The Wonders of Science
The Midwest farming communities of North America, on Earth, had appealed to the UNE (United Nations of Earth) Science Committee, and the World Agricultural Department, for help in fighting a grasshopper plague. The plea was sent on behalf of farmers and ranchers because of catastrophic losses caused by grasshopper infestations.
Millions upon millions of grasshoppers had swarmed the Midwest, leaving trails of barren ground. The wake of destruction could be seen for miles and miles. These grasshopper swarms were eating and destroying all traces of crops and pasture lands.
The farms of the Earth were in serious jeopardy.
The Science Committee of the UNE did not ignore the Cry for help. In fact, it had been waiting for such a call. This was an ideal opportunity to test out new technologies. So the UNESC, working in conjunction with a privately funded organization based on another planet, began developing a solution for the grasshopper catastrophe, a project called: Operation Extermination.
OperEX's mission was to eliminate the grasshopper infestation without jeopardizing the farming communities. This, of course, ruled out chemical warfare. So the solution that OperEx came up with?....A genetically engineered species of "grasshopper hunters."
The obvious candidate for such an objective was immediately recognized: the mantis (the mantis being used for similar tasks in human history). The scientists of OperEx combined the DNA of a mantis with the DNA of a grasshopper and a dragonfly, thus creating a superspecies of insect. This superspecies was one which had the hunting skills of a mantis, the flying power of a dragonfly, and the jumping power of a grasshopper---and, more importantly, it knew how to think like a grasshopper, a sort of a grasshopper-sense.
The concept looked good on paper, but in practice, it was a much more sensitive task than they had imagined. They could fuse the DNA together, but they could not get the primary cell to replicate. It merely burned its fuel idly until it died. So they managed to create a tiny artificial umbilical cord and they attached it to a grasshopper-like life support system. Then they formed another mutant embryo and attached it to the life support. The cell did not die.
The cell sat idly for weeks, an inert embryo. The scientists would come in to the lab in the mornings and say things like, "So how is our little cell doing?" And they would tell their superiors, "Our cell is still alive, but not replicating." And when they would try various tactics to get it start dividing, start growing, they would say things like, "Come on, cell! You can do it, cell! Divide, cell, divide!"
Thus did Cell come into being, and as so the scientists affectionately named the mutant embryo.
But they still could not get Cell to replicate. [So they created a virus carrier and injected Cell with hormones that turned it into a normal replicating embryo.] Cell grew into a nice-looking mutant pupa and was detached from the life support and fed kibble made out of grasshoppers.
The name Cell stuck with him until he was a full grown insect and a certifiable grasshopper hunter.
Now all that was needed was to transport Cell across space to Earth for a trial run. But who would OperEx call upon to deliver him to the UNESC?
The Phantom Mantis
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Shuram Gudatetris
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Shuram Gudatetris
- <i>Haruchai</i>
- Posts: 683
- Joined: Wed Dec 20, 2006 8:48 pm
- Location: Cameron, Missouri
- Contact:
The Phantom Mantis
Reading the Pieces of a Captain's Map
Pieces of a Captain
Captain John Thompson sat by himself, near the edge of the lounge, with his back facing the majority of the others. He was the commander of the Appalling 13, the ship which surrounded the lounge like a huge commercial bus. He was momentarily free of any immediate duties---this was a very rare moment for him--- and so his crew respected his privacy and left him to his brooding self.
Map and Eggs were observing him from the bar. Eggs was the new recruit; he was a half-prissy Prep Academy graduate. Map nodded towards John.
"I don't know how he does it," she said. "All that stress and responsibility. And he's always so alone."
"Our captain's wife is a cold woman then, is she'?" Eggs intoned from between the snot trails hanging around his mouth.
"Oh, no. Well, I mean, not really. It's just that she's not human, but rather a cyborg. Cyborgs just aren't much for human companionship."
"Oh....I see, I see," said Eggs, as if with some new found wisdom. "Our captain gets his willies off o' robot whore-bots, eh?"
Map's face suddenly turned red.
"Look here, jack-off," she growled, "that's your captain there. If I ever hear you speak like that again, I will personally tear your droopy little testic-balls right out of your scrotum."
Map got up and left Eggs staring at John.
She could no longer take anymore of Eggs' prying voice, nor could she stand the sight of John isolating himself. Seeing John by himself, so lost and left alone to sort out his numerous worries, left an aching feeling in Map's heart. She knew those demons far too well, being alone and overwhelmed with troubles. That being so, she knew there was no comfort she could give, so she intended to leave the lounge.
Unfortunately, the lounge's exit lay in John's line of sight. On her way to the door, John spotted Map.
"Map!" he called to her. "Ensign Map!"
She jerked to a halt and paused for a moment. With a sigh, she spun on the ball of her foot and turned towards him. Her hair was shoulder length now, straight and plain, black as midnight. She had on black lipstick and had several piercing in her nose and ears.
"Pull up a chair," he said to her. "Finish my drink."
"Sir? You wished to speak to me?" she asked without sitting, ignoring John's invites.
"Huh? Oh, I was just inviting you to join me. I never seem to have enough time for you these days."
Map let out a slow exhalation of breath, and sat down. She had eyebrows now, and they displayed a mixed look of concern and aggravation.
"It's the imp," she said, "that you don't seem to have enough time for."
A spasm of [pain] flashed on John's face, as his mind was flooded with the image of the greatest mind he had ever known, reduced to a drooling, sneering, mindless ape-like creature, imprisoned within a steel-reinforced cage. His shoulder's sagged as he let out a painful breath. Staring down at his drink, his voice straining with emotion, he said, "You don't know what it's like, watching him, the way he is, and knowing there is nothing I can do for him now."
"Stop feeling sorry for yourself," said Map in disgust. "There is ALWAYS something you can do. Always. SOMEthing."
