TK Special #1 - AngusEcrivain... Apparently He Writes Sci-Fi, Too!

THE HMS HEMLOCK STONE

The HMS Hemlock Stone, a relatively small and insignificant part of the Fleet, especially when one considers the enormity of the HMS Westminster and the HMS Solent, the latter being the flagship of the Royal Navy, occupied a geosynchronous orbit directly above The Great Red Spot of Jupiter whilst her crew who were, quite frankly, far from being the most elite of sailors, stood guard over the many mining colonies littered about the Jovian system.

It was a noble and worthy assignment. Of course it was. The water and minerals taken from those moons meant the human race remained hydrated and that new homes could be built, planetside.

It was, however, somewhat lacking in excitement, a topic that was raised at every given opportunity aboard the vessel by everyone from the XO to Arnie, the chap who scrubbed the shit out of the toilet bowls.

As luck would have it, because sometimes timing really is simply that perfect, such a conversation was taking place in the Officer's Mess at that very moment.

"Look, Dave... I mean I'm not trying to be a prick or anything, but I didn't enlist to babysit a group of kids playing with their fucking Meccano sets."

Dave looked up from the newspaper, a three-week old copy of The Sun, and shrugged.

"I know that, Barry," he replied, slowly. He regularly had the Michael extracted due to the fact he liked reading the paper, rather than finding out about goings on in the System on the Wire like everyone else and the rest of the crew took great pleasure in giving him half-stories, knowing full well that he would not discover the truth until three weeks after the event when the post arrived. "Thing is, just like the rest of us you didn't get higher than a D in your astrophysics GCSE, so it's tough shit."

"Just want some fucking excitement Dave, y'know? A bit of fucking action!"

"You and every other lost fucking soul on this bucket of bolts, Barry, but..."

Dave was cut short when over the tannoy, a throat was cleared, followed by the voice of a man who really did not sound very sure of himself in the slightest.

"Erm..." A pause, during which that same throat was cleared rather vigorously. "Erm... Ladies and gentlemen. I am afraid to say that we have just been, erm, reassigned, and must rendezvous with the, erm, rest of the Fleet at, erm, Mars. Erm... Thank you."

That announcement was followed by one of far greater confidence and wherewithal, from the HMS Hemlock Stone's Executive Officer, Mark Watt.

"Buckle up, folks. We're going full burn and you all know what happens to this poor excuse for a space worthy vessel when she pulls more than a few G's so hold on tight, and pray that the sweet scent of a ripe and ready punani is gonna' permeate your nostrils at least one more time before you feel the cold embrace of the vacuum just on the other side of the twelve inch wall beside your heads."

"XO seems in good form," said Barry, chuckling. "Well you heard him, Dave. We'd better get strapped in."

"Yeah," he sighed, dropping the newspaper to the low coffee table. He had just made it to the sport section, too.

The two men headed for the wall, facing the exterior wall and placed their backs to the cold steel before each reaching up and pulling down the individual mesh casing that would hold them steady. They were joined by three other individuals, a man and two women, who were also permitted access to the Officer's Mess, and soon all five were tucked in tight.

Whilst the mesh would keep them still and prevent injury as a result of being thrown around the room as the HMS Hemlock Stone touched speeds at which she really was not capable of travelling, it would not prevent the bubbly tummy from which at least one of them was all but guaranteed to suffer.