Hank Stared

By Willie Qwit

Hank is the worst starship commander the universe has ever seen. He sets his eyes on stealing Borate 27g, a priceless mineral found in abundance on a promising looking planet. Hank assembles a team to explore the planet and help him formulate a plan to steal the Borate 27g. His ineptitude and stupidity ends up getting almost everyone killed. 'Hank Stared' is stupid but is still worth every penny

• Language: English
• Publisher: Willie Qwit
• Release date: Apr 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9781370918249

Willie Qwit

Livin' the dream in Birmingham, Alabama.

Book preview

Hank Stared

Published by Willie Qwit at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 Willie Qwit

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Foreword

Chapter 1 - Deep Space

Chapter 2 – Promising Looking Planet

Chapter 3 – Black Hole

Chapter 4 – More Promising Looking Planet

Chapter 5 – Starship Command Console

Chapter 6 – Armament Safe

Chapter 7 – Volunteers

Chapter 8 – The Forest

Chapter 9 – Pile of Rocks

Chapter 10 – Manageable Chunks

Chapter 11 – Outrageous Lies

Chapter 12 – Large Grey Flying Creatures

Chapter 13 – Stolen Starship

Chapter 14 – Beyond the Universe

# # #

Foreword

This is the third in a series of truly awful books. The first book in the series is Tim Drove, the epic saga that started it all. The second is the pathetic sequel Sue Sat. And now of course there’s Hank Stared. Collectively these books comprise what could arguably be described as the worst trilogy ever written in human history.

So why did I write them? That’s an excellent question, one that deserves an answer. I wrote Tim Drove on a whim when I was trying to get my first book, Randy’s Rubbers, published. Research into the mysterious world of book publishing led me to the web site of a truly despicable company.

The company claims to be a reputable, highly selective publisher. In fact, they accept just about anything, produce the poorest quality books imaginable, slap an exorbitant price on them, and then pressure authors, their friends, and their families to purchase them.

I decided to write the worst book possible, one so awful that no legitimate publisher would give it a second glance, and then submit it for consideration. I wrote Tim Drove over the course of the next few weeks, then submitted it to the aforementioned publishing company for consideration. It was accepted immediately. I declined to sign their contract despite their lofty promises and ridiculous lies.

Then it occurred to me that maybe the company made a mistake. Maybe they actually meant to send me a rejection letter telling me how terrible Tim Drove was. I decided the only way to be sure was to submit a second book for consideration. I pecked away at Sue Sat over the course of the next several weeks. It has more of a storyline than Tim Drove has, but it’s still a really crappy book. When it was done I submitted it to the same company. Once again they immediately accepted it, and once again I declined to sign their contract.

I’m not much of a television watcher, so sometimes in the evenings I’ll open up my word processor and peck away at a book just for fun. Hank Stared was written that way. It has a real storyline, but it’s still the worst science fiction novel ever written.

What’s next? That’s a good question. I enjoy writing real books (including Randy’s Rubbers, Bennie’s Brothers, Adam’s Covers, and 20,000 Kisses), but I’ve given up on ever getting them published in a traditional sense. They’re available on smashwords.com as well as on the web sites of smashwords.com’s affiliate companies. The next book in the crew series (Jerry’s Druthers, the story of a conservative governor that hits his head and turns into a liberal), is half written. And I’ve got half of a second romance novel written as well (Black Roses for Tracey, the story of a woman that’s targeted for assassination simply because she’s in the wrong place at the wrong time). Will I ever finish them? I don’t know.

On the other hand, I’m sorely tempted to write the world’s worst boy wizard book. Or maybe the world’s worst vampire novel. Or even the world’s worst romance novel. The possibilities are endless.

Willie Qwit

September, 2011

Chapter 1 – Deep Space

Hank stared into the cold, dark expanse of deep space, and as he did so he reflected upon a time in the distant past when he was a small boy and had gotten lost in the woods on a tropical island on an alien planet where his mother and father had worked as veterinarian technicians after having completed a three week course at a for-profit intergalactic university that had cost the equivalent of 20 years’ salary for each of them. His parents had taken out intergalactic educational loans to cover the tuition, loans that were guaranteed by the intergalactic government. They had no intention of paying back the loans, nor would they ever have been able to do so even if they had wanted, given the paltry salaries their vet tech jobs paid them. But they didn’t worry about it because they knew full well that when they defaulted on the loans the intergalactic government would end up footing the bill.

