Somewhere at the bottom of a deep crevasse in the ice, the scooter hung suspended, never to move again. It was battered, but intact.
Guybrush and Wally were trapped inside.
They could have just given up. They could have broken down and despaired. But Wally had come across a crateload of beer in the back, and they were currently, with an edge of desperation, getting themselves as drunk as they possibly could.
Wally, with a burp, tossed the latest empty can over his shoulder.
"How many does that make it?" asked Guybrush blearily.
"Seven," said Wally. His eyes were lidded over and his speech slurred. Most of his surroundings were a complete blur. Still, he felt great.
"Nine. Ha. I'm winning," said Guybrush. He took another chug from the can. He couldn't remember the last time he'd drunk real alcohol. This tasted like a real good batch.
"Yeah, but you're tall. And you've got all that extra body weight. My metabol... meshab... um, something makes it hard. For me. Cause I'm short. Yeah." Wally reached forward, somehow found another can, and yanked the ringpull open.
An insistent buzzing sound interrupted their drinking. "Whazzat?" said Wally.
Guybrush attempted to look at the console. "Sounds like the intercom. Someone must be trying to signal us!"
"Didn't know this thing had an intercom," said Wally.
"Wonder who's trying to get in touch with us?"
"Well, put them on and we'll find out!"
"Okay, okay," muttered Guybrush. He reached out and pressed some buttons: the wrong ones, mostly, but since their scooter was all busted up they fortunately failed to work. Finally he hit the right button and the intercom screen flicked into life.
They saw a female face, one which in Guybrush's alcohol-induced haze seemed an incomparable paragon of beauty. She smiled as she saw them blinking back at her. "Well, well, you made it out alive after all. Am I right in thinking this is Guybrush Threepwood?"
Guybrush felt a swell of pride at having been so chosen. "Yes, yes it is," he said.
"And that must be Wally Feed," said the woman.
Wally perked up. "Yeah!"
Other female faces were crowding the intercom screen now. Each of them seemed more beautiful than the last. "Oh, have you found them?" said one.
"Wow, they're alive!" gasped another.
"We'd better get them up here right away!" said a third.
"Um... up here?" stammered Guybrush.
"Do you really think they can help us?" said one of the women.
"I certainly hope so!"
The first woman waved all these other faces away. "We can worry about that later. For now, just get a rescue team down there." She turned back to Guybrush and Wally. "I suppose I should introduce myself," she said. "My name's Kate Andrews. I'm Captain of the Galactic Police. I was looking for you, or somebody like you, to help us out with a little problem we have."
"Help? Problem?" said Guybrush, completely lost now.
"It's only a small problem, just a couple of days work for you... that is, until about nine months later," Kate said. "We'll be needing all your help then!"
The fantasy suddenly took on a bewildering, and entirely unforeseen aspect. It was as if they'd been wandering along the beach of a desert island and come across a glacier. "N-nine months?" said Wally. "Wh-what happens then?"
"You give evidence at Upchuck's trial," said Kate.
Guybrush and Wally dropped their cans.