This is the one story on this list (so far) which has not been published anywhere. The reason I do so here isn’t because I don’t think I could get it published. In fact, I think it’s one of my better stories. But it’s written for a special niche of fans, and that makes it harder to market, even though it’s pretty fun. As such, I felt it was worth it to publish it here on my website, free of charge, just to let people know the quality of story they’ll get when and if they buy my not-so-free items. One of those is the audio version of this story, which I hope you’ll find worth it after reading (or even before or instead of). With that in mind, please enjoy!

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            First officer Larry Talbot accepted the computer pad from the minotaur. Then showed it to Regolith, his gargoyle Chief Engineer.

            “Care to explain this, Lieutenant Commander?”

            The gargoyle looked at the pad, and remained stone-faced. “There’s nothing to explain, Commander,” he said, using ‘commander’ as an insult. “You reassigned my Orcs, and now, big surprise, we’re behind schedule.”

            “We’re behind schedule because you refused to train Ensign Claude,” Talbot replied.

            “He’s a Chupacabra,” Regolith replied. “I need someone with hands, not pincers!”

            At this, the minotaur huffed, reminding Talbot of his presence. “You’re dismissed, Ensign,” he said.

            The minotaur bowed and left.

            “What about Lieutenant Octavio?” Talbot tried again. “With his eight arms he’ll catch you up in no time.”

             “You ever tried to get kraken goo out of a grated deck-plate?”

            “No, I haven’t, Mr. Regolith, but you have to select someone to work in engineering, and I can’t give the Orcs back to you until they’ve finished cleaning the chronotron particles off the ship’s hull.”

            Regolith’s permanent scowl somehow got worse. “There’s no one besides the Orcs I’ll approve.” He paused. “No one qualified, anyway.”

            “Octavio is qualified,” Talbot said. “He’s assigned to you. As of right now. That’s an order.”

            “Yes, sir!” replied Regolith with sarcastic flair. He clumped off muttering, “Fucking pencil pusher!”

            Talbot ignored that. As a gargoyle, Chief Engineer Regolith could be a little… abrasive.

            “Commander Talbot?”

            He was startled by the voice. “Jesus-fuck!” he cried. Then turned around to find an innocent-looking face. “Damn it, Ensign King! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

            “I’m a bogeyman,” he said, sweetly. “It’s what I do.”

            Talbot pinched the bridge of his nose. “What is it?” he sighed.

            “You wanted me to remind you when we were coming up on planet Chula, sir,” he said.

            “Oh, yeah. Right. Thank you, King.”

            “No problem!” he replied. Then vanished into thin air.

            Talbot sighed again. It wasn’t King’s lack of military bearing that annoyed him. He just strongly suspected that the bogeyman disappeared right away to avoid receiving further orders.

            Talbot exited engineering, and headed towards the turbo-lift. He passed a troll, a wraith, a goblin, and an ogre – just a few of the various creatures found in the nightmare catalog. He’d served as XO of the Starship Macabre for two years now, and still wasn’t quite used to it. He doubted he ever would be. After all, this strange vessel was a deliberate mash-up of ‘Star Trek’ and ‘Tales From the Crypt.’ The most bizarre part – everyone on board was aware of it.

            He entered the turbo-lift, faced the closing doors, and winced. Before the doors could shut, Yeoman Elvira sauntered through. Shit!

            “Deck eleven,” she said after the doors closed.

            “Bridge,” he added.

            A moment passed before the inevitable.

            “Why, Commander,” she cooed, “you’re looking rather – human today!” Her tone was that of an anorexic describing a piece of chocolate cake.

            She was right. Talbot did look human – for now.

            “Yeoman, you’re out of uniform again.”

            Predictably, she pouted. “Aww, you’re no fun,” she said. She zipped up the front of her jumper, but didn’t pull the zipper up all the way, leaving it uncomfortably low. With her bustline, she probably couldn’t zip up all the way. “You know I’d get completely out of uniform for you.”

