SG: Rad #94 (2/2): Your Bran

[Gary]

(continued from part one, preceding...)

                                 ***

     Goats, Rad thought as he extracted himself from a rack of
costumes, were the last resort of the incontinent.  He had heard an
aphorism quite like it, he was almost certain.  Why they should be the
last resort of the incontinent, he had no idea, but they had
apparently not suffered from the same problem.  They milled around the
office-end of the large studio space, their gunbelts occasionally
bumping into things.  The gunbelts themselves--simple loops around the
midsections of the goats with attached painted tubes--looked no more
real than the other movie props in the room.
     "Um, dude," said Rad.  "Like, why are there goats...."
     "For my next movie," replied Templar, who was sitting on the
floor, holding strips of celluloid.  The pseudo-ninja tied up earlier
with Templar had evidently been cut loose by a compatriot.  "The sheep
were on strike.  I told you about that, right?"
     "Oh, yah," Rad answered.  "I just, like, didn't know that the
goats, like, were here."
     "You could smell them," said Manny.  "Tom must have set them
loose... damn.  Where is Tom?"
     "Gone," Guillermo answered.  "I saw two of the wannabe ninjas
taking him out the front door.  Couldn't do anything about it with six
goats dancing the watusi on my back, but---"
     "Like, dancing?" Rad asked.  "Really?"
     "They're well-trained," Templar noted, as he struggled to his
feet.  "I was going to put them in a dance competition movie after
this one, assuming I can settle with the sheep.  It's gonna be called
'Sheep Up,' and I really think it's the one that will get me back onto
the A-list---"
     "Guys, focus," Manny interrupted.  "Not all of the ninjas
escaped."  He gestured at two bodies in a more shadowy part of the
cavernous room.  Guillermo and Rad went to them.
     "Dead," said Guillermo, after a few moments examination.  "Both
of 'em.  Looks like those idiots waving their katanas around did it."
He gestured to one body, that of an old Asian man with a sword
sticking out of his rib cage.  A jelly-filled donut was impaled on the
handle.  The other body, that of a pale-skinned woman barely in her
twenties, had no obvious wounds, but she was still dead.  Rad felt his
fingers curl, forming fists, and willed himself to calm down.
     "Can we, like, still go, like, after them?" he asked.
     "Tried," said Guillermo.  "I think I saw some of them on a bus,
though I'm not sure Tom was with them.  That was six minutes ago.
Manny called Harxxon and had them try to track departing vehicles via
satellite.  They may have something for us soon."
     "Can anyone tell me why my donut delivery guy thought he was a
ninja?" asked Templar, as he wiped powered sugar from his lips.  "He's
never said anything about that before."
     "He must have been delivering the donuts when our guys rolled
up," Manny answered.  "Looks like they have some insta-conversion
technology on their hands.  They got my Secret Service detail on the
spot."
     Guillermo rubbed his chin, then rolled the man's body onto his
side.  He pressed fingers against the back of the neck, then to the
left, then to the right.  After a few moments, he let out a short
grunt.
     "Like, what is it, Badass dude?" Rad asked.
     "Don't call me Badass," Guillermo told him, his tone almost
absent-minded.  "I hung that name up after the Genocidal War a decade
ago.  Not who I wanted to be anymore.  Still ain't."
     Rad nodded.  "Like, what is it, Guillermo dude?" he amended.
     Guillermo considered the corpse for a few seconds longer, then
shook his head.
     "He's got something in his neck.  There's a light scar, and I
could try taking it out with tweezers, but I don't want to damage it.
Might have to get him to Harxxon so they can pull it."
     "'It'... being?" inquired Templar.
     "Radio-control chip," Guillermo said.  "Popular with your basic
shadow conspiracies, rogue intelligence agencies, not-so-rogue
intelligence agencies, faceless corporations, private armies,
micromanaging villains, handlers of assassins of famous figures, the
producers of 'American Idol,' and so forth.  Once implanted,
instructions get transmitted on a certain frequency, and the chip-
controlled person carries them out.  When transmissions cease, the
person has no memories of what he or she did while controlled."
     "If you could get the chip out," said Manny, as he rubbed his
chin, "could you find what frequency they're transmitting on?  Maybe
track the source, or even override it?"