The pets that were treated at the veterinary clinic were exotic, of course, seeing as how they were on a tropical island on an alien planet inhabited primarily by aliens except for the human workers that were allowed to work on the planet in low paying jobs that the indigenous aliens didn’t want to do themselves. His father was a biohazard engineer at the veterinary clinic, which meant that he was responsible for cleaning up the urine, feces, drool, secretions, and other waste products that were deposited, oozed, excreted, and/or shed on the examination tables and floors of the clinic by the alien life form pets that were treated there. His mother handled the paperwork side of the business, recording the names of the pets, their dates of birth, known allergies, the number of humans they had eaten, and so on.

Just then Corporal Janet Quincy, the starship mentalist and extra sensory perception practitioner, walked by.

A penny for your thoughts. Oh wait, for a second there I forgot that I’m a mentalist. I can read your mind.

You can?

Yes I can.

Oh yeah? Well then, what am I thinking right now?

Hank conjured up a mental image of Janet and him in bed, naked, having some ultra hot gorilla sex.

Janet smiled demurely. Why you filthy little animal. I didn’t know you thought of me like that.

Every chance I get.

Wow. I’m flattered.

As well you should be.

Wanna make that fantasy into a reality?

I sure do. How about you swing by my cabin tonight at ten?

She winked. You got it, big boy.

Janet slid her hand across Hank’s crotch as she sauntered off. Hank went back to thinking about the tropical island on the alien planet where his mother and father had worked as veterinarian technicians. He hadn’t meant to get lost in the woods but it had happened nonetheless. Hank had been terrified at first, primarily because it had been so very dark in the woods. Maybe as dark as deep space, or maybe not. Either way it was moot to Hank because he’d survived, drinking alien water from an alien stream and eating alien truffles scavenged from the alien forest floor until he was rescued 17 months later. By the end of the ordeal he’d lost some weight but had concocted some really tasty alien truffle recipes. The recipes were so good in fact that they’d been published in an intergalactic cookbook. Hank had earned enough money from his portion of the royalties from the intergalactic cookbook sales that he’d been able to pay his way through intergalactic college and then intergalactic starship commander school.

Hank smiled to himself as he reflected on how fate had played such an important role in his life. He glanced around and spotted Major Rita Pinkerton, the starship zoologist, working at her workstation.

Hey Rita!

Rita looked up from her console at Hank. Yeah?

Can you come over here for a minute? I have a question for you.

Sure, why not?

Rita walked over to his command console area.

Hank, do you by any chance have some work for me? All I do is sit around twiddling my thumbs. I haven’t had anything to do since I dissected and ate those strange looking beasts we stole from that planet a few months ago.

I wouldn’t exactly call this work. You see…I was wondering…well, I don’t know how to ask this delicately, so I’m just going to come right out and ask it.

Rita smiled. You can ask me anything. I promise I won’t be offended.

Okay. How about you swing by my cabin tonight around seven? I wanna pour chocolate sauce all over your naked body and then lick it off.

No problem. I’ll be there.

Really?

Yes, really. Would it be alright if I brought along a couple of friends?

That depends. Male or female?

Female. And they’re both a lot kinkier than I am.

That sounds fantastic.

Anything else?

Not right now.

Rita returned to her workstation and resumed twiddling her thumbs. Hank decided to think about the coldness-in-space thing. First and foremost, he knew that it was pretty damn cold in deep space. In fact, he knew that it was absolute zero, which was minus 273.15 Celsius, or minus 459.67 Fahrenheit. Hank also knew that absolute zero was as cold as anything could possibly be. Nothing could be any colder. Molecular activity at the subatomic level came to a screeching halt at absolute zero. The concept was incomprehensible to most people.

