SF: Universal Solvents #16

[Gary]

                               UNIVERSAL SOLVENTS
                              (a Tale of Sfstory!)
                                   Episode 16
                                  "Chartreuse"
                                       by
                                  Gary W. Olson

                                      -~-_-

<<Alpha Rio VI (The Planet of Casinos)>>

      The Planet of Casinos was famous throughout the 001SFSTORY 
altiverse for many reasons.  The expansive, glittering designs of the 
casinos themselves, for instance.  The fabled decadence of the casino 
owners.  The deliciousness of the food in the 24-hour 
all-you-can-ingest buffets.  The freeness of the drinks when one is 
at the tables.  The sleaziness of the back alleys one is tossed into 
after losing all of one's money.  That thing in front of
'Carcass Carcass' (a themed casino designed by, and for, beings who 
believe that carrion means never having to say you're sorry) that is 
either a giant marble statue of the god Vul-Tor of Arion IX or a 
fruitcake subjected to ten or so millennia of forced sudden evolution 
by a stray cosmic ray.  All of these are known throught the universe, 
and are reasons the planet has become a vast monetary nexus, a sort 
of gigantic spherical neon-lit laundry machine that cleans out its 
patrons and sends them away to find more filthy lucre.
      There is one more component to Alpha Rio VI's success that must 
not be ignored: the shows.  Very few who have ever seen Blue Spam 
Group in performance, or seen the stage magic of the Brain-Hurting 
Mavando and Gubb, or attended An Evening With Tane Tessier and Lesser 
Mortals, have failed to tell their families and friends all about it. 
Never mind if the shows were good or bad, liked or disliked, attended 
willingly or because it was a good place to hide from security for a 
couple hours.  These shows get talked about.
      It seemed impossible to Shadebeam Moroboshi that the show she 
was currently witnessing was among the most famous in known space. 
On stage, a Yak in a glittering, strapless evening gown was emitting 
a series of soulful bleats which was, insofar as she could tell, 
either a cover of a Julio Iglesias tune or a sign of advanced 
digestive trouble.  Much of the audience was comprised of Yaks, and 
seemed to be appreciative of what was going on, so she guessed it was 
the former.
      "Where is he?"
      Shadebeam turned to look at Sajon.  He was not looking back at 
her, but was instead looking at the door, which was nearly invisible 
in the darkened auditorium.  As he had been ever since they set foot 
in Vino the Three-Headed Yak's House of Merriment and Extortion, he 
fidgeted beneath his chartreuse robe.  He had not objected to having 
to strap on so many Typical Luck Generators in order to mute the 
odds-busting field he generated while on Alpha Rio VI, but they 
apparently made him itch.  A lot.
      "We'll give him ten more minutes," said Shadebeam.  "Then we'll 
go find him."
      *Easier said than done,* she thought.  They had not exactly had 
a plan when they re-entered Vino's establishment, because their 
objective - to find out what the hell was going on and why the 
ABPSARI specifically teleported them to this casino on this world - 
was vague at best.  Sajon was some help, but even he knew little of 
the Admin levels, or how one might gain access to the Security 
System.  Slithis, who a long time ago had been an interstellar 
communications tech, thought he would be able to break in, if they 
knew where to break.  Break in and then look for whatever it was they 
were looking for.
      Thinking of him now made her think of him then, in the very 
early days when they were Renegade Anarchists and occasionally had 
sex while strung out on a variety of mind-altering substances.  The 
memories were hazy and incomplete, but what she could remember had 
been good.  No, not just good.  Very, very good. 
Make-you-see-red-and-have-visions-of-talking-bagels good.
      *Christ,* she thought.  *Have I been alone that long?  I mean, I 
couldn't even remember his name when I first saw him, so he couldn't 
have been that great.  A nice guy, though.  Really nice.  Sort of 
