Damn it to the sssseventh hell. I am sssswayed.
I don’t trussst Captain Falkayn’sss motivesss any further than I can throw up (these daysss, that’sss a ssscant eighty meters, thanksss to the reflux), sssince they ssseem to be founded on warm, fuzzy, touchy-feely notionsss of camaraderie and the boundlessss optimism of as-yet-unrealized potential. All of which ssstrikess this cold-blooded Reptiloid as dissstassstefully… human. Bleccchh.
But my nesssst-brother Nixon has brought up sssseveral exxxcellent pointss, as has the sssurprisingly clever Ssssubroutine Mulder. (Not bad for ninessscore liness of code, good show!) And when it comes down to it, I shall not give up my principlesss. One day, I shall exact payment from Captain Pedge, but on that day, it will be in the Pit of Reconciliation, we’ll be naked and chained together beneath the all-encompassssing winking ssssphincter of Flatusss, and jusssstice will be ssserved and the tadpolesss quieted. (Or, by then, they will have grown their limbs and gotten the hell out of my hot tub and found gainful employment off my goddamned ship.)
Pedge has sssupporters, ship-captainsss with whom I have no quarrel. I will not fight them. Not out of cowardice (Firepower of 38, HP of 168, Luck of 56? I fly no chicken-coop, my friendsss), but out of an abhorrence for sssenssselesss wassste. I can not bring myssself to fight on behalf of Pedge, that would be perverssse beyond my capacity to ssstomach. Ssso no Mission 1 nor Mission 2 for the Flatulent Deity.
The ssssudden, unforessseen departure of the Outlaw Ssssenessscent Wanderer onto Sssuicide Run #3 ssstartled me. My firssst (and nearly irresissstable) impulsssse was to follow El-Esssk’s battle cry of “L’Eeeeroyyy J’En Kinssss” and drop every joule of dessstructive force the Deity carriesss onto the Sssscylla and its cloud of pet gnatsss, probably resulting in the Deity becoming as formlessss, incandessscent, and sssupernatural as its namesssake before too much (if any) damage was visited upon the Ssscylla. And maybe that wouldn’t be too bad an outcome. We all sssusspect (and sssome professs to know) that the Ssscylla is coming for usss ssooner or later, and it’sss only a matter of time before we have to engage that dread dreadnought. Mayhap the Wanderer and the Deity could sssoften the Ssssscylla flotilla up sssufficiently to make our advance attack worthwhile to the overall effort.
But I don’t think ssso. My closssesst analyssiss of the available intelligence revealss no actual data regarding the Ssscylla herself, her ssstrengthss and weaknesssess, how many Hit Pointss she carriesss, nothing. And the Wanderer and I are Outlawsss, and thusss unable to approach without attracting the attention and ssstingersss of the gnat-cloud. Not to mention the Matter Disssruptor. I fear, even with the Deity and more at her back, the Wanderer will have no real posssitive effect at all. El-Esssk is taking the Wanderer down the privy where I dare not follow, on a not-very-consssequential but probably briefly dazzlingly luminousss journey to oblivion. And I do deplore the wasssste.
Godsss damn it, L’Eeeeroyyy.
Misssionss one through three are thuss eliminated from my consssideration. What remainss is an insssult, an outrage, and an egregiousss misssallocation of resssourcess. A ship ass mighty as the Deity, babysssitting a talent-free “entertainer” while he mugss and fornicatess his way through the ssslummier partss of the galaxy, merely in an attempt to improve his “ssstreet cred”?
It fills me with the urge to defecate!
I had resigned myssself to sssimply ssitting out thisss round in a petulant sssnit disssguised as a principled ssstance, until I remembered the horrific 5 Grit penalty for doing ssso.
And ssso it is that I grit my fangss and drum my clawsss on the dashboard and disssgussstedly commit to Mission #4: Preserve the Ssoft Hide of the Holo-Sssstar.
As long as he claimss to want to “work with the orphans and under-privileged sssandfish gutterss,” I’m putting him to work feeding these goddamned polliwogsss.
Pedge! To you I extend the hand of truce, until sssuch time as we can sssettle our ssscore privately.
Accounting for I.M.V. Flatulent Deity:
Beginning balance: $50,000.
Miner’sss Hard Hat (will it fit atop my bolero?): $10,000
Hull Densssity upgrades (to 168HP): $24,000.
Zot Gunsss: $5,000.
Sssscramblersss: $5,000.
Charitable Contribution to the Sssstarboard Home for Indigent Polliwogsss: $4,000.04 (they pay no interessst, but rather enjoy pulling the damp banknotess over their headsss like blanketss)
Reward paid equally to the sssseven would-be Pete ssssaviors: $1,499.96 (that’s $214.28 paid directly to the Cobra II, Ssssenessscent Wanderer, Pussssillanimous Patty, Muddlin’ Through, DubDub, First Post1, Jewel of the Desert)
Mission 4: $500
Not one thin dime left over.