screamed as he spiraled out of control deeper and deeper into the ice tunnel.
He gripped tightly to his dustbin lid. “I’m no longer convinced
this plastic bin lid was a good idea.”
Ross was speeding close behind. “Justin? Slow down, you fuckin’
idiot! We’re almost at the end of the tunnel!”
Justin looked. The tunnel did seem to be coming to an end. There was no
way he could control his bin lid. “Slowing down is not an option.
But it should be okay, there’s an ocean at the end. I’ll surf
across it and come to a gentle halt.”
Ross checked the sensor readout on his visor’s heads-up display. “There’s
no ocean! That fuckin’ hippy ship is there. Slow the fuck down! Now!”
Ross’s warning was futile, and far too late. Three seconds later Justin
streaked passed the end of the tunnel and slammed into a huge boulder of
ice next to the hull of the Lentil Seed. Almost every bone in the captain’s
body was shattered.
Ross dug the back edge of his snowboard deep into the ice and drew to a
rapid halt next to the crushed body of Justin. Several streams of air could
be seen jetting from tears in his suit. “Stupid naval motherfucker!”
Peter and Pan arrived a minute later.
Pan spoke, his voice muffled by a cherry muffin. “Justin’s head
is the only part of him that still looks okay. I’ve got a giant jar
of M&Ms with me.” He pulled out the jar from his backpack. “Let’s
store his head in here until we can get it back to the ship.” Pan
emptied the M&Ms onto the icy floor. The whole process was quite distressing
for him but he covered his emotions well.
When the jar was empty Peter pulled off Justin’s helmet and tore the
captain’s head from his ruined body. He placed the head into the now
empty jar. “We’ll leave it out here in the freezing snow until
we get can get back to recover it. It should be well preserved.”
Ross turned his attention to the green hull of the hippy ship. “How
the fuck do we get in?”
Peter and Pan looked at Ross. No one had actually thought about how to get
in once they’d reached this point.
Ross was mad. The rage of a thousand legless joggers filled his face. “Fuck!”
He charged at the hippy ship.
Peter was concerned. “Be careful, Ross. You don’t want to…”
Ross hit the hull of the hippy ship. He disappeared inside.
Pan was shocked. “Did I just see Ross pass through solid metal?”
Peter walked up to the hull. The whole where Ross had entered had already
healed up. “This ship isn’t made of metal!” He looked
back at Pan. “It’s a giant lent...” A hand grabbed Peter
and pulled him in to the ship.
Peter found himself lying in a darkened room. Ross was looking down at
him. Before he could say anything, Pan stepped through the wall. “Bit
dark in here. Where are we?”
Ross was still angry. He was looking around. “Fucking Layzee Sponjers!
Turn the fucking light’s on!”
Peter got to his feet and turned on his suit’s flood light. Ross
and Pan did the same. An eerie fog filling the room.
Ross knew what he was seeing. He open his helmet’s visor and took
a deep breath. “Fucking ace! This is good shit.” He grinned;
feeling suddenly quite relaxed as the drugs penetrated his lungs and began
to circulate throughout his body. His eyes began to glaze over.
Peter realized how bad an idea Ross had had. He slammed his palm onto
the side of Ross’s helmet. The helmet’s visor slammed shut.
A whoosh of air cleared out the smoke from Ross’s suit. “Wake
up, Ross! You'll turn into one of those hippies if you’re not careful!”
A dumb smile spread across Ross’s face.
Pan looked down. “Shit!”
Ross spoke. “Everything is, like, cool, man. Chill out.”
Pan and Peter looked at each other and shared a concerned look.
Pan punched the air. “Damned hippies!”
Peter heard something. “Pan, quiet! What was that noise?”
Peter was trying to listen. He heard a soft female voice. He activated
his shoulder-mounted missile launcher. He aimed in the direction of the
sound and fired. With an almost deafening roar, a missile shot out of
the launcher. It detonated at the far side of the room. The incredible
shockwave knocked Peter and Pan to the floor.
Pan pushed himself up. “Pete, man! They’re not indoor fireworks!
I think a little more care next time would be good!”
