Spacebullies Two: The Search For More Parody

From the Great Artifact installation on Planet Upsydaisylon, the Mintcandybarri-born wise man Master Drool had been watching, and now he reached out to the minds of those gathered with Shovorzi.

"For those about to rock, I salute you! Never mind that part, it's a shout-out for AC-DC fans. I've seen your progress against Mister Tectonic's epidemic of mental tampering. But the campaign has also caught the attention of beings far more wicked than Tyrone Glass Nielsen ever was. The demi-demons known as Hopecrushers were already busy setting up a new false hero; now they are confident that they can imitate Nielsen's invention to make her more powerful. She calls herself Bray Galpowerteen, and claims to be both an inheritor to the Empire of Evil Badness, and the natural role-model and leader for the Republic of Lots of Worlds.

"Only-One and Massage, you know all about Emperor Porkandbeen, who might now be ruling your entire galactic sector if not for the heroism of Acne-Skin Spacewalker, who died destroying him. Queen-Emeritus Poormee Armadillo, inspired by her husband's victory and sacrifice, has been raising Duke and Dana, Acne-Skin's son and daughter, to live by their father's values. Bray Galpowerteen wouldn't dare try to kill those children--that would unite hundreds of planets in common cause to put her to death; but she will desire to get them on her side. Failing this, she can attempt to discredit them, convince people that they are unworthy to be leaders."

"We can't allow this," declared Massage.

"Decidedly not," Master Drool agreed. "But you, Groan Starr, Princess Vixen, Puke, Trala-Lalia and Princess Eerilake, do not have as much of a stake in this as the Kanolis have."

Puke replied, "Think again, sir. Through the actions of Master Yoga-Rug, our Dune-based sub-reality IS connected to the Star Wars-based sub-reality."

"But," said Trala-Lalia, "I'll ask you to fetch my husband Bunkem. As a Mentalcat, his value for any mission is undeniable."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
INSERT: I realize I didn't >name< the ship Groaner's party is using. The former Calamari Empire can certainly afford to build lots of starships, >both< of the Spaced-Out Guild model, and of the recent style not needing a Naughtygator. It's easy to assume that that persons not even named are using all of the >named< new-style ships. The ship lately accommodating Groan and Vixen can be called the "Evasive Hawk."

"Look, kids," Queen-Emeritus Poormee exclaimed, "here comes Uncle Only-One with Aunt Breathless!"

Princess Dana, who had greater Fuss awareness to recognize individuals-- in contrast to Prince Duke having better anticipation for an opponent's moves in close combat-- added: "And Groan Starr's coming too, with his own princess and some others."

Besides Groan Starr's already-described party-- to which Drool had added Bunkem Isotope-- the visitors were a Banjolorian family residing on Powurkord, members of the helmets-not-required Banjolorian faction. Colbirk Rezgo, a widower, had brought his early-teenage daughter Varilu, with her preteen sister Lotraloi, on board their ship Naskar Holster. Near-planet traffic control cleared the Banjolorian ship to land; Zoom-22, Poormee's domestic robot, guided it on final approach, to park near Evasive Hawk.

"We've come from the galactic sector where travel is facilitated by oversized Starhatches called Heyho Rings," Only-One told Colbirk. "Evil is on the retreat there, but we're advised that there's proactive evil afoot in the Republic. So here we are."

The bare-headed Banjolorian gravely nodded. "Over on Powurkord, we aren't seeing anything so blatant as the Quark Elves' invasion; but subtle not-right vibes are increasing. Do you remember the Cosmic Fact Checkers?"

"I know >of< them," said Bunkem. "A variation on artifact-users. All teenage boys, and all given to theft. Oddest thing, they couldn't hear any voice, if the person speaking said anything that criticized their selfishness. They didn't intentionally harm anyone, but they felt no shame if they accidentally did hurt people. Last I know, there haven't been any additional cases of that weirdness in a standard year or more." But the brother-in-law of Groan Starr looked as if he expected to hear bad news.

"They are coming back," young Lotraloi announced, "in four or five outlying star systems with human or near-human populations." Her elder sister added, "still reported as not harming anyone, but maybe they're just a diversion for something bigger."

Bunkem stood up decisively, facing the Rezgoes. "I'm going to ask the Queen-Emeritus if I may study all archives available to her. Where Trala and I live, all artificial calculating and researching is confined to analog electronics. I want to widen my scope as I search for a trend."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Liquid Snake! Anteater Woman! I'm glad things are winding down enough on Redundantworld, that you could be spared for a new exploit."

Swimmer Pluto, the dark-green-haired Asian-featured immortal who was the most beautiful woman ever to be based on an anime character (and whose altruistic virtue equaled her visual attractiveness), had fetched the younger women back home, to the Earth-variant where, on the occasion of the Tienanmen protest in Beijing, the Chinese Army had sided with the civilians calling for justice.

"What is the new exploit?" asked the woman whose hands could change into mighty claws.

"Working with a great hero named Groan Starr."

"Against what opposition?" asked the woman who could change into a self-propelled liquid.

"Not fully known, but they scarcely can be any worse than the self-styled small-g gods you encountered on Redundantworld."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Hopecrushers were amused by Bray's presumptuousness; she wasn't in a league with Jackalbyte and Headless Lizzie. But she still could be used as the nucleus for a new wave of troublemakers: disruptive to society, and a hindrance to do-gooders like Swimmer Pluto and Groan Starr, without being quite so formidable as to provoke the Almighty into squashing them.

Right now, the legend-in-her-own-mind was acting as an unwitting relay transmitter for the Hopecrushers, reaching out to scattered wrongdoers-- even the handful of new Cosmic Fact Checkers, but also villains who could be taken seriously. At a medium level of perversity were a clan of hand-walking Fetlockers, like Sebulba in "Phantom Menace;" these were into handling stolen goods, and repairing pirate ships which had taken damage from civilized warships. Several pirate crews were steady customers.

Before too long, consistently with the rule-from-the-top-down model favored by tyrants, the above-named categories all received subspace hails from a certain Commodore Urflang Kemmish. This was a broad-shouldered, blue-skinned Chisskurdean, who had served under Thuglyfe Skrawn before Skrawn was conclusively defeated and imprisoned. He had a seasoned cadre of fellow Chisskurdeans, which supplied all captains for his vessels, and leaders for his ground troops. By all worthwhile comm channels, using recognition codes where he had them, he reached out to every type of potential supporter. The gist of his reachout was as follows:

"This is the hour for clear-thinking sapients to seize the day, and restore order to the galaxy. Over and above our carefully-preserved assets, we now can enjoy the front-person influence of a woman who has.... the endorsement of higher-plane intelligences. She can make it sound convincing when she argues that the Up-Side Fellowship just hates everyone who's different."
 
Last edited:
Cosmic Fact Checkers, the least impressive of Commodore Kemmish's new footsoldiers, did come through for him. Using their gem-power to shield themselves from dangerous particles, they hijacked quantities of uranium and thorium, enough to power the Commodore's manufacturing sites and electrical plants in three star systems for two months. When they called him to come and accept it, he thanked them, adding: "No military force can ever prevail if it ignores logistics."

Captain Shigvot Brudosk, Kemmish's executive officer, flew to a backwater planet called F'Dal-F'Doz, which had been colonized by Chisskurdians over a thousand years ago. The pioneers had not been hostile to Thuglyfe Skrawn when he set out to rebuild the Empire of Evil Badness; but their daily hardships had commanded their attention. By now, though, the F'Dal-F'Dozzers were on a good enough footing that they should be ready at least to provide rear-echelon support.

Groff Tupiyo, the eldest still-ambulatory man on the frontier world, was assigned to greet Captain Brudosk when he emerged from his shuttlecraft.

"Welcome to our modest nation! Does your coming signify galactic stability which may normalize interstellar travel?"

Bray Galpowerteen came into sight halfway through Mister Tupiyo's greeting. She spoke next; and every F'Dal-F'Doz resident within hearing felt a sudden happy anticipation, as if they were about to hear the answers to life, the universe and everything.

"Rejoice, friends! You are about to be liberated from the cruel tyranny of the up-siders who hate everyone that's different!"

Yes, this was Bray's version of "the mind trick." The colonists recited back to her: "We are about to be liberated from the cruel tyranny of the up-siders who hate everyone that's different."

"If you meet strangers who say that the Republic of Lots of Worlds is a force for goodness, you will know that they are Nazis!" (The Hopecrushers who were psionically prompting Bray knew perfectly well that the Nazi regime of True Earth history had never been any part of this reality-zone's history; but no Hopecrusher could resist resorting to meaningless Nazi references, just because.)

"If we meet strangers who say that the Republic of Lots of Worlds is a force for goodness, we will know that they are what you said."

Less than half an hour later, a skilled-labor team of hand-walking Fetlockers had been assigned to guide the F'Dal-F'Dozzers in constructing rear-area support facilities for Commodore Kemmish's fleet. The colonists were not stupid, but Bray's mind-trick power was not limited to swaying weak minds.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Pro Dashalong, the hotshot space pilot who was a longtime asset for the Up-Side Fellowship, and who was also familiar with people in the Directvidean star system, had been cruising hither and thither, doing assorted worthwhile stuff. Three days before, his frigate-scale ship had returned from the Andromeda Galaxy via the Red Streak Wormhole. King Highfyver had kindly provided him some updates on his native galaxy. One seasoned warrior from Planet Blamtet, named Kroadmush, had been free to travel and was interested in adventure. Pro could accommodate a long-armed Ziblamot in case of melee combat. Pro introduced his other shipmates.

"The crab-like sapient is Pishtukdu of the Gulklikput race; he was with me four years ago, on a colonized planet named Latterdawn. The baboon-shaped one, Wistamu, the only female on board, belongs to the same species as a highly renowned Green Flashlight named Jamsorvad. And the free-willed multipurpose droid is named Clankabit. I happen to call it 'he.' He's patterned after a robot named Clanka-LOT, who has a superb service record."

"And what exactly will we be doing in your galaxy?"

"The King of New Laziness told me that a certain spoiled brat, whom I met when she was fifteen, is getting above herself. Bray Galpowerteen is a scrap collector who imagined herself becoming a galaxy-roaming superhero. Now, by whatever quirk of chance, she does have a measure of Fuss power, and seems to be using it to bollix up the whole Republic."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"You remember Pro Dashalong, I believe?" said Groan Starr to Bunkem Isotope. The Mentalcat closed his eyes.

"Born thirty-six years and one month ago. Black hair, face has an accidental resemblance to your deceased father the Duke, therefore also to the Goulash clone Giles Magg. Six feet, one inch tall, two hundred twenty-three pounds, not fat. Certified to pilot thirteen models of spaceships, and eight models of transatmopheric and pure-atmospheric fliers. Qualified with forty models of small arms, energy and projectile. Once he was taught the peculiarities of personal energy shields, he mastered the use of long knives and short swords which prevent explosions. He's a natural leader. What brings him to mind?"

