"Police are investigating a suspicious fire at the British
headquarters of computer manufacturers Commodore. Arson is
It is estimated that the fire has caused £100,000 worth of
LORD OF THE THINGS
PART ONE ONE
by Richard Karsmakers
Cronos had barely gotten over this thing with Klarine Appledoor.
It had been a while ago now, probably a year or two. He had been
sitting at the Gargantuan Burger King, alone, eating a MegaBurger
of which one could not be sure about anything save the fact that
it was huge and probably lethally fat and morbidly unhealthy.
He had been about to sink his teeth in it for a third of fourth
time when he had suddenly seen the spitting image of his foster
mum - the Gargantuan Burger King toilet attendant lady.
In her movements he had recognized the characteristics of the
woman at whose place he had lived for so long, the old peasant's
widow who had so lovingly raised him when his mother, Adnarim the
Beautiful, couldn't. He had thought back about the days back on
his home planet, the times she used to read him bed-time horror
stories, the humble little cottage in the sheep-filled meadows,
the oatmeal breakfasts she had steadfastly prepared for him, the
cat...no, not the cat.
He had swallowed the remainder of fat and cholesterol
Gargantuans lovingly called a MegaBurger and had stood up and
walked towards the elderly lady as if drawn by a force outside of
"Er, excuse me," he had said, tapping the woman on a shoulder.
She had startled, looking up from a cleaning chore she had been
doing. He had read her name tag as she erected herself.
Kizmet, fate, Murphy, destiny, whatever. It had read "M.
"Can I help you?" she had said, her voice old but her spirit
unmistakably and enchantingly young.
Warchild had been lost in thought. How could this have been? He
had been in an utterly remote part of the galaxy and had
discovered a woman who looked like his foster mother and that
might very well be the mother of Klarine, the girl with whom he
had most violently fallen in love with thus recently. His heart
beat in his throat.
"Er...no, thanks, sorry," he had muttered unsurely, a vision of
Klarine before him as clearly as his rekindled feelings of
wholeheartedly devoted love. He had turned away from the toilet
lady to go back to his table, shortly after which instant his
perpendicular movement had ceased due to his gonads connecting
with a "Have a nice Wee" sign on a pole connected immovably with
He had turned red and purple, probably with a bit of yellow too.
When would he ever learn to keep the switch on his Multi-Absorb
Groin Protector in the "on" position no matter whether he was on
a job or not? And why the hell didn't they attach these trivial
signs to a wall, out of the way of knees and gonads alike?
The toilet lady had seen it happen, and had supported his
trembling, hurt figure as well as she had been able to. She had
been frightened of him passing out on her and taking her with him
in his fall, flattening her elderly shape exceedingly. She had
seen people on TV holding small bottles under noses of dazed
boxing champs, so she had figured the small sampler bottle of
toilet refreshener she had carried in one of her pockets would do
the job similarly. Warchild had sniffed and, miraculously, the
scent of Incandescent Orchids had made the pain gradually ebb
The toilet lady had told him to keep the little bottle, just in
case, and Cronos had stumbled out of the Burger King restaurant,
his emotions oddly disturbed with an arcane sense of
sentimentality and loss.
He had tied the sampler bottle on a rope around his neck, where
it had remained ever since.
The big fat ugly mutha sniffed the air, retching and shouting
abuse. The other guards did about the same, one of them already
vomiting, inordinately disgusted.
Warchild, still dazed from having been thrown into that rather
solid wall, discovered that the cap on the little toilet
refreshener sampler bottle had unscrewed itself somewhat,
spilling some of the fluid. It was the smell of immaculately
cleaned hospital toilets, known commercially as "Incandescent
Orchids", but he loved it. To him it was the smell of Klarine,
his foster mum, all the love in the world. He screwed the cap
shut again. This heavenly scent would probably linger for another
while. It usually did in hospital toilets, anyway.
To the Multifizzians the lingering scent appeared to be the
embodiment of everything repugnant, vulgar, rancid, nauseating
"You no fair!" the ugly mutha yelled, trying hard to stuff as
many wings in as many nasal cavities. Frothgar's elite minions
had already retreated back through the whole in the wall, leaving
behind a steaming trail of oral excretion and gore - some of it
"Incandescent Orchids" was potent stuff, obviously.
