Spacebullies Two: The Search For More Parody

Departing Srirachiss

With two more people joining the crew of Groan Starr's ship, oxygen supply was a potential problem. But when Groan spoke of this to his new shipmates, Trala-Lalia told him, "Don't worry, I can lighten the load. After I've eaten once and gone to the bathroom, I'll use my Penny Jezebel hibernation technique to sleep through most of the trip. This will reduce my own air consumption to less than one-fifth of what it would be otherwise."

"That's impressive!" exclaimed Puke, then looked at his long-time captain. "Groaner, can your Fuss powers equal that?"

"Not as far as I know," Groan admitted. "You seem to be ahead of me, sister, since you can also do telekinesis like me."

"Not really," Trala replied. "My flying spoon has its own levitation circuits. My father had it made when he learned about the flying fondue fork that Captain Yondupe carried."

"Duke Neato described it to me before Trala was born," Bunkem Isotope added. "The Duke wasn't very impressed with it when he viewed imagery of it in action. The only reason Yondupe ever accomplished anything with it was because, God knows why, his enemies would always stand around gawking at him, leaving him plenty of time to choose his targets and mentally direct the weapon. If his enemies had had the brains to open fire immediately, he would have been dead before he could kill even one of them with his fork."

Trala laid a hand on Groan's shoulder. "Once pregnant with me, our mother planned all along to teach me to be aggressive, teach me NOT to dither stupidly when danger was at hand. So Father knew I would be able to make use of my flying spoon EVEN IF enemies didn't obligingly stand around staring without shooting."

"Was there a particular reason to make your device a spoon instead of something sharper?" asked Bot Index.

"Because then it could scoop up small objects and bring them to me, as Groan has seen it do. Only in great necessity would I use it to gouge out someone's eyes."

Looking as if he were remembering something, Puke softly sang to himself: "She'll scoop your eye out, she'll scoop your eye out...."


 
While Trala was preparing for hibernation, Groan and Vixen excused themselves to enjoy some precious private time in their shipboard quarters. Puke invited Bunkem to sit in Groan's usual control seat and watch, while Puke ran the ship from the copilot's chair. Bot Index, meanwhile, was programming the ship's life-support computer to accommodate a passenger in self-induced suspended animation.

Though not possessing the intuitive perception of the Penny Jezebels any more than he possessed the comparable Fuss power, Bunkem by his Mentalcat ability was able in fifteen seconds to figure out every function represented in the ship's controls.

He almost said, "Fascinating;" but he remembered that this word was someone else's trademark. So---

"Intriguing. Is this interstellar communicator suite commonplace for starships in your part of the universe?"

Puke tossed a glance in the direction of the private cabin, then replied in a whisper: "Well, Groaner did buy a gray-market tachyon-radar detector. He got tired of the speeding citations."

"My point," said Bunkem, smiling, "is that your communications array clearly enables faster-than-light voice comms."

"The radio set wouldn't be much use across galactic distances if it worked SLOWER than light," interjected Bot from behind them.

"And that, my good robot, reveals the fundamental difference in space travel between your civilization and mine. Your ships can travel from one solar system to another system in weeks-- days if the stars involved are close neighbors on the cosmic scale; but since you can't arrive INSTANTLY, it still is desirable to able to call ahead to your destination. Or to monitor comms traffic FROM your destination, in case you might hear something which requires you to change your plans.

'Our method, by contrast, doesn't even bother enabling real-time voice comms over interstellar distances.... because our Naughtygators, when furnished with the associated technology for their Jalapeno powers to operate, CAN transfer a starship across the star-to-star separation instantly. Given this capablity, we can be within talking distance for SHORT-range radio in less time than it would take to have a real conversation by subspace radio.

"Thus, among the worlds charted by Naughtygators, a conversation could be held by having ships fly ALL the way back and forth between repeating sentences."

"Sounds pretty inefficient," scoffed Bot.

"And would be PROHIBITIVELY inefficient," said Bunkem, "if The Jalapeno didn't enable our Naughtygators to conserve energy so amazingly."

"But I see a drawback," Bot persisted. "If your ships don't have back-and-forth radio in transit, they could arrive in a solar system without knowing what to expect. And I've gathered from Srirachian files that, having made one instant jump, your Naughtygators need at least a moment to recover before they can jump away again."

"Um, yeah," put in Puke. "There could be a war going on at the far end, and you wouldn't know it until you materialized right in a crossfire."

"Theoretically possible," the Mentalcat agreed. "The empire of which Srirachiss is part has grown complacent. I think I prefer your method, when there may be unknown perils awaiting us."

Puke abruptly remembered that he hadn't activated the universal voice-comms monitor. "Um, okay, Mister Isotope. And now that the, uh, radio diagnostics are done, I'll reactivate voice-traffic scans."

 
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Puke knew the interstellar channels most important to galactic travel: channels of similar purpose to traffic, weather and business reporting on any typical inhabited world. There were bulletins on exploding suns, interstellar migrations, new asteroid-mining ventures, and the availabilty of restaurants and grocery stores to suit the digestive systems of all known sapient races.

Bunkem Isotope listened to everything with interest, and his deductive powers told him when the beast-man had monitored every subspace frequency of potential interest to him and Groan Starr.

"I find it peculiar that no one seems to be talking about the downfall of the Spacebullion Space Navy," said the Mentalcat to the beast-man. "Although it wouldn't be such big news as my late master Muddy-Drip overthrowing the Calamari Dynasty, it ought to be GOOD news for any planets within, say, thirty light-years of Planet Spacebull."

"There might be a deliberate news blackout," Bot Index offered.

"Hmmm, yes-- especially if the Spacebullies, and any evildoers allied with them, are afraid to let their present weakness be known, lest other worlds whom they have troubled before might seek revenge.

"Puke, please help me set up a search. I want to sift through all frequencies known to interstellar commerce. Start the frequency search at increments of one hundred kiloherz, dwelling on each frequency for only four seconds unless speech is heard."

"I can do that," Puke assured him. "It was that kind of channel-surfing that first let Groaner and me know Princess Vixen was in danger. But what's the point this time?"

"Random probability. Since our current quest is to defeat a metaphysical attack against wisdom, logic and morality, I shall attempt to pick out clues to populations being dumbed down."
 
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Since Bunkem Isotope had never seen the memo that men cannot multi-task, he held a headset against one ear, while simultaneously telling Puke and Bot the essential history of the star-nation of mad scientists called Lazytaxies.