"Master Yoga-Rug has told me that Pro is back in our galaxy, with a mixed crew. He's contemplating heading off Miss Galpowerteen's interstellar self- promotion. I intend to pitch in. She isn't feeble: not with Hopecrusher Central supporting her. So I'll take her seriously."

Yoga-Rug's clairvoyance determined that Pro's ship could accommodate an added rider. Doctor Unusual on Seedubb Earth, familiar with the Toofah-Roffian up-side master, deftly placed Groaner aboard the star frigate, after Yoga-Rug had time to warn those on board not to move suddenly. The first person he noticed was the crab-shaped one.

"You're a Gliptukkel, aren't you?"

"Gulklikput, but you have the idea."

Captain Dashalong being occupied with navigating, Groan Starr spoke to Kroadmush. "If I'm not mistaken, your species, though intellectually advanced, has never birthed anyone who received either Fuss powers or Jalapeno powers. Do you know how these talents differ?"

"Suf-pablee.... Excuse me, that was my equivalent of saying 'Well.' As I understand, only The Fuss imparts telekinesis."

"Correct, with rare exceptions. My Penny Jezebel-gifted sister Trala-Lalia is able to make a large serving spoon fly around. But my Master Yoga-Rug, my former enemy Dark Headgear and I take telekinesis as a matter of course. Likewise Only-One and Massage Kanoli, Moose and Melodica Windchime, Quinine and Samladel Sauce, Plow Korn, Zubdookree and Lodratrid. Where Jalapeno powers pull out in front is in projecting a compulsion. Fuss users can induce this or that belief in a subject's mind; but the Penny Jezebel 'Chatter' talent, which my nephew Stillneater and I also possess, can coerce people to do things they would never do otherwise."

From his control seat, Pro looked at Kroadmush and interjected: "That's Groaner's hole card with Bray Galpowerteen, in case she's more capable than we think. Especially in case she's Fuss-lightning-capable."
 
Last edited:
Bray asked (no, she couldn't mentally compel people to actions) Shigvot Brudosk to make a hyperspace jump to Planet Riggblit: the ex-Imperial world, colonized by multiple races, which Nonsmoka Tiptoe had given her life defending against Imperial forces.

"And what do you plan to do there, Miss Galpowerteen? I keep track of things; I know that recently, on Powurkord, you demanded to be praised for having defended Riggblitt against my own superior, Admiral Skrawn."

Unperturbed, the boaster explained (and genuinely meant it): "for your benefit, our benefit, I wanted to keep doors open for us there. No one on Riggblit needs to know that I pretended to have fought against the Restored Empire. We can play good-cop-bad-cop, maybe get some of the sort-of -armadillo-looking sapients to volunteer for noncombatant support roles. Like the F'Dal-F'Dozzers."

"All right, I'll buy that."

"And maybe work up to another try against Zazdub World."

Shigvot frowned. "When my Grand Admiral went after the Zazdub, he had the means to weaken the Tonkrypians with red light. Unless and until we have at least that much readiness, no way are we going to trespass there."

Zazdub World was accordingly shelved, and they proceeded to Riggblit. None of the longer-term settlers were interested in signing on with Imperials. But recent additions, the hairy, brutish demi-humans called the Barnsmell (they, like the Zazdub, used a collective name which had no distinct plural form), responded. They had come here originally as part of the same Imperial aggression which Nonsmoka Tiptoe had died resisting. Thus, the Barnsmell did not automatically reject the overture. Pragmatism was a major element at work here. Though more than half of the Barnsmell remained as amoral as ever, practicality weighed in favor of NOT joining partisans of the defeated side in the Star Wars-derived sub-reality.

Setting an outdoor meeting, Bray Galpowerteen played her hole card.

"You fine hairy fellows know a little about Penny Jezebel powers, and much more about Fuss powers; but you have never met anyone possessing the technopath gift. I have that gift, because I willed it to be so. One of my crew is going to drive up in a surface vehicle that my ship carries. Ah, here he comes now. Any of you Barnsmell, please give me any small metal or plastic object which you don't mind losing.... All right, Ferdak, park here and shut off the motor. Barnsmell, as I was saying, examine our ground car as thoroughly as you like; satisfy yourselves that it IS designed only for land travel."

Eighteen minutes passed, in which three of the Barnsmell inspected the open-topped car. All agreed that, in its present configuration, it had no means of lifting itself into the air ("Dukes of Hazzard"-type car jumps not counting). This was when Bray produced a palm-sized object.

"This is a conventional battery pack from our ship's replacement parts locker. Again, satisfy yourselves that it is not an anti-gravity emitter. But by my power, I shall make it serve a flight-enabling purpose." Attaching the ordinary battery pack to the dashboard, she exclaimed: "Ground car, become an aircar now, and fly a circle above this place!" The ground car shuddered, then fell to pieces where it sat. Bray looked above, pretending to see a flying object. "Can you all see it circling?"

Two-thirds of the hairy brutes remained undeceived, and simply walked away. The rest, the mind-tricked ones, were hooked. Shigvot Brudosk sent a subspace-radio call to the Commodore, requesting another ship which could transport the new recruits.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hours later and light-years away, Groan Starr experienced a vision of the near future. He told it to Pro, Clankabit and Wistamu:

"Bray Galpowerteen is on Riggblit. She and her companions have not done any violence to any of the races that live there; but she intends also to fly to Planet Kantpoo. Her plan is to subvert the children of Acne-Skin and Poormee, not clear how."

Clankabit told Groaner, "Your life-associate and the rest will still be on Kantpoo. Allow me to query the domestic robot Zoom-22."

While the subspace call was being set up, Wistamu the primate sought to reassure Groan Starr: "I am given to understand that Dana Spacewalker is extremely perceptive at detecting evil. She will doubtless anticipate any sneak attack."

"Thank you, ape-lady." (Addressing the baboonoid, this term was purely respectful.) "I wonder if our adversaries might intend to stir up social trouble instead of inviting disaster by a frontal assault?"

While these two, joined by the crustacean Pishtukdu, brainstormed the possibilities, Clankabit and Zoom-22 conferred at long range. Eventually, Clankabit informed everyone: "Zoom-22 has queried all databases to which it has access. Fourteen Kantpoolian women, of diverse ages, are now known to have conducted private but legal exchanges. Being told of this, Dana Spacewalker experienced a mental impression, helped by her already knowing certain previous events, that those local females all shared resentment over an unscheduled athletic event."

"I heard about that!" declared Pro. "The Banjolorian Dim Jargon was challenged to a foot race by Kantpoolian female athletes. He outran them easily, and they chose to resent him, as if it was not they who had challenged him. Considering that Kantpoolian society is even more matriarchal than Srirachian, it's understandable that someone could exploit this."

"That the fraudulent Fuss user would exploit it," said Kroadmush.
 
Last edited:
Referee whistles: time out!
Can't tell the players apart without a program!

I have just lately expounded how I want my narration to be more linear, easier for the readers to follow. But once again, I've run right into the fact that real life ISN'T about only three or four people; and the fictional Groan Starr is LIKE a real person insofar as he INTERACTS WITH more than three or four people. So as an aid to readers, I now offer what the art-rock band Procol Harum did on its album covers: "WHO DOES WHAT." Of course, Groaner himself does not need to be introduced here.


BRAY GALPOWERTEEN: Daisy Ridley rip-off. Since Disney-Lucasfilm isn't controlling >MY< plotline, Bray doesn't get to know everything about everything, and she doesn't get to beat up on Adam Driver.

BUNKEM ISOTOPE: Mentalcat-genius brother-in-law to Groan Starr, through Groan's sister Trala-Lalia of the Spoon.

CLANKABIT: Self-aware replica of the robot Clankalot; the latter was among the defenders of Planet Chimpanzia.

GROFF TUPIYO: Resident of F'Dal-F'Doz; he's met Bray, and is betting on the Empire of Evil Badness to rise again.

KROADMUSH: A Ziblamot, i.e. a member of the highly advanced race which, in the Andromeda Galaxy, played the Vulcans' role in creating that galaxy's counterpart of "The Federation" in Star Trek productions.

PISHTUKDU: Large intelligent crustacean, already accustomed to working with humans.

SHIGVOT BRUDOSK: Chisskurdean officer who has visited the Empire-supporting planet F'Dal-F'Doz.

WISTAMU: Baboon-shaped sapient, first seen traveling with Pro Dashalong.

ZOOM-22: Protocol droid for the Spacewalker family, but shaped more like Artoo-Deetoo than like See-Threepio.
 
Last edited:
The above reference post is available to be consulted at any time. What comes next, while unrelated to the posts just preceding, is derived from the Prequel Trilogy. Meanwhile, T.D.L. software suddenly WAS NOT ALLOWING ME to select a type font. But hoo-ie, WITHOUT further efforts on my part, suddenly the forum INDEPENDENTLY executed the font choice which it HAD BEEN denying to me. So I'll resume writing.

My Star Wars-derived material in "Spacebullies" is almost exclusively tied to Lucasfilm's Prequel Trilogy. But not until now have I generated a parody of the Trade Federation which menaced Naboo in "The Phantom Menace." I now re-brand it as the Swap Shop Conservancy. More than business naming, the imagined business model is also revised. The Conservancy is NOT threatening Kantpoo with armed oppression: because, as readers here may recall, MY overall narrative says that some NABOONIANS / KANTPOOLIANS are crooks themselves.

Further thought: I believe that, after all these years, I finally figured it out! There's a truly well-duh reason why, from the first scene featuring Master Yuga-Rug, I never depicted any scenes reflecting anything from the Old Republic era. No semblance of the sneaky political maneuvers which led a manipulated Jar-Jar Binks, in his innocence, to enable the deployment of Kaminoan-raised clone troopers. There just hasn't been any need for intrigue scenes or urban chases on Coruscant, because my version of Chancellor Palpatine received his one-way ticket to The Bad Place before even an equivalent of the Rogue One movie could happen. Thus, I never got in on the noir-detective scenarios which some Star Wars novelists were handling expertly. The spacious galleries and concourses which writers depicted under the sky-exposed buildings were ideal for hard-boiled Mike Hammer-style urban dramas; therefore, to give Groan Starr a chance to don his own trench coat, I shall guide my tour group into the mean streets under a metal-and-ceramic sky.

Okay, fourth wall is now being re-closed.

||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

"Prince Groan Starr, we know that you were born as a son of two sub-universes. Being raised in a sector where The Fuss is known, but not yourself in contact with Fuss users until you grew up, you built a personal foundation of practical skills. You also learned enough about the Republic to comprehend the notions of general suffrage and limited monarchy. But your adventures with Puke the Kashorcheckian allowed you to make up for lost time. Right on the heels of becoming a Fuss up-sider yourself, saving Directvideo from genocide and finding your life-mate, you were told that your father was the deceased Duke Neato the Pure-Hearted and Generally Likeable. Being integrated into the former Calamari Empire exponentially expanded your opportunities for travel and adventure. Without prying into your family routines, can you select something particularly remarkable that you don't mind telling our audience?"