Hank was extremely stupid, but for some reason not only did he comprehend the concept of absolute zero, but he actually embraced it. In fact, he’d leveraged absolute zero temperatures in deep space to his advantage. Before they’d left on their voyage Hank had instructed his starship engineers to rig several ten thousand kilometer long tow lines to the back of the starship. As soon as they’d reached deep space he’d instructed his starship chefs to tie sides of beef onto the tow lines. The tow line beef supply coupled with the meat stored in the onboard meat lockers provided the starship with enough food to last for an extra seven standard intergalactic years of voyage time, should it become necessary for some reason for the starship to stay on patrol in deep space longer than anticipated. The ingenious technique worked perfectly. All the starship chefs had to do was haul in one of the tow lines far enough to retrieve several sides of beef for the next few meals that would be prepared and served up for the hungry starship crew members. There was very little aerodynamic drag created by the setup, primarily because most of the time the starship flew through the vacuum of space where there weren’t any air particles to create friction against the hull of the starship or the sides of beef. They did take a minor hit on mileage whenever they entered the atmosphere of a planet, but overall the starship still was able to maintain a respectable mileage rating of 1,000 light years per liter of high octane antimatter plasma fuel.

Hank decided to forego any further thoughts about deep space, at least for the time being. He called out to Major Keith Sanders, his chief navigation officer.

Attention Major Keith Sanders!

What?

Come over here. I’ve got some questions for you.

Keith muttered under his breath as he walked over to Hank’s command module chair.

What do you want, asshole?

That’s no way to address a starship commander.

Good point. Okay, let me try that again. What do you want, commander asshole?

That’s better. How do you explain the tremendous influx of radiation that the starship’s radiation detectors have detected via their neuron-synergistic rationalizing modules?

Keith laughed. That one’s easy. The data that we’ve assembled suggest that the supernova that we observed some time ago in relative proximity to our current location was responsible for the tremendous influx of radiation the radiation detectors detected.

Any downside effects?

"Of course. As starship commander you should know that. But then again, since you’re so damn stupid, I’m not surprised that you don’t know. There are always plenty of downside effects when that sort of thing happens.

Oh yeah? Like what?

Here’s one example. Right now we have crew members trying to deal with the gamma rays and x-rays that are penetrating the thermal coupler that we rigged for hyper speed black hole telemetry density monitoring.

Shit.

Several crew members have already died from radiation poisoning after they had to do a spacewalk to repair the thermal couplers.

Shit.

It gets worse. The starship’s recent encounter with an influx of concentrated background radiation left over from the big bang is threatening to overwhelm the avatar controlled planetary orbiting transfer stations.

Shit.

Barbara Gregory, the starship quartermaster, interrupted the conversation when she tapped Hank on the shoulder.

Hank?

Huh? Oh hello Barbara. What’s up?

I have your lunch here.

Wow, thanks. That’s great service.

She winked at Hank. I can do other things besides deliver lunches. But I think you already know that.

I sure do.

She offered Hank a bluish green cup that contained a bluish green drink. He knew that the bluish green drink contained a perfectly balanced mix of vitamins, nutrients, and dietary supplements that bolstered his overall health and well being. Hank chugged the liquid. The average lifespan of a human being was well over 5,000 years at that point in human evolution. At age 436 Hank was in the prime of his life, and he consumed large quantities of the bluish green drink every chance he got. He downed the last drop, belched, and handed the cup to Barbara.

Thanks. That was pretty damn good. Say, what are you doing tonight around 8:30?

Hopefully I’ll be in your cabin, naked.

That’s what I was hoping you’d say.

Should I bring the whips and chains?

Yes, please do. Those worked out pretty well the last time.

I agree, although to be honest I’m still pretty sore from…well, you know.

Yeah, I know. Me too. But hey, it was well worth it.

I couldn’t agree more. Anything else?

Not until 8:30.

Barbara walked away, empty cup in hand and a smile on her face. Hank turned back to Keith.

"Attention Keith! Do you have any good news for me?’

Nope. It’s all bad.

Shit. Then we’re finished here. That is all!

Keith shook his head in disgust.

You are such an asshole. Or I guess I should say, commander asshole.

