3.Ø3
Spacetime: 97253.6.101
“Funny,” Ubie observed, “It doesn’t look like much.” Star Truck was flying low over the lunar landscape. The terrain could not have been more stark. Craters pocked the rocky surface as far as the eye could see.
Gellie and company returned from escorting the Gorn to his stateroom. Apparently, when the Gorn learned that he could stream unlimited satellite TV, he had mellowed out remarkably. In blippets, the Gorn was chillin’ with a frosty mug of beer while watching Star Tours on his flatscreen.
“That’s intentional,” Sian consulted her wedgeboard, “We’re trying to keep the Council low-key. There are lots of troublemakers who want to crash the party.”
“We are approaching the Crossroads of Humanity,” Gellie announced.
Sian settled into her Captain’s chair, and Ubie counted heads, “All personnel are present and accounted for except Dr. Muddle.”
“Oh, that’s right!” Sian punched her intercom, “Ahoy, there, Mudd. We are approaching our destination. Please report to ComCen and strap in for landing. Over.”
Silence.
Sian allowed a few moments to tick by before following up, “Muddle? Do you read? Over.”
“...click-ick-ick…” Muddle fumbled with the intercom, “...Yeah...I read…”
Silence.
“Sian,” Gellie interjected, “We have arrived at the specified coordinates. Should I initiate descent?”
Sian glanced at the viewscreen. The meeting site was a precisely excavated rectangle on the lunar surface. The Captain shook her head, “No, hold descent until pretty boy straps in.” Sian clicked the intercom, “Is there a problem, Muddle? Over.”
“No…it’s not...a problem...!” Muddle ground his teeth loud enough to be heard over the intercom, “It’s just...aarrgh! I’m having a wardrobe malfunction.”
“Oh…” Sian suppressed a snicker, “...sorry to hear that, Mudd, but we can’t land until you strap in.”
“Hmmppff!” Muddle's vexation was palpable, “Sooo...is this really a life or death situation? I mean…” Muddle chewed his lip, “...will I die if I stay in here?”
Tired of the tomfoolery, Sian laid it on the line, “Yes, Mudd, you will die. Because I will march in there and strangle you with my own two hands. Do you read? Over."
Ubie informed Sian that the exotic energy pulses she had been monitoring were increasing in strength and number.
“Okay,” Sian issued the long-awaited command, “Gellie, you may initiate descent.” Sian was on the verge of rounding up Muddle at gunpoint when, to her great relief, the hatch whisked open.
Gellie announced, “T-minus 20 seconds.”
No Muddle.
“You better get out here, Mudd…” Sian shouted, “...or you’ll be bunking with the Gorn!”
Gellie announced, “T-minus 10 seconds.”
“Alright, already…” A dark figure streaked through the hatch and strapped in at the communications console.
Gellie announced, “T-minus 5...4...3...2...1...Touchdown!” She winked at Ubie, “The Phoenix has landed.”
A gentle shudder ran through the ship. Gellie allowed Star Truck’s touch pads to kiss the lunar surface hard enough to confirm their arrival on an alien world.
“Good work everyone,” Sian consulted her chronometer, "Let’s assemble at the transporter in five blippets. WONK-E, you have the con. I will lead the away team, and Mudd…” Sian turned toward Muddle, and her mouth fell open.
The silence hit Muddle like a sledgehammer. He grumbled, “This was not my idea.”
Rudyard exclaimed, “Holy wormholes, Kyptin! Have you gone spacebugs?”
No one else said a word because they were too busy bursting with laughter.
Muddle failed to see the humor in the situation. Thud had bamboozled him into playing the role of Dr. Stephen Strangelove long before saying anything about a costume. When he encountered pushback, the thunder god had browbeaten Muddle until the professor swore a blood oath to wear Strangelove’s foppish robes. Muddle had completed the ensemble, as per Thud’s exacting instructions, with a dark wig and adhesive goatee.
Once the laughter died down, Gellie informed Muddle that she had the perfect accessory for his wardrobe. Gellie nudged WONK-E, “Open sesame, monsieur.” As WONK-E unlocked his tummy-safe, Gellie instructed Muddle to close his eyes.
