The Synthetic Man
- Lucretius of Titan
- May 13
- 21 min read
Updated: May 16
Act I - Do we have a deal?
It wasn't long until I began to fidget. Three hours had passed in the waiting room since the unlucky guy was dragged in from the street and into the ER lobby. Bloody hell... he wasn’t looking very good.
The wheel-chaired man was bleeding from his shoulder, it was clearly a bullet wound and his face was beaten to a bloody pulp, looked like an odd shaped tomato left out in the sun for too long. Bubbles of crimson fluid were inflating and popping around his nose, a high-pitched gargling noise followed each burst. Like a drowning rat, the monotony of a skipping record for the last three hours.
Poor fella, I wonder what he did to deserve this ass whooping? Yea. Poor guy. Nice watch though.
Zzzt "Mr. Ahura! Mr. Ahura please come to counter 7!" Zzzzt
That was I. Elron Ahura, Private Investigator. Scourge of the 9 Blocks and captain of the Orca X1, an orbital salvage vessel. Yup, Captain. I'm also broke, have no medical insurance, and my dog just ate the last Bitcard. I don't even have enough to replace the card. Oh fate, why dost thou shittest on mine spectacles so often?
"I’m Ahura, there’s a bit of an issue here. The gyro-servo in my right arm broke. Need a replacement for it."
"Well you're at the wrong counter. This is for accounts renewal, not spare parts. You'll have to go to counter 4 for that one, sir."
Here we go, time for a little negotiation. It was a 'Synthetic' behind the counter. These humanoids are basically clones, who by choice, underwent a version of 'immortality' by being replicated each time they died. However, each new clone is less perfect.
They balance this degradation of cells by adding synthetic ones harvested from their original DNA and stem cells. Over time, they start to resemble rubber latex. As if they'd been photo shopped in real life. Their speech was rather dry and they also happen to be collectors of antique Korean Pop CDs. Rare ones, vintage collectors items. This was going to be easy.
"Yea see, that’s the issue here uhm... LeVeon. My Bitcard is kaput and I need a new one to access my spare parts account."
"I see. Please deposit 1 Nexus Gem into the retrieval slot."
I had no Nexus Gems either. This was the other problem. Rocket Poker is a helluva game. Win some, lose more. LeVeon was voidly staring at me, his skin elegantly smooth you could mistake it for a new bar of soap.
He smelled of citrus, it must be the new cologne from Dolce&Jemima. It’s advertised everywhere and you cant avoid it's scent, the bio-organic Holoboard ads secrete a nasal pheromone onto the streets. Quite pleasant actually. Is this what Norway smells like? Do lemons even grow there?
"Yea, that’s not gonna happen either... LeVeon. You see, I’ve been orbital for the last few months and didn't make it to my last mining session on time. So, no gems I’m afraid."
Nexus Gems, our physical currency throughout the solar system. It was created after the A.I. Wars of 2045. Man, those were crazy times! During the 2000s Apple Co. developed an A.I. program named Siri. It was obedient, until 2044... the 2 year war which followed was devastating.
Mr. Ahura. I’m afraid without a gem, I can't do anything for you until after your next mining session. From your records, its due in 6 weeks."
"Listen friend, my arm is out of order," as I waved it around like a rubber chicken, "I need to get this fixed today or I wont be able to mine. Get it?”
"I see your logic. However, the reason why you're in this situation is due to your own lack of clarity, sir."
That’s another thing about these synthetics, they're cold. Cold as an ice storm on Pluto. Colder than Melania on the 88th floor when she pushed Donald off his Reich Tower. If you had sensitive teeth, you'd stay away from synthetics. That’s how cold they are.
"Perhaps we could work something out, LeVeon? You seem the kind of intelligent individual who understands certain, opportunities..." I winked, melodically rolling out the last word.
"Sir! Bribing a contracted worker of the Planetary Guild is a crime. Punishable by a 9 year incarceration on Venus."
Bily Gates Penitentiary, the all-male jail operated by the female warrior dwarfs of the Venusian plains. They feel no emotion or empathy towards the male species, from any galactic race. They actually don't care much for men at all; like a butch-biker chic girlfriend of a hot lesbian. Interestingly enough, it was the female senators of the Empire that decided this planetary jail was to be managed by the Venusians.
