TWO
"ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLFFFFFFFFFF!!!!!!" the shout roared up so loud that it echoed all throughout Los Angeles and lasted for close to a minute and a half.
The Melmacian shuffled his way into the Tanner family garage. "No need to shout, Willie, I was just in the garden," he told his friend, "Now would you like to explain why you chose to cut short my private time with your yodeling for me?"
"Alf," Willie Tanner said as slowly and as calmly as he could, "Were you in here last night?"
"Yes," the former Gordon Shumway said, "This is not about the axel grease I purloined for my hiccups, is it?"
"No, but now that you brought that to my attention, I'll look into that too," Willie said, "But the big question of the day is, were you fiddling around with my radio?"
He pointed to his short-wave system, which had been heavy gutted since he'd last seen it. "Oh, you mean that," Alf said, "Well Willie, I doubt you'll believe this, but last night I had a premonition that something bad was coming this way, so I took it upon myself to construct a rudimentary weapon of sorts for self-defense when it arrives."
"It's going to arrive all right, mister," Willie's voice was rising, "I can't tell you how many years I worked on building this radio, so unless you agree to rebuild it pronto, that bad thing you've seen's going to be my fist heading…"
"Get a grip, Willie!" Alf raised his hands in protest, "Boy, some guys just don't know how to take it when evil threatens."
"All right, just give me back what you took and we'll call it at least somewhat even," Willie said, gesturing with his hand, "And from now on, no more borrowing without my permission, okay?"
"Whatever, whatever," Alf strolled out of the garage. Minutes later he returned clutching a strange contraption put together from the guts of the radio. "What is that supposed to be?" Willie inquired.
"Pancake tosser," Alf told him, "Trust me, it's very effective at close range if you're being attacked by multiple guys."
"You turned my radio into a pancake tosser!?" Willie was appalled by the mere thought of it, "You'd better hope I can put this back to the way it was before you put your furry fingers on it! Now leave me alone while I try to work on it!!"
"I take this to mean that I won't be getting extra Halloween candy come Friday." Alf asked. When Willie didn't answer he added, "I guess I'll take that as a no," and lurched out toward the laundry room.
Once inside, he slumped back into his basket and looked out the window at the sunset sky. He hadn't been lying when he told Willie he'd had a premonition of evil coming. It was an inbred trait of Melmacians to sense when people had harm in mind for them. This awareness was a major factor as to why Melmac had fought only one war in its existence. And from what Alf could judge, it was probably no more than a day away now.
There was a low thud as the front door slammed shut. The rest of the Tanners had returned from their Halloween shopping. Their happy and excited tones made Alf feel all the guiltier that he hadn't been able to go with them. He hoped they'd someday relent at least somewhat in their determination to keep him under wraps and let him have freer reign with his life on Earth.
"Hey Alf, want a 3 Musketeers?" Brian stuck his head in the laundry room door.
"Sure," Alf extended his paw for the candy and downed it wrapper and all. "Don't worry, I won't choke," he reassured the boy, "By the time it gets to my final stomach, the wrapper'll be ingested through the lining."
There was a loud crash from the garage, followed by the sound of Willie spewing multiple curses. "I guess he can't fix his radio," Alf shrugged.
"What happened to it?" Brian asked.
"Oh, it's a long story," Alf said quickly, "But the important thing is something bad's coming, so when you go trick-or-treating on Halloween, don't talk to anyone suspicious-looking. They may be out to get me, and they won't hesitate to come at me through you."
"But who would want to come after you, Alf?" Before Alf could answer Brian's latest question, Kate's voice exploded from the kitchen: "ALF!! WHAT DID YOU DO WITH ALL THE PANCAKE BATTER!!!!!?????"
"Hold that thought," Alf told his young friend, "I'll be back in a moment once this little confusion gets straightened out." As he lumbered off toward the kitchen, he said out loud, "At least there's probably someone else in this burned-out universe in worse straights than I am here."
Millions of light years away on Druidia, Prince Lone Starr gazed thoughtfully from his window in King Roland's castle up at the peaceful blue Druidian sky. TOO peaceful, Lone Starr thought. Ever since he'd married Vespa and settled down, something had been missing in his life. Something he hadn't realized he'd had until it was gone.
"Darling?" his bride stuck her head in the door, "Are you all right?"
"Oh, yeah, sure," Lone Starr said quickly.
"Good, because I need to ask you an important question," Vespa waved to her maids, who came in carrying a plethora of bad dresses. "Which do you think suits me best for the Royal Druid Chanting Ball?" she asked him.
