by Rick Dearman
Moon Trek
The Misadventures of Alexis Calderon-Bigglesworth III
By Rick Dearman
Copyright 2011 Rick Dearman
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I stepped slowly out of the auto cab with my arms full. The doorman at the Luna Savoy looked at me oddly as I approached the door; I suspect he caught a whiff of the vomit on my shirt.
I ignored him with disdain, if it is possible to both disdain someone and ignore them at the same time. Regardless I attempted it. It is difficult enough to carry packages out away from my corpulent frame without engaging in a bit of aggro with the doorman. He performed his primary function, which is to say he opened the door also with some disdain I noted from behind the tower of parcels I held.
A woman in a lovely green micro-skirt with matching breast paint and large silver nipple rings chained together with two silver chains charged out of the door directly into me. This I thought showed an appalling lack of manners.
I back-pedalled while unsuccessfully trying to keep my balance. I rotated anti-clockwise in the low lunar gravity; it was dreadfully slow-motion you know; just like one of those old space station docking procedures.
I collided with someone behind me and I felt my feet depart the ground as my entire body began to rotate. I went arse over tit and my kilt fell up toward my chest and “hey ho presto” there was my equipment on display to the world.
Still turning in that dreadful slow motion; I could see a tall dark haired man falling down on his back, his head cracking on the pavement just a few seconds before I landed with my face on his chest and my stomach cutting off his oxygen.
My elbows cracked down on the pavement and my packages were scattered to the four winds, if there were winds on Luna Station, which there isn’t, but you get the point, one supposes.
“Bugger,” I said rolling over to stand up. I felt a warm wet patch oozing on my thigh and looking down I saw a brown stain of what appeared to be excrement.
The poor dark haired chappy had the back of his head covered in this brown rather beastly stuff. I looked away quickly from him. I had caught sight of some vomit recently domiciled on my shirt now decorating his cheek.
“Meaay I heap Siar to his rim?” the doorman looking down at me and tilting his head slightly. I took this grotesque hackery of the language to indicate he wished to help me to my room.
“Sir would like that very much.” I replied sarcastically. When one spends long hours on an over-booked flight full of dreadful peasants there is a tendency toward sullenness. Don't misunderstand me, I had strived to paid for first class accommodation but it had not been forthcoming. It had simply not been available.
“Simon!” the doorman shouted out at the dark-haired chappy as the he stood groggily to his feet. “Get down into the staff lounge; you’re not supposed to use this door.”
I rolled my eyes at the doorman. Now knowing the dark-haired chappy was just staff, and with an extraordinarily common name like Simon moreover, I proceeded into the building whilst musing on my dreadful travel experiences. The green breasted woman having disappeared ages ago.
Yesterday having the requirement to board a space liner with some urgency, I had accepted the passage with the peasants on a space-liner. I would be travelling to a homestead which mon père had purchased for me twenty odd years previous. A homestead which was not, I hasten to add, within the jurisdiction of the Terra World Government or the constabulary thereof.
The space plane I travelled on had a faulty anti-gravity compensator unit. I spent the entire flight alternatively being pressed into the seat or against the restraints.
Gravity on, gravity off, gravity on, gravity off. The entire journey was frightfully tedious, but had started promisingly enough when across from me a young nubile woman was seated.
I say nubile in the original sense of the word in that she was female and of an age legal for marriage. She had two heads which lead me to deduce she was one offspring of an early mutant from the first Loonie colony. But far be it from me to have prejudices of that nature.
Unfortunately both heads were connected to the same weak stomach. I sat watching her while sipping on a ghastly wine, a ‘Cabernet Sauvignon’ if I wasn’t deceived, whilst one head then the other would heave and gasp and swallow down spew. For an hour I watched the two heads bobbing up and down as the gravity went on and off.
Just as I heard the announcement for docking; BLAAAAAA! BLAAAAAA! In a duo crescendo of vomit and spittle a cloud of warm sick launched toward me. Believing I was in luck as the gravity had turned off seconds before I laughed. The gravity unit kicked in. It landed on me. Some entering my open mouth.
I shook my head at the revolting memory and concentrated on the doorman in order to distract myself. I rattled up behind him as the smell of dried vomit and moon-dog shit made heads turn in the lobby. The dark haired chappy, Simon, walked in behind and turning into the door labelled “staff only”. He gave me a rather horrid look which I pointedly ignored.
