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The distress call was a distress call was a distress call. My friend would
understand. If it was even really him. The ship in trouble was part of the Pan-Galactic Gargleators, a race well- known for their drinks. If a two-mouthed, three-eyed, orange skinned beastie wasn't behind the bar, it wasn't worth going in. And this ship, which had the capacity for a hundred beings (or twelve Fribbles) had six half-mile long Space Leeches on it, slowly sucking the energy right out. I knew I had to act quick. The engines, specialized F-16s, were almost blue. Too long at blue and KABLOOEY. Should I use lasers or remote controlled missiles?
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4/16/2003 9:38:58 AM
Extending Enabled
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