"I try never to get involved in my own life. Too much trouble."
- Mr. Garibaldi (to Mr. Endawi) "Babylon 5: Matters of Honor"
* * *
Ed sat in the bridge of the Calypso, shuddering. "If I _EVER_ see that
universe again, I hope someone _shoots_ me."
"It was educational, boss."
"Educational my ASS! I _never_ want to visit the Anime University again.
I'd rather have a Jyusenkyo curse, thank you very much." He shivered. "And
the Professor in the Advanced Sciences Department was the worst... I swear,
if I ever hear that 'Hi, I like you, wanna be my guinea pig?' again, I'll
kill her." He reigned in his emotions with an obvious effort. "And the Home
Economics division was almost as bad. What kind of *idiot* puts Saotome
Akane in charge of a _COOKING_ class?"
"Same one that put Tendo Nabiki and Katherine Madigan in Administration,
b'wana."
"Please, don't remind me," he sighed. "Those two could squeeze yen from
a stone. And not even work up a sweat." He looked at the blue planet
spinning serenely below. "Time to go. Let's rotate."
Behind him, in his private cabin, a tall staff merged with the deckplates
began to glow in an obviously mystical fashion. It had done this before.
It would do it in the future. But this time, and only this time, the glow
began to pulse. Not a good sign. No, not good at all.
* * *
STEEL BREEZE PRODUCTIONS
and
Industrial Might & Logic
Are Proud to Present
L E G I O N ' S Q U E S T
Mi Vida Loco
* * *
"Rotation completed, b'wana. Hmm... this is odd."
"What is is, Min?"
"We didn't emerge near Earth this time. We didn't even come out near the
Solar system."
"Any ideas where we are?"
The ACI nodded. "It's a listed system in the New Galactic Catalog.
Looks habitable. We came out away from the ecliptic plane, apparently." She
frowned. "Scanning.."
Ed nodded and pulled his hat down over his eyes. "Lemme know if you get
anything love.. better yet, let me know if you find out why Twister's spell
sent us here."
"Uh-oh."
He shrank deeper into the captain's seat. "Uh-oh?"
"Emergency, boss. We've got major debris off the port bow, and.. boss!
There's a survivor!"
He shot up straight in his chair. "What?"
"Suited, drifting.. he's running low on consumables, and life support in
his suit is failing." She paused. "There's no one else in the area, aside
from a ship high-tailing it out of the system. If we don't make pickup, no
one will, lover."
He nodded, swearing under his breath. "Go ahead, but use a cable, not a
tractor or a transporter. I don't want to give up anything I don't have
to."
He eyed the wreckage Minerva was imaging on the main screen. "What ever
happened here, they had one HELL of a battle. Somebody really kicked ass in
a major way." He turned back to her. "Deep scans, Min. If there's someone
unfriendly in the area, I want to know about it sooner, rather than later."
* * *
"Wha.. who..?"
"Calm down, friend. And don't try to talk. You're safe, for the time
being." The grey haired man smiled down at him. "You're aboard the private
yacht, Calypso. We found you drifting and unconsious, with almost nothing
left in your suit's tanks. And what looks like the left-overs of a
_serious_ battle floating nearby. We picked you up, and you're in our
sickbay right now, recovering."
"o..our?"
Ed nodded to one side. "I'm sure you'd like to meet my first mate, and
currently your nurse, Minerva." A lovely young woman stepped forward and
swatted Ed over the head.
"And he should be resting, not listening to you blather, boss. I'm the
medic around here, remember?"
The by-now thoroughly confused man on the medi-bed watched as the
grey-haired man rolled his eyes at the woman. *Minerva?* he thought? "I..
I don't understand.."
Minerva came to his side. "Well, at the moment, you don't need to.
You're suffering from oxygen deprivation and death pressure effects. On top
of that, you were shot, although your pressure suit took most of the blow
for you. You need to rest and recouperate. When you're feeling better,
we'll get your personal information, and take you to your family, or
friends, or to wherever you'd like to go after you've fully recovered." She
frowned. "Can you tell us your name?"
"Die.. Dietrich. Dick Dietrich," the patient got out, then slipped into
unconsciousness once again.
Ed looked worriedly at him. "What's wrong, Min?"
