Captain Buzz "Iceman" Impact closed his eyes and let the heavy volume of printed material drop onto the console next to his right hand. He could hear the faint hiss of oxygen as it was injected into the starship's command center. A brief shadow of concern passed through his thoughts as he remembered that the life support system had only twenty-four hours ago shown signs of a hidden problem. "God!" he thought. "Will I never make it through that volume?" He was five light years from home and he still hadn't finished it. What possessed him to bring the latest issue of Vogue Magazine with him? he wondered. It weighed a ton, and as far as he could tell only about four or five pages contained actual articles. The other four hundred and eighty-five pages were covered with what appeared to be photographs of oddly dressed... or undressed... aliens. It was lucky that his mission had begun from orbit over Mars' southern pole, he conceded. If it had been a ground-based launch the magazine's additional weight would have jeopardized the take-off. Buzz opened his eyes again at the sound of a voice on the intercom. "Buzz," the voice of his co-pilot and chief science officer, Stella Doro, said in a throaty whisper.
---------
"It's your wife calling. She's pissed you took her Vogue. Now she has no idea what to wear to the party tomorrow. All of her friends are going as aliens and she'll look dumb if she shows up in just her scales."
"Tell her I'll have to get back to her later. I've got to work on the life support system," answered Buzz. "Oh, and knock it off with that sexy whisper thing. She hates it when we're on a mission together anyway."
Just then the Iceman heard a loud rattling noise. Was it just head again, or was it...
-----------
the satellite dish coming loose again. You would think you wouldn't need a dish when you were zipping out among the stars and satellites, but alas, it was still required.
"Of course, way out in Mars orbit, cable is just not an option," Buzz thought. Buzz already felt like he was on a short leash with his wife, Ripley, so he certainly didn't need to be tethered by cable. But he would have to get out the old space suit so he could reattach the dish. He certainly didn't want to miss the next Cowboy game and didn't want to miss the next episode of What Not to Wear either. Maybe he could call his wife with some tips. She thought she wanted to keep up with the aliens but he hated to tell her that she really needed a fashion makeover. Her look was so 80s. Of course, he was smart enough to know that he would be sleeping in the doghouse if he really made such a suggestion.
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Buzz hoisted himself out of the captain's chair and started for the locker. He found the idea of donning a spacesuit for an extra-vehicular repair somewhat chilling. For some reason, NASA scientists had decided that the space crew's diet should be high in fiber. As a result everyone on board was locked in a Homeric struggle against runaway flatulence. "Spacesuit, indeed!" thought Buzz.
"Wait!" squeeked Lieutenant Doro, bursting into the command center. "The problem isn't in the satellite dish! It's the life support system. There's no oxygen!"
"No oxygen?" responded the Iceman, with clenched teeth and a steely gaze. "What are we breathing?"
"When I realized what was happening, and thinking quickly, I opened all the party balloons we brought along for ensign Barcode's birthday celebration. It should give us just enough time to find and fix the problem."
"Stella, you idiot! Those baloons were filled with helium! There's no oxygen in helium! All you've done is give us infuriating chipmonk voices! We only have a few minutes to find the source of the problem and fix it. You're the science officer! Do something! Fast!"
"Well, you don't have to snap at me!" Stella pouted. "Maybe if we opened a window..."
"No jokes!" Impact barked. "Make it better! Now!"
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"Okay, okay. Seriously. We'll just make an oxygenator. It should only take a few minutes. We've got enough oxygen left to get us through the process. Then we'll be set."
"An oxygenator?" said Iceman. "What in tarnation is that and how do we make one?"
"Clearly you didn't get through the Vogue yet," Doro responded. "It's on page 419. There's even a diagram. We have everything we need right here. Thankfully, this was Vogue's Space Fashion Issue. The oxygenator is part of the new spacewear fashion line."
--------
Iceman thumbed through Vouge to page 419. There it was, the diagram and the instructions to make the oxyengenerator. Full color and very simple to follow. It even came with a free DVD of hot looking alien chicks showing off the product and how to steps. There was also the 1-800 number for techinal support and customer service. With excitement, Iceman told Doro to get him a case of beer and a fifth of Jack Daniels. He then looked at Stella and to her to go get the tools. For this will take a while Iceman thought.....
