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Sfstory Log 051
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Date: Wed, 19 Feb 1992 18:43:50 EST
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From: Tad Simmons (SIMMONS at UCF1VM.BITNET)
Subject: SF: Voyages of a Warrior of Chaos
Voyages of a Warrior of Chaos #3
After many weeks of repair work, the BCS Titanic was once more ready to ply
the starlanes. In addition to her surviving crew, several Terrans had managed
to sign aboard the ship, along with an official Ambassador to represent the
interests of the United States in space. After completing the final checks,
the Captain went looking for General Hargrove.
"Well, General, it looks like we are about ready to leave. I'd like to
thank you again for all your help."
"Think nothing of it, you have given us enough knowledge to keep the science
types in conference for years! You have given the Earth a boost that will
propel us into Space once and for all, for that, we thank you!"
"Still practicing the going-away speech, eh?"
Laughing, the General and the Captain made thier way to the main hatch for
the launching ceremonies taking place outside.
"Hey guy, I'm not sure this is a great idea."
"Relax, they were taking on crew. We have just neglected to go through the
official signing-on process. Once they take off, we will announce ourselves
and everything will be fine."
"So where does a guy go for food around here?"
"The galley, but we can't yet Now be quiet..."
With this the two figures scurried farther down the hall toward the guest
accomodations.
Outside, the speeches went on for a while, then amid a minor nova of flashes
from the media, teh BCS Titanic once more lifted off.
"What's the course, Captain?" Maneuvers asked from his station?
"There's a difference? Go whichever way looks interesting. When you are as
lost as we are, it can only get better."
HOW WRONG HE WAS!
WHO ARE THE TWO UNNAMED STOW_AWAYS?
HA! I FINALLY ACTUALLY POSTED AGAIN!
*WHO* IS THE WARRIOR OF CHAOS?
ANY RELATION TO CHAOS Engineer? (Actually, no relation at all...)
Stay tuned for further developments, right here on SFstory!
=========================================================================
Date: Tue, 17 Mar 1992 07:12:02 EST
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From: Tad Simmons (SIMMONS at UCF1VM.BITNET)
Subject: Warrior of Chaos
Voyages of a Warrior of Chaos
#4
The Lurch
Four weeks out from Earth, Captain Glovel and his First Officer are busy
discussing their immediate plans when the red-alert signal suddenly goes off.
Hurrying up to the bridge, they burst into a scene of utter confusion.
"What's the situation?" demanded the Captain as he sat down in his seat.
"Sir, we have come into contact with a structure of unknown origin which is
headed straight for the ship. Third Officer Smith signalled red alert to
warn of potential hi-G maneuvers."
"Thank you, Sensors, but where is Smith?"
"Sick-bay sir, he tripped."
The Captain raised one eyebrow spockly. "Tripped?" Volumes in word form.
"*gulp* Yes Sir, apparently the warning lights blinded him and he fell over a
chair. The maneuvers station to be precise..."
Despite a supreme effort, the First officer couldn't entirely suppress a laugh.
"Are you allright, First?"
"*ahem* Yes, S-sir. Fine, J-j-just fine." He then promptly fled, giggling.
"Sensors, any new information on the contact?"
"A litle Sir. Approximately 10 miles on a side, and 40 miles long. Edges
appear to be rounded, especially on the ends. There is also a flattened
area which seems to have 3 thrusters on it. Initial scans of the hull show
extreme amounts of Sucrose and Yellow #5."
"Yellow #5?"
"Yes Sir, it is a chemical they add to food on Earth."
"Has the computer managed to come up with a match?"
"Umm, well... sortof, Sir..."
"Not very precise there, what's the matter?"
"The computer is convinced that the bogey is a Twinkie, Sir."
"A Twinkie." We're talking Encyclopedia Brittanica in this word...
"Yes, sir. The computer gives a match of... " suddenly Sensors breaks of as
he stares at his monitors. "Contact is approaching at extreme speed! Brace
for imp.."
At that point the Object flashed up to the ship and...
Disappeared.
.
.
.
Gradually, Captain Glovel eased his grip on his arm-rests. "Damage report!"
"Other than an explosion on deck 13, section 7, No damage reported. Emergency
crews are on their way to repair any damage now."
"Sensors, any sign of the object?"
"None, Sir. It isn't anywhere from the surface of our hull out to 7 lights."
"Sir, repair crews report finding a Terran at the site of the explosion."
"Any idea who it is?"
"No Sir, but they do report that he is unconcious, and a bright Yellow color.
Med-scans still insist that he is terran, though."
"Take him to sick-bay and keep him under continuous guard. I want a full
medical scan run on him immediately. I want to know what HAPPENED!"
WHAT IS GOING ON?
DOES THE AUTHOR HAVE ANY IDEA WHERE THIS IS HEADING?
IS THE YELLOW STRANGER THE WARRIOR OF CHAOS?
WILL SABRE EVER GET ANOTHER TWINKIE?
Find out next episode, here on SFstory!
=========================================================================
Date: Mon, 23 Mar 1992 16:41:00 EDT
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From: Duke da Duck (COONEY at HARTFORD.BITNET)
Subject: SF: Gary Hunt "...And Don't Forget The Crutons" Issue #2
(The "I Left My Left Artery in Nebula Four" saga continues)
G A R Y H U N T
"... AND DON'T FORGET THE CRUTONS"
ISSUE 2
"Hail Hail, Rocks 'N Bricks!"
(By Ken Cooney)
As Luther cried out "Pepsi", the mass cried outloud in a huge uproar.
"PEPSISM!" a voice screamed.
The group charged and attacked poor, helpless Luther.
"Gary, we MUST go on!" Xog stated, seeing his chance to leave. "The
plutonium, remember?"
"Oh, right," Gary muttered.
Gary and Xog snuck out of the chaotic mess, and started heading down
the nearest path. The sky grew dark.
"It looks like a storm," Gary noted.
=Kerplunk!=
From the heavens dropped a red brick.
"Huh?" Gary asked, looking at the brick and then looking up.
=Kerplunk! Kerplunk!=
Two more bricks fell from the sky, one crushing a helpless bush.
"It's raining bricks?!" Xog muttered.
=Kerplunk plunk plunk plunk!=
"Luckily, I have a lead umbrella," Gary commented, opening it up.
"Luckily, I'm a figment," Xog said as a brick fell through him.
Unfortunately, the evangelists weren't so lucky.
=Kerplunk plunk smash smash smash smash!=
The evangelists ran around screaming mad as a hail of bricks dropped on
them, crushing them to a pulp (the evangelists, not the bricks). The
envangelists yelled, trampling over other evangelists who were already
kerplunked by the bricks, dropping Coke bottles left and right. At one point,
an evangelist picked up a brick, muttering "The gods must be crazy" before he,
too, was kerplunked.