On Chorus-Chant, the central-government planet in the Republic of Lots of Worlds, where metal and ceramic structures had replaced mountains and hills, the fourth-most-important groundside air-and-space travel terminal was also home to what amounted to an interstellar all-news television channel. When big-shot journalist Laundurtee Pryer asked for an interview, Vixen had urged her husband to go ahead. ("We're safer and more at ease now than we've been-- maybe since we first met!") And the Princess (correctly) had enough confidence in her husband's fidelity to ignore the fact of Laundurtee being an archetypal ditzy blonde bombshell.

Now Groaner commenced the narrative he and Vixen had worked on ahead of time.

"Your galactic community already knows about many thriving human worlds, like the Earth-variants called Seedubb and Urth. Those are familiar to Vixen and me. Some of your citizens also know that we have been to see human worlds of the Andromeda Galaxy, with humans just like us, though only one of these Earth-variants is a close geographical copy of the Original Earth which the Creator won't permit any of us to go to. But the Third Galaxy was a closed book to us until relatively recently. By now, Vixen and I have been out that way. They have at least three recognizable Earth-equivalents. One of these has had a close call from being depopulated by evil genocidal robots-- much like the ones in the sub-universe of my parents, but that's another story. Another was attacked by evil space aliens like those in the Original-Earth movie 'Independence Day;' that Earth was saved by a posse of high-grade metahumans, including the super-cousins Corky and Clara Klint. The third is nicknamed Orphan Earth, because it lost the protection of some benign super-aliens who had long protected it; but other good-aligned super-aliens are now looking after it.

"The biggest theater of action in Galaxy Three is a supra-terrestrial planet, known to some beings as Redundantworld. This world's three-dimensional volume is larger than any proper version of Earth, but its gravity is not noticeably greater than Earth gravity, because the density is lower. Vixen and I have been there; the greater surface area means plenty of working space for benign outsiders (including the same Tonkrypian cousins) who are assisting them at learning relatively-high technology. So far, no Redundantworlder has shown any sign of acquiring Fuss abilities....."

"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""
Imagine the swing-era orchestra piece "Harlem Nocturne" playing in the air as the Starrs board the medium-speed lane of an inward-bound people-conveyor. There being daylight still visible, the light followed them for a kilometer gliding into the roofed-over concourse.

"The palm-index tells me that the lighted-up club at this intersection is called Audible Spectrum," Vixen announced. "They have rooms for sapient races whose hearing range is enough different from humans, to make music itself a different sensation than for us."

Groaner nodded thoughtfully. "I see where you're going. People whose biology is that different, will surely have other differences in their collective experience. Which in turn could mean--"

"--that a certain boastful busybody sees different ways to manipulate them."

While they were dining, they were approached by someone who wasn't Bray Galpowerteen.
 
Last edited:
The newcomer was the helmet-optional Banjolorian widower Colbirk Rezgo. "We're tracking the twit also. Right now, my daughters are getting practice at keeping every part of a crowded area under watch. Varilu's looking outdoors, Lotraloi indoors."

"What about the Naskar Holster?" Vixen asked.

"Some people who owed us a favor are keeping it safe. I was in a hurry to bring you news." Without preamble, he switched to the Chimpanzian language, knowing that the Starrs had learned some of that language when passing time on the planet close to Directvideo after they were married by Rabbishop Malarkey. "Still remember this tongue?"

"Well enough. What news?"

"Wowzees, who had been on Tantrumine." Groaner and Vixen both knew the meaning of those names, but the readers can't be expected to remember. Wowzees are civilized anthropoids, as close genetically to Puke's Kashorcheckian race as are the Orangutanoids who begot Puke's wife. Tantrumine is a planet where Acne-Skin Spacewalker spent part of his early life.

Groaner took his turn posing a question: "Had those Wowzees discovered something there?"

Colbirk answered, "So they said. Told me that an unidentified ship had scattered drones. The drones played a garbled sound recording; there was doubtless an unscrambling key, just not known to the Wowzees. Maybe a matter of who finds them. But you may have some suitable expert who can unlock them. As operational security, don't tell >ME< if and whom."

The Rezgoes took their leave and went, in time for the Starrs to catch the entertainment.

"Ladies, gentlemales and atypical entities," boomed an emcee similar to Jabba the Hutt, "we give you a human songstress whose vibrant voice and boundless beauty will make your evening unforgettable. Bang your prehensile extremities for Patty Bestbyfar!"

Patty, very similar in visual charm to Shania Twang on Seedubb Earth, did not disappoint as she regaled everyone with romantic ballads like "We're Dodging from the Shadows of the Night," and sassy specialties like "Shoot Me With Your Best Hit."

"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""
Muckluck, a twenty-something Banjolorian who carried a long-range rifle of the same type favored by Dim Jargon, was on Tantrumine to reconnoiter. A secondary ammo pouch contained bullet-sized audio pickups, which his rifle could launch to fly beyond atmosphere, and which could hail a stealth satellite he had inserted in orbit. The satellite would relay its take to a station he had installed on an uninhabited planet farther out. If he failed to report in after a certain interval, the station would send out a pickup call receivable only by whatever good guys the plotline regards as most suitable to carry the anti-evil-badness mission forward if Muckluck arrived prematurely in The Good Place.

Two standard days after Muckluck finally departed to look for Colbirk, Thuglyfe Skrawn's deputy Commodore Urflang Kemmish landed on Tantrumine. After paying a courtesy call on local gang leaders, he joined his men who had been searching for any motion detectors planted by good guys. They had found none, since the only sensors Muckluck had left behind were outside atmosphere.

Six pirate starships, no two of them alike and three of them commanded by definitely non-human captains, called from well outside of Tantrumine's orbit, asking permission to meet on the planet. After his database verified that none of these ships had ever waged piracy against the Empire of Evil Badness, Urflang gave them the green light to land within sight of his temporary ground base. The first commander to approach on foot was a racial counterpart of Jabba's pig-like soldiers in "Return of the Jedi." He called himself Lendertoyner, and his first words about business were:

"Hints have reached us to the effect that you have enlisted or created an unconventional new asset for the war against yucky boring goodness. Are you in a position to disclose who or what your new resource is?"

"Not yet, brother-in-spirit. But I can tell you this much. The plan in progress is intended to undermine good-aligned people's confidence in the annoying, interfering Up-Side Fellowship. In the meantime, let us all brainstorm how best we can support each other in logistics."

"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""

Back on the toxically-urbanized world of Chorus-Chant, Colbirk Rezgo was exploring farther and deeper into concourses which, while strictly speaking they were not more than one storey underground, were completely roofed over with artificial structures. This looked like a place where dreams came to die, and add your own private-eye-story cliches here. When Colbirk heard an unseen p.a. system playing music similar to "Harlem Nocturne," he was not surprised to behold a shapely, not-at-all-animated-cartoon-looking red-haired woman in a crimson gown smoothly approaching him. Her heels clicked on the pavement, for the benefit of readers who like to play spot-the-done-to-death-narrative- cliche.

As far as his armor's solid-state energy-detectors could ascertain, the woman carried no weapons other than what heredity and self-care gave her. So the veteran Banjolorian crossed his arms, one more narrative cliche, and said, "What brings you to a rat-colony like this?"

She smiled a smile deadier than three poisoned cocktails. "I might be looking for a man who doesn't expect a woman to dress like this all the time; one that might be a widowed father who doesn't feel threatened by his daughters learning lethal combat skills."

"And what would you do with, for, to, or because of this man?"

"Well, first I would tell COLBIRK REZGO that I know who he is. Then I would tell him that I might have information helpful for his caper."

Colbirk was not being lulled into letting his guard down so she could pull the rug. But so far, no hired muscle was trying to sneak up and get their turn at being pounded flat by him. "All right, smooth lady, information can start with your name; then, add what's in this for you."

"One thing in it for me is the freedom to dress in hick-farmer overalls if I want to. Beyond that, the melodramatic hope of gaining attention from a trustworthy, loyal, helpful and so on man who would give me a chance to stepmother his daughters. As for my name, it is Ressica Jabbit."

"Well, I have a name just as absurdly pun-suggestive as yours!" growled another sultry feminine voice. Colbirk had known she was behind him, but had also known she intended no violence: not even the hair-pulling type with Ressica. But he had never met Laundurtee Pryer, thus didn't know who was taunting the redhead. He moved obliquely, opening the way for the two women, equal in height and proportions, to slink toward each other. Any male bypassers who might have been intrigued by the confrontation, lost interest quickly when they realized that a Banjolorian was nearby.
 
Last edited:
Laundurtee fished in her purse, to bring out a lifelike artificial hair extension, exactly duplicating her color. Glancing at her nominal rival: "Have you got your own?" Ressica nodded, producing a hair extension in her own scarlet. Like trading business cards, they swapped hair appliances; each woman then gripped both ends of her borrowed hairpiece, testing their firmness against a tug. They complimented each other on the quality of their accessory shopping. Beginning to pull as if in an isometric exercise, they commenced taking turns reciting a formula, with hardly any feeling, even when uttering words that should have been frantically emotional. In a strictly literal sense, they were pulling each other's hair now, even though it was obvious that neither woman felt any animosity against the other.

Ressica: The battle raged, and they wrestled.

Laundurtee: Struggling in the throes of combat.

Ressica: Each one was fighting against the other.

Laundurtee: It was the moment of decision. Everything was at stake now, as the battle hung in the balance.

Ressica: If the blonde prevailed, both opponents would move back out of each other's arms, then find other things to do until they next agreed on a pretext for going into another clinch without either of them being in any danger of injury.

Laundurtee: If the redhead prevailed, both opponents would move back out of each other's arms, look to see if any bypassers had been watching them locked together and grappling, and argue about who had won.

Ressica: The world-city of Chorus-Chant waited in suspense to see which combatant would be on top when they finished rolling.

Laundurtee: The onlooking Banjolorian marveled at what a titanic tangle he was witnessing.

Ressica: But he knew that only one outcome was possible, that Ressica would emerge the victor.

Laundurtee: No, that's wrong, he knew that Laundurtee would win, because blondes have more fun.

Ressica: Stop that. You know that I'm winning.

Laundurtee: No, I'm winning, and you're losing.

Ressica: You're a poo-poo head, and you're losing.

Laundurtee: I challenge you to a desperate battle.

Ressica: Dumb-bell, we're already fighting.

Laundurtee: I know we're fighting, but us fighting means I'm winning.

Ressica: Does not.

Laundurtee: Does too.

Ressica: Does not, no matter what, no matter what, no matter what, no matter what.

Laundurtee: I can say more no-matter-what's than you can, so I win.

By this time, Colbirk's daughters had come looking for him. "Father, Muckluck was in comms, calling for you," said Varilu. "We took it on your behalf." Lotraloi added: "He says he has a lead on Thuglyfe Skrawn's henchmen. Dad, is the newslady interviewing that other woman?"

