SG/LNH: New Exarchs #12 - Waiting for Gouda

[Still December 10, 2007 - Manhattan, KS]

[We're gonna need a time jump at some point, it's too warm out to be
writing about an ice storm. - Ed.]

"Look," Hans Zwarghoff explained, trying to sound patient but failing
pretty miserably. "You can't stay here."
"Why?" Space Case, aka Mikey asked. "Are you on one of those registries
the news people are always talking about?"
"NO!" Hans almost jumped back. "Well, I am on a few mad scientist
lists, but those don't forbid contact with children," he said, sounding like
he wished they did...or at least forbade children from coming into contact
with him. "I'm just not allowed within fifty feet of a cow. Long story, no
time to tell it, look at the time, shouldn'tyoubegoinghomenow?" he blurted.
"It's an ice storm out there," Epicycle, aka Corrine, pointed out as if
explaining the rules of a board game to a particularly slow child. "Mikey's
phone got wet and won't work, so even if dad could safely come pick us up, we
can't call to ask."
"Besides, you got electricity," Mikey pointed out. "Home probably
doesn't."
"Fine. You can use my phone," Hans sighed, gesturing at a cordless
handset sitting on the arm of a couch. "They probably have the line tapped
by now, so I hope your parents don't mind coming to the attention of They."
"Them," Epicycle corrected.
"No, They. It's a proper name...sorry, I'm too tired to pronounce the
capital letter clearly," Doctor Zwarghoff lifted his glasses to rub at his
eyes. "Hey, why were you out on a night like this in the first place?"
"My sister made me," Space Case grumped.
"We're on patrol!" Epicycle struck a heroic pose. Well, as heroic as a
rain-sodden tweenager could manage. Which wasn't very, but points for
effort.
"Okay, that just leads to more questions," Hans sighed. "WHY are you on
patrol?"
"We're going to join the Preteen Patrol," Epicycle replied proudly.
"I'm Epicycle, and this doofus is Space Case."
"And I'm Doctor Hans Zwarghoff," Hans furrowed his brow. "Preteen
Patrol...doesn't that require at least three kids? Where's your third? And
where's your adult mentor?"
"We're still looking for a third," Space Case admitted. "And for a
mentor."
The two children suddenly fixed Hans with a PLEEEEEEEEZ? sort of
expression.
"Oh, no. No. Definitely not. I am *not* the sort of role model you
want...Elvis knows I'm no Spoonman," Hans dissembled. "Kids and I don't, I
mean, it's just..." he continued to sputter.
Epicycle put the phone down, having been using it during the comedic
display of discomfiture. "Dad says to stay here until morning, the power's
out all over the place, and the roads are horrible. He also says you're a
crank but basically harmless."
That brought Zwarghoff to a somewhat indignant stop. "Harmless? Say,
who *is* your father?"
"Nuh-uh. Secret identities," Epicycle pointed to her goggled
aviator-style helmet. "The Mask Principle doesn't work if we blab! RIGHT,
Space Case?" she elbowed her partner, who was on the verge of taking his mask
back off, having only donned it at her insistence earlier.
"It itches," he protested.
"Teen Patrol regulations," she replied.
"Well, you certainly have the Spoongirl/Sporkboy dynamic down," Hans
observed. "Is that in the regulations too?"
"'Soptional," Space Case shrugged. "I think it comes natcheral to her,
though."
"I could just check the phone's call-out history," Hans countered. "And
you're not actually *in* the Preteen Patrol yet, not if you don't have a
third young hero, so I'm not entirely sure the Mask Principle will work."
"Um, wait," Epicycle pulled a booklet out of her costume and started
paging through it. "Where is that...ah, here. 'Probationary or pre-
enrollment PTP members enjoy the full metaphysical protection of the Mask
Principle, up to and including keeping their parents blissfully in the dark
about their activities.' So there. Read it and weep."
"Let me see that!" Hans snapped, grabbing at the booklet and scanning
through the pages. "Drat."
"Oh, and look at page thirty five, paragraph two," Epicycle added
smugly.
"Page...para..." Hans mumbled under his breath. "Wait a minute!? 'Any
adult without a criminal record who accepts this booklet from a pre-
enrollment PTP member who lacks a team mentor will be considered the
provisional mentor until such time as a permanent mentor can be chosen'? So
I'm stuck with you two until I can find some other poor sap to pawn you off
on?"
Epicycle looked like she was going to cry, but Space Case just shrugged.
"Unless you have a criminal record?" he suggested. He didn't seem too
interested in the arrangement either.
"No, but that can be fixed," Hans snarled. "I can think of a few
felonies I'd like to commit right now..."
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!" Epicycle bawled.
"What?" Hans blinked. "No, don't cry. Stop that. There's no crying in
superguying...wait, that's baseball. Wow, you got a set of lungs on you.
Please stop...stop crying...ALL RIGHT, I'LL BE YOUR MENTOR!" he finally
capitulated.
"Yay!" Epicycle bounced up and down happily, tears instantly shut off in
that way that most children can manage.
"Just, don't go in the basement. It's not child-safe. And don't go in
my bedroom. Or any of the other bedrooms. In fact, just stay here in the
living room, I'll get you some blankets or something," Hans dithered. "Watch
some TV or something, assuming the cable's still working," he said as he
wandered off in search of the promised blankets.
"This is a pretty big house for just one guy," Mikey observed after Hans
was out of earshot. "Especially if we're not supposed to go into any of the
bedrooms. You suppose he has kids?"
"Him? Kids?" Corrine snorted. "I doubt it! He can't even recognize a
basic Number Five fake cry...he wouldn't last five days with kids of his
own. Too bad, though...if there *were* other kids here, I bet we could get
one of 'em to be our third."
Hans came back into the room, and the two kids schooled their faces into
the sort of false innocence that wouldn't fool a parent for an attosecond
[10^-18 seconds - Ed.].
"Ah, good, you've settled down," Hans sighed in relief. "Now, I'm going
to have to go downstairs in a bit to check on something, and then the others
who live here should be back. I'm sure one of them would be a much better
mentor than me," he promised.

A few hours later, the two kids were asleep on the couch and the Exarchs
hadn't come back through the Cheeezball.
Hans didn't sleep a wink until morning.

__--__--__--__--__--__--__-- \\NEW// --__--__--__--__--__--__--__
.|,Coherent Comics Presents \\ // #12 - Waiting for Gouda
--X------------------------- E }X{ ARCHS copyright 2008 by the
'|` A Superguy/LNH Tale // \\ Dvandroid (Dave Van Domelen)
--__--__--__--__--__--__--__ // \\ __--__--__--__--__--__--__--

[January 12, 2008 - Manhattan, KS]

[I toldja! Time jump! - Ed.]

