SF: Universal Solvents #12

[Gary]

                                UNIVERSAL SOLVENTS
                              (a Tale of Sfstory!)
                                   Episode 12
                                     "Sepia"
                                       by
                                  Gary W. Olson

                                      -~-_-

      No one gives much credit to the stupid, thought Sark Flyby.  Not 
as such, anyway.  Whenever stupid people did get credit, it was 
generally of the left-handed variety.  Critics would say things like, 
"unlike *some* dark lords we've heard of, at least he didn't give his 
Death Cruiser an Express Obliteration Duct that nobody on his side 
picked up through all the years of design and construction but the 
rebels spotted within ten minutes of studying the plans," or "at 
least he wasn't fooled into thinking the enemy was hiding its 
biological weapons in mobile cows."
      He watched his son, Zark Flyby, savagely obliterate a tree with 
cosmic energy that shot out of his eyes.  It was energy that nobody 
on Zeta Ricola Beta, other than Zark, could control.  All who had 
tried to control it had their minds reduced to utter slag.  Of 
course, the same happened to Zark when Zark first grasped the Proofs. 
But, and this is where the whole 'credit to the stupid' thing came 
in, with Zark, no one could tell the difference.  And since Zark 
already had a lifetime of practice with blowing stuff up without any 
interference from his few functioning brain cells, he was quickly 
able to master the 'how to destroy stuff' aspect of using the Proofs.
      "That's enough for today," said Sark, as he waddled forward. 
His son, who was considerably taller and wider, looked around, having 
again forgotten the height of his father.
      "Whozat?" Zark asked.  "Friend or foe?"
      "Would it make a difference?" Sark asked.
      Zark chewed on the question.  As he did, Sark gave the sign to 
Tarlus, the Keeper of the Proofs, to thin the Connection.  The 
yellowish, godlike glow that surrounded Zark dimmed until it simply 
looked like he hadn't showered in a week.
      "No," Zark answered.  He looked down, saw Sark, and immediately 
tried to fry him with another beam of cosmic energy.  Nothing came 
out, though, and Zark frowned.
      "Zark, my son," said Sark, "I said that's enough for today. 
Allow Kimea to lead you back to your quarters.  You must be 
exhausted."
      "Nope," said Zark.  "Feel just fine."
      Sark watched as several tranquilizer darts suddenly struck Zark 
in random locations on his backside.  Zark scratched the locations. 
Sark watched as more tranquilizer darts struck.  Zark yawned.  Kimea, 
a young monk in a grey robe, gingerly took Zark's hand and led him 
toward one of the holes leading to the underground complex that was 
the Repository of the Proofs.  Zark was snoring, though still 
walking, when Sark lost sight of them.
      "He is not ready," said Tarlus.  Sark turned to regard the old, 
bald, and pale-skinned man who tottered close.  "He has barely any 
grasp of tactics, is easily stymied by words of more than one 
syllable, and his track record with cosmic powers as a onetime 
Satanic Agent At Large is not terribly encouraging."
      Sark nodded.  "He shall have to become ready, and soon.  For is 
it not written that Shoon-Ma, the ur-Bagel, shall send forth a 
Champion to take back the Proofs and with them the cosmic energy 
stolen from the Breaking of the Fast at the Dawn of the Universe?"
      Tarlus gave Sark a sour look.  "I know the prophecies.  Both the 
ones Shoon-Ma planted eons ago and the new ones we came up with some 
decades ago, after the unfortunate incident with the villain."
      "The villain," Sark said.  "I don't suppose you got the dispatch 
from our orbital fleet this morning?"
      "I did," said Tarlus.  "It can't be a coincidence, *him* showing 
up just now."
      "Is it not also written..."
      "...yes, it's written!" Tarlus exclaimed.  "I *wrote* it!"
      Sark did not reply.  He hadn't meant to tweak Tarlus about the 
prophecies, the visions that he had received in the days immediately 
following 'the unfortunate incident with the villain.'  The visions 
that burned bright and soon faded.
      He thought of the final prophecy.  A new visionary, one who 
would supply The Way Out.  He wondered if that was a true vision of 
Tarlus's, or an occultish C.Y.A. maneuver.  It seemed they were 
destined to soon find out.
      "When I got the report," said Sark, "I ordered that the 
prisoners be taken down to Daaksvong Central.  Do you want to 
interrogate them with me?"
      Tarlus considered, then shook his head.  "I have to go over the 
data we gathered from Zark's most recent trials."  Without further 
comment, he turned on his heel and went back into his fortified 
bunker.  Sark turned as well, heading for his air flitter.
      Two of the prisoners, a Wzaxtil who was reported as being 
considerably annoying and a red robot who was easily immobilized, 
were of no particular concern, he decided.  It was the third who 
would bear watching..
      Bagelos.  The grandson of 'the villain.'  Soon to be 
face-to-face with Sark.
      He hoped the grandson was less deluded than the grandfather. 
Otherwise, they were *all* doomed.

