She drew out a communicator, spat in an elaborate code, and then whispered, “Mondo Matron Click Clicketyclick of the Grand Rash of Hives, this is Agent Code Name ‘Bobby-Sue.’ Urgent message!”
A small oblong holo-image appeared in front of the wall opposite Bang, projecting onto a mop the Ecktapalow’s oblong many-eyed cilia-festooned face. “Ageeent Bibbee-Sueee. Whyforee sssoeee urgenty?”
“No no, you have your pronunciation all wrong again!”
“Peeermit me language purreely metaphorical, theen. Morpopho gleans the clam dancing in the anus of preening gaslight.”
“What? No, listen! You have to let the Accords proceed without interruption. We have a plan that doesn’t involve betraying you until after we’ve betrayed the humans.”
The reptilian insect alien frowned with its antennae. “But nefarious Accords exposes breasts to goggling eyes in the dusk of the Irredeemable Season of Spicy Wings Nightly Special, beware the Dawn of Diarrhea all die in the Waft.”
“Uh, right. Okay, let me try it this way. At the break of the Broken Day, human foot enters human mouth to exit back of head in revelation of the Exploding Bone Shards and small bits of small brains, Riding Galactic Laughter as befits Ill-Educated Xenophobes who still don’t have Universal Health Care. Glory be to all!”
The antennae shot upward. “Ah, vortex memories into nadir of human First Contact Project Leader stamping on newborn Ecktapalow invoking ‘EWW ROACH!’ in visceral horror, thus ending all hope of Prolonged Barbecue of Negotiation and Mutual Respect over decent so much at steaks.” The alien’s upper arms waved about in alarm. “Shivering epigenetic recollection yielding into Arnie’s Burly Arms the cracked chitin of despondent sorrowful expectoration of ‘I’ll be back.’”
“Exactly! Glad we’re on the same sheet of sweet slime here, my friend. But remember your part of the deal! When we betray the humans you join us in our all-out war against the Affiliation. Together we will, uh, lather the spunky exudence of triumphant genitalia like a spray of pregnant stars across the galaxy.”
“Ooh, nice one! And the Rash of the Hive-Mind Hives of Busy To-ing and Fro-ing shall spread in Red Blistered Irritation upon the Diapered Backside of Squishy Humans. But wait! Did you not reveal that you would betray us? I seem to recall—”
“What? No, I said no such thing! Nonsense! Don’t be silly.”
“On the Mountains of Deep Valley the echo playback of prerecorded conversation—”
“Oh never mind all that! Just remind yourself that we are going to destroy the Affiliation!”
“Hmm, yes, in compliance with the Yellow Snow tasting most peculiar to the Wise Lord of Mollusk Prime in the Dusk of Preening zit-popping.”
“Wonderful!” cried Bang, who then threw her head back and laughed. “Hahahahahaha!”
The Ecktapalow’s oblong head bobbed excitedly. “Gobbling Laughtrack of Bad Sitcom cluckcluckcluckitycluckcluck!”
FiVE
Aboard the Willful Child …
“Now that all the dominoes are lined up,” said Captain Hadrian from the command chair, “let’s get this show on the road boys and girls! Beta, ETA on exiting T-Space?”
“Three minutes, Captain. As the sage Chosen One once said, ‘There is no pizza in your philosophy, Horatio, meaning it sucks, basically.’”
“Thank you, Beta,” Hadrian replied even as Sticks twisted around to mouth WHAT?
Security Adjutant Lorrin Tighe positioned herself beside the command chair. “This is it, Captain,” she said, licking her lips. “The dawn of your demise, the beginning of the end, the last cigar, the final finality, the imminent ruination and cessation of your unlikely run of luck.” Her eyes were bright with zeal and eager malice. “The Kittymeow Accords shall mark your destruction, and I will be right here to witness it. Could it be any better?”
“Told you,” said Tammy. “She’s obsessed with your downfall, Captain. You couldn’t bring her around, not an inch, not a centimeter, not a nanometer.”
“Don’t be silly,” Hadrian said. “This is just one last desperate gasp of defiance, Tammy.”
“I’m standing right here, you idiots.”
“The IQ of the average Sun reader is high when compared to that of jellyfish,” said Beta. “Captain, before we exit into the Kittymeow System, I should point out that we have another rogue planet in T-Space just off our port bow. Oh, and a G-type star, too. They just popped up, sir.”
