Meteor Mags: Omnibus Edition by Matthew Howard

Author:Matthew Howard [Howard, Matthew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Short Stories, pirate, anarchy, asteroids, space pirate, meteor mags, space octopus
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

★ ○•♥•○ ★

“Okay, just give it a little turn, Mags.” In the shop at Club Assteroid, Fuzzlow held a piece of machinery on the workbench. “Don’t over-crank it.”

“I know, I know. Jeez, calm down.”

Donny held a nut in place with a wrench on one side of the machinery. He lacked Fuzzlow’s magic touch with machines, but he had spent enough time repairing mining equipment to have proven quite handy in the shop. The two of them had spent many hours together, tinkering with all kinds of things since Donny had joined the band. “That’s a laugh! The great Meteor Mags telling anyone to keep calm.”

She tightened the bolt from the other side. “What?! I’m as sweet as a little angel!” She cranked it some more.

“Easy there, Magatha,” said Fuzzlow. “Don’t—”

The bolt suddenly snapped in half, clattering down into the guts of the machinery.

“Goddamn fuck!” She whipped her wrench across the shop. It smacked against the wall and fell into the piles of parts stacked there.

“Mags!” Fuzzlow shook his head. “I told you—”

“I know. I know! It was just a little bit loose.”

“Well,” said Donny, “now we gotta drill out that damn bolt and start all over. How about a smoke break?”

Mags’ eyes lit up. “Now there’s an idea!”

“Fine, you two.” Fuzz set the machinery aside. “I’d get more work done in here if I had less help.”

Donny snorted. “Go ahead and hold your own nuts, then!”

“Yeah, Fuzz. Nut holder.”

“Mags, can I just have my wrench back?”

She sighed then searched for the wrench. “So when are you guys recording your next album?”

“What do you mean, you guys? Aren’t you going to be on it with us?”

“Fuzz, you know I can’t commit to rehearsals and sessions and all that. I got cargo to liberate! Lizards to exterminate!” Mags walked back to the bench and handed him his wrench.

Donny offered his pack of smokes. “Come on, Mags. You can’t even do one song?”

“Listen to this guy.” She took the pack. “Then we have to write the bloody thing, rehearse it, record it, decide that take sucked, record it again, do overdubs. It’s never just one song.”

“What if we do it live? I mean, we’ve got a huge show next month. It’s your birthday, for crying out loud. You aren’t going to sing on your birthday?”

Mags thought this over. “You’ve got a point. But I don’t want to be on record doing a cover. So what song goes on the album?”

“Let’s do that one you’re always talking about but we never arranged.”

Mags laughed. “That old thing? Oh, come on. No one wants to hear that.”

“I want to hear it,” said Donny. “What is it?”

“Oh, god. It’s just this thing I used to drive Gramma nuts with. It’s not even a real song!”

Fuzzlow grinned. “Yeah, but it’s got a great title: Stone cold blasted at the edge of infinity!”

“Now I gotta hear it,” said Donny.

Mags rolled her eyes. “Okay. Fuzzlow, dear, would you give me a beat? Something like—” Mags drummed her fingers on the table.

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