Copyright 2005/2011

Page Two
Location:  Omega Centauri     –Triune Hexarus star system - ICE STATION SOMMO
(Orbiting Triune # 2) - Science lab-located in east section of Pressure Dome # 3.   

Colonel T.P Sommo stood with his arms folded a cross his  chest,  a pensive look upon his
weary face and  stubble growing into a  full blown  “five o’clock shadow ”  on  his usually
clean shaven chin. His uniform that  was usually clean and pressed with precision
creases, as was his cape, was rumpled, dirty, and stained with purple Yarmaw blood. He
was starring vacantly at the large, transparent, stasis cylinder that stood in front of him in
the center of the brightly lit, immaculately clean, science lab. This lab was so god
dammed clean that he could eat off of it floors and see his reflection in its tables, counter
tops and displays,  and  that  brought  him some semblance of satisfaction  at  least.  He
made sure the service/janitor bots cleaned and scrubbed everything down with their full
range of methods and products that came factory  installed  in their cleaning arsenal, this
included     tooth brush’s, buffers, sanitizers and disinfectants which were to be used to
disinfect everything three times over. He kept the whole base like that, and especially his
quarters and office, to the point of making the term anal retentive seem mild –if not

His inspections were a bitch, but his personnel had gotten used to it, save for those that
tried to transfer out, (even if it took shooting themselves in a foot or appendage to do so,
in the G.C equivalent of a “Section 8.” …) that’s just how things were Done under his
command!  Things had to be neat, spick and span, and orderly, with rare instances where
he was just too exhausted and burnt out emotionally to care, like now. Losing those men
on his watch, had taken its toll.  Inside the tube in front of him was the frozen corpsicle of
the seemingly dead “Slime” entity, floated in some kind of alcohol based solution, its body
nothing more then a blob of orange and blue goo , bobbing up and down in the solution.

It reminded the Colonel of one of those lava lamps from his youth. The thought of a lava
lamp like the one in his bed room in high school, triggered a memory of a happier and
more carefree time when Elvis Mellon and himself were teenagers, before his friend had
gone by the name ''Elvis"  and was still going by the name on his birth certificate, Joseph
Mellon.  He and Joe used to spend hours listening to Black Sabbath, Pink Floyd, vintage
Deep Purple, etc, while starring at black light posters and the lava lamp in the Colonels
teenage bedroom, granted  later his musical tastes changed to the Ramones, Flock of Sea
Gulls, Devo, etc, but never the less,   Being in the science lab that moment, suddenly
reminded the Colonel of the first time he saw Joe since his disappearance many years
ago in the state of Colorado, back on Earth.  Joe had been listed as missing in 1983 (in
THAT   “timeline” anyway, and that dammed alternate time line/time stream business
made his head hurt!)   And he/Joe/Elvis was assumed dead, the Colonel always
comforted himself by some wishful thinking and hoping that Joe was abducted by aliens
or living on some hippie commune with a bunch of left over freaks from the sixties.

He had gotten one of the shocks of his still relatively young life, in a lab very similar to

the one he was in now, on the top secret, very restricted, military base out in the desert of
Nevada, more shocking to him then the alien corpses of the three “Grays” from Zeta
Reticulli, found in the infamous 1947 Roswell U.F.O crash, or the live ones walking about
in cover alls with tool boxes, working with Air Force personnel on reverse engineered
flying saucers with American flags on them. He had been transferred to the United States
military “Black Ops” division after an incident in the mountains between Pakistan and
Afghanistan, involving another crashed saucer, downed by the Soviets and fought over
between them, the U.S, and Pakistan. He had battled the Ruskies over it and  had   shot
two Russian Mil –Mi-24’s down with Laws rockets, and captured their surviving crews and
the flying saucer wreckage and bodies, with the help from Afghan rebels and his own
Green Berets, he was awarded the Bronze star and got transferred to Black Ops and a  
special branch of Majestic 12.

