Galaxy Ranger Saves The World
by Tod Caviness
The distress call went out across the void in the form of Newsweek covers and film-at-eleven soundbites,
translated through static and binary, bounced off Jupiter’s moons and beamed on board the starship Protagonist,
where liquid computers filtered the data down through funnels of apocalypse-recognition software smackdab into
the switch for the Planetary Peril Threatcon Alpha Alarm. Klaxons sounded and finally awakened the square-jawed
pilot from a century’s coldsleep, nano-brushed his already perfect teeth, and readied the capsule for another
last-minute lightspeed rescue.
Within the hour, a comet of hope streaked across the Miami skies. Trailing flames and trumpets, the
capsule landed just down the beach from an MTV movie promo and so it was that no one noticed as Galaxy Ranger
Steve arrived to save the world.
He leapt in dramatic fashion from the steaming crater of his descent, tucked, rolled, and finally
flattened out against a nearby wall, ray gun drawn and sensors on the alert for traces of the enemy. He stayed
like that for some time, unaware of the dogshit under his boot. Eventually, the shop’s owner cursed him in Spanish
and drove him away with a broom.
Planets in Peril were usually not such dicey affairs. Finding the threat to the common good was the first
order of business, whether it be insectoid aliens, mutant slugs, or evil dictators. Normally, they were the ones
with the guns. Perhaps they had a cloaking device. Maybe their mind rays had made the people look the other way,
and possibly worse. No one here appeared to be happy, and no one appeared to be sad.
Television units were everywhere, and Steve immediately began reconnaissance. Here, in fact, were all the
happy people, trapped in the cramped and strobing environs of the screen. Here were all the sad people too, though
no one image stayed still long enough for anyone to point a finger at a planetary menace, if there was one. The TV
people ran around, blew things up, took off their clothes, and drove things down dirt roads. Steve turned away, no
wiser and left with a curious need for new shoes and a Slurpee to wash down his Viagra. But there was work to do.
He went to the markets, where the covers of magazines offered solutions to every problem but Steve’s and
the planet’s. He went to the policemen, who were only too happy to show him where the bad guys were. He spent a
night locked in a cage with people who were maybe henchmen at best, and they laughed at his demands for information.
Most of them couldn’t even urinate correctly. After breaking out, he went to the holy men, who told him that a being
known as the Evil One did indeed exist within Steve’s own heart. This was cause for some initial alarm, but a simple
bio-scan revealed no hostile organisms. Deceiving a Galaxy Ranger was a cosmic offense, and he was forced to
disintegrate several clergymen.
Steve was getting antsy. He saw a sign reading ‘The End Is Near’. He was running out of time. He asked the
man carrying it what he could do to help. His answer caused Steve to seek out a second opinion. This, in turn, led
to numerous others.
The planetary menace was everywhere. It was the women, it was the men, it was the far left and right. It was
the hardcore Christians, the hardcore Muslims, the kids these days, the old money and the new brand of crack. It was
the fuck-ups, the assholes, the hooligans, and the bastards. It was the economy, the apathy, the zealotry, the
nudity, the vanity, the goddamn TV. It was the medium and the message. The rich were afraid of the poor and
vice-versa, and the middle was afraid of them both.
A week after landing, Galaxy Ranger Steve returned to his capsule, tired and in need of a shave. There on
the curb was a lone witness collecting spare change, an ‘End of the World’ sign propped on the sidewalk beside him.
He looked up at Steve and rattled his cup.
The spaceman looked down at the transient through a haze of flies, taking in the stink of his poverty. “I
have something for you,” he said. He took out his ray gun and set it to kill, then handed it over. The bum cradled
it in his hands like a hymn.
“Destroy the enemy,” said Steve. “Then pass it on.”
The Galaxy Ranger saluted and walked away.
The spaceman’s departure traced a shooting star across the night sky, and young lovers made a wish as it
faded from sight.
