TEN

"Any sign of Shumway yet?" Helmet asked the trooper in charge of the force he'd had staked out on Jupiter 2 for Alf on the TeleWall.

"No Lord Helmet, no Shumway and no Winnebago; no nothing, really," the trooper admitted.

"Well keep waiting," Helmet advised him, "Shumway's bound to show at one point or another."

"As you say, Lord Helmet," the trooper signed off. Helmet raised his visor. "What's taking that twit so long?" he asked Sandurz, "The last time we met up with him before Melmac was destroyed, he was willing to do whatever we told him."

"Are you sure that was Shumway, sir?" Sandurz pointed out, "That sounds more like Althouse to me."

"Ah, who knows the difference between individual Melmacians anyway?" Helmet shrugged, "Well, if Shumway cares about the people that took him in, he's got about eleven hours left to show."

"Speaking of time, sir, it's about time we fully test the T.A.R.G.E.T.s' schematics," Sandurz said, looking at his watch, "Shall we go?"

"Of course," Helmet said, pulling down the visor again, "I always like to be punctual, Sandurz. You know that."

"Of course sir," Sandurz said sycophantically.

The two of them strode down the corridors of the Capitol building to the main conference room. Numerous high-level Spaceball government officials were already milling about, murmuring to each other. In the back of the room, Cuckoo was making a few final adjustments to a large prototype T.A.R.G.E.T. set up at the back of a large launch ramp. "Is it ready, Cuckoo?" Helmet asked his protégé.

"It is all set to go once the president throws the switch, Master," Cuckoo told him, "Our guests are going to love it, aren't you?"

He turned to the Tanners, who were being held at laser rifle point by almost a half dozen guards. "Good morning Mr. Tanner," Helmet greeted Willie, "I trust you enjoyed your first and possibly only night here on Spaceball City?"

"Well it was all fine until your guards started stamping up and down the hall at four a.m. blowing their trumpets like there was no tomorrow," a bleary-eyed Willie told the evil leader.

"Ah yes, the old early reveille," Sandurz said, pride in his voice, "Nothing gets prisoners up and going like a loud trumpet blast. I should probably tell you that I've taken the liberty of pre-booking you on tonight's episode of Execution Tonight."

"You've what?" Kate's eyes went wide.

"Don't worry, if Gordon Shumway turns himself in no later than a half hour before taping, we'll push you back to next week," Cuckoo told her, "And if not, look at the bright side; you get to die on national TV. That's an honor in and of itself."

There was a loud slamming as Skroob ran into the room, accidentally nailing a technician with the door. "Sorry I'm late," he called to his ministers, oblivious to what had just happened, "I had, uh important, um, business of state to attend to."

"I'm sure he did," Helmet muttered sarcastically to Sandurz.

"General Mills, are your volunteers ready?" Skroob asked the alien-droid crossbreed.

"Yes, I have four ready to sacrifice themselves," Mills pointed to four nearby droids, who gave Skroob the national salute.

"Good for you, Mills," Skroob patted the commander on the shoulder, "When I point to them, give them their instructions." The president walked over to the microphone set up on his presidential podium and tapped it several times. "Can I have your…?" he tried to say, but the hissing was so loud that he couldn't get a word in edgewise. Rolling his eyes, he slapped the microphone so hard that it died. "Perfect!" he muttered to himself. "Can I have your attention please, gentlemen?" he shouted at the top of his lungs, "If you'll please be seated, we'll begin this demonstration."

His ministers quickly took their seats. "Now," Skroob shouted on, "As many of you know but really don't know, Planet Spaceball is going through yet another air shortage crisis as we speak. The filters in orbit around the planet are failing, and import tariffs are too high for our liking. My Minister of the Atmosphere, Mr. Dom Asshole, who has graced us with his presence today, has told…"

There was snickering from the back. "Excuse me, may I help you there?" Skroob shouted at pitch level to Willie.

"Sorry, I just…" Willie couldn't help controlling uncharacteristic laughter, "…I mean, that's really his name? Dom Asshole?"

"That's right, sir," announced a cross-eyed minister who rose to his feet, "And I'm pleased to say that many of my fellow Assholes have equally key positions in this government and military. In fact, you might say both of them are practically run by Assholes."

"Well, that's usually the case in most dictatorships," Willie pointed out.

"Thank you for your not so kind words, buddy," Skroob told the earthling, "Now if you'll please, sit back down and put a cork in it for the rest of this presentation. Anyway, as I was saying, Mr. Asshole has informed me that at the current rate of decline, we'll be completely out of air within two years. I for one am not going to let that happen, not when our neighbor Planet Druidia has a ten thousand year air supply of its own that it just refuses to share with us because we're evil. So, you may ask, how do we get that air, without resorting to some hackneyed plan that's been done a million times before? Well gentlemen, the answer is the easy way out; we simply blow it up with one hand and suck the air with the other; in short, we suck and blow—and no, I'm not alluding to what we do when our wives' backs are turned. And for this purpose, I give to you our new weapon of mass destruction, the T.A.R.G.E.T.!"

