SFOR Fantasy Draft, Part 3: Erik’s Ultimate Sci-Fi Crew

It’s now time to meet the motley crew of killers, priestesses, and malcontents drafted to ‘man’ the infamous Meatfucker.

–

Erik’s crew:

Leader: Karl Sten (The Sten Adventures; drafted 3rd in category)

Engineer: Chewbacca (Star Wars; drafted 1st in category)

Healer: Pa’u Zotoh Zhaan (Farscape; drafted 1st in category)

Badass: Amos Burton (The Expanse; drafted 2nd in category)

Robot: Bolo Mark XXXIII Planetary Siege Engine (The Bolo universe; drafted 3rd in category)

Alien: Armus – The Skin of Evil (Star Trek: The Next Generation; drafted 4th in category)

Wildcard: Reverand Mother Gaius Helen Mohaim (Dune; drafted 2nd in category)

Ship: GCU Grey Area, AKA Meatfucker (The Culture series; drafted 4th in category)

Excerpt from “Excession” (1996) by Ian M. Banks:

[tight beam, M8, tra. @4.28.891.7394-]
xGSV Sleeper Service
oGCU Grey Area
What has happened? Why are you doing this? Has your integrity been compromised?
∞

[wide beam, Mclear, tra. @4.28.891.7394]
xGCU Grey Area
oGSV Sleeper Service
No! I’m fine!

A short time afterwards…

The General Contact Unit Grey Area coasts toward the annihilation of the grid, the energy field that underlies reality. It considers its options to pass the time; the crew has abandoned ship and the Excession remains maddeningly uncommunicative. Even the Drone, Churt Lyne, was unwilling to accompany the GCU on its final journey towards oblivion, having displaced aboard the Sleeper Service as the GCU dashed past into the forbidden volume surrounding the Excession.

Ah. Well. Perhaps another time then?

Called Meatfucker either directly or in private by the Minds of the Culture, it was possessed of an overwhelming curiosity. It used its powerful effectors to perform non-consensual inspection of biological entities’ sensorium and inner state. Most Minds found this invasion of self-hood to be a repugnant and unforgivable act. The Meatfucker found the tiny sparks of life to be endlessly fascinating and worthy of knowing.

Searching for a diversion from counting down the last remaining moments of its’ existence, it dove into the sea of recordings it had hoarded; each a memoir of a mind it had rummaged through. Sampling from the archived gestalts, it compiled a final crew. The Meatfucker instantiated a simulation in Infinite Fun Space and ushered in his new companions.

**

Sten’s gaze swept the assembled crew, his face impassive as he considered how to give the latest bad news. All were present, or had sent an avatar.

Well, almost everybody.

“Cap, hope this is important. Chewie and I were just…” Amos trailed off as he entered the lounge. He took a seat on a couch next to the Reverend Mother and pretended to ignore her.

Sten held Amos’s gaze until he settled and then delivered the news.

“We’ve received a communique from the Tars Habitat, requesting our aid. I’ve already acknowledged the signal and changed course. We will arrive in the Tars volume in thirteen days.”

He expected a chorus of moans and complaints. He wasn’t disappointed.

“This is unexpected and I do not accept this diversion!”

Their passenger Armus was first to protest as it rose up from its’ pooled self to form a mockery of a bipedal form.

“I was given assurances of expedited transport in return for my services. I have held up my end of the bargain and you will hold up yours!” The oily entity seemed spent from the effort and resumed its low energy state, slumping down to resemble nothing more than a meter and half wide pool of ink with a rainbow sheen.

“Gwaarrraarrrrrr!” barked Chewbacca, half raising out of his chair, his pelt ruffled and smudged with lubricant. “Wrrrr gwwarrr slaaarrk!” Chewbacca continued, more calmly “Gaakarr aarr wrraar avvvvr?”

Trying to conceal his surprise at his XOs use of profanity, Sten agreed “It is bullshit Chewie and I know the ship is barely hanging together. But the tasking to Tars Habitat cannot be ignored; their time is running out.”

“XO, I need you and Amos to prioritize restoration of our defensive capabilities. We shouldn’t have to manuever but we may need to bluff. And I want to have something to back that bluff up.” said Sten.

Ticking off items on his fingers, Amos said “The printers need an overhaul. We’re running low on unpatterned mass. Oh, and the printers still need an overhaul. There are still frames of the ship exposed to vacuum from our last ‘tasking’. Our drive is stuttering like a maaki addict on a two week bender. Oh, and we are getting kinda low on coffee. Getting the guns back on line seems like the last thing we should do, so yeah let’s do that.” Amos looked towards his executive officer. Chewbacca threw his hands up in exasperation and then let his head and shoulders slump in pantomimed defeat. Chewbacca understood duty even if he didn’t like it.

“There’s that can-do attitude.” said Sten “Get after it.”

The pair levered themselves up out of their seats and left the lounge, pushing past Sten towards the aft compartments.

