SFSTORY: HMS Golden Lance #13 - Want Fries With That?

Time Agent 357 got dressed and put on his favorite utility harness. The harness promptly slid off and fell to the floor, almost as if it were several sizes too big. This was impossible, of course, as 357 was exactly the same size as he had always been since varsity team days in highschool, not having gained one single ounce of fat nor having lost one single ounce of muscle, just like every other middle-aged male being in the universe.

The difference with 357 being that in his case, it was actually true.

357 was born on a classified planet in a classified universe. (His people like their privacy.) His people are also, for the most part, immortal. Though they can be killed by violence, most live for hundreds of thousands of years until they die by the aforementioned violence, although boredom and stupidity round out the top three causes of death.

357 sighed as he adjusted the utility harness, tightening the straps to fit the body he was in, which turned out not to be the body he was born with. For, you see, Time Agent 357 had recently traded bodies with the Earth female known as Diana Dark. While most humanoid males would have been willing to cut off their left arm (or left various other extremities) for a chance to get close to Diana Dark's body, and 357 admitted that he was not altogether opposed to the idea, being trapped inside said body was another ballgame.

357 reached the Temporal Teleporter Terminal room a few minutes late, and the rest of the crew was waiting for him. "Sorry I'm late..." he began lamely.

"But you had trouble getting Diana's clothes to fit," finished Omegas for him. Omegas was currently wearing Ralph's body, which resembled nothing so much as a giant space-going weasel and didn't require a whole lot in the way of clothing. "I don't see why you bother with clothing. It's not like it's required on the trading post asteroid."

"Keep your eyes off my body!" commanded Diana Dark, who was herself inside of Time Agent 357's body. She picked Omegas up by the scruff of his (well, Ralph's) neck and shook him a few times before setting him back down.

"No need to get violent with my body," chided Ralph, who was himself wearing the formerly immortal body of Omegas. Ralph had dressed said body in a white leather jacket, purple-tinted sunglasses, and cobalt- blue jeans.

"Why are you wearing that?" asked Omegas, obviously quite upset about the way Ralph had dressed. "I dropped that look ages ago. It doesn't show off my muscles."

"Or your knobby knees," said Ralph, obviously quite pleased with the way he had dressed. "Besides, I like it."

"STOP THE FASHION SHOW AND LET'S GET ON WITH IT!" shouted the two remaining members of the crew. They were Doctor Bing Von Spleen, currently trapped inside the CPU of the ship's computer, and the VAL 9000 computer, currently trapped inside the body of Spleen.

=While you were arguing,= continued Spleen from the overhead speakers, =Val and I managed to hack into the trading post's central teleporter controls. We don't have enough power left to use the ship's teleporters to send you down, so we're going to try to operate their teleporters from here. Once down there, you will have exactly two (2) hours to get the supplies we need before you return automatically.=

"I will remain here and monitor your progress," said Val from Spleen's body, which she actually intended to lay down for a nap. "And don't forget to get some food. We're running low on rations."

"Yes, dear," mummered 357.

=Teleportation in five... four... three...=

Ralph, Omegas, Diana, and 357 dissolved in a rainbow blur of colors.

=...two...=

"Three meese burgers, hold the bun, extra meat!"

Dijon Mu'tard was beginning to hate meat. Just a few days ago, he would have said that he loved meat, and that a great big hamburger like the one he had eaten on an Earth colony he had tried to destroy in another dimension would have really hit the spot after years of prison food. Now, the very thought made him want to retch. Dijon was in the Hell(tm) of all meat lovers.

"Two zentaar steaks, one medium well, one well done!"

Dijon was a short-order cook at the Interstellar Huddle of Waffles.

"Give me three number two's with a side of four, burn 'em, over easy, and an extra helping lard!"

Dijon was also beginning to hate the lard. It splattered every time he put an extra helping on the grill. It splattered all over the grill, the floor, the walls, and the ceiling. And, of course, his exposed skin. The only place it didn't splatter was on the twelve square feet of apron he had wrapped protectively around himself, for all the good it was doing.

"Fried Skrogg toes, baked, with mangnar sausage!"

Yes, Dijon was beginning to hate the sight, feel, taste, and even the sound of meat. He was beginning to hate meat so much that he feared he was beginning to hallucinate. Even now, it looked as if the pile of meat he had just thrown on the grill had assumed the shape of a head and was turning to look at him.

Dijon dropped his spatula with a clang when he realized that the pile of meat really was looking at him.

"Mu'tard!" yelled the meat, "Get back over here so I don't have to yell so loudly!"

"Greez?" asked Dijon incrediously.

"Of course it is I, renegade Time Agent Greez Hyperiok," snapped the pile of meat, bits of sausage flying off into the deep fryer. "Who else controls the ABPSARII, or Automatic Beet Peeler and Sub-Atomic Re-integrator Mark II, which has the power to give me access to an alterverse, or alternate universe, from whence I can project my image into this pile of meat?"

"Okay," admitted Dijon. "But why didn't you just call me on the phone you gave me?"

"No drama," said Greez. "I used this method to remind the reading audience of the kind of power I possess."

"The kind that makes me nauseous?"

"Quit joking around!" shouted the pile of meat, spraying hot grease all over Dijon's apron for the first time in its life. The apron, not at all pleased, untied itself and crawled under the counter with a whimper. "The HMS Golden Lance has arrived in orbit around the asteroid. The crew just teleported down. Are you ready?"

