Main Sfstory Page     Previous Log     Next Log     Index for Logs 061-090

Sfstory Log 078

Date:         Thu, 15 Feb 1996 10:06:50 -0800
From:         the Evil Marketing Ploy (a00076 at ACADEMIC.CSUBAK.EDU)
Subject:      SG/SF/MW: Analogs #8

        The Debt Star, so named because of its humongous price tag, man-
neuvered around the gas giant Yakkin. The moon Dattoo harbored a rebel
base. The Debt Star was going to destroy the moon and the rebels with it.
The rebels were understandably upset and decided to file a protest by
launching the five fighter squadrons they had on hand. The Debt Star car-
ried five thousand squadrons. With this in mind, Grand Boff Tonkin de-
cided that it was tactically feasable to only have an equal number of
fighters engage the rebels instead of using overwhelming force.
        And then the giant piano showed up.

        "We seem to have stumbled onto someone else's fight," commented
Commander Wilma Riker.
        "It's a rather unequal fight, too," added Commander Spockette.
        "Do we attack?" asked Commander Kinky Nurse. "Do we help one side
or the other?"
        "Of course we attack," said Jane Kirkway, Captain of the Symphony
o' Doom. "We work for a major supervillain, after all."
        Spockette frowned. "I thought supervillains were an artifact of
the SUPERGUY altiverses," she said.
        "Fine, a major VILLAIN. It's only semantics," Kirkway replied.
        "So, do we help either side or just blast everything that moves?"
Nurse asked.
        "You have to ask?" Kirkway asked wryly. "We blast everything."

        The Debt Star got off the first shot. It's green, dollar-shaped
beam pricing sections of the Symphony's hull up out of existance. There
was a flash of golden light and the hull was completely repaired. In re-
ply, the Symphony fired a red Delete beam; it struck the Debt Star which
promptly ceased to exist leaving behind nothing, not even debris.
        The Symphony then proceded to wipe out any remaining fighters,
Dattoo, and Yakkin which happened to be in the way. As before, there was
nothing left behind except a conspicuous absence of a planet.
        "That was too easy," Riker said.
        "So? What were you expecting? A trap?" Kirkway asked.
        "Hmm, guess not," Riker replied sheepishly.
        "What's our ETA to Dispenser?" Spockette asked.
        "I have no idea," Kirkway replied.
        "What?" chorused the Commanders.
        "Dispenser's coordinates aren't in the Symphony's computer," she
explained. "The Boss told us to plot a leisurely course to Dispenser, so
we've been wandering randomly for the past month."
        "Does the Boss know?" Nurse asked.
        "Are you going to tell him?" Spockette asked.
        "Do I look suicidal to you?" Kirkway asked back.

                  Overly Bar-B-Cued Authorial Productions

    \    /    ####  ##  ##  ####  ##     ####   #####  #####   \    /
     \  /    ##  ## ### ## ##  ## ##    ##  ## ##     ##        \  /
  --- () --- ###### ###### ###### ##    ##  ## ## ###  ####  --- () ---
     /  \    ##  ## ## ### ##  ## ##    ##  ## ##  ##     ##    /  \
    /    \   ##  ## ##  ## ##  ## #####  ####   ##### #####    /    \

                                Episode #8
                              "Where was I?"

                          by Nopporn Wongrassamee
                              the Evil Author

                            with consultation by
                       Gary Olson, the Billions+ Swede

        "Are you all right, Mary?" the old woman asked as she sat down
next to her.
        "I think so, Grandma," Mary sighed. Elaine Sinclair's funeral had
been depressing. "I keep thinking to myself that I should have been there
for her. Mom and I didn't always get along, but..." She trailed off.
        "You didn't know, Mary," her grandmother comforted. "You couldn't
have known."
        "I should have," Mary said.
        "But, child," her grandmother began, "What could you have done?"
        "I should have been there," Mary told her.
        "And gotten yourself killed, too," her grandmother replied. "I'm
not about to lose my last living descendent, now, y'hear?"
        Mary nodded.
        "Now, where have you been staying lately?" asked Mary's grandmo-
        "At Paul's apartment," Mary replied.
        "You two haven't..." Grandma arched an eyebrow.
        "Grandma, of course not!" Mary protested. "He's just been helping
me get through this. That's all."
        Mary's grandmother nodded sagely, obviously not believing a word.
"Of course, Mary," she said soothingly. "A man and a pretty, young woman
like yourself can live together and still not - what's the phrase? - 'do
the wild thang.'"
        Mary stared at her grandmother. She smiled and then started giggl-
ing. "When you put it that way, it does sound a bit ridiculous, doesn't
it?" Mary said. "Seriously, Grandma, Paul and I aren't having mad, pas-
sionate sex or anything."

        "You're moving out?" Elaine Sinclair asked her daughter.
        "Yep," Mary replied as she packed. "Paul invited to let me stay
at his place. I finally get to be on my own and all."
        "Technically, you'll be with Paul instead of on your own," Mrs.
Sinclair said. "Are you sure this is what you want?"
        "Oh, pretty sure," Mary said. "And before you ask, I'm not giving
up heroing just yet, either."
        "Just what convinced you to move out, now?" Mary's mother asked.
"It's just so very sudden and all."
        "Paul can be very...persuasive," Mary answered, a dreamy smile
crossing her face.
        Mrs. Sinclair spotted it. "Mary, you and Paul haven't..." She
gestured suggestively.
        "No, no, of course not," Mary said too quickly.
        "You have!" her mother concluded.
        Mary nodded, staring at the floor embarassed.
        Mrs. Sinclair thought furiously. "Mary," she began, "has it ever
occured to you that Paul may just be using you?"
        "Mom!" Mary exclaimed offended. "How can you say that? I've known
Paul for years! So have you, for that matter. He wouldn't do any such
thing, I just know it!"
        This was, of course, one of the phrases that just happened the
invoke an entity known as Murphy. His attention drawn, Murphy prepared to
do his thing on Mary. A close study revealed that Mary was already in
deep, so he just sat back and decided to enjoy the show.
        "I'm just concerned for your welfare, Mary," her mother said,
hugging her daughter tightly. "I don't want you to get hurt."
        "I know, Mom" Mary replied, hugging her back.
        Murphy considered changing his mind. This scene was getting just
too sappy.

