Do Nikto Dream of Electric Sleep?

[Ser Yorick]

It had been a long time since anyone had so foolishly disrespected the Barbarian. Dozens had done so in the past, but none recently. Word of mouth was a powerful thing, a deterrent, some would say, to keep imbeciles from being... Well, imbeciles. But this one, oh he had the gall most did not, which could normally be said to be a good thing, under normal circumstances. Normal circumstances, however, these were not.

"I didn't mean it, really!" the man pleaded between sad, hopeless, womanly sobs. But no one listened. His fate had already been decided by the Barbarian, and no one under the Barbarian's employ, questioned the Barbarian. Naturally.

The guards shackled the man to a heavy steel box and left the room silently. It was time. Continue to scream and cry out as he might, nothing would answer him but the dull hum and whirring of machines keeping the spaceship under power and on course. But not for long. Soon he would be greeted by the deepest silence the universe had to offer.

"Jettison the compartment," a voice said.

Behind the chained man the cargo bay doors opened, and both he and the box were pulled out into the black, his screams then nothing more than gasps for breaths that would never reach his lungs. The Barbarian watched with cold indifference through the bridge's view screen. Justice had been served.

"Well, Grognak, that was utterly unnecessary." It wasn't quite a voice, more like a projection of a computerised personality. Artificial intelligence.

"Unnecessary, funny, what's the difference, ARGYLE?" asked the Nikto.

"Taking your definitions into account, sir, there isn't."

Cue music.

 

[Viggy]

Elevated in a very comfortable repulsor chair so he could look at taller people and at the view screen without needing to crane his neck, Dmivotiktokalalakee watched mournfully the sad scene unfolding. The little Squib almost shed a tear when the airlock was opened and the contents of the compartment were shot out into space... It seemed like such a terrible waste of a good steel box. The only thing that consoled him was that the battered and warped metal remnants would someday be collected by future spacefaring scavengers like himself, perhaps even his descendants (if he could ever find a nice Squib girl that his mother approved of, that is). The circle of junk life.

That dead guy probably wouldn't get picked up by anybody, though. There just wasn't a market for frozen human remains, and it was doubtful that there ever would be.

When the ship's post-execution tunes kicked in, Dmivo smiled and perked up his long blue ears, forgetting about the steel box and the frosty body parts floating around in space to simply enjoy the music. Times had been good for Cosmos Waste Disposal, and therefore good for dedicated employees like himself. When he first started work, he'd had no idea that it was anything more then a garbage company. Now, years later, he had been 'in the loop' for a while, and become jaded to seeing the company's little problems dealt with. If anything the excitement and opportunities in CWD's true nature made him even more enthusiastic (if that were indeed possible). He had never had so many strange and unique places for salvaging before he signed up with this company.

After his moment's reflection in the sweet music, he flicked the joystick on his armrest to swivel his levitating seat toward Grognak. "Lofty Commandicator, a question! What, beyondishly of space slurping that insolentious one, is agendified for immedia-times?"