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   Chapter 13 No.13

Loderunner By Christina Engela Characters: 4703

Updated: 2018-06-30 12:02

"Welcome aboard, Doctor Nurse." Said Tim, grinning as he shook the man's hand carefully. "You're lucky you weren't a nurse, or perhaps your surname could've been Doctor."

"Nice to meet you too, Captain." Said Nurse bluntly in the manner of someone who has already heard all the jokes and stopped thinking it was funny long ago. This just sent Deire into another fit of hysterics behind him. Yes, he and Deire should get along famously. They already had something in common.

"I'm the owner." Tim explained pointing at Deire. "He's the Captain."

"Okay." Nurse nodded.

"Any good at psychiatry?" He asked Nurse hopefully.

"Not really, Captain." Said the new medic dryly. "I was a GP actually, but I was far better at autopsies. Fewer complaints and come-backs that way, but I know my way around human bodies if you know what I mean."

Tim nodded somewhat disappointedly. Bang, splat went that idea. If it had worked, it might've alleviated the apparent levels of blatant idiocy on the ship. Or perhaps merely explained it. Nevertheless, the autopsies might still be an option, especially if there were any more 'accidents.' At the same time it occurred to him his zoo had probably just acquired a new prime specimen of the species Lunaticius Absurdicus. He began seriously considering looking into a mirror to check if someone had written 'shit magnet' on his forehead. And if not, why not? Because

in a tight harness. As it was, he barely knew where to fill the hydrogen tank on his S.O.D. cruiser when he used to be on the force. As far as he was concerned, that's where technical people came in. What was important to him was that he couldn't see any obvious spare parts lying around, and no sparks flying anywhere in plain sight. And of course, not blowing up on the tarmac.

Triple-J was smiling madly and like most technicians, seemed dead keen to see what would happen when they fired up the thing they'd spent the last week working on. Tim reminded him that if anything (gods forbid) went wrong and the engine did blow up or turn into a gravity well inside the engine room – he would be the one who had a front row seat.

"So what's that?" He asked Triple-J, pointing at a piece of equipment whose function was obscure to him.

"Primary field modulator control manifold." Triple-J replied automatically.

"What's it do?"

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