3.Ø1
Spacetime: 97253.6.071
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Muddle was shaking hands with a Poetic Intelligence construct named Rudyard. The PI was the same size and shape as Muddle, but had darker hair and smiled more frequently. The PI was outfitted in a standard-issue unitard and he was humanoid except for having one pair of pointy ears and two pairs of eyeglasses: One on his nose and the other, inexplicably, atop his head.
Muddle and Rudyard were conversing in a glass tube that was two meters high, and three meters long. There were hatches at each end of the tunnel. The inner portal gave way to ComCen, Star Truck’s command center, and the outer permitted egress to the great outdoors.
“Poetic Intelligence? Hmmm...” Muddle wondered, “What exactly is that?”
“Ah!” The PI brightened, “So good of you to ask.”
Dang! Muddle regretted the question before it had even escaped his lips.
“Now, where should I begin...” The PI stroked his chin, “...I want to give you the full picture, soooo...Have you ever heard of australopithecines?”
Muddle considered faking a heart attack until he seized upon a better idea. “Heyyy...Rudyard?” The professor snapped his fingers, “I really wish I could stick around, but, umm...You know, Sian? She asked me to do something...uhh, somewhere...”
“Not again!” The PI sulked, “I can’t even say two words without Sian pulling the plug. It’s so unfair.”
Muddle nodded, “That does sound harsh…”
“Hey, I know!” Rudyard brightened, “How about if I give you the cereal box version?”
“The...what…?”
“It’s the compact version of a literary masterpiece.”
“Well…” Muddle edged toward the escape hatch.
“Don’t worry, Kyptin!” Rudyard promised, “We won’t journey back in time any further than Homo erectus.”
“Oh…!” Muddle consulted a nonexistent wristwatch, “Sorry, Rudd, but…”
“Ha-hah!” Rudyard cheered, “I’m kidding, Kyptin! Isn’t that great?”
“…uh...” Muddle looked confused, “...I guess…”
“No, no,” Rudyard punched Muddle’s arm, “You’re missing the point. The fact that I have impeccable comedic timing is—in and of itself—the cereal box version of PI.”
If anything, Muddle looked more confused.
“Okay...how about this?” Rudyard sensed Muddle was fast losing interest, “Artificial intelligence is great for blabbering about what’s already known. But what about the unknown? Eh? What can AI tell us about that?”
Muddle shrugged, “I don’t know...”
“Exactly!!” Rudyard cracked a fist into an open palm. “The infiniverse is full of mysteries that AI can’t begin to fathom. So, as the saying goes, where AI fails, PI prevails. To infinity and beyond!!”
“Hmm…” Muddle nodded, “That’s interesting.”
“No!” The PI countered, “It’s fascinating.”
Before Muddle could respond a robotic voice boomed, “Attention all personnel! Will Maxwell Muddle please report to ComCen? Over!”
Unsure what to do, Muddle stammered, “Uhh, h-hello...?”
“Will Maxwell Muddle please report to ComCen! Over!”
“Uhh…” Muddle signaled an apology to Rudyard, “...I guess that means me.” Then the professor called out, “Okey-dokey, I’ll be right there.”
…silence…
“Are you finished talking?”
“Uhh…” Muddle fumbled, “…you mean me?”
“When you finish talking you have to say, ‘Over!’”
“Oh, I se-…”
“How can I tell if you’re finished, if you don’t say, ‘Over'?”
Muddle froze. There was something familiar about that voice, but he couldn’t quite place it…
...or could he!
“Hey!!” Muddle barked, “Is that Gellie?! ‘Cause if it is, you’re gonna regret it the next time you take one of my exams!”
…silence…
“Are you finished talking?”
Muddle snarled, “Where is she?”
“Never fear, Kyptin.” Rudyard directed Muddle’s attention to a ceiling-mounted intercom, “We can fight fire with fire.” Rudyard punched the ‘com’s power button.
“Genius.” Muddle sighed as the light drained from the intercom. The professor extended his right fist, “Rudyard, it’s been a pleasure.”
The PI knuckle-bumped Muddle, “Zee plizzure izz all mine, Kyptin.”
Muddle blinked, “Who’s that supposed to be? Colonel Klink?”
“No, no,” The PI laughed, “It’s someone completely different.”
