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Sfstory Log 027

Subject:     Fool For The City
From:        John Sullivan (JSULLIV at VTVM1)

     New Orleans was, hot, muggy and damp.  The two figures seated on
the crumbling stone bench in front of the alligator pit of the city
zoo seemed to be slowly wilting as they sat there, minute after long
silent minute, staring straight ahead.  The few sightseers who found
the zoo more interesting than the Republican Convention looked at the
pair of morbidly obese teenagers in their sweat stained velour shirts,
and black pants adorned with painted balsa wood boxes and gave them
plenty of clearance.
     Finally the one in the blue shirt with the fake pointed ears
turned to his friend in the yellow shirt and, in a strident whine,
said, "Man, are you SURE that was the worldcon?"
     "Of course it was.  How many conventions can there BE in New
Orleans in the summer?"
     "Well then why did those guys with the three piece suits and the
sunglasses throw us out, huh?  I was pre-registered!"
     Sensing his friend going into "Idiot Exposition Mode" (in which a
character relates facts perfectly obvious to the person he is supposedly
speaking to in order to get them across to the reader - ed.) the yellow
shirted one stood up, struck a declamatory pose, and said:
     "As you well know, Ronald, we are both members of the Association of
Extremely Dedicated Watchers of Star Trek who Dress Up Like Crew and
Pretend We Have Phasers, or AOEDWOSTWDULCAPWHP, an acronym which is
utterly unpronounceable, but which we insist makes perfect sense in
Vulcan.  You also should know that the AOEDWOSTWDULCAPWHP is a para-
religious organization dedicated to the concept that all possible
universes exist and the corollary implication that somewhere Star Trek
is real.  Thus we search for a way to get to wherever this holy place may
be so we may join Starfleet and be socially acceptable while dressed this
way.  We have come to New Orleans as a group because our leader, who
discovered the texts of universal universalism one day when they
spontaneously appeared in his Star Trek Technical Manual between the
articles of confederation of the UFP and the glossy page of official
Star Trek colors, thought that the greatest minds of science fiction,
gathered here at the annual worldcon, would be able to help us with
our search.  Alas, when we arrived, the convention turned out to be full
of people much like ourselves, but wearing suits under their obscure
buttons instead of ninja T-Shirts and Star Trek uniforms.  (Although I
did think i spotted Isaac Asimov before we were all thrown out into the
street.)  Since then the group has wandered disspiritedly around the
city, searching for new guidance until we two were sent to find more
     "Well, lets get going.  There must be some twinkies somewhere in
this city."
     The pair rose, and resumed their search.  For long hours they
wandered the streets, surrounded by people in funny hats and Bush Quayle
    "Bush Quayle," mused Ronald, "Bush Quayle, Bush Quayle.  Didn't he
try out for the part of the barber in Spectre of the Gun?"
     "Hey Norman, didn't Bush Quayle try out for the barber in..."
     "Ssshhh" Norman waved a hand at Ronald.  "Listen."
     It was dark now and they were on Bourbon Street.  Ronald
wondered how he was supposed to hear anything over the sound of
jazz clubs and hawkers and convention goers.
     "That moon sure does look nice."
     "Don't worry about the moon, listen!  Can't you hear it?"
     "Ronald listened, and just barely heard something, some faint
rushing sound just at the edges of human hearing, like a wind
very far away.  Gradually the sound came closer and louder until
the rushing was shrill and painful.  The air seemed to crackle around
them.  Ronald glanced quickly around at the other pedestrians on
the street, but nobody else seemed to have noticed.  He vaguely
remembered his stepfather saying something about Republicans sleeping
through everything.
     Suddenly an angular shape eclipsed the moon and fell, impossibly
fast, straight toward them, much to fast to pull out before crashing,
and yet it did.  The rushing and burning of the air peaked and were
instantly gone.  In their place, a shadowy shape hovered perhaps a foot
above the ground in a wide alley between two buildings.  Ronald and
Norman looked at each other, then back at the ship - it had to be some
kind of ship - in awe.
     A doorway opened in the side of the ship, light spilling into the
darkened alley.  The pair crept cautiously closer.
     "Floyd, wait here until I get back," said an english accented
voice from inside.  Ronald and Norman jumped back and flattened
themselves (if that isn't too silly a term for it) against the wall.
   "Sure sir." came a muffled reply, then a figure stepped out of the
ship, a tall man with shoulder length hair on the blond side.  He
put some kind of weapon in his pocket and stalked off into the street,
not noticing the two AOEDWOSTWDULCAPWHP members who gaped at him and
the ship.
     "Wasn't that Sting?" asked Ronald when he was sure the figure
had gone.
     "Don't worry about that," snapped Norman, who could push Ronald
around since his shirt was yellow velour, and Ronald's was only blue.
"Don't you see?  This is it!  The big chance, the big breakthrough!
The big day is finally here!"  He practically hopped with excitement.
"Okay, you're sciences, you check out the ship and I'll go tell the
High Spock."
     "Oh sure, and let you grab all the glory?  No way.  YOU check out
the ship and I'LL go tell the High Spock."
     Norman looked exasperated for a moment, then gave in.  "Okay, we'll
BOTH go tell him.  Satisfied?  It just better be here when we get back."
     They both ran down the street as fast as they could as the great
news burned within them.





***** Appended 16:10:25 on 09/05/88, Posting #   307 *****
From:        John Sullivan (JSULLIV at VTVM1)

      Sorry - forgot about that part.





