Voyage of the Holdthemayo.
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ariosto
Celestial Navigator
- Joined
- May 19, 2001
- Posts
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...saw your ad.
On the vid this morning at the Home.
I gotta get outta here.
Am holding papers for AstroNav, CelestialHarm, SpaceMonkey,
ShipsCook, BlasterMechanic, ETMed, BioCompTech, WeaponsPoet,
and VagabondMinstral.
I've been cleared for three degrees of command and hold the
Superior Titanium Star of Exalted Merit from the Imperial Space Navy of Moggannawump for heroic action in.....
There's a lot more of this drivel to follow so let me interject something here.
Santiago Pugh-Ratchette is as far as we know a complete liar.
He came to the RHSS (Rehab Home for Superannuated Spacers) last month with a cockamamy story about being marooned here by a certain 'Heartless' Captain Steene Sneede of the Free Trader Julias' Appendix and begged a night's lodging till he could get his 'kit' together.
Well...
Since my assistant Miss Dolly May Masters is a sucker for a sad tale she admitted him in my absence (It was the ninth Monday of Fradisran, a holy day here and I was taking deep absolution in the waters of Lake Head.) He's been here ever since eating us out of house and home!
The only thing I can say for sure to verify his claims is that he can cook providing you like everything fried in Drungrat grease till it resembles burnt tyres.
So PLEASE, PLEASE take Spaceman Ratchette aboard your vessel. If nothing else you can vent him in high orbit which believe me is more than he deserves.
Yours...Hugh Mallory Mallory, PHD, MD, DDS, LLD, and all that stuff.
On the vid this morning at the Home.
I gotta get outta here.
Am holding papers for AstroNav, CelestialHarm, SpaceMonkey,
ShipsCook, BlasterMechanic, ETMed, BioCompTech, WeaponsPoet,
and VagabondMinstral.
I've been cleared for three degrees of command and hold the
Superior Titanium Star of Exalted Merit from the Imperial Space Navy of Moggannawump for heroic action in.....
There's a lot more of this drivel to follow so let me interject something here.
Santiago Pugh-Ratchette is as far as we know a complete liar.
He came to the RHSS (Rehab Home for Superannuated Spacers) last month with a cockamamy story about being marooned here by a certain 'Heartless' Captain Steene Sneede of the Free Trader Julias' Appendix and begged a night's lodging till he could get his 'kit' together.
Well...
Since my assistant Miss Dolly May Masters is a sucker for a sad tale she admitted him in my absence (It was the ninth Monday of Fradisran, a holy day here and I was taking deep absolution in the waters of Lake Head.) He's been here ever since eating us out of house and home!
The only thing I can say for sure to verify his claims is that he can cook providing you like everything fried in Drungrat grease till it resembles burnt tyres.
So PLEASE, PLEASE take Spaceman Ratchette aboard your vessel. If nothing else you can vent him in high orbit which believe me is more than he deserves.
Yours...Hugh Mallory Mallory, PHD, MD, DDS, LLD, and all that stuff.
AmandaAce
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- May 9, 2004
- Posts
- 610
The inside of Rathskeller, a seedy spaceport drinking establishment, is possibly better imagined than described. Patrons in all states of intoxication lolled in the oddly shaped booths. Smoke curled against the ceiling and around the dingy holoscreens in the corner. Somewhere, a jukebox was playing.
WANTED CREW MEMBERS FOR THE HOLDTHEMAYO......WANTED CREW MEMBERS FOR THE HOLDTHEMAYO......
The words scrolled endlessly across the bar's ad-screen.
Behind the bar, Avi Skyblue, the owner, was hurriedly transmitting her stats to the ad-screen via her arm reader. As she typed, she poured herself a drink.
Name: Avi Skyblue
Age: 25
Species: Humanoid Beryllean
Am currently chipped as Level 6 Business Owner. Hold chips in Navigation, Kill Procedure, Drink Mixing, and Flower Arrangement. Stuck in a spaceport in the middle of Joollya. Get me the fuck out of here.
Avi hit the transmit button with her right pinky, drained her drink, and turned off her arm reader. She rested her head on the bar and waited.
WANTED CREW MEMBERS FOR THE HOLDTHEMAYO......WANTED CREW MEMBERS FOR THE HOLDTHEMAYO......
The words scrolled endlessly across the bar's ad-screen.
Behind the bar, Avi Skyblue, the owner, was hurriedly transmitting her stats to the ad-screen via her arm reader. As she typed, she poured herself a drink.
Name: Avi Skyblue
Age: 25
Species: Humanoid Beryllean
Am currently chipped as Level 6 Business Owner. Hold chips in Navigation, Kill Procedure, Drink Mixing, and Flower Arrangement. Stuck in a spaceport in the middle of Joollya. Get me the fuck out of here.
Avi hit the transmit button with her right pinky, drained her drink, and turned off her arm reader. She rested her head on the bar and waited.
darrenfate
Golden Boy
- Joined
- Sep 18, 2001
- Posts
- 2,310
Boredom comes in many colors, and if you buy that Rad Knifely was walking about with rainbow colored glasses. The vid ad seemed to good to be true - retire for life after just one trip. Having had no mama to tell him of that old adage ( things that are too good to be true inevitably are) made Rad’s bad decision to reply a lock.
Still, he needed to concoct, er, “write up” a CV application. The truth was but a possible way to do this, but since it had little of the luster a good old fashioned whole cloth fabricated story would, he went with the latter. Pulling out his voice recorder a new Blackberry 177 (why they named it after fruit he had no idea) and dashed off a quick reply. Glibness was never a problem for Rad.
“To whom it may concern, but especially the beautiful Captain Holt –
Consider this a formal application for a berth on your grand ship the HOLDTHEMAYO. My name is Rad Knifely, and I have had a wide variety of special experience space. I seek adventure done in good humor as well as fortune – although not in that order.
On my last mission, we saved the Princess Hydration from the planet Aqua, she had been kidnapped by pirates from their nemesis world Firenza. Upon beating back by throwing flame retardant on these rogues, I was granted verbal rights to the one dry spot on their world which would have made me a gazillionaire. Unfortunately, while traveling back to Aqua, the tide literally turned, and her father was swept out of office by a giant whirlpool. All this left me stranded on this godforsaken station unable to collect my just rewards.
The point (such that I have one) is simply this. I am a versatile, agile, mobile, erectile man who based on your other alternatives here at the station would be a fine addition to your crew.
I await your reply.”
Rad thought this was probably over the top, even for him, but shrugged and pushed SEND anyway.
Life is short, then you die.
Still, he needed to concoct, er, “write up” a CV application. The truth was but a possible way to do this, but since it had little of the luster a good old fashioned whole cloth fabricated story would, he went with the latter. Pulling out his voice recorder a new Blackberry 177 (why they named it after fruit he had no idea) and dashed off a quick reply. Glibness was never a problem for Rad.
