Distant Frontiers - chapter 8
field report: L3M8AJ95
The other day I found myself in the dinning quarters. I don’t remember why I went there but it must’ve been for a habit, one of a few I’m certainly not proud of, gluttony. Oh no, it’s not what you think. I have most average weight. Although I have a bit of a tummy, I’m not overweight at all. Results from my last medical show that I’m conspicuously healthy, a prime example of a citizen who eats moderately, takes legal drugs here and then, exercises regularly and brushes and flosses teeth at least once per day. Of course, that’s not entirely true, but I won’t talk about that here. So, the conclusion would be that I’m hundred percent not positively sure why I’m in such a good shape, unless the physician had by some obscure reason falsified the results. You know how they are. Always fingering you in most undesirable places, tell you to turn your head sideways and cough, making you open mouth wide so they can stick whatever they have hands on inside it. Well, even if that’s true, I can’t imagine why’d they fake results to make me officially healthy. Perhaps there was a bet, or they needed to adjust statistical curve of the health of the spaceship population, or there was some other odd cause that was conceived in someone’s bizarre mind.
Be that as it may, it’s gluttony of social interaction that I’m craving for, and it must’ve been that gluttony that brought me there. Why else would I even enter the dinning quarters? Food’s bad, water’s only liquid of reasonable quality and even that’s processed, and I typically don’t feel hunger throughout the day. But a lot of people migrate there each day at specific hours. Why only then is another mystery to be solved when I have time to delve into it. Anyway, there I was, a stranger in a crowd inside a very bustling place. I usually eat alone in peace, contemplating surreal events that have happened throughout the day. My concentration must be tiptop. I hate when I finally grasp a solution to an obscure question that’s been bothering me the whole day but then find out I’ve missed a clue or took a wrong step in my deductions. Such a waste of time. So, to create a perfect environment I dine alone. In my module. Away from noises cutlery makes, away from munching and other sounds coming from all human orifices, away from dreadfully boring small talk, how I detest it, away from those tables and chairs of third-rate design. I can’t help myself, I’m a person of refined tastes. Unless it comes to human interaction (but, please, no small talk, that’s definitely out of the question). When my hunger for it is awoken, it doesn’t matter the place, I can even do it in a littered dinning quarters or bleached physician’s office, or the time, morning, midday, evening, night, any hour is fine, or the person, those dirty mechanics and cleaners or posh upper brass and physicians, it doesn’t matter at all, makes no difference to me. I’m even willing to not use protection, I’m not afraid of orally transmitted diseases. However, you must’ve heard of that scandal when the whole group of top-level government officials got infected with a notoriously hard to treat virus from a mysterious carrier, when they were gathering funds for some out of the question campaign, headed by even more out of the question individuals. I must accept the fact that such illnesses exist, but nonetheless I’m willing to take the risk if that satisfies my lust. But, if necessary, I’m perfectly fine using a mask when indulging in intercourse.
Now, there I was sitting behind one of those plastic tables, on a plastic chair, minding my own business, but all gluttonous. Then, in the corner of my eye, I noticed a strange figure sitting few paces away, alone, behind a similar plastic table, on a similar plastic chair. And with strange I mean I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman, an alien, perhaps something fourth. At first, I didn’t pay too much attention to it. The appearance didn’t feel refined enough to make a contact. Just another creep from some dark corner of the spaceship. I don’t know where they pick them from. It’s not like we’re some sort of asylum for socially inapt individuals or a travelling phreak show of questionable repute.
Some time passed then. I can’t recall what I was occupied with during that period. It’s all too hazy. Then that figure again caught my gaze. How funny, I thought, it hasn’t moved, and funnier still, it was looking right back at me. I gave a polite nod and didn’t try to think too much about it. Perhaps just a lonely person looking for some human interaction.
Another spell of mental mist and fog. And then, the feeling someone is looking at you. Yes, I know, it was that figure again, but at that point I was quite surprised by the feeling of being in the centre of someone’s attention. I did a quick glance in its direction. Nothing has changed. People came and went, food was piled onto plates and disappeared from them, somewhere someone dropped a cup and at another place someone fell of a chair and everyone was having a laugh. But that figure, it kept the same posture the whole time, kept the same face expression and kept looking at me. And I kept peeking towards it, hoping for a miracle that would save me from this awkward situation. Perhaps help from higher powers came, but if so then it also went unnoticed. Not being sure what to do I finally decided to confront the problem straight on. I stood up and walked straight to the figure and sat down opposite of it.
“Hello,” I said. “I noticed you’ve been looking at me for quite some time, haven’t you?” I tried to sound polite and not too intrusive.
“Hello,” the figure said back to me. “You’re spot on. I took an interest in you.”
That overwhelmed me slightly. Someone taking an interest in me!? What a peculiar thing.
“And why’s that? What concern am I to you?”
“I was wondering if you’d be interested in 10mm socket.”
At first, I was baffled and couldn’t comprehend what’s happening. Why would I need a socket? I don’t own a spanner and have never held one in my hands before. I still couldn’t grasp what was happening when I blurted: “Is it shiny?”
“Very shiny,” was the answer. “Do you want to examine it with your own hands?”
I nodded enthusiastically and stretched my left hand. The socket landed in it. To be honest, I was a bit disappointed. I’d be lying if I said that it didn’t reflect light considerably, but I couldn’t consider it being a top level. Without a doubt far above pathetic but not quite reaching extraordinary. It was just that the some of its shine got lost with something transparent sticking on it, but I was convinced it still had a great potential and with some hard training and practice could take the first place in the next inner planetary competition of socket shininess. That pleased me slightly. It’s always been my dream to show my prowess in buffing to every pair of eyes on all inner planets and beyond, and I won’t lie, I’m quite proud of it. You see, there’re certain immeasurable tangibles to the art of buffing that make viewers’ knees weak, their libido rising to unprecedented levels and saliva accumulating in huge quantities, gushing with nefarious intentions and sinister lustfulness.
Where was I? Right. 10mm socket.
“Thank you very much for your kind donation. I’ll try my utmost to win the next buffing competition. I hope I’ll have a pleasure to deal with you in the future,” I said with clear and joyful voice, stood up and offered my right hand. The figure also stood up, bowed deeply and shook my hand. It pleased my self-esteem that I was already identified as a great buffer. I inferred that from who low the bow was. Or so I thought in my mind. You see, sometimes battles are won even before the first shot is fired. Mind you, I’m not trying to boast, I’m just saying how I felt at that point. It’s the most satisfying feeling finding such a pearl in the gutter of the dinning quarters. All those gobblers probably weren’t aware what they were witnessing, but they’d have to raise their filthy mouths from plates in the first place. But, alas, this is my predicament, even if I hate them, I still must satisfy my urge for social interaction. But on that day, I’ve already had plenty of it. The only dislike I had from the encounter was that my right hand was slimy as a clam after orgasm. Truth be told, I shouldn’t have expected anything less from shaking appendages with a tentacle monster sitting opposite of me. At that moment something got into my eyes, and I rubbed them with my hand despite being covered in ooze. My sight restored I realized I was awake and this was just a dream. All in all, just another solved mystery.
Please, don’t fire me.
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type: diarist’s report (see below)
author: human
length: inside prescribed quantity
style: conversational
grammar: mostly correct
relevance: irrelevant. Stop writing short stories during your work, even if they were first rate! You are not paid to do that. Fulfil your personal needs in your private time. If you have yearnings of sexual nature, consult specialized officer on board of your spaceship.
reviewer: AI
code: YAD201020NOM