Making the Most of a Rat

This evening, Mack was fortunate enough to be chewing on a deep fried vermin, likely a rat, maybe not. Standing alone they leaned against a concrete pillar in the food court enjoying the earthy spices that flavored the meat. Around them Galleria Valley bustled with activity from the penthouses to the markets. Mack had earned the fried treat and relished eating something that wasn’t grown in a vat. It wasn’t easy for an unlicensed kid to reliably earn credits, but Mack thought they’d finally cracked the code.

That morning a man named Mr. Louise hired Mack to rifle through the apartments of the dead before his Badges came to clear the bodies out. That afternoon most of what Mack picked out wound up in the recycler but Mr. Louise found value in a few pieces and rewarded Mack with credits. Those credits bought a tasty fried vermin but would soon buy a shower and noise-proof sleeping pod. Most importantly Mr. Louise said they could return to do the same tomorrow.

“You’re a grave robber.” The statement came from a boy with a soft jaw and patchy blonde beard. He might be a few years older than Mack, but they still thought he’d lose if the two fought.

“Everyone I’ve ever robbed’s been alive,” they replied, nibbling the burnt bits off the skewer. Most people didn’t eat these bits, and Mack had made many meals by hanging out near a vermin stall collecting old skewers to nibble on for dinner. They always made the most of a good rat.

“I saw you,” the boy continued, looking down at Mack. “Coming off level 34 D. A scoundrel like you doesn’t have any business up there.”

“Report me to the Badges if you care so much,” Mack replied, tapping the tip of the skewer, wondering how far it would sink into the boy if he were, by some unfortunate event, stabbed.

“It isn’t right, stealing from the dead.”

“Those folks weren’t going to use it anymore,” Mack said, shoving their shoulder into the boy’s and heading down the street.

After catching his balance, the boy started after them. “There are proper channels. That stuff’s supposed to go to the family or be redistributed.”

“Proper channels ain’t done nothing for me,” Mack said, transferring credits into a shower stall. If the boy followed them in, slamming his head into the tile would make him regret it. The boy was clever enough to give them space.

The only positive thing about the shower was the warm water. But that only lasted a minute. The stain-covered tiles indicated the auto cleaner broke some time ago, and a human hadn’t picked up the slack. The soap dispenser was empty, and the wet and dry sections didn’t seal properly, so their only pair of clothes got wet. But it got the grease out of their hair and the layer of grime off their body in the way run-off water couldn’t. Mack stepped out of the shower stall and found the boy waiting.

“You’re low on money, I get it,” he continued unabated.

“I’ve got plenty of money,” and for the first time, they weren’t lying.

“I can help you make some. You don’t have to resort to grave robbing.”

“They ain’t in a grave.”

“It’s honest work. You’re strong. The docks need strong workers.”

“Docks?” Mack scoffed. “I ain’t got the training for that.”

“There are scholarships and apprenticeships. That’s a problem that can be solved.”

“Get spaced,” Mack snarled. They knew enough characters of Common Tongue to get by but not enough to be an apprentice.

“You could make a life for yourself in the docks,” he said as the pair arrived at a wall of sleeping pods. “You could rise higher in the valley.”

Mack swiped their temporary card at the terminal. After selecting a noise-proof pod, the terminal rudely displayed the remaining balance. It was less than half a credit. A platform lowered down to raise Mack to their home for the night.

“How are you going to sleep after what you did today?”

Mack shrugged. It’d never been much of a concern.

“Find me,” he said, stuffing a scrap of paper into their hand, “There’s no future in a life of crime.”

“Don’t know if there’s much of a future in anything I do,” Mack said, crumpling the paper in their fist. The platform lurched off the ground, gears squeaking under the strain of lifting them.

Mack dropped the ball of paper once the platform rose a few meters. They aimed for the boy’s forehead as he looked up but the night’s wind had other plans. It landed in a muddy puddle next to his feet.

Mack crawled into the pod and locked it behind them. The tube was unsettlingly quiet. They rested the disposable skewer near their hand in case someone bothered them in the night. It was unlikely but they appreciated the comfort. The metal touching metal echoed in the small cylinder.

The room wasn’t all that different from some of the cracks Mack slept in growing up. The mattress had just as many questionable stains as ones you’d find in an alley, and the room had the distinct smell of sex. Above all, the silence made it hard to sleep. They longed to hear some street vendor call out, keeping them from letting their guard down.

Mack thought about the future in the docks that the boy mentioned. But those scholarships just locked people into apprenticeships that barely covered license fees. Dock work did more for those in the penthouses than people in the valley.

If Mack didn’t freeze to death on the streets, then things were going well. Through that lens, their life was full of blessings, and this pod was heaven. Mack would have another go at searching apartments in the morning and maybe buy two fried rats instead of a pod with noise proofing.

---

Mack woke up to the comforting cacophony of transports honking outside their penthouse window. Their four post bed was big enough for a king and a shiny blade sat on the bedside table. A few dozen years of working with Mr. Louise had served Mack well. And his mysterious disappearance a few years back enabled Mack to inherit it all.

Rolling off the bed they realized the other side was empty. Sophia, the girl that stayed the night, must have gone to get breakfast or just disappeared in general. It didn’t bother Mack either way. Their joints popped and crackled as they walked into their private auto-cleaner to get ready for the day.

Mack felt like wearing something pretty today and picked out an expensive shirt with frills on it. Mack was still unlicensed, although multiple fake IDs would refute that claim. At this point, it was a challenge trying to see how long they could last without one.

Meandering into the kitchen from the penthouse bedroom, they figured out where the girl from last night had disappeared to. She was wearing one of Mack’s old shirts that said something in Common Tongue they couldn’t read. Sophia wasn’t a skewer, but the shirt still draped over her like a nightgown. She smiled as Mack entered the room and presented them with a plate of warm waffles.