“To whom it may concern, but especially the beautiful Captain Holt –
Consider this a formal application for a berth on your grand ship the HOLDTHEMAYO. My name is Rad Knifely, and I have had a wide variety of special experience space. I seek adventure done in good humor as well as fortune – although not in that order.
On my last mission, we saved the Princess Hydration from the planet Aqua, she had been kidnapped by pirates from their nemesis world Firenza. Upon beating back by throwing flame retardant on these rogues, I was granted verbal rights to the one dry spot on their world which would have made me a gazillionaire. Unfortunately, while traveling back to Aqua, the tide literally turned, and her father was swept out of office by a giant whirlpool. All this left me stranded on this godforsaken station unable to collect my just rewards.
The point (such that I have one) is simply this. I am a versatile, agile, mobile, erectile man who based on your other alternatives here at the station would be a fine addition to your crew.
I await your reply.”
Rad thought this was probably over the top, even for him, but shrugged and pushed SEND anyway.
Life is short, then you die.
AmandaAce
Literotica Guru
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- Posts
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Avi raised her head as her reader beeped. She held up her left arm, watching as the words scrolled in pale pink across her semi-blue skin.
Reaching down, Avi grabbed her electronic wallet. She slid it deep into the pocket of her jumpsuit. She also grabbed a bottle of Beryllean Lightning Grog and slid it into her carryall. As she did so, she pressed a button underneath the bar.
Lights flashed on all over the Rathskeller. A klaxon alarm sounded, as a voice came over the loudspeaker.
"Hi, this is popstar Sansibus Reilly, and I'm here to say GET OUT! The Rathskeller is FOLDING!" This ridiculous sally was followed by a burst of electric piano music. Avi scowled. She had never figured out how to turn off the celebrity voice generator.
The patrons that had heard the alarm and were able to do so were scrabbling, crawling, slithering, and jiving towards the exit. Good thing, too.
Avi stepped up on the bar and held out a thing that looked like a keycard.
The Rathskeller began folding up. The oddly shaped booths collapsed into one another, the bottles dropped out of sight, the holoscreens folded...
And Avi was left standing in the east end of Spaceport Joollya, clipping her bar to her keychain. She turned and walked to the docking bay, where her Spespa was hovering.
Avi swung her leg over her white Spespa and lowered the flying bubble, at the same time transmitting the coordinates from her arm reader to the Spespa's Nav system.
To the casual observer, Avi Skyblue would seem relatively normal. She was a classic humanoid Beryllean, with sky-blue hair, blue iris-less eyes, and gill slits at her collarbone. She also had the delicate ridge of scales down her spine that was more common to her Beryllean cousins, the Mermaedes. She wore a simple reg-black sleeveless jumpsuit, and blue grav boots.
Although she looked normal, Avi Skyblue was a felon. A bar owner and former exotic holo-dancer, she was wanted on over 15 planets for charges ranging from petty theft to murder. She was something of a legend on the planet Recedius Six, where she'd gone for a vacation and left with the moon.
Avi grinned and gunned her Spespa faster. She couldn't wait to get to work.
Reaching down, Avi grabbed her electronic wallet. She slid it deep into the pocket of her jumpsuit. She also grabbed a bottle of Beryllean Lightning Grog and slid it into her carryall. As she did so, she pressed a button underneath the bar.
Lights flashed on all over the Rathskeller. A klaxon alarm sounded, as a voice came over the loudspeaker.
"Hi, this is popstar Sansibus Reilly, and I'm here to say GET OUT! The Rathskeller is FOLDING!" This ridiculous sally was followed by a burst of electric piano music. Avi scowled. She had never figured out how to turn off the celebrity voice generator.
The patrons that had heard the alarm and were able to do so were scrabbling, crawling, slithering, and jiving towards the exit. Good thing, too.
Avi stepped up on the bar and held out a thing that looked like a keycard.
The Rathskeller began folding up. The oddly shaped booths collapsed into one another, the bottles dropped out of sight, the holoscreens folded...
And Avi was left standing in the east end of Spaceport Joollya, clipping her bar to her keychain. She turned and walked to the docking bay, where her Spespa was hovering.
Avi swung her leg over her white Spespa and lowered the flying bubble, at the same time transmitting the coordinates from her arm reader to the Spespa's Nav system.
To the casual observer, Avi Skyblue would seem relatively normal. She was a classic humanoid Beryllean, with sky-blue hair, blue iris-less eyes, and gill slits at her collarbone. She also had the delicate ridge of scales down her spine that was more common to her Beryllean cousins, the Mermaedes. She wore a simple reg-black sleeveless jumpsuit, and blue grav boots.
Although she looked normal, Avi Skyblue was a felon. A bar owner and former exotic holo-dancer, she was wanted on over 15 planets for charges ranging from petty theft to murder. She was something of a legend on the planet Recedius Six, where she'd gone for a vacation and left with the moon.
Avi grinned and gunned her Spespa faster. She couldn't wait to get to work.
Last edited:
ariosto
Celestial Navigator
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- May 19, 2001
- Posts
- 5,961
Pugh-Ratchett...a tearful farewell
"Please don't go, 'Pughbearbaby', please don't go."
Spaceman Ratchett stared down at the tearfully buxom figure of Miss Masters awash with grief on the thin palette that passed for a free birth here at the RHSS.
"There, there Lass. I'll be back before Ramgassen turns green again..."
He paused for effect while he screwed in the nifty 'SeeThru' artificial eye he'd won off spacer Drenge Gleek on his last shipout.
"...'sides a gal like you'll find a randy young Astrogater soon enuff I'll wager."
"Oh no..NO RatchettMan! There'll never be another you."
Wiping the tears from her cheeks Dolly made a brave little smile and passed the old star rover his penis.
"There...I polished it for you. See?"
He held his treasure up to the light and smiled in warm approval.
The kid was a real find. He'd miss her.
****************************************
Hugh Mallory Mallory watched from his office window as Ratchett
hobbled and squeeked on his one good leg down the road to the bustling space port.
'Could have called him a lift, I suppose.'
He shrugged and took another belt of Rimworld Rotgut.
'Oh well fuck him and good riddence. The old goat can use the exercise.'
"Please don't go, 'Pughbearbaby', please don't go."
Spaceman Ratchett stared down at the tearfully buxom figure of Miss Masters awash with grief on the thin palette that passed for a free birth here at the RHSS.
"There, there Lass. I'll be back before Ramgassen turns green again..."
He paused for effect while he screwed in the nifty 'SeeThru' artificial eye he'd won off spacer Drenge Gleek on his last shipout.
