Confused Aliens - Part Two
The mission to Belvetron IV is off to a poor start. For one thing, Lieutenant Gleegluk accidentally blew the planet up, by firing the gun he intended to disarm. But that doesn't mean that the most bumbling crew of space travelers in the universe shouldn't investigate what happened, and blame somebody else.
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Sometimes we like to wonder how we got on this ship in the first place, and who built it, and where we are supposed to go, but the truth is, we have all forgotten. Or maybe we never knew. Or maybe we knew and have never forgotten. I do not understand what I am saying here.
"What's the square root of four?" asks Private Navigator Smellvamp. I am back on the bridge. He is feeling bad about jettisoning the life capsules and his brain is not working so smoothly, due to anxiety.
"Six," I say to him compassionately. I lean in towards his rectangular ear for the big pep-talk moment: "Now plot us one of those great courses you're so famous for." I pinch his side, and he smiles. A leader must have a heart.
The diplomat is somewhere on the ship, but he is not in the lavatory. I have already sent a whole battalion to find him and arrest him for espionage. Consider the facts! The man's planet has just been blown up; he is the last of his race, the last of his kind in the universe, and he is therefore reeling; he was onboard the ship with access to the weaponry systems when the misfire occurred. As Admiral you sometimes have to play sleuth, and right now, my hunch is that the diplomat is the mastermind.
"We did it," says First Lieutenant Gleegluk when I inform him of my theory. "We made a mistake and did it. He was in the bathroom."
"All I care about, First Lieutenant Gleegluk, is finding an enemy whom I consider to be a threat to this ship and the lives of my men. That is all."
There are certain beliefs a leader must profess at all times, and one of them is the belief in the importance of the crew, right down to the last lowly AI toilet scrubber. If your crew believes that you are in it for the wrong reasons, you are therefore in it for the wrong reasons. QED, ergo.
"Yes, sir," says First Lieuenant Gleegluk. "But we did it. I did it. I pressed the wrong button. You were here."
"Private Navigator Smellvamp!" I cry. "What is the progress of your navigation?"
"Coming along, Admiral," he says. "But I don't know where we're going or where we are. Who are we?"
"Let's go, then," I command, and I put together a big, believable smile. "And as we go," I say pointedly, quietly, "I will organize a task force and hunt down the insurgent. The fate of our home planet depends on it." In times of stress it's good to get sentimental.
"Let's go there," says Private Navigator Smellvamp, turning. "Our home planet. I want to go home." I see a little smile on his face. Sometimes Private Navigator Smellvamp can be a bit of a whiner.
"Jinglebells, Vlobotraxon, Cascadilla!" I cry. "Meet me in the big room for meetings."
"Admiral?" asks Private Navigator Smellvamp. "Where is our home planet?"
"I am the Admiral, and I am busy," I tell Private Navigator Smellvamp slowly, so he can understand. "Consult the Sacred Book for your mystical questions." Ha! Of course the Sacred Book is an indecipherable riddle. It contains only one word, and it is indecipherable.
I fold my arms across my horn and scan the room. "Where are Privates Jinglebells, Vlobotraxon, and Cascadilla?" I ask.
The three come hustling up and stand before me, at attention. "We're here, sir," says Private Vlobotraxon.
"Let's go to the Big Meeting Room," I say. "We'll make a pit stop at the armory. I promise you, men, we're going to find this mucilage-coated Belvetronian guerilla bastard!"
In the armory I strap on an energy bandoleer and select a fully loaded set of thermal fangs. I power up the bandoleer, slide the fangs into my mouth, and connect them to the power hub. Privates Jinglebells, Vlobotraxon, and Cascadilla all equip themselves with various grenades, missiles, and particle boomerangs. I find half a set of crotch armor.
"Nom vet's vo noo na nig neeting noom," I say. It is difficult to speak through the thermal fangs.
"Sir?"
I remove the thermal fangs. "Now let's go to the Big Meeting Room."
We start down the hall. We are so laden with weaponry that we have to take a rest halfway.
"I never would have guessed this stuff would be so heavy," says Private Cascadilla. Before I can respond Private Vlobotraxon cries out and hurls his particle boomerang down the hall.
Instantly it is clear that there is no target. We all hold our breath and watch it whisk away, end-over-end, emitting a high-pitched whine. It turns mid-air and goes around the corner. There are five seconds of silence before an explosion rocks the whole ship and sends me down to the floor. Alarm sirens are buzzing. I look up and see a fireball flare from somewhere near the Big Meeting Room and then recede with a hiss. Someone is screaming.
"Why did you throw it?" I ask Private Cascadilla. "Why?"
"I saw something," he says. "No," he adds. "I didn't."
We all get up and walk down the hall. Around the corner we see that the boomerang has hit Professor Mendelson and taken off most of his face. Also, the Big Meeting Room is blown up.
"I'm sorry everybody," says Private Cascadilla, retrieving his boomerang. He is blushing. He leans down towards the Professor's body. "I'm sorry Professor Mendelson," he says loudly.
"Get Fire Chief Shombaughleah up here," I say to Private Jinglebells, and he turns and runs down the hall in the wrong direction.
As we are mingling near the explosion site, waiting for the fire chief to arrive, I hear the distinct sound of moaning coming from inside the now-black Big Meeting Room.
"Somebody's trapped in there," I say to my men. "We don't have time to wait."
"I found Professor Mendelson's face," says Private Vlobotraxon. He holds up something furry.
I sigh, then slide the fangs into my mouth and activate the front incisors with my tongue. Blue sparks spray out past my lips as I shove Private Vlobotraxon out of the way. The Big Meeting Room is smoking and full of broken furniture and collapsed walls. Whoever is trapped is buried beneath thousands of pounds of dead weight, and it is up to me to chew my way through.
"In gint new en it," I say to my men. I kneel down and start chomping.