The big ugly mutha Maxi Mega Monster appeared to have protected
itself sufficiently against the scent now. Wings were stuffed up
nostrils, and there were still enough wings left to be a menace
to Cronos. He closed in on the mercenary, slowly and
confidently. Warchild suddenly had a sudden lucid moment - one of
his yearly few. He unscrewed the cap from the small bottle again,
poured a small quantity of refreshening fluid on his finger and,
with his thumb nail, catapulted some of it in the direction of
Although an almost absurdly minute quantity of the stuff
actually made it to the monster, the results were no less
drastic. Hugely gaping, steaming holes melted away in the beast's
body. Wings fell off, sizzling to the ground, eyes closed in
"No!" it cried out, vexed, "You no beat me! Not allowed, no!"
As if the monster was starting to boil, huge bulges appeared in
his skin. They popped one by one, revealing yet more smelly holes
and flinging blood and gore in all directions. Within about
twenty seconds, during which Warchild enjoyed himself
tremendously, the last of the Multifizzian Sumo Wrestlers had
been reduced to a blubbering pile of jelly, totally
unrecognizable and decomposing ever more by the second.
After yet another few moments all that remained was the horrific
stench so typical of the planet and its inhabitants.
There was no time to rest for Cronos yet. He had to find some
kind of thing with which to more effectively spray the toilet
refreshener, a syringe perhaps, and then get back to rescue what
still remained of the cutesy-wutesy cuddlies that seemed to be
the only beings in the universe who recognized in him the power
he knew he had.
Careful so as not to tread on too much of the vomit and assorted
other biodegradable matter he went into the hole in the wall. The
scent of the toilet refreshener was already wearing off. It was
pretty potent stuff, but nonetheless it could not maintain its
victory over the Smell of the Smelliest Planet for long.
The corridors were empty. He stepped through, full of purpose.
He did not heed the sound of a space craft that landed at the
precise spot where, but minutes ago, an extremely angry and
equally ugly fat mutha had stood.
"Hmmm...," the man muttered, turning up the collars of his
raincoat, hoping it would somewhat diminish the effect the
horrific stench had on his senses.
"Hmmm....," he added, this time a bit more thoughtful.
Multifizzic Omega wasn't a place where non-natives liked walking
around and going "Hmmm...." all the time. At least not for any
time longer then a few moments.
A thought seemed to strike the man. Despite the utter misery of
an intensity Multifizzic Omega alone can inflict on a mortal, the
man managed a smile. He had an idea.
From his pocket he took the communication device again. He
communicated agitatedly for a while, something involving the word
"diesel", then turned around to his ship. There was some smoke,
some noise, and then the craft was on its way to what would
probably be a far healthier and certainly less smelly planet.
On his way he wondered where that hint of toilet refreshener
could possibly have come from. As the answer hit him he smiled
again, shifted gear and accellerated to a higher Warp Factor.
Cronos' heart forgot to beat for a whole second when he
recognized the still angry voice of Deirdre in a corridor not far
enough from him. Instinctively he hid behind himself. The stench,
which seemed to grow on him perpetually, made it difficult for
him to concentrate. Sickbay. He would have to go to sickbay. The
Multifizzians seemed a sick race. Their sickbay was bound to be
He sniffed the air. His carefully trained nostrils tried hard to
filter out the Multifizzian stench and perhaps find traces of
ether. Once he found a tiniest trace he tuned his senses to the
scent. He looked behind him, where his senses told him the
minutest traces of ether had to be coming from. He gazed directly
at a large red cross in a white circle, located on a door that
stood comfortably ajar.
Things were going smoothly. Too smoothly even, perhaps. But,
then again, things usually go smoothly in this kind of story.
He opened the door further, looking in. The sickbay seemed
abandoned, except for what seemed to be a heavily sedated
Multifizzian tied to some sort of bed.
He tiptoed in, monitoring the room for the presence of a syringe
of some sort. He saw one immediately, lying on a shelf beneath
the bed where the sleeping Multifizzian lay. He went to the bed,
examining the sleeping monster. Even when sleeping, they
smelled horribly. As if to demonstrate this fact, one of the anal
openings relaxed and let go of some gas. Warchild's eyes crossed
for a while; he had to hit himself in the face to remain
conscious. Somehow he managed.
When the terrible stench had gone back to its usual level of
intensity, Cronos bent to take the syringe. There was a sound,
something like snoring. He got up, forgetting he was below a bed
with a many-ton Multifizzian on it.
