ORIGINS

The S.S. Frito slowly wispled through space, its thrusters pushing the living section forward with powerful tractor beams.

On the bridge, every crewmember stared up at the planet in the huge view screen on the ceiling. In their own rough-and-tumble, firm-jawed, hard-eyed, freeze-dried way, they were saying goodbye.

"So finally we leave our planet," said the purple-mustachioed captain. "Searching for new civilizations, making new discoveries. Aah, how I've hungered for this day."

"Yes, and?" piped the short First Mate with big ears.

"Now we can expand the fruits of knowledge to fill the realms of our minds until they play with verdant mind-connections that will live on forever, resounding in the fabric of space," drooled the captain as his pupils expanded and contracted for emphasis. "But first..." He looked at the first mate.

"Yes, sir. You may fire when ready."

The red planet exploded in a bright burst of colors.

"Set a course for the Sol system, Fnool," spoke the captain through his moustache (accent on the first syllable). "I'm feeling frisky."