The first time anyone saw the cave on the far side of the ancient Forest, they all attempted to avoid it completely; everyone except for the notorious King of Evil. He had been searching for this type of phenomenon for almost ten years, if anyone was counting. Not one person supported him, and for that purpose he had created his own army. Unfortunately, he had virtually no imagination, or so it seemed, for he had made his army of genetically engineered pickles. Although it was strange, it was innumerably large, and he could overrun entire states at a time. Now, once the cave had been found, the King of Evil, and his hoard of pickles, left at once for Segale, the town closest to the land in which the cave was.
When the people of the small town heard of his coming, they were terrified. The city guard prepared for an attack, strengthened the walls, and went into the safety compounds built for just this purpose. They knew he would come someday, but had hoped that would not be now, when the town was suffering from a withering drought. Trees were either dead or dying, the ground was cracked from lack of moisture, and the water towers and reservoirs were nearly empty. The rain shadow caused by the nearby mountain range didn’t make it any better. It was the worst drought in 2 years (droughts were quite common there), and no one knew how long they could hold out against the dreadful King. As the thundering of his legion of Pickles approached the horizon, all in the town knew that unless their champion returned soon, Segale was doomed.
A brave soldier, known only as Cheeseman (he REALLY liked cheese) walked silently along the dirt road with his inseparable companion, Cookie (he REALLY liked cookies), on his way back to Segale. Although it was not a desirable place to go for a week, he had made a promise to the people of this small town: that he would return after his battle with the evil Count Cucumber (he REALLY liked cucumbers and REALLY hated cheese [I think you probably understand the name thing now, right?]) and his own share of the Pickle army. It was a furious struggle, but all had gone well, not considering the fact that Count Cucumber had escaped alive, as he always seemed to do, without a scratch on him. Making sure that no one else was missing, the army started on their way home, all except for Cheeseman and Cookie. They had found their landspeeder to have been sabotaged, and so began the walk to Segale. The road was rough, and Cookie often stumbled, resulting in their journey taking a long time. It was almost dark, and as Cookie once again fell on his scraped and bruised hands, Cheeseman simply said,
“I only promised that I’d be there, Cookie, I never forced you to come. You can wait for me here if you want to. It would at least keep your hands from getting any more scratched up.”
Cookie looked at his hands. They seemed as if they had been used as dough for a dull cookie cutter, and it didn’t cut all the way through. He shook off the pain and said, “I can make it. How far do we have to go? It’s getting dark.”
“Oh, we shouldn’t have a long way to go. We’ve been walking for several hours,” Cheeseman was watching Cookie, who was behind him, while he walked. “I know it doesn’t seem like it because we’ve been talking so much, but actually – hey, why are you looking at me like that?” BANG!
A resounding ringing in Cheeseman’s ears and a horrible headache punished him for not watching where he was going, and now he knew why Cookie was staring at him like such. He had run into a huge iron gate.
“Luckily this wasn’t made of concrete, eh Cookie?” he said, chuckling and knocking on the gate. As he did, a tall guard walked up and, after seeing who it was, opened the gate for them.
“I’ve never seen him before,” Cookie said, sounding a little worried.
“You’ve never been here before, Cookie.” Cheeseman reminded him.
“Oh yeah!”
Strangely enough, the guard took him past the mayor’s office and toward the safety compound.
“This can’t be good,” Cheeseman looked worried as he looked around the abandoned town lit by moonlight.
“It doesn’t not look bad either, though.” Cookie was always trying to cheer him up.
Once the guard reached the safety compound, he signaled to the top of the silver dome, where a small platform was jutting out from the top. A small clicking sound came from above, and then a door opened right in front of them. They cautiously walked inside, while the guard waited outside, and sealed the door. All was silent, until Cheeseman whispered to Cookie:
“You were right, Cookie. I’ve never seen him before either. Something is wrong. Look, this huge place is empty, no one in sight.”
They walked over to the center, where a small circle of light from a large lamp on the ceiling slightly illuminated the building.
Cookie’s voice suddenly interrupted Cheeseman’s observation. “Hey, why do they have statues of Pickles in here?”