Which was not a particularly smart move.
Shit was falling from the sky. Perhaps this is not an eloquent
way of putting it, but that was exactly what was happening. Dark
brown clouds floated across the heavens, dripping the heavenly
excreta. Thick shit. Diarrhoea. Smelly shit. Splattering shit,
the works. Naked females hopped into and out of vision, glad
because, finally, it was raining. Raining shit. They inhaled
deeply, savouring the smell as if they were using their lungs to
taste some delicate wine. They let it play within their bodies,
sliver across their enluredly naked skins, caress their short
leathery wings. They spread the shit across each other's bodies
as if it it was some kind of priceless and delicate ointment.
He saw others mating in the shit-trenched meadows. Dozens, or
even more. It seemed as if the world had transformed from rock
into a soaking sea of shit and fervently mating creatures. What
with the Mutant Maxi Mega Monsters of Multifizzic Omega only
being able to breed for about two hours every 41 years, the whole
planet was alive and getting down to it.
An enormous piece of frozen shit, about as big as a dove's egg,
knocked the dreamer right in the face. Wow. Every Multifizzian
dreams of once being knocked out by a large piece of shit. It's
the thing that Multifizzian porn movies go on about all the time.
The earth started shaking. Perhaps he was atop a mating couple,
but he reckoned not as the entire earth seemed to be shaking now.
There was a noise of a head connecting to a stretcher, followed
by a curse.
He saw all the mating couples look up at that curse. It was the
commonly used synonym for animal and human excreta, a Holy Word
not to be uttered by any Multifizzian on the penalty of death.
The dreamer woke up, staring up at an ordinary ceiling instead
of the clouds of shit he had dreamed he was walking under. Waking
up from the utmost of erotic dreams can make a Multifizzian very
Angry enough to tear to shreds the belts with which he had been
tied to a bed, angry enough to react with instant and eager
hostility against the humanoid that suddenly appeared from below,
rubbing its head, uttering the Holy Word once more (and now even
Before he knew it, Cronos Warchild had been hit against the
floor, a previously sedated but now remarkably awake Multifizzian
astride him, hitting with as many wings and in as many different
places as possible.
This sudden turn of events had the mercenary annex hired gun
puzzled for what was approximated to be 3 microseconds. His
tutors, had they been able to witness this, would have turned
away in disgust and would have retreated to a corner,
disappointed at Cronos' obvious lack of speed. They would sit
down and pray for it to be only a temporary thing.
Warchild was getting bruised seriously, and the thrashing
Multifizzian atop him had around his being a stench that was, if
possible, even more violently hostile than that of those Cronos
had come across so far. The syringe had fallen to the ground and
rolled off to somewhere beyond his reach. At the risk of spilling
too much of the valuable fluid, Cronos attempted to keep the
angry Mutant Maxi Mega Monster at bay with one hand while
unscrewing the little bottle's cap with the other.
Incandescent Orchid penetrated the air. It worked instantly. The
monster virtually leapt into a comatose state, taking most of its
weight down to the floor next to Warchild. Cronos pushed the
remainder of the monster off him and went in search of the
syringe, which he found remarkably quickly. He filled it with the
scented fluid, realizing he now had in his hands probably the
most lethal weapon present on the entire planet of Multifizzic
It could be called a miracle that the sickbay fight seemed not
to have attracted an audience. Cronos pointed his ears and
distinguished only the extremely distant clamour of weaponry and
the ever-present cries of Deirdre reverberating agitatedly
through the corridors. His finely tuned and highly optimized
hearing aids told him there was not a soul near - remarkable
It took Cronos by complete surprise, therefore, when a
particularly angry-looking Multifizzian's laser gun was shoved up
his left nostril at the precise instant when he peeped out of the
sickbay. So much for quickly built Lobian hearing aids. He made a
mental note that, should he ever get out of this alive, he would
have to remember paying that particular hearing aid producer a
For a moment Warchild thought of commencing defensive actions,
but his enemy seemed to have a sixth sense.
"Go ahead," the laser-toting Multifizzian growled ominously,
shoving the gun's barrel somewhat more up Cronos' nose, "make my
Warchild sighed. He hated the kind of people (or monsters, for
that matter) that seemed to spend their entire lives just waiting
for that once-in-a-lifetime experience when an occasion came by
at which their favourite film lines could be quoted with maximum
effect. Appearing to surrender, Cronos carefully let the syringe
slip in one of his boots. The monster seemed not to notice, but
growled nonetheless whilst smiling the smuggest smile this side
of Klaxos Nine. It seemed to like this kind of thing.
