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This incredible story was made for me by the greatest writers in the world 
Helix Teller of Tales and 
vixyyfox , thanks again for the story you two, I really appreciate it ^^
A BURTE AND BISCUIT
Trepidation or more anxiety fought courage in the young dog’s heart. He meandered in a sea of people. Brown furred, the lad awkwardly looked around with his big, green eyes. The spaceport was loud and packed. A menagerie of animal folk and their luggage trickled out like ants in those grey halls. Cargo trollies beeped and wheels thundered, parting crowds loaded with more than a smattering of elderly passengers. Pups and kits fidgeted, paining their parents in their games of make believe. Such a pair of squirrels ran haphazardly between the lines while their mother tried to sternly catch them in a grey paw.
The dog’s heartbeat simmered down a bit. Really it was no different than flying out of any terrestrial airport. The line moved forward; he was next. His small backpack bounced back and forth under the assault of his wagging tail. Claw points clicked as he walked barefoot along the cold marble floor.
“ID and destination,” the skunk attendant smiled under his blue billed hat. The dog fished in his black pant’s pockets before sliding his arm along his blue hoody’s pouch to reveal the plastic driver’s license. The mustelid took the card eyeing it over.
“Kile Johnson,” the skunk read out loud before handing it back.
“I’m going to the Whackadoodle,” the canine responded happily.
“So I see. I know another skunk who’s been there,” the attendant told him, giving a slight smile. “It’s a fast trip, but few tend to ride that shuttle. Your gate is C42.” He pointed with a white and black furred finger to a less crowded portion of the spaceport.
“Uh… don’t you need to scan this or something?” Kile asked lifting his small bag.
The skunk’s brow furrowed, raising bushy white eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“Like for bombs or something?” the dog shrugged.
“That’s something not required here. We are all good creatures only waiting to travel,” the skunk informed him with a smile and a wink.
Blinking, Kile stared bewildered. Good creatures… it was a strange but pleasing thought. Mechanical printing tore him from his wandering mind. Big, brown dog ears swiveled to the tearing noise as the attendant in space force uniform blue handed him his ticket. “Have a good flight, and tell Scanectity hello if you see the old codger there. He’s known to have his morning coffee at the Whackadoodle Inn on Seventh Day.”
“Uh, yeah sure,” the canine responded, and then paused. “How would you know that?”
“He’s my uncle,” the space port Skunk responded, “Just very distantly. Family history still gives us stories about him. He’s quite the character.”
Turning towards the far gate, Kile found each step bringing an easier sense of calm. The crowds, he noted, grew thinner and the ceiling lights, were of an older style, casting odd shadows. At the same time, excitement grew within him. He clenched his ticket in paw, as if it might fly away if loosed. He was finally going to meet his friend after all these years and maybe even see some aliens.
He stopped cold. Something felt totally out of place for a spaceport. This portion of the terminal appeared as if it hadn’t seen a lot of care. His gaze traveled up to the dim ceiling lights. So he hadn’t imagined it. The lights really did need a fix. Dropping his gaze he looked around. There were passengers waiting, but only a few.
A bunny family cuddled together taking a row of seats.
A sleeping wolverine in flannel sprawled back, chest rising and falling.
Then there was a manic writing artic fox in jeans and teal shirt.
Kile slipped into a chair hugging his backpack to his chest. Outside the large boarding window the fading dawn cast eerily with the dimmed lights of the room. Of course, the shuttle had not landed yet. There was nothing to see but darkening skies over a grey tarmac.
Ears fluttered bored; there was very little sound. An old clock, mounted near the ceiling, ticked off the time, every five minutes the minute hand advancing with a ‘pachunk’. In the corner a janitor’s mop sloshed to and fro across a sticky spill by an actual live creature. Of course, too, there was the incoherent mumbled grumblings of the artic fox as he scanned his hand written pages, pencil dangling from his mouth.
Scene, sound, and time all just came to a blur, zoning the dog’s mind out.
“Final boarding for the Whackadoodle Express!” called a voice.
Kile woke with a start. The waiting area was now empty but for him. Standing near the terminal’s entrance port, was a cat dressed in a vintage train conductor’s outfit. He was smiling, and held out a metal paper punch, clicking it several times.
“Ticket please.”
The young dog rose from his seat, grabbing his backpack. Wagging his tail excitingly he moved to the jetway entrance, and presented the fellow with his ticket, which was promptly punched. As soon as the puncher clicked, Kile felt a floating sensation as his feet lifted off the floor.
“Just the gravity system kicking off,” the cat at the gate told him with a smile. You’ll get used to it. No need to walk, heh?” He then gave the young dog a slight push into the awaiting spacecraft docking port.
Sure enough, a breeze seemed to spring up from nowhere, continuing to move the now aerial canine towards the open entrance of the shuttle craft.
“Close your eyes before you go over the threshold,” the gate agent called to him, his own head just sticking out beyond the door. “It’s all a part of the process. Never done, and it might seem scary. Once done, and you’ll never even notice every time thereafter.”
Kile waved his arm as a signal he’d heard. Due to his current floating state, he could not turn around at will. Had he thought about it, or, if he’d done this before, he would have noticed the handrails most used for this purpose. For now, however, he did as instructed, and closed his eyes.
There was a rush of air. Fur ruffled as Kile felt his ears begin to flap with force. Startled he opened his green eyes, and then gasped in panic. The cat was right; he shouldn’t have opened his eyes. On either side, a foot of space from his shoulders, was nothing but glass hugged tightly with metal rivets.
He was stuck hurtling through a glass and metal tube with nothing to support him.
His senses began to calm. The dog took a few deep breaths and looked around himself, trying to remember what he was seeing. The city skyline, all aglow, flew by glittering in his eyes. It wasn’t so bad actually… really pretty.
It was then he looked upwards and screamed.
Above, a metal hatch door loomed closer and closer at incredible speed.
Kile panicked trying to grasp onto something. Paws and clicking claws slid off of smooth glass.
There was an audible hiss as the hatch flew open. Kile soared through the threshold into a brightly lit compartment. He floated there panting, tongue hanging loosely between his teeth. Eyes slid to the left. He was not alone.
“Heheheee, evrr time I see a first timer open their eyes is a racket,” the otter howled laughing, slapping a knee. The mustelid slammed the compartment shut with an audible thud. Tiny otter hands worked the circular lock back into place with a screech. “Welcome aboard the Whackadoodle express,” he beamed under his goggled hat. “The cabin is that way. You’re last holding us up.” The otter pointed.
“Why aren’t you floating?” Kile asked at last grabbing a rail and moving himself around.
The otter looked down at his boots clamped to the bright red carpet. “Magnetic.” He looked up at the wolf. “Crew have em.”
“Oh cool, I kind of wondered if Master Chief’s boots worked that way,” Kile said bobbing toward the cabin.
“Who?”
“A Halo reference,”
“Oh, I don’t know ‘bout that, but these work fine,” the otter shrugged. “Have a nice trip,” He waved back towards Kile who disappeared behind the curtain.
On the other side Kile’s eyes winded with wonder. Large black seats rowed the short shuttlecraft. They ended at two bathrooms and a light maintenance door. Circular windows and an exit door in the middle lined the walls. It was very much like a plane besides the floating passengers.
Most of the folks had already buckled into their seats. Half the rabbit family lay snug together. A few of the kits zoomed around and tussled. They were watched closely by their white furred mother gazing at them through her spectacles.
The wolverine amused himself with floating snacks, sucking them into his mouth, chomping them down in a hypnotizing fashion.
In the back sat the artic fox. His eyes glazed over as he stared at a brown paper bag clutched in his black hands.
“Take a seat please,” a voice said near his ear, startling the dog. Behind him was a Fennec vixen clad in a blue ‘Star Trek’ looking uniform, complete with an earpiece stuffed into one big ear. She smiled kindly as he comically tried to swim to a seat.
“The express will be lifting off soon,” the fox informed everyone, her bushy tail flowing behind her. “Please take a seat and fasten your seat belts until the captain says we have reached past the stratosphere.” Holding up a demonstration seat buckle, she moved her delicate black hands adjusting it as an example. “In a case of emergency escape pods will fly to the exits”. Claw points pointed to the two easily seeable exits. “In the event this happens, entry will be by row, the left going to the left, and the right going to the right. Do not panic. Entry is mechanically assisted and will go smoothly.
The curtain moved and a thick paddy white clad rabbit emerged. His head was protected and sealed tight within a large fishbowl helmet.
“If somehow the air shields fail,” the fox continued, “And the cabin loses pressure a void suit will drop from the sealing. Crew will come and assist you in putting it on.” The flight attendant moved her arms modeling the space suited rabbit who turned around for the spectacle.
Kile watched with interest, a little sad it was not Mjolnir or an ODST suit. The rabbit waved before disappearing behind the curtain
Bright eyed the desert vixen looked around the compartment, and then took her own seat, snuggly strapping herself in.
“This is your captain speaking,” announced a deep voice on the PA system, “Blast off is in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…one!”
*****
Kile’s eyes opened and he found himself laying on a featherbed, covered up to his chin by a comforter that was just as soft as the mattress. He blinked and his mind questioned what had happened. Had he dreamed his departure, or had the departure actually bent time and reality, depositing him on another world? Slowly his mind sharpened to his surroundings, taking in the things that were out of the ordinary as compared to his normal existence.
