Screw the Universe by Stephen Schwegler, Eirik Gumeny

will you? Have it say, ‘Captain Tyler is about to kick some cold, slushy butt.’”
     
    Captain Tyler snapped his welding mask down dramatically.
     

     
    ***
     

     
    “Status update!” shouted Captain Tyler.
     
    “Two comments saying ‘Woo!’ and one from your mom, asking you to call.”
     
    “That’s it?”
     
    “Ye— Wait, there’s a new one. From Yvette Redshirt. It says... ‘WHY THE FUCK ARE WE STILL HERE?!?!’ It’s in all caps. I think she’s upset.”
     
    Private Redshirt hurled a stapler at Private Darkpinkshirt’s head.
     
    “She’s... she’s definitely upset, Captain.”
     
    And understandably so. The Zdravo had been sitting in the hangar of Frosty the Snowman’s ice fortress for close to three days. The Zdravo’s toilets – all of them – had been broken for two. Tempers were high and asses were clenched.
     
    “Captain,” said First Lieutenant Duknerts, “as I’ve mentioned several times now, the hangar door is made of ice. We don’t even need to waste ammunition breaking it down. We can simply back the Zdravo out and get away.”
     
    “No,” said the captain. “Not until I’ve figured out what Frosty’s up to.”
     
    “I don’t think he’s up to anything. I don’t even think he knows we’re here.”
     
    “Nonsense! How could he forget about Captain Tightpants?!”
     
    “Who?”
     
    “Me. I was trying that on as a new nickname.”
     
    “Yeah, no,” said Private Redshirt. “That’s an awful name. And you wear shorts most of the time.”
     
    “Well, I look good in shorts,” replied the captain, sliding his hands down the outside of his thighs. Then back up the inside. Then... then the captain felt as though he was being pulled deeper into the ass-groove of his chair.
     
    “This is a strange sensation...” said Captain Tyler, before blacking out and falling to the floor.
     

     
    Space Marshal Orr’s angry, wrinkled face appeared on the bridge viewscreen.
     
    “TyLER!”
     
    “Mom?” asked a groggy captain.
     
    “No.”
     
    “Are you sure?”
     
    “Yes. The maternity tests came back clean.”
“Oh, okay,” said the captain. “In that case: What?”
     
    “That’s what I’m asking you.”
     
    “I don’t follow.”
     
    “What the shit is going on, Tyler?!”
     
    “We’re having a conversation.”
     
    “On the Zdravo!”
     
    “Well, I am...”
     
    “What is going on on the Zdravo?! What are you and your idiot crew up to?”
     
    “Oh. Uh... I don’t know?”
     
    Captain Tyler tried to turn to see what his idiot crew was up to, but found he was still pinned to the floor. He only managed to get himself a glimpse up Private Beef’s shorts. Private Beef appeared to be freeballin’ it.
     
    “Let me catch you up on things, Tyler,” began the marshal. “You stole the Zdravo, murdered Santa Claus, mouthed off to Frosty the Snowman, and now you’re both trapped in his ice fortress and glued to the floor of the Zdravo.”
     
    “How did you –”
     
    “Facebook,” said the marshal. “Your private is very good at his job.”
     
    “Yes, yes he is,” replied Captain Tyler.
     
    “You’re talking about your penis, aren’t you.”
     
    “Yes, yes I am.”
     
    Space Marshal Orr closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a slow breath, then said, “Consider this official notice that, should you and your crew survive this, you’ll have to fill in for Santa Claus this year.”
     
    “Oh, come on!” shouted Private Redshirt. “ I didn’t murder him!”
     
    “Well, you can figure that out amongst yourselves. Our contract with the GHC only stipulates one of you has to do it.”
     
    “Can you at least help us up off the floor?”
     
    “Sorry,” replied the marshal. “I’m legally bound to let you die.”
     
    “This is such a shitty Federation.”
     
    The viewscreen went black, though you could still hear the space marshal’s voice coming through the speakers.
     
    “To be honest,”