2.Ø6
Argust 15, 2124, 8:43pm
“Aaaghhh!!!” James Bunk howled as a clam-headed man cracked his skull with a truncheon.
“Oi! Iss that any way ta’ interduce y’sself?” A drunken, but authoritative voice, snapped at the clam. “ ‘elp that man to ‘iss feet ya’ murderouss mollussk! And look sharp, or you’ll ansswer’ to me ya’ gutless gooey-duck!”
Muddle gazed open-mouthed at the creature that had just reprimanded the clam. A man-sized seamonkey wearing a tricorn hat slurrily conveyed his regrets, “I’m terribly ssorry, mate.” The seamonkey extended a cluster of claws, “I’ve jusst promoted the clam to ssecond mate, and the power’ss gone sstraight to ‘is head.” The seamonkey’s claws curled around Muddle’s arm and hauled him to his feet. Once Muddle was upright, the seamonkey launched straight into introductions, “Iss’a pleassure ta’ make your ‘quaintance, me jolly jimcrack.” The seamonkey pumped Muddle’s arm, “Though I’ve not had the pleassure, I’ll wager you’ve heard me name a time or two, har-harr…”
Muddle wasn’t sure, but the seamonkey seemed to be contorting its features into something resembling a smile. “...no matter what you’ve heard, if you’ll judge me on me meritss, I’ll pledge the same ta’ you! Har-haaar!!” With that, the seamonkey swept off his hat and bowed, “Me name’s Davy Joness! The Flying Dutchboy and itss mutinouss crew are at yer sserviceI”
“Whaa…?” Muddle choked, “...did you say your name was Davy Jones…?”
“Aye! That I did, ya’ barmy bilge rat! What of it?” Jones drew a crusty jug from his belt, popped its cork and guzzled half a pint of rum. Since a seamonkey’s mouth is not ideally-suited for gargling rum, most of the spirit cascaded over Muddle’s head. Jones belched, “Ahhhh!” and then punched the cork back into his bottle.
“So...uhh…” Muddle swiped the burning liquid from his eyes, “If you’re Davy Jones, does that mean I...” Muddle gulped audibly, “...I’m dead?”
“Har-de-HAAAR-AARRGH!!” Davy Jones clapped a cluster of claws on Muddle’s shoulder, "Nay, me hearty! Thass a common misconception if ever there wuz one. Ssure as I’m barking with a’ two-legged sseal I vow you’ve nowt to fear on that sscore! HARR-ARGH!” The seamonkey punctuated his pledge with another gurgle of rum.
This time, Muddle saw the torrent coming and deployed his hood in time to deflect the brine shrimp’s overspray. With the help of his hood’s night vision goggles Muddle saw that the Flying Dutchboy had dropped anchor north of Diablo Point. Scores of massive crustaceans were swarming off the ship bearing crates to the beach.
The giant clam hauled James Bunk to his feet and began swatting sand from his suit. Before Bunk could process any of the bizarre goings-on, Davy Jones cried, “Well, I’ll be dipped in tartar ssauce! Izzat me old mate, Jamess Bunk?”
The secret agent’s eyebrows nearly shot off his forehead. Bunk reflexively reached for his pistol, but came up empty. He had lost the PPK when the second mate cracked his skull. Instead, Bunk backed away, “Uh...sorry, laddie, I...I think you’re mistaking me for some other seafood…”
“Nay, come on, Bunkie,” The seamonkey capered over and embraced Bunk like a lost brother. “Ssurely ya’ remember!”
Enfolded in Jones’ twiggy feelers Bunk was the very picture of distress. Blind to Bunk’s discomfiture Jones waxed nostalgic, “Shore’n it’ss been a few moons, Bunkie, but back in the day we wuz insseparable, wassn’t we?” The seamonkey uncorked his jug and offered Bunk a swig. Bunk retched, so Jones had a gargle for both.
Following a ghastly belch, Jones continued, “Ah, thosse were the dayss, Bunkie! Crashing one ‘ollywood mixer after the other. Remember the time we kidnapped Johnny Depth’s shih tzu, eh? We barely esscaped prossecution for that’n, din’t we? Harr-Aaarr!”
