"Good, good." said the King. "The more gods, the more likely you are to suceed against the dark force."
There was some nervous tittering among the rabbits, and Gurgi cowered some more for the sake of habit.
"As you doubtlessly know, but I shall repeat for the sake of Ye Zealots, some weeks ago there was a large explosion to the East. A large object, like the one you Zealots arrived in, had crashed onto the planet's surface. There was but one survivor, though we know not how many there were originally. The people to the East unwisely aclaimed him as the God of Crashlandings, even though any fool knows the God of Crashlandings has a wart on his nose. Anyway, this imposter started a thriving business to the East, which claimed to produce Fuzzy Bunny Slippers, whatever those are. Many workers went to work for him, until it was learned that the poor souls who went there were merely shot, maimed, and hurled through space."
There was a collective gasp. "Blagagnga!"
"Naturally, after that, the steady stream of 'workers' stopped going there, and the imposter was angry. He threatened to destroy the planet if we did not supply him with more of us to shoot and main and hurl through space. The Easterners did not take him up on it. The claimed due date for the destruction of the planet, in fact, is in five clockrounds."
"So, what you're saying is, you want us all to go and defeat this guy?" asked Propulsion. Mayhaps they Were on Quest, after all.
"Of a certainty." said the King, relaxing in his chair. "Do you undertake this mission, oh godly ones, or is this not the reason you have come down?"
There was a silence, but after thinking about it, BæÅüMÃ(-)Ñ stepped forth. After all, it couldn't be too much worse then being put on gameshows. "Sire, us Gods and the Zealots shall go forth to the East, and come back with news of the defeat of this evil one, or not at all. But we require a little aid from your scientific field."
"Of course, of course!" said the King, obviously relieved. "I put Patrian here at your disposal. Ask him for anything you need."

Patrian Patrach, High Watermelon of the Kingdom of Padoing, escorted the so called Gods and Zealots out the door. They could be who they claimed to be, of course, but the doubts were many. Still, it couldn't hurt to extend his services.. although the King of Aranselum had no right to order Him about.
"What do you require?" he asked the 'God of Wisdom', with just a hint of malice. High Watermelons should not be ordered about, even if they wanted better titles.
But before the God of Wisdom could answer, that weird Zealot, whose species couldn't quite be identified, spoke up. "But where is great feast of crunchings and munchings that are both presumptious and scrumptious? Oh, poor hungry Gurgi is rolling about, his stomach so empty it hurts with stabbings and jabbings!"
That was true. He had promised a Feast. But you would think they'd have forgotten about that, what with the heavy task of saving the planet. But the Zealots were but mortal, after all.
"Oh, of course. Please follow me." said Patrian, leading the group along some streets until they reached a fairly respectable Keronese restraunt. Even the gods should like Keronese food.
He was right. The 'gods' and 'zealots' partook of the fare without misgivings, and then footed him with the bill. He grumpily paid the waiter, then once outside, resumed his earlier line of inquiry.
"Now, God of Wisdom. What 'aid from our scientific field' do you require?"

"A Spaceship!" Propulsion began, but BæÅüMÃ(-)Ñ clamped his hand over the rabbit's mouthm and quickly whispered to him. "Can't you tell they don't know what a spaceship is? Ours and the one of Blagagnga have been described as "large things", not craft of any kind. They may have Hovercrafts, but it is obvious their research has proceeded along some different path then ours."
Propulsion sighed. His main concern was to get away from here, and back to Carrotus. But it seemed like they were stuck here to save the planet.
BæÅüMÃ(-)Ñ turned back to Patrian. "First, please take us to the nearest Radio station."
What did Radio have to do with it, Propulsion wondered. Did BæÅüMÃ(-)Ñ want to try to talk to Blagagnga, and try to settle the dispute? That was ridiculous. But he went along behind BæÅü and Patrian, twirling a finger around his ear when BæÅüMÃ(-)Ñ wasn't looking.

