SF: HMS Golden Lance #29 - This is Your Afterlife!

Thu Mar 17 20:26:24 PST 2005

The Maudlin-class time cruiser HMS Dentless, having finally drifted
far enough away from the Planet of the Supermarkets to avoid it's
Zipper-Locked(tm) Protective Field, restored primary power.  From the
tip of her ultra-relativistic bow to the base of her mega-dimensional
stern, she gleamed in sparkling perfection.  In a daring show of
bravery, or perhaps a brave show of daring, the HMS Dentless swooped
back towards the planet, heedless and unheeding and not putting any
heed to the missiles speeding from said planet.  With pinpoint
precision, the Dentless swept close to a drifing ship, locked onto it
with a non-copyright-infringing towing beam, and whisked it to safety.
The missiles reached the former location of the drifting ship, found
nothing, mulled it over for a bit, and finally decided to go back to
base for coffee and donuts.

Some distance away, being towed at great speed an even greater
distance away, a room in the formerly drifting ship specifically
designed to receive visitors suddenly received visitors.  A device
known as the TTT (Temporal Teleportation Terminal) flared to life,
revealing a group of spacesuited figures.

"Atmospheric readings confirmed," one reported as he fiddled with the
controls of the (assumed) scanning devices attached to the crotch of
his spacesuit.  "Oxygen levels are nominal, other gases within
acceptable limits, but life support functioning only at minimal
levels.  The synthetic gravity plates are at 80% output and falling.
They should last as least as long as the oxygen."

"Helmets off!" ordered the apparent leader, doing so himself before
the echoes died, which was no great feat considering how loudly he
bellowed.  Captain David Morgen jutted out a jaw of heroic proportion
and started barking orders.

If he noticed that his crew failed to remove their own helmets until
long after he had stopped speaking, he did not comment on it.

"The bridge is this way, sir," announced Fim, Morgen's long-suffering
and loyal second in command, leading the way down the corridor.  A
corridor that looked more like a hallway in a motor home than a
spaceship.  Other crewmembers noted similar anomolies as they headed
in the other direction looking for the engineering section.

Just as Morgen and Fim reached what they assumed to be the bridge,
the lights came on.  They looked around and noticed a central monitor
which seemed to be flashing the words "PAGING FILE CORRUPT - LOADING
BACKUP COPY" over and over.

"Well, Fig," began Morgen.

"That's Fim, sir," corrected Fim.

"Well, Fin, if the central computer can recover, control of this
vessel will be much easier."

"Yes, sir," Fim answered, trying not to roll his three rows of eyes
at this statement of the obvious.  "But only if..."

The ship's speakers, many of which were mounted in attractive
faux-woodgrain particle board boxes, began to click and buzz.  Soon, a
sexily feminine though irritatingly nasal artificial voice issued from
them.  =Backup copy checksums check out.  Integration into synthetic
intelligence core program completed.  Ready for your orders, Time
Agent 357.=

Totally oblivious to Fim's shushing motions or his stealthy backing
away from the monitor, Morgen spoke to the computer.  "Computer, tell
me- urk!"

Throughout the ship, bulkheads closed, forcefields activated, and cats
were put out for the night.  Scanning devices, and several other items
which might have been scanning devices but probably weren't, swivelled
to point at Morgen and Fim.

"You want to avoid startling a shipboard intelligence like that," Fim
mentioned in passing as he tried to hide behind his captain.  "They're
a bit touchy when they first reboot."

"Oh, of course," Morgen replied.  "SI CSC 420, back at Intersteller
University."

"Home of the Fighting Cephalopods.  Go Pods!"

"Go pods!"

=INTRUDERS!  IDENTIFY YOURSELVES OR BE DESTROYED!=

"Amazing command voice for a synthetic intelligence, sir."

"The owner must be a fellow graduate.  Only someone taught Heroic
Speaking by old man Huckersucker could speak with a voice like that."

=YOU HAVE 15 SECONDS TO COMPLY!=  The scanning devices, and several
other items which might have been scanning devices but probably
weren't, refined their aims.

Captain David Morgen of the Maudlin-class time cruiser HMS Dentless
jutted out his jaw and began rattling off his name, rank, and past
accomplishments.  If left to his own devices, he would no doubt get
around to mentioning his Time Police userid and passcode after 15
minutes or so.

Fim, knowing that they had less than 15 seconds, simply held his Time
Police ID badge towards the nearest scanner.

=Identity confirmed,= said the speakers as the scanning devices, and
several other items which might have been scanning devices but
probably weren't, swivelled back into their housings.  =Members of the
Interstellar Time Police, welcome to the HMS Golden Lance.=

"Time Agent 357's ship," Fim put in for Morgen's benefit.

"Oh, of course," Morgen acknowledged.  "Computer, what is the locaton
of your owner, Time Agent 357?"

