“Huh, that's quite a story. Fortunately, I may need someone that's not above poking sharp things at people,” Peter chuckled.
“Being,” it said with seeming disapproval, “that story brought tears to several of my jurors, most of it true. It's not polite to, as you Earthlings say, poke the fun at. I make sadder story if you like…wait, you are needing of people to poke pointy things at beings?” Jikelenga said in its broken Galactic, managing to sound incredulous.
Peter held his hand up for emphasis, “I'm not holding that against you. Yes, I need muscle, although you seem mostly blubber, but you got the job!” Peter said with a smile. "You're perfect!”
"Really?” the Vookin said surprised. “This is most unexpected, but most appreciated. Am most needing job. How we do this?”
"See the robot over there? It’s called Floyd. He’ll fill you in,” Peter pointed to Floyd and gave a thumbs up.
As Monica and Oscar worked their way through the crowd of applicants, Monica faced a small teenager, “Yeah, right kid, you're eighteen, like I'm a virgin! Next!”
The next applicant was a Teddy-bear. Oscar whispered to Monica, “I think I know the answer to ‘if you were an animal what would you be’ with this one." Monica giggled.
"Uh, sorry, furry one, we have, uh, height requirements. Next!”
“Human racist,” it muttered as it turned away.
They also rejected all the Xums due to the toxicity issues and the Glaxonians because they were cold blooded. Besides they were not going to hire someone that complained about being cold all the time—and they still held a grudge against all the Glaxonian males that had wanted to screw them. Those scaly, double-hemi penises hurt!
One Meloovian stood out. Mainly because he was the biggest Meloovian they had ever seen, standing over six feet. Most Meloovians were four to five feet—this one was like six foot. He wore a red vest and nothing else.
“Uh, hello. Do you have your application disk, and resume?” Monica asked.
Silently he handed over both, his large black eyes expressionless. Inserting the disks into her handheld tablet, the creature’s personal data appeared. Bob-Six was six Terran years old and had been working the station’s loading docks for six years. It had a recommendation from its foreman and a perfect work record.
“Wow, look at this Oscar!” Monica said showing her the screen, “So, Bob-Six, that's an unusual name for a Meloovian, but I see you can use a forklift. How can you only be six years old?”
“Yes Ma’am, I am a Human-Meloovian hybrid, hence my height. We are grown in tanks. Being a hybrid, we are stronger and have more endurance. I am sixth of my vat group and decanted six Earth-years ago.” He smiled, at least as his mouth sphincter widened into an O, a Meloovian smile as the ladies knew. He snatched an imaginary cap from his bald gray head, and made a courtly bow.” I’m Bob-Six.
“Hmph! Well, he sure is polite. Could you turn around and show us your butt?” Heshe piped up from underneath Oscar’s skirt.
“You shut up!” Oscar hissed between clenched teeth.
Bob turned his back to them showing his butt, then turned his head around looking puzzled. “What does my posterior having to do with qualifications for employment. Where be that voice coming from?”
“You heard us! We are doing backside checks of everyone! It’s gray, but it will do, he, he, he!” Heshe laughed, pulling Oscar’s skirt down at the waistband. Heshe peeked out and gave a little wave. The Meloovian’s face was expressionless, but the body language indicated it was surprised.
“That’s background checks, Heshe! Knock it off!” Oscar growled.
“Oscar, would you take this, Bob, directly to Peter? Here take my tablet and give me yours for a sec, Hon,” Monica said.
Oscar quickly escorted Bob-Six over to Peter. Peter quickly plugged Bob-Six’s application disk in to his laptop and scanned it. “Hmm, nice,” Peter said smiling, “exactly what we are looking for. Six years on the job doing dock work, letter of recommendation from your employer and rated class five. Excellent! The pay is not great, but not exactly slave wages either. Why do you want to come work for us Bob-Six?”
“Bob-Six never been off station since decanted. Watch lots of Holovids, but never experience life. Indenture paid off. Want to see galaxy, and err, be meetings other Meloovians or humans for matings… um, friendships. Get wealthy. Bob-Six have ambitionings not supposed to have but go where internal organs say go.”
