Space United Jason, Episode 3

Quinn Berg’s first day aboard the starship Jason isn’t going great so far.

“I am so glad we have entered into an accord of friendship, friend Quinn Berg, GAPASS!” Dictum is still beaming that horrific bear trap grin of steel teeth behind a loosely fastened veil of some dead guy’s face skin. His arms are outstretched.

“Tell ya what buddy, let’s build up to the hugs. Save it for something special,” I say as I dodge his grasp. Our shift is up, I’ve completely sweated through my space leotard, and I’m ready to hit the canteen for some refreshment. Forty-six minutes on a space-vator later and we finally arrive at Iolcus, the ship’s largest bar. And grille. With an ‘e.’

“I am surprised this ship does not allow for point to point matter transmutation as a way of bypassing time-consuming intraship travel like that which we have just experienced,” croaks Dictum. Is his voice getting hoarse? Can that happen?

“Probably a style thing,” I reply absentmindedly while browsing a drink menu, “To keep us honest or tough or something.”

“This does not make sense to me.”

“Yeah. Prepare for a lot of that going forward, Dictum.” We grab a table dead center in the room and wait for a server, but no one comes. The place isn’t that busy, and after 25 minutes I belly up to the bar.

“Is this place like a self serve thing, or how does it work?” I put on my nicest I will totally ask for the manager voice.

“You’re Gapass. Everything is self serve for you guys,” the woman behind the bar smirks. She’s not in any uniform I recognize. Instead she’s draped in what looks like silk that flows down from her shoulders and drapes her form like honey. She’d be insanely beautiful if she wasn’t currently being such a jerk.

“Look, I’m not trying to be a dick, lady-”

“Abya.”

“Sorry?”

“My name is Abya. Not ‘lady.’ You’ll get a lot more out of life if you take the time to ask someone their name before you start rambling at them.” Her expression is stony, but I swear she’s laughing at me. With her eyes.

“Sorry. Abya. I apologize, it’s been a long day. Could I please have a drink? Preferably a strong one? Please?”

“That’s more like it. Swipe your chip over the reader.” I follow her instruction and am treated to a quick mental image of my crew account being debited for 16 mun. Before I can say anything about the price, she hands me a tall, narrow glass filled to the very top with a syrupy brown liquid. I give it a sniff and it smells metallic.

“Now Abya, I’m definitely just curious and not being ungrateful,” I grimace at the sharp tang in my nose, “but what the fuck did you just give me?” I have to figure this is some kind of alien hooch. Which would be insane because so far as I can tell, we haven’t met aliens yet. Well, some bacteria, but bacteria don’t count. Unless it’s made with alien bacteria in it.

“Whiskey,” she deadpans.

“It doesn’t look like any whiskey I’ve ever-” before I finish a horrifically loud klaxon rings out.

“A red alert! How exciting!” Dictum flashes his horrific steel smile. “That means the ship is facing a threat that could end in our immediate destruction!” He holds up his cold, dead meathook for a high five.

“We’ve barely left orbit,” I say as I leave him hanging, “It’s probably a drill.”

“RED ALERT,” the ship’s computer shrieks from everywhere at once, “PROCEED TO EMERGENCY STATIONS IMMEDIATELY. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.”

“Shit. Where is the GAPASS emergency station?” I ask Abya, who shrugs as she opens a door behind her bar.

“You’re GAPASS. Your emergency station is basically wherever there’s an emergency,” she shouts over the klaxon, “Good luck.”

“We should head to the bridge,” Dictum shouts over the din, “and see if we can help.”

“Really? Because I was thinking we should find an escape shuttle. Just in case this whole thing goes tits up.”