Screw the Universe (7 page)

“The crew left a Post-It on your chest, summing up what I missed.”

“Have you considered that they lied to you?”

“The entire crew?”

“Yes. They do it to me all the time.”

“But you’re the captain.”

“I don’t follow...”

“Okay...” said Dr. Sodomy.

“I like you, Sodomy,” said the captain. “I’ll be keeping an eye out for you.”

“Thank you, sir. Now, what say we get Wally over to Federation headquarters?”

“Who to the where?”

“Wally? The giant devil bear roaming our ship? We’re supposed to get him to Federation headquarters. That was our mission.”

“Oh, right, right,” replied Captain Tyler. “We should – oh, shit! What about the pirates?”

“My taxi driver took care of them for us actually,” said Dr. Sodomy. “They accidentally dinged his cab with a rice cooker so he flew over and shot them all in the face. And then he set their ship on fire.”

“In outer space?”

“He really loved that cab. Apparently if you’re pissed off enough you can start a fire in a vacuum.”

“Speaking of vacuuming,” said Captain Tyler, “don’t you think we should get someone in here to take care of Nurse Sidemanner’s decapitated body?”

“Uh,” said Dr. Sodomy, “yeah. I’ll, um, get someone to take care of that... in a minute. I need to run some tests... or something.”

Captain Tyler looked Sodomy in the eyes. Sodomy winked.

“I knew I liked you, doc.”

“So that’s the story, Marshal Orr,” said Captain Tyler, clapping the marshal on the shoulder. “Where’s my medal?”

“Why would you get a medal,” replied the marshal. “It was a routine mission. And you barely completed it.”

“But I died during it! Twice!”

“So?”

“I got a medal last time!”

“Posthumously! Then you came back.”

“So, do it again!”

“I can’t award you a medal for being dead when you’re still alive, that’s not how it works.”

“Fine!” screamed Tyler, pulling out his laser pistol and firing it up his nose.

“You can’t get a medal if you commit suicide, you idiot!”

But his warning was too late. Or possibly on time. It’s hard to say, Tyler was a little dense. In any event, Space Marshal Orr was left nudging Captain Tyler’s lifeless body with his foot.

“Fuck,” he said. “Someone get me Sodomy! We need Tyler alive if we want to make things copasetic with the Neptunian Devil Bear Union.”

“Yeah, it’s... it’s gonna take at least an hour, maybe two,” said Dr. Sodomy. “I haven’t eaten lunch yet.”

“The conference is in ten minutes!” shouted Marshal Orr. “Wally can’t receive an apology from a corpse!”

“Can’t?” asked Dr. Porniviriyakul, stepping into the room. “Or shouldn’t?”

“What? Can’t,” replied the marshal. “If you can find a way to get a dead man to give a speech I’d love to see it.”

“You shouldn’t have said that out loud,” replied Dr. Sodomy, shaking his head.

“And so, in closing, I am a colossal fuck up,” said Dr. Porniviriyakul into the microphone that was connected to a speaker inside the mouth of Captain Tyler. “Like, seriously, huge. I should be demoted. I am the dumbest motherfucker in the universe.”

Dr. Sodomy pulled a string and the Tyler corpse-puppet saluted the audience. Then he pulled a few more strings and Tyler appeared to trundle off-stage, collapsing as soon as he was behind the curtain.

Drs. Porniviriyakul and Sodomy walked over to the body, joined by Marshal Orr. The marshal tilted his head and scratched his chin.

“You know,” he said, “I think that was his best apology yet.”

Miranda, Interrupted

The Bane of Private Bloodredshirt

Miranda Bloodredshirt was born in a quiet, rural town in northern Oregon. As a child, she had always dreamed of one day becoming a crew member aboard a Federation starship, of having adventures, visiting exotic places, and dutifully working her way up the ranks in an average and unremarkable timeframe. Sadly, though, things were not looking good for Miranda, for, one fateful day, her dear, sweet mother, Helen, walked into the kitchen and, dripping with honey, sat down at the kitchen table with her daughter.

“Sweetie,” said Helen, “I have some bad news. Our harvest this year, it’s just... it’s just not going to be enough.”

“Oh, no, you mean –”

“Yes, I’m afraid that you won’t be able to attend the academy after all.”

“But, mother, you –”

“I know,” she said softly. “I know.”

“What if I –”

It was at this point that Miranda’s mother was mauled to death by an overlarge and uncommonly ferocious Venusian Honey Badger.

Stuff Your Stocking

Mission 58008 - 028

The Zdravo was moseying through the galaxy, her cargo bay full of accordions and ukuleles, on a routine supply mission to Planet Knutpünch, when the bridge View-Matic 7000 monitor suddenly lit up with the face of Santa Claus.

“Now what the crap is this, ninja?!” roared Santa Claus.

