SG: A Tale Full Of Wholesome Holiday Cheer II - A Bailout Story

"Please state your name for us, sir."

"How can you ask that? Everyone knows who I am! Every man and woman,
boy and girl around the world knows who I am!"

"Let the record show that the supplicant refuses to identify himself."

"That's not true, young man!"

"I'm sixty-five."

"To me you're still the cherub-faced little boy who wanted a bright red
wagon for Christmas. And also women's stockings. For your mother, young
man? What a good boy you must have been!"

"Sir, you will refrain from revealing personal... and potentially
compromising... information about this august body."

"I'm sorry, what are you talking about young man?"

"...also, I grew out of that phase, thank you very much..."

"I'm confused..."

"Ahem. What my colleague is trying to say is... please state your name
for the record."

"Oh very well, young man, though this is an awful lot of trouble to go
through when you already know me."

"That's as may be, sir. Name... and also all known aliases. For the
record. Sir."

"Well then, you know me as Saint Nick! You know me as the Jolly Old
Elf. Pere Noel, Shengdan Laoren, Papai Noel, Sinter Klaas, Joulupukki, De
Kerstman, Black Peter, El Nino Jesus and Scrumpy Doowhistle. But you,
young man, know me best... as Santa Claus!"

"Let the record show that the individual by the name of Santa Claus has
come to us asking for a bailout. Now Mr Claus... present your cause. Why
should this body spend millions of hard-earned taxpayer dollars... to save
the moribund Christmas Season?"

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

Chris Angelini/Frobozz Magic Productions

-and-

Mademoiselle Muse Inc

-present-

A Tale Full Of Wholesome Holiday Cheer II

A Bailout Story

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

"How can you even SAY such a thing, young man? There HAS to be a
Christmas! Every little girl and boy knows that once a year comes a
magical time of wishing and goodwill when dreams can come true! Without
it, a little of the light in their hearts would flicker and die!"

"Mr Claus, we're not concerned with the lights in children's hearts.
We're more concerned with how this bailout package that you're requesting
will be in everyone's best interests."

"Because if you don't bail out Christmas, then the lights in--"

"Mr Claus, I'm not going to warn you a second time. This body is not
interested in lights, children's hearts, the proximity of one to the
other, or the relative incandescence of either. Stick to the facts, Mr
Claus."

"Ho ho ho, well, if that's how you want to play it... Christmas is a
tradition that stretches back at LEAST as long as there have been
Cocoa-Cola cans, young man. It's a worldwide institution! It can't go
away! Such a thing would be... would be unthinkable!"

"If it's such an institution, then why is it losing money hand over
fist? Can you explain why other holidays, such as Easter, actually posted
a profit this quarter?"

"Blast that silly rabbit! All he has to do is hide eggs and play his
tricks! Eggs, young man! You can buy a dozen of them for three dollars!
Whereas Christmas has MUCH higher overhead to deal with! It used to be
that you could get a bit of birch, set an elf to work on it, and Happy
Holidays, you had a choo-choo train! But now, children don't WANT wooden
choo-choos. They want iPods! Do you know how much it costs to run an iPod
assembly line? That Steve Jobs is a VERY NAUGHTY SHARK when it comes to
negotiations, I'll tell you THAT!"

"Mr Claus, we understand that you may have run into some serious
difficulties in producing toys at a profit, but have you ever considered
that maybe your business model is to blame?"

"Young man! I've always run Christmas this way! Whatever could you
mean?"

"Sir, I mean that you trade expensive consumer electronics and top of
the line toys for milk and cookies, and even that much payment is
optional. We're hard-pressed to see how you could have ever stayed in the
black with that system of pricing."

"Christmas is about more than money! It's about love, and joy and the
lights in chil--"

"You don't want to finish that statement, Mr Claus."

"Ahem! As I was saying, there's more to Christmas than just money!"

"Then if this body awards you love and joy, that'll be enough?"

"No, I'd actually really like the money too."

"How can we know that the money will be used well instead of just being
frittered away on executive luxuries? For instance, did you or did you not
ride a personal sleigh to be here tonight?"

"Oh, but I did! It's a tradition! Santa flies everywhere in his
sleigh!"

"We're not interested in your personal eccentricities, Mr Claus. If
you're willing to sell your sleigh this very evening and take public
transportation back to the North Pole, please put your finger to the side
of your nose. Let the record show that no fingers have been placed to the
side of any noses."

"But that sleigh hardly costs anything! It's pulled by eight tiny
reindeer, and all it takes to keep them in the air is a handful of
reindeer feed, a little touch of magic, and a Mexican Speedball for that
little extra 'oomph' Santa needs now that the world's population's gone
above the four billion mark."

"This body -is- aware of how much the cost of magic has risen these
past eight years, Mr Claus. As of this year, twelve magic makers, eleven
wizards willing, ten magi mysterious, nine mystic masters, eight sorcerers
seeking, seven seers a seeing, six incantators intrepid, five... ah...
five..."

"OCCULT CIRCLES."

"Ah! Yes. Thank you for the reminder, gentlemen. Where was I? Oh yes.
Four arch-mages astounding, three enchanters experienced, two diviners
divine and a supergroup based in faerie have all gone under. What makes
you different from these, who've failed to meet the challenges posed by
the free market?"

"Christmas is a magical time of year! And as you've pointed out, young
man, the price of magic is going up up up! So eventually, Christmas -has-
to turn a profit if you just bail it out!"

"Then why hasn't it turned a profit yet?"

"Uhm, elves?"

"Speaking of whom, Mr Claus, perhaps we should discuss your workforce.
As we understand it, you employ an immense, specialized workforce that you
house on the premises. Have you ever considered outsourcing?"

"Ho ho HO NO, young man! I tried that years ago, and it was a
disaster!"

"Outsourcing is a proven and effective way of reducing your labour
costs while at the same time effectively destroying your country's
economic stability. What could possibly go wrong?"

"Oh young man, young man, do you remember the Christmas of 2006?"

"That rings a bell... "

"Let me refresh your memory with a Yuletide memory! Remember the
Lysergic acid diethylamidenog? Remember the lead 'tin' soldiers? Remember
the dreams of rohypnol-plums dancing in children's heads?"

"That was..."

"We outsourced to China, yes."

"Ahem. All right, moving on. Are there any other corners that you can
cut, perhaps? To show willing to reduce costs and prove that the bailout
wouldn't go to waste?"

"I suppose... there are a few things that Santa could do to pinch a few
pennies... I've been wanting to experiment with turnip-nog for a while...
and there's using newspaper to wrap the presents..."

"Excellent, excellent, Mr Claus. Please write up a list of your plan to
make Christmas more efficient and submit it before the twenty fifth. Be
sure to check it twice; errors will be considered naughty."

"Does this mean that Santa can depend on you for your bailout, young
man?"

"We just can't be sure. You're asking for a lot of money..."

"You were willing to bail out the Matchbox corporation when their focus
on die-cast SUVs sent them right into the toilet!"

"True; but on the other hand, they just asked us for twelve bucks and a
spring to tide them over till the first of the year. Also, they've
presented us with a very compelling ten year plan to transition from
finger power to hydrogen."

"Maybe we could work out a deal..."

"What sort of a deal are you offering us, Mr Claus?"

"A Red Ryder blue metal BB gun with a compass in the stock and a thing
to tell the time?"

"Each?"

"Agreed!"

"Mr Claus, you throw in a battling top and a hula hoop and you'll have
yourself a deal!"

"Ho ho ho HO! Merry Christmas! Whoever said that the Mafia wasn't made
up of nice people just didn't know what they were talking about!"

"Now let's discuss terms. We need to work out an installment plan...
how many fingers do you think you could stand to lose..."

***

This issue is mine, mine, mine and you can't have it. Nyah and copyright
belongs to Frobozz/Chris Angelini, 2008. Mess with my legal rights and
I'll send over Gggthstx to discuss 'fair use' with you. Email to
frobozz@eyrie.org. Homepage at http://www.eyrie.org/~frobozz. Yeah, it's
short. Bite my shiny metal Yule Log.

---
-Chris
frobozz@eyrie.org
http://www.eyrie.org/~frobozz

Geek Code
GFA/IT/PA d-(+) s--:+> a- C++ UL*++ P+++ L++
E W++ N+ !o !K w++(-) O? M++ V? PS+ PE Y PGP
t+ 5++ X+ R+++ tv+ b+++ DI+ D++ G e++>+++ h- r* z?

AA: Reboot This

Mademoiselle Muse, Inc.,
in association with
Lutefisk Wagon Press
presents

REBOOT THIS
an Author's Altiverse happening-thingie

writ by
Gary W. Olson,
the Swede,
in case you've forgotten

---~~~___|||___~~~---

When the Swede awoke, his head felt thick and slow. The shapes
before him were blurry, the surface beneath him hard and more angular
than strictly necessary. His mouth felt dry, his ears felt wet, and
his elbows felt strangely like bean dip and guacamole. And his
exceptionally black Cloak O' Doom was, as he blearily inspected it, no
longer exceptional, no longer black, and not especially cloaklike.
What it *was* was something the Swede was not ready to contemplate.
Instead, he contemplated the interior of the Chapterhouse--the
bar in which he had awoken. It, too, had changed in some subtle and
disquieting way. Previously, the Swede recalled, it had been an
ordinary pub, featuring subdued lighting, polished wood tables and
booths, hardwood floors, a fireplace, a bar with stools in front of
it, and a thing bolted down in one dark corner that had been
identified as a 'motorized wallaby,' though what this meant in terms
with its interactions with bar patrons was never quite understood.
The place he was in now had insistent lighting, formica tables
and booths, a grand piano, a dance floor, several slot machines, and
numerous television screens that were displaying some sporting event
that included yelling, throwing hats, and competitive sweating. Sound
with an insistent beat and not much else of distinction poured from
recessed speakers. The motorized wallaby had unbolted itself and was
serving drinks to its patrons. A sign over the black-glass-and-neon
bar identified the establishment as 'Gortok's.' Gortok himself was
not in evidence.
Eventually, it occurred to the Swede that the reason it seemed so
unlike the Chapterhouse he knew and loved was that it was not, in
fact, the Chapterhouse at all. It was only the fact that many of its
patrons seemed to be Authors that had caused him to think so.
"Hey!" said a bearded man at a nearby table. "The Swede's
awake!"
"Hey!" said the bearded man sitting across from him. "He's a
taco!"
"Hey!" said the goateed man sitting on the side between the two
bearded men. "He has bean dip and guacamole on his elbows!"
"Hey!" said the goateed man sitting opposite the other goateed
man. "I can't see him because I'm facing the other way!"
After the Swede mentally identified the four Authors (in order,
*THE* Mason Kramer (Mason Kramer), Sabre (Eric A. Burns-White),
Dvandroid (Dave Van Domelen), and the Amigoid (Lawrence Brown)), he
contemplated that which he had been reluctant to contemplate before--
i.e., that he *was* a taco, or at least dressed like one.
Specifically, he appeared to be wearing a giant hard tortilla shell
that was filled with ground beef, lettuce, shredded cheese, guacamole,
sour cream, bean dip, and salsa. It was about five feet wide, and
went from his chest to nearly his knees. The rest of him--head, neck,
shoulders, arms, calves, and feet--was starkers.
"Well, then," said the Swede.
"You're awake," Sabre noted.
"Yes," the Swede replied.
"You're crunchy," Dvandroid noted.
"One presumes."
"What's up with that?" asked *THE* Mason Kramer.
"I don't know," said the Swede, for truly he did not know. The
last he remembered, he had been wearing his exceptionally black Cloak
O' Doom--his standard outerwear for all the many years he had spent in
the Author's Altiverse (223DON'TTRYITAUTHORSONLY)--drinking in the
Chapterhouse after the Authors had successfully replaced their old
OmniVAX mainframe with a spiffy and brand new OmniServer 9008sq
application and database server....

