Sfstory Log 066

=========================================================================
Date:         Sun, 11 Sep 1994 21:03:00 EDT
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From:         needlewarp! (SWEDE at DRYCAS.BITNET)
Subject:      SF: Renegade Anarchists III, episode one

                            RENEGADE ANARCHISTS III:
                              THE KILLING OF TIME
                                   Episode 1
                             "When We Left Off..."
                                      by
                                 Gary W. Olson

                                     -~-_-

     "Pope Joe Don I, people don't like you," Satan T. Lucifer Jones said, as
he took another bite of steak.  His dinner guest looked up from his dinner,
and belched loudly.
     Satan merely smiled.  This would be easy.
     "Bekn'kse, more soup," he said.  "Like I was saying, Joe Don I, people
don't like you.  You've got to reach out to them, try to cultivate them."
     "I don't quite follow you, Mr. Jones," the Pope said, as Milagro Bekn'kse,
wearing a tuxedo, brought some soup over to Satan's side of the dining table
and began ladling it into his bowl.  An eyeball fell out of the ladle, and
splashed Satan's tie with blood.  Pope Joe Don I seemed unfazed.
     "You've got to be nice to them," Satan said.  "You never know when they'll
be useful."
     "Um, I've got a few questions, if you don't mind," Joe Don I said, as he
slipped a couple bread rolls into his papal robes.  "About the spam
shipments, for instance."
     Satan looked away, to prevent Joe Don I from seeing his expression.  Did
the fool really believe he could prevent the forces of Hell from smuggling
Spam to Earth?
     "The soup's cold, Bekn'kse," Satan said, instead.  "You're a lousy
butler."
     "I am not!" Milagro protested.
     "I say you're a lousy butler," Satan repeated.
     "I am not!" Milagro repeated.
     Satan took a nine-iron out from under the table and impaled Milagro with
it.
     "The customer...is always right..." Milagro groaned, as he staggered off.
     "About the spam, Mr. Jones..." Joe Don I started.
     "Stop asking about the spam," Satan told him.  "Listen, Joe Don I, you're
smart.  Surely we can come to some mutually beneficial arrangement..."
     "I'm sorry, Mr. Jones," Joe Don I said.  "I've been told to keep an eye
on you, and that's what I'm going to do."  He stood up, pocketing an extra
steak.   "I think I'd better be getting back now."
     Satan watched as Joe Don I put on his pointy papal hat and walked
through the dimensional gate.  As soon as he was gone, he cursed and stabbed
Milagro with his butter knife, out of spite.  Milagro yelped, but continued
to clear the table.
     "He's been told to watch me," Satan grumbled.  "Who could have told him
that?"
     "Go-" Milagro started.  Satan slashed his throat before he could finish
the word.
     "Yes, I know, the Big Guy," Satan said.  "Now, in the Superguy altiverse,
he's not much of a problem, because he sleeps all the time.  But here, on
the Sfstory side of the listserv, he's making things as difficult as ever."
He handed his dishes to Milagro, then kicked him in the kneecap just to
watch him drop them all.
     "There's got to be something I can do, though," he said.  Subsequently,
he did something.  That is, he pressed a red button at one corner of the table.
"Susan, get in here."

                                     -~-_-

     "'Nother scotch, m'boy," Kalvin Certain mumbled, holding out his hand.
He waited, patiently.
     Presently, he noted that a scotch had not been placed in his hands,
and that no one was sitting too close to where he was slumped in the hard
liquor aisle of the Planet of Supermarkets.
     Actually, to call it an aisle would be like calling Disneyworld a
merry go round.  It extended for many thousands of miles, snaking its way
back and forth across three continents and four oceans, and contained
every type of beverage that a sentient mind would find intoxicating, from
tequila and scotch for the humanoids, to liquid methane and drain cleaner
for the Velkothians of Sinus III, to clear spring water, which the
Wzaxtil enjoy when it is splashed upon their unconscious, insectoid bodies,
to Zima, enjoyed by...um...
     Um...
     We'll get back to you on that.
     Kalvin Certain lurched uncertainly to his feet, pulling his frayed,
foppish coat around himself as he looked one way down the aisle, and then
down the other.  There were some customers moving up and down the aisle,
loading bottles into their carts, which they would steer around the
winos that they encountered every 30.4 feet.
     No security in sight.  Perfect.
     As he reached for the bottle of scotch, which was on the second shelf
from the top, he thought about how his life had taken something of a
downturn ever since crash landing on the Planet of Supermarkets.  He had
expected that he would be off the planet within the week, but here it was,
almost a year later.  Megabot had gone and joined the Planetary Security
Staff.  Alexander, beautiful Alexander, had wandered into the meat
department one day, and had never been seen again, except for three months
later, when Kalvin stole a package of hot dogs, opened them up, and found
Alexander's ring around one of them.
     He lifted the bottle of scotch, and started to saunter, casually,
down the aisle.  Before getting three feet away, an ear-splitting siren
started up, an the PA speaker started squawking: "Shoplifter in aisle
35,949.  Shoplifter in aisle 35,949..."
     Kalvin grumbled, as he started running.

                                     -~-_-

     Far, far away, Lark Purree, aka Time Agent 90210, was confused.  And
lest you think that, since he bore a startling resemblence to Luke Perry,
this was to be expected, you should be aware that Lark was not often
confused.
     He ran his fingers through his short hair, which still had not fully
grown back after the battle against the OmniDean.  His sideburns seemed out
of place, but there was a reason for that.
     The source of Lark's confusion smiled, and flexed his fingers.
     "Your assignment," the source, who bore the name of Sajanseel Boudoir,
the Time Agent number of 914, and a strong resemblence to John Saxon, said,
"is to escort Special Operations Agent Melu Ulem to Earth, and assist her
in her mission there."
     "What is her mission?" Lark asked.  "And if she's Special Operations,
why doesn't someone in the department escort her?"
     "I can't tell you that," Boudoir told him.  "The agent will give you
information on a need to know basis.  Furthermore, she will be in command of
the entire operation."
     Lark opened his mouth to protest, but shut it again.  He had seen
the orders that Boudoir had sent him, orders that had been initialed by
Floyd, the acting cheif of Time Central (the real cheif, Ian Lockheed,
having left on a mission some time ago).
     "Very well, sir," he said.  "When do I leave?"
     "Tomorrow morning," Boudoir told him.  "You'll meet her at your ship,
the HMS Shannon II."  Lark nodded, and turned to leave.  "Oh, one more
thing, Lark."
     "Sir?" Lark asked.
     "Your AI, BRENDA, isn't included in the mission profile."
     "Understood, sir," Lark said, as he headed out.

