by S E Zbasnik
"Joy of joys, we get to be a spineless blob of tentacles."
"Orn," Variel warned softly.
"Right, fine, uh," the dwarf flipped the switch back, "This is Elation-Cru, Ecstatic Jellyfish, got it."
"That's Happy Jellyfish," the weary voice stressed, "I see you're registered with the dwarven embassy. A proper customs officer shall be out in an hour."
"Right, Happy Jellyfish over and out," Orn mocked, flicking off the channel and punching in a few numbers. Docking was fully automated after one too many rich snots got wasted on Lavabombs while skittering about the galaxy in Leap-pods that somehow always wound up in the main director's lobby, the lady decals ripped to her nude waist. Pilots needn't bother with parking, but Orn liked to appear busy.
Variel sighed, this part of the galaxy made her itch. The surest way to snap was waking every day with forced joy and a shit eating grin. She laid a hand on the dwarf's shoulder as she leaned down to him, "Wake the others, I'm sure the twins have some unholy business they'll be getting to."
"What about her?" Orn asked, his eyes flickering to a smashed bulkhead that someone refused to repair on principle.
"Are you two...again? Fine, I'll talk to her. Gods know there's got to be something broken on this ship that'll cost all our money to repair."
Orn smiled, his overlarge eyes twinkling as he broke the comfortable silence of the ship by powering up the automated wake-up call. A charming cackle of a rooster bounded about the ship as bouts of twinkling music followed. The lilting, cheerful voice -- certain to have driven entire systems of people to utter madness -- chimed in, "Wake up sleepy heads! There's a big day ahead of you among the stars!"
The fact that everyone despised the thing with enough furor to power the ship across twelve light years encouraged Orn all the more to use it every chance he got. As Variel turned to leave, most likely to put on something that wasn't wearing to the point of being see through, the dwarf cheerfully called out, "Captain off the bridge."
She flipped him off before the doors could close.
Freshly clothed, Variel slid down the hatch to her quarters and straight into the chief and only engineer on the ship. Ferra thrusted a hunk of something black and slightly damaged into her face.
"Look at this!" the elf demanded, smudges from her latest discovery blacking the nearly triangular nose of her people.
Variel squinted at the oblong mass of what was not a piece off the back of a broken midden...probably. "It's bad?" she asked.
"The injector for the inertia deflector is half warped from SOMEONE throttling on the half burn while trying to impress star bunnies," her voice rose to a loud crescendo with each word.
"He can't hear you," Variel mumbled, wishing she wasn't caught in the middle of this.
"He damn well will when we're scraping bits of him off the forward windshields," Ferra screamed towards the bridge, locked off by two safety doors and a dwarf that was probably cranking up his music to drown her out.
"How much will this cost me?" Variel asked, turning the black pile of mutilated piping over in her hands. The elf was about to open her mouth when Variel cut her off, "Never mind, we're docking soon. Once we drop off the cargo, I'll forward the bits to the account."
The engineer finally noticed the leaking oil all over her icy pale hand and wiped it down her rubber apron. Just beneath it poked the pink frills of her blouse, unprotected from the hemorrhaging of a ship that should have been left to rust in its graveyard ages ago, as the engineer reminded Variel every time something snapped beyond repair. Not that the elf wouldn't curse out anyone who implied the same about her ship. Ferra was a continuous study in incongruity, usually in oil stained coveralls.
"It is my understanding we have reached our wayward point," this new voice was soft as silk, well honed to lull one into ease. It set Ferra's teeth on edge.
She turned from her boss to find the twins haunting around the edge of the galley, an area that was supposed to be off limits to passengers. Not that the elves qualified as passengers anymore. They'd been onboard for nearly six months now, always returning like vermin after they'd "disembarked" on "business."
Ferra tucked the injector into the crook of her arm and muttered an, "Excuse me," as she pushed past the other elves on the ship, not bothering to look up as the oil soaked part gently collided with the girl's overtly expensive dress. "And tell Orn, he best be getting his hairy ass down here soon. We have words to share," Ferra shot out as she disappeared back down the narrow hall.
