 
### Flight of the Intrepid Monkey II -

### The Search for the Constellation

By

Mac Zazski

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2017 Mac Zazski

Discover other titles by Mac Zazski at Smashwords.com

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### Dedication

This book is dedicated to my brother, Mark, who for some unknown reason, enjoys reading what I write. I can't believe it either, but he is always giving me wonderful compliments and encouragement. Honestly, he does, he tells me things like, "This one wasn't so bad" or "I doubt they even know you're alive, so why would they sue you?" or even, "Mental health problems are something you should not ignore...".

He also thinks that many of the things I write about are about him, which is ridiculous, since he has never been Amish, a space pirate, President of the Interplanetary Government or a Cardinal in the Roman Catholic Church, but I digress. Actually, not to beat a dead horse as it were, but no one in the book is named Mark, nor is anyone in any of the stories I've written named Mark, nor are any of the physical descriptions of ANYONE even remotely suggestive of my brother. I don't think so anyway, I have to admit that I did not check, but I'm at least 97 percent sure, which is a pretty good percentage.

Anyway, my dear brother, this book is dedicated to you, partially because you encourage me (and even pay full retail for these literary masterpieces) but mostly because you know where all the bodies are buried and you're not above telling Mom. Enjoy and remember, not a word to Mom...
Table of Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

### Introduction

Zooks, the home planet of the interplanetary pirate horde and many Amish people, is a lovely planet filled with green fields, blue skies and free parking. While the planet has many lovely spots, the one we are visiting is a man-made structure, unimposing, small and neat. It is a little shop with quaint wood trim painted in white in contrast to modest yellow painted exterior. A large window displays a beautiful wedding gown and a tasteful sign announces that you have arrived at Martha's Bridal Shop.

Inside two women wait for a third to reveal herself in her wedding gown. It is a time of excitement, a time of dreaming of the future and a moment that good friends will share and then remember for a lifetime.

The bride to be, Nicole Stanwich, soon to be Mrs. Skip Tardy, the daughter of Captain Jerod Stanwich, captain of the good ship Intrepid Monkey, steps out from behind the curtain that separates the dressing room from the rest of the small dress shop. With a nervous smile, she looks up at her best girlfriends, Julie and Bethusda.

"What do you think?" she asked breathlessly, looking down at the delicate lace of her gown and then up at her best friends.

Julie stood up as her eyes filled with tears, "Oh my God, Nicole, you look like a princess!"

"That's the most beautiful wedding gown I've ever seen," sighed Bethusda, "and you are the most beautiful bride..."

The women hugged, each gently touching the lacy gown, all talking excitedly at once.

"I'm so glad you like it," laughed Nicole, brushing away a tear. "I was so nervous it wouldn't fit!"

"The first fitting is always nerve wracking," laughed Julie, "but you look like an angel. Skip is going to die when he sees you in this dress!"

"I hope not," smiled Bethusda, Panther's girlfriend whom her friends called Anne because she hated the name Bethusda. "That would ruin the honeymoon..."

They all laughed and began talking all at once again.

The lady who owned the dress shop, a pretty Amish lady wearing a starched white bonnet, glided in and spoke quietly to them, addressing herself to Nicole.

"I'm still trying to get the rest of the matching lace for the veil," she said, her soft voice reassuring. "I'm sorry, but with the current shortages, it has taken me longer to find it than it usually would, but don't worry. My supplier found a store on the other side of the planet with some and it should be here within the week."

"These shortages are getting annoying," stated Anne. "I was looking for some shoes the other day and the clerk told me that they were almost out of them. How can you run out of shoes? What does that even mean? Trust me; you do NOT want to be around a black woman when someone tells her they've run out of shoes!"

"I've heard that the pirate ships might be re-activated soon," stated Julie. "I hope so, I don't think it is wise to let pirates sit around unattended too long, they find a way of getting into mischief."

"Did you hear that Gertrude is thinking of getting her own pirate ship?" asked Anne.

Gertrude had been Julie's husband Gil's secretary back on earth. It was due to her daring truck driving that Julie and Gil and their pirate friends had been able to escape the clutches of the Interplanetary troops and return safely back to the planet Zooks with their furniture.

"Her OWN pirate ship?" asked Julie. "That would be fantastic! She'd be the first female pirate with her own ship!"

"She was talking about putting together an all-female crew," smiled Nicole. "Unfortunately, she isn't going to be able to make it to the wedding. She has some issues she had to settle back on earth and is going to be away for the next few months."

"That would be amazing," laughed Anne. "I know some angry women who would love to be part of that crew..."

"Once you're married for a few years, Nicole, you'll probably want to join them," giggled Julie.

"I don't know which way we'll be going as pirates," smiled Nicole. "I know Cardinal Benny wants Skip to stay with Captain Galbard and the crew of the Constellation, but I sort of like the idea of him going with my Dad and the crew on the Intrepid Monkey. I know Daddy is an excellent captain, but I don't know what type of pirate he's going to make."

"I understand why Cardinal Benny wants Skip to stay with Captain Galbard," stated Julie. "He's a nice man, but he needs watching."

"So, does Daddy," said Nicole softly.

"They all do, honey," stated Anne. "You can't leave men running around on their own, you're just asking for trouble and they're worse when they get in groups. Panther is the sweetest, smartest, sexiest man I know, but when he gets together with the rest of your father's crew, his I.Q. drops about eighty percent."

"Gil doesn't do well in groups," stated Julie. "Of course, he's got problems being on his own as well..."

"Skip is so smart and he's great in emergencies," gushed Nicole. "I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with him."

The women all smiled and then hugged Nicole. She was going to make a beautiful bride.

### Chapter 1

" **Peace, n.- In international affairs, a period of cheating between two periods of fighting." – Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary**

It had been almost a year since the great Intergalactic Armada had stormed across the cosmos and destroyed the moon over the planet Zooks. They had not, as they had assumed, destroyed the home of the intergalactic pirates they were seeking, but instead had wiped out a colony of fashion designers, but their actions had interrupted the pirate planet's routine almost despite themselves.

Since all of the main decisions regarding the pirates and their activities were decided by the Roman Catholic Church, and the destruction of the moon had been considered, as indeed it was, a very narrow escape, it had been decided at the highest levels of the Vatican that the pirates should take a break for six months before resuming operations. The directive had come down from the Pope himself - the pirates were to take a hiatus until the interplanetary government forces had found something else to bother themselves about, so for six months the pirate horde had lain in dock, repairing their ships, buying supplies and generally getting themselves into trouble at home in one way or another. After six months, the Pope had allowed them to restart limited operations in order to support and maintain the multiple hidden planets that their "pirating" supplied.

The Vatican's man on the scene, Cardinal Benito Rugatelli, Papal Prefect of Pirates, was beginning to worry, however. A strongly built man with a large nose and a gravelly voice, Cardinal Benny, as he was known, had his hands filled keeping a large group of easily distracted, mentally negligible adults from getting into trouble. Additionally, the pirate fleet was small and was struggling to supply the most basic necessities to all of the planets using "limited operations". As the planetary shortages became worse and the pirates began acting like children stuck inside on a snow day, the Cardinal decided to approach his Holiness with the request to release his pirates back to their full and active previous lives.

On a viewing screen in his apartment, Cardinal Benito respectfully sat and stared at his boss, the Pope, who seemed unsure of how to respond to his request.

"Things are not quiet here yet, Benito," said the Pope softly. "The intergalactic government is in an uproar; Scotland has threatened to unleash their weapons of mass destruction if they don't receive the repayment they were promised on the loans they extended to the government to carry on the war against your pirates. It has made the international situation very unstable."

"Scotland?" asked Cardinal Benito. "I'm sorry Holy Father, but what weapons of mass destruction does Scotland have? Besides, I thought the international community had gotten together and signed a treaty banning all weapons of mass destruction and most reality television shows..."

"So much has changed since you were last here, Benito," replied the Pope, shaking his head sadly. "Scotland is the most powerful nation on planet Earth right now. They loaned the intergalactic government trillions to fund the armada that threatened you and the government does not have the money to pay them back. On top of that, no one thought to have them sign the treaty banning weapons of mass destruction and they said nothing until all of the other countries had disarmed. Now, they've sent out an ultimatum to the intergalactic government; if they don't receive the money they're owed, they are going to unleash their weapons on an unprotected world."

"I had no idea the Scots had nuclear weapons," replied Cardinal Benito.

"Who said they had nuclear weapons?" replied the Pope, a look of confusion upon his face.

"If they don't have nuclear weapons, then what weapons of mass destruction could they threaten the world with?" asked Cardinal Benito.

"They're threatening to export haggis," replied the Pope.

"Haggis?" asked Benito.

"With all the money the government spent on the armada they sent to destroy you, they cannot pay back the loan," continued the Pope sadly. "Things are very tense here..."

"Haggis?" repeated Benito.

"So many troubles in this world, so many..."

"Your Holiness," replied Benito, trying to stay on track, "the planets are running out of supplies faster than we can resupply them. I understand your hesitation, but you have to remember, even when we get back into full operation, we're still going to be running short handed. The Constellation is still in dry dock and may never fly again, so we are at least one ship short..."

"The repairs aren't going well?" asked the Pope.

"Holiness, there isn't enough ship left to put back together," replied Benito. "Captain Galbard is a wonderful captain, but he never quite learned how to duck. His ship suffered over eight hundred direct hits. We are basically rebuilding the whole ship and that is not possible to get even half of the parts we need unless you give us permission to resume full operations."

The Pope considered the argument. While the situation remained tense on earth, reactivating the pirates made sense; he could not allow innocent people to starve.

"Very well, Benito," he stated. "You may resume full operations, but please, tell your people to keep it as low key as possible. Avoid any unnecessary confrontations; avoid any problems where possible, do you understand?"

Benito grimaced, "I understand Holiness, but you know what I'm working with up here, right?"

The Pope shook his head, "Heaven help us all..."

***

Captain Galbard leaned against the window of the jewelry shop roguishly, his long blonde hair blowing gently in the breeze, his well-formed figure on display in his skin tight white t-shirt and black pirate pants tucked into thigh high Cavalier boots.

"Are you sure about this, Skip?" he asked. "You still have time to back out. I mean, yes, she has the ring and you've rented the hall and reserved the Church and all, but you're still a pirate and running away would be almost expected."

Skip Tardy, Galbard's best friend and first mate smiled pleasantly. Dressed in jeans, deck shoes and a polo shirt, Tardy adjusted the sunglasses on his boyish face, looking more like a young executive on vacation then a wanted pirate. With a raised eyebrow, he nodded to Galbard; the captain was a fantastic pirate, a wonderful leader in time of crisis and slightly insane, but his views on marriage and commitment were more appropriate to rabbits than humans.

"Thank you, Captain, but I love Nicole and I want to marry her."

Galbard rolled his eyes briefly before admiring his reflection in the window of the shop.

"Oh well, Skip, I've told you before, you're a great guy, but a strange pirate. Now explain to me again why we're here? She's already got an engagement ring and you already picked up the wedding ring, so what are we doing here?"

"Nicole said she liked a pair of earrings that we saw here and I want to get them for her as a surprise."

Galbard shrugged as they entered the shop, "Seems silly to me. If you keep doing things like this she'll expect you to keep this up and then when you're married, you'll have to do all sorts of things to keep up the façade..."

"It's not a façade," countered Tardy patiently, "I love her and want to make her happy."

Galbard raised an eyebrow, "Whatever. If it makes you both happy, fine, I'm not here to argue the impossibility of the situation. Actually, if you could forget about earrings for a moment, I'd like to discuss us replacing the Constellation."

Tardy looked surprised. The Constellation was the most feared pirate ship in the galaxy and Galbard's pride and joy. The problem was that the Constellation had had more holes blown in it than the global warming theory. The Constellation had been under repair for months with no end in sight, but Galbard's attachment to the ship had never wavered before. That was why the Captain's announcement was such a bombshell to his first mate.

"Replace the Constellation?"

"Of course," replied Galbard. "Let's face facts, Skip, we've been in dry dock forever and every day is just more bad news. I spoke to the guy who is in charge of replacing the hull and he said that the damage is much more extensive then they originally thought. Now it looks like they won't be able to save _any_ of it..."

"You can hardly be surprised," replied Tardy. "The Constellation endured a lot of damage. It was a miracle it didn't implode before the Intrepid Monkey captured us."

"Can I help you gentlemen?"

The voice that had interrupted them belonged to an extremely attractive redhead who gave Galbard a generous smile.

"My friend here is looking for a pair of earrings for his fiancé," stated Galbard suavely, "I, on the other hand, am available to be naked with anyone I please."

"Those earrings," stated Tardy, pointing to them with a tight, embarrassed smile. "I'd like to see those earrings."

"Certainly," answered the woman, eyes glowing as she looked over the captain. "Once I get his earrings, perhaps we could discuss your availability..."

"Oh, not again," exhaled Tardy.

***

Julie Johnson sat on her sun porch enjoying a glass of iced tea and waiting for her husband to return from the market. Her husband Gil was the Chief of All Pirate Accountants on the planet, responsible for maintaining stock and inventory of all planetary supplies and the man who explained vacation scheduling and pension plans to everyone in his union. She looked out over the fields that surrounded their small home that sat near the garden of the Cardinal's residence and smiled.

They had both been terrified by the prospect of becoming pirates and wanted criminals, but she knew in her heart that they had made the right choice. She had never been more happy or excited and their new home was beautiful and comfortable. That was not to say that she did not miss certain things from Earth; to be honest the Amish were wonderful neighbors and ran wonderful markets but she could just kill for a good cannoli. Still, if that was the extent of her sacrifice, she could put up with it.

She watched as Gil came walking up, a bag of groceries in his arms. He smiled at her in the special way he smiled only at her and she almost laughed. Married all these years and still excited to see one another, it was an amazing feeling.

"Did you get the peppers?" she called out.

"Yes," he smiled, opening the little gate and entering the front path. "I got the peppers and I even picked up some of that squash you like."

"Oh wonderful," she smiled as he walked up the stairs and planted a kiss on her lips. "Dinner will be ready soon."

"That's wonderful," he replied, his face suddenly a bit nervous. "I need to go to a meeting tonight..."

"A meeting?" asked Julie, concern rising in her voice. "A meeting with who?"

"The Cardinal called a meeting," replied Gil, lowering himself onto one of the rocking chairs that sat on the porch. "I think he is going to inform that pirates that they are to begin full operations again."

"You don't seem pleased," she replied.

"We're running short on a lot of supplies," stated Gil, "but I don't know if the men are ready. I've heard some rumors... I mean, even if you include our flight to Earth to pick up our luggage, the men of the Intrepid Monkey have only been on a handful of raids and I'm not sure they were as successful as they could have been. With Captain Galbard and his crew stuck at home with no ship..."

"Frankly I worry about Captain Stanwich," replied Julie, concern causing her to frown. "What if they got captured, so close to the wedding...just think of poor Nicole..."

Nicole was Captain Stanwich's daughter and had become a great friend to both Julie and Gil. The three of them and Nicole's fiancé, Skip, often went out together. The idea that something might happen to Nicole's father was disturbing to say the least.

"Perhaps you should come to the meeting tonight," stated Gil anxiously.

Gil knew his shortcomings and that he was not the best spokesman and that there were times when his thoughts tended to wander. It was not that he did not pay attention exactly, he did, but occasionally a thought would cross his mind and he would examine it and then he would miss something important that was being said. If Julie came, there would be at least one rational person in the room. It was not that he was not rational, especially compared to many of their friends, but sometimes he to find himself being talked into things that he should probably have not gotten involved in.

Take for instance the entire decision to come to Zooks in the first place. Now he was firmly against it, but the others thought it would do no harm. Now as it turned out, things had worked out fine, but he had voted no and he would have never come here. Not initially that is, now he loved it here, you could not keep him away, and Julie, well Julie had really blossomed here. Well, no, that wasn't completely true, his Julie had blossomed every day they were together, but here, their love had become even more intense, their love had blossomed, yes, that was what he meant, their love for one another had blossomed.

"Yes," he stated seriously, "I think you should come tonight..."

"I just said that I would," replied Julie. "Didn't you hear me Gil? I just said I would. Were you not paying attention?"

"I was thinking about how sometimes I don't pay attention," he stated.

"And that caused you not to pay attention," she replied.

"Yes," he agreed.

"Well stop thinking about how you don't pay attention and pay attention," she cautioned. "We're going to need to listen and respond tonight. If the Cardinal is going to announce what you think he is going to announce, then we all had better be on our toes."

"You're right, of course," he replied sheepishly.

Where had that saying come from, "on our toes"? Why did it mean being alert? If he was on his toes, he wasn't being alert, he was trying to be taller so that he could reach something. Why didn't people say something like, "I've got to fix my ceiling fan, I really have to be on my toes..." THAT would make more sense, wouldn't it?

Julie stood back, watching her husband and shook her head. Thinking about the origin of the saying "on our toes" she thought, watching his glassy stare and the way he was flexing his feet. She loved Gil, she really did, but there were times...

### Chapter 2

" **Those who are too smart to engage in politics are punished by being governed by those who are dumber." – Plato**

As Gil and Julie prepared for the all-important meeting with Cardinal Benny, back on Earth, the members of the intergalactic government found themselves embroiled in an emergency meeting all of their own. The sweet taste of victory from the supposed destruction of the pirate horde had been short lived and now the cost of the war had to be paid...somehow. Like most governments, the intergalactic government had sold the idea of a war without considering the fact that it would cost money.

The Interplanetary President sat, sour faced and unhappy at one end of an enormous conference table. He had been having lunch at the Beige House, the Interplanetary Presidential Palace, when the Midlevel Presidential Assistant and First-Class Groveler had come in to call him to this all-important emergency meeting. In addition to his natural inclination to avoid emergency meetings, today was Wednesday which meant the Interplanetary Presidential Chef had made soup with little meatballs, the president's favorite. Since he had to attend the emergency meeting, he had been forced to gobble his soup which had made him and his tummy unhappy. Now that the president thought about it, he might have swallowed one of the meatballs whole and if he had, well it just confirmed to him the enormous amount of pressure a man in his position was under.

As the emergency meeting room began filling with various Congressional leaders, the president soon found himself having to speak to people whom he did not like, both in his own party and in the opposing parties. He could not help but wonder, why did he have to be involved? Congress had approved the money for the space armada; it had been a popular thing to do, so why were they all in a panic now? So, they technically did not have the money to pay for the armada, when had a lack of funds ever stopped the government from spending money? He just did not see the justice in missing out on little meatball soup because a few malcontents could not get with the way government worked.

The Midlevel Presidential Assistant and First-Class Groveler sidled up to him and leaned over, whispering softly into his ear, "You might want to call the meeting to order now, sir."

"Do they have any little meatball soup left?" he asked pointedly.

The congressional leaders stood back, working hard not to appear obvious in their attempts to overhear the presidential conversation. Congressman Pitt, who was standing closest to the president, smiled smugly to one of his companions.

"He's asking if they have any meaningful support," he whispered confidently to the man, a knowing frown on his face. "This is going to be interesting..."

As the Midlevel Presidential Assistant and First-Class Groveler left to locate some leftovers for his boss, the president cleared his voice and called the meeting to order. Taking their seats, the representatives leaned forward trying to appear intent as the president tried to think of how he should open the proceedings. The president found himself placed in a huge dilemma, one every politician knows is their primary function to avoid. If he made a suggestion as to how to handle the present crisis, he would be leaving himself open for contradiction should the decision be wrong. If he said nothing, then he would be leaving himself open for the charge of doing nothing in the face of a crisis. All in all, there seemed to be no way to avoid doing something and to do it without the guarantee of having someone else to blame. It was the position no politician could risk and yet here he was, caught in its deadly web.

The people in the room watching him as he hesitated attached quite different interpretations to his actions. The Congressional Majority Leader saw it as the president trying to silence the descending members of his own party. The Congressional Minority Leader saw it as an attempt by the president to silence the opposition. The Congressional Independent Whip saw it as the president attempting to exclude non-party participants, his silence sending a secret message to party members to ignore the non-party people. Presidential aides thought that he had misplaced his notes. The head of the security detail worried that he was taking a moment to review the security arrangements for the meeting. A female congress person felt the delay was due to his disregard for women. A male congressman felt he was showboating for the females in the audience. A gay congressman felt the delay was his excuse to consider making a pass at him. A lesbian congresswoman felt he was delaying in order to mock her.

Suddenly the door situated behind the president opened and a large, elderly black woman with a bandana on her head and a worn apron entered rolling a garbage can surrounded by battered bottles filled with cleaning supplies. Looking about the room at all the important people, she shook her head in disgust.

"Dammit, fuckin' room 'sposed to be empty," she crabbed in a guttural grumble.

Her gaze fell upon the president who stared back at her, saying nothing. After a moment, she gave a short harsh laugh.

"Dumb motherfucker cain't think a nothing to say...dumb motherfucker..."

Rolling her eyes, she turned back around, gave a snort followed by a fart and then pulled the garbage can back out into the hall, slamming the door shut behind her.

Everyone turned their attention back to the president, who cleared his throat and forced himself to begin.

"Ladies and gentleman," he stated with a grim dignity. "I have gathered you here to discuss the current crisis. I now open the floor to discussion."

Short, concise and noncommittal, thought the president as he settled back into his chair with satisfaction. He had made no promises, had given no lead, had shown no favoritism, had given no hint of a direction to take. With any luck, they would argue to a point where they would insist on making a decision themselves...

***

"NO ONE HEARD OUR MAYDAY, CAPTAIN!" yelled Second Mate Tolliver, raising his mazer rifle and pointing down the hallway. "IT'S JUST US AGAINST THE PIRATES!"

The captain, Albert Puccio was a short, fat man with an enormous black mustache and huge, bushy eyebrows. Turning to look at their ships viewing screen, he could see that they were now being held captive in the massive storage hull of a garbage scow that had intercepted them and captured them. He had heard of pirates working in this area, but he had never encountered any trouble here before. Peering down the hallway, he could see the ship's main entrance door glowing red. Soon the pirates would burst through the door and who knew what would happen!

"OKAY MEN," he called out heroically. "THEY MAY TAKE US ALL, BUT NOT WITHOUT A FIGHT!"

Suddenly, the door exploded inwards, a massive cloud of smoke and debris momentarily blinding the crew of the stricken ship. A loud voice called in from the shattered doorway.

"Hello? HELLO!!!"

Captain Puccio stared down the hallway, what the hell was this? The voice sounded like someone who was lost and was looking for directions.

"Hello..." he called back, unsure of what to say.

From out of the smoke, a tall, lanky man with light blonde hair and piercing blue eyes stepped down the hall, a large, slightly manic smile on his face. He was dressed in a light blue jumpsuit with a red sash tied about his waist, a large pirate cutlass hanging from it somewhat awkwardly and he was holding a clipboard. Peering through the smoke, he stepped forward tentatively until he spotted the men huddle at the end of the hall and waved to them as if seeing old friends across a fairground.

"Hello there," he called out happily. "I'm Captain Jerod Stanwich of the good ship, Intrepid Monkey. I'll be your pirate for today and I'd just like to say that while I am your pirate, it doesn't mean we can't be friends..."

"Yes, it does," responded Captain Puccio uncertainty creeping into his voice. "You've come to rob us!"

"Technically, perhaps," responded Stanwich good- naturedly. "But it is useless to resist and...and...oh shoot..."

Stopping several feet from the armed men, he began flipping through the papers on the clipboard, finally finding what he was looking for and began to read from the sheet of paper.

"It is useless to resist. If you and your crew will cooperate with us, no one will get hurt. We do not wish to cause any harm and are interested only in the cargo of your vessel..."

"Are you reading from a script?" asked Puccio.

"Well, yes," confessed Stanwich. "It's just, well, and I'm not making excuses here, but it's just that there is a lot I have to tell you and they stress time a lot, "Don't waste too much time because the authorities might have been summoned" and "Don't stay in the same place too long because someone might get a fix on your position"..."

"Well, our mayday went unheeded," offered Second Mate Tolliver.

"Did it?" smiled Stanwich. "Wonderful, thank you for that, that's really excellent. Thank you for speaking up and letting me know it really helps take a lot of the pressure off..."

"What the hell type of pirate are you?" asked Puccio. "Thank you? Reading from a script? Let's be friends? Are you even a real pirate???"

Reaching back into his pocket, Stanwich pulled out a small card, "Yes, yes I am and I don't blame you for asking, you can't be too careful now a-days. See, this is my union card..."

"You have a union?" asked Puccio, staring at the card.

"We don't have a union," stated one of the men huddled nearest the wall. "The pirates have a union and we don't?"

"We have dental too," stated Stanwich. Sticking a finger into his mouth, he pointed, "See that back molar? Got that filled for a ten-gold co-pay. I could have gotten it for five, but I went to my own dentist instead of the union guy."

The men looked into his mouth with interest.

"That's nice work," conceded Puccio.

"And he's got late hours," stated Stanwich. "I mean, you never know what time you're getting back from a raid and you know how they get if you cancel an appointment..."

"I cancelled on my dentist and he wouldn't see me for two months," stated Tolliver.

"I hate my dentist," stated Puccio with a vehemence one usually reserves for an ex-wife or an old person driving slow in the fast lane. "He's a butcher!"

"I can give you my guy's card," stated Stanwich, fishing again in his pocket.

"That's awfully nice of you," replied Puccio.

"Like I said, this doesn't have to be harsh," replied Stanwich. "I mean, we're all just working men. This was a garbage scow before we became pirates, I know what it's like to punch a time clock."

"Captain," called a voice from the shattered doorway. "Captain, we've secured the cargo."

"Be with you in a minute," called back Stanwich. Pulling out the card, he handed it to Captain Puccio. "Tell him Jerod told you to come see him, he usually doesn't take new patients unless they're referred."

"You'd do that for me?" asked Puccio, genuinely touched.

"Of course," replied Stanwich. "Look, we're both captains, we've got to stick together!"

The men all laughed.

"Well, I'm sorry, but I have to go so that they can seal that hole we made and then you can be on your way," stated Stanwich happily. Thrusting out his hand, he shook Puccio's hand and then in turn, the men who had gathered around them. "It's been a pleasure and thank you for your cooperation. I'm sorry about all the paperwork you'll have to fill out, but we really appreciate your business. I hope we run into each other again."

"You have a good day," replied Puccio. "I hope we do meet again."

With a wave, Stanwich walked back towards the hole in the ship's wall. A moment later, a large piece of metal closed the hole and a red glow surrounded the edges, obvious signs that it was being welded into place. A short time later, an announcement came in over the radio that the hull was repaired and that their ship was free to go.

Puccio guided the vessel out of the now open hold and watched as the Intrepid Monkey rocketed off into space, soon lost in the great darkness of the universe.

"Nice guy," he said as he headed back to earth. "Don't tell anyone about the dentist. If anyone asks, we put up a hell of a fight, got that?"

The crew members all nodded and returned to their stations. After all, it wasn't their cargo, but they all owned their teeth...

***

The meeting at the Cardinal's Residence was held in the basement because it was the only room large enough to provide room for all of the ships captains, administrative personnel and logistical staff needed to reasonably discuss the topic under discussion. Unfortunately, the basement was also being used by the Catholic Ladies Guild and the Altar Society for their bi-monthly meetings which added confusion to an already confused group of individuals.

Cardinal Benny came down the cellar steps and eyed the confusion with a sigh. Times like this made him think that retirement could not come soon enough. Still, there was work to be done and these people were his to care for, guide and hopefully lead. First, he retrieved several of the pirate captains from their wrongfully achieved places at the other meetings. Then he called the meeting to order.

"I am here to deliver the news that his Holiness, the Pope, has authorized us to resume full operations," stated the Cardinal. Instantly a happy murmur broke out over the crowd. "Hold it down, hold it down," he said, raising his hands to call for order.

"This is going to be great!" stated Caucasian Tim excitedly. Tim was a respected captain but had an aversion to both personal hygiene and proper clothing that made most people uncomfortable to be in his presence.

"Bring it down a notch," snapped the Cardinal, "We're here to discuss a plan on how best to resume full operations. Zooks is on the verge of severe shortages as are the other planets we service. We will be working with fewer ships because the Constellation is still out of service and might be for some time. In addition to that, his Holiness has expressed his desire that all of our operations be discreet and low key. The intergalactic government missed us the first time and he doesn't want us taking a chance on getting discovered again. Gil, you all know Gil, Gil, I'd like you to say a few words first off about the shortages we are facing if you could..."

Gil stood up and cleared his throat, glancing at Julie for reassurance before he began.

"Certainly, your Eminence, thank you. Well, gentlemen, there are already some severe shortages on both Allah's Acres and Boca, including machinery, food and construction materials. The problem from the logistical stand point is that without the Constellation, we are not only a ship short, but due to that one ships hauling capacity, our ability to take in supplies is reduced by almost ten percent. Even if we begin operations immediately, it will take almost six months longer to resupply than it would have previously."

"But doesn't the addition of the Intrepid Monkey make up for the loss of the Constellation?" asked Captain Gulliver, captain of the pirate fleet's smallest and least feared ship, the Zippy.

"I'm afraid not," he stated. "While the Intrepid Monkey has a larger hold capacity than the Constellation, it also has a smaller crew. Also, we don't know what a normal haul will be for the Intrepid Monkey because they haven't established an average haul size yet. That isn't to say they won't do their part," Gil said apologetically, looking at his friend Captain Stanwich, "I'm sure they'll do a wonderful job, but I can only speak to the levels that those with a history have created prior to our shut down."

"We're ready," stated Stanwich. "My men are ready and more than willing. Why just today, we brought in a haul of equipment and food and we did it in record time. Record time for us, that is, but still, record time and in addition, I also was able to drum up some extra business for my dentist, so all in all, it was a good day!"

The other captains present paused, considered the information and then decided that they should check to see when they had last had a cleaning.

"Very well," stated the Cardinal. "I think we need to focus our attention primarily on the food shortages to start with..."

"If I may, your Cardinalship..."

The group looked up at Captain Galbard, who stood rakishly at the head of the table, hand on hip, blonde hair flowing down to his shoulders, roguish smile in place. The Cardinal noticed that the speeches from the Catholic Ladies Guild side of the room seemed to die down very quickly. Galbard had an overpowering effect on women who were so taken by his looks that they seldom, if ever, realized that the man was insane. Perhaps insane is too strong a word, mused Cardinal Benny, perhaps peculiar. Yes, peculiar, in a fraternity boy type of way...

"What is it, Galbard?" asked Cardinal Benny, sure that his first mistake had been to speak that particular sentence.

"I think that your main priority is wrong," began Galbard, swaggering about the table in a virile fashion that made the many sixty-year old members of the Guild swoon. "Our largest need isn't for more supplies; our largest need is for the Constellation to be operational."

"The problem with that Captain is that your ship needs materials that we currently don't have," replied Gil. "Also, even when we get the supplies, it will be months before the repairs to your ship can be completed."

"That's why I'm saying that we give up on repairing the Constellation," stated Galbard. "We're pirates, when we need something, we TAKE IT!"

One of the older ladies began to clap enthusiastically before her table mate shushed her.

"You want to steal some mechanics to repair the Constellation?" asked Captain Gulliver, not the dimmest of the dim bulbs at the meeting, but certainly not one whose illumination capabilities left one blinded.

"No," laughed Galbard enthusiastically, "I'm saying our first mission should be to steal a NEW CONSTELLATION!"

The others at the table broke out into loud, enthusiastic murmuring.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," stated Cardinal Benny. "We are supposed to be keeping a low profile. Stealing supplies is one thing, stealing a ship is a much bigger deal. Also, how many ships are big enough to replace the Constellation?"

"I know of one that is readily available," stated Galbard firmly.

The murmuring broke out again.

"Can you all please stop doing that?" asked the Cardinal, peering about the assembly with a frown. "It's the twenty-third century, we don't murmur." Turning his attention to Galbard he rolled his eyes, "Okay, I'll bite, what ship is readily available to replace the Constellation?"

Galbard smiled, "The new Constellation will be the Federation."

The room went completely silent.

"I know you're one of the most resourceful leaders available," said Gil just prior to a swift and painful kick from Julie having found its mark. "I have had the pleasure of working alongside you and I was very impressed, but I'm at a loss at how even YOU think you can steal the Federation."

"Impressed? Resourceful?" the Cardinal asked Gil in open mouth astonishment. "He's nuts! The Federation? The Federation is the Intergalactic Governments newest Death Star. You can't steal the Federation! It's a warship designed to kill pirates! You're a pirate! Do you see a little problem with that?"

"I have the perfect plan," replied Galbard. "Once we have the Federation, we'll be unstoppable. Think about it! We'd have the galaxy's biggest, most unbelievable weapon!"

"You tell him big boy!" snapped Ladies Guild President Beatrice Hawthorne, mother of eight and grandmother of sixteen, including little Tony, just six weeks old. The ladies joined their president in an enthusiastic round of applause.

Ignoring them, the Cardinal rubbed his eyes, "Do you have any idea of the meaning of the words "low key and discreet"? No, of course not, why did I even ask..."

"We don't have to do it with a lot of fanfare," replied Galbard, "though it would be more fun that way..."

"How do you steal the largest warship in the universe without people noticing?" snapped the Cardinal.

"If someone famous died on the same day, like the Dali Lama or a Kardashian..." began Caucasian Tim slowly.

"No, no, NO!" snapped the Cardinal. "We don't steal warships, we AVOID warships, ESPECIALLY the Federation! It's enormous, it's powerful, it is DANGEROUS!"

"We're pirates!" replied Galbard enthusiastically. "If we steal the Federation, we'll remove the danger it poses!"

"He's got a point," nodded Gil, wincing as the thought not to say what he had said and Julie's kick under the table arrived both a moment too late.

"The only thing that has a point on it is the top of his head," replied the Cardinal. He looked about at those gathered in exasperation, "Am I the only person capable of rational thought here? We are supposed to be discussing stealing supplies to make sure people don't go hungry, not taking on the Intergalactic government's security forces by stealing their most powerful weapon system. You do realize that the Federation is not alone and vulnerable? It's in a secured location surrounded by about a hundred ships of the line. Also, it's a massive war system in its own right! You wouldn't just be taking on the Federation, you'd be taking on a huge government force with what?" Cardinal Benny looked around the room and gestured wildly. "We've got five ships! We've got at the most a thousand men and women to man those ships! They've got tens of thousands of people JUST in that fleet and they have OTHER FLEETS! What do we have to throw against that? What plan could possibly work? Have the Ladies Guild throw a bake sale and spike the cupcakes?"

"I only use wheat flower in my baking," began Gertrude Zimmer, mother of three, grandmother of five and GREAT-grandmother of two, including little Tommy, seven months old. "I never use unnatural products, it takes away from the flavor..."

"THANK YOU, MRS. ZIMMER," snapped Cardinal Benny. "As for you, Captain Galbard, no, no, no, no, and NO! The Federation is NOT up for discussion and the rest of you, get the idea out of your heads, don't think about it anymore and that's a direct order!"

The pirate captains looked down at their hands sullenly. Cardinal Benny stared wildly about the room, his eyes growing larger.

"What is this?" asked the Cardinal, looking at the sad faces that surrounded him. "You're giving me boo-boo faces? I'm saving your lives and you're upset that I don't let you go off to kill yourselves?" Leaning across the table, he squinted at each of the captains in turn, "If you don't drop the long faces, no one gets dessert, so help me!"

The captain's eyed each other; they had seen cannoli on the dessert table. The Cardinal had a connection and was the only one on the whole planet who could get decent cannoli. A ship for Galbard was important, but there were priorities. With solemn nods to one another, they began forcing themselves to smile.

"That's better," replied the Cardinal, shooting a short glare at the Ladies Guild meeting to keep that quarter in check. "Now let's get down to business. We've been monitoring their communications and there will be several ships filled with supplies in areas where we can work quickly and without causing too much of a problem..."

### Chapter 3

" **The race may not be to the swift nor the victory to the strong, but that's how you bet." – Damon Runyon**

The Chief Minister of Finance entered the President's office and took the seat opposite planet Earth's chief executive officer. The minister forced a smile, his thoughts regarding the meeting taking a back seat to the nagging thought that he should not have worn the socks he was wearing to this meeting.

His daughter had given him the socks a while back and then accused him of not liking them, which he didn't, but because she had accused him of disliking them, he was forced to lie and say that he did like them. In order to maintain the charade, he was forced to actually wear them, caught in his own dishonesty. While the socks were comfortable enough, they were purple and who in their right minds wore purple socks?

Since he had not expected to see the President today, his original schedule had called for a hearing before the Senate, a light lunch, a nap, some golf, another nap, dinner with friends whom he didn't like, a tryst with his mistress followed by cocktails with his third wife and her new husband and then a leisurely drive home to his fourth wife. Instead, he had been called to the Beige House and was doing his best to impress upon the President the way to solve an economic crisis. Still, the socks rankled. What if he were photographed? What would the press say?

"So, what do you suggest?" asked the President, leaning back in his chair and trying not to look as bored as he felt. "The war on pirates brought on a whole slew of bills we can't pay and people are blaming us because we were the ones who spent the money, which I think is unfair, but you can't reason with people. Anyway, as my Minister of Finance, I'm hoping you will have some sort of idea as to how to address the situation."

"When do you speak next, sir?" asked the finance minister, fingertips pressed together to simulate thought.

"I have an important speech to make tomorrow before the Rotarians regarding how they should serve people that the government wishes to ignore," he stated gravely.

"I think we have to put in the speech that you are working hard to counter the effects of the current economic recession," stated the Finance Minister.

"We're in a recession?" asked the President. "Why wasn't I informed?"

"We're not in a recession," stated the Finance Minister. "Technically, we're free falling into a depression, but that is hardly the point. The point is that by you must call it a recession; you will have gotten the drop on everyone else. No one is calling it anything at the moment, which means we get to name it and THAT is key! If we call it a recession and then someone else calls it a depression, they'll be viewed as being fear mongers and negative thinkers. We can't afford anyone to call us fear mongers and negative thinkers, so the important thing is to call it a recession first and then stick to your guns."

"Are we taking any steps to counter this recession?" asked the President.

"Oh, once you name it," began the Minister vaguely, "we'll do the usual. We'll keep telling the people that we're waiting for new data to see if it reaffirms the old data and that it's too early to tell if we are in a recession or not."

"But are we actually doing anything to try and stop the recession?" asked the President.

"Good Heavens, no," chuckled the Minister. "What can WE do?"

"I don't know," admitted the President. "I thought we should appear to do something..."

"Appear? Oh yes, we will do our best to appear to be doing something," replied the Finance Minister. "We'll be vigorously watching the economic indicators for signs. The entire thrust of governmental fiscal management is watching for signs and then not reacting. If you react, you lose. By not reacting, we are showing our faith in the current policies. If we react, then we'll be accused of blinking and you don't want to blink."

"Yes, I know," replied the President with a squint. "There is nothing worse in politics than being accused of blinking."

"Continents may fall, economic chaos may ensue, but if you blink, it's over," agreed the Finance Minister with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You have to show the financial world that you are not blinking. Once you announce we are in a recession, it will make more sense that we can't pay back the loans at the moment because we are dealing with an economic problem far outweighing our misappropriation of funds. Now remember, you have to reassure them that economic ruin isn't imminent and the only way to do that is to admit that we are in a recession..."

"Which is actually a depression..."

"Yes, which is actually a depression, but they can't call it that because you spoke first and named it a recession."

The President nodded sagely. This is why you needed people with financial degrees running things. The common man would never understand this type of deep economic theory.

"How will the opposition react?" asked the President warily.

"Oh, they'll blame you for the recession," replied the Finance Minister, "but not to worry. You merely say that because they blocked your spending bill, they caused an economic climate unfavorable to recovery."

"But they didn't block my spending bill," replied the President. "They couldn't have been nicer about it. They voted for it."

"Then blame them for forcing a spending bill upon you that you did not favor but that you signed into law in the mistaken hope that it would create bi-partisan cooperation," replied the Finance Minister. "No one will bother to check who initiated the bill, if they do, just say that it was fatally changed in the house finance committee and that you couldn't get the cooperation you sought to change it back to its original form. It's their fault, everyone will see that..."

"Okay, they're to blame, which makes sense because we're never to blame," stated the President. "Then what?"

"Then you inform the public that your plan is pulling them out of the recession, but like all recessions, it will take time to restore public confidence. If they say that they want economic movement now, just accuse them of being short sighted and narrow opportunists who are selling their children's futures down the river for an easier lifestyle now. People hate to be reminded that they could care less about their children's futures, that they just want life easier for themselves, so they'll back off. Then make a show of doing something economical yourself. Let yourself be photographed picking up the paper from the Beige House lawn. Explain that you fired the fellow who used to pick up the paper and are saving the tax payers millions a year by firing people and keeping the government lean."

"But if we fire people, don't those people then need to find jobs?" asked the President.

"Of course they do, but there are no jobs because we're in a recession," replied the Finance Minister. "That isn't your fault, it's the business community's fault for not supporting your programs and for failing to show confidence in the economy. All recessions are the result of the failure of the business community to show confidence in government policies."

"What about the opposition, I thought they were to blame," replied the President.

"Oh, they are," replied the Finance Minister, "but recessions are big complicated things, so you have to have more than one person to pin it on. Remember, this is going to be a long recovery, so you need to spread out the blame. You can see to it that everyone who opposes you gets tagged with causing it or contributing to it, just as long as you make sure that you say it's a recession first. Once people realize we are in a recession, it will seem unreasonable for anyone to want us to pay our bills."

"So, people don't have to pay their bills during a recession?" asked the President, fascinated by this financial information.

"Oh, good Heavens, PEOPLE have to pay their bills," laughed the finance minister. "Government's don't. People always have to pay their bills, otherwise who would pay our salaries?"

"So, the government doesn't have to pay their bills if they create a recession," stated the President with an understanding nod.

"Exactly," smiled the minister. "Government's aren't like people; people have rules to live by, government's not so much..."

"I have to name the recession in order to keep us from paying our debts," replied the President thoughtfully.

"And then do nothing," advised the minister. "Remember, in finance, naming the situation far outweighs who caused it or what problems it creates."

"Very well," replied the President grimly. "I will have to shock the Rotarians tomorrow and inform them that we are in a recession."

"It's not going to be easy Mister President," replied the Finance Minister, "but if anyone can blame other people for the mistakes of his administration with more conviction than you can, well, I'd like to meet that man."

"Thank you," smiled the President. "I appreciate you coming to see me."

"Anything for you, Mister President," stated the Finance Minister, hoping to still get in a quick nap.

The President smiled as the Finance Minister rose to leave his office.

"Oh, Jack," he called out in a cordial tone.

"Yes, Mister President?"

"Love those socks," smiled the President. "Very dapper..."

"Thank you, sir," replied the Finance Minister and with a smile, he was gone.

The President thought of the Minister; how could such a good man have such a hard time keeping a wife, he wondered. Oh well, we all have our misfortunes to deal with...why just today, he had to wolf down his soup. Life could be a cruel mistress...

***

While the Finance Minister moved swiftly away from his meeting with the President in order to salvage some of his nap time, Chester was wandering happily down one of the hallways on the Intrepid Monkey, glad to be off of work and heading home to his new bride, Yeoman Xiang. Chester was a short, chubby man with blonde hair and a dreamy, faraway look in his eyes. He always wore a flower in the lapel of his overalls and was always cheerful and slightly unsure of what was going on.

He had had the good fortune to have stolen Captain Galbard's love toy out from under his nose, how, no one was completely sure and now he and Yeoman Xiang were husband and wife and lived in Chester's apartment aboard the Intrepid Monkey. Lumbering up to the apartment door, he pressed his finger against the little touch screen and the door slid open, allowing him to walk into his living room.

"Honey Bunny, I'm home," called out Chester happily.