Laundurtee replied for them both, even as they were trading back their hair extensions: "No, Miss Jabbit and I were engaged in a violent, gory combat. Can't you see that we're both bleeding? But this much desperate battling is enough till another day. Miss Jabbit should get back to flirting with your widowed- therefore-available father, since he's of no importance to me. He's not what we were fighting over. But please let me have the scoop on Muckluck, whoever he is. Bye for now."

While his daughters told him what they knew about Muckluck's intelligence-gathering efforts, Colbirk's left eye-corner saw Ressica sidling up to him. Her arms, firmer than he had at first imagined, encircled his neck, and she began kissing his temple, ear and cheek on that side. Once he had acknowledged his children's news-- "Good clear report, it'll show on your record" --the redhead advanced to kissing him aggressively on the mouth, her tongue fully involved in convincing his tongue of her sincerity.

"I love you, Colbirk Rezgo, because you're a good man and a dedicated father. You've obviously done well raising your daughters on The Path. And when you marry me, I won't slow the family down as much as a Banjolorian might assume I would. I'm a private detective, and that should be transferable to reconnaissance on the missions you undertake. Say that you'll marry me!"

"Because of the impression you've made on me, I'll cheerfully marry you, provided you tell me why you and the reporter staged your desperate clash of rivals in a public concourse. Many choices of diversion were possible, with less fatigue."
.
"The choice of diversion was our very point. I read you about fatigue; neither Laundurtee nor I has ever done any sort of catfight, even as a piece of storytelling theater like here. If more than one player is poking their nose in, the competing wrongdoers just might reveal something in the course of trying to figure US out."
 
Last edited:
After Laundurtee assured the others that she would be in no danger if left on her own here, the Rezgoes and Ressica Jabbit went to rejoin Groan Starr and Princess Vixen at the Audible Spectrum Club. Patsy Bestbyfar had taken her break, and was now halfway through her second set. At the moment Colbirk introduced his new fiancee, Patsy was performing a good-time number which did not correspond with any song in the repertoire of Original Earth's Pat Benatar.

Activating their table's now-particularly-helpful sound filter, Groaner (who by Jalapeno intuition could be certain that the redhead was a friend and was not playing a dirty trick on Colbirk) invited Ressica to tell them about herself. She obliged:

"I was born before Porkandbeen and Count Spooky began undermining the Old Republic. I never personally knew any Fuss adepts, but I heard about the heroic deeds of Master Quite-A-Guy Jim and Plow Korn. And I did speak with an occasional face-hiding Banjolorian. More strictness about helmets back then, but apart from this they weren't always reclusive. One girl I went to school with was orphaned in an aircraft accident, and a Banjolorian clan adopted her. The last time I spoke with her, before we lost touch, she assured me that they did allow her to use a single- person shower once every three or four days when her clan wasn't operating in wilderness conditions."

"Reminds me of the water-discipline rules among the Srirachians when out in the field wearing their water-conserving suits," said Groan Starr.

"Did you have any boyfriends before Colbirk?" inquired Vixen.

"A few. While I was in college, I dated a Snitsnobbie man from the Bubblewrap Five Coalition. But he proved to be >so< different biologically from humans, more different than Goldarnits or Braykpedduli, that I soon broke up with him. Five true-human gentlemen-- well, five men, at least-- followed. By Creep Number Five, I had gotten smarter; and my success at catching him cheating was what convinced me I could succeed as a detective."

"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""
Groan Starr, as royalty, was a plausible authority figure to perform nuptials. Eighteen members of the Republic's Senate attended the wedding; they, and twice as many non-attending dignitaries, offered appropriate gifts.

Chorus-Chant, I remind you, is a built-over planet, not merely a planet with cities >on< it. It was fortunate for Chorus-Chanteans that oceans contain plankton, and that plankton produces oxygen by photosynthesis. There were greenbelts here and there, plus gardens on suitable rooftops, but the oceans here were enough to keep the atmosphere wholesome. It was in one of these artful gardens that Ressica Jabbit became Ressica Rezgo. Alliteration simply does crop up here and there, not just in stories.

Banjolorians cherish their children, but understand that over-protectiveness produces weak children. Varilu and Lotraloi Rezgo had both slain enemies in battle by now, so their father felt all right letting them go adventuring with the Starrs, while their detective stepmother enjoyed round-the -clock true love. The sniper-scout Muckluck had been advised of Colbirk's wedding, and soon came to a rendezvous point.

"Prince Groaner, my ship is overdue for scheduled maintenance. Would you mind doing the driving for this operation?"

"Not only will Vixen and I bring you on board, we can easily afford to pay for bow-to-stern upgrades on your ship, at a shipyard that can be trusted to hand back your ship with no unethical shortcuts."

"" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" "" ""
TANTRUMINE:

"Over here with me," the pig-like pirate captain Lendertoyner (for any reader slow on the uptake, that's a gag upon the word "tenderloin") grunted to the recent pirate recruits. "Each of you will be issued a data device, which reproduces the crucial information in your respective written languages. When you're satisfied that the details are correctly interpreted-- make it two local days-- we can form brainstorming rosters. Those meetings may be postponed on short notice, because a unique strategic asset might arrive any time. Lunch in an hour and a half, all metabolisms accommodated."

At lunch, Lendertoyner shared a private table with the blue-skinned Commodore Urflang Kemmish, proxy for Grand Admiral Thuglyfe Skrawn.

"Sir, will Mizzzzzz Galpowerteen join us here soon?"

Without mentioning Hopecrusher Central, the Commodore answered guardedly: "Certain associates are busy helping to ensure that Bray's demonstration will be effective. We want maximum impact. All pirates assembled here with us will be emphatically admonished not to behave badly toward the added guests being brought to see Bray Galpowerteen."

Assume passage of time to be whatever fits best with my other imagined events. \\ Ships belonging variously to genuine evildoers, and to not-really-bad persons who had been manipulated or pressured, brought a variety of humans or others who had influence. This included a few of the new generation of Cosmic Fact Checkers, who had already thrown in with the evil-badness crowd. Anatomically speaking, the most peculiar of those arriving were the hopper-dwarfs whom I described many chapters ago: beings who naturally had one large foot each, like the Dufflepuds in "Voyage of the Dawn Treader." If you remember Vin Gasleen, a human soldier who died a heroic death, he was friendly with hopper-dwarfs.

Urflang Kemmish welcomed them thus: "I have good news for everyone who desires order and regulation in our galaxy! The down-side is rising, if you'll all pardon me for an awkward phrase. Arrogant bigots like Only-One Kanoli and Moose Windchime, who hate everyone that's different, are going to lose their ability to interfere with us who know how to love ourselves and look out for ourselves. I don't mind telling you that I'm awestruck by the divine invincibility of this BESTEST-EVAH champion. Here she comes now: Brrrrrrrrray Galpowerteen!!!"

The slim would-be goddess came front and center, brandishing a ring-generated lightsaber.

"Greetings! May MY Fuss be with you, because everything is about me!!!!!!"

 
Last edited:
Bray's charisma was genuine; it even made some of the humans and near-humans present believe that she was attractive. When the applause had subsided, the self-designated small-s superwoman issued instructions to her gullible admirers.

"Now, friends, please assist me with a demonstration of my magnificence. Let each organized group divide itself in half. Some of our spacecraft crewmembers will go to one half of each contingent, providing short-effect doses of a harmless anti-hypnotic medication. Then I will use Fuss mind-manipulation to make the un-drugged control group half-believe boasts which even I would not seriously state about myself. Those protected by the anti-hypnotic will be witnesses to how I influenced their friends." To the people slated for hypnosis: "I repeat, what I tell you in this experiment will be fake. Please do your best not to agree with my lies, while I strive to make you believe them anyway."

When all conditions were set up, the experimental subjects indicated their readiness, and the Fuss-mind-trick demonstration commenced.

BRAY: This whole galaxy can fit inside a teacup.

SUBJECTS: This whole galaxy can fit inside a teacup.

BRAY: I just ran around the planet and back here while all of you were saying the word "teacup."

SUBJECTS: You just ran around the planet and back here while all of us were saying the word "teacup."

BRAY: Two plus two equals quantum theory.

SUBJECTS: Two plus two equals quantum theory.

BRAY: I personally invented faster-than-light ships.

SUBJECTS: You personally invented faster-than-light ships.

BRAY: Pineapple on pizza is a bad thing.

SUBJECTS: Pineapple on pizza is a bad thing.

BRAY: Anflaktikshok warriors from the Bubblewrap Five Coalition just killed me, and I'm dead.

SUBJECTS: Anflaktikshok warriors from the Bubblewrap Five Coalition just killed you, and you're dead.

BRAY: Water is made from uranium and gold.

SUBJECTS: Water is made from uranium and gold.

Around five years ago, Groan Starr-- mere hours after finding out from Yoga-Rug that he was an Ashtrayides-- Groan Starr had crashed the Directvidean royal palace just in time to prevent Rabbishop Malarkey from binding Princess Vixen to a shlump. (As soon as Malarkey learned what sort of manly man Groaner was, he had been more than delighted to have married Vixen to the newly-anointed Fuss user.) Now, many many parsecs away from the Directvidean star system, Groan Starr of Planet Srirachiss crashed a larger party. The distant Yoga-Rug added a special touch which confused the assembled star-pirates: causing Groaner to face Bray and SING:

"Skinny woman, boasting she's all that; / Skinny woman, any-thing but fat!
I don't believe you, saying you're the queen; / I'm gonna stop your narcissistic scene....."

Half of the assembled pirates closed in to apprehend Groan Starr; but this was his cue to prove that he had profited by redirecting his mind and will to duplicating The Chatter. He boomed at them: "FALL ASLEEP!!"-- and they dropped to the ground, all of them snoring. Bray tried to execute a Fuss choke on him; it almost worked, but he succeeded in exclaiming: "FORGET HOW TO DO THE CHOKE!"

The strangling attack had not been a total failure; Groan Starr was dizzy. Bray Galpowerteen came at him, intending to slice him open like a grapefruit. But Vixen was on guard, and shot Bray in the right shoulder. Crying in agony, Bray lost control of her Fuss ring. The alert Banjolorians closed in to subdue the surprised pirates; and Lotraloi's mailed fist socked the bratty Mary Sue into a three-hour tour of unconsciousness. The Cosmic Fact Checkers --unable to hear Groan's voice of command-- put up defensive shields around themselves and flew away in random directions, not trusting their shields, just looking for hiding places where they could cry like babies.

Groaner didn't bother trying to retrieve Bray's ring, because he no longer had the Fuss power to which the ring would have responded. But now I have the Jalapeno power, and The Chatter definitely works for me.....

