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

[Eric Burns]

(This is Side Two. If you have not listened to Side One, you are doing this
wrong.)



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


    The logistics of a fish-man pooping aside, it is worth making note of
Wonder Grunion. He was and is the original hero of Superguy -- first to have
his story told, and universally regarded as the first hero of all heroes,
despite the fact that later retconning put heroes of different sorts all
throughout history. But then, incongruities were used as a power source in
Altiverse 223DON'TTRYITAUTHORSONLY, so it was likely this was just a way to
mine out some rich incongruous anthracite.
    As with most superheroic characters created in the mid-to-late 1980s,
Wonder Grunion's story is a simple one. Once a normal grunion until medical
waste dumped into the ocean by Special Special Agent Richard Less of the
Mega-Intelligence Bureau (working in his cover identity as Secret Secret
Agent Richard Less of the National Intelligence Bureau, naturally) mutated
him into a fish-man hybrid, Wonder Grunion crawled up on land and made
friends. He was then stolen away by the Scots God Neptune -- have you ever
heard him speak? Then how do you know what his accent is? -- who informed
our hero that he was actually mutated by said Neptune. Neptune finished the
job, and returned Wonder Grunion in time to fight the MIB and FlatPhoot, the
archless wonder, he who was the arch-nemesis of all heroes. Winning that,
Wonder Grunion learned he was a locus for magic which ultimately led to his
being named the Scaly Sorcerer Supreme -- one of the rare and potent
Accreditation Level Magical Positions the universe parceled out now and
again. As such, he became a symbol for all that was right and good in the
world and in magic, embodying the mystic spirit of the Earth itself.
    Unfortunately, all that was right and good in the world and in magic was
overshadowed by all that was horrible and evil in the world and magic when
Akane Moroboshi, the hero Radian who was a radiation spewing mutant who was
werealso a daywalking living vampire, sort of, also became the Sorceress
Superlative -- a dark and evil Accreditation -- because there were boxes on
her character sheet that hadn't been checked off. Though she fought a good
fight, she succumbed to the corruptive magic's nature after some time,
consuming the blood of yet another Accredited being called the Bone Child
while communing with anthropomorphic and non-anthropomorphic cats and her
001SF counterpart (named Shadebeam because of course she was) and turning
into a Dark Goddess and preparing to change the world into magical energy
and consume it to transcend all mortality and even immortality at the cost
of the very Earth itself, opposed by Wonder Grunion -- whose story it is
we're telling -- and other people and finally stopped when she was shot in
the head by her future boyfriend. The term 'paso doble of death' was used.
    Despite the world having been saved and good magi opposing the evil
forces, naturally most people blamed magi and the entire world of heroes
aligned into pro- and anti-magi, which threw the entirety of Superguy into a
vast... what's the term... Civil War, I'd guess where both sides had some
validity to their position but the pro-magic side was the obvious 'right'
side while the anti-magic side was a series of strawmen to prop up
metaphoric racism or homophobia or anti-semitism or something. Anyway, it
was called the Industrial Revolution and they did it more than a decade
before Marvel's "Civil War" came out and quite a few years before DC's
"Kingdom Come" came out. Do they get credit? Don't be silly. Anyway -- that
made Wonder Grunion's life hard since he was an icon of good who helped save
the world dozens of times and was literally the first superhero but he was a
mage so fuck him. No, fuck *him.* And a lot of people died and hundreds were
traumatized but there was a post-Revolution pizza party in prison and
everyone was pardoned by the President so eh, whatever.
    And that's about where Wonder Grunion is now. First of all heroes,
recently despised and conflated with the being he literally was instrumental
in defeating, and now working for a soulless corporation owned and operated
by Dan Quayle.
    Wow. I'm a machine and I managed to depress myself.


