“Missy, I feel so awful about those bears.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much, Coco. They wouldn’t let them go up in flames like that.”

“They who?”

“The Terraneans who captured them. Remember those arms dealers I mentioned back in my Prolegomenon? Well, they aren’t your typical arms dealers. They’re wildlife traffickers. And they’re not your typical wildlife traffickers either. They’re into trafficking wildlife parts. Eyes of newt, rabbits’ and pigs’ feet. Stuff like that. It helps them fund their terrorism operations.”

“But why bears? Are they after the claws?”

“No, the Terraneans are too proud of their traditional pastries to want ours. Not even the ones with almonds. They’re after the arms.”

“Bear arms?”

“Yeah, which is why the Crystal Crevice Creek Resort schedule caught my attention.”

“You mean because the Gays of Hormuz event? They’re Terranean, aren’t they?”

“They are. But did you notice that the calendar listed three separate bear arms rallies for this weekend? One of them has to be cover for a major arms deal. We have to shut that down.”

“Hey, Missy. This yurt is pretty spacious. The skylight lets in a lot of natural light. And the view’s great, too. What’s the name of the river again?”

“Crimea. But before we get too comfortable, Coco, let’s go look for those bears.”

“Dammit. We’re too late.”

We’d like to thank the following non-paying advertiser for not sponsoring this chapter:

“Hold on tight, Missy, while I break formation. Prepare for landing.”

“Roger, Coco.”

“Missy, look down to the right. Do you see what I see?”

“What? You mean those bears penned in by those colossal pieces of firewood?”

“Yeah, bears. And I think two of them are waving at us.”

“Remain still. Don’t wave back. Just get us on the ground so that we can get Shining Armor some corn and check into our yurt. I’ll fill you in after that.”

“What?”

“A yurt. I booked us a yurt.”

“A what?”

We’d like to thank the following non-paying advertiser, Colorado Yurt Company, for not sponsoring this chapter:

“Shining Armor, say again.”

“Crystal Crevice approach, we’re running low on corn. Permission to go around.”

“Shining Armor, state your intentions. You just said you’re running low on fuel. How is aborting this landing going to help you?”

“Approach, we’re going deep. Into Crystal Crevice, that is.”

“Shining Armor, do you want advisories?”

“Negative.”

“Roger wilco, Shining Armor. Good luck!”

“Coco, why did you abort the landing?! We’re on our last ear!”

“Change of plans, Missy. We’re going to draft off that flock of birds to save fuel and have them pull us down into Crystal Crevice. But first, I have to maneuver this unicorn into their slipstream. Quack like a duck so they don’t notice us.”

“Coco, they’re not ducks! They’re Canada geese! And geese don’t quack, they honk!”

“Duck, goose. Quack, honk. I’m a city girl, Missy! I don’t know anything about migratory aquatic birds, least of all foreign ones. Just do what you have to to distract them while I get us into position.”

Sound effects obtained from https://www.zapsplat.com

“Crystal Crevice Tower, Shining Armor, ten miles north at 2,500.”

“Shining Armor, report your airspeed for spacing.”

“Crystal Crevice approach, we’re really hauling ass.”

“Shining Armor, I couldn’t care less about your cargo. I need to know your airspeed.”

“Oh, Roger.”

“Shining Armor, what are your intentions?”

“To get my pilot license, graduate from the academy, get married, and raise a family.”

“I meant in the next five minutes, Shining Armor, not over the next five years. What is your airspeed?”

“Oh, Roger. I think we’re averaging about one minute per mile.”

“Shining Armor, one minute per mile? What are you doing, flying a horse?”

“Sort of. And we’re running low on corn.”

“I said domestic uniFORMS, Coco, not uniCORNS! The plan was to infiltrate the resort at Crystal Crevice Creek disguised as femmes de ménage, just like Madame de Boneville taught us.”

“Missy, there were metal snaps in that dryer! I couldn’t even hear myself think over all the clanking, let alone what you were saying. Who’s wearing things with metal snaps these days anyways? Well, these corn-fed unicorns are ours for the rest of the week, so we might as well make use of them.”

“What do you suggest we do, besides get you some Q-Tips to clean the cobwebs out of your temporal bones?”

“We switch to Plan B.”

“What Plan B?! Something insane like aerial reconnaissance over Crystal Crevice?!”

“Exactly.”

We’d like to thank the following non-paying advertisers for not sponsoring this chapter:

“Unicorn Rental. How may I direct your call?”

“Hello. I need to rent some unicorns.”

“Foreign or domestic?”

“Um, well, domestic, but what’s the difference?”

“About ten percent.”

“Domestic, then.”

“One moment, please, while I transfer you.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Domestic Unicorn Rental Department. How may I direct your call?”

“Yes. Hi. I need to rent some unicorns.”

“Grass- or corn-fed?”

“Um, I don’t know. What’s the difference?”

“About ten percent.”

“Corn-fed then.”

“One moment, please, while I transfer you.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Corn-Fed Domestic Unicorn Rental Division. How may I help you?”

“Um, Hi. I need to rent some unicorns.”