Into his personal comm unit, for a broad frequency-skipping broadcast, went the words: "CALLING ALL ADHERENTS OF THE EMPIRE OF EVIL BADNESS, OF WHATEVER RANK OR SPECIES! YOU KNOW THAT YOU ARE IN THE WRONG. You know that good is better than evil because it's nicer! You will now submit yourselves to ME, Prince Groan Starr Ashtrayides, representative of the Constitutional Monarchy of my nephew, Duke Stillneater the Incorruptible. As my royal nephew is an ally to the Republic of Lots of Worlds, yielding to him IS yielding to the Republic."

Less than ten minutes later, a Chisskurdean pinnace landed. Urflang Kemmish himself emerged, holding out a blaster with muzzle reversed, safety switch on "Don't Shoot," and its grip held out toward Groan Starr. The Commodore's teeth were clenched in powerless resentment. "From what I know of you, Groan Starr, you chose well by committing to the talents you received from your Penny Jezebel mother. I could have waged war against you in your identity as one of Yoga-Rug's Fuss up-siders; but even as I stand here, hating you and shamed by your mercy, I know that your mind control outclasses any mere mind trick. I wish defeat and slow death upon you, but I lost. I know now that this is the end of all specifically Chisskurdian opposition to your disgusting justice and fairness. Also the end of Bray Galpowerteen's pretensions. I can just hear Pro Dashalong laughing at her now."

Princess Vixen came smoothly alongside her husband and hero. "I think we can leave the cleanup to the Banjolorians. They've got their own private detective now, and heroes like Only-One Kanoli will remain available to them."
 
Last edited:
000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

PUNKSTEEMA. WELLVERNIA, THE SOUTH CONTINENT. BESIDE THE SIX NATIONS RIVER, whose north-to-south course boasts the greatest density of human and near-human population on this half of the planet. Specifically, in the kingdom of Austreejuntzland, the next-to -northernmost nation directly located along the rivercourse. Thirteen days after my last Punksteeman episode.

)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

"Good girl, Fish Hook, what a good girl! Did Azellajo take good care of you?" Jonawiku son of Mofiruzo, the Samplibami-born Towerman lately also anointed as a Mellow Druid, hugged his joyfully wriggling collie. Looking up at his wife, the famed archer went on: "How have people on the ground been adapting while Peplijad and I were on the moon?" His Gnome companion added, "Is anyone starting on a new calendar to reflect the new time-cycle?"

Peplijad was referring to the fact that, since the destruction of Jaheg-Jorod, Punksteema's satellite had slowed in its orbit, so that each revolution took _exactly_ ten Punksteeman days. Henceforth, every person on this isolated, self-sufficient planet would enjoy a dependable indicator of passing time.

Azellajo told her husband and their friend: "Queen Juliet-Andrea has dispatched a messenger to Tidumo, inviting Loi-Tidumo scholars to join discussion of a standardized calendar. She sent another one south to Gloomenghast for the same purpose. The Tohazzites and Hultisnars already took their own initiative to offer suggestions. And the Tengu have already passed the idea northward, to Samplibam, Tagdoss and Flodmarth, Udraski and Silnarp."

This was just when Remick Whitegrove, the schoolteacher of Gloomenghast, disembarked from a coach and hailed the two moon-masters. "Sir Jonawiku, Sir Peplijad! Have you done or considered anything to enable visits to the moon? Think how much more accurate world maps will become when cartographers can look down and _see_ the world!"

Azellajo replied to the scholar: "People still are absorbing the new situation. But when the extended telegraph lines gain more coverage, people from as far off as Tablanor will be volleying telegrams, stepping on each other for an airship ride to the moon, which can be done safely under the new conditions."

"Most likely. Meanwhile, you know who else is in the neighborhood? Sir Sean Fiddleton from Beldamore Shire. He was visited by one of the Tengu, I think named Ritsuhai; she told him that _his_ wolfhound and _your_ collie would improve Wellvernia's entire dog population for the future if they mated. Sir Sean asked her whether it might be difficult for Fish Hook, being serviced by a hound as large as Readyrough."

Jonawiku blinked. "Wait a minute. Did Ritsuhai say that >my< new druidic powers could make Fish Hook become larger herself?"

"Yes, that. Make her bigger, make her able to bear large litters without harm to herself, and guarantee that when her offspring by Readyrough eventually find mates, _their_ offspring will inherit all of the improvements, especially intelligence."

"Then let's meet Sir Sean," said Azellajo. "If Punksteema is about to see mighty leaps in transportation and message-sending, it has to be a good thing if dogs become better capable of dealing with advances in the human world."

Jonawiku kissed her. "We need to retrieve Igsahon from the market, and let him know what we're up to."

# # # # # # # # # # #

"General! Ensign Strandwick is returning," reported a dragoon private. "He and the replacement troopers are barely a league away; two of them clearly have dispatch cases. And I think I recognize that clergyman Elijah Parsifal with them." #

Far out on the western prairie, General of Dragoons Cornell Brendan was a reassuring presence for all prairie tribes with whom he had cultivated friendship; no Punksteeman could have failed to notice that the stormy overflights of the small-but-close moon had become less frequent and much less violent. Mariners were especially benefiting by having much less need to pause in secure harbors for safety, but inland populations were also positively affected. Far northern and far southern latitudes felt the least change, but even those regions were finding that it was easier now to plan equator-ward travel.

Life on Punksteema had always been hard enough that people now couldn't help thinking: Is this a trap, a setup for disappointment?

The riders' arrival produced an eagerly-awaited mail call. Names were shouted and letters handed out, while Elijah walked to one side with Cornell and some of the Jardekka braves who had been sharing his adventures. The minister spoke at some length about how the more technologically advanced communities were getting behind the proliferation of railroads and telegraph networks. Only after an early supper did Ensign Strandwick present the General with a letter penned by another clergyman: Parson
Fairwind of Beldamore Shire.

Most Estimable General Brendan,

The recent public perils naturally shoved individual drama into the background. Now, in sudden safety, everyone has time again to consider matters which don't involve unholy monsters. Logically enough, repairing material damage and healing bodily wounds command immediate attention, so more time yet is needed until the intact survivors get around to showing their customary personalities again.

Elsa and I are well. Mistress Marshwood and Marjorie are trying to keep Daisy-Anne occupied with anything useful. When she does talk about the late emergency, so far she won't admit that she was wrong about anything. That is, about John Weatherby. Her favorite evasion is to babble about "the madness of war." You wouldn't know from her words that you were morally any better than the Whitewashers you fought.

I couldn't blame you if you refuse ever to speak to Daisy again; but I pray that she will discover self-honesty.

Your servant under God,
Heathwell Fairwind

# # # # # # # # # # #

West of Gloomenghast, Typhus Gloom and the plains tribesman Climbs-To-Moon were accompanying Jerkysalt of Sneeziya, the Whistler veteran, enroute to meet up with Bruce Mackey the railroad-building expert. Representatives from six other prairie tribes were with Bruce. Jerkysalt, seeing that some of these tribals were from nations whose languages he didn't know, resorted to the Whistling of Being Understood by Others. The ease with which Bruce was moving among his own companions implied that HE understood at least one language used. And of course Climbs-to-Moon had many years of experience with signing.

For what follows, the reader should think of Typhus, Jerkysalt and Climbs-to-Moon as a unit, referred to as Typhus; and Bruce's name will stand for his entire party, because virtually everyone on two legs was participating in the effort to communicate (with more meanings being recognized as Jerkysalt's gift progressively sharing word-knowledge).

JERKYSALT opening for Typhus' side to make a good opening, addressing the actual Bruce Mackey: What stage of route surveying are you on?

BRUCE: Charting at least two separate inland routes, running southeast from Tidumo.

"BRUCE" COLLECTIVELY, i.e. several of his friends hastily offering their input: The more westerly route passes near a burial ground; the track layers must avoid violating that place. \ The more easterly route has two ravines meeting it, where spring rains from higher elevations could erode the track embankments. \ Cougars have been known to use ravines on both routes to sneak up on prey.

TYPHUS: Did the slowing down of the moon alarm any of your contingent?

BRUCE: Only briefly, only for a few hours in which people thought the moon was going to fall and crack the world open. The Washadoli, with some of the Tengu and Elves, carried the word of what had actually happened. \ Tengu, since they can fly, went farthest afield, and met with elders of remote southwestern tribes. These people, as much as any, were greatly relieved to know the moon wasn't falling; but it was a total shock, though not frightening, to hear that railroads, only a vague rumor to them, could eventually become available for their use. \ We'll try not to cause either over-optimistic expectations or fear for the world they know. \ We might be able to have one spur line laid approximately to the center of that area within two years, but that only if we slowed down some of the construction which is already positively expected in the nearer areas.

TYPHUS: Master Whitegrove says we must always consider how our actions will affect our descendants. \ It's indisputable that swifter means of transportation will bring many benefits, but we must not let wide lands be ruined. \ Perhaps there should be laws or treaties defining large areas of land which will never be subjected to railroad use or to large-scale mining.
 
Last edited:
"It's good to see that they've kept Otto's monument in good condition," said Wyatt Hickok. "And good to know that that snake Star Swallower won't be back. Nor any more necromancers."

With Wyatt here in Pathamel were his trainees Mezdatch and Frethric, native Pathamelians. Besides melee weapons, they carried their socket- bayonet-capable bolt-action rifles. One other member of their party was not familiar with Otto Kergoff's birth country. Hostiguth Yorof (first name rhymes with "youth"), was a leatherworker who had achieved Captain of Skilled Labor status with the encouragement of his Towerman companions.

No Pathamelian had witnessed The Battle For The Moon. Wyatt and his posse had not played any part in it, but at least they knew about it, and could speak about it to locals. A Christian meeting hall, affiliated with the Long Quest Church Alliance, was made available for questions and answers. The first question came from a carpenter who knew Mezdatch's family: "Is it true that Sir Ronald of Goliad perished in the battle?"

"I'm pleased to be able to report that Ronald was not killed, nor permanently injured. But while alive, he IS retired now. Slaying the accursed Jaheg-Jorod was the pinnacle of his gallant career; now he deserves, and shall have, peace and quiet in Gromstark with his wife Zoralee, so they can raise their children. Meanwhile, all of Punksteema is changing now, for the better. You can all see for yourselves that the moon's motion around our world is much less disruptive than it was before. And there are many other changes for the good.

"Of special importance: never again will it be possible for any kind of monster to enjoy immunity to mortal weapons while itself being able to harm people. Non-material ghosts might still appear, but they will be powerless to hurt the living. The worst they will be able to do henceforth is to deceive or mislead persons who encounter them.

"Supernatural events will not cease altogether; but industry and science will grow in importance henceforth."

That night, asleep in a boarding-house bed, Wyatt experienced a momentous visitation, by a mighty winged serpent....

"It is I, the Colorless Quetzalcoatl, he who roused you from near-death to rejoin your gun-brother when he needed you. It is only right that you see me once more, before I depart your world to serve the Creator elsewhere. My work here is done."