“Davy Jones!? Bunk blanched and fought his way out of the seamonkey’s touchy-feelers, “You mean, you’re THAT Davy Jones!?!” As the truth sank in, Bunk moaned, “But, Davy...look at you, lad! How…? Er...Why…?”
“I knew ee’d remember! Shore as I’m sstandin’ here!” Jones tickled his chest with twiggy claws, “I’m the ssame Davy Joness who melted all thosse teeny-bopper heartss way back in the day.”
To illustrate, Jones pointed to the work his crew was doing. Bunk and Muddle were floored to see a heap of crustaceans assembling an ornate concert stage. As they took it all in a rhino-sized dungeness crab connected two electric cords with soaking wet claws. Following a spectacular explosion, the crab and its smoking pincers hurtled high above the stage and then plummeted into the briny deep.
Jones roared, “It never getss old, does it, Bunkie? I still get goosebumpss whenever me roadiess start unpackin’ the stage.” Jones extended one of his claws toward Muddle, “Lookie ‘ere, mate! I’ve got goosebumpss all up me arms!”
Muddle examined Jones’ gruesome guns and then called time out. “Hold on a sec, guys,” Muddle massaged his forehead, “I’m sorry, but you’ve lost me...” Before he could finish, a deafening sound check rang out. "CHECK! ONE. TWO. CHE-CHECK! ONE, TWO!!” As soon as he could raise his voice above the din, Muddle shouted, “Isn’t Davy Jones the legendary sea captain who shepherds lost souls at sea?”
“Of course he is,” Bunk sulked, “but he’s also much more than that, or, at least he was…” Bunk’s voice warbled, “...before he changed…”
“Well, ‘oo hasn’t changed?” Jones fired back. Fed up with being judged by his former wingman, Jones poured his heart out to Muddle, “Mebbe, you’ll catch me drift, sealie. I’m dead ssorry if I don’t meassure up to me old matess’ expectationss. But ee’s actin’ jusst like the scurvy fanss who loved me image more'n me. They wouldn't gi' me room ta' change. Grow! Evolve! Y’ssee?” Jones sighed out a gluey clump of bubbles, “Finally, I couldn’t carry on. I had ta’ admit that the Seamonkeyss wuz nuffin’ but a cheap knockoff o' the Beagless!”
“Oh, Davy! No! Don’t say that!!” Bunk whimpered, “The Seamonkeys were more. Much more!”
“Acchh!!” Jones retorted, “You’re living in a dream, mate. The Seamonkeyss wuz never anythin’ but a ssham. A mockery! But…” Jones jerked his head toward the stage, “...after a lotta dark nightss an' lonesome vigilss I decided to crack on.” Almost prayerfully, Jones added, “We’ve given the act a complete do over, and it'ss finally sstartin' ta' gel. The boyss 'ave chucked the kiddie ‘urdy gurdy for real music. Ssoul music…”
As if in deliberate contradiction, a jarring screech erupted from the stage, “Ssskkrreeeeeeekkk!!”
“Oh, uh...don’t mind that.” Embarrassed, Jones tried to shrug off the clamor, “It’s jusst...heh-heh...the audio techss performin' a ssound check.” Despite Jones’ insouciance, a knot of concern gnarled his brow.
Rather than dying away, the racket escalated to a nerve-jangling cacophony. With his attention fixed on the stage Jones quickly forgot about Bunk and Muddle, “...I’ll, uhh...just nip over and ssee if I can 'elp...” Jones quickened his pace as, with each passing moment, the ear-cracking clangor became worse and worse.
As Jones creepy-crawled across the sand, the lights on his stage erupted to life. Though he was hardly in the mood, Jones juked expressively to the pulse-pounding strobe lights while he launched his inquiry, “Wha’ss going on ya’ brainless sea slugss? Cut off that that noisse, or I’ll cut off yer bleedin' 'eadss!”
