Cursing all three moons of Rana IV, Crewman Thirteen lifted his foot from the pile of animal droppings that he had conveniently been teleported into. “Funny, Captain,â€? he muttered as he attempted to clean his boot on the ground next to him. Talk about insult piled on top of years of injustice and injury! He sighed dramatically, thinking it was a waste nobody was around to hear him.

Then he noticed he wasn’t actually alone. Three men, guessing by their familial resemblance to be brothers, were all staring at him in complete disbelief. He stared back, taking in their faded overalls and bare feet as a growing sense of dread began building.

“Talk to’m Virgil,â€? one hissed, pushing the most clothed one forward with a wallop. “He look like one o’ them high falutin’ types. Say sumpin smart!â€?

Sweet stepped forward cautiously, wracking his brain for what was proper in such a situation. He liked being proper-like. “Welcome to Mississippi?â€?

The Crewman felt nauseated. They had marooned him in the American South.