🚀 go-pugleaf

     Space. The Final Frontier.
     No, damn! That's not it... Hurm. Hang on a minute.
     Space. It's huge. A huge expanse of huge, glowing, black, looming
nothingness that looms in a hugely black, glowing way. Space is big. Real
big.
     Thus, one might say, the odds of two different alien races
encountering each other is mind-bogglingly low. The vastness of space would
seem to preclude any hope of such encounters.
     And yet...
     And yet alien societies exist, everywhere. You can't go two parsecs
without passing a ship from this Empire or that Federation or the other
Conglomerate. In some systems, you can't throw a grenade without
annihilating two or three budding civilizations. The hugeness of space
hides so many alien worlds that the company that tried to put together a
Travellers Guide to the Galaxy listing all known, inhabited worlds, found
the document to be outdated as soon as soon as they published it.
     What does this have to do with anything? Er, well, I have absolutely
no idea.

                         WANDERING MORONS
                             Part One
                         by  Jesse Taylor

     'Admiral' Morgan, aka the Second Most Totally Evil Teenager in the
Universe, yawned and peered at her watch. Another half-hour until she had
to go back to work. Joy. At half a Galactic Dollar a day, it wasn't likely
that she'd *ever* get off this hellhole of a space station. Even when that
interviewer from the _The Superguy Companion Monthly_ paid her for the
interview, it came out to a few Galactic Cents less than what the ticket
off would cost. She still wondered how that guy had found her, anyway.
     She yawned again, watching the crowds of aliens wandering around the
main 'promenade' of the station. Maybe, if she was lucky, she could find
someone to rip off or pickpocket...
     "'scuse me, kid." rasped a voice from behind her. She turned,
slightly, to regard a trenchcoated Nintan. The Nintans were the Empire
who'd built the N.E.S. _Overpriced_, the station she was on now. This one,
despite his trenchcoat and fedora, looked vaguely computer-generated, as
did all Nintans.
     "I'm not a kid, dammit!" Morgan growled.
     "Er. Right." the Nintan blinked, twin slits of white glowing under his
fedora. "How'd you like to make a few creds?"
     Morgan snorted. "Sorry, guy. I'm not in _that_ business."
     "Huh? Oh, nonono, that's not what I meant!" the Nintan protested. "I
just need you to deliver something for me."
     "A delivery?" Morgan asked, her eyes narrowing slightly. "What's the
catch?"
     "No catch." the Nintan rasped, producing a medium-sized metal box from
under his coat. "Just deliver this to Docking Port 248 in twenty minutes.
There'll be a man there, Mr. Turalyn, deliver it to him. He'll pay you
then."
     Morgan accepted the box, still cautious. "What if I don't make it there?"
     The Nintan smiled, revealing a mouth full of sharply pointed fangs.
"Then we'll find you. And you..._will_...regret it."
     Morgan shrugged. "Whatever. I'll get it right over there."
     "A...pleasure...doing buisness with you." the Nintan rasped, turning
and dissappearing -- literally. A sneaksuit, Morgan thought, I need to get
one of those...