The only sound he definitely heard with any sort of regularity, was the ticking of a clock. This, he found, perched upon the small mantle framing of what had been a fireplace. Now, in place of an iron fireplace grate meant to hold burning logs, a small squarish metal box sat in its place. The window was open, and as soon as this was noticed, he heard birds chirping, and the sound of soft singing.
Tossing the comforter off, he found he was dressed solely in a pair of what he knew to be called ‘long-handles.’ The Victorian accoutrement made him laugh when he saw himself in the mirror stationed upon the room’s only dresser. His tail stuck out the back through an area sewn exactly for this. This sewn area was also a part of the underwear designed to accommodate a person’s bodily functions without removing one’s clothing… commonly referred to as a ‘trapdoor.’
“Now isn’t this the strangest spacesuit you ever saw,” he mused.
Hearing the singing again, he went to the window and looked out upon the backyard of wherever the place was. The sun was early in the day but shining bright all the same. The air was cool, and he just felt wonderful. Down below, he saw a wash line where a pretty skunk in a maid’s outfit was hanging laundry.
“Hello!” he shouted out to her. “Is this the Whackadoodle Inn?”
Looking up to his window, she smiled, and yelled back, “Yes it is, but sir, should you be standing in the window like that?”
“Like how?”
“Your state of undress, sir. A gentleman never allows himself to be ill presented to any lady, and seldom even to the other men folk.”
Kile looked around his room, and found a suit of clothing hanging from a clothing tree, just as if he’d removed them the previous night and hung the pieces there. Waving to the maid, he retired back into his room. Finding his backpack tucked under the bed, he quickly pulled out his ‘Whackadoodle Tourist’s Guide’, thumbing through it to the clothing section.
‘When the world of the Whackadoodle Inn, one does not need to pack. Clothing, and the proper social rules governing such will be provided, but the visitor, as a courtesy, should brush up on these things before embarking, as it will save unnecessary embarrassment.’
The dog smiled, and chuckled to himself. The maid had been very cute, and he’d always liked skunks, but then again, he knew nothing about her. Nor was he up so much on the local social norms and taboos. As a for instance, if he fancied her, could he just say so, or would this cause undue ripples in the fabric of the world. What if she already had a boyfriend, or (shock) husband?
Checking the clock on the mantle, he found the time to be seven thirty in the morning. That was early for him, but what about for the inhabitants of this place?
A metallic thud of pans caught the attention of his ears and gave him his answer. The dog rushed putting on his cloths: rustic pants and a blue high collar shirt. At least they were as comfortable as his old ones.
He then hurried out of his room, which sat amongst a long line of wooden doors in the blue hallway. A banister and old staircase led down to the common area. Kile took a step downward. The step creaked as to be expected for such an old stair. His ears lowered. He didn’t want to wake anyone still asleep. Maybe if he took the next one more slowly.
Creeeaaak
He froze looking around. One of the portraits along the stairs glared at him. It was a portrait of an angry looking bulldog in bottom-tie-whig. The stare was judging to stay the least. Kile decided to take it a little faster. Quickly traversing the remaining stairs, his sock slipped and down he went with a crash. Luckily something soft cushioned his fall.
Grooaaan
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Kile apologized as he untangled himself from the skunk man.
“It’s alright, not the first time someone’s fallen on those old stairs. At first I thought Bunners nailed me with something again cuz I managed to steal one of her biscuits.” The skunk rubbed the back fur of his neck. “At least you didn’t break the old Banjo,” he said holding it up by its long neck. “I’m Walter, welcome to the Whackadoodle Inn,” he smiled reaching out his right hand.
“I’m Kile-Johnson.” The dog took the paw with a good shake.
“Pleased to meet you and all. Now I need to go tunes things and do a little practicing before lunch, cuz I’ll be playing for it.” The skunk let go the handshake, and got to his feet and then helping Kile rise. “Y’all better go get one of Miss Bunners’ biscuits before they’re all gone. Breakfast time is almost done.” He pointed to the door, behind which the commotion he’d heard earlier had come from.
Kile watched him go, big striped tail disappearing around the big desk in the foyer. His nose wrinkled to the waft of bacon and fine soft biscuits. The dog’s stomach growled unused to the hour. Entranced he walked to the dining room door and pushed it open. His black nose sniffed, conjuring food images to his brain.
A long table greeted him, a white linen tablecloth hugging its frame. Stretched taunt to perfection and skill, it was loaded and weighted with dishes and utensils. A big plate of steaming biscuits, several plates of eggs, and a platter of crispy bacon were spread out amongst the long row of high walnut seats.
The rabbit family he remembered from the trip, ate a pile of greens happily. Far on the opposite end sat the wolverine, staring into space. An empty plate sat before him, and a large welt decorated his head, caused by an earlier reminder of neglected manners.
The Inn’s cook stuck her head out of the kitchen, and one of her ears twitched. “Heard you were coming. Sit down, and help yourself,” she called to him, “Just be sure to mind your social behaviors, and you can ask that fella at the end of the table what happens if you don’t.” With that, she disappeared back into her domain to chop up vegetables for the lunch time soup.
Kile took a seat, helping himself to a biscuit and bacon strips. As he did this, the young skunk maid walked through the dining room holding her laundry basket. Kile waved at her and smiled. She returned both back with pearly white teeth, and the fingers of one hand, which was holding her basket. As she walked, her head bobbed slightly with the weight of the wash basket.
There was a sudden bang as the door to the Inn’s foyer area was pushed open, stopping her from going further. The artic fox entered, wearing nothing but a sheet closely wrapped around his almost bare body. Everyone stared.
The Rabbit mother gasped clutching her closest baby’s eyes shut.
“I apologize for my indecency,” the fox apologized to everyone, “But I believe there’s been a mistake.” With that, the white furred fox held out a teal dress with his free arm.
“Mr. Helix, what are you doing with Ms. Bering’s dress,” a stern voice spoke from the stairwell.
Kile’s looked past the fox to the stair’s banister. There stood a short fennec fox in a familiar trek uniform looking cross at her far off artic kin.
“That is what I am saying Miss Vixyy, this was laid out for me when I finished my bath instead of my other clothes,” Helix replied.
“Why do you have my dress?” a snow colored vixen asked loudly, as she entered the room from the kitchen. The tod sighed. Obviously, when things are bad, they will quickly get worse.
“Oh, I am so sorry,” the skunk maid gasped. She put down her basket, and retrieved a pile of cloths from it for the fox man. The clothes were exchanged as she explained, “I saw white fur enter the bath and thought you were Miss Bering.”
“It’s ok Miss Victoria, artic foxes are rare in these parts,” Helix told the Skunk, awkwardly bowing slightly as he hugged the clothing pile to his sheet. “Sorry too Miss Bering,” he raised his eyes to the desk clerk, “Bygones be bygones and I’ll now be gone.” He shuffled backwards out the door, and then left to his room to dress, leaving the door open.
“Does this kind of stuff happen often around here?” Kile asked curiously, as calmness slowly returned to the room.
“Occasionally we have disturbances,” the matron of the inn replied, finishing her short walk down the stairs. Coming into the dining room, she gently closed the door, and came to sit across from Kile while he ate his breakfast. “So, what might bring you here to the Whackadoodle?”
The dog smiled at her. “You.”
“Me?” she smiled. “I must admit that I’m flattered, but I sometimes wonder if this is fully warranted. I am only a writer like yourself.”
Kile opened his mouth to say something, and she held up one finger, placing it upon his nose, stopping him.
“Eat, and then go into the parlor, and wait for me there. I need to change and then freshen up a bit. The trip to the space station and back tires me out these days. You think about what you wish to ask for, and we’ll discuss it.”
*****
Though Kile had no idea what was going to happen, he made his way to the parlor, which was a large formal sitting room. There was a fireplace at the far end with a log fire happily singing its snaps and pops. There were several lamp stands mounting oil lamps, bearing fancy frosted glass shades meant to magnify the meager light produced. On the mantle was a large clock whose tic-toc sound was soft sounding and hypnotic.
Choosing a high wingback chair near the fire, he turned it slightly so he could face the door, and then sat looking at the fireplace. The wing like portion of the chair did its intended job quite nicely, blocking out the sounds coming from other places in the big Victoria style Inn. His mind embraced this, and immediately went into a daydream. Something all writers are known to have in plentitude. The wings of the chair now appeared more as the sides of a cockpit canopy. The windscreen, at first, reflecting the fireplace, darkened to the point that stars began pinpointing. Some brighter than others; some joining hands to show far distant galaxies.
Reaching up his right hand, he touched the side of his head, and felt the streamlined formed metal of a battle helmet. He looked down starring from a heavy polycarbonate ballistic visor. Reaching around to his front, his now gauntleted fingers felt the thick plate guarding his torso that had not been there before.
The brown dog was now clad in the thick carapace of Mark VI Spartan armor. Blue in color it reflected the stars zooming by. He sat facing the canopy, buckled in a pilot’s seat. A collection of flight controls glowed untouched, clearly on some kind of auto pilot. Yet, despite the light, he could easily see a long silvery ring in the distance. The long glinting sheen of the ring stretched on and on for miles. Kile put a hand to the pane, a beautiful yet, haunting sight to behold amongst the starts.
