You wake up in your stateroom (you've got a hell of a view out that window), as you usually do, with Sax, Typhoon, Ditto, and Jingle. What's the occasion?
I forget which is which, though.
Oh yeah: it's Ditto on the left, then Typhoon and Sax, and little Jingle on the right.
No shit, Ringside comes in before you even have time to pull on your boxers and get to your little tin of fake eggs and real fish, frantic for him and he almost wipes out getting in the door. What happened the last time he came in here like that? Why do you trust him so much?
And yeah, I know you know Ringside. But he's got a fresh haircut. What else does Ringside do for you?"Boss, boss, boss, there's trouble."
He's out of breath. Where do you know there's not
Red and the little one put on quite a show. You'd think they done that shit before – I like a good show. Tall girl was a bit clingy – but then most ladies are when they get up here. She sucks a mean dick, and she got them pearly whites. Mmm. I think she was Sax...
Yup. I could see myself playin' that sax again.
Anyway, I get up before they crack their eyes. It was a crazy night... E and booze flowin' like we needed it to live. I'm a little more used to it than they are. S'why I'm up at reveille, an' they still passed out, gropin' each others titties for comfort.
Damn this fish is good... Where's my fuckin' bacon?
Then that motherfucker Ringside comes running in, lookin' like he got his dick chopped off. Ringside's pretty tight. Him 'n me laid the smack down on a few motherfuckers from the underside when they tried to bomb our food stuffs. Them bastards ain't got no teeth no more... Heh heh. He's my right hand man. Only motherfucker I let come into my room like that when I got bitches representin'.
Last time he came runnin' in here, actin' a damn fool, a few of the boys got burnt up in a bomb blast sweepin' the engineerin' decks. They was burnt up bad... Couldn't do nothing' for 'em. Shame that. They was tough motherfuckers. They didn't take shit from no one.
The only place on the ship nobody touches is the fuckin' reservoir. We only got the one, and the tech's too advanced to replicate. We all depend on it, ya dig? Somethin' happens to the water, we all die in a couple days. No fuckin' shit.
I look Ringside up and down, then take another bite of my food. "Bitch forgot my bacon. What's the fuckin' problem, got your panties all up in a knot?"
But to Ringside. He's caught his breath, holding his side, maybe it's just a cramp or maybe it's his old wound. Did you have anything to do with that? He checks to make sure none of your friends are really awake, then says real low, "Plague or something, boss. All the meat's gone off. Blackstone says, no bacon no burgers. Not for a while." His eyes are wide, there's some real fear there. Probably not of starvation, there's plenty of crap food to go around, as far as you know. But no fresh meat is a different kettle of fish.
Who's your biggest problem if there's no fresh meat? Besides your own voracious appetite, that is.
Shit. No fuckin' meat? That's fuckin' bullshit, son. You seen that fuckin' protein sludge? It barely passes as fuckin' food, an' you see what those fuckin' civvies are like — they ain't fuckin' butch. They barely break fuckin' even with nutrients. "I been fuckin' tellin' Flush we should be usin' them cryo-tubes for fridges. Bastard aughta listen better."
Drugs? That'd be fuckin' Masterchef. We call her that now 'cause she's really Masterchief — our fuckin' drill sergeant — but she has a fuckin' thing for fuckin' the cream of the crop, an' got herself knocked up, so I made her the cook. She's big as a fuckin' beach-ball now, can't fit into a shield-vest. Fuckin' useless in a fight, cause she waddles all sexy 'n shit. So I made her mess officer 'til she births us a new cadet. I been tappin' that ass on the regular lately... I got a weakness. What can I say? I may make all our lady recruits do this, heh heh. Gotta bolster the ranks, ya dig? Anyway, she's a fuckin' whiz with chemistry. She cooks up specialty shit real good. S'why I rely on her.
'Course, she's been all wonky about cookin' the hard stuff lately — she says it ain't good for the kid or some such, an' she can be a right bitch with those fuckin' hormones... I've been havin' her supervise a replacement while she's out of commission. He sucks ass. I may ask one of the synths to cut that baby out of her, an' stick the kid with a wet nurse to get her cookin' again.
