I might actually submit this to a sci fi magazine for publishing, so once it's complete (this is still a WIP), I'll probably be removing it. I'd like some C&C from it's potential readerbase though. Tell me what you think!
Ow.
The only thought coursing through McSweety's mind for the last twenty minutes, having occupied every nerve of his conscious thought, had two letters and brought with it a world of pain.
Ow.
A bit of blood dribbled upwards along his neck and fell off into space, bobbing there for a few seconds. More of it started to dribble from his face.
Ow.
Dizzy from his early morning grogginess, he reached out to nab a washcloth, missed by about half a meter, and ended up spinning in slow, crazy gyrations about the small bathroom. And yet all he could think about was how much pain he was in.
Finally he snared a handhold with his foot and steadied himself. Making three more attempts at the washcloth, he missed the first two only to succeed on the third, snatching the small capsule of ragged fibers from it's orbit about his head. Dabbing it gently on his face, he felt a little bit of sentience creep back into him. Damn Martian razors. The salesmen had said they were just as useful in zero-G as they were planet side. Worthless Martian salesmen. Worthless Martians.
McSweety finally finished up his morning shaving ritual and floated from the bathroom, his face spotted with dozens of small white dots of toilet paper. A short, muscular man in his early thirties, he possessed a sharp wit, twisted sense of humor and a crabby attitude towards other people and life in general. Accompanying his personality, he carried a monstrous beer gut, dark, tasseled black hair, with a matching beard that would put even the legendary pirate Blackbeard to shame. He looked outwards in a permanent scowl, with his eyes sunken deep into his face, peering over a crooked nose at any stranger who had the audacity to try and talk to him in a pleasant manner. At the moment he was clothed in nothing but a pair of plaid boxer shorts.
Bouncing off one of the bulkheads with a metallic ring, he spun in an unpleasant and gut wrenching manner until he could finally grab his seat and slowly settle himself in. A sippy cup full of coffee was floating nearby. Worthless artificial gravity. Worthless spaceship. The damn thing was nearly spare parts when he stole it, and it gave him nothing but trouble ever since then. He should have left it there and stolen the nice luxury ship just a few kilometers away. It didn't
matter that it had dozens of armed vessels surrounding it; all he wanted was a working zero-grav system so he didn't have to drink hot coffee out of a bendy straw. Worthless bendy straws, they never bent quite the right way.
Punching a few buttons on his control panel, a small window popped up on the display. Scrolling through a list of ship systems to make sure nothing exploded during his sleep, he sucked a few drinks out of his sippy cup, when, true to form, the straw bent the wrong way and let hot coffee bubble out of the cup and float around weightlessly in front of his face. He made a mental note not to lean forward for a few minutes and went back to work. The computer had just finished a full system scan, and for a refreshing change of pace, nothing was broken. He scrolled through the equipment list with a half-hearted, disinterested stare while he finished what remained of his coffee. Smacking his lips and chucking the now empty vessel over his shoulder, he listened with sadistic glee as it panged off the same bulkhead that had given him such trouble earlier. He turned back to his display, now more awake, and glanced through the headlines. Most of it was junk; celebrity marriages, politics, various wars of various importance…there was an interesting article on a Scottish Terrier that had survived two weeks in an escape pod by eating the electrical wiring…more junk…stocks…
“Ah-ha!”
McSweety thrust his fist into the air as he let out a joyous cry. There, on the fifteenth page, was a small one-paragraph article detailing his latest escapade;
MAY 13TH –(IFP): A large shipment of precious
minerals was stolen off of a cargo
barge departing from Asteroid mine 093 to
Europa Shipyards. Authorities are still unable
to find any information on the culprit, and if you have
any information that may be of use, please inform the
Europa Police Department immediately.
McSweety gave himself a small pat on the back – the minerals that the article was referring to were sitting in his hold at that very moment, waiting to give him quite a large payoff, as promised to him by his contractor. Safe in the knowledge that he would get to eat and drink for another week, he checked the ETA to the drop-off point and ventured forth into the ship’s lounge.
Within this room were McSweety’s favorite items; a computer terminal, subspace television set, a rapid fire 50 MM hand carried minigun, and the first dollar he ever made – the latter was attained when he was in first grade. One of his classmates had bet him a dollar to slap the teacher’s rear end, and he did so with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. He spent three days in detention for that stunt, but was worth it in the end to hold that crisp token of wealth in his grubby, pudgy six year old hands. From then on, he pledged not only to earn as much money as he could, but also to continue his flat-palmed tirade against all that is fleshy and feminine.
He floated over to the kitchen to fix himself a snack. His cash flow had been running low lately, and he had to make some concessions in less than necessary items – and the results were obvious as soon as he opened the refrigerator door. Despite his best efforts to imagine that he would be greeted with half naked women and a slow-roasted steak, he was nevertheless disappointed to find three shelves chock full of beer, apple juice, and cups of instant ramen noodles. Sighing heavily, he resigned himself to starvation and slammed the door shut. To add insult to injury, the force of the impact was enough to send the refrigerator door popping back open, knocking the poor man in the back of the head. Again, he slammed it, and again it popped open, this time knocking him in the face. Gritting his teeth in anger and frustration, he gently took hold of the door and slowly shut it, making sure the rubber seal made good contact with the metal of the frame. Smiling triumphantly, he turned and pushed himself off of the door, sending himself sailing towards the TV. Behind him the refrigerator popped back open, unnoticed. McSweety, with the grace of one who had spent much time falling down in gym class, caught hold of the top of his comfy chair, jerking himself to a sudden halt. Settling himself into his seat and buckling his custom seat belt, he picked up the remote, turned on the TV, and was soon fast asleep.
