SWNOVELS Chapter CHAPTER TWO
Van’s eyes wouldn’t open. His eyelids felt like they were weighted down with lead and had railroad spikes attached to them, which dug into the back of his skull. He tried to lift his arms, though he soon realised this was a futile endeavour. He tried to call out for D00D, but his mouth had forgotten how to speak and his brain how words worked. Van had never before experienced a hangover, let alone one of this magnitude. Like many adventurers in his time, Van had microscopic nanobots in his body that broke down things like alcohol, before the host woke up and had to suffer the side effects of their poor choices. On this occasion, however, modern technology was not coming to his aid. What had happened to him that had brought about this living Hell? He had no memory of the night after speaking to some weirdo at the bar. Oh, shit! Had the enthusiastic stranger drugged him? If so, where had he brought him? For all Van knew, he was in some torture chamber, about to get rammed by some concrete-dicked space beast for the amusement of wealthy dignitaries! He’d be damned if that was going to be his fate.
He forced his eyes to open, willing them with every ounce of strength he could muster. After several minutes of relentless persistence, Van’s eyes were able to creek open, until they were bloodshot slits, bursting through his otherwise paralytic visage, like two piss-holes in a snow-capped hill. His right eye was the first to focus on the environment around him. He appeared to be staring at his own bedroom floor, this was a relatively good sign, but he still didn’t have the strength to move.
There was a lacy article of clothing on his floor, which obviously wasn’t designed to be worn by a human. This sign could have been bad or good, he could be suffering the after effects of a strange xenophilic encounter, or he could have tried to penetrate something hideous and failed… It was a 50/50 chance for Van… Smart money was on space-herpes. No matter what the cause, one thing was certain, the only thing to do now was to regain control of his body and begin figuring out what or whom he had done the night before.
When Van had eventually re-seized control of his cognitive skills and limbs, it was time to begin phase two of his master plan; uncovering the previous nights’ events. This was going to be hard as he hadn’t even a vague recollection of anything after the annoying man he’d briefly conversed with. He even lacked the memory of their topic of conversation. The lace garment, which still lay proudly on his floor, was an enigma too. Van had removed surveillance equipment from his quarters, as the thought of D00D being able to see him ploughing whatever random trollop he had coerced in there, creeped him out. However, D00D would have footage from the rest of the ship, which would fill in at least a few blanks from the missing time.
“Duuhd” spluttered Van incoherently. There was no answer. Either D00D couldn’t recognise his mangled summons, or something else was wrong (yet another 50/50 chance). Van knew he would have to check his CID to find out more, but it was nowhere to be seen. Crap, thought Van, I already don’t like today and I’ve only been awake for about 30 minutes.
He pulled himself to his feet and made his way towards the door with all the poise and sophistication of a toddler in an ice-rink. His inner ear may have turned on him, but the solid walls of the ship still loved him, he clung to them as if for his life as he made his way down the corridor towards the central compartment of his trusty home.
Being as the clean air on the ship was reliant upon specially bio-engineered plant life, bright white solar lamps were needed to keep them alive. And seeing as the central compartment was not only large enough to house them, but also perfectly situated to allow air circulation throughout the ship, the lighting in this room was not for those with a hangover that could register on the Richter-scale. Van learned this lesson a little too late. As he shuffled his tormented body into oxygen rich compartment, he was crippled with pain. The fluorescent lights seared the depth centre of his eyes, he clenched his eyes shut and suppressed the urge to vomit.
This was a bad day, nothing about this day felt even remotely positive. Van wanted to cry, this wasn’t fair, all he had wanted was to have a pleasant night out, get a little tipsy and maybe have an interspecies orgy; nothing big and definitely nothing that would warrant such punishment. Van tried again to call out for D00D, “D’aagh, haaalp meeh”, he groaned pathetically. D00D still wasn’t answering. Van figured he must be pouting about something, despite having no formative basis for such an assumption.
