Chapter 1

"All right listen to me, Morty, I don't wanna stay here any longer than we have to. It's-it's a nasty situation they have going on here, enemy occupation and everything. Let's just get in and get out, ten minutes -erhp- tops, and then we're on our way to BLIPS AND CHITZ!"

Rick threw his hands in the air and started busting some moves from the driver's seat while Morty looked for something to grab onto before the inevitable turbulence that accompanied drunk/dance driving.

"D-did you say enemy occupation? That sounds pretty bad R-Rick. Are you sure it's safe?"

"It'll be fine," Rick responded, drunkenly leaning toward Morty, which caused the ship to sway disturbingly in the same direction. "Ya know, as long as the cat's away, or whatever."

Morty wasn't sure if the "cat" Rick was referring to was proverbial or somehow related to the alien race they had met last weekend that was prone to purging, but he quickly realized that he might be better off not thinking about it. He was getting very good at not thinking about things.

The ship closed in on the dry, desert moon, landing in an area that had a distinct 1960s urban look to it. Rick took a quick swig out of his flask and threw the door open, stumbling out and seeming to forget for a moment which way was up and which was down. He looked back at Morty, whose seatbelt was still buckled.

"Well, a-ah-are you coming or not?"

"S-sure, Rick," Morty quickly answered, "It's just, I mean, I just think it's a bad idea to leave dad all alone in the ship." He gestured awkwardly to Jerry, who timidly waved from the back seat.

"Aw, shit! Why didn't you remind me to drop him off at day care?!" Rick said, face-palming.

"I forgot he was here too…"

"You know, this is exactly how babies end up locked in hot cars," Rick said, taking another angrier swig from his flask.

"That's awful, Rick!"

"I'm with ya there, Morty. Dead babies are no joke. Hurry and get out, Morty, I-ah-I'll just tell the ship to take care of him-"

"No!" Morty adamantly responded, hopping out of the ship to put his foot down literally and figuratively. "The last time you told the ship to take care of somebody, ice cream was ruined for an entire earth dimension! A-and people died, Rick!"

"Okay! Okay. Jeez. Come on, Jerry, get out of the ship, and for god's sakes, stop stowing away on our adventures!

Jerry hopped out, his fists up near his face with glee. "Yay! I'm going on an adventure!

"Yeah, yeah, just do exactly what I say and do NOT under ANY CIRCUMSTANCES shake hands with any of the natives. That goes for you too, Morty."

"What's wrong with the natives? Do you they have d-diseases or something?" Morty asked, hugging himself as he glanced nervously at his surroundings.

"No, worse. They can steal your organs through skin-to-skin contact, Morty. I mean, they don't all do that of course, but you gotta be careful as tourists in the big city like this. I've had a buddy come here and return without a-a kidney, with no clue when or how it happened…his goddamned kidney, Morty! Just—just don't touch anyone, okay?"

Morty swallowed and nodded, but his eyes remained perpetually widened in utter terror for the uncertain fate of his kidneys.

Rick led the way into a loud, stiflingly crowded bar, filled with humanoid aliens with dark-blue skin, weird finlike ears, and two pairs of arms. Morty's eyes were drawn to an image on the opposite wall of an orange humanoid with feathered ears, whose number of arms was hidden by the strange, ornate robe he wore. The blue humanoids were taking turns tossing darts at the poster.

"Why don't you and your dad go play some darts while your grandpa meets up with an old friend? They love teaching newcomers," Rick said, pressing Morty toward the crowd of people gathered around the poster.

"Rick, I swear, if you're selling guns to murderers again-"

"No, no, nothing like that. Can't afford unstable clients like that anyway, they keep dying on me. You guys just chill for a little bit, I'll be back in five minutes."

"R-Rick!" Morty tried to protest, but his grandfather had already disappeared into the crowd. Growling with frustration, he grabbed Jerry's arm and pulled him toward the game of darts. If they had to be separated from Rick, Morty reasoned, they damn well better stay where Rick will know to find them again.

Rick was right, the blue aliens—Laurokians, Morty thought he heard someone say—loved teaching newcomers how to throw the weird, heavy darts at the wall. After a round of darts to the face of whoever that weird orange alien was, the Laurokians pulled a switch that flipped the poster around, revealing a somewhat standard-looking round target. Two bull's-eyes later, Morty was getting friendly pats on the back and teaching Laurokians how to fist bump. He didn't notice Jerry (who couldn't hit the target for the life of him) wander out the back door for some fresh air.

