Steemwars - Mission 2 - Part 2 - Hip to be Square

This is Mission 2, Part 2 of a community-written sci-fi parody serial.

Part 1: Steem Wars: Be There Or Be Square, by @tanglebranch
Part 2: Hip to be Square, by @negativer (this thing you're reading now)

Our mission:

As delivered by @gmuxx, The Time Lord: Galacdictator Tangle et al.... a distress signal has been detected in the Quadrangular Quadrant. Source unknown, species unknown. Take thine crew and investigate / rescue / dominate whoever it is disturbing the galactic peace.

Our crew:

Galacdictator Tangle (@tanglebranch): Character profile here
Underlord Negavader (@negativer): Character profile here
Byepeex Reist-Stoomtrooper Destroyer (@jasonbu): Character profile here
Sixty-Wine (@caleblailmusik): Character profile here

On Board: The Intangible

Perfector Class War Vessel

Serial Number BYOB-9021-O

Location: The Quadrangular Quadrant

“Stupid motherflaggin’ glitter.” I kicked a pile, and it scattered happily across expensive-looking control panels. Wasn’t my ship. I didn’t care. My Ultimate Galactard Lordess Tangle had ordered me to clean all this glitter up. Since I was the rebellious type, and also still feeling the effects of my emo teenage years, I was going to do no such thing. She’s not the boss of me.

I was a man. A man of action. Walking dramatically, I moved to the bridge, then set a course for our new destination.

The Quadrangular Quadrant.

The mission, as set forth by the increasingly annoying Time Lord, was clear.

Galacdictator Tangle et al.... a distress signal has been detected in the Quadrangular Quadrant. Source unknown, species unknown. Take thine crew and investigate / rescue / dominate whoever it is disturbing the galactic peace.

I was one of the et al. Sounds like an unfortunate tribe of hard working but unrecognized usurpers of power. Of which I was one of. Them. I was in. It. A part.

My mind hung precariously, teetering on a poorly stacked pile of prepositions before I reeled it in.

Galactictrickle Tangle had a way of unhinging a man’s mind.

“Landing on Planet Three of the Quadrangular Quadrant, Miss Lord.” I spoke into the shipwide comms. “The source of the distress signal seems to be coming from here.”

“Carry on oof with ergggh the landing agghghhh procedures, Underlord oh yes.” Her communication was punctuated with unpleasant squishy noises and unfamiliar grunts. They echoed throughout the ship, and the ship appeared to be as appalled as I was. Which is to say, very appalled.

I hoped she was just eating poutine, and tried to limit my imagination to just that.

I failed.

I vomited onto a control panel that looked unimportant, and the ship simultaneously deposited a load of compacted waste into orbit around Planet Three, the latter which positioned itself directly in front of their north star for a time, thus leading many sailors astray and ruining the fish harvest for that year.

Such is the life of those touched by Galacdictator Tangle. I almost felt sorry for my newly recruited friend, Pex. That giant sack of manflesh would be eaten alive by my boss. Or sheared alive. Or they’d be playing hockey together...alive. Whatever it is that weirdos like that do.

I landed the ship skillfully (as is my wont, although there was nobody there to see me do it) on the planet’s surface, then hurried down to the departure platform. I was the only one there. Tangle and Pex were likely making maple syrup together, and Sixty Wine and his chalupa friend were probably hiding in a closet at the back of the ship, putting their parts into each other and giggling.

I had nobody. I wished it would rain right now. And I wished I had a hoodie to complete the scene. I basked in the memories of my dark, emo, teenage years. Back when I was cool. Back when I listened to current music. Back when I wore fashionable clothes.

Glancing around, I saw a robot scuttling by.

Hmm. Nobody would notice. We’re all adults here. I grabbed it, and it chittered indignantly.

“Ayeee, what’s all this then?” Little eyes poked out from its compact frame, and it stared at me with all the majesty and splendor that something shaped like a toaster could muster.

“Oh! Little robot guy! I...um...need someone to accompany me on the surface. Somebody cool.”

“Aye! Bang on, mate. I’m cool. I’m a cool magnet. I’m so cool, I make penguins jealous. I’m so cool, when I go into an igloo the eskimos have to turn up the heat. Ayeee, I’m so cool—”

“Enough, robot guy. I just need someone to wear a red shirt.” I tucked the red shirt into the bread slots on top of his squarish body. Good enough. At least it wasn’t on me this time.

“Ayeeee,” he sighed. “This brings back memories. Of when the boss lady Tangle put things into me. Those were dark times, I tell you, dark times. Terrible times. I was a prisoner in her kitchen, and she forced things into me. Terrible things, the lot of it. Bread. And sometimes bagels. She smacked me when I spit them out, then shoved them back in.”

“I hear you, toaster-bot. She’s a harsh mistress. But someday I will get the better of her.”

I clutched my toaster tightly and pressed the giant red button to lower my platform to the surface.

The planet was as boring as any other.

Giant square obelisks waved in the air like low-polygon tentacles, and little square puffball animals floated by on a light breeze. Orange rivers full of right angles and straight lines ran up and around square shorelines before flowing off into a drug-induced sunset.

I whipped out my handheld sensor, looking for the source of the distress signal, pointing myself to where the signal was strongest.

Toaster-bot under my arm, I set off on a path that took me towards a series of round, boob-shaped objects on the horizon.

Damn. More boobs? Wait, no. That's no boob. It's a space station!

After a moment, I realized it was not a space station. It was something far, far worse. Or possibly better.

Are they boobs? Space stations? Or both? Tune in next week to find out!