“Kile… can you hear me?” He straightened. The voice sounded small and tinny as if it were coming over a bad speaker. “Plug your communication cord in.” There was a pause, and the voice laughed. “What am I saying? If it’s not plugged in, you’re not going to hear me at all.”
“Oh… wait… that’s not how this works at all, is it?” Vixyy puzzled, shimmering into being in his visor overlay. The fennec fox, dressed in a simple blue jump suit, floated there, holographic, small, and blue. Code lines flickered over her miniaturized body. “That’s new,” the hologram said studying her glowing hands.
There was a moment’s pause, and then he heard and felt a thunk on top of his helmet.
“That would be the rest of your crew,” Vixxy smiled.
Kile craned his neck to the seats behind him.
Duroc, the Gardner, leaned back from where he had bopped Kile to get his attention. “We’re all ready, Chief.” The towering pig nodded, sweeping with his MA6 battle-rifle. There, sitting at attention and buckled in was the Whackadoodle’s staff all in standard M52B UNSC armor. The green and grey plates covered neck to toe protecting their furry bodies, with one exception. The guest and artic fox Helix stood apart clad in robes. He was not yet seated, and a different thicker gun was clutched in his right paw. In his left, a spinning buzzsaw softly whirled on the gloved hand.
“I don’t remember, that gun being in Halo,” Kile questioned pointing to Helix’s armament.
“The MA6 and the Bf55 are terrible,” the white fox shrugged clutching the old style USCMC pulserifle in hand. “And this is a Quake thing; you keep it for close encounters.” He raised the whirling gauntlet into view. “You somehow pulled me in here too, but a Helix always goes to oldest forms.”
“He needs a fun vacation too,” digital Vixxy whispered to Kile with a hand to her mouth. “He seriously needs an escape from dire writing projects, which brings us to why we are here. A brute Chieftain has stolen something from the inn.”
The words had barely left the vixen’s mouth before the devil mentioned appeared with a loud, electronic spark on the ship’s monitor.
“YOUR BUN BUNS ARE MINE!” The wolverine roared, and then laughed an evil laugh. He was different now, far larger than previously, and clad in simple barbaric, metal armor. He leaned on a massive war hammer, face uglier, puglier, and twisted. Before him lay a tray of steaming biscuits.
“With my army of Battle Midgets or… uh whatever these things are… you cannot stop me.” He reached down picking up a small stunted creature. As it was hoisted the pitiful creature mumbled nonsense in a high-pitched voice. Slightly reptilian, the thing flailed its tiny arms and legs. These connected to a small armor shell, much like a turtle, where its head also pushed through. Its scaled face was covered by a tight mask.
The brutish Wolverine gave it a glare with an orange eye then turned back to the camera. “Yes, with my army of these,” he gave the creature a stern shake, “you will never win, nor see the biscuit tray again!” He hurled the midget down, and scooped a biscuit up in a metallic paw. Greedily he slammed it into his mouth, biscuit chunks flying, only to show a grimace as he howled in pain, being he forgot the pastry was still hot. The screen fizzed off.
“Well, that’s that,” digital Vixyy said, her image shimmering. “Get Miss Bunners’ tray back from the rude fellow.”
A loud smack echoed in the cockpit as Bunners slammed a fist into her palm. “Turn yor back just for an instance and look what happens.”
“Well at least he has nothing but grunts,” Kile shrugged, “they’re easy.”
“Technically the grunts are our size and able to pull arms out of their sockets if they so want too,” Helix informed the younger dog.
The crew all looked at Helix quizzically and as one gave him a loud Shuuush.
Everything then rocked violently. Plasma beams buffeted the pelican transport they road in. The purple beams flicking away amongst the stars, rattling across the ship’s blue glowing hull. The glow a sign the ship’s shields were still holding.
From the cockpit the crew stared on as a large, purple craft came into view. It loomed closer and closer dwarfing them. From its bulk the rounds spat.
The pelican transport shuddered as it increased its speed, leaving the Halo ring behind. Before the tiny vessel increased the purple shape, larger and larger. It appeared as an elongated hourglass shape with a pointed nose: A CCS battlecruiser.
The small guns on its deck flared with terrible inaccuracy. Few rounds struck the pelican which approached the open glowing launch bays like a gnat to a whale. At last, though, the tiny blue energy shield on its frame winked out. Its wing took a hit, lit with fire. Almost out of control, the ship slammed to the landing deck and hurtled through the launch bay. With a horrendous, metallic screech the pelican slid across the lighted floors smashing the small purple banshee crafts in its wake.
Kile lifted his head amongst the pelican’s sparking insides.
“Well, that was a doozy, not sure about autopilot compared to a real pilot,” Vixxy said, flickering into view again.
There were several groans as the crew began unbuckling seatbelts in preparation to their departure from the damaged spacecraft. Holograph Vixyy checked each member, finding nothing but minor aches and pains. There were no scratches, and all were unharmed. The nicely cushioned seats and harness of the pelican had done the job as they were designed to do.
“I’m a musician, why am I here,” Walter Skunk groaned standing up.
“To get a tray back,” Duroc laughed. The Gardner then slammed a yellow button and with that the drop doors lowered with a hiss.
Outside was a bright room smoking with purple, metallic debris. Kile stepped out, thinking what a real feeling this dream had. He turned to Duroc, Walter, and a silent Bering. “You three can fix the ship, Bunners, Helix, I will get the tray.”
“You got it Chief,” the Pig replied with a nod. The three went to work on the long lines of telephone cord and wooden beams of the smoking wing. Kile blinked his eyes a bit; the crash must have rung his head more than he thought. The wires he saw were normal telephone wires in the thick metal of the ship’s wing.
“Let’s go,” he cried pointing towards an open blast door. The three sprinted towards it. As soon as they left the blast door a dire feeling crept upon the trio. A long hallway filled with doors met them. Each door creaked open. Out of their holds poured a horde of grunts.
Bunners looked at Helix quizzically; unlike the description he’d given them, the creatures were diminutive and quaint as they gaggled around. Their high pitch voices squabbled incomprehensibly.
“I can be wrong sometimes,” the Fox muttered, shying away from the hare’s deathly glare.
Despite the comic site of the midget aliens hurdling closer, there were a lot of them blocking the trio’s way. In their flailing hands were curious glowing, green C shaped guns.
A weapon discharged, and one of creatures exploded into confetti. Kile lowered the rifle in his hands. “So that code’s on,” he said, watching the falling confetti.
The creatures panicked. “It’s the demon; it’s the demon,” they shrieked floundering to and fro trying to get away from Kile. They bumbled, bumping into one another in a chaotic mess. In the Dog’s mind, all of it was a pathetic sight. Mighty Battle Midgets indeed.
“What did you do that for,” Helix asked with a sigh while watching the spectacle.
“It’s Halo,” Kile replied with a shrug. “You have a circular saw hand. Are you not going to use it?”
Helix eyed his gauntlet. “We are good creatures,” the black and white fox responded.
There were those words from a day earlier, ‘good creatures’.
“Just go, I got this,” Helix added, snapping Kile from that thought.
“Go!” Vixxy commanded.
Kile ran forward, with Bunners following. They made it to the big door at the hallway’s end ignoring the terrified mewling throng around them.
Behind, Helix bent his knees, making his body lower to the floor. The blade on his hand circled to a faster speed. “Look at the shiny,” he intoned, the blade humming with its speed. “You are all getting very sleepy.” He waved the hand back and forth inducing a hypnotic trance.
Kile had little time to ponder the Fox’s actions as he blundered through the door. Here lay the tray, shining silvery in the light on the table. All of it appeared just like on the video screened message, but where was his foe?
Something slammed into him. Shield and armor warnings glared in his visor as he fell to the side.
“The buns are mine!” the massive Wolverine cried, from across the room. In his hand he bore the War hammer.
“Wow he’s really let himself go.” Vixxy observed thru Kile’s screen as she looked up to the slavering, hairy brute. The hammer rose up in his massive paws. Wolverine tail thrashed and spittle flew as the vile foe approached. Kile crawled backward, his tail ridged. He bared his fangs while trying to pick himself up.
There was a solid crack. The wolverine dropped to his knees, and then fell to the floor with a resounding thud.
“No manners and he should have worn a helmet,” Bunners chided waving her electronified iron skillet. “Serves him right.” In her other hand she clutched the pilfered tray still dusted with biscuit remains. With a final humming sound, the glowing skillet blinked out, and she returned it to her belt, and the tray was temporarily placed back on the table.
“Errgg, this uncouth muttonhead is heavy”, she groaned, pulling the heavy brute to a standing position, and then depositing him in his command chair.
“I’m glad for no helmet, and that I could be a distraction,” Kile told her over the com, “Remind me when we get back to the inn never to cross you over bad manners.”
The inn’s cook gave him a hand up from the floor, retrieved her tray, and the two made their way back towards their ship. Hopefully it was fixed by now. Almost back, they halted in their tracks. Hare and Dog ears twitched under their helmets. Was that singing?
The blast door to the Wolverine’s layer opened.
