Questions, starting with 'what the hell was I drinking?'.

Rolling over hurt. Opening the eyes, more so.

He crawled from his bed to the bathroom and passed out again.

The pain had not gone away but another hour had left behind a bad taste in his mouth and filled his eyes with sand. The comm chimed and he tried to find the energy to scream in pain as the sound proved his ears were now directly wired to his pain center.

He staggered to his feet and the swayed there, wondering why he had bothered. The comm rang again. “Oh, right.” He surpassed all previous human achievements and managed to turn on the comm with only two false starts (not counting trying to answer his left shoe). “What?”

“There is quite a crowd gathering around the ‘Runaway” Scotty’s voice was annoyingly cheerful. “Some of them claim to be ‘part owners’. Would you be knowing anything about that?”


“The ship you bought last night. We outfitted it with what we had but you will have to do some trips to get the full fitting you sent to us.”

Mike raised a hand to run it through his hair and then froze. Why were there names written on his arm, with numbers next to each one?

What ship?

When had he sent new designs in?

How had he gotten home?

Where were the rest of his clothes, as right now only the left shoe was accounted for.

“I’ll be down in a bit.”


This is going to be continued very shortly . . . .but I had to get this first part out right away


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One Response to Questions, starting with 'what the hell was I drinking?'.

  1. cebit says:

    this so reminds me of my own morning, well rather afternoon yesterday 🙂 looking forward to reading the rest of it :-))

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