Leela glared scornfully at the brown band on her left wrist, then turned her gaze to the bathroom mirror. I'm too good-looking to live in the sewers, she thought, admiring her lush purple hair and shimmering hazel eye. So I'm a little different from other people. So I have only one eye and one ovary. Big deal. I saw a woman down there who had three boobs sticking out of her back. It's people like her the government should be protecting us from, not people like me. There must be a way to get out of this. Maybe I should go underground. Wait…isn't that what I'm trying to avoid?

The toilet began to bubble vigorously, filling the porcelain bowl with dingy water. Toilet's backing up again, she thought as she idly pulled off the lid. To her astonishment, a greeting card-shaped envelope was floating in the tank. Reaching in and flipping it over, she saw the words To Leela, from Morris and Munda scrawled on the front. My God, she thought. It's from my parents. They've never sent me a letter before.

The envelope was drenched and stank of sewage, but she eagerly opened it with her well-groomed nails. Nibbler poked his head into the room and listened while she read the message aloud:

"Dear Leela: We hope this letter finds you well. As soon as we heard that you would be joining us in the sewers, we set about cleaning up the guest bedroom. The job went smoothly, except for a family of rats who wouldn't leave. You'll be sharing the room with them, but don't worry. They're very clean and quiet. We think you'll enjoy living with us. You'll have all the comforts of the surface world, only without glitzy add-ons like plumbing and central heating. The food's good as well. Munda can whip up delectable dishes by fermenting old newspapers. We love you, and we'll do everything we can to make you happy here. One other thing: Turanga is your last name, not your first name. Hugs and kisses, Morris and Munda."

A tear formed at the base of Leela's eye as she folded up the moist stationery.

The problems of a misfit cyclops didn't amount to a hill of beans in the Cerulean Nebula, a mass of argon, methane, and other gases that stretched over 200,000 kilometers of space. Near the eye of the great blue cloud, a small fleet of DOOP science vessels was exploring nascent planetoids in search of valuable mineral deposits. Shielding them from the reported threat of pirates in the region was the DOOP's flagship, the mighty Nimbus.

First officer Lieutenant Kif Kroker stared lazily at a monitor, waiting for a sensor signal to appear so he could dismiss it as a harmless comet as opposed to a pirate warship. The far more comfortable captain's seat was occupied by Zapp Brannigan, who grinned blankly and occasionally glanced around to ensure that his crewmen looked busy.

"Computer, status report," said Zapp to the recently installed ship's artificial intelligence.

"You're still a self-absorbed git who needs to lose weight," came a female voice with a Manchester accent.

"That's the last time I ask you," said Zapp flatly. Turning to his second-in-charge, he uttered, "Lieutenant Kroker, status report."

Kif sighed with boredom. "No status, sir."

"Excellent," said Zapp, shifting in his chair. "In five minutes our shift will be over, then we can retire for the night and leave the ship in less capable hands."

"I'm looking forward to it, sir," said the green-skinned, banana-shaped alien with an emotionless tone. It's a good thing my species doesn't require sleep, he thought. I get to spend the next eight hours gazing at the pictures of Amy on my wall. Captain Brannigan will never know.

A yellow light suddenly flashed on his control console. Whipping his head around, he barked, "Incoming transmission, sir!"

"Tell them I'm not here," said Zapp disinterestedly.

"It's…" Kif checked over his instruments, not believing what he saw. "It's an old Earth frequency."

"Earth, eh?" Intrigued, Zapp rose up from his command seat. "Why do they keep pestering me? Open a channel."

"Channel opened, sir," said Kif, and the bridge speakers started to play rhythmic, beautiful music.

The melody so delighted Zapp that he began to wave his fingers in time. "It must be coming from one of the space probes launched by NASA in the latter part of the twentieth century. This particular selection sounds like Benny Goodman."

"Incorrect, you dolt," said the tinny-voiced artificial intelligence. "It's the Brandenburg Concerto No. 2 by Johann Sebastian Bach."

"I said it sounds like Benny Goodman," said the exasperated commander. "Yeesh, pull the stick out of your…"

KABOOM

The Nimbus rocked violently, throwing Zapp off balance. "Lieutenant Kroker, what just hit us?" he shouted while dancing about to regain his footing.

Kif studied the monitor readout carefully. "It's…it's a harmless comet, sir," he stated.

Another loud explosion followed, and the ship trembled from stem to stern. Grabbing a railing to steady himself, Zapp grumbled, "We really need to get those inertial dampers fixed."

"Extensive damage to decks 11, 12, and 14," a faceless officer yelled.

"Returning fire," said the AI unworriedly, and the bridge vibrated from the discharge of several quantum torpedoes.

"I didn't tell you to return fire!" yelled Captain Brannigan at the overhead computer.

"That's because you're stupid," said the AI. "What were you going to do, invite them for tea and crumpets?"

The blasts stopped abruptly, and the crewmen who had been tossed to the floor pulled themselves up. "Report, Mr. Kroker," Zapp commanded.

"The hostile is retreating, sir," said Kif, watching a small blip on the screen move toward the edge.

"Lay in a pursuit course," Zapp ordered him.

The alien lieutenant's rubbery jaw dropped. "But, sir, we can't leave the science vessels unprotected," he said earnestly. "There are three hundred civilians on board, including five professors up for tenure."

"Where's my pursuit course, Mr. Kroker?" said Zapp with marked impatience.

"Sir, your mother is on one of those vessels."

Kif's protests fell on unconcerned ears, and the ship's engines began to grind. Fiery blasts from the rocket cones propelled the Nimbus and its crew in the direction of the fleeing enemy.

"Red alert!" shouted Captain Brannigan as frantic officers scrambled to their stations.

"We're on red alert," the AI informed him. "I switched to red alert status automatically the moment we were fired upon."

"And now you expect a medal, I suppose," Zapp grumbled. Computers, he thought. Always doing things automatically instead of doing as they're told.

"Captain!" Kif cried out in terror. "Look at the view screen!"

Zapp whirled. Both he and every other living thing on the bridge gaped at the awesome sight.

The raider that had attacked them was now standing still in space, in the company of roughly five hundred other ships. All shared the same configuration—lean like a cigar, with the symbol of the Jolly Roger etched in black and white on the front of the hull.

"Sir, they're powering up their weapons," Kif related. "All of them are."

Zapp could only stare in wonder as the hostile fleet maneuvered and surrounded the Nimbus like a web of spikes. "It's them," he muttered to himself. "It's the infamous Pirates of the Cerulean."

To be continued