Deep wrinkles bit into her forehead as an aroused Quand 12 swung around to hear the words more clearly.
"Head hurt? Stomach ache? Canít sleep?" The robo-announcer took over. "Take AstroGastro, the new new amazing spacial remediation for just about everything. Wadks got you on the grill? Itís AstroGastro! Space wars make you vomit? AstroGastro again! Just sick and tired of it all? AstroGastro, taken as directed, will pique your pod and peak your plane. Not a pill, not a liquid, AstroGastro is a miracle dimensional paste that looks just like evanescent clonesuds. But inside each hyperprojection of AstroGastro are thirteen magical microbe threads that suck all your toroid germs into the nearest black hole."
Treflinís face faded forward again. "I feel just fine now... mmmmmm... and sleepy, too. Just come to...."
A muffled explosion shook the armed space trawler as Mad Luigi, fast catching up to Quand 12ís vehicle, threw his pointed shoes through the screen. Glass glittered, phosphors faded, for everyone around Sol System hated those commercials, with Unicommand officials endorsing the industrial gamut from pseudofeathers to cosmoturds.
But the excitement of the chase soon drew Mad Luigiís attention away from the shards of Kinevue screen floating sweetly to the shipís floor. He and Quand 12 were now alone together in deep space; hardly a fragment of the Plutonian space semi was left in sight. A maniacal grin bloomed on Luigiís face as the Emotosensors on Quand 12ís aerobus began to feel and retransmit the pull of the mad Italianís lovenoids, amplified by his recent ingestion of 14 chewpackets of Pride.
The aerobus flew ever more languorously toward Mokus 5, and likewise Mad Luigiís trawler began to move proportionately faster in the direction of that distant colony. But the Newtonian pull of the two ships toward each other was picked up by a Unicommand Computagraph satellite far out near Boondock, and a fourth-dimensional cancellation message was pasted, crated and shipped at pneu-stellar speed back to Bob and Pflud.
"What are you barking about?" called Bob, as Pflud grew rings around him. "Whatís this?"
His expression of consternation turned to constipation as he looked at the astrogram.
QUAND IS SLOW / BUT LUIGIíS GO / WHATíS IT MEAN? / WE DONíT KNOW / BLURMA
Bob reached for a diminutive red switch, hesitated, then snapped it down. A shudder trembled
through the room as a set of deceptively demure words floated onto the master
Universal Emotosensor Command. All stop.
Bob could feel his warm feelings, his hostilities, his fears, his unconscionable affection for Pflud
all drain away, like light near a black hole. The Sol System and the galaxy for light years around
was now devoid of emotion, empathy and feeling -- controlled sheerly by reason and
Now the deep space marriage of Quand 12 and Mad Luigi could not be, leaving the entire story line up in the air.