Hunt Down the Bananafish

Boots clamor with the machinery humming. Iron walkways, under stomping feet, ache despite losing the senses a while ago. Grunts echo and bounce off the marble-walls and iron-ceiling. The grunting marchers ache for purpose, as they can stand no more of their shoulders’ acidity caused by hauling a crate so long.

"Hush, we near the Colonel-"

"Bob, we’ve been on the USSS Milky Way for how long? It’s pronounced ker-nel - not co-lo-nol."

"Keep your peace, Jerry. Anyways."

Raised arms, Bob’s hands knocked three knocks, every knock so polite yet firm. His legs, being precautious, retreated; doors squeaking due to leaving their closed state, the Colonel with a pipe and cocked hat steps out. Steadying the shades, the pipe soon found itself hugging the floor.

"Master-Sergeant Bob, how’d you... oh He would be very proud, yet let’s not yammer on about that."

"Indeed, and we tracked the coordinates-"

"Coordinates! I’ll patch you in sonny. Please yank that box in now. Tell me, how’d you got this potassium-skin?"

"I’ll take this one Bob, go input the coordinates. Colonel, the details matter not, but our white gloves are still white. Anyways, coordinates should be in now. Say, when does that bounty expire?"

"I still cannot believe it, we’ll be rich! We’ll have the Bananafish finally in our hands and the bounty just renewed and quadrupled its payout!"

Frothing came racing out and spreading about the Colonel’s mouth, Master-Sergeant Bob’s and Jerry’s eyes picked up on the bubble-infection. Bob’s hands signaled to Jerry if now was the time to act, but that time to act was inappropriate as Jerry’s hands signed. Bob’s ears, hearing the awkwardness, compelled the voice-box to utter.

"Would you like to do the honours of telling the other ships?"

"Ah, sorry. Anyways, the coordinates are already sent - now just an announcement... Ahem... Attention crew, this is the Colonel speaking. Right now coordinates have been uploaded and you may have a question. My answer: we found the Bananafish and we’re going to hunt! I repeat, we’re hunting down the Bananafish... I muted my mic, but do you hear that Master-Sergeant?"

"Ecstasy."

"And a hero, for that’s what you and your platoon are. When we’re back, I’ll make sure you get your due honours."

Bob’s and Jerry’s eyes deadlock together on the other, lips arching high and their minds ridding of any misdeeds. Turning their heads to the ship’s front view, the image of starry seas became interrupted as the view warps to a tunnel of passing light spires that raced with the ship. However, the moment was fleeting and the armada of spacecraft found themselves floating above the Bananafish’s home.

"Master-Sergeant’s Platoon, come ‘ere. You’ll be my personal convoy ‘til the mission is over. So sit in your own Orbital Drop Pods and await blastoff."

Sat they were, their armour covered with more weapons than plating and a soldiery hoorah echoing. The clock ticked, yet they were ejected soon and all saw the Nature below.

The hunt has begun.

"Report, Lieutenant Major!"

"What about the others?"