The Four Baristas of the Apocalypse (sample)

Chapter 7

"And resistance?" rumbled the admiral.

"The so-called armed forces"—several of the Rigellian officers chuckled at this—"of the Earth's nation states have attempted to engage our units at many of the attack sites.  They have of course been destroyed utterly.  We estimate approximately 20% of the planet's military resources remain operational and these consist of small units scattered widely across the planet.  They are being hunted down as we speak."

"And the insults?"

"Sir?"

"The insults, you fool!  Call yourself a Rigellian?  Were we able to satisfactorily insult the pathetic Earth warriors before destroying them?"

"Of course sir, forgive me.  Unfortunately, the explosion in the traitor Bluxlspun's laboratory resulted in the loss of most of his team's translation work, so our access to insults in the languages of Earth was limited.  However a new research team has been scanning the broadcasts of the planet's entertainment networks and they're confident they were able to supply our forces with appropriate taunts."

"Such as?"

The junior officer hastily consulted a portable data screen.  "Well sir, let's see.  Hmm—one particularly devastating taunt that was used quite widely was, 'Does Barry Manilow know you raid his wardrobe?' and another was, 'Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries.'  They also utilised several particularly cutting 'Yo Mamma' taunts and said 'In your face' a great deal.  Even without Dr Bluxlspun's work, the insults were all quite soul-destroying sir, I'm sure you'll agree."

"Possibly," replied the Admiral, grudgingly.  "Speaking of Bluxlspun, that treasonous belch of fetid fungus-breath, what is the latest on the capsules he launched?"

The officer consulted his screen again.  He'd now been conversing with the admiral for several minutes without experiencing any bodily harm, and spoke with increasing confidence.  "Good news, sir.  All eight capsules are reported as destroyed."

"What did you say?" asked Splurmfeen, quietly.

The entire control room fell silent.  The admiral bellowing was one thing.  The admiral speaking quietly was a whole other kettle of fish.  Terrifying, demonic fish, with big teeth and poisonous spikes.

The officer edged further behind the desk.  "Er—the capsules are reported as destroyed, sir," he replied, with distinctly less confidence.

"REPORTED!" roared the admiral, raising his gun.  "REPORTED!  Your HEAD will be reported as missing if you use that word again!  Are they CONFIRMED as being destroyed?"

Frantically, the officer flicked through various reports on his data screen.  "The wreckage of five of the capsules has been identified sir, while the other three are repor—...claim—...believ—...um.  The Narguwullian units responsible for the destruction of the remaining three capsules have submitted that they were destroyed beyond any hope of recovery or identification."  He consulted his screen again.  "The final capsule was located and destroyed on the continent known to the Earthlings as Australia.  The Narguwullian responsible was unusually emphatic about its destruction, sir.  Its report reads 'The capsule has definitely bitten the farm, it is an ex-capsule, it is no more, you can kiss it's sorry posterior good-bye, it's been vapourised with a vengeance', etc, etc.  There is quite a bit more in that vein sir, but there can be no doubt that the capsule was destroyed."

The admiral stomped over and placed the muzzle of his gun squarely between the officer's bulging, terrified eyes.  "No doubt!  No doubt!  I'LL BE THE JUDGE OF WHEN THERE IS NO DOUBT, YOU SNIVELING CRETIN!"  Without lowering the gun he leaned forward to glare directly into the officer's eyes.  "You are now personally responsible for locating definite proof of those capsules' destruction.  You will personally go to the Earth, you will personally assemble a team and you will personally confirm they are destroyed."  He leaned in even closer.  "If you fail"—closer still—"I WILL PERSONALLY MAKE YOU WISH YOU WERE DEAD AND THEN I WILL PERSONALLY MAKE YOU DEAD, YOU DISGUSTING, RANK PIECE OF DRIED PUKE!  IS THAT CLEAR?"

Finding that he couldn't seem to make his voice work, the officer tried to nod, but discovered that he couldn't do that either, due to the gun pressed firmly between his eyes.  In the end his body solved the dilemma for him by fainting.

Snorting in disgust, the admiral pointed his gun at another nearby lackey.  "You!  Scrape up that worthless pile of dung and dump him on the first shuttle to Earth.  And to think, that's supposed to be the future of the Rigellian Space Corps."  Shaking his head, he stomped back to the centre of the control room.

"NOW!" he roared.  "ANYBODY ELSE HAVE ANYTHING TO REPORT?"

In a dim, dark corner at the very back of the control room, a junior signals technician looked at a red light blinking on his display screen.  He tugged on the sleeve of his immediate superior, who was standing just behind him.  "Sir," he whispered urgently, "I'm picking up a distress beacon from a Narguwullian pursuit craft, located in the Australian theatre.  Should we tell the admiral?"

The technician's superior gave this due consideration.  "Are you out of your mind?  I like my head exactly where it is, thanks very much.  Send a couple of other Narguwullian units to investigate.  Actually no, screw that—they've been acting weird.  See if there's a battle-tank in the area you can send instead.  That way, if they can't sort out whatever they find, they can blow it up instead."