A mic'd-up lobster tried to give Jones a rundown, but the seamonkey couldn’t ‘ear a bleedin’ word 'ee said. Jones clapped two knots of claws over his ears and appealed skyward for help—whereupon, the salty seadog discovered that deliverance would not come hence. Atop the cliff, Jones spied a firestorm of scorching, swirling, burning light. The skipper screamed, “Fire!! Break down the sstage ya’ snivelin’ sardiness! The mother of all barbecuess is comin’ ta’ toasst our succulent sweetmeatss!”
Jones raged and cursed, but his deafened crew was heedless. The seamonkey’s worst fears were realized when the inferno overtopped the cliff and rained hellfire down below. “Aaagghh!!” Jones screamed, “Run fer yer livess, me heartiess!” Jones leaped off the stage a split second before a flaming meteor smashed the concert venue into a shattered heap of abandoned dreams.
Not finished terrorizing the pirate, the flaming meteor erupted from the wreckage and hurtled straight at Jones. Caught flat-footed, the projectile swacked Jones like a two wood to the upper decks of the Dutchboy, “Aaaiieeee!!”
As he soared aloft Jones gained a whole new perspective on the drama unfolding at Diablo Point. Instead of a wildfire, the fiery skylights emanated from a boiling sea of police cruisers. In addition to dozens of cars, several helicopters—that scorched the earth with intense search beams—had joined the chase.
Confused, Jones searched for the cops’ quarry. Only then did he realize that the projectile that had smashed his stage and clobbered him was not a meteor but a fire-roasted blue Mooney. Jones roared, “Blasst yer scurvy hide ya’ glorified dung wagon! Ye’ll not get away with thiss! Davy Joness ne’er fergives and he shorely ne’er fergets!”
While Jones bewailed the demise of his rock ‘n’ roll comeback, Bunk made use of the light from the burning stage to recover his Saltwater PPK. When Muddle heard Bunk chambering a bullet, he spun, spotted the gun and cried, “Holy frijole, Bunk!! Watch out for that blue Mooney!!”
Bunk had just enough time to whinge, "Oh, crumbs!” before the Mooney struck him squarely amidships. The double-O’s recriminations, “Bloody Yanks and your blinkin’ NASCAR…!!” were cut short by a bracing plunge into the Pacific.
After dispatching Bunk, Solu skidded to a halt and sprang out of the Mooney. She fixed her hypnotic orbs on Muddle, “Where’s the ship?”
Atop the cliff, police cruisers braked to a standstill inches shy of the precipice. As more cop cars arrived they smashed into a bumper-to-bumper heap of gridlocked black and whites.
“Sian?” Muddle retracted his hood, “...I thought you were on the ship...”
“No!” Solu shook her head, "Change of plans. Couldn’t be helped.” As she spoke Sian scanned the shorefront for her ship. Urgently, she demanded, “Where is Star Truck!!?”
When Muddle heard the words ‘Star Truck,’ it jogged his memory, “Oh, you mean the bank vault?”
“Bank vault…?” Solu squinted at Muddle, “Wha-? You mean...my ship?” She swept her arm to the western horizon, “Well, where is it?”
“Ah!...” Muddle racked his brain for a cheery way to convey the news of Star Truck’s demise, but failed. In the end, he confessed, “...it sank.”
“Sank!” Solu clapped both hands over her face and bellowed, “He had one job to do! ONE!” She slammed both fists on the Mooney’s hood and roared, “It was as easy as 1-2-3!”
“Sian? If I may?” Fabled diplomat that he was, Muddle tried to put in a good work for the apprentice skipper, “For what it’s worth, I believe your pilot did the best he could under difficult circumstances.”
“Oh, really…?!” Solu glared at Muddle, “...well, I guess that’s where you and I differ, Captain Nemo. You believe sinking a ship is the best a pilot can do and I think it’s the worst.”
She had a point.
Vanquished, Muddle fell on his sword, “Sorry, Sian. All I meant was that your pilot never had a chance. It was Davy Jones who sank your ship.”
Solu’s eyes glinted. She shook a fist at the pirate ship and then, for the time being, set the matter aside. Never one to dawdle over spilled milk, Solu poked her head into the Mooney and said, “Time to hop out, Gellie. You can’t hide in there forever.”
