Stellar Squeegee (Ch 1-2)

NOTE: It might make sense to first read The Squeegee Chronicles before taking a crack at this one. While Stellar Squeegee can hopefully stand alone, things might make more sense if you started at the beginning.  However, Stellar Squeegee is a departure from the stream of consciousness style of The Squeegee Chronicles and is a much more conventional writing style, but still with all of the bizarre occurrences intact.


FOREWORD:

Stellar Squeegee is my long overdue / overcooked / previously underloved and underfunded sequel to The Squeegee Chronicles. Chapters One and Two were started in the Fall of '04 and pretty much ignored until now. Currently, I hope to continue where I left off. We'll see.



STELLAR SQUEEGEE
By Jason "The Water Buffalo" Silverman


CHAPTER ONE: THE AMICABLE PLIGHT OF THE MUMBLEWIMP

A mumblewimp sat happily grazing in a field of blue-green wombarrot grass. Luckily for it, the mumblewimp was truly a simple creature; it had no sentience, no thought, no real mind at all. Its physical form wasn’t anything special, nor practical, but yet there it lay. It would often be wondered why such a pointless organism would exist, or even more importantly why the hell it would be called something like “mumblewimp.”

The discovery of this organism would be completely by accident. While exploring new territory, a common lad would find his prosthetic leg abruptly entangled in a mumblewimp’s vague form, causing him to plummet face first towards the hard ground. Some might go so far as to say he hit a rock, while other scholars would argue that a rock would have caused far more physical damage to the lad. Either way, he would awake hours later only to find his shoe off and his toes being suckled on by a swarm of the creatures. In a panic, the lad would have thrown himself to his foot and peg, possibly maiming one or two of the harmless beings. For, you see, the digestive enzymes of a mumblewimp were completely incapable of digesting anything but simple plant matter.

After stumbling back to camp, no thanks to his lack of depth perception, the lad would tell his comrades of the wild encounter. The story would involve a good amount of exaggeration, and perhaps leave out a detail or two.

Within the hour, he would return with his brothers, armed to the teeth, intent on eradicating the threat of the suckling monsters. However, this time around, the mumblewimp’s ability to evoke blinding affection would take over. The posse would quickly lay down their arms and play with the creatures far into the wee hours of the night, oblivious to the fact that their fondness was totally unrequited by the mindless beings.

Eventually, the rest of civilization would learn of the discovery. A full scientific expedition would be launched, specimens captured, and studies performed. For decades, scientists would probe and prod at this strange organism, trying to unlock its secrets.

Finally, the mumblewimp would be released to the public, and mass consumer hysteria would follow. A young boy by the name of Dan Linzi would later discover that mumblewimps, for whatever reason, would not tolerate long hours in front of a gaming console. This would lead to Linzi’s death in later years from one such mumblewimp’s abruptly violent reaction. The situation would seem to be in conflict with the creatures’ lack of cognitive process, and intense study would be done to research this possible deadly mutation.

Even though there might be some security threats between different individual mumblewimps, the species by and large would be the greatest addition ever made to society. With a great number of traits more flexible than the canine, the mumblewimp would find its way into a variety of public service roles, such as aiding the blind, the deaf, the crippled, the angry, the poor, the clumsy, and even the daft. Within centuries, civilization and the mumblewimp would be nearly inseparable, both not entirely dependent on but very much in need of each other…

Yet, as this particular mumblewimp grazed on the blue-green wombarrot grass, it sat in unknowing splendor. For, you see, it was the first of its kind. Produced by a freak gamma-ray burst, the mumblewimp was formed from several intelligent microscopic organisms who suddenly mutated and combined into one rapidly growing, semi-cancerous glob of total uselessness. The lone being was about to populate this new world that it called home.

However, unfortunately for the mumblewimp, but much to the unknown relief of Dan Linzi, this just wasn’t meant to be. Suddenly, with a tremendous rumble, a column of Ion Driven Stovepipe Armored Personnel Carriers came thundering over the nearby ridge. Without warning, they recklessly flattened the field of blue-green wombarrot grass, and the entire future of a pointless life form with it.


CHAPTER TWO: War Within A Stovepipe

In the old world, Pirates were peaceful and gentile in nature. In their small communities they would pass the time by playing games, doing jigs, and hugging miscellaneous objects. This utterly carefree lifestyle might still exist today if it wasn’t for a small genetic alteration that enlarged their yam gland.