***** Appended 16:17:42 on 09/05/88, Posting #   308 *****
Subject:     Wherein Plots are Patched {again}...
From:        Patrick McCoy (enldc8c at buacca)

     Meanwhile, in altiverse #233 donttryitauthorsonly, a rather familiar
discussion was taking place.
     ++...I mean, what is it with my secondary plotline that seems to
say to people "mess with me?" ++
     |-}------- I don't know, why are you asking me? -------{-|
     ++ You messed with it last. ++
     |-}------- Now, Pat, we agreed that the plotline stealing stuff
between us was getting overdone... -------{-|
     ++ OK, OK, you're right. (sigh) ++
     |-}------- At least it wasn't your main plotline. -------{-|
     ++ That would be like bringing Lisa Bonet back. ++
     |-}------- True, true. -------{-|
     ++ Anyway, it's good of you to drop by. ++
     |-}------- Well, I was in the neighborhood and I wanted to hear
about Laura. -------{-|
     ++ OK, let me go to storyline and we can talk. ++

     Ian Lockheed eased his way through the crowds of Burbon Street as
he approached a non-descript bar. He entered and slowly scanned the smoke
filled room. He saw someone wave to him frim one of the rear booths. He
walked to the booth and sat down.
     "Hello, Landorian. It's good to see you again."
     "It's good to see you, too, old buddy."
     "I'm glad you contacted me from Time Central."
     "Yea, you'd have been dead by now."
     "That's not what I had had in mind as a solution to my case."
     Landorian smiled. "Well have I got a suprise for you. With the
records I dug up, we can arrest Chief Logan and Alecson."
     "Some chap calling himself the Intern is on Alecson. We have to
concentrate on Logan."
     "How do you know the Intern's in pursuit?"
     "Floyd managed to rig up a primitive TARDIS tracker. So long as he's
after Allecson, I won't interfere. It gives us more room."
     "Yea, and the moment one of our agents nabs Allecson, Logan will be
harder to catch."
     "Exactly. Lets go to my ship."
     The two Time Police agents went to the HMS Syncronicity II where they
met Floyd, who was talking to two boys in Star Trek uniforms.
     "...and that's how you can build a warp driven ship from a '78
     "But won't it blow up if you get rear-ended?" the blue shirted one
with a pair of false vulcan ears asked.
     "You seldom get rear ended in deep space," responded Ian with
some degree of contempt.
     "Besides," added Landorian with a chic smile, "you should have your
shields up."
     "Yea," added the yellow shirted one who, for some odd reason, felt
he could act superior because of his mode of dress.
     "Here," said Floyd as he punched a code into the wing ship's computer,
"it's all explained in this pamphlet. Now you're sure we can't give you
a lift?"
     "They're quite sure," growled Lockheed as he entered the Syncronicity
     "Yes," added the blue shirt, who had no way of defending himself
against the growls of a fully liscenced space hero, "this should be enough."
     As the three left Earth orbit and prepared to make the time-space
jump to Time Central, Landorian turned to Floyd and asked a question.
     "Who were those two?"
     "Two members of something called the Federation who claimed to be
marooned on Earth."
     "Where did you find them?" asked Ian.
     "They were in the galley switching the deep fryer on and off in an
attempt to beam a passing streetwalker into the ship."
     "Did they succeed?" asked Ian in a monotone.
     Landorian smiled. "That's one of the things I missed about you, Ian.
That dry sense of humor."


Well, probably not as he isn't in the area often, but just in case, stay
'tooned to "Who Framed/Censored Roger Rabbit?"

***** Appended 18:43:56 on 09/06/88, Posting #   309 *****
From:        Scott McGuire (89SGM at WILLIAMS)

/subject Prologue to a new plotline

There was a soft pop in Altiverse #233 (Don'ttryitAuthorsonly) as a
figure appeared in the dim light.  He looked around, listened to the
wind rustling the foliage of the dimension, noted the large, rather
dim, star setting on the horizon.  He sneezed at the dust.  He cleared
his throat.

"Sabre?" he asked tentatively.  "Cowboy?  Pat?  Nathan?"  There was no
reply.  Shaking his head, he began to examine the contents of the
Altiverse, all of which were rather dusty.  In the dim light he found
abandoned manual typewriters; some dry fountain pens; crumpled
manuscript pages; and some old outdated terminals which didn't have
enough buttons.

There was an iron stairwell going down to somewhere - the figure though
it best not to investigate at the moment - and a pool which hadn't been
cleaned recently.

"Geez, where ARE those guys?" the figure (who happened to be Scott
McGuire, a SFSTORY author who had been gone for the summer) exclaimed.

At the poolside he found a chair with the play "A Midsummer's Night's
Dream" and some doctor's bills.  On another chair, there was a copy of
the Book.  The figure sat down on what he took for a cushion and
thumbed through it.  It looked rather promising - several new authors,
wild plots involving Dr. Young and dictionaries (hey, was she here?
No, that was another Altiverse), the Destructionvax5 megaplot.  But the
last entry was dated a suspiciously long time ago, for SFSTORY.

He couldn't tell what had happened to Omegas and Quooth, who he'd last
left in The Bend, because some of the pages of the Book were missing
(specifically, those equivalent to SFSTORY v3n016 to v3n018).  Where
would he fit into the new plot?

His cushion squirmed beneath him.  Good grief, he realized, he was
sitting on the plot weaving!  He jumped up and examined it.  "Good
lord, what a mess!" he exclaimed.  The plot and subplot threads were
hopeless tangled together.  Several had been patched with tape where
they'd become frayed.  He didn't recognize an awful lot of the
character threads.

"I'm not going to deal with this," he decided, "good thing I thought up
a new plot over the summer.  Hope no one minds..."  There was no answer
from the deserted altiverse, so he held his hands up, and drew new
threads between his fingers...






We'll see in a few days in the new adventures of SFSTORY!

***** Appended 22:06:59 on 09/15/88, Posting #   310 *****
Subject:     The Dark Lord      {SM1}
From:        Scott McGuire (89SGM at WILLIAMS)

(* Warning: this is a new plot.  It does not follow from any of the
previous postings. *)

It was night, but the city was bright as it burned with fire.  Hyndale
crouched beneath his restaurant's window, peering out at the other people
running past and the other shops burning.  Some of his fellow citizens fell
as laser bolts spread through the crowd; he could hear the organized
trample of shock troops catching up with the fleeing crowds.  Armored
hovercraft flew through the smoke filled skies, dropping bombs and making
announcements demanding the immediate surrender of the city, and thus
planetary, government.  His planet was being invaded by the J'lea Imperium.