Variel tried to run her fingers through still knotted hair, but only got snagged and gave up. As the only technically paying customers, the elven twins dangled her over a disconcerting precipice. A small PR part of her brain said she should look somewhat presentable around them even though she was unaware what a presentable captain looked like. "Yes, we'll be docking soon. Will you both be long?"
Brena, the more talkative of the two, glanced back to her brother. He was in his usual blacks and greys, blending into the shadows; only the curls of orangey brown and white highlighting the dark skin on his face gave away his position. The sister favored the high fashion of the season, long droopy sleeves done up in velvets of purples and greens, her midsection cinched up so tight it was a wonder the girl could digest more than a grape. Then again, she wasn't paid to eat.
"No more than a day," Taliesin said, probably the greatest speech he'd given all day.
"Not a lot of people need murdering on the happy sands of Samudra?" Variel muttered more to herself than the twin, even though elf ears pick up on everything.
But the elf either missed the sarcasm or chose to ignore it, "Everyone has troubles."
"We shall not be longer than twelve hours at our assignments," Brena rescued her brother, "this I swear." Her own face was painted to accentuate the calico nature of the high elf twins, her eyes coated in enough eyeliner to incite the amorous affections of a raccoon.
"Good," Variel waved her hands and the elves turned silently, both vanishing back into the darkened mess hall.
"Them two give me the creeps," Orn's voice slipped out behind her, "It's what they're not saying that rattles my beard." He touched his poorly shorn chin and added, "metaphorically."
"Elves," Variel muttered, "Speaking of which..."
"I heard 'er. You'd think I never do anything proper around here." The pilot was in no mood for another redressing by the petite engineer unless some undressing was involved first.
Variel started the familiar tread through her ship, her freshly booted feet stomping across the fading red carpet laid by the previous owners. It takes a special committee of morons to coat a ship's decks in wall to wall carpeting. Orn trailed behind, twirling a spanner in his fingers and singing off-key whatever blasted through his ear piece.
The galley, mostly stripped bare save a lone table half-covered in bits from the ship that probably shouldn't be kept near food, gave way from what was once a "family fun center" turned storage to the disembarking room. This was the fancy term for a small enclave with a large, interactive plaque asking customers to wave any and all rights to sue in case of unexpected decompression, accidental alien pregnancy, or wandering bowel syndrome. And, of course, WEST was there, though technically WEST was everywhere.
Variel smoothed down what passed for her traveling business clothes, a not entirely billowy tunic and pair of cotton trousers in her standard brown, and looked towards the dwarf, "Where's your cape?"
"The cleaners," Orn muttered, his right hand trying to knot up the drawstring dangling down the front of his crimson vest. He avoided anything with buttons, snaps, or zippers.
"Do I pay you to spout crap back at me?"
"Consider it a perk," Orn grinned up at her, "We won't need it anyway. Why's a graveyard shift gonna expect a cape?"
"Orn..."
She was about to insist he waddle back and get the damn thing when the latch popped as the airlock finished pressurizing. Both the human and dwarf opened their jaws, trying to adjust to the
inflow of station barometrics. The final safety seal unlatched and the heaviest door on the ship swung open to allow a pair of humans into their little space.
They were each dressed in standard uniform whites and blues, brass buttons all along the chest at a Z angle, with matching pairs of flat caps to complete the look. If it weren't for the obvious age on the one, or the clipboard in the hands of the second, they'd have appeared identical clones to most other species and some humans.
"I am technician Partal of the spacial licensing and travel registration department. This is my intern, third technician Segundo. He shall not be allowed to touch anything upon, around, near, or in trans-dimensional proximity to this ship. Please nod your appendage of choice if you accept my terms."
The technician paused in his boilerplate and glanced towards the dwarf, who gulped a moment and then nodded. "Make a note the ambassador bobbed his head," he pointed to his intern's clipboard which flashed as his finger interrupted the data streaming from the kid's PALM. Something hidden in the unnecessary data struck a cord and he scrutinized the dwarven "ambassador."
