Chapter 26
-----
The crew of the Highwind stood on the observation deck and groaned.
"Look at all that security," complained Bare-It, "How the hell are we supposed to get through THOSE gates?"
It was Cid who found the solution. "Hey, look, are we under attack right now?"
"Of course not," replied Arsechimp, "What's your point?"
"These pissants don't look up! Why don't we just jump down from here?"
"Simple," replied Bare-It, "We'd go splat. It would probably be rather painful."
"Maybe not," replied Trent, "Remember back in Midgar, how I fell hundreds of feet from the Number 5 reactor into the church where Aeris was hanging out and wasn't seriously injured?"
"Wh...How'd you do that?" demanded Bare-It.
"I think it's because I'm a major character in the story. It wouldn't do for me to go kersplat right at the beginning. It would make for a short and depressing story. Major characters, you see, have invisible parachutes. If we jump, we should be OK."
"Oh," said Bare-It, "Well, if you say it, it must be true."
"Exactly," replied Trent, "So let's go."
"LIKE HELL!" thundered Bare-It, "You're the psychotic one."
"OK, if you say so," said Trent, sounding defeated.
When Bare-It relaxed, Trent pushed him over the edge.
Trent turned out to be right. On the way down, the party's descent slowed noticeably. What Bare-It thought of the trip was apparent in the rain of urine descending rather quickly towards the unsuspecting citizenry of Midgar. Skanker and Arsechimp appeared to be having a lot of fun, tossing a bag of Alpo back and forth between them.
When Trent touched down, he did a victory dance. Long ago, Bare-It had informed him that when he got a touch down, he was required by law to do a victory dance. The dance, however, caused him to go careening into a diminuitive form.
"Tallist swine!" raged the figure, "You will perish before the might of the Great Midget Rebellion!"
"Oh, crap," said Bare-It, "That's Sam Shorty. Be careful, he goes for the b--"
Trent was already dodging the midget's viscious bite. (Author's note: Think where a midget's teeth line up with on an average guy....*shudder*)
His face grim, Trent cast Ultima on the midget. Sam Shorty vaporized satisfactorily.
But it wasn't over...Little chunks of Sammy skidded across the floor, appeared to melt, and flowed back to where he had been standing a moment before. The Sammy-globs clumped together and resolved into the shape of the indestructible midget.
"RUN AWAY!" exclaimed Bare-It, and Trent was all too happy to oblige.
"I don' wanna talk to yew!" exclaimed Sammy, "I faht in yer general direction! Yer mather was a 'amster, and yer father smelt of elderberries!"
Trent tore off like the hounds of hell were at his heels, but then realized that it wasn't the hounds of hell chasing him, it was Sam Shorty, so he ran faster.
The party regrouped at a hatch that Cait Sith reported led into the sewer.
"Eww," complained Trent, "We don't want to go into the sewer, do we?"
"Would you rather wait for Sammy to catch up?" inquired Aeris.
Trent decided to go into the sewer after all.
"Wait," said Bare-It, "If we keep this up, we'll have to fight Sam Shorty and Hojo at the same time--3 should be enough to take on Howard Johnson--The rest of us can stay behind and stall Sam Shorty by pretending to be sympathetic to his cause.
"You're a brave man, Bare-It," complimented Trent. "Vincent, Arsechimp, you're with me."
They hadn't gone far when they ran into Rude taking a leak.
"Hey!" exclaimed the bald man, "Could you at least knock?"
"Well, actually," said Trent, "There's no door here."
"Oh...well, that's OK then. Hey, aren't you the guy who fed us the 'shrooms?"
"Er, yeah," admitted Trent.
"Alright! Batman, old buddy! Do you have some more?"
At this point Elena came dashing up with Reno in tow.
"There they are!" exclaimed Elena, "We have orders to kill them!"
"Aww, come on!" whined Trent.
"Orders are orders," apologized Elena.
"I'll give you a cookie."
"No go."
"Damn...Hey, what about more 'shrooms! You can have more 'shrooms if you let us go!"
Rude looked tempted, but Elena shook her head no, eliciting a glare from the bald Turk.
Inspiration struck Trent. "PIPE!" he bellowed, and made his escape as the three Turks collapsed in helpless laughter.
Trent, Arsechimp, and Vincent finally crawled out of the sewer, wrinkling their noses in disgust.
"Gods," complained Vincent, "That stuff smells worse than Bare-It's meatloaf."
