The Dereggers INSIST on inspecting my ship every single time I state I'm ready to take off. I don't mind. My cargo I get there is always strapped in properly. My living cargo? Well, heh, there's a reason that domicile-sized crate hasn't moved from Cargo Hold B ever since I started making my run. That reminds me, it's my turn to do laundry, gotta run! -- DaniAndShali
"Hello and good morning, Officer Croupki," cheered Trader Xiik, smile wide on their face. "How's the wife and kids?"
"I've had enough of your [UNGULATE EXCREMENT], Zeke," growled the Deregger security officer, doing his utmost to seem menacing. Alas, he had all the intimidating physical build of Santa Claus. "I know damn well you're smuggling something."
"You're welcome to look through all my ship and hold. Everything on the paperwork is there. Shipshape and Bristol fashion, as they say." Xiik's words were true. Everything was declared. It was just that some of it was declared... creatively.
Like Cargo Hold B, in which large containers sat unmoved and unmoving since installation. They were listed as Biological lifeform habitat, animal safe and like always, Croupki inspected the exterior, the labels, and the locks. He looked over the carefully-edited security footage, and then went grumbling through the rest of the cargo.
He reluctantly provided all the clearances necessary for Xiik to leave. "One day," he vowed. "One day... I'll find out what the [INTERCOURSE] you're doing. And on that day, you'll wish you had gods to show mercy to your soul."
"See you next month," Xiik chirped. With everything in order, they set themself on their charted flight path and sedately left the influence of this particular Deregger polity. They didn't do anything suspicious until they were two jumps away from Officer Croupki and his quest of vengeance.
It was then, on a slow trip between wormholes, that Xiik left their ship on autopilot. They went down to Cargo Hold B and released all the locks and catches. "Everyone all right in here?"
A dozen families emerged from the minimalistic habitats within each of the otherwise boring big boxes. Some had been crying. Some were clinging to each other. Some were rattling through their prayers as they walked out on shaking legs.
Those who were the first out were almost compelled to hug Xiik, babbling blessings between sobs of gratitude.
Xiik gently held them in return. "It's all right. It's all right now. We're away. It's all good."
There would be printed food. Nothing that could possibly upset their weakened digestions. There would be examinations care of Xiik's claustrophobic medbay and the autodiagnosis bed.
But most importantly, there would be a meeting with a CRC Salvation-class rescue vessel, who would take them all in, and give them everything they needed. Especially therapy.
Two dozen families. Not many, in the grand scheme of Deregger-sourced pain. Every little thing was one thing more for those in need.
That was the important part.
[Photo by Parsoa Khorsand on Unsplash]
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