Soon the bricks stopped as quickly as they started. The remaining
evangelists emerged from their hiding places, mourning over their losses ...
the Coke bottles.
Gary closed his lead umbrella.
"We better find that plutonium fast before it starts raining 16 ton
weights," Xog mentioned.
"Right," Gary answered, checking his photon compass.
Gary wacked the compass a few times.
"What's wrong?" Xog asked.
"Either this compass is broken ... or this is the north pole."
"It can't be!" Xog gasped. "Give me that!"
Gary handed the photon compass to Xog, which dropped through Xog's
hands.
"Damn it, I'm a figment!" Xog complained. "I forgot."
Gary bent over to pick up the compass. He shook it and it rattled.
"It's broken," Gary muttered.
"Oh great!" Xog sighed.
"Wait a minute!" Gary realized. "I just thought of something!"
"What's that?"
"It's got a life time guarentee!" Gary smirked.
"Yeah, in Alpha Centauri!" Xog added.
"Oh yeah," Gary mumbled.
"Ah Gary?"
"Yes, Xog?"
"Is it just me or is the sky getting darker again?"
"Maybe it's another brick storm," Gary mentioned.
Gary, noticing the huge quarter mile radius shadow enveloping over him,
looked up to see a huge metallic shuttle plunging toward him at a horrendous
speed.
"It's raining ships."
IS IT *REALLY* RAINING SHIPS?!
WILL GARY BE KERPLUNKED?
IS THE COMPASS BROKEN? (WELL, OF COURSE THE COMPASS IS BROKEN!)
WAS THE COMPASS BROKEN BEFORE IT GOT BROKEN?
DOES THAT LAST QUESTION MAKE ANY SENSE?
DOES *ANY* OF THIS MAKE ANY SENSE?
DOES IT REALLY MATTER?
WHY IS THIS EPISODE PATHETICALLY SHORT?
WILL THE NEXT ONE BE PATHETICALLY LONG OR JUST PLAIN PATHETIC?
STAY TUNED FOR THE NEXT ISSUE TO FIND OUT ...
=========================================================================
Date: Tue, 24 Mar 1992 05:33:00 EST
Reply-To: UCF SUPERGUY List (SUPERGUY at UCF1VM.BITNET)
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From: "There be no meaning but what ye make"
(OSIRIS at DRYCAS.CLUB.CC.CMU.EDU)
Subject: SF: Dead Author#2 (formerly Burt Ward Commits Suicide)
The Dead Author Chronicles
Episode 2
(previous being Burt Ward Commits Suicide)
OR
Medicine Men Do It Naturally
by Evan Pongress (RIP)
Fresno.
The name alone stood as a monument to... well, as a monument.
Literally.
Being the only man-made structure on Planet California that could be seen
from space, it was, understandably, quite large.
(For the history of Planet California, see Gary Olson's "Rad" episodes.)
Smack in the middle of the Continent of Fresno, the monument served as
a reminder to those less than sober as to where they were just then. Not
that it mattered much; the continent of Fresno differed from the other
landmasses of the planet in that it has no beachfront whatsoever. The
resultant desert climes clued the wanderer as to his whereabouts immediately,
and rare was the visitor who stayed long. What freak of nature left a
continent devoid of coastline was a mystery best left for the brightest
scientists and acidheads to explain.
Nobody knew who rraised the cyclopean letters into place. Perhaps
an ancient civilization once thrived on the now mostly deserted continent.
Take, for instance, the old man collecting rocks near that hill. He could be
a living descendant of an ancient race, rich in wisdom with many a story to
tell. He seems to be placing the stones in a circle, as if to align subtle
cosmic forces with his own, thereby acting to save the universe from a
nebulous horror which has just been unleashed.
Even as he begins dancing and chanting within the circle, and even as the
stones begin to glow softly, it is easy to imagine the old superstitious
hermit as the caretaker of over a thousand years of ancient knowledge,
cleverly hidden among oral traditions and simple rituals. Yes, even as the
sand swirls around his fiery silouette, and answering howl is heard behind
the stars, our imaginations carry us yet further to where we can actually
conceive of this foolish primitive as a powerful shaman directing his energy
to counteract malign forces. Were it not for our supreme intellects,
cunningly efficient as we recline in our comfy armchairs, we could easily
believe such mad nonsense.
Thank Conditioning for our rational mind.
Sound and light combined in a crescendo of power. The old man raised his
hands. The sky waited; there was a pregnant pause as the hermit consolidated
his intent. The earth shook, the stars whirled, and space roared.
The man dropped his hands.
Just then, a rift in space-time opened above his head, and a shrieking
Burt Ward crashed upon him, cancelling the whole effect. All activity
ceased. Silence reigned.
Spent, the old man got to his feet.
"You little shit," he cursed, and whapped Burt in the side of the head.
Burt watched dazed as the man stomped off, muttering.
"Golly," he said.
Looking around, he saw he was sitting on a sand dune in the middle of a
desert, with a hot sun pouring its radiance upon him. Slowly but surely (!),
memory returned.
"Oh my god," he whispered, jumping up. He glanced about.
"Oh my god," he mumbled, walking backwards in a circle, hands in his
mouth.
"OH my *GOD*!" he screeched, eyes wide as he scanned his surroundings,
terrified.
He was dead. Deader than a doornail. Deader than a doorknob. Deader
than dead could be. Certainly and irrevocably, dead.
"I'm dead!" he cried, clutching himself. Suddenly he regretted his
moment of passion when he jumped off the cliff. Committing suicide was
not looked upon favorably by God. He remembered that from Sunday school. And
he didn't seem to be in Heaven. In fact, judging by his greeting on arrival
(and passing through a Bill Paul plotline on the way), he was most assuredly
in Hell.
No doubt about it.
"Oh NO!" he wailed, stricken. "I've been forsaken by God! I'm a lost
soul! I'm a black sheep of the fold! I'm doomed! I'm a sinner! I don't
deserve to live! ...well, I'm dead, but... I'm wailing and gnashing my teeth!
I belong to the Dark One! My soul is blacker than Flavor Flav! I'm eternally
damned!"
A shrill cry escaped his lips, escalating to a singular note of dismay,
the tortured cry of a hopeless soul. It rang out to the depths of the earth;
it reached the heavens, vibrating among the celestial spheres and into the
Beyond. So far, in fact, it reached a pair of desert rats on a nearby dune,
squinting through binoculars.
"'Oos that?" asked one.
"Dunnou," the second one drawled.
"'E sure is stupid lookin'," noted the first, following Burt's progress
as he tripped on a rock and buried his face in sand.
"Yeh," grunted the second as he chewed on a weed.
