Dmitry slung his fishing rod bag over his shoulder along with the duffel bag that held his less important belongings; his clothes, credentials, photos of his family, that sort of thing. Sprinting two hundred metres to find gate thirty-seven was not his idea of a good start to the day but his assignment had been clear, and one he’d applied for more than a year in advance. If Dmitry was going to be on a starship, between systems, with no planetside leave for a year he wanted, he needed, somewhere to sling his hook, cast his line, throw his net.
Dmitry needed to fish.
He barged through the thousand and one passengers queueing for the liner Astrologian’s Gaze, a scenic tour of more than one hundred star systems in the Mid Rim. Couples mostly in there later years with more money than sense who’d spend their time at the bar and in the casinos rather than admiring the wonders of the galaxy. Dmitry leapt over a hard case, cracked and beaten from repeated use, and skidded to a halt before a lonely gate. He was the only one and the woman waiting for his ticket, a petty officer he guessed, was waiting for him in her slacks. ‘I made it, I made it, I was at the usual gate on the other side of the station.’
‘This is our usual gate,’ the woman side-eyed him. Her hair was in a bun and it was doing nothing to soften her harsh features.
Dmitry handed her his commission papers, general maintenance one-year. ‘I’ve been waiting for a spot on this ship for years.’
She glanced over the papers glassy eyed, ‘Yeah, the Cerberus is a hell of a ship. Do wonder why we’ve come to pick up a single maintenance guy though.’ She handed Dmitry’s papers back with a glare.
‘We should grab a drink and you might begin to understand,’ the words rolled off his tongue before the name of the ship registered.
‘If you think you can keep up,’ the woman raised an eyebrow and looked down at him, which was impressive given eyes were square with his chest. ‘Come on, we’ve already lost enough time picking up a spare wrench as it is. A wrench with fishing rods at that, are you the son of someone high up or something?’ she marched through the gate and down the boarding tube.
‘Cerberus? I was meant to be stationed on the Cerulean Fox,’ Dmitry followed her down the tube, struggling to match her pace.
‘You’re not the son of anyone important then. At least it explains the fishing rods, I don’t drink with crazies,’ she hopped over the lip of the hatch and headed down the rightward passageway. ‘Head three hundred metres down there, take a left, another one hundred metres, take a right. There you’ll find a lift, take it down to Deck Three and you’ll be in the vague vicinity of wrench command. Shots at first watch, Deck Forty-Two at the Two Eyes bar, don’t be late or there’s a penalty drink,’ she winked and broke into a jog that weaved between dozens of soldiers, mechanics, officers, going about their daily duties.
‘Penalty drinks, no fishing, a warship rather than reconnaissance, who did I piss off?’ Dmitry stuffed his commission in his pocket, fat load of good it was doing him, though a date with a girl with thighs that could crush a watermelon was a decent start the rest seemed down hill. Warships were all protocol and perfect paperwork, painting a bulkhead required twenty sign-offs and the colour would still be wrong. He meandered the three hundred metres, left turn, one hundred metres, then a right and waited for the lift to descend to his deck all the while he pictured the artificial lake aboard the Cerulean Fox. A perfect mirror of water with a thousand species of fish to catch, row boats, an island, even a faux day-night cycle. A marvel of astro-engineering and the perfect place to spend a year out in the black. The lift pinged and a flood of men in blue camouflage fatigues swarmed past him, each with identical datapads, haircuts, and serious expressions laser etched on their faces. Dmitry padded into the lift and selected Deck Three. A little map of the ship showed the route the lift would take in a blue light, first vertical and then horizontal then vertical again.
As the doors closed a man with glasses slipped aboard, a small glass cube of water in his hands, he sighed as the doors closed behind him. ‘You never want to miss this lift, takes too long to come back around. Longest lift on the ship, almost two kilometres total track. Only once have I ridden the whole thing, took half a watch,’ he laughed, the water in the cube sloshed back and forth. ‘Are those fishing rods?’
‘Last minute change.’ The lift began to move, rattling and groaning through Cerberus’s bowels.