            “We’ve discussed this before. It’s inappropriate for officers to get involved with enlisted ranks.”

            “Mmm. you’re right,” she answered. “We have discussed this before.” The doors opened onto deck eleven. “But a girl can dream, can’t she?”

            She exited, the doors closed, and the turbo-lift whirred on towards the bridge. Talbot couldn’t fault Elvira, really. It was simply the way her character was written. He might even find her attention welcome, if she didn’t flirt like that with everyone. She was certainly no slut, that was for sure, but she used her sexuality for power more skillfully than any woman Talbot had ever met. It’s not that he didn’t take interest in sultry women. Goodness knows, he’d been smitten with Lieutenant Morticia from day one. So had every other male on board. Too bad she was so happily married to Ensign Gomez.

            The doors opened, and Talbot stepped onto the bridge. He noticed Doctor Natator, more by his fishy smell than by his green, scaly appearance.

            “Ah, number vone!” said Captain Vlad Dracula. “I’m glad you’re here. Ve are approaching the planet, now.”

            “Thank you, sir,” Talbot replied. “They really contacted us by name?”

            “They did!” the captain replied. “I don’t know vhy they vould vant to call a rogue starship like ours to them, but the hail vas definitely addressed to the Starship Macabre.” He then added, “It is a crude radio distress call.”

             “A distress call? In radio?” Talbot exclaimed. “How much longer?”

            “Helm, time to arrival?” asked the Captain.

            The Frankenstein monster at the helm answered, “Two minutes, forty-three seconds.” Because he had no actual name in Mary Shelly’s novel, he picked his own when he joined the crew. Everyone thought he should use “Frank,” but instead, he insisted on “Herb.” People familiar with the movie monster tended to assume he was a dullard who could barely speak, but “Herb” was actually quite intelligent. Talbot thought his voice sounded a bit like Homer Simpson.

             “I thought I should varn you,” said the Captain, “I feel it is necessary to approach the planet as qvickly as possible, and the most efficient path brings us on an approach wector which is on the bright side of the Chula moon. Doctor Natator is standing by. You may vant to unbutton your jacket.”

            Talbot hung his head. Here we go again. He slowly unbuttoned his jacket and braced himself for the horrible moment when he ceased to be human. Doctor Natator came up beside him, ready to act if necessary.

            Talbot was a werewolf, and that meant unique consequences when it came to space travel. If the ship were approaching Earth, and the bright side of Luna happened to be facing it, he would turn into a wolf, just like anyone would expect. But in outer space, approaching any other planet’s moon meant a werewolf would be transformed into whatever wolf analog might happen to be extant on that planet’s system. If the planet were barren, Talbot wouldn’t transform into anything, but if the planet had life, he would become a bizarre alien creature.

            To date, Talbot had transformed into a Tarkazian razor-beast, a Tiberian bat, a Klingon targ, a gorn-eater, a salt-vampire, a mugato-ape, and those were just the ones they could identify. Doctor Natator needed to be on standby in case Talbot’s transformation couldn’t breathe oxygen. If necessary, he could snap a stasis field around the Commander, and take him to sick bay until the planetary mission was over. Fortunately, that usually didn’t happen, and Talbot was nearly always able to perform his duties.

            Uniforms, on the other hand, were another matter. Talbot unbuttoning his jacket was a precautionary measure meant to prevent his entire uniform from being ripped to shreds. In truth, that was only a 50/50 shot. If the beast he transformed into wasn’t large enough to rip the uniform Hulk-style, it might be ruined due to ectoplasm or puss. He’d lost eleven uniforms already. The ship tried to avoid the bright side of any moon, but if deemed unavoidable, Talbot would endure any transformation for the sake of his crew.

            And all that was true just for planets with a single moon. Planets with multiple moons, or habitable worlds which were moons themselves, presented more complicated problems.

            The moment came. Planet Chula and its bright moon, Vista, came into view on the screen, and then…

            Nothing.

