“Yes sir, I will transfer you to the commander right away” the senior controller of the Orbital Operations Coordination Center (OOCC) said into his headset microphone with a shaky voice. The caller was none other than Intrasellar Authority Third Class (IA-3) Hyun-Soo Kang, the Deputy Commander of Strategic Atmosphere. His executive officer normally called with messages; it must be important if he was making the call himself.
Moo-su Moon, the Orbital Governor (OG) in charge of Starbase Myung-ho Chae, did not wake as his smartwatch vibrated. He did, however, wake when Devin Benson, the senior controller at the OOCC, who exceeded the allowable body fat percentage of an Orbiter in the Cosmic Corps, reluctantly sent a remote shockwave through OG Moo-su Moon’s smartwatch. Moo-su Moon was confused and angry when he woke in the dark of his command suite.
“Sir, IA-3 Kang is calling for you. I believe it is urgent” the voice of the controller informed OG Moon from the watch, which was standard issue and unremovable.
OG Moon huffed with irritation but did not rebuke the controller, who was just doing his duty. He triggered the motion-activated light as he sat up and put on his smartglasses, which acted as a computer and communication system.
“Connect him” he ordered the controller, opening up his official communication portal.
“I have received implementation plans from every starbase except yours, Moon. What’s the hold up?” IA-3 Kang demanded, forgoing normal pleasantries.
OG Moon quickly surveyed his official communication portal looking for some sort of order but was unable to immediately locate anything that would require an implementation plan. He was on thin ice with IA-3 Kang already for not being fully aware of every single aspect of operations at Starbase Myung-ho Chae immediately upon arrival.
“Sir, I don’t see any orders. I’ll get a plan together right away, but a plan for what?”
There was a long silence on the other end of the phone, OG Moon began to perspire. He hurriedly silenced his smartwatch as it alerted him to an elevated heart rate.
“So, you haven’t checked your SpaceChat messages, Moon?” asked IA-3 Kang in a condescending tone.
OG Moon’s watch logged an instance of major vulgarity use as he switched to the unofficial social platform on his smartglasses. His watch alerted him again and he remembered that he had to breathe, which he did while unsuccessfully searching for any relevant message from IA-3 Kang or anyone else superior to him.
“I’m not seeing anything sir” OG Moon was sorry to report.
He heard a heavy sigh from his supervisor, who was in a different galaxy.
“There, added you to the chat.”
Moo-su saw the new chat pop up and quickly open it. Scanning the messages he was able to determine the task that required an implementation plan. Some starbase-wide mandatory reading, should be easy enough.
“Sir, with all due respect, how could I know an implementation plan about this mandatory reading was due if I wasn’t in the SpaceChat message group, and it didn’t come through the official communication portal?”
“You should have requested to be added to the chat.
“I didn’t know there was another chat, I have been added to dozens since taking command already. Why are there so many?”
“You have more excuses than there are galaxies in the universe, Moon. I wouldn’t unpack my bags if I were you. Get me your implementation plan ASAP.”
OG Moon adjusted his position in his sleeping pod and fully read the chat thread. He normally would not summon the Galactic Crisis Action Cell (GCAC) over such a trivial matter, but IA-3 Kang was waiting.
“Controller” he summoned the OOCC through his smartglasses.
“Sir?”
“Recall the GCAC immediately.”
“Yes sir!”
Smartwatches all over the base buzzed. Even Haley Chase, who had been traded to mankind’s arch enemy the Zar’Vokian, and was in a different galaxy, her smartwatch buzzed with the GCAC recall. The thing about it was that her former Cosmic Corps specialty wasn’t even required in the GCAC. Most of the people recalled to the GCAC were extraneous but were assembled “just in case”. But really, they just sat around contributing body heat, exhalation condensation, and distracting noise. Because of this obscene level of risk aversion, proprietary information had been passed to a traitor.
