— DING-DONG—“Hold on, gremlins…
That’s Todd.
And Christ, the amphibious bastard has sent a few hundred messages.
If I don’t answer, he’ll text like an ex-girlfriend until the heat death of the universe.Jackie, sweetie, throw something on—trash news, a funeral march,
anything.
I need literally five fucking minutes.”
[Jackie's voice filled the broadcast]“Dick, take your grubby hands off the mic.Let a professional explainwhy that heap of flying scrap metal you call Z-P-N-E-Sis capable of flightinstead of collapsing into annihilated dustthe moment someone whispers ‘lift-off.'”
[Dick stretched his neck and glanced toward Jackie in the engineering booth]“…Fine, gorgeous.
The mic is yours.”
[Jackie waved him off—yeah, yeah, go on already—
then leaned in and took over the podcast.
Dick stood up and slowly made his way toward the exit, pausing for one last line]“Ladies, gentlemen, species undisclosed—
I give you my partner in crime,
DJ Jacqueline ‘Jackie’ Rho.
She will explain—
in that honey-dripping voice of hers—
why Zero and Blindy’s rusted cosmic coffin
can somehow leave the ground.Enjoy.”
[The ON-AIR light over Dick's panel blinked out with a pitiful whine
and lit anew in Engineering]“Attention, children of the cosmic dumpster.
Z-P-N-E-S, at first glance, looks like a steampunk museum
that exploded,
and the pieces were reassembled by blind beetles
on a sugar rush.But in reality—
it’s the delicate engineering fossil
of the PTVs-777 model:
the Sweat Box.Back in the dark age of orbital prisons,
they used these coffins
to transport inmates into low orbit.This craft is so ancient
that every launch poses a philosophical question:‘What fails first—
pressure, thrusters…
or Blindy fainting in the cockpit?'”
[She continues with velvet menace]The main panel consists of sixteen analog needles—
a third-hand navigation system.Once, it calculated orbits using spectral astrophysics.
Now—
by engine noise
and sincere prayer.Green needle? Stable.
Jumping needle?
Your pilot decided to ‘optimize trajectory.’In official reports, that’s called
critical violation of flight norms.
In real life:
Blindy playing Russian roulette with the passengers.These two rattling iron maracas?
Manual impulse synchronizers.They’re meant for emergencies.
Automation failed BEFORE they acquired the ship,
so Blindy uses them always.If one lever shakes—normal.
If both shake—your day’s about to get interesting.They keep the ship stable—
as long as no one sneezes too hard
or shifts their weight like an idiot.Twenty-three giant kill-switches—
each looks like it once powered an electric guillotine.One blows—backup engages.
Both blow—
the ship enters spiritual freefall mode.Meaning:
it drops.Those steam-excavator control arms regulate micro-thrust.
Pull too hard—
the nozzle spits a peak impulse
and the ship literally hurls itself forward.Round gauges that always show
‘almost fine.’
During hyperjump, pressure drops 17–22%.
If it hits 40%—
you get a cosmic dehydrator.Blindy will become the first man
to die of dehydration in five seconds.Three toggles:
UHF, SHF, and
‘catch anything if the stars are merciful.’If you send the pulse correctly—station hears you.
If Blindy sends it—
station hears:
static, profanity,
and whatever the system interprets as ‘distress.’Doesn’t turn on.
Not a bug.
Requires a precise touch-sequence input code.”
[The air held still]“Blindy does not understand the word ‘sequence.’
Not seats.
Archaeological artifacts.
Condition:
as if the first pilot in the universe sat, farted,
and left behind the chronicles of creation.Z-P-N-E-S is not a ship.
It’s an engineering paradox.
A museum relic that accidentally fell into Blindy’s hands
and somehow still flies—
despite physics, logic,
and the crew’s will to live.”
[Dick, returning]“Jackie, sweetie…
you’re a walking encyclopedia of garbage spacecraft.
Half the gremlins didn’t understand those words,
and the other half don’t have enough brain matter to understand even the idea of understandingBut you’ve got style…
Your unhealthy fetish for outdated machinery aside—
you’d make a hell of a host.”
[Jackie laughs softly, calm, warm, lethal sweetness]“Alright…
Mic’s yours, old man.”
[The ON-AIR light swapped again: off in Engineering, blazing red above Dick]To all the hundreds of thousands of planets
dangling in the cosmic asshole we call the Milky Way—
wake the fuck up!You’re listening to the one, the only,
and officially voted
‘The Sexiest Man Alive in 5131’
by the cheap-ass magazine HomoSapiens™—Because, get this:
ALL OTHER NOMINEES
DIED
UNDER MYSTERIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES.Coincidence?
I highly doubt it.Now—
if you just tuned in,
you missed Jackie’s lovely lecture
‘How Not to Die in Space Aboard a Ship Held Together by Hope and Tape.’ But don’t worry—
we upload recordings to CosmoNet™…
where nobody ever watches them.”