I'ma have to deal with this shit, ya dig? That means these ladies gots ta go... "Girls! Wake yo' fine asses up, bitches! Let's move! You's all overstayed your welcome in castle Nbeke! Nbeke needs to work now. Git out!" I'll give 'em each a tap on the ass to wake 'em up, and get 'em movin', ya dig? Once they get movin' — and they will get movin', or I'll throw their asses out — I call out to Sax, "bitch, you got my cum in your hair... It'd look better down your throat next time." Look at me, all sentimental 'n shit. I spank her ass good to hustle her out the door. "Don't you go far, yeah? Big ol' Nbeke might want seconds later."
I motion for Ringside to come up in my quarters. "Blackstone say he had any set aside? Someone's gunna have to teach that bitch a lesson..." Speakin' of teachin' a bitch a lesson, Ringside's ol' wound comes from his bootcamp. I make sure all my boys know how to take a punch. The ones who stay turned it into a rite of fuckin' passage. They chain up new recruits to the wall, an' beat on 'em 'til they cry out. If they too much of a pussy, they get kicked out. If they can take a beatin', they in. Ringside took the biggest beatin' I ever saw out of any recruit. In the end, it was me 'n him. I kept tellin' him it could be over if he just fuckin' quit — but this son of a bitch kept goin'. I wailed on his ribcage an' ended up breakin' my hand, an' a few of his ribs. They never healed right, but I respect Ringside like no-one I ever met before... I promoted him to officer right then an' there. He was my XO inside a fuckin' cycle.
Hard-ass motherfucker. Almost as hard as me.
I pour us both a tumbler of some plentiful fuckin' vodka, give him one. "You tell Quasar yet? I don't want no lip from that boy... Civvies don't get no special treatment just 'cause they melt down our copper, ya dig? He gives you any beef, you fuck him up, an' you commandeer his fuckin' foundry." For you folks playin' the home game, Quasar's the biggest civvy in town. Fatter than me, even. He runs the foundry. Him an' his family makes our bullets. We got a real tenuous relationship goin'.
Hey, where do you get fresh meat from? (Well, not just you, Nbeke. I mean anybody. Yall got cows on this boat?)
You call out to Sax, and that obedient, dirty girl looks you in the eye, dips a finger in it, and pops in in her mouth with a wicked look on her face. She never breaks eye contact. She knows you gotta keep Nbeke happy, or you're last week. She hustles though, lest the menfolk get too violent. The other three follow, Jingle's got some sheets wrapped round her, and maybe that's Typhoon's unmentionables that got left on the floor. Ringside watches the T&A show jiggle and glisten its way out, and bends over to scoop up the delicates and tosses them, one-handed, into the laundry bin.
"Blackstone says he's got a few kilos of real meat in a vacuum box. Not enough for this place, for sure not enough for the lazy fucks below." He has a sour, angry look on his face. Why does he hate the civvies more than the revolters?
"No way, boss. I didn't tell Quasar's fat ass word one. You want us to steal some meat from him? Call it tribute or some bookkeeping mistake?" He looks doubtful. "I like having bullets, though."
I do my best to stay stoic most days, but that shit's fuckin' hot. My lip curls up into a restrained smile, an' I nod approvinly. "Damn right, bitch." I'm gunna wreck that shit, later tonight. I close the door behind 'em.
We get our meat from the protein resequencer. Cows are fuckin' inefficient. They eat our fuckin' food, an' then some. They make more gas an' drink more water than a buncha humans put together. Protein resequencer's got two settings: fast, and good. Slop, the shit we give the civvies, is the fast setting. Meat, the shit me an' my boys eat, is the good setting.
I shake my head, "If disease got into the machine, then someone fuckin' put it there, ya dig? That makes me mad. Real fuckin' mad."
I walk over to my closet an' start gettin' dressed. I better still fit into my fuckin' uniform when the meat starts flowin' again. "Tell Blackstone that shit's on hold 'til I say so. A gram of that shit disappears, and we're airlockin' the cocksucker." I take a big swig of the vodka, and hiss as it burns my throat so good.