                                      -~-_-

      Strangely familiar sounds filled Ronald Hastings' ears.  Clicks, 
whirrs, and beeps that made him think he *had* to be dreaming, he 
couldn't *possibly* be where his ears insisted he was.  His brain 
knew that he was on the commerce-minded space station known as Dirk's 
Space Swap-O-Rama and Grille, and that he, his longtime friend Norman 
Sassafras, and their hired Space Ingenue Kissy Hitowers, had just 
been tricked by their archenemies into running into a glowing 
rectangular thing that transported them... somewhere.
      Cautiously, he opened his eyes.
      A railing.  And beyond that.
      "Needlewarp!" he heard Norman exclaim, and then he knew it was real.
      Ronald grasped the railing and hauled himself to his feet.  The 
sounds receded to their proper place as barely audible background 
noise.  He inhaled the recycled air, looked around at the various 
screens showing stationary star formations and planets.  He looked at 
the Captain's chair, just waiting for the right posterior to claim it.
      There was no doubt about it.  He was on the bridge of the 
original-series Enterprise.  And he was in command.
      Norman Sassafras was standing almost next to him, groggily 
examining the same scene.  Kissy Hitowers was seated in the 
navigator's chair, looking around with an air of someone who knows 
it's just a television set, but can't seem to find where it leaves 
off and the studio starts.  Neither was moving toward the chair.
      Ronald jumped the railing and immediately sprawled back onto the 
floor.  Norman, shaken out of his reverie by Ronald's sudden move, 
dodged around the railing and made towards the Captain's chair. 
Ronald scrambled to his feet and deflected his friend with a 
well-placed, Kirk-like karate chop.
      "I just want to try it out!" Norman protested.
      "I'm command, remember?" Ronald asked.  "I've got the gold 
velour on.  That means it's *my* chair."
      "Then I'm revolting," Norman countered.
      "You sure are," Kissy commented.
      "Thanks," said Norman.  "I-- hey."
      Ronald leapt for the chair, and Norman did the same.  They 
collided in mid-air and both landed in the seat.  For several 
minutes, they continued to fight, and it might have gone for several 
minutes longer if a voice that none of them recognized spoke.
      "It doesn't matter which of you sits in it," the voice said. 
"It's just a prop."
      Ronald looked up, moved Norman's hand off of his eyes, and gasped.
      At the back of the Enterprise bridge, by the door leading to the 
Captain's quarters, was a woman with long, deep crimson hair, an 
old-style Space Hero uniform that was tattered and worn and yet clung 
to strategic locations on her voluptuous body in such a way that the 
story remained PG-13.  Despite the differences between her photo and 
her, Ronald had no difficulty identifying her as the one they'd been 
searching for.
      "Toni Williams!" he exclaimed.
      This seemed to surprise her.  "You know me?"
      "We were given a mission from Time Central to rescue you!"
      Toni shook her head.  "Sorry, I'm not buying that one.  You're 
too young, for one, and you didn't even bother changing out of your 
velour shirts, for another.  Though you--"  She pointed at Kissy. 
"--seem familiar."
      "Kissy Hitowers," said Kissy.  "I'm an Ingenue.  We met back 
when I was a student at Interstellar University.  You remember Mark, 
right?"
      "Mark Hyperthrust?" Toni asked.  "God, how could I forget? 
Whatever happened to him?"
      "Well, there was a Space Harem, and these guards and... well, 
you know how that goes."
      "Oh, right," Toni said.  "So who are these guys?"
      "Hey!" Ronald exclaimed.  "You could ask us directly."
      "So who are you guys?" Toni asked, without missing a beat.
      Ronald looked at her beautiful, inquisitive face, at her soft, 
red lips, and remembered that day, so many years ago, when his 
second-grade class had taken a field trip to a dairy farm, along with 
several other second-grade classes, including hers.  He remembered 
how she talked, how she moved, how she didn't laugh when the words 
tripped out of his mouth when he introduced himself.  He remembered 
