Sometimes You've Just Gotta Wreck a Room
22 Nov 2016Terra Sheer
Maintaining eye contact, they say, is very important. Particularly when you're making a complete ass of yourself, it helps to keep a good hard stare fixed on whoever might be in a position to judge you for it. It keeps them off balance. Chips away at their confidence and makes them doubt they have a solid handle on what it truly is to be an idiot.But it doesn't seem to be working on Tiny. His side-eye rolls into a full on scowl.
"How the hell do you run out of fuel...."
"Just bad luck--"
"...in an Asp?"
He's got me there. Between the absurdly efficient drive and god's own fuel capacity.... I think back to all those sticky notes on my console, reminding me of what I ought to have damn well known already.
I lick my lips. "I guess I just forgot?"
"You don't run a fuel scoop?"
"It broke."
"And you didn't fix it?"
"I couldn't afford to!"
He answers with an incredulous squint, but now, it seems, the hard stare is getting to him. There's a crack of doubt there, as it occurs to him that he might be edging into asshole territory with his criticisms.
"Look, it was either that or pay the insurance," I tell him. I figure it's not worth mentioning the half-empty crate of brandy. Living expenses ought to be a given. "I did the math. I guess ... I just didn't do it good enough."
He nods. I can see in the tension of his jaw that he's got some smart-ass remark he's trying to hold back. While he wrestles with it, I shift my attention to our immediate needs and start taking apart the room.
It's not much, as storage goes. We'll have to raid the commons room, too, if we're going to find anything of real use. But I do manage to find something to wear -- a greasy, olive-green mechanic's jumper that's certainly seen better days. Two sizes too big, with thread-worn sleeves and a hole in the crotch ... but it's better than just my underwear. Along with it, I come across a set of short-range communicators and an assortment of tools. It's too bad that none of those really amounts to much of a weapon -- save for maybe a mid-sized pipe wrench with a rusty nut. Still.... I look over it all and sigh. It would be awfylly nice to get a stroke of good fortune now and then. If luck be a lady, she sure is a cast-iron bitch.
Tiny hangs by the door with the shock stick, keeping watch as I ransack. Pretty soon the room is filled with junk, the contents of every cubby floating through the air in lazy loops, following the circulator currents.
"You know...." Tiny's low grumble almost loses itself beneath the rumble of the engines. "I used to be a dock hand, before they enlisted me."
"Yeah?" I rip a stained undershirt into strips. It's looking more and more like we're going to have to storm the cockpit. Tourniquets might come in handy. What I wouldn't give for a flak jacket. Or even a good, solid steel plate.
"If we could find an EVA suit, I think I could get fuel to your ship. There should be transfer hoses in external maintenance bays, and they valves are all externally controlled, so there'd be no way he could shut us off, apart from blowing the tanks outright. Only problem is, the second I go out there, he's gonna burn me alive with his turrets."
I stop mid rip. All this time I've been ransacking the room, I've been neglecting the most useful thing in it. The room itself.
Time to make an even bigger mess.
"I might have an idea about that," I say, and push off toward the ceiling. "Come over here and help me pry these facing panels off. Let's see if they still build these old Lakon beasts like they used to...."
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