John forced his eyes back to her face; Map thought perhaps his lower lip was quivering, as if he was about to cry. But then the corners of his mouth jerked up in a subtle smile, and his eyes glazed over. He said, "Ah, jeez, Map. You are something else." His voice was soaked with affection. "Just look at you, with your wild hair, tattooed skin, that look in your eyes---tough as nails!---and all the scars and piercing and all that.... A wicked warrior's shell surrounding a truly pure heart."
Now he was openly smiling at her with the smug look of a proud father.
Map returned his gaze with a look of contempt.
Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head as she said, "You can't bury the past by praising what I am today. You don't know shit about me"---her voice took a razor edge--- "DO YOU UNDERSTAND?....You spend a week in Hell---nevermind an eternity---and be sure to catch the part where everyone you know and care about gets raped and butchered before your eyes. And then spend the rest of your life as a demon in a human's body, running from the warden's of Hell---whom, by the way, yearn to catch you, kill you, and kill everyone and everything you care about, just so they can kill you again in the afterlife.... Try it. Just try it. Try it and then talk to me about"---she sneered the words--- "pure hearts!"
John was looking down at the table again, avoiding her fiery gaze. Her words had the power to penetrate the barrier surrounding his deepest mind, where he hid the pieces of his heart.
"I'm sorry, Map," he murmured.
She didn't respond.
"I'm sorry . . . about everything."
Like a sob, John cleared his throat. He snatched up his glass as if it were his last hope to reclaim his stake in life. For a short moment, he stared at it dreamily, as one would stare at an impossible fantasy, or a promise not kept forever unable to fulfill.. But his face quickly turned dark and he tipped back the glass, pouring it down his throat like it was the most bitter medicine for the most sinister disease. And all the more bitter because it is too late to cure the disease, he thought as he slid back his chair.
"See you around," he said before he got up and walked away.
A strand of hair had fallen on to Map's face. She was now staring off into space, lost in thought, and she chewed the lock in her mouth absent-mindedly.
Pieces of a Captain
Captain John Thompson sat by himself, near the edge of the lounge, with his back facing the majority of the others. He was the commander of the Appalling 13, the ship which surrounded the lounge like a huge commercial bus. He was momentarily free of any immediate duties---this was a very rare moment for him--- and so his crew respected his privacy and left him to his brooding self.
Map and Eggs were observing him from the bar. Eggs was the new recruit; he was a half-prissy Prep Academy graduate. Map nodded towards John.
"I don't know how he does it," she said. "All that stress and responsibility. And he's always so alone."
"Our captain's wife is a cold woman then, is she'?" Eggs intoned from between the snot trails hanging around his mouth.
"Oh, no. Well, I mean, not really. It's just that she's not human, but rather a cyborg. Cyborgs just aren't much for human companionship."
"Oh....I see, I see," said Eggs, as if with some new found wisdom. "Our captain gets his willies off o' robot whore-bots, eh?"
Map's face suddenly turned red.
"Look here, jack-off," she growled, "that's your captain there. If I ever hear you speak like that again, I will personally tear your droopy little testic-balls right out of your scrotum."
Map got up and left Eggs staring at John.
She could no longer take anymore of Eggs' prying voice, nor could she stand the sight of John isolating himself. Seeing John by himself, so lost and left alone to sort out his numerous worries, left an aching feeling in Map's heart. She knew those demons far too well, being alone and overwhelmed with troubles. That being so, she knew there was no comfort she could give, so she intended to leave the lounge.
Unfortunately, the lounge's exit lay in John's line of sight. On her way to the door, John spotted Map.
"Map!" he called to her. "Ensign Map!"
She jerked to a halt and paused for a moment. With a sigh, she spun on the ball of her foot and turned towards him. Her hair was shoulder length now, straight and plain, black as midnight. She had on black lipstick and had several piercing in her nose and ears.
"Pull up a chair," he said to her. "Finish my drink."
"Sir? You wished to speak to me?" she asked without sitting, ignoring John's invites.
"Huh? Oh, I was just inviting you to join me. I never seem to have enough time for you these days."
Map let out a slow exhalation of breath, and sat down. She had eyebrows now, and they displayed a mixed look of concern and aggravation.
"It's the imp," she said, "that you don't seem to have enough time for."
A spasm of [pain] flashed on John's face, as his mind was flooded with the image of the greatest mind he had ever known, reduced to a drooling, sneering, mindless ape-like creature, imprisoned within a steel-reinforced cage. His shoulder's sagged as he let out a painful breath. Staring down at his drink, his voice straining with emotion, he said, "You don't know what it's like, watching him, the way he is, and knowing there is nothing I can do for him now."
"Stop feeling sorry for yourself," said Map in disgust. "There is ALWAYS something you can do. Always. SOMEthing."
John forced his eyes back to her face; Map thought perhaps his lower lip was quivering, as if he was about to cry. But then the corners of his mouth jerked up in a subtle smile, and his eyes glazed over. He said, "Ah, jeez, Map. You are something else." His voice was soaked with affection. "Just look at you, with your wild hair, tattooed skin, that look in your eyes---tough as nails!---and all the scars and piercing and all that.... A wicked warrior's shell surrounding a truly pure heart."
Now he was openly smiling at her with the smug look of a proud father.
Map returned his gaze with a look of contempt.
Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head as she said, "You can't bury the past by praising what I am today. You don't know shit about me"---her voice took a razor edge--- "DO YOU UNDERSTAND?....You spend a week in Hell---nevermind an eternity---and be sure to catch the part where everyone you know and care about gets raped and butchered before your eyes. And then spend the rest of your life as a demon in a human's body, running from the warden's of Hell---whom, by the way, yearn to catch you, kill you, and kill everyone and everything you care about, just so they can kill you again in the afterlife.... Try it. Just try it. Try it and then talk to me about"---she sneered the words--- "pure hearts!"
