Captain Skylark took a piece of chalk between his grubby oil-soaked fingers and drew a smiley face on the outside of a battered black coffee mug. He smiled and gulped down the scorching liquid, tossing the empty mug over his shoulder.
“Alright, boys, let’s shoot this spitball!” Skylark shouted over the radio.
The Captain sat back in his chair and crisscrossed his body with seatbelts. One hand swept across the instrument panel of the tiny bathysphere, flipping switches and pressing buttons.
Through the viewport, Skylark could see the silver-white dot of a moon beyond the rim of the Stellar Cannon. A countdown came over the dented speaker.
“Firing in 6… 5… 4…”
Skylark slammed into his seat as his craft spun along the rifling and launched into space. Stars streaked by at a sickening pace outside the window. He closed the viewport and watched his coffee mug spinning in free-fall before his face. He snatched it, deftly avoiding the jagged edges where the handle used to be, and muttered to himself.
“Hope they have a good catcher…”