     "Maybe," said Guillermo.  "At least on finding the frequency and
tracking it to its source.  Overriding it depends on breaking the
encryption, which these days has gotten pretty tough."  The humanoid
donkey considered some more.  "If they used encryption at all."
     "Like, why wouldn't they, dude?"
     "They're in a hurry.  Someone at their command central is cutting
corners where there's no corners to cut.  Either they're under intense
pressure to produce results, or they just said 'screw it, let's dress
'em up like ninjas or whatever and send them out, my world domination
plan is getting stale on the bun.'"
     "That sounds like a lot of villains we used to know," Templar
said.  "But aren't most of 'em out of the biz like us these days?  The
war wasn't kind to them, either.  'Least not the ones we knew."
     "I saw Dr. Sleaze and the Tapeworm doing an infomercial the other
day," Manny noted.  "Buying old supervillain lairs for no money down."
     "I see The Producer down at 'Dicey Ned's' once in a while,"
Templar added.  "He manages some motel in East L.A.  Gone completely
to seed.  Sad, really."  Templar slapped his gut, as if to suggest
that it agreed with him.
     Rad nodded, though his thoughts were more on the bodies on the
floor.  He had something in common with them--an implant beneath the
skin.  His was far more advanced, he knew, being the latest in
Ottsamaddawiduan [space science!] technology, scarcely distinguishable
from his own flesh without equally advanced diagnostic equipment.  His
was limited to two-way communication, aided by his house's computer
net, and he had been assured it could not be used to make him do
anything.  Despite this assurance, he seldom made use of it, though
Glum and Rumi used theirs a lot--at least prior to coming to Earth.
The things he liked to do the most never required it.
     The thought of his wife and daughter prompted him to mentally tap
his sub-implant.  *Like, call Glum,* he thought.  *Totally urgent,
y'know?*  The implant, which had been specially programmed to handle
Rad's peculiar command syntax, connected to his house's ESI (Expert-
System Intelligence), which then attempted to connect to Glum's
sub-implant.
     Rad waited for several seconds, a long time in sub-implant-to-
sub-implant terms.  Finally, he heard the dulcet tones of his house's
nameless ESI.
     **Glum's transceiver is offline,** it said.  **In-head
diagnostics offline.  Relative Positioning System offline.**
     Rad fought down momentary panic.  They had never gotten around to
testing the comm system fully after arriving on Earth, or doing the
tuning which getting integrated with a planet's net usually involved.
     *Like, call Rumi.  Totally urgent and, like, stuff.*
     He waited.
     **Connection made.**
     *Rumi!* Rad called.  *Where are you?*
     He waited, but there was no reply.
     **Connection lost,** the ESI noted.  **Rumiko's transceiver is
offline.  In-head diagnostics offline.  Relative Positioning System
off---**
     Rad waited for the ESI to finish.
     *Like, hello?* he asked.  *You, like, there?*
     Again, no reply.
     "What's up?" asked Manny, on seeing the look on Rad's face.
     "I was, like, trying to contact Glum and Rumi, like, y'know?" Rad
said.  "And, like, they're totally offline.  And, like, now I think,
like, I am, like, too.  Something's, like, up, y'know?"
     "You'd better get over there," said Manny.  "You know how to get
to Cendra and Miguel's?"
     Rad nodded.  He had gotten the address and general area from
Eivandt that afternoon.  He was glad he had; with the ESI down, it was
all he had to go with.  Despite his technological ambivalence, he
missed having a full Artificial Intelligence he could contact with
problems.  ESIs were helpful, but they were not sentient, and did not
have a sentient AI's creative problem-solving abilities.
     "There's a Harxxon evac copter on the way," said Manny.  "It'll
take me, Guillermo..."
     "And me," Templar interrupted.  Manny glanced at Templar, nodded,
then continued.
     "...Templar, and these two bodies back to Harxxon's branch in Los
Requemados.  Once you've checked up on Glum and Rumi, bring them up
there.  It's the big new building in the city that looks like a big
'H' from the sky.  Nothing else like it there."
     "Like, cool, dude," Rad replied.  He would not need help finding
Los Requemados--it had been where he had grown up, after all.  "I'll,
like, see you over there, like, y'know?"
     Without waiting for a reply, he flew through the nearest window-
frame and into the early evening air.