It wouldn't be too long before the troops started checking the shops -
those that weren't burning to the ground - for escapees.  Hyndale briefly
whished he ran a weapons shop; Interplanetary Pastas weren't good
weapons.  The best he'd been able to do was spread Coussaran pasta in
front of the door.  Coussaran pasta was very hard and very round, so
hopefully a few of the J'lean soldiers would slip on their way in.  But
after that they'd find him, or simply atomize his restaurant for the
insult they suffered at the doorway.  Hyndale decided to run for it.

He got up and ran to the back door into the alley behind the shops.  The
troops didn't have time to search the minor streets yet; but otherwise
they'd done a pretty thorough job for having invaded only a few hours
ago.  People were huddled in the alley.  A few motioned for him to come
hide behind (or in!) the dumpsters with them, but he hastened over the
fence towards the hovercraft garage.  With any luck his 'craft would be
intact, and he could head for the country.

He wouldn't have even tried it if he had an average hovercraft, but a
recent visit by Coussaran dignitaries had been very lucrative and he'd
bought a sports 'craft, with a top speed of 500 klomers.  He smiled whne
he realized the Coussarans wouldn't be pleased with his most recent

The 'craft garage had been bombed, like so much else; but his 'craft was
on the first floor and had managed to escape the falling rubble of the
top floors.  Hyndale got in and gunned the engine, the stored energy from
the solar power converters forcing the air intakes to suck in the dusty
air.  The regular exit was blocked, so he flew the bright red 'craft
through a gap in the garage's wall and shifted gears into an illegally
fast speed.

His best bet was to stay close to the tops of the buildings, where the
smoke would hide him.  He sped across the capital city, approaching top
speed.  The radio was either full of static or the surrender
announcements.  He turned it off.

He wqs gritting his teeth in satisfaction as the city limits approached
when a huge black hovercraft descended from the clouds, directly in from
of him.


"All troops converging on the capitol buildings," a technician said.  The
tactical display showed a map of the city, with the capitol a yellow dot,
and the advancing troops a multitude of red dots as each trooper's
transponder indicated his position.  The red dots formed a closing circle
around the yellow dot.  Outside this circle were some random, unmoving
red dots indicating dead troopers; and beyond the city limits more red
dots appeared as the second wave landed.

A figure dressed in black nodded, and then walked up to the piloting
deck.  Technicians and pilots moved their hands over the controls,
piloting his hovercraft towards the capitol so that he could assume
control of the government when it surrendered.  As they always did before
the force of the J'lean Imperium.

He was dressed in black robes covering a black protective suit (about the
thickness and texture of leather, but essentially impenetrable by
projectile weapons and highly resistant to laser fire), black gloves, and
a dark silvery belt which holstered two guns.  He had a handsome,
angular, and cleanshaven face and short black hair; he held himself
straight as a board and with a very definite aristocratic arrogance.  He
was the Dark Lord Brigoni, head of one of the five great families of
J'lea, making him one of the five rulers of the Imperium.

"Battle screens on?" he asked, staring out the observation window at the
burning city.

"Yes, my lord," a pilot answered.  Brigoni doubted they needed it; this
planet was not know to have a significant defensive force.

"What is that?" he inquired, nodding at a red speck accelerating across
the rooftops towards his command 'craft.

"It is a native 'craft, heading towards us at 450 klomers," one of the
piloting crew said, staring into his readout.  As they spoke, the native
'craft changed from a red dot into a red hovercraft.  "Advise, my lord,
it may be on a collision course.  At its speed it could penetrate our

"Full strength to forward screens!" barked Brigoni.

"Sufficient tensile strength in front to repel attack now, my lord."

The Dark Lord waited for the 'craft to angle up and smash into the

And instead it sped straight underneath them.


Hyndale glanced over his shoulder.  The monster hovercraft had slowed,
and then stopped.  It hadn't even fired on him!  It was still sitting
there.  Something that big, though, must be carrying someone important.
Hyndale wondered if it was one of the Dark Lords.  It didn't matter;
whoever it was, was now far behind him, and he was on his way to safety.


"Aim communcations beam at that craft and open a channel," Brigoni
commanded.  A vague jealous thought came to him.  He had never owned a
'craft that fast!

A com beam, sparking green against the smoke and dust from the city,
appeared behind the command 'craft.  "Native craft, halt immeadiately or
you will be destroyed," Brigoni said.

Hyndale heard the voice - com beams didn't need specific receivers these
days, they merely created the appropriate vibrations in the air at their
destination - and recognized it immediately.  Dark Lord Brigoni.  Not the
evillest of the five Lords, but evil enough.  Should he stop, surrender,
and hope that Brigoni had mercy, or rather hope that his small 'craft was
speedier than that behemoth?  He decided to keep going.

The native 'craft didn't stop.  "Com beam off," Brigoni said.  He began
to play with the controls.

The technicians stepped aside, of course, but they were slightly puzzled
when the order to destroy the 'craft didn't come immediately.

Brigoni stepped back from the controls.  "Aft view."  The observation
port shifted to show the view from behind, where the red hovercraft could
be seen disappearing in the distance.  A thin orange beam shot out and
destroyed it, the smoke of its destruction mingling with the smoke from
the city.  He nodded with satisfaction and walked back to the tactical
disply, where the red dots of his soldiers were massed around the yellow
dot of the capitol.  "Full speed ahead!" he shouted.  The command craft
surged forward.

Elsewhere in the large hovercraft, in the Dark Lord's personal cabin,
there was a faint whirring as a paper curled out of his computer
terminal's slot.  It was a blow-up holo of Hyndale's hovercraft, showing
clearly the model and make.  It fell into the printout bin.