A pounding sound echoed through his skull as he clung meekly to the wall of the incandescent torture chamber. Van could have sworn they sounded like footsteps, except a million times louder and more painful. The pounding suddenly stopped. “Mate, you look like shit. Come here, let’s get you sorted. I’ve got something that’ll make you feel loads better”, a voice said.
Something took Van gingerly under the arms and carefully carried him across the room and propped him up in a chair. Van knew he should find out who this saint was, but dared not open his eyes, even a sliver. His eyelids were proving no match for the lights now, Van let his head slump face-down on the surface in front of him. A loud scraping noise thundered through the table and into the depths of Van’s skull. It stopped and was replaced by a gentle tapping on his shoulder, “put your hand out, I need you to take this and smoke it… There.” Something had been placed between Van’s fingers, it felt hard and cylindrical, no wider than the stick of a miniature flag. He clutched at it, investigating it with his digits. There seemed to be a mouthpiece, of sorts, at the end nearest his thumb and an inviting scent emitting from it. He pressed the mouthpiece to his lips. Whether it killed him or saved him didn’t matter at that moment, just anything to stop this living Hell. He inhaled deeply.
In a time where most species have encountered extra-terrestrial life, if not been the visitors themselves, the need for medical enhancements has reached an apex. As I made mention earlier; most people had nano-bots that carry out health regulation functions, as the concept of a naturally occurring immune system that can deal with all the possible maladies that could befall it, is a virtual impossibility. But when this preventative measure fails, the traveller of the future can always rely upon the many options afforded them by the same network of resource and information. Much to Van’s relief, his enigmatic benefactor carried just such a remedy that would make short work of even the most skull-splitting of hangovers. This was not just any remedy, this remedy was not concocted or synthesized in a laboratory or refined from its natural state. This was the dried flower of the “Ah’m’up” plant, so named for the sound one tends to make upon feeling its’ effect.
It came from a small floral planet in the habitable zone of small solar system in the outer arm, of the Leo II Galaxy. The planet shares only one other neighbour, the planet of Ferve, home planet of the Veezahn race. As well as being home to a plethora of, intoxicating genii of plant life, the peaceful planet of Here also plays host to a number of other unique forms of vegetation. The flower of the Ah’m’up plant, when burnt and inhaled, throws the user into a state of pure sobriety. Hence the name;
“AH’M UP!” cried Van, as his eyes shot open. He threw his head back and sat up straight, pipe still in hand. He suddenly felt fully in control of his mind and body once more. The world around him burst into perfect focus. The lights were no longer a baleful invader and the air tasted fresh. He was feeling better than he could remember ever feeling before. He looked across the table. His would-be physician looked familiar, though not even Ah’m’up flowers can restore memories. Was it..? No, surely not… But, maybe..
Sat across from him was a pale skinned, male, human being. He had dark hair and a big smile on his face. “You feel a bit better now?” asked the man, then he chortled. It was the stranger from the bar. “I wouldn’t’ve drank that shit, I bet that bartender’s pissing himself.”
“What?” enquired Van.
“Mate, you don’t remember?” replied the man, incredulously.
“Not a thing after entering the bar. I think I might have done something I shouldn’t, but I don’t know why.”
“Right”, began the Stranger with a half-hearted sigh. “Wait, d’you remember who I am?”
“I know we spoke at some point, that’s where everything ends. I don’t even remember your name, pal”, Van confessed, with a defeated expression taking over his face.
“Well”, said the stranger, “My name is Charles Eugene Dallas the third, but I prefer Dallas. Last night you said it was a stripper’s name… Do you remember that at all?” Van starred at Dallas blankly. “Anyway”, he continued, “We made a deal last night that if I could get you laid, then you would give me a ride to another station, of my choice.”
“Wow, I must have been drunk.”
“Either way, as I proved myself last night, I’m here to claim my ride.” Stated Dallas, matter-o-factly.
Van was silent for a moment, processing his situation. The deal did ring a bell, that wasn’t the main issue. How had the two of them and some mystery clothing ended up on the Bessie, and most importantly, where had he put his CID? Dallas seemed to have an enjoyment and supply of xeno-botanical delights, so taking a brief trip with him probably wouldn’t be too bad. Could he trust him though? He would have to look for signs of deceit when he answered Van’s next question; “So, what happened last night?”