---~~~___|||___~~~---

The old OmniVAX, while it had functioned well for a number of
years--giving Authors a means of shaping events in other altiverses,
such as 000SUPERGUY and 001SFSTORY, while governing how the Author's
powers of Edit could be used within their home altiverse--had been
showing its age. It no longer channeled the results of Authorial
inspiration well, to the vexation of Authors and their muses alike.
Plus it was a VAX, and that is so twenty years ago.
So, a brand new, top-of-the-line OmniServer was ordered from a
company in altiverse 091LARRYELLISONOWNSYOUBEEOTCH, imported into
223DON'TTRYITAUTHORSONLY, and installed with the great care, caution,
and attention to detail that Authors are renowned for. They only blew
up Planet Mitchell Secundus--the planet they generally congregated
upon, when not in their own domains--twice before getting it (the
server, not the planet) to work.
But at last, the day had arrived when all the schemas were
aligned, all the permissions tabs were correctly set, the altiversal
data from the legacy OmniVAX system had been converted, and it was
time to start the new application in production--or, as it was widely,
if less than plausibly, known, 'reality.' As the Amigoid readied to
right-click the 'Build Altiverse' menu selection, the Last Sane Author
(Greg Fishbone) voiced a strange objection.
"Shouldn't we," he said, "you know... test it first?"
Mechaman (James Rinehart), who was seated on the other side of
the Amigoid, smiled.
"Test in prod!" he declared.
"Test in prod!" exclaimed the Swede, who had been detailing the
OmniServer's external housing with graffiti that explained something
about a man from Nantucket.
"Prod in prod!" exclaimed Frobozz (Chris Angelini), who wasn't
even in this flashback.
"Today," proclaimed the Amigoid, bellowing like a Klingon, "is a
great day to deploy!"
He right-clicked 'Build Altiverse.' The menu selection flashed
once, then disappeared.
All were aware that the build process would take several hours,
after which the server would start up and auto-deploy the Author's
Altiverse. The transition would be seamless and imperceptible, which,
to the assembled Authors, meant they didn't actually have to stick
around to be sure nothing went wrong.

---~~~___|||___~~~---

"That's pretty much how it happened," said the Amigoid, as he
sipped his beverage of choice. "We came back to the Chapterhouse and
started celebrating. Then, a few hours later, the new altiverse must
have deployed, because everything changed around us. The Chapterhouse
became Gortok's. You became a taco."
"I... am not... a taco!" the Swede declared. "I... am a human
being!"
The Authors gathered around clapped, thinking he was imitating
John Hurt. The Swede scowled.
"I refuse to accept this!" he exclaimed. "I'm going home!"
With that, he edited himself out of the Chap... er... Gortok's...
and back to his Authorial abode. His abode was, in fact, a hut on a
faraway beach on Abe Vigoda, one of Mitchell Secundus's less inhabited
continents. It had not always been there, but it was as good a place
as any, and reminded the Swede of his early days as an Author. He
looked down at his taco costume, edited it away, and replaced it with
his black Cloak O' Doom, black jeans, and black boots.
"Much better," he commented as he went inside.
The interior of the hut was not, contrary to popular belief,
larger than what the outside structure would suggest. Over the years,
the Swede had done some extensive remodeling, always adding more
rooms, usually in 'the back,' so that over the years anyone viewing
his abode from the outside would consider that it looked alarmingly
like a greco-roman-neo-gothic-rennaisance-tudor-cyber-fortress with a
tiki-wood wart. He sauntered deep into the 'hut,' past statuary, the
puppet theater, spacious fields, roller rinks, tennis courts and some
sort of frisbee-throwing machine. Eventually, he reached his living
room.
"Yo," he said, "anyone home?"
<<Welcome back, Dave,>> said HAL, the AI that kept the Swede's
domains more or less tidy. <<I have observed that the deploy of the
new Author's Altiverse has not gone according to plan.>>
"A few bugs to work out," said the Swede, waving a hand in airy
dismissal. "We'll put it in the plan for Phase II."
<<The mountain ranges to the east were turned into ham.>>
"Phase II."
<<The ice of the southern pole continent is spontaneously shaping
itself into carvings from the movies of Roger Corman.>>
"Phase II."
<<You, Dave, are now a taco.>>
"Phawhaaaat?"
The Swede looked down, and saw that he was indeed back in his
taco costume. He cursed. He snarled. He ranted. He even...
vociferated.
When all that was done, the Swede's muse, a penguin named Squawk,
waddled into the room. In one flipper she held a herring--in the
other, a wrench.
"Squawk!" she said, upon seeing him.
"Hi, girl," the Swede replied, as he slumped onto a nearby couch.
"You make it through the deployment okay?"
"Squawk!"
"That's what I like to hear."
The penguin went to one corner of the room, where the Swede could
see she was working on some sort of robot penguin. He turned his
thoughts back to his situation. Not liking that much, he turned his
thoughts to bacon, and contemplated it for a while, until he got
hungry, and started nibbling on the bean dip near his right nipple.
He scowled, and turned his thoughts back to his situation.
"HAL," he said, "do you know *why* I am persistently being
dressed in a taco costume in this new Author's Altiverse?"
<<I have read-only access to the schema and tables on the new
OmniServer,>> HAL informed him. <<It appears that your entry on the
AUTHOR_CHARACTERISTICS lookup table, which should have defaulted to
your key value on the AUTHOR_SARTORIAL table, has been replaced with
the word 'taco.' As long as you are in this altiverse, Dave, the
OmniServer will continue to assert your taco identity, and any edits
you make to the contrary will be temporary.>>
"Great," the Swede grumbled. "So how do I fix it?"
<<You merely need to return to the OmniServer and update the
table to default to your AUTHOR_SARTORIAL entry, to which you have
write access. Then changes you make to your appearance via edit will
correctly manifest and persist.>>
"Okay," said the Swede, as he stood and struck a pose of action,
which was unfortunately impossible to discern within the depths of the
taco costume. "To the OmniServer!"
<<There is one problem, Dave.>>
"What could possibly be a problem for me?"
<<The OmniServer has relocated itself to an indeterminate
location somewhere on Mitchell Secundus. Though I can read its tables
and files, I cannot deduce the whereabouts of its physical hardware--
which, for highly technical reasons is what you need to access in
order to change the table you need to change. I assume this was a
safety precaution put in place by the Authors to prevent post-build
tampering, and that no Author now knows where the OmniServer is.>>
"Why would you assume we would do something so stupid, short-
sighted, and detrimental to our own interests?"
<<Experience, Dave.>>
"Ooh, right." The Swede thought some. "Has this affected my
postings any?"
<<No, Dave,>> HAL answered. <<The portion of your mind dedicated
to writing the next episode of Rad is active, and the OmniServer is
auto-constructing the post. There is a lot of material in this one,
so it is expected that it will not be ready to be compiled and
deployed to 000SUPERGUY until late February. This part of the
OmniServer, at least, is functioning both as desired and as
expected.>>
"Glad to hear it," said the Swede. "I've got to get back to
Gortok's, see what else has changed, and if any of the Authors can
help me find the OmniServer."
He edited himself away, leaving only the faint scent of guacamole
to mark his passing.

---~~~___|||___~~~---

Gortok's was still busy when the Swede edited himself into the
place he had been standing before, but the Authors that comprised at
least a portion of that business were no longer there. The Swede
walked out the revolving glass door in the front to the sidewalk. The
sidewalk that the Swede did not recall as having previously existed.
Gone were the mountains of nerf. Gone were the semi-familiar
buildings and landmarks. All that the Swede recognized was the
looming form of the Noj, well in the distance. Everything else had
changed.
What he saw now was a curious blend of casinos, hotels, theaters,
taverns, and assorted tourist traps that promised wax replicas of
famous celebrities, haunted mazes, haunted corn, and the like. The
casinos were large and tacky beyond Earthly comprehension--the
Belligerento, the one directly across the avenue from Gortok's,
boasted two pyramids, a UFO saucer, and the giant, disembodied
holographic head of Gavin McLeod, which periodically spat death rays
toward the street. Signs for shows such as 'the Blue Yak Group' and
'Godzilla vs. Celine Dion' were everywhere. In the avenue, all manner
of rolling and floating vehicles moved past
"Crazy, isn't it?" someone to his left asked.
The Swede regarded the man, who he recognized as an Author.
"Sure is, Brism," he said.
Brism Wanor shook hands with the Swede, and subsequently had to
look for somewhere to wipe the bean dip off his hand. As he did this,
the other Authors emerged from around the corner of Gortok's, holding
tickets.
"Got the last ones," said Sabre, as he handed a ticket to Brism.
"It should be a good show... Celine's playing herself, and Godzilla's
being played by Gary Busey."
"You get a ticket for me?" the Swede asked.
"Right here," said the Amigoid, handing the Swede his ticket.
The Swede recognized the adolescent at the Amigoid's side.
"Hey, Christopher," he said. "What's up?"
"You're a taco," Christopher Brown noted. "You tell me."
"Hey, have you tried using your Edit?" Frobozz asked.
"I got to my home and back," said the Swede. "I also tried
editing back my regular clothes, but it didn't last long. Something
about an entry on an OmniServer table that got overwritten for me...."
"No," said Frobozz. "I mean, have you tried to use Edit *here.*"
"Um, no..." the Swede said.
"Observe as I Edit up a Steve Alaimo album," said Sabre. He
extended his hand, concentrated, and immediately, a chicken shot out
of his armpit and landed on the street. It looked up, confused by the
strange world around it, and immediately ran down the street.
"Or watch as I use my power of Edit to make a sixteen-ton weight
appear above *THE* Mason Kramer," said the Last Sane Author.
"What?" asked *THE* Mason Kramer. A second later, the air
shimmered above him, and he was besieged by a rain of Skittles.
"Something's really screwed up on the OmniServer," said the Last
Sane Author. "In our personal domains, our Edit works as per usual,
and we have close to 100% omnipotence."
"Er," the Swede said, "if one is less than 100% omnipotent, then
it's not really *omni*-potence, is it?"
"But in the shared common areas on Mitchell Secundus, i.e. here,"
the Last Sane Author continued, "it's all screwed up. For instance,
observe as I edit up the Jonas Brothers."
"Why would you do that?" Brism asked.
The Last Sane Author focused his powers of edit. Immediately, a
small tin of ham appeared in the street, where it was immediately
flattened by a limousine.
"I'm not sure I see what was wrong with that demonstration," said
the Swede.
"There's some kind of indexing problem on some of the tables,"
the Amigoid opined. "We just have to find the OmniServer, identify
and fix the index problem, then recompile and redeploy. Make sense?"
"Sure," said Mechaman. "In the meantime, we should avoid making
use of our edit powers, as they clearly have consequences that only
the very foolish and foolhardy would ignore."
The collected Authors considered this, decided it hardly applied
to *them,* and proceeded to make use of their Edit powers. The
collective consequences of this over the next several minutes were,
among many others, these: one of the pyramids at the casino across the
street turned into a Mobius loop populated entirely by avocado stands,
the giant holographic head of Gavin McLeod turned into a giant
holographic head of Joe Don Baker, the southern continents of Mitchell
Secundus were ravaged by what appeared to be tornado funnels but were
actually borscht funnels, three galaxies exploded in altiverse
929INNOCENTBYSTANDERS, and 'According to Jim' was renewed for another
season in 000REALLIFE.
"The horror," Frobozz whispered. "The horror... of Jim
Belushi..."
"Right," said Sabre. "So we're somewhat hampered in using our
abilities to find where the OmniServer has hidden itself away. But we
are still Authors! And I say we shall not rest until we find the
OmniServer and we restore ourselves to our full glory and de-tacofy
the Swede and bring back the real Chapterhouse and... hey, is that
laser tag?"
He indicated a large building further down the street. The
building bore a large neon sign boasting that it was called 'Laser
Taggerdome,' and that it featured considerable fun in the areas of
lasers and tagging.
"Laser tag!" the collected Authors exclaimed as one, before
rushing toward the building, causing pileups as their erratic paths
through traffic disregarded street signs and common sense.