Gellie! Muddle was certain he had misheard. The Mooney’s passenger door swung open and out climbed none other than...
Muddle gasped, “Gellie!?”
Gellie waved cheerily, “Hey, Max. How’s it going?”
Instead of answering, Muddle stood frozen to the spot while a choking sound emanated from his larynx.
Solu had no time to tarry. She waved Muddle and Gellie out of her way, “You two stay here while I search for Star Truck.” The first wave of irate crustaceans were bearing down on Gellie and Muddle. High above, astonished helicopter pilots tracked the bizarre sea creatures with their glaring search beams. One of the copters illuminated an enormous scallop as it tried to wrestle Solu away from the Mooney. Calmly, Solu reached for a small, silver pistol that was holstered on her right hip and shouted, “Back off, Buster!” When Solu pulled the trigger a feisty blob of phraser light erupted from the gun barrel, formed the text, “Back off!” and then blasted the scallop thirty meters from the Mooney.
Solu waved at the riots of crustaceans, cops and helicopters and said, “You’ll have to deal with this until I get back. Okay?”
Gellie shrugged, “Sure, no problem.”
Muddle gawked at Gellie as if she had taken leave of her senses.
Seeing Muddle’s incredulity, Gellie gave it another thought and shouted, “Hey, Sian! Would you ask Ubie to give us a hand?”
Solu nodded, slipped on her crash helmet and waved farewell. As Solu settled into her cockpit an angry mob of crustaceans surrounded the Mooney and tried to roll the little car onto its roof. Solu sighed, drew her phraser and hollered, “Get outta my way you stinky sand fleas!” As before, with each word that Solu uttered—“Get!” “Outta!” “My way!”—a spunky text of phraser light erupted from the gun and sent the crustaceans flying like ten pins.
Now that the way was clear, Solu dropped the Mooney into gear and set off with tires smoking. As a parting gift, Solu sandblasted a gang of crustaceans that were trying to sneak up on Gellie and Muddle.
Though he may have been in mortal danger Muddle could not help but admire Solu’s driving skills. As she raced toward Diablo Point a massive sweeper wave side-swiped the Mooney and tipped it up on two wheels. Most drivers would have panicked, but Solu didn’t even flinch. She switched on her windshield wipers and powered through the tsunami like it was a sidewalk puddle.
Muddle feared that Solu’s luck might have run out as she hydroplaned toward the vertical face of rock that was Diablo Point. At the moment of impact Muddle covered his eyes and listened for the inevitable “Ka-Rrunncchh!!” But instead of a game-ending collision, Solu willed the Mooney up the rock face by finding traction where, physically speaking, none existed.
“Max!” Gellie clapped a hand on Muddle’s shoulder, “We’d better get moving!” Though Muddle was loath to tear his eyes from Sian, he knew Gellie had a point.
“Davy Jones’ boy band has regrouped and…” Gellie shuddered, “...they’re uglier than Justin Beeper without his hair gel!”
There are few things more terrifying than an enraged horde of homicidal crustaceans. Few who have witnessed that horror have lived to tell the tale. When Muddle dragged his eyes from Sian he confronted a horde of ravening crustaceans who were bent on snipping, ripping, and clippering he and Gellie to shreds.
Muddle gasped.
Gellie snorted, “No kidding.”
Breathlessly, Muddle whispered, “Wh-...what are we going to do?”
The mob of gnarly sea villains was nearly upon them. The mere sound of their krickety-krackety stampede was enough to reduce a strong man to tears. Their concert had been canceled and their stage had been demolished. Now, the boy band was out for blood.
Without taking her eyes off the shellfish Gellie said, “Hey, Max! If you could transform into any kind of animal you wanted, what would it be?”
Muddle thought his ears were on the fritz. The sea bullies were so close that Muddle could smell their foul breath. The meager highlights of Muddle’s life were flitting before his eyes, and, amidst all that, Gellie wanted to know… "What…?"
Gellie edged closer, "C’mon, Max. What would you choose?"
