Three smiles beamed back. One was strained and unsettling, the other two seemed genuine. The only trouble with landing here on-top of this tribe from a long lost time on a very strange planet, was the risk of altering the time space continuum. This drama perpetuated by the common science fiction idiom, is not to upset the timeline, the future or past while applying the star trek mantra – the prime directive, not to interfere with the natural progress of a race, planet or tribe, as it is in this case.
Moony didn’t know the first thing about this science fiction storyline, he was just the pilot of the atmosphere cruiser and had the shift forced upon him by the captain of the shit-house research station he was assigned to. Captain Robert Walker was a true wanker, a master puppet of the stringless kind that followed the company’s guidelines to the letter. That in itself was not the problem though, he really was a wanker, a professional. He wouldn’t stop, he seemed to be running off to get off, on the hour every hour. This morning’s embarrassing re-assignment of duty was due to the fact that Robert had locked himself in the head and couldn’t get out to fly this damn trip, as he was rostered to.
Moony had the craft settled, turned down the air shots and the ramp door open in readiness for the troop of science boffins to disembark. He was all set to give the all clear when an as yet unseen tribe member, lobed an large angry spear at his cockpit window. The bloody thing left a huge smear of goopie slop on the screen, but did not damage anything at all. It bounced clear off the screen and fell to the ground with a thud. The three smilers seemed to be oblivious to this surprise attack from the front.
In accordance with procedure, the go ahead to disembark was delayed as Moony shot the spear thrower with a stun blast and blew him right off his legs and down the steep hill he had popped up from. This did not look very good from the perspective of the smilers. The noise had drawn their smiling dials around in time to see their chief being blasted over the hill. These frightening aliens had shot their chief. They did not know that he had lobed the spear at the craft, but that didn’t matter now.
Things had changed for the worse.
The boffins had nearly shit themselves when the stun blast had gone off, the noise it made was half the deal of it’s use. Frighten the air out of the target and those unfortunates around it, either friend or foe, it didn’t matter. It was to frighten as well as stun. After the head scientist gathered her senses, she asked what the hell was going on, why did you set off the stun blast ? and as Moony and the chief were the only ones who knew the reason for the attack, his explanation to the recovering white coats took some 3 minutes.
These three minutes were all it took for the remainder of the tribe to respond in justified anger. Their chief was scrambling back up the hill, screaming and waving his three arms at his subjects who had started to bash the living crap out of this strange metal thing. Their smiles had gone. Moony thought that the remainder of the tribe at first count, would have been close to a thousand. All of them had three arms, two legs, a face on two sides of what could be described as a head, but it had four points, which then had those faces on each side. A bit like a square box or tv for a head.
The procedure for when one is under attack is to first secure, assess the risk and then depending on that outcome, leave quick smart and/or blow the molecules out of what ever is attacking you. Moony and the head boffin thought that departure option would be the better option.
The engines were still running and the air shots primed for take off when Moony realised that a large number of these little buggers had climbed on the cruiser and had started to smash the guidance beacon. No time for guidance, bang he was off. The smashers fell off the craft like mercury running over a table top and fell from an ever increasing height as the craft gained altitude. The white coats had no time to fasten themselves into their seats and were scrambling about the floor and the open ramp door. One fell out and that loss of the droid science crew member would take some paper work, something Moony hated with a vengeance. Not as much as he hated captain wanker for putting him in this situation.
It was decided when the crew returned to the station that landing on-top of uncharted, unknown, three armed natives would have to be managed a bit better in the future. The only good thing about the trip was discovering that the natural population was only one foot tall. Easy enough you’d think, no matter how many arms or faces they had. They could be overcome. But as far as Robert the wanker, nothing could overcome him.
Everyone sweated on the new roster announcement …..
Moony was locked into a shift of brain numbingly boring blogging. It was his turn to shine again and after losing the droid science guy he was penalised by being forced to stay in his humi-crib. This crib was far from humid it was bloody freezing, you could hang meat in there. He had so many jumpers on he could pass himself off as twice the man. Gloves were a bit difficult though, he only had two fingers ( one each hand ) and two thumbs, but that’s all he needed to fly and type.
Little did the dickhead wanker Robert know ( or anyone else for that matter ) that he was responsible for writing the inane nonsense that was the universally known tbaoo.Com. The original tbaoo guy alan had started the blog in 2010, some 120 years ago and the principle idea of this silly thing had taken off like wildfire, a bit like Halley’s comet when it crashed spectacularly into mars.