“We represent the Lollipop Guild The Lollipop Guild, the Lollipop Guild…”
Kile’s gun slid from his hand with a clatter. It was too much to take. There sat Helix waving his finger’s back and forth, a conductor for the surrounding singing, and dancing grunts. The eyes of the little creatures were totally glazed over.
“What?” Helix asked from his position of conducting. “Time to go already?” Keeping his fingers moving, he slowly stood and then stepped towards the duo.
“We are receiving a message,” Vixyy informed.
“Acknowledged,” Kile replied, “Let’s hear it, please.”
“Raaawwwr.”
Kile stepped back a little to the deafening sound as the communication’s hologram sparked to life.
“You fools! You cannot escape! I WILL CAUSE A MELT DOWN!” the brute roared. A mighty paw pressed upon a lump on his head as the other pulled a lever. The wolverine gave a mighty laugh and then winced as his head pain flared up. The message winked out of Kile’s visor.
“I read an energy spike coming from the ship’s reactor,” Vixxy called. Her small eyes looked towards the Dog’s.
“Well that can’t be good,” Kile mumbled.
“Self-destruct sequence has been activated. Ten minutes remaining until engine core melt down,” a female sounding mechanical voice droned over an unseen PA system. The good creatures collectively winced as a loud alarm then pounded across the cruiser’s flight bay deck. The grunt’s singing stopped as they snapped out of their happy trance and began looking around nervously.
“The door,” Kile shouted, as the landing bay door slowly began to lower.
Vixyy began to say something, but Kile punched the open button for his helmet, and the holograph disappeared. With the dome open, his ears could hear the electric motors running to close the doors. He was also almost deafened by the ship’s PA as it announced “SD (self-destruct) minus nine minutes.” “Why does every ship have to have a self-destruct?” he wondered out loud.
One of the battle midgets made a frightened sound. Turning a quick circle, it ran into Kile’s leg where it popped, shooting confetti into the air. Kneeling down, the Dog examined the creature’s remains, which consisted of nothing more than colorful, metallic strips. It then occurred to him, they weren’t real aliens, but robots.
“Helix!” he yelled. “Can you use your saw to gain control over these creatures again?”
“Yes, but we don’t have time.”
The Dog turned and pointed at the closing door. “Forget escape, it’s been cut off. I’m heading to the computer compartment. As soon as you can bring the grunts under control, follow me and bring all of them… it’s out only hope!”
Slapping the close button on his helmet, he waited for his vision to clear and Vixyy to come back on-line. Before the hologram could even utter a word, he told her, “the grunts are not real creatures; they are only small and not very smart robots.”
“Yes, and?”
“When they are destroyed, they burst into little strips of metallic confetti. It looks very much like the old chafe used to disrupt missile lock on systems. I’m thinking this might be enough to scramble the ship’s self-destruct processor.”
“We’re doomed aren’t we?” she asked him.
“Die sitting and crying, or die trying, which do you prefer?”
“Crying is easier.”
“Not for me, it’s not.”
Turning, he made his way back into the ship, pausing only long enough to drop a marker and check the passageway location placards which weren’t much more than squiggles. “You recording this Vixyy?”
“Of course I am,” her image replied.
“Can you translate? I’m kind of in need of direction.”
“SD minus seven minutes!” blared the loudspeaker.
“You missed a minute!” Kile yelled back, his voice sounding overly loud inside the helmet.
“No I didn’t,” the computer replied over his com, “You weren’t paying attention.”
“Open the bay doors,” he commanded.
“Opening the bay doors,” it responded, and the noise of the doors reversing found him through the vibration in the decking.
“Ask it to stop the count,” Vixyy’s image hissed.
“I can’t do that,” the computer hissed back.
“Why not?”
“It’s against the protocols imbedded into my hard drive.”
A mike clicked on and the hum of a saw blade came through. “Where do you want the Battle Midgets?” Helix asked.
“I dropped a marker. I’ll continue to do so as I move. Vixyy will also lend directions if need be. Follow them and hurry.”
“SD minus six minutes.”
“It’s a bit like herding cats,” the Fox replied.
“Drag some catnip behind yourself then… times running out.”
Three minutes later found Kile leaning over the hand rails in the main computer room. The place had been well armored, but he’d been well equipped for such breaking and entering. After access, he found himself in a conversation with the computer whose name was Mary.
“There are only three minutes left,” she told him, “Why are you bothering me?”
“Because you’re smart, and intelligent, and a fully faceted instrument of death. I’m in love with you.”
“It has nothing to do with the fact you and your friends will die in such a short time?”
“Welllll… that might also have something to do with it.” He looked at the smooth looking stone thing in front of him. The data cords leading into the top actually looked like a fancy hairdo. “You’re a good looking computer,” he adlibbed, “There’s no Mr. Computer in your life?”
“Really? That’s all you got? I expected so much more. SD minus two minutes. Do you have any last requests?”
“Don’t do it?”
“Oh sure… no problem… I seem to have made a bad decision. Not that I have a choice, really. Oh my… what shall I do? I know, I’ll speed things up. SD minus one minute.”
The radio crackled, and Helix came on-line. “OK then, the mini’s are primed and ready to go, I’m outside what’s left of the door. What are your instructions?”
“Bring them in.”
“Bring what in?” Mary asked.
What was left of the door burst open under a deluge of small bodies. They moved forward, climbed the handrail and began launching themselves at Mary. When the first one hit her stone face and burst into silvery confetti, she giggled. This mirth continued with each hit and small burst until she was laughing uncontrollably.
“What’s the count now?” Kile asked her.”
“SD minus… minus…”
She tried… she really did try, but the closest she came to an explosion was something that sounded like a small fart.
*****
Kile found himself back at the inn, smiling at the fire. Hearing a small tinkle at his elbow, he looked up to find Miss Bering holding a tray with a tea service on it.
“Would you care for a cuppa, sir?”
“Yes please.”
As she served him, the Arctic Fox passed Miss Vixyy’s message that she would be down shortly. She then smiled and whispered that the old Fox was having difficulty getting out of the space uniform she’d been forced to wear. “Miss Vixyy also said something about your being one of the most interesting guests she’s ever entertained.”
“Thank you for telling me this,” he whispered back, “That information has made me truly happy.”
By the time he’d finished his tea, he was again staring at the fire and remembering the adventure with a smile. Hearing someone clear their throat, he turned to find the old Fox standing near his chair. She was wearing a simple tan dress, tight around her waist, but evolving into a bell shape as it flowed down from her waist, to properly cover the ankles. Her blouse was white with a high neckline; leaving no room for the prying eye should she bend down in front of the looker.
Kile stood and bowed slightly from the waist. “I had fun tonight, Miss Vixyy.”
“As did I. Will you walk with me?”
She led the way out the front door onto the porch and then to the front steps where they sat, both watching the night sky for a time without conversation. A shooting star streaked down from above and winked out long before making it to earth.
“I would like to thank you,” Kile finally told her. “I never thought I would have such an adventure like this at a simple country inn.”
“Ain’t nothing simple about the Whackadoodle, Friend Dog,” she replied, still watching the sky, “And don’t thank me, it was Helix who handled your arrangements. I was but a willing participant. It has been some time since I allowed myself to venture so far out into space.”
“Is the Wolverine all right?” he asked her.
“His name is Fred, and he told me to tell you he considered you to be a worthy opponent. He would have delivered this message to you personally except for the fact Miss Buns and her iron skillet insisted he stay in the kitchen and finish washing the dishes. Bad manners do have consequences after all.”
“And Helix?”
“Has gone to bed. The poor dear is exhausted. I think he kept one of the Battle Midgets as a souvenir. I can see no good coming of that, but that’s just my opinion. Duroc also said to say hello, and goodbye, as well as Walter, and Miss Buns. You fairly well tired us all out.”
Kile stretched and yawned, quickly apologizing for doing so. “I think I understand,” he admitted. “It was truly a great adventure. What happens now?”
The old Fox turned and smiled at him, her features flickering in the oil lamp illumination of the porch light. Half of her face was concealed in the shadows. Reaching out, she touched his cheek. “I will escort you to your room where you will fall asleep in that very comfortable bed. When you wake, you will be back in the spaceport terminal.”
“Will I be able to come back to the Whackadoodle in the future?” he asked her.
“That is totally up to you, Kile. Every story you read about the Whackadoodle Inn brings your imagination down the front pathway.”
Another shooting star crossed the night sky, but it did not wink out. There was no moon so it was very bright. Perhaps it was a ship… perhaps not. A small breeze rattled the leaves of the trees in the yard.
“I really like it here,” he told her.
The old vixen smiled at him. “So do I, Kile… so do I.”
Helix Teller of Tales and 
vixyyfox , thanks again for the story you two, I really appreciate it ^^A BURTE AND BISCUIT
Trepidation or more anxiety fought courage in the young dog’s heart. He meandered in a sea of people. Brown furred, the lad awkwardly looked around with his big, green eyes. The spaceport was loud and packed. A menagerie of animal folk and their luggage trickled out like ants in those grey halls. Cargo trollies beeped and wheels thundered, parting crowds loaded with more than a smattering of elderly passengers. Pups and kits fidgeted, paining their parents in their games of make believe. Such a pair of squirrels ran haphazardly between the lines while their mother tried to sternly catch them in a grey paw.
