Dunes.
Vast dunes.
Vast, featureless, boring, dunes.
And without the prospect of sandworms to make a wanderer's day exciting.
Oh, wait a minute, there's something.
It was the escape pod. It had landed surprisingly gently on the surface, allowing its passengers an easy exit. Woe betide the luckless souls whose capsule had instead pounded itself into the sands at terminal velocity: even if they survived impact, the force could very well have—
But I digress.
Farnsworth and Jenkins plodded along in a fairly linear direction; surrounded by brown nothing and with no clue where they were, they figured their chances were about equal anywhere else. Better, even.
"How did we get into this mess?" Farnsworth sighed, "I really don't know. We seem to be made to suffer. It's our lot in life." Jenkins gave a little chirp. "I've got to rest before I collapse," he whined, "I didn't get any sleep on the flight!"
They crested a dune, and Farnsworth looked out across the horizon. Featureless hills of sand stretched out in all directions. "What a desolate place this is," he remarked. Then his brow furrowed. "I say, look at those clouds. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think I saw
any cover from space." Jenkins uttered a trill and started off toward the right. "Where do you think
you're going?" Chirrup. "Well
I'm not going that way. It's much too rocky." He jabbed a thumb behind him. "This way is
much easier." Whistle. "What makes you think there are settlements over there?" Whistle. "Alright then, if you're so confident, how about a gentlemanly wager?" Jenkins made another trill. "Deal." They shook hands, and headed off in opposite directions.
Some indeterminate time interval later, and Farnsworth shuffled along, occasionally looking left and right, searching for the source of the ominous music that was following him. He stopped momentarily to examine the skeletal remains of what looked like some sort of sea serpent. No, that didn't make sense; it must be delirium setting in. Bugger, and he didn't even feel parched yet.
"Wait; what's that?" he asked the skeleton. Far off in the distance, he could see something ambling along the crest, flashing a light of some sort. "A transport!" he exclaimed, "I'm saved!" He waved his arms, hoping whoever was piloting would notice. "OVER HERE!" he shouted, "HEY! HEEEY! HELP! PLEEEASE HEEEELP!"
Dusk was setting in as Jenkins trod along what may have once been a narrow riverbed in a happier time for the planet, softly whistling to himself. Unseen to him, short, cloaked figures observed him from the rocks. A few stones loosed, catching the man's attention. He wasn't one to frighten easily, but his music quickly took on a shier tone while he cast shifty glances from side to side.
OHGOD—
I... sorry.
A figure leaped up in front of him, thrusting a multi-page fold of exaggerated French stereotypes in Jenkins' face. After a few seconds of vicious spasming, he collapsed unconscious. Prey subdued, the figure gestured for its comrades. A pack of the creatures descended from the nooks and crannies; they were clad in reddish-brown cloaks, glowing orange eyes penetrating their otherwise unseen faces. Communicating in high-pitched squeaks and other odd utterings, they gathered up Jenkins and carried him out of the valley and to the base of a giant trapezoidal vehicle. A chair descended from some mechanism above, and the critters seated Jenkins on it. One strapped a thick metal collar around the base of his neck before signalling the operator, who retracted the chair into the bowels of the crawler.
Jenkins came to, standing up quickly and shaking some steel wool inexplicably sitting on his head. He looked around, somewhat dazed. Wherever he was, it was filled with mechanical components and gentlemen milling about idly, each fastened with identical collars around their necks.
"Jenkins?" called a voice. He looked up to see Farnsworth slumped against a wall. The man immediately got up and picked his way through the miscellany. "By Jove, Jenkins!" he exclaimed, jubilant, "It
is you!" Jenkins gave a twitter as the room began vibrating, the crawler setting off for its unknown destination.
------------------------------
The following day, the Imperial recovery team had located the crash site. "Someone
was in the pod," reported the squad leader, "The tracks go off in this direction."
"Look, sir!" exclaimed a trooper, brandishing a tea packet, "Brits!"
Meanwhile, at some considerable distance from the landing site, the crawler rumbled to a halt. "We stopped." Farnsworth gave Jenkins a light shake; "Wake up." The far wall opened into the outside, and their kidnappers scrambled into the bay. "We're doomed," said Farnsworth. The creatures made their way through the room, singling out various gentlemen and chattering between themselves. One came over to the men, summoned a compatriot, and pointed to Jenkins, uttering some alien phrase before proceeding deeper into the hold. The other figure spun sharply to Farnsworth, saying something else he couldn't understand. "Don't shoot, don't shoot!" he answered feebly. He leaned toward Jenkins. "Will this never end?"