"Walk," the monster said, prodding the mercenary annex hired gun
into motion in a way it had probably seen in a movie, too.
Frothgar the Merciless was not having a nice day. He sat on his
throne, a bandage tied to his head to keep the ice against his
painfully throbbing cheeks in place. His jaws were swollen, and
occasionally a bit of spittle mixed with blood ran down his lower
lip. He constantly had to suppress grinding and gnashing his
teeth. He liked doing it but couldn't due to his fangs having
been knocked out by the same mortal that stood before him now, a
laser up his left nostril. Deirdre stood next to her father,
rubbing a tender bruise inflicted by that very same human.
"Ath Eathe," Frothgar muttered. The nasty-looking guard eased
off, removing the laser from the position so uncomfortable to
Warchild, who now sighed somewhat - but not quite - relieved.
"I hatheth you," Frothgar growled, arising from his throne and
walking forward. Cronos looked around and saw the box. The lid
was slightly ajar and from it looked endearingly cute eyes
belonging to hairy round creatures. They had bloody stains on
their ridiculously fluffy furs. Someone would have to pay for
their suffering, and pay most dearly.
Had Cronos' hearing aids still worked properly, he would have
heard "It's the Wrath of God, yes, It is!" at the edge of his
hearing in high, piping voices.
At that instant Frothgar mercilessly thrust forward a clawed
foot which landed smack in the middle of Cronos' private parts.
The momentum hurled our hero back quite a distance. A grin
appeared on his squarely built features, however, as he
inwardly praised himself for having kept the Vital Switch in the
"on" position this time. He feigned severe injury, however, which
caused a frothing Frothgar to come closer with the intention to
launch some further vile and no doubt cowardly attacks. From a
corner of his eyes Warchild saw Deirdre laughing. Like her
father, she was in serious need of a dental job.
From his boot Cronos took the syringe. Already a hint of
Incandescent Orchid filled his nostrils. He inhaled deeply the
smell that could - and would - deal life and death.
Frothgar the Merciless was now mere feet away from the
mercenary annex hired gun. The Multifizzian leader grinned
fanglessly. His enemy was grovelling, having been dealt a
paralysing kick that would even have rendered docile the most
obstinate of Arcturian Megadonkeys. The pitiable human would be
like putty in his hands. Cronos Warchild, mercenary annex hired
gun infamed throughout the galaxy, would die here and now. He,
Frothgar the Merciless, would rid the multiverse of this dreaded
force once and for all.
He didn't get much beyond that line of thought, though, for at
that moment part of the fluid contained in the syringe was
launched and hit the Multifizzian leader straight between some of
his eyes. Instantly, the monster's head turned to a blubbering
and exploding mass of jelly. His knees gave way, but even before
there had been time for any dropped-off wings to collide with the
ground the fluid had done its purifying work; only Frothgar's
armour and boots were left, smoking proverbly. The others,
Deirdre included, beheld the scene for a few moments, paralysed
with fear - then they dashed off, some of them already in the
process of attempting to swallow back their most recent meals.
Frothgar the Merciless was history. There was no smoke, no gore
on the floor, just two slightly damp boots and cheap body armour.
Wow. This stuff was even more potent than Cronos had previously
reckoned it to be.
He snatched the box under his arm. High piping voices
accompanied him as he ventured his way through the palace's
corridors. Miraculously, no Mutant Maxi Mega Monster deemed it
necessary to appear within his sight. The utter destruction of
their leader had not just scared them out of their wits, but had
simultaneously caused global warfare as to who was to be the new
emperor of Multifizzic Omega. Even without properly functioning
hearing aids Warchild now heard curses, death cries, the sounds
of clashing metal and the occasional zapping of laser guns in
other corridors. Already there were fires burning and a final
"Self-destruct in about 2 minutes," a metallic voice with heavy
Multifizzian accent droned through some sort of intercom system.
Nobody heeded the message; they were all too busy with their
efforts to claim the emperial throne. Cronos had no clue as to
what would self-destruct in 2 minutes. He couldn't care less,
actually, as long as he and the rescued fluffies were off
Multifizzic Omega by then.
