Vengeance of the Cheesy Fanfic Crossover
An Oddity...
Authored by Andy Mucha (andym@owt.com)
Co-authored by Jared Waddell (rick696@mail.excite.com)
Welcome! Dramatic pause... crickets chirp in the background. Um, well,
hello and welcome to our fic. The first either of us has worked on
together (not explicetly anyways, we've worked together before).
WARNING: Do NOT take this fic serious, it contains elements, characters,
and ideas copyrighted by People Who Are Not Us. This is purely for
over-the-top fun. If you aren't laughing at the humor, or the ludcrious
stupidity of this fic, we've failed. How we can fail at being stupid is
really beyond us.
Uh, yeah. Anyway, we can applease everyone! Wing Commander Fans! Star
Trek Fans! Anime Fans! Manga Fans! Painted Decorational Fans!
Sidestep... doesn't have any Fans!
Enojy.
---------------
Part 1 of the Vengeance of the Cheesy Fanfic Crossover....
Begins.
---------------
Ranma Voice Over:
Space. Think of a big inky blackness with... Umm. No. Think of the
biggest thing you can think of, say, a '75 Cadillac El Dorado... and
imagine that it is about the size of your... Umm. No.
Space. The final... Oh, that's copyrighted? Damn!
Space. A big, dark, scary place filled with weird aliens. I think.
Anyway, imagine space. Imagine a fleet of hundreds of vicious battle
ships armed to the teeth with- wait. Where's the fleet?!!
Ryoga Voice Over:
I think it's over there.
Ranma VO:
Shut up P-chan!
Ryoga VO:
Hey! You want to start something?!!
Ranma VO:
(grumble) Alright. Just imagine a big space fleet of hundreds of
heavily armed carriers, frigates, command ships... you get the idea.
We're not there.
Ryoga VO:
It's not my fault.
Ranma VO:
I didn't say it was, P-chan. Anyway, WE are back in the middle of
nowhere without any support ships in sight, heading for the TCS Durankov
for our top-secret mission to take down the Kilrathi empire. Apparently
the new skipper will show us what's up, assuming he ever arrives, we're
due to wait some three weeks before he gets out here. Go figure. Hey!
Where are we now?
Outside the shuttle, four scantly clad women (wearing grass skirts
of all things) are dancing some strange dance appearing to be part of a
local ritual of some kind. A roast pig is nearby. Ryoga's eyes widen.
Ranma VO:
And so it begins... Hey P-chan, I'm feeling hungry.
Ryoga VO:
AND FOR THAT YOU SHALL DIIIEEEEE!!!
Sounds of fighting ensue as the shuttle tries to tear itself apart.
-----
A few Months Before.....
Somewhere, in a mysterious dark room, in a mysterious location,
surrounded by myseriously heavily armed guards, with myserious guard
dogs eating myserty meat.... OKAY, WE GET THE FUCKING POINT!!!!!
Anyway, in the darkened room, Three strange men sat discussing their
sinister plans and dreadful plots, then switched to talking about the
delays in the release of Star War episode 1...... WHOOPS, wrong room.
Anyhow, in a similar room, three men sat talking,OKAY!?!!?!?!?
Evil Man In Shadows #1 spoke. "So, how is the war going?"
EMIS#2 reponded in a mysterious tone. "War?, What war... OOOHHHH,
that war."
EMIS#3 whached him on the head.
EMIS#2 quickly recovered and said, "Well, not too bad actually, we
only lost two Carriers recently and the fleet is pushing the cats out of
Tarus sector." He then shuffled through his papers.
EMIS#3 glanced at said papers and suddenly jumped to his feet. "Wait
a minute, your thumb is obscuring part of the report, and.... YOU IDIOT,
that sector map is upside down!!!"
EMIS#2 sweated nervouly. "UHH, Ohhh!!"
EMIS#3 started screaming. "According to this, we've lost Four
Carriers, and the cats are pushing us out of Tarus!!!" 'You incompetent
bastard' was about to follow, when EMIS#1 spoke up.
"It is no longer a concern. A secret plan is about to come to
fruitition that will make -you're- failures obsolete. And how goes the
new carrier class construcion?" An Evil Eye(tm) pined EMIS#2 in his
seat. Helpless, he said the first thing that came to his mind.
"Meow moew moew moew moew-" FX: Sound of fist hitting head.