“You’ll have to be more specific,” said Captain Tyler, sitting directly opposite the screen, sans shorts and wearing a welder’s mask. Privates Angus Beef and Kim Boxershorts stood behind him, wearing nothing but shorts, and holding an assortment of fruit. Private Beef appeared to be weeping slightly.

“Yeah, guess I will, huh?” said Santa Claus, raising an eyebrow. “All yo’ crazy-ass... whatever it is you’s doin’ aside, what the shit is you doing in HO space? ‘Specially this close to Christmas! I’s extremely busy!”

“Well, I can’t speak for the rest of the crew, but I appear to be passing copious amounts of gas out of my pooper.”

“I’m... I’m sorry? You... what?”

Captain Tyler turned, aimed his ass at the viewscreen, and farted – well, sharted is probably more accurate – in response.

“Oh, that’s it,” replied the jolly old elf. “Shit is ON NOW, son!”

Santa Claus pressed a single button and fired a thousand poison-tipped candy canes from his orbiting Planetary Ornament of Death at the Zdravo.

“Computer! Evasive maneuvers!” shouted the captain, tearing off his welding mask. “Tell everyone to get to their stations. Especially Private Parts!”

“Oswald,” replied the computer, “you do know that Private Peter Parts doesn’t actually –”

“Bitch! I will have none of your sass-mouth. I’m beginning to think upgrading your voice-modulator to ‘Ex-Girlfriend’ was a mistake. Make sure Parts is pedaling like a motherfucker! We need this beast to be speedy!”

“That –”

“SPEEDY!”

The computer sighed. “Right away, sir.”

“Full power to the starboard thrusters!” shouted Captain Tyler.

“Sir,” said First Lieutenant Duknerts, at the same time buckling the belt of his battle shorts and running onto the bridge, “I don’t think that’s necessary! You do realize the candy canes are tiny and moving very slowly, right?”

“Nope,” replied the captain.

The ship rocketed sideways, throwing the crew to the other side of the ship. Hard. Things and people were broken. Mostly people, though.

“Continue evasive maneuvers!” bellowed Captain Tyler. “Hard to port!”

“Captain, I don’t –” said First Lieutenant Duknerts before being tossed sideways again.

“Starboard!”

“Oh, dear God.”

The crew was tossed clear across the ship. Again.

“Nosedive!” commanded the captain.

“What will that serve?!” yelled First Lieutenant Duknerts as he whizzed past Tyler, the captain having had the incredible foresight to install and then fasten a seatbelt.

The Zdravo continued to evade the candy canes for the better part of a hour. The crew continued to be hurled in various directions, bouncing off a variety of furniture and people. Limbs were snapped, hands were severed, uglies were bumped. Eventually, the candy canes ran out of fuel and exploded a safe distance away from the Zdravo. Well, safe for the Zdravo. A cross-galaxy milk delivery ship got too close and everyone on board died horribly.

“The fuck you’s tryin’?!” bellowed the Claus, having remained on the viewscreen the entire hour. “I’m gonn’ kill all y’all motherfuckers!”

He fired another round of poison candy canes at the Zdravo.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” said First Lieutenant Duknerts.

Duknerts walked somewhat unsteadily to the weapons controls, flipped a switch, and launched a massive fireball at the candy canes and, subsequently, everything behind them. This included the very same Planetary Ornament of Death currently being piloted by Santa Claus.

“Oh, you piece of sh—” began Santa Claus, before exploding in a spectacular fashion.

“There, problem solved,” said First Lieutenant Duknerts, turning around to face the crew. “You can begin thanking me now.”

Instead of thanking, though, the crew was standing dumbfounded, every single member staring at Duknerts with his or her or its jaw slack.

“What?”

“You moron!” shouted Private Yvette Redshirt. “Don’t you know what you’ve just done?”

“Um, no, no I don’t.”

“You killed Santa Claus!”

“So?”

“So?!” continued Private Redshirt. “Claus is the right hand of Frosty the Snowman! You’ve unleashed Frosty’s wrath!”

“That’s bull—”

Just then the monitor went completely bright white. Eye-singeing white. Like walked in on one’s parents having anal sex while they were dressed as Bert and Ernie eye-singeing. Really, really fucking white is what’s trying to be conveyed here.

“Is it on?” asked a voice coming from the View-Matic 7000. “What? It is? Thanks for telling me. Douche.”

The crew of the Zdravo all donned their sunglasses. Captain Tyler put his welder’s helmet back on.

“Isn’t that a bit much?” asked First Lieutenant Duknerts.

“Never,” the captain said before turning his attention to the monitor. “Who is this? Space Marshal Orr? Mom? Jesus?”

“No, it’s... Fuck. Is the video feed not working? What? It is? Murderous assholes, can you see me?”

“No,” replied Private Redshirt.