Splattered-Out, Ch. 2, pt. 3

"A teleport pod," William said incredulously. "Are you positive?"

"Like my last test for hepatitis," Mr. Gavins replied.

William and Blazzy were simply puzzled. Even on an island as unlikely as this pirate prostitute paradise, teleport pods didn't just wash ashore every day. Actually, neither of them had ever seen one before. The mysterious discovery fascinated them, perplexed them, and of course incited many questions. Where did it come from? Where was it headed? Where was the original occupant? Most importantly, did it have room enough for two?

"There are some words here below the map coordinates," said Mr. Gavins.

William squinted at the small print on the screen. "It says — Tricon System. What in blazes is Tricon System?"

"Tricon System," Mr. Gavins whispered, his eyes drifting upward, as if trying to become acquainted with the term. "Tricon System, Tricon System — never heard of it before."

The wind picked up a bit as he said the words, rustling his hair in a dramatic and impressive way, and driving the beach sand across his feet. It carried with it a steady but highly peculiar drone, almost musical, like a distant bagpipe.

"Listen man," said William, "I know what you're thinking and let me tell you it's a bad idea."

"Yeah, I know," said Mr. Gavins discontentedly. "Damn Tricon System is probably some kind of enemy base."

"Besides, now is not the time to make these sorts of decisions. Both our brains are drowning in an entire handle of super-distilled vodka."

"Right, poor judgment and all that," said Mr. Gavins. "But I need to say something here. I have never been a man of substance, and I am not proud of that fact."

"That's very touching," William replied.

"You don't understand," said Mr. Gavins. "I've spent my whole life on this island. And I'm not exactly in the prime of my youth anymore. I mean, I've got naked girls bringing me all the top shelf alcohol in the world. It sounds great. But this is not really living. Not living at all."

"If this is about me calling you a whoremonger —"

"No, dude. I am a whoremonger and we both know it. But I'm getting tired of it. I'm tired of my Valhalla of sluttiness and I'm tired of having a liver like an avocado. Don't you agree? This Tricon System could be our chance to get away on a little adventure."

"Hey, don't think I'm not tempted to find out where this thing is going. I am, really. It's not like either of us have any big reasons to stay. But come on, we're still two intelligent people. Do intelligent people hop into a strange flying casket on a whim?"

Both pondered the answer with scrunched eyebrows. William had to confess, if they kept spending their days hanging out on this island as they always did, they'd probably amount to nothing more than a couple of deadbeats with pickled brains. Then again, when faced with the choice to take an alien teleport pod to an unknown faraway destination, suddenly even a deadbeat life seems precious.

A sudden flicker of lightning briefly broke the darkness, and the sky growled softly. Neither of them had noticed the ireful rainclouds which had gathered above. The wind continued to gather strength and they decided to close the teleport pod and take shelter under the awning of the cabana.

"To answer your question," said Mr. Gavins, "I think I'm just looking for a better life."

"Something better — than paradise," said William. "My best friend has an aversion to paradise!"

"Paradise is not the issue here dude. Awesomeness is the issue. It's easy to think women and drugs are awesome, but they are not. Awesomeness is much bigger than that, my friend."

"Hmm, is that so," said William. "And I assume awesomeness can be found on the other end of the flying casket?"

"You bet it can," said Mr. Gavins. "Dude, what are the odds of a teleport pod landing here?"

"I don't know," said William. "I'd say you'd probably have a better chance of getting struck by lightning."

It turned out William was absolutely right. The odds of getting struck by lightning is approximately 576,000 to 1, but the odds of an alien teleport pod landing on your personal tropical island is approximately 182 trillion to 1. Perhaps their intuitive understanding of these odds explained why, when just then a fierce bolt of lightning ripped through the sky from directly above and struck Mr. Gavin's cabana with an earsplitting crash, they more or less failed to be astonished.

William's eyes fixed quizzically on the top of the cabana where the lightning hit. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief and looked again. Eventually his mind accepted what his eyes were looking at and he felt compelled to speak. "Dude, I hate to break this to you —" he began.

"Wait, let me guess," spoke Mr. Gavins, gazing placidly at the teleport pod on the shore. "The bolt of lightning just set my rooftop on fire."

"Yep," said William.

"Wind causing it to spread rapidly?"

"Yep," said William.

"I don't know about you," said Mr. Gavins, "but this isn't making the thought of staying here any more appealing."

"Yeah. This is a little ironic."

The fire danced nimbly across the rooftop, spreading to every corner, and began crawling downward. In moments William and Mr. Gavins were sitting in a cloud of embered black smoke, a wall of crackling flames behind them. In the distance, a dozen busty savage vixens ran around and flailed hysterically.

"Dude," Mr. Gavins said, icy vodka tonic still in his hand, "that teleport pod is looking pretty irresistable to me right now."

And William realized then, to his own dismay, that he was in total agreement.