            Moments passed. In disbelief, Talbot looked at his hands. Still ten fingers. Still two opposable thumbs. No fur, feathers, or scales.

            “Holy shit!” he said.

            Dracula seemed equally surprised. “Doctor, is he still human?”

            Doctor Natator was already examining Talbot with a hand-held medical scanner. “All biological systems arrrrre human-norrrrmal, sirrr,” he replied. Since Doctor Natator was the Creature From the Black Lagoon, he always sounded as though he were gargling.

            “Wery interesting,” said the Captain.

            “I don’t understand,” said Talbot. “Why didn’t I change?”

            “Maybe this planet has no predators,” said Herb.

            “Possible,” said Dracula, “but unlikely. Every planet has predators. I think our answers lie on the planet. Helm? Standard orbit.”

            “Standard orbit, sir,” said Herb.

            “Lieutenant Imhotep? Open a channel.”

            “Thignaling tha pflanet, fir!” answered the Mummy in a muffled tone.

            “Lieutenant, I thought we agreed you would unwrap your mouth bandages while you were on duty!” barked Talbot.

            “Forry, fir! Bud if I do fat, my jhaw will pfall opff!”

            Talbot sighed. “Doctor, see to it that Lieutenant Imhotep receives a jaw graft at the earliest possible opportunity.”

            “Of course, sirrrr,” said the Creature.

            “Thannel opfhen, fir!”

            “Planet Chula, this is the Starship Macabre. Ve have responded to your hail and are in orbit overhead. Please respond.”

            A face appeared in the screen which was – indiscernible. It had a head with features, but nothing anyone would mistake for a face. It was difficult to see how this creature could be considered anything other than a crumpled piece of colored paper. “Starship Macabre!” it said. “Thank you so much for responding! I am Premier Fraysolit of the Chula United Governments. We are in desperate need of your help.”

            At least the universal translator was working. “Vhat can ve do for you?” asked the Captain.

            “I’m sorry to say so, but we’re in a state of war. And we’re losing. Our world is being attacked by an invasive species. By humans.”

            “Humans?” asked Dracula. He and Talbot exchanged a look. “How could there be humans on your vorld?”

            “It happened two centuries ago,” said the Premier. “Some humans had an unauthorized duck-blind of some sort. They were using it to study us while siphoning off our natural resources. But they were discovered. Our people attacked them and drove them out into the jungles of our most tropical continent, and there, we lost them. The jungles were too thick. We couldn’t find them all.”

            “And they’re still there?” asked the Captain.

            “Yes. Until the present century, we thought they’d died off, but apparently, they not only survived, they thrived.”

            “Why didn’t you contact the Union of Allied Planets and have them collect their people?” asked Talbot.

            “Our technology is considerably behind that of the Planetary Union,” the Premier answered. “It’s only been recently that we’ve developed radio communications. We simply didn’t have the knowledge or the ability to contact anyone. Until a few months ago, we didn’t even know the Union of Allied Planets existed.”

            “Still, once you did learn about them, you could have contacted them and asked them to remove the humans.” Talbot pointed out.

            “We tried,” answered the Premier. “But they refuse to help us. We’re not sure why. Apparently, this is all quite a scandal for them, and they would rather cover it up than fix it.”

            “Sounds like the Union,” Talbot remarked.

            “Is your lack of technology part of vhy the humans are giving you so much trouble?” asked Dracula.

            “Absolutely, yes!” said the Premier. “These humans have managed to build an impressive civilization in only two hundred years, and their weaponry is already far beyond ours.”

            “That’s why you didn’t change!” Herb said to Talbot. “On this world, humans are the wolves!”

            “Incredible!” said Talbot. “That humans could have rebuilt technology from scratch so quickly!”

