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Sfstory Log 012

Subject:     TARDIS troubles
From:        Eric, Lord sabre |-}-------- (enll6ac at bostonu)

     Radar Vogel was always one to come right to the point.
     "Who are you and what are you doing on the floor of my
fiancee's TARDIS?"
     The young girl who was lying on the floor in her underwear
looked back up at the woman and focused her eyes on her with
some difficulty.  "I'm brought on here by Mucky
Duck...he...he..hee hee ha HA HA!"  The girl passed out.
     The Intern finished checking the girl out with his Undue
Divine Influence Detector.  Satisfied she wasn't another slave of
Satan's, he put even another module onto the crowded device,
altering it into a Narcotics And Alcohol Analizer And Processor
(or NAAAAP).  Flipping the light (now a deep magenta) onto the
girl, he took a reading.
     "She's been given a Venturian Hyperwhiskey added wine cooler
within the last twenty-four hours," he said, shaking his head.
     Radar whistled a low sort of whistle that innately indicated
concern over some form of complete overkill.  "I guess we can
safely assume she's a Doctor who fan, there's a picture of Tom
Baker on her underwear."
     "Indeed," said the Intern, "Radar, do look after her, I'm going
to reattach my Hypertechnical Orange Thingy (or HOT) to enable the
telechronal drive and get us out of here BEFORE Muck-Luck wakes up.
I don't think I want to be around when he awakes."
     "Right," she said, hunching over the girl and metally degrading
her (admittedly inferior) physical attributes.
     A few minutes of attachment and rewiring away the enhancements
Muck-Luck made, and the Intern sealed the TARDIS and jumped into
the time vortex.
     "There, we're safe and secure now," he said, getting a beer from
the TARDIS microfridge.  He sat down and disconnected all of the modules
from his sabre-shaped flashlight.  There was a }}}}BBLLLEEEEPPP{{{{ and
a message from the Intern's Extratemporal Communications equipment
came in.  He read it, and began to snicker.
     "What is it?" asked Radar, busy writing "I am easy" on Trudy's
thigh in indelible ink.
     "A communique from Intersteller U.  They've sent Dr. Space Commander
Buzz Williams to help find Mark Hyperthrust and help me save the universe."
     "'Buzz-Off' Williams.  He was a real great, right around your
depression.  Unfortunatly, he's forever locked in 1938 fashion and style
of space heroics!  He's a bit senile, but too dedicated to actually
give up the old beat.  So, they have him teach a few history courses
and tell old stories--great old stories, and we try to ignore the
absoultly cliqued clothing he wears."
     Just then, a Communications request came in.  The Intern checked it.
"Why--its from the HMS Rocket Racer V, Dr. Williams' old antiqueted
chemical thrust ship."
     He pushed the recieve button.  In a raspy, steelike, horrificlly old
fashioned sort of whine, he barely made out "cccrcrrrek--mder Buzz
Williams, calling The Intern!  Can you read me, over?"
     "This is the Intern, Professor, over."
     "Szzzzshcrrack--ighting off the Tung ship Deathmonger and won't
be able to meet you as planned." the sound of a seriously obsolete
atomic torpedo being lauched came over the speakers.
     "The Tung, sir?  I thought they died out fifteen years ago."
     "quuurrssshhh-mall detachment escaped, mostly scientists and
their women's shotputting team."  The Intern frowned.  Female
Tung Shotputters were feared and depiased throughout the galaxy.
"They made some raids earlier this year.  Skip Carson, Intergalactic
Admiral and Prof. Emeritus at IU tryed to warn...well, that's the
administration for you."
     "Sir, Admiral Carson was retired last year after he ate his
own foot.  I don't believe they put much stock in his warnings
any more."
     "BBBRRRrrrraaak-be so, but he did make his point that you can
escape from the high tech ankle lock."
     "Professor, it was his OTHER foot that was in the lock."
The Intern was getting a little tired of this, he had bigger
fish to fry.
     "xxxxxxsssshhh-yeah, he was a bit dislexic, wasn't he?"
     Sir, I am attempting to prevent a superhigh tech spam operated
machine from utterly, completely destroying the universe while satan,
SATAN of all beings, is trying to prevent us from saving the universe
from, the same.  Do you mind if we discuss Admrial Carson at some later
date?"  The Intern's disgust was apparent.
     Radar saw a blinking light on a scanner and began to invesitage.
Luckily, the main computer was an IBM, and she knew how to operate it,
although she recognised none of the actual TARDIS computer circuts.
She swore under her breath as the image resolved.
     "ZZZZaaaassaass-atan, eh?  Good boy!  I knew you had potential to
take it to the big time..."
     "Intern!" shouted Radar in panic, "There's a huge invasion fleet
swwoping over New England!"
     "...anyway, what I wanted to tell is that there is an invasion fleet
hanging over the Northern Contenental Seaboard of the US.  Its the
NKDBFPTIVs.  I've got some bug spray that can stop them, got it from the
Batman...same basic stuff as the Bat-shark repellant but I can't get
zzzzzmsmsmmmadfwwooooooooooorrrrrrrrrrrr" as the transmission
disintergated and Pat McCoy and I stopped collaberating.
     "Damn," shouted the Intern as he snapped off his communications
equipment.  He ran to Radar at the radar.  "We've got to do something,
the NKDBFPTIV are horrendus, they'll leave your planet a smoking
     Panicked, Radar ran to the minifridge and grabbed some serious
narcotics, to better deal with the situation in her own head.
     "What's a NKDBFPTIV?"
     "It stands for Nasty Killer Deathbeetles from Tampon IV."
     "Oh," she said, heading back to the minifridge and grabbing
a bottle.  She tipped it back and drained it.  "Hey," she said,
"that tasted just like Classic coke!"
     The Venturian Hyperwhiskey hit and Radar predictably launched
into the special striptease named after her.
     The Intern sighed.  It was not one of the best days they had


Badoom, Dah dah dah, da dah dada dah....