He awoke to an irritating beeping sound in his ear. Groggily looking about for the source of his newfound annoyance, he found that it was in fact the warning claxon, alerting him that he was in fact just five minutes away from the drop off point. Unbuckling himself and stuffing the remote in his back pocket, he pushed off towards the door. As he entered the main corridor running the length of the vessel, he was struck by the fact that it was much warmer in the rest of the ship than in the lounge. Without giving it a second thought, he hurried off towards his room to quickly stuff himself into his jean pants, T-shirt, and black work boots. Grabbing his lucky brown leather jacket from its customary spot on the ceiling, he bolted out of the room and hurriedly made his way towards the bridge. No sooner had he settled himself into his chair than a distorted voice crackled over the radio, announcing its presence through the loudspeakers scattered throughout the small vessel.
“Unknown vessel, unknown vessel, this is the
Starkiss, Captain Jimmy Wolfe commanding. Please state your intentions in this area.”
“
Starkiss, this is the
Hangdog, Captain Ralph McSweety commanding. I’m here en route to delivering cargo to a customer.”
“Acknowledged sir, do you have chocolate in your hold at all sir?”
“That’s an affirmative, why?”
“If you are not aware sir, there is currently a chocolate shortage on the Moon, and we’ll have to be requisitioning your parcels for redistribution.”
“Jimmy you ass, I know it was you who thought that crap up.”
Jimmy was a new guy at the mining company, but insisted to everyone that didn’t know him that he had been there for years. He also insisted on making up the code for each delivery.
“Just doin’ my job, Ralph.”
“Doesn’t mean you have to be such a little dick about it.”
“But it’s fun to be a dick, Ralph.”
“So that’s why your mother had so much fun having you.”
“What?”
McSweety chuckled to himself, then cued the radio again.
“So are we going to deal or what?”
“I…guess…”
Jimmy was apparently still trying to figure out whether or not he had just been insulted. The hard thinking was taking a toll on him, and he couldn't process his thoughts at the normal rate of about one per hour.
“Good. I’ll just drop these guys right here after you wire me the money.”
Jimmy decided it was time to give up on comprehending what had just happened. This was important business – if he managed to pull it off, it’d be the first real story in his collection of “memories” with the mining company. Finally, he’d have a story with witnesses. The barflies would love this one.
“No – you give me the cargo first, then I give you the money.”
“Is that so Jim Jim? Well I’d figure someone with such
esteemed knowledge of the inner workings of this business would know that I always take my money
up front.”
“But the boss said-”
“I don’t lie, your bosses do. Pay up.”
Irritated at what was an obvious snipe at his name, and confused as to what to do, Jimmy reluctantly agreed to go along with someone who had more experience in such matters – even though he hated admitting to himself that someone out there was indeed more experienced than him at anything. He sighed and tapped some buttons on his display, confirmed the money transfer.
“Fine…I’m sending you it now.”
McSweety checked his own display – and grinned with satisfaction as his account was a full 10 grand larger than it’s previous number, zero.
“Alright, I have received the money...it looks good. Pleasure doing business with ya, buh-bye now!”
Jimmy panicked – that bastard was about to make off with ten grand worth of cash and cargo, and he was to blame!
“But wait, you sai—!”
McSweety cued the mic and laughed out loud in a wheezing, gasping, choking display of amusement. It took him so long to stifle his hysteria, that by the time he finished Jimmy was tearing in confusion and worry.
“Kid – kid! Don’t worry, I’m—“
He stifled another burst of laughter.
“I’m kidding! Oh God you should’ve heard yourself!”
He burst out laughing again. Jimmy stammered back onto the radio, trying to make himself heard above McSweety’s continuous guffaws.
“But but bu-“
He trailed off, still stammering. McSweety stopped laughing long enough to jettison the crates of stolen minerals from his hold.
“Sayonara Jim-Jim! Play safe now!”
“Bu bu bu…”
McSweety kept the radio on so Jimmy could listen to his laughter. Turning his ship around, he sped off in the other direction, ceasing his laughter only when he had engaged his jump drives and left the area.
Jimmy, meanwhile, took a few minutes to recover. The poor man was nearly swimming in his own sweat – he had nearly lost twenty thousand dollars to a privateer! On top of that, the whole prank had completely messed up his story! What was he to tell the ladies and the guys back at work...!