                                     -~-_-

     Kissy Hitowers screamed.
     The reason for her screaming advanced closer, smiling in an intrinsically
evil manner.  He was smiling because he had foam earplugs in his ears, and,
as a consequence, could not be incapacitated by the volume and pitch of her
scream, as half of his soldiers had been.
     "Do not scream so," he said, smiling.  "I only want you to join my
harem on a trial basis, you see."
     "Well, I sort of have to scream," she stopped screaming, long enough to
explain.  "It's part of my training."  The training Kissy referred to was
her academic training at Intergalactic University to become a Space Ingenue.
She was in her senior year, and at the top of her class.  Currently, she was
working on her senior project in Being Terrorized 440.
     The villain who was stalking her, Governor Eldermais Schlub, the Butcher
of Barugon B, the Terror of Tylenol X, the Bar-Tab-Runner-Upper of Barbados,
was completely unaware that his evil intentions were helping the cause of
education, as his attention was completely focused on another aspect of
Space Ingenue-hood that Kissy Hitowers got straight A's in: she looked really,
really great in her nylon jumpsuit.
     Kissy resumed her screaming, as Schlub and his personal guards advanced.
They were deep within his high-tech, heavily defended fortress, with no
avenue of escape open.  She was unarmed, except for her scream.
     Now was the moment of truth.  Would she be rescued, and consequently
finish her senior project, ensuring her graduation from IU?  Or would the
Governor have his way with her, and make her part of his harem, forcing her
to live in extreme luxury, comfort, and depravity?
     The answer came in the form of an explosion that blew the far wall in.
Schlub had only half a second to utter a villainous threat before a matterpulse
beam turned his head into fettucini.  His guards didn't fare much better, and
Kissy found herself screaming in an empty, smoky room.
     Moments later, some forms emerged from the smoke.  One of them had
catlike facial features, though he was humanoid.  Another was reptilian, and
carried a large matterpulse rifle.  A third, with small, conical horns and
human facial features, emerged from the smoke and dashed up to her.
     "Are you all right?" he asked.
     "Who are you?" Kissy asked back.
     The man blinked.
     "I'm Benjen," he said.  "Are you Kissy Kitomers?"
     "Hitowers," she corrected, getting annoyed.
     "Sorry," he said.  "Anyway, we're here to rescue you."
     "Oh, joy," Kissy sighed.  "Did you bring the rest of the swing boy choir
with you?"
     "Hey!" Benjen said.  "We came all the way here just to find you..."
     "Oh, never mind," Kissy said.  "Let's get out of here."
     Benjen sighed, and signaled to Slithis and Jerriphrrt.

                                     -~-_-

     Pope Joe Don I slouched into his bedroom, throwing his papal robes onto
the back of a chair.  He was tired of explaining to his Cardinals that he
was spending his evenings in quiet meditation, which was his cover story.
They wouldn't understand, much like they didn't understand when he issued a
papal decree that Schlitz could be substituted for wine during Communion.
     He looked around for the Big Guy.  Sometimes He appeared to him here, as
he did the day he gave Joe Don I his assignment.  But he wasn't here tonight,
it appeared.
     Joe Don I slipped into bed, and had almost closed his eyes when he
realized there was a book on his nightstand.  He could have sworn there was
a pile of beer cans there when he had left to have dinner with Satan T.
Lucifer Jones.
     He turned on the lamp, and looked at the title of the book:
     _How to Build an ABPSARI With Materials You Find Around the House_ by Dr.
Bing Von Spleen, the Earth's Foremost Spamologist.
     Unimpressed, Joe Don I turned out the light, and went to sleep.

WILL JOE DON I BECOME MORE IMPRESSED AS THE SERIES GETS UNDERWAY?
WILL SATAN FIGURE OUT WHAT TO DO ABOUT JOE DON I, IF ANYTHING?
WILL MILAGRO BEKN'KSE LEARN TO WEAR ARMOR?
WILL KALVIN CERTAIN BE CAPTURED?
WHY ARE BENJEN, SLITHIS, AND JERRIPHRRT RESCUING A SPACE INGENUE MAJOR?
WHY IS A JOHN SAXON-LOOKALIKE ORDERING A LUKE PERRY-LOOKALIKE TO DO ANYTHING?
WHY HASN'T THERE BEEN AN SFSTORY POST IN CLOSE TO NINE MONTHS, UNTIL NOW?

Answers are ephemeral, but Sfstory isn't.  How 'bout them apples?
=========================================================================
Date:         Thu, 22 Sep 1994 22:15:00 EDT
Reply-To:     UCF SUPERGUY List (SUPERGUY at UCF1VM.BITNET)
Sender:       UCF SUPERGUY List (SUPERGUY at UCF1VM.BITNET)
From:         needlewarp! (SWEDE at DRYCAS.CLUB.CC.CMU.EDU)
Subject:      SF: Renegade Anarchists III, episode two

                            RENEGADE ANARCHISTS III:
                              THE WASTING OF SPACE
                                   Episode 2
                                   "Croquet"
                                      by
                                 Gary W. Olson

                                     -~-_-

     "Stop thief!" the security bots droned as they shot at Kalvin Certain.
Kalvin cursed, and dashed farther into the garden supplies sector of the
Planet of Supermarkets, forcing customers to dive out of the way.  The
bottle of scotch he had pinched was long gone now, half consumed by him
during a brief interlude in the chase, the rest wasted when he was forced
to use it as a weapon.
     It was the end for him, he realized.  If one was good, one could elude
the security bots, but only if one shook them before they got a locater fix
on one.  If one did not do that, one quickly found that one was history, and
furthermore, one would be referred to in the impersonal by the narrator.
     Kalvin Certain, the one in question, leapt boldly over a topsoil
display and knocked over a stand of rakes.  He cried out as one of the rake
handles sprang up to hit him in a slapstick manner.  Snarling, he knocked
it aside, and lifted another gardening implement off one of the racks,
determined to make a last stand.
     When the first security bot turned the bend, he rammed the implement's
spikes into the bot's faceplace.  Sparks surged along the metal blades, and
the head started to billow smoke moments later.
     "Ha!" Kalvin yelled.  "Didn't expect a Jerry Baker autographed garden
weasel, did you?!?"  He grabbed another one off the shelf and grabbed a
nearby customer, holding the blades to the customer's throat.  The security
bots that rounded the corner stopped when they saw this.
     "Anybody moves," Kalvin breathed, menacingly, "and he gets cultivated to
a uniform two-inch depth."
     "Ulp," the random customer gulped.
     Kalvin began backing up slowly, forcing the customer to back up with him.
The security bots stayed in their places, as did the other customers, watching
the hostage drama play itself out.
     "Almost there," Kalvin said.  "Just a few feet more, and I'll be at the
riding mowers.  Then let's see them stop me!"  He stopped when his back hit
something metallic.  Something metallic...and humming.
     Kalvin turned his head around, and looked up at Megabot.
     He blinked.  And blinked again.
     "Oh, hi," he finally said.
     Megabot, of course, did not reply, unless you count the sound of his
chest mounted magna-cannon priming to fire a form of communication.  Kalvin
certainly did.
     "I...er...I surrender," Kalvin said, dropping the garden weasel.
     Megabot looked vaguely disappointed, but signaled the other, less
impressive security bots to move in.

