Chapter 13: Jen in "Down and Out with the Soulfuckers"

"Oh don't be that girl." Hannah crowed, rolling her eyes. "I should have just left you with Cole."

For most people, fear is the unknown.

"I thought you said these chicks were cool, man." Rob the bassist said, extracting his face from Hannah's cleavage, spilling out of her uniform.

When she sleeps, it's not the specters of what might have been that haunt Jen.

"Hey, we are cool!" Hannah protested. "Jenny's just fuckin' crazy." She pushed away from Rob and sat up on the limy leather couch in the club's green room, and instinctively smoothed the frills on her apron. "Seriously, don't get us kicked out."

"So? I like 'em crazy." Joe, the lead singer, smirked sidelong at Jenny, before running a hand through his hair. "Nothing's going to happen, honey, I've done this hundreds of times before."

She remembers.

He held the little bottle out to her. It almost slipped from between her fingers, for something so delicate to be so heavy.

"You just spread some on your tongue, and bam! It's like nothing you've ever experienced before, girl, that I can promise you."

"What's it do?" She asked hesitantly.

"It. . . It re-aligns the, uh, energy fields of the body. Basically, you get to look into the other person's soul."

She resisted chortling at the fellow's ignorance, but she was so flattered by his effort to impress her that she decided not to. Turning the bottle over, she looked into the sparkling, opaque fluid, and guessed that it was some sort of connective fiber that temporarily connected the nerve endings of whatever body part it was spread on. She'd be right, of course. With things like this, she always was.

"It's a fuck of a time." Joe said, still smirking. Ain't that right, Robbie?" The bassist moaned into Hannah's cleavage. "See?"

"Fuck, Jenny, just do it!" Hannah said, fumbling with the back of her dress. "Don't make me tell the rest of the girls that you wimped out."

Jen took a deep breath. She could handle this. She was stronger than some silly little-

"Really?" Joe sighed, taking the bottle from her hands. "Fucking virgins, man." Jenny briefly looked over to Hannah, who was somewhat distracted by the bassist pawing at her bra clasp.

When she turned back, Joe leaned in, and kissed her. Being the sort of age and the sort of girl that doesn't get kissed as often as she'd like, it took a moment for her to remember to fight back.

Of course, by that point, it was too late.

As Jen had deduced, the drug forms a link between the nerve endings of the body, bridging the gap between two people. It sounds a lot nicer than it actually is, most people describe it as like "having an extra set of retarded limbs", but the prohibitively high cost of manufacture keep it in high demand amongst the galaxy's idle rich.

For most people, it's a beautiful experience. For just a moment, you get a glimpse into the inner workings of someone you care very much about. You can follow their train of thought, see the factors that influence their decision making, and even see their deepest, darkest fears. You come to understand them better as a person, creating something beautiful in the process.

For Jen, things didn't work out normally. Once the connection took place, she found Joe's mind so utterly insignificant that she hardly noticed anything at all. It wasn't until a slow, bilious panic started to cloud his judgment and cause him to crawl, flailing, across the room that she realized anything at all was wrong.

"What the FUCK?!" He shouted, recoiling. "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!"

Rob muttered something about chilling the fuck out into Hannah's neck, who giggled as his goatee tickled her neck.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" He pointed straight at Jen. "YOU'RE A FUCKING MONSTER! YOU'RE NOT FUCKING HUMAN!" He grabbed his coat off of the corner table and stumbled towards the door.

Although the physical connection had been severed, Jen could still see into the boy's head. She knew the horrible things he was thinking about her, could taste the sour revulsion and bitter tang of disappointment that he didn't get to-

". . . My God. Are all guys that perverse?" She couldn't help but to think to herself.

"FUCKING FREAK!" He shouted as he stumbled through the door. "FUCKING KILL THAT BITCH!" He shouted, careening down the hall. The backstage din filled the room like so much clutter, groupies and managers and technicians wearing oversized headsets peeked in, quizzically, and those not distracted by Hannah's fervent copulation (she was still wearing her uniform cat-ears) found Jen, trying her hardest not to cry.


She rolled over in her sleep, and found herself face-to-face with Philo's crotch, thankfully contained behind a bold yet flattering pair of bell-bottom jeans she bought for him at a retro boutique.

"It is infinitely fascinating how different humans are while they sleep. Do you cry often?" He asked, as if he were asking nothing more profound than the time of day.

"Sometimes." She said, wiping her wet and puffy face on her pullover sleeve. "You used to be human, don't you remember what it's like?"

He shook his head. "Not since they put my brain in this armor-plated jar." He said, thumping his chest. "It might be nice to remember who I used to be, but it doesn't matter now."

"You're really okay with that? With just losing huge parts of who you are?" She rested a hand on his shoulder, concern etched across her face.

"Do you miss your memories of what it was like, being an infant?" She shook her head. "Well, it's like that with me. Whatever happened, happened, and it left an impression upon my character, even if I can't recall what it was. Nothing has been taken from me, merely hidden." He said, smiling at her.

"Don't tell the rest of the guys, please? I don't want them thinking I'm a weepy and ineffective-"

"Girl?" Philo asked casually.

