Prince Connor Wrath is beyond bored with his royal lifestyle. Receiving nothing but the most mundane tasks in the name of his kingly father, and even less respect than the court jester, he dreams of a life beyond the land of Lynnwood. There’s only one catch: The gods of old have forbade travel past the harbors and inlets of the only land he’s ever known. Who are these gods, where have they gone, and why would they insist on such a questionable boundary? Connor is determined to be the first who defies the laws of the disappeared deities.
What follows is IP of Gonzo Wolf Productions LLC & Chad Cloud-Miller
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Wrath’s Lament
by Rev. Dare Cloud
Chapter Nine
Cowering On The Dark Side Of The Moon
4.0
I hate this part. It’s the part when I lay here and stare at the ceiling of this sleep-pod until absolute exhaustion defeats me. They’ve yet to invent a blanket that can withstand the cold of space. In billions of years, or at least that’s what I gathered from the downloads, no one discovered a way to do it.
Either it’s all in my mind or something The Baskers failed to insert into our DNA the second time around. That’s the off term for the Reptillian Civilization who hijacked our genetic code from The Collective. Also, I begin to do this.
It seems I can’t get decent sleep since I continuously ramble exposition into nothingness as though someone’s reading my nauseating adventures page by page. If they are, I hope they’re hot, or at least “sexy” via interspecies standards. I don’t care how much historical data they squeezed into my head, who and who not to approach for the sake of sexual satisfaction is fuzzy. Sometimes, it’s beyond fuzzy. Like maiden braids. “Lead ropes” , to the equestrians. Like that video game thingy from the second age. “COME OVER HERE,” or something like that.
Insanity that people used to stand in front of those things for hours, putting all their earnings inside thankless machines to perform imaginary feats of greatness. I guess it was like their society’s version of armor; it allowed them to participate in violent fantasies without actually getting hurt. But, what is pain? Loss? At the end, when they had no wealth to show for their deeds, they’d accomplished nothing.
Life’s funny like that. It’s all about point of view. No matter where you stand financially, religiously, sexually; life is all about loss. You begin to lose from the moment you’re born and you have done nothing to earn it yet. It must be nice to not be the victim of someone else’s failed experiment.
Rank is snoring again. I swear, that guy can sleep through anything. He told me once that a lot of people of his age slept with their televisions on to simulate not being alone. That, or to mask the sounds of the things one does in a bedroom. Whether that be the parental units masking sounds for its spawn, or the spawn muffling the joys of the stepmother. Space is lonely but thus is life. I’ll be glad when 4.0 evolves enough for me to find someone to make out with.
Wow. That just brought my thoughts to the most unusual place. To whatever comes to be down there, I will be the god, or the alien, or the freak. That’s a strange concept; one that I’ll ponder further next time Duke breaks out the crop. The Basker’s tend to get upset when we bring the Hognose home smelling of skunk.
Damn skunks. Of all the animals The Basker’s could steal from The Collective, that was one of them. I got to skip that part of the download sessions since we had those on Lynwood. I didn’t care what the instruction said, those things smelled like God’s Crop, because that was all there were to eat! I mean, it would make sense, right?
Regardless, there are no skunks on the far side of the moon, and the cleaning teams would report us again for sure. I can’t shoot worth a damn when I’m stoned. Then again, I’m going to be shooting at a slow-moving target, and I won’t need that much skill, will I? Six in one; half a dozen in the other. Dammit; I’m starting to sound like Rankin Smithee again. Could be worse; I could begin speaking like Duke. I’d ask The Collective to just go ahead and kill me sooner than later if that happened.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been laying here, and now I’m afraid to move or fall asleep. It’s beginning to feel like I might have to pee at some point soon, but my eyes are beginning to get a little heavy. I’m torn, and I don’t want to feel that freezing cold on my feet. I’ll surely never get to sleep if that’s brought into the mix. It takes forever for warmth to return and, as I rambled in the beginning, these blankets are pointless.
