The Mustang
By Brendan Dillon and Wayland Phillips
Chapter Two
The Co-Rulers quickly arrived back at Wakefield Ford to check on the Mustang. As they approached the counter, an overweight, gray-haired, mustachioed man with a red shirt and black boots walked into the showroom from the workshop, carrying a large bag over his shoulder.
"Santa Claus?" Brendan pondered out loud.
"Nay!" the man exclaimed. "I'm nae Sandy Claus, man. Me name is Scott. Are ye here for that wonderful pony car?"
"You mean the Mustang?" asked Wayland.
"Aye, that's the beastie of which I speak," Scott replied.
"So how long until it's ready?"
"'Tis finished," Scott said proudly.
"Already? You must be a miracle worker, Mr. Scott," said Wayland. "But what's in the bag?"
"Oh, 'tis only extra pieces that you dinna need."
Brendan eyed the bag suspiciously. "Umm... okay, but I think we'd like to take those with us."
"Aye," Scott shrugged, as he walked back into the shop and tossed the bag haphazardly into the back seat of the Mustang. Wayland signed for the car and boarded it to return to Raleigh, as Brendan began to drive the Saturn back as well.
When Brendan made it back to Enloe, Wayland was already in the midst of a game of Alpha Centauri. "Damn it, I rule the world, but I still can't rule Alpha Centauri in any mode above Talent."
Brendan glared at Wayland. "Come on, we have to get back to work."
"Okay," said the long-haired deity as he began to log off. "What's next?"
"I guess we should try to find that mall again. Are you sure you don't remember which way we went?"
"Hmm... if we can find the Ringworld again, we should be close enough to find it."
"And do you know how to get to the Ringworld?"
"Yes."
Brendan once again glared at Wayland.
"Hey," Wayland said defensively, "have I ever steered you wrong?"
"More times than I can count. But, we have to try."
"Ok. Come on, Brendan, let's take my car."
Brendan rolled his eyes.
The Mustang shook, rattled, and rolled its way up the ramp and once again, they were off.
After a relatively short drive, Wayland pointed and exclaimed, "Woo-hoo! I told you I could get us back there."
"Umm... dude, this is the Discworld."
"Like I said."
"Wayland, Discworld is a series by Terry Pratchett. We're supposed to be at the Ringworld, by Larry Niven. We're in the wrong fucking story!"
"Hey, they're both round, and they kinda sound the same," Wayland stammered.
"Just keep driving."
Wayland, amazingly enough, found his way back to the Ringworld.
"Congratulations," Brendan said sarcastically. "Now, which way did we go from here?"
"We buzzed the Ringworld and hung a left, remember?"
"Yeah, but that little side trip messed up our perspective. Was that a left from the galactic north side or the galactic south?"
"I think it was more like west-northwest."
"Ok. Set a course north-northeast, then."
Half an hour later, they reached a star system that had a marginal amount of traffic. "This might be it," Wayland said optimistically.
Brendan scanned the area to find out what was in the system. It was a nine-planet system, including five giants and one life-supporting planet.
"Wayland, you're an idiot. We're back at Earth again."
Wayland sighed. "I knew I should've taken that right turn at Albuquerque Ceti. You want to go back out?"
"No, I think I'd rather bang my head against a wall repeatedly. Let's call Oligarchy Intelligence."
Brendan activated the windshield and dialed up OCB Central in Research Triangle Park, NC. After going through several secretaries, he managed to reach Leann the Rock Troll, deputy chief of the OCB.
"Leann, we have a problem. We need Brent on assignment immediately."
"Why, of course, sir. What seems to be the trouble?"
"We have to find an evil mall that we escaped from this morning. We were attacked by trees and I was shot in the leg."
"My, that's dreadful. I do hope you manage to bring those responsible to justice. Anyhoo, here's Mr. Jackson."
Leann transferred Brendan to the office of the Director of OCB NetForce, Brent Jackson. Brent looked up from a computer where he was downloading illegal warez (strictly for investigative purposes, of course) and greeted the Co-Rulers.
"What's up, guys?"
"Brent, we need you to work closely with Intell and pinpoint the location of a space mall. We know it's within a few light years from Ringworld and has had a large amount of suspicious arbor-related activity recently."
"Ok, I'll get a team on it immediately. I'll meet you in Enloe's east computer lab in an hour."
Wayland brought the Mustang about, dropped from orbit and prepared to land on the West parking deck.
When Brendan and Wayland arrived at the computer lab, Brent had not arrived yet, but Jason was there, searching for bootleg anime.
"Jason, glad to see ya! Have you seen Brent around here?" Wayland greeted.
"Nope."
Just then, Brent hurried into the room. "Hey, guys, sorry I'm late! I've been busy, so I put my best agent on your problem, but he hasn't been able to find the Evil Space Mall."
"Who did you put on the mission?" Brendan asked.
"Matt."
Brendan and Wayland groaned. "We trust you with the fate of the galaxy and you put Matt on the case?" said an exasperated Wayland.
