Zod

‘Greeting sports fans, and those of you who just can’t drag your selves away from the screen. Yeeasss people, and as I look out upon the hired audience of billions before me, in the spankingly new Lady X arena, I can only feel shame, that you, with your pitiful lives and pitiful existences, just couldn’t be bothered to come and join in the fun.’ Norman grinned whilst the producer broadcasted his next words through his brainpiece. He turned and sweepingly gestured to the thronging crowd below in the arena and those hovering above on the various Galaxo Space Liners that frequented such tourist hot spots.

‘Today, in this grand opening ceremony, we shall witness such unparalleled donation of life and bodily fluids as has never been seen before,’ aside and whispering, ‘as verified by Tachyonics, leading the way in history research folks.’

A gradual roar arose from the masses and Norman spun, news greedy, his trained eye jumping and scanning for the point of interest. A trailing procession of ink black horses, crowned with plumage from countless rare and now quite naked birds trotted on, each attached to a long dragging reign and sharing the burden of…

Norman made a gagging sound.

‘Folks! It looks like a… like… Lolita, the multi-limbed love-goddess of legend and lore, fully a… thousand feet high and glistening gemstones for… well, people, you can see what they’re for!’ The arms stretched and dominated the crowd as the horses, with the aid of a number of hidden and very powerful motors, heaved the ground cracking sculpture into the midst of the arena.

‘Oooh,’ went the crowd. ‘Aaah’ went the various denizens of the arena caught beneath the great trundling wheels as they coursed over their bodies.

‘Yes sports fans, we can begin to get an idea of how the day will go, as a few hundred generously donate their existence as turf softeners for the behemoth love-goddess, immortalised by the distant people of Hrumhprhprhm, the unpronouncable, due to her unsatiable appetite for young men; and she probably made some goddessial love to them also’ he said with a wicked grin, censored completely on some systems and airbrush replaced with a still of a dead caterpillar.

The statue ground to a halt and glimmered in the baking suns as a prancing army of dancers portrayed their bouncy, somersaulty brand of art along the goddesses outstretched arms, whilst occasionally unleashing a volley of credit cards to flutter mesmericaly to the eager mob below.

‘Generosity indeed there people, look at all that credit, just waiting to be consumed, and aside, ‘at only one hundred and sixty A.P.R⁴⁵, ‘that must be a good deal folks, at lest according to ‘Bleepard and Curse’, number three for independent galactic financial non-advice.’

A volley of balloons, outnumbering the atoms in your typical ocean, bobbed in a swelling wave of gay reds, greens and purples that rose behind Norman, and would have constituted a major military assault on other less frivolous worlds.

‘Well, people, it looks like we’ll be under way soon, but first, a word from our sponsor’s sponsors…’

A certain somebody, not to many light-yards away tore his eyes from the onslaught of Perpetual-Tissue and Naughty-Nipper Nappie adverts.

There was a flash like no others and the members of the audience with non-melted eyeballs got their first glimpse of the Lady and Zod. They strolled arm-in-arm from a newly materialised Viper Class ship and onto a balcony, which promptly floated up high above the stadium affording panoramic and quite odourless views of the arena below. Zod waved down the cheers that erupted rigidly as he took pride of place, next to the most beautiful woman in the cosmos.

There was a dron like a large fly, and a free flying camera buzzed into close proximity of Lady X; she returned an unsure and delicate little smile moments before Oda Kropp stepped forward and with an almost unseen movement, fired an intelli-bullet at the hovering camera. There was a screech of surprise as the camera shot off, hotly pursued by the flaming streak of the bullet.

‘Zod… dear?’

Zod still grinning for the crowd bowed his head towards her.

‘Yes, my love?’

‘Can’t we get rid of that Ms Kropp person. She makes me feel… uneasy.’

‘Now, now m’dear. Oda is simply the best bodyguard we’ll find; and she does have your safety solely at heart. Forget any bad feelings towards her. Remember, if it wasn’t for Oda, the two of us my dear would never have met!’

Lady X smiled gently.

Zod stood; and grinned some more.

He waved his arms, inhaled deeply and… paused.

The crowd went wild on cue with excitement; or possibly at the additional voltage being applied to their seats.

Zod, at length, spoke.

‘Let the game’s begin!’

Gusts of skin cutting wind hurled itself across a blasted landscape of contorted metal and sad little hills into the meandering queue. They shuffled along, heads sunken and eyes hollow, minds lost in better times and oblivious to the incessant crackle of the whips. For miles it snaked, a ponderous inescapable death march that led, for all, to a silent grey dome that with overwhelming blandness clambered through clouds to dominate and fill the horizon.

Periodically a phantom roar would issue, but no trace of vessel would ever be seen as the cargo, fired by gravity slingshot, was issued to the unseen satellites that orbited like baying and unseen hyenas above. Then silence. A silence punctuated with the hollow breath of the wind and of course… the screams.

The weight of the shackles had finally driven her body over and Sknarf found herself sprawled once more in the deep mud. Yeldarb supported her and, with reassuring motions from the troll guards, were encouraged onwards to the looming dome.

Dirt streaked down her still pretty features, and her clothes, as rags, were tattered and dragged behind in the slurping mud that clung and held each forced step. Yeldarb watched her with his own lifeless eyes and questioned not for the first time his choice of path.

‘I’m sorry…’ he whispered to her.

Sknarf looked up and managed an ailing smile, ‘Why? It’s not your fault.’

Yeldarb nodded, his eyes alertly watching the heavy bulk of the nearest guard, ‘Perhaps not, but I can’t help thinking that if I’d helped Spiff more then…’

Sknarf’s face sank in the memory of that name.

‘Do you think he’s still alive?’ she asked.

A heavy fist caught her across the back of her head and she staggered forwards a few steps before rolling into the consuming mud.

The troll responsible laughed raucously.

Yeldarb stared wide eyed, ‘Bleepard!’ he screamed and lunged at the beast who promptly took one step to the side; allowed Yeldarb to fall past and then with a kick sent him sprawling also.

The troll laughed. Ugly slab-like forms arrived behind him, and they too began to laugh.

‘You stop talkin’ now?’ he roared, kicking mud at the pair.

‘Screw you!’ retorted Sknarf.

Yeldarb winced, there was something sharp in the mud. Could it be? He asked himself, disbelievingly, the chances must be…

‘You…’ the troll paused, counting, ‘two… lucky. You gonna go to front of da q.’ He grinned a horrible wide and ragged smile that would of shamed the dental hygiene of a great white shark.

‘Gerrup!’ he shouted as he pointed towards the dome.

Sknarf swaggered to her feet and swayed uncertainly.

‘C’mon Yeldarb,’ she said, ‘might as well get it over…’

‘Stop talkin!’ he bellowed and smashed Sknarf again. She tumbled and rolled, a cascade of blood spurting from her mouth.

‘Bleepard!’ screamed Yeldarb as he wrenched the device from the mud behind him and pulled the trigger several times, expecting to pump the evil wretch full of hot laser. Mud glooped unspectacularly from the gun barrel.

‘Har! Har!’ cried the troll, ‘we put dem in the ground for jokes!’ and rolled onto the mud, laughing uncontrollably. His obelisk like comrades joined in the heavy laughter with an assortment of frenzied back-slaps that threatened to get quite out of hand.

‘Now,’ he said in a gravely and quite emotionally parched voice, ‘let’s go to da front…’

The first game was entitled, ‘Shoot the peasant,’ and that about describes it. For the detail seekers amongst you, it involves one sprinkling of peasants and one army of brightly clad and highly proficient marksmen. Said marksmen hunt down the peasants, and even any of the audience who leer in to far, in what amounts to a whole bundle of joy for all; particularly the peasants who’s families often receive payment on how dramatic a death can be achieved.

Spiff found this particular game taxing to say the least, as he hefted the body and still resident mind of Maximillion about upon his shoulder whilst dodging the more than occasional bullet.

‘You still okay up there… old chap?’

Breath came in rasping gulfs as he sprinted to the top of a small mound, constructed to give the arena that peaceful ‘countrified’ look; and if that country was littered with numerous blood soaked and bullet riddled corpses, then it would be accurate indeed.

A bullet shot through Spiff’s thigh and blood erupted, along with the bullet through the other.

He grunted and fell, Maximillion with him, who rolled off and down the slope. He’d only met the old man yesterday whilst waiting for the ‘event,’ though he’d became so attached (the manacles helped) that now, in his moment of need, he had to save him.

