by M. D. Cooper
“Greeting, I am M.O.L-2. Thank for coming to meet with Galactic Claus. He expect you,” the robot said in fragmented standard.
Another robot rolled up in front of the first. This one was decorated in Galaxmas lights. “Please excuse M.O.L-2. he was programed in a different language and is still learning Standard. I am M.O.L. Do you require assistance bringing in the meal for the meeting?”
“No, thank you. If you could just escort us to the kitchen so we can prepare our supplies.” Gordon stepped forward pushing the hovercart loaded down with the food—and a hidden cache of blasters on top of the ordnance they were smuggling inside their costumes. Xallia had watched Milton’s discomfort as he worked to stuff large blaster rifles inside the tubular costume he wore—it hadn’t looked comfortable in the slightest, and she could see tiny bulges across the costume where blaster handles and stocks protruded through the shiny surface.
“Of course.” M.O.L turned away and started rolling toward the large frosted steel doors on the edge of the surprisingly flat building.
The three of them followed him, and Xallia took in the sights of the building which despite its outdated architecture, seemed incredibly festive. Rather than standardized lighting, the hallway they passed through featured brilliant Galaxmas lights, festive wreaths, and glittering tinsel as far as the eye could see.
The heavy doors sealed behind them, and Xallia felt the cold fade away as they walked into the toasty building.
“Will you be needing any supplies to provide your services?” M.O.L asked them.
“No, we won’t,” Milton answered. “We will be just fine. Once we’re setup, just give us the signal when you’re ready and we’ll bring the food in.”
“And you’ll be performing the Chunky Cheddar Crew Dance as outlined in all catering packages offered by your company?” the robot asked.
Xallia cringed. If it was this bad for her, she couldn’t even imagine what Milton was going through. Krample’s reaction to seeing just a picture of him in the horrible Peppy Pepperoni costume already seemed over the top. Now, Milton would have to perform the worst dance and song in history in front of Krample who she knew wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face.
Gordon nodded in his Chunky Cheddar costume. “Of course we will. As is standard with our catering packages. You’re in for a real treat M.O.L.”
“Trouble with the plasma ovens?” the robot remarked.
“Excuse me?” Gordon asked.
“You look like you tried climbing into one of the plasma ovens to clean it and someone accidentally turned it on. Ha-Ha-Ha,” the robot said, producing artificial, monotoned laughter.
“Budget cuts,” Gordon supplied, shrugging.
The rolling robot led them into the kitchen, showing them where things were if they needed anything else. Gordon thanked the robot and started unpacking the hovercart, unloading the pizzas and placing them on the counter. “Security here is a joke,” he said, sifting through the rest of the hovercart and checking the stowed blasters.
7
Krample didn’t know what to expect when he met Galactic Claus, but this wasn’t it. This man didn’t look like a villain at all. He was a bit older with gray and white hair, a beard that could only be described as jolly, and the friendliest face Krample had ever seen. He introduced himself as Charles and Krample shook his hand as they walked through the hallway.
Charles’ robots, some of the oddest Krample had ever seen, hadn’t bothered to check Krample at all. They either didn’t know about the small holdout blaster tucked into the back of Krample’s pants, or they didn’t care. Either way, Krample was inside his enemy’s lair with a functioning weapon and a stylin’ nanomesh suit.
“Now, Mr. Krample, I want to cut right to the chase. I understand why you’re here. As CEO of such a well-known and loved company, I understand you are frustrated, angry, and upset at what has happened. I just want to assure you that I have nothing to do with these thefts of your products, and want you to know that by the time you leave, if you believe me, that I want to help you find out who did this and possibly offer some financial and support resources to help you through this difficult time—one toymaker to another.”
The statement caught Krample off guard, and he tried to mask his emotions as they talked. He was prepared to be yelled at, to be rightfully blamed for what had happened—maybe even to be shot at. This kindness, if it was as genuine as it seemed, was not expected.
