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Mostly Harmless
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Back by popular demand:
SEP-010, Chapter 4
"...You know I can't talk about other people," Mission Commander Brian J. Adkinson said firmly, and Sienna Morrison gave him a quick shake of the head.
"I'm not asking for a dossier, Captain Smith."
"I told you not to call me that," Adkinson barked, and she smiled at him sweetly.
"I'm merely concerned that her behavior wasn't . . . as professional as your Mr. Foulkes wanted, that's all."
"What do you mean?" Adkinson said as he chose to ignore the blatant jab.
"She seemed rather . . ." Her words stalled, and his eyes drilled neutrally into her as she fought to regain her train of speech. "She seemed like she had more than a few, if I didn't know any better."
She leaned closer. A wry smirk played across her face as she read his growing consternation.
"Do tell!" She whispered.
"Ahh . . . I've already said too much," He said dismissively and tried to turn away. Sienna reached out, grabbed him by his arm, and pulled him back.
"I must know," She whispered.
"Alright. Okay," He threw up his hands in a surrendering gesture. "We were in Titusville the night before launch day. We got word from the ground technicians that this ship passed every pre-flight test they could throw at it, and the new engines were testing out perfectly as well."
Sienna wasn't there, of course; she was wrapped up in her own last-minute cram checks for her own role as lunar geologist.
"Go on," She prompted.
"Well, we were all at this table -- about ten of us -- and we were each of us getting ourselves in the bag."
"...the bag?"
Adkinson made a drinking gesture, and she nodded in understanding.
"The next thing I knew, Cunningham had two shot glasses emptied, and she just left the table. I wasn't really paying attention, and I thought she was going to go to the latrine, but . . ."
Sienna cocked her head.
". . . but she went right to the karaoke stage. Totally bee-lined it. I kinda got lost with what happened next -- you see, people can get kinda loud when they've had a few -- but the next thing I remember is hearing the guitars."
"Oh boy," Sienna said in understanding. "So she made a fool of herself, then?"
"Mmm!" Adkinson shook his head briskly. "You remember that Four Non-Blondes song? It was real big about ten, fifteen years ago?"
Sienna scrunched her eyebrows in concentration for a moment, and nodded. "And I say hey-yay-yay-yeah?"
"Yeah, that's it!" Adkinson said, nodding briskly once more. His face softened with an incipient smile. "You know how a lot of people sound like dying cats when they go up there?"
Sienna nodded, and Adkinson shook his head slowly, deliberately, giving her a smirk.
"She had the entire place riveted, man."
"Really?" Sienna's eyes widened.
"Yup," Adkinson nodded. "Then, when she was done with that, and the whole place was completely silenced . . . she said . . . 'You think that was bad? Check out my friend here.' She pointed me out and waved me up onto the stage," He rolled his eyes. "I had to go. I had the entire friggin' Astronaut Table egging me on."
"What did she make you sing?" Sienna intoned dryly.
"Some Toby Keith song," Adkinson muttered.
"That was some of the best redneck fun you've had in your entire life," Jamie Cunningham growled as she launched herself through the compartment from the cockpit.
Adkinson's mouth snapped shut as she floated by, and Sienna Morrison arched an eyebrow as she watched his face -- which was now turning a very obvious shade of red.
There was an uncomfortable silence as Jamie reached the middeck transfer tunnel and swam down the ladder. Sienna gave Adkinson an impish grin as she formed her right hand in the shape of a pistol, shut her left eye, aimed and 'shot' him.
* * *
Jamie Cunningham opened a cold storage locker, pulling out a shrimp cocktail package. Without another word, she carried it back up the transfer tube to the aft deck, and swam into her sleeping compartment. Ignoring the silence around her, she shut the door and opened the plastic sheath containing the food.
The food was refrigerated, of course; not frozen. Considered part of the 'ready to eat' staple diet of the astronaut, the cocktail was spicy enough for its flavor to be actually noticed, and it was clean enough to not make a mess.
She pulled six shrimp tails out of the package and set them into the air in front of her, in the shape of a flat triangle. Taking a seventh shrimp out, she sighed and glowered at the floating food in front of her. She tossed her shrimp tail at the others, and as they collided noisily with each other, they scattered in a dazzling display of . . . well, culinary art, she supposed.