"'Es not one of those blasted grocery checkers, is 'e?" the first asked,
suddenly tense. The second cursed, losing his weed, and looked closer.
"Nah," he said after a pause. "Too stupid."
The first mumbled agreement, and they continued their scrutiny.
"So," continued the first, "wha'dya wanna do?"
"Ah dunno," the second replied, scratching himself. "Wanna eat 'im?"
They turned and eyed each other for a moment.
"Awright," said the first.
Burt looked up to see two plumes of dust making their way down a distant
dune.
"Uh oh," he said.
* * * * *
Since he was little, Andrew Steerpike wanted to be a Grocery Checker.
He had wanted to work among the best in the glamorous, high-stakes
world of Grocery, pitting his mind against competitors, sometimes against the
raw powers of Nature. It was grueling, endurance-testing work, yet was one
of the most exciting professions in the galaxy. Every child wanted to be a
Checker. Only the best of the best made it. Steerpike would study hundreds
of produce codes, velocity codes, service deli codes, and others with a
flashlight under his sheets at night. By day he would seek out the load
drivers after school, and hear them tell of great exploits as they shipped
the product across the stars to other stores.
Ah, how ye yearned for it: the rush, the adventure, the prestige. Many
a woman would throw themselves at the feet of a Checker, if only to touch
the boots that had touched many alien soils! The romance, the thrill!
The lone Checker, with only his scanning gun at his side and the ability to
check over forty items per minute! Respected and feared was the Checker,
for in some parts, his word was the only law around.
And now, here he was. Andrew Steerpike, Grocery Checker, the best damn
checker in the business. Oh yes, he slaved away years as a lowly Courtesy
Clerk, an employee with a life expectancy in months; he was barely promoted
and transfered to the megalith corps of the grocery world, the Planet of
Supermarkets (for more on the Planet of Supermarkets, see the old SfStory
episodes.. not Classic old, just old) where he worked grueling hours in the
infinite checking lines on the floor. Connections were made, and his fate
was sealed when he helped repel the attempted holdup by the Mongrel Armies of
Galaxy 12. Now he was entrusted with his own Store: a miniature battleship
containing everything the modern family needs. Sent to the furthest reaches
of the Universe where the Corps could or would not go, he was the living
embodiment of determination, cunning, professionalism and pride.
And right now he was late for work.
"God, I hate my job," he said.
For those of you wondering just what the big deal is about the grocery
world in general, consider this: the Planet of Supermarkets and its
supporting fleet of Checkers is probably _the_ singlemost supplier of Spam
in the universe. Any fool knows that Spam is the most powerful substance
anywhere, and you can draw enormous amounts of energy with it, not to
mention make your ship go very, very fast. Imagine the stockpiles they must
have. Seeing as the human mind falls far short of grasping Spam in its
mind-boggling entirety, I can only hint at the infinite potential just one
little tin of Spam can have. Meditate on that.
Steerpike frowned at himself in the mirror as he finished strapping on
his gun, and a young, intense, dark-maned face scowled back. Overslept
again... strange dreams plagued him last night, something about his father,
a man he had never met, nor known anything about. Interesting, were it not
that it was starting to interfere with work.
And boy, did work suck.
How anyone believed that PR crap about Checking and personal glory was
quite beyond him. Sure, the public looked up to you, and you got to explore
strange new worlds once in awhile. But the schedule was tight, money was
scarce, and it just didn't compare with the simple joy of reading books,
which was his secret love. Okay, he was a bit on the sensitive side, and
that didn't always go with the job. But, maybe someday....
Something beeped on his belt.
"Okay, okay," he muttered, grabbing his flight jacket and heading for
the hangar. His Store was waiting on dock 23 of the Planet of Supermarkets,
due for the remote system of Quimby, and he was scheduled to depart fifteen
minutes ago. He still had to get there first, although the trip from Planet
California to the Supermarket wasn't a long one.
Quimby, he thought as he walked. Wasn't it in the news or something?
* * * * *
Burt ran until his lungs exploded out his nose, falling in a heap at his
feet while his knees imploded and sent shards of bone out his neck.
That's what it felt like, anyway.
Behind him, the sound of machinery whining reached his ears, coinciding
roughly with the two plumes of dust that were gaining on him. He didn't
know why he ran, certainly if these were two devils sent to torment him he
stood no chance of getting away. But on he ran, and somewhere in the back of
his mind he wondered if they had women's jello wrestling in Hell.
Old habits are hard to break.
Rounding a dune, he spied a hole or tunnel in the sand, and he stumbled
in head first into darkness.
Two dusty Jeeps came to a halt.
"Aw, rats, we missed 'im," said the dusty man behind wheel.
"Poo," said the second.
Burt Ward tumbled down a hard shaft, impacting on hard concrete.
"Ow!" he yelped, rubbing his behind. "Sure didn't hurt the first time."
His train of thought, such as it was, was arrested by what looked like
a sleek shuttlecraft with STEERPIKE etched by the cockpit window.
"Holy Spacewars!" he breathed, running his hand along the cool alloy of
its side. The craft sat in the centre of a large underground hollow,
faced on one side by a shuttlecraft-sized steel door. As if to invite him,
its running lights suddenly blinked on, and a hum vibrated off the walls.
A small lock cycled open, and some really keen lights came on inside.
"Jeepers," he said, wide-eyed. Hell sure was weird.
*NOTE: Rather than insult you with what is to follow, I will merely affirm
your suspicion that Burt Ward, will, in fact, board said shuttle
undetected, and remain so while Andrew Steerpike boards and takes off.
This is Plot Convention #58 as listed in the Guide to SfStory Authors,
and has been often used, sometimes succesfully. You will recognize
other Plot Conventions covered by the Guide, most notably the use of
Spam as a multidimensional device. A minor Convention was used when
Burt slid down a shaft to escape danger, through what the reader must
assume was some sort of air vent, however implausible. I make no
excuses for these. Rather I direct your attention to Appendix 3.5.2
paragraph 23 of the Guide which clearly states special circumstances
regarding deceased Authors. Read this at your leisure.
* * * * *
IS BURT REALLY IN HELL?
AND WHO IS STEERPIKE? WHAT'S HIS STORY?
WHAT ABOUT YOURS TRULY? AM I DEAD, HONEST AND FOR TRUE?
DID BILL PAUL DO THE DIRTY DEED?
(NO)
WILL GARY OLSON EVER COME BACK EVER? WHAT ABOUT BILL DICKSON?
BE PROUD, YOU HAVE SEEN TWO POSTS FROM ME IN THE PAST WEEK AND A HALF.
YOUR GRANDKIDS WILL MAKE YOU TELL STORIES ABOUT IT. COOL, HUH?
More offhand remarks about life, the universe, and anything on the next...