Beset with terror Muddle could barely think. Still, if playing make-believe would help Gellie feel better, Muddle would do his best. As fear liquified his resolve, an image of the strangest animal Muddle could conjure flashed through his mind. Muddle's mouth was so dry that he could barely squeak, "W-, what do you mean, Gellie? S-, something like a forty-foot centaur? Or…?"
As a vicious chambered nautilus lunged for Gellie's throat, Muddle experienced the tummy-tingling exhilaration of being rocketed into space. Soon gravity reasserted itself and Muddle began a stomach-churning descent, but he did not plummet as far as expected. Instead, he fell flat on a warm chestnut rug. Muddle was at a loss until he heard Gellie shout, "Great idea, Max! I've always wanted to be a centaur!"
Muddle followed the sound of Gellie's voice and was astounded to see a gigantic version of Gellie's torso rising in front of him. Atop the torso Muddle discovered Gellie’s face beaming over her shoulder. She smiled, "Now, we won't have any more trouble with that crabby boy band." Gellie sprang into the air. A dozen shellfish that had begun clawing up her shins lost their pinch-holds and toppled back to the sand. Police helicopters trained a dazzling ring of spotlights on the gigantic centaur's every move.
"Hold tight to my unitard, Max," When Muddle examined the fabric covering Gellie's torso he silently thanked Thud for providing Gellie with an impregnable ninja suit also. A moment later, Muddle was even more grateful for Gellie’s protective shielding. As Gellie capered away from the creepy crustaceans one of the Flying Dutchboy’s cannons fired. The cannonball smote Gellie squarely on her solar plexus, “OOOOFFF!!”
Thanks to Gellie’s unitard, the cannonball did not pierce her skin, but the impact knocked every atom of wind out of her lungs. Still in centaur form, Gellie stumbled sideways and slammed into the beach cliff. Her impact rocked the cliff and rattled the teetering police cars. Gellie fought like mad to gulp air, but soon lost that battle and slipped into unconsciousness.
“Harr-de-Harrr!” Davy Jones rejoiced as he watched the giant centaur collapse. “One down!” the pirate jeered, “And one more ta’ go! Harr-Harr!” He dashed from the Dutchboy’s port to starboard gun batteries as Sian surmounted Diablo Point. Jones trained one of his long guns on the Mooney and, when the right moment arrived, touched a smoldering ember to its fuse, “Ka-Boooom!!” The ball whistled a few inches over the Mooney’s roof.
Sian gritted her teeth and angled the Mooney toward a boulder that would serve as a makeshift launch ramp. The Mooney clobbered the rock with a tooth-rattling “Ssscccreekkkkk!!” and then went airborne. Jones held his breath. He had one more chance to exact his revenge. As the Mooney soared over the Dutchboy’s topmast Jones made a fine adjustment to his cannon and then....waited...for...it...“Ka-Blaaamo!!”
As the Mooney plummeted Jones' cannonball struck it amidships and the rascally little car exploded into a spectacular fireball. The force of the explosion knocked most of the onlookers off their feet. It was difficult to imagine that anyone could survive such an explosion. Before the smoke cleared what little remained of the Mooney sprinkled down to the ocean’s surface and sank to the seafloor.
Admiring the fireworks, Jones cried, “‘At’s whatcha git fer messin’ wi’ Davy Jones! May the urchins feasst on your cold, dead boness.”
When they saw the centaur collapse the crustaceans raised their voices in a riotous cheer. The shellfish issued an even more odious hurrah when they saw Jones blast the Mooney to bits. Jones had tied up one loose end and it was the boy band’s job to stitch up the rest.
The unconscious centaur did not plummet so much as she deflated. Muddle tumbled far less gracefully down the cliff face. He hit the beach face first and then raced to Gellie’s now-human form. Fearing the worst, Muddle strained to hear the faintest whisper of breathing. The professor was readying for resuscitation when Gellie gulped in a deep strangled breath. She coughed, spluttered and sucked wind like she had inhaled a hot brick. Muddle pinched the fabric at the base of Gellie’s throat and deployed her hood. Once Gellie was encased in protective body armor, Muddle turned his attention to the stampeding boy band.