Smelling a rat, Muddle complied—but reluctantly. He sensed Gellie drape something around his neck and felt a thump on his sternum. Though he anticipated giggles, Muddle imagined he heard murmurs of wonderment. Finally, he exclaimed, “Can we please get to the part where you pull your hilarious prank on me?”
“Okay, Max,” Gellie refused to be baited, “Open your eyes.”
Expecting to see a “Kick Me!” sign around his neck, Muddle was surprised to discover a genuine treasure.
“Gellie?” Muddle removed the object and held it in his hands, “Is this the mysterious pocket watch that appeared on my desk last moonth?”
Gellie nodded, “Yes, it is, Max.”
Confused, Muddle grumbled, “I stored this artifact in a top secret location, Gellie. How did it fall into your hands? ”
“Yeah, about that,” Gelli laughed, “Let’s just say that your secret hiding place wasn’t so secret.”
“What?” Muddle gaped.
“Hmm...How should I put it?” Gellie lifted the watch out of Muddle’s hands, "The safest place to keep this thing is right here…” She rehung the watch around Muddle's neck and then added, "...while I watch your back.”
An alert sounded at Ubie’s console. She checked the readout, “Oh, great! Lady Galahadrielle has arrived.”
"Ah, good," Sian swiped her forehead, “Please put it on screen, Commander.”
“Of course,” Ubie routed the signal to the main viewscreen, which displayed the now familiar image of the excavated rectangle.
The skipper squinted, “I don’t see anything.”
Ubie cautioned, “Wait for it…”
An instant later, a glistening comet streaked into view and, with an explosion of sparks, struck a large, black obelisk in the center of the excavation pit. The impact suffused the obelisk with a ghostly, pulsing light. As the slab throbbed a luminous orb that looked remarkably like a large soap bubble puffed out of the obelisk. Inside the bubble a human figure—gleaming like starlight—gradually became visible. The figure grew and grew until, Poof!, the bubble popped and out stepped the shimmering form of a female knight errant.
Rudyard gasped, “F-a-s-c-i-n-a-t-i-n-g!
Sian fixed him with a frosty glare, “I’ve heard fascinating things are happening in the brig, Rudyard. Would you care to see for yourself?”
“Uhh…” The PI whapped a hand over his mouth, “...how about if I pack a picnic lunch for the landing party?”
“Yeah,” Sian did a 'fingers do the walking' sign, "You do that.”
Meanwhile...
“I have a problem,” Blowhard fidgeted behind his desk.
In a flash, Lutin appeared at his elbow, “Vat problem you haff?”
Blowhard steepled his fingers, “Nasty Pelousy and Chuck Schemer are trying to run me out of office.”
“You vant I feex?” Lutin licked his weaselly lips.
“Hypothetically…” The orange splodge peeked behind a curtain, “...how would you fix a problem like this?”
"Vait! I show." Lutin dashed to a nearby sofa, felt around underneath and drew out a vicious disemboweling blade. The weasel eviscerated a roomful of imaginary foes before presenting the stabber to Blowhard. "Eez call glaiffe," Lutin bowed when Blowhard lifted the weapon from his hands, "You enfite Peloshki and Zkimmer. I yooz glaiffe. Problem feex."
“Hmmm…” Blowhard admired the weapon, “...it is tempting, but…" the blob shook his head, "...this job calls for more subtlety."
“Zoodledee? Yoo vant zoodle? Hokay…” Lutin stroked his chin, “Vat 'bout thees? I meex dreenk. Geef to Peloshki and Zkimmer. They go zleep. Don’ vake up. Verry zoodle.”
“Interesting…” Blowhard drummed his fingers on the glaive, "Hypothetically, could you serve these cocktails secretly?"
"Heh-heh," Lutin's sinister eyes glittered, "Zeecrit eez meedle name."
"In that case…" Blowhard patted Lutin's head, "...we never had this conversation, did we, Igor?"
"Nyet!" Lutin drew a finger across his throat. "I know nahthink."
3.Ø4
Spacetime: 97253.6.220
“Is everyone here?” Sian counted heads, “Let’s see...Gellie, Ubie, Rudd, Mudd. Perfect. All present and accounted for…” To avoid the typical overreactions to her laser green orbs Sian had donned a pair of wraparound sunglasses. An enchanting glow illuminated the spaces around her eyes.
