All the dignitaries of the merchant starship Cheapskate, stood by the exit of the docking bay, ready to receive their not-so-honoured guest. It was an impressive line-up, consisting of: Captain John Denmark and... the air he breathed.
The airlock swung open and the captain stiffened into attention, only to realise that there was no one there. He shrugged tiredly and stifled a yawn. His last sleep cycle had been nearly a week ago; his guest was running extremely late.
A high pitched cough made him jump in surprise, and he looked down to see a small two foot high humanoid looking up at him with an impatient scowl on its face. It´s neatly manicured green hair, belied the blood-red face and beady little eyes. It was dressed in the official governmental outfit, which consisted of a skin-tight, one-piece, blue suit, and a pair of black boots.
"Never have I been so insulted in my life," the little thing squeaked angrily.
"I´m so sorry," the captain said and bowed desperately, "I didn´t see you enter."
"You didn´t see me enter," the creature mockingly said, "oh, I suppose I´m too small for you?" He had that mean grin on his face, that only people with diminutive stature can accomplish.
"With all due respect, sir... Yes."
The creature stomped its foot angrily, muttered something obscene, and then took a deep breath. "Take me to my quarters."
"Your quarters?"
"DON´T TELL ME YOU HAVEN´T ALLOCATED ME QUARTERS!!!! DON´T TELL ME THINGS I DON´T WANT TO HEAR!!!! I GET STRESSED EASILY, AND YOU DON´T WANT TO SEE ME STRESSED!!!!" His squeak had become so loud that the captain thought his eardrums might implode.
The ranting and raving went on for a couple of minutes longer. Finally, Denmark couldnt take it any longer and grabbed the little nuisance around the neck and lifted it to his eye level.
"Listen, you little runt. You´ve got some nerve to arrive a week late, without even apologizing, and expect everyone to leap to your every command. How bout I just throw you down the waste disposal chute?" They both stared hostilely at each other.
"I´M EXTREMELY STRESSED NOW!!!!"
"I´m quivering in fear," Denmark said sarcastically, "What you going to do, add to my taxes while you´re floating in space?"
"I WARNED YOU!!!!" And with that the little creature started to change. He grew bigger and bigger until the captain couldn´t hold him anymore. His muscles grew more than the rest of his body combined and his eyes became a fierce red.
Denmark backed away slowly, as the now six foot alien continued to grow. When it was about eleven feet high and six feet wide, with muscles rippling all over, he decided to run.
It leapt over him and crashed into the closed door. It stopped and turned around to face him, while the door was relocated to the other side of the ship.
The door and the rest of the hull of the ship was made of reinforced duranium, the strongest substance known to anyone in the galaxy. And the pissed taxman had plowed through it, like it was paper. He thought about fainting but decided against it
The monster let out a mighty roar, that shook the walls and set off the collision alarms, and charged at the captain. John Denmark: coward, con extraordinaire, and unsuccessful merchant; stood his ground and held up a hand in the universal symbol of stop.
The monster pulled up short and scratched its head quizzically with a huge red claw. It wasn´t used to such a response.
The captain pulled out his mobile phone from his top pocket and dialled a number. Nobody answered the phone but a deep voice started speaking out of everywhere and nowhere at once.
WHAT DO YOU WANT?
Denmark replaced his phone and replied "I want you to do your job."
I´m BUSY
"Doing what?"
THINKING
"You think non-stop for every moment of your life you´ve been alive for millennia and will still be alive in millennia to come. You can spare a few minutes."
THAT´S WHAT YOU SAY EVERY TIME. ADDING UP ALL THE TIMES, IT COMES TO 233 HOURS, 32 MINUTES, AND 16 SECONDS. I COULD HAVE DONE A LOT OF THINKING IN THAT TIME
"You´re in my employ. We´re not supposed to be having this argument. I could fire you, you know."
I KNOW. PLEASE HURRY UP AND DO IT
"Don´t you need the money?"
OF COURSE I DON´T NEED THE MONEY. I´M A ROCK. WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH IT? I AGREED TO WORK FOR YOU BECAUSE I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE CHALLENGING. IT WAS THE FIRST AND LAST MISTAKE I´LL EVER MAKE
"I provide you with challenging situations all the time."
LIKE WHAT?
"Like dealing with an incredibly powerful pissed off monster."
DON´T TELL ME YOU STRESSED OUT THE TAXMAN
"You knew about this?"
OF COURSE; I KNOW EVERYTHING
"And you didn´t think it important enough to tell me?"
NO
"I see... Any way to make him revert back to his puny self?"
EXCEPT FOR DESTROYING THE SOURCE OF HIS STRESS... NO
"But that´s me."
I KNOW
This was followed by a sound that seemed to be a chuckle and then the room was silent once again, or as silent as it could be with an eleven foot monster scratching its head with both oversized hands in confusion.
Denmark sighed. Rocks spent the first thirty thousand years of their life thinking. So much thinking would make even a pro-wrestler smart; but the rocks didn´t just become smart. They became telepathic, all-knowing, and seriously lacking in social skills. This seriously surprised a pro-wrestler one day, when while altitude training, he came across a talking rock which had done more thinking in one minute than he had done in his entire life.