John was looking down at the table again, avoiding her fiery gaze. Her words had the power to penetrate the barrier surrounding his deepest mind, where he hid the pieces of his heart.
"I'm sorry, Map," he murmured.
She didn't respond.
"I'm sorry . . . about everything."
Like a sob, John cleared his throat. He snatched up his glass as if it were his last hope to reclaim his stake in life. For a short moment, he stared at it dreamily, as one would stare at an impossible fantasy, or a promise not kept forever unable to fulfill.. But his face quickly turned dark and he tipped back the glass, pouring it down his throat like it was the most bitter medicine for the most sinister disease. And all the more bitter because it is too late to cure the disease, he thought as he slid back his chair.
"See you around," he said before he got up and walked away.
A strand of hair had fallen on to Map's face. She was now staring off into space, lost in thought, and she chewed the lock in her mouth absent-mindedly.
Last edited by Shuram Gudatetris on Fri Aug 14, 2009 5:06 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Shuram Gudatetris
- <i>Haruchai</i>
- Posts: 683
- Joined: Wed Dec 20, 2006 8:48 pm
- Location: Cameron, Missouri
- Contact:
The Phantom Mantis
Reading the Pieces of a Captain's Map
Reading the Map
"The Kremlin of the Appalling 13 is no place for a pretty girl like you," came a mysterious male voice of an aging human. "Unless, of course, she is in the company of a man."
Map slowly raised her head to see an older version of Dick Tracy standing in front of her. Past a wrinkly set of lips, his smiling teeth shined at her, sparkly and yellow. He tipped his detective-style brimmed hat and he bowed low within his long, light brown overcoat.
"I'm sorry," he continued. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Robert Stack, and I'm the new nurse." Robert could discern no hint of recognition in Maps face. "Uh.... my wife just left me. May I join you?"
Map eyeballed him suspiciously for a few moments before responding.
"Sure," she said finally. Then, "Uh.... Robert? When did you join our crew? This is the first I've heard of a new crew mate."
"The real question is not how I got here, but who brought me to this place, and what strange forces are at work in our universe? Find out, on the next episode of . . . Unsolved Mysteries."
Robert was staring intently at her.
"Nevermind that for now," he said. "It's been hard." He let out an exaggerated sigh. "My wife just left me."
"Boo hoo," Map returned with obvious sarcasm.
A frown broke Robert's face and a tear swelled in his eye. "Oh. I'm sorry," his voice was shaking, "It's just---" His voice cracked. Then he continued softly, weakly, "It's just that I thought you'd understand."
Map harrumphed.
Robert's other eye swelled with a tear.
"It's just that John said that maybe you'd---"
"John said?" Map interrupted.
Robert shrugged and snuffled. "Yeah, John said that you have had people leave you, that you understand loss."
"John? John said?!" Map cried incredulously. "That?!"
With another droopy shrug, Robert continued, "Yeah. And that maybe we should talk."
"Johnsaid?! Fuck!" Map slammed her fist onto the table. "Fuckfuck!!"
Then there was a long, uncomfortable silence. . . .
. . .
Long. . . . And quite uncomfortable. . . . .
Silence.
During that silence, Map and Robert could hear the man at the table next to them ordering his lunch:
The man had been pointing a finger at something on the menu.
"What's this?" he asked. "It says 'Elephant Fries'."
"Yep," said the waitress. "That's what it is."
The man slid back his chair and put his hands between him and the waitress, palms out, as if he were afraid she was going to charge at him.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said. "Wait. A. Minute. ....Are you telling me that yo'r a gonna bring me an elephant fry?"
"I'm 'a gonna' bring you a whole bunch of elephant fries, if that's what you order."
"No way." His lips curled inwardly, as if he were contemplating the most fearsome challenge of his life. Determinedly, like he was testifying before God, he repeated, "No. Way." He folded the menu, then crossed his arms in front of his chest in such a way that it seemed he meant to challenge the waitress to a battle of wits. He continued, "Now. . . . I've seen a french fry. And I've seen a steak fry. I've seen some stir fry and I've even seen chicken fry. But I ain't never seen no elephant fry."
The waitress clicked the gum in her mouth. With her hand on her waist and her hips cocked she said, "Well, that's what it is. You want some or not?"
He eyeballed her for several moments, the way a storekeeper might watch a known thief in his shop. "I dunna know. I like spicy food. These so-called elephant fries would have to be really spicy."
"Well, elephant fries are the spiciest thing we have on the whole menu," she told him with undeniable sincerity.
"If I order some of these so-called elephant fries, your chef is a gonna have to make them extra spicy."
"Sir," said the waitress, obviously annoyed by her odd customer, "they're already really spicy. They're, like, ten times as spicy as hot buffalo wings."
"Can ya make them extra spicy, or not, these so-called elephant fries?" he demanded. Every time he spoke the words "elephant fries" he spoke as if he were talking to a senile or an imbecile about Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy.....
Robert cleared his throat. Both him and Map suddenly stopped listening to the man order his lunch. A few moments previous, Map had been quite upset at Robert for being too assuming.
"Oh, Map. I'm sorry." Robert looked pitiful. "I am sorry. I really am. I didn't know. Oh, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." Robert shrugged and looked away. Then, softly, he said again, "I'm so sorry."
"God damn it," Map said in an easier tone. "Stop feeling so sorry for yourself. For Christ's sake, it's not your fault."
Robert turned back to her, now with a subtle, but mischievous, grin, and perhaps a slightly evil look of triumph in his eyes. "I'm glad you feel that way," he said through a mouth full of sparkling, artificial teeth.
The waitress came up to take their order.
Robert told the waitress, "I'll have chickens and which."
"And which what?" asked the waitress.
"Whichever," Robert said, matter-of-factly.
"And how 'bout you, Map?" asked the waitress. "What'll it be for you?"
