Here's some piratepunk scifi for ye! (Sorry, couldn't resist). One of my entries for the qualifying rounds for the SFSD8, coming in at just around 1500 words, I hope you enjoy this quick little story of Adam and Captain de Berry. Happy reading--

______________

The Wandering Human
By: SP Parish (c) 2014

Adam ran his hands over his face, I should just quit, he thought to himself, as he ascended the stairs down to Hooligan's Pub. Beyond the dingy, barred window, the familiar shadows and sounds set his mouth to watering. With one hand, he reached towards the door, pushing his weight behind it while the other went to his tie, It's not like they'd miss me, and this is Chicago for God's sake. There are a million PR—

The thought stopped dead as Adam crossed the threshold, into the slick-floored interior of the pub. His hand flew to his mouth, as his face pinched in disgust. What is that smell? He thought, And where the hell am I? 

The dingy, dinted oak and plastic of Hooligans was gone. Adam ducked his head back out the door, fresh air, tinged with the familiar smell of exhaust brushed his face. He confirmed he was in the right place—Hooligan's Irish Pub and Eats, where he had spent at least five nights a week for the past year, where he had drowned the sorrows of his pursuit of the American Dream in greasy food and cheap pints. 

He had been here roughly twenty-four hours ago, shutting down the bar with Miles, the malodorous barkeep. Sitting right there, two seats down from the end of the bar, far away enough from the door that every bite of his burger didn't taste like car fumes. 

The thing was, his seat wasn't there. Nothing was there. Well, nothing that he remembered, anyways. 

Adam shook his head, and made his way over to the bar, anyways. Since he was here, he might as well eat something. 

Although Adam considered himself a polite man, he found it difficult to stare at the after-work drink crowd. The lot of them, he remarked to himself, and himself only, looked as if they were on their way home not from work, but a comic book collection. He had to admit, though, the guy in the alien costume in the corner? That was one realistic mask. Adam could have sworn he blinked at him when he glanced that way earlier. 

As he slid onto his seat-- a soft, black cushion atop a chrome stool—he shook it off. He was an open-minded young professional in one of the greatest cities in the world. He could hang with anyone. It's what made him such a great PR rep, even when he hated it so. Adam could blow smoke in anyone's direction and make them believe it was gold. 

Adam lifted his hand, signaling the bartender. The man in question nodded in Adam's direction, signaling he'd be over in a minute. Adam set the sticky menu back in its place between two stone salt and pepper shakers and cut his eyes upwards, The Sunk'n Norwegian, the words were painted on a polished piece of wood that hung above the mirrored shelves of liquor on the back wall. To Adam, it looked frightfully out of place. 

The bartender slapped the sign with the tip of the rag he kept over his shoulder, causing Adam to jump where he sat. "Admirin' my sign, are ye?" he asked Adam as he slid a pint his way. Adam opened his mouth to reply, but found that, in his shock, no words came out. The bartender reached out a six-fingered hand as he threw the rag back over his shoulder, "Name's Milo, and I own the old beaut. Let the third missus talk me into redecorating," he gestured around, "in case you were wondering about the shine." 

The last word slid between Milo’s rusty brown teeth. Adam may have reacted to the slight dingy bartender’s manners, however he was a bit off put by Milo's third eye blinking at him from his forehead. Milo followed his stare, "Ah," Milo said, looking back at him, "Never seen an Extro before, have ye?" 

Adam, not trusting his vocal chords, shook his head, burying his face in his beer. 

Milo gave him a three-eyed squint from across the bar top, thoughts racing across his face. Coming to some sort of conclusion, Milo grunted, "Hmmph, alrighty then, what'll it be?"

Adam waved the menu the Extros handed him, "Do you have a burger?" he asked. 

Milo rolled his eyes. All of them. "Do we have a burger? Pah! Only the best you've ever seen in the seven galaxies, wandering human." 

"I'll— I'll take that, then. Please." Milo nodded and walked away, slapping Adam's order on the counter behind him. Adam nearly choked on his beer as it dissolved into the wall. 

Where the hell was he? 