"Then are you going to Earth?" Punksteemans knew of the existence of True Earth, since the Holy Bible had been provided to them from there. The good-aligned dragonoid replied: "No, I am neither needed nor allowed there. But the isolation of your world is not otherwise binding upon me. There will be numerous places where I can aid the righteous, and I am able to fly to those by my own power. As I depart, I will leave a wide-reaching benediction upon all of Punksteema, boosting the talents and skill of all honest persons who seek to lead your changing planet on constructive paths."

The most senior still-active Towerman touched the Quetzalcoatl's wing. "Thank you, servant of God. Success to you always."

The Colorless Quetzalcoatl paid two more visits before launching himself into the vast galaxy. He gave his news to Sahajil Trail-Chooser, the wise woman of Upper Wenzeppu; then to Uzakmid Habohai, ruler of Shangri-Blah. And, still not realized by most people, Punksteema was on its way to being a bona fide steampunk world.

# # # # # # # # # # #

There were many loose ends for Punksteemans to wrap up as their history began the new surge. Not least of these was the taming of the wildest remaining territory in the planet's north temperate latitudes. Many days' march east of Upper Wenzeppu, this was the only region in Arcondoyla where Bloody Diggers were still active in large numbers. We now pick up the narrative at a vital stronghold of civilization: Victor Shelsidan's trading post. We find a recently married couple, born in two allied prairie tribes, pulling up at the mercantile house's large corral.

"Victor, are you in there?" shouted Widebranch Tree of the Snow Drinkers tribe, as he dismounted from his saddle-trained zebra. (I've said before that his tribe's language has phonetics FAR removed from English, so I write the meaning of their tribe-name, as well as the meaning of this man's given name.) Stepping down from her conventional horse, Clean Jar of the Hodsup tribe added her own excited shout: "The eastern Diggers have been slain or scattered! Rocksplitter slew eight of them all by himself!" Rocksplitter was a war-badger, who had come here from faraway Brishlo with his human, the adventurous Mr. Stelshuff Pindu. In a carefully organized operation, hundreds of tribal warriors had dug straight down into labyrinth sectors where they could catch the orc-like beings in pincer attacks. The huntsman Roy Crinkly had been among those watching for breakouts.

"Please tell me that you didn't massacre their babies," Victor sighed.

"Happily, there was a practical argument for mercy," Widebranch Tree told him. "By taking their offspring as hostages, Stelshuff put a bridle on them. As long as we don't kill any after they surrendered, and don't work them to death, we now have a source of prisoner labor. Jarsken Bowdrie is already surveying locations to erect fortified watchtowers."

Victor nodded. "We just might civilize those beasts yet."

======= AUTHOR'S NOTE: This subplot is not making excuses for slavery in the usual sense. In this story-reality, the Bloody Diggers are not innocent victims being kidnaped; they, collectively, are the aggressors in their war with mankind. In the recent history of Actual Earth, making prisoners of war perform constructive labor was not a war crime, provided that the prisoners were not starved, flogged, or set at jobs which were suicidally hazardous.
 
Last edited:
In the Lower Wenzeppuan town where he had set up his tinsmithing business, young Towerman Diego "Skull Driller" Smith, the one having a foot in the tradesman's world by being a tinsmith, was intrigued when a Loi-Bavrid dirigible descended in the usual space for airship landings. Heading across town, Diego sighted the woman who commanded the ship. She peered at him.

"Are you the young Towerman? I'm Faodri Shim. One of my Tablanorian passengers knows you, and wants to speak with you: Lester Grath, the fellow who married a Felrudean woman."

Diego nodded. "Yes, he was in the brunt of action during the zombie plague that swarmed around the Compass Railway. I'm sure he'll want to know just what happened when the moon slowed its flight."

Lester was more than urgent for news. And the metalworker-slash-gunslinger had plenty; Trail-Chooser Sajahil had felt no need to keep secret what she had heard from the Colorless Quetzalcoatl. So Diego began: "Airships, trains, maybe new telephone coverage: those things are going to be the future." With Lester listening avidly, Diego then reported all he knew about Jaheg-Jorod's downfall, culminating with details of how the moon was adjusting to new management.

After hearing about Jonawiku's new anointing as a Mellow Druid, Lester told the younger man: "I'm surely not the only man on Punksteema who has wondered what other worlds were like. Now, we have a new world coming to us. And before I go home, I plan to see and chronicle some of how the new world is falling into place."

# # # # # # # # # #

Habohai, the Dalai Lama counterpart in Shangri-Blah (but believing in a personal God rather than the nothingness offered as an ideal in Earthly Buddhism), had been diligent about noising abroad what he had heard from the Colorless Quetzalcoatl. Lady Zutozar and other Tengu had joined in spreading the good news. Again, nobody could have failed to notice that the moon had slowed its orbit to match exactly the common time-unit of the "tenday;" nor could they fail to notice that the atmospheric and oceanic disturbances caused by its former swift flyovers was greatly diminished; but it was reassuring to all hearers to learn that this benign alteration was accompanying THE END OF ALL NECROMANCERS FOREVER.

After a cautionary sweep of the region, the first regiment of Queen Juliet-Andrea's Dragoons had returned home to Pitcherton, under the temporary command of Ensign Strandwick. The Six Nations River and its environs were safer now than they had been in living memory-- including the memory of Elves like Veevalamora Heartlifter. So it was that General Cornell Brendan, requiring no further escort than some of his Jardekka friends and Sergeant Rutger Sharpe, paid a courtesy call upon Viscount Rimaraf, deputy ruler of Hultisna now that his brother Count Peltrovik was the Prince-Consort of Austreejuntzland.

"General! Sergeant! Honored warriors! How is the change in weather treating you all?" The Viscount allowed the plainsmen to relate all they cared to; they really were affected by everything in their environment. Presently, the braves were seated in the high-class dining room used by Peltrovik himself, and served foods which would not seem strange to them. Rutger Sharpe sat with them, lest they feel ignored. This enabled a private meeting between the Viscount and the General.

"Losing Color Sergeant Hesper, Koshib the monk, and so many others to the monsters was hard to face. Understandably pushes affairs of the heart into the background. But now that we can allow ourselves to resume living our lives....

Rimaraf handed a wax-sealed letter to his guest. It was addressed to General Brendan, care of Count Peltrovik.

Daisy-Anne Marshwood had very seldom written anything to Brendan, but the long- suffering good guy was almost positive that his fickle ex-fiancee had written this letter. Sure enough---

Most Deserving and Meritorious General,

If any excuse exists for my deplorable conduct, it may be found in my lack of a father's guidance. When you began paying me proper and courteous attention, some part of my mind imagined that you were insolently trying to claim a paternal dignity, while also desiring to possess me as bluntly and selfishly as the crudest illiterate worker might do with a ragged beggar girl. John Weatherby played on my idiocy, slandering you to make himself look worldly-wise. Even after he revealed his own cowardice on the last night of his life, I did not immediately put the pieces together. Now, probably far too late, I know better.

The world has changed, and I know at least part of the truth about what changed it. Warriors went into battle, and slew heartless creatures who deserved death. Like yourself, those who fought against evil on the moon were fighting to protect the vulnerable. And it distresses me to realize that I am probably one of millions who are failing to value the sacrifices of noble warriors.

You, General, are a better man than I deserve. But if my belated enlightenment can still carry any weight, I tell you in the sight of God that I finally do realize your merit. I also realize that, if you can find it in you to give me another chance, you would not rub my face in my fickleness. In my mother, in my elder sister, and in Dame Fiddleton, I can find examples of what a wife ought to be. Take your time, brave sir, knowing that I wait for you and care nothing for any other prospective suitor.

Daring to hope that I might yet gain the privilege of your acceptance, I remain
Your chastened would-be bride, Daisy.

The two chivalrous gentlemen looked at each other for half a minute, until Rimaraf snorted:

"Bloody Perdition, man, marry the girl already!"

The next morning, the Jardekka braves and Rutger Sharpe rode with Brendan toward his estate in Tasmuth Shire, to touch base with the General's domestic retainers. On the day after this, they would start for Hardbiscuit Cottage in Beldamore Shire. Brendan considered paying his call in civilian attire, but Sharpe chided him: "Sir, you must never let anyone make you ashamed of your career. Nor does your sometime betrothed have any business hanging on to this 'madness of war' drivel. It was she who insulted you, not the reverse. If she wants your forgiveness, she can jolly well accept your forgiveness when coming from a Dragoon General in his FULL DRESS uniform, complete with a functional sword."
 
Last edited:
FOR THE BEGINNING OF THIS POST, THINK OF THE GUITAR ANTHEM FOR "TOP GUN."
FOR THE END OF THIS POST, SEARCH UP THE "ADYA CLASSIC" VERSION OF BEETHOVEN'S ODE TO JOY. H

Brendan's domestics were able to furnish rumors that Daisy-Anne Marshwood had been observed always in a gloomy state of mind. For their good-hearted master's sake, they wanted to believe that this gossip confirmed the impression given by Daisy's contrite epistle. Unrelated to the news of Daisy-- unless as a remote analogy-- it was believed that the Fiddletons' gallant wolfhound was going to be paired up with a female dog said to be an ideal mate for him.

The latter item coaxed a smile from the toughened war veteran. "If I were to be likened with a dog, I could not do any better than Readyrough. Let us deem this a sign of my own impending felicity."

In the morning of his first full day back home, this not yet being the time he expected to meet his beloved, Brendan and his traveling companions were taking the air-- the Jardekkas in European-ish attire, not because they were ashamed of their traditional garb, but because the garb was being laundered for them. Sharpe was in field uniform, with what original Earth historians would call a wheel hat, and Brendan was in a Regency-era-style suit with civilian hat. They were met by the Fairwinds, who were in a carriage.

"Good morning and God's favor to you, General, Sergeant, and warriors," said Heathwell. "Are you gentlemen planning to hike all the way to Hardbiscuit Cottage?"

"No, my friend, merely on a constitutional stroll, and chatting with any we meet."

"Then let me chat to good purpose," Elsa replied. "My middle sister is not being theatrical in her contrition. She genuinely IS ashamed of herself for ever having believed Weatherby's posing and pretenses. No one scolds her for it, but she reproaches herself enough to equal a kingdom's worth of blame."

That man among the Jardekkas who possessed the deepest English fluency abruptly spoke up: "War Chief Brendan, I have a wife back at home. I almost missed having her as mine. It was not the same as your story, she did nothing wrong; but I needed to snare my opportunity."

# # # # # # # # #

That afternoon, General Cornell Brendan, in dress uniform with sword, rode alone to the grounds of Hardbiscuit Cottage. The mother of the three sisters was literally watching for him with a spyglass.

"Marjorie! Have the tea ready! Daisy, remember to be sitting properly when--"

But Daisy-Anne was having none of waiting. Out the door like a shot, she ran and ran toward the hero whom she was determined to deserve, and to reward.

"General, General Brendan, Brendan, confound it, CORNELL!!! Forgive me, believe I'm sincere, let me prove it, say it isn't too late, let me make amends, let me be the wife you deserve, I love you, there's no one else!"

