Aboard Trooper Ship A1101B, otherwise known as "Black Dog," twenty-three year old Helene Geigenfirth was playing dress up in front of a space age vanity. She was preparing for the most epic fucking party to ever occur; it was a week away in the Andromeda galaxy. It would take about a week to travel there in this old thing, but a perk of being an agent was getting to use the Trooper Gates. She and her sister, Effie, who was also an agent for the Galactic Superfederation, would be dippin' it low in Andromeda in no time.

Behind Helene, Effie watched as her sister played with her cotton candy pink hair, pulling it and pinning it in all kinds of directions, trying her best to match the fashionable styles of the planet they'd eventually be partying like a motherfuck on. She sipped her Camoxtlian "Long Island Style" tea, feeling a little warm in the belly.

They were stationed outside of Saturn's rings; the intergalactic drug trade had been putting the GSF on edge. They imbibed, but, you know, they didn't have to submit to a piss test unless they had an accident. Effie happened to be a remarkable designated drunk driver.

A beam of light screamed across the open space before them. Effie's fist fell hard on the table beside her, Helene too preoccupied with what bra to wear underneath a mesh jumpsuit. "What?" Helene muttered, startled by the noise. Effie pointed out the ships wide, rectangular window. "What the fuck, dude? Can't ya see I'm tryna get my sexy on?"

"A1101B, be advised, an unidentified aircraft invading Enceladus air space traveling near light, go ahead."

"Awh, fuckles," Helene whined, opening a tall cabinet. She shoved a helmet over her hair, tossing Effie the second. She stuffed herself into a suit, pulling on her military issued gravity boots just in case things with this asshole got a little hairy. Effie followed suit and buckled herself into one of the pilot's chairs. The windshield's start screen came down; the debris in Saturn's belts often contained metal that refracted the sun's light. "A1101B to Station Xion-Dae: cruiser headed out to intercept possible cartel aircraft," said Helene as she put the craft into gear. The ship shot forward, a small red blip on screen. "Effie, lock canons on the craft just to be sure."

Effie cleared her throat, pointing to the screen, Helene too preoccupied with the controls to look up a moment.

Over the comms, a loud burp erupted in their ears. "Buuurughha – Uh, goddamn," said the voice. "Goddamn – Uh – This is Rick Sanchez, pilot of the Shitbox. T-tell me you're not space pigs."

A smug grin inched onto Helene's face. "Copy, Dirty Sanchez. This is Captain Helene Geigenfirth of the Black Dog. Space pigs indeed."

Another burp ruffled the comms. "Well, shit. I'm ou–outta fuel."

"Station to A1101B: Debris from the rings has hit Enceladus, approximately fifty dead upon impact."

"Copy," Helene replied, closing the line in case Sanchez overheard. "Listen, Rick, we're going to have to pull you into the station."

"Fuck that noise," Rick grunted. Helene listened to something swishing and crunching over the line. "I'll die before I let space pigs between Saturn and Jupiter take me down, a wo-woman at that."

"You wanna hear a joke, Rick?"

"Women's sufferage?"

Helene snorted. "Nah, but close. Get this shit, alright? This dude I saw the other night stepped out of a bar drunk. And I mean fuckin' plastered. Anywhoozles, he's standin' about outside and he sees a hooded, darkened figure strollin' up to him in the street. This drunk bastard walks up to the figure, punches it. Turns out to be a nun. Before she could say or do anything, he punches her again. Nun falls down, lookin' up at him with this damn awful pitiful look, like why, you know? The drunk guy laughs and leans over her, sayin', 'Not very strong tonight, are ya, Batman?'" Helene's eyes darted toward Effie, not entirely sure if it would ease the tension or keep him stalled long enough to avoid being noticed as she docked the cruiser with what appeared to be a homemade craft.

"Pfft," Rick gurgled drunkenly. "I've got one for y-ya. My daughter's gotten to that age where she's askin' me embarrassing questions about sex. Ju-just last night, she looked up at me. 'Daddy, is that the best you can do?'"

The Shitbox was docked with the Black Dog. "Gotcha," Helene muttered, referring to the cage locked onto the craft. After a moment, the line hit her. "Oh fuck." Her lips morphed into a line that couldn't keep straight, a shocked giggle escaping her. "That's fucked up, Sanchez."

"Ju-just for the record though," Rick said, smooth and relaxed, "I don't have a kid."

"Good, uh, t'know, Sanchez. Are you aware of your Intergalactic Rights as a Human Being of the Seti-Virgo star system?"

"Uh, yeah, something about talking or something."

