LNH: Classic LNH Adventures #156: Beige Countdown Part Nine
Arthur Spitzer
arspitzer2 at gmail.com
Sun Jun 21 14:25:12 PDT 2020
You can sift through the racc list archive
https://lists.eyrie.org/pipermail/racc/
or you can try google groups racc for the ninth part of Beige Countdown.
And Rob Rogers incredibly long Beige Countdown #9 concludes with the sixth,
seventh, and eighth parts (I'll assume the 9th part that is suggested by
the subject lines is just a figment of our imagination). It's Deja Dude VS
Badly Written Fanfiction! It's Kid Kirby VS The Collector! It's
Obnoxious Ame.rec.a Boy VS The 14th Amendment! It's Mynabird and his Villain
Space Crew VS Ninja Suns! Will anyone make it alive to the -- ULTIMATE BLACK
HOLE?!!! And Beige Countdown #8 -- will that ever get finished?
Find out some of those, but most likely not the last question in...
_
| | Classic
| | =
| | ____ ____ _ ____ ___
| |__ | [] | | [] | | | | [] | | _ \
|____| \__] \__ | |_| \__/ |_|\_\
||
|_| OF NET.HEROES
ADVENTURES #156
=====================
Beige Countdown Part Nine
=====================
From: EDMLite <robro... at gmail.com>
Subject: LNH: Beige Countdown #9 (6/9)
Date: Thu, 16 May 2013 16:54:15 +0000 (UTC)
===+++===
Chapter Six:
Creative Differences
===+++===
"You," Jean Grey said, her clenched fists pulsing with
unearthly fire, "have insulted my great-grandmother."
"And my great-great-great-granddaughter," added Luke
Skywalker, his hooded face shimmering in the glow of his
lightsaber.
Deja Dude's eyes scanned the bridge of the ship.
Nothing he saw -- a wooden steering wheel, a repurposed
Wurlitzer jukebox, a miniature copy of the Beige Clock Tower
-- seemed like it could serve as the kind of weapon that
would allow him to defend himself against a Jedi Knight,
a wizard, a vampire, a Time Lord or any of the other
fictional entities that the living virus Merissa had
summoned to destroy him.
For the briefest of moments, the net.hero found himself
wondering if constantly surrounding himself with powerful
and dangerous women was not, in the end, a rather poor
survival strategy.
"And my great-great-great-granddaughter, too," Harry
Potter said, then paused. He turned to Jean Grey. "So that
makes you, what? My great-great-great-great-great-great-
great-granddaughter? Or is there another word for that?"
Captain Picard rolled his eyes. "This is why I endeavor
never to get involved in time-travel stories," he said.
"Oh, come on then, they're not that bad," said the
Doctor, clapping the Starfleet officer on his shoulder.
"Always meeting interesting people, always seeing another
piece of the universe. And you get to do a bit of running."
"Aren't we... aren't we supposed to be doing something?"
Edward Cullen asked, looking a bit confused.
"Isn't that the motto for your entire series?" Potter
asked.
"No, no. The sparkly boy is right," the Doctor said,
advancing on the now-powerless super-hero standing in
front of them. "We are here because this fellow," he added,
pointing his sonic screwdriver at Deja Dude, "has insulted
someone who is, was, or will be very dear to each of us."
"Have you read any of my work?" Deja Dude said. "I'm
an equal opportunity insulter. None of it was meant
personally. Really."
"Your actions may have been meant in jest, but they
carry far-reaching consequences," Picard said.
"And why is that, exactly?" Deja Dude asked, walking
towards the Captain. "Surely you, of all people, Picard,
understand the need to consider words -- even harsh words
-- in their culturally relevant context. And going out
of your way to avenge an insult seems out of character
for you, Doctor. You too, Skywalker."
"I'm pretty sure it's in character for me," Cullen
said, as the Doctor rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"That's because you haven't got one," Potter said.
"If you don't shut up, I'm going to eat you," the
vampire snarled.
"What _is_ it with you and schoolchildren?" Potter
asked. "I mean, really. You're how many hundred years
old now? You couldn't at least have moved on to university
girls?"
"You're trying to distract us," Grey said, energy
coursing through the length of her long red hair. "Trying
to make us doubt ourselves."
"I'm trying to make you remember yourself," Deja Dude
said. "You're all strong people. Leaders. Warriors.
But you're acting like characters in somebody's badly-
written fan fiction. And that's..."
"He just insulted Merissa again!" Cullen said.
"Let's kill him!"
"Deja Dude is right!" Potter said. "We _are_ being
written out of character. The real Edward Cullen would
never be able to come to a decision in fewer than two
hundred pages."
The Dark Phoenix glared at the young wizard.
"Seriously, knock it off, Potter," she said. "I
happen to like those books."
"Hang on a tic," the Doctor said. "If there's one
thing I've learned in centuries of knocking about the
universe, it's never to ignore the intuition of an
English schoolboy. Captain, are you picking up anything
unusual on your tricorder?"
"My...?" Picard said, startled, then reached for
the instrument in question while keeping his phaser
trained on Deja Dude.
He glanced at the device. "There... appears to be
some kind of localized anomaly," he said.
"Right," the Doctor said, pointing his sonic
screwdriver at the tricorder. The device blinked twice
with a little "twee" sound. "What does it say now?"
"It..." Picard began. "It says... that we are each
characters from a separate and distinct fictional universe,
and that we are at present existing within... another
fictional universe, whose rules explicitly forbid our
appearance."
"Blimey," Harry Potter said, staring at the sonic
screwdriver with renewed respect. "Where'd you get
your magic wand, then?"
"You're all being used," said Deja Dude. "Not to tell
a story, not to develop as human beings, but to make
someone's point for them. That's what distinguishes
fanfiction from real writing."
"Wait," Edward said. "Are you saying... that someone
would develop a whole story around a badly-written version
of me? Who would do that? And what kind of sick individual
would want to read something like that?"
"No," the Doctor said, "that's not what he's saying.
It's what he wants us to think he's saying... but it's not
what he actually means."
"What do _you_ actually mean?" Skywalker asked, as
Deja Dude edged slowly toward the captain's chair, and
the medical kit beside it.
"Deja Dude wants us to believe that Lady Merissa
-- whom we all love and cherish -- plucked us from our
individual universes and brought us here," the Doctor said.
"But the data we've obtained suggests that's
impossible," Captain Picard said. "The physical laws of
this universe prevent it."