            “I believe I have an explanation, sir,” said a disembodied voice. Talbot started slightly at the sound. He always did, because the Science Officer, Lieutenant Griffin, was the Invisible Man, and although Talbot knew he was probably at his console, he could never be completely sure. “The planet is rich in mineral ores and petrochemicals,” the voice continued. “It would be relatively easy for humans to find fuel, refine metals, develop plastics, and subsequently make weapons.”

            “I’m beginning to see why the Planetary Union would turn a blind eye to an illegal duck blind on a world like this,” said Talbot.

            “Furthermore,” Griffin went on, “this planet’s life is radically different from human physiology. There would simply be no diseases which would be compatible. Predators must have taken no interest in them – too unappetizing. Any predators which attacked anyway would find human weapons to be no match. With no disease and few predators, the humans would be able to breed at a prodigious rate.”

            “We estimate their population to be well over two million,” Premier Fraysolit told them.

            “Two million?!” Talbot exclaimed. “After only two centuries? How could so many humans emerge from so small a gene pool?”

            “This planet has a very strong magnetic field,” answered Griffin. “That means far less radiation can reach the surface. A dozen or so humans would be able to build a population here without significant health consequences due to genetic drift.”

            “At least twice that many escaped the duck blind,” said Fraysolit. “If the current trends don’t change, we expect them to completely overrun us within a century.”

            “Fuck me!” said Talbot.

            “So,” said Dracula, “vhat can we do to alleviate your situation?”

            “We think your…” the Premier paused, “…particular skill set could be of use to us.”

            The captain bore his fangs in a wide smile. “I see! You vant us to scare them away!”

            “Scare them, drive them back, contain them – even subjugate them, if you will! Just keep them at bay! Our southern jungle continent is lost. We will give you that continent as a place to live. It will be designated a new member of the United Governments. You will all be granted citizenship on this planet, and be legally shielded from the Planetary Union’s legal system.” He paused for emphasis. “You could belong, here!”

            The Captain whistled through his fangs. “A place to belong!”

            Talbot looked around at the crew members of his bridge. Mummy, werewolf, Frankenstein monster, Black Lagoon creature, Igor the hunchback at tactical, and the witch Morgan LaFey at ops; all showed expressions of immense pleasure at the prospect. Except for Griffin, of course, but Talbot was quite certain he was smiling as well. A home! An entire continent of humans to scare and torment!

            “Ve accept!” Dracula exclaimed.

            Applause broke out on the bridge. Finally! No more running from the Planetary Union! Talbot turned to listen for the clapping sound from Commander Griffin, and was surprised when he couldn’t hear anything. Finally, he asked, “Commander?”

            “I’m sorry sir,” said Griffin, “but I’m afraid we can’t celebrate just yet. A Union ship has just come out of hyperspace.”

            No! Not now! Not when we’re so close!

            “Weer beingh haildh, pthir!” said Imhotep.

            “Put it through!” ordered Dracula.

            An image appeared of a male U.A.P. officer with short, light hair and a long, dark scowl. “Starship Bonnie Doon!” he said. “This is Captain Cheney of the Allied Patrol Ship Grey Swan! Your ship is officially listed as stolen! You are hereby ordered to cut all engines and surrender your vessel!”

            Vlad wasted no time answering. “Starship Grey Swan, this is Captain Vlad Dracula.  Ve claimed squatters’ rights to the Bonnie Doon two years ago, and it is now the Starship Macabre! Ve have just negotiated citizenship rights on planet Chula, and any police action by the Union of Allied Planets must proceed by extradition.”

            “Squatters’ rights are only granted to Union citizens, which you are not,” replied Cheney. “You are creatures of fantasy, nothing more. You were neither born citizens, nor naturalized. You were called into existence on a whim.”

            “It is not our fault Princess Astra created us through the unauthorized use of her father’s matter-energy converter!” Dracula countered. “Ve are sentient beings, and ve claim our sovereign right to freely exist!”

            “Your actions over the last two years, in which you have actively fled from the law, precludes any protections you now claim to have under the law.”

