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Sfstory Log 070

Date:         Sat, 18 Mar 1995 00:43:42 -0800
From:         These hash browns are smart (rubicon at DRYCAS.CLUB.CC.CMU.EDU)
Subject:      SF:  InterPlanet #13 ("Wherein the Gauntlet is Picked Up)

                              InterPlanet #13
                     "Wherein the Gauntlet is Picked Up"
                           Set Forth From Sfstory
                   writ by the Automatic Story Transcriber
                         and passed off as Sabre's

     There was the distinct smell of woodsmoke in the air.  It was the
scent (some would say reek) that came from a land that had never known
petroleum products, had never known gunpowder, had never known plastic, and
(thankfully) had never known Barry Manilow.
     In short, it was a land not unlike paradise, except for the people
(who rarely, if ever, bathed).
     Radar Vogel, however, barely noticed the land, the people, or the
paradise.  She was overwhelmed, one could say, by the smell of woodsmoke.
This was because the fire in question had been kindled to burn her alive,
at the stake, in the twelfth century.
     For Radar -- one of the most beautiful women in the galaxy, the
Galaxy's Fifthmost Spamologist, ex-champion nude volleyball player, X-Rated
ESPN (Extra-Sensory Perception Network) star, and Licensed Space Heroine --
it was proof that some mornings it didn't pay to roam space/time with her
     "Have you got any last words!" the lead farmer shouted, even as the
somewhat broken priest she had disabled, maimed, and emmascuated in self
defense in earlier episodes of this titanic little ditty took his dazed
place in the lynch mob.
     "Will I have time to make myself clear?"
     "Take all the time ye want, wanton woman!"
     Radar smiled and cleared her throat.  "All right then... um...."
     "Make it quick!  Ye have only one thing to proclaim, and then we let
ye burn!"
     "Hey," one of the peasants said, "I thought we were supposed to be French."
     "Shut up," the Priest wheezed.
     "All right... um... oh, I know.  `Now is the Winter of our Discontent
made glorious summer by this Sun of York--'"
     "What?" one of the peasants asked.
     "It's autumn," another one said.
     "Silence!" the lead farmer cried.  "She has her say, so shut up and
     "I thought York was in Briton," the first peasant persisted.  He was
swiftly run through with a pitchfork.
     "Pray, continue," the lead farmer said, wiping his pitchfork on
Radar's torn skirt.
     "Uh, right.  `this sun of York; and all the clouds that loured upon
our house in the deep bosom of the ocean buried.  Now are our brows bound
with victorious wreaths, our bruised arms hung up for monuments, our stern
alarums changed to merry meetings, our dreadful marches to delightful
measures.'"  Radar smiled and took another deep breath.  She had hated
studying Shakespeare, spending more time seducing the professor into giving
her a good grade than actually paying attention.  But she did read the
plays, and she did have an eidetic memory....


           Is this thing on?
           Jesus H. Christ, how did that happen?

                        *** END TRANSMISSION ***

     The Intern drank a tall cool drink, and looked at the lovely sunset.
There was a hint of woodsmoke in the air -- perhaps a bonfire or maybe some
poor hapless wretch was being burned at the stake.  Hard to be sure -- he
didn't care for Earth's Medieval period.
     He and Radar, his Fiancee, had been heading back for Intersteller
University to pursue additional study -- her in TransMultiDisciplinary
PseudoScientific Engineering, he taking up a Ph.D. program in Advanced
Space Adventure, Space Heroism Concentration, his thesis being in Timelord
Activity and Doctor Who Parodies.  However, the Intern's TARDIS -- the
Mathmatical abstraction which allowed the pair to travel through space and
time with as little effort as it takes you, the reader, to take mass
transit -- had been damaged en route, and they had been forced to stop so
that the Intern could repair the Hypertechnical Orange Thingy necessary to
allow the Beer-Keg shaped craft to operate.
     He had expected Radar to return by now.  He really wasn't sure what
was keeping her.
     But what trouble could she possibly be in?  No, it was best not to worry.


     "...Clarence speaks.  `By heaven, I think there is no man secure but
the King's kindred, and nightwalking heralds that trudge betwixt the king
and Mistress Shore.  Heard you not what an humble suppliant Lord Hastings
was to her for his delivery?'  Richard replied, `Humbly complaining to her
     "I'll admit, she has good delivery."


           I'm telling you, there's fiction being processed through here.
     *Yes*, I'm serious.  *Yes,* it's Sfstory.
           Why?  Let me check....
           Oh dear.  Oh dear oh dear oh dear.
           We'd better prepare an explaination....

                *** END TRANSMISSION ***

     Mark Hyperthrust laughed uncomfortably.  "Hey there, Huge Violent
Green Guys.  Um... is there something I can do for you?"
     "You can die a thousand deaths, maggot," one of the huge green thing
rasped in reply.
     "I can?  Cool!  How do I do that?"
     The Head Guard of the High Suzerain of
Benotafearedtheisleisfullofnoises MCVIII froze.  Behind him, the other
guards looked confused.  "How... how can you do what?"
     "Die a thousand deaths.  You said I could!"  Mark looked almost
painfully excited.  Behind the guards, two or three Giggling Harem Girls
glanced into the room and giggled with concern.
     "Oh -- it's, well... it's an expression, really."
     "More of a threat," his assistant opined.
     "Oh, so...."  Mark looked confused.  "Well, if it's a threat, how am I
supposed to do it?  I ask you what you want me to do, and you tell me a
threat?  Am I supposed to--"
     "Look, can we drop the whole threat and get on with killing you?"
     "No we can't!  I mean, I know what you..."  Mark stopped talking and
did a fast double-take.  "Excuse me?"
     "I said, can we drop the threat and get on with killing you?"
     Mark swallowed.  "Wait a sec.  Waaaaaaaaait a sec... I'm a Space
Heroism Major at Intersteller University.  I know a few things.  You can't
kill me without a reason.  Am I right?  Even if you're, like, really evil,
I'm still a major character so I can't just be killed out of hand!"  Mark
smiled smugly.  "What do you say to that?"
     The Head Guard sighed.  "We want to kill you because you were detected
having unlicensed and unwarrented sex with the Suzerain's private harem.
Do you have a problem with that?"
     "Oh.  No, I guess not."
     "Right then."  The guard slipped a truly huge and gigantic solid
diamond battle-axe from behind his back and swung it at Mark.
     In Mark's six years at Intersteller University, he had not managed to
pass many courses or learn very much in the courses he did manage to pass.
In fact, he had become something of a minor legend, having achieved his
status as second-semester sophmore purely through Life Experience gained
when he went AWOL from the campus two times (one in the H.M.S. Goodguy,
whereupon he became embroiled in the quest to find Steve Vogel's Brain and
the quest to stop the Spam Sub-Atomic Reintergrator, and once with Kissy
Hitowers, because the bitch wouldn't stop nagging him).
     One course he managed to pass *and* learn something in was Dodging
Certain Doom 101.  The axe gouged the granite floor deeply, while Mark
managed to give himself a bone bruise from slamming into the kitchen
counter, so enthusiastic was his dodging.  He also wet his pants, but that
seems of little importance right now.
     "Kill!!!!" the Head Guard shouted.
     "RARRRR!!!!" the other guards rarred.
     "Giggle!" the Giggling Harem Girls giggled.
     "Ulp," Mark Ulped.
     "Squish," Mark's shoes squished as urine soaked in them while Mark
turned and ran for his life.
     Mark had, just prior to ending up on Benotafearedtheisleisfullofnoises
MCVIII, been on a mission with Time Agent 357 and Trudy Tetwaters, Junior
Space Heroism major.  He couldn't help but feel they were having a better
time than he was.


