On one particular day the crew was floating through space.
Yet again, they had no money and no food, listening for anything to do.
Even their newest addition to the team was whining.
"When the fuck are we finally getting FOOOOOD?!" she groaned.
"When we find work, god damnit!" Joe angrily replied.
"I don't feel too good..." said Jonah, grabbing his chest.
"Old timer, you okay?" Joe asked, worried for his health.
"I-I think I'm... Gonna retire now..." he groaned, slumping over.
Milly rushed over. "Jonah, stay with us!" she yelped in fear of his life.
Mora rushed in from the machine room. "What's happening?!"
"Jonah is fucking dying!" Joe said in full panic.
Milly laid the old man on his back, opening his shirt, starting to pump his chest.
Joe quickly rushed to call a medical craft over the radio.
Mora sighed and rubbed her face. "Mil... You can stop..."
"IS ANYONE OUT THERE, RESPOND, A CREW MEMBER IS DYING!"
"He's not dead, Mora! He's not! HE'S GONNA ME OKAY!"
As time seemed to slow down, the medical craft questioned Joe.
"I'm afraid his old age has taken him, sir. We can't help." they replied.
Joe fell back in his chair, staring at the radio system.
"Sir? Sir, are you still there?"
Joe dropped the microphone and kept staring.
Milly had given up and was holding Mora in the meanwhile.
Teran had fallen silent. She didn't know what to say.
"We're sending a ship for psychological evaluation."
Those were the last words coming over the radio.
Give or take three hours and everyone was settled down.
They sat together with the medical people checking them.
"Joe..." said Mora with a soft sigh. "We're quitting..."
"W-what?... But what about the LV?..."
"We can't do this anymore. We're going back to government work."
"But... I thought..." he said, flabbergasted.
"No, Joe... We aren't some kind of tight family or anything..."
"So it was just about cold hard cash?..."
"We just can't stand you anymore..."
And with that, they left with the medical crew.
Some reserve medical crew helped Joe pilot the LV17 to her mechanic.
Crazy Pete, the only man who could still fix her.
He came outside and smiled brightly, but then he saw Joe.
Joe and only Joe with too much to drink already.
"Where's the crew? Where's the girls?"
"They fucking bounced... Jonah died... And..." he sighed, collecting his thoughts.
"Welp, can you do somethin' for me? I still have fuck tons of cash on board..."
"Uuuuh... Sure, whatcha need done, buddy?"
"Make that bitch a one pilot beast. Do whatever you must."
"Are you fucking crazy? You're gonna do turrets, thrusters, charting AND piloting?"
"Fuck relying on people, I thought these fuckers were the ones, but lookie here."
"I see your point... Alright. I'll do it. How much you got?"
"Enough to fix her inside and out. It's dirty cash, though."
"That's no problem for crazy Pete. I'll fix her up inside and out, unlock everythin'."
"How much exactly is locked?"
"Ninety percent of the weapons systems that fucked folk up back in the day."
"DO IT, FUCKING... DO IT, I WANNA FUCK FOLK UP!"
"YEH BOY, NOW YOU'RE TALKIN'!" Pete said with big grin.
Joe walked inside, drinking more until he eventually passed out drunk.
He was done with life and he knew some war shit was going on.
No better time to fuck up everyone than now...
YOU ARE READING
Where Stars Go to Die
Science-Fiction*Attention:* for those still reading this book, it's fairly bad, it's hastily written and I'm not particularly proud of it, not as much as I used to be. I'm leaving this one up as a case study for how I used to write and to look at the mistakes I us...