like Bart, without the ques... tions....*
      "Oh, needlewarp," she whispered.  Was that what was behind it?
      Better to think about the visions they had shared.  She was 
sure, now, that they were why the ABPSARI, or the weird forces that 
operated through it, had caused them, despite overwhelming odds, to 
be thrown together again.  There had been something in them she was 
meant to see, a key to whatever was going on that she was meant to 
know.  Something she could not remember because she had been so 
whacked out when she had them she dismissed whatever it was as just 
another hallucination.
      "There he is," said Sajon.  Shadebeam looked up toward the door, 
but saw no one entering.  She looked at Sajon, and saw that he was 
looking toward the left side of the stage, just past where the 
singing yak was doing some sort of bleating duet with a male yak who 
wore cowboy boots, a red bandanna and a fake white beard.  There was 
a door next to the stage, and it was open.
      In the doorway stood Slithis, easily recognizable despite the 
nun's habit he wore as a disguise.  Next to Slithis was a man in a 
silver tuxedo, who had one hand behind Slithis's back.  Shadebeam 
groaned, knowing it was unlikely that the man was trying to scratch 
one of the reptiloid's hard-to-reach areas.
      The man evidently knew where they were sitting, for he was 
looking right at them.  He made no gesture, for there was no need.
      "Come on," said Shadebeam.  "They've taken him hostage."
      She and Sajon made their way down the ill-lit side aisles toward 
the door.  They passed a number of well-armed Security Yaks, but were 
challenged by none.  When Shadebeam got to the door, the features of 
the man in the silver tuxedo were more visible, and seemed oddly 
familiar.
      "Hi, Shade, Sajon," said Slithis.  "You remember Kalvin Certain, right?"
      "Freedonia 5, a few years ago," said Sajon.  "I think."
      "I was there," Kalvin replied.  It was on hearing his voice that 
Shadebeam recognized him.
      "Hey," she said, "weren't you that foppish dude who stole the 
Omnidean's ship from us...?"
      "I'm glad you remembered," said Kalvin.  "It was a long time 
ago.  I had an image makeover since then."
      "So... are you going to threaten us now, or wait until we get 
back to your secret lair?"
      Kalvin raised a suave eyebrow.
      "Threaten?" he asked.  "Don't tell me... you thought..."  He 
looked at Slithis, and took his hand away.  Shadebeam was surprised 
to see that it was holding a back scratcher.
      "Oh, that," said Slithis.  "See, I have this hard-to-reach area 
on my lower back, and when it gets itchy--"
      Shadebeam fought the urge to beat her head against the wall. 
She then fought the much stronger urge to beat Slithis's head against 
the wall.
      "But I would like to take you all back to my secret lair," said 
Kalvin.  "Which isn't a lair so much as an office, and which isn't, 
per se, secret.  There are things going on that extend far beyond 
this planet, and may have to do with the ultimate fate of the 
universe itself.  I've been trying to deal with it, but its been 
tough going."  He paused.  "Have you heard of the Breaking of the 
Fast at--"
      "--the Dawn of the Universe?" Shadebeam finished.  "Yeah.  It's 
sort of why we're here, I think."
      At this, an expression of delight crossed Kalvin's face.
      Expression, Shadebeam thought, hell, it lit his face up like a 
lamp.  An oil lamp.
      "Come on," Kalvin said.  "Let's go back to my office.  We've got 
a lot to talk about."
      Slithis took the back-scratcher from Kalvin and continued 
applying it to the small of his (Slithis's) back as he followed 
Kalvin backstage.  Shadebeam turned to Sajon and raised an eyebrow.
      Sajon shrugged.  "He seemed like an alright guy when I met him. 
It could turn out okay."  And Sajon followed.
      Shadebeam followed behind Sajon.  Kalvin, she knew, was not 
someone to be trusted, no matter how much he had changed following 
their one brief encounter.  But they had come back to the casino to 
find out What Was Going On, and it looked like that was about to 
happen.
      Whether they really wanted to know or not.