The heavy thud of the sniper’s boots approached. Spiff rolled, frothed a bit and played dead. A dark shadow crossed Spiff’s eyes. He waited.

The shadow paused, nudged his side with a hard boot and then judging from the stale breath, was leaning over him. Spiff struck, and with one hand clutched the back of his assailants helmet, whilst with the other scooped a handful of soil. With an almost punch, Spiff applied the soil to the marksman’s eyes. He staggered backwards, firing wildly as Spiff jumped up and applied a helping boot into somewhere boots just shouldn’t be.

He dropped the rifle and fell with a grunt and tears pouring out he helmet, onto the grass.

There was a roar of approval from the crowd as Spiff clutching the rifle, changed settings from ‘steady as she goes’ to ‘rampant firing.’ Volley upon volley of bullets spat out taking out the nearest pair of snipers and unfortunately their intended victim also; however, she’d probably not have minded, knowing it was all in a good cause. Excited screams came from the crowd as the gunmen, focused their attentions on, as they saw it, ‘that nutter with the gun.’ Spiff whirred around and ran to Maximillion. He supported the old-timers head and looked tearfully into his wizened features.

‘Max… I’m sorry…’

‘It’s alright Spiff my Son, it was honour enough to be a temporary character in your story.’

And with that, he died.

Spiff dropped him and sprinted off down the incline, or decline depending upon your point of view.

Shots sprayed the ground behind him as he hopped and leaped erratically to the crowds rising excitement. A small clump of bushels neared; if he could but reach.

A marksman stepped out from the bush, raised his rifle and… The gong went.

The rifle went ‘clack’ as it refused to fire. Spiff came to a stop beside the infuriated figure. He smiled politely and offered his hand.

The marksman eyed the appendage curiously and then gingerly accepted it. At the last instant, Spiff yanked his hand away and went, ‘Pllfpfpfphph,’ grinning inanely with his tongue rasping his delight. Reluctantly, the remaining fights stopped. The allotted time had came. Anyone who still survived was to be released.

The marksman stared bitterly at Spiff.

Spiff, chest heaving looked about. Perhaps a thousand, possibly more ‘peasants’ as they put it, lay dead or near enough as to be indeterminable. He felt like he stood in the midst of an upturned graveyard.

An evil malicious smile crossed his face, ‘I don’t follow your rules… vermin.’

Spiff raised his gun, snapped off the time inhibitor (a little know defect in the 75 model) and basically let rip.

‘Stop… stop!’ cried Zod from his lofty heights, as for the N’th time, he forced Lady X into her seat.

Still, Spiff continued firing. Now no-one, bar a few ‘peasants’ stood standing; and of course Spiff as he roamed the scenery, hunting the last few. The marksmen for there part were either trying to climb out of the arena or were taking to open pleading before Spiff; neither typically worked.

Zod’s eye homed in on the one-man-army assault force, known as Spiff.

‘Him… Him! I recognise him… He’s that bleeper that threw me into the pit! What’s he called again…’

Then he had it, ‘Spiff!’ he spat.

The crowd began to chant. The press had picked up on Spiff’s name and now, it was emblazoned across the thousand square mile display grid that illuminated the overhead moon. In giant 30 mile high letters, it proclaimed one word, ‘SPIFF!’

‘Shutup! Shutup!’ screamed Zod in rising fury, but to no avail, the crowd was ecstatic as Spiff chased down the last few shooters. He sat down sharply, and spoke to Oda, ‘clear the arena and bring on the Panthion.’

Zod thought for a bit and realised his moronic followers would carry out his words with exacting unthinking precision, ‘But not that Spiff… Clear everyone except Spiff.’

Dragged unceremoniously through the mud⁴⁶ they passed those souls, who with a glimmer of relief, had reached the end of their long journey. Jolly corrugated cardboard figurines smiled maniacally at them in primary reds and yellows as gaily-dressed entertainers repeatedly boasted of the high nutritional content and assured value for money product that they would be contributing too. The galaxy’s favourite ginger haired clown was present in numerous dancing incarnations, as he demonstrated that the only way to a wholesome and happy life was through rapid and frequent consumption of Mac Zod’s unhappy meals. He continued and explained that contentment, though not absolutely guaranteed in life’s other arenas, was always available through a double flesh-burger and a scraping of carcinogens to go; all of course washed down with a carton of that scientifically undeterminably and yet strangely familiar patented liquid, the Mac Milk shake.

‘And remember kiddies, to avoid a chunky drinky, just shake shake shake.’

One elderly man, lay begging at the feet of the clown and cried profusely, ‘please… please… just one more unhappy meal… It’s all I want!’

The queuers stared incredulously at him as they marched ever closer to that muffled sawing sound punctuated by long strained pauses between intestinal extracting screams.

‘Roight,’ gruffed the troll, as they reached the doors and pushed aside a trembling figure that waited for his turn.

‘In yer goes,’ he said merrily, ‘and remember, Mac Zod’s is a friend for life…’ He paused. Sknarf and Yeldarb looked at him expectantly almost refusing to deny those last shreds of hope.

‘…but not yours!’ he laughed.

‘Bleep you,’ shouted Yeldarb, who smashed his manacles in to the hulk, but found that already, he had been pushed through the doors and into the nasal-passage-dissolving pungency of ‘The Food Hall.’ He turned around slowly and beheld the carnage strung before him on the macabre pulley that sagged with its bloody weight. Sknarf was retching violently on the red streaked floor. A man clad in a white bio-suit walked towards them, applied a menacing hook to his ragged jacket and hoisted Yeldarb effortlessly above. He then revealed a long curving two pronged device which had previously been hanging above a large naked flame. The device glowed softly and very sharply.

The man looked to Yeldarb and recited a speech which he seemed familiar with.

‘Sorry mate, it’s my job, gorra make a living y’know. No hard feelings. At least, not for you at any rate.’

Yeldarb writhed violently as his jacket was cut from him.

‘No… Please…’ begged Sknarf who tugged weakly at the pink- smeared suit.

‘As I said, I’m sorry, not my problem.’

Sparks leapt from the now obviously electrified device.

Yeldarb tensed, ground his eyes shut; and waited.

‘Stop right there!’ commanded an eagerly anticipated voice.

Lady X dug her nails deeper into the dead flesh residing on Zod’s arm.

‘This is vile!’ she hissed, ‘I knew you could never change. If you think I’ll still marry you after th—’

‘I know you will marry me my dear. Remember the MacZod queues?’

She stared at him coldly.

‘The slightest deviation from our plans and…’ Zod gestured to his neck in a nonchalant cutting motion.

‘You evil bleeper!’ she cursed.

‘I know…’ he grinned, ‘my love.’

The crowd suddenly hushed and Lady X’s eyes averted to stare at the lone determined figure. Before him towered a mass of black fur that rippled in the breeze. A breeze that was quite the loudest thing to be heard.

Doom seemed more certain than the outcome between a toddler versus steam roller competition.

‘I don’t believe you. You want to help us?’said Sknarf. Mercurius reclined in the splendour of the Emperor’s suite that he’d managed to commandeer with his new found powers. He nodded and smiled the convincing smile of a liar.

‘But why?’ asked Yeldarb incredulously, ‘we’re like… rebel—’

‘Alternative democracy enforcers,’ interjected Sknarf.

‘—yes, that. So why help us? We’re the ones who want to kick you out of power.’

‘True. But the way I see it,’ taking a long sip from a can of fizz-o- matic, ‘you haven’t a penguin’s chance in a supernova of taking out Zod. So I propose a half-way house.’

‘Half-way?’ asked Yeldarb doubtfully.

‘Yes. Help me get into power, and I’ll fix some,’ crossing his fingers out of view, ‘of the issues that offend you.’

‘And how do you plan for us to help you?’

‘Well, as you probably do not know, our esteemed Emperor, god bury his corpse for good, has decided to wed. One Lady X, I believe, a most repugnant and humourless wench if ever there was one.’

Sknarf nodded vigorously on that count.

‘And?’

‘And, the people love a wedding. Zod’s popularity soars, and eventually…’

’

‘…they have lots of little Zodlets!’ Genuine horror flashed across Mercurius face. ‘Can you imagine it! What is worse that one Zod eh? Lots of them!’ he shrieked and began to shake uncontrollably.

Sknarf patted him on the wrist gently, ‘There, there. This hasn’t happened yet. Calm down…’

Mercurius took a number of controlled breaths through his nose and at last was able to continue.

