The three days since being invited had left Planet Express in a whirlwind free-for-all; one they hoped would address every last concern, intrigue or question of style en route to the big party.
Thursday after work had been taken to race about and insure their miracles; five stashes known only to those who hid them, plus an emergency back-up in Farnsworth's lab. If word ever got out, left them exposed, they at least had a dozen or two back-ups to cover them.
Friday had led to lengthy debates over deliveries and meetings; whether to pocket some policies, the particular guests to watch for, or how to reveal 'The Admiral' without them knowing. News cycles had made clear that cameras were out of the question, and they could've shivered for ideas of getting physical.
Lickety-speed might've worked as an escape clause, but that was about it.
And finally, Saturday had been saved up for shopping; for the ladies, hours spent in Amy's boutique of choice, and for the guys, esteemed tailors or outlets. The Captain had matched a scarlet sheath-styled dress with small heels and a purse, while Amy seized upon a lapis blue gown, one to expose the navel and a bit beyond the shoulders.
Mayfield, Zoidberg and Hermes had got fitted or otherwise shopped around at Giorgio Armonster, the former talking in gibbers for the tailor's green skin, horns and salivating drool. Did take some time to calm him down, but he soon walked out having splurged a Nixon on a custom three piece with dress shoes.
"Been a while since I cleaned up like this. If only I did back home."
Zoidberg scrubbed up well for a black, bow-tied ensemble, and Hermes at least had the decency to wear a formal shirt under his usual look. For all his demands to attend, and to their constant head-shakes, The Professor had made little or no effort towards the occasion.
"Well, I was already in my pyjamas."
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After Sunday visits to barbershops, hair salons, and Leela's quick one to the jeweller's, the big night had arrived. Once all had gathered at the lobby, they began to eye each other; approving or vigorous claps for how gorgeous, graceful or gentlemanly most everyone had looked.
"Ah, strike me pink as posies mates… God's hot sun couldn't outshine you this night."
"I'll say, kid. We all did rather well, most of us anyway."
"Oh fuff, I'm not made of money, leave me alone!"
Hermes straightened his jacket: "Well, our limo's due to arrive any minute, so once yuh've done ya primps and gussy ups, grab your tickets and move out."
"And remember,"—Mayfield pointed—"wits about you, all times."
Soon the loud honks had sounded, and everyone from lads to ladies to lobsters had climbed inside, hovering for the biggest occasion they had known.
Upon approaching the MHOP—as locals called it—Mayfield had to stop and marvel towards it. Could only have imagined the rich history beyond that palatial marble design, those royal-waving angels, and that enormous spire… At least until he 'won' this chance to waltz inside.
As tickets were punched in, there stood that orchestra dead ahead, pricking his ears towards final checks and corrections. Pegged about the floor, those carved marble fountains to spurt champagne, already attracting their shares of boastful renowned barflies. Across a large section of wall, dozens if not hundreds of art pieces; in the realm of $100 million if his ticket meant anything.
"To think I could've squiggled for a few years and become a millionaire… Course, that'd be a laugh."
He however had to admit to stomach aches upon closer looks. How several pieces had featured titles like Whistlejacket, Lady with an Ermine, and Napoleon Crossing the Alps… How he had glanced over the gilded cages, wall-to-wall with creature acts. How he heard the heads of Charles Darwin and even Steve Irwin giving a speech…
Snatching a full glass sample of premium cognac to calm down, Mayfield gathered again with Planet Express to get led to their table. Right where he locked quick eyes on their first problem, and no doubt an ugly one.
"Son-of-a-bitch, what a wake-up call." "Leela, look… Lover boy, 12 o'clock."
How she glanced over & gagged: "Oh Lord, don't give him ideas!"
His doughy face as red as his uniform, his mouth motored and voice carried to anyone whose eyes hadn't gone vacant from boredom. Swill after swill of liquor down his throat; sitting offside meanwhile was a green alien who dressed the same, sighed for each sentence, and followed each order to pour.
Seemed it hadn't the heart nor the will to protest, even as Zapp tanked up and began to regale—with almost malicious pleasure—on how incompetent and disobedient his 'loyal friend' had proven.
