At the Edge of the Universe, Part 3
David Webster kneels on the floor of the ship, wine and blood soaking into the knees of his pants. His hands are torn apart. He had caught himself, at the expense of slamming his palms into the shattered glass surrounding him. He groans and takes in the damage, picking out a few of the larger pieces of glass from the heels of his hands. He’s bleeding still, and he watches it well up out of the cuts before wiping it on his pants, feeling the sting of the alcohol in his raw flesh. He flexes his fingers and winces, nothing like an accidental kidnapping to sober you up.
He pushes himself to his feet and turns, and the other man glances over at the sound of his sudden movement. He still has the gun in his hand, Webster notices, and he’s eyeing him.
“Who the fuck are you? And what the hell were you doing?” he demands.
“David Webster. I am...I was drunk.” He answers, tiredly.
“So you just drunkenly decided to break into a Command ship?” the other guy looks skeptical, and Webster doesn’t blame him.
“I told you, I was drunk. And the door was unlocked.”
There’s a pause as he glares at Webster, processing what he’s just said. Webster glares back, and then:
“Wait, you don’t look like a Command officer. What are you doing with this ship?’
“None of your fucking business!”
Webster takes a step forward. “Hey! It’s not my fault you couldn’t wait 5 goddamn seconds for me to fall out of this ship! And who the fuck are you?”
The man stops, sharp features refusing to soften. “Joe Liebgott.”
Webster gives a triumphant smirk. “Not Commander Liebgott?”
“No, and I’m not your goddamn mother either, so clean up your fuckin’ mess.” He tells Webster.
Liebgott feels his own grin spread as Webster’s drops off his face. He kicks a piece of glass towards the other man before turning and dropping back into one of the chairs. He listens to the tinkle and scrape of the glass as Webster cleans up the wine mess, and only looks up when he sits down into the co-pilot’s chair several minutes later.
“Where are we going?”
Liebgott ignores the question and just looks at him. He’s tall, hungry looking, and wearing clothes that have obviously seen better days. He doesn’t act like pilot, or a pirate, and he’s not stupid either. His hands are bleeding, and he’s cradling them in his lap like he’s hoping that Liebgott won’t notice.
Joe rises and goes into the back of the ship, rummaging through the storage closet he finds for the mandatory first aid kit. He finds it stuffed in the back and pulls it out, shoving spare helmets back into the closet when they come toppling down onto him.
When he returns Webster is silently nursing his wounds. Liebgott pulls a few strips of cloth out of the kit and a bottle of antiseptic and sits down across from him.
“Gimme your hands.”
He takes Webster’s right hand, and pours a liberal amount of antiseptic onto in. Webster hisses in pain and manages to squeeze out a few choice words before Liebgott wraps one of the strips around the palm, winding it around the thumb a few times before tying it off. He does the same with the left hand. There is less cursing this time, but Liebgott feels him tense under his hands.
When he’s done he sits back, Webster is watching him cautiously.
“Where are we going?” he repeats.
Liebgott snorts. “No idea. Away. You got any preferences?”
Webster lets out a deep breath, and looks like he’s releasing about a month’s worth of tension. “Can we please just get the fuck out of here?”
Liebgott grins, because maybe this ain’t too bad after all.
“You got it.”
****************************************************
“Fucking…what the fucking hell?!” Babe Heffron is abusing buttons with the kind of force one would reserve for fighting for their lives. And in a way, he is.
Doris, which he had affectionately named the ship some time ago (although the relationship was not so affectionate these days), was refusing to break, but continues to approach the dock with far too much speed.
Babe pulls back as hard as he can on the emergency braking system, and still, nothing. “Shit shit shit shit shit…”
It was going to happen. He was going to crash into the docks of Aldbourne with Darling Doris. His pilot’s license would be taken away, he’d have no work, no money, nothing. Life was over. He watches it flash before his eyes and waves goodbye.
There’s nothing he can do but try to steer towards the less populated areas. He pulls a hard right, trying as best as he can to avoid other ships.
It happens in slow motion, or perhaps it’s just because Doris loses a significant amount of her speed when she slams into the docks, taking out a huge portion of that sector. They side swipe a very nice model on Doris’s left before pushing all the way forward into a large hangar-like building perched on the edge of docking area. Babe is holding his breath, grimacing as the damage gets worse, and Doris is still going. The nose of the ship pushes through the grimy front window of the place, shattering it, and Babe thinks he is going to bring the whole building down. He closes his eyes and braces for the collapse, but Doris shudders to a stop and then shuts off, as if in defeat.
His eyes wide, Babe flings himself out of the ship and runs up the dock to the window, where he can hear shouting. He looks up, and the sign over the door to his left reads “Roe’s Repairs”.
Oh perfect, what spectacular timing he has.
When he looks back at the window there is a dark haired man standing in it, looking pale and angry and a little bit like he may come through the window at Babe.
“You wanna explain why your…” he pauses and cranes his neck, looking at the ship, “Darling Doris just came through my window?”