        Space shimmered, distorted, and then disgorged a JumpingShip. The
Heckcruiser was back, Sissyphus U. Lucky Jones with it.
        "Good work, Captain," Sissyphus congratulated. "Now, let's locate
Miss Sinclair quickly before anything else can go wrong."
        The captain frowned.
        "What's wrong now?" Sissyphus demanded.
        "Shouldn't there be a planet there?" the captain asked, indicat-
ing an empty area of space.
        Before anyone could reply, a rogue moon that had flown free when
Yakkin and its attendant gravity well had blipped out of existance sud-
denly smashed into the Heck cruiser.

        Mary sat chained to Jawbreaker de Nut's throne. She had been here
for the past month, being little more than an ornament to Jawbreaker's
vanity. He had been disgustingly lewd with Mary, but hadn't tried to rape
her or anything. Mary suspected that Jawbreaker, being an antropomorphic
peanut, didn't have, equipment to do so.
        "Boss, there is a man here to see you," said a stooge.
        "Greetings, Jawbreaker, I am Lurch Skystumbler, Semi Knight,"
said the cloaked figure who walked in.
        "Never heard a' ya," Jawbreaker replied.
        "Yes, well, er," Lurch stammered, "I'm here to take back my
friend, Hank Soil."
        "Thanks!" Hank called. He was still encased in cement. "Took you
long enough to get here!"
        "And how're you goin' ta do dat, Skysloucher?" Jawbreaker asked.
        "You're going to let me," Lurch replied. "And the name's Skystum-
        The room erupted in laughter. "Shyah, right," Jawbreaker sneered.
"An' why would I do dat?"
        "Because if you don't, you'll seal your doom," Lurch replied. "I
have foreseen it."
        "You threatnin' me, kid?" Jawbreaker demanded.
        "Well, now that you mention it...yeah, I am," Lurch replied.
        Jawbreaker grinned as he pushed a button an armrest. The floor
gave way beneath Lurch, dropping him into the pit below. Everyone leaned
forward to watch as the Smurfor was released. Everyone, that is, except
Mary, who picked up a flashlight-like device that Lurch had conveniently
dropped away from the pit's trap door. On close examination, she figured
that it was built to create some kind of energy blade.
        Glancing into the pit, she saw a giant Smurf grab Lurch and pop
him into its mouth. The Smurfor chewed, swallowed, and then doubled over
in pain. Then it vomited, collapsed and remain still.
        "What happened?" a henchman asked as Mary stealthily cut her
chain with the energy blade. No one looked up.
        "Is it dead?" asked another as Mary carved Soil out of his block
with the blade.
        "I think it might be food poisoning," ventured a goon as Mary
picked up Hank whose muscles had atrophied due to a month of immobility.
She gestured for Cheerio and AreNot to follow her.
        "Is there a vet in the house?" someone called as the four snuck
        "Hey!" exclaimed Jawbreaker. "Where'd the broad go?!" Mary and
the droids ran.

        The bandage clad Sissyphus rolled his wheelchair into his office.
"Secretary!" he bellowed.
        "You called, sir?" asked his nameless secretary as she strolled
        "Call FA$A," Sissyphus ordered. "I need a new Heckcruiser!"
        "But we're still making payments on the last one," she protested.
        "I don't care! I need a Heckcruiser!" he whined.

        "So what have we got so far?" Mary asked.
        "Well, I've managed to confirm that the Bane AI was FTP'd to
another altiverse," Paul replied. "Judging from the address, my counter-
part in 000SUPERGUY received the file. Since you've never been in a MAGE
(Multi Adventurer Game Environment) before, that can be the only source
I can think of."
        "That explains why he looks so much like you," Mary commented.
        "Actually, I chalk that up to the fact that I created him," Paul
said. "But that still doesn't explain what he was doing in your head.
You're not in 000SUPERGUY; you're here in this altiverse."
        "Er, just what is our altiverse called, Paul?" Mary asked.
        "000METAWORLD," he told her.
        "Why is it called that?"
        "Near as I can tell, we adopted someone else's navigational sys-
tem," Paul explained. "The reports aren't too clear on that part."
        "So where's HE from?" Mary pointed to Chewgumma who had turned
into a couch potato out of sheer boredom.
        "I have no idea," Paul said. "I could narrow it to within a thou-
sand altiverses by reading his quantum signature, but that wouldn't help
him any. Anyway, the only way we're going to solve the Bane mystery is to
go over to 000SUPERGUY and ask my counterpart. I'm certainly out of any
other leads."
        "Is that possible?" Mary asked. "Visiting another altiverse and
        "It'll be dificult," Paul said. He pointed at the computer mon-
itor. "We'll need some expensive equipment and alot of power, but it IS
feasable. We might cause a city-wide blackout and returning isn't a guar-
        "Let's do it, then," Mary decided. "Is there any way to get a-
round the power problem?"
        "We could try a few human sacrifices," Paul quipped.
        "Oh, well, er, a blackout sounds good." Mary looked at Chewgumma.
"We better take him, too. We might need him along for backup if nothing
        "What's this 'we' you're talking about?" Paul asked. "I'd feel
better if you stayed behind."
        "No way," Mary protested. "I'm going, too. I don't like people
mucking around my head."

        "Greetings, Mary Sinclair," the teacher said. "It has been a
while since you have graced this dojo with your presence."
        "Greetings, Master Hohiro," Mary replied. "I apologize for my
long absence, but I have been busy."
        "Indeed you have," Hohiro agreed. "I have heard of a new vigilan-
te calling herself Silhouette has appeared in LA in the past month. Coin-
cidently, you have stopped coming to my humble dojo at the same time."
        "Right," Mary agreed. "It's a coincidence."
        "I suppose," Hohiro said absently. He held up a ceramic teapot.
"Would you like some tea?"
        "Um, yes, thank you, Master," Mary replied. "Again, my apologies
for missing class."
        "It doesn't matter," Hohiro dismissed as he poured the tea. "You
have learned everything I have to teach you. Your only teacher now is ex-
perience. You have been an excellent student I trust?"
        Mary nodded. "I don't know about how well I've been doing, Mas-
ter, but I learn the lessons," she answered sipping her tea.
        "Perhaps I can help you gain more experience," Hohiro suggested.
"I have recieved a letter addressed to you. You have been invited to a
Martial Arts tournament called..." He paused, his face twisted as tried
to keep from laughing out loud.
        "Called what?" Mary prompted.
        "...called Moronic Kombat."

