25 Apr


SPACESHIP photo: Spaceship Spaceship.jpg  It was demon hour and Cris whelped like a loony. She was terrified of Marlong and his temper when the devils crawled through his brain and painted the world puce. But then, she loved Marlong. Everyone loved Marlong because loonies were scared not to. It wasn’t that he was gloating – he never gloated – just prowled around his puce universe screaming for the saints to go away.

“We’re nearly there, fack you,” he grated between clenched teeth.

“Fack you too,” she replied, “it’s been long enough, sod the heavens, in this tin can.”

This tin can was the microship she and Marlong had steered across the Milky Way. They knew where they were going, it was just a facking hard job getting there, what with the time it took and the lumps of debris that might always loom unexpectedly out of the crassness of empty space. Empty space! There’s no such thing, not even between the galaxies…

“Earth, they call it,” he growled, swiping her with the back of his hand until the blood ran down her face.

“Leave facking me alone!” she screamed, and for the first time that day she squirted concentrated nitric acid into his eyes from her left tit. It served him right. Marlong was a bully, possibly the biggest bully this side of Crackerhole, and she was the butt of his worst excesses. But that nitric acid would sting and the Rover factor would have to dig out a repair or two, or Marlong would end up blind.

It had happened before and Rover hadn’t let him down yet.

“Why’d you facking do that!” screamed Marlong, weeping, “I can’t facking see! You blinded me, you whore-shaped arsehole!”

“Get Rover, see if I care, you made me bleed! Look, Marlong, and you reckon to love me…”

“I can’t see!” he howled. “And I had Earth pin-pointed! It was in the cross-hairs ready for a landing, and now I can’t see!”

“Rover!” called Cris.

The factor rolled in, squawking. “You only want me when your temper’s taken control!” it squeaked. “Let me see. Nitric bleeding acid. What are you like, eh? What fun and games you have! And here you are, ambassadors from Crackerhole tasked with spreading the word!”

“Just get me facking mended, crackhead!” roared Marlong. “I need to fracking see! We’re landing within the hour! And according to the charts there are creatures on this damned planet! Earth they call it, and earthy by nature from all accounts. I’ve even heard there’s the odd spark of intelligence amongst the amoeba!”

“Oh, there is,” smirked the factor, squirting Marlong with bicarbonate of soda until his hideous face was little more than effervescent foam.

“What do you know about it, Rover?” asked Cris, grinning as Marlong howled when his melting eyes started stinging.

“I’ve monitored them too, Miss,” hummed the factor. “I’ve seen trees and woodlands, jungles and deserts. I’ve even see monkeys. You’d like the monkeys. They’re well on their way to be facking bright!”

“Puce!” roared Marlong. “Make it puce!”

“It’s mostly green,” gabbled Rover, “it has to be. Photosynthesis, you see. Oxygen-rich atmosphere, so no good for you two. But I’ll roll out. Rover by name and rover by nature…”

“You mean … we’ve come all this facking way and won’t get to breath the fresh pure air of a virgin planet?” moaned Cris.

“Not unless you want to peg it before your time,” giggled the factor. “You know what you’re like when you get a breath of oxygen in your face. But whoa, lads, we’re landing…”

“It’s all quite wrong,” complained Marlong. “So wrong I could weep!”

“You start weeping now and that eye I repaired’ll never catch a photon again,” warned the factor. “I’ll go out and see what’s what. Leave it to Rover the rover!”

“If you have to,” sneered Marlong.

“I’ll be your eyes and ears,” grinned Rover, and he rolled into the air-lock, all on tenterhooks. The excitement in his artificial brain was bubbling over. “In the name of Crackerhole!” he added.

A door slithered open and he gaped out, straight into the face of a naked hominid with an excited willy.

“I’m Rover…” he tried to say, but the air was so luscious and the green so exciting that all he could manage was “woof woof woof, I’m God…” for no reason that he could fathom.

© Peter Rogerson 25.04.15


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