Carriers

Harbor 9 - Monica

“Hey! Get below deck and make sure that crate is sealed and ready for delivery. I’m not getting aethered by the Reds because you couldn’t handle your duties. Let’s go!” Captain Mwangi spat. He was tense this morning, and more so than usual for a drop-off with the Reds, even though half of his trips to Vargos involved delivering cargo to them.

Monica had been working on his cargo ship for the last two years and had gotten to know the smuggling game well. She’d started her career with the United Kingdom’s Royal Navy but jumped ship at port somewhere in the Caribbean after only a few months. Service with the Royal Navy wasn’t bad, but the money you could make delivering to Vargos was unmatched if you could live long enough to collect your payday. She’d completed four global deliveries of cargo she never got to see and had saved enough from her cut of the profits to get her own ship in the next couple of months, even with the small percentage she took compared to Mwangi.

She made her way through the maze of storage containers piled on deck and headed below, navigating the stairs toward the hidden storage compartment concealed behind a false container. She had gotten used to entering the five consecutive codes to get inside but still groaned every time she had to weave through the maze of false walls and decoy crates to reach the smuggler’s hold.

Once she stepped inside, something struck her as odd: there was only a single cold crate in the storage this time. Normally, they delivered large shipments of cybernetics, firearms, or illicit materials for the Reds at Harbor 9, but now, the space was empty except for the lone box. It seemed strange that they’d pay Mwangi’s rate for such a small delivery, but she didn’t dwell on it.

Monica tightened her knit cap and buttoned up her coveralls to fight the chill in the room as she approached the crate to ensure it was properly fastened. It was secured to floor rings by several thick cables and sealed by digital locks where the lid met the body. The cables reacted perfectly to her tension checks, and all of the locks seemed intact—except for one.

A single digital lock blinked red.

Her stomach dropped.

The Reds would kill her and Mwangi on the spot if they thought they were tampering with their merchandise. She tried pushing the lock shut, but each attempt triggered a sharp error beep. Taking a closer look, she realized it was a biometric lock, and without the fingerprint of whoever had secured it, there was no way to reseal it.

She turned to head back to the bridge to alert the captain. but then the crate thumped from the inside. She froze.

Turning back slowly, she approached with caution. Something was alive in there. Then came another thump. Her stomach twisted.

The box had live cargo. She was a smuggler, sure, but she wasn’t in the business of moving animals or people. What the hell had the Reds put on the ship?

It wasn’t a storage crate, it was a coffin.

She tried fiddling with the locks, hoping to pop another open just enough to see inside. She yanked at one before a loud thump echoed through the room. This time a harder hit from within shifted the lid.

Before she could react, the bang of the lid nearly deafened her.

Another strike came from inside, disabling one of the locks. A cascade of digital clicks followed as the remaining locks unlatched automatically. The crate burst open in a single violent motion. Its lid shot upward, smashing into the ceiling and leaving a dent.

Cold mist crept from the crate, chilling the entire room. Nitrogen casing. The telltale sign of cybernetic augmentation storage. Monica took a slow, careful step forward and peered inside.

A young woman lay inside, shivering. She couldn’t have been older than twenty.

She had ivory-white hair and bright blue eyes, her pupils vibrating in a sea of neon irises. Her gaze darted frantically from one corner of the room to the other. She rose from the crate and set her trembling arms against the rim, her teeth chattering as she locked eyes with Monica.

“Où suis-je? Qui es-tu?” The woman whispered through shivers. Monica didn’t understand the words, but she recognized the girl’s fear.

She looked her over: her limbs were pristine, covered in shimmering synthskin, interrupted only by the distinct markers of high-end cybernetic enhancements. But they weren’t military-grade. And judging by her unsteady movements, she didn’t look like she could take on even Monica, who had spent the last two years half-starved at sea.

"Uh...name? Do you have a name?" Monica asked. The girl hesitated, eyes wide, breath trembling.

“Chloe. Am hôtesse, carry augmentations cybernétiques.”

A host. She was a living carrier for cybernetics, a human storage unit. Monica felt her stomach turn. This wasn’t just smuggling, it was trafficking. Chloe began climbing out of the crate just as footsteps approached the storage hold. Monica’s blood ran cold.

Mwangi was coming, she’d been down there too long.

The door slid open, and Captain Mwangi stepped in, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight before him of his first mate standing in front of compromised cargo. He stormed forward, pointing an accusatory finger at Monica.

“Bitch! You opened the box? The Reds will kill us for this! You’ve killed us!” His hand shot to his belt, fingers wrapping around his sidearm. He drew the gun and raised it, aiming at Chloe. The girl covered her face, shrinking back into the crate.

"Captain, she's just a girl! What the hell are we doing here? I didn’t sign up to move bodies!" Monica protested.

"Shut up!" Mwangi snapped. "We weren’t supposed to know what we were moving! And you’re smuggling goods into Vargos, Monica—what the fuck did you think this was? A noble profession for sailors? Now get back to the deck and steer us into port. I’ll get this lid back on, and maybe we can fool them into thinking it was secure.”

He stepped closer to Chloe, causing her to shrink further, trembling, staring down the barrel of his gun.

Monica was torn. Mwangi had a point, they weren’t exactly law-abiding citizens to begin with. But this was a human being. She’d never signed up for this.

Her eyes darted to a heavy cargo hook in the corner of the room, heavy enough to put a man down, and without thinking, she lunged. She gripped the hook and with every ounce of strength she had she swung. The hook met Mwangi’s skull with a sickening crack. His body crumpled and his blood pooled as the gun clattered to the floor.

Chloe stared in horror. Monica didn’t know why she did it, she just knew she had to.

Chloe looked like she didn’t even understand what had happened, her face frozen in a primal fear. Then came the high-pitched whir, echoing from above deck. A docking crane latched onto the ship. They’d drifted into port and the Reds were boarding.

Monica looked down at Mwangi’s lifeless body. Her captain was dead, her cargo was alive, and the people boarding this ship were the most dangerous smugglers in the world’s financial capital.

She took a breath, and reached for the gun.