As the, relatively, young Mr Dallas’ recollection of events was not the vivid and colourful depiction of the previous night’s events, it falls to me, your humble narrator, to lend my skills in word craft to this particular exposition;
The night was one that Van was glad he would never recall, to his dying day. And rightly so. After making the proposal to exchange wingman services for travel and explaining to Dallas that “Free-the-beast”, was one of the many innuendos for aggressive sexual conduct, but not in a rapey way, Van began scanning the room for potential new notches to his bonesman’s belt. There were several attractive prospects as he scanned his environment, like a cheetah looking for antelope on the Great Plains. There were some saucy girls near one of the booths at the back of the room, that he wouldn’t mind having a close encounter with. They weren’t a realistic choice though, the chains on their wrists and necks attached them to a grotesque anthropomorphic blob. They were his slaves and, although Van would delight in the task of killing him, his sentinel-like bodyguards would have crushed him before he even got close.
A handful of members of the Veasien race were scattered about the establishment. This incredibly horny race became dominant on their planet by breeding with everything they could, and this didn’t stop when they met the rest of the neighbourhood. To avoid inbreeding after such a contained and highly promiscuous gene pool, the Veasiens (originally of planet “Vease”) mate with every other species they can. Their insatiable sexual appetites and unparalleled sexual health facilities make Vease the planet that every adventurer wants to visit at least 6 times. The Veasiens don’t have a uniformed appearance, being as they have fucked their way across the stars. But they are always recognisable, always being attractive as all Hell and as horny as a nymphomaniac on bull Viagra. He knew he had a sure thing there, but did not want to give passage on the Bessie without a real payment.
He needed a conquest that was equal to the value of a one way trip for ‘some guy he’d just met’. After another 5 minutes of weighing up the options, Van had made his choice.
He turned back towards Dallas, “Ok” he said, “This is the deal; you see the hot, Mossrean couple, a few tables from the wall behind me?” Dallas looked over Van’s shoulder at the six-armed, green alien couple. A male and a female, they were clearly in love, even wrapping their tails around one another, whilst starring deeply into each other’s large, diagonal slit eyes. He looked back at Van and nodded. “Well,” continued Van, “I want one, or both, of them. In my bed. With me. Tonight. Any questions?”
“Yeah,” said Dallas, feeling a little lost already, “How exactly do you want me to help? I mean, I could ask’em if they’re up for it, but I don’t really know-“
“Hey, if you don’t want a ride-“ baited Van, feigning disinterest in his own proposal.
“Well, yeah, of course I need a lift out of here, but I just don’t get what a wingman does” blurted Dallas, feeling strained.
“Ok, Ok,” announced Van, “Luckily, I happen to be in a great mood today, for reasons I’m not going to share-“
“Did you get a load of money or something?” Interjected Dallas.
“NO!!!” Van blurted, impulsively, “It’s none of your business. Anyway, as I was saying; I’m in a great mood today, so I’m gonna make this a little easier for you. With heterosexual, Mossrean couples, it’s usually the female that makes the decisions as to what goes on in the bedroom. They’re a matriarchal society, but that’s not important. What is important is how we play this. I’ll talk to the girl, that way if I can’t get them both, I will have already established a rapport with the more attractive of the two. While I talk to her, you-“
“Hang on mate,” exclaimed Dallas, “look at ’em. How will you get them apart. They don’t even seem to even notice anything but each other. They aren’t gonna just follow the first stranger that asks if they can ‘have a word’ with one of them. How’re you gonna sort that?”
“I, or more accurately ‘you’ will use the cunning art of spilling a drink. If you spill a drink onto the male, he will have to clean his clothes. You can escort him to the toilets to clean up, as a way to apologize. While you keep him talking in there, I’ll spark up a conversation with the girl. You get it?”
Dallas nodded. “Yes mate. So what’s the next bit of the plan?”
