Sci-Fi Short Story 1: Bootleg Bread
We are starting a new type of post! We will be posting science fiction short stories once a month! Feel free to send submissions to habitatstead@gmail.com. This first one is from our founder, Benjamin Myles.
Bootleg Bread
Justin sat at his desk, looking passively at his computer screen. Every once in a while a ship would veer or would need to be manually docked into the San Juan Space Elevator. This was rare though, Justin mostly spent his time playing illegally downloaded mahjong. The Company website was supposed to block such “time wasting activities,” but anyone who knew a guy in programming could pay to get a few games.
“Mi amigo!” Sam, one of Justin’s more… energetic… coworkers approached.
“Holla” Justin said with the typical American hard H.
“I can see you’re clearly a busy man,” Sam said glancing at the tiles arranged in a pyramid, “so I’ll make this quick. I am sending out invites to a little get together tonight. I really want you to come.”
“I’ll see,” Justin replied, “I have some reading to do tonight.”
“That’s great! Tell you what, if you show up I’ll let you borrow a great book I know!”
“I’ll see.”
“Fantastic!” Sam pulled out his phone and sent the invite with the address and a messaging saying “Make sure to stay until the end of the night!” On the way back to his own desk, Sam stopped to talk to other office mates. Justin was much more reserved than most of his other coworkers. He had come to the island to work and didn’t care much for socializing. Six months of managing AI pilots for ten thousand Company Scripts, pegged to Yuans, that could later be exchanged for dollars back home. No one told you that all bills had to be paid in that same Company Scrip, marked up with fees for all the services also run by the Company. Ostensibly, the mainland money was the legal currency for the island too, but it was cheaper to burn it then to pay your gas bill.
The rest of the day passed slowly while Justin thought about his condition. Three years into a six month contract and barely one thousand notes saved up. At eight, he clocked out and went to get on the bus. Paid three notes just to take a ride home. He felt odd, though. like he was forgetting something important. Halfway home he remembered the party. Even though he didn’t want to go, something was nagging at him to get off at the next stop. He resisted this as much as he could, only putting him further away from the party. Finally, he decided to get off and catch the next bus to Sam’s neighborhood. By the time Justin arrived it was almost eleven. He approached Sam’s door and smelled liquor and spice. He hoped that the festivities would end soon.
“Justin!” Sam exclaimed, “Glad you could make it! Wouldn’t be a party without you!”
Sam pulled Justin into the big living room packed with people. Sam didn’t seem like the type to spend his money on this large of an apartment. In fact, Justin thought only top level executives in the Company were allowed to have so much space. Sam told him to just hangout until later, when the real fun would begin, and then quickly left Justin alone to mingle.
The hope that the party was almost over was quickly proved wrong. By two in the morning, Justin was still moving around from place to place, trying to appear sociable but barely interacting with anyone else. Justin really wanted to leave, after all, he had work the next morning. The message on Sam’s invitation seemed so inexplicably promising, though. Around four, people finally started to filter out. By five, the mood in the apartment had changed. Drinking had largely stopped and the music quieted. Justin found himself standing around the main dining table with only a few dozen people.
“I am glad you all could make it,” Sam started addressing the small group, “I hope you all enjoyed the party. While I do love a good fiesta, having a great time wasn’t my only goal for this night. First, let me thank our gracious host, my sister, Camellia.” Sam paused and nodded at a stern looking woman sitting next to him. “She has provided the perfect cover for our meeting. Do be sure to thank her. She is taking a great risk by letting us discuss things freely.
We’ve taken great care to make sure the apartment isn’t bugged, and will be playing that music while we discuss our plans just in case. As I am sure you all know, this once beautiful island has been tarnished by the Company and the GongChan. They bought up all our cows and killed them so they could sell us high priced milk. They continually tear down our mesmerizing forest and pollute our gorgeous beaches. Did we natives say that they could do so? Of course not! The Governor, that mainland scum,stole it from us and is renting it to the Company for pennies!”
“Um…” Justin interrupted, “I happen to be one of those mainland scum, and no offense but I do not particularly care about the beaches.”
