Obviously, we go with it. What's the worst that could happen? Oh. Welp. Let's hope this guy is nicer than he looks.
Maybe we should consider asking him for directions! Then again, we're in space somehow, so he wouldn't help.
Mr. Vader directs us to a spaceport popular among smugglers and thieves, and even has a few droids fix our ship. What a nice guy. Unfortunately, it seems that a bunch of jerks are attacking this lovely station, so we should probably get going before something bad happens. I do hope they remembered to stick a board over that exhaust port.
Oh hey, the droids are done! And just in time, too; the attackers seem to have found the exhaust port. As we leave the station, there is a massive explosion behind us, and now we're stranded outside our own galaxy.
Well, that is a pickle. Fortunately, the directions to the spaceport are programmed into the navigation computer. And the hyperdrive was damaged in the explosion. At our current speed, we should reach the port in only ninety years.
We have these stasis pods for a reason! See you in 90 years! We awake to the sounds of, "WARNING: TEMPERATURE MALFUNCTION DETECTED. HULL HAS BEEN BREACHED."
Seriously, it's only been six weeks, and this damn ship has already flown us into the coronasphere of a star. We have exactly six minutes and eighteen seconds until we're all vaporized.
Oooh, what does this button do? Well, the good news is, we're not in a star's coronasphere anymore. The bad news is: we're now even farther away from Earth than we were before and we've been turned into a bunch of pelicans.
We lost too many red shirts for us to be turned into pelicans now! Divert all scientific resources to the cure of pelicanism! Only problem is, we're floating in empty space, with fried radiation shielding, and a breached hull. One of the sections that was breached, just HAPPENED to be our labs. We have to re pressurize the area somehow!
The lab is functional. Get to work, science guys. Good news is, they can change us back. The bad news is, it will cost us six million dollars.
Good news they'll work on credit. Bad news they're going to keep one of us a hostage and turn that person into a pig. If we don't pay up that person gets eaten.
I never liked that dude anyway. Pass the bacon. Now the unpaid scientists are really angry, and have set us up the bomb. It would appear that all our base are belong to them.
Remind them that they don't have the right to unionize in space, according to Galactic Federation Accord No. 967. The scientists (unhappily) finish the cure for pelicanism, but the procedure MAY make us worship Vot'Hagma, the eldritch pelican god.