“I haven’t got that far yet,” said Van, refusing to acknowledge the obvious ill-planning. “But the final part of the plan involves a jar of Zero-G lube and a hidden video recorder. Now, let’s get to work.” Dallas picked up his half-filled tumbler of Vysotrope Ale and made his way through the crowded bar, navigating through the packed tables, to the unsuspecting Mossrean couple. He eventually reached the pair and stood behind the male. He turned to Van, with the tumbler in hand and gave him a big, ‘thumbs-up’, then proceeded to cast the entirity of its contents onto the alien, with an impressive amount of force. Some drinks have ice to cool them, others are chilled before serving, Vysotrope Ale, on the other hand, is cooled with super-chilled rocks from asteroids. The male Mossrean shot to his feet, clutching his head and whaling in agony. Everyone in the bar stopped what they were doing and looked over at the green creature, with glistening blue blood dripping down his face. The jagged pieces of asteroid had lodged in his eyes and forehead. Dallas started to walk away as the female went to comfort her partner.
“Why would you do that!?” asked the distraught girl.
“Oh sorry,” said Dallas, halting his retreat, “it was an accident. Let me help him out, go and get a drink on my tab, please. I can sort out his wounds, there’s a first aid kit in the toilets. I’ll put things right really quick. I’m so, so sorry.” He appeared to be completely sincere, Van was impressed at his improvisation, if a little concerned by the heavy-handed execution. The woman hesitated, then nodded, silently. Tears in her eyes, she helped her blinded lover to his feet and into the care of the wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Dallas guided the man to the toilets, as the girl watched, then she wiped dry her enormous eyes and made her way to the bar. The other patrons had tired of the brief drama the moment the shrieking had stopped, and were already back to their own conversation by the time she reached the bar. Fortunately for Van, the only spot at the bar that wasn’t occupied, was the seat that Dallas had himself occupied only moments before. It was time for Van’s part of the plan; set phasors to ‘stud’. Van’s years as a prestigious member of the bonesmen, had endowed him with the most successful opening line in the known Universe;
“Hi…” said Van, “is everything ok, I heard the commotion?”
“I’m fine,” replied the girl, still shaken. “I just hope he’s ok. We only just met yesterday, but I’m like 90% sure that he’s the one.”
Van couldn’t believe what he was hearing. She wasn’t exactly a rocket scientist, and was clearly quite suggestable. I mean honestly, come on. Anyway, Van knew he could turn the situation to his advantage. The idea of three’s company action had lost its appeal the second Dallas had assaulted the girl’s other-half, but he still had the more attractive one.
“Can I get you a drink? You look like you could use it, it’s awful to see someone you love getting hurt,” asked Van, softly, through a friendly smile.
“That’s really nice of you,” the girl answered, smiling slightly. “I’d really like a Veasien fruit flute, if you’re sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all” Van assured her, placing his hand on hers. The stick insect bartender returned with Van’s drink. He wiped the bar and placed a long, thin glass down in front of Van. The murky content of the glass was silver and cloudy, and seemed to have sparks flaring beneath its surface. Most notable, however, was the fog emanating from its top. Van looked at the concoction, then up at the bartender.
“It’s safe for Hugh-mans, sir. I made sure in advance. Sorry for the delay and for any perceived insult earlier,” said the tall, thin creature. This statement seemed to have a positive impression on the grief stricken girl. She cast a smile at Van.
“Thank you,” said Van, “And could you get a Veasien fruit flute, for the young lady please?”
“Of course sir, right away,” He shared a knowing glance with the girl as Van reached for his drink, then went away to prepare her libation. Van examined his drink, he didn’t much care for the idea of drinking something that looked electrified and placed it back on the bar. “So,” he said, “what’s your name, if I’m going to reassure you, I can’t very well refer to you as ‘you’ now can I?”
“You don’t need to be so kind, I should just cry it out. You’ve already been nice enough to get me a drink,” insisted the girl sweetly.
“Nonsense,” replied Van, “What kind of a gentleman would I be if I didn’t extend my compassion to a damsel in need?”
The girl smiled, “my name’s Shivacov, Shiva will do.”
