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

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

"The perils of duck hunting are great, especially for the duck."
                                                      - Walter Cronkite

     "This is Jordann the Immensely Fat," crackled our communication
console as Jordann's ship swept by with blinding speed.  "Surrender at
once, or I will loose another barrage of laser fire at your ship!"
     The awesome speed and maneuverability of Jordann's ship made the
Glorkwinkle look like a tricycle.  Zordoff was a fantastic navigator,
but he couldn't cope with this.  As Donald had predicted, Jordann had
corrected his main weakness and now seemed invincible.
     "Fat chance," Melvin responded to Jordann's ultimatum, blissfully
unaware of the pun.  "Zordoff, give us evasive maneuvers, fast."
     Zordoff worked the thrust levers frantically, but the Glorkwinkle
simply did not have enough power to match Jordann's maneuvers.  In all
his years as a navigator, Zordoff had never seen anything move like
that.  A cold hand of fear gripped his heart.
     The enemy ship streaked by our viewport again, blinding us with its
afterblast.  The Glorkwinkle rocked as laser cannons battered its hull. 
Our ship couldn't stand up to this kind of treatment for long.
     Rhye was hysterical.  "DO SOMETHING!" she shrieked, waving her arms
in panic.
     "ROAAAARRRR!!!" emphasized Chester as he pounded dents into the
deck.
     Melvin stared at Rhye for a moment, then, deciding that her
approach to the situation made sense, joined in.  "HELP!" he screeched,
waving his arms.  "WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!"
     I took the Orb from my pocket and stared at it.  If only I could
learn how to use my magic...  I closed my eyes in concentration.  The
Orb grew warm, but nothing else happened.
     Maybe the Oracle had been wrong.
     "Interesting," mused Zot.  "At their velocity, they should be
emitting a detectable fuel trail, yet they are not.  This would seem to
indicate a fusion device that is fueled by their exhaust.  A neat
technological coup."
     I looked at the display Zot was pointing at and failed to make any
sense whatever out of it.
     "Face it, we're sitting ducks!" said Donald in glee.  "Maybe we'll
get tortured or even killed!"
     "That may turn you on," I said, "but the rest of us were looking
forward to long, happy lives."  Well, longer than this, anyway, I
reflected, and maybe at least a little happy.
     "Right, sorry."  Donald apologized.  "I keep forgetting."
     Jordann's ship flew by again, firing another volley at us.  Zordoff
let fly a few beams in return.  Because of the other ship's velocity, it
was impossible to tell whether any of them connected.  Jordann's ship
did not slow as it came around for another pass.
     "EIIIIIIIIIIAAGHH!!" shrieked Rhye and Melvin in four-part harmony.
     "Shield A critical," reported Zot.  "One more hit there will
totally disable our generator."
     Melvin snapped out of it.  "Channel energy from backup shields to
shield A.  Give us more power to our frontal shields," he ordered as if
he had some idea of what he was doing.  It was a side of Melvin we'd
never seen before, and he seemed a little surprised, too.
     Zot, Zordoff, and Melvin worked well together in a crisis.  Even
Snort had put down his bagpipes and was running a computer analysis of
the strengths and weaknesses of Jordann's ship.
     "Their badeuvers seeb to be all the sabe," said Snort.  "I'b tryig
to get eduff data to predict their path."
     "They're coming around for another pass," reported Zot.
     "Keep those shields up!"
     Jordann fired at us again.  The ship shuddered but held together.
     "I've got it," Snort announced.  On one of his viewscreens glowed a
bright blue spiral, the path Jordann's ship took each time it attacked
us.  "Lock your weapodry to by codsole," he told Zordoff.
     "Neato," remarked Chester, gesturing at the blue spiral. "Pretty
color."
     As Jordann's ship came around for another run, a red blip appeared
on Snort's computer model.  Zordoff locked his controls to Snort's
program, allowing us to evade and fire upon Jordann's ship.
     "Take us behind them," ordered Melvin.
     Thanks to Snort's computer model, we moved out of the way and got
in a few good shots.  Then Zordoff took the ship into a quick roll,
managing to completely avoid Jordann's return fire.
     "Good job!" praised Melvin.  "We may still have a chance!"
     It didn't take long for Jordann's crew to figure out what we had
done.  Obviously they had been depending on their speed to win the
victory while running a complex but pre-programmed path.  Immediately
the enemy ship snapped around and came at us again.
     Now that Jordann's ship was on manual control, it did not follow a
predictable path, but instead went through an incredible series of
loops, twists, and hairpin turns.  Even Zordoff stared in awe at the
virtuosity of Jordann's navigator.  Too late, he remembered to take
evasive action as Jordann's lasers blasted us again.
     "All shields critical," said Zot.  "This is it.  Another barrage
like that and we're finished."
     Melvin's face grew pale.  While Jordann held the upper hand in this
space battle, there was still one chance left.  It was risky, but it was
his only choice short of blowing up the Glorkwinkle.
     "Deactivate all systems," ordered Melvin quietly.  "Emergency power
only."  Zordoff and Zot slowly turned to stare at him, not quite
believing their ears.
     Melvin nodded.  "I've got a plan."
     Zordoff did not hesitate long.  Giving Melvin a hopeful look, he
cut off power to all circuits; only dim emergency lighting lit the
bridge.  Now, Melvin hoped, the Glorkwinkle would appear to Jordann to
be drifting helplessly in space.
     "Maybe," mused Melvin, "if he thinks we can't escape, he'll board
the ship instead of destroying it.  We might still have a chance."
     It was the most brilliant thing I had ever heard Melvin say.  He
was as astonished as I was.
     "And," he finished, "if he decides to destroy us, well, he's going
to do that anyway."
     Zordoff nodded slowly, understanding, and activated the distress
signal as a finishing touch to Melvin's plan.
     I gripped the Orb tightly, willing the Glorkwinkle to appear dead
to Jordann's scanners.  Did I detect a glimmer of light within the Orb?
     Snort picked up his bagpipes and played a funeral dirge.
     Jordann's ship flew by again.