WILL THE SWEDE BE DE-TACOFIED?
WILL THE AUTHORS FIND THE OMNISERVER?
WILL THE AUTHORS PUT SOMEONE'S EYE OUT DURING LASER TAG?
WILL THE MECHANICAL PENGUIN BE MENTIONED EVER AGAIN?
WILL IT FACE OFF AGAINST THE MOTORIZED WALLABY?

All this may or may not be answered in the next questionable Author's
Altiverse installment, on... SUPERGUY!

SG: WCD #50 "Stronger"

Jenny, the A.I. paused from her work.

At a table in the computer room, a small chocolate cake with a
candle rezzed into existence. She sat at the table, a party hat
rendered on her head. She smiled and closed her eyes, thinking back
about many things, and then leaned over and blew out the candle. As
the cake winked out of view, she whispered, "Happy Birthday Uncle
Spectrum, wherever you are."

[Post-Event: 3 hours]

Dr. Sloan adjusted the portable recorder, as the group in the
meeting room coughed, and shuffled in the seats, occasionally taking a
sip from their assorted drinks. "Alright everyone, this debriefing is
important but informal. What I mean is, if you have something to add
or interject, any observations or impressions, please feel free to
speak up at any time. The goal is to gather as much information as we
can while the incident is fresh in our minds, and so we can sort out
the junk later. Clark, why don't you go first?"

Diet Dew Industries and Aperture Science Technology Present:

WCD #50: "Stronger"

Costarring Aurora and the West Coast Defenders

By Lawrence Brown and Chris Angelini "I nao iz Senior Superguy Author?"

[Post-Event: 3 hours. Clark Interview]

Let me tell you a story.

A long, long time ago there was a young man who, one night, looked
up at the sky. I think it was in autumn, but hey, don't hold me to
that. The air was crisp and cool, so it probably was sometime in the
fall. I suppose that doesn't really matter too much to the story.

So like I was saying, it was night. And for no real reason at all,
the young man was staring up at that limitless expanse of sky. It was
a clear night and one by one the stars were coming out. The moon was
new and there wasn't much city around, so nothing competed with the
starlight for a spot on the stage.

Anyway there I was, staring up into the vast ocean of stars,
completely mesmerized by the sight. It was this huge vastness, so
serene and so full and so empty. I remember feeling so small and so
tiny in the face of it all.

But suddenly, there was this enormous blooming of light in the sky,
sort of like how you'd imagine a nova might look if you saw one all up
close and personal. It was a blossom of fire and of rage and it swept
across the sky like the hand of creation, swatting aside the void to
call light to be. For a moment... just for a moment... that eruption
outshone the stars, but as it faded I realized something. I realized
that however briefly that candle had been lit, it had captured my
imagination even more firmly than had the stars, in all their remote
and infinite glory.

To this day I don't know what caused that fulmination of light.
Maybe it came from a superguy fight far overhead; or maybe it was one
of the many alien invasions that've come to our shores. Maybe it was
an angel in the process of either earning or losing his or her -- or
its --- wings.

But I will tell you this: the stars felt so far away that I could
never touch them, even if I stretched out as far as I possibly could
and wished. That fireball... it was something near to me. Near to
humanity. Unlike those distant stars that'll go on shining whether or
not humanity's around to see them, this fireball felt close. Almost
personal. It was something to do with me, however tangentially.

Why am I going on about stars and fireballs at a debriefing? I guess
the real explanation is that I'm just a total story ham, but there's
also a point to it, honest. What did I see on the ground today? Well,
I guess there's only one way for me to explain it: it was like seeing
a star being born. It was one moment of absolutely fiery glory; but
unlike the one I saw such a long time ago, this one never went out.
Maybe never will go out again.

Just between us? When I met Spectrum at the beginning of this
voyage, I was not impressed. He was just this guy, like any other. I
kept trying to match the legend up to the man and the legend just kept
outshining the guy who was standing in front of me. There was
something... wrong with him, that's how it felt to me. Maybe that's
just hindsight filling in the details, but it always felt like this
guy was, despite his strength and despite his marvelous armor, this
incomplete sad sack with a few pieces of his personal jigsaw puzzle
missing. Like there was a part of him -missing-, I guess is what I'm
trying to say. Well, I guess I was right. There was a piece missing.
Only it isn't missing any more.

[Time to event: T-minus 15 seconds]

"Nooooooooooooo!"

Spectrum plunged into the foggy void of the canyon. Twisting, he
faintly made out the shape of the platform above him, and fired his
grapple. The shot went wide and the cable on his line went slack. Its
powercells drained, his armor went dark, leaving him in blackness.
God, you have to help me save Foxy, he thought aloud. Please, someone,
anyone!

Victoria Queen sat bolt upright. The psi-scream was so strong, and
yet, so faint. Was it Spectrum? It sounded like Spectrum. But no, he
was groundside. That was impossible. She needed to stop obsessing
about him. And yet... Victoria found that couldn't get him out of her
mind. Literally.

Spectrum continued to plummet, lost in the darkness of his overtaxed
suit. Frustration and fear overwhelmed him as he tried to spy
something, anything, in the stygian void that surrounded him. Then,
impossibly, there appeared a far away faint flicker of light. It was
so faint that Spectrum was almost certain he'd imagined it; but if
there was even the slightest chance it was real, he knew that he had
to take it. He reached for it in desperation, screaming out for
someone to...

{-help me!-} Cried the voice in Victoria's mind, loudly enough that
she gasped in shock. The voice was real, and it sounded... -felt-...
desperate. And for some reason, that voice's owner thought that she
could help. Taking a deep breath to calm herself and to push away her
doubts, Victoria concentrated.

With an unexpected jerk, the grapple snagged on an outcropping.
Spectrum found himself slammed into a wall, the breath knocked out of
his lungs. And as he collided with the cliff-face, radiance exploded
around the superguy. The energy... it was a strangely familiar yet
still alien plain. Lines of energy stretched off to whatever horizon
might lie with the plains, and the world glowed with a sense of depth
but at the same time non-existence.
Wow, thought Spectrum. I feel like I'm watching Tron or something.
What was that light in the distance? It arced toward him like a meteor
and with a strange silence, impacted onto him. But rather than being
rocked by the collision, feelings rushed through Spectrum. Warmth.
Music. Light.

{Are you an angel?} The childlike innocence of the question almost
made Victoria laugh aloud. Taking in the surroundings, she filed away
an observation about her abilities: everyone's mindscape seemed to be
unique. It was an obvious fact upon reflection. Everyone's mind must
be more complex and unique than their fingerprint or their DNA. The
mind, and all of its myriad parts, was really their all.

Spectrum stared into the brightness and slowly began to make out a
figure, itself composed of light. He could -- barely -- resolve it as
a glowing female form. She was there to help him. She had to be. With
Foxy in danger, nothing else mattered. {Not exactly an Angel,
Spectrum. I'm Victoria Queen. We met on the Lenny Bruce, though you
probably... don't remember me. And... and I'm a telepath.}

The moment she completed that message, Victoria's mind was nearly
overwhelmed by a jumble of emotions and random thoughts; first tinged
with amusement at her name, closely followed by fear and anger as her
words sunk in. A cry boomed out to shake the radiant firmament...

{GET OUT OF MY HEAD!}

{And leave you to certain death?} She replied, recoiling at the
rejection but still holding firm. Victoria steeled herself, then shot
back with her own frustration and anger, using it like a knife to
pierce through the noise filling her mind. {Now what kind of superguy
would I be if my first attempt at saving someone was a failure?} Then
something else, {especially someone I have a crush on?} Victoria
gasped at the slip, which had somehow managed to sneak through her
defenses while she was giving full reign to her powers.

{What?}

{What?}

{Did you say-}

{Oh, damn it. I am going to have to watch what I think aloud...}

{What?}

{Look, do you want to save Foxy or not?} Victoria snapped,
deflecting the conversation back to the important point. The thought
of Foxy snapped Spectrum back on track.

{Yes. But aren't I dead?} Images of the plunge tore through her awareness.

{Apparently not, but I'm guessing that we only have a few moments
before that happens. I honestly don't know what we can do in this
ti--}

{What...? What?}

{Give me... give me a moment. I'm not sure what I'm see-- I'm... oh
my God, it's beautiful. It's...}

{WHAT?}

{Yes. Yes! My God, it's all so... so simple! I can help you save
yourself, Spectrum! You must reclaim your powers!} From out of the
illuminated plains' depths flew a glowing cube. Victoria's psionic
representation raised a hand, deftly catching it. With a slight grunt
of effort, the woman opened what she'd found, and like a genie
released from its bottle a memory -- buried deep within it flowed into
their minds.

************

Spectrum looked at Foxy in shock, "You. Oh my god. You did it, didn't you."

************

Its payload released, the box popped like an electronic soap bubble.
Moments later it re-formed, but the awareness of the memory remained.
More boxes appeared, falling from the sky like puzzle pieces or tetris
blocks. Their descent rapidly built up a wall that separated the pair.

