Writing Prompt: Build from this quote "Another one o' them new worlds..."

“Another one o' them new worlds. No beer, no women, no pool parlors, nothing. Nothing to do but throw rocks at tin cans. And we gotta bring our own tin cans.”

Cyril Hume

Cyril Hume, and Fred McLeod Wilcox. Cook (Earl Holliman), Forbidden Planet, commenting on their arrival on Altair 4 (1956).

Another one o' them new worlds. No beer, no women, no pool parlors, nothing. Nothing to do but throw rocks at tin cans. And we gotta bring our own tin cans. This planet is no more than dust and rumble.—another failure, another disappointment. Who knew that our delegation would be on this “world searching” mission for 10 years? My girl, you probably didn’t wait for me. No, be honest, you didn’t wait for me. No broad in her right mind would wait around for years for a man she’s not sure she’d ever see again. The mission was only supposed to last for two years tops. The bigwigs paying us implied we’d be sent out for as long as it took to find civilization but that it wouldn’t be too strenuous or take too long and that it would pay big when we did find it. But when we reached the first planet on the list and found nothing, and on the second planet, nothing again and on the third planet nothing again, it quickly became apparent that our list would continue to grow for each empty planet. For each time we sent back a report of nothing, the bigwigs added five more locations to check out.

                When you’ve been traveling the spaceways for 10 years, the time and the surroundings all seems to blend together. The bland standard issue mush, the scratchy grey and tan wool stripped blankets, the grey jumpsuits too long in the leg and too short in the arms. It became near impossible to remember what colors looked like, what cotton felt like.

                Our crew of 5 consisted of the captain, the pilot, the muscle, the mechanic and me, the navigator. The captain was a burly man, in his 40’s and on his last mission for the BW’s. His pride was in his handlebar moustache that he oiled ritually every morning. The pilot was a young man, but his experience of ships rivaled any you could find. The muscle mostly kept to himself and only came out of his rooms to eat or bash some heads if there was call for it. The mechanic was resourceful which was the only reason the captain kept him aboard and ignored his constant inebriation. The mechanic had a habit of badgering me about my girl every time he got too deep in his cups, which ended causing some brawl. I’m not proud of them, but Jemmy, what would you have me do?