Ars Pontifex (short story)

[boy]

Ars Pontifex
By: Bruce C. Miller

"Uh, yeah. Two meatsteak cahoona loaves. To go." Yampa B. Parker was already annoyed for having to wait in line so long. "And make it quick, you mongrel insectoids."

"Gssthhh... ssssir want anyytttthing drinkth witthhh?" awkwardly mandibled the brightly-uniformed Paranid pupa.

"Hmmm..." Yampa quickly eyeballed the overhead menu. "Yeah, a large cahoona shake." The Paranid turned to a coworker and made a verbose sequence of clicking and slurping sounds. A thin mucus started to drip out of a series of small orifices on the cashier's face at which the other Paranid dabbed about with a tongue-like part of his proboscis. Yampa found himself rather annoyed by this inefficient and shamelessly nauseating method of communication.

Meatsteak grease seemed to coat every exposed surface in the Funbeef's Beefhut kiosk, especially the counter and queue railing. It even seemed to permeate the air. Yampa figured that boiling beef fat created airborne grease particles, which would eventually stick to any surface, including the employees. The young Paranids here didn't seem to mind. In fact, pupae typically gestated in a mucus-lined, chitin sheath. "Probably some enterprising Teladi got the idea he could make a few credits encouraging them to hatch early and work for him," Yampa thought to himself. "An Argon would never come up with that."

Stepping over to the pick-up counter, Yampa gazed up though the shipyard's food court skylight in time to see dawn breaking on Argon Prime. From 285 miles above in orbit, humanity's homeworld never failed to inspire transcendent awe in even the most jaded Argon. Yampa felt a sudden jolt of poeticism overwhelm him, and the cacophony of slurping noises emanating from the Beefhut kitchen seemed to fade away. While trying to think of a 7 syllable line that ended with something rhyming with "exosphere", his order came up.

"T'th'kloplithyliyth trvtl'th tjkilk'thnysth thl'p!!!"

"Aaargh! Do I LOOK like a giant, leaking cockroach, you mindless slimetard!?!?" Yampa briefly considered punching this Paranid in the face and running, but then remembered he had swiped his credstick when paying.

"Gttrrrstth... Doesss ttthhe ssssir want beefsssauce?" hissed the alien nearly unintelligibly with that typical emotionless, unreadable face all Paranid had.

"YES. I. WANT. BEEFSAUCE." Yampa heaved a deep sigh of disgust. He could feel the angry frown his mouth was making, but didn't make any effort to conceal it.

The Paranid slid open the door to the saucepit behind the counter, leaned over, and dipped his proboscis within. He then made a loud sucking noise as his oral cavity filled with liquefied Argu beef. Excess mucus stored within other facial orifices began oozing forth as he was doing this, most likely from the internal pressure building within the head part of his exoskeleton. After a time, the sucking and slurping ceased and the Paranid retracted his head from the saucepit. Dripping beefsauce all the way, he then extended himself mid-counter, pushed Yampa's meatsteak cahoona loaves together, and with a sound similar to blowing one's nose, sprayed the sauce all over them. He then wrapped the loaves in a rimes cloth and put the large cahoona shake next to them.

Yampa looked at his purchase on the counter. "Well, at least you Paranids do one thing right... and just in time for lunch!"

[norcosis]

Liked it! Take it you were in by Mac D or suchlike that day? By that description the Paranid have been infiltrating us in RL burger joints for years!