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Sfstory Log 073
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Date: Tue, 17 Oct 1995 00:00:34 -0400
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From: strange days indeed (swede at SOJOURN1.SOJOURN.COM)
Subject: SF: Renegade Anarchists IV, episode one
RENEGADE ANARCHISTS IV:
IN GAN YET GREEN
(a Tale of Sfstory!)
Episode 1
"Crissum"
by
Gary W. Olson
-~-_-
Plot summaries can be tricky things. They have to be brief, yet give
enough pertinent information so that the reader will be able to latch onto
what is happening in the story, particularly if the story hasn't been seen
in the past few months, and if it's sufficiently complicated to warrent
explanation (and if the readers are sufficiently lazy to not look up the
story in the ftp archives themselves).
Consider, for instance, the plot summary behind the saga of the
creation of the wheel. While this important invention has sprang up in
nearly every galactic culture since the dawn of time (save for the culture
of the Galthans of Galthanactulax G, which was wiped out entirely when the
wheel snuck into the Galthans' homes and ate them (the Galthans, that is,
not the homes)(well, to be honest, the homes, too)), one of the most
exciting plots behind it was that of its creation on planet Earth. Listen
carefully, gentle reader, and I shall summarize the plot of that grand
moment:
"Oooog."
This is more significant than it sounds, since the letter 'o' didn't
exist before the invention of the wheel. Think about it.
Plot summaries have, of course, advanced significantly since then, as
have plots. Why, consider the plot of "Renegade Anarchists III," for
instance. It had giant space worms, random teleportation, sinister
villains, deranged lunatics, large stretches of beach filled with naked
women, weird chemicals, papal residences that turn into chocolate pudding,
Time Agents who look like Hollywood stars, spacefaring Maine villages, and
lots of other stuff I can't remember at the moment. How do we summarize
such a large, inchoate, and utterly convoluted plot?
Like so:
"The Plot is a black, hi-top tennish shoe with the words 'the Plot'
written on one side. It was only recently found, and no use for it has yet
been determined."
And now, on with our story.
-~-_-
"So, we've finally found the Plot," Benjen said, for the fiftieth time
or so. He gazed at it as it rested, inert, on the porch railing of Morris
Tanner's porch.
"You keep saying that," Lt. Chatsia Slacks grumbled.
"So?" Benjen asked.
"So quit it," G.X.P. Varneyloop told him. "That five-mile wide Key
Lime Pie will be colliding with us in less than fifteen minutes. We've got
to think of some way to get out of its way before that happens!"
"Won't the Pseudoscience Bubble that surrounds us keep us protected?"
Kissy Hitowers, Space Ingenue major and hindrance to Benjen at every turn,
asked as she warmed up for what was looking to be the final scream of her
life.
"No," Susan B. Anthony said. "When it hits, this whole structure will
explode. Unfortunately, due to the nature of the Pseudoscience Field, this
may not result in all of us winding up in Hell (tm)."
"Bata, what do you think we should do?" Benjen asked.
Bata, who was out on the front lawn getting a tan, looked up and shook
his head wearily.
"You might as well throw The Plot at it," he said. "Though if you do
that, not even I can predict its effects."
"It could be worth trying," Varneyloop said, considering.
"So how do we get The Plot up to where the Bubble is?" Bennett Quark
asked.
"Simple," Kissy said. "Benjen can fly it up."
Benjen looked at her dourly.
"Or he can stay down here and listen to me scream."
Instantly, Benjen leapt out of his chair, grabbed The Plot, and took
to the skies, flying steadily upwards, followed by a chorus of 'take me
too!' and 'don't leave us here!'
-~-_-
"Try it now!" Quooth exclaimed, from somewhere within the Toaster,
which was, at the moment, parked precariously atop the front half of Gham's
car. Gham turned the keys in the ignition, and heard the engine attempt to
turn over.
"They're getting closer," Kalvin Certain warned. "I think we'd be
well-advised to flee into the skies while we have time. Well, that is, you
can, and you could probably carry me..."
"But what about Quooth and Niccolo?" Gham asked.
"What about them?" Kalvin asked back.
"What about me?" Niccolo asked, from the back seat, where he had
fallen. Next to him, Logan, who was inhabiting the body of Lisa Bonet,
waved to the surrounding hovertanks.
"Hold one moment," Quooth advised. "I think I have completed wiring
the combustion engine into the Toaster's stardrive. We won't have enough
power to take off, but we will be able to travel on land."
"Better make it quick!" Kalvin exclaimed. "They're in firing range!"
A blast from one of the hovertanks echoed overhead, to emphasize the
point.
"Try now!" Quooth yelled. Gham turned the keys again, and listened
to the engines attempt to turn over. Angrily, she blasted into the
transmission with a few thousand volts of bioelectricity, and was startled
to hear the engine roar to life.
"That do it?" she asked, loudly.
"We have power!" Quooth exclaimed.
"Yeah, but can we see where we're going?" Kalvin asked. "The
Toaster's right in front of the windshield!"
"Down!" Gham yelled. She pulled Kalvin down atop her just as a bolt
of intense red energy slammed into the Toaster just above them. Several
dozen more bolts struck the Toaster right after that, and were followed by
a number of explosions.
Gham and Kalvin waited, holding their breaths.
They turned bluish, then exhaled. Reflexively, Gham offered Kalvin a
'Certs.'
He responded by kissing her.
After a while, they both became cognizant of a tapping that was
occuring on both their shoulders (that is, one shoulder apiece). Kalvin
sat up, as did Gham. She spit out the breath mint and looked around. All
she could see was the wreckage of twenty hovertanks, and an assortment of
dead mutant bodies, caused by their own Death Blasts ricocheting off the
reflective surface of the Toaster.
"Hmmm," Kalvin said. "That was rather anticlimactic."
"Has everyone survived the certain death?" Quooth asked, sticking phis
head out from the side hatch of the Toaster. "Ah, I see you have! I am
overjoyed!" Phe then focused on Machiavelli, whose current body, that of
the headless Governor Schlub, was using phis Holy Harmonica. "Except for
*you*."
"Shall we resume our fight from where we left off?" Machiavelli asked.
"I was winning, as I recall."
"Hardly!" Quooth objected. "Had those mutants not intervened, I would
have handily cleaned your flord."
"Quooth, I'll see that you get your Holy Harmonica back," Gham
promised. She turned to Machiavelli, before he could complain. "And I'll
get you something else that will function as a voicebox for your new body."
"That is acceptable," Machiavelli said. "Though I must reach
Hollywood soon, if I am to guest star in an episode of Seaquest D.S.V."
"I have wired navigational functions into the Toaster's controls,"
Quooth revealed. "If everyone will come aboard, we should be able to drive
toward this Hollywood of which my enemy speaks."
"That sounds copacetic," Kalvin said, nodding. He turned to Gham.
"What do you think, love?"
"It's fine," Gham replied, not looking at him. Kalvin smiled and
looked away.
-~-_-
A light, from a source unseen, shone on a surface that could not
be distinguished by any descriptor other than 'white.' Darkness hovered
around the edges of the space illuminated by the light, and for the longest
time, it stayed that way.
