ON, Starbase Hayes: Flight Control
"Lookit this shit." Rayjay sneered at his image, reflected in the broken screen of his Data Pad. "Fuckin' screen's cracked and I can't receive orders or nothing without using some other cocksucker's one." The Ensign threw the DataPad against a corner. There was a new one on the way, and he didn't have to worry about keeping the old one. The only real infuriating thing was the wait that accompanied the manufacturing and delivery.
"Ha! Figures they don't prioritize the guys sitting at the gates." Lieutenant Barnum Walther let out an audible sigh, tracing his hands over the cybernetic device that had replace the area surrounding his eye. It was the last time he'd ever taken a hit in the field, and was just glad that he'd been able to take a job in a quieter position. Starbase Hayes was damn safe, and he was content with what he had. "So shit... you hear about what happened at Nataria? The entire dump blew up, 'cause some idiot go a hold of an AI core or some shit."
"Where in the
fuck is Nataria, man?" Rayjay turned in his chair to look at the Lieutenant, with one arm on the top of the seat and another resting on the arm rest, holding his cigarette inbetween his pointer and middle finger. "Are you fucking kidding me, maan? I've been stationed here in this" He interrupted his own tirade to kick some random panel "In this fat motherfucker for the majority of my service term. 'See the galaxy', the recruiter said. 'Fuck alien cooch', he said. That motherfucker's probably retired and getting head from his wife an' shit.
LOOKIT WHERE I AM!" He smoked the cigarette to the filter and lit another one back up. "I haven't gotten laid in fucking...months, man. These bitches here are either ugly as fuck, taken, or looser than a stretched-out fucking hallway."
Barnum shrugged and scratched the edge of his cybernetic implant. "Eh. Well... you could always just save up and buy a Yorna, as long as you don't mind something that isn't a challenge in bed." He said, glancing out the window. "Or you could ask one of the girls in that Plumeria-class if they want a quickie. Fuck... just make sure it's not a samurai. She'll lop off your balls, or something."
"Ahh fuck that shit. I'll fucking find some easy girl down on Fortuna, or some shit. I'd rather fuck Nepleslian women than spend some time with those frigid bitches." Rayjay by now had been able to strip down to his boxers, and had a pair of headphones on his temples. Barnum could easily hear the Aethersperm blasting in it. "Hey, check this shit out, man." Rayjay reached over to grab the CQB-12 next to him and started playing air guitar on it.
"I could be a motherfucking rockstar with these moves." While RayJay was shredding his awesome shotgun, a small little window on the screen he was at kept jumping up from the bottom, and had even started beeping a little loud. Of course, the Ensign could not notice, as he was currently busy at the moment.
"Hey Ensign, you've got mail." Barnum said, hurling a small ball of paper at the junior warrant officer. "Did they deliver the porn yet?'
"What?" Rayjay looked back at Barnum, letting the ball hit him in the left eye with no real response. "Fuck man, they better have. Motherfuckers keep putting it off on me. 'You don't have any credits, byeeaahh'
I'LL GET THE MOTHERFUCKING CREDITS. Assholes." With that, the Ensign turned to the screen, opened the window, and raised an eyebrow. "Yo, we got a request from some civvies to send a ship down to them... 4 hours ago."
"Civilians, huh? I'll take care of it. Just find out what hold up on those mags is." Barnum said with a grin, as he began composing his authorization message. "Everyone that isn't flying commercial or SMODIN is probably an asshole trying to take advantage of something they haven't made illegal yet. But we can't screw with them without just cause or IP-fucking-G tattooed onto our foreheads."
"Ah fuck." Rayjay leaned back in his chair and kicked away from his station for a bit, to reach into a cooler full of ice and beer. "Aw, fuck the IPG." Rayjay looked up at the ceiling hurriedly, sensing that the IPG may be listening. Placing his beer on the armrest, he cupped his hands around his mouth and screamed "FUCK THE IPG" at the ceiling, and raised a middle finger up at it.
Barnum sighed, gesturing for a beer. "Just get back to work. I'll have the message up in a sec."
END
Traffic Control said:
SS Thunderbolt, you have permission to land. Please switch to autopilot and allow our guidance systems to bring you down safely through the craft in orbit.
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