                                     -~-_-

<<Zeta Ricola Beta>>

      So this, thought Sark Flyby, was the True Saucer.  The Ideal 
Form that was made to hold the Ideal Cup of Coffee at the Breaking of 
the Fast at the Dawn of the Universe.  An object that had persisted 
in defiance of the laws of physics, time, and sanity.  A mighty 
object.  A hallowed object.
      *And a crappy object,* Sark thought.  *I'll be lucky if it 
doesn't collapse around my ears.*
      It maintained the shape of the True Saucer, sure enough, but 
every item on the ship had undoubtedly been replaced many times over 
the eons, and the most recent replacements looked to be very aged 
scrap-heap parts that were held together more by their rust than 
anything else.  Its current incarnation was as a salvage ship, named 
the W.S. _Universal Solvent,_ and Sark had to believe it was some 
kind of cosmic joke that it was the ship doing the salvaging, rather 
than being the salvaged.
      The interior was a little better.  The floor creaked only 
slightly ominously as Sark's grey-skinned, gnomish body tread toward 
the main control console.  Scraps of paper, video game discs, a pile 
of DVDs featuring Radar Vogel, some empty bottles, a plethora of old 
pizza boxes.  Sark shook his head, then winced as the sudden movement 
gave him a headache.
      *Damn that Wzaxtil,* he thought.  *Maybe I *will* let my son fry 
phis insectoid carcass...*
      The last he had been told, before leaving Tarlus in the 
Repository of the Proofs, was that his son, Zark, was pursuing 
Bagelos and Quooth through the forest, and would no doubt obliterate 
the two before long.  Sark told Tarlus to monitor the pursuit, and to 
thin Zark's connection to the Proofs if it looked like he was close 
to success.  He did not want Zark to prematurely fry either of the 
ex-prisoners, despite the aural assault from the so-called Holy 
Harmonica that Quooth possessed which enabled their escape and made 
Sark's ears momentarily bleed.  Bagelos was dangerous, in that he was 
in pursuit of universal domination via completing the work of his 
space-villain grandfather, Baconos, but as he was the only one who 
knew how the True Saucer worked, they still needed him alive.  As for 
Quooth... well, he could not exactly think of a reason for needing 
the Wzaxtil, but waste not, want not.
      *Back to the ship.  By the Nicotine Patch of Belroq, what a mess--*
      Sark's thought was interrupted when he tripped and fell face 
first into a pile of old magazines (many of which featured Radar 
Vogel, again).  He struggled, kept slipping on the glossy pile, 
managed to turn over, then gave up trying to move.  He panted heavily 
(a result of his attempts to get up, not as a result of looking at 
the contents of the magazines, which he steadfastly ignored) and 
looked around for whatever he had tripped over.
      On the ground, prone, rested a large, reddish metal object which 
Sark recognized as a robot.  Some kind of security model, judging by 
the design and its obvious menacingish nature.  He remembered the 
report that the captured ship had a robot which was easily disabled, 
but he did not remember hearing what was done with the robot 
afterward.  The answer, evidently enough, was 'nothing.'
      So.  A decaying, barely intact ship, an inert robot, and a 
control room in desperate need of cleaning, preferrably with nuclear 
explosives.  *This* was what they had feared for so long?  Were the 
prophecies wrong?
      Sark took a breath, pushed hard against the mass of magazines at 
his back, and managed to wobble into a standing position.
      They were probably wrong.  Prophets got it wrong all the time. 
They pretty much had to, otherwise the universe would have been 
destroyed, taken over, or turned into borscht numerous times over. 
The only parts that had to be right were the parts leading *up* to 
the big finale, in order to give the prophets a long lead time for 
getting away or being dead or whatever.
      *And since this is one of those parts,* Sark thought, *you'd 
think it'd be right, but--*
      Then he noticed the wet bar.
      Or, more precisely, what had been exposed when the wet bar had 
been rolled aside.
      Even with the ship's power ostensibly off, the red rock glowed. 
It pulsed.  It shimmered.  It did a sort of twisty squirmy thing that 
probably has a name.
      Here was what kept the saucer together and in its perfect form. 
A rock that was not a rock, because it came from the earliest time, 
before matter was really matter.  A thing with the power to scour 
clean everything in its path, to purge the universe of all that was 
waste, to destroy and renew.
      "The Fiber," Sark whispered.
      After a few minutes of awed gibbering in this general vein, Sark 
settled down somewhat and thought.  Baconos, all those years ago, 
would have captured the universe if he'd had the Fiber.  Bagelos knew 
this, and was no doubt planning on using it if he ever made it back 
to his ship.  Which meant he had to get a team out to the ship and 
get it moved to a more secure location.
      "Secure location?" asked Tarlus, after Sark relayed the above to 
him via his wrist communicator.  "How are we defining secure?"
      "As secure as possible," said Sark.  "Somewhere where the 
escaped prisoners can't get to it."
      "What about Zark?"
      Sark thought about this.
      "If it comes to that," he said, "we'll just tell him it's not there."
      "Oh," said Tarlus.  "Right.  I'll send Cassel's team.  They 
should be there in fifteen."
      Sark shut off his communicator and comtemplated the Fiber for a 
bit longer.  Then he turned to go.
      A red metal wall that had not been previously present was now in 
his way.  Sark frowned and looked up.  The metal wall was large and 
robot shaped.  It had a single red eye, which glared down at him.
      A tag on its breastplate identified it as 'Megabot.'
      Sark only got to the first 'ai' of "Aieeeeee" before the air was 
filled with a high-pitched mechanical scream.