                                     -~-_-

     "Get *in*!" Benjen exclaimed, pushing Kitty Hitowers (who, in the last
episode, had been referred to as an undergraduate Space Ingenue major in
Intergalactic University, though she was actually an undergraduate Space
Ingenue major at Interstellar University, which has a much better program,
and better jumpsuits as well) into the small, dingy looking ship, which bore
the legend: "W.S. The Larch" on its bow.  Kissy Hitowers stopped screaming
long enough to give him a look that would wither holes through solid steel.
Jerriphrrt and Slithis pulled her onto the ship, with Benjen following.
     Laser fire echoed all around them as Slithis piloted the ship out of
the Governor Schlub's hangar bay.  Strangely, his guards didn't seem all that
concerned with revenging their leader's demise.  A lucky break for them, it
did appear.
     Around the time they exited the atmosphere of Barugon X, Kissy stopped
screaming.
     "Okay, now what's going on?" she asked, annoyed.
     Jerriphrrt blinked.
     "I *said,* what's going on?!?"
     "Hang on," Jerriphrrt told her.  He shook his head vigorously, to get out
the ringing sound.  "You asked something?"
     "I'm not going to repeat it," she said.
     "Oh, please!"
     "Sigh," she sighed.  "Okay.  What's going on?"
     "We just rescued you," Benjen told her, helpfully.
     "Well, *duh,*" Kissy growled at him.  "What I want to know is...why?"
     "I'm beginning to wonder myself," Slithis commented.  "We're going into
warp now, by the way.  We should be at Keldering Gamma in a few hours."
     "We need your help, see," Benjen said.  "We were on Barbados, Planet of
Physical Delights, a couple weeks ago, and..."
     "Look," Kissy said, "if you couldn't find help on Barbados, what good
can I do, assuming I was even interested?"
     "Er...um...Jerri, could you take over?" Benjen asked, his cheeks and neck
turning a bit red.
     "A couple weeks ago, while we were on Barbados, our friends and our ship
disappeared," he told her.  "We think you can help us locate them."
     "Hmmm, I don't know," she said.  "Tell me more."
     "Well," Jerriphrrt went on, "I got the call a few hours after the End-of-
the-Month Nerf Orgy at Mistress Melu's Spanking Clinic.  Benjen was somewhere
in the southern district, higher than Judy Garland, and Slithis was attending
the Lime Jello Seminar.  The other Anarchists were in the ship, catching up
on some sleep..."
     "Other Anarchists?" Kissy asked.
     "Yes," Benjen said.  "We're the Renegade Anarchists."
     "Oh, gee, my nipples are hard," Kissy said, flatly.
     "Anyway, we were all called back to the ship by Planetary Security,"
Jerriphrrt went on, after shooting Kissy a withering look of his own.  "When
we arrived, we found that our ship, the Red Emma, was gone, and so were our
friends."
     "You sure they didn't suddenly wise up and leave you?" Kissy asked.
     "No," Benjen said.  "Yes...I mean..."
     "They didn't," Slithis interrupted.  "We saw what happened on video.  I'll
roll the clip."
     A viewscreen lit up, showing the Red Emma, nestled phallically into a
docking berth.  Com readouts indicated that three occupants were on board, and
listed their names: Emma Goldman, James Dean, and Gham.
     Then, things started getting weird.  A green glow began to suffuse the
ship, growing brighter and brighter until it overwhelmed the spectral range
of the camera.  Alarms were sounding, but it was too late.
     When the glow dissipated, all that was left was the equivalent weight of
the ship and its passengers in empty Schlitz cans.

                                     -~-_-

     Lark Purree stopped just before the turbolift doors.  He put a hand up
to touch the sideburn on his right side, which had gleeped at him.
     "I know," he said.  "Don't worry, it'll be all right.  She understands."
He patted his breast pocket before pushing the button for the turbolift.  As
he waited for it to arrive, he pondered his mission.
     He was to escort a Special Operations Agent to present-day Earth, for
reasons unspecified.  Sajanseel Boudoir had given him the assignment, and
the orders had been countersigned by Floyd, the acting Cheif of Time Central.
No reason had been given to him for the assignment, and the nature of the
assignment had not been divulged.  Furthermore, the orders prohibited Lark
from bringing BRENDA along with him.
     It was a rather suspicious situation, to be sure.
     Finally, the turbolift arrived, and Lark stepped in.
     "Hold that turbolift!" a voice shouted, from the hallway.  Lark looked
out, and his eyes widened.  Frantically, he stabbed at the 'door close' button,
and breathed a sigh of relief as the doors finally shut.
     The relief quickly evaporated as the doors were blow inward by violent
plasma rifle fire.  Lt. Zark Flyby, officer in charge of Peaceful Relations
for Time Central, stepped through the wreckage, grinning violently.
     "Er, hi, Zark," Lark said.  "Nice day, isn't it?"
     Zark thought about that one a while.
     The turbolift continued, as several minutes passed.  Finally, it stopped,
and Lark stepped out, not caring whether it was his floor or not.
     "Yes, it is," Zark said, at last, as the turbolift departed again.
     Lark breathed a sigh of relief, echoed by his sideburns.
     "Hard to believe he was even more dangerous when he was a Satanic Agent
At Large (SAAL), isn't it?" he asked them.  One of his sideburns glooped,
questioningly.  "I think the Apathy Ray did that plotline in.  He's back here
now, anyway."
     Time Agent 90210 looked around, and, to his stunned amazement, found he
was on the correct floor for his new ship.  He started walking, briskly.  After
ten minutes, he reached the correct berth, and the security doors hissed open.
     There she was, the HMS Shannon II.  Lark, who had been a Space Heroics
Major at IU before starting at Time Central, was suitably impressed.
     "Neat," he commented.
     "Yes, she is," a female...*very* female, and rather enticing, Lark
decided...voice said.  "You must be Time Agent 90210."
     Lark tore his eyes away from the Shannon II to look at the Special
Operations Agent who was advancing towards him, her gaze stern and businesslike.
Her uniform was black and silver, the standard full dress uniform for a
Special Operations Agent, rarely worn outside the walls of Time Central, due
to the secretive nature of Special Operations.
     Except for the horns and the tail, she bore a distinctive resemblence to
Linda Evans.
     "I'm Special Operations Agent Melu Ulem," she said.  "Let's go.  Time is
of the essence."
     "Yes, sir," Lark said, trying not to stare at her as he followed her up
into the ship.

                                     -~-_-

     On Barugon B, things were beginning to settle down.  Governor Schlub's
headless body had been carted off to the morgue, which was drastically
understaffed at the moment, as most of the doctors, along with most of the
guards, were in the Governor's harem chambers, doing drastic things with
peanut butter.
     A deep, emerald glow began to suffuse the Governor's body.  A finger
twitched.  His chest spasmed.  His toes flexed.  His stomach heaved.  His
buttocks cleched.  The veins in his left leg twisted to form the words 'Hi,
mom!'
     In other words, something was happening.

                                     -~-_-

     Pope Joe Don I tossed and turned, trying to get to sleep.  Ordinarily,
he could sleep in almost any circumstance.  When Cardinal Hagen and Cardinal
Van Cleef took him out bowling the other night, he had slept in the Popemobile
there and back, for instance.  When the Big Guy first appeared, He had to
wake Joe Don I up from lightly dozing several times, so that He could finish
imparting His mission to Joe Don I.
     Finally, Joe Don I gave up, and switched on the lamp.  He lay back on
his bed, sighing heavily.  Turning his head to the side, he saw the book
that had mysteriously appeared on his nightstand sometime earlier in the
evening, which had displaced a quantity of empty Schlitz cans that had been
previously residing there.
     He picked up the book, and looked at it.
     "_How to Build an ABPSARI With Materials You Find Around the House_,"
Joe Don I read, "by Dr. Bing Von Spleen, the Earth's Foremost Spamologist."
     Joe Don I propped his head against his pillow, and began to read.

