This post is the third part of the ongoing space opera, each part inspired by a different prompt in the Worldbuilding community.
It started with what I thought would be a single stand-alone post in Worldbuilding Prompt #490 - Storing the taxes safely, and then I wrote a part two in Worldbuilding Prompt #491 - Avoiding trouble
To challenge myself a little bit more, I'm using only the most recent prompts, so even I have no idea which direction the story could take or how it will end !
I'm using two prompts this time; Worldbuilding Prompt #493 - Genetic Engineering combined with Worldbuilding Prompt #496 - De-Evolution
Oh, and I'm trying out a new section separator I've come up with - let me know if you think it works !
Six months ago....
Fedric knocked gingerly on the stained door in front of him. He'd got the location from a rat-faced derelict of a spacer in some nameless bar in the outer conglomeration of Debris. The place suited him, and he probably looked no better than that spacer.
Gone was his smart ochre tax-collector's uniform. Now, he was dressed in shabby, ill-fitting and worn blue-grey coveralls devoid of any insignia. His hair had grown grey and straggly, and he had a week's worth of growth on his chin. Not quite enough to be dignified with the title of "beard", but certainly far, far beyond stylish designer stubble.
The door before him was like everything else on Debris; junk. Tired and worn out, it had ancient scorch marks and deep gouges. Once upon a time, it looked like it had been a bulkhead door on a Rim warship. Now, he hoped all that was behind it was a competent surgeon.
The door slid open. There was no intercom, no welcoming voice. The door didn't even make a comforting "swoosh" sound. It just creaked, groaned, and slid jerkily to the side.
The chamber inside was brightly lit, clean and tidy by the standards of Debris. Around the walls were work surfaces with cupboard doors beneath, and overhead lockers with worn but clean white doors.
There was a single occupant; a man-sized being of a species Fedric didn't recognise. A white robe covered a figure which would be considered emaciated to the point of malnutrition by human standards. The exposed bald head and six-fingered hands were a greenish-grey colour, and when the figure turned round, the long, slim face appeared humanoid but just.... wrong. It was too thin, the eyes were too low, and the nose was both the wrong shape and too small. Oh, and it also had twice as many eyes as is normal on humans. All four of them blinked at him, a kind of recognition of his existence.
"Yes ?" asked the white-robed one. Clearly a creature of few words.
"Ummm..... I need your help," began Federic. "I was told you are a surgeon. I need to look different. I need to smell different. I need different finger and eye prints. Different brain waves."
The doctor peered at him, "Being hunted, yes ? Hiding on Debris, yes ? Can pay for all this work, yes ?"
Federic groaned to himself. He had hoped to have the payment discussion later, with someone a bit more sympathetic. But the surgeon had got straight to the point, and he needed to come up with the right answer.
"I've got a hundred Imperial credits, that's all. But I can work for you to pay for anything over that if the work costs more."
Looking at him with a blank expression, the surgeon intoned mournfully, "Can not pay for all this work, no. Useless Imperial credits, no real money, no. Thinks I need workers, no."
"Please !" Federic begged, tears in his eyes. "I know if they find me, they'll kill me. Or do worse. It's the Imperial Auditors. I think they found Vred and disappeared him. He was just gone one day. I'll do anything if you will help me hide here."
For the first time, a grin flashed fleetingly across the surgeon's previously impassive face.
"Do anything, yes. Money, no, but anything, yes. Have an idea, yes."
The surgeon moved around Fedric, waving some kind of hand-held instrument, looking at it every few seconds as it bleeped.
After examining the instrument's screen, the surgeon looked up at Fedric. "Regression is cheap, yes. Ancestry is stable, yes. Experimental technology covers cost, yes."
Fedric assumed this meant he had a deal, although he wasn't quite sure what he was letting himself in for. He nodded, and was immediately guided through into an adjacent room where an operating table beckoned.
Four months ago....
"Operation took time, yes. All done, yes. Mirror yes ?"
Fedric had no idea how long he'd been out. The last thing he remembered was an auto-arm coming his way with an over-sized needle and wondering why such old tech was being used.
He swung his legs off the bed, stood up, and promptly fell down. His legs had betrayed him. Standing up again carefully, clinging onto the bed, he realised he'd not walked for a long time.
Then he saw the mirror, and what was in it. Himself. Shorter, stockily built with a barrel chest. His face.... wasn't his any more. There was a vague resemblance, but the red hair, the heavy brow ridge and receding chin and forehead weren't him. His old face had been strong but couldn't have been called handsome. This face was the face of a monster, a.... he realised. He'd been made a Neanderthal.
The surgeon grinned down at him. "You old human, yes. Bigger brain, you thinking clearly, yes ? Stronger arms, go be good corridor sweeper, yes."
Three weeks ago....
"Steady on the tiller, Danni, you've done this run before, you've got this."
Captain Greville watched over the young crewman with an almost maternal gaze. She knew the youngster had the potential to be a great pilot, he just need to practice and build up his confidence.
But she still felt a crawling between her shoulder blades at the two men standing behind her at the back of the command deck.
They were both GreyASP, foisted on her by Commodore Deroma. One was GreyASP Captain Holmen, part of the investigative branch. The other was GreyASP-Auditor Grisaille, distinguished by the cornflower blue piping and epaulettes on his immaculate light grey uniform, a contrast to the scarlet of Holmen's insignia. He also wore a cape, likewise light grey with a blue lining; this wasn't just decorative, Greville knew it hid a multitude of instruments, sensors, and hidden devices.
"So how are you going to find the man we're looking for ?" she asked, "If he's got all that tax money to spend, he could probably afford some damn good surgery."
Holmen grinned. "That's why Alex sent us. Technology is a big help, but instinct is what will win. All the surgery in the world won't change his mannerisms or habits. We'll get our man, never fear."
To be continued.....
If you're following this setting, this post draws together a number of threads from previous posts;
Greville and the Tarnished Phoenix first appeared in Worldbuilding Prompt #432 - Debris, and the GreyASP turned up in Worldbuilding Prompt #471 - A Question of Jurisdiction
