Meanwhile, outside the royal palace on Planet Druidia, heavy activity was taking place. Pages and footmen were transporting suitcases and furniture into the fleet of rental ships parked outside. And by the Eagle 5-A Winnebago by the front door, Prince Lone Starr watched it all with a neutral expression. His own needs had always been comparatively simple, so carrying around all sorts of matched luggage was usually against his mantra, but he'd come to accept this as part of the life of a prince.
"Ready, darling?" his bride put her hand on his shoulder.
"Oh, uh, of course," Lone Starr nodded, taking note of the large set of matched luggage in her arms, "Um, not to complain, but do we really need all thus for a vacation on Saturn-5 when they provide the experiences for us?"
"Well a proper princess always comes prepared, especially for vacation," Vespa argued. Lone Starr nodded softly and slipped his arm around her. "I hope you enjoy it, though," his mood brightened, "This will be a good way to celebrate our one year anniversary. I can still remember back to that first night on the Moon of Vega, when we first started to realize we had something special..." his mind drifted back to the sands of the Moon of Vega and the night he and Vespa sat together by the campfire and had come close to their first kiss...except it wasn't exactly as he'd remembered, for the previously empty desert was now filled with countless computer generated wolf-bats, gorilla-crocodiles, and other bizarre creatures, including an alien band singing a god awful love song behind Vespa and he. "Whoa, whoa, hey!" his past self protested, "I wanted the REAL flashback, not the Special Edition flashback!"
"All right, people, it's magic time!" the chief steward barked out his familiar phrase, bringing the former space hero back to the non-Special Edition present. A blaring of trumpets by the front door heralded King Roland's exit through them. "Well, let's all get started, everyone," the king declared to the rest of the party, who bustled for the ships all around them. "Barf, Dot, hurry it up with that cabinet," he called back into the palace.
"Coming, your Majesty...boy these things are heavy!" Lone Starr's mawg sidekick was grimacing as he and the princess's faithful droid of honor carried a very large cabinet out the palace door. "Not to complain, Princess, but you didn't put your whole set of Industrial Strength Hair Dryers in here, did you?" he asked her.
"No, they're in those suitcases over there," Vespa pointed to a large set nearby, "And don't forget them; I can't live without them."
Barf whimpered in agony. "Pardon me, your Majesty, everyone," a footman abruptly ran up now, "This was left at the front gate for the prince; we just found it."
He held up a wrapped present of his own. "What have we here?" Lone Starr walked over and tore it open. "A Crackerjack box..." he mused, seeing what was inside. "You don't suppose...?"
He ripped the top off the box and dug deep inside. Sure enough, his fingers clenched around what was unmistakably another Ring of the Schwartz. He pulled it out and held it up to the sunlight. "Well, well, thanks Yogurt," he looked towards the sky and thanked the Schwartz master, wherever he was now.
"Another ring, boss? How many of those do you think Yogurt has in his...?" Barf started to ask, inadvertently letting go of the cabinet. It thus fell down hard on his foot. "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW!" the mawg shrieked, waving his arms in agony like a windmill. "Hold on, hold on, Barf, I've got it," Lone Starr quickly slipped the ring onto his finger and aimed it at the cabinet. He envisioned it rising up off the ground in his mind, and the cabinet, once it had started glowing, did just that, allowing Barf to pull his leg out from under it. His boss levitated the cabinet through the Winnebago's back door before setting it down. "OK, all aboard your Majesty," Lone Starr gestured for King Roland, who'd been watching everything with an amused expression, aboard the Eagle 5-A. "And after you my dear," he told Vespa as well.
"I'm with Barf; where does Yogurt keep getting all these rings?" Vespa echoed Barf's sentiment, staring at the newest ring on her husband's finger, "It kind of makes the Schwartz seem less special to have this many..."
"Oh well, at least we have it," Lone Starr shrugged; why mess with advantageous plot points, he reasoned? He closed the rear door behind his bride and her droid, the climbed into the Eagle 5-A's cockpit. "Ready, Barf?" he asked the mawg, wincing as he climbed into the front passenger seat.