"Well, I was going to say captain, but if you want to be a jerk about it. . ." She muttered, pulling her hair back into a ponytail.

Philo picked up a remote sitting on the bed, and flipped through the available videos on the ship's media network. The viewscreen flickered briefly, as a man in a tweed coat dipped a baseball bat into a pool of fire and proceeded to bludgeon a group of ne'er-do-wells about like they forgot to cook dinner.

"I will never understand television." Philo confessed. "I don't miss my memories, but I do miss understanding social cues. Human interaction is damn complicated, not being able to read hostile body language."

"I bet." Jen added as she folded her newly purchased wardrobe and tucked it carefully into the many drawers and cabinets recessed into the walls of her cabin. It's certainly no palace, she thought to herself as she surveyed her room, but it'll do just fine.

There was a knocking at the door. Jen slid it open, as this ship was not fancy enough to have self-opening doors. She found herself face-to-face with a sheepish-looking Ennings, which is almost exactly as terrifying as an angry-looking Ennings, but for entirely unrelated reasons.

"Er, yeah. Two things." He said, turning a broken clock radio over in his hands. "One, it's time to make the jump, so we oughta get up to the bridge. Two, I've got a word to share with Philo, if'n you don't mind." Jen glanced at Philo, who had scarcely enough time to raise an eyebrow at those words.

"Anything you've got to say to me-" He said, demurely rising from the bed. "You can share with Miss Parwing."

"Er, well, I just wanted to apologize for, ah, thinking the things I did about you. I tried not to let it affect how I governed as a captain, but still, it was unprofessional of me and I am sorry." He held out the broken clock-radio. "Gizmo set me right, concerning your inner workings, and all that."

"Wait, what was that about being a captain?" Jen asked quickly. "Did someone mention being a captain?"

"Well, this is a surprise." Philo said, slinking across the room. "Ennings in all our years together I've scarcely seen you admit your faults more than a handful of times." He took the clock out of his hands, and turned it over. "You must feel mighty stupid."

"Someone mentioned captaining." Jen insisted. "What was that about?"

"I do." Ennings confirmed. "Found that in the engine room, I did." He pointed to the clock. "Figure you or Gizmo might be able to turn it into a death ray, or something." Philo smiled.

"Well, it's certainly less conventional than flowers, but it's welcome none the less. I forgi-"

He was interrupted by a sudden explosion and the violent see-saw like rocking that tends to accompany sudden explosions. After regaining his footing, the tiniest of tremors crossed Ennings' face, like he had to swallow something unpleasant and didn't want to upset polite company.

Then, he screamed. A bloodcurdling war cry for the ages, he ran down the corridor, straight for the cockpit.

"Wait!" Jen cried, running after. "What was that you said about being a captain?"

Chapter 12: Zen and the Art of Spaceship Piloting

The Circe pulled away from the Zone's airlock, propelling itself backwards through space like some sort of steely cephalopod nightmare. Ennings deftly navigated the ship between idling Military carriers and gunships, richly detailed personal yachts fleeing for economic safety, cargo-laden junks looking to hawk their wares, and unsuspecting consumers looking for a bargain on goods of questionable use and legality.

Parson sat to the left of Ennings, charting out a course through deep space. Their ability to leapfrog entire systems would give them no small edge over pursuers, who would have to navigate between planets and around debris in their journey between Interstates. It used to be that Parson could just draw a straight line between the Perse's location and their destination, and that would be that. However, the margin of error afforded to a ship of the Perse's size is hilariously large compared to the sort of danger a small ship faced. A misplaced micrometeoroid, a blown fuse, the tiniest thing could upset any number of delicate systems that would render the ship completely inoperable, stranding it in the absolute barren nothingness of space. A complete death sentence.

So, Parson opted to stick closer to occupied space. Skirting around the edges of privately-owned Agrarian systems, mining colonies, he charted a course that would leave them close enough to get help, should something unexpected happen.

Considering that this was the first time any of them would be traveling via teenaged girl, the unspoken agreement was to err heavily on the side of caution.

Gizmo, in his eternal quest to understand everything ever, pored over the screens of the computer bank opposite Parson. He ran diagnostic after diagnostic, reading through every instruction and log file he could find, occasionally hemming and hawing in that way smart people do when they really want you to ask them what they're doing, so they can launch into a long-winded explanation of thermal exsanguination or whatever, just to hear themselves talk. Nobody acknowledged his pleas for attention.

“Gentlemen, we need to talk.” Ennings said carefully. “There has been something bugging me for a while, and I think we need to settle things before we go making a mockery of conventional physics.”

“Agreed.” Gizmo said almost immediately. “This ship was antiquated when it was made. When you think about it, the very idea that we can travel via psychic is laughable. This is going to end terribly.”

“I wouldn't be so quick to say that.” Parson interjected. “Jen's smart. She wouldn't have survived as long as she has if she wasn't. I think there's a lot to this that she understands that we don't. Besides, we'll never understand the ship until we see what she can do.” Ennings raised an eyebrow quizzically.