“Van,” said Van, extending his hand. Shiva held his hand up to her chest and licked it with a serpent like tongue. She smiled again, “You taste nice,” she laughed. Van smiled uneasily and retracted his hand.
“Oh, no. Don’t be scared, I’m not a carnivore, I believe that you can taste a lot about a person. You taste like a nice person.” It was a strange thing to believe but, unfortunately, Van had slept with crazier.
“You seem really insightful,” he lied, “How come you’re all the way out in the Starling Galaxy, aren’t your species from Andromeda?”
“Yeah we are, I’m impressed you know that. I took a year out from my studies to find myself. At least, it was supposed to be a year, I didn’t feel like I had truly found myself, so I kept looking. That was like 3 years ago now, so I guess I took 4 years out.” Shiva laughed hysterically.
“Your drink, young lady.”
The bartender was back with a yard glass that looked like it was filled with trifle. There was a collection of straws, fruit and cocktail umbrellas protruding from the top. The girl accepted the glass, grasping it with three hands.
“Thank you,” she said, awkwardly taking a sip from one of the straws. She held the monumental, frosted glass close to her chest, Van could see her nipples becoming erect in the chill. It was ’titnotising’. He was a sucker for curves in the right proportions and this girl was showing him everything his lecherous heart desired. He realised he was staring and thought it was about time he said something, lest Shiva notice. She already had.
“How’s your drink?” he asked abruptly.
“It’s nice, how’s yours?”
They both stared at Van’s bizarre beverage. The fog had started to dissipate, the flickering sparks in the liquid’s cloudy interior had also become less frequent.
“I’m gonna wait until it doesn’t look as active I think. Don’t wanna melt my face off or anything,” he joked. The girl laughed politely, she didn’t get the joke.
“You seem pretty wise for someone so young,” smarmed Van, “You must have had some amazing experience on your travels.”
“I don’t know,” said Shiva, through a mouthful of alcoholic cream, “I’ve seen some totes-awesome stuff, but I really wanted to have a, like, real adventure, you know? I guess I always wanted to go on, like, a quest or a mission or something. And, like, it’d mean something and I’d be, like, doing something for, like, peace or something.”
“I know the sort of thing you’re talking about, I’ve had one or two brushes with death in the name of the greater good,” boasted Van, putting forward his submission for the ‘liar-of-the-year’ award.
Shiva gasped, pulling the frosty drinking vessel closer to her ever moistening chest. “You mean you’re like a space hero!?”
“I don’t know about anything like that,” Van replied, fully soaking up his own bullshit, “I’m just a man trying to make sense of this crazy, old Universe. Do people get saved in the process? Sure. Have I brought peace to vulnerable people? Of course, but I don’t consider myself a ’hero’, I’m just doing what anyone else in my position would do.” He beamed, savouring the idyllic, and entirely fabricated, picture he’d painted.
“O-M-C!” squeaked Shiva, “You are soooo amazing!”
She was falling for Van’s ill-conceived ploy, hook, line and sinker. Now he needed to start reeling her in. “Do you ever get scared, I mean, like, I’m sure you’re not scared” she asked coyly, now halfway down her mammoth drink, “but, you know, like, do you ever worry that you might die?”
“There’s always a chance that things could go South, it’s the risk all men must face,” Van was now shoulder deep up his own arse. The lie was telling itself at this point. “When things get tough, I just have to ask myself one question, and then I know that death isn’t the worst thing.”
“What question?” Asked Shiva, in total awe of Van’s carelessly crafted lie.
“I ask myself; ‘Have I ever let anyone down?’”
“And, have you?”
Shiva was on tenterhooks. Her enormous eyes were wide open, hungry to hear the answer slip from Van’s disingenuous mouth. He leaned in close, only a breath away from her lips, and stared deep into her eyes. She held her breath. Her face was close enough to smell the saccharin-sweet herbs on Van’s breath as it caressed her nose. He leaned a little further, they were almost kissing. He opened his mouth and in a hushed whisper answered, No… As their lips began to touch and their eyes closed, a tremendous noise interrupted them.
