A Job Just Like Any Other
What a damn mess! “Autopilot offline”. Why does this kind of
crap always seem to happen to him? “Environmental systems at
twenty-three percent capacity”. Had he been some sort of
genocidal dictator in a past life? “Gravity emulators at
fifty-one percent capacity”. Or was there some higher being out
there with a sense of humour? “Life support at thirty-two percent
capacity”. Well, at least he wasn’t going to die for another
few days yet. Plenty of time to mull over the possibilities in his
head. “FTL drive offline”. Perhaps he was just that
unfortunate individual, you know, the one that, whenever he sticks his
head out for more than a few seconds, the universe just shovels a pile
of shit into his face. Then throws more after him, now that it know
he’s there. “Sub-light engines at forty-seven percent
capacity”. Well at least he still had Caffeine.
He reached for the aluminium cup, sat on top of the main control
terminal, that housed the soil-brown swill. Nothing more than
tasteless synthetic goop, like everything else the food replicators
churned out. Not that flavour was much of an issue with the garbage
spawned by the thing—he rarely had time to even eat the stuff let
alone enjoy it. Sustenance was all it was, sustenance and one hell of
a kick in the cajones. Yeah, at least he still had Caffeine.
You can find the complete version of A Job Just Like Any Other in issue 71 of TBD.