SG/SF: Trail Boss #1 (2/2)

[Eric Burns]

(This is the start of Part 2. If you haven't read Part 1 it's hardly my
fault.)

*** NOTES FROM THE AUTOMATIC STORY TRANSCRIBER ***

     It is likely that some of the people reading this will have no idea
what's going on, from the ship being mentioned above to the odd swear words
right through to this happy section wherein I, the Automatic Story
Transcriber, annotate things as appropriate. This is a fair cop. Some folks
will just have forgotten details. Others will have never known or cared
about them. Several are probably drunk even as they read these words.
Regardless, a quick primer is likely of use.
     This is a story of Sfstory Digest, a shared fiction story that began
back in the wilds of Orono Maine in 1987 and meandered its way through
nearly thirty years of stupidity, chaos and fun over the course of time.
Dozens of people contributed bad Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy ripoffs
amid occasional decent science fiction and a hint of porn to taste. One of
the early prolific writers of this 'thing' was Eric, Lord Sabre -- which is
seriously what he called himself back in the day, because in the eighties
the Internet was oddly more forgiving than it is now, and also he's an
idiot. He wrote thousands upon thousands of words for Sfstory, featuring
space heroes, paladins, ingenues, and hearty and thick amounts of sexism.
Probably racism, too. The sad thing was, he didn't know he was being a dick
at the time. This is what age, experience, and enlightenment teach you. They
teach you that yes -- the Asshole was in you all along.
     Originally the story was written as a shared plotline. One person would
write a post, someone else would write the next and so on. By the end it had
full on 'series names' like Superguy which after all *was* a sequel to
Sfstory and people using Author like it was a title or something and crap
like that. Sabre, in the meantime, had long since buggered off to other
shiny things and left me -- a VM/CMS 999.9943 Automatic Story Transcriber --
to piece this thing together out of the dregs of Sabre's subconsciousness.
For those of you confused by the words 'VM/CMS,' this is a form of mainframe
that isn't based on Unix, any Mac OS, DOS or Windows.
     Stop laughing. It happened.
     Now, I was outdated at the time, since the OmniVAX had long since taken
up universal--
     VAX. It's another operating system not based on Unix, Mac OS, DOS or
Windows.
     Stop LAUGHING.
     Regardless, I was outdated but did my best. Which, apparently, was only
marginally good enough. Which may be Sfstory's catchphrase.
     Anyhow. Let me try to catch you up a bit.
     This story is a sequel of sorts to "Yesterday's Hero," which was the
big finishing plotline for Satan, who used to be a bad guy both in Sfstory
and Superguy. It was a Superguy story but it had Sfstory elements -- most
notably the inclusion of Stetson Tyler: Space Cowboy and his ship, the
Alamo's Revenge -- a multi-kilometer starship that blew up Altiverse
001SFSTORY's Texas upon launch.
     Oh -- Altiverses. Right. Alternate universes. The first three digits of
an Altiverse's designation are decimal, the remainder is hexavigesimal,
which is totally a word, guys. I didn't make it up. For our purposes, it
means the digits are A through Z, without the decimal numbers showing up at
all. The three decimal digits form a group of altiverses tagged by the
hexavigesimal part of the designation, creating a thousand related universes
in what we call a milliverse for no adequately explained reason. The main
altiverse in the Omniverse -- the whole kit'n'kaboodle -- is 000SUPERGUY.
That's what everything else rests on. It used to be 000 which used to be
SFSTORY, but times changed and people got confused and boo hoo who cares,
right?
Sfstory proper takes place in 001SF, which is quite a long ways away from
000SUPERGUY. Sometimes it's said to be in 001SFSTORY, or 000SF, or
000SFSTORY, or 000 by people who didn't get the memo. For our purposes... we
don't really care. We're not getting paid for this. We're saying it's 001SF
and we're sticking by it, and who's going to argue? Gary Olson? He punched,
remember? It's my damn show now!
     As for Stetson Tyler: Space Cowboy -- this cast of characters
originally belonged to, were created by and written by the very large and
powerful Frank Orzechowicz. In 1997, or thereabouts, he gave the cast to the
aforementioned Lord Sabre, which may have been a tactical error. Regardless,
beyond the shared bits of Sfstory's nature to begin with, the characters
were Sabre's to write, which he never, ever did despite good intentions.
     Frank died.
     Sorry, got real on you there. We won't do it again except we totally
will in like another post or two.
     Anyway, because of this, Frank's voice started getting really loud in
Sabre's head -- which might make you question his sanity but A) that ship
sailed long ago and B) you have no idea how loud Frank is. Shouting from
beyond the pale is way within his wheelhouse. Suffice it to say, he
started... gently pointing out that Sabre had control of his characters, and
that meant it was time they get written. The debate was considerable, but
here we are.
     Yeah, Frank always wins fights. It is his nature. His nature at being
huge and strong and mighty and right most of the time. So he won this one
too, and here we are. For how long? Who knows.
     Anyway, the Sage was Bill Dickson's fault, as was the 'Yesj' which is
now the 'Alamo's Revenge's Revenge' and this is why the first Sfstory post
in three years is taking place in Superguy so far. It all came out of a
story called "Yesterday's Hero" which had a passage yanked out of context at
the very top of this post. It was known from later Superguy posts that
Stetson Tyler, Captain Majors, Lieutenant Campbell, Bill Tog, 'Scotty' who
is now 'Zelda' and the 'Alamo's Revenge's Revenge' continued to have mighty
adventures later on, but we didn't know how we got there.
     Guess what. You -- yes you -- get to find out. That's what we're doing
here.
     Also, Galaxy Hunter was from a Superguy series called "Rad" and the
Xolchipalians are their own deal. I don't get paid by the word.