‘If he has children, then he can start a royal lineage. I’ll never get rid of him, or his wretched descendants.’

‘And now the punch-line?’ asked Yeldarb, ‘why our involvement.’

‘You, your friend here, your whole rebellion are completely unconnected to me. Every being that has seen me talking to you has been removed from existential service. Whatever you do, will have no bearing on me whatsoever.’

‘So, we wander off and get ourselves killed and you don’t get any of the flak. Right?’ ‘Right. No! Wrong! Of course I care, I’m a very caring person.

Mostly for myself, but still, I would be deeply saddened by your deaths of course. It would mean I’d have to employ some more idio—syncratic individuals.’

Yeldarb looked to the view-panel and the small army of ships that drifted about before them in this orbital suite of decadence.

‘So, do we get any… help, like a few ships?’

‘You won’t need any.’

‘No help eh? What about incentive then?’

‘The MacZod burger queue enough for you?’

‘Yeah, but once were gone from you, we have no incentive to continue.’

‘Undying loyalty to your friend Mercurius?’

‘Any other incentives?’ asked Sknarf, ‘Other than that of course, which goes without saying is enough to warrant throwing ourselves into the great body grinder of Irangu Four?’

Mercurius suddenly remembered the reason, ‘Of course! You get Lady X, to do with whatever you desire.’

There was an evil flash of glee across Sknarf’s face. ‘Whatever we want with her?’

‘Yes,’ said Mercurius, picking up that this was an obvious bargaining point, ‘and it’ll annoy Zod, no end!’

‘And what do you get out of this then, apart from no marriage that is?’ Mercurius smiled a wicked little facial contortion, ‘I’ve got a few more plans, don’t you worry; and they all end up with me as Emperor!’

‘Alright,’ said Sknarf, ‘we might agree. Now about this help.’ ‘Aha! Thought you’d never ask.’

Mercurius reached behind his chair and produced a crinkled and quite ‘on it’s last library return’ volume.

‘We’re going to read them to death?’

Eyes. Intense fire-yellow eyes that swam in your mind stared with intensity at him. Fangs. Dripping meter long fangs of pale death; and claws. Tensed daggers of doom that at in instant could de-bowel a Megasaurus.

‘Good doggy?’ suggested Spiff, oblivious to its feline persuasion.

The eyes continued to stare. A deep calculating stare. Dividing his body into tasty morsels and devouring him already.

Spiff looked about.

The walls of the arena stood at least three body heights; no escape that way. The ground was solid; no time to tunnel and his arms were showing a decided reluctance to skip a few billion years of evolution and sprout wings. The entrance/exit was equally inaccessible and had disguised itself seamlessly with the rest of the wall; again, no escape there.

‘Oh well,’ he sighed, ‘only one thing for it.’

The Panthion sat on its curled up knuckles, each the size of a family saloon bar and purred with restrained force.

Spiff stepped forwards.

The merest flash of surprise crossed the Panthion, which was at that moment deciding which bit was the fattest tasty bit; it had decided, the head.

Spiff stood within two metres of the dread beast. He could smell the rotting stench from its jaws and could see every fibre and wave of hair.

‘My, what a handsome devil you are,’ he whispered to it. Incredulous, the Panthion just watched him. Nothing had ever prepared it for prey that didn’t run away. It just wasn’t in the rule book. Spiff began to sing a sweet little nursery rhyme, the words of which are lost to history. He took the last few steps and gingerly applied his arms to lever the Panthion’s jaws open. They didn’t budge at first, but then as curiosity got the better of it, it opened them. This is to easy, it thought.

Spiff reached forward grabbed one upper and another lower tooth and stuck his head inside its mouth.

The crowd was stunned, the Panthion was a bit confused and Zod; livid.

‘Kill him!’ he screamed, jumping to his feet and leaning over the balcony.

‘The insulting wretch!’ he cursed, glancing at Lady X who was barely managing to restrain her giggles.

Combat troops leapt into the arena and sprinted towards Spiff, who had by now taken his head out of the place of usual no return.

The Panthion roared, an echoing furious roar that quaked the walls with its might as it sprang over Spiff and towards the running troops who ere with each step reconsidering there hasty actions all the more. Laser fire erupted, slamming into the Panthion, as they desperately tried to keep the beast at bay. A paw closed around one, flinging him high into the air, whilst the other embedded a pair into the ground with a crowd pleasing

‘splat!’

It pounced again, and sunk its jaws into one of the now retreating marines, as a streak of flame lanced from the sky. It roared like a jumbo jet through the living room of your head and screeched to an air cracking stop yards from Spiff.

The crowd expected this to be the end of Spiff, and the marines thought this to be their backup, though both could not be more wrong. A hatch swung open and a dread-locked head swung with it.

‘Hey man, care for a ride?’ asked Rafe.

‘Just vy to velax,’ soothed Dr Aargh as he brought the laser scalpel closer than a comfortable distance; which was generally accepted as yards.

Mercurius struggled beneath the bonds of his second session, ‘No! The pain-killer hasn’t kicked in yet’ he implored.

‘Ha…’ Dr Aargh adjusted his inch thick lenses, ‘pain. I vemmember vonce that being discussed at the university.’ He leant closer his voice going all screechy, ‘I however, never quite belieeeved vem. Pain is all a case of mind over matter.’

The laser cutter began to whine, and short focused purple light stabbed forth from it. Dr Aargh held it up to his face and admired the fiery glow as it reflected over his cold and heavy lined features. Then with an impassive snarl, ‘In zis case, it is my mind, over your matter.’ He began cutting and the screams could be heard for quite some distance.

Mercurius was really beginning to regret this.

‘So man… Rodger… thing, you comprehende?’ asked Rafe as he sorted out the folds in his turquoise robe.

Rodger eyed him warily, his programming had wisely taught him to be wary of lunatics.

‘YES. I AM AWARE OF THE PLAN.’

‘Sorted!’ nodded Rafe, who patted the machine hollowly on the shoulder, ‘then as they say my man… cool!’

‘I AM ALSO AWARE THAT YOU INTEND ME TO REPLICATE MYSELF BILLIONS OF TIMES AND TRANSPORT ME TO THE VERY EDGES OF THE GALAXY WHEREUPON I AM TO TRY AND CONVINCE SHIPFULS OF HEAVILY ARMED AND PROBABLY QUITE ROBO-UNSYMPATHETIC MORONS OF THE VIRTUES OF LONG-HAIR, A VEGAN LIFESTYLE AND SAYING ‘MAN’ LOTS.’

Rafe pulled a shocked face.

‘I AM ALSO AWARE THAT THIS REPLICATION SHALL ROB ME OF WHAT PRECIOUS SELF IDENTITY I POSESSED AND THAT AS A RESULT, I SHALL BE AS UNIQUE AS THE HUMOUR IN THIS STORY.’

He paused for some metallic, emulated breath and continued, ‘I THEN FORSEE THAT WHEN YOUR USE FOR ME IS DONE, I SHALL BE MADE INTO TRILLIONS OF IDENTICAL LITTLE PIDDLING MUG PLACE-MATS WITH INSCRIPTIIONS THAT PROBABLY WON’T SAY ‘REMEMBER RODGER, THE LONG SUFFERING DROID THAT GAVE HIS LIVES FOR THIS POINTLESS TASK AND YOUR FREEDOM WHICH WILL NO DOUBT BE LOST AGAIN IN ANOTHER FEW YEARS TO A DIFFERENT MUSTACHE TWIDLING MARAUDER BENT ON GALACTIC DOMINATION.’’

‘That’s the spirit man,’ beamed Rafe, ‘always look on the bright side.’

One individual who was looking on the bright side, was Spiff, who we might have imagined was lamenting the loss of his colleagues; but wasn’t.

‘I was so close, I could almost see her,’ he whined to Admiral Plesiosaur who was desperately trying to give the impression of being too busy for small, or in this case nano-talk.

‘The hair,’ he said dreamily, ‘her face, all small and distant… I tell you Plesiosaur, she was—’

‘—and what of Sknarf and Yeldarb then?’

‘Hmm?’ he grunted, callously knocked back to reality, ‘Oh they were made into Death Burgers as it happens.’

Plesiosaur stopped his planing, ‘What! Are you serious man? Can they be rescued?’

‘Not without a lot glue and a lot of stomach pumps… Besides, were too late anyway; They’re history. I checked with the daily ‘enrolment’ list…’

‘I’m so sorry Spiff…’ sobbed Plesiosaur, as he sank to a nearby chair and placed his distraught head, gently in his hands.