"Vincent..." said Arsechimp.
"What?"
"Don't you think that you're exaggerating just a LITTLE?"
"Well...maybe just a little."
"I'd say a lot, actually. I'd rather live down there all the time than have to eat Bare-It's meatloaf."
Their conversation was interrupted by what appeared to be a gigantic robotic turd. That's right, a robot turd.
A cluster of what appeared to be corn moved, revealing itself to be a hatch. Heidegger and Scarlett the Harlot stepped out, each doing their best to laugh in a manner more irritating than the other.
"Ah, Trent!" bellowed Heidegger, "So good to see you! Now, it's time for you to meet your death at the hands of PROUD CLOD!"
"Well, you've certainly got the clod part right," commented Arsechimp, "But what has it got to be proud of?"
"Oh," mocked Scarlett the Harlot, "And I suppose now you're an expert on what makes enormous clods of excrement feel good, now are you? How many enormous clods of excrement do YOU know?"
"Counting you?" countered Arsechimp.
"That does it, puppy dog. It's time to put you to pasture!"
The hatch closed and the robot turd lurched into action, firing a powerful 1.2 megaskunk stink ray into the party. However, accustomed as they were to Bare-It's meatloaf, the ray had very little effect.
Trent launched himself into action, dashing into a nearby restroom. He quickly opened a toilet stall and flushed three times. "Shitman," he chanted, "Hear my call!"
A gurgling came from deep within the flush. "You in trouble, lil' buddy?" inquired a voice in a slight British accent as a man-shape formed entirely out of excrement flowed out of the toilet.
Hastily, Trent pointed at the Proud Clod, "Look," he said, "It's blasphemy--A robotic turd!"
"Ain't that a poopah!" said Shitman, "I'll show it how a REAL poo-poo monkey fights!" With that, Shitman barrelled into the Proud Clod. The Clod faught valiantly, but it was no match for the superior experience of the Fecal Lord of Bloodlust Software.
"This isn't over," came the Harlot's shrill voice from within. "Meet our secret weapon--Lysol disenfectant!"
"Oh, no!" exclaimed Vincent in dismay, "That's Shitman's weakness!"
Shitman wasn't finished, though. He reached into his bag and produced a strange Brown materia...It quickly became apparent that it was a summon materia, because Shitman exclaimed "Shitty-kitty", and disappeared, to be replaced with a very large housecat composed out of human doo. Shitty-kitty barreled into the Clod, upsetting electronics and throwing the vomitometer off balance. As soon as it showed up, the Shitty-kitty disappeared into the dimensional void from which it and other summoned monsters came.
"Ah'm glad you called me," said Shitman, "A monstrosity like that gives poo a bad name. Here. Take the Shitty-Kitty materia. It will serve you well."
With that, the Shitman was gone, back into the commode from whence he sprang.
"You know Shitman?" inquired Vincent, awestruck.
"Of course," replied Trent.
Palmer's voice came over an intercom. "Not doing advertisements is my job, so I'd better not tell you that you can get on the Ask Shitman advice column by emailing 'bloodlust@zophar.net' with 'dear shitman' as the subject line!"
"PISS OFF, PALMER!" exclaimed Trent, Vincent, and Arsechimp in unison.
Finally, the three Amigos found their way into the control center in which Howard Johnson was beaming energy to Sephy at the Northern Crater.
"It's over, HoJo," called Arsechimp, "I've got a score to settle with you..."
"Wh...?" said HoJo, "What happened to Heidegger and Har..I mean, Scarlett?"
"Dead," snapped Vincent, "At the hands of Shitty-Kitty!"
HoJo gaped.
"Cut off the energy transfer," commanded Trent, "This is the end of the line."
"Oh, no," replied Hojo, "I'm afraid I can't do that. My son is counting on me."
"YOUR SON?" exclaimed all three of Trent's group in shock.
"Ah, yes, didn't you know? Anything that he can do, so can I...I've injected myself with Jehova cells...You know what they say, Trent. Like father, like son. You were correct in saying that it's the end of the line--for you!"
HoJo hurled himself at Trent, spewing fire. The swordsman drew his sword and met HoJo's attack head on, managing to cut a deep gash in HoJo's belly.
"Good," commented the mad scientist, "But not good enough." HoJo changed form, into a bigger and badder version.
