Everything was still. The engines were quiet. The only sound to be heard was a faint hiss of something important surely leaking something toxic. A red emergency light pulsed slowly on and slowly off.
“We’re alive!” exclaimed Geraldine.
Silence.
“…well, I’m alive. Are you alive? Because if you ARE alive and you’re ignoring me because you think I’m just a stupid interplanetary travel agent who looks like a stupid bird who doesn’t know shit about shit and fucked up her only chance at breaking out of her boring shit life and will never meet Lucy Von Schmidt and NEVER own a Gazorpazorp and NEVER see her family again, then…”
She had begun sobbing uncontrollably.
“Ugh, calm down will ya.” Ace groaned and slowly opened his eyes. “You’re ok. We’re ok. And we’re going to continue being ok so long as you RELAX.” He was holding his right hand tenderly. “Fuck, my trigger hand.”
“Is that what you call it?” The other woman jabbed. “Let me see.” She reached over and began gently maneuvering his Ace’s knuckles. He winced painfully as the bones splinters ground against one another. He tried to suppress his reaction.
“Yep. Definitely broken. How bad, I can’t say. Hope your livelihood doesn’t depend on it, Mr. ‘Trigger Hand’.” She reached over his head, popped open a hatch, and withdrew a first-aid kit all without looking.
“You sure know your way around this ship.” Geraldine said, impressed.
The woman glanced her direction but otherwise ignored Geraldine’s remark as she booted up the Splintomatic Medibot from inside the kit. The little bot hummed to life, popped up into the air and hovered over Ace’s hand. Like a pissing hummingbird it sprayed fibrous webbing from its underbelly until Ace’s hand resembled a fusion welder’s thermo mitt.
The woman spoke again. “You were supposed to host Lucy Von Schmidt’s honeymoon?”
“Wha…oh…yea, yea I was. It was going to be soo romantic!”
“Really? Romantic? On Tatooine? A planet that has literally never sprouted a single weed let alone a flower. Of course. Perfect for Lunar Royalty.”
“Well TECHNICALLY, Von Schmidts aren’t ‘royalty’ per se. They weren’t formally inducted into one of the seven imperial houses of Questular because twelve years ago in the year 12008 Mortimer Von Schmidt backed out of the Seminal Congress of Capital because he…”
Geraldine trailed off.
“…wait a minute. You’re talking to me. Why are you talking to me? You’re talking to ME right?” There was panic in her voice, a mixture of nervousness and giddiness for having finally been noticed. She tried to contain her excitement and re-posture herself, but this made her appear schizophrenic rather than give an impression that remotely resembled mental togetherness.
“I was talking to you, but I’m finished now. Ace…your name’s Ace right?” She turned her attention back to her patient.
“Yea. Ace Dexter.”
She continued “Ok Ace. I’m no doc, but I think you’re all set, at least for now.” She bop-slapped the hovering Medibot back into its housing, closed the lid, and flicked the latch closed. Geraldine was still watching skeptically and determined this was all a little too skillful.
“Let’s get the fuck out of this shit can.” The woman stood, slung her pack over her shoulder, and strode to the side hatch of the craft. She punched the bulbous OPEN button.
*KACHUNK*
The hatch depressurized and fell off its hinges. Blinding light filled the cabin. The three shielded their eyes. While they waited for their eyes to adjust, their ears still functioned well enough to tell them that something terrifying was happening outside the craft…
…something involving a swarm of…
“RATS!” Geraldine shrieked.
Rather than wait for HER eyes to adjust Geraldine had slid her Maui Jim solar vizor down over her face. The scene that met her gaze was at once terrifying and biologically beautiful. A magnificent cluster of womp rats, perhaps as many as a thousand, were all churning together in an ocean of fur…furiously mating.
Geraldine recalled her travel agent training seminars. They had dedicated two full days of orientation documenting the various mating seasons, rituals, and magnitudes of all the sub-sentient species across the known universe. She’s not sure why, but those of the Tatooine womp rat stuck with her. And if it had ever left her mind before, the live display was certainly burned into her memory now and forever.
They did seem to be mating more aggressively that she remembered hearing about though. Then she saw it: a stream of G-Monster spitting from a gash in the hull. It rained down on the furry mass showering the sandy rodents in the sticky green drug.
“Wowee what a SOUP!” Geraldine amazed.
“Where the hell are we?” Ace wondered as she scanned the horizon his puffy mitt at his brow shading his eyes.
Sand dunes stretched out in every direction. Heat waves rippled off the horizon giving explanation to the name “Dune Sea”. About fifty feet from the ship was a domed structure flanked by two tall antennas. Ace could make out an opening at the foot of the dome with steps leading downward.
He spoke again “I say we make a run for the igloo thing. These creatures seem pretty focused. They shouldn’t notice us as long as we don’t act too sexy.” He smirked at the woman. She wasn’t looking. He unsmirked.
“Agreed.” Said the woman and immediately jumped down into the swirling mess.
“But but but but….” Geraldine stammered. “What if their stuff gets on me?”
“Then you’ll get pregnant.” And with that, Ace jumped down.
“Ohhhh!” Geraldine whined. “Well! When on Mars!”
The expression was, of course, quite inappropriate for her current circumstance. This mantra had been Geraldine’s self-help battle cry whenever she needed to push herself out of her comfort zone. In her first year on Mars when she was terraforming her one bed no bath condo from the red dirt and a hiccup in structural development would arise, this motto would get her through. It would empower her with acceptance and the will to push on.
