EPTHaven, and more blessed a saint there never was, shimmered in, decloaking, with breakfast and his trademark pick-me-up on a tray.
“Good morning sir.”
I let out a hollow laugh. “Neither good, Haven, nor morning though I may be persuaded on the “sir” part’.
“Just as you say sir. Breakfast, sir?”
I leaped upon the invigorating manna and elixer in the manner of a starved wolf, and if ever there was a starving wolf more in need of the old bacon and eggs, my heart bleeds for the poor blighter.
Haven stood at attention, respectfully.
I looked upon him as the little lamb of legend must surely have looked at Mary, lost without the guardian angel, and allowed a little sunlight to creep cautiously into my soul.
“Well, Haven? Have you been excersising the old bean?”
“Indeed, sir, and a solution has fortuitously presented itself.”
I jolted upright, and prepared to utter a resounding whoop. They say in space no one can hear you scream, but “they” are silly asses in this case who would surely have been made to feel pretty foolish when they heard my whoop on those distant planets.
“It occurred to me, sir, that the most advisable course would be to find the erstwhile Marshal James Raynor ourselves, with haste, and without the rest of the crew being any the wiser.”
The whoop died in my throat, stillborn, dashed against the rocks of this insanity. I am quite the serious minded chap when reflecting upon my immortal soul and, dashed important, the mortal body it occupies and so I hope you believe me when I say I do not use the phrase “goggly eyed” lightly, if I must use it at all.
Nevertheless, I started at the man goggly eyed.
“Haven” I said coldly, fixing him with a steady gaze, “have you been revelling with the pilot? Or is it a touch of space-fever that has so reduced you?”
“No, sir, most assuredly.”
“I was giving you an honorable path out, Haven.”
“You are most gracious, sir.”
“This scheme of yours is utter madness, more to be expected from those rascal spectres.”
“I apologize if it seems inadvisable sir but...”
“Inadvisable!” I fell out of the bed, which quite ruined the dramatic effect I had in mind but I picked myself up, as we Mengsk’s are famed for doing, and mustered my dignity.
“Inadvisable, Haven, was my wager on that dashed Number 31 at the races, whose Hellion came so firmly in last place that it very nearly came in first in the next race. What you recommend, if I understand you correctly, is that you and I steal away from the best battlecruiser in, my Uncle Act tells me, a million miles and its escort and slip through Protoss space in lone pursuit of the most dangerous criminal in the galaxy. Inadvisable is not the word, Haven!”
“No sir.”
“Well then!”
“If I may be so bold, sir, it would nevertheless appear that this course of action is the only one which allows us to remain unmolested by the Protoss fleet, and accede to the demands of His Majesty, your uncle.”
Well, he had me there. The indignant flourish died in me, possibly just a sign of things to come if this scheme was our only way out. But I had Haven for some considerable time, and myself for even longer, and the benefit of experience told me that if this was the best Haven could come up with than I, with my meager helping of wits, would be better able to kick away the sunrise than come up with anything better.
“We are lost, Haven.”
“I would not give up hope, sir.”
“Hope! As some lady of obviously considerable intellect once said, hope is a silly bugger who won’t think twice before kicking you in the ribs when you’re down.”
“It was Emily Bronte, sir, who said
“Hope, whose whisper would have given
Balm to all my frenzied pain,
Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven,
Went, and ne'er returned again.”
“There you go then. Deuced woman. Can’t rely on them, what?”
“I could not say sir.”
I sighed and mustered my manliness.
“Still, what can be done?”
“Precisely, sir.”
“Cannons to the left of them, cannons to the right of them, but the poor saps jolly well had to nip in anyway without blubbing about being killed, eh?”
“Indeed, sir.”
“Oh well. You know best, Haven. Let’s show our faces around the crew.”
“Most advisable, sir.”
“Right ho, Haven.”
And so saying, I stepped from my place of security into the main decks of the battlecruiser, and I can’t say as I wouldn’t have preferred to meet Jimmy Raynor then some of the grotesqueries that, I was told to my disbelief, formed my crew.
Still, stiff upper lip, what?
I've been a longtime P.G. Wodehouse fan and thought it would be hilariously absurd to have Wodehousian characters in the SC2 setting. This is my effort.
