Spacebullies Two: The Search For More Parody

Change of scene

The borrowed compact starship was making good time on its way to a new sector. Planet-bound people never fully grasped that a galaxy existed in THREE dimensions. It would be possible for someone to know many solar systems along some two-dimensional plane, moving toward the core, toward the rim, or on some tangent--- without thinking to move "up" or "down" instead.

Yes, plenty of space for Captain Noherra to evade possible pursuers. if not to evade her bittersweet memories of daring to love an up-side Fuss user.

"I'm glad I'm NOT any bigger than I am," Gross-Goo remarked. "If we were making this trip when I was thirty Toofah-Roffian years older than now, I would need to wear a spacesuit and be duct-taped to the exterior hull, so you'd be able to move your arms while handling the controls."

Noherra smiled, and suddenly realized that managing so much as a smile meant the initial pain of her bereavement was finally easing up.

A little bit, anyway. She patted Master Yoga-Rug's great-great-great-nephew on the cheek.

"I believe you were making a joke just then, kid. Klayman once told me that when Yoga-Rug made jokes, they were dry and sly. All in all, I think I like your style better."

"Dim Jargon never told any jokes that I heard. But some of his friends that we met would tell jokes. I picked up the concept from them."

"You've made a good beginning as a humorist, kid. If you hadn't been stolen from your mother, I bet she would have loved to hear you joking."

Gross-Goo nodded. "Thanks to The Fuss, something of my mother really does live on in me. And..... I think something at least LIKE her also lives in you. Maybe somewhere another reality exists, where Klayman Jitters didn't have to die saving you and his apprentice."

Noherra drew a long breath and let it out. "Yeah, and with a little genetic adjustment, he and I could have provided you with little playmates. Well, as you said when you met me, there are worse things than having known such a love."

"Maybe the WORST thing," replied the little green boy, "would be if our sneaky enemies from the down-side succeeded in WIPING OUT love all over the universe."

 
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Another change of scene

Back in Filthopolis on the planet Greedy Crime, Admiral Blender and his new girlfriend Quarkie were watching movies again. There was no need to make elaborate preparations for the evil mission to Seedubb. They already knew the plan, the Earth-equivalent they were going to had an excellent environment, nobody there was expecting them, there was no version of Superman there to disable their ship with one blow, and the Baron's Naughtygators would put them in Seedubb's solar system in the blink of an eye once everyone was ready.

"The Fifties Western 'High Noon' was one of the most horrible movies ever made on Original Earth, from our point of view," said Quarkie. "A traditional American male, absolutely stinking of duty and integrity and a courage tempered by good sense, was held up as the role model to be admired. He took a stand against criminal predators when others were afraid to; and the audience was clearly being invited to root for him to win and survive. No one even called him toxic!

"At the same time, a FEMALE character was also spotlighted as an embodiment of goodness. The Mexican widow, a past girlfriend of the marshal, embodied subtler elements of that icky moral code. She still loved the marshal, and had the courage to have taken up arms to fight in his defense; but she knew that if she did so, his consequent debt of gratitude to her would compromise him, divide his loyalties. She was too honorable to steal another woman's husband; so she bit the bullet, so to speak, and stayed out of the action.

"But by the very fact of NOT coming between husband and wife, the Mexican heroine shamed the idiotic young bride into realizing HER duty. So the bride helped her husband, and together they killed all the outlaws. The town was saved, a shaky marriage was restored to what it should be, AND the noble-hearted widow had the satisfaction of knowing that her honorable conduct had produced good results."

"Oh, felgercarb, that's revolting!" exclaimed Blender. "Why do you want us to watch THAT?"

Chuckling, Quarkie nuzzled his neck. "Silly villain, we're NOT going to watch what I just described. I only described it as background for your understanding. We're going to watch the REMAKE!"

The Admiral perked up. "Then may I guess that this remake was filmed AFTER there had been time for the popular culture to decay?"

"Got it in one, handsome. In the version we're going to watch, the Mexican widow has been relieved from all that ridiculous virtue, and she DOES try shamelessly to steal the marshal from his wife!"