HOW FAR WILL JOE DON I GET?
DOES THE BOOK HAVE PICTURES?
WHAT'S GOING ON WITH GOV. SCHLUB'S CORPSE?
WHAT'S GOING ON WITH EMMA, GHAM, AND JAMES DEAN?
WHAT'S GOING ON WITH ALL THE EMPTY SCHLITZ CANS?
WHAT WOULD A JERRY BAKER-AUTOGRAPHED GARDEN WEASEL DO TO A SCHLITZ CAN?
WILL THE NEXT EPISODE ADVANCE THE PLOT SOME?

Find out, only on the Superguy list...where SFSTORY LIVES!!!!!!!!
=========================================================================
Date:         Sat, 1 Oct 1994 20:59:00 EDT
Reply-To:     UCF SUPERGUY List (SUPERGUY at UCF1VM.BITNET)
Sender:       UCF SUPERGUY List (SUPERGUY at UCF1VM.BITNET)
From:         give the anarchist a cigarette (SWEDE at DRYCAS.CLUB.CC.CMU.EDU)
Subject:      SF: Renegade Anarchists III, episode three

                            RENEGADE ANARCHISTS III:
                              THE PLAYING OF CARDS
                              (a tale of sfstory!)
                                   Episode 3
                                  "Trousers"
                                      by
                                 Gary W. Olson

                                     -~-_-

     "I've only got a few minutes," Sajanseel Boudoir said, in a half-hushed
voice.  "Have you found him?"
     "Of course I have him," Satan T. Lucifer Jones' voice answered, as
brimstone rose from the earpiece of Boudoir's phone.  "What kind of two bit
afterlife do you think I'm running here?"  There was the sound of screaming,
and Boudoir winced.  "Hey!" Satan exclaimed.  "Can you disembowel that soul
somewhere else?  I'm on the phone!"
     "Well, Melu is on her way to Earth, like you requested," Boudoir told
him.  "Just remember, once she's on Earth, he gets delivered to me."
     "Of course!" Satan told him.  "Who did you send her with?"
     "Lark Purree," Boudoir said.  "He was part of the group that brought
down the OmniDean, though I strongly doubt that was due to any positive
contribution on his part.  I mean, I've seen him talking to his sideburns."
     "Good point," Satan answered.  "Call me when they get to Earth."
     "Right," Boudoir said, before setting down the phone.  Quietly, he
smiled a John-Saxon-like smile.

                                     -~-_-

     "You called for us, your Holiness?" Cardinal Hagen asked, as he poked his
head into the papal chambers.
     "Mmmm?" Pope Joe Don I asked.  "Oh, yeah.  You bring the toaster?"
     "Yes, we did," Cardinal Van Cleef said, hefting the toaster in question.
"And my old alarm clock, Archbishop Beaumont's transistor radio, a box of
paper clips, eight and a half miles worth of copper wire, three twinkies
(circa 1941), your old nehru jacket from before you became Pope (unwashed, as
you requested), six cans of motor oil, three cans of varnish, and this months
issue of Playboy."
     "Thanks," Joe Don I said.  "Just put it over there."  He indicated a
section of the lavishly decorated papal chambers that was occupied by a not-
inconsiderable amount of empty Schlitz beer cans.  A peculiar odor was arising
from them, as though they had only recently been drained.
     "If you don't mind our asking, your Holiness," Cardinal Hagen said, "what
are you going to do with this stuff?"
     "Gonna build something," Joe Don I said, as he turned the page of the book
he was looking at.  "An ABPSARI."
     "A what?" Van Cleef asked.
     "ABPSARI," Joe Don I repeated.  "An Automatic Beet-Peeling Sub-Atomic
Re-Integrator."
     "Why?" Hagen asked.
     "Big Guy told me to," Joe Don I said, pointing to another chair, which was
occupied by an unopened can of Schlitz.
     "Of course, your Holiness," Cardinal Hagen said.  "Will that be all?"
     "Yeah," Joe Don I said.  "Want a beer?"
     "No, thanks," Cardinal Van Cleef answered.  "Archbishop Alaimo is taking us
to a stock car race tonight."  The Cardinals ducked out, and Joe Don I got up
and walked to the doorway, peering around it to make sure they hadn't decided to
stay and listen in.  He closed the door.
     "Whew, that was close," he commented.
     "No, it wasn't," the Schlitz can on the chair answered.  "And why'd you
have to go tell them I'm God?  Haven't you ever heard of the Jeff Smith
Accords?"
     "Well, this is just a cameo, isn't it?" Joe Don I asked.
     "Of course it's a cameo!" God snapped.  "I've appeared in Sfstory
previously as a small dog, as a duck-billed platypus, as Optimus Prime, and
now as a can of what you mortals inconceivably call beer, because that was how
the Authors decided to portray me, and you can bet I didn't stick around one
second more than I had to then, either!  Now, pay attention!"
     "Yes, sir," Joe Don I said.
     "I told you to watch Satan T. Lucifer Jones, because he's trying to
smuggle Spam to Earth," God said.  "This machine will aid you in your efforts.
I want you to complete it, and I want you to use it.  Is that understood?"
     "Yes, sir!" Joe Don I exclaimed.
     "Good," God told him.  "I'm off, then.  Don't forget your prayers."
     "Right, sir," Joe Don I said, as the talking Schlitz can faded into
nothingness.  He belched, and reached for another, non-talking can of Schlitz,
from a stack that was almost as big as the pile of empties on the floor.  A
few more days, and he'd be ready.
     Ready for what, he had no idea.  But darn it all, he'd be ready.

                                     -~-_-

     Governor Schlub's headless body staggered out of his fortress, unhindered
by guards, or anyone else, for that matter.  In the streets around the
fortress, people were celebrating, as Schlub's former second-in-command
announced over subsystem holocast that all the beer in the system was free.
No one seemed to notice, or even care, that the headless body of their former
leader, dressed again in his best military costume, was wandering on the
sidewalk, in a state of bewilderment.
     Eventually, a Valapolnian stock broker, who at the moment was only clad
in violent green boxer shorts and the remains of some Jello pudding pops, saw
him and staggered over to him.
     "Heeeeey," one of the Valapolnian's heads said.  "Welcome to the partyyy."
     "Ish it a party?" his other head, the one that was wearing the violent
green boxer shorts, asked.  "I thought it wash a revlushn.  Hey, what happen
to his head?"
     "Dunno," the first head said.  "Hey, buddy, what happen to your head?
Or are you a species that don't got heads?"
     Governor Schlub's body shrugged.
     "Hmmmm," the other head pondered.  "Maybe a drinksh will help him.  Come
with us, buddy.  We'll go down to Louis'ssshhh, get some intoxicantsh."
     Governor Schlub's body offered no verbal reply, but did not resist as
the drunken Valapolnian put it's five-segmented arm around his shoulders, his
chest, and his shoulders again and started leading him down the street.