"Nothing truly serious, boss.. he's just exhausted, on top of the other
things that he's suffering from. Stress." She smiled. "A little oxygen,
some food, water and rest, a bit of quick-heal on the side and he'll be
okay. 48 hours tops, I'd say."
* * *
"We're WHERE?!"
That agonized scream shook the Calypso and could have been heard light
years away if empty space had been capable of carrying sound.
"Calm down, boss! It's not _that_ bad."
Ed looked at her and dropped his head into his hands and moaned. "Please
tell me you're joking."
"No. Given our guest's name, and the recent transmissions I've been
monitoring from this system, the planet nearby is the world of Dolz, and
we're in the same universe as the.."
"DON'T SAY IT!" he screamed, jerking upright.
"..Lovely Angels," she finished. "We're in the reality of the Flight 005
Conspiracy OAV."
"The Dirty Pair," he whispered. "We're doomed."
* * *
Somewhere, light years away, a red-haired young woman sat up in her bunk
and looked around, confused and angry. "I could have _sworn_ I heard
someone say it.."
* * *
"Why so upset, boss? It's not like they could hurt either of us. You're
too tough.. and I know you'd never let anyone hurt me."
He was knocking back a bottle of Russian vodka as though his life
depended on how fast he could chug it. He wiped his lips with the back of
his hand and started over. "Min.. the Angels are right.. it never IS
their fault. Yet mayhem, disaster and chaos follow them like the Horsemen
of the Apocalypse. They don't even have to be on a mission for things to
start going wrong around them. And that means.. " He stopped, and drew a
deep breath. "..that means they are probably _his_."
The lovely ACI blinked, and her eyes widened slightly. "How is that
possible?"
"You work for me and you can ask that? It wouldn't even surprise me if
they're blood relations of his. He makes Ataru Moroboshi look like a
celibate monk. Their hair and skin color aren't important, he was always
good at faking that. As good as Zeus was said to be."
She nodded. "Truly. You think they are his daughters?"
"Granddaughters, possibly.. or great-granddaughters. The number of
generations doesn't matter.. _that_ bloodline _always_ breeds true." He
winced. "I'm living proof of that. And since the Angels are here, he's
probably nearby, so he can enjoy the fireworks." A hard, angry look crept
into his face. "And I do NOT intend to let that miserable sonafabitch get
his claws back into me. _THAT_ is why I'm so upset."
Minerva looked into his face. "'No one owns me', right?"
"That.. and 'All debts are paid.' He tried to hook me once. And that's
all he gets. Once." He rose from his seat. "We can't leave here until we
find or do whatever it is that Valanna's spell brought us here for, so let's
find it, A.S.A.P." Lifting a hand, he began to quickly tick off points on
his fingers. "First.. we drop our passenger off at the nearest world that
has a 3WA office. I may not want to go near one, but I'll be damned if I'll
be cruel to an innocent bystander just because I've managed to get my OWN
tail in a knot. Second, we start looking for our objective in this reality.
After that.. we'll see."
"It's a plan, boss..."
"I take it you have an objection?" he asked.
"More of an observation. Remember, we're dealing with the Lovely Angels
here. Murphy's Law went into full effect the second we appeared in this
cosmos, and as someone else said, 90% of the bad luck resulting from that
fact is going to focus right on YOU, boss. That means a meeting with the
Angels isn't just likely, it's _inevitable_."
"Oh... now _THERE'S_ a pleasant thought. Thank you EVER so much, Min."
She grinned. "It's my job. And I love my work."
"Why me?" he sighed rhetorically. "All right. Attention to orders.
Since we're near Dolz, crack their local net, grab every byte of data that
looks useful, and find me a nearby planet with a 3WA office that's still
small enough that we won't attract too much attention. I rather doubt a
thlIngan Bird of Prey scoutship is seen very often in these parts, and
getting noticed is the last thing we want until we have enough information
to fit into local society." He paused. "Oh, yeah.. and after that little
joke with the jellyfish and the toast last Wendsday?"
"Yes?"
"I want it all done _yesterday_."
"*groan* Right away, b'wana."
* * *
"Found what you're looking for, boss."
"Yes?" he replied absently.
"The world of Asim. Settled primarily by people of Middle Eastern
descent, some idiot apparently made the error of routing an Arab
colonization ship there without checking to see what other settlers had
already arrived."
