A Trip to the Zoo

[Jim Roberts]

[Feb 6 afternoon – The Godcarvers]

> “Then let us depart,” Tramma suggested, then shifted to singing,
>
> “Immediately,
> immediately, immediate-L-Y!”
>
> “Tha' gag is gonna get old eventually,” Mithi giggled, then giggled
> even more merrily when Tramma instantly nodded agreement while
> singing, “‘eventually, eventual-l-y’. You knew I was a comedienne when
> you invited me.”

And soon afterwards, with one lady on either arm, Finfin was stepping
out of the black and white ringed Tunnel created by his Dimension Fold,
the trio emerging atop the Teleport Tower in Spindrift. As always, they
were expected, and the Imperial Marine guards snapped to attention at
their visitors’ arrival, not letting that stop them from quite properly
pointing the regulation number of sharp weapons at them until their bona
fides were established.

“Captain Finfinfin, sir!” the marine sergeant in command saluted
briskly, before adding, “And Ma’ams.”

Finfin returned the salute, and answered the obvious unasked question.
“Good afternoon sergeant. Just the three of us, and nothing to declare,
except for Crumble here.” He gently raised the animal carrier for the
sergeant’s inspection. Within, Crumble the Turtle nosed forward eagerly,
sniffing avidly at the soldier’s breastplate.

The sergeant stared at the turtle dubiously. “I just know I am going to
regret asking a powerful wizard a question like this, but just why are
you carrying around a bandaged turtle in a finely crafted native
cat-carrier?”

Finfin nodded. “A fine question, sergeant. This turtle, Crumble by name,
is a polymorphed rust monster, and I intend to deliver him to your
zoological gardens.”

There was a stir among all the troops around them. “I see why you have
him caged up with wood with no metal fasteners,” the sergeant said in a
long-suffering tone. “But… the polymorph says he can’t rust anything,
right?”

“He wishes he could,” Finfin mused, “but as long as the spell lasts, no,
he cannot.”

“Ya know, I think I remember,” the sergeant muttered, going over to a
cabinet in their watch station. “While I dig through the regs, just how
long will your spell last?” He spoke in a somewhat distracted fashion,
mainly concentrating on pulling books off the shelf inside, quickly
glancing at the indexes before replacing them. His men all looked a bit
uneasily at the turtle in the cage with a handle on top.

All through this conversation with Authority in the form of the good
Serjeant, Tramma had an odd look on her face, like she was refraining
from saying something funny. Every time she heard one of them use a word
ending in LY she wanted to sing the obvious (to her) ending. Fortunately
for once what little good sense she possessed overruled her sense of the
comic.

“It ought to last forever,” Finfin replied, “though I cannot absolutely
swear to that, as the spell was written onto a scroll, penned by someone
else. So in case it DOES fail…” The elf paused, and asked gently,
“Gentlemen, I am about to draw steel?”

There was a nod, even though a few hands tightened on weapons as the elf
drew his arming sword. He concentrated for a moment, and the blade
vanished, to be replaced by the stout dark glass club they had salvaged
the previous day. “Muckbane, I am told this is called,” the elven
officer observed. “So worst case, the spell will last the creature’s
lifetime.”

Inside the cage, Crumble gave Finfin another hiss, while the sergeant
looked appreciatively at the club. “There’ve been a few times I could
have used a thumper like that,” he mused, glancing appreciatively at
first the club, and then at his men.

The NCO returned his attention to the stack of “regs” before him, and
barked a triumphant laugh as he found one passage in particular. “I KNEW
it! The Book has a case for everything. Including travellers arriving
with… what’s it say… noxious, invasive, or otherwise potentially
dangerous animals.”

“That does about cover it, sergeant,” Finfin agreed. “What does The Book
say is in store for me.”

“Well… properly, sir, I’m supposta impound the creature and send it off
to the Zoo… or if I can’t, at least call for TEMRT: the Tactical
Emergency Monster Response Team.” He glanced dubiously at the turtle in
the cat carrier who had seemed to have moved on from its disdain for the
elf, and was once again sniffing eagerly at the assembled metalwork.

“Luckily, it appears the regs are clear(ish); I think I’ve got the
latitude to save The Empire a lot of fuss and bother,” the sergeant
continued. “Especially as the creature is already contained, and you’re
taking it to the Zoo right now. Which you are, aren’t you sir?”

Even if Finfin had not needed the hint, he understood the correct
response to a senior NCO making a… “recommendation” to a junior officer.
“Right away, Sergeant,” he agreed.

