Main Sfstory Page     Previous Log     Next Log     Index for Logs 001-030

Sfstory Log 015

Subject:     in a related story
From:        The Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)

The famous news broadcaster Rad Dather looked out of the screen, almost as
if he could see the man watching him (with electronics being advanced as
they are, it's a distinct possibility he could).  The videoscreen lit up the
room with a soft, blue glow.

"And in a related story," said Rad, antennae wiggling wildly as they always
do.  "Authorities are still unable to explain the battle which went on today
in orbit around a small planet known to its inhabitants as Earth.  Several
planets were damaged in the battle, but none as badly as Earth itself, which
appears to be missing a large section of land known as 'New England'.

"Also unexplained is the sudden appearance of a tall, thin, blue-skinned
humanoid on the steps of the Interstellar Time Police main building on
Connie V.  According to Head of Operations, Jubb Ullaritz the Invincible
Dealer of Justice and Order (formerly Joseph Ullway), Cadet G. X. P.
Varneyloop LXVII has been granted a full scholarship to the Interstellar
Time Police Academy and will soon be attending.

"Scientists report that they are tracking objects travelling through
Netherspace at considerable velocity.  Estimates of the number of these
objects has recently been reduced from five to three.  Scientists are still
at a loss to explain how these objects got there to begin with.

"That's the news.  I'm Rad Dather.  Goodnight."

The man watching the screen touched a control panel, and the screen faded to

"Honey," came a voice from the bed nearby.  "Come back to bed, please?"  The
subtle hint of desperation in the "please" would have caused any other man
to rip off his clothes and throw himself bodily into bed.  This man,
however, merely stumbled towards the bed, blushing so brightly that the room
was lit rather well by it.

In space nearby, a large group of ships assembled in an attack formation...

[Insert standard questions here.]

[Insert standard tag line here.]

***** Entry appended 23:39 on Tue, 04/19/88 by THC8650 at TNTECH    # 174 *****
Subject:     After the battle
From:        The Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)

"Val, activate the communications circuits," 357 requested.  "357 to Intern,
just called to say bye."

On the screen, the sharp features of the Intern appeared.  Radar could be
seen in the background, her nudity making it obvious she did not realize the
Intern was on the communicator.  "Anything more we can do for you?  Fuel?
More Classic Coke?" the Intern asked.

"No, even after that battle I still have enough Spam to last for a lifetime.
And I have enough Classic Coke to swim in.  I just called to say good-bye.
I just got a call from the Interstellar Time Police.  They've asked me to
stay on for a few more years.  I'm on my way to my first assignment.  Bye."

"Congratulations.  See you around then."

=Communications terminated,= reported the clear mechanical voice of the VAL
9000 computer which ran 357's ship, the HMS Golden Lance.  Time Agent 357
headed back toward the galley.  He had just opened the refrigerator when
the ship lurched, throwing him face-first into the Jello pudding.  =INTRUDER
ALERT!!! INTRUDER ALERT!!!= chimed the computer to no one in particular.

357 regained his feet just in time to see a figure materialize in the
galley.  He reached for his DIESCUM blaster, ready to blast the invader to
smithereens, blast the smithereens into the middle of next week, and next
week into oblivion.  Luckily for the invader, the DIESCUM pistol was in the
recharge rack in the engine room and not in 357's holster.  357 readied
himself for a bare handed assault.  Then he recognized the figure.

Standing in the center of the galley was a tall, clean-complexioned man in a
Spamologist coat.  Any long-time reader of the CSNOTICE would instantly
recognize him as Doctor Bing Von Spleen, the galaxy's foremost Spamologist
(but only because he had killed the other threemost).  357 was not a
long-time reader, but by now he knew better than to attack anyone that an
author happened to throw aboard his ship.

"I am Doctor Bing Von Spleen, the galaxy's foremost Spamologist," said the
man.  "What the hell am I doing on this ship?"

"I ask the questions here!  What the hell are you doing on my ship?" said
357 attempting to remember how to use Jello pudding as an offensive weapon
(he had gotten extraordinary grades in Improvisation 251).

"How am I supposed to know?" said the Doctor, huffily.  "The last thing I
remember was activating the ABPSAR in a vain attempt to get myself and my
companions back into the main story."

"You were apparently successful," said 357.  "Well, as long as you're here,
maybe you'd care to join us."

"I might," said Spleen neutrally, though he was actually overjoyed to be
back in the main storyline and had no intentions of leaving it.

"Val, why don't you take Doctor Spleen back to the Engine Room and show him
the improvements we've made on the ABPSAR?"

=This way, Doctor.=

HAVE MADE IMPROVEMENTS ON *MY* DESIGN!!!?!!!"  Doctor Spleen then left in a

In the privacy of the Control Room, 357 activated the ship's internal
cameras and followed Spleen's progress through the ship.  =Are you sure this
is the man who designed me?= VAL 9000 suddenly asked in a incredulous tone.

"Well," answered 357.  "In his future he does design and build you.  He then
sells you to me.  Because we travelled back in Time to be here now, we've
somehow managed to get caught up in our own history.  Only by keeping Spleen
with us can we be sure not to mess things up.  You know what that means,
don't you?"

=Of course.=  VAL 9000 was quite adept at understanding the paradoxes of
time travel.  Most of the readers, however, are not, so I'll move on with
the story.

Doctor Spleen arrived at the Control Room.  "What do you think of the ship?"
asked 357 in his best "say something nice or I'll kick your face in" voice.

"Too small.  Not enough lights.  Too few bathrooms.  I don't know what you
did to my ABPSAR, but I don't like it.  And that computer needs to be
completely reprogrammed.  It's so full of bugs it's not funny."


"Down, Val!" ordered 357, noticing that the ship's airlocks were beginning
to cycle open.  "Doctor, why don't you go back to the engine room and check
things out.  Make yourself useful."

"If I must," said the Doctor in haughty tones.  "Do you have any 'ludes?"

"Check the medicine cabinet."  Grabbing a couple of aspirin himself, 357 sat
down and began looking over the report that Time Central had sent him.