After summarizing a time span from over a thousand years ago to the present, he concluded by saying, "Evil though the Lazytaxies are, I owe them a debt of sorts. Well, not much of a debt, since they did it for purely self-serving reasons. But I'm here because--"

"--because they cloned you," interjected Bot Index. "Begging your pardon, while we were on Srirachiss, I hacked into a local database, which told about you. Your original self died in battle against the Snarkonnens and the Imperial troops who were helping them. But the Lazytaxies reportedly have an improved cloning process which doesn't seem possible."

Bunkem set down the headphones. "You're right, it isn't possible. Human personality and conscious memory ARE NOT stored in cells outside the brain; therefore, no scientific process can grow a clone from non-brain cells, yet have the original personality live on in the clone. But the near-magical Goulash process of the Lazytaxies DID preserve my awareness despite not having my brain preserved. I who speak to you AM Bunkem Isotope, the very same personality with unbroken memory.

"This is, after all, a universe influenced by imagination."

Puke tilted his head in a dog-like manner. "You know, that sounds exactly like what a science-fiction author would come up with if he were a militant atheist, yet still wanted to include some sort of life after death in his novels."

Bunkem shrugged. "Anyway, it worked; and the Lazytaxies added Mentalcat abilities. After they presented me to Muddy-Drip, I resisted an implanted order to kill him, because I have FREE WILL, by entropy! And their having tried to use me that way is why I don't really owe them anything."

"Not even your relationship with Princess Trala?" asked Bot. "Seems to me that their timing of your 'Goulash' revival was what gave HER time to grow up enough so you could marry her."

Puke leaned past Bunkem to remark to the robot: "But I'll bet you Trala wouldn't have been so fond of Bunkem if he had killed her brother as those creeps wanted him to."

"Logical," Bot conceded. "Those archives tell me that Muddy-Drip only lived another couple of years after Bunkem's Goulashified version was revealed, but that did mean two more years that Trala could have her brother around."

Bunkem nodded. "Which makes for one of the few relatively happy endings anyone's ever enjoyed on Srirachiss." This being said, he pointedly returned to his search of subspace radio channels.

Half an hour later, he exclaimed, "I've got something!"

"What?" asked both the she-robot and the beast-man.

"A voice transmission in which someone pronounced the word 'nuclear' as 'noo-kyoo-lurrr.' That level of gross ignorance could be the work of the Snarkonnens and Lazytaxies!"
 
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Change of scene

Back in Filthopolis on Greedy Crime, Admiral Blender had begun a relationship with the local woman Quarkie. She found him exotically fascinating, because he bathed more often than three times a month, which was more often than she did. and she was cleaner than most women on Greedy Crime.

Speaking of being clean, these two evil folks were not so evil as to make the current story non-family-friendly. So anything improper they did was done when the narrative's attention was upon other characters.

Today, Quarkie had invited the Admiral to watch a movie marathon, of action movies depicting pre-starflight Earth. Besides making a good second date, this was in line with the Baron's intent that Blender should grow better acquainted with House Snarkonnen's plans to subvert humanity spiritually and psychologically.

Snuggled pleasantly together, they viewed alternating action films and romantic comedies, concluding with "Die Difficult, Part Four."

As the ending credits rolled, Blender observed: "Now I see what Doctor Dizwarn likes about this series! The first two movies allowed the audience to believe that the hero's marriage was lastingly restored; and then comes the delicious letdown in this installment, when they find out that she left him AGAIN."

"Yeah, that's the rad-ultra-zappiest!" replied Quarkie. "It puts down all that fladgrubble about everlasting devotion. Like, who could REALLY want to stay in love forever?"


For an instant, Blender flashed back to his childhood on Planet Spacebull.

Flashed back to his father leaving Mommy. This had been the first step in young Blender becoming a hardened villain capable of abetting genocide.

But he was an evildoer now, and it was a bit late to turn around.


"These movies are fun," he assured Quarkie, "and YOU'RE fun. I think I've seen enough of the movies to grasp your leader's campaign of spiritual corrosion. But I can't help wondering, when does the real action begin?"

"Tomorrow, sweetie. Since you've got so much deep-space experience, the Baron and his Lazytaxies will start briefing you on the space-transit aspects of a mission to the planet Seedubb. Our people have worked there before, but we want to follow up."
 
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The next morning, Blender met as appointed with Meedi Ogre and Dizwarn.

"Watch this hologram, Admiral," the Lazytaxie scientist invited. The three-dimensional mid-air display simulated the viewpoint of someone flying through the galaxy, to home in on a particular star system.

"Space, the fictional frontier," intoned a disembodied voice. "These are the voyages of the Snarkonnen Trek. Our indefinite mission: to explore distorted existential views! To seek out new good guys and ruin them! To boldly go where no split infinitive has gone before!"

A terrestroid world soon dominated the visual imagery.

"This is the human-inhabited planet called Seedubb, a close variant of Original Earth," the Baron informed his guest. "Its technology level has not progressed beyond pre-starflight conditions. Consequently, they didn't know to expect infiltration by our operatives. Nor do they have interstellar examples to show them what's possible."

"As a result," said Dizwarn, "metahuman organic abilities possessed by any individual there are more impressive to common people than would be the case if those common people enjoyed access to a level of technology like that of us Lazytaxies."

"In such a setting," added Baron Meedi, "if even the nerdiest young man obtained metahuman powers due to an 'accident'-- really engineered by some of our Lazytaxies three months ago-- he could become what the ignorant would call a 'superhero.' The very thing we want to pull down and step on."

"Like that Thunder God character."

"Exactly, Admiral. Doctor Dizwarn, proceed."

As controlled by the Lazytaxie genius, a sequence which varied in speed served to show a young man who could run at a speed approaching the speed of sound. "This nerd, the product of our secret intervention, calls himself The Whoosh," Dizwarn explained.

While Blender watched, the Whoosh hurried here and there, saving pedestrians from being run over by cars, grabbing bullets out of the air before they could hit people, delivering people's bill payments before the deadline, helping a turtle win a race against a rabbit, and even extinguishing fires by producing a vacuum around them. The variable playback speed made clear every detail of what the superhero did.

"Baron, Doctor, pardon me, but I don't see how this makes people despair of goodness prevailing."

Dizwarn and Meedi shared a smirk, and the planet's ruler said, "Just keep watching, Admiral."

A moment later, a girl who looked eleven years old easily overtook the Whoosh on his fastest run yet shown, and knocked him off his feet. She ran out of sight while he was rolling to a painful stop. When he regained his feet, he tried to run after her and find out who she was; but a boy looking eight years old darted up (again faster than he could move), and knocked him down again.