“Is it okay if I call you Charles, or would you prefer Galactic Claus or Mr. Claus?” Krample asked, trying to keep a level head.
“Charles is perfect. Thank you, Krample,” the man said, patting Krample’s shoulder as they walked. “Now, you’ll be pleased to hear that the Chunky Cheddar’s catering crew is here, and I think they have our lunch ready, if you’re hungry. I’m also told they will be performing a song and dance for us,” he said. “If I can be very candid with you, I’ve never had pizza from Chunky Cheddar’s, and I’m not too hopeful that this performance will be worth the time. Nevertheless, I want your stay here to be as comfortable as possible and am prepared to enjoy a pleasant surprise.”
“Thank you, Charles. The song and dance are part of all of their catering packages, and while I haven’t seen it before, the pizza is pretty good and it was hard to find a company willing to cater to Hilthe.”
The man laughed as they walked into the meeting room, a simple but polished space where many comfortable chairs nucleated a large wooden table carved of dark wood that smelled like cinnamon and oranges. They took their seats and Charles nodded. “I suppose it would be hard to find catering here. Aside from some locals, I am quite alone. I’d be happy to give you a big tour of my operations when we’re done with our meeting.”
“And you’re aware that Krample Co is a direct competitor with your company?” Krample asked.
“I’m not a company, Krample. It’s just me and my robots—it always has been, and it will be until the day I die, even if I’m no longer Galactic Claus.”
“I don’t understand. You’re not some piece of a giant corporation aiming to control the entire galaxy one piece at a time?” Krample was flabbergasted. This wasn’t at all going how he had expected.
Charles laughed. “No. It’s always just been me. I don’t have investors, and I don’t have any staff other than my bots.”
“I will be very frank with you, Charles. This isn’t going at all how I expected. I believe you are under a lot of pressure from the Jolian system to answer for what has occured. People see you as a criminal right now, and I was hoping to offer you a way out. I’m prepared to make you a fair offer on the entirety of your assets here. I would like Krample Co to become Galactic Claus.”
“I understand you have submitted a bid to become Galactic Claus every year your company has been in business. I can get past this, I just need to work with the Jolian government until they are able to figure it out. Believe it or not, I don’t take a profit for delivering Galaxmas presents. I supply everything at cost, not a cred-bit more.”
Krample felt his jaw drop. “Billions of products delivered in less than 24 hours and you don’t take a single cred-bit for all the work you do?”
The doors on the other side of the room burst open. Chunky Cheddar, Peppy Pepperoni, and Melly Moose strode in carrying stacks of pizzas piled high, moving in and placing them on the table and giving plates to Krample and Charles. Krample couldn’t stop himself from smiling. The way Milton’s costume flopped as he moved was just too much. He would never let him forget this either, Krample was sure of that. He would treasure this moment for the rest of his life.
“Heyya, friends! I’m Chunky Cheddar and this is my crew, Peppy Pepperoni and Melly Moose,” Gordon called out in his squeaky theatrical voice.
“What in the flying holy Gesh happened to your costume? And why does he look like a space dong?” Charles demanded.
“Plasma ovens can be dangerous,” Chunky Cheddar said. “And Peppy Pepperoni is being remodeled by our compan
y shortly. We apologize that he looks the way he does.”
Krample was biting his gums now, somehow mustering the willpower not to lose his composure and breaking into a fit of laughter.
“Well then, let's have this song and dance so we can eat and finish our meeting,” Charles grumbled, clearly not impressed so far.
“Sure, sure,” Gordon said, pulling the boombox from the hovercart and placing it on the floor before turning on the music and blasting the volume. Krample nearly lost it when Peppy Pepperoni started gyrating in his costume, the long lengths of the pepperoni wobbling as he moved with the others, clearly disheartened. “We’re here for a good time, we have some good pizza, and if you booked our premium package, we have some arcade games you can play, too,” Milton sang, mustering as much energy as he could.
