The Fump-Fester lump-being, Pys Phecees, stared out of the huge domed window
of his personal chambers. His stubby fat arms flapped slowly, and he was
breaking wind with thunderous ferocity – a sure sign that he was angry
Down below the cloud of dust and snow had cleared, and the true magnitude
of what had happened was now apparent. Pys Phecees’s large baseball-sized
black eyes blinked furiously as he scanned the devastation. A vast pile
of rock and snow filled his precious, once beautiful, once gleaming white,
emitter dish. More rocks littered the marble floor of the great chamber.
It was now cracked and scratched like a dried up lakebed.
With a grunt and a tuba-like fart, the lump-being turned and butt-walked
over to his control console, leaving a wide wet smear of defecation in his
wake. On reaching the console, he activated the communicator. “Supervisor
An image, unsteady and contaminated with static, faded into view on the
console’s display. Supervisor Tyrsum appeared, his face, as usual,
hidden behind his featureless spherical helmet. Behind him, fire and commotion
filled the scene.
“Yes, master?” the supervisor said.
“What is happening over there?”
“The control room is devastated, master. The explosion and cave-in
ripped away most of the window area, taking key monitoring equipment and
operators with it. Other equipment overloaded. There are fires and blown
circuits everywhere. Smeared body parts are blocking the…”
Pys Phecees yelled, scattering phlegm across his console. “The emitter
must fire in twenty-eight hours!”
“I know, master. We are trying to…”
“The emitter will fire!” the lump-being gurgled. His whole body
shuddered with rage, letting loose one of the loudest farts in history.
“There can be no failure!”
“Of course, master. The surviving operators are repairing and re-patching
the firing control mechanism as we speak. It should be possible to…”
Pys Phecees shrieked. “It will fire!” He launched a stream of
saliva across his personal chamber. A huge soft turd burst out of his backside,
hitting the stone floor with such velocity that it spread into a metre-wide
star-like shape. It was followed by a much more liquid surge that simply
oozed around his buttocks.
Supervisor Tyrsum knew better than to argue. “I assure you it will
The lump-being spoke more calmly, but with unfathomable menace. “It
will indeed, supervisor. Otherwise your head will find itself viewing the
inside of my duodenum, while your life is squeezed away by the ever-tightening
ring of my anus. Is that understood?”
There was an ever-so-slight pause in the conversation. “Yes, master.”
“Good.” The lump-being looked around his chamber. Deep brown
smears covered the room, and his pool of syrup was littered with floaters.
He turned back to the console. “And send up a new shit-shoveller!
The image of the lump-being faded. Supervisor Tyrsum took a few seconds
to contemplate the horrendous fate he would suffer if he failed to get
the control room up and running. He shuddered, unseen within his cloak
Turning, the supervisor stepped over a sparking piece of wrecked equipment
and walked passed two operators, who were busy extinguishing the last
of the fierce fires that had blackened and blistered many of the other
workers here. He clambered across three contorted corpses, and walked
over to the jagged gaping hole at the front of the control room. A strong
wind was blowing in from the where the roof of the chamber used to be,
forcing clouds of powdered snow down to the emitter five hundred metres
below. There was a chill in the air.
At the edge of the gaping hole sat Senior Operator Ramalama Dingdong.
He was staring aimlessly up at the bright morning sky. He should have
been leading the repair efforts.
Supervisor Tyrsum yelled. “Get to work!”
The senior operator turned and looked up at the supervisor. Tears filled
his eyes. “She’s dead.” He said in a most melancholy
way. “I should not have sent her.”
The supervisor was confused. “Who is?”
“Operator Oulala.” Ramalama said. “I sent her up to
the surface to investigate the seismic anomaly I discovered. She was right
above the chamber when the roof caved in.” He lowered and shook
his head. “Why did I send her? Now I’ll never see her sweet
smile or her frizzy hairstyle again, and I’ll never get the chance
to touch her soft…”
A fist, gloved in toughened black leather, smacked into the side of the
senior operator’s face. He fell sideways, whacking his shoulder
onto a jagged piece of rock. He yelped, and then pushed himself back up.