        "...called Moronic Kombat."
        Bane watched Mary through his staff's gem. For the past month, he
had not tried to re-enter Mary's dreams again, content with having sex
with her. Bane had just recently convinced Mary to move in with him where
he would have unhindered access to her. A subtle spell had helped consid-
        Bane turned his attention back to the hooker tied up next to him.
With a twist of his staff whick impaled her, Bane drained the last of her
lifeforce away; the corpse quickly rotted away into an unidentifiable
sludge. It was always better to kill them slowly; the victims would auto-
matically produce more lifeforce to try to replace what was drained away,
thus increasing the amount Bane would get.
        Soon, he would have enough power to counter Mary's mental defen-
ses again. And this time, he would be prepared for other interlopers.

        With a slash of of the energy blade, Mary cut open Yoga's cell
door. "About time here you got," grumped the short Semi Master. "Forgot
me I thought you had."
        "Well, now that you mention it," Mary began, "We did stumble
across the dungeon accidently."
        "Gotten here sooner you could have," Yoga said. "Lite Epee you
have at least."
        "Well, sorry, but I had HIM to carry," Mary retorted, gesturing
at Hank Soil with the Lite Epee.
        "Hey! Watch where you point that thing!" Hank Soil yelped.
        "Pah! Trivial to Semi Master weight is," Yoga said. He telekinet-
ically lifted the protesting Hank from Mary's shoulders.
        AreNot bleeped something.
        "Oh, Hell(tm)," Cheerio exclaimed. "We're doomed! Jawbreaker's
guards are coming this way!"
        "C'mon, we'll take the back way out," Mary ordered.
        AreNot whistled. "There is no back way out!" Cheerio translated.
        "Fear not!" Yoga exclaimed. "Way out this Semi Master has!"
        "Oh, really? What would that be?" Mary asked, irritated.
        In reply, a section of conveniently blank wall caved in as a semi
complete with trailer plowed throught it. It rolled up to Yoga and stop-
        "Wow," Mary whispered, impressed.
        "A Semi mind trick?" Hank queried.
        Yoga held up a blinking light. "Homing device," he smugly re-

        Mary jerked back on the throttle her Cockroach as the tripedal
Martian mecha came around the corner. It wasn't any design she had ever
seen in the history books, but that wasn't surprising. Martian raids
tended to take place every two decades or so, more than enough time to
create new mecha.
        The Martian was obviously as surprised as Mary. For an instant,
the two just stared at each other. Then it started swinging something
resembling a weapon in Mary's direction. Mary reacted first; she focused
her crosshairs onto the center of the Mecha and fired her cannon.
        Crap! Some moron had loaded cluster ammunition instead of armor
piercers! Luckily, the shot rocked the Martian mecha, spoiling its aim. A
stream of green energy darts tore up the street next to Mary's own mecha.
She made a mental note that the Martians had a new type of laser.
        Backing up, Mary saw her opponent stepping through a used car lot
that had an inordinate number of Pintos in it. Aiming at the cars, she
fired off a missile. The resulting chain reaction of exploding Pintos
enveloped the Martian. It appeared an instant later, crashing to the
street and shattering into very small, flaming pieces.
        Mary seriously doubted that its pilot survived.









Find out in future episodes of Analogs, only on...


"No comment..."

Copyright Notice:
This story is (C)opyright by Nopporn Wongrassamee in 1996. All rights

Send feedback to:                    | "Hey, guys, I'm high!" "You're not
      a00076 at     | high! You're obnoxious!"
Date:         Tue, 20 Feb 1996 00:03:00 -0500
From:         jazz in the ravine (swede at SOJOURN1.SOJOURN.COM)
Subject:      SF: Renegade Anarchists IV, episode fourteen

                            RENEGADE ANARCHISTS IV:
                              IN A CLOUD OF DUST
                             (a Tale of Sf_story!)
                                  Episode 14
                                 Gary W. Olson


     As the hours passed, Zark's feelings towards the scooter he was riding
became increasingly negative.  Its seat was far too small for his posterior,
its colors were far too gaudy for someone of Zark's violent mindset, and
he couldn't seem to get it to go over 35 miles per hour, which, in turn,
hardly gave him a chance to run over the cute, furry animals that
occasionally popped up in his path.
     In truth, Zark would have reached the shadowy city by now had he not
been going out of his way to chase various critters with the intent of
inflicting great bodily harm.  As it was, he was only a bit more than
halfway to his destination, and the shadowy evening was starting to descend
into shadowy night.
     (It should be pointed out, at this juncture, that the various shadowy
items appearing in this scene have nothing to do with the ShadowyWriter's
ShadowyPlot, at least, no more than everything else in the multiverse does.
As far as you know.)
     Finally, the scooter ran out of gas.  Zark, ever wise in the way of
things mechanical, realized violent physical contact was the key to
restarting it.  However, since his idea of violent physical contact did not
involve a strategically placed kick so much as repeated strategical stomping
until the scooter was a strategic pile of scrap metal, Zark's initial error
in logic was rendered moot.
     When it occurred to him that he had run out of targets to vent his
violent urges upon, Zark started running towards the city.  He had only
gotten a mile closer (though he had run for six miles, since he was still
chasing fuzzy mammals) when he encountered a bucket of bright blue chicken
wings.  Upon detecting this, both the brain cells that weren't dedicated to
ultra-violence started sending signals to the rest of Zark that it was time
to eat.  After about an hour or so, the rest of Zark's brain got the message
and ordered the body to start chowing down.
     Soon, the bucket was empty, and Zark started feeling woozy.  There was
a blue film over his eyes now, and he thought he saw several people in fast
food restaurant employee uniforms approaching him.
     "What did you do, man?" one of them asked.  "You consumed the herbs
and spices?"
     "Um, yeah," Zark said, as he abruptly sat down.
     "You shouldn'ta done that, man," the guy in front of him said.  "Those
spices will, like, transform your mind, and make you one with the desert."
     "But this is a plain."
     "It is?"
     "Was last time I looked."
     "Never mind that," the man said.  "Like I said, the spice will
transform your mind.  Either it will kill you, or it will make you into the
leader of my people..."  His voice dropped to a whisper.  "...the Colonel."
     "Urp," Zark replied.
     "So I guess we--"
     The ground started rumbling, and the people in front of Zark started to
     "Oh, wow, dude, we'd better get out of here."
     "What's going on?" Zark asked.  The man pointed to something behind
him, the source of the rumbling.  Zark turned and saw something huge coming
toward him, moving under the ground, throwing up sand, dirt and feathers
into the air.  The sky crackled, the ground roared, and Zark's ears were
filled with a thunderous, menacing clucking sound.
     "We've got chicken siiiiiiiigggggnnnnn!" the man behind him yelled.


