#have a lil sketchy scene snippet

[flusteredfools]

Chapter 5: More than a ‘Happy Ending’

Summary:

When you had hoped to be as close to Sir Sun as before by the evening, this wasn’t exactly what you had meant. You’re sitting, though embarrassed squirming is more accurate, on the edge of your bed while staring in slight disbelief at your loving guards. The celestial duo stands next to a well stocked cart, full of almost anything and everything you’d need to entertain yourself for the night. While you had also hoped Sir Moon would prepare some things for you so you wouldn’t have to ask, this also wasn’t what you had meant. 

[minc3meat-blog]

I said I’d post some of my writing so here’s a little snippet:

Voyager

“There is only an infinitesimal chance that the plaque will ever be seen by a single extraterrestrial, but it will certainly be seen by billions of terrestrials. Its real function, therefore, is to appeal to and expand the human spirit, and to make contact with extraterrestrial intelligence a welcome expectation of mankind.”       B.M. Oliver

1: “Conception”

                                “Like a ghost, my reflection on the cabin window smirks back at me. Were it not for the thick-heeled work boots laced up to underneath my knees, I probably wouldn’t be able to see out the window at all. My overalls and shirt, unbuttoned just enough to display a hydraulic oil stained tee, hang off my skin like Navy banners.  My unmanageably curly red hair, coated in a sheen of the natural dust from the ship, droops over my eyes and ears in similar fashion. Radiation tans on my arms and legs from too much time in the cockpit on my otherwise fair skin clash against the freckles on my cheeks. Not the vision of a ship captain most would imagine, but a ship captain nevertheless. Staring from the rear deck of my ship, a dozen dark shapes drifting away from the workcrew hold, I can’t help but to take in the scene. Against an endless pool of black, the dark blobs are dwarfed by the rubble and debris of the asteroid field. Skeleton wrecks and decrepit hulls of vessels from times and wars gone by. Corroded reminders of a past long forgotten. Monuments of heroes and men, lives saved and lost. Cables and tubing, unaware of the emotional ties they grip, ensnare and squeeze steel and cargo alike. Looming over the hulking wrecks are the watchful eyes of Dastrov’s four moons. Gaseous and dark, casting a looming shadow of poison and radiation over the asteroid field. Demigods of this corner of the universe, they exploit their power to hold the floating graveyard in place, trapped in a gravitational purgatory for all of eternity. A stranger in this sacred space, a lone ship slowly makes its way through a passable corridor through the catacombs of metal. With a large hull and tiny forward cockpit, it looked more like a giant beetle than a scavenging ship. Hazard lights on all sections of it flash intermittently, illuminating its way through the corroded tunnels of junk. It putters and shakes as it goes, feeling the need to announce its age and mechanical issues.  Twelve rusted, robotic insects zip in and out of the wrecks, only stopping to drop their finds into the cargo hold of the ship.  Like flies, they bounce from corpse to corpse, their host leading the way through the field of the dead.

