Spacebullies Two: The Search For More Parody

Copperfox

Copperfox

Well-known member
SCREEN CRAWL TO OPEN:

It is a universe with flesh-and-blood people, whose lives are mysteriously affected by The Fuss: a power associated with imagination and entertainment. The Fuss causes life in this time-space continuum to resemble various movies.

Only a few persons in this peculiar galaxy have the ability to use The Fuss. One of these-- a man short in stature, but huge in obnoxiousness-- is known as Dark Headgear. He serves the also evil, but mostly stupid, President of Planet Spacebull, Bob Snooze.

As our story begins, the mega-mothership of Planet Spacebull has been wrecked, after a failed attempt to steal the atmosphere of Planet Directvideo, a peaceful world ruled by King Lowbrain, a man almost equally stupid as President Snooze. The Spacebullies were thwarted by a ragtag band of heroes (it always has to be a ragtag band, it can't ever be a disciplined force), led by spacefaring hero Groan Starr. Having acquired the power of The Fuss from wise old Master Yoga-Rug, the hero bested Dark Headgear in a duel, and won the heart of Lowbrain's daughter Princess Vixen.

Dark Headgear's defeat was followed by a sudden destruct sequence on board the evil mothership. Since this fantasy universe is hesitant to kill off characters, everyone, good or evil, somehow survived the giant starship's destruction. But Lord Headgear and President Snooze, along with Admiral Blender, survived the hard way: descending inside a broken-off segment of their ship.

Having lost the capability for Ludicrous Velocity, the three villains could only reach a destination within the same solar system as Directvideo: the also-inhabitable planet Chimpanzia, whose ape-ish inhabitants are friendly to their Directvidean neighbors, but have no spacecraft of their own.....
 
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This universe being conformed to human sci-fi customs, the planet Chimpanzia naturally had horses exactly like horses on Earth. Riding on two horses, a pair of Chimpanzians came to investigate the landing of the Spacebully ship segment.

Seeing the three villains climbing out, the husband said to his wife: "There goes the neighborhood!"

"That one is President Snooze!" the wife exclaimed. "We need to summon the militia and have him arrested!"

Dark Headgear had the best hearing of the three villains. and quickly told the president and the admiral what had been said. But his ability to use The Fuss was still weakened by the injury Groan Starr had inflicted on him; so he whispered to the others, "We need to bluff them!"

President Snooze accordingly assumed his best political manner and walked toward the two locals. "Greetings, my friends! I am President Snooze of Planet Spacebull, and I have come to offer you a wonderful opportunity!"

"We know what you offered to the Directvideans," retorted the lady ape. "We picked up transmissions from our neighbor planet. You tried to steal their whole atmosphere!"

Snooze forgot to maintain his phony smile. "That's hate speech! We were only correcting an injustice! Directvideo had more air than we had, so we were simply redistributing it!"

Admiral Blender chimed in: "You're against atmospheric justice! You hate us for being different!"

"I see we have a language problem here," said the male Chimpanzian. "In any language I know, 'being different' and 'attempting mass murder' are not synonyms." He and his wife suddenly drew guns and took aim at the Spacebullies. "Hands up! We're placing you under arrest ourselves."

"Can't you just zap them?" Snooze hissed to Dark Headgear.

"Not yet, sir, I still haven't recovered."

Just then, a large object fell out of the sky, landing in front of the apes and their horses. It was a kettledrum: the same kettledrum which had been played by a crewmember of the Spacebully mothership when it began its air-stealing operation. The horses backed up in alarm, and Lord Headgear grabbed his opportunity.

"You see my mastery of The Fuss! Now YOU must surrender to US, or I will bombard your whole planet with, um, percussion instruments!"

The Chimpanzians did not surrender to the Spacebullies, but they did ride away.

"Good work, Headgear," said Snooze; "but how did this tympani get here?"

"Our kettledrummer must have jettisoned it from his life pod," interjected Admiral Blender; "and it might help us."

"How, by starting an orchestra?"

"No, sir. It contains a power plant. You know, sir: one of the silly good-luck items which keep sci-fi stories moving."

Extracting the plotline-convenient power-supply unit from the kettledrum, Admiral Blender hurried back to their spaceship segment with it. Snooze, meanwhile, suddenly exclaimed to himself: "I remember! In 'Planet of the Apes,' you only ever got to see the front end of their crashed spaceship; and there were three survivors there, too."

"True enough, Mister President," replied Dark Headgear. "But it might be just a LITTLE more important to realize that, if the Chimpanzians tell the Directvideans that we're here, the Directvideans will fly over here and have a necktie party with our necks!"

"Oh. There is that. Headgear, you go help the admiral, while I do the other most important thing."

"Which is what?"

"Compose a convincing speech, and save it in my teleprompter, in case anyone back home still is alive to hear it. A speech about our glorious victory over Groan Starr and Princess Vixen."

With a grand eyeroll, Dark Headgear went to join Blender in the effort to get their ship-segment flying again.

Meanwhile, Chimpanzian authorities, alerted by the couple who had found the three Spacebullies, contacted Planet Directvideo and reported the exact location of the fallen mothership segment. But while King Lowbrain was trying to find out whether his planet had any functioning military forces that might fly over to capture the villains, it all became a moot point.

Admiral Blender had succeeded in getting the mothership segment spaceborne.

His reward was to listen to President Snooze's planned victory speech.

Seventeen times.

It would have been forty times, had not Dark Headgear recovered enough energy to make Snooze fall asleep for the next ten hours.
 
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Change of scene

Piloted by Prince Groan Starr-- who had learned about his own royal ancestry mere days before marrying Princess Vixen of Directvideo-- the compact starship Selenium Falcon was on course for its honeymoon destination.

On board, the respective companions of the newlyweds were engaged in a conversation that would provide story exposition for the benefit of anyone who had never seen the recently-concluded movie "Spacebullies."

"How is it that Groan Starr knows where to go, if he has no memory of that planet?" asked Bot Index, the female-voiced robot who had been Vixen's governess in childhood.

"It's in the medallion the captain was given by Master Yoga-Rug," replied Puke, the furry humanoid who had flown the galaxy with Groan Starr but had not known his friend's origin until near the end of the first movie. "The medallion's programming didn't release the knowledge of royal birth until after Groaner had beaten Dark Headgear, so the captain wouldn't be dangerously distracted. After the danger was past, the medallion transmitted the knowledge to him, including the location of his native world."

"And did it tell why Groan Starr didn't grow up ON his native world?"

"Yep. There was this blue-skinned interstellar thief called Yondupe, who wanted to train a boy for burglary. His crew stole Groaner as a toddler for that purpose; but another kid they stole suited them better. So they left Groaner off at a big space station called Bubblewrap Five, where he was raised by decent folks who didn't know where he came from."

Thinking-indication lights twinkled on Bot Index. "And they taught him to fly spaceships."

Puke wagged his tail. "Right; so at least he had a marketable skill. Bubblewrap Five was where I first met him."

"And what about his native planet?"

