0 comments/ 8966 views/ 1 favorites Space Diary Year 2 By: ROS_LOMBOT Chapter 2, Year 2, Head Cargo Handler. When a mere sixteen-year-old John Smith awoke. The first thing he did was close his eyes tightly before taking the blindfold off. He wasn't a captured prisoner in the conventional sense. But the bright constant glare from his room was always hard to get used to first thing in the morning. The ship was lit by glowing plants. Dwarf Cave Vines that now grew all over the ship and drank the excess moisture from the air. Unfortunately you can't turn plants off so you needed a blindfold to get any sleep. Slowly he sat up and drank heavily from a two pint glasses of water he kept next to the bed, his mouth always felt so dry every time he awoke now. The next job of the morning was putting on a generous layer of skin moisturiser all over his body. Still at least breakfast from the matter recycles was much nicer now a days, with the vines taking so much work of life support the food had improved ten fold but still was far from perfect. The young lad had been in space on and off for a year. Now he only very occasionally got hyper space sickness. He now had taken time to get to know the whole crew, both of them. The ship was an old Orach freighter called the Haifhiu. In human it meant Full Pocket. It was certainly designed for cheapness rather than quality. The captain was an Orach lady who despite her green skin pig, looks had a very sexy sounding voice and an expert business manner. She was called Captain Carla Camode of the Imperial Orach Merchant Navy. The other member of the crew was a Dwarf engineer he now knew a Turn Cog, from a long line of famous Dwarf Cog clan. John himself was just a mere human, a short lifer as many other races called his kind. After eating he put on a dry comfortable flight suit. It was a nice navy blue one with white stripes. John was only paid 12 credits a day but got bonuses for finding good deals for buying and selling cargo sometimes. Since discovering the vines (that by now were well over due for pruning) he had found he had a knack for bartering and finding markets. Then he prepared for another routine day. His job was mostly lifting and unloading cargo and then (as he discovered in his first space trip) look after it once it was aboard. Still his body didn't seem to ache all over the way it used to. He had to turn sideways slightly to get though his rooms door, and gave a quick stretch, and moaned in his head, as he realised his suit was getting to tight again. He was getting fed up with having to buy new ones. He just assumed they must have kept shrinking in either the wash or this dry environment. ' So much for hi-tech fabrics' he thought to himself. John then made his way to the bridge. Carla was there in her favourite mouldy bathrobe. The last thing any human wanted to see first thing in the morning was a naked female Orach. She was smiling. "Good morning Head Cargo Handler," wafted a sensuous voice from the jutting green jaw. "Sorry?" said John rubbing his eyes. "Good morning Head Cargo Handler" She repeated, "What?" "I'm promoting you," "What?" said John again. "I, the captain of the Haifhiu, am promoting you John Smith to Head Cargo Handler," John started at the pronunciation of the ship's name, it was only when she spoke Orach that she sounded like one. It was a language of sniffing and blowing of a full Orach nose, using the vocal cords very rarely to give intonation to the meaning. "So great, thanks, really, I get to be head of a department of zero excluding myself," "Don't' be silly," said Carla puzzled, meaningless titles for the ego was strictly a human habit that most other races couldn't comprehend. "To be head cargo handler you'll have to hire one or two people on the next planet," she continued. John quickly awoke and took an interest. "Do I get pay rise?" "No you get command experience and help. And I will apply for you to join the Imperial Merchant Navy if you wish." John said nothing. He had started to learn that silence had a habit of sucking more information out of people than a series of questions. "You'll have a 25 credit budget, and there's room on ship for about seven other people but I would like you to save space for super cargo," "I'd be lucky to get two people on that budget!" John exclaimed. "Yes but your daily budget may well increase in future, It's because of your trading savvy that we can afford more crew, its because of you discovering these vines, " she said pointing to the glowing flowers " that we can afford the life support. We almost need more people to add moisture to the air." This was the first compliment John had been given since entering space. "Thank you." "What for" again she seemed puzzled. "Just thanks," and with that he smiled and left. The planet was an industrial one. Thick with pollution, almost all city. It was once of course a rich green planet a thousand years ago, but planets tended to specialise and this one specialised in mass manufacturing. The Baron's of planet Goms were historically ruthless and greedy. Apart from the palace gardens of the Barons there was no greenery. There