Screw the Universe by Stephen Schwegler, Eirik Gumeny Page B

right?”
     
    “Yes. Why you can’t carry it yourself, though, I don’t understand.”
     
    “Because I’m the captain and you’re not. Dick.”
     
    Dr. Porniviriyakul leaned forward and punched Captain Tyler in the nuts.
     
    “You bastard,” sputtered Captain Tyler, falling to his knees.
     
    “Yeah, well, I hate you,” said Dr. Porniviriyakul. “I’m a veterinarian. There is no fucking reason for me to be out here.”
     
    Captain Tyler vomited in reply.
     
    “Whatever.”
     
    “Hey,” said Private Redshirt, thoroughly ignoring the doctor and the captain, “I think I see something over there.”
     
    “Maybe,” said Captain Tyler, getting back up, “it’s my penis. It is quite large.”
     
    “I don’t think it’s your penis.”
     
    “Are you sure?”
     
    “I am,” said Duknerts. “I’ve seen your penis. It’s not as impressive as you think.”
     
    “What about my balls?” asked the captain. “Are they as impressive as I think?”
     
    “No.”
     
    “You’re so full of shit, Duknerts. My balls are magnificent. My scrotum is a thing of beauty. My testicles are –”
     
    Punched is what. Dr. Porniviriyakul punched Captain Tyler in the testicles. Again.
     
    “Stop talking about your testicles!” shouted the doctor.
     
    “Yeah, I agree,” said Private Redshirt. “That’s a good rule.”
     
    “Oh, my nuts,” muttered Captain Tyler.
     
    First Lieutenant Duknerts kicked him in the crotch.
     
    “No,” said Duknerts, “you’re not allowed to complain about them either. You complain about your nuts you get hit in the nuts. That’s the rule.”
     
    “It’s a stupid rule.”
     
    “It’s the only way to keep you from talking about your testicles.”
     
    Private Redshirt hit First Lieutenant Duknerts in the nuts.
     
    “The rule is anyone who talks about Tyler’s balls gets hit in the nuts,” she clarified.
     
    “Yes, dear,” coughed Duknerts.
     

     
    “Computer!” shouted Private Naughtyplaces.
     
    “Yes?”
     
    “Get this bird in the air!”
     
    “What?”
     
    “Make the Zdravo go into space.”
     
    “Oh, okay. Sure. Can I ask why? Seeing as how, you know, you’re not in charge or anything?”
     
    “We’re dropping a super-nuke on this dumbass planet and all the dumbasses on it. Right the hell now.”
     
    Private Naughtyplaces hit the buttons to launch the Zdravo’s arsenal. All of it. Including the Federation’s only super-nuke.
     

     
    The sky of “Stupidia” became littered with thousands of tiny little objects as the landing party continued to punch Captain Tyler’s balls. He thoroughly refused to obey the rule.
     
    “That’s an awful lot of birds,” said First Lieutenant Duknerts, looking upward.
     
    “Those aren’t birds,” corrected the captain, stumbling to his feet once again, “that’s the Zdravo’s entire weapons cache.”
     
    “Where is the Zdravo?” asked Dr. Porniviriyakul.
     
    “You mean,” began Private Redshirt, “we’ve been flying around with all of that firepower under our butts this entire time?”
     
    “You got it,” confirmed Tyler.
     
    “This is exactly why I didn’t want to come on this mission,” said Dr. Porniviriyakul. “Or any mission. I… knew… I’d… be… What the hell is that?”
     
    Dr. Porniviriyakul pointed at a very, very large metallic object falling through, and blocking out, a large portion of the sky.
     
    The landing party stared at it, silently. Eventually the words Federation Super-Nuke became legible, written as they were in twenty-foot neon letters on the side of the projectile.
     
    Captain Tyler, thinking this was finally the end all be all of everything, took out his satellite phone and began texting pictures of his junk to every female member of the Federation. Private Redshirt and First Lieutenant Duknerts started having sex. Dr. Porniviriyakul continued to stand silently, his impotent rage rising to a point that actually, permanently, altered his brain