Intergalactic Whatsit

My computer that has the book I'm working on broke down--so I decided to take a hiatus from writing. It didn't work. I had to write. So I wrote this.

 

                On day 037 of the year 9,010 Emperor Slagle became very angry after his aides brought in an android that was specifically designed to pick his nose. The Post-Terran Meta-Narrative says that the Emperor gave a speech the next day on the evils of automata, during which he got a terrible nosebleed and died the next day.

                Lieutenant Nether Turnstile had a better reason for not liking machines. They were trying to take his job away.

                It was enough that the androids had a statesman. They had even gotten a right to vote on the planet of Haddock. But now they wanted jobs in the army, and it looked like the 1^st Minister of the planet was going to give it to them. The thing that bothered him was that robots don’t need pay, and they didn’t care; and he did need pay, and he did care. If the 1^st Minister realized this, it was going to be out with the human soldiers.

                He stomped out of his barracks, snatching his helmet from the helm-bot, his gloves from the glove-bot, and his boots from the boot-bot as he went. They wanted him at the bridge. That was what they said. They probably were going to sack him.

                “Lieutenant Turnstile, Your Marshalship.” A voice announced as Nether entered.

                Nether blinked, looking about at the brightly-lit bridge. God and Man, it was bright—all the figures were silhouettes.

                “Good to meet you, Lieutenant.” A hand protruded into Nether’s vision. The Lieutenant blinked at it. “Here,” the commanding voice added, “turn down the lights.”

                A tall and round man in a suit the color of swamp mud grinned at him.

                Nether took the hand, rubbing his eye with the other. “Lieutenant Turnstile, sir.”

                “Yes. I am Marshal Escalator.”

                Nether’s mouth formed a clear, perfect O. “F-field Marshal Escalator?”

                “Yes.”

                Nether took this in quite slowly, then grasped the hand more firmly. “Good to meet you, sir! Why, I don’t know how many times I have heard of your gallant exploits to find and battle extraterrestrials in our galaxy, sir. I’m so delighted to meet you, sir.”

                “Ha, yes. Well, Lieutenant—“

                “Ho ho, you called me Lieutenant,” Nether tittered.

                “Um, yes I believe that is your rank?”

                “Oh yes, yes it is.”

                “Well, anyway, as you may have heard we have made contact with an alien vessel that is coming towards Haddock at quite a speed. It’s doesn’t match any Post-Terran planets so I suspect it may just be extra-terrestrial!”

                “Oh that is simply top-hole, sir! Top-hole!”

                “Yes, don’t I know it. I have looked over your files, since General Reception told me you are a very capable officer and expected to rise through the ranks quite quickly.”

                “Well, thank you sir, I am—“

                “—And we want you to do this.”

                Nethers frowned. “Um…what, exactly, do you want me to do?”

                “Well, the alien ship will be in the port in a little bit—it’s quite small, only about ten feet in length—and we would like you to go out and bring the alien chap in here.”

                “Me?”

                “Well, yes, I mean he probably isn’t very dangerous, but you can’t be too sure.”

                Nether’s excited face slowly began to drop. His hands trembled a little as they held his helmet under his arm. “Well…I mean, what are the chances of it being dangerous?”

                The Marshal shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know, I imagine pretty low. Now, get down to the bay. Um…bring a gun.”

                “Yes. Thank you.” Nether shuffled toward the door, the Marshal pressing him on.

                #

                The door closed. Lt. General Reception raised an eyebrow, looking at the Marshal. “I said he was a very capable officer, that he would rise through the ranks?”

                “Well of course you did. Otherwise, how would I have an excuse?” The Marshal folded his arms.

                “You could have told him we threw a dart at a board of names.”

                “I doubt he would have taken nearly as much confidence from that.”

                #

                The Lieutenant found himself trembling in the grav-evator. He was standing next to a grinning young man dressed in shining white, wearing gloves and an unshaved face.

                “Who are you?” Nether blinked at the white man.

                “Contamination Expert,” the man grinned at him, showing a bunch of green and black teeth.

                “Oh.” Nether clutched his gun. “And you’re coming to…”

                “De-contaminate the visitor,” the Contamination Expert waved a small brush-like accessory. “My name is Philling Troubleshooter.”

                “Nice to meet you. Are you nervous?”

                Philling nodded. “As hell.”

                “Ah.”

                Ding! The doors opened like a mouth, revealing a private hangar bay. It was completely empty—except for one rather small white shape near the corner.

                Nether gulped and walked toward it. Philling grinned and followed him.