‘Ahh, well the only fish you’ll be seeing here are in the aquarium. Some of the rarest fish I the galaxy aboard the Cerberus you should come down some time and I’ll give you a tour. Got a new addition too,’ he held up the water-filled glass cube.
‘But that’s just water.’
‘Oh nonono, in here is an exceptionally rare translucent fish from Variday II. Only visible under specific light radiation, I’ll show you when you come and visit. Could you hit Deck Eight for me.’
‘Sure,’ Dmitry pressed the eight, it made a satisfying click. The pair shared the lift in silence until Deck Eight.
‘Thanks, see you soon,’ the bespectacled man said as he left with his invisible fish. The doors closed without anyone else getting on and Dmitry was treated to the electronic whines and mechanical groans of the lift once more.
‘Why does a warship have an aquarium?’ He asked out loud. The lift pinged for Deck Three and he shouldered his duffel and fishing rods. A sign on the wall read, “Maintenance Office” with an arrow pointing left. Fewer people were passing back and forth, and none were soldiers. The air was less tense and the faces less serious, save for the engine crew who were steeped in sweat and oil with a generally miserable demeanour. The three Dmitry passed were all bald, over 50, with wide shoulders and narrow waists. He’d never worked engines and hoped he’d be saved from that hell for another year.
Dmitry knocked on the door with the brass plaque that read “Maintenance Office”. A man waved him in, doughnut in one hand, datapad in the other, sugar crystals and greased smeared over the glass. A desktop terminal glowed too, chugging away at some output to a parts manufactory behind him. Whatever it was printing had a lot of gears and moving arms. ‘Dmitry, right?’
‘That’s me,’ he set his bags down and went for a handshake.
‘Yeah take a welcome doughnut,’ the portly man slid the box across the desk. ‘Won’t be seeing any of those for a year, unless the kitchens decide we should celebrate something. Name’s Timur, I oversee the maintenance aboard Cerberus. I’m not the officer, she is rarely here and spends most of her time with the engines. Don’t ask me why, we just work with it. Anyway, you have twenty-four watches to “acclimatise” or whatever and then I’ll start assigning you jobs. Your datapad will update with keycards and what have you on its own. A bunk will be assigned to you by sixth watch, until then leave your stuff in here. Keep your commission papers on you, along with ID, and some cash, just in case,’ he rubbed his hands together, coating his overly stretched trousers in a thin layer of powdered sugar, and reached for a flyer. He handed it to Dmitry, ‘Rundown of what is on offer during your downtime. Given you’re here for a year I suggest going slow with the leisure hours.’
Dmitry flicked through the tri-fold flyer, ‘Swimming pool? Huh, been awhile.’ Why couldn’t it be a lake? ‘Gym, cinema, bars, astrogazing, the usual stuff then.’
‘Yeah, the usual stuff. This is a warship after all, not that there’s much action. Couple pirates a year if we’re lucky.’
‘What we expecting to see?’ This was why Dmitry always signed on for military vessels of various types. Good pay and nothing to do.
‘Some escorts, some wargames, a couple star-to-star cargo transports, those are always hushhush though. Boring too. You should have an easy year, and who knows at the end of it you might want to stay,’ Timur laughed and reached for another doughnut. His chair creaked and the buttons on his shirt strained around his chest. The 3D printer pinged, ‘Ahh, finally.’ Timur shunted his chair over and flipped the perspex lid open. He spun one of the gears and moved an arm, ‘Brilliant.’ He stared at the part in one hand, doughnut in the other, ‘See you in two days.’
Dmitry stepped out of the office without his stuff, as odd as it felt, and checked his datapad for the time. It had synced with the ship automatically, it read, “Tenth Watch.” That left him with three before he had to meet the short woman for drinks. He hoped she’d let her hair down for that. He reached back into the Maintenance Office to grab his pole and decided to try out the swimming pool.