The room’s smoke was bellowing out of the large hole Peter had blown
in the wall.
Ross got to his feet. “What the fuck are you up too?”
Peter smiled. “You’re okay!”
Ross nodded. “Of course I fuckin’ am!”
Peter, Ross, and Pan walked over to the smoking hole. Before they could
get there, a figure emerged. The figure was coated in what looked like
“You idiots!” The figure said. “Look at the mess you've
made of my suit!”
Peter was embarrassed. “Sorry, Kath.”
Everyone helped General Kath wipe the excess lentils from her suit. When
she felt she was reasonably clean she headed for the smoking hole. “I’m
concerned about Justin. I’ll go and look after his head.”
“Right. Looks like this is a lads-only mission!” Ross said.
“Let’s try and find a way further into this vessel. This room
must have an exit. Other than the one Pete made, that is!”
They decided to split up to search through the smoke filled room for an
exit. They fanned out and walked into the dense smog. The visibility was
still limited even though a large amount of smoke was still bellowing
out of the newly formed entrance. They searched in silence slowly advancing
into the cannabis-soaked atmosphere.
Suddenly, Ross’s excited voice was heard. “Fuck! Yes! I've
found the fuckin’ exit!”
Daisy Muff was the most experienced and most expensive hippy whore on
the planet Layzee-Sponjers. It was for that reason that Commander A’Doner
had hired her as his personal onboard pleasure mistress - all on expenses,
The commander of the Lentil Seed sat in his sumptuous command chair at
the centre of the bridge. He smiled broadly and looked down as Daisy’s
head bobbed up and down in his lap. What a true professional she was.
“Excellent, my dear!” he said. He moaned as the whore worked
her magic. She bobbed faster and faster, her head was now almost a blur.
Commander A’Doner could not hold back any longer. With a mighty
roar, he delivered his payload. The rest of the bridge crew looked around
lazily - too stoned to really care what was going on. The commander relaxed.
He tapped Daisy on the head. “Thank you, my dear. Be gone!”
Daisy Muff swallowed hard and got to her feet. She bowed at her master,
and then swayed sexily off towards the exit.
A siren began warbling.
Commander A’Doner looked round at his security chief, who was currently
slumped over his console at the back of the bridge. “Fergus? What
the hell doe’s that mean?”
Fergus looked up. Vomit was dribbling down his chin. “That’s,
like, the intruder alarm, or something.”
“What?!” the commander shouted, getting to his feet. His limp
manhood hung like a wizened fish from his pants. He quickly shoved it
back inside and zipped up. He tied up his robes. “Where?”
Fergus looked at his screens. “Erm… At the port bow, deck
twenty-six. About five minutes ago.”
“Five minutes ago!” the commander shouted. “Why in hell’s
porn shop did the siren only go off now?”
“Lazy systems?” Fergus ventured.
“Damn Sponjers technology! Who are the intruders?”
“Erm… Not sure. I think it’s those British Navy dudes
from the Death Reaper.”
The commander stamped his feet. “How did those bastard momma eaters
get in through the hull?”
Fergus coughed. “Maybe it was the fact that the erm… the hull
is made of lentils, or something.”
“Dammit!” the commander said, stamping his feet again. “Why
didn’t our engineers use titanium alloys like all other advanced
Another alarm sounded.
Fergus gazed at his screens, barely able to focus. “The intruders
are now on deck twenty-five. Erm… I think they’re headed this
“Then stop them!”
“You’re fuckin’ mechanised hippy security squad, that’s
Fergus thought for a few seconds. “Oh, yeah. That’ll be cool!”
“Send the squad out now!” The commander said, sitting back
down in his command chair. “Those British navy shit cultivators
may have broken through our weak lentil hull, but they will perish at
the hands of the mechanised hippy security squad.” He looked round
at Fergus. “Put the carnage on the view screen, I want to see everything
in glorious widescreen!”
Peter, Ross and Pan strode fearlessly down a dank and gooey passageway.
“Did you hear that?” Peter asked. “It sounded like crunching.”
“No.” Pan said, passing Peter a piece of ketchup-covered lentil.
