There's No Crying in Spaceball!
06 Jul 2017Kyndi the Badass Space Chick
If there’s anything I hate, it’s a man who cries.Yeah, I know: men have feelings, too. Men get hurt. Men are as vulnerable as we women. Blah, blah, equality blah.
But admit it: no matter how enlightened you think you are, there’s just something about a man who cries that makes you want to kick him where his balls should be.
Like this specimen in front of me. Swarthy, cheap suit, gold chain buried under thick chest hair. Talks with his hands more than his goddamn moustached mouth, pleading that he suddenly can’t pay for a load of blow. Some unfortunate incident with people who owe him money, costing his business mucho credito, as he keeps saying in that accent of his. I’ve had my share of clients who try to screw me over, but the sympathy card? That’s a new one.
Ugh. He’s taking my hands in his, tearfully asking for me to transfer the cargo for free. Apparently the blow is for his son’s sixteenth birthday bash, and it’ll be a strike against him in the gangster world if the only thing he serves at it is cake and ice cream.
Good gods. What a waste of my time. No, you can’t have the blow for free. No credito, no narco. Even you and that animal that died on your lip can figure that out. Well, there’s never a shortage of demand for this shit, so if you’ll just excuse me-
Whoa. Seriously? Guns?
Just for refusing to work for free?
You wanna let go of my hand now? And those tears sure dried in a hurry, didn’t they?
Look- you know I love it when I can be a party to delivering smack to a teenager’s birthday party, but this isn’t how you get the goods. Only I can open up my ship- and if you shoot me, it won’t be a very happy birthday, now will it?
Oh. Seriously? Now I’m your kid’s birthday present? Or else?
I don’t know where you get your delusions, laser brain- but the shit’s not for sale, and neither am I. Not sure if you’ve got the memo, but this chick stays free.
You didn’t intend to pay me for that, either? Ha ha. And fuck you. I’m leaving.
Oh. Goons blocking me. Of course you had goons waiting outside the club’s private room, didn’t you?
Goddamn it. If this were the Bear Den I’d be fine…
What’s that? "Disrespecto"? The blow and my body? Welp, you’re the ones with the guns. And I’m the one with the tits. Guess we’d better head to my ship, huh?
That’s right, assholes. Stay behind me. Keep staring at my ass as we walk up the cargo ramp. Inspect those goods.
Happy now? You’re surrounded by blow and you’ve got the pretty woman at gunpoint. It’s just a matter of getting it unloaded. Think of how happy your son will be when he, uh- unwraps his present. You’ll be the toast of fatherly scumbags everywhere.
Yep. The nice pilot chick is playing along. Just keep those guns lowered.
Now, if you’ll just give me a moment to pull up my wrist computer and transfer the goods...
Alright, Kyndi Jane. One chance. Don’t fuck it up.
In a pinch, I can run. Fast. That isn’t the problem. The problem is how slow the access door to my cargo bay opens and closes. Lakon designs everything for safety, you see. So the door is pretty slow both ways, and won’t even shut if there’s something in the way. It would take some crazy tinkering with the ship’s code to program the thing to close faster and ignore safety protocols.
Fortunately, I happen to know a code monkey crazy enough to make such a modification:
Me.
Use the wall-mount controls, and the access door opens as slowly as Lakon intended. Use my wrist controls however, and the thing snaps open and shut like a man-sized mouse trap.
And I love trapping rats who think that they can gnaw on what’s mine.
My speed takes them by surprise. It takes only seconds to dash across the cargo bay, hiding behind stacked cargo containers of the rush that they intend to steal. Guns raise but don’t fire- because in the blink of an eye, there’s nothing to fire at. I punch the controls on my wrist computer, and I feel a gust of wind behind me as the bay door snaps shut. It takes only a second more to engage the lock.
Now’s your chance to save yourselves a really bad day, assholes.
The ting ting ting of small caliber rounds can be heard from the other side of the bulkhead. They won’t get through, of course- and in a moment, my mind is made up. My fingers dance across the ship’s controls, and the familiar hydraulic whine of the cargo ramp echoes through the hull. It shuts and seals with a heavy clunk.
The gangsters fire more rounds, ignoring the danger of being hit by a ricochet. The ship’s computer reports a malfunction in the cargo bay.
I smile. So they shot out the control panel hoping that it would magically open the bay doors. Looks like they’ve watched one action holovid too many.
Hello, Dan. Hello, Monty.
What’s that? Both, actually. Business and pleasure. As in, I’ve got a whole load of blow that I’ll sell you for cheap. That’s the business part.
There's also three piss-scared mobsters that I’ll throw in for free. That’s the pleasure part.
Good question, Dan. Long story. That’s all I’m gonna say. You want a cargo hold of the good shit or not?
Credits up front, huh? See, that’s why I love you guys. You know how to treat a girl right. Now- let’s whistle up some security and have a peek inside my cargo bay, shall we?
Hello again, Mr. Moustache.
Oh. Look at you three. Spooning with each other for dear life. Those cargo bays sure get cold, don’t they? Space is like that. Good thing I kept the life support on, huh?
Too frozen to even reach for a gun? Not surprised. And you’re not looking so good, either. Were you banged around a little while I was flying? So sorry about that. Pretty hard to hang on with no harnesses or anything. But in fairness, you were just insisting that I let you into the cargo bay, remember?
Oh, how rude of me! These here are my friends, Dan and Monty. They’re actually buying the cargo from me like you were supposed to. And the fine men in uniform are station security. I’m sure you know why they’re here.
What’s that, officer? Bounties? On all three of them? Looks like this girl is in the black, after all!
And here you are, pissing yourself instead of making it to your son’s birthday. Sorry about your bad luck.
Oh, gods. Here we go again. Salty man tears. Real ones this time. Can’t even be taken away with a little dignity, can you?
I've said it before and I’ll say it again:
If there’s anything I hate, it’s a man who cries.
OOC note: yep, the title was an allusion to a Tom Hanks movie. And yes, that was a Princess Leia quotation. Hope you enjoyed!