Spaceships! – Episode 102
The Confederate Space Alliance crew of the CSS Moxie are on the run from the Imperial Master Force through the deep recesses of space…
Episode 102 – Shame On A Rebel
(Capt. Bob Riggs makes his way down to the basement level holding cell of the CSS Moxie and taps on the cell door as he unlocks it…)
Riggs: Otis, you sober?
Otis: (hic) Sorta.
Riggs: Good. Get back to work. The PL-0900’s need to be in flying condition as soon as possible. We’ve got IMF trackers on our ass.
Otis: Yes, sir.
(Otis shuffles up to the hangar bay. Riggs turns to the sleeping Hunter Decquely with a space porn mag on his face…)
Riggs: You the security officer who killed his partner?
Decquely: (bolts upright) Allegedly.
Riggs: Well, you’re free to go.
Decquely: But…I killed my partner.
Riggs: Those charges were filed by the government of the Confederate Space Alliance, which no longer exists. The IMF blew up every ship but ours.
Decquely: My God.
Riggs: Yeah, sucks. So c’mon, I’ll show you around. You just gotta promise me one thing.
Decquely: What’s that?
Riggs: Don’t kill anybody.
Decquely: I promise, Captain.
Riggs: And also, gimme that porn mag. I’m gonna…poop later.
(On the bridge of the CSS Moxie…)
Riggs: This is Flight Sgt. Tyrone Jones, the pilot of this here hunka junk.
Jones: Ay, don’t be dissin’ my iron giant like that, Cap’n.
Riggs: This thing’s made of iron? (tunks floor with boot)
Decquely: (points at Jones) Um, is that a forty?
Jones: (shakes his head) Space forty.
Riggs: Ty, you shouldn’t drink and drive, bud.
Jones: I’m not drivin’. I’m flyin’.
Riggs: (turns to Hunter, shrugs) He’s got a point. So Hunter, I’d like to make you chief inspector and head of security on this ship.
Decquely: Sir, I don’t know what to say. What about my murder charges?
Riggs: Consider them dropped.
(Lt. Grace Gary — Riggs’ second-in-command — stares at Capt. Riggs in disbelief…)
Riggs: What? I never saw him kill anybody.
Gary: (shakes her head, turns away)
Riggs: (whispers loudly) That’s Lt. Grace Gary. She’s the resident wet blanket on the ship.
Decquely: (smiles uncomfortably)
Gary: I can hear you, Captain.
Riggs: (raises voice) And she’s also the smartest person I know.
Gary: (rolls her eyes)
Riggs: (leans into Hunter’s ear) For a girl.
Riggs: A pretty girl?
Riggs: (turns to Hunter, points a thumb back at Grace) Can’t win with that one.
(Two IMF NG-4000 fighter jets come screaming toward the CSS Moxie, firing plasma rockets…)
Riggs: Everybody hit the deck! (dives to the ground)
Jones: Don’t worry, Cap. This ship’s windshield is shatterproof.
Gary: Evasive manuevers, Sgt.
Jones: (swigs space forty) You got it, Lt. Ay Inspector, hold my drink.
(Jones tosses his bottle. Decquely fumbles and holds on as the ship leans steeply to the left before swerving right, grazing the wing of one of the NG-4000’s…)
Riggs: (picks himself up off the ground, radios the hangar bay)
(Below, in the hangar bay…)
Cole: (picks up radio) Yo, Captain.
Riggs: Cole! Has Otis fixed those jets yet? We got some bogies on our six. (turns to Grace, hand over receiver) Wait, which one’s our six?
Cole: He’s only got one done so far. Tuggs is about to take off right now. He shouldn’t have any problem with two IMF dopes.
Decquely: Why do you have fighter jet pilots on a supply ship, anyway?
Gary: Pilots Cole and Tuggs were being disciplined by the late Commander Hall for…infractions.
Jones: (swigs space forty, turns the ship again violently) Remember that IMF daycare ship that got blown up a few months back?
Decquely: Oh my God, that was them?
Jones: (nods) Crazy bastards.
Gary: They claimed they were given some misinformation. Supposedly they were told it was housing the Lord’s head of finance and intergalactic domestic relations.
Decquely: (shaking his head) Twenty-three children perished in that blast.
Gary: So Commander Hall took them out of the rotation and put them on our ship. Now they’re the entirety of the CSA Air Force.
Riggs: Yeah, it’s kinda fucked up.
(Cliff Tuggs’ PL-0900 rockets out of the back of the CSS Moxie and spins on a dime, locating the two NG-4000’s turning to counteract Tyrone Jones’ erratic flight movements…)
Tuggs: (cigar in mouth) Comin’ at ya, bitches!
Gary: (over the radio) Tuggs, I’m online with you. Got you on our radar.
Tuggs: Ooh, sorry for the cussin’, miss lady.
Gary: That’s alright, Tuggs. Just be sure you don’t miss. The Moxie isn’t exactly bulletproof.
Tuggs: (grins) My aim’s true.
