Expanded – Page 11 – Erin Penn's Second Base

Flash: Market Day Purchase

November 1, 2020April 26, 2024 Erin Penn

“Come on Delly,” Avon pulled on my arm. “You can bid on me.”

“Or better yet,” Justinian said from my other side, “Join us on the block.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to extract myself from their well-meaning exuberance. I fell between the cracks like normal. This time too poor to be a contract buyer and too old to interest anyone on the breeding platform. At twenty-three, I was positively ancient for an unbound female. I shook them off and wished them well.

Avon was finally old enough to qualify for a full contract, and Justinian only put himself in for a weekend indentureness, not wanting to be saddled with a share of the birth expenses. I would miss Avon. Someone would be sure to cough up the money to cover the minimum year support plus temporary abatement of her work contact. As beautiful and young as she was, they might even buy out her work contract altogether. It wasn’t like it needed deep pockets. She was never the strongest, apparent from the first spring day on the block, and she complained about the annual renewal clause Limer added to her branding ink.

No one ever gets out from the education indentureness with an annual.

Hell, no one gets out of education indentureness. The first-comers got that sewn up.

I pushed aside the negative thoughts and let the crowd draw me in its wake, except to the auction area. That would be too depressing.

I went up those steps the required three times and no one came close to covering the annual minimum. Closest was an offer for a weekend breeding attempt, if I agreed to pay for the implant removal myself.

My wild coins picked up a crystal-salt caramel apple, and I found some ribbons to wrap my dreads at a reasonable price for a fair day. Since I couldn’t get into town any other day, I parted with more of the temporary coins and pocketed gayly colored cloth. Determined to have a good time, ignoring the lack of friends on my arms, I floated from entertainer to entertainer. The fire-dancer hoops flared bright, giving the hoverbot above her a challenge in advertising the night show for her troupe. I would need to be back on the plantation by then. Pity.

The trio sounded hoarse, one looked sick. Being dragged from town-to-town on market day couldn’t be an easy contract. I sat cross-legged through three songs at the harpsi-drums, wrapping a few of my new ribbons around my twists, and dropped the last of my wild coin into his pot which his hoverbot scooped up. It’s not like I could deposit the wild coin against my contract or Edebt.

Two more hours to sunset, enough time to meander to the feast area which the large contract employers stocked for community largess on the three market days, per the community levies. After stuffing myself on someone else’s contract, I still would have time to easily catch the plantation haycarts back to the hill country.

Bumping into someone at the corner, I apologize before I realized he was a bot. Specifically a sex bot a little too far outside the marked lines of the vendors stall. I nudged him back, dusted him off, well, all the parts that wouldn’t get me accused of shoplifting, and stepped back. “Now, aren’t you a handsome one.”

I could hear the humming of an activated bot, but he didn’t move his eyes or verbally respond.

The stall owner was watching me closely. No surprise there.

I clearly wasn’t a first-comer, between my skin, height, and clothes, everything screamed I was descended from the last arrivals, the refugees from Earth’s environmental collapse. A token few made it out of indentureness. But with the burden of our parents and our grandparents on us, the chances of success are minimal. Avon would be free of debt before my grandchildren would be. If I decided to burden anyone else with this.

Which I hadn’t.

But a girl got needs too.

“How much for him?” I waved at the male sex bot. The owner named an outrageous price. I looked at him and then the bot.

“It isn’t even steady on its feet.” I tapped the bot lightly on its chest. “Look, each passing wind is rocking him out of your stall. Do you want to get fined?” I then named an equally outrageous price in the opposite direction, half of what was in my earnings account, set aside to cover monthly education interest if I am too injured to work contracts.

To my surprise, since I offered a twentieth of his initial asking price, the salesman said, “Sold.”

I sputtered, sure that I was just haggling to have one last bit of fun for the day. But, a verbal contract is still a contract.

“You, stay here.” I said to the machine, and, strangely, he stopped rocking.

Walking over to the register, I laid down my arm and my contract ink and related income came up above it. A few swipes, verification of sale, transfer of title, double-checking the title was assigned to me, not my employer, and I was the proud owner of a sex bot, male variety.

