[fic] Choppers | 3
Title: Choppers 3/?
Author: girl_starfish
Rating: PG / PG 13 ish.
Notes: Posted for navisx because they asked so nicely. Thanks to mikkeneko and jamjar for putting up with my attention whoring. Much love!
The title is taken from the song that inspired this fic. It's called "Choppers" and is by Headless Chickens. That pretty much says it all.
Summary: Tim is beginning to supect that Bernard has ulterior motives. What took him so long? Also, Kon.
“Great news!” Bernard said, as Tim picked up the phone. “I’ve got us provisions going cheap. Same old story, owner forced to cancel trip due to rather scandalous revelations about his first mate’s love life --”
“Is this going to turn into another invitation to go out and get drunk?”
“Now that you mention it --”
“Goodbye, Bernard.”
“Wait! I hadn’t finished telling you about the cargo --”
---
“What the hell do we need a cargo for? In case you’d forgotten we’re not exactly traders here.” Tim folded his arms and glared at Bernard who just grinned.
“Cover, Officer Drake. Cover -- besides, it was going cheap along with the provisions and there’s nothing to stop us selling it on the way back.”
Tim eyed the boxes the kid was machine-lifting into the cargo-hold sourly. “What’s in them anyway?”
“Funny story. You remember I mentioned the first mate? Well--”
“Excuse me?” Tim and Bernard turned to see a guy standing in the hangar doorway. He wore spacer clothing, torn and patched in places, but he didn’t have the griminess usually associated with spacers and his accent was Earth. “The scuttlebutt around the port is that you guys have an opening for a crew-memeber --”
“The what?”
“Old English Navy term,” Tim said thoughtfully. “It means rumour.” He looked with more interest at the young man.
“Yeah, well, do you? Cause,” the guy shrugged, shifting the backpack he carried. “I’d really like to get off-planet ASAP, you know?”
“Not so fast,” Bernard warned. “We run a tight ship here, sailor. Why are you so keen to sign on?”
“I’d, um,” the guy said, broad shoulders hunched uncomfortably, “rather not say. My old Captain can vouch for me --”
Tim narrowed his eyes. Verbal references were a good indicator of lack of PIN number -- or a record one didn’t want brought up. And crewing aboard an unregistered vessel such as theirs was an excellent way to avoid the law. “What exactly --”
“Let me guess,” Bernard said knowingly. “Problem with a girl?”
The guy coloured. “Uh --”
“Say no more,” Bernard slid his arm around the guy and propelled him towards the shuttle. “Let’s you and me talk shop.” He called back over his shoulder to Tim. “I’ve got this. Why don’t you look over the cabins?”
The interior of the shuttle was plain but well-aired. Oxygen tanks were full and the galley well stocked with provisions. Possibly a little too well-stocked. As Bernard sauntered past, whistling, Tim grabbed his arm. “What are we doing with 6 bottles of champagne?”
“Have you no soul, man?” Beranrd wondered. “Ship’s maiden voyage. I told the kid he could name her and we’re going to christen her the old fashioned way tomorrow.”
“And the other 5 bottles?”
“Toast to the success of our journey,” Bernard ticked the reasons off on his fingers. “To celebrate when we find the thing. To commiserate if we don’t. Medicinal properties -”
“Champagne doesn’t have medicinal properties.”
“You say that now,” Bernard said, slipping an arm around Tim’s shoulders. “But just wait.”
Tim shook him off. “Another thing. Why do you get the single cabin?”
“Captain’s right,” Bernard said, helping himself to a bottle from the cooling unit. “Have you ever heard of a Captain who slept with his cre-- actually, let me rephrase that--”
“Who said you were Captain?” Tim demanded. “This is my expedition. You’re employed by me.”
“Exactly,” Bernard said. “You’re too important to be Captain.” He swung himself up to sit on the bench. “Think about it. You’re our secondary pilot and our navigator, not to mention the only one who knows what it is we’re investigating. You’ll be too busy to want to be bogged down with the day to day decisions and judgement calls that captaining a ship necessitates --”
“Decisions that the Captain usually delegates,” Tim pointed out, but Bernard was on a roll.