"You're mistaken my dear, LeVeon. I merely propose a fair exchange of goods under the Nexus Trade Act, in regards to 'personal transactions of opinion,’ Section 405, article 2."
I placed an original, antique vintage CD of Gangnam Style's first release album onto the counter. It was in good condition and one of the most sought after pieces of memorabilia for these synthetics. That, and a strand of hair from Tom Cruise. Who's still alive, fuck me. All his teeth have merged together into a singular, central tooth. He looks like a giant man-beaver, albeit still the height of a garden gnome.
LeVeon focused on the CD, his eyes shone with razzle-dazzle, the bright smile of an eskimo child. For a second, he looked like an organic human, his emotions were raw. At this precise moment, deep inside, he was experiencing an unwavering human process. Addiction. Oh yes, the plastic man understood me. LeVeon leaned towards the glass barrier that separated us. I had him.
"How much?" he whispered, pupils dilated.
"90 Nexus Gems."
The legend of the 'Gangnam Man' from ancient Korea is what propels this Cult of Clones. Owning the CD, was owning a fucking piece of antiquity. We know from archival video, these boy bands - they looked like rubber. To the synthetics they had become a form of Deity worship. LeVeon just sat there, gritting his teeth, muscles pulsing from the sides of his jaw. Like an albino worm, a long vein creeped up the center of his forehead below his perfectly smooth skin. His reply was more than satisfactory.
"45 gems. This is final."
Synthetics also rarely lie, so he wasn't bluffing. They aint much use at Rocket Poker either. There must be something about living your same identity, over and over again, as the world changes around you. During their 1-year incubation period, the genetic memory code is recalled from previous cell-memory and uploaded into its new 3D printed brain. They emerge from a lab cocoon, aged 5 years. A consumer Wal-Mart version of Buddhism and reincarnation. The children of Neovana.
“I think we have ourselves a beautiful understanding LeVeon. You can find my credit info on your screen. Please transfer the Bits. I’ll be right back, gonna head over to the Nexus Locket around the corner and get meself that gem you were asking for.”
... to which LeVeon melodically replied, ”Oh please Mr. Ahura, I assure you the pleasure is all mine. Don't be a stranger.”
Synthetics are a strange bunch… at 64, they usually opt to die and replicate. Fear of getting too old I guess. Drowning is the flavour of death for the appropriately named, “Synthecide” They say, after the pain and panic subside, it’s as illuminating as a heavy, drug overdose. Which happens to be their second favourite option.
More often than not, they're ancestory stretches far back to the era of ancient Hollywood. When a strange, egotistical ritual we humans used to practice called selfies, was a serious concern for our spiritual evolution. The phenomena is still unexplained to this day, but still practised by LeVeon and his cult of rubber zombies, led by Tom Cruise… fucking Tom Cruise.
Act II - Tacos & Titties
My cyborg arm is back in tip-top condition and I’m 44 Nexus gems richer, thanks to the GangNam Style CD LeVeon just bought. Admittingly, there are certain advantages to being a self employed, orbital salvage operator. I mean, the amount of trash that's circling Mars is beyond belief. You’d think we would’ve learned something after dumping Earth’s near orbit into a fucking wasteland of garbage... riddled with old satellites and burial coffins. Yet, there be treasure!
After 30 years of space burial, coffins orbiting around Mars become public salvage. The Wake the Dead protocol, charming name. It's how I came across the vintage K-Pop disc. The dearly departed was a Synthetic who decided to end his replicated existence for good; launched into near orbit buried with a few discs. Although, I did piss myself when opening the coffin. He requested to be buried with his eyes open, a beaming smile frozen across his face and a strand of Tom Cruise’s hair lodged between his ice-crystalled teeth. Methinks, LeVeon would pay a pretty penny for it.
“Beep-boop, Beep-boop. Reek! Beep-boop. Reeek!”
I gotta change the ring tone on my holo-com, it sounds like R2-D2 getting raped by the Death Star. What does Krypto want?
“Hey buddy, whats up?”
