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.

Chris Wilson