Finally, the darkness pushed inward, a shadow eclipsing the light...
A shadow that bore a distinct resemblence to a dog.
"At last," it said, in dark, menacing tones. "After many long aeons,
our time has come again. Like big things with fingers, our hands shall
reach into this altiverse, casting shadows on every world."
"Indeed," another shadow, which resembled a hawk, sort of, said, as it
leaned into the frame. "Already, our minions have set events into motion,
events that will have far-reaching consequences for everything and
everyone. We control them from a distance, as we will soon control all
things."
A third shadow, this one looking somewhat like Abe Lincoln, entered
the light.
"But we must never forget," it said, "that we are controlled
ourselves. We are but puppets of Za'ha'tra'la'la'la'la'etc'etc.
Everything we do..."
"Yes, we know," the hawk answered.
They hovered around the light some more.
"Well, if there's nothing else..." the Abe Lincoln one started.
"Nothing that I can think of," the dog suggested.
"Plans seem to be going of their own accord," the hawk noted. "Which
means that this meeting was quite entirely pointless."
"Not that that's unusual," Abe noted. "After all, we *are* middle
management."
"Right," the dog said. "So if that's all, this meeting is adjourned."
With that, they withdrew from the light and turned their attention to
the universe around them... a universe that would soon be touched by...
the Shadow Puppets.
WELL, THAT WAS A SHORT EPISODE.
WHAT ARE THE SHADOW PUPPETS PLANNING?
WHAT IS ZA'HA'TRA'LA'LA'LA'LA'ETC'ETC PLANNING?
WILL BENJEN AND CO. ESCAPE FROM THE WRECKAGE OF NEAR SPACE THREE AND
FREEPORT, MAINE?
WILL THE PLOT FIGURE INTO IT?
WILL THE PLOT FIGURE INTO ANYTHING?
DID THE SUMMARY REALLY DO IT JUSTICE?
WHAT ABOUT THE WHEEL?
Tune in next week for the next (hopefully longer and more interesting)
episode of Renegade Anarchists IV, a special presentation of SFSTORY and
your local grocer.
--
Gary W. Olson swede at sojourn1.sojourn.com swede at drycas.club.cc.cmu.edu
http://www.sojourn.com/~swede
Visit the SFSTORY ftp site at drycas.club.cc.cmu.edu (cd/swede/sfstory)!
Or check it out via http://soong.club.cc.cmu.edu/~swede/sfstory.html
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Date: Tue, 24 Oct 1995 00:35:43 -0400
Reply-To: UCF SUPERGUY List (SUPERGUY at UCF1VM.BITNET)
Sender: UCF SUPERGUY List (SUPERGUY at UCF1VM.BITNET)
From: strange days indeed (swede at SOJOURN1.SOJOURN.COM)
Subject: SF: Renegade Anarchists IV, episode two
RENEGADE ANARCHISTS IV:
IN THROUGH OUT DOOR
(a Tale of Sfstory!)
Episode 2
"Vervain"
by
Gary W. Olson
-~-_-
Jerriphrrt held his cards in front of him and looked, with a perfect
poker face, at Slithis and Thelona Wyndingrode, the only two of the six-
beings at the table, other than himself, that had not yet folded. Slithis
frowned at his cards, then pushed five muave chips into the center of the
table.
Thelona took a long drag off her cigar before matching the bet and
raising another six red chips, plus a fifth of Atarian whiskey. Jerriphrrt
whistled, and looked back at his hand. Three kings, a queen, a suzerain,
a prime minister, and a figure who seemed to be either the head of a large
industrial combine or an extremely lifelike lawn ornament. It was a good
hand, but Jerri suspected that Slithis had one of the Blue Popes in his
hand, and he was almost certain Thelona had the Dictator-for-Life-of-
Hearts.
He pushed his chips out, matching the bet. With a smile, he laid down
his cards.
Slithis scowled and threw down his cards. Thelona merely smoked her
cigar for a bit, then put her cards down.
"I don't believe it," Floyd, who was sitting next to Thelona,
grumbled. "Another Italian Parliament Flush! How do you do it?"
"Maybe someday I'll tell you," Thelona said, as she raked in the chips
and the whiskey.
"Well, that does it for me," Jerriphrrt said, pushing back from the
table. "Lark, do you think I could borrow some more from you for tomorrow
night's game?"
"I'm in debt to Nelburg as it is," Lark replied. "Thelona's been
cleaning us all out."
"Better get used to--"
Suddenly and without warning, the warning light flashed.
"Suddenly and wi--wait a minute!" Slithis exclaimed.
"Everybody up to the bridge," Nelburg said over the intercom. "We're
being hailed by an approaching vessel."
The Time Agents, temporary and permanent, rushed to the bridge, which
was in the next room. Each of them hoped, silently, that they had finally
caught up to Sajanseel Boudoir, that the long nights of gambling, smoking,
drinking, and stag films would come to an end.
"Each of them hoped--wait a minute!" Slithis exclaimed. Again he was
ignored.
"On the viewscreen," Nelburg said. The agents looked at the screen
and saw a small, oddly-designed ship weaving insanely around in space,
without any clear path or purpose.
"Any messages?" Lark Purree, Time Agent 90210, asked.
"One coming in now," Hullen Nel said. The image of the ship on the
viewscreen was replaced by one of a ship's bridge. Assorted people wearing
what appeared to be sweatshirts and sweatpants with badges were staggering
around, most of them holding their ears. A loud, insistantly cheerful
version of 'the Hokey Pokey' blared through the speakers.
"This is the H.M.S. Nothing Like The Sun, Lt. Floyd Cobalt,
commanding," Floyd said. "What is the--"
"Make it stop!" one of the people on the other ship exclaimed.
"Please make it stop!"
"I assume they're referring to the music," Jerriphrrt deduced.
One of them, a female with red hair, managed to slump into a chair and
turn to the viewer.
"This is Captain Janeplain, of the Starship Voyadejour," she said,
loudly. "We've encountered a spatial anomaly which has caused this...
SONG... to be played at loud volumes throughout the ship! Nothing we do
has had any effect! We've put our right feet in, we've shaken them all
about, we've done the hokey pokey and we've turned ourselves around but...
that's NOT what it's all about!"
Floyd was about to reply when the communication link was broken. The
Voyadejour veered away and zipped into overly-hyped space. The agents
watched it with varying degrees of puzzlement.
"Well," Jerriphrrt finally said, "*that* was pointless."
-~-_-
Speaking of pointlessness, let us now turn our attention to another
group of beings aboard another ship. They were of varying social
backgrounds and held widely-diverging views on assorted ideological
matters, but were, at that moment, in complete agreement regarding their
assessment of the ship they were on.
"This..." Ayn Rand commented, "is excessive."
