SG: Sporkman #2 - A New Hotness

[Greg Fishbone]

     Jeanette leaned against the wall outside the bathroom door.  "I
don't usually do zhis kind of thing," she said.  "It just felt like a
good idea at zee time."
     His voice came from the other side of the door, over the sound of
running water.  "So you're not normally one for picking up guys,
getting them drunk, and having your way with them?"
     "Mon deiu!  You make me zound like an 'orrible person!"  She
paused thoughtfully for a moment.  "When you say zhat I had my way
with you, what exactly do you mean?"
     "Put it this way.  It might be a good idea for us to exchange
medical histories and make sure we're up to date on all our shots."
     She frowned.  "Zhat good, was it?"
     The door opened and he emerged, fully-dressed and clean-shaven.
"I wouldn't know.  I fell asleep before it happened."
     Jeanette wondered whether he had used the strange-looking
spoon-fork to shave his beard, and where on his body he kept the item
hidden when not in use.  Perhaps it had some connection with the
stainless steel ring on his right hand.  Had the ring been there while
the weapon was in his hand?  She didn't seem to remember seeing it.
     The young man peered into the bedroom and grimaced at the
destruction his sleep-fight had caused.  "I'll pay for the damages...
somehow.  If I can ever scrape together some funds.  But you'll
have to settle for being fifth in line on my list of lodging-damage
creditors after my landlord, a hotel in Munich, and youth hostels
in Amsterdam and Belgium."
     "I know a way for you to work off zee debt," said Jeanette.  Then
she blushed deep crimson at the look he gave her.  "I'm sorry, zhat
sounded like sexual innuendo but zhat is not what I meant!"
     "All right, calm down," said the man, putting strong hands on her
shoulders.  "What exactly can I do for you, Miss?"
     "My life is in great danger and I need zee protection of a superhero."
     The young man laughed.  "You obviously have me confused with
somebody else."
     "Do I?" asked Jeanette.  "Zhen why were you fighting in your
sleep, and who exactly is zhis Nancy person you were dreaming about?"


*****************************************
**  Sporkman #2: A New Hotness
**  By Greg R. Fishbone
*****************************************