"...'sides a gal like you'll find a randy young Astrogater soon enuff I'll wager."
"Oh no..NO RatchettMan! There'll never be another you."
Wiping the tears from her cheeks Dolly made a brave little smile and passed the old star rover his penis.
"There...I polished it for you. See?"
He held his treasure up to the light and smiled in warm approval.
The kid was a real find. He'd miss her.
****************************************
Hugh Mallory Mallory watched from his office window as Ratchett
hobbled and squeeked on his one good leg down the road to the bustling space port.
'Could have called him a lift, I suppose.'
He shrugged and took another belt of Rimworld Rotgut.
'Oh well fuck him and good riddence. The old goat can use the exercise.'
Subo97
in a state of sunshine
- Joined
- Aug 29, 2002
- Posts
- 1,911
Chester O'Hanrahan
Hoisting his duffel bag over his shoulder, Chester followed his nose around the docking ring. Normally, He'd have just gone into a bar and caught up with it later, but the chance of getting caught with a bag of unregistered duffels made him more cautious than usual. The rum and Raspberry sherbert shakes would have to wait. He had been reduced to this: duffel smuggling, an ignominious state for the best (in his own mind) navigator and live cargo handler west of the Orion belt. (West of What?) Anyway, he had no choice since he got lost in space with Lassie's mom and got the bill for the mummy. "Pay up or get out," they said, so he got the boot while Dr. Smith went to Washington.
He walked past air lock after air lock, looking for a likely transport, someone who knew genius when they saw it and were smart enoguh themselves not to ask too many questions. he finally caught up to his nose, chattering excitedly, at the docking port of the Holdthemayo. No custom inspectors in sight and a help wanted sign taped to the manifest: Need Crew Fast
Well, he was fast. He was easy. He was the perfect date.
Replacing his nose, Chester leaned in the docking port and hollered, "Heloooooooooooooooooooooooo." His call echoed back to him from the cavernous interior along with the aroma of fresh clamari.
Hoisting his duffel bag over his shoulder, Chester followed his nose around the docking ring. Normally, He'd have just gone into a bar and caught up with it later, but the chance of getting caught with a bag of unregistered duffels made him more cautious than usual. The rum and Raspberry sherbert shakes would have to wait. He had been reduced to this: duffel smuggling, an ignominious state for the best (in his own mind) navigator and live cargo handler west of the Orion belt. (West of What?) Anyway, he had no choice since he got lost in space with Lassie's mom and got the bill for the mummy. "Pay up or get out," they said, so he got the boot while Dr. Smith went to Washington.
He walked past air lock after air lock, looking for a likely transport, someone who knew genius when they saw it and were smart enoguh themselves not to ask too many questions. he finally caught up to his nose, chattering excitedly, at the docking port of the Holdthemayo. No custom inspectors in sight and a help wanted sign taped to the manifest: Need Crew Fast
Well, he was fast. He was easy. He was the perfect date.
Replacing his nose, Chester leaned in the docking port and hollered, "Heloooooooooooooooooooooooo." His call echoed back to him from the cavernous interior along with the aroma of fresh clamari.
intriguess
sexual catalyst
- Joined
- Sep 3, 2000
- Posts
- 11,683
Callie
Being hunted sucked, and not in a good way. She needed out and fast.....a ship seemed a good way. There was something odd about the look of her, but Callie quickly dismissed it as paranoia. That's what being hunted had brought her to, taking the first option out of this hell hole that she had been forced to flee to.
Hmmm, a damn application that wouldn't leave a trail and would be backed up enough to survive a cursory inspection.
App
Name: Callie
Gender: Female
Species: Unspecified Humanoid
Abilities: JOAT (Jill of all trades)
She wondered if hiding was an ability, or how to explain her appearance. Callie looked in the mirror, her current form was a little too unique for comfort, with lavender skin, violet eyes and hair, tall and slender. Being a Cameloid sucked, and not in the good way. Shedding her form was only painful when she did it fast, which of late had been far too often. She was looking forward to a leisurely shedding of her current form. The form was lanky, and she was debating what species to mimic next.
Being hunted sucked, and not in a good way. She needed out and fast.....a ship seemed a good way. There was something odd about the look of her, but Callie quickly dismissed it as paranoia. That's what being hunted had brought her to, taking the first option out of this hell hole that she had been forced to flee to.
Hmmm, a damn application that wouldn't leave a trail and would be backed up enough to survive a cursory inspection.
App
Name: Callie
Gender: Female
Species: Unspecified Humanoid
Abilities: JOAT (Jill of all trades)
She wondered if hiding was an ability, or how to explain her appearance. Callie looked in the mirror, her current form was a little too unique for comfort, with lavender skin, violet eyes and hair, tall and slender. Being a Cameloid sucked, and not in the good way. Shedding her form was only painful when she did it fast, which of late had been far too often. She was looking forward to a leisurely shedding of her current form. The form was lanky, and she was debating what species to mimic next.
Lady_Kit
Literotica Guru
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- Aug 1, 2001
- Posts
- 2,504
Xandra - Ships cook
“Leave! You can’t leave! You’ve got a contract; I’ve got customers. They’ll tear me apart when I tell them you’re gone. I’ll have you arrested for breech of contract!”
The dandified owner of Ricks Place sighed heavily when his threat was ignored. Waldo, the 5th in a series of owners Not named Rick, wrung his hands as he watched Xandra throw her belongings into a duffel bag. To his dismay the platinum haired woman only shrugged her well-shaped shoulders and continued to pack.
Go ahead Waldo, and I’ll tell them what you’ve been serving your customers. The CMC won’t like it much.
She knew that the CMC (Consumable Materials Council) was just itching to get inside Ricks. They’d been watching them ever since the “regulars” started showing up. Waldo even claimed to have spotted an agent trying to take out a bag for analysis. They’d never figure out the formula though, Xandra was too clever a chemist for that. Not even Waldo knew the ingredients of the most addictive consumable to hit streets in years, and the knowledge prompted one more round of begging while Xandra hefted her bag over one shoulder.
See ya Waldo. I’ve got aps into several ships and I’m leaving on the first one that’ll give me a berth. Don’t forget to marinade the steaks for the dinner rush.
Without another word Xandra left the restaurant that for the last 12 cycles had been her home. The place where she had created dishes and desserts for every mood and taste; and where she had discovered the formulas to effect the behavior of those consuming her special creations. When Waldo had discovered her talents he had immediately capitalized on them by demanding that she use her recipes to enhance business. She had, to the point that there were now people nearly addicted to her cooking. The effects would wear off, but it was still time to go.
Response to ads for ships crew:
Name: Xandra
Gender: Female
Species: Mixed / Human
Expert ranks: Food preparation, 12 major / 14 minor digestive disciplines; Chemistry, Pharmacology, Reproduction
Environmental requirements: Standard
“Leave! You can’t leave! You’ve got a contract; I’ve got customers. They’ll tear me apart when I tell them you’re gone. I’ll have you arrested for breech of contract!”