Everyone in the bar had turned towards the dozen or more diseased-looking aliens that had burst through the door. They tore through the crowded patrons, knocking tables and people flying. Shiva threw her arms around Van, to avoid being caught in the stampede. The battalion of nauseous creatures were carving a path directly towards the toilet that Dallas had taken his would be victim to. The herd seemed to be led by a Hectaphaige, who was making use of his multiple limbs, scurrying full-speed through the alarmed and soon injured inhabitants of the Nauseous Traveller. Van recognised the arachnid as the operator he had had a less than favourable encounter with earlier, and him heading to the bathroom meant three very crucial things; Firstly, that the marauding group probably all had food poisoning because he, Van, had knowingly delivered incredibly spoiled meat, Secondly, that when the creatures reached the bathroom, it was likely to drive Dallas and, more importantly, the male Mossrean out which would reunite him with what Van was pretty sure was a ‘sure thing’, at this point. The third, and by far most troubling for our protagonist, was that neither of those things would end well for him. He had to think fast… he did not.
As van was about to form what was sure to be a worthy attempt to explain why they should leave, fate intervened. A very sick looking Hectaphaige burst back through the door, “THERE IS A DEAD MAN IN HERE!” he yelled, then he released a torrent of vomit across the crowded bar.
The thick, tar-like excretion hosed patrons with enough force to knock some of them off their feet. The injured customers that were cast aside when the operator’s party guests had made their grand entry, were now coated in the oily, warm, noxious ooze billowing from the space monster’s grotesque mouth. If this weren’t bad enough, they were also crash mats for the casualties of the barf-blizzard. Those who were out of range of the repulsive spectacle were staring in utter disgust at what was going on. A couple even began to feel ill themselves. One of them threw up onto the badass space-biker who had managed attach two female companions to each of his hulking, muscular arms. In a flash he returned fire with his fist, sending the man sailing across the room and crashing into the bar. This sparked the bar into a full-on brawl, as everyone turned on each other.
The violence spread like a fart in a crowded elevator. Soon the room was a sea of flailing limbs and angry screams, with scattered non-combatants ducking for cover. Tables, chairs, drink vessels and bodies flew through the air. All the while the floor became deeper engulfed in the rising tide of Hectaphaige sick. Brawlers slipped and slid through the lake of bile, like drunken figure skaters sloshing the foul smelling slop as they struggled to stay upright.
This was killing the mood Van had set up and it was only a matter of time before people began to talk about what the scuttling, vomit-geyser had said before erupting.
On the plus side, the boyfriend probably wasn’t going to return.
Van thought faster. He spun Shiva around, catching her gaze, “it isn’t safe for you here,” he said with mock-heroism, “Come with me, if you want to stay clean.”
“Get me out of here Van, it really, really smells,” she replied wispily. Van put his arm around her. “Don’t forget your drink, I believe that waste is, like, the worst”
“Quite right, young lady,” conceded Van, “to not imbibe, is to… is to… oh, whatever,” he raised the now motionless beverage. “To the fallen,” he cried and downed the entire glass.
At first, it was as if he had become deaf. A high pitched tone rang in his ears and disappeared, as suddenly as it had appeared. His hearing was back, but he felt; odd. His outer layers of skin and flesh felt numb. He still had full control of them, but somehow sensations were dampened. He forgot what he was just doing. There was a girl in his arms, of course, he was about to take her back to his bed. Her name certainly began with an ‘S’, was it Shiva? Yes, of course it was. How peculiar.
Before he knew what was happening, they left the bar and began walking towards the landing bay. Was someone following them? It looked like some pale guy was following them. Van looked ahead. Had he just been looking back? This was no time to let his thoughts become clouded, it was nearly time to do what he had come here to do, at least he thought it was. He knew sex was coming and that’s all that counted. No, that was all he knew.
There was no one in the area of the hangar that housed the Bessie, not that Van would have remembered. He typed in the password for his CID and used it to open the doors to the ship. The mysterious follower that Van had glimpsed, entered silently behind them.