{Stop!} cried Spectrum, fear suddenly stabbing at Victoria through
the wall. {Don't!} {Please!}

{What are you afraid of? I'm trying to help you! This is the only way!}

Victoria's manifestation grew in size as, for the first time, she
flexed her powers and saw just how far they stretched. Reaching down,
the reluctant superguy scooped up the pile of boxes in one enormous
hand.
There's no time to sort his thoughts, she realised. I'm going to
just have to open them all up at once.
Victoria was stunned as chaos exploded around her.

************

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!" Lawrence's brain throbbed. His hands throbbed. He
swung his fist towards the cyborg in a futile attempt to reach him. As
everything shifted to slow motion Lawrence noticed the reason why his
hands were throbbing. They pulsed with glowing energy. He didn't know
what it was. He didn't care. He wanted to live, so he poured
everything he was into the glow... and released it. Rainbow streamers
of energy blasted from his hand into the barrel of the chest gun. The
cyborg screamed as every system and circuit overloaded and slagged at
once. The blast carried it through the door and into the alleyway,
crunching into the side of a dumpster outside.

Dr. Cheef shoved him to one side as a laser grazed his left shoulder.
Lawrence bellowed in pain and whirled to face the limping Zoomer.
The doctor shouted, "Get him! Stop the Zoomer! FIRE!"

Fire. The word was in his mind. Releasing the energy again, he fired
at the monster. White-hot jets of flame erupted from his hands,
melting the torso, arms and legs and leaving the head bouncing
backwards into a pile of now ignited debris. The flames spread
quickly.

Lawrence stared at his hands, amazed not to see charred stumps. Hans
grabbed him and pulled him to the door. "We've got to get out of here!
This place is going to burn down around us, and neither of us are
invulnerable!" he said, glancing at Lawrence's shoulder wound.
Lawrence darted for his desk, popped a SyQuest cartridge out of the
dented PC and then followed the retreating doctor, out the door, and
into the evening gloom.

************

It was at that moment that the Qwyntor engine that Summer had thrown
clear into the air exploded. Streamers of energy shot out in all
directions. One bolt struck the five farm punks and blew them off
their feet, into the mud.

Spectrum's optics compensated for the blast as he searched the skies
for Foxy. Suddenly he spotted her, tumbling and smoking, down towards
the ground. He knew that he couldn't get to her before she hit.

"NOOOOOOO!!!!" Spectrum cried, as he tried to close the distance in
time. In desperation, he began shouting, "EDIT! EDIT! EDIT! EDIT!
EDIT!" Bon Jovi appeared with his guitar and a very confused look on
his face. A cooler full of Winter Ale. A Shriner from Boston. A pizza.
Suddenly an enormous inflatable Saint Bernard appeared under the
plunging toon. She imbedded in the back of the dog, bounced off its
head and its 5 foot tongue, and into the arms of a very relieved
Spectrum.

************

Grounder walked to Spectrum. Suddenly Spectrum froze. "whats wrong
with my armor?" He squeaked in surprise.

"Its shut down hero. My powers have drained your suit of power!"
Grounder squeaked menacingly (which is hard to do).

Spectrum started laughing, even as Grounder walked right into his face.

"what's so funny hero? Never heard anyone on helium before?"

Spectrum laughed. His faceplate shut, and pumped fresh air.
"No, whoever you are..."

"Grounder" squeaked the villain.

"Grounder, I'll let you in on a secret." Spectrum spoke, as his arm
slowly began to raise.

Grounder bleated, confused. "But, that's not supposed to happen! I
drained your suit of its power!" He redoubled his efforts. "Stop!"

"Here is the deal, sparky. THE POWER IS IN ME!" Spectrum fired a
rainbow burst of every form of energy he could think of, in a
kaleidoscopic explosion of power.

************

Bull charged again, this time hitting Spectrum and knocking him
back. The businessmen got bucked off as Bull turned to face Spectrum.
Just as Spectrum was about to attack, Bull's horns began to arc and a
bolt slammed into Spectrum.

"Oh god that hurt..." Shakily, Spectrum got back to his feet again.

Bull laughed the sound coming out of the mouth of the bull. "Had
enough, hero! You gonna quit and run away like a baby again!?"

"Lets"<cough>"try that again, you walking cow pie." Bull's horns
crackled and another bolt blasted into the suit. Spectrum kept
advancing, unfazed.
"You know, you sorry stinking punk, I bet you would never guess why
it's not hurting me now. I bet you are wondering how you are going to
stop me.
You can't. I'm just sucking up your juice and gating it off to another
dimension. It hurts like the dickens but the gate works both ways.
That leaves you with a problem of scale, punk. You're one hell of a
firecracker, but I'm an atomic bomb!" Spectrum grabbed both horns, and
channeled every watt of electrical energy he could summon into the
horns, melting them into stumps. Then with a angry wave, he canceled
the Bull's inertia and hit him with a two fisted blast of kinetic
energy, sending him sailing towards Mule.

************

{Oh. My Elvis! Oh my goodness!}

Memories washed over her. Every intimate detail. The sheer joy of
flying. Lovemaking with an alien named Marie. Then another pang of
realization that the coupling had born fruit. His son Marcus; he had
not been there for, and was not part of his life.

Sadness. Should she tell him that--

And what was this?!? Not just his memories were here. Summer? Jenny?
Adam-Odd-Mike-Sarah-Link-Dog? Sigma? Awareness of a gestalt mind link
awed her, as stars and dimensions spun before her. Giant Robots and
doppelgangers.

Disorientation. Confusion. Big Band music playing as a British youth
fights World War II at his side. How old is Spectrum?

Why was he kissing a Veloceraptor Sapiens? Were there any normal
women in his life?

Daisy Duke, no, not right, who is Pinto Sally? And Spandex Babe?

She gasped as the memory of Spectrum's battle with Dark Radian. What
could be worse than that?

A small red box exploded at her touch, and she screamed as she
looked into Hell.

It was as if she was suddenly thrust into a game of Doom3, bosses
all around her, and she with no weapons. None but her mind. Spectrum
flared with energy and Victoria screamed aloud in terror. With extreme
exertion, she crammed the memory of his fight on the Alamo's Revenge
Revenge back into a box, and sealed it with the mental seeming of
steel bands.

Victoria was so shaken by the memory that she barely had time to
react when a box filled to the brim with malevolent blackness struck
her, breaking open against her consciousness. Hell(tm) on earth? So
much blood, pain and helplessness. Magic and Innocents.

The Moon rushing at her with impossible velocity.

************

Spectrum strained. "You despicable creature, you want to know my
worst nightmare? You filthy stinking space parasite! You may think you
are, but you're not! I've already been there. In my nightmares, I'm
not Bahamode Sigma, I'm Spectrum, not just any superguy. One of the
most powerful hero's on the planet! And the nightmare is I'm not
afraid to use my power. I cut loose. Completely. The infinite energy
of a billion altiverses!" Spectrum's mind roared "*** AND I LIKE IT!
****"

************

Epiphany.

Lawrence lay on the featureless plain, curled up naked and fetal.
As the capstone of the rebuilt wall of blocks clicked into place,
Victoria wondered at the man. He held so much power within him. So
much responsibility. And yet despite it all, it had been so easy for
an empath like Foxy to strike at his weakest moment, using his
greatest fears to block away his power. She gazed at the man, laid
bare to her and so easy for a full-fledged telepath to peer into... to
tweak, here... there... to make him return the feelings she felt...
And it would only take the slightest exertion of power...

Victoria drew herself up short, her cheeks radiating crimson light
that reflected the intense shame she felt. It was so easy for a psi to
abuse a trust, to violate someone at such a fundamental level. With as
much care and gentleness as she could muster, Victoria swept the
pieces together, and then set Spectrum atop of the newly crafted altar
of remembrance. The boxes pulsed and cycled through the colors of the
rainbow. He glowed in sympathy with them, and in turn the boxes
reformed around Spectrum as as his iconic armor. The superguy seemed
to grow as he stood upright, glowing brighter by the moment. He opened
his eyes, and looked right at her.

{Here I go.}

{It worked!} exulted Victoria, feeling weak with the strain of what
she'd just done.

{GET OUT OF MY HEAD!}

Instantly Victoria found herself was thrown out of the mindscape,
back to the tangible world. Back to her tiny, cramped quarters. Back
to her bunk. Alert klaxons sounding and the ship shuddering from the
force of something. Something incredibly powerful. Something was
happening.

Victoria fought back the urge to weep and slid her legs to the side
of her bunk. She sprawled, as they refused to support her.

[Post Event: 3 hours, 5 minutes. Clark Interview]

He went off a cliff chasing after his toony-love and I figured,
well, that was the end of him. And that sucked, because in spite of
the pieces missing, he'd seemed like a pretty regular guy. He'd
inspired so much loyalty in his crew, you know, that had to say
something about the man's character, right?

Of course a part of me did feel like he'd gotten what he deserved;
he'd run off on the squad, Hell(tm)-bent for leather, leaving us high
and dry and under the gun. You don't do that in a squad situation.
It's the best way to get yourself and your squaddies killed.

So there he went, over the cliff, following Foxy. This is when the
snakes got their reinforcements in order. Don't ask me to describe
that part of the fight because most of it was spent hugging a rock and
throwing a few rounds back at them to warn our attackers away. Oh and
screaming at the Lenny Bruce to give us some cover fire, which they
were, I just wasn't focused enough to notice it. The rock was doing
about sixty knots towards the hard place, and me and my squad were
smack dab where the two were going to meet. That's when the power
sensors started to spike.

[Time to event: T-minus 14 seconds]

H'ssah stared in amazement. With little or no regard for his own
life, the warrior had charged the hoverbarge. And incredibly he had
very nearly grabbed the corner of the barge, before plunging to his
death, a yell echoing of anger, loss, and fear. The captive in the net
slumped to the floor of the barge, as if its life-mate was gone. Truth
spoken! That had to be it.

"FATHER! LOOK!" His son gestured, and a dull silver grapple arched
into the air, missing the barge. H'ssah hissed in respect. This was a
warrior that would not give up. He leaned over the side of the barge,
peering down into the misty depths, as the grapple disappeared from
sight. "Get us back to the base. Reverse course." The flood of
emotions were gone, replaced with a sense of emptiness and a lingering
sense of... danger?

Vibrations from below.

"Inconceivable!" H'ssah muttered. "Nothing could survive that a fall
such as that." The snake peered over the edge, tempting fate one more
time. And as if in answer to his foolish dare, energy exploded upwards
to fill the entire canyon below. Without a second thought, H'ssah
shoved his son down against the captive, shielding him behind the bulk
of the dead sandjaw. There was no time for words. There was only the
briefest moment to half-turn away from a blast so massive it vaporized
the other 2 thirds of the hoverbarge, and half the sandjaw. And then
the one indivdual's eye that had personally witnessed the finger of
godlike wrath stab upwards into orbit saw nothing, ever again.

[Post Event: 3 hours, 6 minutes. Clark Interview]

I had no idea what was happening, though I was pretty sure that it
was going to be really, really bad for us. I'd like to report that I
said something pithy and to the point upon seeing this new phenomenon,
but what came out of my mouth was more like 'oh crap, what -now-?'. We
needed information, we needed guns and we didn't have either, so we
were about to get hit with this new... thing, completely blind, which
is the scariest place in the world to be when you're on a battlefield.

