Th’ way yer wagglin’ yer hips sounds like you’re talking to me, but is just to muddy for me to make out what you’re saying. Or you’ve got the worst accent this side of a feral hybridized scutellata-borg.
It had better not be about my father, which is what it sounds like.
Oh, well that explains things. I’m surprised to see the Hive Collective tolerating a branch of renegade drones. Queens are the real deal. I’m smart enough to keep my distance. They may tempt you with honey and dancing, but they forget that your crew are not merely expendable resources to be ripped limb from limb, willy-nilly when jelly-high.
Crew are expensive to replace.
Hmm… or is it that the Hive Collective doesn’t know you exist? Be careful out there.
EFF THE MOTHER-EFFING QUEENS.
'sides*, ain’t a one of them that could catch the Those Who Deem Inappropriate the Singing of Disney Songs in the Office Bathroom Are Not Worthy of Acknowledgement.
But… a Hive is a Hive. Don’t get me wrong - being surrounded by wax on all six sides is everybody’s dream, but hives are a bit too insular for my tastes. I’m a free-range space-bee-man. Give me space, lots of space, under starry skies around, don’t hive me in.
I don’t rightly know what most of the hives think of me and mine. I do know that my ex-wife does not think too highly of me, but that feeling is mutual (and it ain’t a patch on what the Not Worthy thinks of her, yikes, can that ball-o-wax hold a grudge). Anyhow, she’s without workers and without a hive. You don’t mess around on a client of Flywheel, Space-Shyster, and Flywheel and think you’ll get away with something. She was lucky to get away with her wings. I got the wax, a genetic algorithm to reconfigure her dusty hexagons into a Worthy ship, and a bunch of grubs that can match any crew this side of the great 12-second Halictidae Pulsar.
* six, count them, six!
" ZepEx Express 1337 Mission 1 - Courier"
The Pennywhistle is a fine ship, and she’s served me well, but she sure is ugly as home-baked sin. She’d surely benefit from fewer people seeing her, and they’d sure benefit from not needing to look at her.
I’ll invest in a shiny new
Seeing as the O’Connor’s aren’t no family of cowards, I’ll brave the pirates. It may still be a courier job, but at least it might not be boring! Besides, if I did any less for the noble Charybdian Militia, I’d be unworthy of the name “” (or equivalent). Onward bravely through
Hurrah!
No Purchases & Lock in Mission 2 please
Dipping my toes in to do Mission 3.
To hell with the consequences. If the old bird gets damaged, well, it’s only natural for a narrative foil in circumstances such as these.
Pip pip.
Browf pilots the Cosmosword to join other Mission 2 couriers at the Amazone (a subsidiary of Unizone) depot to collect his cargo for courier run to Merced. While BAMBI handles automated loading the crates of various shapes and sizes, Browf inspects the manifest:
“solid gold porsche circa 2173, engraved, check”
“sapphire encrusted standing desk, check”
“gold trimmed jade stone jacuzzi, check”
“98 retail releases of Half Life 3 on USB, mint condition, still on original shipping pallet, check”
“Oscar trophy marked DeCaprio, never awarded, check”
“what load of junk. this stuff heavy pile of crap. who would ever want. what you other guys get?”
Oh, Mission 2.
Well, so far we’ve loaded a crated labeled “Hamdingers”.
And this is a reason why I wanted to be able to inspect the shipment. I mean, nobody likes Hamdingers. So what’s in the box?
“it mystery…”
“…mystery meat?”
My g-d! They killed an entire planet just os they had somewhere to store their weapons.
A bunch of worthless shite if you ask me.
reads random items off manifest
2 replicas of the armor Lord British had on display in his home
2091 edition of A Bigger, Blacker Hole by Cards Against Sentient Beings
87 kilos of silicon-tubes marketed as “garlic-peeling unitaskers”
36 ancient S-VHS-C tapes, used, contents unknown
4 cases of beeswax album copies of Vanilla and Got To Fly, mixed.
God, this stuff goes on and on. Must be a delivery for the latest round of folks from the last batch of birth boomers to cash in on their dash-com exit.
Hell, I don’t even know what a GoWesty engines is, let alone why someone would order 3.5 of them.
I’ve got a load of… Space-Potato Guns ?!?!?
Okay, petrified space potatoes from the moon are nostalgic (and worth roughly 1 GoWesty engine + accessories I had one when I was a grub.
But shot out of a tube, as a useful weapon for the Militia?
Oh, I stand corrected!
“you wish you had space potato gun. what you probably have are guns for KILLING dangerous space potato.”
“very dangerous. me Uncle Stoof space potato exterminator. you no want infestation in you ship, me can tell you Stoof stories.”
So if I am doing this task correctly I should be signing up for a courier run. Not pooping cargo only
My manifest lists “Pockets, Hot”
602 crates.
First of all, I’d like my bally grease back! What a load of truck. Ineffable!
*Humph
Moving on. I see from the rules that:
One wonders if one might be able to employ, on speculation of course, some of these, ah…
*carefully puts on chartruse pince-nez, peering
…pious androids and, ah, wonky space lizards, or perhaps someone with their, ah, skills. To tear down components from my ship, y’know. To be sold on the, ah, open market.
*Gently takes off pince-nez and presses frame to bottom lip.
One wonders.
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