Chapter VIII
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"My Lord! We think we know where the Seed of the Master Turnip is hidden!"

"Do you indeed, Admiral. Only two hours ago you were saying that we were doomed."

"Well, that was before we heard the news, my Lord. Miners on Vuebegon have broken into a certain cave and found a certain thing that bears a certain resemblance to-"

"Excellent, Admiral Whirrey! That's the first good news anyone's brought me in a week! Promoted, Grand Admiral, I think, go tell old Grand Admiral Wulfgang he can start doing kitchen duty."

"Th-thank you, my Lord!"

"And tell the captains to begin arming their Umpires. I shall send my mighty monster troops out to Vuebegon after this priceless seed."

"Of-of course, my Lord!"

"And while you're at it, ask for some oatmeal cookies. I'm hungry."

"Right away, my Lord."

A scuffle of footsteps announced the new Grand Admiral's departure.

Another scuffle of footsteps announced the arrival of a second Admiral.

"My Lord!" the new arrival cried breathlessly. "We've lost track of the squid and the Siren! They're loose on the Aegean, and they could run into the Walkers at any moment!"

Lord Vader growled, and a body hit the floor.

Shnibbidy Bob Joe listened for another moment, but now the only sound was that of Darth Vader giving his turnips a short pep talk.

Shnibbidy Bob shrugged, wiped his nose, and went back to work.

The Aegean lapped bluishly against the Flying Walkman's neatly curved hull, white-laced waves glittering in the sun as Luke leaned over the railing again and was tremendously sick.

As he had grown up on a desert world, he had been given no chance to discover his susceptibility to seasickness. As it turned out, he got very frequently and very violently seasick, and was now camped out on the edge of the boat, holding up his sweatshirt to keep off the sun and reading dog- eared paperbacks while he waited for the next bout of illness to come on.

To his gratification, Leia and Aragorn didn't seem to be faring much better. Leia was currently lying flat out on the deck, clutching her stomach and singing loudly to keep her mind off things. Luke almost asked to borrow her headphones so he could listen as well, but then remembered that they were somehow attached to her head, so that idea was out. Aragorn, looking very gray under his beard stubble, was lurching around hitting random things with his sword, which seemed to soothe his nerves. The men in lionskin briefs were starting to pause in their work and glance over at him admiringly. It appeared that their measure of a real man was his precision with a sword, and Aragorn's surgical deck-rail splitting was certainly evidence of skill, if not of particular intelligence. Finally one of them grunted a request to see Aragorn's sword, and Luke knew that the king was now among friends.

No one was paying much attention to Luke, except for Odysseus, who brought him the paperbacks and a glass of water after informing him that lemons didn't grow well in Greece. Luke was downcast and in severe lemon juice withdrawal, which could perhaps have influenced his violent reaction to sea travel.

Odysseus passed by Luke's Misery Place again, his golden sandals flapping against the deck with every heavy footstep. Bored, Luke set down the paperback and tapped Odysseus on the ankle.

"Odysseus," he said, "I'm really bored."

The feet stopped moving.

"I'm sorry about that," Odysseus responded. "I can bring you some more books if you want. The lads only like reading dirty romances and books on sword care, though, so we don't have much selection."

"Can I bother you with questions instead?" Luke looked up hopefully from under his coat. Odysseus's freckled, sunburned face smiled down at him. "I finished all the books."

Luke glanced sideways at the small stack of paperbacks as though it were a basket of vipers. He wasn't much one for romances, or for weapon maintenance either.

"Pity." Odysseus bend and picked up several, scanning the covers. "These were our best, too. The Burning Flame of Passion. Passion's Burning Flame. The Flame of Passion Burning. Keep Your Weapon Keen and Clean, and D. Capitate's Ultimate Guide to Sword Care."

Luke snorted, then leaned over the side of the boat for another upchuck.

"Tell me, Odysseus," he said as he sat up again, wiping his mouth. "Are all Heroic Age Greeks like your crew? I mean, 300-pound wrestlers."

"Naw." Beatrice waved a derisive hand. "The Greeks are right now one of the most advanced peoples on Earth. Philosophers. Writers. Scientists. Only the heroes act like my lads. Although," he added as an afterthought, "the lads actually do sing occasionally. When you give them enough wine."

"Oh."

"Well," Odysseus said. "I'll be back around, Luke. I have to go and stop Aragorn from slicing up my ship. I certainly respect other people's methods of letting out stress, but something needs to be done if the Flying Walkman is in jeopardy. Maybe I can bring him the books you're done with, eh? Ta ta for now."

Odysseus strode off. Luke watched him for a minute as he bore down on Aragorn, then turned back with a sigh and launched into E. Viscerate's Modern Tactics for the Modern Warrior.