"Wouldn't talk General… Recruiting poster material you aren't."
But far from Zapp's centre stage buffoonery, Hermes had begun to draw inward himself, grabbing everyone's attention.
"Sweet cane snake of Salt Lake… We're surrounded on all sides!"
"Excuse me, hang on!" Mayfield cut across. "Just how many of these people have you gone and pissed off?"
"The short version? Let's take those just in front of me. Head of Richard Nixon, tried to ruin his election. Mom and Wernstrom, they've got their reasons to hate our Professor. Barbados Slim, my Olympic rival and wife-stealin' dog. Famous chef Elzar; never apologised for blinding our Captain, for arresting us after a 'complimentary' meal. And finally Judge Whitey, the most biased legislator I've known."
As Mayfield kept getting the scoop, Zoidberg began to clack his claws: "Hey there's Sir Archbury, I love that guy!"
More dictator than host, more military vibe than charity, his entrance could've blinded virtually anyone who stared. His outfit could've had quite a few elites giving side-eyes of envy, as he began to work the room, and as 'The Admiral' flanked him closely.
Kid caught himself singing "Yo-ho, yo-ho", no doubt for that fleet's worth of booty on board.
Archbury had worked his rounds and sat down, while 'The Admiral', silent as his own outfit, just stared holes into the silken tablecloth. Cared nor noticed none who tried to grab his attention, not even for a lady's gaze…
Leela had caught an accidental one and began to flip her hair, check her breath, adjust her dress… For reasons she never truly knew why, only to moan in defeat and return to her colleagues. Course she had gained one man's eyes, one whose feet had approached fast if not fumbling.
"So now what?" Mayfield blurted. "Whatever plans we might've had, they're out the window now?"
She was quick to hush him: "Look, just act naturally, we'll be fine so long as no-one approach…"
"Well, well, well! My luscious lady Leela… Built for pleasure, made for sexy love."
A voice she knew too well; far from natural, she began choking on her bread. After some slaps of her back and a guzzling of water, and especially against the background noise of ecstatic smooches, she could only glare and grit teeth towards the General's flashing whites.
Seeing how he stood in that regal uniform, those medals pinned on the left, Mayfield could admit that, false or no for how deep he'd sunk already, not everybody could pull off such confidence so easily.
Course, he had known very little if anything at all about their encounters, of how he'd been a constant thorn in the company and Leela's tender sides… Not that Zapp convinced him otherwise as he burbled towards his Captain.
"So Leela, after this boring little tango here, how 'bout a little Captain's coitus on the Nimbus? I've worked overtime on my horizontal waltz, cha-cha-cha."
Whatever mating dance that became, poor Leela gagged again, gazed about the table in panic. Palmed her gold ring in putting her plan to action…
"Look Moby Dick, much as I'd love to mambo you to the morgue, I found a new fiancé since. Only been engaged since last month, but we've really made it work. And it's uh… uhm…"
Hermes, already taken. Zoidberg, not on her life. Professor, none would believe her. Amy, well…
"None other than him, right darling?" she finished, planting a long kiss on her charge's cheek. Slapping his cheek in complete surprise, his left hand remained wide open for Leela to twirl that ring around.
"Wait, whoa, since when… OW!"
A pointed heel into the ankle, and a good hole glared into his head. That was when he knew.
"Oh my God, she WASN'T kidding! Ohhh shit… Well Tom, who dares wins, don't screw this up."
Using one heel to rub the other, the far-fetched fiancé stood and nodded towards how tall Zapp looked. Even for that sickly lurch, Zapp could still look his nose down.
From The General, a narrowing of eyes, a murmur of discontent, and finally, his curt offer of a hand. "What's your name and what do you do, young man?"
"Mayfield, Thomas Mayfield, sir. Delivery Boy First Class, Planet Express Delivery Company."
"I'm the man with no name… Zapp Brannigan, 25-Star Army General, Democratic Order of Planets." A firm grasp, his fast growing firmer. "Captain of the Nimbus, and most legendary lover of the Sol System… That's your cue to leave, and leave Leela to me."