Not the normal way I bent, but it could do.

He should fit in my cot area, I think. Not only was he was handsome, he was big all over. Broad shoulders, long legs, strong arms, braids to kill for falling to his waist, and, well, the selling package. He had four inches on me in height, and I was over six foot.

No annual contract for me. Limer had me tied up into my mid-fifties, with two extensions of a score of years each at his option, not mine. But, if I took it to the very end with the luck of good health and no injuries, I would die debt-free instead of the balance transferring between my nearest ten relatives if I had no offspring.

Someone with the contracted potential to be debt-fee had certain clauses required by law hanging out from the very first-comers and the indentured on those ships. I could own my own things, and my contracted employer could not sell them from under me if I was unable to perform to contract. Even if I got sick and Limer paid the fine to break the contract, my ribbons, my cot, my blankets, and, now, my bot were mine to take with me.

I looked up at the bot whose eyes gleamed red for the title transference. “I am your owner.”

“You are my owner. Designation.”

“My designation is ShipClotilda Level Two Berth Two Hundred Forty-Six Bunk Delta, generation four maternal-paternal-paternal-maternal.” I was once again grateful I was an oldest child of an oldest child going back to the ship. Third or fourth born cadet lines got really complicated in their designations.

He opened his mouth, showing a perfect pink tongue, which rolled into a circle, then flattened, then rolled again. Watching his downloading of my ink gave me way too many ideas of how I would be using him tonight while the barracks were sparsely inhabited. Eventually, his mouth popped shut. An almost living sparkle touched his eyes and a gentle smile pressed those wide lips. “I see your common use name is Delly, may I call you that?”

“Of course.” I put my hand on his arm. “Are you okay to walk and talk?”

“Whatever is your pleasure, my sweet Delly.” His voice dropped and roughened while talking to me, until it sent a shiver down my spine when he said my name.

“Whoa, what is that?” I managed as we walked slowly away from the bot stall.

He responded softly, his voice like velvet against my ears. “Protocol adjustment to personalize behavior.”

“Well,” I panted a little, gripping his arm tightly, “tone it back in public areas.”

The bot nodded, smiling a private smile at me. “Noted, my sweet Delly.”

“Good.” I smiled politely back, missing the roughness, but thankful for the one step up from panty-dropping bass he had pinged me with as a personalization. Damn, it had been everything I never knew I needed.

A few heads turned as we made our way through the crowd, his blue-black iridescent gleam catching the eye until his mechanical purpose became clear and people frowned and looked away. Sex-bots were to be owned, not seen. Especially not seen with someone as far down on the cultural pole as I. But they had to be transported home, and today is the day people bought them for reasons ranging from amusing gag gifts to enhancement of breeding contract. If my hand wasn’t on his arm, the crowd wouldn’t be so judgy. They would assume I was assigned by my employer to bring home the new equipment.

Well, suck it world. This one is mine.

(words 1,478; first published 9/30/2022)

Market Day Series

Market (8/27/2019)
Armfield (5/30/2020) – Not canon. Sometimes you start down a path and the story is just wrong. I kept at it and it didn’t get better. Going to try again though.
Market Day Purchase (11/1/2020) – This one worked MUCH better, expanding the original.

Flash: Ship’s Center (Beep Part 2)

September 6, 2020April 26, 2024 Erin Penn

Photo by Hermes Rivera on Unsplash

Julius drew back from the edge where they stood questioning if flying, for even a single moment, to be truly Sky-Born, would be worth the fall. Their father and the surviving elders of the Sky-Fallen, outcast from the stars, shrieked no with every angry-betrayed breath and sobbed yes with every grief-filled long stare. Last Ra-cycle had been worse than most after their parent woke screaming, shuddering for hours in their arms, whispering about the blacker than black of Q space when eyes invented shapes and colors just to see something, dust within the vacuum where emptiness was both an illusion and a harsher reality than can be conceived, planets with snow and moons where people can see their breath and dance in the twilight between days, and most of all, the Endless. Each of the Sky-Fallen had stood where Julius had been standing and witnessed the eternity of the universe.