                                      -~-_-

<<Mydrus>>

      *Grey,* thought Gham.  *Always with the grey.  Why not taupe, or 
violet, or chartreuse?*
      Tamask Citadel, the high-security installation on planet Mydrus 
where the transmat machine that was their only way of getting to the 
planet Zeta Ricola Beta was located, was indeed a very grey place. 
The walls were a kind of cementish grey, with gunmetal grey supports 
and dark grey windows protected by so-grey-they're-black laser gun 
turrets.  The personnel of the citadel wore ash-grey uniforms and 
carried silver-grey nukers.  Were it not for the various PDAs, 
televisions, arcade games, and other items scattered about the 
approach to the complex, Gham might have thought she had gone 
color-blind.
      Major Lalan and his three accompanying Goornashkan crewmembers 
stood out in their turquoise uniforms, but she had to turn her head 
to look behind her to see them.  Jerriphrrt, next to her, was 
shuffling beneath an oversized olive-green jumpsuit, doing his best 
to look like a prisoner.  The clanking noises that emanated from 
beneath said jumpsuit made this difficult.
      "Did you have to bring *every* electronic toy from our quarters 
on the ship?" she whispered.
      "No," Jerriphrrt replied in a quiet voice.  "I left the 
GameSquid behind.  Its batteries were out."
      "Dohw."
      They were approaching the gate that led into the prison section 
of the Citadel.  Major Lalan had assured them that it was the best 
way to get to the part of the fortress they really desired - the 
control complex that ran the security grid for the entire planetary 
system.  Once that was down, Steve Vogel and his crew on the 
_Challenger III_ could fly in and be transmatted, ship and all, to 
the Zeta Ricola Beta system.  Once *that* was done, Gham, Jerriphrrt, 
Lalan, and his crew had to get back to their ship and follow before 
the Goornashk Authority could regain control.  It was a risky plan, 
but the only one that Gham could see would get her and Jerriphrrt to 
the place where Slithis and Benjen either were or were going to be, 
and the only one Major Lalan could see that could get him a new giant 
death-spitting laser weapon and enough pudding to do the backstroke 
in.
      *Speaking of pudding,* she thought, *where is it?  I would have 
guessed there would be giant hundred-foot shrines to Bill Cosby in 
the courtyard, the way Lalan and his crew go on about it.*
      What was in the courtyard were grey walls, guns, and guards. 
Two of those guards, upon noticing the approach of Lalan's crew and 
two prisoners, paused their game of 'Doom 3', stood, and saluted.
      "Major Lalan, sir," said the one whose name badge read 'Hello! 
My name is Fronk.'  "Welcome back, sir.  Two prisoners to check in?"
      "That's correct, corporal," Lalan answered.  "Just two 
prisoners.  Vile fiends who we caught trying to salvage a ship that 
was by rights ours to tow in.  Nothing more."
      "As you say, sir," said Fronk.  "Er... if you don't mind my 
asking, sir..."
      "Yes?"
      "Where is 'Mr. Funboy'?"
      Gham winced, imagining the look on Lalan's face.  She waited for 
Lalan to say something, to start blubbering, or screaming, or just 
start beating them with the portable DVD player strapped to his belt.
      "Mister Funboy," Lalan said, in a voice so tight you could milk 
a brick with it, "is being... upgraded."
      Fronk's face brightened upon hearing this.  "I told you it was a 
great idea!  You can never have too many upgrades, that's what I 
say."  He quickly scanned the Major, his crewmembers, and Jerriphrrt 
and Gham with a generic handheld scanner device, without bothering to 
actually look at what the readout indicated.  "Are you going to get 
