Chapter 375

He probably could have managed by eating peanut butter crackers. I had done that kind of thing more than once when I traveled as an almost teenager in the Air Force. They never gave me travel advances and airport food is not very good but it is very expensive. At least that is how I remember it.

"Now Jerrod, I am going to take a shower and you can not join me this time," I said with a laugh.

"Why not?" he asked almost seriously.

"Because we both stink, and we are both exhausted. We are likely to fall and if memory servers me right ship's showers are small. So get the hell out, but maybe one day, when we are back in Aster." I suggested.

"Fair enough, but only because you are the boss." He giggled like a school girl.

"And I don't have a cock," I added playfully.

"That too, but I might make and exception for you," he said seriously, but then he laughed to lessen the impact for both of us. "Since you said I stink, I will shower as well. Shall we meet for dinner?"

"Sure make it 8PM. That will give us a few hours to explore the ship before we meet. I'm sure they have more than one dinning area, where shall we meet?"

"The one closes to the front of this tub, should do at least as a place to begin," he suggested.

"Alright the most forward official dining area at 8pm it is. Now get the hell out so I can wash the stink off me." I demanded.

"Yes Ma'am," he replied.

After he had gone, I entered the small bathroom and stripped off my jungle rags and they were indeed rags at that point. I wasn't kidding when I told Jerrod that I smelled. It wasn't body odor though. It was the smell of the olive oil I used as lubricant, and the smell of the very highly refined hydraulic fluid which still stained my jeans. I was no longer leaking, but it still smelled on my clothes and possibly on my fake skin. I absolutely did not exude a pleasant odor at all.

Before I climbed into the fiberglass shower stall, I examined my body in the large vanity mirrors. They were the cruise line's idea of glitz. I could see my body reflected in every possible angle in the mirrors. By cranking up the zoom feature, I was able to see it in great detail as well.

I could see everything, from the bad hair on my head, to the poorly stitched up rips and holes in the fake skin. It was a good thing I didn't plan on a gig with project runway. I would be the first one going home so poorly was my stitching skills. Actually if I applied myself, I could probably do an adequate job, but I had been in one hell of a hurry.

I had a bullet hole dead center of my left thigh. That one I had stitched up just enough to keep it from continuing to tear, so it looked ragged as hell. The internal switches had rerouted the fluids. The absence of fluid to my knee assembly caused my limp.

The other tears had been caused by flying metal of one kind of another, but those hadn't made a solid impact on anything vital. They had at least missed the fluid lines for sure. I felt like I might be missing some feedback circuitry but nothing vital.

The farm, I came to understand, was doing an automatic monitoring program. Their satellite feedback told them when something went seriously wrong, otherwise they had to ask for updates, the number of which I think they had drastically reduced.

Nonetheless I was sure they would have everything ready to do the needed repairs. They certainly knew what I needed better than I did. Oh well, maybe I shouldn't be quite so quick to wish for emancipation from the pig farmers. One thing I decided from looking at the terrible sewing job on my skin, was that I for sure would not be in a bikini on this trip.

I stepped into the shower and washed my body. I got the smell of machine oil off me, before I used every sweet smelling thing I could find laying about. When I stepped out of the tiny shower stall, my hair still looked like shit, but it did smell good.

I went into the cabin proper to see what the farm workers had sent for me to wear. All the clothes I had brought with me lay in a pile on the floor. Those were good only for mechanic's rags.

I opened the cheap canvas suitcase. Inside I found a six pack of panties, size 6/8. Close enough, I thought. Hell they should know my sizes they created me, but then I had to remember not many people there knew that. Most would be guessing sizes by photographs.

The mustard yellow tee shirt was a size 8 which gave it a little drape. A size 6 would have been almost tight but at least would have given people an indication that I was a woman. With an 8 and no bra I could pass for a teenage boy, but only from a distance. The age lines would give me away quickly as people closed in on me.

The single pair of jeans were a size 6, which would be too tight for the jungle, but just fine for dinner. Even the sliding razor box opener would make an impression, but I doubted that anyone would know what it was. Who ever ordered the clothes most likely knew that they were close enough to the right sizes, so that I could go to the ship's boutique for an exact fit, if an exact fit were that big of a deal to me. Frankly it wasn't a big deal at all.

I might need to buy some more tee shirts and maybe even another pair of jeans, but that would be all. I was not big into clothing. Especially, since on a cruise ship no one would be upset, if I wore jeans to everything. It was after all a relaxed vacation atmosphere.

While I waited for the time to pass, I plugged in the MP3 player. I had it on satellite radio, while I did my recharge. I figured I would get my world news fix while I got my power pack reset. It was almost an hour before there was a mention of the attack on a monastery by rebellious army deserters. The reporters seemed surprised by the fact the the monks were armed and even more surprised that they repelled the attackers. There was no mention of the foreign advisers, and that suited me just fine. I didn't really want or need the publicity. Simon was likely to be disappointed though. Any young man would want to be recognized as a hero.