“Will you take a hundred?” Peter asked hopefully.
“Look, this isn’t a flea market or Crazy Moe’s. Take it or leave it!” he stated, seeming to lose his fear as soon as money came up. Peter turned to leave.
“Right! How about two-fifty?” Sal wheedled.
“Two hundred!" Peter said with a cocked eyebrow.
“Tarcacks sake! Just to get you cheapskates outa my store, deal!
“Okay, I'll take her.”
Back at the ship, Sam, the parrot, perched on Peter’s shoulder, they observed workmen bustling in the background through the cargo doors and the construction noises of banging and whirring making a terrible racket. Peter was happy to see a lot of progress. The new bulkhead walls were already up, along with a new pressure door.
Peter said above the din, “Why don't you ladies put away your purchases and relax? Tomorrow we will interview for new crew.” Both Monica and Oscar turned to each other and grinned lasciviously.
Peter cleared his throat, "Just remember we are looking for thugs, hoods, toughs, muscle, and mercenaries—not too demented or insane! But if they look like accountants and have certain skills, that's not a deal breaker.”
Heshe spoke from Oscar’s pants, “Sounds great! I got the rapist part covered!”
Peter sighed again. “Tarcacks! What is it with you and the raping, Heshe?” Peter said looking pointedly at Oscars crotch, “Raping is just rude. Did I ask for rapists? Raping doesn’t put any money in our pockets! Oscar, I could use some help with this. I have no idea what kind of turnout we are going to get, but I'm afraid you’ll maybe have to sit this one out. I have a feeling your outspoken little friend would just complicate things, and uh, be unable to be discreet. I cannot very well advertise for pirates or… er, persons with flexible morals. We have to be very careful what questions we use to find suitable crew.”
“Hey, don’t tell me to shut up—lotsa beings have rape fantasies,” Heshe huffed as it’s high-pitched voice spoke from the depths of Oscar’s skirt. "I thought being a pirate would be full of bodice ripping and ravishment of maidens like in the romance novels Oscar reads. What’s the fun of being a pirate, if you can’t ravish maidens and stuff? Besides, how are you going to put a gag on a penis? Although, you can certainly gag on a penis! Heh, heh, heh—I swear, I'll keep quiet! Uh, hooker’s-bio-engineered-penis's honor. “Heshe's long speech ran down.
Peter spread his hands, a wry, lopsided grin on his face, and tilted his head, “See what I mean Oscar? Monica? Think you could help with the interviews?”
“Sure, as one of the few hookers with a degree, Chang used me all the time for initial interviews for new girls, but I don't know what kind of questions to ask for this. Knowing what sexual positions and acts they are expert at hardly helps us,” Monica giggled.
“Oscar, can you keep HESHE under control?” Peter asked with some exasperation.
“He’d better keep quiet or I'm putting a condom on him!” Oscar said with vehemence.
“You wouldn’t! Would you?” Heshe gasped in a shocked voice.
“Try me little buddy! Keep it in our pants, okay?” Oscar retorted.
“Uh, yeah. Floyd?” Peter said looking at his robot with lifted eyebrows. Floyd opened a hip-bag, pulled out a printed list of questions, and handed it to Monica.
“These are a list of questions that should determine if our interviewees would be suitable candidates for piracy. You may want to familiarize yourself with the list tonight.”
Monica unfolded and looked at the list reading from it aloud. “Have you ever threatened your parents to get your way, or held your breath till you turned blue? Were you ever denied a small mammalian quadruped on your eighth birthday?” she said looking up. “Really? These questions?”
“I pulled these questions off the space-net,” Floyd said, “from the site, “Twenty Best Questions to Ask When Hiring Someone for Possible Criminal Activity,’ I skipped “Hiring Psychopaths for Fun and Profit,” and “Minions for Dummies.” Cosmos Magazine says these questions have been scientifically formulated from a study at Cornell Space University to select a suitable criminal for all illegal activities. I will provide a data-pad. The program merely requires you to input the questions into the application, and it will check answers and evaluate their suitability.”