[insert favorite topic here]
=========================================================================
Date: Thu, 26 Mar 1992 13:16:00 EDT
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From: Duke da Duck (COONEY at HARTFORD.BITNET)
Subject: SF: Gary Hunt "...And Don't Forget The Croutons" #3
(The "I Left My Left Artery in Nebula Four" saga continues)
G A R Y H U N T
"... AND DON'T FORGET THE CROUTONS"
ISSUE 3
"Monkey Business"
(By Ken Cooney)
Last episode, Gary noticed a huge quarter mile radius shadow enveloping
over him and looked up to see a huge metallic shuttle plunging toward him at a
horrendous speed.
"It's raining ships."
Xog looked up, "Well, I've got nothing to worry about. I'm a figment."
"If I die, you won't be," Gary reminded him.
"Oh yeah, that's right," Xog realized.
"Maybe I should run?"
"You'll never make it, the ship must be a quarter mile wide."
"How long we've got?"
"Twenty seconds."
"And I can't-"
"No," Xog replied. "Eighteen seconds."
"So, you're saying that I've only got-"
"Sixteen seconds."
"Sixteen seconds?" Gary asked.
"Fifeteen seconds."
"Whatever!" Gary rebutted.
"Gary?"
"Yes, Xog?"
"Is it just me or does the ship look like it's getting smaller?"
Gary looked up and indeed, the ship looked like it was getting smaller.
Now it only looked an eight of a mile wide.
"I think I'll make a run for it." Gary mentioned.
"Ten seconds."
"Oh, shut up!" Gary commented as he ran for cover.
"Nine seconds."
"I wish my figment got a case of larengitis."
"Eight seconds."
The ship fell, getting smaller and smaller until-
"It looks like a shuttle," Gary replied, turning around.
The shuttle's retrorockets kicked on, letting the ship softly crash on
the ground.
"I wonder if there's anyone inside?" Gary asked.
"Gary!"
"Maybe they'll have an answer about the blasted compass."
"Oh, alright!" Xog shrugged, following Gary to the ship.
The ship was silvery metal, with two lights in the front.
"There's no door," Gary noticed.
"Oh well, I guess we'll be going..."
"Not so fast," Gary mentioned.
"What are you going to do? Knock on the ship and wait for a door to
open?!"
"Why not?" Gary replied, knocking on the ship.
"This is pathetic!" Xog grumbled, crossing his fins.
A door opened in front of them.
"Well, what do you know? A door," Gary noted, walking in.
Xog followed Gary into the ship.
"Hello?" Gary asked.
"That looks like the driving pannel," Xog noticed, pointing to a chair.
The chair turned around. Sitting in the chair was a monkey.
"Oh my God, it's a monkey!" Gary gasped.
"What's so surprising about that?" the monkey asked.
"And he TALKS!" Gary gasped again.
"Of course I talk. Where did you come from? The dark ages?" the
monkey replied, getting out of his chair, standing on his hands and legs.
"I just never figured-"
"Of course you haven't. You're a human."
"Pardon?" Gary asked.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say that that was an insult," Xog
mentioned.
"Well, humans are inferior ... um ... creatures. And then Darwin
Charles came along-"
"You mean Charles Darwin," Gary corrected. "The guy who said man
evolved from apes."
"No, you got it all backwards. It's Darwin Charles!" the monkey
replied, walking up to Gary. "And he concluded that monkeys evolved from man."
"Do tell," Gary sighed.
"Well, Darwin Charles-"
"A monkey," gary mentioned.
"Of course. Now where was I?" the monkey thought. "Oh yeah, Darwin
Charles believed that monkeys evolved from man, although I don't see the link.
Still, I can see why we'd WANT to evolve... Anyway, Darwin Charles believes
that he finally found a link."
"A Cromagnum ape," Gary concluded.
"No... we found that eons ago. You humans really ARE stupid," the ape
continued, walking to the front of the ship and grabbing a photograph, "He
found a man, sitting on a chair-"
The monkey handed Gary the photo.
"Watching tv?" Gary replied.
"Yeah," the monkey replied, shaking his head. "Supposedly, it was some
form of entertainment."
"What happened?" Gary asked.
"Well, apparently several of the apes turned into vegetables and died,"
the monkey said, shaking his head again.
"And the rest?"
"Well, they replied 'I'm not going to watch this telli any more. I'm
going to do something'. So, they got up and evolved."
"Just like that?" Gary muttered.
"Just like that," the monkey nodded. "Kind of a silly idea, isn't it?"
The monkey returned to his seat.
"I have a question," Gary mentioned.
"And I have an answer," the monkey replied. "Isn't it novel how things
work out that way?"
"Humor me," Gary stated.
"We've been doing that for hundreds of years."
Gary paused, sensing that he should be insulted, but asked the question
anyway, "did your ship ... shrink .... as it approached the ground?"
"Yes," the monkey answered in a matter-of-fact way. "It saves on
retrorocket fuel."
"Oh."
"If you don't excuse me, I have to figure out how to get off this
bloody island," the monkey said as he glanced over his control board.
"You mean, you didn't mean to land here?"
"Of course not!" the monkey grumbled. "This damn land mass is one huge
magnet!"
"What?" Gary gasped.
"Geesh! Not only are you humans stupid, but your deaf, too."
IS WHAT THE MONKEY'S SAYING TRUE?
IS THIS LAND MASS ONE HUGE MAGNET?
DID MONKEYS REALLY EVOLVE FROM HUMANS?
DID HUMANS REALLY DIE DUE TO WATCHING TOO MUCH TELEVISION?
STAY TUNED AND FIND OUT IN THE NEXT EPISODE OF GARY HUNT ...
=========================================================================
Date: Sun, 7 Jun 1992 18:29:00 EDT
Reply-To: UCF SUPERGUY List (SUPERGUY at UCF1VM.BITNET)
Sender: UCF SUPERGUY List (SUPERGUY at UCF1VM.BITNET)
From: keep music evil (SWEDE at DRYCAS.BITNET)
Subject: SW/SG/SF: Zen Navigator 4 of 4 (Part 2)
CONTINUED FROM PART ONE IMMEDIATELY PRECEDING...
The crew panicked for a few seconds before they remembered they were
the good guys. "Toastiro!" Hardeharharlock ordered. "Beam over to the
Winaprize and see if you can stop it from going super-nova."
"What happened?" Toastiro asked.
"Apparantly, some fool hooked up their Nintendo system to the weapons
controls, and triggered the super-nova subsystem. They can't get it
unhooked."
Toastiro sighed. "Okay. Come along, Sean - we could use some dramatics
for this one." Sean Connery grinned dramatically, and the two disappeared
from the bridge in a shimmy-shimmy beam.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
"Okay, you know what to do," Zen Navigator said.
