Screw the Universe (12 page)

There were quite a few other corpses laying around the Zdravo as well. Hank couldn’t figure it out. It was almost as if a large number of small explosions all went off at once in a carefully orchestrated manner, maiming shitloads of crew members, and killing dozens of others. There was glass and blood and intestines and chunks of food everywhere.

Hank was up all night.

“Marshal Orr!” shouted Captain Tyler. “We’ve been attacked! I think. A lot of stuff exploded and now a lot of people are dead.”

“Why are you telling me?” replied the marshal. “I certainly don’t know anything about that.”

“Which is why I’m telling you. Work with me, man!”

“So… you’re just filing a report.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not accusing anybody? Of anything?”

“No. Why would I?”

“No reason. I must have been thinking about something else. So, who died?” asked Space Marshal Orr with an almost child-like glee.

“Private Boxershorts bit it in the shower.”

“Okay.”

“Private Beef got mangled by the trash compactor.”

“Right.”

“Private Parts is currently trapped inside his bicycle. I think he’s missing a leg, since we found one on the floor right by it. And a puddle of blood.”

“Yikes.”

“And Private Naughtyplaces is currently trapped under my captain’s chair.”

“Would you please help me up already?” yelled the pinned and mortally wounded private.

“No can do, honeybuns. What with that restraining order and all. I’d have to touch you to remove the chair. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“You could at least get out of it!”

“I don’t see why I would do that.”

“To save… my…”

Private Naughtyplaces died as she lived, evacuating her bowels in an inappropriate location.

“Problem solved,” said the captain.

Space Marshal Orr lowered his head. His plan was somewhat of a success, but more of a colossal failure.

“Where’s the rest of your crew?”

Captain Tyler stood up and said, “They’re off helping the others. Thankfully a lot of unimportant people that we hardly ever talk about were the majority of the victims. Feces was badly injured, but I suspect him to make an almost 40% recovery.”

“I see,” said a solemn space marshal.

“Hey! It’s not all bad.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I got to call Private Beef’s parents to inform them that their son had died. Rekindled a little romantic something something there.”

“Are you sure it was romantic?”

“She kept using the f-word, so yeah. What else could it have meant?”

Someone behind Marshal Orr said something to him. Marshal Orr seemed to light up at whatever the news was. Then he quickly asked Captain Tyler:

“How many explosions did you say there were?”

“By explosions, do you mean ejaculations?”

“No, I mean explosions. I’m talking about the attack on the Zdravo again.”

“Oh, right,” said the captain. “Duknerts!”

“Yes, captain?” said First Lieutenant Duknerts, hopping on one leg, the other one bleeding horribly.

“How many explosions were reported?”

“Thirty-seven.”

“Thirty-seven, sir,” said the captain to the marshal.

“Right, yes,” mumbled Space Marshal Orr, reading over a piece of paper that the same someone had handed to him. “Was anyone maimed by a toaster?”

“Duknerts,” said the captain, “was anyone –”

“No,” said Duknerts, “not that we’re aware of.”

“No toasters, Mar—” began Tyler.

“Yeah, I heard,” said Orr. “Captain Tyler, I order you to inspect every toaster on the Zdravo. We have, uh, ‘reason to believe’ there’s one more bomb on board. In a toaster.”

“Interesting,” said Captain Tyler. “Duknerts! Go and inspect the toasters!”

“Can’t someone with two working legs do it?” said the first lieutenant.

“No!” shouted the marshal. “I mean, yes. Wait... What I’m saying is, Captain Tyler, I order you and you alone to inspect all the toasters.”

“I’m on it!”

Captain Tyler sprinted from the bridge. First Lieutenant Duknerts limped after him. Everyone else on the bridge was dead.

“Excellent,” said Marshal Orr, surveying the massacre from the View-Matic 7000.

Private Naughtyplaces, laying beneath the captain’s chair, spasmed, vomited violently and came back to life.

“Holy shit,” said the space marshal. “You can’t... You shouldn’t be...”

“Blow it out your ass, Orr,” replied Naughtyplaces. “The only things that exploded were the Federation-issued items we picked up at headquarters. I figured out your plan.”

“Oh, well, uh...”

“I want in.”

“Oh, thank God.”

“I didn’t even want to be on this stupid spaceship in the first place. I can’t believe getting paintballs slingshot at your genitals was an acceptable way of determining assignments.”

