[Original] Not Enough Spoons
Title: Not Enough Spoons
Genre: Science Fiction
Word Count: 1100+
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Latta and Dorje argue, because even being two outcasts together, their cultural assumptions are still pretty far apart.
Author's Notes: This is what happens when I only have a vague idea of what I'm doing with the setting and have never written the characters before.
Not Enough Spoons
***
"How do you feel?"
Latta cracked open an eye. The inner eyelid on her other eye wouldn't open at all, and she could just barely see through the white. Flat on her back in her bunk like this, all she could see was the ceiling and Dorje. He peered down at her worriedly, the chartreuse pulse of the vein-patches at his temples brighter than normal. His little rider was probably not happy with her recent behavior.
Otherwise, though, the kid looked all right. Bit bruised, but his hair wasn't matted with blood and the bruises didn't show up too well against his dark skin anyway.
"I haven't killed anyone here yet," she finally said.
Dorje bit his lip. "You know, I can't tell if that means you're happy or pissed. Or both."
"I'm tired," she said, grabbing the railing at the edge of the bunk and pulling herself upright. She was more than tired. She ached, and her back felt like it was on fire.
"Yeah. You got in a fight with the entire cantina." Dorje folded his arms, the chartreuse pulse fluttering fast. "Which, hey, I'm impressed you managed to win. Sure, most of them were bog-standard humans and you're a Protectorate soldier, but I figured the limp would slow you down."
"My spine's damaged; I'm not dead."
Dorje blinked at her. The whites of his eyes seemed to a little more yellow than they had when she first signed on. She wondered if his rider was hollowing him out to use as a puppet. And what she'd do if it was.
"Your spine's not fixable with UP technology," he said, wincing a bit as she grabbed her bad leg and forced it over the edge of the railing onto the floor. "Your people could fix it, though, couldn't they? I mean, everyone knows the Protectorate have way more advanced bio-tech than the United Planets."
Latta looked up at him, suddenly feeling very old and even more tired. The Protectorate really did have impressive medical technology, compared to the poor humans. The only scars on her face were made after she left.
("Viper!" Her father snarled, slamming her facefirst into a bulkhead. She felt her cheeks crack, knew her nose would have broken if it wasn't already pulped from earlier in the fight. "He was your favorite brother! Why? Why did you do that thing?"
"Your favorite, too," she slurred, blood dribbling out of her mouth.
His face contorted in rage, and powerful hands grabbed her by the hip and shoulder-)
"Yeah," she said flatly. "That's not going to happen."
Dorje folded his arms and fidgeted as she stood up. She knew he thought he ought to help her; his homeworld put a lot of value in helping those who were suffering. However, the last few years together had taught him she didn't want his help. She'd only had to break his arm twice, too.
"So," he said, the veins at his temples slowing their pulse almost to nothing. "I got us a cargo."
"Live?"
"I sure as hell hope not. Chatu artifacts, from the dig up on the moon to the university in Arkai system."
Latta pursed her lips, mentally nibbling on the different angles. "Are we picking it up here or on the moon?"
"Skyside," Dorje replied. "There's some stations in orbit; apparently it takes a lot of money and argument to get permission to land on the moon, and the seller doesn't want to take it all the way down planetside when we'll be going out-system anyway."
"So we're smuggling?" She said, certain of the answer but still feeling obligated to ask.
"Yep!" Dorje grinned. "You know what UP Customs thinks about shipping Chatu artifacts around. They'd get locked up for ages in quarantine, then there'd never be any proper studying done."
"Yeah," Latta said. "Why, with all that quarantine half-dead smugglers would never bleed all over an immensely ancient alien artifact that turned out to act like an artificial Earthen lungfish ball and allow a psionic alien to crawl inside his brain."
Dorje glared, and the veins went bright.
She folded her arms. Chatu or whatever was actually inside his head, she could kill him before it got deep enough inside her mind to stop her. "The United Planets has good reasons for what it does, Dorje. Don't say the laws are foolish just because they're inconvenient."
