How I Adopted A Scorpion

FM/MAJ Harkonnen/Rho 2-3/Wing II/SSSD Sov

They all hate me. How could I do it? Adopt one of Kramer's reviled beasts? Since when did I become one of them? Side with the Flag Officers, did I?

Not really. As with most things in Wing II, this requires a bit of an explanation.

***

< Message 1 >

From: Tactical Office

To: All pilots

Message: I dunno what to do with you guys. Here's what. From now on, using lasers to kill Rebels is banned. Maybe you'll learn to fly straight that way. So there. Mua ha ha

< Message 2 >

From: LCM Inkwolf, Ship's Doctor for Wing II

To: [names deleted for security reasons]

Message: Phase III of the psychotropic drug tests I'm running on you guys is doing great. Keep it up. -Ink. P.S.: You hallucinated this message. It doesn't exist. Mua ha ha

< Message 3 >

From: Flight Office

To: All pilots

Message: Blame TAC, not me, dammit, it's their crazy idea.

< Message 4 >

From: GN Gallows

To: Wing II pilots

Message: Squirrels are now officially BANNED as pets in Wing II. Failure to comply means either eating said pet or general court martial. Your choice. Mua ha ha

< Message 5 >

From: Kessler

To: Cadette # 142

Message: My office, tonight, 2230 hours. Bring a scantily clad goat. If you got this message by mistake, resign from the TIE Corps immediately. Thank you.

< Following page... 72 messages left >

Major Harkonnen was tired of this. He looked for the touchkey on his data pad that said "Erase All Inane Messages and Other Stuff that Doesn't Contain Orders." He didn't find one. He then pressed a button saying "MSG your Friendly Neighborhood Fleet Systems Engineer" and sent him a suggestion to build that option into the TIE Corps Holonet. He then deleted all the rest of his messages, threw the datapad away, and crashed down on his bunk. In a few minutes, he was asleep, and fell into a happy reverie of Mon Calamari-style trout-fishing.

The major rubbed his eyes, cursed the Sovereign's built-in comm system, got up from his bunk, threw his old clothes in some remote corner of the Rho barracks where they wouldn't be under his nose, and put on a crisp uniform. He thought he saw his old underwear run up the barracks wall and into the air ducts as he was changing, but then again, that might have been Inkwolf's last prescription fooling with his mind. There were many things fooling around with his mind these days. He was feeling a bit lost.

A few minutes later, the door to the briefing room hissed open before him. The rest of the Wing was already there, and had apparently been waiting for a while. The pilots had all turned around and were staring at him. He rubbed his eyes.

His Wing Commander, GN Gallows, stared down at him.

"Harkonnen, you're late for briefing. This is not tolerated in the Fleet. Please explain yourself."

"I'm sorry, sir. I must have confused the convocation with another message and deleted it."

"Impossible, Harkonnen," answered the WC. "Haven't you noticed the 'Erase All Inane Messages and Other Stuff that Doesn't Contain Orders.' button on your datapad? That's supposed to prevent such errors!"

Harkonnen took a while to answer. "That feature was, as far as I know, not implemented, sir."

"Oh, really?" said Gallows. Then the WC showed him his datapad. "Explain this, then," he said.

Harkonnen was dumbfounded. The FSE was murderously efficient, these days.

"I guess my datapad hasn't downloaded the update yet, sir."

Gallows let the explanation pass. This time.

"It's your fault for keeping that same crusty old datapad you've had since Nun Squadron, Harkonnen. One of these days, Major, it'll cost you your pilot's wings. But for now, we're running late. Take a seat."

Harkonnen stared at the briefing room.

"Yes, I know the only free seat is next to Ford Prefect."

Harkonnen kept on staring.

"Don't tell me you forgot your standard Wing II-issue nose plugs on top of that, Harks."

Harkonnen's stare got blanker and blanker.

"Oh, all right. You can stand."

"Thank you," said Harkonnen weakly, and he walked to the rear of the briefing room. He wanted breakfast. He searched his uniform pockets. All he found in there was one of Ink's damn pills. No cookies. Harkonnen would rather have been married to Fleet Admiral Kessler's grandma on the spot than take the pill. On an empty stomach, at that.