Though the muscles inside his hand began to hurt, he knew he had to return the gesture. Trying to establish dominance from the get-go…
"Don't need one to break your balls sir, especially since you've left them so easy to find. I've got my place, you'd be wise to learn yours."
Zapp's grin could've oozed pure disdain: "Bold words boy, but you won't last long enough for even a fling. Funny how desperate she is to ignore our destiny, crawling to anybody she can… I get it though; it's hard to eat meat patties once you've tried a sizzling steak."
"Don't flatter yourself, sir. Cooked from your kitchen, given your 'service', she'd take my TV dinner in a heartbeat."
A hand clapped over her mouth, as she looked anywhere but at the two. Only she knew why.
"Tough wise-guy talk for such a chump. Do you honestly believe you're fiancé material, especially for a Captain? Punching rather high, aren't we?"
Mayfield flashed his hand: "Who got the gold ring for doing so? And I don't believe I am, I KNOW I am. The lady made her choice clear, so I'd suggest you back your drunken arse off, and siddown."
"I do the ordering boy, don't forget that. Let me ask you something… She loves you so, so much, but has she let you score the slam dunk, hit the home run, make that winning Hail Mary touchdown?"
"I've a feeling I hear ya, but how 'bout plain English?"
"Sex! Did you have sex with her?"
"If she doesn't want to, that's her choice. Also, this is a formal occasion; I will NOT tolerate that kind of talk. Now you were warned once already, and it's not often I give second chances. Back. Off."
"Dear child, just remember who she last called fiancé. He couldn't protect her then, and you won't protect her now… The very MINUTE you falter, no matter the reason, you'd best believe I'll be on top of her like syrup on pancakes, fudge on ice-cream, cheese on pizza!"
Zapp gave an awkward shove, still enough to force Mayfield to steady himself by grabbing the table. Sure was grateful for the combat, as his eyes became slits and he stood up again.
"You're more mouth than merit, right now," he fired before looking down. "I doubt you'd even have the 'guts' to risk your life for hers, as I've proven on many occasions. But if you're happy to back your words, just give the order…"
A flash of those whites again: "Don't make an enemy of me, child. I've the entire army at my feet, best friends of the biggest names, and a loyal assistant who'd lick my boots if I asked him to. You won't stand in my way forever."
"What I won't stand for are your threats, sir." Mayfield seethed. "So make a choice; waddle back to your table on those fat feet, or go out the front door on your fat arse."
"I'll give you a chance to consider your words, but next time, I won't be so generous. Farewell."
Brannigan clicked his winks to Leela, called Kif over, and clasped hands behind his back in gracing his 'guests' once more. Kif's goodbye to Amy was a long, mournful one, a lone happiness now vapour and dust as he scurried back and again shrunk out of sight.
Mayfield collapsed into his seat for his first true encounter being over, his head in his hands. Not just for the flashbacks of Tova-9 firing off, either.
"That's who you're pitting me against, Captain? A well-connected General and his literal army?"
"Army's only as good as their leader; trust me, you've got nothing to worry about. And he says he does, I'm quite sure they'd disagree. As for us though, don't get any actual impressions. You know damn well this is temporary, a back-pocket thing. After all, Zapp falls for it every single time."
"Perhaps for the best. I've got enough of my own shit to figure out… Gods forbid I put someone else in it."
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As the good vibes began to return through conversation, champagne & cognac, Mayfield had glanced the way of a mystery woman in a long black silky dress. Straight brown hair to her shoulders, a very athletic figure, and a serious air of grit in her eyes. Could've been Leela in a past millennium, if he hadn't known better.
But as she stared back, wore that lemon-sucked frown, and stood from her table, he figured he might've done wrong. Confirmed it for sure, when she approached fast and got in his face.
"The hell are you looking at, asshole? You trying to ogle me?"
"Whoa hey, back up one minute! In a past life, you could've reminded me of my Captain, that's all."
"Your Captain?"
Leela sighed and tapped her shoulder: "That would be me."
"Oh, how's this to stink up the Champions League? Trying once again to fit where you don't belong, Leela?"
