AU: Dr. Shane Howard, currently on the Jericho, never adopted by Core Worlders to grow up and attend MedAcad on Londinium, but sent instead to an orphanage on Dyton attached to the prison colony her mother died in.
Dyton, September 2519.
Shane stepped off the public shuttle and stood in line for entry control, her luggage and umbrella perfectly matching the dark red suede of her shoes. The ride from Greenleaf had been uneventful, and she’d read her waves, finishing up as they docked on the highest level of the colony. The spaceport facilities were built at the top of the platform so that they might be tightly regulated, but the security was always laxer arriving in Dyton than leaving.
“You’re returning from a business trip, Miss March?” the uniformed guard asked, flicking through her papers.
“As it says in the documents”, she smiled holding her hand out for their return.
“You travel a lot”, he stated, not handing them back, “for business purposes.”
She raised an eyebrow questioningly and held his gaze. There was always one.
“Yet you always end up back here...”, he continued. “Can’t see the attraction myself.”
“What can I say? I’m a businesswoman. Roots in the community.”
She managed in her tone to imply he had no such loyalty, but he simply shrugged and scanned the social control card.
“Mother’s first name?”
“Kerenza”.
“Father’s place of birth?”
She sighed. Gorram bun tyen-shung duh ee-dway-ro.
“My father isn’t listed on my records”.
“Oh, of course, I’m sorry, you’re right. You’re listed as a bastard. My mistake”.
He handed her the papers, and turned to the next in line.
Welcome to ruttin’ Dyton. Can be... combative.
She walked on quickly; it served no purpose to retort, under the circumstances.
The smog always seemed thicker when she arrived home. It permeated the houses and businesses, the towering living complexes, the sweatshops and industrial factories, thinning only slightly in the slum areas that extended in every direction around that, until it gave way to an arid, unwelcoming wasteland. She didn’t do business in the wasteland. There were limits, after all.
She shut the door to the apartment that she’d bought outright, took off her shoes and poured a drink, drank it, poured another and sipped at it as she gazed out over the district. There were enough narcotics packed into the inner layer of her expensive looking luggage to cover expenses for six months, and maybe some to invest. Business was good; she picked her own customers from the less rough end of the city.
It wasn’t a bad life. She was lucky, she knew, being bright and learning from what she’d been through. Most had it worse, that was certain, and this was a hundred times better than the orphanage she’d survived. Now she had security, no one else to worry about, and companions she could buy in if she felt like it. Better this than some Core World existence where she didn’t know the first thing about life. Here, she knew who she was, what mattered, what didn’t matter, and why.
“Kid yourself about your behaviour, you'll never learn a ruttin’ thing”, she said, out loud, and watched out the window for a while.
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Note: bun tyen-shung duh ee-dway-ro = stupid inbred stack of meat