In an instance, Adam decided that it was best for him to mind his own business at the bar ofThe Sunk'n Norwegian. He was trying hard not to stare at two …things having a conversation across the way. One looked human enough, save the green tint to his skin and slightly pointed ears, but the other? Adam shuddered thinking about it. The thing was, everyone around him seemed to be in the middle of some disagreement. It was louder than any other bar that Adam had ever had the decency to grace. Not only that, but Adam couldn’t make out what any of them were saying. He rolled his eyes to himself when a nearby table went tumbling end over end. Adam cringed, and began mapping his way out of the place when the first discernable conversation he’d heard all night tickled his ears.

“—not going to do it, Zax.” A delightfully feminine voice said. Adam could barely make out the conversation, lost as it was in the noise all around. Looking both directions, he determined no one was paying him any mind, picked up his beer, and slyly sought out the direction of the English-speaking conversation.

To the left, his brain suggested. Adam’s eyes, and feet, followed.

They were a strange duo—one a woman, and the other a man. The third at the table, who was doing none of the talking, but was watching the room with sharp eyes, bore a striking resemblance to a gorilla.

The most striking differences, however, were not their genders, or species, but the way they were dressed. The man, Zax she had called him, was donned in a sleek, black and silver bodysuit. Adam could see that, at his waist, was what looked like a utility belt. The only thing that was for certain was that there, on his hip, gleamed a silver sword.

Zax was shaking his head as Adam found a seat with an unobstructed, albeit unobvious view of the strange trio.

“Charlotte,” Zax started.

“That’s Captain to you, sir. You would do well to remember it,” the woman’s words rolled off her tongue with a delightful English accent. Adam felt his heart swoon. Leather leggings disappeared into the tops of well-made boots that just crossed the tops of her knees. The white of her lacy white shirt was offset by the burgundy kerchief wrapped around the top of the chestnut locks that spilled down her back.

His eyes were getting lost in the colonial dress of Captain Charlotte when Milo slammed a plate down in front of him. Adam jumped in his seat, and Milo looked knowingly between him and the table nearby. “You’d do well enough to leave that,” he jerked his chin over his shoulder, “alone, wandering human.”

Adam craned his neck around Milo to see the Captain Charlotte cross her arms and stare her companion down across the table. Zax leaned in close, and Adam lost track of the conversation. “Who is that?” Adam asked Milo.

Milo gave a sad sigh, “The one you mean is Captain de Berry—the meanest pirate to sail the seas under the reign of King Charles I.”

Adam’s gaze jerked back to the bartender, “King Charles?” he asked, “That makes her at least,” he did the math in his head, “four-hundred years old.”

It was Milo’s turn to scoff, and scoff he did, “Pssh—boy, what, you think The Sunk'n Norwegian is constrained by such a small thing as time?” He let out a laugh that blended in with the noise of the bar, “She seeks out the bounty that is rightfully hers, and nothin’ stands in her way.”

Adam gulped, “And what bounty is that, Milo?”

Milo’s eyes appraised him knowingly, “Why, it’s the bounty of the wandering soul, lad.” He began to back away, “Better ask yourself how you ended up aboard.”

Adam watched Milo take his place behind the bar. The wandering soul, he thought, Does that mean that I’m—

Over a’ways, Captain de Berry slammed her fist down on the table. She stood up, and Adam saw the glint of steel on her hip, but what caught something inside of him was the glint in her eyes. One hand on her hilt, the other in her companion’s face, every piece of the woman said threat. All but her tone. Her tone said death.

“You stay away from me, Zax Montain. I’ll have no part of your pillaging and dishonor. I will rebuild my crew, and we will see you on the seven seas.” She leaned in closer, both hands on the table, “And you won’t live to tell the tale.”

With that, Captain de Berry made her way towards the door of The Sunk'n Norwegian. Adam was roused from his stupor as she reached out for the door. Across the room, behind the bar, Milos met his gaze, his three eyes asking, Well wandering human, what are ye goin’ to do?

Adam stood from the table, paying no mind to his chair hitting the ground behind him. Milo shook his head as Adam reached the door, “Good luck, and God’s speed, wandering human,” he said.

Adam pushed open the door and blinked at the change as the bright light of the open sea hit his eyes. He doubled over as a bundle of clothes hit him in the stomach. Adam looked up into the face of Captain de Berry, even prettier in the light of day. “Wanderer,” she said, cracking a smile, the waves breaking behind her, “Welcome aboard The Trader.”