"I love it! Roll it!"
 
Still another change

On another Earth which has not been mentioned up to now, the supply of superheroes was notably shorter than on some worlds. Most of them had Asian connections, such as the ninja-like hero Bahavish Ogoshi from India, and the armored warrior Combatalot from the Philippines. There was one super-doer born in the United States of this Earth: Lucy Luminous, the Green Flashlight for her world. But Lucy, like other members of the Flashlight Corps, was obligated to defend many worlds, not only her own Earth. None of the other inhabited planets within her sphere of responsibility housed humans, nor any races human-like enough to have had romantic involvements with humans. But some of them had their own heroes, functionally similar to Batman or Captain America, though going by different names.

Lucy was far away from her Earth when the repulsive she-devil Mugwumpa launched an invasion of China-- which, on this Earth, had shaken off Communist rule when its army had SIDED WITH pro-democracy demonstrators in Tienanmen Square.

Mugwumpa had prepared for her attack by filling stores in China with costume jewelry that cast a spell on everyone who bought any of it. When she was ready to assault Beijing, her mind remotely changed her victims into icky zombie-types resembling her. They formed up into battalion-sized groups, which attacked police stations and airfields all over the Chinese capital.

Mugwumpa herself captured Beijing's most powerful television station, altering its transmitters to send out a signal which would confuse and hinder any heroes out in space who might seek to come to humanity's aid. For there were such heroes in this solar system: the Spacer Swimmers, women bearing planet-related names.

Fabulous high-leaping kung-fu masters in the Beijing area joined in the defense against the pseudo-zombies, trying not to kill them since they had not asked to be monsters. But the destruction of some was unavoidable when they were close to killing still-human bypassers.

To the further dismay of Beijing's defenders, hundreds of thousands of civilians not even in the path of the monsters were going out of their minds with panic. It seemed that Mugwumpa's evil was infecting them with a dread out of proportion to the actual strength of the menace.

This was a phenomenon which Duke Muddy-Drip of Srirachiss would have recognized: the loss of hope, the feeling that evil was unbeatable.

As soon as they heard what was happening in China, the heroes Combatalot and Bahavish Ogoshi boarded military aircraft in their own countries. Receiving clearance from the embattled Chinese government, they parachuted into a suburb of the capital which had not yet come under attack. There they joined up with an army company which had mustered on short notice.

Knowing Combatalot's extreme ferocity in battle (which had caused video games based on him to be abolished in the Philippine Republic of this Earth), Bahavish Ogoshi told both him and the soldiers with them: "We must ignore the lesser monsters; we must go straight after Mugwumpa at the television studio. SHE deserves to die; and if she is destroyed, her victims may be restored to humanity. Combatalot, I'm talking especially to YOU; don't go into a berserk rage like a Moro jungle fighter. Stay on target!"

Four times on the way to the television station, Bahavish was compelled to drag his fellow superhero away from innocent civilians whom he mistook for the pseudo-zombies because they had bad complexions.

Other help was on its way: a super-family of sorts. Swimmer Moon, a Spacer Swimmer already living on Earth and so not affected by Mugwumpa's space-directed interference, was coming from Japan. With her were her husband, known as Tuxedo Dash, and their daughter Chipmunkyusa. Moon and Tuxedo, near-human natives of a distant world, had been forced apart by horrid space-villains before Chipmunkyusa was born, and had endured epic trials before finding each other again.

Swimmer Moon and her daughter both possessed energy-control powers like those of Marysuefire on Seedubb Earth, only not so absurdly exaggerated. Tuxedo Dash had no superpowers, but was a very respectable Batman type, making extraordinary use of human skills. Mugwumpa and her powers were not unknown to this heroic family, so they understood that they must try not to kill the innocent Chinese under the witch-ghoul's control.

 
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On Toofah-Roff, the good guys benefited from the overconfidence of bad guys. Two Popquizzitors landed, with high hopes of capturing Gross-Goo. Noting that the Banjolorian's ship was still on this planet, they never guessed that the Fuss-wielding child might have been evacuated by other means.