Van sat back at the table and tried to process what he had just been told. “So, wait, who was following me?” he asked.
“Oh, that was me,” answered Dallas with a chortle, “I decided to leave after that guy died. I am in no way medically trained and he was in a bad way. When I left though, I realised that I didn’t know the way to your ship, so I waited outside, then, followed you back without letting that girl see me. I got high in one the empty sleeping quarters and passed out. Woke up like half an hour ago and came to see if you had any food, then you came in and that’s about everything. Do you want something to take the edge off?”
“No, dude, I-“
“Afternoon Van,” said the ship’s AI, “your latest conquest left only two hours after arrival, I assume you slept well?”
“D00D, where the absolute fuck have you been!?” scalded Van, “I was calling for you, didn’t you hear me!?”
“Please Van,” explained the loyal computer, “I detected you making noises, but your ever-changing states, and the damage to that half of the ship, make it hard to recognise all of your summons, it is simply too much to ask of my programming. You took the sound sensors out of your room because I misunderstood the sounds that originated from it.”
“I removed all the sensors for a number of reasons D00D, let’s not revisit them.”
“Quite, but regardless of the reason, the fact remains that I lack the memory capacity to catalogue all of your various grunts and groans,” reasoned D00D. Van knew he couldn’t argue with this and calmed himself.
“Ok,” he said, “I’m sorry, it’s been a hard day and I haven’t even had breakfast. Could you please do a scan for my CID, I have no idea where it is?”
“No problem,” chirped D00D, “I’ll just- oh, oh dear, oh that’s even worse.”
Van didn’t like what he was hearing, “what is it?” he asked not really wanting the answer.
“Well,” began D00D, cautiously, “first the bad news; your CID was last active in the residential district, half an hour after your companion left, then the signal was lost. Your bank account has also been cleared out and you are now 30,000 credits in debt to the Milkyway Central Banking Organisation. What’s more a man matching your description is wanted for poisoning charges.”
“Oh fuck!” exclaimed Van, “and the good news?”
“The good news is that the station security records show that the victims of the poisoning have been unable to give the authorities a name yet, because of the damage done to their vocal chords and we still have time for an escape before they find you and there is now a different human on-board who can pose as you to the new tower operator.”
Van thought for a second. He didn’t really have another choice, he was in no position to track down the woman who robbed him and hanging around was asking for trouble.
“Dallas,” he said to the man in front of him, “You need to go to the cockpit,” Dallas smiled, “go through the door between the kitchen and the toilet. D00D, make sure he doesn’t crash. I will be getting dressed, as I now see that I am completely naked. Let’s do this!”
Dallas made his way into the cockpit, where D00D had already transferred to the heads-up display (HUD). His appearance on the screen was that of a sound wave, in the top corner of the HUD interface. Dallas sat in the pilot’s seat, which automatically adjusted itself to his ergonomic measurements.
“Ok Mr Dallas,” said the AI, “I have already initiated the engines and am putting the information needed for departure, on the HUD now. The Bessie Fontaine is equipped with a full tactical display and visual prompts to maintain the safest course and speed. Are you ready to begin?”
Dallas grasped the helm controls, “Ready,” he said. He wrenched at the thrust control, causing the ship to lurch forward ten, or so, feet. He let go immediately. “I have never flown a real ship before,” he confessed.
“No time to teach you now, especially as you have just scorched through a large portion of the hull on the smuggler’s ship, behind us,” retorted D00D, “I’ll have to pilot, while you do the talking, just act like you’re piloting, got it?”
“Cool,” said Dallas, happy he would not have any further responsibilities.
By the time Van had covered his shame and returned to the main compartment, the Bessie was clear of the station’s scanner range and was in deep orbit around a neighbouring star.
The panels on the sides of the ship’s rocket engines retracted to reveal layer of photovoltaic cells, Every so often, the Bessie needed to do this to recharge its energy reserves. The majestic vessel rested peacefully, falling through space around the vivifying, celestial gas giant. It was a picture of tranquillity. Inside the vessel, however, a very different scenario was unfolding.