Greegs & Ladders (26 page)

“I might have
more than one lifetime ahead of me,” I said.

“Fine. We'll
leave three pounds,” said Alien #2. “But you're getting
greedy.”

I climbed down
to where Fralgoth's ship had parked. By the time I traversed the
steep canyon path the CADD had already cleared out the cargo holds
and taken off. None of Fralgoth's crew were to be seen.

I entered the
ship. Rip and Wilx emerged from hiding within one of the empty
cargo holds. It was perfect timing to suddenly appear, if your
intent was to arrive on the scene at exactly the moment in which
your help was no longer needed.

“Where have
you been?” I yelled angrily at the two bleary-eyed maniacs. “I've
been nearly falling into a canyon all day!”

“We tried to
find you,” said Wilx.

“Yeah,” joined
in Rip. “Did you know the ground on this planet moves? Not easy to
find someone here. We kept inadvertently going in circles.”

I was still
angry, but decided to let it go. It was a legitimate excuse.

“So Fralgoth's
dead?” asked Wilx.

“Yeah.”

“That's
good.”

“What happened
to Fralgoth's crew?” I asked. “Did the drug dealers take care of
them too?”

“Actually, we
took care of them,” said Rip. “We weren't entirely useless.”

“How did you
do that?”

“He's lying,”
said Wilx. “The crew were frightened off by that looped recording
of the shrieking demons.”

“I broke that
sound-system,” I said. “Does that mean there are real demons?”

“No, there
were more sound-systems. Quite a few scattered all over the planet
actually. We suspect each of them guards a different item, stuff as
equally valuable as the beard. Enticing, yes. But we don't want to
stay here any longer. Maybe one day we'll return to look for other
self-profiting items. For now let's go take over planet
Lincra.”

We fleed
Garbotron and charted for Lincra. Along the way we stopped to trade
in the ship for one that could do impossible things.

Lincran
Revolution

We were high
on the promise of owning planet Lincra. We were also high on what
had been left in the glove-box.

Our plans were
to fail, for during our journey the beard became useless. When we
arrived at Lincra we learned that Commander Flook had been
assassinated, and that the entire planet had entered a state of
riotous turmoil caused by the unexpected yet well underway toppling
of the Kroonum Ladder Union.

From orbit we
could see the glow of the towering bonfires. The people of Lincra
were gleefully rejoicing in the overdue burning of ladders and all
things ladder-related. There were a lot of ladders to burn, hence
the towering aspect of the fires. Much of the planet would be
forever damaged during what has now been become known as the Age of
Bonfires. At least the focus was forever taken off the damage we'd
caused by our 'intentional crashing of an Obotron ship'
episode.

Of particular
note amongst the damage was the decimation of the investment
banking corral farms. The ladder-revolution caused a crippling
universal spike in gas prices, Lincra being practically the primary
source of local IB.

How had
interspersed throngs of civilian Lincran peasants managed to
overthrow the well-funded and generally indomitable KULMOOG you
ask? Everything happened while we were away on Garbotron. It seems
the last will and testament of resident Lincran map-maker Nickbas
L. Turkey had surfaced, proceeding to startle everyone with the
vast amount of money it was worth. Mr. Turkey was shockingly in
possession of far more money than was owned by every faction of the
KULMOOG combined. No one was quite sure where he got this money,
for he never seemed to do anything other than make maps and then
give them away for free. Nickbas Turkey's vast fortune was found in
the underground facilities of an obscure storage meteor near the
Invisible Dimension. By the looks of the caked on layers of dust it
would seem Nickbas had not moved or used any of his money in a long
time.

Nickbas L.
Turkey had always known that if he left his money to the people of
Lincra they would in turn use the money to overthrow the KULMOOG.
Saving the money to free the people was his purpose in life.

The civilians
of Lincra proceeded to spend the money on whatever weaponry was
more advanced than that owned by the KULMOOG. With this new
weaponry the people were finally able to banish the KULMOOG into
oblivion, followed by the immediate celebratory burning of ladders
and all things ladder-related.

