Chapter 1

Thirty-two right, fourteen left, seventeen right, and finally nothing left ... to do but wait, that is. Then slowly the lock on the door of my lunar prison cell began to open. I stood there, gripped with suspense. The hefty door swung wide, revealing what I'd worked on for these many months-my freedom. Though it had taken only a few moments and some brain bending calculations to program the lunar lock and figure out its combination, it had seemed like days. OK, so it had been days: 136 days to be exact. But, hey, who's counting? I never really was that good in math anyway.

I was counting on one thing, though: Getting out of there! There had never been a prison in the star system that could hold the sinister Space Villain for long. Besides, I needed a change of scenery. Between choking down the galactic glob they call food and playing several games of "stare down" with the four walls, this hadn't exactly been a summer vacation. So, with a song in my heart and a sneer on my lips, off I went.

I snaked my way swiftly and quietly down corridor after darkened corridor. A thousand thoughts raced through my head: Had I tripped the alarm? Were the android guards on to me yet? Was my hidden space pod still intact and waiting for me in Quadrant Three? Is Colonel Crater's Fried Chicken open this time of night?

Suddenly a laser blast pierced the darkness. It ricocheted right in front of my feet. As I frantically dodged the blast I realized one of my questions had been answered: the guards were definitely on to me.

I moved down the corridor, slipping through one hallway and down the other with moves that would make Michael Jackson turn green with nausea ... uh, envy. The android guards were hot on my trail-this little game of blast attack was getting old fast. If I could just think of something to throw them off track. Maybe get the goons to sit down and swap nut-and-bolt recipes or something. Unfortunately, I had left my Betty Cosmos Cookbook back in my cell. So instead I chose to stick to my original brilliant plan: Run!

Another series of laser bursts grazed past my heels and exploded in front of me. The shots tore a hole in the air vent beside me. Aha! I thought. Their brainless blasting has created an escape route. Amidst a blaze of laser fire I dove for the air duct and squeezed inside. It was just big enough for a notorious space villain of my size.

As I scooted down the shaft I let out a hideous cry to taunt the trigger-happy space ‘droids. "Booooo-ah-ah-ah-ahhh. No one can stop the dastardly Villain, mad master of interplanetary bad guys. No one. Boo-ah-ah-ah!" My eerie laughter echoed down the air shafts, sending chill up the spine of every space guard in the quadrant. (A pretty neat trick considering the guards were all androids-you know, fancy robots.)

As I worked my way down the air shafts toward my hidden space pod, I recalled how I had gotten into this fix in the first place. I'd been busy doing m usual cosmic crime stuff throughout fourteen star systems (talk about overworked!): hijacking Diamel freighters the planet Zirconia, pillaging spice mines on planet Paprika, stealing the sacred singing stones of Jagger Moon ... not returning an overdue book from the public library in Cleveland. Yes, I was an interplanetary pirate without equal (and without brains, according to the space cops who'd found my prints all over everything).

Finally the Galactic Governing Council sent out an elite group of crime fighters, The Blue Fox Squadron. Their leader was my old rival, Cyborg II. There was even a bounty of 2 million greckles for my capture (about eight bucks in real money). How-ever, for a goody two-shoes like Cyborg II, the reward didn't matter. No, not to Mr. Good Guy ... Mr. Straight and Narrow ... Mr. Mom and Asteroid Pie. He did good deeds just for the sake of doing good deeds-things like helping little old ladies cross the Forbidden Zone. So it was no surprise that he would pursue my highly dangerous self across the universe, risking life and limb for peanuts (unsalted, of course). After all, he was the hero. It was his job to do that kind of thing.

My job was to be an evil space villain. Some job. I mean, the pay and hours were lousy. I was chased night and day, often had to go without sleep, and usually ran dangerously low on fuel (and Twinkies). And nobody ever sent me birthday presents ... believe me, being a fugitive is a real pain.

Well, one night I fell right into one of Cyborg's clever little traps. I'd stopped at a safety inspection station-you know, where they check for faulty thermal reactors, hydro-converters, and any illegal fruit being taken across the border. When I eased into the station, a trooper approached my craft. He asked for my travel code, flight papers, and if I was carrying any melons or mangoes. When I handed him my papers, he lifted his visor and looked at me with a steely-eyed stare I knew all too well. It was Cyborg II! Faster than you can say, "Obee Won, Kenobee," the rest of the Blue Fox Squadron surrounded my ship. Their eyes-and their blasters-were aimed right at me.

There I was, surrounded by fifty of the best crime fighters in the galaxy. Now what? I thought. Should I fight to the finish? Create a smoke screen? Try to talk my way out of it?

Then it came to me; it was perhaps the most brilliant scheme I had ever conceived! I slowly lifted my arms into the air. Then through sneering lips I whispered those magic words: "I give up."

