Riding in a van

Roger is driving, but he drew lots for which van like every other pilot and he ended up with the *Praxis'* boat *S&H Green Stamps Bought This Ride*. She's gunmetal-and-gilt on the outside and an oddly-vivid avocado green on the inside, with pilot and co- seats (there's only two plugs so it's not a navigator's seat), standard controls, and paired banks of seats along the walls in the rear. Between the driving compartment and the passengers there's a cloth curtain and a pine-tree-shaped air freshener in "Purity Seal" scent.

He settles in - he doesn't do this often enough to be augmented for shit, he just seat-of-the-pants it like the Saint taught him, the available jacks dangling against the epaulette of his unbuttoned uniform jacket where he'll forget about them until they tickle his ear when the van pulls out of its parking space. Goggles with built-in HUD elements are on; five-buckle restraining harness *is* securely fastened. Before him and around him there are panels and readouts and many many analog switches and buttons and dials, but Roger's in game mode and would currently claim, an echo again of how the Saint taught him, that it's easy: you just have to make sure all the lights are green.

First things first: figure out which one controls the stereo. The rest of the team is getting in and sitting down, stowing things under the seats. Roger could literally turn around and raise his voice; he gets on the PA system instead. Tinny, low-fidelity. "Buckle up back there, eh, there might be weather."

Switches get flipped, the van wakes up, lights begin to turn green. The doors seal shut with a soft thunk and a hiss. Roger mutters an appropriate prayer under his breath, naming the van and himself and the kids in the back so as to bring all of them to the Emperor's attention for the next few hours, and another to invoke the whole idea of the ship working well and all machine spirits being in good moods. "Who's got the aux cord first?" on the PA. "And who's not buckled in. We're not pulling this ship out until you're all buckled in, eh. I can see it on the dashboard, guys, come on." The penultimate yellow light on the dashboard goes green. "Thanks. Alright, this is your pilot speaking, we've got about four hours ahead of us and there might be a cloud in the way. Guess we'll find out when we get to it. Lucky for us when we land we get a quick smoke break and then we're out there earning our t-shirts, so chill while you can. I'll be back in a couple hours to start the fuckin' business talk and shit, eh. No smoking in the van."

"When's the beverage service?" somebody asks from the back.

"What do we do in case of a water landing?" asks somebody else.

"After we land. Swim," Roger answers, just raising his voice, not over the PA.

The final light on the dashboard goes green, and the lights inside the parking bay go down to only the red emergency lights. The radio crackles. "*Praxis* to *S&H Green Stamps Bought This Ride. S&H Green Stamps Bought This Ride,* you are cleared to pull out. May the Emperor protect you. Over."

"Copy that, *Praxis*. May we do His will. Over."

Doors inside the parking bay dilate open and new lights start to flash inside, warning of the lack of atmosphere. There's a second set of doors, solid, covered in prayers and seals. A bell sounds and these doors open; the *Green Stamps* begins to pull forward, and the *Praxis* continues to move along her own path, and now they're off. Other minivans have already begun to fly away. They're like so many little birds leaving the nest.

--

"Alright, raise your hand if you were a Guardie," in the back. Roger's hand is up behind the curtain for a moment, before he puts it back on the controls. The weather's a little dicey; they've been complaining about the ride back there and he's glad they shut up about *that*. The speaker in the rear continues: "So who knows the Fixin-to-Die Rag?"

It's at least four of them, which is nearly half.

"And it's 1-2-3 what are we fighting for? Don't ask, I sure don't know; I just do what I'm told! And it's 5-6-7 open up the pearly gates - well there ain't no time to wonder why, yipee! we're all gonna die!"

The stereo's out, to divert more power to the inertial dampeners to try and get through the weather. At least it's not 99 Bottles of Beer.