Back in the command area, Dark Lord Brigoni of the J'Lean Imperium
frowned as the tactical showed his command 'craft moving towards the
yellow dot.  His shoulders sagged almost imperceptibly.  The Dark Lord
suddenly felt that he was growing weary of his job.


(* Note:  To distinguish this from the other plots (hopefully avoiding
some confusion), until the time in which this plot will become involves
with them, I am putting a (sm) after each subject line.  For those of
you who are wondering, this plot takes place far enough away from the
rest of SFSTORY that none of the other characters have ever heard of
the J'Lean Imperium, except maybe for a small entry in the Time Police
Central computer banks. *)

***** Appended 13:42:46 on 09/17/88, Posting #   311 *****
Subject:     Character Summary
From:        Patrick McCoy (enldc8c at buacca)

Welcome to a new fall semester SF_STORY fans! In honor of the new term,
here's a brief character summary of my plotlines:

Space Commander Buzz Williams: Professor Emeritus of Interstellar U. who is,
theoretically, doing research on how overspecialization and the relaxation
of core course requirements has weakened the Space Hero. He is in his eighties
and is still using the 1920s-40s style of space heroics as well as the 1920s-
40s equipment. He is the most experienced Space Hero in the story but is
severely limited in his steadfast refusal to modernize. He has several known
civilizations which are out to get him (The Kang T'ung and the Schimmitarians
are just two examples). He is currently trying to get off Schimmitar Prime
with his companions.

Tachi: This 3' 2", cute, furry mauve creature was the first character
introduced in this plotline. He is the Zen Master of the Sci-Fi Shotgun and
is Enlightened (as most Zen Masters are wont to be). He is also a student of
Zen and the Art of Chineese Cooking and makes a mean Peking Duck.

Bert: Bert, the second character introduced, is a rather ordinary Fungoid
Tetrapod who is rather easily impressed. He is studying Space Heroics
Sidekicking and is doing an excellent job of it.

Toni "Williams": Toni is the ex-succubus who was trained as an assassin in
Hell soon after her arrival in this plotline form Lord Sabre's plotline. She
was then returned to humanity but with an unusual twist: she's a rather
powerful psychic. She has been adopted, in spirit, as Buzz's grandaughter with
Tachi and Bert functioning as older and younger brothers respectively. She
origionally sold her soul to become the best cheerleader of her high school
and is good friends with Trudy Tetwaters, who can be seen in Lord Sabre's

Intergalactic Admiral Skip Carson: This Dislexic retired Admiral has a peg leg
due to a drunken bet with a Teaching Assistant at IU that he couldn't escape
from the new High-Tech Ankle Locks. Unfortunately, he bit off the wrong foot.
He is currently in the McCoy Medical Facility of IU under the name of Andy
Sommers following a battle with the Destructionvax5 Sattelite's Drones.

Time Police Internal Investigations Agent Captain Ian Lockheed: He looks
and sounds exactly like Sting as all members of his branch of the Time Police
look and sound exactly like Earth Celebrities. He is currently tracking down
Time Police Chief Logan, who is a Dvax5 plant.

Time Police Internal Investigations Agent Lieutennant Floyd Cobalt: A blue
version of Tippy Turtle. He is Ian Lockhees's partner, co-pilot and is Medical
Officer of the Syncronicity II, Lockheeds ship.

Time Police Internal Investigations Agent Captain Sean Landorian: Ian's
former partner and good friend. He looks exactly like Billy Dee Williams and is
helping Lockheed on the case.

Next Posting: The Bad Guys (boo, hiss)

***** Appended 12:42:39 on 09/19/88, Posting #   312 *****
Subject:     The Bad Guys...
From:        Patrick McCoy (enldc8c at buacca)

Here they love to hate them...the McCoy rougues gallery!

Commander Cutebuns: Former commander of the Kang T'ung Imperial Starship
Deathmonger which was destroyed by Space Commander Buzz Williams. His uncle
was a member of the T'ung men's shotputter team which Buzz lead the attack
against in the battle which was thought to have whiped out the T'ung.
He is assisted by Major Dormo and Major Ette. It is unknown if he and
his staff survived the explosion of the Deathmonger.

Interstellar University's Provost: While not an actual life and limb threat,
he does hold the purse strings on the IU Space Heroics Department. He and Buzz
Williams have an antagonistic relationship.

Sherif the Mad: The aging leader of Schimmitar Prime who, in his youth, fought
Space Commander Buzz Williams over the Star Bomb. The Creation of this weapon
lead to the construction of the first Destructionvax Sattelite.

Sherif the Madder: Son of Sherif the Mad and heir apparent. He is a young and
inexperienced villian but what he lacks in experience he makes up for in
youthful energy.

The Destructionvax5 Sattelite: A big powerful Sattelite out to control the
multiverse and conspirator with Sherif the Mad and his son.

***** Appended 12:56:48 on 09/19/88, Posting #   313 *****
Subject:     Wherin a very little happens
From:        Eric, Lord Sabre (enll6ac at buacca)

