Disclaimer: If you've heard of it, I don't own it.
Also, if you're offended by anything, too bloody bad. Heh, just kidding.
13. It's Over Now… Kinda
The setting sun shone into my nearly bare room, streaking the walls with ocher and red blood, with shadows gibbering and writhing across the ceiling. I sat on my stripped trampoline, looking at nothing in particular, wondering if "it" was worth it.
"It" was, in this case, completing the process of gutting my room by yanking the trampoline through the destabilized wall and into the cargo hold of a space ship. "It" meant never seeing my parents again, for I knew that when K'ata had said that I'd see my dad, she had been lying. "It" meant deserting my home planet and crewing for a bloody alien.
But, suggests my more logical self, aren't we all aliens when we're in space? And I agree with this, of course, as logic is one of my strengths. And because it's helping me keep my sanity.
K'ata walked through the wall and looked at me. She didn't say anything, she just stared. After about two minutes, it got annoying.
"What?" I snapped. "I'm grieving, in case you haven't noticed."
"You have no reason to grieve," she said softly. "You should be happy!"
"About what?" I asked. "Being abducted?" I gave a hollow bark of laughter and returned to staring at the familiar wallpaper. No more Fair of Ages, no more Moose Club… "You don't understand, K'ata, that I'm not a robot, like you. I actually have emotions."
She stepped toward me, and for the slightest of moments I thought she was going to snap my neck. She didn't. Instead, she picked me up by my throat and tossed me against a handy-dandy wall. My vision went spotty, but through the spots I could see that she was trembling. Anger or sorrow, I knew not which. Didn't care, either.
"Oh, gayness," I muttered. "You really love me, don't you?"
"No," she said shortly. Her computer beeped, and my cell phone beeped, and sparks flew out of the outlets… This had been happening every hour, on the hour, since three today. I reached under my bed and dragged out a pair of well-worn Etnies with monkey laces, checked them for small furry mammals, and donned them.
"Wall-walk?" I asked cheerfully. (You see, I'm not going to tell you that I've borrowed a large supply of Liz's Prozac for Kids and have been eating them like M&Ms. That might tarnish your opinion of me.)
She growled and walked back through, leaving me to deal with the tramp. (And I'm not referring to Alvin, who happens to be in the kitchen making sandwiches.) With a bored grumble, I rolled the thing through the wall and into the cargo hold. (Going through the wall felt like walking through pudding. Old pudding.) K'ata stood in one corner with a technicologically advancedersomething clipboard, jotting down an inventory of all of my junk. (Intergalactic yard-sales dance in my head…)
I blinked. Stupid color contacts. I have perfect vision, but I wear the things anyway. Who wouldn't want these such vampire eyes as I have, I ask you? (And I do quote Liz: "Hey, you look stupid.") Except for that they're killing my eyes, I mutter to myself. Something pink and black catches my watering gaze, and I see an Alvin-board. (A skateboard that happens to belong to Alvin. Nothing different about it except for the pink feathers that grace the edges.) "What's Alvin's junk doing with my junk?" I asked surreptitiously.
She shrugged and made a face at me. Typical. Honestly, sometimes I feel as though I'm dealing with a bunch of first graders.
"Would you know my name, if I saw you in Heaven?" I hummed softly. "Would it be the same, if I saw you in Heaven? I must be strong, and carry on…" Eric Clapton. He's somewhat of a hero for me.
That was it. Everything was packed into the hold, all the big stuff secured, all the small junk piled and then secured with some bubble-wrap-y stuff. With my hands on my hips, I surveyed my worldly possessions.
And came to the conclusion that I have too much crap.
Blasphemy, I know. Any Beau worth his buttons will tell you that there is no such thing as "too much crap", but due to my current state of repressed one-eighths crisis, I'm reconsidering. (At least, I hope this isn't my midlife crisis, I think as I nibble another Prozac.)
"Done yet?" K'ata quipped as I flopped down into the copilot's seat of the ship. It was surprisingly comfy.
"Yep," I said. "All we have left now is Liz. Did you get Lawrence?"
"Look behind you," she said as she powered up the ship. I'd learned so far that not only did this thing not have cup holders, it took about ten minutes to boot up all of its computers. Supposedly, it was a "vintage model, and it was cheap". How nice.
But. I looked behind me and found Lawrence's rather large doggy bottom planted in a chair in an obvious imitation of me. I didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me either laugh or cringe.
"What's up, Cat-Person?" he asked me. (That's about the most disgusting insult in the books for a dog, may I remind you.)
"Oh, nothing much, He-Who-Is-Humped-By-Pomeranians. We're just taking a direct route to Korea to sell you on the black market."
