Screw the Universe (4 page)

“Who hasn’t?” replied Captain Tyler. “Anyway, that planet doesn’t have any embassies or satanic bears or anything, and chicken nuggets are really just hyper-processed gloop anyway, so –”

“Don’t tell me.”

“Okay, I won’t,” said the captain. “I will, however, request that the cargo bay of the Zdravo be emptied out. Like, now.”

“Damn it, Tyler...”

“What? Crisis averted! I’m a hero!”

“I don’t know if that’s the word I’d use.”

“You should put Dockman Somethingorother in charge of clean up. You know, as punishment for sucking so hard.”

Fine and Peachy

The Peril of Dr. Porn

“Dr. Porniviriyakul!” thundered Grand Super Marshal Marshall Steelballs, clapping the doctor on the back. “Here! In the flesh! The Federation is, of course, honored by your presence.”

“Of course,” said Dr. Siriporn Porniviriyakul.

“We wouldn’t have called you all the way out to headquarters, but this is a bit of an emergency. We’re launching a new ship tomorrow, state of the art, and the commanding officer... well, I don’t know quite what happened, actually – no one does – that’s why you’re here.”

“Sir, if the symptoms you described are accurate, this man is in a world of trouble. I really must attend to him as soon as possible.”

“Of course, of course, doctor,” said the grand super marshal, leading him away from the shuttle airlock. “This way.”

Dr. Porniviriyakul and Grand Super Marshal Steelballs walked quickly through the winding corridors of the Federation space station, making their way toward the medical wing.

“The patient,” said the doctor, “what’s his name?”

“Feces, doctor. Commodore Mark Feces.”

“Feces? Is that... French?”

“Russian, I thought.”

The doctor shrugged. “I hope your medical wing is well supplied, Marshal. I brought what I could, but most of my equipment is large and more than a little ungainly.”

“Your wife must be thrilled!”

“I’m sorry?”

“Wordplay, doctor, wordplay.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t appreciate it fully.”

“I’ll try.”

“I suppose you want me to have this Feces cured of his... madness by tomorrow?” continued the doctor, hurrying down another hallway.

“If you could, yeah, that’d be great,” replied Grand Super Marshal Steelballs. “We’ve poured a shitload of money into this spaceship and it’s launching tomorrow, one way or another. We promoted another officer in Feces’s stead, you know, as a precaution, but, honestly, the commodore is one of the greatest – if not THE greatest – mind this Federation has ever known. And the Zdravo is by far the greatest ship I’ve ever seen. They were made for one another.”

The doctor grunted his assent, then said, “I’ll have to operate fast then. Tell me, Marshal –”

“It’s Grand Super Marshal, actually.”

“Oh, uh, okay... Grand Super Marshal... tell me, how –”

It was at that moment that Dr. Porniviriyakul was struck in the back of the head with a paintball. It appeared to have escaped from the conference room he had just passed.

“Hey, look at that,” said a man peeking from the conference room’s doorway. “We’ve got our new veterinarian!”

“I’m a neurosurgeon,” said Dr. Porniviriyakul, attempting to wipe the surprisingly permanent red paint from his hair.

“Universe-renowned,” added Grand Super Marshal Steelballs.

“Well, that’s great,” said the man, who appeared to be tucking a slingshot into the waistband of his battle shorts, “but you just got hit with a paintball and the Zdravo needs a vet.”

“I’m sorry,” said the doctor, furrowing his brow. “I’m not following.”

“Interviews too much for him, Orr?” said the grand super marshal to the other man.

“He didn’t like the whole ‘having to listen to people’ part. To his credit,” said the man, removing the slingshot from his shorts again, “this really is a lot more fun.”

He fired another paintball into the conference room and shouted, “Congratulations! You’re an engineer!”

“Look,” said Dr. Porniviriyakul, “I’m not sure what you two are talking about, but there’s a man on the verge of permanent and potentially terminal psychosis that I need to tend to. Now, if you don’t mind...”

“No, I’m afraid not, doctor...” said Steelballs, before turning to the other man. “Vets are still doctors, right?”

The man with the slingshot, Space Marshal Phil Orr, nodded.

“Okay, then. As I was saying, doctor, Feces is going to have to wait. And probably die, I guess. We’ve got to get you processed and aboard the Zdravo.”

“You... you must be joking,” said Dr. Porniviriyakul. “I have several doctorate degrees in various fields of –”

“Yes, that’s all fine and peachy,” said Marshal Orr, “but that was a legally-binding, fully-contractual paintball you got clobbered with. You are now a veterinarian for the Federation.”

“But... Feces... You called me halfway across the galaxy to help him!”