-------
Doro began the task of putting the oxygenator together by herself without the aid of Impact. As she worked sweat began to pour down her face. She did not expect to be working on the oxygenator alone. As a just in case factor, she told one of the crewmembers to have a bloody mary on standby for when Impact wakes up. For he will need something for his 100 light year hang-over. Progress was being made as the oxygenator was being put together and the beer being consumed. When the oxygenator was was complete Doro had noticed that she had parts left over. She thought to herself this is bad, if it was a stereo cabinet it would be one thing, but the this was a vital piece of equipment to the ship. What would Impact do she thought and what are they going to do. Impact continued to sleep away and Doro continue to go through the instruction manuel to figure out where she went wrong.........
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Moments later, Lieutenant Doro entered the bridge with a large tool kit, a box containing the oxygenator parts, the beer and the booze. "We'd better start with the booze," Impact grated through clenched teeth, a look of steely determination on his rugged face. "Pour us three fingers each. We need to make sure it hasn't deteriorated due to our long voyage and the artificial atmosphere in the cargo hold." Doro expertly twisted the cap off of the bottle and with a keen eye poured a heavy dose into the two Welch's grape jelly glasses she'd dug out of the gally just a few moments earlier. She and the Iceman knocked the amber liquid back in quick swallows. He held out is glass for a refill. "One can't be too careful," he commented in his rich baritone. Any one of a dozen chemical changes, peculiar to space flight, might have taken place during the last couple of light years." Again, Stella poured, sloshing only a little bit over the rim of the glasses. With a look of blue-eyed resolve, the Iceman downed the whiskey in a glup, wiping his mouth on his gold braided cuff. Doro did likewise.
"Now, hand me those distractions," the captain ordered.
"The directions?" Doro asked in a choked voice. "Here y'are. Page 419. I had to tear the page out. The magazine was so heavy I couldn't move it."
Impact stared at the page, brow furrowed. "Boy!" he said. "The print sure is tiny. Hand me the flanged framilator, spatulate end to the starboard side and a pair of friars. I mean pliers."
Doro rummaged in the kit for a minute and giggled. "Is this a frammilator?" she asked.
"Get a grip," Impact answered. "That's a framistat. We'd better slow down and test the alcohol again." It's imperative that we don't make any mistakes."
"By the way," commented Doro as they swallowed a few more ounces of whiskey, "which side of the craft is shtarboard, anyway? I've never mastered the starboard and port thing."
Impact burped. "Doesn't matter. Now hand me the wooly grommet and a hammer." Doro smiled in a lopsided way and began to sing to herself. "Is it getting a little close in here?" she wondered out loud.
It ocurred to the captain that he didn't feel too well. Perhaps a cold beer would help. He reached past the tool kit, slipped a Shiner Bock out of it's paper carton, and struck the neck of the bottle on the guidance panel. As the liquid foamed out of the bottle he poured half of it over his head and swallowed the rest. Seeing his example, Lieutenant Doro struck a bottle of beer over his head and swallowed what was left. The Iceman slumped to the floor, inert. Doro poked at the still form in front of her, looked at her watch, wrinkeld her nose, and said, "Thish doesn't look as if it's going to turn out very well."
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Suddenly, Iceman shot to his feet. Hallucinating that he was a finalist on American Idol, he began to sing (or howl, in Doro's opinion). The words sounded a bit like Rocket Man , although Doro had to look up the lyrics on her trusty iPhone to be sure. He sang...
She packed my bags last night pre-flight
Zero hour nine a.m.
And i'm gonna be high as a kite by then
I miss the earth so much i miss my wife
It's lonely out in space
On such a timeless flight
And i think it's gonna be a long long time
Till touch down brings me round again to find
I'm not the man they think i am at home
Oh no no no i'm a rocket man
Rocket man burning out his fuse up here alone
Mars ain't the kind of place to raise your kids
In fact it's cold as hell
And there's no one there to raise them if you did
And all this science i don't understand
It's just my job five days a week
A rocket man, a rocket man
And i think it's gonna be a long long time...
And then Iceman started cry... he blubbered how much he missed his wife and kids... and then passed out again, confirming to Doro that things were definitely not going to turn out well.
