Regulus: Mark my words, Mr. APPLe, all we need to do is keep straight down this road, and we'll get where we need to be!
Regulus: Did we land at the wrong airport? Sure.
Regulus: Did that lorry we hitched on go bust? Absolutely.
Regulus: Did our motorbike go careening into the cacti? Too bloody right.
Regulus: Wa-hey! Nothing's gonna slow us down!
The rockin' pirate is making her way down the sun-beaten highway, each step bringing her nearer to the distant West Coast.
She turns her back to the blazing sun, noticing her shadow shorten beneath her, then watching as it shifts behind her.
Regulus: Those Foundation's fools ought to have figured it out by now—this rockin' pirate can't be beat!
She laughs, stepping gingerly across the burning stones.
Under the blazing sun, it looks as if the asphalt stretches endlessly far beyond the horizon.
Regulus: "Why did she leave without a word, so gracefully?"♪
Regulus: "Was it something I said?"♪
Regulus: "Now all I can do is wait for yesterday."♪
She hums her favorite tune as she makes her way forward beneath the gaze of the red cliffs above her.
APPLe: Captain ... you ... dropped ... some ... thing.
A floppy disk tumbles out of her backpack and clatters onto the scorching asphalt.
Regulus: Oh—floppy disk, the little gadget Sonetto gave us.
Regulus: Heh, just another Foundation trinket.
She picks it up, brushes off the dust, and tucks the "lost item" back into her bag.
Regulus: If things head sideways, we'll have this little toy to make our escape.
APPLe: But ... why ... don't we just use it to go straight to Los Angeles?
His voice is uncharacteristically hoarse.
Regulus: Nonsense! This is a journey, Mr. APPLe.
Regulus: And any good journey is about hoisting your sails and making your own across the wide open sea.
Regulus: Not that there's much sea to go around here—
No sea at all. Only badlands and mountains and beyond the mountains, wilderness, and threaded across that wilderness are the asphalt roads of industry, stitching together civilization from coast to coast.
Regulus: But keep your chin up. We're a long way still from L.A., but we're not gonna stop till we're there.
Regulus: It'd be nice to have an airship about now. That's a groovy thought.
She pulls out the disk again—a Foundation Ritual Disk hidden among her vinyl collection, disguised as an ordinary CD.
Regulus: Quick cast! Shadow Schmadow! Haha!
The Ritual Disk gives no response to her botched incantation.
APPLe: Captain, this APPLe believes ... perhaps ...
His voice is weak, losing more and more of his usual shine and elegance.
Indeed, he seems to be struggling to stay afloat in the scorching heat and almost shriveled. Trying, with as much effort as he can still muster, to keep up with his captain's boundless energy.
APPLe: Before we reach the coast ...
APPLe: Captain ... please ...
Regulus: Just think of the glorious sunshine awaiting us on California Highway 1, Mr. APPLe! We'll make it to that show in record time and rock on harder than ever!
Her ambitions remain as high as ever, even after this little ticket mishap.
They had stepped out of the plane expecting to be welcomed by the big city and ocean breeze, but instead found themselves in an entirely unfamiliar and unwelcoming place.
Now, APPLe is falling further and further behind her.
APPLe: Captain ... if I die, bury me beneath Westminster Bridge ... please ...
His sentence trails away as he lands in a soft and squishy thud.
A remnant bit of juice sizzles on the hot asphalt as Regulus swoops him up in her hands.
Regulus: Oi, hey, Mr. APPLe, wake up!
Regulus: Mr. APPLe—!!
???: Did something happen to your apple?
The car pulls off the road beside her, and the window lowers.
???: Need a ride?
???: Walking across the wilderness in this heat ain't easy.
Riley: I'm from Gold Dust, just a little up that way. The name's Riley. What's yours?
The friendly driver waves her toward the car.
Regulus: You're lucky to meet the one and only Rockin' Pirate of the Thames—Regulus!
Regulus: But this rockin' pirate could use a bit of water about now.
Riley: Here, catch!
The driver tosses a half-empty bottle to her.
Regulus: Rock on! This should be enough to save Mr. APPLe!
She twists open the cap and pours the remaining water out over her first mate.
Riley: Is that how all you Brits treat your food?
Regulus: This APPLe isn't food. He's my mate.
Riley: Alrighty then. So what brings you out here? Get lost on your way to Albuquerque? Or just decided to brave the desert on foot?
Regulus: Only a bloody misprinted ticket at the airport.
Regulus: Oh, and then, the lorry we hitched a ride with broke down, and the motorcycle hit a rough patch and skidded into some cacti, and even the bleeding tractor that found us couldn't make it more than halfway. So, now we're hoofing it.
Whether a curse or just an awful run of bad luck, misfortune appears to be following Regulus at every step.
Riley: Pfft, ha-ha-ha! Well, don't go jinxing my baby here too.
It is a playful laugh, as far as Regulus could tell.
Riley: Hold on, did you say ... "we"?
The driver glances around the rocky vista. To her mind, the only people there are herself and this bespectacled pirate.
Regulus: Mr. APPLe here is my first mate.
She cradles the apple up to her chest. Her poor companion still hasn't regained consciousness under the blazing sun.
Riley: Well, your friend looks like he's seen better days.
Riley: Gold Dust is just ahead. It won't take long. So, Miss, how about it?
She honks, signaling for Regulus to hop in.
Riley: If you need a place to stay the night, trust me, that's your only option.
Regulus: But we're headed to the coast.
Regulus: Our long-short holiday is supposed to be about beaches, Dr. Papper, and rock 'n' roll!
Riley: I don't know if I've ever heard of a "long-short holiday."
Riley: But if you're bound for Los Angeles, then even if everything goes smoothly, that's going to be a long drive ahead of you. And the roads out here aren't too great.
Riley: And if you're fixing on walking along the highway, you won't get there until sometime next week.
Riley: So, you'll need a car. Or at least a ride.
She pats the wheel of her car affectionately, as proud as a knight atop her steed.
Riley: So, come on now. Hop in, Miss. Don't mind the clutter. I was picking up some stuff from a friend the next town over. But I've got room for you.
She clears some of the bags and bundles, carving out just enough space in the backseat.
As she approaches, Regulus is hit with a wave of odor, a disinfectant smell that causes her to hesitate for a moment. Until she, at last, opens the door.
Regulus: Smells a bit like an A&E in here.
She sniffs, like a curious cub, trying to identify the strange scent wafting from the luggage in the backseat.
Riley: Uh, could be because that friend I mentioned was working in a hospital.
Riley: Alright, ready to go!
Riley: Huh?
Riley: Don't do this, buddy. We've never let a hitchhiker down before.
Regulus: Could be that your buddy's not in the mood.
Regulus: How about some music to cheer it up?
Regulus: Fab! How about Something by John Lennon—
Regulus: Whoa!
Regulus: I almost hit—!
Riley: Hahaha, hang on back there. This jalopy's got some miles on it, but cut the old girl some slack.