“On the main viewer please.” Hadrian’s eyes narrowed. “Hmm, very Earth-like. That is, if Earth’s atmosphere wasn’t a smoggy toxic soup of happy carcinogens. Now.” He looked round at his crew. “Who was holding a thought?”
No one spoke.
“Well, someone was, dammit!”
Eden spoke from comms. “Captain, I’m hearing radio transmissions from the planet below. Uhh, sounds like Anglais! But with German accents! Weird.”
“And what are these transmissions saying, Jimmy?”
“Uhm, lots of announcements and stuff, sir. Lots of praising some guy.” He frowned at Hadrian. “Maybe their Great Leader?”
“Why do you think that?”
“Well, things like ‘Praise our Great Leader!’ sir.”
“And does this leader have a name, Jimmy?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good, what a relief. Jimmy, what is it?”
“What’s what, sir?”
“Take a moment, Jimmy, to wipe the sweat off your face. Then tell me the name of the Great Leader who rules the planet in front of us.”
“Oh! Yes sir. Uh, I got it! Dr. Maxim von Mangles!”
Sin-Dour gasped. “Captain! Could it be?”
Hadrian rose. “Tammy, finally, this one deserves a close-up. Yes, on the big screen. Hmm, not bad, if I do say so myself. Adjutant Tighe, is that a hint of admiration there in your face? Listen up, everyone. Well, everyone here on the bridge, that is. Eleven years ago, Dr. Maxim von Mangles led a covert xenosurvey to a remote planet in the Dooberon Sector. Sin-Dour?”
She nodded and the close-up on the big screen switched to her, evoking all kinds of pleasant feelings in Hadrian. “The planet, designated Doobie-Three, was a terrestrial world inhabited by humanoids—”
“Humanoids?” Eden asked, frowning.
“Very well, humans with strange spots on their foreheads. In any case, their civilization was a complex and volatile collection of nation-states all sinking into moribund moral decay. In fact, it didn’t look like it was going to make it to the postindustrial postscarcity stage of development. Dr. Mangles—who was my xenoanthropology tutor at the Academy—jumped at the opportunity to directly observe a civilization collapsing into what he termed ‘Self-Wanking Narcissistic-Deflation Vortex Syndrome,’ or SWAN-DiVe Syndrome as it came to be known. Sir?”
“Very succinct, 2IC, although a bit expository.”
“But, Captain, explaining something is expository.”
“You’re just stating the obvious.”
Sin-Dour’s frown deepened. “Yes sir, I was.”
Hadrian drew a deep breath. “CU back on me, Tammy, while I show everyone how’s it done. OH NO DARWIN SAVE US! All contact with the covert team lost!” He spun and groped like a man suddenly gone blind. “Where are they? Oh my!” Hadrian staggered to lean against the command chair, face twisting with anguish. “And then! And then! The AFS Pontification—the Covert Insertion Vessel often described as an innocent-looking giant penis—suddenly vanishes!” He leaned back with one hand to his brow. “Then the planet and the sun itself! Suddenly gone! Ah! The pain! The bewilderment!” After a moment he straightened and smiled triumphantly at Sin-Dour. “Not bad, huh?”
His 2IC seemed momentarily at a loss for words.
“Captain!” cried Eden.
“Yes, Jimmy?”
Eden pointed at the planet now back on the main viewer. “That planet! That might be the planet that vanished! The one you just mentioned! Wow! It all just clicked into place, sir!”
“Holy crap, Jimmy. Outstand
ing! Now, anything else about those transmissions and all that Great Leader crap?”
“Uh, not much. Except for the death camps, firing squads, something called the Gestapo, eugenics, Aryan Purity, and some ancient prophet named Hitler.”
“Oh for crying out loud! I knew it! Someone had a thought! Come on, out with it!”
No one on the bridge spoke.
Hadrian scowled. “Really? None of you? Well, fine then.” He began pacing, brow furrowed. “It wasn’t me, it wasn’t any of you, so who was it?” Then, after a moment, Hadrian swung a glare on YOU.
Sin-Dour cleared her throat. “Sir, what should we do?”
Hadrian held his glare a second or two longer (just making his point), and then faced her. “Do? That’s obvious. I will be leading a covert team down to the planet to find out what happened to the first covert team, not to mention kidnapping Dr. Mangles so he can be charged in an Affiliation High Court for Crimes of Utter Stupidity back on Terra. And Sin-Dour.”
