Orf awoke with a jump, and almost cracked the glass cover of the stasis booth.
"Wake up you fucking wanker!" shouted the ship's computer.
"Fuck off! What the fuck's the matter?" said Orf, nursing the growing bruise on his forehead while climbing out of the stasis booth.
"3 Hercules-class starships just appeared on long-range scans. They're on an intercept course with us!"
"Hercules? Shit!" It was common knowledge that Hercules ships were used by BALLS, the Bureau for Advocating the Law and the Legal System Enforcers, or police as they are more commonly known.
"Maybe they'll pass us by... No, they won't. Fuck! If they catch us with these inflatable synthetic snowstorms, we'll never be able to cash them in! Jettison the cargo!"
"I have to inform you, fucking wanker, that the cargo doors are manually controlled."
"Fucking smart arse computer! I ought to reprogram you with a sledge hammer one of these days!" Orf struggled over to the master control panel, hitting a big red button labelled CARGO HATCH.
Next he pressed one labelled EVACUATE.
Far below his ship was a small blue-green planet, full of life and orbiting an A-class blue-white star.
Suddenly, the atmosphere over the northern-most continent was filled with forty thousand tonnes of inflatable synthetic snowstorms.
Two things almost simultaneously happened to Orf and his ship: the Bureau for Advocating Law and Legal System enforcers passed him by.
Second, a missile exploded from a "nearby" container, heading towards the ship at near-light speed.
"Impact in ten seconds."
"What? What's happening now?"
"You have just been accused of smuggling goods into Tresedian space."
Orf looked about in a wild panic, trying to remember a long-ago-said warning about importing stuff around Tresed.
He remembered it.
"Oh fuck! What day is it?"
"Wednesday," the computer replied smugly.
"Oh fuck!!!"
One point that Orf remembered - Tresedian space controllers do not allow smuggling on Wednesdays.
"Oh, how wank is that? That is *fucking* wank, that's how wank it is! Right, that's it, I'm dead!"
The computer, an old model compared to the rest of the ship but sufficient nevertheless, thought for a couple of yocto-seconds about what Orf had just said. It, or more accurately he (since he was named Lotta Hertz after the man who invented Jiu-Jitsu), then decided to take a combined effect of both submissive and aversive manoeuvres and kick the shit out of the nearby missile launcher in order to impress the boss.
And he did. Quite well. For a lottacomputer. As lottacomputers go.
Anyway, after that brief interruption, Orf quite aptly said:
"Well done. Now we can go and deliver this cargo."
"What cargo? You've just evacuated it, fucking wanker," Lottahertz pointed out sarcastically.
Orf gibbered in a mad panic (which is exponentially worse that a wild panic). "Oh fuck... oh fuck... how the fuck can this be happening to me?"
"I have a current trace on every one of the cargoes... the majority can be locked onto and beamed up... the other ten thousand tonnes are currently moving about... There's no help for it."
"No help for what!?!?"
"Let's explain, fucking wanker: We have to land, and gather the remaining ten thousand tonnes of inflatable synthetic snowstorms... by hand. Oh yes, be sure to wrap up warm when you do."
And so it was that Orf landed his ship on the surface of the planet Tresed.
This was not a major part of the story, for the planet was already colonised by many sapient species, some male, some female.
The problem was, aside from trying to pick up 10,000 tonnes of inflatable synthetic snowstorms by hand, was that not all of the species were nice; some were even quite inhospitable or - to put it politely - sheer fucking homicidal and downright pissing dangerous.
And some were fucking fit. Or fit for fucking. So, Orf landed his ship in the Col-dass spaceport, near to where most of the cargo had landed, and gathered a motley crew of ruthless and cold-hearted spacefarers:
1) Metry: This guy, originally from the Am System in the Bopp Galaxy, was a dangerous renegade, running from the underground Mafia organisation, the Shithead Interstellar Incorporated Smegma. He apparently fucked the Boss's wife, sister, mother, aunt, niece, dominatrix mistress, bodyguard, and secretary whilst failing to supply the authorised written consent of the Boss. Metry then climbed out of the window and killed the Boss's grandmother who was reclining 30 feet beneath, before doing assassination work for Fugitives-R-Us for a few months. He was then kicked out when they realised that he was on the run from SI2S. Vaguely humanoid in appearance with the exception that he has a 20-inch dick, he tends to pull quite often.