the voice module?"
      "I--" Lalan started.
      "'Halt, intruder!'," said Fronk, his voice growing deeper as his 
massive eyebrows quivered with quotational delight.  "'If you're not 
eating pavement in five seconds, you'll be eating neutron beam!  Ow! 
I am so male I vibrate with musculature!  Hoof!'"
      "Not that particular module," Lalan replied.  "It loses 
something in the translation, anyway.  I was thinking more of 
something like--"
      Gham coughed.
      "Ehrm," said Lalan.  "But enough gay banter for one day!  I must 
be taking these prisoners to their cells."
      "Fine," said Fronk, already turning away to view the cheats that 
the other guard was entering into the game they had been playing. 
"Don't forget to get your parking validated on the way--"
      "Halt!"
      Gham's head snapped up in the direction of the new voice.  Its 
owner, a Goornashkan in a sterling silver uniform that bore large 
amounts ribbons, medals, and other fiddly bits, was striding towards 
the group with perhaps a dozen armed Goornashk guards in tow.  Lalan, 
his crewmembers, and the guards saluted with as many hands as they 
had available.  As each had three, and were all standing at 
relatively close quarters, this resulted in a bit of a tangle.  Gham 
and Jerriphrrt took advantage of the confusion to edge slightly away.
      "General Varsoome!" Lalan and the others exclaimed.
      "Don't you 'General Varsoome' me, Lalan," Varsoome snarled.  "We 
received intelligence that you were captured by a warship crewed by 
giant radioactive gerbils, and have every reason to believe in its 
accuracy."  He held up a photograph and a piece of paper.  Lalan 
looked at both and scowled.
      "It's not true!" Lalan replied.  "We stopped these two 
scurrilous thieves from plundering a ship that was carrying large 
reserves of valuable pudding, and their nefarious allies put up a bit 
of a fight.  It's true they managed to escape, but we kept these two 
and will be locking them up and subjecting them to interrogation 
and... and..."
      "And?" asked Varsoome.
      "...and, you know," said Lalan.  "Stuff."
      "Lalan..."
      "Yes, sir?"
      Varsoome held up the photo.
      "Explain this."
      Lalan squinted at the picture.  His crewmen squinted at it, too. 
The guards did as well, though they had no particular reason to do 
so.  Jerriphrrt squinted at it.  Gham squinted at it.
      "It's a autographed photo of Dick Cheney," Jerriphrrt said.  "I 
mean, okay, he sort of looks like a giant hamster, but--"
      "He provided the intelligence!" Varsoome exclaimed.  "Admit it, 
Lalan!  Your ship was captured by giant radioactive hamsters!"
      "I was not!" Lalan protested.  "They were humans, and they 
weren't giant or radioactive.  So there!"
      A long moment followed.  Gham watched as Lalan's expression of 
rage did a slow, majestic slide into an expression of 'oh, I did not 
just say that'.
      "Major Lalan and crew," said Varsoome, "you are under arrest. 
Soldiers!  Take them and these so-called prisoners to the cells at 
once!"

HOW WILL GHAM AND JERRIPHRRT DEAL WITH THEIR LATEST SETBACK?
IS DICK CHENEY A GIANT RADIOACTIVE HAMSTER?
IS HE VIBRATING WITH MUSCULATURE?
WILL MEGABOT SPARE SARK FLYBY?
WILL THE FIBER BE A REGULAR PART OF THE STORY FROM NOW ON?
WILL SHADEBEAM SEE THROUGH KALVIN'S SCHEME IN TIME?
WILL THE SINGING YAKS DO A RENDITION OF 'SHE BANGS'?
WILL THEY SOUND BETTER THAN WILLIAM HUNG?

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Copyright (c) 2004 Gary W. Olson, All Rights Reserved.
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Sfstory is on the web at: http://home/earthlink.net/~swede3000/sfstory.html
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Gary W. Olson
swede3000 at earthlink.net