by Erick Drake
5 Walkage
Jones gave an annoyed grunt and shouted, "Sod off!" at the door.
Having showered off and burnt the sewage-covered diving suit, he had made his way to his cabin only to find that the shuttle bay had misplaced his luggage. Steve had rustled up a mishmash of clothing for him to wear while they hunted for his belongings - a pair of boots, camouflage trousers and a black T-shirt bearing the image of a cartoon zebra wearing a big cheesy grin and a mane that resembled the long hair of a messiah-like prophet, emblazoned with the slogan 'Cheer yourself up, punch a Zebra in the face'. Odd, although apt considering the circumstances, he thought.
And now, after a decidedly unpleasant start to his new commission, he finally got to sit with his thoughts and a can of his favourite beverage, Big Papa's Big Papa Golden Secretions (golden secretions being the premium product of the secretions brand - he made a mental note to ask Steve for the name of his supplier).
The door chime sounded again.
"Sod off!" he shouted at it again.
The door opened. "Oh bloody hell, what now, go away, I'm not on duty, I'm dead, sod off whoever you -" his voice froze as he stood to face his persecutor.
The door slid shut behind Daisy. Or rather, it slowly squealed shut in an angry mechanical protest. She tried to ignore its protracted screams.
"Oh," said Jones, "It's you."
She smiled. "Hello -" the door, which had not fully closed, gave another squeal as it juddered across the last two inches and finally came to a rest against the frame. Daisy pursed her lips. She paused for a moment and then tried again. "Hello Michigan, it's been a long -" she stopped suddenly, her eyes wide with horror. "Jeebuzz, where are your legs!" she screamed.
Jones looked down. "Oh, yeah, right." He slapped his right thigh and the camouflage trousers switched off revealing their un-camouflaged state as a pair of beige slacks. They were ex-military kit. Ex because although battle hardened, tough soldiers liked the idea of clothing that could render them invisible to the enemy, they baulked at the thigh-slapping mechanism for switching them on and off, which had the unfortunate effect of making the whole troop look like they were extras in a blood drenched pantomime. This, they considered, was something of a mood killer. Not that they objected to the killing part, it's just that they worked really hard to create the right atmosphere while on killing sprees and this thigh-slapping nonsense was just not on.
He and Daisy regarded each other in an awkward silence.
"So," he said.
"So," she said.
"You're looking well . . . Captain" he said.
"As are you, XO," she said.
Another silence.
"So," she said.
"So," he said.
"Here we are," she said.
Jones shook himself, "What am I thinking, come in Daisy, make yourself comfortable, would you like a drink?" he waggled the can, "I'm sure I can find a glass or a cup or a shoe . . ."
"Still drinking the Big Papa, eh? I'll pass thank you." Daisy moved further into the room. "Interesting T-shirt."
"What this? Oh, yeah shuttle bay seems to have lost my bags, so Steve found me some stuff."
"Punch a Zebra. Reminds me of when we first met."
"Ah yes," said Jones, "In the zebra enclosure of the zoo on Apoplexia Three. I was drunk and shouting abuse at the zebras: 'What's with the stripes? Make up your bloody mind!' and all that . . ."
"And I arrived and thought 'oh, he's a keeper'."
"I never knew that – one glance at me and you thought I had boyfriend potential?"
"No, I meant the man who was wrestling you to the floor - he was a zookeeper."
"Right. Yes, of course. Well, I was too technically, no, actually, it was my first day on the job. And last as it turned out. God, I fucking hate zebras. Equine barcodes. Pretentious bastards."
The awkward silence returned to check in and see if the situation had improved any. It decided that it had not and went away again.
'Do you remember what I taught you, SoulKin?' Daisy thought at Jones dreamily, 'Can you still sense my thoughts?'
Jones's eyes narrowed. "What?" he demanded. "Why are you staring at me? Stop it, your eyes have gone all glassy and weird you strange bitch. I need the toilet."
Daisy's shoulders dropped slightly. She was sure that would work on someone someday. "Right, no, anyway, the mission -" she began to say but she stopped suddenly.