His initial briefing was at Area 51, and  it had been strange enough seeing President
Reagan, conferring with several “J-Rod” / “Biological entities”  (  Grays )  and  
Extratestrial humanoids from something called the   “Galactic Confederation, ” but when
he saw his presumed dead and missing friend, Joe Mellon, over a decade older and  fifty (  
Plus ) pounds heavier, dressed like a cross between  Uncle Floyd on a bad day, and early
seventies era Elvis Presley , with a battered fedora, graying beard, mirrored aviator
sunglasses, reminding him of a younger  Orson Welles, and apparently a person of some
importance, being treated like some visiting dignitary by the President of the United
States and the top Air Force Brass, and members of NATO, (  despite the very visible, full
glass of scotch  in  his hand, and the hand rolled, very pungent,   organic cigarette
hanging from his lower lip… )     Colonel T.P Sommo had almost had a coronary when he
recognized his old friend, who was now going by the name, “Elvis Mellon,” and he acted as
though he and the Colonel had just seen each other several hours ago instead of a dozen
or more years!

Somehow T.P Sommo was not as shocked as he thought he would be to find Out his
friend had not been dead or wandering America with a case of amnesia, but had been in a
round about way, “abducted,” Or involved with “aliens,” and traveling the universe and
beyond with some god like alien artificial intelligences and living on some water planet
with a race of aquatic beings! His stories of traveling space and time and other galaxies,
universe and alternate timelines for the equivalent of over eight hundred Earth years and
not aging more then ten years and returning to the same point in time as when he had
embarked on that journey, still made the Colonels head hurt, and the bit about him
traveling back in time  in the 1950’s, 60’s, 70’s, etc, passing himself off as some
Vaudeville style entertainer, lounge singer, comedian and  playing Las Vegas with the Rat
Pack, was a little odd,  but  he expected nothing less from his old friend.

“Elvis” was introduced to him as some kind of liaison between the Planet Earth and some
vast, galactic government, this “Galactic Confederation,” which apparently was around
long before Gene Rodenberry dreamed up “Star Trek,” and it was also not a total surprise
to the Colonel that “Elvis Mellon” had pissed off some sinister reptilian aliens that had
declared galactic war over his actions and branded him an outlaw and promised to
conquer and enslave the planet Earth as a direct result of his actions!

Standing there in Area 51 with President Reagan, E.T's   and a once missing and
presumed dead- Joe Mellon, now calling himself “Elvis,”   made the Colonel think  about
how his and  Elvis’s lives had diverged in two very different directions since high school, T.
P Sommo’s love of military hardware and history, armored vehicles, anything with a
combustion  engine, etc, lead him to become a soldier, and Joe’s  ( Elvis )  “odd ball,” free
spirited, non conformism, had lead him to  embrace rebelling against all authority, and
taking off into the “wild blue,”  which  in turn lead him  ( literally  )  to “out of this world’
locations, and fate had brought them back together as fate sometimes does.    It was hard
to believe that that was now several years ago and the Colonel himself was a veteran space
and time traveler, and himself a “resident alien” in the Galactic Confederation, and
working for their version of “Special forces,” after Elvis suggested to them that they recruit
the Colonel for his brilliant military strategies and his abilities to think outside the
proverbial box.

Where Elvis Mellon’s gig as a Pirate Radio station rock and roll dj, with an Elvis Presley
Tribute band on the side, fit into this galactic war, was anyone’s guess as far as the
Colonel was concerned, but somehow it seemed appropriate that Elvis would want to
bring Earths rock and roll to the rest of the known universe and the Colonel would back
him all the way. He had visited Elvis’s pirate radio station, hidden inside a huge asteroid,
amongst thousands of them, in an asteroid belt near the Helix nebula in the Aquarius
constellation, where Elvis called home, when not aboard the “Visigoth.”  The Colonel had
been amazed to find that Elvis had trained a variety of   friendly life form’s to become
hipster, rock and roll  Dee-Jay’s , proficient in Earth music, including rock and roll, jazz,
swing, classical, reggae, folk, etc, and also in world wide, twentieth century and early
twenty first century pop culture and a good portion of the milky way galaxy seemed to
really groove on Earth culture, perhaps because it was such a legendary and forbidden
world, not unlike how America, Britain and Europe had a love affair with ancient Egyptian
culture in after King Tut’s tomb was discovered in 1922.

