by Mort Gloss
****
"I am resolutely confident the enemy was not wearing a compensation suit," said Lilia.
She stood alone in the communications center, her hands resting on the console. Although she was talking to her superior officer, he was not visible in the projected image. "When I engaged him in hand-to-hand combat, it was evident his exalted mass is a reality."
"So what, Lilia?" came the response. "He could have easily undergone a surgical procedure. There are more ways than one to fake superiority in Zaxmorthia, believe me."
"But, Your Heaviness, how could he have obtained such a procedure? The amount of mass was unbelievable, inconceivable even. From where could it be harvested? How could the betrayer have paid the requisite compensation?"
"How should I know?" came the response. The unseen man was growing impatient. "This much is certain: he's an imposter. His girth is a result of insubordination. Your mission is to lure him to PROT IX, obtain the Protective Essence, capture him alive, and bring them both to me. Pretty simple stuff. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Your Heaviness," answered Lilia, trying to convince herself she was satisfied.
"Very good, now bring in that idiot Nabashio. I'm probably going to send him to a mud-hovel somewhere on the outskirts of civilized Zaxmorthia. I'm sure you'll shed a tear or two over that."
"Yes, sir," answered Lilia, unable to hide her smile. She bowed her head, unsure if her superior would even notice, and backed away toward the entrance to the communications center. Once outside the room, she observed Nabashio waiting patiently, a look of confidence on his face, his chins held high. "You are required in the communications center, Captain," said Lilia.
"Of course I am," answered Nabashio. As he walked past her, he slowed his pace and moved his head close to hers. "It is incumbent upon me to inform you of the great worth of your assistance back on the Planet of Protection. Although I could have secured the victory alone, having you next to my side was singularly invigorating." He did not wait for a response, immediately entering the communications center and closing the door behind him.
"My Lord and my Liege," began Nabashio, having already planned out the illustrious words he would speak to his commanding officer.
"Can it, Nabashy," interrupted the unseen man. "I've had just about enough of you. You're going to shut your mouth and listen for a change. Understood?"
Nabashio was stunned by the harsh words, unable to comprehend the anger of his superior.
"You really botched this whole operation," said the voice, "and as a result the hooligans have stolen the Protective Essence. The entire galaxy is in danger of death, due solely to your stupidity. How could you leave the Planet of Protection without securing its safety? How could you abandon your mission without capturing the imposter?"
"Your questions are indecipherable, my Lord. The imposter has been terminated, by my own hand. The Essence is secure."
"Yeah, except for you didn't actually kill him, and two of his cohorts stole the Essence right before you took off. Nice job on that one."
"But, my Master," said Nabashio, reeling from the news and frantically searching his mind for something positive, "a favorable result has already been secured by my plan."
"Do you consider mass extinction 'a favorable result?' If those hooligans abscond to the borders of the galaxy, the disconcerting plague will be upon us in full force within a few rotations!"
"My Lord, if indeed the hooligan yet lives-a turn of events I find inconceivable-I have already obtained his most prized possession: his beloved companion in warfare," answered Nabashio with a stammer, his face red and his brow sweating. "He will no doubt come for her, and when he does I will not only re-obtain the Protective Essence, but I will capture him and execute punishment to the full extent of the Zaxmorthian code."
"Are you really that dumb?"
"My Lord?"
"What, are you deaf and stupid? You heard me, Nabashy. Your plan, you, the Commander of a PROT vessel, a man with decades of experience, your plan is to hope they come for her? Hope they come for her?"
"It is entirely reasonable that they will come for her."
"And why is that so reasonable?"
"Because, my Lord, she is a beacon of perfection. She cannot be adequately described by any words in the Zaxmorthian tongue. She is ... beautiful."
End of Book 2
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
When not writing about idiot superheroes, Mort Gloss works as a civil defense attorney. He loves his wife, his kids, and fast food tacos. Contact him at [email protected].