And then a new star was born. Or reborn.

He came screaming out of that ravine with his girlfriend in his
arms, holding the remains of one of the transport platforms as easily
as a waiter balances a serving tray. Power outlining his silhouette
and a slam-dance salsa song to play on my sensors. I'm serious, I had
to block out even the passives, because they were getting that
confused.

But while Spectrum before had been distant and dim, Spectrum now...
was a nova.

The only times I've ever seen power like that up close, I've always
been afraid for my life. This was no exception... except this time,
this blaze of power was on our side. He set Foxy down behind the rock
we were hugging and gave her a long kiss... the kind you give your
best girl before you go off to war. And then he proceeded to do just
that. I thought that the toon would protest that he was leaving her
behind, but she just stared... stared after him as he went. I think
she was even more enthralled than I was. Which makes sense now that I
think about it; to her, this wasn't a birth. She was seeing the man
she'd come to love return to himself, and return to her.

[Event minus 1.00005 seconds]

"Captain!" Sparks shouted, "Massive Energy Surge Bel--"

"SHIELDS!" Tonk screamed. "Close all viewports!"

Sparks hand was already slamming buttons, and the crew of the Lenny
Bruce was saved from blindness by his quick reactions and a sudden
half roll that banked the ship away from the incredible energy
discharge. Moments later, emergency klaxons sounded as a Nintan
warship appeared on their screens.

"We're being hailed!"

"Attention Enemy Vessel! Nintan Warship Yojo transmitting on all
channels. Stand down and prepare to receive transport shuttle to
discuss terms of surrender!"

"Captain!?"

Tonk critically eyed the warship before her. Her eyes darted from
the status screens of her own battle-scarred ship to the ones feeding
data from the ground crew, apparently pinned down, and from the larger
far more heavily armed ship in her view screen. Explosions and yelling
could be heard from the troops still on the ground. "Why is the rum
always gone?" she sighed.

"Attention Nintan Warship. This is Captain Tonk, of the starship
Lenny Bruce, of the planet Earth. Message received. Enter through Bay
Alpha. We await your arrival."

IS THIS THE END OF THE CREW OF THE LENNY BRUCE?

CAN SPECTRUM SAVE THEM IN TIME?

AND WHY *WAS* HE KISSING A VELOCERAPTOR SAPIEN?

All this and a big surprise in the next exciting episode of SUPERGUY!

Authors Note: This episode marks not only the 50th episode of Spectrum
and the West Coast Defenders, but the 15th anniversary of the Amigoid,
and a posting that was triggered by a Microstuff soul collecting EULA
program smashed at exactly the wrong moment, and of all things, spam.

Contact Delphi. $20 a month gets you 20 non-prime hours a month with full
internet access. Additional hours cost $1.80. There are no additional
communications surcharges for using Tymnet & Sprintnet in off-peak hours.

Here is to another 15 years of writing with you crazy authors. I tip
my goblet of Diet Mountain Dew to you. And baff you with my Nerf
Sword, for good measure.
All of you, readers, authors, (and especially authors I have
collaborated with over the years) in the crazy mixed up altiverse
known as 000SUPERGUY, you are forever a part of my life.

Lawrence H. Brown, aka the Amigoid

Frobozz's note

I just want to give a shout out to Amigoid and wish him a happy
anniversary. It's a thrill working with him, and also a hell of a lot
of fun. Also, the fact that this post is late is entirely on me... my
mail filters betrayed me!
Here's hoping that he's still writing in another fifteen!

---
-Chris
frobozz@eyrie.org
http://www.eyrie.org/~frobozz

Geek Code
GFA/IT/PA d-(+) s--:+> a- C++ UL*++ P+++ L++
E W++ N+ !o !K w++(-) O? M++ V? PS+ PE Y PGP
t+ 5++ X+ R+++ tv+ b+++ DI+ D++ G e++>+++ h- r* z?

SG: West Coast Defenders #50 -- Stronger

Jenny, the A.I. paused from her work.

At a table in the computer room, a small chocolate cake with a candle
rezzed into existence. She sat at the table, a party hat rendered on her
head. She smiled and closed her eyes, thinking back about many things, and
then leaned over and blew out the candle. As the cake winked out of view,
she whispered, "Happy Birthday Uncle Spectrum, wherever you are."

[Post-Event: 3 hours]

Dr. Sloan adjusted the portable recorder, as the group in the meeting
room coughed, and shuffled in the seats, occasionally taking a sip from
their assorted drinks. "Alright everyone, this debriefing is important but
informal. What I mean is, if you have something to add or interject, any
observations or impressions, please feel free to speak up at any time. The
goal is to gather as much information as we can while the incident is
fresh in our minds, and so we can sort out the junk later. Clark, why
don't you go first?"

Diet Dew Industries and Aperture Science Technology Present:

WCD #50: "Stronger"

Costarring Aurora and the West Coast Defenders

By Lawrence Brown and Chris Angelini "I nao iz Senior Superguy Author?"

[Post-Event: 3 hours. Clark Interview]

Let me tell you a story.

A long, long time ago there was a young man who, one night, looked up
at the sky. I think it was in autumn, but hey, don't hold me to that. The
air was crisp and cool, so it probably was sometime in the fall. I suppose
that doesn't really matter too much to the story.

So like I was saying, it was night. And for no real reason at all, the
young man was staring up at that limitless expanse of sky. It was a clear
night and one by one the stars were coming out. The moon was new and there
wasn't much city around, so nothing competed with the starlight for a spot
on the stage.

Anyway there I was, staring up into the vast ocean of stars, completely
mesmerized by the sight. It was this huge vastness, so serene and so full
and so empty. I remember feeling so small and so tiny in the face of it
all.

But suddenly, there was this enormous blooming of light in the sky, sort
of like how you'd imagine a nova might look if you saw one all up close
and personal. It was a blossom of fire and of rage and it swept across the
sky like the hand of creation, swatting aside the void to call light to
be. For a moment... just for a moment... that eruption outshone the stars,
but as it faded I realized something. I realized that however briefly that
candle had been lit, it had captured my imagination even more firmly than
had the stars, in all their remote and infinite glory.

To this day I don't know what caused that fulmination of light. Maybe
it came from a superguy fight far overhead; or maybe it was one of the
many alien invasions that've come to our shores. Maybe it was an angel in
the process of either earning or losing his or her -- or its --- wings.

But I will tell you this: the stars felt so far away that I could never
touch them, even if I stretched out as far as I possibly could and wished.
That fireball... it was something near to me. Near to humanity. Unlike
those distant stars that'll go on shining whether or not humanity's around
to see them, this fireball felt close. Almost personal. It was something
to do with me, however tangentially.

Why am I going on about stars and fireballs at a debriefing? I guess
the real explanation is that I'm just a total story ham, but there's also
a point to it, honest. What did I see on the ground today? Well, I guess
there's only one way for me to explain it: it was like seeing a star being
born. It was one moment of absolutely fiery glory; but unlike the one I
saw such a long time ago, this one never went out. Maybe never will go out
again.

Just between us? When I met Spectrum at the beginning of this voyage, I
was not impressed. He was just this guy, like any other. I kept trying to
match the legend up to the man and the legend just kept outshining the guy
who was standing in front of me. There was something... wrong with him,
that's how it felt to me. Maybe that's just hindsight filling in the
details, but it always felt like this guy was, despite his strength and
despite his marvelous armor, this incomplete sad sack with a few pieces of
his personal jigsaw puzzle missing. Like there was a part of him
-missing-, I guess is what I'm trying to say. Well, I guess I was right.
There was a piece missing. Only it isn't missing any more.

[Time to event: T-minus 15 seconds]

"Nooooooooooooo!"

Spectrum plunged into the foggy void of the canyon. Twisting, he
faintly made out the shape of the platform above him, and fired his
grapple. The shot went wide and the cable on his line went slack. Its
powercells drained, his armor went dark, leaving him in blackness. God,
you have to help me save Foxy, he thought aloud. Please, someone, anyone!

Victoria Queen sat bolt upright. The psi-scream was so strong, and yet,
so faint. Was it Spectrum? It sounded like Spectrum. But no, he was
groundside. That was impossible. She needed to stop obsessing about him.
And yet... Victoria found that couldn't get him out of her mind.
Literally.

Spectrum continued to plummet, lost in the darkness of his overtaxed
suit. Frustration and fear overwhelmed him as he tried to spy something,
anything, in the stygian void that surrounded him. Then, impossibly, there
appeared a far away faint flicker of light. It was so faint that Spectrum
was almost certain he'd imagined it; but if there was even the slightest
chance it was real, he knew that he had to take it. He reached for it in
desperation, screaming out for someone to...

{-help me!-} Cried the voice in Victoria's mind, loudly enough that she
gasped in shock. The voice was real, and it sounded... -felt-...
desperate. And for some reason, that voice's owner thought that she could
help. Taking a deep breath to calm herself and to push away her doubts,
Victoria concentrated.

With an unexpected jerk, the grapple snagged on an outcropping.
Spectrum found himself slammed into a wall, the breath knocked out of his
lungs. And as he collided with the cliff-face, radiance exploded around
the superguy. The energy... it was a strangely familiar yet still alien
plain. Lines of energy stretched off to whatever horizon might lie with
the plains, and the world glowed with a sense of depth but at the same
time non-existence.
Wow, thought Spectrum. I feel like I'm watching Tron or something. What
was that light in the distance? It arced toward him like a meteor and with
a strange silence, impacted onto him. But rather than being rocked by the
collision, feelings rushed through Spectrum. Warmth. Music. Light.

{Are you an angel?} The childlike innocence of the question almost made
Victoria laugh aloud. Taking in the surroundings, she filed away an
observation about her abilities: everyone's mindscape seemed to be unique.
It was an obvious fact upon reflection. Everyone's mind must be more
complex and unique than their fingerprint or their DNA. The mind, and all
of its myriad parts, was really their all.

Spectrum stared into the brightness and slowly began to make out a
figure, itself composed of light. He could -- barely -- resolve it as a
glowing female form. She was there to help him. She had to be. With Foxy
in danger, nothing else mattered. {Not exactly an Angel, Spectrum. I'm
Victoria Queen. We met on the Lenny Bruce, though you probably... don't
remember me. And... and I'm a telepath.}

The moment she completed that message, Victoria's mind was nearly
overwhelmed by a jumble of emotions and random thoughts; first tinged with
amusement at her name, closely followed by fear and anger as her words
sunk in. A cry boomed out to shake the radiant firmament...

{GET OUT OF MY HEAD!}

{And leave you to certain death?} She replied, recoiling at the
rejection but still holding firm. Victoria steeled herself, then shot back
with her own frustration and anger, using it like a knife to pierce
through the noise filling her mind. {Now what kind of superguy would I be
if my first attempt at saving someone was a failure?} Then something else,
{especially someone I have a crush on?} Victoria gasped at the slip, which
had somehow managed to sneak through her defenses while she was giving
full reign to her powers.

