Screw the Universe (10 page)

“Duknerts, sir?”

“That’s the ‘Nert.”

On the bridge, the crew was performing the same menial tasks they performed everyday when the computer’s voice came over the loudspeaker.

“First Lieutenant Duknerts. The captain would like to have a word with you in his chambers.”

“Really?” asked First Lieutenant Duknerts, full of dread.

“Yes. He sounded quite adamant about it.”

“He probably wants to become butt-buddies with you,” theorized Private Yvette Redshirt.

“I thought
we
were butt-buddies,” said the first lieutenant to his girlfriend.

“Oh, sweetheart. You have NO IDEA what I consider a butt-buddy.”

“Oh. Oh!” said a very curious, and now very aroused, First Lieutenant Duknerts. “Hold that thought, then, ‘til I’m done meeting with Captain Farthead. Someone else make sure that we don’t crash into something while I’m gone.”

“On it,” said the computer.

First Lieutenant Duknerts knocked on the captain’s door.

“Enter!” beckoned Tyler.

First Lieutenant Archibald Duknerts walked in and sat in the chair directly next to his commanding officer.

“What’s up, sir?”

“Not much, ‘Nerts. Just thought we could have a chat. Get to know the inner you. You know, without the anal violation.”

“I’m touched, sir, that you’ve taken an interest. And I’m very glad you’ve decided to forgo the butt stuff.”

“Well, I imagine you get enough of that from Redshirt. How’s things working out with her, by the way?”

“Pretty well, actually. My parents don’t seem to be thrilled with her, considering they’re Evangelical Christians and she keeps giving me blowjobs at family functions. And, like you mentioned earlier, she does… things… that are technically illegal in my home state.”

“You don’t say. In front of your parents, too. That girl just gives and gives doesn’t she.”

“Until it hurts… or loses feeling.”

“Nice! So, what about your old fogies?”

“My parents? Well, my father’s a retired civil engineer and my mother used to be a Space Vegas showgirl until she met my dad and converted. Then she became a home maker. Tough work, especially doing it by yourself. Walls don’t go up easy.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have a picture of them?” asked Captain Tyler.

“I might,” said First Lieutenant Duknerts, reaching for his wallet. “Wait. Why?”

“Just curious.”

“Okay...” said the first lieutenant, hesitantly opening his wallet to a picture of his parents and handing it over.

“Aw, they look like a lovely couple,” said the captain, standing the wallet on the table to his left.

“Thank you, sir. That means a lot coming from you. I know things tend to get crazy from time to time, what with the stupidity and the dying and all, but I do value your opinion.”

“I’m glad I can count on you, ‘Nerts. Seems like a lot of the crew here just sort of put up with me.”

“No!”

“I know, I know. I may be overreacting, but you can never be too sure with space pirates.”

“Sir, we’re not space pirates.”

“Right,” said the captain. “So, like sports?”

“A little. Never really got into them.”

“No?”

“Nah, tried in high school for a while, but, you know.”

“You throw like a girl?”

“No, I… Well, yeah actually,” said First Lieutenant Duknerts.

“Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen,” said the computer, “but First Lieutenant Duknerts is needed on the bridge. Private Redshirt is nude and straddling the command console. We all figured you’d know how to remedy the situation.”

“Sounds like I’ve got to go, sir.”

“Sometimes, ‘Nerts, you just have to bang the ever loving shit out of your woman.”

“Well, I don’t think I’d put it –”

“In the butt? Oh, you have to! Really jam it in there.”

First Lieutenant Duknerts sighed slightly, stood up and walked out of the captain’s quarters.

“Atta boy! Plug that hole!” cried Captain Tyler, before noticing that Duknerts left his wallet on the table. The captain picked it up and started leafing through.

“Space bucks, credit cards, nude picture of Private Redshirt... nude picture of Private Redshirt... a picture of ‘Nerts’ sister... picture of his parents... nude picture of Redshirt... nude picture of his parents...” The captain paused. “Well, fuck me sideways. Think I need to get myself some of this.”

The captain turned back to his computer and pulled up the Zdravo’s enlistment records, looking for First Lieutenant Duknerts’s file.

“Hmm… ‘Mother: Mrs. Jennifer Wizardsleeve Duknerts.’”

Captain Tyler pulled out his satellite phone and dialed the number on the screen.