"You're just saying that because you're Protectorate, and you guys worship that law code you have!" He snapped.
Latta regarded him levelly. She said nothing - he was a young man, and he was a fool. This wasn't worth getting worked up over, anymore than a thunderstorm wasn't worth getting worked up over.
"Besides," he went on, "If you think it's such a big deal, why do you go along with it when we skirt little legalities like customs?"
("This is illegal," she said, eyes on her older brother. "If not outright treasonous."
"By the time anyone finds out," Diive replied, "I'll be long gone." He twisted to look over his shoulder at her, his crest of auburn hair even spikier than usual. Worry flashed across his face. "Just... don't tell Father, all right? Let him believe whatever he wants, just don't tell him what I'm really doing."
"You know I wouldn't tell that bastard anything."
He smiled crookedly. "Thanks, Latta. You always were my favorite little sister."
"Always were my favorite big brother.")
"I like being paid," Latta said, brushing past Dorje. She winced as he stumbled back; pure humans like Dorje were more delicate than she could really adjust herself to accommodate. Maybe if she'd been in her prime, if the chronic pain didn't sap and distract her, she could have dealt with him without hurting him. As it was, though, she couldn't touch him if she didn't want to break him.
"You were getting paid back in the Protectorate. Why'd you leave?" Dorje trailed after her, chartreuse fluttering in the veins at his temples.
"The Protectorate doesn't have a lot of uses for cripples."
He looked at her in confusion. "But it's fixable- I mean, isn't the whole point of Protectorate bio-tech advances so they can heal the kinds of damages they regularly put their soldiers through?"
"Meat grinder," she said absently. "We go through a meat grinder, we come out the other side, and they put us back together. Yeah, that's pretty much the long and short of it."
"So...?"
"So?" Latta blinked the inner eyelid that would move at him.
Dorje shifted uncomfortably, eyes dropping to the deck. "Nothing, I guess. Get strapped in, I'm lifting off as soon as my butt hits the seat."
"Sure." She picked up her pace, ignoring the slight wince on his face as her left foot dragged behind her even more visibly.
-End-
Genre: Science Fiction
Word Count: 1100+
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Latta and Dorje argue, because even being two outcasts together, their cultural assumptions are still pretty far apart.
Author's Notes: This is what happens when I only have a vague idea of what I'm doing with the setting and have never written the characters before.
Not Enough Spoons
***
"How do you feel?"
Latta cracked open an eye. The inner eyelid on her other eye wouldn't open at all, and she could just barely see through the white. Flat on her back in her bunk like this, all she could see was the ceiling and Dorje. He peered down at her worriedly, the chartreuse pulse of the vein-patches at his temples brighter than normal. His little rider was probably not happy with her recent behavior.
Otherwise, though, the kid looked all right. Bit bruised, but his hair wasn't matted with blood and the bruises didn't show up too well against his dark skin anyway.
"I haven't killed anyone here yet," she finally said.
Dorje bit his lip. "You know, I can't tell if that means you're happy or pissed. Or both."
"I'm tired," she said, grabbing the railing at the edge of the bunk and pulling herself upright. She was more than tired. She ached, and her back felt like it was on fire.
"Yeah. You got in a fight with the entire cantina." Dorje folded his arms, the chartreuse pulse fluttering fast. "Which, hey, I'm impressed you managed to win. Sure, most of them were bog-standard humans and you're a Protectorate soldier, but I figured the limp would slow you down."
"My spine's damaged; I'm not dead."
Dorje blinked at her. The whites of his eyes seemed to a little more yellow than they had when she first signed on. She wondered if his rider was hollowing him out to use as a puppet. And what she'd do if it was.
"Your spine's not fixable with UP technology," he said, wincing a bit as she grabbed her bad leg and forced it over the edge of the railing onto the floor. "Your people could fix it, though, couldn't they? I mean, everyone knows the Protectorate have way more advanced bio-tech than the United Planets."
Latta looked up at him, suddenly feeling very old and even more tired. The Protectorate really did have impressive medical technology, compared to the poor humans. The only scars on her face were made after she left.