thinking that maybe there was something to be said for girls, or at 
least this particular girl, despite the general popular opinion of 
most all the boys he knew.
      "I'm Norman," he heard Norman say, "and this is Ronald.  We're 
Space Heroes.  Or we're going to be, at any rate.  We're in our 
Senior year at Interstellar University, and finding and rescuing you 
is our Senior Project.  Ron, of course, knows you-- ooof!"
      Ron retracted his elbow from Norman's ribs when he was sure 
Norman wasn't going to complete his sentence.
      "How do you know me, Ron?" Toni asked.
      "From the briefing," Ronald replied.  "And from what we know of 
Buzz Williams."
      "Have you really been stuck here for a year?" Kissy asked.
      Toni walked down the steps and sat down in the Helmsman's seat. 
"About that," she said.  "I was captured while I was investigating 
the theft of a Nega-Cell and Nega-Transporter.  I tracked it to 
Dirk's, where I found it in the possession of a group of 
velour-shirt-wearing thugs who called themselves 'Team E.'  I would 
have rounded them up, no problem, but there was this old Sonar Man 
who was their ally, and he tricked me into--"
      "We met him," said Norman.  "He tricked us as well."
      "Where are we?" asked Kissy.  "This doesn't look like a cell."
      "We're inside a Nega-Cell," said Toni.  "The stolen one I was 
looking for, I should point out.  A Nega-Cell, in case you don't 
know, is a small pocket in Nega-Space that can be accessed with the 
Nega-Transporter, which looks like a glowing rectangular thing, which 
I'll assume you saw since you had to go through it to get here.  The 
door is portable, of course, which is what makes it so versatile.  It 
also, sad to say, renders weapons, such as your personal nukers, 
inoperative."
      "Erk," said Norman.  "You mean, we're stuck here?"
      "Yes," Toni replied.  "The guys who stole the cube decided to 
make the cell look like the original Enterprise bridge, although only 
the buttons that control the food and drink replicators seem to 
actually do anything.  There's a shower and toilet through the fake 
turbolift door.  There's only one bunk, though, in the Captain's 
ready room, which will remain mine alone.  Our captors occasionally 
come through the cell door, which on this side is the viewscreen, 
though *their* weapons always seem to be functioning, so I don't 
recommend trying anything.  Any questions?"
      "It's surprising Buzz Williams never was able to find you," said 
Kissy.  "It's also surprising that, strategically tattered uniform 
aside, you don't look to be in particularly bad shape, despite having 
been confined alone in a cell for about a year."
      Toni smiled and stretched, shifting the tattered fabric in ways 
that seemed to seriously threaten the PG-13 rating and Ronald's and 
Norman's ability to stay conscious.
      "Any *questions?*" she repeated.
      "Yeah," said Norman, "did you and Ron ever kiss?"
      This startled Toni so much she nearly slipped off the railing.
      "What?" she asked.
      "In second grade," said Norman, doggedly ignoring the elbow that 
had returned to his rib cage.  "Ron never would give me a straight 
answer about-- ow!  My arm!  Stop it, Ron!"
      Ron, who hadn't been exerting much pressure, stopped it, and 
looked at Toni.  He knew his face had to be crimson red again, but he 
wondered what her answer was going to be.
      "I don't know what you're talking about," she said.  "The 
replicators are over there.  I'm going to go lie down now.  Don't 
bother me until I come out again."
      With that, she stood, walked up the steps, and disappeared into 
the Captain's ready room.  When the doors closed, with that 
particular swoosh, Ronald let go of Norman's arm.
      "What'd you do that for?" Norman asked.  "I only wanted to know--"
      "Norman," said Kissy.  "Let it go."
      Norman seemed on the verge of not letting it go, then relented. 
Ronald looked at the closed Ready Room doors, took several deep 
breaths, and unclenched his fists.
      "You can have the chair, Norm," he said, as he turned toward the 
viewscreen, which featured a rolling animation of stars whooshing by.
      He leaned on the railing, and stared at the screen for a long time.

