[Author's Note – And now for something completely different: A cross-universe story with Galactica:1980 and The Dukes of Hazzard -- Stop Right There! How do you know you won't like it when you haven't tried it? After all, the list is responsible for this story's germination in the first place... So give it a try, have some fun. Sometimes life is just a slice of peach cobbler.] "Colonial Hazzard" (by Sharon Monroe) The countryside was beautiful to ride through -- green and verdant and flowering, indolent with the richness of a Southern early summer. The Colonial warriors couldn't resist the peaceful scenery, and stopped to rest and enjoy the terrain for a few centons. There was a stream running through the valley, collecting at a wide spot in what was obviously a local swimming area, if one could judge by the well-worn path they'd followed to it, and the collection of abandoned clothing, masculine and feminine, they'd discovered in the nearby tall grasses and grove. The two men stood by the side of that pool, checking out their surroundings. "I almost wish we were here on a moonlit night," Lieutenant Dillon commented. "I'll bet then we could run into some of the locals." Captain Troy studied the bit of lacy black fabric and ribbon that had probably served as underwear for a well-endowed female, if he was any judge. "And I'm sure I can tell which of the locals you'd like to run into, Dillon." "Stop right there, you two miscreants!" The high-pitched, whiny voice rang through the glade, and the two Colonial warriors started. "We can't afford to be caught here, so soon after New York. Quick, hit your invisibility screen!" Troy ordered, stepping back behind a tree and touching the band on his wrist. Dillon did likewise. Nothing happened. The two warriors stared, realizing they could see each other -- which meant the two men charging toward them, dressed in what they recognized as county sheriff's uniforms, could see them as well. "Oh, oh..." Before they had a chance to run, the two local civilian security officers -- a sheriff and his deputy -- reached them, weapons drawn and aimed. "All right, you two, you're under arrest!" the sheriff hollered. "For what?" Dillon demanded, bewildered. "Uh...now don't you two go tryin' to confuse me!" the older man scowled, waving his gun. The younger man, the deputy, was actually smiling genially. "You don't get away with confusin' Sheriff Roscoe P. Coltrane of Hazzard County! Now, move!" After being frisked for weapons, the two Colonials were marched, double-time, up one of the paths to a squad car by the side of the road. They were hand-cuffed and shoved into the back seat. In the moment it took the two officers to decide who was going to drive and get into the front seat, Troy leaned over and whispered, "Good thing we left our lasers in our vehicles. Could have been a problem if these officers had found them." "I'm still trying to figure out how they got the jump on us," his friend muttered back. "Well, we did let ourselves get distracted," Troy replied, recalling the restful-looking pool and the lacy bit of something that, honestly, had them both thinking other things. "And then our screens didn't work. We shouldn't have assumed we were safe, just because we were out in a rural area and have advanced technology." Dillon suddenly got an alarmed expression on his face and leaned closer. "Troy!" "What?" "If we couldn't turn invisible...I bet our motor vehicles and our Vipers aren't invisible any more either." Troy's expression turned worried. * * * * * "YEE-HAH!" The General Lee took the jump as she always did, with grace and flair, sailing over Jackson's Creek with ease, horn sounding a triumphant "Dixie." Inside, Bo and Luke Duke grinned at one another. The two cousins had been working on the General all morning, and now it looked like everything was running fine. Of course, Uncle Jesse had a few things to say about them spending all their time working on the car, which was why they were now running a few errands for the old man who'd raised them both, along with their other cousin Daisy, who was even now waiting for them to pick her up again in town. The General landed gracefully on the other side, then skidded sideways for a few seconds, long enough to throw up a meaningful cloud of dust from the road, before straightening out and continuing on its way toward Hazzard. "Bo! Stop the General!" Bo Duke hit the brakes and the wheel, executing