Dandelion Back to: Some So-Called Music

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First(?) in a series ... “The Plastered Children of Transport 18”

Tale of Transport 18

(Efficient Use of Resources)

In every two-bit tavern in every has-been port, the washed up wrecks who used to be spacers gather to tell tall tales, to sing lewd songs, and to raise a zero-G bulb. In such a place you might hear “Dawson’s Christian”. It’s the true story of Hera’s Dream, a merchant ship attacked by pirates (as set to music by Duane Elms). Or you might hear “The Ballad of Transport 18”. It’s the true story of Transport 18, a merchant ship attacked by pirates (as set to music by Leslie Fish). Then, one fateful night, there was a terrible collision...

ttto: Dawson’s Christian

Transport 18 hit the space lanes with a crew of 38,
And our talk had turned to all the ways a pair — or more — could mate.
Then the pirates swooped down on us, lasers set to “perforate”,
And our hull was ventilted through and through.

All our life support went off-line and we also lost the drive,
And our hull was leaking air so fast we feared we’d not survive.
When our damage teams reported our ship dead, with crew alive,
Hiding out in Hold 5 seemed the thing to do.

So we set our mayday beacons and retreated in great haste,
For we knew that hold had treasures which we wouldn’t want to waste.
As we sealed ourselves inside there, every member of the crew,
Gave a cheer for Transport 18 — and her brew.
Gave a cheer for Transport 18 — and her brew.

We decided our first action should be tapping all the beers,
For we didn’t want to die adrift in space with sober fears.
Then our mayday call was answered — by some guy with pointy ears,
And we told him all the troubles we’d been through.

Well, he raised an eyebrow at us when our story was all told.
He said, “You can build a rocket with the things found in your hold.
Use that beer, and you’ll reach port before this week is halfway old...
But my ship,” he said, “has better things to do.”

When it comes to beer, don’t ever take advice, it has been said,
From a guy whose ship is famous (as the one that has no head).
And if beer could be reaction mass, our piss could be used to,
Whiz us off to Transport 18’s rendezvous.
Whiz us off to Transport 18’s rendezvous.

So we cobbled up some plumbing with a pipe aimed toward our rear,
But for “designated driver” we could find no volunteer.
So the coffee pot computer got assigned a new career,
As an autopilot holding our course true.

We all had to keep our pace up through that 50-hour span,
But we bravely faced our duty — every woman, every man.
As we queued up at the beer-tap, and we queued up at the can,
Every flush propelled us closer to rescue.

Then the station tugs aproached us and they grappled us somehow,
But we noticed they were careful to stay well up toward our bow.
For they’d studied how we’d got there; nothing would they have to do,
With the tail of Transport 18 — and her loo.
With the tail of Transport 18 — and her loo.

© 2001, Rich Brown (rmf53@FreeMars.org )
Thanks to Gary McGath for some scansion fixes!

Creative Commons License My filks are licensed under the Creative Commons attribution, non-commercial, share-alike License. If you use my stuff I would appreciate hearing about it.

Slightly related link: Microsoft iLoo

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Last rev: April 05, 2008 at 08:41 AM (a Saturday)