"The new carriers are..." EMIS#3 shuffled through the papers sitting
in front of him. "Are behind schedule and overbudget. We might get them
to the front line in..." Squint. "Hell freezes over? I think the
engineers are to blame." As usual, everyone blames the engineers.
*Insert engineer bashing scene here.*
"We do," Said #3, glancing at his papers again. "have a plan that
could give us one operational carrier... at a small cost."
Intrigued, EMIS#1 looked up from kicking #2 in the ribs. "One? What
are the costs."
"It will be underfitted, underarmed, crewed by a bunch of morons and
idiots guranteed to fill the ship with endless wierdness." In a low
voice. "It could spread chaos through whichever sector we choose to put
it."
Catching #3's drift, and #2's neck, #1 picks up on the idea. "Even
at my ex-wife's house... Hmmm. Proceed wi- Wait! Could we insert the
carrier behind anime-er... enemy lines?"
#2 chokes a bit, then lifts his head off the table. "We have a
possible solution there, sir. We have been searching for just such a
crew of idiots, and a fool to lead them. They can make do with the
carrier, even in it's partially constructed state. We just haven't quite
been able to find the leader."
"I'm sure we have someone-"
"Yes, I -know- we do. We just can't -find- him." #2 squeaked.
"Who is this person?" #3 breathed on #2 with a hiss.
"Someone who's insane, someone who knows how to fight against a
million to one odds. Someone who knows how to blow things up. Someone...
with a cheese fetish."
Two gasps filled the room.
"No!" EMIS#3 shreeks.
EMIS#1 followed. "You don't mean...!"
Just then, the secretary burst into the room. "Sirs! Some James Rahn
is here to see you, and what looks suspiciously like a path of death and
destruction has followed him into the building."
EMIS#3 regained his evil composure. "Where is he now? And what are
the guards doing with him?"
"The guards are... dead sir. He's just waiting outside."
Displaying courage (or stupidy) beyond the bounds of ordinary
humans, #3 opened his mouth. "Send him in."
The secretary left, and then in walked James Rahn in a conservative
black business suit, with an MP5 in one hand, and a sandwich of some
sort in the other, which he was aparently in the process of eating, and
started speaking with an english accent. "Pardon me, would you happen to
have any cheddar cheese?"
The three evil men were speechless.
James mumbled to himself, then looked at the camera. "I am in the
right place, aren't I?"
EMIS#1 chose that moment to start mumbling about the gates and
coming of the great ones in a zombie-like monolouge.
EMIS#2, despite his injuries, straightend himself out, and dusted
off his clothes. Then he tried to look distinguished and evil at the
same time, failing in both miserably.
EMIS#3 re-gained the ability to speak. "Er... Well, we have a
mission for you."
"I'm listening. But the if word 'cheese' does not become an often
used part of your vocabulary, I'm going to another restaraunt."
EMIS#1: "... the gate is the key, he will come... use the key... the
gate is the restaraunt. Restaraunt?" A simple confused look sufficed in
place of actually asking a question.
In the silence that followed, James brushed back his all-too-short
hair like Cloud from FF7 and waited.
EMIS#1 brushed himself off in the same manner as number 2 did
earlier, and tried to assume the same blend of distingushed and evil,
with a little more sucess.
A minute passed. James scratched the back of his head. "Umm, this
_is_ a restaraunt, isn't it? Who do you want me to kill?"
Blank stares.
"Mafia?"
EMIS#3 stupidly opened his mouth. "Actually we're the Evil Men In
Shadows, and we were planning your re-entrance into Confed fleet to lead
a secret mission on a new carrier to vanquish our mort-"
"Does this involve cheese?"
EMIS#3, thinking. More than a fetish, truly an obsession! Out loud.
"It can..."
"Lead a group of doomed people on a hopeless mission to win a war
some three years before Blair is supposed to-OOPS! Sorry about ruining
the plot to Wing Commander III. Anyway, if it doesn't have cheese, I'm
not interested." He thinks about all the action, and is tempted, but
cheese wins over blood.
"We can give you many tons of cheese i-WHEN you get back."
Oh well, cheese tastes better. "'Bought time I paid a visit to
planet Wisconson." He turned around as if to leave, then spoke over his
shoulder in an overly-dramatic manner. "I'll do it."
EMIS#1 looked a little concerned. "Shouldn't we have told him about
the mission, or at least the crew. Or at least WHERE THE HELL THE SHIP
IS?!!!"