"Uh....let's see....I think I'll have tuna salads and which," said Map.
"And which what?" asked the waitress.
"Whichever," Map said dismissively, with a wave of her hand.
After they had finished their chicken sandwich and tuna salad sandwich, Robert and Map chatted for a while.
"So you really hate God?" Map asked in fascination.
"Hate," Robert snarled. "Hate the very essence of his being."
"Oooooooooahaaahhhhh," Map moaned in some kind of ecstasy. Then they became self-conscious. Both Robert and Map looked around the room; everyone was staring at them.
"Uhhhh....." said Robert. "I think we're making some people uncomfortable"---( "Christians!" Map disguises in a cough)--- "Perhaps we should go somewhere else."
Robert stood. His bulge was unmistakable. (He was biting his tongue to keep from smiling.)
"I'd love to go somewhere with you," Map said. Her hair was now spiked with pink tips. She was braless, wearing a tight, red, spaghetti string top, which her nipples poked through as if they were trying to get a look at Robert for themselves. They got up to exit the Kremlin, Map's curvy ass bouncing around in a short leather miniskirt. She had no panties on.
As Map and Robert left the Kremlin, the man who had been sitting next to them was receiving his elephant fries from the waitress.
"Here's your elephant fries. They're extra spicy. Just don't tell anyone we made them this way. 'Chef says it's illegal to make food this spicy."
"Thank you," said the man. He then brought out his own bottle of spice. "This is my special blend," he winked at the waitress. "It's a mixture of the hottest dried peppers in the galaxy."
He grabbed the bottle of spice like it was crack, and began shaking it around like he was jerking off a donkey, smothering the spice all over his food.
The waitress started, "But sir---"
"Nevermind that," said the man sharply. "I like it hot."
He just continued piling on his hot spice. He didn't stop sprinkling until the bottle was empty.
"Sir, please," said the waitress.
He winked at her again.
Then he picked up his food and took an enormous bite.
For one infinitesimally short moment, the man's eyes glazed over in complete and utter total ecstasy. But then----
Reading the Map
"The Kremlin of the Appalling 13 is no place for a pretty girl like you," came a mysterious male voice of an aging human. "Unless, of course, she is in the company of a man."
Map slowly raised her head to see an older version of Dick Tracy standing in front of her. Past a wrinkly set of lips, his smiling teeth shined at her, sparkly and yellow. He tipped his detective-style brimmed hat and he bowed low within his long, light brown overcoat.
"I'm sorry," he continued. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Robert Stack, and I'm the new nurse." Robert could discern no hint of recognition in Maps face. "Uh.... my wife just left me. May I join you?"
Map eyeballed him suspiciously for a few moments before responding.
"Sure," she said finally. Then, "Uh.... Robert? When did you join our crew? This is the first I've heard of a new crew mate."
"The real question is not how I got here, but who brought me to this place, and what strange forces are at work in our universe? Find out, on the next episode of . . . Unsolved Mysteries."
Robert was staring intently at her.
"Nevermind that for now," he said. "It's been hard." He let out an exaggerated sigh. "My wife just left me."
"Boo hoo," Map returned with obvious sarcasm.
A frown broke Robert's face and a tear swelled in his eye. "Oh. I'm sorry," his voice was shaking, "It's just---" His voice cracked. Then he continued softly, weakly, "It's just that I thought you'd understand."
Map harrumphed.
Robert's other eye swelled with a tear.
"It's just that John said that maybe you'd---"
"John said?" Map interrupted.
Robert shrugged and snuffled. "Yeah, John said that you have had people leave you, that you understand loss."
"John? John said?!" Map cried incredulously. "That?!"
With another droopy shrug, Robert continued, "Yeah. And that maybe we should talk."
"Johnsaid?! Fuck!" Map slammed her fist onto the table. "Fuckfuck!!"
Then there was a long, uncomfortable silence. . . .
. . .
Long. . . . And quite uncomfortable. . . . .
Silence.
During that silence, Map and Robert could hear the man at the table next to them ordering his lunch:
The man had been pointing a finger at something on the menu.
"What's this?" he asked. "It says 'Elephant Fries'."
"Yep," said the waitress. "That's what it is."
The man slid back his chair and put his hands between him and the waitress, palms out, as if he were afraid she was going to charge at him.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he said. "Wait. A. Minute. ....Are you telling me that yo'r a gonna bring me an elephant fry?"
"I'm 'a gonna' bring you a whole bunch of elephant fries, if that's what you order."
"No way." His lips curled inwardly, as if he were contemplating the most fearsome challenge of his life. Determinedly, like he was testifying before God, he repeated, "No. Way." He folded the menu, then crossed his arms in front of his chest in such a way that it seemed he meant to challenge the waitress to a battle of wits. He continued, "Now. . . . I've seen a french fry. And I've seen a steak fry. I've seen some stir fry and I've even seen chicken fry. But I ain't never seen no elephant fry."
The waitress clicked the gum in her mouth. With her hand on her waist and her hips cocked she said, "Well, that's what it is. You want some or not?"
He eyeballed her for several moments, the way a storekeeper might watch a known thief in his shop. "I dunna know. I like spicy food. These so-called elephant fries would have to be really spicy."
"Well, elephant fries are the spiciest thing we have on the whole menu," she told him with undeniable sincerity.
"If I order some of these so-called elephant fries, your chef is a gonna have to make them extra spicy."
"Sir," said the waitress, obviously annoyed by her odd customer, "they're already really spicy. They're, like, ten times as spicy as hot buffalo wings."
"Can ya make them extra spicy, or not, these so-called elephant fries?" he demanded. Every time he spoke the words "elephant fries" he spoke as if he were talking to a senile or an imbecile about Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy.....
Robert cleared his throat. Both him and Map suddenly stopped listening to the man order his lunch. A few moments previous, Map had been quite upset at Robert for being too assuming.