*** END TRANSMISSION ***

Altiverse 001SF, local 1204-08-18 12:49 UTC

August 18, 1204
11:49 AM CEST
Le Village de Cloches et Les Excréments de Porcs
Planet Earth

     Radar Vogel had had a storied career. She was Earth's second foremost
Spamologist (after only the legendary Dr. Bing Von Spleen, Earth's Foremost
Spamologist after he killed the first Threemost), Licensed Space Heroine,
Olympic champion beach volleyball player, ESPN (Extra-Sensory Perception
Network) star and fiancee to and companion of the mysterious Timelord known
only as the Intern. All of these things had their place, and had gotten her
significant income from merchandising.
     Very few of them were useful right now, since she was in France in the
Twelfth Century and was about to be burned as a witch because she was A)
pretty and B) clean, and that was proof enough of the supernatural for these
idiots. Having been given the opportunity to say her last words before they
set the fire, and further being told there was no time limit on said last
words, Radar had taken to reciting the entirety of Shakespeare's "Richard
III" from (her admittedly eidetic) memory. The crowd had been discontented
at first, but Radar had excellent delivery made more excellent by the
Intern's TARDIS translating for her automatically so we don't have to worry
about that again. She had been figuring that she could do a few scenes, the
Intern would show up having finished repairing the TARDIS, and then they'd
have a daring escape.
     It was many hours later, and Radar had begun to doubt said daring
escape.
     She took the proffered sip of wine from a skin -- water would have
eased her throat more, but drinking what passed for water in 12th century
France was a fast route to begging them to set her on fire and get the pain
over with -- and continued reciting the last speech of Henry Tudor, the Earl
of Richmond -- which is to say the final speech of the play. "Inter their
bodies as becomes their births: Proclaim a pardon to the soldiers fled that
in submission will return to us: And then, as we have ta'en the sacrament,
we will unite the white rose and the red: Smile heaven upon this fair
conjunction, that long have frown'd upon their enmity! What traitor hears
me, and says not amen?"
Plod the Dirt Farmer had wept as the play had concluded. "Tis a noble
sentiment of a noble man."
     "Noble?" Maladie the crappy baker asked. "Tis but a churl who wishes to
unite the houses and rule in the stead'a the House a'York!"
     "Oh come now," Dégueuler the terrible innkeeper said. "Richard had
already placed the House a'York into an unnatural state and had the blood of
innocent staining his hands! Y'can't expect York to retain the throne under
such conditions!"
     "Look, I'm not saying York deserves it more than Tudor," Maladie
complained. "I'm just saying that this isn't a restoration but a conquest --
no matter how pretty he makes the burials."
     "Silence!" the priest shouted. "I want to hear the rest of this.
     Radar continued. "England hath long been mad, and scarr'd herself; The
brother blindly shed the brother's blood, the father rashly slaughter'd his
own son, the son, compell'd, been butcher to the sire: All this divided York
and Lancaster, divided in their dire division, o, now, let Richmond and
Elizabeth, the true succeeders of each royal house, by God's fair ordinance
conjoin together! And let their heirs, God, if thy will be so. Enrich the
time to come with smooth-faced peace, eith smiling plenty and fair
prosperous days! Abate the edge of traitors, gracious Lord, that would
reduce these bloody days again, and make poor England weep in streams of
blood! Let them not live to taste this land's increase that would with
treason wound this fair land's peace! Now civil wounds are stopp'd, peace
lives again: that she may long live here, God say amen!"
     Radar dropped her head to thunderous applause from the gathered
peasants. The Intern could spring out and start the process of distracting
them so she could free herself and begin the kicking of asses NOW....
     ...now...
     ...now. Damn.
     "Well," the Priest said. "I can say I've never been so moved by the
final words of a witch most damn'd. Now, let's get you burnt so we can get
home to--"
     Radar lifted her head. "Wait, I'm not done!"
     There was a pause.
     "Really?" Plod asked. "I mean, that took hours."
     "Yeah, I dunno if I have another play in me tonight," Dégueuler said.
     "You said there was no time limit," Radar said.
     There was another pause.
     "Is this one depressing?" the Priest asked.
     "No -- it's funny."
     "Really? Like, highbrow funny or--"
     "Chock full of dick jokes."
     There was murmuring. "All right then," Maladie said. "We're listenin'."
     "I'm sure you are," Radar said. She was exhausted, but then there was
something about incipient horrible death that just *motivated* a girl. "We
open in Athens of antiquity, and the King of Athens enters and speaks! Now,
fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour draws on apace; four happy days bring in
another moon: but, O, methinks, how slow this old moon wanes! she lingers my
desires, like to a step-dame or a dowager long withering out a young man
revenue...."