Ed snorted. "Let me guess... an Israeli kibbutzim was already set up
there."
She nodded. "So there is a permanant 3WA presence there. Not much, just
an office and a few full-time staffers. No trouble consultant teams.
There's a decent spaceport with regular flights into and out of the system,
and they're tied into the interstellar communications network. We can leave
Mr. Dietrich there with a wad of cash, and the 3WA can take care of the
rest of it. In and out, quick, and the only record of us will be
'mysterious benefactors'. As for his rescue.. well, they can just chalk it
up to UFO's, the Bermuda Triangle, or Ancient Astronauts if they like."
He sighed. "You've been reading Erich Von Daniken again, haven't you?"
"A girl has to have her hobbies, boss. Besides, he's so _funny_! And
Berlitz looks kind of cute with that beard."
He gave Minerva a _look_, then relented. "All right. But be careful.
That stuff rots the brain." He paused. "Is either gold or platinum valuable
here?"
"Yes, but the metal they need for their stardrives is even more so. It's
called vizorium."
"Can you replicate it?"
"No problem. Make a few pounds, and leave it in the vault of a bank on
Dolz in exchange for lifting some galactic currency, right?"
"That works. And it's better than counterfitting. Make it so, girl.
And let's head for Asim." He waved an arm at the wreckage still visible in
the main viewscreen. "Watching all that stuff float out there gives me the
creeps."
***********************************
Personal Log: Entry 47, Year 26.
Min's taking the Calypso to Asim via warp drive instead of hopping
directly in-system with the Irrelevancy drive. Seems Dietrich was a little
more injured than it appeared at first scan. He has a rather nasty case of
decompression sickness (they used to call it 'the Bends' when I was a kid)
on top of traumatic abaryia, and Min wanted to give him an extra day or two
of recovery time.
And I made the mistake of letting her go all out for him. She always
_was_ a sucker for a hero, and so she's been quietly 'improving' his health
without his knowledge. By the time she's done, he'll feel twenty years
younger (and BE that much younger, at least internally).
Reminds me of something the Doctor once said, the last time I ran into
him. (Note: Next time we meet, I _really_ must apologize for ramming into
his TARDIS. *sigh* Serves me right for not looking where I was flying.)
"The hallmark of a sentient being is the ability to use one's
intelligence to apply one's instincts for the BENEFIT OF OTHERS, no matter
if they are of your species or not."
Nice guy, the Doctor. But I digress...
Maybe I've gotten lucky this time around. Maybe Dietrich was the reason
Valanna's spell drew us here. Fates willing, we might be able to leave this
reality just as soon as we get him back with his family again.
Maybe it's just that simple.
Maybe there won't be any trouble here.
And maybe pigs will fly.
End Log Entry 47, Year 26.
***********************************
Old Earth, North American continent.
South-western sector, Sonorran desert.
A small campfire was burning in the night, casting light and shadow
across the sparse vegetation and pushing back the chill of the desert wind.
Sitting crosslegged next to it was a thin young man, native American from
the cast of his face. Oddly enough, he wasn't dressed for the time or the
climate, wearing a white t-shirt, jeans, and a leather motorcycle jacket.
A raven swooped down from the moonlit sky and perched on a nearby
saugwaro cactus. It cawed once, then coughed.
"You're playing with him again, aren't you."
The man smiled. "Why not? He _is_ mine, you know. He said it himself.
The blood runs _strongly_ in him.. and in _them_."
A sardonic cackle came from the raven. "And you wonder why you get in
trouble with our Father. I'm surprised he hasn't skinned you alive and left
you to the sands."
"That's half the fun right there, cousin. Everything fun is at least a
_little_ dangerous. And everything dangerous is at least a little fun." The
man laughed. "You're a fine one to talk.. the Peoples of the Pacific don't
exactly have the fondest memories of you."
"True, true.." The raven clacked his beak a few times. "Just remember,
when I play with them, there isn't all that much they can do about it, aside
from calling for help. This one is more powerful by far. You might want to
remember that, when he gets his hands on you."
"No chance of that, cousin mine."