were no unions, or knowledge of what a union was. In the lower levels where even the sick yellow sunlight never reached, was rife with street gangs and crime. Those inhabitants who could afford it carried filter masks. Those who couldn't died in their middle twenties. It was almost a hive world, and home to some of the greatest stock of Imperial soldiers. Which explained allot about the temperament of your average imperial soldier. A person wanting off this planet could read the bulletin and could read all the ships details. Not that many came however because of the Haifhiu being an Orach ship. Orach ships were notorious for their lack of comfort and reliability, so there was not the best selection of possible crew waiting in line for inspection that evening. When John had been in this line a year ago back on his home farming planet, he had been the only one in line. Here there were three in line. Despite lack of unions there was an Imperial Directive (and no planet Baron openly disobeyed an Imperial directive,) that a persons scientifically measured health level affected their wage. It was the reason the Captain had to increase John's wage twice this year. The healthier the person was the more they had to be paid. It was the Empires way of encouraging people to stay healthy and help insure a healthy stock of possible soldiers. Each candidate had their medical pads in front or them to prove their fitness level. The average was a rating of ten. Out there were three prospects. A young girl in purple gang colours, a young man in red gang colours and a larger hairy creature in a loincloth. There are two main muscle creatures (discounting undead and the like) known. Large hairy creatures called shaggy's who were all muscle, hair, and brute force, (your classic sci-fi creature found in so many alternate realities) and there were Bigony's who were less hairy, bigger, from the highest gravity worlds. With an average IQ of about sixty. The creature in the line was a Bigony. Average for his race but a huge eight-foot to a human. There wouldn't be any problem with him getting around the ship because Bigony's preferred to travel on all fours anyway. John quickly looked at his health chart. He was very healthy, again just over average for his race but to a human he was super fit. He had a minimum wage of 15 credits a day. The second was a thin young man slightly older than John was. His gang red colours were made up of leather and openly showed his collation of blades. He cost 11 a day. The last was the girl in her twenties. Her long blond hair, the little purple gang cloths she wore, and a nice body made a young naive John gulp and feel suddenly shy. But there was something about her eyes, a desperate viciousness perhaps that unnerved him in the opposite direction. It was like an instant cold shower on the soul of passion. They were the eyes of a scared killer. Her health rating would of normally also given a wage of 11 a day, except for one additional fact on her chart. John looked at it again. "You're not an Imperial citizen," John read, to avoid that eye contact. This meant she had no rights under law. She could be killed openly in a crowd of policemen and there would not be a conviction. The health wage laws certainly didn't cover her. "You belong to yourself?" John asked, with his eyes still down. Trying not to notice her cleavage. He did not want to get convicted of stealing if she was a slave. She handed over self-ownership papers, which proved that for now, she did own herself. But as she was not an imperial citizen. Anyone who could capture her could claim ownership of her, and do what they wanted with her. No citizenship equalled no rights. John hadn't really decided how he felt about slavery yet. He could offer her any wage he wanted, or even just room and Board. By the feel of it she would probably accept any terms to get off this planet. At the end of the day it came down to one thing in his mind. This would be his first command position. What sort of commander did he want to be? "If chosen you'll get the 11 credits a day like everyone else," No sign of gratitude or lessening of hardness in her expression. Then he turned his attention to all three. "One word of warning, your job is NOT just to load and unload cargo. It is also to look after the cargo while it is on board. Understand! That includes passengers. Any questions?" The girl's hand went up. "Yes?" Asked John. "I'm not a whore" "Umm. Ok. Thank you for that information," "You said we had to look after passengers," she continued "I'm just letting you know that I am no whore." "By look after I just meant protect," John could feel himself going red "They feed and bathe themselves. Just let me know if they are ill, break up fights and don't let them fall out of the airlock." He turned back to the line. "Any more questions?" The line was silent. No John had to make his decision with his 25 credit daily budget. He could afford only two of the three candidates and he definitely wanted to hire her. He didn't explore to deeply why he wanted to hire her in case he did not like what he found. He told himself that it was because