The dandified owner of Ricks Place sighed heavily when his threat was ignored. Waldo, the 5th in a series of owners Not named Rick, wrung his hands as he watched Xandra throw her belongings into a duffel bag. To his dismay the platinum haired woman only shrugged her well-shaped shoulders and continued to pack.
Go ahead Waldo, and I’ll tell them what you’ve been serving your customers. The CMC won’t like it much.
She knew that the CMC (Consumable Materials Council) was just itching to get inside Ricks. They’d been watching them ever since the “regulars” started showing up. Waldo even claimed to have spotted an agent trying to take out a bag for analysis. They’d never figure out the formula though, Xandra was too clever a chemist for that. Not even Waldo knew the ingredients of the most addictive consumable to hit streets in years, and the knowledge prompted one more round of begging while Xandra hefted her bag over one shoulder.
See ya Waldo. I’ve got aps into several ships and I’m leaving on the first one that’ll give me a berth. Don’t forget to marinade the steaks for the dinner rush.
Without another word Xandra left the restaurant that for the last 12 cycles had been her home. The place where she had created dishes and desserts for every mood and taste; and where she had discovered the formulas to effect the behavior of those consuming her special creations. When Waldo had discovered her talents he had immediately capitalized on them by demanding that she use her recipes to enhance business. She had, to the point that there were now people nearly addicted to her cooking. The effects would wear off, but it was still time to go.
Response to ads for ships crew:
Name: Xandra
Gender: Female
Species: Mixed / Human
Expert ranks: Food preparation, 12 major / 14 minor digestive disciplines; Chemistry, Pharmacology, Reproduction
Environmental requirements: Standard
intriguess
sexual catalyst
- Joined
- Sep 3, 2000
- Posts
- 11,683
Callie
Dock 4 left door no need to knock customs officer left door open. Something there with duffels. I can hear them singing.
The response was fast and once again she had that wierd feeling. She dismissed it as paranoia as she packed. She mainly carried trade goods, regular currency was far too easy to track. An assortment of clothing and costume stuff.
The rest of the message was odd, dietary requirements? could she clean.......must be an glitch in the system.
Callie reported to dock 4 and noticed the door was open and she could hear the music. She ducked under the door and glanced around.
She spoke clearly, "Callie reporting for duty, and yes I can clean out systems and the like........I do have some unique dietary needs, that I can discuss with the cook right after I put my stuff in my quarters."
Dock 4 left door no need to knock customs officer left door open. Something there with duffels. I can hear them singing.
The response was fast and once again she had that wierd feeling. She dismissed it as paranoia as she packed. She mainly carried trade goods, regular currency was far too easy to track. An assortment of clothing and costume stuff.
The rest of the message was odd, dietary requirements? could she clean.......must be an glitch in the system.
Callie reported to dock 4 and noticed the door was open and she could hear the music. She ducked under the door and glanced around.
She spoke clearly, "Callie reporting for duty, and yes I can clean out systems and the like........I do have some unique dietary needs, that I can discuss with the cook right after I put my stuff in my quarters."
ariosto
Celestial Navigator
- Joined
- May 19, 2001
- Posts
- 5,961
Spaceman Ratchett ships on
Ratchett's first view of the 'Mayo' was a bit disconcerting.
A cross between a mid sized twentieth century apartment building that had seen better days and a giant artichoke.
Well he'd served on worse.
He took a last look at the dockside and broke wind.
That to you mudball!
Hoisting his kit over the shoulder of his good arm, Pugh turned his back forever on Gackugh VIII and swaggered squeekingly up the companionway.
He noted both footprints and slime trails of recent vintage before him and a faint damp smell of decay and cheap perfume.
Who he wondered would his shipmates be this time?
"Gratzingshh speeksmontschhhhh"
Hissed the small woman at the hatch.
He blinked. She was attractive for someone a meter tall with a major speech impediment.
"Huh?"
She smiled revealing sharp incisors.
"Gratings speecemasch...ere you to crewschhh."
He blinked again. When he opened his eye she seemed a bit
taller.
"Errr...yes to crew, I'm here to sign on...I think."
She blinked back, a curiously long and drawn out proceedure, then laughed...sort of.
"No needsch seenon speecemantschhh...you crew now."
Ratchett set his kit down and began fumbling for his papers.
A hand stopped him, a lovely hand woth long tapering fingers. Six of them. He looked up.
Gulped.
She had grown two feet and now bore a startling likeness to
Liscious Lickable the infamous four breasted cineporn star of the spaceways. She and his good right hand had sent him to bed many nights with a smile on his face.
"Papers not needed 'stud'."
Her voice was now sibilant, whispering...sexy.
"You have berth number three. Report to the galley for assignment."
She licked her full red lips and patted his fanny.
"Get along now Bigboy....I'll see YOU later."
He could feel his 'roscoe' vibrating in anticipation.
Oh yeah!
Ratchett's first view of the 'Mayo' was a bit disconcerting.
A cross between a mid sized twentieth century apartment building that had seen better days and a giant artichoke.
Well he'd served on worse.
He took a last look at the dockside and broke wind.
That to you mudball!
Hoisting his kit over the shoulder of his good arm, Pugh turned his back forever on Gackugh VIII and swaggered squeekingly up the companionway.
He noted both footprints and slime trails of recent vintage before him and a faint damp smell of decay and cheap perfume.
Who he wondered would his shipmates be this time?
"Gratzingshh speeksmontschhhhh"
Hissed the small woman at the hatch.
He blinked. She was attractive for someone a meter tall with a major speech impediment.
"Huh?"
She smiled revealing sharp incisors.
"Gratings speecemasch...ere you to crewschhh."
He blinked again. When he opened his eye she seemed a bit
taller.
"Errr...yes to crew, I'm here to sign on...I think."
She blinked back, a curiously long and drawn out proceedure, then laughed...sort of.
"No needsch seenon speecemantschhh...you crew now."
Ratchett set his kit down and began fumbling for his papers.
A hand stopped him, a lovely hand woth long tapering fingers. Six of them. He looked up.
Gulped.
She had grown two feet and now bore a startling likeness to
Liscious Lickable the infamous four breasted cineporn star of the spaceways. She and his good right hand had sent him to bed many nights with a smile on his face.
"Papers not needed 'stud'."
Her voice was now sibilant, whispering...sexy.
"You have berth number three. Report to the galley for assignment."
She licked her full red lips and patted his fanny.
"Get along now Bigboy....I'll see YOU later."
He could feel his 'roscoe' vibrating in anticipation.
Oh yeah!