From the hallway, James turned back. "Don't worry, I already know."
Amazed, EMIS#3 asked. "How?!!"
A grin. "A little voice in my head told me."
After James left, EMIS#2 voiced his concern through two fat lips. "I
don't like the way that man thinks."
"Don't worry, we can control him using the cheese." EMIS#3 supplied
more answers than necessary. Many more. "And he'll deal with the crew.
It's not like he'd believe us or anything."
The trio grined, then chuckled for moment, then burst out in evil
cackling laughter. After several minutes, the cackling was reduced to
violent fits of coughing.
The camera fades out.
-----
James Rahn, the world's most dangerous man, continued to attempt to
brush the dust off his suit with his left hand while his right fished
for the keys to his door. His left wasn't having much luck, as this was
the sticky type of dust created by close range nuclear
explosions. _Damn,_Bloodstains_are_easy_to_wash_out_. It's_this_new_
mico-nuclear_crap_that's_murder_on_my_clothes_! He thought as he
finally located the keys. Unlocking the door, James entered his
apartment.
James' apartment was six by six meters square, very compact but
efficiently organizied, not appearing claustrophobic, but rather giving
the impression of space. Comforting. Not the the sort of place you would
associate with the man who single-handedly defeated the Chinese 6th Army
using only a toothpick.
Rahn walked across the apartment to the closet, threw it open,
grabbed a suitcase (a gift from a certain British secert-agent) the one
with more 'special' options than the most advanced hotdog stand in New
York City, the ST 2600 armor-plated assault model, and threw it open.
James quickly yet carefully packed the case with military precision,
loading it with a few sets of his normal clothes, a formal suit, a
military uniform, a large black trenchcoat with unusal bulges in it,
which folded up, was still the size of a compact car, and a few
toiletries. unfortunatly, the suitcase was so heavy James couldn't lift
it off the bed. Then he relized that perhaps he shouldn't have loaded
the trenchcoat, what with the ceramic armor plating, lead-impact
plating, M-60 machine gun, nickel-plated shotgun, twin Uzis, .45 caliber
pistols, customized Desert Eagle magnums, throwing knives, grapping
hook, rocket launcher, laser disruptor, cluster bombs, hand grenades,
flachette rifle, various shotgun shells and other ammunition, and the
secret toothpick.
James thought about it for a few seconds, shrugged, attached a
Anti-Grav (AG from now on) unit to the case, which now weighted about
sixty tons, and then said, "And now, to the weapons."
At that second, a black-clad assasin dropped out of the closet and
attacked Rahn from behind. Rahn, without even turning around, snapped
out a knife-hand blow that struck the assailent on the side of the neck,
killing him instantly.
_Fourth_time_this_week_and_it's_not_even_Moday_yet_. He was slightly
annoyed, but then without a second though about this sudden attack, he
pushed a hidden button on the wall. Instantly, a mechanized gun rack
loaded with weapons that any aspiring army would be proud to have,
lowered from the ceiling. Rahn walked over to the rack and began to
calmly load high-tech instruments of death into a heavily-armored trunk.
About half way through, he gave the body a second though. walking
over to it, he quickly searched the corpse. _Rats, no gum_. Rahn sighed
heavily as he arranged the body to look like he had passed out
meditaiting, then when back to loading.
_The 18-incher from the Yamato; a piece of rubble from the Columbia
Center Mall; a piece of the hull of that gunship Takona was in; What...
the fifth detonator switch? So that's where it was. Guess I didn't have
to activate that bomb while still in the building. One of Ed's little
toys; good thing I took that away before he did any REAL damage.
Evangelion Techical Blueprints, Book of the Dammed, Cheeseor Summon
Materia, the Sidestep trillogy.... Hmm,why does that sound familiar?_
While James had been thinking this, he loaded all the weapons, AND
disposed of a least a dozen highly-trained assaisins while doing it.
_Well,_guess_it_time_to_go_do_my_duty; _for_life,_liberty,_and_the_
pursuit_of_CHEESE_!!! With that, James Rahn headed for the door,
stepping over various corpses and disposing of three more assasins on
the his way out of the apartment.
-----
"Is everything ready for the Captain's arrival?" asked Master
Gunnery Sergent Edward Flemming as he paced nervouly across the Main
bridge of the TCS Durankov.
"I guess so, Ed." replied Communications Officer John Baker, who was
presently enguaged in the self-appointed duty of driving the Confed Navy
completely insane with his wild conspiricy theories.