"Yes, I'm ready," Dijon said, not sounding at all enthusiastic.

"You don't sound at all enthusiastic," observed the pile of meat. "You'd better shape up. I can put you back in prison as easily as I got you out. Now get to work! Greez out."

Dijon prodded the pile of meat, still in the form of Greez Hyperiok's head. Deciding that Greez had really signed off, he flipped it over and let the face brown for a few minutes before throwing it on a plate and passing it to a waitress. "Give this to that big guy on the end," he ordered. "I've got to get something from the storage room."

Exactly one hour and thirty minutes later, the crew of the HMS Golden Lance for which this serial is named met in the restaurant district. Each was pushing a large cart heavily laden with supplies. Each told their success story.

Omegas, in Ralph's body, went first. "In this body, I was able to slip into the stores through the back way unnoticed and just take what I wanted. When they did see me, they thought I was just a big rat."

"I think I'm offended by that," said Ralph, in truth not sounding at all offended. "I made better use of your body, Omegas. In my case, I would simply politely request a better deal. Or rather, I'd try. Coming out of this body, any request rumbles out in a deep bass voice that everybody finds quite intimidating."

357 decided not tell everyone that he got good deals simply by unzipping the front of his jumpsuit and leaning over the counter, giving the salesmen a good view of Diana's body. "Um, I just got lucky, I guess."

Diana Dark, in Time Agent 357's body, had her turn. "Every time somebody would try to run up a price, I'd just reach out and grab them by the lapels and my mouth would spout out some stream of nonsense syllables. The sales people would apologize and give me a great deal. I wonder what I was saying."

"'Just how stupid do you think I am?'"

Everyone looked at 357, standing there in Diana Dark's body, as it was he who had spoken.

"Beg pardon?" Ralph asked.

"It goes back to just before I got my IUD..." 357 began.

"Got WHAT?" Diana almost screamed, wondering exactly what 357 had been doing in her body.

"My Interstellar University Diploma," 357 explained. "Back then, they were experimenting with a process where you could have a certain very useful language skill implanted directly into the physical structure of the brain. The brain was supposed to go back to normal after the skill was absorbed into the neural interstices, but since you can do it while in my body so many years after the procedure was performed, it's obviously still there."

"What skill, exactly?" asked Omegas, since it had been a while since he had any dialog.

357 took a swig from his hip flask and continued. "Well, at the time I went through the process, they could give you the ability to say one particular phrase (which you had to choose at that time) in the native language of anyone you might later meet in your travels. They suggested things like 'Which way to the nearest Time Police office?' and 'I claim diplomatic immunity' or even 'Take me to your leader.' Most chose more useful phrases. My good friend the Intern, who probably has his doctorate by now, chose 'Give me a keg of beer.'"

357 smiled. "I, however, chose a phrase which had gotten a lot of use back in my Time Security days. 'Just how stupid do you think I am?' Every time somebody would start trying to bull me, I'd just grab them, say that, and they'd straighten out. Works even better when they don't realize that you speak their language. You don't, of course, aside from the ability to say that one phrase."

"Cool," said Diana, summing up the feelings of everyone present. Well, except for Ralph, who was just listening to be polite. And except for 357, who already knew all this. And except for Omegas, who really didn't care about anything or anybody except himself.

Omegas was mostly concerned with the way Ralph's stomach was growling, as said stomach fueled the body that Omegas was currently residing in. "What say we put the language class on hold long enough to eat?" By accident or design, they had arrived in a section comprised solely of fast food restaurants. In fact, they were standing right in front of one. It had a big green sign with yellow letters.

"An IHOW!" exclaimed 357. "I haven't eaten in one of these in 150 years!"

"You haven't eaten in any restaurant in 150 years. You were trapped inside that anomoly with me!" huffed Omegas.

"And loving every minute of it, I assure you," said 357.

Diana and Ralph broke up the impending fight by simply grabbing 357 and Omegas and carrying them into the restaurant. They were almost immediately beset by a pack of waitresses.

"Hello there!" snorted the tallest. "Welcome to the Interstellar Huddle of Waffles. Our special today is (snicker) waffles."

The intrepid band of adventurers quickly gave their orders. Back at the grill, Dijon Mu'tard strove to just as quickly prepare them. Then, just as the dishes were finished, he reached for several containers he had brought in from the storage room. Some were marked with bio-hazard warning signs, skulls and crossbones from various species, and one had an animated image of a tiny cartoon mouse giving a very impressive simulation of delerium tremens.

"Want fries with that?" Dijon said silently to himself as passed the finished plates to the waitress.

"We don't serve fries here," answered the waitress.

"I have got to work on talking to myself more quietly."

"What was that?" asked a patron at the bar.

"He said he has to work on talking to himself more quietly," answered another. "Oh, and could I have another one of your meat faces? That last one was quite tasty."

"That's does it!" shouted Dijon. "I quit!"

Out at their table, Omegas, Ralph, 357, and Diana were too busy eating to pay any attention as Kabnar, the other cook, stuffed Dijon into a waste disposal cannister and shot him out into space, despite the best efforts of several waitresses.

What has Dijon Mu'tard put in the food?
How is that part of Greez Hyperiok's plan?
Will Kabnar ever get another day off?
Did Spike and Buffy practice safe sex?

Watch for the answers on the exciting season premiere this Fall, only on... SFSTORY!

Copyright 2006 by Troy H. Cheek. Free to read, but please reprint only with permission.