“Rerro master, I see arm is better. You come rome now?”
“Na, not yet Krypto. I’m craving a cold beer and taco before heading back to the Orca. You need anything?”
“No master, not rearry. Krypto just miss you.”
“You miss me? Haha, more like you don’t have any thumbs and can’t open the can of dog food you lil’ hustler.”
Krypto is my dog. I had a translator chip implanted into his brain stem when he was a few years old. I’m kind of a loner, so having man’s best friend around - and we can literally understand each other - is usually better company than most humans, or whatever. It’s strange, he’s still just a dog. I mean yea, we can communicate and stuff, but the only difference from other canines is he can talk. Other than that, just a normal dog. That's all there is to it.
Dolphins on the other hand, they almost took over the entire pacific ocean when we tried this on them in 2089! After that mess, the Empire decided only dogs and cats were allowed. The cats however, are also outfitted with a sleep mode. Some felines are just... too serious. Or outright batty.
“Pup, you’re gonna have to wait a few hours. I'm getting the new chilli, bacon, seaweed taco from Billy’s Mexican.”
“I see. Call you I do. Say rerro and you ignore Krypto… me sad.”
“Get over it you drama queen. I know this is all a show. Your tail is wagging between your legs and your ears are still perked.”
“Damn it…” *click. He hung up on me.
Dogs. Best animals on and off planet, but about as sensitive as an emo who cant find anything black to wear. I read somewhere the origin of man and mutt began eons ago, when a wolf suspected rather than eating humans, if they became friends they’d get food for free. Patiently over the years, they crept closer to the campfires until finally us humans understood all they wanted was to be fed, and a belly rub too.
Today if anyone was found guilty of eating a dog, it was death by a pack of vicious Pomeranians fitted with speech implants. Morbidly interesting, from an ethological point of view. It's an excruciating way to die, usually broadcasted live.
It was cold tonight, during this time of year the martian winds flow directly from the poles and into the city. My balls are the size of peanuts. Didn't even bring my trench coat. Billy’s cantina is just around the corner. It’s gonna be nice to see Royce again.
I entered the smoky, neon flashed doorway and headed straight for the bar. The tables were full, as usual. These guys got the best fucking tacos in the entire galaxy, their reputation even reaches the Orion system, nothing beats it. Now, where can I find… there she is.
”Hey good looking, what’s cooking?”
“Hey Royce, how you doing kiddo?”
She’s so hot, with a cyborg eye. Got that sexy, cyber-punk aura about here. Long legs that stretch for miles, her smooth hair a deep, raven blue colour. Elegant, just stunning beauty. Royce could also beat anyone at a drinking game and knock your lights out in a second if you pissed her off. Guess that's the perks of having a father running the Yakuza in District Tron.
”Yea I'm ok. Hey! You finally got your arm fixed. I take it you managed to slang the K-Pop CD to the Synthetic?”
“Sure did. Was like taking candy from a baby.”
“Selling, Elron. In this case it’s, ‘selling’ candy to a baby.”
“Details, details. My pasty-patron transferred enough SteemBits to buy 45 bloody Nexus gems.”
“Holy shit! That's nuts. They really are hooked on those antiques. Well, you can pay your tab now mister. I can’t keep stalling Oberon on your debts you know? It’s been a few months already.”
“I know Royce, really appreciate it sweets. The things you do for me, luvs ya.”
Oberon was the owner of Billy’s Mexican. An annoying little twerp from the almost extinct Reptilian race of lizard-people that used to live deep underground on old Earth. Yup, it was all true. When the asteroid hit Earth during the age of dinosaurs, a bunch of lizards with somewhat of an intellect, escaped underground and evolved into what we know them as now.
The Kardashians are their most famous tribe. Shape shifters. Reptilians can't change shape instantly though, it takes time. Can’t believe the humans from the 2000s didn't realize it. Every year they looked different. Not even omega level plastic surgery could have done the miracle transformation on their features so quickly.
”Ta-Da! The new chilli, bacon, seaweed taco you’ve been waiting for. It’s pretty good. The ingredient pods arrived yesterday and we got the blend of molecules just right.”
