A lie is a clever way to tell the truth—subjectively.
V. Shnodgrate, Renowned PL Poet
Where do I start?
Isn’t that awful? When people say that?
They get to these epically great places that need a description and all they say is, “Where do I start?”
See, that’s just so they don’t have to explain or describe anything. Lazy, I tell you.
Then again, I’m feeling that way right now.
But I’ll fight it (since I’m such a warrior) and explain, because I’m a goodly professor.
Okay, so the planet was something. It’s basically one big city. Everywhere. Tall buildings here, short little squat buildings there; pushcarts selling everything imaginable (except beetles) lined the busy streets; there were fancy restaurants, and restaurants only fit for beetles; and every sort of store imaginable; there were also bikes, motorcycles, cars, and all sorts of different transportation devices.
It stank a bit. And it wasn’t too dirty. #ProfessorAppraisal
In fact, it looked a bit like this–
–had mated with this:
Anyways, the streets seemed treacherous to navigate, but all the passengers were driven away from the sorta-crash in authority vehicles. It was stuffy in the authority vehicles; it stank in the authority vehicles–never ride in authority vehicles.
Now, once we got to where we were going (after about a thousand years), we were all abused and pushed around. They even took my pack.
I ended up in an ugly, plain room, sitting at an ugly, plain desk.
“Hey, dude,” Manly-Man said.
He was going to say something else, but I interrupted.
“I just want to say, what you did back there, landing the ship and all…good stuff. Well done. You have my approval.”
Manly-Man smiled a tight-lipped smile and craned his head one way. Almost treating me like a little kid. Like it didn’t matter he’d gotten my approval.
Rats and a Heifer.
“So, what happened? I was sleeping, see.”
“I doesn’t know. Someone fired a missile at us.”
That’s when the door opened and a respectable looking chap entered. He looked pregnant the way his belly bulged around, but rest assured, I know he wasn’t. He had a gray mustache and he was balding. He was dressed in the Honi Empire’s colors: Yellow. Just yellow.
I think he was a sheriff.
He sat down across from us.
“Okay,” he began, but I cut him off.
See, I was cranky. After all, being taken into custody right after surviving a near fatal crash was wrong. Especially since they told us nothing. Not much of a kind reception. (Goes to show you how much the Honi Empire dislikes people from TPL.)
“Look here,” I said, but then he interrupted me.
“Don’t you DARE talk over me,” he said, wagging a finger in my general direction. “I give the order–“
But I cut him off.
“Double look here, you beast,” I said, “I’m the professor–“
He took over here, with a vicious slam to the table.
“If I have to tell you one more time–“
Manly-Man broke in.
“Quiet both of you. I’s leaving. I’s done playin’ games with you. I’s gettin’ cranky.”
And he stood.
That’s when the that chap put my can of sweet cherries on the table.
They’d searched my pack. The blackhearts.
I was even crankier then.
“You’re going nowhere,” he said. “We found this can of cherries in this one’s pack”–a thumb in my general direction here–“and you were the pilot. How’d you get that can? Did you run into Starling on the flight? What’d she tell you?”
Then, quicker than a lightning bolt, I grasped the cherries.
“Mine,” I said, like a caveman.
“If you don’t answer my questions, you’ll end up just like Starling!”
Was that the lady with the briefcase?
Then everything happened too quickly.
The fellow pulled some sort of evil looking instrument from his belt and Manly-Man took him out–with one blow.
And then, Manly-Man said, as if to explain his actions: “I’s said I was getting cranky.”
Of course, that explained everything perfectly.
“Time to go,” I said.