Earl sighs resigned, then gulps down his sick, nauseas from going around again. “We always get the shit work details.”
“Well, at least it’s not literal this time.” Both chicken guards shudder reflecting on previous Elephantine tasks they undertook on the Space Station Tiramisu.
“That work can be arranged here too.” Ironfist taunts, casually examining his glove. “But for now, you shall continue this undertaking until I have reached… satisfaction.”
With a massive boom, the throne room door explodes through the threshold. Queen Splendora saunters in followed by her entourage of Gimps, "Ha!" Splendora calls out to Lord Ironfist. “But you are never satisfied, are you Ironfist!” Ironfist is noticeably upset, his posture stiffens and he develops a minor tremor in his hands.
The scientists, Hairdo and Dale file in behind Splendora as she continues, “Always stroking your ego with needless displays of power.”
“Who let this controlling cunt into my chamber?!” Ironfist barks, rising from his position on the purloined throne.
“Obviously, I let myself in, you impotent dick!”
“I should have you bound and beaten for your insolence. In fact, I do believe I will. Iron Guard! Seize these invaders.” Ironfist points at Splendora then sweeps his arm at the rest of the party. His pecs jump like eager dolphins in an aquatic variety show, as he laughs wildly. The four Iron guards present advance, spears drawn. Magna jettisons the chicken guard turned polishing shammy and cracks her knuckles preparing to brawl.
“Gimps! You know what to do.” The heroes stay back as the Gimps square off with the Iron Guard. All combatants are prepared to go to the grave for their masters.
Both factions circle each other primed for combat. They feign assaults, back away and circle more. Each member is cautious not to make the first strike their last. For this battle will ultimately shift the balance of power on Syrus Six. Keeping this in mind, the gimps become more aggressive in their feints, lashing out progressively closer. Magna the 6’2 muscle-bound head Iron Guard moves first. Grabbing a Gimp by his ringed collar, pulling him to meet her gaze. His banana hammock rises, she gives him a long lick and cruel smile. The earth trembles.
The rumbling of several hundred creatures in a stampede echoes down the hallway. All parties turn their attention to the entryway.
Splendora smiles knowingly. The Fuzzy Ball battalion cascade in through the ceiling, windows and the main hall. Buck Aldrin surfs in on a wave of fuzzies through the main hall and trumpets out several meaningful farts. “Advance!”
As the fuzzy balls spill into the room, they let loose a barrage of noxious fumes, paralyzing the Iron guards in a fit of coughing and gagging. The fuzzy balls then form a line of defense between Splendora and Ironfist, using their farts to corral the Iron Guard back towards Ironfist’s position.
Splendora barks orders joyfully. She loves when a plan comes together. “Gimps, de-glove those iron fists.”
Protected from the stench by their leather masks, her gimp soldiers follow her commands, passing through the line. Splitting into two groups, the first party moves to restrain the Iron Guard. They back away dropping their spears in the confusion. Meanwhile, the other gimp group advances on Lord Ironfist.
“Silly little bitches.” Ironfist swings his heavy arm across the faces of the two gimps attempting to restrain him. The men soar across the room. “Your men were always pansies, Splendora. You didn’t really think they’d stand a chance against me, a veritable iron god?!”
Splendora advances to replace her gimps at the battlefront. She stands with her whip primed, mere feet away from Ironfist. “A pansy of a man is still a man, which is more than can be said about your brainless Iron Guard.”
“And yet each one is twice the woman you ever were!” He throws a jab at the air.
Hairdo gasps, "Were? You mean, she was a man?"
"No, you idiot, it means they use to date. This explains her deep insecurities, unbridled aggression and women bashing." Dale whispers disgusted with the romantic melodrama playing out before her.
"Sloppy seconds..." A grinning Buck elbows Hairdo.
“It’s good to know my independence irks you to this day. But a real woman has needs – she demands that they are met. I would never have left you, if you had just done that one thing.” She takes a step closer, pleading with her eyes.
Ironfist reels back at the suggestion, “It’s unnatural, you sick hag.”
“What kind of a man can give, but not receive?"
“Your penis envy knows no bounds!”