Ross was getting annoyed again. “For fuck’s sake, Pan! Stop
eating bits of this fuckin’ ship!”
“But it tastes so good!”
“Then munch with your fuckin’ mouth shut! The noise is driving
Further down the corridor more crunching could be heard.
Ross turned towards Pan. “Stop it!”
Pan shook his head. “Not me!” He opened his mouth. It was
empty – a rare event.
The sound was getting louder and louder.
Peter was a bit suspicious. “That’s not a munching sound.
It’s more like marching.”
Pan looked up. “Sounds like its coming from right above us!”
The sound reached a deafening peak and then suddenly stopped. Ross pulled
out and brandished his baseball bat. Peter rearmed his shoulder-mounted
missile launcher. Pan put down the huge mound of lentils he was carrying
and activated his rifle.
There was a squelching sound from above. A flat metal foot was emerging
from the ceiling.
Peter spoke. “That’s something I’ve never seen before.”
More metal feet appeared all along the ceiling of the passageway. And
then the first of what appeared to be metal hippies dropped to the floor.
Ross screamed and swung his baseball bat high and fast. He brought it
down hard on the nearest mechanoid, smashing its electronic face into
a cloud of sparking debris. It shuddered and fell flat onto its back.
Pan set his rifle to rapid-fire and sent a shower of armour-piercing rounds
ricocheting into several targets. More sparks flew. Peter carefully aimed
his missile launcher at one of the more distant targets. He fired. A huge
explosion halfway down the passageway decimated several of the metal hippies.
Ross began pummeling another metal hippy. “Fucker!”
Only seconds ago the passageway was quiet and dimly lit. Now it was filled
with fire and devastation, and some incredible and deafening explosions.
Peter pointed to the ceiling. “More are coming!”
Pan aimed at the ceiling and fired, shattering several of the metal feet
that were protruding into the passageway.
Peter decided that a decisive move was required. “On the floor,
face down!” he yelled. “This is going to be violent!”
He aimed his missile launcher at the ceiling.
Pan was concerned. “Hey! I warned you about…”
Ross grabbed Pan and dragged him to the floor. “Pete knows what
he’s fuckin’ doing! Leave him.”
Peter fired. The result was devastation on a grand scale. A huge portion
of the ceiling was blown away in a sphere of white heat. The scream of
metal hippies as their electronic brains melted was highly disturbing.
Pan, Ross and Peter were in agony as the powerful blast wave passed through
their bodies. Fortunately, their Royal Navy spacesuits were of the highest
specification and provided just enough protection. The agony subsided.
Ross was the first to get to his feet. He helped Peter and Pan peel themselves
off the floor. “Fuckin’ great idea, Pete!”
But now, even more mechanized hippies were dropping into the scorched
passageway. As soon as they landed they began marching through the twisted
metal remains of their comrades and the lentils goo that had started dripping
down from above.
Pan nodded. “You said it, man.”
Peter shook his head. “There’s just too many of them.”
Pan made a suggestion. “Tactical retreat, anyone?”
Ross screamed. “Fuckin’ run!”
Everyone ran like the wind. Pan took the time to lob a grenade behind
him. The blast took out the two leading metal hippies. The blast also
gave the three heroes a welcome boost in speed.
“In there!” Peter shouted, pointing to a room on the left.
Pan threw another grenade and followed Peter.
Under the cover of a deafening explosion, Peter, Pan and Ross dived into
the room and slammed the door shut with a squelch.
Peter spoke. “These hippies must be more advanced than we thought.
Those drones are pretty persistent.”
Ross shook his head. “I doubt we lost those fuckers for long.”
Pan nodded. “But at least we have bought a few minutes to recover.”
He pulled a couple of burgers out of his backpack, placed them in a sesame
seed bun he produced from his suit’s thigh pouch, and tucked in.
Ross followed suit and began to eat the burger he had stashed in his pocket
– an old winter holiday habit.
Peter heard something. He put his ear to the door. He could hear a squeaking
noise, like an old rusty gate, slowly getting closer. “They’re
still out there.”
