Fifty Million Tonnes (Unfinished Draft)

Chapter 3

The shutter slammed as one of his lackeys came in and reported that the canteen was open for lunch.

"Lets go eat, I'm starved" Utterson announced.

Sebastion was speechless as his first opportunity you see the ship was cut short by one the cooks culinary creations.

Against his will, he and Utterson trekked to the canteen and grabbed their food. It was at this point when they parted as Sebastion went to sit with his old colleagues. He sat down at the solid wood bench as he stared at his food. The bread roll sat on a plate next to a large mug of fungal broth.

Braden tapped Sebastion on the shoulder. "Living the posh life are you?" he asked.

This didn't disturb him. Braden asked again to the same response. The third time Seb noticed and fell deep into a conversation about the calculus. The topic of food came up after several minutes of talk only to be dismissed soon after.

"Not eating?" Braden queried

"Not hungry..." He replied.

"But you're always hungry.". Braden frowned.

"Well, I'm not hungry now alright?" he murmured.

Corey leaned in Braden's general direction and gave him a light shove. "Give him a break, Braden".

"But there's something up with him." Braden announced.

Ricky also leaned over and shouted "Why are you the one to decide that?" loudly.

"Don't raise your voice, you'll get them over here!" whispered Corey.

"Well then, tell Braden to stop it!" Ricky hissed loudly, clearly annoyed.

Seb looked up and said clearly "I've seen the hull of the ship."

After the initial moment of shock the others started harassing him for details. Their interrogations did nothing for Sebastion's respect of his friends.

Utterson strolled over so quietly that nobody noticed him until he was right behind the group. "Kid, we're leaving so you had better not have caused a commotion." He boomed.

" No sir, not at all."

He looked very unamused. "Don't bullshit me Sebastion, I could hear you from across the room." He wore an expression like a brick wall with an obnoxious moustache.

Outside, Sebastion was given a lengthy lecture about him being nothing but a training boy with no practice or skill. Certain statements stuck with him for a long period of his life.

Back at his apartment, he switched on the gramophone. A rusty old piece of junk that had been in his  family for longer than his grandfather had been alive. Nonetheless, the couple of records in his possession happened to be some of his favourites. At the side of the contraption was his mail basket. As was the normal, there weren't any letters or envelopes in the metal container.

It seemed everything he owned was his father's at some point. The weights in the corner, the unique and rare paint set and, more importantly, the very room he stood in. He thought about how different he was to his father and he realized that they, in fact, lived incredibly similar lives. Uncannily similar lives.