Chapter 25: Helping Hand
“Um, where is being 626?”
Jumba scanned the area, as though hoping that Stitch would magically pop out of the wall.
“Oh, he went to the bathroom to read today’s Quammian News,” Lilo somehow said, despite the fact that she was being held back by two drone and her mouth was covered in a bandanna, some kind of weird sellotape, and Drone #1’s right elbow. “He should be back right about…”
“TOOKIE BA WABA!”
“…now,” Lilo finished, beaming at the sight of her loyal companion, and the fact that she had been right about his arrival.
Stitch flew through the door, slipped over and slammed into the navigation control.
“I’m OK, I’m fluffy!”
“Prepare to get your patookie kicked from here to the Pulson Nebula!”
“Er… sorry to be correcting little girl, but we are already at the Pulson Nebula.”
“OK… um… then prepare to get your gluteus maximuses kicked to the Andromeda Galaxy!”
The drones, ignoring Lilo’s ‘chants’, turned around and stared intensely at Stitch.
“Subject analysis: Experiment 626. Threat: Minimal.”
Stitch muttered something that meant something along the lines of “That so hurt!” and leaped at the creatures.
But all he met was the floor.
He looked around. The drones were gone, as well as Lilo. Pleakly lay across the couch, apparently having fainted again.
“Incoming communication. Audio only.”
“On speakers,” muttered Jumba.
Billions of the heartless, soulless voices blasted through the speakers, reverberating throughout every corner of the ship.
“Surrender to us or we will destroy you. Your defensive capabilities are unable to withst…”
“LET ME GO!”
“You will be assimilated. Resistance is futile.”
But still Lilo struggled.
The drone dropped her. Winded, trying to gasp for air, she did not notice the needle-like pipes flying out of the drone’s fingers. Not until they were entering her neck did she notice them, and by that time it was too late.
Pain, as she had never felt before, entered her, filled every part of her. Every inch of her body was bursting with the intense pain.
She screamed. And all went black.
“No! Absolutely not!”
“Look, 626, there is nothi…”
At that moment, an explosion rocked the bridge; everything went flying as the computer stated that there had been a “hull breach, deck three, section IV” and that it was “sealing door to section IV” and that there was a “recompression danger” and that “item: ‘Jumba’s Mini Corn-Dogs’ is interfering with recompression process”.
Boom after boom rocked and rolled the ship; and for fifteen minutes Jumba tried frantically to recalibrate the shield matrix, all to no avail.
“’TIS NO USE! WE NEED TO RECONFIGURE THE SA1 PROTOCAL!” Jumba roared over the noise.
Suddenly the pounding stopped.
“… WE NEED TO…”
Jumba stopped suddenly as his words resonated around the room.
“… er… eat mini corn-dogs?”
The holographic generator whizzed and whirled, and the giant transparent greenish screen materialized in the middle of the room.
The screen flickered into life, displaying an image of the outside. Space, star-streaked and breathtaking, filled the display, only interrupted by the sleek metallic ship in the distance. The monitor flickered again, displaying a room, obviously the bridge of a ship. In the center, one of those nice comfy twirly-seats you get with computers, and in that chair, a 23.2 year-old Caucasian woman.
“We figured you needed a hand.”