cbr wrote: ↑Fri Feb 02, 2024 2:36 pm
Once upon a time, in a far away land, there lived a simple trader.
Mr. Jameson was his name and he very much liked to travel in his shiny, new ship. He would take his ship from station to station, trading all sorts of things to all sorts of people in all sorts of places. Mr. Jameson would then buy some more fuel and make his way home. Fuel was cheap, Mr. Jameson liked cheap fuel.
One day, when he was making such a journey, he spotted a little grey cottage, on a little brown hill, all on it's own. Mr Jameson decided to go to the cottage, to see who might live there.
So he went up to the little brown hill, he went up to the little grey cottage and he knocked on the surprisingly big, grey door. "Excuse me!", said Mr. Jameson, "Is there anybody home?".
Just then came an answer as the surprisingly big grey door opened there stood a rather gruff old fellow, "What do you want?"
"I'm sorry to bother you", said Mr.Jameson, "but I was hoping to speak to the owner of this little cottage".
"That's me", said the gruff voice, "Frank the hermit they call me. And who might you be?"
"I'm just a simple passing trader, sir", said Mr. Jameson, "Do you have any things that you might like to trade with me?"
Frank looked him up and down and then said, "Rocks. All kinds, I've got 'em. Look here", and he pointed to quite the sight.
Well, Mr Jameson could hardly believe his eyes. There were big rocks and small rocks, brown rocks and grey rocks, dull rocks and shiny rocks but best of all, Mr. Jameson liked the sparkly gold rocks, the ones next to the sparkly silver rocks, and he wondered if Frank the hermit might like to trade anything for them.
"Excuse me Mr. Frank but I really rather like those sparkly rocks, the gold ones", said Mr. Jameson, "I wonder, is there anything that you might like to trade them for, if you would be so kind?"
"Liquor!", said Frank, gruffly.
"I'm not sure that I have those sorts of things", said Mr. Jameson thoughtfully, "I wouldn't know who to sell them to I'm afraid."
"Hmmm", said Frank, "Do you need any fuel?"
"Oh yes please!", said Mr. Jameson, "I have a few spare credits to buy it with, if that wouldn't be too much trouble, kind sir?"
Frank the hermit said nothing but pointed to his price list. It was a rather small price list, with some rather large numbers on it. Fuel was right at the top of the list, next to a surprisingly large number.
"I think you might have misplaced the dot there Mr. Frank", said Mr Jameson. He'd never seen such a big number next to the word 'fuel' before, "Perhaps the price is in decicredits... or even centicredits... perhaps..."
"No mistakes", said the hermit, "No misplaced dots", he added, gruffly.
Well, Mr Jameson was surprised.
"&@~% you!", said Mr. Jameson, "I hope you fall off this rock and die you sick @&%$!"
Mr. Jameson wasn't very happy, he wasn't very happy at all, "I hope pirates blow this #%&@ hole to hell and Thargoids use you for gonad harvesting you #&%$"ing %#$&-bag!"
Mr. Jameson, turned away from the surprisingly big grey door, left behind the little grey cottage and went down the little brown hill.
He went inside his shiny new ship and he decided it was time to head home after a very busy day.
As he steered his ship homewards, he thought about all that had happend to him. He took one last look out of the rear window of his shiny, new ship and he gazed at the little grey cottage, on the little brown hill as it began to get smaller and smaller behind him.
Mr, Jameson smiled and then he pressed a button on his shiny new ship. It was his favourite button. It was red and it flashed when you pressed it and written on the button was a simple word, a comforting, homely sort of word and Mr. Jameson liked it very much. It simply said, 'mine'.
Perhaps it hadn't been such a bad day after all, he thought to himself. And he chuckled and he chuckled, happily to himself.