"Sir, where is your cape?"
Orn grumbled, not looking towards his boss who could radiate smug annoyance at 10,000 lumens. "My pet rock ate it," he lied to the government official.
"Traditional garb consumed by sedimentary livestock," the technician pointed to an option in the scrolling list. It flared blue and disappeared into the mists of information. "This ship is listed as under the license of one Ms. Variel Tuffman. I assume that would be you?" He turned his tedious face upon the captain, who gritted at the last name but nodded.
"Sounds like a luggage brand. Make a note of that, Sec," he said to his intern, "No, not the luggage brand."
"Sir," Segundo spoke for the first time, his voice wobblier than Orn's attempts at hard boiled eggs, "it's flagged for immediate inspection."
"Don't be absurd," Variel pressed. "This is clearly an embassy sponsored ship. You dishonor our esteemed guest."
"Yes, I am very dishonored. If you do not rectify this dishonor we shall have to do battle in a pit of some type of sea creature. But not shrimp, I'm allergic," Orn rabble roused, shaking his falsely royal fist for emphasis.
"It's been over two years since a member of SPLITR has set foot upon this vessel," Segundo read off his report, afraid to make eye contact with the woman ready to tear his limbs off should he try.
Variel hoped to salvage what should have been a quick exchange. "The ambassador's been quite busy, meeting with various important galactic, uh..."
"Fusspots," Orn filled in, doing his best to not help. Was it too late for her to get an inflatable dwarf doll and fire the pilot?
"Eh?" a light flared in the first technician's ear. He tapped his own blinking PALM and spoke loudly to most likely not just himself, "Yes. Already? Very well."
He ended the call as quickly as it began and turned towards his intern, "Someone left the gnomes unmanned and the entire mermaid deck flooded with chocolate. This one's all yours. Try not to muck it up, cast off."
Before Segundo could argue, his mentor wandered back through the airlock, cursing about chocolate stains over his uniform. The technician gulped and stared down at the dwarven ambassador dressed in what appeared to be the ragged clothes pilgrims wore to show their devotion to a god by forsaking all manner of button. His PALM Board flashed over and over, the highlighted section in bright red font, "Inspection Required. Do not allow release without full Inspection."
"It says here," Segundo coughed into his fist, trying to lower his voice, "I cannot let you disembark until a full inspection is made of your vessel, ship, or domicile."
Variel cracked her knuckles, a move considered nonthreatening to most other species. The petrified human quivered, yet kept waving his official forms about as if they were a magical shield. As she was about to lay into him, their engineer bounded into the embarkation closet, her apron tossed in favor of a pair of canvas overalls.
"What's this little shit doing here?" she asked, eyeing up the scrawny human shrinking before her mighty five foot size.
"Pissing on the floor, mostly," Orn muttered, earning a small nod from Variel, a small quiver of defiance from the floor wetter, and recalled rage from Ferra.
"Shut your mouth, Orn, or I'll do it for you." Hell hath no fury like a woman facing a night of fully reassembling an inertia injector.
"Yes, Ma'am," he muttered, cowed by the only person in the universe who could get to him.
"Why aren't we going? The shop's gonna close soon, and I ain't trekking the twelve elevator stops for the next one." Ferra memorized nearly every mechanic shop's schedule in the three years she'd been keeping the Elation-Cru mobile. A photographic memory came in handy at times.
"Yes, why aren't we moving?" Variel's snake eyes turned on the exposed belly of the underling.
Third Technician Segundo coughed into his fist, "I don't have the power to override anything. I'msorry. I'd have to do an inspection before your ship can be released. Pleasedon'thitme!"
"Could you give us a moment, please?" the ambassador asked, yanking the elf and human slightly out of hearing range. "What's the problem?"
"I don't want any government grubworm poking about my ship," Ferra grumbled.
"What she said," Variel agreed. The thought of anyone digging through their lives unnerved her. It was why she burned so much coin getting the ship dwarf registered in the first place. They never asked any questions aside from, "How much money do you have, and where will you forward it from?"