"It's a mostly-dry planet, like Nagobah where we met Master Yoga-Rug. But now that we've provided enough exposition to get on with, I'm sure the captain will soon land us there."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The desert planet Srirachiss had only one spaceport, at its north pole where the temperature was bearable. Puke made the arrival call, feeling that his friend's new dignity required a henchperson to make radio calls for him. When the space-traffic controllers heard who was requesting clearance to land, they asked Puke to hold.

Six minutes later, a female voice came on the channel: "Brother! Is that you?"

Groan Starr took the microphone. "Hello? Srirachiss Control? I'm Prince Groan Starr, but I didn't know I was a brother. Who am I the brother of?"

The unseen woman made an exasperated noise, "That should be 'OF WHOM am I the brother?' The Penny Jezebels who educated me insist on proper grammar!"

"What's a Penny Jezebel?" asked Puke. "Are they like Nickel Jellybells? One time I ate a whole box of those at the Mutant Carnival on--"

"Quiet, wagtail!" snapped Vixen. "I want to find out my new sister-in-law's name!"

The woman at the other end exclaimed, "I hear a fellow princess!"

'Yes, I am a princess," Vixen affirmed. I just married Prince Groan Starr, and we've come for a family reunion. So what IS your name, sweetie? Mine is Vixen, daughter of King Lowbrain."

"I am Princess Trala-Lalia Ashtrayides: well, technically only an archduchess, but 'princess' is more standard in fantasy adventures. To the desert folk, I am known as Trala-Lalia of the Spoon. Whatever the title, I am your husband's younger sister."

"Hey, sister," Groan interjected, "how did you know you were hearing a princess talking before she gave you her name?" He assumed a dramatic tone of voice. "Are you also a master of.... The Fuss?"

"No, brother, my abilities come from... The Jalapeno. That is the energy source for pulled-out-of-a-hat superpowers on Srirachiss. Now, stand by; Bunkem Isotope, my husband and advisor, will give you landing instructions."
 
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When the Selenium Falcon landed, Bot Index and Puke emerged first, in their capacity as retainers to the arriving royals. Armed men and women stood at a distance, but only two persons were up close to greet the newlyweds. One was a man who somewhat resembled Groan Starr, but looked more athletic. The other, obviously Trala-Lalia, greatly resembled the black-haired Vixen, but was MUCH more athletic.

"Brother! Sister-in-law!" cried the Srirachian princess, running up to hug and kiss them both. "My planet is your planet!"

"Trala, should you have touched them immediately?" asked the Srirachian man. "What if they've been tampered with by Snarkonnens?"

"Relax, Bunkem," repled Trala-lalia, stepping back toward her male companion. "My Jalapeno intuition would have warned me of any biohazard."

Puke, ever one to blurt out badly-timed words, blurted: "So you're cool with Groaner taking over the rule of your world?" Princess Vixen and Bot Index each kicked one of the dog-man's shins.

"Please pardon my shipmate, sister," said Groan in his best mollifying voice. "I didn't come here to try to order you around on your own turf-- well, on your own sand-- when I hardly even know anything about Srirachiss."

The desert princess smiled. "No offense taken. But I'll ask YOU to take no offense if I do a bit of confirmation," From inside her loose jacket, she drew forth a silvery spoon, eighteen inches long. When she tossed it into the air, it spun rapidly, then flew toward Groan Starr. Plucking the chain-hung medallion from Groan's neck, it flew back to Trala. She silently pressed the medallion against her forehead for half a minute, then handed it back to her newly-found brother.

"Well, now we know why she's called Trala-Lalia of the Spoon," Bot muttered aside to Puke.

"You are who you say you are, Groan Starr. You are my elder brother. and the eldest surviving heir of House Ashtrayides. Thus, I am in fact ready to hand over the rule of our planet to you. Now Bunkem and I can go ahead and start a family!"

At this, the Srirachian warrior beside Trala showed the first smile the newcomers had seen on his face.

Before anyone said anything more, Groan felt a stirring of The Fuss in his mind. The stirring produced a responsive stirring of The Jalapeno in Trala's mind.

"Hey, no need for E.S.P.," said Bunkem Isotope. "I'm a Mentalcat super-genius, so I already know by deduction what you're sensing, without actual psychic ability, Prince Groan Starr. You're sensing that there are conditions to your assumption of power: conditions you haven't been told about. Don't hold that against Trala-Lalia; she's so accustomed to the mysteries of the Penny Jezebels--"

"--that I didn't realize the conditions needed to be spelled out," the desert princess, or archduchess, finished. "My apologies, brother, my husband is right. There are a FEW little initiation ceremonies for a ruler of Srirachiss...."

Groan gazed intently at his sister. "I'm picking up a thought about-- poison?"

"Um, yes, brother dear. You'll have to prove your worthiness by drinking half a gallon of deadly poison and living. Then you have to walk naked across fifty miles of blazing-hot desert without water. Then you have to ride back to your starting point on the back of a giant habanero monster. Then you have to stick both your hands and both your feet inside special boxes which make you feel incredible pain, and keep them in there while a Penny Jezebel reads aloud from a Srirachian phone book. Then you have to forecast next week's weather on seven other planets. Then you have to solve twenty problems in differential calculus while juggling four double-edged knives. Then you have to--"

"I don't get it," interjected Vixen. "All I had to do to be a princess was to be born. What is it about this world of sand dunes that calls for giving the royal family such a hard time?"

"It's in the nature of our galaxy. Life on all worlds known to us is compelled to pattern itself after science fiction; and THIS planet is especially doomed to embody the less cheerful sort of imaginative tales. At least this has a good side: our desert is so barren that nothing edible should be able to grow on it, but somehow there's always food here. If we simply starved to death, we wouldn't have any long-term baffling mysteries to struggle with."

"Likewise, oxygen in the atmosphere is renewed in spite of the absence of green plants to conduct photosynthesis," added Bunkem. "Just as if there were an author someplace not caring if his readers wonder how we could survive here."

"Maybe whatever does that here, could be used to restore the atmosphere on Planet Spacebull," Bot Index muttered to herself. "Which would head off any new threats to Planet Directvideo."

"But above all," Trala continued, "our planet is compelled to provide us with miserable hardships. And besides all the environmental disadvantages, this includes a terrible tendency for love and friendship to fail."

"That's why Trala and I are in a hurry to raise children, before something breaks us up," said Bunkem.

Vixen drew close to her bridegroom, and spoke urgently: "Groan darling, I want to have children too! I'm not so sure it's a good idea to settle on a planet where couples often split apart!"

Puke looked at the two Srirachians. "Can Groaner have some time to think it over?"

"Five minutes," Trala replied.
 
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Beckoning Vixen to go with him back inside their landed spaceship, Groan Starr whispered, "I think I've proven I'm no coward, but Master Yoga-Rug never said that The Fuss would make me immune to poisoning."

Vixen kissed him to show that she didn't think worse of him. "Those ordeals all seem to be specifically tailored for users of The Jalapeno. Trala-Lalia may not even have thought it through before urging you to take THEIR tests."