she showed moral courage despite how badly she might want to get off the planet. This meant he wouldn't be able to afford the Bigoney, which was a pity. Something that strong would have been an asset to any crew. So that left her and the other fellow human. At least it left 3 credits on the daily budget. Perhaps he'd very slowly save up for an Exeo skeleton for the ship. If he found anyone who could pilot it. Her name was Lisa with no second name. His was Less Ruther but his street name was Blade. It wasn't long before the captain had some cargo arranged. She did not buy the cargo but instead was being contracted to carry it for someone else. It was beer to be carried off planet along with a passenger as super cargo to look after it. She was small young lady, who would sell the beer at the other end. Carla also bought five boxes of cheaper beer in case she had to bribe her way past pirates. The first question Carla had to ask John was, "Why not the Bigony?" "It's my first ever command decision, must it be questioned." "No need to be so defensive," Carla replied "I wasn't so much questioning as being curious," "We never carry anything that heavy that needs a Bigony," "That's because we haven't got one to do the lifting," Carla stated. "I better get to looking after the new crew," John said to excuse himself. The nasty thought that he might have screwed up by thinking with his groin was sneaking upon him. In the bay he saw the super cargo the pale young lady elf calling herself Green Willow. "Welcome to the Haifhiu," John smiled. Green Willow just stared in response. "May I show you to your quarters?" John continued. Still saying nothing, the super cargo nodded. John could plainly tell that she was simply being arrogant and rude. It could have been because he was a short lifer (being only human) or it could be because he was a spacer. Either way he had learnt by now not to let it bother him. She couldn't hide her surprise though when she found that the Haifhiu wasn't the dark damp space hulk she had expected from an Orach ship. She still, however, said nothing. John went back down stairs to the cargo bay to secure the cargo, but it had not been fully loaded yet. Lisa was struggling with rolling barrels up the ramp and at first Less Ruther could not be seen. John soon spotted him sitting down for a break. John shouted over, "Hay Less, give Lisa a hand," "I've done my share," came the reply "The rest is hers," This took John aback, he notice Cog watching out of the corner of his eye. He hadn't ordered anyone before, and felt awkward as to what he should do next. He thought back to the days on the farm when the crops came in. There was never any talk of 'My share of work'. Then he thought of his Mother when she wanted him to do a chore and he was a bit slow in putting down what ever childish toy was preoccupying him at the time. And he heard himself say in very much the same way she used too, the word "NOW!" There were several things that John was not truly aware of. The first is that while he was thinking about what to say his eyes had glazed over during his very brief daydreams, But while they where glazed they were still staring straight at Less Ruther. To Less Ruther and anyone else watching this looked not like a glaze of a day dreamer but the stare of a physical threat. The Second was that Johns clothes had not been so shrinking, instead John Smith had been growing. The better conditions and the constant lifting of heavy objets repeatedly had made him a very large young man. The misunderstood stare, large build, the shouted 'NOW!' and the presence of witnesses had put Less Ruther in line. But Less Ruther, otherwise known as Blade was a recent ex gang member, and would not forget this imagined insult. Nor the insult of that stuck up Bitch that wouldn't talk to him either. And there was a rival gang member on board. His fingers played over his holstered knife collection. Less Ruther went over to help Lisa with a barrel. From Johns point of view he had just given a friendly boss type, verbal prod. He now proceeded casually to pick up a barrel under each arm and carry them through. Once in space three blips appeared on the edge of sensor range. Carla got the inevitable pirate call. "Dump or die," came the radioed voice. "Hi Ashol," replied Carla "Today we have beer, two barrels do you for passage," "Hi Carla. Make it three, I have a party to cater for on the week end," "Go on then, enjoy yourself. Give us a moment to put the stuff in the air lock." Meanwhile Green Willow heard a gentle wrapping on her door. She got up with an expression of exasperation and pulled at the wheel lock. "CLOSE THE DOOR!" she heard a female voice shout. Green Willow went to but someone or something was pushing back and winning. Then suddenly the resistance gave, slamming the portal shut. Green Willow quickly span the wheel to a locked position. Outside Less Ruther was on the floor while Lisa stood up passage of him. She had just caught him by surprise and kicked him down. "Typical Reds," Lisa spat "Always going for the weakest target first," Then she flattened herself against the wall as a