"Yeah, and why are we going to Korea? All the good hookers must be liberated by now."
With a manic glint in my eye, I said, "They eat dog, in Korea."
Lawrence shut up. Yay.
And then I realized that I was bantering with a dog. No, I wasn't at the people level anymore, I had sunk even lower than the pillow level. Oh, agony…
"You know, with the right receiving equipment, you can access the space chatting programs," K'ata said neutrally. That sounded rehearsed, as did what followed. "You need to be careful though, because if you think that there are perverts here on your little trailer-park of a planet, you won't even be able to get your little mind around the space sickos."
Impossible. The alien is giving me the "Perv Talk", an my dear mother termed it. Kinda funny, seeing as she's just a kid herself.
"Mmhmm… It's time to go, now, I think," she muttered. I turned to look at her, and lo and behold, what did I see on screen but my mother's own Bronco, rolling down the drive.
"Are we cloaked?" I asked, panicked. I am so not in the mood for a mother-guilt-trip right now.
No such luck. "No, this ship does not have a cloaking mechanism," K'ata growled. Softening to my plight, she said, "She will see your letter, Morrick, and she will understand."
Oh, er, yes. My letter. Right, er…
My letter was a pack of lies, of course. I couldn't tell her the truth, that I was being abducted almost against my will, please save me, Mum! She'd get herself killed.
So, I twisted the truth. I said that it was a matter of the utmost importance, a I'm-going-to-save-Earth kind of thing.
Ha. More likely, I'll end up dead after a year, but other people do this (live in space) so why can't I?
I'm a rich, snobby emo kid, that's why.
Whoa, that's cool. One minute, there's Momsy barreling down the drive (we have a very long driveway) and the next, it's "Oh, look at those clouds below us!" land.
"Er, Liz?" I asked K'ata.
"Already dealt with," she said with an evil grin. "Commander Tino agreed to do it."
That… that… Italian! I should have known better than to give him this opportunity! All they do is drink wine, take naps, make love, drive sports cars very fast with no using of brakes, and then wake up in the morning looking fabulous.
Hmm… I might be Italian, then.
Tino and I might be related! We can open up the space-version of Olive Garden together, and they'll come in droves to see us…
Nah. I'm too handsome to be related to anyone but Madonna, Prince, or Billy Joe. Wait, change that, I'm only related to any of the Green Day guys, no one else.
Ew. Aaron Carter moment. We can keep that our little secret, I think. I've seen the Godfather movies… I know things…
I was in space, now. K'ata had gone from flat-screen to a astrological hologram. It was pretty, and everything was color coded.
Oh, and did I mention the two armadas? Oh, yes, ours was extremely close, and theirs (the bounty hunters, I assume blithely) was far, far away.
"Secure yourself, Morrick. We're about to hit some turbulence," K'ata said as the floor came up to kick me in the chest. Or maybe I went down… I'm not sure. It was a very hard impact.
"Ouch," I growled. "That hurt, you know. You're a bad driver."
"Says the boy who goes only ten kilometers an hour," she laughed. For some inexplicable reason, she chose to use the metric system. It was almost funny. Almost.
"Yes, well, at least he stays on the bloody road," Alvin said as he lurched into the cabin. "Got anything for airsickness on this tub?"
"Yes," the computer said. "Roll down a window."
Perhaps I should explain that our computer is exactly the opposite of Eddie, the Heart of Gold computer. Ours seems to have a death wish, and he wants to take all of us with him.
"Shut up, Walker." K'ata gave the console a fond whack and switched on the autopilot. "I suppose it's time for the tour, even though you'll be living on Dark Glory most of the time. Sick bay first," she said as she looked at Alvin's now green complexion.
Sick bay turned out to be a giant room with more of the laser-scanning madness chairs, the bed equivalent, and many, many piles of old magazines. There was an androgynous hologram, two androgynous robots, and a windup monkey, and all of them seemed thrilled to have a patient.
"I haven't bother to give them personalities yet, K'ata said, referring to the androgynous ones. "Maybe I'll use that as a programming assignment."
"I call the hologram," I said cheerfully, thinking of an old show called Red Dwarf. There was this obsessive compulsive militant hologram named Mr. Rimmer, and perhaps with a few fine-tunings and adjustments, I'd have a pub-mate. "Oh, are there pubs in space?"
"More than you'd like to know, and good, you called the most difficult thing. I admire your bravery," she said sarcastically.
"Ha bloody ha," Alvin said as his dreads were examined by the windup monkey. Poor thing, all it had were those cymbals for hands…
And at this point, I forgot exactly what happened. Never you mind, though, we're on the big ship, and Liz has found the Space Shopping Network. Although, why she is eyeing that leather thingy, I don't want to know.
