One-Eyed Jack and I emerged from the airlock, cautiously optimistic about the chances of having intergalactic sweaty green alien sex with any number of the station's inhabitants. A red-shirted squad of security personnel quickly surrounded us, and took us to the outpost's commander. We were rudely tossed to the ground before him, and offered only some stale airline peanuts and recycled urine to sate our hunger and thirst. The urine left something to be desired.
"Sit," the commander said, his rugged torso straining against the confines of his spandex jumpsuit, which was at least two sizes too small. He sat upon a metallic chair covered in glowing buttons. Sadly, these were merely decorative, and did not perform any useful functions like vibrating or vibrating harder. The man's white hair and muttonchops glistened like white hair and muttonshops in the mood lighting. He reminded me of Santa Claus, only looking and sounding like Marlon Brando and without the beard.
"I am Howard Leeds, commanding officer of Outpost Omicron, or as we like to call it, 'The Big O'. Out here, beyond the controls of any government, I've constructed a menacing superstation to rival even TBS, dedicated to the proposition of every man for himself, a woman for every man, and an oiled woman to wrestle every other woman." He smacked his lips in the dry artificial air. "See, here at the Big O, it's all about the O. My O!" He proceeded to feel himself through the spandex and drool profusely.
I was naturally aroused, and wondering where I could get my own tight jumpsuit, but he continued.
"They thought I was mad. Mad! Back on your surface world, I was once a powerful Hollywood producer." He handed us each a copy of his autobiography, "Howard Leeds: Big Shot Hollywood Producer," and continued.
"In 1985, I came up with an idea that revolutionized the entertainment industry. Once in a lifetime, lightening strikes. For me, that bolt of genius took the form of a sitcom about a sassy android servant girl, who lived in her teen brother's closet, possessed superhuman strength, and wore a short dress. I called it Small Wonder, and it was the absolute greatest thing any mortal had dared to conceive!" He stroked his chin, almost wishing he had whiskers. "But you fools refused to watch it. They canceled the show and my dream of using it for global domination! For years I struggled to regain my footing in Hollywood. But no one would answer my calls, not even the girl who played VICI!" He had a portrait of her on the wall, alongside a framed restraining order from her, asking him to cease and desist the sale of her purported undergarments online.
"I proposed bringing it back and spicing it up a little with some oiled naked android maid wrestling, but not even Fox television would dare air it. It was then I knew that I had to take revenge on the species that refused my gift and denied me the endless thanks due to me. Humankind has squandered its only path to salvation- my talent! It was after that final rejection that I began construction of the ultimate weapon in the galaxy to destroy them!"
Jack excused himself at this point, asking where the men's room was and if he should beware of any alien species with unusually-located genitals or propensity to probe humanoids for sport. My own mind wandered and I started to pay more attention to the dozens of small video panels throughout the room, each carrying a different episode of Small Wonder. I was disappointed in the quality of the special effects. Howard continued, unphased. I caught him mid-phrase.
"-and that's when my good friend and investor Sergei Sergenstein stepped in to help me build this orbital death observatory. Only from here could he see his massive velvet portrait of Stevie Nicks as it was truly meant to be seen, and only here could I build my army of indestructible death droids and train them to obliterate mankind!"
"Sergei? You know Sergei?" I asked. After all this time, I was finally reminded of the man who stole my crown, cast me out of West Belgium, and began my many adventures. Now he was back in the picture, like an arch villain trotted out during mythology episodes of popular programs during sweeps week.
"Yes, Sergei and I go way back, Katrina. He said to pass his condolences on to you for the loss of your country and crown. And to kill you. Of course, here at the Big O we expect to get the maximum amount of perverted sexual pleasure from your demise." He picked up a small green frog from a bowl of goo next to him and gulped it down in a single slurp. Then he vomited, not liking the taste of space frogs. The guards returned and manhandled me, a small break in an otherwise bad day. They held me upright in front of Leeds, who continued to spit frog bits on the floor.
"What was that about a picture of Stevie Nicks?" I asked, having not caught that the first time around.
"Oh, yes. West Belgium has been covered over with an enormous velvet painting of Stevie Nicks riding a unicorn. So large it can only be seen from space." He wiped the remaining vomit from his chin. "Not really my thing, but for Sergei it was reason enough to take control of your puny surface nation. Too bad it'll be blown up with the rest of the planet once I finish having my way with you."
I shuddered at the thought of such a tacky display blocking the view of my own hot-pink home, Castle Barbie. I had those ponies dyed bright orange for a reason, and now no one could see them.
"What way is that?" I asked.
"You will be stripped, oiled, put in roller skates, and forced to compete to the death in the Circle of Death, where death is most assuredly assured. There, you will learn a new definition of death, as you fight against my army of girlish death droids, programmed to slash your oiled form or force you into a vat of deadly Galactic Acid in the center of the arena. Your only defenses will be a crude metal blade, your wits, and Deus ex Machina. Of course, I'll be taping the whole thing to pitch to Fox one last time for kicks, and feeling myself through my jumpsuit. I just wish I had put a zipper in this thing!"
"What about Jack?" I asked, wondering why he was taking so long in the bathroom. He didn't even bring any porn with him.
"Jack? Oh, I'll show you what has become of him. Enter, Jack!" he yelled. "Show her what cruel fate you have suffered!"
Jack ran in, apparently fine.
"See? Here's Jack!" He waited for a moment, trying to measure the impact of his statement. "Yes, this is Jack. Indeed. Yep." We stood silent for several minutes before I realized it was my turn to speak.
"But what will happen to him?"
"Well, I guess he can watch your grisly demise." He turned to Jack. "Can you do color commentary? Do you have any broadcast sports experience? If not I have manuals and some tapes you can watch to get a feel for it."
Jack responded, "Well, I did some play-by-play in college for the softball team."
"Excellent," Leeds replied. "Then let the games begin. Those who are about to be greased and disemboweled, I salute you!" He then had Jack fitted for a sport coat and toupee, and the guards dragged me away.
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