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Sfstory Log 042

Subject:     If only Binky were here.
From:        Talk is Cheap (JBANKERT at SUNRISE)
Origin:      University of Maine BBS Processor (UMNEWS at MAINE)

        Han looked at Lando with what only could be described as disgust.
Lando looked at Han with what could only be described as disgust.  This
continued for a full fifteen minutes, and would have continued had not Anne and
her friend Janie pelted them on the back of their heads with cold herrings, and
reminded them gently that they were lonely, and the heaters on the waterbeds
were turned up to six.  Han grinned at Lando.  Lando grinned at Han.  This
continued for a full two minutes until Anne and Janie grabbed Han and Lando by
their hands and led them off to bed.
        The next docking bay over, in the RMS Winnebago II, the Andy looked
at Pierre, who looked at Sandro, who looked at- oh never mind, you get the
picture.  Anyway, they all wondered what was up next, and Andy pulled out a
list of things that Leviam00se told them not all that long ago that they would
have to do to find the Carrot-Leek drive.
        "Quest perilous?"
        "Exploding stars?"
        "Cliched characters?"
        "We haven't been in a battle yet."
        "Ah, here it is.  horrible disco music."
        "Sorry, no.  Only that John Denver stuff two postings ago."
        "Does it count?"
        "I'm not certain."
        The odd conversation between Andy ended as Pierre trailed off from his
reply to Andy's last question.


        The HMS Golden Lance warped into a close orbit around the planet of the
Supermarkets, inside the protective shield.  357 understood why a Carrot-Leek
drive was needed to get in here.  His ABPSAR was dead, and emergency batteries
had kicked in.  Life support and emergency lights were the only current active
systems.  357 muttered a curse, and headed back to engineering, where he cross
circuted the main power feed over to the Carrot-Leek drive reactor.  A few
tests and a check of the ABPSAR confirmed his initial suspicion.  SPAM was
inert inside this shield.  If he could find the generator, he could make a
        "357, what happened?"
        "Oh, nothing important.  The ABPSAR shut down after we entered here.
It seems that SPAM is inert inside the defensive shield.  I suspect other
conventional drive systems would suffer similarly."
        "So I'm running off power generated by that ridiculous vegetable matter
        "That's correct."
        "I'm mortified.  If the gals back at the pool ever here about this-"
        357 suppresed a smug grin as the ship's computer Mildred rambled on
about the ignominy involved in being dependent on a bunch of vegetable matter
for power, and filed away the information for future use.


        The Challenger II eased into a low earth orbit, her incredible journey
ended.  Down on Terra, anyone who was someone in every concievable space
program, and a quite a considerable number more outside that category where in
a furious uproar over the starting development of the Challenger II.  The US
space shuttle Atlantis was ordered to divert from current oribital trajectories
and plot an intercept orbit.  The crew aboard the Soviet Salyut III space
station abandoned her, leaving the station empty for the first time in a four
plus years, taking the Soyuz orbital vehicle to investigate.  Both arrived
almost at the same time, and had strict orders to claim salvage rights.  The
crews, knowing almost infinitely more about the situation than their respective
ground controls, which still amounted to practically nothing, ignored the
orders and considered them almost as stupid as spitting into a hundred mile an
hour wind.


        "Yes Janine."
        "I've arranged that meeting with Lost Author and Nigel.  Lost Author is
going to pick you up tomorrow, and you'll be heading over to Nigel's place."
        "Outstanding Janine.  Take the rest of the day off."
        "Sir, I've already worked an hour and a half overtime today."
        "Oh.  Well, take Monday off."
        "Yes Sir.  Thank you."
        "Think nothing of it."
        "Yes Sir."
        CHAOS Engineer kicked back, and said to himself that things couldn't
have been better if he had arranged them.  Now if only Satan would come around.


        Speaking of Satan, his unholiness, Satan T. Lucifer Jones, was getting
a trifle annoyed with things.  His other current source of employ, Sabre,
didn't have much work for him at the moment, and his other, CHAOS Engineer was
dragging his feet in a most irritating way.  How could he take over the
universe if these fools did not make a more concientious effort to arrange it.
He had this damn fool party line.  He had to admit that it was a stroke of
genius, indoctrinating these empty headed children to his ways with subliminal
messages in the commercials and reinforced subsonic commands over the lines.
But he need not wait another three months.  Records showed that at least ten
thousand had been calling on a sufficient basis to be ready to recieve final
programming.  Another seventy thousand were nearly there.  That left them only
twenty thousand short of the goal of one hundred thousand.  But eighty would be
enough.  Damn that author, dictating terms to him, Satan!
        "Elvis!" bellowed Satan.
        "Yes Master."  Elvis entered upon command, looking much better than he
had just before his death.  Satan thought Elvis was just another sinner sent to
hell to be punished.  What he failed to realize was that Elvis was really a
deep plant agent of BADASS (Big Awesome Dudes AgainSt Satan), who were plotting
to finally be ride of Satan, turn Hell into a theme park, and make incredible
sums of money from the theme park.
        "I want you to advance the programming levels on the party lines.  I
want the final programming phase to begin in two weeks max.  Start including an
alpha three sub layer on track seven to screen out final programming from those
not ready to recieve it."
        "Great Satan, are you sure that this is wise.  CHAOS Eng-"
        Satan interupted Elvis in mid setence with a howl of rage.  "How dare
you question ME!  And if you value you your existence, never speak that name
again!  NEVER!!"
        Elvis made a hasty placatory bow, mumbled an apology and
acknowledgement of orders, and hastily left Satan's off.  Elvis had never seen
Satan that vehement.  He well new that the plan would never work if not allowed
to mature.  In two weeks, only some seventy five to eighty thousand would be
ready, a good bit short of the goal of one hundred thousand, and nowhere's near
close to the more desireable one hundred thirty thousand.  Elvis had secretly
been adding a beta seven bi-layer meta frequency to all the programming tapes,
which would allow him and his fellow BADASS members to turn the programmed
subjects against Satan, and conquored Hell with their help, making any who
wished it junior partners in the theme park and freeing the those who did not.


