Prepare yourselves for a bit of character relationship development…
As the Major flickered out, and their vessel cleared the troublesome atmosphere, Barclay had sufficient time and presence of mind to notice something anomalous…
“Hey, Bubs; is it me, or is Worstworld looking a whole lot more blue since we arrived?”
Initially Bubbles thought that the increased ‘blueness’ was a result of Barclay’s over-eager imagination; but when she had placed a large distance between the Prowler and the retreating planet…
…she reconsidered the validity of her assumption.
“Oh flipping heck,” she said, “I think you’re right. You know what this means, don’t you?”
“Yeah, sure.” Barclay replied. “Um…what?”
“That the scientists have been a tad conservative with their estimate that the star will blow in six months. I’m no expert, but I wouldn’t gamble on it lasting more than six days!”
“Lummy,” Barclay, almost lost for words, replied. “We’d better a get a move on then. Floor it, Bubbles!”
So Bubbles did…
…right into hyper-space.
Naturally, following their almost panic-stricken departure from Worstworld, it became necessary to drop out of hyperspace and adjust their trajectory. Whilst doing so, the Prowler’s defensive sensors initiated a crimson alert…
“Uh-oh, what can this be?” Barclay uttered as his eyes scanned his read-outs for a clue.
Bubbles did likewise, but she also turned her attention to the forward screen.
“Cancel crimson alert.” She said. “It’s only a hyperspace pirate mothership.”
“Only a hyperspace pirate mothership?” Barclay exclaimed. “I can’t think of anything worse. Quick, Bubbles, do your course-change calculation, and let’s get the heck out of here!”
Bubbles wasn’t convinced that the mothership was a real threat: after all, hadn’t the hyperspace pirate End Caps had their arses kicked by earplugs time and time again? Surely they wouldn’t dare take on something as mean and moody-looking as the Prowler. However she felt compelled to adjust her opinion when the mothership launched three attack craft in her direction…
“Crimson alert,” she yelled as Barclay hit the Real Fast button that fired their vessel to supra-light speed…
“Okay, so what do we do now?” She inquired of her navigator and most important earplug in her personal universe. “Can we out-run them?”
“Aint got a sodding clue.” Barclay replied as his eyes turned from the special female in the seat beside him to peruse their defensive capability. “What?” He yelled with frustration, “No rearward facing atomic cannon? What wally at Punting-Modesty omitted that most important feature?”
“There’s the trash disposal hatch.” Bubbles suggested. “That faces backwards. I believe it also includes the contents of the cockpit lavatory sewage tank.”
“We might smear their windshields,” Barclay said with a mirthless chuckle, “but I don’t see it slowing them down any.”
Bubbles was about to sigh and say: “Well it was just a thought,” when she noticed something on her console screen.
“Hey,” she screamed with excitement, “when you said to Lieutenant R Swypes that he should use every weapon at his disposal to fight the inevitable doom, he took you literally. Those engineers left their equipment behind. With no other space available, they stowed it in the trash disposal.”
Barclay tried to make sense of what Bubbles was telling him. “I…I don’t see what you’re getting at.” He said.
“Like their redundant machine guns in the Major’s office,” Bubbles explained, “they included stuff for which they have no use – but we might. In this case it’s a whole bunch of sea mines. Barclay, they’re sitting in the trash disposal compartment – just waiting to be thrown out the back!”
Barclay didn’t bother responding verbally: he leaned over and kissed Bubbles, before hitting the trash disposal button on his console…
The pursuing hyper-space pirates either didn’t notice, or didn’t care: they just kept on coming…
Inside the Prowler, Bubbles and Barclay closed their eyes and prayed to the Saint of All Earplugs, the Supreme Being, former Father Superior at Lemon Stone monastery – Frank Tonsils, and Magnuss Earplug and his lovely former bounty-hunter wife, Hair-Trigger…
Their torture didn’t last long. Moments after releasing the mines, the first of the attack craft made a head-on collision with one. A chain reaction followed, which resulted in this…
…the utter destruction of the marauding flotilla, which left its constituent atoms spread across light-years of interstellar space.
Elation and relief filled the air of the Prowler’s cockpit…
“We did it!” Barclay yelled as he looked upwards, as though to a higher realm of existence.
“You kissed me!” Bubbles exclaimed.
“Yes I did, didn’t I?” Barclay replied. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind?” the incredulous female responded. “Of course I don’t mind. I will ‘mind’ of you don’t do it again though – repeatedly.”
So, as the Prowler re-entered hyper-space for the remainder of its journey…
…Barclay did what any self-respecting male earplug would do: he did his utmost to keep his favourite female earplug happy.
© Paul Trevor Nolan 2022
There; it had to happen. How could it not?
Walking the Fine Line Between Clever and Stupid 