The Colonel’s head was swimming with these recollections as he connected the dots,
suddenly remembering something Elvis had told him about ancient Egypt being a colony
founded by the Atlanteans, from the mythical lost continent, and they were in turn
colonized by the Plaedians and several other star races, even then at war with the Draco,
and now the Colonel was facing a grave threat from those cold blooded reptilian bastards
but his   train of thought was interrupted by the beeping and clicking of a service/science
bot, series, “SK10,” almost identical to the Mess hall/Chef bot, but with different
programming and several added hardware features and protocols.  This particular bot had
been designated as “Egghead,” by the Colonel and had that title spray painted vertically
on its upper torso in yellow paint over its metallic green paint job, the bots upper torso
was the width of your average fence post.  The bot was plugging itself into a panel on the
lower “back” of the Stasis tube, with an appendage resembling a long metallic cord with
an adaptor interface plug at its end,   The Colonel reached for the half empty mug of
coffee sitting on the counter nearest to him, then thought better of it and put it back
down, this would be his seventh cup in two hours and on an empty stomach with less
then three hours of sleep since last nights incident with the Yarmaw’s and the slime.

He rubbed his tired eyes and tapped the bot on its translucent, bubble of a head. “Hey,
Egghead, is this blob of rancid
Snot, deceased, dead, frozen solid, or just in some kind of hibernation?”  The bots bubble
head, shifted ever so slightly, its inhuman, metallic sounding electronic voice was
deadpan as it answered. “It would appear, for all intensive purposes to be clinically dead;
however, my sensors are detecting the slightest trace of electrical impulses coursing
through its gelatinous form. I do not have enough information in my or the stations
central database, on slime physiology at the present time to determine whether this
creature is in some form of Hibernation, or simply dead, as of yet.”

The Colonel decided to have that room temperature coffee after all and added a shot of
bourbon to it, from a flask he kept handy in his jacket pocket, a habit he picked up from
Elvis (  among other bad habits)  and he motioned with his free hand to the examination
table to the right of the stasis tube, where the carcass of one of the decapitated Yarmaw’s’
lay opened up like a Christmas Turkey, its head sitting next to it , starring lifeless up at
the ceiling, the transmitter collar lying beside it.  “Any luck determining the origin of that
transmitter’s technology?”  The Bot unplugged from the stasis tube containing the slimes
corpsicle and retracted its cable interface, sliding over to the table with the Yarmaw’s
charred; headless remains, and then Egghead extended a skeletal  hydraulic arm With a
delicate, claw-like hand, resembling several sets of tweezers, it picked up the collar and
the Colonel knew by the series of blinking lights inside its head and the clicking noises,
it was analyzing data extracted from the collar. “It is a combination of Draco and
Lubricator technology, point of origin, Reptilicon # 6-113, a Draco military research lab.”

The Colonel did not look amused as he placed his coffee mug on top of the Yarmaw’s
cadaver and leaned in on the slab, resting his elbows on the table, looking exhausted.
“Dam, those cold blooded, carrion eating sons of shit and those junk pile, asshole
robots!!!!!!!! Guess our covers been blown for some time!!  Shiiiiiittt!!  I am God dammed
surprised they haven’t just sent a big Raptor class destroyer here and tried to obliterate
us! They must want this base and this god forsaken rock!”  The science bot placed the
transmitter back down on the table. “I am just a science bot, sir, I am not programmed to
strategize or speculate on Draco motivations.”   The Colonel’s eye lids felt like lead, he
glanced at the floor and noticed the bottom of his cape was dragging on it so  straightened
himself out, standing erect and swishing his cape behind him, turning to look at the bot.
“Well, you’re a God dammed robot, an artificial, god dammed life form, like those
Lubricator sons of bitches, you must have some insight? What makes those  evil metallic,
oil leaking  Bastards tick?”