“Like a ghost, my reflection on the cabin window smirks back at me?” my copilot giggled, which sounded more like someone choking on metal scrap. “Thas’ a bit overdramatic dontcha’ think?” Renna, my copilot, leaned over the nav console. Her tall, built frame and grey skin made her look like a formation of boulders in a forest of cables and tubing of our ships cockpit. Her jet black hair, tied in a single ropelike braid and draped between to grey horns, reached all the way down to the back of her ankles. Her eyes were almost as dark as her hair, with the exception of the dim glow of retina implants. From eyebrow to chin: piercings. One arm, studded with patches of unfinished sleeve tattoos, glowed fluorescent in the ambient lighting emitting from the flight computers. The other, a mechanical prosthetic, whirred and twitched as it gripped an empty drink glass. She’d almost pass as human, if not for half her body being machine parts. “I’m sorry,” I spun on my heel to face her, closing the voice dictation window on my arm computer. “How many autobiographies for an Old World civilization have you written?” She swirled the watered down ice in the bottom of her now-empty drink glass. “You really think we’re gonna’ find this thing, dontcha’?” “I mean, we wanted to get paid, right?” She tapped her drink onto the holographic screen, making the pixels sputter and dance. The sweat beads from the side of the glass glistened like diamonds against the readout. “Well, duh,” she snorted. “But like, you... Want to find this rusty ‘ol probe. Want-want.” I did want-want to find it. The contract source was sketchy but the payout was huge, regardless of whether or not we found the Old World probe intact.. Or if at all. It’d been spotted orbiting around GB-44 for a few decades, before suddenly sputtering off to Serpens Arcturus, which was what alarmed the Navy… because ancient propulsion-less probes don’t usually sputter off at all. Of course, rather than sending their expensive autonomous patrols to track the unknown, the Navy contracted the mission to lower-tier organic pilots. Whatever the probe was, it had spooked the most powerful fleet in the Imperium. What intrigued me about chasing a metallic ghost from the past wasn’t the bounty (entirely), but the chance to send a message: two giant middle fingers to the Navy Federation and entwined Corporation dealings. A warning to people of Old about the nightmare that they would unknowingly incubate, and possibly saving them from themselves before they could dig their grave too deep. But whatever the true reason, it was a good chance to shake things up. The week to week grind of automaton wreck salvaging had gotten less cost effective, not to mention monotonous. “Primary tethers offline. Machine error recorded.” a computerized voice chimed. “Fock it,” Renna cursed, scrambling to the salvage controls. “It’s that busted relay coil again, ‘innit!?” “Yes, Renna. It is that busted relay coil again. May I remind you… AGAIN… to service said part as soon as possible.” “Aw, yes mum. I’ll get right on it, mum.” Renna smirked, glaring at the ceiling. “Mum, can we have the talk about the birds n’ the bees?” “Which species intercourse behaviors would you like to discuss?” Renna spat out the piece of ice she had been chewing loudly on. “I was joking you filthy, ceiling lady voice!” she turned to me. “That AI’s got quite the mouth, dontcha’ think?” “Can you fix the coil, or is this a spoiled run?” I asked, ignoring her childish banter with an inanimate machine. Renna shook her head. “Shit if I know, isn’t that why you got a flight mechanic?” We did have a flight mechanic.. Or at least I think we had a flight mechanic. His name was Diz, and I’d never actually seen him. Renna had hired him some time ago, and to be completely honest, I don’t think she’s ever paid him. On occasion, I’d hear a soft sigh or clamoring in the vents. Sometimes I’d even see his little antennae pop up from behind a console, or in between pistons.. I think he lives and feeds off the ship, like a parasite. As unnerving as it sounded, Diz did good work… except for now, of course. “No fix!” a soft voiced hissed from behind the salvage computer panels. “Diz, you lil’ cunt, fix the damned coil!” “No fixxxxx!” Diz hissed again, as shuffling sounds moved across the back of the command console. “No fix, no go.” If I leaned forward just a bit, I probably could’ve caught a glimpse of our illusive mechanic. At this point, I almost didn’t want to ruin the mystery, so I remained still as I called out to him. “Where don’t you wanna go?” “He doesn’t want to go probe chasing,” Renna interrupted. “He’s the only one who hates change more than you do.” I shrugged. She wasn’t wrong. “I’m not forcing you to come with us, but you do need to fix that coil for the job we’re on now.” Diz grumbled softly in agreement from behind the entanglement of cables and servers, than shuffled back over to behind the salvage console. With a loud clang, he was into the ventilation system and off to fix the coil. “What’s got him all uptight? I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard him talk.” “Somethin’s got him shook about this ‘ol probe thing. Weird, ‘innit? I’ve never seen ‘em get spooked ‘fore…” Renna replied, rapping her long fingernails against the idle salvage controlpad. “This ‘ol things even got me a bit frazzled, but I’m excited too, ya’ know?” “You’re actually excited about this?” I questioned. “I mean, it wouldn’t have been my first choice of a job. The Navy’s just usin’ us as cannon fodder to chase after some rusty piece of junk they’re scared of. Which is actually pretty typical… ‘s just the way they went about it. And the amount of coin they’re offerin’..” “It is pretty sketchy, I’ll admit. But Navy contracts never usually put us in any more danger than we’re used to, so I’m sure we’ll be fine.” “Well that’s a glimmerin’ endorsement...” “The Navy’s never fucked us over… directly…” I muttered, exhuming anxieties about the contract I thought I had buried alive a few hours earlier. “Oh boy.” Renna laughed. “C’mon, it’ll be fun!” she cheered, pouring another glass of whatever sludge she considered liquor. “The last organic crew in the system, escapin’ the mundane, on an adventure to discover to find some creepy probe and make payday!” I smiled, albeit warily. I knew what they’d write on our headstones.