Sta.sh
“So if I press this…”
“No.”
“But if I adjust this—“
“No.”
“And if—“
“NO!”
A deep, irritated sigh.
“Shilee, stop acting like a two-year-old. Tinn, nobody’s saying you’re capable of doing anything useful. For Maccig’s sake, you’ve been at it for three whole HOURS now.”
“Technically, one can’t measure time in planetary units in space, and as a Primari I find it racist—“
“Continue that thought and you’re going out the airlock.”
“That’s telling him!”
“Tinn, nobody asked you anything.”
“Yeah, that stupid little snivelling—“
“SHUT! UP!”
“Stupid Primari twit!”
“Silly Carrotian simpleton!”
Pollin sank her head slowly into her hands. The dark black had given way to a bright blue. She was fast coming to the conclusion that the screen had been mocking her for the past couple of hours, and she had a feeling it would cheerfully continue to do so until she finally gave in to her impulses and put her head straight through the thing.
...
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“Continue that thought and you’re going out the airlock.”
Nice work
fuckin' warped. Zzzzzooooooooooffffff. . .