Although momentarily moved by Iceman's passionate, although painful, rendition of the Elton John classic, Doro mentally noted that she should call Simon Cowell upon their return to earth and warn him in case Iceman tried to enter himself in the next Idol competition. Tickled by that thought Doro giggled, but then was hit in the face with the sobering reality that she was going to have to carry on solo. Through her alcohol-induced fog, she proceeded to discern the details of the directions alone.
"Oh boy," she said allowed to herself, "I sure hope I get this right or I'm gonna have a lot of 'splainin' to do."
She picked up the sprinkle flinger, mistaking it for the frammilator, perhaps because she didn't really know what a frammilator was. Fortunately, the sprinkle flinger was the right tool. She was able to...
--------
...just barely make it to the bathroom in time. Boy, does that whiskey and beer go through a person quickly! As she sat there relieving herself, she read the ads on the back of the bathroom stall door. Well, what do you know! Right there, it said,
In case of oxygen depletion emergencies, call 867-5309.
"Weird," she thought. "That number sure seems familiar. I can't imagine why, though, as I've never been on a mission in which we've experienced this type of emergency."
She started to dial when it hit her...
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There are no local numbers in outer space! But she suddenly realizes that they are in the Shatner quadrant and only a few thousand miles from a habitable planet known as Zeta Chi. She could easily plot a course in the pilot computer and resolve their emergency. However there are many rumors that surround the planet and its founder Chevy Tutone...
Chevy Tutone was the descendant of the musician Tommy Tutone (who made his mark in 1980s with his hit song 'Jenny/867-5309'). Tommy had invested a small portion of his fortune in a company that made framillators. At the time the tool was absolutely useless since pre-fab oxygen was considered 'a waste of time' and 'not cool'. However, several hundred years later the fram (as the device is popularly labeled now) became essential to every deep space toolbox. Chevy, who owned the rights to his ancestor's invention, made billions.
Unfortunately the patent expired rather quickly and competitors jumped in, fiercely focused on delivering a reliable pre-fab oxygenator for the wealthy and poor alike. Chevy was in his 6th year of undergraduate studies at the time working on his underwater basket weaving degree. He quickly realized he had to come up with a plan to keep his oxygenator design in the forerunning or he may not be able to stay in college and get his degree (since higher education costs raise by several billions per year). So on a worldwide broadcast he announced that he would prove his fram was the best. He would fly to a remote, uninhabitable planet and turn it into a habitable one by using only one of his machines.
With a crew consisting solely of fraternity brothers armed with several kegs of beer, a couple of goats and a vision, Chevy did manage to pilot his space craft all the way to the Shatner quadrant and settle a planet. But after his initial transmission telling the earth that he had safely landed and successfully started oxygenating the planet, little more was heard.
A few curious souls had sought out Tutone and crew. Only one ever returned. His account told of unspeakable horrors; his encounters illustrated nothing save a baccanalian abandon ripe with drunkeness, confusing chants, ridiculous hazing rituals and something very odd about goats.
People eventually lost interest in the demise of Chevy Tutone and the 'survivor' of Zeta Chi (as he was named several times in the media) eventually moved to the southside of Mars. It's been said that he changed his name and took up the job of deep space pilot to escape any further harassment from news personnel, authors and speculators...
"What do I do?" Stella says absently. "If I call the interplanetary operator for a stellar area code I could be put on hold for centuries! And that planet kinda frightens me...but Buzz needs my help! I need another dram of Jack! Aaargh!!!!" Suddenly an alarm on the pilot computer sounds off. Stella hears it from the bathroom stalls. She runs down several corridors to the cockpit just in time to see that their ship has been caught by a tractor beam eminating from the a mysterious looking nearby planet--a planet known only as...
Zeta Chi!!!!
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Also known as the Planet of Darkness,Zeta Chi had been discovered some years before by Iceman Impact during an exploratory mission. He had chosen the name because the planet appeared to be shrouded in darkness. He had overlooked the fact that he had approached from the side facing away from the planet's sun.
