Friday Flash: In Which Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures

Sonneteer's note: this is the fourtheeth installment of my sonnet-by-sonnet summary of a larger work, The Interstellar Feller, to be released sometime next year. To see the story so far, check out Part the Oneth here, Part the Twoth here, Part the Threeth here, part the Fourth here, Part the Fiveth here, Part the Sexieth here, Part the Seventhuth here, Part the Octthhhh here , Part the Ninth here, Part the Tenth here , Part the Eleventh here, Part the Dodecothhh here, and Lucky Number 13 here.

"Turn back, or we'll disintegrate you now,"

The Grokulator's crew feels foes convey.

Yectara grits her teeth, lets out a howl,

And launches toward a console. On her way

She plants a kiss on her Pepito's face,

Then screams out "Brace for Field Maneuver Three!"

And punches in the code that lets them race

Far from the scene, the code that sets them free.

Pepito, knowing not what next to do,

Just watches dumbly as his fellow hands

Curl into tiny masked balls; soon the crew

Like so many pillbugs just float in bands

Of velvet black. And then there comes a rip

Through time and space that frees them and their ship.