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

CHAPTER SIX

"Continually strive to fold, spindle, and mutilate."
                                                       - Postal maxim

     Snort's music (the enormous piece of luggage had turned out to be a
bagpipe case) echoed through the ship.  His stuffy nose and cold didn't
seem to hamper his playing ability at all.
     Bagpipes, Snort had informed anyone who cared to listen, were the
musical instrument of choice throughout this universe and in many other
parallel universes.  The Scottish version of the instrument, claimed
Snort, is evidence of a visit from alien beings in Earth's distant past.
     Melvin was still passed out on the deck, which was a fine state for
him to be in, especially if an emergency came up, which wasn't likely at
all.

                                 * * *

     Alarms blared, lights flashed, and Melvin lay unconscious on the
deck.  Outside the ship, a tiny space-suited figure with a rocket pack 
wove its way back and forth across the bow of the ship.  Inside, chaos
reigned.
     Zordoff, sitting at the navigation console, was having little
success trying to fire the rocket brakes without hitting the spacesuited
figure.  Finally he gave up and activated full reverse thrust.  The guy
in the spacesuit was thrown backwards by the blast.
     "I would suggest that we go to the teleport room," Zot said.  "He
may be in need of immediate medical attention."
     Immediately he entered the elevator and gestured for us to follow. 
I did, and so did Snort.  Rhye decided to stay on the bridge to keep
Chester from destroying things.  Zordoff remained at the navigation
controls.
     The doors snapped shut and Zot pressed a few buttons.  The elevator
descended with incredible speed.  After a short while the doors opened
again and we walked through the corridors to the teleport room.  It
occurred to me that either Snort or Zot must smell like an alien to the 
 ship, since the lights were operating automatically.
     "I adjusted the olfactory sensor monitor program," Zot informed me
when I mentioned this to him.  "Now the ship recognizes everyone's
scents.  You'll never be in the dark again."
     Zot set the coordinates on the teleport console and beamed the
alien in.  Unconscious, the alien lay sprawled on the floor of the
teleport cubicle.  Snort approached him cautiously, and when the alien
made no hostile moves, he reached down and removed its dented helmet.
     His face was a battered and bloody mess, but as we watched, the
blood stopped flowing, and the wounds closed.  His face healed.
     His face healed!
     "Ad eterdal," breathed Snort, backing away, his bagpipes rustling.
     The alien opened his eyes.
     He was short - perhaps only four feet tall.  His face was square
and blockish, with bone protuberances beneath the lustrous yellow skin. 
His eyes were an alert, shining violet.
     The alien looked around.
     "Sellftof!" he exclaimed in disgust.  "I'm still alive!"
     I shook my head in sympathy.  I could understand his feelings.
     "What were you doig out there, eddyway?" Snort interjected.
     "Trying to kill myself," said the alien casually.  "By the way, I'm
Donald Whimperwort."
     "But -- why were you trying to kill yourself?" I wanted to know.
     "For the challenge," he shrugged.  "That is my Purpose; I decided
on it when I reached maturity like all my people."
     "You decided to kill yourself?" Zot asked incredulously, all three
of his eyes opening wide in astonishment.
     "Yes."  He shrugged again and stood up.  "For the good of the race.
 If I can figure out how to kill myself, we can solve our overpopulation
problem."
     I ordered my eyes to stop goggling at him.  My eyes ignored their
orders and continued goggling anyway.  "How long have you been doing
this?" I asked.
     "Time means little to me," he said indifferently.  "Two or three
centuries, at least."
     "Oh," I said.
     "Do you guys know of anyplace where I could get killed?"  asked
Donald, eager to get back to his task.
     "Let me introduce you to Chester," I suggested.
     "Great," said Donald in excitement.  "Lead on!"
     The others look at me with new respect.  I led the way to the
bridge.

