Written on scrap paper during study hall in seventh grade. Later underwent some changes to become the post-prologue opening scene of "Space Girls".
The Adventures of Nichch Bror
His name was Nichch Bror. His parents, Maria and Nathaniel, had named him Nicholas, but there was a typo on his birth certificate that had resulted in him even having a stupid nickname. Sure, they could have deleted the extra "ch" from the records, but with all the babies being born on Earth, civilians - even members of the Galaxy Rescue Squad - were charged quite a lot to use those computers.
Then he'd joined Space Force and gotten a 2-Tor model droid. By the time he quit to do freelance work, he suddenly remembered that Space Force members could use the computers for free.
But at times like this, when he was in a dusty ventilation shaft being stalked by security droids above a courtroom full of armed soldiers about to obliterate some guy for sneezing during the Supremme Dictator's speech, he felt that all in all, life was good, and he could live with it.
"This peasant has been sentenced to death for defiance of the government," the Judge explained. "His sentence is to be carried out forthwith, in this very courtroom, and broadcast throughout the planet as a warning to all worthless scum who dare challenge the power and authority of the Kugburian Empire."
He cleared his throat.
"But first," he said, "a word from our sponsor."
"Get ready, 2-Tor," Nichch mouthed. 2-Tor reluctantly started to loosen the ventilator hatch.
"...Zorian Engineering," the two-headed ambassador concluded. "We're not sleazy, we just bend the rules a little." The crowd burst into applause.
<Finished, boss,> 2-Tor telepathized.
Nichch nodded. He had a bad habit, a habit that would probably get him killed eventually, of waiting until the last minute to intervene. It was more dramatic that way. And in situations like these, where it was televise, he was that much worse. And he'd have to show off, too.
The execution was beginning. "Ready," said the General. "Aim..."
A squadron of security droids burst into the vent corridor where they were hiding. "You handle them, 2-Tor," Nichch said, and jumped through the grate.
He landed with a crash in the middle of the crowd. Hundreds of laser rifles were suddenly trained on him.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi," he continued when it became apparent that no one else was going to say anything. "Sorry to interrupt the scene, but I've been sent to tell you about a couple of small script revisions." He put up a finger. "Firstly, this guy here doesn't get shot. You hand him over to me. I'm the new cameo appearance." He put up another finger. "Secondly, you let us both out without trying to shoot us or something naughty like that."
The General forced his rough, leathery lips into an even deeper scowl than his habitual one. "Oh, I don't know," he drawled. "Why shouldn't we do a little ad-lib?"
Nichch pulled a small globe from his pocket. "Because the director says so."
Surprised shrieks filled the room. The soldiers dropped their weapons, put up their hands and ran around screaming. The Zorian decided it was time to get out some cash. The Judge decided to quietly slip away. The General, much to his credit, remained in position and merely started to sweat a little.
"Ah," he said hesitantly, "that wouldn't happen to be a Nykon 3-28 Thermal Detonator, would it?"
"It would. And guess what company Nykon is a subsidiary of?"
"Ah, well," the Zorian sputtered, "We didn't start it, you see. We just sort of bought it up, you know, just got a bunch of stocks, and it was all mostly legit. Then we decided, hey, let's invent a weapon of mass destruction and send it back to, say, the Krikkit Wars, give the good guys an edge. You know the Krikkit Droids all had those nuclear things already, so we were just evening up the odds a bit..." His voice trailed off.
"Don't worry, he speaks the truth, folks," Nichch explained. "These guys are really okay sometimes. I mean, we really shouldn't mess with the timestream and all, but who doesn't? And besides, they're not the ones who loaded this one with XR27-9B, are they?"
XR27-9B was an illegal form of biological warfare invented by Dr. Matthew Streeg. A single molecule of the potent gas wreaked havoc with a being's nervous system, causing unbelievably intense pain. The being would be immobilized until it starved to death. The molecule would meanwhile be spreading, but not dissipating, throughout at least a hundred square meter radius.
When Streeg was caught it had been confiscated and kept by Space Force under the tightest security possible. Naturally all 3,265 gallons had been immediately stolen and sold on the black market.
"All right," said the Judge in a barely audible whisper, "you may go."
***
Back at the ship, Nichch's new friend was ecstatic. "Thank you, honorable sir," he said at least thirty times. "Makrak Chao and his descendants are eternally in your debt."