     "Hmmm de dmmm de dmmm," Bagelos hummed to himself as he applied
generous quantities of Brut to his neck, his shoulders, his forehead, his
armpits, and various and sundry other parts.  He checked the ruby that
covered one of his eyes in the mirror, to be sure it was polished and
sparkling, freshened his breath with a 'eau de bagel' spritzer, checked his
robe to make sure it was free of static cling and embarrassing ring-around-
the-collar, then stepped out of the linen closet.
     "I, Bagelos, am off to meet with Susan!" he declared to Sajon.  "Mind
the store when I'm gone, won't you, Sajon?  And don't try to escape, because
if you do, I, Sajon, will cut off..."
     "My bar tab?" Sajon asked, frightened.
     "No, you simpering idiot," Bagelos replied.  "Your cable priveledges.
Now..."  He stopped, noticing a shadow that passed over the counter.  Upon
looking up, he noticed something that greatly resembled a bowling telescore
machine being held by what appeared to be two cheap plastic windup toys.
Seconds later, he got an up close and personal view as the telescore machine
was dropped on him.
     "Good work, TH1K1!" Sajon exclaimed, as he plucked TH1K1 out of the
     "Stop fondling me, you pervert," TH1K1 replied, his words coming out
as a meaningless series of bleeps.  "I will pour arsenic in your coffee
until you die."
     "Oh, TH1K1, you're so loyal," Sajon said, squeezing TH1K1 cheerfully.
     "Argh," TH1K1 groaned.  "Help."
     "Who's your friend?" Sajon asked, plucking BRENDA out of the air.
BRENDA winced but remained silent.   "Never mind, let's get out of here
first.  Let us go back to... Coffee Command!"


     Kalvin heard them coming from a loose grating nearby.  He sloshed
through the spam in the spam hold he was in and peered through.
     "Where are you taking us, rude ones?" Quooth asked as a group of
guards, led by Meester himself, marched phim, Gham, Logan and Machiavelli
down the corridor.
     "We've reached our destination," Meester told them.  "This is where you
start becoming useful."  Logan looked as though she wanted to talk, but
Meester had his model 9000 Gobz-O-Deth blaster pointed directly at her, so
she didn't.
     Their destination... Fredonia 5, thought Kalvin.  Why Meester thought
they would be useful wasn't quite evident to Kalvin, since his cover story
of wanting to track down sci-fi actors who were being smuggled away from
Earth was probably phony.  Was there something else...?
     Kalvin noticed a shadow following Meester.  Not so much a shadow, he
thought, as a shadow puppet.  Specifically, a shadow puppet of a butterfly.
Kalvin couldn't see who was making the puppet, a fact that made him only
more nervous.  He worked on unlatching the grate, determined to follow the
group out onto the station.


     "Why can't we escape?" Janice asked, as she dumped the remaining
contents of her tray into the waste reclamator.  "How is the embedded blank
in Sf_story keeping us here?"
     "Well, strictly speaking, it's keeping me here," the Swede said.
"Because it's my plot generator, it's getting the energy necessary for
maintaining the blank through me.  Effectively, so long as this persists, I
can't use edit, nor am I omniscient.  Thus, I can't get me or you home."
     "You couldn't use edit before," Janice noted.
     "Ah, but at least I *had* the power, then.  I just had to get down to
renew my Artistic License to access it.  That's all."
     "Think what's happened now will be held against you?"
     "This?" the Swede asked.  "Nah, they wouldn't... I mean... I don't think
they would... would they?"
     "Let's hope you don't have to find out," Janice said.  "Now, how do we
get back to 001SF_STORY so we can retrieve the Plot Generator.  Does your
dimensional transporter still work?"
     "What, this?" the Swede asked, holding up what looked to be a plush,
stuffed toy shark.  "I tried -- can't open a gate to the Author's Altiverse
with this."
     "Can you open one to 001SF_STORY?  I mean, after all, it would still be
inter-sf_story travel, wouldn't it?"
     "I could try," the Swede told her.  "But I can't guarantee the
results."  He raised the shark and magestically gave it a squeeze.  A
dimensional door opened directly under their feet, sweeping them away.
     "Aieeee!" yelled Janice.
     "Aieeee!" yelled the Swede.
     "Aieeee!" yelled the door, which usually doesn't get much in the way of
lines in these features.
     After what seemed like forever, but really wasn't, the Swede landed on
a wooden surface.
     "Whack," said the surface as the Swede landed on it.
     "Ow," the Swede replied.  "What happened... Janice?  Janice, where
are you?"
     Concerned at the lack of reply, the Swede sat up, only to realize he
was without his stuffed shark, without his Cloak O' Doom... without much of
anything, really, save for an uncomfortably tight g-string and bells
attached to his fingers.  There was a curtain in front of him, and some
vaguely menacing mumbling beyond that.
     "Uh oh," he commented.
     "And now, your main course, the one, the only... Dancing Lutefisk of
Rylos Seven!" an announcer's voice announced.  The curtain swept back, and
the Swede found himself facing a room filled with very large, very ugly
beings drinking very large, very ugly drinks and smiling very large, very
ugly smiles at him.  Sonorous music that sounded like a cross between
ancient Indian rhythms and music from the Weather channel started playing.
     "Dance," the announcer hissed.  "Or do you want to skip onto the next
stage straight away?"
     "Next stage...?" the Swede asked.  He looked at the crowd, all of whom
were now holding large forks and knives.  He remembered how he had been
described as 'the main course.'
     The Swede started dancing, hoping his moves could give them indigestion
before his strength gave out.