"Yes," Zen Navigator replied. "We plunge into the Vortex and find
Hardeharharlock's ship, and bring him back here."
"We're so heroic," one of the Splock puppets said. "Women will find
us irresistable." Galaxy Hunter suddenly started coughing.
Moments later, two psychadaelic VW minibus' shot out from the
shuttle bay. One of them plunged into the Vortex, the other streaked
towards the Winaprize. This pissed Dana Wader off to no end.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
"We've only got one more minute left!" Lt. Spot announced. Behind
him, McFly and Sean Connery were drinking up the rest of the booze,
racing against the clock. Toastiro, Chakoff, Galaxy Hunter, Zen Navigator,
Splock, and Quirk were all clustered around the Nintendo, which had taken
to glowing and giving off the occasional spark.
"All the wires are detached," Toastiro protested. "But we can't
stop the countdown!"
"We must prepare to die..." Sean said dramatically but drunkenly.
McFly hiccuped.
"Keptin!" Chakoff said. "Do something!"
"Okay," Jimbo said. "Paaaannnnnic, everybody!" Everybody started
panicking. The computer countdown reached the final digits.
"Five...four...three...two..." The crew waited.
Nothing happened.
More nothing happened.
"Computer!" Zen Navigator snapped.
"Oh, sorry...one...zero. Have a nice day."
Everyone scrunched up their face as they expected the ship to blow up.
That's not exactly what happened. The ship transformed, but didn't
blow up. Gears grinded, the nacelles withdrew into the hull, wheels
extended, a muffler appeared under engineering, and a sunroof appeared over
them.
"Ser!" Chakoff said. "We've transformed into a gargantuan Chevy Nova!"
"Oh no!" Quirk exclaimed. "We really *have* gone 'super-Nova'! What
will we do?"
"Here, let me," Lt. Yoo Hoo said, whipping out a bobby pin. She stuck
it into a computer socket and twisted. Instantly, the Winaprize reverted
into a more typical starship form.
"That vas veird, ser," Chakoff said. "I did not know ve vere a
transformer!"
"I knew that," Splock said smugly.
"You did not!" Boner McFly growled. "Dammit! I'm doing it again!"
--------------------------------------------------------------
Somehow, Dana Wader's ship escaped and plunged back into the Vortex.
Dana Wader paced the bridge and cursed, occasionally slicing up an
adjutant in the process.
"Please, don't hurt me," Paranoia whined.
"It's Ninja Taxi-Cab Driver I want to hurt," she hissed. "If he
hadn't taken off into the Vortex, I'd have him hung by his...appendages,
with piano wire." Everyone on the bridge shuddered breifly. "Anyway,
if my calculations are correct, we should be returning to the Muuuahahahan
pocket dimension shortly."
"We are emerging from the Vortex," General Nuisance said. Suddenly
and without warning, the Star Mutilator plowed into a huge, universe-
spanning glob of lime green jell-o and low calorie cool whip. The
computer screen displayed the reading "ALTIVERSE 173JELLOYUMYUM".
"Then again..." Wader grumbled.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Space was still. Very still. *Too* still.
Sorry. Let me try that again.
Space was still. Suddenly and without warning, a dimensional door
opened up and the Video Arcadia and Galaxy Hunter's ship sailed through.
The dimensional door disappeared behind them.
"We're in the Superguy altiverse again," Galaxy Hunter announced.
"I'm picking up Ottsamaddawidu Confederation transmissions, and Planet
California is nearby. I think I'll stop by and visit my niece Glum and
her husband Rad. Want to come along?"
"Weeeeellll," Hardeharharlock replied. He looked at his bridge
crew, who were looking at him with various degrees of merciless intent
for subjecting them to the past few weeks of altiverse-hopping and
space battle. "Okay. I've always wanted to learn how to toga." Galaxy
Hunter chuckled, and the two ships started their descent to the most
non-heinous planet in the galaxy.
--------------------------------------------------------------
"Are you sure you won't stay?" Captain Klerk said.
"Yes, this is where you belong," Captain Quark added.
"Going elsewhere is irrelevant!" RoboPicard announced.
"Sorry," Jimbo Quirk told all his parody counterparts. "We're on
a quest for Barbados, Planet of Physical Delights, in the SfStory
Altiverse, and nothing must stop us."
"Okay," Captain Kink said. "Say hello to Katrina for me." Four
ships energized their dimensional door (developed by Lt. Yoo Hoo), and
the Winaprize plunged through. The dimensional door closed behind
them, and the various Star Trek parodies in the Star Wrek altiverse went
back to their various sub-altiverses.
"Yep, this is it," Zen Navigator announced. "We've made it to the
SfStory altiverse."
"How do you know?" Boner McFly said, holding an ice pack to his head.
"We're near to Planet California," Zen Navigator announced.
"Planet California!" Sulu said, stunned. "But that's in the Superguy
altiverse!"
"Yes," Zen Navigator said. "This is California-SfStory. It's virtually
identical to California-Superguy, except in one important respect." He
pointed to one of the screens, to one of the continents on the world. On
it, in large raised letters visible even from space, was the word 'Fresno.'"
The crew rejoiced and broke out the bubble bath stuff. On the screen, a
ship streaked by, heading in the direction of the Planet of Supermarkets,
but nobody on the ship was paying attention.
"Thank you so very much for your help," Jimbo Quirk said.
"Are you sure you can find Planet Barbados?" Zen Navigator asked. "I
can stay around and guide you to it, you know."
"That's...er...all right, Zen, I'm sure we can manage."
"Yes," Splock said, beaming. "With my logical powers, finding Barbados
will be a cinch!" Jimbo tussled Splocks hair and Splock giggled. Boner
growled 'Dammit!' and winced at his hangover.
"I have no doubt of that," Zen Navigator said. "So long, my stout
companions, and remember, if you ever need guidance, call on me, ZEN
NAVIGATOR!" Moments later, Zen Navigator's psychadaelic VW minibus launched
from the Winaprize, and plunged into the void.
"Wheels turning around
Into alien grounds
Pass through different times
Leave them all behind"
-Ride, "Leave Them All Behind"
NEXT: BADASS AND CHALANDRA HARKNESS VS. THEIR OWN PAST!
=========================================================================
Date: Thu, 16 Jul 1992 00:40:53 EDT
Reply-To: UCF SUPERGUY List (SUPERGUY at UCF1VM.BITNET)
Sender: UCF SUPERGUY List (SUPERGUY at UCF1VM.BITNET)
From: Kenneth Cooney (kecooney at UHASUN.HARTFORD.EDU)
Subject: SF: Gary Hunt "...And Don't Forget the Crutons" #4 (finally!)