"Oh, Map. I'm sorry." Robert looked pitiful. "I am sorry. I really am. I didn't know. Oh, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." Robert shrugged and looked away. Then, softly, he said again, "I'm so sorry."
"God damn it," Map said in an easier tone. "Stop feeling so sorry for yourself. For Christ's sake, it's not your fault."
Robert turned back to her, now with a subtle, but mischievous, grin, and perhaps a slightly evil look of triumph in his eyes. "I'm glad you feel that way," he said through a mouth full of sparkling, artificial teeth.
The waitress came up to take their order.
Robert told the waitress, "I'll have chickens and which."
"And which what?" asked the waitress.
"Whichever," Robert said, matter-of-factly.
"And how 'bout you, Map?" asked the waitress. "What'll it be for you?"
"Uh....let's see....I think I'll have tuna salads and which," said Map.
"And which what?" asked the waitress.
"Whichever," Map said dismissively, with a wave of her hand.
After they had finished their chicken sandwich and tuna salad sandwich, Robert and Map chatted for a while.
"So you really hate God?" Map asked in fascination.
"Hate," Robert snarled. "Hate the very essence of his being."
"Oooooooooahaaahhhhh," Map moaned in some kind of ecstasy. Then they became self-conscious. Both Robert and Map looked around the room; everyone was staring at them.
"Uhhhh....." said Robert. "I think we're making some people uncomfortable"---( "Christians!" Map disguises in a cough)--- "Perhaps we should go somewhere else."
Robert stood. His bulge was unmistakable. (He was biting his tongue to keep from smiling.)
"I'd love to go somewhere with you," Map said. Her hair was now spiked with pink tips. She was braless, wearing a tight, red, spaghetti string top, which her nipples poked through as if they were trying to get a look at Robert for themselves. They got up to exit the Kremlin, Map's curvy ass bouncing around in a short leather miniskirt. She had no panties on.
As Map and Robert left the Kremlin, the man who had been sitting next to them was receiving his elephant fries from the waitress.
"Here's your elephant fries. They're extra spicy. Just don't tell anyone we made them this way. 'Chef says it's illegal to make food this spicy."
"Thank you," said the man. He then brought out his own bottle of spice. "This is my special blend," he winked at the waitress. "It's a mixture of the hottest dried peppers in the galaxy."
He grabbed the bottle of spice like it was crack, and began shaking it around like he was jerking off a donkey, smothering the spice all over his food.
The waitress started, "But sir---"
"Nevermind that," said the man sharply. "I like it hot."
He just continued piling on his hot spice. He didn't stop sprinkling until the bottle was empty.
"Sir, please," said the waitress.
He winked at her again.
Then he picked up his food and took an enormous bite.
For one infinitesimally short moment, the man's eyes glazed over in complete and utter total ecstasy. But then----
Spoiler
His head exploded.
Last edited by Shuram Gudatetris on Mon Apr 03, 2017 11:34 pm, edited 1 time in total.
-
Shuram Gudatetris
- <i>Haruchai</i>
- Posts: 683
- Joined: Wed Dec 20, 2006 8:48 pm
- Location: Cameron, Missouri
- Contact:
The Phantom Mantis
Hidden Purpose
The cyborg Anna found herself on the bridge confronting the ship's latest new recruit, a humble looking fellow named Bob. Bob was a short man with a sizable pot belly, and a dim look in his eyes. He looked at Anna past his bulbous nose which was highlighted by a dark, shaggy mustache. His black and messy hair matched his mustache, but it was mostly concealed by a ratty old gray ball cap which wasn't quite sitting squarely on his head. His ancient and patched over-sized overalls were a compliment to the ball cap, and a faded flannel shirt, hastily mis-buttoned, lay beneath the overalls.
"Bob," Anna said, "this is your station. You will be monitoring internal sensor data. You are responsible for keeping the ship running at maximum efficiency. Now get to it."
"Righty-roo," said Bob.
Bob pulled out a broom and began sweeping.
"What are you doing?" asked Anna.
"Just doin' muh duties," Bob answered. He began whistling a tune.
"You are supposed to be maintaining your station," Anna scolded him.
"Righty-roo," said Bob. "Maintaining my station. Yes, ma'am. Maintain-a-roony."
Bob just kept on sweeping.
"You're supposed to be observing internal sensor data. Analyze and interpret the information. Inform the ship's crew to respond to the ship's needs. Now snap to it!"
Bob was still keeping on with his whistling and sweeping.
"Crewman!" barked Anna.
Suddenly Bob turned to her.
"Look, lady. I'm s'posed t'be maintainin' my station, right? Well, I'm maintainin' my station th'only way I know how. Th'only maint'nance I know is custodial."
Then Bob went back to his whistlin' n' sweepin'.
Anna was standing still, with a blank face, while her super-computer processors were analyzing the strange Bob's reaction to her orders. The oddness of his simultaneous cooperativeness and disobedience, due to mental incapability, reached far beyond her pre-programmed ability for human understanding. He was stupid, and stupid is as nothing Anna does.
But suddenly her micro-processors were redirected to an altogether different process of thinking. Someone was trying to contact the ship.
"Incoming message, Robot Commander!" bubbled Daisy Confusto with glee. Daisy was the ship's communications officer, and she was absolutely delighted whenever she had a chance to do her job, to feel useful. You see, Daisy Confusto was a blonde-haired doll of a lady; you know the type, real easy on the eyes and real soft in the brains. Similar to Benji Bisquick, she was not a very capable person, and therefore it was hard to find suitable tasks to assign her, as the difficulty level of such tasks had to be extraordinarily easy if one were to hope that Daisy might be able to get it done correctly. Of course, this sat well with Daisy, as she enjoyed looking pretty and being cute far more than she cared about being useful. She spent most of her time on duty sitting at her Communications Station filing her nails, or twirling her hair, or absent-mindedly rubbing the hard nipples poking through her uniform (it was a cool 62 degrees through out the ship, including the bridge; heating costs can be a killer in the absolute zero of outer space, you know). "Message beacon hailing from BioLabs Spacestion of [planet/satellite]," Daisy practically giggled to Anna.