"So one snot nosed brat wanders star struck about a spaceship, writes down a few notes about how clean the kitchen is, and then leaves a note for his superiors." Orn was trying to be the diplomatic one, which should have sent up red flags, but everyone was exhausted from a long flight.
"And," the dwarf's brown quartz eyes sparkled, "we have the only partially illegal thing on us the whole time. Most he can accuse us of is failing to replace the tail light."
"He damn well better not," Ferra growled. Inspection notes were a source of pride for any engineer wandering her way into a smokey bar on the edge of nowhere.
"The dwarf's making sense. I hate it when he makes sense," Variel rubbed her head, already planning a long stopover on one of those pleasure stations that has real running water. "You," she called to the kid, "Tech whatever. We let you onto the ship, you make your sweep while we take care of business on the station, yes?"
Regulations maintained that all occupants were to remain well cloistered within their cabins until a stamp of approval was received, but the small part marked as common sense warned Segundo that this was the compromise. If he didn't accept it, the next one was tossing his body into space. "I will require assistance as I cannot touch anything."
A cruel smile overtook Variel's ragged features, "I've already thought of that." She leaned over to the only control panel in the room, an ancient standing terminal, and asked calmly, "WEST, can you send Gene up here? We have a guest who requires his assistance."
The computer grumbled something, but before it could form an actual argument, the captain cut him off, "Thank you, WEST."
"Gene is a registered crew member of this vessel, then?" Segundo asked.
"You could say that," Orn muttered, feeling oddly sorry for the kid.
"Excellent," Segundo turned from the others and began to flip through his notes, waiting for his escort.
"If you're done shoving your thumbs up each other's asses," Ferra said, pushing past the pair of humans and one lonely dwarf, "I have a ship to fix." She waltzed through the open airlock without a second glance, her narrow stride moving at a near run to beat Crazy Al's Althernators & More closing time.
"After you, ambassador," Variel bowed slightly to the dwarf, letting him take the lead. He shook his stocky head, but set out before her, trying to play the poorly cast part of dignified dignitary.
For a moment the captain paused, taking in the knock kneed, barely out of -- or still trapped in -- his teen
s kid and felt pity, "Good luck with your inspection. You're gonna need it."
Before Segundo looked up, she was gone, leaving him alone with his guide.
It'd have been more appropriate if a ring of men, swathed in the filth they peddled to others, graced the back room of the office complex on some rusted dock while gambling away a poor urchin's legs. Instead, a scrubbed man unwound his tie and poured a dribble of antacid into a glass, slugging it down while his partner jabbed at his hand with fervor.
"Those boars never saw me coming!" he shouted as his hand erupted in celebration sparks.
Variel coughed into her fist, "Gentlemen." When the pairs of eyes turned to her, she lifted high a briefcase, "I believe we have some business to settle."
One-Eyed Joe, as the kids called him, rose from his pristine desk. Only the obligatory eyepatch and false leg dotted its metallic landscape incase a VIP family wandered in. Always stay in character, even when one's climbing your leg while you're trying to take a piss. That was life orbiting the corporate owned Samudra; clear skies, clear seas, and teams of underlings stampeding to keep it that way. It was inevitable that all beloved vid characters and childhood idols turned to the seedier strings of life if only to dull the endless cloying sugar on the palate.
His partner clicked off his PALM and turned, the more menacing of the pair when it came to the criminals Joe dragged home. While Joe reenacted scenes of his favorite movies to guys with more tattoos than a walking billboard, Eric would almost dial up the security force in the event something finally went horribly wrong.
"Did you bring it?" Joe asked, skipping past the woman nearly half his age for the case dangling off her arm.
Variel smiled and turned to her partner in minor crime and passed him the case, "Orn, if you'd be so kind."
The dwarf flipped the switch causing the false lid to swing open. One-Eye groaned at the sight of an empty case, but Orn reached inside to push the hidden switch and the illusion broke. A pile of cloth replaced the emptiness.