Bill.
“What else? You nuts?” grumbled Bruiser, holding a now-limp alien in his hand. “What's dis thing? Last I remember I was sniffing a pod.”
“Easy with that!” yelled Caine, rushing over and grabbing it away from Bruiser. “That's a valuable alien creature.”
“I got one too,” said Christianson, holding it out at arm's length by a limp webbed foot. “But I think mine is dead.”
“They're both dead,” said Caine. “How do you feel, Bruiser?”
“Real hungry,” he said. “Besides dat, I feel good — except maybe I got kinda pain in my earlobe. Let's eat.”
“They've been through a lot,” said Rambette. “And I'm starved myself.”
“I shall stay here and examine the aliens,” said Caine. “A true scientist ignores such mundane concerns as food while hot on the trail of unprecedented and electrifying discoveries.”
“Chow time. Let's go,” Bruiser said salivatingly.
“What's that crappy odor?” sniffed Christianson as they started heading for the galley.
“Don't ask,” said Bill, relieved to be free of aliens and back to the normal concerns of plumbing problems and good food.
“Look!” said Tootsie. “Oh, it's gone.”
“What's gone?”
“I thought I saw a mouse. It scuttled around a corner before I could get a good look at it.”
“Better be porkuswine chops left or dere be trouble,” said Bruiser.
Scuttled? Bill thought. Did she really say scuttled?
CHAPTER 10
There were indeed porkuswine chops left, at least, there were until about ten seconds after Bruiser sat down. It wouldn't have taken him even that long except he had to stab his fork into the back of Christianson's hand to make sure he got them all.
Bruiser and Christianson were putting down the food as fast as it appeared on the table. They both had been known to have well above average appetites, but this was ridiculous.
“This is ridiculous,” said Rambette, holding up a limp piece of chicken-fried sea slug. “Tell me, is this supposed to be crisp?”
“What you see is what you get,” said Uhuru, who was seated at the large table, still wearing his spacesuit. “Fresh from the microwave.”
“You can't microwave sea slug,” said Tootsie. “It's supposed to be crispy. You've got to use a deep fryer.”
“The fryer broke when we landed,” said Uhuru. “It was a brave little fryer, but it's junk now. Boy, those rattlesnake caviar blintzes look good.”
“They're delicious,” said Christianson, grabbing a handful and pouring half a bottle of hot sauce on them. “You better dig in right now if you want some. I can't control myself.”
“I'm not getting out of this suit,” whined Uhuru. “Being turned into a zombie doesn't appeal to me.”
“Dat zombie stuff is just Caine's stupid idea,” said Bruiser, pulling all four drumsticks off a roasted Procyon-3 turkey. “Jus' look at me. Normal like always. Pass some more of dat fou-fou.”
“On the way,” whined Captain Blight, who had been assigned kitchen duty and was really chained to the stove. “I'm toasting the fou-fou now. You can't expect me to do everything at once.”
“I'm finishing this one, so I'll have another soylent greenburger too!” said Christianson, bolting the last mouthful then licking his fingers enthusiastically. “I think that dehydrated reconstituted chipped spider-burgers are the best thing in the galaxy. But I'll settle for second best. You sure you don't want some, Uhuru?”
Bill could hear Uhuru's stomach growling frantically as the man stared longingly at the sizzling pan of frying burgers that emitted a luscious green smoke. He reached down beside him and patted Barfer on the head. The dog was happily munching on some okra he'd dug out of the garden.
“Which one of you is Moe?” Bill asked. The three clones were sitting across from him gnawing enthusiastically on broasted archeopteryx wings.
“Him. The knucklehead hogging the lortsauce.”
“What do we need to get us going, Moe?” asked Bill,
“What else? You nuts?” grumbled Bruiser, holding a now-limp alien in his hand. “What's dis thing? Last I remember I was sniffing a pod.”
“Easy with that!” yelled Caine, rushing over and grabbing it away from Bruiser. “That's a valuable alien creature.”
“I got one too,” said Christianson, holding it out at arm's length by a limp webbed foot. “But I think mine is dead.”
“They're both dead,” said Caine. “How do you feel, Bruiser?”
“Real hungry,” he said. “Besides dat, I feel good — except maybe I got kinda pain in my earlobe. Let's eat.”
“They've been through a lot,” said Rambette. “And I'm starved myself.”
“I shall stay here and examine the aliens,” said Caine. “A true scientist ignores such mundane concerns as food while hot on the trail of unprecedented and electrifying discoveries.”
“Chow time. Let's go,” Bruiser said salivatingly.
“What's that crappy odor?” sniffed Christianson as they started heading for the galley.
“Don't ask,” said Bill, relieved to be free of aliens and back to the normal concerns of plumbing problems and good food.
“Look!” said Tootsie. “Oh, it's gone.”
“What's gone?”
“I thought I saw a mouse. It scuttled around a corner before I could get a good look at it.”
“Better be porkuswine chops left or dere be trouble,” said Bruiser.
Scuttled? Bill thought. Did she really say scuttled?
CHAPTER 10
There were indeed porkuswine chops left, at least, there were until about ten seconds after Bruiser sat down. It wouldn't have taken him even that long except he had to stab his fork into the back of Christianson's hand to make sure he got them all.
Bruiser and Christianson were putting down the food as fast as it appeared on the table. They both had been known to have well above average appetites, but this was ridiculous.
“This is ridiculous,” said Rambette, holding up a limp piece of chicken-fried sea slug. “Tell me, is this supposed to be crisp?”
“What you see is what you get,” said Uhuru, who was seated at the large table, still wearing his spacesuit. “Fresh from the microwave.”
“You can't microwave sea slug,” said Tootsie. “It's supposed to be crispy. You've got to use a deep fryer.”
“The fryer broke when we landed,” said Uhuru. “It was a brave little fryer, but it's junk now. Boy, those rattlesnake caviar blintzes look good.”
“They're delicious,” said Christianson, grabbing a handful and pouring half a bottle of hot sauce on them. “You better dig in right now if you want some. I can't control myself.”
“I'm not getting out of this suit,” whined Uhuru. “Being turned into a zombie doesn't appeal to me.”
“Dat zombie stuff is just Caine's stupid idea,” said Bruiser, pulling all four drumsticks off a roasted Procyon-3 turkey. “Jus' look at me. Normal like always. Pass some more of dat fou-fou.”
“On the way,” whined Captain Blight, who had been assigned kitchen duty and was really chained to the stove. “I'm toasting the fou-fou now. You can't expect me to do everything at once.”
“I'm finishing this one, so I'll have another soylent greenburger too!” said Christianson, bolting the last mouthful then licking his fingers enthusiastically. “I think that dehydrated reconstituted chipped spider-burgers are the best thing in the galaxy. But I'll settle for second best. You sure you don't want some, Uhuru?”
Bill could hear Uhuru's stomach growling frantically as the man stared longingly at the sizzling pan of frying burgers that emitted a luscious green smoke. He reached down beside him and patted Barfer on the head. The dog was happily munching on some okra he'd dug out of the garden.
“Which one of you is Moe?” Bill asked. The three clones were sitting across from him gnawing enthusiastically on broasted archeopteryx wings.
“Him. The knucklehead hogging the lortsauce.”
“What do we need to get us going, Moe?” asked Bill,
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