THE NEON LITES:

Call IXII !
(that's 911, ya'll)

Hamish let out a whistle, "There's that gone…" he muttered. Craig agreed.

Still eyeing the Amazons with caution, Snerdly retrieved his pocket comb and retreated in the general direction of the tree trunk. "Now what?"

Thena cocked a dark eyebrow. "Another problem?" she queried, hands on leather clad hips.

Craig tiptoed over, "Well, y'see…er…ma'am, we're down here and the ship is up there and…"

Thena scoffed, pulled a hook and rope from her belt and tossed it into the treetop. "Is that all? Come on." With that, she flung Craig over one shoulder and climbed the rope hand over hand without breaking a sweat. (Snerdly was too stunned to fantasize.)

"Oh…" said Craig, as the ground receded from view. "Yipes."

Citronelle sank onto a nearby tree stump to wax poetic, as they all observed Thena's progress into the treetop. Suddenly Citronelle smiled brightly. "The strangers were rescued, the blood it was spilt, Thena went up the rope with a man in a kilt…" Citronelle paused and peered up from beneath the tree. "Oh, my!" she said.

Moments later, Bruce echoed the sentiment. Mollie reached over and closed Tasha's mouth. Sparki grinned widely. (Craig made a mental note to begin wearing trousers at once.)

Hamish peered upward at his friend's face. "I say," he said, "The wee Laddie doesn't look at all well noo, does he?"

Citronelle peered closer. "I think you're right," she admitted, her brow creasing in worry, "but what am I going to find that rhymes with puke?"

A shout from above signaled that Thena had forced the hatch open, and a few minutes later, Craig had maneuvered the ship to a rather seasick landing beneath the tree.

The travelers trouped inside, where Thena was eyeing Bruce's Malkovian quasi-yak fur throw rug, one hand on her dagger. The rug let out a whimper.

"What's that?" Thena queried, pushing Snerdly aside and pointing towards a small console to the left of the now extremely crowded bridge. Hamish pushed onto the bridge with his bagpipes, sending Mew, Snerdly and Bruce tumbling into the small alcove beside the console.

"That," Craig explained helpfully, "is the Improbability Generator. It takes whatever lies within its perimeters and transports it elsewhere, usually with highly improbable results."

Thena eyed him suspiciously. "How does it work?"

Craig grinned cheerfully and pushed the button, only to hear a sudden strangled set of cries, then silence, as Mew, Bruce and Snerdly disappeared to be replaced by a tape of Canadian Accordion music, Craig's fiddle and a Haggis.

Craig paled. "Er…like that."