Luck was with him. After having turned a few corners he found
himself in some kind of space craft hangar. Two Multifizzian
space ships appeared to be in for servicing, one of which was
probably sufficiently not taken apart not to prevent it from
taking off. There were a few dead Multifizzians lying
spreadeagled across the floor, most of them in parts. These guys
seemed eager for that throne.
Cronos went to what seemed to be the most intact space craft, a
Blurgh XI Mark II. He put the box, now containing the fluffy
round ball-beings and the syringe, in the co-pilot seat and then
jumped in himself.
There certainly were lots of knobs, dials and switches. They all
had arcane scribblings around them, quite unfathomable. There
were a few artificial horizons too many, three rear-view mirrors
(of which two were busted) and a thoroughly uncomfortable chair.
This was not going to be one of those enjoyable flights home, and
not just because of the total absence of lovely female Russian
He randomly flipped some switches, turned a few knobs and gazed
semi-expertly at a few indicators. Just like in the movies, it
did the job. Slowly the craft lifted itself off the floor, like
an enormous bug but far uglier, bobbing a bit. Cronos fingered
something not unlike a joystick, which caused the whole thing to
turn around its axis, seemingly at random.
A few Multifizzians appeared in the hangar now. Their faces
seemed terribly agitated. These obviously seemed to have made
some kind of pact - kill the human first, kill each other later.
Assorted laser weapons were fired, some swords were thrown at the
craft, bouncing off the hull.
"Self-destruct in sortof something like around 1 minute, give or
take a few seconds," the automated voice now droned. The excess
of external impressions of impending doom now obviously got to
some of the Multifizzians present. They started shooting and
slashing in random directions, often causing instant death to
themselves. Cronos made deft use of their confusion to try a
small red button located in the immediate vicinity of the
joystick. There was a "ZAP" and a "SMASH", followed by a gaping
opening appearing in the wall ahead of him. He balanced the
craft, longing to fly outside into the sky that seemed to beckon
him from beyond the hole. He pushed forward the joystick, closing
Little high voices piped once more in panic. Their God might be
divine and all, but rather obviously seemed not to have passed
even the most elementary of Divine Air Traffic Schools. Damaging
the spaceship seriously, Cronos flew through the bit of wall
right next to the gaping hole. Multifizzians, however, seemed not
overly confident of their own style of flying, either - the ship
seemed to have been built to withstand such events and jumped up,
enthusiastically if somewhat awkwardly, into the infinite reaches
Behind him, there was a sound like someone breaking wind, only
somewhat louder. As he looked in one of the rear-view mirrors he
saw the entire planet of Multifizzic Omega envelop itself in
gaseous matter, the kind which he'd rather not hazard to further
determine the basic substances of. There was another sound,
similar to the previous but again louder. Millions of years of
exquisitely evolved flatulence now had to pay the price. And thus
exploded from the face of the universe forever the planet of
Multifizzic Omega, formerly the Smelliest Planet in the
Warchild and the cutesey-wuteseys were safe, finally.
There was no way he could estimate the distance between the void
that had once been Multifizzic Omega and the void that still
contained the planet where these small furry creatures cohabited.
As a matter of fact he had no clue as to that planet's
whereabouts until some enthusiastically agitated small creatures
came out of the box and started programming the on-board
This was the kind of instant on which, in humorous
cinematographic works, the protagonist looks into the camera and
frowns at the audience, appearing surprised by this rather
unlikely twist of fate.
Cronos now seemed to be in hands more capable than his own - at
least as far as navigation was concerned. He fumbled with his
hearing aids and found them operating quite normally again -
maybe they had just needed the fresh air or something.
Actually, the air wasn't that fresh. Occasionally a waft
of...of...something came by. He had smelled it before, he knew,
but he couldn't quite make the proper connections - something not
altogether unusual. There was bound to be some stench present,
after all it was a Multifizzian ship. It smelled a bit like
leather. No. Not leather. It was, it was...
He knew what it was. It hit him, suddenly.
It was Eau De Pigswil.
Betraying her acute sense of drama, Deirdre the Merciless, last
of the Multifizzians, considered that moment opportune to reveal
her suicidally enticing self.
"Me now have you," she crooned excitedly, "we now all alone,
yes?" She moved forward, pushing forward those pieces of her
anatomy she considered most attractive. She was actually
Abhorred, Warchild retreated as far as he could. The fluffy
round creatures jumped to and fro, piping in their familiar high
voices, trying to get out of the way whilst simultaneously
attempting to save their God. One of them seemed to scribble down
everything that was happening.