Until they could witness it no more.

Again, the unnatural sound interrupted the silence of the coffin of failed dreams.

Unsure if the change would bring hope or further nightmares, Julius followed the periodic beep into the third inner circle of the ship. Uncaring true gravity mocked the orientation of artificial pathways made to operate with centrifugal force making the travel challenging and convoluted. They slid down ladders still lit after forty years with a red glow, and used others to cross gulfs of hallways running vertical on the grounded ship. Deeper in the ship the natural light from the twin stars disappeared, making Julius grateful for the lighting mechanisms meant to shine for the generations it would take to cross space.

The outermost layer of the ship was barely different from the surrounding world because First Homes had been built from scavenged paneling initially, but integral bulkheads eventually became more of a trial to dismantle than using the abundant natural woods and stones to build shelters.

They reached center of ancient ship after a backtrack to avoid a Growler’s nest. Outside, Ra should have given way to Raet by now, and Julius was overdue for their chores. After waiting another count of thirty-seven, they narrowed the source on the bridge to the communications module.

Running a hand over the module’s damaged entry panel, where someone long ago had beaten the panel into uselessness, Julius discovered long-forgotten neural pathways established during childhood training waking. Nanites created them during the second infusion: how to operate an escape pod, how to seal a hull breach, and how to operate the distress beacon. Things every person on board This Giant Leap needed to know.

Breathing out slowly, they moved around the sealed module, turning their head with each beep until they found the crack at the base of the module allowing the sound to carry throughout the ship. It looked like it went through the bulkhead. Another trip up to go down, then sideways brought them under the bridge and the communication module in what used to be the incubation chambers, the most protected area from interstellar radiation. Avoiding the empty equipment still attached walls, which had been floors when the ship used to rotate, Julius found the crack again, this time they could slip inside the pitch-black area.

They left some skin behind, but made it in. For once, their small size played in their favor.

The beep happened again and the programmed instinct took over, guiding their hands over equipment they never seen before and couldn’t see now. The beep was replaced with a hum.

Then a burnt smell.

And, finally, hologram lasers danced in the abandoned air.

(words 602; first published 9/25/2022 – I asked if anyone wanted one of the Facebook visual flash expanded to 500 words, and they asked for Beep.)

Beep Series
Beep (7/26/2020)
Ship’s Center (9/6/2020)

Flash: Be Ninja Part Two – First Attempt

July 5, 2020September 18, 2022 Erin Penn

Photo by Chris Moore on Unsplash

Stuck between brainiac money boy Able Bykowski and druggie Cooper don’t-call-me-by-my-first-name-or-I’ll-hit-you did not promise a good start to this assembly, but what are you going to do during Ms. Niederhauser’s and her OCD everything in alphabetical order English class when your name is Carnegie? At least the freshman and sophomores had finished sitting. We would be next loading into the all-purpose room bleachers; I saw the Seniors start forming ranks on the other set of doors into the large area. They would be last in and first out.

Vice Principal Hargraves managed to get the first two classes properly loaded into the seating section across where the freshman sat neatly at attention. Then chaos started as the jocks, money, brains, and all the other cliques started self-sorting. When I got in, I walked up the metal seats to the top where theatre grabbed space. We are really bad at being in audiences, especially for the bi-annual Be Swell and Tell assemblies. The announcement had only been to report to assembly, but it’s the first week back from winter holidays, and only the BSAT assemblies aren’t announced in advanced.

Once firmly ensconced at the highest spot with my techies pals, I surveyed the large room, watching as the sophomores finally got the clue that the teachers were not in charge and started shifting around. One or two tried to keep order, but for the most part they just made sure mayhem remained at low levels. I noticed Cooper slipping through the seats to the open area underneath to join his group. He really needed to be more careful, at some point he will be too noticeable not to report.

I kicked myself for like the millionth time for pulling that Ninja trick while working pizza during break. If someone noticed and reported, but it didn’t happen, but it could have. I gripped the metal seat either side of me, then relaxed my fingers before I dented something. I breathed in and out.

