Dipshits in Space. Pilot Episode:

  "And there she was. A gleaming beacon of polished… whatever it was made of. Aluminum maybe. I got it for a song, a real bargain, but I know why. Yeah, she is fast, but the dealer saw me coming. It takes a lot to fool Captain William T Lawg, but this guy was a pro. He told me the interior was carbon fiber but turns out it’s mostly plastic and cardboard. Oh well, I can have it swapped out piece by piece over time for something better, something good and light, something that wouldn’t rust up or get old, something like titanium or bitanium. Just think how fast she would be then. I don’t know how many kilos or pounds or yen I could shave off but I bet I could reach like…insane speeds.” a clearly intoxicated man with jet black hair said. His 5 o’clock shadow made him look older than he was, but he was brimming with confidence despite his unpolished look.

  “I think you had enough soda for now,” the woman with blue hair said.

  “Why is that, maybe I’m not done partying?” he said with an eyebrow raised.

  “You haven’t even left your stool since you have been here. You arrived drunk, pounded back like 8 sodas and you seem to be staying fairly lit for some reason.” She pointed out.

  “Maybe that’s how my party gets started. Anyway so you wanna see my ship?” asked Captain Lawg.

  “Not really.” The Bartender replied.

  “But it’s a convertible, that’s why it’s so fast.” He bragged.

  “Isn’t that a bad characteristic for a space ship?” she asked.

  “Only if you are a battle cruiser or an explorer or a cargo ship.” He scoffed.

  “I thought you said you were an explorer?” she asked. He gave her a silent stare.

  “Different kind of…oh come on, I have everything else. Jumbo minibar, disco ball, hot tub, even an android that I am confident just needs new fuses to work.”

  “But not a roof?” she noted, raising an eyebrow.

  “Hey, I’m not gonna lie to you and say she is a Nerp class cruiser, but a good ship is only as good as its captain and that’s what matters, hard-top, canvas top, something better then those, doesn’t make a difference when it comes to decisions and reflexes.” He said drawing his pistol and spinning it like a cowboy, nearly dropping it.

  “Havin trouble there Tex?” she grinned.

  “Balance is off, that’s why it's so impressive. A normal man couldn't even get it spinning.” He said sighing as she noticed it was missing the barrel and receiver, just a handle and trigger, complete with holster.

  “What happened to your gun?” she inquired.

  “It’s a convertible too…shut up. I mean, sure I owe a little money but I can’t give them my gun or my ship.” He protested, knocking back another shot.

  “So you gave them half of both?” she asked.

  “Damn right. Finding a ship is impossible with the new registration codes. Every new ship requires a license and inspection, same with the new guns. You can thank the politicians for that. But as long as it pre-dates the ban…perfectly legal.”

  “But what good is half a gun or half a ship?” she asked.

  “That’s the beauty of it. Ship’s top is just an addition, the registration code is printed on the engine and the main frame column, so you can swap the top all you want baby, ride topless all day and it’s perfectly legal. Little canvas and a few cans of flex-spray and you got a ship. Guy on the commercial said you could make a boat out of it with a screen door. If it can hold water, It can hold vacuum, obviously water weights more than vacuum. So technically she may not be a full ship in the normal sense but she flies just fine. All I gotta do is haul some cargo and make payday and I can get whatever top I want, never change the registration code and that sucker at the pawn shop never even asked.” He grinned proudly.

  “Okay, but isn’t the registration number for that handgun printed on the barrel?” she asked. He scoffed and looked down at his belt. His eyes went wide.

  “Awe son of a bitch damnit!” he said throwing the handle to the ground.

  “Guess you should, have sold the whole gun.” She muttered to herself. “Wouldn’t have made much difference though, ship is worth a lot more then a pistol.” She said comfortingly.

  “Usually yes, but the ship sucks and the gun was a collectors item. I sold the wrong half, I’m so stupid. I’m a terrible captain.” He wailed, placing his forehead down firmly on the table.

  “Not sure if I would put my face on the counter. This is Delmar 7. Delmarians have a tendency to end up with their faces on there too.”

  “Who cares? I lost everything.” He said with a muffled mutter.

  “You do know Delmarians have their genitals on their faces.” She muttered. He jumped up and slid off the barstool, clambering to his feet and holstering the handle, wiping his face and frantically checking his pockets for sanitizer. He sprayed some on his hands and began rubbing his face. A moment later he let out a very feminine scream and dropped to his knees. The bartender sighed and rolled her eyes.