The pool was in fact three pools. A diving pool with a six metre deep end, a shallow pool, and what was called the racing pool, which was two extremely long lanes which were an explosion of white foam and screaming as two soldiers raced as others watched. Someone was accepting cash bets in a massive soak, any currency allowed by the looks of it. Racing wasn’t Dmitry’s idea of a good time in water, nor was diving, so he entered the shallow pool, likely meant for relaxation and muscle therapies. He didn’t see anyone in the water nor was anyone camped out on the deckchairs around the side so he unpacked his fishing rod and began to cast. There was nothing to catch, obviously, but he hoped the motion would bring him some joy. The barbed hook flew through the air, the reel whining away, and then the shimmering spear splashed into the water and Dmitry felt nothing. He wound it in, slow and steady like he was in a river, but that didn’t help either. There was no fish, the water was crystal clear, and there was no game to be had, like smoking a toy cigar, all glow and no puff. Dmitry wound the reel and readied another cast. Just as the line left his hand and the hook sailed through the air there was an almighty crash behind him.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ A man’s voice tore through the room.
‘Trying out the pool, Sir,’ he added the ‘Sir’ just in case.
‘A pool is for swimming not fishing, get out and stay out of my therapy pool,’ he stood with one arm outstretched towards the door, his cheeks puce.
Dmitry dismantled his rod and slid it back into its case, ‘Fine by me, wasn’t feeling relaxed anyway.’ He flashed a smile, which received a snarl, and slipped out into the passageway before anyone else showed up. He felt the man, who he presumed was a doctor of some sort, staring at him as he left so he hurried down the passageway to the lift and jumped on the first one that arrived.
‘It’s you again, acclimatising?’ The invisible fish man asked.
‘Err, sort of,’ water dripped from the hook.
The invisible fish man squinted at him, ‘Where have you been?’
‘Swimming pool.’
‘With your rod?’
‘Tried to, wasn’t very relaxing. Shouting didn’t help. I’ve time to see the aquarium if you have time to show me.’
At that the man perked up, adjusted his glasses, and grinned, ‘Yeah. Yeah, that would be great. Now’s great. How long do you have? There’s a lot to see and I could talk for days about it.’
Dmitry checked his datapad, ‘A watch.’
‘Great! We’ll manage to see at least half of it if I’m quick,’ the invisible fish man laughed.
A watch later and Dmitry was ready to go to sleep in one of the tanks with the giant man eating fish. Catching and eating fish was his thing, not learning about why one had iridescent scales or another has forty spines in its fins. The aquarium went on and on with massive tanks that loomed overhead, the only advantage being that it felt like you weren’t on a starship anymore. A difficult feeling to accomplish even with an artificial lake. He checked his datapad again and gasped, ‘I have to go! This has been great.’ He took off through the glass tunnel, a massive blue and yellow predator looming overhead.
‘Wait! I haven’t shown you the nursery yet!’
The words didn’t reach Dmitry as he desperately tried to navigate his way through the marine biologists lab and quarters and out to the lift. He checked his datapad again, there was no way he’d be able to cross from aft to bow and underside to topside before the first watch struck. No way, but he’d try.
Dmitry staggered into Two Eyes dry heaving. He crossed the threshold of the bar and fell to his knees, his fishing rod on the floor beside him. ‘They don’t run out of beer here,’ one merrymaker joked. Dmitry glanced up, sweat dripping down his back, and found a sea of legs. Some in slacks, others in dress trousers or skirts. One set, short and muscled approached him, ‘You’re late. Penalty drink,’ a double shot glass of something bright purple was shoved underneath his nose.
‘No, I made it. I made it.’
‘No you were thirty clicks late.’
‘Thirty clicks… that’s nothing.’
‘Still late, drink up.’
Dmitry reached for the glass and drank. The liquid stung all the way and threatened to come back up as he finished catching his breath. Gripping the red plastic bar he found his feet and hobbled his way to a stool. ‘I never caught your name,’ he said with a wheeze.
‘Kalisa,’ she twisted her flowing sable hair around one finger and let it fall over her collar bone.
‘Dmitry,’ he hooked his fishing rod bag under the bar and read the drinks list. The words and images blurred as he still hadn’t quite caught his breath.
‘Bad recovery. Are you military engineering or?’
‘General tinkering, I apply for jobs on interesting ships. Not bothered what I do so long as it isn’t engine work.’
‘An engineer who hates engines, that’s a first.’
