Page 82 of All You Need is Alien Love
I glance across the space to where Ellie, Maddox, and a small team of Alliance personnel hold their own against a group of mercenaries from another species I’m unfamiliar with. They’re short and squat with sharp, beaked noses and long, dwarf-like beards made out of feathers instead of hair. They look kind of cool, but they picked the wrong side in this battle, so I don’t spare them another glance.
Zamir and the other Vroknu refugees are engaged in intense combat against their own kind, and we hurry in their direction tohelp them. The invaders appear to be led by a huge older Vroknu that I somehow immediately know has to be Zamir and Zion’s father. His skin is a dark steel-gray hue, and he’s easily as big as Zamir, if not bigger.
He’s also fighting with a deadly-looking sword that reminds me of a Klingon’sbat’leth.
“Gene Roddenberry got so many things right,” I whisper to myself. “He had to have actually visited outer space.”
All of a sudden, Lu-Ren spies an opportunity and rushes into the battle to help Zion, who’s been surrounded by attackers.
Nirblob and I soon find ourselves facing two enormous Vroknu warriors of our own. I gulp as they stampede in our direction, both so big they look like they could squash us.
Nirblob reacts faster than I do, lashing out with his weapon and spraying a beautiful arc of Groxil slime at them. He successfully hits one in the face, but the other manages to duck just in time.
Our first opponent goes down like a rookie boxer taking a ruthless uppercut in his first match, frozen with his weapon in his hand. There’s no time to celebrate because the second one is on us in a heartbeat. I have to fend off the enormous blade that comes arcing at my head. My Lightsaber Dong of Doom 2.0 is made of a metal Nirblob told me is sturdier than titanium, so I’m able to block the blow, but the sheer power behind it sends pain shooting up my forearm all the way to my shoulder.
That motherfucker is trying to lop my head off!
This warrior is older and, based on the patchwork of scars on his face and arms, more battle-hardened.
He’s not as hasty as his friend was and clearly a lot more dangerous. So fast I can barely see it, he manages to send Nirblob’s weapon flying then pivots and swings his sword right at my friend. Thankfully, Nirblob manages to evade the blade just barely.
Alas, his cloak does not.
I hear a loud ripping noise as the Vroknu weapon tears through Nirblob’s beloved Vardox-inspired garment.
“Noooooo!” His sorrowful wail echoes throughout the hangar.
The Vroknu is distracted for a split-second, and I take the chance to use one of the moves that Zamir taught me, performing a running slide on my knees that puts me right in place to swing upward and slam my Lightsaber Dong of Doom 2.0 straight into his unprotected crotch.
It’s his turn to shriek.
I press the button and he gets a healthy spray of Groxil slime, freezing him where he’s crouched and covering his injured balls.
“Serves you right, fucker.”
I hurry to where Nirblob’s fallen to the ground, cradling his ruined garment, tears rolling down his cheeks. “My precious cloak,” he whimpers.
I lay my hand on his shoulder gently. “By Grabthar’s hammer, by the suns of Worvan, you shall be avenged!”
I’ve always wanted to say that line and there has never been a more perfect moment than right now.
Nirblob sniffles and gazes at the warrior I took out a moment ago. “I believe you have already avenged me, amigo.”
“Oh, yeah. I suppose you’re right.”
“What is Grabthar’s hammer?”
My eyes dart around us, and I quickly help him back to his feet. “I’ll explain later. It involves a sci-fi comedy classic known asGalaxy Quest. For now, though, let’s keep kicking ass and taking names.”
One by one, we’re systematically taking down our opponents. Our secret weapons are proving quite handy. I also appreciate the fact that we’re taking out these homophobic assholes withphallic weapons that jizz them with Groxil slime. That’s what I call motherfucking karma.
A few hundred yards away, I spy Zamir fighting his father. The two men appear evenly matched as their weapons clash together so hard they nearly set off sparks.
“You’re a disgrace to your kind. From this moment, you’re no longer my son.” The older Vroknu’s words reverberate throughout the hangar and my heart clenches for Zamir.
But the man himself remains focused and calm. “I cut ties with you long ago. Only Zion is my family now.”
That seems to enrage his father and their fight turns even more vicious.
