The beefy security guard looked narrowly at Bruce and crossed his arms across his chest. "WHAT is this ... this thing doing in the middle of the food court??

            Bruce grinned helplessly, shrugged, examined a hangnail and drew a blank. "Looking fabulous???"

            Mollie leaped forward. "We...umm... that is IT, is a display!"

The guard narrowed his eyes further and looked skeptically at the Neon Lites.

            “A display?"

            "Of COURSE!" Mollie nattered, bravely and idiotically. "A display for...for...  for RADD!"

            The security guard blinked. "Rad?"

            "Totally Rad!" Sparki nodded solemnly.

Eyebrows bristling suspiciously, the guard glared disbelievingly at the space ship.

Mollie cast about wildly..."Yes that’s it, Radd! It stands for...Uh...uh.... UHHHH...."

            "Ye know!" Hamish burst out quickly in an ill-timed moment of inspiration,

"Reprobates against Damned Detectives!"

            The band looked at him in horror. "...OR not." Hamish finished lamely.

            The security guard shook his head, "You will have to come with me" he

decided, eyeing the glass strewn remains of Bernie’s Bargain Bagel Barn." This is a matter for the head of security."

            Mollie lost it. "Oh Puh-LEESE! You aren't a real cop!  What are you going to do, take us to MALL JAIL?"

            A moment later, a loud metallic CLICK! echoed through the ruins of the Galleria.

            Mollie blanched. "What are those!"

Bruce whistled cheekily. "Those are handcuffs, honey... I have a pair just like them."

            "WHAT?! Mollie shouted, "Do Something!!!!"            

            With a quick escape instinct honed by years of travelling musicianhood, Hamish slung himself bodily at the group of mall police, toppling them like a perfect strike at the bowling alley.

            Regaining her senses after a moment of incredulous panic, Mollie shouted to Sparki. "This was a TITANIC mistake! Go! Get back to the ship and use the time generator to take us back to before any of this happened! SAVE US!"

            Snerdly wailed pitifully (pity nobody cared!)  "Bruce! Craig! Sparki! You wouldn't leave your old friend Snerdly to be incarcerated, would you? Help Meeeeee!"

            Craig and Sparki raced through the hatch of the space ship, as the mall police raised their deadliest weapons - their walkie-talkies.

            "Stop!" the leader of them shouted, "Stop or I'll...I'll... I'll yell 'stop' again!"

            Bruce paused dramatically at the top of the hatch ramp, and turned back for one last look at the whimpering Snerdly. "Officers, I've never seen this man before in my life!"

            Catching Bruce by the edge of his impeccable collar, Craig dragged him on board the ship just as Sparki slammed the hatch shut. Typing at a carelessly frantic speed, she fed a hasty destination request into the time generator, just before Bruce and Craig came plowing onto the bridge, sending them all flying into the teleporter.  The half-finished message flashed on the viewscreen, it's haphazard components tempting the ship beyond endurance. These people were the OUTER LIMIT! The ship had had enough. For once it would give them exactly what they asked for... and it would serve them right! There was a hum and a thrum and a blip and a whistle (probably Craig's), then the three wayfarers disappeared, as the ship sniggered smugly, Sparki's instructions still flashing on the viewscreen...."TITANIC...MISTAKE...SAVE...SHIP...BACK!"

            Meanwhile, back at the mall... the rest of the band was surrounded by security guards, and things were not looking good.

            Snerdly was still wailing. "What are we going to Dooooooooo?"

            Tasha looked at him disgustedly. "We are in a MALL!" she said witheringly "What is the QUESTION?"

            Hamish and Mollie exchanged glances as the ship began to hum and wheeze with a familiar and oft-repeated sound effect, then flashed its lights at them twice.

            Mollie closed her eyes. "Why do I get the feeling that we are in trouble???"
            Hamish sighed and shook his head. "Grrrrreat" he muttered softly.

            In rather direct opposition to anything they had been expecting, Bruce and Craig and Sparki found themselves on board a giant ship, decidedly at sea.

            "Like whoa!" Sparki expostulated, as the ship rose and fell on the crest of a wave. "Bogus!"