The interpretation was enough to put a wintery smile on her face as she sprang into motion to collect her food, and as she started to actually eat, she thought about what she'd just heard.
She should have shut them both down earlier, she realized. This was supposed to be a professional, technical environment; there shouldn't have been room for interpersonal . . . gossip.
The word sat like lead on her mind. The last time she even thought about the concept was back in high school (and, well, somewhat in her earlier days at the University). As a mission commander, Brian Adkinson should have been the first to shut Sienna down, and her infuriation with his failure to do so warred with the . . . praise, was it? . . . she heard come out of his mouth.
There was no mistaking his tone. He was . . . impressed . . . with her drunken display that night, and she couldn't fathom why. All she did was sing a damn song, after all.
As she chomped down on a shrimp tail in a spirited fashion, she saw a small rivulet of water shoot out of her mouth and form into a sphere. As it impacted the wall in front of her, she rolled her eyes and opened the drawer in the side of the cubicle.
She rifled through the 'essential astronaut gear' kept in the drawer: a tooth brush, stick deodorant, hand towels, sanitary napkins, bathing supplies . . . and that's when she saw it.
"Oh my god!" She shouted.
* * *
Brian Adkinson vaulted across the Aft Deck, and was upon the door to Jamie's sleeping cubicle in record time.
"Jamie?!" He shouted as he gave the door a double-rap with his fist.
The door opened, and Jamie floated out of her cubicle with a black palm-sized electronic device clutched in her hand. As she impaled his eyes with her own, she curled her arm, affording him a better view of the device: It was an iPod, with a pair of headphones attached.
"I've been looking for this for two months, Brian," She seethed.
Brian Adkinson floated next to her, and his face feigned an expression completely aghast. "You think I had something to do with this?"
"You're Mission Commander," She spat dryly. "You tell me."
"Oh, surely not," Adkinson purred. "The boys on the surface knew of your love of music, and they wanted you to have something other than the kU-band to listen to."
Jamie stared at Adkinson, and a wry smile started to break through the ice in her face.
"You people are impossible," She muttered as she kicked her way slowly back into her cubicle.
"By the way, I'm responsible for the R.E.O.," Adkinson crowed triumphantly just as the door shut.
"What?!"
* * *
SEP-010, Chapter 4
"...You know I can't talk about other people," Mission Commander Brian J. Adkinson said firmly, and Sienna Morrison gave him a quick shake of the head.
"I'm not asking for a dossier, Captain Smith."
"I told you not to call me that," Adkinson barked, and she smiled at him sweetly.
"I'm merely concerned that her behavior wasn't . . . as professional as your Mr. Foulkes wanted, that's all."
"What do you mean?" Adkinson said as he chose to ignore the blatant jab.
"She seemed rather . . ." Her words stalled, and his eyes drilled neutrally into her as she fought to regain her train of speech. "She seemed like she had more than a few, if I didn't know any better."
She leaned closer. A wry smirk played across her face as she read his growing consternation.
"Do tell!" She whispered.
"Ahh . . . I've already said too much," He said dismissively and tried to turn away. Sienna reached out, grabbed him by his arm, and pulled him back.
"I must know," She whispered.
"Alright. Okay," He threw up his hands in a surrendering gesture. "We were in Titusville the night before launch day. We got word from the ground technicians that this ship passed every pre-flight test they could throw at it, and the new engines were testing out perfectly as well."
Sienna wasn't there, of course; she was wrapped up in her own last-minute cram checks for her own role as lunar geologist.
"Go on," She prompted.
"Well, we were all at this table -- about ten of us -- and we were each of us getting ourselves in the bag."
"...the bag?"
Adkinson made a drinking gesture, and she nodded in understanding.
"The next thing I knew, Cunningham had two shot glasses emptied, and she just left the table. I wasn't really paying attention, and I thought she was going to go to the latrine, but . . ."
Sienna cocked her head.
". . . but she went right to the karaoke stage. Totally bee-lined it. I kinda got lost with what happened next -- you see, people can get kinda loud when they've had a few -- but the next thing I remember is hearing the guitars."
"Oh boy," Sienna said in understanding. "So she made a fool of herself, then?"
"Mmm!" Adkinson shook his head briskly. "You remember that Four Non-Blondes song? It was real big about ten, fifteen years ago?"
Sienna scrunched her eyebrows in concentration for a moment, and nodded. "And I say hey-yay-yay-yeah?"