Gallows began the briefing.

"Officers, our assignment today is to destroy the SSSD Sovereign. You will be flying TUGs armed with a double load of advanced dinner plates. Your secondary objective is to lock on to your own craft and say 'Foozle' for the camera as you hit the big red button. We expect a lot of opposition from Mordred Pendragon's brain cells (if/when applicable), and from diverse species of herring."

Harkonnen gave himself a big whack on the head and forced himself to look away from the tactical display. "What was it Inkwolf said?" he thought. "The refresh frequency on the tactical display will mess my mind up if I look at it for too long? Dammit, why did she had to shove all those types of norephedrine up my..."

He turned around, looked away from the display, and slowly regained control of his mind. Gallows continued: "...the shipping corridor is defined by two nav buoys which Assault Transport Vizier, equipped with tractor beams, will recuperate. Protect it well. Harkonnen, just what is wrong with you today? Why are you staring at a blank wall?"

Harkonnen answered without turning his eyes away from the wall: "Inkwolf ran a full psychotropic on me. I don't feel well."

"Commander Inkwolf, is that true?" asked Gallows.

"Yes, sir," said the Ship Doctor.

Gallows thought for a while, then said:

"Ink? How long will it take till he's back in shape?"

"About three-four days until he's fully back to normal."

"Any way you can detox the major here a bit faster than that?"

"Yes, sir. The most effective counter-poison is..." Inkwolf reached for her copy of The Happy Little Imperial's Guide to Stuff that's Bad for You, and flipped through the pages. "...Ghamorrean Death Scorpion venom."

Harkonnen turned white. Very white. As white as white could be white, and even whiter than that.

"Very well then," said Gallows. "Harkonnen, report to the Commodore's Office and request a Form 9B3-F. I'll see what's left of you here in an hour..."

"Harkonnen!" the FO called out.

"Yeah?"

"That's 'Yeah, Sir' to you, Harkonnen! Can you explain to me why haven't you resigned, you pithy excuse for an asparagus?"

"Cause I like flying, Kess. What, do I really look that bad?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, you do, you low-down, Jawa-kissing swine! And that's 'Sir Kess' to you, Harkonnen! I thought I'd ordered you to resign!"

The major thought for a while. Then: "Oh, you mean the goat message thing?" he said. A bit too loud.

"That's 'the goat, Sir' to you, Harkonnen! And don't say it that loud, you damned son of a dianoga, there's cadettes listening!"

"Look, Kessipoo, what do you want from me?"

"That's 'Sir Kessipoo' to you, Harkonnen! And I sent that message to you as a test to see if you followed orders, you unworthy sponge for plonk! And you obviously don't! So I'm hereby demoting you to Lieutenant. Mua ha ha"

Lieutenant Harkonnen waited a minute.

"Has the demotion already gone through, Sir Kessipoo?"

"As a matter of fact, it has, you scrawny slick-livered blackguard! You should know, the FSE is..."

"...murderously efficient these days. Yes, I know, Sir Kessipoo. Thank you so much," said LT Harkonnen, shaking the FO's hand and taking his new rank badge, all the while smiling broadly. "You just saved my life. And you know what, Kess? I'm so grateful you saved my life, I'll publish that photo of you in Nun Squadron uniforms with a nude Rancor..."

And LT Harkonnen went running towards the COM's office. As he ran away, he heard: "That'll cost you your medals, you puke!"

The massive bronze doors slid aside, and LT Harkonnen stood at attention.

"Come in!", said the COM. Kramer was practicing juggling with baseballs. He had gotten to the point where he was able to keep four of them up in the air. He deftly put the balls down one by one on top of a dark fish tank, and turned towards Harkonnen.

"Sprite?" the COM offered.

"With pleasure," said the lieutenant. The COM pulled out a couple of crystal glasses and filled them with Sprite, Aurora Prime vintage. He put the glasses down on his desk, and pulled up a chair. Harkonnen did the same.

"So... what brings you here today, Harks?" asked the Commodore.

"How come it is that you do know my name, sirr?" asked Harkonnen, in the deepest voice he could manage.

"Come on! You've been on my ship for years, man! How do you..."

