An ongoing choose your own adventure story written by a whole bunch of nerdy folk!
Written by the members of the Melbourne Sci-Fi and Fantasy Meetup Group
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It was a dark and stormy night …. well dark yes because in space no-one can hear you … no that’s not right either. “Frak it! My head, owww…. Where’s the lights?” A hand fumbled around, cracking painfully on ice-cold metal, trying to find a wall, a switch, a familiar landmark in the all-encompassing blackness. “Damned if I aint just a bit hungover.” Suddenly the room, if it was a room, swayed sickeningly … earthquake? Flashback! But no, there was no accompanying rumble, no PTSD-head-frak-party, just a jolt, a second disorienting slip sideways and a final sudden clang and …. silence. A sensation of utter stillness. The absence of … well of anything.
Private Geral Hinnar staggered to his feet, swaying and grasping his hand to his gut, positive death was only moments away. “Oh stars … a bucket! For the love of all that’s bright in the heavens, I’m gonna puke!” Suddenly an explosive crack sounded immediately to his left making him start, then a faint line of light split the darkness. Wirring. A wall moved out and then wooshed sideways leaving nothing but air and light and space in front of him where previously there had been only possibilities. Squinting bleary eyes in the faintly sulphurous glow, Hinnar shuffled forwards, absently trying to straighten his clothing, shaky and not at all coordinated, hands trailing along the icy metal wall, to stand finally in the opening, looking out at …. “Uh oh.”
[submitted by Donna]
It was a truly horrible scene that befell the Private’s bleary eyes, Geral Hinnar’s alcohol soaked brain scrambling to assemble the information presented by his much abused senses and spoon feed the results slowly into the area of squishy grey matter labelled ‘comprehension of reality’. It was wrong, all wrong, all of it! There were people out there. The crew, his crew, and, and, they were going about their duties in what could be loosely described as a semi competent manner. No one lying on the floor and sobbing from the unending pain coming from their cranium. No one crouched in a compressed blubbering ball as various fluids drained from various orifices.
Honestly, no one knew how to appropriately party anymore. And where was the justice in that when one Private Geral Hinnar felt like death warmed up, marinated, blended on high and spread on scratchy wholemeal toast. So much for crew solidarity.
“Ahhhh, Hinnar!” A cheerful voice boomed altogether too loudly for Geral’s tender comfort level of decibel tolerance. “Good of you to make an appearance my man! Splendid docking we’ve just had from our apprentice pilot, with barely any damage to the ship at all this time. And what in the blithering blue blazers were you doing in the closet?”
[submitted by Kathryn]
Captain Mack really didn’t like the only response he got to that question. Probably because it involved Hinnar’s most recent meal, the Captain’s pant leg, and what looked suspiciously like remains of one of the crew’s pet fighting fish from their last Earth run.
Fortunately Hinnar didn’t have to deal with any further questions for the time being. His involuntary expedient of blacking out from the force his spewing exerted on his brain, and breaking a couple of his teeth on the nearest console as he went down, bought him at least an infirmary trip’s worth of moments to try to recall why indeed he’d been in the closet.
He was at least pretty sure it was a fun reason, whatever it turned out to be.
[submitted by Gen]