<----->

     "Docking Port 248..." Morgan said to herself, standing in a small,
airlock-like room that was designed to allow shuttlecraft to dock directly
with the station for offloading. "So where's this guy I'm supposed to
meet?"
     Morgan sighed, pacing the room, holding the box under one arm. It was
surprisingly light, for its' size, and she'd deduced from the hum it made
that it had some kind of self-powered antigrav device in it to reduce its'
weight.
     She turned, hearing the external airlock open. What th... huh?
     "Sorry I'm late." a man commented, stepping into the airlock room. "I
had some trouble B.S.'ing the port authorities."
     "Mr. Turalyn?" Morgan asked.
     "In the flesh!" the man grinned. "You must be the agent Zeldir said
he'd send."
     "Zeldir?"
     Turalyn's eyes narrowed. "Ah." he said, "What do I owe you?"
     "Er... ah." Morgan blinked. "The alien... 'Zeldir'... just said you'd
pay me whatever."
     "Just let me check to make sure the shipment is intact." Turalyn said,
appropriating the box from her. He tapped three different locations on the
top of the box in quick succession, and it opened with a quiet hiss. "Ah."
Morgan peered in, seeing the tops of about thirty bottles poking out from
soft padding that filled the box. Turalyn pulled one of them out,
inspecting it.
     Morgan blinked, peering at the bottle. "Oh...my...ghod... It's... ZIMA?!"
     The other airlock door hissed open. "You just said the magic woid!"
hissed a reptillian Nintan, who emerged slowly, covering the two with a
blaster rifle. "Turalyn... I never thought you'd sink to Zima smuggling."
     "It's a living..." Turalyn said in a bored manner, raising his hands.
"I'm surprised you were able to file all the necessary forms to arrest me,
Koopmeister."
     The Nintan snorted. "I bypassed the beaurocracy this time, Turalyn. No
more forms to get in the way!"
     "What's going on?!" Morgan asked, confused.
     "Don't try the 'innocent' approach..." the Nintan snarled, gesturing
at her with his blaster. "Stick out your hands." Morgan gulped and did so.
     "Well, you've certainly earned _your_ pay for the week, eh?" Turalyn
said wryly, as the Nintan slapped force-cuffs on Morgan. "Y'see, kid..."
     "I'm *not* a kid!"
     "...whatever, Koopmeister here has been trying to catch me for, oh,
several months now. Right, Constable?"
     "Don't call me that!" the Nintan shouted. "It's _Guardmaster_!
Guardmaster Koopmeister!! _Not_ 'Constable'!!"
     "You're a loon." Morgan commented.
     "Watch your mouth, kid!" the Nintan growled.
     "Kid?! I'm not a kid, I'm the Second Most Totally Evil Woman in the
Universe!!" she protested.
     "What_ever_! Just be quie- yrk!" the Nintan shouted, but was cut off
as Morgan booted him in the groin. Before the Nintan could recover, Turalyn
smashed the bottle of Zima (which he had been holding all this time) on the
Nintan's scaly forehead. The Guardmaster screamed and staggered back as the
Zima ran into his eyes.
     "Yes!!" Turalyn said, grabbing up the box and sprinting for his
shuttle. As he stepped through the airlock, the Guardmaster recovered
enough to squeeze off a shot from his blaster rifle, taking the smuggler
square in the back.
     "YOU DIE!" the Nintan roared, turning to Morgan as Turalyn stumbled
and fell. Morgan grabbed the barrel of the blaster and pushed it out of the
way, simultaneously kicking the Guardmaster in the head. As the Nintan
staggered backwards, dropping his weapon, she jumped through the airlock
into the shuttle, slamming her fists into the 'Lock Close' button.
     "Get up, dammit, we have to get out of here!!" she yelled at Turalyn,
who muttered something. The smuggler was trying to get up, despite the
smoking wound in his back. "Get up, now, or I'll make you drink some of
this stuff!" Morgan shouted, holding up a bottle of Zima.
     "Gaah!" Turalyn said, "Ok, ok!! Ow, _dammit_!"
     Morgan got into the control chair, ignoring Turalyn's protests. "How
do you fly this thing?!"
     "You can't fly this shuttle!" Turalyn protested, gritting his teeth as
he tried to get past the pain and get to his feet. "You... need both
hands!"
     Morgan shrugged. The force-cuffs were inhibiting her somewhat, but it
was nothing she couldn't work around. She pressed a couple
promising-looking buttons, and was rewarded by a dull rumble from the
engine.
     "You've..gotta disengage... docking clamps..." Turalyn groaned,
resigned. "Third button... up from bottom. Geez.. I don't even know who you
are..."
     "Got it." Morgan said, pressing the right button. The shuttle tore
free of the docking port as Morgan triggered the engines before the clamps
were disengaged. "And for now, I'm your pilot! Welcome aboard MorganAir
Flight 560, bound for the Dark Reaches of Space!"
     >Warning!< a computerized voice said. >Incoming! Grid Y666-I40!<
     "What was that?!" Morgan shouted, trying to get the hang of flying a
shuttle one-handed.
     "Incoming fighters..." Turalyn said through clenched teeth as he
hauled himself into the co-pilot's chair. He checked one of the displays.
"Gamerboy-class. Must be from... the cruiser docked at the _Overpriced_."
