Brian

Quimbus started patting himself down, searching every pocket.
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“Ohhh…oh, no. Ohhh, SHOOT. Shoot, shoot, shoot.”
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“What is it?” called Xylor from the Captain’s chair.
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“I, ah, think I may have left my cromulator behind.”
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Xylor put the ship on auto-pilot and stormed over to Quimbus.
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“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?”
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“Well, it might be in my bag, so—”
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“And why would it be in your bag? What is the protocol, Lt. Quimbus?”
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Quimbus stared at the floor and mumbled, “Your cromulator never leaves your person.”
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“YOUR CROMULATOR NEVER LEAVES YOUR PERSON. Well, this is a fine mess, isn’t it? We can’t go back for it—we’re already, like, a million light years out. I don’t know what High Command is going to have to say about this, but it won’t be good. You think I’M mad? Wait until you go before THEM and have to explain yourself. Do you know how much one, just ONE, of those units costs? I can assure you it’s far more than you make in several complete planetary rotations. There’s a reason the cromulator protocol is in place.”
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The Captain stomped off, then turned back to the Lieutenant and bellowed, “And one more thing: You better hope to Xenu that no one finds your unit and figures out how to engage it. Do you have ANY IDEA what one of those would do to human DNA when activated? Our mission was to go and observe, Lt. Quimbus—ONLY observe. I hope you haven’t turned it into a mission of destruction.”
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The Captain turned again and marched off, shaking his head, muttering “Unbelievable.”
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Quimbus went back to his bunk, sat twiddling all his thumbs, and crossed his antennae, hoping he hadn’t accidentally ruined his second favorite planet.