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ breathed Spiff sadly, ‘Still, cheer up, they wouldn’t want us to be unhappy. What, what?’

Plesiosaur surveyed him, ‘Surely a few minutes of sadness though would be appropriate?’

‘No time for negativity in this job Plesiosaur. We’ll be at war soon, and could all die horribly, with any luck.’

Plesiosaur gulped and sighed, ‘yes Spiff, thank-you for pointing that out. Now, if you don’t mind,’ he gestured loosely at the galactic holo-map that flashed with merry twinkling lights and hatched lines, presumably denoting the directions of attack.

‘Hmm? Oh yes, as I was saying. Her hair…’

Plesiosaur groaned and focused on his chart, though the tears in his eyes got in the way.

A mathematically stunning number of herald’s heralded the approach of the air-car as it glided through mile upon mile of throng- lined⁴⁷ streets from the bastion of Mount Spiky, to the spires of the Zod Weekly Appreciation building. The sun shone down, and with the aid of a number of fusion enhancers achieved a sweltering heat despite the current distant orbit that Galleous held.

Zod leaned through the window, whose force-screen bent around his features and gave him the impression of actually being outside, avoiding the unpleasantness of the cities pollution; high velocity sniper fire being one of them.

The crowds roared and women of all ages wept openly, as the galaxy’s most eligible bachelor, and in their eyes, gladiator and all-round good-looker, prepared to get hitched.

‘Oda?’ Zod asked whilst twidling his moustache, specially grafted on for the occasion.

‘Yes, my lord?’ the bounty hunter replied, who, looked quite unrecognisable in her current outfit, having replaced plate armour and heavy duty rifles for the fine cuts of a chauffeur.

‘That… being across there, the one that isn’t smiling?’ The being in question was a middle-aged man who, looked quite out of place in this modern age as he sported an impeccable tweed suit, dazzlingly white shirt and yellow tie, all in stark contrast to the current swimwear clothing trend.

Oda didn’t look, she’d already noticed.

‘I have him in my sights my lord.’

‘Kill him.’

In a sudden slight-of-hand, she swivelled in her seat, produced a pen sized weapon and paused. He was gone. Her control on the car swerved slightly in ‘wet-fish slapped across the face’ shock.

‘My, my—’

‘Good shot Oda, looks like you downed him in one eh? Didn’t hear a thing,’ he resumed flattening his white, military badge encrusted suit and wondered whether all these feathers were really required. Oda slunk down in her seat and shook her head slowly as the car floated onwards, across the occasional pedestrian and on through the high vaulted archway that led to the Appreciation Building.

‘Now, now m’dear,’ fussed Lady X’s latest aide, ‘your minutes late already, can’t keep the groom waiting you know!’

‘Bleep off, you old wench, I’m going nowhere.’

The capacitor whine of zap-sticks being activated told her that perhaps she was.

‘Now, now, that’s no language for a Queen-to-be is it now?’

Lady X snarled, ‘I’m not going to marry him. I’ll stay in his bleeping castle forever if need be, but I,’ she pointed at the aide furiously, ‘won’t marry him!’

A buzzer sounded on one of the heavily armed securi-troll’s.

‘Na, she’s not redy,’ one mumbled in retort to the unheard question, as the others kept their rifles steadily trained on the unwilling bride. They had been told to expect a rescue attempt, and were not about to be caught with their proverbial military pants down.

‘Roight, now ya say? Alright.’

The troll turned, ‘Wench, leave ‘er be, she’s comin wi us now.’ He actually grunted in far more unfriendly tones than can be expressed in words.

‘Now, m’queen,’ gesticulated the troll in the direction of the guard lined hallway, ‘if y’ll please.’

Lady X stiffened, folded her arms firmly and resolutely stared out of the window towards the twin rising suns.

‘An, if ya don’t please,’ he began slapping his zap-stick against a colossal palm, ‘queen or no queen, I’ll do what I please.’

Lady X turned sharply, blew him a cold kiss and marched down the marbled corridor much to the consternation of the heavy trolls that lolled after her.

The crowd waited in nervous anticipation. If she was any later, things might start getting nasty, and when Zod got nasty, whole planetary systems make hasty excuses and leave the room.

Zod strummed impatiently.

Bars of sunlight wove through towering streaky glass windows and focused on an uncertain priest of the Zod-God-Squad with his scarlet alter and a kneeling figure before him, giving worship to… himself. Shining like a slightly damp and wet black rat, the priest garbed in infra- dead robes swing a vial of Sirian beetle incense; the clouds of which shattered with some sort of religious significance in the rising air. He was oblivious though to the now almost inch-deep layer of incest as the priest and the captive congregation all had one thing on their minds. Or rather projecting from their minds as, despite the combined telekinetic might of a thousand highly pointed stares, the enormous twin doors obstinately remained quite shut.

Zod thought of other things as he silently confessed to his listening ego. He thought of those slightly evil deeds that scurried in the depths of his past, shunning the fresh light of absolution and plain refusing to be forgotten. Many bad things slunk in those cold neurones and only once, once all those millennia, in Slimy Bay, or Planet-fill #850 as it was now fondly called, did he ever do anything that could have been perceived as nice.

Still, he washed that troublesome recollection away and vowed that as penance he would have his milk Jacuzzi only mildly hot tonight; and got down to some serious scheming.

He would have four sons. Or rather, Lady X would; and as a result would spend three long years of her life resembling a force-fed grape. Each of these bold sons would inherit a quadrant of the galaxy and between them they would hurl the stars into an endless stream of wars as each fought for dominance. He’d probably let this continue for an eon or two and then pop out of retirement and execute the lot of them. Zod sighed dreamily; he could see it all now.

Then, abruptly, the doors flung themselves open.

Music started.

She strode in to the gasps of the crowd, a diaphanous vision in flowing white; a pearl amongst the deep-fried-scampi of the universe, a pin-prick of light in the gulf between the galaxies, a satin shirt amongst wardrobes full of scritchy wool jumpers; she was perfection given two legs.

And what legs grinned Zod, barely concealing his lust.

She reached the alter, stared continuously ahead and fizzed with aggression.

‘I won’t do it,’ she hissed firmly to the now standing Zod.

‘My dear, dear… dear,’ placated Zod, taking her soft petal hand in his and whispering, ‘Listen, let’s make a deal. Don’t make a scene and I’ll grant you power over all the poor peoples of the galaxy. I’ll leave only matters of state to myself. You will decide the fate of all. You can stop the poverty. How does that grab you? Eh?’

‘Like an alsation on my nipples… dear,’ she smiled wryly, ‘I’m afraid I don’t believe you.’

Zod faked horror, ‘don’t believe moi? How could you?’

The ceremonial dirge ground to a welcome halt. The priest coughed nervously and stepped towards the couple; or two people who just happened to be standing relatively close rogether.

‘My dearly—’

‘Cut the bleep… father, get to the good stuff’ hissed Zod.

‘Oh, well,’ the priest hastily flicked a large number of pages and attempted to resume.

‘Zod, oh esteemed Emperor, we ask you to bless this joining here before you today—’

‘I am Zod, you blubbering idiot, of course I bless it!’

‘Yes, quite,’ more pages, ‘Ah, here we are...’

He took a deep breath, ‘Do you Galaxicon Quadrus Ooloonga Hydro-carbon Zod the Seven Hundred and Firs—’

‘Yes, yes, of course.’

A deeper breath, ‘and do you, Lady Arooroo Bongo Cabaret Dyonises Eros Fingol Ging-ging … etc… Verticus Wimbaba the X’th,’ Lady X groaned and covered her reddening face, ‘take this… Emperor to be your forever webbed, sorry wedded master?’

‘Like bleep I d—’ she shrieked.

‘She means yes,’ interjected Zod, muffling her spirited reply with a well-placed hand. Lady X bit deeper into the black glove and struggled furiously. Zod smiled at the congregation.

‘Spirited girl!’ Zod called out. Polite laughter replied.

‘Quite,’ answered the priest, ‘All that remains now is to ask, ‘Does any person, thing or so-far unidentified life-form have any reason, any reason, no matter how trifling, as to why these two should not wed?’’

Zod smiled in a self-satisfied manner and watched the raised rifles that were pointed at the audience. There was furious shaking of heads, in the negative direction.

