The Legendary Tales of Notch Johnston

(The Doctor began. As the only being to take a patient history on the legendary figure on the bed he knew more about his history then anybody and had refused to divulge any details on the basis of Doctor/Patient confidentiality. This is the only time he talked about the details that notch had told him during there doctor appointments.)

Notch Raw-tex Johnston

Ol’notch was a native working as a longliner out of a place called Dutch Harbour Alaska on a planet called earth. Just your average snarl bustin’ gut-slinging master-baiter who had spent the last decade and a half making himself a reputation as a hard-working dock-slut who would bounce from boat to scow to ship and back again chasing better pay, better fishing and of course more willing dock honeys.

When he signed on to the 166 foot steel-hulled “Lady in Chains”, he signed on as a weather-deck gut-slinger with good engineering skills under a proven captain for a good cut, plus bonuses.The boat had huge IFQ’s not only in cod and crab but she also had long paper on Turbin, Arrowtooth, Yellowfin, and the legendary alaskan barndoor halibut they even had a few shrimp down in the southeast, you know, just to take a break.

Things went great for a run on pea-cod followed by an awesome run on halibut.

Then one day on the bering sea north of saint-paul island while soaking some pots in hopes of some blue crab love.

That was when some smack-headed, drugged out, hopped up, stickjocky almost lost his life with the lifes of three employers and there ship when he skimmed a gravitiy well way below the redline. He had smacked into the atmosphere above northern russia and burnt a hole threw the air across siberia in a fireworks show thousands of miles long. The shockwave flattened trees in a path a hundred miles wide as he fought the controls. He was desperately trying to tuck that fat ass under her long heavy nose, he only survived because he had bypassed all the safetys, rapped the drive coils up too over three hundred percent of rated output and then flared his shields to form a lifting body while dumping the cargo load on the polar ice cap as the dampners howled at the edge of destruction. The pilot dumped the cargo pods one after the next and finally dumped the contents of the hold. Only then was the pilot able to pull out of the hell dive of fire and death to slow the ship down.

While the drive cooled, system checks ran and the repairs to the drive link were made by the cook, he sat and realized how very fired he was. It was then that he saw the large metal object floating on the water.

Greed bloomed as he saw enough refined metal to payoff his debt and retire rich. So he opened the now empty hold and scooped it up. Then made ready for the hard burn that was required to break atmo from this far down the slope of gravity.

That was when the U. S. Coast Guard showed up in a big red and white helicopter. The strange looking craft raddled the pilots drug-soaked brain straight to its virus infected duel coretex. The pilot panicked and launched as hard as he could down his back trail of charged ions to find the uncharted transient wormhole that had brought him here.


Notch was down below doing his daily chores. This mostly involved taking a nap while a centerfuge scrubbed fuel for the daytank. So he was asleep at his station when the captain jumped ship. He was still asleep when another two crew members followed suit without survival suits.

Shit went all side ways on him in ways that boggled his mind and bumped his head. But not in that order.

His first clue something was amiss was when every alarm on the boat was suddenly sounding off all at the same time. His sleeping body jerked off the low work bench on training and started running on instinct. Going threw a hatch at full tilt boogie and up the stairs in a rush before it became clear to him he was going somewhere to do something ….

Then his ears popped…

The bulkhead on the port side suddenly moved over and smacked him up-side his head…


Copper..salt.. blood??

Dammit drunk again’??

wait a minute?!?

“I don’t drink!” he slurred. His mind started to swim around a bit with his head in tow as throbbing started pounding behind his eyeballs in earnest. His mouth tasted like something had died in a pile of its own crap inside his mouth.

He blinked his crusty eyelids and stared at the letters in front of his face “siemans power inverters”.

What the????

That made no sense what so ever.

“How the fuck” he said after some thought.

Cold made itself known at this point in ways that can only be understood by someone who has broken a lot of bones starting early in life. He hissed in pain as the icepicks of death reached past the now gentle throb of his headache to bitchslap the taste of a split-lip smooth out of his mouth. He scrambled to his feet only to find a twenty degree list to port had appeared as if by magic. And contrary to logic his sea-legs said “land”. This was very bad.

The air stank of mud, crap and something long dead. He felt weak but light on his feet at the same time.

He reached the hatchway at the top of the stairs with no trouble, he pushed on it, but had to push hard to open it. As it moved, gravity took hold, and it swung full open with a loud clang of metal on metal that made everyone in the galley freeze. The deck-boss “Bob” sat at the table his face frosty white, sightless eyes stared passed Notch’s left shoulder at nothing. Yeah old bob was a goner.

Bob was frozen a bit more then everyone else in the galley. Notch did a double take at the other three people on the deck and then stared open mouthed at what appeared to be aliens in the “lady’s” galley. Not mexicans not albanians but no bullshit honest to god “call M.I.B.” become famous, bang a superstar, outerspace aliens.

“I could sell that little stubbie fucker for a million bucks easy” Notch concluded quickly.

It was time to fish or chop bait.

He rushed the Stubby one. It looked kinda fishy. Ugly like an Irish Lord.


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