        Back aboard the PDFOTS Alamo's Revenge, in two docking bays, certain
things were interupted by an insistent shout that demanded that they, the
occupants of their respective ships, come out and account for themselves.  The
interupted activities were along these lines:
        On the Milennium Eggplan, Han, Lando, Anne, and Janie were startled
whilst in the midst of certain bedroom gymnastics, the likes of which will
likely never happen again, since the initiation involved an incredibly rare
bottle of Quillixon Ice Brandy and the most bizzare quadruple handshake ever
completed and completely unreproducable.
        On the Winnebago II, the crew and started up a three team bridge
tournament.  The most interesting of the three matches involved Andy and
Raphael against Claude and Pierre.  Andy was rudely distracted, and misled the
two of clubs, allowing Claude to take the trick with his queen of hearts,
ruining what would have been a masterful grand slam that would have in the
annals of Bridge history as one of the most amazing ever played.
        So much for the whims of the author.




        Find out soon in SFStory!!!  It's not just a job, it's the fault of a
          diverse gene pool.

***** Received 19:32:19 on 03/02/90, Posting #    16 *****
Subject:     while in warpspace...
From:        The Tennessee Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)
Origin:      University of Maine BBS Processor (UMNEWS at MAINE)

The planet Mydol III of alterverse #823 has no moons.  Or, at least, had no
moons until a few moments ago.  At that time, four moons, bearing the name
tags Io, Callisto, Europa, and Ganymede appeared and assumed perfectly
circular orbits.  Perfectly circular orbits are nearly impossible to
achieve, especially around an oblong planet.  So unusual was this occurance
that most of the inhabitants of Mydol III choose to ignore it, in the hopes
that it would go away.  So adamant were they in their ignoring that they
didn't notice until several hours later that most power production on the
planet had stopped.

"This is terrible!" one inhabitant said to another.  "We're missing
Wrestlemania CXII!"

"Not only that," said the other, "but the beer is getting warm.  Quick, call
Harve and see if he has some ice."

Harve didn't have any ice, but he did have some information.  "Near as I can
tell, every matter-antimatter reactor in the system has shut down, leaving
us with only our few backup fusion generators.  Even our experimental ABPSAR
spaceships are without power.  It's almost as if some paranormal spacial
shift has taken place, rendering many atomic interactions destabilized."

But what could cause this?

"My best guess would be the sudden interdimensional transport of several
large masses into our alterverse."


Back on board the HMS As Yet Unnamed, Time Agent 386 was preparing to
receive guests.  "Alright, Connie.  Let's bring them aboard."

The Constance Series V supercomputer hastened to comply.  A lovely mauve
glow spread throughout the room as the two figures materialized.  One was an
unnactractive humanoid male in an armored battlesuit.  The other was a
weaseloid of questionable gender.

The armored figure stepped off the teleporter platform.  "I'm Captain Zark
Flyby of the Time Police, Public Relations Division!" he yelled at the top
of his lungs.

A tiny voice squeaked behind him.  "I'm Ralph the Giant Space Weasel from
Anthrax V.  Pleasure to make your aquaintance."

The weaseloid was about to go on, but was cut off by a blinding flash of
light coming through the viewport.  =There goes the other ship,= reported

"My ship!" yelled Zark.  "Alas, the Warpship Edwin Meese III is no more."
His sentimental quota met for the decade, he moved on to other business.
"So, where's the food?"

"Uh, through there," said 386, pointing over his shoulder.

"Righto!  Come along, Ralph!"  The two creatures made their way to the

386 sighed.  "How bizarre.  Connie, is he really with the Time Police?"

=Afraid so.  Ralph, on the other hand, has no affiliation with Time Central
at all, and was last seen on the Netherspace Nympho Beach, enjoying the
company of many female weaseloids.=

"Stranger and stranger."  386 was puzzled.  Zark Flyby zooming around in
space he could understand.  But a weaseloid giving up a life at the beach?
His musings were interupted by the "ping!" of an incoming message.

=Message from Time Central.  Jupiter's missing moons have just appeared
around Mydol III.  All forms of energy production more advanced than fusion
power are no longer functioning in that alterverse.=

Time Agent 386 was beginning to see a pattern.  "Connie, in how many
alterverses does SPAM lack its reality-altering power, necessitating a
Carrot-Leek drive for power?"

=Twelve alterverses, not counting The Planet of the Supermarkets with its
special ZipLock protective shield.=

"Twelve?  There are only supposed to be eight!"  Suddenly everything snapped
into clear focus.  "Our man with the pet black hole is transporting large
masses interdimensionally, destabilizing atomic interactions and rendering
most advanced power sources inert.  Without ABPSAR power, the Time Police
are powerless.  The multiverse would be fair game for whoever still had a
functioning power source!"

386 ran to the cockpit of his stout craft, which was still powering its way
through warpspace.  "Change in destination, Connie.  The Sage can't help us
now.  We're going to need real help.  Set course for Netherspace.  We're
going to find Doctor Bing Von Spleen, the man who invented the ABPSAR!"




and why do we have to end every posting with stupid questions?

