Bringing Sloppy Back

Posted on Monday May 6th, 2019 @ 8:54pm by Lieutenant Mavet

Mission: Welcome to Union Mining Station Number 42
Location: Mining Station 42

The long shuttle ride did nothing for Mavet's mood, nor did his onboard companions. Bunch of morons. He had piggybacked for a few days on the USS something-or-other before making the final leg of his journey to Hell with the dumbest bags of hair he'd ever seen. Hopefully none of them would be his commanding officers.

Because that was the story with Mining Station 42. The Union suffered a huge upset during a mutinous strike that left people dead. Gelatinous people, even, which was startling to say the least. Gelatins were notorious for surviving nearly anything.

Maybe that's why Mavet had been sent here. It took pulling every last string developed over his long career of ass-kissing to save his commission. The only place that needed or wanted him was 42, or so they said. It still sounded like a screwjob to Mavet.

Ironically, it may have been his slick-talking that had doomed him there in the first place. As a Media Relations Specialist, his job would be to professionally shine shit and keep everybody happy. If he was lucky, he'd be able to prevent another popular uprising.

"Are we there yet?"

The pizza-faced junior enlisted had asked the question more than once, but probably not enough to warrant the protoplasmic hand that stopped inches from his face in a barely halted slap. "Shut. Up."

"As a matter of fact," the pilot said idly as he killed the quantum drive, "we are."

Mavet ignored the various whimpering and disgruntled mutters from the rest of the shuttle's passengers, and turned his attention to the view screen.

Union Mining Station 42 was not very impressive. Seven decks corkscrewed around three clusterfucked asteroids was all there was to it. At the sight of it, Mavet wondered if reports of previous crewmembers being killed were exaggerated. Suicide seemed far more likely.

The panoramic establishing shot was over all too soon. In mere seconds, the shuttle had taken berth in the lower docking area.

"Figures we'd have to enter at the ass end," Mavet groused.

While everyone else unfastened their restraints and gathered their carry-on luggage, Mavet oozed his amorphous body straight for the exit. There was a lone trunk being shipped in transit that contained his few personal effects, which meant today he traveled light.

That would prove handy because there was nobody in the docking area to greet them. It seemed they would have to figure out their quarters and sundry all on their own. These bipedal bitches might have to haul their bags and suitcases up seven levels to the command deck before they found someone who could help them.

Some days it paid to be a Gel. Mavet savored the schadenfreude of the moment and even allowed himself a cruel chuckle at their expense. As for himself, once he stepped onto the command level, there was a very good chance that he might not ever leave it. At least not until he could get transferred away from this triorchid rock.