            The ship was crowded with people, many of them elegant and obviously wealthy, but Sparki's attention was captured by an energetic man in bandages, wearing a tuxedo.

            "AWESOME!" she shouted high-fiving Craig (who was not ready for it and was unfortunately knocked over). "That's like, so TOTALLY him! I don't believe it!"

            Bruce looked baffled. (Craig looked bruised). "Who?"

            Sparki rolled her eyes. "Harrison Bubbabrent, that's who! Eccentric philanthropist, magician and stunt man extraordinaire!" she grinned wildly. "Totally!"

            As the others stared in amazement, they were approached by a beautiful dark haired woman, holding the hand of a lovely golden-haired child.

            "That's half the trouble with him...Oh he is wealthy, of course, and he tries to help people, it's true." she said, "But try being married to him! Occupationally his show tends to be a bit of a liability in cases of...well instances of, that is he's...."

            Sparki translated. "Well meaning, radically awesome, highly flammable."

            The woman sighed. "That's him alright."

            The little girl raised her face to Sparki and spoke in a well-rehearsed tone of perfect calmness. "My Daddy's on fire again, can someone please radio for help?"

            A burst of sea spray crashed over the side of the railing, drenching what was left of Bruce's suit, as the woman hurried after her husband with a fire extinguisher in her handbag.

            "Whoa," Sparki remarked, tweaking what was left of a once exquisite shoulder pleat, "Soggy much!"

            Bruce glared. YOU have brought us to a BOAT, and this suit is SO dry clean only!!! I have had ENOUGH, I'm leaving!" With that the offended hairdresser flounced away in a huff, lowered a lifeboat from its moorings, and began rowing out to sea, wearing a life preserver labeled TITANIC to accessorize his bedraggled new look.

Craig stared after Bruce's rapidly retreating Armani, as it bobbed upon the tide like an elegant cork. "He's leaving? He's LEAVING?"

            Sparki sighed. "Titanic...that sounds, like, SO bogusly familiar, Where have I heard that name before?

            Craig grabbed the rail in one hand and Sparki in the other. " Are you CRAZY! Don't you remember that antique pre-millennium movie we were watching on cable last week?  The Titanic SINKS! It's hits a bloody great iceberg and it SINKS! What have you DONE!"

            Sparki shrugged. "It'll be copacetic - you, like, totally worry too much Scotsdude!"

            Craig was trying to decide whether to offer a blistering reply or just bang his head against the gunwale, when Bruce suddenly reappeared, sailing gaily (ouch!) across the deck in a sailor's cap and diamond tiara.

            "I found an iceberg and made an ice sculpture Swan!" he announced perkily, "now I feel much better."

            Craig boggled at the diamonds and sailor's hat, and decided he did NOT want to know.  "You do ice sculptures?"

            Bruce sighed dreamily as music swelled around him... "Yes! Every night in my dreams, I..."

            "Wowee, zappo!" Sparki cried, interrupting what was certain to have been a dramatic musical number that would eventually get WAY too much airplay.... "We have saved the Titanic from, like, total sinkage! We are so totally heroes! Way to go Bruce dude!"

            Craig was doing math, and  (even without using his toes) had come up with some incredible numbers... "We have traveled all the way back to 1912?"

            "Awesome!" Sparki enthused, "I am like, SO before my time!" she turned and bounded across the deck in a flash of sequins. "Like, I'm off to invent tie dye! Catch ya!"

            Smiling apologetically to Craig, Bruce adjusted his hat and tiara to a jauntier angle. "I wonder how many big strong men it takes to sail a great big ship like this?" he simpered, then scampered off toward a door marked "STEAM ROOM". "See you at dinner, sweetie!"

            Craig groaned aloud. What on Earth (which apparently this was) had they gotten themselves into this time...?

            A sudden sound drifted across the deck, carried by the sea air, and Craig found himself following it like a bloodhound hunting T-bone steaks. There was no mistaking the sound - Craig knew it as well as he knew his own fingerprints  (which had been removed several years ago in an unfortunate accident involving a bodhran, a late night Ybor City Goth party and a flaming Margarita, but that's another story)

             SOMEONE was playing a fiddle.

