Space Force

By Jeremy Robinson

The D.I.C. (Defense Initiative Computer) was named by a gray-haired conservative who I suppose didn’t bother saying the acronym aloud. Each member of Space Force has their very own Dick. Even the ladies. And most of us have etched a K into the Comic Sans logo emblazoned on the keyboards. Seriously. Comic-freaking-Sans. When the higher-ups discovered the team’s graffiti, we claimed the K was for ‘keyboard’ and feigned ignorance about what it spelled. Maybe the guy who named the computers actually had a good sense of humor?

(Robinson 2018, Chapter 1)

Men who are hurt, curse. Men who are dying, scream.

(Robinson 2018, Chapter 14)

As usual, the higher power I’m trying to make sense to ignores my pleas. I consider using logic with God, but if God is real, then he also made the platypus, and where is the logic in that? They sweat anti-bacterial milk, they lay eggs, and they have duck-bills. And a venomous spur on their leg. Seriously?

(Robinson 2018, Chapter 16)

Jumping on grenades to save your com-patriots is a Hollywood cliché, but it doesn’t happen that often. It’s not that soldiers aren’t brave enough to sacrifice themselves, it’s simply that when things are going sideways, reactions are instinctual, and when a grenade lands nearby, instinct guides everyone away from it. Soldiers aren’t trained to dive on grenades. If they were, there would be pig piles of men being blown to smithereens.

(Robinson 2018, Chapter 26)

What if a nuclear explosion destroys souls, too? I don’t know if it’s possible, but I saw somewhere that the soul has mass, that when people die, they lose twenty-one grams. That means the soul is made of some kind of tangible matter. But if the nuclear explosion destroys matter…