Chapter 19

-----

White light.

{...am I dead?} thought Tifa.

Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the light. The image of Bare-It resolved in her vision.

{Nope,} she thought, {not dead. Bare-It's hardly my idea of an angel.}

--But what if this was Hell?

{Shit.}

"Hey, g'mornin, sleepyhead!" said Bare-It cheerfully, "I was startin' ta think you were dead!"

{Whew, still alive.}

"Aren't you gonna ask?"

{..ask?}

"About him."

{What the hell is he talking about?}

"ALRIGHT," he roared, "I admit it. I forgot to bring Trent!"

Tifa came fully awake. "You what?" she demanded.

"So my memory's not so great. I forget my keys all the time!"

"My childhood friend is not a set of keys."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Are you sure?"

"Positively."

"I guess I should have been more careful with him then."

"You're grounded, Bare-It."

"Awww!"

"You'll be more careful next time, now won't you?"

"Yes'm."

"Where are we, by the way?"

"Junon Military Outpost. We're 'guests' of the Hair Club."

At this point, President Rufus of the Hair Club for Men entered the room, followed by Heidegger.

"Rise and shine!" he said cheerfully, "It's time for your public execution!"

"Execution!" exclaimed Bare-It, "What for?"

"Oh, let's see," said Rufus gleefully, "High treason, terrorist bombings, grand theft airplane, failure to come to a complete stop at a stop sign..."

"Indecent exposure," quipped Heidegger.

Rufus and Heidegger exchanged a "High-five".

"You son-of-a-" growled Bare-It, but he was cut off by Heidegger's laughter.

Tifa scowled at Scarlett's giggling face as the Hair Club soldier finished strapping her into a chair in the gas chamber.

"Prepare yourself for a lingering, painful death!" crowed Scarlett.

"Gas?" asked Tifa, "That's not spectacularly painful."

Scarlett grinned back. "Oh yeah? You know your friend Yuppie? We bottled one of her farts!"

Tifa fainted.

Bare-It scowled as the multiplex theatre screen hummed to life, showing Tifa strapped to a chair.

Scarlett emerged from the room and approached a microphone at the front of the room.

"Testing," she began, then: "The execution will commence as soon as our Hair Club animators finish drawing stench fumes to superimpose onto the live feed."

Klaxons rang, and Heidegger's voice came over the PA system: "Alert! Weapon is en route to our position! All military personnel, battlestations, repeat, battlestations, repe...what? Speak up? Oh. Ahem. I am advised that I don't need to repeat 'battlestations' anymore. Repeat: I am advised that I do not need to repeat 'battlestations' anymore. Repe-" Heidegger's voice was lost to static as Bare-It envisioned a frantic Hair Club technician cutting him off.

The audience chamber was rapidly emptying as Scarlett fumed.

A grossly obese news reporter approached Scarlett. "How do you feel about this most recent development?" the reporter asked in a eunuch-toned voice.

"Eh?" said Scarlett, "You haven't left? I'm impre--"

"Got your wallet!" crowed the reporter, flourishing a pink (that's right, pink) wallet, and tossing it out a nearby window. Scarlett cursed and ran outside, apparently to try and retrieve her wallet.

The reporter started peeling his jacket off. Anybody but Bare-It would have left the room screaming, but Bare-It was accustomed to being around an enormous naked man: himself.

It became quickly apparent that the "reporter" was none other than Cait Sith. He undid Bare-It's handcuffs. Bare-It rushed towards the door where Tifa was being held.

"uNF!" Bare-It cried, "It won't open!"

"Try the handle," Cait Sith suggested.

Bare-It turned the handle. The door swung open on well-oiled hinges.

"Not bad, furball," he said, "I never would have thought of that."

Bare-It unstrapped Tifa's brassie...I mean, hands, and Cait Sith lead the pair off towards the airport, where they were met by Cid.

"C'mon!" shouted Cid, "I stole the Highwind back!"

The group boarded the gigantic airship. As they headed off towards the bridge, Tifa looked around in awe. "You built this?" she asked of Cid.