Jerry found himself in a long alley where the backs of bright green apartment buildings glowed eerily in the setting sun. He sighed and looked down the creepy backstreet, hoping to find a comfortable place to sit and wait for Rick. A street lamp suddenly lit up, and a splash of red, white, and blue caught his eye. He cautiously approached the strange object, and his stomach clenched when he saw what it was. A Laurokian woman was sitting there, her back propped up against one of the fluorescent apartments. All four of her hands were over a hole in her chest, where disturbingly human-looking blood poured out, rapidly dyeing her white dress a deep shade of crimson.

"Holy mother of-!" Jerry cut himself off, realizing that whoever shot this woman was probably still close by. He took a quick glance around, relieved to find the darkening alley surprisingly empty and still but for the gasping, bleeding woman.

"H-help me," the Laurokian said, one of her four arms reaching out to Jerry.

Jerry grimaced, feeling the familiar sting of his own uselessness. "You're going to be fine, I'll go get my father-in-law, he'll take care of you. He'll get you to an alien hospital, it's amazing what those places can-"

"N-no time," the woman said, now gesturing with all four hands for Jerry to come closer. Jerry didn't have the heart to abandon her. He knelt down next to her and held two of her hands while she panted, choking on blood. When she spoke again it was with calm authority, and the bloodstained, ceremonial dress she wore gave Jerry the impression that she was a leader of some sort, possibly even royalty.

"Our oppressors, the P-Parckellites from the planet we orbit…They want my son d-dead. I-I am worth nothing, but my son's fate is d-directly tied to the fate of the galaxy… H-he needs protection." Her three-fingered hands tightened on Jerry's, her knuckles turning from blue to a pale, sickly white. Despite the desperation in her words, her face remained regal; it was clear that she had never begged for anything in her life. Even now, choking to death on her own blood, she seemed to know that her will would be carried out, regardless of who or what the person kneeling before her was.

Jerry put on his best "white knight" face. This was his (second) chance to do something important for the fate of the galaxy ("In the name of Earth!" he thought, valiantly) and damned if he was going to let that chance slip away (again).

"Dearest Laurokimite," Jerry began, his eyes shining with real tears-

"Laurokian," the woman corrected, somehow finding the strength to shoot him a withering glare. ("Yes, this human will do, but that doesn't mean somebody else—well, really anybody else—would do better.")

"Dearest Laurokian," Jerry began again, only momentarily losing his "white knight" persona, "I will guard your son with my life. Not one of those Parckellite scum will lay a hand on him."

The woman heard him and believed him. Looking past this pathetic doormat of a human, she saw a man desperate to do something good, to be of some use to others, and not just for his own benefit. ("God, I wish he was a woman, though…")

"Thank you," she said, and meant it. "You have saved us all." With her third and fourth hands, the dying woman reached up and lifted a tiny chain from her neck, revealing the blue amulet that hung from it. She pulled it over her head and offered it to Jerry.

"P-put this on immediately. It is how my people will know that you are the protector I have chosen."

Jerry broke his grip with the woman to throw the chain around his neck and tuck the amulet into his green polo shirt. Shouts began to echo down the alley as flashlights pierced the darkness.

"Y-you must go!" the woman said, blood gurgling in her throat.

"Not without you!" Jerry replied. ("That is what a hero would say, right?") The woman shook her head, more blood dripping from her mouth. ("Idiot!")

"I-it is t-too late for m-me, g-go!"

"I'll never forget you-" ("She never even told me her name…")

"Go!"

Jerry stood, and with one last glance at the dying Laurokian, he turned and sprinted out of the alley just as a band of Parckellites caught sight of their wounded quarry. Jerry heard gunfire as he ran back to Rick's ship, and he couldn't help the tears that began to stream down his face.

"Where the hell have you been?!" Rick shouted as his idiot son-in-law sprinted into view. The ship was already running, Morty all buckled up in the shotgun seat and Rick with his hands on the controls.

"Didn't you hear the gunfire, Jerry?" Rick didn't even look up, he just began spouting off things that made no sense to his family as he pushed (hopefully not random) buttons. "Shit's going down—probably another massacre, things have gotten real heavy since that Parckellite prince ascended the throne—what the hell are you waiting for? Get in! Now!" Rick finally looked up to see Jerry's tear-streaked face.

"Wha—Are you crying?" Mortal peril or not, Rick never wasted an opportunity like this. "Aww, were you thinking about your shit-eating Doofus friend again?"

