(I wrote this a number of years ago, initially
intending for it to be a follow up to my 'How To Kill Vampires' article
on the Amazing Friends section of Solidsharkey.com. For one reason or
another, this never came to fruition. I came across this a few days ago,
and have posted it for your viewing pleasure, if you can call it that.)
'The Metroid Disaster'
The
top ranking members of the Federation were all gathered around the
boardroom table, all of them quietly engaged in small talk. Cigar smoke
wafted through the air, and the sound of ice cubes rattling inside
glasses could be heard. Scientists, generals, engineers, doctors, all at
the tops of their respected fields, had been gathered here, onboard the
massive space cruiser 'Firebird', to discuss the actions of one man.
Michael F. Gilliput.
Michael
had been drafted over 3 years earlier to design the B.S.L Space
Station, where the Galactic Federation would continue to conduct
research on the lifeforms known as 'Metroids'. A multi-billion dollar
installation, no expense was to be spared by the Federation to utilise
the talents of the galaxies best designers. This
was where Michael came in. Over ten years ago, he had designed the
space cruiser known as 'The Titanica', a massive vessel that was to be
the equivalent of the ill fated ship that hit an iceberg and sunk into
the depths, hundreds of years ago. The ship was a success, and Michael
became the most sought after space architect in the galaxy. When the
Federation heard about Michael's architectural triumphs, they
immediately drafted him for this top secret mission.They left him to his
own devices, and gave him free reign over the Federation's team of
engineers, so that he could maximise the efficiency and strength of the
new installation. So much confidence was invested in Michael, that the
space station was built without the top brass even seeing the plans.
Then, things started to go wrong.
Reports
came flooding back to Federation HQ every day, from scientists stating
that the space station was impossible to work in. Engineers and builders
were dying every week. Power outages were uncomfortably common. And so
this meeting was called.Seated before the assembled professionals was
Michael, a former shaow of himself. Dark circles ran under his eyes, and
a five o'clock shadow had run rampant and become a 10 o'clock tangle.
Reeking of cheap brandy, Michael was a sad sight. A tough, burly looking
seargent stood up, his erect, proud stance making Michael cringe. The
seargent's dark eyes regarded Michael with contempt, and when he spoke,
his words dripped with barely disguised disgust.
'Mr. Gilliput', spoke the seargeant,' do you know why you are here today?'
'Because you're lonely?' quipped Michael, hoping a joke might ease the tension in the room.
No one laughed.
'No,
Mr Gilliput. I suspect you know the real reason for your incarceration.
And if you do not, I will tell you.' The gruff seargeant picked up a
holograpic clipboard in fron of him and stared at it for a few minutes,
his eyes never blinking. All the other eyes in the room were fixed
solely on Michael's bedraggled form.
'Mr. Gilliput, are you or are you not responsible for the design of the B.S.L Space Station?
''I designed it sir, yes.' said Michael.
'Then
this is the reason you sit before us today. To answer the many
questions we have about your unforgivable actions. Your current state
speaks volumes about the way you feel about your predicament.' said the
seargeant.
Michael nodded, wiping a hand
across his face.'Are you able to tell me, Mr. Gilliput, why you thought
that this design would provide optimum safety and comfort to the people
who lived and worked onboard the B.S.L Space Station?'
Michael stared at the floor, his hands trembling. 'I... uh... I-I'm not sure, sir.
''Are
you able to tell me, Mr. Gilliput, why you thought it would be wise to
design vertical shafts as a means of accessing other parts of the
installation? And why these vertical shafts had randomly placed ledges
down it's length?'
Michael wrung his hands together, but said nothing, his gaze concentrating on the floor near the seargeant's feet.
'I
saw these shafts with my own eyes, Mr. Gilliput. Some of them extended
straight down for approximately half a mile, with only a small room at
the bottom. And in these rooms were strange contraptions with the legend
'Save Room' inscribed above them. What in God's name is a 'Save Room',
Mr. Gilliput?'
Again, Michael said nothing.
'I
was also unfortunate enough to take a tour the other parts of the
installation. I can understand the need for a cold storage room, Mr.
Gilliput, but I cannot see how a room filled with lava is useful to
anyone. Let alone a room filled with god damn lava that I have to cross
by hanging from the ceiling like some kind of damn monkey!'
Michael put his hand to his mouth and began to chew on a fingernail.
'Feeling
nervous, Mr. Gilliput?' said the seargeant, sarcasm dripping from his
words. 'Good. I want you to understand how annoyed I am at having to
have visited your sorry excuse for a 'space station'.
'The
seargeant sat down, and a General stood up to take his place. 'I too
had the misfortune of visiting the B.S.L facility, and by God Mr.
Gilliput, you will pay for what happened. I lost eighteen good men that
day, due to your complete and utter negligence! Your utter disregard for
human life! Do you know what it's like to bury your men, and then try
to tell their wives that you're sorry?!
'Tears
dripped slowly down Michael's cheeks. 'I'm sorry! I'm sorry!' he cried,
pleading with his hands. 'I didn't think they'd b-build it! It was
meant to be an experim-'.
'EXPERIMENT?!,'
shouted the General. 'An experiment! So this is why you designed these
ridiculous hallways. Three of my men died crossing one of your
'hallways'. I suppose you thought it would be amusing to have random
holes in the ground, all filled with electrified water? Did you think it
would be funny to design rooms with ledges and doors that could only be
reached with a grappling hook and a mile of rope? Or maybe you thought
it'd be a laugh riot to create important rooms that can only be accessed
by running as fast as you can at the wall?'
While
the General was shouting at him, Michael had sunk to the floor, his
sobbing making his body convulse. He was a mess of tears and snot, and
he kept repeating the same words over and over again. 'I'm sorry'.
'Your
tears will earn you no pity here, Mr. Gilliput. We shall not be swayed
by the tears of a man who designed rooms that can only be accessed by
standing in the area of a detonating bomb so that the floor caves in. We
shall show no pity to the disgusting human that designed retarded rooms
that can only be accessed by somersaulting into the wall. There will be
a place reserved for you in hell, Mr. Gilliput; the man who created a
space station with no apparent place to go to the toilet'.
The
General sighed, looking at the wretched figure on the floor. 'However,
Mr. Gilliput, for even the worst of men there can be redemption.'
Michael looked up the General through tear-stained eyes, hope daring to enter his heart. "Y-y-you'd give me a second chance?'
'One
chance, Mr. Gilliput, one chance' replied the General. 'Forgetting the
fact that you designed the worst space installation in recent memory and
cost the Federation upwards of 94 billion dollars, The Federation has
discussed the matter and decided that only and architect as insane as
yourself would be fit to design the Federation's new project.'
'Which is?' asked Michael, a thankful smile showing on his face.
'Boulder Dash Fun Park'.
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