Star Fight: Book 2 of The Planet Perfecters

By Daniel W. Shegrud

He was just a common, homeless, nameless drunk - until they came.

They, the infinitely recombining, seemingly indestructible star creatures, promised the answer to every problem that has ever plagued mankind. In short, they promised perfection, and they asked nothing in return.

Except that it wasn't that easy. It never is. By the time the last answer is given, the last human will have died.

Half the world is ecstatic, thinking they can stop asking questions before the stars come for them and live in perfection with their fellow survivors.

The other half is appalled, knowing perfection is never perfect and that the worth of a human soul far exceeds the worth of a perfect world. They know the stars must be stopped

But how do they stop the unstoppable? The drunk knows, and his weapon is the most common thing known to man.

The Planet Perfecters takes a humorously serious look into the evil potential of governments and the uniting commonness of humanity that is anything but common.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daniel W. Shegrud
• Release date: Aug 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005524678

Daniel W. Shegrud

I'm from Renton, Washington, originally and except for two years in Rexburg Idaho and four months in Kingston, New York, lived there from 1960 (the year I was born) until 2008, when Mary and I moved to Spokane.Here are a few more ridiculously compelling details about me, in case you're interested: I have five sons, one daughter, 8-10 grand kids (it changes periodically) and a miniature poodle named Copper; I am a born-again believer in Jesus Christ; I love cookies; I have read more than two thousands books - novels, texts, tomes, manuscripts, what have you - in the last three decades; I love cooking; I love eating; I love eating other people's cooking; I spent more than two decades driving truck but now work as a Certified Nurse's Aid - it's often messier than driving, but more satisfying at the end of the day.

Book preview

STAR FIGHT

Book 2

of

THE

PLANET

PERFECTERS

by

Daniel W. Shegrud

Star Fight

Book 2

of

The

Planet

Perfecters

ISBN

#9781005524678

Copyright 2016

Daniel W. Shegrud

All rights reserved

TABLE OF CONTENTS

A Short Explanation of the Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1, Day 36, Sunday, Part 1

Chapter 2, Day 36, Sunday, Part 2

Chapter 3, Day 36, Sunday, Part 3

Chapter 4, Day 36, Sunday, Part 4

Chapter 5, Day 36, Sunday, Part 5

Chapter 6, Day 36, Sunday, Part 6

Chapter 7, Day 36, Sunday, Part 7

Chapter 8, Day 36, Sunday, Part 8

Chapter 9, Day 39, Wednesday

Chapter 10, Day 41, Friday

Chapter 11, Day 43, Sunday

Chapter 12, Day 45, Tuesday

Chapter 13, Day 47, Thursday, Part 1

Chapter 14, Day 47, Thursday, Part 2

Chapter 15, Day 50, Sunday, Part 1

Chapter 16, Day 50, Sunday, Part 2

Chapter 17, Day 51, Monday, Part 1

Chapter 18, Day 51, Monday, Part 2

Chapter 19, Day 53, Wednesday, Part 1

Chapter 20, Day 53, Wednesday, Part 2

Chapter 21, Day 53, Wednesday, Part 3

Chapter 22, Day 53, Wednesday, Part 4

Introducing Daniel

Other Books by Daniel

Contacting Daniel

A SHORT

EXPLANATION

of the

COPYRIGHT

This copy of The Planet Perfecters is for you and you only, which means you can’t copy, republish, tweet, email, resell or in any other way distribute this book or any portion of this book without the express written permission from the author (that would be me).

To be a bit more accurate, you are certainly capable of doing all those things without the express written permission from the author (me again) because you are a highly intelligent and capable individual as evidenced by the fact that you bought this book. However, unless you are doing any of those things for the sake of higher academia or to convince someone else to buy the book, to do so would be a no-no.

It would also be tacky and kind of rude.

If you end up loving this book and can’t live another day without sharing it with your buddies, then buy each of them a copy instead of passing this one around. Better yet, have them buy their own. They all have jobs, right?

Also, if you borrowed or stole this book from a friend, for crying out loud, don’t be so cheap. Go buy your own.

Should you choose to violate this copyright with little regard for my wishes or feelings, I would at least expect you to buy me a pizza. Call it penance. And not a wimpy pizza either. I'm talking about one with all the veggies and meats, including jalapenos and anchovies.

Thank you for respecting the insane number of years it took me to write this book.

THE

PLANET

PERFECTERS

is dedicated to all

the common heroes

of this great nation who

possess the courage

and the will to stand

against the tyranny of a

government that wants to

take care of us

CHAPTER 1

Day 36

Sunday, Part 1

Scene 1

(and only)

(Don’t you love short chapters?)

It was a bright and beautiful, warm and sunny Sunday morning with butterflies flittering and fluttering through the creamy caress of light sifting down through the welcoming outreaches of piney boughs at the edge of the velvety meadow.