“Oh God…shit, I’m sorry, my brakes went out! She wouldn’t stop! I am so sorry! Goddamn…” he runs his hands through his hair, taking in the scene around him.
“Guess I came to the right place for it though, eh?” Babe asks, trying a grin and pointing at the sign.
The man he assumes to be Roe glares at him. “Maybe after you talk to Command and pay for the window, I’ll fix it.” He tells Babe before walking back inside.
Babe frowns and turns back to Doris, looking the ship up and down. “Ah, fuck you too Doris.”
**********************************************
Nixon taps the monitor screen and says “Easy Command, Nixon.” Eugene Roe’s voice floats through the ship’s deck, quiet and angry. Nixon has to bite back a snort of amusement when Roe tells him a ship has just crashed through the docks and into his business. Dick, standing next to him, raises an eyebrow and Nixon can see a smile quirking at the edge of his lips.
“We’ll be right there Gene.” Dick assures him and ends the call.
“Sure you don’t want to send Speirs?” Nix asks with a straight face.
Dick chuckles and grabs his coat, handing Nixon his as well. “Fortunately for us, his temperament is more suited for dealing with people like George Luz. And Skip Muck.”
Nixon grins and pulls on his coat. “Nah, I think you’re just bored. Jealous you can’t go chasing after Sobel’s ship yourself?”
Winters shoots him a sly look. “Are you?”
“Well, only if we could ditch Ron and Carwood, maybe daytrip to a few nearby galaxies…” Nixon rambles, casting a sideways look at Dick. Dick pulls him forward, kissing him mid-sentence, and Nix grins into his mouth, opening his own for Dick.
“You must be bored. Wanna get caught in the entryway?” In the half-light of the doorway Nixon can see Dick’s eyes darken.
“Where’re Speirs and Lipton?’
“Probably busy.” Nixon backs him up against the wall.
“And Harry?” Dick asks, a bit breathlessly.
“Asleep, or drunk. Or both.”
Nixon is about to help Dick out of his pants when there’s a noise at the door and they both jump about five feet when Harry walks in.
They stare at each other for a long time. Finally Nixon clears his throat and says something like “Just off to Roe’s!” and Harry gives them both a strange look before wandering off into the ship.
When Harry is gone Dick looks at him, his hair completely dishelved and the top buttons of his shirt undone, and Nixon bursts into helpless laughter.
“Drunk or asleep?” He asks, chuckling at Nix bent over with laughter.
“I didn’t think we actually would get caught!” Nixon gasps for breath.
“Not funny, Nix.” He grins and opens the door. “C’mon, we didn’t have the time anyway.”
They both step out of the ship and walk in silence for a few moments.
“Can you imagine Speirs’s face?” Nixon chuckles and pulls out his flask, taking a drink.
“Oh I think Carwood could tell us what it would look like.” Dick adds mildly, and Nixon chokes on his drink.
He pushes himself to his feet and turns, and the other man glances over at the sound of his sudden movement. He still has the gun in his hand, Webster notices, and he’s eyeing him.
“Who the fuck are you? And what the hell were you doing?” he demands.
“David Webster. I am...I was drunk.” He answers, tiredly.
“So you just drunkenly decided to break into a Command ship?” the other guy looks skeptical, and Webster doesn’t blame him.
“I told you, I was drunk. And the door was unlocked.”
There’s a pause as he glares at Webster, processing what he’s just said. Webster glares back, and then:
“Wait, you don’t look like a Command officer. What are you doing with this ship?’
“None of your fucking business!”
Webster takes a step forward. “Hey! It’s not my fault you couldn’t wait 5 goddamn seconds for me to fall out of this ship! And who the fuck are you?”
The man stops, sharp features refusing to soften. “Joe Liebgott.”
Webster gives a triumphant smirk. “Not Commander Liebgott?”
“No, and I’m not your goddamn mother either, so clean up your fuckin’ mess.” He tells Webster.
Liebgott feels his own grin spread as Webster’s drops off his face. He kicks a piece of glass towards the other man before turning and dropping back into one of the chairs. He listens to the tinkle and scrape of the glass as Webster cleans up the wine mess, and only looks up when he sits down into the co-pilot’s chair several minutes later.
“Where are we going?”
Liebgott ignores the question and just looks at him. He’s tall, hungry looking, and wearing clothes that have obviously seen better days. He doesn’t act like pilot, or a pirate, and he’s not stupid either. His hands are bleeding, and he’s cradling them in his lap like he’s hoping that Liebgott won’t notice.
Joe rises and goes into the back of the ship, rummaging through the storage closet he finds for the mandatory first aid kit. He finds it stuffed in the back and pulls it out, shoving spare helmets back into the closet when they come toppling down onto him.
When he returns Webster is silently nursing his wounds. Liebgott pulls a few strips of cloth out of the kit and a bottle of antiseptic and sits down across from him.
“Gimme your hands.”
He takes Webster’s right hand, and pours a liberal amount of antiseptic onto in. Webster hisses in pain and manages to squeeze out a few choice words before Liebgott wraps one of the strips around the palm, winding it around the thumb a few times before tying it off. He does the same with the left hand. There is less cursing this time, but Liebgott feels him tense under his hands.