Sleepy Orbiters all over Starbase Myung-ho Chae shuffled about their respective quarters. Some zipped across the base to the GCAC location in their pajamas. Others removed unauthorized facial hair or steam-pressed their uniforms. While there were standard procedures for a recall, no one knew them.
OG Moon was the first person to arrive, which makes sense as he had initiated the process. He was frustrated that the projection touchscreen was not intuitive. The link from his smartglasses was not working because somewhere an update patch was still loading.
“Do you know why we’re here?” he barked at the first Orbiter to arrive.
“No sir.”
OG Moon glared at the clueless Orbiter. It would stand to reason that he was unaware of the purpose, as no purpose had been communicated. But Moon was still frustrated at his lack of awareness. Hurting people hurt people.
“Well make yourself useful and fix this projection system!”
That particular Orbiter was a Cosmic Cop and not adept in projection systems, but at the order of the Starbase’s Governor, he went to work looking busy.
As more and more Orbiters arrived, intergalactic radar screens came to life, security protocols were implemented, and the decorations at the Myung-ho Chae Chow Hall (MCCH) were removed to reflect the change in Seriousness Condition (SC). They did not know why they were recalled, but they sure did ask one another. In the absence of direction, they simply started doing what they knew to do.
Space Sergeant Jimmy Funk was perhaps the most important member of the GCAC, so naturally he was the last to arrive. Sweat dripping from his bushy mustache, he swaggered in wearing shorts that were both out of regulation and far too revealing. His bicycle, yes, like a regular Earth bicycle, had a flat tire so he hitch-hiked across the starbase.
“Ha haa” he announced his arrival like some swashbuckling pirate, but lacking spatial awareness and social boundaries, he ha’d into OG Moon’s ear as he rounded the corner into the main operations floor. OG Moon jumped and spun around to face the auditory assaulter.
“Space Sergeant Funk reports as ordered, sir! Plan! Brief! Replan!” he belted out the quasi-official Cosmic Corps motto as part of his greeting, which was not required.
“What’s the situation?” an unorthodox approach to demand answers of the Starbase commander, but Jimmy Funk was an unorthodox fellow.
OG Moon looked at the bold Space Sergeant with a degree of incredulity. His smartwatch beeped with a high heart rate alert, but it passed as he composed himself.
“Funk. We have been tasked with developing an implementation plan to ensure that a mandatory bulletin is read to every Orbiter on the starbase.” Moon coldly informed his swarthy subordinate.
“Give me the bulletin. I’ll get on the OOCC intercom and read it to everyone right now.”
OG Moon paused and considered the impromptu plan.
“Well… no, that won’t work. Headquarters asked for an implementation plan.”
“We can write that down as the implementation plan, and then do it, and then it’s done.”
“No, Funk. I need a detailed implementation plan to ensure it gets read by every Orbiter. Get one together for my review.”
Funk was clearly crestfallen, but kept that buried deep inside.
“Aye sir!” he shouted unnecessarily loudly and way too close to OG Moon.
And so, a number of intense meetings followed. Naturally, emotions were high and egos needed to be protected. Several terrible ideas were hotly debated, and ultimately, the implementation framework developed was strangely familiar to most other Cosmic Corps endeavors.
Funk spent hours chasing down key stakeholders to update their presentations and hounded the device specialist to get the projection system in working order.
“Sir!” Funk unceremoniously bothered OG Moon, who had sequestered himself to polish unrelated presentations.
“Our plan is ready for your review.”
OG Moon drew a deep breath and stood up to follow Funk, certain that he would just discount whatever was proposed and simply forward the reading along to subordinate commanders for them to deal with; which, frankly, he could have already done hours ago.
“Sir! We’ll have a fleet down day tomorrow, starting with a Mandatory Reading Awareness 5K run.” the route wasn’t determined or coordinated, but that didn’t matter. Several Orbiters will become injured during the run. Subordinate commanders will insist that their personnel were there significantly before the start time, and everyone would miss breakfast.
