by Chewy Walrus
The large Boeing 747 put down its landing gear, pulling into the Melbourne airport. The passengers made their way off -- all save two. Chewy sat calmly next to PPM Fausk Tremel, who clutched a brown paper sack in his long slim fingers. Chewy glanced at the bag, which was shaking in the little man's trembling hands.
"That the chip?" Chewy whispered, making the man jump and clasp his heart, panting.
"Yes..." the PPM sputtered out. "Yes, it is."
"What is it about that thing anyway?" Chewy asked, pushing up his fedora. "What makes it so special that a terrorist like this rhyme guy wants it?"
"Oh, Chewy!" Fausk gasped. "I'm afraid I can't tell you that! It's the only thing that can keep Mandelovia a safe country."
Chewy raised his eyebrows. "You know, I can't very well protect you unless you're going to be honest with me."
"And I cannot be honest with you unless you can trust me," Fausk snapped back.
"All right... fine." Chewy stood up and popped his neck. "Let's get off this stupid plane."
Chewy led the PPM down the aisle, and as he stepped to the spot right before he hit the door, an image flashed through his mind. Too quick to see, the only time images like that flashed were when something was about to go dangerously wrong. An elastic arm stretched before the foreign dignitary.
"Stop right there. Don't go any further." The man was almost clotheslined as he came to a halt on the carpeted plane aisle.
"Mr. Walrus, what is the meaning of all this?" Fausk demanded, shoving the paper bag gingerly into his pocket.
"There's someone outside. Probably this Dan guy. He's definitely waiting for us."
"How on earth do you know?"
Chewy stared down at the little man, tapping his temple and gritting his teeth. "It's called my Walrus Sense, old man! It lets me know when something crappy's about to go down. Now haul your glutes back to coach and wait for me!" The man huffed but obeyed, strapping himself in.
Chewy kicked open the cockpit door, revealing an empty set of pilot chairs. Perfect, the Walrus thought, taking a seat.
He picked up the intercom. "Gentleman and elected officials, this is your captain speaking. We'll be off to who knows where to save your sorry rear. You can thank me later, but for now strap your butt in and hold on tight."
As the plane took off for who knows where, Rhyme Guardian, perched atop the airport, watched as it flew off.
The plane will be back soon, he thought as he flew off toward the public toilet where he underwent his transformation. And when it does, I'll be ready.