A fanfiction for Sam Sweetmilk, one of the greatest indie cartoons out there! Go check it out if you can, the creators are super talented and passionate and it really shows, even if the animation (for now!) is a bit rough.

Notes: Very mildy NSFW, because it wouldn’t be Sam Sweetmilk without phallic innuendo. As a warning, I got the concept of the “Automatic Empire” from an AMA like two years ago so it might not be valid/canon anymore. It’s not really a big part of the story so you know, whatevs.

In the mind-bogglingly vast expanse of space and time, in the midst of worlds of stars and galaxies spilling their brilliant lights into the all-encompassing void, in the wash of chaos and empires that stand on the whims of tiny numbers and calculations and chance, there existed a planet.

This planet was largely unremarkable except for what was about to happen, and afterward would again be unremarkable probably forever.

On this planet was a city, and around that city was a Wall (very authoritatively capitalized in the hopes of intimidating enemies), and on the Wall was a boring guard who was somehow bored himself. He was currently thinking about his wife and two point five children, and mostly about, as he had for the past five years, bills, reading his children a goodnight story, and a new magazine subscription that had so far failed to show up for about five years now but that he kept paying in hope.

This guard had found himself in this position entirely by choice, a rare path for guards of the Wall. This was a man who sought comfort above all else, and found most of his comfort in routine. There was plenty of that as a guard on the Wall, a position largely made irrelevant by the startling invention of anything-past-the-rifle. He shall remain nameless, as is the custom of his people.

Suffice it to say that he was rather startled when the Automatic Empire invaded.

The ship was anything but inconspicuous, standing against the night-darkened plains in defiance of anything like strategic camouflage or tactical advantage. A hatch opened, and from the bowels of the ship emerged a lone alien.

The alien, bathed in the light shining from the ship, marched forward and penetrated the ground with a long, thick flag.

“People of Abarfatania!” it barked. “You are in the process of being conquered by the Glorious and Enduring Automatic Empire!”

The guard ducked behind a rampart, and moments later, peered over it in what he hoped was an inconspicuous manner.

“Soon, your planet will be flooded with others like me,” it bellowed. “Prepare for your utter destruction.” It hesitated. “Or, er, you could surrender, too, I guess.”

The guard darted back into cover a moment too late. “You there!” the alien babbled. “Show yourself!”

The guard did so. “Who goes there?” he asked, tapping into some arcane, ancestral script amongst guardsmen a bit too late.

“I do!” the alien boomed. “Tell me, guard! What resistance could you hope to muster against the forces of the Automatic Empire that back me as we speak?” He stroked the shaft of the flag eagerly as he spoke.

The conversation was cut short by three different things that happened nearly at once, although the guard only saw one of them.

The first was the arrival of another starship, just behind the cloud cover.

The second was the projection of that starship’s captain in a very experimental beam-teleport-device-thingy, through a catastrophically improbable series of events, directly where the alien invader was standing. In that moment, the two became intertwined in an infinitely inseparable bond, their atoms and beings bound together perfectly for one moment, until they weren’t and the alien was instead transmitted aboard the suspiciously piscatorial ship.

The third thing, which is the thing the guard saw, was that the conquering alien had vanished and was immediately replaced by Sam Sweetmilk in a flash of green light.

The blond haired astronaut stretched luxuriously. “Oh fuck that was nice,” he said. “There’s nothing like a good beaming to get the day going, I always say.”

“This device has existed for an entire day,” came a monotone robotic voice in Sam’s ear. “You most certainly have not always said that.”

“Killjoy,” Sam said. “That was an innuendo, by the way.”

“How??”

Sam ignored the voice in favor of facing the guard on the Wall. “Ho there!” he shouted. “I’ve come to conquer your planet! Er,” he said. “Um. That’s not right. Hang on a second. Ghostworth, why are we here?”

“I have no idea.“

Sam scratched his head. “Was there someone here just a second ago?”

“Yes.”

“Where is he?”

“Currently aboard the ship, sir.”

“Oh. How is he?”

“I believe he is currently the red stain on the wall, a live raccoon, and a perfectly baked pan of banana bread, sir.”

“Ooh. Stick that in the fridge, will you?”

“I will do no such thing, sir.”

“Ughhh! Fine.”

Sam cut off the comms because Ghostworth’s voice was beginning to irritate him and turned his attention once more to the guard. “You there!” he shouted. “Can I, um, come up?”

A brief, hurried nod from the guard.

