SFSD-X Short Story Smackdown

1.2 A Honey of a Streamer

After a quick and boring stop at Willard's for the meat and some corn-whiskey, I got the Streamer fueled and in the air. The town was as dead as usual, at least during the day. Any excuse to fly, I would take it.

We're pretty close to the Antarctic Circle, living on the edge geographically speaking of the United States of Argentine. Near the sea. It smells bad, but it's not much better inland. Not too much law enforcement, but then not much ever happens. More people live way up north in Alaska and Old Arctica, but they are wussies with extinct polar bears as their national mascot. We have penguins on our team, and those suckers can bite.

I can't say I blame the women for leaving. It's not like they were being treated right or had anything to look forward to. I was only twelve at the time, but I remember the screams and the stories, my mom not going outside except with her laser-sights, bolt-action rifle and a couple of grenades in her g-chucker. And that was just to pick up groceries. Life for women was tough. Always Warlord This or Asshat That wanting to expand his harem of fertile females. If I had been a girl, I would have given A Man's World the finger, too.

I just wish they'd come back and visit every once in a while. Other than the smuggling jobs and going down for a drink of clean water and a chat with the robo-chicks at Bonking Bong, there's not a lot to do. The warlords have pretty much killed each other off. The government doesn't meddle in anyone's lives or send its soldiers off to die killing other random soldiers anymore.

Oh, and food. Let me complain. The only food that grows is the algae in its plastic, water filled baggies, skimpy corn and the insects on the insect farms. Affordable protein. Nom-nom-nom. Or crunch-crunch-crunch depending on the insect. For the rich there were a couple of dodo bird farms, but that was mostly out of my spending league. Algae, corn and bugs. None of which make for good meals or fun times. And there sure isn't nothing good to drink with it, either.

I choked down Willard's moonshine to seal our current venture, but it wasn't pretty.

As I flew over mountains and plains towards the ocean, I could see some green and even a couple of blue spots where water was contained. Not bad for a bunch of thieving invaders. The former USA and Europe had teamed up against the Southern American continent back in 2450 and finally colonized the southern half. We had even let most of the locals live free lives.

Most of the planet didn't look this good. Besides the women's colonies that are supposedly built far underground, nothing much lives between the two 45th Parallels. Too hot and dry. And before today, I would have sworn up and down on whatever you consider holy that nothing could live farther south than the 60th Parallel.

****

Antarctic winds were trying to roll my Streamer. My baby wasn't built for this kind of abuse, her hips were wide and her arms were short, and besides myself, there wasn't too much upstairs. I pulled her around to face the winds, though it would take us slightly off course. She still had it where it counted.

Three degrees further to go. I had just passed the 60th Parallel South. The water below was choppy and black, and I really didn't want to find out how cold it was. Double checked coordinates for the island on my Geo tracking, which didn't show the island, but Willard had promised me it was there. Nothing could live in this climate, I told myself again. The man was off his console chair.

I cracked my knuckles a few times.

"Wind velocity increasing," the Streamer's system announced in a soothing female voice. "Recommended flight path is due north for ten—"

"Not now, honey," I said. Damn storms. I had to wonder again if Willard was trying to get rid of me. Maybe someone was paying him, although I was fairly certain I didn't have any enemies who had money.

I flipped on the manual wheel. Pushing buttons was very unsatisfying. I needed to wrap my hands around the Streamer's controls and feel the wind. I turned her ever so slightly to stay close to the course, but not so much the winds could roll her.

Slow and steady, I steered her through the gusts, far around the island and up from the other side. My fuel was low. If I couldn't make a straight shot for home after this, I could be stranded in the ocean or in some mountain range.

Visibility was also piss-poor, but the Streamer informed me that a flat area that could be used for landing was nearby. The winds calmed down enough that I let her take over.

From what little I could see, the terrain was rocky and iced over with occasional hills. Funny thing about the Globally Warming Era was that roughly the middle half of the Earth's surface got hotter and dryer, with the polar extremes got wetter and colder. Humanity and most mammals were restricted to the narrow rings in between too hot or cold, but basically it sucked no matter where you tried to live.

The Streamer set herself down gently and I zipped up my thermal suit, put on my helmet and wished I had a multi-barrel freestyler to snap into the empty holster on my hip. I went to the gangway.

"Initialize safety airlock procedure for disembarking," I said. It wasn't strictly necessary, but it was one of my little pleasures to do things as fancy as possible.

"Initializing. Inner door sealing. The weather outside today is sunny but cold at -25°C, winds at 130 km per hour. Storms are expected later this afternoon. I recommend drinking plenty of warm fluids during your stay and don't take your gloves off or your fingers will freeze. Inner door locked. Pressure is equalized. Outer door opening now."

"Streamer, you're a real doll."

"Why, thank you. Please note that 35 armed and activated AI droids are waiting to greet you."

"Wai – shut the door! Shut the door!"

"Negative, sir. They have blocked it with a plasma cannon."

"Yes, they have," I said, staring into the wide, black barrel. "Calculate damage to ship if you open the inner door and take off at the same time." I could conceivable repair the ship even if they shot it to South Africa, but odds were against my own survival if they shot me.

Thirty-five pairs of glowing green eyes zeroed in on me from the tarmac, and I knew they knew what I was thinking.

Not my baby, they couldn't shoot my baby! But not me, either, dammit.

"Ready?" I hissed, not waiting for her to calculate.

"Negative, sir. Damage would be substantially more than I am prepared to sustain."

"Are you more worried about yourself than me?"

"Affirmative. Have a nice day. Goodbye now." The Streamer tilted her gangway floor up to 45° to facilitate my removal.

Governments had sworn that all AI on international territory had been fully eradicated a hundred years ago, but between her getting rid of me and the very aware soldier droids keeping their guns locked on my head, I had serious doubts.

"Do not attempt to flee during interrogation. All unauthorized personnel are to be shot and disposed of," the droid informed me.