“Why, I’m doing you a favour here! I tell you, without me to manage Bart and Kon --”
“Wait. You hired him?” Tim glared. “What about this whole decision making process we agreed on?”
“I interpreted that more as a decision making guideline,” Bernard shrugged. “Anyway, his referee is a Captain I’ve worked with before. Rex says Kon’s an all right kid, that’s good enough for me.”
“Does he have any skills?”
“The old story. Skills, yes. Qualifications, no.”
“PIN?”
“He said he doesn’t qualify. It’s best not to ask beyond that.”
Tim paused thoughtfully. Bernard definitely had the edge on him where dealing with aliens were concerned. “You trust him to crew for us?” At Bernard’s nod, Tim sighed. “Fine then. What are we paying him?”
“Oh, that’s the best part,” Bernard grinned. “I told him he’d get paid on our return to Orange.”
“How is that good?”
“He wants to get off-planet, yeah? We stop at a liveable planet to refuel before we return, he deserts, and we keep his wages.” Bernard cackled. “I’m brilliant!”
“You’re something all right,” Tim said, picking up his checklist. “I’ll get back to work.”
---
Arrangements were made to fuel the ship and have Bart’s relatives tow it to the air field. Tim arrived with the two suitcases of charts and his personal effects to find it parked in the open air behind the launch way, Bernard watching from a deckchair as Kon and Bart hosed the outside of the shuttle.
“Supervising?” Tim asked dryly, lugging his suitcases over to Bernard.
“It’s tough being Captain,” Bernard toasted him. “We’ve got our clearance forms okayed, all that’s left is for them to confirm launch time.”
“How long --” Tim started but was distracted by a yell from the ship. Apparently a comment from Kon had prompted Bart to turn the hose on him.
As Tim watched, Kon, his shirt wet through and clinging to his form, tackled Bart to the side of the shuttle.
“I’ll show you rust bucket,” he said, moving to grab the hose from Bart --”
It was entirely innocent, Tim was sure of it. At the same time, however, it was somehow very --
“Water’s not free, you know!” he called out. “Get back to work, you two.”
“Spoilsport!” Bernard muttered. “I was enjoying that.”
“I bet you were.” Tim could feel the beginnings of a headache. He was starting to suspect that Bernard might have had an ulterior motive when chosing the crew. Kon had, once he’d cleaned up, turned out to be surprisingly good looking, and Bart was normal until machinery or piloting was involved and then he could make even the smallest thing indecent, all without even noticing.
Just as Tim had reached this conclusion, Kon surrendered the hose back to Bart, and peeled off his wet shirt to dry, displaying a solid chest and well developed muscles.
“I’ve reconsidered the single cabin thing,” Bernard said. “I think it’s better if the Captain sets an example for his crew and, you know, shows that he’s not above mingling with the common man --”
“That’s what they’re calling it these days?” Tim said and went to put his belongings in his assigned bunk room.
---
His absence had already been accounted for, and Tim spent the next day putting the few personal belongings he wasn’t taking with him into storage.
It was that moment maybe that made it all seem painfully real -- not what he was taking with him, the fact of what he left behind. He phoned his father, who was pleased to hear from him but bemused by the call. Tim found it nice to talk about ordinary things and for once, the disconnect between them didn’t seem so insurmountable.
At least until it was time to say goodbye.
“Is it very dangerous then?” Jack asked. “What you’re doing.”
Tim who’d just been congratulating himself on his subtlety froze. “What?”
“You only call when you’re about to do something you’re worried about,” Jack said. “Or if you want us to find a book for you.” He tried for humour but there was worry in his voice, vaguely paternal. “So, which is it?”
“You know me too well,” Tim said as lightly as he could. “Bye, Dad.”