“Nice! Okay, why not?” Monica said with an astonished smile. “See you later.” she sashayed off with Oscar.
“So, Floyd, feel like teaching this parrot some phrases?”
“Certainly, Captain, the pilot’s chairs. Or shall we inspect the new quarters while we are at it?
“Let’s go look at how far along they are,” Peter said with an excited gleam in his eyes.
The sound of whirring and banging got louder as they walked toward the construction zone. The formerly bare corner of cargo space now sported walls where none had been before. Peter and the robot ducked through the new open pressure door. There was now a long corridor with six entryways to new cabins, and a large open area with an entertainment and food preparation space. There appeared to be a shower in the corner surrounded by comfortable-looking booths. Peter sat and bounced up and down.
“Hey, this is nice,” he exclaimed. At that moment, a short red-headed human worker came out of a cabin and hurried toward them smiling and extending his hand.
“So, are you the captain? Hi, I’m Gordon the foreman. So, what do you think?”
“Very nice, Gordon, wow you are fast” Peter said sincerely.
“Thank you. Time is money—yours mainly,” he said smiling, “You asked us to hurry too. We take pride in our work at Feng and Sons. This is the lounge, dining, and recreation area,” he said showing them around. “This your new door into the ship, as you can see. The lounge and hallway are only on one pressure door from the cargo bay. All the cabins have their own pressure doors and individual sanitary closets per your request. This is a communal shower in the kitchen area, plus a separate entrance into the ship. I simply didn’t have the time to build five separate bathing areas and you said time was of the essence. Hooking these new waste lines and water lines into your recycling system was a bitch, but we got it done.”
“That’s fine. These are crew quarters, not cruise liner cabins. So, when will you be finished?” Peter asked politely.
“Uh, today, if everything goes according to plan. In fact, by the end of the station day cycle, I think. I’ve had robots on this as well as beings, maybe four more hours?” he said as he looked at his Datacom.
“Sounds great! Call me when you are done. I'll do a final inspection, and transfer funds to your Datacom.”
“Sounds good, Captain,” and he hurried off.
Peter flopped himself into a booth and bounced up and down. “Take a load off, Floyd.”
“Sir, I have no need to sit.
“Oh, right. S-o-o-o, what do we have to do to get this little piece-of-junk to record new phrases, Floyd?”
“I've already downloaded the instructions, sir. Record new input, X Sam Alpha.”
“Recording―ARRRAKKK!” Sam the cockatoo squawked.
“Uh, Sam X Alpha off. I forgot to ask, sir. What phrases do you want it to learn?”
“I don't know. All I know are corny lines from old Pirate Holovids, like pieces of eight, ahoy Matey’s, keel haul the scurvy dogs, space the poxy bastards—stuff like that!”
“Hmm, I'll try something traditional. Record new input.... X Sam Alpha.”
“Recording―ARRRAKKK!”
“Polly wants a cracker,” Floyd intoned.
“Lolly wants a crack-head, ARRRAKKK!”
"What the... Pieces of eight?” Peter tried again on Sam.
“Wha da!... Peaches of hate! ARRRAKKK!”
“Crap!” Peter exclaimed. “Must be something wrong with its hearing.”
“Rap! Mist be sumpting wong with shits earring. ARRRAKKK!” Sam uttered.
“Should I return it tomorrow for a refund? Floyd asked.
“Wood eye trepurn id
two marrow four a rerun? ARRRAKKK!”
“Sam X Alpha off” Peter sighed. “We'll deal with this later. Maybe I'll just shut the voice box down, it’s just a prop after all. I'm going to get something to eat, shower, and wait for the workmen to finish. You can do whatever you want. I don't need you right now, so, you are relieved,” Peter flapped his hand distractedly at Floyd, “and stuff.”
Chapter 6: Hiring Day
The next morning Peter and Floyd rolled up the cargo doors to a scene of chaos. The cargo area was full of applicants milling about, wall-to-wall it seemed. The hum of thousands of beings murmuring and talking echoed off the metal walls of the large docking bay.
