You don’t reference Monty Python to be helpful, you reference Monty Python because you can.
On the upside, they now had an interstellar ‘ride‘. On the downside, it was an abandoned freighter. Its hold was still full. Which meant that the parental company had pulled the plug and evacuated the pilot when the cargo proved to be valueless.
And, of course, Shayde had to look.
“No,” she grinned. The tone of her voice made it sound like a good thing.
Which meant that it was supremely bad news for Rael. “What have you found?” he grated in the disinterested tones of someone who knew he didn’t want to know, but also wanted the painful bit over as soon as humanly possible.
“Jus’ look,” she said in the tones of someone who had just discovered Christmas.
He did. The cargo holds, all fifty of them, were chock full of stasis pallets loaded and stacked high with blue cans featuring something… pink.
“I don’t get it,” he confessed. He toured down into the hold for a closer look. It was some variety of canned meat product. Ancient Terran alphabet. The yellow letters declared it to be SPAM.
Shayde’s voice pitched up into an unholy screech, “We got Eggs, Spam and Chips… Spam, Eggs and Sausage… Eggs, Spam, Sausage and Chips… Spam, Eggs, Spam and Spam… Spam, Sausage, Spam, Eggs and Spam… Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam and Spam…”
Her usual field of ur-reality asserted itself in an invisible chorus of male voices singing, “Spam, spam, spam, spam, spam…”
“Would you stop that?” pleaded Rael.
“Right on cue!” Shayde crowed. She slid down the railing so she could mime punching him in the arm. “And you said ye had no idea of what Monty Python was.”
“I still don’t,” Rael muttered. “Is this a food product or a punchline?”
“Ye know,” said Shayde. “I often wondered tha’ meself…”
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