Also, if Duke sees me moving, he’s going to assume I’m awake and start asking me to do meaningless tasks around the ship. He’s lazy for a Basker. That’s why he’s the leader of the Factory Rejects: The intergalactic shit scoopers of the third apocalypse. Or, perhaps just a diversionary tactic for the next time Collective Grey patrols come this way. Expendable, in other words, but we always were. Me and Rank, that is.
Still, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find some sort of affection toward that scaly bastard. He’s one of them, but he’s not. He’s the royal fluffer of this sector’s Reptilian Court. The guy has a criminal record that could fill every inch of this ship. All minor things, mostly Crop violations, public excretions, and lewd behavior, but it’s enough where he can’t stay off the decision maker’s radar. It sounds all too familiar if I stack it side by side with life in Lynnwood.
He’s a great guy to have fun with, but not much in the way of charismatic leadership skills. I get the feeling that any minute now he’s gonna…
“Rise and shine, you hairless monkeys,” Duke barked. “We’re going to do this shift, go home, and slap each other’s mommy’s. Are we slick?”
I knew it. The Rep have no volume control. He’s at max volume all the damned time. It’s the last thing I want to hear at sunrise in an existence where the sun no longer rises. It’s just there depending on which window you’re looking out. My eyes see eternal night, and I’ll never be swayed otherwise. There’s always the possibility that he’s smoked himself stupid in my absence.
“C’mon, Duke,” I said sleepily. “You’re going to disturb Rank. You know how grumpy he gets when he hasn’t had his due rest. He brays like a whiny mule…”
“I can hear you, you know,” Rankin bellowed, leaning down from the sleep-pod above.
“How?” I fought back. “You’ve always got those plastic fingers in your ears sucking on that Pennyback band.”
“They were called Nickelback,” the Reptilian corrected. “How dare you insult those masters of their craft. Do you know how many females from the second age lost their virginity to those Claw drinks and the scratchy, vocal heaven known as the great Chad Kroeger? They even named a food dealer after him.”
“Dear god, no they didn’t,” barked Rank. “Not everyone in the second age was related, you age-ist lizard.”
Duke squinted his scaled face in confusion, revealing a few spots here and there that could use a good shedding treatment. He’s been in space too long. Also, he needs to brush up on his second age downloads. I’m pretty sure Chad Kroeger was that burned man with the swords on his fingers.
“Whatever, monkey,” Duke hissed. “Get your primitive brains working so we can at least pretend we’re a copasetic unit of intelligent flunkies. Rank’s on radar and Connor can take the guns.”
See what I mean? We know damn well what our jobs are because it’s the only jobs we’ve ever done. Rank was trained to be master of the radar since his lot helped perfect the technology. I’m always on guns because it was an easy skill to perfect, and I hold no roots in this galaxy. Everything I ever knew or loved only exists in my mind now; I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger for personal reasons.
“So, I guess we’re switching it up today, then?” Rankin smiled while strapping his boots. Damn his fatherly humor. I almost accidentally laughed. Laughter gives him the okay to perform regularly. No one wants that while trapped in a ship for weeks.
I can hear the two of them buckle their restraints signaling that we’re about to dive into the atmosphere. There hasn’t been anything or anyone down there since the reboot weapon fired. If the Basker’s are so concerned with The Greys tampering with the lifeblood before they can get 4.0 up and running, then why don’t they establish a base closer to the planet? Sometimes, I feel like I’m the one who must think up everything around here, and it’s beginning to get old. Or is it? I can’t tell. In space, time is illusive. It was an illusion all along.
“Don’t hit the thrusters yet, Duke,” I growled at the overgrown Newt. I’m not rea–“
And down I go. I knew the bastard was going to do that, so I don’t even know why I announced my momentary weakness. Don’t get me wrong; Duke is a brilliant pilot, and has saved my skin more times that I can count. I can count pretty high. The download sessions made sure complex mathematics were drilled into my simple brain. Still, he’s one of them, and it’s his ship. None of the rules seem to apply to him until we get back to the Cobra. The higher-ups never hesitate to put him in his place whenever we return for restock and rest. I can still barely sleep in a moving ship even though I can’t feel movement. It’s just the thought of being surrounded by a whole lot of nothing. Nothing that can kill you with the slightest touch. At least on Lynwood, if we fell into the water, we could swim back to shore to ponder another day.
