They Do It With Mindworms

[History Guy]

Some of you may notice, simply by chance, that this is not your average run-of-the-mill Alpha Centauri story. This is simply because it is not supposed to be taken seriously at all.
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THEY DO IT WITH MINDWORMS!
A NIGHTMARE

U.N. Headquarters

Commissioner Pravin Lal was a busy busy man. He was swamped with paperwork as it was, and he was not too crazy about having to bother with this year’s Planetary Council meeting. Oh he knew it only came once every two Planetdecades, but it was such a bother! And he really didn’t feel like dealing with all the other faction leaders either. Mr. Ego-ist (his name for CEO Morgan) would be there with his Morgan girls and his pockets full of energy credits, swinging his checkbook around the bars and flirting outrageously with Lady Deirdre (something that he knew would happen as well). Lady Deirdre! Oh heavens, she’d be there too. Miss Treecrazy. She come up and try to win votes with her ‘gorgeous smile’…and yet whenever Pravin had the misfortune to see it he noticed little bits of lettuce stuck between her teeth. Provost Zakharov, that moron Yang, Sister Miriam, Blood and Iron Santiago…it was all too much. And they all wanted to bother the poor guy. Lal was tired of even thinking about it.

“Good morning, Commissioner!” cried Mr. Claude Canningham, one of Lal’s advisors, flinging open the door and shouting wildly to the top of his lungs, “Big big big big day today!”

“Oh Lord…” mouthed Lal.

“Are you ready for today, Commissioner? Scared? You have to stand up in front of a lot of people!”

“Please, Canningham, you half-witted moron, leave me alone!” said Lal, kindly.

“Who ya gonna vote for, um? Yourself again?? You are always the one to vote for yourself!”

“Yes, but I always win because I have 50 planetary votes and everyone else has far less, and they all vote for themselves…now please leave me alone…please…”

“You got a headache?? Huh?” screamed Canningham. Lal snatched up the stun gun and shot Canningham down. He’d be out for about 2 hours. Lal was sorry he’d had to knock the poor sap out, but he just wasn’t up to it today. He’d say it was an accident. “Whoops,” he’d say, “sorry about that, guy, accidentally shot you there didn’t I?” Lal sat down again, very slowly. Outside he could see some of the leaders arriving already. There, for example, was the bulbous white head of Chairman Yang bouncing around on the tarmac. Some wage slaves were carrying Morgan (who was pouring some xeno-wine down his gullet and gargling happily) in on a sedan chair. Some dancing girls were following him about. What a jerk, thought Lal. Abdullah Zoonoosly Ka-bob, one of his advisors, was following closely behind, as Mastadon Fiver, the Hive diplomat, followed behind Yang. They looked like two very hideous, nasty, unpleasant individuals. Oh shoot, thought Lal.

The door opened up (bumping into Canningham’s prostrate trunk) and Sarita marched in saying in her metallic voice, “Perhaps you had better greet the diplomats and the leaders, Commissioner Lal.” Lal responded that he most certainly would, and followed her down to them. He found Lady Deirdre, CEO Morgan, and Chairman Yang already waiting for him, with Lady Duff-Wilkes, Ka-Bob, and Fiver (their respective ambassadors) also present.

“Well hi there!” cried CEO Morgan, thrusting out a muscular hand, which he expected Lal to shake. Lal did so, but found that Morgan’s grip nearly tossed him in the air with one single shake. It was quite ridiculous. Yang bowed his head, and Lady Deirdre did a stupid little dance or something in order to show that she was there as well. She flashed a little smile, and Lal noticed a small bit of a Brussel Sprout stuck between some bicuspids. Into the room then popped Provost Zakharov (with his diplomat, Head Librarian Smartz). Zakharov grabbed Deirdre, picked up her, swung her around (as she giggled), and was about to give her a smooch when he took a good double take at her teeth and cried “Iza Bruzzel Zproot!” He then clutched his heart and promptly fell over.