“Captain?”
“If my covert team fails you’ll lead the next covert team to extract the second covert team and even the first covert team, understood?”
“Ad nauseum, sir?”
“Exactly. Now, give the marines a heads-up and have them meet me in the Insisteon Chamber. Beta, you’re with me. Who else? Adjutant?”
“No way. I hope you die in a hail of bullets.”
“Right, Galk and Nina Twice—”
“Sir,” interjected Sin-Dour, “might I recommend reviving Dr. Mendel Engels for this mission, since he was in the same faculty as Dr. Mangles.”
“Really? Engels and Mangles and, let me guess, Professor Bojangles?”
Confused, she shook her head. “As I recall, the third instructor was Dr. Johnny Dangles.” At some obscure recollection, she half smiled.
“Not fair!” Hadrian cried. “All my Academy instructors were ugly!” He waved his hands. “Never mind. Right, unfreeze Engels, then. I’ll brief him in the Insisteon Chamber when we all climb into our culturally appropriate disguises and paint dots on our foreheads. Beta, follow me!”
“Wardrobe is my middle name, Captain.”
He paused at the door and looked back. “Is it?”
“No. My middle name is Doolywoppipshank.”
“Right. Well, come on, we have a planet to save.”
“How will we save the planet, sir?”
Hadrian considered for a moment. “Simple. Kill all the fucking Nazis!”
* * *
“Did I hear this right, boss?” Sweepy asked as they prepared to displace down to the planet. “Fuck-face assholes wearing Nazi uniforms doing asshole things to all kinds of innocent people?”
Beta said, “I have been monitoring the newsfeeds. The primary terrorist enemy to the ruling party is some organization called The Nice People’s Front. This Front’s manifesto centers on being nice to people.”
Sweepy snorted around her cigar. “Like that’s gonna work.”
“The Nazis have a standing shoot-to-kill order on anyone being nice,” Beta went on. “Even saying ‘have a nice day’ will result in permanent incarceration in a concentration camp.”
Sweepy scowled. “Now, I hate people saying ‘have a nice day’ as much as the next gal, but still, that’s taking it a bit too far. Captain, permission to kill anyone in uniform on the planet below, including laundry technicians.”
“Hmm,” mused Hadrian, “I was thinking covert insertion.”
Sweepy smirked. “Best stay on topic, sir.”
“Uh, right.”
The ship’s laundry technician then arrived with a rack of Nazi uniforms. “Take your pick, folks!” he said with a grand gesture. “We got SS, we got Gestapo, we got Wehrmacht … why are you all glaring at me? I just program the Tailormatic!”
“It’s fine, Technician Brexit. Leave the fitting to us. Dismissed.”
The man fled in a flurry of tape measures and chalk dust.
Hadrian clapped his hands and stepped up to the wardrobe trolley. “Okay! I want the one with the most medals and insignia!”
The others joined in, selecting their uniforms. Then fighting over the best ones.
“Here, sir,” said Nina Twice. “Here, sir.”
“Holy crap!” The black uniform’s left jacket breast was a mass of glittering hardware. He removed the jacket from the hanger and hefted it. “Weighs a ton—what kind of pathetic man needs all this bullshit anyway?”
“Small penis man?” Sweepy asked as she pulled on her jacket with its death’s-head insignia. Her squaddies crowded her in pawing admiration until she snarled.
Dr. Mendel Engels cleared his throat as he climbed into some grey trousers. “Ze comfort of belongeeng offers opportunity to hide ze lack of selv-esteem. Ze many many medals, citations, undt revards affirms necessary hierarchy of selv-indulgent adulation in sad effort to externally validate ze paucity of selv-worth hiding undt beneath surface. It iz zad and pathetic truth about ze men. But then, men are zad and pathetic.”
Beta did a swirl in her new grey uniform. “How do I look?”
Galk spat a stream of brown goo into a corner and then said, “Like the galaxy’s scariest dominatrix.”
“He has a point,” Hadrian said. “Best leave behind the little whip, Beta.”
“Very well. I still view the stiletto heels as potential weapons.”
All the men present shivered and then nodded.
“Now then,” Hadrian said, by way of desperately wrapping up, “weapons!”