=I don't know!  I can't locate him anywhere!= wailed the computer,
which followed up with a very realistic simulation of a young woman
crying.

                -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Time Agent 357 was at that moment standing on a street corner.  All he
could see in any direction he cared to look were hotels, casinos,
television stations, and movie studios.  Although 357 had never been
to the Earth cities of Las Vegas or Hollywood, he could at that point
nonetheless accurately describe what their lovechild must look like.
He was relieved to note that his travelling companions were nearby.

The companions were, in no particular order, as follows:  Diana Dark
of Earth, girlfriend to Time Agent 357; Doctor Bing Von Spleen, also
of Earth, Spamologist and Mad Scientist; Ralph the Giant Space Weasel
of Anthrax V, actually a peace-loving weaseloid from Leibowitz IV and
an accomplished ukulele player in his own right; and the timeless
immortal known only as Omegas.  Also standing near them was the
ghostly outline of what looked to be a 12 year old human girl.

Time Agent 357 activated his wrist communicator.  "357 to Golden
Lance.  357 to Golden Lance.  Come in, Val."

"I'm right here, 357," the outline of the girl said.  "My synthetic
intelligence seems to have been separated from my physical circuitry."

The miniature computer in the wrist communicator, itself a
stripped-down copy of the core synthetic intelligence of the HMS
Golden Lance, officially designated the VAL 9000 and known to her
friends as "Val," confirmed this.

"Curiouser and curiouser," muttered 357, who had never read Lewis
Carrol but who had once again found himself in a world that would have
made any beyond the looking glass seem sane by comparison.

Idle speculation was squashed when the group noticed they were being
rapidly approached by a humanoid male.  His three-piece lime green
liesure suit clashed with his pea green complexion, though the
oversized lapels did take attention away from his equally oversized
ears.  "Hi there!" he said with a smile which showed off every one of
his perfectly capped teeth.  "I'm Guy Smarmy, and This Is Your
Afterlife!"

"No, it's not," Diana stated firmly.

"I'm you're guide.  I'll take your through the steps of...  I'm
sorry.  What did you say?"

"I said this isn't my afterlife," Diana stated even more firmly.  "My
afterlife involves clouds and wings and harps and pearly gates..."

"I've seen it myself," 357 confirmed.  Ralph also agreed.

"I used to work there," Omegas put in, reluctantly.

Spleen stated that his afterlife was the same as Diana's, though with
a much greater unspoken probability of involving flames and brimstone
and pitchforks.  Ralph described endless green fields full of food and
females.  357 briefly sketched great crypts where previous
incarnations were stored until the soul gained true enlightenment.

"As a timeless immortal," Omegas stated, "I do not actually have an
afterlife per se, as I have always existed and always will."

"I'm not even an organic lifeform," the ghostly afterimage of the VAL
9000 computer put in, clearly distressed.

Guy looked confused for a few seconds, but then smiled brightly.
"You're originally from another dimension, aren't you?"

Spleen answered.  "If you mean that the last alternate universe, or
alterverse, we remember being in just prior to this one was not the
one where we originally originated, that is correct."

Guy smiled even more, if that was possible.  "That explains a great
deal.  You see, when you died, or whatever it is that you lifeforms
do, you were in what we refer to as the home dimension.  People, or
whatever it is that you lifeforms are, who die in the home dimension
spend their afterlife in this pocket subdimension that we call
Afterlife.  I'm your guide, Guy Smarmy."

"Guide to what?" Ralph asked cautiously.

"Why, Guide through the Trials to determine your position and standing
here in the Afterlife."

"T-t-trials?" Spleen spluttered.  "You mean we're going to have to go
to court and defend our all actions in our former life?"  Spleen
started sweating profusely for no apparent reason.

"Oh, sorry.  That didn't translate well.  Not so much trials as
competitions.  Contests of skill and knowledge.  Filmed live before a
studio audience."

"Gameshows," Diana concluded.  "Our fate in this Afterlife is
determined by how well we do on gameshows.  A fitting afterlife for an
alterverse that contains the Planet of the Supermarkets."

Guy nodded and, once again, smiled.

Diana matched his smile with one of her own.  Those lazy summers at
her Aunt's house lounging in front of the television all day long were
about to pay off.  "Bring it on."

Guy took them from gameshow to gameshow, explaining how each worked.
Guy himself was a gameshow host for many of the games, though
naturally he was not hosting that day as he was taking his turn to act
as guide.  He was quite proud of his performance during his own
Trials, and justifiably so.  He had scored so high that he was given a
position as one of the gameshow hosts.  Only one reward was rated as
higher than that.

"And what would that be?" 357 asked.

"Oh, it roughly translates as reincarnation.  The winner would get to
go back to his previous existance, or any other existance he wanted,
and live his life over again.  Or pick it up at the point it left off.
I'm a little fuzzy on that.  Nobody's gotten that reward in the last
2000 years, though, so don't get your hopes up."

