THE WARP

What had been diagnosed as death by a team of medical experts was in fact a deep coma. Normally, an event such as returning from established death ought to be met with great joy by all concerned. But not in this case.

The should-be deceased was a wealthy man and his family had in mind to cash in good and proper. An aspiration cruelly dashed by the light of life suddenly twinkling again in the elderly patriarch’s eyes. And the whole thing boiled down to being entirely Vesper’s fault. It was that last hymn he decided to include on the spur of the moment.

Vesper is a sucker for hymns. He loves them. Plays them loudly on his stereo at home. Blasts them out of his in-craft sound system. Sings along at every opportunity. Fervently conducts his congregation in the rousing anthems.

Critics claim that the Official Galactic Church Hymnal is outmoded and horrible and has been known to drive living specimens into a coma. With such a track record it shouldn’t be surprising if the opposite effect also is seen from the sheer vibrant force of it all. Such were the initial analyses Vesper heard following this morning’s disaster. Be that as it may, Vesper is now a marked man. A fugitive with a price on his head. The chagrined family members are out to seek revenge on him for so flagrantly overstepping the call of his office and including that last death-quenching hymn on a whim.

As the altitude of Vesper’s forehead gradually lowered by each firm swipe of his drink and was on its way towards a touchdown on the steel bar top of The Warp, a floating watering-hole hidden away in the neighboring quadrant, he was observed with interest by two nearby characters. A brain in a bowl, and a cyborg.