FIVE

"Can't we stop for dinner?" Barf complained, noticing a space stop on their left, "I haven't had anything to eat since that ice cream a day ago."

"Sure, why not," Lone Starr shrugged, "Helmet can't be that far ahead."

He jetted down toward the stop, parking right next to a large ship that looked remarkably like the Millennium Falcon—or was it some other ship whose name he forgot. The entered the diner and sat down at the counter. "Boy, they sure have a good selection here," Barf said, eyeing the menu, "I don't know about you, Boss, but I think I'll take the ground beef."

"Good evening gentlemen," the waitress, a buxom young woman with thick black hair approached them, "How can I help…?" Then she noticed who she was looking at. "Lone Starr!?" she gasped.

"Tripley?" the hero was just as surprised. For a moment they stared at each other blankly. Then Tripley slapped him across the face. "How dare you walk out on me for some spoiled and rotten princess!" she snarled.

"Well, I see you haven't changed," Lone Starr said, feeling his sore jaw, "How long have you been working here?"

"Eight months," Tripley said, "I suppose you've been good and happy now that you're Cosmos's Spaceman of the Year twice now."

"Yeah, well, that's not quite all it's made out to be," Lone Starr admitted, "So, you ever get married?"

"I really don't think that's your business anymore," Tripley retorted, "You gave it up when you married what's her name."

"Vespa," Barf told her.

"Well, I'm sure you and her have plenty of great midnight conversations," Tripley said dismissively.

"Well, to be honest, Tripley, I've kind of been having a little difficulty with…" Lone Starr started to say.

"May I take your order or not!?" Tripley cut him off curtly.

"Lone Starr, what the hell are you hanging around for!?" Yogurt spoke up again from the air.

"Yogurt!?" Lone Starr looked around for him.

"No, we don't have any yogurt here," Tripley said, "And you don't get dessert just like that; you need to order a main course."

"No, that's my boss; Barf and I have to get going; we'll take the soup to go," Lone Starr said.

"Fine, I'll bring the check," Tripley stormed off. "Yeah, same old Tripley," Lone Starr said nostalgically, ""Hard edged and not a drop of compassion."

"Yep, you and her had some great times together," Barf mused, "Why'd the two of you ever break it off in the first place?"

"I can't even remember," Lone Starr said, "But boy what I wouldn't give to go through it again. Some of the things we did were just so…"

There was an anguished cry from down the counter as yet another poor customer was finding out the hard way why it was a bad idea to order the special. "Well, we can come back for the check later," Lone Starr said, rising to his feet.

"Absolutely," Barf followed him back out, "It's not going anywhere."


"Make way for Jingo Belz," the guard in the hall called out to the control room.

"All rise," Sandurz ordered his men. The door rose up and in marched the worst bounty hunter in the galaxy. Jingo Belz wore a hard metallic white uniform and bubblehead that made him look like a totalitarianist snowman. "Yaho, Lord Helmet," he saluted his associate.

"Mr. Belz," Helmet greeted him, "I've called you on a vital assignment: Melmacian hunting."

"Melmacians?" Belz raised his helmet, revealing that his real head was identical to his helmet, "I haven't seen one of them around in a long time."

"Well we've got a lock on one," Helmet told him, "In about thirty-two solar hours we should be arriving at the planet harboring it. Go down and get it for us and we'll pay you fifty million spacebucks."

"Only fifty million?" Belz looked disappointed, "That's only about half of what I get usually."

Helmet groaned. "All right, how does five hundred million sound?" he said.

"Deal," Belz shook his hand.

"Sir, we don't exactly have five hundred million spacebucks on us," Sandurz whispered in his boss's ear.

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," Helmet whispered back. "So, Mr. Belz, is that a new freeze ray?" he asked, examining a contraption on the bounty hunter's arm.

"Yes," Belz showed it to him, "It takes my victims down to minus thirty degrees. Complete incapacitation. You know what my card says; when there's cold in the air, Jingo Belz is there."

"Sounds great," Helmet grabbed hold of the ray to look at it better—and accidentally activated it. Within seconds, he was a large ice block. "Oh dear!" Sandurz gasped, "This isn't good! Quick, unfreeze him!"

"Uh," Belz thought it over for a minute, then activated the flamethrower on his other gauntlet. Helmet was thawed out quickly. "Sandurz, what hap—OOOWWWWWWW!!!" he screamed, jumping around. Belz had thawed him out all too well, and now Helmet's outfit was scalding hot with flames. He rolled on the floor, screeching at the top of his lungs.

"Water!" Sandurz called out, "Give him water!"

"I'll save you Master!" Cuckoo ran into the control room with a bucket of water, which he proceeded to throw in Helmet's face. "Thanks," Helmet said, trying to maintain an air of dignity Fortunately for him, his rolling had put out the fire.

"For you, anything," Cuckoo smiled with a silly grin.

"We're approaching the Centuri Wormhole to the Milky Way," came an announcement from the engine room over the loudspeakers, "Please fasten your seatbelts at this time."

"Come on sir, let's get that seatbelt fastened," Sandurz looked around for a spare seat for Helmet. Finding none, he had no other option but to buckle the evil leader into his own seat, along with himself. Crewmembers couldn't help snickering at the gay connotation of this arrangement. The ship started shaking as they entered the gateway to the Milky Way. Spaceball 2's speed increased to Ridiculous to avoid being stuck in the wormhole. After about a minute of acute spaghettification, they emerged unscathed on the other end. "We're all good now sir," Sandurz unstrapped Helmet, "Are you OK?"

"Fine," Helmet said, "Now where was I?"

"I was showing you my weapons," Belz said.

"Uh, maybe later," Helmet said, "Give me the latest coordinates."

"This way sir," Sandurz led him over to Mr. Radar and flicked it on, "The target star is about there," he pointed to the upper left corner of the screen, "It's the seventh planet in."

"Good," Helmet nodded, "Mr. Belz, I want him brought in within twenty-four hours or you can forfeit the five hundred million."

"No problem there," Belz flexed his gauntlets, "You know the saying, when I get in the groove, it's Jingo all the way."


"Vespa my darling, what's the matter?" King Roland shuffled up the corridor toward the bathroom.

"My husband's been in there for the last six hours," Vespa told him, "Either he fell asleep on the toilet again, or he's passed out."

Roland knocked on the door. "Lone Starr, are you in there?" he called in.

"We already tried it, your majesty," Dot told him, "There's nothing."

Roland threw his bulk against the door, and promptly recoiled in pain. "It's sure barred well," he grimaced, "Well, no matter, I'll have the butlers bring it down. That shouldn't be too hard. Last thing I want to see is my son-in-law dead."