The tractor beam pulled Impact's ship, the Asteroid Dodger, inexorably toward the surface. As the crew struggled to locate the source of the beam and devise a strategy for escaping it's clutches (a job made harder by the effect of oxygen starvation), on the surface of POD (Planet of Darkness) a sinister figure sat looking into a viewing crystal and rubbing his hands together in anticipation. The robed figure turned toward his assistant and spoke in a hiss. "Igor! Turn the beam up to full strength. Whip up the saturated fat! Prepare the high cholesterol, lard-laden carbohydrates! Bwa hah hah hah!"
--------
Just hold your horses, Mister Dark and Evil. I've got to feed the baby and then clean up the kitchen. You know I can't work in a messy kitchen. And quit calling me "Igor." Once Frank is old enough to understand you he's going to think you're nuts or something. Can you imagine him telling his preschool teacher that his mother's name is "Igor"?
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Fortunately (or not depending on your perspective), while Igor and Nefario were bickering, the power on the Asteroid Dodger suddenly died. Stella then remembered she was supposed to call the electrician! Where was that sticky note, anyway? She was always losing them and the ship just wasn't that big! The circuit overload occurred just as she plugged in the finally located sprinkle flinger which sprinkles a store of oxygen molecules providing temporary, life-saving air to the Dodger crew.
"That egocentric, good-for-nothing, Brad Pitt look-alike in accounting must be blow-drying his hair again! He uses more mousse than a moose!" Stella thought.
It was a good thing that Stella remembered to install that 9-volt battery backup in the sprinkle flinger for just such an occasion! As the oxygen slowly permeated Stella's brain and the alcohol fog abated, Stella realized because the ship was no longer lit, the tractor beam could not continue to track the ship and its grasp had been released. The Asteroid Dodger, suddenly liberated, was sent spinning free into space. Round and round and round she goes, where she stops, no one knows.
Somewhere in the back of the ship, Impact began to awaken.
"Is the ship really spinning or is it just this drunken stupor?" he wondered as he slowly opened his eyes. "And why can't I see? I know I'm blind drunk but something is not right."
Then the light bulb of his mind flickered dimly. "Stella!" he shouted. "Did you forget to call the electrician again? What do I pay you for, woman?"
Meanwhile...
--------
Back on POD the mysterious, robed figure turned toward Igor. His basilisk stare struck Igor like the beam of one of those laser pointer thingies college instructors buy at Sharper Image and use to point at things on the screen above the podium in the hopes that it will make their presentations more comprehensible to a bunch on uninterested students who are more concerned with the video games on their laptops than the presentation and who would rather be out drinking beer anyway.
"Uh, dear, you make it very difficult to be sinister. I feel your pain, but c'mon. Don't I change little whosis once in awhile? Don't I do the dishes occasionally? It isn't easy being the evil ruler of this backwater planet. Most of my former classmates, who I might add, have wives who adore and support them, are by now dominating big, important planets. But where am I? Out here on a miserable hunk of rock with a silly Greek name. Cut me some slack, Sugar Bun. Get on board. Whip up those artery-cogging lipids so I can do unspeakable things to those puny yahoos in the space ship. Which, I might add, is now spinning out of control and I'm going to have to bust my butt to get back."
The dark figure turned toward the viewing crystal, put a long, bony finger on a softly glowing button and sighed. "Cheez!" he said. Then, taking a deep breath, he recalled where he had been when his evil scheme had been interrupted. "Oh, yeah. Bwa ha ha ha!"
-----------
When Nefario, the dark figure, pushed the button, it illuminated space like the flash on a camera. The tractor beam eminating from Zeta Chi was once again able to lock onto it's prey, the Asteroid Dodger. Slowly but surely, the ship was pulled toward the surface of the POD.
"Oh no," cried Stella. "We are locked in the clutches of what is surely an evil force. How ever will we escape?"
"We will give it the ol' college try, that's how," said Impact, now fully awake and back in charge if not in control of the ship.
"Good grief," said Stella. "Not the ol' college try line again. How about if we get out the big guns and just shoot our way out of this?"
------------
Iceman Inpact drew himself up to his full height, stomach in, chest out, shoulders back and head high. Clearly his commanding presence indicated that the old Iceman was back. Gone was the alcoholic haze of the last few hours. Gone was the confusion. Jaw set, eyes clear, a look of determination on his chisled features, Impact snapped, "Stop!" He made the time out sign with his hands. "You! Doro! Stand up straight! We'll get through this little complication! Get that Italian opera singer down in the engine room up here. What's his name?" He snapped his fingers. "I remember! It's Barista Aromasolo. Well, get him in here."