One day one of these new-aged pirates borrowed a box of toothpicks from his mate. No one knows why this item was so important, but it was soon to influence the overall change of pirate culture. After using them for months, the pirate simply threw these supplies away as he claimed that they were “Tinged with bits from me teeths.” His mate, needless to say, was outraged, and claimed that the pirate had “Stealthily Trickily Evoked A Looting,” (or “STEAL’d,” as the acronym became known.)

Widespread panic and prejudice towards the Pirate people gripped the land after that. They were labeled as crooks, and through several poor translations from Japanese psychologists, something about peg-legs, parrots, and giant boats entered into it.

After nearly one hundred years of continued abuse, Pirate culture began to reflect this seafaring life of pillaging merchant ships. With a good chunk of irony, the physical strength that Pirates had retained from their previously jubilant lifestyle was perfect for such a job. As time went on, the Pirate people found themselves considerably better off than those who came before them. If they had known what exponential growth was, they would have agreed that their relative power and wealth was an example of just that.

And so it was that the Pirates formed their own empire, and for centuries ruled with an iron hook. That is, until the dreaded Squeegee Apocalypse…

- - - - - -

“Arrrrrr, and that’s how we came ter be in this here sit’eration, ya see?” said the lieutenant pirate to his inferior.

The lower ranking pirate lay huddled in his gyro-couch with the thermo-blanket pulled up to his chin. “Arrrr, does ye think they’ll come again unto me noggin?”

The lieutenant pirate just glared at the scum from behind his eyepatch. “Arrrrrrr, quit ye nonsensical blubberin’. Relay a message ter thee fleet that we be in position!”

“Arrrr, Matey-Superior!” The low ranking pirate hopped out of his couch and over to the Ion Driven Stovepipe Armored Personnel Carrier’s communications console, wiggling with excitement.

The Ionic Stovepipe APC came to a halt as the infra-yam comm-waves shot skyward to the orbiting pirate fleet.

- - - - - -

The Pirate sat at his gunnery station, body rippling with pre-engagement jitters. He was a cheerful fellow and in good shape, but with a mind full of memories that anyone would be lucky to experience in several lifetimes. For, you see, this particular chap was one of the few left who remembered the Old World. In fact, he was old enough to remember what a life of luxury was, before the resurrection of the Great War. However, with the technology of the day and age, he was able to feel like his old self through a brand new body.

So what was this old Pirate in a young body doing as a lowly gunner in one of Thee Creed’s armored columns? Well, for now let’s just say that his career definitely had its ups and downs. In fact, lately it was pretty much all downs, and profuse downs at that.

The Pirate stared at his readouts, his glossy black eye-patch catching a glow from the displays that flashed brightly with friendly troop movements and probable enemy locations. He goosed his control sticks back and forth, swiveling the Stovepipe APC’s PlasmaYam cannons, and waited for the coming onslaught.

A raspy voice crackled in his right ear. “Arrrrrrrr. Lads, thee fleet be sendin’ word that enemy units be occupyin’ a settlement on the other side o’ the next ridge yonder. We be movin’ out when they be givin’ the word, ya see? Keep on yer toes ‘n pegs, as thee cases may bee. Fine shootin’, good huntin’, and let ye live to dunk thy beards ‘n guzzle thee rum another day!”

“Arrrrrr, Matey!” came the cry of agreement through the comm channel.

The Pirate stroked his beard with pride, silently humming the anthem of his kinfolk as he ran through his system’s pre-battle checks. It wouldn’t be long now. This world was theirs, and no weasel lovin’, wheel ridin’, fur wearin’ army o’ dirty Wombats could change that!

“Arrrrrr! The time be upon us, Brothers o’ Thee Creed!” cried the Commanding Pirate through the comm channel. “Advance!”

The Piratatic armored column advanced like a hair-craving moose unleashed at a hair salon. At the front of the formation, the fearsome Ionic Stovepipe Armored Personnel Carriers plunged forward, protecting the Elite Pirate Gnawers safely nestled within the transports’ cylindrical hulls. Covering the flanks were Pirate scouts on high-speed three-wheelers, hell bent on closing the gap toward the enemy.

As the division cleared the dividing ridge, The Pirate’s displays suddenly chirped to life with a whole mess of enemy contacts, confirmed and triangulated by the fleet high above. Suppressing a sudden urge to leap away from his station and curl up in the corner, he aimed his battery at the closest group of hostiles. PlasmaYam cannons burped to life, spewing molten projectile after molten projectile towards the enemy forces.