They along with a few other select gentlemen were escorted outside, lined up in front of the crawler. It had stopped outside some sort of settlement, a domed hut overlooking two deep holes and a number of small towers spread out across the surrounding flats. Two people emerged from the hut, one with brown hair and brown robes, the other younger, dark blond, clad in dirty white; one of the creatures spoke briefly to them, then pointed toward the line of gentlemen.
"Chris?" called a woman's voice, "Chri-is!" The young boy broke away and jogged to the edge of one of the holes, where his aunt stood by a multi-antenna'd component of their hideaway. "Chris? Tell Uncle if he gets an envoy, be sure he speaks Russian."
"ok," said Chris, and ran back to join his uncle.
Uncle and the cloaked figure proceeded down the line of gentlemen. The dealer pointed to a stout man in a red bowler hat. "Yeah, I'll take that red one." It pointed to Jenkins. "No, not that one." They strode up to Farnsworth. "You," he said, and the man straightened up; "I suppose you're trained in etiquette and protocol?"
"Protocol?" repeated Farnsworth, "Why, it's my primary schooling, sir! I am versed in all the customs—"
"I have no need for a protocol dandy," he cut in.
"Of course you haven't, sir," he replied, remaining cordial, "Not in an environment such as this. That's why I have been educated—"
"What I really need is a diplomat who understands the nuanced language of East European politics."
"Eastern Europe? Sir, my first work abroad was part of a cultural delegation to Poland; so close to Eastern Europe it might as well be part of it."
"Can you speak Russian?"
"Of
course I can, sir; it's like a second language to me. I'm assuming—"
"Alright, shaddup," he cut in, "I'll take this one."
"Shutting up, sir," said Farnsworth.
Trade concluded, the dealer motioned to its fellows. "Chris," called Uncle, and the boy ran over, "Take these two over to the garage, will you? I want them cleaned up before dinner."
"But i was going to check for updates on multipolarity!!" he whined.
"You can waste time with your Internet friends when your chores are done. Now c'mon, get to it."
Chris sighed. "Alright, come on," he told Farnsworth. Jenkins let out a low whistle as his friend walked away. "And the red one, come on," added Chris, gesturing to the man in the bowler hat. He looked away and noisily rubbed his nose. "Well come on red let's go!!!" Chris exclaimed. Grumbling, the man slowly dragged his feet forward.
Jenkins shuffled from foot to foot. He gave a sharp blast on the whistle, and Farnsworth turned around. One of the traders ran up to him and brandished the magazine menacingly, and Jenkins immediately froze. Farnsworth gave a rueful frown, then resumed course toward the hut.
The man in the bowler hat abruptly sat down. "This is so utterly demeaning," he growled, crossing his arms. "I didn't blow sixty grand at Oxford to be treated like some redneck's hired help!" He patted his chest. "It's a disgrace to my position, it is!"
"Uncle onslow," Chris called. His uncle looked up from where he was completing the transaction.
"Yeah?"
"This gentelman has a bad motivator!! look!!"
Onslow turned to the dealer. "Hey, what're you trying to push on us?" It squawked some indignant response.
Smelling opportunity, Jenkins began fidgeting again as he blew on his whistle. Farnsworth tapped Chris' shoulder. "Excuse me, sir, but
that gentleman is in prime condition; a real bargain!"
"Unce onslow," Chris called, "what about that one?" He pointed to Jenkins.
"What about that blue one?" Onslow asked, "We'll take that one."
AUTHOR'S NOSE: Onslow calld Jekins blue cuz hes wering a navel blu suit & his eyes r blue & maybe dey sprakl leik saphirz. IM NOT GAY!!!
The dealer quickly instructed the workers. Three ran up to drag the man in the bowler hat back to the crawler. "I'm quite sure you'll be very pleased with him, sir," Farnsworth encouraged, masking his enthusiasm, "He really is in first-class condition. I've worked with him before." Chris made a gesture as if to tell him to shut up. "Here he comes."
Jenkins strode over to them with a friendly chirrup. "Ok lets go," sighed Chris.
The two gentlemen lingered a moment as Chris returned to the hut. "I suppose," remarked Farnsworth, "That our wager ended in a draw."