Hank ignored the blistering insult and picked up the executive order he’d signed five minutes previously. He scanned it, frowned, and called out across the bridge to Vice-Admiral Joyce Phelps, his chief of propulsion systems.

Attention Joyce!

Yeah?

Come here.

Up yours. You need to learn some damn manners.

Uh, come here PLEASE?

That’s better.

Joyce walked over to Hank’s command console.

What’s up?

Hank held out the executive order.

What do you make of this?

Joyce took the paper and looked it over.

This is an executive order.

I already know that.

Your signature is on it.

I already know that.

It doesn’t say very much.

I already know that. What would you do if you were me?

Make the universe a much better place by committing suicide.

I’m not gonna commit suicide.

That’s too bad.

What I mean is, what would you do about the executive order?

Ignore it.

I can’t do that.

Why are you asking me my opinion about things if you’re not going to follow my advice?

I have no idea, although it might stem from my overall insecurities as well as my serious lack of talent or ability.

I think you’re on to something there.

Okay thanks. That is all.

Let me know if you need anything else. Like maybe some hot gorilla sex.

Joyce sauntered off, shaking her butt at him. Hank stared at Joyce’s butt. After a few seconds he wiped the drool from his chin and called out.

Attention everyone on the bridge! This is Hank speaking! I am about to press the large red button built into my command module.

Everybody on the bridge ignored him. Hank slapped the button with his hand. The button activated circuitry that caused several things to happen. The perimeter seals of a chamber on the outer portion of the starship were double and then triple checked via advanced self-regulating mechanical seal checkers. The perimeter seal sensors noted that the perimeter seals were intact. The perimeter seal sensors, noting that the perimeter seals were intact, then sent a signal to the control mechanisms that controlled the outer and inner doors of an inner chamber inside a chamber on the outer portion of the starship. The control mechanisms that controlled the inner chamber inside the chamber on the outer portion of the starship activated other circuits as well. The circuits completed their assigned tasks such that a number of things related to the functions of the outer and inner doors of the inner chamber inside the chamber on the outer portion of the starship happened. The outer and inner doors of the inner chamber inside the chamber on the outer portion of the starship opened. The opening of the outer and inner doors caused the contents of the inner chamber inside the chamber on the outer portion of the starship to float away into space. When the material reached a safe distance a battery of laser controlled laser beam actuators activated the aft starboard laser beams. They zapped a shot of laser beam crap at the material that had been inside the inner chamber inside the chamber on the outer portion of the starship. The material was instantaneously vaporized. Hank stared at what was left, but since nothing was left, Hank didn’t stare at anything.

Hank then dropped the executive order into the starship command center recycle bin. Recycle bin nanobots immediately devoured the paper, reducing it to tiny granules of microscopic nanobot poop in a matter of nanoseconds.

Chapter 2 – Promising Looking Planet

Hank stared at a promising looking planet through the window that was located next to his command module chair. At that point they were 13.3 billion light years from the planet known as Earth. And that was fine by Hank, because he couldn’t think of a single reason to hang around anywhere near Earth. After all, he reflected, all human life forms on Earth had been relocated to other planets many centuries ago, essentially relegating the planet to fill the role of a centrally located and robotically controlled manufacturing depot that serviced the Milky Way galaxy. Hank figured their current location, orbiting a promising looking planet in a previously unexplored solar system, was much more interesting, especially considering the amazing secret he’d recently discovered about the planet.

Hank swiveled his head to his right and spotted Tony Perkins, the starship custodian that took care of the bridge area. At that moment Tony was diligently sweeping the floor.

Hey Tony!

Tony turned his back on Hank and continued sweeping.

Tony!

Tony paused, pulled his pants down, mooned Hank, pulled his pants back up, and continued sweeping.

Dammit Tony quit flashing your butt in my face. I have an important question for you.

Make it quick, man. I got work to do.

What do you think about the data that we have available for analysis at this particular point in time?

Tony shrugged his shoulders. I think the data suggests many possibilities.

Hank nodded. In principle I agree with your assessment. Okay thanks, sorry I bothered you.

Tony gave Hank the finger as he went back to his custodial duties. Hank ignored the insult. After a few minutes Hank turned his head to the