"Oh, Shit!" Peter thumbed his Datacom. “Shirley! Wake the girls―and no Sousa! Tell them to get out here right away!” He shut the com off before he could hear any of Shirley’s crap.
“Floyd!” Peter called out panicked, “get the tables and chairs set up, and see if Shirley’s liftbots can get something out here to form some barriers.” Shortly they had some semblance of order going. With the help of the liftbots which had manipulator hands as well as forks, they soon had barriers in place using crates, and random junk from the holds strung with rope and sealing tape.
“Floyd, we need some sort of way to thin this mob, it would take me weeks to interview this crowd, any ideas?”
“Sir, I believe some applicants may possibly be criminals. How about we announce that everyone needs to have some sort of valid ID, and we will be doing background checks?”
“Say, that's a great idea! No, wait! Don't we want criminals?”
“Sir, if they can’t at least try at concealment, or pay for some new ID, even if it’s fake, perhaps they are not the sharpest criminals in the toolshed.”
“Uh, right."
Peter spoke into his wrist com, "Hey, Shirley, will ya make a loud announcement to the crowd that we will be checking IDs carefully and running background checks?”
“Will do, Captain Ahab-Hole.”
“Thanks, Shirley.”
“If you are not going to react to my insults, I'm going to stop.”
“Really?” Peter said hopefully.
“Nah, I'm just fucking with you!”
The ship’s external speakers blared~ Skreeeal! ~Pop!~ “Attention, unwashed mob! This is the HMS Incontinence. In a moment, heartless, killer robot ID checkers will be released. Those of you with fake IDs will be beaten and ejected. Applicants unwilling to verify IDs will be forcibly oral swabbed for DNA verification and beaten. I hope you have on clean underwear, in case you have to go to emergency. Have IDs ready, and remove your resume chips from the plastic cover, or you will be bitch-slapped as well. Thank you for applying. Have a nice day.” Shirley made this announcement several more times in all the major languages.
Suddenly there was mass exit toward the docking bay airlocks and a loud muttering as hundreds of applicants realized this was not a good day to go job hunting. Perhaps they had neglected to wash the cat, or left the water running in the sink.
“Well, that seems to have cut the crowd by half, Floyd, but I think you and the girls better still do some pre-screening of this mob. Good job, Shirley.” Peter addressed Shirley in a voice dripping with sarcasm, “That was mean Shirley! Killer robot ID checkers? Bitch-slapping? A bit much, don’t you think?”
“It worked, didn’t it?” Shirley retorted in her best fuck-you voice.
Oscar and Monica came through the door. Their eyes widened at the size of the remaining crowd and wondered at the large crowd exiting.
“Vookins balls! Did you offer them all a free drink and a blow job with every application Peter? Why are half of them leaving?” Monica wondered.
Floyd spoke up, "I am afraid it’s my fault, miss. Apparently, this trade war has sent unemployment skyrocketing, plus, my job description was rather vague, I apologize. Shirley has also rather rudely just informed them of the application requirements.”
Peter added, “Um yeah, I'm afraid I am going to need all your help today to sort through this crowd. Here are some data pads. Eliminate the obvious: alien races with special environmental needs, the crazies, ones with no actual experience. There is nothing scientific about this. Use your own best judgment. Remember you may be working with them in the future and sharing quarters. If you don't like them or they do not seem, uh- piratey, send them packing!”
“Piratey, Captain? What the heck does piratey mean anyway? I mean, I got it when we were talking clothing, and stuff, but who looks piratey? Are we talking scars, a peg-leg, an awesome beard?” Oscar complained.
"Here,” Monica said handing her a data tablet, “I already read the suggested questions, have mine. Maybe that will help.”
Oscar read a question aloud, “If you could be and an animal or some other alien creature other than yourself, what would you be and why?” She looked up with a questioning scowl.
