Copyright 2011 Marc Horne
There is nothing like a blue sun to get on your nerves. Looks so cool, burns so hot. And as everyone knows - from the TV ads - the only way to enjoy the full glory of a blue sun is from a yacht. So what you have here is a cosmological entity with a surface temperature of 11,000 Kelvin that is also a constant reminder that you do not have a yacht.
Hidden beneath the sand on a large, unconvincing island on the planet Belaarix, was a man who could afford a yacht, but did not have one due to the fact that he was probably the most wanted man in the extended human domains of space. Through the synthetic eye he wore on the back of his head, he looked up at the blue sun.
And he said to himself, “My yacht would be awe inspiring. It would have ionic water slides that would retract when the girls left and during those lonelier times I would recline under a thin polymer canopy and read a paper book retrieved from Earth.”
He was not the type of guy who would play a game he didn’t like. The game was dead to him. The whole yacht thing was beneath him.
So why was he thinking about yachts?
He looked at the surface of his glove and tapped it in the way that turned it into a mirror. He saw his face: long nose, brutal eyes, sharp eyebrows. Clear steady stare. No obvious signs of heat stroke in those eyes.
He tapped the glove again and checked for the possibility of a high level microwave attack being emanated from the fleet of Haja Gukkool (just on the off-chance that someone like Xolo was trying sneak up and put awful holes in everybody.) No signal. Gukkool was not going to fry all of the animals he had shipped out from his father the Old Haja’s planet. Not when he was surrounded by paracopters, sharkmen, satdeath, ninjas-autenticos, and all of the usuals.