Thrak stood victorious over Uranus. His chest heaved and his muscles rippled as he laid down his arms and looked upon the surface. Mine, he thought. All mine.
His men were beginning to gather around him. Many sleepless nights were passed with the hopes of conquering Uranus, but they always seemed like nothing more than dreams. However, in all that time, they knew, that if anyone were to achieve the goal, it would be Thrak.
He bent down and felt the damp, sticky air that always seemed to hover above the surface of Uranus, play upon his skin. He bathed himself in its aura, attempting to calm his raging nerves. His nemesis, Tröb, was not at the battle. Tröb was no man, he thought. They were to fight for control of Uranus and instead he sends his lackeys. Could it have been a subterfuge? Tröb was a trickster. More cunning and guile than man. But the battle had been won and Tröb’s blood would be spilled on Uranus. It was only a matter of time.

Tröb stood above Uranus’ palid and cold surface. Thrak, that madman, had killed his men. Tröb knew the irresistable draw of Uranus all too well. But it was not supposed to have a master or dominator, or whatever Thrak saw himself to be. He had gained a respect for Uranus through his time with it. ‘Man was not meant to walk all over you, pour his blood upon you or drill into you simply for his own gain. We had done that far too often elsewhere.’
Tröb had stopped many would be assailants, but Thrak was a whole other kind of adversary. Trips to Uranus were divvied out like lottery tickets. Only the best gained entry to its atmosphere and only one was ever able to mine it successfully. That was Tröb and he knew it wasn’t luck. There was more to his connection with Uranus than with anyone else. But Thrak had no connection at all. He didn’t even have an invitation. His vessel came bearing down on Uranus a month ago. He had no pass, but had the sheer determination to make taking Uranus the only thing in his life. His self-made cutter crashed into Uranus without protection from entry pressures because he had never intended to leave. He poured his men over the surface and immediately set about the task of controlling everything.

Tröb had just come from the home of Sheepbang Traumhaft. The oracle had told him what he needed to do. It was what he always knew would have to be done, but he could never face. She hardly needed to speak any words, for Tröb could see fear dancing in her eyes when she realized what he was about to do to Uranus.
Tröb scaled to the crest of Uranus’ peaks. He dropped to his knees as he came to witness what Thrak had done. Blood and excrement covered the surface. The result of its ruthless encounter with Thrak. Tröb attempted to still his mind. He would need all his strength for what he was about to do, but it was taking all of his composure to keep from putting a fist straight through Uranus in grief.
Suddenly he was awash with tranquility. He steely gaze lowered from the horizon and down to Uranus. It seemed to be humming, communicating with him. It was coming alive and beckoning him to do what needed to be done. Tröb’s nipples stood erect, exposed at the sides of his power-suit. He moved his fingers to his face. The hesitation that he anticipated was not there and he removed his oxygen intake with one swift movement.
With blunt force, the gasses of Uranus flowed into and through him. Their choking, sulfuric fumes keeled him over. He was dying. He knew it. There was no withstanding the atmosphere of Uranus. He reached for his knife. Better a quick death than to choke on this effluvium. Then, it settled. He knew the bog-like stench was still there, but he wasn’t dying. He inhaled. Then he let it out. Again. It was as if the air was his to breath.

He had become one with Uranus.

The Uranus Joke blog