“I see. Would you have any reservations about breaking laws, or doing stuff not strictly legal?” Peter said craftily.
Bob-Six looked at Peter with no expression. Of course, this was Bob Six’s natural expression. Meloovians didn't have many facial expressions.
“This being imprinted with basic morals, don't murder, lying bad, but right and wrong up to this being. Obey laws where must, but never had chance to break laws or reason to. This being find others lying all the time and cheating. Bob-Six not mind breaking rules. This being want wealth and experience.”
“Great! You're hired! See that robot over there?” Peter hooked his thumb at Floyd, “He will tell you where to go. Next!”
Even in the crowd Monica could not help but notice a large, black, muscular man towering above the crowd. On his skull were rows of scars that looked like the impressions diamond-plate would make, but in reverse negative on black skin. She had seen very few humans with skin so black. Lots of browns and creams, but never anyone as dark as this guy. She thought he was kind of handsome, in a scary way. She plowed through a dozen people until she stood in front of his imposing frame.
“Hi. I'm Monica, can I see your data disks, or resume, please?”
“Certainly dear.” he smiled and handed her his disk.
After plugging his disk into her pad Monica silently examined his qualifications. Name: John Hooper. Occupation: chef, working for the last three years at a station restaurant called Nelson’s Supernova. She noted his employment index was a five, the highest to be had.
“Impressive. A class five! I’m a class five myself. I have not eaten on board yet, so I don't know what food arrangements we have, but we are not really hiring for a chef.” Monica said disappointed.
“I see, then what are you hiring for? By the way, I'm not without other skills. Whats your position here?” He spread his arms as if to say, ‘look at me.’
“Err, part owner, and entertainment director,” she replied staring at his bulging biceps-- and other bulges—smiling. John was more than fit, he was a hunk.
“A class five entertainment director? This is obviously a freighter,” John said sardonically eyeing the Incontinence behind them in its berth, stained and dented by micro space debris and not painted in years, “not a cruise ship. Although, I dare say, spending time with you would undoubtedly be entertaining—curious.” he said giving Monica a warm, sensuous smile, but from the narrowing of his eyes not buying the cruise ship story.
“You cannot believe how boring space travel gets. Hyperspace is instantaneous, but pilots plot to materialize millions of miles out. It can take days or weeks to get in-system—and flirting will get you everywhere, big guy,” Monica purred, batting her eyelashes and giving him back an inviting, sexy smile.
“How could I not want to charm such a lovely lady? Of course, I would like employment with your ship! I have good references, and anything I don’t know I would be willing to learn. I’m a hard worker and intelligent.”
“Ah, what a smooth talker. Alright, being, you definitely need to talk to the captain. He's the guy behind the table over there—in the puffy white shirt,” she said pointing to Peter, “Good luck, handsome."
Looking after John with lusty thoughts, Monica sighed, Mm, mm—definately piratey—yum.
John strode purposely toward the desk, and as he passed a muscular, bosomy Hispanic woman walking the opposite way carrying a Data-tablet, and he heard a muffled, “Now that's an ass I could get behind! Oh, baby!” A wolf whistle was followed by a slap and an-- ouch! Ouch!” Again,
John was puzzled.
Oscar walked up to where Monica was standing and said, “Boss-man says shut it down after the next candidate. Take everyone else's applications and data-sticks just in case we may need them, but he thinks he has it down to the ones he likes.”
Meanwhile Peter sized up John as he scanned his data pad. "Ex-chef, huh?”
“Yes, sir. I know you wouldn’t expect a three-star restaurant to be on a space station, but the planet below has excellent produce and goods. Of course, being on a shipping lane, this system is on a transportation nexus, it gives―uh, gave me access to exotic ingredients from all over the galaxy.”
“So, why do you want to give all that up?” Peter asked leaning back in his chair.
“I’ve been doing this since I was old enough to hold a knife. I know I'm creative, but the only way to move up and make the big bucks is to move to one of the capital worlds. I'm just not into the celebrity chef thing, I just want to do something different. A freighter—or is this a cruise ship? Anyway, it’s sure to travel to other worlds and different ports.”
