Disco
20...
The bastards disabled the jets in my suit before tossing me out the door. Naturally, they kept the life support features activated so I’d be able to watch those little red numbers do their digital countdown. The bomb was floating in front of me. And there they are, counting down in that ominous way digital numbers like to.
I’m having a hard time taking my eyes off the bomb to watch the starship. The bomb is one of those compact thermal-nuclear jobs. You know the kind, right? Big flash, big boom, lots of fire and pain. Doesn’t disintegrate everything, just leaves a sloppy mess. So, if anyone ever passes this little spot of intergalactic real estate, they’ll find my bones and maybe a wallet with my favorite photo of mega-star Tom Cruise.
They pushed me out of the ship pretty hard. I’m watching it float off with the little navigation lights blinking. There, now the engines are powering up. And there go the secondaries, so they’re going straight to a warp jump. Makes sense, why would they want to be here when the nuke goes off?
The ship stretches and blinks out and the deafening silence of space gets a little quieter. I’d say lonely but I have a friend in the bomb. A temporary friend, but I’m not alone.
16...
The ship’s gone and I’m floating in the big empty. One minute inside a starship, the next floating in infinite nothingness. I guess it’s infinite, I don’t know, I’ve never seen the edge of space.
I’m not going to lie to you, there’s something poetic about being left to die in space. The twinkling stars and the Nebula clouds and galaxy formations with the amazing colors. An endless abyss in every direction. I think I should be enjoying it more except I’m really fucking afraid of heights.
Hey! Don’t you judge, even the most macho of manly men, guys like me, and Tom Cruise, we have our hang-ups. Mine just happens to be heights. Heights and when food collects at the bottom of a sink drain. God damn, that grosses me out. You know what I’m talking about? It’s disgusting.
Okay, so, that handsome fella staring back at me in the reflection of my space helmet, the fella with the big smile on his face, is me: CAPTAIN BINGO DISCO.
All right settle down. I know my parents sucked at naming kids or maybe it was the writer wanting his ruggedly handsome, titular main character to have a ridiculous middle name. What you thought Bingo was my first name? Nope, Captain is. I used to think it was Awesome, but Awesome was my grandfather’s name. Awesome Disco. He's a cool dude you would have liked him OR would have liked him? I think he might be dead.
Anyway, my name isn't what’s important here. Well, maybe it is considering it's the title of this book and it's my name. Actually, I guess it really is important because my name is the title and when you strip everything away, I’m one of the main characters.
Another thing that might be important here is this: why the fuck am I smiling when a bomb is mere seconds from exploding in my face? Who smiles when they’re literally seconds away from dying in a soundless explosion in the middle of nowhere?
Did I not mention why I was out here with a bomb? In the excitement of being thrown out of a perfectly good starship by the balls, I must have forgotten. For you to understand my convoluted story that is probably chock-full of plot holes, we must go back to the very beginning.
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