                The ship had a gleaming yellow cockpit in the middle, and two arms that seemed to come out of it. The arms were sleek, with no joints, and they had powerful, exotic looking engines on the end.

                As they watched, the cockpit split in two and a sleek white shape slipped out.

                Oh…God and Man! Nether brought his pistol up to bear. “Alright, there! Hands where I can see them!”

                The alien raised a finger. He seemed to be applying some kind of lipstick. Nether was quivering, but he took a moment to study this creature. It was white—sterile white, all over. It had three arms, two at the side and one in the middle. It appeared to have a mouth at the front, and eyes on the front and—when the alien put the stick back in the cockpit—he saw them also on the back.

                “Hull-O!” the alien shouted, rubbing his lips together.

                “Ah, he knows our language,” Philling tapped him with a shivering finger.

                “I wear the Translator Balm,” the alien pointed to his lips. “And the Translator Earplugs.”

                “Alright! Put your hands where I can see them, then!” Nether shouted. He was not going to botch this job up. He was terribly scared, but he didn’t want to let the Field Marshal down.

                “You can’t see them?” the alien wiggled his arms.

                “Up! Up! Over your head!” Nether pointed with the gun, his hands shaking.

                The alien wiggled his mouth and put them over his head.

                “Wait!” Philling hissed. “What if he has more arms?”

                “God and Man! All your hands up, then!”

                “These are all the hands I’ve got,” the alien muttered. “Sorry.”

                “Don’t try to fool me!” Nether shouted, his knees knocking. “All of them! All of them up!”

                “Look, I’m a Virgonian—from Virgo? The star, you know? We are the most capable aliens in the galaxy. We all have a third arm, eyes in the back of our head, and nine lives. But we only have three arms, alright?”

                “You’re reaching for a weapon with your fourth hand!” Philling shrieked. “I swear it!”

                “No, I’m not! Are all you humans this stupid? Look, I’ll show you some quick-frames from my memory—“ the Virgonian reached for something inside his ship.

                “No! He’s getting the weapon!” Philling screamed. “Shoot him!”

                “But what if—“

                Philling grabbed at Nether’s hand, trying to wrest the gun from him. Nether pulled it back and inevitably, it fired. A fine, string-thin ray shot out.

                The Virgonian blinked and toppled over.

                Nether screamed. Then he screamed again. “What did you do?”

                Philling wiped off his lab-coat. “I shot him. What do you think I did?”

                “You—you—you utter nincompoop! God and Man, we’re going to get sacked, you sod!”

                “Fine with me. I hate this job.”

                “My career, everything’s gone down the drain now! Soddit!” Nether stamped the ground with his boot.

                “I’m gonna get out of here,” Philling ran for the elevator.

                “Wait! You made me shoot this guy, you get back over here! Sod sod sod!” Nether fell on his knees, hitting the shiny floor.

                Then he heard a groan. The Virgonian was rolling over.

                Hope like a sweet flower bloomed in Nether’s heart. He stood up, gazing with utmost silence at the prostrate alien. The hole the ray-gun had caused was gone now. A grin crept up into his face-muscles.

                “Ohhhh my,” the Virgonian rolled over. “So this is the world. I’ve waited a long time.”

                He was staring up at the ceiling.

                “Excuse me?” Nether whispered. “Are you alright?”

                The alien’s head, exceedingly more jolly than before, looked up at him. “Never been better, strange humanoid-thing. Not that I’ve ever been less than ‘alright’—because I’ve never been alive other than now.”

                Nether blinked. “I’m sorry, I’m very confused.”

                “I’m life Number Nine of Celestris. I’ve waited so-o long.”

                “Life Number Nine?”

                Celestris had turned to the ship. “Wow, this is one sweet ride…yeah, Number Nine. The Hedonistic one. Since there’s only one life to go I plan to spend it in the craziest way possible. The first one was very prudent—the second quite brilliant—the third very solemn and contemplating—the fourth dull as a post—the fifth made up little sayings—the sixth did good deeds, and on and on and on. Does this thing do Zero to Sixty Million in two seconds?”

                “So—when I shot Celestris, did I kill him?”

                “Yup.”

                “God and Man,” Nether whispered.

                “Dude, we have got to try this rod out. Jump in.”

                Nether shrugged. “I guess my life couldn’t get any worse right now.”

The elevator was opening and several officers were coming out. Nether leapt into the cockpit. When he sat down in the chair beside the hand-pad, it molded around his buttocks. This was one comfy chair.

                Celestris put his hands on the hand-pad, and the third pressed several buttons. “Let’s bust some speed limits.”

