With a clear expression of discomfort, Big boss stared for a moment, but then waved a dismissal hand. “Sure thing, kiddo. Be safe, I suppose. Oh, and you might find these handy.”

He handed to you an earlock and a pair of radioelectric exteroception (R. E. E.) grenades. Although only the size of pocket lighters, the grenades were capable of deafening an entire concert hall with their piercing shrieks.

You nodded in thanks and sprinted to the nearest watercraft — one that belonged to a gigglemonger, as those of the Constabulary were surely fitted with tracking technology. Cautiously you slid the shockbolted, unconscious pilot into the secondary seat and raced into the night, engines skidding briskly over the dark waves.