"Mornin', Doc!" Epicycle chirped as Hans opened the door, still dressed
in robe and slippers. "Any word from your friends?"
Hans blinked blearily. "Izcaturdayalready?" he mumbled.
"Strictly speaking," Space Case yawned, pulling off his mask to rub the
sleep out of his eyes, then putting it back before his sister could elbow
him.
"You said we could do down to CiCo Park and practice wilderness tracking
today?" Epicycle insisted.
"And do some sledding," Space Case held up an official Spoonman
SnowSpoon (TM), essentially a giant plastic spoon you sat in for sledding,
much as kids in days gone by might have used shovels (only to fall into the
ice and die, because their older brothers foolishly wished never to have been
born and some idiot angel took it literally).
"Oh, right," Hans replied, a little less zombie-like now. "Come on in,
kids. I need to get dressed and eat something. Um, and no luck on my
friends, no."
In fact, he'd finally finished cheeez-proofing a remote drone and sent
it through the Cheeezball the night before, only to have it immediately cease
functioning. When he'd reeled it back in, he'd found it covered in tiny
dents...and clay. Analyzing the chemicals in the clay had kept him up far
later than he'd planned.
"I think one of the kids at school is coming around," Epicycle called
down the hall as Hans shuffled around in his bedroom. "He even has a power.
Okay, he can just make a red dot appear on things, like a human laser
pointer, but you might be able to make someone think police snipers are
targeting them."
"I suggested he call himself The Great Red Spot," Space Case
contributed. "He thought it sounded like a name for someone with zit
powers."
"And then the dummies spent half an hour making zit jokes," Epicycle
frowned.
Hans emerged, fully clothed and covered in a rumpled lab coat instead of
a rumpled robe, sniffing himself experimentally and deciding a shower wasn't
100% necessary yet. "Here, I've been meaning to give these to you two," he
said, holding out a pair of flash drives.
"What's on 'em?" Space Case asked. "Secret super science stuff?"
"Sort of. Cheeez sensors. Plug them into your phones, and if the alarm
goes off, call me," he pointed to their new, water-and-iceproof, cellphones
with USB ports. "It's superguying stuff."
"Would this have anything to do with that fight at the mall a few weeks
ago?" [In New Exarchs #7-9 - Ed.] Epicycle asked, cocking an eyebrow. "I
remember smelling some cheese after it ended."
"Yes," Hans beamed, like a teacher at a star pupil. "The bad guys use
cheeez-based technology, so this should let you know if they're nearby.
Remember, though, you're still not officially in the PreTeen Patrol, so don't
try to fight any of the bad guys."
"No duh," Space Case rolled his eyes, earning him an elbow from his
sister.
"Can you make us some powers," Epicycle asked. "I mean, beyond sensor
stuff? Things we can use if we, um, can't run away from the badguys when
they show up?" She already had a long mental file of excuses to explain why
she just *couldn't* have run away, and *had* to fight the badguys.
Hans thought for a moment. Giving weapons to children was generally
frowned upon by the authorities. Even They weren't too keen on it, and They
had very little sense of morality that Hans was aware of. On the other hand,
while Manhattan didn't have anything like Dillweed City's Directive 37
officially on the books, the general principle of "normalguy police don't
interfere with superguy business" was an accepted part of common police
practice. And giving weapons to superguys was perfectly okay.
Well, as far as the police were concerned. Hans was starting to wonder
if maybe behind those innocent exteriors his two little charges were more
than a little trigger-happy.
"I'll think about it," he finally said.

WILL HANS ARM THESE ADORABLE LITTLE CHILDREN, IN WHOSE MOUTHS BUTTER WOULDN'T
MELT?

WHERE THE HECK DOES THAT "BUTTER WOULDN'T MELT IN HER MOUTH" PHRASE COME
FROM ANYWAY? WOULDN'T LACK OF MELTING SUGGEST THE PERSON IS ONE OF
THE UNDEAD, OR A REPTILE-PERSON?

WILL NEXT EPISODE FOLLOW THE REST OF THE CAST AROUND FOR AN ENTIRE MONTH,
OR IS THE AUTHOR USING SOME SORT OF CHEATY "TIME ISN'T RUNNING AT THE
SAME RATE IN THE TWO ALTIVERSES" DODGE NOW?

IF THE LATTER, WILL IT BECOME A SIGNIFICANT PLOT POINT?

WILL HANS EVER LEARN THAT THE APPEARANCE OF INNOCENCE IN A CHILD IS
DIRECTLY PROPORTIONAL TO THEIR LEVEL OF GUILT?

Answers to some of these, and maybe a horrifying sledding accident, on
the next...SUPERGUY!

============================================================================

Author's Notes:

Hans Zwarghoff's default attitude towards kids is a mix of the 2007 Hans
Zarkov's general social ineptitude and Stargate Atlantis's Rodney McKay's
specific attitudes towards kids. He does seem to be warming to this pair,
which is another way of saying they're successfully conning him.
Yes, "Red Spot" is a Xanth reference. Also, in Randy Milholland's
"Super Stupor" strip, he is clearly thinking of the original PreTeen Patrol
when talking about how the younger and cuter a kid is, the more of a tank the
kid must be. Neither Corrine nor Mikey can channel the entire output of the
Sun at will.
Yet.
Oh, there are *so* many ways I can make that "yet" turn out badly for
Hans....

SG: WCD #47: Ahh! Panic! Snakes!

Sparks kept a watchful eye on his displays. Nothing ever went exactly
as planned; and the idea of dropping the troops a bit further out to avoid
detection had been quashed when some odd looking pits in the sand had been
sighted on approach. Hitting the command button, he began to murmur a
strange series of invocations through the commo net, "Pause... Forward 7.5
seconds... Center and enhance... Zoom to 300%... Enhance".

British Airwave leaned towards the screen. "What the devil?"

"Doodlebug" Sparks responded flatly. "Bloody hell(tm)."

"An antlion?" Randall replied. "But why the shift to landing site C?"

"Check the image scale. You are looking at a doodlebug about the size
of a humvee."

"Ah, well, that makes a right bollocks of sites A & B."

"Yup, and Aurora's finest would look like a chewed mouse before they
even got to the snakes."

"Not to look a proverbial gift horse in the mouth, but is anyone
worried about the resistance -- or specifically the lack thereof -- we
have encountered so far?"

"Maybe yes. Maybe no." replied Sparks noncommittally. "Once in a
while we're allowed to get lucky."

Tonk coughed, "Lets not invoke Murphy till after the battle, shall we?"

"We've got the transmission from the crew while on final approach,"
Sparks continued. "Odds are, Clark trusted his gut and made the call.
With us trying to lay low for now, we can't chat with them about this.
They'll have enough to worry about with the recon pair that we saw coming
towards them from the base."

"Captain, how soon before we can start getting telemetry from the
combat armor?" Doc Sloan grumbled. "State of the art combat suits and we
have to go silent."

Tonk caught the annoyed undertone and the not too well suppressed glare
from the doctor, but decided to let it slide. Things had not gone well
with the confrontation between his secret psi and Spectrum's fiance, after
which Miss Queen had locked herself in her cabin and refused anyone
entrance. Tonk ruefully noted that this situation was far from resolved.
"Soon enough Doctor. This gets hot, and we'll have plenty for you to look
at."