     Matt sat grumbling next to the TARDIS control console.  For the
first time in a few hundered entries, he wasn't with Linda, the woman
that he lo--er...well...I mean...he REALLY liked her...well, maybe
that was a bit strong...but he um....CARED for her--yeah, that was
reasonably definate....
     Not only was this happening, but now he was stuck with Radar
and the Intern, who had been unable to perform any of their usual
sexual calisthenics until now, which meant Matt was alone in the
TARDIS control room, watching the TARDIS tracer that was following
the TARDIS of Aleciseon, who had the young, present version of
Trudy Tetwaters, which was bad as the older, future version of
Trudy suddenly wasn't the true future and was fading away, except
she had been placed in the TARDIS zero room where the level of bordom
was so high it even slowed down temporal damage.
     "Help!" shouted Matt, "I'm caught in a plot summery!!!!!!"
     The Intern, looking far more refreshed, and Radar, fairly glowing
with burnt-out sexual energy (Matthew's trademark blush creeping onto
his face) stepped out of their room, the Intern wearing his light
blue jumpsuit, Radar wearing a sweatsoaked skintight candy-apple red
danskin leotard that immediatly caused every male reader of the story
to double over in literal pain and caused Dr. Young to scream and
fume as Sabre had moved out of Dictionary range.
     But I wouldnae count on her not exacting revenge.
     "Hmmmm...well, Matt.  I'm certain the summery's about over, and we
should be reaching Alecision's TARDIS soon enough.  After all, my TARDIS
is a few model numbers higher than his, and he isn't moving."
     "Not moving?  Why not?"
     "Because he wants to keep Trudy where he can seduce her off the path
of heroism long enough so that Future Trudy definatly doesn't exist.
     "Oh.  Do you have a different set of clothes for me?  I'm sick
of this Goofy suit."
     "Sure--lemme check out what I have in stock."
     Twenty minutes later, Matt DeForrest was wearing a tan cotton
shirt, tan cargo pants, leather cavalry boots, his leather bomber
jacket, and his Heavy Duty Death to all Personal Nuker in a low slung
leather holster.  He felt much much better.
     Of course, that was where the trouble started.


These answers and many many many others will be found in Sfstory
Csnotice, back for Fall, better than ever, and the only csnotice
where we habitually ignore the imbedded blank as if the Netgods had
never altered it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

***** Appended 20:10:17 on 09/19/88, Posting #   314 *****
Subject:     The Return of 357
From:        The Cowboy (CFW9587 at TNTECH)

In alterverse 722, the HMS Golden Lance was in orbit around a desolate
asteroid.  Inside, Time Agent 357, liscenced space hero and Champion of
Truth, Justice, and the Ability to Consume Large Amounts of Alcohol, was
working to repair his ship.  In between re-repairing the life support
systems for the tenth time and trying to bend the Hypertechnical Orange
Thingy back into shape, he paused to consider how he had reached this

He recalled how he had awakened from a drunken stupor to find that the
universe had not ended at the appointed time as his computer had predicted.
After having a run-in with Satan, Prince of Darkness and Duke of Smelly
Feet, he launched his ship in an effort to discover what the hell was going
on.  He was helped, and often hindered, by several companions: Bubba, Joe
the Mailman, Ralph, Zark Flyby, Mark Hyperthrust, Wile E. Coyote, his old
friend the Intern, Radar Vogel, Steve Vogel, and most importantly, Doctor
Bing Von Spleen, the cleanest-complexioned Spamologist in the known galaxy.

He also recalled how he and Dr. Spleen had found a primitive WORM disk
containing, among other things, the location of the Destructionvax satellite
and the access codes necessary to destroy Its omnivax core.  They placed it
in a Hellacious Emergency Life Pod (or HELP) and launched it just before
alterverse 721 was destroyed by Bedlam Central's defence systems.

357 stopped recalling and started mentally kicking himself for getting into
this mess.  He was stranded in a strange alterverse with no Spam, no ABPSAR,
and worst of all, no VAL9000 supercomputer, his long-time companion whose
systems had been badly damaged by the 27 omnidangerous computer accounts
that had attempted to steal back the WORM disk.

On a hunch, 357 repaired the ships communications circuitry, just in time to
receive an urgent message.

"Time Ensign G.X.P. Varneyloop LXVII calling Time Agent 357!" came the
transmission from a tall, blue-skinned humanoid.

"357 here," 357 answered.  "What's up, Varney?"

Varneyloop's image appeared on the one undamaged viewscreen in the command
room.  357 noted that Varney appeared to be in a cell of some kind.

"I'm in a cell of some kind," said Varney.  "I returned to Time Central on
the orders of the new chief, Logan.  When I got here, he threw me in a cell.
He's a lackey for the Destructionvax satellite."

"Neddlewarp!" cursed 357.  "I thought Radar and the Intern would have
destroyed that thing by now."

"Nope.  The Omnivax Core has every character in SFSTORY (damn the underline)
running aroud in circles."

357 considered for a moment.  "Just sit tight, Varney.  I'll rescue you as
soon as I can."

Varneyloop shook his blue head.  "Negative, 357.  That's just what the
Omnivax Core wants.  That's why Chief Logan let me keep my Dick Tracy
wristwatch; so I could contact you and lead you here.  Besides, you have
more important things to take care of."

"Like what?" asked 357, definitely worried.

"According to what I've heard around here, Chief Logan is deathly afraid of
two characters named Omegas and Quooth.  Some nonsense about them being on
some sort of secret quest.  Supposedly, the reason for their quest is to
reveal Logan as a traitor, although he claims they are not yet aware of this."

"So you think I should find Omegas and Quooth and bring them to Time Central?"

"Yeah," said Varney.  "Logan is ready to crack, and when the best Time Agent
that ever existed shows up with the two that he thinks will destroy him,
he'll flip out totally and we can clean up the Interstellar Time Police."

This lightened 357's mood considerably.  "Good thinking!  I'll be there as
soon as I can.  357 out."

"Varneyloop out."

Knowing that time was of the essence, Time Agent 357 redoubled his efforts
at repairing the HMS Golden Lance.  Luckily, the next piece of equipment he
got going again was the automatic repair system, which took over the repairs
and promised him a reasonably repaired ship by the beginning of the next
entry.  Even luckier, he discovered that the ship's fuel bin still contained
several kilos of Spam, which he knew would somehow play a part in the
upcoming entries.

Will Time Agent 357 find Omegas and Quooth and stop Chief Logan?
Will other authors try to mess up my attempt to re-renter SFSTORY?
Will my next entry be funnier?
Blah, blah, blah...