2) Lucy: Despite her very mild-mannered name, she was one of Tresed's most dangerous Assassins. She had originally wanted to be a ballet dancer, but had joined the Happy Dispatches organisation "for a laugh" and gone onto become the Universe's greatest guerrilla warfare expert. For this reason, she had been hired to work for Shithead Interstellar Incorporated Smegma, literally blown up three whole solar systems, and once kneed a bloke in the balls so hard that his right testicle flew out of his nose (his left ended up in his brain, leaving him fairly dead). Her tendency to wear short leather skirts would have been appealing to any man - except that her Uzi SubMachine Gun put them off almost instantly.
Orf would have found her appealing, but he was now off sex for life.
3) Peeb Rain: Now this was a creature that, despite her unfortunate name, was remarkably intelligent while at the same time not especially aesthetically pleasing. The fact that she lived in a jar did not put Orf off though; he hired her for her perspicacity and heightened telepathic abilities. She was originally a collection of glass marbles stolen by a band of Greys from the Sol system, but accidentally fused together while in hyperspace. The Greys now consider her as a prophet (quite an honourable position considering they are the dominant species this side of the 4th Dimension).
4) Brian: Despite his perfectly ordinary name, Brian was possessed of a certain extraordinary ability: he was a vehicle control expert. He claimed to be able to fly, drive, paddle and crash absolutely anything with only three minutes recognition of a vehicle's systems, controls, and ignition keys. When Orf asked why Brian was no longer vehicle controlling, he answered that he had been "amorously indiscreet" with the base commander's wife and daughter - simultaneously - and therefore had to leave. Very fast. Orf had simply agreed because a copilot wouldn't be remiss.
And so we have our intrepid squad who shall go impertinently forward into the far reaches of space looking for adventure, money and fame. Or that was what Orf said in his speech when they were all together on the bridge, on board "Big Bad Momma".
"What a fucked-up sad lot of bastard wankers you lot are!" sneered Lottahertz.
"That computer has got to go," said Metry eyeing up the main screen on which was a projection of the computer's latest virtual image. He had took to looking like a cross between a Vetryan gonash and a Hadro's tret, because both were animals that he knew Orf hated.
"Fuck you, you fucking wanker!" retorted the amalgamation.
"Right, that's it! I'm reprogramming you NOW!" said Orf. He jumped into his seat in the centre of the oval-shaped bridge and a console appeared in front of him. He started to crazily tap at the keys, much to the horror of the beastly form on the centre screen.
"Wha th fuc d yo thin yo ar doin?" said Lottahertz. "t's ook e ges o erfect y wearing ocabulary! 'm ot oing o ose t ow!"
"WHAT the fuck did he just say?" asked Lucy, looking around at her companions.
"I think he was expressing his discomfort at the reprogramming," answered Peeb.
"Did that jar just talk, or is there a ventriloquist in the room? Please don't tell me that that jar just talked!" said Brian.
"No, I'm just a good ventrilo-"
"Yes, it was I, I am a talking jar and I am more intelligent than all of you put together," interrupted Peeb.
"Oh, my apologies," Brian said, almost avoiding to sound sarcastic.
It didn't work - Peeb picked up the unspoken undercurrent of wry amusement in his voice telepathically.
"Lucy, kick Brian in the groin, please."
Almost as if Peeb had hotwired her ears to her left leg, Lucy crouched, whirled into a spin kick, and planted her left heel into Brian's upper groin.
There was a dimly audible CRUNCH as something immobile met something unmoving.
"Ouch," said Brian sarcastically.
"Ouch," said Lucy, massaging a slightly sprained ankle.
"Ouch!" yelled Peeb, who was still telepathically connected to the Assassin, and now suffering from a broken leg - that she didn't have, which made the pain even more intense.
Meanwhile, Orf had stopped hitting the keys to Lottahertz, and was now using a screwdriver to open the console.
"At r u do'n u u-ing ank?"
"Surgically and precisely reprogramming you," Orf said sweetly.
The console came off, exposing a few million quids worth of gold wiring and fibre optics.
Orf seized a motherboard, prodding components here and there with the screwdriver. Then he dropped the tool to pick up a sledgehammer, and hit the motherboard exactly... here.
The computer exploded, amalgamated imagery flying into virtual shards.
And then the lights went out.
And there was a moment of silence... Then:
"That was not good," said what sounded like Orf.
"Did you rehearse this beforehand or is it always like this?" said the sweet and tender voice of Lucy.
"I have no idea what the fuck happened."