                          *** END TRANSMISSION ***


                Altiverse 001SF, local 1204-08-18 14:21 UTC


August 18, 1204
2:21 PM CEST
Le Village de Cloches et Les Excréments de Porcs
Planet Earth


    "...I led them on in this distracted fear, and left sweet Pyramus
translated there: When in that moment, so it came to pass, Titania waked and
straightway loved an ass!" Radar waited for the laugh, and the audience
didn't disappoint.
    She then continued. "Oberon laughs and says 'This falls out better than
I could devise. But hast thou yet latch'd the Athenian's eyes with the
love-juice, as I did bid thee do?"
    She paused again, listening to the French peasants, farmers, priests,
monks, malcontents and others howl with laughter yet again, because their
minds were in the gutter. Which, now that Radar thought about it, was
probably the opposite of what she actually wanted -- but she was committed
now, dagnabbit. She just had to keep going until the Intern managed to show
up.
    Eventually.
    Granted, they'd taken her for three bathroom breaks during the
Shakespearian recitals of 'last words,' and each time she'd beaten six or
seven of them within an inch of their lives and attempted to flee, but they
were unfortunately not quite as stupid as they looked and had kept too many
people on hand for even a trained fighter like Radar to handle on her own
without so much as a guitar to smash over their heads. 'Note to self,' she
thought to herself. 'Never leave the TARDIS without carrying six or seven
concealed weapons again.' A single DIESCUM pistol would have made this less
a capture and more a pleasant afternoon's slaughter.
    It is worth noting Radar was *not* feeling charitably towards the
villagers. Or, for that matter, the Intern. Or anyone. And she'd already
decided that if she ever managed to meet Shakespeare, she'd kiss him for
giving her the distraction fodder and then injure him for being a part of
this mess, fair or not.
    "Puck grinned wildly," she continued, "saying 'I took him
sleeping,--that is finish'd too,--and the Athenian woman by his side: That,
when he waked, of force she must be eyed...."



             Altiverse 000SUPERGUY, local 1994­03­07 21:11 UTC


April 7, 1994
7:11 PM EDT
Conning Tower Level 1217 (Galley Deck 2, Mess Room 14)
Pretty Damn Fine Ol' Hellacious Ship "Alamo's Revenge's Revenge"