One of the hunters was a woman called Fullcourtpress; the other was a man called Cadburytruff. When they landed and found Yoga-Rug waiting for them, they made the disastrous mistake of thinking that it was HE who was being overconfident. Accompanied by ten cannon-fodder troopers, they activated their down-side Fuss rings to generate light sabers and charged.

Yoga-Rug, for his part, created an energy-whip from one of his hands, with which he warded off the down-side fighters' attacks. With his other hand, he created a shimmering sign in the air, which had an arrow pointing straight up, and the words:

ALL BLASTER BEAMS:
DETOUR THIS WAY.

This caused the enemy laser shots to curve uselessly skyward. At this point, Dim Jargon shot seven troopers dead from behind. The remaining three were captured by Toofah-Roffian children, who pooled their mind-over-matter powers to immobilize these men.

Yoga-Rug knew the Popquizzitors to be heartless murderers, a thousand times deserving of death. And unlike many mystics in fantasy stories, he didn't feel he owed it to mass murderers to leave them breathing at the expense of possible future victims. Accordingly, he cut Fullcourtpress' head off, then sliced Cadburytruff neatly in half.

Seeing that the surviving cannon-fodder gunmen had been disarmed, Yoga-Rug told the green children, "Good work, younglings. Put the prisoners to forced labor, but don't mistreat them as long as they obey orders. I happen to know that evil beings can be changed to good. Have them collect the wrecked Chipotli robots from before, and recycle the materials into anything the local elders consider useful."

"I have an idea what to do with the Popquizzitors' ship," said the Banjolorian. "I'm pretty sure I can reprogram its onboard artificial intelligence for what I have in mind. Noherra would like this."

Before he could explain, the Toofah-Roffian girls who had beaten him up earlier approached and humbly asked him to forgive them. He did forgive them, and found himself being hugged by all of them. Then he proceeded with his explanation for Yoga-Rug.

"I believe I can download new orders to the robot pilot. I'll program it to take the ship back up into orbit, and assume protective duty. If it sees any spacecraft attacking this planet, or if it observes a Popquizzitor ship under ANY circumstances, it is to open fire on such target. Any other ships will not be targeted."

"That sounds good, son, proceed. Now, while you were forgiving those children, I picked up another psychic impression of trouble far away. Another world is being adversely affected by a power which impairs people's belief in goodness. I need to see if I can help them remotely, as I've done for some others."
 
Swimmer Moon had picked up an additional hero before departing Japan: the motorcycling fighter called Masked Biker. Her cosmic power carried all four of them, plus the oversized Honda, to the scene of action in Beijing.

Tuxedo Dash tried throwing roses at the pseudo-zombies, to no avail. So Masked Biker tossed him a spare nunchaku. Between them, they knocked down a dozen of Mugwumpa's mind-slaves in their first minute of combat-- though seven of these got back on their feet faster than the heroes could tie them up.

Meanwhile, Swimmer Moon and Chipmunkyusa hovered in the air, twirling like figure skaters, as they shouted: "Lunar spirit of courage! Interstellar victory! Mental thrust of power!"
Tuxedo Dash and Masked Biker continued knocking down the transformed people, making it easier for Bahavish Ogoshi and Combatalot, and the soldiers with them, to get inside the television station.

Meanwhile, Swimmer Moon and Chipmunkyusa hovered in the air, twirling like figure skaters and shouting: "Heart of mysterious energy! Defense of human dreams! Amulet of galactic wisdom!"

Inside the television station, following the Hindu hero's instructions, Combatalot went straight for Mugwumpa. But to his surprise (though not alarm, since the Filipino metahuman was fearless), Mugwumpa's arms grew to fifteen feet long. First lashing sideways to scatter the soldiers, their clawed hands then extended farther to reach the armored superhero, grabbing him and making scratches on his armor. She threw him straight up to crash against the ceiling, and let him fall to the floor as Bahavish Ogoshi rushed at her next.

Meanwhile, Swimmer Moon and Chipmunkyusa kept on twirling in midair, shouting: "Rainbows of invincibility! Moonbeam of perseverance! Golden magic armor!"