You know, sometimes I'm so clever I scare myself Next thing I knew I was hauled into space court, yelled at by the space judge, fined seventy five greckles for the case of melons they found hidden in my trunk, and sentenced to eternity in the Mugsy Moon Rock Institute for the Criminally Clumsy. I'd been there ever since.

Until now, that is. Now I was making my escape. And things were going just as I'd expected them to-rotten.

I ended up crawling around in the stupid air shaft for about an hour trying to find Quadrant Three where I'd hidden my faithful space pod. No luck. It was still hidden. Then I noticed a flashing light through the grill of a vent up ahead. "Aha! Now we're getting somewhere," I exclaimed.

Drawing closer, I heard the squawk of a guard 'droid's two-way radio. I anxiously peered out and saw the mechanical moron pacing back and forth. He obviously had his sensors on the look out for you-know-who.

Suddenly his radio came alive with an urgent transmission: "This is Blue Fox Leader. Any sign of escaped villain in Quadrant Five?"

"Negative, Blue Fox," the guard responded. "All quiet here."

"Be on your toes, " Blue Fox said. "This villain's a sneaky little character."

"Affirmative, Blue Fox. I've got my eyes peeled and my nose to the ground. Over and out."

Well, that sounded painful, even for an android. But it was also enlightening. Not only was every guard in the compound hot on my trail, but Cyborg II and his Blue Fox boys were close. Real close. That thought put a knot in my stomach the size of Jupiter. One thing was sure; I didn't spell relief .C-Y-B-0-R-G. Well, if I was in Quadrant Five, then Quadrant Three was nearby. (I'm just great with numbers like that.) However, with a maze of air shafts leading a thousand different directions, Quadrant Three wasn't going to be easy to find. There was one thing that would make that search a little easier, though- the guard's radio. I could use it to pick up on the good guys chit-chat and maybe avoid an unpleasant encounter or two. Besides, if things got really bad, maybe I could tune in on the Cubs' game.

Great. Now for the hard part-getting the radio away from this bucket of bolts. With my luck, it was probably a Christmas present, and he was going to be all sentimental about it and wanna keep it. Of course, I needed it more than he did. I just had to convince him of that. Right. Unfortunately, he was bigger than me. In fact, he was the biggest android I'd ever seen. He made Hulk Hogan look like Pee Wee Herman. I, on the other hand, make Pee Wee Herman look like King Kong.... I think you get the picture.

But I put all my brain power into action and came up with a plan. I'd wait for the 'droid to pass underneath me, crown him on the noggin' with the air vent grill, then jump down, scoop up his radio and immobilizer-blaster, and be merrily on my way.

The plan worked great. . . well, except for a few slight catches. Slight catch number one: my finger I got it caught in the grill. Since the grill weighed as much as yours truly, you can imagine what happened next. We both came crashing down on top of the guard, knocking the mechanical wonder to the floor.

Then came slight catch number two.

The blow knocked the 'droid down. What it didn't do was knock him out. I'd forgotten one little thing-'droids are machines-you can't knock a machine out. Soooo, it was like hitting a grizzly bear with a house shoe-the only thing that gets knocked out is your teeth. As he slowly got up, I knew this could mean some heavy hand-to-hand combat. You know, kung fu, karate, chop suey.

I decided to take the simplest route. I ran between his legs. I must have really confused his circuits because he started spinning around, trying to see where I'd gone. Every time he turned to find me, I'd run back between his legs. Pretty soon the wires in the 'droid's neck got wound so tight they snapped. I heard this pop and zing, and he conveniently sank to the ground, a pile of limp metal and fizzling wires.

Ha! And they think I'm brainless.

I scooped up his radio and immobilizer and bounded toward the vent. I chuckled as I crawled up and out of sight. "Assignment Radio Raid" had gone off after all. OK, so it wasn't exactly what you might call a textbook ambush Rambo-style, but it got the job done.

As I continued to trek through the endless air shafts, I occasionally picked up discussions between troopers in certain Quadrant numbers. I was getting closer to finding my space pod-but the radio transmissions showed that Cyborg II was getting closer to finding me, too.

I came to another vent and peered out. There were familiar markings on the wall-Q4S7 Quadrant Four, Sector Seven. All right! One Quadrant away.

Soon I’d be neatly tucked into my space pod and blasting off to freedom. "Colonel Crater's Fried Chicken, here I come!"

Suddenly, a familiar voice came blasting across the radio: "Cyborg II, this is Blue Fox Leader. Quadrant Four, Sector Seven is secure. Do you copy?"

Yipes! He was right on top of me!

"Roger, Blue Fox. No sign of Creeper yet," Cyborg II answered.

Just then I heard the haunting sound of footsteps echoing through the corridor below. "Keep you eyes peeled, Cyborg II, " I heard someone exclaim. I peeked through the vent and sure enough he was, a guard 'droid in tow, drawing closer with every step. My fear suddenly vanished. Why should I be afraid? This was perfect. He didn't know I was up here. For once I was the hammer he was the nail. I was the cat, he was the mouse. was the little kid, he was the sucker ... well, you know what I mean.