“He CAN be taught,” Tramma smirked in an aside to Mithi. That sally
earned an appreciative non-regulation grin or two from some of the
guards, though they were well trained enough to keep it to that and
concentrate on maintaining their situational awareness. Or at least well
aware what the sergeant would do if they didn’t, which amounted to the
same thing.

Even the sergeant had to fight to keep a smile off of his face. At least
HERE was a junior officer who COULD follow the pointed advice from an
NCO… and, apparently, The Ladies as well. Better than some butterbars
who seemed determined to throw their weight around, regardless of the
experience of others.

“Very good, sir,” he replied. Turning to his men, he barked to one in
particular, “You. Head back to station and report all of this to the
Officer of the Day. They’ll no doubt want to send along an officer, and
get a head start on a bunch of paperwork on the Captain’s return.” To
Finfin, he added, “And you ARE coming right back, sir?”

“After helping the ladies with some shopping, absolutely, sergeant,”
Finfin agreed.

Now, the experienced NCO did allow himself a brief smile. Some Truths
were universal, all throughout The Empire. This was another. “And you,”
he continued, pointing to another of his troopers. “Go along with the
Captain, and ease things along.”

The second soldier, however, looked a bit dubious at this command.
“Err.. Sarge,” he asked more than a bit hesitantly… “I don’t think I can
handle a rust monster on my own, if it breaks out. And I know I can’t
handle… him if he goes rogue,” he added, glancing towards the elf.

“Fortunate for you you don’t HAFTA think, you're just gonna go cuz I say
so, and I say so to fulfill the letter of regulations, kid,” the
Sergeant growled. “And, of course, so I got somebody to bust should
things go pear shaped.”

“Right, Sarge,” the trooper agreed, though possibly with a distinct lack
of enthusiasm.

“And yer also there to make sure them high falutin’ desk jockey EGGHEADs
at the Zoo don’t palm the good Captain here off with a demand that he
come back tomorrow during normal business hours. This is an Empire
Matter, son. You’re there to see it handled promptly, or the Zoo will be
getting a morning visit that they WON’T enjoy.”

“Right, Sarge!” The response was more enthusiastic this time.

Tramma smiled at the stricken soldier. “It’ll be ideal to have YOU along.”

“Ma’am?” he asked, quite intrigued with anything the silver haired
knockout had to say to him.

“Why, yes!” Tramma enthused. “You can carry the turtle.” The marine did
not look particularly happy at this notion, and the bard added, “I mean,
you can't have a LADY carry it, might end up dangerous and not to
mention it's quite certainly a burden.”

“Carry the damn basket, marine,” the sergeant commanded, and that was
the end of the matter. Gingerly, the trooper accepted the basket.

“Ladies, shall we?” Finfin offered.

“Oh, Fin?” Mithi replied. “Me an’ Tramma thought we’d go off and do the
shopping, while you took care of Crumble. Would that be all right,
sergeant?”

The senior NCO nodded, and gave a meaningful look over at the visiting
officer, hoping that the “three bar” was sensible enough to once again
follow advice when it was given to him. If not, even the Imperial
Marines were not brave enough to save him from the one force even they
dared not face - the women of the Empire. Or damnfool enough to get
involved in a domestic.

Fortunately, Finfin was at least that sensible. “That would be entirely
fine,” he agreed.

“And we’ll start with that Dunkies right across the park!” Tramma
enthused. “Can we bring you and your team a Box of Joe and some donuts
on our return, sergeant?”

Smiles broke out all around. “That would be very appreciated, ma’am,”
the NCO agreed on behalf of his men.

“Fin?” Mithi asked again, another question in mind. “Can you loan us
your bag?”

The elven officer raised an eyebrow. “Most certainly. But it IS rather
heavy.”

“Don’t Oi know!” Mithi agreed with a laugh.

“I’ll take it, Fin,” Tramma offered. “I’m stronger than I look.” This,
Finfin well knew to be true, though from circumstances he was not
prepared to discuss here. “And unlike the basket, it can't turn into a
public menace no matter the circumstances. I suppose barring dropping it
into a portable hole, but we're unlikely to trip into one of those in a
Dunkies in Spindrift.”

“Oi dunno,” Mithi mused with a grin. “Their dark roast IS awful dark..”

Finfin, meanwhile, had unlimbered the chainmail haversack that was
usually around one shoulder, and at Tramma’s nod, he settled the burden
onto the bard.

“Ooof!” Tramma gasped. “This IS heavy! But I’ll manage. Meet you back
here, hopefully WITHOUT Crumble?”