A door to his right swung open and out stepped Xiang. Before their marriage, she had been in the habit of wearing microscopic clothing that barely covered her body thus allowing her to provide for the immediate population an overt display of hot sexuality. Since becoming Chester's wife, however, an old fashion streak that she had never thought possible had taken hold of Xiang. She felt it inconsistent with her love for Chester to display her sexuality for anyone to behold but her beloved and now as a doting wife had determined that she would dress more modestly. While her intentions came from the very best and purest motives, Xiang possessed a truly faulty understanding of what real modesty was, so she greeted Chester in what she felt was a demure and tasteful outfit consisting of a black latex cat suit unzipped to the navel and thigh high boots with nine-inch heels.

"My lovey dovey, you're home!" she squealed as she raced into his arms and kissed him passionately.

While not overly burdened with intelligence, Chester had a natural inclination towards affection and a simplistic understanding that his new bride was more than a bit stunning in the looks department. After a few moments of passionate necking, he broke away, both for some much-needed air and to tell his beloved his good news.

"Shnookums," he began, "we got great news today. We're going to be fully activated!"

"Oh, my darling," she laughed, hugging him tightly to her predominately exposed bosom, "that's wonderful! Oh, I can't wait to get back into action again!"

"I'm so happy you've decided to join our crew," replied Chester dreamily. "I can't wait to be joined with you, not only in matrimony, but together in battle, pirating together. I think sharing a mutual goal is so important in a relationship, don't you?"

"I agree with you, my little pumpkin," she said, playfully grabbing a handful of his plump backside and sashaying with him towards the couch. "I think it helps to keep the romance alive."

"I'll never feel anything but romance for you my angel kissy pooh."

"Nor will I ever feel anything but love and respect for you, my big strong choo-choo, boo-boo."

Reclining on the couch, his favorite girl wrapped around him like a comfy blanket, Chester smiled, "The captain is waiting for Cardinal Benny to let us know what our first target will be."

Xiang looked at him, her expression slightly doubtful, "Do you think now that we are going back into full service that the rest of the crew will see me as part of the group? I mean, they've been absolute angels to me so far, but things can change in the thick of battle, my golly-wally kissy bear."

Chester hugged her reassuringly, "Of course they will my kissy-wissy lollipop. Weren't you the one who saved us when we returned to earth to pick up Gil and Julie's furniture? You were at the helm and they jumped to your commands because they, like me, trust your judgment and good sense. You mustn't doubt yourself my tippy-wippy ice cream ducky."

"Oh Chester, this will be a wonderful way to celebrate our love," smiled Xiang.

Chester looked at her dreamily, "It will, my darling. Nothing brings lovers together like illegal activities enjoyed with friends..."

***

Gil and Julie walked through the enormous garden that separated the Cardinal's residence from their own comfy home. Enjoying the bright moonlight, Gil happily strolled towards home, having a wonderful evening with the girl of his dreams close by his side.

Placing his hand in hers, he said happily, "Isn't it a beautiful night?"

Julie stopped and stared at him for a moment.

"He's got a point?"

Gil blushed slightly, "It slipped out..."

"He's got a point?" repeated Julie more adamantly. "Gil, I love you, but sometimes, you just don't think! Captain Galbard is a wonderful man, but he's got more than a few screws loose. Even when he has a great idea, chances are there is something wrong with the way he wants to carry it out. Now darling, I know you've been working very hard for quite a while now, but what, WHAT were you thinking?"

"I'm sorry," whimpered Gil, "it just slipped out. I never meant...well, all I meant was that if you remove a danger it no longer is a danger, that's the whole idea behind "removing a danger", isn't it? I mean, he had a point on that point, I wasn't suggesting we steal the Federation, I was merely agreeing that a danger removed is no longer a danger."

Julie sighed, "I know what you meant, darling, but you really must either explain what you mean or say nothing at all. I love our friends and neighbors, they are good people giving their lives in a good cause, but their perception of life isn't like ours. Some people see the glass as half full and some see it as half empty and they see it as a carrot or an orangutan. Oh, there are some exceptions, Nicole or Skip or Cardinal Benny, but on the whole, you must remember that you are not speaking to normal people. Not speaking to normal people got us here in the first place and while it is wonderful and I'm happy we are here, we mustn't forget that a little encouragement in the wrong ear can get us all arrested or killed or stuck in a toilet with a bomb mere seconds from exploding on the other side of the locked door."

"I understand you completely," lied Gil, having no idea where the toilet bomb fit into the scheme of things. "I wasn't thinking. He caught me off guard, the whole idea was so fantastic..."

"I understand," murmured Julie, taking his hand and leading him towards the house. "They can do that to you. I had to ask Panther how Captain Stanwich managed to subdue a cargo ship by suggesting the captain see his dentist..."

"You wouldn't think that a dental referral would work in that situation..." drawled Gil.

"For normal people, no," replied Julie. "I guess here on Zooks, anything is possible."

"Which is why we must be more careful when we speak," murmured Gil. "You're right my love, I'm not arguing. I shouldn't have said anything."

Julie stopped again and looked at him in the moonlight. He was her knight in shining armor, her champion, the man she would love and care for and occasionally have to babysit for the rest of her life. All in all, she was a lucky woman. She leaned forward and kissed him tenderly.

"Come on, let's go home."

With a hug, she took his hand and led him down the path towards their home.

### Chapter 4

" **Consistency requires you to be as ignorant today as you were a year ago."- Bernard Berensen**

The crew of the Intrepid Monkey was assembled around a table in the middle of the enormous cafeteria, excitedly speaking about being given permission for their first full blown mission. Captain Stanwich held up his hands for silence and gradually, the excited group quieted down.

"I know that you're all excited, but before we go into any details about the mission, I want to make a suggestion to you all that we invite Gil and Julie to join us," he said formally. "After all, they are our silent partners and if it weren't for them, none of us would have ever even become pirates. I think that now that we have been fully activated, they should have the option of joining us. I mean, after this, Gil will be too busy with his inventory work to come with us, what do the rest of you think?"

"I think it's the craziest thing I've ever heard," stated Mad Matt, "and I know crazy."

"No argument there," countered Panther, "but the Captain does have a point. Why don't you want them with us?"

"Yeah, what's the matter?" asked Don. "They were a big help to us when we went back to earth to get their furniture. If it weren't for them, we wouldn't have gotten out of that situation..."

"Without them, we wouldn't have gotten INTO that situation," stated Mad Matt. "We went back for THEIR furniture if you remember and we would have never been there if it weren't for them."

"I like Julie and Gil," stated Chester happily. "I think it would be nice to have them aboard for our first full blown foray into pirating."

"Foray?" sniffed Mad Matt. "Look, Lord Chesterfield, I don't know what is up with the fancy words, but they haven't even been through training. We've spent months training, preparing, putting in long hours, going out on test missions and now, you want to let some amateurs come along for the ride. Even if they wanted to do it, there is no time for them to take the training, so I think they should stay home and wait for our triumphant return."

"Maybe WE could train them," suggested Yeoman Xiang, demurely dressed in a leather halter top, see-through mesh skirt with black, high cut pantie underneath and black, patent leather hooker shoes.

"What do you mean?" asked Stanwich.

"Well, we could test them like we were tested," replied Xiang sweetly, reaching over and brushing some stray strands of hair from Chester's forehead. "We know the type of questions we were asked and we could give them a test..."

"I could set up an obstacle course for them in the hold," stated Mad Matt, warming to the idea. "I can set up something like a "Cliff of Death" or a "Jump of Doom"! All I'll need is some old wood, a piece of rope, some rusty nails and a canon!"

"I don't think you should set up the obstacle course by yourself," replied Panther. "We don't want them dead, we want to train them."

"If they die, then that would settle the question of their fitness, wouldn't it?" countered Mad Matt.

"I think it's a splendid idea," stated the Captain. "Not them dying, that would-be kind of anticlimactic, I mean testing them. I'll go and see Gil and Julie tonight and let them know that we'd like them along and what we have in mind."

"Just think, we'll all be together again," smiled Nicole. "And since the Constellation is still out of commission, perhaps Skip could make the trip with us as well."

"Wonderful," crabbed Mad Matt, "what is this, a sleep over? Are we going to invite the whole planet to go with us?"

"If we're inviting everyone, I think it would be nice to have some horses with us," replied Chester happily. "I like horses..."

"I don't think we should take everyone with us, sweetums and I don't think it would be a good idea to take any horses at all, darling lump-lump," replied Xiang shyly taking her husband's hand. "They'd have to stay in the hold and when we captured the ship we're going to rob, they would float out into space and explode. It just wouldn't be nice for them..."

"Well, if they wouldn't enjoy it, shnookums, then I say we leave them home," replied Chester, grasping her hand and kissing it tenderly.

"I'm killing the next person who uses the word shnookums, lump-lump or sweetums in a sentence," stated Mad Matt, eyeing Xiang and Chester meaningfully.

"So, it's agreed," smiled Stanwich, ignoring the lesser debates going on about him. "I'll go and see Gil and Julie tonight and Nicky, if you want to invite your fiancé that would be all right as well."

"Thank you, Daddy," squealed Nicole, jumping up to him and wrapping her arms around him and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"Mister Tardy is an excellent pirate," stated Yeoman Xiang. "He would make a great addition to our first mission."

"Fine, we'll make a party of it," grumbled Mad Matt as he turned away. "I'm going to my cabin to work on some ideas for the obstacle course. Panther, do you think you could rig up a death ray on short notice?"

Panther shook his head; maybe he could stay home with the horses...

***

Commander Masterson strode onto the bridge of his new, multi-zillion gold death star and smiled the smile of a truly content man. His former superior officer, the absolutely insane Commander Fitzpatrick had retired last week, leaving Masterson as the most senior commander left in the Intergalactic fleet. This, the most expensive, most advanced and most terrifying weapons system in the universe was now his flagship. These people were his crew, this was his ship and he had no one over him instructing him to attack a pirate ship by using a flame thrower. Suddenly, life was good and Masterson was a man who had the sense to appreciate life when it was good.

Scanning the bridge, he saw the young, expectant faces peering up at him as he made his way to his chair, the commander's chair, the center of the entire death star world. Easing himself down onto the chair, he let the feeling of power wash over him as he closed his eyes and the crew broke into spontaneous applause.

"On behalf of the crew of the Federation, welcome aboard sir," said a charming female voice.

Masterson opened his eyes and saw a beautiful young Yeoman dressed in a form fitting uniform holding a tray with a large banana daiquiri on it. She momentarily blinded him with a brilliant smile and said softly, "I am Yeoman Yothers, sir, your personal assistant. Anything I can do to make your life easier, you just let me know."

Taking the daiquiri from the tray, Masterson sampled it and his smile grew.

"Thank you, Yeoman Yothers. I would like the entire crew to join me, daiquiris for everyone!"

The crew again broke out into spontaneous applause as Masterson took another sip of his drink. Yes, it was a man's life in the new intergalactic fleet!

***

"With everyone away, I think it would be a good weekend to go to the shore," stated Julie.

Gil looked up from his dinner, a perplexed look on his face.

"There's a shore?"

"Yes, Gil, it's about three hours from here..."

"A shore to what?" he asked, not sure if she was making fun of him or not.

"There is a large lake about three miles from here," stated Julie absently, rising to clear the dinner dishes. "From what Gertrude told me, there is swimming and sunning and even those little paddle boats for two, you know, where you peddle around the lake..."

"I had no idea," replied Gil. "That sounds like a lot of fun..."

"Oh, and she told me about a little bed and breakfast on the lake called "The Little Bed and Breakfast on the Lake" which is supposed to be so quaint and lovely," smiled Julie, looking off into space for a moment. "Oh Gil, since we embraced the pirate life, we haven't had a day off. We've been working so hard on the inventory and accounting and getting the house together that we haven't had time just for us."

"And most weekends someone shows up on our doorstep," stated Gil apologetically. "I mean, I love our friends, I really do, but it would be nice just to get away, just the two of us."

"With all of them away on their first mission, we could sneak off and have a wonderful weekend and no one would be the wiser," smiled Julie. "Gertrude also said that there are all types of antique shopping there..."

"Oh, I know you love antiques," laughed Gil.

"Oh Gil, our house was MADE for antiques," she smiled. "Think of how pretty it would look with some rustic accents!"

"We have entire rooms filled with rustic accents," he laughed. "I know how you love them and you know I can't say no to you."

"So, we can go?" she asked, wrapping her arms around him.

"Of course, we can," he chuckled. "We should be all free and clear. Nothing should get in the way of our little weekend away!"

### Chapter 5

" **They say you can't do it, but sometimes it doesn't always work." - Casey Stengel**

Captain Galbard leaned across the fence and looked at the Amish farmer, stroking his chin and smiled slowly. The first priority of any commander was to make sure that his crew was supplied and prepared for any eventuality. Currently, the crew of the Constellation were being housed in an apartment complex on the other side of the city and though their ship was full of more holes than a soap opera storyline, Galbard still felt that he needed to act as their captain. Besides, if they were fortunate enough to get a new Constellation, he would have to supply it and there was, after all, no sense in waiting for the last minute to stock pile essential materials.

"So, you are saying that you can supply me with jam at a more reasonable price than I'm currently enjoying?" he ventured, ready to open negotiations with the man standing opposite him.

"We used to have twenty-eight children," replied the Amish farmer stoically, "and now we're down to four."

"I'm so sorry for your losses," replied Galbard softly.

"What losses is that?" asked the farmer, perplexed.

"You said you lost twenty-four children..." replied Galbard.

"No one said nothing about losing twenty-four children," replied the farmer, annoyed. "Each in turn became sixteen and got themselves married and now we only got four at home. Problem is my wife can't stop cooking and canning for twenty-eight, so I have a lot of things I don't need about the house and I'm not building another barn. Just because you're Amish doesn't mean you should spend your life building barns..."

"I understand..."

"Got to have a hundred people over and put up the walls and eat potato salad every weekend because she can't cut down her recipes and we've run out of storage..."

"I see..."

"I've got eight barns full of jam! If I wasn't in debt to the man who makes the bottles, I'd give them away, but she just keeps making it..."

"Yes, yes..."

"I've got boysenberry, gooseberry, raspberry, strawberry, lemon, lime, cherry, avocado and peach," he snapped. "Cases of it, absolute CASES of it!"

"That's fine..."

"Have you ever eaten avocado jam?" asked the farmer, pointing a meaty finger at Galbard. "It's not for human consumption, but she got hold of some avocados, from where I have no idea and she made jam out of them! Jam! If it's not jam, she sewing quilts, if it's not quilts, she's churning butter. Do you know what churning butter does to the forearms? She looks like Popeye!"

"I would like to order some..."

"She's got these big hams for arms," stated the farmer, pointing to his own forearms. "She hugged me last week and I passed out! "God doesn't like idle hands" she always says, well God must be well pleased with her is all I can say..."

"She sounds like a wonderful woman..."

"Thank God the baby making years are over," he continued to crab. "Every year another mouth to feed, every year another behind to wipe... I don't mind being a simple man but I have to think even a simple man is entitled to something more from life than being pooped on from one end and being spit up on from the other!"

"I'm going to need about four hundred cases in my first order," stated Galbard quickly, happy to get a word in.

"Four hundred cases of what?" asked the farmer, confused by the change of subject.

"Jam," replied Galbard. "I need jam, remember?"

"Who in blazes can forget about jam?" asked the farmer, pointing to the barns looming in the background. "I've got jam coming out of my ears!"

"Well, I'd like to purchase some for my crew," stated Galbard.

"I'm telling you," stated the farmer, his ire growing, "if I ever get my hands on that Hade's Bound Englisher who sells her the tops for the glass jars, I'll shun him like he's never been shunned before!"

"Well, what do I have to do to get my jam?" asked Galbard, trying to stay on track.

"Marry an Amish woman, that's what you do," replied the farmer. "You'll be swimming in jam. You'll be up to your neck in it! You'll have so much jam you'll go mad with the making of it!"

"You know," replied Galbard, gently backing away, "I think I'll stick with my original jam guy. He's a bit more-pricey, but he has other attributes, like a certain mental stability..."

"Fine, I'll keep the jam!" replied the farmer, the demented look in his eyes growing more acute. "Who doesn't need a few barns full of jam? "Jacob, could you put this away for me?" "What is it?" "I made some JAM!" "OH GOODY, MORE JAM!!! JUST WHAT I ALWAYS WANTED, MORE JAM!!!""

Galbard eased away as the farmer's laughter became more and more maniacal. He'd have to talk with Skip and see if Nicole made jam. If she did, he would have to insist that the marriage be called off...

***

If there was a time for quick and decisive words, it was now, at this specific point in time, at this very moment. Unfortunately, Gil did not rise to the occasion.

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..."

"Then it's settled," stated Captain Stanwich. "You two will join us on our first raid! Oh, it will be like old times, having the crew all together again."

"But Captain," began Julie, angry at herself for having thought Gil capable of coming up with something other than "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..." at such a critical moment, "we were thinking of going to the shore this weekend..."

"Well, I don't you see how," smiled the Captain, completely oblivious to her concerns, wants, desires or wishes. "You're coming with us, remember?"

"Gil!" snapped Julie.

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..."

"See, Julie, Gil is with me," replied the Captain, happy to have Gil's confirmation in the matter. Rising, he gave them a happy smile, "Oh, by the way, we'll need you to come to the ship on Wednesday night, you'll have to pass a little test that the crew came up with to make sure that you are ship/shape for the voyage. Nothing too strenuous and thankfully, Panther says that he wasn't going to make a death ray for Mad Matt no matter how much he begged."

"GIL!"

"But..." was all Gil could manage.

"I'll see you Wednesday," replied the Captain, opening the front door. "You might want to wear something casual and comfortable. If it is mazer proof, that would be good too. Good night!"

With that, the Captain was gone. Julie stared at Gil, who sat, stunned on the couch. Looking up at her, he knew that both his marriage and his continued existence would depend very much on what he managed to say in the next breath.

"He surprised me..."

"HE SURPRISED YOU????" she cried. "He totally ruined our weekend plans, got us to go pirating, is making us take a test and the best you can come up with is HE SURPRISED YOU????"

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..."

Julie threw up her hands, "OH, OH, FOR PETE'S SAKE!"

Utterly frustrated, she threw the dish towel she was holding to the ground, stamped on it and stomped out to the kitchen. Gil sat there, his mind racing, but his transmission stuck in neutral. When thoughts finally began to form, his mind grasped the situation like a novice snake handler reaching for a cobra. As the focus returned to his eyes, he shook his head.

"Oh crap..."

***

"Commander Masterson, we are so glad to have you with us this afternoon," stated the President.

This was supposed to be a relaxing, informal get together, just the president and his Commander in Chief enjoying a game of golf, but it was impossible not to notice that ever three feet there was a man wearing a suit with an enormous gun at his side watching every little move that they made. Despite a lifetime in the military, Masterson felt uneasy. He was used to the military mind, he knew he could bark an order and get the response he was hoping for, but with these secret service people, they were marching to the beat of a different drummer. They had all been trained to respond to an action, not to an order, so he could yell his fool head off and no one would pay him any mind. The down side of course was that if they mistook him giving the President a high five on an especially good shot, he would be loaded full of mazer before he could blink.

"I'm so pleased to be here," lied Masterson artfully. "I was a little surprised that you invited me, sir."

"Well, Masterson, I'm going to be blunt with you and I thought it better to be blunt in private rather than at some meeting where other people would pay attention and might recall the gist of the conversation."

Masterson nodded, obviously, this was not a good conversation to be having.

"Is something wrong, Mister President?" he ventured, feeling a bit like that captain of the Titanic after the front of the ship had slipped under the water.

"I don't know if you watch the news, Masterson," replied the President, practicing his putt even though he was supposed to be were teeing off. "Personally, I avoid it like the plague though my press secretary swears I read ten newspapers a day..."

"Sounds a bit excessive, sir," replied Masterson.

"As if the funnies change from paper to paper," replied the President, dropping his putter and motioning to his caddy for another club. "Still, the people are gullible and it doesn't hurt to have them thinking that their president actually has a knowledge of current events." Squinting at the club he had been handed, he looked at it suspiciously as if he had caught it in a compromising situation. "Anyway, I don't know if you know this, but we are in a recession..."

"I'm in the military sir," replied Masterson. "We are usually called upon to end recessions. Who are you thinking of attacking?"

The President teed off, his ball sailing an inch above the plush grass that surrounded for about ten feet before rolling to a stop.

"We aren't going to attack anyone," he replied. "What I need to do is make it look like I'm cutting the military budget."

"You're cutting our budget, sir?" asked Masterson.

"No, no, no," replied the President. "I said it has to LOOK like I'm cutting the budget. What I need for you to do is come up with some way of making it look like we're saving money when in fact, we aren't really changing anything."

Masterson frowned, "Don't we have accountants to cook the books, sir?"

The President turned on him and frowned, "We can't leave the economy in the hands of a group of people who understand money, commander! I need you to take a special interest in this project, do you understand?"

"Yes sir," replied Masterson, having no idea of what he was agreeing to do. "How do you want us to proceed?"

The President considered it for a moment, "I think you'll have to figure that out on your own, Commander, don't you? I don't like to micro-manage."

"How about some macro-managing, sir, just a little bit?" asked Masterson. "I'm just asking a direction to go in."

"I can't give you directions, Commander," replied the President regretfully. "If I start making suggestions as to where you should go, others will expect the same treatment and then, chaos. No, son, no, you need to find a direction and then, go in that direction, or not, depending upon whether that is the direction that you want to go in."

Masterson took it in for a moment and then replied, "Would standing still be a direction, sir?"

The President frowned, "Not if they can see you standing still. Remember this, Commander; if you stand still, you'd better look like you're moving. Do you understand?"

"Not at all, sir," replied Masterson, "but I'll do my best."

"Good for you," replied the President, teeing off again. "Remember, in life, there are no reruns. Of course, that doesn't apply to television; I mean, if you're sitting watching reruns, then yes, there are reruns, but you, as a person, you don't get any reruns, you have to do it all original. Well not all original, it's all been done before, you understand...to hell with it Commander, I'm glad we had this conversation, let's play golf."

Masterson nodded at the sage words of his non-commander and chief and wondered how best he could follow the orders he had not been given.

### Chapter 6

" **Try to hate your opponent. Even if you are playing your grandmother, try to beat her fifty to nothing. If she already has three, try to beat her fifty to three." - Danny McGoorty**

"Could you please explain again why are we doing this?" asked Gil, staring up at the massive set of towers, ropes, slopes, barrels, tubes and boulders that had been placed in the hold of the Intrepid Monkey.

"We need to know that you are prepared for any situation," replied Mad Matt. "Say we're attacked by a government warship; we can't take the time to explain to you how to use a gun or poke someone in the eye with a fork, you have to know how to do those things already."

"I'm reasonably fit," replied Julie. "I could fight if I needed to do so..."

"Have you ever faced a team of ten Navy Seals carrying the newest mazer powered assault rifle?" asked Mad Matt.

"Have you?" asked Julie.

"In my head, thousands of times," he replied, eyes narrowing to a knowing squint.

"This is crazy," replied Gil. "We know as much as the rest of you."

"Probably more," replied Captain Stanwich happily, "but that too can be trouble. You have to be able to react without thinking and frankly, you're looking at a group of the finest non-thinkers ever assembled!"

"You'll get no argument from us there," replied Julie. "Still, you want us to complete an obstacle course? Do we really have too?"

"It's for the best Julie," replied the Captain. "Just follow Gil's lead, I'm sure everything will be all right."

"MY lead," replied Gil. "Why am I leading?"

"You don't want Julie getting her head blown off, do you?" asked Mad Matt.

"HEAD BLOWN OFF?" asked Gil. "I didn't sign on to get my head blown off..."

"Figuratively," replied Mad Matt. "Figuratively blown off..."

"How do you figuratively blow someone's head off?" asked Julie.

"Wait a minute, I always get them confused," he mused. "Now is literally when you actually do it and figurative when you only seem to do it or is it the other way around..."

"Figurative means you DON'T do it!" replied Julie.

"Maybe I meant the other one..." thought Mad Matt

"He means figurative," stated Panther, shaking his head. "I made sure he meant figurative..."

"How long ago did you make sure that he meant figurative?" asked Gil.

Panther considered it, "I'll check, but I'm sure as of ten minutes ago, it was figurative."

"Is there anything else that we literally have to watch out for?" asked Julie.

"Ulysses," stated Captain Stanwich.

All eyes turned to him.

"Ulysses what?" asked Julie.

"The book, "Ulysses"," replied the Captain. "I wouldn't read it again if you paid me. Made no sense at all, a thousand pages of absolute garbage if you ask me..."

"What are you talking about?" asked Panther.

"You said was there anything we should literally look out for?" replied the Captain. "If I was going to sit down and read something, I wouldn't read that book if you pointed a mazer at my head..."

"She did not say literature, she said literally," stated Gil with exasperation. "Literally means you're actually going to do something."

"Well then, literally don't read "Ulysses" because it is literally a piece of crap," replied the Captain.

"Can we just get on with the course?" asked Julie. "I just want to get this over with..."

"Literally?" asked Chester, his mind finally wrapping around the conversation.

"Chester, I went to your wedding, do you want me to cause your funeral?" asked Julie evenly.

Chester blinked and then shied away.

"This is the starting line," stated Mad Matt, pointing to a large white line that said Finish on one side and Start on the other. "You follow the arrows to each obstacle and they'll lead you back here to the Finish line. Do you think you can do that?"

"If I literally don't get killed," replied Gil.

"Okay then, Gil," replied Mad Matt non-committedly. "On your mark, get set, GO!"

Gil looked down and followed the arrows towards a large wooden wall, Julie a discreet distance behind him as the others yelled their encouragement. Approaching the wall, Gil was about to ask if he could go around it or what he was supposed to do when the top section flew upwards and the mouth of a cannon suddenly jumped out towards him. Before he could react, the cannon fired a large, dark mass at him. Gil let out a scream as the projectile hit him in the head, knocking him out cold.

Julie ran to him as the screams and cheers behind her died, replaced by the sound of running feet. The group gathered around Gil's prone form.

"What the hell was that?" asked Mad Matt.

"Is he dead?" asked Julie, her eyes filled with tears.

"It was a volley ball," stated Mad Matt. "Who the hell gets knocked out by a volley ball?"

"You shot it out of a cannon!" replied Julie, rising to kill him.

"It's not a real cannon," replied Mad Matt defensively. "They wouldn't let me have one, so I converted a garbage can. They wouldn't even let me use real gunpowder, I had to use hair spray as the propellant. I'm the victim here..."

"I think he's all right, probably just fainted from fright," stated Panther, looking down at Gil.

"Big surprise there," replied Mad Matt. "He screamed like a four-year-old girl when that wall opened up."

"He did not," replied Julie, trying desperately not to giggle but unable to completely suppress her smile at the comment.

"He did so," continued Mad Matt. "I didn't think a man could make a sound that high. There are dogs outside thinking they're receiving a special message that they alone can hear..."

"Stop it," replied Nicole, stifling a laugh, "he didn't scream THAT high."

"It was pretty up there," replied Chester innocently. "I heard a cat make a noise like that once..."

Julie giggled, "Stop it, he could be seriously injured."

"Yeah, the doctors will diagnose him with a severe case of volley ball head," replied Panther, a large grin spreading across his handsome features.

Julie turned to see Nicole looking away, her shoulders shaking from laughter. She slapped her arm half-heartedly, "Cut it out, it isn't nice..."

"Nicky fell down a flight of stairs once," stated the Captain absently, "lost a tooth. She didn't make a sound like that and she was only seven."

The others tried to suppress their laughter, tried to avoid each other's glances.

"I didn't think the male of any species could hit a note that high," laughed Panther.

"He always screams like that when you scare him," said Julie, biting her lip. "I snuck up on him once and said "Boo" and the note he hit almost cracked all my crystal glasses."

The laughter was full force now, the group standing around Gil's prone form lost to hysterical laughing.

"What about the way he fell to the ground?" asked Chester, pulling his brightly colored handkerchief from his pocket and wiping the tears from his eyes.

"He hit the ground like a ten-pound bag of shit dropped from a five-story window," bellowed Don over his own chuckling.

"EEEEK," screeched Mad Matt before plopping to the floor.

The group broke into more uproarious laughter.

"Shhhhh," stated Stanwich, pointing as he tried to contain his laughter, "he's coming around..."

Gil felt the fog lift from his mind, his eyes fluttering open. Above him stood all of his good friends, his true and trusted companions. Each one looked down at him, smiling broadly, the look of happiness and relief obvious on their faces. Julie knelt beside him, her face beaming, the largest smile he had ever seen on her face.

"Are you all right, Gil?" she asked, her voice breaking.

"I'm all right darling," he replied as she lowered her gaze, obviously overcome with emotion. "What happened?"

"You succumb to volley ball syndrome," stated Mad Matt, a strange smile on his face.

Gil looked at him as the others turned away, apparently overcome with emotion. Was Nicole crying? She had turned away and was hunched over, her shoulders shaking violently...

"Is it fatal?" he asked innocently.

"Only to your reputation," replied the Captain, offering him a hand up.

Gil rose slowly, unsure of what the Captain meant, but then again, he was always unsure of what the Captain meant.

Julie hugged him tightly, "It's all right now; you're fine."

"We've called off the test," stated Mad Matt, looking to the Captain for confirmation and receiving a firm nod. "We found out what we needed to know."

"Oh, good," replied Gil.

"We launch in two days," stated the Captain, "we'll expect you both to be with us."

"So, Julie did all right then too?" asked Gil.

"She's as sound as a crystal glass," replied Nicole.

To Gil's surprise, Don turned around, seemed to be laughing...

"Is he okay?" asked Gil.

"Never better," replied Don, still not facing him. "Chicken bone caught in my throat..."

He turned to see Julie, smiling broadly at him. He hated to think that he had worried her...

***

Masterson walked with his aide, Colonel Manly, as they headed towards the Presidential Audience Chamber via the "important guys" hallway. Yes, thought Masterson, this is what it is all about, being the top dog, walking down the corridors of power towards the press conference room, being so important that people stopped and stepped aside. He glanced at the man walking beside him and sighed; while he personally liked Manly, the man had an unnerving habit of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. His real qualification as a personal aide was that he knew how to make Masterson's cereal correctly in the morning. He always seemed to serve it just as it was losing its crunch, but before it had turned completely to mush. The man had a knack, no, a gift for preparing and serving cereal that had left lesser mortals spellbound. While his absent-minded leaking of military information to the press was regrettable, Masterson found himself depending upon the man.

"Why do you think they want to have a press conference with you, sir?" asked Manly.

"I would think that our new cost saving directive will be the topic of the conference," replied Masterson. "I think the President wants to offer us his formal congratulations."

Masterson had lowered the military spending for this quarter by ten percent, cutting waste, reordering some departments and stopping the former practice of officers having access to unlimited handy wipes. More changes were coming, but in time; there was still defense to think about and you could not upset the entire apple cart just to save a few pits!

The two men had gained the pressroom door and both stopped, hesitating. This could not be the correct room. Rows of folding chairs faced a podium adorned with the Intergalactic Presidential Seal. In the rear of the room, a large group of what were probably reporters stood, enjoying free donuts and coffee. In the front of the room, a smaller group stood around a person dressed... as a waterslide.

"This must be a press conference for the President's new initiative, "Take Your Child to An Overpriced Entertainment Venue"," stated Manly. "Is there another conference room?"

"Not that I know of," replied Masterson.

"Commander Masterson," boomed a woman's voice just behind him.

Masterson turned to see Judith Conner, the President's Press Secretary approaching him. Masterson seldom wasted time on loathing anyone, but Ms. Conner was the exception. She was short, fat, unattractive, opinionated and worst of all, loud. Well, maybe not worst of all, she had an awful hair cut too...

"Great day for a press conference," she snorted, slapping him on the back and eyeing Manly with undisguised revulsion.

On top of her other unattractive qualities, Ms. Conner had an undisguised hatred of all things male. Masterson privately believed that all of the twenty or so cats that now called Ms. Conner's apartment home had been carefully inspected and qualified as male just so she could enjoy neutering them.

"What is this press conference about?" asked Masterson politely. "The President has been rather vague on what it is we are announcing today."

"It's the President's newest cost saving measure," stated Conner proudly, more than a hint of smugness displayed on her round, unpleasant features. "He's got another corporate endorsement for the military, one that is going to cut millions of golds off of the cost of the new death star."

"Really?" asked Manly. "That's wonderful news..."

"Gives you a few million to play with more, Commander Masterson," stated the press secretary, "which should make you happy."

Masterson was not fooled, "And what do they get for this, "endorsement"?"

"Merely access to some government property," replied Conner. "Oh, here comes the President."

A small host of officers, guards, aides, maids, debutants and for some reason a chef, flowed past the three followed by the President who paused and shook Masterson's hand.

"Glad you could make it, Commander..."

"An honor, sir," he responded, turning to Manly. "I'm sure you remember Colonel Manly, sir."

The President eyed Manly for a moment, "Not really, but welcome aboard Colonel. Are you new?"

"I've been an aide to the Commanders for over ten years sir," replied Manly, giving a crisp salute.

"Really?" asked the President. "I almost never forget a face, are you sure?"

"Yes sir," replied Manly.

"Oh well, don't lose sleep over it," replied the President generously. Turning to Conner he frowned, "I don't want this to run too long and I'll take two questions at the end before you whisk me off to something important, got it?"

"Certainly, sir," replied Conner.

"Sir, what is it that we are announcing exactly," asked Masterson.

"No sense in spilling the beans twice, Commander," replied the President. "Stay with me, keep smiling and say nothing until you're called upon." With that, the President made his way into the room as a host of flash bulbs went off.

Forgetting protocol, the President stepped to the podium instead of waiting for the formal announcement of his presence and began to speak.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began in a sonorous tone, "I'd like to welcome our highest-ranking field officer, Commander Masterson and his chief aide, Colonel Mangy. They are here to help us announce yet another of the government's initiatives to fight the plague of the recession that has dampened our economic future. As many editorials have pointed out in recent weeks, our military budget is excessive..."

Masterson smiled, thinking, he's going to praise me for cutting our budget by ten percent. A little voice in Masterson's head quickly corrected him, no politician would do that, no way did he call you here on the spur of the moment to congratulate you. Really, said the other half of his brain, if that isn't it, what did he call us here for then? Think, man, think, replied the original half of his brain, this is a press conference called by a politician, he's looking to congratulate himself at your expense. Masterson felt a cold chill running over him, by God, I'm right, he thought!

"...and this new initiative will do more than merely spend money. It will actually make the military money and will also increase job growth, primarily in the construction, tourism and hospital industries."

"What the hell is he talking about?" muttered Masterson to Manly.

"He called me Mangy," replied Manly. "That's not my name..."

"Focus, you idiot," replied Masterson. "He's announcing something that isn't good, not for us anyway..."

"...and so, without further ado," continued the President, "I'd like to unveil our plan for creating the third largest water park in space!"

The President hit a button on the dais and on the screen behind him flashed a picture of a computer screen which stated, "There are updates to Windows 347,553,927 version available. Would you like to update your system now or postpone until later?" The President, being a man of limited computer abilities stared at the screen, unable to comprehend what it was asking him to do.

The President turned to Conner, "Where's the geek?"

A slouching young man with glasses and a stupid haircut approached the podium and without a word began to fiddle with the keyboard near the President's hand. Glancing back at the screen, he hit several keys and suddenly a picture jumped to life on the screen behind them.

The picture showcased an image of Masterson's beloved flagship, the Federation, with the bottom half of the death star cut away and a highly colorful cartoon replacing an image of the mazer cannons that should have been there with a picture of an enormous water park. The entire group seemed to lean forward, unsure if they were actually seeing what they were seeing.

"We have joined with the good folks at Ten Banners Amusement Corporation to create what will be the third largest water park in space," reported the President proudly. "The proceeds will deeply reduce the amount the government has spent on the construction of the Federation, saving the tax payers billions during this difficult economic time."

As Masterson's and Manly's mouths dropped open, the man dressed as a waterslide jumped to the front of the room and clicked a button on the podium. Suddenly music began playing to which the man dressed as a waterslide began to gyrate wildly.

"Come on happy people,

Water's lots of fun,

Enjoy the day at our park,

Pee in the water when you're done!

Sliding down our slides,

It's what everyone wants to do,

Remember if you're injured,

Us you cannot sue (read your tickets)

Happiness is fleeting,

Fun lasts even less,

So, if you want your kid to shut up,

Drown that little pest,

AT TEN BANNERS, TEN BANNERS, TEN BAAAAANNNNNEEEERRSSS!"

Just as suddenly as it had begun, the music stopped and Slideman bolted for the back of the room as if suddenly understanding how disappointed his mother would be with his chosen profession.

Masterson stood rooted to the spot, his face revealing his utter confusion. A moment later, Manly poked him in the ribs and whispered in his ear.

"The president has asked you to say a few words, sir."

Masterson did not move.

"Sir, the president is waiting..."

Moving mechanically, Masterson lumbered to the platform and stared at the bright lights of the cameras and the eager faces of the reporters.

"Uhmm," he began, squinting to try and gather his thoughts, "uhmm, well...saving money is...good..."

The president slapped him on the back in a broad, friendly gesture and pushed him subtly away from the microphone as he began fielding questions. Ms. Conner grasped his arm and guided him into the hallway, where she closed the doors of the room behind them.

"Fine job, gentlemen, your presence here is no longer needed," she stated bluntly. Turning her broad back to them, she slipped through the door again and was gone.

"My ship," moaned Masterson. "They turned my ship into an ocean, Manly..."

"Think of it as a good thing sir," lied Manly. "You can authorize more down time for your crew..."

"Think of the security problems," began Masterson, "think of the logistical problems, think of the smell of chlorine!"

"All problems you will find solutions for sir," stated Manly, gently directing his commander towards the exit. "Think of the fun we'll have sir. After all, who said killing people has to be all work? Come now, I'll make you some cereal..."

***

As often happens in political circles, the moment of one's greatest triumphs are in fact the calling card for the next great crisis. As the president spoke of the advantages of water wings in zero gravity, a meeting was being held in an ancient castle in Scotland.

The meeting place had been carefully arrived at, the participants taking pains not to be noticed, the gathering held under the tightest and highest security measures. In history books, the mysterious meeting and its far-reaching implications would be forever referred to as the "Haggis Conference". The leadership of the mightiest nation on earth was gathering to decide how they would press their advantage in world affairs. All that would be truly known by future generations was that the meeting was conducted by the brilliant and completely incomprehensible Prime Minister, Sir Harold "Harry" MacGregor. MacGregor was renowned the world over for his slogan, "Scotland Before All You Other Bastards!" and for possessing a brogue so thick that even other Scots found it impossible to understand a single word he uttered. As always, he was accompanied to the meeting by his translator and younger brother, Sir Scott "Little Mac" MacGregor.

Little Mac was the polar opposite of his loud, unyielding and completely frightening older brother. While Harry was a tall, gaunt, redhead with burning blue eyes, an enormous beard and a voice that shook walls, rafters and floors, Little Mac was a small, dark haired, clean shaven, slight man with glasses who most often was found with his nose in a book and whose voice had to be amplified for him to even hear it. His greatest gift to mankind was that having been born just a year after his cantankerous older brother and having been raised with him since birth, he was the one person who could actually understand what Harry said.

The two men found themselves seated at a long table in the main hall of what had been Castle MacNaughton just a mile from Loch MacLomand. The castle, known locally as "The Castle", had been condemned as unsafe and a veritable rat trap since the time of Robert the Bruce. Indeed no one not completely out of their mind would have held a meeting there which of course made it the perfect place to hold a secret meeting.

It had been agreed that the participants would all arrive dressed as tourists and make their way to "The Castle" as if each had happened upon it while hiking in the countryside. As the brothers sat and waited, the remaining participants arrived in groups of two or three. Since most of the men and women necessary for the meeting seldom took vacation, their vacation dress was perhaps not the norm. Many of the men arrived dressed in kilts or tweeds and the women wore business suits with heels which made for odd hiking gear. After the last of the "hikers" arrived and had taken their seats around the massive table that had been secretly setup in what at one time had been the main hall, Sir Harry rose to start the meeting.

"You listen up, you bastards," growled Sir Harry, "inna don hat nanta mark fuin del basnaveta fleckandorba!"

Those assembled turned to Little Mac who stated quietly, "The Prime Minister thinks that the time has come for us to discuss our current situation."

"Bellen able nondescribannor yute mangle fantankist, snaggle shump doodle venison pertectnor shipdwadle zimp naggle impromutin, snackfangle zipshut tannor inkle, Wallace!"

The group stood immediately, removed their hip flasks from their various hiding places and raising them solemnly intoned as a group, "To William Wallace."

Taking a jolt from their flasks, they then retook their seats.

"The Prime Minister believes that we've allowed enough time for the interplanetary government to act and that we must act immediately if we are to be taken seriously."

A hand shot up at the end of the table, a middle age woman, still handsome, with a refined and delicate face and bulletproof hair rose at the Prime Minister's gesture.

"Don't you think that given the current economic crisis, we might allow for more time," she asked in a sweet, even tone.

"You listen to me you inbred, stupid git," began the Prime Minister, rising angrily from his chair at the head of the table. "Wheren ur noddle fan ti pantyshon ziptiednon verstaplut zing matter altiplax! For Christ sake, sham de varin snaple rod zang dooo monkeyshnot verstiblue ranginard! Shit for brains zang tap o ravin rotgut xang verbal ritnomo THE BRUCE!"

The group jumped to its feet once more and holding their flasks high, stated loudly, "THE BRUCE!" before downing another shot, retaking their seats and eyeing Little Mac expectantly.

"The Prime Minister disagrees with your assessment and believes that we should remain committed to our timeline."

"Listen to me, yer pansy wastes!" began the Prime Minister, who proceeded to harangue the group for a quarter of an hour, listing important grievances, giving historical precedents and speaking passionately of Scottish national pride.

The group sat spell bound, completely unable to understand a word the man said. They were so confused that they even faltered, failing to rise and salute his mentioning of both the Stuarts and the Eurythmics. At the end of his tirade, the Prime Minister lowered himself into his chair, convinced that he had made his point. All eyes turned towards Little Mac, who looked up shyly.

"I take it the ayes have it then," he stated softly.

Completely unsure of what they had been asked to vote upon, the group looked at one another, none wishing to state the obvious. Slowly, each one nodded their assent. It was thus that the most powerful nation on earth had made an historic decision without the slightest idea of what it was they had voted upon.

"Good," snapped the Prime Minister. "Now lat us have a wee drink!"

### Chapter 7

" **If men make wars in slavish obedience to rules, they will fail." - General Ulysses S. Grant**

Several planets over and a bit to the left, another secret meeting was taking place. Five men, Cardinal Benito, Gil, Mr. Tardy, and Captain's Galbard and Stanwich sat in a small room in the rectory basement, not far from the boiler room, discussing a recent development that would allow many things that should never have happened to occur.

"Machine parts?" asked Skip. "Do we even know what machines the parts go too?"

"It's not only parts," countered the Cardinal. "It's also steel and die equipment that could be used to manufacture parts that we need."

"The ship is massive," stated Tardy, looking over the printed pictures of the freighter that would be moving the items through space.

"We could handle the load," stated Stanwich, "my ship would have plenty of room in the holds for the cargo but it will take us the better part of a day to transfer all of it to our ship."

"Even if you were able to grab the freighter's crew before they got off a message and move the ship out of the shipping lanes, it's too long a time to leave your crew exposed," grumbled the Cardinal. "We desperately need the supplies but I'm not willing to take the risk of you getting captured. If we could only think of a way..."

