Of Records, Slumber, and Rodents

Shift done, I stumbled from the bridge and down the steps. Someone said something congratulatory, or maybe it was derogatory. My brain was pounding and pulsing so hard I wouldn’t have known if it was even in English.

Stairs, ladder, corridor, hatchway, and I was back in my bunk, oh sweet yet undersized haven of sleep. The constant thrum of the engines and energy core came muffled through the mattress, so familiar at this point as to be as comforting as a mother’s song, lulling me ever closer to sleep.

“Hey, carto-extraordinaire!”

I think I said something back; it may not have been nice.

“Well get used to it, stud. It’s all over the ship you busted the record.”

My response was likely sarcastic and may have involved questioning who might give something equivalent to a rodent’s posterior.

“Hmph, yer in a mood. Anyway, Harrigan seemed impressed, not that you’d likely care.”

I propped one eye open to see his expression, make sure he wasn’t joking. He wasn’t, least not by his look.

Hot damn, Harrigan.

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