“Like you and that fist are any different. What’s wrong with me wearing the pants every once in a while?”
“The difference is that Lord Ironfist is no bend-over-boyfriend!”
Splendora becomes visibly irritated. She shows emotional vulnerability for the first time since Hairdo’s party has met her. Anger, hurt and longing unfold and flow across her face, “You tyrant!"
“Whore!”
Lord Ironfist and Queen Splendora face off mere inches apart. Suddenly, the emotional tension breaks and the two embrace. Splendora presses her lips against the mouthpiece of Ironfist’s mask. The metal is cold but familiar, “It tastes so metallic.”
Ironfist smiles. “Crack the whip for me, baby. Just once for old times’ sake.”
Without argument, Splendora does as instructed.
“Oh yeah, that’s the sound,” Ironfist moans, going in for another deep kiss.
In the background, the furry balls sit completely still. They grow unsure as to how they should react to the situation. Everyone else seems to adopt their confused, wide-eyed disbelief at the events unfolding before them.
“Um…” Hairdo clears his throat. “Excuse me?” He begins to approach the two. Splendora turns sharply.
“Sorry, Hairdo. I could never love a dog. I need a real man.” Her gaze lingers on Hairdo, who stammers unable to form a reply. Meanwhile, she licks down Ironfist’s mask. Then kisses across his shoulders, down his arms and to his fists. She holds her attention there, working her tongue between his fingers and knuckles.
“Ohhh, tough luck Hairdo,” Buck snickers.
Jerkoff sighs happily, wrapping an arm around Botchit. “Don’t you love seeing couples reunited?”
“You know Jerkoff, I think I finally understand. Admittedly it has taken me quite a while to come to this understanding, but I now have tabulated enough data to form an evidence-based conclusion. As scientists, we are required to follow a structured methodology of problem solving and analysis. I have mulled over every detail. It is time for me to reveal the partner that is my most logically compatible mate. With whom I shall express my imperative biological needs. Or as laymen would put it my ‘feelings’.”
With an expectant smile, Jerkoff leans in for a kiss. Botchit struts forth, arms spread, right past Jerkoff. Then, presses his lips to Dale’s dipping her in his embrace. Dale pushes away and straightens her back. She turns an embarrassed shade of red. Then she smacks Bochit in the face with the full force of her shock and disappointment. Botchit stands stunned for a moment, then shrugs his shoulders, “A slight miscalculation.”
“Men! Just Insufferable! How can he not get it, even now?” Dale scoffs, turning away from her scorned suitor. Her interest is drawn by the spectacle taking place between Splendora, Ironfist and Hairdo. Hairdo has fallen to his knees in a fit of tears. He leers at the woman he lusts for locked in an embrace with another man. It only compounds his sorrow, yet he cannot bear to ignore the bitter reality.
“Fire!” A screech signals the release, millions of concentrated energy particles surge across the room narrowly missing Splendora. Ironfist is slammed with the blast of energy. The beam strikes his back and instantly begins to eat away at him. Within a matter of milliseconds, a hole works its way through his clothes, then skin, exposing his ribs and expands outward. Finally, the disintegration reaches his outer extremities, reducing Lord Ironfist into a pile of ashes and filings at Splendora’s feet. S
plendora's eyes widen with shock as Ironfist, disappears in her arms. “Fire!” the command comes again, followed by another volley of disintegrator rounds. They zap the pile of ashes where Ironfist once stood, obliterating them into a vapor, removing any trace that Ironfist ever existed. Splendora reaches out for the vapor one last chance to possess even a molecule of her lover. She wafts his vapor towards her, attempts to bath in it. Mouth forming an ‘O’ she sucks in a deep breath to retain the essence of the man she loved. She can’t remember the last time he was inside her that didn’t end in tears and this time is no different.
Cockmaster General swaggers triumphant. The chicken guards, Jody and Jamie, stand at their commander’s side, disintegrator pistols readied. The half-naked, indentured Bruce and Earl pop up from behind the throne. “Fear not,” Cockmaster reassures them. “We’ve come to rescue you from this queer bondage. I’ve missed family time, boys.”
“You monster!” Splendora falls to her knees. “Why the hell did you do that?”