Riggs: (grabs radio) Like when you killed all those babies, you baby-killer?
Tuggs: Shut your mouth, Cap’n!
Gary: (pushes Riggs away) Bob, you’re not helping.
Riggs: Sure I am. Gettin’ his blood and his dander up.
(Cliff Tuggs barrels toward the IMF NG-4000’s and manages to fire a dozen shots between them…)
Gary: (watching on radar, shaking head) 0 for 12, Cliff.
Tuggs: Pretty sure I winged one of ’em!
(One of the IMF jets fires once and a wing of the PL-0900 explodes. Tuggs starts spiraling out of control…)
Tuggs: Lucky shot!
Gary: Tuggs, pull back to the hangar bay!
Tuggs: Kinda havin’ trouble steerin’ with one wing, boss! Plus the cabin’s starting to fill with smoke.
Gary: I’m only seeing external structural damage on your left wing. Is there internal damage we’re not seeing?
Tuggs: Nah, I just dropped my cigar.
Riggs: Tyrone, doesn’t the Moxie have…I dunno, a big ‘ol space cannon or something?
Jones: We got some missile cannons down below; but they’re a little janky. Otis hasn’t gotten around to upgrading the systems. One misfire and this whole ship could implode.
Riggs: Well, we wouldn’t want that.
(The PL-0900 spins by the bridge of the CSS Moxie…)
Tuggs: (over the radio) Pant leg just caught on fire!
Jones: (chuckling) Pull up, dude.
Tuggs: My pant leg?
Riggs: (puts an arm around Decquely) C’mon, Hunter. I’ll show you the galley. Grab a bite to eat. This might take a while.
(The PL-0900 goes spinning by in the other direction…)
Tuggs: Other pant leg’s on fire now!
(In the galley, Capt. Riggs is digging into a bowl of something brown and lumpy…)
Riggs: Mmm, space stuffing.
Decquely: Wow, there is a lot of food in this kitchen.
Riggs: Well, it’s a supply ship. So we have lots of supplies and stuff. (crams another spoonful of space stuffing down his gullet)
(The ship’s chef, Ray Kwong, comes rocketing out of the freezer and tackles Hunter Decquely to the ground…)
Kwong: Captain! The prisoner’s escaped. I’ve got him, though.
(Capt. Riggs chortles and nearly chokes on his space stuffing…)
Riggs: Whoa. Easy there, tiger. Decquely’s with us now. I’ve made him the new head of security.
Kwong: (helps Decquely to his feet) Sorry about that. Lemme fix you a sandwich. (pulls the Captain aside) Captain, that man is a murderer. Has he threatened your life? I can make him a poison sandwich.
Riggs: (still eating space stuffing) That won’t be necessary, Ray. I trust this man. He’s no killer. Just regular non-poisoned sandwiches will be fine. Besides, I need something to wash down this disgusting space stuffing.
Kwong: (glances down at half-eaten bowl, face goes white) Sir, that’s not space stuffing.
Riggs: (gasps, eats another spoonful)
(Tuggs is spiraling in front of the CSS Moxie as the IMF jets are on either side firing at him. Due to his wild unpredictable movements, one NG-4000 manages to blow up the other one…)
Gary: Well, that was pretty stupid. (over the radio) Alright, one down, one to go. Good job, Tuggs. Keep…flippin’ around like that.
Tuggs: (somersaulting through space) I’m gettin’ nauseous out here!
Jones: (grabs the radio) Tuggs, I got an idea. When I say so, you press eject.
Tuggs: Eject into space? Are you nuts?
Jones: Tuggs. Do you trust me?
Tuggs: No! Ain’t you drunk?
Jones: I’ve got a nice buzz going. Now…eject!
Tuggs: Aw hell, it ain’t like I can fly this thing anyway.
(Tuggs ejects out of the PL-0900 right as the IMF jet is passing overhead and lands on the hood of the NG-4000. He grins, points his pistol at the IMF pilot and directs him back to the hangar bay…)
Gary: Sgt. Jones, that was an incredible plan. How did you come up with that?
Jones: Come up with what? (swigs space forty)
(In his private quarters aboard the Imperial One, a female servant is serving Lord Lung Wang grapes when his top adviser, Chi, rushes in…)
Wang: (cross) Chi, you’re interrupting grape time!
Chi: I’m sorry, sir. But I just received word that we lost radio contact with the two NG-4000’s we sent after the last remaining CSA ship.
Wang: I really don’t have time to concern myself with one measly ship. But clearly it was a mistake going about this diplomatically and sending our own buffoonish men after the…the, uh…
Chi: The rebels, sir.
Wang: I want you to tell Gen. Liang to contact every bounty hunter and ne’erdowell in this galaxy. Tell them the first man to bring me that ship will receive a reward of $200 million dollars in space diamonds.
Chi: Yes, sir. (turns to leave)
Wang: And Chi?
Chi: Yes, sir?
Wang: God help you if you had interrupted strawberry time.