Roadside Assistance

So, I have been agonizing over posting this story because it's my first short story that can be called sci-fi.  Imagine a Jamaican courier delivering packages and eking out a living.  Now imagine its 300 years from now. I hope that you enjoy the story.  Please let me know in the comments what you think.  We're all family here so feel free to comment.

Roadside Assistance
His wife had warned him.

 She had told him that his 3036 Cadillac Star Cruiser was on the verge of breaking down. He thought it wasn’t. He thought he could wait for the next deposit of credits for this job.

 It was the best paying jump he had ever been offered.  He had thought that the faster than light engine optimization could be put off. At least until the halfway point where He had been scheduled for a complete overhaul on the client’s credits. He was not being irresponsible, was he? The maintenance should have been able to wait. He had even added STP “FTL optimization in a tube.” It was guaranteed for 100k light years.

 Now he was drifting outside of the shipping lanes. He had pressed for space way assistance. The Gala-Star representative, obviously an inferior AI, had informed him that he had 48 hours to get his affairs frozen. He could not. He knew he was required to by law. Not only Neo-Jamaican law, galactic law. Law set up somewhere called earth. The place where supposedly the original Jamaica was. He was not sure that he believed that it was real. 

 He was normally transporting Cannabis produced in his star system something that was easy. Something low profile, but he had needed this economic boost. His wife was pregnant. 

 She legally could not go into ‘Cryogenic Pausing’ it was a way of keeping forced Cryogenic Sleep casualties from benefiting from his, her, their, it's misfortune. The system was well set up. 

 Normally Couriers had a mechanic to them within a day. The longest Xander had ever waited before had been a month. Some of the more successful Couriers had a mechanic on staff. Those Guys made a Cred.

 He had considered hiring a Xylothian, their system was so overcrowded that they worked relatively cheaply.

 He was tired of just being a courier though. As happy as he was, he like his wife wanted more than competing to transport “non-digitized” goods.  Only making enough credits to keep them housed.

 He had trained to serve his star system. Albeit covertly.  He was meant to be more to do more. He was smart, and He suspected that the highly militaristic branch of the star system government he had served, conspired to keep him from getting ahead.

 With this score he was supposed to buy a newer better equipped ship and start making the credits it took to get out of the ironically named Paradise Road star system.  

 He had promised to get his wife out of Neo -Jamaica. She had always wanted to “Go AH Space.” The expression meant the settled systems outside the ‘Paradise Road’ star system. He had promised her. ‘His Neo-Jamaican Rose’ that he would take her out of the system. 

 “Fuck’d Cryo!” Xander screamed “What dah Rasclot!*” He screamed loudly, inside the ship his scream was earsplitting. 

The sound would have died out here even if he didn't have dampening fields and the best materials available. At least the best upgrades available to a 24 year old GMSC luxury vehicle.

 He had gone out of system for those upgrades.

 Xander really didn’t want to go into Cryogenic sleep. He had been in Cryo twice before. Those had been Cryogenic Punishments, his mind had been forced through 20 years of simulated prison. On two occasions. 

 Oh he knew that this would be different. That his mind would not be forced to live through every moment. Subjected to a prison program.  Knew that a technician would awaken him. He even knew that because his body had undergone long Cryogenic sleep before that it would be easier and cause less damage. He also knew that, because of the fact that his family could not be made to go into the usual forced Cryogenic tanks he was going to be a wealthy individual. His situation was atypical, so much so that he was the big winner. Which made him uncomfortable.

 He had never been the big winner before. Things never worked in his favor like that. Yet, Intergalactic law was clear. If a courier was unable to deliver, the family received his reward. If they were lost and the family left waiting they received an additional match from the company, government, or governments involved.

 It was why if a courier was delayed his family were also made to go into Cryogenic sleep. He had always thought that law was evil. He had been delivering from the 6 governments of the Interstellar Union to the 8 government Non-Terrain Federation. On the one hand this loophole had served to completely reverse his fortunes. On the other hand, his whole life would be different when he awoke. He had been required to rebuild enough times.

 “Bludfire, I really don't want for have a do this love.” He whispered into the microphone built into his pilot’s yoke. Lillian, was going to be angry. Xander could picture her perfect nostrils flaring and smiled despite himself. She was His wife, the 2nd woman he'd ever loved, third counting His mother.  Lillian, would be nearly 70 and his child 35. He would still love her, them. 

It was difficult to wrap his mind around the fact that his unborn son would be an adult before they met. They would be wealthy however.

 The 14 governments had contracted to exchange gifts via couriers. As part of the ongoing diplomatic relations. None of them had wanted to make direct contact with the others and had farmed out the gift exchange to the lowest bidder. Zap Space-way Courier Company, was the lowest bidder, and Xander’s employer. The only space ferrying company willing to give an ex-con a chance.

 The trip was a long haul in real time. The path was virtually from one “end” of known space to the other. It was supposed to be a couple of years traveling at FTL speeds. 

Xander, had experienced a massive surge in his FTL engines and been tossed into approximately the middle of nowhere. The low budget AI had informed him that his Assistance would be there in 25-35 light-years. He sent a personal message to his wife begging her to forgive him. He composed a video for his progeny and he got into his ships Cryogenic chamber.