"Then how are we here?" Cullen asked.
"I'm guessing a wizard did it," Potter said.
"Wait," Jean Grey said. "The question isn't where
we came from, is it? It's who we really are."
"Oh," the Doctor said, wagging his finger at the
tall, glowing woman. "Oh, I like her."
"If we _couldn't_ have come from another universe,
that means we all originated in this universe," Grey
said, as Deja Dude fingered the latch of the medical kit.
"And that means that although our behavior might be
out of character for the beings on whom each of us is
based..."
"It's entirely in character for _us_," Picard said,
recognition spreading across his furrowed brow. "Very
well, then. Let's murder him!"
The captain of the _Enterprise_ fired his phaser
at Deja Dude, who used the reflective surface of
the medical kit to deflect the beam at Edward Cullen.
The vampire fell, twitching for a moment before
collapsing into a heap of glittering ashes.
The starship shuddered momentarily, as half of the
Internet gasped in horror and disbelief while the other
half shrugged.
"Now you've...ulk!" the Doctor said, as Deja Dude
pitched a pair of aspirin into the Time Lord's open
mouth. The Doctor began to convulse violently, lips
foaming, until at last the outlines of his body blurred,
becoming a cascade of searing energy as his poisoned form
sought to regenerate itself.
The sudden eruption of energy consumed and
incinerated Jean Grey, who seemed, if disheartened,
not particularly surprised by this development.
Deja Dude leapt forward, catching the Doctor's
sonic screwdriver as it fell. He rolled, dodging a jet
of red fire from Harry Potter's magic wand, and aimed
the device at Luke Skywalker's right hand.
As the sonic screwdriver whined, the Jedi's mechanical
hand began to spin -- an effect that would have been awkward
for Skywalker at the best of times, but was particularly
inconvenient at the moment, since he had been about to
deliver a killing blow with his lightsaber.
Instead, the blade in question decapitated its owner
and cleaved a neat diagonal path through Harry Potter before
crumpling to the ground with the rest of Skywalker's
now-lifeless body.
"And everybody said you could never get through all of
_Harry Potter_ in one go," Deja Dude said. "Well, that's
that, then..."
He flinched, as a phaser blast knocked the sonic
screwdriver from his hand.
"You fought well," Picard said, aiming the weapon
at the center of the hero's chest. "Against any other
opponent, you would surely have prevailed. But I and my
crew have been appearing in fanfiction stories for a long,
long time."
He turned to the woman beside him. "What would
you have me do with him, Admiral Merissa?"
"Lead him to the chair," said Merissa, striding
forward in a long, sleek uniform of Starfleet red.
"He's the one who decided he wanted it rough."
"I'll take this, thank you," said the Doctor,
retrieving his sonic screwdriver. He had emerged
from his regeneration as a younger man, now
attired in a sport coat, bow tie and fez. "Can't
believe you did me in with aspirin. Really ought
to watch what I tell people about my allergies."
"You made a mistake, Merissa," Deja Dude
said, as Picard and the Doctor strapped his arms
to the captain's chair.
"That's _Admiral_ Merissa to you," the living
virus said, pulling on a pair of rubber gloves.
"Or 'Mistress.' I think I like 'Mistress.'"
Something within the captain's chair growled,
causing Picard and the Doctor to step back and
Merissa to look up.
"You could have kept it to just the two of us,"
Deja Dude said, his voice deepening. "A whole
universe, just you and me. In time, I might have
given in to what you were asking. Hell, I might
even have enjoyed it."
"Your eyes," Merissa said, staring. "When did your
eyes become green? And why are they... glowing?"
"You did what all fanfiction writers do, in
the end," Deja Dude said, his spacesuit straining and
finally bursting as his muscles swelled. "You brought
Picard, the Doctor -- everything but the kitchen sink --
into the story. And when you did that, sweetheart,
you turned this into a comic-book universe."
His arm straps fell like ticker tape as Deja Dude
rose from his chair, his massive green form dwarfing the
instrument panels surrounding him. Ignoring the barrage
of phaser blasts striking his chest -- and swatting the
Doctor aside like a tweed-suited gnat -- the creature
that had been Deja Dude finally closed his enormous
hand around the waist of a struggling Merissa.
"And in that universe -- in ANY universe based
on comic books -- DEJA HULK IS THE STRONGEST ONE THERE
IS!" he bellowed.
"What... what are you going to do with me?"
Merissa gasped, struggling to free herself from the
monster's grip.
"I'm thinking a Barbara Eden special," Deja Hulk
said, as a vaguely Arabic-by-way-of-the-1960s bottle
appeared in midair.
Picking up the struggling girl -- who managed to
eep out a "Help meeee" -- with his thumb and forefinger,
the giant green creature dropped Merissa into the bottle
and mashed the stopper down with his fist.
"I can't say for sure that no one will ever find
you, floating out here in the middle of a universe
in which nothing else exists," Deja Hulk said, placing
the bottle on the transmat platform. "But I think
it's a pretty safe bet."
"We cannot allow you to murder a sentient creature!"
Captain Picard said, as he and the Doctor rushed to
free Merissa from the bottle.
"You know," the Doctor said, looking up as Deja
Hulk activated the transmatter array, "I really think the
in-character versions of ourselves would have found
some way to help her without actually getting on the..."
The two men and a bottle vanished in a curtain of
colored lights.
"Now," said Deja Dude, who had simultaneously
reverted to human form and reconstituted himself a new
spacesuit, "let's see. There's the damage to the bridge
to repair, and then I'll have to build a new central
computer from scratch -- one that can navigate its way
back to the Looniverse. Am I forgetting anything?
Oh, right..."
He picked up Luke Skywalker's fallen lightsaber
from the floor of the bridge, switched it off, and
pitched the weapon at the Wurlitzer jukebox. The aged
machine blinked to life, filling the bridge with the
lilting lyrics of Taiwanese singer Cyndi Wang.
"That's more like it," Deja Dude said. "Should be
ready to go in half an hour... and then we'll find out
just how much trouble Kirby and the others have
gotten themselves into while I've been gone."
===+++===
Tick...
Tick...
Tick...
===+++===
"Worlds of wonder beyond measure," Kid Kirby declared.
"Designs beyond the mind of mere mortals to comprehend,
stretching out in every direction toward the infinite!