throwing dagger was thrown past her. By the time she turned into the corridor she could just see him sliding over the railings towards the cargo bay. She was not silly enough to give chase. John Smith had just lowered the gravity to next to nothing and put on some magnetic boots. He was preparing to load the cheaper barrels into the airlock. Why give yourself more work than you had to? Less Ruther went through the door and into the cargo bay. He had never encountered low gravity before and suddenly found himself leaping into the room much further than he intended. In panic he grabbed a roof girder and dangled for a bit. Then he heard laughter. Laughter from that big bossy bastard at his expense. John had meant no harm and was about to get him down and lend him some magnetic boots. He was not expecting a throwing dagger to stick deep into his arm, hurling blood floating into the cargo bay. He was shocked, surprised and pure lucky that the second one missed. John turned off the boots and dived behind some of the cargo. He had experienced enough light gravity now to do this effectively without bouncing off the floor. If he could only reach Captain Carla and get help. Less Ruther floated down and clumsily pulled at the cargo restraining ropes until he could get to the airlock. He took out his 'special knife'. It was made of supper dense metal and was powered to vibrate at an incredible speed. The overall effect was a knife that could cut through most mundane things, like sheet metal without much effort. Such knives were expensive and this one was obviously stolen. As Less Ruther went he cut the ropes that held the cargo in place and kicked at them as he went. As the ropes loosened and barrel knocked against barrel soon they were all floating around the cargo bay like some alcoholic asteroid field. Although lacking in weight the barrels kept their mass. Being hit by one could easily kill. John was loosing places to hide from Less Ruther while not knowing where he was and trying not to get hit by the beer. Even the throwing daggers that had missed continued to spin dangerously around. John had to keep his boots turned off to order to move fast enough. John had been only lightly hit so far when his luck ran out. He managed to deflect the barrel with his good arm, dislocating the shoulder. He span helplessly in the air, kicking another barrel away from him. Less Ruther had got to the safety of the airlock alcove. This gave him cover on all but the one side leading to the cargo bay. As long as nothing headed for him at a perfect 90o angle he would be safe. At the same time he couldn't get a good enough view to take another throw at his ex boss. Reaching for the controls the turned the gravity in the cargo bay back on to maximum. The barrels fell their normal 1 G weight multiplied by ten. Cog was the ships engineer. He noticed the huge power drain from the cargo bay and that the gravity had been turned onto maximum. It was a measure only use in emergencies to secure cargo at difficult times. Mumbling to himself the Dwarf picked up his tool box and ambled off to see what that boy (John Smith) was playing at. "What is the delay Carla?" Asked the pirate Ashol "I don't know?" Captain Carla replied. "We are getting impatient and paranoid here!" Carla turned to the intercom. "John, what the hell is going on down there?" But there was no reply. John fell harder than he had ever fallen in his life. He rolled to avoid the now VERY heavy barrels that split open around him. One hit his square in the shoulder blades while a previously floating throwing knife hit the back of his leg. Gleefully Less Ruther reduced the gravity to normal and sloshed his way through the beer with his favorite Vribrating Monomonecular knife in hand. It was unfortunate that he would have to kill him almost straight away. John convulsed in pain as he felt a swift kick land into his right kidneys. This was followed by a second then a third. Finally the foot pushed him over onto his back. John looked up to see the leer on Ruthers face. Then Ruther wasn't there any more. Space Diary Year 2 Cog had met and been briefed by Lisa as to what was happening. He reached the doorway just as Less Ruther had reduced the gravity to normal. Quickly the old Dwarf opened his tool box. In there were assorted bits of wire, tape, string and other odds and ends. He had once shown the contents of this box to John when he first came on board and asked him what he saw. When John said 'Junk' Cog had corrected him. "No what you see is life. I have saved the lives of the crew a hundred times, with jury rigged repairs with things like these. Surviving in space isn't about scantly clad woman and big guns its about using what you know. We don't have proper life support but thanks to some elastic and a shard of copper that rarely needs replacing, that we have some Life Support at all." The lesson was an important one about using what you know and have. Cog looked at his collection of bits and pieces and looked at the red clad punk about the carve up the kid. Then he looked again at the contents of his box and reached down. There was a flash of light