Through Chase and Slime with Rojinald Blackout
(with apologies to Ferdinand Feghoot and Grendel Briarton)
Tim raced desperately up the hill towards where Blackout, Viler, Wan, Carn Avore, Nil Talent, Jolly, Henna, Sool'im and Saner were sitting, waiting for Odin's judgement on whether they were suitably heroic for entry into Valhalla. He had a terrible pain in his side but didn't let that deter him, and reached the top in record time.
"You've got to get out of here!' he panted. "Curvyleg's got around Odin, and he's made her a Valkyrie. She's recommended you be consigned to Nifleheim. You'll have to try somewhere else. Elysium, or the Happy Hunting Grounds, or Nirvana maybe. But get away from here."
"But we can't go and leave you here," Blackout said, concerned. "It would be poor reward for all you've done for us."
"Oh, don't worry about that," Tim said airily. "I'll get back safely, and I'll be famous when Ariom prints the story. I can see the headlines now ....
"A Stitch in Tim Saves Nine"
It was over. Viler's fainting form had been extracted from amid the blood-stained corpses, and he had been clad in a suit of motley and installed in Sneer's stately sandstone mansion as chief jester. A flow of bad puns and juggling tricks with the food and cutlery had left the Commissioner far from amused; but now, seated by the open fire-place with coffee and brandy to hand, she relaxed and hoped for something better. But the juggling stopped and the riddles got worse. Finally Sneer lost her temper and flung her brandy glass at Viler in sheer desperation. Naturally, Viler dodged. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on your point of view, the glass shattered on the stone wall and a sharp fragment flew back and buried itself in Sneer's eye, killing her instantly. She would not at all have appreciated Viler's final epitaph as he stood gazing mournfully down at her corpse.
"My dear Commissioner, you really should have remembered. Those who live in stone houses shouldn't throw glasses."
Henna came onto the flight deck wearing a new outfit, the tight fit of which excited much comment among her crew mates. Jolly expressed strong disapproval, but Viler offered exaggerated admiration. Wan and Blackout were both somewhat dubious.
"Well, what do you think?" Henna demanded, turning to Carn Avore. Avore raised a sardonic eyebrow.
"If you really want to know, I'd say your end fully justifies the jeans."
Curvyleg, otherwise known as Commissioner Sleer, stood looking down with satisfaction at the corpses scattered around the floor. At last all her opponents were dead and beyond redemption.
"Take the bodies back to Earth," she commented sharply, "and set up a public viewing of their funeral pyre. I want no resurrection stories floating around to inspire other rebel groups." She appointed one of the leading Federation scientists to take charge of the arrangements, and would brook no arguments over the amount of ionising radiation she wanted put through the funeral pyre as she bent down to light it. The result was a catastrophic explosion, and the scientist's last words were carried over the airwaves as he, along with Curvyleg, was scattered into bits.
"I told her she had too many ions in the pyre."
Commissioner Sneer was on Exotica inspecting a Federation run Biological Research Station. The director was most anxious to impress her, and showed off his best developments with anxious pride. Bugs bred to produce such an awful stink that no-one could stay in the room into which they had been introduced; mosquitoes carrying exotic diseases; small black flies that could penetrate minute chinks in personal body armour and then cluster round the eyes, rendering their victims blind; and giant ants trained to carry minute thermal bombs and drop them into computer systems.
Unfortunately, the director had to admit that the latter were not yet entirely successful. Due to their huge size, their circulatory system could not supply oxygen at a sufficiently fast rate, and the ants had to pause often for deep breathing exercises. When Commissioner Sneer finally departed, the staff clustered eagerly around their director, asking what she had to say about their projects.
"She told me," the director said, in a subdued tone, "to get rid of the pants in our ants."