Aboard My Train Of Thought - Scott C. Endsley (best ereader for pdf and epub txt) 📗

the room and demanded to speak with me outside the door. I excused myself as Ira lit a foul smelling bargain cigarette. General Higgenbotham fidgeted with his double chin. Then Gerg tried to ease all the tension, and began sharing some cheesy Apathonian jokes. I quietly crept back into the room with an aura of deep concern.

"What is it, Clyde?" Gerg Asked.

I sighed and sat down. "Gerg, Your Greatest Of Greats, I don't know how to tell you all this, but... someone has hijacked your craft and put a Ryder Truck full of ammonium nitrate on board. It's heading straight for Apathonia on automatic pilot!"

General Higgenbotham had escorted Ira down to the basement to be interrogated, in view of the fact he made a crack earlier, coincidentally suggesting the same thing be done for all the trouble the planet's people caused. "It was just a joke, I didn't do it!" Ira maintained.

He got right up in Ira's face..."Well, who did, Stippens?!"

"I think YOU did, Mr. Hickingbottom!" Ira shot back.

"It's Higgenbotham, and it doesn't matter if I did or I didn't. I told you I was gonna get even with you for breaking my nose! I was the only one in the family that had a decent one, and now thanks to you, I HAVE MY MOTHER'S NOSE!!!" The General yelled.

Later I was in the oval office trying to console an extremely worried Gerg. "I don't have anything to offer but my regret, Gerg. I don't know what got into Ira, I thought I knew him."

"I knew he was bad news from the word go!" General Higgenbotham offered once entering the room from downstairs. "This is most regrettable..."

"I hate to break up this pity-party," Gerg snapped, "but does anyone here realize if we don't get on the ball, 1.5 billion drudes and prudes will die tomorrow?!"

"I'm sorry, Gerg, but we don't have any type of ballistic missile capable of traveling fast enough to shoot it down." I apologized.

"You mean to tell me that in a world such as yours, with all the weaponry to destroy the world 10 times over, you don't have anything technological built to travel past the speed of light?!"

"Well, if your people are so doggone smart," the General offered, "maybe they'll see it coming and run like hell!!"

"Ok, knock it off, General!" I commanded as a staffer alerted me to a visitor in the main lobby.

Rounding the long hallway, I caught a quick glimpse of a gentleman in a red workman's jump suit. I somehow knew I'd seen him from somewhere. "Yes, what can I do for you?"

"Yes, Mr. Hipwing, I'm with the Carter Crane Company. A General Higgenbotham solicited our services this afternoon and I just came by to give him his receipt..." the rather jovial man said.

"What's this regarding?"

The overly friendly fellow snickered, "He rented an old broken down Ryder truck, and paid us to have it lifted aboard that some-sort-of-strange top secret government vehicle. He said he was retiring to Montana... Oh, by the way, if you see a Mr. Ira Stippens anytime soon, tell him Mike said hello!"

"Yeah, I'll do that," I acknowleged realizing I'd been had by the General. I smiled real big while reaching deep in my pocket. "By the way, do I know you from somewhere?"

"Nope, not from around here anyway. Thanks for the tip!"
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(Episode 15)
The Genodrahn Sun had long set below the western hemisphere of the Apathonian planet and the Flaming Moon hovered over the Southeast. The human captives in the encampment just outside of the city of Tararaboomdia, were becoming more discontent by the day. Two thirds of the hostages had already been Picassovited thanks to Mediocre Of Medocres, Zonka Punksquirt, who filled in while Greatest Of Greats, Gerg Ydarb, was off to planet Earth trying to make peace.

Punksquirt was an 'old guard' member of the Apathonian establishment, and a member of an ultra-secretive group called the Dongwazzle Dozen, a group ready and waiting for the right time to begin a bloody coup-de-tat, and implement an even more intrusive control by state of the people. He despised what little recent reforms that were implemented prior to the reign of Queen Irol, and he and his cohorts were hoping to accomplish the overthrow during Gerg Ydarb's absence, but their plans would be foiled for now.

The human 'collateral' imprisoned in the camp were in the midst of switching sleep shifts, when one of them noticed a bright jet-stream-like trail in the night sky. The Apathonian Guard quickly pinpointed the flying object at approximately 25,000 miles in space above the planet. They readied their intercontinental ballistic warheads in case it was a hostile attack. At the same time the prisoners became worrisome as they could plainly see that it was heading in their proximity overhead.

Just as it entered around the orbital space of the flaming moon, they all sighed in relief as they witnessed it changing course because of its gravitational pull. They sat in awe, watching the greatest fireworks display they had ever seen, as it crashed into the flaming moon. A ring of fire and molten rock encircled instantly around Apathonia, similar to the giant rings of Saturn. During the five or so second explosion, nobody detected a sound, until the ground beneath their feet began to totter and shake, and the encampment walls came tumbling down, freeing not only the humans, but the Picassovites as well. They began gathering force by capturing the remaining humans and running them through the Picasso Factory.

The Greatest Of Greats' younger brother, Ekim Ydarb, hurriedly decided to board his private vessel and head for Washington DC, to warn his brother not to return because of the ensuing chaos. He made it out off Apathonia right before all hell really broke loose.