Brendan believed her, and omniscient narrator verifies her sincerity. Halting his mount, he descended to meet her. Catapulting into his embrace, sobbing with relief that she was not being rejected, Daisy-Anne got to business teaching him how to kiss in earnest. Not a word would ever be said about where she had learned to kiss a man so exquisitely; she was his now absolutely, and her past folly would never be permitted to poison their love.

Told ya I like happy endings!

The next time we look at Punksteema, it will be three years later for them, Brendan and Jonawiku both will be fathers, regions east of the Shelsidan trading post will be much more civilized, and telephones will have come into wider use.
 
Last edited:
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

Dang me if this post on Bat-Earth wasn't left unfinished for three months! "Alipang" and "Musketeers" were holding my attention, because one is nearing its conclusion while the other still is in early stages. But I do need to resume "Spacebullies," because I was getting close to a new, slimmed-down era for it. \\\\ As we pick up loose ends, the history-jumping Chinese woman Subtle Python Tak and other women of her order have been applying holistic medicine which enabled Symphony Britt, Cassina Dragglehair, Theda Kirby-Jones, President Ladora Greeley- Kirby, and Chandelle Rune (not sure now if I got her married off) to bear children safely.

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||



"These dweebs will cuss till I plug my e-e-e-e-ears; / Ev'ry dirty joke they tell will simply grind my gears...." At a newly-opened concert venue, situated where one of the Life Avenues had lately been broken open, a sister-act band called Artery was performing. Ann Winsome sang more than half of their lead vocals, including the song "These Dweebs;" Nancy Winsome sang the remaining leads while playing rhythm guitar. Nancy's husband Cap was on drums; Ann's husband Larry would alternate between lead guitar and keyboards.

With Deuce Wayans' knowledge and consent, two non-human sapients resembling baboons were backstage, keeping out of sight. Jamsorvad was a male, with a Green Flashlight artifact, and had been on Bat-Earth before now. His wife Wistamu had obtained a special dispensation from the otherwise all- humanoid Heart Sapphire Sisterhood to carry a Sapphire implant, so she and her husband would each have some abilities the other lacked.

In the audience, unannounced, was the singer Sleezie Mix, from the strife- shaken band Freakwood Shack. During an interval between songs, Nancy and Ann spoke happily about the promise of being able to bear children by their husbands. Sleezie frowned and snapped, "I hate babies!"

A male voice at her elbow replied, "I hate babies too!" This was Dustin Lumberlake, the former- as-in- good-riddance boyfriend of Symphony Britt, who had traded up to marry Deuce Wayans. The blonde never-mother turned to face Dustin, beaming with delight.

"We both hate babies!" she exclaimed. "I sure hate them!" Dustin replied, pulling her toward him. After half a minute of passionate kissing, by which time Artery had begun its next number, Dustin shouted into Sleezie's ear: "We can build a life around hating babies! We can tell the world how icky babies are!"
 
Last edited:
Realizing that the retired Street-Bat possessed extensive knowledge of other worlds, many of the Chinese Mountain Warriors came to speak with him about the prospect of traveling to some of those worlds.

"Excellent," Deuce replied. "Let me introduce you to a pair of persons from such a world. They are different from us in physical form; but you who remember the elemental demons we fought will not be shocked by the appearance of my friends. Jamsorvad! Wistamu!"

Two furry creatures, nearly identical to baboons found in tropic latitudes on most Earth-variants, became visible. The male had a large, bright green gem attached to the back of his hand; the female had a red gem, smaller than the green one, attached to her forehead.

"Greetings, good humans," said Wistamu. "My gem identifies me as a Heart Sapphire. My power gem is a bit quicker at picking up languages than a Green Flashlight is. My husband already knows English and Chinese thanks to his past adventures on Bat-Earth, so now I'm catching up." Turning her muzzle toward Jamsorvad, she let him continue the explanations.

"The Heart Sapphire Sisterhood made a historic exception in allowing Wistamu to receive a Sapphire implant. All Sapphire Sisters-- as the title reveals-- are female; Wistamu's distinction is her species. All of her fellow red-gem-wearers are human or near-human. One reason to allow this is that our expected journey will take us to places where many of the reasoning creatures are not at all humanoid. Besides presenting an alternate species-image for the beings we'll meet, we have a diverse range of helpful powers to offer. Both of us can fly around, communicate with aliens, and shield against danger; but my energy can actively fight enemies, while hers can shield the helpless, heal wounds or sickness, and create foods which can safely nourish any species."

"Now," Deuce announced, "let me introduce the other special member of our expedition. His appearance won't shock people who've seen dragons, but he's literally a one-of-a-kind dragonoid, and even more efficient at space travel than Green Flashlights are."

A winged serpent, his body some six meters long and wingspan almost as much, appeared near them. "Greetings, my biped or semi-biped comrades! I am the Colorless Quetzalcoatl. The Almighty Creator brought me into being to help good-aligned people on a world called Punksteema; but the powers of supernatural evil have been decisively trampled on that planet, so I am free now to help the side of good in various other worlds."



Lodge Flake, a native of the Second Galaxy whom Deuce knew about, came to visit Deuce and Symphony the next day. Author's Note: Enough narrative time has passed since U.S. Marshal Deuce Wayans married Symphony Britt and gifted his Green Flashlight artifact to her to give her the direct benefit of its protective powers, that Symphony will have borne a baby to Deuce; but I don't recall whether the baby was male or female. Accordingly, I postpone any remarks on that subject.

Politely greeting Mrs. Wayans, the little-short-of-utterly-unbeatable hero got to business. One of the Righteous Mountain Warriors, a man called Stone Juggler Dao, was present and was included in the discussion of expected operations in the Southern Pinwheel Galaxy. Indeed, Lodge pointedly brought Stone Juggler up to date.

"Years ago, I was a police officer on Planet Madmaksilon in the Second Galaxy, but I fell afoul of minions of the dictator Vernacula Scurvylaff. False criminal charges landed me on a prison moon, where I was put to work mining a plotline- advancing substance called Miguffinite. The prolonged exposure began to make me abnormally stronger. After my second cousin and fiancee Royurbota led a raiding party to liberate me, top-ranking powers of lawful goodness made me still mightier, potentially far faster than light for long trips, with a startling degree of clairvoyance as a bonus. Even I don't know how great my strength is; but I do know my one recognizable weakness. After a period of super-powered activity, which seems shorter if my exertions were uncommonly great, I am compelled to teleport back to where I was when I began that super-ness period, fatigued and with my invulnerability suspended. The gift even adjusts to alter the return location if the default location has meanwhile become lethal for my de-powered self.

"The longer I was in super-action, the longer I have to wait for my powers to return. While thus waiting, I have the good sense to accept any protection I can get while I'm de-powered. Royurbota naturally stands that duty wherever possible."

Stone Juggler Dao, not slow on the uptake, remarked, "I reckon that there can be times when you remain active in one limited area with us longer than the time consumed by several of your on-and-off cycles; hence, no disrupting of our collective activity. And since the good-aligned dragon- serpent to whom we've been introduced suffers no such inconvenience in his travels, I infer that he will be in command of our cosmos- jumping expedition when your off-time does take y0u 0ff the board for a while."

"Mostly so," Deuce affirmed for Lodge. "In the Quetzalcoatl's absence, the good wizard Hector von Bootblack will see to ensuring that you get to where you should be next."
 
Last edited:
)))))))))))))))))))) JOHNNY-747, HIS WIFE CORTEXA THE FREE-WILLED ANDROID, AND THEIR BRILLIANT SON TEX MASTERSON HAVE BEEN LEFT OFFSTAGE FOR QUITE A WHILE, SINCE THEIR NATIVE SUB-REALITY BASED ON THE "HALO" GAME HAS BEEN CLEANSED FROM ALL MAJOR EVILS, INCLUDING THE OBNOXIOUS MISTER TECTONIC. THIS FREES THEM TO ACCEPT A HEYHO-RING JUMP TO JOIN THE NEW ADVENTURE IN THE FOURTH GALAXY. ACCOMPANYING THEM IS A GOOD-ALIGNED "SKANKBELLY" ALIEN CALLED ZAFNAST, PLUS THE FLASH-CLONED BARD NAMED "NEW" STEVIE RAY VAUGHN, AND HIS WIFE, THE FORMER CAROLYN FALLACY. CAROLYN CAME TO LOVE STEVIE WHEN HE HELPED HER TO REGAIN THE SANITY WHICH THE FANATICAL ATHEIST HAD STOLEN FROM HER.

"Your people, the whole interspecies community of them, have adapted remarkably well to knowing that their entire sub- universe owes its existence to a video game played on the true, original Earth."

Jackman Hughes, President of "Heyho Earth," was unruffled by these matter-of-fact words from his visitor, the Colorless Quetzalcoatl. Hughes, with everyone else in the United Civilizations, had already adapted to knowing that all of them had been born in a reality where their families only became real two or three generations ago. They had souls and free will, and all their experiences literally happened. Aloud he replied: "If you're looking for people who know that score, we've got them by tens of billions. And our own part of the overall universe can afford to lend you some volunteers."

The reptilian demigod nodded with a toothy smile. "Yes, ever since I ended my own isolation on Planet Punksteema, I've been catching up with studying everyplace else. My clairvoyance has run wild-- even to a galaxy which no one I know has visited before. It's a galaxy visible from the southern hemisphere of True Earth. I have determined so far that it has no fewer than two planets which qualify as versions of Original Earth, and which also have genuine existence despite owing their existence to something imaginary......."



Before taking off to other things, Colorless Quetzalcoatl blinked south, bearing in the claw-fingers of his left wing a thumb drive loaded by Carolyn Fallacy- Vaughn with assorted useful information for the artificial but self-aware and free-willed mind of the living android Cortexa Johnson. Accepting the input, she projected a rotating hologram of Dystopian Earth for everyone's edification. Zafnast was particularly intrigued; the only Earth-variant he had seen before was the capital world of the United Civilizations (home to Jackman Hughes), and Heyho Earth was much less unusual than this Earth-iteration floating in the Southern Pinwheel Galaxy.

Cortexa highlighted the Dystopia's southern hemisphere. "It's not obvious to a fleeting glance, but mountain ranges on this Earth-variant are lower in elevation than their counterparts on other Earths. To balance the geography, a hefty swath of planetary crust got pushed up from the ocean. See here? Cape Horn is clipped off of South America. Less than six nautical miles separates the peculiar western continent (which displaces much of the Pacific) from the Chilean coast.
Atlantic-to- Pacific shipping is rendered easier than on other Earth-variants which have the Panama Canal, and ships here don't have to travel so near to Antarctic shores.

"The raised bottom takes in New Zealand and Australia. Means a longer westward cruise before you can sail up around Australia's west coast. But freight and passenger traffic is facilitated by north-south railroads. Kind of like nature wanting to correct a vacuum. Automobiles haven't been invented yet, nor all-up steamships, nor telephones, and telegraph lines only connect the major cities down here, while even the more-familiar continents have yet to stand up telegraph service for any town with population less than five thousand."