********

Six hours and six boring books later, the light was beginning to fall softly amber across the deck of the Flying Walkman. The canvas sails gleamed, and the water seemed to be painted with liquid gold and scarlet velvet. The sky was beautifully pink in the west, a single crystalline star glimmered on the horizon, and Luke was still very seasick.

Now the Walkman was sailing through a narrow channel, walled in on either side by sheer cliffs, atop which the firm green grass waved tantalizingly at Luke and the other seasick members of the group. He wanted beyond anything to climb the mast and leap onto solid ground again, but the fact that he could not climb, nor jump more than five feet, rendered that a hopeless dream. He had liked it better when they were far away from land. It was much easier to forget how sick he was when he couldn't see what he had left behind.

Leia was still sprawled on the deck, singing along to her perpetual Beatles CD, her Beatles T-shirt now tied into a sort of halter top and her bellbottom jeans rolled up to her knees. It was extremely hot, even in the evening. Aragorn was flopped limply behind a stack of barrels, still looking greenish and dully immersed in The Passion, the Flame, and the Burning. Neither of them could possibly have been as miserable as Luke, however: lemon juice-deprived for a whole day, and desperately bored of reading books with authors like Wo-Man Naizer and D. Stroy.

Odysseus was still puttering around the deck making sure his "lads" were working, and trying to console the seasick people. SOS-180 had come out on deck around midday, and was now staring out over the prow of the ship, humming to himself and shifting from foot to gold-plated foot. Luke followed the android's gaze along the sheer cliffs because he had nothing better to do, taking in all the tiny crevices and sea-caves, and the jutting ledges. The cliffs rose on before them and then turned as the channel opened onto the ocean, two rocky headlands topped with wild grass, sheep, and olive trees.

Leia's headset started playing, "Foothills of the Headlands," making everyone, including Leia, moan for the security of dry land.

Then, Luke's dramatic moan was suddenly cut off by a frighteningly cheerful shout from SOS-180.

"I do declare!" he exclaimed. "Someone's singing!"

Aragorn raised his head from the book enough to glare weakly at SOS.

"No, you think?" he snapped. "Leia's only been singing all day!"

"Kill the King for his insult, we will," hissed SOS-180. "We were supposed to kill him a long time ago."

Aragorn looked decidedly affronted, but a second later SOS's optic sensors returned to their normal color, and his voice was once more abnormally cheerful.

"No, I didn't mean Mistress Leia," he chirruped. "Although her singing is certainly beautiful. This singing's coming from somewhere ahead of the ship. Of course, I have highly enhanced audial sensors, so I might be the only one able to hear it-"

"You're hearing the echo of Leia's singing," Aragorn said decisively. "Now don't bother me, I'm sulking."

He turned back to the book.

All of a sudden, a random wisp of sound reached Luke's ears, although he wouldn't have described it as singing.

"Hang on a moment," he said. "I hear something.wouldn't call it singing.shut up and listen anyhow."

Everyone on deck shut up and listened. Odysseus blanched under his blanket of freckles.

"No!" he whispered. "It can't be the Sirens? Oh please, don't let it be."

But one of the lads had already heard the word "Siren" and wasn't about to let go of the idea.

"Sirens?" he roared. "Are there Sirens in our path, Odysseus?"

"I never said that." For once the smile had vanished from Odysseus's face. "And that's 'Captain' to you, mister!"

The lads didn't seem to hear this, however. They were already excited by the idea of Siren, reacting with a mix of abject terror and delight. Within seconds the entire ship was clamoring with the word "Siren" being tossed around like a volleyball from man to man. Seagulls took flight with angry squawks all around them, and naturally it was now completely impossible to hear the "singing."

"Honestly," Luke shouted. "It wasn't singing, it can't have been Sirens-"

"All right!" bellowed Han's voice from over the tumult. "What's going on here?"

He stood in the doorway of the cabin, arms akimbo and pockets bulging with valuable golden things. The puce angora of his sweater gleamed hideously in the evening sunlight.

"There are Sirens in our path!" roared one of the lads. "The beautiful woman-birds whose songs enchant mortal men into throwing themselves into the sea. We are actually going to encounter them!"

"I see," said Han uncertainly. "And you are eager to encounter them.why? If they induce you to throw yourself overboard?"

"They are beautiful women," the lad roared back.

"Oh," said Han, accepting the logic of this response.

Luke raised his voice again.

"I'm telling you, it wasn't singing!" he yelled. "It was the most awful screeching noise I ever heard! Listen!"

