By Tim Sevenhuysen
Posted May 10, 2012
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Tic’s eyes lit on a cupboard. In a frenzy, he whipped up the strongest Saucy Wench he’d ever mixed, tore open the top of Dr. Fester’s IV bag, dumped the drink in, and squeezed. The alcohol rushed directly into Fester’s veins.
The old man’s eyelids fluttered, then shot wide open. He leapt out of bed like his pants were on fire and shouted, “I predict!”
“I know,” said Tic, “but—”
“I predict walruses!” cackled Fester. “I predict the reunification of plaid! I predict a fine pickle!”
Tic scratched his head. “What did that stuff do to you?”
The curator shouted, “Bolter! What’s going on back there!?”
Tic ripped the IV needle out of Dr. Fester’s hand and pulled the old scientist into the hold. “I hope some part of your brain is still working…” He picked Fester up by the armpits—the man was surprisingly light—and lowered him down beside Mr. Cogs. “Give him some tools and see if anything useful happens!” said Tic, by way of explanation, and ran back to the cockpit. “Sir,” he began, “I—”
Jeffries interrupted: “Enemy straight ahead!”
“Evasive maneuvers!” commanded the curator.
“AI’s still offline… I’m stuck on manual!”
The Liberati ship loomed as Jeffries dodged helplessly, sluggishly left and right. Tic could see the enemy’s turrets beginning to glow. He tensed…
And a burst of lasers sliced through the air twenty metres to their right.
“They aren’t pursuing!” reported Jeffries. He dropped the Pelican‘s altitude again and tabbed through some diagnostics on the viewscreen. “Sir… We’re cloaked!”
“Ah ha!” said the curator. “Excellent work, men!”
Jeffries added, “And that’s not all, sir… We’ve got extra power flowing to our turrets from somewhere.”
“Yeehaw!” said the curator. “We’re back in business!”
What do they do with the extra power to the turrets?
Total Voters: 5
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