He thought about phoning Bruce, but didn’t.
---
Author: girl_starfish
Rating: PG / PG 13 ish.
Notes: Posted for navisx because they asked so nicely. Thanks to mikkeneko and jamjar for putting up with my attention whoring. Much love!
The title is taken from the song that inspired this fic. It's called "Choppers" and is by Headless Chickens. That pretty much says it all.
Summary: Tim is beginning to supect that Bernard has ulterior motives. What took him so long? Also, Kon.
“Great news!” Bernard said, as Tim picked up the phone. “I’ve got us provisions going cheap. Same old story, owner forced to cancel trip due to rather scandalous revelations about his first mate’s love life --”
“Is this going to turn into another invitation to go out and get drunk?”
“Now that you mention it --”
“Goodbye, Bernard.”
“Wait! I hadn’t finished telling you about the cargo --”
---
“What the hell do we need a cargo for? In case you’d forgotten we’re not exactly traders here.” Tim folded his arms and glared at Bernard who just grinned.
“Cover, Officer Drake. Cover -- besides, it was going cheap along with the provisions and there’s nothing to stop us selling it on the way back.”
Tim eyed the boxes the kid was machine-lifting into the cargo-hold sourly. “What’s in them anyway?”
“Funny story. You remember I mentioned the first mate? Well--”
“Excuse me?” Tim and Bernard turned to see a guy standing in the hangar doorway. He wore spacer clothing, torn and patched in places, but he didn’t have the griminess usually associated with spacers and his accent was Earth. “The scuttlebutt around the port is that you guys have an opening for a crew-memeber --”
“The what?”
“Old English Navy term,” Tim said thoughtfully. “It means rumour.” He looked with more interest at the young man.
“Yeah, well, do you? Cause,” the guy shrugged, shifting the backpack he carried. “I’d really like to get off-planet ASAP, you know?”
“Not so fast,” Bernard warned. “We run a tight ship here, sailor. Why are you so keen to sign on?”
“I’d, um,” the guy said, broad shoulders hunched uncomfortably, “rather not say. My old Captain can vouch for me --”
Tim narrowed his eyes. Verbal references were a good indicator of lack of PIN number -- or a record one didn’t want brought up. And crewing aboard an unregistered vessel such as theirs was an excellent way to avoid the law. “What exactly --”
“Let me guess,” Bernard said knowingly. “Problem with a girl?”
The guy coloured. “Uh --”
“Say no more,” Bernard slid his arm around the guy and propelled him towards the shuttle. “Let’s you and me talk shop.” He called back over his shoulder to Tim. “I’ve got this. Why don’t you look over the cabins?”
The interior of the shuttle was plain but well-aired. Oxygen tanks were full and the galley well stocked with provisions. Possibly a little too well-stocked. As Bernard sauntered past, whistling, Tim grabbed his arm. “What are we doing with 6 bottles of champagne?”
“Have you no soul, man?” Beranrd wondered. “Ship’s maiden voyage. I told the kid he could name her and we’re going to christen her the old fashioned way tomorrow.”
“And the other 5 bottles?”
“Toast to the success of our journey,” Bernard ticked the reasons off on his fingers. “To celebrate when we find the thing. To commiserate if we don’t. Medicinal properties -”
“Champagne doesn’t have medicinal properties.”
“You say that now,” Bernard said, slipping an arm around Tim’s shoulders. “But just wait.”
Tim shook him off. “Another thing. Why do you get the single cabin?”
“Captain’s right,” Bernard said, helping himself to a bottle from the cooling unit. “Have you ever heard of a Captain who slept with his cre-- actually, let me rephrase that--”
“Who said you were Captain?” Tim demanded. “This is my expedition. You’re employed by me.”
“Exactly,” Bernard said. “You’re too important to be Captain.” He swung himself up to sit on the bench. “Think about it. You’re our secondary pilot and our navigator, not to mention the only one who knows what it is we’re investigating. You’ll be too busy to want to be bogged down with the day to day decisions and judgement calls that captaining a ship necessitates --”
“Decisions that the Captain usually delegates,” Tim pointed out, but Bernard was on a roll.
