Day Six: Post Haste - ‘Wait A Minute Mr Postman’

Post Haste

Definition

: with all possible speed

In the 16th century, the phrase "haste, post, haste" was used to inform posts (as couriers were
then called) that a letter was urgent and must be hastily delivered. Posts would then speedily
gallop along a route with a series of places at which to get a fresh horse or to relay the letter to
a fresh messenger. 

I know the traditional motto of messenger companies has always been along the lines of ‘Neither snow,
nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom of night stays these courageous couriers from the swift completion of
their appointed rounds’  but after two apocalypses, a mass exodus to the stars, severe climate change
and a general reshuffling of the earth’s tectonic plates, you’d think upper management could cut us
some slack. But no ,the latest advertisement of our services - on both the holos (upper crust
compartments), fibrous matter we now used as paper (middle crust and the various graffiti on the
lowest low levels now went ‘neither toxic dust storm, nor mutated creature, nor radioactive hotspots
nor cannibals will deter our messengers from their deliveries .” 

Awesome. 

I’d joined the messengers for the simple reason that someone from the slums does not get many
opportunities for gainful, guaranteed employment. It was either the army/police force (hard to tell the
difference these days), the postal service, butlering for some rich snob (cushy if you could land it and
they weren’t too perverse) or maintenance workers. 

Or, you know, crime. 

The laddy lads with far too much testosterone went to the army. The lucky few with strong stomachs a
loose set of personal morals went to try out for butlering. Those with the technical and engineering
capabilities got snatched up as soon as possible in order to maintain the habitat environment. Unlike
most skilled labourer work, age, gender, social hierarchy meant nothing if you had the skills to keep
everyone breathing and uncontaminated. 

The last place you could work if you came from the lowest levels was the Post Office. They took
everybody, anybody they could get their hands on really, as only the truly insane would actually want
to work there. 

The pay was good, the health care was great and there was an excellent employee insurance scheme
in place so if you did perish while in the line of duty, your family would get a, if not generous at least
quite substantial, payout. In fact, on paper, they were a better bet than the army. On paper.

In reality, postmen and women had more martial arts training with a wider variety of weapons than any
military personnel did. The company’s opinion was, you didn’t have to be perfect, you just had to be
good enough to keep yourself alive and the more options you had to fall back on, the better your
chance of doing so. 

The initial company induction lasted twelve months, starting with basic cardio, getting you into shape,
then moving on to various hand to hand martial arts, weapons training from lasers, to knives, to
machine guns, to rocket launchers, to halberds, to grenades and beyond. They threw everything they
had at you to keep you alive and delivering the mail. 

We had detailed lessons in geography, topography, astronomy, free running, spelunking, herbology,
biology, meteorology, basic emergency medical care the effects of various toxic chemicals and how to
identify ones that would simply kill all surrounding wildlife and which ones would mutate it into horrific,
man eating forms, how to tell if the ice was solid enough to how your weight, what to do if the ice
wasn’t solid enough to hold your weight. 

The Post Office invested in their staff. They had to. They learnt the hard way that simply sending
postmen out there, unprepared, was simply sending them to an unpleasant death and leaving them to
deal with endless customer complaints about how their parcel hadn’t arrived. 

They trained you to be a hardcore badass because you needed to be one for the job. Anything less
than that and you’d be slaughtered. The world out there was savage and, for all effects and
consequences, wanted you dead as painfully as possible. 

The Postmen did have an important job. We transported necessary items such as organs for
transplant surgery, machinery, medicine, food supplies and other such vital necessities. Days were we
risked our lives to save others lives, sometimes an entire bio structure, did make us feel like heroes
and that maybe we weren’t as crazy as everyone said for doing our jobs.

Then you had days like this. 

“He wants what now?”

“He wants these highly delicate, highly fragile, highly expensive crystal flowers delivered to the next
biostructure over. They’re for the attention of Duobella, you know, the opera singer? I think he thinks
he’s actually got a chance with her.”

“Duobello?”

“Yup.”

“Duobella who has famously turned down every man who’s come on to her.”

“Yup.”

“On account of the fact that, y’know, she likes women.”

“Yup.” he shrugged. “You know guys like that - they think that the woman’s just going through some
sort of phase and that they’ll be the one to ‘show them the light.’” He rolled his eyes. 

I looked at the fragile, beautiful flowers in their heavy and oh-so breakable preservation dome.

“Can i not just smash them? I feel like he deserves it quite frankly.” I said bluntly. “Come on, one crack
in the dome and they’ll just dissolve like mist.”

They really would. These stupid flowers basically redefined the concept of how delicate hot house
flowers could be. They couldn’t even survive without their own personal, carefully monitored,
environment. Transporting them would be a logistical nightmare.

He gave me a sympathetic look. “I’m right there with you mate, but trouble is he took out a hefty
insurance. If they get damaged in transit, the company has to pay out.”

“It can’t be that bad can it?” I asked hopefully.

He showed me the receipt.

“Oh.” I said, despondent. “But why has it been assigned to me?”

“Well, you are the best in our smashables team.” he said encouragingly.

“Yes, i transport small and dainty fragile things. Medical vials, nuclear cores, miniature explosives,
porcelain figurines and whatnots.” I jabbed my finger at the dome of flowers which stood half as tall as
me. “What about this is small and dainty?!”

He shrugged. “What can I say, with the amount of money riding on this, they wanted you. Small and
dainty or otherwise.”

“Argh!” I felt like ripping out my hair. “How am I even going to carry the damn thing?”

At this he brighten. “I got just the thing. R&D sent it over.” he reached down and grabbed
something behind the desk and handed it over to me. It looked like a small, square, metallic coffin. It
had straps attached - presumably so you could carry it on your back. 