"Nah, it's all in the job description," Nichch insisted. If only he could have destroyed the empire, too Come to think of it - "Take this and start a revolt," he said, handing over the detonator.
"Oh, sir," Makrak stammered, "by all means, I should be much too frightened to accept such a dangerous gift."
"Huh? Oh, that! The detonation leads have all been snipped and the gas chamber is empty." Nichch leaned in close. "But don't let on," he whispered, "and the government will do anything you want." He winked and turned to the ship. "2-Tor!"
<Yeah, boss?> 2-Tor was behind him already, looking rather peeved.
"Oh, good, you made it. Look, the hatch is stuck again. Can you pop it?"
"No thanks to you, yes I see it, and yes I can."
There was an awkward silence.
"Um, do it, please."
<Do what?>
"Pop it."
<Pop what?>
"The hatch."
<Why would you want me to do that? There's no air in space.>
"It's slang. JUST OPEN IT!"
<Open what?>
"The HATCH!"
<Certainly, sir. You don't need to get so uptight.>
***
"That wasn't like you, 2-Tor," Nichch said as they sped away from Kugbur into the cosmos. "You're a smarter robot than that. Are you just mad because I left you to take care of those security guys?"
<Oh no,> 2-Tor hastily replied, <it's perfectly reasonable to leave me behind without an electronic sausage to defend myself.>
"You had a deflector shield and a warp drive."
<Yeah, so I could defend them to death? I had to warp to the core of the ventilation system and tell its main computer to talk to the kitchen and order three hundred pounds of oatmeal."
"You did WHAT?"
***
No sooner had the rescuers left than the General shouted, "All men to your fighers! Chase them down!" As he rushed to follow suit, he suddenly stopped, his sensitive slitted nostrils twitching. "Is that... oatmeal?" he asked, as it came crashing down on him.
***
Life had settled down in the cockpit of Nichch's little ship, the Challenger. He had turned on the music and was singing along, "I'm the Captain, I'm in the chair, I've got a full, head of hair..." while 2-Tor questioned the morality of what they had done.
<Boss,> he said, <are you sure that was right? It's their government, after all, and it's doing nothing to affect the rest of the galaxy. Surely it's not our problem?>
"Oh Zarquon, 2-Tor, you're sounding like Captain Polaris. That's why I quit Space Force."
<I'm serious, though.>
"Look, the people are oppressed and unhappy. I don't care if they're one planet or one person, helping them is the right thing to do." Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep! "Prepare to exit hyperspace," Nichch instructed the computer. It did so. "All right... three... two... one... do it!"
<Sir! Boss, sir!> 2-Tor shouted frantically. <We've been followed by a couple hundred Kugburian fighters!> The Challenger was rocked by laser blasts a second later.
"Oh gratz!" Nichch fumed. "Patch me through to the lead ship's communicator!"
The General's face appeared on the screen. "Ah, hello, Mr. Bror," he sneered. "Did you really think you could screw around with the Kugburian Empire like that? We'll blow you out of the sky, and it shall be broadcast throughout our planet as - oh heck, let's just kill him."
"Well, your citizens shall have a memorable show," he retorted, "when they see your entire fleet decimated by a lone rebel ship." <2-Tor,> he telepathized, <turn us around and blast the space spit out of anything within range.>
2-Tor did so and all was chaos. A few cowardly ships sheared off and collided with their braver comrades, heavily damaging all involved. Nichch hit the thrusters and zigged through the crowd. Ships fired at where he had been seconds before and hit each other.
"Exact number of enemy ships, 2-Tor?"
<Calculating, boss.> There was a moment of silence. <Nine hundred ninety-nine. One of them, between collisions and stray fire, has been destroyed.>
"Stang. Even I don't like those odds. Shield integrity?"
<Only about five percent less than our own. But I can boost ours.>
"Do it. I'll have the computer take over. Okay, let's see what this baby can really do." Nichch thumbed the rapid-fire switch and lined up a fighter in his sights. "Target pressure point, please," he said to the computer. His crosshairs shifted a few degrees and the fighter buckled under the pressure. It exploded.
<Boss,> 2-Tor shouted, <I can't hold this much longer! My circuits are burning up!>
Nichch drove through a converging ring of fighters that exploded behind them and did a strafing run on a group below. "All right," he shouted, "take all the ship's auxiliary power and broadcasting equipment. See if you can use your telepathy to hack into the General's computer and shut down all the shields."