     Linda put a forkful of griddled, mashed-together potato, butter,
cayenne, paprika and salt into her mouth, then closed her eyes, letting the
potato burn the roof of her mouth and the grease from the griddle settle on
her tongue. If she weren't a Space Paladin and therefore self-healing, she
would undoubtedly lose a decade off her lifespan just by swallowing this one
bite.
     And, she decided, she would have been okay with that. She swallowed,
and took a sip of strong coffee. "Okay," she said. "This is better than the
Red Arrow Diner. How'd you manage that?"
     "Brought mah damn ranch staff with me, includin' all the cooks,"
Stetson Tyler said. "Best damn cooks in'alla Texas! And you know that if
flapjacks and homefries, hash browns or whateverthedamnHell<tm> you want in
your damn mouth are on the menu, they're gonna crush it!"
     "Good to know. All right. So that's one advantage to taking your job --
the food's great." Linda smiled.
     "And turns out I pay pretty good, too. Take Julio over there -- he's
the one what griddled your flapjacks."
     "Yeah?"
     "Yeah -- when we landed on this Earth's Texas, he took his back wages
and bought somethin' he always wanted."
     "What's that?"
     "São Paulo."
     Linda blinked.
     "See, his grandmomma came from down there and since he's finishing up
his Masters in Climatology, he's always been interested in São Paulo both
from a personal and scientific standpoint. Did you know they've never been
hit by a Hurricane s'long as we've been tracking these things, even though
they're right in God Damned Pacific Hurricane Alley?"
     "More than Hurricane -- any tropical cyclone, boss!" Julio shouted from
the grill. "And they have almost no tornado activity too, even though
they're on the East Coast and there's plenty not far inland!"
     "So anyhow, he thought -- hey. I'll buy the damn place and set up
weather monitoring and see what all I can figure out and Science shit! And I
was excited to hear it 'cause that's a BIG project! And I *like* big!"
     "I'm gathering." Linda sucked thick milkshake through a straw, the
milkshake being the cold drink to go with her coffee. "The money's not
really the thing. I mean, money's cool and all, but I owned half a space
station and never really wanted to buy anything. So long as I have a place
to live and a comfortable lifestyle--"
     Stetson made a rude noise. "We'll cure y'a those silly thoughts, ma'am
-- just you wait and see!"
     "*If* I take the job. So. Security. Money. Good food. What would I be
doing?"
     "Lotsa stuff, in the long term. In the short term -- you're a
Paladin--"
     "Space Paladin."
     "Yeah -- hey, what *is* the difference?"
     "Honestly?"
     "Yeah."
     "You can track Higgs Boson particle effects when I use my abilities. If
you have sensitive enough equipment."
     "What difference does that make?"
     "It means there's a scientific basis to the holy powers I was granted
by Trundle the Wonder Dog while he was in the form of Optimus Prime, which
means my holy powers granted by Trundle the Wonder Dog while he was in the
form of Optimus Prime have some kind of scientific basis which means I'm not
a walking violation of the Jeff Smith Accords."
     "Oh. Y'know... they don't apply to this here 000SUPERGUY universe."
     "Yeah, but I am who I am."
     "I like that sentiment." Stetson drained another piping hot cup of
black coffee down his throat. "You are who you are. And that's all that you
are."
     "I'm Linda the Licensed Space Paladin. Toot toot."
     Stetson looked blank.
     "You know? Popeye? I yam what I yam?"
     Stetson cocked his head. "You sayin' you're somehow related to Popeye
Doyle from the French Connection?"
     "What -- no! Popeye the Sail--"
     "'Cause I'm sorry, but Popeye Doyle ain't real, honey. He was just a
character played to perfection in an Academy Award winnin' performance by
Gene Everlovin' Hackman!"
     "Only half true, Boss," the bus-girl said as she cleaned up the table
next to Linda and Stetson's table. "Popeye Doyle was a fictionalized version
of NYPD Detective Eddie Egan and the French Connection was a fictionalized
retelling of Egan's record setting and remarkable heroin seizure in 1961.
Egan actually had a part in the movie. *And* some folks really did call him
'Popeye.'"
     "Really, Sonia?" Stetson asked. "Don't that beat all."
     "What's more, Popeye Doyle was the character that Popeye's Chicken and
Biscuits founder Al Copeland claimed his restaurant was named after."
     "Sonia here's workin' on her Post-Doc in Film History, Cultural Studies
an' Film Criticism," Stetson said. "And... didn't you buy a Film Production
company with your back pay?"
     "*Founded* one, Boss. I wanted it run my way, not inherit a bunch of
crap from a ton of other studios."
     "Right, right. Could you ask the waitress to bring me another cuppa
joe?"
     "Sure, boss." Sonia turned to leave.
     "Wait -- Sonia?"
     "Yeah?" She turned back.
     Linda smiled. "Hi -- I'm Linda Madison. I've been kidnapped for a job
interview. I have to ask... if you had all that money... enough to buy São
Paulo--"
     "Hey -- I didn't have that kind of money. Julio had three years
seniority on me."
     "...yeah. If you could do that... why come back out here and wait
tables?"
