Intergalactic Gazette by Madeleine Hart
Chapter One
Inside the Intergalactic Gazette's ancient brownstone building, actually more of a burnt orange-stone-with-greyish-tinges, Time didn't just stand still; it had altogether overlooked the place.
On one occasion Time had meandered by, stopping only long enough to drag the last infinitesimal, sub-sub-atomic, meagre pinch of nicotine out of its methanol slim. In the process of a wayward glance in the Gazette's direction, Time had suddenly been struck with the notion to try out that new sushi joint everyone had been raving about: the one that served vegetables in pancake batter lathered with low fat spicy teriyaki sauce. So then, as it turns out, Time had paused briefly outside the Intergalactic Gazette's ancient brownstone, stubbed its butt and headed uptown to chow down.
The Intergalactic Gazette is located on the planet, miai1 = m1a1λ, which is located in the remote irregular galaxy of Spurious. The Spurious system is stuck out in the nether regions of the Draco Cluster, which is located somewhere in space, which is located wherever there isn't something blocking its way. Not to say space isn't there if you can't see it. Then, conversely, it isn't there all the time if you can see it - even when you're looking at it. The whole concept is much easier to understand if you look without using your optic nerves and only half think about it.
Journalist Dube Merrick was nowhere near wherever the Gazette was.
**Pinyon Memo Decoded - From Editor Gazette to Dube Merrick**
Beginning at the beginning of the end of the gazette. STOP.
** Pinyon Memo Decoded - From Captain Dube Merrick to Editor Gazette -- GNA 05:05**
'STOP' as in stop the Beginning? Or do you mean 'STOP' as in stop what I'm doing to write the End? Or do you mean 'STOP' my craft and return?
** Pinyon Memo Decoded - From Editor Gazette to Dube Merrick -TAI
01:01:)1**
Yes, yes, do that. Stop. STOP.
** Pinyon Memo Decoded - From Editor Gazette to Dube Merrick -TAI 05:05:35**
Yes, yes, do that. Stop. STOP.
** Pinyon Memo Decoded - From Captain Dube Merrick to Editor Gazette-GNA 08:10:54**
Uhhh... sooo 'STOP' the beginning, 'STOP' the end, 'STOP' everything I'm doing?
** Pinyon Memo Decoded - From OVID (system operations command computer) aboard the ZiT-L class all-zone rated craft space-Duster to Captain Dube Merrick also aboard the ZiT-L class all-zone rated craft space-Duster, current location rear Head Compartment**
STOP memos. STOP. You're bad at them.
** Pinyon memo decoded - From Captain Dube Merrick to Editor Gazette -- GNA 15:24**
Stumbled on great story. Universal proportions. We may all die.
** Pinyon Memo Decoded - From Editor Gazette to Dube Merrick-TAI 15:29:42**
You say that for every story. STOP. For the love of Roland, are you even reading my memos? STOP End of Gazette STOP!!! See what you've done Merrick, you've made me overuse punctuation!! STOP You know how I hate that. STOP
** Pinyon Memo Decoded - From Captain Dube Merrick to Editor Gazette -- GNA 15:34**
When you say End do you mean START headline with End? er uhh STOP
**Pinyon Memo Decoded - From OVID (system operations command computer) still stuck aboard the ZiT-L class all-zone rated craft space-Duster to Captain Dube Merrick also aboard the ZiT-L class all-zone rated craft space-Duster, current location STILL IN rear Loo Compartment-GNA 15:38:23**
For the love of all the nebulas... 'STOP' sending memos. You're embarrassing yourself. STOP. PS you can't hide in the head forever. STOP.
Dube rolled his eyes as the message rolled across the monitor. Showed how all-knowing his all-knowing onboard computer was, Dube wasn't hiding in his space-Duster's toilet. He had moved on and had been hiding in the utility closet for the past hour. Comfortingly entangled in the nest of cables, Dube had been pretending he was running maintenance diagnostics but had also been redirecting some of the communication lines in order to have some privacy. He had never done that before. He was having trouble with it, not that he couldn't figure out how to do it, but with the fact he had never cut Ovid off before. And also with the fact he couldn't figure out how to do it.
Dube needed time to think about the upcoming transmission without Ovid's observations. If he was honest with himself the real reason he wasn't telling Ovid what was going on was because he was ashamed. Since Dube had never felt ashamed before, he couldn't cope and was hiding in the ship's various less roomy compartments.
Anyway, it was only temporary.
He was a few minutes late with the uplink, and thought he had missed the transmission entirely before a squelched line appeared across the dark blue screen. It was an audio transmission, but Dube had rigged the receiver so the squelch line was able to couple the audio with onscreen text. He just always preferred to look at words.
**Rerouted transmission via back channel space-Duster-GNA**
... Furthermore for some reason, in spite of your profoundly ridiculous personality, mediocre appearance and inane devotion to the dead medium of print, my client believes you have a rare talent at finding news and characters that perfectly suit our 32-hour weavework broadcasts.
Naturally there are other equally equipped reporters already employed by my client. However you do appear to have a unique gift at weaving half-truth, rumours and facts into the facade of good reporting. Therefore my client, the Intergalactic Weavework, is offering you a lucrative, high profile position. As you are aware, this is not the first offer extended to you by IGWeave, but I can assure you as their astoundingly overpaid miracle worker of a headhunter, this will be the final one. IGWeave's offer will be rescinded in 3 revolutions or 96 hours. This is Ms. Maple Smidge, Esquire/HeadHunter signing off.
**Transmission terminated**
Dube frowned. She had signed off with a peculiar happy-face decapitated head after her title. He wished he had thought of it first and put it on his watch face. But now it was ruined for him, forever associated with a Catkin recruiter who had an admonishing, not to mention nasal, attitude.
Those Catkin's were wily, a unisexual species always moving their bits around. Every Catkin he had ever met always threw Dube off. First their bits were in one place saying they were one sex type then upon next encounter different bits in different places. More than a few of them had to throw Dube off of them over the course of an evening.
Stretching first his long right leg then his arm, Dube slowly hoisted himself out of the closet. He got snapped back a few times with stray cables catching on his jacket zipper, his watch, his tool belt, and his neck. Finally he freed himself and stood serenely in the narrow corridor. The scratching hum of his ship's innards had always put him at ease.
He didn't believe for a second that bit about "other equally equipped" reporters. "Pfug," Dube snuffed. No one was his equal.
His snort let Ovid detect his location. So Dube sprinted out of the lower deck toward the - Dube stopped and ran back the other way. Being tangled in the closet compartment for so long had got him turned around. Dube loped to the bridge with the niggling thought he was forgetting more than a few things.
End of Chapter One