***** Received 14:52:54 on 03/04/90, Posting #    17 *****
Subject:     Lost Author, episode 9
From:        The misquotation was not intended as a slur against
                                                 Bulgarians. (DICKSON at HARTFORD)
Origin:      University of Maine BBS Processor (UMNEWS at MAINE)

                                LOST AUTHOR #9
                                 Bill Dickson

     The whine of the engines slowly wound down, dropping in pitch and volume
until Pickle, the Lost Author, could no longer hear it.  A series of small
light stopped glowing, one after another, as various systems shut down in the
tiny Lancea.  The cockpit grew darker, and soon Pickle could see more in the
colossal landing bay outside than he could see in his own ship.
     There was a muffled CLANG behind him.  It resonated through the Lancea,
and Pickle knew that those huge bay doors had just slammed shut, trapping him,
for better or worse, inside the TOG-design destroyer.
     Pickle wondered idly why he had not been placed inside the fighter bay.
It seemed an awful waste of space, using an entire small craft bay up on him.
Perhaps the destroyer was carrying a full load of interceptors, and there was
no more room in the bay.
     Or perhaps the owner was unfamiliar with its operation?  Its somewhat
random, erratic movement and weapons fire earlier could be explained this way.
But no, Pickle thought, impossible.  People aren't simply placed in command of
gigantic, horrendously expensive starships if they don't know how to handle
     Something else was bothering him, too.  He and the computer had made up a
plausible answer for the spacial anomaly represented by his presence here.  But
what the computer hadn't told him was that the time had also changed.  He had
only noticed by accident, while making a minor log entry; apparently, the
computer was unaware that its own internal clock had shifted backwards several
hundred years.  Pickle had left a time when Tina Turner was centuries old; now,
it seemed that he was very close to the twentieth century.
     How had he come to be exactly when and where he needed to be?  Pickle was,
to be honest, mystified.
     A sensor on the control panel registered three approaching objects.  Speed
and size indicated that they were human.  Pickle switched on the outside
     The sound of footsteps echoing off metal filtered into the cockpit.
Almost immediately, three men rounded a corner and stopped, surveying the
Lancea and the two ships that had been pulled in with it.  Pickle felt like a
voyeur for a moment -- though he could see the three figures in the small craft
bay, he knew that his cockpit was opaque from outside.
     They were an odd assortment.  The one in the lead was a huge man,
resembling in every way a stereotype that Pickle vaguely remembered from a
previous life (no, really).  Behind him was another man who looked like an
astronaut-type, and a young man who couldn't have been more than thirteen years
     Suddenly, the leader spoke, his voice booming in the bay.  "Alright now,
let's find out what in Tarnation is going on.  Hey, you pardners in the ships!
Get on out here and give an accountin' of yourselves!"
     This is it, Pickle thought.  He shut the ship down completely, leaving
only power to the cockpit hatch, and prepared to make himself known.
     Then he stopped.  It was too bad, he thought, that such a dramatic moment
as this was not going to be recorded, or even performed properly.  It should be
cinematic.  At the very least, there should be theme music.
     "Ah well," he muttered, shrugging his shoulders.  He reached for the hatch
     Outside in the small craft bay, however, the three figures were looking
around in mild confusion and irritation.  For some reason that they could not
figure out, music was swelling through the air.  Dramatic music, as if
something mysterious was about to be revealed in an old space opera.  Low,
rumbling tones, dark synthesizer drones, pounding kettle-drum beats.
     Suddenly, William Tog turned and pointed at the smallest of the three
captured ships.  "Look!" he exclaimed.
     As the music swelled to a crescendo, brass rising in pitch and the drums
pounding louder, the cockpit of the tiny ship began to slide forward.  After
several feet, it stopped, and a man began to slowly rise from the ship, the
music accompanying his motions perfectly.  He reached up past the TOG logo on
his G-suit to the opaque visor of his helmet and slowly slid it upwards.  As
his face was revealed, the music faded upwards, nearly vanishing into a tiny,
tense, high-pitched hum, as if it were wondering what would come next.
     The man raised his hand in greeting and opened his mouth to speak, then
stumbled and fell out of the cockpit.  The music in the air burst into a loud,
fast, kazoo score, like something that might be played during an old silent-
movie slapstick scene.  The man shouted in surprise, something that sounded
like "oooOOOOHHH SHIT!" just before his head made contact with the bay floor
and he was knocked unconscious.
     As the three men standing in the small craft bay looked at each other in
something like amazement, the music switched to the theme from an old, old
television series called "Ambulance!"






Find out the answers to these questions and more on....SFSTORY!!

M00se Illuminati electronic Superguy!

***** Received 16:53:20 on 03/06/90, Posting #    18 *****
Subject:     still in Netherspace
From:        The Tennessee Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)
Origin:      University of Maine BBS Processor (UMNEWS at MAINE)

The HMS As Yet Unnamed sat on the sands of the Netherspace Nympho Beach.
Having nothing better to do, the ship's computer was enjoying the images
trickling in from the outside monitors.  So much was she enjoying them that
she almost missed the impossibly black point that appeared off to one side.
The point stretched to a line, which stretched to a rectangle, which then
expaned to cover a volume of about 1x1x2 meters.  After a repeat performance
in reverse, a manlike being wearing impossibly expensive and ridiculous-
looking clothes stood where the blackness was a moment before, and the
impossibly black point hovered over his left shoulder.

=You there!= shouted the Constance Series V computer through the external
speakers.  =By order of the Time Police, I place you under arrest!=

The man laughed as he adjusted the collar of his flourescent yellow silk
shirt.  "I was arrested once.  I didn't care for it much."  He gestered to
the orbiting point.  "Rick, show this ship what it means to mess with SAAL
Dijon Mu'tard."

The black hole raced to the ship, expanding as it travelled.  Connie barely
had time to radio an SOS to her partner, Time Agent 386, before she

"That was easy enough," Dijon muttered.  "Okay, Rick.  Let's go inside and
take care of that Time Agent."  Humming softly, he stepped over the naked
bodies and made his way to the Club Nympho.


Inside the Club Nympho, Time Agent 386 had his own problems.  Zark Flyby was
holding a gun on him and Doctor Bing Von Spleen.  It was very big gun, too.
386 took his eyes off Zark only long enough to check the message on his
communicator.  "Zark, put down that gun.  The guy I'm looking for is on his
way in.  Without Spleen's help, we'll never stop him."