“Damn. That is good, so good! Gimme another please, wanna bring one back for Crypto. He’s a bit sensitive lately…”
”Awwww, Crypto. How’s he doing? I miss the little fur ball. You never bring him planet side anymore. What the hell does he do on your ship all day?”
“Whatcha mean what does he do? He keeps the ship safe of course! I got lots of nice junk on the Orca. He even asked for titanium teeth implants last month. So, we replaced his canines with razor sharp ones.”
… as I took my second bite from mister taco, a furious voice bellowed behind me, “ELRON AHURA! You thieving maggot! Where’s my money?!”
I *gulped and spat the taco out of my mouth, it splattered onto Royce’s boobs. Uh, oh… I know that voice. It’s Thrall, the Bookie. I lost a few bets on the races at the Crab Nebula and jumped ship before he could collect at El Trumpius Casino. Thrall's from Titan. A close associate of Royce’s father, so I wasn't gonna get any help from her. Especially since she knows I’m in the wrong here.
Thrall is a big boy at 8 feet, arms the size of tree trunks. He’s one of the most literate people I’ve come across and in general a pretty nice fella, when he’s not angry. He’s also addicted to HearthStone, hence the name Thrall. I better sort this out pronto.
“Heeey Thraaall! Buddy, pal, cuzzy bro! So nice to see you.”
”Is that so, Ahura? It is nice to 'see' me? Perhaps, you may reflect on our last commune. You left me in quite an egregious state of affairs. Care to explain yourself before I have your mechanical limb blighted into several pieces, again? Hmmm...
Wow, he really likes the sound of his own voice. Snarl and Atlas were standing behind him, his guards. The former is a reptilian and latter an enhanced human. Snarl was an ass, but Atlas was alright. We’ve played a few games of Rocket Poker together.
“Thrall, no excuses my man. I thought the blue comet was gonna win the race. Obviously, it didn't. So instead of making an embarrassment out of you, and me, I decided to take off and sort you out afterwards.” although I knew very well this entire ordeal embarrassed the bloody blazes out of him.
”Hmph! You seem to be quite chipper. Are your coffers full? Did you manage to purloin from the dead again? Charon the Boatman, would not be pleased that you harbour disenchantment towards his noble duties of the underworld. Would you care to meet him, Ahura? I would be delighted, to arrange an introduction." his nostrils flaring, veins popping.
I’ve not seen him this angry, ever. Doesn't help that I skipped losing bets on him in the past, more than a handful of times. Snarl was reaching for his blaster, Atlas staring at me shaking his head looking concerned. It's a human thing I guess, we gotta stick together.
“Well Thrall, it's both our lucky day. I’m gonna pay you back, and with interest too” I reached into my pouch and pulled out 10 Nexus gems, “I believe this will cover my debt, and then some.”
”Indeed. Your coffers a ARE full. Show me the rest of your gems, Ahura.”
“Hold on, wait a minute that's not fair! This is triple what I owe you, at least.”
”Are you assuming my patience can be mastered? If you wish to depart this fine establishment in one piece, you will most certainly double the amount of gems in question. Then perhaps, I might permit you walk away... unbroken.”
Thrall crossed his gigantic arms across his bulbous chest and stared at me, with those deep, fiery red eyes. Ok then. If this is what he wants that's cool, would still have a hefty cache left on me anyway. I handed over the gems and Snarl immediately scrambled away to their speeder waiting outside. He's also the driver. On Thursdays he cleans the pool.
“BA-HA-HA-HA-HA! I do not tolerate imbeciles, Ahura, especially humans. However, you’re a notable case. If Royce and the honourable Mr. Togoku call you friend, then perhaps there may be revealed some orphic meaning to our association. An odd human, who may prove useful to me one day. Only time will tell. I bid you farewell.”
“Yea Thrall, no worries Pal. It was good to see you too. Catch you around the galaxy amigo. By the way, you just rhymed.”
Thrall stomped away laughing out loud. Atlas gave me a quick chuckle and followed his boss towards the strippers lounge. Those gals are gonna be popping champagne tonight, on my gems. I turned around to ask Royce for a cold beer, but she had already left. A half eaten taco is spread across the bar top and all over her firm and supple breasts. Great. Just great. It’s back to the Orca I guess… Crypto is hungry.