***** Entry appended 16:14 on Sun, 04/10/88 by enll6ac at bostonu   # 143 *****
Subject:     Where plotlines cross!
From:        Patrick McCoy (enldc8c at bostonu)

     Nestled in the cockpit of Space Commander Buzz William's ship,
Buzz, Tachi, and Bert, now wearing a slightly oversized helmet
exactly like Buzz's except that it was red and blue instead of blue
and gold, raced towards the stars.
     "Where are we going?" asked Bert.
     "Earth," responded Buzz as he flipped some important looking
switches. "It is a small planet approximately 12.5 times 10 to the 34th
light years from here that has given birth to some of the greatest space
heroes ever...Flash Gordon, Buck Rodgers, etc."
     "Wow," responded Bert.
     "It's the last known location of the intern and the nexus point
of a great deal of activity. According to my scanners, an invasion fleet
has just left hyperspace and is above North America. I hope there is a
qualified hero in the area."
     Little did he know that there was a hero there, but he was highly
unquallified and, more dangerous than his lack of quallification, was
trying to impress an awfly nice girl whom he has a crush on...but that's
annother story.
     "Can we assume that there is?" asked Tachi calmly as he meticulously
cleanned his sci-fi shotgun.
     "No!" said Buzz in the booming, commanding voice that all good heroes
have. "Hang on," he said as he flipped a few buttons, "We're going to
save them!"
     "Can we do that?" asked Bert.
     "I have a Ph. D. in Space Heroics and several other M.A.s and B.A.s,
it should be a piece of cake. It's a small invasion fleet, only 4000 or
so ships and they're small ships to boot...they're the Nasty Killer
Death Beetles from Tampon IV (NKDBFTIV) and I have some bug spray I
designed for just such an emergency in the back."
     Just before he could make the jump to hyperspace, a brilliant flash
of light shot past the nose of the rocket. Buzz, being the space hero
that he is, easily avoided the barage comming from the ultra-modern
star cruiser that snuck out from behind a nearby gas cloud.
     "Hang on!" he  cried as he threw the rocket into a barrel roll,
"It's the K'ang Tung Imperial Starship Deathmonger!" he glanced at
the radar display, "And there are Tung Fighters Diving from 2 O'clock!"
     "What are we going to do?" asked Bert who had no heroic training
     "First off, I'll have to call the Intern and let him know I'll
be late and that there's an invasion fleet hanging overhead." He punched
a few buttons and grabbed a microphone as he blasted a Tung fighter into
     "Space Commander Buzz Williams calling The Intern! Space Commander
Buzz Williams calling The Intern! Can You read me, over?"
      He waited as the static crackle came over the loudspeakers.
      A response came as he dodged a blast from two fighters and fired
a atomic torpedo at the Deathmonger.
      "This is the Intern, Professor, over," responded the digitally
aided response due to the hi-tech equipment that The Intern had.
      "I'm fighting off the Tung ship Deathmonger and won't be able
to meet you as planned." He blasted another fighter as the atomic torpedo
hit the Deathmonger, damaging the hill of the ship which wasn't prepared
for such antiquidated equipment.
     "The Tung, sir?" crackled the response, "I thought they died out
fifteen years ago."
     "A small detachment escaped...mostly scientists and their woman's
shotputting team. They made some raids earlier this year. Skip Carson,
Intergalactic Admiral and Prof. Emmeritus at IU tried to warn...well,
that's the administration for you." He threw his rocket into a loop
and blasted the squadron leader's ship.
     "Sir," came the response, "Admiral Carson retired last year after
ate his own foot. I don't think they put much stock in his warnings
     "Maybe so," he responded, "But he did make his point that you
can escape from the high-ech ankle lock." He fired another atomic
torpedo at the bridge of the Deathmonger.
     "Professor, that was his OTHER foor that was in the lock."
     "Oh, yea," Buzz responded, "He was a bit dislexic, wasn't he?"
     As the second torpedo impacted, The Intern's voice came over the
loudspeaker, "Sir, I am attempting to prevent a superhightec spam opperated
machine from utterly, completely destroying the universe while satan, SATAN
of all beings, is trying to prevent us from saving th universe from, the same.
Do you mind if we discuss Admiral carson at some later date?"
     "Satan, eh?" he asked as he blasted another two fighters, ignoring
the Intern's disgust, "Good boy! I knew you had potential to take it to
the big time...anyway what I wanted to tell you is that there is an
invasion fleet hanging over the Northern Continental Seabord of the US.
It's the NKDBFTIVs. I've got some bug spray that can stop them, got it
from The Batman...same basic chemical as the Bat-Shark repellant, but
I can't get there for a bit. The Deathmonger is very badly damaged, but
I still have to..." A lucky blast from a Tung fighter caught his antenna
at this point, producing a high pitched whine over the loudspeaker.
     "Damn!" he said replacing the microphone and obliterating the fighter
that hit his ship.
     "Now what do we do?" asked Bert.
     "We finish off the Deathmonger!" shouted Buzz as he obliterated
the 15 remaining fighters. He gunned the engines and flew straight at
the Deathmonger.
     The Deathmonger's commander, standing in the partially dammaged
control room, began to get worried. He had been sent to avenge his
uncle's death bu killing the man who lead the detachment which had killed
the men's shotputting team. Now, his ship was badly dammaged, his fighters
were destroyed, and the enemy was closing. He did what any good villian
does at this point in a sci-fi story.
     Turning to his majordormo, he said, "Press THE BUTTON!"


For the answer to these and other questions, stay tuned
Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel! (Na-na,na-na,na-na,na-na/ Na-na
     na-na,na-na,na-na Batman!)