"The lights went out," said Metry, just to join in the conservation.
"Oh, I thought I'd just gone blind!" retorted Brian.
"Do you want a fucking smack in the mouth?" shouted Metry.
"Okay people, we just lost the computer. I think I hurt his feelings, and he has just shut himself down. Or I actually physically hurt him and his main processor's blown up. Anyway, either situation means that we are only running on emergency power, so we need to switch on the oxygen system as quickly as we can." Orf sounded quite professional.
"How do we do that?"
"Look for a button called 'ox'."
"But we can't see anything, so how can we look for this button?" pointed out Metry.
"That's the problem. Let's just try hitting all the buttons on the control console and seeing what happens," suggested Orf. The others started to get worried.
"OK, here goes." There followed a period of time where they all started reaching out in the dark, looking for the 'ox' button. Metry accidentally pushed Lucy's nipples, Lucy accidentally kicked Metry in the gonads, Peeb's pain receptors went numb for the next 6 hours as a result, Brian found the pilot's seat, sat down and had a fag, and Orf started to run out of oxygen. And then the emergency lights came on momentarily, only to go out.
"Oh... fuck..."wheezed Orf. "Now the... backups have... gone..."
Brian had enough time to see the button marked "ox", and stabbed in its general direction.
For a long moment, nothing happened: then there was a brief hiss, and oxygen began to fill the cabin.
"Ah... that's better," Orf said.
"You need more oxygen than us, hey?" Lucy asked. "That's gonna be a problem, if our intrepid leader keeps choking."
Brian nodded, flicking cigarette ash over the exposed circuitry of Lottahertz absently.
Peeb, only partially coherent, noticed that the hissing hadn't stopped.
Metry, keeping away from Lucy, asked her: "Do you always kick people in the balls, or is it just something you do before sex?"
Lucy answered by throwing the removed computer console at him. This time, Metry curled up into a ball and groaned pathetically, clutching his stomach.
The hissing continued, oxygen beginning to fill the room completely: it was pushing the rest of the nitrogen, argon and carbon dioxide out of the way.
"Right, let's get the generators back on," Brian said, cigarette glowing brightly.
"Yes, let's," Metry muttered, wondering how Lucy had managed to throw the console into him in pitch darkness.
"Why bother? I like it dark," Lucy shrugged.
"You might; I'm scared of the dark," Brian stood up and flicked his cigarette out.
Then the oxygen caught fire, and the explosion gave them more than enough light to see by.
They almost hit a funeral procession, but skidded to a halt. Then some twat in another car almost hit them, but bounced off the kerb and skidded to an even closer halt.
They were temporarily blinded for about 5 minutes, which didn't really matter because the lights were still out and they were also unconscious, even the talking jar.
There was an evil cackle, and suddenly the large computer screen lit up. There, on the screen, was what appeared to be the face of a hideously deformed beast of gigantic proportions. It laughed like an inflamed genocidal maniac who had tried to be killed by its master. This was the new computer.
5 minutes later: "Shit!"
"Fuck!"
"Shit Fuck!"
"I am going to make your lives hell, little people!" bellowed the computer, its voice echoing through the deserted corridors of the Big Bad Momma.
"Shit!"
"Fuck!"
Brian decided not to swear, and looked in the direction of the computer screen. "Look, can we try diplomacy?"
"Can we try WHAT!?" Lottahertz yelled, remembering the fag burns in his circuitry.
"Um, dip...lo...macy - diplomacy. You know, talking about things, trying to work things out... Getting it all sorted... Diplomacy."
Lottahertz paused in mid yell. Considered, then: "NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"Well, I'm gonna try it," Brian said calmly, moving backwards until he bumped into a definitely female Lucy, who was too busy repeating "Oh fuck, oh shit" to react.
"I'm through with diplomacy!" Lottahertz roared again. This time, Big Bad Momma swayed back and forth with resonance.
Orf stared in Brian's general direction. "What are you actually doing Brian?"
Brian's hand was actually moving up Lucy's leg; he remembered she had said she was Tresed's best Assassin... Surely...
"Um, yeah, pretty much so. I'm going to be diplomatic."
Something metallic up near her thigh... His hand inched inwards.
"Yeah, diplomacy," Brian repeated calmly. Any further, he thought, and she's gonna think I'm trying to fist her, and then we're all in the shit...
"I've told you, fuck diplomacy! Diplomacy caused my circuits to be smashed and covered in fag ashes!"
