Space Madness

"Damn future! Nothing here is ever fucking simple or straight foward. I'd like to go get the guns because we are going to need them and I'd hate to risk them falling into the wrong hands. They only rotten thing is that neither one of these two are ready for combat. Hell, they can't hardly stand. I could give them some black coffee, soak their heads in ice water and give them a shot of B12, but I wouldn't wager any money on them being any help. Wait. Does this futuristic ship have a sobering booth like I used to read about in the SciFi books?"

"Well," Steve says, eager to relieve Doc of at least one source of tension and frustration, "there's no sobering booth but there are a number of remedies like ToxiGone and SoberAll. I'll whip them up some cocktails."

Within half an hour the team is awake, alert and ready. Mostly. Thunderhorse is still waking up, as he doesn't much like coffee, but he's more shuffling than stumbling.

Steve leads them down the now Hawaiian themed hallways. Cute cruise service attendance in grass skirts pass out lei them repeatedly as they walk towards the elevators.

The ride down to the entry hanger is somewhat long. Doc has to ask. "So what was with all the stuffed animals?"

Mark answers. "There was this ol' thing at the arcade, I think they called it a claw machine. Well, Thunderhorse saw some skirt yank a toy unicorn or some such thing out'a it, and he gets a bug up his ass to get one, too. Course the damn thing don't like Thunderhorse much, so he pushed it over and it smashed good. Me an' him an' a hunert other people loot the fucker and bust the hell outa there back to the room."

"And the wigs?"

"Some crazy old coot up at the bar was passin' them around havin some kinda crazy ass party. It was some wild shit, let me tell you. They had some weird purple lights and everybody was glowin' like fireflies. They gave us some damned wicked drinks, let me tell you what. Shit got reeeeal colorful after that. I ain't never seen shit like that in all my damn life, but boy howdy I felt fan-fucking-tastic. Don't remember much after that, except waking up feelin' miserable half-nekkid next to some genuinely frightening women. Green hair, ear rings in their nose and tounges, tatoos all over. Thought I was in a damn geek show."

"I felt those effects before," Thunderhorse adds. "Before a fierce battle when I was young, we painted our faces with woad and ate the magic mushrooms. It felt like that, but without the thrill of battle. Instead, there was lust. And there were many women in that magic place who would fulfill our desires. Strange, exotic women with spikes in their tongues and paint on their breasts."

"So you went to a rave, ate psychodelic drugs, and got laid?"

"Rave, yes. That is what the magic place was. Raven's Rave Haven. Where were you?"

"We broke into the command center, found out this entire ship is run by pirates intending to kidnap, rob, and enslave the entire population of passengers."

"Is that not the intention of every boat at sea?" Thunderhorse asks, having little experience with ships other than raiding longboats.

They all reflect upon the unintentional esoteric wisdom of his words as the elevator doors finally open, revealing the hanger from which they boarded the ship. There is a bit of a crowd, and they're acting rowdy. A man with a bullhorn is trying to calm them.

"Please, ladies and gentlemen, listen. StarScape is well aware that you may have trepedations about long space flights, but if you'll all just calm down and que up at the service desk, we will schedule each of you an appointment with a therapist..."

The crowd screams at him. "Let me off!" yells one woman. "I want to go home!" cries a man. "I can't stay on this ship. Gotta get off!" chants another.

"I assure you, ladies and gentlemen, there's no way off of this ship. We are currently going two hundred times the speed of light-" This news does not settle well with the more space-sick passengers. The comment and subsequent odor only serves to highten the others' fear and frustrations.

Meanwhile, a small troop of bellhops are pushing back a half dozen people fervently trying to throw themselves out of the magnetic airlock. Security forces are no where to be seen.

The porter who took their bags earlier is on the com, frantic and frustrated. "Well, at least bring us some bloody stun guns! What the hell are you doing that's so important you can't come and quell this? People are trying to kill themselves down here! What? You said that ten minutes ago! Look, if anyone dies down here it will not be blamed on me, do you hear? You send some bloody stun guns down here this instant. Your bloody well assured the Admiral will be hearing about this. What? What other kinds of problems could you possibly have?! Rob the what? Where could they possibly escape to, Miami?! I've practically got a riot down here! For the last fucking time: Help!"