Ross stuffed down his food. “Then they’re fucked! On three,
we open the door and take them out! Any objections?”
Peter shook his head.
“Sound’s like a good plan to me.” Pan said, swallowing
the last of his burger.
Ross nodded. “Three… Two… One… Go!”
Peter opened the door and leapt out into the passageway. Ross and Pan
followed very close behind. What they found out in the passageway was
not the fierce robotic army they expected. All the metal hippies were
making agonizingly slow progress as they lurched forwards. The unmistakable
orange hue of rust coated the drones. They squeaked, crunched, and then
ground to a halt.
Ross walked up to the leading mechanoid. Swinging his bat high once again
he brought it smashing down onto the machine. It crumbled to the floor.
“It's fuckin’ rusted! And in record time!” he turned
and looked at Peter and Pan. “Not even the worst built Russian car
would rust that fuckin’ quick!”
Lentil goop was still dripping from the gaping hole in the ceiling. Peter
played with some that had dripped onto the arm of his suit. “This
gunk must cause extreme oxidisation.”
Pan pointed down the passageway. “All of them are affected. They’re
Ross started laughing. “Stupid fuckin’ hippies!”
Commander A’Doner had watched the rapid rusting of his mechanised
hippy security squad on the command deck’s huge screen. “Fergus!”
He shouted, hitting the arm of his chair with his flabby fist. “What
the hell were they made from?”
The security chief answered. “Erm… Well, I think they’re
made from old automobiles we, like, stole from Earth thirty years ago,
The Commander could not believe what he was hearing. He pulled out a small
pistol and aimed it at Fergus’s forehead. “We have plenty
of galvanised alloys on our home world. Why in turd’s mountain did
we use stolen ungalvanised steel? You’re answer better be good,
or your limited life will expire.”
Fergus was obviously thinking as hard as his shit-saturated brain would
allow. “Erm… Because we, like, wanted to, or something.”
The bullet, blunt and high-velocity, passed through Fergus’s skull,
tearing off most of the back of his head. He slumped backwards onto his
brain-coated console, and then slipped onto the floor. His body shuddered,
and then was still.
Commander A’Doner looked at his late security chief’s assistant.
“Right, Moonbeam, we have no choice but to use the special gas weapon.”
Moonbeam nodded. “Okay, big boss man, I'll see what I can do.”
The assistant security chief realised this could be his big break. Get
this right and progression up the Layzee Sponjers ranks would be guaranteed.
Deep in the hull of the ship the gas processing plant was in full production.
Over 100 purely lentil fed hippies had their backsides wedged inside large
suction cups. The lethal gas they produced was being processed and stored
ready for deployment.
In a two-minute frenzy of round-house kicks and right-hooks, Peter, Pan
and Ross managed to shatter all of the corroded mechanized hippy security
squad. Rusty body parts, oxidized servos, and contorted components littered
Pan nodded with pleasure. “That was so cool!”
“It was.” Peter agreed, as he stamped hard at a piece of debris.
It shattered like a popadom.
Ross picked up the head of one of the machines. He stared into its lifeless
electronic eyes. “Useless fucker!” He drop-kicked the head,
sending it flying up through the huge hole in the ceiling and onto the
Pan looked around. “I guess it’s time we found the dude who
runs this ship and show him the true might of Earth justice.”
Ross thought wisely for a moment, and then spoke. “Let’s just
kick his fuckin’ head in!”
“Brutal, but fair.” Peter said.
The three cunning warriors headed down the passageway.
Commander A’Doner hauled his ample frame impatiently around the
bridge. He stopped and turned. “Moonbeam? What’s happening
with the gas?”
Moonbeam gazed at his console. “Erm… Give it a few more minutes.”
The commander grumbled. “Okay, a few minutes – no more!”
Hooch McArse, a painfully thin cadet, shouted from his engineering station
at the back of the bridge. “Commander? The engine room reports that
repairs are complete! We have full power. We can now rejoin the fleet!”
“Excellent!” Commander A’Doner shouted. He lumbered
over to his command chair and sat down. “Let’s spend no more
time here. Pilot, get us out of this frigid moon now!”
