We made big bucks last night. Sorry to be vulgar. A Caracara visited, and a fat wad of his money sits in my cash register.
All wear suits in lime green or baby pink. Their shoes cost more than my whole wardrobe. I keep a special range of wines and spirits behind the bar for them. None of them are expensive or high quality, but the labels have jazzy designs like leopard print or flamingos. They love that stuff. I often have to carry them out at the end of the evening. If you prop near one of the trees, they will find the way back to their ship in the morning.
Some of the other patrons walked straight out when they spotted him. Many find it hard to accept that for some people, the Haircut has been a huge success.
Even a decade ago it wasn’t uncommon for a planet with a population of seven billion to lose half that number. After a month of the undead scoffing your crops and your infrastructure falling apart, all you are thinking about is finding somewhere new. You don’t have time to plan a full and concise evacuation.
Enter the Caracaras. Their ships are fat and bulky, often converted into one big hold with a tiny sleeping area and cocktail. Two weeks is all they need to make a fortune.
Once a big chunk of a planet is abandoned to the parsnipheads, the resources don’t go away. You can pull down the buildings, and recycle the bricks and steel. Rip the copper from the wires. Melt down the bronze statues in town squares full of zombies.
You can even rob the dead themselves. Take the sodden wallets from their pockets. Peel blood stained rings from their fingers. Remove designer clothing that will pass for second hand after one wash.
One might expect there would be a system in place to stop looting. But there are too many planets out there, and nowhere near enough Butter Mice. With so many galaxies to take back, nobody has the time.
It’s easy to see the Caracaras as criminals. When they visit we are five angry words from a bar fight. But they are survivors like the rest of us. You might think that’s soft, but I have seen them drink their profits away time and time again. Profits that go into my cash register.
Maybe that makes me a Caracara as well.
