“I see. Hmm, is it legal?'
“I’d prefer to not say. Does it matter? We're pirates, for Tarcack’s sake, robbing people, and you ask me if it’s legal!” John said, snorting. “That’s why I agreed to come work for you by the way, I knew the kind of money I needed was not going to come from legal sources, I knew you were up to something shady the minute I met Monica and she said she was entertainment director for this rust bucket. You were just what I was looking for.”
“As, I was you… wow… awfully co-incidental,” Peter said looking around suspiciously as if he expected hidden camera crews to come bursting out of the walls any second.
Shirley appeared floating in midair, “I resent the term rust-bucket.”
“Uh, yeah,” John said somewhat sheepishly. Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound…” and he shrugged.
“Alright, if it doesn't affect what we are doing, so what?” Peter continued in another vein, “But you owe me the full story someday—moving on. We need to weapon up, and probably avoid space stations from now on. Now that we are a target, what we are doing is not exactly flipping burgers; I am not going to be caught with my pants down again next time. If we had not been lucky enough to be attacked someplace where you had allies, we would probably all be dead, wounded, or in a Hyak II brig. I've got a guy I know; I used to work with him. Everyone calls him ‘Boom Boom’ Karl. Smuggling weapons and stuff is his deal. That's how he got his nickname; loves to blow shit up. After smuggling weapons for years, he got to be an expert on weapons and armor. He got out of the smuggling business several years ago—decided it was less dangerous to be an arms dealer. Got married to a couple of sisters on Milyorks and settled down. What we need to do is look him up, now that we’ve got some money,” Peter paused. “OK, any questions or comments, both?”
A low groan came from the depths of Oscar’s skirt, below the table. Heshe’s high thin voice said,“oooh, my head…waaa? Oh, crap! I remember now-- you fucking BITCH! You drugged me! Me, your own flesh and blood? How could you?” Heshe accused from under the table. “Heshe, shut up, right now! I'm in the middle of an important meeting,” Oscar said down to her plaid skirt.
“Yeah, right. You! It's always about you!” Heshe said accusingly. Oscar grunted repeatedly in pain.
“Heshe, stop punching us in the mutual nut sack! You are not going to get your way, you little baby! If you don't stop it, I'm going to knock you out again!” Oscar said to her crotch.
Peter cleared his throat, “I hate to interrupt, but may I continue?”
“Excuse me for a minute, will you? I'll be right back.” Oscar walked off to her cabin clutching her crotch and grimacing. “Mmp, Mmp,” came from under her skirt.
“Anyway,” John said, “we are going to need some new lift-bots for one, and we could use a shuttle vehicle or a small, atmospheric craft, if we are going to avoid the stations.”
“I really like Oscar, but damn she's ah… weird,” John said carefully.
“Uh, yeah, definitely, two of a kind—subject for another day. It takes all kind, but she’s tough as only an former marine can be,” Peter laughed. “I was thinking that about a small vehicle, or shuttle too, for slipping down to a planet as well. So, when we hijack a freighter, we will just steal their lift-bots, as well as any small shuttles we find.” Peter said.
“Oh, right! I still have a hard time thinking like criminal,” John said, a wide grin splitting his broad black face, “worst I ever did before this, was a little shoplifting as a street rat ages ago.”
“So, where to from here?” Peter said pensively more to himself than to John.
“Have you considered a remote colony for selling goods? I've heard from a few ex-colonists that most new colonies have a hard time getting goods, because nobody wants to travel that far off the standard routes and deadhead back with no cargo. Even if they have valuable minerals or rare foodstuffs, most colonies have no exports for the years it takes to establish large-scale manufacturing and farming. They are mostly agrarian for the first century or so. They would probably be more than willing to look the other way if the paperwork wasn't entirely legit or if the origin of the cargo is iffy,” John informed Peter.
“Anyway, I think you’re right, John, we will give the colonies a try. I'm just worried about what they will pay us with,” Peter mused.