                                 ***

     When Rumiko opened her eyes, she realized she was dreaming.
Though she had never before realized this during a dream, the
understanding came at once.  The biggest hint was the giant bronze-
gold battleship hovering over the ruined, jungle-surrounded temple.
The second-biggest hint was the massive electric arc that connected
the nose of the rococo-styled ship with the top of the temple.  The
electric arc was eerily still, frozen in time.  The third biggest hint
was that she was naked, and that what she saw felt like a test for
which she had forgotten to prepare.
     The only person-like figure she could see was a fairly distant
guy wearing what looked like an over-sized pair of bronze-gold battle
pants.  Los Pantalones, she realized.  The guy, like the battleship,
was frozen in mid-air, facing her.  Puffs of smoke lingered at his
knees.
     So she was alone in this dream.  Rumi relaxed.  She always felt
awkward in her body, and being without some form of cover only made
her more self-conscious.  Even her time spent on Planet California had
not helped the feeling---
     Rumi felt something settle on her skin.  She looked down and saw
a tiger-striped sundress, the kind her mother often wore.  Not Rumi's
favorite apparel, but it would do.  Likely, it was her dream's
response to her anxiety.
     Looking down also made her realize she was not on the ground.
Bronze-gold metal was beneath her.  She surveyed the dreamscape with
greater care.
     The jungle canopy was perhaps a hundred feet down from where she
stood, atop what seemed to be a twenty-meter-diameter bubble made of
the same bronze-gold metal as Los Pantalones.  The jungle itself
stretched out to the horizon in all directions, and was dark and
menacing beneath the frozen storm clouds.  The view of the battleship,
the temple, and the Los Pantalones-wearing guy was so like the image
she had seen from Esteban's photocopy of his great-grandfather's diary
that she knew at once that the picture or engraving or whatever had
been done from this viewpoint.  By the bubble itself, perhaps, or
whomever was in it.
     Rumi attempted to fly, but could not feel anything psychokinetic
happen.  Her bare feet slipped on the gleaming (and surprisingly non-
rococo) surface of the bubble, and as soon as she knew she would fall,
she went over the side.
     It was not like falling in the real world.  She had time to watch
the tops of the trees get closer, and even look up to see the bronze-
gold bubble recede.  There was no feeling of air rushing past, or
gravity, or anything else she associated with falling.
     *Maybe I can just stop.*
     With that thought, Rumi stopped falling.  She smoothed out her
dress, looked up at the bubble, and decided she was rising up to it.
Soon, she was directly between the bubble and the titanic frozen
confrontation above the temple.
     There was an area on the side of the bubble that was transparent,
though its border with the bronze-gold metal seemed hazy and
uncertain.  Within the bubble were five figures of various sizes.  The
smallest were two creatures that appeared to be monkeys with kangaroo-
like furry legs.  They had horns, and one appeared to be tossing a
piece of green fruit to the other.  These 'demon monkeys' were being
ignored by the bubble's three sapient occupants, who were regarding
the battle with varying degrees of visible emotion.
     On Rumi's left was a Reptiloid in a white lab coat.  The Reptilos
system was part of the Ottsamaddawiduan Confederation, and though Rumi
had never been there, some Reptiloid friends she had had on Planet
California had told her much about it.  Reptiloids were basically
humanoid with green, leathery, scaled skin and gecko-lizard-like
facial features that included a small snout and a long, forked tongue.
This Reptiloid's tongue was visible, as the Reptiloid had opened her
mouth in what appeared to be awe at the sight of the battle.  What she
was doing on Earth in the late nineteenth century (if the date on the
photo had been correct) was a mystery, but there she was.
     In the center was a short and stout humanish fellow.  He had pale
skin, a wide and snarling mouth, no hair save a thick monobrow arched
in anger, and wraparound bronze-gold glasses that hid his eyes.  The
lab coat he wore was of a style similar to the Reptiloid's.  His
finger was on a button.  Rumi could see nothing above it save a
geometric pictograph.  Possibly, it was the button that had captured
the battle image that Esteban possessed.
     On Rumi's right was what appeared to be a bonobo that was the
size of a gorilla.  Unlike Coco, there was nothing metallic about his
fur or appearance, and he had a grotesque scar that ran up his cheek,
through what had once been his left eye, and up his forehead.  If Rumi
had to put a name to the emotion on his face, she would have chosen
grim determination, or perhaps constipation.  He also wore a lab coat,
though his had a patch above the left breast-pocket.  A circle with
three starbursts--one on the left of the circle, one on the right, and
one within.  She wondered if it was a symbol for the 'Hidden Empire'
to which Esteban's great-grandfather's journal had referred.
     Rumi had a strong and unprovable feeling that her mind had not
invented the details of this dream.  Somehow, she was in the past,
wedged into the moment the picture had been taken, and that this was a
one-time opportunity to see what the picture had not revealed.  There
was something important to see--maybe the occupants of the bubble,
maybe the figure occupying Los Pantalones, maybe even something on the
flying battleship or in the temple.  How long she had to look she did
not know.
     She wondered what had happened to her in the real world.  Had she
fallen?  Was she on the ground now, hurt or dying?  How would she wake
if---
     "Think of something else," a feminine voice from above told her.
"Anything else."  The voice was warm and conversationally-pitched, and
likely only seemed loud because everything else was silent.  It held
hints of amusement and concern, with an undercurrent of strength.
Rumi guessed its owner was close, and since the guys in the bubble
were still frozen, there was only one place nearby she could not see.
     Rumi rose to view the top of the bubble.  Seated where Rumi had
earlier stood was a woman who Rumi guessed was around her mother's
age.  She also wore a tiger-striped sundress, though it hardly went
with her emerald-green skin and pine-green hair.  As Rumi rose, the
woman looked down at the dress, looked up, and smiled.
     "Well, thanks for the outfit," she said.  "Though I was hoping I
wouldn't turn up green here, too.  Green's not supposed to be my
color."
     Rumi remembered what Esteban had said about why he was trusting
her with what he knew about Los Pantalones after just meeting her for
the first time.  He had said the 'Green Lady' said she was 'okay.'
With everything else around her being from Esteban's great-
grandfather's picture, she had a strong idea this was the same 'Lady.'
     In fact, she had a strong idea that this was not a mere dream
figure at all.  Her few contacts with telepathic beings had felt a bit
like this, though they had never occurred in a dream environment.
Something about the Green Lady felt solid and true, as did nothing
else in the dream.  Not even herself.
     Moreover, Rumi thought she recognized the woman.  Though her
memories were hazy, having last occurred when she was barely past
being a toddler, her family kept photos.  Sometimes Rumi saw her dad
contemplating one, an unusually thoughtful look on his tan face.
     "Aunt Akane?" Rumi asked.
     The hesitance in her voice drew another smile from the woman Rumi
guessed to be Akane Moroboshi.
     "Hi, Rumster," she said.  "We have to talk."