Suddenly, the Srirachian princess' voice rang in their ears: "Yes, forgive me, the powers of Jalapeno and Fuss ARE different from each other. You, elder brother, can do a lot more levitating of objects than I can; and you can sense more of people's inner thoughts than I can. But I can HEAR speaking voices farther off than you can, and I can sometimes foresee future events. Please come back out; there's something more that you deserve to know."

When the newlyweds were once again within sight of Trala and Bunkem, Trala twined her arms around her brother and spoke tearfully:

"Groan, dear, you and I had another sibling, about fourteen years older than you. He was called Muddy-drip. He drove away our enemies the Snarkonnens, but before he and his wife Grainy had very much time with their children, or with me, she died, and then he also died."

"In fact," Bunkem interjected, "Muddy-drip died FOUR TIMES."

Trala nodded and sighed. "What he said. My brother died four times."

Puke looked at Bot Index, then at Groan's sister. "No offense, Miss Lalia, but this planet is sounding more bogus all the time, even if my captain was born here. Maybe all of you should have cleared out."

"Believe me, I know it's bogus." This much to Puke; then she resumed speaking to her brother. "Groan, that's why our parents, Duke Neato and Lady Jazzica, hired that Yondupe fellow to take you to another planet as an infant. Even before Father or Number-One Brother died their first deaths, and before I was born with adult knowledge, Father and Mother had learned from the locals how some people here had to die multiple times.

"It was out of the question for House Ashtrayides to abandon Planet Srirachiss altogether; if we did that, then our enemies the Snarkonnens and the Lazytaxies would have moved in, and THEY would have controlled all access to Jalapeno powers, But Father and Mother wanted at least one of their children to grow up elsewhere, so our bloodline would still endure even if all of us on Srirachiss perished. And Mother, with her Penny Jezebel foreknowledge, knew that by living away from here, you would come to acquire different powers of great value."

"Which you obviously did," put in Bunkem.

Bot Index now spoke up. "I have a peculiar feeling. Searching files.... I see contradictory accounts of how many children the Duke and his lady had."

"That's the Retcon Effect," Bunkem said cryptically, "aggravated by pathological non-continuity."

Trala reached one arm behind her to pat her husband on the shoulder, while keeping her eyes fixed on Groan. "As a Mentalcat, my man is always investigating contradictions and paradoxes. What matters here is that, in this reality, our Dad the Duke did sire three of us. Then poor Dad ended up dying three deaths of his own, instead of only one."

Vixen. long accustomed to caring only about her own troubles, now found herself grieving for OTHER people's suffering. "Isn't there anything we can do to make this world, you know, bearable?"

"Perhaps, my sister-in-law. Perhaps if YOU undergo the Truth-Babbler's test. You start by being skinned alive, then--"

"Hold everything!" shouted Groan Starr. "Sister, The Fuss is telling me that it sees an unhealthy trend here! Maybe the cure for Srirachiss is to allow some influence from ELSEWHERE."

"Does this mean you'll stay, and assume the Ashtrayides throne?"

"Not by drinking poison, I won't. I'm going to leave you, only temporarily, so I can try to bring Master Yoga-Rug here."
 
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Change of Scene

When the considerably shrunken mega-mothership came within sensor reach of the Spacebullion System, Dark Headgear was at the controls, Admiral Blender being asleep in his bunk.

"Mfffgffrrrp sushggul," he said-- then remembered to raise his visor. "Mister President! Sensors detect movement on homeworld, looks like regular surface and atmosphere traffic."

Snooze came to hover over his right-hand man's left shoulder. "Use your Fuss powers to confirm that there are living people on Planet Spacebull, not just public transportation running on automatic."

A moment later: "There are, Mister President, billions of them. That's good news."

"I suppose. But if they were all dead, I would win re-election by a landslide."

Dark Headgear ignored that. "Sir, shall I wake up the Admiral?"

"Of course. He's such a good listener for my victory speech."

When Blender joined them in the control room, he asked Headgear, "Has anyone planetside hailed us?"

"Not yet, but two ships are coming our way."

A moment later, two near-lightspeed missiles passed close by the mothership remnant, then self-destructed: a warning shot.

"Why are they shooting at us?" yelped Snooze. "How could they not recognize us?"

Dark Headgear looked at the Admiral, then at the President. "Sir, The Fuss informs me that they fired those warning shots BECAUSE they recognize us. I think someone at home received news of our slight setback in the Directvideo System."

"Decelerate and prepare to be boarded!" snapped an angry female voice over the ship-to-ship radio.

"That voice!" cried President Snooze in dismay. "That's Jean Yuss!"

"Well, I suppose she sounds intelligent," replied Admiral Blender. "But it's too soon to say if she's a--"

"No, you nebbish! That's a Spacebullion scientist, NAMED Jean-Yuss."

"The woman you barred from the air-supply crisis committee?" asked Dark Headgear.

"Yes, she was a real pest," said Snooze. "Always claimed there was a better way to save Spacebull than stealing a ready-made atmosphere that the Directvideans were hardly even using at all."

"There WAS a better way," came the scientist's voice again from the speaker. "And it's the reason why I and others are alive to greet you! If you had paid attention to real science, instead of giving all your attention to comedic evildoing, you would have remembered that any star system has plenty of orbiting bodies, including comets, which can provide frozen water. And OXYGEN can be extracted from water by electrolysis!"

"By elections, you say? Sounds great! Just vote for me, and I'll ensure that the oxygen requirements of our whole population--"

"You're not listening!" shouted Professor Yuss. "I already HAVE replenished our world's atmosphere, without needing to commit genocide against another world! And you, Bob Snooze, are going to pay for your crimes!"
 
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"We will comply," Dark Headgear said into the microphone, then shut off the communicator. Turning to his nominal ruler, he said:

"Mister President, we're going to ambush the boarding party. I sense that Professor Yuss will want to lead the boarders herself, in order to gloat over our capture. Then we'll take HER captive, as a hostage to help you regain power. Admiral, I suggest that you open the arms locker."

"Good idea," mumbled Snooze. "I don't want MY arms locked up when I give my speech; I wouldn't be able to gesture dramatically!"

Admiral Blender did an eye roll. "Mister President, Lord Headgear is talking about arms in the sense of weapons. Maybe I should just get a blaster for myself, and you can go on practicing your speech."

When the Admiral returned with his raygun, Dark Headgear told him, "Try to get in a good position for flanking fire. I sense that Professor Yuss has brought along someone powerful to make her words stick. Not Groan Starr, but someone else with longer experience using The Fuss."

Jean Yuss' ship came alongside and made an airlock connection. She did indeed lead the boarding party in person. She was an average-looking woman, neither beautiful nor ugly, but had a look of high intelligence. With his Fuss powers back to normal by now, Dark Headgear telekinetically jammed the triggers on the boarders' guns, so they couldn't fire. Then he shot a Fuss bolt at the nearest man in Yuss' team, causing that man to fall on the deck howling in pain.

"Keep them covered, Admiral!" exclaimed the down-side master. "Professor Yuss, you have stepped into my trap-- demonstrating once again that good is dumb! You are now a hostage for the restoration of President Snooze to his office!"