The
ladders of Lincra would soon be replaced with teleportation booths,
floating elevators
and
more shuttle-sliders. In later years this would prove to be a
disastrous choice, for no one stopped to think about how all their
physical exercise came from climbing ladders. Without ladders, the
people of Lincra grew lazy to the brink of Greegdom. Many suffered
a gradual disintegration of their bodily cells caused by perpetual
physical apathy.

Being the one
to have killed Nickbas and therefore being the one to have truly
set in motion the toppling of the KULMOOG, Reg was now looked at as
a sort of God amongst the Lincran peasants. We found him occupying
the same lavish lifestyle we'd expected to gain from the beard.

Reg's compound
was atop a spire in the center of the parking dome, reached by a
mile-high set of stone stairs. The stairs were completely
superfluous, as nobody else was really allowed in Reg's compound to
begin with, and the select few inner-class minions always chose
teleportation over the mile of stairs. Aside from the daunting
stairs, a moat populated by the deadliest creatures of Hroon was
busily under construction.

“What is this
place?” I said, pointing at the tower. “What is happening
here?”

“Don't you
see?!” yelled Rip. “Look at all the bonfires of ladders! The
KULMOOG has finally been overthrown!”

“Is that a
good thing?” I asked.

“For the
people of Lincra, yes.”

“For our plan,
no,” finished Wilx. “Flook has either lost command or been killed,
so impersonating him is a moot point.”

I threw the
now-useless beard into the molten core of Lincra. The core was now
visible from space, thanks to the collision of our crashed Obotron.
The ship was still sticking out of the planet awaiting a proposed
removal operation. The specters of the crew-members would not be
free to roam until the ship was released from the fiery limbo of
the planetary core. They were not likely to be freed, as the ship
removal operation was being funded by the ladder makers, most of
which had been lynched by now, leaving the question of who was
going to do all this strenuous labour.

Later we
realized the beard would have been worth a fortune if claimed as
the actual beard shaved off the assassinated body of Commander
Flook. Oh well. '
Fortunes come and fortunes go, the important thing is to
enjoy the ride'
so
says
The
Book of The Immortals.

“Should we
go?” asked Wilx.

“Why don't we
see who's in there,” I suggested, pointing at the newly formed
compound in the middle of the parking dome. “Looks like the sort of
place where a leader would live.”

“Leaders of
planets are not usually good people,” said Wilx. “Haven't you
learned to avoid them? The higher up the leader, the greater the
danger.”

“How about
this,” suggested Rip, “instead of barging directly into the
compound of what is clearly the highest up leader of this planet,
we go down to the surface and ask some of the peasants what's going
on. Gather the intel before making the move.”

We all agreed
this was a good idea for the moment. We were quickly told about how
Reg, the former Greeg-Keeper/Kroonum Judge was now the God of
Lincra. All because he killed Nickbas, he who left the fortune
required to overthrow the KULMOOG.

“Reg?!”
snarled Rip. “He's the god of Lincra?”

“This is
unacceptable,” said Wilx.

“Something
must be done.”

“What?” I
asked.

“We'll kill
Reg.”

“How?”

“We'll get
help.”

“Who's going
to want to take on the leader of the most popular planet within
five trillion universes?” I asked.

“Think about
it. Who most deserves revenge on Reg?”

“The
Crabbits,” I immediately replied.

“Right. Where
exactly do Crabbits live?” asked Rip.

“Many
different places,” said Wilx. “You know Grebular? That planet has a
plentiful supply of Crabbits.”

“Isn't that a
shape-shifting planet?”

“Yeah. Is that
a problem for you?”

“Maybe. We'll
see when we get there.”

“It's the
closest planet with Crabbits, so it wins by default,” said Wilx.
“We can't afford to go anywhere else. Prices of Investment Banker
have multiplied by pi in the last few hours.”

Hroon Again,
this Time with the Dreaded Movie Police

“What can we
do to pass the time?” asked Rip. This was a common question asked
amongst immortals.

