sounded a bit uppity.
“Bananas, Bananas, here and there. Bananas, Bananas everywhere. I love to eat them day or night. Bananas, Bananas are out of sight…” GiS said meekly.
I looked at him. He looked at me. He pointed at me. “Not one word!”
I put my hand over my mouth. If we survived this mission I was going to have to give GiS a hard time about that. Only right now wasn’t the time. We had a job to do and we couldn’t let anything distract us.
“Phrase verified,” the door chirped, sounding like we had just made its day. “Have a nice flight and remember to always harness up. It’s not just a good idea, it’s also regulation 13, section 23 c.
The door recessed into the wall.
We all entered the shuttle bay.
I can safely say the shuttle bay is my favorite place in the station. I really like the rec room. My dorm room is okay. On a good day (when they aren’t serving Hungarian rehashed hash), the mess hall can be alright. The astrolab and simulators are cool. But the shuttle bay rocks my socks off!
You wouldn’t think much of it to look at it. It was a big round open area with a dozen huge doors each positioned exactly 30 degrees from each other. The bay was kind of like a glorified warehouse that happened to be located on the bottom section of a space station. Twelve shuttles could launch or land here at once. There was no place on the station I would rather be.
GiS always said that I had space dust in my blood. That’s probably why I liked it here so much. That’s the reason he thought I had potential to be a great pilot. He’d also say that I’d let that space dust clog my ears and my brain. That’s the reason he wasn’t sure I would ever reach that potential. That’s GiS — he can’t give a compliment without balancing it with a critique. I guess it makes him feel all sage and useful.
The bay was huge, as big as any two stadiums I had ever seen. You could play a couple of anti-grav soccer games inside of it without either interfering with the other. Across the bay I could see both our and Kappa’s shuttles. They were up on elevated landing pads being tuned by numerous little vacuum-cleaner-sized bots zooming around this way and that way. They were like a hyper-electronic pit crew.
A tram cart rolled over to us. “Would you like a lift to your shuttles?” the cart asked in a happy, but metallic, voice. This was different. Normally, all classes except First must walk to their shuttles. It’s considered a good way to build character.
“We’ll walk,” K999 answered for all of us. Apparently we still needed some character building.
As we walked toward the shuttles I couldn’t help thinking about my feelings toward that machine. It’s not love. At least it’s not the same kind of love I have for my mom and dad. It’s not like the kind of love I have for my dog Pooper (hey, I named him when I was four). It’s also different from the kind of love I have for my crew. They might get on my nerves from time to time, but I would do anything for them. It’s surely different from the feeling I have for certain girls, say Kymm, but I’m not even going to go there. My shuttle, my ship, I can’t explain my feelings for it. It’s a machine. I don’t think I can love a machine. Bloop, I don’t want to love a machine. That’s just plain wrong. They have help groups for people like that. My relationship with my shuttle is different. When I get in and take the control stick in my hand, it’s like the shuttle and I become one. It’s a hard feeling to explain, especially if you’re not a pilot.
I talked about it once with Kymm. I was sure she’d make some crack about how the control stick was a substitute for something I was lacking in my manhood — and she did. She couldn’t resist the dig, though I know she’s just doing it to cover up her attraction to me. After that, though, she admitted she felt the same way. Though she didn’t think she had the same passion for it than I did.
“Bananas, Bananas, here and there. Bananas, Bananas everywhere. I love to eat them day or night. Bananas, Bananas are out of sight…” GiS said meekly.
I looked at him. He looked at me. He pointed at me. “Not one word!”
I put my hand over my mouth. If we survived this mission I was going to have to give GiS a hard time about that. Only right now wasn’t the time. We had a job to do and we couldn’t let anything distract us.
“Phrase verified,” the door chirped, sounding like we had just made its day. “Have a nice flight and remember to always harness up. It’s not just a good idea, it’s also regulation 13, section 23 c.
The door recessed into the wall.
We all entered the shuttle bay.
I can safely say the shuttle bay is my favorite place in the station. I really like the rec room. My dorm room is okay. On a good day (when they aren’t serving Hungarian rehashed hash), the mess hall can be alright. The astrolab and simulators are cool. But the shuttle bay rocks my socks off!
You wouldn’t think much of it to look at it. It was a big round open area with a dozen huge doors each positioned exactly 30 degrees from each other. The bay was kind of like a glorified warehouse that happened to be located on the bottom section of a space station. Twelve shuttles could launch or land here at once. There was no place on the station I would rather be.
GiS always said that I had space dust in my blood. That’s probably why I liked it here so much. That’s the reason he thought I had potential to be a great pilot. He’d also say that I’d let that space dust clog my ears and my brain. That’s the reason he wasn’t sure I would ever reach that potential. That’s GiS — he can’t give a compliment without balancing it with a critique. I guess it makes him feel all sage and useful.
The bay was huge, as big as any two stadiums I had ever seen. You could play a couple of anti-grav soccer games inside of it without either interfering with the other. Across the bay I could see both our and Kappa’s shuttles. They were up on elevated landing pads being tuned by numerous little vacuum-cleaner-sized bots zooming around this way and that way. They were like a hyper-electronic pit crew.
A tram cart rolled over to us. “Would you like a lift to your shuttles?” the cart asked in a happy, but metallic, voice. This was different. Normally, all classes except First must walk to their shuttles. It’s considered a good way to build character.
“We’ll walk,” K999 answered for all of us. Apparently we still needed some character building.
As we walked toward the shuttles I couldn’t help thinking about my feelings toward that machine. It’s not love. At least it’s not the same kind of love I have for my mom and dad. It’s not like the kind of love I have for my dog Pooper (hey, I named him when I was four). It’s also different from the kind of love I have for my crew. They might get on my nerves from time to time, but I would do anything for them. It’s surely different from the feeling I have for certain girls, say Kymm, but I’m not even going to go there. My shuttle, my ship, I can’t explain my feelings for it. It’s a machine. I don’t think I can love a machine. Bloop, I don’t want to love a machine. That’s just plain wrong. They have help groups for people like that. My relationship with my shuttle is different. When I get in and take the control stick in my hand, it’s like the shuttle and I become one. It’s a hard feeling to explain, especially if you’re not a pilot.
I talked about it once with Kymm. I was sure she’d make some crack about how the control stick was a substitute for something I was lacking in my manhood — and she did. She couldn’t resist the dig, though I know she’s just doing it to cover up her attraction to me. After that, though, she admitted she felt the same way. Though she didn’t think she had the same passion for it than I did.
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