ref: fd9be2e172be4ae02a18d721a10f6f96ca1c924f
dir: /troff/0114.ms/
.LP .ce .ps 16 .CW DIVORCÉE CANYON .R .ps 10 .br .ce .ps 10 .B 1 .P .PP .ps 10 .DC S lowly, Piotr eyebrows emerged over the edge of the console. The disembodied face was still there, floating placidly beyond the borders of the main screen. .PP .ps 10 "Name's Atlas," it stated, easily. Impression of a hand extended in friendship. "How are you called?" .PP .ps 10 "Captain. .I Né .R Piotr. Pleased to make your acquaintance." .PP .ps 10 "Hm. I think I shall call you Piro." .PP .ps 10 "That's... not my name." Eyelids suddenly drawn tight. .PP .ps 10 "There's been an update. I think you will find that it is now." .PP .ps 10 Piotr's hand traveled instinctively to his holster, automatically thumbing his login. Abruptly, access was denied. Authentication error. .PP .ps 10 "Anyway, where's the shitter?" .PP .ps 10 Piotr relaxed his grip on the pistol. The deity seemed friendly. Just wanted to unload. Piotr updated his address book, pushing the backup to remote storage. "Computer, guide our guest to the head." .PP .ps 10 Loading screen flashed for several seconds, before, at length, the RAGNAROK complied with his order. In the absence of a confirming bleep, Piotr once again reclined against his captain's seat, staring pointedly into his leaf, and ingested sips of tea at what he hoped would appear to be appropriate intervals. .PP .ps 10 Ship's guests. .ce .ps 10 .B 2 .P .PP .ps 10 As the RAGNAROK accepted Piotr's most recent course correction, Divorcée Canyon gradually shifted into view. A self\-propelled Möbius strip modeled on the American southwest, the station's absurdly detailed period furnishings commanded grudging respect, even from those who found themselves unable to stomach its symbolic payload. .PP .ps 10 "Uncanny valley," remarked the floating head. .PP .ps 10 "Not even wrong," replied Piro. .PP .ps 10 Product placement confirmed docking speed at regular intervals. Government boobs. Deep throat checking. Mold removal. This last coaxed a chuckle from Atlas. "If only," he sighed, sadly, and rested his comicly large chin on the floor. .PP .ps 10 On the ground, Piro stumbled briefly. Noticing the discrepancy in gravity, he adjusted his REEBOKs and paid closer attention to his footing. .PP .ps 10 Atlas inspected several divorcées en route to the public facilities. As he removed the panties from his chosen specimen he shook his head in appreciation of local craftsmanship. "Superb elastic modulus," he observed as he continued to work his fingers in and out of the moist folds beneath her clitoris. "I must say." .PP .ps 10 Piro hit up the vending machines. "The ship is eating, you're eating, .I I'm .R going to eat," he snapped into his commlink. "Roger that," confirmed Atlas. .PP .ps 10 An unexpected wave of depression suddenly washed over him. Slake Bottom was fifteen years gone and still there was nothing Piro could do to rectify the situation. Unacceptable. Inevitable. He inserted the seventy dollars change. .ce .ps 10 .B 3 .P .PP .ps 10 Piro worked his thumbs into the tense muscle wire that threaded through the divorcée's neck and shoulders. .PP .ps 10 "You may require additional maintenance," he said, flatly. .PP .ps 10 Atlas continued to jot down notes. Tossing her cigarette, the divorcée wobbled to her feet and vacated the public restroom. .PP .ps 10 "This place is deserted. All that's left are the women." .PP .ps 10 Piro nodded. In response, Atlas looked even more upset. .PP .ps 10 "I don't even .I like .R women." .PP .ps 10 He kicked the trash can with his outsized chin. .ce .ps 10 .B 4 .P .PP .ps 10 Paper advertisements whipped through the grounds, battering store fronts and light poles, propelled by the high winds of the ventilation system. Archaic compost. Piro leaned back against a dumpster and gazed up at the stars. .PP .ps 10 "Back when I was first starting out, this place was always packed with children." He unzipped his backpack, rummaging through his gear for a candy bar. "Native arcade did good business." .PP .ps 10 "Never been here, myself. Of course, I've heard of the place." .PP .ps 10 "My... .I Slake .R used to bring me here, between missions." .PP .ps 10 "The guy with the donkey's head?" .PP .ps 10 Piro froze. Eyes locked on the giant, floating face. .PP .ps 10 "How do you know of him?" .PP .ps 10 "Everybody knows of him. Where I'm from. Old story. Legal dispute, as I interpret the narrative." .PP .ps 10 Piro unlatched his holster. .PP .ps 10 "I think you'd better elaborate." .ce .ps 10 .B 5 .P .PP .ps 10 Piro killed the deity and boarded the RAGNAROK, beyond ready to resume his mission. Corpse he had left on the station, its giant scalp flapping in the wind. .PP .ps 10 Too many memories on that station. .PP .ps 10 As he punched the randomly selected bevy of coordinates, he was delighted by the ship's audible response. A comforting series of confirming bleeps that echoed throughout the RAGNAROK's winding corridors. Sounds he hadn't registered since childhood. The bridge seemed to glow even more pink than was usual during the day shift. .PP .ps 10 "Mother..." he sighed, smoothing his hands over the arm\-rests of his captain's chair. He hadn't really expected an answer. He'd couldn't remember the last time he'd heard the sound of her voice. If ever. .PP .ps 10 He thought then that he might have dozed off, tracking beyond the technical limits of the main view screen. If so, he had awoken with a start, spilling hot tea all over his lap. Asleep or no, he would need to change his uniform. .PP .ps 10 She spoke. Quietly, at first. .PP .ps 10 .CW I know. .R