I signed for my room using my full name, Alexis Calderon-Bigglesworth III, as someone appeared with my packages. He guided me from reception to my room, as swiftly as he dare prod a guest. It would seem that paunchy grey men with ‘la costume a plongé’ in dog shite and vomit were not the sort of people who frequent the Savoy.
After a steamer shower, I threw the clothes into the re-cycler machine, and waited patiently until it had turned the plastic, cloth, vomit, and dog shit into a lovely new toga. I threw in a couple of the souvenir packages to make a clutch-bag as an accoutrement.
I wandered down to the dinning room, and took a seat next to the pool. Yawning a little I pulled out my travelling documents and re-read the information for the homestead.
A waiter came to the table and stood to take my order. I put the documents into a folder, and looked up. I could feel my eyes bulge with surprise as he scowled. It was the tall dark haired chappy from earlier. I struggled to remember the peasant’s name.
“Ah. Err. Yes. Hymin isn’t it?” I said and gave him a beaming smile. He was a tall fellow with a ram rod straight posture and the sort of muscular look that told you he wasn't a low gravity planet native.
“Simon,” he said with a grimace.
“Going to the colonies?” said a rough voice loudly in my other ear.
“Eek!” I screamed and leapt upward. My elbow jolted as it connected with the Simon’s groin and then both Simon and my documents flew into the pool.
The faulty machinery of the working classes had betrayed me. The stupid toga that the cheap recycling machine made was faulty. The pin became disengaged. The cloth fell down off my shoulder and the whole thing slipped off me.
Heedless of the toga I scrambled to get the documents out of the water. The liquid crystal paper wasn't water proof.
Simon was climbing over the side of the pool, holding his groin and cursing in some foreign tongue. I could hear screaming in the background and wondered what else was amiss but didn’t turn until I got all the paper out of the water.
The room was completely silent. Men were holding their hands over the eyes of children and women stared in shock. The man who had spoken in my ear was chuckling and looking at my groin.
“Ahhh… Sorry. I beg your pardon.” I said loudly to the room as I grabbed for the toga and sat down.
“That was quite a show.” The rough voiced man said as he moved into a chair opposite me. “You are lucky there aren’t any
Loonies in here. Religious fanatics you know.”
I closed my eyes and sighed. I opened my eyes and began wiping the papers with the tail of my toga. I pondered the inadequacies of the modern luxury hotel. It was ridiculous the faulty re-cycler machines, faulty clasps and the inept waiters inside an expensive hotel like the modern Luna Savoy. Considering the cost you would have thought they could afford better.
“Yea know, I figure I might be your pilot.” The man said with a vague lisping accent and for the first time I looked up and directly into his face. The face was worn with a slight tilt and I pointed at his cheek.
He moved his face around more comfortably on his head and continued to speak as he adjusted the straps over the scaled green muzzle.
“Ye must be on the next liner.” he became lost in some strange melancholy. “It will take four days to reach a sufficient distance from the solar plane to engage the space fold engines.” He said tapping the table for emphasis. “But once I hit the big red button we’ll be transported to the Alpha Betro system within a nanosecond. Then it will be another four days travel into the solar plane of Alpha Betro.”
“You are a liner pilot?” I asked not bothering to keep the disbelief from my voice. “I thought they were fish people or something?”
He ignored the question and picked up one of the soggy LCD papers. “Wow a thousand hectares, you already staked em?” he tapped on the paper. “You might want to head straight for the equator, nice land around there.”
“Thanks, I have taken advice already.” I said frowning. Looking away from him and around the room I tried to re-clasp the toga. Some people were still staring and I thought I would sit with the intolerable man a little longer.
“You’ll want to get one of the Symga III girls if you are going for a mail order bride.” He picked up a brochure for space brides between finger and thumb as it dripped on the table. “They like fat people.”
“Gackk!” I couldn’t help but to gag as the man openly insulted me.
“And you’ll want some surgery on that little fish you got.” He said pointing to my chair.
“What!” I shouted. Once more people turned to look in my direction.
“Good day to you sir!” I said with a haughty voice as I could possibly manage. I stood grabbing my dripping documents and with my nose in the air I swept away from him majestically.
This it turned out was a mistake; the cheap toga slipped off me again and trapped my foot and I spilled arse over tit into the pool. I stood up slowly and silently with water rolling off me. With more dignity than the Queen of Ceti Alpha III, I made my way to the lobby holding on to the toga clasp with white knuckles.