"Uh,…" Lone Starr scanned the dresses. None of them looked even remotely good, but he smiled and said, "Um, all of them, to be honest."
"Good, then I get to choose," Vespa smiled at this thought. She plucked up a horrid black dress with electric lights, including a glowing heart on the back in a strategic position, "I love it when I get to choose everything," she rambled on, "I wouldn't be a princess if I didn't."
"Sure," Lone Starr shrugged.
"Which reminds me, you'll have to have Tar-Tar get your suit for you," Vespa went on, "You want to look good for the dukes and earls."
"Uh, Vespa honey, don't take me the wrong way with this, but I'd really feel more comfortable in something like this," Lone Starr gestured to his only moderately formal suit, "Those super-formal things aren't me. And besides, I can't stand Tar-tar. No one can, you know that."
"I know, I'd kill him the first chance I'd get, but Daddy put a no-kill order on him, so we can't," Vespa sighed, "But what's the matter with you anyway? You're a prince, princes are supposed to love fancy stuff."
"Not me," Lone Starr said. "Would you mind if I step outside for a minute? I need to take a walk."
"If you want, but once you're done, I'd like to go over the guest list and the floral arrangements," Vespa read off her list, "And then we have to choose our choice of caterers-only those that do royal shows, of course—hire the musicians, hang the draperies, choose the color paint we want for the walls…"
Lone Starr wasn't paying attention anymore. He wandered aimlessly down the castle halls until he reached the balcony overlooking the courtyard.
"Hey boss, you OK there?" came his pal Barf from behind him. The mawg was licking a giant ice cream cone.
"Sort of," Lone Starr told him, "Where'd you get that?"
"Tar-Tar let me have it," Barf explained, "The cooks chased him out of the kitchen with it, so he let me have it. I still can't stand him, though."
"Same here," Lone Starr agreed. He exhaled deeply. "Boy, what I wouldn't give to rev up the old Winnebago and have one more adventure," he said, "None of this prince crap where you have to sit around all day and let everyone do every little thing for you. So much for happily ever after, huh?"
"You know, I've been thinking of that a little lately myself," Barf admitted, "Although I'd hate to give up all the free food. Like my uncle would…"
"Lone Starr," from out of nowhere, Yogurt's voice echoed in the ears of his apprentice. "Yogurt, is that you?" the hero asked out loud to the seemingly empty air.
"No, it's Mace Spraycan from Taboo; of course it's me," Yogurt told him, "Lone Starr, I need your help. The fate of Druidia lies in the balance, and you're the only one who can help."
"That serious, huh?" Lone Starr asked.
"That serious," Yogurt said, "Meet me on the Moon of Vega no later than tomorrow night and I'll bring you up to speed."
"But Yogurt, why are bringing this…Yogurt, are you still there?" Lone Starr asked. There was no answer from the other realm. "Figures," he shrugged, "One minute he's here, the next he's off with his Dinks selling every bit of merchandise he has."
"Well I don't know about you boss, but I'm more than up for it," Barf told him, "Whatdya say we sneak out and go for it?"
Before Lone Starr could answer, Vespa came striding up. "Here you are," she said, "You still haven't answered my question about your wardrobe."
"Right," Lone Starr said quickly, "Uh, I really had to go the bathroom, so I'll give you my opinion once I'm out."
"I'd better go too, just so it doesn't get blocked up later," Barf added, running down the hall after his boss. Vespa raised her eyebrows at them. "Wonder what's with them?" she wondered out loud, "Dinner wasn't that rotten today."
Inside the bathroom, Lone Starr locked the door and turned on the water in the sink. "That's not going to fool them forever, Boss," Barf pointed out.
"I know, but it'll probably be good enough until we're halfway to Vega," Lone Starr opened the window and climbed down the drainpipe, Barf in tow. They rushed over to their Winnebago. "Main engines engaged," the mawg announced loudly as he pressed the necessary buttons.
"Shhhhhh," Lone Starr warned him, "Not until we're home free." He turned the key in the ignition and turned the shift to Drive. Rockets roaring, the Winnebago rolled down the driveway and soared up into the Druidian sky. "OK, now you can talk as loud as you want," he told Barf.
"YIPPPEEEEE!!!" Barf yelled so loud that Lone Starr cringed, "We finally get out of that dump and get to do our own missions again."
"I know," he boss agreed as they exited through the air shield, "Maybe I'll start feeling happier again now. For a little bit anyway."
