Space Diary Year 3

Chapter III , Year 3, Cabin Boy

(rank 0 merchant navy)

Punch, Punch, Kick, Duck.

"Cabin boy! Bloody cabin boy!"

Duck, Leap, Kick, Kick.

John and Lisa were sparring in the cargo bay. There was sweat galore despite the moisture drinking plants that grew along the walls. Between brief breathes the two spoke as they exchanged practice blows.

"It is a step up" said Lisa leaping to avoid a sweep kick.

"It doesn't sound like one"

"Its just the title given to rank zeros, everyone starts at Cabin Boy officially when thy sign their navy papers."

As if in reply John did a leaping salmon kick at Lisa's face. She neatly caught his foot and brought him straight down, flat on his back.

"I've told you," She said "You're not good enough to do that sort of stuff and get away with it.

I could have broken your entire leg then if I wanted."

John, winded, slowly rolled up onto his feet panting.

"It just sounds so small," he insisted gulping air as he reached for a drink.

He pretended to himself that he didn't notice the way her breasts moved as she pulled a top over her head. She politely pretended she couldn't feel herself being stared at, although the idea was surpassingly not unpleasant.

"At this rate it won't be long before you get your gunners license. Just keep at the sims every time we are in port."

"What about you?" John asked wiping the sweat from his eyes with a towel.

"What about me!"

"Are you going to go for imperial citizenship?" He asked.

She didn't answer, instead she threw the kit bag at him to carry.

He shrugged and followed. But he was forced to stop when she hesitated at the docking bay door.

She turned and said,

"We land tonight and we won't be unloading until tomorrow, shall we go for a drink?"

"Yeh sure," John replied slightly stunned,

"Fine," She smiled, "Wear you new uniform,"

The landing was rough. The port was a flat open plain just outside the one street township. There were no tractor or pressure beams to assist landing. Behind the buildings on each side of the street were corrals for containing the exports.

The planet was called Bef. Its main export was reptilian wolf , beef steaks and grains, its main imports were small arms. It was a mostly tundra to desert planet with deep forest near the mountain regions. It was a pretty lawless planet with no real gun control. Unlike other planets, which usually had one Baron each, this one had split into 5 distinct rival baronies.

The culture was very reminiscent of the Earth American Wild West of the 1850's.

When Lisa met with John at the docking bay she was wearing, instead of her usual skimpy purple leathers (her old gang colours), a dowdy coverall boiler suit, tied back hair and no make up.

John felt disappointed at this obviously not being a date but a friendly drink, but he also felt relieved. This planet wasn't known for its liberal attitude to females.

There were two bars. The locals, which could be heard from here, and the spacers, which was quieter and more moody. As John headed toward the spacers he felt Lisa tug at his arm to go further down the street.

"I don't know about this Lisa,"

"We travel all over the place, I want to see some of it. All the Spacers lounges look the same,"

Hover bikes, reptilian wolves and even horses were tethered and parked outside the bar.

Lisa pushed him gently forward towards the double swing doors. As he went forward he felt the pit of his stomach go weak with dread.

But the music did not stop, no one turned to stare, and the place did not suddenly go quiet.

Lisa passed him and traveled to the bar, like a magnet he followed. There were women here. Lots of them, in bright layered dresses with bare arms and cleavage. Hairstyles were piled high to show pretty necks and ears ordained with cheap jewelry.

Most were sitting on someone's lap or coming up and down the over grand staircase. John had heard there was a shortage of women here, obviously the information on his galactic atlas must be out of date.

There was also gambling and a few sim machines.

He found Lisa passing him a small glass and as green as he was, he knew strong liquor when saw it.

He didn't want to show himself up in front of Lisa so bravely took a largish sip. Lisa knocked hers straight back. She poured herself another and gripped the bottle in the other hand ready to pour.

While she relaxed into the atmosphere John noticed that every one had gun belts. This in itself did not bother him, it was the guns holstered in them that did.

She started tapping her foot to the music and started singing what few words she knew.

John never imagined Lisa singing, but if he had it would be with a voice as lyrical as her prettiness.

In reality she managed to sing both flat and out of tune.

John felt a poke in his back but he ignored it desperately hoping it was just an accidental push in the crowd. Then he felt it again.

He gulped and turned. A thin mutant Dark Elf looked back at him with nine unblinking eyes. He had two sets of arms. Dark Elves like these were known as blessed amongst their kind, who worshiped spiders.

"He doesn't like you," he said indicating the large muscle bound Bigoney behind him.

The extreme of all heavy gravity creatures, John came up to about his waist.

"Sorry," said John.

"I don't like you either! You just watch yourself. I have a death sentence in twelve systems!"

"I'll be careful," said John.

The Elf's arm shot out and pulled John around to face him.

"You'll be dead!" the Dark Elf snarled.

Lisa popped her head around.

"This little one isn't worth the effort. Let me get you something." Lisa chirped.

'Ok,' thought John 'this has definitely got a aura of deju-vu about it.'

The next thing John knew he was being pushed sideways. The blow from two right arms should of sent a man flying but John had spent the last two years constantly lifting heavy cargo around, so instead he just staggered a little. The two right arms of the Dark Elf each fast drew a pistol.

