Steem Wars : Swept Away (Part 5 of Mission 2, and COM Round 16 Entry

This is Part 5 of a community-written sci-fi parody serial.

Find the previous parts here:
Part 1: Be There or Be Square by @tanglebranch
Part 2: Hip to be Square by @Negativer
Part 3: I Can See Squarely Now by @caleblailmusik
Part 4: Thank the Gods For Red Shirts by @jasonbu

Our mission:
As delivered by @gmuxx, The Time Lord: Galacdictator Tangle et al.... a distress signal has been detected in the Quadrangular Quadrant. Source unknown, species unknown. Take thine crew and investigate / rescue / dominate whoever it is disturbing the galactic peace

Our crew:
Galacdictator Tangle (@tanglebranch): Character profile here
Underlord Negavader (@negativer): Character profile here
Byepeex Reist-Stoomtrooper Destroyer (@jasonbu): Character profile here
Sixty-Wine (@caleblailmusik): Character profile here

At first I wasn't sure if the emergency teleport had worked properly. I was in a dimly lit room full of stale air. I could hear loud footsteps outside the door, not unlike those made by violent intruders. But Sexy Pexy was gone, and I was definitely standing in a bucket. The bucket was standing in another bucket, and all of us were wet.

I shuddered and climbed out of the bucket, dripping, and was promptly fondled by a pair of mops who’d been drinking a bit too much bleach, if I was any judge. I redirected their attention to the gorgeous broomette in the corner and hurried out the door.

Outside, I found myself inside a larger room that may also have been a hallway. Brisk-looking men in double-breasted suits (and did I mention their eyebrows? On fleek) marched two abreast, in two lanes going in opposite directions, so they were in fact four abreast. Just facing two directions. I wasn't even sure they really had breasts, but mine looked good, mop-handled as they were, so I tried to think about something else.

“You there. There’s been a coffee spill on the fourth floor. Go clean it up.” Eyebrows, two abreast, filled my field of vision.

“Excuse me? Did you mean me?” I prepared a batch of scintillating laughter, but the double-breasted suit guy didn't give me enough time to serve it.

“Of course, you. You don't see anyone else suitable for such a role, do you?” His foot tapped in time with his walking partner’s.

“Well, Negavader isn't here, so no, I don’t. Look, I think you've mistaken me for someone else. I am Galacdictator Tangle and I've come to rescue you.”

“Rescue? We don't need any rescuing. Do we, men?” The crowd of suits halted and said in unison, “No, we don’t.”

I might have been intimidated if I was a lesser woman. But since I was greater, I engaged my scintillating laughter and swept (but not like a broom) into the empty space between the lanes.

“Well, somebody down here sent out a distress signal. I'm here to respond to it. And if you aren’t the ones who sent it, then you must be the ones who are causing the distress. I suppose I'm not here to rescue you at all. Just the opposite, in fact.” I batted my eyelashes, which were easily a match for all of their eyebrows put together. “So which one of you is going to explain to me what’s really going on here?”

A man in a double-breasted suit leaned out into the centre lane. “It’s lunch break and we’re on our way to the cafeteria.”

“Fantastic. I’m starved. I’ll have a poutine, extra gravy.”

The collective gasp that followed my question told me just what kind of uncultured swine I was dealing with here. I started loosening the blaster hidden under my skirts with a toe.

“First of all,” growled the first man, his face growing dark, “women don’t order their own food around here. Secondly, only one of those ridiculous hipster terrorists would ever lower himself to eating something so disorderly.”

Under the guise of shaking some mop water from my dress, I collected my secret blaster. I aimed it at him and started backing down the hallway. “I’m really going to enjoy ruling this silly little planet. The oppression you’ll face is going to be delicious.” I had to start doing this sort of hands-on work more often, I'd forgotten how much fun it could be. No wonder Negavader had been getting delusions of grandeur.

I went around some corners and down a short flight of stairs, passing between this silent double-breasted honour guard, held captive by my beauty and my blaster. Mostly my beauty, I'm sure, and definitely not by any social conventions or even utter cluelessness. I backed out a door onto a busy sidewalk, with tidy rows of women with carefully coiffed hair pushing baby strollers full of solemn children.

At first, I seemed as ubiquitous as the pavement. I tried to be patient. Eventually some screaming, running, cowering, and pleading began, and I thought things were finally going my way.

Instead, I spotted my robots, who had a rather foul stench, and Pex, who was deliciously underdressed, coming toward me.

“My Lady! I've come to rescue you!” Pex announced, and bowed low. Several children behind him began weeping.

“How sweet of you, Pex. But I'm not the one who needs rescuing.” I would have to order him to gird his loins with that fetching little shirt again later. I directed my attention to the larger robot. “You. Where is Underlord Negavader and why didn't you get all the glitter cleaned up on my ship?”

“How should I know where he is? Clean up your own damn ship.” Sixty-Wine’s compartments bulged with something that was probably nefarious.

I rolled my eyes. “I am so ready to get out of here. Let’s find Negavader and dominate this place.”

to be continued…

WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW MORE?

Read about our earlier escapades here:

Mission 1

WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW MORE?

STEEM Wars is the brainchild of @gmuxx. It is a community creativity parody project with a sci-fi basis. Read more in the following links:

Steem Wars: A Parody Too Far

Steem Wars: Crews Assemble!

cover image created using Canva with an image found on Pixabay.com. Steem Wars image created by @gmuxx

Since this is a Comedy Open Mic entry, I must of course nominate some unfortunate souls. I choose @shadowspub and @crimsonclad, upstanding Canucks of certifiable notoriety. Or something.