“No one violates these boys, but me. That iron wielding tyrant received a full load of justice."
Bruce peaks out from behind the throne, "That really wasn't necessary."
"But you said you were enduring torture that defies description!"
Earl grimaces, "Oh, uh, my bad."
Grumbles of disapproval resonate throughout the room.
"Well, at least we can take the Earth fugitives captive.”
“That’s strange,” Botchit puts a hand to his chin.
“What is?” Cockmaster demands. “Speak up, you!”
Botchit jumps. “Oh – me? I was just thinking to myself. Why was it so important for Swansea to get you off of that space station? What scheme would require that no other high-ranking official be there? Are you here for some pesky prisoners or is there another objective?”
“I’ll be hailed a hero for your capture. Swansea does what he can in the kitchen, but he will never garner the glory awarded by completing an away mission. He is a doddering fool and his concerns are not mine. But he means well.”
“Wait just a minute,” Jerkoff, also strikes a contemplative pose. “I see your point Botchit, poultry fool, you’ve been had! Your emperor was in a perilous position when we left.” He faces Cockmaster. “It wouldn’t be advisable for you to capture us. If you love your emperor, you’re going to need our help.”
“What?” Cockmaster balks, “Explain Yourselves!”
“You do love your emperor, right?”
“I would gladly sacrifice my life in his service. All hail our lord, our savior, Emperor Elephantine!” Cockmaster salutes.
His men follow suit, “Hail!”
Botchit continues. “Who exactly sent you on this mission? Are you doing it for the emperor? Or someone else?”
“It was the emperor, of course.”
Botchit shakes his head doubtfully, thinking back to the state of affairs when they escaped the station. “Swansea gave you the order, didn’t he?”
“Well,” Cockmaster stammers, “he might have.”
Dale jumps in. “It makes sense. Elephantine and Swansea were fighting when we left, in fact, their brawl is what gave us the opportunity to escape. During our retreat, Swansea had the upper hand and I doubt that lumbering piece of lard could have won out in the end. I am confident that Swansea wasn’t going to do anything to the benefit of the emperor after that fracas… or in hindsight before either.”
“And before the confrontation even began, we had placed the finishing touches on the Technicolor Bomb.” Jerkoff steps next to Botchit, who nods in agreement. “Your commander has everything he needs for a complete takeover of not only the space station…”
“But the cosmos,” Dale finishes.
“That’s insane.” Cockmaster clucks uncomfortably, looking to his guards for a sign that the escaped prisoners may be mistaken. “I can’t believe that.”
“And you shouldn’t!” His chicken guards all jump to his defense, explaining everything away as a ploy by the prisoners to orchestrate an easier escape. They fill his head with their speculations. The group goes back and forth with each other, trading increasingly radical ideas surrounding the intricate plots in the doctors’ potential escape plan.
Jerkoff soon becomes uncontrollably flustered. “Stop talking! If you don’t believe us, fine, but have the courtesy to dispatch us quickly. The man I love doesn’t even comprehend my feelings, so why go on living? Your emperor is Swansea’s captive, no doubt, awaiting a fate worse than death.”
“You lie!” Jamie calls out, training his disintegrator pistol on Jerkoff. “Permission to fry him, General?”
“No.” Cockmaster’s voice falls flat, “No. I can see into this man’s heart. It is driven by a deep yearning. One I knew but could not express until recently. I believe their story. Besides, if Swansea has managed to wrest control away from Elephantine, there’s no telling what measures he’ll employ to stop our returning to space station Tiramisu. Or the fight we may face reinstating our rightful regent. Indeed, we’ll need all the help we can get.”
Splendora rages at this. “You just killed my love!”
The rest of the group turns from Splendora, stepping away from her and the scorch mark where Ironfist was vaporized.
“You can have my wit and skill,” Dale boasts triumphantly, fists on her waist.
“And my science,” adds Botchit.
“My obsess… ah love,” Jerkoff professes.
“But most importantly.” Two strong arms push Botchit, Jerkoff and Dale aside. Hairdo’s revitalized figure steps between them. His hair bounces back to its former glory, full pompadour and his lips part to reveal sparkling teeth. “You have my glorious mane.”