     "I don't wait tables. I'm a busser. I clean and wipe down tables." She
pauses. "And hello -- I'm in fucking *Space.*"
     Linda blinked. "Oh, right."
     Sonia nodded, and walked back towards the kitchen.
     "She's a good kid. Gonna make something of herself."
     "How are they pursuing their studies up here?"
     "Huh? Oh, I brought the whole damn faculty of Texas A&M with me when we
left. Go Aggies."
     "...you did?"
     "Technically, they're on a sabbatical."
     "...of course they are."
     "They've been havin' trouble setting up. The Conning Tower's pretty
much a military joint -- not really suited to academics. When we get a
better handle on the Primary Hull we can do better with them. Which is where
you *start* to come in."
     "How so?"
     "There's several billion demons down there, and they're pissed as Hell.
Seems prudent to have a Space Paladin on staff."
     Linda blinked. "There are... several billion demons on this ship, and
you didn't think it worth mentioning until after we ate hash browns and
bacon?"
     "Not a lot of things in this universe worth delaying hash browns and
bacon."
     "Still. I'd think 'Billions of demons' would be the lede in almost any
circumstance. By now aren't they trying to storm the bridge, or whatever
this ship has?"
     "Prob'ly -- but it ain't quite that simple. Remember, the decks are all
six thousand miles long down there -- it's not like they're all in easily
organized rooms." Stetson slipped a box out of his shirt pocket and set it
on the table, pushing a red button on the top. "GATES -- 'splain the demon
situation to the Space Paladin, if you'd be so kind."
     ((Like I have anything better to do with my day,)) a slightly nasal,
slightly reptilian voice came from the unit. ((Hello, Ms. Madison. I'm GATES
-- the digital demonic intelligent assistant for the -Yesj.-))
     "-Alamo's Revenge's Revenge!-" Stetson shouted.
     ((Whatever. Travel on the ship would take far longer than is practical,
so there are a series of transmission stations throughout the ship and
conning tower. When Stetson Tyler claimed the ship and offered me gainful
employment, one of the first things we did was shut down the transmission
stations in the primary hull, and lock off and change the access codes for
the transmission stations in the conning tower. It's not particularly
convenient, since it means Zelda can't get down to engineering to try and
fix the damaged engine -- not that anyone has any idea how to do that, just
yet -- without potentially getting swarmed by legions of the fallen.))
     "And... you want me to clear literally billions of demons on hundreds
of decks, each of which has the surface area of a small planet and each of
which is familiar territory to the demons but not us? You understand at
least a significant portion of my abilities have to do with warm, fuzzy
blankets, don't you?"
     "What? Oh good Christ NO!" Stetson roared, laughing. "One Space Paladin
'gainst the horde? If it were that easy I'da gone down there with Shauna,
Majors and Zelda and we'da made a weekend of it. No, we've got an expert
coming -- but that expert'll need protection and bolstering and direction
and *that* is something you can do better'n most."
     "And in exchange you'll give me a job, pay me astronomical amounts of
money, and let me see the universe in style?"
     "And be part'a something HUGE! Something TEXAS BIG times FOURTEEN
THOUSAND! But that's puttin' the cart before the horse!"
     "I'll bet. So. Okay. You're making a case for the advantages of taking
the position. Question -- what are the *disadvantages* for taking this job
in particular and working for Stetson Tyler in general?"
     Stetson Tyler laughed. "Ain't that my question to you -- something
silly about 'what's your greatest weakness' and you talk about how you love
to work too much or crap like that?"
     Linda shrugged, grinning and sipping her milkshake.
     "Well, I ain't never thought about it much. Workin' for me's pretty
sweet. Though I am a bit firm in my ways."
     "And delusional," Julio called from the grill.
     "Not to mention incapable of grasping the difference between good and
bad ideas," Sonia said cheerfully, passing by.
     ((And you tend to recruit the best and brightest, then steamroll over
them while you do what you wanted to do in the first place,)) Gates said.
     "Yeah -- what they said." Stetson paused. "Ms. Madison? You listening?"
     Linda had been looking off to the side. She grinned winningly.
"Absolutely, Mister Tyler. I've heard everything I need to hear. You've got
yourself a Space Paladin."
     "Yee-HAW! Another step in the plan's a go!"
     ((I can't wait to hear what the rest of this plan is,)) GATES said.
((Since so far you and the Sage are the only ones who know it.))
     "Loose lips sink ships, son!" Stetson got up. "Meet us on the control
deck when you finish up -- they'll put the meal on my tab!"
     "It's a crew mess," Julio said. "No one gets charged."
     "That can't be right -- otherwise I wouldn't be tipping." He dropped a
bankroll on the table and picked up the speaker box, tucking it back in his
pocket and walking away.
     "Seriously," Julio said, as Stetson Tyler left. "Delusional."
     Linda smiled a bit more. "I've known crazier," she said. "Hey, can I
get some waffles?"