"Oh, that's so simple," stated Galbard happily. "You just need to think like a pirate. I suppose it is good you don't, being a Cardinal and all, but really, something like this requires the sense and bravado of an experienced pirate. Thankfully, I'm here to do the thinking..."

"You have a plan?" asked Gil, trying hard not to be offensive and sound too surprised.

"Millions of them," laughed Galbard with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"I mean about this particular problem," replied Gil.

Galbard blinked, "Oh this? Sure, no problem..."

After a moment, Cardinal Benny sighed, "All right, what is your plan?"

"For this?" asked Galbard, caught unawares by the inquiry.

"Yes," snapped the Cardinal, "it's what we're discussing, isn't it?"

"It's so simple," replied Galbard. "Don't you want to guess?"

"No," replied the Cardinal. "I want to hear it, I don't want to guess it!"

Galbard shrugged; half the fun in life was guessing. Poor Cardinal Benny always seemed so distracted. Perhaps the other Cardinals picked on him...

"WELL?" asked the Cardinal, his exasperation getting the better of him.

"I don't agree with bullying," stated Galbard, "but I can see why they steal your milk money."

"What?" asked Gil, completely lost as to Galbard's train of thought.

"The plan," began Galbard, "is simple. The crew of the Constellation joins the crew of the Intrepid Monkey and we work in tandem to take down the freighter and remove the supplies. All we need are two additional pincer ships, which we can rent from Big Al's Pincer Ships and Pirate Supplies Emporium and we'll have all we need to off load that freighter and be out of the area in a few hours."

"I don't mean to sound pompous," stated Stanwich, "but won't it be a bit awkward having two captains on the same ship?"

"Oh, don't worry about it," laughed Galbard, "it's your ship, we're only guests."

"I don't know," replied Stanwich. "I like to offer my guests a beverage when they arrive and you have a crew of over four hundred people. I mean, the food processors can handle that many, but what if after, say, the first thirty people arrive and have a beverage, someone needs to use the restroom? Then I'll have to go and show them where it is and that will mean the next group will have to wait until I can get back and offer them a beverage. The whole thing could be a logistical nightmare..."

"What if we stop at a convenience store on the way over?" asked Galbard. "We could bring our own drinks..."

"I'd still feel obliged to offer a selection of snacks," stated Stanwich, "it is only proper manners..."

"What are you two talking about?" asked Tardy, his frustration getting the better of him. "You don't offer people a beverage when they board ship, they're there to do a job, not visit!"

"If they don't work for me, they're my guests," stated Stanwich reasonably. "The largest party I ever threw was my wedding and honestly, my late wife handled most of the arrangements..."

"They would be working WITH you," stated Tardy. "It's not a party."

"You would be on a mission," stated the Cardinal, rolling his eyes. "Captain Galbard and Mister Tardy would be there in an advisory capacity and the crew would take orders from you."

"Which crew?" asked Stanwich.

"Both crews," stated Benny.

"That might be confusing," replied Stanwich thoughtfully. "I think we should make a specific designation for each crew so no one gets confused. My crew could be Red Team Alpha and the crew of the Constellation could be Green Team Beta."

"So, you're going to address any crew member from the Constellation as Mister X from Green Team Beta?" asked Gil, finding himself, against his better judgment, drawn into the conversation.

Turning to Galbard, Stanwich asked, "You have a Mister X in your crew?"

"We used to have a Mister P," replied Galbard, laughing. "He had to quit, we gave him so much crap..."

"Mister Tardy..." began the Cardinal, hoping to restore some sense to the conversation.

"Tardy is nowhere near as funny as P," stated Stanwich.

"Though we've had some fun with Skip..." began Captain Galbard with a wink.

"The point is," began Tardy patiently, "it's your ship so you would be in charge of the crew."

"What I don't understand," began Gil, not helping matters in the least, "is why a garbage scow would be built with over four hundred bedrooms."

"It was a government job," stated Stanwich reasonably. "See, the contract stated that they needed to have bathroom facilities for the construction crew, one bathroom for every ten workers. Well, the plant where the Intrepid Monkey was created didn't have enough bathrooms, so they got around it by building them on the ship. Each time they completed another bathroom, they could hire ten more people and since it took about four thousand people to build the thing..."

"But what about all the bedroom suites?" asked Galbard, fascinated by the new topic.

"Well, because they were working in shifts, the regulations state that you have to provide your workers with a rest period every eight hours. The people constructing the vessel just figured it was cheaper to keep the people on site rather than have them go home, so they made the bedrooms to keep the workers on the job."

"But you have a crew of less than ten and over four hundred bathrooms and suites," replied Galbard. "Your ship is about forty times bigger than it should be..."

"Which is why I got it for such a cheap price," replied Stanwich with a smile. "Most captains would have blanched at the sight of the liquid toilet bowl cleaner bill, but I saw her true beauty and jumped at the chance to own her!"

"Somehow, I don't know if this plan is going to work," stated Cardinal Benny quietly. "By the time this group decided on a plan to get the freighter's cargo, you'd not only be all arrested, but your children would be born and live with you in jail..."

Stanwich considered it, "So you're suggesting that we leave Nicole home..."

Cardinal Benny shook his head, "Oh forget it..."

***

The Commander of Interplanetary Forces sat on the bridge of his flagship, his crew tiptoeing gingerly about him, anxious not to disturb his catatonic state. Masterson had been in a trance for the last several days, occasionally muttering to himself or offering a hollow laugh at the end of a prolonged sigh.

Manly looked on from a short distance, pained by what he must now do, but unable to put off the action any longer. Stepping briskly towards the commander's chair, he cleared his throat and spoke in a low, confidential tone.

"Sir?" he began. "Sir, are you in there? I need your signature, sir, it's important."

Masterson turned his head and stared at Manly, looking at him as if he were some newly discovered sea creature.

"I'm sorry, sir, I don't mean to interrupt your coma," said Manly sympathetically, "but I need you to sign this requisition."

Masterson looked down at the pad Manly held and blinked. With a slight cough, he blinked again and then returned his gaze to Manly's face.

"What is it for?" he croaked.

"Well, sir..." Manly began reluctantly, "it's a supply requisition...for...chlorine tablets, sir..."

Masterson stared at the pad and grumbled softly, "The whole ship's going to smell like a locker room at the beach..."

"Yes, sir, yes, it is," agreed Manly, handing him the stylus and pointing towards the signature screen, "but we could burn scented candles, you like those, and you wouldn't even notice the smell..."

"The towels, Manly," moaned Masterson, taking the stylus, "think of the towels. They'll be everywhere. We will be up to our necks in terry cloth..."

"A warm and wonderful fabric, sir," stated Manly brightly, taking the signed pad from Masterson as if he were removing a gun from a child. "Why don't you just sit here sir and lapse back into your coma. We'll be here if you need us..."

Masterson smiled blankly as he stared back out towards the view screen, watching the freighters lining up to dismantle and reassemble the bottom of his glorious flagship.

Yeoman Trina sidled up to Manly and nodded towards Masterson, "The commander hasn't eaten in two days, sir."

Manly looked at his boss sympathetically, "Prepare some warm broth, we'll see if we can't get him to play "Here comes the choo-choo train"."

"Yes sir," replied Trina, heading towards the galley shaking her head. If this is what command did to one, she was happy to be a yeoman.

***

Michael Hodges stood inside the massive airport hangar staring over the requisition form, displaying a frown on his handsome features. Michael, or Mike as he preferred to be called, was tall, well over six feet, with dark brown hair and dark brown eyes and the chiseled good looks that made women swoon. He had been part of the Royal Canadian Ministry of Imported Stuff for nine years now and was considered an expert at his job. He along with a myriad of co-workers, checked in the extensive number of things that were being imported into their beloved Canada. It was his job to fight smuggling, graft, corruption and to make sure that all the stickers were on all the boxes or they didn't go anywhere. Mike took his job seriously in the way that tall men with chiseled good looks always take their jobs seriously.

"Cold morning Mike, eh?" asked his co-worker Tad Brewster, a tall redhead with a fair complexion and absolutely no clue as to how life was lived on this planet.

"It's Canada, Tad," replied Mike, in his caramel-like baritone, "cold is sort of normal, eh."

"That's true, Mike," stated Tad. "Yesterday was cold and today is cold, so I guess it IS pretty normal, eh."

"What do you know about normal, eh?" asked Mike with a smile that would cause heart palpitations for the average woman.

"You sure are right there, eh," replied Tad, fully acknowledging that his thinking apparatus should have been recalled by the manufacturer years ago.

"What's this, eh?" asked Mike, pointing to a pile of cartons on the pallet that stood in the middle of the warehouse.

"Came in yesterday, eh," replied Tad. "Seems they didn't like the look of it, so they set it here until they could get it all figured out, you know, eh?"

"That's a form eight eighty-seven, eh," said Mike suspiciously. "An eight eighty-seven is supposed to be put on cartons containing imported wooden shoes from Holland and the surrounding areas, but you can tell by the size of the boxes that this doesn't contain anything from Holland, eh."

"What makes you think that they are not from Holland, eh?" asked Tad.

Mike frowned, "No windmills, eh. Everything that comes from Holland comes with a picture of a windmill on it and there ain't no windmill to be seen, eh."

Tad stared at the boxes, the revelation causing him to suddenly feel uneasy. For a man with limited smarts, Tad had an absolute knack for feeling uneasy at the appropriate moment. Mike stared at him, positive Tad was feeling uneasy and certain now more than ever that something was amiss with this shipment. Gently, Mike took out his regulation three-nineteen yellow tape cutter with the scrapper adapter at the end and gripped it tightly in his right hand.

"What are you going to do with that, eh?" asked Tad, his uneasiness growing.

"Going to cut open one of those boxes, eh," stated Mike, drawing closer to the pallet. "I'm not Superman, can't see through them, eh."

Tad drew closer, too stupid to think that if it were a bomb that cutting it open might have a negative effect on things.

Mike leaned over the top box, peering at it with determined eyes. Slicing through the masking tape that connected the two sides of the top cover, he glanced at Tad and gave him a determined nod. With a determined hand, he lifted the box, his determined look even more determined than he had determined it should look.

"What in the name of all that is holy, eh?" he whispered.

Slowly, delicately, he lifted the can from the box and stared at it both in fascination and in terror.

"What is it, eh?" asked Tad, drawing closer. "A can, eh?"

"Not just a can, eh," replied Mike. "Unless I miss my guess and I'm guessing I don't miss my guess, this is...it's haggis, eh!"

"Haggis, eh?" snapped Tad.

Tad was terrified. He remembered the rumors, the briefing, the slide show, the memos. He hadn't taken it seriously, had never considered that it could actually happen, but here it was, right here! He felt himself shaking, took a moment to take a deep breath in an effort to calm his nerves.

"We've got to notify someone, eh?" he asked in an awed whisper.

"If I don't miss my guess and I seldom miss my guess, unless it's like, my girlfriend asks, what do you think I'm thinking about and her being a girl, eh, you never know what they're thinking about, you know I'm right, eh. Well, unless I miss my guess, which isn't that type of guess, we're at war with Scotland, eh."

Tad nodded. He didn't know anything about war with Scotland, but he was absolutely certain that when his girlfriend asked him what she was thinking about it was going to be a long night because she never thought about anything that he thought about, like that time he was watching football and she came in and asked him what he thought she was thinking and he said that she thought they should go for the goal but instead she was thinking about having kids, which didn't make any sense because a kid would just get in the way of the kick, but by golly, that was what she had been thinking about and who was he to argue.

"We need to contact the ministry, eh," stated Mike, turning to make his way to the phone.

"It would probably be best, eh," stated Tad, shaking his head. How could she think about having a kid, he wondered, when it was clearly a kick or lose the ball situation, eh?

### Chapter 8

" **The only reason some people get lost in thought is because it's unfamiliar territory." -**

Paul Fix

"If they're attacking a machinery freighter, why do we have to go?" asked Julie, hoping that they could yet salvage the weekend.

"We promised, I suppose," responded Gil for lack of a better answer.

"I don't know anything about machinery," stated Julie. Frowning, she looked at Gil, "You don't know anything about machinery either..."

"We know more than Captain Stanwich," replied Gil.

"That's true about most subjects I suppose," she mused. "Oh well, I guess I'll get to spend a little time with Nicole at least. We can talk about the wedding..."

"That would be nice," stated Gil. "I mean, from the sounds of it, there won't be much for us to do. We don't operate pincer ships and we don't know how to offload cargo and things should run pretty smoothly..."

"Think of who you're talking about," replied Julie. "Nothing runs smoothly ever when it comes to our friends..."

Gil considered it, "True, but we should not have to get involved. Mister Tardy will be helping out and that should keep things on a pretty even track..."

"Poor man, working with both of the captains at the same time..."

"See, he needs our help," replied Gil, placing an arm around Julie's shoulders. "We can take our vacation when we get back, I'll need it after we get all of this stuff in the warehouses..."

"Good point," replied Julie reluctantly. "I'll start packing."

Gil gave her a small smile and stepped into the living room. It should be a pretty straight forward mission; what could go wrong?

***

The President's top team of advisors sat around an enormous table, each trying desperately to look serious and to maintain a noncommittal air. It was times like these that made being a presidential advisor so difficult because the President was now going to ask them to advise him on an important matter and that was NOT their job as far as they were concerned. Anyone could give advice; a cabby could give advice, who the hell cared about advice. The whole point to being a presidential advisor was to have the President's ear. It was a game of one upsmanship and now, that was all being forgotten because there was an actual problem.

Now that there was a crisis, no one wanted that most valuable body part, the President's ear. Whereas before the ear was a most treasured prize, now it was being passed around like a hot potato in a game of hot potato and no one wanted to be the one holding it when time gave out.

At the head of the table, the President sat brooding. It had taken him less than fifteen minutes to discover that his advisors were working mightily not to advise him, a fact that put him on guard. If they were not advising him, then the situation must be pretty bad; normally they were chockfull of advice about every stupid little thing but now, nothing.

"Another six countries have reported the importation of illegal amounts of haggis," stated the President grimly. "Scotland is following through on their threat because we don't have the money to pay them. What are we going to do, gentlemen and I want straight answers!"

The advisors looked about the table, someone should speak, but who the hell knew anything in this group about straight answers. Straight answers were NEVER part of anyone's advice, straight answers were fictions given out by reality television shows to boost ratings by causing conflict. Finally, a small woman who almost never spoke at these meetings raised her hand.

"Beatrice?" asked the President.

"Bernice," corrected the woman. "I just want to say that you might, perhaps, want to speak to the Scottish Prime Minister."

"I know that, Bertha," replied the President, "I know I need to speak to him, but what should I say."

"Bernice," replied the woman, and then, "perhaps you should speak to him about the situation regarding the exporting of haggis..."

The others there nodded in agreement.

"I know I should speak to him about the exporting of haggis," replied the President, his anger level rising. "I called you here to tell me what I should say to him about the exporting of haggis!"

"Perhaps it would be better NOT to call him," replied a young man wearing a suit that made him look like a waiter in a very posh hotel. "Let him guess as to what you are thinking."

"Fine," replied the President, "but it still doesn't tell me what I SHOULD be thinking!"

"Well, let's look at it from THEIR point of view," stated an elderly man with an enormous bald head and scraggily gray beard. "They are EXPORTING haggis in revenge for NOT getting money." He paused for dramatic effect. "What we need to think about is WHY they are doing this."

"Doing what?" asked the President.

"Exporting haggis," replied the man reasonably.

"You just said that they were doing it out of revenge for not getting the money they were owed," replied the President.

"Then THAT'S what we should be thinking about," stated the man.

"I KNOW that's what we should be thinking about," replied the President. "My question is, WHAT should we be thinking?"

"Perhaps we need to look at it from the other angle," stated a man with an indefinable chin and neck combination. It was either that his face flowed freely down to his shoulders or that his neck was comprised of his lower jaw and excess skin, but you could not tell where one began and the other ended no matter how much you studied the problem.

"Fine," stated the President, "what is the other angle?"

"Let's think like these, what are they called, Scotsmen?" asked the man, trying to sound important. "Now these men wear skirts, drink liquor and talk with odd accents, we know that much..."

"And they do it on purpose," stated Bernice. "It's not by mistake..."

"So, what is it that people like this really want?" countered the man with a knowing air.

"They want the money they are owed?" asked the President.

"Do they?" he asked with a smirk that said, "I don't know if we wouldn't be idiots if we believed something THAT obvious".

"What do YOU think they want?" asked the President, caught up in the conversation.

"What do all men want?" asked the men.

"Money and power," replied the young man dressed as a waiter.

"You want what you don't have," replied the man with the no neck, chin combination. "They've got money and they've got power, so that's off the table..."

"No, they don't," replied the President. "We borrowed their money and haven't paid it back!"

"So, what do you think they want?" asked Bernice.

"I hesitate to say in mixed company," replied the man with a knowing smirk.

"You think that the Prime Minister of Scotland made good on a threat because he's sexually frustrated?" asked the young man.

"What have you got, college boy?" asked the man, his neck wobbling defiantly.

"I don't think THAT'S what we should be thinking," replied the younger man.

"Well what DO you think we should be thinking?" asked the President.

The young man frowned, "Perhaps we should be thinking about how to get them their money in order to stop them from sending out further shipments of haggis."

The room became deathly still, a reasonable opinion had been voiced and now they all had to find a way to deflect the implications. Suddenly the door to the conference room swung open and a large, elderly black woman with a bandana on her head and a worn apron entered rolling a garbage can surrounded by battered bottles filled with cleaning supplies. Stopping midway through the door, the woman peered at them, her features descending into an angry scowl.

"Don't you people EVER go the fuck home?" she sputtered. "What you think, these rooms clean dey selves? Dumb motherfuckers..." Shaking her head she reversed course, pushing and shoving her garbage can angrily as she continued to mutter, "When I done at work, I go the fuck home. Pansy ass shit heads always at work, ain't got no fucking life, that's why, stupid asses all of um, stupid asses..."

With the spell of the reasonable opinion broken, the President's hand descended heavily upon the table.

"I want your thoughts in writing by this afternoon," he stated authoritatively. "I want to hear some common-sense solutions to this problem. I want to know what it is I should be thinking and I want to know it within a reasonable time frame. I'm the President, I can't appear not to be thinking of anything! Now I'm going to have my picture taken with that young woman who survived nineteen days on a raft that was in all the papers and then I'm going to lunch and by the time I get back, you'd better have written something for me to think or you'll know about it!"

Rising importantly, he stepped to the door and opened it dramatically before peering out cautiously to see if the old black woman was around. Satisfied that he was safe, he slid out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

***

The Prime Minister of Scotland, his brother and his other top-secret aides were bunkered in on the lower level of Castle OhAr just outside of Edinburgh. Seated at the table, the Prime Minister held a piece of shortbread while fingering his empty tea cup.

"It's been two days since that knobby kneed rat bastard got the first shipment," he snapped. "Ehhr eye and dorva knot snaggle fangle do pup!"

The others in the room looked at his brother who merely shrugged.

"In due time," he responded before returning to the paper he was reading.

The others relaxed, happy not to have to respond. The Prime Minister took his short bread and began nibbling on it, carefully shaping it into a reasonable facsimile of a set of bagpipes, a favorite pastime.

The people in the lower level looked about at the room where they were seated, awaiting the world's response to their first foray into hardline diplomacy. The room was large and made of stone as ancient as the hills, but had a surprisingly modern feel, what with all the computers and gizmos that surrounded them.

As most of the Prime Minister's inner circle were important men and thus too busy to concern themselves with how the world actually operated, none of them were particularly adept at modern technology. Their age-old solution to the problem was to employ younger people who knew how to work equipment that they had no desire to engage, but none of those people were allowed into such a high-level security area, so they chose the next best solution which was to try and avoid touching anything. Each knob and button began to take on a sinister meaning and soon, everyone was afraid of throwing some secret switch or alerting some armed force to launch an attack by accidentally leaning against anything in the room.

What none of them knew was that few, if any, of the computers and monitors were actually connected since their IT people had all gone on vacation about a week ago and had yet to return to connect anything. While they did have access to cable news, no one present knew how to turn on the television, it being of such a high caliber and superior Japanese design that few outside of a confirmed technological engineer had the least hope of working the intricate and completely user unfriendly remote control. Everything in the room was that way, even the teapot was of such an advanced design that they could only use its "lower" function and boil water. None of them knew how to use any of its more advanced features such as purifying contaminated soil, making waffles or performing breast enhancement surgery, which was probably just as well since most of them were men and that sort of power given to the average male could quickly get out of hand.

Seated with his hands folded in his lap, the Minister in Charge of Ministry Affairs leaned closer to the Minister in Charge of Kilts and whispered in a low, confidential tone.

"What do you think the President will do?" he asked guardedly.

"Well, if I were him, and I'm not saying I am, I'd have to think of something," stated the Minister with the air of one who had said nothing. "You can't have haggis showing up and not respond, especially when you're dealing with people who don't know how to handle it. I heard that in America, they quickly shipped it to secured locations away from the general populace."

"You mean out in the desert?" asked the Minister.

The man looked at him as if he were daft, "No, you idiot, they sent it to the grocery markets in poor neighborhoods."

"Did the same thing with that toxic chemical, what was it called?"

"Don't remember the name," replied the Minister. "They added sugar and called it "Sound Off" if I recall correctly. Got rid of the stuff and decreased the welfare rolls before anyone figured it out, now that's what I call progress!"

The Minister nodded sagely, "Thank God we can count on the poor during a crisis. Reminds me of the time I received Ethiopian "Scotch" from their Minister in Charge of Starvation. I gave it to my stable boy's grandson. If it weren't for the poor I don't know what I'd do with half of the things I receive from the representatives of third world countries. Why do they feel the need to give gifts? I tell you, if I didn't have servants living just above the poverty line, I'd be knee deep in Haitian kilts, Bangladeshian short bread and Rwandan bagpipes."

The Minister nodded in agreement as he unhipped his flask, "I say, God bless the poor and keep them that way! I off loaded a Russian car on my bootblack about two years ago. He ran it about for two weeks before it exploded."

"That's the problem with the poor, no appreciation. Give them something and they don't care for it, that's why they should work for every nickel, keeps them honest! Why did it explode, didn't he put oil in the engine?" asked his fellow Minister.

"T'wasn't his fault completely," replied the Minister with a frown and a swig. "They all blow up unless you run them in subzero temperatures. It wasn't made for our climate...well, that and the fact the KGB put a bomb in it..."

"The KGB wanted to kill you?" asked the Minister, trying to hide his surprise.

"No," laughed the Minister. "Not that I'm not important enough, mind you; the car was originally intended for the Premier's wife, but she didn't like the color and they forgot to take the bomb out before they shipped it."

"Slip shod work, that's what it is," replied the Minister with an angry nod. "Damn youngsters don't know diplomacy. You CHECK if you removed the bomb, you don't wait for some underling to remember. Could have caused an incident and for what?"

"Damned inconvenient," replied the Minister, taking a swig from his flask. "Had to get a new bootblack as well..."

"The fellow didn't make it, then," replied his brother Minister, opening his own flask.

"Bootblacks used to be made of sterner stuff," grumped the Minister. "A small explosion and they go to pieces...

***

Captain Galbard and Skip Tardy sat in the middle of the cafeteria at the Pirate Administration Building surrounded by files and computers, putting the finishing touches on their crew files. They had spoken to all of the members of the Constellation's crew with the exception of the ship's doctor, Doc Owens. Doc Owens sat opposite them, his straggling gray hair standing up at odd angles from his head, his haggard face covered with a grubby beard and his lab coat wrinkled and stained. Around his neck was a stethoscope, under his eyes were dark circles and in his hands, were a bottle and glass with ice. Glaring at the Captain and Mister Tardy, he, or his stomach, gave a low growl as he eyed his shipmates suspiciously.

"Will I be given a sick bay?" snapped Doc Owens, refilling his glass with his special "medicine".

"I don't know," replied Tardy, "do you need one? Can't you just kill people in the hallway?"

"I'm a medical professional," stated Owens, leaning back in his chair with a short, powerful burp. "You officers rip them up and I patch them back together."

"In the entire time, you've been our medical officer, you've removed one splinter and have put band-aids on three paper cuts," replied Tardy. "If it were for your drinking, you'd have no reason to even own arms..."

"I spend my times keeping up on the latest medical procedures," snapped Owens, seeking the whiskey bottle with squinted eyes.

"Yes, learning to put iodine on cotton swabs and dab it on a wound must be interesting reading," replied Tardy.

"Now, now, you two," chuckled Galbard. "Enough of your clowning...Skip, we're lucky to even have a licensed medical professional on staff. Most of the ships make due with a manual on first aid and a YouTube video entitled "So You Went and Chopped Off an Appendage". I just thank God, we didn't get one of those Doctors Who Disregard International Boundaries guys. They're always digging up and spreading all sorts of plagues wherever they go."

"Doc Owens doesn't need to find a plague," mutter Tardy, "he is one."

"Still, I would feel better if the good doctor was with us," replied Galbard.

"WHAT good doctor?" snapped Owens angrily. "You can't get a good doctor, you've got me! I've got a contract, damn it..."

"I meant you," replied Galbard. "You; you are the good doctor."

"Ohhhhh," replied Owens, the thought never having occurred to him. "Well, I'll make the voyage, but I'm telling you this, I need a sick bay. Every doctor on board a ship needs a sick bay..."

"I'll speak to Captain Stanwich," replied Galbard, "he's a great guy, I'm sure he'll work with us to get you all that you need."

"A detox clinic, a bath, anything you need," agreed Tardy.

"Very well, but remember, I'm only a simple country doctor," replied Owens, staggering to his feet and stumbling out of the room.

"Simple country doctor?" asked Tardy as the door closed behind him. "He grew up in Newark New Jersey..."

"Well, that's the whole crew," smiled Galbard. "Everyone is well rested and ready to go. Didn't Yeoman Trixie look particularly well rested?"

"She certainly did," replied Tardy, looking over the crew listings. "You'd think that all of that time pole dancing would tire her out, but no...Do you really think it was wise to hire her for this new mission?"

"Since Yeoman Xiang married Chester, I felt there was something missing from our crew," stated Galbard.

"Freely available, freaky sex, perhaps?" asked Tardy.

"Not all of us have found "THE ONE"," replied Galbard with a mocking smile.

"Do you think you will find "THE ONE" pole dancing?" asked Tardy. "Oh, what am I saying, of course you do..."

"You lucked out," replied Galbard. "Nicole just walked into your life, that doesn't happen normally, you know. For the rest of us, we have to search for love."

"I accept that you have to search for love," replied Tardy, "but paying for it?"

"We've never exchanged money," stated Galbard haughtily.

"You stick a dollar bill in her cleavage every time you see her," replied Tardy.

"Old habits are hard to break," replied Galbard with a dismissive wave of the hand. "Anyway, I think we should discuss a few things regarding the voyage."

"It might be helpful," replied Tardy.

"I think you should set up some ground rules with Nicole," stated Galbard. "You know, you don't want the crew thinking that you will show favoritism to her just because you two are engaged."

"This from the man who used to make out on the bridge with his yeoman," laughed Tardy.

"I'm that kind of captain," replied Galbard, "they expect me to be a rule breaker. All the great captains were rule breakers; Columbus, Drake, Jones, Nemo, Kirk, Crunch, all captains, all rule breakers."

"What rule did Captain Crunch break?" asked Tardy.

"Nutritious AND delicious? Come on now..."

Tardy shook his head, he was so lucky that Nicole had walked into his life. At least he could count on sanity somewhere...

### Chapter 9

" **Distrust any enterprise that requires new clothes." - Henry David Thoreau**

"If the napkins don't match the maid of honor's dress, the whole thing is doomed," stated Nicole, despair dripping from her voice.

"I don't know about doomed," stated Julie soothingly, looking over the mosaic of color swatches that covered the table. "Perhaps if they match an ASPECT of the dress..."

Nicole stared down at the array of linens and fabrics on the table and shook her head. This was the third wedding hall they had visited today and all of the fabrics and room setups were beginning to mesh in her brain. If she ever saw another ice sculpture again, it would be too soon and if one more person told her she was going to make a lovely bride, she would cut them with the pocket knife she always carried.

"I love the dark green in the napkins, but Anne looks so wonderful in that light blue dress..."

"How about her wearing the light blue dress with a dark green scarf, this way the scarf matches the napkins," countered Julie.

"I don't think the dress would look right with a scarf," stated Nicole.

"What about a light blue napkin?" asked Julie.

"A light blue napkin will be lost with the flower arrangements," stated Nicole thoughtfully. "The tables won't look right."

"Can we change the flower arrangements to something darker?" mused Julie. "No, no, that would make the room look darker..."

"What if we changed Anne's flowers and kept the dress and napkins as they are?" offered Nicole.

"If you change the flowers, you might have to change the napkins, but I think you could keep the dress."

"What if I changed the napkins, kept the flowers and dress and added a chiffon ribbon to the napkin rings?"

The suggestion hung in the air like Snoopy at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.

"I think we'll have to regroup on this," said Julie softly. "It's all a little overwhelming right now..."

"Oh Julie, what am I going to do?" asked Nicole. "I'm not a real girly girl, I don't know any of this stuff and I want the wedding to be perfect for Skip..."

"Honey," smiled Julie, taking Nicole's hands into her own. "Skip doesn't care about how the wedding looks, he just wants to spend the rest of his life with the bride of his dreams."

Nicole smiled wanly, "Julie, I just don't know what to do... I'm trying to help Daddy plan this new mission and a wedding and a reception, it's just so much..."

"Well, don't be afraid to delegate," stated Julie. "When Gil and I were getting married, I had to give him specific tasks to accomplish or he would have been no help at all. I would give him instructions and he would follow them to the letter, he's wonderful at following directions, he was a government worker so if you print anything in triplicate he thinks he HAS to do it..."

"Skip is trying to be helpful, but he's so busy with preparing for the mission, I hate to bother him," replied Nicole.

"Well, it's his wedding too," replied Julie. "He should help you. You don't want him having no part in the wedding, do you? Believe me, when you're old and gray, he'll look back over at the wedding and tell everyone it was his idea anyway, so you might as well have him help you with things. As for the mission, they'll be other missions to plan..."

"I suppose you're right, but I can't imagine him looking over fabric samples with me...frankly, I can't imagine looking over fabric samples with me. Why don't we ditch this for an hour or so and go and get lunch?"

"That's a wonderful idea," replied Julie. "We need to clear our heads."

"You know what always helps me clear my head?" asked Nicole. "A little bit of wine with lunch."

"Wine is good with the meal," agreed Julie, rising and locating her purse. "But a nice cocktail can really calm the nerves and help you focus."

"Of course, a shot or two of Tequila can really focus the brain," stated Nicole, picking up her purse and streaming quickly towards the door.

"I'll race you for the bar," giggle Julie as they headed down the street towards a homey looking place called "The Dew Drop Inn".

***

The Planetary President was once again displeased to be have been called to another emergency meeting, this one discussing the growing crisis between Canada and Scotland. The trade war was heating up between these two nations and the crisis was becoming serious. Canada had retaliated against the haggis infusion perpetuated by the Scots and now the lucrative Canadian souvenir trade in Scotland was struggling to remain afloat. Rumors were that a Royal Canadian Mountie- hat could be sold for eight times its normal price while the price of maple candy had escalated beyond the dreams of the average, hardworking middle class Scot. War seemed the most likely conclusion of the entire affair unless something, anything could be done.

The Planetary Minister in Charge of Defense, Offense and Blowing Stuff Up addressed the President in grim tones.

"The Scots are threatening to send the Canadian's itchy woolen socks," he stated, "and the Canadians are threatening to boycott anything plaid. War is imminent unless we can cool the anger between these two."

"Perhaps we could distract them," offered the Minister In Charge of International Affairs.

"How?" asked the President, angry with himself for getting caught up in the conversation.

"Well, this whole thing reminds me of a discussion I had with my daughter the other day," replied the Minister. The others present rolled their eyes, the Minister had married a much younger woman and had finally had a child, Tiffany, and he was always talking about how his only daughter was amazing and intelligent and superior. "My daughter Tiffany is in high school, though she has the intelligence of most college students. Anyway Amanda, who used to be her best friend, was talking to Stephanie, who my daughter can't stand and Amanda was all like, chill out, it's no big thing and Tif was like, no way and then they weren't talking at all and everyone was angry and then my daughter found out that Stephanie was talking about Amanda behind her back and she went back to Amanda and Amanda was like, no way, and my daughter was like, way, so now they're best buds again forever and ever and no one likes Stephanie."

"What in the name of all that is holy are you talking about?" asked the President.

"I think I understand," stated the Junior Minister of Offense. "So, you're saying we get Scotland and Canada to hate another country together and they'll forget that they are arguing?"

"Exactly," stated the Internal Minister.

"That makes no sense at all," stated the Junior Minister of Defense. "How do we get them to hate another country and what happens when they do?"

"Perhaps it would be best if they hated a country that everyone else hates already," stated the Minister in Charge of Defense, Offense and Blowing Stuff Up, warming to the idea. "That country would have to do something to each of them in turn, however for the idea to work."

"Are the French busy this week?" asked the President, stating everyone's obvious first choice.

"They've been relatively quiet lately," mused the Minister of International Affairs, "but I see you're point. They'd be my front runner..."

"Not everyone hates the French," stated one of the Junior Ministers in Charge of Blowing Things Up.

Everyone looked at him in disgust.

"How the hell did you become a politician without hating the French?" asked the President, his voice dripping sarcasm. "What are you, one of those mamby-pamby boys who likes berets and thinks French movies are entertaining?"

"If it wasn't for the nudity, who would even watch the damn things?" asked the Minister in Charge of Defense, Offense and Blowing Stuff Up.

"All the talking and smoking and talking and smoking..." bitched the Minister of International Affairs.

"And the whole country is made of cheese!" snapped one of the Junior Ministers.

"Don't forget the overpriced wine," snapped the President bitterly.

"It's old grape juice," agreed the Minister in Charge of Defense, Offense and Blowing Stuff Up. "They make the same crap in California and it tastes just as bad but because it comes from Fraaaance..."

"Cheese eating, wine swilling, little mustache wearing bastards, all of them," grumped the Minister of International Affairs.

"The French it is then," stated the President. "Now how are we going to set this up?"

"I think Quebec holds the key," stated the Minister of International Affairs pointedly.

"They speak that French crap too, don't they?" asked the Minister in Charge of Defense, Offense and Blowing Stuff Up.

"Perfect," stated the President. "All right then, get the Quebec angle working and let's get everyone hating the French. Let the people in Quebec ask for independence again and have the Scots saying what a stupid idea it is and then we can blame them for being French!"

"I love diplomacy," stated the Junior Minister in Charge of Blowing Stuff Up.

"Viva la France," agreed his colleague.

***

Gil stared at his wife a moment and noticed...a difference.

"So, you had a good time with Nicole today?" he asked, examining her with a practiced eye.

"Best frigging time ever," replied Julie with a giggle.

"What did you two do?" he asked, gently guiding her towards the sofa.

"We looked at napkins," she replied, sitting down with a whoosh. "You would not BELIEVE how many types of napkins there are, lace and linen and cotton and linoleum, you name it, someone is making a napkin out of it. And the colors...good God, the colors..."

"My love," said Gil quietly, removing her handbag from her arm and propping her feet up on the couch. "Did you have anything to drink today?"

Julie giggled happily, "Oh, just a little. Six or seven Margarita Fanny Bangers and a couple of gin and sonics, nothing much.... Nicole, now NICOLE had something to drink. I tell you boy, she can put it away, but I suppose it's from her being around pirates all the time..."

"Angel, you're around pirates all the time," said Gil softly, removing her shoes and checking for any sharp objects in the surround area.

Julie considered it, "Holy shit, you're right..."

"Why don't you try to rest, honey," asked Gil, placing a small blanket over her legs.

"Oh GIL," she giggled, "I said holy shit..." She burst out laughing.

"Yes honey, yes you did," he said, kissing her gently on the forehead. "Now you need to just relax and get some rest. Soon you'll wake up and feel pretty crappy..."

"Oh, I don't want to feel crappy Gil," she stated with a frown. "I like feeling like this, like I feel right now..."

"I know honey, I know," replied Gil softly. "Unfortunately, the piper has to be paid, but for now, just try to get some sleep, okay?"

"Oh," smiled Julie good naturedly, "okay. Gil, Gil..."

"Yes honey?"

"Will you feel crappy with me later?"

Gil considered it, "I don't see as I have much choice..."

"Oh Gil, we'll feel crappy together," smiled Julie, hugging a throw pillow happily. "That's what marriage is about, isn't it?"

"A lot of times, yeah," replied Gil, watching as his angel nodded off to sleep.

Picking up her shoes he took them upstairs to the bedroom so she wouldn't accidentally trip on them when she woke up. He went back downstairs and made a sandwich and then took up his post in the chair opposite the couch, watching his beloved passed out, dreaming happy dreams. Enjoy it now, he thought, he could only imagine the headache his angel would have later.

### Chapter 10

" **Canada is the vichyssoise of nations - it's cold, half French and difficult to stir." - Stuart Keate**

Mike Hodges sat with his co-workers surrounded by members of the Royal Canadian Secret Security and International Now What Were You Going to Do with That Eh? Squad. The debriefing had been going on for almost two hours now and everyone was fast approaching the breaking point. If these guys didn't let up soon, thought Mike, everyone was going to become mildly annoyed, which is as close as most Canadians get to mob violence.

Mister Dickson, the lead investigator, stood at the front of the room, perfectly composed in a dark suit and darker features. He seemed troubled by his need to be here, as if the entire group he was speaking with had in some way betrayed a sacred trust.

"I don't need to remind you that we're on the brink of war with Scotland, eh?" he asked in a heavy, meaningful way. "If any of you, ANY of you slip up and misidentify something as being a potentially dangerous shipment from Scotland, the result could be utter chaos, eh."

Mike took the words as a personal challenge. Distracted by his rising temper, he raised his hand politely, waiting to be acknowledged. Upon being acknowledged, he stood tall among his fellow inspectors, nodding towards the lead investigator, his look showing he was all business.

"We understand the importance of our jobs, eh," replied Mike, looking about him and receiving the support for his statement that he imagined he would get, that being polite nods. "That haggis didn't come to our shores as an invited guest, eh. We didn't ask to find it, but we did, eh. Now it ain't our fault that it's here and it ain't our fault that we found it, but we've reported it and we're ready to do whatever it is you want us to do with it, but don't go blaming us because it's here and our job is to say it's here, eh."

Grumbling arose from those assembled, polite grumbling, of course, but grumbling none the less. Dickson was momentarily thrown off. Grumbling, even politely, was so un-Canadian that it just showed how deeply this crisis had bitten. Raising his hands for silence, he nodded at Mike.

"I'm not trying to blame anyone for what they found, eh," he responded reasonably. "I just want you to understand that each and every package you examine, each and every box you open, has the potential to plunge us into war with Scotland, eh. We're talking children growing up without free access to bagpipes and perhaps an entire generation growing up suspicious of Scotch Tape, eh. One false move and the entire nation will be using paper tape on their Christmas presents and if that ain't a tragedy, I don't know what is, eh."

The group nodded in agreement.

"Still," stated one woman near the front, "if you fold the paper under and put it on the backside, you don't even notice it, eh."

"That's fine for some of you, eh," replied Dickson, "but what about the less arts and craftsy of the group, eh? A trapper goes out and gets himself a good haul of beaver pelts and comes home to wrap his wife's present, you think he's got the skills to fold the tape round the backside, eh? The fur sticking to him and all and then he's got to do contortions just to get the thing wrapped, eh? Is that justice, eh?"

"Hold on there, eh," stated an older, balding man dressed in flannel as he rose. "My uncle is a trapper and he's nimble as a ballerina, eh."

"My cousin is a trapper, eh," stated another man, further in the back. "He's not too nibble, mind you, but he makes a hell of a stack of flapjacks, eh."

"Flapjacks are good, eh," replied Mike, "but not if you're trying to wrap Christmas presents, eh."

"Unless you're giving flapjacks AS a Christmas present, eh," replied the woman with a wink towards Mike.

The group chuckled politely, happy to have broken the almost unbearable tension with a quip.

"Come on now, eh," said Dickson good-naturedly, "enough hilarity, this is serious stuff, eh. All I'm asking is that you continue to do the fine job you have been doing, eh. We need to be extra vigilant or we could provoke a war, eh. Just be mindful..."

"Words to live by, eh," agreed Mike.

"Meeting's adjourned," stated Dickson mildly, "now why not go and get yourselves some flapjacks over on the table over there, eh?"

Little did any of them know that this top secret, highly important meeting held, like most meetings, almost no ramifications for any of them or for the future in general.

***

On board the Intrepid Monkey, Captain Stanwich's "Howdy and Welcome Aboard" meet and greet was well underway. Standing at the gangplank with a plate of cupcakes, the Captain was greeting the crew of the Constellation, offering each new comer a personalized greeting, a cupcake and a map of the ship with the bathroom facilities highlighted. Stanwich stood smiling at the newest arrival, speaking to him in a friendly tone.

"A polarecoengineer," repeated the Captain politely. "I haven't the faintest idea of what that is..."

"I create technology that works especially well in subzero temperatures," replied the young man standing before him.

"Good for you, welcome aboard," stated Stanwich politely. "Here is your cupcake and map, coffee is in the lounge down the hall, try not to drop any sprinkles on the carpet."

Stanwich patted the young man on the back and gently shoved him in the direction of the lounge, moving to greet the next passenger.

Down the hall, Skip Tardy and Nicole stood in the lounge, Nicole greeting guests and giving out room assignments with her fiancé's assistance. On the bridge, Captain Galbard stood with Chester and Yeoman Xiang, examining the ship's controls and familiarizing himself with the various weapons systems aboard ship. Galbard could not help but notice the matronly outfit Xiang was wearing, a satin bodice over matching panties, thigh high stockings with stiletto and a feather duster. Obviously, his former lover had been transformed into a dumpy housewife, a fate he was pleased to have avoided.

"You've really upgraded the fire power on this thing," smiled Galbard. "We could take on an entire fleet."

"We prefer to flee rather than fight," stated Chester.

"Running away is our specialty," stated Xiang, pleased that her former lover and husband could hold a conversation without things being awkward.

"Running away is a time-honored pirate tradition," admitted Galbard with a laugh. "Still, I'd love to see this baby in a firefight." Looking up at Xiang, he smiled, "You remember the time we fought the Galaxy Raider?"

"That was some fight," stated Xiang. "I thought we were lost several times." Wrapping an arm around her husband's shoulders, she squeezed him gently. "Captain Galbard managed to pull out that battle at the very last moment. The poor Constellation took almost three weeks to limp home, it is a miracle we made it back to Zooks."

"I heard about the battle at the "Fighting Like Pirates; When Running Away Doesn't Work" seminar Cardinal Benny held in the school auditorium. We had snacks, it was nice..."

Galbard grew serious, "Chocolate donuts?"

"Scooter pies," replied Chester, his eyes growing misty at the memory. "Both oatmeal and chocolate..."

"Impressive," replied Galbard. "At my first seminar, we had discount cookies and tea..."

The three laughed at the frugality of the old days.

Meanwhile, in the main cafeteria, Don, Panther and Mad Matt were busy directing the Constellation crew to their assigned rooms throughout the ship. While Don and Panther were enjoying themselves, Mad Matt was anxious and growing impatient. Finally, he returned to the "reservations desk" where Nicole and Skip stood with an attractive, if wild looking, young woman. Her brown hair was pulled back in a careless pony tail, her lovely face sans makeup, her light blue eyes focused to the point of insanity. She wore an enormous military backpack that seemed to weigh at least four times her own weight, a sleeveless camouflage shirt, camouflage pants tucked into black boots and a weapons belt that would have made Batman envious.

