Judgement Dave (Starship Teapot #2) ebook

Judgement Dave

Chapter 1: Lizard in the basement

‘Byeeeeeeee!’

Bexley and I smiled and waved as we clicked the button to shut the door – then we turned to face the carnage our guests had left in the cargo bay. Overturned crates lay at all angles, their contents splayed out everywhere. Dirty dishes – some of which were broken – littered every surface. Blankets and mattresses were strewn about the entire space. And the smell! It was like rotten meat, stale beer, and … something vaguely like popcorn?

I collapsed to the floor with my back against the door. Spock, my German shepherd, leaned against me and whimpered softly. I buried my hand in her soft fur.

Bexley gently stroked my hair. ‘Come on, Lem. Let’s head to the mess hall.’ She took a step back. Looking down her long, horsey nose, she offered a hoof to help me up.

We’d all voted to accept the job – ferrying a gaggle of hormonal adolescents to their species’ ancestral home planet – but I doubted we’d ever take another job from the trelane. Or was it unfair to judge an entire species by how their teenagers behaved?

‘I’m trying not to look at the damage,’ I said as we plodded towards the lift.

Bexley tapped her hooves in the air – her version of a nod. ‘I’m too exhausted to even think about cleaning up.’

I blew out noisily through my lips – like a nickering horse. ‘Same. But at least with cleaning, I can pretend I have as much to contribute as the rest of you.’

Bexley chewed the air thoughtfully. ‘What? How do you mean? You contribute. We need to work on your self-confidence, Lem. I don’t understand why you’re always so down on yourself.’

‘I help,’ I said. ‘Or at least, I try. But you… You’re a genius mechanic. Henry’s a pilot. BB’s a doctor.’

Bexley stopped walking and blocked my path. ‘And Aurora takes care of our supplies and domestic needs. Spock looks after our physical security. And you … do whatever needs doing.’

I raised my hands in – I don’t know: exasperation? Frustration? Vindication? ‘See! You totally paused. I don’t know what my responsibility is. You don’t know. No one does. I don’t have a responsibility. There’s nothing I offer that couldn’t be done by pretty much any warm body.’

Bexley’s ears swivelled like pointy little satellite dishes as we started walking again. ‘What does your core temperature have to do—’ She waved her arms in front of herself. ‘Whatever. You’re good at stuff. And you’re my best friend. We all value you – even Henry.’

I pulled a face. ‘Henry doesn’t believe I’m sapient.’ I pressed the button to call the lift.

‘Well, okay,’ she admitted. ‘That might be true, actually. But it’s completely beside the point. And anyways, you do stuff. You definitely contribute. Like, as much as anyone. And did I mention you’re my best friend? Because you totally are. I mean, I know I say that about a lot of people, but I really, really—’

The lift door slid open, revealing a smooth blue cylinder sitting on the floor, seething. Henry. Someone had graffitied her casing. At least I hoped it was paint.

‘Oh, Henry,’ whispered Bexley. ‘I’m so sorry, honey. They did this to you?’

‘No, I got bored with the basic blue and hit up a salon for a colour upgrade.’ Henry’s poshly accented gender-neutral voice dripped with scorn. ‘Of course they did this to me, you pickling buffoon.’

Even the lift was littered with assorted rubbish. One of the walls was smeared with… ‘What even is that?’

‘I wouldn’t if I were you, sandwich,’ Henry said as my fingers were mere centimetres from the substance.

Turning to face her, I asked, ‘Did you analyse the contents?’

Spock licked the wall.

‘I look like a mobile cuffing crime lab to you?’ An appendage that looked bizarrely like a spork flipped down from her normally featureless shape and sort of stabbed at me. ‘It’s no skin off my nose if you want to touch whatever bodily fluid or waste material that might be.’ The spork folded back into her cylindrical form. ‘Not that I even have a nose. Or skin.’

Figurative mode strikes again. Holly, my AI, translated everyone’s words into English for me. Sometimes it produced strange colloquialisms – not because the people speaking happened to have the same sayings – but because Holly used the nearest corollary my mind contained.

Bexley’s lips pulled back from her massive equine teeth. ‘I swear, if I never see another trelane it’ll be too soon.’

Spock let out a heavy love-struck sigh as the lift door opened.

‘Come on,’ I said, gently steering her towards the mess. Spock whined in protest. ‘We’ll see if we can rustle you up some treats, eh?’

At that, her ears perked up and … well, she may have plodded a bit less slowly the rest of the way.

The ship was sized for beings much shorter than your typical human. Thankfully, the ceilings were high enough for me to walk around comfortably … but the doorways were another matter, so when the door slid open, I had to duck to get through. I stumbled over nothing as I entered the room.

Aurora gasped. Beside her, BB let out a squawk as she plucked a golden feather from her chest with her beak. As she let it fall to the floor I noticed little bald patches all over her body.