“Of course! My apologies. I didn't mean to imply that all mainlanders are scum. Just that the Governor is scum who happens to be from the mainland. I do find it odd that we allegedly govern ourselves yet our Governor is not one of us. Anyways, we do not need that Governor or the Company. Others that I have talked to this concept about immediately say, ‘how about all the services that the Company provides?’ Like the roads? We had roads before the company moved in. Like the protection services? We had our own before the Company’s, and they were much less violent. Like the parks? Ha! Those poor trees are a sorry comparison to our once rich island. So how do we change our predicament?”
KNOW YOUR ORDER?
PROCEED TO CHECKOUT
Sam looked around at the crowd. Justin did not care much for all of this political rambling. Not only was talk like this strictly prohibited by the Company--one word of it and you could be fired and your wages revoked--but it seemed pointless. Sure we could talk about how bad the Company is, everyone agreed it was evil, but what could we do about it?
“We can take action!” it was as if Sam was reading Justin’s mind, “The Company has power because it is the only one who provides us with our bread. We cannot bite the hand that feeds us, as the mainland saying goes. So let's not bite it. That is what those terrorists did when they tried out that homemade nuke on the Elevator two years ago. Where will that nonsense lead us? I do not mean to say that I am a pacifist. We will certainly have to kill people in order to achieve our goals. But we will only shoot back, we won’t cause senseless damage. And we won’t be taking our frustrations out on the general populace.”
“What exactly are we planning on doing?” someone else in the group asked, Justin thought he recognized the man from the InterPlanetary Communications Department.
“It is quite simple actually. We will sell bread!”
“Sell bread?” another asked.
“Among other things! We will use a ship that our generous investor, Mister Willaims, has purchased,” Sam nodded to a pale, mustachioed man on his right.
“But hold on,” Justin interrupted again, “this is all illegal. The mainland sold a contract to the Company decades ago. The Company had to file as a mainland entity even though we all know it's controlled by the GongChan. They’re the only ones who can check ships into the Elevator. When the ships dock, mainland agents check the Jones-ID on them.”
“And how exactly is bread supposed to get rid of the Company?” Camilla asked. Apparently, Sam’s own sister had doubts..
“Two excellent questions!” Sam replied, “We won’t be using the Elevator. Mister William’s ship is a space plane. It can go up to the edges of our atmosphere, meet with Martian cargo crafts, and fly back down to our island. From there we will sell milk and bread and other goods through the underground market. Further, once people realize that they can buy and sell their own bread, it will be a short while until they realize they can buy and sell everything else on their own. Once we prove that the mainland agents and the Company can be avoided, the population will wake up and realize that they are unnecessary!”
Half the group looked enthused about the plan. The other half seemed to have more concerns. Justin fell squarely into the former.
“Did I mention that for every plane flown, each crew member gets five thousand Company Scrip?”
All concerns seemed to evaporate. Justin still doubted that selling bread would take down the Company, or that they would be able to pull this off undetected, but five thousand notes for one day’s work was too much to pass up. They spent the rest of the morning planning. Sam and Williams had already contacted a Martian cargo craft Captain who was willing to lose some inventory for a small fee. The first flight would be a week from now, with more after that if anyone wanted to make quick cash again. Just as the sun was rising, people started to leave the meeting. They staggered so as to not cause suspicion. Sam also told everyone to mention the party at work. Talk about how they didn’t get much sleep because they were up all night and then slept on couches and armchairs when they passed out drunk. Before Justin left, Sam stopped him.
“I am really glad you made it Justin.”
“So am I. Been here on the island for three years and haven’t made enough to move back home.”
“You’re actually going to be our pilot. I don’t trust anyone else to fly us safely.”
“You mean manually?” Justin was shocked, he hadn’t flown full manual in years.
“Sadly that’s our only option. But don’t worry, your time with the Force should prepare you enough,” Sam said. Justin looked as Sam quizzically. Clearly Sam had done some research.
“Oh wait! I almost forgot the book I promised you!” Sam grabbed a book with a black, wordless cover, “take good care of it. That is one of my only copies.”
Justin flipped to the inside. New Libertarian Manifesto. Seemed like more political ranting, but he decided to give it an honest try. After all, anything that could have inspired Sam to create this five thousand dollar job was worth skimming through.
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