“Excellent!” Sam shouted.

There were a few minutes, as Sam spent an agonizingly long amount of time trying to climb the Wall before he discovered the entrance that led to a staircase, where the guard found himself questioning quite a bit about life and the universe. Was this strange man the extent of the wonders of the wide void? Or was he merely the tip of a much larger iceberg, a herald of a world much, much wider than he had ever imagined it could be? What would he see if he wanted to peer just a little bit further?

This line of thought was cut off when this herald arrived at his position, panting somewhat pathetically and leaning on the rampart for support.

“Oh man,” Sam said. “Phew. Those stairs, you know? Ahahaha. Ahem. Sorry. Who are you?”

Something within the guard’s mind clunked painfully to a conclusion. “I am but a humble guard, my lord,” he gushed, prostrating himself before the skinny astronaut. “Have you come to conquer us?”

Sam considered the guard. He looked friendly enough, with an appropriate amount of legs and at least the correct number of eyes, and besides, something hidden in his soul, for lack of a better word, seemed to be taking the wheel. “Why-”

A crackling sound right next to Sam’s ear interrupted the conversation. “Sir, I have news,” Ghostworth said.

“Oh, goody.”

“I’ve destroyed all of the Automatic starships, and am coming down to land.”

“With lasers, right?”

“What?”

“With lasers? You know, pew pew pew? The coolest weapon we have!”

“Sir, last week you said the proton missiles were the coolest weapons.”

“I’ve changed my mind. Pew pew-”

This time it was Ghostworth who cut the conversation short. Sam turned back to the guard. “What a wanker, am I right?”

“Of course, my lord,” the guard said, although he had only heard one side of the conversation.

“Now, uh, you guys have anywhere good to stay? I’m thinking at least five stars.”

“I believe we have a place that is perfect for one such as you, my lord,” the guard said.

“Oh, right. You can get up now, I guess.”

…

Being borne along a tide of adoring fans atop a mobile throne cushioned with the finest velvet and supplied with any food or drink you could desire was exactly as cool as you might think it would be.

“You know, Ghostworth?” Sam asked from his position atop a very similar throne, carried by very similar fans. “I think I like this place.”

“You didn’t do anything,” the robot said crossly from beside Sam, on the ground. He put on another burst of speed to keep up with the throne. “What happened with the beaming-thing-”

“The proper term is ‘lean green beam machine’.”

“-was a complete accident, and I did the rest. If anything, I should be on that throne.”

“Oh Ghostworth,” Sam said, and reached down to caress the robot’s floating head before Ghostworth shook the hand off, “you just don’t understand the intricacies and protocols of adventuring. There’s a certain rhyme and reason to this, you know. I just don’t have the time to explain it all to you.”

Ghostworth could have said a number of things then, but chose not to because their ‘hotel’ appeared in view.

A massive cylindrical building that swelled at the top, it was quite possibly the largest building Ghostworth had ever seen. He was surprised he hadn’t seen it from orbit.

“Now that,” Sam shouted above the newly renewed roaring of the crowd, “is a hotel!”

“Impossibly, I think it is.”

“Hey, hey you,” Sam said, and poked the back of an alien’s head. He turned around and immediately fell to one knee.

“My lord,” he said.

“We’re at the top of that thing, right?”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Good, good. Thanks man.”

“I’m actually a woman, sir.”

The procession halted. Ghostworth ran into the back of an alien and fell over.

One of the aliens whispered into the ear of the woman who’d spoken. She turned pale. “O-of course, you can call me whatever you want, sir- my lord,” she said, and somehow deepened her bow.

“Oh,” Sam said. “Uh, right. Being a woman. Don’t let it happen again.”

“Of course I won’t, my lord,” she said, voice filled with relief.

Slowly, the procession began again. Ghostworth picked himself up with the expected amount of assistance (none) and began to trudge alongside the throne again. “You handled that rather poorly, if I may so, sir,” he said.

“What are you talking about? Everyone’s happy! And you know,” Sam said, waggling a finger, “I don’t seem to remember giving you permission to talk to me!”

“I’m sorry?” Ghostworth said, shocked.

“Oh, that’s alright. Just don’t let it happen again. And look! We’re here!”

The procession had stopped in front of the massive doors. One alien took its place at the front of everyone else, directly in front of the doors, and spoke.