IS THAT REALLY AKANE?
IS SHE REALLY THE GREEN LADY?
DOES RUMI REALLY DRESS EVERYONE WHO APPEARS IN HER DREAMS IN SUN
DRESSES?
WHAT IF SHE DREAMS OF BARACK OBAMA?
OR JOHN MCCAIN?
IS THAT LIKELY TO HAPPEN?
I MEAN, JUST TELL ME.
IT'S KIND OF CREEPY.
SHOULD I BE ASKING QUESTIONS ABOUT ALL THE OTHER STUFF THAT HAPPENED?
WHAT ABOUT THE GUNBELT-WEARING GOATS?
WHAT ABOUT THE DEMON MONKEYS?
WHAT ABOUT THE BUS-RIDING WANNABE ZOMBIES AND NINJAS?
WHAT ABOUT... AH, NEVER MIND.  I'M STILL THINKING ABOUT JOHN MCCAIN IN
A SUN DRESS.
AND WHEN I SAY I'M THINKING ABOUT IT, I MEAN I'M TRYING NOT TO.
I NEED THERAPY NOW.

Start the long road to recovery with... SUPERGUY!
--
Gary W. Olson
swede at novitious dot com
swede3000 at earthlink dot net
LJ Superguy Discussion: http://community.livejournal.com/superguy_list