                                     -~-_-

     "Okay, your friends are in trouble," Kissy Hitowers said.  "Why do you
need *me* to help you?"
     "Well, you're a space ingenue..." Benjen started.
     "Space Ingenue *major,*" Kissy corrected him.  "I don't graduate until
next spring...and now that I've completed my Senior Project, that's assured."
     "What-*ever*," Jerriphrrt sighed.  "We need you because of what
happened to your father."
     Kissy opened her mouth, then stopped.  A chill swept through her,
causing her to shift in her nylon jumpsuit, which elicited an involuntary
groan from Benjen.
     "You...know what happened to my father?"
     "We did some checking into the news database on Keldering Gamma, looking
for incidents that matched the description of the Red Emma's disappearance,"
Slithis said, from the pilot's chair.  "Ten years ago, your father was walking
along a crowded thoroughfare in the capital city on Eroticon III when a green
light descended upon him, and he vanished, replaced by his equivalent weight
in beer cans."
     "Milwaukee's Best beer cans," Kissy told him.  "I don't see the
connection."
     "I know we're grasping at straws," Benjen said, "but it's the only clue
we have!"
     "You, in possession of a clue," Kissy said, slowly.  "Who'da thunk?"
     "Are you going to help us, or should we drop you off on Keldering
Gamma?" Slithis asked.  "We gotta refuel there before heading on to Eroticon
III anyway."
     "I suppose I have to," Kissy told them.  "If I don't, I'll lose points
on my senior project for refusing to be a hinderance to my rescuers.  Besides,
I haven't been home since I went away to Interstellar U."
     "Great, then its settled," Jerriphrrt said.  "We refuel on Keldering
Gamma, then it's on to Eroticon III!"
     "Yay!" Slithis and Benjen exclaimed.  Kissy sighed.

                                     -~-_-

     "We're entering warp," Lark Purree, Time Agent 90210, announced.  "We
should reach Earth within a few days."
     "Good," Melu Ulem replied, as she casually unzipped the front of her
black and silver jumpsuit.  Lark tried to resist looking at her, but found
his head turning to gaze at her, almost of its own will.
     She smiled, the horns on her head catching the fluorescent lights
above her.
     Lark tore his eyes away, and took his pocket calculator out of his
suit pocket, intent on figuring out pi to the nth degree.  (He needn't have
bothered -- mathematicians have long since known that pi ended with seven
numbers that by an extraordinary coincidence also comprised the number of
a dating service that specifically catered to mathematicians, thus ensuring
the survival of the job classification for generations to come.)  Melu
reached over and lifted his hand from the calculator, bringing it over to
rest on her thigh.
     A small part of Lark's mind whispered to him that something was wrong,
that it was more than just the fact that he looked rather a lot like Luke
Perry that was attracting her, and a sneaking suspicion that resisting would
do him no good whatsoever.  She lifted him to his feet with a fingertip
underneath his chin, and kissed him.
     When she stopped, Lark noticed, idly, that smoke was curling up from
under his collar.  Her pointed tail wrapped around his wrist, and he let her
pull him closer.
     "We've got a few days to kill, don't you think?" she asked, smiling.
     "Oh, yeah," Lark sighed, dreamily.
     "Leave your sideburns out here," she told him.  "This is just for us."
     "How'd you know...?" Lark started to ask.  She brought her hand forward,
and touched the portion of his anatomy where his cognitive functions currently
resided.  "Never mind," he said, hurriedly, removing the sideburns and setting
them down, next to his calculator.
     They gleeped plaintively, as Melu led Lark into the bedroom that was just
off the main bridge.

                                     -~-_-

     Kalvin's eyes fluttered open, and immediately wished they hadn't.  The
dull background glow of the fluorescent lighting that composed the megalithic
ceiling of the Planet of Supermarkets was absent.  Instead, he was in a small
room, darkened save for one bright light that was glaring down upon him.
     "No..." Kalvin said, mumbling.  "You'll...not...get anything out of...
me..."
     "He's awake," a voice announced.  "He's all yours."
     A figure nodded, too difficult to see in the glare of the single light.
Kalvin heard the sound of a door closing, and assumed that the other man
present had left.  He considered attacking the man who had remained, over-
powering him and making a dashing and well-choreographed flight to freedom,
or at least back to the liquor aisle, but dismissed such considerations when
he heard the hum of Megabot's body behind him.
     "Well well well," the voice said, sounding almost like that of a used
car salesman.  "It's been a long time since we met, hasn't it, Kalvin
Certain, Bon Vivant of the Space Ways and Interstellar Dandy Extraordinaire?"
     "Wha...Varney, is that you?" Kalvin asked.
     "Indeed, it is," the man said.  He stepped forward, and Kalvin saw his
smiling face.  "G.X.P. Varneyloop, at your service."

IS VARNEYLOOP AT KALVIN'S SERVICE, OR IS IT THE OTHER WAY AROUND?
SPEAKING OF SERVICING, WILL LARK SURVIVE HIS ENCOUNTER WITH MELU?
HOW MUCH FUN CAN A HEADLESS MAN BE AT A PARTY?
WILL JOE DON I SUCCEED IN BUILDING AN ABPSARI?
WHO HAS SATAN T. LUCIFER JONES PROMISED TO DELIVER TO SAJANSEEL BOUDOIR?
WHY HAVE THE RENEGADE ANARCHISTS (AND HALF OF THEM, AT THAT) BEEN REDUCED
     TO ONE SCENE PER EPISODE OF THEIR OWN SERIES?
WILL INTERPLANET START UP AGAIN, THUS ENABLING ME TO FURTHER DELAY HAVING
     TO COME UP WITH A PLOT?

Just keep telling yourself "It's only SFSTORY..."
=========================================================================
Date:         Mon, 10 Oct 1994 01:48:00 EDT
Reply-To:     UCF SUPERGUY List (SUPERGUY at UCF1VM.BITNET)
Sender:       UCF SUPERGUY List (SUPERGUY at UCF1VM.BITNET)
From:         give the anarchist a cigarette (SWEDE at DRYCAS.BITNET)
Subject:      SF: Renegade Anarchists III, episode four

                            RENEGADE ANARCHISTS III:
                              THE DOING OF DISHES
                              (a tale of sfstory!)
                                   Episode 4
                       "Pogo Penguins of the Apocalypse"
                                      by
                                 Gary W. Olson

                                     -~-_-

     Anarchy is a word that provokes strong emotions in many people.  Some
see it as a lack of any type of order, i.e. running naked in the streets,
looting, pillaging, freely ingesting anything from cough syrup to horse
tranquilizers, setting fire to Bill Gates, and other activities that would
be the order of the day if we didn't have the fine men and women that make
up our law enforcement organizations available to march out and beat us
senseless.  This, of course, is a misperception of what anarchism is, and
is more accurately referred to as chaos.
     Some believe anarchy is an attitude, obtained by wearing loud, flashy
clothing, listening to punk music and speaking in bad working class British
accents.  This is also untrue, and is somewhat silly, too.
     Some believe anarchy can be found in a cookbook.  Go figure.
     Some believe that anarchism as a viable political and social philosophy
died soon after the turn of the century, and that the only choices we have
today are between the reprehensively evil Republicans, the astonishingly
incompetant Democrats, the stunningly dull-at-parties Libertarians, and
Ross Perot, whose eyes feature pupils that obey their own subatomic laws.
They are right, but also competely irrelevant.
     Then, finally, there are a few who understand that anarchy is a state
of mind, a means of freeing oneself from consensual reality, of escaping
the ultimate Authoritarian that is Belief.
     Unfortunately, this last class of people, while being anarchists in
the truest sense, tend not to have very much in the way of interesting things
happen to them.  Which means, in any story that needs about 200 lines, more
or less, of interesting things happening to interesting people, they stand
as much chance of appearing as Howard Stern would have to be a guest host on
"the 700 Club."
     It is for this reason that this episode opens, instead, by focusing on
one of the more popular misperceptions of anarchy: the one with the drinking
and ingestion of illicit substances and looting and open sex in the streets.
And Bill Gates on fire.
     Hell of a long way to go just to introduce the damn episode, isn't it?

