The SS Friendship

Tucked into a dilapidated train station was a single flickering sign. It was neon in colour, tuned to the heartbeat of a squirrel on acid, and cast a dim, even sickly, glow.

Jenn entered, and breathed in the smell.

The air was fresh with cigarette smoke and oil. It was a small, crowded place, and every ten minutes, it would rumble, shaking under the force of the train above. It was home… well, a broken, addiction-peddling home, but home nonetheless. And from the many gangsters, monsters, and all manner of strange creatures, there was some merit in the thinking.

“Irasshaimase!” said a waitress. Hair slicked back. Cat ears atop her head. Then, “Welcome! May we take your order?”

“I’ve got a friend waiting.” Jenn nodded towards a corner.

The waitress nodded. Jenn trotted past small, square tables and sat herself down. A strange thing was in the chair before her. A plump, round thing. It resembled a mix between a frayed weasel and a flayed bear. It was red and recognisable: blue eyes with tiny pupils, furry, and constantly bouncing, swaying side to side.

It was ugly.

But it was cute.

It was incredibly, oddly, animated.

But it was cute.

It had the voice of a 65-year-old pervert who smelled of grease and an unholy variety of cheese.

But it was cute.

Igen’Ae XIS, better known as ‘Igen’, stirred. “Yo,” he said, letting loose his foul voice in a manner all too cute. “What’s happening?”

Jenn felt a strange sense of sorrow. She knew she would be lying in the times to come. “I got a job, that’s what!” She feigned excitement. She cringed. She (in her mind) wept for all those who had to do the same.

“Really? Damn, what have you been doing?”

“Oh, you know… just working with engines.”

“Engines?”

“Yeah. Engines in the field. I’m like a steward of that type of stuff.”

“A steward? Like, on a plane?”

“A field dude.”

“I thought you meant field in the figurative sense, like… field of aircraft.”

“Nah, like of the lawn—lawn land. The land. Just the land.”

“Awesome,” he replied. “That sounds really cool.”

Jenn saw it in his bulging, blue eyes. He believed it. In her coolness. Maybe even the subtle implication that all she did was mow lawns for money.

“Waitress?” Jenn waved. “A round of beers, please.”

Midnight was closing in by the time the two were done. The two were all but plastered, and what humour they had for days was equally matched by brains for minutes.

Jenn slumped forth, an empty mug in hand. “Drink it, Igen! Finish your damn beer, or I’ll have all your employees know you for a pussy!”

The mass of furry red (now an inflated ball of pure condensed alcohol), downed another mug, and slammed it on the counter. Jenn attempted to cheer, raised her hand lazily, then gave up a quarter of the way through.

“Jenn?” said Igen. “You know… I’m really glad you’re doing okay.”

“Shut up,” she replied, jokingly. “What’s with this sentimental crap?”

He giggled. A throaty, pervert giggle. “I’m just happy you didn’t go through with it. Killing all those people, you mean.”

“Uhhhh.” Even in her drunkenness, Jenn held onto a sliver of tact. “Yesh. Am glad too. With not killing all those people, I mean. That would’ve been like… totally pointless.”

“Totally,” Igen agreed. “Like… I know you hate them for what they did to your career or whatever, but it’s just unhealthy, man. I mean, why kill people when you can drink beers, eh?”

Her career… A sense of indignation washed over Jenn, and she downed a mouthful of beer. She had something approaching a career once. In another world, in another life. That was why she was here, after all. To correct her past failures. To vent her righteous anger and to undermine all those who failed her sense of aesthetics.

Jenn considered all of that for two seconds. Then the wrath took over. And her words escaped on their own.

“I mean… you can ‘ink beers and kill people. Multitasking… yo.”

“Pardon?”

“I zhink I’m gonna die.”

Jenn fell face-first onto the table, implanted onto a plate of half-eaten karaage. Subsumed by beers totalling over a hundred, and the infinite contemplation of when to ask the question of hitching a ride, she had forgotten all about her initial purpose. And with that, went into a quite awful slumber.

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Jenn raised a hand into the air and watched as the sun escaped between her fingers. She was back in her RV. The hardness of her bed confirmed that.

She stared into the ceiling, eyes fixated on a plot of rust. It resembled a continent of sorts. Maybe Antarctica, with its wide, chunky bearing. But Antarctica wasn't brown… Not really. So surely that couldn't count.

But then again. No continents were really brown. So by that extension, no continent could've truly mimicked the rust residue above, right?

Jenn considered this question thoroughly. Hand on chin. A dribble of drool down her lower lip. She thought for another five minutes, and decided to reach for her phone, choosing to search the question in mind.

But her question soon left, as the familiar box of a text message flashed into her pupils.

‘Thanks for yesterday Jenn! It was really great to see you again and I hope we can do it again! I'll be out early so sorry we couldn't say goodbye! Call though, OK, that's always fun!’

