Screw the Universe (8 page)

“You see? They can’t – Then why can’t they see me? Here. Let me look at it.” There was a pause, then the voice continued, saying, “You idiot, it’s zoomed in all of the way.”

The camera pulled back and Frosty the Snowman came into view. Something was different though. Naturally, Captain Tyler was the first to bring it to light.

“Ha! You’ve got titties!” he shouted, pointing at the viewscreen.

Frosty looked down at his chest and discovered that he did indeed have a rather large set of boobs.

“Okay,” he said, turning to look off-screen, “who did this? Was it Ron? I’m gonna – What? When? Oh, huh. Then who the hell else would have done this? It really seems like his kind of prank.”

First Lieutenant Duknerts coughed, loudly.

“Oh, balls,” said Frosty, returning his attention to the Zdravo.

“No,” corrected Tyler, “breasts. Nice ones, too.”

“They’re okay,” said Frosty, looking down, “but could we get back to the matter at hand?”

“Your boobs?”

“No,” replied the snowman. “Your imminent demise.”

“By your boobs?” asked the captain.

“You really aren’t going to let this go, are you?”

“Not anytime soon.”

Frosty wiped the extra snow off his chest.

“There. No more boobs.”

“Fine.” Captain Tyler frowned. “What was that about your demise or dinner or whatever?”

“No. Yours.”

“That’s what I said,” asserted the captain.

“No, I’m actually referring to
your
demise.”

“I don’t even know where mine is. Is it my anus?”

“No? What? The hell are you…?” Frosty looked around at the rest of the crew. “Is he always like this?”

Everyone on the bridge nodded. Including Captain Tyler.

“So?” asked Tyler.

“Right,” said Frosty. “Your imminent demise.”

“The fuck I am! I’m Captain Oswald Van Vanderhoort Pan Tyler.”

“Van
Tyler,” corrected First Lieutenant Duknerts.

“Right. What Quackballs said. I’m not this Imminent Demise person you speak of.”

“Imminent demise isn’t a person, it’s your fate,” said Frosty. “I’m going to kill you. When I say ‘imminent demise’ I am, in fact, referring to your swift and approaching death.”

“Which one?”

“What?”

“I died, like, twice last week. I think I was dead this morning, technically. Which one are you talking about?”

“I am talking about your death at my hands.”

“I don’t... I don’t think I died by your hands yet,” said Captain Tyler, turning toward the crew. “Private Boxershorts, pull up the spreadsheet. Have I died by snow hands yet?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” said Private Kim Boxershorts.

“Didn’t think so,” replied the captain. He returned his attention to Frosty the Snowman. “I think you’re wrong, Frosto. None of my deaths appear to have been at your hands.”

“Well, not yet.”

“Right.”

“I don’t think you get what I’m saying.”

“I don’t think
you
get what
I’m
saying.”

“Yeah, I definitely don’t,” replied Frosty the Snowman, quickly adding, “What the hell are you doing in this sector? Aside from murdering my subordinates, I mean.”

“I hijacked my ship to go steal Cadbury Creme Eggs from the Easter Bunny,” explained Captain Tyler.

The rest of the crew stared at him. This was news to them.

“I thought we were on a supply mission,” said Private Redshirt.

“Nope. Eggs.”

“Then why did we fill the cargo bay with accordions and ukuleles?” asked Private Beef.

“All part of my cunning deceit.”

“You hijacked your own ship for Easter candy,” said Frosty the Snowman.

“I did, yes.”

“I’m going to have to kill you now, you realize,” said the snowman.

“Why? They’re not your eggs.”

“Actually, they are. I’m in charge of Holidays Orchestrated, the guild of mythical holiday creatures. And any attempt to steal HO products or services without payment or otherwise tamper with what we got going on is punishable by death.”

“That seems a bit harsh,” said First Lieutenant Duknerts.

“We thought so, too,” said Frosty, “but those were the terms set by
your
Federation. They were intractable. So we are now legally obligated to murder you.”

“Like fun you are!” replied Captain Tyler.

“Nice knowing you.”

The View-Matic 7000 went dark and the Zdravo started to move.

“Sir,” said Private Anthony Darkpinkshirt, “it appears that we’re stuck in a tractor beam. Frosty seems to be pulling us in.”

