A Preposterous Portfolio of Parodies: Free Selections from Spoofs of The Hobbit, Game of Thrones, Harry Potter, Star Trek and More
Page 12
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Within the space of a paragraph, all the phizzers, toycorders, collector’s plates, locks of the captain’s hair, and so forth had gone to be dug out from fan garages every twenty years by unsympathetic spouses and sold to the next generation of collectors. They’d even managed to scrape off all the yarn and sell it to Dopey the elf.
The teens glanced about. Only crystal balls and dragon gizzards were left. A slow, swirling morphic field began to solidify. It was purple and stank of fake grape.
Nestley tapped his chest. “Crunch to Captain Guitard.”
“Nestley, when did I let you have a communicator?”
“When I promised not to break it, sir.” He dropped it, to the accompaniment of a clattering sound that reverberated like a dropped phone through the captain’s unpadded skull. “Oops.”
“Did you want something?” the captain growled.
“We’ve opened a portal to Henry and Horrendous’s own dimension, and they can return home,” Nestley said proudly.
“About time.”
“Captain, you promised to sign my space scout permission slip when I solved the next ship’s catastrophe.”
“I think you wore that one out with the ‘Acting Captain Crunch’ fiasco. Now make them go.”
“Wait!” Horrendous screeched. “If we go home, we’ll be eaten by Demeanies!”
“Mr. Crunch, prepare to send them home. We’ll transplode you the third one in a minute, when he’s finished his peanut butter sandwich.”
Beside him on the bridge, Biker cleared his throat. “Captain, it’s against regulations to send teens to their doom.”
“Blast. Since when?”
“Since Mr. Crunch was assigned here for meager comic relief. I believe the rule was put on the books by his mother.”
“I see.” Guitard eyed his first officer. “Sounds like a primo directive issue to me.”
“As in, Keep thy Hands to Thyself?”
“Precisely. They were dying before and they’ll be dying now, so we’re perfectly covered.”
“Captain!”
Guitard eyed Lieutenant Whiff with annoyance. “We’re trying to have a conference here. You know I don’t appreciate expressions of alarm in the midst of a meeting.”
“But, Captain, anomalies are opening all around us!” Whiff suddenly sank through the floor. Growling in dismay, he snatched the console in front of him, ripping it from its housing as he dragged himself to secure ground. Finally, he straddled the weakened spot, eying it as if daring it to dislodge him again. He glanced at the torn-off console and shrugged. On a previous occasion, he’d activated the weapons using only his Klinger glare.
“Guitard to Engineering. Mr. Waiter, are you still wearing the underwear?”
“Sir, according to galactic sexual harassment policy it is inappropriate for you to inquire—”
“I mean on your head!”
“Oh. Yes sir.”
“Well, they seem to be attracting anomalies. Remove them immediately!”
“Sir, according to galactic sexual harassment policy it is inappropriate for you to order me to remove—”
“Now!” Guitard eyed Ditzy. If he was breaking regulations anyway… “You too.”
“Have the anomalies stopped?” Nestley called plaintively. “Only, the purple swirling spot that was gonna transport Henry and Horrendous back has started to smell.”
“Similar to curdled milk or grape jelly beans?” Waiter enquired from Engineering.
“Jelly beans, definitely.”
“Ah. Then, Captain, the portal has become unstable and will most likely turn the children inside out upon arrival.”
“And that’s not how they started,” the captain mused. “The admirals might send me a pointed memo for that one.”
“The anomalies have stopped forming,” Whiff reported. “However, there are now so many that the universe may well rip open any minute under the pressure. And we’ve already incurred a high littering fine.”
“That’s it, we need a new plan,” Guitard said. “Preferably something useful.”
“Actually, Captain, traveling back in time a few hours and getting Waiter to remove his underwear should do it. And solve the teens’ issue too, if we send them back immediately after we get there.”
Guitard stared at Biker. “Did you just say all that?”
“Yes sir.”
“Are you having a stroke?”
“What’s that?”
Guitard shook his head, trying to dismiss the speed bump the universe had just foisted on him. “Excellent. Now, Waiter, is any of them a temporal vortex? Or a temporal conduit? Or, indeed, anything with the word temporal in it? Or causality?”
Mr. Waiter tilted his head. “Captain, the one on our left is a “wish fulfillment” nexus, in which all of our desires are made manifest, including the desire to exit to anywhere and indeed anywhen. However, such is the seductive power of a universe in which, for instance, I might be human and you might have hair, that we are both unlikely to willingly leave without a motivational and heroic speech.”
Guitard glanced at Biker who shrugged, eloquently suggesting he was all out of material.
“Well, I can’t be bothered to draft one of those.” The captain rolled his eyes. “Forget it. Let’s just slingshot around the closest black hole.” Such an act was forbidden by the Primo Directive and every traffic law, but it frequently popped up anyway, when the universe grew too messy. Sometimes even the captain needs a do-over.
Down in Engineering, Waiter began the countdown. “Mr. Porgy, insert spare power into our rubberiest basketball and prepare to fire. All decks, batten down the hatches, unplug your irons, and prepare to experience some static on the Biography Channel.”
“All decks report ready, sir,” Whiff said.
“Very well. Engage the deux ex time machina.”
Faster and faster they whirled around the black hole, using its gravity to propel them back to when the teens had first crossed into science fiction.
The engine strained like spaghetti, but it still wasn’t enough. “Full power to the special effects budget!” the captain roared.
“Captain, special effects are offline!” Biker called.
“Then we’ll do this the old-fashioned way. Everyone, lean hard to the left and fall out of your chairs! One, two, three!”
On three, they all lunged from their seats as if the ship were shaking itself to pieces. But it wasn’t enough. Again and again they flung themselves across their steering wheels and out of their chairs. Swaying and struggling like a mime in a fake windstorm, Nestley Crunch staggered to the lightswitch and flicked it on and off to rev up the drama. But the black hole still engulfed them. At last, Ditzy Trip heroically stumbled across the entire bridge, somehow hurling herself upside-down against the elevator doors, which failed to open in time. As she bounced off the doors, she tumbled into Whiff (who was especially surly as he had missed his three afternoon workouts) and nearly had her head bitten off. This created enough tension to allow the Tastipize to tear itself from the black hole’s gravity.