The Korma Sauce, a small and friendly looking passenger ship, rose gently off
its landing station, its powerful thrusters churning up clouds of grey dust
from the surface of the airless moon, Dubius. Once clear of the spaceport’s
ugly skyline of ageing terminal buildings, the ship’s main engines
fired. Rapidly, the ship accelerated away from the crater-scarred surface
and into a wide orbit of the moon’s parent planet, the jolly green
gas giant, Erronius.
Peter the Ace, Panman, and Sind’a Thighs sat in row B of the first
class section of the liner. As far as the crew and other passengers were
concerned though, they were not who they really were. According to the
official passenger manifest, the three people sitting in those seats were
Professor Wigfield Rottingliver, Doctor Lesley Charlatan, and Titsy Buttfest.
A deep rumble passed through the ship. The breathtaking scene of Erronius
through the view-ports was whisked away as the liner breached the light
barrier and entered the realm of sub-space.
An announcement was made. “This is Harry Bonce, your captain, speaking.
The Korma Sauce has reached her maximum cruising speed of sub-space six.
Our first port of call will be the planet Drazzil-B, followed by the planets
Neo-Thrahl, Repugnius, and finally Degeneron. Flight time to Drazzil-B
is 27 hours.
“May I take this opportunity to welcome aboard all of our remarkably
wealthy first class passengers. Our young and sensuous stewardesses in
the first class section will fulfil all of your desires. Feel free to
ask for as much food, drink, and personal services as you wish. Also,
the first class lounge, casino, and holo-entertainment suites on the upper
deck are available for your exclusive use.
“As for our economy class passengers, you’ll get a cheese
roll and a mug of water half way through the trip. Fat Doris, the economy
section stewardess, will serve you. I recommend that you all cover your
noses when she comes near, her BO is legendary. Note that you are forbidden
from leaving your seat at any time. If you need to urinate or defecate,
use the plastic bag provided. You only get one bag each, so show a little
The announcement ended. Eight sensuous stewardesses, each dressed in tight
white thigh-length skirts, red blouses, and pointy red hats, fanned out
through the first class section.
Panman was reading. “Cool!” He said, fiddling with his false
moustache. “Ace, look at this.” He pointed to a page in the
Peter the Ace leaned over to look, struggling slightly under the weight
of his academic robes. His waist-length artificial beard flopped onto
the magazine. He brushed it away. “Look at what?”
“This article on Thum-Dhun log racing.”
Peter the Ace looked at one of the pictures that accompanied the article.
It showed an emaciated primitive dude covered in tattoos. He was holding
a three-metre long log of wood between his legs and had a look of total
agony on his face. “What a strange sight. What’s he trying
Panman explained. “Every year at mating season, Thum-Dhun females
are released from their shackles in their caves and sent running up into
the mountains. Then the males grab the largest log they can manage, slam
it between their legs, then race after them. The first male to knock down
a female with his log becomes the tribal leader for the rest of the year,
and also gets to mate with that female. Apparently, the larger the log
you can manage the more virile you’re considered.” Panman
pointed to the picture. “According to the article, that dude there
is the most virile of them all, and he’s been the leader for the
last four years!”
Peter the Ace shook his head. “I’m not impressed. I could
handle a log twice that long with ease, and I could catch and knock down
all the Thum-Dhun females before the other males even got moving.”
“Me too.” Panman agreed. “But if you saw the females
I don’t think you’d ever try.” He turned over the page.
Even with his N.S.S. (Nausea Suppression System) working at maximum efficiency,
Peter the Ace still felt queasy. Thum-Dhun females were pig-ugly and had
the greasiest and longest armpit hair he’d ever seen. “You’re
right. No wonder they usually keep them chained up in caves!”
“Yeah! And no wonder this tattooed dude is so bony. As soon as he
gets his female he probably pukes up half his body weight before he can
face doing the deed!”
Sind’a Thighs leaned over from her aisle seat and looked at the
picture of the Thum Dhun male. “It’s strange how handsome
the male is, and how repulsive the female is. It is the complete opposite
in my society.”
Peter the Ace looked at her. “Your society is more advanced. Once
the Thum Dhun’s develop complex corrective surgery techniques, maybe
their females will become as desirable as you.”
Sind’a Thighs could not believe what she had just heard. “You
think I’m desirable?” she panted.
“Indeed.” He looked down at her legs; her virtually non-existent
black skirt left nothing to the imagination. “Your shapely, toned
thighs have already attracted the attention of most of the males in this
Sind’a Thighs groaned and breathed deeply, pushing her hands between
her legs. Her head arched back. She moaned. To be described as desirable
by one of the greatest beings ever to exist was an honour and turn-on
of the highest order.
After allowing herself a few moments to calm down, she took Peter the
Ace’s hand and kissed it gently. “Thank you.” She said.
A bead of sweat dribbled down her forehead. “You have pleasured
me deeply with your kind words.”
“Please excuse me, I need to compose myself.”
Sind’a Thighs got out of her luxury seat and headed towards the
restrooms at the rear.
Panman laughed. “She’s so easily aroused!”
“It’s quite a normal reaction.” Peter the Ace said casually.
