Spaceman Spiff: The Alpha Missions
It seemed to be a day like any other. Things were business as usual at the Arpenholl Space Academy's Q-system station – the students were still all lazy arzes, the instructors were still batshiz crazy, and Staff Sergeant Migget Awol still hated his job.
When Sgt. Awol joined the Space Force, he had hoped to become a Starfighter, and defend planet Earth from interstellar invaders. Or maybe a Roamer or Spaceman, and explore mysterious new worlds for the benefit of humanity. Hell, he would've taken a job as an orbit-debris scrubber or a damned station janitor, as long as it didn't involve sitting behind a desk for nearly all hours of the day and reading through an endless supply of application forms. But that was the job he had, and it was the job he was stuck with.
He was reading through an application from a 16-year-old with a history of petty theft (instant disqualification) when his secretary, Zinnel, popped her head through the door.
Ms. Zinnel wasn't of our Earth; she came from some planet in the Annooie system, and thus had spotted brown skin and four eyes. She was still learning English, and had a very meek disposition, so she was always cautious and careful around Awol- especially considering his tendency to get into "moods". Today, he had been filing paperwork for hours, and she knew that job angered him- and she was as quiet and nervous as she could possibly be when she said, "Mr. Awol?"
"What is it Zinnel?" he answered, without even looking up from his work. "Exciting news, I hope? Do I have an assignment?"
"N-no, sir," she stammered. "Y-you haven't had an assignment in y-"
"I know!"he snapped. Zinnel whimpered at this. He continued, "That was a joke. I guess they don't have those where you come from. Now, why are you here?!"
"Um… I just wanted to say that there are people here to see you!"
"People?" Awol groaned. An in-person application? These things never turned out well. "Fine. Send them in."
"Y-yessir!" Zinnel responded. She dashed out as quickly as she could.
A minute later, three people entered Awol's office. One of them was a woman, with brown hair and tired-looking eyes; the second was a man, who wore glasses and had a similar expression, and was carrying a briefcase; and the third was a small boy, with spiky yellow hair and green eyes. The boy wore a t-shirt with an old fashioned space shuttle on it, and shoes that looked like fake astronaut boots. He had barely even walked through the door before he loudly asked, "So are you the guy?"
"Spiff, please quiet down and let us do the talking," said the man. Spiff protested, "but Dad!", but his father only shook his head. Dejected, Spiff wandered off into a corner, where he started playing with the desk drawers.
"Uh…" Awol mumbled. He wasn't sure what to say. "Is this about… him?"
"Yes," said Spiff's mother. "He wants to be a Spaceman."
Awol laughed. "Well then you can forget it, pal! We accept young recruits, but not THAT young! How old is he? 10? 6?"
Spiff's parents ignored the question. "I don't think you understand," said his father. "He really wants to be a Spaceman."
"Yeah, and I'd kinda like to be one too. But that's not about to happen! For me, or for- HEY!"
Spiff had dumped out all of Awol's filing cabinets. "Get away from there, you stupid kid!" cried the Sergeant. He dashed over to the cabinets and snatched Spiff away from them.
"He REALLY REALLY REALLY wants to be a Spaceman," Spiff's mother continued. "It's all he ever talks about. It's all he ever thinks about! It's all we ever think about, these days!"
Awol, who was still holding a squirming Spiff in his arms, scoffed. "Yeah?" he asked. "And what do you want me to do about that?"
"To-" Spiff's father took the boy from Awol's arms- "to make him a Spaceman! Or, at least, give him a chance?"
His mother whispered, "and get him out of our hair?"
Awol glared at the woman. Then at the man. Then at the boy, who was giving him the "Bambi eyes" and making whimpering noises. Finally, he sighed, put his hand on his hip, and said:
"No. Absolutely not."
The parents groaned, and began to take something out of the Dad's briefcase. Spiff stamped his foot. "Come on! I sat in a three-hour starship ride to get here! Mom and Dad said I could be a Spaceman if I just tried hard enough, and now YOU come in and tell me I can't? Who are you, anyway?!"
Awol was much offended. That comment hit a little too close to home. "I am Staff Sergeant Migget Awol, you little punk! And you'd better start respecting your authority-" Suddenly, he quieted.
In the shared arms of Spiff's parents was the briefcase, now opened to reveal that it contained an incredible amount of money. Awol guessed that it was around $5,000,000 unidollars. Asked Spiff's dad, "will this be enough?"
Sgt. Awol was not corrupt, but he didn't mind accepting a little extra cash for his troubles.
For a short while after that, the office was quiet. The parents left in record speed, without even saying a word to their son, and Awol was oddly unnerved as he watched their spaceship leave the dock. He felt as if he had made a very bad choice. After a few minutes of consideration, he finally realized why: accepting the application of a small child, without any extensive review of his abilities, would surely result in hours of paperwork for him. And, of course, he would have to find some explanation for the $5,000,000.
His attention returned to the boy. He had resumed his uninvited exploration of Awol's office, and was currently fiddling with a lamp. "About time they left!" Spiff remarked. "My parents are so stupid. They never let me get a word in. They think I'm annoying or something dumb like that!" He chuckled, then walked away from the lamp and back towards Awol, scratching an itch.
"Anyway, when do I start?"
Awol narrowed his eyes. "Start what?"
"You know, becoming a Spaceman! When do I get to have those big weapons, and the cool gadgets, and the awesome spaceship I get to have all to myself?"
The Sergeant made a very angry face, and a noise that sounded almost like growling. "You have no idea how much training you have to go through, little punk. First, you have the basic tests. Then, once you inevitably fail them all, you've got months of training ahead of you, and that's if the Academy heads even agree to keep you. And even if you ever pass the test, you've got the Final Test, and then you'll be placed on the waiting list, and then…"
…But the boy had long since lost interest. He was walking over to the refrigerator that Awol kept near his desk. "Say, what kind of stuff do you have in here?" he asked, grabbing an unopened bottle of whiskey.
"Hey – GIVE me thaaaat!" shouted Awol. "I don't really know how old you are, but you're definitely too young for this stuff!"
"My age is none of YOUR business, MIGGET!" Spiff countered. "What kind of a name is 'Migget', anyway? It sounds like some kind of chicken! Hahaha!"
"It's a family name! Going back generations! Don't insult my great-great-great, uh, great-great grandfather!"
"I'll do whatever I want! My parents are gone now!" Spiff screamed in an even whinier and more high-pitched tone.
Awol was plenty steamed now. He was about to enter another one of his "moods" before his office door opening suddenly distracted him.
On the other side was Zinnel again. She'd heard the shouting, and was even more nervous than usual. "Uh, Sergeant? That kid is a new trainee, right?"
Awol was briefly at a loss for words, quite embarrassed. He then stammered for a minute before finally saying, "Yes, he is. What about it?"
Zinnel gulped. "W-w-welllllll…ll… I don't want to insult your intelligence, Sergeant, but…"
"But…?!"
"…Well, n-new trainees have to be taken to the testing areas as soon as possible, sir. You can't just keep him here."
Awol turned very red. He knew that. He should have remembered. "Yes, of course! Of course. Thank you, Zinnel. I'll take him to- to-"
He cursed to himself and brushed past his secretary, running down the corridor. He was chasing Spiff, who had already run toward the testing area, unable to contain his excitement.
Awol was regretting his decision already!