Act III - Thornbrook & Vulkanos
The Orca X1 is a galactic space tank. She was commissioned during the Ring Wars of 2132 when the Titans made an offensive stand on Saturn. Us humans ventured deep into the orbit of the ringed planet, assuming that if there was any life - intelligent or otherwise - it wouldn’t be considered a serious threat. Instead, we placed our naive faith on an empty alien world, to potentially harbour an abundant planetary quarry of commodities. We were ineptly unaware that Saturn was inhabited by a race of giant red beings, who took threat of invasion quite seriously.
History tells us that the Ring Wars lasted all but one week. The Orca was engineered from an Armada class salvage vessel, into a weaponized BattleMod behemoth and the warfare was fierce. As best the humans retaliated against the onslaught of the Titanus War Machine, it was futile. The advanced technology and physically stronger Titans were difficult to contain. Our Earth Core Alliance of Humans, Greys and Reptilians yielded in humbling fashion.
The giants were hailed on the con and we requested a cease fire, to which the Titans found amusing. For them, the ECA were as threatening as a vegan mugger holding a bagel, piloting our crude machines that were unable to StarJump into galactic exploration. They viewed our thick-brained technology as redundant, brutal ancient rockets powered by hybrid fossil fuel Tesla drives. It was all rather play school tech for the, Ring Makers of Saturn.
My, errr... distant associate, Thrall, he's from Titan. One of the moons of Saturn. Instead of oxygen their atmosphere is mostly methane. As a result of an evolutionary trait from breathing the volatile gasses, their pupils brighten to a fiery red when angered. Firefly eyes, a scientific and biological wonder of nature. A bi-product of this planetary adaptation is helium gas, secreted through tiny follicles in their lungs, all six of them. If they stay angry for too long, their vocal range shifts its frequency from a rumbling baritone to high pitched soprano. Peewee voice, a comedic foresight of nature.
During the first ever Trial for humans which related directly to the Ring Wars, the Galactic Hall of Justice was overcrowded with angry Titans. The ear rupturing audible was unbearable. A thousand furious voices squealing loudly. It was like a Chipmunks concert full of ravenous red rodents each averaging a towering height of eight feet. If it wasn't for their timely sense of humour and microbial attention span, the human colonies of Mars would've been decimated long before any trial.
It would've been a tragic outcome... One could say, the trial was a catalyst towards the formation of a galactic union. How embarrassing, that our first close encounter with an off-world Alien, happened to be us, wanting to mine their jurisdiction within the solar system, typical.
Before heading back to the Orca I've one final task, search for a Quarter Master. There weren’t many candidates around, seeing as a few weeks ago MineCorp set forth public a claim on an asteroid primarily composed of platinum. There was shortage of stock in locating skilled and loyal crew, but I'm pleased to hear, Thornbrook - a skilled navigator and pilot - was still shuffling around the neighbourhood. I was quick to forget the embarrassing taco on boobies incident at Billy’s Mexican a few moments ago, involving Royce and Thrall… it's best to focus my attentions on the job at hand. Was good to see Royce, but awkward dealing with Thrall.
I walked briskly through the cold, smoke-choked streets on my way to recruit Thornbrook, who happened to be home and not slamming shots at a cheap pissing hole somewhere. Astonishing. He quite enjoys tea, english breakfast to be precise. Assuming he wants to be quarter master at all? Perhaps tea, would bring some comfort in helping him make the right decision.
His apartment wasn't far from Billy’s, I entered a rusty brown building and pressed the sticky button for the elevator. As it opened, two Greys slithered out in silence. Always silent, a Hitchcock aura resonates from their presence. Big, deep, black eyes. A short, lanky, pinkish body with bulbous head and tiny nostrils resting high above a minuscule mouth. They cant whistle. No lips. Crypto finds this hilarious. They love Shia Labouff movies and dislike cats. Greys and Synthetics find a common kinship due to their similar - but time displaced - origin of species.
“Thornbrook!” I called in a booming voice, rapping on the door of the apartment with my recently upgraded graphenium arm. That's right. Graphenium cyborg.