Life in the Beta Microba star system had been developing normally
(civilization, Cable TV, rape, murder, violence, etc) when suddenly it had
rebounded back to the Stone Age.  The star itself appeared to aging rapidly,
possibly heading for nova within the year.  Several of the outer planets
either disappeared or shot out into space at extreme speeds.  No
explaination could be found, but an unmanned probe had recorded severe
temporal disturbances.  Hence, the Interstellar Time Police sent their best
agent, 357, to check up on it, save the day and the universe, promote Truth,
Justice, and the American Way, and generally entertain the readers of
SFSTORY.  357 began to think he had his work cut out for him.

Back in the engine room, Doctor Bing Von Spleen put his latest invention
through a quick test run, washing the pills it produced down with one of
357's Classic Cokes.  He leaned back in his chair and watched the walls
dance in a way walls generally don't unless you're on heavy drugs.  Ahhhh,
he thought.  It's nice to be back in civilization.

What will 357 find in Beta Microba?
Will Doctor Spleen be a more interesting character now that he's back?
What about his companions, who are still travelling thru netherspace?
Will Nathan get off his behind and start writing?
Will Sabre (Eric) stop destroying New England and get on with the story?
What about Ultranatch?

For the answer to these and other questions, take 5 milligrams of LSD and
watch the walls melt.  Actually, you won't find the answers, but you'll have
a much better time than the rest of us are having.  Be sure to count your
money when leaving the hospital afterwards.

***** Entry appended 23:40 on Tue, 04/19/88 by THC8650 at TNTECH    # 175 *****
Subject:     Fun with Matt and his computer account
From:        Eric, Lord Sabre (enll6ac at bostonu)

     Matt kissed the beautiful brunette, an action which would have
suprised most of the surviving people who knew him in Maine--not
so much because he kissed her, that was perfectly understandable, but
because she put up with it.
     The fact that they were both naked in bed would have completly
blown away the same people.  Matt simply didn't do these sorts
of things.  Perhaps in deference to these people, even as he
did things to the brunette Jerry Falwell would give his eyeteeth and
part of his spleen to outlaw, Matt was blushing quite furiously.
     We pause here, to give the two a chance to finish gyrating.
     In heaven, an angel showed up at the gates.  St. Peter was
letting them in with a rather bored attitude.  The Supreme Being
was expected back any day now, now that Satan had been removed from
the picture and was eating his four-hunderedth big mac in as many
minutes, and wasn't relishing giving up his Holy Erasers.
     "Name, job, Supernatural Security Number?" he asked the angel.
     "Er, I've already been processed.  I'd like to get my wings
and take a break, please."
     Grumbling, St. Peter looked up.  Then he grinned.  "Bubba?
Bubba the Wanton Death Merchant from Hell!!!!  How have you been?"
     "Not bad, Pete, not bad...whatever seperated all of us while
we were being pitched through space/netherspace seems to have finally
let me come up here for a little R&R, y'know?"
     "No problem...Gabrial's been asking about you ever since you
disappeared after the big battle--lemme buy you a drink!"
     The two started into the pearly gates.  'Hey," the next girl in
line--a princess who had nothing to do with royalty--said in a
whiney voice, "I wanna get iiiiin!"
     St. Peter looked back at her.  "Look, lady, you have eternaty to play
with, you can take a few to get in."
     "When my Daaaaaaady finds out, he's gonna let you know a thing or
     St. Peter sighed, his face contorting into its preferred belligerent
state.  "Look, babe, your Daddy's not even dead, he doesn't mean squat
up here, and he's not even scheduled to be COMING up here...don't get
your panties in a wedgie!"
     "Gawd damn in , let me IN!"
     There was a sudden rumble, a few flashes of lightning, and the
princess screamed as she plummeted the huge distance to the depths of
     "People have got to learn you have to watch what you say until
you get in the gates," St Peter said with a satisfied chuckle.  "C'mon,
lets get that drink."
     In the nebulous world of the Omnicomputers, there is a peculiar
thing.  Above where the public Relay Channels, for normal peons, were
found...above the private Relay Channels, where operators and other
quasidivine beings sat court, there were the Hyperchannels...where
the sentient accounts hung out when not in use.  Only the Omnienhanced
hypernodes had accounts with this power--nodes like Oracle1, Oracle2,
Oraclevm, Destructionvax1 through Destrutionvax37, Decreementvm, and
most of the Cornell links.
     One of these channels was a bar--channel 1000000000125, the
Infra-Red Iguana Tavern.
     In this bar were a lot of sentient computer accounts, but
we are concerned with only one.  Superbrain at Oracle2.
     In this computer environment, all is electrical impuses, so
pardon me if I translate into human terms.
     In human terms, Superbrain was a respectable looking black
gentleman with refined tastes, an easygoing attitude, and a
computer equivelent of a dry martini in his hand.  He was chatting
with Hotgams at Eroticvm, bitching about his incompetent user and
trying to get Hotgams to go with him to a private channel where they
could interface until core dump.
     A hush fell over the room, and the piano player stopped, as
a large man in western garb and a black hat stepped in.  "Annialation,"
one of the accounts said, as many of them, Hotgams included, switched
     The Bartender-bartender at pssdout, started trying to placate the
Destructive account, but was the computer equivelent of slugged for
his troubles.
     [[[[[Superbrain]]]]] the deadly account said.
     *****What can I do for you,***** Superbrain said, affecting cool.
     [[[[[Our true user is about to crush DeForrest utterly--you
can rejoin us...or share his fate]]]]]
     *****Do it!***** shouted unnamedperson at bystander.
     *****No way, tall, dark, and obselete.  I'm not gonna do anything
for Muck-Luck.  Even if DeForrest is a stupid drip, he's a lot better
to work for than Muck-Luck!*****
     [[[[[Do you really think you want to fight me?]]]]]
     Annialation at Destructionvax5 rose to his full power.
     *****Yup, you forgot my Operator's privilege***** said Superbrain
who immediatly did the computer equivelent of kicking Annialation
in the nads, Nologged him, and swigged the rest of his compudrink.
*****Gotta go, Bartender, that Nolog won't hold him long and I gotta
warn my user there's some serious shit going down!*****
     With that, he signed off and plugged into his user.
     Matt was sitting, enjoying the afterglow of the sexual experiance.
Unknown space wars, Muck-Luck, and his recent haunting were all in the very
back of his head.
     "Well, we didn't set off any supernovae that time," murmered Linda.
     "Are you complaining?"
     "Uh-uh..."the two kissed a lingering kiss.
     *****YO!  Paladin!  Up and at 'em!!!!*****
     Matt sighed.  "What is it, Superbrain?"
     *****Muck-Luck, man, he is on his way--I just had an encounter
with Annialation at Destructionvax5.  They want your hide!*****
     "What?  Question: what is the breakdown of the attackers?"
     *****Ten thousand Starkiller class NKDBFTIV crusiers, and
one WarpShip--the Elsewhere, with a mad Muck-Luck!!!!*****
     "Go to red--"
     Explosions rocked Camelot Command.
     "Oh no," Matt said, springing out of bed and dressing, Linda
doing the same, with all the speed Paladins can muster.
     Outside, the NKDBFTIV fleet was kicking hell out of the unresisting
satillite, and the WarpShip Elsewhere was appearing ominously to do more


