Sugar-Free Future

Alexander leaned back and groaned. He was getting too old to haul contraband which, if caught, would see him tortured or killed. He pushed a button and the floor of the tent inflated and warmed, and he relaxed. With a sigh, he started cataloging his profits from the three planets closest to TRAPPIST-1. He’d been visiting old customers, so it wasn’t dangerous. The Stórveldi weren’t active in space, and his wealthy customers had walled compounds where he could land undetected. He was also sure the local ættin, the smuggler hunters, didn’t bother him because some of the contraband made it into their kitchens.

Sykur, suiker, sucre, azúcar, sugar…whatever you called it, it was worth its weight in gold after the Earth collapsed. When Earth was abandoned, only the original natives, many of whom lived in island nations where cane crops could be grown, had decided to remain. He remembered living on Earth as a boy and having sweet foods, it just wasn’t something he could afford now unless he, quite literally, ate his profits. As he lay there, he wondered if TRAPPIST children knew how different the existence of the human race used to be. When NASA confirmed that three of the Earth-like planets of TRAPPIST-1 had surface water, there was instantly a space race. The Earth’s resources were used endlessly, entire forests razed to find serums to boost engine power, lakes drained to cool overheated engine parts in test after test, factory towns built overnight buying all the food and fuel they could, and then taking the rest.

As the environment deteriorated there were intense droughts, then rising sea levels and submerged atolls, and the low-lying cities disappeared and the shifting shorelines and the lack of woodlands changed the atmosphere. Alexander’s family had moved to Iceland early on, and he got an education that included street smarts as the population expanded with climate change refugees from around the world. Moving had been a shrewd choice. Iceland had the largest repository of seeds on the planet, which the new worlds desperately needed. That, and some savvy bargaining, had made the Stórveldi the leaders of this solar system. They monitored the rules everyone had agreed to, took shares of everything, and lived anywhere they chose. The rules may not have seemed strict in 2037 as people struggled to breathe and food was scarce, but 30 years later many people resented their power. Now cargo ships could only land on the outermost planet, only small sections of each planet were allotted for manufacturing, and items like tobacco, alcohol and sugar had been banned. Tobacco was barely missed. Most had never had access to it or had quit long ago. Alcohol was the same. Sugar, however, was different. Sugar was necessary for birthdays, holidays, and sweets that reminded people of the past.

Alexander celebrated nothing. His parent’s deaths, his time in the army Iceland, being sent to space, and losing Katrin had taken all his interest in home and family from him, but his customers celebrated and that was all that mattered. He wondered if things would have been different for him if he had stayed with the Icelanders. Alexander shook his head. Of course it would. He’d have moved up in rank, married and would be hunting smugglers. If Kristjan hadn’t taken Katrin, that might have been his life. Instead Katrin was dead, Kristjan was a sworn enemy, and he was a smuggler who needed to get some sleep before a busy day.

The next morning he visited the French settlers on TRAPPIST-1e. Their love of traditional foods made them good customers, and he sold all the sugar he had. Packing his tent, he heard something behind him.

It was only a local girl. Relieved, he let out his breath. “Qu’est-ce que tu veux?”

“Sucre.”

“Je n’ai pas”, he replied.

She put her hand on his heart, kissed his cheek, and disappeared into the forest.

He was thinking about the bizarre interaction when he looked up to see the local ættin coming towards him.

Wordlessly they reached Alexander, restrained him, and searched him. He was scared, but also angry. He was an Icelander, after all, and they knew that from his ship’s markings.

He struggled, but was held tight. Then the commander reached into one final pocket, the one on his shirt over his heart. In an instant of complete clarity, he realized they had set him up.

When his hand came out of Alexander’s pocket, it held a single packet of sugar. Alexander knew it was pointless to protest. Someone had enough power to influence a local girl and the planet’s ættin. It had to be one of the original Stórveldi Icelanders, and Alexander was no match for that kind of power.

Behind him he heard, “It took me years to find you.”

Alexander turned, immediately remembering the day he’d met Katrin. He’d instantly loved her. She and Kristjan’s were supposed to marry to cement a family alliance. Katrin refused because she loved Alexander. Kristjan had lost his mind and, enraged, had crashed the ship they’d been on, killing Katrin instantly.

“Do it, I’ve been dead since your transport crashed.”

Kristjan screamed and attacked him. The ættin let Alexander go and stepped back in surprise.

Alexander immediately fought back, feeling the deep rage he had buried since Katrin’s death.

Kristjan unsheathed the hníf Katrin had gifted him as a consolation for loving Alexander more. He’d waited years to use it. Alexander saw the knife, and every instinct was to take it because it had belonged to Katrin. He had nothing of her but his memories. He lunged at Kristjan and as they fought, the two of them fell to the ground.

There was silence.

The ættin nervously moved in and pushed at Kristjan’s arm.

He rolled over.

Dead.

They looked at Alexander, bleeding from a deep wound, smiling as he held the small knife as if it were a child. By the time they reached him, he was dead as well.

A small marker stands on the site, and locals still talk about the day when the smuggler went home to his true love.