Standing alone in the bowels of the sanitation department

Gertrude is talking away animatedly to a closed bay door to the Jolene Roger’s tertiary recycler as a soft puff of acrid smoke drifts by up towards the whirling air scrubbers. The sub basement to the vessel is where only a select few ever bother to tread. Although the department is among the cleanest aboard, the distaste people have towards waste water treatment and the recycling of all other materials on board makes the brown jumpsuit wearers somewhat of a pariah among the crew. Once Gertrude took off her tutu, and started to prowl the ship with her trash cart she might as well have been invisible, with all of the non-attention she could attract. Hence her being rather chipper about outsmarting the three would be attackers from the ship’s largest bar and dance club. Feeling rather smug about how well her drunk girl passed out on the floor of the bar by the toilets on the last night in port had worked. She managed to engage her target in one swift motion to knock him out, and roll on top of him to provide them both cover. The moaning and gyrating had been a last second decision that really paid off, a stroke of genius really, Gertrude would have to remember that if she makes it back from UB313 alive.

Looking at the stainless steel doors polished to a high sheen, Gertrude is leaning now against the door running her fingers lazily up and down the frame while chatting amicably. “You should have seen me Norman, it was straight out of a Hollywood block buster. I see the three guys watching you, so I set my trap, right? Yeah – I wait for my moment and then pounce! Bam. Dude, you should have seen your head go. Crunch – right into the space between the floor and the bottom of the pillar. I didn’t mean to tug you down so hard. But I had to subdue you for it to work. My plan that is. Ha. If your drunk ass had of done anything except lie there under me those goons would have discovered my ruse for sure! My ruse? My scheme? My master plan. No wait, scratch that, none of this is cool, let me start over again…” hops Gertrude from the door at the tell tale sound of approaching footsteps on the open grate flooring. “Gerty! You down here again? – you and your dramatic monologues eh? Is there a show coming up that I don’t know about Gerty? I do love your stage plays. A Street Car Named Deserea was my favourite!” The older man says. “Desire.” Gertrude responds. “I’m sorry?” Repeats the older gentleman in his own immaculate brown jumpsuit. “The street car is Desire, not Deserea.” She smirks at the older man. “Oh yeah. Ha! What a goof I am. Is there a show Gerty ?” He half begs half pleads with a huge smile on his face. Gertrude loves to see her fans, especially when it’s one of her bosses boss. “I’m just practicing right now, but you’ll be the first to know when we reengage with entertainment again Jules.” She smiles sweetly at him through her giant brown eyes, her white toothy grin shining brilliantly. “That’s the ticket.” He snaps his fingers, and points at Gertrude. “Oh – right. The reason I came down here. There seems to be a puddle of medical waste in the hall. I guess the med tech’s aren’t double bagging their stuff again. If you can clear that up and just dump it straight into the recycler, you can take the rest of your shift off to work your monologue. I liked ruse, it felt authentic, and ‘of the moment’ as you like to say.” Quips Jules over his shoulder as he walks back out of the way from the recycler input doors. “Not a problem Jules!” She shouts in a sing song fashion.

Taking a beat to make sure the foot steps are receding into the background Gertrude takes a good long look at the polished doors. After a pause she says. “Ha. Norman, you almost had me there! Sneaking blood onto the floors, nice try.” Walking to her cart she grabs a mop and a thick yellow bag and some absorbent pads. Wiping up the bulk of the puddle, placing the soiled pads in the bag, and then mopping up the glistening pink spot on the floors she whispers to herself. “Almost got me Norman. Almost.”

Taking the cart and the mushy plastic bag back to where she was recounting her story to Norman she opens up the bay doors again. The interior is totally empty. Reaching half way in she plops the yellow bag of blood and soiled pads into the center of the chamber. Leaning out and closing the safety doors she pushes the green button beside the floor station terminal and with a whisper soft whir the unit drops its load into the incinerator. A minute puff of acrid black smoke drifts by Gertrude’s face as it hangs lazily in the air, like a grey haze. Only to be pulled softly towards the softly whirling air scrubbers above.

Gertrude sighs to herself and says. “That’s why I do my monologues after the fact Norman. Those three goons were lazy thugs, they were tactless. I have style and grace. Captain Morgan will pay me handsomely for disposing of you after asking too many questions.” Smiling daintily to herself Gertrude takes her cart back to her allocated storage space, and wanders off into the upper decks of the Jolene Roger. The engines have kicked on, and she can feel the added weight pulling on her through the soles of her feet from the thrust of the boosters.

Part Thirty Four: Ghost of the Dirty Starling