-snip-
Continue to burn away the mold.
(6) The kitchenette mold free, you move on to the pantry. it's nasty in there. The bacon is grazing on the lettuce. The ham is having an illicit affair with the prime rib, The potatoes see all, know all. A rat in boxer shorts smoking a foul smelling cigar is banging on a cabinet shouting about rent money. You shrug, shout your intentions, and open fire. Something knockc over what was once probably flour. The powder fills the air, then ignites quite beautifully. Moments later, you and the rat are in the hallway, bent double, wheezing. A thick cloud of smoke roils out of the pantry, through the kitchenette, and into the hall, before the fire suppression system utterly fails to activate to extinguish it. A distressed moo tapers off in the background, while you are getting chewed out by an out of breath rodent for crimes against inhumanity. You peek cautiously around the corner into the harsh glare that is spring cleaning. Satisfied, you check 'demold pantry' off your to do list. You check your canister. it has maybe one room's worth of use left.
”Huh...mushrooms.”
Dispose of the carts and broken crap, pick the mushrooms and store them in a preservative container, check on the patient, then get a mop and mop up that nasty oil. In that order. 
Name: Tamatoa
Species: Coconut Crab
Description: A large crab, bluish-purple in color in most places except his back, which is more of an orange...sorta plaid theme. Has two arms with pincers, five legs and one stump where the sixth leg used to be (although I don’t remember if crabs have six or eight legs normally), two swiveling eyestalks with more human-like eyes, and a mouth that also resembles that of a human
Preferred Gravity: Medium
Preferred atmosphere: Oxygen and water are both acceptable
Previous occupation: Hoarding
Miscellaneous: Loves all things SHINY and has no regard for any inner qualities.
(6) everything goes well until the moment the mop touches the oil. The oil
screams and races up the wall opposite you, taking the mop with it. the oil bubbles, spurts and gurgles. The mop wobbles and lurches as it slowly sinks into the oil. Hard to tell if the oil is eating, dissolving, assimilating ,or simply covering the mop.
Zygomuc roots into the thing that stepped on them aggressively to pierce any protective coverings and give it a fungal infection they won't soon be rid of.
(1) Whatever stepped on Zygomuc already has a pretty virulent fungal infection, which takes unkindly to its attempts at territorial expansion. It ends up getting stepped on again.
"Fine! I'll take the damn number.
yank it the "qualph" number from the number dispenser.
Look at the stupid ticket and try to see if I even know what a qualph even suppose to be. also point my laser pistol at the the number dispenser to see what it will do.
The number dispenser beeps smugly and the number qualph lights up on the wall adjacent. A hidden speaker calls out in a voice that sounds both tinny and terribly congested at the same time "QUALPH! NOW SERVING QUALPH! QUALPH! YOU HAVE ONE MINUTE TO COME FORTH OR WE WILL MOVE ON TO THE NEXT NUMBER! QUALPHY? OH WHERE COULD HE BE? WHERE COULD HE BE?" The dispenser makes a shooing gesture with it's next number sticking out of it's dispenserhole.
"Very well! Take this!"
Gently kick the squeaky mouse-thing at the door release button. At least I hope it's a button, I'm not sure projectile rodent corpses are a regulation method of operating levers or hand scanners.
Name: Sirirx
Species: Vetan
Description: An old-timey space suit filled with eternally writhing eels.
Preferred Gravity: High
Preferred atmosphere: Ammonia
Previous occupation: Marrow Farmer
Miscellaneous: These crewmates look kinda tasty... but I probably shouldn't eat my own crew. Maybe as a special treat?
(5) the door mechanism recoils in disgust as the carcass approaches. The door squeaks hurriedly out of the way, moments too late to avoid a bit of a splattering. The Captain has been released from captivity the old fashioned way: by throwing corpses at it.
"Oh man I almost died, I need to get out of here."
See if there's a doctor around as some one with medical knowledge had to have fixed me, if there is one around find out how long I have to be bandaged up like this, then see if there is any kind of task I'm supposed to be doing.
Name: Dr. Bob
Species: Deerman
Description: Average looking for someone of his species.
Preferred Gravity: Medium
Preferred atmosphere: oxygen
Previous occupation: Geneticist
Miscellaneous: Would prefer not to be here.
Inventory:
Phone
(4) a bit of fumbling introduces you to the autodoc, who suggests that you can remove the bandages safely within an hour of application, as long as you properly dress the wounds for the next 24 hours or so. Properly, in this case, means a dab of salve, a nonstick protective pad, and enough gauze to hold them in place over the burned areas. fter 24 hours, inspect the wound and apply standard first aid as necessary, unless the wounds have gone green, puffy, pustulent, or otherwise abnormal in disposition.
As for tasks, the autodoc shrugs.
"Honestly, we're not even sure why you are here, mate. old girl is a bit of a derelict. How'd you even come to be on her in this condition? Not like you are an official employee of Redderf Mining and Trades, Inc., if that company is even still a thing."Meow until I am free. Scratch and bite the thing that is holding me until I am free. One of the two is bound to work eventually.
Name: Mr. Koff (pronounced "cough") / "Big Boi"
Rank: Vice Captain/Chief of Staff
Species: Cat
Description: An adult, slightly chubby, short-haired grey cat with green eyes. Has a hoarse, grouchy meow.
Preferred Gravity: Medium
Preferred atmosphere: Oxygen
Previous occupation: Chief Mouser
Miscellaneous: Humans still take cats with them in their long voyages for company and pest control, though the pests they chase are somewhat more troublesome. This one stuck his head somewhere he wasn't supposed to and ended up here.
You get free by the time honored tradition of complaint and fidgeting, and drop to the floor safely, if indignantly. You give your fur a once over, then trot along casually as if nothing happened at all.
Follow the captain’s hands to where they point
the Captain seems to be gesturing vaguely toward "outside the methane dispensary" so you go there. You are now in the hall. the lights are on, some thing smells like burning organics, someone is squeaking angrily somewhere, and no one has any idea what is going on, myself included).
Author
Topic: Mold Farmers in Space (Read 46114 times)