The promise of Siren song immediately hushed the crew, and once more relative quiet reigned on the Walkman's deck. There was no mistaking it now, Luke thought. Someone far up the channel was screeching hideously-two somethings, in fact, or maybe three. If he listened carefully, he could almost hear words in the cacophony. But as he listened carefully, his stomach began to revolt again, and he had to pause while he was sick over the side of the boat. The screeching had that sort of effect on him, and, judging by the revolted looks on the faces of everyone else, that sort of effect on everyone. As the wailing grew louder and louder, the feeling intensified. Luke began to feel as though someone was removing his brain piece by piece with wooden chopsticks, and nibbling energetically on the bottom of his stomach. His head was about to explode.

"These cannot be the Sirens," one of the lads cried, stating the obvious. "They do not sing like heavenly beings! They do not even sing!"

Grumbles and growls of agreement spread across the ship. None of the lads were particularly happy at the absence of enchanting half-women.

"Then what could it be?" Odysseus's frown had deepened, looking extremely unnatural on him. "If not Sirens, what, and where-"

"Look!" SOS-180 chirped, pointing one metal-plated finger towards a shadow on the cliff. "There's something moving. Three somethings moving! Now isn't this an experience!"

Luke staggered upright and stared in the direction SOS was pointing. If he looked very carefully, he could almost see three shapes moving across a ledge very far down the channel. The dying sun was shining directly in his eyes, though; it was difficult to tell.

Han, however, confirmed his suspicion.

"SOS is right," he said, shading his eyes. "There are three somethings moving on the cliff-can't tell what they are though. And there were three Sirens, too.this isn't making since."

"I think," Leia choked, also hauling herself to her feet, "they're dancing. Look at the choreography."

Everyone looked. The shapes did seem to be moving in unison. What in the great expanse of the universe they were, was anyone's guess. They did seem to fit the profile of the three Sirens, except that they couldn't sing. Perhaps there were some Sirens not so vocally gifted?

Odysseus made a quick decision.

"Men of the Flying Walkman!" he cried. "You fear nothing on this earth, do you not?"

There was another long silence.

Somewhat disappointed, but nonetheless undaunted, Odysseus continued.

"And as befits such noble heroes, we will sail boldly forth to meet these strange creatures, whatever they may be. Fate will decide whether good comes of it, or ill, but we will nonetheless sally forward. To the oars!"

With a lot of grumbling, the Lionskin Lads, as Luke was privately beginning to call them, flung open a few trapdoors on deck and clambered down into the hold. Within a few minutes, there was an immense groan of wood, and the twin banks of oars shuddered into motion on either side of the ship. As the oar-blades dipped into the water the ship shot forward a few feet, making Luke, Leia, and Aragorn all retch and deposit what was left of their digestive systems into the water. The ship moved considerably faster with thirty-odd men at the oars, however, and when Luke looked up again he realized that they were already almost level with the ledge and the moving things.

There, on the ledge in front of him, stood three extraordinary figures. From the waist up, they were human women, rather gorgeous human women with long hair, heavy makeup, and nose studs. But below the waist, below the hem of their little halter tops, they were completely and undeniably avian. Their feathers were a bright, metallic blue. They also possessed large wings, which dragged on the ground as they danced around in time to their screeching.

Yep. They were Sirens all right, although their "singing" was the most awful, ear-piercing sound he had ever heard. For a moment he was tempted to leap overboard just to put an end to the misery, but then decided that he would only encourage them by behaving as men were supposed to. He paused for a moment, trying to decide what to yell at them, as Odysseus hollered for the lads to stop. Instantly the ship ground to a halt, and the lads came swarming up to get a look at the Sirens. There were several catcalls and whistles of admiration, which were quite difficult to hear over the half-birds' infernal racket. Luke didn't even bother to take a closer look at them, his head hurt so bad.

And then, he was unexpectedly saved by the arrival of another small trireme, which came rowing up out of nowhere and stopped on their starboard side. The door of the trireme's cabin burst open, and a tall man leapt out, waving his arms wildly and yelling, "Be quiet! Now! Please! That was terrible, absolutely terrible, you are not the American Idols," in a heavy British accent.

A second voice called, "Yo, Cowell, dog, chill out man, they're stopping."

Then the trireme vanished, as irrationally as it had arrived.

The three Sirens burst simultaneously into dramatic tears, which were almost as annoying as their singing voices.

Luke, while reluctant to hurt the half-women even further, was thinking up a polite way to say "shut up" when Aragorn did the work for him. "Look, you three!" Aragorn yelled, sprinting to the side of the boat and shaking his fist. "I'm big, strong, seasick, and mad, and I don't want to put up with any more of this awful noise, got it? My head hurts enough already."

The three stopped crying for a moment and looked up at him inquisitively. Two-the one with dyed alienish white hair and a nose ring, and the one with brown hair and no nose ring-promptly tucked their heads under their wings and began crying again, more quietly. The Siren in the middle, however, remained looking straight at Aragorn, mouth dropping open millimeter by millimeter, eyes ringed black with eyeshadow growing starrier by the moment. She was watching Aragorn with the same rapt expression the Lionskin Lads wore as they watched her, and that made Luke feel rather uncomfortable. To be sure, the Siren was attractive: despite the makeup she had long, dyed-blonde hair, considerable chest, and perfectly white teeth. But she was not human, and that was obvious.