No, really – it was. The drunk still drank, still smelled bad, still looked like a Value Barn cast-off, still performed his PSD’s out the windows or doorway, still used the outhouse two blocks down and still passed out atop the worn and weathered mattress. But now, he did sunrises. The vibrations, though greatly reduced, bade him rise most days promptly at the crack of morning. Not late-morning, not even mid-morning, but morning-morning! How absurd!

Weeks ago, before the aliens had turned their eyes and their spacecraft toward Mother Earth, he had been a man of exacting habits, none of which were all that good. So what? He was human and as such had inalienable rights. He could sleep, drink and puke his life away if he wanted to. But No-o-o-o! Those busy bodies from another galaxy showed up, started messing with everything, making it all ‘perfect’. And where did that leave him? In bed? No! every morning, with the first rays of the rising sun, he found himself a mile away from that blessed refuge, stuck out in the piney woods on the edge of some dad-blasted velvety meadow dancing for some stupid, flittery fluttery butterflies in the soft light of dawn. Who the heck sanctioned this?!

In a word – the stars. Of course, the stars weren’t so much a who-the-heck as they were a what-the-heck, but the result was the same. On the occasional morning when the vibrations summoned him to a sunrise sock hop, he had no choice but to respond because once the vibrations beckoned, there was no right of refusal. Vibrations were very insistent partners.

And yet, on the positive side of life, he wasn’t dancing all over town all day long anymore.

During the initial three days of his dancing torture, the vibrations had been irresistibly strong. Without so much as a polite tap on the shoulder, they had cut into his life, grabbed him up in an intimate embrace and twirled him all over town all day long, from morning to night. Regardless of how desperately he wanted to quit, he received no respite except when performing necessary bodily functions, and even then his toes never stopped tapping.

Now, four weeks after the stars landed in Capitol city, prolonged dancercise at the beginning of his day is all they demanded.

Though he didn’t know it, the change in his dance routines was a direct result of the change in the star’s vibration level. The irresistible vibrations he first experienced had been a result of the energy needed for the aliens to compel their craft Earth-ward, which took some powerful vibrating indeed, even for such advanced creatures. Not only did vibrations drive the ship at incomprehensible speeds across an inconceivable distance, but they also locked on to the planet of choice while preparing that planet’s intelligent life forms for their arrival. This meant the vibrations served as engine, navigator and ambassador, all at the same time. With such focused power, it was no small wonder that the pre-arrival vibrations were overwhelmingly intense.

Such was the case no longer. Now that they were on Earth, the stars maintained a low grade vibration sufficient for local star-to-star communications or for moving themselves and whatever or whoever they chose to carry on the ground. Other than the early call to dance, the vibrations affected the drunk only when the stars wanted to communicate with every star on Earth or move their giant popcorn ball from one location to another.

On a somewhat disconnected note, the decrease in vibratory power resulted in a planet-wide reduction of mental stupefaction, which meant the soldiers could take off their headsets. On the positive side, military suicides took a nosedive. On the negative side, headsets sales dropped dramatically. As sales dropped, manufacturing slowed; as manufacturing slowed, jobs decreased; as jobs decreased, unemployment claims increased and the economy at large experienced an extremely short and highly localized recession. The recession created an increase in imperfections, and an increase in imperfections created a need for even more Vocalizers, and that is where the drunk connects in once again.

CHAPTER 2

Day 36

Sunday, Part 2

Scene 1

MT used his gilded desk mirror to study his chin. More than five weeks had gone by since it had first vibrated and he had become quite comfortable with its new rhythms. Like the rolling of a ship or the jostling of a train, the sensation had become a part of normal life.

Initially, as you will recall, the vibrations had horrified and nauseated him. He was only able to appreciate them after the stars had appointed him Prime Vocalizer. Mere moments after that prestigious declaration, a vicious kick to his vaunted chin had interrupted his contact with the vibrations, and his panic had started anew. Terrified that his chin would remain compromised forever, he had lost all enthusiasm for life, all interest in food, and all desire to look in a mirror. Within three days, however, despite the alien vibrations going from high rev to low idle, he began to feel the vibrations again and his will to live returned.

He was still the chosen one; still the mostest specialest of all humans; still - and always - the Prime Vocalizer!

With that crisis out of the way, MT not only got used to the low-grade buzz, but in short order grew to enjoy it. The constant quivering made his chin more than just an anatomical singularity, but elevated it to the position of a glorified play toy. Every morning, before he even jumped out of bed, he pleasured himself by placing his hands on either side of his chin and stroking it in reverential glee, allowing the stimulating throb to infuse his fingers and palms.

He also stroked himself happy whenever he was thinking, or biding his time, or mulling over weighty issues, or when no one was watching, or when he didn’t care who was watching.

On this particular bright and beautiful, warm and sunny Sunday morning, he sat at his desk stroking his chin, looking at his reflection and pondering his decisions of the past few weeks.

Scene 2

After the first great event, when he had spoken for the stars for the very first time, MT had worried that every five or so minutes of communication with the aliens cost the life of a fellow human. More truthfully, he had worried that the voters would worry that every five to ten minutes of communication cost the life of a fellow human, and if the voters didn’t like something then wisdom and sense dictated that he not like it either.