"Yeah, that's it!" Adkinson said, nodding briskly once more. His face softened with an incipient smile. "You know how a lot of people sound like dying cats when they go up there?"
Sienna nodded, and Adkinson shook his head slowly, deliberately, giving her a smirk.
"She had the entire place riveted, man."
"Really?" Sienna's eyes widened.
"Yup," Adkinson nodded. "Then, when she was done with that, and the whole place was completely silenced . . . she said . . . 'You think that was bad? Check out my friend here.' She pointed me out and waved me up onto the stage," He rolled his eyes. "I had to go. I had the entire friggin' Astronaut Table egging me on."
"What did she make you sing?" Sienna intoned dryly.
"Some Toby Keith song," Adkinson muttered.
"That was some of the best redneck fun you've had in your entire life," Jamie Cunningham growled as she launched herself through the compartment from the cockpit.
Adkinson's mouth snapped shut as she floated by, and Sienna Morrison arched an eyebrow as she watched his face -- which was now turning a very obvious shade of red.
There was an uncomfortable silence as Jamie reached the middeck transfer tunnel and swam down the ladder. Sienna gave Adkinson an impish grin as she formed her right hand in the shape of a pistol, shut her left eye, aimed and 'shot' him.
* * *
Jamie Cunningham opened a cold storage locker, pulling out a shrimp cocktail package. Without another word, she carried it back up the transfer tube to the aft deck, and swam into her sleeping compartment. Ignoring the silence around her, she shut the door and opened the plastic sheath containing the food.
The food was refrigerated, of course; not frozen. Considered part of the 'ready to eat' staple diet of the astronaut, the cocktail was spicy enough for its flavor to be actually noticed, and it was clean enough to not make a mess.
She pulled six shrimp tails out of the package and set them into the air in front of her, in the shape of a flat triangle. Taking a seventh shrimp out, she sighed and glowered at the floating food in front of her. She tossed her shrimp tail at the others, and as they collided noisily with each other, they scattered in a dazzling display of . . . well, culinary art, she supposed.
The interpretation was enough to put a wintery smile on her face as she sprang into motion to collect her food, and as she started to actually eat, she thought about what she'd just heard.
She should have shut them both down earlier, she realized. This was supposed to be a professional, technical environment; there shouldn't have been room for interpersonal . . . gossip.
The word sat like lead on her mind. The last time she even thought about the concept was back in high school (and, well, somewhat in her earlier days at the University). As a mission commander, Brian Adkinson should have been the first to shut Sienna down, and her infuriation with his failure to do so warred with the . . . praise, was it? . . . she heard come out of his mouth.
There was no mistaking his tone. He was . . . impressed . . . with her drunken display that night, and she couldn't fathom why. All she did was sing a damn song, after all.
As she chomped down on a shrimp tail in a spirited fashion, she saw a small rivulet of water shoot out of her mouth and form into a sphere. As it impacted the wall in front of her, she rolled her eyes and opened the drawer in the side of the cubicle.
She rifled through the 'essential astronaut gear' kept in the drawer: a tooth brush, stick deodorant, hand towels, sanitary napkins, bathing supplies . . . and that's when she saw it.
"Oh my god!" She shouted.
* * *
Brian Adkinson vaulted across the Aft Deck, and was upon the door to Jamie's sleeping cubicle in record time.
"Jamie?!" He shouted as he gave the door a double-rap with his fist.
The door opened, and Jamie floated out of her cubicle with a black palm-sized electronic device clutched in her hand. As she impaled his eyes with her own, she curled her arm, affording him a better view of the device: It was an iPod, with a pair of headphones attached.
"I've been looking for this for two months, Brian," She seethed.
Brian Adkinson floated next to her, and his face feigned an expression completely aghast. "You think I had something to do with this?"
"You're Mission Commander," She spat dryly. "You tell me."
"Oh, surely not," Adkinson purred. "The boys on the surface knew of your love of music, and they wanted you to have something other than the kU-band to listen to."
Jamie stared at Adkinson, and a wry smile started to break through the ice in her face.
"You people are impossible," She muttered as she kicked her way slowly back into her cubicle.
"By the way, I'm responsible for the R.E.O.," Adkinson crowed triumphantly just as the door shut.
"What?!"
* * *