     "See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Sajanseel Boudoir asked.
     "You fiend," Lark grumbled.  "You twisted fiend... we'll stop you, one
way or another!"
     "Will you guys be quiet?" Ronald asked.  "I'm trying to concentrate on
piloting.  Norman, what's our present course?"
     "That way," Norman replied, pointing out the front window of the
now-spacegoing Pinto.
     "Right-o, prepare for Warp Ten Jillion!" Ronald announced.
     Suddenly and without warning, a ship emerged from overly-hyped space.
     "Attention, please!" a voice crackled over the CB radio.  "This is
Captain Janeplain of the Starship Voyadejour!  Alien vessel, we need your
     Ronald fought the impulse to wet himself and reached for the CB.
Unfortunately, Sajanseel got it first.
     "This is the AE... um... High_Spock_Is_A_Weenie, do you copy, over?"
Sajanseel asked.
     "We're barely reading you," Janeplain responded.  "We recently
installed trans-hyped engines so that we could get home.  So now we're
passing through every point in the universe through overly-hyped space, and
the boredom is turning us into newts!"
     "They don't sound like newts," Thelona Wyndingrode commented.
     "We got better," Janeplain snapped.  "Anyway... oh, no, lookout, here
we go agaiiiinnnn--"
     The Voyadejour shot back into overly-hyped space.  The occupants of the
Pinto looked at one another, shrugged, and continued on their way.


Find out next time, only on SF_STORY!
Date:         Tue, 27 Feb 1996 23:45:35 -0500
From:         jazz in the ravine (swede at SOJOURN1.SOJOURN.COM)
Subject:      SF: Renegade Anarchists IV, episode fifteen

                            RENEGADE ANARCHISTS IV:
                              IN TRESSED PAYMENTS
                             (a Tale of Sf_story!)
                                  Episode 15
                                 Gary W. Olson


     The leader of the Shadoes, who insisted that his captives call him
Steve, strutted about and made vaguely threatening gestures.  A multitude
of television screens showed various scenes from, presumably, important
areas of the leader's plan for conquering the galaxy, such as a conference
room on Fredonia 5, an office on a spam-smuggling space cruiser, and
Madonna's bedroom on Earth.  Victorian roller-derby women rushed by,
trying to repress one another into walls or the floor.
     "Er," Jerriphrrt purred.
     "Yes?" Steve asked.
     "Your master plan?"
     "What about it?"
     "You were going to reveal it to us," Floyd prompted.
     "I was?" Steve asked.  "Oh, yes, I was!  Our master plan!  Yes!"
     They waited.
     "Well what?"
     "What is your master plan?" Floyd asked.
     "Well, it's kind of like this," Steve said.  "We're planning on
conquering the universe, see, and since we have this generally unstoppable
armada of really fearsome ships, the odds are really stacked in our favor.
There's just two situations we had to deal with."
     "Which are?" Jerriphrrt inquired.
     "The first is Time Central.  We learned that Sajanseel Boudoir was
trying to get Satan to give up Logan, and decided that Logan would make an
ideal agent to try to take over Time Central -- while we calculate he would
fail, his attempt would keep them from responding to our universal
domination attempt until it was too late.  Our agent, who took the shape of
a butterfly to lead him along in the early stages, arranged for his transit
of his mind to Earth, knowing his old thought patterns would regenerate
once restored to a healthy brain.  That part of our plan, as you can see,
is coming along well."  Steve gestured to the window featuring the spam-
smuggling ship, in which a man clad in black could be seen plotting an
invasion of Time Central, looking at the backs of a number of intergalactic
mercenary magazines and circling promising ads for death armadas for hire.
     "The second situation involved everyone else.  That is, those races,
such as the Vorloons, the Kaseykasem, and the B'llb'rd, who opposed our
previous attempts to conquer the universe and refused to honor our Shadow
Express cards in major restaurants and theaters.  When we acquired
matterswing technology, we decided to test it, prior to using it as a
weapon against these foes, and selected your ship as a target."
     "The Red Emma?" Jerriphrrt asked.  "Why?"
     "You're one of the title characters, and you need ask?"
     "Um.  Yeah."
     "How else were we going to get into a Renegade Anarchists plotline as
the principal villains?"
     "Oh.  Okay."
     "May I continue?"
     "The test did not go as expected," Steve said.  "Your ship has unusual
meta-properties, probably derived from the fact that it was created by
Satan T. Lucifer Jones.  So far as we can tell, it got matterswung to a
random point in space, its engines activated and locked by the sudden
influx of energy.  Those aboard were swung in a similarly random manner.
The ones you know as Emma Goldman and James Dean would up on the Minboori
homeworld, and were later taken to Fredonia 5 by Ambassador DePenn, one who
knows of our existence..."
     "What about Gham?" Jerriphrrt asked.
     "She got sent to Earth, and later encountered Logan when he entered
the recently raised-from-the-dead body of Lisa Bonet.  She's now aboard the
spam-smuggling ship that has docked at Fredonia 5.  I believe Logan has
plans to use her abilities at some point in attacking Time Central.
     "Anyway, we decided to abandon the matterswing technology as
impractical, for, while it did seem like an ideal way to get rid of our
foes, it had a downside, in that it stole and drank mass quantities of our
favorite beers."
     "You mean, the Schlitz and Old Milwaukee cans were *yours*?"
     "Ew!" Floyd commented.  "You guys *are* evil!"
     "Yes!" Steve exulted.  "We had nothing to do with G.X.P. Varneyloop's
attempts to steal The Book of Sf_Story, though we manipulated events so
that the batteries in his robot duplicate would fail at a critical moment.
After it sent you, Jerriphrrt, and your companions to separate locations,
we went back and pounded it into kibble, to make sure it wouldn't try to do
anything foolish, like take on *us.*
     "Now, all that is left for us to do is destroy the secret alliance
that has formed on Fredonia 5 against us!  After that, the universe shall
be ours!  Ours, do you hear me, ours!!!  Muuu--"
     "Say, whatever happened to G.X.P, anyway?" Jerriphrrt asked.
     "Don't know," Floyd mused.  "Hasn't been seen since episode one."
     "Episode one?" Jerriphrrt asked.  "Damn.  Did the author forget him
or something?"
     "Hey!" Steve protested.  "Neither of you were in that scene anyway!"
     "So?" Floyd asked.  "You weren't either."
     "Look, I just want to laugh maliciously.  Can I?"
     "Nope.  Scene's over."