"Mad Matt, I want to introduce you to someone," stated Skip. "This is one of our weapons specialists, Psycho Sally, meet Mad Matt. Mad Matt, meet Psycho Sally..."

Matt extended his hand and was pleasantly surprised by the firmness of her grip.

"Nice to meet you," he stated disinterestedly.

"Yeah," she replied, eyeing him, looking for a way to kill him if necessary.

"Could you take Sally to deck 13, room 666?" asked Nicole.

"Sure," replied Matt, "need a hand with your luggage?"

"Touch my bags and I'll kill you," she replied, pulling out a light saber.

"Not if I kill you first," replied Matt, reaching for his mazer.

"No killing, please," interrupted Skip. "Sally, remember how we talked about your need for socializing?"

Sally looked at the floor as she retracted the saber and placed it back in its holster and recited a speech she had been taught in a soft monotone, "I am sorry I threatened to kill you. People should not threaten to kill one another until knowing each other for at least a week..."

Skip cleared his throat.

"For at least two weeks..."

He cleared his throat again. Sally looked at him, disgusted.

"Fine! People should not threaten to kill people, it isn't polite."

"I don't have a problem with it," replied Mad Matt. "People should know where they stand, it's only manners..."

"That's what I said," replied Sally. "They keep telling me it's not normal..."

"They wouldn't know normal if it bit them on the ass..." they said in unison. They stared at each other for a moment.

Nicole looked at Skip, "Do you think we might ask Panther to help Sally, this might not be the best pairing..."

"You ever dream of a world without people?" asked Mad Matt, staring at her intently.

"Because you got rid of all of them?" she asked, her eyes glittering like mad disco balls.

"Okay, enough socializing," stated Skip. "Panther will show you to your room, Sally."

"You've got a panther loose on this ship?" asked Sally, obviously pleased.

"He's a man," stated Nicole, trying not to sound upset.

"Oh," replied Sally, apparently disappointed.

Nicole pressed the pager for Panther so hard that the button in her communicator became stuck. Panther responded.

"We need you here to take a young lady to her cabin," she stated loudly.

"Couldn't Mad Matt..."

"NO!" snapped Nicole before regaining control of herself. "No, Panther, we really need you, please."

"I'll be there in a few minutes," responded Panther, confusion in his voice.

"I'm going to go and check the forward stabilizer on the main mazer," stated Mad Matt. "Want to make sure it will take a direct hit should we have to slaughter innocent bystanders..."

"Good plan," agreed Skip. "You go do that and Sally, you stay here with us and wait for Panther."

Sally watched Mad Matt saunter off and muttered softly to herself, "Asshole..." She shrugged her shoulders, this might be love.

***

The Scottish Prime Minister stood on the battlements of Castle Arrrgh in downtown Edinburgh, watching the evening traffic wind its way through the surrounding streets. His brother stepped up behind him and spoke to him, the two brothers alone together for the first time in several days.

"What if we go to war with Canada?" asked his brother, Little Mac. "We wanted the money back in order to secure the treasury, if we go to war with Canada, it's going to take even more money and you know that spending money is not at Scottish strong point."

"True," responded Harry, "but we can go to war and win it quickly. We have the finest fighting force on the planet ready to invade them and our navy can bung up their coast and starve them out."

"We don't have a navy," replied Little Mac. "We've got some fishing boats and an old yacht. As to our fighting force, we have about a hundred thousand men in kilts ready to do their duty and invade a country that spends a good deal of the time knee deep in snow. Men in skirts traditionally don't do well in snow."

"It will make them angrier," stated his brother.

"It will freeze off the parts they'll need if they get into a fight," replied Little Mac. "This wasn't the goal, Harry. The goal was to get our money back with interest. The Canadians are a decoy the planetary government is using to make us forget the real problem. We don't have our money. Remember your campaign promise..."

"To always put Scotland before any of the shit-headed gits of the world," whispered the Prime Minister.

"We need to ramp up the pressure on the interplanetary government," advised his brother. "Make peace with Canada and get the money back and you'll be more immortal than the most immortal of all Scots..."

His brother looked out into the ether, could he actually achieve that level of greatness?

"You don't mean to say..."

His brother nodded, "They could mention you in the same breath as Sean Connery."

"God in heaven," whispered the Prime Minister hoarsely. "Yer right. Get me the Canadian Prime Minister on the line, we'll hash this out!"

***

The combined crews of the Intrepid Monkey and the Constellation were scheduled to leave on their mission this evening and everyone was happy and anxious about this exciting new venture.

Several hours after the boarding of the Intrepid Monkey had started Gil and Julie made their way aboard towing behind them their matching Samsonite luggage. Julie was not at all sure what to expect, so she had over packed somewhat, but better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it was her motto.

Captain Stanwich beamed as they made their way up the gangplank, happily handing each a cupcake and shaking their hands vigorously.

"I was worried you wouldn't make it," he stated with an enormous smile.

"Where else would we go?" replied Julie, plastic smile firmly in place. "I mean, it's not like we had plans to go to the beach or anything..."

The three laughed.

"Nicole has your room assignment, she's in the lounge. I hate to rush you along, but we've got almost everyone aboard and I have to make sure that the ice sculptures are ready for this evening's dinner," stated Stanwich.

"You had ice sculptures made?" asked Gil.

The Captain frowned, "Not so much ice sculptures in the traditional sense. The ice machine froze up and now we have these odd shaped lumps of ice, so we decided not to waste them and put one on every table in the mess hall. It will be festive."

"Oh," replied Gil, "that sounds...nice."

The Captain smiled and turned to the next person in line, leaving Gil and Julie to follow the line to Nicole's table.

Nicole squealed in delight upon seeing Julie and hugged her tightly.

"I solved the napkin dilemma," she announced happily.

"Really?" asked Julie. "What are you going to do?"

"We're going to have white napkins because they go with everything," smiled Nicole, hugging Skip tightly. "Besides, as Skip pointed out, this is a pirate wedding! Most of these people can't spell mauve, never mind identify what color it is!"

Julie smiled, well pleased by Nicole's intelligence.

"I'm so happy you were able to jump that hurdle," she confessed. "What's next?"

"Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue," recited Nicole with a steely resignation. "If I can hop that chasm, we'll be home free..."

Julie looked at her sympathetically, "My cousin Tina almost suffered a breakdown when she got to the something blue portion. It's wrecked many a bride..."

"Well, I'm not going into it with a cocky attitude," replied Nicole frankly. "The whole thing has wrecked better brides than me..."

"We'll get through it," replied Julie. "We've got this whole mission to come up with an idea..."

The men looked at the women they loved and then to each other, nodding sympathetically, having not the slightest idea of what the women they loved were talking about...

### Chapter 11

" **One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one's work is terribly important." - Bertrand Russell**

Commander Masterson sat with a small glass of milk in his hand, staring out at the vastness of space from the enormous bay window in his cabin. He had been forced to remove one of the most sophisticated and powerful weapons of planet crushing destruction from the hull of his ship because its control room was in the way of the Junior Slippy Slide Pretzel Salon and Gift Shop. With a sigh, he lowered himself into a chair and sipped tentatively at his warm beverage.

He had always been a brave and resourceful warrior, but this time he was up against an enemy that he did not understand. A man could fight pirates, war against invading hordes, clear space for the safety of all mankind, but pit him against government bureaucracy and he might as well throw himself into a volcano, it was over, finished. How did you fight something that you could not reason with? It was as if his entire world had suddenly developed PMS, oh you could argue, you could even be correct, but in the end, did it matter?

There had to be a way to turn life back to its preferred design, where warships fought hard to destroy enemies instead of hard water stains. Masterson took a deep breath, come on now, he reasoned, you've been in tight spaces before. When the going gets tough, no one gets out of the going with less stuff on him than you do. As Masterson looked out into the deepest reaches of space, his mind probed the infinite expanse of the universe. Looking out upon galaxies awaiting discovery and exploration, a single, sudden and lasting truth took firm control of his mind.

Truth was eternal, stronger than facts, greater than men and nations. He nodded his ascent to this timeless and infinite logic. What he needed, what was absolutely essential, what would bring his world back into balance and focus, therefore, was the one thing a determined and passionate man could always rely upon. Standing, he bowed his head and closing his eyes, whispered into the infinite reaches beyond his understanding, "What I need is a really good lie..."

***

To what would be Panther's enormous surprise, the last person to board the Intrepid Monkey was his girlfriend, Anne. Small and curvy with wavy black hair and large brown eyes, Anne looked about in wonder at the size of the ship she was entering. Upon gaining the top of the gangplank of the Intrepid Monkey, she spotted Captain Stanwich and greeted him with a huge hug.

"Anne, what are you doing here?" asked the Captain, happily handing her a cupcake.

"Nicole invited me to come, she figured we could work on the wedding if she got a chance and I haven't been in outer space since I made the trip to Zooks, so I closed up shop and got my stuff together and here I am!"

"I'm so happy you're going with us," stated the Captain. "I have to remind you, however, that since you aren't part of the crew, union rules state that you can't participate in the killing or robbing of anyone. The shop stewards would file a grievance and I really don't want to go up before an arbitrator..."

"Don't worry, Captain," smiled Anne. "Look at these nails, you think I'm going to take the chance of messing them up robbing or killing someone?"

Stanwich admired her nails for a moment, "A lovely shade of red. Fine, I'll take your word for it. Welcome aboard, just follow the hallway, you'll see Nicole and Skip at the welcome table. Try not to get any sprinkles on the carpet, here's your map."

"Thank you," smiled Anne, "thank you very much!"

With a smile and wave, she made her way down the hallway and found Panther talking to Skip and Nicky. Turning, Panther could not contain his surprise or happiness at seeing her.

"ANNE!" he cried out and stooped to hug her, but Anne sidestepped him and held up a hand.

"Oh, no you don't," she snapped. "You didn't invite me, you didn't even think to ask me to come. I had to wait for Nicole to ask me aboard."

"But Anne, I didn't think you'd want to come on a mission," pleaded Panther. "I would love to have you aboard with me..."

"Well, you didn't ask," she replied with a frown. "I'm not here for you, I'm here for Nicole. SHE was nice enough to ask and it's her wedding I'm here about, not you."

"Oh, Anne, don't be like that," whined Panther.

"Maybe I'll talk to you later, maybe I won't," she pouted. Turning to Nicole, she threw her arms open wide, "NICKY!"

"You made it," smiled Nicole, hugging her enthusiastically. "I see you got your map and your cupcake."

"Your father is very efficient," laughed Anne.

"Skip, why don't you help Anne find her room," suggested Nicole.

"I can help her..." began Panther.

"Skip can show me," stated Anne firmly. "You can stay here and invite to show someone else where their room is..."

Grabbing Skip by the arm, she marched him back into the hallway and away. Panther looked at Nicole, his feelings crushed.

"I never thought she'd come if I asked her," he began.

"You should have asked her," said Nicole softly. "You hurt her feelings and you know what that means..."

Panther frowned, "Expensive gifts and multiple apologies..."

"Don't forget to use the secured line to access your credit card," stated Nicole with a slight smile. "You're surrounded by pirates you know..."

"No one here smart enough to perform identity theft," grouched Panther, headed down the hallway to find a catalogue and to start ordering.

***

"Son of a gun," murmured the President, his shock complete, his surprise total. Reaching for his intercom, he slapped the button that connected him with his secretary.

"Rose?" he called out.

"Rose retired three years ago, sir," replied a woman's voice.

"Trisha?"

"No sir..."

"Tina?"

"No sir..."

"Does it begin with T?" asked the President, searching the vast reaches of his mind and finding surprisingly little.

"N, sir..."

"Nadine?"

"No sir..."

"Agatha?"

"Agatha begins with an A, sir," replied the voice. "Nancy. I'm Nancy, sir."

"How long have you been with us?" asked the President.

"Going on fifteen years, sir..."

"Well, welcome aboard, we appreciate the fine work that you are doing," he replied, glad to have been able to smooth over that difficulty with a minimum of fuss.

"What can I do for you, sir?" she asked.

"Nancy, I just read the paper..."

"You? You READ the paper?"

"Yes," he replied a bit defensively, "yes I did and do you know what's on the front page?"

"The front page? You read the front page?"

She could not have been more surprised by his statement than if he had said that he was going to reduce taxes and not increase them in some other way.

"Yes, I did," he replied proudly. "It says that Scotland and Canada have come to an agreement and that war has been averted! Do you know what this means, Nancy?"

"Peace in our time, sir?"

The President rolled his eyes, "Like anyone cares about that...NO! It means that someone failed to do their job, Nancy and I hope it wasn't you because whoever failed to do their job is going to be losing it!"

"Usually failure to do a government job is grounds for a promotion, sir," responded Nancy, "but if you want to change the basis of government bureaucracy, I don't think the people will mind."

"To hell with the people!" snapped the President. After a moment's thought, he asked, "Nancy, are there any people out there with you?"

"Just your security guards, sir," replied Nancy.

"Oh good; it is bad business to let the people know what you think about them," stated the President.

"Trust me, sir, no one is more confused about what you think about them than the people," she replied.

"Good, good. Nancy, I want you to call up the Minister in Charge of International Affairs and tell him I want his butt down here on the double, do you think you can do that?"

"I can sir," replied Nancy. "Are you sure you don't want to speak to him on the phone sir, it would be quicker."

"No, I need to see him in person!" snapped the President.

The President felt that most of his cabinet officers made faces at him when secreted behind the wall of a telephone, but not today, by golly. If they were going to make faces at him today, they were going to do it to his face.

"Oh, and Nancy?"

"Yes, sir..."

"Find out for me if the French had anything to do with the treaty between Canada and Scotland, will you?"

There was a long pause on the line.

"Couldn't you find that out by reading the article, sir?"

The President fumed, "Nancy, I'm a very busy man, I don't have time to read articles, for God's sake, I read the headline, do I have to do everything around here?"

"No sir, I'll come in and get the paper and read the article for you in just a moment."

"Good, very good, but leave the funnies and the horoscopes," replied the President.

He glanced at the horoscopes in disgust. He would find love today indeed. Not one word about a peace treaty, not one word! These damn psychics, if he didn't know better, he would think they didn't know better...

### Chapter 12

"The man who can smile when things go wrong has thought of someone else he can blame it on." – Robert Bloch

Cardinal Benny looked at the assembled commanders gathered on the bridge of the Intrepid Monkey through his viewing screen and sighed inwardly. He was sending the cream of the pirate crop out to obtain all important machine parts for the benefit of the many people on the planets that he supervised. It should be a simple task, a no brainer, an easy day at the beach and yet he knew that the cream wasn't separated from the crop by any great margin. In fact, the cream in this case was pretty croppy no matter how you looked at it...

"You all understand that you go and get the parts and then you come right back here, right?" he asked for the thirty-second time.

"It seems like an excellent plan," stated Captain Stanwich with a manic smile. "We'll be home for supper!"

The Cardinal rolled his eyes, "You'll be home for supper in two, possibly three days."

"Well, eventually, we'll be home for supper," stated Captain Galbard. "Captain to captain I agree with the captain, it's a can't miss plan..."

"You both know supper isn't part of the plan, right?' asked Cardinal Benny, hoping for confirmation.

"We know the plan, your eminence," stated Tardy, giving Nicole a slight squeeze as he spoke. "We'll take every precaution."

The Cardinal squinted, somehow it didn't feel right. He felt as if there was something he should forbid but what? He mentally went over the list of forbidden things and could think of nothing that he should add. He had stressed everything he could think of, but still he felt unsure. Perhaps he was giving too many loonies to Tardy to handle, but it was too late in the day to start second guessing himself. They needed those supplies, but still...

"All right," he stated, feeling defeated somehow, "go ahead and be careful. I bestow my blessing upon you and your mission and may God watch over each of you and allow you to return safely."

"Thank you, Cardinal Benny," smiled Stanwich. "Intrepid Monkey, out!"

The screen went black.

"He seemed nervous," stated Stanwich.

"Can't imagine why," murmured Galbard thoughtfully. Suddenly his face broke into a wide smile, "Kegger in my room in ten minutes!!!"

"Can't imagine why," agreed Tardy, shaking his head. "Why would the man be worried?"

***

"Manly, have you ever seen the movie "Hunt for Red October"?" Masterson asked quietly, scanning the deepest reaches of space from the main view screen of his Death Star/Water Park.

"No sir, I'm afraid I don't really care for old movies," stated Manly, happy to see his Commander was slowly recovering from the transition of his flagship.

"Have you ever read the book?" asked Masterson.

"Never read the book and then see the movie," stated Manly sagely. "They absolutely ruin your perception of the characters. I remember how disappointed I was when I saw "Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants" after I read the novel..."

Masterson blinked rapidly and then closed his eyes, "I want you to start a project for me, Manly."

"Of course, sir..."

"I want to find out how few people we can run this ship with," stated Masterson. "The President requested that we try to cut costs as much as possible, so I'm thinking lean and mean, understood?"

"Does that include your masseuse, gardener and private "secretary"" asked Manly, discreetly using air quotes.

"I didn't say remove necessary personnel," replied Masterson. "I said I want to see who we can get rid of without affecting the efficient running of this vessel."

"I suppose we could cut some corners with the golf caddies," stated Manly. "The simulated golf course on deck 119 might be better with simulated caddies and as for the tattoo artists..."

"Get to work on it, Manly. I want that report on my desk by thirteen hundred."

Manly nodded, "Is that thirteen hundred am or pm sir?"

"There is no am or pm when you use thirteen hundred," replied Masterson. "The whole point of thirteen hundred is so that you don't have am or pm. Thirteen hundred is one o'clock, Manly!"

"In the afternoon or at night?" asked Manly.

"Didn't they teach any of this to you at the academy?" asked Masterson, trying to remain calm.

"No sir, we were too busy marching," replied Manly. "We marched an awful lot..."

"Didn't you take classes?"

"Classes were for the underclassmen," stated Manly, "The upperclassmen marched in order to look good for our graduation ceremony."

"Weren't you an underclassman at some point?" asked Masterson, thoroughly confused.

"I transferred from the Salzburg International Ballet Academy after my third year," stated Manly sheepishly.

"You were trained in ballet?" asked Masterson.

"And tap, I love tap," smiled Manly.

"How did you get into the space academy?"

"It was during Colonel Barr's tenure as Commandant of the academy..." stated Manly, looking away.

"Colonel "Spank Me Silly" Suzie Barr?" asked Masterson.

"She liked men with muscular legs," replied Manly, obviously embarrassed. He looked up into what he felt were Masterson's judgmental eyes, "I'm the victim here!!!"

"Undoubtedly," replied Masterson, unsure of what to say. After an awkward moment, he added, "Okay, then, go and get me that report Manly, and, uh.... carry on."

"Yes sir, thank you sir," replied Manly, walking off with a particularly butch stride.

Masterson closed his eyes for a moment, this might be easier than he thought, or it might just be another absolutely insane idea.

***

"The French have disappointed me yet again," murmured the President, staring at his hands as his cabinet members shifted nervously in their seats.

The group of highly important, highly powerful men had been called away from their comfortable offices in the middle of the day to an emergency meeting of the cabinet. This only happened when someone had disappointed the President in some way or when he needed gift ideas two weeks before Christmas.

"I hate to say it sir, but the French have disappointed you many times," began the Minister in Charge of Flip-Flopping on Issues. "Maybe I should be the last to criticize them, sir, but they are horribly consistent. No matter what you want them to do, they don't do it..."

"Like the time you very reasonably and respectfully asked them to stop speaking French," stated the Junior Minister in Charge of Historical Sites No One Visited. "They refused to cooperate then, sir, and they refused to cooperate this time."

"So that makes two times," stated the President.

"Two too many, sir," stated the Minister in Charge of Blowing Things Up. "I think you should call an air strike."

"A tempting proposition," replied the President, "but killing the French won't get the Scots to reconsider their unreasonable demands to have us return the money they loaned to us."

"Perhaps, sir, we could blame the French for THAT," suggested the Minister with No Known Title.

"What could we say the French used the money for?" asked the President.

"Perhaps we could say they loaned it to the Canadians, thus reviving the entire war scenario again," suggested the Minister in Charge of Blowing Things Up.

"No, they know we spent the money and they know no one would spend money on the French," replied the President.

"We could say that we loaned the money to the Greeks," stated the Minister with No Known Title.

Everyone stopped and stared at him.

"No one loans money to the Greeks," stated the Finance Minister brusquely. "Greeks won't even loan money to the Greeks. It's like thinking that some Disney child star will grow up to be a responsible adult; no one's going to fall for that!"

"If we're going to lie, let's lie responsibly," stated the President. "Let's make our lies believable, that's what got us elected and that's what will get us out of this mess."

"What if we tell the truth?" suggested a Junior Minister at the end of the table.

"KILL HIM!" cried out the Minister with No Known Title.

The meeting dissolved into the worst type of physical altercation known to man; twenty middle aged white men in expensive suits trying to get their badass on while desperately trying to not rumpling their clothing. Punches flew with less discernable direction than a Christopher Walken interview. At the head of the table, the President watched his cabinet members slap inanely at one another while screaming like a group of six-year-old girls who had just found out that they were each getting their first Barbie Dream House. It was an ugly day for the government...

### Chapter 13

" **All things are subject to interpretation whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth." – Friedrich Nietzsche**

Panther stood huddled over an engine of one of the pincer ships that was giving them trouble and looking up from his work, stared for a moment at Mad Matt.

"What?"

Mad Matt's eyes glowed as he repeated, "All things are subject to interpretation whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth." – Friedrich Nietzsche...say that to a German girl and she'll be out of her lederhosen before you can blink!"

Panther stared at him a moment, made uneasy by the insane light in his eyes and the bizarre nodding of his head as if agreeing with himself at the proclaiming of some profound and secret truth.

"First off, I thought it was the men who wore the lederhosen and secondly, what in HELL are you talking about?" asked Panther, putting down his tools and looking at his co-worker with an expression of complete confusion.

Mad Matt's face dropped into a perplexed scowl, "You were saying that you preferred women from California so I said that I like German women and was just remarking on how, if you talk German philosophers with them, they can't keep their clothes on."

Panther shook his head, utterly bewildered, "First off, do NOT say anything like that with Anne around, she's from Cleveland originally. Secondly, I never said I preferred women from California..."

"Yes, you did," replied Mad Matt.

"I was singing along with the radio," explained Panther, gesturing towards the box that sat upon his toolbox. "The Beach Boys were on, I was singing "California Girls"; I wasn't even talking to you."

"Oh," drawled Mad Matt. "I thought we were having a guy moment, you know, talking about women..."

"I would not talk about women with you," replied Panther, picking up his wrench and reexamining the engine part he was working on. "I can only imagine the weird stuff you are into and I don't want to know about it..."

They worked on the part a few moments longer in silence.

"You can understand my confusion, of course," stated Mad Matt as he released a bolt with some effort.

"About what?" asked Panther, peering at another bolt that seemed unwilling to cooperate with his intentions.

"Well, you singing a Beach Boys song," replied Mad Matt. "It's not something most black people do..."

"What are you talking about?" asked Panther, sorry he had asked the question but unable to take it back.

"Well, it's just that black people usually aren't all that into the Beach Boys," replied Mad Matt, applying some grease to the part he was working on.

"Lots of black people like the Beach Boys," replied Panther, a bit annoyed.

"No," replied Mad Matt, "no they don't..."

"Yes, they do," replied Panther. "Man, that's racist. Plenty of black people like the Beach Boys!"

"No, they don't," stated Mad Matt dismissively. "Have you ever seen any of the ancient concert footage? There's like one black guy for every forty thousand white people..."

"That doesn't mean black people don't like the Beach Boys," replied Panther. "You've got to stop with these broad generalizations, it's not cool."

"What are you talking about, "broad generalization"?" asked Mad Matt. "It's a fact; black people don't like the Beach Boys..."

"It is not," replied Panther, "I'm black and I like the Beach Boys."

"Name them," said Mad Matt.

"What?"

"Name the Beach Boys," he snapped. "If you like them so much, name them."

"I don't know their names," stated Panther with a dismissive wave of his hand. "They've been dead for like three hundred years."

"Longer if you count their output after the nineteen eighties, but I digress...You don't know their names, so admit I'm right," replied Mad Matt.

"That doesn't prove anything," stated Panther. "I like lots of bands and I don't know who the people are in them."

Mad Matt frowned, hands on hips, "Well excuse me then, I guess you're right and I'm wrong. Black People love the Beach Boys, how could I be so foolish..."

"Now don't get testy now," replied Panther, sorry he had ever started the conversation.

"I'm sure that's a real power position in the black community," mumbled Mad Matt.

"What is?"

"President of the Beach Boys Fan Club," replied Mad Matt sarcastically. "Yeah, it must be difficult to find a closet big enough to hold that gathering..."

"You need to stop it, you really do..."

"No, no, please, I'm so sorry I'm a racist. Maybe I need to be educated; perhaps I could attend a seminar, "How the Beach Boys Influenced Black Culture and Fashion". How could I be so stupid, there are plenty of old pictures of black people in Hawaiian shirts, marching with Doctor King and chanting anti-segregation songs to surf guitar riffs..."

"Now that's enough," stated Panther, pointing his wrench at him. "Don't bring Doctor King into this..."

"I'm surprised his famous letter came from Birmingham instead of "Surf City"," taunted Mad Matt.

"Okay, now you're just showing your ignorance," snapped Panther. "Jan and Dean sang "Surf City"..." Panther froze.

Mad Matt looked at him, concern in his eyes, "How the HELL did you know that? You've got to be the whitest black man since Tiger Woods!"

"Oh my God, oh my God," drawled Panther, his panic growing.

"It's okay buddy, it's going to be all right," stated Mad Matt, trying to ease his friend's growing panic.

Grabbing the radio, he inserted a microchip. The radio instantly displayed a listing of the playlist included on the chip, which Matt ran down, quickly punching in a selection. The theme from "Shaft" suddenly pulsed out into the work area.

Panther looked up, hope in his eyes as Mad Matt grabbed him by the shoulders and sang, "Whos' the black private dick who's a sex machine to all the chicks?"

"Shaft..." stated Panther weakly.

"Who is the man who would risk his neck for his brother man?" asked Mad Matt more loudly.

"Shaft..." said Panther, a little louder.

"Who's the cat that won't cop out when there's danger all about?" screamed Mad Matt.

"Shaft!" snapped Panther.

"You see this cat Shaft is a bad mother..." started Mad Matt.

"Shut your mouth?" asked Panther.

"Say it with feeling!" demanded Mad Matt.

"I can't stop thinking about the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain's version of the song," confessed Panther.

"Oh, HELL no," snapped Mad Matt. "You're in free fall..."

"I can't help myself," replied Panther, his eyes wild with fear. Looking down at his hands he asked, "Do I look lighter???"

Mad Matt grabbed Panther's hands, squeezing them as he shouted, "I'm going down to the mess and get us some malt liquor. If you feel yourself slipping, there's some N.W.A and Snoop Dogg on there, stay away from the Public Enemy songs, you're not strong enough yet and whatever you do, don't listen to the Luther Vandross or Usher stuff, I don't need you going white AND girly on me! If that doesn't work, go on Google and buy a ridiculously expensive pair of sneakers that you really can't afford while complaining about being oppressed. I'll be back in a few minutes, hang in there buddy, help is on the way and don't forget to hate whitey!!!"

Panther anxiously watched him leave. Alone, he glanced around and then bent his knees, jumped, shifted sideways, bounced, shifted sideways and kept going, fancy footwork, slide, step to the side.

"Thank you, Jesus, oh THANK YOU, GOD," he called out, dropping to his knees, throwing his arms in the air and giving the Almighty praise. "I can still do the Crip Walk, THANK YOU LORD!!!!"

***

The five members of the Scottish High Council arrived at the Prime Minister's mansion, each in a separate car, each dressed in his best suit, each ready to make history. Making their way up the main entrance stairs, they were greeted by an elderly butler in the main foyer who relieved them of their hats and canes and led them into the elevator that had recently been installed at the mansion in the outskirts of Edinburgh. With a nod, the butler pushed the down button and the doors closed. As the elevator drew down lower into the depths of the massive home, the five men who had been summoned each reflected upon the momentous times they were being asked to influence. Scotland stood at the pinnacle of world power and domination, a position they had been waiting to achieve for centuries. All of the greats had prayed to see this day, Robert the Bruce, Bonnie Prince Charlie, Rob Roy, The Krankies, but they were actually the players, the engineers, the midwives to this moment! Now they had to give their opinions, influencing history at this momentous time.

Exiting the elevator, they entered the conference chamber, taking their pre-assigned seats, awaiting the arrival of the Prime Minister and his brother. Each held a portfolio in his hand, each was prepared to stretch the farthest reaches of his intellect and knowledge to offer to the man of the moment, the Prime Minister, his expertise, his experience, his patriotism. The doors to the conference room suddenly swung open and out stepped the Prime Minister, his brother a half step behind him, both men looking serious, each feeling the weight of history upon their shoulders.

Stepping to the head of the table, the Prime Minister looked at the group assembled, this group of Scotland's finest and after casting a penetrating eye upon each man, slammed his fist onto the table top. The air was electric, the moment unlike anything any of them had ever experienced.

"Get out of my sight, you liver-lipped, ass-kissing, pod of weasels! OUT!" snapped the Prime Minister before slipping into a brogue so thick that he twice nearly swallowed his own tongue. The five men rose and scampered back to the elevator, throwing themselves bodily into the small box and each slamming the UP button more than a few times before the doors closed, leaving them in a stated of fearful excitement.

"Ya can go and screw history," snapped one of the men. "Damnedest thing I ever saw!"

"Damnedest!" agreed another.

"Nearly shit myself," stated a third. "He's a damned lunatic!"

They all looked at one another.

"None of you bastards say a word about this," stated the first man, pointing an index finger at each in turn. "It never happened!"

"Ay," they agreed to a man.

The doors to the elevator slid open, each man adjusting his suit and walking back out into the main foyer, eyeing every other person suspiciously. The butler proceeded to hand each one in turn his hat and cane and the group left, each entering his own private car and wondering, what the hell was that about?

Down below in the conference room, the Prime Minister read the letter from his lawyer and shook his head.

His brother stood next to him, "It's the only way to get our money back. Being a world power is all well and good, but we're going to have to take them to court and get a judgment for what they owe us or we'll be out of money in two weeks."

His brother nodded his head. All of the great powers in world history had been established in a fiercely contested battle giving glory to the armed forces and natural ferocity of the people of the moment. He could not believe that they would rise to world dominance by a judgment offered by men dressed in wigs and gowns.

"Ya know what?" he said to no one in particular. "History can kiss my ass..."

***

"At this rate, we should intercept the freighter within the next hour or so," smiled Skip, checking the controls over Captain Stanwich's shoulder.

For the first time since the entire trip had begun, he was feeling relaxed. Captain Stanwich, his future father in law, was at the controls of the Intrepid Monkey, guiding it smoothly and efficiently through space. The crews were getting along well with the exception of Mad Matt and Psycho Suzy, but otherwise everyone seemed happy and to know what they had to do.

He had just left Captain Galbard in his room, entertaining Yeoman Trixie, which meant that there would be a few people not entirely rested when the big moment happened, but with Galbard it was always better to have the edge taken off anyway. Yes, everything was going right, until...

Captain Stanwich looked down at the control panel and pointed to a flashing light on his right.

"Looks like Nicky is paging you," he stated.

Tardy looked about him, "How do I call her?"

"Use the headset over there," pointed Stanwich. "Just pick it up and dial three, eight, one..."

Tardy crossed the room, picked up the headset and dialed the numbers. The phone rang about half a ring before someone picked up, sobbing.

"Nicky?" he asked, concern in his voice.

"Oh Skip," she replied and then, the overwhelming sadness of sobbing took control of her once again.

"Sweetheart, where are you?" he asked, his panic growing.

"In my quarters," she managed, before breaking into tears again.

"I'm on my way," stated Tardy.

"Is everything okay?" asked Captain Stanwich.

Tardy considered telling him the truth, but there was no one on the bridge at the moment and if the Captain would want to come with him to investigate things.

"Everything is fine," he stated smoothly, "she just wants me to help her choose a dress for dinner."

"A dress?" asked Captain Stanwich. "Who wears a dress to dinner on a pirate ship?"

Tardy considered it, "Women?"

Stanwich blinked, the idea obviously new to him.

"I suppose..."

Tardy retreated to the elevator and slid inside, pressing the number for Nicky's floor. The elevator jerked and howled as it descended, stuttering to a halt at the preordained destination.

"Damn Pringles," remarked Tardy, falling out of the elevator and starting down the hallway.

Pringles was Nicky and the Captain's dog who had died several years ago by running under the Intrepid Monkey as it was landing. Nicky and the Captain were both convinced that the dog's soul now inhabited the elevator and got its revenge for being crushed by making the elevator the most miserable ride on the ship.

Tardy gained Nicole's doorway and knocked. The door slid open and his beloved fell into his arms, weeping.

"What is it?" asked Tardy, startled by his beloved's agony.

"Our wedding is ruined, ruined," she moaned as he helped her back inside and lowered her onto a couch.

"How can our wedding be ruined?" he asked. "Tell me, angel, our love will conquer anything!"

Pointing towards the coffee table, she gulped like a small child confessing a wrong.

"Look," she moaned.

Tardy picked up some of the paper on the table and eyed her quizzically.

"These are our wedding invitations," he stated softly.

"They were supposed to be black lettering on a beige matte finish," stated Nicole. "Look at them!"

"White lettering on a beige matte finish," he whispered. "You mean..."

"I mean the bridesmaid's dresses match the linen colors which play off the wall colors and curtains and suggest the carpet," stated Nicole, "but the invitations no longer invite comparison to the flower arrangements or the seat cushions!"

After months of listening to his beloved drone on about colors and fabrics and coordination, something in Tardy snapped. Suddenly, the realization that they were to be married and how hard it was to plan everything to coordinate perfectly struck Tardy hard. How could this be? How could all of this hard work have been undone in an instant by this merest of color shadings? How fragile was life, how vulnerable love?

Tardy took in the magnitude of the idea, it was mind blowing, earth shattering. Staring into his beloved's eyes, he could see the torment, felt it growing within himself. As she looked at him he knew that all was lost, the perfect plan foiled, the color scheme smashed beyond recognition and the two of them fell into each other's arms, weeping violently.

### Chapter 14

" **Adventure is just bad planning." - Roald Amundsen**

Commander Masterson was seated on the commander's chair on the bridge, all business, the man of affairs, the big kahuna, the fellow in charge, chief and lord of all he saw, king, emperor, top banana, the big cheese. Lowly yeoman ran to and fro kissing butt and filling out a multitude of orders. Manly slid closer, intrigued by the change in the man who but a day ago had been designated a "living toothbrush" by one of the more vocal sub lieutenants.

"It is good to see you up and about, sir," stated Manly, happy at the change in his boss.

"Thank you, Manly," replied the Commander, signing a requisition form that he had not read and without knowing it, becoming the proud new owner of 10,000 puppy house training wee-wee pads.

"The veil seems to have been lifted," smiled Manly. "What has brought about this change, might I ask?"

"One can grieve for what once was for only so long, Manly," stated Masterson. "I have accepted the situation and plan on making the very best of it."

"Were you able to look over the non-essential list that I made up for you, sir?" asked Manly.

"Looked it over and placed the necessary personnel on leave," replied Masterson. "We're going to try running the ship on a skeleton crew, Manly. I want to see what these people are made of!"

"Carbon and water primarily, sir," replied Manly.

Masterson rolled his eyes, "I don't mean what they are physically made of, Manly. I mean what's inside of them!"

"Various organs and blood," replied Manly, not sure he understood.

"I don't mean their bits and pieces," replied Masterson. "I mean, what sort of spirit do we have here!"

"Saint Augustine states that the soul..."

"Shut up, Manly," stated Masterson.

"Yes, sir."

A shapely young woman in a short black skirt and low-cut white top approached them.

"Commander, it's time for your two o'clock massage," she cooed.

Masterson stood, "Can't ignore the body, Manly. A fit body makes for a fit mind!"

"Indeed sir," replied Manly. "Though recent studies suggest that a man at the height of orgasm has the mental capacity of a duck..."

"I'm getting a massage, Manly," chuckled the Commander warmly, "I'm not going to have sex."

"Begging the Commander's pardon, but seven hundred dollars an hour for a massage, sir?" replied Manly, naively thinking he was helping. "I think everyone just assumed..."

"Shut up again, Manly," replied Masterson. "When I get back, I want another list of slightly more important personnel that we can do without. I want us lean and mean, Manly, absolutely lean and mean!"

"As you say, sir," replied Manly.

He watched the Commander leave the bridge, his masseuse sashaying behind him, her backside swinging like the pendulum on a grandfather clock...a very naughty, grandfather clock.

"It's good to have the old man back, isn't it sir?" asked one yeoman.

Manly looked at the young woman realizing that she was had the type of enthusiasm that would make her always ask the stupid question and thus one day be ninety-seven years old and still a yeoman.

"Yes, yes," replied Manly, "it certainly is."

***

Anne looked at Mad Matt, unsure if the man was serious or just completely out of his mind. Her judgment leaned decidedly towards the latter assumption, but given that he was voicing concern for Panther, she decided to try and figure out exactly what the crazy man meant.

"What do you mean, he's going white?" she asked gently.

"He's singing Beach Boy songs and he's listening to Ukulele bands," replied Mad Matt.

Anne's eyes narrowed in thought, "That doesn't sound good..."

"He knows the difference between Jan and Dean and the Beach Boys," stated Mad Matt softly.

Anne's face broke out in an expression of terror, "Lord have mercy..."

"I gave him some malt liquor and he's watching "Breakin' 2 - Electric Boogaloo", but I don't know if I can bring him back all the way," stated Mad Matt.

"How can I help?" asked Anne, "What can I do?"

"Perhaps you could go to his place of employment and cause a scene," offered Mad Matt.

"I want him black, not Hispanic," snapped Anne.

"Have a baby with another man and make him care for it?" suggested Mad Matt weakly.

"No time," she replied. "If another woman showed some interest in him, I could go in and bitch slap her, promise never to see him again and then sleep with him the next week..."

"I don't know if we have a week," replied Mad Matt. "I've shown him every Spike Lee movie I could get my hands on, but it's not working!"

"If Spike can't get him back, what can we do?" she asked, wringing her hands.

"There is one thing that I can think of, but I'm not sure we can pull it off," replied Mad Matt, his eyes hard.

Anne swallowed hard, "You don't mean..."

"I'll tell the Captain I have to borrow one of the pincer ships to pick up the cast from the Beacon Theater in New York City," stated Mad Matt. "A revival of "Beauty Shop" is playing and if I can get them to come here..."

"Hurry," she cried, "hurry, we've got to save mah man!"

Mad Matt ran out of her room and down the corridor, headed for the elevator. Falling to her knees, Anne began to cry out, "Lordy, Lordy, don't take my baby from me! Bring me back my strong, black man!"

Somewhere in the distance an electric organ struck a hard cord before beginning the introduction to a gospel hymn. A choir could be heard singing and clapping their hands. The Lord had heard her prayer...

***

The International Court at The Hague was an enormous and impressive looking place, rich in history, culture and more than a few bathrooms. Like most international institutions, everyone had an opinion regarding the true usefulness of the court ranging from the "this is the most important institution in the world" idealism of the people who worked there to the average man's "sounds like a stupid idea to me" realism.

Caught, perhaps tragically, somewhere in the middle ground, Judge Claude Van Ramerdam exited his Citroën, praying that once again the car's door would not fall off. Luck was on his side and the door stayed in place as he sauntered from his parking space towards the impressive building where the world court was held. In truth, what more he logically expected from a three-hundred-year-old car one could not say. To Claude, who believed that an advertisement was an object's word of honor however, he had bought it because it had boasted dependability and it was what he expected in an automobile.

Few people noticed the tall, thin man sliding past them, his gray hair sparsely weaved about his enormous head, his large nose shading a wisp of hair he considered a mustache. Despite his Dutch name, his French looks and a slightly English accent, Van Ramerdam was originally from China, the son of a missionary whose high ideals of leading people to God fled upon the realization that he could make a killing in the sweatshop industry.

Claude still remembered his father, proudly taking him through enormous warehouses where people worked for mere pennies while he raked in millions producing such essential items as knock off designer ties, knock off Slinkys, knock off watches and the ever-popular knock off Trojan condom. (He still chuckled thinking of his father's boast that his product was responsible for more accidental pregnancies than the Los Angeles Lakers). Making his way towards the elevators that would take him up to his second story office, Claude stopped to purchase a paper he would hide behind on his elevator ride to his office.

Upon entering the elevator, he buried his prominent nose in the paper hoping to avoid any contact with his fellow jurists. Initially he had done this because of his enormous sensitivity. Claude had feared that some casual comment of his might cause a misjudgment by his peers on a questionable issue. His worry had grown until he had become convinced that a chance remark or a misunderstood jest upon his part might cause some person or persons seeking justice to be unfairly dealt with and the burden of the idea paralyzed him. What if he started a war because of an offhanded remark? What if he coughed and caused another judge to rule against something that would mean famine and death for millions? Because Claude had always kept to himself and had never inserted himself into anyone else's life, no one had noticed that the screws on the hinges of his mind had begun to loosen. He could still carry out his duties in a dignified and responsible matter, but there were obvious signs of fraying at the edges if anyone had bothered to notice. For Claude, the lines had blurred between fantasy and reality, or between anything and reality.

In fairness, it must be said that Claude was stuck with people all day, intelligent people, driven people, oft times brilliant people whose self-importance made it impossible for them to see anyone else. Added to this, Claude had a certain feeling about people that made contact with him difficult and that was that people made him sick, one and all. People caused problems, people caused arguments, people stubbornly held to ideas that he judged to be insane and that was usually the BEST people. The WORST people were not only worse, but far worse and Claude had no sympathy for them at all! Nations, he had discovered, were almost as bad as people and after intense reflection upon the subject, he had come to believe that the reason for this was that most nations were made up of people and that people... well, you get the idea.

Leaving what he interiorly called the lawless rabble behind on the elevator, Claude walked down the corridor and past his secretary to his office door. He seldom spoke to his secretary since he found her to be efficient, tactful and unutterably boring. In their fifteen years together, she had never reacted to ANYTHING Claude had said, which had led to the unscrewing of some of the desperately needed screws in his mind. He had, when they were alone, taken to making outrageous demands, using inappropriate words and horrible threats, but he had never gotten her to so much as blink. For a man of some importance to be completely and totally ignored by his staff ran against the very fiber of his being.

With disgust, he opened his office door, switching on the lights and paused to behold his office. Dark paneling, thick carpets, neatly organized bookshelves, old leather chairs and copies of Renaissance masterpieces greeted his bored gaze. Shuffling behind his desk, he sat down and activated a copy of his docket by pushing a button beneath his desk.

A hologram of his court calendar appeared, seeming to float above his desk. Taking his finger, he swiped at the cover and read the top page. His first case appeared to be a dispute between the Belgian government and the Denny's food chain as to the exact ownership of the phrase, "Belgian Waffles". Rolling his eyes, he flipped to his next case, yet another appeal by the French government to have any wine, or indeed any beverage, containing bubbles not made in the Champagne region of France legally termed "Bubbly Piss Water". Shaking his head, he flipped to the next case, an appeal by the government of China that maintained that the use of the term "Chinese food" for any Asian themed restaurant caused what they called a "cultural negativity image". It was their desire that in future all former "Chinese" restaurants be referred to legally as "Oriental Place of Yum-Yum Food".

"For the love of Pete," he muttered, twirling the ends of his mustache between his forefinger and thumb, causing most of it to fall out. "You would think that once the United States defaulted on their loans and the Chinese got possession of Nebraska and South Dakota in the bankruptcy proceedings their English translations would have improved..."