AmandaAce
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- May 9, 2004
- Posts
- 610
Avi eased her Spespa into the deserted docking bay. Sliding off, she grabbed her bag and strode up the gangplank.
She wondered what she'd be doing on the ship, then decided it didn't really matter. As long as she had some people to hang out with, it didn't really matter.
"Hello?" she called, looking around. "Where the fuck is everybody?"
Sighing, she came to the docking door and pressed the ident console.
"Avi Skyblue, reporting for duty," she said, and the door hissed open.
She found herself in a large hallway.
"Hello?" she said again. No answer. Shrugging, she started down the hall. Maybe there'd be someone at the bridge.
She wondered what she'd be doing on the ship, then decided it didn't really matter. As long as she had some people to hang out with, it didn't really matter.
"Hello?" she called, looking around. "Where the fuck is everybody?"
Sighing, she came to the docking door and pressed the ident console.
"Avi Skyblue, reporting for duty," she said, and the door hissed open.
She found herself in a large hallway.
"Hello?" she said again. No answer. Shrugging, she started down the hall. Maybe there'd be someone at the bridge.
Subo97
in a state of sunshine
- Joined
- Aug 29, 2002
- Posts
- 1,911
Chester
Do you know your duffels are singing
"Sorry, ma'am," Chester stammered, first attempting to hide his duffel bag behind his back, then shrugging sheepishly as they also began to dance, causing the bag to lurch and bulge in strange and slightly erotic motions. "It's the mating season. They only do that for a couple days a year--and at Christmas."
The hologram shimmered and her feet seemed a bit askance but Chester was not distracted from her tassel adorned grey assets. Could she make them spin in different directions? It would have been a perfect place to park his nose, if he hadn't lost track of it. "Are you the captain, ma'am?," he asked, finally looking upward into her big eyes. "Because,if you are, I'm the answer to all your prayers. I can handle any cargo, live, dead, or about to give birth and I can navigate anywhere in the galaxy, between, through or around any star you can name. Except Betelguese, 'cause I'm wanted there, but we can work around that."
Smiling, he lifted his bag. "And I brought duffels. Not just ordinary duffels, but singing duffels and we both know how profitable they can be. As Captain, of course, you'd be entitled to a complimentary percentage of my own commission"
Chester winked conspiratorially at the Captain and said no more about the commission as a lavender skinned beauty with assets of her own walked up the hallway. Instead he shook his bag to stir up the chorus and smiled his most gracious welcome. In five part harmony, thee bag began to sing:shake your bum, you sexy thing spin your tassels, make them swing
"Custom free Calamari, anyone?"
Do you know your duffels are singing
"Sorry, ma'am," Chester stammered, first attempting to hide his duffel bag behind his back, then shrugging sheepishly as they also began to dance, causing the bag to lurch and bulge in strange and slightly erotic motions. "It's the mating season. They only do that for a couple days a year--and at Christmas."
The hologram shimmered and her feet seemed a bit askance but Chester was not distracted from her tassel adorned grey assets. Could she make them spin in different directions? It would have been a perfect place to park his nose, if he hadn't lost track of it. "Are you the captain, ma'am?," he asked, finally looking upward into her big eyes. "Because,if you are, I'm the answer to all your prayers. I can handle any cargo, live, dead, or about to give birth and I can navigate anywhere in the galaxy, between, through or around any star you can name. Except Betelguese, 'cause I'm wanted there, but we can work around that."
Smiling, he lifted his bag. "And I brought duffels. Not just ordinary duffels, but singing duffels and we both know how profitable they can be. As Captain, of course, you'd be entitled to a complimentary percentage of my own commission"
Chester winked conspiratorially at the Captain and said no more about the commission as a lavender skinned beauty with assets of her own walked up the hallway. Instead he shook his bag to stir up the chorus and smiled his most gracious welcome. In five part harmony, thee bag began to sing:shake your bum, you sexy thing spin your tassels, make them swing
"Custom free Calamari, anyone?"
darrenfate
Golden Boy
- Joined
- Sep 18, 2001
- Posts
- 2,310
RAD
Rod did his little victory dance on receiving the invitation from Captain Holt. While Rod thought it was suave and debonair, to the impartial observer it rather looked a like a combination of an Irish jig and and death by electrocution. Oblivious to the stares of others, Rod was in ecstasy.
Still, his mood was upbeat as he swung into the local watering hole determined to celebrate his fortune that he was now certain to obtain. Fourteen hours later, he awoke still drunk but now naked in the alley having spent all his remaining credits on drinks and more on twins from the Beryllian system who used their dual 9 inch tongues to his great and long lasting pleasure. What happened next would forever be a mystery, still despite his pathetic condition nothing could rock his profound good mood. Beryllian sex was that good and his long days and nights marooned on this godforsaken station were now over.
He made his way back to his room, and in less time than it takes to disrobe an Elerian, he was out the door on his way to the dark ship. Through huge airlock, he saw it in its immensity, docked as it was at the largest bay the spaceport could provide. Rod stared, this was unlike any other ship he had ever seen. It had an aura of being alive, the black curves of the ship’s afterdecks reminded him of the ass on a curvaceous woman. Palpably female the ship was, and Rod saw the ship possessing the hourglass figure of a mature hot blooded sex goddess. Little did Rod understand how true this observation would turn out to be.
He arrived at the appointed portal, and as he touched its surface it silently swung open. Green running lights lit his path several meters ahead as the ship herself guided him to his quarters. Rod followed a labyrinth of corridors, airlocks and lifts until he was inside his own room.
Suddenly, Rod was tired. A cot like bed stood at the far end of the rectangular space, and as he lay down high firm mounds of a black round substance firmed up to accomodate his body. He rested his head between two of these mounds as they parted to form a perfect enclosure. At the top of each was a small hard knob, to Rod’s sexually deviant mind these mounds looked like breasts.
As Rod closed his eyes, he squeezed these comforting two mounds tighter around his ears. He could have sworn he heard a muted sigh of pleasure coming from the ship itself.
Rod soon fell asleep and dreamed a strange dream of being trapped in a large box of Cracker Jacks. Rad felt like the "prize inside". A gaping hungry mouth tipped the carton over as Rad and the rest of the boulder sized nuggets slid towards their doom he knew he was finished - but that was just a dream, wasn't it?
Rod did his little victory dance on receiving the invitation from Captain Holt. While Rod thought it was suave and debonair, to the impartial observer it rather looked a like a combination of an Irish jig and and death by electrocution. Oblivious to the stares of others, Rod was in ecstasy.