Romeo dropped down beside me as the Seniors came up. His real name is Liam, but he is the best actor in the school. Grabbed the Romeo role as a freshman, transferring in from homeschooling. Brains, money, jock, and theatre. He was the whole package. Actors do hang with the tech, but they are the row under us, not beside. I raise an eyebrow.

“Hey Aster, right?” His voice could paint the walls in layers when on stage.

I nodded, well past the crushing stage with him, unlike everyone else in the school. My job has been for the last two and a half years to keep him in the light, and the boy likes to chew scenery. He moved constantly. Too many nights getting mark after mark straight. He’s easy to look at, but when you have to come back to school after working delivery, the awe factor wears away.

“You know Sophia, right?”

I glanced across at the sophomore area, where the theatre group managed to tuck themselves into the ledge beside the (score light area – need word). Sophia’s black hair was wrapped into two braids around her head like a crown. “Yeah, she does sound.”

“Do you know if she is, like, dating anyone?”

I did a double-take. Romeo didn’t date, not with his schedule. On top of being in the top five students, and lettering in three different sports, and being in theatre, he also had at least two service gigs to look good on his college forms. “Um, I think her parents are very religious and not letting her date yet. I think I remember her complaining about that.”

His shoulders fell.

“You interested? I mean, tech finds a way.” It’s a saying we have, props, sets, lights, sound, costume. If the play or musical needs it, we will find it.

“Well, maybe, not really.” He looked to where the principal and vice principals were gathering by one door. The assembly would be starting soon. “Mom said I need to go to the prom and I should go with someone I won’t be embarrassed to be in a picture with. Someone that has a future.”

Someone not a cheerleader, which would be the first option, or an actress, the second option, of Senior girls he would be rubbing elbows with. His parents were pieces of work.

Sophia’s father was Representative Ricci, and her mother was the chair of the City Council. Her grandparents had a park and a downtown building named after them. Her future was wrapped and bow-tied. Thing is she is also a nice girl and a hard worker. I wanted to hate her a little, my future including questions like if the parents will make rent this month, but I couldn’t. Luck of the draw, you know?

(words 796 – first published 9/18/2022)

Flash: Veronica Visits (Pets 2)

June 7, 2020April 26, 2024 Erin Penn

Photo by Malcolm Lightbody on Unsplash

Veronica rushed at human speeds from the hired car to the burrow door in the side of the hill where Reginald kept his underground residence as the last vestiges of the July sun beat down on the Mojave Desert. One of his servants held the thick, iron-banded door open. The man took her layered wrap and offered her a glass of clear liquid from a set of crystal near the door.

“I don’t drink water,” she shook her head declining the offer. Although she was thirsty enough to consider it, long experience had taught her how useless the attempt would be. Her host would set her up with something shortly.

“Ma’am, it’s plasma, not water.” The human extended the goblet to her. “We’ve found it helps with the dry air.”

Intrigued, she took the glass and sniffed it. Instead of the normal metallic scent of full blood, a slight cheese scent wafted up. The old Gaul vampire took a tentative sip. None of the richness of blood with the layers of life rippled over her taste buds. A clean, fresh taste, almost clear took its place. A little sweet taste unlike anything she could remember experiencing danced lightly on the tongue. With a swallow, the first non-blood in nearly a thousand years went down her throat. And, she closed her eyes in silent thanks, stayed down. Vomit was so messy.

Her body absorbed the liquid in a welcomed rush. Taking a second sip, Veronica nodded, “It will do.”

“Very good, my lady.” The human bowed, then stood and swung out an arm. “If you would follow me?”

Having never visited her blood brother before at his Las Vegas quarters, Veronica studied the interior of the underground stronghold as they walked. Sandstone cut walls held the outermost border. Inner walls alternated between variegated-colored sandstone and tasteful pale, almost white woods of different grains and were decorated with paintings of the desert by unknown artists of varying skill. The breathtaking art were the woven baskets, turquoise jewelry, and the pottery tucked into alcoves, displayed on shelves, and the best pieces isolated on pedestals with spotlight lighting. The overall look came across more open and much cleaner than the typical vampire packrat display of wealth. She wasn’t even certain how much wealth was on display; indigenous and modern pieces eluded her knowledge.