***** Entry appended 16:16 on Sun, 04/10/88 by enldc8c at bostonu   # 144 *****
Subject:     No, not MORE of New England getting blowed up REAL good!!!!
From:        Eric, Lord sabre |-}----------- (enll6ac at bostonu)

     Matt and Linda heard a noise from above.  Looking up, as two
Paladins are wont to do when they hear a noise, they saw what appeared
to be a huge number of birds flying WAY up.
     The birds flew lower, and looked more like planes.
     The planes flew lower, and looked more like helicopters.
     The helicopters flew lower, and looked more like flying sailboats.
     The flying sailboats flew lower, and looked more like Invasion
Starships on a mission of absolute destrucrtion.
     the invasion starships on a mission of absolute destruction flew
lower, but unfortunatly didn't resemble anything different.
      "Yeah, Matt?"
     "Are we in the mind-bogglingly big trouble I think we are?"
     "Yeah Matt."
     "Just wanted a second opinion."  Matt slipped his personal
nuker out of his holster, feeling inadaquete.
     He got an idea.  "Question: what are those ships, and what is their
     *****They are class IX Really Dangerous Starcrusiers, and their
purpose is to destroy everything in the general area*****
     "Of Fort Kent?"
     *****Of Earth*****
     "Oh shit."
     "They're going to destroy the earth," Matt's voice got that
quality men doomed in the line of duty get, "and we have to stop them."
     In the Class IX Really Dangerous Starcrusier Kill_All_Humans, captain
who was not fond of his rather long and unpronouncable name, reflected
on just why he and his race were doing this rather mindless destruction.
They had been a perfectly peaceful race of advance slybeetles until
III had decided they needed a new racial name to be respected among
the stars.  To that end, he had commisioned G.X.P. Varneyloop for
an exorbanent sum to think of a new name for them.  Thus they
became the Nasty Killer Deathbeetles from Tampon IV, or NKDBFTIV for
short.  Varneyloop had then left.  The race liked their new name, but
felt inadaquete to it, so they devoted their lives to living up to
their name.
     Thus, the NKDBFTIV were feared throughout the galaxy, and Captain
YYY (for short) was only moderatly dissatisfied, and only yearned
occasionally for the saplicking and life enjoyment of his youth.
     All right, so he missed it all the time, look, don't you have
your own worries to worry about?
     Anyway, he was overseeing the invasion well.  Nothing was going
     "Captain!" said the female Lieutenent SDDSSDSSDSDSSDSDSDSDSDSD,
who looked perky in her uniform carapace at the communications
     "Yes, Lieutenent," he said, waving his feelers at her in a
provocitive way.
     The Lieutenent blushed a beetle blush.  "We've detected a very
powerful fission/fusion powersource--no, two of them, and sir--SIR,
their weapons systems!!!!!!  They're shooting at us, we've lost four
     The captain was startled.  "well, destroy the area, teach them
a lesson or two!"
     Matt, who was wondering a moment ago why he couldn't have
been informed of this earlier so he wouldn't die a virgin, and Linda
were firing their Heavy Death Really Kill'em Personal Nukers.  They
were destroying ships one per shot--which isn't that big a deal
as the ships were about the size of dautsons.
     Suddenly, the ships began heavy disrupter repeater fire,
torching whole sections of Fort Kent, and blowing our two heros
to smithereens.
     In Heaven, St. Peter was reading The Book and laughing like
the sadiest he really was.
     He looked around.  "God?  You back?"
     "No Peter, its me."
     St. Peter turned pale.  "You' of the authors, aren't you?"
     "Yes, Peter.  You know about Linda's Deus Ex Machina ability,
you should have saved them."
     "Change the Book, Peter, or I'll bring God back into the story
and he'll find out all the changes you've made."
     St Peter grumbled, and grabbed the Holy Eraser.  He began to
change to book....
     The ships were torching whole sections of Fort Kent, leveling
the town.  By a stroke of good luck, however, Matt and Linda
ducked behind the remnents of the library, and were shielded from the
energies by a Globe edition of Shakespeare, which Matt tucked away
in his Bomber Jacket, after putting out the fire on it.
     "What are we going to do?" asked Linda, who was at her wits end.
(Admittedly a short rope)
     "I don't know," said Matt, who was less than pleased with the
situation, but kept his chin up through it all.
     Suddenly, a deep azure blue light, a light so warm and plesent
you wanted to curl up and go to sleep by it, flowed from the north.
     Just as suddenly, the invasion fleet disappeared.
     Matt and Linda, the only living thing amonst the burnt books
and dead children, women, men, and moose, watched the glow recede.
     "Question: what was that?"
     *****Blue light*****
     "Great, everyone's a comedian.  Question: where did it come from?
     *****A sapphire Soul Crystal to the north.*****
     "Question:what's a soul crystal?"
     *****A crystal containing a soul that was displaced by an
immortal being.*****
     "Oh, well, we'd better go check it out," said Matt, who didn't
want to hang around the devestated area, as he didn't want to toss
his cookies in front of Linda.
     "Ok," said Linda, who didn't want to stay around the devestated
area because she didn't want Matt to toss his cookies in front of


All these and questions so similar to them as to be virtually
identical will be brought up, debated, and denyed in the next

***** Entry appended 17:16 on Sun, 04/10/88 by enll6ac at bostonu   # 145 *****
Subject:     Satan get some news
From:        Eric, Lord Sabre -}-------- (enll6ac at bostonu)