Before HoJo could react, Trent, Arsechimp, and Vincent attacked in unison. Trent slashed at HoJo's left flank, Arsechimp bit at his groin, and Vincent fired off a round at his head. Dazed, HoJo went down.
"It's not enough," gasped HoJo, "You still have only seven days before Meteor strikes...and my son...becomes a god."
"We may only have seven days," said Trent, "But you have perhaps seven seconds. Can I offer you a coke?"
HoJo glared white-hot hatred at Trent for a moment, and then his eyes rolled back in his head, and his breathing came to a gentle halt. So Trent poured Coke all over the corpse.
"Let's get out of here," he said.
Back at the Highwind, the party had some hard decisions to make.
"We've only got seven more days before disaster strikes. Some of you will wish to spend these last days with loved ones and such...I understand that. But I'm going after Sephy. It only means I'll die a couple of days sooner than everybody else. I leave three days hence. The rest of you, I want you to get off the airship and go home...In three days, if you still want to come, you're welcome...I can use all the help I can get."
Faces grim, the party that Trent had come to know left, trailed by the few of Cid's Knights who had come along to crew the Highwind.
Cid was the last to leave, complaining that he was being kicked off of his own ship.
"I'm sorry, Cid, but I need it to get to Sephy. Nobody else is going to try to stop him--My mission is literally the most important thing in the world right now, and it can't happen without the ship. Goodbye."
Reluctantly, Cid started to disembark the Highwind.
"Wait!" called Trent.
Cid's head came up hopefully. "Yes?" he said, "What is it?"
"Your fly is open, numbnuts."
Trent stood alone on the shore near Midgar, with the Highwind hovering overhead. He was trying to remember how everybody had gotten off the ship without it landing first. More importantly, he was trying to figure out how to get back on when the time came to fight Sephy.
He was just about to try jumping again when the sound of footsteps caught his attention. It was Tifa and Aeris.
"I thought I told you all to go."
"I've got nowhere else to go," said Tifa, "I lost it all when Sector 7 was destroyed..."
"My entire species is dead," said Aeris, "Right now, protecting the Planet is all I've got...Protecting the planet...and..."
"Yes?" prompted Trent.
A glance passed between Tifa and Aeris. "Never mind," said Tifa.
Trent shrugged.
Once again, he was presented with the same tired old dilemma...Two lovely ladies, and he couldn't choose between them. Aeris's heartwarmingly emerald eyes beckoned, as did Tifa's mammoth-sized you-knows. Both women were looking expectantly at Trent.
He made his decision.
One Hour Later
"That's not even a word, Trent," complained Aeris.
"It is too!"
"Tifa, tell him he can't put 'itadakaresaseraretara' on a triple word score!"
"Is that a word, Trent?"
"It is, in Japanese. It means a potential, passive, causative, way of saying "if something were given"
"Can you use that in a sentence?"
"I don't speak Japanese."
"Well, then you can't put it on a triple word score."
"Scrabble sucks."
Three Days Later
Trent, Tifa, and Aeris walked the empty underdeck of the Highwind.
"Hey," said Trent, "How'd we get on the Highwind when it was floating hundreds of feet above us?"
"Damn," said Tifa, "I can't remember!"
"Buggerit, Trent, I forgot! Don't remind me of these stupid little brain teasers!" growled Aeris.
"It's sort of depressing," said Tifa, "Seeing the Highwind this empty."
As she began to open the doors to the bridge, she said, "At least it'll be private enough to have lots of se--"
Tifa broke off abruptly as all of Cid's Knights and the other party members shouted, "SURPRISE!" and blew marine air horns.
Trent's eyes were wide, "You all came back!"
"We loves ya, Trent," said Bare-It, "We couldn't leave you."
"Good to have you back, Trent," said Vincent.
"Welcome home," called Cait Sith.
"j00 r0x0rz!" exclaimed Zack.
"That stain over there is just some spilled cider," said Arsechimp.
"Alright," said Trent with determination in his eyes. "Sephy Lee Roth, here we come."
He strode into the middle of the bridge.
"Mr. Sulu, plot a course for the Northern Crater. Scotty, give us maximum warp."
Raistlin looked up from the helm.
"Trent," he said, "This isn't Star Trek."
Preview of Chapter 27:
"Listen up: Nobody is going to stone ANYBODY until I say so! Even if they do say 'Jehova'!"
"I can't STAND this any longer! SOMEBODY pay attention to me!"
"Boot to the head!"