After a few minutes of rapt staring on the part of both groups, Leia snickered and nudged Aragorn in the ribs.

"Hey, sword-boy," she muttered. "You got an admirer."

Aragorn's face went from green to red in a few milliseconds, not a pleasant transformation.

"Oh, just what I've always wanted," he snapped back, "a bird that's madly in love with me. For Elbereth's sake, I've got a fiancée already, and even if I hadn't what would I do with a three-quarter human?"

"Three-quarter human?" Beatrice rushed up behind them, sounding breathless. "By god, she is! A three-quarter human!"

Luke raised one eyebrow, wondering what the big deal was. From the blank looks on everyone else's faces, nobody else had a clue, either.

"Don't you see!" Beatrice exclaimed. "The Nine and Three Quarters! She's three-quarters human! Remember the Prophecy? One golden-haired siren with voice of a crow!"

"LAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!" sang the golden-haired siren, causing everyone to screech and cover their ears until the note died away.

"So you see," Beatrice continued. "It must be her! She's a Walker! The Three Quarters!"

Aragorn looked at him as though he had just received an execution warrant. The color was slowly draining out of his face, leaving it a ghastly parsnip hue over which the beard stubble looked positively hideous.

"You-you mean," he croaked, "she'll be going with us?"

"Certainly looks like it," Beatrice said briskly. "She's mentioned in the Prophecy."

"You mean I'm going to have to listen to that singing every single bloody day?"

"Sacrifices must be made for the goodwill of the Universe."

"And she's got a crush on me?"

Beatrice smiled nastily and nodded.

"Now," he chuckled, "you'll know how it feels."

Princess Leia looked decidedly put-out.

"Well," Odysseus said reluctantly, "I guess we'd better learn her name. If she'll be sailing with us, that is. Aragorn, I suppose you'd better ask her, you'd probably have the best luck getting answers."

Aragorn moaned quietly, rolled his eyes, and leaned slowly over the side of the Walkman.

"Hello, ma'am," he said, with a kind of forced smile that gave Luke the impression he was about to go for the neck. "Very.er, pleased to meet you. What.er.might your name be...?"

The Siren stared adoringly up at him for a few more seconds, then blinked her perfectly curled black lashes and answered, "Britney, mister. And the other two girls are Christina and Jennifer. I'm very pleased to meet you too."

Behind Aragorn's back, Han mimed barfing. Leia, turning green again, clapped her hand to her mouth and whacked him hard across the head. A noiseless scuffle ensued.

"Well, er, Britney." Aragorn continued through gritted teeth. "How would come on board for a minute? It.er, seems we might have some business with you but you'll.er, need to talk to the boss, of course."

Britney's face lit up like a halogen light, giving her blush-heavy skin a glazed look remarkably like that of a cooked Peking duck.

"Oh I'd just love to come and join you, mister." Britney gave Aragorn the old cocker-spaniel eyes. "Can I really?"

Aragorn took a deep breath as though to hold in the "no" that was begging to be released, and hissed, "Yes. You may."

"Oh, thank you, mister!"

Unexpectedly Britney leapt and launched herself into the air, landing awkwardly on the railing next to Aragorn.

"So," she said, scooting sideways until her face was inches from Aragorn's. Aragorn took an automatic step back. "Why do you need me here?"

Odysseus knocked over two of the lads who looked as though they were about to say something.

"I-I couldn't tell you," Aragorn stammered. "You'll-you'll have to ask him." He pointed a quivering finger at Beatrice.

"Oh." Britney looked very disappointed. "I guess I'll ask him then. But- " her flirtatious smile returned-"I'll be coming back around to see you, I suppose." She winked, flipped her wing at him, and hopped off the railing. Aragorn watched her waddle toward Beatrice on her avian legs, sweat trickling down his forehead.

Luke's Snicker Clock ran out. Aragorn glared at him.

"Laugh all you want, pal," he hissed. "You haven't ever had a bird-woman mutant try to hit on you."

Luke snickered again.

Beatrice was now talking animatedly to Britney, who kept glancing back at Aragorn. Suddenly Britney nodded, and the two turned and headed for the cabin, presumably for a second showing of The History of the Universe and a brief explanation of the quest. Beatrice seemed to have no doubts as to Britney's identity as a Walker.

Then, just before she stepped into the cabin, Britney turned around and blew Aragorn a kiss.

Beatrice turned around, grinning nastily, and stuck his tongue out at Aragorn, pointing and pretending to keel over laughing.

Aragorn stared out into space, mouthing in wordless horror.