Moments later, a crew member in stained overalls with an oil can in his hand entered the bridge. "Yes sir! Machinists mate Aromasolo reporting as ordered, sir!"
Iceman fixed him with a steely gaze, his blue eyes glowing with resolve. "Do you remember the glass panel on level three, the one behind the door to the galley, the one labeled "In case of emergency, break glass?" Aromasolo nodded. "Well," the Iceman continued, "inside that panel is a roll of oven-sized Reynolds Wrap. Retrieve that and report to the airlock to prepare for a spacewalk."
In a flash, Aromasolo was in the airlock with the Reynolds Wrap, shuffling into a spacesuit. "Here's what I want you to do," Impact directed in a commanding growl. "I want you to spread aluminum foil over the entire nose of the spacecraft. The tractor beam that's pulling us toward the surface of that mysterious planet will be reflected off the shiny foil and will lose it's falcon-like grip on us. We'll be free! Free do you hear? Free! Free at last!" Sensing that his composure was slipping a bit, the Iceman clenched his teeth and gritted, "Get on with it, Aromasolo. Don't forget the Scotch tape."
Soon the nose of the ship was glistening with an aluminum radience. The tractor beam lost its grip on the hapless vessel and the ship began to pull away. "Thank goodness! We're out of the clutches of whatever it was that we were in the clutches of!" exclaimed Stella Doro. "Good work, Captain. Aromasolo deserves an A for effort, too!"
Suddenly there was a shudder and then utter silence as the ship coasted to a stop. Was there no end to the Asteroid Dodgers' problems?
"Is there no end to our problems?" Impact asked rhetorically. "My guess is that we're out of gas. Drat! We're falling toward the surface of the planet!" Soon, after a controlled crash only the intrepid Iceman could have managed with superior flying skills, the Asteroid Dodger came to rest at the edge of a dark forest of huge trees and black pools of still water. Somewhere in the bowels of the forest there was a deep, foreboding sound.
"I don't like the looks of this," Impact said. Everyone stay put until we do a reconnaisance and see what we're up against. I'd like to go myself but I'm needed here. Doro, pick three crewmembers and go take a look."
----------
"Impact, that weenie," Stella thought. "He's more interested in feeding his guilty pleasure, reading about the latest season of spacesuits for men in Vogue, than leading his team. Well, good for me - it's my opportunity to shine like a supernova and take a crack at the glass ceiling that is currently keeping women in space from shooting for the stars."
Little did Stella Doro know that this couldn't be farther from the truth. Although Impact did like to indulge in his Vogue reading (afterall he regularly snuck off with his wife's monthly subscription when he needed some time alone in the spacejohn), he wasn't a weenie.
"I just can't let them know of my youthful misadventure while a young space scout and my failed attempt to win my forestry badge which prevents me from leading my team. All those years of therapy," Impact thought, "and I still can't walk into a forest. Maybe I should call Dr. Phil."
While Impact was musing, Stella selected three fine officers to accompany her on her mission. Brad, George and Matt, the sexiest spacemen alive as named by SpacePeople Magazine in 2092, were eager to search out this new planet. Just as they exited the ship, though, the forest quaked ominously and reminded our four intrepid explorers of the rolling boulder that aimed to crush their role model, Indiana Jones, in The Raiders of the Lost Ark.
"Holy Bouncing Boulders, Batman!" exclaimed Brad, George and Matt in unison.
-----------
"You called?" Just then a strange figure dressed like a bat stepped out from behind a tree. "What brings you to Evil Forest?" It gave a dismissive wave to Stella and focused on the three male crew members. "My, my," it went on before they could answer. "What a trio of hotties, delivered right to my doorstep. Mmm, mmm. Scrumptious!" My name is ...
-----------
"Freddy," Stella shouted. "What are you doing here and why are you dressed in that silly costume?"
"Oh, Stella, please don't tell anyone you found me. I'm big here on Zeta Chi. Although the Universe thinks that Freddy Mercury died and that Chevy Tutone met his demise here, in truth we are both alive and well and have formed a new band. We are doing country rap versions of my Queen hits. We even taught the goats to dance."