"500 meters and closing." Sparks intoned. "Let's hope they can deal
with these snakes before things get ugly."

***

WEST COAST DEFENDERS #47: Aah! Panic! Snakes!

Costarring Aurora and the West Coast Defenders

By Lawrence Brown and Chris Angelini (B.A. says they pity the fool!)

***

Spectrum rechecked his onboard map and held out the display to where
Foxy could see it with him. Holding her hoverboard under one arm, he
looked like a superdeformed Bulletproof about to go surfing. He lasered a
comment to Clark, who was at the front of the dropship and on the far side
of the squad. "I'll swing around the east side, you recon the west and the
team quick-marches up from the south between us."

"Right. We're about to land at the new site. Not our best choice, but
at least we won't have as far to march." He leaned over to the heavily
armored recon armor trooper who would be sharing the deployment sled. With
helmet to helmet contact, he spoke, "Davis, get the sled ready as soon as
we land, but use the dropship as cover. We have visitors coming in from
the north: a pair of snakes."

Davis hefted a lethal looking sniper rifle. Flipping on a commlink, he
queried, "You know I could drop one of those slitherers with this before
they could get close."

Clark shook his head. "We need to let them get close enough to be sure
to get a drop on them, maybe grab some intel before they blow themselves
up, and make sure neither of them gets a chance to radio back. Be ready,
but let's see what TDSM and the Nikon Ninja can do."

Spectrum looked anxiously at Foxy for what seemed like the millionth
time since they boarded the dropship. She leaned into him, hugging
herself, her brow creased in concern, but all attempts to suss out of her
what was wrong had been met with stony silence.

He had returned from the card game to find her in the cabin quietly
sobbing in their bunk. As Spectrum had drawn near she dragged him into
the bunk and buried her face in his chest. She would neither explain nor
release him, and so he whispered to her to soothe her and gently stroked
her back and tail, until she shuddered and sighed asleep. He'd awakened
to the alert klaxon and had no time to discuss things further with her, as
they had to both dash to ready stations.

Opening his suit's faceplate, he whispered to Foxy softly. "Honey,
I'm not
going into combat without knowing that you and I are all right. Did I do
something wrong? What has got you so upset?"

"Hush now, Sailor," she replied, touching a finger to his lips. "Let me
focus on keeping things locked down. If we get out of this, I'll explain
later."

"If?..."

Clark gestured for attention, snapping Spectrum out of his reverie.

"Good news, bad news people," he began, keeping his voice low. "We're
touching down at the closest drop spot, just south of the base and east of
the big canyons edge, in a hollow that is west of the target insertion.
Yes, that's the good news. Bad news is we will be landing hot with a
couple snakes en route to see us, and the canyon curves directly south of
our location, so retreat other than by the dropship is not an option.
Canyon drops almost straight down, and it's too damn deep to know what
waits below, and visibility in the canyon is terrible from the mists
coming up from the below, but the spill-over of that fog will give us some
cover in the hollow."

He looked at the team. "We hit the ground running and get clear of the
ship. Squads form up while Alpha and Beta recon," he gestured to Spectrum
and Foxy, then himself and Davis, "...will move off to the sides, while
Omega team," he gestured to TDSM and the Ninja, "...will deal with the
snakes. I want them captured as quickly and as quietly as possible.
Primary objective is to try and get something useful from them, but don't
let them call for backup."

He checked his display and all units keyed in their silent
acknowledgment. Eyes forward, tensed and ready to charge out. He paused
to admire his squads' discipline, and wished he had time for a final word
of encouragement, but the landing thumped him into action as the walls
split open.

***

H'ssah gazed across the trackless wastes of the Homestead desert and
proudly stroked his son's scales. His eggling hissed contentedly at his
father's attentions, quietly forgetting his nerves over today's hunt. The
time of the first shedding was nearly upon the child and whatever his son
could kill on this expedition would be what his son could devour once the
molting was done. It was a sacred time in any child's life, and having
insufficient nourishment after a shedding would affect the child
profoundly for the rest of his life.

One of a half-dozen other snakes was stationed at the tiller at the rear
of the payloader platform. The machine hovered at a constant level above
the dunes, not responding to dips and drops below it. Stable, slow, and
powerful, it would serve as a useful hunting platform. Its crane arm
would also help make hauling the prey aboard an easier task. And with no
vibrations from the party slithering across the sand, their chances of
surprising the prey improved. So much easier than when he had been the
eggling. Quietly they proceeded at a steady 10 mph as the sun rose in the
distance.

As H'ssah's eyes flicked across the sands, searching for likely bug
nests to assail, he heard a most unwelcome sound. With a hiss of
annoyance, he lifted his communicator and answered its summons.
"-What-?" he demanded. He'd left instructions for there to be no
interruptions. "You realize that you contact me during my own eggling's
molting hunt?"

"Sir," spoke the unseen snake in his race's usual sibilance. "There
is a craft on farseer."

"Well naturally there is a craft, watchman S'thal. We are, after all,
a spaceport. It is in the nature of spaceports to occasionally have
dealings with spacecrafts. Would you next like to report to me that your
nuncheon is still wriggling?"

"I beg forgiveness. But this craft is like none we know. It appears
skittish, like a sandrat hiding beneath the dunes."

"Watch it then, for that is the way of watchmen. If it turns from prey
to predator, contact me at once. But most likely it is a lost sandwing
trying to decide if we offer succor or a hunt before they make to contact
us. And if you feel unclear on my instructions, and wish to contact me to
clear them up?"

"Yes, sir?"

"DON'T!" H'ssah hissed in his loudest voice, before slamming closed
the communicator.

***

"And I'm telling you, that if you had not attempted to modify Commander
H'ssah's heating unit, we would have enjoyed the N'tar celebration once he
and
his eggling made their kills! Instead, we are sent out here to waste time
looking for a foolish sandwing."

"What of S'thal? He is not privileged to attend either?"

"Was your egg cracked? He is in mid-molt, which is why he chose to
take watchmen duty in the control tower, so that he can serve and yet
attend to his molt."

"Truth Spoken. Well, how was I to know it would set the Commander's
work station ablaze? He said that he was cold."

"Stub-tail! We are all cold! We serve, though we shiver through the
nights. Daylight warms us in our rest time. Now help me find this smuggler
or whatever this traveler turns out to be and we can return to our
heaters."

"What in the name of the pit mother would possess someone to wander
this far from safety? Do they not know of the sandjaws?"

"Perhaps not. Best that we help them before they find out for
themselves. Only a fool or a criminal would wander this far from
landport."

The other snake made a reptilian snorting sound. "It has been almost
two hundred hatchings since any race has dared oppose the mighty Nintan.
All are happy under our rule. There is peace. It is no doubt a fool from a
border world, hoping to save a few bars in port fees. Let us help them
and return to our stations."