Still, his mood was upbeat as he swung into the local watering hole determined to celebrate his fortune that he was now certain to obtain. Fourteen hours later, he awoke still drunk but now naked in the alley having spent all his remaining credits on drinks and more on twins from the Beryllian system who used their dual 9 inch tongues to his great and long lasting pleasure. What happened next would forever be a mystery, still despite his pathetic condition nothing could rock his profound good mood. Beryllian sex was that good and his long days and nights marooned on this godforsaken station were now over.
He made his way back to his room, and in less time than it takes to disrobe an Elerian, he was out the door on his way to the dark ship. Through huge airlock, he saw it in its immensity, docked as it was at the largest bay the spaceport could provide. Rod stared, this was unlike any other ship he had ever seen. It had an aura of being alive, the black curves of the ship’s afterdecks reminded him of the ass on a curvaceous woman. Palpably female the ship was, and Rod saw the ship possessing the hourglass figure of a mature hot blooded sex goddess. Little did Rod understand how true this observation would turn out to be.
He arrived at the appointed portal, and as he touched its surface it silently swung open. Green running lights lit his path several meters ahead as the ship herself guided him to his quarters. Rod followed a labyrinth of corridors, airlocks and lifts until he was inside his own room.
Suddenly, Rod was tired. A cot like bed stood at the far end of the rectangular space, and as he lay down high firm mounds of a black round substance firmed up to accomodate his body. He rested his head between two of these mounds as they parted to form a perfect enclosure. At the top of each was a small hard knob, to Rod’s sexually deviant mind these mounds looked like breasts.
As Rod closed his eyes, he squeezed these comforting two mounds tighter around his ears. He could have sworn he heard a muted sigh of pleasure coming from the ship itself.
Rod soon fell asleep and dreamed a strange dream of being trapped in a large box of Cracker Jacks. Rad felt like the "prize inside". A gaping hungry mouth tipped the carton over as Rad and the rest of the boulder sized nuggets slid towards their doom he knew he was finished - but that was just a dream, wasn't it?
Vibro repairman
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Jun 22, 2003
- Posts
- 281
In the squallid confines of the quarters he had been forced to rent onboard the space station, Chonco recalled the day he had begun his new life, how he had left his faltering colony-home, to do what he had dreamed, yet had always thought would remain just that, a dream - to move beyond the sky of his world, which the humans had labelled Calas IV.
The twin suns had been blazing bright in the clear blue-green sky. Chonco had settled himself down in a shallow sludge pool to relax, the translucent mauve-coloured semi-liquid refreshingly cool against his mottled blue-black skin. He was quite a ways from his home, but he enjoyed exploring, unlike so many of his kindred. He had no fear of the open sky, and little for the various predators which lurked or stalked about the surface. He was unkaln, pariah, mistrusted for his strange ways and unconventional ideas.
He had turned a glassy-black eyestalk upward, secondary lid closing to protect his sight from the glaring sunslight, staring into the sky and whatever laid beyond it. The world, he had declared, was not alone, nor were his people. Up there, somewhere, by the other countless points of light of distant suns, would be other worlds, other people. They mindspoke he was mad, that the Creators had made them alone, moulded from clay and imbued with life many hundreds of sunsturnings ago. They kipilned --- waving tendrils at him in derisory humour. They emitted pungt --- a chemical spray to show their distaste for him. It rankled him, that his people could be so closed to the new, but he stood firm in his beliefs. He might be unkaln but let it never be said he was mokta. There had been many unkaln before him whose philosophies had pushed the boundaries of sciene forward, though many were never given due credit for their communal sacrifices.
He had doubted he would ever be drebnuld --- paired, with a female, to raise a clutch of younglings. The fulkin --- the elders --- would never grant him a pairing, even if he found a willing female with whom to matebind. It was already three suns-turns since he had reached the proper age for pairing, and shunned as he was by all 'proper' females he had little hope of ever being. That would probably have changed by now, but he had no desire to return the the backward ways of his people, who still chose to remain in their tunneled homes, and rarely engaged in trade or conversation with the higunkaln --- skyfallen, aliens.
There had been a bright lancing flash of light, and a thin cloud seemed to be trailed across the otherwise clear sky. It had marked the first arrival of a human exploration survey team, and the forthcoming biggest change in his life.
Humans, such strange creatures. They had some interior structural system, called skeletons, and a number of organs whose purpose Chonco only just about understood despite his many standard years now having been spent in their company and the company of many other strange and remarkable sentient beings. They communicated through sound, a slow and complicated process which seemed to be often as confusing to them as it was to him. But they were often inquistive, curious, and intelligent. They had left their homeworld many hundreds of years ago, before his people had even evolved. Evolved, a concept which even he found unbelievable at first, though they still had religions which declared they too had been created by a universal being, and they were made in his image, a parody of his own culture which often made him kipiln when he considered it. He had learnt much of their science, his mind ever open to new ideas which he consumed with relish. He had spent many waking moments perusing libraries and other sources of information. He knew now just how primitive his people were, without even the concept of machines or manipulating energy or take-away fast food servicing to their betterment.
Not that the first meeting between his people - well, himself - and the humans hadn't been without problems. They had not taken to his outward appearance kindly - a mass of long tendrils and eyestalks, it was later explained, were something most often relegated to alien horror holovids. He had found their appearance in turn, to be truthful, distressing at first - how anything like that could live or even move on two limited limbs he found quite ridiculous.
They had injured him with their weapons, but, finally managing to link with their alien minds and communicate, he had allayed their fears and convinced them that he was not hostile, and been given the necessary medical treatment for the wounds they had given him, which had missed a couple of his few vital organs by a scant margin. He very nearly had literally no chance of drebnuld --- elders willing or no. The humans had for some reason be quite amused at this. He learned later that a lot of their humour was based around sex and marital rituals of their race. He also discovered pungt smelled to them like what they called chocolate, though he was quite certain he would never, ever, take a taste of that foodstuff again after his first offered try. They gave him the nickname Choco, from his own name's similarity to it, which he felt was at least a little better than being called an unkaln.
After some cursory tests, he persuaded them to take him when they returned 'above the sky.' An unkaln would not be missed, after all. Maybe in a few suns-turns he would return and see what changes his people would no doubt very reluctantly taken to adapt to the proven existence of other beings and worlds beyond theirs, but for now, he was more than happy to travel the cosmos and live his dream.
He had travelled quite variedly since that day. As the sole 'Callasian' as far as he knew beyond his world, and with his growing scientific knowledge and engineering skills, he had been quite welcome as an extra hand, or tendril as it were, onboard many vessels. His journey had brought him here, to a run-down station in a system which seemed to have attracted a lot of the waifs and wastrels of space, where his last ship had been impounded due to carrying illegal ulgarian coffee beans (which created a caffeine high which could keep you from falling asleep for months). When he noticed the advert on his grimey holodisplay in the cramped quarters he had taken with the last of the currency on his credstick due to his wages from the last trip being appropiated, he set to carefully typing on his commpad the reply. The ten-key alphanumeric keyboard was quite a pain to use.
