The Kramorian Exchange

Chapter 8- Zen and the art of Spaceship maintenance

A/N: thanks for sticking with my story!! I'd love to hear feedback via comments or a vote 💗💗💗

       I'm crouched on the uneven, metal floor digging my way through Spig's personal collection of travel music. School's out and it's time for some fun.

       The yellow box is jammed full of teeny rectangular shaped disk-like thingys, silver and shiny like our CDs, but that's about the only similarity. They are about the size of an eraser, and work automatically when held to a Kramorians ear. There are tons of them.

       I'm trying to decipher the Kramorian text but I've always found the names of items trickier to work out then, like, descriptions and stuff.

Spig is rattling around behind me doing god knows what with the array of knobs and levers and buttons that fly this galactic contraption. It doesn't matter how many times I come in here, I think I'll always be amazed by all the equipment and panels and Alien Techy type stuff. Way cool.

       Sure, there's always maintenance to be done while the spaceships are docked here on earth, and normally a specialist tech will visit within a few days of landing to make sure evrythings alright, but I think Spig really enjoys doing it himself. He's humming a little tune that I don't recognise and I don't have the heart to tell him he sounds like a constipated camel.

Even though the sun had been shining high in the sky when we walked up the ramp together after school, it is still hotter in here than outside.

       The first thing that hits you when the door raises up, other than the fact that you are entering an alien spaceship, is a gust of warm, almost damp air. Much like the exterior surfaces, the interior of Spig's ship is mostly black and grey and shiny, and has an almost moss-like slippery feel to it, kinda moist and softer then it looks like it should be.

       I asked Spig about it once, and we had touch on it in mechanics of course. It was something to do with manoeuvrability and being able to handle the stresses of space travel or whatever.

It seems much smaller in here then you would think from outside, I reckon probably because it's broken up into several smaller sections, all coming off the main control room. There is an area with pods for hibernation, a little eating galley, the loading bay, and of course, the main area, which is where we are now. I'm sitting in what Spig calls the 'foyer'. Really it's just the floor that's right inside the main door, a few meters back from the control panels.

"Hey, so who's Kah...Kahl...Kahlen?" I ask Spig, reading one of the disks.

"She's a singer from the inner north, uum, I think Ghinj city?" Spig answers without looking up. "She's alright, wicked base." He's hunched over the main portion of the centre control panel, grunting as he tries to tighten something with a screwdriver type tool.

"Oh." I pick up another disk. "What about Jonti Pyg..Payg...Um, Payghher?"

"Pahh-yger." He corrects me, "She's actually pretty great, really soulful."

Soulful? No thanks. I drop it back in the box with disgust and dig deeper, spreading disks around with my whole arm. Here we go, "Willie Nelson?"

"Willie..." Spig straightens up and turns to give me an incredulous look, while using the screwdriver to scratch his back. "Dude, he's human!"

"Oh. Really?"

"Really."

"Any good?"

Spig turns back to the control panel after thinking for a moment, "My mothers think so. My fathers say he needs to leave the branches alone. Or the leaves? I dunno, something like that. Maybe he was an environmentalist? Anyway he sings acous...Oh OUCH" Spig drops his tool on the control panel and shakes his hand quickly, then sticks the side of his palm in his mouth. "Pooh."