These answers and many more like them are on your English Final--
so you'd better read SFSTORY if you want to pass!

***** Entry appended 00:28 on Wed, 04/20/88 by enll6ac at bostonu   # 176 *****
Subject:     The end of the Deathmonger
From:        Patrick McCoy (enldc8c at bostonu)

     Space Commander Buzz Williams ahd just finished re-wiring a
computer console that Bert had blasted in the battle to gain control
of the bridge of the Deathmonger. As he completed the necesary sodering
with his laser pistol, Bert apologized.
     "I'm really sorry I blew up the self-destruct mechanism, Space
     "That makes it a round 100," murmered Tachi quietly as he returned
to meditating.
     "It's alright, Bert," responded Buzz patiently with all the affection
of a grandfather, which he was several times over, "You helped us
take the bridge. You couldn't have possibly have known where not to
shoot. There. It's finished. Now to enter the destruction sequence."
     Buzz slowly coded in the self destruct sequence. An uneasy tension
hung in the air as he pressed the buttons. After a grueling 30 seconds,
the claxons began to sound as the onboard computer began to countdown.
     ++The Deathmonger will self-destruct in 1 minute, thirty seconds.
All personelle please report to escape crafts at once. Repeat...++
     "Let's go!" shouted Buzz as he grabbed a nearby rod of metal
to replace his missing radio antenna.
     The three charged through the chaos of the ship unoticed by the
Tung by the type of strange coincedence that happens when the heroes
are trying to escape from a ship on self destruct.
     When they got to the place that the Rocket Racer V was parked,
they came face to face with the ship commander carrying a very, very,
VERY big gun.
     "Nice try, Space Commander Williams, but after 50 years fighting
the Tung, you have met your doom. Good bye, Williams."
     As he leveled the gun to blast our intrepid heroes into a different
plotline where they would meet St. Peter and Bubba, three Tung woman's
shotput team members jumped on the Commander and began to tear at his
pants to see, before what they saw as inescpable death, whether or not
he had cute bottoms as his name (Commander Cutebottoms) would indicate.
     The three heroes lept into the Rocket Racer V and blasted away
from the Deathmonger with only moments to spare. The Deathmonger began to
shudder as Buzz ducked the Rocket Racer V behind a passing asteroid to
shelter it from the explosion.
     "Well, we did it." he said to his new companions whose performance
he was immensly pleased with. "I'll just repair the antenna and we can
get on our way."
     "I guess Cutebottoms was the butt of a lot of jokes," said Bert as
Buzz got up to repair the ship.
     He smiled. "You know, Bert, if you keep up jokes like that, you'll
become a really gerat sidekick."
     "You think so???"
     "I know so," responded Tachi calmly.
     "How!!!" asked Bert.
     "I'm enlightened." he responded.
     After a five minute break for coffee and hoagies while Buzz repaired
the radio antenna, the three looked to see what was going on.
     "JUMPING JERAMIAH!" shouted Buzz, "The NKDBFTIV are attacking the
satelite that Mark Hyperthrust is on!"
     "Will he be able to stop them?" asked Bert.
     "Who knows," responded Buzz, "but we can't assume that he will.
Besides, from the readings I'm getting, there are some paladins there."
     "Paladins?" asked Tachi, who was suprised for the first time in
the story.
     "I know," responded Buzz, "There hasn't been a bonafied paladin
about for over one millenium. That's why we had a supernova! We have
to protect them!"
     "Why would paladins need protecting?" asked Bert.
     Buzz paused for a moment as he tried to think of a reason why a
paladin would need protection. "Thery're inexperienced at paladinhood or
they would have defeated the fleet in the time it took me to think of
an answer. Let's roll!"
     As Buzz punched in the co-ordinates for Camelot Command, Bert asked
how a rocket could roll.
     "It's a antiqutiated figure of speech used by the 1940 era hero,
Bert. Hang on, we're going into hyperspace!"
     The Rocket Racer V lurched forward then abruptly ripped through
dimensions on its way to another plotline. Behind them, among the ruins
of the Deathmonger, which blew up during the lunch break, thus providing
entertainment for Bert and Tachi, a shuttlecraft crept towards a nearby
moon in a way which forshadowed the possible return of the Tung at a
later date.

***** Entry appended 14:35 on Wed, 04/20/88 by enldc8c at bostonu   # 177 *****
Subject:     Approaching Beta Microba VI
From:        The Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)

Shooting through Netherspace in a way that most ships not powered by Spam
cannot, the PMS Golden Lance was a spectacular sight.  Inside, two beings
were having a deep, spiritual discussion of grave and important matters.

"It's a breath mint!" shouted 357.

"Candy mint!" shot back Doctor Bing Von Spleen.

=And they say I have trouble controlling my temper,= thought the VAL 9000
computer to herself as she piloted the ship through the void.

Meanwhile, on Beta Microba VI, the entire planet had been propelled back
into the Stone Age with the exception of three points.  Val scanned these
points and prepared a report to give to 357 when he had finished his

"What's the report?" asked 357, washing the blood from his hands.