<Okie-doke, boss, but our own shields are almost gone without me.> 2-Tor turned to the difficult task. Could he do it? Could he do it before they were blown to dust?
Oh, great. A feedback mechanism. If he alerted the computer to his presence it would fry him. He could create his own feedback-feedback mechanism and counter it, but that would immobilize it, and that wasn't what he wanted. He could figure out the password, but they would probably be dead by then. He saw only one thin hope...
<Computer. This is General Hadoc.>
<Impossible,> it beeped. <User "Hadoc8" is already online.>
<He's an imposter! He stole my ship!>
The computer automatically locked the pilot out at this comment. <Please enter clearance code to continue,> it told 2-Tor.
<Yeah, well, I forgot where I wrote it down...>
<Incorrect password. Access denied.>
"How's it coming, Tor?"
<Just great, boss, just great. Look, you worthless heap of transistors, let me in right now or I will reprogram you with a very large ax, okay?>
<You have been identified as General Hadoc. Access granted. Welcome back, Hadoc8. There is a space battle going on here above planet ZZizk. You have nine hundred twenty-three fighters at your disposal. Enemy has one ship, heavily dam->
<Deactivate all shields in our fleet.>
<General, that is highly illogical.>
<I'm turning against the Empire. Now do it!>
<Always knew it'd happen someday, boss,> the computer said. 2-Tor had already checked and knew it was impossible to shut off the General's own shield, so he returned to boosting Nichch's rapidly fading one.
"Sweet job, kid!" Nichch yelled. He pumped up his attack. Engines, wings, and pilots were mutilated and sliced off by his beams of death. Collisions were much more fatal. They were beginning to panic.
But even with their numbers reduced to seven hundred sixty-five, they held the advantage. The Challenger was weakening. Warning lights and sirens began to flash and blare. There was a shower of sparks and 2-Tor collapsed. <One percent of shields remaining,> he gasped.
The ship shook again, and it didn't take the computer readout to tell them the shields were gone. Only their armor plating protected them from the lancing laser bolts.
"All right, I guess we lose this time," Nichch admitted. "Let's warp to a mechanic and get fixed up."
<We can't, boss. I - I'm exhausted.>
"Any other options that don't involve us dying?"
<Yes. But only one.>
"Oh, no."
<Yes.>
"No!"
<It's the only way.>
"All right. Computer, take us to full speed but cease evasive maneuvers."
Nichch Bror swallowed hard.
"Then, we'll push... the button."
To Be Continued - Not
Then he'd joined Space Force and gotten a 2-Tor model droid. By the time he quit to do freelance work, he suddenly remembered that Space Force members could use the computers for free.
But at times like this, when he was in a dusty ventilation shaft being stalked by security droids above a courtroom full of armed soldiers about to obliterate some guy for sneezing during the Supremme Dictator's speech, he felt that all in all, life was good, and he could live with it.
"This peasant has been sentenced to death for defiance of the government," the Judge explained. "His sentence is to be carried out forthwith, in this very courtroom, and broadcast throughout the planet as a warning to all worthless scum who dare challenge the power and authority of the Kugburian Empire."
He cleared his throat.
"But first," he said, "a word from our sponsor."
"Get ready, 2-Tor," Nichch mouthed. 2-Tor reluctantly started to loosen the ventilator hatch.
"...Zorian Engineering," the two-headed ambassador concluded. "We're not sleazy, we just bend the rules a little." The crowd burst into applause.
<Finished, boss,> 2-Tor telepathized.
Nichch nodded. He had a bad habit, a habit that would probably get him killed eventually, of waiting until the last minute to intervene. It was more dramatic that way. And in situations like these, where it was televise, he was that much worse. And he'd have to show off, too.
The execution was beginning. "Ready," said the General. "Aim..."
A squadron of security droids burst into the vent corridor where they were hiding. "You handle them, 2-Tor," Nichch said, and jumped through the grate.
He landed with a crash in the middle of the crowd. Hundreds of laser rifles were suddenly trained on him.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi," he continued when it became apparent that no one else was going to say anything. "Sorry to interrupt the scene, but I've been sent to tell you about a couple of small script revisions." He put up a finger. "Firstly, this guy here doesn't get shot. You hand him over to me. I'm the new cameo appearance." He put up another finger. "Secondly, you let us both out without trying to shoot us or something naughty like that."
The General forced his rough, leathery lips into an even deeper scowl than his habitual one. "Oh, I don't know," he drawled. "Why shouldn't we do a little ad-lib?"
