Part Nine, Chapter Two - The Mystery of Gris' Malfunctioning Appendage

Soltan Gris is terrified for his life - his weapon arm is totally unresponsive, meaning he has no idea to defend himself from the animals he calls coworkers, and if his superiors find out about his crippling injury he'll be subjected to the Apparatus healthcare policy, i.e. shot in the head and left in a ditch.

First things first - Gris goes to his flying car and finds Ske predictably enough snoozing in the back. Gris picks his drivers' pockets, earning a sleepy protest about needing the money to pay back Snelz on the bogus cop uniforms, and then spots a big ole Apparatus troop carrier landed at the hangar. It is, of course, "shabby."

These decrepit but somehow spaceworthy vessels can fit up to five thousand Apparatus soldiers jammed into their holds, and more importantly will have a health officer as part of its crew. So Gris claims to be inspecting the ship before launch and looks for the doctor. Predictably the ship is a reeking, filthy mess with centuries' worth of vomit caked on its interior surfaces, because the Apparatus is evil and doesn't believe in soap. Presumably their members are all but immune to biological agents after years spent breathing this miasma.

Now you're probably thinking, "this is great and all, but what I really want is another song!" Well, you're in luck! Hubbard's mastery of writing allowed him to anticipate your desires and pen a lovely poem for your reading pleasure. As Gris clambers around inside the carrier, looking for a physician, he hears a bunch of weepy spacers singing a pre-launch dirge, complete with "hand air organ." So here's "The Spacer's Lot:"

To planets of the dead,
And stars that have no light,
We cruise throughout this endless space,
Encased in darkest night.

The eyes that do no miss us,
The hands without caress,
The hardest hearts behind us,
Spare no slightest warmth to bless

The Forces of the firmament,
Enfold us as our home.
The lost, the damned, the outcast,
Cruise darkest space alone.

Shun space, your groundbound creature!
Suck in your planet's breath!
Hold safe to stable gravity!
For we of space live DEATH!

Half-assed attempts at rhyming, rhythm's off in the second stanza, awkward word choices... but hey, he tried, right? Gotta put the "opera" in "space opera," yeah?

The ship's doctor is sealed behind a door labeled "Health Officer: Do Not Open," locked in a room that stinks of rotting meat, because surgeons have no reason to value sterile work environments. Once roused from his tup-induced slumber - so is it coffee or beer, Hubbard? - the doctor gives Gris a disinterested physical, but can find nothing... well, physically wrong with him. Gris even puts his clothes back on with his bad arm without noticing. The doctor speculates about hypnotism as a possible cause before going back to sleep, like "a true professional."

But believe it or not, this is actually going somewhere. Not the main plot, of course, but this "What's Up With Gris?" sideplot.


Back to Chapter One

Forward to Chapter Three