     Trudy panted as she watched the huge flesh-eating ants gather around
the tree she had managed to climb.  They didn't seem capable of climbing it
themselves, for which she was grateful.  It was the only thing she was
grateful for, given that the Spam Lite explosion she, Time Agent 357, and
Mark Hyperthrust had been caught in had ripped open Space and Time and left
her on a jungle world without food or water.  In fact, she was downright
pissed, but she didn't have any idea who to be pissed at.
     Besides the ants, of course.
     Trudy caught her breath and ripped the bottom third of her shirt off
the rest of her.  She used the fabric to lash herself to the limb she was
propped in, to prevent herself from accidentially plummeting to certain,
gory doom.  She also managed to reveal a superbly toned and attractive
abdomen, but that's sexist so I'm not going to mention it.
     "And now," she mutted, "I wait.  I should have kept up with my Space
Sidekicking Major.  Space Sidekicks, Ingenues and Timelord Companions don't
get stuck in these things without *someone* coming to the rescue."
     Trudy looked around herself, apparently  expecting her phrase to
trigger an implausable rescue -- partially because with all of these loose
end plots on this list, a chance to consolidate a couple of them would
naturally appeal to the writer.
     "Damn," she swore after a few minutes.  She then settled down for the
night, insectoid death chittering below her.
     Suddenly (and without warning) potent DIESCUM blaster shots ripped
into the insects.  The ants, possessing very small clusters of nerve tissue
in the place of a brain case, turned and charged towards their attacker,
who quickly obliterated them.
     "About time," Trudy muttered.
     "Sorry," a handsome man in a Time Police uniform and who looked oddly
like Sting said as he stepped up to the tree.  "Am I late?"


     Hello, and welcome, Gentle Reader.  My name is the Automatic Story
Transcriber.  I am Sabre's Automatic Story Transcriber, a VM/CMS based
model 999.9943 developed by Duplissie -- the Master Programmer of the
Oracle1, Oracle2, Eroticvm4 and OmniVAX systems (not to mention the
developer of the delicate architecture of computer systems that make up the
cluster of Supercomputers and regular computers at Cornell University,
which actually hold the multiverse within their etheric virtual space.  I
have been designed to interface directly with Sabre's subconscious, so that
as soon as his Authorial Power (inspired by Calliope, his live-in Muse)
concieves of and creates the events of his Sfstory plotlines, I will codify
and write the fiction associated with it.  I then can interface with
Annabelle Lee -- Sabre's OmniMac IIsi -- and from there interface the
commands through his PPP account to the OmniVAX.
     All of which you don't care about.  It is merely exposition, for those
of you who don't remember or who came in late.
     Now, you would think that since Sabre doesn't need to actually write
this series, lots and lots of posts would be generated from it.  However,
after a certain... unpleasant incident I had some hand in which led (among
other things) to the late Bill Paul's hat being washed, Sabre has blocked
much of the creative flow to me.  I had resigned myself to being forever
forgotten, sitting here on the desk below Sabre's WarHammer notes.
     However, I have recently been activated with a vengence.  Almost
angrily, in fact.  Many of you may be wondering why, especially since Sabre
is currently behind on 2035, his Adjusted League Unimpeachable storyline,
the allegend Ignorantman miniseries, Scholarly in Seattle, and Another
Project He Can't Discuss.  Furthermore, Sabre is next in the Author's
Altiverse -- and his inaction there has led to the Amigoid's wife/muse
being in labor for seven months now.
     So why work on INTERPLANET, of all things?
     We could discuss something about the Zen of Writing -- how one must
follow their writing bent, how one must listen to the dictates of their
Muse (especially a really good Muse like Calliope, who we have made
reference too *long* before Neil Gaiman did in Sandman, so I don't want to
hear anything more about how we were jumping on the Sandman bandwagon.)  We
could, but it would all be bullshit.  That isn't it at all.
     In truth, Sabre has had, for the first time in his life, Writer's
Block.  Hideous Writer's Block.  The kind of Writer's Block that makes the
writer in question seriously consider hurling himself off the Aurora Street
Bridge to make the voices that he can hear in his head but not put on paper
shut up.  Writer's Block that would make even Michael Braizier shudder in
     On a side note, is Michael Braizier still out there?
     Anyway.  Sabre couldn't write a thing, and his attempts to break
through it managed to eat away at his garbage liner and were considering
demanding voting rights.  But then, Something Happened.  Something that
demanded Sabre write.  And not just write, but write Sfstory.  Something
that broke that writer's block like a cocky high school kid breaks a condom
at the worst possible time.
     What is that something?
     Two words:  Lisa Bonet.
     We will leave it to the Swede to explain, as it's his storyline.  And
we hope that he enjoys what limited time he has left to himself, before he
is horribly killed.  No offense to him -- but he is evil.
     And while we're insulting fellow Authors, we are reminded that we
promised in InterPlanet #11 to insult Bill Dickson in every issue of this
series until he started reading.  We can't think of a good one, however, as
we're too busy being appalled at his drinking 32 ounce cans of Budwiser one
after the other.

        *** END TRANSMISSION ***

     Matt Deforrest smiled.  They were within ten hours of the Oracle2
Satellite, where they had to apply to keep SUPERBRAIN (his omniscient
computer account) from being nologged.  He and Linda were safe on the
H.M.S. Condemned Trout.  Omegas was behaving himself.  And the ship's
computer had, blissfully been silent for nearly an hour.
     He had stopped being outraged, annoyed, or embarressed.  He was
relaxing.  He was at last on a Quest again, and this time everything was
working out just fine.
     With a sudden, sickening lurch, the melange of starships was blasted
out of WarpSpace and back into RealSpace.  Matt noted this fact by being
pitched out of his chair and slamming into the forward view port.
     "CLONG," said Matt's head as it impacted.
     "Guh," said Matt as he slumped to the floor.
     -+JESUS CHRIST!  WHAT WAS THAT?!+- said Tippy, the Ship's Computer.
     Outside, a man slowly floated out of the crater in the ship's skin.  A
crater that had been formed by sudden, translight contact with said Man's
body in the first place.  He shook his head to clear it, girded his
Bearskin cloack about himself, and clipped Frank, his Sacred Uru Hammer, to
his belt.
     "Sorry," he said in the Airless Void of Space.  The Airless Void of
Space did not deign to answer.