a perfect 360-degree turn before bringing the car to a halt. "What's up, Luke?" "Look at that!" Luke whistled in amazement. The blond let out a whistle of his own as he caught a good look at the two vehicles parked in the grassy meadow in the shade of an ancient tree generally known as Watson's willow. "Now what kinda motorcycles are those " * * * * * Daisy Duke waited patiently outside Cooter's Garage for Bo and Luke to return. She'd come to town to run a few errands, and her cousins were supposed to pick her up again at any moment. One of the errands had been to drop off a fresh peach cobbler for old Miss MacTaggert, who had once taught at Hazzard County High School, and remained one of Daisy's favorite teachers. But the older woman had been called out of town that morning to visit a sickly relative, so the peach cobbler was going home again, to add a second dessert to the Duke family supper table. Cooter was busy with the Mosby boy's pick-up, so she lounged out front, watching traffic go by and for the most part ignoring the interested looks from some of the boys driving past. She knew she was considered eligible and gorgeous, with her trim but well-endowed figure, perfect features, and thick mane of dark-brown hair. Equally appealing, she was outgoing, generous, unassuming, quick-witted, and sweet, with a smile that lit up the day. More of a challenge to local would-be swains, she was also one of the best drivers in the County, after her cousins Bo and Luke, although that was often put at issue between the trio. And as Uncle Jesse sometimes put it, she was a mighty fine cook, too. A Hazzard County sheriff's car came pealing around the corner of Main Street, lights and sirens at full blast. Daisy watched with sympathetic interest as the car skidded to a stop outside the sheriff's office. She wondered who'd been unfortunate enough to run afoul of the illustrious Roscoe P. Coltrane today -- back-road drag racer, backwoods moonshiner, or honest-to-goodness criminal? Roscoe got out of the driver's side and hitched up his belt, glancing around self-importantly. Enos climbed out the other side, wearing his usual genial expression. "Now, you take these two criminals in and book 'em, an' I'll report to Boss Hogg," she heard Roscoe announce authoritatively. "Sure thing, Roscoe." Daisy watched as Enos gestured the two men to get out of the back seat of the squad car. "Hey, they're pretty cute," she mused aloud, glancing from one to the other. Both were tall and well-built -- even more so than her cousins. They were both wearing jeans -- as did just about every other male in Hazzard -- and wore them well, with simple black t-shirts that emphasized their shoulders. The blond was especially good-looking, she thought, with a distinctive cleft chin and a wry expression. The dark-haired one had a somber and worried expression, but very nice dark eyes. She glanced back to the blond -- just as he looked at her. He stared. She stared back. Then she smiled. He nodded and smiled back. Then Enos said, "Come on, now, fellas, let's get you checked in." He led the two men into the sheriff's office. The blond kept looking back at her. "Cute, huh?" She hadn't realized Cooter was now standing beside her, rubbing his hands on an old oily rag. "Yeah. Cute." She looked down at her peach cobbler. "I wonder if those boys had any lunch today." Cooter's face fell -- he had already wangled himself a cheerful invitation to supper that night, and had obviously been expecting a piece of the cobbler. "Oh, don't look so glum, Cooter -- I got blueberry pie for supper -- just picked yesterday!" His expression cheered up magically. Leaving him to get back to his engine repair on the Mosby pick-up, Daisy headed for the sheriff's office. * * * * * Luke whistled again as he circled the strange motorcycles -- at least, that's the closest thing they resembled, and that's what he assumed they were. "Never seen anything like this in Hazzard County before." Bo kept looking around. "Wonder who they belong to." "Look at this!" Luke held up a helmet. "This was on the ground next to it. It says ‘Dillon'. Think it's the name of the owner?" "Could be..." Bo checked the other motorcycle – or whatever. "Another one. And this one says..." He inspected it. "It says Troy. Never saw a helmet like this before, though." "I suppose we really oughta report these things. Out here in the middle a nowhere, and all." "Who would we report 'em