  “Rubbed alcohol in your eyes didn’t you?” she said strolling out from behind the counter and helping him up. “It’s okay, just let it out.” she comforted, returning to her place and pouring him another shot of the milky liquid giving off a faint glow and a slight green hue.

  “I’m falling apart, I got nothing. My girl left me for one of those yellow aliens with 2 heads, apparently he can watch TV and pay attention to her at the same time whatever good that is. She told me I never paid attention to her, I was gonna kick his ass but I don’t remember his name and they all look alike.

  “She didn’t mention his name?”

  “I dunno; maybe, guess I wasn’t paying attention the point is…I’m screwed. I have 3 weeks to pay off the debt I have at the pawn store or they keep my shit.” He sighed.

  “So what? Half a gun and a plastic starship roof?”

  “It’s not the roof, it’s what I hid in the vent panel. I’ve been missing most of the roof for weeks now, sell a section as needed. I just sealed the cargo bay from the rest of the ship. That last section had a hollow spot that space-pirates are prone to building safes into. I used the safe to hide valuables. It’s a Jade Plinket doll.”

  “A real one or a fake?” she asked, suddenly looking interested.

  “If it was fake I wouldn’t care. Those things are worth thousands of credits. I had it notarized and confirmed. Paperwork in the safe too”

  “Then why did you leave it in the panel you intended to sell?” she asked.

  “I was super sober, I wasn’t thinking. My girl just left me and I needed money, didn’t have a crew anymore, had to sell something and the shop owner heavily suggested the roof panel of my ship.” He said flopping his face back on the table.

  “He must have known you were hiding something.” she suggested

  “Of course he did, she told him everything. The pawn shop owner was the guy my girlfriend ran off with. She took 500 credits from my glovebox before she left. I should have put that in the vent too. Everyone knows Caster 84 ships have good hiding spots and safes can be impossible to remove if installed correctly. They’re almost impossible to crack without dismantling the entire wall.” He finished.

  “Or taking the roof off I guess. So I am just speculating here if you want to stop me…she told him you had a Plinket doll, she couldn’t get the combination for the lock so she got you sober and convinced you to pawn part of the ship to pay the debt you already owed to the guy she was sleeping with…and he got you to sell the roof that contained the lock box. So you sold him the barrel of a valuable antique gun to buy some time and you need 800 credits so you can get the doll you were going to sell to pay off the debt you already owed.” She said he lifted his head in awe.

  “Wow, you are really good.” He said.

  “Can I see that handle?” she asked. He laid it on the table without a second thought. He squinted suspiciously.

  “Why do you care about half a worthless gun?” he asked. She squeezed her boobs together and he suddenly didn’t care, sliding the gun handle close to her cleavage.

  She began fiddling with it as he rubbed his face.

  “Can I get another…I’m not quite sober enough to fly, these shots are pretty weak.”

  “Sure, here is a double. You are having a really bad day anyway.” she said pouring it to the brim.

  “So can I have my handle back now?” he asked. She sighed and lifted up a fully assembled gun.

  “No, I don’t think so.” She said with a smirk.

  “Um…why do you have my whole gun?” he asked.

  “Because I spotted the barrel of a mint condition Celtic Rider pistol in the pawn shop earlier and I asked him for the grip. He told me you would have it and that anything with tits could trip the guy up enough to just hand it over... I have tits.” She smiled.

  “Yea, you sure do…so do I pay you when I get the money and you give me back my gun or what?” he asked.

  “You stupid little man, you don’t grasp any of this do you? I am robbing you. Every pawn store is Colony Owned property, this is a dive bar, no cameras and no scanners. I get to keep the gun, that’s 400 credits easily, a month’s wages for a bartender and like you said…guns are hard to get since they started making you register. You just brought me the gun I needed to rob you. I didn’t believe you would be that stupid.”

  “You used me, Tits. Touché. So what? You got my gun, your not gonna shoot me.” he said with nothing left to loose. “Colony police would be on you in 5 minutes.”

  “Or, I could just call it self defense…this is your gun and it’s registered to you. An off-worlder with a fancy gun, a Chafee nonetheless, stone sober.”

  "Okay that does look bad, but I have been drinking enough of these things to start getting my blood-alcohol back to normal, any minute now…” he said feeling nervous.

