"WHAT THE FUCK!?" Wally screamed, bouncing partially up (fully up not being quite possible until the holy-crap-I’m-not-in-my-own-bed-nor-on-my-own-planet symptoms completely quashed his post-Amber-baby-oil symptoms [rather like a misguided Porcupine-clown-in-training’s first attempt at making a balloon-hat.])
"You're thinking hey, aren't I usually on that?" Ronald soothed, without the use of abstract metaphors, similes, or brackets.
"WHAT THE HELL!?" Wally tried again, this time trying out a different, somewhat more socially acceptable expletive, in a vain effort to receive a different, more calming result.
"Or maybe hey, isn't that usually a lot closer?" Ronald spoke, as calmly as possible.
Wally whirled, looking left and right, in an obscure Carkeywallet-esque fashion, vainly attempting to find the Earth below him, and very much closer, by looking in obscure places. The next stage, blame, was quick to follow. "THIS! …THIS IS -YOUR- FAULT..." He screamed, pointing in an obscure, sweeping fashion, as he wasn't quite sure whose fault it all was yet. "...WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!?" He finished with a flourish, resting his gaze on a view screen displaying a giant, somehow mobile and upright amoeba and an impatient-looking, rather large (and somehow familiarly green) pig, with frightfully thin legs. The un-pink, stilted pig also appeared to be wearing a rather complicated, for lack of a better word, hat.
"…As I was telling your captain, I am Captain Groink of the Gipneerg Alliance
“WHAT!?” Wally squealed, just to keep his momentum going, and failing utterly to note the intrinsic irony in his manner of speech.
"Er, and I'm Splatch" The amoeba added, jiggling his own, more subdued version of the salute.
“GWAH!?” Wally continued.
"... and… This, is Splatch." The pig added, overdramatically flourishing in an intensely sarcastic motion (an impressive thing, with hooves and lack of eyebrows)
“I…” Wally attempted.
Splatch furrowed his nonexistent brow, equally impressively.
“Ffffffffrrrrr….” Wally clenched.
"Seeing as how you have failed to transmit proper clearance codes..." The pig o' green continued, his arms flailing all over the place like a drunkard's excuse note's penmanship, "... you will prepare to be boarded by myself and my security crew for a FULL inspection!" He finished, looking very much like he was about to do a back-flip but then, at the last second, thought better of it.
Wally decided enough time had passed, and also on using his original expletive. “WHAT… THE… Ffffhey… where’s Amber!?”
"Oh yeah, sorry, she got blown up in the kafuffle." Steve shrugged offhandedly.
I think its important now, to pause, and reflect upon Wally’s already fragile psyche, and general panic-y nature. When he was but a lad, what terrified him most, were the squirrels in his back yard, that is, until he went inside and was met with random inanimate objects which, in theory, if they were turned on, could potentially possess a higher threat level than the squirrels, but, really, only because squirrels just weren’t all that dangerous. I make this point now, because, well, I felt this area needed a pause to reflect, but I didn’t want to end the chapter.
As you were:
"BUT... B…BUT... WHAT!?" Wally squelched, doing his absolute best not to remember the squirrels in his childhood that, at first, had been met with fear and timidness, until he’d been encouraged to befriend them by his Mother, and indeed, had, until his father had decided to shoot and serve “Super Timmy The Super Squirrel” for dinner one cold, bleak August (they’d lived in a colder part of Canada at the time) night.
"Better to have loved and to have lost and all that…" Steve offered.
"I THINK THAT’S A STATEMENT GENERALLY RESERVED FOR RELATIONSHIPS THAT LAST LONG ENOUGH TO... to..”
“Fool around?” Steve offered.
“Well… WELL YES! TO FOOL AROUND AT LEAST!!! " Wally squished (there was really no other word for his current manner of speech)
Steve waited until Wally was just about ready to cry, and then added "Ooh I’m only kidding… She’s in the can."
"I… what!? I mean… she’s… Wait, there's a can!?"
"Well what do you think you do, when you're in space?" Ronald prompted towards Wally while simultaneously firing off a reprimanding scowling at Steve, "Suddenly bypass the whole digestive process?"
“Hello!? We’re beaming aboooard? Hello?” The pig prompted, crossing and uncrossing his freaky long arms.
Editor’s Note: It’s around this time that one must accept that Pigs don’t really have arms, but rather, an abundance of legs. However, in this instance, this is an upright pig, of whom is bipedal, and thus, certain exceptions to the rule of anti-pig-arm-ism must be put aside for the sake of literary continuity.
Wally frowned, reigning in his sanity like a midget on a recently-saddled 600lbs frog. "Well, I guess I just never thought about... WAIT! WHY ARE WE IN SPACE!?" His nerve-settling having returned his consciousness to where it had previously been only moments ago.
"It's true, y'know…" Steve interrupted Wally’s own self-interruption, interruptingly. "…You never really see a men's room in any of those sci-fi ships..."
Ronald sighed, "Look, everyone poops... well, except that species I met that was made OUT of poop... they viewed it more as reproducing... What a horrid planet…"
"Sounds crappy" Steve giggled.
“WHY ARE WE IN SPACE!?” Wally squealed again.
“Good one, Steve” Fred chuckled, coming out of the men’s room.
Wally’s brain had a desperate moment of allocation issues when it suddenly had to decide if it was more important to watch the fellow on his left, with the dynamite strapped to his chest (and indeed, the inherent desire to use it) or the planet to his right, so as to make sure he remembered where it was, should he need to get back.
What was completely, and understandably lost upon the entire crew, however, was the effect this little indecision had had on Wally’s genetic code.
So adaptable were humans that, every time they were met with a no-win situation, they began to evolve.
Now granted, the next time Wally needed depth perception, the evolutionary restructuring would occur again, which made the likelihood of Wally’s offspring having individually opposable and biopic eyes (not to mention the stylish, fishy, streamlined heads), quite slim. It was still, however, an interesting thing to observe, if one were able to do so…Which one wasn’t.
One thing Wally would never evolve out of usage, certainly, would be his mouth and vocal chords. “…Wait, we took the TERRORIST along… IN SPACE!?”
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