Aurora’s normal rainbow hues faded until she was almost invisible. Generally, she looked like an amorphous blob of rainbow glitter gas – with different colours receding or rising to prominence, indicating her moods. ‘Dear me. You lot gave me a start.’

‘Those catting uncles,’ Henry unswore. ‘No barking trelane is ever setting foot on my— on this ship again. Never.’

Bexley stroked a hoof over Henry’s lid in a soothing sort of gesture. She reached her other arm out towards BB, but BB stepped backwards into Aurora’s … well, into Aurora. BB turned her head away from us and buried it in her own shoulder feathers.

I felt helpless. Much of my life had been wasted feeling helpless. I didn’t like the feeling. Everyone was upset. The last few weeks had left us all anxious, exhausted, and traumatised.

All except Spock, that is. She leaned into me and whimpered. While the rest of us had been run ragged by the constant demands of the trelane, Spock adored them. She’d spent the journey romping, playing, licking, and wrestling with the bastards. She actually missed them.

BB pulled herself up to her full height and clicked her beak. ‘Well, we’d better get on with the clean-up. Lord knows we’ve got our work cut out for us.’

Bexley’s nostrils flared and Henry vented a pungent gas.

‘I, er, have an idea.’ I had to stave off the helplessness. ‘The mess will still be there in a few hours, right? So why don’t we take a break? Wind down.’

Bexley looked at me funny, squinting her eyes. ‘You’re not going to make us play Lizard in the Basement again, are you?’

I shook my head. ‘It’s called Dungeons and Dragons.’

Bexley tapped her hooves in the air. ‘Sorry, yeah. That’s the one. Basements and Lizards. I don’t think it translates well.’

Our personal AIs were brilliant, providing real-time translation so we could all communicate with relative ease. It wasn’t just about differing languages. Spock’s communication worked mostly based on scent. Bexley couldn’t hear BB’s vocal register at all. Aurora was a cloud of sentient gas – I didn’t even know how she communicated.

And then there was the fact that we all came from different species on our own worlds with diverse mythologies and experiences and physiologies and, well, some things just didn’t translate.

Darmok and Jalad were right about everything. ‘Actually, I’ve come up with something new. An idea I’ve been playing with.’

Back on Earth – before I was kidnapped by confused bounty hunters – I’d played so many different RPGs. One of my favourites was about a group of freelancers on a spaceship who took on all sorts of jobs. But now Stardust Wake had somehow become my life.

The Teapot crew were down with the idea of games – even role-playing ones. But D&D had been a massive flop. The creatures, powers, and mythologies just hadn’t translated. And, quite frankly, I winced every time I remembered saying the paladin was atop her noble steed.

I’d considered getting them to give Stardust Wake a try – but it’d be like asking a group of my fellow early twenty-first-century humans to play a game about getting up in the morning, grabbing a coffee, and going to the office.

Being so jaded had almost killed my love of gaming. But in the end, I flipped my ennui on its head and turned my life before the Teapot into an RPG.

* * *

‘So,’ I said when we were all seated. ‘Over the past few weeks—’

Bexley gently nudged me in the ribs. ‘While you were hiding in the bathroom.’

I arched an eyebrow. ‘Sure, yes. This is a game I devised while hiding in the bathroom.’ I tried to glare at her – but I couldn’t help cracking a grin.

‘I think it’s safe to say we all did our fair share of hiding from the frocking trelane.’

I blinked, checking my watch to be sure it really said: HENRY SPEAKING.

‘Wow, Henry. Thank you.’ I was pretty sure she’d never come to my defence before.

Henry rolled away from me. ‘Yeah, well, the cupping trelane made even you look civilised and refined by comparison.’

‘Whatever.’

Different species’ imaginations worked in different ways. But my new game was grounded in our reality. It was built on things we all shared: contract work, difficulty in communication, and that nigh-universal frustration when customers just wouldn’t tell you what they wanted.

The game progressed well over the next two hours. But then, as project master, I tossed a spanner into the works: scope creep. As the players considered how to adapt their strategies, I gazed out the mess hall’s massive window at the distant stars. We were in warp, which always seemed to blur their edges. In the corner of the room, there stood an array of plants we’d worked together to establish – just one of the changes we’d made in the months since Bexley bought the Teapot from our former captors.

‘I don’t see how it’s a sudden request,’ said Bexley in character as the customer. ‘The tool can’t possibly manage our inventory if it doesn’t also manage sales.’ Her eyes locked onto Aurora, who was playing the project manager.

Aurora’s rainbow receded as indigo came to the forefront. Two weeks ago, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you what that colour meant – but I’d seen enough of it in recent days to recognise it as irritation. ‘Difficult. You hired us to build an inventory management tool, not a sales tool. We’ve already used most of the allotted development time.’