"Ahhhh, the unspeakable horrors and something odd with goats that the "sole" survivor of Zeta Chi originally reported. And here we thought this planet was inhabited with a monster or something," Stella said.
"There is a monster," Freddy exclaimed, "but we keep him at bay with the music. that's why we are so popular."
-----------
"I'm wondering, however, how your little hotties could be so popular with what they're wearing. What's wrong with the atmosphere back there? Have things changed so terribly or are these boys just clueless?" Asked Freddy.
"Well, between you and me, I think they believe they're so hot they can dress like that and go without bathing even," replied Stella.
"Ooooooooh! Tommy's going to be excited about this! Come on my precious little men. Tommy and I relish a challenge and it's been a while. Let's have some Queer Eye for the Straight Guys. Of course, by the time we're finished with you, you might be too delicious for us to let you leave. One thing at a time, though. Follow me. Oh, and watch your step. Monster crap is harder than you'd think to get off your boots."
"Hold up a minute. I've got to report back to my boss," Stella told Freddy.
"That's fine," Freddy told her. "I'll take these boys with me and you go report back. When you come back, just follow that path there. You'll find us easily enough."
-----------
"Stellllllllaaaaaaaaa!" hollered Impact in his own Marlon Brando-ish way (even though Impact was more of a teddy bear than Stanley Kowalski). Impact was fretting having sent his crew into the foreboding sound filled forest without him.
Stella, irked, responded rather brusquely, "What? I am busy here! While you continue to cower behind the pages of your magazine, I am doing my best not to step in the heaping piles of monster crap while simultaneously sending the three hotties, oh, uh, I mean the crew off to get makeovers. Upon entering the forest we found the supposedly demised Chevy Tutone and Freddy Mercury. Not only have they pioneered a new form of music, country rap, also known as c-rap to the natives, they have a side business developing the metro-sexual in all the male spacemen that wander their way."
As Stella wrapped up her update she heard that annoying yet foreboding sound once again. Her heart pounding a little harder (despite the fact that she was the tough glass ceiling breaking kind of spacewoman), Stella turned to follow the path that would lead her to her hotties, Freddy and Chevy. If only she had sidestepped the sticky, stinking pile of monster crap...
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"Stella," Iceman said. "Let me help." He screwed a garden hose onto a faucet protruding from the side of the spaceship and turned the handle. As he directed the stream of water at her patent leather high heeled faux endangered species Manolo Blanik slingback pumps, he went on. "Something strange is going on here. Doesn't it seem unusual that we are drawn to this place only to find Freddy Mercury dressed in a bat suit, living with that one-hit wonder and inventor of the oxygenator Tommy Tutone? I can't quite put my finger on it but something isn't right."
"Ya know, it is kinda odd," responded Lt. Doro. "It all has sort of a sinister feel to it, doesn't it?"
The Iceman flashed a dazzling smile, his blue eyes glowing with the light of inner resolve, and said in a firm baritone voice, "Did you know that the word sinister means left in Latin and how it came to mean evil or threatening? Because most people were right-handed an open right hand was a symbol of peace. When the right hand was offered or held up in a salute it showed that there was no weapon in it. On the other hand, a left-handed person could hold up his right hand yet be concealing a dagger in the hand with which he had the most dexterity. Which is an odd way to say that, inasmuch as the Latin word for right is dexter and that's where we get the word dexterity. Hmm... is it possible for a lefty to be dexterous? A conundrum of no small..."
"Holy Mary Mother of God!" Stella shrieked. Put a sock in it! Here we are, stuck in this who knows where backwater facing who knows what fate and you go on about some insignificant etymological bulls--t!" She was hopping up and down in agitation. "Focus! Focus! Focus!"
"Sorry." Impact looked crestfallen. "It has occurred to me that it may well be that Freddy Mercury may not be what or who he says he is. He could be some loathsome alien ectoplasmic horror playing mind games with us. And I wonder who or what was behind the tractor beam that was trying to draw us to the surface of the Planet of Darkness? The only thing we know for sure is that there is something large lurking in the forest that is responsible for inordinate amounts of fecal matter, as the attested to by your shoes." He thought for a minute. "And what about the natives this "Mercury" referred to? Is it possible that there are aborigines on this planet, and are they a threat? So many questions to be answered and so little time." He shook his head.
