Tales From the Terran Republic

Chapter Stankworld: Alan and Grace Make a Movie

“Captain dude!” Grace exclaimed at the very confused-looking worm regarding her with suspicion over a bioplastic LED screen. “These smelly fucks are amazing!”

“Are you… Have you consumed a substance?” Captain Vexp asked with concern.

“Wha?” Grace asked. “Just had a few drinks, that’s all!”

She laughed.

“These guys can’t believe that we can consume ethanol! They keep wanting to watch us do it!”

“And we would be remiss if we didn’t indulge our gracious hosts,” Alan added with a hazy smile.

“It’s good shit, too!” Grace exclaimed. “It even tastes good… kinda… I mean, I’ve had worse.”

“That’s due to the trace contaminants,” Alan said, “Their ethanol and deionized water are pure, but it picks up a little this and that from basic handling. The effect would be negligible except for the potency of said contaminants.”

He smiled.

“While it can easily be far too much of a good thing, the slight traces the compound picks up make for a very intriguing product. I honestly think that ‘stank juice,’ as my lovely wife has dubbed it, would be very marketable to our species, marketable enough to justify a dedicated run once we get the ship up to being able to do long hauls.”

“Yeah!” Grace said, “These smelly assholes are going to make us so much money! You won’t believe the deals we are cutting down here! They are practically giving shit away!”

“That is wonderful!” the captain replied. “We are certainly overdue for some luck.”

“Luck doesn’t even come close!” Grace exclaimed, nearly shouting, “We are talking to heavy equipment manufacturers and their shipyards now! Fuck! You aren’t even gonna… gonna…”

She bleared unsteadily at the captain.

“We are going to be able to get the impervium situation resolved across the entire vessel, and that is just the start,” Alan said as Grace flopped backwards on the spongy, slightly greasy “couch” with a little “woo”.

“And just how much is that going to cost?” the captain asked.

“Nothing!” Grace crowed from her drunken sprawl. “Less than nothing… We… (giggle)… We sold it to them! They are paying us!!!”

“What?”

“It seems that they like impervium and are not only willing to scrape every pipe and tube clean but even pay us for the privilege,” Alan smiled.

“Why?”

“They use a very similar material as a component in rather advanced composites that are quite beyond our ability to manufacture,” Alan replied. “They are more than happy to take all of it off of our hands and replace it with something much more suitable for our purposes.”

“It’sh probably gunna stank,” Grace slurred, “But it’sh better than it blowin’ up. ‘Sides, we don’ go in those spaces anyhow. It’sh a win! Pure profit, baby!”

“It will require letting Freekegg crews on board,” Alan said, “but you get used to their smell… eventually… I hardly even notice anymore.”

“We can discuss the specifics once you return and… um… recover.”

“All we have to do is cordon off the accessways and turn up the ventilation,” Alan replied. “Most of the time, they will be in areas that will not be accessible to the crew, especially during the abatement procedure. It will not be difficult.”

“I look forward to discussing the specifics with you once sober.”

“Oh, we will be plenty sober when we come back!” Grace exclaimed, “…probably… This is really good shit.”

“You aren’t in the process of returning?” the captain asked with a little concern.

“Nah,” Grace slurred, “Not fer a couple of days… probably… Too many deals to cut. Too many Freeks to meet.”

“We did not discuss this, any of this,” the captain said helplessly.

“We are discussing it now,” Alan replied smoothly. “The potential gains here are too important to ignore or even delay. Not only is there significant potential for financial gain, but we can also secure some major ship repairs, even possible upgrades. We can’t let this opportunity slip, Captain.”

“You should have still at least discussed this with me before proceeding.”

“As I said,” Alan said with a dangerous gleam in his eye, “we are discussing it now.”

“But…”

“Captain,” Alan said with surprising sobriety. “Are you serious about the survival of your species?”

“Of course!” he spluttered.

“Then stop complaining and let professional survivors do their fucking job. We’ll be in touch.”

Alan moved to terminate the transmission.

“Wait!” the captain kettle whistled.

The line went dead.

“I honestly have no idea how they’ve managed to survive this long,” Alan sighed as he flooped next to Grace, who gave him a quick cuddle.

“Well, they are good at hiding under rocks, you know, being worms and all,” Grace chuckled as she reached for a nearby bottle. “And they aren’t actually stupid… just weird.”

There was a knock on the plastic/wood door.

A Freekegg poked their head in, protuberances all a wiggle.

“We got the bed and cameras ready!” it exclaimed, literally shaking with excitement.

“Fine,” Alan sighed as he rose.

“Woo!” Grace shouted as she sprung clumsily to her feet. “Let’s fucking do this!”

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” he grumbled.

“I hope it goes viral!” Grace enthused. “Can you imagine the look on your mom’s face? HA!”

“If you want this to work at all, keep my mom’s face out of it.”

“Oh God,” Grace howled as they stepped onto a well-lit alien soundstage, “Can you imagine her actually…”

“Please stop. I’m begging you.”

“You won’t be begging me to stop in a minute,” Grace winked as she started taking off her shirt.

***

A decent number of light years away, a certain Bzkorran trade mistress walked into her assistant’s office.