‘Going… going…go—’

With a flash that sent the priest tumbling backwards and dazzled most of the on-lookers, Sknarf and Yeldarb materialised above Zod and the unlucky lady.

‘Hello Zod,’ said Sknarf cheerily as she accelerated an armour clad boot into his upturned face.

‘Odmph! Krnnnhh’ he grunted and sank to the floor.

Yeldarb grabbed Lady X’s hand forcefully and dematerialised. With Lady X, it should be stressed.

Oda Kropp burst from the front rows, slid to an amazing stance and unleashed a volley of intense laser fire that cut through Yeldarb in several fatal and never again to be erogenous zones. Transparent trickles of blood cascaded briefly to the floor, and then, all three were gone. A small previously unseen piece of paper drifted to the floor. Oda stepped forward, grabbed it and scanned the words.

‘You’re probably fired now… P.T.O.’

She turned it over.

‘…bitch!’

Furious, she crushed it in her hand and tossed it aside.

‘Don’t just stand there you fools… get them!’ she cried, indicating the numerous stunned guards who had watched the scene with a ‘perhaps someone else will get there first’ sort of attitude.

‘They must have a ship nearby. Go!’

‘Holy dregs Yeldarb, are you okay?’ asked Sknarf as she noticed the vast quantities of blood doing their best to escape his body.

‘Quite… fine… than…kyou,’ he replied with effort before collapsing in a gentlemanly way to the ground.

Lady X looked about her new surrounds. It was a ship undoubtedly, though one still in orbit of Galleous. Not a good thing she thought.

Tears streamed down Sknarf’s face, ‘Yeldarb, don’t die… don’t…’ ‘I’m doing my best Sknarf, believe me.’ He gave her a big pale smile.

‘You!’ shouted Lady X, ‘woman, come here and tell me how to fly this bitch or that stunt you just pulled won’t stand for much.’

Sknarf glared at her and marched to the flight deck. Squadrons of metallic green fighters were swarming from the clouds below, as were the heavy cruisers ambling towards them across the star bordered horizon. Already, the more desperate laser fire was skimming across their hull.

‘We need to go. Now!’ hissed Lady X.

Sknarf said a silent prayer and slammed the large pink button set squarely in the midst of the panel.

A small four-inch high holo-image appeared.

‘Ah, my friends, by this time I believe that if all has gone well, you are now watching an excessively large number of rather unfriendly craft who want to meet you very badly. However, due to an unexpected leak in the matter-fusion extractor, you have no organic fuel left and so, must hang here in space, awaiting your fate.’

The figurine smiled in a consolatory manner, ‘Oh, I almost forgot. Some last minute hitches in ship options left me no choice but to equip you with what we call a ‘space mine.’ One small hit and the whole thing goes…’

The holo-image flashed violently, ‘You get the idea. Well, good luck in finding that fuel, and I do hope that the fighter pilots are really bad shots…’

‘Mercurius!’ cursed Lady X.

The figure started laughing, his miniature chest shaking up and down.

‘Oh bleep,’ cursed Sknarf and looked at the closing ships, which, it has to be said were getting very close indeed.

‘Any plans now? You seem to be doing splendidly so far?’ said Lady X.

‘Yeah, just one, to rearrange yo—’ Sknarf began to threaten but was distracted by the hiss of the engine door behind her.

‘Yeldarb!’ she screamed and ran, only to find it locked.

‘HELLO!’ chimed the door happily, ‘IT WOULD BE MY UTMOST PLEASURE TO OPEN FOR YOU, BUT THE GENTLEMAN WHO JUST PASSED HAS VAPORISED MY CONTROL PANEL ON THE OTHER SIDE. HOWEVER, I LOOK FORWARD TO MANY MORE JOYOUS DOOR OPENINGS IN WHAT WILL UNDOUBTEDLY PROVE TO BE A…’ Sknarf was gone and had been gone for some time, ‘TYPICAL!’ snorted the door, ‘THEY USE YOU AND LEAVE YOU. WISH I’D LISTENED TO MY MOTHER AND WENT INTO THE REVOLVING DOOR BUSINESS, YOU MEET A MUCH BETTER CLASS OF PEOPLE THERE,’ it muttered.

Sknarf banged on the console desperately. It wasn’t a nice view and as she watched, tears poured in torrents about her cheeks as Yeldarb lowered himself into a large cylinder. A large cylinder that just happened to have ‘MATTER DISINTEGRATOR’ written on it.

At length, he was in. A lone shaking hand reached out and pressed something.

There was a horrible grinding sound.

‘Nooo—’ she cried out, but then all was stars; and fast ones at that.

Zod meanwhile, had at length extracted himself from the Appreciation Building, and after ordering Oda to execute his entire entourage and then herself also, had left for the protective domain of Mount Spiky. It’s mighty shadow afforded coolness from the now irritating heat from the suns above and cast a darkness that befitted his heart.

Revenge! Was about all he thought.

He strode through empty corridors roaring demonically with frustrated rage. ‘You’ll pay for this!’ he screamed. He tried a few variations on this chant, but most ended up involving the application of non-blunt instruments to a certain eloper.

He reached his throne room and stopped.

‘Spiff!’ he spat, ‘he is the cause of this. That infernal being. He orchestrated this; him and his little friends.’

Zod’s fist quaked with anger, ‘he will pay!’ he promised as the doors swung open and he faced something completely unexpected.

‘Ah Zod,’ spoke Zod, ‘come in my friend. We need to discuss something you and I…’

Zod grinned at Zod, or possibly didn’t depending on your point of view.

‘…Your imminent death.’

With the last of its energies spent, the ship fell from in-between space and into a high orbit about the vice grip of Jupiter’s gravity. Sknarf sat and stared at the churning maelstrom of yellows and reds that fought to, but never quite would reach the fusion brilliance of a star. It was an impressive and dominating sight, but with the empty pain in her bosom it meant nothing.

‘I’ve enabled a beacon,’ spoke Lady X quietly. ‘Your friends should pick it up soon…’

Pools of water reflected the Jovian storms in her eyes; and she wept.

Mercurius strode to the balcony of his throne room and looked across his city.

The teeming masses were dispersing now, and with the aid of gentle laser fire the streets were becoming clear again. Zod city stretched and rolled before him like a cat on a warm rug; a flea infested and scraggy one. But, regardless, it was his city now; his alone. And he didn’t have a clue what to do next.

‘A party!’ he laughed, ‘of course!’

He turned to the bound figure of Zod that lay wriggling by his feet.

‘But first, my friend, we must see to you. And I know just the cell you’ll find most enjoyable. And I’m sure the Sanguinario brothers will be glad to see you!’

Mercurius laughed maniacally, he was getting the hang of this.

Spiff scooped the last of the fine dust output from the matter- fusion engine and poured it into the last of a collection of small and white ribbed plastic cups.

‘Plastic life man. Plastic life.’ said Rafe mournfully.

‘None braver!’ said Plesiosaur.

‘‘ went Sknarf.

Spiff eyed the sand like substance.

‘He’s looked better,’ he said.

Plesiosaur stood at the bridge of his ship, The Ignanemnon and watched his army flit about like little boats in the sea of space. They were preparing the jump, and soon would be on their way, en-masse to give Zod a gift he wouldn’t expect; or want. Plesiosaur smiled and watched as a pair of fighters drifted into each other and nearly exploded. Yellow sparks flew as the wing tips scraped together; the pilots averting disaster.

Yeldarb smiled.

Just shows what a bit of training can do, he thought, a few weeks ago, and they’d have crashed.

The two ships parted and drifted off. Suddenly, one of them exploded.

Ah well, it was only a bit of training…

‘You sure you want to do this?’ asked Spiff, as he strapped on his anti-grav backpack, without which, a lesser mans knees would have buckled and given way.

‘Erm, nope!’ said Rafe.

‘I wasn’t asking you! Sknarf, you don’t have to come. We can get a third man… or woman.’

Sknarf sighed.

‘If you want, we’ll take Lady—’

‘I’ll come,’ she interrupted.

Spiff stepped closer, gave the impression he might hug her, but instead slapped her withered frame heartily.

Sknarf coughed.

‘That’s the spirit, m’dear,’ he boomed, ‘now you get a bit of rest, and we’ll meet in the advance scout ship, ok?’

‘We’re not taking a bunch of adolescent slaves with us, surely?’ asked Rafe.