Jeweled cities forged in the hearts of stars, peopled by
beings whose merest thoughts would collapse the space-time
continuum should they manifest in our dimension!"
He paused, as the subspace escalator circled skyward
and he and Jack took in more of the marvels assembled
within the vast interdimensional vault housing the
Collection.
"It's all a bit much, ain't it?" Jack said.
"Indeed," Kid Kirby said. No civilization in existence,
no marvel of the multiverse had escaped the Collector's
notice, and the fruits of his fanatic assembly stood
-- or rotated, or pulsed -- in all their glory within the
chamber in a manner that Kid Kirby found frankly rather
gauche.
"I mean, I like bobbleheads as much as the next guy.
Maybe more," Jack said, scratching the back of his neck as
a comet laden with the entire production run of Teenie
Beanie Babies drifted beneath their feet. "But, you know.
One bobblehead is kind of funny. Two, you've got a pair.
A whole galaxy of them? That's a problem. They got a
show on TLC for people like that."
"I have heard of this phenomenon," Kid Kirby said.
"People who transform the sanctuary of their homes into
mere holding spaces for the flotsam and jetsam of everyday
life."
"Yeah," Jack said, shaking his head as a three-masted
ship sailed past, each billowing sail stitched together from
Bazooka Joe comic strips.
"Everybody has in them the desire to be creative, you
know?" he continued. "A little spark of God. Most people
never act on it, but it's still there. So they see something
that inspires them, and they take it, and put it away, thinking
someday when they have the time, they might be able to turn it
into something magical."
He chuckled. "Like me, I guess."
"How can you say this?" Kid Kirby asked, swiveling
his helmeted head to stare at the man beside him. "For no
being who stood among men ever gave greater expression to the
febrile fruits of his fevered imagination! Nor indeed did
any artist, neither mortal nor divine..."
"Stop," Jack said. "Sure, I had a few good ideas.
I was lucky enough to get them down on paper. Luckier still
-- after a long, long time -- to find an audience that
appreciated what I had to say."
They stopped to watch the entire K-Tel record
catalogue dance by on the breath of the solar wind.
"Once you get yourself an audience, though, it's hard to
keep yourself from listening to them," Jack said. "There's a
part of you that likes nothing more than giving them what
they want. And there's nothing wrong with that -- I
wouldn'ta worked in comics all those years if I didn't want
people to read my stuff. But then there's all that other stuff
you want to create, the bits and pieces of ideas you put aside
for time you think you're going to have eventually."
Kid Kirby hesitated, then said, "Is... is that what
you have been working on since the Collector brought you
to his realm?"
"Since he brought me back from the dead? Yeah," Jack
said, gazing out into subspace. "That's what we've all been
working on, me and Gerber and Gruenwald and Miller. All of
us have these secrets stored up in our hearts, and now we
finally have all the time in the world to work on them.
Only it isn't going so good."
"You find it difficult to collaborate?" Kid Kirby asked.
"That part's fine," Jack said. "It's just that...
when you're under the gun, you've got a deadline and
mortgage payments to make and kids to feed... you grab
the first thing you find in your brain and slap that
on the page and do what you can to make it the best it can
be. You don't really have time to think about whether
it's art or not.
"Take all of that away," he continued, "and you start
thinking about going big. You think about making the
grandest, most amazing statement of who you are and how you
see the world, and you go rummaging through your brain to try
to find the very best stuff that's in there so you can make
that statement. And then maybe you find that you aren't as
good at finding that stuff when you're thinking about it
as you were when you were under the gun."
"Are the others having the same problem?" Kid Kirby
asked.
"Miller is," Jack said. "Gerber, he starts and stops
and starts and stops, but that's just how he works. I
don't know about Gruenwald. I think he'd be just as happy
to keep on writing stories about Captain America forever."
"In truth," Kirby said, "there is a lot of material
there."
"YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THAT STATEMENT REALLY MEANS,"
said the voice of the Collector.
"At last you speak!" Kid Kirby said, doing his best
to look intimidating in the absence of his armor. "Show
yourself, if ye be unafraid!"
"A RATHER IRONIC REQUEST, COMING AS IT DOES FROM ONE
WHO HAS ALWAYS HIDDEN HIS FACE BEHIND A HELMET," the
Collector said. "BESIDES, LEGIONNAIRE, YOU HAVE ALREADY SEEN
ME. TO HAVE GAZED UPON THE MAJESTY OF THE COLLECTION IS TO
KNOW... THE COLLECTOR!"
"Now hold on," Jack said. "It's nice to be known for
what you do, but the last thing you want is for people to
start confusing that with the person you are."
"THE DISTINCTION IS MEANINGFUL ONLY DURING THE SPAN
OF MORTAL LIFE," the Collector said. "ONCE THAT IS PAST,
WE ARE ONLY AS WE WERE IN THE MINDS AND MEMORIES OF THOSE
WE ENCOUNTERED -- AND THE MONUMENTS WE HAVE BUILT TO
OURSELVES."
The spiraling escalator stopped, leaving Jack and Kid
Kirby in a circular room filled with banks of monitors, all
of which seemed to be suspended in midair. Robots -- a
sleeker, more professional-looking grade of robot than Kid
Kirby had so far encountered -- scurried here and there,
while pinpoints of starlight danced in the vast emptiness of
subspace surrounding them.
It looked, Kid Kirby thought, quite a bit like the
Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, if one were to replace the skyline
of downtown Cleveland with the sublime majesty of the cosmos.
"But you yourself have eliminated that distinction,"
Kid Kirby said, as the face of the Collector stared
impassively at him from a dozen screens. "You have
unearthed the secret of life itself -- of sustaining the
living soul indefinitely beyond the mortal coil.
Surely you have no further need for monuments."
The Collector paused. Several of the robots looked up
for a moment, then went back to whatever it was they were
doing.
"PERSPECTIVE CHANGES ALL," the Collector said. "ONLY
WHEN ONE HAS TRANSCENDED DEATH CAN ONE APPRECIATE THE
DIFFERENCE BETWEEN DOING SO AND ACHIEVING TRUE IMMORTALITY.
'I AM THUS, YES -- BUT I WOULD BE SAFELY THUS!' "
"You're quoting _Macbeth,_ " Jack observed. "That
can't be a healthy thing."