A stewardess walked over to the two bounty hunters. “Professor?
Doctor? Would you care for some champagne?”
“Oh yeah!” Panman answered eagerly.
“Yes please.” Peter the Ace said.
The stewardess handed them two glasses of sparkling liquid.
Panman looked unsatisfied. “Leave us a couple of bottles would you?”
The stewardess smiled sexily. “As you wish, doctor.” She placed
two bottles on the table in front of them.
“Leave a glass for Titsy, too.”
After putting another glass on the table, the stewardess bowed and walked
Panman sipped at his champagne. He resisted the temptation to down an
entire bottle in one go.
“Excuse me, gentlemen.” A gravely voice said.
Peter the Ace turned around. A portly and bearded old man was leaning
on the back of his chair. He was wearing thick robes similar to his own.
“Can I help you?” The bounty hunter asked.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but did I hear the stewardess call
you both professor and doctor?”
“Indeed you did.”
The old man smiled crookedly. “Excellent! It’s good to have
a couple of fellow intellects on board. My name’s Professor AmpléBläckett
Hàgênmåclídensõn.” He offered his
Peter the Ace grabbed it and shook it firmly.
“What is your field of speciality?” the old professor asked.
Professor AmpléBläckett Hàgênmåclídensõn
laughed. “Tremendous! That’s mine too.” He stared intently
at Peter the Ace. “It’s funny; our field is so small and specialised
that I thought I knew all the professors of the subject. I have not heard
of you, though?”
“I usually keep a very low profile.” Peter the Ace responded,
his bullshit implant stepping up to the next level.
“Interesting. Well, never mind, I’ve been mulling over a
problem and as you're a new face to me, maybe you can shed some light
on the matter?”
“Um… yes, I’m sure I can. What’s the problem?”
“Well, I’ve been trying to write a modified version of Perpalian’s
Levitation Theorum for the last ten years. As you know, there are several
major faults with the theorum, the main one of course being her insistence
that the thought divergence criteria for self-levitation must be accompanied
by one’s own personal belief in the experience.”
“And, that’s your problem?”
The professor laughed heartily. “Your sense of humour is most refreshing.
Everyone knows that that’s the easiest fault to rectify!”
“Of course it is.”
“I over came that quite obviously by arguing that mice do not have
a personal belief system, yet they can still be trained to levitate -
fulfilling only the thought divergence criteria must therefore be enough.”
Peter the Ace remained calm, even though he had not got clue what the
professor was talking about. “So, what exactly is your problem?”
“My problem is with the last fault of the theorum, the group levitation
formula. Almost all of the galaxy’s radical philosophers believe
that the fault is irreparable. I do not. They argue that Perpalian’s
arrogant belief that she was the only one able to maintain constant communication
with the afterlife meant that her theories were clouded by supernatural
intrusions. Those intrusions resulted in flaws in her mental pathways
that eventually transmogrified her formula into nonsense.”
Peter the Ace nodded. “I see…”
“So?” the professor said. “Can you help?”
“Um… Could you show me a copy of the formula? I can’t
recall it in its entirety.”
Professor AmpléBläckett Hàgênmåclídensõn
nodded and reached into his pocket. “Of course, it is a bit of an
awkward one, isn’t it?” He pulled out a note book and pen
and scribbled away for a few seconds. “There you are.”
Peter the Ace took the note pad and looked at the formula. “Ah yes.”
the bounty hunter said calmly. “Please excuse me for a few moments
while I discuss this with my colleague.”
The ancient professor nodded. “Of course. Take as long as you wish.”
Peter the Ace leaned over to Panman, who was still drinking champagne
and reading the in-flight magazine. “Panman, take a look at this
Panman glanced at the formula. “What about it?”
“The fat professor behind us wants me to fix the fault in it. What
do you think I should say, bearing in mind that we don’t want to
blow our cover?”
After thinking for a second, Panman pointed at the formula. “The
division by two is wrong. It should be three.”
Peter the Ace looked at the formula. “Hmm… I guess that’ll
do.” He turned to Professor AmpléBläckett Hàgênmåclídensõn.
“The two should be a three. Is that any help?”
The professor’s face screwed up as he thought deeply. Suddenly his
eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He was shaking visibly, and gasping.
“Are you feeling unwell, professor?”
“Unwell?” he shouted. “I’m quite the opposite,
I assure you! This is a miracle breakthrough! The formula is correct!
It balances perfectly! Radical philosophers have been trying to fix it
for three-hundred years. This will revolutionise the levitation industry
for millenia!” Professor AmpléBläckett Hàgênmåclídensõn
looked at Peter the Ace. “I must write this in my journal immediately.
You will, of course, be credited fully for solving this problem!”
Peter the Ace, as calm as ever, pointed at Panman. “Actually, my
colleague Doctor Lesley Charlatan spotted it.”
The professor leaned over and patted Panman on the head. “Then he
shall also be credited fully!”
The professor returned to his seat.
“What was all that about?” Panman asked, turning over a few
“I think we just solved a three-hundred year old philosophy problem.”
The Korma Sauce continued its journey through sub-space.