     Muffled explosions rocked the underground death factory, rattling
support chains, knocking machine parts from the shelves, and causing
fifteen-hundred security droids to sway back and forth on their
gyro-swivels.  In the control room overlooking the factory floor,
fifteen-year-old Roger Important dropped his PSP in surprise.
"Tee-Tee?  Was that an earthquake?"
     Underling Number Twenty-Two twirled her long pink hair between
two of her fingers and checked her security console.  "Sector Gamma
has been breached, sir."
     Roger groaned. "I keep telling ya, Tee-Tee, you don't have to call me sir."
     "But sir, I was created to serve you.  It is the entire purpose
of my being.  That requires a certain level of formality."
     "You're not a slave, Tee-Tee," Roger reminded her, for what felt
like the millionth time since he was seven and she was a
newly-engineered life form left for him under the Important family
Christmas tree with a red bow on top of her head.  "You're free to
leave at any time."
     "And abandon my purpose, sir?  Never!"
     "Okay, whatever." Roger reached for his PSP and tucked it into
his backpack.  Level five of The Radian and Shadebeam Experience would
have to wait.  "What were you saying about a breach?"
     "Sector Gamma, sir."
     "Wait, don't tell me, I know that one." Roger pulled open the top
drawer of his desk and flipped through page after page of blueprints.
"Sector Gamma... Sector Gamma... Sector Gamma..."
     "Roughly three thousand feet in that direction." Number
Twenty-Two pointed to her right. "Twelve-foot-thick steel walls
surrounding pools of molten lava and a hive of mutant wasps. Scanners
are picking up one unaccounted life form."
     "Only one?" Roger swallowed hard. "You mean those big bangs were
caused by a single person?"
     "That is correct, sir."
     "Oh, HELL(tm), it's a superguy.  Uncle Nobody is going to kill me
if I let a superguy destroy his underground death factory!"
     "Sir, calm down," Number Twenty-Two soothed.  "I've already
isolated the sector, pumped the area full of poison gas, and
dispatched four-hundred security droids to handle things."
     Roger blinked. "You have?" He looked down onto the factory floor
where there did seem to be fewer droids hanging around than he
remembered.
     Number Twenty-Two shrank back and lowered her head.  "I'm sorry,
sir.  Was that too presumptuous of me?"
     "No, Tee-Tee, you did fine.  No superguy is going to be able to
handle four-hundred droids--except maybe Mighty Guy.  Or Mighty Dog.
Or...is Mighty Pig still in action?"
     Another set of explosions tossed Roger off his feet.  On the
factory floor below, conveyor belts slipped off their support spools
and the eleven-hundred remaining security droids wobbled dangerously.
"We have a breach in Sector Beta, sir," Number Twenty-Two announced.
"Still only the one intruder."
     "Sector Beta is...which one again?"
     "Acid waterfalls and laser-guided missiles, sir."
     "Good. Send another five-hundred security droids, just to be safe."
     "Already done, sir.  And, um, sir?"
     "Yes, Tee-Tee?"
     "You might need this."  She tossed a small item of matte-black metal.
     Roger caught the item, looked at it, and immediately dropped it
to the floor.  "Jeez, Tee-Tee!  You brought a loaded handgun into my
uncle's underground death factory?"
     "Yes, sir."
     "Well, what were you thinking?  A .22-caliber pop-gun isn't going
to touch a superguy."
     "It's not for the intruder, sir.  It's for you.  I wouldn't be
doing my duty if I allowed you to be captured alive."
     Roger picked up the gun and gave it a grim look before tucking it
into the waistband of his jeans.  "This is officially the worst
after-school job I've ever had.  For three bucks an hour less, I could
have been flipping patties at Spoonburger."
     Another explosion shattered the fluorescent bulbs above the
control room.  Green emergency lights flickered on.  On the factory
floor below, machinery sparked and six-hundred security droids tumbled
over like dominoes.
     "Let me guess," said Roger. "Sector Alpha?"
     "That's correct, sir.  Sector Alpha is a maze of shifting
electrified floor-panels covered from above by ninja-star shooters."
     "And you've sent the rest of the security droids, just to be sure?"
     "No, sir.  Honestly, what would be the point?"
     Roger looked down at the factory floor, where six-hundred droids
stood arrayed against the armored door to Sector Alpha.  "How much
time until the intruder breaks through and into the control room?"
     "Thirty seconds at most," said Number Twenty-Two, glumly.  "Sir?"
     "Yes, Tee-Tee?"
     "It's been an honor to work for you."
     The armored door below burst inward, and the security droids
unloaded their weaponry at the intruder.  Roger strained to see who
the superguy was, but the action was too fast for him to follow even
if there weren't so many droids in the way.  All he could see were
flashes of stainless steel, an occasional limb, or a flash of bright
red hair.
     The last droid stopped moving.  The last piece of factory
machinery burst into flame.  The intruder reached the ladder up to the
control booth and began to climb.  It was a woman, Roger realized with
surprise, and she was only a few years older than he was--about the
same age that Tee-Tee had always seemed to be.  She held a gleaming
metal staff, capped at both ends with gigantic spoon-shaped bowls.
The heroine's face and domino mask were smudged with soot from
numerous explosions, her red hair streaked with droid fluids, and her
black and red bodysuit torn in all the right places to show off her
toned muscles and swimsuit-model curves.
     Given the circumstances, most fifteen-year-old boys would have
been reduced to puddles of drool and hormones.  To his credit, Roger
merely cocked his head at an odd angle, lolled his tongue, and gawked.
 He even managed a semi-articulate sentence: "You're...so...hot!"
     The superheroine's green eyes narrowed to angry slits.  "I am
Spoonstryke, one of the world's foremost detectives and a certified
forensic criminologist.  I hold top belts and honors in every form of
martial arts known to mankind and three that I have invented for
myself.  I save the world on a fairly regular basis and I am sick to
death of being ogled at like a piece of meat."  She held the
spoonstaff in a threatening pose and shouted, "I AM NOT HOT!!!"


WILL ROGER IMPORTANT SURVIVE HIS ENCOUNTER WITH SPOONSTRYKE?

WILL HIS PAY BE DOCKED FOR THE COST OF THE DAMAGES?

IS THAT "Y" IN HER NAME A DATED CLICHE OR WHAT?

Find out in the next installment of The Sporkarific Sporkman,
coming... well... whenever!  Only on Superguy!  (Author's note: Let's
pretend Jeanette had that outrageous French accent in the first
episode as well, okay?)

--
Greg R. Fishbone - http://gfishbone.com
* Author: THE PENGUINS OF DOOM - http://septinanash.com
* President: Class of 2k7 - http://classof2k7.com
* ARA: New England SCBWI - http://nescbwi.org


-- 
Greg R. Fishbone - http://gfishbone.com
* Author: THE PENGUINS OF DOOM - http://septinanash.com
* President: Class of 2k7 - http://classof2k7.com
* ARA: New England SCBWI - http://nescbwi.org