“Out here in the perimeter, there are no stars,” began Rank. “Out here, we is stoned; immaculate. Jim Morrison of the Doors said that, you know?”
I didn’t know. I mean, I did, because all that knowledge was absorbed during the transitionary downloads, but I’ve never felt a reason to pull that particular bit of information up to use in a daily sentence. Why would a minstrel group title themselves after the thing you secure so no one can see you relieve yourself? 2.0 was an odd world, and I’m glad to know I missed it.
“I’ve got a better one,” responded Duke while frantically flipping switches. “My namesake said –“
“I’m stopping you right there,” I dared. “You can’t call it a namesake if you were born before the guy. Also, it’s not a namesake if you bestowed the name upon yourself. That would’ve been your mother’s job.”
“Well, the joke’s on you, Bonzo, because my siblings and I ate our mother shortly after she gave birth to us. If that’s not a thank you card smothered in gravy, I don’t know what is. Anything was better than staying around for a few rotations while listening to the lot of us cry. Kids suck.”
He was right; Kids did suck, and probably always will. I also can’t harp on him for eating his mother. I was performing similar acts on my father’s wife shortly before I was sold into intergalactic slavery.
Yes, I know I’m not technically a slave; I can eat and go to the bathroom any time I want without permission, but everything else is on a timer, and observed by superiors. Half-slave? Is that even a thing? Duke went on with the quote exactly as expected, and the ship increased speed. The mechanical whir of the atmospheric wings deploying muffled his speech. I already knew it all too well.
“A man who procrastinates in his choosing will inevitably have his choice made for him by circumstance. And that’s why Connor just fell to the floor.”
No, I fell to the floor because the green, scaly bastard pulled back on the throttle like it was happy time with minimal privacy; Pull hard and finish strong. I guess they’re words to live by in a world who’s not a fan of life overall. Life’s main interest is death. Always has been; always will be. I just never knew a bunch of space-ace oddities were the ones in control of the triggers.
Somehow, I managed to make my way into the gunner’s chair as the ship smacked the atmosphere. Missing the buckle for the third time in a row, there wasn’t much I could do other than wrap my hands through the securing straps and hang on for dear life.
Life.
It’s a tough word to define now. Not long ago, life was defined as waking up in a cold castle, fearing my next appointment with hand-to-hand combat. Now, I wake up in a cold spaceship, fearing my next appointment with ship-to-ship cat & mouse. I’m on the same team with the mice in this conflict, as my luck seems to allow.
The sky-fire fades into eternal blue. I can no longer distinguish between sea and land since The Grey’s began the cleansing.
“How’re we looking, Apes?” Duke barked on cue. I never even knew what an ape was until I downloaded. It was something the Basker’s left out of their failed experiment. There were no primates on Lynwood, and I knew every inch of that island. I guess when you raid the enemy’s DNA nut closet, you don’t have much time to ensure for much variety.
“Same as always, you Snek pilot,” I said, knowing how much Duke loathed being called a Snek. “It looks like a never-ending soup pot on boil.”
“Hey, that’s their word,” scolded Rank. “You don’t get to use their word all willy-nilly. I always thought it reminded me more of when your parents would put the death-grip on you and pour hydrogen peroxide onto your boo-boo’s. Man, it’s weird how that white, bubbly sting became an addiction.”
“You dolt,” laughed Duke. “Connor never had hydrogen peroxide, because we Sneks never gave it to them. We let them evolve just enough to where they could harvest Crop, and feed themselves.”