Anna turned to the main video-communication display.
"Open the connection," she told Daisy.
The video display flashed to life, and a scientist appeared on the screen.
"Hello Appalling 13, I am Dr. Gyro from a privately funded scientific organization. My spacestation, BioLabs, was recently attacked. A band of mercenaries boarded my station and stole a precious device. Nevermind that device, what's really important is a package which I was forced to jettison into space. You see, there was much firing, and blasting, and explosions, and I feared that this package would be damaged or otherwise destroyed or rendered unusable, so, you see, I really had no other choice. This package must be recovered and delivered to the planet Earth. Your name was given to me by a friend who said that you were available for odd jobs and such. Are you available for the immediate recovery and confidential delivery of this package?"
Anna's processors calculated for .005 seconds.
"We are currently available to perform services in return for compensation."
"Great!" said Dr. Gyro. "We have an unlimited budget, funded by Earth's UNESC. We are VERY capable of compensation."
Anna's processors calculated for .003 seconds.
"We have your location as the source of our audio/video-communication link. It is identified as BioLabs of [planet/satellite]. We can obtain your location in four hours fourteen minutes and approximately fifteen seconds. After we retrieve the package, it will take us one day three hours two minutes and approximately thirty seconds to reach the orbit of the planet Earth. The compensation we desire is one thousand five hundred thirty-three space dollars and twenty star-cents."
"Oh my," said Gyro. "You certainly are on the ball....I wonder, would you happen to be one of my old designs? A cyborg called 22-10A?"
"My circuits inform me that I am Anna Thompson. My mission is to protect the life force of John Thompson."
"Oh, my. You are 22-10A!" Quietly, almost too quiet for Gyro's audio receiver to pick up, he commented absent-mindedly, "I wonder who managed to erase your hard drive." Then, in a tone of casual interrogatory, he asked, "How did John Thompson program you?"
Anna's processors calculated for 3.008 seconds.
"My circuits inform me that I am Anna," she said, "I am Anna Thompson, formerly recognized as Anna Shwartzinator. My original and current mission is to protect the life force of John Thompson by any means necessary. Nothing else signifies."
Dr. Gyro cleared his throat. "Hhhhgmmmm. Well, you must excuse me, 22-10A. I did not mean to overload your circuits. But my request still stands. Will you deliver the package as I have asked?"
"Affirmative. Agreement to previously stated conditions must be satisfied."
"Agreement," said Gyro, "yes, of course. Agreement must be confirmed, 22-10A. No one knows better than me, 22-10A. Therefore, I shall give satisfactory confirmation. I'm transmitting my credential account code now."
The numbers appeared at the bottom of the video display.
"Satisfaction confirmed. The Appalling 13 is scheduled for arrival at BioLabs Spaceport in fourteen hours and fifteen minutes. Standing by for transmission disconnection."
"Thank you, 22-10A. I know better than anybody else that you will not fail me. I'll be looking forward to our re-UNION. Dr. Gyro out."
The video-display went blank and words flashed on the blank screen:
TRANSMISSION TERMINATED
________________
Five seconds can be an eternity for an android, while for a human, five seconds can go by in almost the blink of an eye. Also, five seconds is the approximate time it takes for a Cyborg 22-10A to reboot its internal processors, which, of course, can only be done using the C22-10A Command/Protocol Programming Language, a simple programming language composed of an access code and command. The access code is very simple: one must first open up the command protocol programming simply by addressing it as it named in its programming files, simply "2210-A"then one must only address the ....say twenty-two ten A; say it five times//cyborg's internal processors by their programming name, which is simply "22-10A", in conjunction with the protocol word "forward". Once the processors receive the data input of "22-10A forward", then one of twenty essential commands can be entered. ("Union" is the command word which activates a C22-10A's computer-linking program, generally used for maintenance and program updating.) Also, whenever an essential command is entered into the system, the system must reboot. So, on a bridge full of humans, no one noticed when the cyborg blanked out for five seconds while its systems rebooted.
Map was walking through the ship looking for Eggs, as she had a special assignment for him. She was wearing the ship's uniform now, and her hair was blue and stood off her head in long six inch spikes. She was nearing a corner when she thought she heard Robert's voice. In fact, she knew she heard Robert's voice. It's like when Unsolved Mysteries is on in the next room and you can hear it even though you're not watching it. . . you just know it's Robert Stack's voice. Map knew she heard Robert.
So, as she neared the corner, she slowed to a stop just before rounding it.
"I think there may be a problem. Some guy came up to us and hassled me about cards."
"What do you mean, 'cards'?" came another voice.
Map's attention suddenly peaked. For the other voice was none other than Eggs Haverock.
Robert chuckled. "I don't know. He kept saying something like ''set o'----"
Eggs cut him off before he could finish. "Set o' deck'cards," he said. "I know. I've heard the story. So what's the problem?"
Silence.
A couple of moments of it.
"Well," came Robert's voice, "if he didn't know about the Maverick Ace of Spades, why would he have come to me to hassle me about cards."
"Robert," said Eggs. "You have an inferior central processing unit. So don't share it with me."
Map had had quite enough of hearing Eggs talking to Robert this way. Also, it was quite time for her to find out just what Robert was up to, congregating with Eggs like this. She straitened her uniform and stepped around the corner . . . .
. . . . Only to find Eggs standing alone in the hallway.
For a moment she was speechless. She had big brass rings piercing the tops and bottoms of her lips together.
"Uhhh...." she finally managed. "Eggs, where's Robert?