to?" Bo asked logically. "We tell Boss Hogg, and he just has Roscoe declare 'em contraband and confiscates 'em for his personal auction." "I suppose we could...hold ‘em for a while, see if this Troy and Dillon turn up lookin' for ‘em." "Now that's a fine idea, cousin," Bo agreed. "You take the General and get Uncle Jesse's pick-up and trailer, and I'll keep watch here." "Who says you get to keep watch?" "Well, I'm the one who saw ‘em first!" Luke finally agreed with a shrug. "All right. Back in half a shake of a coon-dog's tail." * * * * * Enos handled the preliminaries with his usual courtesy and cheerfulness, and in only a few moments, the Colonial warriors were behind bars in the Hazzard County jail. Dillon and Troy had of course given somewhat false names, in the Earth style – Troy Paulson (loosely based on his father, Captain Apollo, a hero of the Exodus from the Colonies) and Dillon Jackson (from the name of the sign next to the creek they'd crossed on the way into town, because it was the first name that occurred to him). Enos headed back up the hall, leaving the two men alone. "You know, Troy, that was an awfully attractive young lady across the street." Troy's attention was on their prison. "Commander Adama's not going to like this," he muttered. A quick inspection of the bars and the window showed they weren't likely to find an easy escape that way. Since they didn't know anybody in this town, they weren't likely to find help, either. Having determined that much, the captain began to examine the device at his wrist, which looked like a simple watch, but was really a communicator, a computer link, and an invisibility screen. "At least he didn't take our communicators... I wonder what went wrong with our invisibility screens." He paused, glancing at Dillon. "You know, you could help me." "I may already have." At the sound of voices coming down the hall, Troy quickly refastened the "watch" and let his hand dangle. A second later Deputy Enos came back into view, accompanied by a gorgeous, slim brunette dressed in a tight, midriff-baring shirt and short shorts that would have made the Galactica's female triad uniforms look like overdressing. She was carrying something in a covered pan. Beside him, Dillon breathed, "Told you." "Here they are, Daisy," the deputy told the young woman. "Troy Paulson and Dillon Jackson. They sound like they're from out west. Fellas, this here's Daisy Duke." "Pleased to meet you, Daisy," Dillon piped in immediately, with his most charming expression. "Dillon Jackson! I thought you looked like a Jackson! You've certainly got the courtesy for it," the woman smiled. "Are you related to the Jacksons hereabouts or the ones from Boone Holler?" The warriors exchanged glances. "Uh...might be." Dillon thought fast. "Yes, that's why we're here – we're investigating our family backgrounds. We thought we might have family somewhere around here, distant family, from...back quite a number of...years." He wasn't going to admit "five or six millennia." "Oh!" Enos looked pleased. "Well, that explains everything! There's Jacksons here in Hazzard and over in Boone Holler, but there's no Paulsons anywhere ‘round here, not that I recall." "My mother's side," Troy improvised. "She was a Jackson too." "Oh, are you fellas cousins?" the young woman asked. The fingers of one hand toyed with a wave of her thick hair. "Uh...why, yes, we are," Troy answered. "Can we get out of here now? As you can see, we're not criminals--" Enos shook his head uncomfortably. "Sorry. Much as I'd like to, I can't release you without Sheriff Roscoe's go-ahead -- and he won't give it without Boss Hogg's say-so." The warriors exchanged glances. "So we have to stay here? Even though we haven't done anything wrong?" Troy demanded. "Well, for now," Enos replied apologetically. The young woman cut in. "But at least we can make ya-all feel a little more welcome, with a taste of one of our local specialties." She pulled the cover off the pan she was carrying. A delicious, fresh-baked, fruity aroma hit their noses a second later. "Would you fellas care for some home-baked peach cobbler?" Her smile rested on Dillon. "I'd love it!" he responded enthusiastically. "Yeah, sounds...great..." Troy said, somewhat more subdued. Daisy turned to the deputy. "Got some plates and forks, Enos? There's plenty for us all." The slightly hurt look vanished, and another smile crossed the pleasant young officer's