The raven launched himself into the air, and circled overhead. "If I
recall correctly, that's _exactly_ what you said when you got involved with
that lawyer who'd left the People. And again when you tried playing games
with that rich round eye from New York. And that one even managed to trap
you inside cold iron." It laughed. "If it weren't for your friends.. Heh.
You never learn." He straighted out and flew away. But the wind brought his
voice back one last time.
"This time, any help is going to cost you, Cousin. Remember _that_."
The man smirked. "As if I'd need any." But the raven was long since
gone, unable to hear him. He stood, and scattered the small fire with a
foot, careful to smother the flames.
Smiling in the moonlight, his form began to blur at the edges. Mere
seconds later, a small dust-devil stood in his place, its swirling winds
whipping the desert sands into a frenzy. A piercing howl shivered the
night.
And the desert was empty once more.
* * *
"We're approaching Asim, boss. I need you at the helm."
Ed nodded. "Did you remember to access all the proper port conventions
from Dolz?"
Minerva laughed. "Boss, I may have a flesh and blood body now, thanks to
Valanna, but I'm _still_ a computer. I _never_ forget."
He rolled his eyes. "That isn't what you said when we got in trouble
with Sylia and the Knight Sabers over that collection of Bubblegum Crisis
erotic fiction they found on the logic solid."
"That was an accident, boss! I'd wiped those! I have no idea HOW those
files got back onto that crystal."
"Uh-huh. Riiiiight. Pull the other leg, it's got bells on."
She pouted cutely. "You don't believe me?"
"I _know_ you, girl," he chuckled. "Now, let's get into an approach lane
and see about setting down on Asim. I trust the proper documents are
ready?"
"We're legal now, boss. We're registered out of a freeport out of Nova
Liberia."
"Nice touch," he grinned.
"I thought so." She paused. "We're being hailed."
Ed took the captain's seat as the main screen lit up. A thin young man
materialized on-screen.
"This is Asim approach control. What ship?"
"The private yatch 'Calypso', out of Nova Liberia. I am the
owner-captain, Anthony Edwards." He looked at the younger man seriously. "I
have an injured castaway on board who needs to be placed in touch with the
closest 3WA office for repatriation. I request immediate permission to land
at your spaceport for humanitarian purposes."
The port control officer looked surprised, and leaned off-screen.
Minerva amplified the sound, and they both heard the whisper, "Is that
legal?" Someone whispered back, "Yup. It's in the treaties." The officer
turned back to the screen.
"Please transmit your documents on the standard frequency, and enter
approach orbit Aleph-one. Co-ordinates are being sent... now." There was a
high-pitched squeal, and Minerva signaled him that she had received them.
"Thank you, officer. Co-ordinates received and locked in. Do you have
an estimate on the current wait status?"
The PCO typed at a console for a second. "Are the injuries to your
passenger life threatening?"
"No. He's stable, and any further treatment can take place at his
leisure."
The officer nodded. "Excellent. You're... hmmm... seventh in the
queue, and estimated time of landing is 45 minutes. If there is nothing
further, sir?"
He shook his head. "No, thank you, son."
"Please be ready for customs inspection upon landing. We'll contact the
3WA office and have a representative there to meet you on touchdown. Over
to homing beam, sir."
"Over to homing beam." He waved to Minerva, who closed the connection.
"We ready for an inspection, Min?"
"Not a problem, boss. They won't find anything but what we want them to
find, and I've double-checked their listing of contraband. Aside from our
technology, we don't have anything they want."
"Weapons?"
"Locked down, and masked with solid holograms. We'll look like an
ex-military ship converted to a civilian yacht."
"Good. Then let's go see what Asim is like, love."
* * *
Ed firmly throttled the urge to fall to the ground and begin laughing
hysterically. It simply wouldn't do to be _that_ disrespectful of his
hosts. {Min, the Three Stooges could do a better customs inspection than
this!}
{No argument there, boss.. this crew gives an entirely new meaning to
the phrase 'job-related incompetence'. It's a good thing Captain Solo isn't
here - he could probably smuggle the entire Death Star past these losers.}
His lips twitched upward in a faint smile. {Be nice, pretty lady...
everyone deserves a chance at employment. Even mental defectives like
these.} Hearing footsteps behind him, he stopped worrying about the
inspectors and turned to face the two men who were entering the landing bay.
"Hello!" he smiled. "I'm Captain Edwards, and you are?"