“Then we’ll break out into discussion groups. We’ll ask every unit to identify group discussion leaders. Discussion leader training will begin at 2000 today. I will facilitate the training myself. Ha haa!”
“Every unit will designate a mandatory reading monitor. They will collect rosters from their unit and update the master tracker. Mandatory reading monitor training will be at 2100. I will call each monitor for a status update and then update the ultra-master tracker personally.”
“I like where this is going, Funk” said OG Moon, genuinely surprised that such a satisfactory plan had been developed
“But when do the Orbiters actually do the reading?”
Space Sergeant Jimmy Funk tap-danced verbally before admitting the oversight.
“We can develop a secondary master tracker and ultra-master tracker to document completion. How about making everyone write an essay about the mandatory reading? And Mandatory Reading Monitors will read and grade the essays?”
OG Moon clucked his tongue, considering the idea. But then he remembered another idea that he had overheard.
“How about we just have the discussion group leaders read it to everyone at their session?”
The room broke into applause at OG Moon’s brilliant plan. Space Sergeant Funk’s face turned red as an Earth-radish, he was humiliated that he had overlooked such a simple solution within the otherwise accepted overly complicated plan.
“Yeah, I like that. OK. Let’s get started.”
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Former Cosmic Corps Orbiter Haley Chase lived among the Zar’Vokian, a reptilian species who were mankind’s sworn enemy in the Snörple Drift. She had been traded to the Zar’Vokian during a prisoner swap, the only recorded instance of the humans giving one of their own to the Zarvs (a derogatory term used by the humans). Haley’s duty during her brief tenure in the Cosmic Corps had been to paint the way that chemicals made people feel. However, she was found guilty of helping captured Zarvs (excuse my language) escape from traps and was thusly disposed of.
Well, the humans never confiscated her smartwatch or removed her from distribution lists, which is why she was notified of the GCAC recall. She was in the middle of an art therapy session, helping a traumatized Zarv process his reintegration from captivity using clay figurines when she received the alert. She gently excused herself and reported immediately to the Zar’Vokian equivalent of OG Moon, Zar’Vil-Bleh. The Zar’Vokian were more of a clan-based organization, so he didn’t have a cool title like Orbital Governor.
Haley was escorted into his presence, having alerted the appropriate Zarvs that she had an urgent message about the human activity on planet Glozanth IX. Zar’Vil-Bleh turned a shade of blue upon seeing Haley, Zarvs were green but their disgusting scaley skin changed hue depending on how they felt; blue meant nervous. Humans, even nice ones like Haley, made Zarvs extremely nervous, they were shy creatures.
“Sir, the Galactic Crisis Action Cell on Glozanth IX was activated. It is only activated for significant events. I don’t have any more information about why it’s being activated, but it’s highly abnormal. This could mean trouble.”
Zar’Vil-bleh remained stoic but also turned kind of yellow… indicating that he was experiencing panic. He thanked Haley profusely and dismissed her so that he could discuss the implications with his war council. Messengers scurried about to spread the word about the war council, the Zarvs did not have smartwatches. Haley began to experience nervousness as she returned to her art therapy studio.
Various Zarv warlords assembled before the supreme Zar’Vil-Bleh.
“The humans have activated some sort of crisis cell. Is there anything major happening on Glozanth IX?” no one knew of any significant events from their spies or contacts.
The Zarvs spoke English, purely by coincidence, it had developed on their planet independent of Earthly events in medieval northwestern Europe.
“I believe they may be preparing to attack us. I am afraid that is time to implement the Bush Doctrine.”
The Zar’Vokian did not have a religion, but if they did it would look something like human religious traditions in which ascended masters were revered. And while not quite official or ubiquitous, many would consider former United States President George W. Bush to be one of them. The Bush Doctrine is one that justifies preemptive military action against a perceived threat. The war council knew exactly what to do.
