The Kruton Interface by John Dechancie Read Free Book Online

kid.”
    “There’s only one problem, Tess, dear. Swamp dragons are on the endangered alien species list.”
    Tess belched again. She crinkled her pug nose. “Yeah. What a bunch of wimps the locals are. But swampies’re fair game if they attack.”
    “Those poor things keep to themselves. Wouldn’t hurt a flea unless they feel threatened.”
    “How ‘bout if I chuck a couple of beer bottles at ‘em? Huh?” Tess laughed, displaying crooked yellow teeth. “Stir ‘em up a bit. Whaddaya say, kid?”
    “That ought to work, Mom. But don’t get yourself in trouble.”
    “Don’t worry about me, shortie. I can take care of myself.”
    “Oh, she can, it’s true,” Frank said, laughing.  
    “You said it. Listen, kid, cosmophone rates are eatin’ us alive, here, so… ”  
    “No problem, Mom. Nice to hear from you.”  
    “Stay loose.”  
    “I’ll try.”
    “And don’t take no shit from the brass. Unnerstand?”
    “Aye-aye, Cap’n. Dad, nice to see you again. Hey, let’s see the cross-stitch.”
    Frank held it up. White swans on a lake of baby blue. “I’ve been doing a little knitting lately but it’s too tiring. So I switched to this.”
    “Nice, Dad, You sure you’re feeling okay?”
    “Oh, aside from an occasional migraine … and cramps—”
    “Hell, he hasn’t been worth a plugged millicredit since he was pregnant with you,” Tess said. “One complaint after another.”
    Frank gave his wife a love tap on the shoulder. “Go on. My saying I had a headache never stopped you, you big brute.” Frank giggled.
    Tess turned her head and spat off-screen. “Fuckin’ A.”
    Frank shrieked. “She’s incorrigible!”  
    “Uh, I have duties to attend to, folks,” David Wanker said hastily. “Nice talking to you. Call again.”
    “Will do,” Tess told him. “We’re proud of you, son.”  
    “Thanks. Bye, Mom. Dad.”  
    “G’bye, dear. Take care!”  
    “Keep a tight asshole, kid.”  
    The screen faded.
    “I don’t believe I drew this horrid assignment,” Captain Wanker said to the empty room. He wanted to cry. But crying in the captain’s cabin was strictly forbidden by regulations. Or should be, he thought.
    The panel buzzed again.
    “Darn it.” He reached. “Wanker here.”
    “This is Dr. O’Gandhi. Captain, I am finding many poisons down in the infirmary for you. All will be killing you very quickly indeed. Oh, it is a veritable festival of poisons, faith and beggorah.”
    “Belay that order, Doctor. I’m not ready for it yet. Soon, though, soon.”
    “I will make you a nice cyanide gimlet, sahib, you are only having to say the word.”
    “As much as I am tempted, Doc, I’ll pass. Stand by for further orders. Captain out.”
    “Oh, my, yes.”
    Wanker shut down the comm panel. “Ye gods.”
    He shed his space boots and dress coat and sprawled on the bed. There were a hundred things he should be doing, but he felt like doing none of them. Studying the ship’s schematics, familiarizing himself with the operational routine, calling staff meetings, writing endless memos: all of this and more were necessary to facilitate a change of command.
    He wanted only to run and hide. He hated this ship; he had hated it before ever setting eyes on it, and now his loathing and dread had been compounded in the short time since his arrival. What would he feel like months from now?
    Years? A shudder went through him.
    Wait a minute, he told himself. Wait just a minute.
    He sat up and brooded for a moment. Then he got to his feet and began to pace. “What’s wrong with you? You’re acting like a scared kid. It isn’t as if this is your first command. Sure you’ve made mistakes in the past. Big mistakes.’’
    He paced and paced.
    “Okay, really big mistakes. Like the Hood. You lost the U.S.S. Hood. Okay? Big deal. It wasn’t your fault! Okay, okay, so the way you lost it was a little strange. It was stolen! Yeah, so what? The board of inquiry completely exonerated you!