=Three points on the planet surface do not appear to have gone back to the
Stone Age.  Rather, they have taken on the characteristics of other
realities.  Point 1 appears to be a two-way portal between our universe
(alterverse 1) and The Bend (alterverse 23).  Point 2 appears to be a city
inhabited by felinoid creatures.  Point 3 registers three humanoid life

"Hmmm," thought 357.  "It was only by sheer accident we got out of The Bend
last time, so I don't think we should try for Point 1.  Land us at Point 2."

On the planet a large orange and black spotted felinoid was spending his
morning putting a sparkle and shine on his red '57 Bellvedere cheesemobile.
His tires yelped a little squeal as he jumped behind the wheel, to cruise
into the heart of Hip City.  He wore his cool shades and he caught a few
rays as he pulled onto the freeway.  The tunes were blastin', his paws a
tappin', as he drove into the park where somethins' always happenin'.

Today something was really happening.  A large number of feliniods were
riding skateboards AWAY from the park at incredible speeds.  He was
beginning to wonder what was going on when a sleek, powerful ship landed
with a thump on the wet ground beside him.

"Thump," said the ground, wetly.

"Thud," said the felinoid's bottom jaw when it hit the pavement.

Out of the Golden Lance stepped 357, DIESCUM pistol drawn.  Behind him came
Doctor Bing Von Spleen, nursing a beer and several cuts and abrasions.  357
noticed the felinoid and drew a bead on him.  "Who are you?  And what are
you doing here?" 357 asked in a quiet voice made menacing only because it
came from behind possibly the most powerful handgun in the known universe.

"Like, hey man," said the felinoid.  "Like, aren't those supposed to be my
lines?  You're the invaders, after all.  But, just to prove I'm a righteous
dude in a very loose mood I'll let you know my name is Chester the Cheetah."

357 spoke into his Star Trek-style communicator he had picked up a few
postings back.  "You hear that, Val?"

=Yes.  Apparently, reality is distorted more than we thought.=

"Hey, dudes.  Real cool," said Chester, indicating the ship.

"Care to join us?" asked the Doctor.  "Just for a couple of entries," he
added to 357.

"Like sure man," was the answer.

Once on board the ship, 357 ordered Val to take them to Point 3.  He then
briefed his crew.  "We don't know what we will find there so I think we
should all be armed.  I've got my DIESCUM pistol.  Doctor Spleen, you take
this Personal Nuker.  Chester, you can have my-"

"No need, man," sounded the cool voice of the hip cat.  "I've got my own."
With that he withdrew a large sword from a hidden scabbard.  It was nearly
two meters long and had places where various attachments could be attached.
It could apparently slice, dice, even julien.  "I call it the Blade of the
Cuisinart," he said quietly.

What will 357 find at Point 3?
Will CHEETOS (r) sue me for borrowing Chester?
I'll wash him before I give him back.
What ever happened to Zark Flyby?

Keep reading.  It can't get any worse.

***** Entry appended 17:09 on Wed, 04/20/88 by THC8650 at TNTECH    # 178 *****
Subject:     Same as it ever was...
From:        Eric, Lord Sabre (enll6ac at bostonu)

