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The Amazing Fruit of New Hope
K. Z. Snow
 
Author's Note: This story utilizes words generously provided by Blogger's"Verification" system.* * *
After its short trip from Earth, the Sestrie craft descended through a thinveil of purple rain. The drops seemed to fall in fine, beaded threads, as if they’dbeen shed by melting prisms.“Where are we exactly?” Oliver Benton, peering out one of the thickingutur windows, had trouble focusing beyond the precip’s shimmer.With a barely perceptible shudder, the ship’s dedgings lowered. Theengine’s white-noise hum slid into a decrescendo as its ampron outputdiminished.“It’s called the Peryani Plain. All spacecraft set down here.” Lauresseeased the hythy lever forward and then back by a few delicate centimeters, andthe ship landed with a cushioned thump. She swiveled her chair to face Oliver.“You’ll have to go through the checkpoint like any other visitor to the colony. Noone’s to know you’re an investigator from ABFRAM. Word could spread.”“And the perp, if there is a perp, could be alerted.” Oliver nodded. “Yes, Iunderstand.” He watched as a witinate tube crawled across the plain like anexpanding accordion to hook up to the ship.
Welcome to planetoid New Hope
, hethought with a ripple of adrenaline. It was his first time here.Desperate for a getaway, Oliver was glad he’d gotten this assignment.Breaking up with Phillip had been an agonizing process of “should we orshouldn’t we” that had dragged on far too long, resulted in too much stealthyinfidelity and pointless recrimination, and left both of them with a genuine
 
distaste for each other. Still, disengaging from a thirty-month relationship oftenleft a residue of regret.Sighing, Oliver rose from his seat once the safety grip had lifted off hisbody. Reviving his love life hadn’t gone easily. In fact, it hadn’t gone anywhereat all. He didn’t feel sorry for himself—in fact, loathed self-pity—but, damn,another man’s cum could sometimes be the best ointment for a bruised heart.Especially for a guy who hadn’t yet hit thirty.“Remember,” Lauresse said, “your contact’s name is Mr. Meliasci. Heshould be waiting for you on the other side of the checkpoint.”“Got it.” Oliver curled a hand over Lauresse’s shoulder. “Thanks for theride. I’ll be in touch.”He took the vacuum lift down to the bay doors, where his luggageawaited him. As soon as he entered the connection tube, a cloying female voicerepeated one line, over and over.
Please proceed straight down the WT to the Visitors’Station
. Oliver tried to ignore it as he mentally reran everything he’d learned athis briefing.Planetoid New Hope, annexed and terraformed centuries ago by aninternational space cartel. Colonized within the past three decades for thepurpose of cultivating the top-secret Mitas fruit, a nutritional powerhouse thatcould be the salvation of many endangered species, including Homo sapiens,following a worldwide cataclysm that had nearly stripped the Third Rock ofhigher life. Michael Meliasci, pomologist, likely some fiftyish geek who’d spentthe better part of his life becoming a botanist extraordinaire.So far, a boring scenario but not a troubling one. In fact, an optimistic one.The troubling part came when three pieces of Mitas disappeared fromNew Hope’s well-guarded orchards. Each tree bore precisely thirty-two fruit,and each fruit had to be accounted for. There was no explaining the missingpieces. If an orchard worker were to eat one, he or she would become violentlyill. A drug they were given ensured such a reaction.
 
A concurrent development pushed this enigma from troubling toalarming. Scout ships from the planet Vadgies had twice been detected circlingboth the Earth and its extraterrestrial colony. The Vadgiesians, always seeking toexpand their empire, closely monitored ravaged planets and decimatedpopulations.Oliver readied all his necessary pieces of identification as he neared theVisitors’ Station. He passed without a hitch through the checkpoint. Glancingaround the bright, white room, he tried to spy a man who resembled his image ofMichael Meliasci. Oliver hadn’t been shown a photo during his briefing. Meliasciwas kept under wraps as tightly as New Hope's precious cultivar.“Excuse me. Mr. Benton?”Oliver spun on the balls of his feet. A slender young man with startlinggreen eyes and a soft spill of blonde hair was smiling at him. The greeter woreabsolutely nothing, and it was all Oliver could do to keep his eyes fromwandering down those lean, tight-muscled limbs. Looking into the young man’sface brought little relief. He was downright freaking
 pretty
.Oliver forced a tight smile. “Yes, I’m Mr. Benton. I’m supposed to bemeeting—”“Me.” The young man stuck out his hand. “Michael Meliasci.”Reflexively, Oliver’s eyebrows lifted. “Nice to meet you.”
Shit, he can’t bemore than twenty-two.
 
 Must be some kind of Wunderkind
. Beneath the fine stitcheryof hair on his arms, his skin was as flawless as fresh cream. There was no hairwhatsoever on his chest. Oliver cleared his throat. “Tell me what I’m to do.”Meliasci’s bright gaze moved down and up Oliver’s body, giving Oliveran unexpected but not unwelcome little thrill. “Get undressed.”
* * *
“The colonists who work in the orchards aren’t allowed to wear clothing,”Michael explained. “They’re called Skinners, for obvious reasons. And since Ispend much of my time with them…” He turned up his hands.
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