Dismantling

We are so pleased to share David Bowles’ second Midwife-universe story this week. The first story, “Relocation,” appeared in The Sunday Morning Transport’s August 2022 lineup. We hope there will be many more such tales! ~ Julian and Fran, August 24, 2024.

This month’s stories are by authors A.R. Capetta, Lauren C. Teffeau, Leslie What, and David Bowles. The first story of the month is free to read, but it’s our paying subscribers who allow us to keep publishing great stories week after week.

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Dismantling

by David Bowles

I

Agaguro. A system in Serpens-Aquila Citerior that had still not been exploited. Not because of any conservationist impulse from the Alliance of Corporations, which controlled that part of the Milky Way. It was simply not cost effective to circumvent the natural barriers—like the small black hole orbiting the twin suns and the attendant gravitational anomalies. More profitable to keep expanding the edges of that capitalist empire, conquering or colonizing or co-opting new systems.

Nonetheless, in 6138 CE there were people living on a moon of the fourth planet of Agaguro, mostly human and some feline pumisirl. They called their world Johungot, “Good Place.” And, I had to admit, it truly was. Beautiful. Pristine. Covered with pure lakes and dense forests, rich soil and clear air.

Most families lived in a fertile valley in the highlands of a large island near the equator. Not far from where its rushing river slowed and became a broad lake, there sprawled a farm. On one pivotal day, both Jimin Sano—a small, wiry man in his thirties—and Nawanua Urqu—a younger, taller, and stouter whakawarmi, or non-binary person—were working in their fields, laughing as they pulled weeds.

Both were unaware that I was watching them from my pocket universe. I needed . . . test subjects? A trigger? Unwitting allies? No matter what word I choose, it’ll sound bad. But all my calculations pointed to this farm, right now.

“Perhaps not as fertilizer,” Nawanua said, “but our kid’s poops would drive winged pests away.”

Jimin nodded. “They have started to smell pretty nasty. I almost passed out changing her this morning.”

A woman approached them, smiling. A child of about a year was bundled to her chest, sleeping.

“Aftereffect of weaning. My milk produced only the sweetest-smelling shit. Your vegetables? That’s another story.”

She handed Jimin a jug of water. Nawanua approached, kissing her and touching the infant before taking the water from Jimin’s hands.

“Thanks, Balam,” they said. “It’s thirsty work.”

Jimin gave her a quick peck as well. His eyes glittered as if with love.

Then a shadow fell upon them. A Gogono shuttlecraft, passing overhead.

Balam gripped the child tighter against herself. “Do we run?”

Nawanua’s hands curled into fists. But Jimin shook his head.

“No. They’d kill us and write it off. Some executive would get a bonus for effective loss management.”

Balam released a shuddering breath. “So we take the third option they offer us?”

The shuttle landed in the fields, destroying two years’ of careful work. Armored corporate security poured forth, trampling more crops.

Nawanua grunted. “Yes. The third. Be strong. I’ll find you, my loves. I swear by the Midwife.”

The loyal mention of my title was a vise on my heart. I closed the portal, gasping.

II

All 1,037 people who had taken refuge on Agaguro were scooped up. In cells or cramped cabins aboard a Gogono HR enforcement barge, they were transported to the closest system, Tonkhoch, for evaluation and status adjustment.

Meanwhile, I set my plan in motion. Unlike with my other last-minute interventions, I had been working for several decades to put all the pieces in place. I hadn’t needed to peek into a parallel universe to see what long-term impact the Alliance of Corporations would have on the galaxy. I’ve seen the same pattern hundreds of times.