"I guess so? I guess so?! _I_GUESS_SO_?!!" Ed was screaming by
now. The bridge crew, having witnessed such outburses before in the past
several weeks, instictivily dove for cover and began to pray to their
creator. Fortunatly, for the universe in genral, The second most
dangerous man in it quickly regained his control. _I_have_every_
reason_to_go_berserk_though_. Ed thought casually, _after_all,
_most_of_our_crew_don't_know_our_new_captain,_and_they're
_not_taking_this_"training cruise" _seriously_enough_.
Ed knew exactly what the captain was capable of; he had helped him
in about half of the more notable incidents. In fact Rahn was one of the
few friends that Ed knew was still alive. This, however, did nothing to
calm his fears. For where James went, destruction followed. That, and a
seemigly endless wave of assasins and attacker begging to be killed. And
when Ed combined this knowledge with what he knew about this ship and
crew.....
The Master Gun shuttered involuntarily; But insided him was a
growing excitment; Everyone else was already here, even a few who he
though had been killed already. Soon it would begin. So would the
destruction, chaos, madness, and
mayhem. _And_all_for_the_sake_of_cheese_....
Still, despite the fact he was a pyro-mainac at heart, he was a
little nervous. Simply because he knew their Captain usally made a big
entrance. Explosions, Gunbattles, hand-to-hand fights to the death,
etc. And he was taking _no_ chances this time.
He again addressed John. "'I guess so' isn't going to cut it. I want
everyone to double-check everything; the barbwire, minefields,
Mass-driver mini-gun nest, trenches, artillary emplacements, and the
tiger pits." Ed said in a low voice that speaks of one who suffers fools
daily.
Turning his back without waiting for a repliy, Ed walked towards the
other side of the bridge. Of course a few things remain the same over
the years, and some things change. This was also very true in the case
of Ed Flemming. In fact one of the few thing that had remained the same
about Ed was his 6' foot height. In fact this wasn't even Ed's original
body; that had been destroyed in the Second battle of Pluto a few years
back. (Author butting in: Okay, I just want to say I'm going to have to
be blunt and just give you an acurate description of Ed. So it's not
original; Bite me.)
Ed, as was said before, was 6' tall; 7'9" if you counted the extra
foot plus of spiky jet-black hair that was sticking staight up and back
like a person who was being continually electrocuted; while a single
streak of white interruped the black field. His entire body seemed to be
made of hardened, well formed muscle. He wore a midnight blue-black
jumpsuit and a pair of iron-black boots. His hands were covered with
black gaunlet gloves with blood-red edges. However the most impressive
piece of his wardrobe was his armor.
The armor was made up of a vest/breastplate with shoulderpads. The
breastplate was made in the ancient style conforming to the muscles
beneath the plate, with a high collar at the base of the neck. The
stomach was covered by horizontal strips of a stiff, kevlar-like
material designed to be flexable. The strips also made up most of the
lower back as well. A pair of interlocking plates protected the upper
back.
The shoulder plates were strung with the same strips as the rest of
the suit, each cover jutting out a good eight or so inches, making
doorways a major obstactle (but any doorway Ed viewed as an obstacle
could be easily dealt with a smallish Ki blast). The guards sprung
upwards as well, to better facilitate easy movement of the arms. To
match the rest of the armor accurately, the black stripes were lined
with almost invisible silver-colored strips, and matching scrollwork
done on the remaining armor, drawing out painstakingly detailed scenes
of gunbattles in various locales.
John, on the other hand, made Ed look almost... normal. Well, it
wasn't hard for Baker to look werid compared to... well, anyone. During
the first of the aforementioned battles of Pluto some years back, John's
human body had been destroyed and he had made the request of Ed to bring
him back as a veloceoraptor. This meant there was a fairly well-sized
carnivorus dinosaur in charge of Communications to the ship, something
which did not help the crew's already weakened sanity.
Suddenly every alarm on the bridge started going off, including
several that weren't suppose to be there. Ed snapped out of his Internal
Chaos Introspection Mode (Tm) into his external one and yelled out "WHAT
THE HELL IS GOING ON???" In his extremely calm controlled mode.
"We have an unidetified object approaching us from Sector 256.3.
Putting it on the Main viewer." said the Ensign on duty.
All eyes go to the Main Viewscreen. It flickered with snow for a
minute before filling with an image of....
