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Halo - a parody: 1. Out of the Frying Pan
Posted By: LegendaryMark<mark_likes_cake@hotmail.com>
Date: 30 August 2005, 4:17 pm
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Chapter 1: Out of the Frying Pan
Keys peered through the drunken haze that clouded his vision. Looking up at the view-screen above him, he couldn't help but notice the armada of red dots coming towards the little yellow dot marked "us". He turned to the AI's pedestal.
"I was blind drunk, how did they..."
"Get here first?" finished Cortonfire. "I have no idea sir."
"Ok, well, where the hell are we? How far did we actually go?"
"Well sir, as to your second query, you were passed out on the button for quite a while, so I would conjecture that we have gone a very long way."
"And as to my first query?" asked Keys, once again getting annoyed as he realised he was about to sober up.
"I'm accessing the database now…"
"No, wait!" Keys shouted, suddenly realising what would happen if Cortonfire couldn't find the location.
Keys slumped back in resignation as, sure enough, the AI took on a familiar blue tint. Strange symbols and markings such as "Esc" and "Ctrl+Alt+Del" flashed across her figure. With Cortonfire unmoving and staring blankly into space, Keys shook his head and turned his attention to the massive object orbiting the planet they had just discovered.
Looking rather like a giant metal circle, highly decorated with what seemed to be meaningful motifs, the object floated nonchalantly around the gas giant with a lazy indifference rivalling that of a fast food restaurant trainee. The inside of the ring appeared like the surface of a normal habitable planet, with normal life forms. Grass, bushes, lakes, rivers, valleys, money trees, flying monkeys and the Loch Ness monster. Keys shook his head. Perhaps he wasn't sobering up after all.
Meanwhile, the Master Chef was feeling very pleased with himself. Having just about subdued the urge he felt to be violently ill, he felt the ship leave hyperspace. Peering out into the gloomy cargo bay, the Chef tried to make out what he could. Crates and containers of various shapes and sizes littered the floor, many marked with labels that could only hint as to what lay inside, such as "Titanium composite rods" and "Crewman Andrew's stash". Presently, the sirens started up again. He noticed the few crewmen, who had previously been smoking their brains into pulp round a table, bolted from the cargo bay with cries of "Come on! Let's get the hell out of here!" He suspected this meant trouble.
Thinking he'd better follow them, he began clambering out of the freezer with all the grace of a chimpanzee in a straightjacket. A voice came over the loudspeaker.
"Thish ish the *hic* captain. We have incoming hoshhtiles. Pleashe *hic* remain at your shtashions *hic* and fight any boardersh that may come aboard."
The Chef, now out of the cargo bay and stumbling along a maze of corridors, could see crewmen valiantly stampeding towards the life pods and piling into them, presumably to ward off any attackers that might choose not to come in through the main doors. Seeing a sign on the floor saying "Life pods" with a large arrow pointing down the corridor to his right, the Chef hurried down it. Of course, the crewmen of the "Pillar of the Community" had been of less than sound mind when it came to painting signs on the floor, as can be confirmed by the fact that on every sign on board the ship were written the exact same words, whatever direction the signs pointed in.
Keys wheeled around, startled.
"Where are those life pods?" queried the clearly worried character in front of him. He vaguely recognised the ridiculous bright colours and fragile armour.
"A Roman? They didn't inform me of any military experiments on board."
"Just get me the hell out of here!" garbled the Chef, glancing anxiously up at the encroaching red dots on the view screen.
As if in answer to his plea, the ship lurched violently, apparently reanimating Cortonfire, who promptly began to run a disk scanning program.
"Report!" bellowed Keys.
"It must have been an explosion" explained Cortonfire helpfully, "I'd guess that was Crewman Westrich and his Bunsen burner experiments".
Ignoring the AI and realising the ship was doomed, the captain turned back to the fearful Roman, who was currently hopping up and down as if he needed the toilet.
"Well, I hash a favour to ashk" said the inebriated Keys.