and a small sonic / electric implosion. Less Ruther flew across the bay and into a far wall before collapsing unconscious. John rolled onto his side to see Cog holding a stun pistol. "What happened to using what you know?" he breathed heavily. "Nothing," replied Cog "I happen to know it's a good idea to have a weapon concealed in a secret compartment of your tool case," Over the intercom came the words of a female voice with strained patience. "What's happening down there the Pirates are getting jumpy and forming into an attack position." John looked around at the split barrels. Not all the cargo was lost but the cheep beer was definitely all gone. They could ill afford to loose more cargo but could afford a pirate fight even less. Then he took a good hard look at Less Ruther the cause of all these problems and lost revenue which would almost certainly come out of his pocket. Less Ruther awoke with a splitting headache and could hear nothing but the internal ringing of his own ear drums. He could see nothing but spinning stars. He tried to move his head but found it difficult. He raised his hand and was curious to find it was dressed in silver. His mind fought for purchase as he saw a ship swoop towards him, its outer bay door open like some large metal whale. Less Ruther realised that he had been stunned, put in a vac suit and dumped out the airlock. Pirates don't care about imperial citizenship. They know plenty of estranged private mining operations that don't ask questions about where their slaves come from. Imagine you are a pirate Captain. The average slave is worth 10,000 credits. Even if you win a space battle the repairs to your ships can cost hundreds of thousands. If you were the pirate Captain who was expecting a few hundred credits worth of beer for free then instead you were offered the chance to buy a ten thousand credit slave for half price, giving you a profit of at least a few thousand. If you were this pirate Captain what would you do? John Smith reported to Captain Carla, before giving her time to speak he said. "I assume you wish to take back my promotion," "Not at all," the Captain replied. "But it was my fault," "As far as I knew you were not a psychic" her voice smiled. "But am I not responsible for my staffs actions?" "Was I responsible for your actions when you lost that grain shipment?" "No I paid for the loss" replied John "And you have made sure that Less Ruther has paid for his loss and even managed to make some money from the deal, rather a lot of money." "It was in the pirates best interest instead of a battle with expensive repairs." "But you negotiated the deal. You pointed these facts out for them. You are becoming quite the negotiator Mr Smith. I certainly want to put you in for Imperial Merchant Navy Service." "Was Ms Willow very angry about the cargo?" asked John. "These things happen in space, she's old enough in the trade to know that." "I should have taken his knives off him" said John "No, you did the right thing. It is always more likely that we would be boarded rather than some crew member going nuts. Its best to allow crew members to remain armed. That will be all Head Cargo." As John reached the door he heard Carla say. "Next time you reach a planet you might consider spending your pennies on some basic combat training. I assure you that one day, you will need it." "I'll get Lisa to teach me, with her gang background and the way she kicked Ruther over, she should be able to help," "Do you think she will teach you," "I don't know." And with that John continued through the door. Later that evening John Smith took out the Vibrating Mono Knife and trimmed the Dwarf Cave Vines. He could not reach up easily with the damage he'd sustained despite Cogs limited medical knowledge. (He tended to treat his 'patients' as if they were yet another broken machine.) Lisa smiled at him as she helped. Space Diary Year 3 Chapter III , Year 3, Cabin Boy (rank 0 merchant navy) Punch, Punch, Kick, Duck. "Cabin boy! Bloody cabin boy!" Duck, Leap, Kick, Kick. John and Lisa were sparring in the cargo bay. There was sweat galore despite the moisture drinking plants that grew along the walls. Between brief breathes the two spoke as they exchanged practice blows. "It is a step up" said Lisa leaping to avoid a sweep kick. "It doesn't sound like one" "Its just the title given to rank zeros, everyone starts at Cabin Boy officially when thy sign their navy papers." As if in reply John did a leaping salmon kick at Lisa's face. She neatly caught his foot and brought him straight down, flat on his back. "I've told you," She said "You're not good enough to do that sort of stuff and get away with it. I could have broken your entire leg then if I wanted." John, winded, slowly rolled up onto his feet panting. "It just sounds so small," he insisted gulping air as he reached for a drink. He pretended to himself that he didn't notice the way her breasts moved as she pulled a top over her head. She politely pretended she couldn't feel herself being stared at, although the idea was surpassingly not unpleasant. "At this rate it won't be long before you get your gunners