     Wherever *did* G.X.P. Varneyloop go?
     A sage question, gentle reader, and one that shall, at long last,
be answered.
     On a dark, shadowy plain, Varneyloop exploded into existence.
Alongside him, another man exploded into existence.  Both men seemed rather
nonplussed about the whole exploding thing, though, after a suitable round
of groaning and whining, they decided that, on the whole, the existing
thing made it worth while.
     A while after that, they recognized each other.
     "Varney!" the man exclaimed.
     "Lyle!" Varneyloop exclaimed.  "What... how..."
     "I was about to ask you the same question," Lyle said.  "Last I knew,
I was walking down the street, when all of a sudden, there was this
imploding feeling, and then I was here.  How's Kissy?  Is she all right?"
     "Um, Lyle," Varneyloop said.  "We're no longer on Eroticon III."
     Lyle looked around.
     "Okay, I can cope with that," he said.  "Anything else I should know?"
     "Ten years have passed," Varneyloop said.  "Your daughter is now a
senior at Interstellar University, about ready to graduate and become an
official Space Ingenue."
     Upon hearing that, Lyle Hightower screamed.  Being as Lyle was an
experienced, nay, a legendary space ingenue, his scream was mind-bendingly
loud and capable of penetrating all attempts to block the sound out.
Varneyloop held his ears, his face twisted in a grimace.
     While waiting it out, he mused on how Lyle Hightower, his longtime
friend who had disappeared ten years before, could have arrived in the same
general place at the same exact time, despite the vast gulf of space and
time that separated both men from where they had been (which, in
Varneyloop's case, had been the Near Space Three-Freeport-Satanic Warship
conglomeration that got hit by an enormous key lime pie).  There was only
one answer, of course -- The Plot had contrived to make it so.
     Mildly happy that he had worked out that important bit of information,
Varneyloop noticed that Lyle's screams, far from dying away, had only
increased in pitch and intensity.  He opened his eyes and gasped.
     Bearing directly down on their position was a truly massive chicken.
     That wasn't the scary part.
     Zark Flyby was on the chicken's head, riding and firing weapons into
the air, dressed in the manner of a gentleman from the southern portion of
one of Earth's major continents.  *That* was the scary part.
     Varneyloop began running, pulling Lyle along as he did.


     "So, one of us is a spy, eh?" Captain Spaulding asked.  "Which one?
Or is it more than one?  How many would you like?"
     "I'll take'a two, please," Chicobaldi said.  "Hold the mayo."
     "The mayo can hold himself," Spaulding replied.
     "We're not sure who the spy is, just yet," Emma stated.  "Please, give
us a few moments to get a better sense for what we're feeling."
     "Right," Spaulding said.  "Two spies and a few moments.  Any dessert
with that?"
     Lt. Zacko honked a horn.
     "I'll take that as a yes," Spaulding stated.  He immediately took the
horn and handed it to DePenn.  "Will you marry me?"
     Surprised, DePenn honked the horn.
     "This is my lucky day."
     A beep came from the door.
     "I wasn't asking you!" Spaulding shouted to the door.  Moments later,
the door opened, and a tall man in a beard and a hockey outfit walked
in, closing the door behind him.
     "Hi, hope I'm not late," he said.  "The traffic was against me all the
     "And so am I," Spaulding told him.  "But since you're here, pull up
a chair and do some pushups.  Folks, this is Zeppus Coleslaw, my contact
with the Rangers on this station."
     "But he's wearing a Bruins shirt," Benjen noted.  Spaulding squinted
at Zeppus for a moment.
     "So he does," he said.  "So!  You've turned trader on us, eh?  You're
a free agent now!  You don't give a puck about us, do you?"
     "That's not true!" Zeppus insisted.  "We've called our organization
'the Bruins' all along."
     "I don'ta like'a da Broons," Chicobaldi opined.  "They make'a me sit
onna throne alla evenin'."
     "That's the plum worst joke I've heard so far in this series,"
Spaulding said.  "And there have been some pretty bad ones.  Like that fake
beard you've got on, Zeppus."
     "Yeah, it's worse than mine!" Lenin exclaimed.  "Er," he added, "not
that mine is fake or anything...."
     "Intolerable this is," B'Gosh said.
     "You're telling me," Spaulding agreed.  "His beard isn't even the
right color for my hair!"  Zacko got out his scissors and snipped part of
Zeppus's mustache away before Zeppus could react.  "Speaking of intolerable
secrets, B'Gosh, what do you look like under that seashell helmet of
     "I think'a he'sa Pauly Shore," Chicobaldi said.
     "What?" everyone else at the table, except the duck, who just quacked,
     "Sure," Chicobaldi continued.  "He has sea shells by de P. Shore.
Issa obvious."
     "Wait," James said.  "I think I'm beginning to get a better focus.
     "Yes," she whispered.  Together, they began pointing.  Everyone
waited, more or less silently, as the aim of their fingers drifted around
the table before hesitating, briefly, near DePenn.
     "I'm not the spy!" DePenn insisted.
     "Maybe they're just pointing to your undergarments," Spaulding said.
"Is that a shadow under that girdle?"
     "Maybe she hadda da Broons, eh, boss?" Chicobaldi asked.  "Thassa why
she'sa gotta wear DePenn's undergarments."
     "Great, now *that's* the worst joke in the series so far," Spaulding
told him.  "At this pace, we should hit rock bottom in no time, if not
     Emma and James's fingers continued drifting... across Zeppus... across
Kissy... across B'Gosh... across Lenin... finally stopping at...
     "Quack!" the duck exclaimed, indignantly.
     "It's him!" Emma exclaimed.  "He's the agent of the Shadow Puppets!"
     "Quack!" the duck reiterated.  Behind it, three Shadow Puppets, in the
form of a moose, an elk, and a dog, appeared.
     "I should have known," Spaulding growled, waving his cigar at the
duck.  "A man's duck is the first thing to go."
     "There is much danger," B'Gosh warned.  "Run away!"
     "My sentiments exactly," Spaulding said, as he and the others bolted
for the door, which opened automatically.


