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copyright © 2015 Greta Bowles
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It's a wild and wooly universe out there, with lots of creatures you never want to meet. Well, you might think you want to meet them, as when they hop on board your body they make sex into this intense, mind-blowing experience. Once they get their fingers on your chemistry set, they tweak you so you'd jump about anything and no matter what or who you do it's better than anything you've ever done—even if you've had some truly great sex. The problem is that it isn't them having the sex and the greedy bastards aren't willing to let a creature take a break.
"You fix us up with this crappy cargo and now you want us to do you a favor?" I looked at Caleb, giving him my best what-the-fuck glare. He shrugged it off. I think we've done business together too long and the bastard knows me better than I'd like.
"Isadora, it's a little one. All I'm asking you to do it jettison a small package, a box for me. You're already hauling my cargo to Arabelle II. Doing this for me just means you approach the nearest sun and shoot the box into it."
I snorted, trying to sound derisive. "That isn't a little favor Caleb. It's a big deal. The sun isn't just down the street you know? That task not only adds a lot of distance to the trip, it means that we are visible to tax patrols for at least three extra days. We aren't making diddly squat on this run as it is."
"It does increase the risk," Bernie, my partner put in. He sounded far too reasonable for my taste. "And risk should be paid for." When he added that I forgave him. He'd made the right point.
"I'll sweeten the pot then," Caleb said, looking tired. "The thing is... an important client asked me to get rid of the box for them. I have no idea why it needs to go in the sun, but it seems important to them. Because I want to curry their favor maybe I can give you a few hundred credits in return for doing this little thing."
"More likely they are paying you two or three times what you are offering me to get rid of whatever it is." I was in a bad mood. Smuggling was always a rough business, but the authorities were making it almost impossible for a girl to make a dishonest living. Here I was, an entrepreneur, an employer, and they were trying to put me out of business. What possesses people to act that way? And now Caleb, one of my best customers in terms of both imports and exports, wanted to complicate my life.
"Is it radioactive or toxic?" Bernie asked.
"Yeah, good question."
Caleb shrugged. "I don't know. It isn't emitting anything detectable from the box but I have no intention of trying to find out what's inside. If you are incredibly curious, don't blame me."
Reluctantly we took on the additional chore. We needed the money. BEYOND HOPE, our ship, was almost as bad off as her name implied. Repairs, expensive repairs loomed high on the schedule and we didn't have the money to pay for it. Before doing the repairs though, I wanted to make this run and then get laid. I needed the release.