Nichch pulled a small globe from his pocket. "Because the director says so."
Surprised shrieks filled the room. The soldiers dropped their weapons, put up their hands and ran around screaming. The Zorian decided it was time to get out some cash. The Judge decided to quietly slip away. The General, much to his credit, remained in position and merely started to sweat a little.
"Ah," he said hesitantly, "that wouldn't happen to be a Nykon 3-28 Thermal Detonator, would it?"
"It would. And guess what company Nykon is a subsidiary of?"
"Ah, well," the Zorian sputtered, "We didn't start it, you see. We just sort of bought it up, you know, just got a bunch of stocks, and it was all mostly legit. Then we decided, hey, let's invent a weapon of mass destruction and send it back to, say, the Krikkit Wars, give the good guys an edge. You know the Krikkit Droids all had those nuclear things already, so we were just evening up the odds a bit..." His voice trailed off.
"Don't worry, he speaks the truth, folks," Nichch explained. "These guys are really okay sometimes. I mean, we really shouldn't mess with the timestream and all, but who doesn't? And besides, they're not the ones who loaded this one with XR27-9B, are they?"
XR27-9B was an illegal form of biological warfare invented by Dr. Matthew Streeg. A single molecule of the potent gas wreaked havoc with a being's nervous system, causing unbelievably intense pain. The being would be immobilized until it starved to death. The molecule would meanwhile be spreading, but not dissipating, throughout at least a hundred square meter radius.
When Streeg was caught it had been confiscated and kept by Space Force under the tightest security possible. Naturally all 3,265 gallons had been immediately stolen and sold on the black market.
"All right," said the Judge in a barely audible whisper, "you may go."
***
Back at the ship, Nichch's new friend was ecstatic. "Thank you, honorable sir," he said at least thirty times. "Makrak Chao and his descendants are eternally in your debt."
"Nah, it's all in the job description," Nichch insisted. If only he could have destroyed the empire, too Come to think of it - "Take this and start a revolt," he said, handing over the detonator.
"Oh, sir," Makrak stammered, "by all means, I should be much too frightened to accept such a dangerous gift."
"Huh? Oh, that! The detonation leads have all been snipped and the gas chamber is empty." Nichch leaned in close. "But don't let on," he whispered, "and the government will do anything you want." He winked and turned to the ship. "2-Tor!"
<Yeah, boss?> 2-Tor was behind him already, looking rather peeved.
"Oh, good, you made it. Look, the hatch is stuck again. Can you pop it?"
"No thanks to you, yes I see it, and yes I can."
There was an awkward silence.
"Um, do it, please."
<Do what?>
"Pop it."
<Pop what?>
"The hatch."
<Why would you want me to do that? There's no air in space.>
"It's slang. JUST OPEN IT!"
<Open what?>
"The HATCH!"
<Certainly, sir. You don't need to get so uptight.>
***
"That wasn't like you, 2-Tor," Nichch said as they sped away from Kugbur into the cosmos. "You're a smarter robot than that. Are you just mad because I left you to take care of those security guys?"
<Oh no,> 2-Tor hastily replied, <it's perfectly reasonable to leave me behind without an electronic sausage to defend myself.>
"You had a deflector shield and a warp drive."
<Yeah, so I could defend them to death? I had to warp to the core of the ventilation system and tell its main computer to talk to the kitchen and order three hundred pounds of oatmeal."
"You did WHAT?"
***
No sooner had the rescuers left than the General shouted, "All men to your fighers! Chase them down!" As he rushed to follow suit, he suddenly stopped, his sensitive slitted nostrils twitching. "Is that... oatmeal?" he asked, as it came crashing down on him.
***
Life had settled down in the cockpit of Nichch's little ship, the Challenger. He had turned on the music and was singing along, "I'm the Captain, I'm in the chair, I've got a full, head of hair..." while 2-Tor questioned the morality of what they had done.
<Boss,> he said, <are you sure that was right? It's their government, after all, and it's doing nothing to affect the rest of the galaxy. Surely it's not our problem?>
"Oh Zarquon, 2-Tor, you're sounding like Captain Polaris. That's why I quit Space Force."
<I'm serious, though.>
"Look, the people are oppressed and unhappy. I don't care if they're one planet or one person, helping them is the right thing to do." Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep! "Prepare to exit hyperspace," Nichch instructed the computer. It did so. "All right... three... two... one... do it!"