(The "I Left My Left Artery in Nebula Four" saga continues)
G A R Y H U N T
"... AND DON'T FORGET THE CROUTONS"
The Story Thus Far (for those that came in late):
When the "I Left My Left Artery in Nebula Four" series concluded,
Gary Hunt, intergallactic space explorer, sembiot robotic being (that resembled
another species on Earth which I will later mention in this monologue) and
protector of Earth had a slight problem ... Earth was demolished. Along with
Earth (besides a couple billion species including a funny looking, odd,
primitive, but interesting species known as humans) his companion Xog, the
synthetic biodegradable water flounder, was also turned into space dust.
That's where the "...And Don't Forget the Croutons" series began.
ISSUE #0:
Gart Hunt found out that his programming incorperated Xog as a fig-
ment, which is not to be mistaken for a conscious (which was incorperated in
later models of sembiot robotic beings), nor is it to be mistaken with fig
newtons (which, I might as well add, should not be mistaken for a cookie).
Anyway, Xog cannot be seen or heard by anyone except Gary.
So, eventually the idea came into mind that perhaps Gary should
compress all of the Earth's particles with the ship's particle ray. Gary did
so, and used the computer's data banks to make Earth the way it was before
it got blown up. Of course, Gary made a minor mistake in misspelling Earth.
Noticing the mistake, he corrected it after the planet was created.
ISSUE #1
Gary and Xog beamed down to Earth, In Search Of ... (Leonard Nemoy ...
sorry, wrong series) plutonium to fuel their ship. On a small island, they
find a group of TV evangelists looking for the one true Coke. A ruckass
starts when one person declares that looking for the one true Coke was stupid
since it was Pepsi that they should be looking for.
ISSUE #2
The ruckass stops short when it starts raining bricks. Being
resourceful, Gary avoids beging hit by using a lead umbrella. Being a figment,
Xog avoids being hit as well. Being unfortunate dolts, the evalgelists get
bombarded. After the hail of bricks, Gary notices that his plutonium compass
doesn't work. Later, he also notices a huge shadow overhead. Looking up, he
sees a ship and concludes that it must now be raining ships.
Which leaves us with the story at hand (which includes a recap of issue #3, so
don't you worry your little heads over it) ...
G A R Y H U N T
"... AND DON'T FORGET THE CROUTONS"
ISSUE 4
"It's My Magnetic Personality"
(By Ken Cooney)
In the end of issue two, Gary thought it was raining ships, but,
indeed it was not raining ships. It was just a huge quarter mile radius ship
that was falling upon Gary and was going to crush him into a little pulp.
That's all. Sorry for the little mess up. Anyway, luckily, the ship shrank
to the size of a couple feet (to conserve on fuel) and Gary avoids getting
squished.
Gary decides to enter this ship (which he does just by knocking) to
see if the occupants know why his plutonium compass doesn't work. Upon
entering, Gary and Xog discover that the piolet is a monkey and, on top of
that, the monkey claims that Darwin Charles (who, by the way, is also a
monkey) stated that monkeys evolved from man.
But, this was not the most shocking thing that Gary was told. Oh no!
At the conclusion of the issue, Gary found out:
"This damn land mass is one huge magnet!" the monkey grumbled.
"What?" Gary gasped.
"Geesh! Not only are you humans stupid, but you're deaf, too." the
monkey muttered, returning to the controls.
"That must be why my compass doesn't work," gary concluded.
"Give the idiot a cupie doll," the monkey remarked.
"Gary, you can call me crazy, but I think that something is slightly
wrong with this picture," Xog mentioned.
"You mean the one of the man in the chair?" Gary asked.
"Huh?" the monkey asked, not realizing Gary was talking to Xog, who
the monkey couldn't see or hear.
"No, I mean the Earth!" Xog continued, "an island of tv evangelists
searching for the one true Coke, raining bricks, a ships run by a monkey who
claims monkeys evolved from man, this area is a magnet ..."
"You know, some of you humans are such bafoons!" the monkey muttered,
opening up the control pannel.
"You know, you may have a point, there," Gary thought, responding to
Xog's statement.
"So, you agree with me," the monkey responded, grabbing a flashlight.
"Wait a minute!" Xog mentioned. "When you regenerated the Earth ...
you misspelled it."
"Pass a wrench will ya?" the monkey asked.
"Yeah, so! You gonna always put it on my head!" Gary cursed.
"All I asked for is a wrench!" the monkey responded.
"Well, maybe the spelling isn't the only thing that got messed up,"
Xog replied.
Gary's eyes opened wide as he replied, "We have to talk to God!"
"God?! What for, it's only a minor problem!" the monkey muttered.
"I'll be fixed in a minute."
"Let's get out of here before the monkey thinks we're a quack," Xog
stated.
Gary and Xog left the ship as Gary continued the conversation. "We
can use the extensialist transporter on the ship."
"Which means we're back to square one ... we need plutonium to run
the ship and the compass is centered on this mass of land," Xog replied.
"Well, we better move as far away from here as possible so we can get
a clear reading," Gary replied walking toward the forest.
Within a few minutes, Gary paused and looked around.
"What is it?" Xog asked.
"I thought I heard a voice," Gary mentioned.
The two listened on as they heard a voice reply in a clear voice.
"MOVE: GO NORTH WEST."
"Huh?" asked Gary.
From the brush emerged a small man with a grey moustach wearing thick
glasses, a white uniform, and a pithelmet.
"From the brush, you see a man in a space suit a la Kelvin Kline,
shoes a la Celcius. In his hand is a small gadget of some sort," the man
replies.
"Who are you?" Gary muttered.
" 'Who are you?' the man askes the weary traveler. You reply in a
stern voice 'Jungle Joe'."
"This man must be a wacko," Xog replied.
"No doubt," Gary sighed.
" 'No doubt.' the man answers, apparently hearing of you. This must
have been the contact you were looking for. 10 POINTS."
"Excuse me?" Gary asked.
"Perhaps this is a villian in disguise, you think. MOVE: TAKE OUT
BOW AND ARROW, LOAD ARROW, AND AIM AT MAN. You grab your bow and an arrow and
aim steady for the man's head," Jungle Joe replied.
"Don't shoot, I'm a friend!" Gary gasped.
" 'Don't shoot, I'm a friend!' he replies as he waves his hands in air
in frantic motions. You wonder why you should trust him."
"I never lied to you before," Gary remarked.
" 'I never lied to you before' the man mentions. 'Hmm, this is true,
you think ... but there's a first time for everything."
"We've gotta think of a way of getting rid of this Tarzan wanabe," Xog
thought as he looked around. "Mention the snake in the tree to the right."
"What?" Gary gasped.
"Do it!"
"There's a snake in the tree to the right!" Gary noted.