“I am looking forward to seeing you both,” Finfin readily agreed.

“Ladies,” the sergeant interjected, “you are both welcome to leave at
any time. But Captain, if you would be willing to wait here just a bit
for the OOD? He should be here any minute.”

It took more than a single minute, but not many more, and Finfin could
hardly blame the assembled troopers for admiring the sight of the two
ladies walking down the stairs from the Tower to the park below, their
eyes following them as they crossed over to the nearest ever present
Dunkies to fulfill one of Tramma’s many needs. His own eyes were
following along appreciatively as well, first hand knowledge of what was
under their clothing enhancing the sight.

The Officer of the Day’s arrival, and his quick review of the
circumstances, and his ratification of his sergeant’s suggestion, took
only a few more minutes. His only addition was handing the trooper
tasked with the escort a pair of metal chits with the Imperial Seal.
“For the taxi you should take to the Zoo, and back again. Imperial
Business, and they can redeem it afterwards.”

The sun was now below the horizon by the time the three travellers met
back again at the Teleport Tower. And as promised, Tramma had one of
Dunkie’s fabled Boxes of Joe for the troops, along with several dozen
donuts. With a grin, she added, “I have even more for the camp in your
bag, and as much heavenly Dunkie’s coffee as they’d sell me. Which I am
happy to now hand back to YOU, Fin! You make lugging it around look easy.”

This was quickly arranged, and both Tramma and Finfin gathered next to
Mithi, who reached out to gently touch each one.

“No stage fright, now, sweets,” Tramma suggested, then continued slyly,
“We’ll all never feel a thing if it all goes wrong, and it will be kinda
tragically romantic to have our atoms mingled together scattered across
the multiverse, right?”

“Fanks!” Mithi agreed with a grin. “Better’n ‘break a leg’. Now then…”
She concentrated, one hand on each companion, and chanted “Tele-”

And in a flash, they were gone.

“-Port” Mithi finished. And she and her two companions were safely back
at the Godcarver camp.

“Well done!” Finfin enthused. “Your first ever Teleport!” The
congratulation was enhanced by a fervent hug and a kiss, one that was
supplemented by one no less affectionate by the bard a moment later.

“A solemn moment when a girl wizard gives up her teleport virginity,”
Tramma intoned with a salacious grin. “Congratulations, I hope it was as
good for you as it was for me.”

“It wuz!” Mithi enthused. “And no ‘Igh Priest ta rain on THIS coming out
spell!”.

“Not a single atom scattered,” Tramma enthused brightly. “Well, maybe
quite a few in my pretty little head, but who’d notice?”

“I think that WE would,” Finfin objected mildly. An observation that
curiously gained him a simultaneous kiss on either cheek.

“Come on,” Tramma enthused. “I’m gonna get dinner ready for tonight!”

“We’m looking fo’wa’d to tha’,” Mithi announced, then her voice shifted
to song. “Eagerly ... eagerly ... eager ... L-Y.”

Tramma gaped a moment before dissolving into helpless giggles of
delight. It wasn’t often that somebody got the last laugh on Tramma the
Tramp.

The giggling ladies did a double take, however, when they noticed Abbot
Kenobi behind them. Apparently Swan In Weeds was not the only
unfortunate soul always able to say something unflattering about the
Holy Man whenever he was around.

Neither of the young ladies had the slightest idea how long he had been
standing there, or how much he had heard. His long-suffering expression
seemed to indicate he might have heard quite a bit. Be that as it may
the Abbot chose to take the high road, nodding a pleasant wordless
acknowledgement without uttering a sound before decisively turning
toward his own tent with all the dignity he could muster. It was
probably for the best that neither Tramma nor Mithi could see inside his
head to know that he thought of their teasing as his cross to bear.

Both the young women remained breathlessly silent in dread anticipation
until he was out of sight around one of the tents, but they were both so
rattled neither thought to wait long enough for him to be out of
earshot. Ben was quite heartened by what he overheard, and could be
forgiven for smiling when he heard their chatter start up again.

“Cor blimey,” Mithi sighed in relief. “Wasn’t I s’pose ta say, ‘e’s
roight behin’ me, isn’t ‘e?’ when I shot off me big mouth?”

“That only happens in trite comedy,” Tramma agreed with just as big an
exhalation indicating her sense of reprieve. “Which, of course, says
alla time in *my* messed up life. I am not sure if we dodged a fatal
shot, or just got the most effective and wordless dressing down of our
lives. Shells, I got out-comedied twice in five minutes, but my heart is
pounding too hard to laugh at myself like I deserve. How does he DO that?”