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

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

"Rule A:  Don't.
 Rule A1: Rule A does not exist.
 Rule A2: Do not discuss the existence or non-existence of rules A, A1,
          or A2."
                                                       - R. D. Laing

     With a jerk, the elevator suddenly stopped.  I loosed the vile
swear word Donald had taught me.  "Sellftof!"
     The deck indicator read 2.5.
     A small red light flashed, a bell chimed, and a soft female voice
said, "Elevator is now stuck between decks."
     "Sellftof!" I cried.
     My mind whirled for a while and got dizzy trying to figure a way
out of my dilemma.  If I had known that Bhujm, on the bridge, was about
to restore power to the ship, I wouldn't have worried so much, but I
didn't know that, and I wasn't very keen on spending the rest of the
battle in the elevator.  I should be doing something.
     "Your lights are on," said the soft female voice as the chime
sounded again.
     I looked down at the banana-shaped device in my hands.  It was my
only hope.  I pulled out the Orb and concentrated on the banana, willing
myself to understand the unfamiliar controls on its side.
     Nothing happened.  The Orb never glowed, not even a glimmer.  There
was only one thing I could do.  It was risky, but I had to believe that
my magic powers as the Chosen One would protect me from damage.  (And I
was beginning to get really claustrophobic.)
     "Your key is in the ignition," said the soft female voice.  It was
obviously malfunctioning.
     I twirled all the knobs on the device and pressed all the buttons
at once, and promptly vanished into thin air.

                                 * * *

     Gruell was angry.  Lightning coursed through his body, ran through
his veins, and sparked from the tip of his nose.  He walked down the
hall, stomping fiercely through a pool of industrial-grade android
lubricant.  The lubricant splashed up on the walls, but Gruell didn't
care.  It wasn't his spaceship, after all, and besides that, they were
in the process of conquering it anyway.  And besides that, Gruell was
furious.
     He had been so sure that the battle would earn him a promotion. 
And that idiot Bhujm had ruined everything.  Gruell never had trusted
Bhujm.  How could a being that looked like a rat be trusted?
     It suddenly occurred to Gruell that he was the only one on
Jordann's ship with anything remotely resembling common sense, although
to be perfectly honest, an objective observer probably wouldn't find his
sense any more common than Jordann's.
     He turned on the nearest door, and opened it by releasing a bolt of
lightning from his fingertips.  The hapless door exploded inward in a
shower of sparks.  Attacking helpless objects always made Gruell feel
better.
     Gruell just happened to notice, as the door crashed to the ground,
a sign that read "CAPTAIN'S QUARTERS (and half bath)."  He smiled. 
Perhaps he would get that promotion after all.
     Gruell stalked into the room, throwing a menacing glare at the sole
occupant of the room, a young lady who was occupying herself with a
hopelessly herculean cleaning task.  Her eyes widened in horror as
Gruell pointed his finger at her.  She obviously knew a weapon when she
saw one, Gruell thought with satisfaction.
     Gruell fired recklessly.  The maid dropped to the floor and somehow
rolled out of the way.  He fired again, and this time scored a direct
hit on her mop, which exploded into a pile of splinters and brightly
glowing sparks.
     Maybe this wasn't the captain of the ship, thought Gruell, but she
might be close enough for his promotion.  After all, the captain
wouldn't let just anyone clean his quarters.  "Take this, wench!" he
cried, and loosed another bolt of lightning.  Once again she managed to
avoid his shot.
     He was irritated now.  He felt weaker and decided to be more
cautious; she wasn't going to make a fool out of him.  Raising his
finger carefully, he took aim.
     The woman stood up, holding something behind her back.  Gruell
fired again, hitting her square in the face.  His bolts were growing
weaker, though.  The woman merely experienced a distracting tingling
sensation as her hair stood on end.
     Gruell cursed.  "Die, you cheap pismire!"  Frantically, he shuffled
his feet to rebuild his charge as the woman pulled out her weapon.
     Rhye whipped the bucket of hot, soapy water from behind her back.