"Perhaps they are mutually exclusive," Kid Kirby said,
searching for some sign of the Collector's true self in the
space surrounding the floating monitors. "Those who have
scaled the obsidian cliffs of true immortality have done so
only through their willingness to sacrifice their lives
to some higher goal."
The Collector nodded to his robots, several of whom
waved their phalanges in a manner that Kid Kirby finally
realized was meant to be a dismissive gesture.
"MUCH YOU KNOW OF IMMORTALITY, LEGIONNAIRE," the
Collector scoffed. "AT YOUR HEIGHT YOU WERE, AT BEST,
A DERIVATIVE WORK... AND NOW, STRIPPED OF THAT POWER WHICH
WAS NEVER YOURS, YOU ARE REDUCED TO FOLLOWING AT THE HEEL
OF YOUR CREATOR LIKE A MEWLING CUR."
"I don't care if you are the boss of this place. You
don't talk to my friend like that," Jack thundered, jabbing
his forefinger at the nearest monitor.
"I never created Kid Kirby -- I don't know who he is,
or why he happens to have my name -- but I know courage when
I see it. And doing what he does, putting his life on the line
for other people... that makes him more of a man, in my book,
than some schlub who won't even come out from behind the
curtain to talk with us."
"He won't come out because he can't come out," Kid Kirby
said.
"YOU KNOW NOT OF WHAT YOU SPEAK, HERO," the Collector
said.
"There is no secret to how you survived the Flame Wars,
Collector. The secret is that you did not survive," Kid Kirby
said. "Yet on this planet, you had created a universe in which
you must exist... and so you did, after a fashion."
"Did I miss something?" Jack said, his eyes darting from
Kid Kirby to the expressions on the various monitors -- which
ranged from anger to raw panic -- and back again. "Are you
saying that the guy who brought me here ain't a guy at all?"
"I AM THE COLLECTOR!" the Collector said. "I HAVE
TRANSCENDED THE NEED FOR A PHYSICAL FORM!"
"That's a kind of fancy way of sayin' you died, ain't it?"
Jack said. "Take it from one who knows: the sooner you get
around to accepting it, the quicker you'll be able to move on
with your afterlife."
"I EXIST!" the Collector said. "ROBOTS! TELL THEM I
EXIST!"
The robots all looked at one another. After a long
pause, one of them shrugged what passed for its shoulders.
"It is as the Collector has maintained," the robot
chirped. "At the highest levels of design no significant
difference exists between the creator and his creation.
The intelligence of the one expresses itself through the
physical form of the other."
"But you do not truly believe this," Kid Kirby said.
"There is enough of the Collector in you to recognize the
difference between an original and," he nodded to the
monitors surrounding him, "a derivative work. That is why
you built the device that captured the spirits of Jack and
his fellow artists: you hope to one day replace this thing
you have created with the actual departed soul of the
Collector."
"MADNESS! HE SPEAKS MADNESS!" the Collector cackled.
"I COMMANDED THE ROBOTS TO BRING ME THE SOULS OF THE
GREATEST COMIC ARTISTS IN ALL OF CREATION SO THAT THEY
COULD CREATE THEIR MASTERPIECES -- SOMETHING MORE
VALUABLE THAN ANYTHING THEY ACHIEVED DURING THEIR LIFETIMES
-- AND ADD IT TO MY COLLECTION!"
"Did you command them?" Kid Kirby asked. "Or did
they program you to believe you had commanded them? Why
were they able to bring Jack and Frank and Mark and Steve
back with their bodies intact, but leave you, their
supposed master, as a flickering face on a screen?"
"I AM ALIVE IN EVERY TENDRIL OF INFORMATION THAT
FLASHES ACROSS THE SURFACE OF THIS PLANET," the Collector
said. "I AM THE ALL-SEEING, ALL-KNOWING, ALL-POWERFUL
ENTITY THAT THE GODS OF YOUR PRIMITIVE RACE ONLY
IMAGINED THEMSELVES TO BE."
"Yeah, you're a god, all right," Jack grunted.
"You're exactly the kind of god the robots wanted to
build for themselves."
"TELL THEM!" the Collector said. "TELL THEM YOU
HAVE NO NEED TO BE SEARCHING THE UNIVERSE FOR MY SOUL,
THAT I EXIST WHERE I HAVE ALWAYS EXISTED, AND ALWAYS
WILL EXIST."
The robots glanced at one another again.
"The Collective is not pursuing an effort to
retrieve the corporeal soul of the Collector," one
of the robots began.
"THERE! YOU SEE!" the Collector crowed.
"...because the soul-harvesting device was
irretrievably damaged by the Ellenache upon their arrival
on this planet," another robot continued.
"In keeping with the Prophecy," a third robot said.
"Ellenache... the... the Legion of Net.Heroes is
here? On this planet?" Kid Kirby asked. "Where are
they? What have you done with them?"
"I EXIST!" the Collector insisted, his electronic image
wavering. "I AM THE ABSOLUTE MASTER OF THE GREATEST
SOURCE OF INFORMATION ABOUT THE UNIVERSE THAT HAS
EVER BEEN ASSEMBLED..."
"The Ellenache is gathered outside the entrance to
the Collection," one of the robots said. "They are now
moments away from destroying each other."
"In fulfillment of the Prophecy," several of the
robots said.
"MY RANGE IS INFINITE! MY CAPACITY FOR UNDERSTANDING
KNOWS NO EQUAL!" the Collector continued.
Jack shook his head. "Why is it that someone with
all the power and all the knowledge in the universe can't
be happy unless us powerless folks are paying attention
to him? You want people to start calling you a god,
Collector? Start creating something. The rest of us
have got work to do."
"The Legion of Net.Heroes is in danger," Kid Kirby
said. "I must needs go to their aid."
"Not to put too fine a point on it," Jack said, as
the Collector continued his wailing, "but you don't seem
to have any super-powers at the moment. What, exactly,
did you have in mind?"
"The Collector was right about one thing," Kid Kirby
said, reaching his hand up to one of the monitors. "He
is the greatest source of information on this planet,
if not the universe. And knowledge, as ever, is power."
===+++===
NEXT WEEK: The Collective unleashed! The Ultimate
Black Hole breached! And Plum Master experiences an
existential crisis of infinite lives!
===+++===
From: EDMLite <robro... at gmail.com>
Subject: LNH: Beige Countdown #9 (7/9)
Date: Fri, 24 May 2013 22:12:20 +0000 (UTC)
===+++===
Chapter Seven:
The Created Against the Damned
===+++===
"You want to undress someone with your eyes, hero?"