This didn't faze Captain Flyby, who was grinning from ear to ear.  "Who
cares?  I haven't gotten to kill anybody in weeks!"

Doctor Bing Von Spleen, the galaxy's foremost SPAMologist and a man of
action, reached into the pocket of his labcoat and pulled out several multi-
colored pills.  He swallowed them quickly, then waited for the walls to
start melting.

386 was still talking.  "Zark, listen to me.  If that guy gets in here,
he'll kill us all.  You'll be dead, Zark.  You'll never be able to kill
another helpless creature again."

This did faze Captain Flyby.  His eyes wandered skyward as he pondered this
profound statement.  Seizing the moment, Ralph the Giant Space Weasel of
Anthrax V cried out "The ackmar in Sokoni III falls mainly on the grilled
cheese sandwich!"

Zark staggered, brow crinkled and mouth twisted in concentration as he tried
to make sense of that last statement.  Obviously, his brain wasn't up to it.
"Uh......"  Then his military mindset re-instated itself.  "I'M CAPTAIN ZARK
FLYBY OF THE TIME POLICE!!!" he yelled, trying to regain control of the

Spleen, whose upper body was travelling in wide circles while his feet
remained firmly rooted to the floor, took this opportunity to say "If you
were in a canoe paddling backwards downstream up a waterfall just as hard as
you could and all four wheels fell off, how many pancakes would it take to
cover a doghouse?"

This was too much for Zark.  His brain disengaged itself and he hit the
floor with a loud clang.  386 grabbed for his weapons, while Ralph searched
for his wallet.  There was a banging on the door.  "I know you're in there,
Time Agent," said a voice.  "Let me in.  All I want is to kill you."

Finding that most of Zark's weapons were wielded to his armor, 386 grabbed
the equally comatose Spleen and headed for the back door, as the front was
rapidly being eaten away by a black hole.  "C'mon, Ralph.  Show me that
dimensional portal you were talking about!"  He openned the door and
stepped through.

There was nothing outside the back door.  Absolutlely nothing.  386 floated
in nothingness, holding onto Spleen to keep him from wandering away.  There
was no sign of the door he'd just stepped through.  Ralph appeared beside
him.  "Ah, yes, here we are.  As you can see, 386, over 90% of Netherspace
is nothing."

386 had to agree with that.  "But how do we get out of here?"

"Through that door over there," Ralph said, pointing over 386's shoulder.
386 glanced back behind him and noticed a door that wasn't there just
moments before.  A green, wooden door with a cheap brass handle.  386
reached out and openned it.

"What have I got to loose," he muttered, pushing the barely-conscious human
and the screaming weaseloid through the door.


Zark Flyby awoke and saw an expensively dressed man standing over him,
talking quietly with a black hole.  Rather than try to comprehend the
situation, he simply allowed himself to pass out again.

"You're right, Rick," Dijon said to his black hole.  "This man would make a
perfect addition to the ranks of SAAL (Satanic Agents At Large)!"




for the answer, tune in next week, same sftime, same sfchannel!

***** Received 21:57:24 on 03/07/90, Posting #    19 *****
Subject:     near Mydol III
From:        The Tennessee Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)
Origin:      University of Maine BBS Processor (UMNEWS at MAINE)

The HMS As Yet Unnamed tumbled in space, her systems badly damaged by her
run-in with the black hole.  Connie, the ship's computer, had just suceeded
in bringing the emergency batteries online when three figures suddenly
materialized in space near the ship.  There was just enough power available
to open the hatch and let them in.

"*&$#*%#%"#!!!!!" yelled Time Agent 386 as he brushed ice out of his beard.
He was more angered than injured by his brief exposure to hard vacuum.  His
companions, Ralph the Giant Space Weasel from Anthrax V and Doctor Bing Von
Spleen of UCLA, were equally unharmed thanks to a thick fur coat and a
bloodstream full of illegal drugs, respectively.  386 was launching himself
into another barrage of profanity that shock even a drunken sailor when he
noticed the ship was running on emergency power.  "Connie, what's wrong with
the power systems?"

=The ABPSAR is powerless.  The antimatter backup generators are dead.  We'll
only have battery power until I can get the emergency fusion generator up to

"Uh-huh," muttered 386 as he headed towards the engineering section, which
looked remarkably like a well-decorated basement.  Even the coolant pipes
running overhead were color co-ordinated with the various liquids leaking
out of them.  "How'd we get here?  And where is here?  And why are we

=I was transported here by Dijon Mu'tard and his pet black hole.  You got
here by exiting Netherspace through the green door.  It is only by the
wildest of plot contrivances that we ended up in the same place.  As for
where, I believe we are in the vicinity of Mydol III.  As for why we are
powerless, I'd say those four moons of Jupiter that are circling Mydol III
in perfectly circular orbits and the interdimensional screw-ups they are
causing is the answer.=


Satan T. Lucifer Jones, Prince of Darkness and Duke of Smelly Feet, was
relaxing in his office when the form of Dijon Mu'tard appeared, accompanied
by his pet balck hole, Rick.  Althought the supreme evil being was not one
to like interuptions, he didn't seem too upset to see his uninvited guests.

"Ah, there you are, Satan," said Dijon as he brushed some lint from his
impeccably groomed and ridiculously expensive mauve trousers.  "I've come to
report my progress."

"Then do so," muttered Satan.  He didn't care much for Mu'tard, but he was
one of SAAL's (Satanic Agents At Large) best.

"Rick and I have disrupted power production in three more alterverses.  As
you predicted, the interdimensional distortions are growing more rapidly.
Only a half dozen or so more moons need to be moved before the process will
be self-continuing."

Satan smiled.  "Very good, Mu'tard.  Any difficulties?"

Dijon gave a depreciating wave of his hand.  "Oh, Time Central sent out a
Time Agent to capture me.  Rick and I sent his ship to an alterverse where
it will be powerless for the time being.  I would have destroyed it, but I
figured Your Nastiness might have use for a timeship."