Krample tasted blood as he bit into his lips, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. There had never been a situation in which it had been this hard to act mature. This was the funniest thing he had ever seen in his life.
Melly Moose was next, and Xallia actually impressed Krample with her dance moves—until she came in with her lyrics. “Just wait until you put our pepperoni in your mouth!”
On que, Milton jumped forward, executing a quick spin dance move and raising both hands as he pumped his hips back and forth, sending the protruding costume shooting back and forth through the air. Krample absolutely lost it, erupting into laughter and turning away to try to keep some semblance of composure. He just couldn’t believe this was the real Chunky Cheddar’s catering dance. It was the worst, most suggestive thing he had probably ever seen in his life. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, Chunky Cheddar jumped forward and started to rap. “I’m Chunky, I’m here with my crew and I’m gonna’ see this thing through. Melly Moose has got the goose, she’s a wild partier, and is smartier than Peppy. Peppy Pepperoni is here with the meat, just listen as he drops some moves with the beat!” Chunky rejoined the others as the song concluded, looping back to the chorus one more time where catering package upsells were once again proposed.
“It’s pizza time! Hrraaaah!” the three of them shouted, finishing the song before the three of them broke into their finishing poses.
Charles sat with his mouth open while Krample was still unable to muster any words. He was laughing way too hard, wiping tears away from his eyes. He would never forget this.
“What in all that is holy was that?” Charles stammared. “I think you have single handedly destroyed my faith in a just universe. This perversion of justice will haunt my dreams forever. Leave the pizzas and get out. Now,” he seethed.
Chunky Cheddar bowed, walking out of the room with the others.
Krample on the other hand, had never been so amused in his entire life. It took him a few more minutes before he was able to regain his composure. “Oh Gesh, I’m sorry, Charles. That was bad, I’m so sorry. I wish I could be more mature about it, Peppy Pepperoni was just too much.”
Charles nodded. “I agree. Now, where were we?” he asked, opening one of the boxes and pulling a slice of cheese pizza from one of the boxes, putting it on his plate and sprinkling it with parmesan and red pepper flakes.
“We were talking about how you do all of this at cost rather than for profit,” Krample supplied, refocusing himself and resetting his mindset.
“Ah, yes. You see, Krample, I was a businessman like yourself. I started with the passion—and the money came after. I followed my dreams, they came true, and I woke up one morning only to realize I didn’t recognize myself or who I had become. My company was creating unimaginable wealth, people loved the products, but it wasn’t about my dream anymore. It was about earning profits for my investors—nothing more. I gave it all up to start this place.”
“Without investors? How have you scaled?” Krample asked, in awe of how severely he had misjudged Galactic Claus from the start—unless this was all some sort of trick. He started to reach for a slice of pepperoni pizza—recalled the fresh memory of Peppy Pepperoni’s gyrations, and went for the cheese instead, smiling to himself, but finding he had no appetite for pepperoni anymore.
“I spent a majority of my wealth building this place—all the initial infrastructure needed to run production. It was a challenge though. I lost all my patents when I let my old company go—had to start from scratch.”
“Wow. And you live off the interest of the rest of your money or something?” Krample asked, taking a bite of his pizza and marveling at how good it actually was.
“Exactly. See, Krample, despite this horrible situation, I think we have a lot in common. I think you’re a man that had a dream and I think you’re a man that woke up to find that it was all taken away—a man that doesn’t know why he still does it. Maybe you think if you win the bid for Galactic Claus you’ll find happiness. I don’t know, maybe you will, but there is more to life than pleasing investors. Oh Gesh, you wouldn’t believe this one investor I had on my board. Bargland Midas was his name—an utterly horrible toad of a man.”
“Bargland Midas is the head of Krample Co’s board of trustees. That’s no coincidence.”
Charles’ M.O.L robot rolled through the door, holding a giant box wrapped in Galaxmas paper. “It has come to my attention that you have never been on the list to receive an official Galaxmas present. I want you to have the first Galaxmas present this year,” Charles said.