In succession, the Whoosh was outraced and knocked sprawling by a six-year-old girl, a three-year-old boy, a fifteen-month-old girl, a legless man running on his hands, a hundred-year-old woman in an an unpowered wheelchair, and a newborn kitten.

Admiral Blender spontaneously clapped his hands and stamped his feet. "That's fabulous, Doctor! Absolutely EVERYONE outperformed him! He never had a chance!"

"Correct. By making every conceivable adversary overwhelmingly superior to the Whoosh, and forcing total failure on his every attempt to equalize the odds in any way, the only way he can even survive is by dumb luck."

"Or by the villains deciding they don't even NEED to kill him since he's so powerless against them?" Blender speculated.

The Snarkonnen overlord grinned hideously. "Now you're catching the spirit of our operations! Make people believe it's impossible for good to accomplish anything."

"Just like Dark Headgear saying good is dumb," Blender observed.

"And if anyone watching this as entertainment is displeased," the Lazytaxie put in, "we'll simply put on our most scornful, snotty expressions and say--"

Baron Meedi joined Doctor Dizwarn to speak in unison:

"But it's so BORING if the heroes are IMPOSSIBLY PERFECT!!!"

 
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Rejoining the good guys

The planet Seedubb was, in fact, the origin place of the news broadcast in which Bunkem Isotope had heard the word "nuclear" being mispronounced. At the Mentalcat's request, Puke put the Selenium Falcon on a course toward the transmission.

"I know how to operate your ship for all ordinary purposes now," Bunkem told the furry copilot. "Why don't you get yourself something to eat, and maybe sleep for a few hours, while I maintain the current heading? Then you'll be rested and ready for more complex maneuvers when we draw close to our destination."

"Sounds good, thanks;" and Puke headed for the ship's compact galley for lunch, or whatever meal it was.

Once the dog-man had left the control room, Bot Index came skating up to Bunkem and muttered, "How can you be sure that someone mispronouncing one word is proof of a planet-wide collapse in human wisdom? He didn't tell you, but Puke himself has often mispronounced 'nuclear'."

"The difference, Miss Robot, is that Puke is not a professional broadcaster. 'Nuclear' has been a common word in the speech of all developed worlds for so many centuries, that there SHOULDN'T BE any more news readers who can't say it right."

Bot's thinking lights glittered again. After seven seconds: "Unless the person speaking was INSTRUCTED to misuse words, as part of someone's plan to degrade the population's intellectual quality."

Bunkem smiled broadly, rose from his seat, and and patted one of Bot's metallic shoulders. "Excellent! I believe you've hit it! Now, since you've known the royal newlyweds longer than I have, can you estimate how soon they might be ready to join in discussing the possible situation on Seedubb?"

Bot consulted her built-in sensors, then replied, "Give them at least another three hours. In the interval, if you like, I can dig up whatever peripheral references to Seedubb can be found in the onboard files."

"Thank you, yes, please do that. Then when Trala wakes up from hibernation, I can brief her quickly."

\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \

As Princess Vixen lay enfolded in her husband's arms, he exercised his new Fuss intuition to realize--

"Darling, you've been crying!"

Vixen's reply would have been exactly like her former sharp-tongued abrasiveness, if her tone had not been so much softer. "Darling, you must have noticed that I've been soaking your shoulder with tears for the past ten minutes."

"But what can you be sad about now?"

"Your family. I mean, I'm glad we both got to meet them, but-- well, think about it! Your sister has extraordinary abilities, your many-times-dead big brother DID have special abilities, your mother is a Penny Jezebel, she's teaching her skills to your nephew and niece, and Trala's fiance has special abilities too. I'm afraid I'll seem ordinary to you now!"

"Ordinary? Never! Don't forget, you first took a liking to me BEFORE my Fuss power was revealed. I wasn't worthless when I didn't have any Fuss powers, and you're not worthless now! You can shoot a gun expertly, as you proved in our first adventure together; and you can pilot a spacecraft. There are lots of rich people who CAN'T do those things. Puke doesn't have special powers, either, and he's useful..... well, fairly useful.... part of the time."

Vixen managed to smile. "Oh, darling, you DO care how I feel! Whether it's The Fuss helping you or not, I'm just glad you care!"

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

Many light-years away, on Planet Greedy Crime, one of the Naughtygators employed by the Snarkonnens tensed up, and said to his fellow Naughtygators:

"This is bad! I sense a married couple, somewhere out there in the cosmos, who are BUILDING A HEALTHY RELATIONSHIP!!! Baron Meedi must hear about this; he'll want to snuff out that horrible true love in a hurry!"
 
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THIS IS A NEW, RETROACTIVELY INSERTED ADDITION!

Although Bot Index was a fully sentient robot, capable of both free will and emotion, her artificial facial features were unable to express her feelings. But after three minutes of high-speed browsing through data files, her voice did convey an emotion of sorts. It was a feeling of bafflement and uncertainty. Returning to Bunkem's side, she told him:

"Since I first went operational thirteen Directvidean years ago, I've been so preoccupied with looking after Princess Vixen, that I never had time to speculate on major cosmic subjects, like if I have a soul."

For his part, Bunkem had often thought about such matters; Mentalcats, after all, never got tired of thinking. He replied to Bot: "You are a living being; you simply were 'born' by technological means, rather than biological. You possess the ability to make moral decisions. Of course you have what may reasonably be considered a soul."

Bot cocked her head to the side, which was as close to presenting a facial expression as she could manage. "Then do you believe there is, well, call it life after deactivation?"

"No reason why there shouldn't be. Many theologians would bristle at this, because-- without realizing it themselves-- they are LIMITING the Creator. They would argue that, without what THEY would call a 'soul,' no creature, even a highly intelligent animal, could ever return to life after conclusively dying. But whether or not they would recognize you as a 'spiritual' being, Almighty God is entirely capable of MAKING you exist again after deactivation. You could be annihilated by anti-matter, but God still could will it that you must reappear, and BE the same you. As for that, the science-fantasy premise of Goulash clones like me retaining the actual personality of the original, even without salvaging the physical memory record from the original brain, falls apart without something like soul-survival being presupposed.

"So, why did you ask?"

