Draft 1--Sci-Fi?

[Darth Cupcake]

So I've been starting work on a new novella-ish thing, a sci-fi/futuristic/cyberpunk/whatever sort of thing. I've got my first chapter/section/whatever finally on the page. This is definitely outside of my usual style/genre, but I'm really enjoying working on it. I know it's nowhere near my usual quality of writing, though, so I'd really like any ripping apart that anyone wants to do to it. And yes, I know her name is retarded, but sometimes things just stick and you're stuck with 'em. So name aside, any ripping apart you guys wanna do would be great. I have a lot of critiques of my own already, but I can always use peer critiques.

Also, I know that "tl; dr" is coming.

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   Fifteen years ago, it had been a pub.
   Now it was mostly just shambles of debris. The front windows had been destroyed and most of the wall blown in. The bar still stood, more or less, but the mirror behind it, the stools around it, and the booths and tables throughout were all destroyed or close to. Litter and the remains of other nearby buildings had collected in corners.
   Xerri was perched on a the hood of a car that had at some point wrecked through the front of the pub and been left there. She sat on her haunches drawing designs in the dust on the hood with one idle finger. Her ears were alert.
   She vaguely remembered fifteen years ago, when she was still a child, walking past the pub with her father. He always told her that he,Äôd take her there when she was old enough because it was a real pub. Unlike the rest of Central City, that pub still used wood furniture and had real glass windows. This area had always been too poor to have anything other than wood furniture and real glass because the cost to upgrade to plastics and metals was too much, an unnecessary expense. The pub made money from its working class neighborhood with or without shiny stools. Her father considered the old furniture and windows a mark of the integrity of the pub,Äôs owner. A quietly proud man, he supported himself and his daughter on a shoestring budget and refused to take his meager beer money to anyone who did not follow his standards of integrity.
   Now Xerri waited in the pub to offload her latest shipment,Äîminus the bit she skimmed off the top for herself,Äîto one of her regular clients. He was late.
   Integrity, however, did not protect anyone fifteen years ago. When the Galactic Democratic Federation began taking control and unifying all of the colonies, unions, and consortiums of the known territories, they did so in the easiest fashion: through military might. The GDF had started small, as the People,Äôs Protection Party in the Core Worlds Consortium. They had begun by absorbing some of the smaller, weaker nearby colonies into the Consortium with the strength and confidence of their party. As the Consortium grew, the People,Äôs Protection Party simply swept out all competition in the Forum, the governing body of the Consortium, and renamed their territory as the Galactic Democratic Federation. More territories joined in willingly, while others were annexed forcefully. Burnase, a small world just outside the Core Worlds Consortium, was overlooked for the first few years of the expansion of the GDF. However, fifteen years ago, the GDF had picked up Burnase on the radar.
   Burnase was not a particularly proud of independently spirited planet, but it had also never belonged to any of the planetary unions either, preferring to simply work trade with anyone who was interested. The taxes levied by the GDF were more than enough to make the Burnasian government hesitant to enter the Federation. When the capital, Central City, was bombed, however, they capitulated quickly.
   Central City was never rebuilt. It remained a pile of rubble, shells of half-destroyed buildings shaping the husk of the formerly great metropolis. East Central City was built up just across the harbor and became the new capital. The poor, however, continued to reside in the ruins of Central City, a strange, mercenary culture developing where civilization had departed. It became a ghetto, a tenement town barely granted electricity or running water with only a sham of any government services. There were always talks of repairing Central City, but they never moved beyond talks. Central City was a skeleton, and the people who lived there were the worms feeding on that which remained.
   After the bombing, Xerri became one of many street kids in Central City, a loose organization that looked after each other,Äîafter a fashion, and only up to a point. She fell in with the drug dealers, a relatively comfortable place to be. She was just a peon in an entire eschelon of peons. Although she was good at what she did,Äîgood enough that her boss actually knew who she was,Äîshe was still just another person in the giant machine that was the drug empire of Central City. She did a lot of drug running, smuggling drugs around the area, sometimes even taking a job as daring as getting the drugs across the harbor and into East Central. Mostly, though, she operated in Central City.
   She was good at making drops. Despite her nonchalant posturing and seeming absorption in tracing patterns in the dust, her body was a tightly coiled spring, ready to leap into action at a moment,Äôs notice. She was alert, all her senses heightened by the dose of stimulants she had taken from the shipment.