The monster decided it had had enough and took a tentative step forward, but the captain held up his hand once again and said "I´ll be just another minute". The monster´s eyes dilated and then it sat down heavily, sending huge undulating ripples through the floor and walls. It then proceeded to sob like a little girl who had just scratched her knee.
Denmark looked at the pitiful creature and walked over to the nearest console. After kicking it a couple of times, it turned on and he managed to do what he wanted, before it started sparking and smoking. Tranquil and soothing punk rock music came on, and the ferocious eleven foot baby slowly fell asleep.
Unconsciousness seemed to be a cure for the taxman´s sudden second puberty and he reverted back to his normal pip-squeak self.
Denmark scooped him up in one hand, threw him over his shoulder and proceeded to the crew quarters. He came across a crewman in one of the corridors, and ordered him to take over. They had a quick game of taxman soccer, before they parted ways.
"Hello, Captain," he said pleasantly.
Denmark screamed, dropped into a roll, and came up with his Kaser in his hands.
The taxman smiled. "I apologise for my actions, last night. I was... annoyed."
"No kidding," Denmark slowly lowered his Kaser and then reluctantly holstered it.
"Galaxyrail has two stops. TWO! In the whole bloody galaxy, it has two stops; both in obscure locations. Needless to say, I´m never using public transport again."
"You´re a civil servant.Aren't you supposed to praise government services?"
"That's a service? According to the history records, there hasn't been such bad public transport since the beginning of the 21st Century on Earth."
"I see... I don´t believe we´ve been formally introduced?"
"Oh, yes. My name is Taxman."
"That´s it?"
"Why? What´s wrong with it?"
Taxman´s face seemed to darken and Denmark, remembering the night before, quickly tried to come up with an appropriate response. "It just seems a bit ambiguous, that´s all."
"Well my real name is ´Taxman 2345999999 of the Alpha Quadrant Tax and Levies Service in the reign of the 197th galactic chancellor, who was born in the galactic core from a test-tube who was a loving father, mother, brother, sister, nephew, aunt, and uncle to him, and who has been infused with the special powers and responsibilities of all taxmen; mainly; to collect taxes and not get stressed unless he is justified in doing so...´ It goes on for another three hundred thousand words."
"Taxman will do nicely."
"Thank you. Now on to business?"
"First, you have to promise not to try killing me again. That happens far to often for my liking."
Taxman chuckled. "Don´t have any control over that, I´m afraid. After twenty thousand taxmen were flushed out garbage disposal chutes, the government decided to install a self-defence mechanism, activated by extreme stress."
Denmark frowned uncertainly but decided to give the shrimp the benefit of the doubt. They took the lift to the thirteenth floor, the ?"Recreation Deck".
As the lift doors opened, a pudgy mass of blue flesh oozed up to them. It had two stumps that could pass for arms sticking out of its sides and the remnants of a face seemed to be floating inside the slightly transparent mass. "Captain Denmark," it said, in a peculiarly muffled and hurried voice.
"What can I do for you today, King Blob?"
"You didn´t warn me there was a Testerian onboard."
"Should I have?"
"The Blobs and the Testerians have been at war for thousands of years. I demand you´re protection, for me and my loyal subjects aboard this ship."
"I´m afraid, I don´t have any way to protect you, your majesty. The best I can do for you is drop you and your subjects off at the nearest planet."
Loud footsteps echoed around the cramped corridor and all three looked up to see a creature thundering towards them. It was about six feet tall and constantly changed colour to match its surroundings. Four arms sprouted from its muscular torso and its legs looked incrediby strong. A thin but wide ridge of bone stuck out from its forehead and on it were two wary eyes. The mouth was filled with row upon row of razor-sharp teeth.
"Captain, I demand that you hand over... his majesty," it hissed sibilantly.
"I´m sorry Crobol, but I can´t allow any of my passengers to come to harm."
"Sirty sousand galactic credits," said Crobol in his most diplomatic voice; this didn´t amount to much as testerians don´t have any concept of diplomacy on their homeworld. Denmark couldn´t stop his eyes widening in surprise. Twenty thousand credits was nearly as much as what he earned in an average month.
"I can give fifty thousand," the blob said generously.
"Seventy Sousand," Crobol snarled. The green gas that had been slowly drifting out of his mouth increased in volume and the nauseating stench soon filled the corridor.
"A hundred thousand," the king said anxiously, "Please, Captain, help me. I can´t outdistance him and I certainly can´t fight back effectively."
"A hundred and ten sousand," Crobol said almost happily, as he sensed victory.
The blob emitted a squelching sound which might have passed for a sob and then said in a defeated voice, "I can´t beat that."
The captain mulled it over in his head awhile. His decision could have greater ramifications than just the present situation. King Blob was in charge of an entire system; being on his good side could mean all types of business oppurtunites. Crobol on the other hand was offering another ten thousand credits. He contemplated it for a few more seconds before tentatively answering.
"I believe I´ve come up with a compromise. Crobol, for the amount you specified you can hurt King Blob as much as you want, as long as you don´t kill him or use any weapons. Your majesty, for your hundred k I´ll make sure Crobol holds to his promise."