So… Big, grotty ship, needs vacuuming. I'd probably get stuck with that job. Space-Maid.
Kou'al's voice came over the intercom saying, "Attention: we have some new people aboard, so I want everyone to play nice. The immaturity of a few unnamed Ensigns astounds me. Oh, and the Leira system is going to be a bit wonky for the next few minutes, so don't be alarmed if the holograms start with their interpretation of Moulin Rouge. Again, the immaturity…" He faded into silence and the intercom beeped off.
A drag queen danced by singing It's Raining Men, and four penguins did aerobics in the background.
A tap on the shoulder startled me out of my reverie. I turned to find a rather cute chubby brunette girl holding some strange bracelets and cards. She smiled shyly and said, "Hi. Are you Mr. Evans?"
"Depends on who's asking," I said caddishly.
She stood to attention and gave me an odd salute, index and middle finger touching her hairline. "Ensign Rachel Houston, of the Sterling, reporting as requested by Captain Kou'al. And you are, of course…?"
"Morrick Evans. Nice to meet you." Scary girl. Yikes, she couldn't have been any older than me, and yet she carried herself with a militant dignity that I could never match.
"Good. I have been assigned as your guide and guard. I will answer your questions and take you wherever you want to go, within reason. Certain areas are classified," she said apologetically. "In an emergency, you must do whatever I say, and should I become incapacitated, you are to report to a decided location, of our mutual choosing."
"Lady, you sound like a lawyer. Could we just get on with the tour?" If there's a jetlag for space, I had it.
She grinned and nodded. Her hair was short and framed her face like a halo, and it bounced vivaciously. She had a nice smile too, no makeup needed, unless the pinkness of her lips was one of those dyes. Her ship suit looked like some sort of denim and was of a very flattering cut…
Must… resist… cheating… Liz will kill me before this is over. I know it.
Maybe I should turn to Islam… The whole multiple wives thing. That has to apply to girlfriends as well, right?
"If you'll follow me?" She turned and led me to a lift. "And by the way, you might want to turn on your telepathy. I'm sure the deaf man of the fifteenth floor would like to hear your thoughts on me again." Her voice was calm, but I still wondered if she'd turn suddenly knock me out.
My face had gone red and I was stumbling a little. Alright, I'm great with women. Just not the ones I like.
So, I muttered things that I'd heard on Blackadder Goes Forth. Lovely show.
"So, now that you've stopped mentally groping me, this ship has ninety-three floors, nine hundred seventy-two rooms per floor, not including cargo bays, holds, the outer extensions, or the inner workings."
"…lost dearer friends when I was last deloused," I said through clenched teeth.
"Excuse me?" she asked, perturbed.
I smiled. "Never you worry your pretty little head over it, Darling."
She slapped me. Hard. It hurt.
"…beautiful, delicious, plump-breasted pigeon!" I shouted fitfully.
At that point, the door whooshed open to reveal Commander Tino locked in a passionate embrace with…
With…
I couldn't really tell, as his hair was veiling pretty much everything. Ah, there we are!
With Wraith Liz.
Huh?
It was Liz, but she was all, like, older and whiter, and she had gills and claws and lots more teeth than I remembered.
I looked over at Ensign Rachel.
She sighed sadly. "Let me guess. Retaliation by showing her how you've moved on so very quickly?"
"Yeees…" I said slowly.
She looked wistful. "If only you weren't the fourth guy to ask me that today. What?" she asked at my openmouthed incredulousness. "It's what happens when you load a ship with lots and lots of rowdy teenagers with a few adults with problems," she yelled that at Commander Tino, "thrown in to keep us from killing each other. And fine, I'll do it, but if you dare touch me anywhere I haven't specified, I'll break all of your fingers and castrate you, understand?"
I stepped back to the far wall. "Uh, no thanks, then." You frighten me, I added silently.
"Oh, do I?" She seemed pleased. "Anna will be pleased."
"Anna?" I asked.
"My psych lady," she said cheerfully. Of course. I'd get the nutter.
Speaking of, I think Liz's need for air has officially ceased. Wow, look at 'em go. Rachel and I watched this display for about ten minutes before she finally mentioned getting acquainted with the ship.
"And guess what?" she said. "We have two plans of action. One, we break the Lovers up, and Two, we go to deck H-Four, sneak into the ventilation system, crawl to deck M-Two, get out (and this is if none of the other ensigns notice a block in the system and incinerate us), find sub-hatchway M-Two-Fourteen, which I think is behind the pile of wedding toasters, not too sure, but crawl into that, and navigate our way to the Central Personnel Unit without computers (because the hatches are constantly magnetized in case our internal gravity malfunctions, and the magnetization will wonky the computers), and then we have to register you." She breathed a peppermint-scented sigh. "I don't know, I rather fancy Two, don't you?"