A ludiciously deformed alien tenticle appearing to assault a naked
human--
"JOHN!!!" Ed was not amused.
"Sir!" A.T. field detected!" Pattern is Blue! Angel confirmed!!!"
yelled another tech.
The noise that followed brought to mind the image of a Cadillac El
Dorado running into a rhinocerous at over a hundred miles per hour.
Except it was amplified about ten times here.
"Ok!" said Ed as he brushed off his armour. "What the hell is REALLY
going on now?!?!"
The main viewer suddenly lit up with the image of a Medium-sized
shuttle. It has been painted Jet-Black with Nova-white flames running
down the sides. It has also seen better days, what with the burned and
crumpled hull plates and all.
"Sir, we are being hailed by the shuttle." said Ensign#2 with a note
of appreheion in his voice.
Ed sighed. _This,_if_my_luck_continues_to_run_true_to_form_today,
_is_the _captain_. Ed barked the order to put the hail on the main
viewer and (following standard Sidestep operating procedure) prepared
for the worst. He was not disappointed.
The 'captain' appeared to be wearing a fighter pilot's helmet from
the Star Wars prop set, with the blast sheid down. He was yelling into
the mike at full volume, the very words indeciferable due purely to
their volume.
This yelling, was of course (per standard Sidestep operating
procedure outlined above) being amplified by the bridge's fifteen
million watt stereo system, which could powder all the planets in a
given solar system from a single location in the same sector.
Ed gestured, his emmense strength coming in handy to fight off the
sonic shockwaves that made the anti-everything paint peel off the walls.
_Hmm_, _formula_needs_retouching_. The Master Gun thought idly, as the
sound of several nuclear bombs detonating at point-blank range rang in
his ears.
[This is red two, I'm going dooooooowwwn!!!!!!] A voice shouted over
the com.
"Give him permission to land, and tell him I expect a full
explanation once he's on board." No need to indicate which of the
carrier's flight deck's would be used. Only one was open, cleaned and
removed of any ordinance (it payed to be safe around James Rahn...
sometimes). Ed went to get the extra- er, officer's in place as the
shuttle erratically altered it's course as though trying to shake enemy
fighters, firing in random directions. Ed wasn't worried about a stray
shot hitting the ship though.
BANG!!!
"And raise the shield until he stops playing around." Ed stepped
into a closet, waited for a second, then red-faced, walked into the
elevator. _If_ they_move_this_thing_ONE_MORE_TIME_....
Ed's thoughts drifted out of range as John futilely tried to hail
the shuttle, which was now flipping haphazardly through space on a
direct collision course with the carrier, aparently heedless of the
pressing danger. John's actions finally released some fruits as James
actually responded to John's most recient hail, a triple-threat to send
baby pictures of James across the ship while playing barney music, and
something even more humiliating and horrific. Wanting to see this force
of destruction from the inside, in one piece, James flipped up the blast
shield on his helmet and responded.
[This is Captain James R. Rahn, reporting for duty on board the
TCS Durankov per Evil Me-- er Admiral Handleton's signed
order's. Requesting permission to land.]
John growled, indicating he had permission to land, provided he
didn't destroy the Durankov in the process. He then growled back his
luck, saving greetings for latter. Then he clicked the ship's intercom
twice (clicking is military term used often, when the mike button of a
walkie-talkie is pushed quickly, causing a 'click' on the other end),
meaning: lower shields and brace for impact. The meaning could not be
separated as lower shields would always have to be followed by brace for
impact, whether from James at the helm, or from iminent enemy attack.
If it wasn't one thing, it was another.
Opening scene: The carrier deck. Think Star Wars. Big, open space,
mirror-polished black floor, dozens troops in dress uniforms neatly
standing in row after row. All expecting the worse, of course, but not
knowing how to deal with it. They were only extras, after all.
The shuttle apruptly stopped it's space gymnastics about fifty
meters from the hull of the ship, and abruptly began a smooth glide
through the open bay doors.
Cue empire theme music.
With a hiss and venting of hot steam, the shuttle came to a clean
rest, utterly unscathed.
The gangway slowly decended from the ships lower portion, revealing
nothing but shadows. As the hatch was opening, Ed seethed inwardly.
_The_ _fools, _heh_. Another look at the ship. _And_just_when_did
_he_have_time_to_ _paint_the_thing??? Ed's mood got a little
better. Some things just never changed. It was good those were the
things that pleasently surprised him.