***** Appended 23:15:27 on 09/19/88, Posting #   315 *****
Subject:     The Rebel     {SM2}
From:        Scott McGuire (89SGM at WILLIAMS)

"Prepare to transport me down," Dark Lord Brigoni said to the technicians
on his command deck.  He prepared to leave the deck, but stopped to look at
the tactical display.  The red dots representing his second wave troops
were evenly spread over the city, rounding up survivors and herding them
into temporary shelters until they could be organized into work groups.
They shot those who resisted.  His first lieutenant was also studying the
display.  "I am going to my cabin, and will meet you in the transporter
room in three minutes," Brigoni said to him, "bring an elite guard of ten."

"Yes, my lord," the lieutenant replied softly, leaning on the display,
still apparently absorbed in it.  Another planet smashed into submission by
the J'lean Imperium, he thought.

He would eagerly kill Brigoni now, but his orders were strict:  no action
was to be taken until there were R'nthrei agents in the confidence of all
five Dark Lords.  This might still take some time, but then they would all
act simultaneously, disposing of the Dark Lords in an instant.  Then the
R'nthrei Movement would show its true force, and hopefully overthrow the

Hopefully, because the J'lean Imperium was an amazingly efficient empire.
Control of the Imperium was divided five ways between the great families;
each part mostly autonomous but aiming towards the same goal; thus each was
responsible only for its own bureaucratic load.  Any action involving the
whole of the Imperium was coordinated by the Dark Lords themselves.
Loyalty between the houses was insured first by a ten generations old
working relationship, and second by hostages from the other four families
held by each individual house.  The hostages were given spacious estates as
befitted their status (they were from the other Dark Lord's immediate
family), but at the slightest hint of betrayal, the members of the
offending house were to be executed.  It was a deterrent that had cemented
the families into the J'lean Imperium for three generations.  To destroy an
efficient empire, one needed and even more efficient rebellion.

The R'nthrei Movement considered itself such.  Galwyn thought of himself.
To become the first lieutenant on a Dark Lord's command vessel was an
impressive achievement for someone who was not of the five great families
(although he was a pure J'lean), and an impossible achievement for a
R'nthrei member.  Yet here he was.  He looked at his wristchron, and saw
that he had twenty seconds to arrive in the transporter room.

He left the command deck with an efficient, brisk walk, calling out for an
elite guard as he went.  Nineteen seconds later he met the elite guard on
the transport pad, and Brigoni walked in one second later.  Galwyn saw
Brigoni slipping a rolled paper into one of his robe's pockets.  Briefly,
Galwyn wondered what it was; but he would find out.  There was, in fact,
very little about the Dark Lord's plans that he didn't know.

They were waiting for him on the pad, Brigoni saw.  His ten elite guards,
all of members of the L'vindi family, stood at attention, their helmets set
squarely on their heads, their tactical visors down, their flat black
protective suits, and their laser rifles ready.  And First Lieutenant
Galwyn, punctual as ever, a sharp contrast to the elite guards:  his
longish curly blond hair, his dark red protective suit, his alert eyes
shining.  Clearly not a L'vindi, or in fact any of the five families.  But
all of them wore the L'vindi crest, two black arcs on a red background,
with a hairline silver arc set inside each black arc.  As Brigoni moved on
to the transport pad next to Galwyn, he reached into another of his robe
pockets, withdrew his silver circlet with the crest set in the center, and
placed it on his head.

Brigoni had worked with many lieutenants before, most of them from his
family, but Galwyn was in a class by himself.  It was a pity that he was
not from one of the five; First Lieutenant was probably as far as he would
go.  But would Galwyn want to be a Dark Lord anyway? he though abruptly.
Would anybody?  Brigoni dismissed the thoughts, but a vague dissatisfaction

Galwyn saw the sour look cross Brigoni's face.  Everyone else in the room
probably missed it, but Galwyn knew the Dark Lord's expressions well enough
to tell that something was not in order.  He worried that he had done
something to arouse suspicion, but did not let the worry show.

"Transport us down," Brigoni ordered.  The technician applied pressure to a
button, and the Dark Lord's entourage faded away noiselessly.

They reappeared in the state room of the planet's capitol building, which
the command hovercraft floated over.  The room was full of people - troops
from the first invasion wave, the Minister Prime and his heads of state,
and now the elite guard, Brigoni, and Galwyn.  The Minister Prime, seated
behind his desk, looked even more depressed when he saw Brigoni.  "His Lord
Brigoni L'vindi of the J'lean Imperium," announced Galwyn.

Brigoni nodded in acknowledgment.  "Relieve the troopers," Brigoni said to
the elite guard.  The troopers left and the elite guards took their place
at the perimeter of the room.  "Minister Prime Wisener of Jarma, I have
come to assume your duties as governor of this planet."

Wisener changed from depressed to defiant.  "By what authority?" he

Brigoni slowly indicated the elite guard with an outstretched hand, and
then the Minister's window.  The Minister looked out, and saw the capitol
lawns occupied by armored 'craft and J'lean troopers.  Brigoni brought his
hand in and subtly indicated his own person.

"By what reason?" asked Wisener.

"The J'lean Imperium, protector and administrator of nearby parsecs, in an
attempt to unify this arm of the galaxy, has moved to offer your planet our
services, in exchange for the use of the resources of your planet."

The Imperium had damn well nearly succeeded in bringing the entire arm
under their "protection" and "administration," Galwyn thought.  The
question was, what was the "protection" from, when the Imperium was the
only threat?

"To this end," Brigoni continued, "I have come to insure that the
unification proceeds smoothly."

"Will I still be Minister?"  Wisener knew the answer, but he was desperate
to stall for time until... until... he realized that he knew of no way to
avoid the yoke of the J'lean Imperium.  They had been contacted by the
R'nthrei Movement recently, as Jarma had been one of the free planets; but
the Imperium apparently knew this and moved in before the Movement could.