No-one was safe, not from the monster that tbaoo had become, not even Moony and he had been passed the baton of running and writing for the thing. It was a bit like that very ancient idea of the “ghost who walks” – the phantom, now it was the “odd knob who blogs” i.e tbaoo.com.
The recent forced take off and short drama that was the initial meeting with the “lumpers” had been smoothed over by Robert offering them shirts. The shirts it turned out, had a spiritual meaning to the lumpers, no-one knew why or how, but they had a long hut full of Hawaiian shirts, all colours, sizes and patterns and all hanging on fluffy hangers. They were all far too big for them of course but that didn’t seem to matter. I mean the one foot tall lumpers had no need for real shirts, they were all topless.
Moony could not really care of course as he had a competition to enter. A blogging community site that had also grown from a humble beginnings, was now larger than all the small tin pot governments left on earth, and they wanted something from him. This blog engage had engaged the whole freak’n world by promoting the promoting of blogs to become an addictive, financially rewarding and sexually satisfying pursuit. Tbaoo.Com fitted in somehow into the selection criteria and he did just that. He read what was required, typed away like a mad Moony and then submitted his piece.
He sat back wondering how this shit he keeps producing could possibly win anything other than the 4 millions hits a day and the enormous credit check he got from the search engine that replaced google’s dominance – splodger. The war was deadly.
So, pleased with himself, he decided to download the entertainment package his great great grandfather had sent him, ( he was still in good health thanks to the transplants ) it was a greatest – greatest hits from the naughties, and his favourite track was “drop it like it’s hot”, from snoop doggy dog. What a lovely melody and a sing along chorus. They don’t make music like that anymore, the old crooners really are the best.
Shizzle my nizzle – it would be come very prophetic, but Moony didn’t know what that meant, neither prophetic or shizzle my nizzle !!
Life on the research station was returning to normal. Life is a strange word considering that only three personnel where alive. The rest were droids and the fixed auto bot things that kept the place running, Moony hated being trapped with the three. Robert the wanker, the head scientist Carol and Moony. Moony wasn’t attracted to Robert in any way, but he really had the hots for Carol, sure the droid pleasure girls were good, but Carol had that certain illusive, out of reach response that drove Moony mad. A certain something the droids could not replicate, a real response.
So mad in fact he worried as to whether he would endanger his tenure here at the research station. Indeed, whomever decided it should be called “the science palace in the stars” should be blasted. T.S.P.S was so bloom’n hard to say and as Robert could add having a very pronounced lisp to his afflictions, it was excruciating listening to him broadcast his daily reports. The console was waterproof, but shit it took a pounding of spit. Whereas Carol would as well if Moony had his way, spit and a pounding all over the place and often.
So Moony decided that the best way to pass away the days and nights of his 72 hour shift was to dream, not like the classic “dream of electric sheep”, but dream of the real Carol.
She was a voluptuous bouncy female creature with an ample bosom, a sweet backside in the tight light grey overall uniform they were all forced to wear and she had a smile that tRicked Moony into thinking she really fancied him back. This return of affection was purely in Moony’s mind, as Carol had not shown any such interest.
The name the lumpers, as the three had colluded to call the native peoples, came from that classic film with johnny Depp, “Charlie and the chocolate factory”, the umper lumpers. This enormous copyright infringement didn’t matter of course, because all ownership of any and all creative endeavours had been purchased by the company. No-one owned anything anymore, not even listed shares in the company or any other company, they bought them all back. It could be described as bought, but really they decreed that they were worth nothing, banned any and all ownership and swiftly removed all value of such a superfluous notion. The company was called “Mumblet”.
Now Mumblet had been set up to manage the finances of the smaller company apple, way back in 2020. No-one could have foreseen that the company could become so successful and buy every other bloody company in the world and then take over what was left of the piddling little governments who were scrambling for some attention. Mumblet had control, had no conscience and was omnipresent. You worked for Mumblet, you played for Mumblet and if you were Moony, you bred for Mumblet. His success at breeding was less than satisfactory, but maybe Carol could change all that.
Moony wondered out loud to the auto bot thing, as if it were listening, could he change his manly ( human ) approach, methods and less than satisfactory conclusion.