CHAPTER 39
Fralgoth: Notorious Intergalactic Thief of Voodoo Antiquities,
and the Movie 'Plasma Raiders 3'
As Wilx attempted to find a usable rocket ship, Rip and I sat down and tried to make sense of everything.
“What does this beard do, anyway?” I asked him.
“Do? The beard doesn't do anything. It's an inanimate piece of third-rate imitation Plutonian wool. The dodgy black-market kind. Itchy by the looks of it.”
“You mean there's no magical properties to this beard?”
“I don't know. Try it on.”
I wore the beard. More than itchy, it caused a temporary leprosy-like symptom within the first few minutes. I now remembered why I'd thrown it away.
“I could use some help!” yelled Wilx from the ravine of ships.
“Just taking an indefinite break!” Rip yelled back.
“You should go help,” I said. “I'm the only one who's earned a break, after what I went through to get the Beard. Did I tell you the part about the swamp? And the lake?”
Rip took off. I thought it seemed pointless. These rocket ships looked like props from a cheesy science fiction movie. A lot of them were. Wilx had noticed this right away, but instead of saying anything he decided to forage the ships for any alcohol that might have been forgotten by one of those D-Grade actors known for drowning out the regrets of their failed careers.
Rip had gotten the same idea, but all they ended up finding were the remnants of the actors themselves. I later learned these ships were from the set of the legendary unfinished movie Plasma Raiders 3, a production enshrouded with controversy. To achieve total authenticity for the great launch scene, the filmmakers had chosen to actually blast all the actors and extras into space. Only instead of renting out some real spaceships they merely strapped some spaceship-quality propulsion units onto otherwise completely fake prop ships. The results were mixed. The thrilling camera shots were fantastically unprecedented, but none of the actors survived. The rest of the movie was then set to be shot with lookalike replacement actors. During re-casts many of the investors lost interest and dropped out, being that the star-power of the lost actors was what had drawn their initial interest. The film was permanently shelved, although some spoke of revival with hushed reverence. The prop-ships eventually drifted into space and found their way to Garbotron, where they were now being raided by an immortal pair of well-seasoned travellers of time and space.
“Nothing in this one,” I heard Wilx yell. “Move on to the next.”
This went on for some time, with Rip and Wilx searching each of the ships and finding nothing. I could easily see them from my far away perch, for the ship's walls had been made of cheap particle-board and thus burned up considerably during the atmospheric transition. After awhile they returned.
“We didn't find anything and none of these ships will fly,” said Wilx bluntly. “Looks like we'll be spending the rest of eternity on a planet called Garbotron. Everyone try to find a slightly non-garbage infested patch of ground to curl up on, we're in this for the long haul.”
“I've been wearing this beard,” I said. “It doesn't seem to do anything.”
“No,” said Wilx. “The beard is not magical.”
“So the beard is useless?”
“The beard is just as powerful as everyone says, only the power comes from something much simpler than magic or voodoo.”
“What does it do?” I asked.
“It was crafted by Broog, the greatest disguise-artist ever to live. That beard is the only known perfect replica of the inimitably ridiculous beard-style invented and worn by the Grand KULMOOG Commander Flook. Anyone who wears that beard can with ease successfully impersonate the Grand Commander.”
“So?”
“Anyone who successfully impersonates the Grand Commander will find themselves in ownership of the Kroonum Union of Ladder Makers and Official Overseeing Gods, therefore in ownership of the Kroonum system itself. All you have to do is wear that beard and show up on Lincra and you'll be immediately showered with money, power and whatever species of sexual partner is your most genetically accurate match!”
“Haha!” yelled Rip. “We're rich! I mean we're way richer than we used to be! Forget about that goblin Reg and his uptight courtroom scene! Let's keep the beard for ourselves and go live the good life on Lincra! Which type of grapes do you plan on having your slaves feed to you? Green or red? I'm thinking green but I'm not entirely sold--”
“Why is the beard made from third-rate products that cause leprosy?” I asked, ignoring the dilemma of the grapes. “If this Broog character is such a big deal, I mean.”
“Who knows,” replied Wilx. “Maybe Broog made the beard as a prank.”
“A prank?”
“Broog is known for taking pranks too far.”
At once a voice boomed from the sky. The creature this voice belonged to did not want us living the good life, or any life at all. The disembodied voice belonged to Fralgoth, notorious intergalactic thief of voodoo antiquities.
“Greetings,” announced the evil voice of Fralgoth. “I see by your joyous celebration that you have located the coveted Beard of Broog. I'll be taking that now.”
“No!” yelled Rip. “We decided to keep it for ourselves! Get lost!”
“Where is he anyway?” whispered Wilx. “The sky is completely empty.”
As if he heard these quiet words (which he had, being that his ship was fully equipped with Whisper-Reduction Satellites) Fralgoth turned off his ship's cloaking device . Suddenly a villainous ship appeared before us.
“What a poorly designed ship,” said Rip. “Look at the landing flaps, positioned a few degrees too much to the left. You could never hope to successfully slingshot around a proto-star and still have enough momentum to sideways time-travel through a wormhole without slowing down and ending up in limbo between dimensions for a few lifetimes. What a dumb ship.”
“Who cares,” said Wilx. “It's a working ship. That means we can leave. We don't need it for doing impossible stunts, we only need it to fly to the nearest planet that sells ships like that. Then we take the beard to Lincra and live like gods.”
“I've been a god. I want more. Besides, you think Fralgoth is going to offer a ride?”
“No. We're going to steal his ship.”
“One would have to kill Fralgoth to do that.”
“Then today's the day Fralgoth dies.”
It wasn't the day. He was killed a week later. We decided to procrastinate and spend some time drawing up plans and blueprints. Also we had to first chase him down across much of the planet. After all the effort, we weren't even the ones to kill Fralgoth. I'll skip ahead to that part.