     Satan, in the body of Steve Vogel, sat in the Ritz-Carlton in
New York City.  He had been there for a few weeks now, and was
enjoying himself immensly.  He was eating off room service and watching
a lot of HBO and pay per view movies, and he had seen a few Broadway
Shows....  After all, until he got his Infernal Immortal Body back,
he might as well treat this as a vacation.  Besides, with the calibre
of opponents he had, they were more than likely to destroy the universe
themselves rather than prevent Satan from doing it.  The Color Demons
were guarding the SSR in Nether-Space, he still had nominal control
of the SSR, and he had another demon patrol digging his infernal
body out of the mire of Spam that was all that was left of Portland,
     There was a knock at the door.
     "Who is it?" Satan asked, irritated.  He was watching the Playboy
Channel and it was one of his favorite shows--SEX, GREED, AND NEEDLESS
     "It's me," said a voice far too sexy to be anything non-demonic.
     "Ah, Eshalla, come in."
     Eshalla entered.  She was as sinfully beautiful as any of Satan's
succubbi.  Unlike Satan's succubbi, she wore red tortishell glasses with
a red cord to keep them from falling, and carried a stenographer's
pad wherever she went.  Satan's Personal Secretary.
     "Sorry to disturb your rest, oh hateful one," she said, "but we've
suffered a number of setbacks in our agenda."
     "Such as?" Satan said, becoming dangerous.
     "First off, and most importantly, there's been an alert from
the color demons.  Apparently someone's snooping around in nether-space,
near where the SSR is.  He's eluded them."
     "Hmmmm...dispatch the Off-color demons.  Contact the Color Demon
leader--Wolley, isn't it--and have him detail his needs.  Continue."
     "Our divine indicator shows that God has empowered two humans
as Paladins, somewhere in the Northern Maine area.  That area was subject
to an alien invasion, but it's probably safest to assume they have
     "Northern Maine?  Damn, they might find the Soul Crystal.  Send out...
     "Toni, sir?"  Eshalla looked suprised.  "She's such a new succubus,
it might be more prudent to--"
     "No, Toni.  These are new Paladins, she can handle them.  With any
luck, she'll even seduce one onto our side.  The experiance will do
wonders.  Anything else."
     "Yes sir...its very disturbing...but both Muck-Luck and Natchwald
have failed utterly.  The Intern has detected their satanic auras and
defeated them."
     "Nothing I didn't expect--always dangerous to use unwitting agents.
I just wanted to get their measure.  What is their condition?"
     "Muck-Luck is battered but all right.  Natchwald doesn't have an
unbroken bone in his body, except for that little bone right at the
tip of his left little finger."
     "All right, bring Muck-Luck to me.  Natchwald, you give to
Dr. Caligari.  He likes tough assignments.  And Eshalla, tell the
doctor it must be completly scientific.  Too much demonic energy and
we'll get thrown out of SFSTORY so fast our collective heads will
spin.  It MUST be science fictiony."
     "Yes, sir."  She turned to leave.
     "Oh, Eshalla, tell the financial demons to look into buying
a Cable Network--Hellfire Productions could produce a lot better
trash than the trash on now!"
     "Yes sir."


These questions and many, many, many more are all under
careful consideration by the authors, and will be lovingly
crafted into story chapters for SFSTORY, the topic that
cares about YOU!

***** Entry appended 20:47 on Sun, 04/10/88 by enll6ac at bostonu   # 146 *****
Subject:     About Quooth and Omegas
From:        Scott McGuire (89SGM at WILLIAMS)

Since it's been a while, I thought I'd summarize Quooth and Omegas's
adventures before continuing them.  (I won't even touch the stuff about
the Intern, 357, et all., but it might not a bad idea for the authors to
read the back issues and summarize as well! :-)  By the way, I'm
considering doing a complete summary of all that happened in SFSTORY,
from the very beginning... is anyone interested?  (E-mail me directly to
express interest.)  But to do that, I'll need to complete my collection
of SFSTORY issues... I'm only missing V3N001, and I'd much appreciate it
if someone could send it to me.  Thanks go to Jeff Smith, SFSTORY guru,
for sending me the first four volumes.  Now then...


Quooth is a grasshopper-like being from the planet Wzaxtil, and is a
member of the fourth sex there (neither male, female, or neuther; phe is
somehow all and none of these depending on the day of the week, but it's
not terribly relevant to the story anyway); thus phe has phis own set of
peculiar pronouns, beginning with "p."  He joined our story when a
harmonica, one of the things Satan hates most in the universe, landed in
his bowl of Gorwiz legs, changing his life forever.  He knew that he must
take it, and use it, on a quest of ultimate importance, which would also
lead to his eternal happiness.

Phe was aided and abetted by Mark Hyperthrust to the planet Wiph, and was
then inadvertantly drawn into that nasty Heaven business, which wasn't
even really  related to phis quest, but phe'd never been able to make
those silly humans understand that.  The explosion at the end of the
battle in Heaven (caused in part by Zark Flyby, see above) hurled him
through time and space, as many of our characters disturbingly have been,
and he landed on the uninteresting planet Stix.

Meanwhile, in a nearby supernova, the sometimes immortal, sometimes
immoral, Omegas was reintegrated with his alterego Sagemo and then
crashed down to Stix at Quooth's feet.  He was immediately enlisted
(read, forced) by Quooth to help phim on phis quest.

Borrowing a ship from some ameboid scientists, they flew into the Bend, a
small subuniverse (shaped like a tube) containing only ten stars, for it
was here that Quooth had decided that their quest continued.  The Bend is
notable for two reasons: (1) the laws of physics behave very badly there,
as one can only travel through space in the direction one was going when
one entered the Bend, and (2) the xenophobia of its inhabitants.

Quooth and Omegas met this xenophobia when they landed on Yin, the first
(or last) planet in the Bend, depending on which end you enter it on.
Apparently the inhabitants of Yin and those of Yang, the planet at the
other end, have been arguing about who's really first for some time.
T(p)hey were arrested and senteced to slow drowning by a fat bureaucrat,
but escaped with the help of the harmonica and Omegas turning the brains
of several policemen to tofu.  When we last saw them, they were en route
to the second (or ninth, depending) planet in the Bend.