"May I suggest that job one may be to retrieve the three crew members who waltzed off down the forest path with Freddy Mercury a little while ago? They may have already met some unspeakable doom. I shudder to think!" Stella shuddered.
"OK," responded the indefatigable captain of the Asteroid Dodger. "Round up Machinists Mate Aromasolo, who is not only a good man with an oil can and an aria, but is also an expert tracker and crack shot. Then check out the heavy weaponry and let's go!"
-------
While Stella went off to collect Barista Aromasolo, Impact hesitated then made a quick call to Dr. Phil. The thought of plunging recklessly into the forest made his insides quiver. Dr. Phil assured Impact, however, that with big guns, a beautiful woman and an opera singing machinist at his side he would overcome his fear of the forest and triumph once again.
Having found closure with that little piece of unwanted baggage, Impact, Stella and Aromasolo linked arms and skipped through the forest singing, "Lions and tigers and bears, oh, my..."
--------
The intrepid trio hadn't gone far when the dark forest closed in on them. Their happy song about lions and tigers and bears trailed off in the gloom. Soon the enormity of their situation began to weigh on them. Shipwrecked on an alien planet, out of the reach of rescue, lost in a hostile environment, mortal danger lurking in every shadow, their skips turned to a reluctant slog.
After half an hour, Aromasolo held up his hand, cautioning the small group to halt. "Did you hear that?" he whispered? "Over there, to the left. It sounds as if someone's coming! Didn't you say, Stella, that Freddy Mercury (or whatever he is) alluded to a native popuation?" Moments later a figure appeared. As it approached them out of the gloom, they could discern that it was humanoid, a female figure dressed in a white tennis outfit, armed with a tennis racket. When it came within a few yards, they could read a name embroidered across the front of the costume. It said, "Yvonne Goolagong." "Look!" Aromasolo exclaimed. "There's an aborigine now!" He paused as a thought came to him. "Holy .... Is it possible that we took a wrong turn somewhere and we're not on the far edge of the galaxy but are actually in Australia?"
"Did you know, Aromasolo, that the word aborigine is not exclusive to Australia?" Iceman Impact interjected. "It comes from the Latin. It means 'from' (ab) 'the beginning' (origin). Because the natives of Australia have been there since long before recorded time they are referred to as aborigines. But that doesn't mean there can't be aborigines elsewhere in other contexts."
Just then there was a loud explosion as Stella Doro fired her weapon at the Iceman. "I told you that I can't stand any more of that kind of didactic crap!" she bellowed. "Do that again and the next round will go right between your irritatingly blue, sincere and, I might add, slightly beady, blue eyes!" Impact, unhurt but stunned, stood there, jaw slack, slightly crouched, with sphincter tightly clenched. After a short pause, he said, "Urk!"
"Hold it! Hol Dit!" barked Aromasolo. I may be a mere machinists mate third class, but it seems to me that we've fallen down the rabbit hole. That can't possibly be Yvonne Goolagong, any more than there can be a Freddy Mercury or a Johhny Onenote... I mean Tommy Tutone... on an alien planet thousands of light years from Earth. Well, Tommy Tutone, maybe, because of his voluntary exile to prove his oxygenator chops, but not all that other stuff. I think we'd better stop here and noodle this stuff out or we're going to be in real trouble. What do you think is going on?" He looked at Doro and Impact with a puzzled, questioning and somewhat addled gaze.
---------
Cue background music...
Just sit right back & you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip
That started from Mars' southern pole aboard this rocket ship.
The mate was a mighty astro man,
The skipper brave & sure.
Three sexy men blast off that day for a three hour tour,
A three hour tour
The tractor beam zeroed in on them, the tiny ship was caught,
If not for the courage of the fearless crew
The Dodger would be naught,
The Dodger would be naught.
The ship's a-ground on the shore of this uncharted Zeta Chi
With Bossman Ice,
The Doro too,
The hotties and their spice...
