Challenge #03081-H173: Assisted Retirement
She was middle aged, approaching her 50’s, her lower back hurt so bad she could barely move. Working in those damn factories for so long, ever since she was orphaned when the last big fire that swept through the city killed hers and so many others’ families, had broken her. Then they came. It was late in the night, she’d gathered a huge amount of old, scrap, cloth stolen out of dumpsters and did her best to make it comfortable for her to lay. When she awoke, she was being carried silently on a liter between two strong…. what were they? They certainly didn’t appear human, though the live-suits made it hard to tell. She saw others, like her, broken, in pain, barely moving, also being carried in a stream heading to a large, dark, ship. She opened her eyes and asked, in a fearful tone, “Are they getting rid of me?” The ones carrying her said in but a whisper, lest the patrols hear, “We’re here to save you.” – Anon Guest
A body in motion must stay in motion. Time to lean? Time to clean. Keep the workflow up, meet quota, match goals… or enter forced retirement. Glyss had once worked a lever in the Forced Retirement department - back before the Executives decided it was bad for bottom line, and automated the entire process. Nevertheless, rumour continued as to what Forced Retirement was.
They had ways of wringing every last speck of value out of their workforce. Organs, marrow, blood and bone… it didn’t matter. As long as the expense of your upkeep was justified, the Executives wouldn’t decide to liquidate the entire facility. She’d seen one, once. That was one too many.
Glyss worked until she creaked. Worked until it hurt. Both of those were happening earlier and earlier now that she had hit the age of impending redundancy. She was almost fifty. Some workers were lucky to keep going until they were sixty. Whispers held that one had been maintained until sixty five. Glyss knew it was the friend-of-a-friend thing that maintained other nonsenses. Rubbish like certain stims making a person believe they were an orange, and feared being squeezed[1]. They were told, talked about, but never seen.
[Check the source to see the full story]
(Source: peakd.com)
Challenge #01904-E080: That'll Buff Out — Steemit
Rael opened up the exterior panel. And nearly had the urge to purge his internal organs. This was a temporary patch job that was actually a flock of temporary patch jobs. A mountain of kludges. Paperclips, ductape, and random bits of fabric, string, and parts that never should have come into conjunction were all there. He recognised desperate measures on top of inspired desperation on top of even more desperate measures.
In the old words of emergency repair-people everywhere, it just had to last for long enough.
In this case, long enough to bring this junkpile of a spaceship into drydock with her cargo intact. All the other signs were there. Low-bid vessel with a welded-on cargo hold from a different one with not enough engines. The wiring that had been gone over by every known sample of vermin in the Galactic Alliance. Short circuits, leaks and mystery substances all over the place.
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Challenge #01823-D362: Parental Rights — Steemit
Of all the laws of the Galactic Alliance, the ones concerning parenthood are the hardest to swallow for various worlds. Especially for certain colonies of the rather aptly-named Terra. Colonies like Quiverfull, Abundance, and a few of the Greater Deregulations have… limited views on the useful attributes of half of their population. And on the colony of Maia, it is not the half one generally expects of humans.
Grandmatriarch Lyse of Maia looked over the extensive list of Galactic Laws concerning the rights of cogniscents within the Alliance’s boundaries. “These are all well-considered,” she allowed. “You’ve spent much time on considering freedoms and considering their abuses.” This was something of a compliment from an aggressive matriarchy like Maia. “This clause… Regardless of race, creed, gender, or faith, it says. Of course this excludes those who are protected for their own good, does it not?”
“There are protections for those of diminished responsibility,” allowed Negotiator Prim. “Is that the portion of the general population you are concerned about?”
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Challenge #01799-D338: Jury's Still Out — Steemit
Most of the Galactic citizenry are not certain about the cogniscence levels of cats. They’re on the lowest boundary of mass for hosting a cogniscent mind. They show capacity for creative problem solving. They can learn procedures, so long as they are sufficiently motivated. They show signs of social strata, co-operation, and means of communication. They even attempt communication with non-felines.
They don’t meow past kittenhood, unless they are attempting to make their wants known to known cogniscent species. In which case, they have assorted tones and lengths to communicate, at least partially, their needs and desires.
Alas, they do not perform well in standard cogniscent testing.