{What?}

{What?}

{Did you say-}

{Oh, damn it. I am going to have to watch what I think aloud...}

{What?}

{Look, do you want to save Foxy or not?} Victoria snapped, deflecting
the conversation back to the important point. The thought of Foxy snapped
Spectrum back on track.

{Yes. But aren't I dead?} Images of the plunge tore through her
awareness.

{Apparently not, but I'm guessing that we only have a few moments
before that happens. I honestly don't know what we can do in this ti--}

{What...? What?}

{Give me... give me a moment. I'm not sure what I'm see-- I'm... oh my
God, it's beautiful. It's...}

{WHAT?}

{Yes. Yes! My God, it's all so... so simple! I can help you save
yourself, Spectrum! You must reclaim your powers!} From out of the
illuminated plains' depths flew a glowing cube. Victoria's psionic
representation raised a hand, deftly catching it. With a slight grunt of
effort, the woman opened what she'd found, and like a genie released from
its bottle a memory -- buried deep within it flowed into their minds.

************

Spectrum looked at Foxy in shock, "You. Oh my god. You did it, didn't
you."

************

Its payload released, the box popped like an electronic soap bubble.
Moments later it re-formed, but the awareness of the memory remained. More
boxes appeared, falling from the sky like puzzle pieces or tetris blocks.
Their descent rapidly built up a wall that separated the pair.

{Stop!} cried Spectrum, fear suddenly stabbing at Victoria through the
wall. {Don't!} {Please!}

{What are you afraid of? I'm trying to help you! This is the only way!}

Victoria's manifestation grew in size as, for the first time, she
flexed her powers and saw just how far they stretched. Reaching down, the
reluctant superguy scooped up the pile of boxes in one enormous hand.
There's no time to sort his thoughts, she realised. I'm going to just
have to open them all up at once.
Victoria was stunned as chaos exploded around her.

************

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!" Lawrence's brain throbbed. His hands throbbed. He swung
his fist towards the cyborg in a futile attempt to reach him. As
everything shifted to slow motion Lawrence noticed the reason why his
hands were throbbing. They pulsed with glowing energy. He didn't know what
it was. He didn't care. He wanted to live, so he poured everything he was
into the glow... and released it. Rainbow streamers of energy blasted from
his hand into the barrel of the chest gun. The cyborg screamed as every
system and circuit overloaded and slagged at once. The blast carried it
through the door and into the alleyway, crunching into the side of a
dumpster outside.

Dr. Cheef shoved him to one side as a laser grazed his left shoulder.
Lawrence bellowed in pain and whirled to face the limping Zoomer.
The doctor shouted, "Get him! Stop the Zoomer! FIRE!"

Fire. The word was in his mind. Releasing the energy again, he fired at
the monster. White-hot jets of flame erupted from his hands, melting the
torso, arms and legs and leaving the head bouncing backwards into a pile
of now ignited debris. The flames spread quickly.

Lawrence stared at his hands, amazed not to see charred stumps. Hans
grabbed him and pulled him to the door. "We've got to get out of here!
This place is going to burn down around us, and neither of us are
invulnerable!" he said, glancing at Lawrence's shoulder wound. Lawrence
darted for his desk, popped a SyQuest cartridge out of the dented PC and
then followed the retreating doctor, out the door, and into the evening
gloom.

************

It was at that moment that the Qwyntor engine that Summer had thrown
clear into the air exploded. Streamers of energy shot out in all
directions. One bolt struck the five farm punks and blew them off their
feet, into the mud.

Spectrum's optics compensated for the blast as he searched the skies
for Foxy. Suddenly he spotted her, tumbling and smoking, down towards the
ground. He knew that he couldn't get to her before she hit.

"NOOOOOOO!!!!" Spectrum cried, as he tried to close the distance in
time. In desperation, he began shouting, "EDIT! EDIT! EDIT! EDIT! EDIT!"
Bon Jovi appeared with his guitar and a very confused look on his face. A
cooler full of Winter Ale. A Shriner from Boston. A pizza. Suddenly an
enormous inflatable Saint Bernard appeared under the plunging toon. She
imbedded in the back of the dog, bounced off its head and its 5 foot
tongue, and into the arms of a very relieved Spectrum.

************

Grounder walked to Spectrum. Suddenly Spectrum froze. "whats wrong with
my armor?" He squeaked in surprise.

"Its shut down hero. My powers have drained your suit of power!"
Grounder squeaked menacingly (which is hard to do).

Spectrum started laughing, even as Grounder walked right into his face.

"what's so funny hero? Never heard anyone on helium before?"

Spectrum laughed. His faceplate shut, and pumped fresh air.
"No, whoever you are..."

"Grounder" squeaked the villain.

"Grounder, I'll let you in on a secret." Spectrum spoke, as his arm
slowly began to raise.

Grounder bleated, confused. "But, that's not supposed to happen! I
drained your suit of its power!" He redoubled his efforts. "Stop!"

"Here is the deal, sparky. THE POWER IS IN ME!" Spectrum fired a
rainbow burst of every form of energy he could think of, in a
kaleidoscopic explosion of power.

************

Bull charged again, this time hitting Spectrum and knocking him back.
The businessmen got bucked off as Bull turned to face Spectrum. Just as
Spectrum was about to attack, Bull's horns began to arc and a bolt slammed
into Spectrum.

"Oh god that hurt..." Shakily, Spectrum got back to his feet again.

Bull laughed the sound coming out of the mouth of the bull. "Had
enough, hero! You gonna quit and run away like a baby again!?"

"Lets"<cough>"try that again, you walking cow pie." Bull's horns
crackled and another bolt blasted into the suit. Spectrum kept advancing,
unfazed.
"You know, you sorry stinking punk, I bet you would never guess why it's
not hurting me now. I bet you are wondering how you are going to stop me.
You can't. I'm just sucking up your juice and gating it off to another
dimension. It hurts like the dickens but the gate works both ways. That
leaves you with a problem of scale, punk. You're one hell of a
firecracker, but I'm an atomic bomb!" Spectrum grabbed both horns, and
channeled every watt of electrical energy he could summon into the horns,
melting them into stumps. Then with a angry wave, he canceled the Bull's
inertia and hit him with a two fisted blast of kinetic energy, sending him
sailing towards Mule.

************

{Oh. My Elvis! Oh my goodness!}

Memories washed over her. Every intimate detail. The sheer joy of
flying. Lovemaking with an alien named Marie. Then another pang of
realization that the coupling had born fruit. His son Marcus; he had not
been there for, and was not part of his life.

Sadness. Should she tell him that--

And what was this?!? Not just his memories were here. Summer? Jenny?
Adam-Odd-Mike-Sarah-Link-Dog? Sigma? Awareness of a gestalt mind link awed
her, as stars and dimensions spun before her. Giant Robots and
doppelgangers.

Disorientation. Confusion. Big Band music playing as a British youth
fights World War II at his side. How old is he?

Why was he kissing a Veloceraptor Sapiens? Were there any normal women
in his life?

Daisy Duke, no, not right, who is Pinto Sally? And Spandex Babe?

She gasped as the memory of Spectrum's battle with Dark Radian. What
could be worse than that?

A small red box exploded at her touch, and she screamed as she looked
into Hell.

It was as if she was suddenly thrust into a game of Doom3, bosses all
around her, and she with no weapons. None but her mind. Spectrum flared
with energy and Victoria screamed aloud in terror. With extreme exertion,
she crammed the memory of his fight on the Alamo's Revenge Revenge back
into a box, and sealed it with the mental seeming of steel bands.

Victoria was so shaken by the memory that she barely had time to react
when a box filled to the brim with malevolent blackness struck her,
breaking open against her consciousness. Hell(tm) on earth? So much blood,
pain and helplessness. Magic and Innocents.

The Moon rushing at her with impossible velocity.

************

Spectrum strained. "You despicable creature, you want to know my worst
nightmare? You filthy stinking space parasite! You may think you are, but
you're not! I've already been there. In my nightmares, I'm not Bahamode
Sigma, I'm Spectrum, not just any superguy. One of the most powerful
hero's on the planet! And the nightmare is I'm not afraid to use my power.
I cut loose. Completely. The infinite energy of a billion altiverses!"
Spectrum's mind roared "*** AND I LIKE IT! ****"

************

Epiphany.

Lawrence lay on the featureless plain, curled up naked and fetal.
As the capstone of the rebuilt wall of blocks clicked into place, Victoria
wondered at the man. He held so much power within him. So much
responsibility. And yet despite it all, it had been so easy for an empath
like Foxy to strike at his weakest moment, using his greatest fears to
block away his power. She gazed at the man, laid bare to her and so easy
for a full-fledged telepath to peer into... to tweak, here... there... to
make him return the feelings she felt... And it would only take the
slightest exertion of power...

Victoria drew herself up short, her cheeks radiating crimson light that
reflected the intense shame she felt. It was so easy for a psi to abuse a
trust, to violate someone at such a fundamental level. With as much care
and gentleness as she could muster, Victoria swept together the pieces
together, and then set Spectrum atop of the newly crafted altar of
remembrance. The boxes pulsed and cycled through the colors of the
rainbow. He glowed in sympathy with them, and in turn the boxes reformed
around Spectrum as as his iconic armor. The superguy seemed to grow as he
stood upright, glowing brighter by the moment. He opened his eyes, and
looked right at her.

{Here I go.}

{It worked!} exulted Victoria, feeling weak with the strain of what
she'd just done.

{GET OUT OF MY HEAD!}

Instantly Victoria found herself was thrown out of the mindscape, back
to the tangible world. Back to her tiny, cramped quarters. Back to her
bunk. Alert klaxons sounding and the ship shuddering from the force of
something. Something incredibly powerful. Something was happening.

Victoria fought back the urge to weep and slid her legs to the side of
her bunk. She sprawled, as they refused to support her.

[Post Event: 3 hours, 5 minutes. Clark Interview]

He went off a cliff chasing after his toony-love and I figured, well,
that was the end of him. And that sucked, because in spite of the pieces
missing, he'd seemed like a pretty regular guy. He'd inspired so much
loyalty in his crew, you know, that had to say something about the man's
character, right?

Of course a part of me did feel like he'd gotten what he deserved; he'd
run off on the squad, Hell(tm)-bent for leather, leaving us high and dry
and under the gun. You don't do that in a squad situation. It's the best
way to get yourself and your squaddies killed.

So there he went, over the cliff, following Foxy. This is when the
snakes got their reinforcements in order. Don't ask me to describe that
part of the fight because most of it was spent hugging a rock and throwing
a few rounds back at them to warn our attackers away. Oh and screaming at
the Lenny Bruce to give us some cover fire, which they were, I just wasn't
focused enough to notice it. The rock was doing about sixty knots towards
the hard place, and me and my squad were smack dab where the two were
going to meet. That's when the power sensors started to spike.