Obnoxious Ame.rec.a Boy said, driving a tremendous uppercut
into Substitute Lad's jaw. "Well, here's one hundred
and ninety pounds of NAKED FURY coming your way!"
"That... doesn't make any sense," said Substitute Lad,
rubbing his jaw and rising to his feet.
"You want to steal my woman... mock me behind my
back... and belittle my choice of metaphors?" Obnoxious
Ame.rec.a Boy said, his face a mask of quivering rage.
"Well, in that case, it's time for me to open up a Battle
of Yorktown on your armored @%^&!"
"I've never made fun of you. I don't care what
comparisons you make. I'm not interested in Skunk Girl,"
Substitute Lad said, dodging and weaving as Obnoxious
Ame.rec.a Lad unleashed a barrage of blows. "And wasn't it
the French navy that actually played the decisive role in the
Battle of Yorktown?"
"GRAAAAAAAGYGLLLLAH!" Obnoxious Ame.rec.a Boy said,
charging blindly into Substitute Lad's midsection.
"Boys," Cynical Lass said, shaking her head. "Can
you believe Obnoxious Ame.rec.a Boy called you his 'woman?'
You'd think he, of all people, would actually be familiar
with the Fourteenth Amendment."
"It's all my fault," Skunk Girl said, shaking her head.
"It's these damned pheromones."
"How do you mean?" asked Cynical Lass, as Obnoxious
Ame.rec.a Boy smacked against Substitute Lad's kinetic
energy-absorbing armor and fell down, frustrated and furious.
"They have the ability to influence emotions, and they
have a... particular effect upon men," said Skunk Girl, nodding
at Girlwatcher, who stood, entranced and staring, a few
feet away. "Usually I have some control over them, but...
well, I haven't had a chance to change out of my spacesuit
since we landed on this planet, and I guess they're a little
more potent than usual."
"I just can't believe that Ultimate Ninja and Innovative
Offense Boy would let something like this go on," Cynical
Lass said, as Obnoxious Ame.rec.a Boy threw a handful of
gravel in Substitute Lad's face while muttering something
about the Battle of Trenton.
"From the looks of things, I'd say Innovative-Offense
Boy is doing everything he can to keep Ultimate Ninja from
getting us into a war with the robots," Skunk Girl
said, glancing at where the two men were confronting the robot
leader at the base of the entrance to the Collection.
That entrance -- a portal into the great subspace
vault within the planet -- looked like the result of a
weekend fling between the Great Pyramid of Giza and the
Sears Tower. Its sleek triangular sides, polished to
black mirrors, met at the base of a small observation
turret that included two massive antennae and a Starbucks.
"I am going to ask you one... last... time," the
Ultimate Ninja said, his voice like a drawn razor.
"Where is Steak-and-Potatoes Man?"
"The Collective is not responsible for the
disappearance of your teammate," said 10LZE, two of her arms
crossed in front of her. "If the Ultimate Ninja is unable to
keep his personnel from meandering away, it is not the business
of this designate to correct him."
"Tin Lizzie's goading you, boss. Just like they
all are," Innovative-Offense Boy said. "The robots have
a @#$%^&*ing death wish. We don't need to be a part of it."
"On the contrary," the Ultimate Ninja said. "I
have always been willing to accommodate someone who
wishes to die."
"Please," Obscure Trivia Lad said, placing one
silver hand on 10LZE's upper thorax. "None of us
wants to hurt you. Why are you doing this?"
The robot shook off Obscure Trivia Lad's hand.
"But the Obscure Trivia Lad has already hurt
Designate 10LZE, more than the weapons of the Ultimate Ninja
ever could," she said.
"I find that unlikely," Ultimate Ninja said.
The robot turned her compound eyes from the ninja
to Innovative-Offense Boy before resting them on Obscure
Trivia Lad. "The Ellenache believes itself to be on a
mission to protect the universe, and yet it does not
recognize the Collective as a part of that universe,"
she said. "To you, we designates are all the same...
an undifferentiated mass of machines."
"Well, you do call yourselves the @#$%^&ing
Collective," Innovative-Offense Boy said.
"The Ellenache merely suspects the Collective of
plotting to destroy them. The Collective knows -- as a
matter central to our programming -- that the Ellenache
will bring about the destruction of our world. Yet we
have chosen to assist you in your effort to make contact
with the Collector," 10LZE said.
"Because it serves your own @#$%^&ing goals,"
Innovative-Offense Boy said. Turning to the Ultimate
Ninja, he added, "She's stalling. Trying to keep us
from reaching the Collector until he has time to
prepare the @#$%^&ing welcome wagon."
"The Ellenache was surrounded by six divisions of
the Collector's most experienced warriors three days
ago," the robot leader said. "Why would the Collector
wait until the Ellenache is at his very doorstep to
launch an attack?"
"Maybe he likes to @#$%^&ing watch," Innovative-
Offense Boy said.
"Enough," the Ultimate Ninja said, drawing his
sword. "Let us see what the Collector says when we
put these questions to his..."
The ninja, the robot and Innovative-Offense Boy
jumped back as something shattered in front of them.
They looked upwards to see two figures standing in
what had previously been a window of the observation
tower.
"Report!" the ninja said.
"It's an old man... and some kid in a helmet,"
said Skunk Girl, borrowing the field glasses that
hung around Girlwatcher's neck. Girlwatcher, for
his part, slumped against the heroine's body, looking
as though he could not believe his own good fortune.
"The kid is holding something above his head..."
Skunk Girl continued, before she was cut off by the
voice of the young man above them.
"ROBOTS OF THE COLLECTIVE!" the young man shouted,
his words ringing out loud and clear above the rocky
plain. "BEHOLD YOUR FALSE GOD!"
"That's Kid @#$%^&*ing Kirby!" Innovative-Offense
Boy said, as the young man in question let the long
plastic box above his head drop.
The item fell for hundreds of feet before it was
retrieved by a foursome of flying robots, who lowered
it gently to the ground. The four began a low steady
hum that grew in intensity -- a buzzing that quickly
spread to the other robots surrounding the entrance
to the Collection.
"This... is not within defined parameters," 10LZE
said.
"What is it?" Obscure Trivia Lad asked.
"That object... is the central processing unit
of... an entity which claims to be the Collector,"
10LZE said, as the noise and excitement
of the robots surrounding her increased in volume.
