I am caught in a one-of-those-tractor-beam-deals, I cried into the talk-from-far-away-device. 16Greezl’po, can you help me?
errant claims are being made from within and too often, my comrade replied over his talk-from-far-away-device. I could hear an edge to his voice.
you mean?
yes, he replied, commerce at the heart.
then it is alien mysteries, and the end is near.
that it is, my Earthling friend. gone is the freshened colour of your Earthling dawn.
I could hear sorry in his voice replication. a moment of truth. I feel fear and loathing, and I need a shave.
so we’re talking desperate times here, in space, or the space between spaces. I am associated with the Earth’s prominent forces of good. as a trained-spaces-hopping-operative-working-for-the forces-of-good, I’ve been transliterated into the past and future, both, to help my planet, Earth-3rd-stone-from-the-sun. I number among the top execs of the Galactic Rocket Patrol, and doing my duty is doing my life. in this day when rationalism explains even the blank stare of the sun, the forces of evil have become especially nasty. fortunately Earth has allies, like my friend 16Greezl’po, from a marvelous world called X-Planet-toomy. strange indeed are the ways there—I would like to tell just how strange—but still there is possible conjunction. and when evil lifts its head in an ugly roar to disturb our peace, me and 16Greezl’po move swiftly like one idea in defense of the forces of good. and that’s where we stand, or fly, with an enemy one-of-those-tractor-beam-deals pulling me.
my little scooter-type-ship-that-is-very quick is about to be swallowed by the enemy’s freighter-sort-of-extra-big-flight-machine. the freighter-sort-of-extra-big-flight-machine is as big as a catastrophe, and twice as expensive. it means business, I know, and that is never good.
I’m entering the onion, I said calmly into the talk-from-far-away-device, hoping 16Greezl’po would hear my last words. then the talk-from-far-away-device went dead. the enemy had me; I was now a Republican.
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