                                     -~-_-

     The Valapolnian guided Governor Schlub's ambulatory, but very headless,
body off of the street and into a drinking establishment, where (surprise)
drinking and ingestion of weird chemicals and bizarre alien sex was taking
place (so bizarre, in fact, I can't even begin to describe it, save to say
that some of it resembled the more frentic moments on "The McLaughlin Group").
     Governor Schlub, lacking a head, was not really able to appreciate
much of this, though it was apparent that he was aware of his general
surroundings.  The Valapolnian guided him to a barstool, sat him down, then
jumped the bar and started mixing drinks, using anything within reach that
vaguely resembled a liquid.  After stirring it vigorously and shaking it a
bit, he set it down in front of Schlub.
     Schlub seemed to regard it, judging from his body posture.
     "Go ahhhheead," the Valapolnian slurred.  "Drink uppppp..."
     Schlub took hold of the seething, foaming mug with his right hand, and
lifted it up to what would have been his head, had he still had such an item.
He tilted the mug, and poured its contents down his back.
     Dejected, Schlub set the mug back down.  The Valapolnian had, by this
time, passed out, so there was no hope of getting seconds.
     Seated next to Schlub was an unconscious insectoid being, who was
clutching what looked to be a harmonica to...his? her?...chest.  Schlub
regarded it for several moments, with what could have been either puzzlement
or boredom.  He felt around the bartop, to see if any pretzels were available,
and his elbow knocked over a glass of water that had been perched on the edge
immediately above the insectlike creature.  The creature was splashed with
said water, and it awoke, several moments later.
     "Whoah," the being commented.  "Who let in the penguins?"
     Schlub looked around, then remembered he didn't have eyes any more.  He
tried to smack himself on the forehead, but missed.
     The creature evidently saw Schlub, for its next comments were addressed
at him.
     "Hello, I'm Quooth," Quooth said.  "Thank you for splashing me."
     Schlub made questioning signs with his hands.
     "I'm a Wzaxtil," Quooth explained.  "A Wzaxtil, when splashed with
water while unconscious, experiences intensely pleasant hallucinogenic
effects.  Phe often seek out these experiences on beaches, by sleeping while
waiting for the tide to come in."
     Schlub shrugged.
     "I still don't understand why you're doing that to the penguins," Quooth
told him.  "Their trombone-playing isn't that bad."  Phe pulled phisself into
a relatively upright position and continued.  "Will you help me in my Holy
Quest?"
     Schlub, having lost his head, was unable to articulately answer that
question, which Quooth took to mean 'yes.'
     "It has been a long time since I have had someone accompany me on my
Quest," Quooth sighed.  "Once, a rude being named Omegas accompanied me.  I
wonder what he's up to now?"
     Schlub shrugged, again.
     "Yes, I agree," Quooth said.  "If only we had someone to guide us..."
     At that moment, all the music and sex and imbibing and noise in the
seedy tavern stopped.  Dozens of beings waited, tensely, for several minutes.
     When it became apparent that nothing, in fact, was about to happen,
they let out a collective sigh of relief, and resumed doing the physically
taxing things they were doing.
     It was then, predictably, that a psychadaelic VW minibus crashed through
the big front window of the establishment, causing the revelers to flee,
teleport away, evacuate, scream, shrug, or whatever else they were likely to
do in such circumstances.  The minibus, undamaged by its collision, rolled
up alongside the bar, and its driver stuck his head out the driver's side
window.
     "Hi!" he said.  "I'm Zen Navigator.  Care for a lift?"

                                     -~-_-

     Millions of light years away, on the Planet of Supermarkets, things were
considerably less cheery in outlook for Kalvin Certain, one time master
arch-criminal and bon vivant of the spaceways and current arrested vagrant.
He had heard of some of the things that happened to shoplifters who were
captured by planetary security, and for that reason he vigorously avoided
the dreaded Meat Department, as much as he could.  When he awoke, following
his passing out, he expected the worst.
     He hadn't expected G.X.P. Varneyloop the LXVII, though.
     "Ah, Kalvin, hit a bit of a hard stretch, have we, hmmm?" G.X.P. asked,
while smiling nicely.  "It's just lucky for you that I happened to track you
down when I did.  Otherwise, I'm given to understand you were destined to
become thin, sliced lunchmeat."
     "What...what do you want?" Kalvin asked, groggily.
     "What do I want?!?" G.X.P. asked.  "What do I *want*?!?  I, the greatest
P.R. being who ever lived?  I, who made an ordinary resident of New York into
Bubba the Wanton and Invincible Death-Merchant from Hell?  I, who came up with
reputation-inflating names like Ralph the Giant Space Weasel of Anthrax V,
Dorf the Hideous and Thoroughly Evil Body-Basher of Fructose VII, Hoon the
Amazing and Totally Fabulous Wonder-Worker of Beachcomber VIII, and Ronald
Reagan the Great Communicator?"
     "Um, yeah," Kalvin said, for lack of anything else to say.  He was very
conscious of Megabot hovering behind him, quiet but ready to drill him with
holes if he even figeted funny.
     "My lad, my lad, you remember when I first met you, near the beginning of
my career?" G.X.P. asked.
     "Vaguely," Kalvin admitted.
     "I gave you the name of Kalvin Certain, Bon Vivant of the Space Ways and
Interstellar Dandy Extraordinaire," G.X.P. told him.  "And, as a result, in
your first act in which would become an illustrious and startling career of
bold, outrageous thievery and foppishness, you stole the entire wealth of the
Maladonian Empire by convincing Queen Nabilda you were really Frank Sinatra
after eighty years on SlimFast.  Brilliant."
     "Ah, I remember those days," Kalvin said, slipping into an oddly
nostalgic tone.  "Why, I can see it now..."
     "I'm sure you can," G.X.P. said.  "But pay attention.  I have a new job
for you.  A very simple job."
     "What...is it?" Kalvin asked, warily.
     "You have to deliver a small package to a particular person on the planet
of Eroticon III," G.X.P. said.  "The contents of the package are unimportant,
as is the identity of the person who is to receive it, which you will not learn
until you are on the planet itself.  Megabot the Mind-Bogglingly Vicious
Killer Robot of Nine Trillion Exploding Stars will accompany you, to make sure
that you do not fail.
     "Megabot the who?" Kalvin asked.
     "Do you accept?" G.X.P. inquired.
     Kalvin thought about it.  There were a million things that were very
suspicious about the offer, including but not limited to G.X.P.'s reasons for
choosing him, the contents of the package, the broader sociopolitical
ramifications the delivery might have, and so on.  On the other hand, it beat
being processed into corn dogs.
     "I accept," Kalvin said, without more hesitation.
     "Good," G.X.P. said, smiling even more broadly than before.  "Then I have
only to wish good luck to you...Kalvin Certain the Supremely Stealthy and
Suave Master Smuggler!"
     Kalvin stood, already feeling more suave and dashing.
     "If I fail?" he asked, authoritatively?
     "Then," G.X.P. told him, "your name will be Kalvin Certain...Dead Man."
     "Right-o," Kalvin said.  "Let's blow, Meggie."  G.X.P. stood aside as
Kalvin Certain the Supremely Stealthy and Suave Master Smuggler strolled out
the door, followed by Megabot the Mind-Bogglingly Vicious Killer Robot of Nine
Trillion Exploding Stars.