More random plot twists on an upcoming... Sf_Story!  Where you can save up
to 250 zillion percent on long-distance calls to guys named "Murray."
Date:         Thu, 29 Feb 1996 11:04:46 -0800
From:         the Evil Marketing Ploy (a00076 at ACADEMIC.CSUBAK.EDU)
Subject:      SG/SF/MW/WW: Analogs #9 (1/2)

                           What has gone before:
(cue soundtrack)
                              10000 years ago,
                  666OUTOFITWORLD was a blissful paradise.
                         Then came Moronic Kombat,
                 And with it, the Dread Emperor Chow Kan't.
                   Chow Kan't conquered 666OUTOFITWORLD
                            And made it his own.
            Now, Moronic Kombat has come...(SQUEEERRRRCCHHHK!)

"Hey! This prologue should  be on Moronic Kombat #1!"
"Isn't this the Moronic Kombat?"
"No! This is the Analogs!"
"Oh, whoops! 'Scuse me. Gotta go find the Moronic Kombat. Bye!"
(rapid, fading footsteps followed by slamming door)
"Guess we'll have to find a substitute prologue."

        "Y'know, Captain," drawled the Interloper, "you really should
have told me that you couldn't find Dispenser."
        "If I hadn't read the prologue in Analogs #8," he continued, "I
may still have been ignorant."
        "I really hate it when my people keep secrets from me," the
Interloper explained.
        "I also like it when you squirm like that," he added.
        Lieutenant Waif stuck her head in the door. "Boss, there's a man
here to see you," she said.
        "A man?" the Interloper said, surprised. "How did a man get
aboard the Symphony o' Doom?"
        "Er," Waif looked embarrased. She was the security chief after
all. "He just appeared in a flash of Edit."
        "A flash of Edit?" the Interloper echoed, dumbfounded. Had an
active Author found him? "Send him in, now!"
        A man strolled in. His face looked just like the Interloper's "Hi
there," the man greeted. "I'm Anonymech."
        "Ouch," Anonymech commented. He reached over and lifted the
virtual reality headset from the Captain Kirkway's head. It was had been
showing a Barney the Dinosaur show in 3D. Kirkway slumped in relief.
        "Wait a minute, I know you," the Interloper said slowly. "You're
Nopporn Wongrassamee, the Author of this series!"
        "Very good!" Anonymech replied, clapping his hands sarcastically.
"But then again, so are you."

                  Overly Bar-B-Cued Authorial Productions

    \    /    ####  ##  ##  ####  ##     ####   #####  #####   \    /
     \  /    ##  ## ### ## ##  ## ##    ##  ## ##     ##        \  /
  --- () --- ###### ###### ###### ##    ##  ## ## ###  ####  --- () ---
     /  \    ##  ## ## ### ##  ## ##    ##  ## ##  ##     ##    /  \
    /    \   ##  ## ##  ## ##  ## #####  ####   ##### #####    /    \

                             Episode #9 (1/2)
                            "Split Alternities"

                          by Nopporn Wongrassamee
                   the Evil Author/Interloper/Anonymech

                            in consultation with
                           Gary Olson "the Swede"

        Elaine Sinclair opened the door. "Oh, it's you," she said flatly.
"What do you want?"
        "Can I come in, Mrs. Sinclair?" Paul asked. For some reason, he
was dressed up in his wizard costume: red robe, dark blue spandex
underneath, and staff with inset purple gem in hand.
        "No." She started to close the door.
        "It's about Mary."
        She hesitated. "What about her?" Elaine asked.
        "It concerns her soul," Paul told her. "I really shouldn't talk
about it on your doorstep. Shall we take this inside?"
        "No," Elaine said firmly. "Say what you have to say right where
you are. Or go away. I don't really care."
        Paul sighed. "I guess we'll have to do this the hard way then,"
he said softly.
        "Excuse me?"
        The gem on Paul's staff flashed, throwing Elaine backwards into
the apartment. Paul strolled in after and lightly shut the door. As she
started to get up, Paul cast a spell that pinned Mrs. Sinclair to the
floor. She lay there on her back, helpless as Paul leisurely stepped up
beside her.
        "Paul? What are you doing?" Elaine asked, a tinge of fear in her
        "I said that it concerned Mary's soul," Paul told her, chuckling.
"I need yours to possess hers. Oh, yes. Don't call me Paul anymore. Call
me, Bane." He raise the staff over his head. From the way he held it,
Elaine could see that he was going to run her through with it. The tip
opposite of the gem suddenly looked very sharp.

        The semi roared across the sugary desert of Planet Dispenser.
Behind it, several smaller vehicles pursued, firing several energy bolts
at them.
        "Are you sure you know where you're going?" Mary asked the driver
of the semi as she pulled on a decent jumpsuit.
        "Yes, yes," Yoga the Semi Master replied. "Guide me my Semi-Psi
senses do."
        "Oh dear, oh dear," Cheerio whined. "I do believe Jawbreaker's
forces are catching up with us." AreNot twittered an agreement.
        "Are you sure?" Hank Soil asked. His muscles were too atrophied
to allow him much movement.
        In answer, one of Jawbreaker's PorkyPiggian guards thrust his
head in Mary's window and roared a challenge. In reply, Mary struck the
PorkyPiggian in the snout. It squealed in pain and fell off the speeding
        "Yes, I'm sure," Cheerio said.
        "Ha. Very good, Mary," Yoga complemented. "Now, like would you to
solve next test?"
        "Test? What test?" Mary inquired as she used the discarded harem
outfit to get rid of another PorkyPiggian.
        Yoga pointed ahead. The semi was rapidly approaching a strip mine
the size of the grand canyon.
        "Er, stopping comes to mind," Mary suggested as she elbowed yet
another intrusive PorkyPiggian. It fell out. An instant later, the Semi
hit a bump.
        "No do can," Yoga replied. "Gone out brake lines just did."
        "Does this leave screaming in terror as we speed uncontroled into
fate's hands?" Cheerio asked.
        "Yes," Yoga confirmed.
        "Oh, good," Cheerio said, relieved.
        "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuuugggggghhhhh..." they all