license. Just keep at the sims every time we are in port." "What about you?" John asked wiping the sweat from his eyes with a towel. "What about me!" "Are you going to go for imperial citizenship?" He asked. She didn't answer, instead she threw the kit bag at him to carry. He shrugged and followed. But he was forced to stop when she hesitated at the docking bay door. She turned and said, "We land tonight and we won't be unloading until tomorrow, shall we go for a drink?" "Yeh sure," John replied slightly stunned, "Fine," She smiled, "Wear you new uniform," The landing was rough. The port was a flat open plain just outside the one street township. There were no tractor or pressure beams to assist landing. Behind the buildings on each side of the street were corrals for containing the exports. The planet was called Bef. Its main export was reptilian wolf , beef steaks and grains, its main imports were small arms. It was a mostly tundra to desert planet with deep forest near the mountain regions. It was a pretty lawless planet with no real gun control. Unlike other planets, which usually had one Baron each, this one had split into 5 distinct rival baronies. The culture was very reminiscent of the Earth American Wild West of the 1850's. When Lisa met with John at the docking bay she was wearing, instead of her usual skimpy purple leathers (her old gang colours), a dowdy coverall boiler suit, tied back hair and no make up. John felt disappointed at this obviously not being a date but a friendly drink, but he also felt relieved. This planet wasn't known for its liberal attitude to females. There were two bars. The locals, which could be heard from here, and the spacers, which was quieter and more moody. As John headed toward the spacers he felt Lisa tug at his arm to go further down the street. "I don't know about this Lisa," "We travel all over the place, I want to see some of it. All the Spacers lounges look the same," Hover bikes, reptilian wolves and even horses were tethered and parked outside the bar. Lisa pushed him gently forward towards the double swing doors. As he went forward he felt the pit of his stomach go weak with dread. But the music did not stop, no one turned to stare, and the place did not suddenly go quiet. Lisa passed him and traveled to the bar, like a magnet he followed. There were women here. Lots of them, in bright layered dresses with bare arms and cleavage. Hairstyles were piled high to show pretty necks and ears ordained with cheap jewelry. Most were sitting on someone's lap or coming up and down the over grand staircase. John had heard there was a shortage of women here, obviously the information on his galactic atlas must be out of date. There was also gambling and a few sim machines. He found Lisa passing him a small glass and as green as he was, he knew strong liquor when saw it. He didn't want to show himself up in front of Lisa so bravely took a largish sip. Lisa knocked hers straight back. She poured herself another and gripped the bottle in the other hand ready to pour. While she relaxed into the atmosphere John noticed that every one had gun belts. This in itself did not bother him, it was the guns holstered in them that did. She started tapping her foot to the music and started singing what few words she knew. John never imagined Lisa singing, but if he had it would be with a voice as lyrical as her prettiness. In reality she managed to sing both flat and out of tune. John felt a poke in his back but he ignored it desperately hoping it was just an accidental push in the crowd. Then he felt it again. He gulped and turned. A thin mutant Dark Elf looked back at him with nine unblinking eyes. He had two sets of arms. Dark Elves like these were known as blessed amongst their kind, who worshiped spiders. "He doesn't like you," he said indicating the large muscle bound Bigoney behind him. The extreme of all heavy gravity creatures, John came up to about his waist. "Sorry," said John. "I don't like you either! You just watch yourself. I have a death sentence in twelve systems!" "I'll be careful," said John. The Elf's arm shot out and pulled John around to face him. "You'll be dead!" the Dark Elf snarled. Lisa popped her head around. "This little one isn't worth the effort. Let me get you something." Lisa chirped. 'Ok,' thought John 'this has definitely got a aura of deju-vu about it.' The next thing John knew he was being pushed sideways. The blow from two right arms should of sent a man flying but John had spent the last two years constantly lifting heavy cargo around, so instead he just staggered a little. The two right arms of the Dark Elf each fast drew a pistol. Lisa had learned to fight with a street gang on a run down industrial hive world. She single kicked both guns out of the Dark Elf's hands with one foot. Then pressed herself towards him. The Elf was stunned to find one of his left hands discretely under the buttons of the boiler suit and holding a bare firm female breast. Lips clamped around his and a very passionate tongue penetrated his lips. "Lets fuck," she hissed. "Or would you rather have a whore who isn't gagging for it?" As