Out for a while. Out for a while. By out, he couldn't mean ‘out’ of this world, could he?

Jenn’s eyes flicked to the time. 5:41.

Igen’s ship always left at 6.

There was 19 minutes left. 19 minutes to cross 620 kilometers, reach the airport, and board his spaceship.

Jenn rose to her feet, drank a beer, and swore to break every traffic law conceivable. Within a second she was on her bicycle, and out of her park at blazing speed.

Street by street. Road by road. Her muscles strained, and her breath began to wane. She needed something to eat. Something to support her body in the mighty quest of aesthetics.

She readied herself for food—eyes narrowed into thin, predatory slits. There, she saw it.

Fresh prey.

No further than the other end of the street was a hotdog stall. A small metal box with a red pinstriped umbrella.

Her eyes met the hotdog stalls vendor—a giant, maroon rat with a chef's hat. And in that infinitesimal moment of mutual communication, everything became clear.

“One chilli yakisoba dog coming right up!”

She timed her approach. She steadied her breathing. A subtle downturn of the head would be required. That and a payment of five dollars precisely.

Soon, but not yet. Soon, but not too soon. Soon but now!

She held out a wad of cash and dislocated her jaw bones. The hotdog came between her teeth. The paper greens were gone.

The transaction was completed.

Stamina Bar: 100%

“Uwoooogh!”

Jenn’s subsequent pedals doubled in speed. She had exceeded 120 km/h, and was soon for the highway.

The acceleration lane was ahead. Steep and angled downwards. But a series of cars were in it. Sports cars and other sci-fi speeders, in some mock exhibit of vehicles.

Her face was incredulous. “TRAFFIC MUST DIE!!!”

Swift as her bicycle was, she took off at the first instance of downhill, and promptly soared in the air. Clearing the margin of vehicles in one jump, Jenn landed in the middle of the highway.

She let a war cry loose. “Traffic must die. Traffic must die. Traffic must die!!!”

Saliva escaped through her clenched teeth. Bloodshot veins ran in her eyes. Here, truly, seemed a woman without limits. Who had surpassed the chaff of life and become something greater.

Noticing Jenn’s untold vigour, one rider drew in close with her car. Her red hair was styled in a pixie cut, and she had threads of grey steel across her skin.

“Wanna race?” she called from her car. A sleek, beautiful convertible, with pulsating blue glow, and a bone white finish.

“Race?!” Jenn clenched harder. “Race?!” Her legs were shaking, and stiffened at the thought. “Race!!!”

A sudden burst of speed took her, and Jenn crossed a hundred metres in just short of a second.

“RACE RACE RACE RACE RACE RACE!!!”

She was nearing her destination. There were barricades to her right, securing the perimeter, designating it an airport space.

Was she late? Was she on time?

She considered her tardiness for all of a second before she saw it. The SS Friendship. Igen’s massive, wooden sailboat, which stretched over a hundred metres, and waved the flag of the cute red pervert sounding mascot himself.

It, by a stroke of fortune, had not left.

It, by a stroke of equal misfortune, seemed to be fixing that.

Seeing it shrink in the distance, Jenn pushed onward, shooting up a mound and leaping over the fence. The SS Friendship was rising into the air, and paddling at the empty space around it. Once it gained sufficient speed, catching up would be impossible.

Jenn did not give up. Her eyes focused on the vessel and would not stir. It was a good dozen metres in the air now. But still, it was not beyond her reach.

Not yet. Not ever.

Jenn pedalled faster, and the wheels of her bicycle left a trail of fiery red. She breathed hard. The SS Friendship was now fifty metres high. And to gain altitude, Jenn leaned forward, placing all her weight in front, shutting her mouth (so she did not get an entrée of flies) and hit the brake button.

The bike screeched, its front wheel stopping at once.

Letting go at the last moment, Jenn was launched at near Mach speed towards the ship. Her arms were taut and strained by now, and it took all her effort to reach her left one forward.

“Come on!”

Her left arm began to pulse red, beating to the rhythm of her overclocked heart. It grappled forward in a last ditch attempt, hoping to seize the SS Friendship by its bottom hull.

Palm outreached, her fingers managed to scrape the boat, and before long, ripped away a piece of it. A piece that drifted away, along with Jenn herself, who was now at the mercy of a several hundred meter fall.

—Third Reversion: Space-Body Return.

Jenn began to rewind. Her body, flying to where her palm had touched last. Keeping up with the now accelerated boat, Jenn found herself subject to the pain of going roughly 1387 m/s.

Her senses were positively overwhelmed: Her ears, flooded by a million blades of wind.

As she came within arms reach, her right arm shot forward, digging its fingers into the ship. Bit by bit Jenn climbed, and after a while, she had arrived portside, collapsing with an incredible exhale.

The crewmates of the SS Friendship stood over her, their faces a mix of surprise, concern, and genuine joy.

“Welcome to the SS Friendship, my friend.”