Round One - Lost World. 

A Honey of a Streamer (5 part story)

I could wax almost poetic about the body of my honey Streamer. Hours and hours, but I won't bore you. She's gorgeous. That's all you need to know. And if you touch her, I'll chop off your hand, roast it and eat it. You should always cook your meat. You never know what germs you'll catch from eating uncooked fingers. But, it's been at least fifteen years since I've been that hungry. Yes, 2815 is a much better year to live in than any year of the 2700's.

My Streamer is the light of my life, the sunbeam through my clouds, the North Star in my night, yada, yada, yada. She has been ever since I won her six months ago in a game of high stakes Giggling Smirnoff. Which is, mind you, a much more serious game than the name implies. Trust me.

I could talk about other stuff.

Girls. But that's a sore subject I don't want to talk about. The last girl I ever saw, well, last two girls were my mom and my little sister as they boarded the S.S. Home Away from Home with one way tickets to the Fuck Outta Here. Yes. All the women in the world got shit fed-up with men, organized a world-wide military operation called Save the Women (who the hell thought up these names? Some jerk in the government, anyway) and built underground colonies in what used to be South America, North America and Europe before they were scorched. Africa and Asia were too hard hit way back by the bombs for colonies and I'm not sure about Australia. Rumors were the zombie virus was still alive down there. Stupid former USA cooked that up in 2708. Anywho. Every single living female on the planet was picked up and taken to underground havens away from men 20 years ago and we haven't heard from them since.

At least I have the Streamer. She's my sweetest treasure. One of the few items I own that isn't an antique or jerry rigged with scrap wires, and the ship I had before her is decorating my front lawn.

When Willard called me up on the holo-projecter and said he might have a job for me and the Streamer, I'll admit I was more interested than I pretended to be.

"Gotta opportunity for you, buddy! Whoo, haven't seen activity outside the sustainable zones since, uh, so since never before. This could be big and you need to hop on it with your ship," he said. He was only partly paying attention to me, his mouth was talking but his hands and eyes were on a different projector. It could have been his game of Planet Hopping or his rigged up scanner screens, all government approved, of course. "Swing over and I'll get you a deci of whiskey, how 'bout it?"

Alcohol. Another painful subject. I suppose corn-whiskey is technically an alcoholic beverage. I once had a drink of beer my neighbors made from corn mash and bitter beetles instead of something called hops. It was really good. I only got a mouthful, though. Just enough to rinse the grit from my teeth. Takes too much water to make, according to them.

I grunted at Willard, but reached in my pocket for my lucky card. Six months ago, I woke up in a dry lake bed with it on my chest. 'Google Play $50,' most likely expired for over 700 years, and my brand new Streamer parked almost on my head. I could only remember the beginning of the game when I won her, but that card instantly became my lucky charm. In my world, any opportunity for finding new stuff, or old stuff to go in my antiques collection was good.

Willard was going on and on about radar and life-like activity and how if I hurried my ass up I could get there before any governments got their heads out whatever holes they were in, and I started picking my teeth. It's important for the person opposite to understand that his value to you was somewhere south of whatever you were digging out with a fingernail. This is necessary for negotiating payment. Willard has a way of sending me on jobs for him, but thinking payment was optional.

Something green came up. I hadn't eaten anything green for at least three days.

"The man for this job is you and you alone. With your Streamer, that is. Seize today like it's your last, and all that shit. Opportunity, that's all I've got to say."

"Opportunity to do what, exactly?" I asked. He had rambled on and on about picking up activity, but hadn't told me what or where the job was.

"The activity the radar is reading – it might not seem like much to you, but this is something. And something is way better than nothing. It's like the birds you find in the bushes."

"The dodo birds in the bushes?" Dodo farming of reconstructed dodos from frozen DNA found in Antarctica over 600 years ago was coming back in vogue. For the rich, anyway.

"No, the birds you got in your hand or not. When you play your cards right," he said. "Like an ace. This is your ace. Take the Streamer down there. A honey flyer like that can weather the storms no prob, and who knows? Maybe you'll even find a lemon tree like you've always wanted, or something else for your little museum."

"Where?" I asked.

"On the island."

"What island?"

"The island I've been talking about."

"Have you mentioned the word 'island' in this conversation so far?" I asked. Nothing left to scrape out of my teeth.

"What the hell? Have you been listening to me? What do you think I've been talking about?" he asked. His full attention was on me.

"About a job, I hope."

"You are so on the ball it's just scary," he said. He started picking his nose. That was a bad sign.

"So how much are you going to pay me to risk my life and my Streamer?"

"You'll do it, then?"

"How much will you pay me to check this out for you?" I repeated.

"With all the loot you're going to find, why would I have to pay you? Infrared, buddy! There is life where there shouldn't be life. The stuff needed to keep a colony going in those conditions – it blows my mind to smithereens." He waved his arms around, knocking over a holo-screen in the background. "Technology shit, greenhouses with real f'in' plants, astro blasters...I wouldn't be surprised if they have spare android brains, pre-AI meltdown!"

"And how am I supposed to trade or buy any of this great stuff, assuming there is any?"

"I'll loan you 125 kg of flash frozen dodo meat, plus some gizzards. That should get you by. The market is hot for dodos."

"You mean the town market that's open in the square on Fridays? How much are you paying me?"