   The high would end soon, though. She was starting to get anxious. She wanted to make the drop, get the money, hide the little extra percentage she always nipped off for herself, and then get back home to take some downers and sleep.
   There was a faint noise from where the bathrooms were. Quickly checking her mental map of the pub, Xerri identified a busted window in the men,Äôs bathroom that would have allowed her client to step in through the back. With one casual hand, she loosened her pistol in its holster on her right thigh. If it was her client, she wanted to be ready in case things went badly. If it wasn,Äôt her client, she was ready to shot first and ask questions later.
   The men,Äôs bathroom door was partially destroyed and only mounted on one hinge, but it could still swing open and shut, for what that was worth. It swung open and her client stepped in. He was some street tough from the other side of Central, dressed in dark colors with a gang tattoo on his exposed left arm and his gang,Äôs bandana around his head. He was very skinny and walked with a slouch, but from the few times Xerri had seen him outside of drug deals, she knew he was plenty strong enough to follow through on any demands he made. He was trailed by two of his thugs, both straight-backed and making no secret of the weapons in their hands.
   Xerri raised her eyebrows at them, maintaining her indolent position on the hood of the car. ,ÄúYou,Äôre late,,Äù she remarked.
   ,ÄúThere,Äôs drug cops in the area,,Äù her client replied, glaring. ,ÄúWe,Äôve used this stupid pub too many times.,Äù
   ,ÄúYou ask for a lot of drugs close together,,Äù she countered. ,ÄúIt,Äôs not the number of times we use this place, it,Äôs the frequency. I,Äôve only got so many drop points. I keep this one special for you, but we,Äôve been dealing a lot lately.,Äù She knew he resold the drugs he bought from her to all the petty thugs on his side of town, but that didn,Äôt make a difference to her except when the frequency of the deals brought her favorite drop point into question. She did not, in fact, keep the pub as a special spot just for him, so it irked her to think how many other clients she was going to have set up new drop points with.
   ,ÄúYou get paid. It,Äôs not business of yours how often I buy,,Äù he snapped.
   ,ÄúYou,Äôre right,,Äù she agreed mildly. ,ÄúBut it is business of mine how thin of ice I,Äôm treading on with the cops. Drug cops aren,Äôt Central City pussies, they,Äôre GDF toughs. I can take a Central City jackass anytime anywhere. The GDF guys are different, though. It,Äôs not my job to put my ass on the line so you can have smack for your sluts.,Äù
   ,ÄúIt,Äôs your job to get me my drugs. If you can,Äôt do it, I can talk to Barran. I,Äôm sure he,Äôs got plenty of other dope runners. And I bet they don,Äôt shave off the top.,Äù
   Xerri,Äôs heart thudded a little faster. Her high was slipping away and the conversation was only making the let down worse. ,ÄúI don,Äôt shave off the top.,Äù
   ,ÄúYou shave off, god dammit!,Äù he snarled. ,ÄúI know it! I weigh my drugs, you stupid whore! But you,Äôre reliable and you don,Äôt take too much, so I,Äôve put up with it. But now you,Äôve got the Feds sniffing around my drops. So it,Äôs time to renegotiate price, or I,Äôll make a trip to see Barran and let him know about you fingering his dope.,Äù
   She took a deep breath. Not only did she scoop some drugs off the top of all her shipments, she jacked up the prices as well and kept the extra for herself. ,ÄúLook, let,Äôs not be hasty. How about for the next drop we meet somewhere else and see how that works out?,Äù
   ,ÄúHow about you give me today,Äôs shipment at no charge and then I think over whether or not I want to buy from you anymore and see how that works out?,Äù
   She swallowed. Her mouth was a little dry and her head ached a little. Coming down off the high was always fine when she was at home, curled up in her bed with some downers and tea. She was not there now, though, and the situation was only making it worse. ,ÄúLook,Äî,Äù
   ,ÄúI don,Äôt want to look!,Äù he snapped, taking a step forward, his eyes blazing. ,ÄúI want my fuckin,Äô drugs, and I want them without the heavy duty fuckin,Äô cops sniffin,Äô around my drop! I don,Äôt want to keep payin,Äô extra for drugs that you,Äôve already been fuckin,Äô around with!,Äù He was snarling at that point, his hands in fists at his side. ,ÄúGive me the drugs.,Äù
   ,ÄúSay please,,Äù she retorted, angling her body nonchalantly against the wall. Her left hip jutting out slightly, one hand placed on it delicately, she painted the image of carefree. Hidden by the curve of her body, her right hand moved slowly toward her pistol.