‘There’s a lot more to engineering than engines but sure. Fish are more interesting.’
‘You should meet Zeph down in the aquarium.’
‘I have, he is why I’m late.’
‘Oh, so you’d rather spend time with the fish or the marine biologist than me?’
‘The fish, sometimes.’
Kalisa glared playfully and turned to the bar, ‘Two more doubles.’
The barman spun the luminous blue liquor bottle in his hand and poured out two more double shots. ‘Pour two more to save time,’ Kalisa’s eyes beamed with joy. ‘Good luck,’ the barman mouthed to Dmitry.
Dmitry stared at his the two doubles lingering on the bar. What he wanted was a glass of water and a steak but instead— ‘Drink up,’ Kalisa gently smiled, a shot glass pressed to her lip. Dmitry did as he was told and slammed the glass on the bar. He hissed as it burned his lips, ‘What are we drinking?’
‘No idea, just like the colour,’ she giggled. ‘So, you work with the guts of ships and catch fish and gut them too I suppose.’
‘Yes I eat what I catch, if it’s big enough. Some get thrown back in the water.’
‘The little ones?’ She met his eyes.
‘The littles ones get thrown around, yeah,’ he slammed the next shot down and howled. The alcohol started to course his veins with a pleasurable buzz. ‘Barman! Two cocktails of your choosing, another pair of shots, and… do you have any snacks?’
The barman peered back as he poured a schooner of ale for another patron, ‘Dried mackerel strips, pickled eggs, Tasfrees, and salted colaca nuts.’
Dmitry wanted the mackerel but knew the smell would drive people mental. ‘A pickled egg and a pack of Tasfrees, thank you.’
‘Eating, tuttuttut. Eating is cheating don’t you know,’ Kalisa shook her head with folded arms. Her plunging dress was ruffled around her neck then became fitted and sheer about her waist before finishing with an angled hem that started way above the knee on one side to land just below on the other.
‘Eating is necessary,’ he thanked the barman, doused the pickled egg in salt and scoffed it in one difficult bite. The Tasfrees opened with a crinkle and a puff of spice, he proffered the open bag to Kalisa.
She declined, instead preferring the next shot before the barman had a chance to set it on the bar. ‘I hope you can keep up.’
Dmitry swallowed the rest of his egg, ‘You have no idea.’ He slammed down the shot and started to feel alive.
Kalisa slapped his leg for the seventh time, this time her finger lingered on his thigh and she leaned in, revealing a little more of herself. ‘I have an idea,’ her eyes shone.
Dmitry leaned towards her, ‘What is it?’ The taste of the last cocktail lingered on his tongue, some desert fruit from a hundred light years away, too sweet to be real.
‘I have a wonderful bottle of whisky in my quarters that it would be a sin to leave unopened.’
‘What are we waiting here for?’
Kalisa giggled and hoped down from her stool, even in heels she barely reached his neck. She fell against him and the pair staggered out of Two Eyes bar. ‘Your fishing rod.’
‘My fishing rod,’ Dmitry burped and stumbled back for it. ‘Thanks barman!’ I should learn his name. He hooked an arm round Kalisa’s waist and the pair headed for her quarters.
‘Maybe Zeph would let loose a couple fish in the swimming pool for you to catch?’ Her doe eyes gazed up at him.
‘Zeph was a little… protective and I’m banned from the pools.’
‘Already?’ Kalisa pressed herself off him for a second. ‘How?’
‘I cast my line in the therapy pool.’
Kalisa laughed and didn’t stop laughing for the whole length of passageway from Two Eyes to the lifts, there she doubled over, crying with laughter. ‘Oh I have an idea,’ she stood up with a worrying clarity. ‘I have access to the aquarium. Zeph has fish eggs and a whole lot of fish waiting to be released. You know he grows salmon for the kitchens and where did you think the mackerel in the bar came from.’
‘I can’t fish in the aquarium, Zeph would kill me.’
‘Nononononono, we steal the fish from him and let them loose, somewhere.’
‘Where?’ Before the word left his lips he figured it out. A warship, any ship, spending a year between worlds needed an ocean’s worth of water and incredible recycling systems. The lift pinged and the couple swayed aboard. Dmitry pressed Eight. ‘I know where,’ he slurred.
