Bad Mofo

Spirit of Owl stood swaying in the galley, reading the dish washing rota as best he could with one eye twitching like a butterfly in its death throes. For what possible reason it might amuse certain members of the crew to replace his name with "Dances with Elves" he could not fathom but he was determined they would not pollute his soul with their pettiness. He thumbed the button on his belt mounted hypnoticantipsychotic applicator and gradually felt the red mists fade from his mind, to be replaced by the faint impression of birds singing and the wind ruffling his feathers.

"There is no spoon... there is no spoon... there is no-"

He stopped abrubtly as Perreira lifted a hot teaspoon from his coffee and dropped it deftly down Spirit of Owl's neck. Gritting his teeth and thumbing wildly at his medication, Spirit of Owl left the galley in a king sized huff.

With wings.

Cursed by the uncanny ability to see the Ultimate Truth of the Universe, Owl found it difficult to relate to his crew mates at times. Lacking the inately human characteristic of self deception he was unable to lie to himself about how his crewmates were "OK really, just a little high sprited on occasion," and was forced to face the constant undeniable reality that they were in fact a bunch of drunken degenerates who flung themselves through life on a wing and a prayer and yet somehow managed to always come up smelling of, if not roses, fairly high grade machine oil and decent enough liquor (and pie too, in some cases).

Although he didn't know it, this was a characteristic he shared with Franklin, PSM Cheyenne's metal masterpiece. It must be noted, however, that a talent for seeing things as they really are is truly a mixed blessing.

In the engine room, Franklin was attempting to indicate to Cheyenne the cause of his consternation by gesturing frantically at his console.

"What?! What is it? For the last time, I don't see anything!! What are you trying to tell me? If you can't talk sense just shut up will you?!" screamed Cheyenne in bewilderment at his protoge's remonstrations. Finally, having been presented with a viable alternative to attempting to carry out his basic science droid's duty of communicating the sense of danger he experienced in every circuit of his being, Franklin switched immediately to cruise mode and the stress level indicators in his eye sockets stopped flashing red and blue and instead suffused a deep oceanic green, indicating plain sailing for the forseeable future.

"Thank you... I think..." muttered Cheyenne distractedly whilst trying to focus his attention on discovering the cause of the recent near death experience felt by both ship and crew, totally unaware that at that exact moment the cause was standing by a recently patched rupture in the outer hull near the entrance to the galley. The reason he was unaware of its presence was simply that, as human - or at least humanoid - the crew of the Beefheart were unable to see True Evil when they saw it. This is a trait we all share and is simply the survival instinct inherent in all humans which when faced with the suffering caused by evil in its purest forms will scream, "Don't get involved!!"

Being an intelligent, rational, thinking machine capable of emotion, however, Kingston could see it, but having been offered a more attractive alternative he chose to believe his protestations were useless and so decided to shut up as instructed. In this, not only by choosing the path of least resistance but in so many other ways too, he became daily more human.

Meanwhile outside the galley, a shadowy form extended its tendrils to test the limits of its latest manifestation. Light shifted uneasily around it as though it would rather be elsewhere which, quite frankly, was true.

"So, solid pass through fluid but not through solid, right?" it breathed with a sound like a death certificate sliding off a mortician's table onto an unswept floor.

"Yes! And as we're hoping to remain inconspicuous for the time being I'd thank you to remember that!", responded its companion irritably, giving the impression to anyone who cared to listen of a thousand tungsten ball bearings beneath the wheels of a locomotive just beginning to show the first stages of failing under the strain.

"I don't know... it's a pretty bloody weird setup, isn't it? Four dimensions and they're all in different directions? What the hell's that all about then?"

"Yes, well that's just the way things are done here so the next time try and manifest your physical form inside where you want to go, not just near it. They tend to notice when we interrupt their journeys by appearing where they're going to be and waiting for them to catch up!"

"All right, all right, give it a rest why don't you! I'm sure they didn't have time the last time I was here... I mean.. they weren't governed by it in quite the same way before... you know...the unpleasantness..."

The voice seeped uncomfortably into the metalwork of the ship until finally in some dark and forgotten corner of the hull's outer sheilding a heat resistant plate detached itself and drifted slowly away into the cosmos, carrying with it the suicide note of a sheetmetal worker who had riveted it in place before severing his umbilical line and casting himself free of the rigging of dock Alpha 17 Green on the lunar space port of the Sea of Tranquility ("Rest assured, we'll send you on your way soon enough!") in the mistaken belief his fiance had been cheating on him with his brother whilst they had actually been planning him a surprise birthday party.

"Not my problem", muttered Owl to himself as he left the galley. "They can all go fu-"

He stopped in mid oath as he came face to face with evil in its natural state. Instinctively, his thumb convulsed on the medicinal applicator but the more the drugs kicked in to suppress his delusional tendencies, the more Owl saw the apparition before him for what it really was. Finally, his concious mind having thrown in the towel completely and wandered off to play spillikins with his sense of irony, Owl's Primal Self took charge and plumped for Door Number Two in the great "Fight or Flight" Game Show of Life.

Outside his ready room, Beefheart was attempting to explain to Ubermilf the little misunderstanding she may have experienced whilst simultaneously holding a clipboard in his outstretched arm to protect the modesty of Taoski's naked astral self, which at that moment was pointedly studying the hessian wall weave in use outside the Captain's ready room and trying with all its might not to giggle.

"So, we just need to swing by Ursa Minor, let Tao pick up his... er... belongings and settle his hotel bill, and we can be on our way," offered Beefheart, trying to make it sound like the most natural thing imaginable.

"Uh huh. Sir. Well, I'm sure that's perfectly in order. Sir."

Ubermilf's clipped tone made the Captain feel uncomfortably like he needed to tidy his room. He had to maintain discipline, goddamit, but when she spoke to him that way, like she was just so... disappointed... he didn't know what to do and longed for a way out of the conversational stalemate.

At that moment, Spirit of Owl rounded the corner screaming like a banshee and ran straight through Taoski's astral form. He skidded to a halt, turned, rolled his eyes wildly for a moment then resumed his screaming passage.

Taoski cocked his head contemplatively and pondered the experience while the Captain and his most trusted of Lieutenants stared vacantly at the empty space recently occupied by Spirit of Owl's desperate figure.

Siezing the monent, the Captain cleared his throat and enquired: "Is he self medicating again?"