[Time to event: T-minus 14 seconds]

H'ssah stared in amazement. With little or no regard for his own life,
the warrior had charged the hoverbarge. And incredibly he had very nearly
grabbed the corner of the barge, before plunging to his death, a yell
echoing of anger, loss, and fear. The captive in the net slumped to the
floor of the barge, as if its life-mate was gone. Truth spoken! That had
to be it.

"FATHER! LOOK!" His son gestured, and a dull silver grapple arched into
the air, missing the barge. H'ssah hissed in respect. This was a warrior
that would not give up. He leaned over the side of the barge, peering down
into the misty depths, as the grapple disappeared from sight. "Get us back
to the base. Reverse course." The flood of emotions were gone, replaced
with a sense of emptiness and a lingering sense of... danger?

Vibrations from below.

"Inconceivable!" H'ssah muttered. "Nothing could survive that a fall
such as that." The snake peered over the edge, tempting fate one more
time. And as if in answer to his foolish dare, energy exploded upwards to
fill the entire canyon below. Without a second thought, H'ssah shoved his
son down against the captive, shielding him behind the bulk of the dead
sandjaw. There was no time for words. There was only the briefest moment
to half-turn away from a blast so massive it vaporized the other 2 thirds
of the hoverbarge, and half the sandjaw. And then the one indivdual that
had witnessed the finger of godlike wrath stab upwards into orbit saw
nothing, ever again.

[Post Event: 3 hours, 6 minutes. Clark Interview]

I had no idea what was happening, though I was pretty sure that it was
going to be really, really bad for us. I'd like to report that I said
something pithy and to the point upon seeing this new phenomenon, but what
came out of my mouth was more like 'oh crap, what -now-?'. We needed
information, we needed guns and we didn't have either, so we were about to
get hit with this new... thing, completely blind, which is the scariest
place in the world to be when you're on a battlefield.

And then a new star was born. Or reborn.

He came screaming out of that ravine with his girlfriend in his arms,
holding the remains of one of the transport platforms as easily as a
waiter balances a serving tray. Power outlining his silhouette and a
slam-dance salsa song to play on my sensors. I'm serious, I had to block
out even the passives, because they were getting that confused.

But while Spectrum before had been distant and dim, Spectrum now... was
a nova.

The only times I've ever seen power like that up close, I've always
been afraid for my life. This was no exception... except this time, this
blaze of power was on our side. He set Foxy down behind the rock we were
hugging and gave her a long kiss... the kind you give your best girl
before you go off to war. And then he proceeded to do just that. I thought
that the toon would protest that he was leaving her behind, but she just
stared... stared after him as he went. I think she was even more
enthralled than I was. Which makes sense now that I think about it; to
her, this wasn't a birth. She was seeing the man she'd come to love return
to himself, and return to her.

[Event minus 1.00005 seconds]

"Captain!" Sparks shouted, "Massive Energy Surge Bel--"

"SHIELDS!" Tonk screamed. "Close all viewports!"

Sparks hand was already slamming buttons, and the crew of the Lenny
Bruce was saved from blindness by his quick reactions and a sudden half
roll that banked the ship away from the incredible energy discharge.
Moments later, emergency klaxons sounded as a Nintan warship appeared on
their screens.

"We're being hailed!"

"Attention Enemy Vessel! Nintan Warship Yojo transmitting on all
channels. Stand down and prepare to receive transport shuttle to discuss
terms of surrender!"

"Captain!?"

Tonk critically eyed the warship before her. Her eyes darted from the
status screens of her own battle-scarred ship to the ones feeding data
from the ground crew, apparently pinned down, and from the larger far more
heavily armed ship in her view screen. Explosions and yelling could be
heard from the troops still on the ground. "Why is the rum always gone?"
she sighed.

"Attention Nintan Warship. This is Captain Tonk, of the starship Lenny
Bruce, of the planet Earth. Message received. Enter through Bay Alpha. We
await your arrival."

IS THIS THE END OF THE CREW OF THE LENNY BRUCE?

CAN SPECTRUM SAVE THEM IN TIME?

AND WHY *WAS* HE KISSING A VELOCERAPTOR SAPIEN?

All this and a big surprise in the next exciting episode of SUPERGUY!

Authors Note: This episode marks not only the 50th episode of Spectrum and
the West Coast Defenders, but the 15th anniversary of the Amigoid, and a
posting that was triggered by a Microstuff soul collecting EULA program
smashed at exactly the wrong moment, and of all things, spam.

>
> Contact Delphi. $20 a month gets you 20 non-prime hours a month with full
> internet access. Additional hours cost $1.80. There are no additional
> communications surcharges for using Tymnet & Sprintnet in off-peak hours.
>

Here is to another 15 years of writing with you crazy authors. I tip my
goblet of Diet Mountain Dew to you. And baff you with my Nerf Sword, for
good measure.
All of you, readers, authors, (and especially authors I have collaborated
with over the years) in the crazy mixed up altiverse known as 000SUPERGUY,
you are forever a part of my life.

Lawrence H. Brown, aka the Amigoid

Frobozz's note

I just want to give a shout out to Amigoid and wish him a happy
anniversary. It's a thrill working with him, and also a hell of a lot of
fun. Also, the fact that this post is late is entirely on me... my mail
filters betrayed me!
Here's hoping that he's still writing in another fifteen!

---
-Chris
frobozz@eyrie.org
http://www.eyrie.org/~frobozz

Geek Code
GFA/IT/PA d-(+) s--:+> a- C++ UL*++ P+++ L++
E W++ N+ !o !K w++(-) O? M++ V? PS+ PE Y PGP
t+ 5++ X+ R+++ tv+ b+++ DI+ D++ G e++>+++ h- r* z?

SG: Rad #96 (3/3): Taco

(continued from part two, preceding...)

