Earth Hour

"Attention, attention, attention! The High Command has identified a suitable planet for conquest and resettlement!"

"Hoorah! Hoorah!"

I survey my eager troops, squelching up and down, all enthusiasm and dedication. It makes a zoogrot proud. At this point, I am moved to observe that, contrary to popular belief, it is not weightlessness that is the most vexing problem of space travel. It's slimelessness. But the technology has improved so much in recent years, and all the biddups are coping magnificently.

"About time!" screeches Lieutenant Ogrok. "We're dying for combat and something to eat besides the usual ship's glug. Tell us, Captain, is there any intelligent life on this planet?"

"No," I reply. "Not so's you could notice. Just some half-witted ape-things. I understand they can do some sums and don't soil themselves too often. We'll slaughter most of them and decide later if it would be helpful to keep some for zoos and simple tasks and so forth."

"Any good to eat?" asks Corporal Pibrot.

"Don't know," I admit. "We'll just have to give 'em a try. If they're good, we can can them for the return voyage."

"Exactly what kind of settlement are we talking about here?" asks Lieutenant Ogrok.

"Excess prison population, I'm told. Gotta dump them somewhere they won't harm anyone important." That's what the High Command tells me, anyway.

"And how are we going to spot this planet?" asks Private Figgle.

"Lit up like a Pakspuk Shrub," I tell them. "One thing these creatures can do is waste a lot of energy."

My good biddups cheer again, eager for the assault. But I'm afraid we're in for a bit of disappointment. We have arrived at the coordinates specified by the High Command, and ... the brightly-lit planet they described is nowhere to be seen. Looks like they got it wrong ... again! Nothing to do but move on, I'm afraid. Next one's bound to be lucky.

So you see, Earth Hour does have some value.