                                      -~-_-

      Only three days to go until he entered the Alpha Rio system, and 
already Dr. Bing Von Spleen knew he was doomed.  He knew that no 
matter what strategy he tried, he would not be able to alter Benjen's 
cellular structure in a way that would allow him to use some form of 
cosmic power.  It was generally something that only the amazingly 
strong, the awe-inspiringly wise, or the thunderingly stupid could 
hope to accomplish, and Benjen displayed none of those traits.  Yet 
his captor, the ur-bagel known as Shoon-Ma, demanded he create a 
machine that could instantly alter a being and make him a cosmic 
power, and told him he had until they reached Alpha Rio VI (the 
Planet of Casinos) to succeed.
      The problem was that he was sober.  Utterly, absolutely, 
painfully sober.  Not a single perception was altered one tiny little 
jot.  Which meant all he had to avail himself of was the vast 
scientific and biological knowledge recorded in the databanks of the 
alien spacecraft that was his prison, his own amazing Spamological 
prowess, and the motivation that comes from having a bunch of zombies 
in velour shirts pointing laser guns in his general direction.
      At the moment, he was waiting for Benjen to emerge from the 
bombardment chamber.  Von Spleen's stomach was doing flip-flops, and 
let's not even get into what his spleen was doing.
      Shoon-Ma hovered nearby, humming a malevolent little ditty to 
itself.  That actually helped Von Spleen calm down a bit, since it 
was the sort of thing he was used to seeing during one of his 
chemical binges.  It took the edge off the fact that his most recent 
random relocation via ABPSARI (Automatic Beet-Peeler and Sub-Atomic 
Re-Integrator) was responsible not only for his current crystal-clear 
outlook on life, but for making it impossible to willingly remedy 
said condition.
      The door to the bombardment chamber hissed open.
      Von Spleen leaned forward, ready to help Benjen out.
      Benjen needed no help.  Still clad in a flimsy white paper gown, 
he stormed out of the chamber and kissed Von Spleen full on the lips.
      Shoon-Ma stopped humming.
      Von Spleen pushed Benjen away and tried to catch his breath.
      "Doooctor!" Benjen cooed.  "Theere you are!  I was looking all 
over for you."  Von Spleen noticed that Benjen's voice was now 
incredibly high-pitched, nasal, and whiny as all get-out.  "You wanna 
go out and dance?  We could go out to this bar on Altair III and 
drink pink frothy drinks and you can groom my poodles and we can 
expose ourselves on national t.v. because everyone finds me 
faaaascinating."
      "Impressive," said Shoon-Ma.  "But hardly cosmic."
      "Well," Von Spleen replied.  "It hardly would have been a good 
idea to make him into a full-fledged cosmic being, right?  I mean, 
that's what you have planned for Sajon, once we reach Alpha Rio VI. 
If I can replicate this on a cosmic scale, there's no force in the 
universe that can oppose you!"
      "Daaaaaance!" Benjen wailed.  "I just love to daaaaance and 
swing my big hips and rip off my shirt and let my...."  He stopped 
and looked down.  "Oh, needlewarp!" he exclaimed.  "My bosom 
deflated!"
      "Though I see there are a few kinks to work out," Shoon-Ma said, 
with more than a hint of smug satisfaction.  "I will then leave you 
to the cleanup, Doctor.  Report to the bridge when you are done; I've 
prepared a special breakfast of omelettes and bacon."
      Shoon-Ma floated out.  The three zombies who had been guarding 
Von Spleen left with it, leaving Von Spleen with Benjen.
      "My bosom!" Benjen wailed.  "Nooooooo!  Now what will I use as a 
personal floatation device at parties?"
      "We're alone now," said Von Spleen.  "Please stop."
      Benjen stopped in mid-wail and cautiously looked around.  "Sure 
he's not monitoring?"
      "No," said Von Spleen, "but if he was, I doubt he would have let 
this charade go on as long as it has."
      "I'll say," Benjen replied.  "Are you sure he bought that you 
injected me with molecular destabilizers that you hoped to agitate 
into cosmic devastation mode by exposing me to a highly-accelerated 