"The man points out the snake that is in the tree to the right of you.
You look over to take notice. It looks dangerous, probably hungry and ready
to pounce on you. MOVE: Um ... GRAB SNAKE WITH BARE HAND. You reach over to
the snake and the snake bites you. I hope the snake is not venemous. You
feel faint as you collapse to the ground-"
With a gasp, Jungle Joe fell to the ground.
"You - YOU'RE DEAD ..." he whispered. "Game ... over."
"Let's just hope there's not more of them," Xog commented as he walked
over Jungle Joe.
Gary followed him, not looking back.
After a short walk down the trail, Gary and Xog reached a clearing.
In the clearing, they saw huge stone statues that looked like:
"Alfred E. Neuman?!" Xog asked.
"What's these doing here?" Gary asked.
"They probably worship them."
"Whoever it is must be mad!" Gary remarked, glancing at his plutonium
compass. "Look! It's starting to turn!"
As the two walked onward, the red light on the compass started
flashing. Closer and closer the walked, ever slowly, watching the light as is
pulsed quicker and quicker until the red light on the plutonium compass
blared. It was here. It was where the compass has directed them. It was-
"Bananas?!" Gary asked, staring at a bunch of ripe bananas on the
ground.
WHAT WILL GARY AND XOG DO NOW?
WILL THEY FILL THEIR SPACE SHIP GAS TANK WITH BANANAS?
HAS THE AUTHOR FINALLY GONE BANANAS?
TUNE TO THE NEXT ALMOST EXCITING ISSUE FOR SOME ANSWERS, BUT NOT
NECESSARILY TO THE QUESTIONS MENTIONED ABOVE ...
(Note: For back issues of the "... And Don't Forget the Crutons"
series, get them from the listserv LISTSERV at UCF1VM.BITNET and not me ...
please! For back issues of the "I Left My Left Artery In Nebula Four" series,
consult a psychiatrist since this series never existed (hey, that's never
stopped anyone from reading this series yet! ... maybe some time I'll get
around to actually WRITING it ... and then again ... maybe not. :)
=========================================================================
Date: Sun, 19 Jul 1992 20:52:00 EDT
Reply-To: UCF SUPERGUY List (SUPERGUY at UCF1VM.BITNET)
Sender: UCF SUPERGUY List (SUPERGUY at UCF1VM.BITNET)
From: "push the button, frank!" (SWEDE at DRYCAS.BITNET)
Subject: SF: Attack of the Space Toaster 1 of 4
[ The idea for this miniseries grew out of a subplot that was evolving
from my Renegade Anarchist stories from early 1991, which are still
available via ftp from bitnic.educom.edu (cd nicbbs.391, and look at
the sfstory volumes). Since I'll be starting up the Renegade
Anarchists where I left off this fall, I thought I'd expand this minor
subplot into the full storyline it richly fails to deserve. - the Swede ]
ATTACK OF THE SPACE TOASTER! : A RENEGADE ANARCHISTS SUBPLOT
#1 (of 4): "Twits...In...Spaaaaaaaaaaace...!"
by Gary W. 'yes! my spirit is snoring!' Olson
Colonel Sanders (no relation) stood on the bridge of the flagship of
the Seltzerramma armada, one of the most justly feared and loathed armadas
in all the galaxy, watching Admiral Thomas (or "Dave", as the bridge crew
called him) having a nervous breakdown. Actually, stark raving mad might
better describe it, but the Colonel didn't want to be judgemental.
"A toaster..," the Admiral sobbed. "A fnording flying toaster, fer
mccheeses sake, and it destroyed the armada! Utterly crushed it! Murderized
it! Even...made us look bad! Oh, the horror!" Once again, Col. Sanders
marveled at Dave's utter mastery of understatement, even while utterly
insane. The toaster had wobbled out of hyperspace, all guns blazing, slicing
up the fearsome battleships like, well, toast. The armada tried to retaliate,
but none of the shots came close to the toaster, instead destroying other
ships. In mere minutes, the armada was all so much space donuts.
"Sir!" a dying tech said, stumbling over to the Colonel, with a blood-
stained piece of paper in his hands. "Message...for you, sir!" Col. Sanders
plucked the paper out of his hands and read it as the tech fell over. It
read as follows:
"Er, is this thing on? Hello? Oh...uh...terribly sorry about the
total obliteration of your armada. We thought we were turning on the sun
lamp. Sorry! (pause) I don't suppose you could direct us to the nearest
Stuckey's? No? Um, well, we'll be going again..."
Col. Sanders frowned, as the ship started self-destructing. They had
just destroyed a Stuckey's while on their way to Sagistus Epsilon IX, looking
to join the mega-armada that some wealthy art collectors were putting
together to go after the Eiffel Thing, which was last reported to be in
the custody of two minor con-men, Hourus Jebillip and Milagro Bekn'kse, on
their way to a minor orb known as Sol III, or Earth. Persistant rumors that
the planet had been totally annihilated had been proven wildly inaccurate,
or at least moot, as their was another planet in the same location that
certainly looked a lot like the Earth, according to scouting reports.
As the flagship blew up, destroying them all, Col. Sander's last thought
was: "AIIIIIIIIIIIIIGGGGHHHHHH!"
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Life on a spaceborne toaster is not easy. For starters, the ship
itself is only about the size of a one-bedroom apartment, and there was no
bedroom. Nor was there any kitchen, living room, closet, breakfast nook,
garage, den, or dining room. There were lavatorial facilities, but using
these properly involved singing a rather complicated ditty involving
tupperware and omlette preparation.
This was no accident. The proper owners of the craft, the Omnipotent
Eggbeater and the Grand High Spatula (who preside over the Celestial Body
of Kitchen Appliances, the ruling council of the Chaotic Bastion of
Silliness, which, centuries ago, ruled the galaxy through their mastery
of the Hypernet, which was powered by the Cosmic Cuisinart (located on
Earth's moon, or "the holy planetoid"), which was in turn controlled by
the Eiffel Thing, although those who presently possessed it thought it was
merely a very expensive emerald gem that wealthy art collectors would pay
through the nose just to get a sideways glance at it, and this exposition
is running on too damn long, and if you want the whole story, read Renegade
Anarchists 1-13, and then tell me what you think, because, you know, we
authors don't get a whole lot of feedback, and I know you're all dying to
tell me what you think of this, and I'd better end this parenthetical
remark, even though you've totally forgotten how the sentence started, and
are rapidly losing patience, and your eyes are glazing over, and *oof*
*ow* *whakwhakwhak* *no, no, not the sandpaper!* *ow!*), did not use the
ship often, only on weekends and for making trips to the Planet of
Supermarkets for beer and pizza. Given that the Egg Beater and Spatula
are representative of the eccentric nature of their people, the toaster
was festooned with numerous food preparation and kitchen appliance motifs.