Lifting the immobilizer, I drew a bead on the 'droid. I'd nail him first, then Cyborg II. Oh, I’d just wing them. You know, put them out of commission long enough for me escape. I mean, even we urked space villains have a little heart.

Cyborg II continued waltzing toward me, unaware of my presence. His crazy 'droid followed him, glancing around and whistling some old cup. I think it was the theme song from "The Jetsons," They were getting closer, closer. Cyborg II was in range now. I placed my finger on the trigger am slowly, ever so slowly began to squeeze....

Nuts-the rotten guard 'droid was beginning to sing the lyrics now. I wondered if the immobilizer had a setting for "barbecue." I pulled the trigger back. Click .. Click ...Fiz. . . Schweeze ... Rats! The blaster was out of blast. As Cyborg II and the 'droid casually strolled on past I kept squeezing the trigger hoping for the best. If that bucket of bolts sang much longer, it might kill me. The faulty phaser just fizzed.

"Darned no-account, two-bit blaster," I hissed. I tossed it in disgust as the off-key, metallic rendition of "The Jetsons" trailed off in the distance.

I sat there pondering my next move. Then another radio transmission broke the silence: 'Blue Fox Leader, this is Cyborg II. Do you copy?' "Go ahead, Cyborg II, I copy.'

"Sir, we've discovered a small space craft in Quadrant Three, Sector Twelve. I think you ought to check it out. "

"On my way, Cyborg II. Over and out."

Well if that wouldn't fry the hair off a cookie. Now, they'd found my space pod. The one I worked on in space prison metal shop for months. (I told the guards I was building a flying toaster.) The one I'd hidden away so carefully so I could use it to escape. Oh well I really didn't want to escape anyway. I was beginning to like it here. Pleasant surroundings. Courteous staff. Fine dining. Yeah, right

I made a mad dash down the air shaft (as mad a dash as you can make crawling on bony knees). I crawled so fast, I wore holes in the knees of my prison pants. Hey, at least I was in style now.

I hoped to reach my space pod in time to spoil Blue Fox's party. I reached the air vent in Quadrant Three and hesitantly took a peek below. I was too late.

Cyborg II was milling about my beloved pod as another Blue Fox trooper came up.

"What is it?" the trooper asked.

"The Creeper's space pod. Set your immobilizers on 'massacre'! We'll destroy this thing before he can put it to use!"

Phasers on "massacre," I thought. Gee, I guess they're not kidding around. My only hope was that the pod, made of pure titanium steel, would withstand the phaser blast. If it didn't, I was going to need a lot of duct tape and crazy glue.

The Blue Fox boys began an all-out assault on my tiny space craft. I had to admit I was pleased to see they weren't doing much damage. Their phaser blasts bounced off like tennis balls. Then, just as I decided my ship was going to survive, Cyborg II threw down his blaster in frustration and gave the pod a good swift kick.

BONK! The little space craft shattered into a million useless little pieces.

"Drat. Lousy, two-bit, no-account titanium," I hissed. Oh, sure, the stuff can withstand a fifty megaton explosion. But give it a little punt and crunch it goes all to pieces on you.

Well, I was done for. Clobbered! Slaughtered! Trashed! Kicked! Whipped! Annihilated! Hammered! You get the idea. It didn't matter, though. After all, it was all just in fun.

Oh, didn't I tell you? This whole galactic battle was just imagination. Yup. In fact, the whole thing had taken place in my little buddy Nick's front yard, not in the far reaches of outer space.

As for my titanium-covered space Pod, well, I guess you Could say it was actually a pigskin-covered football. The proton blasters? Harmless little toy guns. The maze of air shafts I've been crawling through ... well, that was simply the old drain gutter that goes down the side of the house. Even the victorious Cyborg II and Blue Fox boys were none other than Nick and his pat, Louis. Get the picture?

Now before you get all excited and upset, think it over. A make-believe mission is much better than a real one. No one ever gets hurt, and the clean-up expenses after a battle are almost nit. In fact, there is really only one drawback ... getting stuck playing the villain. I mean, basically the villain is a real loser. That's OK, though. Who wants the bad guys to win anyway? Besides, if you play your cards right, even the villain can have a small victory once in a while. Like thinking up a neat little trick to end the game in your favor.

"A valiant effort, earthling," I said to Nick via the walkie-talkie. "But that was only a three-dimensional projection of my pod."

"McGee, that's not fair!" Nicholas shouted. "We creamed you!" Nick was right ... but since when do wicked space villains ever play fair?

"Until we meet again," I called. Then I gave him one final laugh. The famous 'World's-Most-Wicked-Space-Villain' cackle:

"Booo-ah-ah-ah-ahhhaah!"