"It's not my fault if you can't follow directions. You're bad enough on the road, but out here in space, you have up and down to get lost in too, and just like a man, you take full advantage of it!"

"Aw, come on honey, be fair. How long is it since I got us lost?"

"How about ten days ago, when you added in the date to the coordinates and let Envy get in first to salvage that Stage 3 rocket?"

"Don't blame me for that. Collie was our navigator on that trip. Was it my fault that they never told me he's dyslexic, not to mention computer illiterate?"

I turned down the volume on the loudspeaker and leaned back in my captain's seat, grinning widely. "Snotty," I said idly, "Remind me never to take my wife onboard as a replacement for you or Smithy."

"Jorgo still copping it from his ever-loving?" asked Snodgrass, the second in command of my little salvage tug Envy.

"Yep, and while they're arguing, we're heading for the most important little bit of salvage we've ever gone after."

"Hardly little, Boss. The Racer's a whole space liner complete with passengers." Smithy was exaggerating there. The Camptown Racer was a cargo ship that had been partially adapted and refurbished to take half a dozen passengers who weren't too fussy about all the creature comforts offered by the large corporations such as TransLunar and Mars Inc. "Plus it's rescue, not salvage, so there won't be the same profits in it. Anyway, you don't have a wife."

"It's still better than sitting out here waiting for somebody to drop the ship cat's litter tray overboard," observed Snotty. Pickings in the space salvage business had been slack lately, and how were we to eat if nothing ever went wrong out here? "Maybe Jorgo will chuck Mrs Jorgo out of the airlock, and we'll have to salvage her."

I shuddered at Snotty's imagery. Sure, it could get a little lonely being single, but with Val Jorgensen as an example, bachelorhood seemed a highly desirable state.

"Come on, pedal to the metal! Let's get out of range of that voice and pick up the Racer and get her back to Titan Base. I could do with a spot of shore leave, so let's git!" We got.

Three Earth days later, we finished attaching the grappling beams to the Camptown Racer's hull and were ready to commence the tow to the floating dock orbiting Titan, Saturn's largest moon.

We knew from radio contact with Harkness, the captain of the Camptown Racer that they had developed problems with their atmospheric recycling system, and barely had enough air left to get them back to safety. We'd agreed to take on one of their passengers to reduce their air consumption and give them a safety margin, so Smithy suited up and exited our aft airlock, preparatory to escorting a nervous landlubber to the Envy.

I watched through the viewscreen as Smith escorted a clumsy figure in a space suit, who'd clearly never worn one before. It was a very basic model, with no radio, and Smith suddenly let loose with an expletive, which we on the Envy heard very clearly. Knowing that his companion couldn't hear us, I asked Smithy what had prompted his outburst.

"Look Captain Benson, it's not my fault. I didn't choose this particular passenger; it appears to have been the choice of everybody on the Racer. Everybody except hers. Don't blame me. I'm only delivering her, I'm not responsible."

He didn't elucidate further, so we were left in the dark until he cycled the airlock and the passenger was able to remove her space suit helmet.

"Boss, er... Captain Benson Sir. May I introduce Mrs Piper?"

I hardly had the chance to hold out my hand in welcome before she opened her mouth.

"This is highly irregular. I paid for passage on that ship, not this... this... workboat. I demand a full refund of my fare." Her voice was reminiscent of my childhood, schooldays spent listening to the scraping sound of the chalk on the blackboard, only magnified. "Where are my quarters? Why didn't your worker bring all my luggage on board? How am I supposed to manage for ten days with little more than the clothes I'm wearing plus one bag? All I can say is I hope you have a good cook aboard. I'm allergic to the rubbish that comes out of those food replicators."

If that was all she had to say, then it took her a long time to say it before Snodgrass took pity on his poor Captain and escorted her aft, loudly demanding to know when her interrupted journey would be resumed. I sighed.

If I had to put up with that voice complaining all the way to Titan, then I may be tempted to adopt Snotty's suggestion and stuff her out of the airlock.

I was awakened from my dark musings by the ping of the radio hailing us.

"Camptown Racer here, Harkness speaking. Thanks for all your help Envy, we appreciate it, and we'll do all in our power to be the perfect tow. Have a pleasant journey."

"Thanks for fiddling your charming passenger off onto us," I remarked acidly, and added a few choice words that hopefully curled his hair and turned his remaining air blue. I mentally rammed my fist into his smug sounding face, and switched off the radio. I noticed Smithy's apprehensive face out of the corner of my eye, and realised that it was going to be a long, long journey through hell for all of us.

© Sandy Parkinson July 2007. Word count: 943