ACROSS THE GALAXY: SYBLA

The corridor was a soft blue. There was art hanging on the walls. There could have been naked men and crucified ‘ware cats and Captain Sybla wouldn’t have noticed as she stormed down the corridor on Star Station 67Tex.

She ignored all of the refinements to make the Star Station corridors relaxing and bring culture to the residents. The station designer knew transients, like Sybla, may not care, but the residents would. Tranisents would be here for days. The children would be here for life.

Sybla didn’t want to be here. She wanted to be home. Not home as in planet Paten V. She wanted to be home in Sussex, England. She wanted to be with her husband and daughter. He was out looking for work and her daughter was at school. Sybla was here, Star Station 67Tex.

Sybla didn’t know that the guy who designed this station was from Jakarta and loved the idea of Texas. The designer thought the wide open spaces and variable climages of the great state of Texas in the USA was amazing. He made a series of stations and each one had some reference to Texas in it. Even if Sybla knew all this, she wouldn’t care right now. Probably not ever. Right now she cared about money.

Stupid game, she thought. Sybla had started playing in school, year 12 to be exact. Then it was fun, and she was fairly good at it. Her explorer was first rate and growing in levels. Then two things happened in her life. She got pregnant and arrogant.

Arrogance got her explorer killed. She pushed her luck exploring a planet that was beyond her level. She should have at least taken a partner, a full team would have been better. Instead she went on alone. She should have avoided the swamp. She should have run away after emptying a full magazine from her rifle into whatever that giant lizard was.

And after being a snack for some giant lizard, she should have respawned her character. Instead she threw a “hormonal hissy fit”, as her then boyfriend called them. She deleted her account and her explorer disappeared into the electronic abyss.

Years later, after they married, her husband lost his job. That was when she had her brainstorm. People would pay real money, pounds, for Space Opera credits, the in-game money. She knew how to play. She had been good. This time instead of being an explorer, why not go where the money is? Captain Sybla, merchant trader extraordinaire was born.

Things were not going according to plan. Sybla got a slight bump from the last merchant she dealt with. Unfortunately, the price she got for ten crates of accelerator rifles barely covered her costs. And everything she made was being plunged into Orion Spiced Shrimp. Nobody prepared Orion Spiced Shrimp like the cooks on 67Tex. A delicacy to turn the most jaded gourmet’s head. At least that was her pitch.

The problem? It was a lie. The shrimp were OK. The best part about them was they would be fresh when she loaded them in the morning.

The next problem was the cost. The AI merchant wouldn’t budge on his price. She needed to hit it big with these shrimp. Maybe if she made the jump to Star Station Huston in one torturous, dangerous jump, she could unload them to a certain private head chef who once had mentioned being interested in a rare delicacy like Orion Spiced Shrimp. His clients wouldn’t know if they were as good as they could be.

Captian Sybla ended up where all spacers end up- a Cantina. As a rule, Sybla preferred going to local bars. She liked meeting new people. And you never knew who might have a quest to offer up. Quests from private citizen AIs could be mind numbing- like a little old lady asking “can you deliver a letter for me?” But these private citizen quests could also be insane and insanely profitable- “did I mention the letter is to the King of Techni? Yes I know the planet is blockaded, but I would so like my nephew to get this letter and I can’t send it through the network. There is a blockade you know.” That had been quite the adventure. And hella profitable

On 67Tex, she stuck to space bars. Every station was different. This station didn’t like transients going to bars for the locals. When she was in the mood, she could charm them. In this mood she was likely to shoot one of them. Weapons weren’t allowed on the station, but she’d find a way to shoot the first jerk who sneered at her.

Nobody in the Cantina Transient took much notice of her. There weren’t many Patens in this part of the galaxy. Her blue tinged skin, cord thick hair and thick neck made her stand out from other humans, but compared to the lizard people over there or the big hair guys playing some stupid card game, she was nothing to write home about. In her miserable mood, she had to be careful with her words. Actually calling the lizard-people “lizards” to their scaly faces was an invitation to fight. She called it a description, they called it a slur.

The barkeep was human. Players and AIs tended to be human. Humans had very neutral starting stats, a few bonuses but very few negatives. “Alien” races, from humanoid, to lizards to bugs and a whole lot in between, could have wildly different stat bonuses and penalties when starting out. Patens were close to humans, but the thick neck made them difficult to strangle. But they also were known as shrewd traders. Charisma got a boost and she got trading and appraisal and luck as starting skills.