            “Nevertheless, citizenship has been offered by Chula, and ve have accepted. You are simply too late to counter it.”

            “Planet Chula is not an Allied world. Until you have entered the planet’s upper stratosphere, you are still in Union space, and under our jurisdiction.”

            “Incorrect!” spat Dracula. “Union law clearly states that a planet’s sovereign territory lies within the spherical boundary of that planet’s outermost moon.”

            “That only applies to worlds with the technology to enter into low orbit,” answered Cheney. “This planet’s civilization has only barely developed radio.”

            “A technicality! And a poor one to justify putting sentient beings into slavery!”

            “Slavery?” Cheney scowled. “Section 47, Clause 15 of U.A.P. judicial code clearly states that all creatures of phantasmagoria must be registered with the Bureau of Fantastical Creations so that their unique abilities do not pose a severe safety risk to the general public. For you to label this necessary precaution as ‘slavery,’ is a gross mischaracterization of…”

            “Blah, blah, blah! I’ve heard all this before!” shouted Dracula. “Our freedom is ours by natural right, and your laws are in need of updating!”

            “This is your final warning,” said Cheney, glowering. “Submit, or be fired upon.”

            “Then get ready for Hell!” Dracula silenced communications with a chopping gesture at his neck. “Raise shields! Charge phasers and ready photon torpedoes!”

            “Captain,” came the voice of Lieutenant Griffin, “that is a Jovian-class battle cruiser. Ours is only a light frigate. The odds of our being able to defeat it are slim.”

            “Ve don’t need to defeat it,” Dracula answered. “Ve just need to reach the planet. Helm! Full impulse planetward!”

            “Aye sir,” said Herb.

            A thought suddenly occurred to Talbot, and he tapped his communication badge. “XO to Vorgley,”

            “Vorgley, here.”

            “Are you and the other orcs still outside?”

            “Aye, sir.”

            “Well then get your asses inside! We’ve got ordinance coming in!”

            “Oh, shit! Aye, aye, sir!”

            No sooner had that answer been made than the entire ship rocked with the detonation of two photon torpedoes and several phaser hits.

            “Return fire!” Dracula commanded.

            “We can’t, sir!” said Igor. “They’ve damaged our weapons controls.”

            “Bypass them!”

            “I’m trying, sir, but I’ve only got three hands.”

            Just then, the ship rocked with the impact of another three torpedoes combined with several more phaser shots. Talbot and Natator were thrown to the deck, along with a few other members of the bridge crew.

            “We’ve lost shields!” cried Igor.

            “Helm is no longer responding,” reported Herb. “Engines are disabled.”

            “Distance to Chula’s upper stratosphere?” asked the Captain.

            “Less than 81 kilometers,” said Herb.

            “Are ve still heading towards it?”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “Then ve might still make it!”

            At that moment, the ship lurched, and everyone knew there could be only one reason for it.

            “Starship Bonnie Doon,” came the communication, “your ship has been crippled and we have you in our tractor beam. Surrender and you will receive clemency. Acknowledge.”

            “No reply!” ordered Dracula.

            “Aye phir!” responded Imhotep.

            “Damage?” asked Talbot, getting back to his feet.

            “We’re a wreck, sir,” said Igor. “It will take hours just to get any weapons back online.”

            “Bridge to Regolith. How’s our engines?”

            “How do you think, genius?” came the reply “They’re fucked!”

            “There must be a vay to fight!” said Dracula. “Ve’ve come too close to be turned avay now!”

            “We’ve been fighting like starship personnel,” said Herb. “We have to fight like monsters.”

            “We’ll fight that way when they get here!” cried Igor.

            “Inadvisable,” said Griffin. “If they are smart, they won’t board our ship at all. They only have to lock on to us with their transporters and beam us into holding cells. They’ll slowly capture us one by one without firing a shot.”

            “Then ve have to take the fight to them, somehow,” said Dracula. “But we can’t get on board their ship while their shields are up.”