Four seconds after the gangplank reached the flight deck, the sounds
of gunfire and shouting begain pouring out of the shuttle like cheap
booze.
Ed was quick to get his troops organized. "Stand right there!" He
then went on to gather his rear support. "Ready the mass driver
mini-guns, put up the barbwire, prepare the artillary emplacements." Ed
stood for a second, readying his video camera for James' Dramatic
Entrance (tm).
Said action hero came flying out of the open hatch like he was lying
on a couch. An invisible couch. In mid-air. Firing blindly at something
which only he could so far see. The words 'cover fire' and an awful lot
of cussing followed the former assassin to the ground, as James dropped
the .50 calber pistols he had been weilding fircely in favor of
something with a little more punch.
The artillary emplacements opening up turned the formerly ordered
flight deck into a delicious scene of chaos as the shreking of James'
fully automatic, 120mm flachette laucher opened up. The mass-drivers
were already beginning to whine as James skipped over the minefield,
barely aware of the explosives planted beneath his feet.
Not that he missed all of them. In fact, he only missed one. The
droning of ground explosives gave way to the wail of mass driver fire as
the shuttle was blown to pieces on the flight deck, showering over the
soldiers not already dead or running into the barbwire, the tiger pits,
and the now actively bouncing and booming mines. James turned, then
zigged and zagged back into the field of fire as bits of the shuttle
were kicked around like toothpicks in front of a twister. He shouted
something incoherent, then grabbed what appeared to be a thermos out of
the air.
While James went for his twin tommy guns, Ed was... just standing
there, in the typical sayijin pose of superiority. Meaning crossed arms,
closed eyes, and no visible movement save for breathing. A small smile
threatened to lift the left corner of his mouth while the right side was
safe, due to a parculiar biological quirk in the strongest sayijin
warriors.
The artillary reloaded in rounds, as Ed had ordered them too, the
yet-unseen enemy was wreaking havoc with the front-- err, fourth rear
lines. As a single Ki blast cleared most of the hundred foot barbwire
fence, Ed opened one eye to see James hanging in mid-air, his arms
somehow cocked back over his shoulder, firing almost blindly over the
carrier deck, which was now doing a remarkable imitation of a field of
debris. (Feel free to hum the Field of Dreams song if you wish, I really
don't care at this point). The smirk stuck Ed with it's full force.
James was looking slowly downward as he came to belatedly realize
that he wasn't quite going to clear the tiger pits. He dropped the
gattling gun and ten gauge duck blaster he had been holding, favoring
the air for it's kind texture, it's forgivable-
There was much growling as James hit the bottom of the tiger pit.
Shamefully, it came mostly from James.
Ed raised both eyebrows and decided to end the games, gently lifting
one finger from his right hand as though to catch a single winter
snowflake.
If things were chaos before, words could not describe the explosion
of light that filled the bay as a ki blast rivaling the awsome power of
the MACE tactical nuclear warhead erupted from under James, the tigers,
and pretty much anything not welded down.
A single male body came flying out of the tiger pit, the bodies of
the extra's forming some semblence of abstract art from Ed's point of
view. James cocked his head in that maddening fashing, and landed
lightly in front of Ed. Two seconds later, he chucked the thermos
(whose purpose Ed couldn't even begin to guess) to one side, then
collasped to the floor in front of Ed.
Silence reigned for a moment.
"Getting a little slow in your old age, James?" Ed said with a low
edge to his sarcasm-filled voice.
"Well, I was looking for some kicks."
"Kicks?" Galaxies shattered from the force of Ed's single, disdanful
word. "And just _who_ where you firing at?"
"Like I said. I was looking for...
kicks." He slowly stood.
"Heh, I knew. Been a while." Ed put his back to James, then stopped,
sensing another prescence in the room. An unfamiliar prescence.
"Uh, Lieutenant Ranma Saotome, reporting for pilot duty."
Ed raised one eybrow, seeing a throughly soaked young man in dress
uniform standing next to Rahn. His expression was lost on the newly
arrived officers. "Welcome on board. Lt. Hibiki will be around to show
you the ship, James. I'll see you on the bridge."
"He made it? But how?! We lost him back in that underground palace
with the snake-guy and all those women..." To Ed, Ranma's voice faded
into silence as he left the carrier's number four flight deck.