“Look like you need a drink,” the barkeep said cheerily.

Just what I frackin’ need, a cheery barkeep. She did everything she could not to say “yes I need a drink, that’s why I’m in this rat hole of a bar.” The bar wasn’t that bad. It was clean. This part was well lit. The edges drifted off into shadows- perfect for shady business.

She didn’t look around. Her first scan of the room was enough. She stayed slightly hunched over her drink, lost in her thoughts. Unhappy thoughts. Unhappy thoughts that were interrupted by a hgh pitched voice. An annoying high pitched voice.

“You are a ssspacer, yesssss?”

She slowly turned to face the being. Her scowl was deep. Why can’t they just leave me alone? “If you are trying to get into my pants, I swear I will castrate you.”

It was a Syke. Like the rest of his kind, he was a gaunt creature. IN his four fingers, he held a card up for the barkeep to take. Four fingers on each hand ws one of the traits of the Sykes. That and being thin, like they were starvation victims.

It answered, “Your pantssss are nissse, but no interest to me.”

“OK,” she answered. “What do you want?”

The Syke smiled. “Don’t like ssssmall talk. Thank you.” Sykes were known to be blunt, or sneaky. It was a Jekyll and Hyde kind of race. Half were sneaky, the other half blunt. There was no middle ground. “I need somebody to take a shipment.”

A quest? Here? She gave a shrug. “Yeah?”

“Yesss.” The bartender handed the Syke his drink. A green frothy kind of thing.

Is this a chance for extra money? “what kind of shipment?” She looked away from the Syke. Slowly she lifted her glass. She let the liquor touch her lips, but didn’t sip any. It was a way to keep a little disinterested and save some money on drinks.

“Just package. Ssssyke to Ssssyke.”

Like that explains everything. “What’s in the package?”

“Nothing you worry not.” It nodded firmly.

“Where does it have to go?”

“Galvessston IV”

Her mind raced. Galvaston is three jumps further than Star Station Houston. . The Texas circuit is getting old. . Maybe its time for a new sector? At least a new subsector? “I jump to Star Station Houston in a few hours.”

“How ssssoon can you go?”

She glanced at her watch. “The cargo won’ t be ready for another two hours.”

“I pay you extra to skip Houston?”

She looked him in the eye. She didn’t know how to read a Syke. Something in her, a not-quite voice, a feeling, said “trust him.” A side effect of appraisal skill? Did it work on people? A manifestation of luck? Did it matter?

“What does the job pay?”

“Twenty five thoussssand.”

“Standard credits?” She had been burned once before. She needed to ask. The Syke smiled and nodded. She nodded. 12 thousand for the shrimp, three jumps, no, 5 jumps. 2 to Houston and 3 to Galveston. Maybe going directly to Galveston could be 4 jumps? 3 jumps if she was feeling really brave. 10 thousand a jump? “40 thousand,” she said flatly.

The syke didn’t blink. “Deal.”

“Plus,” Sybla answered quickly, “15 thousand for abandoning Houston.” Internally she cursed herself. Should have asked for more. He would have paid more. Darkness take my stupid mind.

“Eight thoussssand standard credits foe Houssston.”

“10,” she countered.

The Syke held out a hand. They shook. Some customs were universal.

Three hours later, Sybla was standing outside the main hatch of her ship. Crates of Orion Spiced Shrimp had been loaded and she was ready to go. All that she needed was her package. And there was the Syke. She didn’t think much about the small Syke holding his hand. It wasn’t unheard of for people to randomly decide it was "bring your daughter to work day".

The syke handed two cards to Sybla. She put the credit card into her pocket reader. Hopefully he's not insulted. The card had an amount on the digital display. When you take a 15 thousand credit card, you double checked it. The pocket reader displayed 15 thousand.

The other card was an address.

“Balance on delivery,” the Syke said.

All I need now is the package.”

The Syke kissed the girl on the head. “Be brave Meri, be brave.”

Oh no. “Uh, what is the package?”

“Did I not explain? Meri is the package.”

“Called me a package?” The girl said in her clipped high-pitched voice.

“I must go,” the Syke said. He kissed Meri again and turned.

Sybla looked at him. Then down to Meri. She sighed. 50 thousand for getting the girl to Galveston. This should be easy.

“Let’s go kid.” She guided Meri aboard the ship.