"It was a side effect of my data search," the robot governess replied. "Being reminded that there are multiple iterations of Planet Earth got me thinking about the presence or absence of meaning in the cosmos. This prompted the afterlife speculation. Having an afterlife implies great meaning in the cosmos, But realizing that an entire new universe, containing a new Earth, gets created every time ANYONE makes a decision, makes it look very much as if all existence is random and pointless. And a random, pointless universe would be unlikely to provide a Heaven for the beings in it. "

Bunkem shook his head. "That is what we call the Owlishman Hypothesis. Like many hypotheses, it has nothing to support it except someone imagining that it would be cool to write stories based on that premise. There isn't ANY reason why human choices -- plus non-human choices on any non-human world-- would create entire new universes from zero. Decisions by mortals don't create new worlds; rather, they help to create the future ON the worlds where they occur."

"But there ARE at least some parallel Earths on record; how DID they get there?"

"Not by the Owlishman Hypothesis; because if things happened that way, we wouldn't know it. The extra worlds would be completely isolated from us, and they couldn't be recorded in the database you've been reviewing. I say that the finite number of alternate Earths, all existing WITHIN the same physical universe and reachable by physical space travel, are a feature of our speculative-story cosmos. The extra Earths were not created by random people's choices; rather, they were created SO THAT alternate choices and actions COULD happen on them, offering contrasts to the history of Original Earth. By reading or hearing speculative stories, the people of Original Earth could both be entertained, and learn lessons about what are the possible outcomes of actions in a different setting."

Bot's thinking lights flashed. "I think I get it now! Back on Directvideo, Vixen used to love watching a movie called 'The Never-Stopping Story.' In that movie, characters in a fairytale world actually were alive in their own right; yet they could become aware that persons on Original Earth were READING ABOUT their adventures in the fairytale world."

"Right. So, if anyone on Original Earth is aware of our present experiences, they may hopefully be motivated by our adventures to think about real-life issues in a new light. Above all, I would hope that our quest induces them to REJECT ideas of good being powerless and evil being attractive."
 
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Way-far-off change of scene!

The planet Toofah-Roff was the little-known birthplace of the species Master Yoga-Rug belonged to. The master of up-side Fuss had not been back there in half a century; but Fuss intuition had told them he should go there soon. Fuss clairvoyance did better at seeing across distances than Jalapeno clairvoyance, but the Jalapeno talent surpassed the Fuss talent for looking into the future.

Thus, when Yoga-Rug finished his current mission of helping some good guys on Yakvin against a gang of evil Popquizzitors in the service of the evil Admiral Skwawk, he didn't know WHAT would happen when he followed his intuition and journeyed home to Toofah-Roff.

Accordingly, he was glad to have company on the trip. Especially someone green like himself.

Joining Yoga-Rug was one of the rag-tag adventurers (yes, AGAIN rag-tag, NEVER anybody well organized) he had just helped: a humanoid woman of the Tryyurluck, a species closely resembling the tail-headed race Nonsmoka Tiptoe belonged to. This woman, called Noherra Synthmusica, differed in appearance from Nonsmoka mainly by her green skin. That, and the fact that Noherra's head-tails hung behind her, while Nonsmoka's head-tails hung forward. As with Nonsmoka's race, women of Noherra's race were similar enough to true-human women that they could form loving relationships with true-human men. The same applied between Tryyurluck and Tugboata: men of either species had been known to marry women of the other.

Noherra had found the love of her life with a human-- but had also lost him. She explained this to the noble Fuss master as he was levitating her baggage to his spaceship.

"Klayman was the bravest and truest-hearted man I ever met," the grieving green lady sobbed. "He died using his Fuss powers to deflect a fiery explosion from consuming Fizzra and me!"

Yoga-Rug's eyes widened, and his long ears pricked up. "Klayman? Fizzra? By cosmic mashugennah, I trained Klayman! And the one telepathic message I ever got from him said he was training a boy named Fizzra!"

Noherra nodded emphatically enough that her head-tails swung down and up, like braids on a full-human woman. "The kid's a good learner, and Klayman's sacrifice has motivated him to do still better. Mopey-One Kanoli has taken over Fizzra's training."

Yoga-Rug sighed. "Poor Klayman, dying so young. But he obviously made an honorable end."

Noherra sighed more softly. "And he died knowing he was loved by those he was dying to save."

"Especially loved by you, I can tell. But still a pity. In a science-fiction universe, it would have been possible for you and him to have children."

Noherra looked surprised. "And you would have approved of us doing that? I thought all you Fuss masters were against anyone enjoying love and marriage."

"That's only an urban myth! Where would we get more Fuss adepts, if the existing ones couldn't have daughters and sons? Not long ago, I helped Prince Groan Starr to find a bride, and he's my fastest-learning student in decades."

 
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Yoga-Rug landed his ship in the south temperate zone of Toofah-Roff, on solid ground near the vast marsh where Yoga-Rug had been born. Before even opening the hatch, the up-side master declared: "I sense the presence of one of my own kind who is strong in The Fuss!"

Emerging, he and Noherra Synthmusica beheld a male of Yoga-Rug's species, appearing to be at a maturity level corresponding to a five-year-old human. He was wearing a reversed baseball cap, and was holding a small electronic device which seemed to be running a video game. Though looking at the device, the youngster clearly was aware of his elder's presence, and spoke to him:

"Great-Great-Great-Uncle Yoga-Rug! My name is Gross-Goo, and I have come to our ancestral planet in the hope of refining my Fuss powers under your instruction."

"I'm pleased to meet you, nephew, and I'll be delighted to instruct a member of my own species, with a long enough lifespan to be patient. But how did you reach this world? It's far off of the usual shipping lanes."

"Sir, I was brought here by The Banjolorian."

"Who is that?" said Yoga-Rug and Noherra as one.

"He's an essentially human bounty hunter. He has protected me from many dangers, but I think he must have zits."

"You think this, but you don't claim to know it," observed the elder Toofah-Roffian. "Does this mean he conceals his face?"

"Yes, uncle. In fact, everybody in his society covers their faces inside helmets. They never take the helmets off if anyone can see them. I guess their being embarrassed about their acne is why they're so ready to fight people."

"All right, nephew, I believe I have heard of them. I'm glad you're here, but why did this Banjolorian transport you?"

"Some plotline-convenient smuggler mysteriously hired him to take me to my people." Gross-Goo turned his eyes to Noherra. "Banjo seems to have had a girlfriend from your people, but it didn't work out."

Noherra looked quizzical. "What, did her family object to the relationship?"

"Not sure, ma'am. But ONE member of her family, her brother, persuaded her to join him in trying to kill Banjo. They failed, but he let them live."