“Yeah, well, we tried, right?” said Grand Super Marshal Steelballs with a shrug. “Anyway, there’s a lot of paperwork, and several rectal exams, so –”

“That man is going to die unless I help him! I have to go to the medical wing and –”

“No!” shouted Space Marshal Orr. “Vets are animal doctors! Feces isn’t having kittens, he’s got a serious neurological problem. His brain’s all... fucked up and stuff. It’s over your head.”

A vein in Dr. Porniviriyakul’s forehead was throbbing spectacularly.

“That’s the spirit!” said Grand Super Marshal Steelballs, throwing his arm around the former neurosurgeon. “Welcome to the Federation!”

Save the Brains

Mission 58008 - 006

The Zdravo was getting hammered. She was on a routine escort mission, bringing the Neptunian Devil Bear’s union president, Wally Glagrik, to Federation headquarters for a public and universally broadcast apology from Captain Oswald Van Vanderhoort Van Tyler – again – when she was suddenly attacked by a roving band of deep-space space pirates.

“All hands to stations!” called out First Lieutenant Archibald Duknerts.

“Yes, sir,” said the computer, before repeating the order over the ship’s PA system.

“But what about Private Parts?” asked Captain Tyler.

“This is no time to talk about your testicles, Captain,” replied the lieutenant.

“No, not my balls,” Tyler responded, “Private Peter Parts. He lost his hands during the last scheduled maintenance of the Zdravo’s plumbing.”

“How... What?”

“He doesn’t have hands is what I’m saying. He can’t bring his hands to stations.”

“We have him in the engine room. Marshal Orr assigned him to a stationary bike. He thinks he’s powering the ship.”

“Oh,” said Captain Tyler. “Well, okay then.”

The ship shook as she was blasted by Proton Disaster Beams.

“Sweet baby corn, that’s unsettling,” said the captain. “I think I need someone to hold me tight.”

“Yeah, I’m... I’m busy,” replied First Lieutenant Duknerts, simultaneously coordinating all targeting and defense systems and managing all officers and space seamen in a valiant effort to not die violently.

“Right. Then get me Private Quarters!”

“Private Quarters isn’t here, sir,” replied Private Yvette Redshirt, working two computer screens at once. “You sent him out for ice cream several hours ago. I’ve been doing his job and mine since.”

“Really?”

“Yes, sir. He went to the cafeteria, returned with several pints in an assortment of flavors, then you shouted at him, then you shoved him into an escape pod and launched it.”

“That does sound like something I would do.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, what about Private Naughtyplaces? Is she still on board?”

“Yes,” said First Lieutenant Duknerts, “but that would be in violation of the restraining order she has against you.”

“Oh, right. The Jell-O wrestling incident. Well, what about Private Beef?”

“Available,” said the computer.

“But hates you,” added the first lieutenant.

“Why – No, wait! Banged his mom a couple of years back,” replied the captain. “What about Dr. Sodomy? He’s always so warm.”

“Not here,” blurted Engineer Lawrence Poopypants, running through the bridge with a half dozen schematics, three screwdrivers, a wrench, and a puppy.

“Oh, right. He was running five minutes late so I left without him.”

“Permission to question one of your decisions, sir,” asked Private Redshirt, spinning in her chair to face the captain.

“Granted.”

“Was it wise to leave the space station without a doctor?”

“I left him cab fare.”

“How does that... What?”

The Zdravo reverberated from nose to tail as several more Proton Disaster Beams smacked her in vulnerable areas.

“Doctors are useless in battle situations anyway,” said Captain Tyler, leaning back and scratching his balls. “Isn’t that right, Private Bloodredshirt?”

Private Miranda Bloodredshirt looked up, a confused expression on her face. This was the first time since taking a paintball to the inner thigh during new hire orientation that anyone had addressed her. And even then she was only addressed as “You there.”

“I gue—”

“See, we’ll be fine,” continued Captain Tyler. “Besides we’ve got Nurse Sidemanner. And if she can’t figure something out there’s always Dr. Porn.”

“The vet?” asked First Lieutenant Duknerts.

“Sure, we’re just like animals, right? Lemurs or something like that.”

“I don’t think –” began Private Bloodredshirt, before taking a Proton Disaster Beam squarely in the face and exploding in a horrendous spray of blood and brains.

“Holy shit,” said Captain Tyler.

“Computer! Seal the holes in the ship!” commanded the first lieutenant. The computer did as told.

“Private Anthony Darkpinkshirt, status update!”

“Captain, it seems like we’re taking a lot of punishment. Our shields are almost gone, Private Bloodredshirt’s face is missing and I think there’s a chance I’ve wet myself.”

“Not the ship, you idiot! My Facebook status! Has anyone commented?”