The Sclarravia Chronicles;markthree.

Tristan never liked scientists. Every bastrd wrapped in white overalls and glued to septic gloves deserved nothing less than a sharp stab with a lazer-razorblade; something they themselves no doubt created in a labratory. A job is a job - and Tristan planned not outstay his welcome. In, then out.1

" Docking complete. Air pressure stablized. Docking bay passcode acses - passcode denied. "2

Tristian snapped out of his mild rage and into one of greater strength - what now? He had no time for computer malfunctions, especially those of public transport - every drive puts your life in the robotic hands of a digital idiot.3

" Autocab, request. Disengage Air Dock and take me somewhere where my work is apprieciated. "4

" I'm sorry SIR, but would you please rephrase your req - "5

A sharp click snapped through the air.6

TO BE CONT. when i have time.7

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