“I was born here on Hyak I. The farthest I've ever been being Hyak II, to visit my uncle once. I could get on with a space liner if I simply wanted to travel, but they work seven days a week, twelve, fourteen hours a day, and every holiday. I got enough of long days working here. I want to do something different for a while. I’m tired of working so hard. Would we be able to have shore leave on this job?”
“Sure, we should have lots of down time. That would suck working twenty-four/seven! Never been on a cruise, myself. Why would you think this was a cruise ship?”
“Uh your cruise director said...”
“Uh, well sorry if you got the wrong impression...” Peter said amused. “Okay, here's the deal. You are very imposing, physically, I would like to hire you. Would you be against using mock violence, or doing something illegal for personal gain?”
“Is this a trick question?” John scowled.
“Nope. Part of the job might involve coercion, danger, and doing things that are, uh, semi-legal.”
John narrowed his eyes and glared at him with a frown, “And?”
“Alright, pretty much illegal without putting too fine a point on it, except here in the Hyack system, but the pay is excellent, and there will be plenty of down-time. There’s no insurance, or paid vacations, and it’s risky, but there will be large bonuses depending on performance and mission success.”
Rubbing his chin thoughtfully John said, "I’m interested, but I would have to hear more about what exactly, we would be doing.”
“That’s smart of you. Can you wait till I have all the final applicants gathered before I tell you all the details, and you make a final decision?”
“Sure,” John said jovially.
“Great! Go talk to the robot over there. He'll get the rest of your info and give you a tour of the ship, if you want.”
“Thank you, Captain,” John said solemnly.
Peter folded his arms over his chest for a minute and stared into space. The Vookin was perfect, just a bit of a bad boy, err... creature, but didn’t seem too crazy. He was not so sure about the black human and the Meloovian. He needed one more; they might have scruples or something. Mentally he slapped himself and sat up straight. The Quaxxin guy! Eagerly he searched among the scattered disks. Hah! There!
Peter called from his data-pad, “Hello, James? It’s Captain Farlon. Are you down from that stuff now?”
“Ah, yes. Just a sec. Lactation stopped, um, rectal bleeding, ditto. Can’t pick up anything from beings around me,” James informed him.
“I would like to talk to you a bit further about this employment offer. How long would it take you to get here again?”
“Oh, like five minutes! I'm at the corner bar, the Mutant Star Goat.”
“You’re drinking?” Peter asked incredulously.
“Well, sure. Had to counneract er, take da edge off da Quaxxin, you know,” he winked at Peter from the screen.
Peter sighed, “Okay then, get over here ASAP, will you? I've got some other questions,” Peter sighed again.
“Y-y-you... betcha, pal. Tanks, see ya... in a sec.” The screen went blank.
Curious, Peter looked up how to counteract Quaxxin on the space-net. Subject: counteracting the drug Quaxxin: Like most drugs, with the exception of opioids, the best antidote is time. Quaxxin can be highly addictive. The effects of Quaxxin are mostly short term, usually not more than four hours. Long time use can cause extreme brain damage. It is possible to counteract the drug by a complete blood flush, but as this can take hours, physicians prefer to let the drug run its course and avoid Quaxxin users; especially if addicted to drugs themselves, are pederasts, over-billing MediGalacticare, or doing anything illegal. In humans, drinking alcohol heavily can reduce the symptoms of Quaxxin almost immediately.
“Well, slap me silly and call me Sally!” Peter said aloud. He looked out over the loading dock as the crowd was starting to disperse and saw that the women were heading back in his direction. He had only interviewed maybe three dozen or more, it felt like a hundred. He never would have thought that hiring a crew could be so exhausting.
A solitary figure was making a beeline for him. He assumed it was James. He bent to the data-pad, and quickly pulled up his background check: a couple of shoplifting charges as a juvenile, a couple of promissory note fraud charges, bad checks—dropped, probably paid them off. Hmm, what’s this? Worked as a locksmith for a few years, was terminated from that one with no explanation. Worked private security for a while, was terminated again. James might be perfect. Certainly, not afraid to break the law and with a shady background. If Peter was a legitimate employer, James would definitely NOT be considered prime hiring material. Yet, he was perfect for his purposes.
James stood before him in a moment, disheveled, still a bit red-eyed, reeking of alcohol, and none too steady on his feet.
