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A refugee Ferret who has only recently found somewhere to call home begins the story of how she got there. When last this recollection left off (https://www.furaffinity.net/view/25007645/), her family, and a whole community of Furs, had lost their homes and neighborhood to an expanding MegaCorp.
This is a submission to the Thursday Prompt writing group. This week's prompt was an image by
nomax : https://www.furaffinity.net/view/26398213/
Check out the group's user page here: https://www.furaffinity.net/user/thursdayprompt/ And the other stories generated from this prompt here: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/26469197/
<--- PREV | FIRST | NEXT --->
Before Planet Dirt: Part 2: The Holograph
By: DankeDonuts
https://www.furaffinity.net/user/dankedonuts/
Illustration by: Nomax
https://www.furaffinity.net//user/26398213/
We moved into an apartment near the center of Neo Nebra. Shollo would have a shorter commute from there; that’s what I told myself to feel better about the cramped but expensive rooms. Just in time for Eskoo and Keesha’s second birthday. That’s what I focused on. Making them happy. Getting them settled. There wasn’t much room for walking practice there, so the kits and I spent a lot of time in recreation rooms on the first floor. I got to know some of the other tenants, join the babysitting pool, and out feelers to rebuild my holoengineering side-business.
Some the tenants were from the old neighborhood, the one being bulldozed. Some of them weren’t. There were a lot of Furs and such moving into the building. Humans moving out. It was easy enough to tell myself I wasn’t living in a ghetto, in the early days. I had some old friends, to help ease the transition into this new life. I was making new ones, to help ease how much I missed Shollo some nights. He had to work extra hours to keep up the rent. And took over with the kits when I had to rest. We made it work. For a few years.
I just didn’t know how much further downhill we were going to slide. I didn’t want to see it. Not even after I saw that photograph. It hit the news cycle just after the last of our boxes was unpacked. I’m sure you know the one. The holojournalist who took it -- a Skink , I think -- won several awards for it.
“The Lost Scout” is the name of the portrait, if I remember correctly. The scout’s name was Élaine Bisset. Formerly Sergeant Bisset. Of the Expeditionary Forces.
Her life was the cover story for that month’s National Galactic. And she was living -- if you could call it that -- in a mega-city on Sigma Tau V. Out in the Spinward Expanse. In her active-duty days, her squad got hit by a plasma mine while fighting lunar insurgents. The descendants of Humans and Furs who’d set out to forge independent colonies generations ago, and who descendants didn't much like their respective -- they would say former -- governments swooping in to reap the benefits of their hard work.
The military gave her the full cybernetic overhaul. Total dermal replacement, and replacements for her arm and both legs to boot. The left arm had been sacrificed to shield her eyes. After she cycled out of the force, she hired herself out as a scout. Finding more places for the megacorps to colonize.
But upkeep on her parts required more than a steady income. She depended upon her employer for access to parts and services outside of the major colony cities. And when the contracts dried up, she spiraled into homelessness and scavenging. Prying pieces off herself to keep other ones from breaking down.
The story went on to say it wasn’t much better for other cyborgs. They military was phasing out the upgrades as being too cost-ineffective, and the megacorps out that way were weeding out their enhanced employees. The winds of public opinions in the Expanse had been blowing in the direction of turning out anyone ‘un-natural.’ They were following, in the spirit of fair competition amongst their employees. That was the line, at least.
“If the M.C.’s gave a damn about PR, they wouldn’t have taken our home.” That was Shollo’s take away from the story. I can’t say I disagreed with him.
There was something else about it that caught my heart. Even now, when I think about the picture of Sargent Bisset, I think about her eye. It always makes me think of my grandmother. She was the Sargent’s opposite number; she had real skin and hair and cybernetic eyes. High end models with self-customization capacity. She’d change their color out every time we visited. Just to goof around on us kits. We’d catch her having pink eyes, or green, or violet. And insist that the last time they were grey, or brown. Grandmama would insist, “No, no, you must be mistaken, little ones!” But she’d do it with a smile and a wink. Make us kits feel clever for catching her out. A secret that the other grown-ups didn’t know.
Grandmama always could make me laugh. Raise my spirits on my worst days. Even when she wasn’t around anymore. I needed her good humor, more and more, in the years to come. As my family slowly got closer and closer to ending up like that poor, unfortunate Dalmatian.