face at being included in the invitation. "Got 'em in the other room -- and there's some whipped cream in the refrigerator -- I'll be right back." * * * * * Uncle Jesse came along with Luke. While the two young men loaded the first motorcycle on the trailer, the overalled, white-haired-and-bearded patriarch of the family peered intently at the second. "Looks like a motorcycle," he announced. "But it sure don't run like one." Luke and Bo paused in strapping down the first vehicle. "How can you tell, Uncle Jesse?" the darker Duke asked. "Well, look at this--" He jabbed a finger at the engine. "This is all wrong. You boys know enough about engines, you shoulda seen it." They exchanged abashed looks. "I guess we didn't really look too close," was the meek reply -- the Dukes were always respectful of their Uncle Jesse. "And it certainly don't use gasoline..." Jesse continued to study the engine. "Why, it looks like this here gadget is the fuel tank, and no motorcycle that used gasoline would go more than two miles on that little bit of fuel." The boys were now inspecting the second machine. "Uncle Jesse's right," Bo agreed. "Wonder what it uses..." "Some revved-up new type of gas?" Bo suggested. Uncle Jesse had found the fuel cap. He now sniffed it like a connoisseur. "No," he decided. "This is no fancy moonshine-brewed gasoline. This is something completely different." "A new miracle fuel?" Luke hazarded. "Something experimental?" "Maybe, boys. Could be gover'ment secrets." Jesse stood up again, looking uneasy. He crossed his arms over his ample belly. "I hope ya did the right thing in not reportin' this to Roscoe." "Well, I was thinkin'..." Luke grinned back at Bo. "Oh, oh, now don't you boys go do somethin' foolish..." Uncle Jesse interjected. "Nothin' like that, Uncle Jesse. I was just thinkin' it might be good to see if they still work, after sittin' out here, who knows how long. I'd hate to have us take these motorcycles home and then when this Troy and Dillon come to collect ‘em, find out they don't work any more. They might blame us – and Boss Hogg would love that! And we really oughta find out if these are on the up-n-up." "Hmmm." Jesse squinted one eye nearly shut. "Hate to admit it, but ya got a point." The boys grinned at each other in elation. "I'll take Troy!" shouted Luke, "That gives me Dillon!" responded Bo. Before Uncle Jesse could change his mind, Bo had Dillon's bike off the trailer and Luke had straddled the other one. With one anticipatory look at each other, and a big grin, the two Duke boys started their engines. "Now you boys be careful--!" Their uncle's admonition was unheard as the young men cut lose their engines and headed off cross-country. Only a pair of elated southern yells echoed back to him. He shook his head. "And I'll take the truck back to the farm," he concluded to the empty meadow, picking up the helmets and throwing them into the front seat of the pick-up. * * * * * "Daisy, that is the most delicious thing I've eaten here yet." Dillon had eagerly consumed two large helpings of cobbler. "Well, thank you, Dillon." She blossomed with another sunny smile. "Everybody says Daisy makes the best peach cobbler in all of Hazzard," Enos added. He'd opened the cell door and the four of them were now settled around the desk in the main office, which was much more comfortable than the cell had been. The conversation over the past hour or so had been light but careful on the Colonials' part; Troy had been amazed at the story Dillon wove of coming from California in search of family they'd had no contact with for three generations, and only the vaguest of information as to what part of the state their great-grandfather had supposedly come from. But in the process of weaving that story, and observing Enos and Daisy's reactions, then tailoring details in response, Dillon had come up with a quiet a credible tale. "*What* in tarnation is goin' on here!" bellowed a voice at the door. The sheriff glared at all of them. "Enos, what are these jailbirds doin' sittin' at my desk?!" "Hi, Roscoe," Daisy replied breezily. Troy and Dillon watched with interest as the man's face turned several shades of red. "Hey, Roscoe, we found out what these fellas are doin' here," Enos piped up. "They're tracking down family -- sounds like they're related to the Jacksons over in Boone Holler. Leastaways, the Boone Holler Jacksons had a boy headed to California right about the time