Thy Neighbour's Socks

Once, when he was particularly annoyed with Alex, Seymour had publically referred to him as “a glorified janitor” (much to Pancake’s complete, make-Al-want-to-punch-him-in-the-face, sniggering delight).
Perhaps he was right, though; Alex secretly supposed he was a bit janitorial, these days. Well, when he wasn’t ‘distracted’, or under assault from a deluge of destiny, or battling his way through a brutal barrage of ballbusting bale-bent bastards, or, perhaps most troubling of all, carefully comforting crying crewmates - the girl variety.
Maybe he was a janitor. Whatever. The good thing about such a role, Alex had decided, was the fact that you were allowed quiet access to most areas.
Janitors hold the ‘keys’.

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Seedy Videos

After their excursion to the Officer’s Club, Alex and Plisken had headed back to the promenade, fallen (literally in Alex’s case) into the video-screening establishment of a rather seedy looking rat by the name of George Plums, and talked drunken nonsense well into the night.
After realising the backdrop to their conversation had not been Tales of the Petting Zoo as he’d thought, but in fact several reels of rodent porn, a less-than-impressed Solvay had left his elder companion snoring in front of 9 ½ Squeaks and somehow managed to stagger back to his quarters to pass out in the safety of his own bed.

He woke at 2pm ship time the next day, feeling like crap, and guilty as hell because the oversleeping had gorged itself well into his ‘recovery and preparation’ time. But with the help of a shower, a bottle of water, the pills Dr Jade had left him the other night (it was okay to take them now, because it was to help Bedge, not himself), and a few self-slaps, he pulled himself together enough to begin.
And, for the first time in ages, he braved his classic blue coveralls. They felt pretty good, comfortable, an easy to work in extension of himself.
Hardly ‘verge-of-death-and-covered-in-me-own-blood’y at all.

All day he gathered supplies which would be useful during Operation Bring-Back-Bedge (not the most catchy of titles, he had to admit, but hey, he was hungover). And all day he fought the urge to drink again, pushing it to the back of his mind, ignoring it like the attention-seeking bully it was. He kept himself on track by picturing Bedge’s tragically inert, soul-saddening form, flopped under the bushes, about to be snatched by a herd of a hundred horrible Haruk.

Half Inchin’

In the past Alex had spent a few spells in Juvie for shoplifting, and done a little time as an adult - most recently (as ‘recently’ as anything could seem, these days) for stealing jewellery from a client to buy a big bag of DS, meaning he’d been done for both stealing and unlicensed prostitution (fortunately Mimas was so messed up itself that at the time these were seen as very minor crimes and he’d only spent a couple of months inside for it) - but it had been a long while since Alex had thieved anything. Today, however, he was feeling edgy, and he figured he needed to stock up on quality supplies if he was to recover Bedge successfully, and live a comfortable life should he become stranded on the planet.
Where was the best place to find apparent ‘quality’ on board the Dwarf? Seymour’s apartment, of course.
He’d moseyed on over there and, hoping Holly was distracted, discreetly let himself in for a poke around. “Perks of being a ‘janitor’ eh, Seymour?”
Unfortunately it was useless, the place was just filled with a bunch of fiddly boring old nicknacks and posh crap which Seymour no-doubt considered priceless. Alex considered them worthless. He did come across a bottle of fine, elderly wine, however, and took it. Just in case.
He felt pretty bad, entering his crew-mates’ quarters while they were absent, but, he reasoned, it’s not like most people weren’t used to his - well, Bedge’s - comings and goings. Sure it might have been Bedge they allowed in and out, but who worked with Bedge? Him.
Who bossed Bedg- Uh, that is, who often directed Bedge in his duties? Him.
Who was team-leader of their two man repair-team? Him.
So it was only like good ole Bedge was going about the place, doing some fixing up. Kind of.

Alex tried not to catch his guilty reflection in people’s mirrors.