The hangar bay in which the H.M.S. Shannon II was berthed was
decorated in endless sweeps of ornate marble, flashy gold ornamentation,
marble statues of ancient gods who appeared to be vomiting purple water
into a reflecting pool, a fully stocked sushi bar, and mirrors just about
everywhere. The color scheme clashed like british soccer fans, and the
floor was covered in white shag carpeting, which is a fashion faux pas no
matter what part of the universe you're in.
"So where are our hosts?" Cardinal Hagen asked. "Or do I want to know
the answer to that question?"
"Beats me," Cardinal Van Cleef said. "Shall we look for them?"
"I'm for that," Lenin told them. "This sushi is awful."
It took them a little over six hours to make it to the other side of
the hangar bay, owing to the fact that all the mirrors and lights and tacky
colors were throwing off their perceptions, but eventually, lo and behold,
they got to the correct set of doors.
Those doors opened and they emerged into the hallway, which put the
hangar bay to shame in its sheer tasteless extravagance. I won't even
attempt to describe it here, save to say that Donald Trump would have felt
it was utterly excessive and indicative of a large ego.
"Which way?" Nootgingitch asked.
"Left," Trotsky suggested.
"Right," Viol countered.
"Up!" Karl Marx exclaimed.
"Down!" Ragnuruk countered.
"Forward!" Ayn Rand insisted.
"Backward!" the Cardinals offered.
They ended up going with Ragnuruk's suggestion, but only because the
floor suddenly opened up beneath them and dumping them down a long chute
that in some aspects resembled the windpipe of a mutant star goat that had
taken it in its mutant star goat head to dine entirely on opera houses.
(This is of course hypothetical, as mutant star goats are known to prefer
theme parks.)
Eventually, they landed on a large, needlessly extravagent waterbed
and bounced off, landing on some more plush white carpeting.
"Well," Cardinal Hagen grumbled, "*that* was pointless."
Looking around, they quickly determined they were in a prison, albeit
one of the gaudiest, luxurious ones imaginable. The bars appeared to be
made of solid diamond, though they proved to be far stronger. Light
classical music played over hidden speakers, and small, turquoise drones
were clearing off the volleyball court and picking up the empty bottles.
"Empty bottles," Trotsky noted. "There must be someone else in here."
"Over there!" Ayn exclaimed. "Another bed!"
The bed, which was twice the size of the waterbed they had bounced
off, was covered in a sequinned gold bedspread, the glow of which almost
obscured the two people who lay in it, seemingly asleep. They walked up to
the edge.
"I know them!" Lenin exclaimed, suddenly. "Wake them up, quickly!"
As the bed was too big for anyone to reach the couple, the whole group
settled for jumping onto the bed at once and letting the wave that was
created throw the two onto the carpeting.
"Ow!" one of them, a dashingly handsome male human, commented.
"What--"
"James!" Lenin said. "James Dean! And Emma!"
"Mmmmwa?" Emma Goldman asked, blearily.
"When do we get clued in?" Cardinal Van Cleef inquired. Cardinal
Hagen shrugged.
-~-_-
There are any number of reasons that Freeport, Maine, was on a
collision course with a fifty-mile-wide Key Lime Pie. From Freeport's
side, it had started with the Space/Netherspace reaction that had propelled
the city from the face of the Earth a number of years ago, and continued
when the city struck Near Space Three and then the PLS Tell-Tale Heart,
accelerating to Warp Eight due to the decidedly inexplicable properties of
the Pseudoscience Bubble that enveloped the city.
The Pie's origin is shrouded in mystery, unfortunately. There are
some who say it was baked by mutant star goats who were tired of dining on
theme parks. There are others who say talk radio is to blame, though they
refuse to say exactly why. Still others complain about blisters on their
feet and never even mention the Pie at all.
There is a rumor that the Pie originated at the edge of the universe,
and was part of a complex and calorie-laden plot to take over everything
everywhere, a plot being implemented since last episode, at the earliest,
by the Shadow Puppets. There is also a rumor that that rumor was planted
in order to divert attention from the real conspiracy, that of the
notorious and style-conscious Para-Core.
Benjen thought of this, briefly, as he gazed at the sky, which was
about three inches in front of his face, in the form of the interior of the
Pseudoscience Bubble. On the other side of the Bubble was airless space.
He looked at the shoe in his hands, otherwise known as The Plot (the shoe,
that is, not his hands). Bata's voice, coming from the comclip attached to
his ear, was counting down the time to impact.
"40...39...38...37...."
Not for the first time, he wondered if sticking The Plot into the wall
of the Pseudoscience Bubble as the Giant Key Lime Pie struck was a sensible
thing to do. It didn't sound very sensible. But he was assured that if it
didn't work, they'd be destroyed in an all-consuming explosion, so Benjen
elected to be part of a rather silly plot contrivance over being a part of
a very large ball of fire.
"20...19...18...17...."
Benjen lifted The Plot up to the very edge of the Bubble and waited.
Very soon, he noticed the countdown had stopped.
"Hey," he said. "Bata! What's going on?"
More silence. Benjen tried to remember the count.
"Mmmph," Bata said, over the communicator. "Sorry about that, was
just finishing my tuna fish and bologna sandwich. Let's see... five
seconds... four... three... two... one..."
Benjen pushed The Plot into the Pseudoscience Bubble."
"Zero!"
The Key Lime Pie struck. Everything went strawberry pink, and Benjen
felt himself falling. Strangely, the only thought that went through his
mind as he did was...
"My, but this is rather pointless."
IS IT POINTLESS?
ISN'T THAT THE POINT?
WILL THE CREW OF THE VOYADEJOUR FIGURE OUT WHAT IT'S ALL ABOUT?
WILL JAMES DEAN AND EMMA GOLDMAN, NOW THAT THEY'VE *FINALLY* MADE IT BACK
INTO THE STORY, EXPLAIN WHERE THEY'VE BEEN (BESIDES BED) EVER SINCE
THE END OF RENEGADE ANARCHISTS II?
WILL THEIR STORY HAVE A POINT?
SFSTORY, with bagpipe accompaniment.
--
Gary W. Olson swede at sojourn1.sojourn.com swede at drycas.club.cc.cmu.edu
http://www.sojourn.com/~swede
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Date: Mon, 30 Oct 1995 23:50:48 -0500
Reply-To: UCF SUPERGUY List (SUPERGUY at UCF1VM.BITNET)
Sender: UCF SUPERGUY List (SUPERGUY at UCF1VM.BITNET)
From: strange days indeed (swede at SOJOURN1.SOJOURN.COM)
Subject: SF: Renegade Anarchists IV, episode three
RENEGADE ANARCHISTS IV:
IN LIKE FLYNN
(a Tale of Sfstory!)
Episode 3
"Hypotenuse"
by
Gary W. Olson,
king of the one-word titles
-~-_-
"What do you mean, I can't guest star on 'SeaQuest D.S.V.?'" Niccolo
Machiavelli asked, angrily. "You let Shatner on!"