<--- PREV | FIRST | NEXT --->
This is a submission to the Thursday Prompt writing group. This week's prompt was an image by
nomax : https://www.furaffinity.net/view/26398213/Check out the group's user page here: https://www.furaffinity.net/user/thursdayprompt/ And the other stories generated from this prompt here: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/26469197/
<--- PREV | FIRST | NEXT --->
Before Planet Dirt: Part 2: The Holograph
By: DankeDonuts
https://www.furaffinity.net/user/dankedonuts/
Illustration by: Nomax
https://www.furaffinity.net//user/26398213/
We moved into an apartment near the center of Neo Nebra. Shollo would have a shorter commute from there; that’s what I told myself to feel better about the cramped but expensive rooms. Just in time for Eskoo and Keesha’s second birthday. That’s what I focused on. Making them happy. Getting them settled. There wasn’t much room for walking practice there, so the kits and I spent a lot of time in recreation rooms on the first floor. I got to know some of the other tenants, join the babysitting pool, and out feelers to rebuild my holoengineering side-business.
Some the tenants were from the old neighborhood, the one being bulldozed. Some of them weren’t. There were a lot of Furs and such moving into the building. Humans moving out. It was easy enough to tell myself I wasn’t living in a ghetto, in the early days. I had some old friends, to help ease the transition into this new life. I was making new ones, to help ease how much I missed Shollo some nights. He had to work extra hours to keep up the rent. And took over with the kits when I had to rest. We made it work. For a few years.
I just didn’t know how much further downhill we were going to slide. I didn’t want to see it. Not even after I saw that photograph. It hit the news cycle just after the last of our boxes was unpacked. I’m sure you know the one. The holojournalist who took it -- a Skink , I think -- won several awards for it.
“The Lost Scout” is the name of the portrait, if I remember correctly. The scout’s name was Élaine Bisset. Formerly Sergeant Bisset. Of the Expeditionary Forces.
Her life was the cover story for that month’s National Galactic. And she was living -- if you could call it that -- in a mega-city on Sigma Tau V. Out in the Spinward Expanse. In her active-duty days, her squad got hit by a plasma mine while fighting lunar insurgents. The descendants of Humans and Furs who’d set out to forge independent colonies generations ago, and who descendants didn't much like their respective -- they would say former -- governments swooping in to reap the benefits of their hard work.
The military gave her the full cybernetic overhaul. Total dermal replacement, and replacements for her arm and both legs to boot. The left arm had been sacrificed to shield her eyes. After she cycled out of the force, she hired herself out as a scout. Finding more places for the megacorps to colonize.
But upkeep on her parts required more than a steady income. She depended upon her employer for access to parts and services outside of the major colony cities. And when the contracts dried up, she spiraled into homelessness and scavenging. Prying pieces off herself to keep other ones from breaking down.
The story went on to say it wasn’t much better for other cyborgs. They military was phasing out the upgrades as being too cost-ineffective, and the megacorps out that way were weeding out their enhanced employees. The winds of public opinions in the Expanse had been blowing in the direction of turning out anyone ‘un-natural.’ They were following, in the spirit of fair competition amongst their employees. That was the line, at least.
“If the M.C.’s gave a damn about PR, they wouldn’t have taken our home.” That was Shollo’s take away from the story. I can’t say I disagreed with him.
There was something else about it that caught my heart. Even now, when I think about the picture of Sargent Bisset, I think about her eye. It always makes me think of my grandmother. She was the Sargent’s opposite number; she had real skin and hair and cybernetic eyes. High end models with self-customization capacity. She’d change their color out every time we visited. Just to goof around on us kits. We’d catch her having pink eyes, or green, or violet. And insist that the last time they were grey, or brown. Grandmama would insist, “No, no, you must be mistaken, little ones!” But she’d do it with a smile and a wink. Make us kits feel clever for catching her out. A secret that the other grown-ups didn’t know.
Grandmama always could make me laugh. Raise my spirits on my worst days. Even when she wasn’t around anymore. I needed her good humor, more and more, in the years to come. As my family slowly got closer and closer to ending up like that poor, unfortunate Dalmatian.
<--- PREV | FIRST | NEXT --->
Category Story / All
Species Dog (Other)
Size 120 x 120px
File Size 229.7 kB
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