            After much lurching down of staircases, climbing of ladders and sharing of obligatory pints with the Ceilidh band in steerage (http://www.gaelicstorm.com/... and if you don't have their album yet, go out right now and get it!!!!)  Craig at last reached the part of the ship from whence the music was coming.

            There he saw a young fiddling fellow, just about his height, with laughing eyes, a quirky, quicksilver grin, and wild hair flying at random right angles all about his head. His fiddling was frenetic, his accent was Irish, and he had the sort of face Craig could have sworn he had seen somewhere before, but probably hadn't. The fiddler tap danced a little, scratched his head with his fiddle bow, and nodded in a friendly manner,

            "‘Tis yourself" he acknowledged, tossing Craig a scalawag's chuckle, "And I am Daniel O'Dervish. Have ye time for a wee bit o' fiddlin’?”

            Craig shook his head in confusion. "Why aren't you playing with the orchestra?"

            Daniel O'Dervish shuddered. "They just keep playing 'Nearer my God to thee'," he answered, "Sure I couldn't take it anymore! Besides, I'm only on for the moment - I play with a group back home, called the Parkside Trio. You ought to join up wi' us, we have a wild time!"

            Craig shook his head. "Thanks, but I already play with a Celtic bagpipe bebop... oh nevermind, mostly we just crash the ship."

            Daniel O'Dervish chuckled. "Speaking o' ships then, tell me what’s the Celtic likes O’ you doin' on a bloody big English boat, if I might be askin’?”

            Craig sighed deeply.  "Well THAT'S a very long story..."

            Daniel cocked an Irish eyebrow. "How long?"

            Craig shrugged. "Haven't a clue, actually, none of the authors know what chapter we're on!"

            Meanwhile, Sparki was sitting in heap on the floorboards, having tried to change deck chairs in mid-stream. She had just received a terrible report from Bruce, (who had been standing on the rail of the ship shouting "I'm the Queen of the world!" right before changing into an immaculate (stolen) officer's uniform, with lots of gold braid.)

            Sparki hailed him. "Like, what did you see from up there?"

            Bruce pointed dramatically with a perfectly manicured finger. "There is ANOTHER iceberg out there, directly in the path of the ship!"

            Sparki pondered, eyeing the aft deck where Harrison Bubbabrent was soaking juggling torches in gasoline. "Maybe we can melt it?  Like, how flammable IS he?"

            Back at the rail of the ship, Craig and Daniel had just decided to share a flask between them (not their first by any means) when, with a rush of hi-topped sneakers and a smattering of suspenseful music, Sparki appeared with the frightening news.

            “.... And so we were saved from the crash, because Bruce here turned the berg into some totally radical sculpted swanage. But now there's ANOTHER iceberg!"

            Bruce stepped daintily up to the fiddlers, clapping his hands like an elegant Maitre'D. "So we need to switch into hyperdrive and morph out of the line of danger,” he said briskly. "Quick quick, like little bunnies!"

            Craig blanched. "You’re talking about SPACE travel, Bruce, that hasn't even been invented yet!"

Bruce fainted.

            Sparki eyed the unconscious hairdresser. "Like, you could have LEFT him in denial, fiddle dude, he was SO much happier there! What do you do again for fainting victims? No wait, don't tell me, I totally remember!"  With that, she ran splashing through puddles of ocean brine, crying  "Water! WHERE can I find WATER!")

            Above the rail, the iceberg loomed into view.

            Daniel O'Dervish raised his fiddle thoughtfully, then grabbed Craig by the bow arm. "By the great O'Carolan, sure I have an idea!"

            With that he raced to the foredeck, already fiddling madly, with Craig in hot pursuit behind him.