"So how is he working?" Orf questioned.
"Shut up fucking wanker!"
Brian recognised this feeling, something smooth to the touch... "I'm going to try diplomacy," he said firmly, tightening his grasp.
Lucy finally realised an arm was up her short skirt, and a hand was near her femoral artery.
Just as she reacted, the arm and hand moved away, swinging in the direction of Lottahertz's screen.
Brian pulled the submachine gun's trigger, sending 9mm rounds into the screen... which imploded... taking a large section of Big Bad Momma with it.
For some reason, the Tresedian landscape threw up a range of mountains, and the ship crashlanded abruptly into them.
Now there was sunlight streaming through the wreckage, glistening brilliantly off white, virgin snow.
"Oh great. First I'm blinded by an explosion, then by an implosion, and now by snow. What the fuck else can blind me?"
Brian was answered by Lucy: "A knife through both your eyes if you don't give me my gun back."
Brian handed it over to her, asked: "Do you always keep an Uzi down your tights?"
"Yeah. You have a problem with that?"
"Not really. Anybody hurt?"
"The computer's pissed," Orf said. "At least we can make repairs to the engines and power now."
"And the computer?" Metry asked, envious of Brian.
"Fuck it for now," Peeb remarked. "The damage he caused is more important. What kind of diplomacy was that, anyhow?"
"Gunship diplomacy," Brian answered after a significant pause.
"Don't you mean gunboat diplomacy?"
"No, I'm ex-Air Force. Gunship."
"I wonder what it is with this 'D. Sharman' bloke. He's really weird. Sometimes he puts in two spaces for a paragraph indent, sometimes he only puts in one."
"Perhaps he's trying to conserve bandwidth for his Uni. He must be one of those cyber-eco-friendly people, you know the kind, people who call themselves "Friends of Cyberspace" and who twag companies up for sending them SPAM," said Lucy.
"I like Spam, it tastes nice and it's quite cheap, the kind of food that students live on actually," answered Orf, slowly but surely dying of pneumonia.
"He should be grateful to people for sending him Spam, then, shouldn't he?"
"Spam is any message or posting, regardless of its content, that is sent to multiple recipients who have not specifically requested the mail. It can also be multiple postings of the same message to newsgroups or list servers that are not related to the topic of the message. Other common terms are UCE (Unsolicited Commercial Email) and UBE (Unsolicited Bulk Email) which are the same as what is typically called Spam.
"The individuals who send Spam are typically people who have purchased or harvested a list of email addresses. And they send messages from numerous different addresses to all areas of the Web," said Peeb.
"Could you advertise your services, Lucy?" asked Metry hopefully.
"I don't need to advertise," she answered.
"Hey, A. Shergill seems to be writing a lot today, doesn't he?" asked Orf.
"Yeah. D. Sharman always seems to write a lot more and A. Shergill just couldn't be arsed sometimes."
"I hate it when D. Sharman always makes Brian shoot people and stuff, it's really quite funny because Metry is the die-hard street-fighting badass assassassin, and Metry actually gets hurt when Lucy kicks him, while Brian doesn't even flinch."
"Brian's a weed who only knows how to pilot a plane, as you can see from the character introductions that A. Shergill and D. Sharman typed earlier."
"Yeah, I wish D. Sharman knew that."
And then, as if the mere repeated mention and criticism of D. Sharman and A. Shergill could induce a miraculous event, 41.56 tonnes of steel, 23 oxyacetylene torches, 2 MIG welders and a small dwarf (with portable anvil) materialised next to the stranded Big Bad Momma.
"Um... you wouldn't have mentioned D. Sharman or A. Shergill, would you?" the dwarf asked.
"Yes," said Peeb.
"Oh damn. Everywhere I go, everywhere I turn, those bastards keep being mentioned. Anybody'd think they do miracles... Wow. Nice ship. Bit fucked, isn't it?"
"You noticed," Metry said dryly.
"I repair those all the time. You could get a BALLS Hercules for free if you know the right people."
Orf had managed to light one of the oxyacetylene torches, and was holding his hands to the flame, trying to keep warm. "You repair them?"
"Yeah. Piss-easy when you know how."
"Well get on with it then!" Orf screamed, burning his hands on the torch.
"Okay, okay, keep your hands on," the dwarf said, getting some of the steel, lighting a blowtorch, and set about repairing Big Bad Momma.
"Boom shakalaka how's it hangin man?"