Then it hit him. What makes them so special that they have to hear the truth, anyway? He had just taken a huge deal of minerals from a seedy privateer, in the outskirts of space. Danger lurked everywhere – why, in fact, he had nearly been blown apart in a fierce battle with the ruffian! Why, the bastard had insisted that before he give him his loot, he must first prove his manliness by fighting him in an epic space battle! A battle where he single handendly disabled the enemy ship without taking a single hit! Yet the privateer was so mighty, he refused to surrender – it was only when he was forced to don a space suit and leap across the gap between their ships, board his vessel, and beat him down in a one on one fistfight, did the black bearded monstrosity finally relinquish his cargo!
Jimmy had become so enraptured in his own dreams of success that he promptly forgot all about what he was doing, and nearly put a three by five hole through the cargo with one of the docking arms. Luckily, he recovered just in time, and concentrated on much less violent, more sensual dreams of all the ladies he would pick up with his latest adventure tale.
Meanwhile, about fifty thousand kilometers away, McSweety was just getting over his fit of hysteria. Wiping away tears, he unbuckled himself and floated aft, to resume his slumber in the lounge while he waited to arrive at his new destination. Unfortunately, by this time the lounge was now covered with an inch of snow, curtosy of the now frozen-open S&R Industrial Refrigerator, which was spewing out cold air so fast that snowflakes were forming as soon as they hit the air circulating through the vents. Sighing and shaking his head, McSweety decided to save this problem for another day. Shutting the door behind him, he was forced to pass the next two hours flipping through old pornography magazines as he floated about aimlessly in the ship's central corridor. As such, when he finally arrived at
Rumbling Randy's Rest & Relaxation Station, it was with no small amount of enthusiasm that he disembarked his cramped vessel and returned to civilization – civilization full of gambling, prostitution, and best of all – artificial gravity. Kissing a thankful, if temporary, goodbye to his sippy cups, he stepped out onto the station launch pad, promptly falling flat on his face. Having spent almost a month in zero gravity, McSweety had made the embarrassing and incredibly funny mistake of forgetting to acclimate to his new environment.
He, of course, was thinking of none of this. What McSweety was thinking of at that very moment was lifting his face off of the floor – no small feat when your muscles are so atrophied that lifting a beer can becomes a problem. After several loud and wheezy grunts and groans, he contented himself with simply rolling himself over on his back. For the next twenty minutes, there he lay in the docking tube. Luckily enough for him, the tube's airlock doors were closed, so passersby could not see him. Nevertheless, the security camera operators had quite a laugh at his expense.
Finally, he was able to end his embarrassment and crawl to his feet. Stumbling to the airlock door and pulling the release lever, he panted with impatience as the door slowly swung itself upwards on it's pneumatic hinges. Lurching forward like an epileptic zombie, he made a beeline for the first bar he could find – any place that he could sit and consume some liquid strength. Staggering through the door with what felt like a thousand pounds on his shoulders, he collapsed onto a bar stool. No sooner did he relax than did he face plant once more, this time landing his nose right on the edge of the table. The denizens of the bar, already confused and transfixed by his erratic behavior, burst out laughing. Rather than face their jovial faces, McSweety ordered his liquor face down. The bartender, trying mightily to stifle a great guffaw, hurriedly obliged, then hurried off to another customer before he broke down completely. McSweety took the drink in one hand, brought it to his lips...and promptly realized that he could not drink it without lifting his head up. Rather than face the cheerful wrath of his bar mates, McSweety left out a heavy sigh and plopped his hands, palms down on the table.
“Bartender.”
The bartender heard him, but was still trying to bite his tounge. McSweety repeated himself, louder now.
“Bartender!”
The bartender shuffled over and stood in front of his fallen customer.
“Ye--”
He stiffled a chortle. Breathing deeply, he momentarily calmed himself.
“Yes sir?”
McSweety sighed, then prepared to speak. The words were poison in his mouth – he curled up a little and died inside as he said them.
“I need...”
He stopped. He
could just lift his head up instead – he tried, only to thump back onto the counter. Now he couldn't do it even if he
wanted to. The bartender nearly burst his gut trying to hold himself together. McSweety paused, breathed, then spat it out.
“I need a bendy straw...please...”
The bartender was dying. He practically ran to the other end of the counter, grabbed the straw, stuck it between McSweety's fingers, then dashed off into the back room, shutting the door behind him. McSweety could faintly hear his laughter from where he was sitting. Worthless space station gravity. Worthless space station bartenders. Sticking the bendy straw into his drink, he bent it a little to get at it better, and took a sip. A loud crackling slurp met him, and upon closer inspection, he found that the bendy straw was broken, and leaking most of what he was drinking back into the cup. Worthless space station bendy straws.
Meanwhile, some eighty million miles away, Jimmy was in a decidedly less awkward situation. Flanked on either side by three gorgeous women and one man pretending to be a gorgeous woman, the twenty-four year old's body was a quiver with his own raging hormones. He had just finished retelling his story of how he had captured a load of cargo from one – no,
three swashbuckling privateers, beating each one of them down in successive fistfights – in outer space, on the
hull plating of his own spaceship! The women and one man present were all agasp at his manliness, his bravery, but most of all, his sharp, manly chin, with it's fuzzy and infinitely appealing five o clock shadow. They cried, they screamed, the wept in amazement at his cunning and bravery.