The first attack came seconds later, as several
of the assembled robots tore into each other with a
ferocity that impressed even the Ultimate Ninja.
"I thought your Second Directive said your people
could never hurt each other," said Ordinary Lady,
dodging the bits of burning metal as a wounded, toaster-
sized robot exploded a meter or so from her head.
Obscure Trivia Lad pulled 10LZE to safety just as
another battered robot slammed into the ground beside them,
sending springs, sprockets and bits of wire in every
direction. Each piece of debris was seized, fought over
and greedily consumed by other robots, who announced their
upgrades to the world with a satisfied series of pings.
"All of the Directives depend upon the existence of
the First: that the designates of the Collective serve
the Collector," 10LZE said, as if in a trance. "With the...
apparent demise... of the Collector, some designates of the
Collective have chosen to believe that the other Directives
no longer apply."
"Meaning that all of us are now in danger," the
Ultimate Ninja said, using his katana to cleave a falling
robot neatly in two as it clattered in front of him.
"Only a third of the Collective is so ignorant, and
superstitious, as to believe that the rules governing
civilized behavior are justified only by the continuing
presence of our creator," 10LZE said, as Obscure Trivia
Lad gently released her. "However, that third of our
population includes a very large number of individual
designates."
"@#$%^&**((!" Innovative-Offense Boy said, expressing
the thoughts of nearly everyone present. "Guess your
@#$%^&ing prophecy was right, then. We're in the middle of
a war zone, with no place to run and no place to hide."
"It is considerably worse than that," said 10LZE,
drawing weapons with two of her arms and disintegrating a
writhing, mechanized centipede that had reared up in front
of them. "Should the warring factions succeed in breaking
open the subspace vault containing the Collection, the entire
planet is likely to implode."
"Good," Innovative-Offense Boy said. "At least now
we know what we're @#$%^&ing defending. Legion of Net.Heroes!
Form up -- two phalanxes on either side of the entrance!
Don't let anything that flies, rolls or crawls get to that
@#$%^&ing door, or the whole world is @#$%T^ed!"
He looked up as the various heroes took their positions:
Skunk Girl somersaulting and slicing her way through the
riveted copper hide of a cybernetic dinosaur, Drabble Girl
using a discarded robot arm as a flyswatter against a swarm
of drones, and Obnoxious Ame.rec.a Boy, Substitute Lad
and Cynical Lass working together to bash a herd of animated
mannequins that had formed a flash mob in front of the
Collector's citadel.
"Hope you know what you're @#$%^&ing doing, Kid
Kirby," Innovative-Offense Boy said, delivering a
roundhouse kick to what appeared to be a crawling
mechanical stomach whose bladed tentacles whipped the
air. "Because right now this doesn't seem like much of
a @#$%^ing plan."
Several dozen stories above Innovative-Offense Boy's
head, Jack was, in fact, uttering similar statements to
the hero in question.
"Not that I'm criticizing," Jack said. "It's just
that, you know, next time you feel like destabilizing an
entire civilization, you might want to talk about it
first."
"I believed I was bringing truth to a world forged
in lies," Kid Kirby said, staring with unbelieving eyes
at the carnage unfolding below him.
"I get that. I worked with Ditko, after all. The
question is, now that you've done it, what are you going
to do about it?" Jack said.
"Do?" Kid Kirby asked.
"You're Kid Kirby, right? Of the Legion of Net.
Heroes?" Jack said, lighting a cigar. "Then go out
there, Kid Kirby, and save the goddamned world."
===+++===
Tick...
Tick...
Tick...
===+++===
"What d'you suppose the old shriveled prune wants now?"
Plum Master asked, as he and Downyflake followed the stream
of villains into the yawning cathedral of the flight hangar.
"Can't be another prison 'liberation;' we've done them all
by now, haven't we?"
"Twenty bucks says he wants to show how mighty and
powerful he is by traumatizing another cat," muttered
Downyflake, the many pockets of his uniform whispering
against each other as he found a place near the stage.
"Surprised to see you up and around," he said to
Doctor Duodecahedron, who stood fiddling with the glowing
prism of his replacement eye. "Sheepshagger and Vapid
Veterinarian are barely walking after what that Drop Bear
did to them."
"I was lucky," Doctor Duodecahedron said. "Rolled
a 15 just after the attack. Jump-started the healing
process."
"Awful dark out there," Plum Master said, nodding
toward the row of portholes. "You don't suppose...?"
"GREETINGS, MY LEGION OF NET.VILLAINS!" boomed the
voice of Mynabird, startling the crowd, which had grown
accustomed to the armored master criminal leading up
to major announcements with a fanfare of heavy-metal music.
"Thank you for joining me in what is to be our
moment of greatest triumph," he continued, causing
Plum Master and Downyflake to roll their eyes. "Some of you"
-- he nodded at Downyflake, Vector Prime and the other members
of the Surreptitious Seven -- "have been with me from the
beginning. Some of you have joined us along the way..."
A cheer rose up among the considerable crowd of prison
escapees, with the loudest and most obscene shouts coming
from those who had fled the military dungeon of Ashkyyax.
"All of you came together for this moment -- the
moment when the assembled might of a thousand worlds in
a hundred systems casts our eyes toward that dreaded
portal whose very name has caused even the most intrepid
souls throughout the known universe to wet themselves
in terror. I give you... the ULTIMATE BLACK HOLE!"
The lights in the hangar dimmed, and the eyes --
or their nearest equivalents -- of everyone in the hangar
strained to make out details in the blackened abyss.
The lone exception was Barrage, who, being a cat,
continued to noisily clean himself in a corner of the room.
"I don't see anything," Plum Master said at last.
"EXACTLY!" Mynabird crowed. "No light -- no trace of
the visible spectrum -- can escape the crushing grip of the
Ultimate Black Hole. Even here, at a distance of thirty
light years, its all-consuming maw has devoured the sky.
"Yet I assure you it is there, and that the only thing
standing between it and us is an undetermined mass of
super-giant anti-stars forged of dark matter. Undetectable
by any instrument, they nevertheless emit a form of radiation
so potent that no armor, no force field can provide a shield
from their deadly rays. Invisible, invincible, inevitable
-- it is for this reason that these bodies have become known
to legend as the NINJA SUNS."