The pair slithered forward slowly through the morning fog, until they
drew close to a small dune. In front of them, sat a strange creature,
dressed in grey with legs instead of a proper serpentine frame. It
watched them, making no moves other than to raise its pair of arms up
slowly. As they approached it, it made strange sounds and flashed its
teeth.

"Have a care S'rdshrt. From what world is this creature?" The pair of
snakes pointed their weapons at the figure but it made no attempt to flee;
speaking instead.

The closest snake holstered his weapon, and pulled from his belt the
scanner/translator device. The snake slowly waved it toward the figure,
as he pressed different studs.

"...guess they aren't going to kill me right away. Lucky me. I don't
know what that widget he is waving around now is but--"

"It is a translation device, creature. You have illegally landed in a
non-secure zone and per our Nintan code authority all your base belong us
to cargo will be seized until you have been inspected and fines have been
offered submission."

"You sure are packing more heat than the meter maids back home."

The snake glanced down at the translator device and waited as it
offered a couple suggested translations. "I do not think you mean to
suggest I am an egg layer or a workspace warmer. Perhaps you have never
been fortunate to meet a Nintan warrior as majestic as we are. You will
now lead us to your ship. Or S'klbrg shall send you to your final coil."
The other snake cocked its weapon to accent the point.

"Okay, don't shoot me. Hey, can I ask you if you have ever seen one of
these? Here." The biped crouched and slowly rolled a small ball to the
snake.

Several things seemed to happen all at once. The scanner device
flashed an alarm, almost at the same moment as the ground erupted around
the snake with the rifle ready and the ball exploded with a dazzling
flash. Partially blinded, the snake spun around to watch some terrifying
creature drag S'klbrg under the sand. Whipping back around, he grabbed the
commlink from his belt and was about to flip it open when a blur of grey
and a flash of silver flashed in front of him, and suddenly his arm and
the communicator his hand grasped lay in the sand. His body felt
strangely numb as he hissed in terror, grasping the bleeding stump.
Another flash of silver, and S'rdshrt turned his head all the way around,
to
stare at the space where his partner had stood. The world wobbled and he
gazed up at the sky, as his own body fell upon his severed head.

A minute later the ground disgorged the other snake, completely
cocooned in webbing except for its agitated hissing head. Dark shadows
emerged from the fog as the Nikon Ninja finished cleaning his sword, then
picked up the translation device. TDSM hauled the snake up into a
vertical position and held the captive firmly with several of its arms.

The snake looked at the approaching bipeds all around him. "Truth
Spoken, I am molting without newskin. I am mated pair to a skr'sslor."

The translator device quipped, "Screwed am I."

***

Clark's message flashed on the screen. "Two targets encountered. One
terminated, one captured intact. Translation device recovered. Op secure.
Intel en route."

***

"We've got data incoming!" Sparks yelled, turning his seat towards the
others. "Looks like Clark's group got themselves a non-splody prisoner!"

"Aces!" replied Tonk. "Forward biological information to the good
doctor's station and have them focus interrogation efforts on weaponry,
defenses and stockpiles of beer. In
reverse order of priority."

"Aye cap'n," replied Sparks, looking rueful as he began to multitask...
conveniently 'forgetting' Tonk's alcoholic order.

Dr Sloan leaned over his station, glad to have something with which to
occupy himself other than worry over Queen. To say that Tonk had handled
that badly would be to say... well no. Time to put that out of his head
and focus on the data received. It was time to be a professional and try
to improve the troops' survival odds by as much as he could. He wished
that Tornado armour came with better sensor equipment; he'd shave his
mustache for a bone density scan. But Tornado scout armour had decent
enough a package to give him -something-... Images of the slaughtered
snake gave him a crude but effective view of the internal cross-section of
the snake's body.

"Note to self-" Tonk muttered. "Do not make TDSM angry."

"Actually, TDSM's target was completely uninjured. That was Nikon
Ninja's target." Randall leaned over the display. "A professional piece
of sword work, that."

"I can't believe he just stood there while the snakes came to him."
Sparks opined. "It was either madness ...or brilliance."

Tonk replied. "It's remarkable how often those two traits coincide. "

"Captain," said Slone, looking up from his investigation. "I can
confirm. Our enemies are cold-blooded ectotherms and bear a striking
biological resemblance to Terran suborder serpentes. No venom to speak
of." He frowned. "Honestly, there's nothing here I can learn from a fast
scan that we didn't already know. So... why are they so deuced worried
about our getting ahold of bodies?"

"Could be that they have something to hide that T-armour won't pick up.
Tell the troops to stow that prisoner where they can get him. I want you
to do a thorough examination once they get back."

"Yes ma'am," replied Sparks, moving to relay his captain's order to the
ground forces...

WILL OUR HEROES COMPLETE THEIR MISSION AND LIVE?

DOES THE N'TAR CELEBRATION INCLUDE RUM?

WHAT IS THE NINTAN'S SECRET?

---
-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: Sporkman #25 - A New Humiliation - (DCB 10/12)

*************************************************************
** The Sporkarific Sporkman
** Featuring the Preteen Patrol
** Episode #25: A New Humiliation
** By Greg R. Fishbone
**
** Dillweed City Blues #10 of 12
**
** Mickey Dunne, a former child superhero, has reinvented
** himself as Sporkman, savior of the Supersonic Airship
** Unsplodable. Can he save the future by confronting the past?
*************************************************************

Spoonstryke dropped from the skylight onto a narrow catwalk and
suffered another deja vu moment. No wonder she didn't remember the
Spoonside Galleria from her childhood in Dillweed City--this building
had just been a gigantic warehouse back then. In fact, it had been the
exact same warehouse where she, as Spoongirl, had first encountered
Astatine Valance in her AquaRegia identity...

* * *

From her perch on the catwalk, Spoongirl watched the gang of
burglars pry open the valuable shipment of collectable dolls. Any
moment now she'd be ready to make her move. Any moment now she'd drop
down and take them all out... Any moment now she'd finally prove how
competent she really was...

Suddenly, she felt a presence moving toward her from behind.
Spoongirl's hand clenched a handful of spoon-shiruken from her sash as
she spun to confront her attacker, who turned out to be a young girl
about her own age, wearing a blue and red superhero costume.

"Hi, Spoongirl. Whatcha doin'?" asked the girl casually, as if
they'd just run into each other on a public street corner.

Spoongirl stared at her, incredulously. "I'm about to capture a
gang of doll-burglars," she said.

"Neat! Can I watch?"

"Who are you?"

"AquaRegia."

"AquaRegia?" Spoongirl scoffed at the name. "What are you
supposed to be, the Lost Princess of Atlantis?"

The girl shook her head. "Aqua regia is a fuming, corrosive
mixture of nitric and hydrochloric acids capable of dissolving gold
and platinum. I'm a superhero in training!"

Spoongirl just stared blankly at her.

"My cousin sent me in here to check if anyone was trying to steal
that shipment of UFO-Catcher dolls, and look! They totally are! By the
way, he's a real big fan of yours -- why don't I go get him?"

