Who Left the Taps On?

Who Left the Taps On?

A very wet story by Mr. Senti-mental

From the depths of space, the ship popped into existence. It was sleek and silver, its edges streamlined. It was a ship to be envied, perhaps – just not right now. Right now it was being invaded. It floundered ungracefully for a moment in space, and then without a sound it vanished again.

As heroic as fighting in hyperspace may sound, in reality there’s not much heroic going on. This has to do with the fact (and it’s a fact, not a theory) that there is no real proof for hyperspace. People know that certain kinds of light will not be blocked by objects, but will go through them. This, they claim, is the proof of hyperspace. But they know that it might just as well be proof of something else (i.e. that the item the light went through was transparent).

All these facts/theories aside, hyperspace is accepted as fact, much as evolution is generally accepted, because it happens to be the most convenient explanation.

Inside the ship, shots were being fired from powerful weapons. They didn’t project projectiles through the air; instead, the weapon was aimed and, if correctly aimed, the bullet appeared in the desired place (in the enemy’s brain/heart/lungs/insert body part here).

These weapons were not working. Being in a place that was not real, but imagined, the weapons could only fire imaginary brain-blasters.

The water, however, was real enough. No one knew where it was coming from, but shrewdly guessed that it came from the bathroom. The water was seeping around the potted plants and soaking the pleasant beige carpet. There was no time to sort out the problem.

Everyone had resorted to the ancient arts of battle; fists battered, teeth bit; hair was yanked; unmentionable places were kicked. There was at times the disconcerting moment when your fist passed through the face of your opponent, while his knee connected with your midriff. This was soon forgotten in the heat of the battle.

It was impossible to tell who was winning. People flashed in and out of existence; the captain of the ship disappeared for an hour, only to be seen hanging from the golden chandelier, three stories up.

And in the meantime, the water was rising. It was up to the waists of the battling armies. They floundered and splashed, panting and punching. The captain managed to get down from his chandelier, and played a quick game of Marco Polo with his First Mate. Everybody joined in; it was very interesting. If you heard someone shouting “Polo!” on your left, you could bet your bottom kraalian he was actually on your right.

After an hour the battle continued.

It was at about this time that the gravity-inducer kicked out. Short-circuited, most likely. The air was now filled with a fine mist of water that was getting thicker every minute, and people floating around, looking for other people to beat up. Chaos ruled. (Her crown is pink. Her sceptre though, some say, is composed of stale bread and butter, and therefore is not pink).

Someone had the bright idea of getting out of hyperspace. This, as it so happened, finished their battle off immediately, as they hadn’t checked at what point they were leaving hyperspace. (The point was big and round and very hot.)

The resulting implosion cast twelve planets (three of them inhabited) into freezing cold and pitch blackness. The only creatures that benefited from this state of affairs were the curious zendas, who floated in space, consuming garbage and passengers who were thrown overboard. There seemed to be large amounts of water vapour floating through space. Someone, they squelched and slurped to one another, had left the taps on.