A pack while prospecting
16 Aug 2018Lån Glífr
The first one was slow.Jonny’s feet were crossed, resting on the control panel. The smoke rose slowly, creating a haze within the close confines of the bridge. The second one was an afterthought, stubbed out on the dashboard before halfway finished. He had to much to do, and free time was a luxury.
The third was an hour later, in the crew lounge. He often came here to sit at the rusted mess table. He would bring his Fed digi-rag and catch up on two week old news. Every now and then a story would peak his interest and he would look about as if to share, but there was no one to tell.
Three more, in close succession. The result of several frustrating attempts to fix a breach in the starboard hull. A rat had eluded one of the turrets a few hours earlier and the result had been a hairline fracture in the hull. When it was patched, he rewarded himself with the seventh. He took his time with this one; savouring the taste.
One more on the way back to the bridge. It left a trail as he walked, diffusing with the stale interior air.
The tenth was to settle back into the pilot seat. It felt unnecessary, but had become like a ritual to Jonny. It would have been bad luck not to. As he stubbed it out on the makeshift plate-ashtray, he looked at the pack. He shook his head; always a glass half empty sort of guy.
The eleventh was attached to a daydream. A recollection of his time in the Federal Navy. He had been posted aboard a deep space scout and the endless boredom had been the catalyst of his habit. It was the long days like this that always reminded him of his youth.
He burned through four whilst attempting to pry open an old hatch on the engineering deck that had rusted shut. The unknown chamber that lay beyond the door had fascinated him for weeks and been the subject of several idle daydreams. He had imagined crates of long-forgotten liquor, or perhaps trade goods of an illegal nature. The actual contents had been disappointing; several stained uniforms and a collection of belts with buckles depicting the Epsilon Mining emblem. He lit the sixteenth as a consolation, already planning on how he would force access into the sealed locker he had seen on the avionics deck.
One more on the upper observation deck during a break. From here he could see the Python’s lasers lighting up the asteroid field. The sound of the ship’s power-plant did not match the light show, but he could not stand the silence and always imagined that the beams were the source of the noise.
Two more during a subspace transmission. Tai Saan had always hated him smoking, so he was careful to exhale quietly. When he lit the second, he did so with his arm extended away from the mic. Her change in tone suggested he had failed in his subterfuge.
He almost had the last whilst bringing the last Limpets back into the bay. He resisted and thought instead of how he would spend his down time. Probably the same way he did every night; drinking far more than he should, and having Tai lead him back to his quarters to sleep it off.
Finally, back in the bridge, he placed the last one between his lips. Smiling with contentment, he activated the FSD and lit the cigarette. Inhaling slowly, he sat back in his control seat, the now-empty pack discarded on the control panel.
“…sure wish these things were legal”