Within about 20 minutes everyone else had come. Sister Miriam with Archbishop Mandible, Colonel Santiago with Lieutenant Bootneck, and Conqueror Judaa Marr with Zoron the Magnificient. Needless to say, the latter group was shot to pieces by U.N. security, thus ending the Usurper threat to the future of mankind, much to Chairman Yang’s horror.

Soon the council convened and everyone started to yap. It all stopped for a brief period when Mastadon Fiver, the Hive diplomat, went to the restroom. It soon started up again. It stopped again shortly when Security Chief Alexandros charged in, firing his shredder pistol into the air wildly (as some security guards from the upper levels twisted and fell over the railings). “Diplomat Fiver…” he cried, his eyes widening in shock.

“What about him?” cried Yang…much to Lal’s discomfort, as he was sitting right beside him.

“Eeees dead, sir!” cried the security man, “in Commissioner Lal’s office, sir! It’s awful, sir…” Sheng-ji was absolutely horrified. “Follow me,” he cried, “to Lal’s office, we must investigate this horrible accident!!” Everyone began to follow as Yang whipped upstairs.

“Hey,” called out Lal after him, “how do you know where my office is, huh?” Lal’s answer came as he looked at the mounted head of the xeno-moose on the wall. Its eye winked at him. “Oh,” said Lal.

As Yang flung the door open (bumping into poor Canningham’s body once again), he squealed something in Hive-Chironian. Fiver was stretched out over Lal’s desk, a look of horror and torment in his eyes. His mouth was full of blood. He was dead as a fried sealurk. “But how? How could this happen?” cried Yang, “It must have been this guy!” he cried, pointing at the snoozing Claude Canningham, “He must have killed poor Fiver in some horrendously nasty way! Almost as horrendous as my social experiments!”

“No, sorry. Afraid I must burst your bubble,” said Lal, “I’m afraid Mr. Canningham is unconscious. I stunned him about an hour ago because he bothered me when I expressly begged him not to. Sorry.”

“Oh,” responded Yang.

“But if that guy, Beefyhead or Porkychop or whatever his name was didn’t kill Mr. Fiver, then who did?” asked Sister Miriam.

“Good question…we need the help of—Hercule Marple Sherlock Roderick Cadfael Conan Doyle, the master detective to answer this question!” cried Lady Deirdre, picking up her cell-phone, “I’ll give him a ring!” She rang him up. “Hey, Hercule, you there?” asked Deirdre, “Oh yes, this is Deirdre Skye…Love you too…yes, I know you are brilliant…you are a genius!…yes, everyone else is a moron compared to you…except me…yes, well look, I want you to come down to U.N. Headquarters to…oh, you are already here…for your health…and for the fish?…well, anyway, we want you to investigate this murder thing…Mastadon Fiver…Hive diplomat…yes, honey…sure, dear…killed…Lal’s office…oh pinochle you know…and bridge…oh that was Colonel Sanders, honey…now back to this murder thing…Mastadon Fiver…no, it’s not Mastodon, it’s Mastadon…yeah, like a mammoth…there’s like, blood in his mouth and a horrible look on his face…oh yeah, and his ears are stretched out…well, like a mindworm had gotten in them…the Beefsteak Raid was in 1864, yes…no, not the Pyramids…Thebes, yes, and Karnak…Giza…Oh Rasputin was in Russia, you must mean Akhenaton…oh yeah?…really?…how interesting, ho hum…about Mastadon Fiver, could ya come up to Commissioner Lal’s office like right now?…you will?…oh great!…kissy kissy…bub-bye!” She then hung up.

The door opened up, and rammed itself into poor Canningham’s tummy, as Mr. Doyle the detective popped in. “OK, where is the body?” he asked, putting his hand on the desk, and wiping ink off his other hand onto Fiver’s tie, which hung loosely over the side of the desk.

“Oh man,” said Lal.

TO BE CONTINUED...