I flicked the latch on the front and it opened with a pneumatic hiss. It looked like it was lined in some
sort of velvet. 

“It’s filled with memory foam and all sorts of new suspension gidgets they’re thought up. Plus the case,
once it’s sealed, is tough enough to withstand a nuclear attack and the jaw strength of most of the
critters you’ll meet along the way.” he said, jutting his chin out proudly. 

“If that’s so, why is it so freakishly light?” I asked suspiciously.

“Because they took your tiny ass frame into consideration when building it.” he said flatly. “You have to
be able to lift it right?”

I scowled but didn’t argue. I carefully placed the Flower Dome into the case. The spongy padding
moulded itself around it with a slooping noise. I carefully shut the case doors and locked it.

“You’ve got me some directions I hope?”

“Already sent to your WD.”

I poked some of the buttons on my WD. a bulky device strapped to my wrist that stored various
essential data (like where we were going, etc.), constantly monitored the postman’s life vitals, could
send a distress signal if needed and could locate every last postman on the planet down to the
nearest millimeter. If you were in trouble, lost or late - they would know. It could even give you a rough
idea of the time. 

I pulled the case onto my back and sighed heavily. “I’m off then.” 

“Safe travels.” he called after me as I headed down into the depths. 

The postmen got divided into different classes and groups depending on their various abilities and
affinities. The main ones were: Standard (where most ended up), Bulk, Long Distance, Fragile (also
known as Smashables) and Expedited. 

Of course, there were plenty of subdivisions and crossovers, few things could fit into just one box (ah,
bad post puns. Something that grew on you until you couldn't do without them). Except Expedited.
Only the best of the best went to Expedited.

Modes of transportation also depended on what you were carting and where you were taking it. For
example, Long Distance had nearly sole possession of all our flight capable transport. Bulk took
command of things such as the tanks and armoured vehicles.

For the Smashables team you needed something...quieter, sneakier, smoother, faster. Something that
wouldn’t draw as much attention, could go hidden ways  and would allow us to get to our target
relatively unmolested with our delicate packages still in one piece.

We were the freaking ninjas of the Postal Service. 

Although, I pondered as I patted my steed on her snout gently, what had the world come to when giant
sewer crocodiles were considered ‘stealthy’. 

Turns out, it was possible to train the giant mutated sewer crocodiles of urban legend. The Post Office
managed it in only two generations with a lot of scent based biological pet training equipment and
sheer bloody mindedness. 

“Come along Suzie,” I said as I used the step ladder to climb up onto her back. “Let's get to work.” 

We set off down the sewer. Despite the rank smell, and oh how glad was I of my filtration mask, the
sewers were one of the quickest and quietest ways to get around. They had remained relatively
untouched from the various calamities (turns out shit really does stick) and despite them being
comparatively quite peaceful when compared to the worlds above, no one wanted to use them, mostly
because of the endless amounts of shit.

Luckily this did not bother Suzie, her and her ancestors having been born and bred to it, one bit.

This tunnel in particular led almost all the way over to the new biohabitat. All I had to do was follow it
most of the way there, come up to the surface for a short trot, dive back down again and Bob’s your
Uncle. Job done. Despite all the bitching I'd done to the desk clerk, with the carrying case protecting
the awkward and delicate flowers, this would be one of the easier jobs I'd had for a while. 

Not that I'd tell him that of course. 

Suzie and I trotted off happily into the stench soaked darkness. 

Eight hours, one chemically charged, radioactive storm, two cannibal attacks (i’d have to inform the
army that cult had started recruiting again), a sewage flood and one random pissed off honey badger
that had gotten lost in the sewers and this was clearly our fault later, we reached our destination.
Bedraggled, tired and slightly radioactive but in one piece. Well, except for one of Suzie's toes but i’m
sure the lab could grow her a new one. (Wow that honey badger had been pissed off. No wonder the
apocalypse hadn’t phased them in the slightest).

I just prayed the tech guys had done their jobs right and the flowers were in one piece. I was too afraid
to look.

After shedding my gear and leaving it, and Suzie, with the concierge, I headed up to Duobella’s
apartment. 

She opened the door, not even slightly surprised to see me, despite the fact I suspected part of my
hair had turned a glowing neon blue. I could see the light it cast on the walls. 

“A parcel for you Ms Duobella.” I said politely. I carefully lowered my case to the ground and breathed
a huge sigh of relief when I saw the flowers were unharmed.

“I’m assuming whoever sent them put a hefty amount of insurance on them.” said an amused voiced
over my shoulder.

I looked up, surprised to see Duobella leaning down to peer at them. “Lets have your receipt then, i’ll
sign and say they arrived perfectly safely.”

I handed it to her. “Thank you ma’am.” I said gratefully. 

“No worries.” she said cheerfully as she signed. “Ah, they’re from him. That divwad. Besides, after all
that you’ve clearly done to get them to me, I don't think I could do what I'm about to next without
signing first, otherwise it would be too cruel and despite the many, many rumours around me, i am
never cruel without a reason.”

She handed the receipt back to me and i scanned it into my WD. I breathed out. At last, these
unbearable, cursed, flowers were no longer my problem. 

“Could you wait here one moment please?” she asked, as she headed back into her apartment. 

“Sure.” I said. I brightened. Maybe there would be cookies. 

She walked back out with an elastic sheet and a hammer. No cookies.

She put the cloth down and carefully placed the dome on it. She lifted the hammer.

Once she was done, she snapped the sheet so it folded in on itself, trapping the broken remnants
inside. 

She handed it to me. “Please return this to him.” she said with a gleaming smile. “With my
compliments of course.”