"Traps can be broken," replied the scientist. The next instant, another woman stepped forth from behind her. This woman was a lot better-looking than Jean Yuss, though not strictly human. She belonged to the Tugboata race. Her one obvious difference from human women was that she had a sort of tails hanging from her head instead of hair. In other words, she looked exactly as if she had been imagined by a science-fiction movie writer for the purpose of being a not-excessively-odd space alien with whom a human male could feel mutual attraction and even have a relationship.

She had an up-side Fuss ring on her hand.

"Surrender, Mister Headgear! I am Nonsmoka Tiptoe, a student of Master Yoga-Rug! He sent me to Spacebull to help its people build a REPRESENTATIVE government."

That last phrase shook President Snooze out of his usual self-absorption. "Headgear! Stop her! Our glorious people's republic mustn't be brought down by an actual representative government!"
 
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The contained beams of coherent light extended from the two Fuss rings, as Professor Fuss' boarding party, and even the other two Spacebullions, hastened to get out of the way.

VZZAP! VZZAP! VZZAP! VZZAP! Headgear and Nonsmoka struck and parried, struck and parried, as music unaccountably filled the air from someplace or other. The music, however, was a bland, unexciting Lawrence Welk dance tune.

The two combatants lowered their weapons, looked around, then shouted in unison: "That isn't fight music!!" Fifteen seconds of silence ensued, in which Headgear attempted a surprise cut at Nonsmoka, who dodged it. Then some appropriately suspenseful music began playing from the unknown source, and the duel continued in earnest.

President Snooze found the presence of mind to make a move of his own. He tried to grab the Professor; but she punched him in the stomach, followed by a knockout blow to the jaw. As the Spacebullion dictator fell to the deck, Jean Yuss closed her left hand around her right fist and grunted in pain.

Meanwhile, the few crewmen on the Professor's ship who had not boarded the mothership remnant now crowded through the airlock also, eager to see the combat. Admiral Blender was jostled off his feet by the surging of the crowd-- but kept hold of his raygun, and began crawling to reach a spot where he might be able to stand up.

Dark Headgear and his beautiful adversary were also affected by the increased crowding of the compartment. Neither of them wanted to be senselessly mutilated by their own weapons; so they both reconfigured their Fuss rings to retract their beams.....

Down around their thumbs.....

For an energized thumb-wrestling match.

Nonsmoka's glowing thumb pinned her enemy's glowing thumb. To shake her off, Dark Headgear tried a head-butt with his helmet. This would have worked against a fully-human opponent; but Nonsmoka's flexible head-tails swung forward just in time, cushioning her forehead enough to prevent her from being knocked out. A second try by the down-side master still failed to stun the up-side warrior, but it did push her off balance.

Admiral Blender got his clear line of fire, and shot a blaster bolt at Nonsmoka. She deflected the shot, which returned so close to the Spacebullion officer that he panicked and tried to push through the staring crowd.

Again, VZZAP! VZZAP! Sparks flew as the fight continued. But Nonsmoka was getting the feel of her opponent's technique. After another nine or ten VZZAP's, she saw her opening. Her beam's tip slipped inside the villain's helmet. scorching his hair. Headgear yelped with pain, tugged off his helmet-- and found his Fuss ring grabbed off his hand by the Tugboata woman's darting left hand.

"What was that about good people being dumb?" She clouted her foe across the face, and he fell to the deck. "Master Yoga-Rug trained me with realistic practice bouts. I didn't build my techniques on playing with action figures of myself and my enemies!"

President Snooze had recovered in time to hear Nonsmoka's taunt. "She knows about Lord Headgear's dolls?" he marveled.

"EVERYBODY knows about his dolls!" all the onlookers in the compartment shouted in unison.

But not Admiral Blender; even now, he maintained his long-practiced pretense of not knowing about the super-villain's action figures. At the same time, he retained some tactical sense. Knowing he couldn't overcome Nonsmoka Tiptoe by himself, he resorted to a bold gamble, squeezing past members of Jean Yuss' boarding party--

To dash through the airlock connection, hitting the separation-sequence button as he went.

Making it into the other spacecraft before anyone, even the up-side warrior, could react, Admiral Blender saw that indeed no one was here to oppose him. He lunged for the controls, disconnected the two ships, and set the Professor's ship in motion. The crew of the second interceptor ship failed to realize what was happening in time to prevent the Admiral's getaway.

Blender couldn't help Dark Headgear now, and he didn't especially want to help Snooze; but if he could get away clean, he could hope to find OTHER evil forces in a science-fiction universe, who might enable him to turn the tables.

Perhaps the Snarkonnens, who had performed so much impressive evilness on Planet Srirachiss....
 
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On a planet very far away from all other action up to now

The Creepycrawlids were individually as big as rhinoceri, and there were tens of thousands of them attacking from all sides in this rocky alien wilderness. Fewer than three hundred humans (the survivors of a battalion originally six hundred strong), clad in body armor which some screenwriter had decided should be useless against penetration by the monsters' claws, were fighting in a defensive circle, firing machine guns and grenade launchers which were no more advanced than armaments which pre-starflight human technology had produced. These were the Starship Grunts; and only a lavish ammunition supply had kept them from being devoured already to the last trooper. The Grunts had by now slain fifteen times their own original numbers in hostile monsters; but more kept coming, climbing over the heaps of their own dead.

Between bursts, red-haired Lizzy Florist, the most attractive and also the bravest of the female soldiers present, shouted, "This is ridiculous! We're in the far future! We have interstellar technology! Why didn't the Federal Service issue us powered armor like Iron Man, which would give us real protection and let us fly over the enemy?"

Her disgruntled words were directed to fellow soldier Juan Ricosuave: the man whom Lizzy loved with a pure and sincere love, but who was too obsessed with a stuck-up, snotty-debutante sort of space pilot named Carmela Syrup (who wasn't even as good-looking as Lizzy) to give Lizzy the time of day. Juan did at least have the courtesy to reply to his comrade:

"It's because we're supposed to represent the gritty realism of war! Letting us have laser guns and plasma launchers would make all this look too much like a magical fantasy!" He replaced an empty magazine and fired another burst before continuing: "Also, someone decided that having us use bullet-guns instead of directed-energy weapons would facilitate a supposedly-clever subtext, likening us to twentieth-century Nazi soldiers!"

"Nazis?" Lizzy groaned. "That worn-out cliche AGAIN? How do we become 'Nazis' by defending humanity against merciless carnivores who never acknowledged any attempt at communication from our side?"

Juan used his machinegun stock to smash the vulnerable nerve-junction on one Creepycrawlid, then answered the wonderful comrade whom he had so stupidly friend-zoned: "It's a sort of phony sophistication that's been around for a long time: assume your own side to be morally bankrupt, and 'just as bad as the enemy.' This was already recognized back when Gilbert and Sullivan wrote 'The Mikado.' There was a line in it: 'And the idiot who embraces with enthusiastic tone // All centuries but this, and every country but his own.' Of course, it can happen that one's own society really IS in the wrong, but making this the default assumption--"

Here Juan had to shut up and kill some more monsters.
 
