Pirates: The Final Frontier

Bill scanned through dozens of charts as they flashed one by one on his screen. One by one the sloping contours of the vast cities and landscapes popped on to the projected screen. He bite at the quick of his nails as his eyes adjusted to the various scales of the images He carefully cradled a glass of chilled whiskey in his lap as he navigated through the massive web of information. Beer usually sufficed this early in the morning but after Rowland had informed him of their destination he needed something a little stronger. Whiskey was always a fine choice to take off the edge. He was glad he had decided to pick up a few bottles of Wild Turkey vintage 2013 before they had left. He had paid heavily for the classic, imported all the way from Earth I, but money was a non issue when it came to a good drink.

He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes while viciously trying to twist out the kinks in his spine. He hated preparing a voyage plan, the endless hours of selecting charts and shifting through the database was extremely monotonous. The fact that the ships data base and crystal chips were almost ten years old didn't help the process at all. The screens moved slowly and the load up time was entirely unacceptable. Perhaps he was just making excuses for himself; in fact he really had no desire to return to the god awful planet. Things had not gone well for him or Rowland the last time the Elizabeth Merrywinkle and her crew had visited. He loathed the idea of endangering the crew by venturing back to the vile place. Not everyone had returned after that expedition and if history were to repeat itself well...he didn't want to think about that.

After several more hours of inputting coordinates, constructing a navigation plan, and making half a bottle disappear Bill found himself at a stalemate. His head was slightly woozy from the drinks, but mostly his neck and eyes hurt from the continuous strain. Regardless he couldn't plan any further without an exact time and location for docking. At the least he would need to know what Metropolis they intended to dock at and that meant talking to the Cirlillian goons. At least he no longer had the edge to his demeanor; the half empty bottle had quickly dissipated that problem. Bill finished the last of his glass before returning it back to its wet ring on the desk.

With a little self resolve and another glass of Wild Turkey Bill was able to coerce his self into getting up from the confines of his desk. The walk from his quarters to the room was trickier than he would have imagined. The effects of the booze had somehow managed to hide until the moment he decides to stand up. This trick was not uncommon to Bill but it always managed to catch him by surprise each time. He did notice that the ship seemed very quiet this morning except for the quiet hum of some music coming from the end of the passageway. He noticed that the guy, damn if he couldn't remember his name, was no longer keeping watch outside their room. He stopped at the door for a moment trying to remember either of the two riders names. He always found a way to make an ass of himself in these kinds of situations. "Damn." he cursed to himself. It had only been the evening before when Rowland had told him their names. This was what he got for drinking so early in the morning, but it was Rowland's fault, he should not have told him such horrible news at this hour. "Christ" he muttered as he buzzed prior to entering the room.

Nothing except possibly a half bottle of whiskey could have prepared Bill for the scene he encountered on the other side of the door. Lucky for him his senses were quite numb and he was not shocked at all by the scene. In fact he felt rather apathetic if anything for someone who had just walked into a room and found two mutilated bodies. What was left of the two men was not nothing more than a mesh of red and flesh. The whole arrangement reminded Bill of something he was likely to see in a Picasso or Van Gureien painting. The two goons were now unidentifiable as two separate entities. Whoever or whatever had done this had mixed the two like a bowl of fruit in a blender. The ship didn't legally have weapons to his knowledge that would cause such carnage, but certain crew members were known to collect various weapons from strange worlds. He also was incapable of imaging any of the crew doing this with their own hands.

Bill stood dumbfounded in the midst of the doorway for to him what seemed like an eternity unsure if he was really awake or in some drunken slumber back at his desk. He forced his eyes away from the awful train wreck of splintered limbs and blood. The eerie sounds of the music they had been enjoying still lingered in the room giving it the atmosphere as if he were in some old horror movie. Bill noticed out of the corner of his eye that the large cargo box they had brought on board had been moved to their room. The front of the box no longer had any of the locks on it. Either someone curiosity had gotten the better of them or something had been let out.

The hair on Bill's neck intuitively came to attention and goose bumps rippled up his arms. He shuddered uncontrollably for a short second before regaining his posture. He suddenly felt that someone was watching him. Bill had an overwhelming regret for not bringing some kind of weapon with him. He felt very alone and wished for the comfort of the remnants of the bottle sitting at this desk. He hurriedly made his way across the room through the muck spewed on the deck. He cringed with each step as pieces of the two men fixed themselves to the souls of his boots. On second thought he wasn't sure any weapon he owned would have done either of these two men any good, for all the traveling he had done the only weapons Bill had ever procured were an old baseball bat and his sarcastic attitude.

In the left corner was the room's control panel that linked it to the ships interior communications system. The music unaware of the total horror of the whole moment continued to play on the small transmitter. He reached for the mic on the intercoms panel and tried to grasp from his mind who he should call. Some long dormant sixth sense in him alerted Bill that the presence of something was in the room with him. He clutched the mic in his shaking hand and turned around abruptly. The last thought that flickered into his mind before everything went black was something he had heard as a child growing up about no one being able to hear you scream in space.