"No," Spoongirl stated. "This isn't a good time for autographs,
Princess. Right now I have a job to do!"

"You have a job? Wow! I tried to get a paper-route once, back in
Gnerfskin Falls, but the newspaper's Xerox machine broke down and they
couldn't print any more copies."

"That's nice," said Spoongirl, looking down to make sure that the
doll-burglars were still busy and unaware of her presence. "Why don't
you just stay up here, out of the way, and I'll take care of the
bad-guys."

"Oh, I can't stay up here! My cousin said I had to check in with
him in five minutes, and it's been four minutes and twenty-six
seconds, twenty-seven seconds, twenty-eight seconds..."

"You're not going anywhere until I've captured those burglars,"
Spoongirl stated, as she flung the shiruken to emphasize her point.
She was aiming to miss, of course, as she merely wanted to scare the
other girl into staying out of her way until the building was secure.
AquaRegia, seemingly, did not move -- yet somehow she managed to catch
all three of the bladed spoon-shaped projectiles with one hand as they
passed by.

"Hey, these are cool! Can I keep them?" Spoongirl pulled out her
spoonlaser and pointed it at AquaRegia. "That's a very dangerous angle
you have that thing aimed in," the other girl noted. Spoongirl took
this as a personal challenge, and pulled the trigger.

The laser beam missed AquaRegia by the smallest fraction of an
inch, as Spoongirl had planned, passing so close that the
superhero-trainee would feel the heat on her neck. But Spoongirl
hadn't counted on the beam striking one of the thin metal braces by
which the catwalk was suspended from the warehouse rafters, breaking
it apart. There was a loud sound of tearing metal, and the catwalk
pitched to the side and dropped about a foot, barely held in place by
the remaining support-braces.

Spoongirl momentarily lost her balance and almost fell off the
catwalk, but AquaRegia remained balanced, as if she had somehow
calculated and compensated for the effect of the shattered brace.

Far below, the doll-burglars heard the crash echo through the
warehouse. They looked around at the stacks of boxes and crates
surrounding them, but failed to look directly above their heads.

"I told you that was a dangerous angle," AquaRegia said to
Spoongirl. The red-haired flatware heroine clenched her fists and took
a step in the other girl's direction. "Stop! Don't take another step!"
shouted AquaRegia.

"Is that a threat?" asked Spoongirl. "You don't scare me,
Princess! I'll step any place I want, any time I want!" She took a
single step forward to emphasize her point, and the weakened catwalk
fell away under her feet.

"I definitely heard something this time," said one of the doll-burglars.

"What?"

"Dunno... It sounded a bit like a large metal catwalk crashing to
the cement floor after falling about thirty feet from the ceiling.
Yeah, look, there it is over there!"

"Good thing it didn't fall on the Ultraman dolls," said another
of the burglars.

"What do you suppose would make a catwalk fall like that?" All of
the doll-burglars looked at each other for a moment, and then turned
their gaze toward the ceiling, where AquaRegia was hovering in the
air, holding Spoongirl by the collar in a very undignified manner.

"Look, it's Spoongirl!"

"Awwwwwwwww!"

"And she's got a little friend to keep her from falling to a
messy, splattery death!"

"Awwwwwwwww!"

"And the two of them are probably going to capture us and send us
away for a long, long time unless we can kill them and escape!"

"Awwwwwwwww!"

"Hey, they're waving at us!" AquaRegia exclaimed, waving back
with her free hand. "Now they're drawing their guns! And now their
pointing them up at us! This is so exciting!"

"We're going to die, you idiot!" Spoongirl screamed.

"You mean you're not bulletproof?"

"No!"

"Oh. That could be a bad thing."

"No kidding." The doll-burglars pulled their triggers, and
Spoongirl's crimson jacket was riddled with dozens of bullet-holes.
This would have been a very bad thing indeed had she still been
wearing it at the time. Instead, she had managed to pull her arms out
of the sleeves and drop out of the garment just in time to miss the
hail of bullets aimed in her direction.

* * *

Spoonstryke shook her head sadly at the memory. It had all seemed
so embarrassing and undignified at the time but those really were the
good old days. Now that she had grown up into the grim and serious
solo heroine she'd always been fated to become, silly things like that
just didn't happen to her anymore.

"Reach for the sky, evildoer!" shouted a child's voice behind her back.

Spoonstryke sighed, chiding herself for so carelessly invoking
Murphy's Law. She turned slowly toward two young boys in curious
costumes. One, whose gem-studded duds seemed to be channeling
Liberace's favorite tuxedo, was balanced precariously on the shoulders
of the second, who looked like an Orange Creamsicle with legs--and
what exactly did the "U.T.K.K." on his chest stand for, she wondered.
Uptight Tele-Kinetic Kid? Uncle Theo's Knaughty Knightmare?

"Kid superheroes have really gone downhill since back in my day,"
Spoonstryke noted.

"The sky, I told you! Reach for it, that is. Toward the skylight,
I mean." The gem-covered boy gestured upward, momentarily throwing the
other boy off balance. Spoonstryke could now see that their only
support was some kind of plastic-coated notebook that hovered in the
air next to the catwalk.

"That's not one of the approved battle cries from Chapter 4 of
the manual," the other boy lectured him. "The most preferred
expression in this situation is 'Freeze!' -- a single
attention-grabbing syllable that works to great effect against any
villain whose powers aren't ice-based."

"Well...how do we know this one here isn't ice-based?"

"Think, Bedazzler, think! Is her skin covered in frost? Does she
have little icicles hanging from her fingers? Is her costume white or
pale blue? No! Therefore you should have said 'Freeze!' instead of
'Reach for the sky!' like the sheriff in an old Western."

"But I like old Westerns," Bedazzler protested.

Spoonstryke rolled her eyes. Had she ever been this young? This
naive? This completely stupid? She started to introduce herself, to
bring this sorry situation to a close before these kids hurt
themselves fighting her, but she never had the chance. A gleaming
silver girl slammed her gleaming silver shopping cart into the
catwalk, ripping it from the wall.

"Not again," Spoonstryke stated in annoyance, during her
freefall. She eased her descent by using her spoon-grappler, the
mall's string of decorative banners, and a twenty-foot-wide penny that
stood on its edge among a collection of items from her father's
crime-fighting career. Spoonstryke landed gently on her feet next to a
plaque that read, "This gigantic coin is a 320-times scale replica of
one that might have been mailed in during the Spoonman Music Club's '9
Compact Discs for a Penny' promotion."

The gigantic coin, knocked loose from its base, began to roll
down the colonnade, crushing other Spoonman-related exhibits as it
gathered speed. "Oh-no! It's heading for the Eddie Bauer Outlet
Store!" exclaimed the silvery girl with the flying shopping cart. She
dropped down and interposed her body directly between storefront and
the rapidly approaching penny.

