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A long time ago on a military ship
A boy signed on to a perilous trip
A would-be cadet
With a penchant for danger
He signed on for thrills
In a cryosleep manger
Corbulo's the name
Of his life's destination
A military school
With a fine reputation
An officer's life
Was the life he had chosen
As he and his chums were cryonically frozen
And off into slipspace the young people headed
But a problem arose that starfarers have dreaded
The long sleep of storage
Was to be interrupted
By a technical flaw
And some code that corrupted
As the good ship Jamaica flew on through night
The seal on his chamber grew a bit less than tight
The cryopod opened a decade too soon
And Hamish thawed out 'neath an alien moon
Alone and afraid in the space between spaces
He gazed with fear at his companions' faces
He wiped frost from their visors
But onward they slept
Safe and preserved while poor Hamish just wept
When he got it together, he resolved to survive
Alone on a starship, now surely he'd thrive
All he'd need is some heat and a good source of food
But on waking the AI, the news wasn't good
“Apologies, Beamish, but this ship is unmanned
“You and the others are effectively canned
“We ship you like cargo to some distant star
“But this uncrewed transporter has no buffet bar
“Nor heating for humans, but there's plenty of air
“So if you wrap up in blankets, you might still make it there
“Your sleep chamber's ruined
“And the backup is rusted
“So if you get to Corbulo
“You'll be all old and busted
“It's been called a flat circle
“And a relative hitch
“But the fact of the matter's
“Time is gravity's bitch
“So you have my condolence
“And I'll help if I can
“But I suggest that indolence
“Is the best kind of plan.”
So the darkness and cold would make anyone spooked
And young Master Hamish knew that his goose was cooked
He examined his options
And set in for the flight
He'd be cold and hungry for this long, lonely night
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So he needed some fuel for a possible fire
And protein to eat lest his body expire
He looked high and low
And through every dark passage
But all he could find was an Oberto sausage
Two hundred years old
Discarded, incredible
But because it was jerky
It was still kind of edible
As he chewed the last meat
That he might ever enjoy
He thought about girls and he thought about boys
Though frozen intact, nails and hair would still grow
And the seeds of his madness had started to show
He would shave them and clip them
With tender composure
And burn hair and eat nails lest he die of exposure
The smell, it was dreadful
And the sight even worse
But better this madness
Than a flight in a hearse
And so ten long years passed
And Corbulo drew near
And Hamish's madness
Replaced all his fear
He got used to the routine
As we are wont to do
But he dreamed of poutine
And he played his kazoo
Oh, I didn't explain that he kept that toy whistle?
Or that he wore a tattoo of a plain Scottish thistle?
His buzzing lament did not keep him sane
In fact, you could argue it addled his brain
So when the ship at last reached the Corbulo banner
He was thirty years old and as mad as a spanner
The medics tried hard to habilitate Hamish
His exploits aboard were disturbing but famous
They found him a job doing what he does best
Which is making the most of a terrible mess
So they put him in whites and they gave him a broom
And set him about cleaning room after room
The other cadets soon forgot Hamish's story
And Hamish got used to his missed chance at glory
He'd never a soldier or an officer be
But he never got used to the odor of pee
He'd clean it in bathrooms from floor to the sink
But I never revealed . . . what did poor Hamish drink?
So here is the moral of this dreadful tale
Check all of your gaskets before you set sail
And if in your world, you're aware that it's cleanish
Remember the ballad of poor Hamish Beamish
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