Before the science bot could reply, the science lab doors slid open and the lead civilian
scientist entered the room, a Plaedian women, Doctor Veracose Primm, blue skinned,
short cropped blond hair, (so blond it looked white), attractive, but dressed austerely in a
one piece, purple jump suit, with a white lab coat over it, her shiny red boots clomping on
the metallic floor. “Colonel, your men have captured a live Yarmaw and are bringing in it
now so I can run some tests.” Two of the Colonel’s men, still dressed in their sub zero
survival gear, guided a gigantic, rectangular cage made of transparent Lucinite, floating
on anti grav repulsors, into the lab. Inside the cage was a tranquilized Yarmaw, a small
“cub,” just old enough to be independent of its mother. The science bot and Doctor Primm
helped the soldiers slide the cage against the white plasteel wall near the row of stasis
tubes where the slimes corpsicle was being kept. The Colonel downed the last of his cold
coffee and hooch and tiredly shuffled over to stand next to the Doctor. “I have a good mind
to have this thing sent to the kitchen and turned into to stew for the mess hall!! Its
buddies have eaten enough of my men!!” He turned to face Doctor Primm. “BUT, I
suppose you want to see how that Draco transmitter works on these critters? IF this ugly
son of a bitch so much as growls too loud at anyone its toast!!!  We will be having Yarmaw
chili con carne!  Got it Doc?”

Location:    The Bridge of the Draco Super Dreadnought -“Decimator,” the flag ship of the
Draco star empires Seventh fleet, in high orbit of Triune # 2. High commander, Zor, of the
Zeta Reticulli contingent of Draco, commanding the cyborg clone legions of Grays, and
Draco shock troops and son of the emperor, Rex, sat back in his command chair in the
center of the oval   shaped bridge, looking out at the large    hexagonal view screen in
front of him. The vista of Triune # 2 with its green’s, blues, and cloud cover, and  its
natural satellites in orbit around it with  the massive  battle fleets of Galactic
Confederation and Draco alliance ships in varying positions of  orbit like some military
Board game strategy was laid out before him in panoramic glory, due in part to the view
screen’s high resolution magnification.    The Bridge was bathed in bright yellow light,
simulating the sun of the   Draco home world, the way this species of reptilians liked it,
hot and glaring.  Draco bridge personnel were busy at their stations, all wearing battle
armor with leather tunics, their rank and service designated by color.  They all wore jack
booted foot wear, opened toed with their three long, sharp claws clicking on the polished
metal floor of the bridge.  Earth humans were always shocked at the resemblance the
Draco had to Velociraptors as visualized in the film Jurassic park.

They Looked like Velociraptors wearing battle armor, boots, sometimes head and face gear
with cybernetic eye pieces and carrying deadly looking laser rifles and other sinister
looking implements of destruction, their long tails thrashing behind them.   Zor  leaned  
back  in his comfortable  chair, his  large, seemingly unblinking, crocodile like eyes, huge
yellow orbs with black slit pupils, moved  occasionally from the forward view screen to the  
ever changing read outs on display at the work station display in front of his chair. His
red and black body armor and leather creaked as he restlessly shifted in his seat, his
long, dark green, scaled tail thrashed behind him, through the opening in the back of the
seat. He turned his toothy snout to Fleet admiral Zaarrgh and general Zleerg, his two top
subordinates, who stood to either side of his chair, almost indistinguishable to Zor in
appearance (to non Draco anyway…) except for subtle differences in the cut of their
leather uniform tunics, the amount of medals and their design, the rank insignia on their
armored breast plates and the shape and coloring of the “crest,” spiny, barbed , skin
covered  cartilage protuberances    running up their upper spine that stopped   at the
crown of their skulls.   “Where in the Twin suns is that dammed scientist for Reptilicon #
6-113, what’s his name, Hemroidicus Buurrnzz? The Draco high command is not paying
these Brainiac’s to sleep on the job!!”

Fleet admiral Zaarrgh glanced nervously at the time piece on his muscular, scaled wrist
and shrugged his massive shoulders. Zor was famous for his short fuse and Zaarrgh had
witnessed the legendary Zor temper first hand too many times to   want to see another
display. It usually lead to a stack of corpses and more then several causality’s  among the
bridge crew and support staff. Zaarrgh cringed at the thought of how many bridge crews
Zor had gone through since taking command of the Decimator.
“I do not know what’s keeping him, he’s usually very prompt.” Zor opened his toothy
snout for a rebuttal but stopped as the bridge lift’s doors swished open and the Draco
scientist in question came striding in, wearing a white lab coat, carrying a large data pad
under his left arm and holding what looked like some kind of collar in his right claw.