  “There is no booze in these things, they’re flavoring for mixed drinks.” She said with a grin. You could drink the bottle and never get your head clear, and you Chafee’s are useless when your blood alcohol drops under .06. So those shots of sugar-water and flavoring probably boosted your metabolism. You’ll be so jacked by the time they arrive you wont be able to defend or finish a sentence without falling over.”

  “Well, Crapshit…you really are good. A Chafee in a bar with no alcohol in him, gun with his registering number, and a beautiful waitress who I assume gets a cut of the money for whatever this is?” he asked, looking groggy.

  “Twenty percent, so tell me the safe combination and I let you walk. Or you can keep your combination and go to jail. They don’t like Chafee’s in Colony cells you know.

  “Can I at least have my gun back if I tell you?” he asked.

  “You can have the handle…I’ll sell it for 80 credits.” She snickered sarcastically, knowing he had nothing left.

  “Fine, you win. No police, just put the gun down. I don’t wanna get shot with my own gun…Password.” He sighed.

  “Exactly.” She said.

  “No, I mean the Password is “Password”.” He sighed again.

  “Are you kidding me? Don’t lie to me you filthy Chafee!” she said waving the gun.

  “I’m not lying, the Password is just Password. I was sober, hadn’t had drink for days and I never used the safe before, it was a brand new ship to me. The screen said to enter Password and I took it very literal. I typed in “Password” and it saved it. I don’t know how to reset the damn thing. The Password is Password.” He barked. She looked shocked.

  “Wow…you really do have a problem.” She said placing a small bottle on the counter. “You need to get clean, How long has it been since you had any alcohol?” she asked.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “6 days. I can barely walk straight, I’ve been too broke to buy anything. I’m only half Chafee, so I can go a few days without any booze before I get really trashed, unless some sneaky wench keeps sliding me sugar shots. Maybe if you had been pouring something stronger then drink flavoring this whole time, I’d be drunk enough to think straight.” He said swigging on the bottle she gave him.

  “Well, I feel for you. I hope things get better but obviously I am going to give the Password Password to the guy, and get my 20 percent. Here, house brand Vodka. Drink up, get your head clear before you end up in jail.” She smirked. He heard the faint sound of sirens.

  “I thought you said you wouldn’t call the police?” he protested.

  “No I implied I wouldn’t shoot you. You better go.” She grinned.

  “You suck!” he yelled, falling out of the chair and frantically transitioning from scuttling on all-fours to a wobbly sprint. He chugged the bottle and headed to the nearest populated location. He turned the bottle around. Mako’s drink flavoring. “Oh you stupid bitch.” He grumbled, throwing it at the wall. The lights and sirens were obvious now as the hover-bikes neared him. He rushed into the street and rammed through the crowd of partying locals, all enjoying the midnight parade for whatever reason they were celebrating. He zigged and zagged before locating his ship’s teleporter pad, as he circled around the long way to avoid direct attention, he fiddled with the communicator. Luckily even sober he was good at operating those. Suddenly the spotlight hit him and he darted for the pad, running into someone and noticing the police heading his way. His eyes got big as he realized it was the woman from the bar.

  “Are you following me?” he asked. The bartender looked insulted. “Don’t say a word you damn double-crossing whore.” He said burying the barrel of his bottle opener into her side like a pistol. “Go for the gun, or refuse to step on that pad and you are dead.” He growled. She looked confused but she played along. He hit the auto-return and they materialized in his ship, staggering out as he pointed the fake pistol.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked, looking terrified.

  “Somewhere safe, might take you a while to get to a communication booth to call your friends but as long as you cooperate, I won’t kill you.” he said hitting the big red button on the console. The ship streaked away into the darkness as the two of them held on for dear life. He held the button for about 10 seconds and let off.

  “Alright, bet you didn’t expect that move.” He said rummaging through the minibar and swigging back a tiny bottle of something. He let out a relief “Ahhh” and sat down in his chair, adjusting the tape and lining up the armrest so he could get comfortable. The arm of the chair fell off and he just went with it, pretending it was somehow intentional. He cracked open another mini-bottle.

  “Alright, now take off that jacket.” He ordered.

  “You’re not going to take advantage of me are you?” she asked, looking frightened.

  “What? No, I just want my gun back. You already took advantage me of me enough for the both of us, but I got the edge now. I want my gun back, and when the chaos settles, AFTER I get my roof out of pawn and my safe back…then I’ll let you go. Only you know the Password so as long as I keep you here…I’m just fine.” he said grabbing the jacket and realizing there was no gun in it.

