A Return to Fusang 3

[UnmarkedBoxcar]

Commander

“Yes, Red?”

That awkward, balding man is back.

“Ohh goodie…Wait, how do you know he’s bal-“

“Commander!” Came a shrill, slightly modulated voice.

With a sigh the commander lowered his datapad and turned to face his “new friend.”

“Mister Leatherman! My what a pleasant surprise to see you here. Again. “

“It’s Lieberman.” Whined the clerk. At least, the commander thought he was some sort of clerk. He certainly had a sort of clerk-ish manner to him, as if he were a small dog being perpetually picked on by several larger dogs.

“Commander,” sniveled the clerk, sounding as if he were in actual pain, “you know that only authorized maintenance personnel are cleared to remain on the pad once it has been retracted into the hangar. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to-“

“Listen, Loverman-“

“Lieberman…”

“Right…Lieberperson…Listen, you see this beautiful red gem of a starship behind me?”

Oh stop. Chimed Red’s voice in his helmet. He got the impression she
was smiling.

“Well she gets awfully bashful, you see. And as a special consideration to the lady it seems only right and proper that someone she’s comfortable with handle the inspection of her lovely undercarriage. It’s a very delicate matter, you understand.”

“The…Lady?...” The pitch of the man’s voice rose in confusion with each syllable—as if someone were squeezing him in very uncomfortable places.

“I don’t…” Stammered the clerk.

“I say, friend… you seem awfully flustered,” interrupted the commander with mock surprise. “You don’t have a thing for hardpoints do ya? ‘Cause she’ll show them to you if you ask real nice.”

Servos began to hum and whir as the hardpoint nearest the two men began to open and deploy, revealing a rather large Plasma Accelerator fixed under the Python’s nose.

“What?! No!... I…” The poor man had no idea how to tactfully respond, his language devolving into a sort of shrill yelping. The commander, at this point, was trying quite admirably not to laugh.

“That was a nice touch, Red,” the commander murmured softly into his helmet.

You’re horrible, Sir.

The commander just smiled into his visor.

“Lieberman!” Came a louder, more confident voice, approaching the pad where the two men were talking.

“Sir!” The clerk stood up straighter.

“You can go now, Lieberman, I’ll take care of our friend here.”

“But sir, I…--“

“It’s alright, Lieberman, I promise I won’t throw him out of the letterbox.”

“Yes, Sir.” The clerk was already walking away, perhaps a little too quickly. He seemed relieved.

The newcomer was much larger and sturdier than the pilot he now faced, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Must you try to traumatize all of my employees?”

“Traumatize? What do you mean? I think he liked me.”

The two men faced each other for a few moments more and then began to laugh.

“You haven’t changed a bit.” Rumbled the larger man.

The commander once again smiled into his visor, “It’s good to see you, Martin. Glad they haven’t replaced you yet. It’s nice that some corporations continue being charitable toward the geriatrics of the galaxy.”

“Geriatric? Maybe I really will throw you out the letterbox. Besides, my hair’s not all grey yet, you upstart.”

The men clasped forearms in a familiar handshake.

“Though, I think we should probably discuss those logs and ledgers you submitted…” Martin mused.

“Hmm? Discuss? What’s there to discuss?” One could almost hear the commander raise his eyebrows in mock ignorance.

“One of your logs mentioned 220 tons of ‘shiny rocks.’”

“Well yes, Palladium is quite shiny.”

“Uh huh…and what about the cargo hold full of ‘voluntary human meat popsicles.’”

“I believe that honesty is the best policy.”

“I believe you’re certifiably insane.” Chuckled Martin. “And what about that escort log you submitted to me last month?”

“What about it?”

“’Defender of the Innocent and Rescuer of the Downtrodden?’”

“It had a nice ring to it.”

“You were escorting miners.”

“Miners are awfully downtrodden, Martin.”

The larger man just shook his head and heaved a good-natured sigh. “I have no idea how you’ve managed to stay in the Pilot’s Federation for so long.”

“It’s my charming personality, of course.”

“Ohh is that it?”

The commander grinned once more and patted Martin firmly on the arm. “Well it certainly isn’t my rugged good looks.”

“What looks?”

“Exactly.”

Both men exchanged quips for a little while longer before Martin collected a bit of data from the commander’s datapad and made his way to other parts of the hangar. The commander went back to his maintenance inspection, punching a few numbers and the occasional note into the pad in his hand.

You could have been a little nicer to that poor clerk.

“Whatever do you mean, Red? I’m always nice.”

And I’m a pink Anaconda with fuzzy upholstery.

“A pink Anaconda, eh? Coulda fooled me. What’s your current sarcasm setting?”

Seventy-five percent, Commander.

“Only seventy-five?” the commander smiled.

Yes. Any higher and I’m afraid you’d end up like that clerk.

“You really think so? I’ve been working on my snivel.”

You’re incorrigible.

“Yes, but that’s why you love me.”

I’m a computer, and you’re insane.

“I love you too, Red.”

There was no responding voice in his helmet, but one of the ships lights briefly winked on and off. The commander smiled to himself and finished his inspection, meticulously so. All jokes aside, The Red Herring was his home, and the product of years of scrimping, saving, and creative financial planning. She had been the best ship he’d ever flown, and the introduction of her own AI had not only made it possible for him to effectively pilot her alone, but also made the trade runs, mining escorts, and occasional private contract that much more bearable. He might very well be going insane, but it was nice to have someone to talk to.

As he finished his final walk-around, and was about to sign off on the needed maintenance log, Red's voice chimed once more in his helmet.

Commander?

“Yes, Red?”

Do you really think my undercarriage is lovely?

The commander chuckled.

“The loveliest.”

Once again there was no response, but he could swear he heard a contented purr to the engines just before they powered down.

The commander smiled to himself, somewhat incredulously. Sometimes the complexities of Artificial Intelligence still surprised him. If he were more philosophical he might entertain thoughts about the nature of the soul, creation, personality, and interaction, but he wasn’t terribly philosophical, not today anyway, so he merely kept smiling and wondered once or twice whether he really was going insane. Not that he cared overmuch.

Making his way out of the hangar and toward someplace in Cleve Vision where he could get a decent meal and take off his helmet and just-slightly-uncomfortable pressure suit, he punched the last bit of his access code into his datapad to sign the log he had just submitted.

Commander Miles Walker
10644765
Callsign “Boxcar”

[Flip]

Excellent! More, please!

[UnmarkedBoxcar]

Excellent! More, please!

Thank you, Mister Flip Sir Kind words make for great encouragement.

[JohnLuke]

"And I’m a pink Anaconda with fuzzy upholstery." ROFL!!

Great story, Boxcar.

[clivewil]

lol@ "i've been working on my snivel."

enjoyable read, thanks for posting it

[Straylight0]

Nice! Could see it working as a video!

Looking forward to the day you really can have a pink anaconda...