Spoonstryke considered this development for a moment. It was
entirely possible that this metallic girl knew exactly what she was
doing and had the power to stop 90 tons of fast-moving zinc and copper
using only her body. On the other hand, it was also possible that the
girl was trying to nobly sacrificing her life to save a few racks of
overstock clothing. Unable to take the risk, Spoonstryke sprang into
action.

Since she hadn't had a chance yet to retract her spoon-grappler,
Spoonstryke's only other option for overtaking the fast-rolling coin
was a quick release from the compressed gas canister on her belt. She
would only get one chance, and her timing would have to be
split-second accurate...

Spoonstryke positioned the tank and ripped the nozzle clean off.
Combined with a running jump, this sent her airborne with a trail of
green-grey smoke in her wake. She flew directly toward a life-sized
robotic T-rex, which had stood outside her father's ill-fated
Spoonworld theme park, and reached out a hand to steer herself around
its toothy head, onto a new trajectory headed right at the silver
girl.

"Shopper! Look out!" called one of the boys from high above. "The
supervillain is coming right at you!"

The girl turned, saw Spoonstryke approaching, and screamed.

Spoonstryke rolled her eyes and wondered why situations like this
one always took place on an 'act now and explain later' basis. Unable
to alter her course, she gritted her teeth and reached out to snatch
the silvery girl out of the giant penny's path--only to have her arms
splash through as if the silvery girl were made entirely out of
liquid. The penny also splashed through the girl's body, leaving a
silver puddle that quickly flowed back into the shape of a dazed girl
who stared horrified into the newly-decimated Eddie Bauer Outlet
Store.

Spoonstryke's flight came to an abrupt end as she crashed into a
hotdog stand, drenching her entire body in a long smear of mustard,
ketchup, onion pieces, chili, and uncooked wieners.

When she looked up, Spoonstryke saw the silvery girl's lip quaver
in dismay as the two boys jumped up and down, high-fiving each other.
And then there was Mickey Dunne, freshly arrived, still wearing his
police uniform and looking oh so smug and amused.

"Way to go, Spoonstryke," said Mickey with a smirk. "I could make
any number of hotdog-related puns right now, but I'll leave those as
an exercise for the reader."

WILL SPOONSTRYKE BE ABLE TO KETCHUP WITH HER FORMER REPUTATION?

CAN SHE PASS MUSTARD WITH THE PRETEEN PATROL?

IS THIS WHAT SHE GETS FOR ACTING LIKE SUCH A HOTDOG?

Find out next week as we relish the idea of another episode of the
Sporkarific Sporkman Featuring the Preteen Patrol, only on A FRESHLY
TOASTED BUN!

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

[1] Astatine was as immune to Spoongirl's cuteness as she was to most
other powers and attacks. You'd think this would have endeared her to
Nancy, but it only pissed her off more.

[2] Spoonman has a lot of the same trophies as Batman, but less heroic
means of accumulating them. Also, he stores them in a shopping mall
instead of in a bat-filled cave. The 90-ton cent could be made from
melting down $327,680 worth of actual pennies. Since each penny
contains more than a penny's worth of metal, this might actually be a
wise investment.

[3] I recently sold my stash of collectable UFO-Catcher dolls,
hard-won in 1995 from some of the toughest UFO-Catcher machines in
Tokyo, to an anime-themed museum.

--
Greg R. Fishbone
* Official Author Site - http://gfishbone.com
* The Penguins of Doom book site - http://septinanash.com
* Word of the Day blog - http://tem2.livejournal.com

SG: Sporkman #24 - A New Respect - (DCB 9/12)

Number Thirty-One jumped into the mall fountain and twirled
around an oversized statue of Spoonman spouting water from his mouth.

"Little sis! What are you doing?" asked Number Twenty-Two.
"You're ruining your Old Navy wardrobe!"

"What, these ugly things?" The tiny underling stomped up and
down, splashing water all over herself. "I told you I needed something
cute."

"But-- you're navy blue all over like a little blueberry-themed
bakery mascot! You're absolutely adorable!"

Number Thirty-One stood still and allowed the water to smooth out
enough to present her with a decent reflection. "Perhaps," she
admitted, "but I'm still not maximizing my potential."

"Maybe another color?" Number Twenty-Two suggested.

"Mmmmmmaybe."

"Well then, you're in luck! This mall has an Old Burgundy, an Old
Teal, and an Old Sunshine Yellow!"

"Hooray!" Number Thirty-One threw her navy beret into the air in
a manner so cute that all the bystanders stopped running to safety,
pressed their hands together, and let out a chorus of
"Awwwwwwwwwwwww!"

*************************************************************
** The Sporkarific Sporkman
** Featuring the Preteen Patrol
** Episode #24: A New Respect
** By Greg R. Fishbone
**
** Dillweed City Blues #9 of 12
**
** Mickey Dunne, a former child superhero, has reinvented
** himself as Sporkman, savior of the Supersonic Airship
** Unsplodable. Can he save the future by confronting the past?
*************************************************************

Although Martini remained tight-lipped, Mickey soon got
directions to the Spoonside Galleria from a helpful pedestrian. The
mall was a half-mile away but the Spoonmoblie and patrol car
collision, along with the partial demolition of a nearby office
building, had brought traffic in that part of downtown to a
standstill. "We'll have to go on foot," said Mickey which, because
their vehicle had been crushed into a metal pancake, probably could
have gone without saying.

"Forget it, rookie," said Martini. "That mall isn't part of our beat."

"I don't know what beat you're on, Martini, but the one I signed
up for involves pitching in wherever I'm needed."

"No, it doesn't." The older offer clamped a hand on Mickey's
shoulder. "I know what you think of me. That I'm lazy and useless,
right?"

Mickey met the other man's steely gaze. "I never said that."

"You don't have to say it. I was once a hotshot rookie myself,
back in the day, and I was constantly embarrassed by my worthless
piece of crap of a partner who wouldn't lift a finger for nobody. That
was before I got beaten down by the years until now, I've become just
like him. All good cops in this city get beaten down like that, turned
into mediocre cops, because mediocre cops with their heads down are
the only ones who make it to retirement."

"I wouldn't call you mediocre," said Mickey.

"Don't flatter me, kid."

"I wasn't. Mediocrity requires a basic level of competence that I
haven't seen in you yet."

Martini growled. "Listen up, rookie. I'm trying to help you out
here, giving you the benefit of my experience. Do you know how rare it
is for a cop in this city to keep his edge over an entire career? Of
all the officers I know, only the Captain is still as sharp and
determined as he was on the day we graduated the academy together.
Good old Captain Philip Dunne--putting in the long hours, charging
toward every fight, collaring every crook he can find, and still not
making a bigger dent in the crime rate than slackers like me. It must
drive him out of his mind!"

Mickey clenched his fists at the way Martini was talking about
his father. "What's your point, Martini?"

The veteran sighed. "All I'm saying is, as much as you might
respect and admire your father, it'd be better for you to be more like
me. When that supergirl was here, Spoonstryke, I saw the way you
looked at her."