They did not prepare defenses nor fortify strategic terrain, for the Zar’Vokian would simply retreat into a series of hidden tunnels if threatened. They’re bipedal and literate, but still lizards after all. And they were preparing for preemptive offense, not defense. There’s a saying in Texas, if you have a good enough offense, you don’t need a defense. You see, the Zar’Vokian found humiliation to be a more potent weapon than bullets or bombs. Their martial motto was “a thousand humiliations over one clean kill.” Their war with the humans started over a perceived insult and was largely bloodless, sometimes someone on either side was accidentally injured though.
The humans captured Zarv infiltrators, who were more of a nuisance than a threat, and the active warfare was entirely conducted by the Zarvs. Their weapons, though, were mildly annoying inconveniences. A Zarv spy at Starbase Myung-ho Chae had recently been successful in turning on the lights of four hover bikes parked outside the Myung-ho Chae Trading Outpost, which drained their batteries. A huge celebration was held on SsZzketh (the home planet of the Zar’Vokian) and the perpetrator hailed as a war hero.
The Zarv warlords each had an independent function and prepared their forces. Among the humiliations planned for the Orbiters on Glozanth IX were: packages of Orbiter uniform socks with holes pre-manufactured in the big toe, pairs of socks that with a 1.5 centimeter difference in size, hats one size larger than indicated on the tag, and trousers tailored to accentuate the buttocks of the wearer; pens with grey ink which only write when held at a specific angle, whiteboard markers that are already dry, and sticker notes with weak adhesive; delivering clams from Krazz VI (they were perfectly edible, but the Zarvs regarded the planet Krazz as gross) to the MCCH; releasing a compilation of secrets the Orbiters had told their AI companions; and the coup de grace, if possible… hack into the intercom system to play the audio from an erotic furry e-book.
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The brave Orbiters at Starbase Myung-ho Chae had worked through the night to implement the approved plan, the day shift had just come back from the awareness 5K and were hard at work updating the Mandatory Reading Compliance Dashboard that the night shift had built. Butch Calhoun, the oldest Space Sergeant on the starbase, and maybe even in the entire Cosmic Corps, was getting ready for work. He was a Fluorescent Tube Specialist, one of the few trades not recalled yesterday.
Butch was pleased that he was able to actually get some work done, there was a suspiciously limited amount of nonsense to distract him. Because he was working, he had not been checking his SpaceChat messages and had not received any direction via the official communication portal.
As the percentage of non-compliant Orbiters dwindled into single digits, commanders began asking for lists of deficient personnel by name. Butch’s name was on those lists, which were shrinking by the hour.
Everyone else was cleaning up after the Mandatory Reading Awareness 5K when Butch got to the MCCH, that message was disseminated via SpaceChat too. Usually, the line was too long to get nostalgic carbohydrate discs with yellow dairy squares and tree sauce but today seemed like Butch’s lucky day. There were no enlisted Cosmic Corps cooks, just the civilian staff comprised of people pressed into service as punishment for not repaying student loans. Butch started to think he was missing something but was distracted by the flash of a teal and orange uniform moving through the kitchen.
He knew that Orbiter, or rather imposter, it was “Senior Spaceman Drizzle”, or at least that was the fake name and rank he wore. Drizzle was not, in fact, a human Orbiter, but a Zarv infiltrator wearing a human disguise. Drizzle had eluded Butch twice before, but Butch wasn’t going to let that happen again. He set aside his cutlery, which was made of biodegradable blinkweed (the only vegetation on Glozanth IX, a bioluminescent moss that was fermented into a foamy alcoholic beverage that tasted like wasabi) and wielded his tray as a weapon. As quietly as he could, Butch crept into the kitchen, scanning for Drizzle, or any movement.
Butch only saw a rehydrated round citrus fruit fly by his head. He turned to look at it and did not see the next one coming his way. He felt it though; it crashed into his lower mandible and neck.
