Free Screw the Universe by Stephen Schwegler, Eirik Gumeny Page B

Orr. “I’m hanging up now.”
     
    “Toodle-oo!”
     

     
    Space Marshal Orr pressed the button to end the call. Then he turned to the collection of important Federation people sitting behind him.
     
    “As you can see, Captain Tyler is a moron. His crew isn’t much better. They’ve been in space, for months, on a fake mission, and have yet to realize it.”
     
    “They really are the stupidest things in the universe,” said Space Marshal Otherguy.
     
    “They are. And, if Operation Kill the Dum Dums is to succeed, we’re going to have to kill them all.”
     
    “I have no problem with that,” said Space Marshal Bob.
     
    “Me neither,” said Commandant Fluffernutter, father of Private Fluffernutter.
     
    “Then it’s agreed then,” said Space Marshal Orr. He pressed the intercom button. “Davis! Trigger the Zdravo’s self-destruct function!”
     

     
    Commodore Feces, on a supervised lunch field trip from the insanity ward, danced impatiently in front of the microwave, waiting for his burrito to ding. Well, the oven would be doing the dinging, not the food, which is why it perplexed Feces when his burrito did in fact make three short beeping noises. Followed not five seconds later by exploding, ruining the commodore’s meal as well as sending shrapnel flying into his skull.
     
    “Aaaaaaaaaaahhh!!!” he screamed, running out of the kitchen with shards of glass and beans sticking out of his face.
     
    “Aaaaaaaaaaahhh!!!” he screamed, as he barreled down the hall, the shards of glass and beans still sticking out of his face.
     
    “Aaaaaaaaaaahhh!!!” he screamed, as he collided with Private Kim Boxershorts in the hallway. Private Boxershorts was naked and appeared to have a shower faucet sticking out of his forehead.
     
    “Aaaaaaaaaaahhh!!!” he screamed.
     
    “Aaaaaaaaaaahhh!!!” replied Commodore Feces.
     
    “Aaaaaaaaaaahhh!!!” exclaimed a startled Dr. Sodomy who happened to be walking out of his office only moments after the collision occurred.
     
    Having only one operating table, Sodomy chose to drag the commodore inside and began removing the glass and beans from his face. He worked slowly and carefully, in an effort to limit the amount of brain damage inflicted on the already brain-damaged Feces.
     
    Private Boxershorts, meanwhile, remained on the floor. He would actually remain there for some time, until Hank, the janitor-robot, finally got around to cleaning up the corpse.
     
    There were quite a few other corpses laying around the Zdravo as well. Hank couldn’t figure it out. It was almost as if a large number of small explosions all went off at once in a carefully orchestrated manner, maiming shitloads of crew members, and killing dozens of others. There was glass and blood and intestines and chunks of food everywhere.
     
    Hank was up all night.
     

     
    “Marshal Orr!” shouted Captain Tyler. “We’ve been attacked! I think. A lot of stuff exploded and now a lot of people are dead.”
     
    “Why are you telling me?” replied the marshal. “I certainly don’t know anything about that.”
     
    “Which is why I’m telling you. Work with me, man!”
     
    “So… you’re just filing a report.”
     
    “Yeah.”
     
    “You’re not accusing anybody? Of anything?”
     
    “No. Why would I?”
     
    “No reason. I must have been thinking about something else. So, who died?” asked Space Marshal Orr with an almost child-like glee.
     
    “Private Boxershorts bit it in the shower.”
     
    “Okay.”
     
    “Private Beef got mangled by the trash compactor.”
     
    “Right.”
     
    “Private Parts is currently trapped inside his bicycle. I think he’s missing a leg, since we found one on the floor right by it. And a puddle of blood.”
     
    “Yikes.”
     
    “And Private Naughtyplaces is currently trapped under my captain’s chair.”
     
    “Would you please help me up already?” yelled the pinned and mortally wounded private.
     
    “No can do, honeybuns.