STARSHIP OF FOOLS - (C) 1986 Jerry Kindall and Rex Crossley

CHAPTER FIVE

"Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic."
                                                      - Arthur C. Clarke

     The three figures floated through the connecting tube, free from
the artificial gravity of both their spaceship and ours.  With a barely
audible thump, they entered the Glorkwinkle's gravity field and dropped
a few inches to the deck.
     The figures were wearing spacesuits.  The air on their ship had
probably gone bad.  The helmets had reflective faceplates, reminding me
of those mirrored sunglasses that were so popular back on Earth.  Like
Earth people, these aliens wanted to keep their identities a secret.
     One of the spacesuited aliens was tall and slim, with an unusually
large (even for his size) helmet.  The second was shorter and pudgier;
he was carrying an enormous piece of luggage, which looked like it could
hold at least an entire wardrobe.  The final figure was shorter than the
rest.  His small, gloved hand held a gnarled staff.
     Melvin's eyes goggled when he saw the staff.  "Zordoff?  Is that
you?"  The figure with the staff nodded slowly in response.  Melvin ran
around like a fool, shouting, "We're saved!  We're saved!"
     "Come on in, take off your helmets, stay a while," Melvin babbled. 
"My spaceship is your spaceship."  The aliens in the spacesuits quickly
obliged.
     Zordoff got his helmet off first.  His staff hung suspended in
mid-air beside him as he fiddled with the helmet's release latches.
     "So who are these people?" I whispered to Melvin.
     "Do you know them?" Rhye asked.
     Melvin replied, "Oh, yeah.  The short guy with the staff is
Zordoff.  He's a great magician and the best navigator in the galaxy. 
He'll be able to unlock the navigation console.  We're saved!"  He
frowned.  "I don't know the other two."
     Zordoff had no mouth.  He also had no nose, no visible ears, and
beady little eyes.  His sparse hair hung down loosely around his head. 
"How does he eat?" I whispered.
     "He doesn't," Melvin hissed.  "He's a magician, get it?"
     "A magician?"
     "Oh," Melvin whipsered apologetically.  "I forgot.  All you have on
Earth is stage magic.  Zordoff is a real magician, with real powers.  He
doesn't eat because he draws directly on the fundamental power source of
the universe."
     I goggled at Melvin.  "Real magic?"
     "Yes, of course."
     "Oh."
     The tall guy with the large head removed his helmet next.  His
large head probably meant that he was extremely intelligent.  He had
normal-sized eyes.  On first glance I managed not to notice that he had
an extra eye between the normal two.
     He stepped gracefully forward.  "Zot-entram M'donte Com-leppour,
the captain of the Freeship Infinity," he informed us.  "You may call me
Zot."  He held out his hand, and Melvin shook it.  Zot offered his hand
to the rest of us and we followed Melvin's example, awkwardly.  His
fingers were long, and his thumb was on the wrong side of his hand.
     The third alien's helmet was stuck on his nose.  Finally, he
sneezed mightily, and the helmet popped off.  "Hello," said the being,
who had a large, red, swollen nose, bloodshot eyes, thick eyebrows that
matched his mop of dark hair, and pointed ears.  "By dabe is Sdort
Frogbagger."  I translated his name as "Snort."  Snort sneezed
violently.  "Sorry; I hab a code."
     "Gesundheit," I said, offering him my handkerchief.
     "Thadks," said Snort, and emptied his sinuses into it.  He then
offered the oozing mess back to me.
     "Keep it," I said, grossed out.
     "I'm Melvin," announced Melvin.  "And this is Matt, and that's
Rhye, and that's Chester.  Welcome to the Arcturan Federation Starship
Glorkwinkle."  
     Snort glared directly at Melvin.  "Sabe to you, buddy," he shot
back.
     Melvin looked puzzled, then shrugged.  He barged on.  "Let's go to
the bridge and have a drink.  Say, what should I do with your ship?  I
could have it tethered to the mooring port," he said, then frowned
regretfully, "if I had a crew to do it."
     Zot turned to Zordoff.  "Cut it loose," he ordered.  "It was a
lemon anyway."  Zordoff nodded and flipped some switches on the hatch
console.  Our hatch closed, the connecting tube retracted, and the
Infinity floated away, a space derelict.  Zot pulled a small transmitter
from his suit, and punched a code on its buttons.  The Infinity
accelerated clear of our ship, then self-destructed.
     "Oh," said Melvin.  "Well.  How about that drink?"