-----
The crew of the Highwind stood on the observation deck and groaned.
"Look at all that security," complained Bare-It, "How the hell are we supposed to get through THOSE gates?"
It was Cid who found the solution. "Hey, look, are we under attack right now?"
"Of course not," replied Arsechimp, "What's your point?"
"These pissants don't look up! Why don't we just jump down from here?"
"Simple," replied Bare-It, "We'd go splat. It would probably be rather painful."
"Maybe not," replied Trent, "Remember back in Midgar, how I fell hundreds of feet from the Number 5 reactor into the church where Aeris was hanging out and wasn't seriously injured?"
"Wh...How'd you do that?" demanded Bare-It.
"I think it's because I'm a major character in the story. It wouldn't do for me to go kersplat right at the beginning. It would make for a short and depressing story. Major characters, you see, have invisible parachutes. If we jump, we should be OK."
"Oh," said Bare-It, "Well, if you say it, it must be true."
"Exactly," replied Trent, "So let's go."
"LIKE HELL!" thundered Bare-It, "You're the psychotic one."
"OK, if you say so," said Trent, sounding defeated.
When Bare-It relaxed, Trent pushed him over the edge.
Trent turned out to be right. On the way down, the party's descent slowed noticeably. What Bare-It thought of the trip was apparent in the rain of urine descending rather quickly towards the unsuspecting citizenry of Midgar. Skanker and Arsechimp appeared to be having a lot of fun, tossing a bag of Alpo back and forth between them.
When Trent touched down, he did a victory dance. Long ago, Bare-It had informed him that when he got a touch down, he was required by law to do a victory dance. The dance, however, caused him to go careening into a diminuitive form.
"Tallist swine!" raged the figure, "You will perish before the might of the Great Midget Rebellion!"
"Oh, crap," said Bare-It, "That's Sam Shorty. Be careful, he goes for the b--"
Trent was already dodging the midget's viscious bite. (Author's note: Think where a midget's teeth line up with on an average guy....*shudder*)
His face grim, Trent cast Ultima on the midget. Sam Shorty vaporized satisfactorily.
But it wasn't over...Little chunks of Sammy skidded across the floor, appeared to melt, and flowed back to where he had been standing a moment before. The Sammy-globs clumped together and resolved into the shape of the indestructible midget.
"RUN AWAY!" exclaimed Bare-It, and Trent was all too happy to oblige.
"I don' wanna talk to yew!" exclaimed Sammy, "I faht in yer general direction! Yer mather was a 'amster, and yer father smelt of elderberries!"
Trent tore off like the hounds of hell were at his heels, but then realized that it wasn't the hounds of hell chasing him, it was Sam Shorty, so he ran faster.
The party regrouped at a hatch that Cait Sith reported led into the sewer.
"Eww," complained Trent, "We don't want to go into the sewer, do we?"
"Would you rather wait for Sammy to catch up?" inquired Aeris.
Trent decided to go into the sewer after all.
"Wait," said Bare-It, "If we keep this up, we'll have to fight Sam Shorty and Hojo at the same time--3 should be enough to take on Howard Johnson--The rest of us can stay behind and stall Sam Shorty by pretending to be sympathetic to his cause.
"You're a brave man, Bare-It," complimented Trent. "Vincent, Arsechimp, you're with me."
They hadn't gone far when they ran into Rude taking a leak.
"Hey!" exclaimed the bald man, "Could you at least knock?"
"Well, actually," said Trent, "There's no door here."
"Oh...well, that's OK then. Hey, aren't you the guy who fed us the 'shrooms?"
"Er, yeah," admitted Trent.
"Alright! Batman, old buddy! Do you have some more?"
At this point Elena came dashing up with Reno in tow.
"There they are!" exclaimed Elena, "We have orders to kill them!"
"Aww, come on!" whined Trent.
"Orders are orders," apologized Elena.
"I'll give you a cookie."
"No go."
"Damn...Hey, what about more 'shrooms! You can have more 'shrooms if you let us go!"
Rude looked tempted, but Elena shook her head no, eliciting a glare from the bald Turk.
Inspiration struck Trent. "PIPE!" he bellowed, and made his escape as the three Turks collapsed in helpless laughter.
Trent, Arsechimp, and Vincent finally crawled out of the sewer, wrinkling their noses in disgust.
"Gods," complained Vincent, "That stuff smells worse than Bare-It's meatloaf."