  “I have no idea what you are talking about, I don’t have your gun, or any gun, I don’t know you or any Password.” She said looking upset and ready to cry. He got up and was about to get verbally intimidating before he noticed her clothes were slightly different color. He also didn’t notice the ear ring back in the bar.

  “Were you just at the bar?” he asked.

  “I don’t drink. I never saw you until you held a gun to my side and forced me on this ship. Did you think I was someone else?” she asked

  “Awe shit…are you kidding me?” he hollered, flopping down in the chair as the other armrest fell off. “I may have…mistaken you for someone else. It’s not my fault, it was dark, there was some mayhem getting done, I was sober and out of breath and all you damn aliens look the same.” He said, realizing his blunder.

  “You thought I was someone else? You seriously can’t tell us apart?” she asked, half angry and half scared. “So are you going to kill me?” she asked.

  “No, wouldn’t kill you if I could. The same wench who has my password also has my gun, and by the time I turned back she would have my roof and my valuables and I’m already a fugitive for something I didn’t even do before the abduction charge I probably just earned. I’ll have to drop you off at the next planet with modern life.” He yawned.

  “Wait…she stole your roof?” she asked abruptly.

  “No, I pawned it. Long story. Besides it’s fine. My ship is even faster without it.”

  “Why are we not dead?” she asked, looking up at the canopy of ratchet-straps and canvas.

  “Survival Green, baby…toughest tape in the galaxy. Lotta older ships used to replace entire panels with it to make the ships faster, reduce the weight. Perfect for illegal cargo runs…or if you just lose your roof due to some unfortunate events.”

  “That can’t be scientifically possible. A thin layer of adhesive couldn’t possibly hold the vacuum of space.” She said looking perplexed.

  “Thin layer my-ass, that’s like 2 rolls of the stuff. Survival Green can do anything if you lay it on 15 strips thick. Don’t worry about it.” he assured.

  “I am worrying about it, it doesn’t make sense, there is no way that is safe. How can that flimsy tape repair an entire roof section, how does it insulate?” she asked. He blinked a few times and his smile faded.

  “I guess I never questioned it.” he said noticing his breath. “I just figured since I read it in a book that it made sense. Survival Green is strong enough to hold, maybe the freight runners insulated the inside with something.” he pondered as the temperature began to rapidly drop.

  “We need to turn back.” she insisted.

  “It’ll be fine I bet, besides I didn’t set the navigational beacon so I have no idea where “back” even is.

  “How do you not know where we came from? It’s the opposite direction from where we are going, you just turn around and go back.” she barked.

  “Yea, normally you would, but this is a stealth drive. It changes directions multiple times in transit so you can’t be followed. Without a beacon setting there is no way of knowing how many turns we did.”

  “Can’t we just guess?” she yelled

  “Bad idea, we could end up really lost. The stealth drive hones in one the strongest signal away from the target point so we would be better off staying on course and hoping for a good trade planet. I held the button down for like 10 seconds so we went pretty far.” He shrugged.

  “How far is pretty far?” she asked.

  “Well, speed of light travel…held the button down for ten seconds…so about ten light-seconds.” He shrugged, relaxing in his chair.

  “We are going to die aren’t we?” she asked.

  “Of course not…I got enough booze for 2 weeks easy, we are one week away from the little green dot here, plenty of fuel and there is a pot-belly stove if it gets drafty. I find if you stay comfortably full, get plenty of sleep and bathe regularly, try not to worry about stuff till a warning alarm goes off…everything usually goes fairly smooth. It’s when you struggle that you end up in trouble. See I was doing great, I had a job, a ship with a roof, and a girlfriend when I was just going with the flow.” He explained. She shivered and put her jacket back on.

  "So what happened that landed you as a fugitive on the run, with a ship made half of tape?” she asked.

  “Weren’t you listening?…I got a girlfriend. Girlfriends get clingy and stress you out. They mess with your vibes and muddle your clarity and you start wondering things like “What am I doing with my life?” or “Should I replace this fuse?” and before long you aren’t going with the flow, your paddling towards crazy goals like marriage and settling down. You start struggling and that’s when you end up pawning your roof and losing your gun. All we gotta do is sit back and relax, let the ship coast and at this speed we will be there long before the alcohol runs out or the power gets critical. Might have to burn a few things to keep the temperature toasty but I got shit to burn, I have quite the collection of lumber from old crates.” He said noticing the frost forming on his nose.