She found it refreshingly different.

Reginald always thought differently, outside the box as the modern saying went.

Her guide stopped in front of a double-door of stained glass in a dreamcatcher design. He opened the doors into a cozy library and after turning on the lights, stepped aside. “My lord will be with you shortly.”

Veronica entered the much more traditional space. Thick mid-eastern rugs decorated the floor, three heavy wooden chairs equal distant apart but all facing each other and allowing a clear view of the door, and a glorious library filled with volumes of books. Modern paperbooks pressed covers with medieval manuscripts. One section of textbooks and scientific volumes were stored behind glass. Two yellowed skeletons, one male and one female, which clearly had meat on them at one point, had been rethreaded to hold their shape. A smile touched her lips, two of Reginald’s favorite pets from the Old World still traveling with him after all this time.

The sidebar held crystal filled with clear liquid. Lifting the decanter she sniffed it, more plasma. Veronica shrugged and refilled her goblet. While thirsty, she wasn’t truly Thirsty yet. The blood plasma took the edge off. She might need to make arrangements for it back home. Having something different to drink was an experience.

The door opened and her host came in. “Veronica, this is surprise.”

“A pleasant one I hope,” setting down the goblet on the only empty side table by a chair, she crossed the room to kiss her brother’s cheeks.

“Indeed,” he said with cheerful agreement.

She ran the tones through her brain, tumbling them like rocks to find the core shape. In the New York coven, not a single word was spoken without extra meaning. Reginald either had gotten much better at hiding his true intent, or he remained as open and welcoming as the day he greeted her and their progenitor back on his family farm, thinking them lost nobility seeking shelter from a stormy night. He hadn’t changed in seven hundred years.

“Still sleeping in half the night?” she teased, moving to the seat she claimed.

He laughed as he walked to the sidebar and poured himself a goblet of the plasma. “Not all of us have the gift of daywalking.” He joined her, sitting at the chair with two side tables filled with books, and more surrounding it on the floor. The floor lamp light fell perfectly on his lap, hiding part of his face in shadows.

(words 804, first published 9/28/2022)

Pets for Vampires Series (Order of Creation)

Flash: Armfield

May 3, 2020April 26, 2024 Erin Penn

Photo by Venti Views on Unsplash

Summertime in Armfield is what heaven wished it could be. The sun shines a little more gently than Sol, the air contains a bit more oxygen, the sky cloudless except for two hours in the afternoon bringing gentle rains, and the most amazing bit, not a single terraform engine in sight constantly forcing the planet back into the pattern for human existence with an entire industry dedicated to keeping it going. Armfield welcomed the first scouts to the last load of refuges from Earth before the Unified Planets collapsed back in 2914 without us needed to change a single thing.

We don’t know how many planets are still out there with people. The terraform engines had an expected lifespan of fifty years, and it’s been a hundred since the collapse. I brushed the melancholy thoughts away as I walk from my farm to the Mating Fair celebrating the day humans first set foot on Armfield. Crowds drawn from plantations from miles around push me to the edge of the ceramic-clay road. I lack the exuberance of youth to run in packs and the hereditary wealth of the first settlers giving them room as people parted to avoid being stepped on or run over by large horses and hovercarts.

My mother had been on the last ship out of Earth; I was lucky to be farming my own land.

A few of my neighbors waved greetings as they moved by. Jackson and Limer brought their hovercart alongside and offered me a ride, which I politely turned down. If I had to listen to them pitch to buy my property one more time, someone wouldn’t be making it back to their roofs tonight.

My favorite offer from them so far was becoming their mutual concubine and letting any of my children keep the money of the sale. By favorite, I mean I managed not to stab them through the eye.

(words 318, first published 9/30/22)

Market Day Series

Market (8/27/2019)
Armfield (5/30/2020) – Not canon. Sometimes you start down a path and the story is just wrong. I kept at it and it didn’t get better. Going to try again though.
Market Day Purchase (11/1/2020) – This one worked MUCH better, expanding the original.