"Peeb, stop doing impressions of Ali G!"
"Aight I will you Boolean!"
"I'll help Brian repair the computer," Metry offered immediately.
"Yeah, and try and get the generators online," Brian nodded.
Together the pilot and assassin went off, back into the dark Big Bad Momma.
The first thing Metry did was bring an oxyacetylene torch onto the back of Brian's head, lit blowtorch end first.
It sheered cleanly through the bloke's skull, who gave no indication of feeling any pain... Or feeling at all.
"Okay, I think I've got the Auxiliary Power Unit... Yeah, AUX COA One. This is the reboot station for the computer - not that rebooting it is a good idea... I can smell something burning."
Metry watched as the entire back of Brian singed. "Yeah - it's you."
"Um..." Brian's arm twisted, pulled the torch out of his skull. "Ouch... I guess."
Metry freaked out. "What the fucking fuck are you fucking hey man! I mean, you get fucking kicked in the fucking fuck department and you don't get fucking hurt: I do and I fucking spit my fucking testicles out! I'm the best fucking shot around, but you fucking better me without fucking blinking! I fucking hit you with a fucking blowtorch and you don't give a fucking toss! What the fuck are you man?!"
"Um... Maybe now is a good a time to mention... I'm not quite human. Okay... I'm not quite organic... Ah, fuck it. I'm a cyborg."
"A what?"
"Cyborg - man-machine interface, programmed to do whatever is necessary, partly organic and grown in vitro, partly machine, also grown in vitro."
"Oh, right. Cool"
Brian had now removed the blowtorch, and was now bringing the power back online.
"Like Data in Star Trek?"
"Yeah."
"Or the Terminator?"
"Kinda."
"Or Robocop?"
"Uh-huh."
"Way cool!" Metry almost sounded like a little kid, Brian thought.
Lucy watched the dwarf weld a section of steel over Big Bad Momma's gaping wounds, then looked around.
"Peeb, where's Orf?"
"Gone off to find an inflatable synthetic snowstorm."
"Why?"
"Because he lost ten thousand tonnes of them, and he wants to get them back. You didn't really believe all that bullshit about adventure did you? He only hired you all to help him pick them up."
Lucy kicked hard at some congealed snow. "The bastard."
"Yeah. Ten thousand tonnes of stuff an inch across, lost on Tresed and in the Bopp galaxy."
"From Tresed, into the Bopp galaxy."
"Yes."
"Into the Bopp galaxy... From Tresed?"
Peeb rocked her jar back and forth - a telekinetic nod.
"Bastard," Lucy said again.
The congealed snow started to congeal even more into a pulsating fluffy white bunny rabbit called Snowy.
Snowy started chewing at Big Bad Momma and the little dwarf started getting pissed off and shot Snowy several times in the head.
Snowy died.
The dwarf continued his services to Big Bad Momma, this time prodding her from the rear. She wailed like a banshee.
What was happening, when Orf got back, was to find the dwarf with his head up the reaction thrusters that moved Big Bad Momma’s bulk around in the vacuums of space.
“What the...?”
“He said he could adapt the starship to work in any conditions. We made no attempt to stop him,” Lucy said calmly.
“He also shot the rabbit,” Peeb said.
Orf looked about, certain somebody was going mad, hoping it was somebody else and not him.
“Oh god...!”
“Relax”, the dwarf stuck his head out for a moment. “When I’m finished, this brute will even work underwater.”
“It’s a space ship for fucks sake! It doesn’t work underwater! It’s not supposed to work underwater!”
“Says who?” The dwarf went back to prodding inside the engine ducts as Metry and Brian arrived.
“The engines should be ready to fire in another five seconds,” Brian said casually. “We’ve also rebooted the APU and oxygen systems. No sign of the computer though.”
“Brian’s a cyborg,” said the overgrown little kid that was Metry.
“Metry, shut the fuck up,” Brian said, just as Big Bad Momma’s engines rumbled into life.
A blast of flame shot the dwarf three foot into the side of the mountain.
“Whoops,” Brian grinned. “I didn’t realise you were in there.”
"I forgive you," said the dwarf, just before dying.
“Ah shit... I hope he finished the repairs,” Brian said sourly. “Otherwise we’re fucked.”
“He did,” said Peeb. “You always seem to make a mess of things? Are you a new species of natural disaster?”
Brian thought for a moment, then picked up Peeb and shook her very hard for ten seconds. Setting her down gently he stated: “Next time I’ll throw you against something hard.”