                                 * * *

     On the bridge, Zordoff, playing Pac-Man on the navigation console,
looked up suddenly.  Melvin, struggling to stand, looked up suddenly. 
We didn't notice, though, because we were looking at the same thing they
were: the viewport.  And what we saw outside the viewport was four large
battle cruisers firing upon us.
     Melvin wobbled a little, then steadied.  He goggled at the
viewport.  "We're under attack!" he yelled drunkenly.
     "We're under what?" asked Chester.  
     "ATTACK!" screamed Melvin.
     "Okay," agreed Chester.  He attacked the nearest person, which
happened (not totally by conincidence) to be Donald, and smacked him a
good one in the jaw.  Donald fell to the ground with a whimper of
pleasure.  Chester stared at his fist in amazement.
     Zot lapsed into deep thought.  He squinted all three of his eyes,
sat down in a chair, and leaned forward with his chin cupped in his hand
like Rodin's "Thinker."
     Snort had assessed the situation and began playing "Taps" on the
bagpipes.  FILBERT joined in, playing a funeral march in counterpoint to
Snort's melody.
     Rhye fainted.
     Zordoff looked around at the chaos and realized that he should quit
playing video games and do something heroic to save our lives.
     Melvin reached the controls.  In his inebriated state, he forgot
that Zordoff was a superior navigator.  He kicked Zordoff out of the way
and started confidently flipping switches and turning knobs, convinced
that he was doing something useful.
     Zordoff knew that his navigational skills were ten times better
than Melvin's (even when Melvin was sober).  Using his staff, he wrote a
softly glowing magical message in the air.  The message simply read,
"Chester attack!" and it was underscored by a luminescent arrow pointing
to Melvin.
     Chester, seeing the sign, grabbed Melvin by the shoulders and shook
him fiercely, bellowing an awesome warcry.  "RAAAAAAAAAARRRRGHH!!"
     Melvin challenged Chester's warcry with his own: "AAAAAAAAAGGGH!!!"
     Zot shifted his position slightly and lapsed into deeper thought,
undisturbed by the ruckus.
     Melvin's warcry grew more ferocious as Chester lifted Melvin over
his head.  "HEEEEEEEEEELLP!!!!!"
     Snort couldn't even hear himself playing.  He challenged Melvin's
warcry with an angry blast from his bagpipes.  "BLLLOOOORRRRMMMPPP!"
     Zordoff had managed to maneuver the ship around the enemy fire and
come up behind them, firing a volley of his own.  The ship turned to
fire, but Zordoff somehow kept out of its sights, and fired again, and
again.
     Chester lifted Melvin higher and tossed him across the bridge. 
"HEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIAAAAAAAHH!!!!!" Melvin cried as he arced toward Zot.
     Zot suddenly emerged from his deep thought to utter a profound
statement but was knocked cold by Melvin's flying body.  Melvin suffered
a similar fate as his head hit the floor.
     Zordoff took the Glorkwinkle through maneuvers it was never meant
to go through.  Once again, his laser fire connected.  The Glorkwinkle
was moving so fast there was no way for the enemy ships to respond in
time.  Zordoff had disabled three ships and prepared to move on the
third.  He moved away from the controls and did a quick victory jig
before re-entering battle.  The other ship, after assessing the odds,
gathered every ounce of remaining energy and bravely retreated.
     A message came through the communications console.  "You haven't
seen the last of Jordann the Immensely Fat!"
     Snort, recognizing the name, changed his tune to the Volgga Boat
Song and FILBERT mixed in a chorus of the Euripides 5 Mutilation Song.
     Chester immediately forgot the situation and headed down to the the
galley.
     I surveyed the bridge: Melvin, Zot, and Rhye were unconscious on
the deck; Zordoff was beaming proudly (or at least trying).  Donald was
standing there holding his teeth in his hand while new ones grew in to
fill the empty spaces.
     He grinned at me.  "You'we wight!" His voice was filled with 
excitement.  "Thif iv a gweat pwace to get killed!"