“AHA!” Cheeseman shouted as he drew his jeweled sword. Suddenly, Pickles surrounded them, ready to strike them any minute. Cookie readied his two pistols with an air of perfection. Then, all at once the Pickles closed in. Cheeseman swung his sword at extreme speeds knocking back the Pickles in every direction. Cookie followed his example by shooting all the Pickles Cheeseman missed or had already launched into the air. Finally, with the stench of Pickle juice in the air, Cheeseman slid his sword back in his scabbard and walked toward a ladder at the other end of the compound.
“What are you doing now, Cheeseman?” Cookie asked.
Cheeseman climbed the ladder and then entered an airlock-shaped door. After several seconds, he motioned for Cookie to come up too. They exited the door, with a dead Pickle lying on the floor of the platform. Cheeseman gave a signal for Cookie to be silent, and then pressed a button on one of the control panels. The door they had entered reopened and the Pickle guard below entered. Cheeseman closed the door, and hovered down on his silent jetpack. Cookie, however, fell with a thud.
“Well, what now, Cheeseman?” asked Cookie. “I was supposed to be at a meeting in Doughton in a week, and it takes about 5 days to get from here to there.
“Then cancel it. I’ll probably need you, Cookie. And, oh, see if you can get Cream down here. You two are such great friends, and it would be pretty helpful.”
“You got it Cheeseman! I’ll send a message right away!”
Cookie walked over to a nearby pile of rubble, which looked like it had once been a house. He then set down a small, metal box. The box unfolded, shot two long poles up, and slid a sleek camera upwards along it. A small, metallic screen then unfolded from the back side of the camera. It was blurry at first, then a message that said “Tracking Signal…” and finally a picture of the entryway of Cream Hall. A man in a nice suit walked up and said,
“Can I help you?”
Cookie was somewhat nervous. “Um, I’m sorry to interrupt you so late at night, but I would like to speak to Commander Cream.”
The man sighed, rolled his eyes, and walked away, then several seconds later (about 216; Cheeseman was counting) a soldier in a green uniform walked up to the camera. It was Commander Cream. Cookie’s stage fright instantly left him.
“Hello, Cookie. What are you doing with your old camera? I didn’t know that thing still worked.”
Cookie smiled. Cream was usually one of the first in their army to have new technology.
“Hi, Cream. Cheeseman and I were wondering if you would be able to help us on our upcoming expedition to the ancient Forest. We have reason to believe that Count Pickulon may be there.”
Cream sounded excited as they talked. “I was just on the phone with the Lieutenant, seeing when we could all meet up in York someday soon.”
Lieutenant Butterfinger was usually the first to make the new technology that Cookie collected.
“I believe I should be able to meet you. I’ll call in to Butterfinger to check if he can come. See you in a few days. Bye!”
Cookie collapsed the device, and then turned back to Cheeseman to report the news.
“Cream and Butterfinger Boy will meet us here in several days.”
“Good,” said Cheeseman. “Meanwhile, I suppose we should stay in the safety compound for the next few days. It’s probably the most shelter we’ll get around here.” Yawning, he made his way to the safety compound.
Cookie stayed where he was for some time, tired and thinking. They had been traveling, traveling again, fighting, traveling again, fighting, and soon traveling again…
“Zzzzzzzz…” Cookie’s repeating thoughts quickly lulled him to sleep, as he fell down on the ground with the clanking of his equipment. Unknown to him, a shadowed figure fitted an arrow into his bow – and let it go.
Cheeseman stopped suddenly as a yell from far behind him shattered the silence. He ran back as fast as he could and found Cookie lying on the ground. He was speechless – not Cheeseman, Cookie.
“Bjlelwerflkdhgftdhslklijwodsfjpvhbfpfcbjhemyrfldwqphfo…”
Right next to Cookie sat an arrow embedded in the earth. Cookie was so surprised that he yelled and scared off the archer, and started babbling incoherently.
“It’s alright, Cookie. You’re fine. Now snap out of it and come back to the compound.”