“Wow, you are one, hot mess, James!” said Peter. “You must be aware that you are not making a good impression, at all.”
“Yeah? Fine! Who carrrres. Just sign this, will yaaa, if you goin to be a judmenal asshole!” he slurred and slid a flimsy across the table. Peter recognized it as another form for verifying that the presenter had applied for a job, this one for the public dole again.
“You worked as a locksmith at one point I see. What happened there?'
“Ah, well, after I gat really goot, a couple a customer’s safesss ended up robbed, and I was blamed. No, I didn’t do it- hic-” he said defiantly glaring at Peter.
“You worked private security? What happened there?”
“I am a blag belt in martial arts. I know, it’s cliché that, as an Asian, I would know martial arts, but ‘cuz I was so small as a kid, I was constantly picked on. I learned it in self-defense... no p-p-pun intended. I was a little too enthusiastic subduing a perp one time, and pu’ ‘im in a coma. Fired fer tha’. So please, juss sign the paper if you’re not offering a job!” James said his voice rising.
Peter smiled. “Well, James, today is your lucky day. I am in need of a person with security experience that knows his way around safes and security systems and that has flexible morals.” Peter winked to show he was being mock secretive, and whispered, “Are you interested in a job? I need Pirates. Do you think you can stay sober on the job?” He said and extended his hand.
James shakily shook it. “You’re not screwing wi’ mee, are you? Is this work illegal?”
“Actually, it is. Mostly legal in this system, but I will explain all this in orientation. If you are interested, go talk to Floyd, the robot over there,” he said hooking a thumb sideways. “He will fill you in, give you a tour of the Incontinence, and such. I'm going to address the whole prospects in... a stellar hour, explain what the whole job entails, and give everyone a chance to sign on or back out. How’s that sound?”
“Shhure,” James said sounding a little uncertain.
“Oh, and James, try to sober up by then. Ask Fl
oyd for an anti-intoxicant pill, and I expect you to stay sober while on duty, okay?
“Uh, no problem. Thans, buddy!”
“Goodbye!” Peter said dubiously pointing at Floyd.
~
A stellar hour later Peter had all his prospective new crew assembled in the newly-built crew lounge, and as he looked them over, he was happy with what he saw. They looked imposing. A large Vookin, a huge Meloovian, and a muscular, male human. Everyone knew what a pink robot signified. Even Oscar, although female, was large and rippling with muscle. Of course, Monica was beautiful and all woman, but put a weapon in her hand, and that impression would be moot to anyone who ever had a gun shoved in their face― he hoped. Peter knew that he was on the smallish side and so was James, but again, wave a big enough weapon around and victims ought to be intimidated. Anyway, he hoped they would all sign on. He did not want to do another hiring day, so he chose his words carefully.
“Thank you all for coming and considering employment with us. As I hinted before, I am not just a freighter captain, and this will not be a typical hauler crew or job. I'm looking for pirates, truth be told. That's what we will be, freebooters flying under a flag of Hyak I. For those beings that are unclear on what a freebooter is—that's an old term for a legal pirate flying a nation’s flag.”
He gave them a minute to absorb that and watched them carefully. Mostly, they just glanced sideways at each other and shuffled their feet nervously. The Meloovians face was unreadable as most were.
“Legally, under the Hyack I flag, we will be within our rights to board any ships and confiscate any goods from Hyack II. We can sell them at a profit here on Hyack I. You all maybe be aware of the trade war at present. We may also travel out of this system to plunder others, but if we do, we could be subject to arrest and mind-wipe by the galactic Marines. Actually, we are subject to that here too if we were to get caught hijacking or robbing any other ship other than Hyakian ships, but I should stress right now, we are going to avoid killing or injuring any crew or passengers at all costs. We are not murderers, and I will not tolerate anyone with an itchy trigger finger. Anyone harming or killing a passenger or crew—unless it is completely unavoidable—will be shot... or, ah, severely disciplined personally by me. There will be no appeal. My word is final. On the bright side, if we get lucky, and we all work hard, you will all be rich. The risk is great, but the rewards are greater. Any questions?”
Star Hookers Space Pirates Page 7