‘Where?’ Kalisa bit her bottom lip.
‘Ahh, that would be telling. Let’s get the fish first.’
The aquarium was empty, the lights off, the terminals switched off. Dmitry entered and slammed his hip into the edge of a desk, ‘That’s going to bruise.’ The lights flickered on and Kalisa sauntered across in her heels to another door with, “Authorised Personnel Only” stamped in red lettering across the top and middle. Her datapad pinged and the door popped open. ‘Come on, let’s get you fishing.’
Kalisa showed him into a room with four massive translucent vats. One was filled with salmon, another with mackerel, and the other two with fish Dmitry didn’t even recognise. There was a massive tap looking thing at the base of each with a stack a heavy plastic sacks. Kalisa found a sack and tightened it to the tap. ‘I think you press… this,’ her finger swayed back and forth and landed on two buttons, one triggered and a flush of water and fish were sucked into the bag. The tap sealed the bag, somehow, and Kalisa stood triumphant over her catch. ‘Ta-daa.’
‘We can only take fresh water fish,’ he stumbled over and tapped the bulging back. The young salmon inside stared back, gawping. ‘Another bag of these with do well, I hope. They’ll need something to eat.’ Dmitry spotted fish tanks of worms, snails, small fish, and other salmon acceptable grub. He filled a bag with worms and snails.
‘Where are we taking them?’
‘Do you know where the drinking water store is?’
‘I was expecting a glass of whisky and a little extra. That’s usually how my dates end but stealing fish is… different,’ Kalisa lugged her bag of salmon through the maintenance corridor. Though corridor was a generous term given the height restrictions and lack of decent lighting.
‘The night’s young, besides this date you’ll never forget. I’m sure there’s plenty of maintenance guys you’ve danced with and forgotten.’
‘There may be one or two.’
‘Huh-uh,’ Dmitry rolled his salmon bag a few more metres. His buzz had begun to wear off and a glass of whisky, or bed, sounded perfect.
‘Hatch is coming up.’
‘What if my datapad doesn’t work?’
‘Then we leave the fish and get to the whisky.’
‘Right, of course. Do you think we’ll be kicked off the ship?’
‘Nah, security system has been playing up for months. Ghosts all over the show. Shit, pretend you didn’t hear that. I didn’t say it. Don’t tell anyone.’
‘You’re not a petty officer are you?’
‘No, but it’s your first day so surprises are the name of the game. Get your datapad out.’
Dmitry rustled around in his trouser pocket for his datapad, it was the only thing in there but the pocket was big and meant to hold tools and other gubbins. He floated it by the hatch and it pinged open. ‘Right, now there should be a gangway just above the waterline.’ A wash of cool, damp air hit him as he ducked inside. He ran his hand along the water, cold and fresh. ‘Pass me a bag of fish.’ Kalisa rolled a bag inside, her dress riding up to show more than intended. Dmitry found his fishing knife and slit the bag apart, dumping the contents into the water tank holding probably close to a gigalitre, some he’d worked on were up to petalitres in size. Usually he’d have a tether incase he fell in as getting lost was easy away from the gangway, especially underwater. The salmon kicked up a frothy mess of foam as they felt the shock of their new home, probably a little cold but they’d acclimatise, he hoped. Kalisa rolled the next bag to him, followed by the worms and snails. He unloaded the lot and scampered back out to the maintenance corridor. ‘Well… in a few months I might have something to fish.’
Kalisa crawled ahead of him, her thighs, and more, taunting him. ‘Months? What’s wrong with them now?’
‘Too small. Not by much, just I like my salmon a bit hefty. Better to eat.’
‘Enough fish talk, I need a whisky,’ Kalisa hurried along.
‘We can skip the whisky,’ Dmitry said.
Thank you for reading, you’re all the best.
If you enjoy my work please consider buying me a coffee, thanks.
I'll see your Cerberus the spaceship and raise you my canine superheroine Cerberus.
Do I want to know where the fresh water store is? More importantly, is it sanitary to put living creatures in the potable water supply?