“And, I've kept us close to fringe settlements. We'll be close enough to get help if we need it, and we'll avoid most of the Military presence in these parts. They don't much like to venture far away from the Interstate.” Parson continued. Gizmo nodded, taking off his cap to scratch at his scalp. “Either way, I don't think we should let her in on who we are and what we've done. I think she's hiding from the Military, same as we are, but we can't risk that yet. Not when we know so little about her.” Gizmo nodded again, grunting his approval.

“What? That's. . . What are you talking about?” Ennings shook his head, as if that would help the words make sense. “That's not what I meant at all.”

“No?” Parson asked.

“No, not at all. You couldn't be more wrong.” Ennings sighed. “I'm worried about Philo.”

“He's fine.” Gizmo stated assuredly. “I've been checking up on him, there's nothing out of the ordinary. I'll need to replace some of his fluid bodies in a few months, but they're well within acceptable tolerances.”

“He's gay.” Ennings stated that with such a gravity that Parson and Gizmo scarcely had time to supress their incredulity, instead sharing a clandestine glance.

“Is he, now?” Parson asked, leaning forward. “What makes you say that?”

“You saw the way he acted back on the economic zone. There wasn't a dress he didn't twirl in. He cooed over shoes like they were kittens. Tiny, fuzzy, adorable shoes. That's not natural.”

“That's it? That's what clued you in?” Parson asked, leaning his face upon his hand.

“Oh, also, he made out with a guy back on Bochco.” Ennings didn't seem to notice Gizmo's rapidly arching eyebrow. “Really hot and heavy, it was pretty disturbing.” Gizmo's other eyebrow arched.

“He what?”

“He kissed a guy. We needed his car, so I told Philo to distract-”

“Okay, that's definitely more than I really wanted to hear.” Gizmp protested. “Either way, I don't think Philo is gay.”

“Why not?” Ennings asked.

“He's a robot.”

“He could be a gay robot.”

“No, he couldn't.” Gizmo sighed and rubbed the arch of his nose. “Aside from everything wrong with that statement, Gizmo isn't gay because he's not a man.”

“I'm willing to argue that his chassis is decidedly masculine.” Ennings said shrewdly.

“Right, but he's got the brain of a woman.” There was a sudden silence as Ennings paused to consider the ramifications of what that said about Philo.

“So. . .” Ennings paused again, clearly grappling with issues larger than what he was used to dealing with. “He's a woman. . . Trapped inside a man's body?”

“No, he's a woman trapped inside a robot's body.” Gizmo corrected.

“A masculine robot.” Ennings added. Gizmo sighed.

“Sure, yeah. Whatever greases your axelrod.” Gizmo crossed his arms and sat back, very much enjoying the mental gymnastics Ennings was fumbling his way through.

“I can't decide if that makes it more or less horrifying.” Ennings said soberly.

“Honestly, I'm surprised this has weighed so heavily upon you.” Parson said, sharing a mirthful glance with Gizmo. “You never struck me as the sort to take offense to homosexuality.”

“Oh, I don't take any offense in it.” Ennings said quickly. “It's just, well, being a robot, that's one degree removed from nature. Same with being gay. So, being a gay robot, that's. . . That's double-unnatural.”

“Well, it's certainly hard to argue with that logic.” Parson said blithely.

“You don't agree?” Ennings asked.

“Not at all. I don't think being a gay robot is any more unnatural than humanity living in space, terraforming worlds all willy-nilly like we are. I mean, to be perfectly honest, I'm pretty sure natural stopped factoring into the equation once we figured out how to smelt metal.” Parson reclined in his chair, smug in his absolute demolishing of Ennings' thought.

“Well, what about blackmail?” Ennings asked. “Someone could find out his secret, and then use it as leverage against him, forcing him to work against us lest the world discover his dark secret!”

“Except that homosexuality stopped being a shameful secret about a hundred years before the colonization of space.” Parson said. “If these shadowy agents really wanted to turn Philo against us, the amazingly impressive legal record we've managed to earn would be far more effective an incentive than any dark personal secret he might have.”

“Really?” Ennings asked, concern crossing his face.

“Oh, absolutely.” Gizmo added. “If he wanted to turn us in, we'd have been tied together with our own limbs by now. Nothing short of an EMP going off inside his chest could stop that behemoth.”

“Well, what about the Warcrime?” Ennings asked, now legitimately curious.

“It would never rupture his power core. You could probably blow off his limbs, maybe fuck up his sensory array, but it wouldn't so much stop him as just make him angry.”

“You've created a monster, you do know that, correct?”

“Oh, totally.” Gizmo broke out into a wide grin. “Isn't it awesome?” Ennings slowly rose to his feet.

“I'm going to go, ah-”

“Apologize?” Gizmo asked, still grinning.

“Yes.”

“Good call.” Parson said, turning back to his console. “I'll get us far enough out to make the first jump out. Bring Jen with you, when you come back. We're not going anywhere without her.”

Ennings nodded before leaving the cockpit. As the door slid home behind him, Parson and Gizmo burst out into laughter.