“People of Abarfitaniopolis, it is my great honor to welcome our savior,” his voice boomed. “The Great Sam Sweetmilk, who defeated the invaders and ensured our people will live freely-”

“Sorry, um,” Sam’s voice sounded. The aliens almost immediately took their positions on their knees. “Will we be going in soon? I mean, it’s not that I’m trying to be quick, I just find your speech really boring.”

The mayor (for that is what he was) paused. “Oh! Yes, of course! Men, open the doors!”

It took the collective effort of about (according to Ghostworth’s detailed analysis) about three hundred able-bodied adults and about two hundred of what he suspected were children to force the immense portal open. Sam watched impatiently.

Finally, the doors were completely open, and what was inside made Ghostworth’s metaphorical jaw drop.

The building, while large on the inside, seemed as though it contained entire worlds. The expanse of ground before them seemed to stretch on into infinity, and overhead were three gleaming suns of varying shapes and colors.

“There’s two more beneath the horizon,” the mayor said proudly.

“What? Six stars! That’s even better!”

“Five stars, sir.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s good, too.”

The procession halted in the middle of the expanse. Ghostworth looked behind them to find that the doors had vanished, and felt a vague sense of unease.

“Why have we stopped?” Sam demanded.

A rumble in the distance seemed prepared to answer his question. From the sky, another long cylindrical tube began to descend from behind a cloud.

“Wha-a-a-at?!” Sam shouted. “That’s so cool!”

It smashed to the ground in front of them, and in the front, the door opened.

“An elevator?” Ghostworth said, peering inside. He was almost crushed as Sam’s throne was borne inside the tiny space.

“An elevator to the grandest place known to the Abarfatanians,” the mayor said with a touch of pride. One of Sam’s attendants pressed the single button next to the entrance. It turned orange, and the doors closed alarmingly quickly.

“Built millennia ago by a race long dead, the Sky Palace is a marvel of Abarfatanian history,” the mayor said, with all the pomp and circumstance of a revelation as the elevator began to rise. “Hidden in a pocket dimension, the interior of this building is much larger than the exterior.”

“Incredible,” Ghostworth said, taking a look out the window. The ground was rapidly disappearing behind a cloud cover. “This is simply marvelous! The feat of engineering required to create such a place!”

“Ughh, Ghostworth,” Sam whined from his throne. “Can’t you see your whining is taking away from my moment?”

Ghostworth elected not to say anything in light of Sam’s retinue stationed around him.

Abruptly, after an irritatingly long time, the ascent halted, and the doors opened to a massive foyer made from a stone Ghostworth’s scanners didn’t recognize. The crew stepped out (or was carried out) and beheld the Sky Palace.

Or, the inside anyway, which was magnificent. The foyer extended, by Ghostworth’s calculations, a square half-mile, with the elevator entrance at the center. The walls towered over them, accessible by a mind-boggling series of ladders that began at the ground and only got more confusingly intertwined from there.

“Incredible,” Ghostworth repeated. “Why, I – I don’t have the words to describe this.”

“Well, they must be coming from somewhere,” Sam snarked. “Mayor! Show us where we’ll be staying. Oh, and make sure there’s booze. Only booze. Forever.”

“Of course, my lord,” he said. “If you will follow me…”

…

Hours later, Sam struggled into the room, situated at the very tip of the palace. “Oh god,” he said. “Ghostworth, scan my vitals.”

“Everything is in working order,” the robot said, just following Sam. “I’ve omitted your brain in this scan, as usual.”

“Very funny,” Sam snapped. “You know, I’m like a god to these people! I could have you smited if I wanted to.”

Ghostworth gave him a funny glance (such as could be accomplished with robot eyes), but was cut off when he looked up.

There was no ceiling, or rather, the ceiling they had was entirely transparent. It revealed the night sky with all the clarity of open air through the room’s pyramidal walls. Around them hovered stars, designations that Ghostworth’s systems swore didn’t exist in any part of known space. They were high enough that, if Ghostworth looked, he could see the five suns of this strange place hover just below the horizon, casting a faint light into the corners of the sky.

“Ghostworth?” Sam said. “Are you listening to me?”

“Huh- oh, yes. My apologies, sir.”

“Damn right. Now listen; I was thinking. We could stay here a while, right?”

“What?” Ghostworth snapped.

“Well, you know, these people need us!” Sam said. “What if the Autobahns come back?”

“Automatic. They’re Automatic.”

Sam gasped. “We have more to fear than we realized! Ghostworth, we could do some real good!”

