Snippet #2810974

Roland let out a drawn out, raspy sigh through the stubble of his upper lip. His breath was hot. The sun bared down on him, a few flying insects hung around. He had been sitting on a steel bench for some time now, located outside a small spaceport in the jungle clearing. His face was rough, burnt and beading with sweat. His hands were hard at work solving a puzzle cube, but his eyes were splitting focus between the few others around the structure.

A man walks out of the building. Roland had seen him before, about two months ago. Their name was Oliver Wilton. They had shown promise but were too gripped by fear to make use of it. Oliver did not recognise Roland because he had never actually met him in person before. And when Roland had contacted Oliver it was through the name of Albert Polyester. He had a fake name for just about everyone he encountered. It was all listed in a paper document he updated for himself, but it was never too hard to remember. Oliver worked in agriculture as a contract worker, and would periodically return to this part of Sky’s Edge to visit family.

Roland kept an eye on Oliver as he entered his personal transport and drove out of sight, obscured by the green brush the jungle provided its roads. He would detail the vehicle’s specifications later. It wasn’t him he was waiting for, though it was reassuring to see that Oliver was still doing alright. Roland would have to contact him again, and see if he’d change his mind. The people of Sky’s Edge saw themselves as the ones left largely abandoned by the Aschen empire. But if they had any idea how lucky they were not to be considered one of the core worlds… Oliver was making the right choice for his livelihood, for now. But as soon as some arbitrary calculation in the Aschen’s matrix of data decides it so, the Sky’s Edge may become yet another titanium hell devoid of humanity. Of course the outer worlds’ general view that the Aschen empire should be restructured to be more open would help prevent that fate. In an ideal world, no one would have to know what Roland knew. But knowledge is a weapon, one the empire wields as its impenetrable armor and unbreakable sword.

A ship had just recently landed here, bearing the model Roland had been expecting. It had been a few hours of waiting, now. Best not to get specific with time when communicating long distances. No doubt its pilot was taking their time being discreet. Roland had been very clear about protocol. If he were to expose himself like this, it was necessary. A woman stepped out of the building. Dressed in a tanktop, khaki shorts with a backpack strapped on. She looked around briefly before spotting Roland and sitting down next to him. Finally he looked down at his cube. It was complete.

“How are you wearing a coat in this heat?” She said.

“I’m just more comfortable like this.” He said, eyeing the terminal across the road. His voice was smooth, but cold and devoid of much variation in pitch.

“Right.” She said, more quietly. She pulled her backpack around, unzipped it and produced a neatly compacted series of documents. Emblazoned on the front page was the symbol of a phoenix, drawn on the paper with a surprising amount of detail.

“You could be an artist.” Roland said, taking the documents and flipping through its contents.

“Not exactly the market for it at the moment.” She said.

“You should keep at it.” He said. Roland pulled out a pen from his coat, along with a blank prescription order form. He started to scribble. “From the looks of the consultation your son is suffering from hibiscus poisoning.”

“He knows not to eat random plants.”

“I’ve written a prescription for a bentoquatam blend that he should have about thirty millilitres of every eight hours until symptoms stop. It should give immediate relief, and more substantial improvements in less than a week.” He tore the form off its booklet, and produced a standard bottle of pills. “It’s a pretty common medicine but if for whatever reason it proves difficult to obtain then have your son take these every four hours, barring sleep. Mostly pain relief, but it does help reduce any inflammation or irritation.”

“Thanks.” She said, taking the items from Roland and placing them in her bag.

“He might not have intentionally eaten anything. Sometimes you just get unlucky timing, a weakened immune system and some stray leaf or stem finds itself in an outdoor meal. Just a guess.”

“I guess that sort of makes sense… The rest of what’s in there? Is that good?” This had all taken a healthy amount of planning, and she rightfully seemed concerned as Roland looked through a couple of the pages. They listed Aschen deployment schedules in Sky’s Edge this woman had been recording for the last eight months. He quickly shut them and packed them into his larger journal before shooting up from the bench.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He smiled, the slightest coy inflection in his voice. “I hope your son recovers well.” He started to head off, down the road. The woman let out a sigh. She would wait about thirty minutes before taking her own personal transport back home.

As Roland walked amongst the brush, he began to unravel his completed puzzle cube.