Reed stared out into the vastness of space, experiencing the constellations as he had so many times in his youth, yet aware that he was seeing them over one thousand years before his
birth. A thin bead of blood trickled from his nose as the twisting train of paradoxical logic crashed head long into the commander's intellectual barrier. He inconspicuously dabbed at his upper lip
with a monogrammed Space Fleet handkerchief, hoping none of his subordinates had noticed.
Caught up in their duties, none of them had. Reed returned to his command chair, taking slow purposeful strides and offering encouraging, though somewhat distracting jewels of wisdom to those he passed.
Once seated, he leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially to his science officer.
"What's taking so long?"
Schultz looked up from his console, mildly annoyed at the interruption. "It's a space ship, sir", he ploddingly explained. "We can't just slap a stick of gum on it and call it good."
Reed leaned back, amused. "You seem frustrated, Mr. Schultz." He pointed to the gadget the science officer was currently working on. "Having a little trouble with your...what do you
call it?"
"A pencil sharpener", Schultz offered dryly, working the contraption's handle vigorously. He pulled the keen point from the device and blew away the errant shavings at the tip.
"Why are you still using those antiquated writing instruments?", the commander asked. "You should try this." He was holding a Flair Lazer Writer he'd pulled from his inner pocket, and
was studying the shining, chrome cylinder with childlike wonder.
Schultz was less than impressed. "I have two of them", he remarked blandly.
"Two?!?", Reed asked incredulously. "Not like this one", he insisted. "This one is constructed of high grade, recycled plutonium concentrate."
"So are mine", the science officer mentioned off hand, having returned his attention to his duties.
"Yeah", the commander continued, thrusting the pen beneath Schultz's nose, "but are yours coated with a polymeric, non-corrosive trilaminate?!?"
"Uh-huh", Schultz replied, attempting to peer around the commander's reddened, shaking hand.
"I see", Reed mumbled dejectedly, the furrow between his eyebrows deepening. "Well, that may be", he continued, brightening considerably, "but yours couldn't possible have the gold plated,
official insignia of..."
"...the Space Fleet Commander's Academy?", Schultz finished, his irritation with his superior getting the better of him... "Yes, as a matter of fact they do."
"But...how...?"
"I got them in the gift shop when I went to your graduation", the science officer informed him.
Schrader cursed his renegade hand as it drew the cover aside, fueled by an overwhelming curiosity. The sheet slipped slowly back, revealing the scarred face of an older man whose close cropped hair and permanent
frown lines marked him as a Space Commando. Schrader's relief at the relative normalcy of his finding was tainted by the hundreds of questions that sprang to mind. Who was he? How did he get here?
Who took my underpants?
It was then that he noticed one of the commando's eyes remained open and though loathe to touch the body, he knew he had to do the honorable thing. He pressed the palm of his hand over the eternal stare of
the ocular organ and slid it toward the chin, pulling the eyelid closed behind it. When the lid popped back open, a shudder of revulsion swept through him. With a sigh, the lieutenant attempted to close
the eye again. And again it came open.
Against his better judgment, he decided to try a third time, adding a bit more pressure to his effort. As his hand crept down the commando's face, he could feel the eyeball swimming in its socket yet,
though his stomach lurched, he completed the task. As he slowly drew his hand away, the eyelid remained closed.
"Good deal", the pilot breathed, secretly proud of himself for having the courage to give another man his dignity. He turned to leave, rubbing his palm self consciously against his hospital gown, when
the lid reopened and the eye shot several feet into the air.
Schrader yelled out as he scrambled back, tripping over the gurney he'd been occupying. The eye hit the ground with a loud "clack" and began rolling toward him. He hastily crab walked into a corner
as the seemingly possessed visual tissue advanced. When it was within range, Schrader lashed out with his foot connecting with the animate organ, and sent it bouncing out into the hallway.
The pilot stared through the doorway, waiting for the thing to return, when he heard movement behind him. He turned slowly, the icy fingers of fear playing along his spine, and screamed.
