The Herc Braveman Adventures - A Golden Age Science Fiction Comedy

By Herschel K. Stroganoff

Herc Braveman is the most heroic guy in the universe—fact.

Brought to you by Quantum Cigarettes, the Herc Braveman Adventures is laugh-out-loud comedic science fiction for fans of Space Team, South Park, Rick and Morty, Futurama, and Pepe.

Faced with the ever-present threat of Space Communists and armed with only his wits, good looks, and his trusty ray-gun—plus a really cool ship and an awesome robot—all Herc wants to do is conquer...er, save the galaxy...and its women. Because that's his job, damn it.

If you like fun adventures, heroic heroes, exotic space beauties, and non-PC comedy, you'll love The Herc Braveman Adventures.

...Just don't read it on public transport, because you will attract some funny looks.

The Intragalactic Empire calls!

Trigger warning: If you need a trigger warning, this book isn't for you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: No World Press
• Release date: Dec 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215312278

Book preview

No Mere Trifle

It was a dark and stormy night, and that's never a good thing when you're careening to the surface of a planet in a malfunctioning space capsule.

There's nothing to fear, said Space Captain Herc Braveman to his niece Lolita as he took a puff from a Quantum Cigarette.

Alarms rang out and warning lights flashed. Lightning struck the capsule. Sparks flew from the smooth cream face-plate of Herc's robot sidekick M-ArtIn.

Then the power died. The lights went out. The vid-screen dimmed to a small green dot and the alarms fell silent. All that could be heard was the breath of Herc Braveman. There was also the noise of the storm raging outside. The capsule was creaking too. It was actually dead noisy.

The controls have shorted, there's no way to engage the capsule's landing thrusters, said Lolita through her full, sensuous lips as she groped around in the darkness with smooth hands.

Lightning doesn't strike twice, my dear, said Herc, smiling reassuringly.

It can, said Lolita, no doubt panicking and flapping in the way women so often do. What about lightning rods?

That's just a metaphor, shouted Herc over the noise of the storm, I'm talking about real lightning.

Lolita fondled along a row of burnt-out vacuum tubes and rheostats. She gripped her fingers hard around the shaft of a lever. She yanked the lever as sweat gathered around her heaving breasts.

At that moment, the capsule jerked as it released its emergency parachute. After a moment, the capsule righted itself and rocked from side to side as it drifted down to the planet's surface. Lolita sighed, her breath deep as if she'd been... well, you know.

You see, my dear, I knew we would be fine, said Herc, taking in another cool puff of his Quantum Cigarette. The space capsule's emergency parachute will guide us to safety.

Herc was the hero of the Intragalactic Empire and his coolness under this level of stress wouldn't even make a footnote in his long list of heroic deeds — he was that heroic. Men wanted to be him and women wanted to be with him. Some men even wanted to be with him, but if the Intragalactic Empire's Gay-Finder General found them out, they would be summarily executed — and rightly so.

Teenage girls plastered holo-posters of his visage onto their bedroom walls and smaller holo-pics could often be found hidden beneath the piles of knitting in their mothers' bedroom drawers for secret night-time perusals. He was as brave as Han Solo, as smart as Indiana Jones, and had the rugged good looks of Harrison Ford in Blade Runner. But Herc Braveman never let that impede him from being a damn good Space Captain. 

With a dull thud, the capsule landed.

The capsule doors hissed open as one of the planet's two suns rose and the rain cleared.

Herc brushed down his silver spandex captain's uniform and stepped out onto the planet's barren surface.

A small man, all paunch and pedigree, greeted him. I greet you humbly, my good Sir, praise be that the Empire has paid its blessing to our humble planet, said Artisan Boule, the Crowned Prince of this planet. He was dressed in ceremonial orange robes of the purest leatherette, and bowed his head respectfully to Herc and his party. And who might this lovely lady be? Artisan said, reaching out a hand to greet the beautiful young woman at Herc's side.

She wore tight denim shorts and a tight white shirt that hugged her large spherical breasts. Her long red hair (not ginger) cascaded down her back, and her deep green eyes were in perfect contrast to her full red lips. Her long perfect legs seemed to go all the way up to pert bottom. 

This is my niece, Lolita, said Herc, explainfully. She has been travelling with my crew for the past eighteen years. When her home planet was destroyed by my arch nemesis The Overseer, I rescued her from a probable certain death.

Lolita was known for being the hottest girl in the Intragalactic Empire, with men the galaxy over breathing a collective sigh of relief when she made the transition from jail bait to barely legal. 

Artisan flushed as he backed away with an awkward shuffle. A pleasure it is to meet you, my lady, he said, not knowing where to point his eyes, but getting a sneaky perv at her boobs while she wasn't looking.

Artisan started as Herc's humanoid robot companion M-ArtIn emerged from the capsule door.

What on this planet is that? he said, raising a shaking hand towards the robot.

Herc chuckled, his charisma and confidence providing immediate comfort to the frightened Artisan. Pay no heed to him, he is simply my robot slave, M-ArtIn.

M-ArtIn was one of the old M-6 class spacebots. He had been operational for over 200 years, but the curved surfaces of his metallic form still held the deep lustre as it did when he rolled off the assembly line on Venus. His eyes burned bright and intense, somewhere between eggshell white and cornflower blue, with the occasional flickers of beige, but that didn't happen very often. 