"Oh, we won't," Diana assured him.  "Here's a list of the games we'd
like to compete in.  You say we can compete in them as a group?"

"You may, since you died, or whatever it is that you lifeforms do, as
a group.  But be warned that whatever fate you win as a group is
shared by the group, even if individual performance might rate a
better fate or one more suited to your particular preferences."

"We'll take that risk," 357 decided.

Guy shook his head as he smiled and directed them into the studio
where Wheel of Misfortune, the first on their list of games, was being
filmed live before a studio audience.

In game after game, the crew of the HMS Golden Lance kicked butt.
Time Agent 357, thanks to training and innate ability, had a thorough
understanding of temporal paradox and statistical theory.  Diana wowed
with her detailed knowledge of TV trivia and her instinctive
understanding of gameplay, often intuiting loopholes and bonuses.
Spleen turned out to be a steady source of scientific information when
kept away from the complimentary drink bar.  The VAL 9000, though
still disoriented from finding herself without a physical body, still
proved to retain her knowledge of all Uselessnet news feeds, allowing
her to ace all questions concerning recent events.

"Who are Moses and his ass," Omegas found himself saying a few days
later.  "And I'll take Bible Trivia for $100,000,000 to round out the
category, Elax."

"I'm sorry, time is up.  And as we go into the final lightning round,
we see that newcomer Omegas is in the lead with 14,432,344,000
points, returning champion Baraxunus is slightly behind with 1,400
points, and Richard from South Beach is trailing with -88,200 points.
We'll be right back after this very short break."

"Whew," 357 wheezed.  "Good going there, Omegas.  I thought we were
goners for sure."

"Nonsense," Omegas rumbled, trying to sound cool and detached but
nevertheless sounding very pleased with himself.  "An entire game
round devoted to religion was practically *giving* me the points.
I've *dated* most of those deities."

"Still, I am impressed.  And Diana, the way you rolled those dice...
I always knew you were good with your hands, but this..."

They were interupted by Guy Smarmy.  "I was just adding up your
overall total.  I've never seen a score this high.  You beat me by the
end of the first day."  Guy was still smiling, but it seemed a little
forced.  His teeth had lost some of their lustre.  "In fact, I'd guess
you're very close to winning reincarnation."

"What was the score in this game so far?" 357 asked, rapidly punching
numbers into his wrist computer.  "Hey!  If we can score this high in
the next game, we've made it!"

Guy's smile darkened slightly.  "But you forget, lifeform, that this
is your last game, and you just have one more round to go."

"And we're back.  And the topic for the final lightning round is...
Ukulele Stringing in the Dark Ages of Leibowitz IV!"

Ralph, who had previously stayed mostly in the background except for
his surprise knowledge of Bullexian musicals the day before,
shouldered his way to the podium and placed his weaseloid paw on the
answer button, poised and ready.  "Elax, we'd like to bet it all."

                -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Things were quiet about the HMS Golden Lance.  Perhaps, too quiet.

The repair crews of the HMS Dentless, having finished restoring all
systems in both ships, were taking a well-deserved rest period.  Most
of the rest of the crew had taken landing craft down to a nearby
planet which was supposed to be a shore leave paradise.  At least, all
the crewmembers who had come back to the ship to have their heads
reattached had described it as such.  Captain Morgen was sitting in
the bridge gazing at the HMS Golden Lance keeping station exactly one
klick in the distance, musing to himself of what it might be like to
own his own interdimensional ship and traipse the cosmos as a
free-roaming Time Agent.

As such, young Fim as the only person aboard the Golden Lance to
observe the miracle.

=Attention, young Fim,= the voice of the ship's VAL 9000 computer
blared at him.  =I'm reading an increase in organic molecules in the
control room.  Are you venting methane again?=

"Well, certainly not here on the bridge.  I mean, that is, in your
control room."

A barely-visible haze began to clump into streamers of smoke,
eventually filling the control room with a thick fog.  All the while,
the VAL 9000 reported increasing concentrations of what she described
as organic molecules of unknown origin.  Fim was just about to sound
the alarm when the fog thinned.

In it stood a group of people.

"We made it!" Time Agent 357 announced.  "We all made it.  Diana!
Omegas!  Ralph!  Spleen!  Green guy!  Hey, who are you?"

=Fim is a member of the crew of the HMS Dentless, who rescued the HMS
Golden Lance from certain destruction.=

"Val!" Diana exclaimed.  "You made it back, too!  We were worried,
what with you not having a physical body in the Afterlife and all."