Noherra sighed. "End of that relationship. At least with Klayman and me, LOVE never died; only his body did."

"Who's Klayman?"

Yoga-Rug provided the answer: "One of my human apprentices. He and Noherra here loved each other, but he died saving her from death."

With large eyes looking sorrowful, Gross-Goo took one of the green lady's hands in both of his. "I wish it had been otherwise for you; but there are worse things than having known a love that would motivate such a sacrifice."

Tearing up, Noherra knelt and kissed the child. "You're a fine boy. I confess, I didn't expect such deep sensitivity from a kid whom we first saw engrossed in a video game."

Gross-Goo slid the device into a pocket. "Enjoying entertainment doesn't mean I can't also be serious. And being with Banjo has encouraged me to be serious about things that matter."

 
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For another plotline convenience, the planet Toofah-Roff was home to large flying creatures called Aerodactyls, which could be tamed and ridden. And for the sake of this plotline convenience, no one ever questioned why animals on a planet so vastly removed from any version of Earth would have names obviously originating from Earth-derived nomenclature.

Gross-Goo summoned a mated pair of Aerodactyls with whom he had already made friends. He had carefully never let the creatures see him eating eggs.

As with some Earth-born bird species, female Aerodactyls were larger than the males. Noherra accordingly took Gross-Goo to ride with her on the female, while Yoga-Rug sat on the neck of the male. Both Toofah-Roffians used their Fuss levitation to reduce their effective weight, making the trip easier for their winged mounts.

During the flight, Noherra told Gross-Goo the little she knew about that sector of the universe in which the planets Directvideo, Chimpanzia and Spacebull were located. The little green boy was interested in her second-hand account of Groan Starr as a Fuss user not known to the up-side community at large.

"I wonder if Groan Starr would be able to take on the down-side Popquizzitors?"

"It seems possible, at least," replied the green lady. "Master Yoga-Rug speaks of him as learning very quickly, and being able to wield The Fuss without the help of a ring. Are you wondering this because there ARE Popquizzitors here on Toofah-Roff?""

"Not that I know of; but the Banjolorian has seen them on other worlds, and he takes them very seriously as a threat."

"So he should. I've seen them too."
 
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The Banjolorian's parked spaceship came within view before they could clearly see everything around it. But Yoga-Rug called to Noherra and Gross-Goo, "Oy! I sense violence ahead!"

What they spotted first was a pile of smashed robots. Yoga-Rug recognized these robots as Chipotli, a brand of evil robots created in order to allow characters like The Incredulous Clump to destroy enemies and yet not be killing any living persons. Whoever had destroyed these Chipotli was not evident at first, though they assumed it must be The Banjolorian's work.

Descending to the ground, the three beheld a crowd of small female Toofah-Roffians, all seeming to bend over something on the ground. A closer approach revealed that the little green girls were viciously kicking someone who was lying face down.

"Banjo!" cried Gross-Goo. His Fuss powers being more developed that those of the badly-behaving children, he telekinetically flung them away from the humiliated bounty hunter. Yoga-Rug marched over to the miniature delinquents and gave them a sharp talking to. Meanwhile, Noherra helped The Banjolorian rise to a sitting position.

"What happened?"

Banjo shrugged. "A misunderstanding. Because some of my people have been enemies to Fuss users, and because no one saw me defeating the invading Chipotli, those children attacked me. I tried to tell them I had just brought one of their own species home, and tried to tell them I had rid them of an actual threat, but they wouldn't listen."

"Only, how COULD they hurt you by any plain physical attack, when you have this armor on?"

The interstellar bounty hunter sighed. "Sabotage. What I mean is that the armorer who designed my armor maliciously built in a serious flaw. The armor WON'T protect me from being physically struck by any FEMALE antagonist. I found out the hard way, when I got in a fistfight with a woman martial artist. Every punch she threw at me affected me as if I had no armor, and she didn't even hurt her hands hitting me.

"I didn't talk about the sabotage to Gross-Goo during our trip here, because I didn't want him to worry. But this is getting really awkward."

Noherra shook her head. "Sounds like that armorer owes you a refund."

"He took off, and left no forwarding address. The only clue I've been able to find so far is that he was connected with something called Lazytaxies."

Gross-Goo scratched one of his ears. "Lazytaxies? I never heard of them. But maybe Master Yoga-Rug knows something."
 
On Planet Seedubb

In the generic large city called Generic Large City lived a young man called Peeper Plopper. He had been bitten by a radioactive spider-- which, unknown to him, had been altered by Lazytaxie scientists who visited Seedubb in disguise. Becoming the superhero Spiderweb-Man, Peeper had soon found himself being beaten up by nearly everything-- also mostly due to the interference of the Lazytaxies.

Around the time when The Banjolorian joined Yoga-Rug's party on Toofah-Roff, Spiderweb-Man was being knocked off of a ceiling and mercilessly pounded by two twelve-year-old boys. He might have been able to defend himself against assailants with no metahuman powers, if he had not been beaten up an hour earlier by a medium-evil man who had the superpower of launching clouds of dandruff.

It was looking as if the superhero might ACTUALLY DIE.... when, in a blur of scarlet, The Whoosh raced into the corridor and pulled the junior thugs' shirts up over their heads. While they were coping with the surprise, The Whoosh carried Spiderweb-Man away to safety.

Regaining his wind, Spiderweb-Man thanked his colleague, then added: "Meaning no offense, I'm glad you were FINALLY able to defeat SOMEBODY evil. I sure haven't been having much luck."

"No offense taken," The Whoosh assured him. "I was able to stop those punks because they didn't see me coming. You know, it sure does get old, having EVERYBODY be more powerful than we are."

"Tell me about it. Sometimes I feel as if some unseen villain is rigging everything against us."

"Funny you should mention that. A couple of months ago, at Spark Laboratories, I invented a highly advanced anti-villain device, which I called the Anti-Villain Device. It was intended to nullify the powers of super-villains, so that for a change they wouldn't be able to beat me up. There was every reason for it to be effective. But then, God knows why, I failed to KEEP IT WITH ME! Instead of having it ready for use, I locked it up inside a vault; and burglars broke into the lab complex and stole it."

Spiderweb-Man sighed. "Again meaning no offense, how could you be so stupid?"

"I wish I could feel offended, but that WAS really stupid of me."

"You know what I think, Whoosh? I think that somehow, the same power or influence which makes us both lose fights, ALSO made you fail to realize how stupid it was to place your invention where you couldn't get to it when you needed it."