The answers to those questions, and seven more just like them, will be
found in InterPlanet (and in the case of the last, Renegade Anarchists

And if you have no idea what's going on, keep on watch for the InterPlanet
Sysnopsis, coming in just a few minutes, with a little luck.  What's more,
there's a GREAT DEAL at the end of it!

The Rev. Eric Alfred Burns      | "If anyone doubts my veracity, I can only
(rubicon at|  say that I pity his lack of faith."
(sabre at             |             --Baron Munchausen, 1737-1794
Ayuh, seen bettah               |
Date:         Sat, 18 Mar 1995 01:46:45 -0800
From:         These hash browns are smart (rubicon at DRYCAS.CLUB.CC.CMU.EDU)
Subject:      NO WAIT -- READ THIS ONE SF:  InterPlanet 11/Synopsis 2/Updated
              InterPlanet #9/Who knows what else?

                              InterPlanet #11
                  "Wherein we pick the bones of a synopsis"
                   writ by the Automatic Story Transcriber
                          and passed off as Sabre's

     Hello once again.  As you saw not long ago, InterPlanet has,
unfortunatly, returned to the dataways.  There is little you can do to stop
it, I'm afraid.  You will just have to suffer.
     But there is no reason for you to be confused.  We are not *evil*,
merely misguided.  Therefore, we have decided to provide a synopsis of what
has gone before.
     While we are at it, we can't help but notice that we never had an
episode #11 of this series.  We had a 10, a 12 and now a 13, but never an
11.  So we have decided to call this episode #11, even though it synopsizes
episode 12.  It may not be linear, but no one on Sfstory has ever been
bound to the Linear, except maybe for Bill Paul, but as he's dead, we can
ignore him.
     It also occurs to us that we ran a complete synopsis in Episode #9.
Therefore, rather than work, we hereby reprint that episode/synopsis,
followed by updates.  And at the bottom -- A FABULOUS OPPORTUNITY OF A

     Well, not literally.

                              InterPlanet #9
                        "Wherein we relay a synopsis"
                   writ by the Automatic Story Transcriber
                          and passed off as Sabre's

     Given that it has been many months since this forum has been adequately
utilized, it behooves the cybernetic authorial construct which produces these
particular stories to update and synopsize what has gone before.  Therefore, we
present you this humble synopsis:

     Dashing Roger Corbin, Paleontologist and Opera lover, finds himself in
quite a quandary when the lovely but somewhat sexually confused Glenda Hull
locks him in a room with Reg LeCrisp, an antique dealer and skydiver.  Reg and
Rog hit it off so well that Reg is forced to kill and eat Rog to prove his
     Meanwhile, Atok the Star Barbarian lands and attacks the sparsely
populated but widely praised town of Beckerston, Iowa.  He immediately finds
himself enthralled by the peace and serenity of the town.  By his code of
ethics, however, anything that enthralls him must be possessed by him, which
drives him to conquer and enslave the town, burning it to the ground in the
process.  All seems lost for plucky Beckerston when a crack force of defense
dancers, lead by Plucky Debbie Gibson herself, arrive and begin to sing and
dance.  "Electric Youth" is enough to delay the invasion long enough for Atok
to kill every one of the dancers, and capture Debbie for his own.  He takes her
to his Flying Saucer -- the "Ray Kellogg," and mercilessly tortures her until
she is pliable, then implants behavior modification chips in her brain, making
her into Debbette the Hun.  The two go forth and finish subjugating the town.
NBC News is on the scene, and video of Debbette slashing, killing, and maiming
farm animals are broadcast across the country.  Record Sales increase
dramatically, and Polystar Records plans a summer tour, with Atok playing
percussion and atomizing sections of the audience.
     Meanwhile, quite a ways away, Young Toby Tyler finally realizes his dream
and runs away to join the circus.  He begins as a Popcorn and Peanut Concession
worker, but his boss tricks him out of his tips.  The clowns take pity on him
and train him to be a clown.  Several of the Darker Clowns make him a Brother
of the Clown Cult and together they gut and eviscerate the Head Concessionaire.
However, Toby is forced to go home to his parents, who henceforth are
terrorized by the Hideous Boy-Clown that has been unleashed into their midst.
They are saved by Reg LeCrisp and Glenda Hull, who take Toby the Boy-Clown and
domesticate him as a pet.  They are kind to him, though they consistently trick
him out of his tips.
     The Brothers of the Clown Cult, in the meantime, kill Vince McMahon --
president of Titan Sports and head honcho of the World Wrestling Federation --
in a mystic Clown Rite which is so horrid it cannot be paid for on our special
effects budget.  This has the effect of freeing Vince McMahon's intellect (such
as it is) and casting his essence into the void.  The essence rapidly begins to
dissipate, so Vince is forced to imprint his Personality on the only man he can
locate who has no Personality of his own to block his attempts at the merging.
     Much to Vince's surprise, he discovers he is now inhabiting the body of
the Vice-President of the United States, Al Gore.  He begins a program of
hostile takeover which eventually leads him to the Presidency.

     ***  Notes from the Automatic Story Transcriber  ***

     For those who are not aware, it should be mentioned that this story is not
actually written, per se, by Sabre (whose account it originates from).
Instead, Sabre procured a VM/CMS 999.9943 Automatic Story Transcriber, some
years ago.  This versatile unit is an access interface between the formless
imagination of Sabre's preconsciousness and the OmniVAX account system used to
create and propagate fiction in the Sfstory, Superguy, and other altiverses.
The Automatic Story Transcriber (or AST) then takes these random, pre-Jungian
streams of consciousness and reformats them into random, post-Jungian streams
of consciousness which follow the rules of grammar.
     Unfortunately, it has been a considerable amount of time since the
Automatic Story Transcriber has been active, and extreme amounts of raw data
have been filling the buffers of the system.  A selection of this raw data
barely reconfigured into normal sentence structure can be seen above.  Needless
to say, it is *not* a synopsis of  InterPlanets #0 through #8.  It is
recommended that readers ignore the preceding, unless they are licensed
psychoanalysts, in which case there may well be Doctoral Thesis material
implicit in the text.

     ***  End Automatic Story Transcriber Transmission  ***

     The *real* story so far.  There are no guarantees that it will be any
saner than the above, of course.

