Tabitha’s Vacation

Description

One Problem, One Ranger

I walked into Rossini’s Bar on Planet Bectal with what my boss calls a physical ailment—a short temper and a bad case of I-don’t-give-a-shit. I was grumping to him for the third monthly meeting in a row about having nothing to do when he came to check on me in my area of the sector. As my doctor, he prescribed a three-month vacation.

My boss knows me too damned well.

He isn’t going to lose my services for the three months. It’s three because it’s two weeks’ travel each way, and he knows I know he’s still getting work out of me, so he can kiss my ass on the actual travel time. I booked that on the nicest, most expensive luxury liner this side of the galaxy for my vacation since everything else was going to be work. Fun work, perhaps, but work nonetheless.

Here on Bectal’s world, I would just be doing my job. Some vacation. Poking the alien equivalent of anthills. Looking under disgusting rocks. Kicking over dilapidated buildings to see what maggots from the local equivalent of the criminal world squirmed off, hoping to get away faster than I could figure out what the hell they’d done wrong and, if necessary, shoot them.