                                 * * *

     "We have them now, lard-buns," said Gruell, on the viewscreen. 
"The AFS Glorkwinkle is now totally disabled.  They are broadcasting a
distress signal."  He paused, his eyes glittering insanely.  "Shall we
destroy them, utterly and without mercy, with one massive blast of
searing energy?"  His voice rose to a crescendo.
     "Yes," said Jordann.  "No, wait.  Let me think."
     Gruell stared at Jordann, amazed by the unusual request.
     "How many are on board the ship?" Jordann asked.
     Gruell glanced at one of his monitors and did a double-take.  "The
new life-form scanners indicate, uh... eight."
     "Eight?!"  Jordann snorted.  "Impossible!  Are you certain that
your scanners are operating correctly?"
     Gruell looked insulted.  "Of course."
     "And you're sure it's the right ship?"
     "Yes, majestic thunderhips.  The hull markings, the license plate
number -- everything is the same."
     Jordann considered this.  Then he thought of something that made
him very angry.  "Are you saying that we were defeated earlier by a crew
of only EIGHT PEOPLE?"
     "Looks like it, potbelly."  Gruell grinned; that was more like it! 
"So, shall we destroy them utterly and without mercy, et cetera?"
     Jordann was overcome with an unfamiliar emotion.  It took him a
minute to realize it was curiosity: an eight-nerd crew had managed to
defeat his fleet, and to snatch the Orb of Oorlon out from under his
nose.  Another, more familiar emotion swept over him as he thought about
how enjoyable it would be to personally torture all eight of them.
     "No, don't destroy them.  Not yet.  Assemble a boarding party."
     Gruell looked at Jordann as if he had lost his mind.  (He had, long
ago.)  "Are you crazy?"
     "Yes, obviously," growled Jordann impatiently, "but that's neither
here nor there.  I want to personally torture all of them.  And I admit
to a certain curiosity regarding their earlier victories."
     Gruell frowned.  Jordann's behavior was definitely abnormal.  "Have
you considered that the nerds could be deceiving us?"
     "Are you saying your scanners could be wrong?"
     When the matter was put in those terms, Gruell found it impossible
to disagree with Jordann.  "Very well, your fatitude.  I'll notify
Condra."
     "NO!" shouted Jordann in alarm.  He wouldn't need Condra's powers,
not against eight helpless people.  In fact, he realized, his alliance
with Condra was a waste of time.
     Gruell frowned again.  Jordann's behavior was becoming stranger by
the minute.  Finally, his hypnotically implanted sense of loyalty won
out over his common sense.  "Very well," he said, not even bothering to
add a customary insult.  His image faded from the viewscreen.
     "Good day," Jordann whispered to the viewscreen, a smile slowly
distorting his countenance.  The thought of the coming confrontation
filled him with anticipation.  Then he belched.

