“Stop staring. It’s rude!” Richard growled as he struggled to navigate the asteroid field.
“I can’t help it. I’m a giant eyeball. How many times do I have to point that out?” Orbian rolled his eye, his entirety of self, and in the process careened into Richard’s left knee.
“Stop touching me. I’m trying to save our lives,” Richard insisted, kicking Orbian hard, propelling him to the side of the command deck and into the blinkety blink wall of indeterminate but semi-bitchin lights.
Wooosh. Whirrrr. Blurrrrp.
“I think we’re in trouble. I haven’t heard that sound before,” Orbian pontificated.
Richard swung the ship up and over an enormous asteroid. “Of course we’re in trouble, we have giant space rocks flinging by us at incredible speeds, I am rusty at piloting and our ship is made of contoured, razor thin aluminum because someone bought into the whole aerodynamic pitch from Big Ed’s Pre-Owned Space Cruisers!”
“We don’t need that in space,” Orbian retorted.
“My god man! I know. That’s what I’m trying to —”
The vessel plummeted into one asteroid after another, spiraling out of control.
Orbian and Richard in unison, “We’re gonna diiiiiiiiie!”
Richard paused. “Finally, we agree on something.”
“What is that?”
“Our eminent demise you idiot!”
“Oh.” Orbian blinked twice, then sprung up. “No, we don’t have to die now! I’ve got it.”
“Hit the yellow blinkety button over there, next to the purple one.”
Richard shook his head, perplexed, but did it anyways. “So what’s it do?”
“It prolongs time and movement by 4511 orders of magnitude! And it’s irreversible! Now tell me that’s not worth it!”
Boom. Head on. Asteroid. . . for about 37 standard years. About how long it took Richard to say, “You’ve got to be f*cking kidding me.”