The Adventures of Dick and Fifi VIII

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Dick propelled himself onto the bridge with a limp LaRue in tow.  Strapping Fifi into the navigators couch  he asked BAMBI, the ships computer, “What’s going on Bambi, where is the problem?”

    “Oh Dickey, the Penatrator seems to have some sort of mass problem, I am looking into it just as fast as I can Dickey.”

    “Mass problem, is that too much or too little, and can you locate the area of mass difference?  Furthermore do not call me ‘Dickey’; I am Commander or Commander Smallshaft to you.  Where the hell did you come up with Dickey anyway?”

    “Oh, that nice Captain LaRue said you liked to be called Dickey, Dickey.  The mass differential is in the hydrogen fuel supply.  Some sort of smallish cretin life form bled one tank dry and stowed away.  I have just determined that unless we are able to change course in the next 19, no 18 seconds there is insufficient fuel to remain in earth orbit unless the ramjet is modified to a scramjet.  Is that a problem Dickey?”

    “18 seconds, thanks for the timely warning Bambi.”  Dick did a quick run through of the numbers, it would take a minimum of 36 hours to convert the ramjet, and that was with a qualified crew.  He had a lusty, insatiable woman and a short rumpled guy with hairy palms for a crew.  “What will our vector be at power loss Bam?  You don’t mind if I call you Bam do you?”

    “Not at all Dickey, our vector will be four degrees off Canopus, west Earth standard.  By the way Dickey…”

    “Don’t call me Dickey damn-it”

    “Okay, sorry Big Dick, but the stowaway is unconscious in cabin six, deck nine.”

    “Great,” muttered Smallshaft, “how appropriate.”  He glanced at LaRue, she was semi-conscious but safely harnessed into her couch.  “I’ll go check the little guy out, we’ll sort out our drive problem later, it’s already too late to do anything useful.”

    Dick hit the door slide harder than needed, but not as hard as he wanted to.  He was met by the limp form of Peeps floating in his chosen cabin.  Peeps pants were around his ankles and although unconscious he maintained a firm grip on himself as small globules of a now clear fluid floated about the cabin.  In his excitement, Peeps had not considered classical Newtonian physics and shot himself into a bulkhead hard enough to knock himself unconscious.  Smallshaft backed out of the cabin and commanded the sliding bulkhead to shut.  Vatchemann could clean up his own mess; he needed to inform New Orleans of the current state of mission ∞∆, if they weren’t already aware of the missions mounting problems.

    “New Orleans, this is Space EXploration ship Penetrator, we have a problem or two here, over.”

    Fleet Admiral Hung ‘ike,’ Horse’s voice replied, “SEX ship Penetrator this is New Orleans we have you, we’ve anticipated a problem or two, what have you got? over.”

    “New Orleans this is Penetrator, Captain LaRue has knocked herself silly in her, um, in her exuberance, and is currently of very little use.  I also have a stowaway in the form of one civilian a Dr. P.E. ‘Peeps’ Vatchmann.  Who has beaten himself into unconscious.  Additionally we are short fuel and currently outside the local gravity wells heading in the general direction of Canopus, over.

    It was several moments before there was a response, “Uh, Penetrator this is New Orleans, we weren’t really anticipating any of those problems,” Horse responded, “you a, you got any other problems?  Maybe, something wrong with the plumbing, or something?

    The mission was going to be longer then 24 days.  Smallshaft sighed and slowly pulled himself to his quarters, where he planned on having a single malt scotch, neat. 

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