Ancient Astronauts

Military Style Profundity (MSP)

Alyonna, arm draped through Hans', led him out of the hospital a week after he woke up. He had recovered most of his strength, which was a lot to begin with. When they reached the top of the stairs he scooped her up and carried her, both of them laughing gaily, down the stairs. He plopped her ever so gently in the back seat, walked around the other side in four strides, and climbed in next to her.

"The administration district," he ordered the driver curtly.

"Sir?" The driver asked, "You've only just gotten out of hospice. Don't you want to go home with your lady and rest a while?"

"Drive," Hans ordered.

Alyonna said nothing, just nestled her head into that big meaty shoulder. She'd wanted to do that again for decades even while in a cryo sleep.

Hans' arm slid under hers and came to rest on her gently swelling belly.

The jeep hadn't gone more than a few hundred yards when Alyonna suddenly told the driver to stop.

"Peter! Come here!"

Peter came over, "Governor Agler, it's a pleasure to see you back on your feet, sir." His eyes shifted briefly to Alyonna before he looked awkwardly down at the ground.

"Dr. Peter Halberd," Hans reached out to shake his hand, "Thank you for the service you did for Alyonna. I understand I have you to thank for helping bring the news of her pregnancy to me and shielding her from prying eyes when we landed. Thank you."

Dr. Halberd only nodded a little awkwardly again, trying to ignore the fact that his hand looked like a ten year old's in that of the governor.

"I understand Alyonna made you a promise. Hop in next to my driver."

"A promise, sir?"

"Get in."

Dr. Halberd got in, carefully avoiding the salt caked hull with his typical khaki slacks.

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Ten minutes later the jeep stopped in front of the justice building.

"Wait here."

"Yes, sir," the driver answered.

Hans, Alyonna, and Dr. Halberd walked through the great big doors of the justice building, down the hall, and passed security, who didn't even try to stop the titan in their midst.

Well one guy did, but his buddies pulled him back.

"You'd have better luck stopping a landslide," said one.

"I'll pour whiskey on yer grave and toast ya," said a blonde haired Scot.

"There are three types of security guards in this business. The ones who do, the ones who don't, and the ones who go squish," said a third.

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The party rounded a bend in the hallway, and Hans rapped on an elegantly styled wood door with a placard that read, "Judge Carol Amberth."

"Come in," the judge's voice came from inside, slightly muffled by the door.

Hans threw open the door. It crashed with a loud bang into the corner of a bookcase shattering the edge and sending a cascade of law books to the floor.

Peter loosened his belt one loop, then thought better of it and loosened another. The governor had appeared to use less effort to shatter a bookcase than a normal man opening a door, and today wasn't the day he pissed himself in front of that guy's betrothed.

The judge was in even worse straits screaming imperceptibly for someone. It was either "God" or "Guards" but neither were coming. Besides, her wailing was being drowned out by Hans' bellowing, featuring such colorful themes as the farm full of goats her father had slept with to get lucky and impregnate one of them with her, and a series of particularly pointed comments about the way she runs a courtroom.

Peter caught a glance from Alyonna, "Told ya," she smiled wickedly, "three hundred pounds of meat bound manchild."

Peter detected pride in it and silently swore to give up the dreaming he'd always known was pointless. He'd go find himself a girl who wasn't attached to someone who could snap his neck with less effort than opening a door.