The clotted, repulsive sea of glowing gas swam in front of the keen eyes of Sub-Admiral Brace Moanstar as he stared into the visiplate. "The Cornhole Nebula," he thought. "The hiding place of the most brutal gangs of inter-galactic thuggery, and they want me to go in there solo. I'll be naked and defenseless, easy prey!" He shivered uneasily as his mind raced in circles, throwing a rod.
Moanstar traced the line of the new scar that creased his cheek with a carefully manicured hoof. He'd paid a heavy price for his brilliantly executed attack on the home planet of the rapacious Space Wolves, but the savage beating handed them by the stalwart crew of the Yoke of Destiny had sent them slinking from the spaceways, temporarily cowed. His recent promotion swelling his already bloated ego, Moanstar was grimly determined to prove his value to Space Corp Command. What he hadn't expected was this suicidal mission into the dark, stinking heart of the Stellar Mafia!
"I'll have to go in the backdoor," he decided. "Smooth and greasy and slick as a willy—or those swine will have my ass for breakfast."
He headed for the infirmary to check up on the valiant Lt. Hoovesmason, who'd suffered massive injuries battling the Space Wolves. Hoovesmason lay on his back with his legs sticking into the air and various tubes and wires running in and out of his body. He didn't look good. Very bad, in fact. Like some kind of fat, wilted pincushion.
"How's the leg, Lieutenant?"
"Just fine, Captain," he gasped. "The Doc is fitting it with cold-fusion bionics so I'll be stronger than ever."
"It's Sub-Admiral, Lieutenant," Moanstar reminded him.
"Sorry, Sir."
"That's all right," said Moanstar generously, "you just get well, Hoovesmason. We need you back on the bridge."
Doctor Darius, the irascible but much beloved Chief Medical Officer, signaled to Moanstar. "Let's talk, Captain."
"It's Sub-Admiral, Doc."
Darius ignored this. "I'm worried about the kid, Moanstar. He's only got one good leg left, plus his udder was badly slashed when we fled into hyperspace."
"We didn't flee!" Moanstar said angrily. "That was a strategic withdrawal!"
"Whatever," said Darius. "I want you to convince him to retire or take a desk job, he's had enough."
Moanstar eyed Darius with his patented icy glare, to which Darius seemed immune. "I don't think you understand the vital role Hoovesmason fills, Doctor."
"Oh, I understand all right," said Darius. "The delicious ice cream cones, the yummy frozen custard treats, you've put on 50 pounds since that boy started losing legs! You've got a big fat monkey on your back!"
"That's enough!" snapped Moanstar. "He stays. And I want him back on active duty within the week."
"I hope you know what you're doing," said Darius. The crotchety old sawbones watched Moanstar as he waddled into the turbo-lift and punched controls for the bridge deck.
"He's too fat," thought Darius savagely, "way too fat. He's buying a one-way ticket to Coronary City."
"Trust me, Doc," said Moanstar.
Darius choked back his reply.
—0300 hours. The Shuttle Bay of the Starship Yoke of Destiny.
"You'll blend in better if you walk upright," said Hide Bounder as he adjusted the udder straps on Moanstar's spacesuit. "They can spot a Space Cow coming a mile away."
"Thanks a lot," said Moanstar sarcastically. "I'll probably be dead in an hour, anyway."
Bounder, the long-time friend of Moanstar and notorious rake-hell, was troubled. "Perhaps I should come with you, Captain."
"Sub-Admiral," said Moanstar. "No, old friend. My orders are to go alone. The Space Corp desperately needs the plans for this mysterious Trans-Photonic Drive, and they are counting on my subtlety and razor-sharp wits to get them."
"Uh, oh," thought Bounder.
Moanstar pressed the firing stud and the slim craft leapt from the shuttle bay, winging its way toward the mysterious heart of the Cornhole Nebula. An hour later he landed smoothly on the surface of Asteroid XHT-8311, completely undetected. Twenty minutes after exiting his spacecraft he was a prisoner. He was beaten for days by vicious Ether-Pigs.