The Whoosh straightened up. "You may be on to something! Look, we're both science geeks. If you come over to Spark Labs, maybe we can figure out a way to identify who's doing this to us."

On the way to Spark Labs, both superheroes were beaten up by a rabbit with a lame leg; but they recovered and kept going.

\ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \

Cyberdork, a new addition to the Spark Laboratories research staff, admitted Whoosh and Spiderweb-Man to the science complex. He didn't need to ask them what had happened; he was just glad they were alive after their latest humiliations.

Things were easier for the young robot-man. He was harder to damage than the others, His main problem was hackers and phishers constantly making pop-up advertisements appear in his displays.

Putting medical nanobots to work on his colleagues' injuries, he asked Whoosh, "Have you turned up any leads on the Anti-Villain Device?"

"Afraid not. But at least no one seems to have reprogrammed it to nullify such powers as good guys are allowed to retain. Green Flashlight's power beams still work, Aquaticman can still breathe water, and Captain Patriot can still make his shield fly around corners and fetch newspapers. It's just that all of them are plagued with BAD LUCK."

At that moment, the super-villainess Chilly Frost walked into the laboratory, completely unaffected by any security system, and froze all three heroes-- though Cyberdork was less affected than the other two.

Facing the robot-man, Chilly Frost jeered, "Froze you again, junkpile! Now, tell me where your most important inventions are hidden!"

"The joke's on you, coldheart. There AREN'T any special inventions left in Spark Labs. Due to our security never being able to prevent any evildoer from invading us at will, the whole inventory is gone. I wish you luck swiping our technology from Red Headbone, Lex Loozor or Opposite Whoosh."

Disgusted, Chilly Frost left the three heroes to thaw out and exited the way she had come in, considering how she might steal secret weapons from the villains who had gotten there ahead of her.
 
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Interlude

Master Yoga-Rug was piloting his compact personal starship on an interstellar flight, when a talking lion materialized inside the cockpit with him. The ship's interior seemed to grow larger to accommodate this God-Lion. The little green fellow's perception abilities did not fail him.

"You are the Creator! You are superior to The Fuss! I am not worthy to polish Your claws!"

"Do not be abashed," rumbled AsaLion. "Your history, your nature, and your knowledge are all part of the Never-Stopping Story. The powers you wield are not possible for people in the original World of Adam and Eve; and for those people in that world, it could be disastrous even to attempt to possess those powers. But no blame attaches to you for using 'The Fuss' in this universe of stories. In fact, I am going to INCREASE your power in a constructive application."

"In what way, Lord?"

"I shall expand the reach, and the precision, of your mind-influencing ability: specifically for the purpose of leading sapient beings away from what you call the down-side, and closer to the up-side." Then AsaLion breathed warmly upon Yoga-Rug, shook His mane, and vanished.
 
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Again on that parallel Earth

Another of the vaguely-defined big cities in Seedubb was called Urbanopolis. Here, several new-generation superheroes, calling themselves the Teen Tryouts, were striving to break the jinx on good guys.

Among these was the seventeen-year-old Huntergirl, the daughter of Batfellow (a.k.a. Brutus Dwayne) and Catfemale (born Saltina Kool). Her civilian name was Elaine Jane Dwayne. Having used her father's technology to locate a certain person, Huntergirl was about to encounter her.

Along the street, chewing a wad of bubblegum, came the fabulously beautiful Harpy Grinn. Her stunning beauty was not much of a distinction in itself, since Elaine/ Huntergirl was equally beautiful, as were all the costumed heroines and villainesses. But no other stunningly attractive costumed character wielded a clownishly oversized croquet mallet.

Huntergirl waved, crying out, "Harpy! It's me, Huntergirl! I wanted to congratulate you on breaking free from the Wisecracker's mind control!"

Harpy smiled back at her, leaned her mallet against a lamppost, and advanced with open arms as if to embrace the younger woman. "Thank you so much! It feels so good...."

Once Huntergirl was within reach, Harpy sucker-punched her in the stomach. As the young crimefighter folded and fell, the obviously-unreformed villainess finished her sentence: "--so good to be bad on my own terms!"

Looking up and gasping, Huntergirl protested: "But you LEFT the Wisecracker! You gave up crime!"

Kicking her in the ribs, Harpy chortled, "Only half right, sweetie. I don't like the good guys any more than I did before. I left Wisecracker BECAUSE HE'S A MAN. Emancipation, or I guess I should say 'NO-man-cipation,' just means I can hate everybody male, just because they ARE male. And since you're such a doofus as to love your pig of a father...."

She turned to retrieve her mallet for a grand head-bash. But Huntergirl was not so incapacitated as the villainess believed. Harpy had scarcely begun her windup with her weapon, when the Teen Tryout erupted into her.

The mallet fell to the pavement as Harpy Grinn and Huntergirl fought--punching, biting, kicking, pulling hair, knee-jabbing, elbow-smashing, choking, and body-slamming. But the last and hardest body slam was done to the bad girl by the good girl. Harpy's groans were not at all faked as she lay on her back, utterly defeated.

A clear victory for good against evil, the good girl thought to herself. This should be brought to the attention of my friends over at Spark Labs.

To her vanquished foe she snapped: "You made a big mistake when you spoke against my father!" Knowing how much stamina Harpy possessed, Huntergirl kicked her several extra times to keep her defeated.

Harpy wept; she had a high endurance for pain, but the daughter of Batfellow and Catfemale had battered her self-assurance as well as her body. Now she whimpered, "Please, don't hurt me any more."

"I promise I won't hurt you any more, provided you don't resist as I take you to the Bat-Grotto. My mother can tell you how SHE switched over from evil to good."

The good girl helped the bad girl to get up. Then, each with an arm around the other for Harpy's support, they started toward Huntergirl's Huntmobile. But Huntergirl wasn't as gullible as Harpy wanted to believe. When Harpy suddenly tried to gouge her captor's eyes, Huntergirl caught and broke the criminal's wrist.

"Shall we start over, Harpy? Better quit while you still have one working hand."

"Please, please, I really REALLY give up now, honest!"

"And this time I really believe you. I'll see to it that your wrist gets set and splinted. Maybe you'll rethink your contempt for goodness when you find yourself receiving mercy from someone who beat you. Of course, you never turned good after the times my Dad bested you; but there's always hope."
 
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Upon receiving their daughter's transmission reporting Harpy's capture, Brutus and Saltina Dwayne hastily donned the hero costumes they had never fully retired from wearing, then descended into the Bat-Grotto, accompanied by their butler and multi-role assistant, Alphonse Nickelworth. Alphonse's youthful career in Seedubb's close counterpart of the British Army had included broad experience as a special-forces combat medic.

