Introduction

Chapter 16:

Malevolent, menacing Queen Meredith lounged on her throne, drinking PG Tips with vanilla honey from a gold-plated human skull. She contemplated a dashing man hanging from the ceiling from his wrists.

And the giant Venus flytrap snapping at his heels from the pit beneath him.

“The last expedition to my planet kept this in their cargo bay,” Meredith purred.

“Tiny little thing. Until I fed its own crew back to it, anyway. Amazing what a little TLC can do.”

She took another sip.

“Now, Mr. Rogers. Are you going to divulge the location of your partner?”

Buck Rogers twisted above the flytrap and clamped his own trap. Annoyed, Meredith arose from her throne and descended the staircase. The guards stationed on every step bowed as she passed.

As she reached the bottom of the staircase, her flytrap stretched out one of its three hungry heads for affection. The queen obliged.

“My poor, sweet pet here hasn’t eaten in days,” Meredith mourned as she gently stroked the plant. “Tell me, Mr. Rogers, have you ever been digested… slowly? It’s very unpleasant. I’m assuming, anyway.”

“Oh, drop dead, you harpy!” Buck taunted. “You’re not gonna get a peep outta me!”

Meredith cocked one of her caterpillar eyebrows at a guard standing near a wall-mounted lever and nodded. He immediately pulled it, lowering Buck to mere inches above the flytrap.

“I’m tired of this,” the queen sighed and inspected her impeccable self-manicured nails for any chips. “Tell me where you partner is… OR YOU. ARE. PLANT. FOOD. Capice?”  

The doors to her throne room flung open. A guard dragged in a bound, gagged, and blindfolded man behind her.

Being an unfortunate admixture of Sicilian and Irish extraction, it proved a struggle for Queen Meredith to constantly suppress her boiling rage. Oh great. Another interloper. When all she wanted to do that day was curl up on her cushioned throne, drink tea, finish her nineteenth (or was it eighteenth?) reading of A Confederacy of Dunces, and contemplate accelerating the inevitable heat death of the universe and reigning over the ashes.  

“GAAAAAAAH!!! NOW WHAT!?!” she screamed.

“My queen,” replied the guard, bowing. “I discovered this trespasser creeping around the perimeter of your castle.”

After a couple of yogic breathing exercises to calm her genetic predisposition, Meredith shot a cocky grin in Buck’s direction. “So. I guess I don’t need you after all, seeing as how your imbecile friend walked into getting captured all on his own,” she intoned. “Guard? Bring him here!”

All three of the flytrap’s heads snapped at the hapless man as the guard sloughed him over to her queen’s feet.

“Throw him in,” came the command.

The guard, growing giddy at the chance to finally show the big boss that she could chuck meat with the best of ‘em, golly gee, and maybe she should get a promotion, hoisted up the hostage and into one of the hungry flytrap mouths. It snapped shut and, as its prey struggled, only clamped down harder. Digestive juices seeped out of its teeth and onto the floor with a hiss.

Buck screamed and cried, snot and tears pooling and dripping down his chin.

Queen Meredith laughed her shrill and haughty cackle. “Oh, no need to worry, Mr. Rogers. You’ll be joining him in due time.”

She raised her huge black caterpillar eyebrows (seriously she looks like Zachary Quinto, but a girl) at the guard in charge of the pit’s levers. As he threw the switch, the guard from outside leapt onto one of the flytrap heads, launched off, and grabbed Buck by the waist!

The flytrap snapped its jaws shut just as the pair twisted out of the way and hit the ground. Buck scrambled up and brushed himself off, staring at his rescuer the entire time. As the guard’s helmet slowly crept up…

“BULLDOG?!” Buck exclaimed! “B-but… how?!”

Bulldog grinned. “Oh, the ol’ switcharoo and pitch shift. Now let’s get outta here,” he said. The men made a run for the door as Queen Meredith commanded their capture.

All of her guards stationed on the staircase descended with elegant speed. Bulldog and Buck stopped at the bottom of the stairs, smiled at each other, and yanked the carpet out from beneath them. As their victims flailed about in impotent confusion, they threw the rug on top of them.

“GAAAAAAHHHHH!!! YOU NUMBUTS!!!” Meredith screeched.

“YOU!” she pointed at the guard near the lever. “GO! GO! GO! GO! GO!”

He drew his sword and dashed toward Bulldog and Buck, also silently praying for a promotion. Bulldog lifted up a shield deposited by one of the indisposed staircase guards by his foot. And he promptly launched it right at the guard.

It hit him right in the noggin, causing him to stumble back and into an eager mouth of the still-hungry Venus flytrap!

Bulldog and Buck turned toward the door and found waiting for them Queen Meredith herself. She pointed a retrofuturist Space Gun at them, eyes flashing with fury.

“Why do I bother with these incompetents? I hate doing my own dirty work, but I suppose it’s unavoidable,” she mused. “And I offered them full benefits packages, including tuition reimbursement, and raises at the end of every fiscal year, too. BUT THAT’S NOT WHAT I’M DRIVING AT HERE.”

She repositioned her Space Gun back on the two men. Just before her finger tripped the trigger, Bulldog began emanating unintelligible sounds. The room fell silent. Queen Meredith could only stare, her generously-proportioned Mediterranean schnozz crinkling in confusion.

Then she laughed and shot at them.

And then the last flytrap head took her prisoner in its jaws. The Space Rays from her Space Gun harmlessly struck a statue of Keanu Reeves.

Queen Meredith shrieked and clung to her pet’s terrible pointy teeth. Bulldog and Buck stood there and watched as she helplessly thrashed against the makeshift bars.

Buck turned to Bulldog. “You speak plant?” he asked.

“Yep,” said Bulldog. “Fred taught me. I told the plant she tastes like strawberry. Flytraps love strawberry. Breaks up the monotony of an insect-heavy diet.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bulldog noticed that the guards trapped beneath the rug began to pull themselves out.

“We better get out of here,” he instructed.

Turning toward Queen Meredith, he added, “You better hope your guards didn’t hear you calling them incompetents. They may not help you out.”

The disgraced monarch could only hang her head in shame as her prey escaped, laughing all the way.


Story By:  Bulldog White

Written By: Scott White www.scottyblanco.com

Edited By: Meredith Nudo    www,hardcorenudoty.com