Childish Excitement
Liberty Plays with a Broken Mirror
The Bald Squad has just ordered a
laser-plasma cannon to hit Liberty from afar, and they
will do it themselves without help from the Leech (Gay
Kucken). They have a thousand and one excuses and
technical explanations, budgets and such, why they
shouldn’t confront her face to face. But the real
reason stems from their endless fear of that little
brave girl.
What do you know! No less than a freaking
laser-plasma cannon!
The cannon factory covers most of the small and
frozen planet marked in galactic maps as X-911 but for
some odd reason better known as Star-69.
The cannon order form has arrived at the factory on
Star-69, alas they are totally unable to supply a
single gun. The entire merchandise has been sold to
BOTH sides of the 100-year war going on at Galactic
Sector Zaks-Robin-Meyer-Johnson Inc., at the other end
of the galaxy.
Who sold the guns to both sides? Who else other than
Phantom Snakes, the older brother of our Poison
Snakes. Poison is jealous at his big brother’s
financial and political success, and hates him just
the same. But at the moment he needs his help.
And so, trying to cut through the red tape, young
Snakes phones big brother and asks if he could provide
him with a laser cannon. Doesn’t matter what type,
anything goes as long as it can shoot something.
Phantom answers on the wireless out of his giant Mud
Jacuzzi, while all the while nine sexy snake-babes
twirl around his body. He drinks half the barrel of
champagne and pours the other half on the face of the
nearest beauty. She washes her eyes in the mud and
continues to smile her silly grin at him.
“Hey
bro! Sorry but there’s no merchandise available for
immediate delivery. Everything taken till after the
holidays. No no, the holidays of next year. You must
what? Say what…come again… You need a laser cannon to
defeat who? Is that the 14-year old baby that makes
fun of you over there in some mudless desert? Do you
know that the entire family is laughing their ass off
at you little dreamy idiot?
“OK
if you insist I’ll have them ship you right away one
of the Q-70 models, refurbished like new. Half price
for you bro. Say what… safety issues? Don’t talk shit
bro it’s as safe as any. And strong enough to shoot
little girls.
“Say
when will you grow up and come to work here with me
instead of messing with minor girls… honey gimme
another champagne… Alrighty bro good luck and call
again sometimes. When you coming to visit?”
“After the holidays,” says Poison and hangs up.
The “Balds” prepare the Q-70 for battle...
“LIKE NEW!” screams
Snakes when he opens the crates, “NEW LIKE HIS FREAKIN' FACE!!!
Peeling
paint, broken screws! We’re lucky if this pile of
dung work a single day without falling apart!
Ksssssssss… when I rule the Galaxy I'll make him pay
for laughing at little dreamy brother!”
It takes
them only half a day to put the cannon together, but
two more weeks to fumble with its malfunctions. They
get burns, electric shocks and slaps from the barrel
that jerks uncontrollably even after they've replaced
three motors. One who happened to pass before the
barrel lost an eye when the cannon suddenly shot a
laser beam at zero range.
Eventually they cut off the motor wires to work all
in manual. They need only shoot at one cave anyway.
Liberty sits by the cave’s entrance after an
eye-opening lesson with Fuad on herbal medicine. She’s
playing to the light of the sunset with Fuad’s
daughter, five-year-old Lafifa, using painted goatskin
dolls. As soon as it gets dark they’ll go to bed.
Red flashes flicker on the rock by the cave. Liberty
and Lafifa, surprised and curious, leave the dolls and
come to watch the figures on the wall. The red rays
draw birds, teddy bears, boat on the sea. “Cinema! Cinema!” yells
Liberty, takes Lafifa’s little hands and pulls her
into a joyful dance.
“YOU FOOL!” screams the
Baldies’ commander at his junior, “Can’t
you see that the machine is in STAGE FUN Mode? Set
it right away to BATTLE Mode!”
“YOU IDIOT!” screams the junior
commander at his sub-junior, “You
pay no attention that the tool is having fun on
stage? Move into Battle Shots!”
“IGNORANT PEASANT!”
yells the sub-junior at the tiny-junior, “Can’t
you dance on stage? Get off the stage and come to
fight!”
“Press what…”
asks the dimwit tiny-junior and scratches his bald
head, “Maybe just
press the red button and that’s it…here like th---”
 KABOOM!!!
The button blows in his face but the cannon finally
moves into Battle Mode and shoots out a single beam,
steady angle but pulsing (goes on and off like
five-six times a second).
“YOU ASS!” screams
the commander, “Can’t you see that the button
blew in his face – move him aside and take his
seat!”
“STUPID CAMEL!”
yells the junior, “Move your blown ass and sit on
his face!”
Lafifa and Liberty are bored. The festive laser show
has turned into a single spot on the wall.
Suddenly Liberty gets an idea. She takes a broken
mirror out of Lafifa’s toy chest, puts it in front of
the beam and plays with the angle till the beam
returns beck to the cannon. And does nothing. The
intensity is minimal and the cannon is so old and
weary. Once upon better times it could smash a bottle
from immense distances.
They raise laser intensity to maximum...
Liberty notices the change in intensity; she raises
the mirror slightly towards the evening clouds and
draws circles, eights and funny zigzags. Lafifa is
singing and dancing, her little hands waving at the
sky. This is much more fun than all the goatskin dolls
she ever had.
“The problem is probably in the Safety System,”
concludes the commander, “According to this here
instruction manual (some words I can’t figure out but
I’ll have to guess, damn this techie jargon! Who has
time for dictionaries these days?) it says here that
insufficient intensity is due to the safety limiter
something-something, that limits the beam power caused
by technical problems in the Turbo-Inflational
Buzzer-Regulator. Let’s see what happens when you
press the black-and-yellow safety override, yes the
one that says NEVER TOUCH.”
He walks, preoccupied with the open book in his
hands, over to the control panel. Ignoring the entire
command channel he presses the black-and-yellow safety
override. Then he goes back to his seat at the back of
the room, scratches his bald top, still immersed in
the book.
Liberty and Lafifa are dancing, singing and laughing.
Lafifa’s mother, Samira, watches them from the cave
entrance, her face gleaming with joy.
“I couldn’t have chosen a better big sister for
Lafifa,” she thinks, “Her joy of life is a real
treasure.”
Before the end of 30 seconds the entire Q-70 blows up
to smithereens. The operators too. The
Turbo-Inflational Regulator was hooked in reverse. Oh
well, who got time for dictionaries nowadays… The
commander wipes his blackened face, lets go of the
book that falls to the floor between his knees. He
slowly gets up and leaves the place. He wasn’t
expecting too much of the Q-70. And the juniors? He’ll
have to find new soldiers. Oh well, they were all bald
anyway.
Liberty lowers the broken mirror and smiles at
Lafifa:
“Game over… OK
sweetie, time to go potty and beddy-bye. Here, keep
this brok--- this nice mirror in your toy chest,
maybe tomorrow the funny ray will return.”
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