Spread out in a defensive line in front of the settlement, the army of The Wombats O’ Thee Dark Tide went berserk. Wombat shock troops, covered from head to toe in bulky battle armor, ran forward with an earsplitting shriek. Enormous, fission-driven Hamster Wheels came to life, tumbling forward and outward to meet the Pirate flanks. Mega-Weasel Cannons belched and lobbed their shots towards the front of the Pirate forces.

The battle was joined faster than most any in history. The Pirate division hauled arse down the ridge slope, forming a wedge to ram into the Wombat Horde.

The Pirate swiveled left and right in his control harness as he unleashed hell at any red blip on his monitor. To his left and right his vehicle-mates did the same, creating a thick crossfire. Nonetheless, the sheer amount of incoming fire took heavy tolls and friendly vehicles on all sides began to explode violently.

In under a minute, the two forces were almost on top of each other. The Stovepipe APCs rolled up on a slight angle and disgorged platoons of battle hungry Pirate Gnawers like a stampede of bulls with digestive issues spewing, well, a lot of little angry Pirates. However, the Wombat forces continued to press the advantage. Before long, the two battle lines had merged entirely and the fight became one large hectic brawl.

Now, the Pirates had some great tactics that had been hammered out over the centuries from brutal trial and error. Well, mostly error. It’s actually quite a remarkable feat that they had any strategy at all. But, once these tactics fell apart, such as in this current engagement, the Pirates would begin to revert back to their basic instincts. Of course, as we’ve said, Pirates did have a physical prowess that was hard to match, and was certainly better than a Wombat trooper or even a hearty broad-leafed tree. But alas, for what a pirate had in brawn, he sorely lacked in processing power.

“Arrrrrr! Charge to thee face!”

“Arrrr, shoot me yonder, matey!”

“Arrrrrrrrrrr, I lost me hook! Time out! TIME OUT!”

The cries were deafening as the Gnawers started to lose it. Whether firing wildly from the hip, running in circles, or charging crazily into the face of the enemy, the brave men were quickly mowed down by the Wombat compact weasel cannons. And the Wombats themselves, they just kept on coming.

“Arrrrrr!” cried The Pirate in despair. He looked around frantically, but every viewport showed the same gloomy scene. Gunning madly, the dozen odd Ionic Stovepipe Armored Personnel Carriers that remained were totally surrounded and in real need of infantry support. The few Pirate scouts left on high-speed trikes could barely be seen in the distance spinning wild donuts and figure eights in pursuit of decoy wombat puppets.

“Arrrrrrrrrrr!” The Pirate cried again. “We be in some rotten luck becoming of this ‘n that!” Turning from his controls, he lunged at his APC’s driver who was frozen with fear. Knocking the poor mate out of his seat, The Pirate quickly grabbed the controls of the beastly tank and got down to business. He didn’t know what he was doing, or why he was doing it, but he certainly had a plan.

The APC lurched forwards. Backwards. Forwards again. Guns blazing, the tank overran the adjacent Wombat swarm, turning the ground to a slippery mush.

“Arrrrrr, woe to thee foes be underfoot me giant pipe!” cried The Pirate, only slightly incoherently. “Lads! LADS! Do like me, ya see? SMOOSH!”

And they did. In an utterly crude display of modern technology, the remaining Ionic Stovepipe Armored Personnel Carriers began to roll back and forth, as though led by giants with rolling pin in hand, over the Wombat infantry. With this the Fission-Powered Giant Hamster Wheels whirled about, noticing the absurd new Piratic tactic. A hailstorm of Mega-Weasel clusters peppered the Pirate APCs, slapping them from side to side.

“Arrrrr, mateys! Aim ye cannons at them there wheel-borne scum!” yelled The Pirate.

One at a time the remaining Hamster Wheels, being picked apart by the intense PlasmaYam cannon fire, were rocked to their core and broke apart. All the while, the Pirate Stovepipe APCs continued to roll back and forth, back and forth, eradicating all life around them. It was a tactic that, ironically, the original Stovepipe APCs had been designed for. However, like much of Pirate history, it had been long forgotten.

The battle ended just as abruptly as it had started. One moment the Pirates were outnumbered, outgunned, and surrounded. The next, there was not a single Wombat or Wombat-spawned war machine left standing. That is, of course, except for the handful of decoy Wombat puppets that remained in the distance, still busily pursued in circles by the living Pirate scouts on their Trikes. But that, my friends, is a digression that is neither important nor interesting.