Muddle awaited illumination. When none was forthcoming, he decided to move in a new direction, “...Rudyard?” Muddle slipped off his backpack, “Can I stow my pack in here?”
“What?” Rudyard gasped, “You want to store that filthy thing in the Shuttle Bay?”
Muddle hung his head. The PI was a genius at running conversations completely off the rails. “Uhh, Rudyard...” Muddle flung up his hands, “...Sian told me to stow the pack, sooo...”
Then Muddle froze, “Hey…? Wait a sekk!” Following an interstellar mental detour, the words “Shuttle Bay” finally registered in Muddle's geek-cortex. “Did you say…” Muddle scoured the tube from end to end, “...this is a Shuttle Bay?”
“I wish.” Rudyard moped, “I’ve been submitting requisitions for lightyears, but I’ve never heard a peep from Star Fleece.” The PI brushed his fingertips along the tube’s molded surface. “Perhaps...one day...” He trailed off, “Until then, this garbage chute will have to remain the placeholder for my dreams.”
“I get it, man.” Muddle was mucho simpatico, “You’ve gotta fight for your dreams, Rudd. Who knows? Maybe one day Star Fleece will deliver. Or, maybe…” Muddle’s horse-trading wheels were beginning to churn, “...if they won’t give you a shuttlecraft, maybe you could finagle an escape pod.”
“Ewww!” Rudyard acted like he had stepped on a cowpie, “I would never forego a shuttlecraft for anything as banal as an escape pod. You must be space sick.”
“Nah!” Muddle parried, “I’d take an escape pod over a shuttlecraft any day. Shuttlecraft are for Sunday drivers, escape pods are for adventures.”
“That’s absurd,” Rudyard snorted, “Escape pods are glorified ballast at best…” Before the PI could sink his incisors deeper into the argument, the tube’s inner hatch whooshed open. Gelli stepped into the tube with a tiny palm tree on her shoulder. When the tree spotted Muddle it cried, “I am Froot!”
Muddle’s jaw dropped. However, Gellie and Rudyard acted like talking palm trees were as commonplace as jelly donuts. Unsure of the protocol for greeting sentient trees, Muddle bowed so low that he almost fell on his head. The baby plant laughed so hard that a cascade of colorful loops shook loose from its scalp.
“Frootie!” Gellie wagged a finger at the plant, “Be quiet! I need to talk.” Froot obediently clapped two tiny leaves over his mouth, but continued snickering nautily.
Ignoring the rascally plant, Gellie demanded, “What’s the hold-up, guys? You’re needed in ComCen. Move it or lose it!”
Meanwhile...
“Plumbin’?” Colonel Billy Bob Shebang spat a gob of tabakkie on the floor, “Ain’t nobody said nuthin’ ta’ me 'bout plumbin’.”
An uppity weasel and shifty scuba diver were demanding permission to carry out an ill-defined plumbing project at the National Security Asylum. The NSA was located in a glass edifice in REDACTED, Virginia. Snowjob and Lutin were hoping to dive deep into the NSA’s lower GI tract, but, so far, had managed to get no further than the visitor's entrance.
“I’ll have you know Colonel...” Snowjob sniveled, “...my associate and I have permission from the highest authority to infiltrate the NSA's sewage system.”
“Da!” Lutin concurred, “I zay vee doo ze projekt. Zo, vee doo ze projekt!”
“No, Igor.” Snowjob whispered into the weasel’s ear, “I am referring to Uranus Blowhard. He is the highest authority in the land.”
“Okay, Edfarrht.” Lutin stifled a snicker, “Eef you zay zo.”
“You fellas say ya’ work fer Blowhard, huh?” Shebang’s eyes narrowed, “Well, what proof do ya’ have? I mean, how do ah know ya’ ain’t pullin’ a fast one?”
“Fezzt vun?” Lutin shook his head so hard that goo came out of his nose, “Nyet, comrade! Vee dun’t pool fezzt vun!”
“Hey, I know!” Snowjob had an inspiration, “I have a photo that will prove we work for President Blowhard.”
“Whuss’ 'at ya’ say? A photah?” Shebang scratched his head, “Heck fire, I ain’t sure that'll...”
