Breakaway (Expeditionary Force, #12)

by Craig Alanson

“It’s in a star system the kitties call ‘Retonovir’.” “Retonovir?” I laughed. “That sounds like a prescription drug.” I used my best Serious TV Announcer voice. “Do you suffer from itchy toes? Ask your doctor about Retonovir.”

“Of course. I will do my best to stop you.” “No, you idiot. If I’m trying to strangle him, I want you to hit him on the head, then help me get rid of the body.” He stared at his aide. “Are you sure you belong in the Ethics office?” “I ask myself that question every day,” Kinsta admitted, and bowed as he backed away.

“The hotel is a way of funneling cash into your pockets?” “Egg-zactly.” “Uh, when did you decide to build a hotel?” “Originally, the project was going to be a monorail.” “Mono- Why does your goat farm need a freakin’ monorail?” “It doesn’t, duh. I got the idea from the Simpsons!”

I had to think about that. He was right, I realized. “I guess, uh, before, I was mostly scared all the time. Frightened that I would fail, that my screw-ups would doom my people to extinction. Disaster was always hanging over my head, you know? Now, bad shit has already happened. I can’t stop it from happening, all I can do is make the assholes pay, big time. So, yeah, I’m angry. Think of this as, uh, Joe Two Point Oh, something like that.” “Hmmph,” he sniffed. “In that case, I’ll wait for Joe Two Point Three to be released. That version will have the major bugs worked out, but it’s before the feature bloat that slows everything down.”

We jumped in ten thousand kilometers from the station, which the pilots were now calling ‘Ragnar Anchorage’. I am ashamed to say, I had to ask Chandra about that name. Consider me educated now. Did the crew approve of calling the station ‘Ragnar Anchorage’ instead of ‘Semi-Automated Servicing Station 17’? Yes. So say we all!

“You don’t go to Taco Bell because you want delicious food. You go there because you’re hammered, you need greasy food in your stomach, and you want to make one last bad decision for the night.”

Amen. Although, I will always go for the Mexican Pizza combo, two tacos, and washed down with a raspberry iced tea....

“The Maxolhx named him ‘Marty’?” “No. Listen, numbskull, he, it, didn’t have a name. When I told him my name is Skippy the Magnificent, he-” “Decided that he needed a name too?” “Well, actually he decided that I’m kind of an asshole.” “I like this Marty already.” “Oh, shut up. Do you want to hear what I learned from Marty?” “I’m just, surprised that you had time for a conversation.” “We are AIs, knucklehead. We could have watched all the Star Wars movies, and had time to argue about whether the prequel or sequel trilogies sucked worse.” “That’s easy, the-” “Nobody cares what you think.” “Sorry. Please, what about the other darts?” “Hmmph,” he sniffed. “I was able to confirm that twelve of them are in perfect condition, considering their age. One of them apparently hit something about two hundred thirty-six years ago and its AI went offline.” “We’ll keep that one in reserve, we don’t actually need its jump drive to work. Should we jump ahead, to set up for hacking into the next dart in this cluster?” The weary tone of his voice concerned me. “Or do you need more time to recover?” “My brain is fried,” he shook his head and stood up straight and tall. “But I’ll power through. Proceed to the next intercept point.”

“Hmm. There’s an idea. Like a captain’s log from Star Trek? Hey, what is today’s stardate?” “Which version?” “Which version of what?” “Of the conversion of regular calendar dates to stardates, dumdum.” “It isn’t just, like,” I waved my hands in the air, “math?” “No, Joe,” he chuckled. “Star Trek used multiple schemes for stardates. In ‘The Next Generation’, stardates began with ‘4’ to designate the 24th century. The next number represented the TV show season. The other numbers were just random bullshit.” “You’re kidding me. I thought it meant, uh, you know. Real dates.” “No. Originally, the show’s producers wanted to avoid specifying when the show takes place. Later, they wanted to avoid nerds crunching numbers in their Mom’s basement, and questioning that the ship could not possibly have traveled from X to Y within the number of days listed in the script, annoying shit like that.” “Well, crap.”

I like how the author pokes fun at the fans of pop culture who spend more energy defending their pet theories than actually living real life.

“No. We already established that many children’s books are poisoning the minds of little monkeys all over your world.”

“I will begin by writing my own children’s books, instead of that crap you use for teaching little monkeys now. My first book will be The Little Engine That Said ‘Screw It’.” “Uh, what?” “Come on, Joe, try to keep up. In the classic tale, which is pure brainwashing by the way, the little engine volunteers to pull a super heavy train up a hill, when all the other engines couldn’t do it.” “Uh,” it had been a while since I read that book. “What is wrong with that?” “Seriously? First, the scenario is totally unrealistic.” “Well, sure, the engine is too small to-” “It’s not that. The union contract would not allow an engine to perform a job that was outside its craft. Try that, and boy, there would be a grievance filed, faster than you can imagine.” “It’s a children’s story, Skippy, the-” He was on a roll and ignored me. “Also, if the big engines that were designed to pull the train couldn’t do it, why would a little engine volunteer to even try? It could easily burn out a bearing, and then there would be a big hullabaloo about whether the damage was covered or not, because it did not occur during an authorized job-related activity.” “You might be over-thinking this,” I muttered before he rolled on. “Also, what is the little engine’s incentive? Is it going to be paid more that day? Noooo. Joe, you might think that story is all about the corrosive power of peer pressure.” “Really, I didn’t think that at-” “It’s even worse than that. The bigger engines bullied the little one into...

“No. Ah, I don’t mind it. Like, I don’t mind going to a hardware store. Shopping is different for guys, Skippy. For women, shopping is like a ‘Movement to Contact’. They go to see what is there, then analyze their options. For me, shopping is a raid. I establish clear objectives before I leave the starting line, hopefully gather all the intel I need beforehand. Like, does the store have what I want in stock? Once I go through the door, I want to know the exact route to the objective, without wandering through the stationary aisle or whatever. When I have what I came for, I want to egress as soon as possible, got it?” “Hmm, what about all the impulse-buy crap you usually get at the register?” “Those are targets of opportunity,” I muttered.

“I do not think there is much room to misinterpret a statement of,” Scorandum looked at the ceiling as he quoted from memory. “There will be no tolerance of the usual sneaky and underhanded nonsense from the Ethics and Compliance Office.” “Maybe the word ‘no’ was a typo?” Kinsta guessed. “Let’s go with that.” Scorandum took the tablet from the junior officer, and read the request from Home Fleet. He immediately noted that the latest request came not in an official communication from the government, but as a top-secret back channel message from the Home Fleet’s Office of Standards and Practices. The office was usually concerned with mundane subjects like determining exactly what color was best for the interior of Jeraptha warships, or how thick and soft mattresses aboard the ships should be. Including exactly how to test the thickness and softness of a mattress, where the material should be sourced, and a million other things that were so soul-crushingly boring, that no one could possibly pay attention to Standards and Practices for more than a few seconds without losing their will to live. Which made that office perfect for exchanging clandestine messages.

We’re As Shocked As You Are.

I always laugh at the names of ECO ships.

“I am altering the deal. Pray I do not alter it any further,” I said, and there was an amused snort from Mammay behind me.

You know what? I don’t care whether Han or Greedo shot first, a long long time ago. You have nothing to fear from us now. Leave us alone, and we won’t mess with you.

Han shot first! We all know that. Even George Lucas admits it.