“Sian!” Rudyard raised a hand, “Shouldn’t I remain on board to take charge in the event of an emergency?”
“Uhh…” Sian tried to filter the sarcasm out of her response, but failed, “...that would be a big, fat ‘NO!!’ to the guy who sank Star Truck during the last emergency.”
“Aww, c’mon!” Rudyard wheedled, “I promise it won’t happen again because…” The PI played his trump card, “...I’m a sentient being who has the ability to learn from my mistakes.”
Sian retorted, “So am I.” Having settled that matter to her satisfaction Sian turned to other business. “Please sound off to confirm you are wearing an operational life-support belt.”
Each member of the landing party responded, “Aye...Aye...Aye…” There was a lag and then Rudyard grumbled, “...aye…”
When activated, the life support belts swathed their bearers’ in a luminous enviro-bubble. The belts were a huge improvement on clunky, old pressurized space suits, but they also had drawbacks. A life support bubble’s outermost layer behaved like a bullet-proof forceshield. Consequently, cramming landing parties into restricted spaces like the garbage chute was like inflating beach balls before packing them into a picnic basket. That’s why Sian delayed belt activation until the very last moment of debarkation.
“Ubie?” Sian called out, “On my mark, please seal the inner hatch.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Gellie?”
“Yes, Sian.”
“Are you in position to blow the outer hatch?
“Yes, Sian.”
“Are you sure?” There was a distinct undertone in Sian’s query, “Do you recall what happened last time?”
“Yes, Sian. It will remain forever seared into my memory.”
“Hey!” Muddle broke in, “Is there something you should be telling me?”
“No. Don’t be a worrywart.” Sian refocused on Ubie, “Commander, please seal the inner hatch…Now!”
Ubie punched a flashing yellow button next to the hatch. The inner hatch swirled shut with an airy whoosh.
Sian double-checked Gellie’s proximity to the “O-Hatch Release” button. Satisfied, she proceeded, “On my mark, I want each of you to activate your life support belts. Do you copy?”
Muddle interrupted, “Come on, Sian, these procedures are way too elementary…”
“Input noted.” Sian signaled for Muddle to button his lip, “I don’t have time to explain every little detail, Herr Professor. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”
Muddle bristled, but managed to keep his pesky mouth shut.
“On the count of three…” Sian held three fingers aloft, “I want everyone to hit the activation buttons on your life support belts. Do you copy?”
“Wait a sekkent…” Muddle looked lost, “Are you counting up to three, or down...Aggghhhh!!”
As soon as Rudyard heard the word “three” he panicked and activated his life support belt. A nanosekkent later, the belt’s forceshield pancaked everyone in the garbage chute.
“Ugh!” Ubie groaned, “Not again!!”
Rudyard cried, “Open the hatch! Open the hatch!”
“Which one?” Gellie quizzed, “Mine or Ubie’s?”
“NO!” Roared Sian, “You’ll kill us all. Rudyard, deactivate your belt!”
The PI moaned, “I’m trying, but it’s jammed!”
In ComCen, WONK-E and Froot were delighting in every aspect of the latest debarkation fiasco via CCTV. Froot munched on a hot Cheez-O and cheered, “I am Froot!”
Outside, Lady G grew puzzled about the delay. She knocked on the exit hatch in the hope of prodding the landing party to action, and got more than she bargained for. Following her knock, the hatch whirled open and the landing party popped out of the hatch like gumballs from a pressurized candy machine, "Pop, Pop, Pop…!!"
Gellie was the first gumball to eject and, thus, had the misfortune of knocking Lady G flat on her back. When Gellie finished skittering across the lunar surface she hopped to her feet and raced back to the knight. Along the way Gellie braced for the prospect of being run through by Lady G's gleaming sword. But instead of facing an enraged warrior, Gellie was startled to find Lady G rolling about in transports of laughter. Gellie stammered, “I...I’m so sorry...”
“Nonsense!” The knight’s billowy mane flounced as she clambered to her feet. “I’ve not been so agreeably pell-melled since Prancelot hid a whoopie cushion beneath Merkin’s saddle!” The knight extended her right hand, "I am Lady Galahadrielle, Keeper of the Unknown Riddle and Knight of King Idler's Timetable."