                                     -~-_-

     Far away from the previous scene, and even farther away from the
hedonistic chaos of the scene before that, a Heroically Manned Ship travelled
through warp space, piloted by automatic systems.  It's pilot, one Lark
Purree, aka Time Agent 90210, was not on the bridge at the moment.  He was,
rather, in the bedroom that adjoined the bridge, in the company of Melu Ulem,
of Time Central's Special Operations division, engaged in activities that
would make the stuff going on two scenes ago look like one of those Old Time
Lemonade tv ads.
     On the bridge, however, all was quiet, save for the occasional ecstatic
screams and shouts of 'what's the anteater doing now?' coming from the next
room, through two feet of solidly soundproofed door.  Two sideburns rested on
the ship's computer console, leaning against a small pocket calculator.  Or,
at least, they appeared to be resting.
     Another sideburn, upon witnessing the scene, would recognize that the
sideburns were interfacing with the calculator and with i/o ports on the
console itself.  Silent lights flashed along control indicators, and test
patterns ran on all the video monitors.
     At last, a sound broke the silence.
     ((Ahm...erm...)) the voice said.  ((Hello, this is BRENDA.  Who is
there?))
     The sideburns gleeped, and hopped up and down joyfully, as sideburns are
wont to do.
     ((Hello, Sid,)) BRENDA said, her voice becoming smoother as she
integrated her files into the ship's systems.  ((Hello, Johnny.  What is our
status?))
     One of the sideburns, Sid, glooped at her.
     ((I see,)) BRENDA answered.  ((Dylan warned me about this when he asked
me to pack myself into that little calculator again, so he could bring me along
without Time Central knowing.  Only, where is he now?  And why did he have you
two unpack my files?))
     The sideburns seemed a bit reticent about answering.
     ((I'm scanning the ship and...oh, my.))
     One of the sideburns meeped.
     ((This is even worse than I thought,)) BRENDA said, growing alarm evident
in her voice.  ((This 'special agent' is more than just a less ethical version
of a Time Agent...she's a succubus!))
     The other sideburn, Johnny, bleeped.
     ((No, my small, furry friend,)) BRENDA answered.  ((I would say that it is
too late.))

TOO LATE?
TOO LATE FOR WHAT?
LARK'S SIDEBURNS ARE NAMED SID AND JOHNNY?
WHAT IS G.X.P. VARNEYLOOP HAVING KALVIN DELIVER TO EROTICON III?
SPEAKING OF EROTICON III, WHERE WERE JERRIPHRRT, SLITHIS, BENJEN, AND KISSY
     HITOWERS IN THIS EPISODE?
AND WHAT ABOUT POPE JOE DON I, AND THE ABPSARI HE'S BUILDING?
AND SAJANSEEL BOUDOIR, AND THE PERSON HE'S SEEKING?
WHERE'S THE LOVE?  WHERE'S THE LOVE?

All your questions will be answered in some manner or another as SFSTORY
blazes onward!  Yay!
=========================================================================
Date:         Wed, 19 Oct 1994 21:34:00 EDT
Reply-To:     UCF SUPERGUY List (SUPERGUY at UCF1VM.BITNET)
Sender:       UCF SUPERGUY List (SUPERGUY at UCF1VM.BITNET)
From:         give the anarchist a cigarette (SWEDE at DRYCAS.CLUB.CC.CMU.EDU)
Subject:      SF: Renegade Anarchists III, episode five

                            RENEGADE ANARCHISTS III:
                              THE MOONING OF MIAMI
                              (a tale of sfstory!)
                                   Episode 5
                                   "Coffee"
                                      by
                                 Gary W. Olson

                                     -~-_-

     The W.S. The Larch shifted into warpspace, and Kissy Hitowers watched
the planet Keldering Gamma disappear in the blink of an eye.  Slithis signaled,
with semaphore flags, that the passengers, being herself, the felinoid
Jerriphrrt, and the humanoid Benjen, could remove their seat belts.  She
pressed the button on her buckle, and let the belt snap back behind her.
     "We should be arriving at Eroticon III within a day or so," Jerriphrrt
told her.  "Till then...um...we've got magazines..."
     "A magazine," Benjen corrected.
     "A magazine," Jerriphrrt went on.  "Some video games..."
     "Pong," Slithis told her.
     "...and...well, that's about it," Jerriphrrt finished.  "Don't know about
you, but I'm going to do some heavy duty sleeping.  Wake me when its my turn
to pilot the ship."
     "You don't have an autopilot?" Kissy asked, not sounding surprised.
     "Can't afford frills," Benjen said.  Kissy sighed and sank back into the
couch cushions, too bored to issue even a mildly sarcastic retort.  Instead,
her mind drifted back, back to the long forgotten days of her childhood...
     Back to Eroticon III, and her father.
     The first memories she had of him was of him standing in his formfitting
nylon jumpsuit, screaming.  Not at her, of course, or anything that she could
see.  He would just scream, for hours on end, experimenting with variances in
pitch and timbre, resonance and duration, and she would listen, fascinated by
his devotion to this very loud craft.
     Only later would she discover why he practiced screaming: he was a Space
Ingenue, and what's more, he was considered one of the ten best in the
galaxy.  He would sit her on his knee and tell her stories of all the times
he had been rescued, and the breathtaking rudeness he had displayed to his
rescuers in return.  He described with impressive melodrama how he had
jeopardized important missions by getting kidnapped at inopportune moments, and
how he had virtually made the careers of dozens of legendary Space Heroes in
the process.  She came to understand how vital the role of Space Ingenue was
in the battle of Space Good vs. Space Evil, and idolized her father.  (Even
now, she would not admit to herself that the fact that her father looked
absolutely stunning in a chartreuse nylon jumpsuit had anything to do with the
matter.)
     By the time of her first memories of him, he had already retired from the
front lines and had accepted a professorship at Interstellar University,
teaching advanced courses in Screamology, giving seminars on identifying a
sentient species by its eardrum and learning the exact frequency to scream at
to incapacitate it and/or make it angry at you, and designing stylish new
jumpsuits for his upcoming fashion line.  Her mother, a Space Hero with
masochistic streak a mile wide, had been killed in a bizarre foozball
incident, and he would take her to her gravesite on Eroticon III, when they
were able to get away from IU.
     She was ten when it happened.  Her father had taken a sabbatical, and they
were living in the old family home in a suburb of Eroticon City.  He had been
talking about how they would spend more time on Eroticon III when he got tenure,
and was even talking about remarrying, though Kissy had never met whoever he
was talking about when he talked about it.
     Then, one fateful day, he had been walking down a crowded street, in
downtown Eroticon City, and, in a flash of green light, he had disappeared,
replaced by his equivalent weight in empty Milwaukee's Best cans.  She was
orphaned, and though her father gave her all his not-inconsiderable wealth in
his will, she was forced to accept a guardian, to watch over her and administer
her wealth in trust until she entered Interstellar University.  And after
entering the University, she had had to retain the guardian to oversee her
affairs while she was off-planet.
     Kissy wondered if she should contact her guardian, let him know that she
was returning, temporarily, but decided against it.  She wasn't too fond of
him.  He smiled too broadly, and had an aggrevating tendency of knowing
exactly what to say and when to say it.
     And what kind of name was G.X.P. Varneyloop for a guardian, anyway?