'Of course he can't hear you, neither of you are telepathic,' said a voice in Daisy's head.
'Wait, what? Who is this?' Daisy thought back at it.
'Oh shit she heard us!' there was a strange receding, scuttling noise that wasn't a noise and then the voice in her head was gone. Daisy got the distinct impression of beetles. She shook herself. Whatever.
"We should talk about the mission."
"Yes. The mission," said Jones.
Daisy opened her mouth to continue. Jones raised his hand. "Wait, Daisy. Before the, the mission and the stuff and all that, don't you think we should address the elephant in the room?"
Daisy smiled uncertainly. "Yes, yes I suppose so."
Jones turned away, "Errol, would you mind?" he said to the elephant sitting in the corner of the room eating buns.
Errol, a crewman from a humanoid Elephantidae species, paused his munching. "Oh, right. OK. Can I take the buns?"
"Yeah, yeah," Jones waved a dismissive hand, "Thanks for the help with the furniture and stuff."
"Oh, no problem," said Errol. "Lovely buns."
Errol nodded briefly to them both and, still munching, left the cabin.
"OK so, the mission and the stuff?" said Jones once they were alone and the door had screamed itself shut again.
Daisy recounted the details of the mission; the Yerbootsian Ambassador posing as Science Officer, the transport of sewage, the rendezvous with the LASS Square Jaw, the vague interest of the Ululations.
Jones sat in silence for a moment. "Blimey," he said eventually. "Well, good luck with that and everything," he said, standing abruptly, "This was a nice chat, but I have packing to do and shuttles to be on."
"Wait, what, you've only just arrived!"
"I didn't sign up for missions of daring doo-doo and square jaws and, what was the phrase you used, oh yeah, 'violent death'. I resign."
"Jones, I need you!"
"No, you don't you're a Captain now. Get Steve or one of the Blokes or a vending machine to be XO, you'll be fine!"
"I won't."
"Yes, you will. This is what you and your lunatic dad always wanted wasn't it? To boldly go and violently die? Not my cup of Big Papa Secretions, not by a long shot. You wanted to do things, well this is a thing and you're doing it, you're Captain."
"I'm not."
Jones began moving around grabbing things seemingly at random. "Where's my spleen, I'm sure I left it somewhere. Under a cushion maybe -" the frenetic motion suddenly stopped. He gave Daisy a flat look. "Not. What?"
For a moment, Daisy's hands wrestled with each other. She took a deep breath and forced her hands to her sides.
"I'm not a Captain. Not really.
Jones's lips pursed. "Eph-hain" he said.
"What?"
Jones un-pursed his lips. "Explain," he repeated.
"I, uh," Daisy's hands were wrestling again. She looked around the room. She mumbled something.
"What?"
She mumbled again.
"Daisy you're going to have to speak in frequencies other than the ones that only dogs can hear. What did you say?"
She met his eyes. "I said I cheated the exam!" she shouted.
Jones's jaw dropped. Then he laughed. "Oh no. No, no, no, no, no."
"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Jones, I had to pass, I failed it seventeen times before! Other parents drop subtle hints about how lovely it would be to have grandchildren but no, all my dad wants is a fleet of spaceships and his only child sitting in the Captain's chair on the flag-ship. I had to do something!"
"See, I
told you, didn't I? What did I tell you?"
"Smelling your own farts is morally acceptable, smelling someone else's is sick."
"No, the other thing, I said the other thing. Ambition is natural selection's way of weeding out assholes and risk takers from the gene pool."
"It'll be fine, we'll get through."
"Quote 'If certain factions discover we have a Yerbootsian Ambassador aboard they will immediately brutally murder the Ambassador and anyone who comes into contact with him'. Unquote."
Daisy waved her hand dismissively. "I was exaggerating."
"Yes, you've done a lot of that recently, haven't you Daisy? Like when you said you'd passed the Captain's exam."
"Talking of which, XO, since this is a mission briefing it's not Daisy, it's Captain. And I refuse your resignation."