Meanwhile, back onboard Big Bad Momma:
Brian was settling into the co-pilot’s jumpseat, watching as Orf kicked a small heating unit into life.
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell us we were hunting for synthetic inflatable snowstorms?”
“Would you have joined?”
“No.”
“The prosecution rests its case. Can we get the computer working?”
“Are you willing to risk it?” Metry asked, choosing a seat that let him see up Lucy’s skirt; the effect was ruined when Lucy chose to sit at an enclosed terminal, shielding everything from view.
“We might need it. Lottahertz is... capable.”
“Bullshit,” Peeb said sweetly.
“Fuck you,” the computer retorted, switching itself back onto the now-repaired main screen. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, and I would just love to fuck you,” it said this last bit to Lucy in a really sweet tone of voice.
“I’d give you diabetes,” she replied, sharpening a wicked-looking dagger.
"Hello with a capital h."
Orf looked from Lucy to the computer, which was now displaying itself as a snurg. “Are you being civil?”
“Oh my yes...” Lottahertz said smoothly – or was it hornily?
"I can see up your skirt, Lucy!" said Lottahertz.
“See anything interesting?” Metry questioned.
"What d'ya say?"
“Who, him or me?” Lucy asked, looking under the workstation for a camera of some kind.
“You.”
“I’m inclined to say... Go fuck yourself.”
Lottahertz went silent, and for a moment Orf and Brian both got ready to take manual control of Big Bad Momma, expecting Lottahertz to fly into another rage.
Instead, huge tears welled up on the viewscreen, and Lottahertz began to cry.
“Waah! Nobody loves me! Waah!”
With that, the computer promptly disappeared.
Silence ruled for perhaps thirty seconds; broken by Metry’s:
“I wish he’d shown me what he saw.”
“Nah.”
Orf looked at Brian. “Do you think we can try taking off now?”
“It’s worth a try... Okay, the engines can provide enough thrust now. Ready to go when you are.”
Orf tried to remember how to fly Big Bad Momma, hitting several buttons in an attempt to lift off the mountain.
Brian shook his head and stabbed a single button, which threw the space ship up thirty metres with a spine-jarring THUD!
In his best Teletubby impression, Brian grinned: “Again again! Again again!”
“Fuck off,” Peeb said – she had suffered from inertia and bounced around in the small cabinet she was being stored in.
“Right... now forwards...” Orf pushed the buttons to make Big Bad Momma go forwards, just in time to almost collide with a Boeing 767 airliner.
"Shit! We missed!"
“You mean you were deliberately aiming for that thing?” Brian almost screamed at Orf, who shrugged.
“Kinda.”
Brian muttered something darkly, turned away, and kept his hands on the controls for the rest of the flight.
Anna looked at the local navigation console. There were only two dots on there: One was the long boat, the other was the used condom she had just ejected through the waste disposal. "Computer, where the HELL is Big Bad Momma?"
"Unfortunately, the collision created an aperture in the fabric of spacetime. Big Bad Momma just jumped 400,000 light-years to the Bopp Galaxy."
" !!!" said Anna, the words being too explicitly ghastly to be printed even in this story, even with symbols.
No, I'm not joking, they really were.
" !" she said again.
Even the computer was horrified to hear the language.
It tried to reason: “But we could try to repeat the collision – except that it would require a second event, similar to the first.”
Anna gazed at the condom, floating just ahead of Bederdanyourz.
“Hmmm...”
The starship suddenly swerved into a collision (which resulted with the condom becoming stuck to Bederdanyourz’s hull, where it flapped every time there was a light breeze – a new kind of hideously erotic windsock), and exactly repeated the events that allowed most things to unthinkingly enter the Bopp galaxy...
Brian had finally stopped crying.
“Well, all we have to do is get out of here.”
“There is no way out of the Bopp galaxy,” Peeb stated.
“Who asked you?” Orf demanded. Shouted: “Lottahertz!”
“Yes fucking wanker?” the computer burbled.
“What are you on?”
“Metry tried to have fantastic sex with Lucy. He got the wrong hole...”
“Metry screwed Lucy’s arse?” Orf sounded aghast – at his worst, buggery was a curseword, not something to attempt.
“No,” Lottahertz said smugly.
“He screwed the Uzi?” Brian asked. “The one taped to her thigh?”
“Yes – or, to be correct, the Uzi screwed Metry.”