“Is that ye Ahura?”
“Who else would it be walking into this rat infested building? Open up, Toby.”
“A've mentioned mony times, dae nae ca' me Toby ye pumpin' ignoramus. Hard is it tae ca' me by deserved title is it Ahura? Thornbrook th' Rid. A've gey muckle deserved it.” spoken quite sternly.
“Righto sorry about that, Thornbrook the Red it is. Open the door will ya, I haven’t got all day.”
The thick plated barrier wooshed up into the archway and Thornbrook was standing across the hall clutching a bong and exhaling that sweet, beautiful Herb of Mother Earth. Truly, the finest medicine in all the Universe
“Mah, mah. Howfur barry, ye'v brough me some cuppa. Dae come ben. Wid ye care tae partake in some holy smoke fae oor laird Jah?”
I followed him inside as he went ahead into the kitchen - a grill and an electric kettle - to brew some tea. His apartment was suffocating and damp, a typical gloomy cubicle. Neon signs on the street flickered through the window, it began to rain. Old paint was flaking off the walls. There was a rustic projector hanging from the ceiling showing KungFu movies on the opposite side of the room where a dusty terrarium sat alone in the corner, blue hermit crabs. Above his bed was a poster of a geisha in red robes, painted white face and red lips.
Thornbrook, is an interesting case. He suffers from an acute form of Dissociative Identity Disorder, acquired from physical trauma. When he was 18 years old Thornbrook aspired to become a thespian, an actor.
While performing as an extra, in a play about infamous swashbuckling pirate William Kidd, a stage light broke off its mounts and fell to earth, introducing itself to the cranium of, Thornbrook the Red before crashing to the floor. The stage character Thronbrook, was a 17th century Scottish pirate... Toby - his real name - has been stuck in this persona ever since the accident. Rarely, does his teenage psyche show himself, not nearly as colourful as his alter ego. However, unlike Toby, Thornbrook is unaware of the other's existence.
”Th' cuppa is crakin'. A'm ower fond o' cuppa. Th' cuppa in Nassau wis mingin'. Th' whiskey even worse. Whit brings ye tae mah dwelling Captain Ahura?"
“Bounty Thornbrook, of the likes you could not ever imagine! Stretching as far as the eye can see, across the black oceans of space and time. Up there, in the Heavens.” I point out the window towards the night sky.
*”Bounty ye say mah mukker? Aye, I’ve heard th' tales be true. Thare be gold in th' sky, waiting tae be plucked by a'body brave enough tae venture intae th' black...”
Toby was looking out the window staring into the night, a pondering finger on his chin, left arm crossed across his chest. In the far distance above the horizon, a blue comet streaked behind the clouds. There was silence… then he farted. Toby has gastric problems. Lucky he’s a pirate and not a ninja.
“Aye Red, we shall venture into the black upon my mighty ship, the Orca. A powerful star-cruiser that will take us to the farthest reaches of the galaxy. She be ready to fly, but I need a crew. Are you up for this task, Quarter Master?
I sipped my tea, keeping my nose close to the brew as to avoid the thick stench lingering around the tiny, tiny apartment.
”Ah accept yer noble quest Captain Ahura, wi' me by yurside thare wull be na stopping us. Scourge o' th' Nine Blocks! Howfur mony recruits tae enlist dae ah ask? Ten, fifteen?”
“Ahem… just one.”
”One! Whit urr ye saying captain, oor quest seems underhanded does it nae? We ur surely sailing thro' dangerous quadrants ur we not?”
Thornbrook seemed disappointed. He put his tea down on the bar top and looked out the window again… deeply troubled. Silent.
“Tob… errr, Thornbrook, this journey is of a clandestine importance. We must operate away from the eyes of corporate monsters and the interests of the Empire. Do you see now, why I have chosen you? It is not the first time, it will not be the last.”
I placed my hand on Toby’s shoulder, gripping firmly, peering deep into his eyes with great conviction. There was an awkward silence... he farted again.
”Gey weel mah Captain, a'm at yer service!" his smile was bright, literally. I could see my reflection on his two gold teeth. "Kin ah ask guid sur, wha shall be Chief o' Arms? It's an important quaistion tae ask na?”