"That's the point though isn't it, it's not 'Captain' it's 'exam cheat'. Wait," Jones thrust his finger at Daisy, "How did you cheat the exam? You can't cheat the exam, it goes on for days, there are simulations and brain scans and people poking you with bugger sticks and everything."
"I . . .“
"Yeeees?"
"I bought a temporary mind patch from the Dark Market. I bought the persona of Captain Weaver."
"Captain Ripley Weaver?" breathed Jones incredulously. Captain Ripley Weaver, Earth's first starship pilot who, due to an unfortunate encounter with a murderous extraterrestrial endoparasitoid xenomorph early in her career, developed an irrational hatred of anything not human and went on an insane killing spree across the Galaxy.
Daisy nodded reluctantly, "I came top of the class in Mission Management with a distinction in Xenophobia."
"Seriously? Daisy I have no need to tell you how incredibly dangerous that is."
"No, you don't."
"Daisy that's incredibly dangerous."
"I know. You don't need to tell me."
"You are aware of how incredibly dangerous mind patches are?"
"Yes," repeated Daisy through gritted teeth, "you have no need to tell me how incredibly dangerous they are."
Jones thought for a moment. "They're incredibly dangerous."
"I was desperate, I had to do something. Besides I'm pretty sure I know it all, it's just I'm rubbish at exams. And anyway, I'm still sane."
"Says the woman who cheated her Captain exams with incredibly dangerous technology and accepted an incredibly dangerous mission involving competing factions of bloodthirsty Galactic zealots." Jones slumped down into a chair. "Wow," he said. He felt numb.
She had used a mind patch? From the Dark Market? Not only were such things dangerous but they were also ethically dubious – not to mention illegal. Decades ago, it had been expensively fashionable to digitally upload the minds of the great and the good to advanced computers. Anyone able to afford the extortionate prices could use a mind patch to download their choice of celebrity dead person directly to their own brain. The practice had soon fallen from favour due to technical difficulties, the main technical difficulty being that mind patches had a nasty habit of turning their users totally insane. The developers had known about this, of course, but as they were early adopters of the product, they were insane enough to bring it to market. Mind patches were quickly outlawed and the suppliers shut down. But copies of the digital personas became available for cheap on the Dark Market along with DIY versions of the Neural Upload technology. Anyone caught with a Neural Upload device faced a long prison sentence and a hefty fine. Jones frowned. Or was it a hefty prison sentence and a long fine?
"Look forget about the mind patch. Jones . . . Michigan," Daisy sat in the chair opposite him. "I know I said some horrible things in that letter. It was wrong and cowardly, but I've grown a lot as a person since then and I would never do such a thing again. You have every reason to hate me but . . . Michigan, I need you."
"Letter? What letter? How dare you say horrible things to me in that letter. How could you be so callous and cruel? Where is it, I want to read it so I can be offended and . . . righteously indignated!"
"Well, I don't have it, I left it with you. On the kitchen table. That morning . . . when I left you."
Jones always had trouble following what Daisy was saying but this conversation was a doozy. It was one of things he had mentioned in that letter he wrote to her that morning when he walked out . . . wait.
"Daisy, when you left that letter on the kitchen table, did you . . . did you by any chance notice another letter?"
"What?" she frowned, "Well now you come to mention it . . . yes, yes I think there was one. I was in such a hurry to leave I didn't take much notice and . . . Jones?"
It was Jones's turn to look around the room.
"Jones, what was in the other letter?"
"Well, you started it, you wrote a horrible letter to me and ended our relationship, so I did it first."
"WHAT?" Daisy stood, her fists balled at her sides, "Are you telling me you walked out on me!"
"Yes, yes, I walked out on you!" Jones stood to face her.
"Oh no you didn't Michigan Jones, because I walked out on you! Don't you go trying to claim walkage! I'm the walker, you are the walkee!"
"Rubbish, my letter was there first! Oh yes, you don't like it that your walkee walked before he became a walkee and so proved himself a walker!"
"Yes Jones, there we can agree because you, sir, are a MASSIVE walker!"