“Since when have you ever wanted to do good for anyone?” Ghostworth, avoiding Sam’s outstretched hand. “Sir, this whole situation is wrong. You’re not acting like yourself. I’ve been working on a theory-”

“You know, Ghostworth, I expected better of you! Do you really think I’ve never wanted to help anyone before?”

The silence stretched. Ghostworth struggled for words. Sam’s glare deepened the longer he delayed. “Sir-”

“You know what? Never mind. Obviously I have no friends here.”

“Sir, if you’ll just listen to me! You’ve been acting like a conqueror, not a… you! Remember, just a week ago, you weren’t certain you wanted to watch a movie because you didn’t want to sit still for two hours? And now you’re talking about staying here for, how long? Days, weeks, months? However long it takes to ‘help’ these people?”

“What’s wrong with conquering?” Sam asked. “I’ve been uncertain of who I was for so long, maybe this is it!”

Ghostworth shook his head. “Well, besides the moral implications, I believe something happened when you and the Automatic representative, er, switched places earlier. That is to say, some of him rubbed off on you.”

“Haha, ew.”

“Be serious, sir.”

“Fine, fine. So what?”

Ghostworth brought his hand to his face. “This isn’t you, Sam. And sooner or later you’ll realize it.” A tablet bleeped in the corner. Ghostworth picked it up and read the message.

“Just look at this! ‘Mayor of Abarfitaniopolis decrees that everyone is now male, no matter their original gender’. Do you have an idea of who may have caused that?”

“Ugh, Ghostworth, now is not the time for riddles.”

“You! You did! When you told off that woman in the city! And-” Ghostworth scrolled through several new messages, including one that stated no one may say more than two sentences at a time and another that banned non-alcoholic beverages. “Sam, you’re hurting these people.”

Sam sat up and frowned. “Hurting? That’s ridiculous.”

Ghostworth sighed and sat on the couch. “Fine, don’t believe me. But-”

“Well, that’s that conversation settled! Now, I think it’s time to hit the hay! Saving planets is hard work,” Sam said, yawning and stretching obnoxiously. “Hey, do you think Vela would like this place?”

Ghostworth glanced around at the thick, clear walls, imagined the sealed chamber that formed the heart of the Palace, the illusion of open air above them. “I don’t think Miss Vela would like this place at all, sir.”

“Eh, fine. Goodnight, Ghostworth.”

“…Goodnight, sir.”

…

The next morning, they were awakened by the sound of violent revolution.

Sam was the first up. He groped blindly on the desk for his glasses before remembering that he didn’t wear any, and stumbled to the wall/window. It was morning, and the five suns hovered around him peacefully.

On the ground was anything but peace.

From this height, Sam could barely make out more than an indistinct blur, but even from this height, he could tell that the blob was angry.

“Ghostworth!” he cried. The robot in question was slumped next to the wall, seemingly inactive.

Sam fumbled around Ghostworth’s body. “Come on, come on,” he mumbled. “There’s gotta be an off switch here!”

“Sir? Sir!” Ghostworth said.

“Oh, thank goodness!”

“I don’t have an on switch, Sam! How many times must I tell you?! Now what’s going on?”

“There’s an army outside!” Sam shouted. “Well, that or a strange, uh, lump of people who really like yelling.”

“What?” Ghostworth said. He peered out the same window Sam did. “Oh, dear.”

“That’s what I said! Well, not really. But I was thinking it! With more swearing.”

Ghostworth hurried to where the elevator was. “As long as they can’t get up here, we should be safe.”

“Oh, Datch,” Sam said. He slid to the ground. “This is really fucked.”

“You know, sir,” Ghostworth said irritably, “This is entirely your fault.”

“Excuse you! I think this is at least partially your fault. Or maybe wholly, you decide.”

“This wouldn’t be nearly as bad if you would just accept responsibility!” Ghostworth cried. “How is it that nothing is ever your fault? Sooner or later you’re going to have to realize that-”

The Palace shuddered. Ghostworth didn’t even want to think about what caused that.

“You’re going to have to realize that sometimes, the only way to start to fix something is to acknowledge your part in it.”

Sam was quiet. Ghostworth plodded over to sit next to him.

“OK,” Sam said. “Let’s call it 50/50 between both of us.”

“…I suppose that’s the best I’m going to get.”

There was another rocking. A voice called up from somewhere below. Sam and Ghostworth went to the window, where Ghostworth, with enhanced vision, was able to pick out a familiar sight.

The mayor was trussed up upon a stick and was thrust in front of the crowd as if in offering.

