and we're back... sorry for the violence

falling from the interstitial void of quantum-scale space into an enormous, non-probabilistic space station is very similar to walking over to your roommates bed and trying to make out with her: whatever happens, your model of the universe is about the change.


there is one right answer as far as landing goes when you use a 'hole. and there are an infinite number of wrong answers. that has to do with the floors in both the transmitting and receiving stations being aligned. most people, i suppose, never put a lot of thought into it, because someone else is doing the thinking for them and setting up the gear.

in our case, there was no one to do any thinking about anything because no one was expecting us.
there was nothing normal here. and even the smartest auto-tech wasn't about do the math right.

i came out last, so i got to see the aftermath. dippy was already lying, unconscious, against the wall. he must have shot through sideways, head first. the techs were surprised, mostly because of the unauthorized entry. they hadn't turned around. because directly behind them, pokey came out. also sideways.

but drill tip first.

a soft, fleshy technician got to meet a very unsoft and very unfleshy diamond-hard drill bit, straight up his backside, like a spit-roasted space monkey.

not particularly attractive. although i was getting hungry.

i landed on top of dippy. he stirred. not dead.

hooray.

freshly-reamed guard and concussion-related brain damage aside, we were home. although dippy was a fugitive, if i am not mistaken. and we were going to have to do something about pokey so he didn't sodomize the entire station into a slurry.

yea... that seems about right for being home. something was off, though...

the box...
the box was missing.

it must have fallen from my hands as i tumbled through the aether. and now was not the time to start looking for it, as newer, larger, better-trained, less-sodomized guards were approaching the three of us, looking rather dismayed with the whole situation.

it was time to come up with a grand excuse. come on you idiot, think of something... you used to be good at this, the lies, the deceit, the quick thinking... they are getting close, you shit-brained coward. think
think
think, motherfucker. think.

'i...,' i began to say...

ssssssssiiiiiiiiiiimmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppp

not this shit again.
the guards looked around. petrified.

ssssssssiiiiiiiiiiimmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppp

i looked back at the 'hole.

the box showed up.
moving very quickly
directly towards my head
i closed my eyes.

i reopened them, moments later, not having felt the impact of the box.
i was on the medical deck. a doctorbot was zipping around, injecting various aliens with various fluids.
i felt my head... there was an inch-and-a-half divot, about three millimeters deep, running above my right eye, carved out of my skull.

hmmm..

dippy was gone. in the brig, i suppose, for his many crimes.

pokey was gone. in the smelter, i suppose, for his many crimes.

so why was i here?

none of the other patients look familiar. if anyone had scooped up the reamed guard and the other dudes, they weren't around here.

quite the mystery. quite the mystery indeed.

and once again, that fucking box was missing.

i've heard taking stock of your situation is a good way to figure out what to do. so i tried that.

no dippy, no pokey, no guards, no pirates... that means no witnesses

no real injuries, no restraints, means i can leave.

the universe is clearly trying to tell me that i need to put all the shit from the last however long this has been going on and get back to hangar 23 and pretend none of this happened.

excellent thinking, universe. let's do just that.

i congratulated the universe and myself with some celebratory stimulants and painkillers swiped when the doctorbot wasn't looking.

now i had some assets, which means i could be a capitalist again. sell a couple to some tourists at a ridiculously inflated price and i was back in business.

whatever business it was that i occupied myself with. it seemed a little unclear, but that could have been the faster-than-light bash to the head i took from that box.

which was now gone, which means i don't have to think about it.

get up, get out, and go down to hangar 23 as fast as you fucking can, before something about this whole thing falls apart.

i wound my way to the hyperlift and took it down to the lower levels.