"I know, I know. But you _said_ he had a bad sense of direction, and
if that big guy with the sword hadn't shown up, I'd have had 'em!"
"Yeah right." Snorted Ranma. "You were as good as dead."
"I was waiting for the dramatic music to rise."
"The only thing rising back there was your blood pressure."
"I noticed Ryouga had the problem as well."
Ranma chuckled in spite of himself. "Yeah, that happens."
"Over you?"
Ranma refused to respond to that.
"Well, Ed there, is the second most dangerous man in the universe."
James pointed at the door Ed had left through, which was now decorated
with neon lights and electric signs proclaiming 'Girls Girls
Girls'. James blinked. "I'm better than him."
Ed poked his head back through the doorway, his thumb and forefinger
held in front of his face, the two digits nearly touching. "By -this-
much, hotshot, and that's going to change."
"Yeah, I'll bet he'll need those fingers later."
The universe was destoryed.
In a nearly identical alternate universe...
Ed shrugged and turned back to the corridor, James glanced back at
the... gambling tables? He shook his head. This place needed some
work. "You saw what he did to the flight deck."
"You know, if you haden't spilled that water in the first place,
none of this would have been necessary, and we could've both walked out
at the same time."
"If you'd just quit bitching about that curse in the first place,
water wouldn't seek it's revenge like that all the time."
A battle aura flared. "How was I supposed to know that it was
water-based life form, and that it would be insulted by the words,
'cheese danish'?"
"Cheese has power you cannot begin to comprehend, boy."
"About damn time you two got here!" Two heads swiveled in unison.
A tall figure with a rough, handsome face was approaching from some
doorway or another. He wore a black flight vest with brown pants, and
had a yellow bandanna with blacks dots holding back his long black hair,
that was in a perpetural state of disarry. The black vest had a single
matching yellow stripe that kept the ensomble out of the realm of the
utterly ridiculous, provided you didn't notice the large backpack he was
carrying with a metallic (hey, depleted uranium, it's the only way to
go!) umbrella.
James smirked. Smirked again. Then realized he'd already done this
scene and laughed out loud.
A pair of brown eyes narrowed on James. "Captain, I'm here to show
you around the ship."
Said Captain stopped laughing.
Ranma chuckled at James' fortune. "Speaking of curses."
"Shut up."
Ryouga shook his head. "This way." Guesturing at the still open bay
doors.
James groaned.
-----
Somewhere, in a galaxy far, far away.
"I told you we should have turned left back at that last halway."
Echoed one voice from around the corner of some nondescript, mostly
white corridor.
A second voice echoed around the bend, this one coming
closer. "You've been saying that for the last three junctions."
"And by the look of it, I was right, but nooooo. You had to go
galavanting off after that blonde with the gigantic porker." James
calling something 'gigantic' usually requested the attention of all
present, and hence, the only two present, walked into view, still
arguing about directions. Something only the male of this particular
species could do with such utterly useless and unproductive vigor (since
there was no way in the nine hells they were going to _ask_ someone for
directions).
One was a little taller than the other, but with about the same
build, clad in a black trenchcoat that bulged in the most unsual places.
The other wore a large weathered backpack topped by a
strange-looking umbrella, wearing a yellow bandanna, and a brownish
traveling cloak.
Now that you know who these two are, enter the Lord of the Sith.
A rhaspy voice addressed the bickering pair, grinding them to a halt
at the sight of a tall man wearing black armor over every inch of his
body with a flowing black cape. A tubular object was in his right hand,
loosely resembling a flashlight. "Where is he?" The matallic voice
stated.
A pair of 'Who?' came from the confused duo.
"That boy." Rolling eyes. "The one called Sky-"
"If you'd give us a description, we could help."
From a distant corridor, sounds of yelling and gunfire could be
heard. A young woman's voice rang out above the others'. "Luke! It's a
trap!"
The man rushed off in a hustle of black polyester and hissing
breathing noises.
Shrugging in unison, the two interlopers headed on in their journey,
once again arguing.
Sometime later, they came to a vista over looking a good portion of
the city in the clouds, and could make out two someones fighting with
glowing blades in a room in the distance.
"I SAID UP!!! UP DOES NOT MEAN DOWN!!!!"
"And do you think we went down?" Responded the bandanna-clad
warrior.
"I MEAN- OH SHUT UP!!!" They left the city.
In pieces.
Look for part two soon.
This story can be found... everywhere!
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geocities.com/rick_spiff)