("Viper!" Her father snarled, slamming her facefirst into a bulkhead. She felt her cheeks crack, knew her nose would have broken if it wasn't already pulped from earlier in the fight. "He was your favorite brother! Why? Why did you do that thing?"
"Your favorite, too," she slurred, blood dribbling out of her mouth.
His face contorted in rage, and powerful hands grabbed her by the hip and shoulder-)
"Yeah," she said flatly. "That's not going to happen."
Dorje folded his arms and fidgeted as she stood up. She knew he thought he ought to help her; his homeworld put a lot of value in helping those who were suffering. However, the last few years together had taught him she didn't want his help. She'd only had to break his arm twice, too.
"So," he said, the veins at his temples slowing their pulse almost to nothing. "I got us a cargo."
"Live?"
"I sure as hell hope not. Chatu artifacts, from the dig up on the moon to the university in Arkai system."
Latta pursed her lips, mentally nibbling on the different angles. "Are we picking it up here or on the moon?"
"Skyside," Dorje replied. "There's some stations in orbit; apparently it takes a lot of money and argument to get permission to land on the moon, and the seller doesn't want to take it all the way down planetside when we'll be going out-system anyway."
"So we're smuggling?" She said, certain of the answer but still feeling obligated to ask.
"Yep!" Dorje grinned. "You know what UP Customs thinks about shipping Chatu artifacts around. They'd get locked up for ages in quarantine, then there'd never be any proper studying done."
"Yeah," Latta said. "Why, with all that quarantine half-dead smugglers would never bleed all over an immensely ancient alien artifact that turned out to act like an artificial Earthen lungfish ball and allow a psionic alien to crawl inside his brain."
Dorje glared, and the veins went bright.
She folded her arms. Chatu or whatever was actually inside his head, she could kill him before it got deep enough inside her mind to stop her. "The United Planets has good reasons for what it does, Dorje. Don't say the laws are foolish just because they're inconvenient."
"You're just saying that because you're Protectorate, and you guys worship that law code you have!" He snapped.
Latta regarded him levelly. She said nothing - he was a young man, and he was a fool. This wasn't worth getting worked up over, anymore than a thunderstorm wasn't worth getting worked up over.
"Besides," he went on, "If you think it's such a big deal, why do you go along with it when we skirt little legalities like customs?"
("This is illegal," she said, eyes on her older brother. "If not outright treasonous."
"By the time anyone finds out," Diive replied, "I'll be long gone." He twisted to look over his shoulder at her, his crest of auburn hair even spikier than usual. Worry flashed across his face. "Just... don't tell Father, all right? Let him believe whatever he wants, just don't tell him what I'm really doing."
"You know I wouldn't tell that bastard anything."
He smiled crookedly. "Thanks, Latta. You always were my favorite little sister."
"Always were my favorite big brother.")
"I like being paid," Latta said, brushing past Dorje. She winced as he stumbled back; pure humans like Dorje were more delicate than she could really adjust herself to accommodate. Maybe if she'd been in her prime, if the chronic pain didn't sap and distract her, she could have dealt with him without hurting him. As it was, though, she couldn't touch him if she didn't want to break him.
"You were getting paid back in the Protectorate. Why'd you leave?" Dorje trailed after her, chartreuse fluttering in the veins at his temples.
"The Protectorate doesn't have a lot of uses for cripples."
He looked at her in confusion. "But it's fixable- I mean, isn't the whole point of Protectorate bio-tech advances so they can heal the kinds of damages they regularly put their soldiers through?"
"Meat grinder," she said absently. "We go through a meat grinder, we come out the other side, and they put us back together. Yeah, that's pretty much the long and short of it."
"So...?"
"So?" Latta blinked the inner eyelid that would move at him.
Dorje shifted uncomfortably, eyes dropping to the deck. "Nothing, I guess. Get strapped in, I'm lifting off as soon as my butt hits the seat."
"Sure." She picked up her pace, ignoring the slight wince on his face as her left foot dragged behind her even more visibly.
-End-