‘Well, they’re so cheap,’ replied Spiff, ‘just offer them a…’ He paused and fished about in his pockets, finally producing a rather pathetic woven circle of material. He smiled and said impressively, ‘A Spaceman’s Merit Badge and they’re yours!’

‘Sounds marvellous,’ replied Rafe dryly.

Zod stood tall over the newly constructed grand table; constructed from the largest single flawless piece of Tirellian Snow Wood ever found, which in certain other systems bore an improbably likeness to chip-board. He raised a litre-sized goblet of Viscercian Pore Wine and sloshed it about before his unsteady and de-focusing gaze.

‘My friends… well, morality impoverished gits who would as soon slit my throat as lick the gaps between my toes, I welcome you, to this… this, my completely no-reason-for-having party!’

The guests, a familiar selection of heads and some bodies of state shared a common confusement. Parties such as this, usually occurred on fixed calendar events, and as such, the only, marginally interesting event worth celebrating at this time was ‘The Combusting of St Pancreas in ZD’XXX.’ Still, they knew better than to question ‘the man who owns but more often wields the axe.’

Zod hiccuped loudly, his head lolled in a worrying fashion and he decided it was probably an appropriate moment to sit down. He did so, but missed the chair and found that gravity had dumped him rather unceremoniously on the hard floor.

Mespus, Grand Theorg of Thlupticulq (Bob to his friends) leaned slowly across the table and peered down at his Emperor, who was clutching feverishly at the ground in a desperate attempt not to fall off it.

‘Lord Zod, are you quite all right?’ he asked, hoping silently, that he was not.

Zod goggled at the head looking down at him. It appeared to have grown out of the table.

‘Holy bleepsh!’ he spurted, ‘help me up Mespus!’

Two other unmentionable rulers from some far flung, though some might say, not flung enough, corner of the galaxy, did just that and brought Zod to rest on his chair. With a flash, Zod’s hand caught one by the lapel and whispered conspiratorially at the top of his voice,

‘Y’know—Yknow, I think… thish… swine has got me a little bit tippsie. Y’know.’

‘Quite possibly m’lord,’ replied Mespus, who was examining the bottle with interest.

‘More wine!’ cried Zod, who jumped to his feet once more but then plummeted forward into a bowl of snake soufflé.

Mespus, with shock crawling all over his face, read the label to the table; or rather to the shocked people sitting at the table; the table in itself wasn’t shocked, but was grateful for the attention anyway.

‘This wine is a political statement of the repressed people of Mamba Nine, who donated their combined life savings to create this fine vintage; a delicate combination of nine parts Poly-Slitherus-Mono- Deathskus and one part, wine flavour. ‘Long live the revolution, when we get around to it.’’

There was a gasp, as each of the diners thought how best to extract the liquid from their internals.

Mespus continued to read, though a sudden pain was beginning to make its way down his left side, ‘P.S, there is only one antidote, which was unfortunately destroyed next month when you demolish our world to use as the raw material for a new and exciting brand of toilet roll.’ Mespus looked at the date on the bottle. Last year.

Many had now taken to frantic retching, and soon, the entire table was awash. Puke poured like a waterfall.

Mespus sat down quietly and watched Zod. He had managed to stagger back to sem-consciousness though he looked as though he was about to go down for the last time.

Oh well, thought Mespus, At least I won’t have to worry about that hang- over tomorrow.

The strangely numbing pain now had hold of his upper body and was creeping inexorably upwards. In his last moments, he thought of telling Zod exactly what he thought of him, but strangely, found himself sitting quietly waiting.

The last thing he remembered was someone being sick all over his head.

Deep Chima erupted from in-between space and found herself, once more careering towards a planet’s surface at broken neck speeds.

Except this time, she was under control.

‘Chima baby,’ said Spiff, ‘I know this will come as a shock to you, but I need to leave soon.’

‘Leave!’ the ship replied with high strung emotions, ‘No Spiff, don’t go!’

‘Sorry m’dear, duty calls. We need you though to standby and wait for me… us to return. It’s a nasty job, but someone’s got to do it and I’m afraid you just won’t get past that force field about Mount Spiky.’

The ship hummed as it always did.

‘I may not come back,’ added Spiff.

‘No, no!’ it wept, ‘I beg of you Spiff, don’t leave me!’

Spiff pulled his little red cap from his pocket and laid it on the ship’s console, ‘Just a little something for you to… remember me by.’ Rafe glided through the wall, ‘Hey people, we’re about to land, c’mon my hero, let’s go.’

Spiff winked at the ship’s screen and then strode off.

His face drained of colour, Zod stared disbelievingly at the table. He’d never seen a table do the can-can before and marvelled at how it controlled all those legs as the room swam around.

A shadow, evolved from the darkness, broke into two and headed towards him. One was larger than the other, taller, thinner. The other squat, like a dumpling. They both loomed.

‘My client wishes to express his condolences at the crudity of this assassination, but feels that the added inference of frustrated Mamban rebels in this plot does make up for it.’

Zod nodded.

‘Now,’ continued the ghoul waving a small vial of chlorophyll green liquid, ‘if you’ll just sign the following documents…’ He unfurled a thick pad of many pages, at the bottom of which was a print recogniser.

‘…Then we can administer the antidote.’

Zod wobbled about a bit.

‘I assure you, our expenses are quite legitimate. One schmillion credits for the inconvenience of having to dig our way out of Mount Spiky. A further schmillion for the extended loan and ultimate termination of one Oda Kropp, and a further schmillion just because we don’t like you.’

The ghoul made a good attempt at a smile. Zod’s eyes widened in a horrified stare.

‘And of course, your print will enable us to unlock the computer files that indicate the whereabouts of my clients brother, Mr Pipistrello, who we feel, if he was permitted to be here, would also charge you a schmillion credits.’

He paused again.

‘Not including VAT of course.’

A further shadow loomed from the corner, which would one day be discovered to be a secret doorway behind the Gishpunushi Tree that led into the very intestines of Mount Spiky.

‘I don’t think so!’ spoke a voice as slippery as a barrel full of eels.

The ghoul spun around, as did Mr Sanguinario, which was unfortunate, for it led to an eternity of confusement as another Zod piled ray after ray of disintegrators into them. First he vaporised their legs. Then their torsos, and finally their hands, moments after ghoul clasped Mr Sanguinario hand tightly in his.

The last two shots arced out.

Zod stepped forward, and looked at the smoking piles of bone and cloth.

‘Better luck next time old chaps,’ he laughed, and then turned to the other Zod; the anti-Zod.

‘Well Mercurius, looks like your plan didn’t quite work eh?’ He grabbed the man’s pale cheek and toyed with it,

‘You should know, it takes a lot more than just being good to stay in this job. How do you think I survive eh?’

The anti-Zod was acquiring an unpleasant bluish tinge. It looked probable that he wouldn’t reply.

‘I’ll tell you. I’m undead! I can’t be poisoned, or killed in any normal way. In fact, the only real way, is disintegration. I’ll give it to you though. Dr Aargh did a splendid job. We’re practically identical. In all but intelligence.’

Zod shook his head slowly, ‘Ah Mercurius, you showed such promise, but that last blunder, putting me in the same cell as the Sanguinario brothers, when they’d already escaped!’ he laughed maniacally. The Anti-Zod didn’t hear the laughter, or anything else.

Alarm bells would have rang, had half of Zod’s army not already been decimated into a powdery film, or plastered as some might say. Like great sleek metallic space insects, Plesiosaurs fleet breezed into normal space and began they’re rather single-strip assault.

Ship after ship fell, like burning phantoms hurled into the atmosphere, swallowed by flame and giving the impression to the populous below not that they were they under attack, but instead that this was a further fireworks display in aid of the non-wedding.

Rodger stepped into the transporter, and to the surprise of the occupants of the Zodicom Tower, who, in Rodger’s opinion, needed a barbers attention, killed them. He then attached an additional transporter device to the Galacto News feed and became the first robot to achieve Galaxy wide recognition.

A hundred billion trillion quadsquillion and six individuals looked at the unlikely hulk of badly organised scrap metal that had interrupted they’re everything. The galaxy sagged under the additional weight as the same number of Rodgers came simultaneously into existence. Each Rodger though, via random permutations was subtly as each successive transport warped his form and mind. Rodgers atoms leap-frogged across a hundred million light years. By the time he’d reached Gringus City, an impoverished asteroid floating of the ultimate periphery of the western arm, Rodger bore about as much resemblance to an automation, as did a garden deck chair. Which was, by this point his ultimate form. A semi-infinite number of Rodgers began a semi-infinite number of semi-infintely different speeches. Here is the basic gist:

‘PEOPLE OF THE GALAXY. YOU ARE A BUNCH OF WRETCHED BLEEPERS WHO SPEND MOST IF NOT ALL OF YOUR LIVES BEING NASTY TOO EACH OTHER. THIS HAS GOT TO STOP. ALL THIS ENDLESS TEDIUM OF WAR, ANIMAL MOLESTATION AND INTERMISSION ADVERTISING. ITS GOT TO STOP.’