<Sir! Boss, sir!> 2-Tor shouted frantically. <We've been followed by a couple hundred Kugburian fighters!> The Challenger was rocked by laser blasts a second later.
"Oh gratz!" Nichch fumed. "Patch me through to the lead ship's communicator!"
The General's face appeared on the screen. "Ah, hello, Mr. Bror," he sneered. "Did you really think you could screw around with the Kugburian Empire like that? We'll blow you out of the sky, and it shall be broadcast throughout our planet as - oh heck, let's just kill him."
"Well, your citizens shall have a memorable show," he retorted, "when they see your entire fleet decimated by a lone rebel ship." <2-Tor,> he telepathized, <turn us around and blast the space spit out of anything within range.>
2-Tor did so and all was chaos. A few cowardly ships sheared off and collided with their braver comrades, heavily damaging all involved. Nichch hit the thrusters and zigged through the crowd. Ships fired at where he had been seconds before and hit each other.
"Exact number of enemy ships, 2-Tor?"
<Calculating, boss.> There was a moment of silence. <Nine hundred ninety-nine. One of them, between collisions and stray fire, has been destroyed.>
"Stang. Even I don't like those odds. Shield integrity?"
<Only about five percent less than our own. But I can boost ours.>
"Do it. I'll have the computer take over. Okay, let's see what this baby can really do." Nichch thumbed the rapid-fire switch and lined up a fighter in his sights. "Target pressure point, please," he said to the computer. His crosshairs shifted a few degrees and the fighter buckled under the pressure. It exploded.
<Boss,> 2-Tor shouted, <I can't hold this much longer! My circuits are burning up!>
Nichch drove through a converging ring of fighters that exploded behind them and did a strafing run on a group below. "All right," he shouted, "take all the ship's auxiliary power and broadcasting equipment. See if you can use your telepathy to hack into the General's computer and shut down all the shields."
<Okie-doke, boss, but our own shields are almost gone without me.> 2-Tor turned to the difficult task. Could he do it? Could he do it before they were blown to dust?
Oh, great. A feedback mechanism. If he alerted the computer to his presence it would fry him. He could create his own feedback-feedback mechanism and counter it, but that would immobilize it, and that wasn't what he wanted. He could figure out the password, but they would probably be dead by then. He saw only one thin hope...
<Computer. This is General Hadoc.>
<Impossible,> it beeped. <User "Hadoc8" is already online.>
<He's an imposter! He stole my ship!>
The computer automatically locked the pilot out at this comment. <Please enter clearance code to continue,> it told 2-Tor.
<Yeah, well, I forgot where I wrote it down...>
<Incorrect password. Access denied.>
"How's it coming, Tor?"
<Just great, boss, just great. Look, you worthless heap of transistors, let me in right now or I will reprogram you with a very large ax, okay?>
<You have been identified as General Hadoc. Access granted. Welcome back, Hadoc8. There is a space battle going on here above planet ZZizk. You have nine hundred twenty-three fighters at your disposal. Enemy has one ship, heavily dam->
<Deactivate all shields in our fleet.>
<General, that is highly illogical.>
<I'm turning against the Empire. Now do it!>
<Always knew it'd happen someday, boss,> the computer said. 2-Tor had already checked and knew it was impossible to shut off the General's own shield, so he returned to boosting Nichch's rapidly fading one.
"Sweet job, kid!" Nichch yelled. He pumped up his attack. Engines, wings, and pilots were mutilated and sliced off by his beams of death. Collisions were much more fatal. They were beginning to panic.
But even with their numbers reduced to seven hundred sixty-five, they held the advantage. The Challenger was weakening. Warning lights and sirens began to flash and blare. There was a shower of sparks and 2-Tor collapsed. <One percent of shields remaining,> he gasped.
The ship shook again, and it didn't take the computer readout to tell them the shields were gone. Only their armor plating protected them from the lancing laser bolts.
"All right, I guess we lose this time," Nichch admitted. "Let's warp to a mechanic and get fixed up."
<We can't, boss. I - I'm exhausted.>
"Any other options that don't involve us dying?"
<Yes. But only one.>
"Oh, no."
<Yes.>
"No!"
<It's the only way.>
"All right. Computer, take us to full speed but cease evasive maneuvers."
Nichch Bror swallowed hard.
"Then, we'll push... the button."
To Be Continued - Not