Drinks and Cleanup
30 Nov 2016Kyla Emmerich
Previous Log“So you’re tellin’ me that you’ve never left the Bubble in your life, but you decided to go on a trip to Jaques because you felt the need to ‘get away’?” Jim asks, in his raspy, farm boy voice. “I’ve heard some crazy shit in my time, but that is definitely up there.”
I narrow my eyes. “I never said it was smart. I know I was in over my head. I’ve learned that now, the hard way.” My eyes relax and my lips curve into a slight smile. “I did see some pretty things out there though.
Arthur nods his head as he takes the final swig from his glass. “You’re right about all the pretty things out there,” his eyes dart up and down my figure, “though I think the prettiest thing slammed into the docking pad and joined us for drinks.”
Really? That was pathetic.
I frown. “Come on, pal. We agreed, nothing weird. Besides, you’re old enough to be my dad.”
“Hey, I’m just sayin’,” he says with a sleazy tone.
“Well, your choice of pickup line isn’t exactly going to get any women in bed, especially not me. I prefer men with a bit of… shall we say… tact?”
Arthur remains silent and Jim chuckles. “She’s got you there, Art.”
I have spent a good couple of hours drinking beer and chatting with these gentlemen. They’re nice enough in their own way, though I’m not sure either of them are the type that’d I’d bring home to introduce to mother. The fact that both are almost twice my age has something to do with that also, but Arthur is also quite sleazy.
I drank with these men, hoping they’d help me to find this Ashley person so I could hand her the datacore of that Asp I stumbled upon. It turns out that all I need to make these men trust me is to have a pretty face and a few beers with them. I just had to make sure I paced myself so I didn’t end up shitfaced before I got the information I needed. Getting shitfaced is for when I get back to the Bubble.
“Alright,” Jim slurs with his raspy voice. “We’re going to have to wrap things up I think. We got a long trip ahead of us so we ought ta get some shut-eye.”
He takes out a notepad from the inside of his coat, then scrawls on it. He then tears off a page and hands it to me. “Contact details for Ashley when you get to Altair. You’re doin’ a good thing, Kira… Or… Karen?”
“Kyla...”
“Yeah, somthin’ like that. Now ol’ Harvey and Ashley may have split, but they were pretty darn close when he went missing so she won’t give ya any trouble. Pleasure making yer acquaintance, Kyla.”
The bearded brown-coat reaches out to shake my hand, and I accept. His handshake is firm. Arthur salutes me and they both briskly exit the tavern, stumbling slightly in their drunken state. I lean forward, with my elbows resting on the table. I am slightly buzzed, but I wouldn’t call myself drunk. As weird as the little drinks session with Jim and Arthur was, the company of other human beings has made me feel immensely better. It was time for me to examine the extent of the damage to my ship.
I follow the signs inside the settlement toward the docking bays. Before the long corridor toward the docks, a small administration desk sits beside a large door, with a bored looking clerk who looks like she could use a drink or three. I approach the desk and the clerk yawns, before acknowledging me.
“Can I help you?” she asks, her voice is monotonous.
“Yeah, I’m looking for which docking bay my ship is parked in. A Cobra MKIII named Moon Shot?”
She gives me a blank stare, I’m unsure if she processed any of that.
“Uhh, the one that landed pretty hard a few days ago?” I continue.
Her blank stare remains. “License, please.”
I present my pilot’s license. She brings it up close to her face, squinting as she examines it.
She places it back down on the desk. “Straight down the corridor, Miss Emmerich. Docking bay three.”
The door hisses open to hangar bay three, and Moon Shot is sitting neatly on the middle of the pad, the visible damage is minimal. A dock worker stands beside the front landing skid, prodding his datapad. Upon noticing me, he slowly hobbles toward me with a large grin on his face, hidden slightly behind his bushy moustache.
“Howdy ma’am. This is your ship I take it?”
I nod as he brings the screen of his datapad to my view.
“I must say, you’re lucky you were packing a shield generator. Some pilots go without to increase their jump range. Bit of a silly idea if you ask me, can’t be too safe out this far from the Bubble. The damage from the impact was minimal thanks to your shield, and we got that all fixed up pretty quick. The repair bill ain’t too steep.”
Well, at least the ship is okay.
He hands me a stylus. “Just need you to sign here to authorize the payment, and she’s all yours again.”
I squiggle my signature on his slate. “Thanks. So she’s fit to fly again?”
He nods. “Yeah, ‘bit of a mess inside but otherwise she’s space worthy.”
I step inside the ship, and immediately I see the contents of storage cabinets strewn all over the floor - food, clothing, various tidbits, even the toaster is on the floor. The broken glass from the shattered liquor bottle is still there from when I almost slammed into a star. I head toward my bunk and collapse with my face in the pillow.
Fuck it, I’ll clean up after I’ve had some sleep.
My attempts to sleep are patchy at best. My dreams are intense and vivid. Slamming into the docking pad seems to be the recurring theme, with each iteration of the dream being more violent. My ship hurls toward the docking pad, shattering the canopy glass on impact and sending me flying onto the metal ground. My eyes shoot wide open from the impact.
I lay back, drenched in my own sweat, panting from the dream. Anxiety now grips me by the chest, and the thought of my dramatic entrance to Amundsen Terminal lingers in my mind, to which my memory is still hazy.
I take a deep breath.
At least I am not talking to a toaster anymore.
I step into the shower. It’s small, cramped, but the hot, flowing water is refreshing. I stare at the low ceiling. Not long now, and I’ll be in a stasis pod, heading back to the Bubble.
All I can think about at this point is home. The cool Valhalla air, the beautiful sun rises, relaxing in the huge park in my home city. Saying I feel homesick is an understatement. The temptation to just launch now and head for home is almost overwhelming, but knowing that I’ll be isolated again for five kylies prevents me from actually doing it.
I step out of the shower, drying myself off and changing into a fresh set of clothes, then I wade back out toward the main hub of the installation. There is a small line toward the ticket kiosk to book a transport back to the Bubble and it’s moving slowly. Always my luck that the person up front is some incompetent idiot who can’t figure the damn thing out. I sigh and attempt to wait patiently, resisting the urge to yell at the person.
Fifteen gruelling minutes, and the person up front finally figured out how to use the kiosk and books his place on the transport. The line moves forward and I give the sod a venomous glare. 30 more minutes and it’s finally my turn. I begrudgingly book a flight back to the Bubble, selecting the option to have my ship delivered to the destination. The transaction leaves me almost broke, with only enough credits left over for fuel to get me to Aymifa once the transport finishes its journey. I don’t care at this point though, I feel a rush of joy, knowing that in just over a day I’ll be on the way home, and I won’t have to experience the journey.
With the task of booking the trip to the Bubble complete, I return to my ship. I stare down at the mess all over the floor and sigh.
Well, I best get started.