draft penultimate

Grak woke up, finally, in sick bay. Calling it sick bay is, perhaps, something of an overstatement. Nothing more than a couple of cots within a partitioned cubicle. Medical equipment: scalpels, bottles of medicine, syringes, and other tools which would make a reasonable person cringe, were velcroed to the walls. Some of them had fallen off during all the raucous. A small hatch lead into the doctor's office and quarters.

"Doctor?" Grak said. The Doctor peeked through the hatch and entered the sickbay.

"Ah, Grak, you're awake," Doctor Lossen said, holding out a battered old medical recorder. He waved the recorder over Grak. The recorder beeped. Lossen smacked it. The beeping stopped. "Your vitals are all good. You've made a complete recovery as far as I can tell."

"What exactly happened?" Grak asked.

"You were exposed to vacuum for fifty minutes. It's been a month," the Doctor explained. Grak looked at the calendar/clock on the wall.

"No it hasn't," he said.

"Hah, no you're right it's been eight hours. You were exposed to vacuum for only three minutes and twelve seconds," said the Doctor.

"That is... remarkable," Grak said.

"It is worth noting that Traddel's thin atmosphere takes most of the credit," said the Doctor, "your huge lungs and resistance to low pressure is what saved you. A human would have been irrecoverable."

"Thank you Doctor," said Grak, "but can I leave now?" The doctor nodded. "Well, can I?"

"I said yes."

"No you didn't."

Grak left the sickbay and found his living quarters. He closed the blinds on his window port. "I really can not stand to look at that damn planet again. Computer, would you please open a Hypercom channel with the Commissioner?"

"Affirmative, searching InterPlaNet results for Hyperbolic crayon width commission nerd," the Computer replied. "Warning: no Internet Connection."

"Fleeb," said Grak. He took the keyboard and typed upon the appropriate keys.

"Hypercomlink Established," the Computer announced. A ringtone was played for a few seconds before the Commissioner answered.

"Grak, have you completed your mission?"

Grak explained the basis for what would eventually become this story.

"I see. So Belief in a Lower Power is, uh...," the Commissioner started.

"...totalled. All but the crew module's lower decks and secondary power are ruined. And the comms, of course. We're out of propellant, battery, and half of our hull is warped and melted," explained Grak.

"I shall send a rescue ship for you then. Good job on your mission, but uh, you did realize I only wanted you to take down a couple of Queen Beiolon flowers, right?" The Commissioner said.

"Wait, what?" Grak said.

"Queen Beiolon flowers contain a chemical that is very similar to the drug Ixilozine. If it could be grown artificially our partners at Flibber Pharmaceuticals would be in competition," The Commissioner said.

"Why in Grappel The Great's Great Sake would you send a mercenary for that job?"

"We figured they must have been guarded by someone."

"Well you can rest assured that the remaining flowers were disintegrated when the complex collapsed," lied Grak.

"Your next mission is to report to the space station around Alpha Centauri B's Main Belt for further orders. We're sending a rescue ship now," Grak said.

"Very well."