Still outdoors, Tuxedo Dash and Masked Biker decided they had no choice but to inflict SOME damage on the people transformed by the witch-ghoul. So they took to breaking one leg of each pseudo-zombie they fought: a small price for the pseudo-zombies to pay for the hope of living to be changed back to normal humans.

Meanwhile, Swimmer Moon and Chipmunkyusa kept on twirling in midair, shouting: "Pure love eclipses evil! Light erases shadow! Memory remedies doubt!"

Combatalot was flung out the door of the station, to land in a heap forty feet away, where he struggled to get his bearings. Bahavish Ogoshi soon followed, hurtling SIXTY feet away because he weighed less than his comrade. He had scored hits on Mugwumpa with his sword, but had inflicted only superficial wounds.

Meanwhile, Swimmer Moon and Chipmunkyusa kept on twirling in midair, shouting: "Intangible fist! Piercing moonlight! Theoretical prowess!"

Tuxedo Dash and Masked Biker charged into the station to carry on for the other heroes. In seconds, they had their hands full just preventing Mugwumpa from transforming unconscious soldiers into more pseudo-zombies.

Meanwhile, Swimmer Moon and Chipmunkyusa kept on twirling in midair, shouting: "Dimensional strategy! Jewels of idealism! Unstoppable justice!"

Combatalot regained his feet and started back toward the shattered entrance of the station. He was almost through the door again, when Masked Biker's Honda came flying into him from inside.

Swimmer Moon and Chipmunkyusa ran out of incantations to recite, but they continued twirling in midair, paying no attention to the battle.

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

Innumerable parsecs away, Dim Jargon heard Yoga-Rug disgustedly grumbling, "Those two are missing the whole fight! This isn't like the other cases: they haven't lost their belief in goodness, but they're not DOING anything! I'll have to try a new approach."
 
Master Yoga-Rug knew about the Flashlight Corps, and his up-side intuition assured him that there was a Green Flashlight who belonged to the de-communized Earth. It was obvious that she was not currently ON that Earth, or she would have joined battle against the monstrous threat by now.

His awareness moved methodically outward, searching. No sign of Lucy Luminous; but he sensed the other Spacer Swimmers. They all had the ability to survive in the vacuum and cold of space-- but all of them had been affected by Mugwumpa's interference field when they tried to come to Earth's defense.

Only one Swimmer, Yoga-Rug discerned, was managing any effective resistance to the magical confusion: the eldest, wisest, kindest and most beautiful of them all.

Swimmer Pluto, born Sweetsucra Mommamia, had adopted the name of the Pluto in this solar system for a reason. As the best of the lot, she had resolved long ago to be the system's outermost sentry. If Yoga-Rug had been human, and younger, he would have fallen in love with her, for he could sense her inward goodness as well as her outward attractiveness. Like Tolkien's Queen Galadriel, Swimmer Pluto was at once ancient and youthful; her long life had not put one wrinkle on her, but had only made her beauty more perfect and her virtue more pure.

Her figure was exquisite, yet she clearly was not boastful about it. Her long black hair, highlighted with green, seemed DARKER than outer space, yet with a darkness which had nothing to do with evil. Her face displayed such enduring gentleness and intelligence that it would have remained beautiful even if it somehow became disfigured physically.

Yoga-Rug realized clearly that the writer of this parody story liked Swimmer Pluto best of all the cosmic heroines.

For present purposes, Yoga-Rug also liked her best, because it was only she who was resisting the confusion strongly enough that he would be able to help her throw it off completely.

Sweetsucra Mommamia, called Swimmer Pluto, hear my telepathy! I am Yoga-Rug, a guardian of the good as you are! I sense that your powers entail altering time. Use your gift now, to move your own mind back to the way it was BEFORE the evil interference occurred!

Her brain replied: Gotcha! Wait a minute....

