The drum solo that kicked off Van Halen's 'Hot for Teacher,' came over the tinny speakers and Armitage Shanks found his feet involuntarily tapping upon the metallic floor.

He lit a cigarette and broke out the air drums, a musical instrument of which he was an absolute master, and pounded them harder than the hooker he'd picked up at the last fuel stop.

It seemed so long ago, but then again when one was flying solo on a cargo vessel several years into deep space, a monotonous run broken only by the infrequent privately owned space stations and refuelling rigs, everything seemed so long ago and very, very far away.

"Oi!" he shouted out, annoyed that the vessel's computer system had taken it upon itself to stop the track just before it was halfway through. That annoyance dissipated quickly though, when Armitage realised the reason for the abrupt halt to one of his favourite pieces of classical music, was a sounding alarm.

"Ah," he said, quietly, pausing only to puff heavily upon the cigarette. "Bugger."

Going to the control panel, Armitage looked at the different instruments and the data displayed, with a pensive air. On the top right corner, La CallaT was still fast asleep. The feed from the room did not return the scrambled data associated with the cacophony produced by the sweet, though noisy lady. La CallaT was her scene name, Armitage did not really know what she was doing here, on board, neither where she came from nor where she was going to. The only fact that she had paid well in cash and in advance, was enough reference for the captain to accept her on board the BOL, and to ship her where she required.

This trip was far from his regular activities. Shanks had turned out to be a passenger ship for the time being. His last encounter with a straying asteroid had rendered his spacecraft unfit for more sportive occupations. Long past were the days, and would remain, he would be back in the game of joyful runs along the Kessler route, playing tag with the Alliance patrols.

La CallaT was not the only passenger on this necessary reconverted spaceship. The setting was okay, nothing near the luxury space whales one would elect for a comfortable, odourless and colourless cruise among the stars. The BOL proposed another experience. A clinky dingy clunking across the bumpy void. A quiet voyage outside of the regular routes. The captain did not ask many questions, as long as you paid fair with hard and cold cash.

The data on the control panel showed no more activity in Mr Rob's quarter than in the singer lady's. As much as La CallaT's character was easy to grasps, Mr Rob was a mystery. Despite his many years of experience, juggling with cargo, crew, and patrols, Armitage had not been able to get an idea of any sort about the man. Was he even a man, this question had arisen often in the captain's mind. Not that he had thought the passenger could be of another gender. Rather another specie or, more likely, another material build...

The alarm had stopped and Captain Shanks was yet about to take action to avoid the noisy bit in the future. He had hoped the passengers would have remained in their quarters, though the booming noise had called them to the lounge. Armitage's quiet time was of become history, the room filling with three haggard and puzzled people. His tranquil dive in good music and better booze would not pick off until after he cleared the situation with the puzzled lot.

The range of expressions on their faces showed the questions mixed with anxiety the captain would have to calm. La CallaT, with her piercing soprano timbre, trembled dramatically. Mr Rob, despite his usual stillness, showed his annoyance, his eyes blinking short pause, almost invisible to the naked eye. Armitage had been probably the only one seeing this relapse. Could Mr Rob be human, finally? Or, perhaps, his mechanical core was reacting the vibrations coming from the frightening coffer of the fat lady.

The third passenger was quiet, expectant, neither frightened nor too excited, as if nothing could reach him. The short boy, or girl, no one really knew what gender to guess, was withdrawn, apathetic, limit depressed. Due to his size, he had been nicknamed Midget by Armitage, the captain having heard La CallaT using occasionally the same sobriquet.

Running his gaze on the three passengers' faces, Armitage Shanks, Captain of the BOL was still wondering whether he could let the source of what sent the alarm off earlier go unpunished, or if he should solve it there and now.

"My Lady, Mr Rob, Little One, if you could please excuse me, I have to take care of a small matter. I apologize deeply for the interruption that brought you out of your beds. Please, fear not, this alarm is of no importance. A simple malfunction..." Captain Shanks had been able to mutter those words in a go, without the interruption he had feared from La CallaT. The woman shall have erupted as soon as he had opened his mouth. However, she was bemused, appeared to be speechless while looking at him. Rather, she was looking behind him.

Armitage had not realized yet the intrusion of a fourth uninvited passenger in the lounge. He knew this newcomer had boarded his ship without his consent, few minutes ago, though he would have expected a more theatrical entrance.