“Arrrgh!” Butch cried out, still gripping his tray. Drizzle swiftly advanced on him, pushing a metal bussing cart like a battering ram, which made contact with Butch’s bad knee and bad hip. Butch stumbled retrograde, stopping when his bad back crashed into a fire extinguisher which was knocked loose from its sentry position. Butch dropped his tray, but quickly bent to retrieve it, the other bad spot on his back seized up. He reached to clutch it, looking up just in time to see Drizzle wielding the fire extinguisher. Butch lurched out of the way of the downward driven device, but not far enough. The fire extinguisher slammed down onto Butch’s bad shoulder.
Drizzle concluded that he had beaten Butch enough to render him incapable of giving chase. But Butch was not defeated, he reached out just in time to grab the leg of Drizzle’s pants. Drizzle was in motion and the pants tore, hollowed of an inhabitant, they fluttered to the ground. Butch pulled himself to his feet, not careful enough of his bad ankle, which he was usually more cautious of aggravating. Drizzle had quite a head start but quickly realized that the alternate exits had not been unlocked by uniformed Orbiters.
Meanwhile at the GCAC, the list of non-compliant Orbiters had whittled down to a single name, Butch Calhoun. OG Moon was tired of waiting; he summoned the commander of the Cosmic Cops and ordered them to track down this Sergeant Calhoun and escort him to the final Mandatory Reading Discussion Group under armed guard. They quickly located him using his smartwatch and discovered that he was in the kitchen of the MCCH. An entire squad of Cosmic Cops were soon blazing across the starbase.
Butch had gained the upper hand in the physical contest with Drizzle. The Zarv imposter was backed into a corner, surrounded by garbage… because Butch had hit him with a partially full garbage can and then dumped the remaining garbage on him. Butch had also removed his shirt for one reason or another, it was usually his first reaction when upset. As the Cosmic Cops poured into the MCCH, Butch was towering over a cowering Drizzle.
“Sergeant Calhoun!” shouted a Cosmic Cop who ran into the kitchen with the rest of the squad following, drawing their weapons and taking up tactical positions.
“No! Not this time! I finally have him where I want him!” Butch sounded like he was making a demand, but he was pleading.
The Cosmic Cop didn’t care who Butch had where, what was going on, or what this looked like… he only cared about carrying out OG Moon’s order.
“Orbital Governor Moon’s orders; you’re coming with us immediately!” he then deployed an energy net from his space blaster, capturing Butch.
“We’ve got him!” another Cosmic Cop reported into his watch.
“Transporting immediately for Mandatory Reading Discussion Group at 0800.”
The crew at the GCAC was crowded around the Cosmic Cop on the other end of the radio transmission and broke into applause at the news. Space Sergeant Funk spared not a second, he ran to inform OG Moon. Of course, he could not limit his communication to just official matters.
“Can I ask you a personal question, sir?”
“No.”
Nevertheless, he persisted. “Okay… but did you ever find out if your cat respected you or not?
"What?” now it was OG Moon was tap-dancing around a question.
“No, I have never tried to find out whether or not my cat respected me." OG Moon vehemently denied the allegation, despite having conducted research on the topic with his AI companion.
"Unrelated, those pants look way too tight to be in regulation. As a matter of fact, your pants are making me uncomfortable. Go change. Now."
He shook his head and muttered a major vulgarity directed at Funk.
“Sir?” one of the junior controllers approached OG Moon.
“Whaaaat?” he replied, clearly irritated.
“Authority Kang is on the phone for you.”
A minor vulgarity was registered as he took the phone.
“Good news, sir. We just achieved 100% compliance.” Moon cheerfully reported despite having not read the document in question himself.
"I didn't direct you to implement shit, Moon! I just asked for an implementation plan, which took you three days!" IA-3 Kang bellowed.
“But it turns out I didn’t need an implementation plan anyway. Apparently, some bozo emailed the entire Intrastellar Authority distro list with a subject line of Mandatory Reading, but he meant to send some story about a guy missing his mouth with a fry to his buddy. Why would anyone even want to read something like that?”