*** *** ***

Altiverse 001SF, local 1994-03-07 20:18 UTC

April 7, 1994
6:18 PM EDT
Livingston Park
Manchester, New Hampshire, USA
Planet Earth

     288,370 days, 7 hours, 29 minutes and 34 seconds after Radar Vogel had
finished "Richard III" and moved on to "A Midsummer Night's Dream," a tripod
like ship slowly descended through the atmosphere towards the Earth's
surface. it was large enough to house a couple of staterooms, some cargo
space, a control deck and both warp and sublight engines, but small enough
to be easily recreated on a soundstage for closeup and 'hero ship' shots in
a movie. Just saying.
     Naturally, the descent of a UFO had drawn some attention, and the New
Hampshire National Guard, several police officers, a number of onlookers
with guns and sixteen kids from a marching band that had been tragically
misrouted were waiting to defend the Earth from possible invasion.
     The ship soft-landed, coming down easily on struts that slid from the
underbody with the smoothness of buttered silk, and the hiss of hydraulics
as the weight of the ship took over. The grass was a bit scorched but all in
all it wasn't a bad landing.
     Inside, two figures waited. "Are you sure then that they'll be
friendly?" the larger of the two said, wearing massive scale mail, a winged
helmet, stylish glasses and carrying a sacred uru hammer. Because this is a
science fiction story. His brown hair and thick brown beard covered his
slightly pink face well, and his hazel eyes danced with excitement instead
of fear.
     "Trust me, Maeganhard," the other -- a woman with long honey-blond
hair, wearing a pair of jeans, a white cable knit sweater, and a handheld
pistol style personal nuker strapped to one thigh -- said with a slight
smile. "They'll posture a bit but we'll get through to them. It's what I
do."
     "Well -- I trust you as always, but perhaps battle shall yet come to
us!" Brother Maeganhard shouted, hoisting his sacred uru hammer Frank high.
"For verily shall--"
     "Maeganhard?"
     "Yes?"
     "I'm about to open the door."
     "Ah! Right! Carry on!"
     The woman did indeed open the door, the hatch sliding down and forming
a long exit ramp. The various people cocked their weapons and pointed.
     Unconcerned, she stepped out, hands half-way up to show she wasn't
actually holding her personal nuker, though she made no effort to conceal
that she *had* it. The powerful Star Warpriest stepped behind her, but let
her take lead. He wasn't so much with 'lead' much of the time.
     "Halt!" the colonel in charge of at least one of the groups (hint --
not the marching band) shouted. "Identify yourselves!"
     "Hello!" the woman shouted. "My name is Lieutenant Linda Madison of the
National Aeronautics and Space Administration's Challenger II mission! I am
also a licensed Space Paladin and Heroine! My ship is the 'Unmitigated
Trout!' I mean no one here any harm!"
     There was a pause.
     "Challenger II?" one of the locals with guns said. "Wasn't that lost
years ago?"
     "Oh yes. Years and years. I've been busy." She smiled a bright smile,
which caused most there to feel a slight peace touch their hearts. "But I'm
home now, along with my friend Brother Maegenhard of the Star Warpriests of
Star Thor."
     "Star Thor?" one of the soldiers asked.
     "Of course," Linda said. "We're science fiction, after all. And the
Jeff Smith Accords apply."
     "Oh, right."
     "So... you... legitimately mean us no harm?" the colonel asked.
     "That's right!" She grinned again.
     "Huh. Okay. Well. What happens now?"
     "Now... we're going to step down to the ground. And then we're going to
go to the Red Arrow diner, because it's been years since I've had home fries
and I can't wait any longer."
     "Whoa -- good idea," one of the Clarinetists said.
     "How will we all get booths?" a soldier asked.
     "It's a nice day -- we can spread out onta the sidewalks," a local with
gun answered.
     "That sounds great!" Linda said. "I'm glad to be back, and I don't
intend to leave again!"
     At this point, both spatiotemporal and altiversal barriers were torn
asunder and the HMS 'Unmitigated Trout,' Brother Maegenhard, and Linda
Madison herself were yanked through the resulting hole in the omniverse,
sealing the barrier behind them.
     "ZWOP!" the hole said as it tore asunder.
     "FWHASH!" the space around the 'Unmitigated Trout' said as it was
pulled in.
     "FGAHN!" the hole said as it slammed shut.
     "AIEEEEE!" the soldiers, locals with guns and marching band screamed as
they were pulled into the wake of the hole, compressed into a singularity
and ejected as a mass of neo-spam.
     Just because you *mean* someone no harm doesn't mean harm won't show
up.