The first man extended a hand. "Ahmad Khelad, Portmaster. And this
gentleman is Hal Ustinov, the head of the local 3WA office."
Ed shook hands all around. "A pleasure to meet you, Portmaster Khelad.
And you, Mr. Ustinov. I have someone who's rather anxious to meet you."
Khelad looked past him to the ship, then groaned. "Allah has deserted
me. It's them."
"Excuse me?" asked Ed, confused.
Ahmad pointed towards the customs inspection team. "My second wife's
youngest brother, Mahmoud, and his cousins Aziz and Ismael." His face fell.
"Please tell me that they have not embarrassed me, Captain Edwards.
_Please_."
Ed blinked a few times. "Oh. Don't feel badly, Portmaster. They've
been most polite, and as for the inspection, they've..." he paused, chewing
his lip and trying to be diplomatic in his phrasing. "They've been most..
enthusiastic about their work."
"Meaning that they at least showed up on time, and not hung over," said
Khelad dryly. He sighed. "I have a choice. I can have a peaceful, happy
family, or I can fire them and return home each night to furious relatives.
What is a man to do?"
"You can pick your friends, you can choose your lovers.. but family
you're stuck with," noted Ustinov.
"Too true, my friend, too true." He glared at his in-laws for a moment,
then turned back. "May we, Captain?" he asked, indicating the Calypso.
"Certainly. It would be my pleasure."
* * *
"Le mauvais gout mene au crime. (Poor taste leads to crime.)"
- Anonymous French proverb.
"Round up the usual suspects."
- Casablanca.
In the Calypso's ready room, Dietrich was waiting for them. He smiled
widely. "Which one of you is the 3WA man?"
Ustinov introduced himself, and they all took a seat. Ed looked around
the table. "Drinks, anyone?"
Hal grinned. "That's hospitality. Scotch, if you have it."
"I do. Single malt, at that. And you, Mr. Khelad? Oh, wait, I forget.
Do you observe the Koran's strictures on the taking of spirits?"
"I'm afraid I do, Captain. But isn't that coffee I smell?" Ahmad licked
his lips. "Jamaican coffee?"
Ed laughed. "A fellow junkie, I see. And yes, it's Jamaican Blue
Mountain." He set a cup in front of the portmaster, who stared at it like a
Christian confronted with the Holy Grail before grabbing it and attempting
to _inhale_ it by main force.
"Allah be praised! It IS Blue Mountain!" Ahmad savored the aroma, and
sighed happily. "I can now die a happy man."
"I wonder if trying to bribe a Portmaster with a pound of Blue can be
considered a crime?"
Ahmad smiled so widely, Ed thought the corners of his mouth would meet at
the back of his neck. "Yes, Captain, it would be a crime.. and would have
to be severely fined, the fine amounting to at least TWO pounds of Blue
Mountain." They all laughed.
"Down to business, I suppose. Mr. Ustinov.."
"Just Hal, if you please."
"Hal, then. I found Richard here floating, wounded and unconscious, in a
debris field off the planet Dolz. From the looks of it, he'd been left for
dead. In point of fact, he pretty much _was_ dead. Damned good thing I
arrived there when I did." Ed paused, and took a sip of his scotch.
"While he's been quite circumspect about what happened, I have learned
that he was involved with a 3WA trouble consultant team who were trying to
rescue his daughter, grand-daughter and son-in-law. Rescue them from whom,
and WHY they needed to be rescued, he wouldn't say, and I didn't push. I
can recognize the 'classified, need-to-know' conditioned-reflex when I see
it, Hal. He wasn't eager to return to Dolz, and seemed equally uneasy with
the thought of traveling to either Dubahl or Zahl, so I assumed those worlds
had something to do with whatever happened."
He shrugged slightly. "So.. Asim was the next closest world with a 3WA
field office, and I brought him here. Hopefully, you can reunite him with
his family, and I can move on."
"Move on? Why?" The 3WA agent was confused. "Don't you realize there
will likely be a reward? And even if there isn't, I'm certain his family
will want to meet the man who saved his life."
Dietrich nodded his agreement. "I still don't understand that myself,
Anthony."