I was getting used to being referred to as a slave because it was never that much of a reach from my day-to-day life on Lynnwood. The Reptilians raided a Grey DNA storage ship and started their own grow operation. I would almost call it impressive, but I’m still having difficulty coming to grips with everything, everyone, and everywhere I’d ever known being a part of an intergalactic slave colony. The Grey’s didn’t realize it until they were gearing up for their own repopulation. We were obviously tainted merchandise.
“Let me know if you see anything out of the ordinary, Rank,” Duke said over the coms. Out of the chop and into open skies; this is the only time that crazy lizard is ever truly calm. I can tell by the way he pilots. He’s less aggressive; precise almost. It’s like it’s the only time he’s fully in charge of himself. He’s not leering over us or acting as the Basker’s whipping boy. Trust me, I recall exactly how he feels. Problem is that my mundane former life gave birth to flowers over the stink-pile life as a Reptilian Navy gunner. It’s not like I had much of a choice in the matter, so why not be the best screw-up I can be? Conformity gets you nowhere. Never did.
“Start looking for a gap in your ‘peroxide’, Rank,” Duke suggested. “I’m feeling unusually vulnerable today.”
“How much Crop did you vape after you got out of the tanner this morning? You know that stuff makes you paranoid.”
“No, you silly monkey,” he fired back. He hates it when I insult his soulmate. “God’s Crop doesn’t make me paranoid. It makes you paranoid; it makes me one with the universe. You’ve got to open your mind a little more.”
I could hear that he’d begun to get excited. Pausing his words mid-sentence while his Reptilian tongue flopped all over the cockpit. It’s hilarious to watch sometimes, especially when he’s trying to grease the high-ups into finally recognizing him as a capable member of Basker society. It’s something you’re born into, and it doesn’t matter if you’re a big lizard, a King’s son, or a pre-apocalyptic computer nerd. That’s another one. Rankin hates that word. Something about being inept at removing women’s undergarments. Those 2.0’s had some rough mating rituals. It’s shocking how they ever screwed their way to eight billion simultaneously living beings.
“I’ve got nothing, same as always. I’m telling you, man, The Greys don’t care about the planet in this moment because their peroxide isn’t finished scrubbing the planet. I’d say we’ve got a human-calendar-month left before they even begin to re-seed. Just do what you do and relax.”
All the ship’s speakers squawked, bringing the inter-ship conversation to a halt. I glanced down at the translator screen, recognizing typical Reptilian approach vector ramble.
Unknown ship, we have you on our radar. Identify yourself, your purpose, and your destination.
Yeah, I’ve been meaning to get that identification beacon fixed, This is call-sign Duke, and the Rejects Squad. We’re returning to Sea Base Bravo for refuel and resupply.
Call-sign Duke, you’ve been preaching that same lie to me for over two weeks now! While you’re in the process of refueling and resupplying, can you please fix your identifier beacon? It’s getting awfully annoying to file all those violation reports.
I can imagine it does, you poor schmuck. Let me tell you; those bastards are looking mighty fine as they’re stuffed into my cockpit glove box and forgotten. What’s really a damn shame is that no one ever does anything about it, almost making your job obsolete and inconsequential, right?
There was a long pause in the conversation, making me laugh harder than usual at any Basker’s misfortune I witnessed. I’m certain that Duke is cropped out of his mind right now, not caring one smidgen of who he’s speaking with, or what their status might be. I’m never sure if it’s bravery, stupidity, or mastery.
Reject Squad, you are clear to submerge at your earliest convenience and proceed without deviance to docking bay ninety-four.
Here it came. Any second now…
“And that, you hairless apes, is how you get things done!”
Told you.
“I thought mind-manipulation was more of a Grey tactic, Duke,” shouted Rank. He wasn’t a fan of atmospheric turbulence. Something about a play or whatever where a man is flying in a ship with a creature on the wing. Scared him for life, he claims. Now he wears these headphones over his ears and speaks loudly. Others would label it screaming. “Jedi mind-tricks and whatnot. Social media was nothing but a giant hard drive for the Grey collective. I screamed it for years…”
“You’re screaming it now!” I offered in retort.