Application to join crew manifest of Holdthemayo.
Name : Chonco (nickname Choco.)
Age : Approximately 43.75321134 standard human years, best guess.
Species : Callasian (see attached datafile.) Own aniseed oil supplied.
Qualifications in several area's of science, including : hyperspatial alogorithms, agricultural/horticultural tomato-splicing genetics, inverse spatial harmonics (specialising in theoretical applications in orchestral music), and 23 other minor fields. Have crewed on numerous spacefaring vessels since leaving homeworld of Callas IV.
Hobbies: Three-dimension crosswords, gardening.
He pressed the medfile card which contatined the data regarding his species medical data, and his enviromental needs (much the same as humans except for the aniseed oil bath to sleep in) into the commpads upload port, sent the message, then spent the next half hour struggling to get one of his tendrils out of the upload port before he got a reply.
The twin suns had been blazing bright in the clear blue-green sky. Chonco had settled himself down in a shallow sludge pool to relax, the translucent mauve-coloured semi-liquid refreshingly cool against his mottled blue-black skin. He was quite a ways from his home, but he enjoyed exploring, unlike so many of his kindred. He had no fear of the open sky, and little for the various predators which lurked or stalked about the surface. He was unkaln, pariah, mistrusted for his strange ways and unconventional ideas.
He had turned a glassy-black eyestalk upward, secondary lid closing to protect his sight from the glaring sunslight, staring into the sky and whatever laid beyond it. The world, he had declared, was not alone, nor were his people. Up there, somewhere, by the other countless points of light of distant suns, would be other worlds, other people. They mindspoke he was mad, that the Creators had made them alone, moulded from clay and imbued with life many hundreds of sunsturnings ago. They kipilned --- waving tendrils at him in derisory humour. They emitted pungt --- a chemical spray to show their distaste for him. It rankled him, that his people could be so closed to the new, but he stood firm in his beliefs. He might be unkaln but let it never be said he was mokta. There had been many unkaln before him whose philosophies had pushed the boundaries of sciene forward, though many were never given due credit for their communal sacrifices.
He had doubted he would ever be drebnuld --- paired, with a female, to raise a clutch of younglings. The fulkin --- the elders --- would never grant him a pairing, even if he found a willing female with whom to matebind. It was already three suns-turns since he had reached the proper age for pairing, and shunned as he was by all 'proper' females he had little hope of ever being. That would probably have changed by now, but he had no desire to return the the backward ways of his people, who still chose to remain in their tunneled homes, and rarely engaged in trade or conversation with the higunkaln --- skyfallen, aliens.
There had been a bright lancing flash of light, and a thin cloud seemed to be trailed across the otherwise clear sky. It had marked the first arrival of a human exploration survey team, and the forthcoming biggest change in his life.
Humans, such strange creatures. They had some interior structural system, called skeletons, and a number of organs whose purpose Chonco only just about understood despite his many standard years now having been spent in their company and the company of many other strange and remarkable sentient beings. They communicated through sound, a slow and complicated process which seemed to be often as confusing to them as it was to him. But they were often inquistive, curious, and intelligent. They had left their homeworld many hundreds of years ago, before his people had even evolved. Evolved, a concept which even he found unbelievable at first, though they still had religions which declared they too had been created by a universal being, and they were made in his image, a parody of his own culture which often made him kipiln when he considered it. He had learnt much of their science, his mind ever open to new ideas which he consumed with relish. He had spent many waking moments perusing libraries and other sources of information. He knew now just how primitive his people were, without even the concept of machines or manipulating energy or take-away fast food servicing to their betterment.
Not that the first meeting between his people - well, himself - and the humans hadn't been without problems. They had not taken to his outward appearance kindly - a mass of long tendrils and eyestalks, it was later explained, were something most often relegated to alien horror holovids. He had found their appearance in turn, to be truthful, distressing at first - how anything like that could live or even move on two limited limbs he found quite ridiculous.
They had injured him with their weapons, but, finally managing to link with their alien minds and communicate, he had allayed their fears and convinced them that he was not hostile, and been given the necessary medical treatment for the wounds they had given him, which had missed a couple of his few vital organs by a scant margin. He very nearly had literally no chance of drebnuld --- elders willing or no. The humans had for some reason be quite amused at this. He learned later that a lot of their humour was based around sex and marital rituals of their race. He also discovered pungt smelled to them like what they called chocolate, though he was quite certain he would never, ever, take a taste of that foodstuff again after his first offered try. They gave him the nickname Choco, from his own name's similarity to it, which he felt was at least a little better than being called an unkaln.
After some cursory tests, he persuaded them to take him when they returned 'above the sky.' An unkaln would not be missed, after all. Maybe in a few suns-turns he would return and see what changes his people would no doubt very reluctantly taken to adapt to the proven existence of other beings and worlds beyond theirs, but for now, he was more than happy to travel the cosmos and live his dream.
He had travelled quite variedly since that day. As the sole 'Callasian' as far as he knew beyond his world, and with his growing scientific knowledge and engineering skills, he had been quite welcome as an extra hand, or tendril as it were, onboard many vessels. His journey had brought him here, to a run-down station in a system which seemed to have attracted a lot of the waifs and wastrels of space, where his last ship had been impounded due to carrying illegal ulgarian coffee beans (which created a caffeine high which could keep you from falling asleep for months). When he noticed the advert on his grimey holodisplay in the cramped quarters he had taken with the last of the currency on his credstick due to his wages from the last trip being appropiated, he set to carefully typing on his commpad the reply. The ten-key alphanumeric keyboard was quite a pain to use.
Application to join crew manifest of Holdthemayo.
Name : Chonco (nickname Choco.)
Age : Approximately 43.75321134 standard human years, best guess.
Species : Callasian (see attached datafile.) Own aniseed oil supplied.
Qualifications in several area's of science, including : hyperspatial alogorithms, agricultural/horticultural tomato-splicing genetics, inverse spatial harmonics (specialising in theoretical applications in orchestral music), and 23 other minor fields. Have crewed on numerous spacefaring vessels since leaving homeworld of Callas IV.
Hobbies: Three-dimension crosswords, gardening.
He pressed the medfile card which contatined the data regarding his species medical data, and his enviromental needs (much the same as humans except for the aniseed oil bath to sleep in) into the commpads upload port, sent the message, then spent the next half hour struggling to get one of his tendrils out of the upload port before he got a reply.
Last edited:
poohlive
Silly Ole Bear
- Joined
- Jul 24, 2000
- Posts
- 11,389
Captain Kurt gave a bit of a hollow grin as he finished his mango rum. The others wee already leaning forward in their chairs, their eyes as wide as saucers, drinks in their hand forgotten.