Omegas, by the way, once all-powerful, is disturbed by his abilities to
cause only minor manifestations of his power: conjuring winged sandals,
turning brains to tofu, and changing the color of his loud Hawaiian
shirt.  Because of this, he is afraid that he's become mortal yet again,
a fate worse than, and leading to, death.

The only thing Quooth is worried about is keeping Omegas around, because
phe needs him to pilot the ship.

And for those who are wondering if Quooth's quest will ever have anything to do
with the other plotlines in this CSNOTICE, the answer is yes.

***** Entry appended 08:12 on Mon, 04/11/88 by 89SGM at WILLIAMS    # 147 *****
Subject:     On the second {or ninth} planet of the Bend
From:        Scott McGuire (89SGM at WILLIAMS)

Omegas was eating a Vorturian Hyperlunch as the ship's autopilot entered
the orbit of the next planet.  He'd been trying to determine the extent
of his powers, and so far all he'd done was change the color of his
Hawaiian shirt, conjure a really nifty pair of sunglasses (which he was
wearing), and this lunch.  With his several days growth of beard, the
total effect of Omegas was that he looked sort of like George Harrison on
the cover of "Cloud Nine."

The Vorturian Hyperlunch was in reality a turkey sandwich, a granola bar,
and a strawberry flavored soft drink.  Its main selling points were that
it was ridiculously easy to carry, and the lunchmeat it contained was not
dangerous to the integrity of the Space/Time continuum.

Quooth was settling for a bowl of neo-Gorwiz legs from the food
dispenser.  "Rude one," phe began.

"The handle's Omegas, bug," Omegas said.

"Rude Omegas," Quooth continued, "I meditated last night upon our quest,
and was granted a vision."


"I was in the field of my ancestors, and my ghu-ghu-gorsht welcomed me.
He announced that it was good that I was on my quest, and that upon the
next planet we came to, we would receive insight into what we were
seeking.  Then he commanded that I should take some Gorwiz legs, and
place them upon my companion's head."  Phe did this, the slimy amphibian
legs instantly matting themselves in Omegas's hair.

"So, you always do what your ghu-ghu-gorsht commands?" Omegas asked,
putting a pickle from his sandwich between Quooth's antennae for revenge.

"All Wzaxtil must obey their ancestors, for they surely amass great
knowledge during their lifetime, and know more than the young and

"Tell me, bug, what exactly did you do to insects who you disliked when
you were a very tiny bug?"

Quooth considered.  "Why, we poured Gorwiz legs over their heads."

"So what does this tell you?"

"That my ghu-ghu-gorsht finds you an unacceptable companion."

"I thought as much," Omegas sighed.


As t(p)hey disembarked, Quooth was still trying to explain (in order to
avoid hurt feelings) to Omegas that while phis ghu-ghu-gorst might find
him unacceptable, Quooth found value in Omegas.  Phe was wasting his
breath, of course, because Omegas didn't have any feeling as such to

The planet was covered with lush jungle.  The sounds of calling animals,
hooting birds, and snakes (big ones) slithering reached their ears.
There was also a strange whistling sound.  Omegas looked at Quooth to see
if phe was doing it.  The Wzaxtil was still on the landing ramp, transfixed.

"What's with the wierd whistling, bug?" he asked.

Joy spread over Quooth's chitin face.  "It... it is the song of my great
ghu-ghu-gorsht.  He has been reincarnated... and is joining us!"

"Oh, great, another bug!"  The former immortal drew his gun (borrowed
from the borrowed spaceship) and surveyed the area until he found the
direction the sound was coming from.  Now, how could he make this look
like an accident?

A humanoid, bald with a dark tan, came through the bushes, whistling.  He
carried a spear.  Upon seeing Omegas and Quooth, he stopped and threw his
arms up in surprise.  Omegas pointed the weapon directly at him.  "Bug,
this ain't no relative of yours."

"Bug?" the man said.  "You have a bug with you?"

"That one on the ramp," Omegas said.  "Who are you?"

The man turned and looked at Quooth.  "My, it is such a large bug, too...
and not one-that-fights back... good fortune!"  He advanced on the

"Hey!" Omegas shouted, waving the gun.  "That's my fr-, er, travelling
comp-, er, fellow pilgrim.  Stay back until you've stated your business!"

But Quooth met the man, and asked, "Oh, ancestor, is it really you?  Have
you been reincarnated as a being with soft skin and few limbs?"

The man began to drool.  "I've died and gone to heaven..."

"Then you are his reincarnation!" Quooth cried, hugging the man with all
of the six arms on phis upper carapace.

The man began gnawing on Quooth's antenna.

"Bug, this man intends to EAT you," Omegas said.  He forced them apart.
"Do you know what this is?" he asked the man.

"It appears to be a hair drier.  We have no need of those," the man said,
patting his hairless head.

"Wrong!  It's a gun, and it makes me one bad dude!"  He blasted a tree
out of existence.  "Get it?"

The man was deeply impressed.  But from behind the now non-existant tree,
a giant blue cockroach with sharp mandibles skittered out, and went for
Omegas's foot.  "Gourmet food!" it exclaimed.

The native man jumped back.  "It is one-that-fights back!  But yet,
ones-that-fight back are tasty, if this other is not to be eaten,"
he decided, and began to attack the cockroach with his spear.

"Do not disturb, me, more-ordinary-sort of food," the cockroach growled.
"Eat your gourmet food and molest me not."  It indicated Quooth.

"The man you are eating has a 'gun,' which deals much death," the man
told it.  "This is also food-that-fights back."

The cockroach withdrew from Omegas, and advanced towards the man.  "Then
I shall settle for you."  It attacked his foot instead.