Just then Jason rejoined the conversation, before Brent could come up with a good excuse. "Hey, guys, I think I know where the mall is."
Brent let out a sigh of relief. "How do you know?" Brendan asked Jason.
"I just typed 'Evil Space Mall' into MapQuest and the directions popped up."
Wayland and Brendan glared angrily at Brent and he nervously smiled back at them. "Hey, this is all Matt's fault. I didn't know he didn't try MapQuest."
The Co-Rulers gave Brent a reprieve and printed out the directions. "So, what's the plan?" Jason asked as the pages began rolling through the printer.
"Plans?" Wayland smirked. "We don't need no stinkin' plans! Plans are overrated."
"We're headed back to the mall," Brendan told Jason. "Want to come along?"
"I guess so; I've got nothing better to do right now. How are we going to deal with the trees once we get there?"
Wayland began to speak but let out only a breath. Brendan displayed a surprised look, then grimaced.
"Don't tell me you guys didn't bring any defenses when you were out looking for the mall. What did you think you would do, parody them to death?"
"Dude, it's been a long day," Wayland explained. "Give us a break."
Jason sighed. "I think it's time we visited the Enloe Armory."
The three Co-Rulers of the World, united once again, headed for what was once the east library at Enloe High School, shut down long before the Oligarchy's takeover. The concrete-brick walls had been reinforced with neutronium, and secured inside was a comprehensive array of Oligarchy-approved weaponry.
They began stocking up on their weapons of choice. Jason selected a high-quality Japanese katana and balanced it carefully in his hands, sheathed it behind his back, and perused the selection of modified Nerf-based small arms. Brendan picked up an M16 he had previously zeroed to his specifications and filled a load-bearing vest with 5.56mm ammo clips, then holstered a Kill-O-Zap laser pistol. Wayland decided to go with more compact instruments, loading a belt with a light saber, Peep grenades, razor-edged AOL CD's, a noisy cricket and a few other items.
They scavenged for extra items to load into the Mustang's trunk, including lawn care equipment. As an afterthought, they grabbed wristwatch radios so they could communicate at the mall, and donned mithril coats for armor.
After loading the Mustang, the triumvirate piled into the car and soon they were off.
As the Mustang pulled out of the solar system, an object appeared on the port side of the car, and ominously the red light on the dashboard began blinking in the rhythm of La Cucaracha. "Um, guys," Wayland said, "two reasons why I feel weird about this. One, the obvious reason, because someone is signaling us with La Cucaracha. And two, that I actually recognize the tune."
"Just answer it," said an impatient Jason.
Wayland brought the car to a stop and tapped the red button. The windshield activated, and an image materialized of a large man of Jamaican descent sitting in a Star Trek-style shuttlecraft.
"CRONAN!!!" the three exclaimed at once.
"The one and only," Cronan replied. "What gifts have you brought to bestow upon me?"
"It's great to see you, dude," said Wayland. "How's training?"
"Delilah's had me working my ass of ever since I died. But, I made it through being a God-In-Training with flying colors, and I'll make it through this. I'll be Duct Tape Class and giving you guys orders in no time. So, how's my elven partner in crime?"
"Norman? He's doing well," Brendan said. "Still heading the Oligarchy Criminal Bureau, and doing a bang-up job, when he's not asleep."
"That little bugger could screw up and situation imaginable, but I always could rely on him when it really counted. He'd never admit to it, though."
They conversed for some time, until the Mustang came within visible range of the Pocket Shuttlecraft. Wayland set the windshield on "picture-in-picture" and displayed the Shuttle in the right corner.
"Erm, Cronan?" began Brendan. "Why is the Shuttle upside down?"
"A common misconception. Unlike most spacecraft originating from Star Trek, the Pocket Shuttlecraft operates in actual three-dimensional space. I tend to stay on the galactic plane, but really, 'upside down' is meaningless in space."
"True," said Jason.
"But, it's kind of freaking us out," Wayland commented.
"Ok, then. As a Duct Tape Class God in Training, I declare myself right and order you to flip over."
Wayland smirked and revved his engine. "How 'bout we race to see who's right?" he said.
"Interesting," pondered Cronan. "I know that car has some horsepower, but do you really think you can outrun the Pocket Shuttle?"
"There's only one way to find out."
Cronan nodded. "Okay, I'll take your challenge. Where's the finish?"
Brendan e-mailed Cronan the MapQuest directions. "There's an Evil Space Mall a few parsecs from here. That's where we're going."
"Sounds good to me. Let me set up the trajectory, and leave you guys to cover some exposition. I'll call back in a few minutes." The windshield went back to naked-eye view.
"So, what kind of propulsion system does the Shuttle have, again?" Wayland asked.
"Well, Cronan found it on a planet that immediately exploded. From then on, the Shuttle gained the attributes of bad news -- the only thing known to man that travels faster than the speed of light without the aid of technobabble," Brendan explained.