"Looking for Robert, eh?" Eggs said with his left eyebrow holding up his hair. "I heard two of you had . . ." he paused for just a moment, as if looking for the right words, "quite...a...time. Hmmm?"
"That's none of your damn business."
"No?....Well, nevertheless," Eggs made an exaggerated sweeping gesture with his hands, as if displaying the hallway for Map, then he bubbled, "Robert---obviously---is...not...here."
Map put her hands on her hips in a show of feminine dominance. "I know he's around here somewhere. I was just standing around the corner listening to the two of you talk. Where is he?"
Eggs' smile told her that he wasn't going to say.
Map smiled back at him. "Eggs," she said, "you would just love it if I was actually here to talk to you on a personal level, wouldn't you?"
Eggs' smile was slightly corrupted by a look of puzzlement. This was his only response.
"Eggs, there was an attack on the BioLabs spacestation. The package we were sent to pick up was jettisoned into space. I am leading a mission to recover the package, while the ship proceeds to BioLabs to do whatever it can to secure the lab."
"You don't say?" said Eggs.
Map nodded. "I'm in need of a pilot---of sorts---to fly the shuttle pod."
Eggs smiled big again. "Well, I am a pilot, of sorts."
As Map turned on her heel to walk away, she told him, "Secure a standard travel pack and meet me in the shuttle bay."
**You know, at some point between now and the next chapter in the story, the Appalling 13, should eventually arrive at BioLabs spacestation and find it deserted and destroyed. In engineering, Charles Darwin would tell his young apt, "Soon we, you and I that is, we will be going EVA as the Scavenging Clue." and the young Apt would wonder what Darwin meant when he said "scavenging clue".
The cyborg Anna found herself on the bridge confronting the ship's latest new recruit, a humble looking fellow named Bob. Bob was a short man with a sizable pot belly, and a dim look in his eyes. He looked at Anna past his bulbous nose which was highlighted by a dark, shaggy mustache. His black and messy hair matched his mustache, but it was mostly concealed by a ratty old gray ball cap which wasn't quite sitting squarely on his head. His ancient and patched over-sized overalls were a compliment to the ball cap, and a faded flannel shirt, hastily mis-buttoned, lay beneath the overalls.
"Bob," Anna said, "this is your station. You will be monitoring internal sensor data. You are responsible for keeping the ship running at maximum efficiency. Now get to it."
"Righty-roo," said Bob.
Bob pulled out a broom and began sweeping.
"What are you doing?" asked Anna.
"Just doin' muh duties," Bob answered. He began whistling a tune.
"You are supposed to be maintaining your station," Anna scolded him.
"Righty-roo," said Bob. "Maintaining my station. Yes, ma'am. Maintain-a-roony."
Bob just kept on sweeping.
"You're supposed to be observing internal sensor data. Analyze and interpret the information. Inform the ship's crew to respond to the ship's needs. Now snap to it!"
Bob was still keeping on with his whistling and sweeping.
"Crewman!" barked Anna.
Suddenly Bob turned to her.
"Look, lady. I'm s'posed t'be maintainin' my station, right? Well, I'm maintainin' my station th'only way I know how. Th'only maint'nance I know is custodial."
Then Bob went back to his whistlin' n' sweepin'.
Anna was standing still, with a blank face, while her super-computer processors were analyzing the strange Bob's reaction to her orders. The oddness of his simultaneous cooperativeness and disobedience, due to mental incapability, reached far beyond her pre-programmed ability for human understanding. He was stupid, and stupid is as nothing Anna does.
But suddenly her micro-processors were redirected to an altogether different process of thinking. Someone was trying to contact the ship.
"Incoming message, Robot Commander!" bubbled Daisy Confusto with glee. Daisy was the ship's communications officer, and she was absolutely delighted whenever she had a chance to do her job, to feel useful. You see, Daisy Confusto was a blonde-haired doll of a lady; you know the type, real easy on the eyes and real soft in the brains. Similar to Benji Bisquick, she was not a very capable person, and therefore it was hard to find suitable tasks to assign her, as the difficulty level of such tasks had to be extraordinarily easy if one were to hope that Daisy might be able to get it done correctly. Of course, this sat well with Daisy, as she enjoyed looking pretty and being cute far more than she cared about being useful. She spent most of her time on duty sitting at her Communications Station filing her nails, or twirling her hair, or absent-mindedly rubbing the hard nipples poking through her uniform (it was a cool 62 degrees through out the ship, including the bridge; heating costs can be a killer in the absolute zero of outer space, you know). "Message beacon hailing from BioLabs Spacestion of [planet/satellite]," Daisy practically giggled to Anna.
Anna turned to the main video-communication display.
"Open the connection," she told Daisy.
The video display flashed to life, and a scientist appeared on the screen.
"Hello Appalling 13, I am Dr. Gyro from a privately funded scientific organization. My spacestation, BioLabs, was recently attacked. A band of mercenaries boarded my station and stole a precious device. Nevermind that device, what's really important is a package which I was forced to jettison into space. You see, there was much firing, and blasting, and explosions, and I feared that this package would be damaged or otherwise destroyed or rendered unusable, so, you see, I really had no other choice. This package must be recovered and delivered to the planet Earth. Your name was given to me by a friend who said that you were available for odd jobs and such. Are you available for the immediate recovery and confidential delivery of this package?"
Anna's processors calculated for .005 seconds.
"We are currently available to perform services in return for compensation."
"Great!" said Dr. Gyro. "We have an unlimited budget, funded by Earth's UNESC. We are VERY capable of compensation."
Anna's processors calculated for .003 seconds.
"We have your location as the source of our audio/video-communication link. It is identified as BioLabs of [planet/satellite]. We can obtain your location in four hours fourteen minutes and approximately fifteen seconds. After we retrieve the package, it will take us one day three hours two minutes and approximately thirty seconds to reach the orbit of the planet Earth. The compensation we desire is one thousand five hundred thirty-three space dollars and twenty star-cents."