"Vincent..." said Arsechimp.
"What?"
"Don't you think that you're exaggerating just a LITTLE?"
"Well...maybe just a little."
"I'd say a lot, actually. I'd rather live down there all the time than have to eat Bare-It's meatloaf."
Their conversation was interrupted by what appeared to be a gigantic robotic turd. That's right, a robot turd.
A cluster of what appeared to be corn moved, revealing itself to be a hatch. Heidegger and Scarlett the Harlot stepped out, each doing their best to laugh in a manner more irritating than the other.
"Ah, Trent!" bellowed Heidegger, "So good to see you! Now, it's time for you to meet your death at the hands of PROUD CLOD!"
"Well, you've certainly got the clod part right," commented Arsechimp, "But what has it got to be proud of?"
"Oh," mocked Scarlett the Harlot, "And I suppose now you're an expert on what makes enormous clods of excrement feel good, now are you? How many enormous clods of excrement do YOU know?"
"Counting you?" countered Arsechimp.
"That does it, puppy dog. It's time to put you to pasture!"
The hatch closed and the robot turd lurched into action, firing a powerful 1.2 megaskunk stink ray into the party. However, accustomed as they were to Bare-It's meatloaf, the ray had very little effect.
Trent launched himself into action, dashing into a nearby restroom. He quickly opened a toilet stall and flushed three times. "Shitman," he chanted, "Hear my call!"
A gurgling came from deep within the flush. "You in trouble, lil' buddy?" inquired a voice in a slight British accent as a man-shape formed entirely out of excrement flowed out of the toilet.
Hastily, Trent pointed at the Proud Clod, "Look," he said, "It's blasphemy--A robotic turd!"
"Ain't that a poopah!" said Shitman, "I'll show it how a REAL poo-poo monkey fights!" With that, Shitman barrelled into the Proud Clod. The Clod faught valiantly, but it was no match for the superior experience of the Fecal Lord of Bloodlust Software.
"This isn't over," came the Harlot's shrill voice from within. "Meet our secret weapon--Lysol disenfectant!"
"Oh, no!" exclaimed Vincent in dismay, "That's Shitman's weakness!"
Shitman wasn't finished, though. He reached into his bag and produced a strange Brown materia...It quickly became apparent that it was a summon materia, because Shitman exclaimed "Shitty-kitty", and disappeared, to be replaced with a very large housecat composed out of human doo. Shitty-kitty barreled into the Clod, upsetting electronics and throwing the vomitometer off balance. As soon as it showed up, the Shitty-kitty disappeared into the dimensional void from which it and other summoned monsters came.
"Ah'm glad you called me," said Shitman, "A monstrosity like that gives poo a bad name. Here. Take the Shitty-Kitty materia. It will serve you well."
With that, the Shitman was gone, back into the commode from whence he sprang.
"You know Shitman?" inquired Vincent, awestruck.
"Of course," replied Trent.
Palmer's voice came over an intercom. "Not doing advertisements is my job, so I'd better not tell you that you can get on the Ask Shitman advice column by emailing 'bloodlust@zophar.net' with 'dear shitman' as the subject line!"
"PISS OFF, PALMER!" exclaimed Trent, Vincent, and Arsechimp in unison.
Finally, the three Amigos found their way into the control center in which Howard Johnson was beaming energy to Sephy at the Northern Crater.
"It's over, HoJo," called Arsechimp, "I've got a score to settle with you..."
"Wh...?" said HoJo, "What happened to Heidegger and Har..I mean, Scarlett?"
"Dead," snapped Vincent, "At the hands of Shitty-Kitty!"
HoJo gaped.
"Cut off the energy transfer," commanded Trent, "This is the end of the line."
"Oh, no," replied Hojo, "I'm afraid I can't do that. My son is counting on me."
"YOUR SON?" exclaimed all three of Trent's group in shock.
"Ah, yes, didn't you know? Anything that he can do, so can I...I've injected myself with Jehova cells...You know what they say, Trent. Like father, like son. You were correct in saying that it's the end of the line--for you!"
HoJo hurled himself at Trent, spewing fire. The swordsman drew his sword and met HoJo's attack head on, managing to cut a deep gash in HoJo's belly.
"Good," commented the mad scientist, "But not good enough." HoJo changed form, into a bigger and badder version.