With a growing despair, he flipped the page and found his final case, something about Scotland wanting to be repaid for loans that the International Government had defaulted on. Shaking his head, he hit his intercom button, summoning his secretary.

Upon her opening the door, he looked up at her in utter disgust.

"Coffee, black and some ontbijtkoek," he grumbled. As the door closed he called out to her, certain that he had discovered a way to gain a response from her, "And don't substitute any Danish or bagels for it or I will have you FLOGGED!"

Waiting a moment, he felt his despair grow. He looked into her dull green eyes and her blank face and saw that his remark had been absorbed into the vast nothingness of her mind, never to be seen again. Her response had been nothing, nothing at all.

As the door closed behind her, he placed his head upon his desk. Tomorrow he would bring a show pony wearing a wedding dress into the office. Yes, YES, THAT WOULD MAKE HER TAKE NOTICE!

### Chapter 15

" **Very few things happen at the right time and the rest do not happen at all. The conscientious historian will correct these defects" – Herodotus**

The lunchroom onboard the Intrepid Monkey boasted seating for over 500 people and it was here that Captain's Galbard and Stanwich had arranged for the showing of their video presentation, "So You Went and Became a Pirate". It had been Captain Stanwich's idea to create a short film focusing upon what was expected during their current mission, but it had been Captain Galbard's "vision" to create a work that encompassed not only the present mission, but the dramatic essence of what it was to be a pirate.

"The inclusion of the naked women soaping each other in the shower was pure genius," stated Stanwich. "Look at the way it kept everyone's attention."

"When you trigger a man's lust and a woman's insecurity about her body image, wonderful things can happen," stated Galbard proudly. "The film is almost done, remember what you have to say."

"It's locked right here in my head," smiled Stanwich, pointing to his head as if Galbard might not know he meant his cranium.

The film drew to a close, two people walking down the beach with their dog being eaten by a shark at the water's edge as the film slowly lost focus and faded out, the orchestral version of "Funky Town" lending a certain pathos to the scene. As the screen went black, the lights in the hall faded up to show over four hundred mildly confused faces.

"This can be you," stated Stanwich, with a wink to Galbard, "if you will only let your inner pirate out!"

"Are there any questions?" asked Galbard, gesturing broadly to encourage people to speak.

"Does this have anything to do with time shares?" asked a confused engineer sitting in the front row. "I'm sorry captain, but if you're looking to sell time shares, my wife will have a fit. She told me "Ted, if you buy a time share, I'll skin you alive..."."

"Time shares?" asked the man next to him. "I thought it was about joining an exercise class..."

"What were you two watching?" called out a third voice in the back of the room. "It's about pirating! The montage sequence clearly displayed a tendency to romanticize the blunt brutality of an uncaring world while the use of the penguin motif throughout the picture showed us that the coldness of the universe can only be replaced if we love one another with a giving spirit like a mother penguin shielding her young from the frigid arctic winters..."

"What the hell are you talking about?" called out the engineer.

After a moment of embarrassed silence, the voice in the back of the room called back sheepishly, "Sorry, I went to NYU Film School for a semester..."

"Idiot," muttered a woman up front as she chomped on her popcorn.

"Actually, he got it pretty close to correct," stated Galbard, trying hard not to become disheartened at the lack of critical success to a film he thought lyrical, compelling and not a little ahead of its time.

"We wanted to prepare you for the mission," stated Stanwich, confused by the confusion.

"Are we attacking a ship full of naked women?" asked a man in the middle of the room. "If we are, I want to be on the boarding party!"

The room erupted into laughter.

"The naked women were a symbol of the basic vulnerability of the totalitarian state," replied Galbard. "We were using naked women as a metaphor..."

"I know what I'd like to meet her for," chuckled one man to the approval of the other men.

"They're all airbrushed," groused a woman near the front row. "No real women have waists that small or boobs that big."

"No real woman has an ass as big as yours Margaret!" called a man in the back, peals of laughter raining down upon Margaret.

"I'll do you for that," snapped Margaret, pulling a blade from her pocket and peering out over the laughing assembly.

"This isn't going well," murmured Stanwich. "They completely missed the subplot explaining the benefits of good dental hygiene."

Turning, he saw Galbard smiling broadly.

"Nonsense," smiled Galbard. "Despite their inability to understand subtext, we got what we wanted here, their fire's up! This is going to be a fantastic mission!"

The room was in an uproar as the men in the back baited Margaret.

"The next one speaks about my bottom I'll gut like a fish," roared Margaret, the assembly laughing all the harder.

Galbard nodded to himself. Despite their inability to appreciate the rococo intricacies of his linear plot line, he was forging a team!

***

The President sat staring at the view screen unable to hide his confusion. Commander Masterson's vision upon the screen seemed polite and slightly concerned.

"It is what you ordered, Mister President," he coaxed.

"So, you are downsizing the number of people on the death star?" asked the President, finally seeming to grasp the idea.

"Yes, sir, exactly."

"Who will do all the work?" asked the President.

"The work will get done, sir," replied Masterson. "It will just take less people to do it."

The President frowned as he thought. The entire idea seemed ludicrous; how could you do the same amount of work with less people? It flew in the face of government logic, it flew in the face of government work ethics, it flew in the face of his campaign slogan, "Doing less with more", it made no sense at all.

"Commander, this seems a radical course you've charted," he finally stated. "I don't like it. It could set bad precedents. You can't run the government like a business you know..."

"I understand that sir," lied Masterson, "but this isn't, strictly speaking, the government. This is the military. We are supposed to run lean and mean..."

"Then why is the military budget so high?" asked the President, genuinely confused.

"Because of the gadgets, sir," replied Masterson. "Death Stars cost a bundle and then there are the amenities, the tanning salons, the movie theaters, the bowling alleys..."

"You have bowling alleys on that thing?" asked the President.

"Of course, sir," replied Masterson, shocked at the question. "We need to keep our officers in top physical condition."

"Bowling?" asked the President. "Every time I watch bowling on television, all the contestants are fat."

"They aren't military bowlers," responded Masterson. "You cannot compare military bowlers to professional bowlers, sir. It's like comparing Republicans and Democrats."

"I don't see the difference," replied the President.

"No one does, sir, but it keeps the talk radio people in business," replied Masterson happily. "So anyway, I have cut the staff by three thousand and I am looking to cut it by at least four thousand more."

"You started with ten thousand people on that ship, Commander," replied the President. "Three thousand and four thousand is... a lot of people. Do you really think you could be battle ready with only...less than what you have?"

"I think we could run the whole shebang with a thousand-people sir," smiled Masterson. "We'd save a fortune in salaries."

"How much?" asked the President, anxious for some positive news.

"Well, taking the average soldiers yearly income and multiplying that by seven thousand, we'll save as much as eleven thousand a year."

The President frowned, "Is that all?"

"They don't make much sir," stated Masterson.

"I'd hate to be one of them," confessed the President.

"You can make more working at McDonalds, it's true, but there are other benefits," replied Masterson.

"Like what?" asked the President, intrigued by the suggestion.

"Think of the lovely funerals," replied Masterson, "and you get to see the world and...you learn about flags...well I could go on all day, but you get the idea."

The President nodded in agreement, having no idea of what they were talking about.

"Very well, Masterson, you do what you think is best and we'll see how this experiment of yours works out."

"Thank you, sir you won't regret it," smiled Masterson, turning off the view screen and giving a sigh of relief. Sometimes it was so difficult to put a plan in motion...

***

Nicole and Tardy had recovered from the invitation fiasco enough to have a quiet dinner together. It had been decided that they would discuss nothing concerning the wedding, they would just go and enjoy themselves and have a nice dinner in a private cabin without anyone else around and with no one to bother them.

"So how was your day my angel?" asked Tardy, pouring Nicole a generous amount of wine.

"Wonderful," she smiled. "I had a manicure and pedicure and I just relaxed all day."

Tardy frowned, "There's no salon on the ship, where did you get a manicure and a pedicure."

"From Don," smiled Nicole. "You wouldn't know it to look at him, but he has the hands of an artist and he is so sensitive..."

"Don?" asked Tardy. "Don, the man who burps blues music?"

"We all have our instruments," smiled Nicole.

Tardy nodded having no idea of what they were talking about.

"Have you spoken to Anne?" he asked.

"Panther is doing much better, thank God," replied Nicole. "Anne said that if it weren't for Mad Matt, Panther would be wearing bow ties and eating white bread and mayonnaise sandwiches, whatever that means, but thankfully, he's turning himself around. Apparently, they had an all- night session with him and when he saw Jim Brown in "Slaughter" something just clicked."

"Well, no one plays evil whitey like Rip Torn," mused Tardy.

"Or "The Man" like Cameron Mitchell," replied Nicole wistfully.

"They were true actors back then," stated Tardy. "Now a-days they're either all plastic, animated or holograms."

"True, very true...anyway, Anne said that they were still doing some fine tuning regarding his return to blackness," stated Nicole thoughtfully. "Apparently, he wanted to compose his own theme song and refer to Anne as "his woman" but she nipped that in the bud and he's doing nicely now, though she said he still has a tendency to over think Kanye West songs..."

"He sounded so earnest when he rapped that it does take a while before you realize he sold out after the first album," replied Tardy. "Well, anyway, I'm glad to hear Panther is on the mend. We need the entire crew working at full capacity if we're going to pull off this job. It's the biggest and most important action we've taken in quite a while."

"I'm thrilled for Daddy," she laughed. "He wanted to do something to show that he and his men could be truly good pirates and he thinks that this is their big chance."

"It's the most important mission so far," stated Tardy thoughtfully. "If we pull this off, it will cement all of our reputations as first-rate pirates."

"I think you're a wonderful pirate," said Nicole softly, staring at him over her wine glass.

"And I think you're the most beautiful woman in the world," replied Tardy.

The two clinked glasses, each pleased by how perceptive the other had been.

### Chapter 16

" **Lawyer: One who defends you at the risk of your pocketbook, reputation and life." - Eugene E. Brussell**

Sir Harry sat in the Prime Minister's residence sipping a Scotch and Scotch over ice cubes made of Scotch when his brother entered the room and cleared his throat. Little Mac never cleared his throat unless he had something important to say or he had bronchitis, which he had had once and which had thrown the whole system of him about to say something important out of whack for weeks.

"Do ya have bronchitis?" snapped his brother.

Little Mac paused, "No."

"Then it must a be important," replied his brother, rising to receive whatever news it was that Little Mac had to give.

"We've heard from our attorney at the World Court," stated Little Mac solemnly. "He wants us to send him a copy of the agreement that the International Government signed."

Harry squinted, "How in hell dinna we send that to 'em? Yadda think that was the first piece of boiling crap on the pile!"

"Apparently, he misplaced it," stated Little Mac. "You know these attorneys, they misplace everything and then charge you to look for it. Look at the murder case last year in Rome, the fellow was beheaded and the defendant's attorney misplaced the head. Luckily the poor bastard had a twin brother..."

"Damn shoddy police work ifin ya ask me," replied Sir Harry grumpily. "Well, tell me daft secretary to send another copy. How much is this gonna set things back, eh?"

"Probably at least another week," replied Little Mac quietly, the sarcasm in his voice growing with each word. "They're supposed to start the preliminary hearings this week and with any luck, we'll have a decision in no less than three years-time..."

"Damn lawyers," spat Harry. "When I was a solicitor, it was simple; ya fabricated evidence so that ya didn't have to have all this, "Oh, can ya not send me that piece a crap for me files" nonsense..."

"Yes," sighed Little Mac, "the good old days..."

Harry retook his seat and took a sip of his drink. He grimaced. Why did the Scotch taste like water? If someone had watered down his drink he would skin them alive. What in the hell were the lawyers doing all this time. World Court my ass, he thought, next time he was taking his problems to "The People's Court". Court on the telly was always more fair than in real life and the judge actually told people where to go and how to get there. Damn shame life wasn't like television. He considered the idea a moment more...well, perhaps it WAS better this way...

***

Julie tried not to look puzzled as she stood in Xiang and Chester's living room, not entirely sure what she should say. Yeoman Xiang looked at her, her large dark eyes glowing, seeking approval that she was certain would be given shortly.

"So, what do you think?" she asked, pirouetting in front of Julie so that she could see the whole outfit.

Julie grimaced inwardly. It wasn't bad, by Yeoman Xiang standards, there was a lot more outfit to be seen than usual, but still, it would be difficult to say it was appropriate for anything other than a porn film tryout.

"Well, Xiang, dear," began Julie. "I like that color on you..."

"I always like black leather," smiled Xiang happily, "I think it brings out my eyes."

"It's rather short, don't you think?" asked Julie, trying to think of a nice way to bring certain ideas to light for her friend.

"I was lucky to get a bustier this long," replied Xiang. "The others did not even meet the skirt..."

"There's a skirt?" asked Julie, unable to hide her surprise.

Xiang smiled and pointed to a thin strip of leather that circled her waist.

"Oh...I thought it was a belt..." said Julie softly.

"What do you think of the accessories?" asked Xiang, completely oblivious to her friend's growing discomfort.

"The red feather in your hair is lovely. I have to say that most women take a handbag to a wedding," replied Julie tactfully, "though the riding crop does match the thigh high boots. Still, I'm not sure it is completely appropriate unless...uh...are they having horses at the wedding?"

Xiang looked at her, obviously confused, "Horses?"

"Well, the riding crop..." stated Julie, gesturing vaguely towards the crop in Xiang's hand.

"They use these on horses?" asked Xiang, completely surprised.

"Yes, that's why they are called riding crops," replied Julie, completely uncomfortable with the thoughts racing through her mind.

Xiang smiled beautifully, "That's why I like you so much Julie, you're always teaching me something new."

Impulsively, she stepped up and hugged Julie, who blushed immediately. She liked Xiang, she really did, but she had never felt comfortable being hugged by naked women.

"I hope I don't clash with the bride," said Xiang with an excited squeal.

"I doubt you will dear," stated Julie, forcing a smile. "Though I must confess, I think you will garner a lot of attention..."

***

The building called The Hague was, like many historical places, completely and totally unable to perform the function for which it had been built hundreds of years before. Because of its cultural significance, international reputation and the fact that its image had been made into a paperweight, the building was now used primarily for the function of the highest of high courts and to show to people on vacation tours. Hague II, an ultra-modern skyscraper loomed above the old building, a block away, and it was here that most of the offices and consequently most of the work that happened at "The Hague" was done. The Hague II, however, had also proven to be slightly too small to meet the demands of the world's most important court and so, after some penny pinching wrangling by the bureaucrats who ran the place, Hague III was rented. Hague III, or as the many interns who occasionally stopped by to deliver legal papers jokingly referred to it, "The Hague Toilet" was a rundown building with too few windows and too many cramped, ill lit rooms. It was to this non-illustrious spot that Claude would walk every day after checking his office for his daily case load and prepare to hand out justice for the benefit of society.

Society, on the whole, cared little about the cases that were normally tried in Hague III. The courtrooms were small and dark and nothing of any importance ever seemed to be brought to trial in these pigeon holes of justice, except, of course, for today.

Today, Judge Claude Van Ramerdam was going to rule upon the question of whom should do what to whom in the action of the Interplanetary Government versus the Government of the People of Scotland. He was not actually supposed to do so today, but as the story unfolds, you will see that what Claude was supposed to do and what he did had little connection with one another.

Obviously, a mentally unstable judge was perhaps the last person who should have been called upon to judge such an important case, except for one enormous problem that all of the other justices faced regarding this case. It had been stipulated by both sides that the presiding justice must have no connection in any way with either the International Government OR with the Government of Scotland. Time and again, a judge was found who might fit the bill, only to have him or her dismissed because of some financial transaction or voting record or propensity for wearing kilts that might color their view on the justice of the matter. The fact was that Claude, being Claude, had no connection to anyone, never mind a connection to anything as people filled and aggravating as a government, so the case had become his by default.

And so, it was that at that crucial moment in history, Claude Van Ramerdam entered his courtroom in a long red robe, his head topped with an elaborate white eighteenth century wig that descended down his shoulders to about nipple high. The other judges at The Hague thought that Claude's outfit was just his way of emphasizing his connection with the honored past of law and order. In fact, Claude just liked to dress up, had always loved to dress up and when alone in his apartment, often threw on a pair of leotards and, wrapping a towel about his shoulders, streaked about his living room pretending he was Batman.

Mashing the wig more tightly to his skull with a slap of his left hand, he reached for his gavel and slammed it enthusiastically onto the wooden stump that sat at the top of his desk. After glancing at the attorney's present with a look that left no doubt as to his disdain for them and their immediate ancestry, he eyed his bailiff and called out for the introduction of the next case.

Claude's bailiff was one Rodney Pinkerton, a retired British Army Sergeant who lived his entire life by a certain fixed set of rules and standards. Rodney was prompt, correct and unerring in his service to God and Country. Despite many years abroad as a representative of her majesty's government, Rodney had never quite taken to anything foreign and could boast that he knew a derogatory name for almost every nationality that did now, or ever had, existed.

Upon Claude's order to introduce the next case, Rodney stood erect and called out in a loud, large voice, "If it please, milord, the next case is The Government of the People of Scotland versus the Interplanetary Government."

"Are the attorneys for both sides present to begin opening arguments?" asked Claude, staring down for a moment at a group of scratches in the surface of his desk and suddenly realizing that they might contain a message in Sanskrit. Looking up, he barked unexpectedly, "Bailiff, do you read Sanskrit?"

Rodney the bailiff, a middle aged, rotund man with a round, pleasant face, chuckled warmly, "I am sorry, milord, I do not speak a word of wog..."

Claude appeared momentarily upset and then calming himself, continued, "Well, what about those attorneys?"

"The attorney for the People of Scotland is here, milord," stated Rodney, pointing towards a tall, thin man in an unassuming suit who peered at the judge suspiciously.

"And what about the..." Claude paused, looking over his papers for the name of the opposing attorney, but finding only doodle drawings of creatures with the bodies of women and the heads of sheep.

"The attorney for the Interplanetary Government has not presented himself, milord," stated the bailiff.

This was true. The attorneys for the Interplanetary Government had gotten lost on their way to Hague III and had entered a house of legal prostitution. While the wheels of justice grind slowly, hookers paid at an hourly rate did not, leaving the attorneys facing a dilemma. Either stay with the hookers and get full value for the money spent or go to court. Being government employees, they chose the time honor tradition of their ancestors.

None of this was known to Claude, who's face grew as red his gown, "What do you mean, he has not presented himself?"

Rodney drew closer, "Begging your lordship's pardon, I mean that he has not arrived and does not appear to have entered the building yet."

Claude's eyes grew wide as his fury gathered, "Did he know the time that we start?"

"I would assume so, milord," responded the bailiff. "There are signs outside that post the times..."

"I will NOT stomach this blatant disregard for the law," screeched Claude. "Who do these people think they are? This is the world court! The entire world comes to court here! The world is responsible to this court, that is why this is the world court! Bailiff!"

"Yes, milord?" asked Rodney, momentarily, overwhelmed by the judge's fury.

"Go out and find the attorneys for the International Government and arrest them. Take them to the dungeon and have them given ninety lashes!"

The bailiff turned to leave, took two steps and then stopped. Turning back, he eyed Claude for a moment before answering.

"Milord, there are no dungeon's in the basement," he reported shyly. "There is also no one there to give the prescribed ninety lashes..."

"Then get a stout stick and beat them to within an inch of their lives!" roared Claude. "I will not have the law disregarded! The law is a sacred thing! You cannot disregard the law! The law is like your mother, no matter how annoying or wrong she is, you have to listen to the law!"

"I don't believe I have a stick, milord," stated Rodney, looking at his feet as if he might find a stick there.

"You, what is your name?" snapped Claude, suddenly turning his attention on the attorney from Scotland.

"My name, milord?" asked the attorney, shifting from foot to foot and looking bewildered.

"Yes, yes, your name!" replied Claude.

"Arthur Stanley Jefferson, milord," replied the attorney. "I am here as the representative of the People of Scotland..."

"I know who you represent," stated Claude, not having the slightest idea of whom he represented. "The Scottish people, I know many Scots..." he thought about it for a moment. "Actually, other than you, I don't believe I've ever met a Scottish person. Bailiff, do I know any Scottish people?"

"I can't say I've ever seen you with a caber-tosser, myself, milord," replied the bailiff, "though you do have that friend who's a shant..."

"He's not Irish, he's Welsh," snapped Claude.

"Oh, I thought he was a shant, didn't know he was a taffy," replied Rodney apologetically.

"If it please the court, milord," interrupted Jefferson, "I don't really care to be identified as a caber-tosser..."

"Don't interrupt or I'll have you quartered," replied Claude menacingly. After a moment, he leaned forward, "Now let's get down to brass tacks, shall we? What is it that you Scots want?"

"A jug of scotch and a warm bag pipe to play with his bum, I would think, milord," chuckled Rodney under his breath.

"You open your gob one more time and I'll put a red-hot caber up your bum you island monkey!" snapped the attorney, his face growing an angry shade of red.

"Order!" snapped Claude. "Now answer the question!"

Jefferson drew himself up to his full height, hitched his kilt up (at the waist) and approached the bench.

"We want justice, is what we want, milord! The Interplanetary Government borrowed money from us and promised to pay us back at a fair rate. Instead they've defaulted on their loans and refuse to pay even so much as the interest back! We want what is ours!"

Claude was mildly surprised at the vehemence of the attorney's words. Something must have upset him but for the life of him he could not think of what it might be.

"Calm down, my good man, this is a court of law, not a donnybrook!"

"Pipe blowers don't have donnybrooks, milord," replied Jefferson heatedly, "you're thinking of bog jumpers!"

"Oh, yes, yes, you're right," replied Claude, trying to sound soothing. "Well, as the judge in this matter, I think that your request is completely justified and so, I rule on your request in the following manner. I decree that the Interplanetary Government must pay in full all loans that they have previously refused to pay to Scotland within the next seventy-two hours or they must begin bankruptcy proceedings with all profits and unsellable properties going to the People of Scotland in payment of their incurred debt! That is my ruling and it is legal and no one can reverse it, so help us God!"

Jefferson and the bailiff looked at him for a moment and then eyed each other in utter astonishment.

"Well, you sheep-shagger," stated the bailiff with a growing smile, "he fixed you up nice, didn't he?"

### Chapter 17

"Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake." – Napoleon Bonaparte

Norman Bartol, captain of the cargo vessel "Unlucky at Love", wandered about the ship's bridge feeling uneasy. He did not believe that the Interplanetary Government had eradicated all pirates, nor did he believe that they had created world peace, stopped hunger or created underwear that did not creep. A man in his mid-fifties with salt and pepper hair and an almost constant scowl, he seemed always to be deep in thought.

Rumors had been circulating that pirates were once again operating and an article in his favorite cargo ship magazine, "Looky What We're Hauling" had hinted at the possibility that the pirate hordes were once again preying upon shipping. Still, nothing had been confirmed and while he had no reliable information, his gut told him that something was amiss.

Bartol walked up behind his second in command, Jane "Sweater meat" Hodges, first mate and first mater of most of the men in the crew. A beautiful woman, a fine officer and a dependable crew member, Jane had a problem with self-confidence and setting proper boundaries. Added to her incurable desire to be liked and to please others, her entire psychological makeup made her susceptible to sleeping with people before really thinking about the possible consequences of her actions.

Peering over her shoulder, Bartol asked casually, "So Jane, what is our estimated time of arrival at the death star?"

Jane looked back at him, her doe like blue eyes glancing at him anxiously, "Do you want me to take my top off, sir?"

"No," replied Bartol patiently, "I want to know when we will arrive at our destination."

Looking down at her instruments, Jane replied, "We should arrive within the hour, sir."

"Good, very good," replied Bartol.

"Do you want me to take my top off when we get there, sir?" asked Jane, anxious to please.

"No, Jane, that's not necessary," replied Bartol. "Just keep me informed..."

"Regarding my top, sir?" asked Jane.

"No," replied Bartol, his patience wearing thin, "on when we should be arriving."

"But I just answered that, Captain," she replied. "Are you upset with me? I could take my top off..."

"No," snapped Bartol. "I want you to keep your top on and I'm not upset with you. Just...just keep an eye on your instruments."

Bartol tried not to show his annoyance as he made his way back to his captain's chair. Everyone had their quirks, he reminded himself, eyeing his navigator who was eyeing Jane instead of watching where he was going.

"Spaulding," he snapped, "I don't want to bump into a planet or anything, so keep your eyes on the viewing screen if you please."

"Yes sir," replied Spaulding. "Begging the Captain's pardon, sir..."

Bartol nodded.

"Well Captain, we have an hour sir," started Spaulding, a young man who had little life experience or common sense. "I'm just saying sir, if the first mate wants to remove her top..."

"Shut up, Spaulding," replied Bartol. With a grimace, he realized that it was once again time to make the monthly announcement. Pushing the intercom button on the arm of his captain's chair, Bartol cleared his throat and put on his best "Captain making an announcement" voice. "This is the Captain speaking. I want to address, yet AGAIN, a certain misunderstanding that this crew seems to be laboring under. I wish to state categorically that it is NOT the crew's prerogative to request any female office on this ship to remove her top at any time for any reason."

Bartol paused as a loud groan of disappointment reverberated through the ship. Despite her needy and clingy personality, Jane was well developed and really worth a viewing.

Clearing his throat, he continued, "It is the duty of every crew member of this ship to respect every other crew member of this ship and I will not tolerate and will not sanction such requests being made anymore. If I catch any member of this crew asking for such a...privilege...from any female crew member, there will be an appropriate punishment forthcoming. I hope I make myself clear upon this particular point for the last time. This is the Captain, out."

Bartol switched off his button and nodded to himself self-righteously. He was proud of himself for not having left any room for misinterpretation of his wishes.

"Captain."

Bartol turned at the sound of Jane's voice to see her standing at her station, topless, gazing down at her instruments.

"An unidentified vessel approaching, sir," she stated.

"Before opening a line of communications, Ms. Hodges, please put your top back on."

"Sweater meat," giggled Spaulding like a naughty four-year-old.

"Keep it up and I'm sending you to the brig," stated Bartol quietly. "Is your shirt back on, Ms. Hodges?"

"Yes sir."

"Then open a hailing frequency."

Bartol stood and put his best "Captain confronting a possible enemy threat" voice on.

"This is the Captain of the interplanetary cargo ship, "Unlucky at Love", please identify yourself!"

Bartol peered at the screen, his scowl deepening. It looked like a garbage scow and yet, why would a garbage scow have multiple mazer cannons? Were pirates stealing garbage now? One man's garbage was another man's treasure, he had heard the old saying, but was there enough to it that pirates would buy into it?

"They're not responding, sir," stated Jane. "They are, however, drawing closer..."

Bartol squinted, "Mister Spaulding, increase speed to twenty clicks and signal battle stations!"

"We're a cargo ship, sir," stated Spaulding, "I can give you twenty clicks, but battle stations? Do we have battle stations?"

Bartol considered it.

"No, not really," he admitted. "Okay, increase speed to twenty clicks and signal that no one can go to the bathroom until further notice."

Spaulding nodded, this was serious.

***

Perhaps if Nicole and Skip were not distracted by their impending nuptials, or if Panther had not been going through too-close-to-white-people-for-too-long withdrawal, or if anyone other than Don, Chester and Captain Stanwich had been on the bridge at the crucial moment, things would have gone better for all concerned. Perhaps, but we'll never know for certain...

"They've spotted us, Captain," snapped Don, eyeing the viewing screen and preparing to increase speed.

"Who has spotted us?" asked Stanwich innocently, putting down his oatmeal crispy snack bar and giving Don his full attention.

"Our target, Captain," replied Don, pointing at a ship on the viewing screen that seemed to be moving away rapidly.

Stanwich stared for a moment at the screen, "What target? I thought we weren't going to intercept our target for another twenty-five minutes..."

"We updated the intercept time about a half hour ago, Captain," replied Don.

"Why didn't anyone tell me?" asked Stanwich, hoping his crispy bar would stay crispy during the interruption.

"I gave the information to Captain Galbard," stated Chester, wandering up behind him. "You were off the bridge at the time and he was sitting in your seat."

"I told him he could sit in my seat, but he never told me about the change," replied Stanwich.

"I saw the two of you talking and I just assumed..." began Chester.

"We talked when I came back, but he didn't tell me about the time change," replied Stanwich. "We were discussing a montage sequence for our next training film, he never mentioned the change..."

Suddenly the doors to the ship elevator opened and belched out Captain Galbard, who stumbled onto the bridge like a drunken sailor before righting himself.

"You really need to get that thing fixed," he crabbed. "How can I make a heroic entrance if Pringles, the ghost of your deceased dog, is trying to kill me all the time?"

"Did you know anything about a change in the intercept time?" asked Stanwich.

"That's what I was coming to tell you," stated Galbard, happy that they were on the same page. "I forgot to let you know about that..."

"You just remembered?" asked Stanwich.

"Well, no..." confessed Galbard. "I remembered it just as I entered my cabin and I was about to turn around and come back to tell you when my Yeoman stepped out of my bedroom and suggested something so completely immoral that I had to stay and do it. You have to listen to a woman who can install a stripper pole in a shower, as my mother always used to say..."

"But we've missed the interception," replied Stanwich. "Now we have to try and capture them outside of the safe zone."

"She was wearing a leopard thong so small there wasn't enough room for two spots," stated Galbard reasonably. "What was I supposed to do?"

Stanwich considered it, "Well...you could have called me..."

"I was pretty much out of breath by the time we were two minutes into it," confessed Galbard. "It would have sounded like an obscene phone call..."

"Captain, they're pulling away," interrupted Don. "Should we listen to the rest of Captain Galbard's story or attempt to catch them?"

"Well, I don't want to be impolite," began Stanwich, genuinely torn. "Are you certain that they've spotted us?"

"Our scanners indicate that their toilets are functioning normally but they've activated the do not use the bathroom light, Captain," stated Chester, leaving no doubt to their situation.

"I hate to interrupt a good story, but Cardinal Benny will be awful upset if we don't get those supplies..." stated Stanwich regretfully to Galbard.

"Oh, I can tell the story later," volunteered Galbard generously. "Besides, I got some pictures that would enhance the story, if you know what I mean."

"I have no idea what you mean," confessed Stanwich.

"What I mean is..."

"Should we pursue, Captain?" asked Don, hoping to keep the conversation on track.

Stanwich considered it, "Yes, go ahead."

Don began pushing buttons upon the console and then snapped the battle stations switch into the on position. He probably should have asked permission, he thought, but he just did not think they had the time for a discussion just now.

***

"Seventy-two hours?"

The President stared about his office at his assembled lackeys in complete disbelief. How could they have lost a law suit in the world court? Their attorneys had been so careful, they had even taken all of the justices to Olive Garden prior to the suit being announced, didn't they know they had been bought off?

"Yes, sir," stated his Finance Minister. "The court has ordered repayment of the Scottish debt in seventy-two hours or we must liquidate the government."

The President considered the statement and shook his head, "How can we repay it? We're a government, we never repay our debts. It's like asking for heartfelt sympathy from a Republican or an argument based on reason from a Democrat. Damn it man, it just doesn't happen! You can't ask a leopard to change its spots; it wouldn't even BE a leopard if it changed its spots!!!"

"Wouldn't it just be a leopard with different spots, sir?" asked someone in back of the room who asked the question because he could not be identified by anyone.

"WHAT THE HELL AM I, A ZOOLOGIST?" snapped the President. "Who cares about leopards? What the hell happened? Didn't the judge realize who we were and what we do???? Damn it, we need to tie this thing up in appeals until..."

"We have no one to appeal to, sir," stated the Presidential legal counsel. "This is a demand of the World Court; they have the final say. We're the Interplanetary Government and they're the World Court. World Court trumps Interplanetary Government in legal situations..."

"Do we have time to make up another legal entity that would outweigh them?" asked the President, trying to think on his feet and finding it almost impossible.

"Something like a Supreme World Court?" asked his legal counsel, mulling the idea over.

"Yes, exactly," replied the President.

"Well, the World Court would have to approve that idea, sir and because of that one fact, I doubt we could make it happen," replied the counsel. "Mind you, we could try to have this thing tried in the court of public opinion..."

"Do you think that would help?" asked the Finance Minister, a man so steeped in illegal activities that a legal option never crossed his mind.

"They may not stone us if we were able to persuade people that we weren't guilty," mused the legal counsel. "Of course, it could backfire and they may want to stone us even more..."

"Do you think people will really want to stone us?" asked the President, not at all happy with the idea of stoning as a way to end a public career. "Why aren't they stoning the court people?"

"We've cost people enormous amounts of money that we had no true right to spend," stated the counsel. "To put it bluntly, Mister President; some people will be pretty peeved."

The President leaned back in his chair; a peeved electorate, not a happy thought. What to do, what to do...

"I want the best legal minds working on a solution to this problem," he snapped. "I don't care what we have to do, I don't care who we have to pay off, I don't care what lengths we have to go to, I'm not going to be the first president to go bankrupt and have a yard sale, so get your butts out there and get me some answers!" Those present scrambled to file out of the room, "And, oh, gentlemen..." The group stopped at the door. "In case we truly don't have a legal prayer on this thing, try to dig up some dirt on the judge who made this judgement. Dirt trumps reason every time, as my mother used to say."

The group filed anxiously out of the room, each one thinking that he would find the person with enough brains to evert disaster. The President leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples with his fingertips. How could they liquidate the government? Three days wasn't even enough time to advertise, never mind put together a really good yard sale. Where would they get enough folding tables to hold all the government's stuff? Who would put the little stickers on everything?

"Damn it, we have to win this thing," he muttered. "Besides, I hate haggling..."

### Chapter 18

"Everyone has a plan 'till they get punched in the mouth." – Mike Tyson

Manly stood on the bridge of the Death Star Federation wondering if his commander had just lost his mind. He had dismissed an additional three hundred troops, the ship was being run by a mere seven hundred people. Manly had a list of complaints to present to the commander and this time, he was not going to go soft on him. It had taken him almost fifteen minutes to get a haircut this morning and almost seven to get a latte. Yes, they were in the military, but were they expected to live in such primitive conditions?

The doors to the bridge swooshed open and Commander Masterson stepped out, surveying the scene about him. The ship was running perfectly with a compliment of only seven hundred, a very select group of seven hundred. Masterson had spent days poring over personnel lists, checking into people's histories, making certain that he had the people he needed to obtain his ends. Admittedly, he had also checked out some online dating sites and had purchased several "art" pictures for his personal collection, but mostly it was research and he was certain that his plan would come to fruition within the next week. Timing, thought Masterson, was everything!

"Sir, may I have a word?" asked Manly, approaching so quietly that Masterson looked down before answering to determine if the man had removed his feet somehow.

"Yes, yes of course," replied Masterson, making his way to his Commander's chair and easing down into it with the easy grace of a spokeswoman in a laxative commercial.

"Commander, I must state that we cannot continue to remove people from the active roster," stated Manly. "We are beyond skeletal as far as our deployment of active members of staff are concerned. The all-night diner on the twenty seventh level has had to stop serving breakfast between the hours of o-seven hundred and o-seven thirty. This madness sir has to stop! What are you hoping to prove? The government has no interest in true cost cutting measures..."

"I know that Manly," smiled Masterson, leaning forward as if to speak in a confidential manner.

"Then what is this all about, sir?" asked Manly, his interest piqued.

"Look, Manly," continued Masterson. "This ship provides security not only for the most dangerous weapons system in the universe, but also for the third largest water park in space. Now what would happen if we were unable to provide that security..."

"To the weapons system?" asked Manly.

"No, idiot, to the water park..." hissed Masterson. "What if there was some trouble at the park and we couldn't spare the people to address that situation? We would have an unsafe working condition for their employees and guests. OSHA would be called, unions would be notified, the press would have a field day and perhaps the President would be forced to withdraw that chlorinated urinal they call a park from my ship."

"Do you really think that would work, sir?" asked Manly. "The government is notoriously blind to things it does not like to see..."

"Yes, but if we throw in a few accidental drownings, well, the media pressure will just build and build," replied Masterson. "Remember when the alligators at "Alligator Funland" ate all those children? Sure, they did nothing the first two times, but after the third time they closed down the park and had a handbag sale using their former star attractions. All we need are a few well documented incidents and we can kiss Ten Banners Water Wonderland good-bye!"

"So, THAT is what this is all about?" asked Manly.

"Of course," lied Masterson. "What else could it be about? You don't think I'm looking to steal the ship, do you?"

"Of course not, sir," stated Manly. "Causing accidental drownings and security breaches never entered my mind, I thought you had just gone off the deep end... I guess I'm not that imaginative..."

"Well part of being a leader is thinking outside the box," smiled Masterson. "Now, go on about your business, Mister Manly. Let me worry about the long-range plans of this ship."

Manly smiled, "Very well, sir and might I say, well done!"

"Go now," replied Masterson smugly, "before I use you for one of the accidental drownings..."

"Yes, sir, of course sir..."

Masterson watched him walk away. Looking up at the viewing screen, he could not help but shake his head. His second in command had the uneasy sashay of a ten-year- old boy whose underwear was too tight. Sometimes being the only bright one in the bunch was such a burden...

***

"Everything?" asked Sir Harry. "They have to hand over EVERYTHING?"

"The money, the buildings, the weapons..." began Little Mac excitedly.

The cabinet members murmured excitedly to one another. They would all be famous, they would be the Scots who had made Scotland the most formidable country on the planet, they would become part of the Scottish History and World History. They would have mini-series made about them and feature films, they might even get their own reality television series. Yes, they would become immortal...

"Hold on, hold on," said a heavy voice towards the back of the room.

The clamor gradually died down as everyone turned to look at Ned "Angry Ned" Houston. Ned was a tall man; robust and red of face and hair and fiery of temperament. He had once been Sir Harry's War Minister, but he had a bad habit of declaring war on just about every nation for multiple and often completely imaginary insults to Scotland. Sir Harry had thought it best to keep him in the cabinet due to his perceived need to have a minister who spoke his mind so he had made Houston the Minister in Charge of Parks and Recreation.

The appointment had proved controversial, especially after Ned's attempt at instituting a sentence of mandatory beheadings for people who did not believe in the Lock Ness monster. After exhaustive research, the Under Secretary for Hushing Things Up had produced a report that suggest a reimagining of the administrations Cabinet Minister vetting process, but so far, nothing had been done regarding the recommendations offered to the Prime Minister.

"What do you want, you great big tit?" asked Sir Harry, trying to keep things light hearted.

"I've got a problem with this whole thing," snapped Ned angrily.

"We're being given control of the planet, what's yer bitchin'?" asked Sir Harry.

Ned hiked up his kilt (at the waist) and stared stonily at the assembled group.

"How can we hope to hold our heads up in history if we claim to make Scotland the most powerful nation on earth and we done it without bloodshed?" he asked. "Our entire history is filled with the most-vile sorts of slaughter and now we're going to reject it and our national identity by gaining world domination peaceably???"

The murmur in the room grew. He had a point?

"Explain to me how we can claim to be one with Scotland's great past if no one's gotten their teeth knocked out?" continued Ned. "My mother won best scone at the Edinburgh County Fair ten years in a row and she couldn't cook worth a crap! She won because she beat the hell out of the damn judges every year! Now THAT'S how a Scot wins!"

The room erupted in foot stamping and table slapping approval as Ned continued.

"My grandfather was sacked a hundred and seventy-two times in three years from his job at the mill and every time, he'd kick the crap out of the foreman and get his job back! Scotland is a violent place! We are a violent people! It'll stink in the nostrils of every Scot if we do this thing without someone getting slapped or bitten! We run around in an extremely cold climate in kilts for God's sakes! We fought the Roman's naked! I ask you, how can I tell my grandchildren we conquered the planet and not a one of our enemies got to see a hairy red arse???"

The cry went up, "SCOTLAND FOREVER!"

Each cabinet member was on their feet, flask in hand, repeating the phrase before downing a goodly portion of their morning Scotch allowance.

"That's all right and good," interrupted Sir Harry. "The problem is, we've already won the damn thing!" The group hesitated as Sir Harry rose, his features growing redder by the moment. "Now you tell me, how in hell are we gonna start a fight with someone we've already beaten? We're a violent people, true, but we've never been a bunch a bullies and we're not a gonna start now!"

The room came to an uneasy silence. He had a point. It would be dishonorable to kick an opponent when they were down, unless it was rugby and then it would be expected...

"There must be a way," countered Ned. "I mean, someone has to get an arse whippin'..."

"The problem is that the Interplanetary Government doesn't own their own land," pointed out Little Mac softly. "We can't conquer their territory since they're giving it to us and we can't sack their villages because they haven't got any."

Ned shook his head and retook his seat, "It's a damn sad day, I tell ya, when a man has to win a victory without maiming another man. If this is the new world order, you can stick it up yer bum..."

The cabinet nodded silently at the wisdom of the statement. Somehow, the joy of victory did not seem as sweet without someone getting one in the mush.

"Even at our moment of greatest triumph, God finds a way to humble us," stated Little Mac philosophically.

As he watched the others nod in agreement he could not help but think; it is a true pain in the bollocks to be the only thinking member of the government...

***

Tardy sensed something was wrong. Tardy's sense of something being wrong was seldom wrong because he had honed the sense finding out the many wrong things that Captain Galbard was often about to do when he stopped him from doing something wrong. Seated beside him on the couch in her quarters, Nicole also felt that something was wrong. Nicole's sense of something being wrong was even less faulty than her fiancé's because she had to watch out not only for her father, but the entire crew of the Intrepid Monkey and if one did not know something was going wrong with that group, something indeed was wrong with them.

"We've increased speed when we should be decreasing speed," stated Tardy anxiously, listening to the whine of the engines increase.

"If we were getting ready to trap another vessel in our hold, we should have heard the bay doors opening," replied Nicole.

Taking her by the hand, Tardy walked with his bride out quickly into the hallway where many crew members were rushing about trying to find their battle stations.

"Mister Tardy!" snapped a heavily bearded young man in a tie dye shirt. "I don't know my battle station! I don't know where I'm supposed to be..."

"Follow me to the bridge Rupert," stated Tardy, his speed increasing as he drew closer to the elevator doors. "We'll get you set once we find out what is happening..."

Rupert took a moment to not so subtly check out Nicole.

"This your girl, Mister Tardy?" he asked, a goofy grin affixing itself to his features.

"This is my fiancé, Rupert. Rupert, meet Nicole, Nicole, this is Rupert," stated Tardy, making the introductions as he pushed the buttons for the elevator to take them to the bridge.

"Cool," drawled Rupert. "I don't know if Mister Tardy has told you, but you're like smoking hot..."

"Thank you," replied Nicole, having no idea of what to say.

"Rupert, I think you're making Nicole uncomfortable," stated Tardy, jamming again on the elevator buttons, his focus on obtaining the bridge.

"Just telling the truth dog," replied Rupert, a man without a care in the world. "I mean, it's not like I'm hitting on you or nothing, you know, I got a lady of my own, but if I didn't, I could see me spending some time chasing you down, that is if you and Mister Tardy weren't so tight..."

"Thank you," replied Nicole, moving closer to Skip.

"It's a compliment, trust me," stated Rupert. "I mean, the ladies kind of dig me, you know. It ain't nothing I put out there on purpose, mind you, they just sort of seem drawn to me..."

The elevator doors finally opened and the threesome found themselves poised about six inches above the floor.

"Pringles," muttered Nicole.

Tardy attempted to step down out of the elevator, which jerked violently, sending him flying out into the middle of the bridge.

"Bad dog, bad dog Pringles," snapped Nicole, crossing her arms and speaking to the disembodied spirit of her long dead dog.