"You have the right to remain silent during and after your arrest, your booking, and trial unless a lawyer is present. Your right to a lawyer is given freely, even if you cannot afford one. An intergalactic lawyer of your own species will be afforded to you if need be. You are currently being arrested for unnecessary speed too close to a populous protected by the Galactic Superfederation. Other counts will be brought up at the proper time before the assumed time of your trial. Do you have any questions or statements about your legal standing as a Human Being of the Seti-Virgo star system?"

"Fuck nah," Rick replied.

"My name is Helene Geigenfirth, Galactic Superfederation Agent 001A. I have served and protected this star system and other systems among the Virgo Supercluster for five years under the supervision of Commander Reiker. Never once have I pulled a weapon during the entirety of my service. Upon arrival –"

"I don't care."

"Mr. Sanchez, I'm legally required to explain my service history prior to booking. – Upon arrival at Station Xion-Dae, I will be the only officer to check your belongings, person, and one of two officers to take your information. Do you understand your rights and my personal role in this arrest?"

"Yeah, cool."

The Black Dog carried the shitbox to the station; it was a quite thirty minute trip to the other side of Saturn. "A1101B, arrival at Xion-Dae in no more than five minutes. Please have a dock and a tunnel ready; unidentified aircraft captured outside Enceladus air space."

It looked rather like a plastic square, but it was bullet proof glass large enough to drape carelessly around the Black Dog and its cargo. "Dispatch to Captain Geigenfirth: Would you like me to send back up?"

Helene made no sound as she slowly floated out of the cargo door. "No, sir. Effie and I can handle it, thank you."

Floating downward, Effie silently in tow, Helene's feet landed over the small hatch door. She pulled it open with ease. "Get out your log book, Eff," Helene said, watching a mound of empty beer cans float out into the open. "Unnecessary speed, and by the looks of it, Drunk Intergalactic Travel..." Among the list was fifty counts of manslaughter. Helene couldn't help her bitter laugh. "Boooy, you are in some trouble tonight."

When the cans cleared, a tall, lanky man sat in a ramshackle pilot's chair (lazy boy with some stuffing removed?), hands flat on the rest until he raised equally lanky fingers and waved like a smug little prince. "Please exit the aircraft," Helene grunted. She blinked toward her sister who was eagerly scribbling the scene in open space. His lanky fingers pushed back loose tufts of blonde hair as he inched out of the chair, exiting fully as he pressed off the seat with his foot. "I'll examine you when there's gravity involved, Mr. Sanchez."

"Whatever," he replied.

"Hands behind your head." Rick did just so, and Helene cuffed him. "Thank you for your compliance."

"B-believe it or not," burped Sanchez, "This isn't my first arrest."

Helene pushed off the craft, gliding easily into the tunnel with Rick, Effie following closely behind. "Is there someone you would like me to call before booking begins?"

"Sandie Sanchez. Should be easy enou-enough to get a hold of."

"Sandie Sanchez," Helene repeated numbly. "Interesting."

"Ya know her? Is she a bitch to you like she is me?"

"Shut up, Sanchez," Helene growled. "If she's your mother, I wonder how she's survived it."

Rick snorted, yanking his arm out of her grasp. "Please – this arrest was a piece of cake."

"She and Officer Sanchez saved mine and my sister's lives fifteen years ago. If you're looking to talk shit on your mother and father, you've come to the wrong motherfucking neighborhood."

"Sheesh, get it t-together, lady." Those eyes, they rolled so hard to the back of his head, Helene wondered how hard she'd have to slap him to get them back.

Stepping onto the floor, the station door opened and the forces of Earth's gravity replaced the weightlessness. Rick towered above her; she was hardly five feet tall.

Helene showed Rick to a table in the middle of the station. His cuffs hooked neatly to it. She unlocked one hand. "Legal identification, please." Effie and Helene took off their helmets and set them on Helene's side of the desk.

Rick shoved his hand into the left pocket of his ripped jeans and brought out a leather wallet. He opened it and put it on the table. She copied down his information: Richard Orson Sanchez, Michigan resident, born on November 1st, 1949, 6' 3'', 168 lbs, organ donor, blond, brown eyes. "Scorpio," Helene murmured. "Not surprising."

"Astrology's bullshit," Rick replied unperturbed.

The corner of her mouth lifted. "So. Would you prefer if I called your mother now or waited until after the examination process, Mr. Sanchez?"

Another officer made his way over to the trio. He set a thin stack of papers on the desk. "The Enceladusians he killed or injured when he managed to break the light barrier."

Helene fingered the pages. There were upwards of twenty pages, names separated into two columns. "Shit," she muttered. "There's a few hundred here if not more." Her fingers got stuck in the frizzy mess of pink on her head. "Look at these, Rick, look at what you've done."

"It's not like I planned it," Rick retorted, waving the stack away with a cuffed hand.

"Don't you feel anything?"

