Friday, June 08, 2007
New Beginning 289
Albie yawned - stasis was taking forever. In his heyday, the bubble wrap pop of adrenaline fizzing through his veins would keep him awake till the last anaesthetised gasp, but at 2178, he'd run out of juice for riding the tedium. And he probably should have gone for one last piss.
He ran a finger over the fabric lining his sarc, his careworn smirk undetected by the life support sensors grafted to every skin pore. Nothing had changed for centuries. Sure, teleporters no longer ignited clothing and memory downloads were a thing of the past, but the inside of everything from a humble asteroid hopper to the toilet cubicles on Sthenno 3 still squealed with enough bobbled nylon trim to gift wrap every last wyrm a hundred times over.
Blinking the mission brief onto his retina, he double-checked his supplies another last time. Food: plenty. Fuel: plenty. Ammo: in abundance - and thanks to a deal the Corp struck up with EZ Leegz, a million miscellaneous sports socks piled high in the cargo bay. He figured on wearing these in odd pairs as he straddled the cannons. Or unpicking them if there was fuck all to do.
“Hi, Albie. How are you feeling today?”
“OK. But this stasis is cramping my wrap zing whiz on the commode pod cubicles of Sthenno 3 and the squealing nylon is about to wrack my neuron cavity wyrm.”
“Did the nurse explain everything to you, Albie?”
“Yeah, yeah, something about the contents of my bowels aren't flowing normally,” Albie said, feeling his skin ignite like a million flash bulbs burning inside a sweat sock. “But what about all these life-support sensors? They’re blocking my cybernetic epidermis boof from locking jiz wag into my protective waxing hopalong.”
“Roll over on your side, Albie, so I can give you your injection.”
Albie rolled over and when his hospital sarc parted, he felt the hyper-ozone hospital O2 drop a cold zephyr down his butt groove. “Damn, that shot hurt worse than yesterday,” he said, rubbing his trebleworn digits over the bulbous nip of his gluteus porcine anus.
“There, Albie, just close your eyes and rest until dinner. Were having your favorite today: Salmon, mashed potatoes and--”
“Yeah, yeah,” Albie said, staring at the ceiling and strategizing his manic condor until it zapped like puppy poop on a rolling blazer. “And another thing, as if there was fuck all to do in the first place. What about the scoutshacker transporter; who's gonna straddle the cannons? I bet you’re the one who struck a deal with the EZ Leegz in the uno placenta. And what about the cargo pit of the asteroid hopper . . .
Opening: Anonymous.....Continuation: circus boy