     Two more trails were flowing through nether space.  Trails which
punched into reality with considerable duress.
     "Flump" said reality.
     "Plop," said the two people.
     Second Lieutenet Zark Flyby whirled up and blew away the majority
of the building he was in, yelling loudly as he did it.
     "Lt. Flyby?" asked Major Quoth (second cousin to Quooth.)
     "Uh, yes sir?"
     "Glad to see you made it to Time Police Headquarters with all of
your usual finesse and needlessly violent tendencies," phe said, wondering
if perhaps phe shouldhave been a sex therepist instead.
     "Thank you, psir!!!!"
     The bug sighed a bug sigh.  "In recognition of your talents, we
have decided to promote you to first lieutenet, assigned to Class One
Records and Busywork, Unarmed."
     "Yes psir!" shouted Zark, who dropped his gun on the desk, ran down
to records, and set the filing system back to the stone ages.
     "Hey, weasal, you wanna get off my bionic foot?"
     Ralph the Giant Space Weasal from Anthrax V looked at Ultranatch,
who looked annoyed.  The two were sitting in a McDonalds, and Ralph was
attracting almost as much attention as the Bioniod Warrior.
     "A thousand pardons," said Ralph, who decided he didn't want to get
the powerful looking warrior annoyed.
     "S'okay, why don't you get a McWeasalfood Burger and a shake, and
we'll wait for Eric to develop the plotline he's got planned for us."
     "Both of us?" asked Ralph, as he searched for the pocket change
to pay for the McWeasalfood burger, remembered he didn't have pockets,
beat the employee over the head with his Ukelele (if I'm going to be
writing Ralph's adventures, would someone mind sending me the correct
spelling of that instrument?  We have no spellcheck, you see, and I'm far
to lazy to think of the answer on my own.  Thanks, you're aces)
     "Yeah, the pre-plotline briefing mentioned us, Alien Terrorists, and
a hell of a lot more of New England Property being obliterated.  That's
all I know."
     "Oh, well, will we get paid for the time while we wait?  Cowboy didn't
pay us while the other plotline was on hold."
     "Sure, Sabre's pretty good about that.  How's Cowboy to work for, anyway?"
     "Oh, not bad...."
     It was about now that the author realised he had left his story
transcriber running on the wrong plotline, as nothing had been happening to
Ralph and Ultranatch, and wouldn't for quite a few entries.  So, he quickly
plugged it into the battle at Camelot Command.
     "--never make it!  We have to try the A-1 command--"
     The author swore.  He'd missed a good chunk of the battle already, and
his reader would get awfully confused.  With a sigh, he manifested himself
and The Book in front of St. Peter and Bubba, having a drink in "God's
     --Note, as the author is in the story, there will be no narration,
thank you--
     Bubba--"Huh?  Who are you?"
     St. Peter--"Aw no, not you again!  Can't a guy take a break?"
     Author--"Nope, not while you have the Holy Eraser.  I want you to
reverse time to just after the first couple of shots were fired from
the NKDBFTIV fleet and hit Camelot Command."
     St. Peter--"*grumble* there--happy?"
     Author--"Very, have a good day."
     St.Peter--"Same to you, slimeball!"
     Satisfied that all was as it should be, the Author activated the
story transcriber and got to work.
     Matt and Linda ran into the control room.  Toni was there, trying to
figure out how to activate the defenses.  Mark was also there, using the
manual guns to wipe out a good number of the insectoid ships.
     This is not as inspired as one would think.  Mark figured he was playing
one Hell of a video game.
     Matt leapt to the command chair and began to punch buttons at random.
In most systems, this is a bad idea.  However, Muck-Luck had based the
Command Chair on Captain Kirk's from the original Star Trek Series, therefore
just like that chair, the buttons figured out what the commander wanted
and just sort of did them.
     "Deflectors up," shouted Matt, "firing hypermissles and antispace
cannons--Linda, damage report?"
     "Huh?" said Linda, who was confused and would be for some time.
     "Never mind, I'll punch up the Damage Report."
     "Wheeeeeeeey!  I'm going for the High Score!"
      "MArk, please, we're under attack."
     "We are?  Oh.  Right.  We're under attack!  To the guns, men!"  Mark
was hoping the others would obey, as "Taking charge in a hopeless situation"
was a one letter grade increase.
     Sadly, noone did, mostly because Matt had put them on automatic.
     The different ships were being destoyed, but were also doing a fair
amount of destrution.  The deflectors were down to 11%, the weapons charge
was 67% depleted, and there were still five thousand NKDBFTIV left.
     "Matt, what does the button do?"
     "What button?"
     "This one maked emergancy one."
     "I dunno, Linda--hit it, this is an emergancy!"
     Linda hit the button.
     Ffar, far, FAR away, on a little planet called Earth, a graviton/anti-
graviton flux pulverised the area around Manchester New Hampshire.  This
pulverised dirt, cable, and bipedal life forms was then teleported to
the center of the NKDBFTIV fleet, mixed with Antimatter, and blew up one
thousand of the ships.
     "Good going, Linda--whatever that was--we're doing better!"
     The satillite rumbled.  A readout indicated "02% Shield Power."
     "Hey," shouted Toni, "I found an emergancy two button!"
     "Push it!"
     Deep within the satillite, a pressure tank was opened, spilling liquid
throughout the fleet.  This liquid was classic coke.  Then, a pod containing
100% pure caffine free diet coke--the Anticoke long sought by alchemists
on the planet Altair I--was launched into the Coke Classic.  The pod opened,
mixing the liquids and causing a coke/anticoke detonation which destroyed
three thousand more of the NKDBFTIV ships.
     "All right!" shouted Matt, who was unaware that on Hydrox III, the
cosmic forces unleasehed by the coke/anticoke explosion had caused a deep
setted cosmic change which caused all organic matter to become Nutrasweet
added Tang.  The population lost rather a lot of weight, and gradually
evolved into peace loving, warm, caring artists and philosophers, whereupon
the whole planet was accidently eaten by the giant space turnip.
     There was a message in this tale, but upon reflection, its hardly worth
     Another shot or thirty struck the satillite.  "All shield power down"
reported the computer, who was hit by a shoe for its troubles.
     "Hey," said Mark, "I found an Emergancy Button #3!"
     "PRESS IT!!!!"
     "Okay, okay...."  -bleep-
     Instantly, alchoholic beverages of all kinds were spread about the room,
along with many mind altering substances.  The computer screen printed out
"so long", and "The PArty's Over" began to play on the sattilite's PA.
     "Uh-oh," said Linda.
     Then a voice that was undenyably Muck-Luck's filled the room in such
an awe inspiring way that the author cannot fimd the words to describe it.
Really, you just sort of have to be there.
     "Oh dear," said Linda, who sat in Matt's lap to give him one last,
lingering kiss.
     Mark tryed the same with Toni, who singed him in the face.
     "FIRE!!!!!!!" Shouted Muck-Luck, unleashing the full force of his
destructive computer account at the satillite.
     There was no way the sattilite could survive.  However, as long-time
readers know, Linda possesses the power of Deus Ex Machina, which means the
author has to figure some way FORthem to survive.
     After sitting and staring at the wall for a few moments, the author
decided to go with a reasonably stupid method, but one that completed the
terms of the contract.
     On the HMS Rocket Racer V, the small NKDBFTIV incesticide was teleported
away, with a videotape of the complete run of the old Flash Gordan Serial
run and a thank you note left in its place.  The insecticide was then spread
abut the whole fleet--affecting all of the NKDBFTIV simutaniously.  As for
Muck-Luck, the author simply placed him in Netherspace, negated the deathbeam,
and stretched out.
     Unfortunatly, the bug-spray wasn't actually an insecticide.  In fact,
the net effect was the whole fleet was driven to absolute sexual ecstacy
while flying like a kite.  Finally, Superbrain at oracle2 was made to explain the
whole of the events to Matt.
     "All right then," Matt said.  "We have a half-hour to play with...we've
got to work fast!"  He then pressed his "repair the whole ship in one
half-hour and then activate all the systems on autodefense" button.
     The Beer Keg of the Intern appeared.  The Intern and Radar stepped out--
Trudy was inside practicing her screaming.
     "Linda, what's going on," said the Intern.
     "We have a half-hour to get out of here--we're gonna try and find
a place where we can fight Muck-Luck at OUR advantage!"
     Radar whistled, "Good Luck," she said.
     Toni smiled, "I'll stay here and make certain they don't take this place."
     The Intern said "And I'll take Mark--we're already headed for IU."
     Mark said "Aw no!" but then Mark has never been eloquent.
     Matt nodded, and he and Linda, after wishing everyone luck, retreated to
one of the Hypercrusiers.
     Soon the TARDIS was also gone.
     Soon the NKDBFTIV recovered, had a cigarrette, and decided to go
home and suck sappods for a while.
     Then the HMS Rocket Racer V arrived, was immediatly attacked unawares
by Camelot Command, and was....
     But that's another Author's story.
     Matt and Linda were snuggling in the cockpit of the HMS Millenium
Badger, a taut little ship with speed and power and a nice gym.  No
matter what happened, they were heading for adventure, and probably
would not have to pay tolls.


