Clearing Out the Garbage

Clearing Out the Garbage by Ethan Gibney

In Dorian’s defense, no one told him to expect Space Nazis, so he can’t really be blamed for having a negative reaction. Nazis alone are bad enough, surprise *space* Nazis are way worse.

Also, said Space Nazis shot first, so. Self-defense.

Now the hallway has exactly as many Space Nazis as there should have been (zero), and a solid number of dead ones (three).

Their orders were to make contact with whoever operated the space station, found parked just outside the solar system. Make buddies, see if maybe a trade agreement could be reached.

Instead, they found some Space Nazis wearing period uniforms. They must have been here since around the end of the war.

Dorian lifts a dead man’s shoulder to get a look at his patch: an eagle inside a circle of stars. Above it, in Fraktur lettering, “WSS.” Below, “Weltraum Schutzstaffel.” Literally, Space Protection Squadron.

“Huh.”

Broderick returns from the shuttle.

“Checked with the ambassador,” he says with his exaggerated American accent. “Our orders are to clear the place of any Space Nazi we find and claim this place for the good guys.” Seriously, the man sounds like was born of a ‘50s film serial. “Nazi” comes out like “Nazzy.”

“I like these orders,” Dorian says. “Do we have backup?”

“They’re sending a team, but it will be two days before someone can get here from Limina Station.”

“Shall we?”

Dorian motions for Broderick to go down the hall.

“After you, my dear.”

When they start to move, something shuffles behind them.

They turn to see three dead Nazis, standing and smiling wide.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” Broderick says.

“See their teeth?” Dorian flips a switch on his gun.

“God damned vampires,” Broderick sighs, presses the same switch on his own firearm.

They aim at the vampires’ hearts and fire. Bolts of light flash as tiny silver cones, shaped around cores of frozen holy water, launch from the weapons.

Soon, the monsters are dust.

Broderick grumbles and mutters, “Space. Nazi. Vampires.”

“Cheer up,” Dorian smiles. “At least there won’t be any bodies to clean up.”

Dorian’s smile, not the words, get a toothy grin out of Broderick.

“There’s the smile I married. Let’s go fuck up some Nazis, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

1 hour, 45 Space Nazi Vampires, 2 locked doors, and 1 mysterious hooded man with a riddle later, Dorian opens the door to the control center.

He’s greeted by two rows of vampires with guns trained on him. His own gun, out of bullets and E-Z Stakes, hangs by a strap at his side. In his left hand, he holds a dusty red axe.

On a raised control platform in the middle of the room, Space Commandant Romulus Wölf sneers down at Dorian. Under his clean, pressed uniform, the boss monster is covered in sepia bandages, except for his eyes. A glowing amulet hangs from his neck.

Dorian looks him up and down before saying, “I didn’t know Nazis hired mummies.”

Behind him, more vampires march into formation, filling the doorway.

“Where is the other one?” Wölf asks. His accent shifts vaguely, like an American hired to play a German stereotype in a bad movie.

“Your men got him,” Dorian says. “Two levels down. You’ll pay for that, and for all your atrocities.”

Wölf laughs, a deep crackling sound that seems to come from all directions. “And who will extract these reparations?”

A metal hatch opens in the ceiling and Broderick drops down behind Wölf. Without a word, the man punches Wölf in the face, knocking him back. The Nazi lands against a control panel.

Alarms blare, lights flash. The whole station starts to shift, the gravity knocked out of alignment.

The Space Nazi Vampires stumble, stagger toward the windows. Dorian grabs the door so he doesn’t follow them, and shouts to Broderick: “The amulet! Destroy the amulet!”

Broderick grabs Wölf by the collar, reaches for the amulet. When he gets it, he reels back, shouting in pain, smoke rising from his hand.

Wölf laughs. “Pitiful. You thought--”

Dorian hurls his axe at the window, shattering it. The alarms get louder as vampires get ripped out into the vacuum.

Wölf holds onto the control console, shouting wordless rage, until Broderick brings his fists down on the mummy’s hands, smashing undead fingers.

The mummy promises revenge as he plummets horizontally. Just as he goes through the window, the atmospheric shields finally kick in, stopping the air from leaking out. They cut Wölf in half in the process.

Without wasting a second, Broderick starts flipping switches, fixing the damage. As the gravity levels off, Dorian runs up the dais to kiss his husband.

Together, they watch the remaining Space Nazi Vampires drift away into space.

[ Clearing Out the Garbage by Ethan Gibney is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License. ]

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