What Spring is Like on Jupiter and Mars
Shroomdorf Hotel, Jerusalem
Morning sunlight pierced through the window, filtered by the screen and making shadow and light interspace in symmetrical patterns. The dawn's early light came with the sound of the morning prayers chanted off the Musslemen minarets and mosques, making a strange wake-up call for the two snuggling space cadets in their little hotel suite.
"Wake up, sleepy head." Svetlana Savitskaya said as she tossed a pillow over at Alan Shroompard, who was just getting off the bed. The pillow bounced off his head and he yawned. "Gah, morning breath, how very unbecoming of FASTA's space hero."
"Bathroom then," Alan grumbled groggily.
"Yeah. I'll get us some room service, you go brush your teeth."
"I wonder if hotel's got toothbrushes. I forgot mine, might have to borrow yours," Alan said as he went on.
"Hah, yeah right." Svetlana rolled her eyes, and then she wondered whether he was serious or not. "Wait, don't!"
"Isn't that the spirit of socialism? Sharing with your fellow man?" Alan laughed as he entered the bathroom and stepped into the shower.
"You dirty capitalist pig-dog," Stevlana retorted petulantly. For some reason, she had decided to forgo calling room service and was following Shroompard into the shower. They were both naked.
"Mmm... guess I ain't so heroic the morning after, am I now?" Alan laughed as he turned on the shower. "Jesus Christ, that's cold!"
"Damn it, turn on the warm water!" Svetlana cried out. "Ahhh!"
They ordered room service after finishing their long shower together and drying themselves up. Svetlana was having a light meal with florn cakes and cereal, while Alan had a heavier breakfast with eggs and a bunch of sausages.
"I want that," Svetlana said plainly as she forked one of Alan's sausages.
"Hey! Gimme that - " Alan tried to protest, but Svetlana fended off his reaching hand. "Grrr!"
"I want the sausage," Svetlana shot back. Then she forked something from her plate and chucked it over at Alan's. "Here, have this florn cake."
"Fine." Alan grumbled.
"Da," Svetlana smirked.
"Nyet," Alan grinned. "God, we're silly. Like a bunch of juves fresh off highschool or something."
"Mmm... we are," Svetlana mused. "But that's a good thing. Or would Serious Space Hero, Alan Shroompard, prefer being back at his homoerotic Shroomanian Air Force?"
"Depends," Alan thought aloud. "If you'd like to see me in one of them skintight jumpsuits that feel like you're wearing nothing at all."
"I don't need to imagine you wearing nothing," Svetlana smiled. "Though some of those jumpsuits would've been good on some of my wingmen."
"Now I'm getting a bit jealous," Alan quipped ruefully.
"Don't be. I was talking about my fellow female MiG pilots," Svetlana winked conspiratorially.
"Oh," Alan was speechless for a second. Then realization dawned upon him. "Wow, for the Motherland indeed!"
"Mmhmm..." Svetlana nodded and rested her head on a hand. Then, with her other hand, she forked a piece of florn cake and ate it. "Now, I wonder what you're thinking of, space hero."
"Just thinking..." Alan shrugged innocently. "About..."
"About...?"
"Troika," Alan said. "Troika here, troika there..."
"Hah!" Svetlana laughed out loud. "Alan, I was just joking! You silly capitalist dog, you!"
"Heh," Alan shook his head. "A man can dream though, can't he?"
"Dream on, hero boy." Svetlana finished her florn cake. "Are you going to eat your egg yolks?"
"Yeah," Alan answered, relieved a bit that Svetlana had changed the topic at hand. "Why?"
"Oh, I was thinking that those looked tasty and was wondering why you hadn't touched them,"
"They're the best part, so I'm saving them for last."
"Is that a fact?" Svetlana asked.
"Yeah... please don't fork them like you did my sausage," Alan scratched his head. "Er, that came out wrong."
Svetlana laughed again, and stuck out her tongue impetuously. Alan laughed and then, maybe a bit impulsively, he leaned forward and gave her a little kiss - right while she was sticking her tongue out. Her eyes went wide and she gave out a surprised little sound, but then she decided she liked it and reached for him and -
Then there was a knocking at the door and Alan groaned, got up and answered it. He opened the door and found himself looking at a familiar face.