The dog’s heartbeat simmered down a bit. Really it was no different than flying out of any terrestrial airport. The line moved forward; he was next. His small backpack bounced back and forth under the assault of his wagging tail. Claw points clicked as he walked barefoot along the cold marble floor.
“ID and destination,” the skunk attendant smiled under his blue billed hat. The dog fished in his black pant’s pockets before sliding his arm along his blue hoody’s pouch to reveal the plastic driver’s license. The mustelid took the card eyeing it over.
“Kile Johnson,” the skunk read out loud before handing it back.
“I’m going to the Whackadoodle,” the canine responded happily.
“So I see. I know another skunk who’s been there,” the attendant told him, giving a slight smile. “It’s a fast trip, but few tend to ride that shuttle. Your gate is C42.” He pointed with a white and black furred finger to a less crowded portion of the spaceport.
“Uh… don’t you need to scan this or something?” Kile asked lifting his small bag.
The skunk’s brow furrowed, raising bushy white eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“Like for bombs or something?” the dog shrugged.
“That’s something not required here. We are all good creatures only waiting to travel,” the skunk informed him with a smile and a wink.
Blinking, Kile stared bewildered. Good creatures… it was a strange but pleasing thought. Mechanical printing tore him from his wandering mind. Big, brown dog ears swiveled to the tearing noise as the attendant in space force uniform blue handed him his ticket. “Have a good flight, and tell Scanectity hello if you see the old codger there. He’s known to have his morning coffee at the Whackadoodle Inn on Seventh Day.”
“Uh, yeah sure,” the canine responded, and then paused. “How would you know that?”
“He’s my uncle,” the space port Skunk responded, “Just very distantly. Family history still gives us stories about him. He’s quite the character.”
Turning towards the far gate, Kile found each step bringing an easier sense of calm. The crowds, he noted, grew thinner and the ceiling lights, were of an older style, casting odd shadows. At the same time, excitement grew within him. He clenched his ticket in paw, as if it might fly away if loosed. He was finally going to meet his friend after all these years and maybe even see some aliens.
He stopped cold. Something felt totally out of place for a spaceport. This portion of the terminal appeared as if it hadn’t seen a lot of care. His gaze traveled up to the dim ceiling lights. So he hadn’t imagined it. The lights really did need a fix. Dropping his gaze he looked around. There were passengers waiting, but only a few.
A bunny family cuddled together taking a row of seats.
A sleeping wolverine in flannel sprawled back, chest rising and falling.
Then there was a manic writing artic fox in jeans and teal shirt.
Kile slipped into a chair hugging his backpack to his chest. Outside the large boarding window the fading dawn cast eerily with the dimmed lights of the room. Of course, the shuttle had not landed yet. There was nothing to see but darkening skies over a grey tarmac.
Ears fluttered bored; there was very little sound. An old clock, mounted near the ceiling, ticked off the time, every five minutes the minute hand advancing with a ‘pachunk’. In the corner a janitor’s mop sloshed to and fro across a sticky spill by an actual live creature. Of course, too, there was the incoherent mumbled grumblings of the artic fox as he scanned his hand written pages, pencil dangling from his mouth.
Scene, sound, and time all just came to a blur, zoning the dog’s mind out.
“Final boarding for the Whackadoodle Express!” called a voice.
Kile woke with a start. The waiting area was now empty but for him. Standing near the terminal’s entrance port, was a cat dressed in a vintage train conductor’s outfit. He was smiling, and held out a metal paper punch, clicking it several times.
“Ticket please.”
The young dog rose from his seat, grabbing his backpack. Wagging his tail excitingly he moved to the jetway entrance, and presented the fellow with his ticket, which was promptly punched. As soon as the puncher clicked, Kile felt a floating sensation as his feet lifted off the floor.
“Just the gravity system kicking off,” the cat at the gate told him with a smile. You’ll get used to it. No need to walk, heh?” He then gave the young dog a slight push into the awaiting spacecraft docking port.
Sure enough, a breeze seemed to spring up from nowhere, continuing to move the now aerial canine towards the open entrance of the shuttle craft.
“Close your eyes before you go over the threshold,” the gate agent called to him, his own head just sticking out beyond the door. “It’s all a part of the process. Never done, and it might seem scary. Once done, and you’ll never even notice every time thereafter.”
Kile waved his arm as a signal he’d heard. Due to his current floating state, he could not turn around at will. Had he thought about it, or, if he’d done this before, he would have noticed the handrails most used for this purpose. For now, however, he did as instructed, and closed his eyes.
There was a rush of air. Fur ruffled as Kile felt his ears begin to flap with force. Startled he opened his green eyes, and then gasped in panic. The cat was right; he shouldn’t have opened his eyes. On either side, a foot of space from his shoulders, was nothing but glass hugged tightly with metal rivets.
He was stuck hurtling through a glass and metal tube with nothing to support him.
His senses began to calm. The dog took a few deep breaths and looked around himself, trying to remember what he was seeing. The city skyline, all aglow, flew by glittering in his eyes. It wasn’t so bad actually… really pretty.
It was then he looked upwards and screamed.
Above, a metal hatch door loomed closer and closer at incredible speed.
Kile panicked trying to grasp onto something. Paws and clicking claws slid off of smooth glass.
There was an audible hiss as the hatch flew open. Kile soared through the threshold into a brightly lit compartment. He floated there panting, tongue hanging loosely between his teeth. Eyes slid to the left. He was not alone.
“Heheheee, evrr time I see a first timer open their eyes is a racket,” the otter howled laughing, slapping a knee. The mustelid slammed the compartment shut with an audible thud. Tiny otter hands worked the circular lock back into place with a screech. “Welcome aboard the Whackadoodle express,” he beamed under his goggled hat. “The cabin is that way. You’re last holding us up.” The otter pointed.
“Why aren’t you floating?” Kile asked at last grabbing a rail and moving himself around.
The otter looked down at his boots clamped to the bright red carpet. “Magnetic.” He looked up at the wolf. “Crew have em.”
“Oh cool, I kind of wondered if Master Chief’s boots worked that way,” Kile said bobbing toward the cabin.
“Who?”
“A Halo reference,”
“Oh, I don’t know ‘bout that, but these work fine,” the otter shrugged. “Have a nice trip,” He waved back towards Kile who disappeared behind the curtain.
On the other side Kile’s eyes winded with wonder. Large black seats rowed the short shuttlecraft. They ended at two bathrooms and a light maintenance door. Circular windows and an exit door in the middle lined the walls. It was very much like a plane besides the floating passengers.
Most of the folks had already buckled into their seats. Half the rabbit family lay snug together. A few of the kits zoomed around and tussled. They were watched closely by their white furred mother gazing at them through her spectacles.
The wolverine amused himself with floating snacks, sucking them into his mouth, chomping them down in a hypnotizing fashion.
In the back sat the artic fox. His eyes glazed over as he stared at a brown paper bag clutched in his black hands.
“Take a seat please,” a voice said near his ear, startling the dog. Behind him was a Fennec vixen clad in a blue ‘Star Trek’ looking uniform, complete with an earpiece stuffed into one big ear. She smiled kindly as he comically tried to swim to a seat.
“The express will be lifting off soon,” the fox informed everyone, her bushy tail flowing behind her. “Please take a seat and fasten your seat belts until the captain says we have reached past the stratosphere.” Holding up a demonstration seat buckle, she moved her delicate black hands adjusting it as an example. “In a case of emergency escape pods will fly to the exits”. Claw points pointed to the two easily seeable exits. “In the event this happens, entry will be by row, the left going to the left, and the right going to the right. Do not panic. Entry is mechanically assisted and will go smoothly.
The curtain moved and a thick paddy white clad rabbit emerged. His head was protected and sealed tight within a large fishbowl helmet.
“If somehow the air shields fail,” the fox continued, “And the cabin loses pressure a void suit will drop from the sealing. Crew will come and assist you in putting it on.” The flight attendant moved her arms modeling the space suited rabbit who turned around for the spectacle.
Kile watched with interest, a little sad it was not Mjolnir or an ODST suit. The rabbit waved before disappearing behind the curtain
Bright eyed the desert vixen looked around the compartment, and then took her own seat, snuggly strapping herself in.
“This is your captain speaking,” announced a deep voice on the PA system, “Blast off is in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…one!”
*****
Kile’s eyes opened and he found himself laying on a featherbed, covered up to his chin by a comforter that was just as soft as the mattress. He blinked and his mind questioned what had happened. Had he dreamed his departure, or had the departure actually bent time and reality, depositing him on another world? Slowly his mind sharpened to his surroundings, taking in the things that were out of the ordinary as compared to his normal existence.
The only sound he definitely heard with any sort of regularity, was the ticking of a clock. This, he found, perched upon the small mantle framing of what had been a fireplace. Now, in place of an iron fireplace grate meant to hold burning logs, a small squarish metal box sat in its place. The window was open, and as soon as this was noticed, he heard birds chirping, and the sound of soft singing.
Tossing the comforter off, he found he was dressed solely in a pair of what he knew to be called ‘long-handles.’ The Victorian accoutrement made him laugh when he saw himself in the mirror stationed upon the room’s only dresser. His tail stuck out the back through an area sewn exactly for this. This sewn area was also a part of the underwear designed to accommodate a person’s bodily functions without removing one’s clothing… commonly referred to as a ‘trapdoor.’
