Better Red Than Dead

Randy's Personal Log, Stardate 2107ish

So we met us our new leadin’ lady this week and she’s a real piece o’ work. Kruss was a bit o’ a bastard, but this dame’s fetchin’ to git us all killed in short order. She’s not just a social climber, she’s takin’ god damn flyin’ lessons. An’ who’s the wind beneath her wings? Well, better damn well be us or we’ll be seein’ whatfor. A real damned if yeh do, damned if yeh don’t.

First order o’ bizness is ta deliver some meanin’less cargo to some ol’ rock in a asteroid field. We was gunna be honour guards or some such, but that’d be too sweet an assignment fer littl’ ol’ us. Plus, I gotta admit, we can’t march two feet without trippin’ on somethin’.

Anyhoo, PO lady put Rookie in charge… I gotta say it were a whim, cuz there ain’t no good reason for it otherwise. The guy sez that we jest need a co-pilot fer drivin’ through these floatin’ speedbumps, but as it turns out, he’d never bin outta the sim his own self. I thought we was goners jest leavin’ the damn ship.

Well, we turned over the cons to the copilot toot sweet, but that didn’t save us more’n a coupla bumps. Still got shook around a mite, and blew half our systems to the big digital disk in the sky. Luckily, we only have ’bout 3 times as far ta go. What could possibly go wrong?

Well, among that list might jest happen to be space pirates, a few of which we ended up runnin’ inta. They near blew us a new airlock, but Rookie bedazzled ‘em inta thinkin’ we’d be minions, then I blew a hole in their ship. Left us with a prizner and a new ship, ‘n’ hopefully we won’t be doin’ anything near as dangerous fer a while.

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