Blackness…
Fuzzy Blackness…
Fuzzy Blackness with a hint of… of… is that sweat socks?
Carlos cracked open his left eye, but that helped absolutely
zilch. Worse yet, whatever was fuzzy causing the blackness seemed to cling
slightly to the gumminess of his eyeball.
“Eeerurrrgh…”
Thrashing about
seemed to clear his senses a titch, but the fuzzy blackness persisted. Great
googily moppet, what the hell happened?
Reaching up, Carlos finally managed to extricate himself
from what seemed to be a protective helmet fashioned out of knotted socks.
Not only that, but someone had gone the extra mile and
fashioned a harness out of ductape to help keep the sock helmet from coming
off. Frack.
Okay man, think. What the hell happened? Let’s see. It was
the Porktober celebration down on Novum Delorum and he had been hanging out
with Rufus playing full contact whist while doing shots of Ambershard Squeezins’.
It had been a long and grueling summer, getting vaccine to
all of the colonies while subduing the last of the infected pilots, but the
Mercenary Clans had once again saved the galaxy from years of pain and
suffering.
Everyone down in Port was going nuts since Novum, had been closed for so long, street dancing,
BBQs, and general shenanigans were literally every step you could take, as the
scores of weary pilots got in one good hurrah before having to get ready for
Clan Wars.
Carlos was finally able to see and found that he was one of
a handful of passed out revelers, sleeping on what appeared to be the storage
bay underneath the flight deck of the Grand Dragon Drop Ship.
Phew. At least he didn’t have far to go. Okay Carlos, pull
it together, get to your bunk, catch a shower, some breakfast, and start
getting gear stowed for, wait… why’s the floor vibrating…
As the Drop Ship started rising up, Carlos could feel his
eyeballs being pulled back into his body and out his nethers. Not being
anywhere near a Gee couch, he laid on the floor trying not to vomit on himself.
The amount of gravities that are created by a ship of this
size when it has to break the planet’s gravity well is truly amazing. So much
so, that sane and usually sober passenger tend to buckle up into what are
called Gee couches. Carlos was unfortunately neither sane nor sober at the
moment and it was making this an extra special kind of hell.
Speaking of hell, why the hell were they leaving planet so
soon? They weren’t due to leave for another three weeks!
Once they’d made it clear of the planet’s atmosphere, Carlos
set out to find some answers. As he looked around, he realized he was luckier
than most of his fellow squatters, who were all covered in their own sick and
bodily fluids from the launch.
In the Hallway, he found Ken Nickell who was carrying a clip
board and looking dutifully efficient.
“Ken! By the Prophet’s pits, what the frack is the meaning
for making a jump so blasted early?”
“Hadn’t you heard? Novum experienced a slight anomaly.”
“No I hadn’t heard, I just woke up strapped into a sock helmet! What anomaly?”
“No I hadn’t heard, I just woke up strapped into a sock helmet! What anomaly?”
<snort> “Oh yeah, you were running around with that
thing trying to get people to head-butt you yelling you were Buffalo Bob, or
Mammoth Jack or something. Fun stuff, Hehehe”
“Dej dej jest shut up about that for a second and tell me.
What. Anomaly…”
“Oh! Well, you remember how it was the start of the
Porktober Fest celebration last night? Well surprise! Its 3311 now. Seems time
sort of shifted on us.”
“The hell you say…”
“Yep! And as a matter of fact, we need your help getting
ammo brought up and loaded as we’re almost later for the start of Clan Wars.”
Carlos rubbed his eyes, sighed long and loud, then punched
Ken right in the shoulder knocking him off balance.
“That’s for ductaping that thing to me last night. Now
excuse me, it seems there’s some ammo that needs loading.”