“Tarcacks sake's! You were a space marine. Ask some random questions, if you don’t like these! I'll ask the hard ones,” Peter said exasperated again. “Pick them like you would if you were looking for a space marine to go into battle with. Look for―I don't know―big, imposing, scary looking, scars, missing limbs, with hooks for hands. I'm just kidding about the hooks, but if they have an awesome prosthetic, all gleaming steel and scary looking..." he trailed off, "and no picking some being just because you want to screw ‘em!... Hear me Heshe!”
“Spoil-sport!" Heshe exclaimed, "Dibs on the ones with cute tushies!”
“Heshe! You only think with the little head! You get no votes,” Oscar uttered disgusted.
“That's discrimination! All I have is a little head,” Heshe protested.
“Tarcacks! That's final!” Peter said in a no-nonsense kind of voice, “After they are part of the crew, what you or they do in your free time is between you and a consenting being.”
“Farzookian! Hey, Oscar,” Heshe whispered softly, “they can be big strapping brutes with scars and still have cute tushies, can't they?”
Oscar said through gritted teeth, muttering to herself, “Arrgggg, you can always get the operation reversed, girl. Just remember that!”
“Arraaaccck! Peaches of hate, whirrr, sheeee, bang, bang.” Peter quickly pushed the off button on Sam the robot cockatoo. “Sorry, forgot she was on.”
Soon the first applicant appeared in front of him. “So, I see you have experience, uh, Fred. Three years on the space freighter Garcons Flier, was it?” Peter asked.
“Can you do me a favor, and not hire me?” he whispered quickly while looking around nervously. “I just need this signed.” pushing a piece of flimsy printout at Peter, he continued to whisper, “I still have eight more months of unemployment benefits,” he winked.
Peter sighed and signed the form. “Next!”
A vaguely Asian-looking human with glazed eyes sporting an erection staggered up to Peter’s makeshift desk. The front of his shirt was soaked with milk from lactating, and he was farting repeatedly.
“Good god, man! Are you on Quaxxin?” Peter asked recognizing the symptoms.
“Yeah, is that a prob―? What? You think it is―Damn! Oh, you are actually hiring for pirates, I mean, crew that's flexible? That's me! No! In answer to your minds question—I'm not on it all the time—I just thought reading minds might give me an edge. Please hurry,” he winced and hugged his middle, “I think I may not just have to fart. No, I am not a mess sir, just wanting a job.”
Peter held up a hand, “Alright! Stop reading my mind for five minutes! Give me your number and come back in a few hours after the stuff wears off. I’m not interviewing someone that can read my mind” Peter took his number and said… “Next!”
A large Vookin waddled into line and handed Peter an application disk wordlessly. Peter slotted it into his desktop and scanned the information while his hiring program searched the data.
"So, Jikilenga, your jobs seem to be few and of short duration. I can't help but notice you are on probation,” Peter said raising a quizzica
l eyebrow.
The Vookin made a whistling snort which Peter assumed was a Vookin sigh.
“Please, being, just be the signing my paperwork so parole officer is happy—save me the humiliation and time of answering questions that will not get me job,” it said swiveling its eye-stalks toward the ceiling.
“Well, hold on now, I didn't say you are not being considered. What’s your story, uh,” looking down at his data pad, "Jikilenga?"
Jikilenga's eye-stalks swiveled down to look closely at Peter. “I am being considered?”
“Sure, what’s your story?” Peter said with a hint of amusement in his voice, leaning back in his chair, and folding his arms across his chest
“Being, my story is an oft repeated sad tale. I the last of twelve podlings. My mother was a swackhead. I never knew my inseminator. He died soon after I was born, so I born into poverty; always hungry and fighting for fish scraps from the other podlings. Soon as I could walk, holding something sharp to be poking people for money, I joined roving street gangs, and entered a life of crime. I was in and out of Vookin readjustment school until I reached my majority. Two year ago, me and flox shitting brother—one of my other podlings—robbed an intoxicant store. He be the betraying me, and shot me in my sensory organs to make his escape. I served one years in the local incarceration facility and I am currently on parole.”
Star Hookers Space Pirates Page 6