“Suppose there’s no river,” the King insists, “why bring us here?”
“Now, now,” Colonel Loga utters, staring insolently into the King’s eyes, a corner of his mouth going up as if to suggest that his brief convictions constitute just that: alterable truths.
The Captain falls to his knees, his hopes shattered, the likely intolerable reality too heavy to bear.
Ignoring the fuss and pushing himself up from inside the Captain’s pocket, Labaguette, pulls hard with his beak until he falls onto the ships’ boards.
“WOW! LOOK AT THAT, SHIT!” he states.
Startled at the parrot’s sudden and irreverent shriek, the King, the old woman and the Captain all look ahead. There it is: tens, hundreds, thousands of tiny black boxes, circling a lemony green planet, surrounded by sometimes impenetrable layers of orange mist.
“See this?” the Policeman asks.
“What is it, Colonel?” Labaguette asks.
“This is where I come from.”
“And where is this?”
“This is where I belong.”
“Gimme a name, sacrebleu Colonel Rhythmic!” Labaguette commands.
“You have entered the hexa-octagonal galaxy of Beetlestingjesus and this is my planet: ‘RythmaRymosthesis’.”
“It’s simple, it’s logic.”
“What do you want from us?” the King asks.
“You’re guilty as charged.”
“Guilty?” the Captain says, coming to his senses.
“You’re under arrest.”
“But,—“ Labaguette continues.
“—I’m a universal Policeman, also known as Colonel Loga Rhytmic, a true blue, man-made and gadget constructed Policeman. I fold and unfold, I click and unclick and I move as moves do. I am Master and Servant all contained and constrained within one body and one soul. None shall come against me without trespassing being trespassed, ruling being ruled or ruled out and suffering being suffered. I am the rule, the order and the lawful scribble. I am the law.”
To be continued…