"Dick, I wander for a good reason. What that reason is, is something
personal." He laughed. "I know that sounds like something out of a
particularly bad melodrama, but it's the truth in my case. Besides.. I
rescued you because it was the right thing to do, not because I wanted a
reward."
Dietrich looked uncertain, but didn't press. "If that's the way you
truly want it..."
"It is. And before I forget.." He reached into a shirt pocket and
extracted a sheaf of currency notes. "You're likely going to need a little
walking around money on the way home, so here."
Dietrich looked at the wad of money, surprised. "But that's.. that's.."
"That's money, Dick. Nothing more, nothing less. Useless by itself.
What can you do with it? Eat it? Patch your roof with it? Nope. Money is
only useful when you can use it to help someone." Ed laughed again. "And
don't think you're bankrupting me. Look around you. I _own_ this ship,
free and clear. I could give you ten times this amount out of petty cash
and not even notice it."
Dietrich shrugged, and accepted the money. "I don't know what to say
except for 'Thank you'."
"That'll do it." Ed turned back to Ustinov. "You can take care of this
from here, I hope."
Hal signaled his agreement. "I'll contact the home office, and we'll
have him with his family inside of three weeks. Right now, they're in
protective custody. They've made some enemies."
Ed grinned. "I'd guessed that might be the case, from the destruction of
whatever-it-was where I found him. Someone got a little careless with the
megaweapons, I'd say."
Ustinov thought of the Lovely Angels, and smiled. "I can't comment on
that. But I won't deny it, either." He stood and bowed. "With your
permission, Captain?"
Ed escorted them to the gangplank and waved goodbye. "Take care, Dick.
And do _try_ to avoid getting shot up again.. it's rather hard on your
insurance premiums." He smiled as a taxi picked them up, and turned to
re-enter the ship when a loud klaxon went off.
"BOSS! Your cabin, now!"
He took off at a dead run, followed closely by Khelad. Reaching his
cabin, he was greeted by the sight of the three customs inspectors cringing
away from Minerva and a collection of her scutter-bots. The 'bots were all
carrying shock-prods or pain-sticks and were waving them menacingly at the
trio.
"Just what in the name of Steven Hawkings' wheelchair is going ON HERE?!"
he shouted.
The three spotted Khelad, puffing and wheezing behind him and fell to
their knees, babbling something about being rescued from crazed women and
godless infidels and asserting their complete and utter innocence of
everything. The portmaster just swore bitterly.
"Captain, would you let them up for a moment? I think I know what's
occured."
Ed nodded, confused, and waved the scutters back a foot or two. The
three men sighed in relief - a relief that was short-lived. Because the
portmaster stepped forward and pointed a finger at the chest of the leader.
"Take off your jacket, Mahmoud. Now."
Mahmoud, who had been smiling, suddenly looked fearful. "But _brother_!"
"Don't 'brother' me, Mahmoud. I said take it off. And turn out your
pockets."
The younger man did so slowly, and a small pile of coins and other easily
hidden items from Ed's desk were stacked atop the deck. Khelad picked up
the jacket and shook it. A PADD fell from it to the floor. Ahmad's face
twitched dangerously. "Am I to assume that this man's assistant planted all
these items on you in order to frame you?"
"yesyesyes that's what happened it's all a trap they're trying to frame
us so they can smuggle things into Asim you're so brilliant to see it my
brother we must arrest him and confiscate the ship and see that the woman
marries a suitable young..." the leader of the three babbled gratefully.
"QUIET!" roared Khelad. "Do you take me for as much an idiot as the one
you see in the mirror each morning?! You were trying to steal from this
man, and when you were caught, you tried to blame this lovely young woman!
I. Have. Had. Enough. Of. You. Three!"
Ed stepped forward then. "Calmly, Ahmad. I think I can resolve this.
Your people abide by the law of the Koran, yes?"
The portmaster nodded.
"I've always had respect for that.. the criminal code of the Koran is
most stern, and _quite_ effective. And I'm certain these three will be MOST
interested to know that ALL of the cabins and holds of the Calypso are
monitored on a continuous basis. In short..." he grinned coldly, "Surprise,
surprise, boys... you're on Candid Camera." His grin widened into an
unpleasantly shark-like smile. "I believe the imams will find those
recordings quite informative. And you should be able to relearn how to get
by with only one hand quickly enough. That _is_ the traditional penalty for
a thief, isn't it, Ahmad? The _removal_ of the hand he did the thieving
with?"
