Zeth Malbo reached into his nano-satchel and pulled out his Mortimus Rifle. With only three charges left, Zeth would have to make every shot count. He fingered the control panel at his temple, activating his ocular implants so he could zoom in and take a closer look at his target. Sure enough, that was the infamous Tek Farnsbuckler, scourge of seven star systems, eating a breaded cod fillet on the veranda below.
As Zeth fit his arm into the Mortimus Rifle, he thought of the first time he’d seen Farnsbuckler eat cod. It was at the Twelventy-Fifth Galactic Flotsam Fest, held in the spacious conference rooms in the Io Beverly Hilton. Of course, everyone was there to see the Divine Rialto rise from its thousand-year slumber and finally reveal the ending of the Pamblu Interaction.
After what seemed like the world’s longest ventriloquist act, the Divine Rialto roiled about in the viewing dome for a while before sputtering out, “The butler did it!” The entire Flotsam Fest had exploded in a whirl of vapid patter and pointless running about. Zeth took refuge in a futuristic side passage, letting the intergalactic rabble eddy past.
This side passage happened to be the home of Io’s most famous synthetic cod hut, Sim-Cod4U. A little synth-cod sounded like it might hit the spot, so Zeth ducked through the battered tech-ceramic doors. As soon as he did, Zeth found himself face to face with that congenial bastard himself, Tek Farnsbuckler.
“Farnsbuckler,” Zeth mused, “I should have known I’d find you here. Your love of cod is known through half the galaxy!”
Farnsbuckler leered up at him, raised his breaded cod in acknowledgement, and continued eating. Zeth had a light meal, then returned for the night session of Flotsam Fest. It wasn’t the most exciting story, but it was the first time Zeth had seen Tek eat cod. Something about seeing him there, with the breaded cod and everything, just made the whole thing come back to him.
Zeth probably hadn’t thought about that afternoon at Sim-Cod4U in eighty revolutions! How ironic that now he’d had to travel halfway across the galaxy, all the way to Planet TR-42, to kill Farnsbuckler. He leaned on the cheap simetallic railing and chuckled to himself. “That was good synth-cod, too…”
Just then, the railing gave way and Zeth tumbled off the hotel balcony. His Mortimus Rifle got caught on a plantain-themed design element and went off, blasting Zeth with a liquid pulse-burst that sent him straight into Negative Mortimus Space. On the veranda below, Tek Farnsbuckler finished his cod, then asked for a refill of his iced tea. Of course, this far in the future it’s spelled te.
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