"Ninja Suns, my plasma-producing keister," muttered the
Sun, standing with his fellow members of the Pencil Rain
at the back of the room. "Those things aren't even real
stars."
"Yeah? Well, neither is Kim Kardashian. And you've
seen the kind of damage she can do," hissed Rabid Child.
"Vector Prime," said Mynabird, turning to the statuesque
red-headed woman who stood beside him. "What are the
current odds against surviving a passage through the field
of ninja suns?"
"Nine hundred billion to one," the woman said, with the
cheerful insouciance of someone announcing the evening's
winning lottery number.
A tumult of gasps and shouts filled the chamber.
Hundreds of feet above the stage, on a narrow catwalk
overlooking the hangar, the warrior koala known as the Drop
Bear turned to his companion, the giant hamster called
Captain Rat Creature.
"That's if he's lucky," the Drop Bear said, his face
ashen. "No one -- nothing -- could survive getting within
light-years of a ninja sun. Even trying to describe a
ninja sun has destroyed a generation of astronomers."
"I thought you said it was the decision by the
Christicantthinkofagoodname Empire to allow orbiting
neon billboards that destroyed a generation of
astronomers," Captain Rat Creature said.
"Different generation. It isn't easy being an
astronomer in the Christicantthinkofagoodname Empire,"
the Drop Bear said. "Now listen up. The enemy is about
to reveal his last major plot complication."
"I hope," Downyflake said, his voice shaking, "that
this is where you reveal your brilliant plan for taking us
through."
"Why Downyflake," Mynabird said, his voice deep and
rich as last year's molasses, "surely you've studied enough
theoretical physics to know that simply making the decision
to press on through means that at least one version of
ourselves, in one alternate universe, will eventually
succeed."
"But nine hundred billion other versions of ourselves
-- at the very least -- will fail," Downyflake said. "And
there's nothing to guarantee that the version of us in this
universe will be the one that survives."
"Quite so," Mynabird said, sounding, Plum Master
thought, entirely too pleased with himself for someone
who was about to ordain an act of mass suicide. "If only
it were possible for us to bring all of the alternate versions
of ourselves -- or at least, say, nine hundred billion and
one of them -- into this universe. But that is quite
impossible... at least, for a human..."
Barrage looked up, his amber eyes narrowing to slits.
"Cats, on the other hand, have always been able to
pass between alternate universes, and to substitute
alternate-universe versions of themselves," Mynabird
said. "It is one of the reasons why their moods seem
to change so suddenly -- and why they seem to appear,
and disappear, from our homes without any explanation."
Barrage bolted, but was caught in mid-leap by
Vapid Veterinarian, who held the screeching, yowling
cat by the scruff of his neck. The ship creaked, and
its deck pitched to starboard, metal undulating in waves
as the frightened creature lashed out telekinetically.
Mynabird raised an arm. The ship righted
itself, and Barrage fell slack, though his eyes still
glimmered with rage. Vapid Veterinarian carried the
cat forward, finally placing him in the waiting, gray-
suited arms of Arthur E.L. Presence, who strapped
Barrage into a kind of cradle surrounded by a seemingly
infinite number of wires.
"Some scientists believe that by extrapolating
from the natural ability all cats have, it might be
possible to bring our alternate selves from other
dimensions into this universe," Mynabird said.
"Vee's vright, voo vknow," Vapid Veterinarian
whispered to Downyflake. "Vhere ees a lot of vresearch
vunding in ze kitty-schplitting."
"Those same scientists have theorized that using
a cat for this purpose would not only be unethical, but
would require a level of power beyond anything that could
be measured by the mind of man," Mynabird said.
"Naturally, neither of those problems is an issue for
me," he added, opening his fist and striking Barrage with
the full force of the Power Kirby.
The room -- the whole world -- seemed to shift
and refract as the cat screamed, his gray body quivering
at the center of cascading bolts of red energy.
Plum Master handed Downyflake a twenty-dollar bill.
"Don't do this!" Vector Prime pleaded, as identical
versions of the stolen spaceship and its crew began
popping into existence in the empty space that surrounded
them.
"I know what it's like to create copies of
yourself -- and then to watch them die!" she cried. "You feel
every death as though you were the one experiencing the pain!"
Behind the shield of Mynabird's helmet, the tiny figure
of the Easily-Discovered Bran Mite rested one of his hands on a
framed photograph of a female mite and her swollen egg
sac.
"You think _I_ do not know what it is to feel a million
versions of myself dying before my very eyes?" Mynabird said,
his pulsing visor glowing red. "Woman, you do not know me."
"Eight hundred and twenty billion... eight hundred
and forty billion," Arthur E.L. Presence said, examining
a readout on the side of the captured cat as more and
more spaceships filled the void.
"He's playing with the very fabric of reality itself!"
the Drop Bear said, no longer even bothering to whisper.
"By merging all of alt.ernity into one universe, he could
cause a cascading effect that could wipe out all that is
... all that has ever been... all that will be, or could be!"
"Lord knows the last thing this newsgroup needs is
another cascade," Captain Rat Creature said. "Let's take
him out."
The doors on either side of the catwalk opened. On one
end, an armored hunter and an enormous, bearlike creature
lumbered on to the thin metal walkway. On the other, the
scurrying figure of Mammal and a clown on a unicycle blocked
any avenue of escape.
"Boba Fudd to Mynabird," the armored hunter said. "We
huh-huh-have them."
Mynabird, however, paid no attention, as he waited for
Arthur E.L. Presence to finish his tally.
"Eight hundred and ninety-five billion... nine
hundred billion and... one!" the gray-suited assassin
said, as Barrage emitted a blood-curdling wail. "We now
officially have almost as many alternate versions of
ourselves in this universe as Spider-Man has in his."
"I thought we agreed to never, ever speak of the
Clone Saga," Mynabird said.
Arthur E.L. Presence shrugged. "I thought if we had
taken up torturing cats to shatter the space-time
continuum, everything was on the table."
"An interesting point," Mynabird said. "Let us
table that discussion for now... and go forth to claim
what is rightfully ours!"
"I actually didn't think the Clone Saga was...
hrrrrrk!" Plum Master said, as the starship lurched forward
and he felt his body -- and everything around him --
melting away in the searing heat of a ninja sun.
Then that image disappeared, and Plum Master had
just enough time to breathe a sigh of relief before a
burst of X-rays from the Ultimate Black Hole flash-fried
every member of the Legion of Net.Villains into a
silhouette of ash.