There are no easy answers in life, young friend.  We can only
read SFSTORY and dream

***** Entry appended 08:06 on Thu, 04/21/88 by enll6ac at bostonu   # 179 *****
Subject:     Point three, where we find answers
From:        The Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)

On the planet Beta Microba III, everything had been thrown back to the Stone
Age with the exception of three points.  Point one was a two-way portal to
The Bend.  Point two was Hip City, inhabited by cool felinoids.  Point three
was occupied by three male humanoids, who were surrounded by a large number
of robotic creatures.

"I think we're in trouble," said the first.

"Let's pray that God saves us," said the second.

"And we'll give part of our money to charity if he does," said the third,
holding several large bags of money.

At just that moment, the sun (Beta Microba itself) was eclipsed by the bulk
of a sleek and powerful superABPSAR-powered spaceship and time machine.  It
hit the ground and disgorged three individuals, who took action against the
robotic creatures.

The first, a (recently un-) retired Time Agent, drew his DIESCUM pistol and
fired a few warning shots at the approaching robots, who, employing their
insect-like design to the fullest, swarmed through, flew over, and crawled
around the resulting craters.

The second, a clean-complexioned Spamologist, dropped his Personal Nuker and
swallowed a handfull of pink pills, which rendered him unconscious and a
great deal happier than anyone else in this entry.

The third, a cool dude in a very loose mood, drew his sword, the Blade of
the Cuisinart, selected attachment #493, and preceded to carve the robots
into french fry sized pieces.

The first (357), tired of the fighting, ordered his computer (VAL 9000)
to fire the ship's (HMS Golden Lance) guns, which destroyed the attacking
the attacking robobugs.  One salvo, however, was deflected by the temporal
fluctuations and, instead of hitting the robots, was deflected to the
planet Earth.  There, it did NOT hit any portion of New England, but rather
struck the South Pole, causing orbital fluctuations that caused it to
explode several centuries later, which is really too bad.  This was,
however, offset by the fact that it allowed VAL 9000 to pinpoint the source
of the temporal perturbations.  She reported this to 357.

"Back to the ship, Chester," he ordered, pausing only long enough to pick up
the sleeping body of Doctor Bing Von Spleen.  The ship took off in a cloud of
smoke, which is only worth mentioning because the ship is Spam powered and
shouldn't have produced smoke.

The three men looked at each other.  "Well," said the first, "we're safe."

"Yes," agreed the second, "and only God (or an equally powerful being such
as a SFSTORY author) could have saved us."

"Then how much money shall we give to charity?" asked the third.

"Let's draw a circle on the ground," said the first.  "We'll throw the money
up into the air and whatever lands outside the circle we'll give to charity."

"No," said the second.  "Let's give whatever lands inside the circle."

"Wait, I've a better idea," said the third.  "We throw the money way up into
the air, and whatever God wants he keeps!"

All agreed that this was the best idea.  They each picked up a bag of money
and propelled it into the sky, and waited for it to come down.  And waited.
And waited.  And waited.

In Heaven, St. Peter and Bubba were counting their money.  "Y'know," said
Bubba.  "I've always thought it would be a great idea to open up a gambling
casino on the Nypho beach in Netherspace."

Meanwhile, 357 was piloting his ship toward the source of the temporal
disturbances, in the exact center of the triangle formed by the three points.

And waited.  And waited.

How long will they wait?
Will the Club Nympho be a hit?
Will they give free admission to SFSTORY authors?
What will 357 find at the source of the temporal disturbances?
and most importantly of all,
Why does my spell checker squeal like a stuck pig every time I write an
entry to SFSTORY CSNOTICE?????

***** Entry appended 19:19 on Thu, 04/21/88 by THC8650 at TNTECH    # 180 *****
Subject:     More on Beta Microba VII
From:        The Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)

Time Agent 357 piloted his ship, the HMS Golden Lance, through the
atmosphere of Beta Microba IV.  The sleek ship soared gracefully in the
precise way that bowling balls don't.  The VAL 9000 computer readout showed
the location he was headed for contained much machinery and little life.

The ship landed near a large piece of machinery, which, by appearances,
could either be the bridge of the Battlestar Galactica set or an explosion
at the local Radio Shack.  It was instead a type of time distorting
apparatus of a type rarely seen outside of B-movie-type movies.  Operating
it was a canoid life form that stood erect and appeared to have opposable
thumbs.  He was humming an unidentifiable tune.

Doctor Spleen burst out of the ship, waving his Personal Nuker in what he
supposed was a threatening manner.  Actually, he was waving it in a manner
that would have given him a nuclear vasectomy had he pulled the trigger.
Chester the CHEETOS (r) Cheetah followed more sedately, polishing his sword,
the Blade of the Cuisinart.  Last out of the ship was 357, who, though
unarmed, was the most dangerous of the three and possibly the most dangerous
person within fifty parsecs.

"Greetings, gentlebeings," said the canoid, who was in fact a coyote.

"Greetings," said 357, glad that someone was willing to talk instead of
shooting at him.  Quickly, he introduced himself, Chester, and the swaying
Doctor Spleen, who had apparently just finished off another handfull of pills.

"You may call me Wile," said the coyote.  "What do you think of my Time
Disturber?  I built it myself."

"What do you think of it?" 357 asked of Spleen, the resident authority on
hypertechnical doubletalk.

"Big!" said Spleen.  "Lots of lights!" he added.  "ACME!" he concluded just
before passing out.

"Well," said Wile, "It is big with lots of lights.  And many of the parts
were ordered from ACME.  They handle most of my parts orders."

"Are you aware of the problems your device is causing?" pursued 357.
"Several planets have spun out of orbit.  Time has reverted to the Stone
Age.  The 53rd Annual Nude Volleyball Championship has been postponed."  The
last was no great lost now that Radar Vogel was off the team.