“These are fluffier than usual,” they said after taking a bite.

“These were made from scratch. Not just popped from the freezer to the toaster.”

“You can do that?!” Mack asked. The kitchen of the apartment was for the chef, or cute guests, to use. Mack’s job was to get into trouble and make sure the Badges didn’t stick their noses in too deep.

“The flour you’ve got is the nicest I’ve ever seen,” Sophia said, gesturing to the pantry, “definitely didn’t come from the vats here.”

“Flowers shouldn’t be in a closet,” Mack said with a smile. Sophia indulged them with a laugh, but an explosion at the door cut it off.

Not this again, Mack thought as smoke began to fill the room.

If Mack knew they’d be dealing with Badges today, their shirt would have fewer frills. Sophia coughed through the smoke while Mack wet a napkin with juice and put it over their nose and mouth. Their eyes would start stinging soon, but Mack wanted to know which brute to fire over this intrusion.

Clad in gas masks and armor, the Badges shouted something upon entering. One appeared from the smoke in front of Mack and mentioned some nonsense about them being under arrest. Mack lifted their free hand. They were too old and wise to resist. Mr. Louise taught them it was better to get lawyers involved in these matters. But instead of cuffs, the Badge swung a club into their gut.

The blow shocked and stung at the same time. The person was using a sedater. Badges from the Valley didn’t have that in their arsenal. Mack knew because it took years to smuggle some in for their crew. This ain’t going to be cheap, Mack thought as they passed out.

Two black eyes, a dislocated shoulder, and at least one broken rib later, Gideon the lawyer arrived. Cuffs still held Mack to the table, and there wasn’t a launderer in the Central System capable of getting this mess of blood out of their top. The cinderblock walls of the room were as plain as vat protein.

Gideon answered their first question by explaining that Badges were charging Sophia with prostitution. That didn’t surprise Mack. It didn’t take a top detective to realize a girl from the bottom of the valley didn’t legitimately earn the fancy clothes, transport, and comfort she had. However, it did take a lazy accountant to make it easy for Badges to prove it, and Mack wondered if the bean counter responsible for the error really needed both his kneecaps.

Gideon assured them he’d work it out. Sophia might not get to keep her outfits or transport, but Mack would be happy to buy her some more.

“The allegations against you are a bit more serious,” Gideon explained. “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to get you out of this.”

“We own half the Badges here and have files on the rest of them,” Mack said. They shifted in their metal seat.

“These aren’t your typical Badges.”

Between the sedater and the muscle gifting Mack’s black eyes, Gideon was merely confirming their fear. “It’s a Minister?”

“They sent him in from the Central System. Even the local law didn’t know he was working here.”

Ministers were high-level arbiters that worked directly for the Elders of the Central System. If he was willing to bring Mack in, it was a big deal.

“We’ve got Chief Simon working on something, but-“

“But he’s going to want free shipments for the next planetary orbit,” Mack finished with the request the chief always made.

“Lifetime.”

Mack scoffed, “That’s going to be expensive.” But they agreed. There were ways to limit a lifetime supply of something to only a few planetary orbits.

“Do you need anything else?” Gideon asked, then added, “aside from a decent doctor.”

“I want to see that bastard of a Minister,” Mack said. “The least he can do is read the charges to my face.”

Gideon delivered on the request, but the Minister took his time arriving. He entered wearing the clean robes of his position. He casually sat down across from Mack. His jaw was soft, and he sported a thin blonde beard.

“We’re charging you with three counts of smuggling foreign agricultural products,” he said, placing a hand terminal in front of them to review.

Ignoring the terminal, Mack squinted at the familiar man, wondering if he was a Badge they’d gotten fired. If so, this was an elaborate plot of revenge. “You grow up here?” they asked.

“Matter of fact, I did. Mid-level. It was people like you and Mr. Derique Louise that caused our family trouble.”

Mack shrugged, “Aren’t there people higher up causing both of us problems? You can’t prove I’m smuggling anything more dangerous than a peanut.”

“There are proper channels for these things.”

“Your proper channels never did anything for anyone. People are starving in the streets without money for food.” There wasn’t enough food in the valley and the low quality paired with exorbitant prices proved it.

“We have scholarships and apprenticeships to help those people out.”

Mack scoffed, knowing the quality of those programs. Mr. Louise had done more good offering people like them work than any apprenticeship ever could.

The Minister began reading the summary of their charges, followed by a lecture about how imported plants could harm the Galleria Valley’s local flora. Mack wanted to make a quip about how a lack of imported plants currently harmed the Galleria Valley’s people but thought it’d be too close to an admission of guilt for Gideon’s liking.

Finally, the Minister concluded his lecture with, “There’s no future in a life of crime.”

Mack shrugged. There’d never been much of a future for them from the start. They rattled the chains of their cuffs, “These are a bit uncomfortable. I ain’t much of a runner, and you’ve got enough Badges here to catch me if I decide to start up that hobby.”

“I don’t think you’re going to be a free person anytime soon.”

The door of the room beeped, and Gideon walked in. He put a hand terminal on the table for the Minister to review. “Everything you’re charging Mx. Mack for has legitimate paperwork.”

The Minister reviewed the files, and his eyebrows wrinkled like a brooding storm.

“I don’t know where you’re getting your information, but your records must be incomplete,” Gideon continued. “Now, please release my client.”

The Minister cursed the Elders he was so faithful to and checked his terminal.

Mack let a small smile grow across their face. Mr. Louise always said corruption ran stem to stern. Like rats, it followed humanity to every planet they colonized. And Mack always made the most of a good rat.