Delivery

Genjo aimed the Airski4000 straight for one of the thick steel beams that held up the monorail. At the last possible second before its anti-collision override kicked in he veered 90 degrees to the left. Just as he’d hoped, the Peace and Safety officer behind him wasn’t prepared and got locked up.

It was enough time for Genjo to ditch his airbike and take off on foot down one of the familiar alleyways of his childhood. No big loss, it was stolen anyway. Some other enterprising citizen would pick it up shortly and use it in the commission of his own crimes. Cycle of life.

These were some of the only unregulated spaces left on the planet, the alleys too treacherous and congested to admit the bulky hovercraft found necessary by the rich and the forces of law and order. When they bustled with life they became a hell on Ganymede, which that was just what he needed right now.

He pushed and slid between clumps of people. As he moved forward his eyes swept up and down in both directions, weighing up people and places he could drop his package if it came down to it. Better that he lose it altogether than get charged with trafficking contraband.

Behind him a robotic voice with a British accent blared out, “Citizens, it is your duty to help stamp out mind piracy.”

Policing wasn’t as lucrative as the powers-that-be liked, so they’d introduced advertising screens onto the GPAS uniform. The officers had complained that it made their jobs harder but the bean-counters won out. The compromise was to include occasional public service messages like this one. Super useful when estimating where behind you the GPAS were.

Not that it mattered in this instance. Genjo wouldn’t be able to outrun anyone in this press of people, but he also knew it was so crowded the officer wasn’t following him visually but tracking the disturbance he made. What he really needed was to find someone…there.

“Taru!”

A child of about ten looked up and slipped over to follow in his wake. Genjo pointed his finger ahead. “Keep going, ok?”

Taru gave him a thumbs up and a few second later Genjo ducked off to the side into a crepe stall. Though he knew they were made entirely of synthetics they still smelled delicious. He seriously considered buying one as he listened to the officer’s speakers grow louder and then fade once again, but he had places to go, one final delivery to make. Instead he took the chance to send a small transfer to Taru.

Back out in the alley, he retraced his steps until came to a noodle stall with a longer line than many of the others. Causing all kinds of angry muttering, Genjo slid up to the counter, bypassing everyone waiting.

With a wink at the counter girl he lifted the tiny flap allowing access to the back. She shouted at him but gave up as soon as he was out of sight. Clearly he wasn’t here for the cash drawer. In the back was a tiny, steam-filled kitchen, barely large enough to hold a thin, pinched-face woman and the small mountain of a man beside her chopping up what looked like imitation tofu.

“Auntie, did you miss me?”

The woman looked over and immediately reached for a pot. She raised it up to throw as she showered a litany of curses down on him.

“You dare show your face here, you good-for-nothing parasite. You bring shame on your family!”

Her son lifted two dull eyes at the commotion. He wasn’t like Genjo, he was a credit to the family, always doing what his mother asked and never giving her a day’s worry. He stood in deep thought for a long moment and then advanced towards his cousin, still holding his large kitchen knife.

“You idiot, don’t go and slice up your cousin.”

It took him a moment to process the order, looking from Genjo to her and back again. Then he shrugged and stepped back, resuming his place at the chopping board. It was all the same to him.

His aunt had gone back to yelling at Genjo, now shaking the pot she still held for emphasis.

“How your mother cries and cries when you go away like this!”

When she got to his favorite part, the one where she promised to disown him, as if Genjo had any interest in owning part of a noodle shop someday, he slipped a hand into his jumpsuit, pulled out a paper-wrapped brick of something, and tossed it towards her.

In a flash she reached up with her other hand and caught it. She hadn’t slowed down at all in the months he’d been gone.

She slammed it onto the counter and peeled back the wrappings, revealing something white wrapped further in plastic. One small slice of a boning knife and she’d cut a slit large enough to pull out a small sample of white powder.

Genjo crossed his arms leaned against the stainless steel counter closest to him. She shot a suspicious look at him and he smiled smugly back.

She sniffed at the powder, her chef’s instinct instantly recognizing it as biological.

“Is this what I think?” she asked, her voice as angry as ever.

“Real potato starch. You said you had a special client with a hankering for gosetsu udon.”

Her eyes were shining, probably calculating just how many serving she could get out of this. One black market meal made of real ingredients would set her whole family up for a month or more, including Genjo’s mother.

“If I didn’t go away I wouldn’t be able to bring back gifts like this, Auntie,” Genjo teased.

“You go out and tell Aomi to give you anything you want, no waiting in line.”

A meager reward for the trouble he’d been through, but a good start.

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Written for the #365daysofwriting challenge by @mydivathings from the Day 241 photo prompt.

Photo by Alex Knight on Unsplash.