After several moments, Artisan was more at ease in an instant. Why is he called M-ArtIn? he asked, his eyes switching between the robot and Lolita's ample bosom. Lolita caught his gaze and raised a knowing eyebrow. Artisan looked down at the ground, as shamed old men do when caught checking out a girl young enough to be his granddaughter.

M-ArtIn stands for Mechanical Artificial Intelligence — there are millions of robots like him on our home planet — our home planet of Earth. But none of them are like M-ArtIn. In the capsule on the way down to this planet's surface, M-ArtIn's programming became scrambled, explained Herc.

Artisan nodded in wonderment, his eyes wide as if in wonder. Although I have only heard of robots through the Intragalactic Empire's space holos, I know that all robots are bound by the three laws of robotics. He still has those does he not?

Hey buddy, M-ArtIn said in a Stephen Hawking voice. I don't know about no three laws, all I know is M-ArtIn's law, baby. I can't be standing here all day listening to you yakking and making puppy eyes at Lolita. You old dog, keep your eyes to yourself. His voice was almost human, uncanny. 

Every world we land on it's like this — you're like a broken space record, M-ArtIn continued, robotically. Why do you always have to be telling everyone my back-story? M-ArtIn turned his robotic head to Herc with a robotic motion, and probably would have frowned if he had bits of his face that could move.

You usually do the same for Uncle Herc, said Lolita.

Well, if I have to. Herc is easily the most heroic man in the galaxy, ranking far above Bravey McBraveface and Keanu Reeves on the Intragalactic King's Ten Heroic Fellows that Will Blow Your Mind list.  You know he was the youngest person to enter the Intragalactic Battle School, right?

Artisan nodded. Of course, but please continue telling the story.

"As a five-year-old boy he received the call — three years before anyone else. But the Intragalactic King knew that he was as ready as he would ever be.  By the age of six he had already led his first platoon to victory, and by seven he led soldiers of twice his age into battle against the Buggers.

Everyone knew that the threat from the first Bugger invasion had the potential to destroy the human race, but Earth managed to hold them back until a hero could be found among  its children, he explained, giving Artisan enough exposition through his words to give a quick impression of our hero without feeling like a fact-dump.

This story is very familiar, said Artisan. Please explain why the evil alien invaders were called Buggers.

"In common parlance, the name Bugger referred to the bug-like appearance of the fly-eyed bastards, but Herc came up with the name Bugger because of their penchant for anal probery — they also liked to disembowel cattle, but that didn't figure in Herc's witty nickname.

From the moment the Buggers made themselves known to the Earthish, Herc realised their love of anal probery and cattle mutilosity was merely their sense of alien japery and had nothing to do with legitimate scientographic experimentation — there was no room on Earth for fly-eyed alien pranksters — or any other foreigners, for that matter, M-ArtIn explained, his robotic voice drifting into angry vengeful tones that for a moment caught everybody by surprise.

Herc laughed and patted M-ArtIn on the head. Oh you, he said with a warm tone to his voice. Some might have seen it is being patronising, but those people are stupid. He turned to Artisan. I'll be honest with you, Artisan. We were sent on this mission without so much as a briefing from the Intragalactic Bureaucratocracy.

Why are you calling this guy Artisan? He hasn't even introduced himself yet, M-ArtIn ejaculated sardonically (that's ejaculated as in speaking, not, well, you know...it's in Sherlock Holmes, it's real).

Oh no, he's right. My name is Artisan, Artisan Boule, and this is my beautiful daughter Exotica, he responded, unsardonically. 

As if on cue, a beautiful woman stepped forward. Her dark eyes met Herc's for a moment that seemed like light years passing between them. She was clearly the most beautiful woman in that section of the galaxy, and Herc knew it. He went down to his knees and looked up at her perfect olive skin and the waves of dark hair that framed her exquisite face. Her name seemed somehow fitting. It was as if Artisan Boule knew that with her exotic beauty, she would surely grow into her name. And she was clean, so that was always a bonus. Exotica, it is an abundant pleasure to meet a woman of such charm and beauty. I may have conquered much of the galaxy in the name of the Intragalactic King and his Empire — but that's my job, damn it — you have conquered my heart.

Exotica smiled and fluttered her eyelashes. They stared into each other's eyes for almost a minute before it got a bit awkward for everyone else.

Come on, come on, said Artisan, growing impatient. You can get to know each other later in Exotica's private chamber. For now we should take my space car to my space palace. There is much to discuss. Many problems — no mere trifle, he said, calling back to the title of this adventure.

Relax buddy, said M-ArtIn. He's like this all the time. Conquers the world, has his way with the— what are you? King? President?

I am the Crowned Prince of this planet, ordained by the Intragalactic King as the protector of this world, Artisan said with a tone a mixture of condescension and pride.

So he has his way with the Crowned Prince's beautiful daughter, and then heads off for new space adventures, M-ArtIn continued, it's all very mid-life-crisisy, if you get my drift. He'll be getting a space tattoo and a spaceball cap before you know it.

But for Herc, it wasn't about the pleasure of having his way with beautiful women in a way that only a man could — granted, that was part of it —  but for Herc it was because of his overwhelming sense of duty towards the gene pool of the Intragalactic Empire. He was doing his job, damn it. Without arrogance, Herc knew that he was the most virile, intelligent and desirable man in the known universe. And as far as he could tell, it was probably the same in the parts of the universe