            “They’re phignaling again, phir,” reported Imhotep.

            “We’d better do something soon,” said Herb.

            Then, Talbot hit on an idea. He tapped his communications badge. “Ensign King, to the bridge!”

            A second later, King appeared. “’Sup, boss?”

            “King, I want you to go into that ship over there and disable its shields. Then wreak havoc on every other ship-board system you can manage. Can you do that?”

            “Roger wilco, XO!”

            And with that, he disappeared.

            “Good! Good!” said the Captain. “Now, vhat?”

            “Talbot to Transporter Chief.”

            “Topper, here.”

            “Topper, how are our transporters?”

            “They should work if we have enough battery power. But sir, we haven’t used them since that incident with Ensign Goldblum…”

            “Good enough. Prepare for a mass of transports to the enemy ship! Out!”

            “Aye, sir!”

            Dracula activated his ship-wide com. “Now hear this! All specters, wraiths, and phantoms! Any creature which is impervious to phaser fire! Report to the nearest transporter room immediately!”

            “Will this work, Comanderrrrr?” asked Natator.

            “It had better,” Talbot replied. “Come on, King!”

            A long moment passed before anything happened. Then, communications from the Grey Swan resumed.

            “Bonnie Doon, you have not responded to our hails. You leave us no choice but to…”

            “The shields are down!” cried Igor.

            “Transporter rooms, energize!” ordered Dracula.

            “…we will there confine you until the Bureau of Fantastical Creations can adequately process… What? What do you mean they’re down? Well raise them again! Wait! What… What’s happening?! No! Stop! Get the…”

            After that, communications ceased.

            “Talbot to Vorgley. You still outside?”

            “Almost in, sir!” came the reply. “It got bumpy there, and then the hatch was jammed…”

            “Well, belay my last! I want you to launch yourselves at the enemy ship!”

            “What?!”

            “You heard me! Jump! Jump for the ship and then cling to its hull!”

            “What if we miss?”

            “You won’t! Not at this range. And even if you do, you can signal us to transport you back.”

            “Great. What do we do once we get there?”

            “What you do best. Smash things! Any sensors, weapons ports or arrays, if you can bend it or break it, do it! Starting with that damned tractor beam!”

            “Aye, sir!”

            “Tactical, get them on visual!”

            Morgan LaFey managed to aim the ship’s camera towards the Grey Swan just in time for all of them to see the albedos of 15 orcs streaming towards its underside, like rebellious stones thrown at a squad car. Their cliff-climbing hands stuck to the ship’s hull like the feet of geckos, all except for one unlucky orc who overshot and got beamed back. Using the stone clubs and axes they always carried on their belts, whether in uniform or out, they began bashing every sensor array, phaser generator, and communications antenna they could find. Finally, all too late for Talbot’s comfort, one of them aimed a blow at the tractor beam and took it out.

            “Ve’re free!” exclaimed the captain. “Helm, resume course for the planet!”

            “Helm is still unresponsive, sir,” said Herb. “Gravity is beginning to pull us towards the planet, but if we don’t regain control soon, we’ll burn up in the atmosphere.”

            Dracula paused, thinking.

            “To hell with the ship, sir,” Talbot said. “She’s lost, anyway. We don’t need her.”

            “Agreed!” said Dracula, who hit the ship-wide con. “All hands, abandon ship! Proceed by transporters or escape pods to the planet surface. Repeat, all hands, abandon ship!” He turned to Imhotep. “Open a communications channel to all our personnel on the Grey Svan.”

            “Thannel opfhen, fir!”

            Screams of terrified Union crewmembers met their ears, and the captain couldn’t help but take a moment to savor the sound before he spoke.

            “All crewmembers of the Macabre, cease operations and ewacuate to the planet. I say again, ewacuate to the planet. Do not return to the Macabre! Ve are abandoning ship! Use the Grey Svan’s transporters. Then sabotage them on the vay out! Good vork, and good luck!”