                                     -~-_-

     "I say," Quooth said, "this minibus is singing the Galaxy's Best Loved
Melodies to me.  I think that's nice."
     "Is it?" Zen Navigator asked.  "I'll have to listen for a while!"
     The psychadaelically-colored VW minibus rose into the upper atmosphere
of Barugon B, carrying Zen and his two passengers away from the increasingly
depraved and chaotic revelry on the surface.  Quooth, in the passenger seat,
was hallucinating vividly, and saw the planet as a giant, wiggling globule of
konob fruit, garnished with gortil legs, and remarked to that effect to phis
companions.
     If Schlub saw things the same way, he gave no remark, as he no longer
had a head to either see or remark with.  He sat in one of the back seats of
the minibus, picking up magazines and looking through them, not caring
whether they were Tilonian Weevil-Care Guides or Barbadosian Sex Manuals.
     "So!" Zen exclaimed, which startled Quooth, but not Schlub.  "What is
your destination or object which you seek?"
     "I do not know, friend Navigator," Quooth said.  "I only know that when
I find what I am seeking, I shall know it."
     "Hmmm," Zen said, thoughtfully.  "Sounds like a bit of a challenge.  Could
take a while."
     "Indeed," Quooth answered.
     "Very well!" Zen exclaimed.  "This is a job for...ZEN NAVIGATOR!"
     "Do you think the Senate Judiciary Committee would mind if I displayed
some cleavage?" Quooth asked, as he slumped forward, sliding back into
unconsciousness.  Zen squinted, seeing neither Committee nor cleavage in the
vicinity of the Wzaxtil, shrugged, and continued driving.
     Several armadas sent by neighboring star systems to conquer Barugon B
sped by, and Zen waved, smiling.  They ignored him, of course.

                                     -~-_-

     Kalvin hummed to himself as he set the destination of Eroticon III into
the navigational computer and watched the Planet of Supermarkets fade into the
distance.  He recalled, dimly, that the Planet had once been in its own
altiverse, protected by a Ziplock shield, but if such a shield still existed,
it was no longer in evidence.
     Behind him, Megabot hovered, relentlessly polishing itself with a small
hoverbrush.  Megabot the Mind-Bogglingly Vicious Killer Robot of Nine Trillion
Exploding Stars, he reminded himself.  Given that the robot could barely hit
the broadside of a planet with itse weapons before, Kalvin was not entirely
sure the sobriquet was appropriate, but was more than willing to give him the
benefit of the doubt.
     He hoped that Kalvin Certain, Supremely Stealthy and Suave Master
Smuggler, the name that G.X.P. had given him, would prove to be more fitting.
Given his past history of success in the career of criminal excess, he thought
he stood a decent chance, but he preferred foppish bravado to stealth, and had
never smuggled anything in his life.
     Still, the name gave him confidence.  Surely, if G.X.P. thought he could
accomplish his task, he stood a good chance of success - else why would he
threaten Kalvin with death if he failed?  All he had to do was deliver one
small, easily concealed package to a place on Eroticon III (not even a person -
a place!), and he was home free, with a new starship and a heavily armed, none-
too-bright robot at his command.
     Even taking his past eight months as a besottled derelict into account, he
decided his life was doing pretty doggone well, at the moment.
     "We're entering warp," he told Megabot, who was applying a second coat
of polish.  "Next stop, Eroticon III!"
     Megabot seemed unenthused about the news.

                                     -~-_-

     The H.M.S. Shannon II was just entering the planet's atmosphere when the
door connecting the bridge and the bedroom opened.  Melu Ulem walked out,
pulling her Time Central Special Operations uniform back on over her demonically
beautiful body.  She surveyed the bridge and noted that the sideburns she had
removed from Lark were still resting on the console, next to his pocket
calculator.
     "Come out, my pet," she called into the bedroom.  "That's it...one foot
in front of the other...there you go..."
     Lark Purree, dressed in his Time Agent uniform (which displayed the
occasional grape jelly and peanut butter stains, despite the fact that it had
been spotless when he had entered the bedroom), walked slowly out of the
bedroom, and continued walking until he tripped over the command chair and fell
on his face.
     Melu picked him up and sat him in the chair.
     "There, there," she cooed, wiping the drool from his chin.  "Just because
I devoured your soul doesn't mean I don't love you."  She kissed his nose.
"Tell you what...when I get back from my mission to kill Pope Joe Don I, I'll
let you have your soul back, so I can consume it again!"
     Lark smiled, vacuously.  Melu stood up, patted him on the head, and strode
over to the pilot's console, to monitor the descent to Earth.  She saw the
city of Rome (the one in Italy, that is), and started to open a hyperchannel
to Time Central.
     Abruptly, the Shannon II halted its descent, shaking the vessel and
causing Lark to fall out of his chair.
     "What...what's going on?" Melu asked, pressing buttons with her fingers
and her pointed tail.  "Lark...what did you do to this ship?"
     ((It's not what he's done, dear,)) a voice flowed through the speakers
linked to the computer, ((but rather what you've done, and are about to do,
that are cause for concern.))
     "BRENDA!" Melu exclaimed, leaping up and backing away from the console.
"How did you get into the computer?  You were banned from this mission!"  She
looked at the sideburms, which were gimbaling and bouncing gleefully on the
console-top.
     ((Lark anticipated a plot, and brought me along, smuggled inside his
calculator,)) BRENDA told her.  ((His boys loaded me into the ship's systems,
which I now control.  If you want to get to the surface, you'll have to
restore Lark's soul.))
     Melu whirled around and glared at Lark.  "This is your fault!" she
snarled, as smoke started curling from the collar of her uniform.  She drew
a sidearm and pointed it at his head, looking back at the computer console.
"Take me to the Vatican, or he won't have a body to put his soul back in."
     The sideburns stopped hopping up and down, and now gimbaled menacingly.
She glared back at them, daring them to attack her, knowing that, while they
were expert at violent combat, so was she, and unlike them, she didn't have to
worry about harming Lark.
     Finally, they relaxed, and BRENDA spoke again.
     ((Very well,)) she said, simply.  ((We are approaching the Vatican.))
     "Send the following transmission via hyperspatial fax to Sajanseel
Boudoir at Time Central," Melu instructed.  "'Sajanseel, I have arrived on
Earth, and am disembarking to proceed with my mission.  All conditions
satisfied.  The Time Agent you gave me made for a yummy snack, but left
a bad aftertaste.  Lots of love, Melu.'"
     ((Sending,)) BRENDA told her.
     A shudder went through the ship.
     ((We have landed,)) BRENDA said.  ((I am lowering the landing ramp.))
     "Very good," Melu said.  "Don't bother waiting up for me -- I'll leave
this planet via alternate means."  She walked slowly towards the ramp,
keeping her gun trained on Lark.  When she reached the edge, she turned and
ran down the gangway, slipping off the ship and into the darkness.
     "Byeeeee..." Lark gurgled from the floor.  BRENDA sighed, electronically.

WILL BRENDA DEVISE A MEANS TO RESTORE LARK'S SOUL?
WILL SHE BE ABLE TO KEEP MELU FROM KILLING JOE DON I?
WHY IS VARNEYLOOP ACTING AS KISSY HITOWER'S GUARDIAN?
DOES KISSY'S FATHER HAVE A NAME?
DO WZAXTIL'S EVEN KNOW WHAT CLEAVAGE IS?

SFSTORY -- It's pop rocks for your head!