"Sirr, I am thinking you do have got me being confused with someone else. I am Lieutenant Harrkonnen, newly assigned to the SSSD Soverrrrrreign," he said, rolling his r's and keeping his tone of voice in the baritone register.

"Yeah, right," said Kramer. The he looked at the lieutenant's rank badge. "Oh, I see. Are the two of you related? You look an awful lot like each other, except your skin's paler and you can't speak Basic for your life..."

"Not in that which I know of, sirr. But I am actually in the mission of having been sent for the otherr one. I was quite in surrprise to have found out that therre is being another Harrkonnen on this ship, sirr. He's ill, so he could not be in the business of coming himself."

"And what do you need?"

Harkonnen showed him Gallows's paper. "I am being in need of a form 9B3-F for Major Harrkonnen, sir."

COM Kramer laughed. "Nice try, Harks. Oh, you'll get your form all right! What did you do this time?"

"Sirr, with all due rrespect, I am not in the know of what you arre being talking about! I am Lieutenant Harrkonnen and I don't even am in the know of what a forrm 9B3-F is!"

"Damn right you do, Harks," said the Commodore menacingly. FA Kramer got up from his chair, and started moving towards a corner of his office Harkonnen didn't want to look at. "And getting demoted won't help your case, either. The scorpion pit's this way, boy!"

"But Sirr! You can be looking in the database if you are not being believing me!"

"You asked for it," said the Commodore. He took his datapad and made a quick search. The search turned up a Lieutenant Harkonnen, indeed, but no Major Harkonnen. Kramer scrolled down, looking for the old Harkonnen's medals on the new one's personnel record. He found none. Kramer ran a couple more checks, but could fine none of the marks that would point out the old Major.

"Seems like you're not old Harks, after all," said Kramer. "Funny, though, I can't find the old one on the database."

"He's being ill, Sirr," said the lieutenant. "Since he's not in the activity of existing on active status, he may not be being in the listings of the database, Sirr."

"Right," said COM Kramer. "Anyway... you said you needed a 9B3-F for him?"

"Yes, I am, sir."

"Strange," said Kramer. "They usually don't make me give clearance for a 9B3-F through a third party... but since that's the way it is... wait for me here, lieutenant."

Harkonnen waited as the Commodore went into a small side room which he knew too well, and came back holding a carefully wrapped black box. The COM gave Harkonnen the box. "Hold it carefully," said Kramer.

"That is containing the forrrm, Sirr?" asked Harkonnen.

"It contains what it contains. Just don't open it. Its contents are... umm... highly confidential and concern only the person to whom the fires of Hel... um... form 9B3-F is destined."

"I am thanking you, Sir Commodore. Will Major Harkonnen be knowing what to be doing with what his box is containing, sir?"

"YES!" said the Commodore. Then Kramer thought... What if Harkonnen realizes it's a trap? He added: "Tell him it contains... a special authorization for his promotion to Colonel." Yes, Harkonnen will definitely want to open that, thought Kramer.

"Aye aye, Sir."

"All right, Lieutenant. Dismissed."

Harkonnen went out of the Commodore's office, holding the little wrapped scorpion cage in his hands, with mixed feelings. On one hand, he felt very relieved that he'd managed to escape the scorpion right then and there. On the other hand, he was amazed at how devious his Commodore had been. Could Kramer really do that to him? Send him a Death Scorpion and pretend it was the documents for his promotion? Puzzled, he walked to the nearest turbolift and inserted his Imperial access cylinder into the designated slot to call the lift. As soon as he'd entered his cylinder, the doors suddenly opened and a throng of officers came madly rushing out of the lift. One of them, the ISD Challenge's public-relations officer, slammed into LT Harkonnen so hard that both fell to the ground, and that Harkonnen lost his grip on the delicate box. The major tried to recuperate the box, but he was too late. He watched in horror as a little red tail punched out of the open box right next to the officer, and stung into the PR man's leg. Harkonnen shook his panic off as well as he could ran for the nearest emergency window. It read, "in case of COM Kramer Zoology, Break Glass." Harkonnen smashed it open, grabbed a pair of pink bunny pyjamas from the casing, put them on, and rushed for the scorpion. The scorpion fainted when it saw the horrible pink vision rush at it, its ears flip-flopping in the wind. Harkonnen took advantage of the beast's temporary lack of consciousness to lock it into back into its cage, and ran away as fast as possible before any witnesses could identify him.