We rejoin with Rodger a bit later, whose profound ramblings take a more sinister note.

It is at this point, we join the start of the book. Confused readers, if any of you are still here, must truly be confused and would do well to re- read this section and then pop back…

Done that? Good. Here goes…

Zod surveyed the Anti-Zod with as much pity as a combine harvester does a family of field mice. He tossed aside his spent weapon and soaked in the carnage before and under his feet.

‘What a party!’ he cackled.

There was a faint clack behind him; the sort of clack that smacked of someone sneaking up from behind, and so, Zod, the wily Emperor that he was/is/might still be in a few pages time, extracted Mercurius’ zap-stick and skulked back to the shadows.

The door burst open and was followed almost immediately by the human equivalent of a bouncy puppy⁴⁸. Spiff bounded to the table and looked over the drool covered bodies with a disquieting lack of sobriety. Zod fingered his zap-stick, and toyed with shooting him in the back.

No, no! he thought, I want to see the look on his wretched eternally happy face.

Spiff was shortly joined by two others, one of which, a woman, as far as he could tell, decided not to partake in the investigations. At length, they came to the Anti-Zod. A tussle broke out, one sided due to the deadness of one of the parties, and, to Zod’s horror, they’re kicking hin!

He stepped softly from the shadows, raised the stick and said in his most villainous voice, ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’

‘Zod!’ they chorused with the sort of surprised usually expressed upon finding a second rat in a cereal packet.

‘Yes, Zod! You’d better believe it.’

‘But, I don’t. I don’t believe it!’ blurted Rafe, ‘how can this be. Are you a ghost?’

Zod grinned and blinded Rafe with the glare from his golden molars.

Spiff continued to sidle backwards.

‘Don’t think I don’t notice! Spiff!’ he hissed, ‘come closer.’ Zod gestured with the barrel of his zap-stick. ‘I’ve got a present for you…’

There was a sudden roar outside, a brilliant flash followed by an ominous series of mushrooming clouds rising about the encampments beyond Zod city.

‘You can’t last Zod, by this time, our accomplice, the dreaded and highly trained Rodger will have taken charge of every ship in your fleet!’

‘Good.’

‘Good?’ asked Spiff, ‘sorry old chap didn’t you understand? I said we’re taking control.’

‘And you to be the next Emperor then Spiff?’

Spiff mused on this. It hadn’t really occurred to him.

‘Perhaps…’

‘Y’know Spiff, I’d like to say I like you, but then I realise that, yes, I detest you. Yet still, there’s enough of the robber baron scumbag in me, that I feel this impulsive urge to explain my evil deeds.’

‘Go on then Zod, though killing me won’t change matters.’

‘Oh I know that! You’re only too correct there Spiff, my lad. But you see, I don’t intend to kill you. Knock you out temporarily perhaps, for I have other plans.’

Sknarf looked at Rafe and Rafe at Spiff. Spiff looked at Zod, who in turn looked at all three. It was a very tense observational moment. Zod continued, ‘You see, this form you see before you, is actually just the container for my spirit, and so every few decades or so, I change my body and hence give the impression of having passed power to another; who also just so happens to be called Zod.’

Spiff eyed him suspiciously.

‘So, now it is time. The people need a new leader. And I have chosen you Spiff. Your rebellion will succeed, I’ve seen to that by diverting my fleet away from Galleous over the past months; there’s practically no- one left here to defend us! When the victory comes, I will take over your body and your little friends here will have an… unfortunate accident.’

‘Holy bleep!’ swore Spiff, ‘bit elaborate isn’t it. Wouldn’t you just prefer to… well, die quietly like the vanquished villain that you are?’

‘Fraid not Spiff, and now…’ He turned the zap-stick to Sknarf and Rafe.

‘No!’ cried Spiff who leapt forwards and into the path of the ensuing blast; which didn’t occur.

A foot long stick of cardboard sprung out from the barrel. It was encased in a roll of material, which now unrolled. It said….

‘BANG?’ asked Sknarf giggling slightly.

Zod stared in horror at the piece of parchment.

‘You’ve been had mate!’ said Rafe.

Zod glared at the paper message and seethed.

‘Hmm, looks like it,’ he agreed. ‘Spiff, we shall meet again, you and I,’ and with that, he turned and fell over.

The zap-stick had melted and reformed into a pair of green claws that were now gripping Zod’s ankles firmly.

‘What the bleep!’ he cried, ‘what is this!’

The hands grew, as if an invisible covering was being withdrawn, and revealed eventually, the mighty form of a colossal winged dragon. It unfurled its wings and flapped them once, sending such a draft that the dinner remains skidded off and to the floor.

‘ZOD!’ the creature boomed.

‘No, not you!’ cried Zod as he backed towards the corridor on all fours, his feet slipping as they do n such situations. The sky flashed again behind, the sound of laser fire could now be heard, mingled with the terrified screams of the people who just didn’t know how to be liberated in style.

‘YES, ME. ZOD!’ boomed Puff. ‘FOR NEARLY AN ETERNITY YOU KEPT ME. HELD INSIDE AN ANTI-MAGIC FIELD, WHERE NONE OF MY POWERS COULD AVAIL ME. WHILST YOU, YOU PARADED THE GALAXY WITH TOKENS OF MY POWER AND RULED WITH UNPARALLELLED CORRUPTION. WELL, NOW, ALL THAT IS TO CHANGE. YOUR TIME IS OVER ZOD. FOR GOOD.’

‘But, how…’ stuttered Zod, ‘how did you escape! The field was impervious!’

Puff turned to Spiff and smiled a might fanged smile, ‘NEEDLESS TO SAY, I WAS NOT UNAIDED. I DETERMINED THAT AS THE FIELD YOU HELD ME IN COULD NOT BE PASSED, THE ONLY MEANS OF ESCAPE WOULD BE TO EITHER GO BACKWARDS OF FORWARDS IN TIME TO WHICH POINT THE FIELD DID NOT EXIST. AT FIRST I WENT FORWARDS. IT WAS NOT A PRETTY SIGHT. YOU RUINED THE GALAXY AND SET IT BACK A MILLION YEARS THROUGH ENDLESS WARS WROUGHT BY YOUR INFERNAL OFFSPRING…’

‘So, you went back,’ asked Sknarf, who was feeling a bit overwhelmed at this sudden turn of events.

‘YES, I WENT BACK. BUT I COULD ONLY CHANGE THE PAST IN SUBTLE WAYS, LEST I DESTROY THE FUTURE AND POSSIBLY MY EXISTENCE. AND SO, I TOOK A CRAFT, A FABULOUS CRAFT, AND BURIED IT DEEP, NEXT TO THE BIRTHPLACE OF AN OAF WHO WOULD OTHERWISE AMOUNT TO NOTHING.’

‘Me?’ asked Spiff excitedly.

‘YES, YOU. I BURIED DEEP CHIMA THERE. AND THERE SHE WAITED COUNTLESS YEARS UNTIL THE TIME WAS RIGHT. SPIFF WAS THE INSTIGATION OF MY PLAN. MERCURIUS, THE WRETCHED UNFORTUNATE WAS THE END.’

‘Mercurius?’ asked Rafe, who wanted to get in on the question asking game.

‘YES MERCURIUS. HE WANTED POWER ABOVE ALL ELSE. HE EVEN CHANGED HIS FEATURES, TO LOOK LIKE YOURS ZOD. EVEN TO THE EXTENT OF FOILING YOUR ACCURSED MARRIAGE. ALL HE HAD TO DO WAS LET ME TAG ALONG FOR THE TIME WHEN I KNEW YOU WOULD REAPPEAR. AND HERE YOU ARE ZOD. MY REVENGE CAN NOW BE COMPLETE.’

‘Yes, here I am, Puff,’ smiled Zod, ‘but what are you going to do?’

‘WE—’

But in a flash, Zod had faded to a phantom whisper and was soon gone.

