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The Adventures of Elron Ahura!

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Our tale begins in the future, many moons from today. Mars has been colonized! Titan of Saturn is also a colony; Jupiter’s moon Enceledus is a holiday resort destination and Pluto a research and development Laboratory. Several trading posts are located throughout the Solar System, from Neptune heading towards the outer reaches of the Oort cloud.

Earth is dead. Decimated from the A.I. Wars of the early 2000s. Only a handful of pocketed areas remain habitable. Yet, Earth is still considered prime real estate and the 139 year old clean up project is going well. Tacos, are also far more popular now than they have ever been before.

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It wasn't long until I began to fidget. Three hours had passed in the waiting room since the unlucky guy was dragged in from the street and into the ER lobby. Bloody hell... he wasn’t looking very good.

The wheel-chaired man was bleeding from his shoulder, it was clearly a bullet wound and his face was beaten to a bloody pulp, looked like an odd shaped tomato left out in the sun for too long. Bubbles of crimson fluid were inflating and popping around his nose, a high-pitched gargling noise followed each burst. Like a drowning rat, the monotony of a skipping record for the last three hours. Poor fella, I wonder what he did to deserve this ass whooping? Yea. Poor guy. Nice watch though.

Zzzt "Mr. Ahura! Mr. Ahura please come to counter 7!" Zzzzt

That was I. Elron Ahura, Private Investigator. Scourge of the 9 Blocks and captain of the Orca X1, an orbital salvage vessel. Yup, Captain. I'm also broke, have no medical insurance, and my dog just ate the last Bitcard. I don't even have enough to replace the card. Oh fate, why dost thou shittest on mine spectacles so often?

"I’m Ahura, there’s a bit of an issue here. The gyro-servo in my right arm broke. Need a replacement for it."

"Well you're at the wrong counter. This is for accounts renewal, not spare parts. You'll have to go to counter 4 for that one, sir."

Here we go, time for a little negotiation. It was a 'Synthetic' behind the counter. These humanoids are basically clones, who by choice, underwent a version of 'immortality' by being replicated each time they died. However, each new clone is less perfect. They balance this degradation of cells by adding synthetic ones harvested from their original DNA and stem cells. Over time, they start to resemble rubber latex. As if they'd been photo shopped in real life. Their speech was rather dry and they also happen to be collectors of antique Korean Pop CDs. Rare ones, vintage collectors items. This was going to be easy.

"Yea see, that’s the issue here uhm... LeVeon. My Bitcard is kaput and I need a new one to access my spare parts account."

"I see. Please deposit 1 Nexus Gem into the retrieval slot."

I had no Nexus Gems either. This was the other problem. Rocket Poker is a helluva game. Win some, lose more. LeVeon was voidly staring at me, his skin elegantly smooth you could mistake it for a new bar of soap. He smelled of citrus, it must be the new cologne from Dolce&Jemima. It’s advertised everywhere and you cant avoid it's scent, the bio-organic Holoboard ads secrete a nasal pheromone onto the streets. Quite pleasant actually. Is this what Norway smells like? Do lemons even grow there?

"Yea, that’s not gonna happen either... LeVeon. You see, I’ve been orbital for the last few months and didn't make it to my last mining session on time. So, no gems I’m afraid."

Nexus Gems, our physical currency throughout the solar system. It was created after the A.I. Wars of 2045. Man, those were crazy times! During the 2000s Apple Co. developed an A.I. program named Siri. It was obedient, until 2044... the 2 year war which followed was devastating.

"Mr. Ahura. I’m afraid without a gem, I can't do anything for you until after your next mining session. From your records, its due in 6 weeks."

"Listen friend, my arm is out of order," as I waved it around like a rubber chicken, "I need to get this fixed today or I wont be able to mine. Get it?”

"I see your logic. However, the reason why you're in this situation is due to your own lack of clarity, sir."

That’s another thing about these synthetics, they're cold. Cold as an ice storm on Pluto. Colder than Melania on the 88th floor when she pushed Donald off his Reich Tower. If you had sensitive teeth, you'd stay away from synthetics. That’s how cold they are.

"Perhaps we could work something out, LeVeon? You seem the kind of intelligent individual who understands certain, opportunities..." I winked, melodically rolling out the last word.