            The passengers had never seen anything like it. Years later they would describe to their grandchildren the tumultuous energy that was dancing Daniel O'Dervish (and then shake their heads and resolve to give up drinking.) He was a fiddling Irish whirlwind, on the deck, off the rail, with the dinner entrees, on the   

tables.... (In the library with the lead pipe... no, wait, wrong movie spoof!) In short, he was a step dancing, fiddle playing, iceberg-defying tornado... all over the ship while Craig followed him, taking up the tempo. Faster and faster Craig and Daniel fiddled, until the smoke began to rise from the fiddle strings, and third class came upstairs to teach the rich folks how to party.

            Soon every passenger on board was on the deck and dancing, and Daniel O'Dervish led them to the rail at one side of the great ship. The massive shift in weight (they brought all the beer kegs with them) caused the Titanic to list hard to one side... so hard that it just missed the iceberg, passing by so closely that it sheared off ice chips as they brushed beside it.  It was a perfect musical miracle... until Craig slipped on one of the ice chips and fell, plummeting headlong over the railing.

(INSERT DRAMATIC MUSIC!)

Daniel O'Dervish lunged to catch him by the arm, and they both watched as Craig's fiddle bow spiraled out of his grasp and landed somewhere in the churning dark depths below.

            Daniel stared intently at the other fiddler, then suddenly leaned forward. "Craig! I am your Father!"

           "???!!!!!!!"

            Daniel sighed. "Well, if it's easier on ye, sure ye can call me Grandfather then, or Great Great Grand something other, but the point o' it is that it's true!"

            Craig looked at the dangerous ocean below, then back at Daniel O'Dervish.              Craig weighed the odds.

            " But... I was raised on New Scotland, with the MacHamish clan, by Uncle MacOwen and Aunt...”

            Daniel sighed again and shook his head. "Craig boy, don't ever muck about wi' a time machine and a bottle o' the ol' Poteen, take a word from yer ould man!"

            Craig looked again at the ocean.  "Ummm... can you help me up now?"

Daniel hauled him safely over the rail, his fiddle still intact, though his second-best bow was already long past saving.

            Craig stared at Daniel. "Is it true?" he choked.

            Daniel nodded. " Sure and that it is - I left ye an orphan, 'is true, but there ye were, half MacCraig on yer Mither's side o' it, and so I left ye wi' Gran Macmorton to see ye safe, so I did."

            Craig turned a dramatic expression to the depths of the sea (Note: tell the promoters to use that clip in the trailers!) and let out an anguished cry.  "Why did Granny niver TELL me!" 

            Daniel shrugged. "Sure she said she wasn't speaking to you... something about missing her funeral?"

            Craig whirled from the rail.  "WHAT?! That funeral again!! Oh, that's it! That’s the last straw!"

            Daniel grabbed Craig by the shoulders, his gaze boring deep into his eyes. "That's it... give in to your anger... you don't need that other band... I am your Father! Join the Park Side!"

            Craig boggled. (Ruth laughed. Leisa groaned. Rene snorted Mountain Dew out her nose in that entertaining way she has).

            "WHAT?!"

            Daniel grinned. "Oh, I KNOW it was a cheap joke! But this whole chapter is so MORBID! You COULD crack a smile once in a while, yer only half Irish, remember!"

            Craig boggled again, since he'd been getting in so much practice and was now really quite good at it. "Errrr..."

            Daniel shrugged and sighed. "Oh Okay, look, I admit that yer Mither would be pleased to see ye raised up Scottish, sure she was a Scottish lass herself. And ever since I lost her..."

            Craig gasped. "She's DEAD?"

            Daniel shook his head impatiently. " No, I lost her! At a Ceilidh in the Sharp & Whistle pub... it's hard to find anyone in a crowd....'specially when they'd rather ye not do the findin’!  Last I heard she'd off and taken up with some half daemon from Dublin...ah..." he sighed "She was a fine woman, yer Mither!"

            Craig shook his head. "But why here, why now? For me to appear on this ship, now of all times, with you..."

Daniel raised his fiddle bow in a philosophical gesture (then scratched his back with it. No, just a little lower... now to the left... a little more.... Oh! There, yes, perfect!)             "Why does anything happen?"

            Craig nodded. " I guess your right. In life...."

            Daniel snorted. " Not in LIFE, in this bloody space opera! Why does ANYTHING happen? Those three girls writing this book are as random as three drunken aardvarks!"