The press secretary for 'SeaQuest' frowned at Machiavelli
thoughtfully. Niccolo thought he was trying to formulate a witty response
to his point, but, in truth, the secretary was trying to figure out what
Niccolo had just said, as it had sounded to him like 'Whaa dzzyumen, I
cangzzztarn SzzzQzzt DzzzV? Yultzzz Shzzztnzzr on!'" Next to Machiavelli,
Gham sighed. Perhaps the talking clown head at the drive-in of the
Schmuck-in-the-Box they had stopped at on the way to Hollywood hadn't been
the best choice for his new voice box.
"I'm sorry," the secretary opted to say, "Mr. Ironside isn't signing
any autographs this afternoon. If you'd care to return in a few
centuries..."
"Izzwn guezzzztar!" Machiavelli yelled. He bolted past the
secretary's desk and through the door that led to the soundstage.
"Stop," the secretary said, with a noteable lack of enthusiasm.
"We'll get him," Kalvin Certain promised. He looked at Gham and she
nodded. "Right, um... Quooth!"
"I shall track him with the aid of my Holy Harmonica," Quooth told
them. Phe proceeded to play a raunchy blues number before wandering into
the employee's smoking lounge, followed by Logan.
"Um, okay, you look there," Kalvin said. "We'll follow him the other
way. Come on." Wordlessly, Gham followed Kalvin as he plunged through the
open doorway that Machiavelli had gone through moments earlier. The
secretary watched them go past, and tapped his fingers on his desk.
On the fifth tap, a man emerged from the smoking lounge, carrying
an unconscious Quooth, who was still being followed by Logan.
"Very good," the man, who bore an uncanny resemblence to Walter
Koenig, said to the secretary. "They are heading right into our trap."
"I don't understand what you need them for," the secretary said. "I
thought that Machiavelli fellow was the only one who could track down the
missing Para-Core members for you, Meester."
"He is unstable," Meester replied. "He trusts the others, thus, we
shall use them as long he continues with that trust." He paused, and
glared at the secretary. "And stop being so informal."
"Sorry, Mr. Meester," the secretary responded. Meester nodded and
set Quooth down on the couch.
"Whee," Logan gurgled.
-~-_-
The infernal smell that assaulted her nostrils told Susan B. Anthony
that she had returned to Hell (tm). She kept her eyes closed, trying to
determine where she was. The administrative offices? No, not enough cries
of terror. The vomitorium? No, not enough cries of 'albatross!' The post
office? No, not enough gunfire.
She gave up and opened her eyes.
All around her were slavering beasts of the most hideous countenance
imaginable. Some of them had only one eye. Some of them had eighteen
nostrils, twelve arms and twenty-seven armpits. Some of them wore big foam
'we're number one' hats and chewed tobacco. Some of them were offering
free legal advice.
"Oh, hell (tm)," she groaned. "The petting zoo."
She climbed out of the pit and rested on the sidewalk, ignoring the
passerby demons and damned souls. Her strength gradually returned and she
was able to pull herself into a sitting position. She peered over the edge
of another pit (not the same one she'd appeared in) and saw a pack of
power-gamers intimidating Edgar Allen Poe and J. Edgar Hoover into playing
a game of 'Technology: the Gathering.' A few pits over, some carnivorous
game show hosts were dismembering Milagro Bekn'kse, Hourus Jebillip, and
Bennett Quark, while still a few more pits over, most of the inhabitants of
the town of Freeport, Maine, found themselves transformed into a captive
'infomercial' audience. The majority of the inhabitants of Near Space
Three were the ones being experimented upon on stage.
There were a few people missing from those on the Pseudoscience-
Bubble-encircled group that had struck the fifty-mile-wide Key Lime Pie.
Benjen wasn't there, nor was Kissy Hitowers, Tarrfel t'Krodkzik, Bata,
Quirk, Dr. Cerulean Brazier, Lt. Chatsia Slacks, Blob, or Capt. Bin
Shishkabob. Susan pondered why they had been spared. It was almost as if
some omniscient entity was trying to clear out some secondary characters
because there were far too many of them in the storyline at the moment.
Determined not to be one of those characters, Susan headed rapidly for
the nearest lift-tube which would take her to the administrative complex.
She hoped her boss, Satan T. Lucifer Jones, would take the news the right
way.
The 'right way' being defined as: not consigning Susan to an eternity
of mucking out the petting zoo pits.
-~-_-
"We've entered Earth orbit," Mapa Marbles, Time Agent 173, reported to
Sajanseel Boudoir.
"Finally!" Boudoir replied. "Have you established where Logan's
spirit was transferred yet?"
"Yes," Mapa said. "A town called 'Resurrection, Kansas.' Only
problem is the town's empty."
"I think you'll find that is because they chased Logan out of the
city," Di'jon Mu'tard said, as he walked onto the bridge of Sajanseel's
ship. "About a hundred miles to the west of Resurrection are a large
number of wrecked hovertanks containing a large number of dead mutants."
"How did you know to where to look?" Boudoir asked.
"They were trailing oil bigtime."
"Ah," Boudoir said. "Very well! Alert Greez and my mother. We're
going to investigate the hovertanks. They might have recorded events
leading up to the destruction, events that could give us vital clues as to
where Logan is right now."
"Right-o, live to serve ya," Mu'tard said, before disappearing back
into the sensor room.
"Is it just me," Boudoir said, "or is he being a bit flippant?"
"Nah," Mapa replied, with a tinge of sarcasm.
"You're right," Boudoir said, ignoring the sarcasm completely. "I
only hope we don't have to ask for you-know-who's help in finding Logan."
"Why?" Mapa asked.
"Because we only have twenty-five episodes, and this is the third
one."
"Ah."
-~-_-
"They've gone into orbit around Earth," Lt. Floyd Cobalt said. "They
don't appear to have detected us at all. Now is the perfect time for us
to take them by surprise!"
"And what then?" Jerriphrrt asked. Everyone on the bridge of the
H.M.S. Nothing Like the Sun glared at him. "What?" he asked. "I'm new at
this Time Agent thing."
Suddenly and without warning, a good portion of the Time Agents on
the bridge vanished. Nelburg Kayak, Bahbneu Haht, Saran Scone, Hullen Nel,
and Sabrina Sanders vanished, as did temporary agents Beauregard and Lewis.
(Actually, it wasn't certain that Lewis was gone, but he had stopped
humming rather abruptly). In their place, Tarrfel t'Krodkzik, Bata, Dr.
Cerulean Brazier, Blob, and Capt. Bin Shishkabob appeared.
"Bwah?" Jerriphrrt asked.
"Who are you?" Floyd asked, even as he drew his ray blaster and aimed
it at the newly-appeared group. Silently, he hoped that those who had
disappeared were all right and that Zark Flyby had been among those who
had disappeared.
"We... we were about to be destroyed," Tarrfel managed to say. "There
was this strawberry light, and then... we were here."
"Instruments detect a large number of Pseudoscience Particles on their
persons, sir," Lark Purree stated. "That must have been one heck of a plot
contrivance."
"Hic!" Joe Don I commented.
"So where did our Time Agents go?" Floyd asked.
-~-_-
Sean Landorian, acting Chief of Time Central relaxed in the Executive
Hot Tub, letting the Bubbling Seltzer Water massage his tired muscles.