"You don't mean devillian rock slabbers?"
"Three of 'em," His smile grew, as did their appreciation.
"I've seen three guys just take on one of those things, and they still lost. How did you do it?"
"Like I told you," Captain Kurt said, giving one of the young pretty things that refgilled his glass a wink, "I never lose. The key to a rock slabber is his brain, it's located in his elbow. Once you take care of that, they go down like a ton of bricks."
"Three of them? Holy shit. Where's your crew?"
"Yeah... uhh, well, my ship, the Interprise. It had an unfortune accident, one too many supernova's can tear even stainless adamantium apart. So, you know... I'm looking for another ship."
The lackey's paid for his drinks, as he told other harrowing stories of how he defeated this advanced machine, or this race of advanced gods, or even saved the universe once again from a disease or other certain dooms.
Before long, he left the place, with a girl around each arm, and a room filled with awestruck gentlemen. Ahh, the life of a captain.
He double checked his message.
Name: James T. Kurt
Species: Human
Gender: Alpha prime male
Abilities: Whatever you need me for, baby. I'm your man.
"You don't mean devillian rock slabbers?"
"Three of 'em," His smile grew, as did their appreciation.
"I've seen three guys just take on one of those things, and they still lost. How did you do it?"
"Like I told you," Captain Kurt said, giving one of the young pretty things that refgilled his glass a wink, "I never lose. The key to a rock slabber is his brain, it's located in his elbow. Once you take care of that, they go down like a ton of bricks."
"Three of them? Holy shit. Where's your crew?"
"Yeah... uhh, well, my ship, the Interprise. It had an unfortune accident, one too many supernova's can tear even stainless adamantium apart. So, you know... I'm looking for another ship."
The lackey's paid for his drinks, as he told other harrowing stories of how he defeated this advanced machine, or this race of advanced gods, or even saved the universe once again from a disease or other certain dooms.
Before long, he left the place, with a girl around each arm, and a room filled with awestruck gentlemen. Ahh, the life of a captain.
He double checked his message.
Name: James T. Kurt
Species: Human
Gender: Alpha prime male
Abilities: Whatever you need me for, baby. I'm your man.
Lady_Kit
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Aug 1, 2001
- Posts
- 2,504
Xandra
The ship loomed large above the Dock 4 ramp. Xandra looked up to the smooth black surface and wondered what kind of material was stretched over the superstructure; it looked a lot like skin, she decided after a moment. Felt like a little like skin too, she discovered as she lightly ran her hand over the surface near the open doorway.
Hello?
There was no response from the dim interior. A little quiet for a fully crewed ship, she thought. Of course, she was late arriving at the dock, the crew was probably getting settled, or briefed or something. She’d stopped by a couple of shops on the promenade on her way, the stars only knew what she’d find in the galley in the way of stores, so she’d picked up a few provisions just in case.
As she stepped into the passageway she caught a whiff of something cooking, no check that, something burning.
Great, an amature cook in the galley!
Like all chefs, and make no mistake Xandra was more than just a mere cook, she would tolerate no interference in her kitchen. Best to set things straight right away, or leave if she got any resistance. Following the rapidly growing stench of badly fried calamari she soon found herself outside the smoky wet disaster that used to be a functional galley. In the center of the room stood a droid; one metallic appendage held a spatula, another a wicked looking knife and stretched between the two remaing arms stretched a wiggling length of what was either an enormous squid or the remains of…well, Xandra didn’t want to think what it might have been.
She dropped her duffel on the nearest table and waded, literally, into the room. The sprinkler system was rapidly shooting water over every surface, including the occupants, and Xandra was soon soaked to the skin. Not an unpleasant sensation, and probably protective under the circumstances, given the fact that at least on pan on the cooking surface was still shooting some respectable flames toward the ceiling. She approached the droid with care, scooted around its waving arms and turned off the stove. Incineration averted.
Droid! Turn off the frelling Water and get your mechanical ass out of my kitchen! And don’t ever come back!
The water stopped. The droid left, dragging the nasty looking tentacle behind it on the way out. Xandra put her hands on her hips, and surveyed her new domain with wary eyes. Her jumpsuit was soaked, and its thin-synth fabric clung to all the curves of her lush body. Her appearance was pretty normal, at least for a space station. Tanned skin, that contrasted with her silvery hair, dark green eyes, set far apart on a slightly rounded face, and the full curvaceous of a woman that spent a lot of time in the kitchen. Her red lips puckered and she blew out slowly.
What in the four hells have I gotten myself into?
The ship loomed large above the Dock 4 ramp. Xandra looked up to the smooth black surface and wondered what kind of material was stretched over the superstructure; it looked a lot like skin, she decided after a moment. Felt like a little like skin too, she discovered as she lightly ran her hand over the surface near the open doorway.
Hello?
There was no response from the dim interior. A little quiet for a fully crewed ship, she thought. Of course, she was late arriving at the dock, the crew was probably getting settled, or briefed or something. She’d stopped by a couple of shops on the promenade on her way, the stars only knew what she’d find in the galley in the way of stores, so she’d picked up a few provisions just in case.
As she stepped into the passageway she caught a whiff of something cooking, no check that, something burning.
Great, an amature cook in the galley!
Like all chefs, and make no mistake Xandra was more than just a mere cook, she would tolerate no interference in her kitchen. Best to set things straight right away, or leave if she got any resistance. Following the rapidly growing stench of badly fried calamari she soon found herself outside the smoky wet disaster that used to be a functional galley. In the center of the room stood a droid; one metallic appendage held a spatula, another a wicked looking knife and stretched between the two remaing arms stretched a wiggling length of what was either an enormous squid or the remains of…well, Xandra didn’t want to think what it might have been.
She dropped her duffel on the nearest table and waded, literally, into the room. The sprinkler system was rapidly shooting water over every surface, including the occupants, and Xandra was soon soaked to the skin. Not an unpleasant sensation, and probably protective under the circumstances, given the fact that at least on pan on the cooking surface was still shooting some respectable flames toward the ceiling. She approached the droid with care, scooted around its waving arms and turned off the stove. Incineration averted.
Droid! Turn off the frelling Water and get your mechanical ass out of my kitchen! And don’t ever come back!
The water stopped. The droid left, dragging the nasty looking tentacle behind it on the way out. Xandra put her hands on her hips, and surveyed her new domain with wary eyes. Her jumpsuit was soaked, and its thin-synth fabric clung to all the curves of her lush body. Her appearance was pretty normal, at least for a space station. Tanned skin, that contrasted with her silvery hair, dark green eyes, set far apart on a slightly rounded face, and the full curvaceous of a woman that spent a lot of time in the kitchen. Her red lips puckered and she blew out slowly.
What in the four hells have I gotten myself into?