“Please, Colonel!” Snowjob simpered, “Don’t judge till you've seen the picture, okay?” The Plumber had to scan through several gigs of Back Sea vacation photos before locating the crucial image, “Ah! Here it is…”
Snowjob handed his iPhony to Shebang. In the image, Snowjob’s head is poking out of Blowhard’s high-volume toilet while Lutin solemnly presents Blowhard with a roll of heavy-duty TP.
“Wowee!” Shebang handed the iPhony back to Snowjob, "Ah’m powerful shamed fer doubtin' ya’, Mr. Snowjob. ‘At’s what ah call compellin' evidents.” In strict compliance with the NSA's airtight security standards, Shebang inquired, “Shucks, fellas, how long ya plannin’ ta’ stay?”
“Vell,” Lutin performed a series of mental calculations, “Eef vee doo guud chobb plumink, ees like vee neffer leaff. Heh-heh.”
All three belly-laughed at Lutin's knee-slapper. Then Shebang presented Lutin and Snowjob with lifetime VIP passes and wished them well in their endeavors.
3.Ø2
Spacetime: 97253.6.094
As Muddle followed Gellie and Rudyard out of the garbage chute, he was struck by a thought, “Now, I can finally get a good look at ComCen!” When he stepped through the hatch Muddle was flabbergasted. “Wow! This is amazing!” Muddle whacked Rudyard's chest, "Why didn’t you say it was exactly like the USS Entrezvous?”
/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/10809865/27091689907_9b8b713ab8_o.jpg)
The PI nearly jumped out of his skin. He clutched Muddle’s arm and drew him aside, “Ssshh! Don’t let anyone hear you!” On the down low, the PI confided that he had already been banished to the brig twice for making unwelcome references to Star Tech. Rudyard had learned the hard way that, as far as Sian, Gellie and Ubie were concerned, there was never a good time to mention Star Tech.
Muddle was dismayed. Though he wasn’t a card-carrying Techie, Muddle did have a soft spot for the intrepid Captain Kook, and his green-blooded logician, Commander Spork. That said, Muddle promised to keep mum on the subject—though he expected he’d soon be doing hard time in the brig with his geeky bro, Rudyard.
With Rudyard’s warning ringing in his ears Muddle pointedly ignored the fact that Sian’s vinyl captain's chair was affixed to the geometric center of ComCen. Even worse, while ensconced in her retro-mod command chair, Sian scribbled on a futuristic, wedge-shaped clipboard.
Muddle gritted his teeth. It was going to be agony, but somehow he would suppress the screaming geek inside.
As she brought her captain’s log up to date Sian conversed with her helmsman, a spunky AI bot, named WONK-E. WONK-E had tractor-tread feet, a binocular head and a smart-alecky personality. WONK-E wasn’t programmed to speak natural human languages. Instead, WONK-E communicated through the medium of R2-Deet, an old binary language that had morphed into an exotic form of machine intelligence in the anything-goes multiverse of AI cosmockery. Rather than speaking, WONK-E tweeted expressively about the contours of his wide-ranging feelings. Though he never uttered a word, everyone knew precisely where they stood with WONK-E.
Gelli slipped into an empty seat next to WONK-E. The bot trilled, “Da-Vvvveetie-Doo.”
Gellie smiled, “Nice to see you too, WONK-E.”
Froot scrambled from Gellie’s right shoulder to her left. Once balanced on his new perch, Froot shouted, “I am Froot!!”
WONK-E ignored the sapling, which made the little tree sag. As he gave Froot the cold shoulder, WONK-E stealthily maneuvered his right arm behind Gellie and plucked one of Froot’s sugary loops. When Froot felt the tug, he spun to confront the culprit. Only then did WONK-E open his right gripper to reveal his clandestine maneuver. When Froot realized that the thief was none other than his beloved BFF, the little tree squealed, “I am Froooot! I am Frooot!!”
WONK-E giggled back, “Trilleelee-Weeelliee-Woo!” and then he and Froot fell about the nav station in fits of hilarity. Observing their descent into buffoonery, Gellie spot-checked the navigational controls. Once, while WONK-E and Froot were horsing around they accidentally nudged Star Truck onto a collision course with a solar flare. If Gellie had not been standing sentinel, the ditsy duo’s unplanned detour would have been Star Truck’s last rodeo.