I looked at her. "Or, we could sneak around them," I said with all the innocence I could muster.
She went all huffy with irritation and said, "Well, if you want to avoid confrontation."
I snorted. "Indeed I do. You're crazy, do you know that? Crawling through vents that can vaporize--"
"Incinerate," she corrected.
"Fine. Incinerate, yourself. You don't need rank. You need therapy!"
"You will make a very bad pirate, you know that?" she asked me politely.
"Pirate?" I asked blankly. "What pirate? Where?"
"Me, you, everyone in the armada. Officially, we're explorers, but if anyone got ahold of Kou'al's books, we'd be finished." She grinned ruefully. "I'd be sent back to my own planet." She shuddered. "You'd be executed, of course."
"Uh, why?"
"You have no value, yet. You've done nothing," she said with a flippant wave of her hand. "Worthless."
"But your crimes-- Never mind, I don't care. Just shut up so they don't see us." I was by this time very peeved indeed. Liz was pretty much gone now, no Sam to take me to Sonic and buy me get-happy-now-or-else-I-shall-beat-you milkshakes, and this psycho girl was taunting me with, well, her entire being.
Yep. I need Prozac. I feel like a depressed Persian trucker.
"Get down!" Rachel whispered to me. "They've stopped."
"Have they now?" I said sarcastically. "Pass me the sugar. It's in the rat poison bottle."
"Hmph. Aren't you going to confront her?" she asked.
"At the risk of getting kicked so hard I'll have toes for teeth?" I muttered. "I think not. Let her snog her little Italian man-bimbo. I'll just get a harem."
"Men!" she chuckled. "That's all you ever think about."
"Not true," I said. "British Vogue and Teen Vogue often dance in my head."
"Did you think I was calling you a man?" she said scathingly. "Such publications are inconsequential superficialities and they are a degradation to all that is legitimately gained."
"You're pretty enough to be in one," I said smarmily. Her eyes went wide and her pretty mouth hung open.
"You-- you really think so?" she asked softly. "I mean, my hair doesn't--"
"Your hair is lovely," I said happily. Flattery is the best defense against an angry Li-- woman. Angry woman.
"Really?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Chauvinistic pig!" she yelled at me. "How dare you use flattery against me!" She stepped forward menacingly and I fled.
Right into the arms of Kou'al. Ouch. I'd hit him at a very high speed, and because of all of that pointy armor he was wearing, I got winded.
"Sorry, sir," I wheezed.
"Let me guess. You were fleeing from some form of angry female." When I nodded, he said, "Oh, nothing to worry over. I do it at least three times a week." He winked and conspiratorially said, "Turi and Liz are of the same mold. Both Georgia-girls. Both crazy. Both… umm…"
"It's okay, sir," I said as he pulled me off of the floor and back onto my feet. "I can do a lot better than the two of them."
"Two? You idiot. Never confess bigamy, not even to your friends, and definitely not to me… I'm a talkative drunk." He looked concerned, though. "Who else?"
"That Ensign. If she doesn't want me to think naughty things about her, she needs to button her blouse." I frowned as I remembered the pigeon comment. "And I need to learn not to say the first thing that comes into my head."
"Right. Rachel. You'll need… A Bazooka!" he laughed triumphantly. "To the weapons!"
"Eh, why do I need weapons?" I asked.
"She'll use weapons. Therefore, you need weapons to protect yourself. Unless you want to be a hamburger Tuesday?"
This whole ship is full of lunatics. The lunatic is in the hall, the lunatic is in the hall… I thought sadly. Annoying singsong mind-voice.
"Well, I did learn just about all I know of Earth-culture from cartoons," he said. "Oh, look, a wizard!" He was pointing at Alvin.
And Alvin was dressed in all black drag with a pointy hat. "Shut up," he said. "You're just jealous because I look better in a kilt than you."
"Shut up, yourself. Morrick, get used to strange things, because 'normal' doesn't exist here." Kou'al then dragged Alvin off to the cafeteria for cake.
So, here I sit, writing my memoirs for the last few weeks… It's so very important to remember things, Kou'al told me, and he said that memoirs were a good way to. Eventually, all of my story will be told, but for now… I have to deal with space piracy and mad aliens.
This morning, Turi gave me a hat that said ALIEN. I suppose it's ironic, now, but I guess I am one.
June 2, 2004, or 22 :64:23:065 (Space time is confusing.)
A/N: It's over. Done with. I need a break.
In other words, I'm going to do another story.
A sequel has already been planned for this, and hopefully Morrick will have stopped being such an emo. Emo kid. Blech.