that ol' gold rush started, an' he was never heard from again." "I don't care who they're related to -- I arrested 'em, Enos, they should be in a jail cell, not having peach cobbler at my desk!" "You know," Troy mused, "I don't recall you ever mentioning what we were being arrested for. And I don't recall hearing my rights read to me, either." "Rights!" the sheriff stuttered angrily. "Why, you--" "Say," interrupted Daisy, "what *were* these Jackson boys arrested for?" She glanced at Dillon. "Hey, if you turn out to be a distant cousin of the Boone Holler Jacksons, that'll mean you're a relative of Matthew Carson's wife! She's Jeddediah Jackson's daughter and he's from Boone Holler!" "Wow," Dillon replied thoughtfully, his bright eyes twinkling. "I didn't know she was family." "And Matthew Carson is our state representative!" Daisy continued. "Isn't he the chairman of the committee responsible for the redistrictin' the country for next year's election?" Enos asked in all innocence. "Say, Roscoe, hasn't Boss Hogg been tryin' to get a meetin' with Representative Carson about our district?" That changed the whole picture. Roscoe froze for a second, then said, in a totally different voice. "Just tryin' ta find your family, huh? Well, that puts a whole 'nother spin on things, doesn't it? Hee-hee. Just let me talk to Boss Hogg, I'm sure we can do somethin' 'bout gettin' this whole little bit of unpleasantness straightened out without delay..." * * * * * Bo and Luke were wheel-and-wheel as they closed on the Jefferson crossroads, bent low over the handlebars at the motorcycles ate up the miles faster than any motorcycle either of them had ever driven before. "Yee-hah!" Luke could barely hear Bo's trimphant yell as his cousin pulled ahead. The wind of his passing whipped his blond hair behind him. He leaned lower, willing the motorcycle into more speed as his grin spread. "Faster, faster," he muttered in exhilaration. He goosed the fuel feed, feeling that, if he were riding a horse, he would be setting the whip to its rump, and imagining the machine picking up speed as the horse would. He speeded up. He was catching up... He was rising... He was airborne. Bo caught a partial second's glimpse of Luke's astonished face to his left and below, then he was staring down at the treetops and the right fork of Jackson's Creek. For a second, he felt a wild fear that he would crash– But he wasn't falling. He gripped more tightly with legs and hands, instinctively easing back on the throttle– The trees surrounded him again, and Bo Duke hit dirt. He began to turn and skidded, laying the bike down with all the reflexive skill he was capable of. Then he just lay there, staring up at the sky, but uninjured. Feet thudded up to him. "Bo!" His cousin. "Are you all right? Lord-all-mighty, what did you hit to go airborne like that? We've never done that with the General, never–" Luke threw himself down to kneel beside him. "Bo? You all right?" He pushed himself up on his still-shaking arms. "Nothin'." "What?" "I didn't hit nothin' – ‘cept the gas. And then I was...flyin'." The two stared at each other, pale, trying to figure out what they had just done. Luke finally broke the silence with a long blown sigh through pursed lips. "We'd better get back to the farm..." Bo glanced at the machine that had taken him up. "What about these?" Luke pondered for a moment. "We'd better take them, too. Can't leave ‘em here for anybody else to find." A beat. "But maybe we won't race back quite so fast..." "I wonder if yours does that flyin' thing too..." * * * * * "Mr. Jackson! Mr. Paulson!" Dillon and Troy stared at the portly, fawning man dressed all in white, with half a fumarello -- cigar, Dillon remembered -- tightly clutched in chubby, well-manicured fingers. This must be the notorious "Boss Hoss" that Daisy had described in such detail after Roscoe bowed out to search for him, dragging Enos in his wake. Both the sheriff and the deputy were tagging behind in the much-larger wake that Boss Hogg left behind him. "Boys, boys -- may I call you Dillon and Troy? -- oh, my dear boys, what a dreadful misunderstandin' this all has been!" the man continued, the teeth-clenching grin on his face threatening to explode out the sides of his head. "Now, Roscoe, how *could* you make such a mistake as to try to arrest these fine young gentlemen?" "What?! But those were *your* orders, Boss--" Roscoe pulled himself up, affronted – but Hogg pulled off his white hat and struck at him. "Now what kind of perception–" Another swat. "--of our fair town–" One more. "--can these boys get–" A fourth. "--after bein' dragged here to jail for no reason?" Roscoe was in full retreat, utterly cowed. Hogg turned back to the warriors, the smarmy smile back on his face. "Now, boys, you'll be outta here in two shakes a lamb's tail. And–" He emphasized with an expansive wave of his fumarellao that had Enos ducking for cover. "–I hope you'll remember that it was me, J.D. Hogg, who made sure that justice was served and you were freed from your unjust incarceration just as soon as I heard of it..." Troy saw Daisy lean back in her chair with a grin, watching Hogg – whatever rank or position he actually held in this area! – continue to extol his own virtues and those of Hazzard, which the man loudly estimated would be much enhanced by a careful word in Elvira Carson's ear -- and on contemplation, the insinuation in the oily voice was definitely intended to suggest a forthcoming bribe in return. The captain recalled his own memories and his father and grandfather's stories of Sire Uri, who had been just as much a politician as this man appeared to be, until his demise when Troy was about fifteen – but as he recalled, Uri had carried it off with much more charm. * * * * * "I thought we were never going to get out of there!" Troy said fervently. Daisy hooked her arm in Dillon's. "Well, if Dillon hadn't gone and mentioned that ya-all'd be headin' right over to Jackson Holler and would be introducin' yourselves to Cousin Elvira and Matthew, and that the sooner ya-all got there the sooner you could mention Boss's kindness, he'd still be chewin' at your ear." "I've got to stop appreciating your deviousness, Dillon. You're getting too good at it," Troy said. "So, where to now?" "You're welcome to have dinner with us," Daisy immediately suggested. Dillon was obviously ready to take her up on that. He looked quite content to have her so close beside him, and seemed utterly charmed by her sweet Southern accent and colloquialisms. "Uh, we really do need to be going; we need to pick up our vehicles – we had to leave them where we were arrested," Troy reminded his fellow warrior. "If ya-all come on over to Cooter's with me, and wait for my cousins Bo and Luke to come pick us up, we could drive ya-all out there – and then ya-all could come on over for supper after that, and head straight out from our Uncle Jesse's farm!" Dillon froze. "Oh, frak..." Daisy stared quizzically at Dillon. Troy followed his friend's gaze– And therefore also spotted their motorcycles careening around the corner and heading straight for them. The vehicles skidded sideways and pulled up to a dust-spewing stop right in front of them. The warriors jumped back, but the woman stayed where she was, grinning as she spotted the Colonial motorcycles coming right at them at breakneck speed Troy couldn't find words. Their vehicles. Right here in the middle of an Earth town. Being ridden. By Earth men– Ridden? "Hey, Bo, Luke! Where'd ya-all get those wheels?" Daisy called cheerfully. The two grinned back just as cheerfully. "Found ‘em in a grove over by Moonlight Bend. Thought we'd make sure they still worked, then take ‘em back to the farm.." Dillon stepped forward, pointing. "Those...those are ours!" Bo and Luke exchanged glances. "You're Dillon and Troy?" Luke guessed. Daisy glanced from one to the other of the men. "Well, I suppose I better make proper introductions. Dillon and Troy, these are Bo and Luke Duke, my cousins. Bo, Luke, these are Dillon Jackson and Troy Paulson. They're visitin' here checkin' out their family tree." Bo and Luke exchanged second glances. "From below or above?" Bo asked. "Good view, either way," Luke nodded. "Huh?" Daisy asked, perplexed. The warriors understood. Not only had these two back-country farmboys found their vehicles, but they'd figured out how to operate them, including, more troublingly, how to fly them. "I think we need to talk..." Troy began. He glanced around main street of Hazzard, where they were attracting a little more attention than Commander Adama would have approved of. "Privately." "Well," Daisy suggested in the ensuing uneasy silence, "I guess the best place for that would be out on our farm. Lemme borrow Cooter's pick-up..." * * * * * Five men and one woman stood on the porch of the Duke farmstead, each with a glass