"Ready as I'll ever be, boss-pass along some ice once we're in orbit," Barf grimaced.
"Will do," Lone Starr turned the key in the ignition and shifted into drive. The Eagle 5-A rocketed into the sky and headed for Druidia's stratosphere. Soon the planet's air shield came into view. It slid open to allow the royal ships to leave the planet-at the same time letting a fleet of bread trucks with the words SH&S COSMIC BREAD hastily emblazoned on the sides to enter Druidia. "SH&S? I've never heard of them before," Barf frowned at the bread trucks, "Have you, Boss?"
"No. But new businesses crop up all the time," Lone Starr rationalized, shooting only a cursory glance at the retreating bread trucks. "OK, Barf," he pressed a few more buttons on the control panel, "We are set for Saturn-5, so just sit back and relax from here on."
"Gotcha, Boss," Barf leaned back in his seat and hefted the latest issue of Intergalactic Lampoon magazine, this one declaring IF YOU DON'T BUY THIS ISSUE, THIS DOG WILL SHOOT! over the image of a golden retriever holding a wide-eyed man at gunpoint on the cover. Lone Starr reached up and switched on the TV, wishing to catch the end of the afternoon news. "...alert Secret Service agents grabbed the president's finger and wrestled it to the ground, saving him from serious self-harm," the newscaster was relating, "When we return, Pongo's back from the multiplex again with his review of Rocky 7,512, and Ivan Wrongman's foray into action with Unnatural Born Killers. We'll be right back."
"Mmm," Lone Starr mumbled softly, nodding at the familiar commercial for Prince Murray's car dealership coming on the screen now. He glanced down at his new Schwartz ring again. "Wonder if this means we're going to have a big adventure on this trip," he mused out loud.
"Who knows, Boss, but I wouldn't mind it," Barf remarked, lowering his magazine, "We haven't had a good one since...well, since that last fan fiction story fifteen years ago-or however much time's passed here between that one and now. You know," the mawg grew dreamy, "I like our current position, but part of me still misses the good old days of rocketing around the universe saving everyone in need. That felt good."
"Yeah, it did," Lone Starr turned and peeled back the curtain to the rest of the Winnebago. In contrast to his original model, this one had since been redecorated to reflect its royal status; right now, for example, Vespa was reclined on a four poster bed, reading her own magazine with Dot, while her father, a sleeping mask over his eyes, was leaning back in a reclining throne by the rear bathroom. "Being a hero for hire was great," the prince continued, "But I guess eventually we have to all move on. If we didn't, we'd just be rehashing my arc from the last story again, and that wouldn't be..."
"Say, you see that up there?" Barf suddenly pointed out the windshield. Lone Starr looked up and saw a wrecked space car floating off to the side, its four way flashers blinking and steam rising from under the hood. Two figures, one human and one small one that looked like a mole, were waving their arms at the Winnebago. "Looks like they've had some car trouble," Barf needlessly stated the obvious, "Think we ought to stop, Boss?"
"Well...guess it couldn't hurt," Lone Starr pulled the Winnebago to a stop along the car. Barf rolled the window down. "Hi there," he greeted the young girl and mole standing outside, "Need a lift?"
"Sure could," the girl, who had purple hair and different colored eyes, told him, hefting bags, "Where're you headed?"
"Saturn-5 for a little rest and relaxation," the mawg said, "How about you?"
"That'll be fine for me; I was going nowhere in particular before my car broke down."
"Well, come on aboard, then," Barf opened the front passenger door and gestured them inside, "I'm Barf, and that's Prince Lone Starr," he pointed at his superior.
"Yeah, I know, I've seen your pictures on the news all the time," the girl said, "I'm Mary Sue Cometrider, and this is Meteor Mole," she gestured at the mole, who'd missed the door and walked right into the side of the Eagle 5-A, "His car broke down a few light years back, so I offered him a lift."