        "Is everything ready to go?" Mary asked, checking her magical
        "Yep," Paul replied. "All systems are up and running. Fusion
reactor is warmed and the capacitors charged. Say, Mary, where did you
learn to build a fusion reactor?"
        Mary looked up and blinked. "I don't know, Paul," she answered.
"It just sort of popped into my head."
        "Amazing," Paul said, shaking his head as checked the readouts
again. "I never would have believed you could build a working fusion
reactor out of a trashcan, an inner tube, and a whole lot of other junk.
And that's with magic."
        "Me neither, and I built it," Mary said. "Ready to go,
        "Jes a momet," Chewgumma said. He popped a stick of gum. Then he
mumbled something unintelligible.
        "I'll take that as a yes," Mary said. She slung her pack over her
shoulder and stepped into the pentagram. Chewgumma and Paul joined her.
        "Okay, in 10 seconds, we'll be transported to 000SUPERGUY," Paul
said. "I sure hope we got all our calculations right."
        "What!?" Mary exclaimed, whipping her head around to face Paul.
"You mean you're not abso..." Mary was suddenly interupted by a brilliant
flash of light. The entire party was instantly teleported away.
        Except for Mary.
        "What the Hell(tm)?!" she exclaimed, bewildered. In the back of
her mind, Mary wondered why she attached the (tm) to her remark.

        Walking her Cockroach backwards, Mary fired her last cluster
round into the Martian mecha. It staggered and righted itself, firing
three streams of green laser darts at her. One missed. One vaporized what
was left of the right torso's armor and melted the cannon. The other
severed the Cockroach's right foreleg. Mary's mecha tipped over and went
down with a bone jarring crunch.
        Dazed, Mary watched as her opponent move in for the kill. She saw
several missiles suddenly strike the Martian in the side. This spoiled
its aim, sending laser pulses into the street. The Martian trighted
itself and fired its lasers at its new assailant.
        "Mary! Are you all right?" came a voice over the radio.
        Mary shook her head to clear it. "Uh, yeah, Paul," Mary replied.
"I'm still here." The Martian turned, bringing it's torso mounted laser
to bear on Paul's Cockroach. Incidently, this brought its most weakened
section of armor around to face Mary.
        "Mary, I could use some help here," Paul called as he fired
another shell into the Martian. Mary considered her options. Her cannon
was toast. She was out of missiles. That left the two rinky-dink machine
guns. Better than nothing, she thought. The Martian let loose another
burst in Paul's direction.
        She aimed and fired the machine guns at the weakened armor. The
result was rather gratifying. The bullets punched through and ricocheted
around inside. The Martian lurched suddenly, swaying about. Paul sent
another shell into the alien mecha, knocking it off its feet.
        Right on top of Mary.
        "Oh, sh..." (CRASH!)

        Having set the transporter to drop them wherever the Bane Ai was,
Paul and Chewgumma materialized with a flash of light in the Sinclair
apartment. They found themselves staring at Bane as he was about to
impale the prone Mrs. Sinclair with his staff. The four gaped at each
other in surprise.
        Bane recovered first. He blasted the altiversal travelers with
his staff. Chewgumma dodged aside automatically. Paul's shields absorbed
the blast, but it still sent him flying backwards into a wall.
        "Well, well, well, what have we here?" Bane said jauntily as he
stepped over Mrs. Sinclair. "Some furry guy I don't recognize and a Paul
Baines. Whatever shall I do with you two?" His evil grin indicated that
he knew exactly what he was going to do with them.
        Chewgumma fired his blaster at Bane. Bane knocked him over with a
light magical blast. Paul drew a 9mm automatic from his belt. "A gun?"
Bane said, unimpressed.
        "A gun," Paul confirmed as he pulled the trigger. Bane's shields
suddenly flared and collapsed. The bullet kept going and knicked Bane in
the shoulder, eliciting a gasp of pain from him. Mrs. Sinclair sat up,
her bonds gone. "With spellbreakers," Paul added belatedly.
        Seeing Chewgumma get up, Bane opted to retreat. "I'll be seeing
you later," he said threateningly. "And you won't like what I'll do to
you and your friend." With that, he teleported away in a flash of purple
        "What's going on?" Mrs. Sinclair asked, confused by the recent
turn of events.
        "Oh, well, it's like...say, where's Mary?" Paul suddenly noticed
that one of their number was missing.
        "Mary?" Mrs. Sinclair echoed. "She went to some martial arts
tournament. Why?"
        "No, not your Mary. OUR Mary," Paul clarified.
        "Excuse me?"

        Amazingly, the semi had landed in a loose pile of sugar. It had
cusioned the fall so that they all survived intact. Mary pushed open her
door and crawled out. She immediately spotted a boy standing nearby,
sporting an oversized rifle of some sort.
        "Gimme all yer valuables and I won't blast ye!" the kid ordered.
Yoga and the droids crawled out of the wrecked semi. Yoga telekinetically
hauled Hank out.
        "Oh, will you really?" Mary inquired skeptically.
        "Yah, I will!" the kid replied.
        "What about the guys chasing us?" Mary asked.
        "What guys?" the kid asked.
        "Those guys," Cheerio supplied helpfully, pointing to the goons
who were swarming down the side of the strip mine. A few laser blasts hit
the ground near the kid.
        The kid's eyes bugged out. He threw down his rifle and ran away
screaming, "Daaaaaaaaad!"
        "After him!" Mary ordered. "He just my lead us to a way out of
this mess!" Mary and company ran after the kid.

(continued in part 2)

Copyright Notice:
This story is (C)opyright by Nopporn Wongrassamee in 1996. All rights

Send feedback to: a00076 at

"Sir, we've finished scanning Mitchel 2."
"Any sign of intelligent life?"
Main Sfstory Page     Previous Log     Next Log     Index for Logs 061-090