"But wait!" the man exclaimed.  "Perhaps the two of us combined can
overpower the 'gun,' and eat each other another day!"

"A good idea," the cockroach said.  With that, it flung itself in into
Omegas's face, and the man used his spear to disarm Omegas.  Quooth
tooted loudy into phis harmonica, but the man was very proficient in
spear use, and knocked it from Quooth's mouth as well.  The two questers
found themselves suddenly helpless.

"You are not the reincarnation of my ghu-ghu-gorsht," Quooth decided of
the man.

"Shall we boil them?" the man asked.

"With delight," the cockroach agreed.


Will Quooth and Omegas be eaten?
Will the two natural enemies then eat each other for dessert?
How does this relate to Quooth's vision, assuming it's not all
What relation is a ghu-ghu-gorsht to Quooth anyway?

The answers await in a future episode of SFSTORY!

***** Entry appended 18:40 on Mon, 04/11/88 by 89SGM at WILLIAMS    # 149 *****
Subject:     TARDIS quiet times
From:        Eric, Lord Sabre (enll6ac at bostonu)

     The Intern was looking at the young girl in his lap.  She was
cute, although not really innocent looking.  With the infinate
gentleness you usually don't find in a Gallifrey native, he set
her down and tucked her into the small guest bed in the guest
quarters of the TARDIS.
     Moving to his master bedrom in the TARDIS tesseract, he checked
Radar, his lady-love who was also sleeping off the effects of a
Venturian Hyperwhiskey fortified wine cooler.  He then did a little
straighetning up (apparently Muck-Luck had been sleeping here while
he stayed in the TARDIS) and walked back to the TARDIS control room.
     He pulled a can of Dr. Pepper and an egg salad sandwich from
the minifridge and munched, studying the readout he had gotten from
the Boston University Computer before Boston's destruction.  It had
all of the activities of the SSR up to the point when it matterported
Mark Hyperthrust from Radar's BU apartment.  He fed that data into his
own TARDIS computers and began to use it to plot possible damages to
the cosmos, and begin a program to find the SSR's current position.
     He also plotted Mark Hyperthrust's destination.  Apparently
he had been sent to 357's ship, and as the last time the Intern had
seen 357, he had NOT had Mark Hyperthrust with him, he'd have to do a little
logical dedution to find the missing student.  He sure as heck didn't want
Buzz Williams to find him first--Williams was far too sympathetic to
Mark's methods.  What the Professor didn't realise was what the Professor
did for style, Hyperthrust did out of basic stupidity.  Anyone who couldd
get a D+ in "Heroic Stances" was really crusing for trouble.
     Besides, his assignment--help at least one Damsel in Distress (in this
case, Radar Vogel) in a quest (find her brother) was completly botched.  The
Intern now knew, thanks to the data, that Satan was the being in Steve
Vogel's body, and not Steve Vogel.
     Therefore, Steve must be in a soul crystal, or in another person's
body.  Either was easily detected by the TARDIS's Undue Divine Influence
     Any way you looked at it, Mark was heading for Academic Probation
at the very best.
     Outside, a Tyrannasaur growled.  The Intern had sent his TARDIS to
a very prehistoric Earth era to give Trudy and Radar a chance to recover
from the Venturian Whiskey fortified Wine coolers.
     "Well then," the Intern concluded, "first I'll get Steve back, then
I'll see about finding the SSR and Mark Hyperthrust, then I'll shut the
SSR down, or actually have Radar do it, since she knows what she's doing,
and THEN  I'll confront Satan and defeat him.  All in all, we may have a
fighting chance."


To find out the answers to this and more, read something sometime.

***** Entry appended 20:15 on Mon, 04/11/88 by enll6ac at bostonu   # 150 *****
Subject:     357 in nether-space
From:        The Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)

Time Agent 357, liscensed space hero and champoin of truth, justice, and the
ability to consume large amounts of alcoholic beverages, approached the hill
before him with caution, his hair-trigger nerves alert and ready to react to
the smallest sound.  He was, therefor, understandably upset when he reached
the top of the hill without incident, as he was looking forward to showing
off.  "Needlewarp," he muttered, and bent down to examine the device he had

The device resembled and old fashion manually operated egg beater mounted
vertically, beaters up, over a wire basket filled with Spam.  Minor lights
and controls, barely noticable, decorated the basket.  After considerable
thought, 357 came to the conclusion that the device was Radar Vogel's Spam
Systematic Re-integrator (SSR).  He picked up the device and walked back to
his ship, which had somehow freed itself from the mud it was stuck in.

"How did you free yourself?" he asked the ship.

=That's for me to know and you to find out,= replied the ship, giving a
mischeivous twinkle of her running lights.

"How did you follow me here without Spam to power your ABPSAR?"

=You mean the Automatic Beet Peeler and Sub-Atomic Re-integrator?=


=I have no idea.  Why don't you ask Eric?=

"Never mind," he said, giving a sigh of relief that his ship's computer was
back to normal, at least for another three weeks.  He ambled back to the
engine room, and carefully placed half the Spam he had recovered from the
SSR into the ASBSAR.  Then he placed his DIESCUM pistol in its recharging
slot and ordered a Hoagie sandwich from the Galley.

"Honey," he said to the computer, "plot a course to a random place in a
random time.  Check the Time Viewer to see if the Time and Place is
relatively safe.  If not, go back to step 1.  If so, program the autopilot
and the dump the information from you memory banks."

=Why?= asked the computer, obviously as confused as most of the readers.

"Because very soon Satan will discover that the SSR is no longer damaging
the fabric of Space and Time.  He'll come here to check on it, and discover
that I've taken it.  He'll then try to find me, probably by trying to read
my mind to find out where I am.  But because I don't know where (or when)
we're going (and neither will you, once you dump the information) he won't
be able to find us."