“Harzalla,” she said, “Do you have the…”

Harzalla yelped as she quickly shoved her naked front foot under her desk and looked up at her boss, aghast.

“Again?” she smirked as she looked at a holo of Alan extending his naked foot provocatively. “You are going lose your mane.

“I was just moisturizing!” Harzalla exclaimed defensively.

“Sure you were,” the trade mistress smirked, her ears fluttering with amusement.

She glanced down at her assistant’s tablet, which contained a rather spicy email in progress.

“You realize that Alan is married, don’t you?”

“I know!” Harzalla snapped as she angrily flipped her tablet over.

“And he’s not Bzkorran…”

“I know! By the void! Why do you always have to be such a damp sock?”

The trade mistress smiled gently, curling her wide, fleshy bill.

“I’m just concerned about you, that’s all,” she said. “A little fun is one thing, but your fascination with that human is becoming unhealthy. I hate to tread on your toes, but you do realize that they were just… using what the creators gave them… to their advantage, correct? Such ‘lubricants’ to deals are far from unknown… though most outsource the enticement.”

“It isn’t like that!” Harzalla exclaimed. “Alan’s nice! He’s smart, and he’s funny and… and…”

She looked down.

“And he likes me…”

The trade mistress sighed. Harzalla was a wonderful young woman with so many good qualities…

…it was a pity that looks weren’t part of those.

“I’m… I’m sure he does,” she said diplomatically. “I happen to like the humans, especially his mate.”

She parted her flexible bill lasciviously.

“I like her a great deal, and what she can do not only with her feet but her hands… bliss!”

Her expression turned a little stern.

“However, one must never forget the realities of the situation. They are a mated pair and not Bzkorran as well. It will never be anything more than it is, a little fun in the foot tub. The screwing we are trying to deal each other isn’t the screwing that you…”

“It isn’t like that!!!” her assistant hissed.

“Oh, dear…” the trade mistress said, “you have actual feelings for this human?”

“How could I not?” Harzalla wailed. “He’s so… so…”

“Human?”

“Wonderful!” Harzalla wailed. “He actually writes me back, and he’s nice to me, and we talk, actually talk to each other! And… And… I know he’s not Bzkorran! That’s why… That’s why…”

She seemed to deflate a little.

“That’s why I… why it could… I mean… I know I am not appealing, but Alan doesn’t see my funny bill and my weird feet. He sees me. And don’t tell me it’s just because of trade because we aren’t trading! He…”

The trade mistress walked over to her assistant and gently laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Are you familiar with the human ‘trade organization’ The Confederacy of Sol?”

“You mean like those Harley Quinn?”

“Harlequin,” the trade mistress corrected, “and the very same. I took the liberty of making a few inquiries concerning our two ‘hapless slaves’ and…”

Both of their communicators beeped.

Hey guys! It’s Grace! You’ll never guess where we are, the motherfucking Freekegg homeworld!

Boy, are we going to have some deals for YOU!

While you are waiting for that attachment, I sent you ANOTHER one that I think you will find almost as enticing. We even added a few moves just for YOU!

Attachment: Sex Tape!

A few moments later, both Bzkorrans stared at their screens with huge eyes.

“Um… I…” the trade mistress stammered, “I gotta go moisturize…”

After the trade mistress sprinted out of her office, Harzalla looked at her screen and sighed.

It could work… really work!!!

***

“Hahahaha!!!” Morgan Analytica howled, causing Jessica to jump and spill her tea. “Boss, you aren’t going to believe this!”

“Probably not,” Jessica sighed as she looked up from pages of minutiae. “What?”

“There is something burning up the Bzkorran trade network… HA!”

“I assume you are going to show me?”

“Depends. Do you want to watch it by yourself or with Gordon?”

“It’s that freaky?”

“Oh yeah…”

A few minutes later Jessica closed the video player.

“The Bzkorrans are the ones with that feet thing, right?”

“Yup.”

Laughing, she shook her head and summoned Terrence.

“Ma’am?”

“Terrence, I’m going to need a pedicure.”

“A pedicure, Ma’am?”

“Would you like for me to explain?” she asked impishly.

“…No… Ma’am…”

“Smart man.”

“I will engage the services of the appropriate professional at once,” Terrence said as he left the room.

***

Jacqueline Gallardo, Alan’s mother, lounged at her desk on her very well-appointed supertanker in deep space.

She raised an eyebrow at an incoming message.

It was from that asshole Drekker Wyrm, that whore’s father.

She clicked the teleconference invite with cold disdain.

“What do you want,” she seethed at the grinning bearded and mustached man absolutely beaming at her.

“You know, I always wondered what my little hellion saw in that uptight little prick of yours…”

His grin grew.

“Now I know. Now everyoneknows.”

“What are you babbling about this time?” she replied icily, “Did you misread your recipe book again?”

“What did you feed that boy?” he snorted. “And can I get a prescription?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You haven’t seen?!?” he laughed, “Well, allow me.”

A video file appeared in secure quarantine.

“My lovely wife sends her regards,” he said, “and if the father is anything like the son, her admiration and heartfelt envy!”

With a laugh, the transmission ended.

Moments later, an agonized, enraged scream echoed down the halls of her stately vessel…

…temporarily drowning out the snickers that were already starting to spread.

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