I Do Not Lie.

Ryan was having a rather enjoyable sleep. It was such a long-time since he had such an erotic dream, which was why he felt totally justified in being pissed off with Simon for waking him. After giving him a mouthful of expletives Ryan waited for Simon to respond.

“Sorry Skip. But you need to see this. We have Betty on-line and we have a visual of her.” Ryan threw off his bed covers. Simon was right he did want to see this. He wanted to see what it was they had been waiting ten long months for to appear.  When he had first won this contract he had been quite pleased.  Betty was a legend, a story to tell newbies over their first glass of synthetic rum. Betty, real name Elizabeth III was an immense cargo ship. Whilst travelling from one insignificant planet to somewhere no one remembers, her crew of one had suddenly sent a bizarre message. 

“Suffer little children, come unto me.” Her engineer then turned the ship around and sent her into the most dangerous and largest meteorite zone in the known galaxy system and was never heard from again. The zone was so dangerous no one could follow. Clever people at some university somewhere had mathematically worked out where Betty would reappear give or take a few months.  And it was at this point the ship The Fortitude had been waiting. 

“Any sign of life on board?” Ryan shouted through the communicator.

“None Skip.” It had to be a long shot. Betty had been missing for seven years.  The likelihood of the engineer surviving was a remote possibility.

“It looks like she had sustained quiet a lot of damage. We are analysing the data now.”

“Yer, yer.” Ryan popped a few pills and lamented that this was not the life for a man. He walked past the emergency air lock and nearly fell flat on his face.

“Gibson, are you there?” He bellowed. “Gibson!”

“Here, skip.” Gibson monotone voice crackled through the communicator.

“Why haven’t you fixed the faulty gravity tile near the air-lock?” Ryan barked.

“It needs a new part.” The monotone replied.

“Bullshit!” Ryan shouted back. No such thing as a spares-shop in space.

“I can only do a temporary fix.”

“Well I ain’t planning on staying here forever!  Get it fixed. If you need assistance,”

“I don’t need no one’s help.” Gibson shouted back.

“I know that otherwise I wouldn’t be balling you out and saying if that tile is not fixed in the next two hours I am reporting it as failure in duty and you’d get a fine. Understand?”

“Yes Skip.” Gibson clicked the communicator closed.  Gibson grabbed his tool box and threw it onto the shelf, just under the seat of his wheel chair. He dragged himself around the small work-shop gathering all the equipment he needed. Why the hell he hadn’t fixed the tile was something he didn’t understand. It was as though he needed to totally piss someone off before he felt justified into doing anything. He knew he had a huge chip on his shoulder, he just didn’t know what to do with it. He climbed into his chair and made his way the faulty tile. Three years ago when he was an off-world marine he had lost both his legs and his left arm in a skirmish on an off-world colony that had been growing and supplying illegal drugs. He was lucky to have survived, he knew many that hadn’t. He had spent all the compensation money on a new arm. The best he could lay his hands on and now he was saving every penny he could for new legs. If only his brain could be healed so easily.

“Hi Gibson, do you need a hand.” Reilly, who was a fully trained doctor, asked as Gibson wheeled past the open door to the tiny medical room.

“I can do it without help.” Gibson replied through gritted teeth.