“A thousands pardons for being late, High commander Zor, I am not used to these newer
command ships and got lost on my way from the science and engineering deck.”  Zor
flashed him an annoyed look and waved his clawed hand. “Hemroidicus Buurrnzz,  I
presume?”   The slightly smaller Draco nodded and bowed. “At your service, it is an honor
to serve the emperor and his son.” Zor stood and faced him, gesturing to his two
subordinates. “This is fleet admiral Zaarrgh and General   Zleerg, I don’t know how you
brainy pencil pushers do things on Reptilicon # 6-113  but this is a military flag ship, and
I am the high commander of the Draco armed forces and the fleet commander and
general here are over seeing the entire Draco alliance  side of  this tiresome conflict
against the Confederation of mammals and side show freaks and we   expect you to be on
time, I    do not like to be kept waiting, this is your only warning. Why you non military  
and academic types insist on a surname  is beyond me but that’s your business.    With
that said, let us adjourn to the conference room and get down to business.”

The conference room was directly off the bridge and as brightly  lit. Several  of the ships
department heads  had joined  Zor, and the rest, including  the chief engineer,
commander Zuuurla, by  Draco standards a beautiful  female in  her prime, and  chief
medical officer Doctor Zeeennz, among others.  Doctor Zeeennz was   an older Draco  
who  had once served with Rex before he was emperor and an old family friend to him
and Zor.  All  large, seemingly  unblinking eyes were upon  Hemroidicus Buurrnzz as he
placed the data pad and collar in front of him and  looked to Zor to start the meeting. Zor
took a small live , hairy,  rodent from the  large bowl that was full of them  that was sitting
in  front of him and  taking it by the tail, he dropped it  into his mouth, crunching on it  
as it squealed in its death throes as he spoke.  “For those of you who have not met him,
this is Doctor Hemroidicus Buurrnzz , One of our top  geneticists, cybernetic engineers, a
robotics genius, among other things,  currently stationed at  our finest state of the art
military science facilities at Reptilicon # 6-113 , the largest   Gray cyborg cloning facility  
is located there as well and  it was our illustrious Doctor Buurrnzz here who pioneered  
the cloning and cybernetic  implanting techniques after  we enslaved the Zeta Reticulli  
Grays and    It was none other then the good Doctor and his team that developed the
transceiver collar that you see in front of him, utilizing some Lubricator technology  as
well, and  he and his team  have worked with and ON the Lubricators, going back to
shortly after they appeared in our galaxy.

 It is this  collar that  is    being used to control the indigenous wild life located on  one of
Triune # 2’s  natural orbiting  satellites where the Confederation  currently  has a
cloaked  observation  post that they think we do  not know about, but thanks to certain
Draco agents, actually  cloned  hybrids of Draco and captured Plaedian/Lyran prisoners  
that  we control and have   planted in the mighty do Gooding confederation, we were
tipped off and were able to infiltrate this post with an agent and  several  of the slime
spies and  we are utilizing what ever resources necessary, including the fearsome
carnivores found on that  large asteroid, or planetoid, what ever it is, against the
Confederation  troops stationed there. Any questions?”

General Zleerg raised his right hand, while grabbing a rodent with his other from the
bowl that was being passed around the table. “Why didn’t you just blast that observation
post to atoms when you first discovered they had troops there?” A fiendish grin spread
across Zor’s long snout. “BECAUSE, my dear General,  there’s not just any Confederation  
troops there, according to our intel, the bases code name, on this unnamed rock in  orbit
of Triune # 2 is “ICE STATION SOMMO,”  as in COLONEL T.P SOMMO,  that  warm
blooded bastard that runs around  with that  thorn in my side, ELVIS MELLON!! If you
may  recall  this Colonel T.P Sommo  also works for Galactic Confederation Special forces
and  it was  him and his troops that  gave us and the Super mutant cockroaches a serious
run for our money and turned the Lubricators into junk  piles in the Sloth  system!! I
want that son of mammal bitch ALIVE!!! And where he go’s Elvis Mellon is sure to be
stumbling and staggering around close by!!”

To be continued.....
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