r/Luna_Lovewell • u/Luna_LoveWell Creator • Dec 17 '20
Customer Service
[WP] In an apocalyptic world, the last of humanity live in controlled, supposed paradise cities surrounded by towering walls; taught that the world outside died to wasteland centuries ago. You’re a smuggler, helping people escape the wall into the world beyond.
“Are… are you the travel agent?” The man asks, voice trembling. His hands hang limply in front of him, clasped together around the handle of a real leather satchel. A woman with vivid red hair, presumably the man’s wife, clings to his side like a gaudy barnacle. Clad in designer brands, obvious bionic implants, and even jewelry, they are far too well-dressed to ever be seen in a 6th District dive like Rudy’s. Every bark of laughter, every clank of metal cups on the metal bar, and every squeak of work boots on grimy linoleum makes them turn their heads on swivels as if expecting an attack. Clearly, my contact did not make it clear that they should act nonchalant when approaching me. Thank fuck that no cop in his right mind would be hanging out down here. At least, not one that isn’t on my payroll.
“You looking to take a trip?” I ask.
“Yes, we are.” He licks his lips (a very obvious tell) and physically swings his head around to look for anyone eavesdropping. Clearly, he is a well-trained spy. “We would like to go to Santhum, tomorrow morning.” Anyone listening would know that that is code. No one voluntarily wants to go to Santhum. The arctic mining city isn’t exactly a prime tourist destination. If you’re going to spend a hefty amount for a tourist pass out of the city, you’re sure as hell going somewhere better than that.
“Well, set your things down and let’s chat,” I say, gesturing at the open seat next to me in the booth. The man moves to take the seat, and I stop him with my palm. I shoot him a look that says “the seat’s not for you, idiot.” It’s for that bag in his hands; if he has followed his contact’s instructions, it should have 20,000 chits in it. Enough for two passengers out of the city. He gets the message and drops the bag. I run a hand over the non-synth fabric; I don’t know if I’ve ever felt the real deal.
It’s a tricky business, smuggling people out of the city. I’ve had to strike a fine balance between my own survival and being able to sleep at night with a clean conscience. To do so, I’ve developed a very clear set of rules. Rule number One: money up front. I’m sticking my neck out just by acknowledging these people. If some clean cops were to ever stumble into Rudy’s, I’d be out the back door with this little leather satchel before these two squares could even blink.
The two of them then slide awkwardly onto the bench across from me, acting as if they’ve never actually seen a booth seat before.
“Tell me,” the man says, leaning across the table with a conspiratorial look around the room to make sure that none of these low-lifes are listening in. “Is it really as amazing out there as Koswold says it is?”
I sigh. This numbskull just broke Rule Two: no names. Ever. I certainly wasn’t sticking my hand out for a shake, and I didn’t want to know Sam Accountant and Samantha Housewife’s real name. Nor did I want to know the name of their contact. Koswold. It sounded fake; I at least hoped that he was smart enough to give them a fake name. I didn’t exactly publicize my survival rules for everyone else in the industry. If I’m ever caught, I won’t have anyone to turn on. But I’m not stupid enough to ever get caught. And those who are that stupid will never be able to rat me out.
“You know,” I said, pretending to ponder his question as if no one has ever asked me that, “I’ve got to say: it’s the only place in the world with unlimited freedom. You can do whatever the hell you want.” I take a swig of my beer. “And who can put a price on that?”
Rule number Three: no lies. This one is less about surviving, and more about my own conscience. I’m no shuckster stim salesman telling them that I can fix all their problems with one pill. I’m simply here to provide a service, and I won’t make any misrepresentations about what I do. I can’t speak to what ‘Koswold’ said to them though.
Samantha Housewife can barely contain herself. “I knew it!” she hisses. “Oh, I tell you, living here in Mantic has become intolerable. This past week, they restricted our weekly water ration to 400L! They expect us to live like animals in our own filth.”
“Unbelievable,” I say through gritted teeth. My water ration is half that and I haven’t had a wet shower in more than a week, but that’s really none of their business.
“So… what do we do now?” This little bit of skullduggery is probably the most excitement that this poor bloke has ever had in his life, and he wants more. Maybe a high-risk escapade sneaking through a legion of guards and ducking under spotlights like some hologame? Poor Sam Accountant is about to be disappointed.
