Day 341 – Meditation in the Backwaters of Outer Space – Part 12

Word count: 762

“I need a drink,” Jack pined. His tongue had taste memories of rum, vodka and strangely coloured cocktails; beer, whisky and tequila. “I really need a drink.”
The Captain looked at him dead in the eye without the least bit of emotion, “What?”
“Alcohol, please! I need to relax.”
“Uhm, translate?” The Captain looked up at the ceiling as if it were going to answer back.
“Alcohol is an organic compound in which the hydroxyl functional group is bound to a carbon atom,” the computer explained.
A light sparked behind The Captain’s pupils, “Ah yes, that…. Two Asteroids please!”
Jack was not sure what was about to happen, but he could only assume that it was going to be good. Alien spaceship and a possible newly discovered cocktail he had never tried: what could go wrong?

Half an hour later he was feeling desperately drunk. He had only sipped the surface of the green, frothing drink of pure death. His liver was crying out for some medical intervention. The colour was draining from his face noticeably and almost as if it was melting. The Captain, meanwhile, had had four of the bloody drinks and was smiling quite happily.

They were discussing Earth in a weird interchange of galactic ideas.

“You know what, you, you know what… we have shows – tv shows – tv, that’s television, erm… it’s a big square of moving images… and you’re in them!”
“Me? I have never been to Earth before.” The Captain looked at him funny.
“No, no, no, aliens!”
“Oh right.”
“I never suspec-hic-ted. I thought you were hoax, did you, did you visit Roswell? I never went to Roswell, I saw it on a film once, but it wasn’t… wasn’t a very good… film… why did you lose at Poker again?”
The Captain grabbed Jack before he slid off his chair. He placed Jack on his side and pressed a button on the wall. A door slid open and a humanoid man appeared in a white lab coat.
“This is our Doctor. He will look after you, okay?” The Captain handed over to the doctor, “Jeez, I need a proper drink. I’m going up to the bridge to play poker!”
“Not, not again, surely?”
“I can beat this man, sir! Do not question your captain…”
The doctor gave him a weary farewell and tended to Jack, who was now slumped forward and mumbling about conspiracy theories and computer games.
“Excuse me,” the man prodded Jack, “I’m going to inject you with something that will sober you up, alright?”
Jack did not appear to have heard as his body was non-responsive. Regardless, however, the doctor prepared a particularly painful appearing needle before sticking it in the back of Jack’s neck. Three and a half seconds later, after a period of non-event, Jack’s body reacted in the only way a human was going to react to having a coke-can amount of adrenaline syringed into him. He sat bolt upright and stared crazily around the room.
“I love you!” he screamed at the doctor, “I see everything now! I see it all.”
There was no denying that the injection had awakened him from a drunken slumber, but there was no positive confirmation that it had indeed sobered him up.
“I need to be with my people!” he barged passed the doctor and pressed the switch by the door to make it open. Outside the metallic room there was a beautifully painted red corridor. Above him there were people walking. In front of him on the ground there were people walking. All human looking. Jack was highly confused, but ecstatically happy. He marched across the hallway and tried to touch the heads of the people above, but he was always out of reach.
The spaceship he was on was fantastic. It had many rooms going off in all sorts of strange angles and directions. There were doors of varying sizes. He turned a corner, skipping along his merry way, when he literally bumped into a six foot robot with what seemed to be a rather large machine gun attached to its arm.
“Oh, er, woops,” he said, stumbling over himself.
The robot ignored is idiotic remarks, “Present Ship Pass,” it demanded in its electronic twang.
“Erm, what? How? I’m sorry, have we met?” Jack was on the point of giggling.
“Present Ship Pass,” it demanded once more.
“I er, I think it’s in my other jacket?”
“Present Ship Pass,” the gun turret swivelled to point directly at Jack’s forehead. “Present Ship Pass in ten, nine, eight…”
“Oh, er… shit?”

~ by S.G. Mark on September 12, 2012.

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