“Now isn’t this the strangest spacesuit you ever saw,” he mused.
Hearing the singing again, he went to the window and looked out upon the backyard of wherever the place was. The sun was early in the day but shining bright all the same. The air was cool, and he just felt wonderful. Down below, he saw a wash line where a pretty skunk in a maid’s outfit was hanging laundry.
“Hello!” he shouted out to her. “Is this the Whackadoodle Inn?”
Looking up to his window, she smiled, and yelled back, “Yes it is, but sir, should you be standing in the window like that?”
“Like how?”
“Your state of undress, sir. A gentleman never allows himself to be ill presented to any lady, and seldom even to the other men folk.”
Kile looked around his room, and found a suit of clothing hanging from a clothing tree, just as if he’d removed them the previous night and hung the pieces there. Waving to the maid, he retired back into his room. Finding his backpack tucked under the bed, he quickly pulled out his ‘Whackadoodle Tourist’s Guide’, thumbing through it to the clothing section.
‘When the world of the Whackadoodle Inn, one does not need to pack. Clothing, and the proper social rules governing such will be provided, but the visitor, as a courtesy, should brush up on these things before embarking, as it will save unnecessary embarrassment.’
The dog smiled, and chuckled to himself. The maid had been very cute, and he’d always liked skunks, but then again, he knew nothing about her. Nor was he up so much on the local social norms and taboos. As a for instance, if he fancied her, could he just say so, or would this cause undue ripples in the fabric of the world. What if she already had a boyfriend, or (shock) husband?
Checking the clock on the mantle, he found the time to be seven thirty in the morning. That was early for him, but what about for the inhabitants of this place?
A metallic thud of pans caught the attention of his ears and gave him his answer. The dog rushed putting on his cloths: rustic pants and a blue high collar shirt. At least they were as comfortable as his old ones.
He then hurried out of his room, which sat amongst a long line of wooden doors in the blue hallway. A banister and old staircase led down to the common area. Kile took a step downward. The step creaked as to be expected for such an old stair. His ears lowered. He didn’t want to wake anyone still asleep. Maybe if he took the next one more slowly.
Creeeaaak
He froze looking around. One of the portraits along the stairs glared at him. It was a portrait of an angry looking bulldog in bottom-tie-whig. The stare was judging to stay the least. Kile decided to take it a little faster. Quickly traversing the remaining stairs, his sock slipped and down he went with a crash. Luckily something soft cushioned his fall.
Grooaaan
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Kile apologized as he untangled himself from the skunk man.
“It’s alright, not the first time someone’s fallen on those old stairs. At first I thought Bunners nailed me with something again cuz I managed to steal one of her biscuits.” The skunk rubbed the back fur of his neck. “At least you didn’t break the old Banjo,” he said holding it up by its long neck. “I’m Walter, welcome to the Whackadoodle Inn,” he smiled reaching out his right hand.
“I’m Kile-Johnson.” The dog took the paw with a good shake.
“Pleased to meet you and all. Now I need to go tunes things and do a little practicing before lunch, cuz I’ll be playing for it.” The skunk let go the handshake, and got to his feet and then helping Kile rise. “Y’all better go get one of Miss Bunners’ biscuits before they’re all gone. Breakfast time is almost done.” He pointed to the door, behind which the commotion he’d heard earlier had come from.
Kile watched him go, big striped tail disappearing around the big desk in the foyer. His nose wrinkled to the waft of bacon and fine soft biscuits. The dog’s stomach growled unused to the hour. Entranced he walked to the dining room door and pushed it open. His black nose sniffed, conjuring food images to his brain.
A long table greeted him, a white linen tablecloth hugging its frame. Stretched taunt to perfection and skill, it was loaded and weighted with dishes and utensils. A big plate of steaming biscuits, several plates of eggs, and a platter of crispy bacon were spread out amongst the long row of high walnut seats.
The rabbit family he remembered from the trip, ate a pile of greens happily. Far on the opposite end sat the wolverine, staring into space. An empty plate sat before him, and a large welt decorated his head, caused by an earlier reminder of neglected manners.
The Inn’s cook stuck her head out of the kitchen, and one of her ears twitched. “Heard you were coming. Sit down, and help yourself,” she called to him, “Just be sure to mind your social behaviors, and you can ask that fella at the end of the table what happens if you don’t.” With that, she disappeared back into her domain to chop up vegetables for the lunch time soup.
Kile took a seat, helping himself to a biscuit and bacon strips. As he did this, the young skunk maid walked through the dining room holding her laundry basket. Kile waved at her and smiled. She returned both back with pearly white teeth, and the fingers of one hand, which was holding her basket. As she walked, her head bobbed slightly with the weight of the wash basket.
There was a sudden bang as the door to the Inn’s foyer area was pushed open, stopping her from going further. The artic fox entered, wearing nothing but a sheet closely wrapped around his almost bare body. Everyone stared.
The Rabbit mother gasped clutching her closest baby’s eyes shut.
“I apologize for my indecency,” the fox apologized to everyone, “But I believe there’s been a mistake.” With that, the white furred fox held out a teal dress with his free arm.
“Mr. Helix, what are you doing with Ms. Bering’s dress,” a stern voice spoke from the stairwell.
Kile’s looked past the fox to the stair’s banister. There stood a short fennec fox in a familiar trek uniform looking cross at her far off artic kin.
“That is what I am saying Miss Vixyy, this was laid out for me when I finished my bath instead of my other clothes,” Helix replied.
“Why do you have my dress?” a snow colored vixen asked loudly, as she entered the room from the kitchen. The tod sighed. Obviously, when things are bad, they will quickly get worse.
“Oh, I am so sorry,” the skunk maid gasped. She put down her basket, and retrieved a pile of cloths from it for the fox man. The clothes were exchanged as she explained, “I saw white fur enter the bath and thought you were Miss Bering.”
“It’s ok Miss Victoria, artic foxes are rare in these parts,” Helix told the Skunk, awkwardly bowing slightly as he hugged the clothing pile to his sheet. “Sorry too Miss Bering,” he raised his eyes to the desk clerk, “Bygones be bygones and I’ll now be gone.” He shuffled backwards out the door, and then left to his room to dress, leaving the door open.
“Does this kind of stuff happen often around here?” Kile asked curiously, as calmness slowly returned to the room.
“Occasionally we have disturbances,” the matron of the inn replied, finishing her short walk down the stairs. Coming into the dining room, she gently closed the door, and came to sit across from Kile while he ate his breakfast. “So, what might bring you here to the Whackadoodle?”
The dog smiled at her. “You.”
“Me?” she smiled. “I must admit that I’m flattered, but I sometimes wonder if this is fully warranted. I am only a writer like yourself.”
Kile opened his mouth to say something, and she held up one finger, placing it upon his nose, stopping him.
“Eat, and then go into the parlor, and wait for me there. I need to change and then freshen up a bit. The trip to the space station and back tires me out these days. You think about what you wish to ask for, and we’ll discuss it.”
*****
Though Kile had no idea what was going to happen, he made his way to the parlor, which was a large formal sitting room. There was a fireplace at the far end with a log fire happily singing its snaps and pops. There were several lamp stands mounting oil lamps, bearing fancy frosted glass shades meant to magnify the meager light produced. On the mantle was a large clock whose tic-toc sound was soft sounding and hypnotic.
Choosing a high wingback chair near the fire, he turned it slightly so he could face the door, and then sat looking at the fireplace. The wing like portion of the chair did its intended job quite nicely, blocking out the sounds coming from other places in the big Victoria style Inn. His mind embraced this, and immediately went into a daydream. Something all writers are known to have in plentitude. The wings of the chair now appeared more as the sides of a cockpit canopy. The windscreen, at first, reflecting the fireplace, darkened to the point that stars began pinpointing. Some brighter than others; some joining hands to show far distant galaxies.
Reaching up his right hand, he touched the side of his head, and felt the streamlined formed metal of a battle helmet. He looked down starring from a heavy polycarbonate ballistic visor. Reaching around to his front, his now gauntleted fingers felt the thick plate guarding his torso that had not been there before.
The brown dog was now clad in the thick carapace of Mark VI Spartan armor. Blue in color it reflected the stars zooming by. He sat facing the canopy, buckled in a pilot’s seat. A collection of flight controls glowed untouched, clearly on some kind of auto pilot. Yet, despite the light, he could easily see a long silvery ring in the distance. The long glinting sheen of the ring stretched on and on for miles. Kile put a hand to the pane, a beautiful yet, haunting sight to behold amongst the starts.
“Kile… can you hear me?” He straightened. The voice sounded small and tinny as if it were coming over a bad speaker. “Plug your communication cord in.” There was a pause, and the voice laughed. “What am I saying? If it’s not plugged in, you’re not going to hear me at all.”
“Oh… wait… that’s not how this works at all, is it?” Vixyy puzzled, shimmering into being in his visor overlay. The fennec fox, dressed in a simple blue jump suit, floated there, holographic, small, and blue. Code lines flickered over her miniaturized body. “That’s new,” the hologram said studying her glowing hands.
There was a moment’s pause, and then he heard and felt a thunk on top of his helmet.