Lisa had learned to fight with a street gang on a run down industrial hive world. She single kicked both guns out of the Dark Elf's hands with one foot. Then pressed herself towards him.

The Elf was stunned to find one of his left hands discretely under the buttons of the boiler suit and holding a bare firm female breast. Lips clamped around his and a very passionate tongue penetrated his lips.

"Lets fuck," she hissed. "Or would you rather have a whore who isn't gagging for it?"

As she lead him outside John looked to the Bigoney who shrugged,

"Not look at me. Me not know him," he then returned to his drink.

John suddenly found he was quite able to down a glass in one for the first time.

He didn't imagine women could or even should be like Lisa. But what he kept forgetting was that her past consisted of short lived lives. Such a background entrenches a lack of hesitation to any of the small pleasures of life that become available. After all, in a street gang you might get popped by a laser tomorrow. Lisa wanted to feel what it would be like to have four hands groping and wanting her.

It was nice. She would make a mental note to try this again one day.

John sat and for the first time got drunk. A few 'ladies' offered to drink with him but it was clear that he wanted to be alone. Its funny how sudden feelings of loneliness can make you want to be without company.

He knew and felt he didn't belong here so eventually staggered on to the Spacers bar.

Here his captain Carla the Orach and the engineer Turn Cog the Dwarf sat.

The Spacers lounge was dark and full of blue smoke. Spacers here were swapping tales.

John did not sit with his crew but alone in his corner. It was like some strange form of karaoke but instead of songs people got up on stage and told tales.

Turn Cog got up on stage, and obviously a little worse for wear himself, struggled onto the high chair. He coughed a little and announced his story. Even through the inebriation John could tell he was slightly nervous.

"I would like to tell the Dwarven ballad of the Silver Arrow,"

There was an approving clap as this was a classic tale. It was to many Dwarves what 'Danny Boy' was to the Irish.

Cog started the ballad,

"Half a score. A pirate fleet.
Seen by the crow man from his nest.
Seeing death from the mast
Half a score of pirate scum.

Silhouette against the star,
Running, pushing, thrusting away from harm.
Playing dare against the glare.
Running from a pirate fleet.
The small space ship lifted, tilted against the star.

Arch of fire swept as flames wept into the self collapsing loop.
The silver arrow flew against the licking light.
Off the wings and of the bow,
Off the Hull and Mast.
Arch of fire swept as the flames leapt from the self collapsing noose.

Behind is half a score of blue bolts skimmed and shivered through the heat.
The energy spittle from the pirate patrol.
To the right and left,
And above the Mast.
Half a score of blue bolts shot and melted into darkness forward.

The painful orange plasma eye winks.
A pirate scum flinches.
Into burning hell he goes.
The star swallows its prey.
The painful orange plasma eye folds.

Two others remain to kill.
Two hit the flanks of our hero.
Shields bow down before their masters.
Ceramic melts to their pitter patter.
Two others remain to kill our vessel, the silver arrow.

Out manned, out gunned is the silver arrow.
Twinkling in the dark.
Spin it sideways to fit the narrow gap,
Of flying demons as they pass.
Out manned, out gunned and brought around.

Fire one, Fire Two,
Light missiles light their way.
Paths of light to make a light.
One explosion bright against our star.
Fire one, Fire Two but one demon still remains.

One remains and is turned around.
Our hero lies in its way.
Sights are squared and lasers flashed.
Through the silent cloud the pirate flies.
One remains and is all alone.

Broken lies the Silver Arrow.
Snuffed out the life inside.
Gutted like a fish, the Mast is gone.
Floating dead.
Broken is the Silver Arrow.

Mourn not the Hero.
Who did not care for his crew.
To live is to trade, not to die a fool.
Let the Demons have their due.
Mourn not the foolish one."

There was more clapping as Turn Cog dismounted.

He nodded politely at Captain Carla as he went to his seat.

The ballad had suited John's mood perfectly, right down to the tragic ending.

John was feeling very sleepy now. He felt the hunched muscle arm of Carla around his shoulder.

Despite the look of a humanoid pig Carla had a very pleasant feminine voice.

She shook him gently and whispered into John's face.

"Are you ok, John? John? Can you hear me?"

The breath of an Orach is a foul thing, but as depressed and as low as he was, John was not going to be unkind enough to let it show.

"I'm fine, just tired,"

"You're not used to it are you" said Carla, "Go on, go home,"

"Can't get in, you're the captain." John replied rubbing his face.

"Where is Lisa," Carla asked.

"Fucking some four armed Dark Elf who tried to kill me"

"That's good of her,"

There was a pause, then John looked Carla straight in the eye.

"Fucking as in screwing, not as in beating to a pulp!" John exclaimed.

"Oh." Then Carla said "Well go back to the ship and sleep it off outside the cargo doors, it's a nice night. I'll get Cog to drag you to bed when we get there."

John staggered up and did what he was told. There were to many people here for his mood anyway.

John finally had to admit to himself that he had a crush on Lisa and that getting together with her was something that was unlikely to ever happen.

In the morning he would have his first headache.

This, ironically, would help him cover up to the others, his first heartache.