And in less time than it takes for Colonel Loga to gauge that his control and credibility are lost, Spinostress turns into the ultimate and undisputed leader of the boxes (though this remains to be seen), of the creature-worms, of the entire planet: all that was frenziedly flying earlier now forms a perfect v-shaped triangle above them, submissive, ready and willing to take their new Master’s next command.
“Put this ship’s pieces back together and support it until we land,” she instructs one group of boxes, “and you” she says to the other, “fly back to RythmaRymosthesis and find rum!”
“Scuse-me,” Colonel Loga interferes, “I believe I might have a say in all this,” he says barely surviving his own sudden sense of civility and sensibility, concurrently clicking his thumb and forefinger to order the boxes back to his command. In answer, a team of ten boxes surrounds the Colonel and forces him to sit, fold his wings and to remain silent.
“From now on,” Spinostress says, “I’M IN CHARGE. Too bad about your wings, Colonel. Did you know that the black and white markings are a sure sign of premature delivery? Nothing you can do about it I’spose, except enjoy their beauty. I’d say it’s a gift, don’t you think?”
“Shit! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” he exclaims.
“I beg your pardon?”
“My worst nightmare is about to—”
“—to begin, Colonel Loga, to begin. Were it to be realised, it’d be too short.”
“We need to talk,” the Captain says.
“Be quick, Captain,” she answers, “we’ll be back on RythmaRymosthesis soon and there won’t be any time then.”
“It’s about the rum deal,” the Captain says.
“What about it?”
To be continued…