The mood shifts again with a shrill cry of aggravation. All present become fully alert at the consecutive cracks of a whip. Now fully erect and imposing, Splendora slaps her whip against the cold ground once more. “Don’t ignore me, you sons of bitches! He killed my lover! My one and only! And you’ll all pay for it.”
As the last word leaves her mouth, the group turns back around and refocuses on their plans to return to the space station. Again, they weigh their specific talents and how they might be able to individually aid the mission.
“And thus, was forged the lamest group of all eons and galaxies,” Buck announces in a sarcastic faux-matter-of-fact intonation, emerging a fair distance away from the group. His attention is cut short when he notices a distraught, emotionally vulnerable Queen Splendora. “Hey, queenie babe.” He moves lightning quick, smoothly sidling too close, sliding an arm around her shoulder. Raising a powder caked finger to his nostrils, he takes a deep pull. He is suddenly pawing a fuming Splendora, “Try some of this. Not as good as Columbian, but it still packs quite a wallop.” She’s so focused on venting her anger that she hardly notices his maneuvers. His finger bumps the bottom of her nose. Reflexively, she pulls back – but not before a deep sniffle – her reality alters.
“What? What is—” She freezes. Her pupils dilate, and her body loosens. “Oh, my.” She turns around seductively eyeing Buck from head to toe, licking her lips. Her finger runs along his bare skin, stroking it gently. On her second rotation, she straddles his legs and wraps her arms around his neck. Staring deeply into his eyes she whispers, “Hey lover,” in his ear. Giggling she tightens her loose grip on something recently made rigid.
Buck grins at his good fortune, deciding to abandon the rest of the group for a more lucrative quest. “You guys have fun, I’m about to merge three kingdoms.” Buck takes Splendora in his arms, clicks his tongue while winking at the heroes and walks off. Following behind the couple are: the gimps, Iron Guard and fuzzy balls. The three kingdoms merged, both armies seem to have put aside any animosity they had with each other. The iron guards lead gimps by leashes. Magna the muscled maiden carries a smaller gimp on her back ala Master Blaster. Occasionally, the pairs stop briefly to steal kisses on their way out. With the fuzzy balls rolling and bouncing joyfully behind the para
de.
“No loss there,” Hairdo laughs in his typical foolhardy demeanor. “I am positive that the nine of us can take Swansea and whatever he may have in store.”
“So, this confidence is a tool to inspire your comrades?” Cockmaster ponders his new predicament, taking up arms with his former enemies against his very own compatriot.
“‘Inspire’ is a strong word for it. He motivates use to do better… because we know that if he is left to do the planning, or anything, by himself, someone will end up really dead.” Dale quips, grinning mischievously. Her expression quickly falls to a more serious countenance.
Cockmaster notes the shift in her attitude and continues with the logistics of their operation. “We can return in my vessel. It should have every security override we need to gain access to the Tiramisu.” Flowing with high spirits – and glad to be alive – Hairdo’s entourage follows Cockmaster out of the fortress and towards the landing site. There they all squeeze into his spaceship and take off for the space station.
∆ ∆ ∆
“I just can’t resist the temptation any longer,” Swansea squeals, spinning in his chair. “I deserve a treat; for I have ascended the long ladder of menial servitude and reached the rungs of imperial supremacy. That I’ve managed to endure being second fiddle to Elephantine for this long is an accomplishment.” He rolls his chair across the room to the onboard periscope. “And to think Elephantine never saw the use of having this installed down here.” He puts his eye against the scope and scans across the expanse of space. “Let’s survey our options. Ooh, a nice selection out there for target practice. Asteroid. Asteroid. Asteroid. Star cluster – that wouldn’t end well would it? Asteroid. Ah there's the Planet and a Ship…ship? Ship!” Closer inspection reveals the type of ship traveling directly towards the station. “It’s Cockmaster’s cruiser, moving at full velocity towards the docking bay.”
Elephantine gurgles from his place in the corner. Swansea observes him and thinks quietly.
“Cockmaster will be a perfect test for the utter devastation the Technicolor Bomb can unleash. You agree, don’t you?”
Captain Hairdo- Conquers the Cosmos Page 12