Once he got back to his bunk, he wondered what to do. Here he was, with a little baby scorpion on his hands. What could he do with it? Send it out the airlock? No... these scorpions were so expensive, and so darn hard to find, that you just couldn't waste them like that, no matter how much pain they'd caused you... and besides, after the beast's recent feat, Harks was already growing attached to the little bugger. No, Harks would adopt the scorpion. Become its master, train it, feed it well, take good care of it. Who knows? Maybe, with a scorpion as his friend, Harks would have less trouble getting along with the rest of Crazy COM Kramer's bestiary...

***

Conclusion

So that's how I adopted a scorpion. As you can see, I never even planned to. It was just one of those twists of fate, a twist which would also have cost me my rank and quite a few medals, if not for another accident...

***

Epilogue

Harkonnen fumbled under his bunk in the dark to see if he'd any clean underwear left there. His finger touched something solid. He groped for it a few times. He felt a button or two under his fingers. When he finally got a hold of it, he pulled it out from under the bed and looked at it. It was his old datapad. On it glowed the words: "Your resignation has been processed. Thank you for serving the Imperial Navy. Have a nice day. While the rest of us get killed. Quite Sincerely, you failed excuse for a turd, the Flight Office."

Harkonnen looked at his thumb. He'd pressed the 'Resign' button on his pad while groping for it. Damn!

There was only one thing left for him to do. He went to his squadron mate Calias's bunk. Calias happened to be a powerful Dark Jedi, the Quaestor of House Oriens Obscurum, and had received quite a few weapons as rewards for his services. He took Calias's ceremonial dagger and slashed himself lightly a few times, enough to draw blood. He fumbled around with his hair to look unkempt, poured some of LCM Rage's awful cologne on himself so he'd smell of sweat, and ran for the COM's office.

Ten minutes later...

"Aaargh," Harkonnen said theatrically, collapsing on the floor as the massive bronze doors opened.

"Harks?" said the Commodore.

Harkonnen didn't budge.

"You'll never believe who the Sov's newest recruit is," the Commodore continued, deadpan.

Harkonnen twisted pathetically, and let a stream of drool fall from his mouth onto the floor.

"We've got another member of House Harkonnen."

"Mmphrrg," answered Harks, rolling his eyes so far back only the whites showed.

"Oh, yes, I forgot, you got a form 9B3-F! Enjoyed it?"

Harkonnen pulled himself to his feet, slowly, feigning great pain.

"Thoroughly," he whimpered. "You sod. Wait till Ronin sends me to give you your Medal of Honor."

Kramer gave some thought to that, but didn't let it show. He continued:

"Of course. I'll be happy to accept it. What can I help you with, Harkonnen?"

"I died."

"Yes, I know. Apart from that?"

"No, really. I died. I'm not in the Empire's systems anymore."

"Wonderful."

"I guess they deleted my profile when I got sick and went off active status. Thanks a lot. Really. A 9B3-F for a sick man..." Harkonnen rambled on, but the COM completely ignored him.

"Wait a second," said Kramer. He ran another check for 'Harkonnen' on the database to confirm the Major's disappearance. This time, he found no Harkonnens whatsoever.

"Oh well," continued the COM. "We lost your distant relative too, it seems. He already resigned. Kinda short-lived, that little guy... too bad, you should have met him. He was just like you, except paler, smarter, and with a funny accent."

Harkonnen found nothing more intelligent to answer than: "Urg."

"Anyway," said COM Kramer, "here, have my datapad. You know your profile better than I do, why don't you reconstruct it yourself... I've got more important things to do than push paper."

"Thanks, sir," said Harkonnen, and he took the COM's data pad. He started punching in his profile statistics while the COM took his baseballs and started juggling again. He filled in each of the data fields, checked a few options as required, and then went on to fill out the miscellaneous polling questions which had been spread through the rest of the questionnaire. When he was done, he got up and handed the pad to the Commodore.

"Thank you, sir. All done," said Harkonnen.

The End