*** *** ***

Altiverse 000SUPERGUY, local 1994-03-07 20:21 UTC

April 7, 1994
6:21 PM EDT
Conning Tower Level 958 (Launch Deck 4)
Pretty Damn Fine Ol' Hellacious Ship "Alamo's Revenge's Revenge"

     "Altiversal UFO Catcher Vortex stable," Shauna reported, working the
controls, goggles on her face. Her hands were steady, her eye on the prize.
"It's coming through!"
     As if by direct order, the HMS 'Unmitigated Trout' burst into existance
through the aperture formed by the ship's Altiversal UFO Catcher Vortex, a
ghostly three-pronged crane of vortex energy fading from sight as it landed
with a CLANG.
     The two people on the landing ramp had managed to flatten and ride out
the shock. The one in front rolled back into the hatch, pulling her personal
nuker out and setting it for "incinerate Times Square and maybe part of
Fifth Avenue." The one in front surged forward, lightning playing over his
sacred uru hammer. "VERILY SHALL I SMITE THOSE WHO MIGHT ATTEMPT THE
ABDUCTION OF TWO AS CAPABLE AS OURSELVES!" he screamed, rearing back with
his hammer.
     There was a long pause, during which time no one on the Launch Deck
made any provocative movements whatsoever.
     "Hello?" Brother Maegenhard asked. "I'm sorry -- can we get on with
this? We were going to go to a diner."
     "One moment, please," Captain Majors said, before turning back to the
group. "All right, they're here."
     "And with them a non-trivial amount of our remaining power reserves are
gone," Zelda snapped. "This is insane!"
     "No," the Sage said. "This is a step in my PLAN!"
     "I'll be feeding you that plan in a moment, y'rascal!"
     "Wait a minute," Shauna said, narrowing her eyes. "I know her."
     "Me too," Captain Majors said. He turned to the Sage and Stetson Tyler.
"Someone want to explain to me why we just kidnapped an MIA NASA Astronaut?"
     "Happily!" The Sage shouted. "And it will just cost you twenty bucks!"
     "Someone please shoot him," Shauna muttered.
     Stetson ignored pretty much everyone, walking up to the ramp where the
Star Warpriest was ready to engage with might and power and the Paladin was
bravely peering around a corner ready to incinerate him with a level of
overpoweredness the man would have cheerfully declared 'Texan.' "Linda
Madison?" he asked.
     "Er... no," Brother Maegenhard said. "I'm Brother Maegenhard," the Star
Warpriest said--
     "He means me, Maegenhard."
     "Oh. Oh that makes more sense."
     Linda kept the Texan covered. "I'm listening," she said.
     "I'm sure you are." Stetson Tyler grinned a broad, Texan grin. "I'd
like to offer you a job."



WILL LINDA ACCEPT THE JOB?
WILL BROTHER MAEGENHARD GET A JOB OFFER?
WHAT JOBS WILL THE CREW OF THE 'ALAMO'S REVENGE' GET?
WILL THE INTERN EVER DECIDE TO SEE WHY RADAR'S SO LATE?
WILL RADAR RECITE A TRAGEDY TO GO WITH THE HISTORY AND COMEDY SHE'S ALREADY
RECITED?
WILL BILL DICKSON GET PISSED THAT I QUOTED A SCENE FROM HIS STORY?
WILL BILL DICKSON EVER KNOW I POSTED THIS IN THE FIRST PLACE?
WILL ANYONE ELSE?
IS ANYONE EVEN STILL THERE?
WILL THIS LAST?

The answers, as always, can be found on Sfstory Digest! Which is, like, a
name that's way deprecated now that I think about it.
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