"Quite right.  Several of my currently running plans would be greatly helped
by time travel capabilities."  Satan rubbed his hands together in glee, then
turned serious.  "What about the Time Agent himself?  386, wasn't it?"

Dijon looked a bit embarassed.  "I'm afraid he got away by using a property
of Netherspace I was not aware of."  He drew a deep breath.  "But not to
worry!  He's totally powerless without his ship."

Satan leaned forward, smoke rising from his well-manacured fingertips.  "I
think we'd best send someone to track him down and destroy him anyway, just
to be safe."

"Whatever you say," shrugged Dijon.  "Oh, I almost forgot.  I've got a new
recruit for you."

This got Satan's attention.  "A new tender, innocent soul I can corrupt?"

"No, a sadistic, violent scumbag you can use to wreak havoc."

"Nearly as good," conceded Satan.  "Who is it?"

Dijon gestured to Rick.  The intelligent black hole formed himself into a
gateway, distorting space and time, and dumped Captain Zark Flyby on the
floor in front of Satan's desk.  Zark immediately jumped up and started

Satan was amused.  "Zark, do you know where you are?" he asked in his
sweetest tones.

Zark glanced around, reaching for the temperature controls in his armor.
"Nope.  But it's hotter than hell in here."

"Hell is correct," said Satan.  "And do you know how you got here?"

Zark thought hard.  "Uh, I died?"

"Of course you did," crooned Satan, winking at Dijon.  "And since you came
down here, instead of Up There, you must have been a very bad person.  Tell
me, did you enjoy senseless killing and willful destruction and useless

Zark nodded.  "It's what I live for.  Er, *lived* for."

Dijon Mu'tard stepped into the conversation.  "Quite right, that's why we've
allowed you to keep your mortal body, which is why you feel like you're
still alive," he lied smoothly.  "We need someone of your capabilities."

Satan stood.  "Quite right.  How would you like to join the forces of Evil?
Your first assignment will be to track down that Time Agent you were with
and destroy him and anyone with him."

Zark's eyes lit up.  "I get to kill Spleen after all?!?"

"Of course."

"Great!" Zark beamed.  "What are we waiting for?"

"Nothing," said Satan.  The Ultimate Son of Evil stood with hand outstretched.
Blue flame shot out of his palm, engulfing Zark Flyby.  When the flame
subsided, Zark's armor carried a distinct crimson tint, and several tubes,
flanges, and other external pieces had transformed so that they looked like
scales, spikes, horns, etc.  "I pronounce you Satanic Agent At Large Zark
Flyby!  Go kick ass!"  And with a wave of his hand, Satan teleported the
ex-Time Police Captain away.

Dijon looked on in awe.  "Think he'll stop Time Agent 386?"

Satan chuckled, an ominous sound that caused the ceiling to crack.  "Not a
chance.  But he'll keep him out of our way for long enough for the plan to
be completed."


Time Agent 386 and Doctor Bing Von Spleen worked side by side in the HMS As
Yet Unnamed's engine room.  386 had been explaining the transported moon
problem to Spleen.  "What we can't figure out," he concluded, "is what this
Dijon character expects to accomplish."

Spleen sat back from a device he was working on and cogitated for a moment.
When not under the affect of hallucinagens, his mind was one of the sharpest
in the known galaxy.  "Well, with enough dimensionally displace mass, the
entire multiverse would end up like this alterverse is: SPAM inert, as it
were.  Then all anyone would need is a few interdimensional ships and a
hundred thousand or so mindless zombies to take over the entire multiverse."

"Wow!" exclaimed Ralph as he entered the engine room.  "This is sure
exciting.  Anyone care for a sandwich?"

386 reached for the plate Ralph was somehow holding without using thumbs,
since he didn't have any.  "I thought the food processors were out."

Ralph smiled, a strange look on a weaseloid.  "They are, but I found some
Cheez Whiz under the sink."

"CHEEZ WHIZ!" yelled Spleen.  "Just what I need!"  He quickly scooped up the
sandwiches, plate and all, and dumped them into the device he was working on.

Alarms started going off all over the ship.  =Emergency!  Emergency!  Time
and Spacial distortions in the engine room!=

Just then, SAAL Zark Flyby appeared next to the HMS As Yet Unnamed.  His
armor, noting that he was in an alterverse where the standard power supplies
were useless, kicked in the emergency batteries.  Normally a short-term
power source, their Satanically altered structure could now supply power for
several years.  Zark zeroed in on the ship, preparing to unleash every
weapon at his command.

But just then, space shifted.  Space twisted.  Space ripped.  And, in ways
God never intended, space warped the HMS As Yet Unnamed out of the
alterverse.  Pissed is too soft a word for how Zark Flyby was feeling.




The answers will have to wait, as I'm leaving for spring break tomorrow.
Enjoy yourselves!

***** Received 21:29:17 on 03/08/90, Posting #    20 *****
Subject:     from the warped mind of Nigel Savage
From:        (P72J at CRNLVAX5)
Origin:      University of Maine BBS Processor (UMNEWS at MAINE)

