Unbound

PART 2: The Smell of Victory

If you go to space, bring a book.

The brochures always say that space is interesting and exciting, I get that, but what they don't tell you is how much spare time you'll have. I reach for my broom again and wonder how many times I've swept the same section of cargo hold. I expected adventure, naively of course, yet in the back of my mind the bug of reality itches me. Throwing the broom down, I carefully lay in my hammock and stare at the ceiling.

You may wonder why I sleep in the cargo hold now, and no it's not because I'm this C.L.A.S.S.Y titled person whose is really a glorified janitor. It has everything to do with onions.

Onions in space, what a ridiculous concept.

On my first day, I was told that I'd be hot swapping, which is sharing a bunk with Nelson Wasnotch on a rotation. In theory, this sounds good. One person sleeps whilst the other is on duty. Pirates never sleep, right? Anyway, what people failed to mention during my walk-around induction was that Wasnotch is a relentless onion eater.

Imagine finely chopped onions caramelizing on a barbeque and the sweet aroma enticing you closer. Now take that image, kick it in the airlock and space it because he eats them raw and all the time.

On my first night, I almost gagged with the smell and quickly found an instruction tutorial on my comm unit on how to set up a makeshift bed. After falling through my new bed made of crates, I settled on a hammock which I fell out of a dozen times. On the third night, I only fell out once and needed the bathroom anyway, so consider that a win. Go. Me.

The hammock sways gently as my eyelids close, my mind's eye feeling the surrounding ship bobbing in the ocean. The sound of rigging clinks and clanks in the light breeze as I drift off to sleepy land.

Then I'm rudely awakened by a nasty pirate.

The internal door shifts open violently and the short and fiery Tinks storms in, boots flopping loudly on the bay deck.

"It's time Fox! Why are you sleeping? You're due on shift soon, aren't you?" She asks me as I try swatting her away with my eyes closed.

I hope she's a dream, but I know I'm not that lucky. "Five more hours," I reply, rolling over and ignoring her.

"C'mon Fox, you gotta see this. It's tradition."

"Can I watch from here with my eyes closed?"

She reaches into her pocket, and I hear the click of her taser as she replies, "There's another tradition I could introduce you to."

Deciding to be vertical and on my feet, rather than remaining in bed, writhing in agony, I roll out and follow her through the hatch.

Tinks has a skip to her step and begins whistling a tune I can almost recognize. I notice her boot laces are undone and wonder how she could be so steady, and carefree. I care too much about what others think, but I just put that down to youth. I haven't seen the universe yet and I'm hoping that if I can pull this off, the Decree will be the way to do it. Yet Towers is young too, younger than me even, and commands a crew of reclaimers. How long has he been out here?

As I follow Tinks, I remind myself of my mission to capture Towers and deliver him to the Decree. I still haven't figured out the entire plan, but at least I'm part of the crew. If I can work out how to get him alone...

We pass the captain's quarters and I risk taking a glance inside. His door is ajar, and I glimpse something strange above his cot. Ornate shelving stretches the width of his room and is covered in something I haven't seen since childhood. Dozens of action figures line the walls in what appears to be a trophy room. Except it's void of trophies and replaced with plastic people in random bravado poses. I focus on one that seems out of place. Shoulder length golden hair shines on a male with enormous biceps.