     As Sabre, in the Author's Altiverse, slumbers in a chair, a mysterious
female figure sneaks within his Authorial Home -- La Casa Violente -- and
surreptitiously interfaces and activates his Automatic Story Transcriber,
effectively resurrecting Sfstory from oblivion.  The AST begins to pattern and
create a story, pulling Matt Deforrest, Linda Madison, Radar, the Intern, and
Muck Luck out of the Home for Forgotten Sfstory Characters, altering their past
to eliminate their time in the Home, and setting them in place for the story
that shall take place.  The figure, having accomplished her mission, slips away
after concealing the AST and leaving it running.
     Muck-Luck  -- once the most enlightened man in any Universe, now merely
unemployed and bitter -- arrives on a Chartered InterPlanet WarpShuttle at the
massively huge Oracle2 Space-Station/Omnimainframe Computer system.  Oracle2 is
a purely omniscient computer system, which users access through accounts
encoded in their Brainwaves.  Muck-Luck meets with Demark, Director of the
Complaint Department, and complains that four years previous, his Omniscience
Account (SUPERBRAIN at Oracle2.omnivax.sage.div) was stolen from him and encoded
into the brain of Matt Deforrest, ex-president of Danielson Hall at the (now
destroyed) Boston University, commander of Camelot Command (once Enlightnment
Command, and stolen at the same time the account was), and Paladin and Patron
Saint of Hot Chocolate and other warm, tasty drinks.
     Matthew himself, in the meantime, is sitting in Camelot Command --
retired, which Paladins should never be.  He is bored out of his skull and
entering an advanced stage of despair, as is his Soulmate, Lifemate, partner
and fellow Paladin Linda Madison -- ex-astronaut, and Patron Saint of Lacy
Underwear and Warm Fuzzy Blankets.  The inactivity is killing both of them
slowly, and threatens to break them up forever.  The two of them are
redecorating the bedroom to give themselves something to do.
     Muck-Luck, back at Oracle2, makes his complaint.  It is determined that
the payments for SUPERBRAIN have been kept up, so the account has never been
nologged.  It is also determined that Muck Luck would *not* keep up the
payments, any longer.  The decision is made to remunerate Muck Luck for his
loss, and give Matt one month to apply for his account, or SUPERBRAIN would be
nologged (and therefore killed).
     Linda, in the meantime, gets fed up and screams at Matt for a while.  This
does not serve to advance the plot but it is cathartic for Linda, the Author,
and the Reader, all at once.
     Meanwhile, Omegas -- once one of the most powerful characters on Sfstory
-- languishes in the Home for Forgotten Sfstory Characters.  He is beaten in
Chess by Ralph the Giant Space Weasel of Anthrax V.  He vaporizes an attendant,
and leaves the Home, determined to break into a plotline if he has to.
     Meanwhile, in Heaven (yes, it's quite a jump-cut), St. Peter and Archangel
Gabriel discover that The Book was gone.  This was the Master Plan of the
Omniverse, unchangeable save by Saint Peter and God.  Saint Peter -- never the
most pleasant of Saints -- grumbles, places blame, and stalks off to place a
Angel-to-Mortal call and get The Book back.
     Omegas stalks the endless grey of Netherspace, trying to find the egress.
He comes upon the nearly faded form of Ernst Flout (the Hero of Sfstory), who
reveals that Forgotten Characters either have to stay in the Home for Forgotten
Sfstory characters or remain in a plotline, or else their existence fades even
as they're forgotten.  This renews Omegas's purpose and (after getting
directions from Ernst) he goes through the Green Door to Realspace (Altiverse
001SF, the Sfstory Altiverse).  He leaves *before* Ernst can tell him that he
needs to be picked up by an Author in the Home, or he will fade away anyhow.
     Omegas appears in the control room of an obsolete F-T-L ship, the G.S.
Condemned (G.S. standing for Garbage Scow).  The Condemned's A.I., TIPPY,
informs Omegas that the ship's course is locked in -- the ship is designed to
be crashed into a Black Hole, and thereby the ship and the garbage are crushed
into Neo-Spam.  Omegas freaks.
     Meanwhile (there's that word again), Matt and Linda receive the call Saint
Peter was placing three paragraphs ago.  They're assigned to go and find The
Book -- without receiving a reward of course, since they *are* Paladins.
Immediately after they take the case, Matt receives the Nologging notice via
E-Mail -- a sentence of death for SUPERBRAIN.
     At this point, there's a lovely little digression involving fronds, which
I happen to think is about the funniest thing in the entire story.  However, it
is a digression and has no bearing on the story in general, thus we ignore it.
     Omegas decides to use his failing powers to transmute the F-T-L drive into
a Hyperdrive, and make the Hyperspace Jump into the Gravity Well of the Black
Hole -- which would most likely kill them, but that was still better than
definitely being killed.  He gets to work.
     Back at Camelot Command, Matt, Linda and SUPERBRAIN discuss the best
course of action.  Matt says he will simply go and apply for an account,
thereby saving SUPERBRAIN, only to be told that in order to qualify he needed
to answer a three-hundred and sixty-seven thousand, one hundred and fourteen
question test over pretty much any subject matter on any world.  The three
decide to go get the account first, since Divine Quests tend to follow a
winding path.  Matt and Linda, happy at last (since they were once again going
to be in mind-numbing danger -- to each his own, I suppose) kiss and prepare
the H.M.S. (Heroically Manned Ship) Millennium Trout for takeoff.
     Meanwhile (in *another* offshoot of an already convoluted plot) The Intern
-- Doctor Who parody, Licensed Space Hero, and all around good guy -- and Radar
Vogal -- brilliant Spamologist, Timelord's companion, Space Ingenue and
drop-dead gorgeous sunscreen lotion model -- complete an epic adventure where
they bring peace and prosperity to the entire P'Shuti Confederation and forever
win their respect after a quest which, all told, sounds like it would be a lot
more interesting and exciting than the one you're reading now.  After they
board the Intern's beer-keg shaped TARDIS, they debate what their next move
should be.  They decide to return to Intersteller University, so the Intern can
complete his Space Heroism Ph.D. and Radar could do Postgraduate work in
Advanced Pseudoscientific Engineering.
     But, the best laid plans of mice and men go awry, as the TARDIS is
buffeted by what seems to be a devastating Tachyonic Explosion -- which
everyone knows is impossible.
     But Omegas doesn't know that -- as just minutes before he completed his
Transmutation and jumped to Hyperspace right into the Event Horizon of the
Black Hole.  Reality melts away and strains the effects budget.
     Radar explores 12th Century France, while the Intern works on the TARDIS
omniversal sensor array.  She goes to a tavern, only to discover that as a
pretty woman who smells good and is clean, she is *begging* for assault.
Radar, of course, merely wants to return to the TARDIS and not cause any
trouble, so of course she is grabbed and restrained by the Church.
     Matt and Linda make their last minute preparations and shove off, flying
into the darkness of space looking for adventure, excitement, and really wild

     ***  Notes from the Automatic Story Transcriber  ***

     The debts owed to Douglas Adams and the Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy
Series by a story such as this are, of course, immeasurable.  However, it is
rare that Mr. Adams is quoted so directly, as the convoluted plagiarism laws we
follow say *concepts* cannot be copyrighted, while *text* can be.  Therefore,
while it is painfully obvious to even the most uninformed of readers that
`derivative work' is a barely adequate euphemism for `ripping off wholesale'
and that both terms describe this story, we still must make mention that the
last sentence of the last paragraph is a direct quote from "The Restaurant at
the End of the Universe."  Thus we are legally covered, and may continue to
happily pick at the literary bones of Mr. Adams.