A moment later, the two champions of goodness were able to conduct their telepathic dialogue more efficiently. Yoga-Rug urged Swimmer Pluto to try to contact Green Flashlight Lucy Luminous. Using her time-sense to trace Lucy's actions since leaving Earth, Swimmer Pluto succeeded in reaching her, and projected a time-adjustment to enable her to return extra swiftly.

She should make it home inside of three hours, the incredibly gorgeous super-being told Yoga-Rug. Which do you advise for now: do I shake my fellow Swimmers out of their confusion first, or immediately land in China to help Swimmer Moon and the others there?

Yoga-Rug answered: Ultimately, it's your call to make. But my impression is that Swimmer Mercury, Swimmer Venus and the rest won't suffer any lasting harm from having been in this confused state. Whereas more innocent civilians might perish any minute on this Earth if you don't get down there at once.
Sweetsucra Mommamia, Swimmer Pluto, produced a telepathic equivalent of shaking her head in gentle exasperation. Right. I'll bet a sushi dinner that Swimmer Moon and her daughter are still twirling around and contributing nothing. Green Flashlight and I should be able to turn the tide for humanity. As for you, Yoga-Rug-san, I sense that this long-range operation is tiring you. Better for you to withdraw now, back into your own body. I'm heading for Earth now. You have my thanks; this world will be all right. So take care of your own health. Domo arigato, and sayonara!

When she landed in Beijing, Swimmer Pluto's first act was to time-reverse the effect of the signal the television station was emitting, so that no additional humans would change into monsters. Then, since her fourth-dimensional power was not infinite, she resorted to her physical strength. With her aid, Masked Biker, Tuxedo Dash, Bahavish Ogoshi, Combatalot and the soldiers overpowered the rest of the pseudo-zombies, getting them locked up in the hopes of their soon being cured.

All this, while Swimmer Moon and Chipmunkyusa were still obliviously twirling in midair.

Mugwumpa fled before Swimmer Pluto could capture her; but the returning Green Flashlight went in pursuit of the witch-fiend. Swimmer Pluto continued helping in the task of re-humanizing Mugwumpa's victims.

And back on Planet Toofah-Roff, when the Banjolorian understood that Yoga-Rug had become severely exhausted by his astral travel, he carried the Fuss master to the village to find him a bed.
 
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Once more with Noherra and Gross-Goo

The takeoff of Yoga-Rug's ship from Toofah-Roff had been hasty. Captain Noherra was nowhere near a decision on what planet she should select as a temporary hideout to await an all-clear signal from the up-side master; but fuel and food were getting low enough that she would have to replenish somewhere soon. I can only hope that we don't attract attention from anyone hostile. But I think the odds are in our favor, because I'm pretty sure that this galactic sector is isolated from any storylines I'm familiar with.

Ship's sensors detected a gigantic cylindrical space station, orbiting a marginally inhabitable planet which seemed unpopulated. The station was continually rotating on its long axis, thus creating spin-gravity for the benefit of its occupants.

Noherra understood the function; but Gross-Goo, still a child of limited experience, had never heard of any civilization advanced enough to enjoy routine interstellar travel, yet NOT advanced enough to generate the actual force of true gravity artificially. Hence--

"Noherra, why is this habitat spinning like an axle?"

Once Noherra explained it to him, he remarked: "That should be good news for us. If they've never acquired true gravity emission, it seems nearly certain that they've never been in contact with any part of the Star Wars-derived reality that we're part of."

"I agree. I'll call them. But if we do go aboard the station, don't tell anyone any more than you have to. If our both having green skin causes anyone to infer that I'm your mother, allow them to think it. We won't LIE, but let them believe what seems logical to them

"I detect enough different kinds of ships parked around the station, that it's probable they have many races living or visiting there. With luck, we won't cause any particular excitement."

Gross-Goo nodded. "If anyone there DOES act excessively inquisitive, I'll attempt a mental suggestion on them. Something along the lines of 'We're not the aliens you're looking for'."

Noherra broadcast a greeting on every frequency, explaining that she hoped to make a deal to work in return for supplies. It seemed a given that the people here would not recognize any currency she could offer.