He robbed everyone in as respectful a way as possible, making sure not to poke about in, or look at, anything which seemed private.

After what he’d seen on Fernandos, Alex knew a room which could be of benefit was Jacky’s. He snuck in, brow-quirking around at the posters, and - with a mild pang of guilt - stole what remained of the lad’s stash.

Next, he made his way back up to the makeshift medi bay, checked on Jay (who - as far as he could tell - seemed to be doing okay), and rifled through the cupboards, nicking a bunch of stuff he thought might come in handy, such as bandages, painkillers and some other pills which a quick scan with his PalmPuter told him were antibiotics.

After working through the human-inhabited portion of the ship, helping himself to various useful items which didn’t belong to him, from various crewmates he wouldn’t be able to look in the eye again, Alex visited a few of his favourite vending machines, stuffing a second large compartment of his bag with non-perishables, chocolate, and many, many cigarettes.
In a third section he packed handy things like tools, flashlights, hamster-bargained rope, flares, weapons which he didn’t want to use but would if it came to it, his PalmPuter (not that he expected it to work), changes of clothes, a comb, his favourite ship’s-basics soap, a few razors, a toothbrush and so on. He also packed several flasks of water. And several flasks of… not water.
Feeling especially sex-starved and hard done by, there’d even been a point where he’d seriously considered - but ultimately decided against - taking one of Justin’s inflatable friends. Tempting as it was, the thought of touching something Pancake had… probed… was just a bit too much. Five pairs of Jay’s comfy-looking socks, however, would do nicely, thank you very much indeedy.

Dinner

He took an evening meal in the canteen with Plisken, who’d recovered remarkably well from the previous night’s shenanigans – in fact, for some reason he looked great.
Alex forced himself to eat well for the energy, and decided not to tell Plisken the sim-saving plan, for fear the older guy might try and stop him.
Not much in the mood for talking, Alex had grumblingly managed to convince Plisk to tell one of his stories. As the tale began, Alex actually relaxed a little, stopped eating at 100mph and began to enjoy his dinner. However, before long he realised the story was a morality tale about stealing, which sent a worried jolt through his stomach and made him wonder if Plisken had been monitoring his activities.

After dinner, the story having knocked some sense back into him, he left Plisken puffing away on a pipe and slipped off to return the stolen items, offering a bow-headed silent apology to each crew member he’d taken from. Sorry Jacky. May this stash bring you as much serenity as I was hoping it would me.
Sorry Jay. They looked soft. And so on.
He also muttered something that anyone listening might have taken to be a humble prayer “Forgive me...”

As he plodded along corridor 77b, in the midst of his goods-returning duties, he wondered what the hell was happening to him lately. Stealing? Really? What was he, a bratty teenager? He was falling apart. He’d done a relatively good job of holding things together after emerging from stasis, but recently it was getting harder. By his reckoning it should have been getting easier.

“Once a loser, always a loser” reminded Jessica, the Wronged-Wife, from somewhere deep within his memory bank.
“Shut up, Jess” he muttered, lighting a Jenson to try and take the edge off the poignancy.
A few more strides and another, completely contrasting, sentence hit, and the flash of the accompanying image punched him in the heart. It was Jess again, and the kids, but this time it was before all the ugliness, before she’d really known his weaknesses. He was pushing the little ones on a swing set he’d made, while she sat nearby eating an ice cream. Her smile conveyed everything unuttered, and four simple words was all she’d said aloud, words which at the time were lovely, sweet, meant… but light-hearted and non-momentous. Words which now were so futile, and so utterly yearned for even before the incident, that the force of their recollection – that they’d existed – and the hopelessness of their recapture, caused him to stop and sink to his knees, right there in the middle of the corridor.

“Such a good daddy.”

Being stabbed by the huzard had hurt less.