            “Evacuate the bridge,” ordered Talbot, who then turned to the Captain. “That means you too, sir.”

            “No! The Captain should alvays leave last.”

            Talbot nodded. “You will, sir. Meanwhile,” he turned to address everyone else, “the rest of you, get to the transporters.”

            “Don’t forget the orcs!” said Herb.

####

            On the planet below, the crew of the Macabre were assembling in a small clearing on the southern jungle continent. The cloudy skies seemed appropriately gloomy in the fast-approaching darkness of twilight, and those few crewmembers who were not nocturnal were hastening to make camp with whatever they could find. Talbot was beginning a headcount when the Captain received a signal on his communicator.

            “Grey Swan to Vlad Dracula, come in?”

            The Captain gave Talbot a look before responding. “This is Captain Dracula, go ahead.”

            “Captain, if I may even dignify you with that title,” began Cheney, “your ship has burned up in the planet’s atmosphere, and I must inform you that your little stunt is only a temporary victory, at best. We will eventually repair the damage you caused, and when we do, we have orders to bomb you from orbit.”

            “You vould wiolate the sovereignty of a peaceful planet?” asked Dracula.

            “This planet barely has radio. They won’t be able to complain. And even if they were so inclined, your encampment is nowhere near any major population centers. Not even a specter can survive a quantum torpedo. However, if you surrender and submit peacefully, we can promise that you will live. Should you remain defiant and choose not to cooperate, you will not be granted such latitude.”

            “Captain,” said Talbot, “if I may?”

            The Captain handed the communicator to his first officer.

            “Captain Cheney, this is First Officer Larry Talbot. You’ll be interested to know that we have proof of the Union of Allied Planets’ complicity in an illegal and clandestine operation to rob this planet of its natural resources without the indigenous peoples’ consent. I should think the political aftermath of such an operation would be severe – if it were ever to be made public.”

            There was a pause before Cheney responded. “Any proof you may or may not have of such an alleged operation would be destroyed along with you.”

            “On that, we disagree,” replied Talbot. “The proof is in the hands of the local governments here, which you’ve chosen to ignore because they only have radio. But we’ve now given them subspace communications devices. It will only be a matter of time before they learn how to reverse-engineer the technology, with or without our help. But you will be hearing a formal complaint from them, believe me! Whether or not they deal exclusively with you or with the assistance of the media will be up to you. If you fail to recognize our citizenship on this planet, they will include the media, and your little scandal will be known. I doubt you can wipe out the entire planet’s population before one of their governments succeeds in contacting an eager young journalist. So, what will it be, Captain?”

            They all waited patiently for a reply, which never came. At least, not at first.

            “I’m waiting, Captain,” Talbot tried again.

            Finally, the communicator relayed, “Very well. We will honor your citizenship, for now.”

            The entire encampment cheered. They’d won!

            Dracula shook Talbot’s hand. “Good vork, number vone!”

            “Thank you, sir!”

            “Good work?!” said Regolith, who clumped over. “I don’t suppose you cared that we haven’t given the subspace communicators to this world’s governments yet?”

            “Sure,” said Talbot. “But they don’t know that do they? Besides, we’ll have rectified that before the Grey Swan is repaired.”

            Regolith huffed. “Damn, XO, your balls are made of more rock than mine!”

            “You know,” said Dracula “now that ve have our own home, ve should give it a new name.”

            “I was thinking the same thing,” replied Talbot. “Something like, ‘Pyrrus,’ after Harry Harrison’s novel, ‘Deathworld?’”

            “Really?” Dracula’s eyebrows went up. “I vas rather hoping ve vould name it ‘New Transylvania.’”

            Talbot smiled. “I think you could persuade enough of us to go along with that,” he said.

            “Oh, Larry,” cooed Elvira as she sidled up to him, “I was wondering, now that you’re no longer a starship officer, if we might have a little talk.”

            Aw, shit.

            Then again, she did have a point.

The End.