And now, when she needed a bit of encouragement to wade knee deep into rat sex, “When on Mars” would again be her inspirational ally and source of courage. She channeled her will, she hopped, tripped, and fell in face first.
*SPLAT*
Flat on her belly in the mud. She couldn’t be sure if it was G-Monster or rat stuff (or both…likely both.), but she didn’t like the smell of it one bit. She sprung to her feet, whipped out her trusty pocket aerosol of Dust Daisy, unvizored, and dosed her face with a steady spray as she sprinted forward through the orgy.
But no sooner had she started running did a *retching* begin. At first it was faint. It came from behind. It grew louder and louder and soon it was all around her, hundreds of womp rats dry-heaving in crescendo.
And then the purge. Like a failing dam overwhelmed by the pressure of a fluid pressing relentlessly upon it, the vomit began spilling forth from the mouths of the entire swarm. It began from back toward the ship and began rolling forward chasing Geraldine like a tsunami.
Never had she run faster.
She was just as scared of the prospect of drowning as she was by being touched by yet another foul-smelling substance. She steeled herself and sprinted on, splashing through the green mud.
“When on Mars…When on Mars…When on Mars…”
She dodged and weaved and kicked and squashed. Rats went flying this way and that.
The retching continued, and the wave grew.
Onwards she sprint-slogged, the mud sucking at her boots.
She was nearly through the main cluster.
She could see the edge.
“MOVE MOVE MOVE!” She yelled at Ace. He had stopped just outside edge and was vigorously shaking off a new womp-girlfriend who had attached herself to his boot deciding it to be more attractive than the male womp rats. She wasn’t wrong.
Ace spun around just in time to see Geraldine flash past him, but not quite in time to avoid being walloped in the gut by a three-foot wall of rat puke.
*SMACK*
“Wow! That was lucky!” Geraldine said as she buckled over and grabbed her knees trying to catch her breath. She had stopped in front of the woman and they were both now watching Ace fume and curse as he sploshed to his feet. His womp-girlfriend had been shaken loose and tossed aside by the impact, but she had quickly recuperated and was now bounding towards Ace to finish what she’d started. Ace pivoted and gave her a swift punt sending the she-rat sailing through the sky back into the party.
“Well good for you two…lucky…” He huffed.
“Ha! Lucky... Funny. My name actually IS Lucky.” The woman gave a halfhearted wavy salute gesture.
“…well fuck me, she’s got a name. Kind of a bullshit name though…” Said Ace.
“Uh…” Scoffed the woman supposedly named Lucky. “I’m sorry Mr. Ace ‘my parents are gambling addicts’ Dexter.”
Geraldine let out a “HA!” and then immediately became visibly self-conscious. The other two enjoyed her discomfort and shared a glance. This was the first playful exchange the three of them had shared so far, and though all three had at least one kind of womp rat fluid on them, for a brief moment they forgot about it. It was nice.
“Ok. Let’s check this place out. Hopefully there’s a speeder or a wide beam transmitter or SOMETHING that’ll help us get out of here.” Ace said and began walking to the opening.
The three of them one by one descended beneath the beige dome. Inside it was dark and the smell of damp musk made the air feel thick. Ace coolly struck a flare against one of the sandy walls flooding the space with blinding crimson. Then Geraldine turned on a light switch. Ace quenched the flare in the sand at his feet with a grumble.
They were inside an open concept living, dining, kitchen area. Whoever was living (or lived) here had a great sense for optimizing small space. It was very well thought out. Tiny appliances built into the walls with gleaming chrome facades and shiny black dials popping forth from the sandy rock. Jet burners were recessed into a multipurpose countertop, replete with petrified butcher-block wood accents. The bar stooled counter curved in an arc leading to the sitting area. Three large sit sacks sat on a massive beast fur and surrounded a low silver disc table.
Atop the table was a single bowl, traces of food still within. Ace looked nervous and approached the table. He felt the inside of the bowl.
“Warm. Moist. It’s still warm and moist.” His nerves were tightening.
“Eww!” Geraldine winced and whined. “‘Ace, why you gotta say it like…”
But she was cut off.
“Back the FUCK off my breakfast BITCH!”
*CHACHUCK*
The travelers froze.
“Ohmygaohmygaohmyga…” Geraldine muttered foxholes under her breath, locked gaze with the floor, and began to shake violently like a chihuahua asked to teach differential equations to a 200-student lecture hall.
*YIP*
Speaking of chihuahuas, the three travelers whipped their heads in the direction of the noise and there before their eyes was indeed a chihuahua. And next to the small beast stood a grizly and robust block of a woman gripping a stout-barreled, fully charged, quadraplasmatic shock rifle.
“Who the FUUUCK are YEH, and why the FUUUUUUCK are yeh in MAH DWELLIN’?!”
She scanned the travelers with the rifle. She stopped.
“You! SPEAK!”
WTF IS THIS BY THE WAY?
On 3/21/20 at the start of the global COVID-19 pandemic I crowdsourced the bones of a story from my friends on Facebook (find the original thread in my profile, it’s fantastic). These are 100% their elements. You guys did me real good. Cheers to creative isolation and a bizarre interplanetary cross-fictional adventure!