A reply was not long in coming. The holographic image space on her communication suite showed a clearly human male in a military uniform, well built, and handsome in a bland, average kind of way. Not to be compared with my darling Klayman; but he seems friendly. And if he's also seeing us over the link, then he plainly doesn't consider us anything extraordinary. He's accustomed to interacting with many sapient races.

"I am Lieutenant Commander Josh Cordwood, Earthlyforce," the man said. "We should be able to make a suitable arrangement. Stand by for docking instructions. Welcome to Bubblewrap Five."

 
Once Yoga-Rug's ship was parked securely in a berth, Noherra handed her weapons over to a docking supervisor, and scooped Gross-Goo up in her arms. Again, not SAYING he was her baby, but allowing them to guess this. Any reasonable measure which might prevent news of them from spreading in a way that led to recognition by Popquizzitors or their spies, was a good thing.

Entering the official visitors' concourse of Bubblewrap Five, the green twosome were met by uniformed human men and women who were armed, but who gave no sign of unfriendly intent. At their head was a man with facial features more strongly defined than those of Lieutenant-Commander Cordwood.

"Welcome aboard," he said. "I'm Security Chief Snack Salad. I already know that you turned in your weapons; you'll get them back when your business is completed, or if any special circumstance warrants giving them to you sooner."

That last part caused Groo-Goo's large ears to rise in curiosity. There still was no reason to regard the Bubblewrap Five personnel as enemies, but it did seem as if Mister Salad knew something most unusual which he wasn't telling.

Testing whether this guard leader might be led to reveal something, Noherra asked, "Do you know if your commanding officer has given further thought to how I might earn some replenishment for my ship?"

"If you mean Lieutenant-Commander Cordwood, he's only the executive officer, serving his command shift. My own shift comes after his. Our station commander, Captain Elizabeth Broccoli, is entertaining a guest right now. No one has ordered me to keep you in the dark, so I can at least inform you that the Captain's guest would be involved in the service we may request of you.

"But I should tell you further: we'll provide you with necessities even if you DON'T render us any service. Bubblewrap Five exists to promote goodwill among all sapient species. On the other hand, the Captain and all our technicians will be very pleased if you consent to let us examine your propulsion technology. We-- that is to say, the races who regularly use the station facilities-- don't HAVE any ships as small as yours which carry their own self-sufficient warp generators to make hyperspace jumps."

Without looking, Noherra could feel that Gross-Goo was nodding his head: urging her to agree. In order to make it less obvious that he had prompted her, she found something else to talk about before declaring her approval of her ship being studied.

"All indications I could pick up on my approach suggest that the planet below us is uninhabited. If you wanted to run a waypoint for travelers and a hub for commerce, why didn't you just build on the planet's surface?"

"Partly because hardly any hyperspace-capable ships that we know of can also make their own landings on solid ground in a gravity well. Partly because we found it easier, with a station built from scratch, to create enclosed environments for visitors who can't live in the oxygenated atmosphere which most races need. Thirdly, because the planetside environment isn't the healthiest for oxygen breathers. But also because.... Planet Upsydaisylon ISN'T altogether uninhabited."
 
While awaiting further instructions from the station commander, Snack Salad shared inside tips regarding life in this large orbital habitat.

"The Mintcandybarri, who support our peacemaking mission, have true artificial gravity, and in fact have allowed us to possess advanced ships with that capability. Kind of a guilty conscience, for the way they once came near to massacring every human being in the known galaxy. But no one ever called for the same technology to be installed on the scale needed for overall gravity here in Bubblewrap Five. Rotational gravity still does the job, and also performs the old-fashioned function of equalizing exterior heating from our local sun.

"So from any point on the concave interior surface of the pressure hull, 'up' is toward the central axis, an imaginary line running the length of Bubblewrap Five. The only use of generated gravity occurs in small, isolated compartments, used for when the occasional being from an extra-heavy world visits us."

"I've seen similar arrangements in parts of my own sector of the universe." Noherra carefully did not say: --regions where no one has yet achieved what my people, the Tryyurluck, consider a normal scientific level. She changed the subject: "How about nutritional needs for the multiple races who come here and work here? If the surface of Upsydaisylon is inhospitable, are you able to produce food for everyone up here?"