Jason appeared dismayed. "Suck. How are we going to beat that?"
"Elementary, dear Jason," Wayland said, as he flicked a cigarette butt into the void of space.
Moments later, the little red button again began to flash. "It's Cronan again," Wayland said. "He's asking for Jim Bob."
Brendan flicked on the viewer. "Ready to get started, Cronan?"
"Is Troy Heagy's skull made of Nerf?"
"Oh, by the way, no using the new powers you've learned."
"DAMN! There goes Plan A. Ok, Ziggy, warm up the engines."
"No," replied Cronan's sadistic onboard computer.
Cronan groaned. "Look, guys, let's set take-off for two minutes from my mark.... Mark. Now, Ziggy, I'll show you a --" the viewer cut off and the General Purpose Gods snickered.
Cronan searched frantically for his AOL 7.0 CD. "If you don't prep those engines, I'll give you 1000 free hours of pain. Where the hell did I leave that CD?"
"In the airlock, numbskull," Ziggy declared. "I spaced it a week ago Tuesday."
"Fine, then. You have ten seconds or I start putting circuit boards in backwards." He pulled open an access panel to show he meant it.
"My, aren't we feisty today. All right, the engines are at full power. I have the latest issues of USA Today and Newsweek scanned and loaded into the fuel cells, and we're running at 97% efficiency."
"Great. Now, how much time on the countdown?"
"What, I was supposed to keep track of that too?"
The deceased deity let out a moan and fell back in his seat. Just as he was checking his watch to make an estimate, the Mustang's taillights brightened to signify thruster power, and the car sprang to life. "Now, Ziggy! Full thrusters forward!"
The Pocket Shuttlecraft began to accelerate at speeds approaching Tabloid Factor Six. The race had begun.
Wayland floored the gas and they were off. "Jason, get a lock on Cronan's IP address and notify me of any changes as they develop."
"No status changes so far," Jason said. No sooner were those words spoken when Brendan noticed an object shoot out of the Shuttle's torpedo tube.
"Incoming!" Brendan shouted and the three braced for impact. But rather than hitting the Mustang's body, the projectile sailed in through Wayland's open window and exploded with a squish.
At that moment, the engines died.
"What the hell was that?" exclaimed Jason.
"Gel bomb," Wayland said. "The only substance in the universe that can get my hair under control."
"Fuck!" Jason exclaimed.
Wayland took immediate control of the situation. "Brendan, find a balloon in the glove compartment. Let's get some static electricity and get my hair going again. Jason, hack into the PS and modify its software, so that if he tries to e-mail himself, he'll end up posting himself to a cascade thread in the Usenet group alt.tv.real-world. That should get him nowhere fast."
Brendan started rubbing a balloon (stored for emergencies with the Mustang's basic issue items) on Wayland's head, and the Mustang roared back to life. Just as Jason said, "Done!" the Pocket Shuttle disappeared into the quickest way to get nowhere.
Wayland breathed a sigh of relief. "I think that should do it, guys." Just then something went CLUNK, and the Mustang continued to move only by inertia.
"What are we supposed to do now?" asked Jason. As the car coasted, Brendan came up with an idea.
"Jason, download any Star Trek: Voyager episode you can find, ASAP."
"Huh?"
"Just do it, quickly!"
Jason ran a search and came across "Voyager_-_Threshold.mpg." As soon as the download completed, Brendan projected the episode into space through the headlights.
The car coasted through a gaping plot hole and arrived at the mall seconds before Cronan.
"You cheated," Cronan declared over the commlink. "That cascade thread was cruel and unusual -- and if that Wavy G guy is a regular, Usenet must have really gone to pot since I died. Plus you violated copyright laws."
"I had to even things up; e-mailing yourself somewhere is an unfair advantage," Wayland retorted. "Besides, if you want to talk about cheating, let's discuss that hair grenade."
"Eh, whatever. So I guess you guys win -- under extremely unfair circumstances -- but I am a man of my word." Cronan fiddled with his maneuvering thrusters and righted the Shuttle to the Mustang's perspective.
"So, Cronan, you have any plans for the rest of the day?" Brendan asked. "We have to invade the mall and rescue a few bands from the clutches of evil. We could use your help."
"I heard about what's going on over the radio. I'm afraid I can't help, though; as long as I'm in training, I can't meddle in mortals' affairs."
"Dude, the three of us may be lower ranking than you, but we're not mortals," Wayland argued.
"No, but the Evil Singers are, and so is one of the hostages. Anyway, Delilah's calling me back to the training plane of existence."
"Damn. We were hoping you could stay longer.... we've all missed you a lot," Brendan said dejectedly.
"I've missed you guys too -- you wouldn't believe how boring it is to be dead. Don't worry, though; I'll be keeping an eye out for you."
"Thank you," Brendan replied. "I hope we see you again.... goodbye," he finished, with a tear in his eye.
"Have one of those things, Sonny Jim," said Cronan, and before anyone knew it, he was gone again.