Fob Lanyard And The Dead Galaxy Scrolls: Chapter One

Posted on November 26, 2008
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Fob Gazed blankly at his compuHUD screen. It was as blank as the gaze with which he gazed at it. The blankness and gazing continued. Suddenly, a red indicator indicated the presence of a Collarian library ship!

“Tag!” Fob shouted, “stand ready and prepare to board!”

“Collarian library ship!” Fob broadcasted to the Collarian library ship, “stand ready and prepare to be boarded!”

The library truck responded by powering up its word processors. Streams of waste letters boiled into space like boiling waste. Fob shook with rage. Any of those letters could have once been data necessary for his report to to the Space Pirate academy. With a scream of rage he fired his dump guns, propelling superdense information patterns at the library truck. Four thousand years worth of arbor day commercials simultaneously detonated against a matter/anitmatter/pseudomatter engine array and the Library ship reeled.

———-

Fob shook with triumph and acceleration as he triumphantly accelerated towards the floundering vessel. Tag depressed the docking button with one armored paw, and Fob burst through the hatch with his laser cutlass drawn, ready to meet the inevitable opposition. Instead, he was met with the sight of a library in disarray, with datacones scattered across the floor and CompuHUDs sobbing electonically (and quietly. Library CompuHUDs are well programmed). “What happened here?” he whispered (Captain Fob Lanyard was also well programmed, although his programming involved fewer young men with thick glasses and more old women with thick rulers).

“Collarian space bandidos,” whispered back an old woman with thick glasses. “They took everything we had related to lost books of the Word of Spacegod — including a priceless fragment of a Dead Galaxy Scroll.”

———-

“Hmmm,” mused Fob. “That thar scroll fragment could give me just what I need to finish my report. I’ll track down those bandidos and replunder it!”

Fob raced back to The Albatross and activated the pseudomatter tracers. A bright thread of psuedomatter exhaust traced a path through the cold vacuum, and Fob punched in the commands that would cause his ship to follow it, and also the commands that would cause his ship to pour him some space rum. The blankness of his CompuHUD temporarily forgotten, Fob kicked his cybotronic pegleg up onto the dashboard of The Albatross as its nose aligned itself with the pseudomatter thread, and the vintage 4076 Hemi Turbojets fired with the roar of a thousand environmentalists stumbling across a dead seagull caught in a six-pack holder.

Editor’s Note: Fob Lanyard is the greatest action story of all time and requires no explanation.

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