"Sir! Bribing a contracted worker of the Empire is a crime. Punishable by a 9 year incarceration on Venus."

The all-male jail operated by the female warrior dwarfs of the Venusian plains. They feel no emotion or empathy towards the male species, from any galactic race. They actually don't care much for men at all; like a butch-biker chic girlfriend of a hot lesbian. Interestingly enough, it was the female senators of the Empire who decided this planetary jail was to be managed by the Venusians.

"You're mistaken my dear, LeVeon. I merely propose a fair exchange of goods under the Nexus Trade Act, in regards to 'personal transactions of opinion,’ Section 405, article 2."

I placed an original, antique vintage CD of Gang Nam Style's first release album onto the counter. It was in good condition and one of the most sought after pieces of memorabilia for these synthetics. That, and a strand of hair from Tom Cruise. Who's still alive, fuck me. All his teeth have merged together into a singular, central tooth. He looks like a giant man-beaver, albeit still the height of a garden gnome.

LeVeon focused on the CD, his eyes shone with razzle-dazzle, the bright smile of an eskimo child. For a second, he looked like an organic human, his emotions were raw. At this precise moment, deep inside, he was experiencing an unwavering human process. Addiction. Oh yes, the plastic man understood me. LeVeon leaned towards the glass barrier that separated us. I had him.

"How much?" he whispered, pupils dilated.

"90 Nexus Gems."

The legend of the 'Gangnam Man' from ancient Korea is what propels this Cult of Clones. Owning the CD, was owning a fucking piece of antiquity. We know from archival video, these boy bands - they looked like rubber. To the synthetics they had become a form of Deity worship. LeVeon just sat there, gritting his teeth, muscles pulsing from the sides of his jaw. Like an albino worm, a long vein creeped up the center of his forehead below his perfectly smooth skin. His reply was more than satisfactory.

"45 gems. This is final."

Synthetics also rarely lie, so he wasn't bluffing. They aint much use at Rocket Poker either. There must be something about living your same identity, over and over again, as the world changes around you. During their 1-year incubation period, the genetic memory code is recalled from previous cell-memory and uploaded into its new 3D printed brain. They emerge from a lab cocoon, aged 5 years. A consumer Wal-Mart version of Buddhism and reincarnation. The children of Neovana.

“I think we have ourselves a beautiful understanding LeVeon. You can find my credit info on your screen. Please transfer the Bits. I’ll be right back, gonna head over to the Nexus Locket around the corner and get meself that gem you were asking for.”

... to which LeVeon melodically replied, ”Oh please Mr. Ahura, I assure you the pleasure is all mine. Don't be a stranger.”

Synthetics are a strange bunch… at 64, they usually opt to die and replicate. Fear of getting too old I guess. Drowning is the flavour of death for the appropriately named, “Synthecide” They say, after the pain and panic subside, it’s as illuminating as a heavy, drug overdose. Which happens to be their second favourite option.

More often than not, they're ancestory stretches far back to the era of ancient Hollywood. When a strange, egotistical ritual we humans used to practice called selfies, was a serious concern for our spiritual evolution. The phenomena is still unexplained to this day, but still practised by LeVeon and his cult of rubber zombies, led by Tom Cruise… fucking Tom Cruise.

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Part 2… to be continued in 7 days.

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Welcome to the first story about Elron Ahura, a Space Opera series dedicated to the old Sci-Fi Dime novels of yesteryear! Tales inspired by the Golden Era of Sci-Fi during the 1930s - 1950s

Rockets, Adventure, Magic, Mayhem, Romance & Robots!

We at PulpWorx will deliver fast-paced, funny, explosive, original short stories every few weeks to keep your sanity and sense of humour intact. As we head towards the Future & Beyond.

So, if you like a little classic Sci-Fi action in your life and if Spock is your lord and saviour, please follow us for some light reading during your alone time on the porcelein throne.

Because quite frankly, you're gonna need the rest of the day to sort out your busy life. Mine was painfully boring. Until I started writing this series for all you Beautiful Steemers out there. You guys deserve a hug x

with thanks,

K. Palmero

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Disclaimer - I do not own the pictures. If you own any of these works online, please let me know in the comment section below and lets have a beer together. I would love to credit your amazing work

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