Sirius's Magnum Opus, A story without a title. Or even a plot.

“What do you mean, what are we going to do? He’s made it quite clear about what happens to those who oppose him,” replied the latecomer.

“But we need to do something, Sirius!” Asad insisted. “We can’t leave the galaxy like this, and if we won’t do something, who will?”

“I’ve risked my life once, I’m not doing it again,” said Josh dismissively. “Anyway, since when have you been so concerned? You made it clear last time that you were only doing it because we paid you.”

“Er… I’m a caring sort of person!” protested Asad weakly. The fourth pilot, towering over everyone else, snorted derisively. The others joined in, laughing, except the second pilot who still remained silent.

Sirius stepped towards Asad slowly. “I know why he’s doing it. It’s quite simple, really. Guilt.” There was a pause.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he replied with an unconvincing nonchalant air.

“Oh yes you bloody do. You never cared one jot about the whole operation last time. You were content to sit by and plan, while we did the work. But your plans didn’t work, did they? The last one went just a tad awry.” Sirius was inches away from Asad now, relentless. “Tell me… did you first feel this selfless concern when you heard about Halfpenny’s death, or did it not sink in until the funeral?” His shouts echoed over the dusty planet’s surface.

“SHUT UP! YOU POMPOUS PHALLUS-HEAD!” Asad yelled. There was a brief silence, and Sirius clenched his fists. “If you don’t help me, I’ll do it myself! I can find others willing to help, I don’t need any of you. Especially you, Mr President.” He spat out the last two words as if saying them caused him physical pain.

“Ex-President,” corrected Sirius bitterly. “But I would’ve served much longer if I hadn’t trusted him. So whatever you’re planning this time, I can take no part in it. He’s having me followed, and I don’t think you’re going to be successful anyway.” He turned and walked back towards his spaceship. Nobody objected.

“I’ll join you,” announced the previously silent pilot. “We can’t let Halfpenny’s death be in vain.”

“Thanks Beegs.” Asad smiled, and turned to the remaining two. “Josh? Woody? I take it you don’t want to be involved?”

The two men exchanged glances (not easy, given that one was a foot smaller than the other). “Maybe,” said Woody, “but we’ll see what the rest think first.”

With a flourish, Josh reached into his pocket and brought out a small device. He pressed one large red button, and waited calmly.

The Fridges would receive the signal in seconds. Any possible revolution would surely start with a reunion.

Does that answer your question?

Marginally.

Very good, very good.

Asad is no different in the cybery-future, I see.

Brilliant!

Kewl. But I better be in it *gives evil eye*

Damn it, I've got an odd urge to write so I'm bringing this back:


The four remaining pilots were sitting on the ground, silent - partly out of boredom, partly out of overfamiliarity. There was no need for small talk; each knew what had been happening in the others' lives, but most were nonetheless indifferent.

The wind and cold foiled Lord Afzal's attempt to light another cigar. Irritated, he jumped to his feet and exclaimed, "We should admit it, they're not coming."

Woody remained impassive, but Josh rolled his eyes. "Shouldn't we give it another five minutes?" asked Beegs. "We didn't choose this planet based on its accessibility." Nobody replied, accepting silently.

Sure enough, a few minutes passed before a ship loudly approached the first four, hovering just above while a shimmering humanoid figure appeared in front of them on the planet's surface, metamorphosing into the dependable Zanda Knight.

"Oooh, landing on the ground not good enough for one any more? Where did that come from, the Black Hole of Shatner?" sneered Josh. The others couldn't help giggling.

"I invented it," Zanda spat in reply. "Now what do you want? The old Atomic Alliance is as dead as the panda."

About to reply, Asad was interrupted by the arrival of two further ships, their quickly disembarking pilots distinguishable as Charles and Sean. "Care to explain?" shouted one, swaggering quickly to join the others.

The Lord cleared his throat. This was it, the first step. "It's pretty simple. We're going to overthrow the government."

The newcomers exchanged glances. Zanda snorted with derision. "What, seven of us? Don't you think that'd be pretty difficult given that none of us have the fastest ship in the galaxy or, y'know, the Force?"

Asad looked triumphant. "Ah, but we have a plan!"

There was a pause. "No, seriously, it's actually good!" he assured them. "And you all want rid of him as well, I know it!"

The new three couldn't bring themselves to disagree. All seven of them, old cynics whose ideals had been thoroughly dented by successive governmental indifference, failure and outright fascism, had never actually mustered up the strength of will to hate one until now. Yes, they all still had one aim in common - they needed to rid the galaxy of Cardinal Tyler, Supreme Leader...

Can very easily imagine Matt as the Cardinal from Albert the Fifth Musketeer.

Richelieu? Hm, I was thinking of a character loosely based on him earlier...

Sickk. I'm a really badass emperor guy in this story right?

I haven't quite made up my mind yet. I'm going to vaguely plot ahead this time, so the next bit's the necessary "a long time ago in a galaxy far far away..." exposition.

I had forgotten this existed. Omg, looking back, this was started around the time I was sitting French GCSE... shit.

I've just been on a bit of a writing kick and this is the longest thing that remains... most of the good bits of Smarm & Cheesiness are gone forever. It'd be impossible to continue anyway, whereas silly space opera with you lot as the characters is easy and appealling to write.

No idea how yet, but I'll get everyone into it eventually...

Shaun, if you manage to write us a space opera of over 3000 words, I will be forever impressed.

I'm on nearly 1000 already, that's not ambitious enough!

Now, the observant reader will have noticed by now that all characters, so far, have been male. The more cynical will have assumed that this is due to Atomic Fridge being a complete sausage-fest. I assure you, as a trustworthy omniscient narrator, that this is not so – and the reasons for it are necessary to understand the rest of the story.

The Milky Way has been, politically, an unstable galaxy. When the majority of it became united under human leadership after centuries of terraforming and colonisation (“the biped’s burden”, as one writer wryly called it), the mere effect of governing an entire galaxy proved too much for some. Successive Presidents were tempted to become Emperors, and were consequently overthrown through their own sheer human ineptitude. (One Emperor was deposed due to spending the galaxy’s entire defence budget on a massive weapon which could destroy whole planets but could be blown up through simple design flaws… twice.) When eventually the last of the despots was ousted – his massive collar and tattooed arched eyebrows either signifying complete insanity or a repressed desire for a career as a drag queen – the leader of the rebels brought democracy back yet again, and for a while it lasted. For this leader was "incorruptible".

The people gave it ten years before he declared himself ruler for life. But it was not so. And when he decided it was time to retire, as an icon of integrity and liberty, his chosen successor as President made him “Supreme Leader”. Just a formal post, of course, only reserve powers, signing the laws and cutting the ribbons. Like a Governor General in the old Earth days.

Those who know anything of history will identify as a bad idea. And it was. Because Supreme Leader Matthew Tyler found religion. His own religion.

The people, used to the idea of leaders having delusions over their own corporeal status, sighed and succumbed at first. After all, there was free wine at the obligatory half-hour on Sundays spent in church, the old duffer would be dead soon anyway, and there was nobody to replace him. It was tolerable, compared with the moustache-twirling loonies that came before. And anyway, what could they do?

But “Cardinal” Tyler did something none of his predecessors would have dreamed of. Something that struck fear and terror into the heart of men. Something that caused his President to resign rather than take part in such a grotesque and oppressive act.

He banned pornography.

Sounds like Gilead in space.

Hahahaahahaha, this is quite good, though thoroughly unrealistic.

I would never go into space.