Mongo Fiction: Going Bananas

Mwelph winked at his partner, the two of them ready for another heist in this rough and tumble town of two thousand. They had snuck into the alleyway between the bank and the general store at two in the morning, having made sure that the lone security guard at the tiny savings and loan establishment was securely intoxicated with Centaurian brandy, and so out of commission.

Mwelph and Brast were new in town, having ridden in on Wednesday, and ready to ride out of town in a night or two also on Wednesday.

Wednesday was the name of their ship, a cheap, run of the mill saucer-shaped craft patterned after old movies from the science fiction of the ancient mid-20th century. All they needed was a Robby the Robot prop to complete the ship’s decor and they could make guest appearances at science fiction conventions.

But here they were looking for cash, and lots of it. Mwelph opened his picks, a set of quantum keys used to quickly run through all possible combinations for the banks security lock, and to deactivate the alarms that had been placed for just such intrusions as this.

The two were overwhelmed by the amateurishness of the security measures, but he and his partner kept their silence as they made way to the vault once entry was made. Another type of quantum key was placed on the vault. This would be a tough one, with quintillions of possible combinations needing a much more complex array of q-bits to calculate the superposition of all. Seconds flashed by as billions, then trillions, and after a minute of tense waiting, the final quintillions. Then silence.

Something was wrong.

It had just stopped, but the door wasn’t opening. No, wait! Now it was!

A faint squeak of poorly lubricated hinges sounded as the vault door swung open, and a billowing fog oozed into the room, with a faint light showing from within. What the hell was this? His radiation counter was going off. Something within was giving off a lot of radiation.

Mwelph blinked as he looked into the vault. Not believing what he was seeing, he blinked again. Bananas. The entire vault was filled from floor to ceiling with bananas. There were apple bananas, ice-cream bananas, cooking bananas, but not a single cavendish in the lot. All of these were from the banana groves of the planet Mindallax. A sign was posted inside, over the stacks of produce in the vault: “Keep your stinkin’ paws off these, you d**n, dirty humans!”

What the h*ll was wrong with these people? Bananas as money?!

Then he and Brast remembered that the natives of this planet were descended from uplifted Terran gorillas. No, not brutish, hulking humans, but literal effing gorillas with slightly above human intelligence, for whom this was a valuable form of barter currency as well as a tasty snack.

The two would-be bank burglars quietly closed the vault and dejectedly snuck out the way they came in, kicking themselves all the way to the spaceport as they left this forsaken planet and went to seek better targets on economically sane planets – that didn’t use produce as money.

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