“God damn it Sasquatch, we are not picking up hitchhikers, how many times do I have to go through this with you?”
  “But sir,” Sasquatch replies, “what if they’re running low on supplies? There’s a good chance we might be the last ship they see in weeks – the Ultorian Bypass isn’t exactly a trade route. We’re on the outer rim and-“
  “My ship, my rules.”
  “Sas has a point, captain,” Lianna adds, butting in once more where she has no business. God damn this crew. “judging by the size of the ship we’re looking at a ten man salvage team, real skeleton, with supplies enough for four months, five tops. Factor in human nature divided by the relay count of the beacon and you have cannibalism in seven, maybe eight more days.”
  I squeeze the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. Why couldn’t I have just picked up a couple of real, shoulder-to-the-wheel slaves from Primera when I bought the ship. But no. I had romantic ideas of camaraderie and adventure and a crew that would follow me into the gaping maw of the Hellonian Cluster itself, if I ordered it.
  “Fine,” I say, hoping this would appease the incoming headache, “fine, just- they’re your responsibility Sas, and I don’t want any massive detours to set them down. And whatever they eat or break is coming out of your cube when we cash in the cargo.”
  Sasquatch isn’t paying attention, the twerp. He’s grinning at Li who’s grinning back. God damn this crew. When we pick up the hitchhikers, they’ll be grinning too. It’ll a god damn grin fest. We take in some space-trash and everyone is happy. What is the galaxy coming to?  God damn it.


~ by Joseph Blame on August 16, 2010.

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