I drunk, Marla jealous

Being good trader, I often search for profitable deals inside space worms. It is hard honest work. You have to find a suitable hole into the inners of a worm. Once you find such a hole (these holes into worms are sometimes called wormholes, I don’t know where that name comes from), you have to lubricate your spaceship with sweet words, and convince her into entering into. The worm.

We were in and out of a few worms, not always through the same hole. They were all deserted, no trades to be had, dry and harsh. So I kept drinking, until we penetrated this particular worm, and my sonar started pinging like crazy.

“Look, a gang of planetarial interactioneers,” I shouted.

“A shame,” Marla said promptly.


“It’s a shame, not a gang. A group of lions is called a pride, a group of PI ships is called a shame,” Marla said. She knows these stuff, so I didn’t argue.

I quickly put away the rum (ok maybe I dropped it), and located the shame. Cloaky warp my dear Marla, and we land amidst the industricans. I point the nearest one which is Nereus, and start sending torpedoes that a way.

“Are you drunk?” Marla asks. She has this habit of asking questions which she already knows the answers to. It’s usually a trap.

“Not drunk, victorius!!” I cry, as the torpedoes pop the Nereus. I burn towards the next nearest, an Epithal. I point and start throwing torpedos, expecting reinforcements to appear any moment.

“So,” Marla says with her silent grin, “if not drunk, why are you warp scramming empty ships?”

I already pointed and torped a Venture by the time I make sense of what she says.

“You mean a shame,” I sigh.

“Yup, that’s what they’re called.”

There’s a bunch of shuttles, an Epithal, and an Imicus remaining to exist now.

“That Imicus looks fancy,” I say, “I guess I can commandeer it.”

“Really?” says Marla, in the coldest voice possible. “You want to captain that slanted beach?”

When you’re in a ship for a good many years, you learn to read her signs, even when you’re dead drunk, and avoid the landmines she merrily lays about you.

I torp away the blond Imicus and the skanky Epithal.

“Shame gone?” I ask.

Marla don’t answer. But she sends another bottle of rum, so I think we’re ok.


First! And yah for more Marla!


and yea …go for more rum ! and jelously …

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