Having to take care of administrative matters was very stressful, and, as a
consequence, he found himself visiting the Hot Tub more and more often.
He was considering moving his desk into the room, in fact, to keep him from
feeling so guilty about it.
Suddenly and without warning, Nelburg Kayak, Bahbneu Haht, Saran
Scone, Hullen Nel, Sabrina Sanders, and a smallish pink elephant named
Beauregard fell into the hot tub, and the humming of a disembodied voice
named Lewis filled the air.
"Would you mind telling me," Sean asked, slowly, "what is going on?"
"Er," Nelburg put it, succinctly.
-~-_-
"So, you see," Emma Goldman said, "we have no memory of what happened
from the moment we disappeared from Barbados, Planet of Physical Delights,
until the moment we awoke, two weeks ago, in this very cell."
"It's very frustrating," James Dean added. "Did we really miss all of
series III?"
Before anyone could answer that, Karl Marx, Nootgingitch, Ragnuruk,
Trotsky and Viol disappeared in a flash of light, leaving James, Emma,
Lenin, Cardinal Hagen, Cardinal Van Cleef, and Ayn Rand gaping. Moments
later, in another flash of strawberry light, Benjen, Kissy Hitowers, Quirk,
and Lt. Chatsia Slacks appeared and fell atop the waterbed, causing it to
wave.
"Benjen!" Emma exclaimed.
"Emma!" Benjen shouted.
"Benjen!" James called.
"James!" Benjen yelled.
"Eeeeee!" Kissy screamed.
"My ears!" Cardinals Van Cleef and Hagen chorused.
"Bwah?" Lenin asked.
"Help!" Slacks exclaimed.
Moments later, when everyone had calmed down some, Emma questioned
them.
"I don't know how we got here," Benjen said. "One moment I was
sticking The Plot into the Pseudoscience Bubble just as the fifty-foot-wide
Key Lime Pie was arriving, then blammo!... we were here."
"Where did Karl and the others go?" Ayn Rand asked. She never did get
a satisfactory answer to that question, although the lawyers in pit 'D' in
the petting zoo in Hell (tm) fed well that night.
"Where is 'here,' anyway?" Quirk, the Feren Guy bartender, asked.
"We're on a cloaked ship," James explained. "We've only seen the
owner once. I think she said her name was DePenn, or something. Said she
was on an important mission and that we were part of it."
"Any idea where we're going?" Kissy asked.
"A space station, I think," Emma said. "Any of you ever heard of
'Fredonia 5'?"
WELL, HAVE THEY?
WHAT WILL THEY FIND WHEN THEY GET TO FREDONIA 5?
WHAT WILL KALVIN AND GHAM FIND WHEN THEY GET TO THE SOUNDSTAGE OF
'SEAQUEST'?
WHAT WILL SAJANSEEL BOUDOIR FIND WHEN HE GETS TO THE SMASHED HOVERTANKS?
BESIDES DEAD MUTANTS, THAT IS?
IS THE PURGE OF EXCESS CHARACTERS ALMOST OVER?
WILL WE JUST START BUILDING UP A PILE OF NEW EXCESS CHARACTERS AGAIN?
AND WHERE DID THE PLOT GET TO, ANYWAY?
SFSTORY. Now, more than ever.
--
Gary W. Olson swede at sojourn1.sojourn.com swede at drycas.club.cc.cmu.edu
http://www.sojourn.com/~swede
=========================================================================
Date: Mon, 6 Nov 1995 22:48:58 -0500
Reply-To: UCF SUPERGUY List (SUPERGUY at UCF1VM.BITNET)
Sender: UCF SUPERGUY List (SUPERGUY at UCF1VM.BITNET)
From: strange days indeed (swede at SOJOURN1.SOJOURN.COM)
Subject: SF: Renegade Anarchists IV, episode four
RENEGADE ANARCHISTS IV:
IN WHICH CASE
(a Tale of Sfstory!)
Episode 4
"Teal"
by
Gary W. Olson
-~-_-
"Anyone?" Di'jon Mu'tard asked, as Mapa Marbles swept the battlefield
with her XR23 People Finder.
"They all seem to be in an advanced state of decomposition," Mapa
said. "New Jersey, to be precise."
"But this is Nevada, isn't it?" Sajanseel Boudoir asked. Mapa looked
at her PF and banged it against the rock. Upon looking at the reading
again, she smiled.
"You're right, it is," Mapa said. "And I am getting some life
signs..."
"Which direction?" Sajanseel asked.
"North," she replied. "They're not mutants, however. They're human."
"What are they doing, can you tell?" Di'jon asked.
"According to my instruments they approached in a ground-transport
vehicle that works on principles of internal combustion," Mapa noted.
"They were curious about our shuttlecraft. After looking it over a while,
they put a slip of paper into one of the gunports and went back to their
own car and waited. Now another vehicle has come, and they've attached
some kind of cables to our shuttle... uh oh."
"Uh oh what?"
"They're towing our shuttle away," she stated. Upon hearing such
news, the three maneuvered out from between the wrecked hulks of destroyed
hovertanks and tried to chase after the tow truck, which was towing their
shuttle, but it was too far away. Ahead of it was a police car.
"I don't get it," Sajanseel said. "Why did they take the shuttle and
ignore the hovertank wreckage?"
"According to my instruments," Mapa said, "we were double parked."
"In the *desert*?" Di'jon asked. "In the middle of nowhere?"
Mapa indicated the cactus that the shuttle had landed next to and
shrugged.
"Oh, well this is just great," Sajanseel groaned. "What else could
happen?"
Suddenly and without warning, a black hi-top tennis shoe appeared in
mid-air and fell ten feet to hit him on the head.
-~-_-
"I don't see what's taking him so long," Priscilla Fussbonnet fumed,
as she paced on the bridge of Sajanseel's ship, which was in orbit above
North America. "He said he'd be only gone an hour."
"I think we should try my plan," Greez Hyperiok said.
Priscilla turned to face Greez.
"Son, I appreciate the sentiment," she told him. "But your solution
is invariably to blast every structure into rubble, call in a death ray
strike to soften up the planetary crust and then blow up the sun."
"I go with what I know," Greez replied, defensively.
"Yes, and you do it very well," Priscilla told him. "But this is a
situation that requires the use of actual brain cells."
"It is?" Greez asked. "Damn."
"I've got it," she said. "We'll go down to the surface ourselves.
You, me, and our prisoner, what's his name..."
"Um," Greez said, attempting to locate some functional brain cells
within his cranium to think with. "Wait, don't tell me, I know..."
"Zen Navigator," Priscilla said.
"I knew that," Greez said quickly.
"Well go down to the hold and get him," she instructed. "And meet
me in the shuttle bay right afterward. Zen Navigator shall guide us
directly to Logan, and then all of Time Central will be at my mercy!"
-~-_-
"No, you don't understand," Michael Ironside said, patiently. "You
can't guest-star on Seaquest D.S.V."
"Why not?" Machiavelli, who had managed to fix his new voice box to
be somewhat more intelligible (though not any less silly-looking) than what
he had in the previous episode. "Give me one good reason."