 To him it was only a moment. He opened his eyes but could not see anything.

 “Fucked Cryo twice! I bludklat* blind!” Xander yelled. Or at least he attempted to yell. He felt groggy and his voice wasn't its usual deep rich bass. He sounded old, very old.

 As his eyes began to work he looked around. 

Too many guns for a service vehicle.

 He quickly deduced that his entire vessel was inside a hold. A hold large enough for another 20 ships like his. 

“Wait a Rasclot minute...” he thought. Speaking of his ship where was it? He was on something that was holding his Cryopod upright. Just him, on his Cryo bed immobile in the middle of a cargo hold. It was just the Cryo bed, him and these... He figured they were pirates.

 “Emperors balls! He's functional alright!” One of the heavily armored beings spoke. The voice was in Imperial Standard. Xander noticed that the voice sounded surprised. If a technician were waking him, they shouldn't be surprised. Why were these people surprised he was awake?

 “What da bumbaklot*?” Xander thought to himself. Body honed. Mind even stronger. Xander strained to get into a fighting stance. His body would not obey his mind. 

 They didn't sound like pirates, their standard sounded too crisp. They didn't look like pirates. Their armor was too shiny, and uniform. Pirates weren't that organized, then too the armor while uniform and well made, was also well used. Military, he figured but why would he be in a military ship hold?

 Xander was accustomed to acting quickly and decisively for survival.  Xander was a former member of the best kept secret army in the universe. One of the cryogenic punishments had been for telling his then girlfriend the truth. The other cryogenic punishment had been the Neo-Jamaican government’s way of further destroying Xander. They had framed him for her murder.

  Regardless of the thick accent with which he spoke Xander possessed a high-level intellect. A keen mind that was agonizing over his body's inability to respond.

 One of the large armored folk’s helmet slid down into her chest plate. She was obviously the medical tech, she spoke to him in accented universal standard. He had taken enough meetings with government Dr’s to recognize the archetype. “Mr. Hope, can you understand what I am saying?” Xander, managed a slight nod. As they healed him the nanites sheared the dreadlocks that had coiled the entire length of his body, internally causing them to fall off at their previous length. Had he known he would have been irate. His locks were his pride. He had never cut or trimmed them.

 The tiny robots, trimmed and manicured his nails, that despite their growth being slowed to being imperceptibly different from death, had continued to grow.  The minute mechanisms turned him into a semblance of the man he'd been. The simple A. I’s brought him to a new and improved version of his last scans. Stronger, healthier, and nearly indestructible. 

 He heard the Dr’s voice through ears that could now hear a dog’s whistle. He gave her the slightest once over and raised one eyebrow. Ignoring the gesture, the Dr. continued. “You are going to be fine our scans show that your vitals are acceptable. Your sight and mobility will completely return within seconds you might feel it now. I have injected you with nanites that will heal any damage done in stasis.” Xander attempted to stand but his muscles didn't seem to be cooperating just yet. His voice however had returned.  “I a ear ya.” He said, using vocal cords that were newly healed. “Ya talk a lickal bit odd.” Xander’s Neo-Jamaican accent wasn't as thick as many of his fellow natives. He had traveled well beyond his small cluster of planets. An 8-planet system in a peculiar rotation around a small hot burning star.

 “Fucked long I been a sleeping?” He noticed a glance from the Dr to a still helmed soldier. The symbols glowing on his chest earmarked him as an officer.

 The officer’s armor split with a hiss and the man's face was revealed. For Xander it was like looking into a fun house mirror. Those were his features, his eyes, just slightly different somehow. The military haircut shocked Xander, to his core. Why would a lion cut His mane?  His distorted reflection nodded at the doctor.

  A combination of sheer will mixed with the currently Billions of microscopic machines coursing through his bloodstream, Xander stood. His 2-meter height was normally impressive and served to intimidate others, but all these soldiers were at least a couple cm taller.

 “Ah Rasclot go on Mi youth?” The translator sent his words to the rest of the crew as. “What the fuck is going on my boy?”

 However, it could not convey the depth of his need to understand. He stared into the face that so closely mimicked his own. 

This man was obviously in charge. He answered him in the dialect of Universal Standard Xander had grown up speaking. 

“I an I come fah take ya home. I Commandant Xander Fulton Hope dah 3rd. I yah grandson. You been sleeping a while grandpapa. If you hadn't been a Con and been on the long sleep afore we a no be talking.”

  The man had to be lying his own child was yet to be born. 

He was having a hard time grasping the amount of time that had passed. The commandant respectfully stood shock still as his Grandfather processed the information. 

Xander (the first) took the measure of his alleged grandson. The man had that stuck at 45 look that came from Galactic Grade gene meds and military grade nanites. He guessed the same kind the doctor had injected him with. He could have been any age from 50 to 150.

 He couldn't guess how long he had been in Cryogenic Sleep without more information. 

 “I reckon I owed ha lot ha money from me Gala Star Assistance Company seen?”

  It was the type of joke that his wife always cautioned against, and he winced inwardly knowing she was probably dead, but his descendent laughed heartily. “Oh, Grandpapa you’re not only going to be Wealthy, you're about to stop a war that we've been fighting for 217 years."