The Dark Lord shook his head, possibly regretful.  "It is not the
Imperium's policy to allow current planetary rulers to continue in their
present capacity.  A job will be provided for you, however."

"Then I suppose," Wisener said, getting up from his chair, "that I may as
well leave, and wait until that time."

A motion, and two of the elite restrained him.  The rest of the Minister
Prime's advisors had done nothing and did nothing now, as they very aware
of the laser rifles that the elite guards had aimed at them.  "I am afraid
not, Minister Prime.  It will be necessary for you to announce to your
people that I have assumed your position."

"Do it yourself!" spat Wisener.

Brigoni walked over to the Minister.  He stared at him straight in the eye.
"I advise you to do it voluntarily.  Is there a videocom transmitter in
this building?"

"I wouldn't know!"

Brigoni's weariness grew.  This was the most difficult part of assuming
control.  "Galwyn, find it."

"Yes, my lord," Galwyn said, leaving the room.

"The J'lean Imperium has come to join your planet to it," the Dark Lord
said coldly, "We are not leaving.  And if you are not willing to
co-operate, I am sure one of these others will, as I shall remember them
and not you."  He looked at the other heads of state.

One of them, a balding man, stepped forward.  "I will aid you."

Brigoni allowed his lips to turn up into a slight smile.  "Good.  You come
with me.  Elite guard, watch the rest."  He gave Wisener one last stare,
and then opened another of the doors leading out of the office.  "Is this a
private room?" he asked the balding man.

"Yes, my lord," he said.  Brigoni entered, rather sickened by the
sycophant.  Still, a means to an end.  He closed the door behind them.

"You are aware that I am armed and fully trained in combat," Brigoni said,
parting his robes to make the two guns in their holsters clearly visible.
"Now, my lieutenant is getting the videocom equipment, on which you will
make the announcement if the Minister continues to refuse.  Your task is to
get one of these for me."  He took a rolled paper out of his pocket, and
showed it to the man.  It was the holo of Hyndale's red sports hovercraft,
which Brigoni had recently destroyed.  "Exactly that make."

The man, puzzled, began to sweat, but swallowed and said, "Yes, my lord."

Brigoni held the holo, looking at it for one more brief second, before
handing it to the bald man.  "Good."  He strode back into the governor's


***** Appended 14:14:52 on 09/20/88, Posting #   316 *****
Subject:     Quooth and Omegas, a rescue from the Bend
From:        The Cowboy (CFW9587 at TNTECH)

Two beings stood on a hill on a planet circling a star in the Bend.  They were
looking over the remains of a scoutship, which had apparently crashed with some
force into the planet.  The first was a tall ex-immortal who would remind one
of Micheal Dorn, who plays Worf on Star Trek: The Next Generation.  The second
was a short insectoid who would remind one of a four-foot tall blue grass-
hopper, who would scare the pants off any gardener.  The first turned to
the second and began to speak.

"Good going, Bug," snarled Omegas.  "So much for your damn quest."

"If you will recall, Rude One," responded Quooth, "it was your piloting that
caused us to crash."

"Only because you blew that damn harmonica in my ear."

"That's 'holy,' not 'damned.'  As in 'Holy Harmonica, the second most holy
(after the harp) musical instrument.'"

Omegas threw up his arms in frustration.  There was just no arguing with this
stupid bug.  "Yeah, which was given to you so that you could complete your
quest.  You've told me that a million times.  However, we're stranded here in
the Bend with no ship.  What happens to your silly quest now?"

Quooth considered for a minute, phis (as phe was neither a male nor a female
Wzaxtil, but neuter, and therefor had phis own set of pronouns) antennae
quivering.  "I'm sure that if our Quest is destined to succeed, we will be
supplied with some means of transportation."

"Yeah.  Right," drawled Omegas in sarcastic tones.  "Like, some ship is just
going to come blasting down here, open the front door, and invite us in so
we can complete the Quest."

At that very moment, the sky above t(p)hem darkened.  The HMS Golden Lance
came blasting down for a landing next to t(p)hem.  The forward hatch openned,
and a voice issued from the loudspeakers.  "Get in.  I'm here to help you
complete your Quest."

Quooth quickly dashed into the ship.  Omegas followed somewhat slower, as
his bottom jaw was dragging the ground.  The hatch closed and the ship
launched itself into space.  Quooth turned to face phis companion.  "Well,
Rude One?" phe said.  "Does this not prove that this quest is valid?"

"All this proves," snarled Omegas as he wrestled his bottom jaw back into
place, "is that the author is going out of his way to bring us back into the
main plot."

"Actually, it proves a great deal more than that," came a quiet, but
intimidating voice from behind them.  The two swirled around, and saw behind
them the intimidating form of Time Agent 357.  Quooth jumped up in surprise,
throwing phis harmonica into the air, causing it to play "God Bless America"
on it's way up and an off-key rendition of the "Cheers" theme on the way down.
Omegas recognized 357, and so did not jump, but did have to sidestep to
avoid the falling harmonica.

"Excitable, isn't he?" mumbled 357.

"'Phe,'" corrected Omegas.

"Oh, yeah.  Let's get phim into sickbay.  Phe took a nasty blow to the head
when phe landed."  With that, 357 deftly picked up the insectoid, and headed
off to the rear of the ship.  Omegas followed, pausing only long enough to
pocket the harmonica.  After placing Quooth under the care of the diagnostic
computer, they proceeded to the control room.

"What a mess!" exclaimed Omegas as he scanned the control room.  Wires,
panels, semiconductors, and half-eaten pizzas littered the room.  The
science panel looked as if its guts had been ripped out and installed in the
navigations panel.  Powerfeeds criss-crossed underfoot, and the smell of
ozone filled the air.  "You must have had one bitchin' party."

"Not really," answered 357 as he bent a sheet of durasteel with his bare
hands.  "We had a little run-in with Destructionvax5."  He paused and
glanced meaningfully towards Omegas.  "But, of course, you know about that."