of fresh lemonade. Troy and Dillon had been doing most of the talking, frequently punctuated by questions from the other four. Scattered in the dusty yard in front of the house were the Duke boys' General Lee, two Colonial motorcycles, and Uncle Jesse and Cooter's pick-ups, along with a small selection of farm implements of varying ages, conditions, and degrees of rust – all in all, it looked like a used-vehicle dealer's nightmare. "Lemme see if I got this straight," Uncle Jesse frowned, thoughtfully scratching his chin. "You ain't really lookin' for relatives ‘round here at all – you're jest testin' some new inventions of yours, and if they work you're gonna take ‘em to the gover'ment for use in the army?" "That's right," Troy answered. "So you lied to Boss Hogg and Sheriff Roscoe." "I...guess we did. But it seemed like the only way we could get out of there without...brining in our superior officers." "Our commander wouldn't have liked that," Dillon muttered under his breath. Uncle Jesse, a veteran, nodded understandingly, then went on. "The boys said those infernal machines fly." "Well, they do," he admitted unwillingly. "But we're not sure if it's...sustainable," he improvised. "There were some...problems in the initial development, and we're not sure we've got everything worked out yet. And of course we've got to do something about the fuel tanks..." The old man had said something about their fuel capacity, he went along with it. "So right now, it's so top secret the government wouldn't even admit it was being worked on – just in case we can't get everything working right, and to keep...the wrong people from finding out about our work." "Boys, ya got nothin' to worry about." "Right," said Bo. "You can count on us Dukes not to say anything about your visit here." The Colonials exchanged glances, more relieved than they let on. "I'm glad to hear that," said Troy. He took a last swallow of lemonade – it was wonderful, sweet and tart together, and very refreshing. "But we've got to get going now. We're overdue back at our base." "Yes," Dillon added, "and our commander is going to start wondering if we've crashed somewhere if he doesn't hear from us!" The Dukes laughed; the comment was doubly funny to the warriors – there had been a running joke, yahrens before, about one particular warrior who seemed prone to crashing, but whose phenomenal luck kept getting him out of trouble as often as he got into it, until one fateful battle. "Yep." Uncle Jesse got up, and gestured to his extended family to rise as well. "And we should get goin' too – got a lotta work to take care of yet today, since you boys spent your afternoon test-drivin' these folks' invention. Troy, Dillon, you boys feel welcome to come on back here anytime ya feel like it. You'll be welcome." A brisk nod, and the old man was on his way out to the barn. "So long..." Bo and Luke followed without complaint. Daisy hung back, her gaze on Dillon. "Uh, I'll be right with you, Troy, okay?" "Sure." His captain grinned resignedly, and left the porch to wait by their vehicles. "Well, I guess this is good-bye," the young woman said. "I...guess so." "Will ya-all be back this way any time soon?" "Hard to say," he answered, then shook his head. "Probably not, though." "Oh." She looked down at the porch, her sandaled foot working at a loose board. "Then I guess this is good-bye." "I..." He stopped. "We owe you a lot, Daisy. For helping us out of that jail. And for the cobbler and the lemonade. And...for everything. Would I be out of line to kiss you good-bye?" She looked up with a smile, then glanced at the barn. "Not if Uncle Jesse and the boys don't see us." He leaned over and kissed her. She threw her arms around him and kissed him back. The taste of lemonade clung to her lips, making her kiss the sweeter. Then she pulled away. "Bye, Dillon. You know where I live if you're ever back Hazzard way." She turned and went into the house, the screen door squeaking shut behind her. Dillon joined Troy at the their motorcycles. They straddled up and began adjusting their helmets. "You know, Troy," Dillon said, glancing back toward the closed door, "I wouldn't mind visiting here again." Troy glanced back. "But what would Jamie think of Daisy?" "Well..." He chuckled. "Let's get back to our Vipers. We're already overdue." He headed out across the field. Dillon sighed once, then nodded in resignation. A micron later, he too was on the move.