had other things on its
mind.
Being
wakened from its state of semi hibernation by the arrival of the
people upstairs had cranked up its metabolic rate from a condition
of almost complete shutdown, through bare survival, all the way up
to a semi alert standby, and all its bodily functions were now
reactivating in preparation of something happening.
It
needed to take a dump; a piss too. Mostly, it thought as it rasped
its leathery lips with a tongue as rough as sandpaper, it needed a
drink.
Dragging
itself from its greasy bed, it crawled over to the washroom to lap
stale water from the almost empty lavatory bowl.
The
water had been enough to prevent death by total dehydration, but
only just, and saving it for drinking meant it couldn’t use the
toilet for its intended purpose, forcing it to use the far corner
of the room as its latrine. An unsavoury situation, but essential,
and it had long since become accustomed to the all pervading stink
of the waste; so much so that it no longer registered.
In the
corner it squatted and defecated, passing little dry pellets like
rabbit droppings, while letting loose a thin yellow trickle of
urine.
As it
had drunk very little and hadn’t eaten anything at all apart from a
half starved rat for the past four days, its food supply long since
exhausted, that there should be any waste at all was
remarkable.
Done,
he, for indeed it was a male, scratched at its flaccid penis as if
checking he still had one, before crawling back to his makeshift
bed and settling down again to wait.
They
would come down here soon enough, the people upstairs. Human beings
were curious creatures. They needed to explore. Someone would come
and let him out.
He
pulled one of the dirty packing blankets over his shoulders,
dropped his weary head onto stick thin arms and closed his
eyes.
They had
to come soon.
Much
longer and there would be no hope.
Chapter 9
The
crew’s first day on Bravo passed without incident.
After a
hearty breakfast courtesy of Messrs McDougal and McAllister, who
had drawn the shortest pieces of broken spaghetti to see who would
get the cooking roster rolling, the crew assembled in the control
room for Eddie’s first mandatory safety briefing and to be
allocated their jobs for the day.
He and
Shaw had been busy already, dividing the white board on the wall
into columns, each headed with a crew member’s name in a different
colour, and rows labelled with the time. In meticulous detail they
constructed a timetable for every day of the next week, so that
everyone knew where they would be at any hour of the
day.
Every
minute of every shift was accounted for, 8 to 12 hours of hard
graft – scrubbing, painting, checking, testing, fixing, sorting, as
well as cooking, cleaning and laundry duties.
Even
medic Lydia was expected to come out of sickbay a couple of hours a
day to wield a mop or a paintbrush.
“ Fuck me,” declared Reynolds. “I’m allowed ten minutes to
take a crap on Thursday morning. Alert the media!”
Before
dispersing the team to their allotted tasks, Eddie issued each one
of them with a rechargeable radio.
“ These are for local use only. Signal doesn’t carry any
further than about half a mile. They are simply for keeping in
touch. Anyone not know how to use one?”
No
reply.
A quick
signal test and they were connected, to each other and to the
control room. They clipped the sets to their breast or sleeve
pockets, then stood around awaiting further instruction.
“ Off you go then, time’s a-wastin’,” said Eddie, and shooed
them on their way.
After
lunch Eddie submitted his check-in radio report to Longdrift
Headquarters, basically telling them what they wanted to hear -
equipment and stores had been checked and stowed, nothing out of
the ordinary seen on their first tour, everyone was fit and well
and would be getting to work in earnest without delay.
“ Because of your pettifogging, prevaricating tightfistedness
putting us on an
mind.
Being
wakened from its state of semi hibernation by the arrival of the
people upstairs had cranked up its metabolic rate from a condition
of almost complete shutdown, through bare survival, all the way up
to a semi alert standby, and all its bodily functions were now
reactivating in preparation of something happening.
It
needed to take a dump; a piss too. Mostly, it thought as it rasped
its leathery lips with a tongue as rough as sandpaper, it needed a
drink.
Dragging
itself from its greasy bed, it crawled over to the washroom to lap
stale water from the almost empty lavatory bowl.
The
water had been enough to prevent death by total dehydration, but
only just, and saving it for drinking meant it couldn’t use the
toilet for its intended purpose, forcing it to use the far corner
of the room as its latrine. An unsavoury situation, but essential,
and it had long since become accustomed to the all pervading stink
of the waste; so much so that it no longer registered.
In the
corner it squatted and defecated, passing little dry pellets like
rabbit droppings, while letting loose a thin yellow trickle of
urine.
As it
had drunk very little and hadn’t eaten anything at all apart from a
half starved rat for the past four days, its food supply long since
exhausted, that there should be any waste at all was
remarkable.
Done,
he, for indeed it was a male, scratched at its flaccid penis as if
checking he still had one, before crawling back to his makeshift
bed and settling down again to wait.
They
would come down here soon enough, the people upstairs. Human beings
were curious creatures. They needed to explore. Someone would come
and let him out.
He
pulled one of the dirty packing blankets over his shoulders,
dropped his weary head onto stick thin arms and closed his
eyes.
They had
to come soon.
Much
longer and there would be no hope.
Chapter 9
The
crew’s first day on Bravo passed without incident.
After a
hearty breakfast courtesy of Messrs McDougal and McAllister, who
had drawn the shortest pieces of broken spaghetti to see who would
get the cooking roster rolling, the crew assembled in the control
room for Eddie’s first mandatory safety briefing and to be
allocated their jobs for the day.
He and
Shaw had been busy already, dividing the white board on the wall
into columns, each headed with a crew member’s name in a different
colour, and rows labelled with the time. In meticulous detail they
constructed a timetable for every day of the next week, so that
everyone knew where they would be at any hour of the
day.
Every
minute of every shift was accounted for, 8 to 12 hours of hard
graft – scrubbing, painting, checking, testing, fixing, sorting, as
well as cooking, cleaning and laundry duties.
Even
medic Lydia was expected to come out of sickbay a couple of hours a
day to wield a mop or a paintbrush.
“ Fuck me,” declared Reynolds. “I’m allowed ten minutes to
take a crap on Thursday morning. Alert the media!”
Before
dispersing the team to their allotted tasks, Eddie issued each one
of them with a rechargeable radio.
“ These are for local use only. Signal doesn’t carry any
further than about half a mile. They are simply for keeping in
touch. Anyone not know how to use one?”
No
reply.
A quick
signal test and they were connected, to each other and to the
control room. They clipped the sets to their breast or sleeve
pockets, then stood around awaiting further instruction.
“ Off you go then, time’s a-wastin’,” said Eddie, and shooed
them on their way.
After
lunch Eddie submitted his check-in radio report to Longdrift
Headquarters, basically telling them what they wanted to hear -
equipment and stores had been checked and stowed, nothing out of
the ordinary seen on their first tour, everyone was fit and well
and would be getting to work in earnest without delay.
“ Because of your pettifogging, prevaricating tightfistedness
putting us on an
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