My Pipe

<Snip>
Someone snorted.
The Ssala exchanged bemused glances.

Well, the conversation was off to a steaming start.
</Snip>

Plisken dug into his coat pocket, searching for his own pipe. Everyone's attention was directed at the Jamie and Seymour and those aliens whose name Plisken had quickly forgotten. Without thinking made a little 'Ah!' sound when his hand finally coiled around the smooth wood of the pipe. He settled the pipe on between his legs and used his only working arm to pad himself down for some tobacco- or what he assumed was tobacco. Having bought the foul smelling stuff from a trader on Io over 10 years ago (well, 3 million and 10 years ago), Plisken never got the courage to try it. But with the lack of other sources of nicotine on the Blue Dwarf, Plisken had resorted to smoking the strange red leaves in the small brown packet labelled QuickaDeath – The System’s Strongest Tobacco. The fact this was written in yellow crayon didn’t dissuade him. And now Plisken pulled out the little packet and scraped what was left into the bowl of the pipe, filling it to the brim. The packet was crumpled and stuffed into the pocket, only to be replaced by a long wooden match. Plisken struck it across the remains of his now defunct arm, a small flame leaping into life. The flame was plunged into the bowl of the pipe and quickly waved out. Plisken only caught the attention of Alex. Plisken merely mouthed the word ‘What?’ and gave a little smile. From the pipe, blossomed red smoke which filled the room with its surprisingly pleasant aroma. He clamped the pipe between his bearded mouth and chewed happily, the spicy taste an enjoyable tang. He drew in a breath and the pipe’s bowl glowed a blazing orange colour.
“You really should pay attention you know,” muttered Garth, who was sat next to Plisken.
“Who, me? Pah, alien meetings? Done it loads of times. In fact this reminds me of the time we landed on the planet Bombadil. We had jus-.”
“Look Ja- I mean Plisken, we don’t have time for your war stories.” Garth struggled to call the aged man by Plisken, often referring to him by his previous name and only remembering after a sharp look for Plisken.
Plisken shrugged and turned his attention back to the meeting of the minds. Whatever was being said didn’t make much sense to Plisken. Nor did he really care. He had done this whole thing more than a few times and after the second it gets kind of old. Plisken laughed out loud, seeing the irony in his thoughts. Everyone gave him a sharp look before Plisken blanketed himself in a cloud of smoke.

"You know, I'm going to be leaving soon," whispered Garth.

"Not before you fix this aging problem of mine," whispered Plisken back, leaning over so that he could be heard better.

"We all age Jac- Plisken."

"Yeah, not like this though," said Plisken slightly too loudly.

"Well, I'll look into it but shouldn't you get one of your own doctors to do it? Medicine was never my thing."

"That's right," said Plisken sharply, "You prefered the science that killed people."

"And you didn't, Commodore?"

Plisken folded his arms and sat up straight but felt a pang in his back. His hand swept behind to massage the pain but to no avail. He was really old.