Starquake.pdf

up and wait. Then there would begin the long tedious process of checking out the operation of the engine
for a number of cycles before the expedition left the engine operating on its own and returned to the
surface of Egg.
Star-Glider was pleased. The mission had been a success. Three of his eyes focused on those of his first
officer.
"Announce a rest-turn, Bright-Star," he whispered. "And pierce the pulp-bags!"
But before the captain could'trum the official command, the admiral's electronic whisper had been
picked up by the bridge crew. Soon Star-Glider heard subdued tappings echoing throughout the
spacecraft. He flipped a tendril at the captain, silencing her before she started to'trum the command into
the deck. The two listened with their treads. They heard a rustle of eager treads hurrying toward the
recreation area where the pulp-bags were stored. The wave-pattern of Star-Glider's eye-stubs
developed an annoyed twitch. Bright-Star knew what was coming and picked up the sensitive edges of
her tread as a roar shook the crystal hull undertread.
"BUT FIRST!!!" came the Swift-stopping shout from the Admiral's tread. "An INSPECTION!!! A
wet-eye-ball inspection!"
A shocked silence followed throughout the ship. The only sound coming through the hull was the throb
of the idling inertia drive engines.
"Look at this place!"'trummed Star-Glider as he moved about the bridge, his tread tossing up bits of
trash and dust, his tendrils flipping at offending insignia on junior officers that weren't held exactly
horizontal to the local vertical.
"How can I expect the rest of the crew to keep this place ship shape when the bridge looks like a Flow
Slow wallow!" He glided over a display screen in the deck, then exploded again.
"What Tiny-Shell-brained offspring of a Slink dribbled pulp juice on the screen?!? The taste of those
spots burns my tread. I want that screen cleaned and I want this ship cleaned until I can put a wet
eye-ball on any spot without blinking!!"
He stormed off to his private quarters and slammed the sliding door. He waited a few methturns, then
concentrated on the vibrations coming through the hull. There was a subdued murmur as Bright-Star and
the rest of the officers spread throughout the ship. Then there came the shuffling sound of the crew as
they started the long overdue cleanup of the ship.
Star-Glider formed a tendril, inserted it into a pouch in his side, and pulled out a magnekey. He inserted
the key into a slot in the side of his locker, slid open the door and pulled out a small bag of West Pole
Double-Distilled, the best on Egg. Carrying the bag, he shuffled tiredly over to his resting pad, his body
seeming to deflate as he relaxed his command posture
and spread out on the soft decorated mat. He put the bag of pulp in his drinking pouch and with a
powerful squeeze from his pouch muscles, broke the bag and started to squeeze the pungent juice
through the thin membrane at the back of the pouch. He fluffed up his manipulator pillow, formed a small
holding manipulator and laid it on the pillow. He then used a tendril to extract one of his twelve-pointed
star-shaped admiral's insignia from its holding sphincter in his side. He brought the star near his drinking
pouch, spit some pulp-juice on it, transferred it to his holding manipulator, and proceeded to buff it to a
high polish with a well-used rag. To help pass the time, he flicked on his holovid and watched the final