                     STETSON TYLER -- SPACE COWBOY
                     ------- -----    ----- ------

     Stetson, Capt. Majors, and William Tog were standing in the docking
bay in front of three smallish spacecraft [at least they were small
compared to the awesome PDFOTS Alamo's Revenge, which measured just over
two kilometers in length]. Stetson had just demanded for the occupants
of the three ships to step out and give an accounting of themselves,
when suddenly strange music welled up in the background.
     "What in Sam Hill is goin' on here? Where in Tarnation is that damned
music coming from, Kid?"
     "I'm not sure, sir. It may be the Automatic Mood Music Synthesizers,
or it might just be that one of the crew left their stereo on."
     "Eerie," remarked Capt. Majors in a desperate attempt to get a few lines.
     "Well I just wish it would stop!"
     The cockpit of one of the three ships began to open, and out stepped
a man in some sort of military fighting uniform. He stood up and was
about to adjust his visor when he inexplicably fell from his cockpit,
landing on his head.
     "Jumpin' Jesus in a jumped-up chariot! That boy looks hurt!" Stetson
bellowed, and then ran toward the person.
     "Wait! Don't touch him! He may have a back injury! I'll have him
transported to sick bay." said William. He punched a few buttons on his
watch and spoke into it.
     "Hey, Scotty! I'm in docking bay 35-B, and we've got an injured
person here. Teleport him to the sick bay!"
     "No sooner said than done, laddy," said a voice over the comm systems.
A bluish glow surrounded the prone figure, and he was gone.
     "Teleporting Dr. Brighteis to sick bay, Willie."
     "Uh, thanks Scotty."
     "GodDamnitall, I don't like this. What made that there boy fall like
that? He couldn't have just lost his balance; he seems like he knows his
way 'round one of them contraptions."
     "What makes you say that, sir?" asked Majors.
     "Look how well his suit fits him!"
     Stetson began walking toward the other two ships and glared at them.
     "Alright you other two! Get on out here and get on out here now!
And fer cryin' out loud, BE CAREFUL!!!!!!"


     Back on Earth, the armored hero-wannabe Champion was flying toward
Trump's Castle, Atlantic City, New Jersey at close to the speed of sound.
This was causing quite a massive amount of damage to the surrounding areas
below, but Champ was oblivious to all of that as he concentrated on his
goal: stopping whatever big mean nasty alien was trying to destroy Mr. Trump's
casino and apparently killing all sorts of innocent people. [How's that for
a long sentence? Just about a paragraph of it's own, even.]
     In mere millimoments, Champion was circling over Atlantic City and
scoping out the situation. The National Guard was staked out around
Trump's Castle, and standing by the main doors was an unbelievable sight.
A huge alien stood there, with seven tentacles, each ending in a lobster
claw.  It was currently throwing a police car at the front line of the
National Guard.
     "Time to go to sleep, you alien scum!" yelled Champion. He raised his
arms forward and shot a blast of pure energy at the alien. The energy slammed
into him with enough force to knock seventeen African bull elephants out,
but the energies seemed to have no effect.
     "And why are you attacking me, armoredpersoninflight?" asked Ted the
Tentacled Space Alien.
     "I'm Champion, and I'm gonna'...wait a minute! Why can I understand
you and they can't?"
     "Perhaps it is the fact that you have an Intergalactic Language Modulator
and Translator in your helmet, armoredpersoninflight."
     "I have a what?" asked Champion, who by now had stopped flying
around and was hovering above Ted.
     "An Intergalactic Language Modulator and Translator. You did know what
it was when you put it in your helmets circuitry, didn't you?"
     "Well, uh, I didn't exactly put the armor together myself. I sorta'
had my, uh, father's company build it for me. But we're not working together
anymore, and I haven't found out quite everything the armor does. An
Intergalactic Language Modulator and Translator, huh? Sounds cool!
Ummmm.....what's it do?"
     "It allows you to understand and speak in languages from all over
the galaxies, you stupidarmoredpersonhoveringaboveme!" said Ted, somewhat
exasperated at Champions lack of spleen cells.
     By this time, the National Guard, having seen Champion conversing with
the alien, had decided that both were a threat to national security and
began firing at Champion also.
     "Hey! I'm a good guy!" yelled Champion.
     "It will do you no good, personinarmorbeingshotat," said Ted.
"They've seen you talking with me, and now assume you are the enemy also.
We must flee here, for they are bringing nuclear weapons."
     "YYAAAAGGGHHH!!!! I can't take those!!!! Can you fly?"
     "Of course."
     "Follow me!" yelled Champion, who then darted off in a northeasterly
     Ted the Tentacled Space Alien began to whirl about, his tentacles
acting as a propulsion system. He rose in the air, and then began to follow
after Champion.


     Back aboard the PDFOTS Alamo's Revenge, Stetson was standing in front
of the remaining two ships. "Glory I hope that boy's alright."
     "I'm sure the Doc will take care of him."
     "Well, let's get on with this. HEY, YOU OTHER TWO PARDNERS! GET ON OUT
     Stetson's voice echoed through the bay. Moments ticked by, and then the
doors to the other two ships began to open.









Superguy Digest - We're Beatrice!

***** Received 18:02:46 on 03/12/90, Posting #    21 *****
Subject:     the cowboy's back!
From:        The Tennessee Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)
Origin:      University of Maine BBS Processor (UMNEWS at MAINE)

In a run-down section of a run-down town on a run-down planet known to its
inhabitants as "Earth" and to the galaxy at large as "an extremely boring
place that should be avoided at all costs", a young lady attempted to clean
her run-down appartment.  She mumbled to herself as she vacuumed, dusted,
and re-arranged her belongings, while at the same time burning those of her
boyfriend, whom she had kicked out the week before.  The things that
wouldn't burn, she was kicking under the bed.  A sizable pile had collected
there, including 23 condoms, 5 jars of vaseline, 2 pairs of fur-lined
handcuffs, 4 cans of Cheez Whiz, a sixpack of beer, and a pair of
one-size-fits-all Mr. Spock earmuffs.  No wonder she kicked him out.

Tiring of her cleaning, the young woman stretched her tanned body to its
full five foot three height, brushed the dust from her strawberry blonde
hair, and decided to take a nap.  She crawled into bed and attempted to make
herself comfortable.  Reaching beneath the sheet, she pulled out a third
pair of handcuffs that had been digging into her ribs and tossed it under
the bed.

Unbeknownst to her, but knownst to you the reader because I the Author am
telling you, the handcuff collided with an open can of beer, spilling it on
the leaking Cheez Whiz container.  The mood-altering beer reacted with the
reality-altering Cheez Whiz.

