When we last left our intrepid travelers, Monty’s vision of a woman begging for his assistance and Harold’s precipitous discovery of a bag of California gold nuggets had begun them on their newest leg of their quest.

Bodhi’s spare surfboard under him, Monty paddled his way out to the trading vessel that sat on the horizon.  A sack of gold nuggets later, he was comfortably ensconced in a berth as they made their way to their destination.  And promptly fell asleep.

Paddling was strenuous work.

That night he dreamed of the woman again.

“Help me, Montague Moylan-Hazwell, you’re my only hope.”

Monty awoke with a start.  “My dream,” he mused.  “It was so odd.  And the beautiful woman… had such a strange hairstyle…”

But Harold was all in a flutter in his cage.  It only took Monty twenty or so minutes to figure out why.  The ship had stopped moving.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Where are we?”  Monty cried, coming up on deck.

“Our destination,” a deck hand informed him, as he was loading crates of apples onto the dock.  Or at least, Monty assumed they were apples, given the apple painted on the side.

“We cannot be in Madrid already!” Monty cried, taking in the lush landscape, the tall buildings, the… bright orange bridge in the distance.

“Not Madrid,” the deck hand wheezed at him.  “Marin.  County,” the deckhand clarified, before yelling to his coworker –  “This lot goes to Cupertino!”

“Cappucino?” Monty asked Harold, who was still trying to figure out how to shrug his non-existent Toucan shoulders.  “If we are not in Spain, we are definitely not in Italy.  Come on Harold,” he said as he walked down the dock. “We need to find a new ship.”

They walked and walked, a distance immeasurable, until appearing like an oasis in the proverbial desert, they came across a sign:

“Skywalker Ranch,” Monty mused.  “Well, I have no idea what a ‘ranch’ might be, but I have hopes that ‘skywalker’ refers to a travel service of some kind.”  He flagged down the first person he could find, a bearded gentleman, his shirt plaid.  Perhaps he was Scottish.

“Hi,” said the bearded one.  “Can I help you?”

“Indeed!” cried Monty.  “I have been visited by an apparition, of a woman with a hair bundled about her ears asking for my help.  One can only assume she requires either rescuing, or assistance arranging her hair into a more manageable style.”

“Sounds familiar…” the bearded man mused.

“It does?” Monty exclaimed happily.  “Then perhaps you can help me find her.   As a man of honor I must rescue this poor woman –”

“Actually, she’s a princess.”

“ – this poor princess from her trials.  Or hairstyle.”

“Well, if I recall correctly,” the bearded man rubbed his jaw, “We shot the rescue scenes in England.”

“England!  What ho, Harold, we shall be home before we know it – and rescue a princess on our way!”

“Halfway around the world!” Harold squawked, adding a well-practiced shoulder shrug.

“Good point, Harold.” Monty nodded.  “Sir, do you know of a way we could get to England with good speed?”

“Well, I could take you,” the bearded man replied.  “I do have this.”

With a flourish he whipped the dust cloth off the large structure that had suddenly appeared behind him.

“That?”  Monty asked.  “What is that?  Is it… er, new?”

“Actually, it’s from a long time ago…”

“It looks like a death trap.”

“Hey – she made the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs!” the bearded man replied, affronted.  “She’ll get you where you need to go.  Nothing can stand in our way!”

 

“Alright…” Monty hedged.  “But alas, we have nothing to pay you with.  I gave my only bag of California gold nuggets to a feckless ship captain who told me we were going to Madrid.”

“No he didn’t,” seemed to be what came out of Harold’s beak on a cough.

“No worries,” the bearded man replied.  “The adventure will be payment enough.  Well, that and the merchandising rights.  Climb aboard!”

Monty and Harold climbed in and took their seats – and if the ship didn’t have sails or a rudder, no one saw fit to comment.  Before they knew it, the vessel was shuddering, and then sprinting, and then lurching to a stop!

“What ho!” Monty cried. “Are we there already?”

“Sorry guys,” the bearded man’s voice floated through the air, projected by some kind of voice amplification device, “This ship is wanted in several galaxies, but I thought we were safe on own planet.  Alas, there’s trouble up ahead.  I’ll have to drop you here.”

“Drop us where?”

 

Okay, the space-time continuum is a little bendy, so it should come as no surprise that Monty quasi-ended up in a space opera.  What’s your favorite space/sci-fi movie?  And what makes it so awesome?

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