Despite the annoyance indicated by Aurora’s colouring, her voice came through in the same smooth, buttery tones as always. ‘There will be an extra charge for this. But what does the developer think? How much extra work are we talking? Can it be done within the agreed schedule or do we need to delay?’

BB clucked and then hummed, a talon tapping anxiously against the table. ‘I roll the dice now, yes?’

I tapped my fists in the air. Somewhere along the way, I’d fallen into the habit of using Bexley’s version of nodding.

She picked up the plastic icosahedron and sent it clattering against the tabletop. When it stopped moving, she peered over, her bright yellow wings ruffling as she considered her response. ‘Well, er … you see … the central framework is relatively stable, so adding an inventory module is doable. But the team we outsourced the UI to is already three days overdue. We’re definitely going to need at least a few more weeks to build the new code.’

Aurora hummed as she studied her screen.

For a moment, there was silence, a question unasked … before Henry flapped a brush of some sort. ‘I could build your parking code in about nine minutes flat.’

I pinched the bridge of my nose. ‘This isn’t real life, Henry. It’s a game. You’re not the developer – you’re QA.’

Henry wheeled in a tight circle, stopping to wave her little brush in my face. ‘Excuse me. I do actually know that. This is me getting into character. My character took this job in QA because she was desperate after she lost her last job due to downsizing. Then her ex-spouse ran off with the nanny. Now she’s got a litter of seventeen children to look after and no child support coming in.’

‘I don’t think—’ I began.

But Henry wasn’t done. She held up that same brush in a sort of stop or wait gesture. ‘She wants to be an opera singer. Her ex always promised to support her, so she’s doubly bitter – having been let go from a job she loved and unable to pursue her dreams. Funnily enough, she doesn’t actually miss her snake of an ex – but she does miss the nanny. So, yes, she says she could build the code faster. And she doesn’t think very highly of BB’s dev team. So she’s definitely going to need some extra time to test the code they send.’

I bit my lips to keep from chuckling.

‘There you go, Bexley,’ Aurora said. ‘Three extra weeks – two for dev and one for QA. How’s that?’

‘Excellent!’ I thumped the table cheerfully.

Spock, who’d been snoozing under the table, awoke with a start and banged her head. ‘Ow. Bad table.’

She climbed onto the sofa with me. When she had turned three times in a circle, she lay down and went back to sleep. I ran my hand over her thick fur, scratching behind her ears.

Still, the players had finally come to an agreement on what their next actions would be.

I tapped a few keys on my phone. ‘Okay, Bexley, make a roll on the timeframe table to see how urgent your need for the new software module is. Aurora, good job with the role play, but I need you to—’

Holly interrupted me. ‘You have a message from the Office of the Galactic Minister for Refugees. Would you like to hear it now?’

‘I what?’

A quick glance around the room told me the others were receiving the same news and were equally surprised.

‘You have a message from the Office of the Galactic Minister for Refugees. Would you like to hear it now?’

I felt my pulse race as a wave of dizziness washed over me. Which was silly. It wasn’t about me. I had every right to exist in the galaxy. I paid my citizenship fees and taxes. It wasn’t like I was an illegal im igrant in the galaxy I was born in – not that there was any such thing out here in space. ‘Yeah, play it please, Holly.’

A soft voice spoke in my ear. ‘This message is being broadcast to all ships in the delta quadrant. The Galactic Minister for Refugees requests your assistance on an urgent mission. If you have capacity to take on passengers and are within about four days’ travel of the co-ordinates attached to this message, please join the minister for a Q&A session tomorrow morning. This is a paid mission. The time and dial-in details for the meeting are attached to this message. We hope to see you there. Message ends.’

Bexley clapped. ‘Ooh! A job for the Galactic Union. How exciting! And for the refugee ministry at that. I wonder what it could be? It sounds like it involves transporting people – presumably refugees. Well, I guess we’d better get back to work, cleaning this place up.’

Words: 59k

Pages: 193

Estimated reading time: 4–5 hours

When I published my first book in January 2020, someone at work laughed and asked me when I was going to quit my job.

There’s this perception out there that authors are wealthy people. And I’m sure the big names (e.g. Richard Osman, Stephen King, John Scalzi, etc.) are doing just fine.

But it’s not like that for indie authors. It’s tough out there. There are great, amazing things about being an indie author. But most of us aren’t making bank.

You know who is making money out of books? Jeff Bezos, CEO of Amazon.

You may have noticed a move in recent years of indie authors selling their books directly to you. There’s a reason for that.

If you buy a book for 0.99 from Amazon, the author gets to keep maybe 0.26 of that. Maybe. It depends on the file size. And they won’t even get that for around 3 months. But if you buy a book from an author for 0.99, the author gets to keep around 0.83. And we get that money within days.

Because that first book I mentioned? Four years later, it hasn’t come close to paying for itself.

If you can’t buy direct, libraries are a great way to get books for free while still helping authors get their fair share.