------------------------------
"By Jove!" cried Farnsworth, "This bubble bath is going to feel
so good!" He clambered into the tub, fully-dressed. "I've got
such a bad case of sore joints I can barely move!"
Chris set down his model Chinese fighter jet before jumping to his feet. "It just isn't fair!" he moaned, "Aw, jehoshua's right, i'm
never going to be a dictator!"
"Is there anything
I might do to help?" Farnsworth offered.
"No. Not unless you can alter time, bribe the GM or teleport me off this rock."
"I don't think so, sir. I'm only a gentleman, and not very knowledgeable about such things. Not on this planet, anyway. As a matter of fact, I'm not even sure which planet I'm on."
Chris grabbed some brushes and got to work tidying Jenkins' suit. "Well if theres a secret to winning IOT, your on the planet thats farthest from."
"I see, sir."
"You can call me christos", said Chris.
"I see, sir Christos," corrected Farnsworth.
"No, just ch— actually that has a nice sound to it."
"And I am C. Aubrey Farnsworth, Esquire," he proclaimed, stepping out of the tub. And this is my counterpart, Jenkins." He motioned to the man.
"Hello," said Chris, unenthused. Jenkins whistled in reply. Chris rubbed laboriously at a stain on the man's collar. "You've got a lot of carbon scarring; it looks like you've seen a lot of action."
"With all
we've been through, sometimes I'm amazed we're in as good health as we are, what with the resistance and all."
Chris spun around. "You know about the resistance against the empire?!?!" he exclaimed.
"That's how we came to be in your service," replied Farnsworth, "If you'll take my meaning so." Jenkins whistled.
"have you been in many battles
"
"Several, I think. Actually, there's not much to tell," he confessed. Desheartened, Chris turned back to Jenkins. "I'm not much more than an interpreter, and not very good at telling stories. Though, not of anything interesting to Americans, anyway."
Chris rubbed so hard at Jenkins' collar he was practically clawing at it. "You've got a lot of dirt on your jacket," he observed; "were you on a star cruiser or—"
There was a sudden flash, and a holographic projection appeared from a pin on Jenkins' lapel. Chris fell backward onto the floor. "What's
this?!?!" he exclaimed. Jenkins whistled.
"'What is what?'" Farnsworth parroted, "He asked you a question! What is
that?"
It was the figure of Princess Kaiser, arms spread in a pleading pose. "Help me, Alec Guinness de Cuffe," she said, "You're my only hope." She turned her head to the right, crouched forward with her arm extended; the scene then looped.
Jenkins gave a short whistle, covertly reaching into his suit pocket. "Oh," said Farnsworth, "He says it's nothing, sir, merely a malfunction; old data. Pay it no mind."
Chris stared at the scene, dumbfounded. "Who is she?" he asked. "She's booty—i mean beautiful!"
"I'm afraid I'm not quite sure, sir," he replied. "I
think she was a passenger on our last voyage; a person of some importance as I believe. Our captain was attached to—"
"Is there any more of this recording?" Chris interrupted, still not pulling his eyes away.
Jenkins made a shrill chirrup. "Behave yourself, Jenkins," Farnsworth muttered, "You're going to get us into trouble! It's alright; you can trust him; he's our new patron." Jenkins gave a fluttered reply. "He says that he is the adjutant to Alec Guinness de Cuffe, a resident of these parts. And it's a private message for him. Quite frankly, sir, I don't know what he's talking about;
our last employer was Captain Antietam. But, with all we've been through, Jenkins can be a bit eccentric." Jenkins whistled indignantly.
"Alec Guinness," Chris repeated, "I wonder if he means Ol' Ali-G."
"I beg your pardon, sir, but do you know what he's talking about?"
Chris rose to his feet. "Well i dont know anyone called Alec Guinness, but Ali-G lives out beyond the Dune Sea. Some retired actor or something." He looked back at the looping projection. "I wonder who she is. It sounds like she's in trouble, i'd better play back the whole message." He made toward Jenkins, but the man released a flurry of musical notes, causing Chris to back off.
"He says the retainer collar has pinched a wire in his recording device. But if you remove the collar, he might be able to play back the entire recording."
Chris grabbed the key. "I guess your too small to run away if i take this off." He unfastened the shackle, and the projection terminated. "Hey, where'd she go?? Bring it back!! Play back the entire message!!" he shouted.
Jenkins gave a brief chirp. "'What message?'" Farnsworth repeated. He lightly slapped the back of Jenkins' head. "The one you've just been playing! The one you're carrying inside your trickster's gadgetry!"