Where the Dynamic Spouses wore the masks which went with their costumes, Alphonse equally obscured his face with a surgical mask and head covering. The only surgeries he had performed recently had been on Batfellow, Catfemale and Evening-Wing; but the Bat-Grotto (like stately Dwayne Manor above it) possessed state-of-the-art medical technology to help him avoid mistakes.

When the Huntmobile pulled into its parking place in the cavern, Elaine emerged, remaining masked, and received careful congratulatory hugs from her still fit and in-shape father and mother. Then she carefully hauled a limp Harpy Grinn out of the passenger seat, and addressed Alphonse without speaking his name.

"I administered a pain-relief injection, containing Bat-Prescription Seventeen." (Alphonse knew that the special additive would also temporarily blur the patient's eyesight; this had prevented Harpy from recognizing any landmarks by which to identify the Bat-Grotto's location.) "Her right wrist is the most damaged; she also needs repairs on two ribs, three loosened teeth, a broken big toe, a mashed ear, and seven or eight major bruises and scrapes."

"Understood. Kindly place her on the operating table for initial ultrasound scan, while I scrub for surgery."

When he was clean and ready, Alphonse drew near to his patient, studied the imagery of her traumas, and then spoke to her:

"Miss Grinn, I know you can hear me. Even an ordinary person would not have become totally unconscious under the sedation you were given enroute; and I know enough about you to know that you developed an extraordinary drug resistance while confined in Darkhome Asylum. Thus, even with the heavy dose Huntergirl will have used in your case, you will understand every word I say, until I apply general anaesthesia.

"You were a DOCTOR once yourself. You swore an oath to bring healing rather than harm! But you allowed The Wisecracker to corrupt you, even though you KNEW the whole time that he was in the wrong. For years, then, you flattered yourself that being the adult equivalent of a spoiled brat made you BETTER than honest people who led constructive lives! Worse yet, you encouraged gullible fourteen-year-old girls to believe that chaotic selfishness was worthy of admiration, so long as one told jokes while practicing the selfishness. Well, no one in this cavern admires you for any of that.

"Yet you are about to be repaired from the damage you brought on yourself, because what WE admire is the very balance of justice and mercy which you have long ridiculed."

Something in the butler-surgeon's earnest voice disturbed something inside Harpy Grinn. The narcissism she had cultivated in herself was shaken. She therefore summoned the energy to make a sluggish reply:

"But... goodness.... is.... BORING."

Alphonse's snort was audible from behind the surgical mask. The words which followed were dry enough to have been spoken at noon on the equator of Planet Srirachiss.

"Mercy me, what a fabulously original insight! I'll wager there are at least TWO criminals in Urbanopolis who HAVEN'T said the same thing any time this week! You certainly have enlightened me just now. Before you shared your wisdom, I was so foolish as to imagine that MY life had been made interesting by becoming an expert swimmer, learning nine languages, developing skill with firearms, earning a big-truck driver's license and a short-wave radio license, training in emergency medicine, using my lifesaving skills at a charity hospital, becoming a master chef in thirteen cooking styles, participating in a variety of industrial and commercial activities, and assisting several crimefighters who are SO BORING as to protect defenseless people against egotistic parasites like yourself."

For the first time in years, Harpy Grinn found herself unable to summon up a smirking retort to a completely justified moral rebuke.

The man who had become the guardian of an orphaned boy named Brutus Dwayne added: "I am not so optimistic as to expect you to thank me after you awaken from surgery; but perhaps you could at least manage to make your next haughty insult a LITTLE bit more original."

Whereupon he applied general anaesthesia.

 
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The Eighties art-rock band Toto did not exist on the Earth-equivalent world called Seedubb, even though the culture and languages of Original Earth did exist here. But something stirred within Harpy Grinn when she heard singers uttering these words:

"I seek to cure what's deep inside,
Frightened of this thing that I've become!"

She looked down-- yes, down, for she was floating in the air near the ceiling of the Bat-Grotto. Looking down AT HERSELF.

Wow, I'm even more gorgeous than I remembered. If I were somebody else, I'd sure fall in love with me at first sight.

Only-- why am I outside of me???

The thought that she might be dead hovered in her mind, something too vast to brush off, too heavy to absorb.

Back when she had been a respectable psychiatrist, Harpy had scoffed at the notion of out-of-body experiences. Only now, some eight years and countless crimes later, did Harpy realize why she had so curtly dismissed the idea. It had been because she didn't want to confront the fact of mortality. Even before she turned evil under Wisecracker's influence, she had never wanted to accept that she would not always be young, strong and sexy.

But no, she couldn't be dead yet. The unknown surgeon was talking with the costumed crimefighters, expressing satisfaction -- saying that she would be all right. This, while he was treating Huntergirl's less severe injuries, the highest priority being to bind up her ribcage.

Okay, cool, I'm not room temperature. But it's almost equally crazy that none of them wants revenge on me! Did I ever really understand these people???

"NO, YOU DID NOT," said a mysterious alien voice in her head.




 
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Even as a disembodied spirit, Harpy felt herself gulping in alarm.

"Um, are you-- I mean, are you--?"

The next utterance of the unseen voice was less intimidating: "No, no, not nearly! He doesn't have to sell movie merchandise to buy groceries. But you could say I'm on much better terms with Him than you are. I'm Yoga-Rug, up-side master of The Fuss. Of course, even a telemarketer is on better terms with Him than you are. Telemarketers don't FORCE people to spend money, but you have used armed violence to TAKE things you wanted from their owners. And then you were such a schnook as to pretend that stealing made you sophisticated and glamorous!"

Harpy was not being ironic or insolent when she asked, "Are you saying it DIDN'T make me sophisticated or glamorous?"

"Not even compared to a platypus. Being a worthless parasite was grubby enough, but you expected to be ADMIRED FOR being a worthless parasite! And even with a background in studying human behavior, you never once bothered to think about the logical conclusion to your way of life. If everyone in your world all decided to be as chaotic as you are, what ensued wouldn't be a party. Civilization would collapse in a single day!"

The disembodied awareness of Harpy did what seemed to be turning her head this way and that way, trying to see her disembodied accuser. "Y'know, you're talking just like Batfellow, every time he ever arrested me."

"Then he was right, every time he arrested you. It's only unfortunate that he didn't have the power to tear away all your self-deception. But it's your GOOD luck that I do have that power! I don't suppose you've read the novel Crime and Punishment?"