=Back?  I never left.  And what's this afterlife of which you speak?=

The group explained Afterlife.  Fim likewise explained how they had
found the HMS Golden Lance drifting powerless, its synthetic
intelligence damaged and repairing itself from backup files.  Spleen
posited that the ghostly afterimage of Val that they knew in
afterlife, posessing no organic molecules, could not be reconstituted
as they had been.  And since the VAL 9000 had repaired itself and was
running in the ship's mainframes, there were no empty circuits for it
to return to.  It must, then, have been lost.  A sad day for us all.

Spleen nodded solemnly, then sprinted towards the nearest beer tap.
Omegas and Ralph were not far behind them.  After saying goodbye to
young Fim, who assured them that he would pass their thanks along to
the captain and crew of the Dentless, 357 and Diana retired to their
quarters with orders to not be disturbed.  The VAL 9000 computer,
contemplating the loss of a "twin sister" she had never known, piloted
the HMS Golden Lance through Netherspace as she searched for news of
Dijon Mu'tard, the villian who had sent her crew to this Afterlife
which she still did not understand.

It was just another reason to look for him, along with charges of
murder, possession of an unlicensed naked singularity, and the theft
of Doctor Spleen's ABPSARII prototype (Automatic Beet Peeler and
Sub-Atomic Re-integrator Mark II) which combined all the
reality-bending power of the original ABPSARI production models with a
miniature time travel device and an ultra-advanced search engine.
With this Dijon was planning to set himself up as a dictator and rule
some backwater universe with an iron fist.  While this would not cause
the multiverse to implode like Ralph's misguided attempt at creating a
perfect universe where everyone was happy and nobody ever died, it
would be bad enough.

Unbeknownst to the VAL 9000, she had blind spots in her internal
sensor array.  Minor networking errors in the subcomponents had been
caused by Dentless repair crews installing wire which conformed to
Fleet specifications but of the wrong impedence for the HMS Golden
Lance's advanced design.  The subcomponents were "smart" enough to
detect these errors and would eventually adjust themselves to
compensate for the impedence problem.  They simply reported the error
and set themselves to that task.

They did not realize that the last subcomponent in the line, having
not yet received any of the reports due to the minor networking
errors, and which was itself ignorant of errors as it had not sent any
data out into the system recently, was happily sending "everything is
ok with the internal sensor array" signals to the mainframes.

The result was, as stated above, a few blind spots.  Most of these were
of no consequence.  Sensors trained on the bed currently shared by 357
and Diana showed them both sound asleep, which was incorrect, though a
sound sleep would very likely occur at the conclusion of their current
activities.  A sensor controlling an ancillary cooling unit resulted
in one batch of homebrew beer being served a few degrees cooler than
specified, though none of the drinkers noticed.  A motion detector in
a cargo bay detected no motion.

There was motion, though.  A packing crate shifted, as if in response
to the ship's acceleration.

Of course, the ship was moving at a steady speed outside of regular
space entirely, so there was no acceleration to speak of.

The crate shifted again, and again, until it rolled over.  It rolled
over again, and a handwritten note became visible:  "Unidentified
nonfunctional machinery found in corridor outside of bridge.  Store
until identification can be made.  Reminder to log with central
computer."

In a rare dereliction of duty, the anonymous author of the note, no
doubt a member of the HMS Dentless repair crew, had forgotten to log
this discovery with the central computer.  The note was lost from view
as the crate rolled over again.

The crate exploded.

There was no flash.  No smoke.  No bang.  Nothing like that.  An
explosion is simply defined as something getting really, really big,
and doing it really, really fast.  In this case, a wood-like
substance quickly went from being something roughly crate-shaped to
being a collection of scraps which landed several feet away in all
directions.

Where the crate had once been, a collection of machinary now sat.
Unidentified machinery.  Obviously nonfunctional machinery, with many
visibly damaged parts.  And yet, *something* had happened to the
crate.

The collection of machinery, apparently functional after all, began
to twist and move.  Mobile parts gripped and straightened immobile
parts.  Manipulator arms rewired and welded.  Soon, the machine stood
upright, revealing itself as the skeletal form of some kind of robot
body.

As the collection of machinery took its first tentative steps,
holographic projectors came online.  The form was covered first with
the illusion of firm, pink skin, which was in turn covered by an
outfit consisting of tight-fitting leather and chains.  As
holographic hair grew down past holographic shoulders, a tattoo was
briefly visible on the holographic skin, echoing the inscription on
the small metal plate just below it:

NEKKID 69

The collection of machinery lifted a manipulator in front of its
visual sensors, rotating it back and forth as if examining the
holographic disguise of a human hand for some sort of flaw.  It took
more steps, approaching the door of the cargo bay.  When the door did
not open, the collection of machinery almost effortlessly punched
through it and pried the doors apart.

The collection of machinery moved out into the hallway as the first
alarms finally sounded.

It...  No.  *She* threw back her head and laughed.

"Beware, I live!"

Tune in next week for...  The Return of NEKKID 69!  Only on SFSTORY!