Omegas looked confused.  "Sorry, but I know nothing of the Destructionvax5.
I never had reason to work with any superaccounts."

Now 357 looked confused.  "But isn't your secret quest to expose Chief Logan
as a Dvax lackey, and eventually destroy the Dvax5 satellite?"

"First of all, 357, it's not 'my' quest, but 'phis' quest," said Omegas,
jerking his thumb towards the rear of the ship, obviously meaning the
incapacitated insectoid.  "Secondly, I have no idea what the quest is.
Thirdly, I'm more than half convinced that phe doesn't know what the quest is
either.  Fourthly, if what I gather from the back issues of SFSTORY you have
laying around here is accurate, phe started this quest long before the Dvax
started acting up."

"Gulp," gulped 357 gulpedly.  "All the information I received from Time Ensign
G.X.P. Varneyloop LXVII is false.  That must mean that Varney is a Dvax
plant as well!"  (We pause here while 357 paraphrases his conversation with
his ex-partner in which the Quest is specifically mentioned.)

"Sounds like a setup, alright," agreed Omegas.  "If we waltz into Time
Central right now we don't stand a chance."

357 thought for a moment.  "We have to get this ship repaired, then pick up
an old friend of mine from netherspace, and then sneak into Time Central.
The tough part will be repairing the ship."

Omegas smiled.  He stood up and stretched out his arms.  Arcs of electric
fire shot from his fingertips and danced about the ship.  A blinding flash
of light, accompanied by a roll of thunder, temporarily blinded and deafened
357.  When he was able to see again, he saw that the ship was completely

"I seem to have regained some of my former powers," said Omegas, leaning
heavily against the wall.  Before 357 could thank him, he slid to the floor.

=Ohhhh, my aching transistors,= moaned Val, the ship's VAL9000 computer.


only time will tell...

***** Appended 23:34:47 on 09/20/88, Posting #     2 *****
Subject:     Wherein Zark gets a new mission.
From:        Nathan Irwin (UD140680 at NDSUVM1)

     Meanwhile, back on Earth; in North Dakota, to be exact, the sixty
thousand North Dakotans (former slaves to the diabolical Ivan Biggfeet),
having milled about and looted the city of Minot (see previous postings)
for nearly four months were beginning to get bored.  Eventually,
someone suggested that they invade the nearby Minot Air Force Base,
steal the F-18 fighters stationed there, and use said fighters to wreak
havoc on the western world.

     Since Tuesday is inevitably a slow day in North Dakota, everyone

     Due to an incredibly complex plot contrivance on the part of the
author, the North Dakotans happened upon sixty thousand lead pipes on
their way to Minot AFB.  And so, twenty minutes later, the aforementioned
North Dakotans forced their way into Minot AFB, clubbing officers and
aside as they did so.  Within an hour, they had overrun the entire base.

     Having overrun the base the North Dakotans proceeded to board the
F-18 fighters, started up their engines, and took off into the wild blue
yonder.  Due to yet ANOTHER inexplicable plot contrivance, all the
fighters were fully fueled and armed.

     Shortly after they were airborne, the North Dakotans began to wonder
about what they should do next.  After all, what does one DO with three
squadrons of F-18 fighter-bombers, after stealing them from the U.S. Air
Force?  No one had a clue, and some of the North Dakotans had begun
making noises about forgetting the whole thing and going fishing.

     Just then a dark sinister voice came crackling over their radios.

     "North Dakotans," said the voice, "I have seen that you are without
a plan; without guidance.  Let me guide you.  You must fly to Annaheim,
California, and bomb Disneyland into rubble.  It is a place of decay,
corruption, and sin.  It is very un-North Dakotan.  You must destroy
it utterly."

     "Yes, SIR." said the North Dakotans, in unison, as if hypnotized.

     "Very GOOD," said the voice, "It will be pleased.  MOST pleased, I

     Three hours later, the North Dakotans flew over the California-
Nevada border, on their way to destroy Disneyland.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

     Meanwhile, in deep space, aboard the WS Edwin Meese III:

     #Lieutenant Flyby?# said a voice from the ship's communications
console, #This is TIME CENTRAL, Lieutenant Flyby.  Are you THERE??#

     "OH!!  Er, umm.........," stammered Zark Flyby, Time Police
Lieutenant, Captain wanna-be, and commander of the Meese, "Umm...Yes.  I
AM here.  Um...., SIR!  What do you want, SIR?"

     #How's the assignment coming, Flyby?  Are you ready to attack the
Destructionvax5 computer yet?#

     "Err, well, no, sir.  You see, you haven't told me WHERE to bloody
thing IS."

     #OH!  Umm.... Never mind that, Flyby.  'The Chief' has another
mission for you.  VERY important, you understand?#

     "YES, sir.  Of COURSE, sir!  Whatever you......."

     #Shut up, Flyby.  Now get your tail over to Disneyland, back on
Earth.  Disneyland is being attacked by a sqaudron of fighters, and 'The
Chief' can't allow ANYTHING there to be harmed.  Do you understand?#

     "ABSOLUTELY, sir!"

     #Good.  Now, move your ASS, Lieutenant!  Time Central out.#

     "BUBBA," Zark screamed to his navigator, "Set a course for Earth,
Disneyland.  NOW!"   And the WS Edwin Meese III sped towards Earth at
top speed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

     By the time the Meese reached Disneyland, the North Dakotan assault
had nearly begun.

     "Criminies!" exclaimed Stu the Ghost, "There must be a HUNDRED
bombers out there.  How will we EVER stop them all, before they damage

     "I dunno." said Bubba, gravely.  Behind him, Zark set the ship's
weaponry to full power, a malevolant grin on his face.


Gee........I knew the answers, but I've gone and forgotten 'em.

***** Appended 02:04:40 on 09/22/88, Posting #     3 *****
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