I'd been watching 80's scifi movies (The Thing) and got some ideas off of
an arcade game I saw here on campus (Area 51), and came up with this.
I decided that it was time for Foxtrot to appear in a fanfic.  Bentley
had already put Saf in one, and I thought it was only fair.  8)  Also,
there is a poker game in this chapter.  If anyone knows which is higher,
a skip straight or a flush, let me know.  I didn't bring my games rulebook
with me yesterday/today.  (I've been up all night)

It's still in beta, so no comments about the asterisks where there should
be a star's name.  8)  Unless it's a suggestion as to where they could be
headed...

May C&C flood my mailbox...please...  8)

----
				   ********
				   Memories
				   ********
			   (C) 1996 by Damon Casale

I

	"Space is a cold, empty place.  Somebody said that once.  Somebody 
understated matters by one hell of a margin.  With an average of ten light 
years between stars, in our neighborhood, there isn't much to see out here.  
Four fifths of the way to Andrew's world, a planet circling ****, the 
computer woke us up on schedule for a few mundane checks.  One of the air 
filtration units broke down again, so it stinks like shit (literally) in 
about half of the crew quarters.  At least until we can find whatever 
plugged it this time, spirits are going to run lower than usual."

	Pakker looked over the log entry.  Supposedly, this would do 
somebody some good, if ever anything went wrong and the crew all died.  
With no welcome mat at the other end of the trip, Pakker didn't much care 
about the regs.  Didn't make any difference anyhow.  Screw `em, and hope 
they had a few laughs over this when it was all over.

	"Until then, we'll keep the showers busy.  Another two and a half 
years until we're scheduled to arrive at God knows what kind of world.  All 
we're sure about is that it's habitable, whatever that's supposed to mean.  
Log entry of Sept 16, 2205.  Pakker, communications officer."

	He clicked off the tiny screen and sighed.  Well, nobody bothered 
him about the nickname any more.  On one of the early logs, he'd screwed up 
and typed "Pakker" instead of "Parker".  The gang had never let him forget 
it, and now it was just another bit of low humor to keep the boredom from 
driving him crazy.

	The chair creaked as he stood.  Damn bucket of bolts, he thought.  
He didn't care to think about how old it was, or how old that made him.  At 
least he *looked* thirty three.  Clambering slowly down the access ladder 
from the tiny "bridge", he wandered back down the corridor, hoping to catch 
a quick nap before the enforced rec period.

	No such luck.  Pakker spied Bugs wearing one of those excited grins 
on his face, coming out of the ship's lab.  And lucky him, he just happened 
to be there to hear Bugs's newest biological fascination.  You couldn't 
even sock him one like he deserved; the regs made it clear that 
"interpersonal relationships among the crew are of paramount importance to 
the success of the mission".  Bugs fell into step beside him, and started 
babbling.
	"Pack, remember that bacteria I told you I was working on from 
three rotations ago?  I finally got it to grow in a low pH solution without 
croaking.  A few more tweaks, and I might even manage urea.  The--the 
really funky part is, if he digests it like he's supposed to, we might be 
able to work it into a crude fuel source for the planet.  Isn't that 
great?"

	"Great, doc.  A bug that eats piss and shits hooch.  Now, do you 
mind?  I'd like to grab a little shuteye, and I'd rather keep lunch down 
today."
	Bugs grimaced.  "Okay, fine.  Don't get excited.  But I'm telling 
you, when the captain hears about it, she'll--"

	Pakker slapped the handpad, and the door slid closed.  For a few 
seconds, he could still hear Bugs yammering outside.  He finally gave up, 
and took his new pet with him.
	The problem with Bugs was that he'd gotten his interest in medical 
science from pulling apart insects to see what made them "work", as he put 
it.  The hobby had carried over into his profession, so he was continually 
finding new ways to get you to lose your lunch.

	Pakker collapsed on the bunk, hoping that the rest of the day 
wasn't as much of a hassle as it had been so far.  If somebody would just 
shut off the damn computer and let him sleep for the rest of his life, he 
couldn't be any happier.