=It's not like you to run from a fight.= said the computer, disappointedly.

"I'm only running long enough to figure out how to dismantle the SSR without
causing more damage.  Then, using your time-travel abilities, I can return
to this exact instant and wait for Satan to come looking for me."

=Oh.= said the computer.  =Activating random number generator.  Scanning
co-ordinates....  Unsafe.  Activating random number generator.  Scanning....
Safe.  Programming autopilot....  Autopilot engaged.  Flight commencing....
NOW.  Dumping co-ordinates from memory....  Finished.=

"Very good," said 357, proud of his ship's computer.  "I really must think
of a name for her," he thought to himself, "especially since the writer
seems to have given her the power of speech."

While the HMS Golden Lance travelled through Space and Time to anywhere and
anywhen, other members of SFSTORY were not faring so well....

On a planet named Latigid, where trees walked around and sniffed at dogs
that were routed to the ground, a group of people (well, I suppose you could
call them that) trudged through the thich, steamy jungles, splashed through
the deep, treacherous swamps, and generally did a lot of neat things that
would realy be neat if they could be seen, not just read about.  As they
entered a nominal clearing in the jungle, the nominal leader of the nominal
group of nominal people turned to the others and said "Whoa."

"Whoa?" said a large weaseloid at the back of the line.  "You get the
closing line of the finest paragraph of prose posted in weeks and all you
say is 'Whoa'?"

"Sorry, Ralph," said Doctor Bing Von Spleen.  "It's the best I could do."

"No problem," said Ralph the Giant Weasel from Anthrax V, tuning his
ukulele.  "I couldn't have done much better."

"Anybody got any beer?" asked Bubba the Wanton and Invincible Death Merchant
from Hell.

"No," said G. X. P. Varneyloop LXVII.

"Not I," said Mark Hyperthrust, Interstellar U student.

"Nor I," replied second lieutenant Zark Flyby of the Interstellar Time
Police.  "Anybody got any ideas as to why we're doing so badly while
everyone else in this damned CSNOTICE is doing so well?"  Now that all the
characters had been introduced, he was ready to go on with his maiming and

"Why Zark!" exclaimed Mark.  "That's the longest and most grammatically
correct sentence I've ever heard you say."

"Huh?" answered Zark.

"Shut up and go back to your underwater basketweaving," ordered Bubba, who
turned to the Doctor with a questioning look.

"Well," said Von Spleen, not being able to read the look but easily being
able to read the last paragraph.  "It appears that since there are so many
new characters in SFSTORY lately and since the Cowboy has such a heavy class
load this quarter, our part of the story has been placed on hold until a new
writer comes forth to claim us.  Or until other regular writers decide to
adopt us.  Or until we stick something really strange into the ABPSAR and
end up in Nether Space again."

"I vote nether-space," said Varneyloop.

"Apparently you didn't read Cowboy's last entry," muttered Bubba.
"Nether-space is just crawling with color demons.  I've run into them
before, and believe me they're no fun."

Up in Heaven, St. Peter frowned and flipped back a few pages in The Book.
He noticed that someone had changed the part about the group on Latigid
finding fuel for the ABPSAR after they had made a significant effort.
Quietly he mused on this while chewing on the end of his Holy Eraser.
Finally, deciding he didn't want a run-in with another of the writers, he
decided to leave things as they were and close The Book.

Will Doctor Bing Von Spleen and his gang ever get back into the main
Will Satan take kindly to 357's planned dismantling of the SSR, ending his
plans to destroy the universe and removing the only good plot we've had
since the Big Battle?
What should 357 name his computer (Email me directly)?
Will someone resurrect Lisa Bonet simply to annoy Eric (hee hee)?
Will Radar space Trudy in her underwear in a jealous rage?

I deny all knowledge of the diversion of a spacefreighter full of Venturian
Hyperwhiskey from its preprogrammed flightpath to the Tennessee Tech Campus.
However, you are welcome to drop by for one Hell of a party.  Please remember
to bring your drinking glass and favorite method of birth control.

P.S.  Don't expect to hear from me for a few days.  Ba ba ba boom!

***** Entry appended 21:07 on Mon, 04/11/88 by THC8650 at TNTECH    # 151 *****
Subject:     Evening on the plain
From:        Eric, Lord Sabre -}--------------- (enll6ac at bostonu)