Krample’s breath caught in his chest. With all the surprises, this was the most shocking. As long as what was in that box didn’t kill him, he would appreciate the kindness. He had never been so wrong in his entire life, and nothing had rung as true as what Charles had said. This wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t even really Krample’s fault either. This was Bargland Midas’ fault—and all the people like him. When had it stopped being about the people who benefitted from Krample Co’s great products?
Krample teared up as he unwrapped the only and best Galaxmas present he had ever received in his life. He needed to call it all off. As he reached for the communicator device in his back pocket, he felt it crunch as he shifted his weight. Wincing, he pulled it out. The frame had cracked and there was static on the other side.
“What is that?” Charles asked, trying to peer at the device.
“Just a communicator. I had bad intentions coming into this meeting. My company is responsible for the disappearance of its own products. This was all a rouse, and for that I’m sorry. I thought you were evil, I thought you were my enemy, but that isn’t the case. It seems Bargland Midas is our one true, mutual enemy. I need my life to be about helping people. Maybe I’ll still be a cool villain on the side, but not like this. I want it to be about my dream of owning a successful, good toy company, not this mess of corporate greed and operating under Bargland’s scaly thumb.”
“You wish to join me here?” Charles asked.
“I think so, yes. Maybe I could build onto your factory, help you expand then we could consolidate our R&D, purchasing, all of that. Use the savings to do good in the world while I’m not being a villain on the side, only to Bargland, of course.”
Charles scratched his chin. “And you enjoy Galaxmas festivities? I keep the place decorated like this year-round—easier to maintain, plus I just really like Galaxmas.”
“Fine with me. I’ll probably do some of my own decorations, but that won’t be a problem. You are right though, I don’t want to live under the control of Bargland Midas anymore. He actually tried to kill me, you know. Twice, actually believe it or not.”
“Join the club. Fifteen years ago, he sent a couple of fighters after my shuttle just so he could displace me as CEO and put someone else in my place—someone that would run the place to the ground so he could build up one of his other investments. Funny, though. I never could trace the credits back to their original accounts. It was like he was sending money all over the galaxy or something.”
Realization struck home. Galactic Claus wasn’t the evil entity trying to take control of the galaxy—it was Bargland this
whole time. Krample was surprised and lucky to be alive. He knew now more than ever that he was doing the right thing now.
“What’s with that look, did I say something wrong?” Charles asked.
Krample raised a finger, pressing the button on his communicator to reach the others who would already be in the factory right now, ready to mess up the equipment. “Team, this is Krample. We were wrong all along. Do not blast up the place. Repeat. Do not blast up the place.”
***
“This is Krample—static—blast up the place. Repeat. Blast up the place,” Krample’s distorted voice came through. There was something very wrong with his communicator, but to Milton, it was all the command he needed. There were hundreds of the E.L.F. robots working on the manufacturing floor, churning out product after product. Milton had already gone through the painstaking process of removing all the blasters he had stowed in what had to be the worst costume ever made. He knew he would never be able to live the dance he had performed down—Krample wouldn’t let him. He could only make sure he accomplished the mission and made Krample proud.
The three of them began their onslaught, firing their blasters with sustained fire. Crimson bolts of plasma cut through the E.L.F. bots that continued their work as normal, not even seeming to notice that they were being torn apart and destroyed.
It was actually kind of fun shooting them—made even better by the fact that they didn’t seem to be dangerous and weren’t shooting back. “Guess what, Galactic Claus? You just got upgraded to our platinum catering package. The arcade game? Shooting all your flipping robots!” Milton yelled. He didn’t know where the words were coming from, he only knew that he felt awesome, even in the Peppy Pepperoni costume as he loaded mag after mag into his heavy blaster and mowed down the entire factory floor with Xallia and Gordon, not leaving a single E.L.F. bot remaining.