	He slowly drifted off, dreaming about an old bar hangout in LA, 
hoping the manager would keep the place open for another hour....


	Darah quirked a wry smile to herself, watching the air of self-
serving annoyance float up the corridor around Bugs.  Somebody's insulted 
his microbes again, she thought.

	"...bastard.  He can't just keep his opinions to himself, he has to 
share them with everyone, and rain on my good mood.  I can't even keep..."  
Bugs's rant trailed away behind him.

	Darah tried to stifle a giggle.  It wasn't Trisha this time, then.  
Most likely Pakker.  If one wasn't sulking, the other was.  That is, unless 
they were together.  The two of them had hit it off almost as soon as 
they'd gotten a rotation together.  Pakker had started hanging around the 
labs where Trisha was *supposed* to be studying the effects of different 
planetary environments on the crew of potential colonists, and Trisha had 
picked up his habit of being generally annoyed at life.  It didn't help 
that those same labs were where Bugs usually whiled away his free hours, 
when he wasn't keeping an eye on the crew's health and morale.

	After almost two hundred years of hypersleep, and over ten of 
routine "wakeups", the crew was bound to be a little edgy.  Trisha and 
Pakker kept an even enough keel, though, so there was no use in taking any 
official action.  She might mention it to him, but Bugs had probably asked 
for it anyway.


	A few hours later, a poker game had started up.  Using simulated 
money from simulated "occupations", everyone tried his or her damndest
to cheat his neighbor out of chits of nothing.
	"Damn, the computer made me the systems programmer again.  Who's it 
think it's trying to kid?"  Bugs whined.
	Jeslow growled.  "Quit bitching and play your hand.  Match my 
twenty or fold."

	"I don't have it to spare."  Bugs threw down his cards. 

	"And you, Pakker?"
	"Yeah.  Here, now drop your hand."

	One by one, the cards fell onto the table.  3 - 5 - 7 - 9 - J, a 
skip straight.

	"Damn."  Jeslow shrugged.  "I got a flush."
	"I guess that's--"
	"Hold on a sec, pardner."  Trisha smiled.

	"Don't tell me you can beat that."
	She just smirked, curling her lip, and let her cards fall flat.

	"You sonofa..." Bugs breathed.  "You mean you just sat on that, and 
rode the pot with everyone else?"  He stared at her cards.  Three fours, a 
King, and a wild deuce.  A full house.
	"I like letting the guys think they're all of the action.  Keeps 
`em on their toes."  She gathered in the chits, and looked around the 
table.  "Anybody for another round?"

	"Yeah, as long as *I* deal this time.  I don' t trust you guys," 
Bugs sighed.
	"Fine, fine,"  She nodded back.  "You're still gonna lose."

	After a few more hands, she wasn't acting as confident.  Pakker 
finally called it quits when he managed to grab seventy percent of the 
money in the game with only a straight, ace high.
	"Where the hell did *that* come from?"  Jeslow muttered.
	"Nice and slow, I play it.  Works every time."
	Trisha gave him a sly smile.  "You sure `bout that?"

	"I won't even go there, Trish.  C'mon, duty shift's in twenty 
minutes."
	"Whose, yours or mine?"
	He smiled.  "Does it matter?"


	Twenty minutes later, nobody was worried about the duty roster.

	Darah coughed.  "One of the routine scans caught this drifting 
towards our flight path.  We thought it was just a meteoroid until we ran 
some checks on composition."
	"Don't give me the bullshit, tell me what it is," Jenslow growled.  
He'd been stuck with the maintenance post for this rotation.  His job 
varied, but this time it was the air filtration units.  He wasn't happy 
about it.

	"Just take a look for yourselves."  She flipped on the main monitor 
in the cramped lounge.
	The derelict was tumbling slowly across the screen.  Backswept 
gracefully, the ship sprouted several fins at regular intervals along its 
length.  Only the drifting tumble gave any sign that it wasn't live.

	"What a break.  Now life gets interesting."  Pakker smiled 
thoughtfully.


Damon Casale, scyth@andrew.cmu.edu

				* Love *
                 Between two people, there is nothing that
                      can draw them closer together