Flotsam and Jetsam crawled from the wreckage. A crab trundled toward them, its claws raised high, clicking and clacking like castanets.

“We should step away; that thing’s packed full of rocket fuel and may explode.” Jetsam dragged his feet through the sand, swaying as he went. “Come on, man!”

Flotsam was down on his haunches engaged in conversation with the crab. “Hold on!” He shouted to Jetsam. “This jolly little native has something of import to impart.”

Jetsam unbuttoned his shirt and freed his arms from the sleeves. A cooling breeze snatched the garment from his hands and it flapped out over the sea.

The crab shook Flotsam by the hand, produced a tungsten umbrella from within its shell and fled toward the cover of the trees.

Flotsam’s face was as white as his labcoat. “She says the rain that falls for two hours each day is entirely acidic and can burn through even a hardened crabshell.”

Jetsam turned as red as a beet: “Do you mean to tell me that crab was a lady and here I was before her shirtless?”