"Jackie Anderson, I presume? The Blernsball legend to put the 'Babe' in 'Babe Ruth?' Why, we haven't met since your run with the Poindexters."
"To my eternal gratitude. If I mimicked you at any stage, I'd have never smashed 250 career Blerns, 50 Blerns in a season, or my 25th Grand Slam Blern. If you became my role model, I'd have never been a five-time Galaxy Series champion, or seven-time Finals MVP either."
A sigh and eye-roll: "You deserved to shine earlier, it's true, but today you stand as an inspiration for generations to come. All I have to show for my career are hundreds of head dints, a cardboard cutout, and almost eighty innings without an out. Is it not enough, Jackie?"
Jackie's arms folded, her stare to freeze the hall: "Of course not, for that's just lip service. Even in centuries to come, no-one will ever commit a crueller crime against women's sport than you. Swear if I had such power, you'd be hauled into each stadium to have fans pelt you with Blernsballs. Now to see you mingle among actual achievers, lauded for a 'brilliant' delivery service… Such a joke could turn my stomach."
"Read my lips sweetie. You've got my Captain's seat, if you're 'game' enough. All you do is smack balls past stands and into tiny holes, while I fly through space, fighting all manner of invasions & disasters. I get crumbs, while you get big contracts. So you'll excuse me if I choose to bring out my tiny violin instead."
"You dare mock a Legend?! Would you know of all the hours I exercise, practice my swing, and psyche myself into pulling a Miller Time? Would you know of the time I dedicate to charity works, autograph signings, sponsorship deals and TV commercials in between? Ever had stat dweebs quote your best games, or armchair dolts lecture you on pull hitting over power slugging?"
Her anger soon led to calm, daresay a simpering arrogance for knowing her place.
"Oh what am I saying? With that giant eyeball in the way, I can't expect that you ever would."
Leela's eye glowed redder than her dress, as she took some moments to stand and loom over Jackie. Deep breaths the whole while, fearing what she'd become if Jackie kept poking that hornet's nest.
"You believe I'd care about your poor widdle feewings, after the first day we met? You think my heart bleeds for you, after your backhanded farewell towards my 'retirement'? You expect me to listen while you shoot your mouth off, you whiny toddler?"
In the moment Jackie made to interrupt, Leela's finger met her lips. Flaring eyes, but couldn't say a thing.
"I don't deny that I was undeservedly cocky, and it took you to remind me of reality. So let me return the favour… After winning all those prestigious titles, scooping up those MVPs, smashing all those Blern records, and making the Mets, the Gods-damned METS, a credible threat upon signing, is it true that you should've known what you signed up for? Yes or no only, any extra will cost you."
"Yes." Jackie spat back.
"Has it never registered that, because you delivered so often, the world expects only the best from you?"
Another go at an interruption, and this time an entire hand over the mouth.
"When I got signed, all that damned Doubledeal wanted were ratings and crowd buys. Perhaps I might've been a friendly rival, if he had been the least bit serious. But I've shouldered my share of blame, I've accepted it wasn't to be, and I've moved on. I know I'll inspire the world some other way."
She then loosened her shoulders & neck, and leaned in close.
"So, wise word to the women's standard of sport… Enjoy your own game, and shut your mouth."
Took just two seconds flat to expose another polar opposite; Jackie made to cheap shot Leela, and found her arm expertly grabbed, wrenched into her back, and gripped tight. Such strength made her wince; Leela knew as she whispered into her ear.
"Please let me take this outside, honey. But before I suggest such an education, you want to talk to my student?"
Leela beckoned Mayfield to her; Jackie could only give a scowl as he said nothing. Just got into her face, traced that burn scar, and slit his throat before sitting back down. A clear message judging by her wide eyes, as she turned back.
"Only gonna say this once… You can't inspire anybody when they'll be too scared to see you in public, do I make myself clear?"
"Fine dammit, I get what you're saying… Just let me go!"
Could only give a ginger rub of her wrist, embarrassed for that fresh hell and fearful of her Hyde-like change. As Jackie slunk away, Leela sat back down and breathed, unaware of her charge having awe overcome him.
"A true crowning, to pitch that nasty bitch straight out."