These two. Of all the spaceships in all the universes, I had to get chosen by this guy. “Look, every Rep deserves two monkeys and a spaceship. That’s how we get things done in my ship.”
It’s nothing more than an intergalactic wheelbarrow, hauling loads of crap from one constellation to the next. Every now and then, we get patrol missions, but I’m certain it’s just a way to keep us occupied until another horrible assignment arises. No problem with doing that whatsoever, especially since anything we would find on said patrol mission would want to kill us. I’m not ready to die. Everyone else I’d ever known up until this point wasn’t given a choice. Staying alive is the least I could do in honor of their memories.
I actually met the guy in a jail cell. The way he spoke, you’d swear he was in trouble by the Rep high council. Turned out, he was just there because it was the only way he could get some decent sleep. I couldn’t blame the guy – sleep is important – but I thought the poor bastard was about to die or be incarcerated for the remainder of his lizard-like days. I told way too many secrets that day, and it’s come back to bite me in my butt more times than I’m willing to admit.
Then, there’s old Rank. He’s Rank.
I glanced down at his radar feed one more time before reporting the “all-clear”. The last thing we’d want is a Grey trailer following us to a Reptilian entrance. They’re just…spooky. The way they just stare at you. I’ve never seen one face to face, but the downloads made damn sure I never wanted to. My job is to shoot at them from afar. The further the better.
“Duke, final gun sweep shows all clear. Contact mommy lizard and let them know we are clear for tit.”
“How dare you shame the mother’s bosoms like that!” Duke crackled through the gun turret’s barely functioning speaker. “You just wait, you hairless monkey. When I get a few bowls of Crop in me, we can compare the targets of worship via the defunct, upright gorilla population.”
Again, it took me a bit to imagine what the poor Basker was talking about since there were no primates on Lynwood. I recall bits and pieces here and there from the downloads. To be frank, it was a lot of information to remember. I just know they were the ones who climbed to the top of that tall building with the pretty woman. Isn’t that enough?
Rank finally woke up. “Man, if you would’ve stayed in that chop five more seconds, I would’ve blown chunks all over my end of the Winnebago. That sort of thing isn’t good for the electronics.”
He’s right. Last time that happened, it smelled like a combination of stomach contents and friend mother-boards for days. I didn’t even want to take a deep breath for fear it would make my own mouth smell as such. How in the world did his civilization last so long, being so weak of will? Back in Lynwood, a man’s worth was determined by his spirit. He was nothing more than a peasant, meaning we wouldn’t have “hung out”. The three of us all have one simple thing in common when it comes down to it.
“Lizard Momma, this is the Cobra,” announced Duke.
“Cobra?” the voice on the line returned.
“Yes, it’s a Cobra. You can see the hood on the damn thing, can’t you? It’s a…”
“It’s also got this turned up nose thing going on in the front. Do you think it’s bluffing? Like maybe it’s more of a Hognose than a Cobra?”
You could hear the gate guards snickering in the background as Duke turned a bright shade of red. He really hated it when people made fun of his ship. Personally, I’d never seen a Cobra or a Hognose, and probably couldn’t tell the difference if you had them side by side for comparison. Still, Duke always took it personally. He always felt like he had something to prove to those placed above him and be damned if he let any royal Basker get one up on him. I felt his pain on many occasions. That’s why I find it difficult being his slave at times. I’d much rather just be the guy’s friend.
Glancing out the viewport from the gunnery chair, I could see we were out of the ocean and into one of the stone chambers to the core. Home sweet home, for the most part. I felt more at home on the Cobra or the Hognose or whatever anyone wanted to call it at this point. It least while strapped into the gunner’s chair, I would have a fighting chance when placed up against just about anything coming my way. In the core? I was crap on the bottoms of their scaled feet. We are both crap; me and Rankin. We’re from the same planet, but from two different worlds. He shows little remorse toward my regrets. He’s watched his planet end twice.
To be continued…
The Gonzo Wolf 
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