“Hello?” said the voice on the other end of the line.

“Is this Ms. Wizardsleeve?”

“Oh, I haven’t gone by that name for a long time. It’s Mrs. Duknerts now.”

“My apologies, ma’am. I was just wondering, what are you wearing?”

The call suddenly ended.

Captain Tyler hit redial.

“Hello,” said Mrs. Duknerts.

“Is it a thong?”

The call suddenly ended again.

Captain Tyler shrugged, programmed the number into his speed dial, and then went back to looking at porn.

Inspect the Toasters

Mission 58008 - 042

“And that’s why I see no better team for this task,” declared Marshal Orr, “than you, Captain Tyler, and the platoon of miscreants you call colleagues.”

The Zdravo was double-space-parked at the Space Federation Space Headquarters to receive her next mission. A few members of the crew had assembled in the space station’s dimly-lit Conference Room A for a briefing. The remainder were re-stocking the ship or using the station’s toilets. The ones on the Zdravo were... honestly, there’s not even a word for it.

“Just to clarify,” said Captain Oswald Van Vanderhoort Van
Tyler, standing up, “you want us to eradicate all stupidity and ignorance in the known universe. That’s the mission?”

“Correct. Where are your pants?”

“Right here,” answered the captain, holding his pants in his right hand. “You are aware that this mission could take awhile, right?”

“We’re prepared to carry on without you in the meantime,” said Marshal Orr. “Please put your pants on.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. Against my religion to wear pants on a space station.”

“But you’re an atheist.”

“Recently converted.”

“To what?”

“Pantstheist.”

“That sounds like you just made that up.”

“How is that different than any other religion?”

Marshal Orr grinned. “Maybe I’ve been too hard on you, Tyler...”

“That’s what she said.”

“No, no,” continued Marshal Orr, reverting back to his nearly perpetual frown, “I’ve been exactly as hard as I should have been.”

“That’s also what she said.”

The marshal raised an eyebrow.

“Are you sure these ‘ladies’ of the evening you’ve been seeing are actually ladies?”

“Pay them enough and they’ll be whatever you want,” replied Captain Tyler. “Are you, you know, interested? Because this one gal, Steve, hoo-wee, you wouldn’t believe what she can do with an egg beater.”

“Uh, no. No. I’m okay without Steve, Captain.”

“Your loss.”

Steve got up and ran out of the room in tears, shrieking, “Why doesn’t anyone love me?!”

“Why was she even in here?” asked the space marshal. “This is a highly classified meeting. She could know things. She could squeal to the media.”

“Oh, she can squeal all right,” added Tyler.

“Duknerts!”

“Yes, Space Marshal?” said First Lieutenant Archibald Duknerts, stepping forward from behind where Steve had been.

“Why is
he
here?” asked Tyler.

“Chase her down and bring her to the memory-erasing lab,” continued Orr.

“Right away, sir,” said Duknerts, running from the conference room.

“Okay, now, before we continue, who else is in this room?”

Private Yvette Redshirt, Private Heather Naughtyplaces, and a clown all raised their hands.

“You’re going to have to speak, out loud. I can hear you moving, but that’s it.”

“Maybe you should turn the lights on, Marshal,” suggested Private Yvette Redshirt.

“I was trying to cut down on the electric bill.”

“You could try limiting the arcade’s operating hours. I don’t think it needs to be open 36 hours a day. There aren’t even that many hours
in
a day.”

“I’m afraid I simply can’t do that,” replied Marshal Orr. “Lights! On!”

The lights came on.

“Right, so,” continued the marshal, surveying the conference room, “privates, you can go. But first, escort that clown to my dorm.”

“Why?” asked Private Naughtyplaces.

“What?” asked Space Marshal Orr. “Are you questioning me?”

“No, I was just curious as to —”

“Shh!” interrupted Private Redshirt. “You don’t ask those sorts of things here. Especially not when a clown is involved.”

Naughtyplaces looked over at the space marshal, his face aching with anticipation.

“Oh...” she said. “Ohhhhh!”

“The Federation hierarchy is based on sexual deviancy,” whispered Redshirt. “So for Marshal Orr to be a marshal, he’s gotta be even more fucked up than —”

“Hey!” said Captain Tyler, listening in on the conversation. “Don’t you speak ill of my boss.”

“But he is!”