The three blanched and began to shiver in fright. Khelad calmed down,
and nodded towards Edward. "You do know something of the Koran, I see." He
looked back towards his quivering relatives. "Do you wish to press
charges?"
"Ohhh.... I dunno. I expect that if they were to resign their positions
in the customs service, effective _immediately_ and agree to NEVER take a
goverment job again, I could probably find it in my heart to forget about
this little peccadilo of theirs."
Mahmoud fell to his knees and began to cry huge crocodile tears, as did
his two accomplices. "Save us, brother, you mustn't let this infidel do
this to us.."
"Shut. Up." hissed the angry portmaster. "If I had my way, the imam
wouldn't cut off your hands, he'd remove your empty _heads_. Either way,
it'd be a small loss. The ONLY reason I'm taking Captain Edwards up on his
offer is because I don't want Sadira weeping and moaning about this."
Ed nodded. "I've learned over the years that the quickest road to
domestic hell is by _winning_ an argument with your wife." He turned to
Minerva. "Min? Let's make a nice set of recordings for Ahmad. Several
copies, in fact. I suspect that his in-laws here will be considerably
easier for him to handle if he has something he can hang over their heads."
"I'm on it, b'wana."
Khelad raised an eyebrow. "You have a nasty sense of humor, my friend.
I like that." He grinned. "Allah willing, these idiots won't get into much
more trouble. They won't want to take the chance on Sadira discovering the
truth about them and throwing them out on their thieving rumps. Thank you."
Then he kicked his brother-in-law in the afformentioned buttocks. "Strip.
All three of you."
"WHAT?!"
"I said strip. I trust you fools about as far as I can throw you."
A few moments later, Mahmoud, Aziz and Ismael had stripped to their
underwear, and a truly amazing pile of small, easily pilfered items rested
on the deckplates next to their clothing. Ed shook his head in awe.
"I'll give them this much, Ahmad... they may not have much in the way of
brains, but DAMN me, they got sticky fingers."
Khelad sighed again. "They always have. May I take them with me now? I
will send an _honest_ customs team to inspect the ship tomorrow."
"Fine by me." He turned slightly, and held out a hand to Minerva, who
placed a small package in it. "For your troubles, Ahmad. 500 grams of
Jamaican Blue. Try to relax, and drink it in good health."
***********************************
"To deny the possibility, nay, the actual existance of witchcraft and
sorcery is flatly to contradict the revealed word of God."
- William Blackstone, 'Commentaries on the Laws of England'
Francis Goulet stared at the little pink bottle sitting on his desk. All
the advances in science over the past centuries, and the only cure they
could find for his stomache was Pepto Bismol(tm).
"There _is_ a Supreme Being. One who hates me," sighed Goulet. "And
it's name is the Central Computer." He took a long swallow of the pink
fluid, and picked up the file. Wincing, he laid it down again, and touched
the intercom, summoning his secretary.
"Send the Lovely Angels up here right away, Jonathan. There's another
mission for them."
"Sir? I'm afraid they're unavailable at the moment. They're busy with
the training program. They're training that new recruit... the _odd_ one."
"oh." He closed his eyes. "Did they _ever_ manage to break her.. err..
him.. ahh.. oh, hell.. did they ever manage to get the cadet to stop
refering to itself in the third person?"
"They're still trying, sir."
Goulet rubbed his tired eyes, and thought longingly of the soft bed he
wasn't going to get to use unless he could solve this. "Tell them to get
right up here.. and bring the cadet along. She might as well get some more
real life experience. And if worst comes to worst, we'll provide her with a
nice funeral."
Jonathan turned and left to fetch the Lovely Angels, while Goulet folded
his arms on the desk and pillowed his head on them. "Magic," he muttered.
"I _hate_ magic."
* * *
Kei, Yuri, and the only recruit of theirs that had survived their
training stood before Goulet's desk. Goulet looked at them levelly.
"For reasons unknown, the Central Computer has seen fit to assign an
extra, temporary member to the Trouble Consultant team, 'Lovely Angels'.