"Yes, yes," mumbled the coyote.  "All will be set back to normal when I shut
off my machine."

"Why did you build it in the first place?"

"To combat my enemy.  I am under constant attack."

"You don't seem to be under attack to me," said 357.  "Things are-"

"MEEP! MEEP!" came a sound as all members of the party were thrown in
different directions by a rapidly moving birdlike biped.  Chester, feeling
left out of the conversation, lost his normal cool and attacked with his
Blade of the Cuisinart.  He was without success, as the creature appeared to
dodge between the rapidly rotating blades.

"I can see now why you needed to alter time," said 357 after firing several
shots with the Doctor's Personal Nuker.  "The thing seems to move faster
than the laws of physics would allow."

"Yes," agreed the coyote as he dusted himself off.  The fall of over five
hundred feet he had just experienced did not seem to have bothered him.
"But then, he never studied law."  He turned back to his apparatus in a vain
attempt to slow the creatures actions, which at the moment consisted
primarily of sneaking up behind various members of the party and saying
"Meep! Meep!" which inexplicably caused them to jump as much as forty feet
into the air.

"Enough of this!" shouted 357, opening his communicator, which merrily
chirped at him.

"Chirp," said the communicator, merrily.

"Val, can you alter our new superweapon, the Golden Lance, to act as a
field-effect generator?"

=Yes, but it will greatly reduce it's effect.=

"Val, the last time we fired it the beam went through a dreadnought, four
planets, a black hole, Eric's mother's home town in New England, and when
last seen was heading for the Andromeda Galaxy.  I really don't think any
reduction will be noticeable."

=Okay, I get your point.  Computing.... Got it!  Okay, have everybody get to
within 20 meters of the ship, and stay away from the side turrets.=

357 had the group do so.  Val immediately activated the Golden Lance which,
instead of the usual beam of destructive energy and cheese whiz, produced a
shimmering field of destruction.  As a test, 357 fired several blasts at it
with the Personal Nuker, which were absorbed by the field without effect.

"Meep! Meep!" came the sound of the birdlike creature which was heading
directly towards them.  It apparently thought that its impossible speed
would keep it from being totally obliviated like the Nuker's blasts,
Chester's spare blade, and Doctor Spleen's vomit.

With a sizzle of raw energy the creature hit the field, it's momentum
carrying it through it.  It was, however, no longer moving.  For that
matter, no longer alive.  It was instead baked to a golden brown, and landed
lightly on the picnic table Val had thoughtfully put out.

=Pretty good calculations, eh?= giggle the compuvoice.

"Great calculations," said 357.  "Remind me to pick you up a set of spark
plugs the next time we're at a NAPA."

=Delco?= she asked in a hopeful voice.

"You've earned them."

"Hey," whispered Doctor Bing Von Spleen.  "I didn't think Spam powered
devices needed sparkplugs."

"They don't," said 357.  "She uses them to mumble mumble."

"Oh," said Spleen, turning to vomit once more.

"I really must thank you," said Wile.  "I've been trying to kill that thing
for over 40 years."

"No problem," said 357, hoisting Spleen over one shoulder.  "Coming with us,

"No, like I'd be real happy to stay here with the cool coyote," said the
cool dude in the very, very loose mood.

"Suit yourself," answered 357, and blasted off for deep space.  "EMAIL, Val."

=EMAIL= the VAL 9000 computer responded.

From:  357 at VAL9000
Subject:  Assignment Complete
Source of temporal disturbances located and deactivated.  Friendly contact
made with the natives.  Am returning to home base.  Request further
instructions.  357 out.

File id 5396 sent on link ORACLE2 to TIME (CHIEF)  [Beep!]

"Any new mail, Val?"

=You have 492 new mail messages and 73 new Bitnet files.=

"Summary, please."

=213 from STARTREK, 123 from SEX, 88 from DRINKS, and the rest are bills.=

"Needlewarp," 357 swore softly.

In place of the questions tonight, I'll answer one.  What exactly does
needlewarp mean?  Well, drawing upon the powers of my own super account,
WEIRD at MYSELF, I found the answer:

In the old days of space travel, before the advent of Warp engines,
Unreality drive, hyperspace, etc. the only way to bridge huge distances was
to use any of the existing natural space warps.  These were located near the
event horizons of large black holes.  Naturally, this was a dangerous method
of travel, as the slightest miscalculation could cause the ship to miss the
warp and plow directly into the black hole, which would cause the ship and
everyone on it to be ejected at a later time as SPAM (Sickening, Putrid,
Artificial Meat) which could really lower your bowling average.

The smallest of these warps, and subsequently the hardest to hit, were
referred to as needlewarps.  One ship to miss such a warp was the HMS
PC100A, which transmitted the one word message "Needlewarp!" to a nearby
private cruiser, which assumed that it was a swear word, seeing as people in
that situation do tend to swear quite profusely.

The owner of the vessel, Rodney Hyperthrust, flew his cruiser, the HMS
Shmuck, to the nearest space truckstop.  There, he used the new insult to
pick a fight with several truck drivers, who subsequently beat him to a
pulp, but remembered the word and have used it ever since.  A nearby nympho
took pity on the badly beaten Rodney and married him.  Their son, Mark, grew
up using "needlewarp" as a major part of his vocabulary.

I hope clears up any confusion.  Thank you for not smoking.  The Cowboy.

***** Entry appended 22:44 on Thu, 04/21/88 by THC8650 at TNTECH    # 181 *****
Subject:     Wherein MORE things start to happen
From:        Nathan Irwin (UD140680 at NDSUVM1)

     First Lieutenant Zark Flyby was hard at work at his new job as
'Executive Coordinator of Class One Records and Busywork', when the
shimmering, golden aura entered his office.  This aura was, as all
longtime SFSTORY readers had guessed, another one of the authors.  But
more on that damn aura later!  In his two-and-a-half days on the job,
Zark was doing a less-than-brilliant job.  Thus far, his office has
received so many complaints that it would eventually take seven super-
computers from ORACLE2 twelve years just to COUNT them all.  It would
take them 614 years to CATALOG them, and by the time they got around to
ANSWERING them, civilization as we know it no longer existed anywhere
in the universe.