"It´ll do," Crobol said reluctantly.
The blob looked from the captain to the testerian and then back again, before finally answering, "I suppose."
The captain made sure that he and Taxman were well out of the way before saying, "Then get to it." Crobol leapt at the Blob, halfway through the sentence and swiped his four sets of claws. The king undulated its body out of the way of the slashing claws but wasn´t fast enough. Two claws caught a bit of his liquid-like flesh and ripped it off.
Crobol started a snarl of glee which quickly turned into a howl of pain, as the blue flesh that clung to his claws suddenly started expanding and burning. His flesh crisped and burned as he futilely tried to wipe the blue acid onto the corridor wall. He gave up once his entire arm was covered in it and fled back the way he had come, screaming in agony all the while.
Denmark turned inquisitively to the blob. "I thought you couldn´t fight back?"
"I can´t. I´ve got some good natural defences though," the blob replied. The demented mouth, floating inside the mass of flesh, seemed to smile. "Just add the agreed price to my tab." With that, one extremely satisfied sovereign oozed into the lift and somehow managed to push the button for the floor it wanted.
The doors closed, leaving Taxman and Denmark extremely confused and alone once more. They looked at each other and decided simultaneously that neither of them knew or wanted to know what had just happened.
"Shall we proceed to the lounge?" The captain asked eventually.
"Lead the way."
All the decks consisted of a grid, with every square being the exact same size, making it extremely difficult not to get lost. The captain seemed to know where he was going. Right, straight, left, left, left, left.
After five minutes, the Taxman said "I don´t think we´re going the right way."
"Nonsense, I know this ship like the back of my hand."
"We´re going in circles, or squares if you prefer."
"I know perfectly where we are; we need to turn left, go straight, and then turn left again."
They did and ended up by the lift. The captain smiled grimly before sitting down on the cold floor. "Make yourself comfortable," he said pleasantly.
The taxman shrugged and sat down. "I´ve got a list of questions that need to be answered before I can give you your tax statement."
"Fire away."
"That´s what the first question?s about. Your profile says that this is a peaceful merchant ship."
"It is."
"Then why does it have triple plated duranium armour and two decks fully devoted to subspace cannons? Not to mention the kranium shield generators, cloaking device, and all the other extremely powerful and illegal weapons that clutter all available space on the outside of your hull."
"You never know what you might run into."
"Like what? All known hostile species to the empire have been eradicated and crime is being kept to the absolute minimum."
"I came across some fowlian pirates, a couple of weeks back. Just managed to scare them away."
"Fowlians are the most cowardly race in the galaxy. In fact, no one has made contact with them in over a hundred years, because they run away as soon as anything appears on their sensors."
"That´s just a ruse so they can eventually take over the galaxy by surprise."
"Interesting theory. Know what my theory is? I think that you look for profit in every available avenue. If that means eliminating other ships or even planets, then so be it."
"That´s completely unfounded."
"Actually, it´s in your brochure," the taxman produced a copy of the brochure out of his shirt pocket, "´will commit genocide for small amount of credits.´"
"Oh, that. That was the previous owner's. I may be a cheat, a liar, and a coward, but I don't kill people. Much."
"Hmmmm... On to the next question then. You are shrewd; the way you made two hundred and ten thousand credits in less than a minute, proves this. Then, why do all your enterprises fail?"
"It´s a combination of an incompetent crew and bad luck."
"Really? I think that they actually don´t fall through. That somehow you alter the records."
"So, I don´t pay as much tax. That´s ingenious. Too bad I don´t do it."
"Okay then, how exactly did your Litorate contract fall through?"
"Well we decided to become business partners with the Litorates. They showed us photos of their world and said that it would make the perfect tourist location. We fell for it until I noticed that they were luminescent."
"Luminescent? What´s that got to do with anything?"
"Well, it suggests that they live underground. Further research told us that they worshiped the god of radioactive decay. What do these two facts suggest to you?"
"They need mass Psychiatry?"
"That to. But their world has been a radioactive waste dump for over a thousand years. The only tourists that would be interested would be garbologists."
"What about the allegations that you don´t have a valid captain's license?"
"Once again, completely unfounded."
"Then what´s the difference between Starboard and Port?"
"Well, a port is where ships dock and a starboard is a board that floats around a star."
"That will be all, captain. Here´s your tax statement," Taxman said as he pulled out a little device that resembled a calculator. He typed in a series of extremely complex calculations, and seemed satisfied with the answer.
"Before you go on," the captain said in a hospitable tone of voice, "I want to invite you to dinner. I have enjoyed your company and would like to give you a proper farewell." He was very sincere.
"That would be lovely. Your tax total comes to 400403 credits. This is factoring in all the fines and levies for breaking the law 2202 known times as well as your 80% income tax."
TAX MAN
Stardate: 3699991823428.239786521
Standard Sol years: work it out yourself
The taxman found the captain on the bridge, staring blankly into space, literally.
Dinner was delicious. Taxman ate so much that it didn´t take long for the drugs to take effect and for him to enter a comatose state. He woke up four weeks later, floating in space amongst a pile of refuse.