Who do you think gets targeted with guns an' bombs down in the lower levels? My boys in the Military. Who do you think gets bitched at when one of them sneaky fucks down below slips through our defenses and gets a bomb off? My boys in the Military. Who do you think is a bunch of ungrateful fucks that never did a day's hard work in their life? Fuckin' Civvies, that's who. Most of 'em just sit 'round, gettin' drunk, pickin' food off the hydroponics, an' waitin' in line for their slop handouts, ya dig? My boys work hard, every day, layin' their lives on the line to keep those fuckers down below from killin' us. Ringside's got every right to hate the civvies for moochin' off us — an' 'til they take their beatin', that's all they is to us. Mooches.
I shake my head, "Not yet. Just tell him he ain't gettin' no more 'til I say so. How're the troops?"
Ringside looks powerful doubtful when you talk about spacing Blackstone. Ain't they related somehow? Maybe it's by marriage and I'm thinking of someone else. "You really gonna make him breathe vacuum, Nbeke?" He can't tell if you're for true serious on this one.
"The troops are okay for now, long as they get fed. But nobody likes the thought of plague getting lose. That's worse as water problems." He tugs on an ear, remembering the last time there was bad disease. "Do you want to do what you did last time?"
Whadaya think the genome sequencer is for? Folks at mission control knew we couldn't feed a growin' population on a protein resequencer alone... I read through the fuckin' briefin's. I ain't stupid — I just don't give a fuck. We may have to grow ourselves a cow, though, if it comes to that... Call that bitch "Nbeke's Beef". Has a certain ring to it, don't it?
Anyways... Ringside an' Blackstone might be related, but if Ringside gave a shit about family, that'd be the first I ever heard of it. I stop gettin' dressed and look at him long, an' hard. "Fuckin' right I'm serious. That meat is our fuckin' property, an' we can't go sendin' our people into harm's way malnourished. All the fucker does is push a button an' read a fuckin' report. We can get Masterchef to do that shit if we have to... He wants to live, then he keeps that shit on lockdown. If he can't do it, then I'll post a guard — but if my fuckin' meat goes missin', then I'm spacin' the fucker."
I get back to gettin' dressed. Slip into my formal blues, an' put on my medals. Gotta look sharp, and damn do I look fine in my blues. "We gotta do what we gotta do... If the civvies won't stay quarantined, then we gunna have to kill the folks who refuse to stay put for the good of the herd, you know? We can't have disease spreadin' in the ship... Much as I like to think they all lazy motherfuckers, we can't have morale take another hit like that, ya dig? Them Synths actin' all high and mighty might get us another revolution on our hands..."
He walks to your night table, which is really a semi-translucent purple storage crate pulled from somewhere didn't need it, and brings you something you almost forgot for your dress blues. What is it?
He slips his hands in his pockets, and slyly smiles as he pulls out his knife and cleans some gunk from under his fingernails. He tosses and catches it with a casual grace that you really can never pull off. "What d'ya want me to do?"
Well, see... I wouldn't have so much forgotten my gun, as just not remembered it until I went to leave without it. Normally I hang that shit up in my closet. If some fucker's gunna come try an' kill me in my sleep, then I'm gunna strangle that motherfucker with my bare goddamn hands, ya dig? Last night was an exception, 'cause Typhoon has some sick fuckin' kinks... Who am I to deny a woman some pleasure if it comes from the barrel of a gun? ... Speakin' of which, remind me to clean my gun later. It's got Typhoon all over it.
I slip it into my holster, an' grab some extra mags from my locker. "You go tell our boy Blackstone I'm holdin' him personally accountable for the meat situation, an' I expect regular updates. I'ma go see how the line on deck 7 is doin'."
Ringside gives a casual nod, then has an idea. "You maybe want Flush to take a look at the meat box?" The view catches his eye, too. "Or maybe call in some help from outside?"
Nbeke, what's on deck 7?
Heh heh. I can dig it.
I pat Ringside on the shoulder, and motion for him to follow me out. "Let's do that. Tell that motherfucker Flush to make sure Blackstone ain't full of shit... But don't you let him take any."
Deck 7 is the fuckin' deadlands, ya dig? The whole fuckin' deck is where them undersiders cut themselves off from us. Other than a space-walk, it's the only way up to our decks. It's the old engine deck. Hasn't been maintained in decades.
Deck 7's through this door, that door, then the third one on the left. You know the code. http://ngp.calypti.ca/discussion/600/gen-deck-the-halls-flush-1-2-nbeke-1-2