“Bow chicka bow wow,” said Captain Tyler.

“He didn’t mean into his body,” added the computer. “Jackass.”

“Oh, I knew that,” mumbled the captain. He lifted his welding mask. “Pinky! Update my status, will you? Have it say, ‘Captain Tyler is about to kick some cold, slushy butt.’”

Captain Tyler snapped his welding mask down dramatically.

***

“Status update!” shouted Captain Tyler.

“Two comments saying ‘Woo!’ and one from your mom, asking you to call.”

“That’s it?”

“Ye— Wait, there’s a new one. From Yvette Redshirt. It says... ‘WHY THE FUCK ARE WE STILL HERE?!?!’ It’s in all caps. I think she’s upset.”

Private Redshirt hurled a stapler at Private Darkpinkshirt’s head.

“She’s... she’s definitely upset, Captain.”

And understandably so. The Zdravo had been sitting in the hangar of Frosty the Snowman’s ice fortress for close to three days. The Zdravo’s toilets – all of them – had been broken for two. Tempers were high and asses were clenched.

“Captain,” said First Lieutenant Duknerts, “as I’ve mentioned several times now, the hangar door is made of ice. We don’t even need to waste ammunition breaking it down. We can simply back the Zdravo out and get away.”

“No,” said the captain. “Not until I’ve figured out what Frosty’s up to.”

“I don’t think he’s up to anything. I don’t even think he knows we’re here.”

“Nonsense! How could he forget about Captain Tightpants?!”

“Who?”

“Me. I was trying that on as a new nickname.”

“Yeah, no,” said Private Redshirt. “That’s an awful name. And you wear shorts most of the time.”

“Well, I look good in shorts,” replied the captain, sliding his hands down the outside of his thighs. Then back up the inside. Then... then the captain felt as though he was being pulled deeper into the ass-groove of his chair.

“This is a strange sensation...” said Captain Tyler, before blacking out and falling to the floor.

Space Marshal Orr’s angry, wrinkled face appeared on the bridge viewscreen.

“TyLER!”

“Mom?” asked a groggy captain.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. The maternity tests came back clean.”
“Oh, okay,” said the captain. “In that case: What?”

“That’s what I’m asking you.”

“I don’t follow.”

“What the shit is going on, Tyler?!”

“We’re having a conversation.”

“On the Zdravo!”

“Well, I am...”

“What is going on on the Zdravo?! What are you and your idiot crew up to?”

“Oh. Uh... I don’t know?”

Captain Tyler tried to turn to see what his idiot crew was up to, but found he was still pinned to the floor. He only managed to get himself a glimpse up Private Beef’s shorts. Private Beef appeared to be freeballin’ it.

“Let me catch you up on things, Tyler,” began the marshal. “You stole the Zdravo, murdered Santa Claus, mouthed off to Frosty the Snowman, and now you’re both trapped in his ice fortress and glued to the floor of the Zdravo.”

“How did you –”

“Facebook,” said the marshal. “Your private is very good at his job.”

“Yes, yes he is,” replied Captain Tyler.

“You’re talking about your penis, aren’t you.”

“Yes, yes I am.”

Space Marshal Orr closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a slow breath, then said, “Consider this official notice that, should you and your crew survive this, you’ll have to fill in for Santa Claus this year.”

“Oh, come on!” shouted Private Redshirt. “
I
didn’t murder him!”

“Well, you can figure that out amongst yourselves. Our contract with the GHC only stipulates one of you has to do it.”

“Can you at least help us up off the floor?”

“Sorry,” replied the marshal. “I’m legally bound to let you die.”

“This is such a shitty Federation.”

The viewscreen went black, though you could still hear the space marshal’s voice coming through the speakers.

“To be honest,” said a distant voice that most certainly belonged to Space Marshal Orr, “I hope they all die.”

“You motherfucker!” shouted Private Boxershorts.

“What? Who said that?”

The crew could hear some kind of rustling sound coming from the monitor.

“Shit, you mean it’s on? Well, how do you... This one? Did that...? Zdravo, can you hear me?”

“You suck!” yelled Private Morgan Crimsonshirt.

“It’s not that one,” Marshal Orr told... someone. “The yellow one? Which yellow one? This –”

The sound switched off.