***

Kirby zipped down the hallway leading to the _Vander Harkness's_
command center, disappearing in the blink of an eye. Rad, who had
blinked both of his eyes, gave Elizabeth a questioning look.
"He probably has the floor plan down by now," she said. "Both
authorized and unauthorized areas. Chalandra was going to give us the
tour, but this whole thing started just as we got to Los Requemados."
"I, like, thought you were going to, like, be at Eivandt's
barbeque..."
"Our plane got in late," Elizabeth answered. "And Chal and I had
some business to discuss, in addition to fun time. I figured we'd see
you tomorrow."
"This, like, your son's, like, first time out west?"
"First in a while," she replied. "Most trips I take, I can't
take him along... and he doesn't let me forget it. When do they grow
out of that part?"
"Like, when they, y'know, move out," said Rad. "Ian and, like,
Chelsea always, like, used to complain when, like, one of us, y'know,
had to go somewhere. Rumi, like, used to do the same thing, until,
like, we did, like, take her along. Like, here. To Earth, y'know?"
"Oh, yeah," said Elizabeth. "Glum was saying in her e-mail.
Rumi's been surly-girl all the way from Planet California to the state
of California. She cuttin' you any slack?"
Rad nodded. "Like, some, now that, like, we're here. Of course,
like, that'll only last, like, until she turns, y'know, sixteen..."
"...and becomes a legal adult in the eyes of the Ottsamaddawidu
Confederation and can live where she wants," Elizabeth finished. Her
eyes were still on the door through which Kirby had disappeared.
"Glum told me about that, too. You ready for that?"
Rad grinned and shook his head. "Like, not even close, babe.
But, like, it was like we couldn't, like, stay away any more, like,
y'know? Glum and I, like, love Planet California totally, but, like,
nothing ever, y'know, *happens* there."
"Whereas we have happenings up to our necks," Elizabeth said.
"Believe me, boredom on Planet California sounds really good some
days."
"So, like, why don't you..."
"Same reason you and Glum came back. You belong here. I belong
here. Plus, there's the whole Boston-war-zone-big-wall-around-the-
city thing that I'd like to do something about. And before you say
anything..."
Rad closed his mouth.
"...the reasons that Superguys outside Boston can't intervene
still apply. The reasons that extra-solar civilizations won't
intervene also still apply, I'm given to understand."
"Like---"
His sentence was interrupted by a massive 'crash' sound from the
direction of the command center.
"That had so better not be Kirby," said Elizabeth, as she started
running.
Rad flew past her, almost not giving the fast-sliding doors time
enough to admit him. On re-entering the command center, he found
Kirby, plus those he had talked with on his initial arrival on the
_Vander Harkness_--Chalandra Harkness, Yury Mitsuke, Iris Adams, and
China Moroboshi. There was an enormous hole in the ceiling where had
been the irising portal that had admitted him. Several chunks of
metal were either on the floor or held upright by the walls of the
cubicles into which they had fallen. Shaken cubicle dwellers huddled
by the espresso and vending machines.
"Young man," said a familiar voice. "What do we *say* when we
accidentally destroy an airlock?"
Rad saw Key Li Pan bending down, a finger and a thumb firmly
holding an earlobe of five-year-old Johnny Clark. Johnny, whom Rad
had earlier seen casually juggling anvils and sharks, seemed unable to
resist as Key pulled him in this manner toward Chalandra.
"But, mooooommmmmm," Johnny complained. "The doors didn't open
faaaast enough... maaaaaa!"
"What do we say, Johnny?"
"I'm... I'm sorry, Aunt Chalandra!"
Chalandra knelt before the boy, who looked more distressed about
facing her than about his earlobe being pinched. She waited, looking
at him without evident emotion, until he could look back at her.
"I accept your apology, Johnathan," she said. "You will take
greater care next time in flying toward a wall or a dome, won't you?"
"I... I will!"
"Then why don't you go with your mother to the play are---"
"My anvil!" Johnny exclaimed. He looked wildly about. "Where'd
my anvil go?"
"I don't---" Key started.
Johnny took off, running along the rows of cubicles. His
progress was easy to follow, as cubicle workers jumped out of the way
and cubicle walls made crunching noises as they broke.
"We're losing monitors," China noted, from her security
workstation. "Could someone please maybe stop him before his stomping
around takes out any more important wires?"
"It's too bad you'll have to stay here," said Yury, who was
looking at Key. Key looked back, annoyance crossing her comely
features. "I don't think the play area they have set up is
awesomeantium-reinforced."
"You'd just love that, wouldn't you?" Key asked. "Who's going to
keep Kent from plowing into a power plant during a battle? You?"
"I bet I could."
"How? By burning his suit off?"
"Now that you mention it..."
"I knew it!" Key exclaimed. "You just want to take him away from
me, like you used to steal my boyfriends. You think he can be just
another Hollywood scandal to advance your career!"
"That's not true!" Yury replied. Flames flickered from her hair
and parts of her flameproof red leather outfit. "Who got you to come
back from Korea to marry him in the first place?"
"You did," Key admitted. "But only so you could break us up
later."
"When did I ever say that?" Yury asked.
"Ma'am," interrupted Iris, her personal assistant. "We did
discuss it last year. You decided against it because it was unlikely
that he could stick to script, and also because of the high likelihood
of personal injury..."
"I was joking!" Yury exclaimed, on seeing how dark Key's face was
getting. "Okay, I was kind of pissed off because you wouldn't come
back to do _Super Life 4,_ but I thought she could tell..."
"It's true," Iris said. "I can never tell."
"I wouldn't come back because I have a life!" Key retorted. "A
life that no longer includes you every single minute of every day!"
She and Yury were now standing less than an inch apart, hands
clenched into fists, glaring into one another's eyes. Somewhere
behind them, a collection of cubicle walls crumbled, and computer
monitors went flying. Some workers looked panicked, but others seemed
more focused on the confrontation before them, looks of anticipation
straining their features.
"Like, babes," said Rad, as he stepped up toward them. Though he
doubted they would intentionally hurt him, he willed his psychokinetic
power to shield his body. "Whatever is, like, going on, like, between
you two, it's time, like, to forgive and forget and move on and, like,
stuff, y'know?"
"She left me!" Yury yelled.
"She was smothering me!" Key yelled.
"Where's my anvil?!" Johnny yelled.
"Over here!" Kirby yelled.
"Kirby!" Elizabeth yelled.
"Like, people change, Yury," said Rad. "Like, grow. Move on.
You can't, like, treat them like, y'know, actors that exist, like,
only to fill a role, y'know, in your life. Sometimes, like, you've
got to, y'know, let them go, and, like, trust that, like, they'll come
back, like, when they can."
"Yeah," said Key, tilting her head up a bit.
"And you ought to give Yury some credit, Key," said Chalandra,
who was standing on the side of the Key-Yury confrontation opposite
Rad. "You were gone for several years. She had ample opportunity to
seduce him then, but never took it. And I think you know why."
"That's not my anvil!" Johnny yelled.
"What about this one, then?" Kirby called.
Key and Yury, oblivious to the anvil-based drama being played out
elsewhere in the command center, looked hesitantly at one another.
"I'm sorry," Yury ventured, her voice barely audible, the flames
that had been rising from her hair vanishing. "I... I just..."
"I know," said Key. "I'm sorry, too."
They embraced. Several of the workers around them clapped.
Several others were recording with their cell phone cameras--though
they immediately stopped after Chalandra gave them pointed looks.
"Not bad," said Elizabeth, as Rad stepped away to give them some
room. "I know Chal used to be a therapist with the government, but
when did you learn to make with the insight?"
Rad grinned. "Like, school of life."
Elizabeth waited.
"And... and, like, 'Finding Nemo,' Liz."
"Don't call me... well, okay, *you* can call me that," said
Elizabeth. They looked back at Key and Yury, who were now whispering
to one another. "Glad that's finally resolved. Now we can, you know,
take care of that little matter at Dodger Stadium."
"Speaking of which," said China, "something big's happening at
the stadium. Take a look."
Rad, Elizabeth, and China peered at the large monitor at China's
station. It showed the same picture of a well-lit nighttime Dodger
Stadium as before. Now, however, the bronze-gold nectarisite 'lake'
that filled the baseball-playing area pulsed.
In the center, something was rising. A long and circular
projection, not unlike the barrel of a large gun. As they watched,
the base of the barrel rose past the level of the nectarisite lake,
and what was beneath it began to emerge. It appeared to be a cone
covered with rococo ornamentation. As its diameter grew, Rad became
increasingly concerned.
"Like, whoah," he said, distilling the essence of his
apprehension.
"What is that?" asked Yury. She was now next to him, with Key
next to her, arm around her waist. They crowded around China's
station with him and Elizabeth.
"Big thing," China replied. "Badly decorated. Coming through
the metallic lake at Dodger Stadium. Probably not season ticket
holders. Mighty Guy, Manny, Bada... Guido, and Templar are on the
scene."
"What about other area superguys?" Elizabeth asked.
China shook her head. "I've been trying to reach the West Coast
Defenders, Commander Frank, or anyone else on the open superguy
frequencies. Communications are being jammed, and one guess as to
where the jamming is coming from."
"We oughta get out there, before someone gets hurt," Key said.
"We're not sure it has hostile intentions," Liz noted.
"I wasn't talking about that," Key replied. "Kent's out there,
remember?"
"Oh... right. You'd better go."
"Great to see you again, Liz," Key said, giving her a brief hug.
"Yeah," said Yury. "I didn't even know you were here yet.
Thought you wouldn't be getting in until tomorrow." She turned to Key
and grinned.
"Like old times, right?" she asked.
"Let's go break something," Key replied, grinning back. "I...
oh, right. Johnny! Where are you?"
"Speaking of rogue pre-adolescents," said Elizabeth, "where's
Kirby?"
At that moment, Johnny Clark emerged from a still-intact cubicle
corridor, juggling five anvils. Kirby zipped around him, occasionally
running up and over the flying anvils as if they were stairs.
"I found my anvil," Johnny reported. "And four more, just lying
around!"
Chalandra saw this, and stepped away from where she had been
conferring with a technician.
"Four anvils, lying around?" she asked. "I... how? Why?"
"Monthly meeting of the Anvil Club," China told her.
"I mean the real reason."
"It's on the company calendar," said China. "That's mine with
the skulls and flames on it."
Johnny caught one of the anvils in his hands, and soon had all
five in a stack, with Kirby on top. The anvil with the skulls and
flames was the second from the top, and fairly impressive to Rad. The
others, from top to bottom, were a checkerboard-painted anvil, a
psychedelic day-glo anvil, an anvil featuring many different pictures
of Ryan Seacrest, and an anvil painted like a WWII bomber--with a
cheesecake-y Yury on the nose. Yury saw this last one and grinned.
"Anvil club, then," said Chalandra.
"Anvil club," China replied.
"I don't suppose the first rule of Anvil Club is you don't talk
about Anvil Club, is it?"
"Um, no..."
"Then make it so."
"Johnny," said Key. "Set the anvils down---"
A huge crash rolled through the command center.
"--gently. Oh, dear..."
"I hate to say it, Key," Chalandra said, "but I'm not sure if we
can survive an unsupervised Johnny Clark. If you could stay in
reserve..."
"Excuse me, ma'am," Iris Adams interrupted. Chalandra, Rad, and
everyone else in the immediate vicinity turned their attention to the
petite, blue-and-white pantsuit-clad woman, who had stayed quiet since
her employer's confrontation with Key. "I used to be a nanny for a
while. I could watch the young Mister Clark... if it's also okay with
Miss Mitsuke."
"Works for me," said Yury. "Give yourself a raise when you get a
chance."
"Um," said Key. "What?" Rad suspected that Key, voiced wishes
to the contrary, had not really expected anyone could watch her son
while she went into battle.
"Hello, Johnny," said Iris. "I'm Miss Adams. I could show you
some other games you can play with these anvils, without disturbing
these folks. Would you like that?"
Johnny looked at his mother, who nodded. "Okay!" he exclaimed,
and quickly gathered up the anvils. "Is it how far I can throw them?"
"More of a logic game," Iris replied, her voice imperturbable
and, inexplicably, now slightly British-accented. "Come along, then,
we'll find a space where we can play..."
"Try conference room three," China suggested. "Don't mind the
table, it's ugly and needs breaking anyway."
"Right, then," said Iris. "Come along then, Mister Clark."
Johnny, to Rad's surprise, gently accepted Iris's hand and let
her lead him and his re-stacked anvils away.
"Now that that's done," said Elizabeth, "Kirby... Kirby, where
did you go?"
"Dude was, like, here a minute ago, y'know?" Rad said, when
Elizabeth gave him a questioning look.
"He'll turn up, I'm sure," said Yury. Elizabeth seemed reluctant
to agree, then nodded. "Okay, then. Enough yabbering about here.
Let's go hit something."
Rad needed no further encouragement. He, Key, and Yury took off
through the partially-repaired hole in the roof and into the night
sky. Their ears were immediately assaulted with the roaring sound of
the engines, something not audible inside the command center, despite
the torn dome-top. Another feature no doubt designed by Bhossi and
Cla'rabhele, Rad thought.
The top of the flying, H-shaped metal block that was the _Vander
Harkness_ was not as active as it had been when Rad and Yury had first
arrived. All the VTOL jets were gone, all but one of the helicopters
were gone, and no one was driving around or being outfitted with a jet
pack. Rad guessed everyone who could get airborne had already done
so, and everyone else had orders to get below decks.
He followed Key and Yury further away from the _Vander Harkness_,
until they passed the outer edge of the exterior noise containment
field. The tremendous engine sounds fell away to the typical sounds
of Los Angeles at night--car horns, sirens, gunshots, the rush of the
ocean--and some much less typical.
They had gotten within visual range of Dodger Stadium during
their time on the _Vander Harkness_, Rad saw. What they now could see
was much like the screen had earlier shown. Dodger Stadium was filled
with a bronze-gold metal lake that glowed in the light projected by
the stadium's banks of powerful lamps. In the lit parking lot, a
number of figures moved toward two helicopters that had set down, and
from the considerable gunfire he heard, he guessed that his friend
Guido, the onetime Badass, was in the vicinity. Jet, jetpack, and
helicopter noise was all around, though Rad could not immediately see
those generating it.
What had started rising from the nectarisite lake that covered
Dodger Stadium's field was now over a hundred feet tall and still
rising. Its sides near its base were getting close to the railings
that separated the still-undamaged seats of the stadium from the
field. Numerous ostentatious rococo curlicues and swooshes gave the
rising object a surprisingly tacky look.
"It's like we're being attacked by something from the Hidden
Empire's garage sale," Yury noted. "That big thing they try to get
rid of every year, that they got from their blind grandmother."
At that moment, a massive bolt of electric energy vaulted from
the nose of the rising object into the darkness above. The bolt was
thick and jagged, and washed everyone and everything around it in
blinding brightness for a moment before vanishing. Far above, they
heard something explode.
"Time to bring the hurt," said Key. "Who's ready?"
"Like, yo," Rad replied, letting psychokinetic power build in his
arms and hands.
They waited.
"Like, Yury?"
"I'm trying to think of a line," Yury replied. "It's hard
without a script." She then shook her head, as if realizing what she
was saying. "Never mind. Let's toast this taco!"

WILL THE HIDDEN EMPIRE'S TACO BE TOASTED?
WHAT SORT OF FUNKY ACTION IS GOING ON IN DODGER STADIUM'S PARKING LOT?
WILL SOMEONE DARE TALK ABOUT ANVIL CLUB?
WILL SHADEBEAM HELP RUMI?
WILL ROOG DO HIS DUTY?
WILL LEMON PUT ON PANTS?
HOW LOW ARE THE ADMISSIONS STANDARDS OF THE MIB THESE DAYS?
IS ERASMUS FANCY WORKING FOR THEM?
WHAT ABOUT RYAN SEACREST?
WILL THE NEXT EPISODE CONTAIN SOME ACTUAL PLOT ADVANCEMENT, OR AT
LEAST MORE STUFF GOING BOOM?

Find out some of this and some other stuff in the next oblique
episode, only on... SUPERGUY!

And now, Kenny G.
--
Gary W. Olson
swede at novitious dot com
Superguy LJ Community: http://community.livejournal.com/superguy_list/