Cronos' thoughts, though not amounting to much, raced through
his head. How would a God solve this? He couldn't strike her, for
he saw that she seemed intoxicated with erotic fantasies to such
extent that she would probably, if she at all noticed his
bashings, be turned on by them.
She stood between him and the box containing the syringe. He
cursed himself for having parted with it. Deirdre came ever
closer. Warchild had been so stupid as to let himself be
cornered. Her huge shape already loomed above him, her tongue
licking her lips in anticipation, various warts excreting some
extra ooze for the hell of it.
Cronos was about to consider giving in, hoping that this might
increase his lifespan, when all of a sudden he found himself
gazing dazedly at an enormous and ever increasing hole in the
middle of Deirdre's body. Through it he saw about half a dozen
furry cuteseys who had, some way or other, succeeded not only in
getting the syringe and figuring out what to use it for, but who
had also managed to actually shoot at their Antichrist some of
the scent of Incandescent Orchid. They had hit home. A few
moments later there was a brittle and many-limbed skeleton, some
flesh still clining to the bones hesitantly. After another while
even the bones were crumbling apart, their remains beginning
their own life in zero gravity. Various small particles of
various bits of organs floated and ricocheted through the craft,
dissolving into nothingness gradually.
Within about half a minute the last of the Multifizzians had
vanished altogether, the only memory of her being a vague waft of
Eau De Pigswil that was quickly losing the battle against
"Phew," Cronos sighed.
The furry round creatures just hopped up and down happily,
insanely joyous with the knowledge that they had saved God. The
Divine One now owed them one.
A couple of hours later the last of the Multifizzian Space
Crafts landed on the planet of the fluffies. It had been a
close call, for fuel had run out somewhere when they were about
to land. The craft had crashed into the planet, but miraculously
Warchild had only sustained some bruises and but one of the furry
creatures had contused a limb.
Cronos was much abashed at what he saw when he got off and let
the rescued little creatures go to join with their kindred:
Gfrzxs and the others that had been left behind looked rather
unhealthy; their furs weren't healthily shiny any more, their
eyes were half closed and they sat huddled together, shivering as
if with fever.
The rescued ones dragged their fellow beings near to the smoking
remains of the Multifizzian space craft. Slowly but certainly the
sick cuteseys seemed to be getting better, opening their eyes and
rubbing their furs, inhaling deeply. Warchild was about to sigh
with relief when he had to stifle it. He saw that the creatures
did not quite return to their previous, happily bouncing and
shinily healthy state altogether. Something had caused them to
get healthier a bit, but obviously there hadn't been enough of
it for them to restore completely. Even as he looked at them,
some of them were already relapsing back to their sickly, pale,
His thoughts of doom were interrupted by another space craft
landing at a safe distance. Out stepped a man wearing a raincoat
and hat, holding in his arm something that looked like - and
indeed which actually turned out to be - a small diesel engine.
After walking up to a somewhat baffled (...) Cronos Warchild and
putting down the engine he took from a coat pocket a quill and an
"It seems we have a small problem here," he said, "and it seems
I have come at the right time to present its solution."
He turned on the diesel engine. A few dark clouds of smoke
bellowed from its exhaust. Cronos couldn't suppress a cough. Once
it ran like it ought to the clouds seemed to lessen and there was
only a vague scent of diesel fumes that pervaded the air.
"Whattaf..." Cronos mused.
The salesman, who knew he had done exactly what he needed to do
at the right time, the right place, and with the required élan,
instead of instantly offering his personal evaluation wordlessly
pointed at the furry creatures around them.
Gfrzxs and his dozens of little friends now all looked as if
they had just dropped off the Mother Tree - alive and well,
healthy, with shiny furs and starlets of joy gleaming in their
little black eyes. It seemed as if a miracle had happened.
"It's simple," the salesman now explained, "these creatures
have had a symbiotic relationship with their captors all along,
probably without really knowing anything about it."
"Symbiotic?" Warchild repeated, indicating he hadn't really
known about it all along either, not even quite grasping the
"Yeah," the man resumed, "each time when those Smelly Monsters
took away some of these furry fluffies, they left behind fumes
from their rather archaic diesel-operated engines that
neutralized a toxic element in this planet's biosphere. In
exchange for some of their lives being taken, the rest would be
allowed to live."