I'm well aware that you will find this uncomfortable, but those are your
orders." He rattled the papers in his hands. "As you recall, Richard
Dietrich, the person who alerted us to the whole Flight 005 affair was
thought to be dead. Much to my surprise, having read your report, he
recently turned up on the planet Asim, alive and well."
"But that's IMPOSSIBLE!" Kei burst out. "We _saw_ him die."
"Actually, you saw him shot, and drift away into deep space. He was
accidently found by a private craft that entered the area just as you were
leaving in your ship. The captain of the yatch," Goulet checked the papers,
" _Calypso_, picked him up and treated his injuries. Dietrich was then
dropped off at the 3WA field office on Asim. The station chief there, Hal
Ustinov, alerted us immediately."
"So, what does that have to do with US, sir?" asked Yuri curiously.
"The Central Computer has determined that the owner of this ship is
currently traveling under false ID. Further checking has shown that not
only were Dietrich's injuries treated, he's in MUCH better shape than he was
before this entire event took place. Yet no signs of nanite repairs or
genetic surgery were found. He's simply two decades younger, internally.
While the CC has not seen fit to inform me as to how it has reached it's
conclusions, it HAS concluded that the owner of this yatch possesses
technology that could prove _extremely_ dangerous in the hands of anyone
other than the United Galactica and the 3WA."
Kei smacked a fist into the palm of her hand, grinning widely. "And
we're to 'persuade' him to come along willingly. I *like* it."
Goulet raised a hand. "Not so fast. There are some _restrictions_, Kei.
First.. you retrieve the captain alive and _unhurt_. That is of paramount
importance, as the CC insists that we must have his _willing_ cooperation.
Second.. the ship must be UNDAMAGED! The Calypso _must_ be taken intact,
no matter the cost. That part of your orders is inviolable. Third, you are
to attempt to avoid offending.." he looked down at the file again, "Captain
Edwards. I don't care HOW much it hurts, you will treat him with all
respect. The CC wants him in a friendly mood towards us."
"Great," muttered Kei. "Take all the fun out of it, why don'cha."
"That will be quite enough of that out of you, Agent Kei. This is a
mission, NOT an excuse for you to shoot everything in sight."
Kei grumbled something under her breath, and Goulet speared her with a
sharp glance. "I'm old, not deaf. You have your orders." He nodded at the
third trouble consultant, standing quietly behind them. "And you'll be
taking her with you. The CC insists that she'll be needed."
The Lovely Angels both nodded. "No argument there. She's the only cadet
we've trained that's survived." Yuri turned around and offered her hand.
"It's nice to have you back with us, Zen-chan."
* * *
"Zen does not understand this. Why does the CC think Zen is
indispensible?"
Yuri was flipping through the sealed orders as the three headed for the
'Lovely Angel'. "According to this, the CC considers it highly possible
that you've had previous experience with Captain Edwards." She frowned. "No
pictures, no files.. just a verbal description from the Agent In Charge at
Asim, and an identikit mock-up based on that description."
Kei peeked over her shoulder. "Shouldn't be TOO hard to spot - that scar
on his forehead is pretty noticable."
"Zen _still_ does not understand. Zen has never met this person before
that Zen can remember. What does the CC know that Zen does not?" The short
red-head looked mildly confused.
Kei laughed. "Zen, the day you can get the CC to give up the whole
truth, will be the day we don't need trouble consultants any more."
Zen nodded. At that point, a sharp-faced young man in jeans, a white
t-shirt and a black leather motorcycle jacket ran up to them, carrying a
folder in his hand. "You the Lovely Angels team? More information for you,
then. Gotta pic of the person you're tracing, and his probable
destination." He shoved the folder into Kei's hands, then dashed away.
"Who was that?" asked Zen.
"I don't know," replied Kei, opening the folder. "But this info is gonna
be _really_ helpful." She closed it and began to stride faster. "Let's get
to the ship and get going!"
Zen shrugged, and broke into a trot to keep up. "Here Zen goes again.."
* * *
As the Lovely Angels took off, the same young man in the leather jacket
stood outside a small bar near the spaceport. He shielded his eyes and
watched the ship head out-system, a smirk on his face.
"If that doesn't get things started, I don't know what will," he laughed.
"Oh, the FUN this is going to be! The things we'll do, the things we'll
see." Then he turned and entered a small tobacco shop near the bar.
***********************************