Confused Aliens - Part Four
Our space travelers have hit a wall -- and chewed straight through it. First, the bumbling astro-men destroyed the planet they were going to visit. Then they almost destroyed their own ship looking for a terrorist. Is this the day our clueless voyagers realize the enemy is truly within?
In the recovery room Dr. Sassafrass treats my myriad burns and dislocations and then leaves me alone to stew in my sense of failure, flanked on either side by Droppy and Cascadilla. Of course Cascadilla is comatose and generally melted, but I have ordered Dr. Sassafrass to pin a small, silver star to his gown, for gallantry and quick thinking in the presence of great danger. Perhaps this is too much of a distortion of the truth; Vlobotraxon claims that it was because Private Cascadilla licked the tip of his muon dart that he happened to lose consciousness and fall through the many-storied hole I had left in my fangy wake. But heroism is a mercurial thing, and it deserves to be rewarded under any circumstance. If he ever regains consciousness, he will be promoted to Sergeant Cascadilla.
To my right, Droppy sleeps a haunted sleep and chirps every minute, on the minute. His beak has been reconstructed and painted with a pink cream of some kind, and his head is stabilized with wires and poles connected to the ceiling.
There is no time for me to wallow. If permitted, I would fall into a great depression -- it has happened before.
"Droppy," I say. "Droppy."
No response. I poke him in the ribs with a crutch I find leaning against my bed.
"Droppy!"
He snorts awake, and his hand immediately goes to his beak, which he rubs gingerly.
"How badly are you hurt?" he asks, after looking at me for several seconds with one of his small, aviary eyes on the side of his head, taking it all in. When he speaks, the support mechanism above him shifts and compensates. He has noticed that I am extremely bandaged.
"My lips are gone," I say. "But more importantly, Droppy, a terrorist is loose on this ship."
Droppy sighs. "Will you be able to get new ones?" he asks.
"New what, Droppy? Ones what?"
"Lips, sir."
"The Doctor is harvesting a new pair as we speak."
"And the diplomat?"
"Still on the loose," I say. "Still free to blow us up at any moment." As I say these words aloud I hear the tone of a defeated leader. For morale, I quickly mutter, "We will carry the day."
"My hunch is that he is somewhere in the bathroom."
"How many times do I have to tell you that we've searched the bathroom?" I am beginning to wonder whether Droppy's brilliant tactical mind has been damaged in the accident. "We know now that he left sometime after your injury and proceeded to the armory, where he sabotaged the fangs and the energy bandolier. From there, it's anyone's guess."
"Perhaps," he says, speculative, somber. He blinks at me once or twice and strokes the remaining feathers on his face. "Do you think that he also booby trapped the door in your quarters? That I was his victim as well?"
"I wouldn't be surprised," I say. "You know how savvy these little Belvetronian bastards are with computer systems."
"Yet the question remains: why would one man destroy his own planet? And all the lives therein?"
I see the world in clear terms. "Evil, Droppy," I say. "You are familiar with the concept of evil?"
"Perhaps," he says. "Perhaps."
"What's going on inside that powerful brain of yours?" I ask, because I can see that he is concentrating. There's the old Droppy I know.
"Well, Admiral. A simple thought. It's only this. What if Belvetron hasn't been destroyed at all?"
"I don't follow, Droppy."
"Perhaps we are the victims of some cosmic joke. A trick. Can we be sure that the planet was indeed destroyed? Have you sent out a team to analyze the debris and verify the absence?"
"Of course I have."
When Droppy again falls into his hallucinatory sleep I contact First Lieutenant Gleegluk on the comlink.
"Lieutenant," I say quietly. "Send out a team to analyze the debris and verify the absence."
"Yes, sir. Absence of what, sir?"
"Belvetron IV."
"Of course, sir."
"What is the status of the manhunt onboard?" I ask. "Have there been any subsequent attacks? How is morale?"
"No, sir," he says. "No sign of the diplomat yet -- and we have armed men in all of the ship's ventilation shafts and fuel storage facilities. We are prepared to face the enemy. To the death, if necessary."
"Excellent, Lieutenant. I believe I will return to duty some time this evening, barring any major setbacks in my recovery."
"Yes, sir."
"I owe it all to Dr. Sassafrass."
"Yes, sir."
"She is fantastic. A truly gifted doctor."
"Yes, sir."
"I love her." It is a rare emotional moment for me, due in part, I believe, to my traumatic injuries.
"Yes, sir."
"Very good, Lieutenant. Carry on."
"Sir, there's something I think you should know." He hesitates.
"Out with it, Lieutenant."
"Well, sir, it's just that I've been going over the Sacred Book, as you advised Private Navigator Smellvamp. I offered to help him with the reading because of course he is blind, and I believe I've come across some information in the computer that may interest you."
"I'm sorry, Lieutenant Gleegluk, but I simply don't have the time. You may tell me when I return to the bridge." I have no use for religion, and am suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to defecate. I wonder aloud whether the paste that I consumed earlier in the day was poisoned.
"Possibly, sir."
"Yes," I say. "Indeed, possibly. Anything is possibly."
"Of course, sir."
"Over and out, Lieutenant."
"Over and out, sir."
I call for the enema team. As I wait I look to my left. Private -- Sergeant -- Cascadilla lies motionless in his bed, his chitinous chest rising and falling slowly with the help of a ventilator. I whisper to him that I will avenge this tragedy, that I will find the man responsible and punish him for what he has done. The sacrifice, I assure him, will not have been in vain.