"Archaic?" Cronos asked, bemused.
"Indeed," the man replied.
Cronos knew there was something he wasn't supposed to
understand. There was a glitch in the theory that, no doubt,
clever readers will by now have noticed too.
"Er..." he said, "how could they have lived before the
Multifizzians started this...er...symposium?"
"Symbiosis," the salesman explained, "Well, our records indicate
a meteorite crashing into this planet not too long after the
Multifizzians discovered these furry creatures to be some kind of
rare delicacy. The crash itself caused no serious damage, but it
caused toxic gases to be released from deeper layers within this
planet's crust, most likely caused by massive dumping of chemical
and otherwise toxic waste by whatever people inhabited (and
abandoned) this planet centuries ago."
"Ah," Cronos said, after having been in thought for a while,
The man seemed instinctively to glance at his shoulders,
brushing off some dandruff from his coat.
"I am in a position to offer these furry round cutesey-wuteseys
this here fine diesel engine with diesel fuel as much as
health needs warrant," the salesman now said, "in exchange for
"Services?" Cronos inquired. Finally a difficult word he
"Yes," the man now proceeded, getting the hang of it now and
increasing enthusiasm carefully, "we offer excellent labour
conditions and we'll bring back each batch after, say, a month,
and get the new batch. All travel expenses paid, of course, and
excellent accomodation will be provided."
"Labour?" Warchild asked. Another word.
"Why certainly," the salesman now continued, taking a breath for
the final bit of what he no doubt considered his most excellent
offer yet, "they will be employed to hang under people's rear
Warchild let this sink in. This certainly seemed quite a
generous offer, especially what with all expenses being paid and
all this symposium stuff.
"You're their God," the man said, quite seriously, "so you sign
here on the dotted line." He extended the contract and quill.
Another space craft landed behind them, not the kind of
exploration or war craft the creatures were used to see but
instead a more luxurious civilian vessel out of which stepped
three gorgeous stewardesses who by their exclamations and frantic
behaviour betrayed a obsessive fixation on fluffy round objects.
"Oh, how cute!" one of the said, enthralled.
"Adorable!" another of them exclaimed, emblissed.
"Look, they're really alive!" the last one cried, totally
Cronos signed something unintelligible on the dotted line.
The feelings of affection between the gorgeous stewardesses and
the cute fluffies seemed mutual. Somewhere deep within their
subconsciousness, directed only by a long-forgotten gene of
sorts, a deep love towards these soft-skinned and utterly
huggable females developed. Their happy jumping and hopping, if
possible, continued now at an even more frenzied frequency.
"It seems I have become...er...howdoyasay...er...superfluous,"
Cronos said, finding it terribly difficult to keep himself from
envying those little creatures who seemed to have forgotten all
about him and now found themselves being pressed against pieces
of luscious female anatomy he had only dreamt of ever touching
himself, "can you take me with you?"
"Sure," the salesman replied, "where do you want to go?"
"Anywhere," Cronos shrugged, "anywhere."
He joined the man as he walked back to his small space craft.
Just before he got in he looked back. He saw the first batch of
fluffy creatures, guided by those exultantly blissful
stewardesses, entering the luxurious spaceliner. They were piping
at the edge of his hearing, or perhaps just beyond, but he didn't
really care what statements of joy and euphoria they uttered.
Suddenly he saw Gfrzxs. The small fluffy was standing behind
him, one limb extended. Taking care not to maim the absurdly
fragile armlet, Cronos bent down and shook it carefully.
Gfrzxs jumped off, happy beyond description, piping insanely to
wait for him, wait for him. Cronos hadn't known these creatures
could move that fast. Obviously, possessing five limbs can
increase one's speed. Gfrzxs jumped aboard the spaceliner, too,
welcomed by some assorted excited utterances, both of his kin and
of the girls.
"Let's go," Cronos muttered to the salesman.
The text of the articles is identical to the originals like they appeared in old ST NEWS issues. Please take into consideration that the author(s) was (were) a lot younger and less responsible back then. So bad jokes, bad English, youthful arrogance, insults, bravura, over-crediting and tastelessness should be taken with at least a grain of salt. Any contact and/or payment information, as well as deadlines/release dates of any kind should be regarded as outdated. Due to the fact that these pages are not actually contained in an Atari executable here, references to scroll texts, featured demo screens and hidden articles may also be irrelevant.