Before HoJo could react, Trent, Arsechimp, and Vincent attacked in unison. Trent slashed at HoJo's left flank, Arsechimp bit at his groin, and Vincent fired off a round at his head. Dazed, HoJo went down.
"It's not enough," gasped HoJo, "You still have only seven days before Meteor strikes...and my son...becomes a god."
"We may only have seven days," said Trent, "But you have perhaps seven seconds. Can I offer you a coke?"
HoJo glared white-hot hatred at Trent for a moment, and then his eyes rolled back in his head, and his breathing came to a gentle halt. So Trent poured Coke all over the corpse.
"Let's get out of here," he said.
Back at the Highwind, the party had some hard decisions to make.
"We've only got seven more days before disaster strikes. Some of you will wish to spend these last days with loved ones and such...I understand that. But I'm going after Sephy. It only means I'll die a couple of days sooner than everybody else. I leave three days hence. The rest of you, I want you to get off the airship and go home...In three days, if you still want to come, you're welcome...I can use all the help I can get."
Faces grim, the party that Trent had come to know left, trailed by the few of Cid's Knights who had come along to crew the Highwind.
Cid was the last to leave, complaining that he was being kicked off of his own ship.
"I'm sorry, Cid, but I need it to get to Sephy. Nobody else is going to try to stop him--My mission is literally the most important thing in the world right now, and it can't happen without the ship. Goodbye."
Reluctantly, Cid started to disembark the Highwind.
"Wait!" called Trent.
Cid's head came up hopefully. "Yes?" he said, "What is it?"
"Your fly is open, numbnuts."
Trent stood alone on the shore near Midgar, with the Highwind hovering overhead. He was trying to remember how everybody had gotten off the ship without it landing first. More importantly, he was trying to figure out how to get back on when the time came to fight Sephy.
He was just about to try jumping again when the sound of footsteps caught his attention. It was Tifa and Aeris.
"I thought I told you all to go."
"I've got nowhere else to go," said Tifa, "I lost it all when Sector 7 was destroyed..."
"My entire species is dead," said Aeris, "Right now, protecting the Planet is all I've got...Protecting the planet...and..."
"Yes?" prompted Trent.
A glance passed between Tifa and Aeris. "Never mind," said Tifa.
Trent shrugged.
Once again, he was presented with the same tired old dilemma...Two lovely ladies, and he couldn't choose between them. Aeris's heartwarmingly emerald eyes beckoned, as did Tifa's mammoth-sized you-knows. Both women were looking expectantly at Trent.
He made his decision.
One Hour Later
"That's not even a word, Trent," complained Aeris.
"It is too!"
"Tifa, tell him he can't put 'itadakaresaseraretara' on a triple word score!"
"Is that a word, Trent?"
"It is, in Japanese. It means a potential, passive, causative, way of saying "if something were given"
"Can you use that in a sentence?"
"I don't speak Japanese."
"Well, then you can't put it on a triple word score."
"Scrabble sucks."
Three Days Later
Trent, Tifa, and Aeris walked the empty underdeck of the Highwind.
"Hey," said Trent, "How'd we get on the Highwind when it was floating hundreds of feet above us?"
"Damn," said Tifa, "I can't remember!"
"Buggerit, Trent, I forgot! Don't remind me of these stupid little brain teasers!" growled Aeris.
"It's sort of depressing," said Tifa, "Seeing the Highwind this empty."
As she began to open the doors to the bridge, she said, "At least it'll be private enough to have lots of se--"
Tifa broke off abruptly as all of Cid's Knights and the other party members shouted, "SURPRISE!" and blew marine air horns.
Trent's eyes were wide, "You all came back!"
"We loves ya, Trent," said Bare-It, "We couldn't leave you."
"Good to have you back, Trent," said Vincent.
"Welcome home," called Cait Sith.
"j00 r0x0rz!" exclaimed Zack.
"That stain over there is just some spilled cider," said Arsechimp.
"Alright," said Trent with determination in his eyes. "Sephy Lee Roth, here we come."
He strode into the middle of the bridge.
"Mr. Sulu, plot a course for the Northern Crater. Scotty, give us maximum warp."
Raistlin looked up from the helm.
"Trent," he said, "This isn't Star Trek."
Preview of Chapter 27:
"Listen up: Nobody is going to stone ANYBODY until I say so! Even if they do say 'Jehova'!"
"I can't STAND this any longer! SOMEBODY pay attention to me!"
"Boot to the head!"