He gestured grandly to the T.A.R.G.E.T at the back of the conference room. Cuckoo threw the switch on the spotlight overlooking the vehicle, which Charlene and Marlene—having snuck in during the opening address—proceeded to model for. "Each T.A.R.G.E.T. has a Mach IX V8,000,000 horsepower engine, and can go from zero to sixty billion in two seconds," Skroob informed his ministers, "It also comes with power windows, AM/FM stereo, Scotch guard, cruise control, optional dual side climate control, and California emission. Underneath the hood is a fifty gigaton warhead made up of nitroglycerin, Melmacian hair, and one of our commander Colonel Sandurz's secret recipes."

It was Lynn's turn to break up. "Do you have something to say, young lady?" Skroob asked her.

"Oh nothing, but I'm sure the Colonel's secret recipe's a nice juicy one," Lynn chuckled, "And why honestly would you name a weapon a T.A.R.G.E.T.? it makes no sense."

Skroob ignored the question. "Anyway, as I was going to say before I was cut off AGAIN, we will now demonstrate for you the probable effects to T.A.R.G.E.T. will have on Planet Druidia once we launch the existing models from our base on Exodosus," he continued. He lifted a remote control and pressed the button that he thought would open the bay doors in the front of the conference room. Nothing seemed to be happening, however. "Strange, very strange," he muttered as he clicked the button over and over again, "Why won't this damn thing work?" He kept clicking, and managed to turn out the lights in the room, activate a stereo system hidden somewhere, switch to a channel showing the soap opera As the Galaxy Spins, and start the whole room spinning around in circles (it was apparently built on a turntable of some kind) before one of his aides took the remote off him and pressed the correct button. Skroob winked at him as the bay doors opened. "Now," he continued to his nauseated ministers, "As you'll on the monitors in front of you, we'll built an exact replica of Druidia, right down to the Druidians themselves in the asteroid field 5 parsecs from here. Press the buttons in front of you to change to a different camera angle at any point.

"Amazing," Kate mused as she and her husband and daughter examined their screen, "It's an almost perfect match…well, except for those dumb looking people nodding their heads.

"It looks a scene from Blazing Saddles," Willie agreed, "Almost too much so."

"Here's how it'll work," Skroob explained, "Once the launch trench alignment with Druidia is perfect three days from now, we'll use our satellites to open the air shield." He pressed out the combination on the keypad in front of himself, "After it opened,…This'll have to be quick, Mr. Tanner, we haven't got all day here."

"Um, sorry Mr. President, but you typed in 1-2-3-4-5 as the combination," Willie pointed out.

"And?" Skroob raised an eyebrow.

"Oh nothing, it's just, um, that's, that's exactly the type of combination an idiot would have on his luggage."

Skroob grunted uncomfortably. "As I was trying to say, we then have our men board the T.A.R.G.E.T.s," the president nodded to General Mills, who pointed first at his volunteer droids and then at the T.A.R.G.E.T. Saluting both him and Skroob, the droids climbed into the vehicle and strapped themselves into each of the four seats inside. Cuckoo slid the hatch shut behind them. Skroob turned a large dial on the podium marked START T.A.R.G.E.T. The sound of the giant engine roaring to life caused everyone in the room to cover their ears in pain. "OK, keep your eyes open," Skroob told them all, even though no one was listening anymore, "'Cause here we go."

He inserted a key into a lock labeled LAUNCH—the wrong way. In his efforts to get it back out, he broke the key. "Hey Belz, give me a hand here," he called over to the bounty hunter, who'd been standing up against the back wall with little to do. Jingo strolled over, examined the lock, and iced it with his freeze ray. Smashing the frozen lock, the big snowman reached inside and twisted it manually. The T.A.R.G.E.T. rocketed up the ramp—setting on fire several technicians who'd been standing right behind the jets—and out into space. Skroob pressed another button on the podium. "The air retrieval unit is now armed, gentlemen," he told his ministers now that the room had quieted down, "Once the warhead is detonated, it'll suck up every breath of the air we put inside the fake Druidia it can. Speaking of detonation, put on your protective goggles now, because we've got impact in five, four, three, two, one…"

On every monitor in the room, the T.A.R.G.E.T. reached the fake Druidia and exploded in a huge flash of white light. A loud sucking sound was heard over the explosion. Out of the bright white glow, a small circular probe zipped back across the stars toward Planet Spaceball. It reentered the conference room through the bay doors and landed on the floor—seconds before a blast of radiation, rock, and droid limbs rained down on everyone. Skroob strolled over and picked up the probe. "As you can see, gentlemen, it's taken up every bit of air it could," he said, pointing to the gauge on the side reading FULL. He didn't seem to notice or care that everybody's hair was now standing straight up from the radiation. "In short, we will soon have all of Druidia air for ten thousand years of use and be rid of them once and for all. Are they any questions?"

"Can we get this on video?" one minister asked, watching the explosion on instant replay on his monitor.

