the smuggler’s bible

Alcide

They pull Alcide out of a vat on Chimah Station just at the tail end of an eighty percent reconstruction after the mess at Lascaux-Antilles. They had to rush things slightly, so some of him is purchased instead of grown properly. His eyes are a different color.

“I don’t remember what happened,” he says.

“No, you wouldn’t. And you won’t, don’t worry.” The tech has a clipboard and white cotton gloves. “Make a fist, please. Hold it. Good. Everything checks out, but take it easy until your nervous system settles in.”

“And then what?”

“What else? You have a job.”