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On a version of 21st-century Earth

Zogdilla, Ghidaroo, and a dozen other "kaiju" monsters, none of them smaller than four hundred feet tall, were engaged in a battle royal, everybody against everybody, smashing everything near them as they fought for supremacy-- fought to be worshiped as gods by the human race.

Watching the stupendous battle, Professor Watagai scratched his head and remarked to his fellow members of the scientific organization Monotone:

"This makes no sense! Powerful as they are, all these titans are still flesh and blood; but they never seem to pause to EAT anything. They have to need nutrition, so why haven't they depleted all possible food on Earth long ago, and then starved to death?"

When the monsters heard him, they realized that they indeed had to have starved to death.

So they all fell down dead, and this Earth was better off without them.
 
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We now rejoin Admiral Blender

The stolen Spacebullion ship found itself in a zone of space which Blender had never seen or heard of before. Although he still was travelling in the interstellar void, there were CLOUDS around him, like the natural clouds in an Earth-like planet's atmosphere. And antique chemical-fueled rocketships were flying past him.

It crossed his mind that, whatever was the cause of the strange conditions here, this part of the universe might prove backward enough that he could conquer it if he had a modern space force to invade it. But when he consulted the ship's computer, it informed him:

"This is the Flash Gordon reality. Invasion is not recommended, because in this reality, the good guys ALWAYS win, no matter what. On the other hand, if you decide to become a good guy yourself, you can easily find a beautiful woman to settle down with."

Blender found that he was tempted. He actually did wish to get married and start a family someday.....

But no, he would want his family to exist as part of an evil ruling aristocracy, where his children would be free to bully lower-class children with impunity. So he kept on traveling.
 
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MAJOR change of scene!

At the heart of that Reality, compared with which the most bedrock facts of the material world are fantasy, the Three Persons of the Trinity conferred with Each Other-- which is to say that God, within Himself, considered what was happening in the contrived reality of outright fantasy, a universe in which fallible mortals could and did function as sub-creators.

“Those who are given life by imagination,” said the Father, “enjoy an existence which We can allow to proceed, since they reflect the lives and spirits of Adam’s children. Their stories, even if composed by mortals who do not know Us, can become the occasion for trains of thought which are profitable to other mortals.”

“Unfortunately,” observed the Holy Spirit, “those among mortals who actually write stories can easily be entrapped by deceivers, who do not want Adam’s world to see virtue displayed--”

“Even if displayed by imaginary characters,” the Second Person finished. He Who had died an agonizing death and risen again took an omniscient glance at Clive Staples Lewis. Understanding that he was being invited to comment, Mister Lewis took on a manner halfway between the teacher he had been and the boy he had also been. Although obviously God already knew all things, He granted his children the satisfaction of sequential conversation. Lewis therefore spoke:

“Lord, if it were possible for us who are redeemed to feel annoyance here in Heaven, I would feel it toward those who call my Narnian stories an ‘allegory.’ As if I were imagining that ‘Aslan’ could be a Savior INSTEAD OF You, as a parallel, whereas of course I was really imagining YOU YOURSELF assuming the form of the Lion.”

The Holy Spirit beamed an intangible smile. “Fortunately, Jack, your impact upon human hearts was true enough that none who desired the truth would be tripped up by that literary question.”

“And you did compellingly portray the desire for truth,” said a brown-skinned man just now coming up alongside C.S. Lewis. This was none other than Lewis’ character Emeth from “The Last Battle.” (God had caused Emeth, and other Lewisian characters, to spring into actual existence to greet the faithful author when he arrived in Aslan’s Country.)

“That work marches on in the entropic universe,” God the Father, alias Emperor-Over-Sea, told them. “And it is in progress among all those children of Adam and Eve who dream, speculate, and compose. Relative to the central business of declaring the actual gospel of salvation, literature and theater are only what mortals call a ‘sidebar;’ but it can be a sidebar with some benefit. My revealed written Word contains all they need to know in order to be saved; but stories from the imagination still can help them gain insight into human experience.”

Lewis patted his immortal stomach, which could never suffer indigestion. “One might say that Scripture is the mutton and potatoes, while human storytelling is like a refreshing pot of tea.”

The Holy Spirit released a wave of approval to flow over the former professor and former atheist. “I like that phrase, I believe I shall prompt a certain United States Navy veteran still on Earth to include it in a story he’s writing.”

Also listening to this conversation were two women named Mary and Janalee: the first and second wives of the writer just mentioned, who had both predeceased him. They were pleased to know that Copperfox was still finding time to write.

“Speaking of something being included in a story,” said the Lord Jesus Christ, “as time now stands in the entropic universe, far too many storytellers are telling stories which mock and oppose My gospel instead of supporting it. Such enemies of truth are having a most harmful effect upon undecided souls who occupy the middle ground. Writers and movie directors who possess and proclaim partial truth are being tricked and pressured into making their portion of truth ever less and less.

“Accordingly, I shall see about performing some corrective action in the realm of the mortal imagination.”

So saying, Yeshua (Jesus) transformed Himself into the Great Lion: a guise not necessary for any mortal soul’s conversion, but useful for activity in the parallel cosmos of drama, fantasy and art.

Revising the name "Aslan" into "AsaLion" for purposes of this narrative, He first began encouraging the revitalization of a pre-Facebook web forum, where literature of a wholesome nature was produced….
 
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Back on Srirachiss


With plot-convenient timing, one of the ugly, hulking habanero monsters came lurching along over the sand. Its rider stopped it in an apparent ground-transportation parking area, and deposited the equivalent of three hundred dollars in a strangely sculpted parking meter.

The tough-looking rider hurried toward the gathering of royals, and was greeted like a brother by Bunkem Isotope the Mentalcat: "Sleevecard! The Missing Prince has returned with a bride!"

Trala-Lalia explained to her brother's party: "That's Chief Sleevecard of the desert warriors. I trust him with my life and my honor. Even with my flying spoon! I would trust him with anything except my collection of Toto CD's."

Seeming to recognize Groan Starr, Sleevecard ran up and knelt to him. "Your Highness! I saw you as a baby, when Duke Neato and Lady Jazzica sent you away with Yondupe, in the hope of preventing you from having to die more than once, which was a possibility Jazzica had foreseen. I had a vision while torturing myself by scraping my fingernails on a blackboard, and it said you had come back. Ummm.... you HAVEN'T already died any extra deaths, have you?"

Groan patted the older man's shoulder. "No, none yet. Rise, Chief Sleevecard. I came here to learn about my family roots, not to disrupt any social customs which serve Srirachians well." Groan didn't mention how he felt about The Jalapeno seeming to require painful ordeals for anyone who wanted to accomplish anything out of the ordinary.

"This business about having to die multiple times," Bot Index interjected, "is why we're about to go consult with Master Yoga-Rug."

"He's a wise being, similar in importance to your Penny Jezebels," Groan clarified.

"But without all the self-torture," Puke blurted.

Vixen scowled at the dog-man, and took over the explanation: "Yoga-Rug enabled my sweetie Groaner to defeat Dark Headgear. We're hoping he'll know a way to relieve all the misery on your planet."

