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Magical Numbers by Trianne
Kewtbot - The Early Years
Prince Kewtbot of Kewtopia was having a think. He had before him the log from his periodic lifedump, and it made for startling reading. The log, it must be clarified, was derived from his downloaded sidewaysfed upwardlymobile brainwave dump, carried out bi-annually. He'd found a portal on the SS Amourabaton, the space cruiser on which he had booked passage when his own passage of the flipside variety had started giving him some gip in the Lubelot Cluster. He read the analysis and groaned. "You have entertained in your self-lubricating anus a total of 1,068 sentient beings and one insentient but generally nutritious root vegetable since your last information dump. You have contracted 369 diseases of which 368 have been eradicated instantly by your inbuilt Kewtopian poxbuster (one disease – Vulcanitis – was not eradicated but is being kept in check. Should you develop symptoms of arrogance, pointiness and the desire to fuck the nearest console, please seek medical advice). You have experienced 6,669 orgasms, slightly less than in your previous dumptime, but each orgasm endured for some 6.9 per cent longer than previous. You have learned 69 ways in which to insult another species. You have broken the morality codes of 69 known civilisations. You have impregnated 6 females and 9 males and prognosis indicates your offspring will thus establish approximately 6.9 new colonies and spark 9.6 galactic wars in the years to come. None of these offspring will contact you on your birthday. Recommendations: A change of scenery and a lot less exercise." Kewtbot read and frowned. Then he perused the advertisement in the Amourabaton newsletter again, and pondered. Science Officer required for Slash Ship Cirdan, departing dry (well, lubricated but for all intents and purposes pretty dry) dock star date 696969.69 (give or take a few minutes). Must be qualified to High School Diploma or above. Must be Cute. Must be Flexible. Knowledge of Galaxies an advantage. Knowledge of The Karma Sutra of Planet Masculinas even more of an advantage. The SS Cirdan is a slash ship on a Five-Year Mission To Boldly Blow Where No Man Has Blown Before. It's also got a ping pong table. Apply…. Kewtbot shifted on his padded chair and pursed his lovely lips, causing the steward passing by to drop his tray of Plutonian Pulseracers. "I think it's time I had a rest. A Slash Ship should do nicely," Kewtbot thought, sliding off his chair. The steward, a fine-looking young swain, felt a hand upon his shoulder. He looked up from the task of collecting broken cocktail glass and felt himself go simultaneously hard and mushy. "1,068 sentient beings just doesn't read right at all. Come with me to my cabin and let's see if we can't improve that total before I whiz off to join Slash Fleet," Kewtbot purred. "Okay," the steward weakly replied, leaving the debris for someone else to see to. After all, how often did you get the chance to couple with a Kewtopian? Probably 1 in 6,969,696.9, he figured. He was pretty close. The End
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