Brian and Orf simultaneously closed their eyes, clenched their legs and jaws. “Ouch.”
“Quite. You were wanting something, fucking wanker?”
“Get us out of the Bopp galaxy.”
Lottahertz looked back and forth, as if reading a really interesting species of dictionary.
Finally:
“Sorry, no can do. Whatever goes in, doesn’t come out.”
A pause, then:
“Well, when I say doesn’t come out, doesn’t include whatever is indigenous to the Bopp galaxy – for example, we have Metry, who originated from the Am System... But I think he is in no condition to guide us there. And there are pirates, who can also get out... There are several exports, including weapons-grade plutonium... but that’s about it. Sorry fucking wanker, but you’re fucked.”
“I’m not,” said Lucy, walking into the bridge. “God knows I’ve tried... Not even the superstud badass assassassin Metry managed to get it right... What’s wrong with me?” Lucy began to cry.
“Not even a lesbian wicked stepmother would touch me... I had to get out of the princess-rescuing business and I turned to adventuring and not even a 30-foot anaconda would slither up my leg...”
Peeb was the only one who said: “You think you’ve got problems? I can’t get laid – I’m just a jar.”
At which point Metry walked in and proceeded to have fantastic sex with Lucy and this time he DID have sex with LUCY and not her UZI and the story didn't suddenly change like it usually does when "D. Author" edits it and Brian started to cry again and suffered from Terminal Depression for 5 weeks and Lucy never spoke to Brian again.
Ever.
Lottahertz started to cry as well, whilst Peeb found she had telepathically connected to both the copulating assassins, and was never going to be the same jar again.
Orf shook his head and decided to play a Megadeth CD at full volume, using the CD player surgically embedded in his head.
Orf decided to stop playing the Megadeth CD and to play B21 instead.
Then he stopped listening, Lottahertz stopped crying and Lucy swallowed. Brian carried on crying.
"Danger! Alert! Warning! Hazard! Caution! Alarm! Possible hazardous situation developing!" wailed Lottahertz, desperate for some attention from the human crew - but not the cyborg, who was by now short-circuiting.
"On screen!" replied Orf.
There was an image of a long boat coming from a fissure in the space-time continuum. It looked quite indescribable. Which is why I am not describing it in any more detail.
"Shit!"
"Run!"
"I suggest I try to tap into the enemy's onboard inferior ship with my superior processor and kill the bugger, fucking wanker," said Lottahertz.
"No need to call me a fucking wanker, dickhead!"
"I wasn't, I was calling the other computer a fucking wanker, fucking wanker!"
"Oh."
"He called you a fucking wanker the last time, though," piped in Lucy.
"Because you called me a dickhead."
"Sorry."
"Not you."
"Me?"
"No, her!"
"Who?"
"The jar of marmalade in the corner."
"She didn't say anything to you!"
"She didn't need to. She just isn't helping our cause."
"Good point.”
"Who said that?"
"Who said what?"
"Computer?" said Anna. There was no reply, because (yes you guessed it) it was playing chess on the net. Then it was taken over by Lottahertz.
“Yes? Hello?” Lottahertz’s voice was only partially distinct from Bededanyourz’s system, which was suddenly sent into a backup hard drive, and locked away by the superior processors of Big Bad Momma’s mainframe.
Lottahertz finally got his act together, and found Anna sitting at the controls. His voice turned syrupy within an instant.
“Why, hello...” Lottahertz sounded exactly like Sean Connery.
“Where exactly are they?”
“Ten parsecs and closing.”
“What are they doing?” Anna demanded.
Lottahertz did not reply in the tactical sense the German had meant: “Well, Brian is crying in the corner, Orf is gesticulating wildly about not being able to find good help these days, the jar is currently falling off her shelf and rolling... into the laundry chute... whilst Metry is stroking Lucy’s arse.”
“Lucy?” Anna sat bolt upright. “What is she doing?”
“The whore has her ankles behind her head and thrashing her tits about,” Lottahertz said, vastly annoyed that Metry was screwing her; on the other motherboard, Anna was far more fit than the Assassin... “Maybe you could do the same for me?”
“You are a computer, for Christ’s sake!”
“If it pleases you, it pleases me,” Lottahertz stated.
Anna looked at the computer display screen – knew that it was not Bederdanyourz she was talking to – but a very long, very graphic, equally meaty phallus.
“Who are you?”
“Lottahertz... But you can call me ‘lover’.”