bEr dej

He thought it would be more considerate to try and write it himself, with the pad’s stylus. Voice-to-text just didn’t have the same poignant emphasis.

[Check spelling]

The badly formed words lit up red and blue, then swirled and rearranged themselves into type. The PalmPuter checked the context a couple of times.

“Did you mean ‘dinosaur’?” It asked, in an overly happy sing-song voice, which made Alex feel stupid.
“Yeah yeah jus’ get on with it.”
“I’m sorry, I’m having difficulty understanding you, could you repeat the command?”
“I said ‘YES’.”

[Check grammar]

The PalmPuter’s assistance app – Ghotit 6000 – switched to acoustic mode and read the composition back to a sullen-faced Solvay.
After a series of particularly bad tempered “no”s “okay”s “yes”s and “ “oh smeg off”s from Alex, the letter apparently finally matched the one he’d composed in his head:

--

Dear Bedge,

I am sorry we left you on the planet.
I know you saved my life and I will always be grateful.

One day maybe we will come back and get you, or perhaps you can fly to us from the spaceport when you wake up. There might be stuff you can use to get off the planet.
If you are stuck there, Efof is living with [WORD UNKNOWN] who is a native. In a house on a hill. And maybe sometimes in a nearby tribal village.
There were loads of dinosaurs and we had to leave in a hurry. I did not have much choice.

I am so sorry.

Yours sincerely,

- Alex (Al)

---

Later:

Alex patted the affectionate Skutter. The little ‘bot had seemed pleased to see him, and nuzzled into his leg hoping for a nip of WD40. He’d not had any on him and so, still hopeful, the little fella had accompanied him to launch the swiftly cobbled probe. It was his message in a bottle - the note printed and shoved inside. Paper was reliable compared to failing electronics and the EM field was likely still functioning. He’d sent it towards the landmass on which they’d spent their time, in the hopes that it might find itself in Bedge’s iron grasp.
Perhaps somehow it would reach the marigold-fond simulant.
He didn’t really know what else he could do. Cass had insisted it would be foolhardy to attempt a return shuttle.

He bid the Skutter good night and headed to a little area he thought of as Vending Machine Alley.

‘Janine the sex machine’ – a tarty dispenser of various ‘essentials’ - gave the electronic equivalent of a wolf whistle as he rounded the corner.
“Janine.”
“Hello Alex, haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I’ve been-”
He stopped and pondered what he'd 'been', settling for “… On holiday.”
“Ooh very nice too. Any action, deary?”
“Plenty, but not the sort you mean.”
“Oh. I see…”
--

Phi’s eyes widened in surprise as Alex – still in his barbarian garb – strode down the corridor towards her. The reason for her shock was the fact that there were eight family sized packets of Doritos gripped in his teeth, a large stack of film discs held in one arm, and under the other, five multipacks of Jenson & Reg’s and a box containing… what was that? She tipped her head to read the box then flushed in realisation - twenty five tubes of a certain type of jelly.
Above the Doritos Alex’s eyes widened too.

“CarStor, bzshy” [Can’t stop, busy] he said, through the Doritos and made his way awkwardly past.

--

He chucked the haul down onto his bunk- Aw his bunk! His humble but comfy bunk, reunited with its scratchy ship issue blanket at last. What an adventure that blanket had been on – the bunk had no idea.

He locked the door manually then leaned back against it, releasing a mammoth sigh of relief.
Good Gods, it was incredible to be behind a locked door.

Bedge-chore over, he could actually take in his quarters this time.
It felt at once both very odd, and very normal, to be back.

He looked around: There was his uniform, worn for the inspection, crumpled on the floor. Boy did that seem a long time ago… but it wasn’t. Not really.
There was his hifi, with its retro tapedecks…
He looked left, at his shower, at the bunk again, then over at the mirro- bloody hell!
He moved to better see himself.
While on the planet he’d acquired a partial tan, it seemed. Which was… ‘nicely’… offset by the skimpy gear, leather arm-bands, and basic barbarian boots he was wearing…
Frankly, he looked ridiculous.

It tickled him and he found himself laughing loudly – a good, solid, genuine laugh – which was something he hadn’t done for quite a while. It felt great.
He wiped a tear and inspected the reflection again. The time on the planet had leant him a bit of a healthier appearance. He had no idea why, as much of it was spent in horrific withdrawal or brain swingingly, impossibly, drunk.
Ah, probably the latter portion of the trip, he reasoned, what with the frequent forced fighting and the disgusting protein gruel.
He moved closer. Dammit, Molly was right, he did have freckles, and there were lighter bits in his hair.
Bring me sun-shine…

“Nah… Rock” – the hifi obediently whirred on. “Twentieth Century. Nineteen eighties.”
Faultless, soul-moving guitar licks filled the room.
Nodding his head, and mumbling along with the occasional word or two he took off the leather and suede gear and, enjoying the privacy, wandered buck-naked to his locker, in search of his good friends Jacky D and Jimmy B.
Ah, there they were, unaffected by the toxic gas, reliable as ever. (At least he hoped they’d be unaffected by the gas. Meh - worth the risk.)
He took a long, pleasantly throat warming swig, scooped up part of his haul and headed for the cubicle in the corner.

Shortly after that, Alex discovered three things about showers:

1. It is possible to smoke in a shower.
2. Doritos get a bit soggy in the shower.
3. Holly popping up in your quarters, can really put a crimp in your shower.

--
--