To Rupert's amazement, the elevator slowly descended to the same level as the floor. Nicole shook her head disapprovingly and then stepped out onto the bridge. Rupert was a second behind her and found himself getting smashed in the head by the elevator ceiling as the elevator suddenly jerked down another foot and a half before stopping. Holding his head, Rupert looked at Nicole in shock.

"Serves you right for being fresh," she stated, turning on her heel and helping Tardy to his feet.

"I think I have a concussion," stated Rupert as he fell back into the elevator.

Everyone on the bridge watched as the doors to the elevator slowly closed and removed Rupert from the area.

Turning to face the group on the bridge, Nicole saw Don, Captain Galbard, her father and now a few members of Captain Galbard's crew gathering, each staring anxiously at the view screen. Tardy moved closer to the screen and listened as Don stood beside Captain Stanwich at the scanning panel, narrating the action being taken aboard the fleeing ship on the screen before them for all of those present.

"He's turned off the coffee maker," stated Don anxiously. "If he disconnects the microwave, I think we'll be forced to put a tractor beam on him, Captain..."

"Perhaps if we hailed him," stated Stanwich thoughtfully. "Perhaps we could tell him that we aren't really chasing him, that we are just in a hurry and running in the same direction..."

"What's that?" asked Tardy, pointing to something enormous looming on the screen.

"What?" asked Galbard, fixated on the ship they were following.

"THAT!" snapped Tardy, pointing to what appeared to be a planet that was increasing in size at a very rapid rate of speed.

Galbard peered at the screen and missed the planet completely.

"That's space, Skip," stated Galbard dismissively. "It's what's all around us. All that black stuff is space..."

"Not the black stuff," replied Tardy, "all of those ships around that planet, what is THAT!"

Galbard looked up slightly and squinted, "Oh that, that's the Intergalactic fleet and if I'm not mistaken the Death Star, Federation, but we're not interested in them Skip, we're trying to catch a fleeing ship here..."

"This is bad," stated Skip evenly. "This is very bad. Do you realize we're trying to pirate a ship in full view of the Intergalactic fleet?"

He watched as his words slowly took effect upon the group gathered about him.

"So, you're saying their watching us?" asked Captain Stanwich, the thought working its way slowly towards realization in his mind.

"Yes," hissed Skip. "I think we need to turn about and run!"

"Run?" asked Galbard as if the word was some strange, foreign word like bakku-shan or backpfeifengesicht.

"Scamper, depart, flee, remove ourselves from the immediate area, run like hell!" snapped Tardy.

Stanwich nodded. An amiable man, he had come to trust his future son-in-law's sense of what was and what was not important and found himself in agreement with his assessment of the current situation.

"Don, turn the ship about..."

Suddenly, a male voice so deep it sounded as if Barry White and James Earl Jones had an illicit affair and had produce a love child that sounded like both of his parents boomed out across the communications speakers.

"This is the Intergalactic Fleet Death Star, Federation! You are ordered to stop your pursuit and surrender or face complete and immediate annihilation!"

Stanwich frowned, obviously complete and immediate annihilation had not been on this mornings to do list, "Don, stop the ship."

Don gingerly flicked a few switches and stared at the view screen, "We're stopped."

"State your intentions," growled the voice.

For a moment, even Galbard could think of nothing to say. Pirates seldom stated their intentions until AFTER they had subdued their prey. The change in procedure would not help the outcome, of that, both captains were certain. What they needed was someone clever to speak with the voice of doom booming over their speakers until they could come up with a convenient and hopefully, believable lie.

Suddenly, the elevator opened and Julie and Gil were tossed into the room like a couple of little people at a midget toss.

"I'm glad you landed on that dog's head," spat Julie, regaining her feet and giving an angry glance back at the sliding elevator doors.

"STATE YOUR INTENTIONS!" ordered the voice once again, the sound echoing in the silence.

Gil glanced and Julie and then at the screen, "I don't know what's going on, but I'm certain, it CAN'T be good..."

The two captains turned and stared at Gil as if his arrival was some sort of divine intervention. In this, their moment of need, the most eloquent, most educated, most trusted spokesman for pirating had been belched out of their elevator.

"Speak to them, Gil," whispered Galbard. "Speak to them or we are all cosmic toast!"

The other people on the bridge turned to stare at Gil as if he we some sort of conquering hero. Yes, GIL was the man! If ever any person was perfectly matched with the situation they were in, it was here and now on the bridge of the Intrepid Monkey as doom loomed straight ahead and Gil Johnson stepped up to the microphone!

"Give'em hell, Gil," whispered Julie, never more-proud of her husband or his abilities.

Gil stared at the massive death star and opened his mouth just as the voice asked in a satanic tone, "WELL?"

Gil swallowed hard and gave a hard squint, his mouth opened and he began!

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh........"

### Chapter 19

"We are not retreating, we are advancing in another direction." – General Douglas MacArthur

Claude Van Ramerdam sat happily at the small lunch table that he normally occupied at the It's a Wonderful World Café and Juice bar, the cafeteria of the World Court, sipping an espresso and munching on a biscotti. Often, Claude would read legal briefs or bad romance novels while eating his solitary lunch, but today, he was reading the newspaper, something he rarely did. He found the news depressing since everyday it promised the end of the world but never quite delivered on it, leaving him to feel that he was foolish to believe anything the mainstream media had to say.

The only reason he was reading today's paper was that a tantalizing headline had caught his eye; a scientific team had just announced the conclusion of a ten year, fifty billion-dollar study that they claimed conclusively proved that it was WATER that had sunk the Titanic. This new theory had set the entire Titanic loving world on its collective ear. According to the team's research, water, which was supposed to stay outside of the ship had somehow worked its way to the INSIDE of the ship, causing it to sink into even more water which eventually had caused it to sink into what they termed the MOST water. As proof, the team had published pictures of the ship at the time of its launch showing water below the ship and sky above it and contrasted them to current pictures of the ship showing a curious lack of sky and a continuous, indeed all-encompassing amount of water surrounding it. Could the scientists have solved this almost five- hundred-year-old mystery? Claude shook his head, marveling at how far science had advanced.

"Judge Van Ramerdam?"

The voice interrupted Claude's train of thought. Looking up, he spotted a solidly built man with incredibly thick, black hair and a stern, unhappy face. He wore a dark, ill-fitted suit and smelled of old tobacco, old leather and Old Spice. Claude's finely tuned sense of detection fed these details to his brain and he came up with the logical conclusion that the man was either a private detective or a ballerina.

"Could be..." replied Claude, unwilling to commit himself too much at this point of the conversation.

"May I have a word with you?" asked the man, not waiting for Claude's reply and taking the seat across from him.

"I don't want to buy anything, I'm happy with my cell phone coverage and I don't want to purchase a time share," replied Claude cautiously.

"I'm not buying or selling anything," replied the man.

"I don't want a subscription to any magazines..."

"I'm not selling any."

"I don't want my car detailed..."

"I wouldn't know how to do it."

"I don't want a suit made..."

"I have no sewing skills."

"I don't care about my ancestry..."

"I don't care about your ancestry either."

"I don't want to give my reaction to any products, endorse any soaps or use any new toilet paper..."

"Fine, can we talk?"

Claude considered it. The man had given all the correct answers, there seemed no reason not to speak with him and yet he hesitated. People were usually trouble, indeed, if they weren't, there would be no reason for the legal system. Still, he had answered the prescribed questions in the proper way.

"Very well. Would you like some coffee? This is a café, they sell coffee here, it tastes like monkey dung fermented in rat's vomit, but not everyone makes a decent cup of coffee..."

"No, no thank you," said the man, leaning across the table slightly and dropping his voice so that only Claude could hear him. "I want to speak with you, Judge Van Ramerdam about your recent ruling regarding the repayment of Scottish loans."

"I never discuss my verdicts after I make them," stated Claude. "I think you should make a decision and face the consequences of it, regardless of what they are. It's the reason I own a barn full of Amish jam; I was only looking for a jar of jam, one jar, but this poor fellow I spoke to had all this jam..."

"Your honor, I'm hoping we might focus on the repayment question," interrupted the man.

"There is no question," replied Claude. "The intergalactic government has seventy-two hours to pay the loans or must go bankrupt, it's all very straight forward."

"Do you realize the effect of this ruling upon everyday people?" asked the man. "Do realize how it will ruin the life of the man on the street?"

"If a man is living on the street, I would think his life was going quite the way he had hoped already," confessed Claude. "Not that I'm judging, mind you. After you've judged people all day professionally, you don't feel like judging them in your spare time. It's like the ice cream maker who hates sweets or the matador who's a vegetarian..."

"Your decision has far reaching implications," stated the man, taking a small note pad out of his pocket and beginning to write down things within its confines.

"Who are you?" asked Claude suspiciously.

"I'm Eric Schwartz," stated the man, "international newsman."

Claude rose and stared at his lunch companion with undisguised contempt.

"I do not speak to the media," he stated haughtily. "I have integrity and honor and I hate liars!"

"I'm a newsman, a seeker of truth," replied Eric, anger in his voice. "I have integrity, I have grit and I only lie to satisfy my editor or to increase our circulation!"

"This interview is over and you can print that!" stated Claude. "I am going back to my office, good day to you sir, good day!"

Claude retreated out of the cafeteria, glancing over his shoulder to make certain that he was not being followed. He could not believe that he had been seen in public with a newspaper man. A judge had an obligation to present himself to the world in the best light and with the most refined company. What would people say if they had seen him with a newspaper man? He might as well have been eating lunch with a convicted murderer or a late-night television host...

***

The President stared across his desk, eyeing his Finance Minister. First the undeclared depression and now a forced liquidation; while he seldom second guessed himself or his appointments, even the President had to admit that his Finance Minister might not be doing such a bang-up job...

"While our legal team continues to seek options, I have been busy, Mister President and I am happy to report that money is currently pouring into the Treasury!"

"Excellent, excellent," smiled the President. "How much do we have on hand?"

The Finance Minister looked down at his electronic assistant and seemed to be tabulating the numbers in his head. The President was impressed, he could never tally numbers in his head, though he was able to name all seven dwarfs, an ability that amazed even his harshest critics.

"Mind you, Mister President, we don't have all the totals, the cupcake sale numbers are not in yet and we've got some real heated bidding on a sofa we're auctioning on eBay..."

"Yes, well, tell me what you know for certain," said the President. "I understand that there are other irons in the fire..."

"Well," smiled the Finance Minister, leaning back with a satisfied air, "I can assure you, sir, that we have over four..."

"Four Billion?" asked the President excitedly.

"No, sir, not quite that much," confessed the Minister.

"Four Million?" asked the President, trying not to show his disappointment.

"Nooo," drawled the Minister.

"Four thousand?" asked the President.

"It's just a start, sir," replied the Minister. "Remember the cupcake total..."

"We need billions," replied the President.

"They're very good cupcakes..."

"Did you make a billion of them?"

"No, sir, I didn't make any of them. The ladies in the office, well they all felt awful about what's happening and they volunteered..."

"Can't you leverage some assets or sell some stock or something?" asked the President, his exasperation becoming more apparent.

The Finance Minister leaned back, "That's not a bad idea..."

"Well do it!"" snapped the President.

The Minister rose, quite satisfied with their progress, "First I'll check in on the cupcake sale and then I'll check on that stock idea. I'll let you know, Mister President, I will let you know!"

With a happy tune on his lips the Finance Minister turned to make his way to the cupcake sale, never seeing the ornamental paperweight with the intergalactic seal embedded in it as it flew through the air and hit him in the back of the head...

***

Cardinal Benny was at a luncheon honoring a group of elderly women who knit hats and gloves for the poor. The Cardinal smiled as yet another octogenarian reminded him of the luncheon menu from last year and how it was superior to the current fare. A slim, dark haired young man in a Roman collar peered into the room and waved anxiously at the Cardinal. Benny looked up and squinted, unsure of what the new arrival wanted. Father Gregory was new to the Cardinal's staff and while an intelligent, well-mannered young man, he had a tendency to be easily upset by how "uncivilized" his pirate neighbors acted.

"Excuse me, ladies," stated the Cardinal, rising. "Father needs to have a word with me..."

"Doesn't he have to come to you?" asked Mona Jensen, a kindly looking grandmother who should have been the poster child for the term "looks can be deceiving".

"We're all God's servants," replied the Cardinal as he moved towards the door.

"Cardinal Jacob was God's servant, but he let you know who was in charge," snapped Mona. "He didn't let any priests wave at him, I can tell you that! Once I saw him make a Monsignor cry..."

"Wonderful, yes," replied Benny as he moved quickly away from her and towards the door. "Good afternoon Father Gregory..."

"Good afternoon, your Eminence," replied Gregory. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, but we have a situation..."

Cardinal Benny rolled his eyes, "What type of situation?"

Gregory grimaced, "We've been monitoring the Intrepid Monkey's communication transmissions and apparently, they missed their rendezvous point."

The Cardinal let out a harsh sigh, "We need those parts... what are we going to do?"

"It gets worse, Eminence," stated Father Gregory uneasily.

"Worse?"

"It seems they've stumbled...they seem to have over shot...well..."

"Well?" asked Cardinal Benny, his expression growing more-stern.

"We cannot be certain, Eminence, but it appears that they might have stumbled into the...middle... of the Intergalactic fleet."

The Cardinal took a moment to process the information.

"Did they think to run away?" he asked, trying to hide his uneasiness.

"They might have if they hadn't been ordered by the Federation to halt or face annihilation," replied Father Gregory, tactfully peering beyond the Cardinal to make certain that the elderly women were not ease dropping on their conversation.

"The Federation?" replied Cardinal Benny.

Father Gregory nodded and forced a smile.

Turning back to the ladies the Cardinal forced a smile of his own.

"Ladies, I'm sorry, I have an emergency baptism that I have to perform, it's been a lovely lunch, let's do it again real soon."

Before anyone could reply, the Cardinal was out the door, sprinting towards the communications center on the far side of the property, Father Gregory dropping further and further behind despite his best efforts. Cardinal Benny merely shook his head and kept on running. He had made mad dashes to the communications room so often he was thinking of trying out for the Vatican Olympic Sprint Team.

### Chapter 20

"If you don't know where you are going, you'll end up someplace else." - Yogi Berra

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...."

"WELL?" boomed the voice of doom.

Everyone stood, staring at Gil, their hopes of not being annihilated slowly disappearing as his brain continued to fail to engage. Julie was about to punch him in the arm when suddenly Nicole scared everyone by letting out a war whoop.

"WOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!" she yelled, thrusting a fist skywards, catching everyone off guard.

"What the hell was that?" asked the voice of doom, apparently taken as unawares as anyone else.

"WOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!" repeated Nicole, gesturing wildly to the other's present to take up the cry.

"WOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!" yelled Tardy, uncertain as to why he was whooping, but wanting to be supportive boyfriend.

"WOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!" yelled Julie, certain that no matter what, it was a better thing to say than "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..."

"WE'RE HERE FOR MY BATCHELORETTE PARTY!" yelled Nicole, her enthusiasm contagious. "HOW DO WE GET TO THE WATER PARK????"

"The water park?" asked the voice of doom.

"WE'RE GOING TO PARTY!!! WOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!" snapped Nicole, gesturing again to those present to join in, which they immediately did.

"If you're here for the water park, why does you ship have so many mazer cannons?" asked the voice, not completely convinced.

"Those aren't mazers, they're confetti cannons for the strippers!" snapped Nicole. "WOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!"

Voices could be heard conferring in hushed tones with the voice of doom and suddenly, the communications channel went silent for a moment. As the group sat, momentarily terrified, they heard the Ten Banners theme stream over the intercom system and a new, chipper voice call out to them.

"Welcome to the Ten Banners Wacky Water World Extravaganza!" stated the new voice, sounding a lot like the happiest person ever born on speed. "Follow the beacon to your docking destination and remember the following pool rules; 1, no peeing in the pool, 2, no drowning permitted without the express written consent of a parent or guardian, 3, no electronic equipment or date rape drugs permitted in the pool, 4, the introduction of toxic chemicals or food coloring to our water is strictly prohibited and 5, remember to smile!"

Don looked at Captain Stanwich, "Should I follow the docking beam captain?"

Stanwich considered it, "Yes." Turning to Nicole, he looked at her reproachfully, "I don't approve of strippers, Nicole. I understand that you are a young woman and you have needs..."

"There are no strippers, Daddy," stated Nicole softly. "I only said that so they wouldn't attack us."

"Oh," replied Stanwich thoughtfully. "I appreciate what you've done, my dear, but I'm not please about lying either, though it does make me feel better that you didn't bring any strippers along..."

"She saved all of our lives, Captain," pointed out Tardy.

"True, but lies are bad," he stated pointedly to his daughter. "I suppose it made sense, but I don't want her getting into the habit..."

Tardy rolled his eyes as Julie slapped Gil's arm. Turning to look at her, Gil found his wife with a less than pleased expression on her face.

"Uhhhhh?" she whispered. "The best you could do was Uhhhh?"

Gil blinked, "They surprised me..."

Julie shook her head, so much for eloquence...

***

The Interplanetary Senate sat in stony silence as the last member of the assembly rose to speak. The speaker, Senator Illius Galvindorf from Sweden was tall and distinguished looking, with incredible blonde good looks and the physique of a bodybuilder. It was unfortunate that his voice, when excited, had a tendency to sound like Minnie Mouse on helium because it took a lot of the sting out of his words.

"Fellow Senators," he began, watching as the men around him tried not to chuckle despite the desperate straits that they found themselves in. "This is an outrage! In less than twenty-four hours, the social stability of the entire planet will cease to exist and why? Because this government successfully persecuted a just war and exterminated a hated group of terrorists! None of this information, not an iota of the truth entered into the deliberations of the justice who has handed down this appalling verdict! A stupid and sick individual has undone the work of centuries and is plunging us back into the darkness of separation! I say that we refuse the verdict! I say that we stand fast, as MEN!"

Applause erupted in a thunderous wave and it was not until they had finally begun to fade that a voice was heard from the public gallery high above the senate floor.

"What about women?"

"I find it reprehensible..." started Galvindorf.

"What about women?" shouted the voice again.

Galvindorf stopped and stared up into the gallery.

"What?"

"WOMEN!"

"What about women?" he responded, confusion clouding his features.

"You said that we should stand fast as men," replied the voice. "What about women? Half the people on the planet are women you know!"

"I meant no offense..." began Galvindorf.

"And yet you managed to offend," called out the voice. "Why do you have to hate?"

As the murmuring in the gallery grew, the head of the Senate beat his gavel vigorously on the podium.

"We will have order," called out the head of the Senate.

"Hater!" snapped a voice in the gallery. "We're losing unity because you hate women!"

"I don't hate women," replied Galvindorf.

"You think they're sex objects!"

"I do not!" snapped the Senator.

"The problem isn't that he hates women," called out another voice on the other side of the gallery. "He's just a product of a patriarchal society..."

"Women have made great strides," interrupted another voice from the same side of the gallery as the first voice. "If you weren't so ignorant, you'd know blacks are discriminated against more than women..."

"What about the Hispanic people?" called out another voice.

"I like Hispanic people," stated Galvindorf.

"What about gay Hispanic people?" called another voice.

"Fine by me," replied Galvindorf. "I want everyone to not support this judgement..."

"Everyone?" called out another voice. "We're all due the respect of being treated as individuals..."

Suddenly the gallery erupted in an uproar. Political activists, also known as unemployed people with nothing better to do, all decided to exercise their right to free speech without feeling the need to engage their minds while doing so.

"We should respect individuality as long as all individuals want the same thing..."

"And are acknowledged as part of groups who want different things..."

"All of whom have a right to voice our opinions and ignore yours..."

"But none of us should be held accountable for our actions as that is the beginning of totalitarianism and profiling..."

"The people who hate, they should be held accountable..."

"Let's kill the haters..."

"Haters make the world a terrible place..."

"No, poverty makes the world a terrible place..."

"No, not respecting people who are different makes the world a terrible place..."

"If we want to be different, we have to all be the same..."

"If we don't have the same vision, how can we protect our individuality?"

"ORDER!" screamed the head of the Senate, "ORDER!!!"

"The government always speaks of establishing order, but who's order? I won't be told what to do, you fascist..."

"What we need is a dictator to guarantee everyone's freedom!"

Galvindorf stood dumbfounded, the momentum he had created completely lost as the people in the public gallery began invoking the need to protest the government which 24 hours from now would cease to exist. Staring up at the people arguing in the gallery, Galvindorf shook his head ruefully. Maybe not being asked to govern wasn't such a bad thing after all...

***

"What should I wear?" asked Harry. "I've never had a planetary government disband for me before."

"A kilt, of course," began Little Mac. "Perhaps a kilt with a tuxedo top..."

"I always feel like a centaur when I put that get up on," crabbed Harry, dropping down into the chair behind his desk. "Half Scot, half waiter..."

"A centaur..." began Little Mac and then stopping, seeing the futility of the correction. "The tuxedo part shows that you are a man of affairs, an educated, well intentioned ruler."

"And the kilt?" asked Harry.

"That shows you're Scottish," instructed Little Mac. "I thought that was obvious..."

"It should be," replied Harry. "I tell you little brother, I'm rattled. I hate to admit it, but taking over the world is not something you do every day. I have the power of life and death, of releasing a maelstrom of haggis or of just taking as much swag as we can carry. It's a damn difficult thing to be this bloody important..."

"You will adjust," stated Little Mac. "In the meantime, I think that we should work on your speech. I think the opening is a bit weak..."

"You don't like, "Listen up you bastards?"" asked Harry.

"Weak was a poor choice of words," replied Little Mac. "Not as poor as "Listen up you bastards", but still, a poor choice..."

"You're not suggesting I go all cuddly on these scumbags, are ya?"

Little Mac shook his head, "No, I'm just suggesting that you begin a little less forcefully. Perhaps an acknowledgement of the President and his cabinet as...oh, I don't know...human beings?"

"Sounds like you want me to go half fairy over this damn thing..."

Little Mac rolled his eyes, "Why not let me write the speech, you can read it and make it your own in the telling."

"I like the idea," replied Harry. "Whatever you do, though, don't wimp out on the damn thing..."

"No problem," confessed Little Mac. "I'll get to work. You should stay sequestered until the meeting, don't take a chance on misspeaking..."

"Fine, have it your way, but I'm telling you something," stated Harry, finger pointed, eyes squinted, jaw set. "When I become planetary dictator, I'm calling everyone bastards. Anyone introduced to me, it'll be, "Hello Mister Bastard, how's yer lovely wife, Mrs. Bastard and all yer bastard children?". Everyone I meet is getting a piece of my mind, I don't care who it is!"

Little Mac nodded and then turned to leave. Hopefully with the brogue as thick as it was, nothing would be intelligible anyway...

Chapter 21

"I wish it to be remembered that I was the last man of my tribe to surrender my rifle." – Sitting Bull

As the Intrepid Monkey slid into its assigned dock upon the Death Star/Water Park Federation, there was a slight difference of opinion of how the crew should proceed upon this unexpected stage of their mission.

A meeting had been called and since pirates have, since the very earliest times, been slightly more democratic in their ideas than other ship hierarchies, it was decided that suggestions would be taken upon what course of action should be taken from both the captains and the crews.

The meeting taking place in the cafeteria was both informative and boisterous. Many at first had no idea that this was a strategy session, drawn to the dining area instead by the afternoon's special of spaghetti with meatballs, but upon entering in upon the discussion, many became comfortable revealing their opinions on the course they should take to succeed.

At the head of the room, the discussion committee sat facing the crewmembers along one side of a long table. The committee consisted of Gil and Julie, Captains Stanwich and Galbard, Tardy and Nicole, Don, Panther and Yeoman Xiang. Gil had run second behind Tardy in the voting for a committee head, the final nail in the coffin of his nomination being the idea that a resolution beginning "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...." would take too long to enter into the minutes.

At one of the two microphones set up for the crew to speak to the committee from, Mad Matt spoke, finishing what he thought had been a reasonable and heartfelt oratory.

"I say we activate the corbomite device, have the Captain activate the destruct sequence and blow up the ship AND the death star in one final blaze of glory!" snapped Mad Matt. "Who's with me?"

With the exception of one hand in the back of the room which shot up immediately, everyone else stared at him with blank expressions.

"Motion carried!" he smiled.

"First, only one person voted with you and that was Psycho Sally," stated Tardy calmly. "Secondly, there is no such thing as a destruct sequence or a corbomite device this side of Star Trek and finally, we are not entertaining any insane suggestions at this point in the discussion."

Captain Galbard cleared his throat, "Look, Skip, while I agree that you're probably the best man to run the meeting, I don't think you can technically rule out insane suggestions. You'd be handcuffing us, don't you think?"

"I'd be limiting the field of discussion and saving us countless hours perhaps days of discussion, but I don't think I'm handcuffing us," stated Tardy. "Either way, why not humor me on this one and I'll see what I can do about getting my future father-in-law to install stripper poles in the laundry room."

Galbard considered it; progress was usually measured in inches, but an eleven-foot stripper pole was a big jump in his favor.

"Very well. Yeoman Crystal and I appreciate your looking into the matter..."

"Who is Yeoman Crystal?" asked Gil, not the only member of the discussion committee having a hard time keeping up with the flow of conversation.

"Captain Galbard has found that he needed another Yeoman assigned to him to make sure that he continues upon his..." Tardy hesitated, seeking the correct wording, "exercise routine."

Gil nodded, understanding for once without instruction that "exercise routine" did not actually mean "exercise routine". He turned to Julie and nodded knowingly while she merely shook her head; the first time in months that he caught an innuendo and it was from someone else, typical husband...

"I'd like to make a suggestion," stated Chester from the other microphone, shyly waving to his wife who so vigorously responded to his wave with one of her own that she almost popped out of her tube top. "Since Nicole told them that we are here for a bachelorette party, why don't we act like that is why we are here? Once we get into the water park, perhaps we could find an undefended entrance into the military side of the death star. Once inside, perhaps we could disable it or at least find a weakness that we might be able to exploit later."

The committee stared at Chester in awe. The last intelligent suggestion Chester had made was four years ago when he had suggested going for Chinese food when the crew had been visiting Chinatown.

"Chester, that's a frighteningly well put, completely unexpected, intelligently stated idea," stated Stanwich, as surprised as everyone else on the panel. "Who did you steal it from?"

Chester turned a bright pink, "My boo-boo kitty and I were discussing possible ideas and my lovey-wovey and I came up with it together. Thank-you kissy-face!"

Xiang smiled and blew him a kiss which he caught and pressed to his lips, kissing it passionately and sending it back on a gale of his own kisses, which she caught and kissed in such an erotic fashion that it led more than one man in the crew to believe that Chester was an unbelievably lucky man.

"I think it makes sense," stated Galbard. "Admittedly from a quarter where sense seldom finds a home..."

"Alright, lets vote on Chester's suggestion of disabling the death star by pretending to be enjoying a bachelorette party," smiled Tardy. "All those in favor?"

All but two hands reached skywards.

"All those opposed?"

The two hands jumped up once again. An attractive, wild eyed young woman made her way to the microphone and pushed Chester out of the way.

"So, you're saying no one gets blown up?" she asked in disbelief.

"At this point, no," replied Tardy. "What have we discussed in the past, Sally?"

"People should be blown up!" she snapped.

"Sally?" asked Tardy quietly.

"Most people should be blown up!" she replied, slightly less vehemently.

"Sally..."

"I'm sorry I blew up those people..."

Tardy smacked his gavel upon the table top, "It's settled, we enter the water park and look for a weak spot! Everyone, to make this convincing, we need you to go and change into some swimsuits and party clothes while we set up an embarkation list. We can't have almost 500 people leave the ship all at once, they'll get suspicious."

Gil leaned closer to Julie and whispered, "So we're going to go with Chester's idea?"

"Maybe Xiang is good for him..." she mused.

"She's an intelligent officer," replied Gil.

"If she didn't dress like a stripper, who knows what she could become," stated Julie.

"With this group, dressed as a stripper gives her an edge," stated Galbard with a smile as he rose. "I got to go get my party suit on, now where did I leave my chaps...."

Julie shook her head as the group began filing out of the cafeteria. They were relying on Chester's idea...maybe blowing up wasn't the worst idea after all.

***

As twilight grew into evening and then later evening and then early morning, the worldwide news media had their lenses focused upon the President's home, the Beige House. People all over earth were watching the residence as it glowed with light throughout the night, media talking heads all intoning their beliefs as to what the President and his toadies were planning to derail the closing of the Interplanetary Government. Throughout the evening, cameras captured all sorts of arrivals and departures. The residence's well-lit exterior showcasing the comings and goings of throngs of government officials, media personalities and retiree tour groups. The media speculated wildly concerning the various plans that the government was going to use to sustain itself against the ruling from the World Court and kept a close eye on the shrinking amount of time before the government would be forced to dissolve.

Inside the Beige House, just beyond the prying eyes of the news cameras, the mother of all going away parties was being given. Government officials used to years of not saying what they meant, indeed, not saying anything at all, were screaming at each other at the top of their lungs in the former "public" access areas, drunk to their eyeballs, releasing decades worth of pent up stupidity. As the liquor flowed the tempers ran hot and more than one fist fight broke out, the worst being between two secretaries in their mid-sixties who were determined not to let "that bitch get out of here without getting a piece of my mind!".

Moving further along the former corridors of power, as one drew closer to the most private and highly secret government areas, the party only grew louder and more disgusting until the wave of debauchery broke upon the shores of the Presidential office suite. Inside, the President and a handful of his trusted advisors sat, drinking extremely expensive alcohol and trying to maintain a modicum of decorum. Each advisor was spinning their own take on their "legacy" and what history would make of their administration.

"The problem was that we were TOO good at what we did," snapped the Press Secretary, a middle-aged man who could not tell the truth from the gum that stuck to the bottom of his shoe. "We gave the people everything they wanted, we spoiled them, that's what it is!"

"I should have never allowed us to fight the pirates," grumbled the President. "If I had held fast to my resolution not to fight the pirates, we would never have had to borrow the money..."

The room erupted in loud refusals and rebuttals.

"You were great, Mister President, freakin' GREAT!!" snapped his valet just before bending over and projectile vomiting into a fake palm tree that held within its trunk the destruct sequence codes for the "nonexistent" corbomite devices on the ships of the interplanetary fleet. "I'll tell you who's at fault, it's the damn Congress!"

"They were all against you, Mister President," agreed his former Minister in Charge of Denials. "The Congress, the Judges, even the damn Postal Inspectors!"

"I hate the Postal Inspectors!" snapped the valet with a venom usually reserved for old people who insist on showing photos of their grandchildren to the cashier on the ten items or less line in the supermarket. "I can't swear to it, but I think my mother-in-law was a Postal Inspector before she became Satan!"

"I've let the people down," murmured the President, swilling his Scotch like a man who had no idea of what a hangover felt like. "Mind you, they let me down too. Everyone let everyone down, I think that's a fair assessment..."

"Letting people down is what responsible government is all about," replied the Finance Minister. "Take a look at all the not so great leaders...for all the Lincolns or Washingtons or Thatchers or Bonapartes or Attila the Huns, there are ten or thirteen, even seventeen Millard Fillmores or Chester Arthurs or Neville Chamberlains. I mean, mediocrity is what leadership is supposed to be about, just steer the ship, just keep the course, don't go this way or that way, just kinda float..."

The Minister would have continued his history lecture had the alcohol not disabled his brain completely, allowing him to slide comfortably out of his chair and into a fetal position on the floor.

The President looked down at his Minister and smiled, "Salt of the earth, that man, salt of the earth...Son of a bitch led us into a depression, oh, I mean recession, recession, that's it, but still, salt of the earth...they had salt during the Great Depression, didn't they?"

"They had it," stated the valet with authority, "they just couldn't afford to buy it. And now, and now, all those people are dead..." He flapped his arms against his sides in a gesture of "what are you going to do?" "All the dead people went through a depression and now, we're losing our government AND going into a recession. Every generation has some great, horrible, painful thing happen to it. Take a look at the twentieth century; in the 1930's they had the Great Depression, in the 1940's they had the Second World War, in the 1950's they had invaders from Mars and creatures who lived in black lagoons, in the 1960's they had the idiots who were alive in the 1960's, in the 1970's they had disco, in the twenty first century had the internet and the Oprah Winfrey Network, in the twenty second century they had chia pets that came to life, turned on them and took over most of the entertainment industry..."

"I think," interrupted the President, "if you had a point, it got drowned in the gin somewhere, so why not just drink some more and throw up in another plant..."

The valet raised his glass, saluting the President. Who could believe that the world betrayed such a leader?

***

"Okay, I'm trying to be reasonable here, but why are you dressed in chaps?" asked Cardinal Benny, staring at the view screen with an unhappy squint.

"It's a bachelorette party, your Eminence," replied Galbard. "You never know what could happen and pants can sometimes become impractical in a surprisingly short amount of time..."

"Stop, stop, stop," interrupted the Cardinal. "On second thought, I don't want to know." Turning towards Tardy, he continued, "I trusted you; get in, get out, don't engage the fleet. Do you realize you're docked in the middle of the fleet on the largest death star ever constructed? Do I have to explain to you by how much you've missed the mark?"

"We were discussing the wedding invitations, Eminence," began Tardy. "We think we've got the color scheme set, but the fonts are really extensive..."

Cardinal Benny held up his hand for silence.

"All I want is for you to get out of there, do you understand?"

No one spoke.

"What is it?" asked Benny.

"We can't just leave," explained Stanwich. "They'd know we weren't really here for a bachelorette party and they would become suspicious as to why we are actually here."

"Figured that out all by yourself, did you?" asked the Cardinal.

"Well, Nicole did help me with the second part," admitted Stanwich.

The Cardinal merely shook his head, "Do whatever it takes to get out of there, do I make myself clear?"

The group on the monitor knew that tone. The Cardinal, for some reason, was not happy.

"I promise..." began Tardy.

"No, no, NO!" snapped Cardinal Benny. "NO promises, no ideas, no discussions. Go and play in the water and then get your butts back on the ship and back here and DON'T let anyone follow you, do I make myself clear?"

The group nodded as the screen went blank.

"I don't know why he's angry," stated Stanwich. "They'll kill us if they find out, not him."

"I bet he just likes water parks," stated Don thoughtfully. "I mean, maybe he's feeling left out. I remember in high school, all of my friends got to leave school one day and I had to stay behind and boy did I feel left out."

"A school field trip?" asked Nicole.

"No, they were arrested as part of an illegal drug cartel, but still, it hurt..."

Julie took Gil by the hand and led him towards the elevator.

"Where are we going?" asked Gil.

"If no one is going to yell at us anymore, I'm going to get changed. I don't have a swimsuit with me, but I have a nice floral dress I could wear, what about you..."

Gil looked at her as if she had lost her mind.

"You realize we could be arrested at any moment..." he began.

"Well, I'm not going to be arrested in a water park looking like a dowdy old matron," she replied. "Now what are you wearing?"

"I have my green shorts," he replied meekly.

"They make your knees look knobby," she replied, entering the elevator as the doors opened. "Let's see if you packed your blue ones. You look distinguished in your blue shorts, kind of like Millard Fillmore..."

### Chapter 22

### "It is not strange... to mistake change for progress." – Millard Fillmore

Commander Masterson was sitting on the bridge of the Federation when a peculiar feeling struck him. He could not quite put his finger on it, but he suddenly felt as if his entire plan was coming together even as he did nothing to prod it along.

Masterson had decided that enough was enough, that having been a good officer and a magnificent commander for all of these years without anything to show for it, that the time had come to take his future into his own hands. He could not count on the President or the Congress, his pension was gone and soon he would be working for the Scottish Government and who knew what they would do with a Death Star/Water Park. He had had his fill of chlorine tablets and soggy towels, add bag pipes and kilts and he felt justified in what others might call an "extreme" reaction. Time would tell if he had taken the correct course but he had grabbed the bull by the horns and crossed the Rubicon!

Mister Manly stepped forward and presented the Commander with an order tablet to sign.

"These are the last of the Interplanetary Government Requisition forms, sir. The requisition forms will be changing with the change of government," stated Manly, pointing to new features on the tablet. "From now on all of our orders will have to be sent in triplicate and end with the coded message "Give us what we want NOW you bastards" if we are to get any service. We have also been informed that they will be replacing the Vodka Slushy machines with Scotch Slushy machines in the break room..."

"I hate Scotch," stated Masterson. "It tastes like perfume. Why couldn't the Jamaicans have become the most powerful nation on Earth, I could do with some rum..."

"Better not let that get out, sir," stated Manly. "I inadvertently questioned the wisdom of the kitchen staff wearing kilts near scalding hot food and was told that if I didn't like it, I would get "a caber shoved up my bum". I have no idea what that means, but it sounds most unpleasant..."

Masterson suppressed a giggle, "Sounds like business as usual for you, Mister Manly..."

"I beg your pardon, sir?" asked Manly, distracted by a message of "Bugger Off" from the new tablet, which signified a successful transmission.

"Nothing, Manly, nothing," replied the Commander. "Have we picked up any pirate transmissions lately? There had been reports of possible pirate activity in the area..."

"Nothing from the communications center," replied Manly. "Of course, the communications team is still adapting to the smaller communications center. I still do not quite understand why they had to move the center..."

"It was to make room for the skimming equipment for the water park purification system," stated Masterson. "What I don't understand is why an indoor water park needs a purification system. It isn't as though leaves or grass clippings would fall into the pool..."

"I've been to the skimming room, sir, and I can state that what they skim would leave you longing for grass clippings or leaves," replied Manly tactfully. "You read, I assume, that we will be reporting to the Scottish High Command starting tomorrow at O eight hundred hours..."

"I got the memo," stated Masterson, his voice sounding bored. "Nothing regarding the pirates, no word, no sightings..."

"Nothing sir," replied Manly, his curiosity rising. "Do you suspect something Commander?"

"Well, Mister Manly," replied Masterson, "it would make sense to me to attack the fleet while this change over is going through. If I were a pirate, I would see a golden opportunity in the confusion the new arrangement will invariable create..."

"We've never been attacked by the pirates before sir," replied Manly. "Besides, if the media is to be believed, we wiped them all out during our last attack and even before that, they were too cowardly to engage the fleet in a true battle...all except the Constellation of course. Frankly, I think the captain of that ship had a screw loose..."

"Yes, but even a nut has a pattern, Manly," drawled Masterson. "Nuts, Manly, can be counted on to act according to certain preset instincts..."

"Nuts don't have instincts, sir," replied Manly, completely confused. "Nuts are nuts. A peanut, for example, doesn't act unless acted upon. It's an inanimate object, sir; it has no preset instincts..."

"I'm not talking about..."

"Unless you're speaking of their life cycle, you know, growing and developing shells and so forth..."

"We're speaking about different types of nuts, Manly..."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but it is essentially the same for all of them," replied Manly. "Walnut, peanut, hazel nut, they're all inanimate, sir. None of them have legs or brains, never mind will, sir. You never hear of a nut robbing a bank or writing a check, so to speak..."

"Go away Manly," stated the Commander. "You've crossed the line to becoming an inanimate object yourself..."

"Sir?"

"Go and be nuts someplace else, Manly," replied Masterson. "I am working on a plan and I do not wish to be disturbed. Go and get someone a towel or something..."

"I don't work on the water park side, sir," huffed Manly.

"Then go and arrange for a snack," stated Masterson, desperate to rid himself of Manly.

"For just you, sir, or for the whole crew?"

Masterson considered it.

"The crew, make a snack for the whole crew, Manly...finger sandwiches..."

"But that will take hours, sir," replied Manly.

"Time well spent in the service of your fellow man," replied Masterson. "Now go, go on..."

Manly left the bridge, his mind turning to the logistics of creating enough finger sandwiches for the entire crew. Masterson watched him leave and shook his head.

"Walnut, peanut, absolute nut..."

***

"All right," said Galbard, his bare chest glistening with sunscreen, his lime colored Speedo peeking out from beneath his leather chaps, "let's light this candle!"

"Who will be in the first group to disembark?" asked Nicole.

"I have it listed as you, your father, Gil and Julie, Captain Galbard, Mister Tardy, Anne and..." Mad Matt stared at his clipboard, "someone named Johnson."

"That's me," stated a non-descript man in a blue shirt, black pants and boots.

"Who are you?" asked Mad Matt.

"Johnson," replied the man. "Captain Galbard said that I should go with his team..."

"Oh my GOD!" snapped Mad Matt.

"What's the matter?" asked Captain Stanwich.

"He's dead," replied Mad Matt, "I'm looking at a dead man." Unholstering his mazer, he shrugged, "I might as well kill him right now..."

"What's the matter with you?" asked Nicole, raising her hand and gesturing him to stop.

"His name is Johnson," replied Mad Matt, "JOHNSON! I've watched ever episode of all of the Star Treks ever filmed, the Original Series, The Next Generation, Deep Space Nine, Voyager, Enterprise, The New Next Generation, Star Trek: Nemesis, Deeper Space Nine, Voyager II, Yet Another Generation, Star Trek: Generations, Way the Hell Out There Space Nine, Star Trek, Wrath of Khan, Voyager III, IV and V and all of the others. I saw all the movies, read all of the books and I can state that this guy here is a dead man."

"What has Star Trek to do with anything?" asked Galbard.

"Look, whenever they beam down to a planet, the main characters always bring along a guy named Johnson who gets killed off twenty seconds later," replied Mad Matt. "If I was him, I wouldn't be buying any green bananas if you catch my drift. We're going to beam you guys down and he'll be dead before you rematerialize. Oh sure, whatever kills him may be eventually important to your mission, but this guy is going down..."

"That's insane," replied Tardy. "First off, there is no such thing as a transporter beam; we're all just walking out the door and into the park..."

"Doesn't matter," replied Mad Matt, "Lieutenant Johnson here isn't coming back!"

"I'm not a lieutenant," stated Johnson, nervously glancing at the others in hopes that they would keep the crazy person from harming him.

"What are you?" asked Mad Matt suspiciously.

"A mission specialist," replied Johnson defiantly.

"Hold that thought," replied Mad Matt. Turning to Galbard, he asked him, "What does he specialize in?"

Galbard considered it, "To tell you the truth, I'm not really sure..."

"Of course you aren't, I bet HE doesn't even know because all he REALLY specializes in is dying," replied Mad Matt. "Good God, he's not even a Yeoman, he's just cannon fodder..."

"This is crazy..." began Nicole.

"Oh really," replied Mad Matt. Turning back to Johnson, he smiled, "None of the Johnsons ever have any sort of family history, no messy story lines to clean up, no grieving wife or orphaned children to worry about, they just show up, die and that's the end of their involvement in the story. So, tell me Johnson; married?"

"No."

"Any kids?"

"No."

"Only child?"

"Orphan."

"Dead," stated Mad Matt, turning to the others. "Dead, dead, dead and dead; he's not coming back. You can't send him with a group of the main characters or he's going down, it's that simple." Looking back at Johnson, he continued, "What's your first name?"

Johnson looked away, slightly ashamed.

"Oh, sweet GOD!" yelled Mad Matt. Pointing his mazer at him, he looked at the others, "He doesn't even have a first name! He's not going to make it another ten pages, I'm telling you, it would be a mercy killing."

"They never gave me a first name at the orphanage," explained Johnson. "They didn't think it was necessary..."

"Of course it wasn't necessary," snapped Mad Matt. "You're just here to move the story along..."

"Mad Matt, I think you need to put the mazer away," stated Gil, drawing closer. "Think about it, my last name is Johnson and you've never said that I was going to die."

"Because you're a main character," replied Mad Matt in exasperation. "He's not even a secondary character; he's just here as a plot device and I must say, a pretty unimaginative one at that! What next? The entire first half of the book was a dream sequence? I don't know who's writing this crap, but whoever it is, he's a HACK!"