"Um..." Ironside said, thinking quickly, "we're not Seaquest D.S.V.
any more. We're...(dramatic fanfare)...Seaquest 2032! A newer, grittier
Seaquest..."
"A newer, grittier Seaquest!" Machiavelli gasped. "Can it be
possible?"
"It staggers the mind, I know," Ironside said, not without a certain
amount of sarcasm. "Now you see why you can't be on."
"My lifelong dream... ruined!" Machiavelli groaned, as he collapsed to
the soundstage floor. He put his hands to his head for a good cry, but
seeing as his head was a plastic clown-head stolen from a fast food
restaurant, it didn't work out so well.
"Niccolo, there you are!" Gham exclaimed. She and Kalvin Certain ran
past the startled security guards and down to the soundstage. "Nicci...
what's wrong?"
"I can't be on 'SeaQuest,'" he whined.
"Why is it you want to be on t.v.?" Kalvin asked. "Or, more to the
point, why this show?"
"I don't know," Machiavelli replied. "I just... wanted to."
Suddenly and without warning, a trapdoor in the soundstage opened up,
dumping Kalvin, Gham, and Niccolo into a hidden room deep under the studio.
Michael Ironside watched as the doors closed again, and looked up at
Meester, who was watching from the soundstage entrance. Meester gave him
a 'thumbs up' sign, which Ironside returned.
-~-_-
"There are several ships in orbit of Earth," Floyd Cobalt noted, as
the H.M.S. Nothing Like the Sun cruised into Earth orbit itself. "One of
them matches the description that Time Agent 173 was able to transmit to
us."
"What are our chances of getting on board?" Thelona Wyndingrode asked.
"Not good," Floyd noted. "It's armed to the teeth, and most of those
defenses are probably automatic. In fact... hold on. Jerriphrrt, train a
scanner on that shuttlecraft."
"Okay," Jerriphrrt said. "Shuttlecraft is moving away from
Sajanseel's ship, heading towards Hollywood, California."
"Why would they be going there?" Dr. Brazier asked.
"Maybe to guest star on SeaQuest," Capt. Shishkabob answered.
"No, no, we need serious answers," Floyd said. "Lark! Set a course
to follow that shuttlecraft... but discreetly!"
"Righto," Lark answered, programming the new course. He tapped the
'go' button and the 'discreetly' button, and the ship began descending into
the atmosphere.
-~-_-
"Captain, I cannot emphasize the dangers that Earth faces today,"
the Senator said, his voice sounding somewhat tinny coming from the
speakers next to the screen. "The President wanted me to call to make sure
you understand the delicate nature of your assignment."
Beyond the screen, a hand holding a lit cigar tilted slightly, and
a mustache attached to a face twitched expectantly. The senator continued.
"The Nard-Centshally War threatens galactic stability, including our
relations with the Minboori. What's more, we've heard grave rumors that
illegal transients are escaping through Fredonia 5. Para-Core is sending
a task force to look into the problem, so I have no worries on that front.
But please tell me what you intend to do about the war situation."
The Senator paused.
"Er, Captain? Captain!"
"What?!" the Captain asked, from the next room. "Can't you see I'm
in the tub?" The Senator squinted, and realized the face and hand in front
of the cigar belonged to a mannequin.
"Get out here at once, Captain Spaulding!" the Senator ordered.
Some splashing sounds came from the next room, just before the
aformentioned Captain J. Michael Spaulding entered the room, fully dressed
in a soaking-wet uniform. He took the cigar from the mannequin and smoked
it at the Senator.
"Very well, sir, but make it fast," Spaulding said. "I've got
appointments at two, four, six, and eight."
"But it's ten!" the Senator replied.
Spaulding smiled. "No, that was ten, this is now. Speaking of now,
where were you then?"
"Spaulding, this is a serious situation!" the Senator growled.
"Careful," Spaulding warned. "You might lose your temper and
embarrass yourself on national t.v. And speaking for the people of
Fredonia 5, the last thing we want to see is your embare ass."
The Senator fumed.
"I'm appalled!" he shouted.
"No kidding," Spaulding replied. "Your toupee hides it well."
"I'm not wearing a toupee!" the Senator protested.
"Then you'd better tell the brain-sucking gerbil on your head to move
on."
"It's not a brain-sucking gerbil, either!"
"Of course it isn't. If it was, it'd be dead of starvation by now.
Anyway, I'm signing off." Spaulding held up a can of bug spray and signed
it. "Now scram." He sprayed the bug spray on the screen controls, which
promptly shorted out. The Senator's face disappeared.
"How do you like that," Spaulding commented. "The room is brighter
already. In fact, it's too bright -- I'd better get a dimbulb in here."
He pressed a button on the intercom. "Security Chief Chicobaldi, get in
here."
Security Chief Chicobaldi emerged from the tub and strolled into the
office, his uniform soaking wet, his hands carrying a tray of hair care
products.
"Chicobaldi reportin', sir," he said.
"You're not reporting, you're dripping," Spaulding noted.
"It's'a cause I'm'a rainin' on'a you parade," Chicobaldi replied.
"I'a got'a word that'a the new Minboori ambassador is'a on her way to'a
Fredonia 5. She'a says she's'a bringin' the solution to'a all'a you
problems."
"Including you?" Spaulding asked.
"There's a'just one thing," Chicobaldi added.
"You're going to have to adjust more than that," Spaulding said. "In
fact, I'd just like to see some justice, for once. We're entering a war,
the light against the dark, and all of our uniforms are permanent press.
If we don't do something soon, the universe will enter the spin cycle and
we'll have to enter the dryer, starting with our martinis."
"You'a don't understand," Chicobaldi said. "The Minboori ambassador,
she's'a bald."
"She's appalled, too?" Spaulding asked. "Maybe she should speak with
the Senator! Or better yet, you should speak with the Senator and the
Ambassador and I should have martinis."
"No, she'a no gotta hair," Chicobaldi told him.
"She's one of your relatives?"
Chicobaldi shook his head. "She's a baldy cheeck, not a Chicobaldi."
"I see," Spaulding replied. "Any chance she'll grow hair while she's
here? Or, even better, any chance she'll go here for an affair?"
"I was'a thinking you'a could give'a her this," Chicobaldi said. He
placed the tray on the Captain's desk. "It'sa called the Helsinki
Formula."
"What's it do?"
"You'a put it on'a you skin and it'a turns'a into hair."
"That sounds terrible!" Spaulding said. "On the other hand, if you
used it to treat dog bites, it'd turn into the hair o' the dog that bit
you. I'll buy it! How much?"
"I think'a you should'a buy all of it," Chicobaldi responded.
"I don't know if I can a-fjord it, and I don't know if it will even
work, but I had the same suspicions about you, and they were confirmed. So
I'll take it."
"But I don't'a work," Chicobaldi noted.
"Exactly," Spaulding replied. "I don't think this Helsinki Formula
will work either, so at least I know what I'm getting. Besides, who knows?