When he’s done he sits back, Webster is watching him cautiously.
“Where are we going?” he repeats.
Liebgott snorts. “No idea. Away. You got any preferences?”
Webster lets out a deep breath, and looks like he’s releasing about a month’s worth of tension. “Can we please just get the fuck out of here?”
Liebgott grins, because maybe this ain’t too bad after all.
“You got it.”
****************************************************
“Fucking…what the fucking hell?!” Babe Heffron is abusing buttons with the kind of force one would reserve for fighting for their lives. And in a way, he is.
Doris, which he had affectionately named the ship some time ago (although the relationship was not so affectionate these days), was refusing to break, but continues to approach the dock with far too much speed.
Babe pulls back as hard as he can on the emergency braking system, and still, nothing. “Shit shit shit shit shit…”
It was going to happen. He was going to crash into the docks of Aldbourne with Darling Doris. His pilot’s license would be taken away, he’d have no work, no money, nothing. Life was over. He watches it flash before his eyes and waves goodbye.
There’s nothing he can do but try to steer towards the less populated areas. He pulls a hard right, trying as best as he can to avoid other ships.
It happens in slow motion, or perhaps it’s just because Doris loses a significant amount of her speed when she slams into the docks, taking out a huge portion of that sector. They side swipe a very nice model on Doris’s left before pushing all the way forward into a large hangar-like building perched on the edge of docking area. Babe is holding his breath, grimacing as the damage gets worse, and Doris is still going. The nose of the ship pushes through the grimy front window of the place, shattering it, and Babe thinks he is going to bring the whole building down. He closes his eyes and braces for the collapse, but Doris shudders to a stop and then shuts off, as if in defeat.
His eyes wide, Babe flings himself out of the ship and runs up the dock to the window, where he can hear shouting. He looks up, and the sign over the door to his left reads “Roe’s Repairs”.
Oh perfect, what spectacular timing he has.
When he looks back at the window there is a dark haired man standing in it, looking pale and angry and a little bit like he may come through the window at Babe.
“You wanna explain why your…” he pauses and cranes his neck, looking at the ship, “Darling Doris just came through my window?”
“Oh God…shit, I’m sorry, my brakes went out! She wouldn’t stop! I am so sorry! Goddamn…” he runs his hands through his hair, taking in the scene around him.
“Guess I came to the right place for it though, eh?” Babe asks, trying a grin and pointing at the sign.
The man he assumes to be Roe glares at him. “Maybe after you talk to Command and pay for the window, I’ll fix it.” He tells Babe before walking back inside.
Babe frowns and turns back to Doris, looking the ship up and down. “Ah, fuck you too Doris.”
**********************************************
Nixon taps the monitor screen and says “Easy Command, Nixon.” Eugene Roe’s voice floats through the ship’s deck, quiet and angry. Nixon has to bite back a snort of amusement when Roe tells him a ship has just crashed through the docks and into his business. Dick, standing next to him, raises an eyebrow and Nixon can see a smile quirking at the edge of his lips.
“We’ll be right there Gene.” Dick assures him and ends the call.
“Sure you don’t want to send Speirs?” Nix asks with a straight face.
Dick chuckles and grabs his coat, handing Nixon his as well. “Fortunately for us, his temperament is more suited for dealing with people like George Luz. And Skip Muck.”
Nixon grins and pulls on his coat. “Nah, I think you’re just bored. Jealous you can’t go chasing after Sobel’s ship yourself?”
Winters shoots him a sly look. “Are you?”
“Well, only if we could ditch Ron and Carwood, maybe daytrip to a few nearby galaxies…” Nixon rambles, casting a sideways look at Dick. Dick pulls him forward, kissing him mid-sentence, and Nix grins into his mouth, opening his own for Dick.
“You must be bored. Wanna get caught in the entryway?” In the half-light of the doorway Nixon can see Dick’s eyes darken.
“Where’re Speirs and Lipton?’
“Probably busy.” Nixon backs him up against the wall.
“And Harry?” Dick asks, a bit breathlessly.
“Asleep, or drunk. Or both.”
Nixon is about to help Dick out of his pants when there’s a noise at the door and they both jump about five feet when Harry walks in.
They stare at each other for a long time. Finally Nixon clears his throat and says something like “Just off to Roe’s!” and Harry gives them both a strange look before wandering off into the ship.
When Harry is gone Dick looks at him, his hair completely dishelved and the top buttons of his shirt undone, and Nixon bursts into helpless laughter.
“Drunk or asleep?” He asks, chuckling at Nix bent over with laughter.
“I didn’t think we actually would get caught!” Nixon gasps for breath.
“Not funny, Nix.” He grins and opens the door. “C’mon, we didn’t have the time anyway.”
They both step out of the ship and walk in silence for a few moments.
“Can you imagine Speirs’s face?” Nixon chuckles and pulls out his flask, taking a drink.
“Oh I think Carwood could tell us what it would look like.” Dick adds mildly, and Nixon chokes on his drink.