she lead him outside John looked to the Bigoney who shrugged, "Not look at me. Me not know him," he then returned to his drink. John suddenly found he was quite able to down a glass in one for the first time. He didn't imagine women could or even should be like Lisa. But what he kept forgetting was that her past consisted of short lived lives. Such a background entrenches a lack of hesitation to any of the small pleasures of life that become available. After all, in a street gang you might get popped by a laser tomorrow. Lisa wanted to feel what it would be like to have four hands groping and wanting her. It was nice. She would make a mental note to try this again one day. John sat and for the first time got drunk. A few 'ladies' offered to drink with him but it was clear that he wanted to be alone. Its funny how sudden feelings of loneliness can make you want to be without company. He knew and felt he didn't belong here so eventually staggered on to the Spacers bar. Here his captain Carla the Orach and the engineer Turn Cog the Dwarf sat. The Spacers lounge was dark and full of blue smoke. Spacers here were swapping tales. John did not sit with his crew but alone in his corner. It was like some strange form of karaoke but instead of songs people got up on stage and told tales. Turn Cog got up on stage, and obviously a little worse for wear himself, struggled onto the high chair. He coughed a little and announced his story. Even through the inebriation John could tell he was slightly nervous. "I would like to tell the Dwarven ballad of the Silver Arrow," There was an approving clap as this was a classic tale. It was to many Dwarves what 'Danny Boy' was to the Irish. Cog started the ballad, "Half a score. A pirate fleet. Seen by the crow man from his nest. Seeing death from the mast Half a score of pirate scum. Silhouette against the star, Running, pushing, thrusting away from harm. Playing dare against the glare. Running from a pirate fleet. The small space ship lifted, tilted against the star. Arch of fire swept as flames wept into the self collapsing loop. The silver arrow flew against the licking light. Off the wings and of the bow, Off the Hull and Mast. Arch of fire swept as the flames leapt from the self collapsing noose. Behind is half a score of blue bolts skimmed and shivered through the heat. The energy spittle from the pirate patrol. To the right and left, And above the Mast. Half a score of blue bolts shot and melted into darkness forward. The painful orange plasma eye winks. A pirate scum flinches. Into burning hell he goes. The star swallows its prey. The painful orange plasma eye folds. Two others remain to kill. Two hit the flanks of our hero. Shields bow down before their masters. Ceramic melts to their pitter patter. Two others remain to kill our vessel, the silver arrow. Out manned, out gunned is the silver arrow. Twinkling in the dark. Spin it sideways to fit the narrow gap, Of flying demons as they pass. Out manned, out gunned and brought around. Fire one, Fire Two, Light missiles light their way. Paths of light to make a light. One explosion bright against our star. Fire one, Fire Two but one demon still remains. One remains and is turned around. Our hero lies in its way. Sights are squared and lasers flashed. Through the silent cloud the pirate flies. One remains and is all alone. Broken lies the Silver Arrow. Snuffed out the life inside. Gutted like a fish, the Mast is gone. Floating dead. Broken is the Silver Arrow. Mourn not the Hero. Who did not care for his crew. To live is to trade, not to die a fool. Let the Demons have their due. Mourn not the foolish one." There was more clapping as Turn Cog dismounted. He nodded politely at Captain Carla as he went to his seat. The ballad had suited John's mood perfectly, right down to the tragic ending. John was feeling very sleepy now. He felt the hunched muscle arm of Carla around his shoulder. Despite the look of a humanoid pig Carla had a very pleasant feminine voice. She shook him gently and whispered into John's face. "Are you ok, John? John? Can you hear me?" The breath of an Orach is a foul thing, but as depressed and as low as he was, John was not going to be unkind enough to let it show. "I'm fine, just tired," "You're not used to it are you" said Carla, "Go on, go home," "Can't get in, you're the captain." John replied rubbing his face. "Where is Lisa," Carla asked. "Fucking some four armed Dark Elf who tried to kill me" "That's good of her," There was a pause, then John looked Carla straight in the eye. "Fucking as in screwing, not as in beating to a pulp!" John exclaimed. "Oh." Then Carla said "Well go back to the ship and sleep it off outside the cargo doors, it's a nice night. I'll get Cog to drag you to bed when we get there." John staggered up and did what he was told. There were to many people here for his mood anyway. John finally had to admit to himself that he had a crush on Lisa and that getting together with her was something that was unlikely to ever happen. In the morning he would have his first headache. This, ironically, would help him cover up to the others, his first heartache.