The raging crustaceans were still out for blood. Muddle curled his fists half-heartedly. He was no prizefighter. Even in his unitard, Muddle judged that he might last two blippets (at best!) in hand-to-hand combat with the ravening cutthroats. When, once again, he whiffed the crustaceans’ fetid breath, Muddle sealed his unitard and braced for impact.
The crustaceans fell upon Muddle like an avalanche. The shellfish beat, bit, battered and pinched Muddle in such a cataclysm of abuse that he quickly lost the ability to distinguish one ache from another. Though he knew it was inevitable Muddle’s heart sank when he heard his unitard begin to tear. Still, Muddle fought on tenaciously until a tank-sized stone crab scissored a horny claw around his neck. The crab pinched its gnarly nipper until Muddle's eyes popped.
Then all went quiet. From afar, Muddle heard the sickening sound of healthy bones cracking. A moment later Muddle realized that the noise was coming from his own neck. As his lights dimmed Muddle stopped feeling physical pain and he began to dream. It was a wondrous dream.
In Muddle’s dream, something that moved faster than the eye could see mowed through the crustaceans like a buzzsaw. Muddle wept for joy when the buzzsaw scattered a gang of tiger prawns who were poking and prodding Gellie. When the buzzsaw paused over Gellie, Muddle discovered that the buzzsaw was in fact a goddess. A warrior goddess.
The warrior wore a black unitard, a gold headband and had two hefty swords strapped to her back. While the warrior attended to Gellie a mob of conniving crustaceans sneaked up from behind. Sensing their approach, the warrior raised both fists, summoned a bolt of lightning and then slammed both fists to the sand. Like a missile striking a pond, shockwaves exploded through the sand and knocked the stupefied shellfish completely off their crawlers.
Liberated from the stone crab’s death pinch Muddle flopped face-first to the sand. He teetered on the edge of consciousness until he felt a friendly pat on the back. Lifting his face, Muddle beheld the warrior goddess's gleaming eyes. She took hold of Muddle’s arm, hauled him to his feet and said, “I am Uber Woman. Come with me if you want to live.”
“Oh...” Muddle blinked, “...yes...I would like that.”
“Good.” Ubie smiled, “That will make it easier.” The warrior scooped Gellie into her arms and beckoned to Muddle, “Follow me.”
Muddle set off at a trot behind Uber Woman.
There were twitching heaps of shellfish all over the beach. As Ubie hastened along, she explained, "I estimate that the Scyllae…” She wrinkled her nose at the creepy crustaceans, “...will remain unconscious for the next ten blippets.” Muddle grimaced at the mounds of stinky shellfish.
When they arrived at a familiar dune, Ubie settled Gellie on the sand. Muddle was surprised to spot the transponder that he had planted earlier. He tapped Ubie’s shoulder, “What now?”
Ubie whispered, “We wait.” Leaning close, she added, “We will rendezvous with Sian here.” Ubie touched the transponder which caused it to emit a coded ping.
The ping jogged Muddle’s memory. He spun on his heel, “There’s something I need to find. I’ll be right back.”
“No, professor!” Ubie warned, “It’s too dangerous.”
“Don’t worry!” Muddle raced away, “I’ll be right back.”
Uber Woman shook her head, but dared not shout. Instead, she kicked the sand and yearned for Sian to arrive sooner than expected.
Muddle stooped low as he scuttled along. Just as he was losing hope Muddle spotted a shoulder strap poking out of the sand. He fell to his knees and dug out his backpack. Following a rapid inspection, Muddle concluded that the pack’s contents were still intact. He slung the pack over his shoulders and set off at a run.
When Ubie saw Muddle returning, she exhaled, “Thank Gaea!” Eyeing the mucky backpack, Ubie asked, “What’s so important about that?”
Muddle shook his head, “...you have no idea…”
“Avasst ya’ sscurvy stage-wreckerss!!” With cutlass drawn Davy Jones erupted from the surf. At his back, hundreds of Scyllae boiled out of the ocean. Jones cackled, “I invited a few more o’ me matess t’ the party, harrgh-arrgh! ”
Behind Ubie and Muddle, battle-weary shellfish shook off their stupors and crowded in behind their quarry.