It might not make the Ambassador grow hair, but it could turn her into
a Scandinavian stewardess." He waggled his eyebrows and resumed puffing on
his cigar.
WILL THE MINBOORI AMBASSADOR TURN INTO A SCANDINAVIAN STEWARDESS AFTER
USING THE HELSINKI FORMULA?
WILL THE NORD-CENTSHALLY WAR BE RESOLVED AT THE NEGOTIATING TABLE, OR THE
BAR?
IS THE PENALTY FOR DOUBLE PARKING NEXT TO A CACTUS IN NEBRASKA REALLY THAT
STRICT?
WHAT PLANS DOES MEESTER HAVE FOR MACHIAVELLI?
WILL GREEZ BE ABLE TO DISRUPT THEM WITH THE APPLICATION OF HEAVY WEAPONRY?
If you know the answers, please tell me, as I haven't a clue.
--
Gary W. Olson swede at sojourn1.sojourn.com swede at drycas.club.cc.cmu.edu
http://www.sojourn.com/~swede
=========================================================================
Date: Sat, 25 Nov 1995 17:03:40 -0500
Reply-To: UCF SUPERGUY List (SUPERGUY at UCF1VM.BITNET)
Sender: UCF SUPERGUY List (SUPERGUY at UCF1VM.BITNET)
From: strange days indeed (swede at SOJOURN1.SOJOURN.COM)
Subject: SF: Renegade Anarchists IV, episode five
RENEGADE ANARCHISTS IV:
IN TRO DEUCED
(a Tale of Sfstory!)
Episode 5
"Ravine"
by
Gary W. Olson
-~-_-
In his cell, Ninja Taxi-Cab Driver (who herein will be referred to as
Driver, seeing as his Ninja Taxi-Cab was in the hangar bay of the H.M.S.
Nothing Like The Sun, not far (but far enough) from his cell) angsted. I
mean, you may think Sfstory characters don't angst a lot, seeing as they
don't often wear spandex and don't have mecha to be anal-retentive in
designating, but they do. Really. Let's watch.
Driver snorted, scratched himself, and turned over, hugging his pillow
tighter to his stomach. (You see? Now that's melodrama!) He began to
emit low, snoring sounds. (But very *angstful* snoring sounds.)
He then began to nibble on the corner of the pillow.
(Hmmm. I don't know if this is the sort of angst we really want to be
depicting just now.)
"You know, Kylie," Driver murmured, "these marshmallows are really
something. But I don't know if I can eat a whole one." (There! You see?
Angst! Indecisiveness! Torment!) Driver started actively chewing on the
pillow, ripping off a corner of the casing and swallowing it. (On second
thought, maybe this is just weird.)
From down the corridor, there was the sound of a door opening, not
through the simple, angst-free means of turning a door knob or entering a
secret code into a computer pad next to the door, but through the angst-
intensive means of several proton grenades.
"Boom," went the doors, waking Driver up. He spit out the feathers
from the pillow and looked around for some water. After finding some and
drinking it, he looked up and saw Zark Flyby, one of the most angstful
characters in all of Sfstory-dom. (Hyperbole? Hardly. Most every
sentient in the universe will flee to escape the kind of angst Zark might
send their way.)
Driver, not having any handy place to flee, decided to try talking.
"Er, hi, Zark," he said. "Nice day or night, whatever the case may
be."
"Is it?" Zark asked. "Um... yeah, I guess."
"Mind if I ask what you're here to see me for?"
"Um... yeah."
"Is that yeah as in 'yes, I do mind,' or 'yes, I don't mind.'"
Zark pondered the question. He paced. He stared at the wall. He
paced some more. He picked his nose. He paced. He walked into the wall.
He blew up the wall with his matter cannon. It was then that Driver
realized what kind of mistake he had made, in asking Zark to answer a
question that required even a modicum of actual thinking.
The mind, as most of us (with the exception of Zark, and Greez
Hyperiok, who isn't in this scene, but is very similar to Zark) are well
aware, is the seat of thought. And where there's thought, there's angst.
And where there's angst, there's characterization.
Zark, having very few functioning brain cells that don't involve
violence or things related to violence, has to use all those cells (or,
rather, both those cells) when called upon to think, a situation that
rapidly moves towards frustration, which causes angst in Zark. This is
quickly transmutated into characterization, which, in Zark, is expressed in
only one way.
"Yiii!" Driver exclaimed, as Zark turned his matter cannon at the cell
and started blasting away at random, causing hugely gratuitous explosions.
He hid under the bunker as Zark obliterated the cell, and most of the rest
of the detention block, in an excessively violent and sadistic fashion that
indicated yet again just how angstful he is.
When the carnage was over, Driver carefully emerged to find Zark
staring stupidly (but with great angst) at the destruction.
"Good job, Zark!" Driver exclaimed. "You've followed your
instructions in a most superb manner!"
"I have?" Zark asked. "Say, aren't you the prisoner?"
"No, the prisoner clearly died in the violence," Driver noted.
"I'm... um... Time Agent Rotagivan Nez! I was sent to check on your
progress through this... er... extremely lifelike video simulation!"
"And I'm doing good?" Zark inquired.
"Yep!" Driver answered. "Now all you have to do to pass is help me
escape from this... ah... ship that has been... taken over by... pod
people!"
"Hippies?!?" Zark yelled, looking around and throwing a few grenades.
"No, no, not them," Driver said, quickly, as he stood back up.
"Different folks entirely. In fact, they look just like your bosses and
fellow Agents, except their controlled by the... um... the evil... Zen
Navigator!"
"Is he here?" Zark asked, brandishing several weapons and firing a few
more.
"No," Driver said. Upon seeing Zark's sad, angstful puppy-dog eyes,
he quickly added, "but I'll guide you to him. First you have to get me off
this ship, by taking me to my Taxi!"
"You got it!" Zark bellowed, punctuating his enthusiasm by a
spontaneous display of angst directed at the ceiling, which resulted in the
ceiling crashing down on them.
"Um, Zark," Driver gurgled, as he staggered to his feet, "try not to
do that."
"Sorry."
-~-_-
"Hrrrr," Sajanseel Boudoir groaned, as he returned to consciousness.
"What hit me? A truck? An anvil? A cheerleader?"
"No, it was this," Mapa Marbles, Time Agent 173, indicated, holding up
a black, hi-top tennis shoe in front of him. It just materialized directly
above you and hit you on the head."
"Are you sure that's all it was?" Boudoir asked. "It felt a lot
heavier."
"Here," Mapa said, tossing the shoe to Boudoir. "It's actually rather
light." Boudoir caught the shoe and promptly fell to the ground again.
The shoe rested on his chest, preventing him from getting up or breathing
regularly.
"Ack," he commented, as he reached for the shoe. He touched the edge
of a shoelance and--
The desert turned into cheese.
"Hurm," Di'jon Mu'tard said, as he plucked a bit of it off what had
been a cactus and ate it. "Cheddar." Boudoir touched the shoe again and
the desert returned. Mu'tard spit out bits of prickly cactus and swore
loudly (and angstfully, but then, you would too).
