The Best Laid Plans of Vegetation and Cybernetic Beings

Part 6

Captain's Log, Intergalactic Date, 676769.56.

Thanks to an altercation between our chief of security – who, for the record, was just doing his job, albeit a bit enthusiastically – and Prince Petru of Clicha, our peace mission has gotten more challenging than ever. Prince Petru has challenged Lieutenant LaFuentes to a duel for the palm of Lieutenant Loreli. No amount of diplomacy, scolding or simple horse sense can sway the infatuated prince from his obsession. I've brought together my senior officers and Councilman Edor to determine what to do next.

The iGotThis class vessels had three rooms that connected to the bridge: the captain's Ready Room, a briefing room and the all-species head. The head was currently occupied by Gel O'Tin, but that's probably TMI, so let's turn our attention to the briefing room, where Captain Tiberius, Doctor Pasteur, Lieutenant LaFuentes, Lieutenant Loreli, Ensign Doall, and Councilman Edor sat around a barbell-shaped table to discuss what they should do with a problem like Petru.

"I'm telling you, Boss, I can take him. Five minutes in the ring. I'll bring on the pain and fear." He cracked his knuckles, which indeed bore the tattoos PAIN and FEAR.

"We can't afford to humiliate the crown prince," Jeb said. He cast a look at Edor, who nodded agreement.

"This is a duel to the death," Edor said.

"And no one is dying or getting killed on my ship over a romcom, got it?"

"Yes, boss," LaFuentes said.

"And don't call me 'boss.'"

"Sorry, sir."

The doctor, however, asked, "But what if LaFuentes did die?"

LaFuentes laughed at the idea, the captain said, "Maybe you outta give yourself a hearing exam, Doctor."

Pasteur held up a hypo spray. "Just hear me out. Before the fight, I give him 40cc's imposazine in a delayed-reaction dose. Once it takes effect, it produces near-death comatose symptoms."

Edor paled. "Isn't that what you gave the prince for his acne?"

"No, that was .1cc. It's all about the size of the dose. However, Enigo, you're going to wake up with the best skin of your life. Provided, of course, you can bring on the pain and fear for about 10 minutes, and then throw the fight. Not that you'd actually have much choice as you'd be slipping into a coma. But can you make it look good? Then we just cart you off to Sickbay and pretend to put you in stasis. You can nap until we're out of the system."

"And Loreli?" Jeb asked. Doall, meanwhile, had started to toy with her hair. Readers will learn that this is a key indicator that she was working on an idea and had more than 30 seconds to implement it...or rather, readers would have learned that naturally if we hadn't just told you. She leaned over to whisper to Loreli while the doctor hemmed and hawed and finally suggested something about being too grief stricken to marry.

The councilman shook his head. "Prince Petru would not allow it. After winning a duel for True Love, he would feel doubly sure of the righteousness of his actions. Besides, no self-respecting Clichan would fight such a fight then throw away the prize. He'd lose face in the council and among his subjects."

Having gotten a nod from Loreli, Ellie interjected, "Captain, I think the doctor is still onto something. Forget the imposazine. LaFuentes, you throw the fight."

"But it's to the death!"

"I don't see how this helps, Doall," Jeb said, "but I trust your brain...and your impressive collection of romance novels. What are you thinking?"

Doall blushed to learn that her secret pleasure wasn't so secret. She'd thought she'd convinced everyone that the pad she carried everywhere contained only science journals and technical manuals. Nonetheless, she spoke with a voice that was confident and professional, because to do anything less would send feminazis screaming for the author's head (as if having a "ship's sexy" isn't going to do that, anyway.)