"Sir, we have another refugee ship requesting landing clearance."
The Director sighs. He is not in a good mood- the Oakloma space port had been a mess all morning, with refugees from the turmoil in Diamondous landing everywhere. "Just send them to pad eight."
"Alright, sir." The aide presses a button and starts to speak into her microphone. "Shuttle, you have clearance to land in pad eight. I repeat, pad eight."
A few moments pass as they listen to the sound of the shuttle landing and opening up. The Director starts to look annoyed. 'Why did ANOTHER ship have to land? I thought the last of them had landed only half an hour ago. It was getting quiet and I was about to get out my lunch, but now I have to go through a lot of complex docking procedures and by then someone else will be wanting to land and then...' However, the Director is drawn out of his thoughts.
"Sir, the shuttle they are in appears to be stolen!"
"Yes, yes, and then someone would start bugging me about the... wait, what? A stolen shuttle? What are you waiting for, call security!"

Jargon walks out of the shuttle, totally oblivious to all of the turmoil around him. A security officer points a gun at him and starts to shout something about stopping, but Jargon ignores him. Jargon takes out his autocaster then, with a single twist, activates a spell he had coded in earlier. All the lights in the space center suddenly go out simultaneously, as the security camera logs suddenly are erased. Jargon walks out of the building, into the bright, bright day with a very worried looking John at his heels.
"Very... dramatic entrance, Jargon, but don't you think there would be a way to go anywhere without doing so much damage?"
Jargon turns back to John. "Well... they were asking for it. I mean, challenging our landing clearance? Just because we had to steal a spaceship to leave doesn't make us outlaws or anything."
John sighs and looks around a bit before replying. "Well, it looks like I will have to take up a pseudonym and re-integrate myself into normal society. You... go do your own thing. As far away from me as possible." He pauses. "Well, anyway, adios. I wish you luck... just don't visit me till things cool down."
And with that, he leaves.
Jargon walks for a few minutes, looking at a disk of the information he had gotten earlier. It talks of the various places refugees are free to stay, and all but one appears to be full. Jargon sighs, then continues on. After another half hour of walking and getting annoyed at how long this will take, Jargon passes the site of a crashed spaceship. Suddenly, he gets an idea. He takes a small disk- Robby's CPU- and puts it on the ground. After a few minutes of fiddling with his autocaster, he waves it in the air and makes a final twist. From the junk of the spaceship crash, a whirlwind of activity emerges. Junk flys through the air, forming a machine around the CPU core. Through the chaos of activity a definitive shape begins to emerge. Eight skeletal, spiky metal legs... a disconcerting spiderlike body... an array of eerie red-glowing eyes... looking more like some undead spider monster then anything, his transportation is ready.
Jargon swings onto it and begins his merry way to Greenthorp.