Blood soaked into his overalls.
Supervisor Tyrsum grabbed Ramalama by the neck, and lifted the sobbing
operator off the ground. He held him at arms length out over windswept
chamber. The senior operator’s eyes widened as he realised the dire
situation he was in.
“I could end it for you now.” Supervisor Tyrsum said evenly.
“If I drop you, in a few seconds you’ll be nothing more than
a mound of splattered flesh. No more pain or regret. Is that what you
Ramalama Dingdong gasped, and then shook his head frantically.
“Really? Because I am more than willing to end the suffering for
you.” The supervisor leaned forwards, and held Ramalama even further
out across the chamber floor.
The senior operator was gripped by terror. He shook his head, and shivered.
A trickle of urine soaked into his pants.
With a powerful swing, Supervisor Tyrsum threw Ramalama back into the
control room, sending him tumbling over a battered console and into a
frayed collection of cabling. The supervisor bellowed. “Then get
this control room up and running now!”
The senior operator scrambled to his feet. “Yes, supervisor!”
he whimpered, a mouthful of blood muffling his feeble voice.
Supervisor Tyrsum addressed the entire control room. “And the rest
of you work with him, and do as he commands, or you will all suffer a
similar fate to his.”
Everyone nodded in unison.
“Right.” The supervisor said. “Who’s in charge
of internal communications?”
A bony dark-skinned hand was raised. “Um… That would be me.
Operator Bebop Aluba.”
The supervisor walked over to him. Bebop was sitting at one of only two
undamaged consoles. “Our master requires a new shit shoveller. Contact
a suitable recruit and get them up to our master’s personal chamber
The operator leaned back in his chair and scratched his head – bald
apart from a thick white ponytail at the back. “That’s going
to be difficult, supervisor. All communications stations around the complex
are off-line. There’s currently no way of contacting other departments.”
“It’s true, supervisor. I’ve been trying without success
ever since the cave-in. The whole place is in disarray. Order has been
lost. Control has been compromised. Chaos has replaced…”
Bebop’s head smashed down onto his console, splitting his forehead
like a peapod. Blood gushed over the controls. The operator groaned quietly.
“That was unexpected.”
Supervisor Tyrsum grabbed Bebop’s ponytail and pulled, yanking the
operator back upright. He let go, allowing Bebop to flop back into his
“Our master still requires a shit shoveller.” The supervisor
said with calculated coolness. “As you are unable to perform your
communications tasks, our master’s new shit shoveller…”
He paused for effect. “…Will be you.”
Bebop’s mouth hung open with unpleasant surprise. “Please
no, supervisor!” he said, blood dribbling down his face and into
his mouth. “I worked hard to reach this position! Don’t make
me go back to doing such repulsive work!”
Supervisor Tyrsum grabbed the operator’s ponytail and gave it a
sharp hard tug. The ponytail was ripped from Bebop’s head, along
with a sizeable portion of his scalp.
The operator screamed. “My precious hair! All gone!”
The supervisor leaned down and whispered to the operator. “You will
go to our master’s chamber and you will shovel his shit. And you
will keep shovelling his shit until you are told to do otherwise. Understood?”
Bebop Aluba lowered his head, which was gushing blood front and back.
Supervisor Tyrsum shouted with all the might of his voice. “Then
Bebop got to his feet and scurried towards the control room’s rear
An annoying bleeping sound distracted the supervisor. He turned. “What
Senior Operator Ramalama Dingdong was standing at the back of the control
room next to the only other working console. He was pointing at the console’s
variety of display screens. “There’s been a sudden power drop!”
Supervisor Tyrsum walked over to Ramalama, crushing two well-cooked skulls
on the way. “What are you talking about?”
The senior operator pointed at one of the display screens. “Readings
are down seventy-two percent!”
The supervisor was loosing his patience. “Explain!”
“The power level coming up to the emitter from the planet core!
It suddenly dropped by seventy-two percent!”
Supervisor Tyrsum sighed. The rather unique execution he was threatened
with by his master just seemed an awful lot closer.