Looking at Zafnast just as he would look at any family member, Tex Masterson hugged the touchable android woman whose heredity-input for him was a wealth of knowledge. "My mom gave me a collection of information to enjoy like my rock- and-mineral collection. Just like you taught me to fire plasma weapons."

A placename caption appeared in the hologram over the peculiar continent: CONTINENT KNOWN AS WILD-WILD SOUTH. "Picking up local news won't be difficult," said Master Champ Johnny-747, "since we learned that everybody on this non-conforming landmass speaks at least one of English, Spanish, Comanche, Apache, Javanese or Native Australian, and in many cases one tongue outside of that group. Cortexa can interpret for all of those, once she has time to download samples of any given language. The Quetzalcoatl has work to do elsewhere; but he promises that when he can't be here to keep an eye on us, he'll get some other high-powered ally to fill in. Sorcery Lass, the top wonder-worker on Planet Alwaysurnia, is among the most likely helpers for us. Even King Twerpseid, one of the very few good guys who can compare for might with Captain Rightawrong, might come by."



\\\\\ SCENE CHANGES TO ONE OF THE WORLDS IN GALAXY FOUR, THREE DAYS LATER /////

The Janitors of the Universe, mentors to Green Flashlights, undertook to deliver Jamsorvad and Wistamu, plus a squad of Righteous Mountain Warriors, to an Earthlike planet which the Janitors identified as Dystopian Earth. Green Flashlight Parbellik Magta, manning the Janitors' communication center, made sure the travelers understood that worlds in the Southern Pinwheel were very recently created, but had the already-heard-of attribute that people on those worlds were created with implanted memories of growing up there. They were genuine people, with souls and the power of conscious choice; and the Almighty Creator had made them aware that {as with Heyho Earthlings} they could expect in the afterlife to meet fully-real versions of their presumed ancestors, just as if the Galaxy Four worlds had concretely existed for millions of years.

"Here come two more!" exclaimed Stone Juggler Dao. Popping into existence nearby were two hardy-looking gentlemen. The taller of these was Caucasian, with a disfigured face whose injuries had apparently ceased hurting long ago. He was armed with a small arsenal of knives, plus a length of chain. The other man, looking younger, was unmistakably Chinese, and was clearly delighted to see other Chinese in front of him. He bore a staff, and had throwing stars attached to his belt in pouches.

The taller man announced: "My friend Jet Yi and I are from the Earth-variant called 'Urth.' A magician called Fateful Doctor teleported us here, aware that we would meet speakers of our native languages. He instructed us, moreover, to tell you that this Earth-variant, while inhabitable and still inhabited now, lost its former level of scientific knowledge --or there's a retroactively- composed history saying it lost knowledge. In the real or simulated past, two successive generation-ship migrations carried thousands of the natives to two different Earth-variants. The first-settled planet is now called 'Dayzinn,' while the second-settled one is 'Magmacore.' You are unlikely to have any contact with Dayzinnites or Magmacorians, but your wisdom and skill can do much to aid the lower-tech people still on Dystopian Earth."

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The concept of time "really" beginning very recently in a sub-universe has worked for most of my story premises. But I've begun to realize that it isn't as practicable in the Southern Pinwheel Galaxy as it's been elsewhere. Above all, _now_ I have a version of Doctor Who to depict...... and he _can't_ travel back in time if there _isn't_ any genuinely-existing reality for him to visit. Therefore, please consider my "only-just-created" story-worlds as reaching back into a tangible past reality for at _least_ three or four centuries.
 
Last edited:
\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ Now our narration leaps over to Extraspeshmar, the capital planet of the Ultraviolentean Empire (the foremost human civilization in this arm of the Southern Pinwheel Galaxy). No already-established character of less than demigod status has yet ventured as far as this Warhammer-game-based sector. Human civilizations hereabouts occasionally fought each other, but would hastily agree on a truce if hostile nonhumans intruded. Termiterites, collectivized insectoids which would eat anyone else, were the worst of all galactic aggressors, causing the same necessary-truce measure to extend over everyone who wasn't a Termiterite.

"AUTHOR'S NOTE: I claim author's prerogative here. This particular subset of this particular sub-reality is arguably more detached from a Dancing Lawn reader's familiarity than anything else I'm doing here. So I'm sovereignly deciding that some Galaxy Four event-streams have been "really real" for longer than others. I think I'll do the same for the event- streams reflecting "Doctor Who" and "Star Trek."

*** It often occurs with Dancing Lawn programming that variables like lettering color decide they'll accept commands only when they feel like doing so. Therefore, be it understood that the first red-lettered paragraph of this post is the only paragraph which >I< wanted to be red-lettered. So I invite you to assume that the subsequent red paragraphs are the true continuation from the very first paragraph in the post.


"Is my inner capsule action-ready again?" said Lieutenant Hemtry Gravill, a well-regarded veteran of the Long- Distance Armored Infantry. This force was more trusted by non-Ultraviolentean humans than any other force was. In fact, the maintenance man with whom Hemtry was conferring had been born on a world outside the empire: Taktikord Four, the liquid-water planet in one of six Taktikordan star systems. As a sergeant, Hemtry had fought the Termiterites on Taktikord One. He had come away from that operation with awareness that battle- chainsaws would kill an adult Termiterite faster than any man-portable energy weapon.

Dakib Afnam, the maintenance man, replied, "Ready for anything short of an extinction-level asteroid impact."

Once immediate work was finished, the two men went to watch a celebratory parade of enlisted personnel who had graduated the advanced course in driving combat vehicles. ----.
 
Last edited:
MORE WARHAMMER STUFF:

Among cheering watchers of the parade were mutated humans of the Votebooth Kinship. Their voices could range lower and higher than regular-human voices; the elders among them reminded their juniors to control their pitch, lest they hurt the ears of parent-species humans. Hemtry Gravill thanked the senior Voteboothers for the courtesy.


0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

'''''''' STUFF BELOW HERE, POSTED LAST OCTOBER, IS IN RESERVE, NOT YET SET IN STONE

"Captain Rightawrong" meets Chinese heroes and others as called for. Whoever gets credit, heroes WILL find out about the "Professor Myself" and "James Dean Dirk" realms. Whoever calls the shots, will recommend heavy hitters go to the Affiliation of Planets, where A.P.S. Bettersize is the top ship, and homeworld is "Affiliated Earth." CLEVER types, like Doc Slippage with Zoorama, go to Futility Earth, whose people are no better off technologically than True Earth, and so constantly need saving. Prof-Myself uses his (numbered) "Topthis" craft to get around.

Also in Affiliation is Jean-Louis Pickacard, with ship Everwise. His early ship is Starwatcher. He _will_ emulate the S.T.N.G. canon by idiotically reasoning with _attacking_ Fakefurstinki before inventing the Pickacard Maneuver just in time. This is going to max output of warp drive so Fakefurstinki targeting sensors are confused.

Futility Earth is not GOVERNED BY the Affiliation, but has contact with Affiliated Earth. "Doctor Myself" in his "Topthis" craft _CAN_ travel in space, but travel to the past OR future sometimes enters virtual reality, showing what could happen later or could _have_ happened before.

The most egregious abuse being committed is when the Affiliation copies "Day the Earth Stood Still," not killing anyone but touting fake moral equivalence. Hector von Bootblack explains their error, then Lodge Flake corrects the nonsense. On Futility Earth, Kirk Slippage figures stuff out, and Zoorama Sotero protects him from over-powered monsters.

ATTENTION! SOMEONE VERY DEAR TO ME HAS SHOWN INTEREST IN DANCING LAWN, BUT IS SUFFERING FROM CANCER. OF ALL THE NARRATIVE STRANDS IN SPACEBULLIES, MY NEWLY-CONCEIVED STAR TREK-RELATED CONCEPT IS OF THE MOST INTEREST TO HER. THEREFORE, I SHALL NOW LEAVE OTHER STUFF HIGH AND DRY-- EVEN THE BARELY-BEGUN WARHAMMER TAKEOFF.

WHATEVER IS THE FARTHEST REACH OF SPACEBULLIES POSTS AS OF 25 FEBRUARY, LOOK FOR ME TO COMMENCE DEPICTING THE AFFILIATION OF PLANETS AND THE STARSHIP BETTERSIZE THERE.
 
Last edited:
THIS FRAGMENT IS PART OF THE WARHAMMER PLOTLINE.

"Is this planet part of that new galaxy?" asked New Stevie Ray Vaughn, the revival of the best white blues musician ever.

"I expect so," replied Stevie's wife, the Heyhoverse-born scientist Carolyn Fallacy, whom Stevie by his bardic power had set free from demonic influence. The villain Mister Tectonic, who had been responsible for inviting the wicked spirits, was now in the unbreakable custody of the mighty Sorcery Lass on Planet Alwaysurnia. The Vaughns were free now to take on a new adventure.

|| (Termiterites will turn up on this Fourth-Galaxy planet.) ||| _____________ Crackshots will do stuff on Futility Earth. Since New Stevie Ray Vaughn was in Heyho territory, he can be brought along to help counter super evils with his blues magic.
 
Last edited:
.............................................. THIS POST, >ALSO< FROM OCTOBER, IS ALSO REFERENCE IN STORAGE.

At the time I am catching up a bit on "Spacebullies," I am also reviving and extending the Alipang Havens chronicles, a work much older than Spacebullies. and entirely different in approach. The comicbook-ish characters in Spacebullies, natives of imaginary worlds like Punksteema, Redundantworld and multiple Earth-variants, CANNOT EVER set foot on Original Earth where we live. But the Alipang Havens stories happen SPECIFICALLY WITHIN our genuine universe. Thus, Alipang Havens cannot ever meet Sorcery Lass, Black Admiral, Walloper Woman, King Truthside, etc.

But Alipang's long life was always intended to lead readers closer to the real-universe-future adventures of Eliot Aristede Granholm, the Grey Eagle. Accordingly, small though the chances are of my being ALLOWED to get anywhere with Grey Eagle, I am seeking to prepare my only large readership for the jump from Alipang's relatively-small story-universe to the broader field of action Eliot will inhabit. A few characters in the later setting will be descendants of persons who were around in Alipang's lifetime.

I would like to live so long (I'm nearly 74 now, but still ambulatory) as to finish the entire two-stage epic and find readers for it. But be that yes or no, I must accept the adventure Aslan sends me.

NECESSARY NOTE TO SELF: I was planning to have the warrior Iron Punch accompany Queen Hiptubeeskwerra of the Yummyzons, mother of Walloper Woman and mother figure to the de-evilized Princess Grrrryll, on a mission to whatever-it-was they were going. I think a place with Mountain Warriors. The Yummyzons live on Foamy-Dice Island, on Minorleague Earth.
 
Last edited:
Back
Top