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Bossman Ice continued to daydream about leading this fateful trip, humming somewhat loudly and slightly off-key, when a thundering sound shook him from his reverie. At first, he thought Stella had shot off either her mouth or her weapon again. Then, he stopped dead in his tracks with Stella and Aromasolo piling up behind him like some highway accident. Impact, Doro and Aromosolo stood, mouths agape, staring at the sight before them. Did this thing hold the key to the bewildering events that had led them to this place and time?
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Unwittingly, the team had just stumbled upon Nefario's lair (recall the sinister dude managing the tractor beam) which looked oddly like the Louvre Pyramid.
"Is it possible that the answers we have been seeking could be found here?" Stella wondered allowed. "In The Da Vinci Code Robert Langdon found answers at the Louvre Pyramid, maybe we will, too!"
Unfortunately, Iceman only read Vogue so he had no clue what Stella was talking about and Aramosolo was mostly concerned about whether or not there might be food inside. He thought a hot dog sure sounded good about now.
Stella got close to the pyramid (which was made of glass) and peered inside, leaving tellatale fingerprints. Unfortunately, it was dark and she couldn't see a thing.
Meanwhile, the sinister one had his security camera trained on the witless, uh, unwitting, trio. "Bwah, hah, hah..." he said to no one imparticular. "Finally you are in my reach."
Just then, the pyramid lit up and a door opened.
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As Stella cautiously placed one foot across the threshold of the opened door, she heard a faint "click."
"BOOBY TRAP!" She screamed to her crew.
"Just kidding."
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The intrepid trio stepped into the darkness and moved forward down a dim corridor. At the end there was a door with a button which was marked "Push." Stella pressed the button and the door slid open. They stepped through it into a small room. Before they could react the door whispered shut behind them.
"We're trapped!" Doro said, beginning to feel claustrophobic.
"Wait!" the Iceman and Barista Aromasolo responded in unison. "Something is happening!"
As they huddled together in the small space they became aware that the room was moving. They felt as if they were falling. 'We're in an elevator!' cried Doro. "We're plunging downward!"
"Of course we're plunging downward," rejoined Impact. "Have you ever heard of plunging upward?" Then he said, "But I think... yes, we're stopping. What's on the other side of the door?" They pointed their weapons at the elevator door and waited. But after what seemed an eternity the door slid open to reveal.... nothing, but another corridor.
The three groped their way along the corridor until they reached the end, which was marked by a large steel door. It made no sense to retreat as there was no button near the elevator that would enable them to recall it. And it appeared that there was no way to get through the steel door that blocked their progress. "Well, crum." said Stella Doro. But before they could formulate a plan a dim, red light began to glow and seconds later the giant steel door moved aside to reveal a brightly lit office. A gum-chewing receptionist with a beehive hair-do looked up and waived them inside.
Like Dorothy and her friends entering the Wizard's chamber they stepped hesitantly into the office. The receptionist pointed at an open door and said, "Go on in. The Admiral will see you now. Anyone want coffee?"
Impact, Doro and Aromasolo were stunned to see a silver-haired man in a uniform adorned with campaign ribbons and yards of gold braid. "Admiral Rockbottom!" gasped Impact. "What are you doing here on Zeta Chi, aka The Planet of Darkness? This is incredible! Why aren't you at headquarters?"
Admiral Rockbottom rocked back in his chair. "Space Exploration Headquarters is wherever I am, and I'm here. Clearly you are wondering what's going on. Well, your mission has been a test of your fitness for future secret space exploratory adventures. All you've seen and experienced has been an elaborate simulation. I'm happy to say that you have failed the course. The fact that you survived at all is a miracle. A Vogue magazine on the bridge? Helium filled party balloons? Drunkeness in the face of an oxygen depletion crisis? Allowing your best looking crew members to waltz off into a dark forest with some fruit of unknown provenance? I shudder to think what might have happened if you had somehow managed to skate through the test and were sent on a mission of galactic importance. I should sack you all, but because it's still the Christmas season, I've found you other jobs. Doro, you will report to the NASA cafeteria on Monday. You'll be serving spinach. Aromasolo, you will be loaned out to Disneyland where you will sing in it's World of Tomorrow pavilion's production of The Sound of Music. And, you, Impact, will shine shoes in the Space Center men's room, beginning next week. See Miss Hemalober on the way out. She'll give you the details.
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THE END