While Gellie made a couple of fine adjustments to Star Truck's heading, WONK-E prepared to dine on his pilfered fruit loop. To Froot’s delight, WONK-E made a grand show of depositing the sugary loop into his file-drawer tummy. The bot crooned as his gastro assembly initiated its digest-o-matic features. All went swimmingly until WONK-E developed a case of indigestion. The bot started with a cough and, moments later, he began sputtering uncontrollably. As WONK-E’s condition worsened his eyes began drifting toward each other. When they met in the middle the bot's pupils switched from circles to Xs and then his running lights went dark. As a coup de grâce, WONK-E’s tummy sprang open and jettisoned the homicidal fruit.
WONK-E maintained his state of decease as long as he could—about two heartbeats. Then his composure cracked and WONK-E laughed himself into a helpless pile of spare parts on the floor. Froot followed suit by leaping off of Gellie’s shoulder and, as he plummeted, the sapling screamed, “I am Froooooot!!”
WONK-E saw the rapscallion coming and in the blink of an eye snatched the wingless sprout out of his freefall. WONK-E conveyed the little palm to his shoulder and waited for Froot to take root before resuming his responsibilities at the navigation console. Reunited with his BFF, Froot snuggled against WONK-E’s binocular head and sighed, “I am Froot.”
Throughout these goings-on, Ubie was hard at work at her science officer’s console. When Sian concluded her captain’s log entries, she directed her attention to Ubie, “Commander, you've been unusually quiet. Do you have anything to report?”
“As a matter of fact...” Ubie re-checked a couple of readouts before replying, “... I do, Captain. I’ve been monitoring strange energy pulses on the lunar surface, and they appear to be getting stronger.”
“Oh, wow!” Muddle hastened to Ubie’s console, “May I see?”
Fearing the worst, Rudyard snapped, “No, Kyptin! Don’t touch anything! You're not qualified!”
“Take it easy, Rudyard….!" Muddle gestured toward Ubie’s sensitive instruments, "...I would never... Yeeooowww!!”
Before Muddle could finish, Rudyard darted over and karate-chopped Muddle's outstretched arm. "Oh, no you don't, Kyptin!"
Instead of averting disaster, Rudyard's karate chop hacked Muddle's hand down in the worst possible place: a flashing red button with the warning, "Cloaking Device. Do not deactivate!!!"
When Ubie saw Muddle’s hand strike the cloaking button, she howled, “NOOOO!!”
Deactivating the cloaking device triggered Star Truck’s red alert sirens. While the alarms shattered his eardrums, Muddle cradled his aching arm and stumbled to the communications console.
Rudyard moaned, “Oh, Kyptin!! Look what you’ve done.”
Quick as she could, Ubie punched a large, green, “Initiate Cloaking” button that was positioned immediately next to the de-cloaking control. The Initiate button pulsed green for an instant and then went dark. “Aaarrgghh!” Ubie shouted at the ship’s sentient computer, “Re-engage cloaking! This is an all-systems priority. Re-engage cloaking immediately.”
“Commander!” Sian called to Ubie. Realizing that she could hardly hear herself over the sirens, Sian sprang out of her chair and raced to the science console.
Ubie explained, “Captain, I can't re-engage cloaking. It might be due to damage the ship sustained at Diablo Point. I am conducting a system-wide scan to locate the malfunction.”
Sian nodded and then hastened back to her captain’s chair. She snapped a switch on the chair's right arm and commanded, "Computer! Cancel red alert. I repeat, cancel red alert. Over."
As soon as Solu uttered the magic word, Star Truck’s red alert siren ceased. A chill AI voice responded, “Captain's voiceprint verified. Red alert cancelled. Over and out.”
Solu heaved a sigh and then inquired, "Computer, what is the status of the cloaking system? Over."
The computer flashed through the most recent data and reported good news, "Cloaking is rebooting. Full functionality will resume in two blippets."
"Can you confirm?" Solu checked with Ubie.
Ubie’s hands flew over her console. When satisfied, she replied, "Confirmed. Cloaking will be fully operational in exactly 1.64 blippets."
"Ah, good." Solu nodded, "That’s a relief. Hopefully, we’ll re-cloak before anything…”
“...Caaaaptaaaain Quaaaark...”