Even this might not be so difficult to master. After all, there was
an owner's manual, and all the controls were properly labeled in standard
galactic. Unfortunately, it's current occupants could not read, not because
they were lazy or listened to loud jump-jump music, but because they were
primitives who had not evolved literacy yet. They did understand how to
speak galactic, though, due to the efforts of a missionary for the Church
of Extremely Mild Applications of Cocoa Butter, hoping to transform the
planet they were on, Karma Chameleon II, into a resort. He failed to do
that, but they did learn to speak galactic. This, of course, was extremely
unfortunate, as they quickly realized they didn't like each other a whole
hell of a lot, and split up into warring tribes. Now, in the Superguy
altiverse, these warring tribes were united, civilization occured, and became
the Ottsamaddawidu Confederation, one of the galactic superpowers. In this
Sfstory altiverse, however, that union did not occur, hence no civilization.
The Ottsamaddawidu tribe was, however, one of the more powerful of the tribes
on the planet, almost as powerful as their chief enemies, the College
Republicans.
Such was the state of Karma Chameleon II when half of the Renegade
Anarchists landed on the planet, looking for fuel. The College Republicans
greeted them, and convinced them that the Ottsamaddawidu tribe controlled the
only fuel source on the planet. During the attack, subsequent betrayal on
behalf of the Republicans, and escape of the Renegade Anarchists, they brought
along a native girl named Gham, whom the Ottsamaddawidu had planned to
sacrafice to their volcano god, which could have proven to be a very nasty
bit of business. The Egg Beater and Spatula, in pursuit of the Anarchists,
had followed them to Karma Chameleon II in their space toaster, were forced
to flee with the Anarchists and leave their toaster on the planet.
This created quite a poser for the natives. The Ottsamaddawidu tribe
wanted Gham back so they could sacrafice her. The College Republicans wanted
them because they had blasphemed against their god, William F. Buckley, who
lived as an AI, first in the Red Emma, then in Time Agent 173's ship. They
decided to cease all hostilities against each other and go after the
Anarchists. Somehow, they managed to get the space toaster into space,
after much comical error. Sometime later, they blundered into a huge battle
between the Bohemian armada and the Pez armada, resulting in the destruction
of both armadas, without a single scratch on the toaster, and the natives'
discovery of 'hyperspace'. They continued to buzz around the galaxy,
looking for the Anarchists, or at least a 'Stuckeys', which the missionary
had described in loving tones centuries ago, and had achieved cult status
among all the tribes, encountering Hardeharharlock's ship, and now, the
Seltzerramma armada.
"Have you figured out where we are yet?" Nat Rephue, leader of the
College Republican contingent on the toaster. Ragnuruk, leader of the
Ottsamaddawidu contingent, shook his head.
"No," he said, sadly. "But I finally figured out how the dishwasher
works."
"Did you?" Nat said. "Great! Now...what's a 'dish'?" They both
cogitated on this for a while, shrugged, and went back to eating their
coney dogs. It had taken them almost a week before they figured out how
to park the toaster, and in that time they managed to demolish three
Stuckey's, four Dominoes pizza barges, one orbiting Subway platform,
and a Dairy Queen frigate. It was still touch and go, as sometimes the
'park' button also activated a death-beam plasma weapon, but such are the
perils of space.
"Sir!" Benchen, a young Ottsamaddawiduan, called out.
"What is it?" Ragnaruk grumbled.
"Katayin is hitting us again!" Benchen whined. Ragnaruk rolled his
eyes and got up. Even though he was the chief warrior of the Ottsamaddawidu,
and didn't like to involve himself into other tribes' feuds, this was
something that only he could settle. Nat followed Ragnaruk into what they
would have called the engineering room, if they knew what an engineering
room was.
Katayin was busy administering a powerful chop to a College Republicans'
shoulder. He sagged and dropped to the ground like a sack of commemorative
liberty statuettes. Ragnaruk noticed several other tribespeople slumped
around her in similar states of agony.
"What's going on here?" Ragnaruk bellowed.
"Yeah?" Nat seconded, whiningly.
"The same as usual," Katayin said, wiping the sweat off her brow. "I'm
the only female on this ship, so they think they have free reign."
"You're also the only University Democrat," Nat Rephue said accusingly.
"Your presence here undermines the Republican nature of this ship, and our
family values!"
"How would you like me to kick you in your family values, you slimy
little..."
"Stop it, all of you!" Ragnaruk shouted. "I realize it has been quite
a while we've been out here in space. I promise you, we will find the
Anarchists soon. In the meantime, we will look for a planet to stop on
and rest a while, hopefully one with a large female population."
"You've been promising that for weeks now," Nootgengitch, a young
College Republican, complained.
"Sir!" another tribesman called out from a communication console.
"I hear something!" He repeated the message as he had heard it:
"Are you looking for a planet with a large female population?
Then visit Kookamonga IX! We have everything for the weary
traveler, and more! Just take hyperspatial route zed-zed-alpha-
beta-gamma-wokka-wokka-wokka-zed, and you'll be there."
"Now that's what I call timing," Benchen said to Katayin.
"Oh, blow it out your mangoes," Katayin replied, not seeing Benchen's
slightly hurt, more than slightly confused look.
"Then it's settled! We head for Kookamonga IX!" Ragnaruk announced.
The whole crew yayed.
"Yay!" they said.
"Start up the ship," Nat Rephue said. Benchen flicked the switch for
the thrusters, causing the main lasers of the toaster to fire and totally
obliterate the Deep Space Coney Island they had just stopped at. Katayin
sighed and flipped the switch back and forth, and the thrusters started up.
Benchen looked away from Katayin's withering glance.
"I still don't think it was a good idea letting her stay on board,"
Nat Rephue hissed as he and Ragna went back into the other room, or "bridge."
"She's a University Democrat, one of the avowed enemies of my tribe, the
College Republicans."
"Odd," Ragnaruk said. "I could never figure out what the difference
was between your two tribes."
"Can't you tell?" Nat said, astonished. "It's really, really obvious!"
"Well, then, what is it?"
Nat pondered this a bit. "It's totally clear!"
"What is?"
"It is!"
"What's it?"
"What?"
"Oh, just steer, okay?"
"Right," Nat said, taking hold of the toast-shaped steering wheel.
The space toaster sped off into hyperspace, and in a flash of light, was
gone.
THERE ARE LOTS OF TEASER QUESTIONS THAT COULD BE ASKED, BUT ONLY ONE OF
ANY RELEVANCE:
WHY?
ALL THIS AND KOOKAMONGA KOOKINESS ON AN UPCOMING...SFSTORY!
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