  “Yea well, news-flash dickhead…I’m not a Chafee, I need more than vodka and sleep to survive. I can’t go a week without water or food and we aren’t gonna have a week’s worth of shit to burn.” She said keeping the fire lit. “Plus…isn’t this a pure oxygen environment? Should we have exploded at the first spark from this thing?” she asked.

  “Don’t over-think it. That sounds accurate but we aren’t dead so clearly something is different.” He said shivering and grabbing a blanket.

  “Like what? What could possibly make sense here?” she said warming her hands as the fire flickered.

  “I dunno, I’m not a scientist or a math-chemist person, I’m a historian. Maybe there is some sort of space-technology device that takes care of it.”

  “Why would a ship be advanced enough to have some mysterious fire-suppression device and still shitty enough to heat with a wood-stove?” she yelled.

  “Calm down, you’re yelling is using up oxygen, clearly we have less than I thought or we would have exploded. Plus I bought that stove as a goof, it’s for roasting marshmallows and smores and stuff, never intended to heat a whole ship.” he said opening a drawer and looking for another blanket.”

  “Survival tape…wood stove…are you camping or running a spaceship? What the hell is a marshmallow? How can you be this stupid and still be alive?” she asked.

  “Chafee’s are inherently lucky. We have some chemical thing that makes us totally chill and relaxed, I didn’t really listen to the chemistry teacher.”

  “Alcohol…it’s called alcohol. Chafee’s are not naturally relaxed you are just naturally buzzed. It’s a mutation caused by thousands of years of drunk space-pirates surviving off rum and hookers and flying unshielded ships through radioactive space. Most of them died drunk and riddled with radiation poisoning and space syphilis. You get enough of them in space and some are bound to adapt. Chafee’s are just the .002 percent who mutated to suit the party-life that killed most of them. So you have a resistance to Theta, Gamma and Kappa radiation, and you don’t need food anymore. Just a balance of booze and sugar” She protested.

  “See? Sounds pretty lucky to me. Booze and sugar are amazing, especially together. Ever had a pina Canadia? All the unlucky ones are dead, so the only ones to breed are the ones with fortune running through their veins.” He smiled.

  “That makes no sense as all. The only thing in your veins is .28 units methyl alcohol. Chafee’s need to drink to stay sober but you have a natural “chill vibe” because you have no brain cells left. Chafee’s are born burnt-out. Some of us are not that lucky. So while you freeze to death pretending to be camping or lying on the beach, I get to freeze my ass off with the intelligence and brain cells needed to know how much it is going to suck. So thank you for abducting me and stranding me on a ship headed straight to a frosty grave.” She said tossing random stuff in the stove.

  “It’s space…how cold could it be? There are a billion stars shining from all directions!” he scoffed.

  A few hours passed in silence.

  “I think my toes are dead.” He said as he shivered in his little ball of blankets as they huddled around the fire.

  “I hate you.” she muttered.

  “This isn’t my fault. Plus we have only 2 hours left till we arrive at our destination.” He said pointing at the panel.

  “No, that’s two hours since we left.” She said shivering.

  “It’s only been that long? Geese.” He said looking more mildly shocked then concerned.

  “We won’t last another 2 days and your stupid stealth drive could be changing directions randomly if it’s as defective as the rest of the ship. I’m gonna die in an ice-cube tray with a dip-sickle next to me talking about march mallors and fortunes.

  “Ugh, Marshmallows are so good. You just toast them till they get sticky and burn a little and then smush them between 2 crackers.

  “That sounds terrible.” She said.

  “Oh the crackers are terrible, I don’t know why the books suggested it, I just scrape them off and eat the sticky part.” He smiled.

  “What are you, an ant? Then why even bother? Just eat the mallow by itself.” She grumbled.

  “It’s an Earth tradition. I read it off the back of the package. That’s where my ancestors were from and where the books came from, mostly just burnt bits and stray pages but I pieced them together. Of course it’s traditional to use chocolate bars in smores as well, but I can’t find chocolate anywhere. Probably got all blown up first when the collider went off. Switzerland was where all the chocolate was made, also where the Large hard-on collider was that blew up the planet.” He noted.

  “How did the books survive?” she asked.