                                 * * *

     We waited, on the bridge, for Jordann's next move.  Jordann would
either board the Glorkwinkle or blow it to splinters.  We had given
ourselves over to destiny.  Any attempts to flee would be futile now.
     Melvin went to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a drink.
     "How did Jordann find us?" I wondered, while staring at the Orb. 
Yes, there definitely seemed to be a feeble light within it.  Had it
been there all along, only becoming noticeable in the dim emergency
lighting?  Or had I caused the light?
     "I have been ruminating upon that very subject," answered Zot. 
"The Oracle is the only one who knows exactly where we were going. 
Therefore, he must have gone to Oorlon.  And, given Jordann's violent
tendencies, I think we can assume the worst."
     Zordoff looked at him in alarm.  Cautiously reactivating the ship's
sensors, he scanned for Oorlon.  I gripped the Orb tighter and willed
the scanning to be invisible to Jordann, but I really had no idea how to
do that or if I'd succeeded. Zot interpreted Zordoff's display as
Zordoff quietly shut down his panel.
     "My theory has been confirmed," Zot stated.  "Oorlon no longer
exists."
     At this news, Melvin poured himself another drink.
     "You mean they followed us to Oorlon?" I asked in astonishment.
     Zot grew contemplative, closing his middle eye in thought.  "No,"
he said.  "That is unlikely.  He must have had some other reason for
going to Oorlon.  It is probable that Jordann enlisted the aid of a
magician, and that he wanted the Orb for this reason; it was to be his
secret weapon.  He was probably quite upset when he arrived at Oorlon
and found that someone had already taken it."
     "They must have got there just after we left," I said in sudden
realization.  "Then they tortured the Oracle, found out where we were
going and blew up the planet."
     Melvin poured himself another drink.  I realized that I hadn't seen
him drink either of the first two, but they were nowhere in sight.
     "Hey, guys," interjected FILBERT, who had been eavesdropping, "you
know, there's a simpler explanation."
     "Oh, yeah?" Melvin challenged belligerently.
     "Yeah.  What if there's a spy on board?"
     Melvin poured himself yet another drink.
     There was a deep, thoughtful silence on the bridge.  Donald stared
at Snort coldly, seeing a way to get revenge for the sponge incident.
     Melvin noticed Donald's icy stare and collapsed on the deck.  There
was no causal relationship between the two events.
     Snort, suddenly realizing why Donald was staring at him, gathered
his bagpipes and made a run for it.
     "There he goes!" shouted Donald.  "Stop him!"  We spun to catch a
glimpse of Snort's panic-stricken face.
     Donald darted after Snort and caught him with a flying tackle just
as he reached the elevator.  "DOE!" screamed Snort.  "I'b dot a spy!"
     "Then why did you run?" demanded Donald, twisting Snort's arms
behind him and forcing him to his feet.
     Snort had no ready answer, other than a sneeze.
     "Chester, take him down to the restraint cells and lock him up,"
ordered Donald, a satisfied smirk on his face.  Chester, always willing
to help, dragged Snort away.
     "Wait just a second, Donald," I began, hotly.  He might have
Chester fooled, but not me.  "What do you think you're trying to --"
     "LOOK!" shouted Rhye, pointing at the viewport.
     Jordann's ship had slowed when its sensors registered our disabled
status.  It was close enough now to read the lettering on the hull:
November.  The month was indeed November, and I wondered if Jordann had
a ship for each month of the year, or if it were merely coincidence, or
if the months even had the usual names where he came from.
     If Jordann fired now, we were doomed.  Our shields were shut down
to make us appear totally defenseless.  A side effect of this plan was
that we were, in fact, totally defenseless.
     I stared, with the others, through the viewport, hypnotized.  I
clutched the Orb.  Did it glow more brightly?
     Jordann's ship moved closer.
     We screamed.  Rhye went a step further and fainted.
     We made our final preparations for the death blast that was sure to
come.  Donald was smiling.

                                 * * *

     Jordann looked at the AFS Glorkwinkle on his viewscreen.  At
maximum magnification, it was just possible to make out the dim shapes
of the nerd ship's crewmembers on the bridge.
     He gestured to Bhujm, who adjusted his teleporter and transported
the boarding party (Jordann, Gruell, Stemplebladder, and Bhujm himself)
aboard the nerd ship.  All of them carried fully charged sawed-off
disruptor rifles, known throughout the galaxy for their pain-inflicting
capabilities, and a standard-issue stunner, useful for producing a
temporary period of unconsciousness.  Or they could cause a permanent
period of unconsciousness, that is to say, death.  A handy weapon.
     Jordann felt safe against the eight nerd crewmembers.  If it became
necessary, Bhujm could beam them back to the November in seconds.  And
troops were standing by on red alert to teleport to the Glorkwinkle and
take prisoners, if the need arose.
     And, now that he had time to think about it, he was certain Condra
had been using him.  He could put no stock in her warnings about the
nerds' magician, nor the Chosen One, nor the Orb of Oorlon.  She was, he
was sure, simply trying to manipulate him for her own purposes.  He
would deal with her later.
     It was supposedly impossible to do anything during the zero-time of
the transportation process, but somehow Jordann managed to belch.