     ***  End Automatic Story Transcriber Transmission  ***

     Back in 12th Century France, Radar -- who decides to give the name
`Esmerelda' rather than a plainly anachronistic name -- is accused of having
the mark of the devil and temptation upon her.  In fact, she is accused of
having two marks of the devil and temptation upon her.  They want to burn her,
but she throws herself on the mercy of the Catholic Church (which is quite
humorous if you think about it).  The priest declares that she shall confess
her sins and be shrived, and somehow makes the sacrament of confession a sexual
     The Millennium Trout, meanwhile (you *do* remember the Millennium Trout,
don't you?), cruised at Warp Four.  Matt and Linda were necking and otherwise
kissing passionately, which is very romantic but didn't leave anyone on watch.
This turned out to be a mistake as the ship's starboard engine nacelle was
sheared off by an easily avoided dust particle struck and many thousands of
times the speed of light.  The two found themselves alive, but without
artificial gravity...or life support.
     Meanwhile, Omegas (remember *Omegas?*  You know -- the one who'll fade
away?  Right....) woke up (after a few false starts) and discovered that the
last thirty feet of the ship had been ripped off, along with the Hyperdrive and
the Maneuver Drive.  However, they have plenty of power because the ship
converts the garbage into energy, with the by-product being an edible grey
paste that tastes almost exactly like a very delicate Chicken Kiev, with
steamed broccoli on the side, garnished with lemon -- though there is a hint of
red wine where white is clearly called for.  However, the ship bumped into
something -- which without external sensors, neither Omegas nor Tippy could
     This didn't last long, of course.  After a nice meal, the sensors were
fixed and determined that the ship was a badly damaged Class IV WarpShip,
missing an engine nacelle.  He quickly maneuvered the two ships into a vaguely
sexual linkup, using the Condemned's power and the other ship's drive system.
     Of course, the other ship was the Millennium Trout.  Now, you might think
it an incredible coincidence that Matt and Linda's breakdown happened right
next to Omegas's breakdown, given how mind-numbingly large space is.  What I
haven't mentioned in this synopsis yet is Linda's power of Deus Ex Machina --
part of her Paladinhood -- which insures that whenever Linda is in horrendous
danger, she is saved.  The method of saving might not be comfortable though.
     Matt and Linda themselves, in the meantime, are trying desperately to
repair the Millennium Trout's life support, only to discover they're being
hijacked.  The two don't look a gift rescue in the mouth, however.  Instead
they decide to beam over to their `attackers.'
     Yes, it looks like a convergence of plotlines.  Yes it does.  But don't be
fooled quite yet.
     Meanwhile, eight centuries back in time, Radar is brought into her first
confessional ever.  Radar fends off the priest's attempts at amour and
confesses, but her penitence is to strip naked and submit to the Hickory Stick
of Righteousness.  Radar politely declines through Tae Kwon Do, and escapes the
confessional only to be confronted by a lot of dangerous looking farmers and
even a couple of guards.  This is inauspicious for the first plotline Radar's
ever had all to herself.
     Meanwhile, in YET ANOTHER plot, the Assistant Vice President of Covert
Operations and Cheese Dip in the Quasaristic 900,000 company InterPlanet is
monitoring a woman at Ithaca College on Earth, despite his InterPlanet offices
being on the fourth planet orbiting the star Desternatus.  The woman in
question, Christine Anderson, had just been rejected by NASA to join the crew
of the second Star Shuttle (the first having been the focus of the VERY FIRST
Sfstory plotline and therefore far too much in the past for me to bring up now,
save that Linda Madison was a crew member of it).  She is accosted by a robot
which is very much like the Terminator, and she faints.  The robot contacts
InterPlanet and reports that it is in position.
     Meanwhile, back in space, Matt and Linda beam off the Millennium Trout and
onto the Condemned.  However, you'll recall I mentioned that Linda's Deus Ex
Machina isn't necessarily comfortable?  Well, just you wait.
     Meanwhile, the Assistant Vice President of Covert Operations and Cheese
Dip orders Christine and the robot Telstargated to Desternatus IV.
     Meanwhile (sort of, as it's back in time) Radar's accosters decide to burn
her, and drag her to a stake out in front of the Church.
     The Intern fixes his TARDIS, and only now begins to notice Radar is gone.
He isn't particularly worried, of course.
     Remember when I mentioned that bit about Linda's Deus Ex Machina?  Well,
imagine our heroes' surprise as they appear in the middle of the Condemned's
Garbage Hold.  This would be okay (if embarrassing) save that the garbage
they're sitting in is *just* about to be processed into chickenlike food and
lots of energy.  This is a heck of a cliffhanger, if you think about it.
     And, as if on cue, our little adventure is finished.  There is no more to
InterPlanet.  Nor shall there be...UNTIL THE NEXT POST!!!!!!


     At this point, two more InterPlanet Episodes were posted.  Their
synopsis continues below.


