Sunday October 8, 2006
Book 8: The Sharp End of the Stick — Part II: Schlocktoberfest 2006


Narrator: Commander Ellen "Elf" Foxworthy is busy eulogizing her friend, lover, and comrade-in-arms.
Elf: . . . And he made me feel smart. I guess this is my last chance to thank him for that.
Narrator: Commander Kevyn Andreyasn is lying at the bottom of a hole, his throat bitten out by a jeopard. He has had no heartbeat for the last fifteen minutes.
Elf: So. . . Um, thanks. I just wish I'd been smarter, or faster, or SOMETHING. Maybe then, we'd be laughing right now, spending your pay, and wearing actual clothing. And, you know. . . Not having a funeral.
Narrator: There is still activity inside his brain. The hallucinations induced by shock and hypoxia have given way to something else, with the help of a few billion foreign bodies.
Elf: Good-bye, Kevyn. If we ever get off this rock, I swear we'll bring you with us. I'll dig you up with my bare hands if I have to.
Narrator: These nano-machines are keeping his mind alive, but he is not listening to Elf's eulogy.
Narrator: Right now he is remembering happier times. He is completely out of touch with the outside world.
Captain Tagon: Welcome back to the land of the living, Commander.
Captain Tagon: In honor of your return from corpsicle-country, we are having an ice-cream party. You're the guest of honor.
Schlock: And that means you have to serve the food. Scoop mine first, slave-boy. You owe me big-time.
Kevyn: Big time it is, then!
Schlock: Back at'cha, with interest!
Toughs Off-screen: FOOD FIGHT!
Narrator: Well. . . Almost completely.