  “They were covered in some kind of protective dust, apparently they printed billions of them and then like a hundred years later they just stopped using paper.” He noted. “There is a debris field just full of little scraps of books and you just gotta use your brain logicals and fill in the blanks. Eventually I’ll have re-written a whole library. I don’t know why they stopped printing.

  “Makes sense, it would take that long for them to develop efficient solar plants and stop cutting down trees.”

  “Oh no they kept cutting trees down, they just kept books on their computers and burned fuels to power the computers so it actually used up more fuel, but there must have been some benefit or they wouldn’t do it. Plus by like 2025 they all used hieroglyphics called Emojis and writing became obsolete again.”

  “Seems limiting.” she shivered.

  “They had their reasons, I’m sure.” He shivered as a little light came on. “See…now we have something worry about besides freezing.” He grinned cheerfully.

  “Alcohol burns you know…” she threatened.

  “Don’t you dare.” He snipped, waddling to the panel to see what the light meant.

  “What does the light mean?” she asked.

  “It’s the burnout light, light.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” she asked.

  “The light in the Kitchen kept going out so I wired up a light sensor to power this light. The light comes on when the light burns out. I’d go replace it but I used my last bulb to make the burnout light.” he yawned.

  “Oh my god you are useless. How did you ever successfully make any cargo runs with this ship and your shit-logic?” she groaned.

  “I’m not a cargo runner, this isn’t even a cargo ship. I’m a space historian, learned from my grandfather, everyone thought he was crazy but his directions lead me to the debris field. I am one of the few surviving Earth descendants who can read, and a few years back when I was applying for a cargo license I got lost on my way to the navigation hub, I don’t wanna talk about the details. Anyway I ended up somewhere in the Trump sector and we both know that’s a bad place to break down and fortunately I ran into another ship before I got jacked.”

  “Good thing you found someone.” she said rubbing her hands together.

  “Oh, no it was abandoned; I just ran into the side of it and crippled my rig. The other ship was in good shape though so I just traded ships and use my training rig for parts. This puppy used to be an ice-cream cruiser. Apparently Earth woman and children heard the siren and just flew right to it. I don’t really like kids but I like women and ice-cream so 2 out of 3 isn’t bad, not a lot of kids in space so it works out nicely. I traced the coordinates and maps back to where the Earth was and started collecting the debris. As long as nobody else finds it I can make trips back and forth and collect anything I want. Some of it’s junk and I can just sell it as scrap, but some I just have to keep for myself. There is a lot of history here, priceless Earth trinkets that one day will end up in my museum. I have comic books documenting the great Mutant Wars, but it’s incomplete. I have a crate of classical music from Earths more industrial early 21st century, mostly about hoes and getting money, so it’s relatable. And my cockpit is built around the frame of one of Earth’s classic muscle cars, a Ford Fusion. At the time, most cars ran on oil-based fuel so the Fusion’s primitive reactor was probably a real powerhouse of the time. Mint condition, engine was gone. Had to use it for something, why not a control cockpit? And this is a Fidget spinner.” He said digging one out of a drawer.

  “What does it do?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. There were a lot of them so they must have been important but I haven’t found a single useful thing they would be good for aside from distracting the hell out of yourself when you are trying to do actual work. I may have some of these cans of food left. They are little cylinders of blended meat in chicken flavored water from Vienna, an island on Earth.”

  “Are they good to eat?” she asked.

  “Well, not really but they don’t appear to have aged at all, so if you get hungry enough to ignore the taste they might be worth the risk. I dip them in tequila. They are about half salt and preservatives by volume so they keep as emergency rations, but I don’t imagine anyone ever eating them unless the situation was pretty sparse. I thought I found another food item about a week back that resembled meat. It had a yellow M on the wrapping paper so I unwrapped it, looked like meat and bread but the little devil nearly bit my pinky off. Shot 3 holes in the hull putting it down. Some kind of genetic experiment I think. It clearly wasn’t food.”

  “Let me guess…Survival Green Tape on the holes.” She wheezed.

  “I used 2 layers. We cool.” He said looking up and noticing another light on. He ran to the console and shifted into park, flipping a toggle switch and unleashing a truly demonic sounding musical tone.

  “What is that horrid music?”

  “I think it was called jingle bells, it was meant to alert people that the ship was in the area and had ice-cream to barter for currency. We detected a ship, maybe they will hear it. I’ll crank the volume.”

  “It’s a Vacuum!” she bellowed.

  “Don’t over-think everything.” He hollered back, cranking the volume.