated. They wanted me to keep this delivery from going through, and now that we blew up their attack fleet, they're gonna ruin my life and career. I'll be dangling at the end of a Murflan noose by the end of the week because I wore a dumb costume and brainwashed little children..." "Calm down," I said, tapping a few commands into the nav panel. The ship swung neatly around in a 90' arc. "Murfles don't have a structure high enough to hang you from. Besides, I know where these guys live." "What're you doing?" she asked, drying up the last of the rivers on her face. "Oh, not much. We're almost there, actually." The ship fell out of warp above some corporate homeworld. The main complex was visible from orbit, a solid lump of machinery and computers. "Okay, there's the office block. Loading up the nuke now." "WHAT?" "Well, as much as I'd love to remove a rival in the point- race back home, that's not a way I'd like them to go. We're just going to make sure nobody tells your little secret." "You can't nuke the place!" "But it would look REALLY COOL!" "You're a real sicko, you know that, right?" "Proud of it," I grinned. She frowned, leaned over, and turned off the weapon loader. "Not that way. I've got a better idea." * "That him?" I asked, pointing to the video channel. She nodded. I turned off the mute button. "I tire of these delays," the corporate busybody said. "When will you hand over the item?" "I just want to make sure my secret is NOT out," Janice said to the comm link. "Did you tell anybody?" "I was about to. You're damn lucky you came here, I figured you double-crossed me when my attack ships came home in small bags," the guy said. "Good. I want you to come up here, YOURSELF, and dock with this ship. We'll give you the item then." "That's exactly what you told our last fleet, too," the man replied. "No. Power down your guns and eject all your ammo into deep space. THEN I'll get up there." Janice flashed me a panicked look. I motioned for her to go ahead. "Alright, mister," she said, typing in the commands to flush our ammo. "Dumped. Now get up here." The link closed. "Okay, NOW how do we get rid of him?" "Simple," I said. "See that moon?" The corporate shuttle approached the ship rapidly, ignoring silly speed constrictions in a near-atmosphere. "Actually, I lack time to explain. Don't panic, I've got an idea." There was a clunk of metal on metal as the two ships merged. I checked to make sure the docking link was secure. Then I locked the hatch tight. I switched the engines to full speed. The gravity didn't stabilize fast enough, pushing me back in my seat and knocking Janice across the cabin. I could hear assorted yelps and shouts from the docked ship, through the closed hatch. I swerved around, and aimed right for the moon. Our two ships, stuck together with glue, flew pell-mell on a collision course. That's not the clever bit. THIS is the clever bit. I slammed the engines into a reverse-spin type thing, then released the docking hatch. As a result, our ship skidded backwards while the other ship span out of control towards the moon. A few thrusters fired, but I'm afraid it was a bit too late for them. SPLATTER! Grind, grind, grind, the ship crunched into a little pile of scrap on the moon's surface. Not as explosive as I would have liked, but satisfying nonetheless. "Phew," I exclaimed, wiping imaginary sweat off my forehead. "For a minute there I was afraid what I was planning wasn't technically possible by the laws of physics." "I don't think it was," Janice replied, getting back on her feet. "Well, we're lucky it worked, then. You're secret's safe now, but I suggest we get the hell out of here as fast as possible. See all those little sensor blips? I think, unlike us, they HAVE ammo." Janice didn't bother nodding, hand going for the warp controls. * They managed to pursue our ship for a few sectors, but we had much better engines. The few fighters that managed to keep up were blasted to bits by corporate guns as we flew through the atmosphere of our client's homeworld. We made the delivery, nice and clean. Got refueled, reloaded, restocked. Sitting pretty. No fines, no points. I wasn't too happy about that. "Why so glum?" Janice asked. (She seemed much perkier without that blackmail thing over her head.) "Well, I was hoping to get more scores on this one. Pity." "What? Boy, for the number two offender on the charts, you don't know much. Here, this should warrant fifteen at LEAST..." She targeted the guns on the row of limos parked outside the client's home base. Then she cut loose with the blaster fire, setting off a series of explosions as expensive luxury starships went up in flames. Instantly, the communications panel registered multiple EMERGENCY calls. "That'd be them," she grinned. "Just say your finger slipped, and they'll register some complaints. Score goes up." "I like yer attitude, sister," I beamed back. * We made a pretty good team after that. Without fear of her flowery-poo past getting out, she had a renewed vigor for mindless destruction and rampaging revenge trips. Fines stacked up as we gleefully delivered boxes from here to there. It was a happy life. God, I love my work.