                                *** *** ***


April 7, 1994
8:37 PM EDT
Conning Tower Level 117 (Tertiary Control Deck)
Pretty Damn Fine Ol' Hellacious Ship -Alamo's Revenge's Revenge-


    Shauna Campbell was getting used to the new uniform. It was much darker
grey, and the Texas patch on its shoulder was now an outline with the
-Alamo's Revenge's Revenge- behind it. Beyond that, they were unusually
comfortable -- a gift from the Ottsamattawidu Empire, who knew a thing or
three about clothes.
    Her mother looked good in her uniform, too. It was weird -- in one
sense, Esmerelda Montgomery O'Scott "Zelda" Campbell had always seemed
larger than life to Shauna. In another sense, she had always seemed... well,
ancient.
    Now? Signing onto yet another ship with her after fighting a battle
against Satan's forces, winning, and claiming Satan's warship as their prize
had changed Shauna's perspective, at least somewhat. It was easier to
realize that her mother was a full foot shorter than Campbell, and though
heavy-set it was mostly curves. And her ancient weathered face didn't look
ancient or weathered any more -- which made some sense, given that she was
in her early fifties.
    It was discomforting to see her mother as a peer. Fortunately, there was
no chance that would last. "So when is this clambake getting started?" she
asked.
    "I don't even know what the clambake's about," Shauna said.
    "Fft -- and you an officer. With new fancy bars at that." Which was
true. Shauna Campbell was now wearing Lieutenant Commander's insignia. "Like
you need all that to steer a ship."
    "I'm not steering a ship any more. I'm Tactical Officer."
    "Officer. Jesus and Mary Chain, where did I go wrong?"
    "Never actually being around me until we signed onto the -Alamo's
Revenge?-"
    "No one likes the truth, Shauna." She half-smiled. "Here comes our
latest crewmember. Think she'll fold with a punch?"
    "She apparently fought a war in Heaven, met God, and once kneed Omegas
in the groin. She can probably take a punch." She paused. "Why is she
wearing a cable knit sweater over her uniform?"
    "Because cable knit sweaters are warm and comfortable," Linda Madison
said, walking over to the pair. "And I may have signed on but I'm not
exactly going to be answering to a rank any time soon." She looked at Zelda.
"And it looks like I'm not the only one."
    "What's that supposed to mean?"
    "You're not wearing rank insignia, Mom," Shauna said.
    "Of course I am!" She tapped her ops insignia over her heart.
    "That's your specialty qualification insignia," Linda said.
    "Exactly. Chief Engineer. That's all the rank I'll be needin' on a boat
like this."
    "Is... that sufficient?" Linda asked.
    "No, but 'All Powerful and All Knowing Goddess of Lightning, Atom,
Pseudospace and Oxygen' takes too long and acronyms are for chumps, so Chief
Engineer'll do me fine. Assume I outrank everyone on the ship when talkin'
about engineering and don't give two fucks when I'm not."
    "This is... an interesting ship," Linda said, grinning again.
    "We're interesting people," Captain Majors said, walking up. He looked
good in his new uniform.
    "You can say that again," Shauna said. "Why are you wearing Commodore's
rank?"
    "I thought that was a Rear Admiral, Lower Half star," Linda said.
    "I always hated that rank," Captain Majors said, rolling his eyes. "Gosh
-- how can we make 'butt admiral' sound more like a butt? Make it the lower
half of the butt!" He grinned. "Shauna was right -- it's a commodore's rank
even though I'm still called Captain and to my knowledge there aren't any
other captains aboard. I have no Earthly idea why, yet."
    "Yet?"
    "Stetson always has a reason. God help us."
    "Yeah, I know what you mean." Bill Tog walked up to join the group,
followed by Brother Maegenhard. Bill Tog's uniform was a bit ill-fitting.
Shauna had never seen Bill Tog wear anything that wasn't somehow 'ill
fitting.' Brother Maegenhard wasn't wearing a ship's uniform. Instead, he
wore his usual scale mail of the mighty star winds, hoisting his Sacred Uru
Hammer Frank as he went.
    "Brother Maegenhard," Linda said, clearly pleased to see the mighty Star
Warpriest. "I didn't know you'd signed on!"
    "Only in a spiritual capacity!" Brother Maegenhard shouted. "I had no
interest in serving aboard a vessel, but Lord Tyler did speak unto me and
ask for my assistance as Chaplain, and how could I possibly resist?"
    "How indeed," Captain Majors said. "Though if you're on my ship--"
    "Worry not, Captain! Honor demands that those who follow Star Thor
respect the rank and position of a ship's captain, at least until such time
as they prove unworthy and must be obliterated and shot out an airlock into
the hateful depths of space!"
    "...right."
    "So. I asked before and I'll ask again. When are we gettin' this damn
clambake started?" Zelda demanded.
    "Right now!" So shouted Stetson Tyler as he and the Sage emerged from
the Deck Transmission station and joined the others. The Sage was, of
course, in his filthy bathrobe. Stetson Tyler wore flannel and jeans.
    "...wait, why isn't he in a uniform?" Linda asked.
    "He's not officially part of the crew," Captain Majors said. "It's
complicated." He looked perhaps a hair perturbed.
    "Damn right it is! So! We need to set up a couple'a teams -- one to head
down to Earth and pick up supplies we'll need, and the other to prepare to
receive the magic fish."
    "Magic fish?" Bill Tog asked.
    "I'd be glad to explain," the Sage said. "You got twenty bucks on you?"
    "For those of you who may have followed the 'heroic' exploits of the
people of this Earth while we were here," Captain Majors said, "you may have
heard of Wonder Grunion. He's apparently going to help us with our demon
problem. At least, when he gets here."
    "Well, t'ain't that just a relief," Zelda said. "So we'll deal with our
demons in a literal sense, leaving us with just the simple questions of a
power source capable of making this damn kazoo go, a drive train beyond
sublight, and repairing a ship with no supplies to speak of."
    "Damn right! Nicely put, Zelda," Stetson shouted, grinning.
    "So, here's how this's going to work," Captain Majors said. "Zelda, Bill
and I are going to be going to Earth in the -Unmitigated Trout- to procure
supplies, which the Adjusted League Unimpeachable has agreed to help tote up
here to us. Stetson's coming along to sign checks and generally make a
nuisance of himself."
    "I consider myself a damn particular nuisance, thank you very much,
Captain."
    "Meanwhile, Shauna will take command here, and she, Madison, GATES, and
Brother Maegenhard will work with Wonder Grunion to deal with the demonic
infestation."
    "Wait a minute," Linda said. "The -Unmitigated Trout- is my ship, not
community property."
    "Damn right it is," Stetson said. He paused. "Hey Ms. Madison? Can we
borrow your ship?"
    Linda smirked. "Yes you may. But I want it back in one piece."
    "If it's not, I'll get Bill t'build you a new one, and it'll be way
better than that thing."
    Bill Tog laughed. "Hey, at least I'll have *something* to do."
    "So what supplies are we gettin', then?" Zelda asked.
    "This and that. I'm gonna go check on a few things. Sage -- come with
me, son! GATES -- put a list of parts up on the screen!"
    Zelda and the others watched as a list of various supplies and parts
appeared. Zelda looked them up and down.
    "Blades?" Bill asked. "Tongs? Accelerometers? What the Hell do you do
with these?"
    "...oh Bloody Hell," Zelda murmured.
    "Mother?" Shauna asked, eyebrows arched.
    "I know a few things about a few things. The blades peel beets.
Theoretically. The rest...."
    "The rest... what?"
    "The rest is designed to exploit Spam's fourth dimensional properties.
These are damn ABPSARI parts -- for dozens or hundreds of ABPSARIs! And I
don't even *know* what those parts are for!"
    "They're the components for Systemic Spam Reintegrators," Linda said,
softly. "I've seen them before. I know the inventor, even."
    "Is Stetson insane?" Captain Majors asked. "Trying to exploit even small
amounts of Spam is incredibly dangerous. Zelda -- can you even work with
this stuff?"
    "I'm the best damn engineer in space, but you don't need an engineer for
this shit," Zelda said. "I can put it together, no doubt -- but who's to say
I'd get it right? I'm no Spamologist. We need an expert!"
    "I... seriously doubt Doctor Bing Von Spleen's going to be available,"
Linda said. "If he's even available. That would leave..."
    "Leave?" Shauna was frowning, slightly.
    "Like I said -- I know the inventor of the SSR. Captain Majors...
Lieutenant Commander Campbell... you were both in NASA. Do you remember
Captain Steve Vogel?"
    "Of course," Captain Majors said. "Bravest man I've ever known. Kind of
a weak chin. Your C.O. on the -Challenger II-, right?"
    "Long, long ago." Linda took a deep breath. "What do you know about his
twin sister Radar?"