            Craig stared.  "Is that your philosophy?"

            Daniel grinned. "Hell no, it's the band I once played with back in Belfast - Three Drunken Aardvarks. Look, the point is, sure you OUGHT to take my advice! My wisdom, the benefit of my age..."

            This time it was Craig who snorted. "You’re no older than I am!"

            Daniel shrugged sheepishly.  "Well, er...actually I'm younger than you are. See, that's where ye could be doing yer ol' Dad a wee bittie favor... can I use yer ID to get a pint in the bar?"

            Craig started.  "WHAT?!"

            Daniel rolled his eyes. " I'm age frozen, Lad! It happens when ye time travel too often... I'm stuck just below legal! Never older, never wiser, forever persecuted..."

            Craig shook his head "More like forever pickled!"

            Daniel hiccuped.  "Now how did ye know that?"

            Craig glared. "Well it's obvious!"

            Daniel waved his fiddle. "No, I mean how did ye know that "Forever Pickled" was the name of the album I recorded with Three Drunken Aardvarks? Let's see, that was way back in 2097... it's 19 - something now... what year did you say you'd come from?"

Craig clutched his head in his hands, unfortunately forgetting that he still held the fiddle." AAAARGH!"

            Daniel sympathized. "I know Lad, time travel is so confusing!"

            Craig glared out of a spectacular black eye. "No, I mean AAAAARGH!"

            Sparki started another lap of the deck. "Ice!! Where can I find some Ice!!!!"

            Craig sighed. "Well time travel IS confusing,” he admitted. 

            Daniel nodded sagely. "You want confusing, try reading the disclaimer at the beginning of this book!" he answered.

            Craig turned toward the railing. "Why did you leave me?"

            Daniel's voice dropped to an emotional whisper, his face a picture of sincerity that wouldn't fool even Tasha. "Err...well.... I were in a spot o' trouble ye see, an' I thought ye'd be safer, happier, better off where I left ye."

            Craig arched a suspicious eyebrow. "Ouch!" (Not THAT one, Craig!)

            Daniel reddened. "Fine then! Y'see, not too long after yer Mither left me, there was this Lass... see, a Princess of the ancient Celts...and...er... well apparently it turned out that she were supposed to be a Sworn virgin... and.... I... er..."

            Craig clapped a hand to his forehead, neatly blacking the other eye. "My god, you ARE my Father!"  He whispered, then wobbled against the rail. "DAMN that hurt!"

            This touching (or touched!) moment was interrupted by Sparki, who burst suddenly from a nearby stairwell, towing Bruce (who was wearing a steward's uniform and a smarmy little grin).

"So, like, what’s totally up, shiptilting fiddle twins? Ahhh? Ahhh?"

            Craig turned to face his friends, his voice hoarse with emotion. (He had after all, hit himself really HARD.  Twice.)  "Sparki, Bruce...this is...my Father!"

            Sparki grinned. "Yeah, I know, So like, are we ready to blow this floating piece of berg bait, now that we saved it twice times?"

            Craig stared. "You KNEW he was my Father?"

            Sparki shrugged. "OOOOPS! I guess I totally forgot to intro! Hoo well, next time!"

            With that she collared Bruce and Craig, hit the beam button on her portable space/time Displacement Universal Holoporter  (D.U.H.) and they vanished in a puff of cosmic glitter.

            Daniel sneezed. "Right well, find a son lose a son... there'll be another time, another place...."   With that the Irishman hefted his fiddle in the cheeky manner so firmly imprinted in his son's DNA, tucked Craig's stolen ID into his waistcoat pocket, and helped himself to a life boat.

            "There's so many of these around here, they wont be missin' one, to be sure to be sure!"  With that he smiled and set off rowing across the water, oblivious to the third large iceberg, looming the path of the Titanic. "All's well that ends in a pub, I figure".

            But that, of course, was not the end. Because here, in this book, the story goes on and on.  (And on, and on, and on, and....)

                             Later, on board the ship Carpathia:

            "Captain Sir" I thought I saw a flare!"