Sleevecard's face lit up. "Oh! Do you mean the misery of NOT ENOUGH tragedy and pain? That sounds wonderful; we'll be able to prove our courage and fortitude even more dramatically!"

"Let me try to explain it to him," Bunkem offered.
 
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While the Mentalcat was talking to the desert chieftain, Groan and his companions noticed that Trala suddenly stiffened, as if startled by something.

"I sense his presence!" cried the Srirachian princess.

"Whose presence?" asked Vixen, but the other woman was already running off. Bot Index leaned close to Vixen and said, "My sensors just indicated a human form appearing suddenly, as if teleported. The Spacebullions do have that capability...."

"But my Fuss intuition says this isn't Spacebully work," replied Groan. "That-- I think-- that must be my brother! OUR brother!" Taking off at a sprint, he ran after his newfound sister.

On the far side of a sand dune, Groan beheld Trala tearfully clinging to the man who must be their brother Muddy-Drip Ashtrayides, who held her close in return. Strangely, this man was continually changing his appearance even while he and Trala were hugging and kissing each other. One moment he looked very handsome and had medium-long black hair; the next moment he was a bit less handsome, sturdier in physique, and his hair became lighter and a lot shorter; then he had longer, darker hair again, but otherwise looked skinny and geeky.

But there was no time for Groan to wonder about the visual effect. Looking past Trala's head, Muddy-Drip (for this was indeed he) exclaimed, "Brother! I'm relationally reaffirmed to see that you translated your chromosomal and metaphysical potentiality into pragmatic application!"

Before Groan could ask for simpler language, Muddy-Drip withdrew from Trala's embrace to give Groan a bearhug. He was physically real all right, not a Fuss ghost. Over Muddy-Drip's shoulder, their sister hastily explained: "He began talking this way even before his first death. Sometimes Bunkem was the only one who could understand what he was saying. In this case, he means he's glad you turned out well as a man."

To Muddy-Drip: "I'm so sorry you have to die ANOTHER time, Drip; but at least this time you can die in my arms."

"Which is good," said the sometime ruler of Srirachiss, releasing Groan to resume holding their sister. "But before I rejoin Grainy in the afterlife, I must expound the ramifications of a not-yet-implemented stratagem on the part of multi-stellar totalitarian elements."

"He means that bad guys are planning something," Trala interpreted. "Ask Bunkem to come over here."

Groan had not gone far back in the direction he had come before he saw Bunkem and Sleevecard approaching of their own accord. Evidently they had both seen Muddy-Drip manifesting himself before. Vixen was coming right behind them, followed by Puke and Bot Index.

"Is this some kind of Christ metaphor?" asked the dog-man.

"No," said Muddy-Drip, not startled by Puke's animal attributes. "There's only one of Him, the same One Who manifested Himself as Aslan in the Narnian microcosmos; but in this fantasy universe, mortality is, well, flexible."
 
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Bunkem Isotope drew near and hugged Muddy-Drip on the opposite side from Trala. "My Duke of Earl, I wish you eternal peace; but since you're here again for the moment, please tell us whatever news you may be bringing."

"Of course." After one more squeeze to Trala-Lalia, and one direct hug to Bunkem, the sometime prophet of Srirachiss began:

"On ancient Earth, Perikles of Athens gave a speech at a mass funeral for fallen military heroes. In this oration, he decried the fact that men of less courage and less integrity would prefer not to believe that anyone else had been SO MUCH braver than they were. Men of lesser merit more often try to ease their own ego, than choose to be inspired to do better themselves."

Bunkem and Trala exchanged a glance and a shrug. "Um, that's unusually coherent in itself," Trala remarked; "but how does it affect us?"

Muddy-Drip drew himself up as the actual Perikles might have done. "The nexus of causality which lies before you pertains to the loss of a heuristic deontological perspective. Owing to the quasi-real nature of our galaxy, certain predispositions which otherwise would be merely a matter of aesthetic taste, are likely to exert an entropic influence on the existential and ethical matrix of experiential volition."

Trala gestured to Bunkem. "That's all yours, Mentalcat darling."

"What the Prophet Emeritus means is that something is going to cause many people to lose their understanding of right and wrong. This will prompt them to favor stories and entertainments which disrespect goodness and honor. And since we live in a universe which is ALL ABOUT stories, life as we experience it will be much the worse for more people having rejected noble ideals."

"No offense, guys," interjected Puke, "but maybe SOME ideas of honor are ideas you could do without. Like, you know, someone having to survive drinking poison to be the leader?"

Sleevecard looked angry, but Bunkem gestured for him to calm down. "Hairy one," said the Mentalcat, "it could be argued that our customs are more severe than they need to be. But at least we accept ordeals willingly-- whereas there are those who would impose hardships of THEIR choosing upon us. Like the Snarkonnens whom Duke Muddy-Drip vanquished."

"And like the Spacebullies," offered Vixen.

Muddy-Drip resumed speaking: "Veritably, the mutually independent yet indisputably analogous vectors of evil will adopt interworking, in order to implement the very effect which Perikles identified. The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity."

"That last part is from a famous pre-starflight poem," Bunkem told the others, then addressed the prophet: "My Duke of Earl, are you saying that our traditional enemies, and the enemies of Prince Groan Starr and Princess Vixen, will unite for the purpose of making US lose faith in goodness and virtue?"

"What you said," replied Muddy-Drip.

"The Spacebullies can't contribute much now," insisted Groan. "Even if they've somehow survived their planet's atmosphere failure, their leadership was wiped out in the explosion of their mega-mothership."

"I fear that The Jalapeno tells me otherwise, younger brother. Your adversary, Dark Headgear, survived. He has been taken captive by those of his own planet who actually care about their people; but one of his henchmen has escaped, and this one WILL find his way to Greedy Crime."

"Can we assume that Greedy Crime is the homeworld of your Snarkonnens?" asked Bot.

"That is correct. And the Spacebullion escapee will so impress the Snarkonnens as to initiate a transgalactic offensive against altruism. As in the ancient poem, persons of benevolent inclination will begin to lose their ardor for altruism, while amoral predators are undiminished in their sociopathic proclivities."

Bunkem interpreted: "He means that they'll start something on Greedy Crime to make it so that good guys lose interest in being good, while bad guys go on doing as much badness as ever."


 
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"Shouldn't we bring Master Yoga-Rug in on this?" asked Vixen.

"That would be a good idea, sister-in-law," replied Muddy-Drip, "if not for the fact --made known to me by trans-cognitive intra-reality clairvoyance-- that your Master Yoga-Rug left his dwelling on Planet Nagobah before you and Groan set out on your honeymoon. He went to find a tentaclo-cephalic female student of his, whom he then sent to deal with the still-surviving Spacebullion leaders. Without the aid of our Naughtygators, you would never catch up with Yoga-Rug in time for him to assist you in the present cusp of probabilities. The supplemental malefactor is on a heading too far divergent from a flight to locate the Fuss pundit."