The blond paladin poised at the double platinum doors, a past memory of an earlier escapade in one of the Alliance Mothership, where he also had have the occasion to supply handsomely his cave with excellent brandy and priced wine. Lieutenant Sykes looked at the scene in the lounge of the smuggler ship, not really knowing what to think of it.

"What kind of cargo do you have here, Shanks?" The commander of the Alliance patrol inquired with raised eyebrows and sour smile.

"I do not see what you are meaning here, Sykes," Armitage retorted as naively as he could. He never had been dubbed a good actor, in any cases; no wonder Lieutenant Sykes could not understand how the smuggler always passed under his nose without any possibility of arrest.

"Please, meet the passengers of the BOL..." The captain then began the presentations between his three guests and the patrol commander.

Under the charm of the blond man in uniform, La CallaT started a game of seduction she had tried on Shanks earlier in the trip. Sykes seemed pleased with the attention. "Good riddance," muttered Armitage thanking the presence of the man, for once.

The matter-of-factly Mr Rob observed the peacock dance with the curiosity of an ethnologist observing a rare breed of degenerated Papuan tribe in a secluded part of the Venusian jungle.

"Can we retire to our quarters, Captain Shanks?" The robot like man, or the manly robot, asked Armitage with his usual monotonous tone.

"But, of course! If you would all please go back to your rooms, respectively, I will get sure the alarm incident will not happen again."

At Armitage words, Mr Rob turned and exited the room immediately. Midget was still fidgeting. Looking intently at Lieutenant Sykes, he wondered if his father had sent him to retrieve his wandering son. The Captain of the BOL could imagine easily what was going in the young man-slash-woman-slash-whatever he was. What Midi did not know was that his father had asked Shanks to look after him. The rebellious teen had engaged in a cruise with a secret bodyguard and major-domo, not an adventure as he intended initially.

Approaching Midget slowly, Shanks gave him the universal sign for silence, a finger in front of the lips. "The guy is not here for you, Midi, you can relax and go to your cabin." The young passenger looked questioningly to the captain, and after a pause, light adorned his eyes as if coming from inside. Relief also. The boy acquiesced and, as silently as the robot-man, turned away to the lounge.

La CallaT, her screeching voice and fakely filled bodice fixing the attention of the blond patrol commander was not realising how annoying her prey started to feel.

"Sykes!" Shanks called the lieutenant, giving him the possibility to withdraw politely from the woman claws, "You can stay on board for the night, and we will see to your 'issue' tomorrow." The man had a bone with the smuggler, it was a certainty since he never could get him red-handed with smuggled cargo, however he was civilised enough to fight his battle without annoying witnesses.

"You can take Cabin 103, you know the place, you stayed there quite some time last time..." The last time Armitage referred to, Sykes had been hiding in the room expecting to see some illegal activities. The patrol officer ended up locked for almost a week, with minimum supply and an overflowing toilet bowl.

Remembering the lack of food and the sickening smell, Sykes looked worried to Shanks for any signs of dupery. The captain waited for him to take his decision, La CallaT yet to shut up her incessant chatter finally convincing him.

A moment later, Van Halen's 'Hot for Teacher' came back over the tinny speakers and Armitage Shanks, finally relieved, started to settle back on his armchair, his feet involuntarily tapping upon the metallic floor.

The ship control system, however, did not want to let him appreciate the quiet moments of the artificial night aboard the BOL. The alarm, once more, resounded, though, this time, only in the sanctuary of the lounge.

Getting up, irritated, the captain looked at the control panel. The light signal for room 103 was blinking furiously. Turning his eyes to the video stream for Sykes quarters for the night, Armitage features relaxed, a smile forming rapidly on his face and turning soon to a full grin.

With a laugh, he observed the patrol commander banging on the door of the small restroom attached to the bedroom. The poor man was obviously quite stressed over the fact that he was locked inside the restricted space, losing his composure as the rosy colour on his cheeks turned a dreadful greyish green.

Shanks wondered if he should have fixed the issue with the overflow on the bowl of the 103 sooner. It could create serious damage to the ship.

Hitting a button on the panel in front of him, the alarm shut as suddenly as it went off, letting the sweet melody of the drum solo. The captain of the BOL went back to his comfortable resting chair, lighting his cigarette, contemplating the universe and its karma while thinking of Sykes and his predicament.

"Ah," he said, quietly, pausing only to muffle a hearty laugh. "Bugger."