marathon of 'the Anna Nicole Show'?"
      "Same answer," said Von Spleen.  "Now, come on, make like I've 
just injected you with a tranquilizer, and I'll take you back to the 
cell.  I may have bought the next three days, but I still need to 
figure out how to get off of this ship."
      "To get us off this ship," Benjen reminded him.
      "Hey," said Von Spleen, "I could have actually performed the 
experiment on you."
      "True," said Benjen, "which only means you think I might be of 
use when the time comes to exit stage left."
      Von Spleen had no reply to this, as it was all too true.  He 
gestured toward the door, and took Benjen's arm.  Benjen slumped, and 
allowed Von Spleen to guide him.
      They were both startled when the doors wooshed open and a small, 
plastic-toy-looking robot flew in, driving them back into the room. 
The doors shut and the robot emitted several rapid squeaks.
      One thing the ABPSARI had not corrected in Von Spleen was the 
incredible changes wreaked by substance abuse of Biblical 
proportions.  That included the change that made it possible for Von 
Spleen, uniquely among biological beings, to understand just what the 
heck TH1K1 was saying.
      "Ok, doc," TH1K1 chirped, "no time for our usual round of 
threats and rejoinders, I only got a couple seconds to do this."
      "Hey, how cute," Benjen said.  "It's like he's trying to tell us 
something."
      TH1K1 hovered in front of Von Spleen's eyes and flashed a beam 
of light directly at him.  The beam obliterated his vision, swept 
through his conscious mind, plunged him into the depths of 
unconscious thought, past archetypes and egos and ideal forms and a 
group of people who called out 'you sank my battleship!' as he fell 
past.
      The solution he had been looking for blossomed in the depths.
      When Von Spleen regained consciousness, he realized that 
Shoon-Ma and the zombies were all looking down at him.
      "Ow," Von Spleen said.  "What--"
      "The renegade robot TH1K1 attacked you, then flew off," said 
Shoon-Ma.  "It seems able to use the ship's own security network 
against me!  It is most... vexing."
      "Benjen..." Von Spleen said, as he pulled himself to his feet.
      "Ran off," said Shoon-Ma.  "He is of no concern.  There is no 
where for him to hide.  I have dispatched a couple of my 
mind-controlled zombies to catch him.  I will assign another couple 
to keep guard on you at all times.  You must complete the machine for 
making Sajon into my chosen Champion within three days!"
      With that, Shoon-Ma twirled, as only an ancient and 
ultra-powerful bagel can, and floated out of the room.  Two of the 
armed zombies stayed, watching Von Spleen with patient eyes.
      Von Spleen shook his head.  Benjen clearly didn't trust him, 
which only marked him as a good judge of character.  Von Spleen hoped 
his own judgement that Benjen was a whole lot more likely to figure 
out a means of escape was as accurate.
      If that was even necessary anymore.
      The idea TH1K1 planted was blossoming in his head.  As it did, 
Von Spleen mentally kicked himself for missing such a blindingly 
obvious application of his knowledge of Spamology.  It would be an 
intricate process, and would require him to convince Shoon-Ma to let 
him build another ABPSARI, but if it worked....
      If it worked, the hell with Sajon.
      Von Spleen would step inside the transformation chamber himself.
      The zombies gave him looks as sharp as zombies could manage when 
he cackled with glee and clapped his hands together.

WHAT IS BING VON SPLEEN'S AMAZING TH1K1-ASSISTED INSIGHT?
WHY WOULD TH1K1 GIVE HIM THE IDEA IN THE FIRST PLACE?
WILL BENJEN ESCAPE THE ZOMBIES?
WILL HE REINFLATE HIS BOSOM?
WILL RON, NORMAN, KISSY, AND TONI ESCAPE THE NEGA-CELL?
WILL TONI BE DISTRACTED FROM KEEPING HER STRATEGICALLY TATTERED 
UNIFORM IN PLACE AND LOSE THE STORY'S PG-13 RATING?
WILL IT BE WORTH IT IF SHE DOES?
WHO IS THE VISIONARY WHO WILL SUPPLY 'THE WAY OUT'?
IT'S NOT ARNOLD, IS IT?  PLEASE TELL ME IT'S NOT ARNOLD.

SFSTORY.  What's in *your* mailbox?
--
Gary W. Olson
swede3000 at earthlink.net
Sfstory Archive Page: http://home.earthlink.net/~swede3000/index.html