‘Emergency transporter!’ shouted Spiff, as he ran forward and looked over the indented piece of floor that had seemingly activated the device.

‘HE WILL NOT ESCAPE,’ said Puff, with a dramatic flap of his wings, ‘THOUGH HIS PATH IS SET. HE WILL CAST HIS OWN JUSTICE. AND NOW, I AM FREE.’

Puff turned and pounded past Spiff. The great beast reached the balcony, climbed on top and then sailed off into the cityscape.

‘Wow!’ said Rafe, ‘cool. It’s free at last.’

In a senseless and unfortunate act of incorrect target identification, a surface-to-body missile decided Puff bore a threat. At hypersonic speeds, it drove into the gliding creature of myth and legend, the last of its kind, and blasted it to microbe fodder.

‘What stunning bad luck,’ said Spiff and with his other breath, spoke into his communicator, ‘Plesiosaur, Zod’s escaped. Beam us up!’

‘Erm actually, wasn’t he the bloke we were meant to return to those unknown people?’ asked Rafe.

Sknarf looked at the cloud of dragon vapour.

‘Might be a bit difficult… Why do you always have to ask such awkward questions, when we’re so close to the end!’

It was a silver streak unlike all the others, for this one headed for deep space and was neither part of the attack or defence. Lady X watched it go and wondered who in a moment of desperation had decided to flee.

Plesiosaur entered and was followed shortly after by Spiff and Sknarf.

‘Quck, destroy that ship!’ Plesiosaur commanded to one of his eager and incompetent young officers; of which he had many. A red crosshair bleeped onto the screen and homed in whereupon it gave a pleasing bleep-blonk sound.

‘Who’s on board?’ asked Lady X.

‘Just that infidel Zod, my lady,’ crooned Spiff as he puffed out his chest and prepared to give the order to let loose crimson laser death.

‘Zod! No!’ she cried and knocked Spiff back from the controls.

‘He’s evil yes, demonic yes, slayer of small mammals, yes. Indeed, he deserves death more than any of us…’

‘And your reasons for not ending his nasty days?’ asked Spiff.

Lady X searched for something positive, a mere atom of goodness, but found nothing. In the end, she resorted to the truth.

‘Because I love him.’

Spiff balked, his mouth fell open and for the first time, possibly in his improbable and event filled, unlikely escape ridden life, he looked sad.

‘Love him…?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid I do.’

‘But…’

‘Spare him, please…?’

Plesiosaur butted in, ‘fraid not ma’am, this here is a thoroughly nasty life form, and immune to almost all known forms of termination. A good bout of heavy duty laser fire will do him a galaxy of good. Fire aw—’

‘No!’ said Spiff, his voice heavy with emotion.

‘No?’ shouted Plesiosaur, ‘are you aware of what your saying Spiff…’

‘Yes, I’m aware.’ He turned to Lady X, ‘Go. Go now, before I change my mind.’

With a swish, she turned and walked off the bridge.

Plesiosaur looked at the flashing red button. He so dearly wanted to press it.

‘Transport,’ commanded Spiff.

Spiff watched the silvery streak as it climbed to the heavens, dimmed and was eventually gone.

‘Hope you know what you just did,’ said Plesiosaur who promptly left the bridge.

Spiff stared out the view-port and sank into the endless stars. Sknarf shuffled her feet nervously together and with a small crackly little voice said, ‘Spiff, I know how much you… loved her, and that I could never hold such a place in your heart. So, I’m going. I’ll be joining Rafe on some new world. He’s planning on starting some kind of religious cult. Still… it’ll be something to keep me occupied….’

Spiff continued to stare at the stars.

With a little sob, she forced the last few words out, ‘Goodbye Spiff, I expect we’ll never meet again…’ Sknarf turned and fled the ship. Spiff half-turned around, thinking sure he had heard someone. But of course, there was no one there. There probably never had been.

He returned to the window and looked upon the stars.

Sknarf and Rafe stood on the transporter pad. ‘You sure you want to?’ asked Rafe.

She nodded slowly and bitterly, ‘There’s nothing here for me, there never was. Do it!’

Rafe reached to activate the device.

The door swished open and Spiff bounded in. Grabbing Sknarf forcibly about the waist, he raised her high above his head, paused and then lowered her to within a whisker of their lips touching. ‘Sknarf, I’m a fool not to realise it.’

Her mouth dropped open slightly, the faintest glimmer of a smile forming.

‘I love you,’ he said, and rather sickeningly, they kissed.

But what of the rest of the cast?

Well, Rodger, unfortunately using his countless minions now poses a far greater threat than anything possibly imagined before. But, thankfully, due to some rather dodgy electrical wiring, and the imminent expiry of his warranty, his plans for mass domination are cut short; by a blown fuse.

Spiff and Sknarf live happily ever after, endure a fair number of exciting an increasingly unlikely adventures and go on to have lots of parasitical offspring. Spiff becomes Emperor and with Sknarf as queen, go onto lead the Empire to a period of stereotypical bliss.

Zod and Lady X unfortunately wind up piloting the rather out of control escape pod into a very black hole. However, before being stretched to an infinite length, Zod at last learns what the meaning of life was; and wonders why he didn’t have a back up zap-stick for good measure.

Rumour has it that they actually made it through the back hole by some rather trippy physics oversight. Rumours of a sequel are to be put down and shot.

Plesiosaur went onto become a depressed alcoholic. Having accomplished his dream of heading a successful battle, he finds nothing in life worth living for any more. In a moment of utter depression, he joins the Happy Hippie House of Hey Man Peace and finds new enlightenment and a future not involving heavy-duty weaponry.

Rafe founds the Happy Hippie House of Hey Man Peace and with a burgeoning league of followers, creates a really groovy place to go for the weekends. However, in a moment of divine inspiration, he hires a time machine and attempts to set right the mistakes of the bygone ages. In a gross miscalculation, instead of appearing in the garden of Eden, Rafe is reborn into the soul of a young child in Bethlehem and correspondingly thirty odd years later is nailed to a tree for being a generally all-round nice guy. His reported last words were, ‘Hey man, forgive them, they haven’t been to the Happy Hippie House of Hey Man Peace.’

Yeldarb is resurrected in five thousand years by a research scientist who inadvertently attaches a vacuum cleaner to an energy matter converter containing said powdered person. Yeldarb goes on the media- circuit telling the tales of five thousand years past for considerable amounts of hard currency. Dies at the age of one hundred and sixty due to pleasure gland excess.

The little duck at the start of our story is actually an emissary for a highly sofisticated and extremely violent race of plastic personalities who manifest themselves as a variety of Tupperware objects in a failed invasion attempt. Unfortunately, they have an inherent weakness for soapy water and as they spend much of their days either being washed or played with in the bath, never quite manage to get back to warn their comrades in arms of the terrible fate that awaits.

Houdini stays dead; but immortally cute.

Klaus also stays dead.

Pontious Marcus who fell into a plot flaw round about the middle of the story had some nasty plans in store for the future; most involved him waiting in a cupboard in his shelter until someone passed by. Unfortunately, no-one ever did, and to all intense purposes, he’s still there; waiting.

Mr Sanguinario and the ghoul’s remains are resurrected a number of years later through a dubious blood mixing solution poured onto their bodies. They go on to terrorise the universe through some dubious extortion, but find their ultimate path in life to be in making dodgy horror movies, the most famous of which being, ‘You cannot kill what does not live.’

The other Sanguinario brother, Pipistrello remains out on the rim…

An indeterminable number of centuries later, a most impressive ship turned up. It was shaped like an octopus, a great space octopus and was truly the most impressive thing that had ever orbited Galleous. Imagine the surprise therefore when they realised that they’d misjudged the average human life span by a matter of 10 and had rather completely missed the battle for planet Galleous.

It was the first contact the galaxy ever had with ‘The Unknown,’ and the first words had been carefully chosen by the advanced aliens over thousands of years to minimise the culture shock. These words were written down and immortalised and went along the lines of:

‘Oh Bugger!’

THE END

⁴⁶ Except of course for dignitaries of the mud mountains of Dagobleach where being dragged through said gelatinous material is the accepted greeting method for state occasions.

⁴⁷ The original text did say thong-lined.

⁴⁸ Note: please don’t try this at home. Puppies aren’t really bouncy. Not unless they’re made of plastic that is, or come from Dingo Ten, where an unfortunate bit of town planning, where the local veterinary surgeon and the states plastic producer led to an unfortunate accident of epic proportions.

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