Tevun-Krus #46 - The Same Effing Story

The Same Effing Story - by @angerbda

The drum solo that kicked off Van Halen's 'Hot for Teacher,' came over the tinny speakers and Armitage Shanks found his feet involuntarily tapping upon the metallic floor.

He lit a cigarette and broke out the air drums, a musical instrument of which he was an absolute master, and pounded them harder than the hooker he'd picked up at the last fuel stop.

It seemed so long ago, but then again when one was flying solo on a cargo vessel several years into deep space, a monotonous run broken only by the infrequent privately owned space stations and refuelling rigs, everything seemed so long ago and very, very far away.

"Oi!" he shouted out, annoyed that the vessel's computer system had taken it upon itself to stop the track just before it was halfway through. That annoyance dissipated quickly though, when Armitage realised the reason for the abrupt halt to one of his favourite pieces of classical music, was a sounding alarm.

"Ah," he said, quietly, pausing only to puff heavily upon the cigarette. "Bugger."

Going to the control panel, Armitage looked at the different instruments and the data displayed, with a pensive air. On the top right corner, La CallaT was still fast asleep. The feed from the room did not return the scrambled data associated with the cacophony produced by the sweet, though noisy lady. La CallaT was her scene name, Armitage did not really know what she was doing here, on board, neither where she came from nor where she was going to. The only fact that she had paid well in cash and in advance, was enough reference for the captain to accept her on board the BOL, and to ship her where she required.

This trip was far from his regular activities. Shanks had turned out to be a passenger ship for the time being. His last encounter with a straying asteroid had rendered his spacecraft unfit for more sportive occupations. Long past were the days, and would remain, he would be back in the game of joyful runs along the Kessler route, playing tag with the Alliance patrols.

La CallaT was not the only passenger on this necessary reconverted spaceship. The setting was okay, nothing near the luxury space whales one would elect for a comfortable, odourless and colourless cruise among the stars. The BOL proposed another experience. A clinky dingy clunking across the bumpy void. A quiet voyage outside of the regular routes. The captain did not ask many questions, as long as you paid fair with hard and cold cash.

The data on the control panel showed no more activity in Mr Rob's quarter than in the singer lady's. As much as La CallaT's character was easy to grasps, Mr Rob was a mystery. Despite his many years of experience, juggling with cargo, crew, and patrols, Armitage had not been able to get an idea of any sort about the man. Was he even a man, this question had arisen often in the captain's mind. Not that he had thought the passenger could be of another gender. Rather another specie or, more likely, another material build...

The alarm had stopped and Captain Shanks was yet about to take action to avoid the noisy bit in the future. He had hoped the passengers would have remained in their quarters, though the booming noise had called them to the lounge. Armitage's quiet time was of become history, the room filling with three haggard and puzzled people. His tranquil dive in good music and better booze would not pick off until after he cleared the situation with the puzzled lot.

The range of expressions on their faces showed the questions mixed with anxiety the captain would have to calm. La CallaT, with her piercing soprano timbre, trembled dramatically. Mr Rob, despite his usual stillness, showed his annoyance, his eyes blinking short pause, almost invisible to the naked eye. Armitage had been probably the only one seeing this relapse. Could Mr Rob be human, finally? Or, perhaps, his mechanical core was reacting the vibrations coming from the frightening coffer of the fat lady.