"Well, you seem to have made your position quite clear. I think I should leave now."
"This is your cabin."
"I think I should stay now."
The conversation thus brutally murdered, they just stood and glared at each other. The tannoy thankfully broke the glare off. "Captain to the bridge. We are clear to leave space station orbit."
"That means we can leave. In case you didn't get that, what with not really being a Captain and all."
"I know what it means Jones. And once we've completed this mission you can leave as soon as you like."
"Really? I'm not sure I understood that. Why don't you write it down in a letter for me?"
"Bridge. Now." Daisy turned and stomped toward the door.
Jones followed. Their stomping was interrupted for several moments while the door went through its tortuous ritual of squealing slowly open, during which time they stood silently clenching and unclenching their jaws and glaring at it.
Finally, the door was open.
Daisy stomped off left.
Jones stomped off right.
"The bridge is this way - Captain." shouted Jones.
Daisy did a prompt about face and stomped after him, wishing she was stomping his stupid face instead.
* * *
On the bridge Steve Power sat at the navigation console and double checked the coordinates Tongue had given him. "I still think this makes our ETA at Yerboots too early. It's almost like you expect to have a quick stop off along the way, ha ha."
Tongue gave a strangled laugh, wondered if his old friend knew more than he was letting on, considered killing him, then decided that he really couldn't know anything about their rendezvous with the LASS Square Jaw and was just good at his job.
"No, Steve, to be honest," Tongue leant in close to him, "I'd like to take a look at an interesting binary star system with a planet in stable eccentric orbit that's on our way. I'm going to ask the Captain but if she says no, I'll point out that it won't make us late and we'll have plenty of time." Tongue winked conspiratorially at Steve, who nodded and returned a sly smile.
Tongue straightened. "Although, speaking of being late, shouldn't the Captain be here by now?"
"Yes, sorry about that," said Daisy, stomping onto the bridge, "Our XO doesn't know his way around quite as well as he pretends."
Jones followed Daisy onto the bridge. "On my last ship the bridge was where I expected it to be. Alright, so apparently on this ship, that's where the galley is. Ridiculous. Who puts a galley there? That's where bridges should go."
"Second Officer, what's our status?" Daisy asked St
eve as she settled into the Captain's chair.
"What? Oh, well, I'm . . . here, and you're there and -"
"Ships status Mr Power, stat!"
"What?"
"Mr Power, when I say stat, I mean Stat!"
Steve looked confused, on the verge of panic. He pointed at his coffee mug. "You mean stiss?"
"Stat!"
"Stat's my coffee mug!"
Jones took up position at his station, slightly behind and to the left of the Captain's chair. The command positions made a slight 'V' shape, rather like that of migrating geese. The command posts were XO, Captain and Mission Ops. The Mission Operation station was not always occupied as regular operations could be managed by the XO. Jones made a mental note to ensure the Mission Ops station was always occupied. "Steve, she means she wants it now, as in straight away."
"Oh," said Steve, looking even more confused. He picked up his coffee mug and, holding it before him like a supplicant, walked it over to the Captain.
"Not," called Jones, "the mug. She wants to know the current situation with respect to the ship and the stuff and all the bollocks that's going on."
Steve's head twitched between Jones and Daisy. Daisy massaged the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger.
"Right," said Steve, looking relieved. He loved that coffee mug. He returned to his station.
"Beg pardon," said Mic Vol from the comms station, "but would that information not normally come from the Mission Operations station? Or the XO in the event the Ops station is vacant?"
"Yes," said Jones causally as his hands worked to reconfigure his display console to a format of his liking. "But I'm sure the Captain knows that."
Daisy turned slowly in her seat to aim a deadly glare at Jones. "Status," she said through gritted teeth, "Stat."
"All bar one of the cargo pods have returned to main body. Sewage treatment underway. Last of the pods is ready to dock with us. Flight clearance issued from Space Station."
Jones looked up from his console to regard the owner of the voice now standing across from him at the Mission Ops station. Tongue looked back at him and nodded. Jones felt a hot flush creep up his body.
