I was bored.
The gym is rewarding, and there are fascinating books everywhere, and some of the ignorant fools in the lounge are beginning to warm up to me, but with all that, there are just so many naps a grown man can endure. There's little hope of reconnecting with that lady from the university, so I began to cast about for other things to do.
What? Go to work? Why? They'll pay me anyway, and right now I mess up more than not. Yesterday, in one shift, I soaked the tarmac with fuel, botched a freight inspection, delayed a shipment, fell asleep reading a tech manual, ruined a repair job, blew up a batch of fuel (which almost put me in sick bay AGAIN), and almost got caught with another batch that had somehow been modified. I think the port will survive without me for a while. Better that they should pay me for nothing than for doing so much damage. It makes me think twice about sick bay.
Even my new "employers" had found disappointment as I'd gotten lost in the middle of one of their important tasks, and I'm pretty sure they had to send someone else to clean up my mess. Let's just say they're not talking to me for now.
I was headed back to my private stash of books when I heard some commotion at the bar. Usually I won't even go there, but someone clearly needed help. I'd just taken a shot -- I mean a class -- on repairing things, and the barkeep was desperately pleading for help with a robot that wasn't quite all there -- much like some of the patrons.
Well, that led to an exciting game of cat and mouse that landed me in the brig over a misunderstanding. Later I went back and the robot was back but still doing the same thing, so here we went all over again, and I learned a few things in the process about how things are done around here. Those robots are easy to fix, but mind you, wherever they are, you have even less privacy than you ever thought.
Then there was a rather unique situation at the cloning center. I stopped by to spy on that guy who keeps telling me he has something I need to know when a bunch of Prometheans came along and tried to murder some dead woman, only they may not have even been Prometheans at all. Well, that was a bit more exciting than chasing after a wayward robot, and I actually traveled for the first time I can recall (other than my flashbacks and dreams, which they say are a defect).
The G-forces can be brutal, but rest easy, as rations pouches do indeed make good barf bags. Reduce, reuse, recycle . . . hmmmmm . . .
At the end of the day, I got a message from my boss. I was afraid to open it . . . Turns out I'd been promoted to refueling tech. Fancy that. I wonder how much I have to mess up to become a ship inspector.