Gellie reached out to clasp Galahadrielle's hand, but was foiled by her enviro-bubble. Thinking fast, Gellie flashed Lady Galahadrielle a Vulcan peace sign, “Live long and perspire, m’lady.”
"Sister..." Galahadrielle did a double-take, “...am I deceived, or did you say, ‘Live long and perspire’?”
“That I did, Lady G,” Gellie hastened to clarify, "It’s an old Vulcan greeting that's meant with only the best intentions. You see…” Gellie made sure Rudyard was out of earshot, “...Vulcan is a roasting hot planet and Vulcans think it’s illogical to apologize endlessly for everyone's chronic BO.”
“I see,” Galahadrielle’s face was a mask. She banished the disagreeable images by wrestling her fingers into an approximation of the Vulcan salute. “Dear lady…" Galahadrielle panted, "...I shall require much tutelage before I can master this toilsome gesture.”
“Aww, forget it...” Gellie brushed it aside, “...to be honest, Rudyard's the only one who cares about the finer points of Vulcanology.”
“Hey!" Rudyard frowned as the landing party came hither, "Are you talking about me again?”
“As a matter of fact...” Gellie raced to concoct a plausible fib, but Galahadrielle beat her to the punch.
“Perchance, would this be THE Rudyard of whom ye spake, sister?” Galahadrielle wrangled her fingers into a Vulcan salute, “Good sir, this fine lady claims thou art a Vulcanologist of peerless renown. Is that so, oh Rudyard the Wise?”
“Peerless, eh?” Lacking any innate defenses against the guiles of flattery, the PI melted like butter on toast, “Yeah, uhh…sure…” Rudyard blushed, “...I guess you could say that…”
Having dispensed with Rudyard, Gellie raced through the remaining introductions at the speed of sound. Galadadrielle was grateful for Gellie’s sense of urgency. After flashing through a disjointing sequence of Vulcan peace signs, Galahadrielle begged, “Come, friends, we must convene the Council. There is nary a tick to tarry.”
Lady G flew back to the obelisk. Literally. Her feet never touched the ground. The landing party, however, was not as light on their feet. The weak gravity and rough terrain caused a great deal of rumbling, stumbling and bumbling. Eventually, the landing party clattered into the excavation site like a wagon short on wheels.
“What’s she doing?” Ubie wrinkled her brow at Lady G.
Galahadrielle was standing in front of the obelisk. She had drawn her sword and held it before her while she recited an Olde Gaelic chant. Lady G punctuated her chant at intervals by tapping the butt of her sword against the obelisk. At each spot where she rapped the obelisk Galahadrielle summoned a luminous transport bubble. After creating three new bubbles, Lady G stepped back and allowed the obelisk to work its magic. In less than a blippet, the bubbles expanded, popped and produced three curious-looking men.
Just like Lady Galahadrielle, each of the new arrivals seemed more hologram than human. Two of the newcomers—one tall and bearded and the other squat and bug-eyed—wore hooded robes. The third wore green tights, a puffy shirt and engaged in animated conversation with a human skull.
Galadrielle embraced each of her colleagues, and then, with the newcomers arrayed on each side of her, she addressed the landing party, “Allow me to introduce the members of the Council of Ozland.” As she spoke, Galahadrielle’s aura beamed like a stagelight, “Please welcome a pair of legendary knights from a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away! The incomparable Oobie Doobie Kabootie and his Juju Master Froooodaaa Boggins.” Each knight’s aura shimmered briefly when Lady G spoke his name.
The landing party applauded politely. Ubie elbowed Gellie, “Darn it, Sissy, we should have brought our autograph books.”
“Don’t worry!” Gellie whipped a roll of TP out of a side pouch. "You never know when it’ll come in handy.”
Lady G's aura brightened as she proceeded to the next introduction, “Please welcome the most famous Star Fleece captain in the infiniverse. The one, the only Wiiiiillliiiiaaammm Shatspeare!!”
Shatspeare struck a thespianic pose and intoned, “Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. And I...” Shatspeare bowed low, “...derive greatness from all three.”
“Good sir!” Rudyard cupped a hand over his heart, “As a fellow bard I…”
“Sorry...!” Shatspeare cut him off, “... I never sign autographs. You see, life is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury. Signifying nothing.”
Rudyard looked like he wanted to cry.