Then Plum Master felt himself disintegrate, as the
starship _Cinareus_ collided with a hidden planet.
Then Plum Master -- who was beginning to feel, as
never before, deep and profound sympathy with the character
Bill Murray had played in _Groundhog Day_ -- saw his hands
and feet elongate, wither and lose sensation as some strange
wave of radiation transformed his body into a substance
not entirely unlike melting taffy.
Then he felt the weird horror of recognition as the
starship collided with another starship on which another
version of himself screamed in identical horror...
On and on the ship shuddered forward through death
after horrific death, with Plum Master experiencing the
moments between each demise as the rapid, and thoroughly
unpleasant, expansion of his consciousness.
He saw glimpses of worlds beyond his own twisted,
distorted and finally pulled apart; felt seconds stretched
into decades and entire lifetimes compressed into moments;
heard the screams and moans and dying gasps of his fellow
villains peppered with the mindless laughter of those
who reveled in the cycles of destruction.
He saw strange, alternate versions of himself created
and destroyed in an instant. The Plum Master who had
launched a fruit-hurling swath of destruction across the
stagecoach routes of the Old West. The Plum Master who
had replaced the kindly greengrocer in a diverse, puppet-
populated urban neighborhood. The Plum Professor who had
murdered Mr. Boddy in the billiard room with the lead pipe.
He saw an anime pony Plum Master, a Plum Master robot
who transformed into a plum, a suit-wearing sadist who
showed a young woman what "fifty shades of plum" really
meant -- all of them ripped apart by the vengeful fingers
of a universe that was more cruel and unusual than any
version of Plum Master had ever allowed himself to imagine.
Each death brought new horrors, new revelations, new
sensations of pain. Had Plum Master's consciousness not
already been circling the drain of insanity, it is likely
that the experience would have driven him quite mad.
Then everything stopped. The ship was still, and alone.
"Mynabird," gasped Downyflake, when he was able to
speak. "Where's Mynabird?"
"Oh, him," giggled Doctor Duodecahedron. "He's with
Vector Prime and... hee, hee... Arthur E.L. Presence, I
expect."
"And where are they?" Downyflake asked.
"With Mynabird!" Doctor Duodecahedron gasped, before
collapsing on the floor in a fit of laughter that spread
rapidly throughout the crowd.
===+++===
NEXT WEEK: Beyond the Black Hole!
===+++===
From: EDMLite <robro... at gmail.com>
Subject: LNH: Beige Countdown #9 (8/9)
Date: Thu, 30 May 2013 22:58:46 +0000 (UTC)
===+++===
Chapter Eight:
The Abyss Stares Back
===+++===
"So there is such a thing as fluffy-cloud heaven,"
Arthur E.L. Presence said, kicking at the swirls of white
fog that surrounded them. "I frankly could have done
without it."
"Perhaps the afterlife is subjective," Vector Prime
said. "For my part, I see only the most concentrated
stream of encrypted data I have ever encountered."
"We're not dead," Mynabird said, as a silhouette
emerged from what he perceived as an endless field of bran
flakes. "Our minds are doing the best they can to cobble
together a coherent image of what our senses are
experiencing."
"I... see," Presence said. "So that girl standing in
front of us -- the one with black, empty eyes and hair
that looks like it has never once encountered water --
is not, in fact, a girl at all?"
"Why don't we ask her?" Mynabird said, facing the
young, barefoot woman in a long white dress. "Who
are you?"
"I am the one you have sought all this time," the
girl said, coming closer. "I am your final judgment.
I am the Ultimate Black Hole."
===+++===
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
===+++===
LEGION ROLL CALL:
Captain Continuity.... Jeff "Drizzt" Barnes and Robert
"Mystic Mongoose" Armstrong
Captain Rat Creature.... Saxon Brenton
Cynical Lass, the Drop Bear and Substitute Lad
.... Rob Rogers
Deja Dude, Linguist Lass and Ordinary Lady.... Martin Phipps
Drabble Girl... Jessica Ihimaera-Smiler
Gaffer.... J.O.S.Hartung
Girlwatcher.... Chris Gumprich
Innovative-Offense Boy and Steak-and-Potatoes Man
.... John "upLink" Scheibeler
Kid Kirby.... H. Jameel al Khafiz
Minority Miss.... Lalo Martins
Obnoxious Ame.rec.a Boy.... Jamas Enright
Obscure Trivia Lad.... Brian Perler
Obsessive Compulsive Boy.... Mitchell "Tarq" Crouch
Parking Karma Kid.... Steve Simmons
Skunk Girl.... Ted "Arsenal" Brock
Ultimate Ninja.... Ray "wReam" Bingham
You're Not Hitting Me Hard Enough Lad.... Arthur Spitzer
SPECIAL GUEST VILLAINS:
Achilles Boddy... K.M. Wilcox
Arthur E.L. Presence.... Steven Howard
Barrage, Boba Fudd, Downyflake, Headzo the Clown,
Londonbroil, Plummet,the Tardigrade, Vector Prime
and Waffle Queen II.... Rob Rogers
The Christicantthinkofagoodname Empire, Mynabird, The
Legion of Net.Villains and Plum Master
.... Arthur Spitzer
The Collector and The Speculator... Mike "Zen" Caprio
Mammal, Rabid Child, The Sun and The Pencil Rain
.... H. Jameel al Khafiz
The Meow Meow Gang.... Dave Van Domelen
Merissa.... Saxon Brenton
Sheepshagger... J.O.S.Hartung
Vapid Veterinarian... Mark Friedman
More information on these and other characters at:
www.lnhq.info/wiki
SPECIAL THANKS TO:
Arthur Spitzer, Martin Phipps and the LNH Authors Group
for dialogue and editing assistance
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:
"Beige Countdown" created by Arthur Spitzer
based in part on "Beige Noon"
by Todd "Scavenger" Kogutt
"So, my argument is that as we become more and more
scientifically literate, it's worth remembering that the
fictions with which we previously populated our world may
have some function that it's worth trying to understand
and preserve the essential components of, rather than
throwing out the baby with the bath water; because even
though we may not accept the reasons given for them being
here in the first place, it may well be that there are good
practical reasons for them, or something like them, to be
there."
-Douglas Adams
==========
Next Week: The Countdown Part Ten!
==========
Arthur "Same Classic Channel. But Same Time? Probably not." Spitzer
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