Solu snapped, “Who said that?”
Gellie shook her head, “Wasn’t me.” Then she and Sian frowned at WONK-E.
The bot trilled, “Dontee veedi bwee.”
Without prompting, Froot added, “I am Froot!”
“Hmmm...strange...” Solu’s brow knitted, “I wonder what...?”
“...Caaaaptaaaain Quaaaark...”
Sian’s laser eyes flashed to each entity on ComCen before deciding, “It must be coming from the viewscreen.”
“But…” Gellie ventured, “...isn’t permission required before messages can be routed to the screen?”
“It must have something to do with the cloaking malfunction.” Ubie speculated, “Something could have breached our systems while we were de-cloaked.”
Sian frowned, “Any idea what?”
Before anyone could respond, a faint oval of light winked into existence in front of the viewscreen. A gravelly voice rasped, “...Caaaaptaaaain Quaaaark...”
Initially, the oval was translucent, but soon a blob of protoplasm began to wiggle and dance inside. Muddle examined the oval from several angles and then remarked, “Cool! It looks like a lava lamp.”
Sian heard him, but pretended she hadn’t.
There was a moment when the blob of goo faded, but that backstep was followed by a bolt of lightning that singed ComCen from floor to ceiling.
WONK-E’s eyes were the first to recover from the flash. What he saw made him scream, “Svvveeeetie Pa-teeetie!!” The lava lamp was gone, but in its place stood a ferocious reptile.
The dino-man hissed, “Caaaaptaaaain Quaaaark!! At last, I have found you!”
“Holy space invaders!” Rudyard cried, “It’s a Gorn!” Then, catching his slip-up, the PI begged, “Please don’t ask how I know that.”
The Gorn was a terrifying bi-pedal reptile. It’s head was ridged with spikes and its eyes were silvery and pocked. Muddle cringed at the thought of how painful it must be whenever the Gorn blinked. Worse, the Gorn boasted the kind of sharp, curving teeth that would have made it the envy of Komodo Island.
“...Caaaaptaaaain Quaaaark...”
If anything, the Gorn was just as intimidating below the neck as it was above. The gorn’s body looked like it had been carved out of solid green rock. The lizard was so ripped that it could easily have taken the prize at any reptilian body-building contest. Evidently, the Gorn was proud of its guns because, apart from a pair of elbow-length gloves, the sentient dinosaur wore nothing but a short, sleeveless tunic—which left precious little to the imagination.
Intimidating as its physique was, the Gorn’s most nerve-jangling feature was its voice. The lizard’s chords were gnarly, deep and resonant with hate. Also, the fact that the Gorn’s mouth didn’t move when it spoke made its verbalizations even freakier, “Caaaaptaaaain Quaaaark! At laast I have fouund yoou...prepaare to meeet your doooomm....!”
“Hold it right there, mister!” Sian drew her trusty silver phraser, “Don’t you dare barge onto my ship and start threatening people. Drop your weapon and stay where you are. You’ve got some explaining to do.”
“Bah!” The Gorn brandished an obsidian spike, “I have not traversed the Infiniverse to bandy words with a green-eyed snake. I am here to exact revenge...!” The gorn directed its obsidian shank at Muddle, “...upon you! The cowardly Captain Quark! The fraidy cat who wouldn’t stand still and fight fair.”
The gorn slavered and slobbered with an exuberance that bordered on the obscene.
"Of all the nerve!" Muddle was scandalized, “I trust you’re not directing those indecorous comments at me Mr. uhh... Gorn.” Muddle puffed himself up as if he was preparing for a duel, “You will keep a civil tongue in your head my good man or, by thunder, there will be consequences!”
The Gorn hissed, “I will not speak politely to a crybaby who shoots people with bamboo cannons! By the way, that was cheating Captain Quark. No one said we could make cannons, or I would have made one too. Obviously. And don’t try to lie about it either! The Metrons uplinked the video, so everyone saw you cheat!”
Rudyard punched Muddle playfully, “I knew you were a Kyptin! I knew it!”
“What are you talking about?” Muddle swatted Rudyard away, “Captain what…? Quark...? I’m sorry to rain on your parade, Mr. Gorn, but you are sadly mistaken. My name is Muddle. Always has been. You will have to continue your search for the elusive Captain Quark in some other time and place.”