“Er, yes, hello?” he said. “If um, if you can hear me, I’ll repeat my message… the people of Abarfatania would like to, uh, say that you’re not welcome here anymore and also-”

“I’m a woman!” screamed one of the aliens. “A WOMAN!”

“Yes, that.”

Others, probably women, began to yell as well. Ghostworth cut the enhanced sight. “We need to get out of here, Sam,” he said.

“Yes,” Sam said. “Right.”

Ghostworth looked at him. “You sound reluctant.”

“Well, I mean – do we have to?”

Ghostworth was stunned. “Excuse me?”

“Well, I mean,” Sam said. “This is all fixable, right? I just need to… take control…”

Ghostworth watched as his master walked to the bed and sat down heavily, putting his head in his hands. “What’s happening to me?” he asked.

“I told you,” Ghostworth said. “It’s that alien. His being, his thoughts, got mixed up with yours, and now you think you’re someone you’re not.” Ghostworth checked the time. “About now it should be draining from your system. Although there are some side effects.”

“What, compared to what?” Sam asked angrily.

“Like anger.”

“I’m no one, Ghostworth!” Sam flopped back on the bed. “I’m just a – nothing! Big, fat, plop.” Sam made farting noises, which Ghostworth was only reasonably sure were connected to what he just said. “You know, it’s easy being you.”

“Very,” Ghostworth said.

“At least you were built for something, right? Me? I’m just sort of, here. No memories, no nothing.” Sam sighed. “At least I could be something, you know?”

Ghostworth was silent. He dropped the feed from the crowd and sat next to Sam. He listened to the chanting of the crowd growing stronger before he canceled the noise, too, and sat in near silence, save for Sam’s breathing. “You were built for something,” Ghostworth said.

Sam looked at him. “What? Losing? Being extremely handsome and not much else?”

Ghostworth plucked a hair from Sam’s arm. He yelped. “Hey!”

“This was part of an evolutionary attempt to keep your distant ancestors warm,” Ghostworth said. “Of course, humans lost most of it because humans can’t do anything right, but the point stands. This-” Ghostworth prodded Sam’s stomach - “was made to digest food and keep you from starving. This-” his mouth this time – “was made to make your food into something digestible.”

“Right, uh,” Sam said. “Why are you poking me and where is this going?”

“You’re a survival machine, Sam,” Ghostworth said. “Just like I’m a service machine. We were made to do things, specific things. As a wise kitchen once told me, those functions could make us happy, if we let them.”

Sam looked out the window.

“But we don’t,” Ghostworth continued. “We strive for more, better! You strive for adventure, to remake yourself! I strive for, well.” Pause. “The point is, functions don’t make us happy, they just convince us we’re not unhappy. We make us happy.”

Sam stared at Ghostworth. “You know something, Ghostworth? You’re a lot smarter than you look. Which isn’t very hard.”

“Right, I got it.”

The people were beginning to grow louder. Sam grinned. “Well! Adventure isn’t going to go on itself! Call the ship, Ghostworth!”

…

The people of Abarfatania would remember the day their hero-turned-tyrant left their world in a number of ways. It would be immortalized into song and story, opportunists would cast themselves as the heroes, and several pornographic films would be made about it before any actual movie industry got their hands on it. What really happened, though, was that the people of Abarfatania saw a small white speck escape from the swollen tip of their most precious building and expel itself into space. The mayor was delighted by this, as were the people, and he went on to be elected to seven more terms before he died of falling down the stairs and then being run over by a car.

In the upper atmosphere of Abarfatania, the starship Goldfish hovered.

“Ahh, it’s good to be back!” Sam had positioned himself once more in the captain’s chair, and was spinning it around as quickly as he could. “Oh, fuck, bad idea.”

While Sam hurled in the corner, Ghostworth sat himself down at the station behind one of the curvy things and sighed.

“Something on your mind, pal?” Sam wiped vomit off of his face.

“Oh, nothing.”

“Oh, good. Hey, listen.” Sam rubbed the back of his head. “What you said back there, that was pretty, ugh. That was definitely not a bad thing to say.”

“…I’m glad it touched you so deeply, sir.”

“OK, OK, weirdo. It was just,” Sam sighed. “It was nice knowing who I was for once. You know?”

“I can imagine, sir.”

As the ship pulled away into the whirling infinity, one last question was asked. “Hey, Ghostworth, do you think that building back there looked like a-”

“Yes, sir.”

“OK, right, yeah. Good.”