Two days after the world-famous kick in the jaw, MT had met with Saddleback, Lowgoss, Trumble, Faire, Howard and Douglas to discuss more acceptable alternatives. Saddleback, Lowgoss, Trumble and Faire had been extremely vocal about sending the stars packing. They demanded that the Governor refuse any more meetings until the aliens came up with a completely non-lethal means of communication. Heade rejected their proposal and insisted they remain quiet unless they had something intelligent to say.

Howdy had suggested using condemned prisoners, since they were going to die anyway, and Doody had added that doing so would also relieve the State of a tremendous financial burden. After all, executions, though fully justifiable by law, were expensive endeavors. Not only that, but allowing vicious murderers to serve as communication tools would help them atone for their crimes by contributing to the betterment of society, and that would boost MT’s approval ratings.

MT had jumped on the idea.

The next day, he sent Saddleback to the State Penitentiary to recruit volunteers. The Death Row inmates, none of whom were exactly eager to help mankind, responded with hoots of laughter. Go figure.

They told him, in no uncertain terms, what he could do with his offer, what he could do with himself, and where he could do it. Being less than inclined to follow their helpful suggestions, he left the prison and called the Governor. MT, being a no-moss-on-my-rolling-stone type of politician, had taken measures to solve the problem before it even arose.

Governor Heade had called a special assembly of the State Legislature that very morning. Explaining the timeliness of the situation and the potential benefits for humankind, especially for the voters of each district, he had enticed enough representatives to his side of sanity to gain a super-majority vote in favor of his proposal. MT had immediately signed the landmark Human-Alien Trans-Communication Enforcement, or HATE, Act.

In brief, the new law contained these points:

1-Each prisoner condemned to death would lose all rights under the State Charter and be subject to the will of the State.

2-Each prisoner condemned to death would have no more than two appeals.

3-Each prisoner condemned to death who had not satisfied the two appeal maximum would have two weeks to complete the appeals before the State Supreme Court.

4-Each prisoner condemned to death that had satisfied the two appeal maximum and remained condemned would have no further right to appeal and would be allowed to choose their manner of execution:

A - Immediate hanging;

B - Transfer to plush accommodations wherein would be offered all the amenities and pleasures of life, barring freedom itself, until such time as the condemned prisoner was needed as a communication device.

Saddleback returned to death row, new law in hand, and interviewed each of the inmates again. To no one’s surprise, every last condemned prisoner who had already satisfied the two-appeal maximum, save one, leapt at the opportunity to be of service and promptly chose execution option B.

The single hold-out was a nasty tempered fellow who had hoped the aliens would just destroy the earth and be done with it. When they turned out to be peaceful, he was outraged and refused to be party to the betterment of society. Upon demanding his right to be hung immediately, he was informed by a very apologetic Saddleback that option A had merely been a ruse to make it seem as though the inmates had a choice and thereby make the process run a little smoother. The truth was, the State Pen no longer had a working gallows nor was there anyone on staff willing to do the hanging. Like it or not, he was heading for the stars.

Scene 3

The second communication with the stars, held in the State Legislature Assembly Hall, had gone off flawlessly.

MT had chosen the SLAH because he thought it would prove to be perfect for the task. Not only was there ample seating for the press and VIP’s, but the arrangement of the chamber placed MT on a dais, putting him head and shoulders above everyone else actively involved in the process of communicating. As an added benefit, it also put his chin far out of reach of any miscreant foot or fist.

At 11:30am the following Sunday, the space craft, which still hovered above the Capitol building, opened its hatch and a tiny amount of alien goo poured out. They (it?) disembarked in the usual way, skiftering down onto the dome and down the walls. Once on the ground, they/it divided up into twenty-five individual stars and entered the Capitol building.

At 11:45, prison guards led a train of shackled death row inmates into the SLAH and fed them to the stars until all twenty five were full. Once enveloped, the shackles fell off the prisoner’s wrists and ankles, courtesy of the stars, and each sullen, angry and dangerous inmate assumed a dreamy, serene countenance, as had Krystal, Trumble and the three young men the week before. Even the first inmate in line, the dissenter, seemed to be in total harmony with his surroundings.

To round out the scene, and to make MT look magnanimous on an international scale, several foreign dignitaries sat on the platform. Though dressed in the ceremonial garb of their respective countries and exhibiting a proud and regal dignity, they nonetheless exuded a bizarre mélange of child-like excitement, adolescent-like eagerness, adult-like expectation and an overall sense of nauseated fear.

Their unease was understandable. After all, the aliens had only appeared seven days ago and had only communicated with humanity for 30 minutes, during which they had left three young men dead by pulverization. When MT’s jaw had failed, the stars had shut themselves up in their craft and had not reappeared again until that morning. For the entire week, though speculation ran wild and conjecture partied around the clock, the stars had offered no new insights, and the scientists had gleaned no new facts. The graciously bestowed cures for the common cold and cancer had begun to pan out, but no one was sure if that was the start of something truly beneficial for mankind or if the aliens were merely making nice until their buddies arrived