The resulting explosion destroyed most of the appartment, all the vaseline,
and 12 of the condoms.  The bed and its occupant dissappeared.  Arriving
on the scene hours later, local police attributed the death to a bizzare
Cuisinart accident.


The bed and its occupant reappeared.  Awakened by the explosion, Diana
looked about.  Her appartment was nowhere to be seen.  Her bed was resting
on the cratered surface of a planetoid.  The stars shone very brightly
overhead, almost as if there were no atmosphere at all to distort their
light.  Diana had about convinced herself she was dreaming when she heard a
hiss behind her.

"Another human, Grog," said one large, scaly, reptillian beast to another.

"You eat this one, Szon.  I'm tired of humans."  Clicking its dagger-like
teeth together, it went back to sleep as its companion looked about for the
ketchup, as Szon found humans almost inedible without ketchup.

Suddenly, space above twisted.  Space warped.  Space bent.  And, in ways God
never intended space to do so, space ripped.  In the rip appeared a ship,
which looked conspicously like a green and rust colored 1973 Oldsmobile.
Suddenly caught by the planetoid's not inconsiderable gravity, it fell out
of space and onto the surface.

Unfortunately for Grog and Szon, it fell to the surface that was under their
feet at that particular moment, crushing them both.  Diana managed to sit up
in bed, and keep herself from fainting only by the strictest methods of
self control.

One of the hatches of the ship cycled open, and a weasel-like creature stuck
its head out.  "Hi!  I'm Ralph.  Are you okay?"

Self control failed.  Diana joined the ranks of the unconscious.


***** Received 14:18:50 on 03/21/90, Posting #    22 *****
Subject:     Thunderwolf:  So it Begins....
From:        (ST7542 at SIUCVMB)
Origin:      University of Maine BBS Processor (UMNEWS at MAINE)

     There is a small quadrant of known space where Man has refused to travel.
 This is because this particular region is home to a race who call itself the
Lodani.  I say Itself because there is no word in our language to truly
describe the racial structure of this unique people.
     The Lodani are a race of hive-minders.  They are all considered a single
entity in the fact that a thought from one Lodani can travel for light years
without the benefit of another communication device.  The Lodani all think
alike, which would seem to mean that no matter what, all Lodani act in exactly
the same manner.  One would think that a race that is mentally stagnant would
have been destroyed years ago.
     This is why many scholars cannot understand why the Lodani have built up
such a vast star empire for themselves.  Consider this:   A flight of ships
comes out of Voidspace and immediately falls into a perfect attack formation.
Their mental capabilities seem to travel matter
where the other Lodani may be.  When this is compared to the light-speed
velocity of N-Space transmitters used on Human ships, the matter of
microseconds makes the difference between evading successfully and being blown
into subatomic plasma.

This is why the Thunderwolf was constructed.

The Thunderwolf was constructed with the latest in Tachyon beam technology.
This system was viewed as unfavorable by many.  Previous ships with almost the
same technology had not been able to counter the plasma cannons that many of
the larger Lodani ships carried.  However, the Thunderwolf had added to it a
series of Neurites (cloned brain tissue kept alive in a semi-organic matrix).
It was hoped that this organic battle computer would help the Thunderwolf
evade most any weapon the Lodani might be able to face them with.  Any system
that could defeat the BatPred (Battle Prediction) System would be countered by
a series of Tachyon Beam generators.  The generators were unique in the fact
that they could generate a defense field or a concentrated Tachyon beam.  The
only flaw in this system was that it could not generate both.  That is why the
Thunderwolf carries four such generators mounted in tandem around its
cylindrical hull.  At any angle, at least two of these generators could be
brought to bear on an enemy.  The destructive force of just one of these beams
could vaporize half a moon............

Let's see the Lodani face this one down..............................

***** Received 23:26:39 on 03/26/90, Posting #    23 *****
Subject:     Diana awakens (and a quick character
From:        The Tennessee Cowboy (THC8650 at TNTECH)
Origin:      University of Maine BBS Processor (UMNEWS at MAINE)

Young miss Diana Dark awakened, accompanied by the resulting opening of the
eyes, which allowed her to see she was in her bed.  Rather than sitting on a
bleak and desolate landscape, the bed was in a well-decorated bedroom with a
tateful orange lighting that added an extra glow to her red hair.  For a
moment she thought she was home, then remember that the only lighting she
had in her bedroom was the ultra-violet things her ex-boyfriend had wired
in, so as to give extra glow to the flourescent yellow sheets and pillow
cases he preferred.

The door cycled open, sliding back into the wall as opposed to swinging into
the room, further adding to Diana's conviction that she wasn't in Chicago
anymore.  A large, hairy-faced individual strode in.  "Hello.  Feeling
better?" he asked nicely, his voice and manner contrasting sharply with his
uniform jumpsuit and holstered weapon.

"A little," admitted Diana.  "Those dragons and that weasel-looking thing
gave me quite a scare.  Reminds me of the time my boyfriend talked me into
sneaking into the zoo after dark and-"  She broke off, suddenly flustered.
"Where am I, anyway?"

"You are in the sickbay of the HMS As Yet Unnamed, a ship liscenced to the
Interstellar Time Police and piloted by yours truly, Time Agent 386."  He
sat down heavily in the overpadded chair in the corner.  "As for the
location of the ship itself, we're not sure.  We had a little accident with
a reality-altering substance and shot ourselves into an alternate universe.
Alterverses, we call them."

Diana felt a bit queasy, but was determined to hear all of it.  "What kind
of reality-altering substance?"

"Commercially, it's known as Cheez Whiz."  He held up a hand to stifle
Diana's outburst.  "I know!  It's not quite as powerful as Spam, but it did
get us out of Alterverse #829.  Cheez Whiz doesn't appear to be affected by
the reality-warping going on here lately, in much the same manner as the
Carrot-Leeks drive isn't."

