Corporal Pilsner had heard a transport just beyond the pass in the peaks he had used earlier. He found the Commander and voiced his concerns, "Someone is tracking us."
"No one is tracking us.", the Commander was biting down on the seared meat as it crackled between his teeth.
The security men had caught some Valdasyian boars and they now roasted on wooden spits.
They piled surplus ship items and dumped five huge fuel drums on them. The semi-native, gut boars, were all fourteen feet long, tail to snout, with five razor-sharp tusks apiece and weighing in a near, whopping, fourteen hundred pounds, each. Plenty enough to sustain the entire crew, overnight, with leftovers. This much meat had to be cooked hot and fast. The recently unused Alkazine-Stitchtrex fuel from their wreckage was just the meal ticket for the meandering occasion.
All at the Commander's orders, they had their own veritable old world luau. Pilsner dropped the turgid lumber he had wasted his, precious, valuable time collecting. The crew had done felled plump timbers and had them ablaze.
Commander Antilles looked happily, deliriously, reminiscent and, grinning, asks, "You know what a Botch Memosa is, Pilsner?"
"No.", said a perplexed Corporal.
"It's a Jhygaedian meal worm. Three hundred and sixty feet, some of 'em. They eat dirt and sh*t nutrients. I fell right in one once. A female. Only. She wasn't burrowing up, but down and I'd fallen into her hoo-hah. Me being very manly, I'd had to lick the whatcha-ma-kallit and I tongue-lathered that worm, but good. Who knew that it triggered the release of hours-long fermented acidia noctonic gas? Well, I rode that flatulence right on out of that smelly wet cave and, know this, she had never so much as kissed me. Kiss me, now, Corporal Egghead!"
The crew was stitched in hysterics.
The Corporal thought, for a moment, that must be the ever present stench on the Commander and, indubitably so, was about to say as much, when he opted to change the subject, instead.
"The 'Jhorgrhayne Headlines Cycle' reports the high lord of the Menji is assisting in the 'search and rescue' and, you know, he wants the navy's Quarzon sub-space fleet command codes that some moron thought fit to give you.", said the Corporal, motioning to his aural broadband unit on his belt.
Offended, the Commander hissed, "They gave them to me 'cause I'm not some odd 'know-it-all' who needs to go get more firewood! Hey! Listen up, Pilsner, the news isn't real, buddy! I'm not your friend, pal. But, I'll tell your a**, anyways, all those holo-people are just actor's. You are the reason they keep talking. You are gullible. Oh no! The sky is falling, an actor said so!", chuckled Antilles, by the conclusion of his rant.
"You're the Commander of a three eighty seven 'A'-stock Gunythe-Syll's-Krorthrite Cruiser and, you're telling me, that 'you' don't believe in the secure news from your employers? How do you know how to do your job? You 'did' just wreck a thirty point twelve million manno-tonne Cruiser, hours ago, on a simple planet orbit routine, you know? What a maroon! Now, we're exposed and lit up like a Hallion Sun for every Qui'i sniper to see and take aim at. You're seriously not even vaguely or remotely concerned that the person looking for us most actively, is the leader of the enemy!?! While you, you moronic pile of dung, just sit right on stuffing your face and hurling trite!", Corporal Pilsner was dripping venom and, for the fête coup de grâce, an ungraceful crowning hiss of, "Tell me, ignorama-pod, for soothe, you fastitious ox, do you truly write your own name on sticky pads just to remember who that fool in your silver mirror is before the lens breaks under the cold, dead weight of your horrid ill-reflection?", blathered on an angrily infuriated, hostile, hungered, morally turpidless, emotionally drained and highly beleaguered, Corporal.
"See? I knew you cared.", remarked Antilles to the cackle of the, largely astonished, onlooking crew of the 'Fated Glory'.
"I just get orders faxed to me and I'm following them, then I'm not thinking of anything, 'till the next orders. Got it, smarty pants?", said the Commander. Proud of himself.
Curiously, Corporal Pilsner inquired, "And. What 'are' your orders?"
"Go get some more firewood!", came the aggravated response from the Commander.
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