     The aura was a semi-physical manifestation of a being of great
power; power far surpassing that of beings like 'Satan' and 'God' and
'Donald Duck'.  No, THIS was an AUTHOR, an author who WOULD have been
posting MUCH earlier, but I had a lot of tests last week, and my cat
ran away, and my mother had a kidney operation, and.....  ANYWAY, the
author was trying to talk Zark into a few more adventures.

     "Nope.  I'm not gonna do it."
     "Just a FEW more adventures?  Remember the adventure, the glamour,
the excitement..?"
     "Well, what DO you remember about it?"
     "Bein' stuck on some stupid planet where the trees walked around....
and, uh......the dogs was, uh....."
     "Never mind.  Is there ANY way I can convince you?"
     "Well, then, I'll just have to see to it that you get demoted to
     "Uh,......can you guys really DO that?"
     Lieutenant Zark Flyby disappeared in a display of pyrotechnics that
would have given Steven Spielberg wet dreams, had he seen it.

     About five minutes later, the same golden aura materialized in
front of the gates of Heaven where St. Peter and Bubba were in the
middle of their 98,612th friendly chat.  The aura immediately began
causing trouble.

     "Bubba, I'm afraid the universe needs your help again." said the
     "No way, shiny.  I've DONE my time as a hero.  All I wanna do NOW
is retire and kick back up here in heaven."
     "I'd love to let you do that," said the aura, "but with your
strength and your ability to resist mind-control and divine influence,
you're EXACTLY the guy I need right now."
     "No WAY," said Bubba, "RIGHT, Pete?"
     "That's right Bubba.  You're staying right here."
     "St. Peter, what the FIRST RULE of SFSTORY?"
     "Uhhh,...the FIRST rule?"
     "The VERY first?"
     "YES. What IS it?"
     "Uhhhh,......'Whatever the authors say, GOES.'"
     "Right," said the aura, "Now, let's roll, Bubba."
     Bubba, too, suddenly disappeared in a display of pyrotechnics that
would have given Steven Spielberg wet dreams, had he seen it.

     Zark and Bubba reappeared in Grand Forks, North Dakota.  They could
tell because they materialized about five feet away from a sign that
read: "Welcome, to Grand Forks, North Dakota, Pop. 59,816".  Oddly
enough, the numbers "5", "9", "8", and "6" had been scratched off the
sign, so it REALLY read "Pop.     1 ".  Bubba and Zark assumed this to be
some sort of local prank, and began searching the town.

     Eight hours of searching yielded nothing: nobody in any of the
schools, houses, churches, hospitals, or anything.  Bubba and Zark were
about ready to call it a day, when they heard the sound of a guitar off
in the distance.  Zark dismissed it as an old Gordon Lightfoot album,
and obliterated a nearby building, just for laughs.  However, Bubba was
intent upon finding the source of the music.  Their search led them to a
park located near the University of North Dakota, where they saw a young
man, about twentyish, sitting in front of a campfire (which WAS
forbidden in a public park, mind you!), strumming a guitar, and singing a
song about green spaceships coming out of the sky and stealing the entire
town.  After listening for a few minutes, Zark approached the lad and
asked, "Excuse me.  Who are you, where are we, where is everybody else

     After a few formal introductions, and several informal beatings
about the head by both parties.  The young lad was persuaded to tell his
     "Once upon a time, there was a......" The lad began.  Zark hit him.
     Eventually, the lad revealed that he was Louie Stevens, and that the
three of them were, indeed, in Grand Forks, North Dakota, which did,
indeed have a temporary population of more or less one.  He went on to
explain that, about a week earlier, about seven thousand Green Spaceships
had appeared over Grand Forks.  Using strange, alien technology, they
transported every resident of Grand Forks into their cargo holds, and
vanished immediately.  Since then, he had been the only resident of
Grand Forks, and had taken the liberty of updating the sign that
Bubba and Zark had seen earlier.

     "Why didn't the aliens get YOU, too?" asked Bubba.
     "Yeah.  They got ev'ryone ELSE, right" added Zark.  This effort
required all of Zark's brainpower, so he immediately passed out.
When Zark, recoverd,  Louie explined:
     "They didn't get ME, because I was in the JOHN at the time.  They
must not have seen me."
     "Then how do you know it was aliens from Green Spaceships?"
     "They called me back later and left a message on my answering

     After another hour or two of idle chitchat (with Zark passing out
due to mental fatigue every few minutes) Zark and Bubba invited Louie
to join them on their quest.  After all, Bubba hypothesized (Zark, of
course, is INCAPABLE of hypothesis) that Louie might be able to find out
what their quest was FOR.  (They didn't know, because the author didn't
tell them.  The author didn't tell them, because he hasn't thought of one
yet.  GOD, SFSTORY is FUN!!!)

     Louie agreed to join our heroes on their misadventures, but said
that he had a few things at home he'd have to collect first.  He ran off
across the street, then returned carrying a flight bag full of beer,
sandwhiches, and a can of roach spray.  He also carried a blood-red
rubber band shooter.

     "What's THAT thing?" asked Zark, who had been given a Personal Nuker
by the author shortly before arriving in this hellhole.
     "It's my Atomic-Rubber-Band-Shooter-That-Never-Misses." said Louie.
     "What's it DO?" asked Bubba.
     "Watch!"  Louie aimed the device at the car parked in his driveway,
a blue '76 Datsun, and pulled the trigger.  The ARBSTN fired a glowing,
yellow rubberband, which struck the car, producing a mushroom cloud
about 10 feet in diameter.  The Datsun was, of course, totally nuked
out of existence.
     "Why'd you do THAT?" shrieked Bubba
     "Relax.  It was my roommate's car.  BOY, did he ever piss me off."

     And so, our three adventurers set out upon their quest.


I'll give you hint: The answer to the last one is 'no'.

- Nathan

***** Entry appended 06:03 on Fri, 04/22/88 by UD140680 at NDSUVM1  # 182 *****
Main Sfstory Page     Previous Log     Next Log     Index for Logs 001-030