"It seems to react to you," Mapa noted, unnecessarily. "But the
results are unpredictable. Maybe you'd better give it to me so that..."
"No!" Boudoir exclaimed, grabbing the shoe (which had the words 'The
Plot' on one side, he just noticed) and holding it despite its weight.
Mu'tard's militaristic jumpsuit was suddenly replaced with a Victorian
hoop-dress, but Boudoir made no move to change him back. "This... thing...
has the power to get us out of here... and perhaps get us to Logan! All I
have to do is figure out how to make it work." He touched it again and
Mapa's hair suddenly turned into Bobcat Goldthwaite.
"Aieee!" Mapa exclaimed.
"Aieee!" Bobcat whined.
"This may take some time," Boudoir noted.
-~-_-
"We have entered Earth atmosphere," Lark Purree reported. "Keeping
distance of one thousand meters from the enemy ship. No signs of
detection."
"Very good," Floyd Cobalt answered. "Any readings on who is on that
ship yet?"
"Yes sir," Thelona Wyndingrode said. "Scanners were blocked, x-ray
beams were nullified, infrared was jammed, thikatonian tea-leaf divination
was muddied, and trans-angular silhouette capture was put offline, but we
got it."
"How?"
"Sent a robot camera drone ahead and looked through their front
window."
"Glad to see your Time Agent training has not been wasted," Floyd
said. "So who are they?"
"Priscilla Fussbonnet and Greez Hyperiok," Thelona told him. "Zen
Navigator was also on the bridge, restrained with leg irons. Greez was
looking fairly angstful."
"Any sign of Boudoir or Time Agent 173?"
"No. They must either be elsewhere on the ship, or were possibly on
the shuttle that went down to Nevada to investigate some mutant remains."
"This complicates things," Floyd said. "Very well. Lark! I'm
putting you in charge of the mission to retrieve Sajanseel Boudoir. Take
Slithis, Dr. Brazier, Tarrfel t'Krodkzik and Bata with you -- the rest of
us will continue pursuit of the main ship."
"What about Zark Flyby?" Slithis asked. Lark tried to shush him, but
it was too late.
"You want to take Zark with you?" Floyd asked, a wide grin spreading
over his bluish, turtlish face. "No problem! I think you'll find him on
the detention level. At least, that's where the most recent explosion
reports have come from. The repair drones are still several days behind,
though, so it'll take them a while to get there...."
"Isn't the detention level where we left Ninja Taxi-Cab Driver?"
Jerriphrrt asked.
"Ninja Taxi-Cab has just launched from the ship!" Bin Shishkabob, no
longer a captain now that he'd accepted a temporary Time Agent
deputization, announced. "It's heading for the enemy ship, which is
returning fire!"
"Robot camera drone confirms that Ninja Taxi-Cab Driver and Zark Flyby
are aboard," Blob, also a new temporary Time Agent, announced.
"So much for sneaking up on them," Jerriphrrt sighed. "Well, you
guys, you'd better get going, before we enter their field of fire."
"Everyone to the shuttle bay!" Lark announced. Jerriphrrt watched as
Slithis joined the others in crowding into the turbolift. Slithis waved
and Jerri waved back. Then the doors shut, and the lift descended into the
depths of the ship.
-~-_-
Emma Goldman, James Dean, and Benjen made their way to the bridge of
the Minboori ship, escorted by six gaudily-clad Minboori guards, each of
which were completely bald, except for the cellular telephones attached to
their foreheads. Occasionally one of them would pick up their phone and
talk into it, before replacing it on its cradle.
The bridge was spacious, and lit in the dramatic way that space
bridges were supposed to be lit, meaning no lights except for those from
the instruments, and the lights that play on the main character's faces to
highlight their dangerous mood swings. That it was angstful was so obvious
that it need not be mentioned, particularly when crewmembers tripped over
one another in the darkness.
One of the characters who had lights playing over her turned to greet
them.
"Hello, I am Ambassador DePenn," she said. "Do you know why I have
summoned you to the bridge?"
"Um, you got bo--hey, get those lights out of our eyes!" Benjen
complained.
"We're not even sure why we're on this ship," Emma said. "I mean,
Benjen and some of the others just appeared via a spatial distortion, and
Lenin and Ayn Rand came here via the H.M.S. Shannon II, but James and I
have no idea why *we're* here."
"The answer is we brought you, via our agent on Eroticon III," DePenn
answered. "But that is not important right now. All will be made clear
to you once we've had a chance to meet with Captain Spaulding. In the
meantime, I was wondering if you'd do something for me...."
"Why would we do that?" James asked.
"Because we've provided you with booze and substances of an illicit
nature in your cell."
"Oh, yes," James said, nodding. "What do you want us to do?"
"Talk to the Docking Controller of Fredonia 5," DePenn said. "I
haven't been able to correctly communicate my intent to dock in my
ambassadorial berth at F5, possibly because of cultural differences. Since
you three are human...."
"I'm Hottentottian," Benjen corrected.
"And I'm a synthezoid," James noted.
"And I'm technically dead," Emma added.
"Close enough," DePenn cut them off. "You should be able to
communicate with him better than I can."
"Shouldn't be a problem," James told her. "Put me through."
The image of the Docking Controller appeared on the screen. He looked
up and gave them a wide smile.
"Docking Controller!" James said. "This is the Ambassadorial ship...
um... what's the name of this ship?"
"Murray."
"Murray? Er, Murray! And we demand to be docked at once!"
The Docking Controller lifted a horn and honked at them twice.
"Don't honk at me! Answer me! Let us dock!"
The Docking Controller nodded vigorously, honked once more, and pushed
a button in front of him. Immediately, the scene switched to a picture of
a yellow duck wearing a comm-badge. The text underneath the picture told
them that they were looking at Spaulding's Duck.
"Quack," said the duck.
"On the other hand, this could take a while," James said. Benjen and
Emma sighed, angstfully.
WILL THE MINBOORI SHIP MURRAY EVER DOCK WITH FREDONIA 5?
WAS THE DUCK BEING ANGSTFUL WHEN IT QUACKED, OR DO WE HAVE TO WAIT UNTIL
NEXT TIME FOR THAT?
WILL SAJANSEEL BOUDOIR CAUSE MORE ANGST IN MU'TARD AND TIME AGENT 173
THROUGH MANIPULATIONS OF THE PLOT?
WILL ZARK FLYBY CAUSE ZEN NAVIGATOR TO ANGST WITH THE HELP OF HEAVY
WEAPONRY?
DOES IT REALLY MATTER WHETHER OR NOT THE CANNON IS AN XR-12B POLARETIC
BEAM LAUNCHER OR AN RX-B12 ANTI-MAGNETRON FLECHETTE LAUNCHER AS LONG
AS IT CAUSES LARGE, GRATUITOUS EXPLOSIONS?
SFSTORY. Where big explosions equal big characterizations.
--
Gary W. Olson swede at sojourn1.sojourn.com swede at drycas.club.cc.cmu.edu
http://www.sojourn.com/~swede
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