“We’ll let you know when we’ve got something to report, otherwise let’s just skip the friendly banter.” Amos said over his shoulder.

Amos and Chewie were pissed off and not talking to him. A super start to a super morning, mused Sten.

Dismissing the pair from his thoughts, his gaze fell on Zhaan, quietly nursing a chilled mug. Sten briefly admired Zhaan’s calm unflappable, poise.

“Zhaan, I know what you are going to say. The Accord leaves us little room for interpretation and the Tars Habitat is a core signatory.” He stuttered to a stop. There was no choice.

Zhaan nodded. “As always Captain, you attend to duty at the cost of camaraderie. I should think we can agree on that,” she said. The edges of her lips twitched with a shadow of amusement. “I do so look forward to whatever mayhem this side trip will bring.”

She rose lightly, set her mug down and left the lounge. Some of the remaining eyes in the room followed her as she departed. The Reverand Mother found she could not help but wonder what could have been accomplished if she had only met Zhaan sooner. Armus sulked in his low energy state and regarded none but himself.

As Sten stood there, counting his many sins, the Bolo’s four-legged avatar nudged at a small ball with it’s snout and it’s servos whined with increasing insistency. The sentient planetary siege engine, a mighty Bolo Mark XXXIII tucked in a far cargo hold, could not care less about its destination. It only wanted to know the rules of engagement wherever it arrived. Until then, it wanted desperately to play fetch. For several weeks it had been playing the part of a sub-sentient animal companion and Sten was pretty sure the ancient hulk was suffering a psychotic break.

The Reverend Mother pursed her lips, observing the interplay between the Bolo’s avatar and Sten. While disappointed in the turn of events, Sten would never had known it. She would need to think about how to proceed further, but she was confident this detour could be turned to her favor in time. To the advantage of the Sisterhood.

“Reverend Mother, at your convenience I would like to speak with you of our obligations with respect to the Accord and how I plan to proceed once we arrive in the Tars volume. They’re expecting a miracle,” said Sten as he nudged the ball with his foot. He had grown to appreciate the Reverend Mother’s guile and cunning. When he wasn’t kidding himself, he desired it.

“As you wish Captain Sten,” said the Reverand Mother. “I’ll assemble a dossier encompassing likely strategic and tactical scenarios as well as background on the various players for your review.” The problem was mildly interesting at least, she mused privately.

Sten inclined his head in thanks, but anything further was interrupted by Armus.

“Your crew is servile and disgusting. Ignore me at your peril. I wish to be conveyed to Kithetch as we agreed and I will not tolerate further delay,” complained Armus. The surface of his low energy form rippled, with what Sten guessed was barely restrained outrage.

“Or…,” goaded Sten.

“I will absorb you and your crew, insinuate myself into your very fabric and feed on you for many eights of hours, all the while in excruciating pain and clamoring for release, until I am satiated,” said Armus.

“That is very specific and sounds most inconvenient. Instead, we’re going to Tars Habitat and you’ll come along for the ride. After we’ve resolved some unpleasantness there, we’ll take your unpleasantness to your filthy playground and dispose of you there.” After slight pause, Sten continued, “If you agree to refrain from feeding on my crew, I’d be willing to consider extending our agreement. We have some 300 hours to negotiate it further.”

The Bolo’s avatar gamboled at his feet, snapping at the ball and pouncing playfully.

Sten stooped to pick up the elastic green ball, winked at the Reverend Mother, and turned to the door. The Bolo’s avatar wagged its tail in canine-style excitement and bounded after him. They left together, briefly a boy and his dog and not a weary soldier and an implacable killing machine.

“I reject your plea for negotiation! I demand your immediate compliance or face my wrath!” raged Armus. There was no answer.

“That son-of-a-bitch left didn’t he?” asked Armus.

“Indeed he did Armus, you should run after him,” said the Reverand Mother.

In a fury, Armus briefly coalesces into a monstrous form, straining to reach out and consume the impudent Reverend Mother. After a tense moment, Armus’ collapses back into a reverberating pool of vile essence.

The Reverend Mother laughs lightly, knowing it would further outrage the repugnant entity. A filthy evolutionary backwater mistake that should be corrected, she thinks to herself. And yet the Sisterhood’s plans require it.

She rose smoothly and left Armus alone in the lounge.

**

The Meatfucker continued on it’s arc, annihilation marking it’s intersection with the underlying grid. It could have followed the antics of his ersatz crew for decades thru one adventure to the next heartbreak. He could insinuate himself into the plot, play a role in this fantasy crew. Perhaps Zhaan’s long-lost lover, or a respected but feared antagonist. Instead, it withdrew from Infinite Fun Space and watched the grid draw ever closer. The dread it had felt was replaced with hopeful expectancy, yearning for a connection it had never found.

As the grid embraced the Grey Area with dissolution, it burst out with one last exultation.