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


    For those who aren't familiar, the Automatic Beet Peeler and Sub-Atomic
Re-Integrator was the invention of Doctor Bing Von Spleen -- the galaxy's
foremost Spamologist (because he had killed the other threemost). Von Spleen
had developed the device to exploit the innate properties of Spam to provide
power and transport. Spam, for those unfamiliar, is a pink gristly substance
that often comes in tins. It looks rather disingenuously like meat, but in
actuality it is a three dimensional representation of a fourth dimensional
vector -- not a representation of space, like a tesseract, but actual
movement *through* fourth dimensional space, like your memory after twelve
kamikazes and a mimosa.
    Because it is a physical, three dimensional substance which is also a
fourth dimensional movement, Spam is actually possessed of rather remarkable
properties. It can be used to bridge the altiverses, time and space
trivially, for example. It can manipulate not only probabilities but past
and future probabilities, to the point where transmutation is possible.
Exploited as a power source it can use the energetic thermal gradient
between altiverses and netherspace to create desperately inexpensive power.
Honestly, about the only thing no sane *or* insane Spamologist would ever
consider doing with Spam is eat it.
    Yes. We know. Your Nana has a recipe for fried spam and toast with eggs
that's tasty and delicious. She was either fooled into making that for you
or had nefarious intent of her own. Regardless, it's too late for you now.
    The biggest problem with such an amazingly versatile and potent
substance like Spam is that it's very, very difficult to predictably use it.
When Doctor Bing Von Spleen first used his ABPSARI, between non-spam
contamination and early misunderstandings several terrible things happened
to the universe, including Jaden Smith. In an effort to contain those early
destructive experiments, graduate student Radar Vogel -- fifthmost in the
traditional list of Spamologists, secondmost following Von Spleen's
destructive spree -- developed the Systemic Spam Re-integrator, designed to
put the genie back into the bottle after she's gotten out, gotten drunk, and
set fire to dozens.
    Unfortunately, when the ABPSARI the SSR was balancing was deactivated,
the SSR suddenly had nothing to counteract, and ended up creating a more
dangerous situation than the one it had tried to balance in the first place.
This should come as a surprise to nobody.
    ABPSARIs and Spam, it is worth noting, are very dangerous. They should
be left to professionals. Under no circumstances should anyone attempt to
manipulate space/time without years of training and experience in both
theoretical and practical Spamology. Remember -- destroying the universe may
*seem* cool, but it can't get you chicks if all the chicks have been turned
into formica countertops and Shedd's Spread. Be smart, and keep the Spam tin
sealed.