"Chris!" called his aunt, "Chri-is?"
"Im coming Aunt Beryl!" he called. He handed the keys and the collar to Farnsworth. "See what you can do with him, i'll be right back." he said, then left for the dining room.
Jenkins chirruped. "Just you reconsider playing that message for him," Farnsworth hissed. Whistle. "No, I don't think he likes you at all!" Whistle. "No, he doesn't like me, either."
Chris joined his aunt and uncle for dinner. "I think one of those gentelmen we bought is a spy!" he exclaimed as he sat down.
"What makes you think that?" asked Onslow.
"I found a recording while I was cleaning him. He says he works for someone called Alec Guinness." Beryl and Onslow exchanged glances. "I thought he might have meant Ali-G," he continued. "Do you know what he's talking about?" Onslow shook his head. "Maybe he's related to Ali-G?"
"That actor's just a crazy old wizard," Onslow stated. "Tomorrow I want you to take that gentleman to the FYROM Defence Centre and have him re-educated. That'll be the end of it; he works for us now."
"But what if this Alec Guinness comes looking for him??" Chris pressed, pouring himself a glass of green milk.
"He won't," said Onslow. "I don't think he exists anymore. He died about the same time as
Star Wars."
"He knew
Star Wars??" Chris asked excitedly.
Onslow looked up, annoyed. "I told you to forget it. Your only concern is to prepare those gentlemen for tomorrow. In the morning I want them up there at the embassy working on the welcoming reception."
"I think those gentelmen are going to work out fine," said Chris. "In fact i've been thinking about our agreement, about me staying on another season." Onslow eyed him, anticipatory. Chris continued: "And if these gentelmen do work out, i want to submit my application to the academy this year."
"You mean the next semester, before the sittings?"
"Sure, theres more than enough gentelmen."
"The sittings are when I need you the most!" replied Onslow. "It's only one season more! This year you'll earn enough experience that you'll know the basics of diplomacy, and then... you can go to the Academy
next year. You must understand you need training, Chris."
"But its a whole nother year!!!" he whined.
"Look, it's only one more season."
"Yeah that's what you said when jehoshua and dom3k left." Chris abruptly left the table.
"Where are you going?" asked Beryl.
"It looks like i'm going nowhere," he retorted, glaring at his uncle. "I have to go finish cleaning those gentelmen." He stormed off back to the garage.
"Onslow, he can't stay here forever," reasoned Beryl; "Most of his friends are rulers now. It means so much to him!"
"I'll make it up to him next year. I promise."
She chuckled. "Chris just isn't a diplomat, Onslow. He has too much nationalism in him."
Onslow nodded. "That's what I'm afraid of."
Chris shuffled out into the outdoor twilight. ...Hey, wait a minute, that atrium was bright as day; how'd it get so dark all of a sudden? Did Chris spend, like, three hours climbing the stairs or something? Ah, screw it, where was I? He gazed across the flatlands as the planet's two suns... God DAMN it, HOW can a planet orbit TWO stars in such a way you can watch them BOTH set?! I'm trying to write a comedy, but this universe's shoddy physics are farcical enough already!
OK, you know what, I can't even remember what's supposed to be symbolic in this scene, so let's skip to the garage.
After half a minute of acting angsty, Chris returned to find the room dark and seemingly deserted. Just as he was about to crank the volume on his stereo, Farnsworth straightened up with a startled exclamation. "What are you doing hiding back there??" asked Chris.
"It wasn't my fault, sir!" the man said, "I told him not to go, but... he's desperate, determined! Kept babbling on about his mission!"
With a sigh, Chris grabbed a pair of binoculars and ran back up to the surface. Farnsworth joined him as he scanned the horizon. "How could i be so stupid?" Chris asked himself.
* "He's nowhere in sight."
"Pardon me, sir, but couldn't we go after him?"
"Its too dangerous with all the noob-tubers around. Now we'll have to wait until morning."
"Chris," called Onslow, "I'm turning the router off!"
"JUST A MINUTE I HAVE TO MAKE A POST ON CFC!!!" he shouted. He turned to Farnsworth. "Now i'm really going to get it. That gentelman is going to cause me a lot of trouble."
"Oh, he
excels at that, sir," Farnsworth replied, tongue-in-cheek.
With nothing further to be done, they returned to the hut for the night.
* — During the intermission between this chapter and the next, the audience is free to discuss its theories.