The first installment of “Chekhov’s Katana” went out yesterday, including the illustration that inspired the story.

Melinda walked down the rutted road, passing more trees with ruined wires. Her boots scuffed against the dirt and gravel, but a few chunks of asphalt remained. As soon as hoverjeeps got cheap enough for anyone to buy, which must have been fifty years ago, it was only a matter of time before the government neglected the roads. They had plenty of other infrastructure projects to fund.

Melinda kept a sharp eye on the forest surrounding her. Gene-manipped cats sitting near the edges of the road darted back into the trees as she passed. If Melinda sat down and didn’t move, they would flock to her, but they were sensible enough be cautious at first.

Melinda was heading to a city satellite, returning to the shanty village that she’d passed earlier. It was fifty miles out from the main city, but still had more supplies than she could find elsewhere. Their smuggling operations were well-organized. Long walk from her broken-down car, though. Melinda kicked a clump of dry mud. It exploded into dust and small chunks, and a cat hissed.

Cat pattern photo by antjeverena.

She hiked for more than a hour to reach the dilapidated town. It was a small settlement, consisting of maybe fifteen tents and five extra structures cobbled together from salvaged wood and car shells. The buildings were arranged to circle the water pump in the middle courtyard. Melinda walked toward the well, tapping tent walls with the flat of her katana as she went. No one yelled and no one emerged. “Probably out hunting,” Melinda muttered. She wondered if they ate cats — maybe manipped meat was okay after all.

Melinda was thirsty. She reached the water pump and tapped its holo display to check the status. Half-full, tolerably clean, and the price per liter wasn’t devastatingly high.

Melinda clicked off her katana, re-sheathed it in the leather harness on her back, and opened up her pack to find her water bottle. She unscrewed the cap and tipped the bottle up to drink. She had waited because she didn’t want to risk being caught without water. Melinda was too eager, and some of the liquid splashed down her chin. “Fuck,” she said, chiding herself for being careless. Money down the drain.

She positioned her water bottle under the spigot and tapped the well’s holo trigger again. “Retina scan prepared,” the display told her in a metallic voice. Melinda pulled what looked like a small metal ball from her pocket. She squeezed it and the thing popped open, projecting an image of two brown eyes back to the hologram. “Account accepted,” the well’s display announced. “Spigot will open in five seconds.”

“I never saw you do that before,” a voice said behind her. Melinda jumped, reaching over her shoulder for the katana. She cursed herself for not double-checking that everyone was gone.

“Those ain’t your eyes,” the man commented. “If you’re spending credits on my good water, they better not be counterfeit.”

Here’s the final installment: “Survive By Being Hard To Hunt”.

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