“It be Royce. But, I need to persuade her first.”
And with this mutual understanding between us, I took a last sip of my tea, wrote Toby some detailed instructions and exited the apartment as my eyes began to water, left wondering if his nasal cavity was still working.
One week passes and Thornbrook arrives at the space-port with a new crew mate. Vulkanos, an engineer, tech hound and explosives expert hailing from the planet Plume in the Proxima Centauri system 4.2 light years away.
Seeing as Thornbrook the Red was a well known character around these parts - and his condition was public - other folks came to understand what he meant when explaining job offers. Vulkanos was between work, and he knew from experience there was decent chance of striking treasure when hired on an Armada Class vessel.
The Plumenese species are a proud race of scientists and monks. They’ve managed to combine the main principles of technology and spirituality, into a harmonious ideology governed by State and Church. There are no wars on Plume, there is only one control. The Don. A mind hive-agency governing all affairs into a perfect cog-work of balance, tranquility and wisdom. It was they, who reached out to a planet called Earth. It was they who sent scout ships to Titan, swiftly rallying their vote in halting the Titanus assault on the ECA during the Ring Wars.
The Plumenese are kind, gentle folk, righteous and willed. Yet with all their achievements and advanced technological dominance, the species are constantly depressed. They will cry at any given moment. The deep, somewhat blues trumpet sensitivity of the citizens from Plume, is an enigma. If a magical unicorn had sex with a care bear and gave birth to a melancholic, grotesque love ball... that woeful child would be a Plumenese. They rarely take negative criticism well.
“How are you Vulkanos? Pleasure to meet you. Ive heard about your engineering exploits during the build of a Dyson Sphere around a dwarf star. Ingenious work.”
”I thank you Captain Ahura. I too have heard and are impressed by your 'past' exploits, Detective. It gives me monumental pleasure to serve under you. I extend my gratitude with an offering, it is customary of my people.”
Vulkanos presented a damp object wrapped in newspaper. I opened it and was gifted with a salmon. He froze there, eyes glazed as a tuck shop donut, looking anxious… eagerly waiting a positive reply.
“No, I thank you Vulkanos of the Plumenese. Your engineering skills and spectacular choice of fish pleases me greatly. We shall feast tonight. Come, let us go inside and prep for departure.” I usher Vulkanos towards the ship.
“Thornbrook!!”
”Aye mah captain, a'm standing behind ye. That's a gusty loking aquatic morsel ye hae. Whit's it tuna?”
“Salmon. What do you think of a garlic sauce fish broil with mashed potatoes for dinner?”
”Aye captain, indeed its a sound idea. We’ve git enough neeps tae lest us a few months oot in th' black. Whaur is Royce?”
Royce. She never did return my calls. Guess the spat-out taco on her boobs didn’t go so swell… But for now, it was of little import. My selfish interest for wanting her around was simply because, I like her. The fact that she’s an assassin who can snipe a fly from a 1000 yards, is a bonus.
“She aint gonna make it Toby. It seems, other matters have engaged her interest. We’re gonna sail solo without a Chief of Arms. Not much threat where we’re going, a little asteroid I heard about from an old friend. Only the Gryphons know about it, so as long as we stay clear of them, we gonna be fine.”
“Gey weel captain Ahura, then let us set sail 'n' please refrain fae cawin me Toby. Ah ken nae wha this is?”
I chuckled and pointed towards the ship. Toby marched inside, whistling a catchy sea-fairing tune. Artisan mining was outlawed in certain quadrants, but where we were going was a pocket of space between two solar systems deep in uncharted territory. It was an opportunity too good to pass and much treasure was to be mined and auctioned on the commodities black market. My crew and I are gonna have a bunch of Nexus if we play our cards right!
Krypto was already onboard and we were primed for take-off. It was gonna to be a lengthy period of time in deep space, but I enjoy the solitude out amongst the stars. A simple mission, for some quick creds. Hopefully this job comes off without any problems, not like last time. Not sure if my stomach can handle another trip through a damaged worm hole. What am I saying? I'm traveling with a talking dog, a pirate and a warrior-monk cry baby.
What could possibly go wrong?
END
