Chapter 10

Tyche said, “The who?”

“The Who are a legendary British Rock Band ... you are the ‘famous’ or ‘infamous’ Tyche Selene Flintkote ... we will meet again in a not so distant future ... two years, if I was counting.”

Directing its attention to Mr. Edwards, the silver disk said, “I delivered the suitcase to Madame President ... and enjoyed every millisecond.”

It is important to understand that the disks attention wasn’t a physical turning ... the shift was mental rather than actual. And it was something that the object felt.

“So,” said Mr. Edwards, “You’re the mythical flying saucer? The UFO the FED A wants?”

“They do?” Said Company. “They don’t want me. What are they going to do? Try me? There’s nothing they can do ... I have diplomatic immunity.”

“You do?”

“It does,” said Junior. “Mom’s idea. Company is our ‘roving goodwill ambassador and troubleshooter.’”

“Mostly shooter,” grinned The Silver Saucer. The grin was in the voice ... and the circumference edge turned up ... just a little.

And ... about then ... someone’s stomach growled ... loud enough to be heard.

And someone said, “food.”

And someone else said, “Wendy burgers.”

And someone said, “Canadian cut fries.”

“With salted white vinegar,” said EVERYBODY!

“I’ll drive,” said Company.

For the first time in history ... Company hauled a group to a restaurant. A rather large group...

Company is a Tardis. Bigger on the inside than the outside looks.

There wasn’t anybody on the street outside the Antler so nobody was there to see when Mr. Edwards stepped down from the hovering disk and entered the bar ... nobody noticed when the Chief of Police stepped down and entered ... and nobody noticed when the Princess of the Princessapality stepped out of the silver disk and walked in the door of the bar. Likewise, nobody noticed when the 10 year old high school freshman and her guardian auntie disembarked the silver disk and slid through the batwing doors. However ... everybody in the bar did notice when that same silver disk shrunk to people size, zipped over the door and hovered next to the bar.

Ernie definitely noticed.

“FRANK! ... you need to see this.”

And Frank burst through the kitchen doors. Frank was carrying the kitchen cleaver because Ernie never summoned him unless he needed help.

If Frank had been wearing Goodyear shoes, the squeal when he stopped would be much louder than the chirp his heels made on the wood floor. “What is that!” Not a question.

“You are the cook?” asked Company.

“Today ... tomorrow it’s Ernie’s turn.”

Company said, “The place smells delicious, what are you cooking?”

“That’s the grill you smell ... there’s burgers on.”

“Junior?” said Company. “What is good?”

“I’m having a couple of Wendy burgers, fries and rootbeer,” she said. “Frank makes a mean toasted cheese sandwich, I know you liked them.”

Company said, “Will you take gold as payment?”

Ernie gulped and nodded.

“One of everything, please.”

The disk sorta crouched down and ... well ... if it had been a human doing it, folks would call it, ‘shitting a brick,’ this ‘brick’ was solid gold and weighed 2 kilos, “Enough?”

“Plenty,” said Ernie. Frank just nodded.

I will admit it looked like a turd ... but who am I to complain.