Vixen and her whole party looked at Bunkem, who explained:

"Muddy-Drip acquired vast powers of distant seeing and future knowledge before he died the first time. These powers enabled him to prevent his own son and daughter-- they're elsewhere now, being educated by their grandmother Lady Jazzica-- from being killed, but did nothing to prevent HIM from dying, because they afflicted him with some of the same pessimism that we want to prevent from infecting all sapient beings. His first death was essentially suicide, going out on the open desert without survival gear.

"But he's been allowed to tell us-- and now also you-- some useful things at his reappearances.

"The Naughtygators whom Duke Muddy-Drip mentioned are mutated starship pilots, whose talent gained from The Jalapeno enables them to guide our ships in space-warping jumps much more efficient than anything you're familiar with. Unfortunately, they're all on strike right now. They want all restaurants to serve the gaseous nutrition they live on, even if it chokes the other customers.

"For the present, we can't offer you any better transportation than what you came here with. And it's more urgent to catch Dark Headgear's associate than to bring Master Yoga-Rug into the action. Yoga-Rug's apprentice will be dealing with the Spacebullies."

"The Snarkonnens," Muddy-Drip resumed, "lack the ethereo-metaphysical influence either of a Fuss user or of a Jalapeno adept. But their allies the Lazytaxies possess a degree of dimensional intervention potential that verges upon the thaumaturgical. Consequently, they may at any time commence their conceptual erosion. You can't wait for my functional counterpart to join you."

Bunkem interpreted once more: "Our enemies on Greedy Crime don't have Jalapeno or Fuss powers; but they have scientists on their side so advanced that they can achieve results resembling magic. The Mentalcat enhancement I'm enjoying in my second life is their invention; they tossed it in when cloning me, in the mistaken hope that I might use it in ways which benefited them. I remain loyal to House Ashtrayides, as was the great Mentalcat Tofu Howizzit. The Lazytaxies will help them to spread pessimism. We need to get after them, without losing time looking for Yoga-Rug. The more so, I should add, because the Snarkonnens do have some Naughtygators working for THEM."

Muddy-Drip looked at Sleevecard. "Chief, I was always able to rely on you. I recommend that you assume temporary leadership here on Srirachiss, just as Alec Hurdygurdy has often done over on Planet Waterpark, while my sister and the Mentalcat accompany my brother's party."

"So be it," said Trala-Lalia. "Bunkem, you can help my brother Groan to get his ship refueled and resupplied. Sleevecard, try to resolve the labor dispute without killing anyone. I sense that poor dear Muddy is about to die again, and I mean to give him what comfort I can during THIS passing."

Muddy-Drip raised one hand in a Mister Spock live-long-and-prosper gesture. "Groan, Vixen, it was good to see you. Go get the bad guys!"

The last glimpse Groan Starr had of his elder brother was of Muddy-Drip sagging into their sister's cradling arms, nestling in her embrace for a moment, kissing her goodbye, then dissipating like a mist.
 
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Change of scene

In Filthopolis, capital of the planet Greedy Crime, uglification trucks were making their daily rounds, releasing swarms of this planet's equivalent of cockroaches into the streets. The ruling aristocracy willed it so; and it happened that the insects were positively pleasing to recent immigrants. The foul-mannered Lazytaxies, unsurpassed in science but loathsome in hygiene, would catch and eat the bugs.

The last really great leaders of House Snarkonnen, Baron Flatbeer and his nephew Food Rotten, had been slain respectively by Trala-Lalia and by Muddy-Drip, more than a decade ago. A distant relation, Lord Meedi Ogre, had succeeded to the barony, but knew he needed outside help if he were to maintain the family tradition of evilness.

He had accordingly invited several dozen Lazytaxie researchers, in a variety of specialties, to assume well-paid staff positions in his capital.

The most promising of these talented recruits, a certain Doctor Dizwarn, was with Baron Meedi, showing him a representative compilation of imagery on a video display.

"In Sector 588-2300, we have this adventurous woman called Ellen Ribsauce, who survived being hunted by a semi-intelligent carnivore on board her original ship, and later stumbled onto a colony world being overrun by the same carnivores. Against frightful odds, she not only survived herself, but saved the lives of a wounded soldier and an outrageously cute and lovable orphan girl. As you see, a striking illustration of bravery, kindness and loyalty."

"Disgusting," growled Meedi Ogre. "Did you devise a way to ruin it?"

Dizwarn's face went from smug to uber-smug. "Of course, my Baron. We directed the continuation of her adventures in such a way that her escape ship crashed, killing both of the persons she had rescued. And where she landed....."

"ALSO had still more of the carnivores!" Even as Meedi spoke, more of the carnivores came on screen, eating helpless people alive.

"Got it the first time, Baron! And of course, no one on THAT planet had ANY way of defending against the monsters."

"I love it! What else have you got in the way of extinguishing inspiration and faith and other icky things like those?"

"Look here. Sector 1830-1980. A community of human-settled worlds comes under attack by semi-free-willed robots, who were invented by an alien race to kill all intelligent beings except their builders."

The Baron of the Snarkonnens looked thoughtful. "Where have I heard of this before?"

"It originated with the 'Berserker' stories by Fred Saberhagen. Then 'Star Trek, Original Series' borrowed the concept. In Sector 1830-1980, the same evil became real in our universe. When these robots, called Slybots, gained the upper hand, surviving humans from that multi-stellar human society fled across deep space, led by their strongest remaining warship, the Strugglestar Galaxia. Despite many perils, they succeeded in throwing the Slybots off their trail, so they could find refuge on Earth WITHOUT bringing destruction on their fellow humans."

Meedi shook his head. "What rotten luck for the side of evil."

"We were unable to prevent this, my lord, because it happened before our Hopecrushing technology was perfected. But we did the next best thing: we retconned the events!

"In our improved version, the Slybots were INVENTED BY the same human civilization they ended up menacing! That way, we could make the heroes feel guilty for even defending themselves!"

"Brilliant! Let me guess: you also removed all vestiges of idealism and faith from the fugitive humans."

"So we did, my lord. Not one day went by on THAT space caravan when people WEREN'T quarreling, or panicking, or betraying each other, or falling into addictive habits, or ending relationships."

"You are a true genius, Doctor Dizwarn. Is there more?"
 
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"Of course, Baron." Dizwarn called up his next audiovisual sequence.

"Here, in Sector VLK-000, we have an exceptionally advanced and powerful humanoid race, which has influenced Earth's mythology."

Meedi Ogre yawned. "What, still ANOTHER super-duper species taking the credit for all of history? They'll have to take a number and get in line behind the Vorlons and the Prodromals."

"My lord, the Brassgardians don't claim that much credit. They merely influenced Scandinavian and Germanic myths. If I may continue?"

"Of course."

"Here you see a Brassgardian prince who has the role of the Thunder God. May I do a brain-input of his adventures, as influenced by the Lazytaxies?"

"Very well;" and the Baron allowed sensory conduits to be connected to his brain.

