"FWLS1" - читать интересную книгу автора (A Future We'd Like to See)

A Future We'd Like to See 1.1 - Live Slow, Die Hard
By Twoflower (Copyright 1993)

The alarm clock rings around nine in the morning. Not that
morning means anything on this damn carrier. No matter what time
of day or night, all you'll get is stars.

It normally wouldn't ring at nine, but I juryrigged it with
a quick screwdriver and toggle switch maneuver one night after I
realized the circles under my eyes didn't want to go away on
their own accord. Breakfast is at six sharp, proper military
procedure. The way I see it, this isn't no proper military, so I
don't follow their procedure. Besides, the slop they serve down
in the metal box we call the Cafeteria can give you cancer.

So, I spend my Heavily Armed Ambassadors of Friendship and
Fun recreational morning hours in the usual way, eating
dehydrated Twinkies and wallowing in grumpiness. I've perfected
wallowing to an art form. Sure, that Woody Allen weirdo from the
old flicks, before they invented holovision, might have said a
thing or two about angst, but he's got nothing on me. I am the
pessimist supreme, "La Grande Pessimiste," I guess, the one who
doesn't complain since there's no actual chance anything can be
changed.

The name, for instance. Heavily Armed Ambassadors of
Friendship and Fun. Humph. Nobody particularly liked the name,
but it was all President Doofman's staff could think of when he
threw up in response to a media question about the new military
branch's codename. "HAAFF!" it probably sounded like, judging
from the results. It was too late to change it now. Besides,
what could they change it to? The only true name for this dump
would be the Small Underpaid Bunch of Starfleet Rejects Who Pull
Off Mediocre Missions and Face Eminent Doom In The Process, and
nobody'd remember all them letters.

We pilots had a motto in this carrier. Live slow, die hard.
Lead a boring life in a quasi-military fashion, then zoom out
into the stars and get toasted before you can blink. Most of
what we did involved transport, of cargo, documents, ambassadors,
or some new miracle cure for sexually transmitted diseases...
stuff other people would love to get their hands on. You never
know when what you're carrying is actually important or not,
because for 'security reasons' all the pilot sees of it is a
little black box.

Take off. Jump-point to here. Drop off box, or pick box
up, or occasionally blow away a stray fighter of some new enemy.
Jump-point back to the carrier. Land. The same pattern, mission
in, mission out. 'Cept for the unlucky ones, who are whistling