“That would be the rest of your crew,” Vixxy smiled.
Kile craned his neck to the seats behind him.
Duroc, the Gardner, leaned back from where he had bopped Kile to get his attention. “We’re all ready, Chief.” The towering pig nodded, sweeping with his MA6 battle-rifle. There, sitting at attention and buckled in was the Whackadoodle’s staff all in standard M52B UNSC armor. The green and grey plates covered neck to toe protecting their furry bodies, with one exception. The guest and artic fox Helix stood apart clad in robes. He was not yet seated, and a different thicker gun was clutched in his right paw. In his left, a spinning buzzsaw softly whirled on the gloved hand.
“I don’t remember, that gun being in Halo,” Kile questioned pointing to Helix’s armament.
“The MA6 and the Bf55 are terrible,” the white fox shrugged clutching the old style USCMC pulserifle in hand. “And this is a Quake thing; you keep it for close encounters.” He raised the whirling gauntlet into view. “You somehow pulled me in here too, but a Helix always goes to oldest forms.”
“He needs a fun vacation too,” digital Vixxy whispered to Kile with a hand to her mouth. “He seriously needs an escape from dire writing projects, which brings us to why we are here. A brute Chieftain has stolen something from the inn.”
The words had barely left the vixen’s mouth before the devil mentioned appeared with a loud, electronic spark on the ship’s monitor.
“YOUR BUN BUNS ARE MINE!” The wolverine roared, and then laughed an evil laugh. He was different now, far larger than previously, and clad in simple barbaric, metal armor. He leaned on a massive war hammer, face uglier, puglier, and twisted. Before him lay a tray of steaming biscuits.
“With my army of Battle Midgets or… uh whatever these things are… you cannot stop me.” He reached down picking up a small stunted creature. As it was hoisted the pitiful creature mumbled nonsense in a high-pitched voice. Slightly reptilian, the thing flailed its tiny arms and legs. These connected to a small armor shell, much like a turtle, where its head also pushed through. Its scaled face was covered by a tight mask.
The brutish Wolverine gave it a glare with an orange eye then turned back to the camera. “Yes, with my army of these,” he gave the creature a stern shake, “you will never win, nor see the biscuit tray again!” He hurled the midget down, and scooped a biscuit up in a metallic paw. Greedily he slammed it into his mouth, biscuit chunks flying, only to show a grimace as he howled in pain, being he forgot the pastry was still hot. The screen fizzed off.
“Well, that’s that,” digital Vixyy said, her image shimmering. “Get Miss Bunners’ tray back from the rude fellow.”
A loud smack echoed in the cockpit as Bunners slammed a fist into her palm. “Turn yor back just for an instance and look what happens.”
“Well at least he has nothing but grunts,” Kile shrugged, “they’re easy.”
“Technically the grunts are our size and able to pull arms out of their sockets if they so want too,” Helix informed the younger dog.
The crew all looked at Helix quizzically and as one gave him a loud Shuuush.
Everything then rocked violently. Plasma beams buffeted the pelican transport they road in. The purple beams flicking away amongst the stars, rattling across the ship’s blue glowing hull. The glow a sign the ship’s shields were still holding.
From the cockpit the crew stared on as a large, purple craft came into view. It loomed closer and closer dwarfing them. From its bulk the rounds spat.
The pelican transport shuddered as it increased its speed, leaving the Halo ring behind. Before the tiny vessel increased the purple shape, larger and larger. It appeared as an elongated hourglass shape with a pointed nose: A CCS battlecruiser.
The small guns on its deck flared with terrible inaccuracy. Few rounds struck the pelican which approached the open glowing launch bays like a gnat to a whale. At last, though, the tiny blue energy shield on its frame winked out. Its wing took a hit, lit with fire. Almost out of control, the ship slammed to the landing deck and hurtled through the launch bay. With a horrendous, metallic screech the pelican slid across the lighted floors smashing the small purple banshee crafts in its wake.
Kile lifted his head amongst the pelican’s sparking insides.
“Well, that was a doozy, not sure about autopilot compared to a real pilot,” Vixxy said, flickering into view again.
There were several groans as the crew began unbuckling seatbelts in preparation to their departure from the damaged spacecraft. Holograph Vixyy checked each member, finding nothing but minor aches and pains. There were no scratches, and all were unharmed. The nicely cushioned seats and harness of the pelican had done the job as they were designed to do.
“I’m a musician, why am I here,” Walter Skunk groaned standing up.
“To get a tray back,” Duroc laughed. The Gardner then slammed a yellow button and with that the drop doors lowered with a hiss.
Outside was a bright room smoking with purple, metallic debris. Kile stepped out, thinking what a real feeling this dream had. He turned to Duroc, Walter, and a silent Bering. “You three can fix the ship, Bunners, Helix, I will get the tray.”
“You got it Chief,” the Pig replied with a nod. The three went to work on the long lines of telephone cord and wooden beams of the smoking wing. Kile blinked his eyes a bit; the crash must have rung his head more than he thought. The wires he saw were normal telephone wires in the thick metal of the ship’s wing.
“Let’s go,” he cried pointing towards an open blast door. The three sprinted towards it. As soon as they left the blast door a dire feeling crept upon the trio. A long hallway filled with doors met them. Each door creaked open. Out of their holds poured a horde of grunts.
Bunners looked at Helix quizzically; unlike the description he’d given them, the creatures were diminutive and quaint as they gaggled around. Their high pitch voices squabbled incomprehensibly.
“I can be wrong sometimes,” the Fox muttered, shying away from the hare’s deathly glare.
Despite the comic site of the midget aliens hurdling closer, there were a lot of them blocking the trio’s way. In their flailing hands were curious glowing, green C shaped guns.
A weapon discharged, and one of creatures exploded into confetti. Kile lowered the rifle in his hands. “So that code’s on,” he said, watching the falling confetti.
The creatures panicked. “It’s the demon; it’s the demon,” they shrieked floundering to and fro trying to get away from Kile. They bumbled, bumping into one another in a chaotic mess. In the Dog’s mind, all of it was a pathetic sight. Mighty Battle Midgets indeed.
“What did you do that for,” Helix asked with a sigh while watching the spectacle.
“It’s Halo,” Kile replied with a shrug. “You have a circular saw hand. Are you not going to use it?”
Helix eyed his gauntlet. “We are good creatures,” the black and white fox responded.
There were those words from a day earlier, ‘good creatures’.
“Just go, I got this,” Helix added, snapping Kile from that thought.
“Go!” Vixxy commanded.
Kile ran forward, with Bunners following. They made it to the big door at the hallway’s end ignoring the terrified mewling throng around them.
Behind, Helix bent his knees, making his body lower to the floor. The blade on his hand circled to a faster speed. “Look at the shiny,” he intoned, the blade humming with its speed. “You are all getting very sleepy.” He waved the hand back and forth inducing a hypnotic trance.
Kile had little time to ponder the Fox’s actions as he blundered through the door. Here lay the tray, shining silvery in the light on the table. All of it appeared just like on the video screened message, but where was his foe?
Something slammed into him. Shield and armor warnings glared in his visor as he fell to the side.
“The buns are mine!” the massive Wolverine cried, from across the room. In his hand he bore the War hammer.
“Wow he’s really let himself go.” Vixxy observed thru Kile’s screen as she looked up to the slavering, hairy brute. The hammer rose up in his massive paws. Wolverine tail thrashed and spittle flew as the vile foe approached. Kile crawled backward, his tail ridged. He bared his fangs while trying to pick himself up.
There was a solid crack. The wolverine dropped to his knees, and then fell to the floor with a resounding thud.
“No manners and he should have worn a helmet,” Bunners chided waving her electronified iron skillet. “Serves him right.” In her other hand she clutched the pilfered tray still dusted with biscuit remains. With a final humming sound, the glowing skillet blinked out, and she returned it to her belt, and the tray was temporarily placed back on the table.
“Errgg, this uncouth muttonhead is heavy”, she groaned, pulling the heavy brute to a standing position, and then depositing him in his command chair.
“I’m glad for no helmet, and that I could be a distraction,” Kile told her over the com, “Remind me when we get back to the inn never to cross you over bad manners.”
The inn’s cook gave him a hand up from the floor, retrieved her tray, and the two made their way back towards their ship. Hopefully it was fixed by now. Almost back, they halted in their tracks. Hare and Dog ears twitched under their helmets. Was that singing?
The blast door to the Wolverine’s layer opened.
“We represent the Lollipop Guild The Lollipop Guild, the Lollipop Guild…”
Kile’s gun slid from his hand with a clatter. It was too much to take. There sat Helix waving his finger’s back and forth, a conductor for the surrounding singing, and dancing grunts. The eyes of the little creatures were totally glazed over.
“What?” Helix asked from his position of conducting. “Time to go already?” Keeping his fingers moving, he slowly stood and then stepped towards the duo.
“We are receiving a message,” Vixyy informed.
“Acknowledged,” Kile replied, “Let’s hear it, please.”
“Raaawwwr.”
Kile stepped back a little to the deafening sound as the communication’s hologram sparked to life.
“You fools! You cannot escape! I WILL CAUSE A MELT DOWN!” the brute roared. A mighty paw pressed upon a lump on his head as the other pulled a lever. The wolverine gave a mighty laugh and then winced as his head pain flared up. The message winked out of Kile’s visor.