Seeing that the captain was clearly going to be no use whatsoever, the Chef turned and fled the bridge, grabbing the unloaded pea-shooter that lay on the desk by Keys. Expecting nothing less from the Chef, Keys looked up at the view screen again.
"Ok then Cortonfire. I want you to help me land this thing on that ring. After that, you're no use and you've really annoyed the hell out of me, so I'll run your self-destruct routine." Keys said with amazing coherence, given the circumstances.
"Cortonfire?"
Turning to the AI's pedestal, he saw a small post-it note floating pointlessly in mid-air. On it, in default font, was written:
"Sorry cap. Got to scram, you know how it is. No hard feelings. – Cortonfire"
Cursing the AI in words that would make sailors cover their ears, Keys turned back to the helm.
"If I'm going down, I'm taking everyone else with me".
The Chef, meanwhile, was speeding down the corridor towards the life pods as fast as his puny legs would carry him. He noticed his cook book was downloading and installing something, a new recipe perhaps? His spirit rose at the prospect as the progress bar in the corner of his visor reached 99% within seconds, then mysteriously stalled. Slightly puzzled but still with an overriding fear for his life, the Chef fled onwards, with a few terrified crewmen right behind him in the knowledge that Romans will always find a way off a sinking ship. Coming to a closed door, he pushed the button to open it and, as the metal barrier retracted, he found himself face to face with a most terrible sight.
"An elitist!" wailed one of the crewmen.
The Chef looked slowly upwards at the monstrosity in front of him. Sporting a top hat and tails, monocle and using English in a manner that would make the Queen of England look like a miner from the drinking classes; the elitist raised his silver teaspoon.
"Wort" it started.
"RUN!" screamed another crewman, interrupting the elitist.
As terrified crewmen fled this way and that, the elitist continued.
"Wort the bally heck is all this racket?" he said cruelly in a voice that defined arrogance. "I think I may have to teach you blighters a lesson in manners, wort wort!!"
From his silver teaspoon, the elitist flicked two blobs of highly acidic blackcurrant jam with deft accuracy, catching two of the fleeing crewmen in mid flee. The Chef, thinking of no one but himself, raised the pea-shooter that he had taken from Keys and, loading it quickly with three peas from his bag of mixed vegetables, he fired upon the elitist. Expecting the peas at most to cause a distraction so he could scurry away, he way surprised to see that what he had thought to be a small and insignificant weapon in fact dropped his enemy in three shots. Having no time to wonder what analogies the author may be drawing, the Chef scampered past his dead adversary and down the corridor to the life pods as he heard two more elitists coming up behind him.
Reaching the row of life pods (with the slightly less useful life belts hanging from the wall), he threw himself into the first available pod, stepping hard on the crewman wailing "Oh no, oh no!" in his desperation to get inside.
"Get us out of here!" he screamed at the driver, who seemed totally at ease with the situation.
As the stick of TNT behind the pod exploded, blasting it out into space, the progress bar reached 100% and the Chef's cook book reported to him that it was updated with new software. The Chef had heard the voice many times before at demonstrations and publicity events, he knew exactly who it was.
"Hmm, your architecture isn't much different from the Community's. No, wait, I've got my schematics mixed up. It's totally different".
The Chef sighed as the life pod accelerated towards the giant alien ring. He looked out the back of the pod and saw the Community accelerating erratically as a certain drunken maniac steered it towards the surface of the ring.
"Wouldn't you rather take a seat" asked Cortonfire, realising that her safety was now tied to that of the Chef, and ruing her decision to choose him.
"We'll die either way" groaned a pessimistic Chef.
"Yeah, you're probably right. Still, if I had fingers, they'd be crossed. Not sure how that would help, but it might make you feel better" said Cortonfire, mistaking "comforting" for "worrying".
Hoping that there was still a significant portion of the story to go and that he was still a central character, the Chef closed his eyes. The crewman next to him, whose name no one knew and who was wearing a red uniform, shifted uncomfortably.
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