"Okay, let's all calm down," stated Panther. "Put the mazer away and let Specialist Johnson go out with his group. The next group is due to leave soon and this one is still standing here. If they don't get out now, you're going to back up the whole timeline and this plan isn't so brilliant that we can afford to do that!"

"He'll either be shot, or step on something or get eaten by some alien life form," continued Mad Matt. "I'm not trying to upset you, but you've got the life expectancy of a potato chip at a fat man's barbeque..."

"Leave him alone," pleaded Nicole. "He's a human being, he's a person!"

"Call him what you want, I don't make the rules," replied Mad Matt, holstering his mazer. "I'm just telling you what's going to happen."

"Chester, why don't you take the clipboard from Mad Matt and he and I will go and check to make sure the main mazers are functioning," said Panther, gingerly removing the clipboard from Mad Matt's hands and handing it to Chester. "We might need to get out of here in a hurry and it's best to make sure everything is working before-hand..."

With a sigh of resignation, Mad Matt turned and headed towards the elevator, Panther falling into step next to him.

"All I ever wanted to be was a character in a Thomas Harris novel," grumbled Mad Matt as they headed towards the elevator doors. "I'd be getting to kill people in creative ways, I'd have interesting psychological problems; I'd be the man! No, instead I'm stuck in this damn thing..."

"You think you got it bad?" asked Panther as the elevator doors opened and they stepped inside. "All I ever wanted to be was the black stud in a Jackie Collins novel; instead I'm knee deep in this crap. I've been in a relationship for four hundred pages now and what have I got to show for it? A kiss, maybe two? Now if my girl Jackie was writing this, I'd have had sex with Anne, her sister AND her two best friends by now...AND they'd all be super models!"

"I'm telling you, whoever is writing this thing should pick up a copy of "Writing for Idiots" or "Novel Writing for Dummies" or "Shmucks Who Should Find Another Job" or one of those other stupid self-help books," stated Mad Matt as the doors closed. "This guy couldn't write himself out of a paper bag..."

The others watched the elevator doors close and then looked at one another.

Tardy shook his head and then stated, "We have no tickets to get into the park, we're going to have to find a way in..."

"I've got that covered," stated Captain Galbard, skillfully adjusting his chaps. "Just stay back a bit and follow me. Okay, as I said before, let's light this candle!"

***

"The meeting is set," stated Little Mac. "The President will surrender the government of the planet at the Beige House tomorrow at eight o'clock at which time he will give you all of the security codes and the keys to the Beige House, both Presidential planes, his limos and the riding mower."

"Does the bastard have any snowmobiles?" asked Harry.

"None that we can find, but we are still checking the various lists," stated Little Mac. "Also, it appears that the yard sale went poorly. The original copy of the Interplanetary Constitution was sold to an online bidder for eight silvers, the estimated value was over forty thousand golds."

"What brought in the most money?" asked Harry, bothered that there would be less cash than originally anticipated.

"The rubber suit collection from the Interplanetary Navy," stated Little Mac. "Seems that an online fetish site needed inventory..."

"So how much did they raise total?" asked Harry.

"Just over two hundred golds," replied Little Mac.

"That isn't a worth bat piss," stated Harry angrily. "I'm telling ya, we need to sell the whole lot once we've got it. Who in hell wants to live in a beige house?"

"Well, we'll probably make some money on the real estate," mused Mac. "The international parks alone should go for more than we shelled out..."

"I thought we were gonna keep the parks," replied Harry, leaning back in his chair and placing his feet on his desk, thus answering once and for all what a Scottish man wore under his kilt.

"Natural beauty and wonders don't make money," stated Little Mac. "High priced condominiums and overpriced parking garages do, so that's the way we're going..."

Harry smiled, "Sounds good. Who the hell wants to see a buffalo or a geyser, I'd rather have a man cave or a good parking spot any day!"

"Now you're talking sense," replied Little Mac. "Did you read the speech you'll deliver tomorrow?"

"I read it, but I'm not loving it," replied Harry. "I made some corrections..."

"Corrections?" asked Little Mac.

"It wasn't bad, mind yer," stated Harry, trying to be tactful and failing miserably, "it just wasn't essentially Scottish, so I Scotched it up a bit."

"How so?" asked Mac, genuinely interested.

"Well, I mentioned some famous national heroes to start," began Harry. "Not only did I include the Bruce and Sean Connery, I also got in Robbie Coltrane, James Chalmers and Willie Carson."

"Willie Carson, the jockey?"

"Damn great jockey and Scot first," stated Harry. "These buggers need to know that we come from a long line of achievers and doers. If I have to swallow that we're not gonna kick their asses, then they'd better know some of our history, that's all I've got to say about it!"

Mac nodded. He would check the speech before his brother took the podium. He could revise it in the teleprompter and with his brother's accent, no one would understand what he was saying anyway. Still it was intriguing; Willie Carson?

### Chapter 23

### "You cannot open a book without learning something." – Confucius

Candy Morton had just graduated high school and was preparing for her life as a college freshman in the most challenging way that she had ever imagined. It had been nerve wracking, but she had interviewed with the Ten Banners people and after several follow up meetings had gotten a job as ticket taker at their Ten Banners Death Star site. The phone call offering her the job had been the proudest moment in her young life, that and when her boobs had grown in and she planned to become a Ten Banners Team Leader by the end of the summer if it killed her.

Seated in her little glass booth, she checked to make sure that she had all of her necessary supplies for the next two grueling hours of ticket taking. All of her electronic equipment was turned on and operational, her water bottle and gum were stocked and ready so that she would not get a dry throat, her mirror was placed in such a way that she could see herself but the customer could not see her seeing herself in case a cute guy came in and she wanted to check her look. Finally, she slipped out of her everyday walking sneakers and into her work sneakers. Glancing down at her watch, she saw that it was time to open her window and to start selling tickets.

With a deep breath, she repeated her work mantra, "I am the ticket to my own happiness, even when I am selling tickets," shook out her arms and then hit the button that activated her light to show that her line was open.

Turning to face her first customer, Candy almost died. The most incredibly handsome man in the world was standing at her ticket booth wearing no shirt, a pair of chaps and a green Speedo. His golden hair glistened in the artificial lighting that surrounded them and for a moment, she was transported to a fairy tale world of hot men and their incredibly muscular torsos. She could see that he was a real man, not some high school boy, not even some frat guy, but a man of the world, with experience and adventure in his soul. He was gorgeous, with a capital GORGEOUS.

"Hello," he said, in a voice that was all honey and sugar. "How are you today..." he paused as he looked at the right side of her polyester uniform and read her name tag, "Candy?"

Candy stared at him and melted, instantly, hopelessly, absolutely in love.

"How did you know my name?" she whispered dreamily.

"I saw it on your shirt," replied Galbard, the twinkle in his eye twinkling. "I noticed that many people wear their names on their shirts here. I would, if I was wearing one..."

Candy giggled, "You are the wisest man I know..."

"Many people think I am brilliant," smiled Galbard modestly. "Well, how about letting me in to the park now?"

Candy blinked, momentarily thrown back into the reality that she was actually at work and expected to do a job.

"Oh, yes, yes of course, I'm so sorry," she said, staring blindly at her keyboard having no idea of what to do. "Do you have your ticket?"

"I'm afraid I lost it," replied Galbard. "A friend of mine told me the most beautiful young lady in the world worked here and I just had to see for myself. My alarm failed to go off and by the time I woke up, I just had time to get my chaps on and oil my body and then take an Uber to the airport for my flight here. Imagine my surprise when I realize, I forgot my ticket."

She looked at him, heartbroken, "I'm sorry, but I can't let you into the park without a ticket. You'll never find the young lady you were searching for..."

Galbard smiled a smile that made her heart flutter, "But I HAVE found the young lady I was looking for...right here, in the ticket booth..."

Candy's mouth dropped open, "You came to see me?"

"Who else?" asked Galbard, drawing closer. "You wouldn't send me away after I traveled all this way just to see you, would you?"

Candy giggled mindlessly as she pressed the button for Galbard to enter. A moment later, he was at the booth's door and she let him in.

"Room for one more?" he asked sexily as he slid into the booth besides her.

She just stared at him as he leaned ever so casually on the button to open the gate and continued to do so as he spoke lovingly about himself for the next hour. Candy never noticed the four hundred people who marched through the gate, unable to take her eyes off of Galbard for even a moment.

"My dear," he said softly as the last of the crew entered the gate, "I am going to take a quick dip in the pool so that my hair will look even more alluring and fabulous and then I want to meet you once you go on break."

"Meet me at the "Ten Banners Chickie Dippy Luncheonette", she said softly. "I'll be there in an hour..."

"The "Ten Banners Crappy Dappy Luncheonette," he stated, leaning closer, "In an hour, my sweet...till then," he leaned closer and she puckered up, but he kissed her gingerly on the forehead.

She opened her eyes, appearing confused.

"Let your forehead enjoy what your lips desire," he said in a sultry voice. "Confucius..."

"You have the wisdom of a ninja, or a Jeopardy champion..."

She stared at him dreamily as he slipped out the door and winked. Watching him walk away, she let out a warm sigh. Suddenly, someone pounding on the window brought her back to her senses. Turning she forced a smile.

"Are you taking tickets or what?" snapped the irate fat man wearing swim trunks that accentuated both his horribly skinny legs and his enormous pot belly.

"Yes, sir, of course sir," she smiled. "Can I have your ticket please?"

***

The President stood, erect and proud on the tarmac awaiting the arrival of the Scottish Prime Minister. This afternoon would be the surrender of the Interplanetary Government. As he watched a large, silver jet gently drop from the sky towards the end of the runway, he thought of how history would view him. Oh, he knew he had his shortcomings as a leader, but he hoped that future children would not view him as an utter idiot. Still, a small voice in the back of his head advised him of two realities; one, he could do nothing to change the verdict of history and two, he had never liked children much anyway. Oh sure, he kissed them when he was campaigning and accepted their cards and well wishes and their little songs at his rallies and when they asked him cutesy questions that got played on YouTube and the evening news, but truth to tell, since they didn't vote, he could not care less about them. He liked puppies, even kittens, though he hated cats, cats were sneaky and not to be trusted, but kids, well, why the hell didn't they go to school or stay home instead of bothering him? Who the hell did they think they were, judging him?

A voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Sir, we're at the wrong terminal..."

The President looked up, "What?"

"We're at the wrong terminal," repeated his aide. "Apparently the plane that just landed was a group of semi-professional baseball players back from a tour of Japan. The Scots are supposed to meet us over at the terminal over there..."

The President shook his head; would nothing go right today?

Together with his entourage, the President began the trek across the tarmac seeking the proper area to stand in. Next to him, a man with a headset and dark glasses wearing a dark suit spoke into his mouth piece.

"Red Penguin One on the move, repeat Red Penguin One on the move..."

The President squinted, "My security name is not Red Penguin One."

The man frowned and once again spoke into his headset.

"Vicious Lily Five on the move, repeat, Vicious Lily Five..."

"It's not Vicious Lily Five, either," snapped the President.

"Wounded Dog Three?" asked the man.

"No..."

"Mister Nasty Pants Ten?"

"No."

"Zipper boy eleven?"

"No," replied the President. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm filling in for the head of your security detail, sir," stated the man, peering over his sunglasses. "He had an interview with Walmart, so he asked me to cover..."

"My security name is Apollo Seven," stated the President.

"Sort of pompous, don't you think?" asked the agent.

"No, I do NOT," snapped the President. "Why don't you go out and check the perimeter of something?"

"As head of the detail, I have to stay near you, sir."

"Why are you even talking?" asked the President. "Most of the time, unless they yell "DUCK", I don't even see my security people."

"Some people are higher profile than others," replied the agent, smiling at a cameraman who was taking their picture. "Besides, with the government going out of business, it doesn't hurt to have your picture in the news, even bad publicity has its uses, sir."

"Being with me is bad publicity?" asked the President.

"You bankrupted the planetary government, sir," replied the agent reasonably. "I mean, thousands of liberal arts college graduates who found a career in government work will be out of a job soon, probably a million people have lost their pension fund and frankly, many people are just plain annoyed by the whole thing. Honestly sir, I would not be surprised if I had to yell duck today, perhaps multiple times."

"So, things didn't go well," mumbled the President. "I prefer to remember the good times..."

The President thought back nostalgically and came up with getting his portrait put up in the Presidential bunker and the day they fired the dessert chef for making the ice cream too cold. Other than that, there wasn't much coming to mind...

"I believe that is their plane landing now, sir," stated the aide, pointing to a large silver jet with an enormous bagpipe painted on its side.

"Very well, gentlemen," stated the President, taking a deep breath. "Let's show the world how to grovel..."

***

All of the crew members of the Intrepid Monkey and some of their compadres had met at the "Pee in the Pool Lemonade Stand" at the center of the water park. Captain Stanwich nodded to the others and cleared his throat to get their attention.

"Now this isn't a competition," stated Captain Stanwich to the members of his crew and to those who were members of the Constellation's crew, "but if my crewmen find a way into the death star part of the ship, we win."

"No, Daddy," said Nicole softly. "We need to be careful and whoever finds a way in, we all win."

"That sounds like that everyone-gets-a-trophy-so-they're-all-losers talk they used to try and sell us in Little League," stated Mad Matt, not looking at all insane in a pair of swim trunks, water goggles, a gun belt with two mazers and a set of bandoliers across his chest. "I wanted to take a bat to all those people, but my Mom and several coaches restrained me. My plan for getting to the other side is to just blow a hole in a wall and killing everyone I encounter..."

"Not a bad plan, but what if the wall you blow is the one on the outside of the men's room?" asked Panther.

Mad Matt considered it a moment.

"Plumbing..." he whispered. "The plumbing has to be connected. We should follow the plumbing!"

"How do you follow the plumbing?" asked Tardy. "The plumbing runs under the floor, it's not exposed and besides, you're in a water park! The whole thing is plumbing."

"You're not suggesting that the men's room and the water slides are using the same water, are you?" asked Gil.

"Ewww..." whined Don.

"Of course, not..." began Tardy.

"Hell, it was a government job," stated Mad Matt. "They've probably got the water fountains connected to it too..."

"I'm going to be sick," stated Julie, looking very summery in a floral print summer dress.

"Could we please forget the plumbing," begged Nicole. "We need to find that entrance. I think we need to fan out, each of us take an area of the park and explore it for a connection to the other side."

"That's a great idea, honey," smiled Tardy. "Why don't you and I take the "Adventure Rapids" area, Gil, Julie, take "The Winding River Tour" area, Mad Matt and Panther and Anne, take "Death Plunge 4000" area, Chester, Don and Specialist Johnson, take, the "Up the Lazy River" area and the two captains, why don't you take, the "Surfing Safari" area?"

"I'm glad you don't want Panther taking "Surfing Safari"," smiled Mad Matt, "he might turn white again."

"I never turned white," snapped Panther. "I just lost touch with my blackness for a bit. I'm fine now, I could drink a forty and have sex with my woman right now if you want to know!"

"No, no you can't," stated Anne with a frown. "You have to find the other side of this ship while keeping an eye on the Neptune Ninja over there," she said, pointing at Mad Matt, "so focus, okay? I'm getting tired of you trying to prove you're black, it's like Barack Obama hanging with Oprah, no one is buying it, so get over it. No self-respecting black man needs to say he is black, just be a man and let the whole black thing work itself out on its own."

"I'm sorry, baby," stated Panther, putting his arms around her. "He just gets me worked up..."

"Well," drawled Anne, snuggling closer, "remember what Malcom X said, don't let whitey unblack you; okay? For me?"

"Anything for you," smiled Panther, planting a sweet kiss on her lips.

"Please, people, let's move out," said Tardy. "Lord knows that someone at this party is bound to make a mistake and casually mention that we're pirates so before we're found out, let's get moving. We probably don't have a lot of time. Stay in touch using your communicators..."

"So, who are we killing?"

Everyone turned to look at Psycho Sally, who seemed to have appeared from nowhere.

"Where is Belladonna?" asked Captain Galbard. "I assigned her to...look after you."

"She was getting on my nerves with her rules and regulations, "don't-forget-not-to-kill-anyone" blah, blah, blah, so I locked her in the Ladies Room and went out exploring on my own..." replied Sally casually. "By the way, I think I found a way over to the other side of the ship."

"Where?" asked everyone.

"Over by the "Ten Banners Tanning Salon" there is this big sign that says, "Come No Further, Military Area, Trespassers Will Be Vaporized", or something like that..."

"First Chester makes a logical suggestion and then Sally reads," murmured Tardy. "I think that's two of the seven signs of the apocalypse..."

"Can you take us there?" asked Captain Galbard, hitching up his chaps, ready for action.

"Let me get a lemonade first," replied Sally. "Welding that bathroom door shut was thirsty work..."

### Chapter 24

### "Only cops and vampires have to have an invitation to enter." – Christopher Moore

The initial meeting between the Scottish Prime Minister and the President of the Interplanetary Government needed to be held at what both sides considered safe and neutral ground. With safety a factor, it was decided that there would be three motorcades, each going to a separate location, two decoys and the actual motorcade containing the Prime Minister and the President.

Under tight security, one motorcade made its way to the Beige House, a second wound around the city and headed towards the ultra-secure Capitol Secret Meeting Room and the third made its way towards what the two sides considered the only available neutral ground for the meeting.

Due to the Scottish Prime Minister insisting on the meeting being held in the President's city, but on Scottish soil, the government had found itself dealing with options that were extremely limited. The Scottish Embassy was out due to Saturday being the maid's day off and an unwillingness for the Scots to get stuck paying overtime, so the Interplanetary Government made use of the only other available Scottish soil that could be found.

As the two men took their seats, each motioned for his personal aide to come closer.

"Get me a Big Mac and some fries," stated the President.

"And to drink, sir?" asked his aide.

"A root beer..."

The Prime Minister smirked.

"Special sauce will give you a fat bum," he laughed. Turning to his aide, he stated smugly, "Get me some McChicken Fingers with those apple slice things, what in the hell do they call 'em..."

"Apple fries, sir?" asked the aide.

"Aye, apple fries..."

"And to drink?"

"A diet Sprite with a wee drop of whiskey," smiled Harry. "Now the rest of you, piss off, I've got to speak with this bastard about the abdication..."

The two entourages immediately melted into the background, each person taking a plastic tray and staring up at the menu for no known reason because except for the occasional return and withdrawal of the McRib sandwich, the menu hadn't changed in over 300 years.

"My lawyers say that there are still a few items to work out, but if all goes well, all the legal mumbo jumbo will be taken care of and you will have full possession of everything by the end of next week, the latest," stated the President. "All of our assets are in the process of being switched to your accounts with the exception of the money from yesterday's rummage sale. It seems that the lunch lady in charge of the cake concession, Mrs. McNally, might have taken some free samples of one of the cakes home. The secret police are holding her and if I know those boys, they'll get what their after..."

"Good, good," replied Harry, sipping his Sprite and finding it tasted like triumph! "The formal ceremony will take place this afternoon, correct?"

"Yes, we'll make our speeches and then repair to the table where the documents will be signed," replied the President. "We'll have several pens, a different pen for each copy that we can give out as souvenirs to our staff."

"Isn't that the daftest tradition," mused the Prime Minister. "I've never found one of me staff who said, "Forego my salary, just give me a pen that you signed some bleeding treaty with". I never got the logic of it..."

"Me either," admitted the President. "I had an aide who begged for one of those pens and after he was indicted I found out that he had sold it on one of those computer sites like eBay or Amazon..."

"I had an aide who was building a doll house for his daughter out of them," replied the Prime Minister. "Stupidest thing you ever saw. Every time she put a dolly in it, the clothes got covered in ink, so all her dolls ended up naked and covered in ink. When the girl grew up, what happened? She turned into a nude lesbian tattoo artist, I tell you, the world is daft..."

"Isn't it nice?" smiled the President, "Here we are at an epoch of human history and we can still sit and talk like two human beings about the everyday moments in life..."

"Since we're friends, do me a favor," smiled the Prime Minister, "pass me a ketchup packet, these chicken fingers are as dry as dirt..."

***

The pirate group followed Psycho Sally, lemonade in hand, to the sign that she had told them about earlier. As they approached, Tardy cautioned them to at least try and act natural, but of course, that was easier said than done. Finally, Captain Stanwich sauntered up to the sign and squinted at it, slowly nodding and returning to the group.

"She's right," he murmured. "It is an entrance. The thing is, I don't see any guards..."

"Maybe they have a force field in place," ventured Don.

"We could test it," stated Nicole.

"How?" asked Gil.

"Why don't we take a beach ball from one of the pools and try to roll it through the door," offered Nicole. "If it gets vaporized, then we know it has a force field. If not, we can follow it in, saying we lost our beach ball."

"Makes sense to me," stated Mad Matt.

"Let's just say it makes sense," replied Tardy. "I'll go get a ball..."

Tardy casually stole a ball from a group of children and returned before they could tell their parents.

"I'll roll it in," stated Psycho Sally. "I used to bowl in an anti-terrorist bowling league."

"Anti-terrorist bowling league?" asked Galbard.

"We were against a lot of things," she replied, her eyes glittering at the memory, "terrorists, gun owners, non-gun owners, white people, black people, yellow people, red people, people, persons, humans, animals, vegetables..."

"Never mind, Sally," pleaded Tardy. "Can you please just roll the ball?"

Without another word, Sally took the ball and strode up to the opening and bowled the beach ball through the doorway. Everyone tensed, waiting for an alarm or some sort of response, but nothing happened.

"Nothing?" cried Mad Matt. "What a crock! I thought for sure we'd get into a fire fight with them and instead we get nothing, nothing at all! I haven't been this disappointed since I went to Cawker City, Kansas to see the Ass Museum..."

"There is an Ass Museum?" asked Gil, just before Julie elbowed him to prevent him from asking.

"Yeah," replied Mad Matt. "Cawker City used to have the biggest ball of twine in the world, but someone else grew a bigger one and they lost the title. Once they were the second biggest twine ball in the world, the tourist trade just dried up..."

"Well, Americans do love a winner," stated Stanwich thoughtfully.

"Exactly, so to reinvigorate the downtown area and to bring trade and commerce back to Cawker City, they opened the Ass Museum," replied Mad Matt.

"I know I shouldn't ask," said Nicole, ignoring Julie's angry stare and upset with herself but unable to contain her curiosity, "but what exactly is the Ass Museum?"

"Well, it's a combination of several earlier museums and exhibits," stated Mad Matt, an authoritarian air growing in the tone of his voice. "Historically, the early twenty first century is known as the Era of Asses, read any history text. For some reason, women's backsides were the most important thing and while, since that time, interest in the buttocks declined, many of us history buffs find it still to be a fascinating subject. A few years ago, the people of Cawker City decided to take some of the truly great rump inspired exhibits and combined them into one comprehensive, historically accurate museum. The curators combined "The Jennifer Lopez Booty Museum", "The Kim Kardashian Backside Bonanza", "The Iggy Azalea Ass-tropheria" and "The Joseph Biden Vice-Presidential Library" and presto; the Ass Museum."

"Why were you disappointed?" asked Gil after jabbing himself in the stomach to save Julie the trouble.

"I thought it would be more comprehensive," replied Mad Matt. "I searched high and low but there was not one reference to Britney Spears, Tiger Woods, Justin Bieber or Anthony Weiner..."

"Shouldn't we follow the ball?" suggested Tardy, not enamored with the subject at hand.

"Perhaps someone reasonable and responsible should stay back and try to organize some other people in case we run into trouble," suggested Julie.

"Panther, why don't you and Anne see if you can't get some of the others together and follow us," suggested Galbard. "With two groups, we might have a better chance of doing something."

"We'll try," stated Panther doubtfully. "Most of these people have had soda and you know what they're like when they get sugar..."

The others offered a sagely nod and then stealthily began to glide through the doorway that led to the Death Star side of the ship.

***

The Pope sat with his fingertips pressed together, his eyes closed and his chin upon his chest. As Cardinal Benny sat hopefully, looking at His Holiness' face on the viewing screen, he was hoping that he was just saying a quiet prayer and not contemplating killing any of them. With a deep breath, Benny continued.

"Holiness, so far, it appears that the people on the Death Star have no idea that they're hosting several hundred pirates at a fake bachelorette party," he said, trying to sound upbeat. "I'm thinking, in a few years we'll laugh..."

"Benito," interrupted the Pope, "Benito...I know you have a difficult assignment, believe me, I understand that the people you work with have certain...inabilities, but Benito, as much as I pray at this moment and as hopeful as I am trying to be, I cannot in my wildest dreams believe that we will EVER laugh about this..."

"Poor choice of words, your Holiness," replied Cardinal Benny. "I'm sorry..."

"And the supplies they were supposed to be getting, Benito," asked the Pope softly. "Where are the supplies? Despite our concern for their welfare, we must not forget why they were sent on this mission in the first place."

"As near as we can tell, the ship is docked on the Death Star as well," replied Benny. "With any luck, they might be able to borrow some..."

The Pope opened his eyes and stared at Cardinal Benny, "No. No. No."

"No, Holy Father?" asked Benny softly.

"No, Benito," replied the Pope. "As soon as is humanly possible, get them out of there and back to Zooks. We will find another shipment for them to hijack. Just get them home, Benito and keep me informed."

"I'm sorry, your Holiness," said Benny mournfully.

"I understand, Benito," replied the Pope. "I know what you are up against. Honestly, no, I can't even imagine dealing with your people day in and day out, but... just get them home, Benito. We will talk later..."

"Thank you, your Holiness," replied Cardinal Benny as the screen went dark.

Benny looked at the screen, feeling slightly ashamed. It seemed he and the Pope never spoke unless he had bad news to share. Perhaps it was his fault, perhaps he should call the Pope when everything was going well...Benny slapped a hand to his forehead. If that were the case, he would never speak to the Pope again...

### Chapter 25

### "Changing is what people do when they have no options left." – Holly Black

The day had been grueling, filled with long impassioned speeches and harsh declarations, but at last, the time had come for the dissolving of the Interplanetary Government and recognition of the Scottish Government as the supreme power on earth. When the Prime Minister and the President had finished their Shamrock Shakes, they had gotten into a limousine together for the ride to the Beige House.

Now, the President, the Prime Minister and their entourages took their places around the enormous table that sat in the main conference room of the Beige House, the media cramming as many cameras, recording devices and cell phones into the room as space would allow.

The documents, formally surrendering the power and possessions of the Interplanetary Government sat on the table, two enormous copies, both richly embossed and ready for the historic signatures.

Both men sat down, gravely studying the papers before picking up their pens, each taking stock of the roll he would play in this historic moment. For Sir Harry, it was the culmination of a lifetime of Scottish dreams and hopes, for the President, a chance to reassess his life, commit himself to new and different dreams and spend the huge amount of cash he had squirrelled away while "serving" the public.

Just as pen was set to meet paper, the doors behind the President suddenly swung open and in walked a large, angry black woman with a bandana tied across her head, pulling a large garbage can upon which hung bottles of cleaning fluids. Taking two steps into the room, the woman looked at the group assembled, at the cameras and then at the table top in utter and complete disgust.

"When the hell are you motherfuckers going home?" she snapped, her voice filled with angry indignation. "How in hell am I 'sposed to clean these damn rooms..."

Suddenly she stopped speaking as Sir Harry and his brother turned about to see the source of the unwelcome interruption. The woman stared at them, her mouth agape as they stared at her, their eyes growing wider.

"Peanut? Juju bean?" she cried.

"Mama?" asked Sir Harry.

Little Mac jumped up.

"Mama!" he yelled, running into the woman's thick arms, quickly followed by his brother as the other people in the room sat in stunned silence.

"My boys, my boys," cried the woman, holding them to her and kissing them repeatedly. "Give yo' Mama some sugar! What the fuck you doin' here?"

"We came to take over the world, Mama," stated Little Mac excitedly.

"You shittin' me?" she asked, a smile breaking out over her heavy features.

"Uh, Mister Prime Minister," began the President. "I hate to interrupt your family reunion..."

"Motherfucker always interrupting, never got nothing to say, but he ALWAYS gotta talk," frowned Mama. "Don't you see I'm talkin' to my boys, why don't you hush yo' mouth?"

"Your boys?" asked the President. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but your sons...don't resemble you..."

"Oh, you talkin' shit cause I'm black and they's white," she barked. "No shit, like I can't see dey white. Well if you must know, they Daddy was white..."

"God rest his soul," said Sir Harry, blessing himself and then spitting on the carpet.

"I was workin' my way through cleaning woman school on a partial scholarship," stated Mama, tilting her head to the side as her eyes looked back across the years. "Got me a job working for a big important politician in Scotland. Ugliest man you ever want to see, skin so white looked like he crawled out from under a rock, hair red like his head was on fire and you couldn't understand a damn word he said..." she gave a reluctant smile as she continued wistfully, "Ugly fucker had skin the color of milk, but I tell you true, he could fuck..."

"Oh God, MAMA!" snapped Sir Harry, putting his hands over his ears.

"Hush yo' mouth," snapped his Mother, reaching over to swat him repeatedly about the head with her toilet cleaner bottle. "How the hell you think you got here, a fuckin' stork? You got here like everyone else..."

"Mama, not in front of the press," begged Little Mac, his face red with the embarrassment that only the children of "outspoken" parents know and dread.

Mama turned and swatted him with the bottle as he beat a hasty retreat.

"Don't you correct yo' Mama!"

"Madam," began the President, feeling completely out of place. "I hate to interrupt again, but we really need to sign these papers so that we can hand over the government to your sons..."

The woman's face lit up.

"You gonna be President of the whole world?" she asked excitedly.

"We're gonna own everything, Mama," stated Sir Harry. "The court said they've got to hand over their swag..."

"I'm so proud of my boys," smiled Mama, hugging her two sons to her ample bosom. "You know, now that you two is set, I'm thinkin' it might be time for me to retire..."

"Why did you continue as a cleaning lady if you and their father were together?" asked a member of the press.

"Ain't no man gonna tell me what to do, don't care if he a Lord or Duke or nothing. Lord or Duke my ass, I had a career, got my own money, don't need no maaaaan..."

"Well, you probably won't be able to retire now," mused the President. "We had to hand over everyone's pension fund as part of the deal. No former government employee is going to get a pension now..."

Mama's eyes grew large, "What the fuck you mean I ain't got no pension?"

"They owed us the money..." began Little Mac.

"So, you steal yo' Mama's pension?" snapped Mama, chasing both him and his brother with her toilet cleaner bottle. "I worked 35 years fo' that money, you better pay me my money! I'm yo' Mama, but I WILL cut yo' ass!"

"But they took our money, Mama," pleaded Harry, crouching down beside the President to make a smaller target.

"Well, get it back from him!" snapped Mama.

"We tried but he wouldn't pay us back," replied Little Mac, cowering in the corner.

Turning on the President, Mama advanced with menace in her eyes.

"Give my baby's back the money you done stole from them!" she roared, raising the bottle skyward.

"Ma'am, I would love to pay them back, but I simply do not have the money," replied the President, slouching low in his seat and seeking an exit.

"How much did you borrow?" she snapped, towering over him, ready to bring the bottle down on his head.

"Nine hundred and fifty million, trillion golds," replied the President. "Of course, with interest payments, it's somewhat higher..."

Mama frowned, "That ain't shit. I had more than that on layaway at Walmart last year at Christmas time. I got both my boys the new Nintendo and those sneakers that that basketball player has those children in China make and a whole bunch of shit. I went a little overboard, I don't want my boys goin' without..."

"I liked the sneakers, Mama," said Little Mac, cautiously drawing nearer.

"Yeah, that's why you wearin' those black shoes," she replied, her frown deepening. "Don't give me no bullshit, don't you try and bullshit yo' Mama!"

"How did you pay off the debt?" asked Sir Harry, happy that Little Mac had gotten in trouble and taken some of the heat off of him.

"Got a second job, just like everyone else," she replied. Turning on the President, she put her hands on her hips and leaned in closer, her voice at full volume. "Did you borrow the money?"

"Well yes..." he began.

"Then get another job, motherfucker, and pay my baby's back!" she roared. "I got a bill, I got to pay it," turning to one of the cameramen, she pointed to him, "he got a bill, he got to pay it," pointing towards a news person she continued, "she got a bill, she got to pay it..."

"But we're a government, Ma'am," replied the President, "we create bills, we technically don't pay them..."

"You took mah baby's money, you better pay him back," she said, raising the bottle and swiping the President across the head with it as his guards took cover. "Pay my babies back the money yo' done stole. Get a second job motherfucker!"

"We're government people, Mama," stated Little Mac, "technically, we don't have a first job..."

Mama turned and threw the bottle of cleaner at him, knocking him to the ground.

"You shut the fuck up when yo' Mama's talkin' or I swear I'll pull down yo' pants and beat yo' ass right here in front of evvvvverybody!" Turning back to the President her eyes bulged from her head like a pair of angry ping pong balls. "You spent da damn money, you pay it back!"

"Technically, it was the people's money..." began the Finance Minister.

"You open yo' mouth again and I will knock you out!" snapped Mama. "Ain't no one talking to yo' ass!" Turning back to the President she continued as the Finance Minister cowered lower in his chair. "What the hell type a Mama did you have, jackass? She ain't taught you that you broke it, you fix it, you borrowed it, you give it back and you spent it, you damn well better have the money to pay for it????"

"My mother was a saintly woman," stated the President with a great somber dignity. "She lived with me a great many years until she lost her pension and I had to lease the gardener's hut to her, at the family discount of course..."

Mama's eyes bulged out further, "Don't give a shit about yo' Mama, understand? Pay my babies back the money yo' done stole from them, get a second job motherfucker!" Turning to all of the government officials assembled, she swept her beefy arm out in front of them, "All ya' all, get a second job!"

***

"That's the toilet," stated Gil, exiting a door on the right side of the hallway and rejoining the growing group of pirates who had found their way into the lower levels of the Death Star.

It appears that these levels have been deserted," stated Tardy, "but I don't understand why..."

"Maybe they found out that I'm carrying nitroglycerin in my shoes," offered Psycho Sally hopefully.

"I hate to be negative, but I think we're going to die, Gil," whispered Julie softly into her husband's ear.

"HALT!" called out a voice.

Turning, the group saw a platoon of Interplanetary stormtroopers marching down the corridor.

"What do you people think you are doing here?" snapped the lieutenant at the head of the group.

"We lost our beach ball," stated Nicole, "we were playing kickball and it rolled in the open doorway. At first, we couldn't find it, so we called some of our friends to help look for it and then...we found it..."

The lieutenant processed the information, "Sounds kind of sketchy..."

"We need a distraction," whispered Gil to Julie. "I'll make a run for it and you save yourself."

"I won't leave you, Gil," replied Julie, grasping his arm. "Whatever happens, I'll never leave you!"

The pirates glanced at one another. The guards were heavily armed and outnumbered them, there seemed no hope of escape. Tardy wrapped his arms around Nicole, if they had to be captured, at least they would be together. Galbard nodded to the others, even he had to acknowledge the hopelessness of the situation. There seemed nothing to do but give themselves up when suddenly and without any previous foreshadowing, Specialist Johnson grabbed his chest, emitted a loud cry turned a slight shade of purple and fell down at the feet of the guards!

"Get a medical unit down here," called out the lieutenant. "We've got a man down!"

"I'll go phone for help!" yelled Galbard, running swiftly down the hallway in the opposite direction, beckoning to his fellow pirates.

"I'll help you," stated Gil, grabbing Julie by the hand and taking off after him.

"Me too," declared Nicole, grabbing Tardy and her father and urging them down the hallway.

"Us too," cried the others, running after their respective captains.

"Good," called out the lieutenant. Turning to his men, he asked, "Does anyone have any medical knowledge?"

"I dissected a frog in high school," ventured one of the men, removing his helmet and squinting at the prone form of Specialist Johnson.

The lieutenant considered it, "No, we'll wait for the medics..."

***

Commander Masterson sat in his bubble bath sipping a Lemon Drop Martini and listening to his favorite album, "The Greatest Hits of Air Supply". A man had to make a stand and Masterson was hoping against hope that his plan would work out in the manner in which he had imagined. If only...

The door to his suite buzzed and he reached over and pushed the communicator button.

"Yes?"

"Commander, we seem to have a problem on deck 39," stated Manly.

"I've order deck 39 closed," replied Masterson. "Do we have a water leak? Don't you hate that, you close off something and the first thing you know the plumbing..."

"No sir, it's not a water leak. We sent a platoon down to check, we had an electronic warning signal go off indicating that people had invaded the area and they found some people there. One of them apparently had a heart attack and the others ran off."

"Why did they let them go?" asked Masterson.

"Well, they said they were going to call for help..." began Manly.

"Did we get a call?" asked Masterson.

"No sir, but the lines have been busy..."

Could this be what he had been waiting for, wondered Masterson.

"Open all hailing frequencies," stated Masterson, rising from his tub and seeking out his towel. "I'll meet you on the bridge shortly..."

### Chapter 26

### "The two most common elements in the universe are hydrogen and stupidity." – Harlan Ellison

Gil ran for all he was worth, holding Julie's hand tightly and wishing that he had stuck with the exercise regime he had begun several years ago. It wasn't that he was in bad shape for a man his age, but if it weren't for the absolute panic he was feeling driving him forward, he was certain that he would have stopped running and passed out from lack of oxygen by now. The pain he was feeling in his chest had begun to bring back his old fears that this tubing was not up to snuff. He had expressed his fear to his new doctor, who went to great lengths to explain that God did not make anyone part man, part aardvark tubing and that his veins and arteries were perfectly normal. Still, the pain in his chest was real as was the incredibly loud wheezing sound that he was making.

Beside him, Julie was running for all she was worth and dealing with the fact that she was annoyed that the new sandals she was wearing were really not providing the traction that the advertisement promised. She hated buying shoes on line, but the Amish Shoe Store in their neighborhood really didn't have much of a selection outside of black shoes with sensible heels and boots to plow the fields in. She had eight pairs of black shoes with sensible heels and she hated every single one of them. These sandals had been endorsed by a woman who had won a gold medal at the Olympics. True, she had no idea what she had won the medal for, but you would think they wouldn't slip and slide the way they did.

Turning a corner, the group ran into a large group of Interplanetary Guards who were apparently sent to look for them. Both groups looked at one another, completely startled by the other groups sudden appearance. The impasse was broken when Mad Matt pulled out one of his mazers and opened fire.

Chaos erupted and people ran screaming in every direction, everyone except Mad Matt and Psycho Sally, who stood in the middle of the hallway, happy expressions on their faces. Sally suddenly removed one of her shoes, pulled a lighter from her utility belt and lit the shoelace, throwing the shoe at the group of soldiers. The shoe fell in the middle of the group and exploded, sending guards flying in every direction.

"I wish I could do that to these sandals," sighed Julie, crouching down behind her husband.

The explosion caused enormous holes in the floor and walls, but the gun battle ceased.

"Nice toss," said Mad Matt, obviously smitten with his co-commando.

Sally looked away demurely for a moment before replying, "Thanks. You shoot like you're cross-eyed, you should have taken out half of them before I even got the shoe lit..."

"Let's go!" snapped Galbard, bringing everyone back to their senses, or what passed for them.

"This way!" yelled Tardy, springing down a side hallway at the end of which was a bank of elevators.

Upon reaching the elevators, he struck the button and instantly the wall beside him exploded. Turning back around, the pirates saw another group of soldiers at the end of the hallway they had just vacated pointing weapons in their direction. Mad Matt opened fire with his two mazers, pinning the soldiers down while the others tried to find cover, waiting impatiently for the elevator to arrive.

At last, the doors of the elevator slid open and as many pirates as could get in, forced their way in.

"Go ahead," screamed Mad Matt over his shoulder, obviously having the time of his life. "I'll keep these guys busy!"

"Me too," yelled Psycho Sally, removing her swim goggles. "These are filled with mustard gas..."

The doors slid shut and suddenly, the group was surrounded by near silence, the gun battled suddenly removed by the closing of the doors.

"Hit a button, to any floor," urged Tardy, crushed in the back of the crowded elevator.

Nicole was crouching down near the panel and reached up, slapping a button. Immediately the elevator jerked upwards.

Captain Stanwich stood up, the first to come out of the crouch that they had all assumed, his eyes squinted in thought.

"Is that "Girl from Ipanema"?" he asked, pointing towards the speaker overhead.

Tardy looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

"No," replied Gil thoughtfully, "I think it's "A Bit of Honey"..."

"Oh, yeah," smiled Galbard, rising and nodding his head in time to the music. "Some of these songs you never hear anymore unless you're on an elevator or in the Supermarket..."

"I heard Sade's "Smooth Operator" at my dentist's office," offered Chester.

"Could we please discuss what we are going to do. Maybe we should try to contact Panther and Anne..." began Tardy before he heard Nicole give a little squeal of delight.

"What is it?" asked Julie.

"THIS is the color red I wanted for the bridesmaid dresses!" snapped Nicole, pointing to the interior walls of the elevator.

"It's more of a burgundy than a true red," stated Galbard.

"It would look so good with the table cloths..." she began.

"It would really pull the carpet and the drapes into the scheme as well," stated Tardy, looking at the walls for the first time.

"It would set the floral center pieces off as well," agreed Julie. "It would be lovely..."

Suddenly, the elevator slowed and stopped, the doors sliding open. The pirates threw themselves against the walls, but nothing happened. Peering out, Galbard looked down the empty hallway before them.

"What floor..." he began as a face suddenly loomed up before his.

"You're on the second floor," stated Psycho Sally.

The group jumped back at the sudden intrusion.

"How did you get up here?" asked Julie.

"Took the stairs," stated Sally. "I think there was some sugar in that lemonade, I think I could run a marathon..."

"What happened to Mad Matt?" asked Stanwich.

"I'm here," stated Mad Matt. "I beat her up the stairs..."

"You run like a girl," snapped Sally.

"You wish you ran like a girl," replied Matt.

"Okay, children, let it go," stated Tardy. "Let's get off the elevator and formulate a plan. I'm sure we don't have a lot of time."

"Before we go, I really want to get a sample of that color..." pleaded Nicole, pointing back towards the wall.

"No problem," stated Mad Matt, unholstering his gun and shooting a hole in the wall of the elevator as the others dove for cover. Picking up a piece of the wall that had fallen from the hole that his shot had made, he handed it to Nicole, "For the bridesmaid dresses?"

"It will pull the whole color scheme together..." began Tardy, surprisingly enthusiastically.

"Please, can we go?" urged Gil. "I love wedding planning, but getting shot while doing it normally takes the fun out of it...."

***

"We're being invaded," mused Masterson, sitting in the commander's chair, listening to the men who had intercepted and then mislaid the people who had invaded his ship.

"It was an honest mistake, sir. After all, they said they were going to call for help," began the Lieutenant, silently wondering if the Commander was using a new coconut shampoo. He knew they had interrupted Masterson's bath and he detected coconut, but was it the shampoo or one of those new body washes? "Decent people would have run and called for help," he continued with a subtle sniff to affirm his suspicions, "but apparently, they just ran!"

"When people invade a ship, Lieutenant, the protocol is not to let them run for assistance," stated Masterson. "I thought that was part of the "What to do When People Invade the Ship" video that everyone had to watch."

"I didn't see that video, sir," stated the Lieutenant. "I had booked a spa appointment that day..."

"What of the fellow who faked the heart attack?" asked Manly, trying to keep the discussion on topic.

"He's dead," replied the Lieutenant. "According to the doctor he either ate a lot of bacon or was a secondary character..."

"So, what do we have?" asked Masterson suddenly. "We have a dead man who might or might not have been a plot device and we have a band of people who are running about the ship trying to avoid us. I believe gentlemen, what we have right here on our ship is a pirate attack!"

