Challenge #03163-H254: A Song of Sixpence

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The spaceport was in shambles, the red lights and sirens blared, there was no one else left here save for a few hurrying to life pods. They walked through the halls in their space hardened livesuit as carefree as if they were walking through a sunlit park on a pleasant day. As the facility was falling apart around them, they sat at the now abandoned cafe', leaned back, put their feet up on a table, and smiled darkly. One down, .. so many to go. -- DaniAndShali

Every possible alarm was going off at once. Every living being, unperson or not, was scrambling for the lifepods. The impressive architecture was falling down all around the few scrambling people left. Only one, in a battle-rated livesuit, was strolling. Their name was Rye, and they were currently making sure that every living soul on board got out safely.

This involved checking their scanners and moving to wherever a trapped life was and making sure they could get to safety.

Now that even the Skitties and the Cleaners[1] were in lifepods of their own, it was time to make certain their self-appointed task was done. This station, alongside so many others like it, were going to be unsalvageable wrecks, a complete loss for Deregger CEO Harmin McIrney and his empire of woe.

He made a lot of money making slipshod stations like this, and saved a lot of money by having all the automatable functions run by "indentured employees" - all of those people were trapped in a company store and basically slaves in all but name. That was going to end.

It may not end today. It would certainly not end tomorrow, but it would end inside of Rye's lifetime.

Once upon a time, there was a box. A box, and a child, and a desperate mother who had few alternatives.

Rye's hydration tanks were empty. They helped themselves to some of the local frozen slush beverage and fed it into their intake ports. They sat down to sip and relax as the station literally fell apart around them.

The child weighed just enough to pass by the scale as cargo, with just one of the bottles added to make up the weight. The mother knew this. She also knew that it was hit or miss as to whether there would be air at the destination.

Revenge has many faces. Some rage. Some are cold and calm. Some, like Rye, seek out their revenge with their thumb on the scales of justice. Taking apart the mechanisms of evil cog by laborious cog.

She kissed her darling one last time, ordering her baby to scrunch up tight and pray. She only had a handful of seconds to pack and seal the box. Like so many others, she sealed it lightly, so a child could escape it if need be.

Rye's life started on a station like this. Their mother had been promised a boon if she birthed children. That boon was never granted. Eaten up in fees and charges and more debt.

If their mother hadn't been freed by death, she was going to be freed by Rye.

Fitting, then, that she would be freed by the same thing that freed them.

A simple box of rye whiskey.

[1] Both Skitties [stations'/ships' kitties] and Cleaners are gengineered lifeforms that are organic solutions to problems technology alone could not solve. Skitties are basically cats with a few extra genes and the Cleaners are hard to explain. They look like dog-sized blue slugs and their job is to eat all the filth anywhere it accrues.

[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / kvkirillov]

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