"Yup," he replied proudly, "With my own two hands and a gigantic government subsidy...not to mention stolen materials, slave labour, and...oh, never mind that boring stuff. Anyway, we dumped the Hair Club people into the drink, and now the Highwind is crewed by--"

"No!" came a voice from the bridge, "I am the best goat farmer in Cid's Knights!"

"Oh, god," moaned Tifa.

"Yeah," said Cid sheepishly, "My Knights are the crew."

They came on the bridge to find the massive Yeti glaring at the wiry mage. "I'll have you know," he began, "I've planted more goats than you'll ever even dream of."

"Oh?" demanded the mage, "Have any of them actually grown, or do you just have a bunch of dead goats buried in your back yard?"

"Dead goats," replied the ogre sheepishly.

"Hah!" shouted the mage triumphantly, "All of the goats I planted last season are growing waist-high!"

Cid just shook his head. "Attention, everybody!" he called, "We are getting ready to depart!"

"Where to?" inquired Zack.

"Let's just get away from Junon before: a) Weapon gets here, or: b) The Hair Club decides to set the Highwind on fire."

"Oh, yeah."

"Destination is a valid question," said Tifa, "We've got to see if we can find Trent."

Arsechimp supplied, "Boogergoblin always said that sometimes the Lifestream seeps up into the cracks of the Earth...I imagine that great cataclysm of rock opened up a few cracks in Trent's sku...I mean, the Earth. Maybe he's at..." the big dog trailed off.

"Yes?" asked Tifa.

"What?" replied Arsechimp.

"You said 'Maybe he's at...' and then stopped."

"Who?"

"TRENT, you numbskull."

"Well, if that's how you're going to be about it, maybe I won't tell."

"Sorry. Please, Arsechimp, we've got to help him. If you know where he is, tell us!"

"I forget," admitted Arsechimp sheepishly.

"Never mind," said Cid. "Tifa, let me show you to the Really Red Ready Room, or just RRRR for short. We don't want to do anything until we're Really Ready...or else just Red, right?"

"Don't practice your alliteration on me," snarled Tifa.

"Sorry." Cid showed her out of the bridge. "There," he said, pointing to a room in the bowels of the airship. He swung the door open to reveal a dark room.

"Dammit, who cut the lights?" demanded Cid. One single spotlight came to life in the center of a room, revealing a dark-haired man wearing a purple mask and a cape.

"I am the Terror," he declaimed, "That flapth in the night!"

"Dammit, RSL," groused Cid, "Get down off the table."

"Aww..."

"And put on some pants!"

"But..."

"No buts, mister! If you've scratched my cedar table, I'm gonna ram this Tube of Evil right up y--" Cid trailed off as he noticed Tifa tugging on his sleeve.

"That's not a Tube of Evil," she pointed out.

"It isn't?" said Cid, peering at the object he had been brandishing.

"That's a flapstick."

The door swung open, clobbering Cid senseless and sending him tumbling to the ground. Zdawg leaped into the room.

"Did someone say flapstick?" he said excitedly. Then: "Nice boxers, man. Here, have some long johns."

Tifa bent over and picked up the flapstick from Cid's flaccid hands, handing it over to Zack. "Say, what's with you and flapsticks?" she inquired.

"Oh, that," said Zack, "I just eat them up so that they don't have any left to sell in the United Kingdom.

"Why do you care what they sell in the UK?"

Zack shuddered. "I just want to prevent a repeat of this," he said, handing Tifa a poster. It read:

Fruity Satsu

in

FLAPSTICK COMEDY

Tifa shuddered. She imagined a sick world in which fruity men stalked the earth, inflicting flapsticks upon the unsuspecting, innocent population...

She was jolted from her reverie by the masked man shouting, "Hey, theeth longjohnth are GREAT! Robinett'th brand!"...and spewing a volume of spit ordinarily associated with camels all over the RRRR.

Preview of Chapter 20:

"Zack, what are you planning to do with that beehive?"

"We've stretched one pint over four days an' I'm still drunker 'anna skunk!"

"You don't suppose he's...reproducing, do you?"