"We have extensive greenhouse areas, with atmospheric and mineral variations to cover a wide spectrum of consumer metabolisms. Normally, we never go more than two weeks without cargo ships arriving to restock our food reserves; so we make sure to grow enough produce on board that we could feed everyone for FIVE weeks in the event of a supply cutoff. Besides, in an emergency, Drool OUGHT TO get involved and help us."

Noherra's eyebrows rose in curiosity. Snack Salad would have found her expression charming if she had been human. But his part of the universe had only ever seen one instance in which a man and woman from separate humanoid races had been able to marry and produce viable offspring. This couple, still living and universally respected, were an Earth male and a Mintcandybarri female.

But that was another story, and highly unlikely to be repeated. So Snack, while he could be pals with practically anyone who wasn't evil, never entertained a thought of romance with a non-human woman.

Heck, he had never had any luck even with human women. He knew himself to be the type of decent, solid guy whom women routinely ignored in favor of Exciting Bad Boys. It was his fate, as a non-top-billed character. So he went on talking business.

"I see you wonder now who or what Drool is. That isn't anything being HIDDEN from you, but it's complicated. Since I dropped the name, I'll explain at least part.

"Where you come from, do you get a lot of super-duper-ultra-superior aliens who all claim to have started civilization?"

"Some," Noherra conceded. "So is 'Drool' one of those?"

"Not exactly. He's a Mintcandybarri scholar and philosopher, an okay fellow. He was visiting Bubblewrap Five when we discovered there was a super-duper-ultra-superior ARTIFACT left by one of those ancient cultures, buried under the surface of Upsydaisylon. It needed a living operator to control it; Drool had a terminal illness which even Mintcandybarri medical science couldn't cure, but the artifact could cure him if he would become its new controller.

"So he took the job. He's still down there to this day, in perfect health, running the planetary machine. He doesn't get claustrophobia, because the artifact enables him to project his mind EVERYWHERE, studying anything that interests him, and communicating with anyone he wants to communicate with. No one evil can take over the artifact and use it for aggression, because Drool has it programmed to annihilate anyone who tries to do that.

"Which is one reason why we DON'T conduct any long-term activities on the surface of Upsydaisylon, or even brief activities unless Drool approves. We don't want to run ANY risk of arousing the artifact to cut loose with its super-duper-ultra-superior armaments.

"From time to time, he passes interesting information to us about the things he observes in the universe. It's possible that he's discovered your home world, though he hasn't specified it to us."

"All of that sounds very positive," said Noherra. "Is there a bad side that you haven't mentioned yet?"
 
“The Captain will detail it all for you when she meets you.”

Just then, Snack Salad’s personal communicator emitted a female voice: not clearly audible to Noherra, but Gross-Goo’s large ears could hear it well. It was not necessary, however, for the green boy to tell the Tryyurluck lady what it was about, for the security chief told them himself.
.
“That was Captain Broccoli. She’s conferring with another visitor, but she is interested in what you can offer. She suggests that I treat you and your kid to local cuisine at the officers’ dining facility. We haven’t had your exact species here before, but we’ve got non-invasive genetic assessment which will determine what you can safely eat.”

Noherra smiled. Snack noticed that, as a smile taken on its own, apart from the green skin, her smile was indistinguishable from a true-human smile.

“Thank you, Chief Salad. There should be no difficulty, since Gross-Goo and I have often eaten foods digestible to humans, with no adverse effects.”

Snack smiled in return, showing no outward sign of excessive curiosity.

Noherra said to herself: Well, you’ve as much as told him that humans like himself exist in realms of space which are unexplored by his “Earthlyforce.” Which is a bigger giveaway to him than admitting that Gross-Goo isn’t my son would be. But he is friendly; Gross-Goo would know if he weren’t.

Maybe I need to have a little faith now, that this visit to Bubblewrap Five will be for the good.