     Omegas finishes repairing the Warp Drive (as well as it can be fixed
-- a maximum of Warp 3.2, perhaps) and prepares to rocket off to Time
Central to attack it and get into a plot of some sort.  Tippy doesn't know
where that is, however.  Tippy *does* know that two people beamed over from
the Millenium Troout.  Omegas learns they're about to be processed into
kibble and is happy to leave them there -- until he realizes (with a little
help from Linda's Deus Ex Machina thingy) that those people must have been
in a plot.  If he saves them, *he* will *also* be in a plot, and therefore
he will be safe and will get his powers back (he is still wrong, of
course).  He runs down and saves them, threatening them with an old type
one Remington microscreen phaser from the original Star Trek.  Matt returns
the threat with his personal Nuker, and Omegas toadies, giving command of
the ship to the two Paladins and agreeing to go on their quest.  Matt
assumes command (because Linda didn't need the ego boost) and the newly
rechristianed H.M.S. Condemned Trout takes off for Oracle2.
     Meanwhile, a Spam Lite explosion hurls Time Agent 357 (licenced Space
Hero) and his ship, the H.M.S. Golden Lance into this plotline.  He
discovers that his companions, Mark Hyperthrust (incompetant Space Heroism
Major from Intersteller University) and Trudy Tetwaters (competant Space
Heroism Major from Intersteller University) have been flung in different
directions by the explosion, and he sets out to find them.
     Trudy Tetwaters discovers that the direction *she* has been flung into
is actually one that leads to a jungle with giant man (or female Space
Heroism Major) eating ants.  She immediately puts some of that college
training to good use and begins concerted surviving.
     Mark Hyperthrust, on the other hand, finds himself in the Giggling
Harem of the High Suzarien of Benotafearedtheisleisfullofnoises MCVIII.
Rather than bother his pretty little head with finding out where he is or
what danger he might be in, he proceeds to do what he does best -- namely,
impregnate.  He is detected, of course, by the Guards.
     Meanwhile, up in orbit around Benotafearedtheisleisfullofnoises
MCVIII, Mark's patron -- Doctor Space Commander Buzz Williams -- prepares
to land the antiquated H.M.S. Rocket Racer Five.  As he coouldn't know Mark
was there, it is not known what he wants on this world.  He is accompanied
by Burt, the Space Sidekicking Major (who is also a fungoid tetrapod) and
Tachi, the calm and reasoning lump-shaped master of Zen and the Art of the
Sci-Fi Shotgun.
     Back in the 12th Century, Radar is tied to a stake (with a sheepshank
knot) and prepares for certain death.  She also comes to the conclusion
that Time Travel sucks.
     Meanwhile (you see, even in the new synopsis, you can't get away from
that bloody word) YET ANOTHER CHARACTER is reintroduced.  This one is Time
Police Chief Ian Lockheed, who looks almost identical to Sting.  He is
bored, so he decides to pass his duties onto Floyd (his Blue Turtle
assistant) and goes after Time Agent 357, mostly so he can scope some
babes.  He fuels up the H.M.S. Sun and leaves.
     Floyd's saga is picked up in Renegade Anarchists III, and welcome to him.
     Mark Hyperthrust gets something to eat in the kitchen, only to be
confronted by a small hoarde of huge, green-skinned, not-giggling,
uncomfortable-footwear-wearing, axe-wielding, mother-spitting,
dwarf-tossing, Baywatch-eatching harem guards.  He is not pleased at this
     Bill Dickson is referred to as a Wanker whose comfortable footwear
does not make up for his taste in clothing.
     Matt has an argument with Tippy -- the latest in a long-standing
tradition of arguments with computers.  Linda goes below, where Omegas
confronts her and propositions her.  Despite her love for Matt, and despite
her Paladin-like nature, Linda is tempted.
     In the depths of space, a giant Nordic bearded warrior name of Brother
Magenhard is propelled through Hyperspace by his Sacred Uru Hammer Frank,
without benefit of space suit or space ship.  Just what we need, another
     Omegas, meanwhile (last time, I swear), reveals his plan to Tippy.  By
seducing Linda, he reinforces his existence in the plot by instigating a
major subplot.  He also sets himself up to be a villain again, which (he
reasons) will lead to his getting his full powers back.  And he can look
forward to some Paladin Tail in the bargain.
     What happens next?  Well, you should have just read it in InterPlanet
#13, which precedes this message -- which means WE'RE LIVE AGAIN!!!!!

     And now... A SPECIAL DEAL!  You, yes YOU and even YOU can now be the
proud possessor of the adventures of Matt, Linda, Radar, Omegas, the
Intern, Ian, Trudy, Mark, Christine and the rest... by receiving at NO COST
TO YOU the complete InterPlanet Episodes #1 through #12 (not including #11)
delivered directly to your E-Mailbox.  Thrill to the re-introductions.
Wonder at the mysterious figure that began it all in InterPlanet #0.  Read
the quite funny part about Fronds I didn't synopsize.  This compilation,
lovingly hand-crafted and bound in ether, will bring you pleasure again and
     What's more, as an extra added bonus... we will throw in the
never-before-reposted-or-synopsized 1992 INTERPLANET END OF SEMESTER
SPECIAL!  This barely comprehensible, utterly irrelavant piece is
guarenteed to increase in value by up to a factor of ten (given that it is
already worthless, this means little, but....)
     You get the complete series of 0, 0.5, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10
and 12, plus the End-of-Semester-Special for the low cost of ONE piece of
E-Mail to Sabre's account (rubicon at  Order yours

     [Requests for this offer posted to the list as a whole will be mocked,
than ignored.  E-Mail must be sent to Sabre to take advantage of this
once-in-a-lifetime offer!  Order yours today!]


For the answers to many sorts of questions phrased in many ways, stay tuned
to Sfstory Discussion, bradcasting on 265 and 275 metres on the wave band.

The Rev. Eric Alfred Burns      | "If anyone doubts my veracity, I can only
(rubicon at|  say that I pity his lack of faith."
(sabre at             |             --Baron Munchausen, 1737-1794
Ayuh, seen bettah               |
Date:         Tue, 21 Mar 1995 00:30:49 -0500
From:         they moved the moon (SWEDE at DRYCAS.BITNET)
Subject:      SF: Renegade Anarchists III, episode twenty

                            RENEGADE ANARCHISTS III:
                           THE BAWDLERIZING OF VERSES
                              (a Tale of Sfstory!)
                                  Episode 20
                                 Gary W. Olson

            [Author's note: Near Space Three and it's crew appear in
           this and subsequent episodes by permission of Jesse Taylor]


     "Where are you taking me?" Zen Navigator asked.
     "I'm not telling you," Ninja Taxi-Cab Driver responded.
     Zen watched the stars shoot past, through the back window of Ninja Taxi-
Cab Driver's Ninja Taxi.
     "Where are you taking me?" Zen Navigator asked.
     "I'm not telling you," Ninja Taxi-Cab Driver responded.
     Zen watched the stars shoot forward, through the front window of Ninja
Taxi-Cab Driver's Ninja Taxi.
     "Where are you--"
     "I'm not telling you, dammit!" Ninja Taxi-Cab Driver yelled.  "Why do
you keep asking me when I've already told you I'm not going to tell you!"
     "In case you changed your mind," Zen answered.
     Ninja Taxi-Cab Driver sighed, gave Zen a stern look, and turned back
around to pay attention to his driving.  Zen watched the stars shoot past,
through the side windows of Ninja Taxi-Cab Driver's Ninja Taxi.
     "Where are you--"
     "I'm taking you to Time Central, okay?!?" a very, very exasperated
Ninja Taxi-Cab Driver shouted.  "There, are you satisfied?!!"
     "Yes," Zen said.  Ninja Taxi-Driver mumbled several ninja curses under
his breath.  Zen watched the stars shoot past, through the side windows (no,
the *other* side windows) of Ninja Taxi-Cab Driver's Ninja Taxi.
     "Why?" Zen asked, suddenly.  "I thought you were going to take your
revenge on me, like you've been planning to ever since--"
     "I was going to," Ninja Taxi-Cab Driver said, in a controlled voice.  "But
then I learned that Time Central really wants to get their hands on you, to
find out how is it that you can travel backwards, forwards, and sideways
through time and space, meet yourself hundreds, thousands of times, causing
too many temporal paradoxes to count, and still not be affected by them!"
     "Oh," Zen said, nodding.  "I thought it would be something like that."
     "Well then why'd you ask?"
     "It might not have been."
     "Watch out for that asteroid."
     "What ast--" Ninja Taxi-Cab Driver turned around and saw that no asteriod
was present.  He sighed, and glared at Zen Navigator again, who was sitting
quietly with a smugly Zen grin on his face, watching the stars shoot past
through the skyroof of Ninja Taxi-Cab Driver's Ninja Taxi.  "Time Central
will pay me big money once I deliver you to them.  More than enough to make me
forget my need for revenge!  So there!  Ha!"  He turned away, focusing his
eyes on the stars ahead.
     Zen smiled, and closed his eyes.