"Shut up, Rick," Jerry said, wiping the tears away with his sleeve and hopping into the back seat. "There's something important we—I—have to do."

"What's that now?" Rick said, distracted. The sound of the firefight began to fade as the ship took off.

"I said there's something important I have to do."

Rick's brow furrowed. That wasn't Jerry's defensive or cocky voice. In fact, nothing about it sounded like Jerry at all. Rick slammed his foot on the brake pedal, forcing a surprised yelp from his grandson's mouth. He turned entirely around, resting one elbow on his seat as he stared intensely at his son-in-law.

"What happened while you were alone?"

"There was a woman. She…she-"

"Did she rape you?" Rick asked, completely serious. He glanced at Morty, who was staring back at him, a clear "what the hell, Rick?" look on his face. Rick just shrugged.

"No!" Jerry responded in the familiar defensive tone that Rick knew and despised. "She was hurt—dying! Someone shot her in the chest, and she needed help."

Rick's palm collided with his face. "No, no, no, NO! God, Jerry, tell me you didn't touch her!"

"I-wha? What does that matter? I mean, I held her hands briefly, but that's not the important part. She told me-"

"Dammit, Jerry, you IDIOT. What did I tell you about touching the Laurokians? She probably stole your goddamned lung!" Rick turned back to the controls and veered the ship hard to the right.

"R-Rick? Where are we going?" Morty said, his voice sounding even smaller than normal.

"We're getting your father to the alien hospital on Parckel before he dies from organ failure. You know, as in organ "failure to exist?'" His words were filled with bitter sarcasm, but there was a clear hint of worry there too.

"No! NOT Parckel!" Jerry yelled from the back seat. "They're the ones who shot her! They're oppressing the Laurok people, and they want her son dead!"

The ship came to a sudden stop again, forcing another higher pitched yelp from Morty. Rick turned around again. "What did you just say?" His eyes burned with an intense interest, a look that he had literally never given Jerry before.

"The woman said that the Parckellites were oppressing the Laurokians, and that they wanted her son dead because he—um…he…"

"Will control the fate of the galaxy?" Rick finished for him, dead serious. Jerry nodded.

"The woman you spoke to…Was she pregnant?" Rick asked.

"She—huh? What?"

Rick reached out and grabbed the collar of that stupid green polo, pulling his son-in-law close. "I said was she pregnant? Think, Jerry, think! We're talking 'fate of the galaxy' here!"

"I-I didn't notice! There was so much blood…"

"Did she die? Is she dead?"

Jerry nodded, his eyes filling with tears again. "I didn't see it happen, but I heard the voices and the gunshots."

"Dad! Rick! What's going on here? None of this makes any sense!" Morty suddenly broke in, tired of being the only one with literally no clue what was happening.

"Dammit, this is bad…" Rick said, thoroughly ignoring his grandson. "If that woman was who I think she was, there's going to be war between planet and moon. Once the Laurokians hear that their leader and the unborn Chosen One were killed, they won't care how many casualties there are. They'll risk everything in an all-out attack on Parckel."

"I don't understand," Jerry said, trying to pull away from Rick's iron grip. ("Ugh, why do I feel so heavy today? That's it, no more Cinnabon with venti triple-shot caramel latte for breakfast…") "The woman I talked to said that her son needed protection. She asked me to protect him!"

"That doesn't make any sense!" Rick shouted. "My contact—I mean, my, uh, friend at the bar said that Isolde was still pregnant, he just saw her today! God, Isolde…Did-did she tell you where her son was?"

"Of course she did, she—oh. Um, I guess she, uh…didn't," Jerry finished, pathetically.

"She told you to protect him, but she didn't tell you where he was…" Rick mused, releasing his hold on Jerry's shirt. Staring at that stupid polo, he tilted his head, curiously. Something about the way the shirt fell wasn't right at all. "Holy shit," Rick suddenly whispered. His left hand flew out and alighted on Jerry stomach. Jerry squirmed at the awkward invasion of his space. "Rick! What the hell?!" Rick ignored the protest, pressing his hand against Jerry's middle until he felt something suddenly press back.

"You outdid yourself, Isolde. I hope you've found peace," Rick muttered, very softly.

"You're not making any sense, Rick!" Morty's whiny voice broke in again. "What the hell is going on?!"

"Your dad's pregnant."

Rick turned back around and swerved the ship hard to the left.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I'm having tons of fun with this. Comments (and ideas!) are very much appreciated!

-Pangur Ban