                                 * * *

     We went to the bridge of the starship, and the new arrivals doffed
their spacesuits, which they piled in a corner.  Zordoff was wearing
dark robes with strange symbols on them; now that was more like my idea
of a magician.  Zot was likewise attired, only with white robes and no
symbols.  Snort was wearing what I took at first to be an Izod shirt
(the ones with the alligator) but upon closer inspection I saw that the
animal logo was a crocodile, not an alligator.  Oh, yes, he was also
wearing a kilt.
     I wondered how they got into spacesuits when they were wearing
robes and kilts.  It turned out that the kilt and the robe were easily
converted, by means of Velcro straps, into pants.
     Melvin walked over to the cabinet to the right of the command
chair.  It was a liquor cabinet.  I guess being captain of a starship
has certain stresses.
     I glanced at FILBERT's main console.  Then I did a double-take.
     The display read: "ETA STELLAR IMPACT: 3:42."
     In less than four minutes, we would all be vaporized, unless
Zordoff could reset the navigation controls.  "Uh, Melvin," I said
softly, edging closer to him.
     "What?" he whispered.  "And why are we whispering?"
     "Never mind that!" I hissed.  "Aren't you forgetting something?"
     He gave me a blank look.
     "We're going to crash into that star," I prompted.  "Remember?"
     He gave me a drunken stare.  "Oh, yeah.  What about it?"
     I gave up on Melvin and decided to take matters into my own hands. 
If Melvin said that Zordoff could save us, then I should talk to
Zordoff.  I summoned up all the courage that I could (and it wasn't
much) and turned to face Zordoff, the mysterious navigator/magician.  I
glanced back to Rhye for moral support, but she was busy reminding
Chester that the chair he was pounding into oblivion did not belong to
him.
     "Uh... uhh..." I started.  Zordoff looked at me expectantly.  My
brain told my mouth to get itself together, and I tried again.  "We're
locked on course to a star.  If we don't change course in about three
minutes, we're going to crash into it.  Melvin says you can help."
     Snort looked at me contemptuously.  Obviously he didn't think much
of me.  "Do you hab eddy idea what your dabe beeds?" Snort looked like
he was ready to break into laughter.
     "No," I asked, puzzled.
     "In Galactic Standard, mattbaker is a noun that means 'dungheap,'"
Zot informed me helpfully.
     Snort cracked up.  I wanted to punch him in his oversized nose. 
FILBERT's display now read 2:12.  We had just over two minutes to live. 
One of the stars visible through the viewport was growing steadily
brighter.
     "WILL YOU SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME?" I screamed.
     I had the attention of everyone on the bridge, except Melvin, who
was staring into a glass.  I pointed at FILBERT's display.  "If somebody
doesn't do something, in less than two minutes, we're going to crash
into that star!"  I pointed out the viewport at the bright dot.
     Zot nodded.  "He is correct," he told Snort, "despite his name." 
At this, he smiled a little.  Then he became serious.  "Zordoff, do you
think you can break Melvin's code?"  Zordoff managed to look offended at
this insult to his skill.
     Melvin stared at me in amazement.  "What an idiot I am!" he
exclaimed when he finally realized that I had just saved the entire
starship.
     I let that one pass.  I noticed Rhye smiling at me.  I smiled back.
 Maybe the old charm was working on her.
     Melvin turned to his liquor cabinet and began making everyone
drinks.  He was an excellent bartender, even when he'd already consumed
half the bar, mixing everyone's drinks with ease, no matter what
outrageous drink they ordered.  Those who didn't specify anything got
Melvin's favorite, Flaming Napalm.
     Meanwhile, Zordoff had hung up his staff in midair and was busy at
the navigator's console.  My respect for him grew as I watched his
fingers fly gracefully across the keyboard, almost like magic.  In a few
moments, he had unlocked the security on the console and began the
process of programming FILBERT with new course data.  The impact
countdown froze at thirteen seconds, and the big, hot, yellow globe of
Efi Laat Alpha drifted away from the viewport.
     Melvin passed out the drinks.  Even those of us who didn't want
anything got a Flaming Napalm.  I sniffed mine.  It lived up to its
name.  I handed the drink back to Melvin, and Zot and Zordoff also
declined politely.  Melvin downed all three of the surplus Napalms.
     "Well, guys," Melvin asked casually, his voice slurred, "how
excatly did you end up on my ship?  Rhye, you go first."
     "Well," responded Rhye, "Chester and I were on Marketworld, just
teleporting around to different shopping stations, and I guess I must
have mis-set the teleporter controls, because here we are."  We must
have passed close to Marketworld earlier.  "I'm glad you happened to be
where we teleported."
     Melvin nodded and waved his arm in the general direction of Zot,
Zordoff, and Snort.  "How 'bout the you guys?"
     Zot spoke up.  "We were attacked by an armada commanded by someone
called Jordann the Immensely Fat.  We barely escaped by retreating into
a dust storm, which subseqently damaged our ship."  He paused in
reflection.  "Their laser fire didn't help much, either."
     I stared at Zot with much respect.  Here was a captain who had
actually been in a space battle, with lasers and everything.
     Melvin was now cross-eyed with intoxication, and his gaze wandered
from person to person.  "Welcome aboarr...  All the cabins are totally
unoccup-, unocc- uh, empty.  Make yerselves at 'ome."  Then he passed
out.