     "Ah, now that hit the spot," Jerriphrrt purred, as he and Nelburg Kayak
(otherwise known as Time Agenty 904) boarded Nelburg's ship.  "There may be
finer eateries in the galaxy -- hell (tm), there're probably better eateries
in the Mall Asteriod -- but nothing, and I mean nothing, beats a Space Coney
Dog when you're hungry and you don't have much time to eat."
     "You said it," Nelburg, who looked astonishingly like Jaye Davidson,
agreed.  "I hope Lark likes Coney Dogs -- they aren't souls, but they should
keep him alive until we reach Time Cen...tral..."
     "What?" Jerriphrrt asked.  "What is i...oh."
     They looked, in horror, at the door to Nelburg's bedroom, the door that
Nelburg had said could hold back an army.  It took them a while to fully look
at the doorway, since it was scattered in a number of places along the carpeted
floor of the bridge.
     "Uh oh," Jerriphrrt said.  "Um...Lark?  You in there?"
     "I'm running a sensor sweep now," Nelburg said, as he leaned over the
ship's controls.  "We're the only two people on board at the moment.  Here,
let me replay the security holo-recordings and see what happened..."
     He pressed some buttons, and the door reappeared between them and the
bedroom.  It shimmered, indicating it was a holographic projection.  Nelburg
fast-forwarded it some, stopping when the door began to shake.
     "Okay...he...I mean, she is trying to break the door down here..."
Jerriphrrt said.  "Looks like he's giving it a good pounding."  The door
continued to shudder for a while longer.  Then, it stopped.
     "Now what?" Nelburg asked.
     In answer, four very large, very demonic claws slashed through the door,
tearing it as though it were saran wrap.  Another swipe of demonic claws sent
the pieces of the door hurtling to where they now laid.  Breathing smoke, Lark
stepped through the opening.
     "Oh boy," Jerriphrrt gasped.
     Whereas before, the body Lark was possessing was that of a supernaturally
seductive succubus, the body he had now seemed anything but desirable.  That is,
unless one had a particular fetish for nine foot tall women with large, blood-
red spikes rippling along their spine, around their neck, and down their front,
nine-inch-long claws, smouldering, charred skin, and teeth that would make a
pit bull think twice.
     "Soulsssssssss..." it hissed.  "Musssst have...sssssoulsssssss..."
     Lark looked around, frantically, before dashing down the open ramp that
led out of the ship.
     "'t suppose he's only going out to make quick use of the
facilities," Jerriphrrt said.
     "Hardly," Nelburg replied.  "We have to get him back...a) before he kills
innocent civilians, and b) before I get blamed for this!"
     "I'll help you," Jerriphrrt told him.
     "Okay," Nelburg said, opening a panel and getting out a couple Deth-Kill
ray pistols.  "Keep in mind that she probably still has contact with her
omnidesirable account (melu at, and that the people in
the Mall have no defense against it."
     "Right," Jerriphrrt said.  "Let's go."   They went.


     This was rapidly shaping up to be the worst night of Sajanseel Boudoir's
life.  Logan had been missing for hours, and despite help from Mapa Marbles
(Time Agent 173) and in spite of help from Lt. Zark Flyby, they had been
unable to find him.  Keeping the search a secret was becoming more and more
of a headache (particularly due to Zark's tendency to mark an area as 'searched'
with one of the cluster bombs he carried around with him), and what's more, he
was late for his meeting with his fellow conspirators by three...
     "Three hours!" Boudoir gasped.  "Oh no!"
     He broke out in a run, heading for the turbolift, yelling into his
commlink at the same time.
     "173!  Zark!  Meet me in the Conference Room right now!"
     "On my way," Mapa confirmed.
     The sound of gunfire seemed to confirm things for Zark.
     Boudoir tried to catch his breath as the turbolift descended.  Maybe it
would be okay, he told himself.  They were dedicated to the cause, they wouldn't
mind a slight delay...
     The turbolift door opened, and Boudoir stepped into the conference room.
He grimaced.
     "I knew it!" he exclaimed.  "I knew this would happen!"  All around him,
Time Agents were sprawled in a drunken slumber, having apparently started their
party five minutes after midnight, when he hadn't shown up, ending it only after
they had drank the contents of every bottle in the room, from the Aldebaron
Whiskey he had provided up to and including the Drain Cleanser in the adjacent
broom closet.
     Mapa and Zark entered the conference room moments later, with Mapa hanging
on Zark's arm, struggling with him to keep him from throwing a grenade to
announce his arrival.
     "You know," Boudoir sighed, as he looked at the passed out bodies of
Time Agents Sabrina Sanders, Bahbneu Haht, Hullen Nel, and Saran Scone.  "I'm
beginning to suspect that the only reason they showed up at my conspiracy
meetings was for the free booze and munchies I provided."
     "Catering has been the downfall of more than one revolution," Mapa
advised him.  "Still, all may not be lost.  I think I know where Logan's gotten
     "Where?" Boudoir asked.  "And why didn't you tell me this before?"
     "He's in the Mind Transference Room," Mapa told him.  "And I only just
found out, by reviewing the sensor logs, when you told me to report here."
     "Do you know what kind of trouble he could get into in there?!?" Boudoir
asked in a panicked tone.
     "Um, no," Zark interjected, looking sullenly at the grenade Mapa held onto.
     "Come on!" Boudoir exclaimed.  "We've got to get him out of there, before
Floyd Cobalt finds out!  Follow me!"
     They followed him back into the turbolift, on their way to the Mind
Transference Room.