In the corner of his eye, Muddle spotted Ubie conferring with a tattooter in the form of a magnificent flaming bird. Muddle was incensed to see that, though it was completely engulfed in flames, the firebird did not emit the tiniest puff of smoke. While Muddle grumbled about warranties and receipts, Ubie raised her arm and commanded, “Rise, Phoenix!”
Unused to being ignored, Davy Jones snarled, “If ya’ think that wee birdy iss gonna ssave ya’, Missy, you’ve got anoth-…”
In answer to Ubie’s command, the Phoenix blasted off like a bazooka, “Ka-Blamo!!” The firebird streaked spectacularly through the sky, but instead of exploding, the bird slowly fizzled out. When its fuel was spent, the Phoenix’s ashey remains settled lightly on the Dutchboy’s sails and winked out.
As if on cue, Gellie awoke. She yawned and clambered to her feet. Surveying the encircling Scyllae army, Gellie crooned, “How cute!”
“Ah, good!” Ubie hugged Gellie, “You’re awake.”
Jones scrunched his gnarly face, “You mean…” He pointed at Gellie, “...that’s it!?”
Uber Woman frowned, “You were hoping for worse?”
“Wuz I hopin’ fer worse?” Jones chortled, “Truth be told, missy, I'd have expected worse from a wet candle! Harrgghh-dee-Arrghrr!!”
The Scyllae tittered dutifully.
Unmoved, Ubie waited for the laughter to subside, “Captain Jones?" She counseled, "You should be careful what you wish for.”
“Bah!” Jones fired back, “I’ll wish fer whate'er I please, missy.”
“So be it.” Ubie directed Jones’ attention to the Flying Dutchboy, “The thing you must remember about phoenixes…” She tapped a series of commands into her tattooter, “...is that they rise from the ashes…”
Jones prepared to lob another insult, but stopped when he noticed faint lights flickering on the Dutchboy, “Ahoy!” Jones quavered, “What be that?”
“Oh, that?” Ubie studied the now-visible flames, “That be your wish coming true, Cap’n.”
“Me...what!?” Jones screeched.
Ubie lifted her right arm like a symphony conductor and commanded, “Rise, Phoenix!”
There was an ominous silence and then, like a rocket blasting off, a gigantic flaming Phoenix erupted from the Dutchboy's bowels.
“Aaaiiieee! Not me darlin’ Dutchboy!!” Jones wailed.
Thus cameth the mother of all barbecues that Jones had so recently portended.
Flinging its wings wide, the Phoenix loosed a battle-shriek that rattled the Scyllae down to their horny toenails. The firebird fanned the flames until it set every organic particle on the ship alight. As a coup de grâce, the Phoenix wrapped its mighty wings around the ship and crushed it into a towering plume of smoke and ash.
Her work complete, the firebird saluted Ubie and then descended feet-first into the ocean. The sea roiled volcanically around the subsiding firebird.
Mad with terror Jones and his Scyllae army fled as fast as their flippers, flappers, and crackers could propel them.
Below the waves, the Phoenix’s enchanted ashes settled on the wreckage of a luckless ship. As a parting gift, the firebird’s cinders transferred the necessary jolt of energy to bring the deadened ship back to life.
With that all-important jump start, Sian fired-up Star Truck’s main thrusters. Moments later, Star Truck broke through the ocean’s surface and cruised to the agreed-upon rendezvous. Once the bedraggled landing party was safely aboard, Sian gave the command to set off for the Crossroads of Humanity.
Meanwhile...
“...oh, and there’s one more thing…” Blowhard called to his cabinet as they shuffled out of the meeting, “I won’t have any further need of your services.”
“What…?” Vice President Tuppence choked, “...y-...you mean we’re...?”
“Good riddance!" Blowhard waved toodle-oo to Tuppence, “The only help I need to run this country is a Twaddle account and a high-volume toilet. Oh, and speaking of which...” Blowhard whipped out his cell phone and called to his cabinet, “On the count of three, I want y’all to smile and say, ‘Yuh Fi-yuhhed!’”