Cookie was so relieved that he walked shakily back to the compound silently and fell asleep in the nearest bed instantly. Cheeseman went upstairs, closed the door, and went back to a more secure bedroom. Very unfortunately, however, he had forgotten about one not so small problem – the other guard! The guard whom he had locked inside had stuck around to see if he could put an end to the enormous back pain called Cheeseman. He climbed out of a large crate near the back of the building, sneaked forward, and then – slam! He stabbed the sword into the bed.
“Well, that’s enough practice. Now for the real thing.”
The Pickle quickly and stealthily walked to the room where Cheeseman was sleeping. He checked to make sure no one was looking, walked up with his sword drawn, and quickly pulled away the blankets to reveal…Cheeseman? He wasn’t there. Suddenly a blast of energy hit the Pickle in the back. He fell down, oozing pickle juice. Cheeseman walked up to him, looked him over, then kicked him to the side.
“They don’t know how to really search for something.” Cheeseman commented.
But that was only the beginning of their difficulty. Suddenly, the whole compound began to shake violently. Cheeseman ran through the compound, searching for Cookie, and listening for “Blfkhbkdhbskdbksdhnbvkfhvbsospeuiqpehfpb…” He found him near the entrance, sitting up in bed, mumbling nonsensically. He startled him, and then Cookie was back to his old self. He ran over to a small control panel that activated a small camera on the outside of the dome, used as a safer way of looking outside than a window. He yawned and said,
“Hey, Cheeseman, I think someone painted a picture of the ground from about 1500 feet.”
Cookie stared at the screen for a second with a look of disbelief, and then glanced at a blinking monitor with a quickly rising number. It read something like this:
“Current altitude: 1678 feet (and rising).”
Cookie slowly turned back to Cheeseman and nervously reported,
“Uh, Cheeseman, you know how you always wanted to go to space?”
Cheeseman looked at him quizzically for a second, and then slumped down into Cookie’s bed.
“I guess I can’t be angry at you Cookie. It isn’t your fault. It’s probably either the mayor’s or the Pickles’ ingenious design.”
Cookie’s positive attitude failed this time. He opened his mouth several times, but stopped when a fly got too close. He looked back at the screen and saw the changing skies as they sailed upward on hyper thrusters into the outer atmosphere. He continued to watch as low-altitude satellites and high-altitude jets came into view, then eventually the skies darkened, giving way to the blackness of space. The Chicken and Cheese Federal Aeronautical Spatial Assembly Center (Butterfinger liked giving things names that could be abbreviated) became visible, and soon became a small speck in the distance. Cheeseman came over and pushed Cookie aside and began pressing buttons on the panel.
“The computer says the coordinates are set for an interdimensional portal in an unexplored portion of the – oh, wait, sorry, I was watching a movie. There, it’s headed for orbit of a far-out dwarf planet occupied by the Pickles.” Cheeseman sighed and continued, “I guess we’ll have to begin our practice early, Cookie. The blaster cannons are inoperative, so I guess we are going to have to do this ourselves.”
As the large sphere racing toward the planet began to slow, Cheeseman realized two problems.
“Cookie, we have two problems.”
“Yeah, I heard the narrator.”
“One, this thing is huge! Humungous! Too big to land on that planet! It’s going to blow up! Explode! Get run over! Do you hear me!?”
Cookie looked at him blankly, then said, “What’s the other problem?”
Cheeseman looked back at him the in a frustrated yet somewhat also blank way. “The second problem is that the advanced radar shows that that planet has no Pickle settlements! If anything, it has Chicken and Cheese exploration machinery there! Now do you hear me!?”
“Uh-huh. So, do you want to play cheese chess?”
Cheeseman rushed to a nearby computer and began frantically pressing buttons and talking to Cookie rapidly. “If I can successfully hack the controls to the engines then I can reorganize the thruster modules to fire the retro…”
Cookie wasn’t listening much. He just watched him, then glanced at his side, walked to the wall and pressed a button labeled “Reverse Thrusters”. Immediately Cheeseman yelled, “Got it!” but that was only the beginning of their problems.
“Cookie, I think we’re going too fast to reverse the thrusters in time to clear the planet’s surface! We’re going to crash!”