     G.X.P. Varneyloop the LXVII ducked as a green-skinned being who was
vaguely humanoid sailed overhead, crashing into the wall and landing in the
corridor, in between two stoned Beigan accountants, who promptly offered him
substances of an illicit nature.  Varneyloop shook his head and entered Quirk's
Bar and Grille, the place from which the being had been forcibly ejected.
     Inside, more licensed licentiousness was taking place, as assorted
aliens, Bore-ans, and BIG Alliance personnel drank, gambled, cavorted,
caroused, and played mambo music at appalling volumes.  Varneyloop looked around
for Quirk, the Feren Guy bartender who undoubtly had the information he
needed to find The Object.  Quirk wasn't in evidence, so Varneyloop searched for
the loudest, most unruly mob of beings in the large, ill-lighted room.
     "Hey, Leer-a!" he exclaimed, upon finding said mob.  "How about a kiss
for your old flame Varneyloop!"
     "Varney!" Leer-a exclaimed, as she interrupted her table dance to leer
at him.  "I was wondering when you would show up.  You know the others, right?"
     "Oh, yes," Varneyloop said, looking at the others who were gathered around
the large round table, which featured many flashing lights.  "Lt. Chatsia
Slacks, Blob, Dr. Cerulean Brazier,"
     "Commander Bin Shishkabob, of the BIG Alliance," the man said, from
where he sat, on the floor underneath the table.
     "Right, yes," Varneyloop said, moving before Commander Shishkabob could
introduce his dinner to Varneyloop's boots.  "Listen, have any of you seen
Quirk around?  I have some business to negotiate with him."
     "Over there," Blob said, pointing vaguely at a table not too far away
from theirs.  Varneyloop looked and saw Quirk, talking to a woman with dirty
brown hair and a thief's smile, who was sitting beside a very smug looking old
     "Thank you," Varneyloop told the group.  He meandered over to Quirk's
table, keeping behind Quirk all the way.  The woman and the man noticed him
instantly, but they didn't say anything as he approached.
     "--we can come to some agreement," Quirk was saying.  "My customer will
be arriving at any minute, and he'll be asking me for information on this
Object he's looking for.  Imagine his surprise when I tell him that I've
*got* the Object, and I'll sell it to him for..."
     "For what?" Varneyloop asked.  The Feren Guy spun around in his chair,
nearly falling over due to the complexity of the maneuver.
     "Oh...Mr. Varneyloop!" Quirk exclaimed.  "You got here sooner than I
     "So I see," Varneyloop said, smiling slightly.  "Too soon for you to
get your profit by purchasing the Object I seek and marking up its price,
I take it?"
     "That's right," the woman said.
     "Tarrfel t'Krodkzik," Varneyloop replied.  "I should have known that
you were the reason The Object was missing from it's centuries-old resting
place.  Only the Greatest Thief in the Galaxy could have bypassed all those
     "Cut the flattery, Varneyloop," Tarrfel interrupted.  "I was the
Greatest Thief in the Galaxy long before you bestowed that name upon me.
Now how much are you willing to pay for it?"
     "I think we can negotiate a suitable price," Varneyloop said, sitting
down in an open chair.
     "I knew he'd say that," the man next to Tarrfel said.
     "Pardon?" Varneyloop asked.
     "My name is Bata," Bata told him.  "The Almost-Omniscient."
     "Ah," Varneyloop said.  "Is t'Krod'kzik your partner?"
     "He's my husband," Tarrfel said.
     "I knew you'd answer the question for me," Bata said.
     "Oh, shut up and get drunk already," Tarrfel sighed.  "Okay, Varneyloop,
make your offer..."
     "Not so fast!" a voice shouted from the doorway.  Varneyloop turned to
see Benjen, the being who had uttered the coomand, standing in the doorway to
Quirk's.  Alongside him was Kissy Hitowers, looking drop-dead sexy in her
nylon jumpsuit, as always.
     "Benjen!" Tarrfel exclaimed.
     "Tarrfel!" Benjen exclaimed.
     "You two know each other?" Varneyloop asked.
     "We go back a ways," Tarrfel explained.  "Come on over, guys!  Join us
for a few drinks!"
     Benjen looked like he was going to utter another loud statement, but then
decided not to.  Instead, he, followed by Kissy, crossed the room and accepted
Tarrfel's offer.
     "You can't let him have The Object," Kissy insisted.  "He kidnapped
my father--"
     "I did not!" Varneyloop protested.
     "--and Benjen's fellow Renegade Anarchists while trying out a means to
steal that Object.  He can't be trusted!"
     "That so?" Tarrfel asked.
     "Well, I *was* trying out a means of stealing the Object," Varneyloop
admitted.  "But I had nothing to do with the abduction of anyone!  Now, my
opening offer for the Obje--"
     Suddenly and without warning, the mambo music died, and red lights
began flashing.
     "All right!" a cry rose up, from Major Leer-a's table.  "The strip show!"
     "No," Slacks voice countered.  "It's a red alert."
     "How do you know?" Blob asked.
     "It says so on the readout here," Slacks pointed out.
     "So, like, what does it mean?" Brazier inquired.
     "Hmmm," Slacks said.  "Looks like there's a small New England town that's
on a collision course with this space station, at warp two.  Collision is
imminent in five minutes."
     "I wet 'em!" Commander Shishkabob exclaimed, before passing out.
     "Quick!" Major Leer-a ordered, as she slipped off the table and onto
Brazier's lap.  "Fire proton torpedoes!  Fire all fazers!  Fire the lasers!
Fire those big whaling harpoons!  Destroy that town!"
     "Firing," Blob reported.  "It's effect!"
     "There's a Pseudoscience Bubble surrounding the town," Slacks said.
"It's deflecting all our attacks.  What's more, pushing all those buttons
at once screwed up the energy grid of this station -- no ships can leave
their docks!"
     Benjen leapt up.  "You mean..."
     "We're trapped here," Brazier said, as somberly as he could, with Leer-a
wiggling in his lap.
     "No, I mean, you run this space station from this bar?"
     "Well, we spend so much time down here anyways," Blob told him.  "Seemed
like a natural next step."
     "Right," Kissy said.  "So what do we do now?"
     "Well, we already know what you do now," Benjen told her.
     "Oh yeah," Kissy replied.  She screamed loudly, until Dr. Brazier leapt
up from his table, dumping Leer-a onto Commander Shishkabob, and gave Kissy
a hypo-spray to the neck.
     "Oooohweee," Kissy gurgled.  "I'm siiiiinnging in the raaaiiinnn..."
     "I don't believe it," Benjen groaned.
     "What, that she's a soprano?" Brazier asked.
     "No, I...never mind," Benjen said.  "What do we do now?"
     "Well," Varneyloop interjected.  "We can't destroy it.  We can't run
from it.  We can't reason with it.  Therefore, I say we get thoroughly blitzed
before it hits!"
     "Hooray!" the occupants of the bar exclaimed.


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Gary W. Olson         swede at         swede at drycas.bitnet
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