Who Says Space Quest Is Dead? (Page 2)

Xandra: Roger Wilco. Isnít "Roger" an odd name to have in this day and age?

Roger: I donít get it...

Xandra: I can just picture it (assuming a shuttle pilotís position): "Jameson, this place looks like itís worth checking out. Iím flying down there. Cover me, okay?" "Okay. Roger." "What?"

Roger: Oh, now I get it... I think.

Xandra: And your initials -- R. W. -- I seem to recall seeing those same initials in another famous-type name...

Roger: Which name?

Xandra: Well... You ever heard of Kingís Quest?

Roger: Maybe. Iím not sure.

Xandra: I figured. You wouldnít know her anyway. Letís get down to business, shall we, Rog?

Roger: Okay. Well... Youíve come a long way just to see me, Xandra.

Xandra: If the ships were more shipshape (no pun intended), thousands of us would, Roger. But with all this downright SLIME weíve been buried in... well, itís too much to launch into now... maybe I can ask you some questions about it later, hmm?

Roger: If this is an interview, Iím ready now, Xand...

Xandra: No, no, no, no, no, I didnít risk existence and epidermis just to interview you, Roger. I just thought Iíd try to... catch up on a few things. Letís sit, shall we?

(Xandra takes a seat on a nearby chair. Roger does a similar motion).

Roger: So why did you want to see me?

Xandra: Because I understand I... missed Space Quest 7, right?

Roger: Actually, I think you arrived just before the extro movie. Congratulations.

Gary Owens: Be careful, Roger! She may trying to get a part in it!

Xandra: Do you mean to tell me heís still around?

Roger: Oh, the narrator... Oh yeah... you hear him too?

Xandra: Roger, this kitty didnít just blast out of the junk freighter. I pick up things, little bits of info, you know? In fact, I donít really exist on the planet at all. My creator does, but I donít, at least, not physically.

Roger: Really? But how??

Xandra: Iím just a collection of things created by my creator mentally, thoughts, ideas, attitudes and such, all walloped together in this body.

Roger: Itís a nice body, but I donít get it.

Xandra: I knew you wouldnít. Even I donít get some of it. Most of space has already been conquered... in this dimension. But what about the higher dimensions, the places we dream about... the places other creatures dream about?

Roger: Iím still not getting most of this, but it sounds like it would be pretty hairy.

Xandra: Just the way you like it, right?

Roger: Ah... right.

(Suddenly a huge, muscular, male humanoid struts past them, flashing a mocking grin at Roger and a sly wink at Xandra. He glides over to the transport pad, punches in several numbers and gives his "audience" a last look and disappears into the tube top.)

Xandra: Yeeeeaewww! Did you see the biceps on that stud!? It looked like they were going to explode! I HATE overdeveloped muscles, especially ones made with those steroids!! Just the mention of an overmuscular creep like that makes me wanna... (she starts snorting, hacking and apparently gathering up material for either a hairball or a huge sputum projectile. Roger looks a little nervous as she reaches her final peak, but then she suddenly changes her mind and swallows.)

Xandra: Then again, maybe not. Save an undeserved cleanup for you.

Roger: Ah... right.

Xandra: Well, letís change the subject. You donít have any artificial parts in you, do you, Roger?

Roger: Not the last time I checked, but...

Xandra: Ah-ha! I saw a flash of metal in there! Got a few fillings in there, do you? No, no, donít bother opening your mouth for me. What are you trying to do, impersonate one of those aliens that lures you to look inside then bites your head off??

Roger: I never met one of those.

Xandra: Oh well. (patting one side of her chest) Thatís the trouble with being female, Roger, you just canít have prominent pectorals, know what I mean? Even if we did... ah well. Men these days are all fretting about being overweight, and the skinny guys are trying to pump themselves up like blimps. But you... You donít need big muscles to be a space-hero-guy. Youíre just fine, Roger, just fine. Natural, suave and 100% organic. Well anyway, letís change the subject.

Roger: You already did... at least twice.

Xandra: Well, three timeís the charm. Think we could go to your quarters?

Roger (getting up): Sure. The transportís over here...

Xandra: Canít we take the stairs?

Roger: This ship doesnít have any stairs, and if it did, I donít think Iíve been cleaning in all the places.

Xandra: Rats.

Roger (walking over to the ComPost): Well, I guess a fan like you knows how work these things. Ladies first.

Xandra: Iíve never been able to work out if that phrase was chivalrous or chauvinistic.

Roger: Huh?

Xandra: You can go first. I promise I wonít look.

Roger (looking sheepish): Well, all right...

(Xandra turns her head away as Roger punches in the appropriate numbers and gets sucked up the tube. Roger lands safely in his room and starts walking towards the table, expecting Xandra to follow shortly. She does, preceded by a howl of terror that resonates through the transport system, she lands in a sprawled, unladylike position on her stomach, less-than-centered on the transport pad.)

Roger (thinking): And I thought I got transported awkwardly.

Xandra (slowly getting to her feet): Sorry, Rogerr... Never used these tranzzport thingies in real life... I guess...

Roger: You okay?

Xandra (walking his way): Yeah... (falls down)... Oops... sorry... (gets up and falls down again)... Oops. I think Iíve found it now... (coming to her senses) Well... this is a great place youíve got here! Iím sure youíve been in worse quarters.

Roger: Gaah, donít remind me!

Xandra: Okey-dokey. Can we take a look-see at your collection of... well...

Roger: Junk?

Xandra: Close enough.

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