Zonka Punksquirt had just come from out of the shower, when 15 Picassovites busted inside of his private quarters. "Please, don't kill me!!!" he shreiked with a skimpy towel wrapped around him.

"What should we do with him?" The Pacassovite King, Ravi Ohlee, taunted as they laid him before his deformed legs.

"Why don't we run him through the Picasso Factory, not once, not twice, but three times!" Brother Name-It-Claim-It suggested.

"That's a wonderful idea, Brother Name-It!"

They dragged the Mediocre Of Mediocres by his long nose, all the while he was making an unavailing effort by kicking and biting, and tied him down on the conveyor belt. King Ravi Ohlee pulled the lever and Zonka twisted and turned in agony once inside, then came out the other end severely distorted. Ravi shoved him back in, and this time, he came out ever more disfigured and grotesque. When he was shoved in for the third time, the heat funnels on the top spewed a gaseous black smog...and the walls collapsed in flames. Zonka stood upright on his earlobe with fire coming out of his eyes and hair, lion-like fangs protruding from his buttocks, a muscular clinched elbow above his now 11 foot, 4 inch frame, and cried, "NOW WHO'S BAD?!!"

The others quickly prostrated themselves before him in homage, then turned around and leaped on their former King, Ravi Ohlee, and gave him a slow death by tearing off his limbs.

Because of the firey circle that now surrounded the once cold planet, the heat index fluctuated up and down at a higher rate. The mean temperature had increased by 15 degrees. This caused a phenomenon its inhabitancy was not used to... rain.

High cumulative clouds gathered over the township of Tralalaboomdia causing extreme panic. The unique sound of thunder terrified the people, and most especially the Picassovites, who called it "loud gods."

They attempted appeasing them as Brother Name-It lead the Picassovites in primitive worship dancing. They cried out in tongues they'd never used before, while Name-It prostrated himself for a full 15 minutes until lightning bit his lower extremity, causing him to dance even wilder and holler. The others tried to imitate him while praying that gods would bless them with spiritual fire also.

The good King Zonka pulled aside Brother Name-It after the festivities were over and knighted him Sir Sparking Butt, while the others paid tribute by waiting in line to kiss his charred rump, and receive their sanctification.
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(Episode 16)
The Greatest Of Greats' anguish was now twofold. He not only was severely troubled over the fate of his beloved Apathonia, but his heart was also reaching out for General Higgenbotham who was in a holding cell, ironically built with own hands, down in the White House basement.

"You don't need to worry yourself over him, Gerg. He chose his own actions and should suffer the consequences."

"I know you're right, Clyde," he agreed, "but I've never been the same since my own captivity 24 years ago... I feel bad enough about the actions of my predecessor, Irol, and all the Americans almost 50 light years from home.... How hopeless they must feel."

I reached over and patted him from behind on the shoulder. "And I'm just as concerned about your people. I'll tell you what, let's plan a trip to Area 51 & 1/2 for next week. I promise you Gerg, I'll do everything in my power to see to it that there will be an equal exchange... let's hope for the best that your planet is not destroyed."

Suddenly Gerg's ears turned a bright off-green color, and small bright follicle hairs raised from the top of his otherwise bald head. I couldn't help but stare. The Greatest Of Greats caught on and laughed with tears, "I know what you're going to ask, Clyde. It's the Apathonian version of having a lump in your throat... I really wish you'd consider pardoning the General. You know, you have the authority to do so, Clyde."

I was struck by the alien's humanity. "You've got a great big heart, Gerg. Come on, let's go talk to the General."

Once downstairs we noticed someone had shut down the lights. I blindly reached for the switch then we proceeded down the long narrow corridor, until we located the iron cubicle. "OK Higgenbotham, it's your lucky day! Good Godfrey!!!" I gasped, as I discovered the General laying flat on his back with a potted begonia plant stuffed down his throat.

Gerg discovered the Mark Of The Anti-Beast and became overwhelmed with grief. "No, this can't be! This is the same mark that was on Queen Irol's forehead when she was assassinated! This means that Kram didn't do it! I put an innocent man to death!" He sobbed.

"Kram Oingomeyer?!" I asked with a slip of my tongue.

"How... How did you know that, Clyde?"

I had no choice now but to level with him about my former dealings with Queen Irol, which oddly didn't seem to matter to him right then. He was more concerned about the immediate situation.

"Do you realize what this means, Clyde? We're now dealing with an intergalactic serial killer!"

That afternoon, the Los Banos, California police department, in cooperation with the FBI, brought in fruit picker and ex-con Elmo Pigglesworth. They had caught his performance along with Ira Stippens in slaying Sir Elvis Holyfield, the Beast, on television a while back. Being that he either directly or indirectly had something to do with The Mark Of The Anti-Beast, they wanted to question him concerning General Higgenbotham's death.

"So, Elmo, tell us about the Anti-Beast." Sergeant Wilco requested calmly.

"Whadya wanna know?"

"Well uh, Mr Pigglesworth, we saw your little tiddlywinks match-up awhile back..." Wilco smiled,