"Meteor Mole?" Lone Starr's brow furled, "Wasn't he a member of the Guardians of the Cosmos or something before they kicked him out because he couldn't see worth anything?"
"And I'm still gonna sue for that, because I can see as good as anyone!" Meteor thundered, tripping and falling onto the floor, "Where's the bathroom in here? I've had to go bad for a few light years now!"
"Back there," Barf gestured through the curtains. "Let me take your things, Miss Cometrider," he took Mary Sue's bags, "Anywhere we can drop you off at?"
"I don't know. I've been looking for my father, Dr. Waylon Shipps," Mary Sue explained, looking sad, "The whole rest of my family was killed by evildoers, and I think my father's being held by the Spaceballs for something. I've been looking for him for a long time now."
"That so? Well, it so happens Prince Lone Starr and me have a long history of fighting Spaceballs, so if there's any way we can..." Barf continued talking with her as he led her back through the curtain. Lone Starr frowned after them. "I don't know," he mused softly, "There's something about that girl..."
"Here we are, sir, Mustanear," the pilot of Helmet's shuttle announced as they descended to the dusty, sandy desert surface of the planet in question. "What a dump," Helmet mumbled, staring out at the bleakness below him, "I can understand why they exile half the Bad Guys in the universe to places like this..."
"You hear that, Sir?" Sandurz raised his hand. Below them, a bell was ringing atop a large tower by what had once been a dock. "Da ship, Boss, da ship!" came a high pitched voice from the bell tower, audible to everyone in the shuttle. And figures were swarming over the dunes towards the dock now as well. They formed a waiting line as the shuttle touched down. Helmet pulled his visor back down and stepped outside. "Good afternoon," he declared authoritatively at the figures, all with wild hair and wearing grubby post-apocalyptic rags over what had once been Hawaiian shirts many years ago, "I've come to speak to Ron Belzel Ringh…"
"Well, well, Lord Helmet, fancy seeing you around here," came a smooth, suave voice. A dashing-looking man in a white suit was walking down the dock towards them. "Ron Belzel Ringh, it has been a while," Helmet shook his hand.
"Indeed it has. Welcome to Mustanear, which, as far as exiles go, is far from a fantasy," Ron muttered in disgust. "Oh, and say hello to my little friend, Also-Ron," he introduced the midget rushing up alongside him.
"Gee Boss, you have the strangest friends," Also-Ron frowned the newcomers down.
"Watch it, you little pipsqueak, or you'll be saying hello to MY little friend!" Wenn warned him, holding his Schwartz ring high.
"Wenn, it's all right," Helmet pushed his apprentice's arm back down. "I have come here on a vitally important mission for the imperious forces of Planet Spaceball. I need you to show me where a certain Down Side temple on this planet is..."
"In fact, Lord Helmet I know exactly where it is, so follow me, and you can fulfill your personal fantasy," Ron waved him down the dock, "Come, make yourself at home, for what it is worth on this godforsaken rock."
"Let me say, Mr. Ringh, you seem to have done quite well in your exile here," Sandurz commended the former overlord, shuddering nervously at Ron's followers lumbering listlessly after them.
"We have survived, although it goes without saying it is a much lower existence than when I was at my peak," Ron muttered, "I remember it well," he grew nostalgic, "For ten years, most of the Frankfurt Galaxy trembled at the mere mention of my name. I held dominion over countless star systems, and brought anyone who dissented to my ruling planet and put them through the most vicious personal fantasies an evil overlord ever devised. I'll wager that I killed more people than even the Waco Kid. It was the perfect life. Until that terrible, vicious Captain Lone Starr had to ride in and overthrow me, exiling me and those who remained loyal to me to this place," his fists clenched in hatred, "Take me with you when you go, Helmet. I want the chance to act out my revenge fantasy against him. I wish to chase him through the asteroid fields of Sacul Egroeg, across the rings of Kirchner-Marquand 23, and round Perdition's flame until he's well done and cooked. I want my revenge served red hot, Helmet."
