I’m bored, Cap’n doesn’t need me. And so I access my secret hoard of illicit materials.
Cigarettes.
Acid tabs.
Es.
Hardcore and softcore “nudie” magazines.
Crystal meth.
I stroke the crinkled pages of the ancient centrefold mags, and caress an E and an acid tab on my tongue. But I dare not swallow. My system is too efficient, the drugs will be swept out and purged. This is the downside of body refits, you’re obliged to take the drug-control microchip.
There’s always the easy way. At a blink of an eye, I can use my cortical microchip to access hardcore porn images of any given woman having sex with any given man, or other woman, or indeed, any other anything. A simple subvocal instruction will send endorphins or adrenalin surging through my system. I can be drunk simply by saying the word “hic”, I can inhale tobacco and feel a buzz in my veins by saying “smoke’. But it’s not the same. I love to lick the cigarette, I love to hold it in my fingers, I love to touch the acid tabs and pills with my tongue and palate. It gives me an extra buzz.
But I never consume. I know my system won’t allow it. Virtual intoxication is easy; physical addiction is impossible. This, I find a drag.
So I read books. This is something my system can’t purge. I read, and read. And in this manner, I pass the long long months.
The Corporation Fleet, meanwhile, continue their pursuit of us. We have a lead on them, but they have more powerful engines. Each hour, each day, their acceleration pushes their velocity higher. And every day, the boost we received from the antimatter bomb blast fades. We slowly ebb, they slowly flow. Sooner or later they will catch us up.
It is a high-speed chase, which goes on for ages and ages. It will take six months before they are in missile range. And at that point, the battle will start up all over again.
Ah! What a life!
I suck a tab.
I hold a cigarette.
I scratch my fingertips on the staple in the middle of a naked centrefold’s stomach.
I dream of victory.
The Captain always tells me – Brandon, you spend too long alone. You should socialise more. But I do socialise!
With myself. With my books. With my fingertips. With my tongue. With my secret stash of porn. These are my companions.
The buzzer rings. “Brandon, to the bridge,” the Captain calmly says.
The enemy flight has caught up with us. We are about to be attacked.
I rub my crotch, I sniff my cigarette, I suck my acid tab, I let my eyes linger on the centrefold’s gorgeous pudendum.
Then I pull myself back into the present moment. I press a button and my door slides open. I hurry into the corridor.
It’s time for war.