What the ruler of Greedy Crime saw and heard was a series of apparent movies featuring the Thunder God. In each story that centered on him, the The Thunder God was permitted to win an early battle which had scarcely any effect on the rest of the plotline. After this, each time, he was subjected to gratuitous humiliation. Tasered by a teenage girl one time; beaten to a pulp by dark elves the next time. In the third story, the audience was allowed to expect that a new addition to Thunder God's powers would make a difference.... but then the script PREVENTED the new power from amounting to anything. In fact, the only way Thunder God could salvage anything like a victory was by pitting ONE invincible evil being against ANOTHER invincible evil being.

"I love that part!" exclaimed the Baron of House Snarkonnen. "Needing evil to defeat evil: what a perfect way to make goodness look weak and useless!"

Dizwarn grinned back. "And even then, Brassgard was destroyed. But go on and input the ensemble movie too."

Resuming the virtual-reality experience, Meedi saw how even AFTER they escaped from the downfall of Brassgard, most of Thunder God's friends were massacred by Super-Unbeatable Villain Number 738. Thunder God then postponed joining his many superhero friends on Earth, in order to go to a high-tech planet where he could have a new battleaxe made, a weapon capable of slaying Super-Unbeatable Villain Number 738.

And then, in spite of being a veteran of centuries of warfare... in spite of having commanded armies who depended on him to lead effectively... in spite of knowing how much depended on making sure that Super-Unbeatable Villain Number 738 died... Thunder God fumbled everything, and allowed Super-Unbeatable Villain Number 738 to wipe out TRILLIONS of living beings across the universe.

Baron Meedi stopped the program and shook his head.

"Of course I enjoy good guys failing; but how COULD he be so stupid?"

"He wouldn't have been so stupid without our tampering," replied the Lazytaxie genius. "The point, after all, is to convince audiences that goodness is clumsy and ineffective."

"Will people swallow this?"

"They will, my lord; especially if the mockery is focused on the MOST NOBLE AND HONORABLE of heroes."

The Baron smiled a reptilian smile. "Yes.... the very heroes whom common people KNOW they could never live up to in virtue. Hmmmm, do you have an Exciting Bad Boy type in the mix?"

"I have just the thing, my lord: The Incredulous Clump! He's a crazed monster. Well, to some extent, anyway. He won't kill people on purpose, but he loves to destroy property like a spoiled brat in a tantrum."

"I think I follow you, Doctor. An audience could fantasize having the strength of The Incredulous Clump, yet not be troubled about being unable to match any lofty degree of goodness on his part."

"Right, my lord. We're lowering the bar, both on the EXPECTATION of good being victorious, and on the DESIRE to be good."
 
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Dizwarn began showing Baron Meedi imagery which seemed to be set on Original Earth itself. In the Northwestern United States, there were vampires and werewolves pretending to be ordinary people. Both types, in human appearance, were cool and sexy. There were suggestions that the werewolves had no interest in devouring people, and in fact DEFENDED humans against vampires. A small minority of vampires also had goodwill toward mortals.

"Where's the fun in this?" grumbled the Snarkonnen overlord. "There's power for goodness there! I like to see innocent people quivering in hopeless terror, unable to do anything to save themselves!"

"My Baron, it's a subtle approach. Yes, the werewolves and the few kindly vampires CAN protect ordinary people against the evil vampire majority; but it remains true that ONLY they can do so. This narrative pointedly makes fun of the very idea that plain humans could ever stand any chance against the monsters."

Meedi Ogre smiled again. "I get it now. Even as you exclude any actual Deity from your vision of Earth, you place humans in a position of dependency AS IF it were God they were depending on. All thought of real people becoming greater and stronger is ruled out."

"Approximately so, sire. Yet there is an added wrinkle. People induced to absorb this story, noting the helplessness of all non-monsters, will begin to wish that THEY could be sexy monsters themselves. And once they take the bait, more than half of them will begin desiring THE POWER of monsters for its own sake. They'll be fascinated with the idea of themselves becoming superior beings who don't have to answer to any moral authority. Any fancies of protecting the innocent will fade away, leaving only the lust for elite privileges."

"This gets better and better! Are there any more subliminal messages?"

Nodding, Dizwarn moved the video forward. "Yes. Here's a beautiful bit of intentional nonsense. Having devised a totally one-sided situation, where normal people are as defenseless as earthworms on pavement, I then exercise fabulous cognitive dissonance ....and claim that this predator-victim arrangement represents..... BALANCE!"

The Baron fell off his chair laughing. "Bravo. Doctor Dizwarn, bravo! Right on target! Of course, the only 'balance' we villains will EVER accept is one in which ONLY WE have any power! Yes, I know you featured some good monsters, but they're only window dressing. You really are convincing fans that NOTHING BUT the darkness has any strength. Just like what you did with the Thunder God of Brassgard."

Dizwarn felt gleeful at his own success. But before he could say more, one of the Naughtygators in Snarkonnen service came lurching toward them in a wreath of stinking fumes.

"Baron! Doctor! Excuse the interruption, but we have detected a ship of unfamiliar type approaching Greedy Crime. It is transmitting official Evilness Recognition Codes. We expect that you will wish to communicate with whoever it is."
 
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Admiral Blender detected the Naughtygator picket ship approaching him. Hailing it, he received landing instructions to arrive in Filthopolis.

When he emerged from his landed ship, a Lazytaxie woman introducing herself as "Quarkie" offered him a handful of pseudo-cockroaches. Eating these was less disgusting than listening to a speech by President Snooze; thus, Blender got off to a good start at making friends on Greedy Crime.

Once ushered into the Baron's presence, Blender bowed deeply and said, "My lord, I am Admiral Blender of the Spacebullion Space Navy. Unfortunately, our entire naval budget went into one vast mega-mothership; something about bidding by contractors. I don't pay much attention to procurement business. But the super-ship which WAS our whole navy got blown to bits during a campaign to enforce atmospheric justice."

"Atmospheric justice?" Meedi-Ogre echoed in a puzzled manner.

"Yes, my lord. The greedy, selfish Directvideans had more fresh air than we did, so President Snooze and Dark Headgear set out to redistribute it. However, our mothership was blown to bits, although we were able to evacuate. Also escaping were four prisoners; I'll tell you more about them shortly."

"Let me guess," Dizwarn put in; "your mothership had one of those ridiculous Blow-Everything-Up-Just-Because switches."

"Afraid so."

The Lazytaxie genius shrugged. "At least yours did allow time to escape. What became of the leaders you mentioned?"

"Both captured, by a warrior lady possessing the up-side of The Fuss."

"I admit that I know rather less about The Fuss than I know about The Jalapeno," the Snarkonnen ruler told his visitor. "Does The Fuss give clairvoyance as The Jalapeno does?"

"To a limited extent," replied Blender; "but not as much for down-side users as Dark Headgear would have liked. When we were hunting for Groan Starr and Princess Vixen, Lord Headgear was compelled to use technological means to locate them."

"Nothing wrong with technology," Dizwarn harrumphed.

"Of course not," Meedi assured his researcher. "But let us find guest quarters for the Admiral, give him a tour of the laboratories, and begin exploring how we can help each other against goodness."

 
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