Mickey's eyes narrowed to slits of laser intensity. "The way I
looked at her?"

"Yeah, like she was just an ordinary person. Like she was your
equal. Like you could go toe-to-toe with her and come out of it
without a scratch."

Mickey ran a finger over the scar on his forehead. "Maybe not
without a scratch."

"Yeah, well, whatever. You get that from your father. He once
even dared to haul Spoonman himself into jail for unpaid parking
tickets--but the rest of us know that superguys have their battles and
we have ours. That's what Directive 37 is all about, which is why the
Fraternal Order put their support behind it. Sure, your dad wasn't
happy, but he was vastly outvoted by guys like me."

"I'm going to the mall," Mickey stated.

"Then go," said Martini with a dismissive wave of his hands. "I
can't be responsible for you anymore. And if you get grieved, I'm not
sticking up for you at the inquest." As Mickey started off at a jog,
Martini called after him, "You're just like your father!"

Mickey's lip twitched into a smile.

* * *

"This way!" Ultimate Trapper Keeper Keeper announced, leading his
team of preteens through the West Wing of the Spoonside Galleria. He
rode his Trapper Keeper like a wakeboard, surfing invisible waves from
one side of the colonnade to the other, dodging artifacts from the
heroic career of the Great and Mighty Spoonman. Silver Shopper kept
pace with him, astride a gleaming silver shopping cart that looked
like an extension of her gleaming silver body, while Bedazzler lagged
far behind.

"Wait...up...guys..." puffed the jewel-encrusted boy. Every step
he took set a cascade of colored LEDs pulsing all over his costume,
which made him extremely difficult to look at.

Silver Shopper's cart suddenly screeched to a halt in front of a
jewelry store.

Keeper banked his Trapper Keeper around to join her. "Did you
find the supervillains?"

"Better." She pointed into the store. "There's a 20%-off sale on earrings!"

"You...don't have...pierced...ears..." gasped Bedazzler, taking
the opportunity to finally catch up with his teammates.

"She could ask her parents for permission," Keeper suggested.

Shopper frowned. "My parents were purchased by Konsumor, along
with the rest of the people on my home world and the entire planet
itself. Only my service as Konsumor's herald allows my people to
afford the temporary lease-back of our capital city."

"Ah right," said Keeper. "So I guess that means no earrings for you!"

"Gaa-- Gaa-- Gaaaaa--"

Keeper and Shopper looked over at Bedazzler, who was still out of
breath and desperately wheezing to get their attention. Following
Bedazzler's urgently-pointed finger upward, they saw a woman with a
leather costume and long red hair lowering herself by a steel cable
from one of the skylights.

"The supervillain?" Shopper guessed.

"Either that or a fellow hero we're destined to battle due to our
mutual misunderstanding before joining forces with her to subdue the
real menace," Keeper answered.

"Sounds...good enough...to me..." said Bedazzler, removing his
bedazzling gun from its holster.

KIDS IN DILLWEED CITY ARE ALLOWED TO CARRY BEDAZZLING GUNS?

IS THIS REALLY WHAT THE FOUNDING FATHERS HAD IN MIND WHEN THEY WROTE
THE SECOND BEDAZZLING AMENDMENT TO THE BEDAZZLING CONSTITUTION?

WILL BEDAZZLING GUN CONTROL ADVOCATES BE ABLE TO CLOSE THIS BEDAZZLING LOOPHOLE?

Find out on the next bedazzling episode of "The Sporkarific Sporkman
featuring the Preteen Patrol", only on SUPERGUY!

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

[1] That little twist of a smile on Mickey's face was the main purpose
of this entire 12-episode arc. He'd never have had that reaction
before seeing the world through police-issue sunglasses. Just thought
I'd point that out in case anybody missed it.

[2] The teaser questions were written before the recent death of
Charlton Heston, one of our nation's most high-profile gun advocates.
During his final years he made detailed pronouncements about his
funeral arrangements--that they should be tasteful, respectful, and
include the forcible removal of a firearm from his cold, dead hands.
The question is, do you feel more or less safe knowing that Heston is
no longer roving the streets with a Revolutionary War-era musket
raised over his head?

[3] I've never used a bedazzling device.

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

SG: Sporkman #23 - A New Roll-Call - (DCB 8/12)

Underling Number Thirty-One stepped out of the Old Navy-Colored
Clothing Store and danced around the Spoonside Galleria's
exhibit-packed colonnade, which featured items related to the
superheroic career of the Great and Mighty Spoonman. Among the items
she passed without paying much attention were a replica of the
Spoonmobile Mark II, the podium at which Spoonman had been sworn in as
Governor of New Jersey, and a mysterious statue that looked like
Amelia Earhart with a tiny Rush Limbaugh impaled on her middle finger
which, according to ancient legend, represented the first harbinger of
the Great Devourer's return to the mortal plane.

The child-sized underling had been practically naked upon
entering the mall, but now wore a navy-colored hoodie, navy-colored
sweatpants, navy-colored shoes, and a navy-colored beret that sat
cocked at a cute angle atop her bright red hair. She also carried
bundles of unpaid-for, navy-colored merchandise in her tiny arms.
"That was fun!" Number Thirty-One told her big sister, Underling
Number Twenty-Two. "I think I'm going to like shopping."

The taller, more adult-looking underling grinned down at her. "I
can't really say which part of shopping I enjoy more, the taking what
I want or the making sure what's left over doesn't fall into the wrong
hands." She pressed a small detonator button and the storefront behind
them erupted in a wall of flames and shattered glass.

Other mall shoppers, being less tolerant of gratuitous
explosions, scattered in all directions, aided by a policewoman who
had perhaps responded to an earlier alarm from inside the store.
"Nothing to see here! Move along!" she directed. "Step carefully! Mind
the flaming debris!"

"Good afternoon, ma'am," Number Thirty-One, with a polite curtsey
that had been pre-programmed into her newborn brain.

"Good afternoon to you too," said the policewoman. "Gosh, you're
just about the cutest little supervillain ever!"

Number Thirty-One turned to her big sister. "Are we supervillains?"

"Of course not," Number Twenty-Two told her. "We're underlings."

The policewoman frowned. "What's the difference?"

"Supervillains have all kinds of responsibility for planning
stuff and organizing what everybody does, while underlings just follow
orders and have fun."

"Hooray!" Number Thirty-One proclaimed, dropping her bundles and
dancing a merry jig. "I like being an underling!"

"Ah, okay." The policewoman nodded. "But you're still
super-powered, aren't you?"

The little redhead stopped dancing and frowned in uncertainty. "Are we?"

In the blink of an eye, Number Twenty-Two snatched the gun from
the policewoman's belt and made a show of bending it into a new and
unusable shape with her bare fingers. "We are," she stated, tossing
the now-useless weapon back to its owner.

"Right then," said the policewoman, apparently unphased. "I guess
Directive 37 would still apply. You two have a nice day now."

"Bye-bye!" Number Thirty-One called, as she skipped happily away.