His eyes watched her for a moment. "I didn't get up eight hours ago just'a hopin' to kill people. Space travel is some risky business – I advanced to light speed to save m-myself."

"We'll get a written statement in a moment," she answered, finishing up his information. Helene stood up and uncuffed him. "Please stand, Mr. Sanchez."

Her hands glided down his shoulders, his arms, underneath and down his torso. She continued down his legs and down into his sneakers, a finger at a time. "Do you have any items or weapons you would like to tell me about before we change you into galactic wear and take your finger prints, Sanchez?"

"Yeah, uh, th-there's a sheathed knife down the front of my pants." His face was dead serious.

Helene blinked at him. "Drop 'em."

A little lizard's smile rose to his lips; his fingers worked the button and zipper free.

"You're a damn sexual harassment suit waiting to happen, Sanchez," Helene muttered, unimpressed as she zipped his seven and a half inch situation back up.

"F-funny," he said. "That's wh-brugh-at my mother tells me."

Helene craned her neck to look at Effie. "Speaking of which, get Officer Sanchez down here."

Effie took a small tablet out of her pocket and shot the officer an urgent email. She took Rick's other arm, and the trio meandered to one of many elevators in the building. "Y-you probably shouldn't'a done that."

"Why's that?"

"She fuckin' hates it when she gets those messages."

"Yeah, well, I can't exactly blame her. Her son can reach the speed of light, effectively stopping time in his trip, and he happens to pass by a couple rocks aching to be loosed from their position. In pretty much what looks like a damn trashcan, to boot. You're a regular grouch, ain'tcha?"

Rick said nothing for a moment, staring ahead at the metal death trap's double doors. "It's w-way more complicated than that," he answered. "You're in for somethin' – uh, special."

The doors opened on the third floor. Detainment. This is where Rick Sanchez would be spending the night, if not a couple weeks pending trial.

A tall, red haired woman stood with her arms crossed before them. "Rick," she seethed. Her eyes fluttered to Helene and Effie. "My, you girls look so grown up. Fifteen years and five years of training in excellence brought you back here – I'm so proud." Sandie's eyes soured as she gazed toward Rick. "I will happily take this situation off your hands, officers."

"Officer Sanchez, we, the operating and arresting officers have a legal obligation to see this one through," Helene replied, not allowing the grip she had on Rick's arm to be breached. There was something in the pit of her stomach, a deep and worrisome trembling that only made her hands tighten.

Sandie responded with a glare. "As your superior, I have the legal authority to deem this arrest out of your control at this stage of its development."

"Ethically, you can't control this investigation under the United Sanctions ZOB-Z45, paragraph 1C."

"Fuck ethics, Geigenfirth," Sandie retorted, attempting to reach for Rick. "At this point, the boy's a damn terrorist. Three hundred or more dead because he was piloting a craft he made himself in my garage. This is out of your jurisdiction. Let it go."

"At least let me conduct initial interviews," Helene replied, maintaining her grip on Rick.

"You don't know the questions to ask, Geigenfirth."

"Then help me. But legally, I cannot allow you to take your son out of my custody." Both of Helene's hands floated and kept a locked position at his bony elbow.

"Helene, l-let it go, uh, l-let it go." But it was too late. Sandie Sanchez took the plasma blaster off her hip and pointed it in Helene's face.

"Let go of my son."

Helene's face remained smoothed as she watched Sandie. However, she still wouldn't let go of Rick. There were a lot of things she was prone to – drugs, alcohol, varying degrees of hatred and paranoia. Being terrified in the face of what might've been certain defeat was not one of those things. "I cannot legally sanction Sanchez's removal from my custody," she repeated.

"The balls on this fuckin' woman," Rick laughed, shrill and nervous at his proximity to the weapon. Behind Helene and Rick sauntered in a rare and small but diabolical laugh. Effie was standing with her own plasma blaster raised. Beside it, just over Helene's right shoulder, was her tablet. The camera had remained hidden behind pink fluff.

"It's 1975, Officer Sandie Sanchez. Do you honestly think we can't record everything you do?" Helene cleared her throat as she reached for her keys. Sandie slowly allowed her weapon to drop. "Under the Technicality Clause Act of Integrated Species by the Galactic Superfederation Council, the arrested cannot be held any more than twenty-four hours after the revelation of contempt from within the Galactic Superfederation until proper proof of crimes." Helene's eyes flicked briefly to her sister. "Do you understand why you're being arrested in turn, and your rights as a blooded officer of the Galactic Superfederation?"

Sandie released her weapon to the floor and put her hands behind her head. "I do," she answered.

"Fantasmic," Helene said, taking Effie's cuffs. Effie pressed a few buttons and sent the recording on to the council. "I'll read you them anyway."