   ,ÄúThis is not a question. This is not a request. The drugs, you fucking cunt.,Äù
   ,ÄúNow, now, no need to get personal,,Äù she scolded, slowly easing her pistol out of the holster. ,ÄúWe,Äôre business people. Let,Äôs act that way.,Äù Her head was pounding. Her eyes felt like they were going to explode inside her head. She just wanted to get home. Have some tea.
   ,ÄúYou are not a business person, Xerri. You,Äôre a fuckin,Äô cunt who has been taking my drugs and my money. This ends now.,Äù He began moving forward, his thugs stepping menacingly along behind him.
   She was so tired. She didn,Äôt want to focus on this right now. ,ÄúC,Äômon,Äî,Äù
   ,ÄúFucking hell.,Äù He gestured and his thugs brought up their weapons.
   ,ÄúFucking hell!,Äù she exclaimed, whipping her pistol out of its holster and leaping behind a toppled table. Her reactions were off, though, and she slammed her shoulder into the floor. It made a noise; she couldn,Äôt pay attention to it, though.
   A few shots sprayed at the table. When they had stopped for a few seconds, Xerri peeped her head up over the edge. ,ÄúHey, uh, do you think maybe we could talk about this like civilized people?,Äù
   He raised his eyebrows. ,ÄúNo.,Äù
   She plunged back behind the table as more shots scored the front of it. ,ÄúWell, I suppose one ought to admire how well this piece of shit is holding up against a full on blaster barrage,,Äù she muttered, grimacing as she pressed her shoulder against it. She gripped her pistol tightly, trying to will her mind to relax. She hadn,Äôt actually ever shot to kill before, only the occasional shots to wound in self-defense. It wasn,Äôt that she was a bad shot,Äîshe wore her pistol like an extension of her body,Äîbut that she still cringed at the idea of killing. Survival instinct, however, is a bitch.
   Ignoring the pain in her shoulder, she rolled to the opposite corner of the table and brought her pistol up quickly. Her head was pounding. She needed another dose of stims, or she needed to get home. Her temples were throbbing. She fired off a quick volley, taking down one of the thugs immediately. The other took only a shot to the arm.
   ,ÄúFucking hell,,Äù she muttered, heaving herself back behind the table. The down from the drugs was wreaking havoc with her. She took a few deep breaths and swallowed. ,ÄúFocus for just a few more minutes...,Äù She slung herself around the side of the table, firing another volley. The second thug, already injured, took more injuries. Her son of a bitch client took wounds as well, but her eyes were crossing and she couldn,Äôt make a killing shot. Both went down, though.
   She stumbled to her feet, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her hand. She looked around. Both injured men were out of commission. She holstered her pistol again and turned to leave.
   ,ÄúXerri, you fucking cunt!,Äù
   She glanced over her shoulder, meeting scalding eyes. He was still conscious. Abruptly her heart began pounding.
   ,ÄúI,Äôll fucking get you for this one! Barran already knows what you,Äôve been doing and when he hears about this... You,Äôre fucking dead, you god damned slut!,Äù
   ,ÄúAlways a pleasure doing business with you,,Äù she replied. She tossed him a quick salute and whipped her blaster back out of the holster, shooting him squarely between the eyes. The silence in the pub was suddenly thick. Her hand shook a little. Her legs began to feel like jelly and her shoulder was throbbing again. She drew a shakey breath. The immediate threat was passed, but she couldn,Äôt bring her fingers to uncoil from around the pistol or force her arm to slide it back into the holster.
   She wiped a few tendrils of blue hair from her face. Her face seemed surprisingly sweaty and her hair was slicked against her head in places. ,ÄúFucking hell,,Äù she murmured again. ,ÄúPhrase of the fuckin,Äô evening, it seems.,Äù She surveyed the pub one last time. She had to find the motivation,Äîhell, the capacity,Äîin herself to move, to leave the empty pub.
   She took another deep breath, a little less shakey that time. Mechanically, she turned and made her way out of the pub and into the empty, pre-dawn streets, her blaster still clutched in her hand.