     "Can you control the guns?" Morgan asked, pressing every button she
could find that had to do with increasing speed.
     "Yeah..." Turalyn said, groaning as he strapped himself into the
chair. "Maybe."
     "I suppose now's probably not the best time to ask for an
explanation." Morgan grumbled, pressing some more buttons.
     "I'm a smuggler..." Turalyn explained, as he booted up the weapon
control program. "Since you were seen with me, the Nintans will think
you're one, too. And they tend to be... intolerant.. of smugglers."
     "Great." Morgan snapped. "Where should I head towards?"
     "Ship..." Turalyn said, "Outside... gravity well... Coords...
1.456x6.344..."
     Morgan nodded, beginning to get the hang of the controls. Now that she
knew what to look at, she could tell that the fighters were closing... No
shuttle could hope to outrun a starfighter, but she wasn't making it easy
for them to catch up, either.
     "Wait a minute, didn't that Koopmeister guy say he hadn't told anyone
he was arresting you, so's he wouldn't have to fill out forms?" Morgan
asked. "Who the Hell(tm) sent these starfighters, then?"
     "No... idea... And I'm reading way more... ship signatures... than
should be in this area..."
     "What rear weapons does this thing have?" Morgan asked, checking
displays. The fighters would probably start firing any moment now...
     "Antimatter missiles... megalaser batteries... hrm... 'zat's all..."
Turalyn said, pressing buttons on the co-pilot's station. "But they're
supercharged t'give us extra range..."
     "Then you'd better shoot now!" Morgan yelled, as something slammed
into the back of the shuttle. "We're hit! Engine power down 14%!"
     "Hurm." Turalyn commented. He pressed some more buttons and checked a
couple displays. "Hurm..."
     WHROOM! Morgan yelped as the shuttle was jolted again. "We're about to
lose our shields, and our power's nearly out!! What are you _doing_,
anyway?!"
     Turalyn blinked, trying to clear the fuzz out of his vision. He waited
a couple more seconds, then pressed the fire button. Laser beams gutted one
of the fighters, causing it to explode violently and take out another one.
The remaining fighter continued closing and firing.
     "You got two of 'em!" Morgan whooped, trying to put the shuttle
through an evasive pattern. The small craft shuddered again as the fighter
pelted it with blaster fire.
     "Good... tha' means I c'n sleep..." Turalyn commented, slumping in his
seat.
     "Wha?! Hey!! You can't do that!! There's no time!!" Morgan complained,
trying to reach the weapons controls from her seat and failing. "Argh!"
     The fighter's pilot, sensing, perhaps, the shuttle's dire situation,
fell in behind and charged his blasters for another volley.
     Morgan's eyes narrowed, and she pressed two promising-looking buttons
on the console.
     The fighter almost tore itself apart trying to dodge the two
antimatter missiles that roared out towards it. Seconds later, it's motion
became irrelevant, as it was turned into a pretty explosion.
     |Freighter Centurion Falcon to shuttlecraft Alpha Sigma Bravo. Come
in, please.| purred a voice over the comm-link. |Admiral Turalyn? Are you
ok, boss?|
     'Admiral'? Morgan thought. "Uhhh... He's hurt, Falcon. We've got
severe damage, request priority docking."
     |Who is this?!| the voice demanded. |Activate your visual transmitters!|
     "My what?"
     |Sigh...|
     "It's...ok..." Turalyn said, forcing himself awake. "Give us priority
docking privs..."
     |Understood, sir.| the voice purred. |We've only got one shuttlebay,
and only one shuttle, so you've got 'em.|
     "Right." Morgan said, steering towards the small freighter that was
moving out from behind a large-sized asteroid. A hatch opened on it's
surface, just large enough to steer the shuttle through. She got it through
without too much trouble, only scraping the sides once. Almost as soon as
she had it slid into place in the shuttlebay, she could feel the freighter
start to move.
     |We're reading couple Karnage-class battlecruisers moving in this
direction.| the radio-voice said conversationally. |We're going into
overly-hyped space as soon as possible.|
     Morgan turned, hearing the THUDclickHisssss of an airlock locking into
place. It slid open and something huge and hairy stepped in.
     "Uhh... Could you get these cuffs off?" Morgan asked. The thing turned
and zapped her with a ray-gun.
     Morgan blinked. "Maybe later." she said, passing out.

WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO ADMIRAL MORGAN???
SMUGGLING ZIMA?!? THE SCUM!!!
WHO WOULD _BUY_ IT, ANYWAY???

SUPERGUY. READ IT OR WE'LL CUT OUT YOUR LIVER WITH A SPOON.

"Why a spoon?! Because it's _dull_, you idiot! It'll _hurt_ more!"
 -- Prince John, _Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves_

Jesse Taylor / taylorjb@vuse.vanderbilt.edu / Accept no substitutes!!
GCS/E d-(?) H s+:- g- p? !au>* !a w(+)>+++ v+(-) C++>++++ US+(++) P-- L- !3
E---- N++ K+++ !W--- M+>++ V-- -po+ Y+ t+ 5++ j--(x) R+ G'''' !tv+ b+++ D
B--- e+(*) u-(*) h* f r-- n+(----) y+(-)* :: GEEK CODE Vers 2.1! (-: :-)