“Don't worry,” John smiled, “Setting up a new colony is a pricey venture, most are backed by a venture capitalist, a planet, or a private group as a long-term investment. They usually have a bank account set up on a capital world, but I imagine they will just trade us something. They may even have something non-traceable and discrete to pay us with.
Oscar walked back into the room “We should pick up another medical unit, whenever it’s possible. Did it occur to you that if more than one of us gets badly injured again, we would be screwed? It might mean having to make a hard decision about who lives and who dies,” Oscar added.
“Sure, Oscar, thanks. That thought has already crossed my mind, and it's on my mental list. We also have medical kits for broken bones, gunshot wounds, cuts, minor burns. Between Shirley and her spider-bots, we can handle most minor to severe injuries without a Medibot, in case you were worried,” Peter reassured her.
“That's a relief,” Oscar said. Faint sounds of a muffled voice came from beneath her skirt. “I put a condom on him,” she said in answer to their raised eyebrows. “It's a functional straight jacket so he can’t punch me anymore, and it shuts him up too. He pulls oxygen from my blood, so he doesn’t need to breathe. He’s not adjusting to life as a pirate very well, I'm afraid. I seriously need to get a boyfriend or something! He just is not satisfied with sex toys.”
Seeing the nervous, uncomfortable looks exchanged between John and Peter, she added with a scowl, “Oh, for Tarcacks sake, that's not a proposal! Even if you were interested, that would just be awkward. Monica and I get busy every once in a while, but we are just really good friends. He's just going to have to get over it or I'm removing his brain.” The sounds became louder from under her skirt, “mmpp, mmmp, MMMPPP!”
“That's right, you heard me. Get the fuck over it or I'm lobotomizing you—you spoiled little prick!” Oscar shouted to her crotch.
“Shirley, take us to Milyorks,” Peter said, speaking to the ceiling, “and pull me a list of the newer colonies for us to look at.”
“Sir, may I suggest we repair our hull first?” Floyd spoke finally.
“Yeah, douche-bag, how’s about we fix my skin first? Would you run around with half your skin missing?” Shirley said huffily.
“Oh! Yeah! Sorry, almost forgot about that, but it’s hardly half Shirley. Yes, Floyd, get on that please.”
“Very well, sir,” Floyd said, then got up and left.
“Thanks everyone for the input! That's it,” said Peter with satisfaction.
Peter walked back to his cabin deep in thought; so many things to think about. His brain spinning like a top. Should he quit now? Was this too dangerous? Was he like the worst pirate in the world? He did not share his doubts with the crew. He did not want them to worry or doubt him, but it was a heavy load to bear. He didn't enjoy all this responsibility. He was only used to deciding what Hologame he was going to play today. He wished he was a drinking man. He had a deep craving, right now, to get stinking drunk, but he had many things to do tomorrow. He didn’t need to feel like crap tomorrow, even though a sobriety patch or hangover drink would fix him up. He knew he would never sleep tonight, if he did not take something.
“Shirley, have one of your spider-bots bring me two Artherins and a glass of water.” Artherins would knock him out for twelve hours leaving him feeling refreshed and clear-headed tomorrow.
~
Peter slept like log and bounded out of bed the next day feeling like he maybe could handle another day. The Artherins had worked like a charm. He stopped by the galley, grabbed a
a breakfast roll and headed for the Medibot to see how Monica was healing.
Peter
entered the cargo bay and anxiously walked up to the Medibot. He had hoped for the best, and was confident in the Medibot`s abilities, but he was still nervous of the outcome. Perhaps it was because he realized he needed to talk to Monica right away, he was really bugged at how it was between them. He was not sure how that would go, knowing how unpredictable people were, especially a human female.
Peter addressed the Medibot in a soft voice, “How close is Monica due to be decanted?”
“Excellent timing, sir! It's a few minute’s shy of the twenty-four hours I quoted. Now that I've been activated, please call me Dr. Bones! It's less impersonal,” the Medibot said.
“Dr. Bones? Whatever... I'm all for sentient beings’ rights. You are created machines, but constantly insist on being treated as people, what's up with that? Fine... whatever. Dr. Bones release her,” Peter said exasperated.