                                 * * *

     Chester galloped mindlessly through the corridors.  It was great
fun.

                                 * * *

     Zot opened his left eye, then his right eye.  With a tremendous
effort of will, he managed to open his center eye as well.  Now he knew
for a fact that teleportation was not a totally painless process, as it
was purported to be.  He had a certain amount of sympathy for the
Earther, Matt Baker, now.
     Zot had been teleported farther than any of the other crew members.
 He was experiencing the fringe effects of teleport distortion.  If he'd
ended up a few feet further from the bridge, some of his organs probably
would have ended up in the wrong places.  As it was, he had a splitting
headache and a severe case of triple vision.  It was, in fact, a little
like the descriptions he'd heard of waking up the morning after
attending a wild party.  (He had never personally experienced a wild
party; if this was the result, he would definitely continue to avoid
such parties at all costs.)
     A thought came to his attention.  The circuitry of his brain
snagged it, processed it, and analyzed it.
     The thought was a mathematical formula: 1/2 P x 1/2 R = Meridon
squared.  It was, he recalled with a sense of deja vu, the same formula
he had remembered after the first battle with Jordann.
     The formula had to do with the operation of teleport equipment from
a nonstandard power supply, such as static electricity.  He had invented
the equation himself, while serving as a teleport technician in the
Enire Gnat Wars eight point seven-two years ago.  He had used it to
rescue seven ship's officers from certain death on Malconium III by
jump-starting the teleporter from a static-charged viewscreen.  He had
been honored for the act of momentous action with the Act Of Momentous
Action memento, which he had promptly misplaced.
     The equation had proven itself and saved many lives that day, and
he had been a hero.  But the experts said that his equation had no place
in teleportation systems, simply because it was not complicated enough. 
The formula did, however, earn a place in the emergency operations
manual of most major teleportation devices, with the notation "Use Only
In Dire Emergencies!!!  (This Is Not Kid Stuff!!!)"
     Zot had no idea why he thought of that equation just then.  But
then again, maybe he did.  He, like most members of his race, were prone
to precognitive experiences.  Perhaps he would have occasion to use his
formula soon.
     Ignoring his severe case of triple vision and his splitting
headache for the moment, he staggered out the door and headed toward the
teleporter room.

                                 * * *

     "They won't escape this time!  Ha Ha Ha Ha HA!" Jordann cackled
maniacally as he tore the innards out of the teleport system console. 
"Ha, Ha, HA, HA, HAAAH!!!"

                                 * * *

     Bhujm stood hypnotized on the bridge.
     The music grew louder, reaching a crescendo as a door swung open on
the bridge.  A strange alien being with large, pointed ears, wearing a
kilt and carrying bagpipes stepped through the door.
     The music stopped as Snort whipped out a handkerchief and blew his
nose.  Bhujm blinked in surprise, then his eyes glassed over again as
Snort resumed playing.
     It occurred to Snort that he had missed most of the fun.  The
rat-man was obviously Bhujm, from Jordann's ship.
     Snort stopped playing again and scratched his head in puzzlement. 
The rat-man came out of his trance and glared hostilely at Snort,
instinctively reaching for his blaster.
     Snort, quick to make the connection between his bagpipe playing and
Bhujm's trance, put his lips to the mouthpiece again.
     The rat-man relaxed, then moved toward Snort, as if in a dream. 
Inspiration struck Snort for the second time in fifteen minutes, and
Snort was nearly knocked unconscious by the blow.  Angrily, he whacked
inspiration a good one on the jaw, sending it, whimpering, to a corner. 
He barely managed to keep playing through the interruption.
     Snort made the connection.  The music had somehow hypnotized the
rat-man.  Snort could just lead him to the confinement area below, where
Chester had planned to confine Snort himself.
     The rat-man had walked directly in front of Snort, and stood there
listening intently to this source of phenomenal beauty.  Snort reached
out and gently took the alien's weapon.  Then he turned and stepped
carefully down the stairs, toward the confinement area.
     Bhujm, like his ancestors of old, followed the music.