Jim Drab roamed the lush surface of Paradisia, where Blagagnga had last been reported. If the planet were only civilised, he could ask the local yokels if the outlaw had been here, but it was not. Once more, he cursed the luck that had presented Blagagnga with a spaceship. Although luck might not be the word for Blagagnga finding a spaceship, waiting until the pilot got out, then disposing of the poor guy in the usual fashion. Tubelectric was doubtless getting quite crowded with all the dead bodies.
"Chief?"
Jim turned around to the voice of Ime D. Recap, a Plotline Hotline employee they had picked up on Industrius.
"Yes, Ime? Have you found trace of Blagagnga?"
"No.. but why do we persue him for all enternity? Is there any real point? Is it personal?"
"Don't you know?" Jim was startled. Obviously, Plotline Hotline training was rather low these days. What this man was asking was rudimentary company doctrine.
"Well, some time ago, when no posts had been made for quite some time, rather like now, we asked the Plot o' Matic machine what to do, and it had no idea. So I went to the vaulted realms of Mr. Continuity.. but he was dead."
"Who's Mr. Continuity?" asked Ime, interrupting.
Jim stared. "Have you had no training at all? Plotline Hotline is the more down to Carrotus embodiment of Mr. Continuity, the Spirit of Sense throughout the War Tavern story. Nobody's really too clear about what exactly he did before he died, but it must have been something important. Anyway, I went to the all seeing portrait of Mirrow, who showed me the murderer of Mr. Continuity - an idiot called Blagagnga, who appeared to be the friend of a Taverner called Kovu. So we went to the War Tavern, hoping to kill them both, which oddly enough was at the same time as the subsequent invasions of the Cast and Crew of Jurassic Park Something or Other, and ANTI-TUBBS. Anyway, it was all a big misunderstanding, and in order to get revenge for Mr. Continuity, we have been persuing Blagagnga ever since."
"Oh....." said Ime, obviously still kind of confused. "So what will you do when you find him?"
"Why, we'll grind his bones to make our bread, of course!" said Jim. "Now leave me alone. I'm searching for traces of Blagagnga, just like you should be doing."
Ime turned red and rushed off in some opposite direction. Recruits these days.
Suddenly, Jim's pager began beeping. He pulled it out. "Hello?"
"Jim! Get over to the ship! We've recieved a radio signal from some people on the same planet as Blaganga.. it seems he's started an evil empire there, and his evil plans shall come to a head in five days! We've got to get over there at once, and grind his bones to make our bread!"
"Just what I was saying recently." said Jim, on the way back. "Make an announcement on the common band, will you? We don't want to leave anyone behind like we did on Planet Moltemia."
The person he was talking to made a vocal shudder. "No. Poor Ahz Sleep. But it couldn't be helped."

The next day, BæÅüMÃ(-)Ñ, Speedy, Tyf, Gurgi, Propulsion, "Ares", "The Dagda", Patrian and the King stood around a large cleared off space, with landing lights strewn around it.
"Look, are you sure this will work?" asked Speedy. "I mean, using a radio on a planet that hasn't discovered space flight yet to contact Plotline Hotline? It just sounds like asking for trouble."
"That's why I'm the God of Wisdom and you're just the God of Stupdity." said BæÅüMÃ(-)Ñ, smugly. "Of course it will work. Even if I got the wave length wrong, Plotline Hotline is so sophisticated, they'll probably get the message anyway.
Suddenly, there was a flash of light in the sky, and a spaceship appeared. Patrian and the King pointed at the sky in wonder, and Speedy looked disgruntled, but other then that, things were calm.
The spaceship, which bore anicent ruins upon it that meant "PH", after not too long, was within a distance close enough to make out details, such as the large smiley face painted on front of the ship in case the inhabitants of the planet were hostile. For a few seconds, the ship descended smoothly straight towards the landing area. Then, suddenly, without warning, it continued to descend, smoothly, straight towards the landing area. The only anomalie in the landing of the Plotline Hotline (for such it obviously was) was the fact that the pilot, on accident, sent out the landing ramp Before having completly landing, making them seem much less impressive and a little more incompetant.
"Pssst, BæÅüMÃ(-)Ñ!" whispered "Ares", who had been thinking about this carefully. "While the natives are buttering up Plotline Hotline and informing them of the task and everything, why don't we all commandeer their ship and fly away?"
"Because it would be ungracious, rude, and because I didn't think of it." snapped BæÅüMÃ(-)Ñ. "Besides, the controls probably aren't just usable by Anyone."
This was probably true, in fact. Ever since some weird and improbable incident a few years ago, Plotline Hotline had been very secure against intruders.

Quite a ways to the East, the seven remaining Nostril Starships touched down next to Blagagnga's 'factory'. They had misjudged their landing spot by a severe amount, and thus had not come down anywhere near the ship of Han Soda.