The frail pilot nodded. His bony hands passed across his console. “Yes,
sir. Setting course for the fleet.”
“No!” the commander shouted. “Change of plan. We should
not rejoin the fleet. We have the British navy’s finest warriors
on board, and soon they’ll be gassed into submission. We must take
them to High Command for interrogation.”
The pilot turned to face his commander. “Erm… What course
should I set, then?”
Commander A’Doner screamed. “The planet Layzee Sponjer, of
course, you faggot-faced moronic turd collector!”
The pilot nodded. “Oh yeah!” He pressed a few buttons and
pulled a huge lever next to his seat. “Erm… We’re, like,
A deep rumble spread through the Lentil Seed.
General Kath was leaning against the hull of the Lentil Seed when its
engines started. Startled, she moved quickly away, skidding across the
ice. She slid to a halt and turned to look at the hippy vessel. It was
shuddering wildly as the increasing power of its engines surged through
the ship’s superstructure.
Kath was worried for her fellow warriors trapped inside.
The Lentil Seed was moving upwards now, and the ice was cracking, sending
large chunks tumbling down from above. Huge crevasses opened up around
her, revealing the deep ocean below. The light from her helmet’s
flood light glistened off the ocean’s surface.
Major Kath had to act, before the tunnel to the surface collapsed and
sealed her forever in this glacial tomb.
Bending over, she picked up the large M&M jar that had Justin’s
frozen and lifeless head inside. She then made her way to her skis and
clicked her boots into the bindings – not an easy task to perform
when wearing a bulky space suit with the world collapsing all around,
and with the frozen head of a Royal Navy captain in a jar under one arm.
She aimed her skis at the dark tunnel. She could just make out the small
point of light at the tunnel’s entrance more than ten miles away.
Quickly, the general activated her helmet’s head-up display and
selected the rocket pack from one of the menus. She felt the whirr of
servos as the small rocket motor popped out of her backpack. She looked
at the fuel status. Although most of the fuel had been used in the de-orbit
burn earlier, she still had thirty seconds left. Just enough, she thought.
It felt as if the whole moon was shaking now. More and more lumps of ice
were falling. Kath took one look back at the Lentil Seed, just in time
to see the massive ugly bulk of its underside rise out of sight, surrounded
by a flood of melt-water.
Kath waited no more. She selected ‘Fire Rocket’ from her display.
With incredible force General Kath was thrust forwards. The nine gee acceleration
pressed her hard to the back of her suit, and stretched the flesh on her
face to breaking point. Within seconds she was skiing up the tunnel at
over five-hundred metres per second.
I must get back to the Death Reaper, she thought, as the ice walls of
the tunnel sped by. Wherever that stupid lentil ship is going, I have
to follow; my friends may need my help.
The entrance to the tunnel was approaching rapidly. Kath crouched lower,
increasing her speed and stability. Just as the rocket motor cut out she
left the tunnel and flew up and away from the bright surface of Europa.
All sense of acceleration disappeared as she drifted into a smooth ballistic
arc that would take her, hopefully, into orbit.
Nudging at her suit, she turned around and began looking for the Death
Reaper. Instead she saw a chilling and ridiculous sight – a giant
lentil bursting out through the surface of the ice. Within seconds, the
hippy vessel was no more than a small point of light.
Kath turned again. There, a few miles ahead, was the familiar shape of
Death Reaper, easily visible now against the backdrop of Jupiter.
Using her suit’s thrusters, the General Kath directed herself towards
the space-faring submarine. She activated her communicator. “Private
Schwimmer? Are you there?”
There was a loud crackle of static. “Erm… Yeah.”
“Address me in the proper manner, private!”
“Err… Yeah, General.”
Kath remained calm in the face of extreme insubordination. “I’m
in orbit approaching you. Open the starboard side airlock. Once I’m
inside set a pursuit course for the hippy ship.”
“Erm… How do I do that?”
“Ask one of the crew to do it, imbecile!”
“Good Idea. Should I open the airlock now?”
“Okay. Schwimmer out.”
The communications link fell silent. General Kath drifted closer to the