---

After the vivid recollection, he’d promptly stopped returning people’s stuff and spent several horribly unsuccessful hours frantically searching for the time drive, coming up with absolutely nothing, the hyperactivity resulting only in a very bewildered Plisken who’d told him to stop tearing past like a tornado. Eventually, knowing it was useless, he whispered promises across time, and forced himself back to his previous tasks.
One foot in front of the other.

Scouting for badgers

During the duel task of a last minute equipment scout before bed, and the return of Seymour’s wine, Solvay had, disappointingly, wound up back in Whiskers’s bar.
To be fair, though, he hadn’t actually meant to, but he’d been thrown into a discussion with an arrogant, English-speaking, badger who he’d walked into and almost knocked flying. The pompous creature claimed that Alex had purposely startled him, that if he suffered a heart attack it was ‘the idiot human’s fault’, and – in response to Solvay’s snorts of derision - that the blue-clad man clearly had no idea what it was like to endure full-on animal-panic.
Alex had irritably informed the badger that, when he found himself in a Mimian basement, with a saline-filled scrotum the size of a space-hopper - having forgotten the safe word - then the stupid critter would be qualified to preach to Alex about panic. The badger had blustered on, with no idea what Alex was talking about, and had demanded a drink in apology. Alex, being a fair sort, obliged.

In order to be at his best for Bedge, Alex needed a clear head and an early night, but, thing was, he also needed a drink. After a full fifteen minutes’ internal battle – during which Bernard the Badger was impatiently and repeatedly snapping “well? Are you joining me or not?” Alex’d come to the conclusion that one or two wouldn’t hurt… They’d just dull the edges of the painful echo he was still feeling.
He’d only have a couple.

---

Five hours later:

“You know what… You know what I think?” Bernard swung his head towards Alex, in drunken sincerity.
“You wanna munch on some sunflower seeds.”
“Thas… Tha’s a stereotype.”
“Oh.”
“An’ I’m a badger, not a gerbil. I TOLD you.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway, a’way. You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think actually you’re a good man.”

Alex stared into the badger’s bloodshot eyes. “Don’t” he waved a finger “… don’t over-estimate me, Bernard. Uh’m not as nice as I seem.” To demonstrate the point, he patted his belly – which was currently a barrel of Whiskers’s alcohol and the thoughtlessly consumed ancient, expensive wine he’d been ferrying home - and flicked the empty bottle. Shit, Seymour would blow a gasket.
“You misssu’erstand” the badger replied.
“Oh?”
“You don’t SEEM… no no, you don’t SEEM nice. At all.”
“Oh.”
“You SEEM like a jerk.”
“Oh.”
“I just think you’re probably a good jerk.”
In his mind-treacled state Alex wasn’t really sure how to respond. He settled for another “Oh.”
“Something else, something else.”
“Yes?”
“No hamster…” he waved a paw in Alex’s direction “…or man…” (he said it like it was a dirty word) “…is an island. So the saying goes.”
Alex scowled and wondered why he’d bothered spilling his guts to the furry bastard in the first place.
“Oh smeg off.”

---

Mornin’

He woke at 2pm ship time the next day (again), feeling like crap (again), and guilty as hell (again)… he’d meant to be up at nine, because today was the day he’d scheduled to head back... to Fernandos.

He’d have liked to have said good bye to the others, but they were still off fishing.
“Hol, why did they go fishing without me anyway?”
“Eh?”
“The others, why have they gone fishing without me?”
“They 'aven’t.”
“You said the others went away to-“
“Well yes, they did go away…” Holly offered, somewhat distractedly.
Alex glared impatiently.
“… But they’re back now.”
“They’re back?”
“Looks that way. I hope this is them arriving anyway, because if its not, well, you’re probably gonna have your work cut out for you.”
One of Alex’s eyes bugged. “What do you mean?”
“An unknown craft full of life-forms has just entered the hangar bay.”
“You let it in without question!?”
“Yes.”
“Holly! Why!?”
“Well where else were they gonna land?”

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