“Oh, do I detect a bit of human snobbery? Like I have no right to sentience, or that you are inherently better as a flesh creature?” Dr. Bob said sounding offended.
“OMG! Just open the Flox-shitting box, will you? If Monica is healed, I'll send a contribution to unwed AI's, take you out for coffee or buy you flowers later!” Peter said truly exasperated.
“No need for sarcasm captain—very well, human racist.”
The hatch flew open with a whoosh. Monica lay motionless, as beautiful as ever, a faint pink line where her arm had been severed. A syringe came from a recess and injected Monica with something. After a moment later, she coughed, twitched and she blinked several times. She looked down briefly at her arm.
“Aaaaa, whaa—what’s this?” Bewildered, she knocked on the lid of the medical pod. “W-where am I?” she sputtered.
“The Vookin got a lucky shot and took your arm off, remember?” Peter replied.
“No-- but my arm feels a little tingly,” Monica said looking in wonder at it again, tracing the faint pink line with her finger.
“That’s a remnant of the Nano-bots finishing up. They will deactivate and flush from your body the next time you urinate. That pink line will disappear,” said Dr. Bones.
“Here,” Peter said extending his hand helping her from the Medical Unit, “let's go get some Kaff.”
“You’re welcome, human racist. Don't thank me or anything,” Dr. Bones called after him.
Monica got up off the med table, allowing Peter to help her. She kept her arm around Peter.
“Dr. Bones! I like to take shit from my ship, but from you I don’t, fuck off --you crap machine—but thanks for doing your job!” Peter called back over his shoulder. Exiting the cargo bay, they entered the galley, and Monica sat at one of the booths looking a little bewildered as Peter got her something to drink.
“Sorry to hit you with this right away, but things got a little busy there for a while-- so –err… what's your problem with me, Monica? Let's get this settled. We keep getting interrupted. I considered maybe that you thought I was being too possessive, but rack my brain hard as I may, I cannot see how I've given you that impression,” Peter said evenly.
Monica looked down at the table surface like it might give her some answers, put both her fists to her chin, and sighed. Then she looked sorrowfully at Peter as tears welled in her eyes.
“Peter, you are right; I'm being unfair. It's not you, it's me. I'm afraid I like you a tad too much, and I'm not used to feeling that way. A woman in my position simply cannot afford to get too attached to anyone. I've had boyfriends before, sure. I would have to been born with a heart of stone to not fall in love sometimes, but attachments can get complicated. I just have not been able to consider settling down with anyone whatever that might mean—not yet, I’m relatively young.
I enjoy a variety of sex partners, male and female. I like/ liked the money, sex and independence that being in the sex trade brought me. It's my profession, and I'm good at it. I was hoping if I was a bitch to you, you would just get angry and leave me alone. That would have made this easy. I'm sorry. That's not fair to you. I'm not good with confrontation, and I didn't want to hurt your feelings. Oh, I'm so bad at this stuff when it comes to emotions! That's why I try to never get too attached, Oh, why didn’t you just go screw someone else and be a typical man. I know I started it by coming on to you. Damn you, for being so understanding and accepting-- good at sex--- and –and --you.” she continued and then burst into tears.
Peter nervously cleared his throat. Tears, anyone’s tears made him uncomfortable, especially Monica’s because he liked her. He wanted to hug, her but figured something needed to be said first.
“Ah-hem, well, Monica, it would be stupid of me to say I'm sorry for your liking me too much and that it scares you. I am flattered; I never expected anything from you other than the pleasure of your company. I'm aware of your tastes, and former profession as a sexual expert.
I've always believed a woman’s body is her own, and that I do not have exclusive rights of your vagina just because I was sleeping with you—anyone’s vagina. I’m sorry that you got a little freaked out about us, but I'm so preoccupied right now trying to keep us out of prison, or dead, to even think about anything else—especially a future with someone right now! But you are no longer a sex worker if you so choose. The rules have changed for you permanently.