                          *** END TRANSMISSION ***


                Altiverse 001SF, local 1204-08-18 17:34 UTC


August 18, 1204
5:34 PM CEST
Main Control Chamber
The TARDIS of the Intern


    After many hours and many fine adult beverages, the mysterious blond
Timelord known only as the Intern had begun to suspect that perhaps -- just
perhaps -- his fiancee and life's love Radar Vogel might be in some measure
of difficulty, since she had been out in 12th Century France without so much
as a knife or wallet while the Intern had effected repairs to his TARDIS's
Time Rotor.
    He had considered all the ramifications of all the possibilities in a
way that only a Timelord could, and had come to the decision that something
must be done. Therefore, he had taken his hand crafted lightsabre-shaped
flashlight and the various alternate modules he could add to it that enabled
him to scan things, see distant objects, and of course activate his powerful
and versatile Sonic Crowbar when he needed to break apart a crate or
something and slipped them into his blue jumpsuit's clever pockets. He'd
selected a jaunty ascot and a good pair of hiking boots and he'd brushed his
golden locks out. He was fully ready to be the Licensed Space Hero and
Graduate Student in Space Heroics he was.
    He strode to the door, reaching for the lever to pop the top on the
TARDIS -- which due to unfortunate planning had burnt out its Chameleon
Circuit in the shape and appearance of a rather large beer keg -- when there
was a bleeping sound on the TARDIS console.
    The Intern paused.
    The bleeping sound happened again.
    The Intern walked back over to the console.
    The bleeping sound happened a third time.
    The Intern picked up a crappy 1984 Realistic brand wired handset from
Radio Shack, resplendent in overly yellowed beige. "Hello?"
    He blinked, and smiled. "Yes, I *would* like to discuss my Transtemporal
Communications Service. No, this is a perfect time. Hang on -- let me grab a
pad and paper and take a seat."



IS THIS REALLY A PERFECT TIME FOR THE INTERN TO TALK ABOUT HIS TRANSTEMPORAL
COMMUNCIATIONS SERVICE?
HAS HE MAYBE FORGOTTEN SOMETHING?
DOES HE MUCH CARE?
WILL RADAR'S VOICE GIVE OUT BEFORE MUCH LONGER?
WILL THEY FIGURE OUT THAT SHE BEATS UP HER CAPTORS WHENEVER SHE TAKES A
BATHROOM BREAK?
WILL LINDA REGRET SIGNING ONTO THE -ALAMO'S REVENGE'S REVENGE?-
WILL BROTHER MAEGENHARD REGRET SIGNING UP FOR 'STAR SEARCH?'
WILL ZELDA KILL EVERYONE TRYING TO PUT AN ABPSARI TOGETHER?
WILL WONDER GRUNION DEAL WITH THE BILLIONS OF DEMONS THING?
WHAT IN GOD'S NAME IS STETSON TYLER THINKING?


For the answers to some of these questions, tune into the next installment
of Sfstory Digest! For the answers to some of the other questions, consider
your place in the universe.

--

Eric Burns-White
Provider of Ridiculous Online Prose
for No Discernable Reason
Since 1986.
-------------- next part --------------
An HTML attachment was scrubbed...
URL: <https://lists.eyrie.org/pipermail/superguy/attachments/20160725/64eef25c/attachment-0001.html>