Pixie Hazard Archibald Bradford (sneezy the snowman read aloud txt) 📖

didn’t last long before it was interrupted by a familiar, and most unwelcome, voice.

“Hello Captain Nelson. Scuttlebutt on the station is that you have a ship for sale.”

Donnie looked over to see a portly man leaning against the bar next to her. He was wearing a three piece suit that stood at odds with the quaint noodle bar, with a couple of equally well-dressed flunkies at his back.

She considered the deceptively affable face of Jonathan Demarco for all of two seconds before turning back to her noodles.

“Word is that you can fuck right off.”

The crime-lord stretched his arms out to either side, as if to say: what did I do?

“Not very diplomatic of you Captain, but I can understand your frustration. May I join you? Mister Ling makes the most wonderful bao, you must try one if you haven’t already.”

Without being told to do so, the old man behind the counter set a plate in the space next to Donnie’s with a pair of steamed buns on it as Demarco sidled up to her.

“By all means, sit.” She muttered, though her eyes were more focused on the two men with him.

Her hackles were up as one of them was standing slightly too close to her back.

Demarco nudged the plate towards her invitingly, but all he received in return was an icy stare.

He sighed in disappointment, but was otherwise undeterred.

“If you won’t eat with me, I’m hoping that you’ll at least hear me out.”

“I’d sooner listen to that yahoo in the docking bay, preaching about returning to his magical victory garden.”

He chuckled at her insulting words, brushing them off easily.

“Ah yes. ‘Abraham goeth! And with him, his children!’ New gospels, chapter seven, verse three I believe. A wonderful segue into what I wish to discuss actually.”

Seeing that she was still on the defensive due to the proximity of his bodyguards he waved them to sit in a booth opposite the bar before tucking into his bao.

“You never struck me as the religious sort.” Donnie observed as she got her personal space back.

Demarco had to take a moment to chew and swallow before he could answer her, though he made a point of wiping his face with a disposable napkin before he spoke.

“Not in the least! But the subject fascinates me. How much do you know about the formation of The Coalition of Abraham?”

“About as much as you know about social cues.” She said under her breath.

Fully aware of the power that Demarco wielded on Mung Station, she resigned herself to the conversation.

Didn’t mean she had to like it.

“Where to begin... ah yes, as with many things we must begin at the end.”

Given that he’d missed the last one, Donnie bit back another snide comment.

“After they perpetrated the Islamic Genocide, the Scientological Cabal were rounded up and summarily disposed of by the United Nations, this was before The Dissolution of course. There was little sympathy for them: no matter how personable their spokesman was, snuffing out two billion lives is a hard sell.”

“Is there going to be a point to this history lesson?”

“I’m getting there. But you mustn’t derail me! Although Mister Ling already has, you’ve outdone yourself sir.” The old Asian man behind the counter bowed with a toothy smile as Demarco took another bite of his steamed bun, again taking the time to ensure that his table-manners were impeccable before continuing the lecture; “While all of the celebrity scientologists were being strung up by their tender bits, Christianity folded in on itself under the weight of its own hypocrisy. With the advent of interstellar travel and the discovery of life on other worlds the supremely limited perspective of their bible could no longer be ignored.”

“Fascinating.” Donnie crossed her arms over her breasts impatiently.

He waved at her with his chopsticks to still her.

“Now now! Where was I?” He tapped his chin with his napkin as he regained his train of thought; “Ah yes! The Coalition. So the survivors of Islam and the remaining followers of the other Abrahamic traditions banded together in one last bid of mental gymnastics to make their various holy books fit to the new reality.”

By this point Donnie was gritting her teeth more than slightly.

“Still bored.” She muttered, but he kept talking over her.

“And thus ‘The Coalition of Abraham’ was born!” He sat back in his stool and waved his arms out grandly for a moment; “Though stillborn would be the more appropriate term given the tepid reaction from the masses.”

She quirked an eyebrow at his exuberance.

“Yet every station seems to have at least one nutter on it who thinks that the entirety of the universe was created for the exclusive use of one species.”

“And they wonder why they haven’t converted a single non-terran.” Demarco chuckled; “Yes, their attempt at converting K’or-Macka was... laughable.”

“Their entire delegation renounced their faith in favour of kitty poon?” Donnie guessed with a snort.

“That is the long and short of it.”

“The long of it, as it turns out. You still haven’t gotten to your point.”

Finished with his first bao, and the bulk of his history lesson, he turned in his stool to face her directly.

“The point, my dear captain, is that no single-species religion could survive the advent of interstellar travel. Not without becoming truly insular and xenophobic. Which is hardly a productive mindset to take with you to the stars.”

He paused for a moment to ensure she heard every word, then turned back to take a long drink from the glass Mister Ling placed in front of him.

It took an effort of will for her not to grab him and shake him, as it was Donnie shifted in her own seat impatiently.

“Maybe I wasn’t clear. What does any of this have to do with me?”

Fingering with