--U.C. 0089.07.13--

BGM: [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fNdMC6_eUGk]Leslie Fish - Space Hero[/url]

"Moon Moon?"
"Yeah, just imagine it!"
Walter put an arm around the older man's shoulder, a tumbler of caramel-colored liquor in the other.
"Out there, somewhere in this big ol' field of tin cans, there's a paradise brimming with untapped reserves of fresh pussy!"
[color=c4df9b]"Pussy! Pussy!"[/color], a silver haro chirped from the end of the bar.

The older man sighed and massaged his temple. 

"...And you really believe such a place exists?"
"I don't just think, pops. I [i]know[/i]. Take a look."

Walter reached into his back pocket and pulled out a mangled slip of paper, the logo of the Colony Public Corporation printed proudly along the header. He smoothed it out and slapped it down on the countertop for all to see.

"...I'm not following.", the man known as Pops replied.
"Right here.", Walter said, jabbing a finger towards a line near the lower margin, "It's a listing for Side 2. Notice anything?"
"...An extra colony?"
"Exactly. An Island 1 colony was comissioned for it some eighty years ago. The shuttle bringing it went off-course when it left orbit due to a calculation error. The colony- still intact- drifted off into the far reaches of the solar system, thought to be lost forever. Roland's got the trajectory of the original ship- all we need's to get there."
"So how do I figure in here?"
"Well, see, these coordinates- they go right through L1."
"Raider territory."
"Bingo. Me an' Roland might be able to fly the [i]Manatee[/i] well enough, but she just don't got the firepower. I'm lookin' for some boys to get me there. Anythin' we find- guns, money, women- we split it even, no catch. It'll be an adventure. Whaddaya say?"

Pops drained his mug, and signaled for the bartender to pour him another.

"I just don't know, Walter. I'm not as young as I used to be- why not ask those Neo Zeon boys? They seemed pretty gung-ho."
"And leave the goddamn Devil Ray to drink his life away in some no-name bar?"
"That was ten years ago, kid. I'm burned out."
"And there's nothin' I can convince you with?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Well, what if..."

--3 hours later--

"-FINE, FUCK YOU GUYS! PIECE OF SHIT FUCKIN' SPACERS THINK THEY'RE TOO GOOD FOR MY SHIP!", Walter shouted as he stumbled out of the bar, "WELL FUCK YOU, I DON'T NEED ANYMORE A' YER GODDAMN FANCY SPACE HOOCH ANYWAY! I'LL- I'LL JUST DRINK MY OWN DAMN BOOZE!"

Walter slipped a hip flask out of his pocket and took a swig of cheap scotch, spilling most of it across his shirt. He seemed to think this proved some sort of point he had made.

"I'LL SHOW YOU, YOU DRIED-OUT OL' GEEZER! I'LL FIND MOON MOON ON MY OWN! JUS' ME AN' ROLAND! YOU THINK I'M AFRAID OF CIMA'S BOYS? THIS MAN- I AIN'T 'FRAID 'A NOTHIN'! [b]C'MON ROLAND, GETCHER ROUND ASS OVER HERE![/b]"
[color=c4df9b]"Too drunk! Too drunk!"[/color]
"I'S SOBER 'NUFF TA-"

Walter paused, belched, and puked into a nearby gutter. Leaning heavily against the wall, he dragged himself to the port, mumbling all the way.

"Fuckin' old farts... Some Zeon pride that is... I'll show em all, just you see..."

Haro under arm, he tripped through the boarding hatch of the [i]Manatee[/i], faceplanting. With a groan, he crawled across the floor and climbed into the navigator's seat, noting a garbled distress signal. Looked like the station hadn't picked it up- no real surprise, considering radio transmissions were often scrambled beyond recognition by Minovsky interference. Well, it wasn't like he'd found any recruits here- maybe these poor bastards would be more inclined to listen. Seating Roland into the helm, Walter set a detour for the distress signal, slumped forward, and cruised out of port.

About an hour later, Walter was shaken out of his comfortable daze by flashing red lights and the blare of klaxons, followed by a high-pitched [color=c4df9b]"[b]BRACE! BRACE![/b]"[/color] from his copilot. Darkness crept into his vision as the crash harness pulled tighter. His stomach turned over. It felt like his eyes were going to pop out of their sockets.

Walter passed out.

----------

He awoke some time later with a hangover hard and heavy enough to lay low the creator himself. Bleary-eyed, he pawed around the console until his hand wrapped around a small plastic bottle taped to the dash. Opening it, he swallowed a couple of painkillers and washed them down with the flask. He unbuckled his crash harness and looked around. Viewports completely dark. Instrument panel set to atmospheric flight. 1100 feet above sea level, give or take a bit. Outside cameras had nothing but noise.

"Roland, just what in the hell happened here?"
[color=c4df9b]"Need speaker! Need speaker!"[/color], the Haro chirped, laying upside-down in its magnetic harness.
"Right, right. Lemme getcha outta there first."

After a few minutes of fumbling, Walter found the switch to disengage, and his companion rolled to the floor. Walter grabbed an auxiliary jack carelessly soldered into the console panel. Kneeling down, he jammed the other end underneath the robot's wing.

"Alright, buddy. What's our situation?"
[color=c4df9b]"A mountain hit us."[/color], the instrument panel's speakers piped.

Walter pinched his nose.

"Roland. Buddy. I've got a headache that could kill a moose. Now ain't the time."
[color=c4df9b]"I'm serious! One minute we're headed for the signal and the next, boom! There's a mountain!"[/color]
"Alright, alright, so pretending for the moment that's not a load a' shit.", Walter replied, "What's our situation look like?"
[color=c4df9b]"Front verniers and all outer cameras totaled, we've got a gash to rival Naliss Zabi's vag along the starboard, we're not picking up anything on feddie or spacer bands, and we're out of scotch."[/color]
"Even the cheap stuff?"
[color=c4df9b]"Yeah."[/color]
"Mother[i]fucker[/i]. Any good news?"
[color=c4df9b]"Our cargo is 71% intact, and from the looks of things your mobile suit is still undamaged."[/color]
"I think we can work with that."

--Two Days Later--

Walter swept his hands wide and looked down at his companion.
"So? Whaddaya think?"
[color=c4df9b]"Traded down! Traded down!"[/color]
"Hey, don't be like that. There's no way we coulda kept the [i]Manatee[/i] in the state she was in. We're just lucky them Vulture boys was willin' to trade one of theirs for ours."

He shaded his eyes, looking over their new ship. A [i]Rocky[/i]-class land battleship, they'd called it. Rust-red with long-faded lettering along the side, it had cost them the [i]Manatee [/i]and two-thirds of their cargo of Mobile Suit parts. The downsides: For a battleship, the thing was pretty poorly armed, and they sure as shit weren't getting airborne anytime soon. On the upside, it had cupholders.

[color=c4df9b]"Bad deal! Bad deal!"[/color]
"I ain't seein' any better ones, buddy. 'Sides, we're just lucky they wanted to make a deal. Now then, first order a' business!"

Walter held up a half-full bottle of what was probably toilet wine the Vultures had left behind and broke it across the side of the ship.

"I hereby christen ye the good ship [i]Manatee II[/i], on account of me being too hungover and worn out to remember what this damn thing was called when I signed the lease. Now, to adventure!"

With that, Walter and Roland climbed aboard.