"Who is it?" Svetlana asked.
"It's..." Alan tried to remember the guy's name. The Zorian guy, the creepy cold guy who suggested ditching Miranda back in space. "It's Ishido Ishmael. Good morning, Ishido."
"Good morning to you too, Shroompard. Savitskaya. I hope you've enjoyed your... interactions."
"Why, we have. Very much so," Svetlana said coolly, giving Alan a warm look before looking back at the Zorian with an expression close to suspicion. "What business brings you here?"
"The business of business," the Zorian cryptically said as he went over and seated himself on Alan's seat in front of Svetlana.
"Yeah," Alan raised an eyebrow. "Well, I guess we better get on to business then, since we were looking forward to continue enjoying our... interactions. Want a florn cake?"
"No, thank you." Ishido declined. "I was sent here to inform you, Shroompard, that you're wanted by the head of FASTA recruitment."
"They want me to do some more recruitment ads?" Alan scratched his head.
"Something like that," Ishido nodded. "Though considerably more... expansive."
"Like?" Svetlana cut in.
"FASTA's latest recruitment rate has gone down. Not in small part due to the Miranda Incident," the Zorian said with some distaste. "So, we are looking for a considerably more expansive recruitment drive. To salvage what we can from the incident, we will be using Alan Shroompard and his actions to try and boost public relations."
"How'll you do that?" Alan scratched his head.
"One of the latest methods our scientists have devised, which is what requires Alan Shroompard's presence in the meeting, involves merchandising and the use of his image." Ishido put it bluntly.
"What?" Alan gaped incredulously.
"Of course," Ishido shrugged. "You will be paid royalties for the usage of your likeness. The monetary benefits will be quite substantial."
"Oh..." Alan nodded. "I guess that doesn't sound too bad."
"Very well," Ishido got off his chair and got going. "The business will be done at the meeting, Shroompard. Savitskaya. I hope you enjoy your interactions. See you later, Shroompard."
He left and closed the door.
"What an asshole," Svetlana muttered, then she turned to Alan. "And what's this about merchandising and 'monetary benefits'?"
"Well, it didn't sound too bad," Alan shrugged.
"That's what you said," Svetlana said as she spooned Alan's egg yolk. "But you know what I think about that, about exploiting your actions for profit."
"Well, I could donate a lot of the proceeds to charity and use this whacky recruitment drive and merchandising to actually help other people, make the most out of it and all that," Alan suggested. "It doesn't have to be a bad thing, you know."
"Yeah, I know." Svetlana sighed. "Goddamn that Ishido. And now I'm sounding like a Shroomanian, how about that?"
"I must be affecting your ideological purity, comrade," Alan joked.
"Not funny," Svetlana retorted seriously, and then she smiled. "Come on, let's get dressed. We're going out."
"Where out?" Alan asked.
"Out out," Svetlana answered. She got up and began tugging him by his arm. "We're going shopping!"
Farbanti, Shroomania
The car made its way towards the Chunnel entrance, the half-empty energy drink on its dashboard shaking as its driver maneuvered it towards the checkpoint. Ahead of them, the Chunnel's dual-domed gateway loomed overhead like a massive pair of cheeks spread open to unveil its orifice.
One of the orifices dedicated to the monorails excreted a brown bullet train.
The female driver giggled at the sight.
By the half-empty energy drink on the dashboard was a roadmap of the entire Old Continent... actually, not a roadmap of the entire Old Continent but a bunch of roadmaps of the various nations taped together - with a line highlighting the long road from Shroomania to Jerusalem, through Canissia, PeZookia, and every other nation between them.
"No one can stop me."
As a testament to her dedication, she was wearing space diapers to aid her in enduring her arduous journey. Her station wagon was full of supplies, canned food rations, bottled water (without fluoride!), entire sheets of PeZookian conspiracy newspapers, a taser, pepper spray, and a handgun. That read 'replica' at its side.
"At last I shall have my revenge." Miranda Moonbeam hissed.