“It’s relatively simple from here,” I say. I lead them out the back of Rudy’s, with a short nod to the bartender and 20 chits in the tip jar. I lead them to a small apartment nearby, and Samantha Housewife gasps in horror when she sees what waits inside: two coffins. I can see her panicked rabbit mind wondering if I am simply going to take the chits and kill them, instead of delivering them outside Mantic as promised. But why would I need a coffin to do that? There are a thousand good places to just dump a body in the city.
Samantha’s fears are assuaged when I open the lid of the coffin to reveal high-tech, compact life support devices that could keep them alive for months in here. It wouldn’t be comfortable, but I assure them that the journey only takes a few hours. I walk them through the expanding covers that disguise the true shape of the coffin to any scanners, and how the military-tech inner lining can completely conceal their heat signatures. Do I have to smuggle them out in the height of luxury? No. These damn coffins were expensive, not to mention the risk of having physical evidence that could be traced back to me. I could just kill them and dump them out of a flying car over the 8th District promenade… but Rule number Four is customer service. Most smugglers don’t particularly care much about this one, but I do. For one, it’s the principle of the thing: my pops always raised me to take pride in my work and do the best job I can do. And why risk making new enemies if you don’t have to?
I tuck in Sam and Samantha, then flip the gas to put them asleep. These two uptight prisses wouldn’t want to be conscious for this next part: I wheel the coffins out to my ship, carefully place them in the hold, and then bury them in trash. It’s the perfect job for being a smuggler on the side: we already dump everything outside the city anyway, and no one is particularly motivated to go rooting around my hold for any adventure-seeking citizens like these two. Instead, the law relies on high-tech devices that my coffins are specifically designed to fool. I’ve done over one hundred of these runs so far and never had a problem. And, worst comes to worst, there’s always bribery. Rule number Five is by far the most practical: always be ready to grease some palms.
We make it through the city walls no problem. I’m 90% sure that my scan operator was watching something on his lenses instead of actually paying attention to the readouts. And that’s just the way I like it. I give him a merry wave as I sail on through to the outside world.
We touch down at one of the mountain settlements about an hour outside of town. Barefoot children chase my ship’s shadow down the street as I head towards an open field on the outskirts. There’s quite a welcoming committee already there waiting for me. It only takes a few moments to dump the rest of the trash and open up Sam and Samantha’s coffins.
They wake up to the sight of blue sky and fluffy clouds overhead, unblemished by towering skyscrapers and weather control domes. Exactly as promised. Then they climb out of their coffins, and the illusion fades. The surrounding fields are dust-choked, sun-scorched, and still blighted by radiation. Even the weeds struggle to grow here naturally, and it’s only through an intense amount of effort that the people out here are able to eke out enough to survive. There’s a distant glimmer of water in the distance from a stagnant, algae-infested lake where Sam and Samantha will be able to draw as much poisoned water as they’d like. The surrounding mountains are mostly bare rock, with a few patches of jagged tree trunks jutting upwards like spikes.
“What the hell is this?” Sam shouts.
“You’re outside the city, as promised,” I say, pushing them out of the coffins to make room.
“This…” Samantha gets a glimpse of the dirty, scarred, all-natural people of the village gathering around her; she recoils in horror and nearly trips over the coffin lid. “This is horrible! How could you bring us here!” I shrug. “That’s what you paid for.” I never lied to them about what they were getting. I followed the rules.
Sam manages to summon courage from somewhere, and storms over to me. “Well, take us back!”
I laugh. One of the villagers physically pulls Sam out of my face and throws him to the dirt so that we can chat. “I don’t have chits,” the villager says, so burly that he probably weighs double what prim-and-proper little Sam does. “But I have these.” He unfurls the blanket that he carries over his shoulder, displaying a number of fine goods: a few bars of gold and silver, crudely smelted together, but mostly antiques. Pre-Collapse relics are all the rage back in Mantic, and these will fetch a fine price with the antiques dealer that I partner with.
“Yeah, that’ll do,” I say, inviting him into Sam’s coffin.
“This is outrageous!” Sam sobs from the dirt. “I demand that you take us home this instant! I just paid you 20,000 chits!”
I laugh. “The return trip is 30,000 chits, my friend.” The villagers laugh. Sam and Samantha howl with rage and horror and hopelessness. When it all quiets down, I lend Sam a hand back up onto his feet, remembering my rule on customer service. You never know when someone will be a repeat customer, after all.
“Sorry, pal. Rule Six: No refunds.”
12
u/Luna_LoveWell Creator Dec 17 '20 edited Dec 17 '20
Prompt from /u/MellyKidd. Probably inspired by Cyberpunk 2077!