*************************************************************
** The Sporkarific Sporkman
** Featuring the Preteen Patrol
** Episode #23: A New Roll-Call
** By Greg R. Fishbone
**
** Dillweed City Blues #8 of 12
**
** Mickey Dunne, a former child superhero, has reinvented
** himself as Sporkman, savior of the Supersonic Airship
** Unsplodable. Can he save the future by confronting the past?
*************************************************************

The mall's food court patrons, if they were seated in just the
right place and faced in the right direction, might have noticed a
metal door between Cinnabon and Orange Julius slide open for less than
five seconds. Those same patrons, if they were paying careful
attention, might have seen three children tumble out of a pneumatic
chute and land together in a heap. And if those patrons had telescopic
vision and fantastic attention to detail, they might have seen a tiny
bronze plaque reading: "PRETEEN PATROL ACCESS TUNNEL #417, GIFTED BY
THE CLASS OF 2003."

But since the mall was undergoing an emergency evacuation, there
weren't any patrons in the food court just then anyway.

The three children--two boys and a girl--carefully picked
themselves up off the food court's flooring of shellacked brick with
festive inlaid tile. "I didn't know we had a tunnel that led directly
to the mall!" exclaimed the girl, whose body and clothing seemed to
consist entirely of liquid metal with a polished mirror shine.

"Official use only," said the taller, pale-skinned boy, as he
tapped the door's "Official Use Only" sign with his thumb. His costume
was a traditional spandex bodysuit in a very non-traditional dayglow
orange camouflage pattern, like one might wear to blend into a war
zone that had for some reason been entirely paved in hunting vests.
The sigil on the boy's chest contained the letters "U.T.K.K."

"Ultimate Trapper Keeper Keeper is right," said the second boy,
whose shirt, pants, and mask were covered in thousands of glittering
rhinestones and tiny plastic studs.

"You're just saying that to keep him from going into one of his
rants about following the rules," said the metal girl.

"Shhhhh!" he urged.

Ultimate Trapper Keeper Keeper opened his Trapper Keeper
portfolio, which was patterned with the same orange-cammo as his
costume, and removed a pre-printed form. "Okay team, it's time for
roll call!"

"Do we have to?" groaned the metal girl.

"We already know who's here and who's not," the other boy added.
"Keeper, Shopper, and Bedazzler, all present and accounted for--now
let's start busting heads!"

Ultimate Trapper Keeper Keeper smiled patiently. "All in good
time, my stone-studded friend, but first we must follow the policies
and procedures set forth in Chapter 13 of the Preteen Patrol
operations manual--"

"Which you made up yourself," the metal girl noted.

"--which I made up myself," he agreed, "in my capacity as group leader."

"But the rest of us never voted for you!" the other boy protested.

"Elections aren't necessary when there's only one viable
candidate." Ultimate Trapper Keeper Keeper pulled a ballpoint pen from
the edge of his Trapper Keeper, to which it was attached by a
retractable cord. He clicked his pen three times and brought it to the
paper, using his Trapper Keeper as a clipboard. "On this pre-printed
attendance sheet I am filling in the date, time, and a brief
description of our mission. Then at the bottom, each of us has a field
for attendance, special orders, and any behavioral deficiencies for me
to bring to Miss Ammy's attention."

"Wait, hold on," said the metal girl. "You've been narcking on us
to the teacher?"

"In my capacity as group leader--"

"We never voted for you!" the other boy shouted again.

Ultimate Trapper Keeper Keeper made a mark on the page. "Your
insubordination has been noted. Now, I shall start the attendance with
the universally acknowledged leader of the Preteen Patrol, myself." He
cleared his throat and called out, "Ultimate Trapper Keeper Keeper,
Keeper of the Ultimate Trapper Keeper, known to friend and enemy alike
as Keeper for short--are you here?"

During the pause that followed, the metal girl splashed her
liquid metal foot up and down while the gem-encrusted boy picked at a
particularly large green-glass crystal on his shoulder.

"Yes, I am here," Keeper answered his own question while placing
a checkmark on the page. "Next, Silver Shopper?"

The girl stood at attention. "I am Silver Shopper, herald to
Konsumor, a being with such a high credit rating that he is able to
purchase entire planets!"

"I didn't ask for your entire backstory," Keeper snapped. "Just
say 'here' or 'present.'"

"Present," grumbled Shopper, and she resumed tapping her foot in boredom.

"Bedazzler?" asked Keeper.

"Present," said the boy with the rhinestones. "And I'm starting
to get a little pissed off by the way you waste our time with this
nonsense at the start of every mission."

"Editorializing during roll call...Miss Ammy will not be
pleased," said Keeper with a sad shake of his head, as he made another
mark next to Bedazzler's name. "And finally, Superguy Junior?"

The three preteen heroes looked all around the empty food court.

"Superguy Junior?" Keeper asked again.

A blue sticky-note drifted down from the ceiling. Shopper
snatched it out of the air and read, "HEY, GUYS. STILL LOOKING FOR MY
QUIET READING BOOK... DID I LEND IT TO ONE OF YOU AND FORGET ABOUT IT?
SIGNED, EUGENE."

"Oh for Elvis's sake-- We're on a mission, Eugene!" Keeper called
into the empty air. "Chicken out if you want but at least you could
respect the code name system!"

Another sticky-note dropped into Bedazzler's hands. "SORRY, DUDE.
NOT CHICKENING OUT--JUST SUPER BUSY, LIKE MY DAD. WILL BE THERE TO
PITCH IN IF I'M TRULY NEEDED. SIGNED, SUPERGUY JUNIOR"

Keeper tapped his pen next to Superguy Junior's name and wrote,
"Chickened out again. Recommend booting his worthless
too-busy-for-action butt off the team."

"So it's official," said Bedazzler. "We're mostly here and
somewhat accounted for. Now can we please get at least one good fight
scene in before the teaser questions roll?"

"Too late!" shouted Shopper. "Look! There they are!"

WHAT THE--?

WERE THE TEASER QUESTIONS POSTED IN A PLACE WHERE THE CHARACTERS COULD
READ THEM?

DID THEY APPEAR IN THE AIR, FLOATING, MADE UP OF COLORED LIGHT TO
RESEMBLE NEON TUBES?

DOES IT CHEAPEN THE SERIES TO HAVE CHARACTERS BREAK THE FOURTH WALL LIKE THIS?

Find out on the next episode of "The Sporkarific Sporkman featuring
the Preteen Patrol", only on SUPERGUY!

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

[1] Before we had Old Navy stores in our area, it was hard to tell
just what they were from the ads alone. I figured they either sold
used clothing donated by the Navy or outdated styles in various shades
of dark blue. Now that we have Old Navy in our local mall, I don't
actually shop there, so I still don't know which is true.

[2] It's fun to have some new characters to write for! It'll be
interesting to see how long it takes them to totally take over this
series.

[3] Say... Mickey doesn't appear in this episode at all, does he? :D

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