"Pirates? Here?" asked Manly, feeling decidedly unlike his name. "These people did not seem like pirates, sir. They were dressed in flip flops and had a beach ball."

"People chasing beach balls rarely run away from authority," stated Masterson thoughtfully. "If they were wearing flip flops, they rarely run period because the stupid things slide off and you have to do that awkward, half a step back to catch it with your big toe before you can move forward again step..."

"They're so uncomfortable," agreed the Lieutenant. "Why do people wear those to the beach? You have to accept the fact that sand is going to get into your shoes and instead, you wear shoes that not only do NOT keep out the sand, but that invite it in by falling off your feet."

"Often, I just walk bare foot..." stated Manly.

"But what if the sand is hot?" countered the Lieutenant.

"Well then..."

"Gentlemen," interrupted Masterson with a frown. "We have not solved the problem of the pirate invasion, what makes you think we are going to solve the dilemma of sand appropriate footwear?"

"There's always deck shoes or moccasins..." murmured the Lieutenant.

"Both too low to keep out the sand," countered Manly.

"Pirates..." drawled Masterson. "Let's think about the pirates, please..."

"What if we release paralyzing gas on all of the decks, then we can send crews out to check all of the people and round up the pirates!" stated Manly.

"Fine idea, but if we paralyze the entire crew, who is going to maintain the ship?" asked Masterson. "The gas works for twelve hours and other than the kitchen staff, I can't think of a crew member we can do without for that length of time."

"I hate the woman who makes the burritos," confessed the Lieutenant. "I mean, if you're making a bean burrito, put some beans in it, you know what I mean?"

The men from his squad, who were standing around listening to the conversation nodded in agreement.

"And why isn't the hot sauce hot?" snapped one of the stormtroopers suddenly as the others became more vocal in their agreement.

"It says hot, but it's mild," stated another one of the troopers.

"Last night's chicken alfredo was swimming in sauce," stated another. "I mean, I like sauce, but when you can't find the pasta for the sauce..."

"Gentlemen, I am sorry for your dining woes," interrupted Masterson, "but we still have pirates running about the ship. We need to think about how to handle this, but know one thing; I want these people captured, not killed."

"You don't want any of them killed?" asked one of the troopers. "Couldn't we kill the less important ones and just capture their leaders?"

Masterson moved slowly over to his questioner.

"Tell me, how will you tell who the leaders are and the lesser pirates are?" he asked sarcastically. "Is there some sort of insignia on their beach balls or their flip flops indicating rank?"

The trooper looked away, feeling somewhat silly.

"I suggest, Lieutenant, that you take your men and search the ship for the pirates," stated Masterson. "Manly, inform security that we have invaders and signal an internal red alert, but do not notify the rest of the fleet."

"But sir..." began Manly.

"That's an order, Manly," stated the Commander. "We don't want the rest of the fleet thinking we are the idiots who cannot maintain a pirate free water park. Think of what would happen if we got the reputation of not being able to handle a job that normally goes to mall police; we would never be able to walk into the yearly officer's Beach Blanket Bingo party with our heads held high ever again."

"I didn't think of that sir," replied Manly, moving to obey his orders. That was why Masterson was the Commander, he always considered all of the possibilities before he made a decision.

***

The President and the Prime Minister sat in the kitchen, alone with Mama and each with a cup of tea set in front of him. Mama had grabbed them both by the ears and dragged them here, away from the cameras, away from the reporters and away from any hope of either of them not getting a butt whipping if Mama didn't get what she wanted.

"Now drink yo' damn tea and settle this," she snarled. "I don't care how you do it, I don't care you sit here so long you shit yo' pants, you don't get up from this table 'til you fix this and get me my pension back!"

"Maybe," offered the President, "the Scottish Government could reinstate the pensions..."

"Why should I pay myself back the money you owe me?" snapped Sir Harry angrily. "I'm not doin' nothing with the money that you were supposed to do with it!"

"He's right," stated Mama, sitting heavily between the two and eyeing the President with angry eyes. "You fucked this up, you gotta fix it!"

"But I have no money..." began the President.

"Then that's it!" snapped Mama. "You need to get another job and pay his ass back, ain't no other way to do it!"

"But I wouldn't be able to pay him back in a thousand life times," whined the President.

"Then you get some of them damn friends of yours to get second jobs too!" snapped Mama. "Who are all those assholes out there, those senators and ministers and congressmen and shit. They borrowed that money too, didn't they?"

"Well, yes, they approved it..." began the President.

"Well then, those motherfuckers need to get other jobs too," she muttered, "and I don't want to hear no shit about it. They hirin' at the post office and Sappy's Fried Chicken is always lookin' for delivery people..."

"I can't deliver fried chicken," replied the President.

"You eat fried chicken?" asked Mama.

"Well..."

"Well if you eat it, yo' ass can deliver it! How the shit get from the box to yo' plate? You DELIVER it there, well it's the same shit whether you deliverin' to yo' plate or someone elses!" Mama leaned in, "You pay back that money and see I get my pension or no one is ever gonna find yo' ass again, you got it? I got some friends who are crazy motherfuckers and they don't care if you President or King or nothin'. My friend Igloo, he killed the President of the Philippines 'cause he owed him a hundred six pesos. I got a hundred six pesos, shit, bums on the street got a hundred six pesos, I could give him a hundred six pesos and he'd kill yo' ass, so don't think I'm playin'!"

"But Mama," interrupted Sir Harry, "if they keep the Interplanetary Government, I won't be the most powerful man in the world..."

"Shut up!" snapped Mama. Her features softened slightly and she took her son's hand, "Juju Bean..."

"He's Juju Bean?" asked the President. "I thought he was Peanut..."

"Other one's Peanut cause he's smaller," stated Mama. "I call him Juju Bean cause before he got his hair, his head was shaped funny, kinda looked like a Juju Bean..."

Turning back to her son, she continued her earlier conversation, "Now Juju Bean, I know you wanted to rule the world and I'm proud that you have dreams and want to reach yo' full potential. Every parent wants their child to do better than them, but if you take my pension away, ain't nobody gonna find yo' body neither. Now I ain't playin', you two make a new agreement where you pay my boy his money and you let him do whatever he has to do to get me mah pension and that's that, understand? I ain't playin' with ya'all..." Mama leaned back in her chair and shook her head, indicating that the discussion was at an end.

The President rose and extended his hand to Sir Harry, "I think we can work this out. Either way, for your mother's sake, let's try..."

Sir Harry rose and accepted the President's hand, "I suppose we'd better or she'll kill us both..."

"While you up, get me some more water for mah tea," said Mama sternly. " 'bout time somebody served my ass for a change..."

### Chapter 27

### "If stupidity got us into this mess, then why can't it get us out?" – Will Rogers

"So, we're here hiding in a janitor's closet being followed by teams of storm troopers and your suggestion is to take over the ship?" asked Gil incredulously.

Admittedly, his brain had not been working at full capacity lately, but the idea of taking over a ship where the enemy outnumbered you two to one AND you only had two people with guns on your side while everyone on their side seemed to have a gun made one's brain work better despite itself.

"It's a natural," replied Galbard, his brain working at its usual lower voltage setting. "The bridge is two stories above us, all we have to do is go to the bridge, seize command and get the commander to order the storm troopers to surrender and then we can take the whole ship back with us to Zooks!"

"What about the rest of the fleet?" asked Tardy. "Don't you think they'll be suspicious if their Death Star decides to go for a walk?"

Galbard chuckled knowingly, "That's easy. We just leave, boom! They won't know where we're going and we'll be gone before they can react, the element of surprise..."

"We have ten people in a janitor's closet and you think you can get a ship the size of a planet to surrender to us?" asked Julie. "Doesn't the math in that equation seem a bit out of whack even to you?"

"Math is for students too stupid to take multiple gym classes," snapped Mad Matt dismissively. "I say we go up there, blast everyone on the bridge, take control and them blow up the rest of the fleet!"

"Your idea has been noted and rejected," stated Stanwich. "The problem with it is that even I can see it isn't a good idea..."

"We have to decide on something quickly," stated Nicole nervously. "They are going to find us soon and I need to get this sample back to Zooks so the seamstress can find material in the same color for the bridesmaid dresses..."

"Besides the dress dilemma, it's kind of uncomfortable in here," stated Chester. "I have a bottle of bleach in a place no bottle of bleach should ever be stored..."

"Look," began Galbard, "We're all busy people. I've got a date in a little over an hour and if I'm going to make it, we're going to have to wrap this up, so Psycho Sally and Mad Matt, get us back to the elevator, we push the up button, go up two stories, leap out onto the bridge and take control of the ship, agreed?"

"Gil, say something," urged Julie.

"I would love to, but I have no plan or idea for a plan or hope of having an idea for a plan," stated Gil. "If we go to the bridge, they might not accidentally shoot us, they'd probably figure we've come to surrender and then with any luck, we can claim to be lost tourists, it's the only way out."

Julie smiled, obviously proud of him.

"And you said you had no plan..."

"So, we take the ship!" snapped Galbard, ignoring other ideas and logic.

Julie looked to Gil, who merely patted her hand and nodded towards Galbard.

"Let the Captain take the ship, the rest of us can be tourists or attempt a dignified or even cowardly surrender..."

***

The various toadies and entourages of the President and the Prime Minister sat before the media with nothing to say, a strange fact indeed. The press, anxious to tell their viewers at home that they were actually doing something even though there was nothing to do, decided to begin a round of questions. Since no one had any answers that were based upon fact, the questions were phrased in such a way that if anyone in the near future checked the facts, an extremely doubtful but possible possibility, no one could blame the reporters for announcing their findings before a confused and ultimately uninterested world.

Pat Harper, blonde, pretty, 40ish but looking 30ish news reporter for the Ingestion News Network opened up the proceedings.

"Do any of you know if either of these men is willing to hash out a different agreement than the one that they were about to sign?"

The toadies eyed each other, each one carefully considering the pecking order and giving a slight nod to the toady who occupied the title above them. Finally, the toadies stopped nodding until they got all the way up to the Finance Minister and Little Mac, both of whom had no idea of what to say or why.

"I believe," stated the Finance Minister, after it had become apparent that he HAD to say something, "that I can state categorically, that is to say, with a reasonable assumption, based upon extenuating facts that we, who are here with you now, can only guess at the probabilities and can issue a statement that would need in future to be amended, but that for the moment, should, in a calm and direct manner, instruct the general populace in the positive possibilities that are currently available."

The Scottish contingency looked to Little Mac, who cleared his throat and began, "In the spirit of justice and fairness, I can state with little or no solid evidence, that in all my years of public service, I have never participated in a situation that holds such possibilities and that I believe that we must have the capability, nay, the audacity, to hope!"

The news reporters each turned to their camera crews and began interpreting the possible meanings of each statement for their constituents.

"What in hell did that mean?" asked one of the very low-level toadies, who was immediately elbowed by a much higher toady.

"Meanings are unimportant," snapped the senior toady. "Sound and sincerity, sound and sincerity...what toady college did you go too?"

The low-level toady looked away, ashamed by his poor toady showing.

Little Mac and the Finance Minister smiled casually to one another; they could do this all day...

***

The doors to the elevator opened and the little group jumped inside and hit the button marked "Bridge". Inside everyone was nervous, each lost in their own thoughts...

Mad Matt dreamed of wiping out the entire crew and then taking the controls of the ship to personally vaporize the entire fleet of ships surrounding them.

Psycho Sally dreamed the same thing with the addition that she would get rid of some of the people in her own crew whom she did not like.

Nicole thought of this as the second most important moment of her life, her wedding to Skip being the first. If the second most important moment went poorly, there might not BE a first most important moment, so she was ready to do whatever it took to get this moment over and done with, especially now that she had found the bridesmaid's dress color. Wasn't it always true, she mused, that when a stroke of great luck finally arrived, something like an intergalactic fleet of pirate hunters came in and ruined the moment?

Captain Stanwich peered at his daughter and thought that one of the best things he had done as a father was to teach his daughter to swim. After all this was over, she could take a dip in one of the many pools and he would not have to worry about it, because she knew how to swim. It also freed him up to watch the other members of his crew because most of them did not know how to swim. Mad Matt swore he knew how to swim, but it was really just him holding his breath and hoping he didn't run out of air before he walked back from the deep end of the pool...

Captain Galbard thought that once this was all over, he really should ask the girl at the ticket counter to dinner. Not that he had any serious intentions of dating her, mind you, after all, she seemed a bit young for him. Still, he felt that he should take her to dinner because for the life of him, he could not remember her name. Now Galbard was a scallywag in the best pirate tradition, but even a pirate should have a sense of common decency and when you forgot someone's name, you kind of owed them something. Dinner would be a nice repayment for not remembering her name and sneaking five hundred of his best friends into the park for free. Galbard was fair in his own way...

Julie was praying that when the time came to explain how they had gotten lost on the enormous ship or when it became time to surrender, which should be as soon as they stepped off the elevator, that Gil would be able to say something other than "Uhhhhhhhhhhhh". With mazers pointed at your best friends and time being of the essence to make certain that no one was killed, a long, brainless pause could be deadly. Julie loved Gil, he really had so many fine qualities that his normally not being mentally alert did not bother her, but lately, his brain and his mouth could not be further out of synch, why this was she was not certain. Perhaps it was his new breakfast cereal; she had thought it would help him because the box said that it improved brain function, but apparently it was another example of false advertising, unless "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh" was considered improved brain function. Of course, if you were in a coma and suddenly you said "Uhhhhhhhhhh" then it would show that you could work your mouth and it WOULD be improved brain function, but for a man who had risen to the high position of Chief Pirate Accountant, it certainly was not an improvement. Gil was not in a coma, indeed, except for being hit by the soccer ball, he had never been close to being in a coma during his entire life, so she hoped he wouldn't resort to "Uhhhhhhhhhh" when the time came to speak to the men with the mazer rifles...

Don stood thinking of his girlfriend and wondering if he got out of this entire event alive, if he should not speed up their relationship a bit. They had been dating for about six months now and she seemed very nice and they had even kissed a bit, but perhaps he needed to be more forward about his intentions. Now if he survived this encounter, he thought that he might buy her a present that represented his special feelings for her. The trouble was that Don was always very practical in the gifts he bought for others. Don was not going to send you to a play, or on a romantic weekend, those were frivolous things. No, he would buy you a vacuum or perhaps a new blender, something useful and not too showy. On the outskirts of his intelligence, a small voice seemed to be yelling into the great abyss that was his mind that perhaps, just this once, frivolous might be a good change of pace. He had already gotten her both jelly and beer of the month club memberships and he had purchased for her a lifetime supply of floss and several sets of toothbrushes, but perhaps now, with a near death experience in the offing, something a little more sentimental and romantic might be the way to go. Perhaps cheese of the month club...

Chester stood beside Don, dreamy eyed and smiling. He had no real concept that there was an enormous amount of danger that they were about to face, his mind lost on how he would make Xiang's bath more special tonight. If he added the lemon bath salts and THEN the lavender, it might make the bath even more enjoyable for his baby pooh-pooh, but he remembered Xiang once telling him that she did not favor lemon meringue pie which could indicate a dislike for other lemon scents and flavors. Would she consider him inconsiderate for not remembering her dislike? Heaven forbid his boo-boo panda thought that he was not thinking of her, but how to solve the lemon problem, how indeed...

Gil stood in the elevator beside Chester wondering how his tubing would stand the strain of this latest fiasco. A man had only so many times to test his physical metal before his body began to breakdown and this could be the one that finally killed him. After all, Mad Matt could be both right and wrong; while his last name was Johnson and while he was a main character he might still get killed. They killed Janet Leigh in "Psycho" half way through the movie. Still, Hitchcock was a cinematic genius whose vision was so startling and revolutionary that such things had to be taken as a natural extension of his story telling prowess. His mind began to wander and he began to think of Julie in a 1950's style bullet bra like Janet Leigh wore at the beginning of "Psycho"... Hitchcock was a genius alright...

Galbard smiled, stepping forward towards the door as the bell rang and glancing back at the others announced in a loud voice, "IT'S SHOWTIME!!!!"

### Chapter 28

### "Sometimes by losing a battle, you find a new way to win the war." – Donald Trump

Before the elevator doors had finished swinging open, Mad Matt jumped onto the bridge, his mazer gun pointed towards the large group of men standing beside the captain's chair.

"Surrender you..." he began.

Unfortunately, twenty-five highly trained storm troopers swept him aside and piled on top of him before he could continue his thought.

Behind him by only a second, Psycho Sally jumped from the elevator and held up her mazer gun and began, "Death to..." before another twenty-five highly trained storm troopers swept her aside and piled on top of her.

Galbard stepped out into the breach and repeated, "IT'S SHOW..." before being swept away on another tide of storm troopers.

Feeling compelled to join in the "battle", Captain Stanwich stepped out onto the bridge and held up his hands.

"Might I ask how many more troopers are on the bridge?"

The troopers looked to the commander who swept his gaze, left to right over the enormous group of well-armed fighting troops at his disposal.

"I would say about eighty," stated Masterson.

Stanwich considered it.

"Might any of them be going on break soon?"

Masterson thought a moment, "No, I'm afraid no one is scheduled for break for at least another hour..."

Stanwich turned back towards the elevator, "I'm not feeling good about this, perhaps we should come back later..."

A small avalanche of troopers piled upon him before he could step back into the elevator.

Feeling Julie's elbow in his ribs, Gil stepped forward, "Excuse me, who is in charge?"

"That would be me," replied Masterson.

"My wife and I are tourists who got lost on what we thought was a tour of the water park..." he began.

"Who is your ranking officer?" interrupted Masterson.

Gil glanced back at the elevator and then returned his gaze to the Commander. Tardy technically should have been in charge, but he was soon to be a newlywed. Gil might not be the speaker everyone thought he should be, but he had a romantic streak and he was not about to let Tardy miss out on his wedding if he could prevent it.

"I suppose it would be me, I'm the chief accountant..."

"I want to parley with you," stated Masterson.

Gil considered it for a moment. Parley? What was there to parley about?

"Uhhhhhhhhhh, sure..."

"Follow me, please," stated Masterson, standing up and walking towards a doorway opposite the elevator that opened up into a conference room.

Gil, feeling he had no choice, discreetly made his way around the large piles of individuals that now covered his friends and made his way towards the room as the elevator doors closed on the remainder of the group.

***

The conference room was enormous, even by enormous conference room standards, painted all white with subdued lighting and dark, thick carpeting. In the center stood an enormous table made of black glass surrounded by about sixty chairs. A viewing screen approximately the size of a movie theater screen stood to the left of the entrance door. Opposite the door stood an enormous photo of the President, the cabinet members and several autographed photos of the stars of "Jackass".

As the door of the conference room closed, Gil was motioned to a seat at one opposite end of the table from the view screen while Masterson took the seat below the screen on the other end. On either side of the table and behind Gil, heavily armed storm troopers stood in lines three deep, about seventy all told, each staring at him like a Great Dane who had just heard the word "Bone".

Gil tried to remember Julies admonition not to say "Uhhhhhhhhhh" but if there ever was an "Uhhhhhhhhhhh" moment, this was it. His hesitation to say anything caused Masterson to speak first.

"I am Commander Masterson of the Intergalactic Fleet's Death Star, slash water park, Federation," began Masterson. "Who am I addressing?"

Gil glanced up at the storm troopers. Should he completely give up on the "lost tourist" idea? Where would that leave Julie? Perhaps he could dodge the question by being evasive.

Clearing his throat began, "I might be Gil Johnson, Chief Pirate Accountant or I might be a lost tourist..."

"They sent an accountant to seize my ship?" asked Masterson indignantly, obviously not fooled by Gil's attempt at a clever dodge.

"No, no," replied Gil, sensing that Masterson was annoyed, "they sent two of their best captains, Galbard and Stanwich...they're each lying beneath a mountain of your troopers outside..."

"Were they the first two?" asked Masterson for clarification.

"No, the second two," replied Gil. "The one with the chaps and speedo, that was Galbard and the very polite one, that was Stanwich..."

Masterson considered it for a moment and then leaned forward, all business.

"Mister Johnson, you find yourself in a truly unique position," he began. "I could crush your people like the dreams of a bad singer on "The Voice", but I am not inclined to do so..."

"Really?" asked Gil. "Seemed a natural end to the sequence of events..."

"I'm thinking, Mister Johnson, that perhaps you and your friends have something that I might want AND that I might be willing to negotiate for," replied Masterson, his eyes boring into Gil's like a hypnotist wanting an audience member to act like a chicken.

"Well, we are open to any negotiation, of course," began Gil. "I fail to see what we have that you might be interested in negotiating for, but of course, we might be able to steal something really nice for you...do you like suede?"

"What I want from you, Mister Johnson, is something a little less tangible," stated Masterson.

Gil squinted in thought. No matter what happened, he would never divulge information about the pirates or give up the locations of the planets they serviced. He would rather die than tell them anything; well, maybe not die. He would certainly allow them to beat him up pretty severely before he cracked. Though a physical beating would probably hurt a lot, so maybe he would ask for more psychological torture than beating, perhaps they could make him listen to bad music for a long time. Maybe if he happened to mention that he wasn't a fan of boy bands...

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh....," began Gil, unable to think of anything better.

"I want freedom, Mister Johnson," continued Masterson. "I am tired of my command being the servant of idiots, so I want to go to work for you and your people."

Gil blinked, "You don't want to work for idiots but you want to work for us?" Gil scratched his head, "At the risk of ruining what could be a really good deal for us, honesty compels me to suggest that you might want to take a closer look at the people on this side of the fence..."

"Don't be coy with me, Mister Johnson," roared Masterson. "I want to negotiate the surrender of this vessel and the liberty of your people in exchange for command of a pirate vessel, a guaranteed retirement plan, a large but not ostentatious estate with servants and some really good dental benefits!"

Gil blinked a few hundred times before his brain and mouth decided to work together. Leaning back in his chair, he responded cautiously, "How old are you?"

Masterson leaned back in his chair, "Forty-one..."

Gil nodded, "I could get you into a 401k retirement plan where the company matches up to four percent of your investment, but you could invest up to ten percent of your salary pre-tax and where you would make a minimum income of thirty-two thousand golds per year upon retirement. Now we have several dental plans to choose from, I can get you brochures. My biggest concern is the estate; I can guarantee you a house, but an estate, well, we're pirates and our homes tend more towards comfortable middle-class affordability with several very interesting and, I dare say, homey features. Mind you, if you wanted a fashionable condo, well the sky is the limit, but a truly grand house, well, that would take some time and there are no guarantees."

Masterson leaned back to consider the offer.

"While you're thinking," stated Gil, "what about the crew on board? I mean, all of these people? Are they all willing to drop their lives and relocate to a foreign planet while taking up an illegal trade?"

Masterson glanced at the guards, "They're storm troopers, Mister Johnson, they're three levels below the lowest secondary character. They won't complain, trust me, you could house them in shoeboxes if you'd like. Go ahead, blow up a few hundred of them, it doesn't matter..."

Gil nodded, he thought he saw light at the end of the negotiation tunnel...

***

"Why are we all just standing in the elevator?" asked Julie.

The others turned and looked at her, unsure of what to say.

"I love my Father," stated Nicole sincerely, "but he's lying under an avalanche of storm troopers. Everyone, except Gil, who left this elevator is lying under an avalanche of storm troopers. I do not want to be lying under an avalanche of storm troopers, so I'm staying put."

"But Gil ISN'T lying under an avalanche of storm troopers," replied Julie, obviously moved. "What have they done with him?"

"I'm not that curious," stated Don to no one in particular. "Mind you, I like Gil, he makes a great sandwich, but four out of five people is a pretty convincing statistic..."

Julie turned to Skip, "What have you got to say?"

Skip frowned, "I don't want to sound selfish, but I'm getting married in a few weeks. This is just not a good time to test the unknown..."

"We need to come up with a plan," stated Julie. "We need to arm ourselves, get reinforcements, do something!"

"We had two guns and they're under about fifty people right now," stated Don reasonably. "We lost Panther and Anne somewhere about thirty floors below us, our reinforcements are in a water park playing on the slip and slides, so I don't think they'd readily respond to a call for help..."

"I don't blame them," smiled Chester dreamily. "I was going to try that "Up a Lazy River" ride myself, it seemed so peaceful..."

"Could we please focus here?" asked Julie. "My husband may be undergoing an interrogation as we speak!"

"Knowing Gil, all he'd say is "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" anyway," mused Don.

The others tried to hide their laughter from Julie with little success.

Julie looked at them, her anger growing.

"At least Gil was brave enough to step off the elevator!" she countered.

"Well, no one was holding a volley ball cannon at him," replied Don.

Julie tried to suppress her smile, "Don't bring THAT up again..."

"Volley ball?" asked Tardy.

"I told you," replied Nicole, "Mad Matt's Test Course of Death..."

"Oh," smiled Tardy, suddenly remembering, "yeah, yeah..."

"Cut it out," smiled Julie, "it wasn't funny. He could have been hurt..."

Despite her best intentions, Julie began to snicker as the others began to laugh.

The elevator jerked slightly, bringing the laughter to an end.

"Maybe someone just hit the button on another floor," whispered Chester, trying to think happy thoughts.

Slowly the doors drifted apart and forty or so storm troopers stood, guns poised and aimed at the little group.

"You will come with us," stated one of the troopers.

"Sure, why not," replied Julie. "We couldn't make our minds about what we were doing here anyway..."

### Chapter 29

### "If the future didn't feel weirdly unexpected, then something would be wrong." – Douglas Coupland

Julie and the group who had occupied the elevator moved slowly out onto the bridge expecting to be sideswiped by a large group of storm troopers at any moment, but nothing happened. Instead, the group was carefully guided to the room where Gil had been taken earlier and permitted to enter.

Once inside, Julie was extremely pleased to see her husband seated at the head of the table, Captains Galbard and Stanwich seated on either side of him, a bit rumpled but no worse for wear. Beside the captains sat Psycho Sally and Mad Matt, each with a joy stick in their hands and smiles plastered upon their faces. At the opposite side of the table sat what Julie assumed was the commander of the ship they were on and about seventy storm troopers, all heavily armed. Except for the slight smell of burning hair, the entire scene appeared almost cozy.

"Hi honey," smiled Gil. Turning to the commander at the far end of the table, he continued, "Commander Masterson, this is my wife, Julie Johnson. Julie, this is Commander Masterson of the Interplanetary Death Star slash water park, Federation."

"How do you do?" asked Julie with a slight smile, before lowering herself in the chair beside Psycho Sally that had been indicated by one of the troopers.

"A pleasure," replied Masterson. "And these people, I assume, are some of the rest of your people?"

"Pirates, one and all," replied Gil, nodding towards Julie to reassure her that his admission was not an act of forgetfulness. Turning towards the group, he continued, "We've been able to come to an understanding with Commander Masterson."

"An understanding?" asked Tardy. "What understanding?"

"I told you things would work out!" interrupted Galbard happily. "The Commander here is going to surrender his vessel to us!"

The group looked at the Commander and then back to Galbard.

"How hard did you hit your head when the storm troopers knocked you down?" asked Tardy, his concern obvious to all.

"Pretty hard," admitted Galbard, "but it was all a big misunderstanding. Turns out that Masterson here is looking to switch teams and for some adventure, a nice house, some servants and a good dental plan, he's prepared to disavow his life's work."

"Do you have a doctor on board?" asked Tardy, turning to Masterson. "It is against the military code of ethics to deny a person medical treatment and obviously this man needs a doctor!"

"It's alright, Skip," replied Gil. "The captain isn't crazy...well, in this case he isn't. You see, the Commander here and I were able to work out an agreement and as soon as he gives the command to get out of here, we will be on our way back to Zooks."

"He knows about Zooks?" asked Tardy. "Don't you see, this could be a trap?"

"I've known about your operation on Zooks for quite a while now," replied Masterson. "Mind you, I don't know the particulars, in fact, I had no idea that was what it was called, but on the day we blew up the moon over your planet, I was manning the sensors that scanned your planet."

"So, this has been an idea you've been working on since then?" asked Tardy.

Masterson motioned him and the others to chairs and replied, "Yes, Mister Tardy. I decided a while ago that things on earth were not going well and that there had to be people who realized that there was a better way to approach things, but things were not so bad that I had to act in a hasty manner, I could wait for events to unfold. As long as we avoided each other, I had all of my options open, but once it became obvious that Scotland was going to take over the planet and that I'd be working for an even more demented group of government officials, I decided action was necessary. I knew you'd eventually turn up here looking for supplies, so all I had to do is wait and be patient." Giving the group a deep sigh, Masterson looked back over his career and shook his head, "I don't know who elects these people..."

"The people I vote for never seem to get elected," stated Gil quietly.

"Are you a member of any particular party?" asked Tardy.

"Well, no," replied Gil. "In the last election I voted in on earth, I voted for the Bull Moose candidate..."

"I thought you voted Bull Moose Party in the last election too, Daddy," stated Nicole, turning to her father.

"No, no," laughed Captain Stanwich, "I only vote Right to Life."

"I didn't know you were conservative," stated Galbard.

"Don't know what that means," replied the Captain happily. "I figure that the only right you have in life is the right to be alive, that's why I vote that way."

"There are a lot of rights," stated Masterson, "just read the Bill of Rights or your Consumers Bills of Rights, or your Bill of Rights from Chucky Cheese..."

"God gives you the right to live, the way I see it," replied Stanwich, "after that there are no rights, there are only obligations."

"Obligations?" asked Julie.

"Sure," replied the Captain happily. "You have obligations to God, to others and to yourself..."

"Don't you mean you have obligations to yourself, to others and to God?" asked Masterson.

"Oh no, you have it backwards," laughed the Captain. "If you do it my way, the first two sets of obligations fulfill the third, if you do it your way, the first set of obligations keeps you from fulfilling any of them."

"What are they doing," interrupted Julie, pointing to Mad Matt and Psycho Sally, "and why do I smell hair burning?"

"After the troopers disarmed them, they continued to be unreasonable," stated Masterson. "The captain of the guard was forced to taser them both, which they seemed to enjoy..."

"Mad Matt's been getting regular electroshock therapy for years," smiled Captain Stanwich. "First from a doctor and then with a device he made himself..."

"Anyway," drawled Masterson, "since they seemed happiest when electrocuted, we gave each of them the other's taser controls and let them have at it."

"But they're smoking," stated Julie.

"The batteries will wear out before they burst into flame," replied Masterson happily.

The door to the room opened and Manly entered, a determined look upon his face.

"Commander, I must speak to you..."

"I'm about to surrender the ship, Manly, so make it quick, please," replied Masterson.

"Sir," stated Manly with deep emotion, "please, reconsider this action. You will make our names synonymous with the greatest traitors in the history of mankind. Think of it sir, your name mentioned along with the likes of Benedict Arnold, Quisling, Walter O'Malley and Lebron James for the time that he left Cleveland. Think of it sir, we'll be disgraced. We can defeat these people..." he said vaguely gesturing at the pirates with a look of disgust. "Honestly sir, a group of Muppets could defeat these people, and I'm talking secondary Muppets like Gonzo and Fozzie, you wouldn't even have to employ Kermit or Miss Piggy..."

"No one will know about our going over to the enemy," stated Masterson, standing and putting his arm around Manly reassuringly. "We'll get new uniforms and change our names."

"I don't want to change my name sir," whined Manly.

"It doesn't have to be anything radical," stated Stanwich, attempting to be helpful. "If you called yourself Nanly, I'm sure no one would make the connection..."

"I like my wardrobe," replied Manly.

"As my dear mother used to say," stated Galbard sagely, "you're no man if you can't look good wearing a frilled shirt."

Manly grew serious.

"Frilled, you say?"

"A second in command can wear up to ten frills," stated Galbard persuasively. "Become a captain and the sky is the limit..."

"How can I trust you?" asked Manly, indecision in his voice. "I mean, you're not even wearing a shirt, but with pecs like those, I'd never wear one either..."

"I assure you, frills are encouraged," stated Gil sincerely. "Even the accountants get to wear them if they so desire..."

"You see, Manly," smiled Masterson. "You're not losing an old life, you're gaining a frilly new one!"

Manly smiled sheepishly, "Where do I sign up?"

The others laughed heartily as if they were all in a beer commercial and the waitress had just brought them a new pitcher full of their favorite brew.

***

On earth, the planet that had caused all these problems, the Interplanetary Government was trying to reestablish its authority over its former dominions and get back the massive amounts of office supplies that had been looted by formerly "faithful" government servants.

Massive rallies took place throughout the world in many capital cities and economic centers. Support for the new GSJMF (Get a Second Job Mother Fuckers!) Movement swept around the world, encouraged by deep idealism and not a little drug use. Young people camped out in parks in large cities, creating banners (many with pictures of Sir Harry and Little Mac's Mother on them) and marching in the streets, demanded that government officials get second jobs to pay for the money that they had spent on wars. Soon the list of demands that government officials get second jobs for had grown to such an enormous and relatively ridiculous length, that the movement began to lose focus. After several months of camping in city parks, most city mayors turned the fire brigades upon the now less newsworthy world changers and then ordered clean ups which cost the cities more money in overtime than any government official made in second job income.

As so often happens, while the young people were out attempting to change the world and living without toilet facilities, their parents were busy changing the locks at home and trying to enjoy their pensions without the burden of righteous youngsters hogging the television and eating all of their snacks.

Initially, many government officials bowed to the inevitable pressure created by the news media and very publicly began working second jobs to which they reported for a week before moving on to their next special interest group surrender. Pictures taken of the President working at a counter at the post office selling stamps were widely distributed. The media, however, did not note that the President did not show up for work the next day or indeed, ever again, and that all he ever accomplished during his second job day was to overcharge several people on their postage stamps and to drop a package marked fragile before taking his mandatory coffee break and then sneaking out the back to return, exhausted, to the Beige House.

Sir Harry and Little Mac returned to Scotland triumphantly, a new deal having been established between the Interplanetary Government and the government of Scotland, making Scotland the wealthiest country on the planet. The final draft of the document they had signed with the President guaranteed that a third of all Interplanetary funds were to be sent to Scotland in perpetuity on the condition that Scotland never again waged war through the exportation of haggis. Several million-people crowded the streets of Edinburgh to cheer the arrival of their heroes as their motorcade wound its way down historic streets before many people got drunk and arrested for trying to look up other people's kilts.

The world had pulled back from the brink of a new calamity once again to rest easily amongst the calamities with which it was more familiar.

Mama got her own talk show where she interviewed celebrities, gave them life advice and showed them how to clean their homes. She always ended her show with a gift bag give away for her audience members that usually contained cleaning supplies, ending each show with her now famous phrase, "Ain't no more shit to talk about today, so go home motherfuckers!".

And so, the world evaded another threat to civilization and in all of the noise and ruckus, few people ever noted that the Interplanetary Forces had released a report containing the statement that they had misplaced a "water park with Death Star capabilities...". A backroom agreement was hammered out between the military and the Ten Banners people which basically read that if you don't make a big stink out of losing a water park, the government won't audit your taxes for the last fifty years and peace once again reigned supreme, for most people anyway.

***

The Holy Father stared at the screen and tried very hard not to show his mounting frustration with the details of Cardinal Benny's report. Pursing his lips, he leaned towards the monitor and forced a small smile.

"Benito," he began softly, "it has been about three hundred and fifty years since Saint John Paul the Second wrote his beautiful encyclical, Evangelium Vitae, "The Gospel of Life"..."

"Yes, Holy Father, I know," smiled Cardinal Benny weakly.

"So, you can see, Benito, that it is a little disturbing to hear that the group who proclaim the Gospel of Life to the world are now in the possession of something called a DEATH STAR."

"It's also a water park..." offered the Cardinal with a cringe.

The Pope rolled his eyes, "Benito, where are we going to get the chlorine to keep the park operational? You're going to bankrupt the Vatican just in keeping you supplied with towels. Oh, and here is something else, you can blow up a planet with the water park, so if we're being honest, Benito, and I think we want to be honest here, it's a DEATH STAR water park, not the other way around."

"Yes, your Holiness..."

The Pope buried his face in his hands, "They were supposed to come back with machine parts, how did they manage..." After shaking his head for a few minutes, he pulled his face out of his hands and sighed deeply. "We cannot keep it, Benito..."

"We can't return it, Holiness," replied Cardinal Benny reasonably. "I mean, we're in the life business, as you say; we can't justify giving people a weapon of mass destruction."

"It's stolen property, Benito," replied the Pope. "We took something that wasn't ours!"

"Pirates steal things, Holiness," replied Benny. "I mean, look at my desk. Every time I come in here, I can't find a pen, they steal them..."

"This isn't a pen..."

"True, but I'm just saying, Holy Father..."

"Look, we can't own a Death Star, not even one with a water park on it," replied the Pope with a finality that left no room to argue.

"We could dismantle it and use it to make a whole fleet of ships, Holiness," smiled the Cardinal hopefully. "We could repair the Constellation, get back to what we do best. We could build water parks on the planets we service, offer a fun vacation setting to those we serve..."

"And how do we repay the people we stole this from?" asked the Pope pointedly.

Cardinal Benny thought about it a moment and then replied, "Perhaps they've been repaid by us making their lives a little safer, Holiness. Stealing is wrong, but killing..."

The Pope considered it a moment.

"Take it apart, Benito," he stated finally. "Use the parts for something worthwhile, make a whole fleet of ships, make a whole chain of water parks, but take it apart..."

"Will do, Holy Father," smiled Cardinal Benny.

The Pope paused, his features becoming grave.

"Benito, what about this man, this man Johnson who lost his life..."

"Holy Father, he suffered a massive heart attack while performing his duties," stated Cardinal Benny softly. "He will be greatly missed..."

"Have you notified his family?" asked the Holy Father.

"He was an orphan, your Holiness..."

"His friends must be distraught..."

"He was kind of a loner..."

"His co-workers I am sure are mourning."

"He had just started his job, he wasn't well known..."

"You will see he gets a decent burial?" asked the Pope.

The Cardinal grimaced, "When the Death Star went into hyperdrive to come to Zooks, somehow...well, the gurney his body was on rolled out a side door and out into space..."

"They lost his body?" asked the Pope, his expression one of dismay.

"Sorry to say..."

"Have a mass said for the poor man," replied the Pope. "What is his name, I will pray for him."

"Johnson," replied Cardinal Benny, "Specialist Johnson."

"His first name was Specialist?" asked the Pope.

"He had no first name, Holiness..."

The Pope pondered it for a moment, "Sounds like he wasn't even a secondary character..."

"Plot device," admitted the Cardinal.

"I'll pray for him anyway," stated the Pope after a moment. "And Benito?"

"Yes, Holy Father?"

"Benito, let's chat a little less frequently for a while," said the Pope thoughtfully. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder..."

"Of course, Holiness..."

"My blessing upon you, my son..."

"Thank you, Holy Father," replied Benito as the screen went blank.

Leaning back in his chair, Cardinal Benny let out a soft sigh. Was he crazy to do this? Were the people he worked with crazy and it was driving him crazy? Perhaps he was only partly crazy, he reasoned; yes, that must be it.

"As Dad used to say, in the land of the blind, a one-eyed man can be King..."

### Chapter 30

### "To keep your marriage brimming, with love in the wedding cup, whenever you're wrong, admit it; whenever you're right, shut up." – Ogden Nash

The marriage of Skip Tardy and Nicole Stanwich took place on a beautiful Saturday morning in the Cathedral of Our Lady on the planet Zooks. The groom looked quite dashing in his rented tuxedo, his best friend and captain, Captain Galbard, standing by his side, trying to discreetly check out the crowd for any fine-looking women who might be in attendance.

At the proper moment, the organist began the Bridal March and down the aisle came a beautiful flower girl trailed by various bridesmaids, the maid of honor and finally, on the arm of her beaming father, Captain Stanwich, the bride herself. She had never looked more radiant or more beautiful and when her beloved met them at the end of the aisle, she could not control her tears as the two men she loved most in her life shook hands and one went and sat down while the other took her to stand before Cardinal Benny and the whole world and declare his unconditional love for her.

Oddly, despite the months of planning, the almost painful attention to detail, the endless problems, delays and the almost being shot to death by hostile forces, nothing they had gone through before this moment seemed to truly matter. Neither the bride nor the groom seemed to notice the flowers or the color scheme or even the way the bridesmaid's dresses matched the table cloths, the rug in the cathedral and the wallpaper in the Ladies Room at the reception hall. The only thing that mattered for each was the other.

Exiting the Cathedral at the end of the mass, the bride and groom found themselves inundated with rice being thrown and pictures being taken. Their nuptials were the high point of the social season on Zooks, which admittedly had few social high points. When the county fair and the Mud Sales in spring are your main competition for social eminence, the bar is not, admittedly, set too high. Still, everyone had a festive time and, later that night, as the groom led his bride to their waiting carriage to leave their festivities, it was not only a crowd of friends and co-workers waving good-bye to the happy couple, it was an extended family bound by love wishing two of their own happiness in their new lives together. It was a magical night because of love and love was all that mattered.

***

Gil and Julie walked home from the festivities after saying good-bye to their friends. Hand in hand, they walked the few blocks from the reception hall to their home on Cardinal Benny's estate, each enjoying the feel of the other's hand in their own and smiling up at the stars that twinkled so brilliantly in the night sky.

Approaching the gate of their home, Julie stopped and turning to her husband, wrapped her arms around him and gave him a passionate kiss. Gil held her tightly and the kiss extended for some time before it was broken.

"What was that for?" he asked softly.

"I'm so proud of you," she replied, pulling him closer. "You got the Commander to surrender the Death Star and you got us all home safe and sound again. I'm so proud of you, Gil and I love you."

Gil kissed her again, holding her tightly in his arms.

"Without you, my love, I would be nothing," he whispered. "I owe it all to you; my happiness, my success, everything to you." With a sheepish smiled, he glanced into her eyes, "Would you like me to take you upstairs for some loving?"

Julie broke into a large smile, drew closer to him, placing her lips near his ear and said softly, "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...."

Gil swatted her behind as she raced him towards the front door, ran inside and ran upstairs to their bedroom with her husband in hot pursuit.

***

In the deep reaches of space, a lone ship sat out in the dark blackness of the universe. It was the planet Zooks early warning system, a lone ship that traveled a slow perimeter out amongst the stars keeping a look out for any ships that might come too close.

The captain of the vessel was a level-headed, good-natured man who had been a shoe salesman prior to taking up the pirate trade, Wendell Ospry. Captain Ospry's vessel, "The Worry Wart" was a small ship, built for speed and sending communications, not for fighting. With a crew of only six, "The Worry Wart" was on its second rotation around Zooks when one of the crew members called Ospry over to glance at a reading he was receiving.

"What is it, Captain?" asked the man.

The captain peered down at the instruments, his eyes narrowing in thought.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say it was a distress signal," stated Ospry.

"It can't be," replied the crewmen. "There are no known vessels who have gone into the Gamma Quadrant; it is considered unexplored territory. Only a complete and total idiot would take a chance on going there without reporting their course in case of danger. No one would look for them there, they would be completely cut off..."

"Which may be why we are receiving a distress signal from them," mused Ospry. "Or...."

"Or what, sir?" asked the crewman, made slightly anxious by the captain's intense expression.

Ospry stood and peered down at the man at the controls.

Exhaling, he replied in a whispering voice, "Or the jackass writing this is planning to write another sequel..."

###

I would like to thank you for reading "The Flight of the Intrepid Monkey II – The Search for the Constellation". I hope that you have enjoyed the book and I invite you to let me know what you thought of it. Please feel free to drop me an email at maczazski@hotmail.com. If you enjoyed this novel, I invite you to take a look at my other novels and short story collections available at Smashwords, Kindle and many fine e-book stores. Thanks again for choosing "The Flight of the Intrepid Monkey II – The Search for the Constellation", I look forward to hearing from you!