“Lady G?” Sian ignored the pointless exchange, “Now that you have introduced the Council, would you like me to introduce the members of my team?” Sian was taken aback when the Ozlanders burst out laughing.
“Captain Solu…” Lady G's eyes gleamed, “...your modesty is touching, but as you well know, the Funtastic Five’s exploits are fabled throughout the Infiniverse. There is no need for introductions.”
The landing party experienced a jolt of confusion. They stood stock still and peeked at each other out of the corners of their eyes. No one had the foggiest idea how to respond to Lady G’s bewildering comments. After a time, Sian opened her mouth, but thought better of it and held her tongue.
“Uhh…” In the end, it was Muddle who broke the silence, “...I hate to deliver unwelcome news, Lady G, but I think there has been a misunderstanding.”
“Oh?” Galahadrielle smirked, “Pray tell, Dr. Strangelove, what would that misunderstanding be?”
“You see? There it is!” Muddle raised a finger, “...somehow you have confused us with some other group of...uhh...funtastic people…”
The Ozlanders acted like Muddle was repeating a tired, old joke.
“So, Dr. Strangelove…” Galahadrielle decided to play along with Muddle’s little game, “...you walk like a duck, and talk like a duck, but…”
“No, no!” Muddle countered, “I am not a duck. Just look at me…” He gestured at his haphazard disguise, “...I’m only playacting.” For evidence, he peeled off his goatee. “Y’see? There is no duck.”
“Ha!” Shatspeare snorted, “So says the legendary sorcerer who bears the One Watch. Do you take us for fools, Dr. Lovestrange? Well, do you?”
“I…” Muddle turned to the landing party for support. Finding none, he huffed, “...where do I even begin…?”
“Enoof o’ yoor sooddin’ shilly-shallying!” Irritation thickened Oobie Doobie’s Scootish accent, “Why moost ye’ recite the same drivel at every coonvenin’ of the Cooncil, eh? I’m dead weary oof it.”
Muddle was at a loss.
Finally, Ubie came to his rescue...sort of. Ominously, she asked, “Lady G? Has there been a disturbance in the Farce?”
“Yes! A disturbance in the Farce. Know it she does.” Froda shook his little walking stick at Ubie, “A great disturbance in the Farce.”
Sian peered at Ubie, “What are you talking about?”
“I…” Ubie shook her head, “...I don’t know...but…I’m having the strangest sense of deja vu.”
“Hey! So am I!” Gellie brightened, “What a relief! I thought I was going spacebugs!”
“Ah, good,” Lady G smiled, “You are sensing the echoes of past struggles.” Lady G indicated the obelisk, “We stand at the Crossroads. As we have done countless times before, we have gathered to choose a path. If we choose wisely, all will be well. If we choose poorly...
Sensing the theatricality of the moment, Shatspeare held his prop skull aloft and cried, “...it could spell the doom of the entire Infiniverse!!”
Meanwhile...
“Edfart?”
“Yes, sir?”
Blowhard motioned for Snowjob to lean in close, “Eddie, I need you to deliver a message to the greatest secret agent of all time.”
“But…” Snowjob squeaked, “...I thought J. Edgar Snooper was dead.”
"No, no!" Blowhard fumed, "I'm talking about my personal attorney, Rube Fooliani."
"Oh, I thought Rube Fooliani was, uh… Nevermind." Snowjob broke out in a sweat, "What message should I deliver, sir?"
“Write this down!” Blowhard snarled, "Faux News has just reported that everyone working for the FBI is a traitor."
Snowjob whistled, "I had a feeling."
Blowhard nodded, "It's amazing how many treasonous rats have infiltrated the government since I assumed office. Fortunately, patriots like Igor Lutin can spot traitors a mile away.”
Snowjob tapped his nose, “Keep your friends close...”
“Tell Rube…” Blowhard handed Snowjob an envelope, “I need him to dig up dirt on the FBI. We need to destroy the FBI from within and then I’ll appoint Igor to rebuild the FBI in his own image.”
“Wow. You’re building quite the legacy aren't you, Sir?” Snowjob stuffed the letter inside his diving suit, “I won’t let you down, Your Highness.” Then Snowjob bounded across the room, dove into Blowhard’s toilet and flushed twice.
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