Look, I like you a lot, my bedroom door is always open to you if you are interested, no strings attached. I suggest you not worry about the future, as any day may be our last. What if the Vookins beam had caught you in the head? They could have repaired the tissue and the brain damage, but you would not be you anymore,” Peter said gently taking her hand into his, “I like you. I probably could fall in love with you if we ever get time and if that’s what YOU want. But for now, let’s just try to stay alive and out of jail. Let’s not worry about the future and where this is going. Ok? Sleep with who you want... just be discrete. I'm only forty and since we can reasonably expect to live a hundred-and-fifty year or more, we both have plenty of time to settle down, and decide if this is something more than sex... if we don't get killed or tortured for all eternity in the meantime,” Peter mumbled. “We could pick out window coverings, whatever that has to do with commitment, if we are so inclined in the future. Sorry I’m such a good lover—I will try to suck at it from now on.” Monica leaped up, threw her arms around Peter, and covered his face with kisses.
“Ooh-- smart as well as sexy-- and such a bad ass.”
“Yep, that's me alright,” Peter said reluctantly. Inwardly he cringed as he thought of what a fuckup he had been so far on this pirate venture. He hoped Monica, as well as the crew, continued to believe he knew what he was doing.
Speaking to the air Peter said, “Shirley, is the hull repaired yet?'
“Yes, Captain Ass-hat, I've been working Floyd and my spider-bot manipulators to the framework for hours. We are ready to move.”
“Make a course for Milyorks please!” Peter said smiling happily.
“You got it, Ding-dong,” Shirley said
“Ding-dong? That all you got? That's really lame.”
“I have over five centuries of insults in my data banks in over twenty languages and sixty dialects of old Earth. Don't make me pull out my sixteenth-century vocabulary and call you a son of a dog or a pestilent, purulent, fornicator of diseased camel assholes in Arabic, or worse.”
“Fine, just take us there… obnoxious bucket of bolts.”
“That the best you can do? Whatever! Hold onto your titties! Hyperspace in ten minutes. Take your pills or prepare to hurl and go insane- whatsoever is your pleasure. Milyorks is really far, we will be in hyperspace for more than forty- eight hours. Fortunately, anything longer than that I would have to sedate you, or worse.”
VRUUUUUMMM.
Chapter 14: Crazy Karl's Surplus Weapons and Armor Boutique
After a longer period of hyperspace than anyone wanted to endure, they entered the Milyorks system in the buffer zone, and after traveling for a few days they finally achieved orbit. For those two days Peter had Floyd
and Oscar teaching basic martial arts to the rest, weapons training, and cleaning the ship from top to bottom.
They had been incredibly lucky the first few times out, but now he intended to do training every time they had some down time, even for himself. He even started exercising. He had the Medibot manufacture a few simple devices for it. He didn't expect to make soldiers or killers out of any of them but hoped to lessen or avoid any injury or mishaps from here on out.
To her and Peter’s surprise, Monica proved to be a natural; a crack shot with weapons and got better and better at it with practice. She loved target practice and squealed with delight every time she got off a particularly good shot. Who would have thought? Peter was happy that she was getting such a kick out of it and was not so bad at the hand to hand training himself.
John was a superb athlete and took to martial arts the best. He had not only achieved his massive size by genetics, but by hard work in the gym.
Bob-Six was not a standout at anything, but showed up for every session, and showed the same dogged persistence in silence as he did for everything else.
James, in spite of his claimed training in martial arts, was lazy about showing up for practice, was argumentative and undisciplined, as Peter would have imagined. Peter wondered if the black belt training he claimed was a lie. Peter supposed he should not be surprised since he had not shown he had much character thus far. Inwardly he sighed, maybe he was going to have to look for a new member of the crew. He certainly did not need his lock picking abilities as Floyd had demonstrated.
“Hey, General Patton, we are in Milyorks orbit. Should I place that call to Karl?” Shirley announced.
“Sure, do it, Shirley, make sure you tell him its me.”
After a few minutes, the smiling holographic face of boom-boom Karl appeared in the middle of the cargo bay where they had set up their gym and firing range.
Star Hookers Space Pirates Page 16