Diana's outburst was not about the relative merits of various quasi-food
products, but rather a general indication of disbelief.  Still, she did
remember the several cans of Cheez Whiz she had kicked under the bed just
minutes before the explosion.  The 'alternate universe' part hit her hard.
Not only was she not in Chicago, but she wasn't even within bussing
distance.  "Any chance of getting me back to Earth?"

396 shook his head.  "Sorry, but we've got our hands full right now.  We
don't have time for a side trip to Earth, even if I could guarantee we'd
make it there alive."

"I thought as much," mused Diana.  "Well, since I'm stuck here anyway, tell
me what's going on."

386 stood.  "I'm in a bit of a hurry myself.  I'll let the ship's computer
fill you in."

=It's about time you mentioned me,= huffed a voice from the ceiling.  =My
contract specifically states that I have a line of dialog before line 20 in
each posting.=

"I know, Connie.  Just give this girl the rundown on what's going on around
here, okay?"  He left, anxious to rejoin his crewmembers in the engineering
room and get the ship back to full power.

=Alright, full character sketch and plot summary coming up.  Please pay
close attention to the screen...=



Time Agent 386 - Fugative from a planet of immortal beings, Time Agent 386
lacks their immortality, but is damned hard to kill (as opposed to the
so-called Immortals, who can be easily killed by violence but will live
forever otherwise).  Together with is uncle 357, also a Time Agent, he is of
the small group of members of the Interstellar Time Police that actually
accomplish anything.  His preferred weapon is the telechronal displacement
pistol, which randomly sends each individual molecule of the target randomly
forward or backwards one millisecond in time, effectively disintegrating it.
His ship is the HMS As Yet Unnamed (see below).

Doctor Bing Von Spleen - Ph.D., M.D., and S.O.B., Doctor Spleen is the
galaxy's foremost Spamologist (because he personally killed the other
threemost).  His teaching career at Berkely was interupted when officials
there discovered he was more interested in sleeping, eating, sex, and
illegal drugs than class, meaning that he was actually a college student
trapped in the body of a college professor.  He invented the ABPSAR
(Automatic Beet Peeler and SubAtomic Re-integrator) that, in addition to
being able to prepare almost any meal, powers most inter-dimensional craft
when filled with Spam (see below).

Ralph - With a full name of Ralph the Giant Space Weasel of Anthrax V, Ralph
is by far the most likely character to be called "hey, you!"  A basically
nonviolent weaseloid, and an accomplished ukulele player in his own right,
Ralph wishes he could retire to the Netherspace Nympho Beach (see below).

Diana Dark - A native of Earth (see below), Diana was transported into Sfstory
by what police described as a bizarre Cuisinart accident.  We don't know much
about her yet, so stay tuned.

Zark Flyby - Formerly of the Interstellar Time Police, Zark is now a SAAL
(Satanic Agent At Large) in the service of the powers of evil and their
leader, Satan (see below).  He thinks he is dead, and wants badly to make
Doctor Spleen the same.  His armor is powered by a Coke/7up interactive
device, and the Cola/Uncola reaction provides him with enough power to level

Dijon Mu'tard - Another SAAL, Dijon and his pet black hole, named Rick, are
warping reality by transferring moons from one alterverse (see below) to
another.  He dresses very expensively and very funny lookingly.

Satan - Prince of Darkness, Son of Evil, and Duke of Smelly Feet, Satan is
responsible for most of the bad things going on these days.  You probably
know him pretty well from personal experince, so I won't bore you with


Alterverse - Also spelled altiverse, it is an alternate reality where things
may or may not be the same or different as they are in other places.

Netherspace - Containing the Netherspace Nympho Beach and the Green Door,
Netherspace is a great place to stick characters you don't need anymore.

Earth - mostly harmless.

Alterverse #829 - contains the planet Mydol III, which has four of Jupiters
moons orbiting it thanks to Dijon Mu'tard and Rick.  Said moons leave almost
every power source more advanced than nuclear fusion inert.


Ziplock Protective Field - Used by the Planet of the Supermarkets, the ZPF
creates a reality warping effect similar to several large moons being
transported interdimensionally, which results in inert power sources, as
explained above.

HMS As Yet Unnamed - A timeship under the command of Time Agent 386, the HMS
As Yet Unnamed is as yet unnamed, and is powered by an ABPSAR, augmented by
Cheez Whiz.  Outwardly, it has the appearance of a rust and green colored
1973 Oldsmobile.  Inwardly, it must be seen to be believed.

Spam - Sickening, putrid, artificial meat with reality-altering properties.

Cheez Whiz - Another para-food substance with reality-altering properties.

Carrot-Leeks drive - Using yet more food, this relatively low-power
vegetable matter inverter allows limited interdimensional transport, mostly
between universes with reality warping or ZPFs.  It has a habit of not
blowing up and killing you, which makes it preferrable to the previously
mentioned power sources, which have no such compunctions.

Cole's Law - Thinly sliced cabbage.

Plot Summary:

Satan is out to conquer the universe (again).  Helping him is SAAL Dijon
Mu'tard, who is transporting moons from one alterverse to another.  This
causes most power sources to go inert, leaving the alterverses easy prey
for Satan.  Once a critical number of moons are transported, the process
will be self-continuing and irreversible.

Time Agent 386 and his cohorts are trying to stop him, using the genius of
Doctor Bing Von Spleen.  They plan to try to put the moons back where they
belong, and hopefully stop Dijon Mu'tard with the help of Omegas, the
sometimes immortal and sometimes hyperpowerful being whose present location
is unknown.

To stop Time Agent 386, Satan has recruited Zark Flyby, an ex-Time Police
Captain with an ax to grind with Doctor Spleen.

And the adventure continues...

***** Received 01:21:19 on 03/27/90, Posting #    24 *****
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