“You’re only saying that because the paint stains are permanent.”

“My vagina should not be green!”

“Have you tried shaving –”

“Yes! We all have! It’s like a preschool up in here! I feel dirty every time I walk into the locker room.”

“How do you know what a –”

“I don’t... I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I don’t think I want to know about it.”

“How did Tyler get to be captain anyway? I can’t imagine he’s any good in an interview. Did someone lose a bet or something?”

“Well, no,” explained Space Marshal Orr. “See, I’m not all that sure... I’m told I was heavily medicated at the time, which I don’t doubt. I do love me some painkillers. Anyway, Steelballs usually handled things like promotions, but – Feces! Feces was definitely involved somehow.”

“Okay, you can stop now.”

“Are you sure? The story’s barely starting.”

“Yeah, no. I’m done.”

“Oh, okay,” said a noticeably disappointed Marshal Orr. “Well, anyway, just make sure that toaster explodes in Tyler’s face.”

“And if I can’t? Can I just murder him?”

“Yeah, sure,” replied the marshal with a shrug. “He dies and you get yourself a promotion off that ship.”

An hour later, Private Naughtyplaces ran into Captain Tyler in the cafeteria. Literally. There was pudding everywhere.

“Tyler! It’s you!”

“That I am.”

“Did you... inspect the toasters?”

“Yup. After I had the ship’s computer short them all with a power surge.”

“Oh, huh,” said Naughtyplaces, legitimately impressed with Tyler and, therefore, doubting everything she knew to be true. “Wouldn’t have thought to do that myself.”

“It was Duknerts’s idea.”

“Ah.”

All was right with the universe again.

“So you found the bomb Orr was worried about?”

“Mailed it back to the Federation Space Station. Figured the lab there could check it out and maybe see where it came from.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they have no idea where it came from,” said Private Naughtyplaces.

“If that’s all, Private, I’d like to get back to my grilled cheese,” replied the captain. “It’s starting to get less melty and more congeal-y.”

“Uh, no. No! There are... uh, vag’s that need your... expertise?”

“I’m listening.”

“Uh... yeah, VAGs. Vector... Alpha Gamma... rays. Emitting from, uh, from the planet... Stupidia.”

“I’ve not heard of any of these things.”

“Yeah, well, it was classified. Marshal Orr called and told me to tell you to take care of them.”

“Uh huh,” said Tyler suspiciously. “So, these VAG rays...?”

“Right, yeah. Uh, VAG rays are, uh, emitted by creatures of low intellect. Enough of them together, though, can actually, uh, lower intelligence in other creatures. It’s why giant crowds of people always act poorly. And why there are so many dancing shows on television.”

“I’m not following.”

“It’s our mission? The one Orr gave us? Way back before things exploded randomly? The one neither of us totally made up?” said Private Naughtyplaces.

Captain Tyler stared blankly at her.

“What I’m saying is, you’re going to have to go down to Stupidia and destroy those VAGs.”

“About damn time,” replied the captain, adding, “Weren’t you dead?”

“Yes, and it was wonderful,” replied Naughtyplaces. “Now you just eat your grilled cheese and I’ll get everything set for your arrival planet-side.”

“That’s not what you do...”

“Everyone else is dead.”

“Yeah, but, I’m pretty sure you don’t have the authority to –”

“Do what I say and I will take off my shirt.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Captain Tyler, First Lieutenant Duknerts, Private Redshirt, and Dr. Porniviriyakul stepped out of the Zdravo and onto the planet Stupidia. Although, technically, it was Planet WTF-69-Hombre. Private Naughtyplaces just told Tyler it was Stupidia so he’d agree to the suicide mission she and Space Marshal Orr concocted. Duknerts, Redshirt, and Porniviriyakul weren’t supposed to be there, but they did let her die once, so fuck them.

“Dr. Porn?” said the captain.

“Yes, Captain?” said the doctor.

“You have my thermos of soup, right?”

“Yes. Why you can’t carry it yourself, though, I don’t understand.”

“Because I’m the captain and you’re not. Dick.”

Dr. Porniviriyakul leaned forward and punched Captain Tyler in the nuts.

“You bastard,” sputtered Captain Tyler, falling to his knees.

“Yeah, well, I hate you,” said Dr. Porniviriyakul. “I’m a veterinarian. There is no fucking reason for me to be out here.”