"We'll save the destruction of Druidia itself for a DVD release," Skroob said, "In the meantime, this concludes our little meeting. You can go and decontaminate yourselves now, gentlemen, thank you."

The ministers gave a polite applause, quickly rose, and headed for the exits. Skroob strolled to the back of the room. "Well Lord Helmet, did I tell you this would be a good idea or what?" he asked his evil lieutenant.

"Well, let's just say it makes more sense than Armageddon did," Helmet said, forcing a smile.

"Are you kidding?" Lynn spoke up, "I love Armageddon."

"So, did you folks like it?" Skroob asked the Tanners.

"Uh, it was, um, uh, very interesting," Willie said, "Now, uh, if you have a minute, I'd like to file a formal grievance against your associates here. They've violated about a hundred of our civil rights in the last twenty-four hours."

"Are you serious?" Skroob laughed, "Violating other beings' civil rights is every Spaceball's born right. We wouldn't be Spaceballs if we didn't. But I'll tell you what. If your Melmacian doesn't show, I'll let you plead your case on TV tonight to the public when you get your last words. It'll make your death more entertaining."

"Wait, you're actually serious about this whole execution thing?" Willie's expression went quite flat.

"Of course you dummy," Cuckoo gave him a shove to his feet, "Now it's time to go back to your cell and await the final countdown."

Pointing his own Schwartz ring at them, he and several guards herded the Tanners out of the conference room. Helmet raised his visor once they were gone. "Boy, is that guy a weenie," he confided in Sandurz.

"And then some sir," Sandurz agreed. He turned to Skroob. "Well Mr. President, would you like us here for the execution."

"Probably a good idea," Skroob surmised, "There's no telling if Lone Starr might try anything, wherever he is now."


"Hey Yogurt," Lone Starr knocked on the doors to Yogurt's lair, "You in there?"

One of the Dinks opened the doors. "Dink dink?" he asked, surprised to see the hero back so soon.

"We need weapons," Barf told him, "Can you get him for us?"

"Dink dink dink," the Dink waved them all in. "Dink dink dink," he called up the hall. Yogurt came shuffling up. "Well boys, you're back ahead of schedule," he told them.

"They're going to kill Shumway's adopted family," Lone Starr pointed to Alf, "We've decided to take the Schwartzenegger approach and go in and get them out. We need all the weaponry you have."

"Weapons, you say?" Yogurt's ears flicked, "Well Lone Star, you picked the right day. We just a big shipment of weapon merchandise from my pal Mace Spraycan this afternoon. Rinky, go bring out the manifolds."

"Dink dink," the nearest Dink scrambled off. "So you're the great and mighty Yogurt?" Brian asked the being, "Alf says you're the most powerful guy in the Frankfurt Galaxy. Can I have your autograph?"

"Sure, why not?" Yogurt drew out a pencil and paper and signed his name, along with, "MAY THE SCHWARTZ BE WITH YOU." "That'll be worth a lot when this story goes to paperback," he told the boy.

"I hope you've got something that I can use," Alf sided up alongside Yogurt, "After all, I've been wanted to get back at Helmet ever since he made space goose calls over my performance on Emak 9."

"We've got a little something for everyone here; here it comes now," Yogurt pointed to large cart full of numerous weapons being pulled by three Dinks. "Take whatever you want, we've got the works here," Yogurt pointed to the huge arsenal, "Spaceballs the blasters, Spaceballs the Land Mines, Spaceballs the Departiclizer, Spaceballs the Flamethrower—for the kids, you know—Spaceballs the Energy Vacuum—we put the franchise name on everything. Here you go Mr. Shumway, your special weapon, Spaceballs the Pancake Tosser."

He handed it to Alf. "Good," Alf said, examining it, "I should have called you a few days ago for it before Helmet landed. But better late than never I say."

"Yogurt," Tripley spoke up for the first time, "I'm kind of new to these things, and…"

"Miss Tripley, pleasure meet you again," Yogurt shook her hand, "Don't worry, I've got just the thing for you; Spaceballs the Indestructo Suit."

He pulled out a large suit with laser rifles for arms. "Very nice," Tripley said, looking it over with excitement, "It's almost like the one I had when I roasted all those ice cream monsters on Bondar 44."

"And for our junior hero, our special of the day, Spaceballs the Water Cannon," Yogurt handed Brian a protracted water pistol. "I…I don't really want to hurt anyone," Brian told him, "I just want my family to be safe."

"This won't hurt anyone—except the droids it'll short circuit," Yogurt told him.

"Thanks Yogurt, this helps a lot," Lone Starr shook his mentor's hand.

"Good," Yogurt told him, "Now get going; you've got five hours left to save the day."

He walked off. Everyone stared around blankly. "Uh, is this the end of the chapter?" Barf asked, "That was rather abrupt."

"Well, we can't just stand around here and let this be dead air," Alf picked up a laser rifle and cocked it. "It's show time!" he announced in a macho voice.