“What about
discussing the current events?” I suggested.

“Pffft...
current events,” muttered Rip distastefully. “Who can say what is
current in this maddening reality of time-travelling
wormholes?”

“It could be
something interesting to do while we waited.”

“Don't mind
him,” said Wilx. “One of the regular side-effects of space-travel,
especially when combined with immortality and time-travel, is an
irritating and alienating feeling that you are never quite up to
date with the current events. To the immortal time-traveller, news
is usually more often old than new, and it's always confusing and
unfathomable. Nothing ever seems to be from your own time or
consciousness anymore.”

“Let's give
the current events a try, please?” I asked.

As Rip
groaned over the prospect of current events, I turned on the
tele-screen and set it to play the most popular news program in the
universe. The latest episode of
Flying Grimbat Messengers Present
appeared in front of our weary,
immortal faces. During our time the Grimbat species had elevated
themselves from useless gossiper of the Planetglomerate to
celebrated inter-universal news pundits.
As the chief anchor prattled on about some highly
strange news he proceeded to regularly flap his wings into the
lighting equipment while accidentally thrashing his gnarled body
against the cardboard backdrop. Flying Grimbats should really be
called Perpetually Flying Grimbats, as they can never stop flying
or they die. This unfortunate condition does not mix well with
attempting to contain oneself within the cramped space of a news
desk, especially when one is the size of a triplet of giant
vampire-bats with 3 sets of pterodactyl wings. Due to the budgetary
problem of having to rebuild the set after every broadcast, the
network unsuccessfully attempted to replace the Grimbats, who,
because they found all the best scoops, always got final say about
delivering their own news. When the cost of replacing destroyed
equipment pushed the program to the brink of cancellation, someone
at last had the revelation to merely do away with the generic
indoor news-desk scene (which most people were sick of anyway) and
instead film the Grimbats talking out in some open field where they
were free to fly around. The news was also only shot in the daytime
when no artificial lighting was required. After this transition in
the show there was a slight drop in the percentage of viewers. It
was always suspected that a group of people only watched the show
for the comedic slapstick element of a Grimbat destroying a film
set.

An intriguing
headline suddenly appeared on the screen. It read:

“
Scientists, Rational Thinkers Everywhere Baffled by Discovery
of Very Old Spaceship at the Bottom of Hroon Ocean.”

“So... where
are we anyway?” asked Rip.

“Ssh! I want
to hear this!” I said as I turned up the volume. Rip and Wilx both
quieted down as the Grimbat anchor delved into a strange tale of
which we were completely responsible:

On the
water-planet of Hroon, an ancient and priceless Obotron spaceship
has been discovered relatively intact on the ocean floor. It
appears the ship has been residing at the bottom of the South Ocean
for the last several thousand years. As no missing reports for the
ship were ever filed, it's origin remains a total mystery.
Scientists were eager to discover what secrets of the past would be
contained within this sunken time capsule, so a mission to
resurface the ship was immediately put into action. A great
collective shock was had when it was discovered within the ship
were hundreds of specters roaming about. It is clear these specters
are what remains of the staff and crew.

“Hey,” said
Rip, “why don't we make a detour at Hroon? Go see what our old crew
is up to these days. It's not often that one of our lost ships
turns up.”

“It's never
happened,” said Wilx. “Not even so much as a mangled license plate
has ever resurfaced from the unthinkable voids that our ships have
been cast into.”

“Exactly,”
said Rip. “We should check it out.”

“Why do you
suddenly care about the lost crew?” asked Wilx.

“Maybe I'm
trying to rectify some of the horrible things I've done.”

“I think
you're just starting to dread the fact that you're on your way to
collect deadly Crabbits from an even deadlier shape-shifting
planet.”

“You know me
well,” said Rip.

“Yes,” replied
Wilx. “However I also would like to procrastinate this foreboding
task. We will once more visit the water-planet of Hroon. Might as
well... it's on the way to Grebular.”