“Why, I’m doing you a favour here! I tell you, without me to manage Bart and Kon --”
“Wait. You hired him?” Tim glared. “What about this whole decision making process we agreed on?”
“I interpreted that more as a decision making guideline,” Bernard shrugged. “Anyway, his referee is a Captain I’ve worked with before. Rex says Kon’s an all right kid, that’s good enough for me.”
“Does he have any skills?”
“The old story. Skills, yes. Qualifications, no.”
“PIN?”
“He said he doesn’t qualify. It’s best not to ask beyond that.”
Tim paused thoughtfully. Bernard definitely had the edge on him where dealing with aliens were concerned. “You trust him to crew for us?” At Bernard’s nod, Tim sighed. “Fine then. What are we paying him?”
“Oh, that’s the best part,” Bernard grinned. “I told him he’d get paid on our return to Orange.”
“How is that good?”
“He wants to get off-planet, yeah? We stop at a liveable planet to refuel before we return, he deserts, and we keep his wages.” Bernard cackled. “I’m brilliant!”
“You’re something all right,” Tim said, picking up his checklist. “I’ll get back to work.”
---
Arrangements were made to fuel the ship and have Bart’s relatives tow it to the air field. Tim arrived with the two suitcases of charts and his personal effects to find it parked in the open air behind the launch way, Bernard watching from a deckchair as Kon and Bart hosed the outside of the shuttle.
“Supervising?” Tim asked dryly, lugging his suitcases over to Bernard.
“It’s tough being Captain,” Bernard toasted him. “We’ve got our clearance forms okayed, all that’s left is for them to confirm launch time.”
“How long --” Tim started but was distracted by a yell from the ship. Apparently a comment from Kon had prompted Bart to turn the hose on him.
As Tim watched, Kon, his shirt wet through and clinging to his form, tackled Bart to the side of the shuttle.
“I’ll show you rust bucket,” he said, moving to grab the hose from Bart --”
It was entirely innocent, Tim was sure of it. At the same time, however, it was somehow very --
“Water’s not free, you know!” he called out. “Get back to work, you two.”
“Spoilsport!” Bernard muttered. “I was enjoying that.”
“I bet you were.” Tim could feel the beginnings of a headache. He was starting to suspect that Bernard might have had an ulterior motive when chosing the crew. Kon had, once he’d cleaned up, turned out to be surprisingly good looking, and Bart was normal until machinery or piloting was involved and then he could make even the smallest thing indecent, all without even noticing.
Just as Tim had reached this conclusion, Kon surrendered the hose back to Bart, and peeled off his wet shirt to dry, displaying a solid chest and well developed muscles.
“I’ve reconsidered the single cabin thing,” Bernard said. “I think it’s better if the Captain sets an example for his crew and, you know, shows that he’s not above mingling with the common man --”
“That’s what they’re calling it these days?” Tim said and went to put his belongings in his assigned bunk room.
---
His absence had already been accounted for, and Tim spent the next day putting the few personal belongings he wasn’t taking with him into storage.
It was that moment maybe that made it all seem painfully real -- not what he was taking with him, the fact of what he left behind. He phoned his father, who was pleased to hear from him but bemused by the call. Tim found it nice to talk about ordinary things and for once, the disconnect between them didn’t seem so insurmountable.
At least until it was time to say goodbye.
“Is it very dangerous then?” Jack asked. “What you’re doing.”
Tim who’d just been congratulating himself on his subtlety froze. “What?”
“You only call when you’re about to do something you’re worried about,” Jack said. “Or if you want us to find a book for you.” He tried for humour but there was worry in his voice, vaguely paternal. “So, which is it?”
“You know me too well,” Tim said as lightly as he could. “Bye, Dad.”
He thought about phoning Bruce, but didn’t.
---