"Well, show me where that temple is, Ron, and I think we can oblige," Helmet told him.
"Well, right this way, then, Lord Helmet..."
Fifteen minutes later, Helmet entered the central sepulcher of a ruined Down Side temple. His fingers trembled as he set his father's device on the central column in the middle of the room. It clicked into place, beeped, and lit up. "Hand print identification please, hand print identification please," it started buzzing. Helmet removed his gloves and placed them around the device. "Thank you," it droned, "Please stand by while we retrieve your message."
Elevator music rose up. Helmet tapped his feet impatiently on the floor. "You could have chosen a more technologically advanced communicator, Dad...!" he mumbled to himself. Ten minutes, though, passed before the device buzzed to life again, shining a beam of light upwards. Slowly, a holographic image formed inside it, one of a man wearing a gigantic helmet that covered his entire body. "Hello, Dark," he greeted the villain, "I'm your father, Kerr Ash Helmet. If you're watching this, I'm probably dead-but understand it probably wasn't my fault..."
"Yep, Dad, anyone can lean too close to a can opener and get their head taken off..." his son muttered under his breath.
"Are you paying attention, Dark?" his father's ghostly image admonished him.
"Oh, uh, yeah, go on, Dad."
"All right, son, here's the story," Kerr Ash continued, "It was late in the Drone Wars, and we Bad Guys were losing badly to the Good Guys. We had been developing a few weapons of ultimate destruction, but we had enough brains to realize the Drone Wars would be over before we could use them. So we hid them and the rest of our evil fleet here, in the hopes someone would come here and use them well at a later time. I've sensed that you were going to follow me along the evil overlord path, so I'd like to present you with your inheritance, Dark; ownership of all our weaponry. Just follow the procedures I'll lay out at the end of this, and its yours. In the meantime, here's how to finalize our ultimate weapon of mass destruction: all you need is a very large vacuum set on reverse, a large amount of everywherium, the purest of which can be found on the planet Gesundheit, and the giant diamond at the heart of the Druidian royal crown. Put all that together with whatever you have at the moment, and that should be enough to destroy anything in your path. So here we go, Dark; put your hands on the communicator for another fingerprint scan."
Helmet did so. "Now hold still for a retinal eye scan," his father requested. Helmet pulled up his visor and held still while the communicator's laser scanned his face. He jumped back as a compartment popped out of the column with a jar inside. "Now provide a sample for further verification," Kerr Ash told him.
"Dad...!" Helmet complained.
"Dark..." his father told him sternly. Sighing, Helmet lowered his pants and complied. The compartment retracted back into the column with the results, only to be replaced by one with chainsaws. "Now juggle these while tapdancing and singing the Catalina Magdalena Lupensteina Wollenbeina Song," Kerr Ash requested.
"Blasted strict security measures...!" Helmet muttered, nonetheless activating the chainsaws and juggling them as best he could while singing the song in question. "OK, that's good," Kerr Ash confirmed for him. "Enjoy your gift from me, Dark."
A loud rumbling sound broke out. Helmet grabbed a temple support pillar seeing through a hole in the temple roof dozens of warships rising out of the sand. "Yes, yes, finally, Druidia's as good as destroyed now!" he laughed in delight. "Thanks, Dad," he ran back to the communicator.
"You're welcome, Dark. Oh, and Dark, one more very important thing..."
"Yes, Dad?"
"This recorder will self-destruct in two seconds," his father concluded, right as the device started smoking heavily. "DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!" Helmet had just enough time to scream before the recorder exploded in his face with the force of an atomic grenade, sending massive plumes of fireballs shooting out every opening in the temple. Once they had subsided, the temple's very heavy roof then fell down on top of Helmet, followed by each of the walls in turn. "Thanks for nothing, Dad!" the evil leader groaned, heavily agonized, "SANDURZ...!"