"It wasn't in the library at the insane asylum."

"Well, the punchline of the story is that Rodion Raskolnikov, a thief and murderer, is given a vision of what the world would be like if EVERYBODY laughed at goodness the same way as you laugh at goodness. Of course, Raskolnikov wouldn't have needed the special corrective treatment if he had just paid attention to a fellow named Isaiah, who said: 'Woe to those who call evil good and good evil!' As it is, he needed to be set straight the way I'm going to set you straight. Prepare to see a world in which everyone thinks the same way as you do."

Harpy Grinn's toughness was not merely an urban legend. She had laughed at electroshock therapy in the asylum. But what she now saw and heard, in holographic stereophonic realism, was more than even her cockiness could handle. It seemed to continue for days, with each scene worse than the scene before it.

Even the mildest part of this virtual reality was far too horrible to be described in a humorous narrative.

And Harpy was not permitted to lie to herself that the bloody chaos Master Yoga-Rug showed her HADN'T been promoted by all of her actions as The Wisecracker's lover. Nor could she take refuge in the delusion that her idea of "emancipation" had left her any less evil and selfish than before.

"Please, make it go away," she whimpered, more thoroughly deflated than she had been by losing a fight to Elaine Jane Dwayne.

"Here's the good news, Harpy: you can be PART OF making it go away. This, young non-lady, is your Ebenezer Scrooge moment."

From this point, Yoga-Rug began showing her scenes of his most honorable students, including Mopey-One Kanoli, Nonsmoka Tiptoe and Plow Korn, performing noble and virtuous deeds. Deeds which reduced the injustice and misery in the universe.
 
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Saltina Kool Dwayne, the reformed Catfemale, sat beside the post-op hospital bed in which Harpy lay, her fractured wrist now enclosed in an inflatable cast. This bed had more than once been occupied by her husband, when Alphonse had repaired Batfellow's injuries.

"I believe you can hear me, Harpy Grinn. You know that I was once as narcissistic as you are. On top of that, I thought that my being sexy gave me the right to have my cake and eat OTHER people's cakes too .

"The first time I ever met Batfellow, not long after I first assumed the persona of Catfemale, I attacked him without provocation. I used my whip against him, and even tried to make him fall off a rooftop. Then, when he knocked me down in reply, I screamed at him for hitting a woman!

"Now, scarcely a day goes by when I don't kick myself for having ever been an enemy to the bravest and best man I know."

Though not opening her eyes, Harpy murmured words which Catfemale's keen ears could just make out at close range:

"I don't.... need to kick myself.... already got kicked. But.... all of a sudden, I'm.... embarrassed with myself too. Might have.... heard that I bragged about beating.... Evening-Wing in a fight. That was a lie.... He was really winning, until I tasered him.... by surprise, and then.... tied him up, I always cheat.... And yeah, all my.... teenage wanna-be's.... will say I did beat him.... EVEN when they know I cheated. Kind of girls.... who like to.... play roleplaying games.... where they get to be.... princesses riding.... horses on lonely quests that.... nobody male can understand."

"Oh wow, *I* used to do text-based roleplays exactly like that!" exclaimed Catfemale.

But the next words Harpy uttered seemed to be addressed to someone whom Saltina couldn't see.

"I understand, Master Yoga-Rug. Yes, I'll tell them. Don't worry, I'm sure they'll believe it. I know that Batfellow has gone on adventures in space with Green Flashlight."

The no-longer-sassy outlaw lifted her undamaged hand, clasped Catfemale's right hand and kissed it. Then she seemed to doze off, sleeping quietly for another ten minutes.
 
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Batfellow privately radioed Evening-Wing, who was over in Startled City assisting Green Crossbow. "Nick! You'll never guess what just happened! Elaine captured Harpy, and now Harpy has VOLUNTARILY ADMITTED that she never defeated you in a fair fight!"

"Holy confessions, Batfellow! Something must have converted her profoundly!"

"That's how it looks. This may be the work of a friendly extraterrestrial. I'll tell you more later. But right now, I need to scan the grounds, on the off chance that other criminals might have been able to track Elaine when she brought Harpy in."

Twelve minutes later, satisfied that no one was using Harpy Grinn as a device to penetrate the Bat-Grotto's perimeter, Batfellow returned to the main cavern. There he beheld a weeping Harpy Quinn standing on her feet, clinging to Elaine with her arms around Elaine's neck, as Batfellow's daughter tenderly returned the embrace. From the far side of those two, Saltina gestured for her husband's attention, and showed him that she was operating the Bat-Brainwave-Tester.

"Electro-encephalogram shows no attempt to trick us, nor signs of hypnosis. She genuinely IS sorry for the crimes she's committed, and she wants with all her heart to be permitted to join the side of good!" She added: "It isn't as if you never saw a villainess turn good before."

"Yes, I agree, she means it!" added Huntergirl.

Alphonse, with surgical outfit still on, drew closer to Harpy and Elaine, but his gaze was directed at the Cloaked Crusader. "Sir, I am equally convinced that Miss Grinn's repentance is authentic. Call it instinct." Batfellow knew that this was a subtle reference to Alphonse's history as a British special forces warrior who had risen swiftly to the rank of major. Interrogation of hostiles had been among the many skills Major Nickelworth had learned.

When Batfellow also approached the two young women, Harpy finally loosened her arms from around Elaine, but did not try to embrace a hero whom she knew to be a married man. Instead, she knelt before him.

"Please, Mister Batfellow, you've gotta believe me! I hate what I've been, and I hate myself still more for conning myself that hating men was a substitute for hating badness! Master Yoga-Rug made me see it all!"

"Hmmm, I want to believe you. And your saying the name Yoga-Rug weighs in your favor. Green Flashlight once told me he had heard of a non-human by that name, one who led interstellar crimefighters very similar in spirit to the Flashlight Corps. But you couldn't have known that name. So the only misgiving I have is the thought that some evil magic might be controlling you to get us off guard because we feel sorry for you."

"We could get hold of Doctor Unusual," said Elaine, crouching beside Harpy to offer moral support. "He would reveal any evil spells affecting her."

Harpy nodded vigorously. "And you could keep me in confinement until you made sure I'm not under any evil spells, which I swear I'm not."

Batfellow patted Harpy's shoulder. "All of us are inclined to accept your word, but certainty is worth trying for. We'll make your stay in the Bat-Grotto as bearable as we can, while we request magical assistance."
 
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