When Delta next saw Hermes, Amy, and Zoidberg, they not only had scorch marks on their faces, but were soaking wet as well. "I hope you had better luck with the radio transmitter than I've had with Raven's command protocol," said the fembot, who was once again plugged into the bridge console through a wrist wire.

"We managed to squeeze in a few words before it exploded in our faces," Zoidberg reported.

Hermes shook his head, and water droplets flew from his dreadlocks. "We could've provided enough information for someone to launch a rescue mission," he complained, "if only Amy hadn't decided that her tattoos are more important than our lives. I swear, that girl has no sense of perspective."

"Oh, yeah?" protested Amy. "Well, you didn't shave this morning."

"Friends, friends!" said Zoidberg. "It's too early to give in to the effects of cabin fever and start fighting each other, especially since I have no means of defending myself."

Hermes and Amy did their best to calm down. "He's right," said Hermes.

"Yeah," said Amy, nodding.

"He really does have no means of defending himself," said Hermes.

"We can abuse him as much as we want!" Amy exulted.

"Oh, dear," said Delta with a sigh of despair.

Three days went by. Three long, tiring, tense, difficult days.

"We're nearing the Omega outpost on the border of Ramulon territory," Delta informed Amy, Zoidberg, and Hermes. "In approximately twenty-two hours we'll pass beyond the boundaries of human knowledge into uncharted space."

Hermes and Amy turned to each other and glared. "If you'd taken my advice and sabotaged the O-rings, we'd be back on Earth right now!" Hermes snapped.

"What do you know?" Amy snapped back. "You're a freaking bureaucrat! You'll get us blown up and write off the ship as a tax deduction!"

"I'm hungry," moaned Zoidberg. "Will someone please feed me?"

"Shut up, Stumpy!" Amy and Hermes yelled at him.

"Quiet, all of you," said Delta, "or I'll set Leela loose."

Leela sat in a lotus position, unwashed, foul-smelling, still chained to a pipe in the engine room, Mildred's bedraggled curls hanging over her shoulders. "Om mane padme hum," she muttered calmly. "Om mane padme hum, om mane padme hum…"


On Earth, Philip J. Fry suddenly regained consciousness.

"Ugh," he moaned, his voice weak. "Leela, what are you doing with that rod? Oh, you're trying to kill me. Was it something I said?"

A nurse, who sat in a nearby chair reading an issue of Unpopular Science (cover story: "The New Robot Face of the IRS"), was alerted by the sound of Fry's delirious babble. "He's awake!" she exclaimed aloud.


To be continued