     Matt and Linda bedded down for the night.
     They had trudged along most of the day and were well into canada now,
and therefore were in much greater danger of extreme heat loss to the
point of utter and total cessation of function.
     "Matt," said Linda, who was already beginning to shiver, even though
they were in the Pup tent from Matt's Bomber Jacket.
     "Yes Linda," said Matt, who was also cold.
     "We'd be a lot warmer if we zipped up our sleeping bags together.
     Matt Blushed.  "Er...yeah...yeah I suppose we would...."
     The two zipped the two sleeping bags into one moderatly larger one.
Even though, the fit would be tight.  Matt was a bit nervous still, but
he didn't show it.
     Linda, as calm as any girl who knows she is in absoulute control
of a situation, began to strip out of her white jumpsuit.
     "W-what are you doing?????" asked Matt, whose blush began to reach
solar  intensity and was doing a fair job of warming the tent up.
     "Well, is there much point in sleeping in our clothing?  Just wrinkle
it and dirty it, besides, we won't want to be in it tomorrow."
     By now the lass had stripped down to the bare essentials, a very lacy
pushup bra, lace satin panties, garters and stockings, all paladin white.
Linda hadn't been made the patron of lacy underwear for nothing.
    Matt stripped down to his rather plain BVDs and crawled into the
sleeping bag.  Linda turned off the coleman lantern (also found in
Matt's rather convienent bomber jacket) and crawled in with him.
     The physical contact was like pure elecricity between the two of them,
well, at least Matt felt this way.
     "Yes, Linda?"
     "Your blush is lighting the tent better than the lantern did, could
you turn it down a bit?"
     "Uh, I' it a try...."  Furiously Matt connected mentelly
to his Omniscient computer account.  'Superbrain!!!!!' he thought, 'What am I
going to do????????'
     *****Hmmmmm, well, let me consider this....*****
     'consider on your own time!!!!!!'
     *****All right, tell her this*****
     *****Linda...I've been thinking*****
     "Uh...Linda? *ahem* I, uh, I've been, um, thinking...."
     "Yes, Matt," said Linda, who was wondering just how long it would
have taken Matt to take the hint that YES she was honestly interested
and YES he should try something.
     'Well???!!!!  What next????'
     *****Oh, sorry.  Ahem--You're a beautiful girl,*****
     "You're a beautiful girl,"
     *****Iim not completly unattractive,*****
     "I'm not completly unattrative,"
     *****so why don't we rut like pigs in heat*****
     "So why don't we rut like pigs in heat--oh SHIT!!!!!!!!!"
     *****You never learn, do you white boy?*****
     "Oh Damn damn damn damn damn damn!!!!!" said Matt, flustered to the point
of nervous collapse.
     *****hee hee hee hahahahaHAHAHAHHA*****
     Linda began to uncontrollably giggle.
     "What?"  Matt tryed very hard to understand, or get frustrated, or
anything like that at all, but all he could manage was complete and utter
     "Matthew, you've never done anything like this before, have you?"
     ""  Matt's fragile ego, a bit inflated form the past few
days' exploits, was crushed to entirly new lows.
     "And you asked advice from that user-belligerent computer, didn't you?"
     "Well, uh, yeah..." he said, adding extreme amounts of guilt to his
already less than sterling disposition.
     "Matt...why don't you relax for a little while...let me take care of
     "Shhhh--don't talk."
     Matt lay back and proceeded to have without a shadow of a doubt the best
night of his reasonably short, uneventful, and drab life.
     In heaven, Gabrial won several billion bed-makings from St. Peter, who
had bet it would never happen.
     In the Hell, there was a completly unexpected cold front which broght
the entire place to a point below 32 degrees F, O degrees celsius.
     In neather space, cosmic upheavals caused extreme property damage to
the beaches.
     High above earth, the moon eclipsed the sun.
     In the antimatter universe, there was much rejocing.
     And the ghosts of all of Matts friends (who had been in Boston and Fort
Kent, for the most part), congratulated themselves and went down to heaven's
bars to have one heck of a celebration.
     In the space wherever he was, God smiled, and went back to reading
his magazine.
     Satan developed a wholly unexplainable migraine headache.
     Omegas turned over and went back to sleep.
     Mark Hyperthrust got a sudden, unexplained chill.
     In deepest space, fifty stars went supernova.
     All in all, it was one hell of a first time.


***** Entry appended 22:36 on Mon, 04/11/88 by enll6ac at bostonu   # 152 *****
Subject:     Wherein we discover the FATE OF NATCHWALD
From:        Eric, Lord Sabre -}------------ (enll6ac at bostonu)

     Natchwald opened his eyes slowly, hoping against hope that the
first sight his eyes saw would NOT be the Intern about to beat him
some more.
     I twasn't, but Natchwald would almost rather it was.
     Yes, its that bad.
     Natch was strapped to a solid steel table with lots of machines
and things pointing straight at him in just that sort of way that he
really wished they didn't.
     "What is this?" he finally moaned.  "I haven't understood what's
been going on since we landed in that damn pile of spam, back over
sixty entries ago!"
     "Sim-PLE, flesh-LING, you HAVE been THE sl-AVE of SA-tan." came
a voice over a hight tech sort of loudspeaker.
     "Who are you?" asked Natch, afraid and amazed that ANOTHER new
character was entering SFSTORY CSNOTICE.
     "I am DR. Cal-IGAR-i, hum-BLE sci-EN-tif-IC ad-VISE-or to SA-tan."
     "What are you gonna do to me?"
     "Re-BUILD you to THE mas-TER'S spec-IFI-cat-TIONS to DES-troy HIS
     Natch swallowed.  "Tell your Master no go!  I've had it up to
here with attacking the Intern and Radar and having my head handed to
me.  I'm gonna ba a good guy from now on!!!!!"
     "I do NOT re-MEM-ber MEN-tion-ING a CHO-ice.  TRY to RE-lax.  THE
pain SHOULD be EX-qui-SITE."
     The process began.
     Wilhelm Natchwald, of the Starship Challeger II, screamed a blood-
curdling scream.
     Up above, Dr. Calagari, weird and bizarre half-man half-toster oven,
watched his monitors as all of Natch's bones were extracted and replaced with
Durasteel, all of his flesh was replaced with imperviplastisteel, all of
his senses were replaced with hypersensitive bioreaders, and all of his
body flueds was replaced with hi-octane Denuvian Brandy mixed with
Venturian Hyperwhiskey mixed with STP gas treatment.
     Then the serviomuscles and autodeath-to-all weapons systems were
implaned, as well as hypersuperior bloackade beams and fully automated
superchared electron rams and antimatter cannonades.
     Within a moment, Ultranatch awoke.  He instinctivly knew his power
and his mission.
     Ignoring his mission completly, he fired off all the weapons at his
command and flew away, the lab devistated.
     "OH dear THE mas-TER will NOT be PLE-ased," said Dr. Caligari, as his
french bread pizza burned unnoticed.


The answers are there, if the reader can only percive them, in further
editions of SFSTORY, the enlightoned topic.

***** Entry appended 22:58 on Mon, 04/11/88 by enll6ac at bostonu   # 153 *****
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