"Oh my," said Gyro. "You certainly are on the ball....I wonder, would you happen to be one of my old designs? A cyborg called 22-10A?"
"My circuits inform me that I am Anna Thompson. My mission is to protect the life force of John Thompson."
"Oh, my. You are 22-10A!" Quietly, almost too quiet for Gyro's audio receiver to pick up, he commented absent-mindedly, "I wonder who managed to erase your hard drive." Then, in a tone of casual interrogatory, he asked, "How did John Thompson program you?"
Anna's processors calculated for 3.008 seconds.
"My circuits inform me that I am Anna," she said, "I am Anna Thompson, formerly recognized as Anna Shwartzinator. My original and current mission is to protect the life force of John Thompson by any means necessary. Nothing else signifies."
Dr. Gyro cleared his throat. "Hhhhgmmmm. Well, you must excuse me, 22-10A. I did not mean to overload your circuits. But my request still stands. Will you deliver the package as I have asked?"
"Affirmative. Agreement to previously stated conditions must be satisfied."
"Agreement," said Gyro, "yes, of course. Agreement must be confirmed, 22-10A. No one knows better than me, 22-10A. Therefore, I shall give satisfactory confirmation. I'm transmitting my credential account code now."
The numbers appeared at the bottom of the video display.
"Satisfaction confirmed. The Appalling 13 is scheduled for arrival at BioLabs Spaceport in fourteen hours and fifteen minutes. Standing by for transmission disconnection."
"Thank you, 22-10A. I know better than anybody else that you will not fail me. I'll be looking forward to our re-UNION. Dr. Gyro out."
The video-display went blank and words flashed on the blank screen:
TRANSMISSION TERMINATED
________________
Five seconds can be an eternity for an android, while for a human, five seconds can go by in almost the blink of an eye. Also, five seconds is the approximate time it takes for a Cyborg 22-10A to reboot its internal processors, which, of course, can only be done using the C22-10A Command/Protocol Programming Language, a simple programming language composed of an access code and command. The access code is very simple: one must first open up the command protocol programming simply by addressing it as it named in its programming files, simply "2210-A"then one must only address the ....say twenty-two ten A; say it five times//cyborg's internal processors by their programming name, which is simply "22-10A", in conjunction with the protocol word "forward". Once the processors receive the data input of "22-10A forward", then one of twenty essential commands can be entered. ("Union" is the command word which activates a C22-10A's computer-linking program, generally used for maintenance and program updating.) Also, whenever an essential command is entered into the system, the system must reboot. So, on a bridge full of humans, no one noticed when the cyborg blanked out for five seconds while its systems rebooted.
Map was walking through the ship looking for Eggs, as she had a special assignment for him. She was wearing the ship's uniform now, and her hair was blue and stood off her head in long six inch spikes. She was nearing a corner when she thought she heard Robert's voice. In fact, she knew she heard Robert's voice. It's like when Unsolved Mysteries is on in the next room and you can hear it even though you're not watching it. . . you just know it's Robert Stack's voice. Map knew she heard Robert.
So, as she neared the corner, she slowed to a stop just before rounding it.
"I think there may be a problem. Some guy came up to us and hassled me about cards."
"What do you mean, 'cards'?" came another voice.
Map's attention suddenly peaked. For the other voice was none other than Eggs Haverock.
Robert chuckled. "I don't know. He kept saying something like ''set o'----"
Eggs cut him off before he could finish. "Set o' deck'cards," he said. "I know. I've heard the story. So what's the problem?"
Silence.
A couple of moments of it.
"Well," came Robert's voice, "if he didn't know about the Maverick Ace of Spades, why would he have come to me to hassle me about cards."
"Robert," said Eggs. "You have an inferior central processing unit. So don't share it with me."
Map had had quite enough of hearing Eggs talking to Robert this way. Also, it was quite time for her to find out just what Robert was up to, congregating with Eggs like this. She straitened her uniform and stepped around the corner . . . .
. . . . Only to find Eggs standing alone in the hallway.
For a moment she was speechless. She had big brass rings piercing the tops and bottoms of her lips together.
"Uhhh...." she finally managed. "Eggs, where's Robert?
"Looking for Robert, eh?" Eggs said with his left eyebrow holding up his hair. "I heard two of you had . . ." he paused for just a moment, as if looking for the right words, "quite...a...time. Hmmm?"
"That's none of your damn business."
"No?....Well, nevertheless," Eggs made an exaggerated sweeping gesture with his hands, as if displaying the hallway for Map, then he bubbled, "Robert---obviously---is...not...here."
Map put her hands on her hips in a show of feminine dominance. "I know he's around here somewhere. I was just standing around the corner listening to the two of you talk. Where is he?"
Eggs' smile told her that he wasn't going to say.
Map smiled back at him. "Eggs," she said, "you would just love it if I was actually here to talk to you on a personal level, wouldn't you?"
Eggs' smile was slightly corrupted by a look of puzzlement. This was his only response.
"Eggs, there was an attack on the BioLabs spacestation. The package we were sent to pick up was jettisoned into space. I am leading a mission to recover the package, while the ship proceeds to BioLabs to do whatever it can to secure the lab."
"You don't say?" said Eggs.
Map nodded. "I'm in need of a pilot---of sorts---to fly the shuttle pod."
Eggs smiled big again. "Well, I am a pilot, of sorts."
As Map turned on her heel to walk away, she told him, "Secure a standard travel pack and meet me in the shuttle bay."
**You know, at some point between now and the next chapter in the story, the Appalling 13, should eventually arrive at BioLabs spacestation and find it deserted and destroyed. In engineering, Charles Darwin would tell his young apt, "Soon we, you and I that is, we will be going EVA as the Scavenging Clue." and the young Apt would wonder what Darwin meant when he said "scavenging clue".