"Took no pleasure in it, kid. All that success, yet she never let go of me. Just breaks my heart."
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Once crew and colleague had given their toasts around the table, the entrees and bread refills had come out of the kitchen. Prize cuts of meats, gold-leafed salads, rare ingredients in fancy sauces… A treat to see status come to life, but of actual satiety, a severe disappointment when they finished inside a few bites.
"Hell, could've bought a dump truck of Submarines if we spent the money for this." Leela cracked, as tummies continued to grumble.
Soon came the time to go separate ways; the two big bosses would go hunting for networks, the ladies and Zoidberg chose to attend some talks, and Mayfield had volunteered to keep a close eye on 'The Admiral'.
Had more a thing for mystery faces over social graces, judging by those first interactions outside of colleagues. So he side-eyed and stared down that shadow-clad soldier, one who virtually hadn't moved since the start of the evening.
Eyes also kept on the exotic creatures around; a full-blown T-Rex to topple him in grinning surprise, an aquarium of rare three-eyed fish, a boxing kangaroo to remind him of home, and among other creatures, a honey badger, crab, and large snake…
"Could've sworn they had names."
A fleeting thought for he had frozen dead in his tracks; spider, span of a dinner plate, right into his peripherals. Fascinating if not vicious mongrels back home, especially out in the countryside.
As he began to press against the glass, more of morbid curiosity than anything, the creature had soon leapt off without warning and, far from falling to ground, had begun to hover through large, dragonfly-like wings.
"GAAAHHH!"
"Now that is some special creature, wouldn't you say Mayfield?" came a slick voice from offside.
None other than Archbury, his palms by his side and a thin-lipped smirk on his face.
"Uh, sure, whatever you say. By the way, bloody beaut job for this shindig of yours."
"Charmed, but more so for creature than compliment. That there's the Peruvian Spider-Fly, a true prize find and last to exist. Took twenty hunters twenty years to track down for my collection, especially for how eager it is to fight. Don't annoy it, whatever you do."
Mayfield experienced a great growl in his guts, and not just from lack of food.
"Look, the facts and all are great pal, but I ain't gonna hang around that sucker for one more moment!"
"Of course, how rude of me. You go ahead, I'll introduce you perhaps some other time."
The moment Mayfield turned his back, a sneaky palming of a back-pocket control.
"Much sooner than you think…"
Following a twist and twiddle of some knob, Archbury aimed his device towards the kid, causing his bladder to contract and expand as warning signals. Subtle as could be, it had given him a massive urge to relieve himself.
Had only eyes for a spare cubicle, and not for the shadowed one who stood and started to tail him.
Found one and zipped down his suit pants, giving his little Thomas a twiddle before he began to let fly. All kinds of happy grunts and sighs to give, before he shook the last drops, and got ready to flush.
In that desperate need for relief, he never noticed that in shutting the door, he kept it unlocked…
Ready to wash his hands and return to dinner, he didn't expect to find 'The Admiral' prowling towards him, a growl of menace for the wounded gazelle before him.
"What in the…?"
A sudden flick of the finger, and his vision cut to black.
Turned out that—limo to lavatory—close eyes had been kept on the Planet Express crew, that 'The Admiral' knew in advance who to strike upon opportunity. He heard the words from afar, knew his worst fear had come true. Orders to just carry him away, even for temptations to rip him apart.
Nobody had known, of course; they'd been busy attending Sir Attenborough's speech or schmoozing up to the elites. Funny enough, Mayfield had kept an insurance policy on him, even for getting lulled into a false sense of security.
'The Admiral' tossed the body into a camouflaged ship, and got ready to man the controls while Archbury himself had boarded. Had told the guests he had 'forgotten' a few things, as he wallowed about and got himself comfortable.
"Admiral, set a course for home and await further orders. I'll perhaps write a letter to placate those amusing little dopes."
As the craft blasted past the deep reaches of space, and placed into Auto-Pilot, Archbury had ordered 'Admiral' to strip him down and seize his cream, right before a rather unsettling cackle.
"Mayfield, my friend, we've a LOT of catching-up to do…"