“Liar!” The Gorn slavered, “You always take the coward’s way out, Quark! I promised to be merciful and swift and then you clobbered me with that styrofoam rock. How was that fair?” The Gorn scorned Muddle's expression of disbelief. “Don’t pester me with any more of your lies, Quark. You had your chance for a quick and merciful death. So, prepare yourself for a slow, painful…”
"That's enough!" Sian snapped, “Disarm!“ A flash of text erupted from her phraser and swacked the Gorn's obsidian stabber out of his hand.
The fight was on!
Desperate to exact his long-smoldering vengeance, the Gorn went straight after Muddle. That said, for anyone who is not familiar with the original Star Tech series, there’s something you need to know about Gorns. Gorns are slow. Verrrry slooooow. Gorns make tree sloths look like quarter horses.
The Gorn launched his assault on his hated foe at about .02 kilometers per heuer. As he galloped along the Gorn snarled, “Just wait'll I get my hands on you, Quark. I’ll tear you him limb from limb. You’ll wish you'd never been born. Just you wait and see...”
Wait is right. Somehow the Gorn managed to say all of the above without taking one full step toward Muddle. The poor dino-man was so slow that, before long, everyone—with the glaring exception of Muddle—started feeling sorry for the old campaigner.
Sian consulted her celestial chronometer, “We don’t have spacetime for this. Gellie…?” Sian summoned her Head of Security, “Would you and the guys put the Gorn in one of the staterooms?”
“Oh, sure!” Gellie was overjoyed to roll out the red carpet for the Gorn. “Hey, guys.” She signaled to WONK-E and Froot, “Help me escort our special guest to one of the staterooms. How about the Buzz Lightyear Suite?”
Froot chirped, “I am Froot.”
Muddle was flabbergasted, “That dino-assassin has been threatening to kill me for the past thirty blippets, and you’re putting him in a stateroom?”
“He’s harmless.” Gellie dismissed Muddle’s bellyaching, “Anyway…” She wagged a finger, “...if you had been nicer the first time, he wouldn’t be so put out.”
“There was no first time!” Muddle raged, “That Gorn’s off his rocker. I’ve never seen him, or anything like him before.”
“So...!” Ubie interjected, “That’s all the more reason to treat him courteously. He might be an endangered species. We have a responsibility to be good stewards, you know.”
Muddle threw up his hands, “Okay, do what you want.” He was hopelessly outnumbered. Even Froot was giving Muddle dirty looks. “But if that T-Rex knock-off gets the drop on me, you’ll have to add my name to your endangered species list, won’t you?”
Gellie laughed, “That Gorn couldn’t get the drop on a marble statue. Look at him!” She adopted a loving expression, “He’s barely moved since he beamed aboard. He’s so cute!!” Gellie wrapped both arms around the Gorn’s waist and hoisted him off the ground.
“Hey!” The Horn hissed, “What’s going on?”
“Don’t worry, Gornie,” Gellie trilled, “We are taking you to the best room in the house.” She called over her shoulder, “WONK-E grab Gornie’s toy, okay? He might want to play with it in his room.”
WONK-E complied, “Waweebie-dooba.” The AI bot snagged the obsidian artifact and whizzed into the turbolift at Gellie’s heels.
As the turbolift doors snapped shut an alert sounded on the nav console. Sian glanced at Ubie, “That sounds like our countdown for the Council.”
Ubie consulted her instruments, “Yep, we have just begun orbiting the moon and the Council is scheduled to begin in ten blippets.”
“Good.” Sian strolled back into her captain’s chair, “Please make final preparations for landing, Commander.”
“Of course,” Ubie answered, “What coordinates should I lock onto?”
Sian smiled, “Remember those strange energy pulses you were monitoring?”
“Ah, I see.” Ubie nodded, “Okay, coordinates locked in.”
Sian turned to Muddle, “If I remember correctly, Mudd, you need to make a costume change. Don't you?"
“Oh, that’s right.” Muddle snapped his fingers, “The costume is in my backpack.”
“Yes, I recall.” Sian winked, “I expect you’ll find everything you need in the Shuttle Bay.”
Meanwhile...
Comments
Post a Comment