Galk hefted a submachine gun. “As you see, sir, all ordnance has been reconfigured to match those employed on the planet. Of course,” he added, “functionality is another matter. So we have protonic blasters, antitronic disintegrators, bucolic aspirators, and iambic pentamerators.” He lifted up his own weapon. “This little beauty is a Meltomatic BFB Mark VII.”
The marines oohed and ahhed and one of them might have orgasmed but being polite no one commented on that.
“Beta,” said Hadrian, “have you scouted out a location for our displace?”
“Yes sir. Capital city of Mangledorf, Reichstag Building, HQ of Planetary Government and the Führer’s Residence. I have selected a presently unoccupied conference room on the top floor, large enough to accommodate all of us once we apply Vaseline and make proper introductions following the application of various birth-control devices and/or morning-after pills.”
Sweepy said, “Suggest me and my squad displace first, sir. We can then exit into an approach corridor and establish a beachhead.”
“Oh and what exactly is covert about that?”
The lieutenant sneered. “Honestly, boss, this whole thing’s going pear-shaped ten seconds after we arrive, no matter what we do. It’s our MO, right? Under the circumstances, I recommend the doctrine of Overwhelming Belligerence with Blood-Spattering Prejudice Against People Pretending to Be Reasonable While They Spout Racist Genocidal Bullshit Dressed Up as Patriotism.” She paused and then added, “Covertly.”
Hadrian threw up his hands. “Fine, we’ll do it your way.”
Tammy arrived in the Insisteon Chamber. Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared down at the chicken in its SS uniform, including shiny four-toed boots. “What?”
“Ziss iz not ze virst Ess-Ess cheecken,” Engels said. “Vell, maybe it iz. Shall I reexamine ze historical databases?”
“No, that’s fine, Doctor,” said Hadrian. “Thanks anyway. Sweepy, take your squad down.”
“Lock and load, girls!” she told her squad. “Gunny, come here with that flamethrower, will ya?” She leaned close to the spout with its flaring goo and lit up her cigar. “Now tamp that down a bit, you’re dripping flames everywhere. Save the barbecue for later. Who brought the beer?”
“I did,” Stables replied, hefting a case.
“Outstanding. Okay, onto the displace pads, pronto. Let’s get this bloodbath show on the road! And remember, once we run out of ordnance we can just punch them in the face. They hate that
.”
A moment later Sweepy and her squad vanished.
Hadrian counted to ten and then moved up to stand on a pad. “Saddle up, folks, it’s time.”
“Ze zaddle?”
“Never mind. On board, everyone, time’s a-wasting.”
“On ze board?”
“Just get up here, will you?”
Everyone took their places. And then stood there.
“For crying out loud, we forgot the technician again! Someone get someone on those controls, dammit!”
* * *
They popped into a conference room to find themselves surrounded by soldiers pointing machine guns at them.
Hadrian turned to Beta. “Well? Got anything to say for yourself?”
“As a bespoke shopping center robotic device designed for the sole purpose of wearing the latest fashions, it is quite possible I miscalculated, sir.”
“Uh-huh. And where are the marines?”
“Given one miscalculation, there may have been others. This is the nature of precedence, sir. Errors have a way of multiplying in a subtraction sort of way, yielding unexpected divisions in addition to the loss of integers.”
“Be quiet!” shrieked an officer wearing black (all officers wearing black will shriek since their balls are wound so tight. No, it’s a true fact). “Drop your weapons!”
Hadrian sighed. “Tammy?”
“Very well,” muttered the SS chicken, stepping around Hadrian’s leg and shrieking even louder, “You! Oberkampensummer! You will salute your superior officer—namely, me! All of you, lower your weapons! We have just returned from a covert mission employing a Top Secret Instantankrumpenoberdere Device. We must now speak with the Führer without delay!”
The oberkampensummer scowled. “I knew nothing of this, Oberkluxendweebentwat.” He clicked his heels and bowed. “My apologies. We were conducting our usual patrol of empty rooms—”
“You lie!” Tammy shrieked, spittle flying.
The oberkampensummer wilted. “Apologies again.” He gestured at his circle of soldiers. “We were practicing our steps for the upcoming Oktoberdancenflapperer. You will note that all the safeties on our weapons are on, sir, as befitting a dry run. Of course, the main event could well be much more dramatic, since the safeties will be off and we’ll be on Magic Mushrooms.”
The Search for Spark Page 7