Moanstar blinked. He was convinced the tears gushing down his hairy cheeks were caused by the harsh spotlight, the slow drip of water on his forehead, the psychedelic drugs coursing through his system, the savage beatings his kidneys had endured from saps of various sizes and weights, and the high voltage electric shocks applied to his many nipples, not by any psychological or emotional weakness on his part.
"After all, I'm Brace Moanstar," he sobbed brokenly.
Slowly, he became aware of a shadowy, cow-shaped figure in the background. "No-no more!" he screamed.
A voice floated out of the darkness. "Don't be afraid, Moanstar. I've come to free you."
A figure entered the circle of white light. It was a young he-cow. And he looked damned familiar.
"You look damned familiar," said Moanstar.
"Like looking in a mirror, isn't it? Let's get you out of those ropes." The mysterious stranger cut Moanstar's bonds with a hoof-held proto-laser.
"Thanks," said Moanstar gratefully.
"You're welcome...Father!"
"That's impossible!" snorted Moanstar. "I have no son!"
The Son of Moanstar smiled. "Remember a curvy young Holstein named Rosie? One lazy summer's night spent watching the plasma races on Acton? A little too much Brillian Fire-Brandy?"
"No," said Moanstar.
"You were submissive, you begged to have your hoofs painted pink, you wept like a ba-"
"I remember now!" Moanstar said quickly. "A fine woman, your mother. I've often wonderered what became of her..."
"You stole her credit cards and left her for dead!"
"I was young then," protested Moanstar, "wild, I didn't know what I was doing. I had Hycazzian Fever and the Mumps, I was the victim of a vast, anonymous conspiracy. The wine was drugged, I was hallucinating..."
"Enough!" said the Son of Moanstar. "I didn't come here to listen to your feeble excuses, but to deliver the plans for the Trans-Photonic Drive. I'm a double agent for the Space Corp."
"My son!" Moanstar said proudly.
"Touching!" said a grating voice. "I regret cutting this reunion short. I really do." The heavily jowled Ether-Pig leader emerged from a hidden doorway and smiled, exposing green, rotted teeth. "But I'm afraid it's time for you to die, Moanstar. And your son with you." He drew a deadly looking phase pistol as more smirking Ether-Pigs filled the room behind him.
Hope was a tiny ember glowing faintly in the dark.
"No it's not," thought Moanstar. 'It's the wall that's glowing, glowing white hot!' He stared in fascination as the wall disintegrated before his eyes—with a sizzling sound like frying bacon—to reveal Hide Bounder and an attack squad of Space Cows, heavily armed. They bellowed when they saw Moanstar and began firing blindly at the Ether Pigs. The room quickly filled with smoke, the squeals of enraged Ether-Pigs, and the bellows of vengeful Space Cows. In the confusion Moanstar was shot in the tail.
"I'm hit!" he shrieked, pawing the air and falling heavily to his side. "Avenge my death, Son!" The Son of Moanstar hurried to his father's side, dodging blasts of deadly energy.
"It's just a flesh wound, father. You'll be fine. You've lost a bit of your tail, that's all."
"Avenge me!" Moanstar shrieked again, then fainted. The room began to vibrate with a humming sound that rattled teeth.
"It's a Quark Bomb!" shouted the Son of Moanstar, "everybody out!" He began to drag the limp form of the hapless Sub-Admiral towards the hole in the wall, assisted by Hide Bounder.
"To the ship, Space Cows!" roared Bounder. "Move!" They clopped heavily down the corridor, massive hearts racing, adrenaline gushing by the gallon, minutes seeming like hours. At last, fatigued, they saw the shuttle in the distance. They began to hope...
A tremendous explosion ripped the world apart around them and sent them crashing into darkness.
"Avenge me," whispered Moanstar.
© 2003 by Craig Snyder