                First Marshal Escalator was in the front, his hands around his mouth. Nether couldn’t hear what he was saying over the roar of the engine, but he could see the mouth articulate ‘get back here, you sod!’

                The ship molded itself as they rose into a sleek, thin speeding machine. Nether gulped—several Astrocorps fighters were rising out of their dens, all coming towards them.

                “Ha! What do these people drive, trash cans?” Celestris pressed a few buttons.

                “Do you have a shield?”

                “Naw, man. Watch these gnarly moves.” Celestris’ hands were moving faster than Nether could see on the hand-pad. He couldn’t even feel the ship moving, but the screen before his eyes was blurred. He closed his lids firmly.

                “Who-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o!” He heard Celestris yodel. “I’m a crazy Altairian!”

                It was several moments more before Celestris spoke again. “You can open your eyes now.”

                “Oh good.” Nether opened them, and nearly vomited. They were heading straight down, towards a large trash pipe.

                “What are you doing?” Nether shouted.

                “They’re too many over by the main exit,” Celestris put some sort of alien harmonica to his lips and started playing, “so this duct should do alright.”

                “But what if it’s a dead-end?”

                Celestris just played a chord on his harmonica. Zero-point energy blasted around them, freezing the insides of the duct where they hit.

                “God and Man, they’re using Casimir Blasters! One hit and we’re done!” Nether tried to look at their pursuers, but there appeared to be no back window.

                “Blam blam, go meet the fam,” Celestris chuckled.

                They came around the bend and were hovering over a large sea of vomiting trash. Nether’s head flew this way and that, looking at the walls.

                “I told you!” Nether screamed. “There’s no way out of here! Even getting sacked would have been better than this!”

                “Calm down your bowels,” Celestris put a hand on Nether’s stomach. With the third arm he reached for the ceiling and pressed a small button, which slid aside a panel to reveal a larger button. This Celestris also pressed.

                Nether had the most sensational feeling at that moment. He could see everything, suddenly. He looked down and could see his bowels, the sandwich he had eaten at lunch, his n*****s, his bones and his muscles. He looked over at Celestris and then looked away—he wasn’t ready for alien anatomy. Around the ship, he saw wires and microchips. It was as if every atom of everything in the ship had suddenly become completely clear.

                “Phaser power on,” Celestris guffawed. Nether saw the vocal chords in his butt move. “Whe-he-he!”

                Then they flew into the wall.

Author's Note

Keep in mind, this is not really a short story. Its probably the beginning of a book, but I do not know. Should I continue writing on it?

Reviews

[Kelsey Desmond]

This is nothing against you, I just don't like robot stories that much. I can deal with technology: but for me, you have to a have a really good name to make a robot fit into my mind. Like don't call it a robot. Call it like some strange exotic CREATIVE name. So I didn't enjoy this story that much. I did, however, enjoy the writing. When it just talked about life, and not noses or robots or some that wasn't really labeled under "serious" to me, i much enjoyed it. And please don't think I'm saying your story is bad because of this review. It's just me. I don't like stories that refer to robots as well, "robots." I can deal with machines. But the word "robot" is kinda childish in my mind. No offense. So this IS a great story which a lot of people would like, its just the idea didn't sit well in my mind. Keep writing though, because you ARE good at it.

And I'm really bad at telling people insults (and you may have taken this comment as an insult) so, I'm throwing it out there again, it's just me. Others might really enjoy this story because they may be fond of this topic and your writing is very good.

At least I can say well done on the writing and creativity with the setting and topic provided.

--Kels

[bluessadmood]

Oh my friend that was really nice..
you do have a special wonderful way of telling a story and you fill it with lots of humor..
I really dont go for these kind of writes,but i was really interested in reading this..
you made it very exciting read..i wonder if one day,if the world managed to survive
some other thousands of years,will it be the way you shape it..
what i really liked ,and probably you said it on purpose ,that human are very agressive
while the other aliens
are rather more friendly and kind of easy at heart ,ha ha ,i wish they are for real ,maybe we could get together one day
i am sure their life is much better and easier than us..petty humans..
I really liked this,you have quite an imagination,very wild..
lovely write..

[Shanna (Renae)]

I thought this was hilariously awesome! You should definitely keep working on it!

And I thought the use of the term "Robot" was fine. I read a book once where they didn't call them robots, but some annoying, complex name. I was half-way through the book before I realized what they meant.

Anyhow, good work. :)

[Gregory Hill]

Umm intresting... go through and look for places to put commas, Good job.