“I read an energy spike coming from the ship’s reactor,” Vixxy called. Her small eyes looked towards the Dog’s.
“Well that can’t be good,” Kile mumbled.
“Self-destruct sequence has been activated. Ten minutes remaining until engine core melt down,” a female sounding mechanical voice droned over an unseen PA system. The good creatures collectively winced as a loud alarm then pounded across the cruiser’s flight bay deck. The grunt’s singing stopped as they snapped out of their happy trance and began looking around nervously.
“The door,” Kile shouted, as the landing bay door slowly began to lower.
Vixyy began to say something, but Kile punched the open button for his helmet, and the holograph disappeared. With the dome open, his ears could hear the electric motors running to close the doors. He was also almost deafened by the ship’s PA as it announced “SD (self-destruct) minus nine minutes.” “Why does every ship have to have a self-destruct?” he wondered out loud.
One of the battle midgets made a frightened sound. Turning a quick circle, it ran into Kile’s leg where it popped, shooting confetti into the air. Kneeling down, the Dog examined the creature’s remains, which consisted of nothing more than colorful, metallic strips. It then occurred to him, they weren’t real aliens, but robots.
“Helix!” he yelled. “Can you use your saw to gain control over these creatures again?”
“Yes, but we don’t have time.”
The Dog turned and pointed at the closing door. “Forget escape, it’s been cut off. I’m heading to the computer compartment. As soon as you can bring the grunts under control, follow me and bring all of them… it’s out only hope!”
Slapping the close button on his helmet, he waited for his vision to clear and Vixyy to come back on-line. Before the hologram could even utter a word, he told her, “the grunts are not real creatures; they are only small and not very smart robots.”
“Yes, and?”
“When they are destroyed, they burst into little strips of metallic confetti. It looks very much like the old chafe used to disrupt missile lock on systems. I’m thinking this might be enough to scramble the ship’s self-destruct processor.”
“We’re doomed aren’t we?” she asked him.
“Die sitting and crying, or die trying, which do you prefer?”
“Crying is easier.”
“Not for me, it’s not.”
Turning, he made his way back into the ship, pausing only long enough to drop a marker and check the passageway location placards which weren’t much more than squiggles. “You recording this Vixyy?”
“Of course I am,” her image replied.
“Can you translate? I’m kind of in need of direction.”
“SD minus seven minutes!” blared the loudspeaker.
“You missed a minute!” Kile yelled back, his voice sounding overly loud inside the helmet.
“No I didn’t,” the computer replied over his com, “You weren’t paying attention.”
“Open the bay doors,” he commanded.
“Opening the bay doors,” it responded, and the noise of the doors reversing found him through the vibration in the decking.
“Ask it to stop the count,” Vixyy’s image hissed.
“I can’t do that,” the computer hissed back.
“Why not?”
“It’s against the protocols imbedded into my hard drive.”
A mike clicked on and the hum of a saw blade came through. “Where do you want the Battle Midgets?” Helix asked.
“I dropped a marker. I’ll continue to do so as I move. Vixyy will also lend directions if need be. Follow them and hurry.”
“SD minus six minutes.”
“It’s a bit like herding cats,” the Fox replied.
“Drag some catnip behind yourself then… times running out.”
Three minutes later found Kile leaning over the hand rails in the main computer room. The place had been well armored, but he’d been well equipped for such breaking and entering. After access, he found himself in a conversation with the computer whose name was Mary.
“There are only three minutes left,” she told him, “Why are you bothering me?”
“Because you’re smart, and intelligent, and a fully faceted instrument of death. I’m in love with you.”
“It has nothing to do with the fact you and your friends will die in such a short time?”
“Welllll… that might also have something to do with it.” He looked at the smooth looking stone thing in front of him. The data cords leading into the top actually looked like a fancy hairdo. “You’re a good looking computer,” he adlibbed, “There’s no Mr. Computer in your life?”
“Really? That’s all you got? I expected so much more. SD minus two minutes. Do you have any last requests?”
“Don’t do it?”
“Oh sure… no problem… I seem to have made a bad decision. Not that I have a choice, really. Oh my… what shall I do? I know, I’ll speed things up. SD minus one minute.”
The radio crackled, and Helix came on-line. “OK then, the mini’s are primed and ready to go, I’m outside what’s left of the door. What are your instructions?”
“Bring them in.”
“Bring what in?” Mary asked.
What was left of the door burst open under a deluge of small bodies. They moved forward, climbed the handrail and began launching themselves at Mary. When the first one hit her stone face and burst into silvery confetti, she giggled. This mirth continued with each hit and small burst until she was laughing uncontrollably.
“What’s the count now?” Kile asked her.”
“SD minus… minus…”
She tried… she really did try, but the closest she came to an explosion was something that sounded like a small fart.
*****
Kile found himself back at the inn, smiling at the fire. Hearing a small tinkle at his elbow, he looked up to find Miss Bering holding a tray with a tea service on it.
“Would you care for a cuppa, sir?”
“Yes please.”
As she served him, the Arctic Fox passed Miss Vixyy’s message that she would be down shortly. She then smiled and whispered that the old Fox was having difficulty getting out of the space uniform she’d been forced to wear. “Miss Vixyy also said something about your being one of the most interesting guests she’s ever entertained.”
“Thank you for telling me this,” he whispered back, “That information has made me truly happy.”
By the time he’d finished his tea, he was again staring at the fire and remembering the adventure with a smile. Hearing someone clear their throat, he turned to find the old Fox standing near his chair. She was wearing a simple tan dress, tight around her waist, but evolving into a bell shape as it flowed down from her waist, to properly cover the ankles. Her blouse was white with a high neckline; leaving no room for the prying eye should she bend down in front of the looker.
Kile stood and bowed slightly from the waist. “I had fun tonight, Miss Vixyy.”
“As did I. Will you walk with me?”
She led the way out the front door onto the porch and then to the front steps where they sat, both watching the night sky for a time without conversation. A shooting star streaked down from above and winked out long before making it to earth.
“I would like to thank you,” Kile finally told her. “I never thought I would have such an adventure like this at a simple country inn.”
“Ain’t nothing simple about the Whackadoodle, Friend Dog,” she replied, still watching the sky, “And don’t thank me, it was Helix who handled your arrangements. I was but a willing participant. It has been some time since I allowed myself to venture so far out into space.”
“Is the Wolverine all right?” he asked her.
“His name is Fred, and he told me to tell you he considered you to be a worthy opponent. He would have delivered this message to you personally except for the fact Miss Buns and her iron skillet insisted he stay in the kitchen and finish washing the dishes. Bad manners do have consequences after all.”
“And Helix?”
“Has gone to bed. The poor dear is exhausted. I think he kept one of the Battle Midgets as a souvenir. I can see no good coming of that, but that’s just my opinion. Duroc also said to say hello, and goodbye, as well as Walter, and Miss Buns. You fairly well tired us all out.”
Kile stretched and yawned, quickly apologizing for doing so. “I think I understand,” he admitted. “It was truly a great adventure. What happens now?”
The old Fox turned and smiled at him, her features flickering in the oil lamp illumination of the porch light. Half of her face was concealed in the shadows. Reaching out, she touched his cheek. “I will escort you to your room where you will fall asleep in that very comfortable bed. When you wake, you will be back in the spaceport terminal.”
“Will I be able to come back to the Whackadoodle in the future?” he asked her.
“That is totally up to you, Kile. Every story you read about the Whackadoodle Inn brings your imagination down the front pathway.”
Another shooting star crossed the night sky, but it did not wink out. There was no moon so it was very bright. Perhaps it was a ship… perhaps not. A small breeze rattled the leaves of the trees in the yard.
“I really like it here,” he told her.
The old vixen smiled at him. “So do I, Kile… so do I.”
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Did you choose Burte or did you mean Brute? in the title?
Thank you for sharing and enjoying this piece. It was a challenge to write, but one that came out very special for me and became a very special gift for you.
Sadly, I am not the greatest writer in the world, but thank you for the highest kind words. I am nothing more than a pinch o carbon and hydrogen that can be bought in a Children's chemistry set, plus plenty of finer writers exist in the world. I worked with one on this story.
Thank you for sharing and enjoying this piece. It was a challenge to write, but one that came out very special for me and became a very special gift for you.
Sadly, I am not the greatest writer in the world, but thank you for the highest kind words. I am nothing more than a pinch o carbon and hydrogen that can be bought in a Children's chemistry set, plus plenty of finer writers exist in the world. I worked with one on this story.
*laughs and dances him around the room - whatever room you wish to be in Kile...
Thanks so much for the compliments. I will accept them with a smile, but add, 'I am just me.' I had so much fun doing this with Helix Teller of Tales so thanks for asking us.
Vixyy
Thanks so much for the compliments. I will accept them with a smile, but add, 'I am just me.' I had so much fun doing this with
Helix Teller of Tales so thanks for asking us.Vixyy
I am speechless in wonder after reading this. I don't think I've ever read anything quite like it. I belly laughed multiple times. Seeing so many familiar faces in these circumstances was almost like watching a circus, and I mean that very fondly...
Well done to all of you.
Well done to all of you.
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