On the way to the cafeteria, Noherra noticed beings walking around whose bodily shapes differed more from humanity than either she or Gross-Goo did. Some of these people evidently were not even oxygen breathers, for they had to wear environment suits. This was, if anything, reassuring to a Tryyurluck among strangers.

Seeing that she was interested in the suited strangers, Chief Salad told her, “Those are diplomats, merchants, journalists and researchers from a dozen or so friendly worlds, as curious to understand us as we are toward them. Our life-science personnel maintain enclosed environment chambers as living quarters for them, and give them complete access to all of our unclassified data files.”

Since Noherra had never claimed that her presumptive son COULDN’T speak, Gross-Goo decided on his own that he would SHOW the human he could speak. “I venture to guess that this orbital habitat of yours is no place for beings who hate everyone that’s different.”

To the surprise of his guests, the security chief gently laughed.

“That phrase has been a running joke here for almost as long as the station has existed. Since Bubblewrap Five was built, every seriously dangerous hatred to have arisen here was ALWAYS about something far more substantial than just blind, unthinking xenophobia. I mean, like someone wanting to conquer and enslave someone else. Just plain shallow bigotry-- like if someone didn’t like your cranial structure, Noherra-- is trivial compared to the organized, intricate evil plots we’ve dealt with in our time. In fact, childish xenophobia has become a joke here. Like, if I ate the last slice of pizza, one of the guys might make a face and say that I took the pizza because I hate everyone who’s different.”

Noherra smiled again. “I believe I follow what you mean, Snack Salad; and your people seem to have a good attitude.”

“Is pizza something to eat?” asked Gross-Goo.

“Only the ULTIMATE in Earth-type food, young biped. Certain intelligent mutated reptiles have been known to risk a violent death for the sake of getting to eat pizza.”

All at once, though not ceasing to be friendly, Snack’s face turned more serious. “One trend that bothers me more is antagonism to the individual ownership of commercial and industrial assets. You wouldn’t believe how many crimes or accidents are assumed to have been caused by EEEEEEEE-vil business corporations. Like the very act of seeking investors makes a businessperson a galactic-level villain.

“If you have any connection with an industrial enterprise which gets operating capital from shareholders, I recommend that you don’t tell anybody here about it.”
 
The visitor who had arrived on Bubblewrap Five ahead of Noherra and Gross-Goo had just been told the essentials of the situation revolving around the Great Artifact of Planet Upsydaisylon. Those essentials were as follows:

Drool, the Mintcandybarri gentleman who had become the Artifact's new symbiotic partner and had thereby regained his bodily health, had also acquired powers on a level with all but the very mightiest of the uber-evolved, infallible, immortal cosmic everything-doers who populated nearly every science-fiction universe ever conceived. The Artifact's powers of perception enabled Drool to find out literally ANY fact in any part of total material reality. Meaning that he was able to provide the leadership of Bubblewrap with any information they could ever need.

Neither he nor the Artifact could ever leave Upsydaisylon, and so he could not physically affect events beyond the solar system where his new home was located; but within that system, he could fend off or destroy any threat, except MAYBE the very very very VERY mightiest of the aforementioned cosmic everything-doers.

Well and good. In theory.

In practice, however, Drool almost never ACTUALLY helped his friends on the space station in any way. All sorts of evil forces had come and attacked Bubblewrap Five in the last three years, inflicting many casualties, and Drool had refused to stir a virtual finger to defend the peacemaking community. Nor would he tell anyone WHY he was unwilling to help those who had enabled him to obtain his new lease on life.

Captain Elizabeth Broccoli had just finished relating this disquieting history to her guest:

Nonsmoka Tiptoe, up-side Fuss adept of the Tugboata race, which was the humanoid species closest in genetic makeup to the Tryyurluck race of which Noherra Synthmusica was one.

"Noherra is as good at reasoning and persuasion as she is at astrogation," said Nonsmoka. "She would have as good a chance as any outsider could have of persuading Drool to get engaged in life and DO SOMETHING to combat evil."

Captain Broccoli smiled, feeling encouraged. "Then as soon as she and the tiny telekinetic are done eating, we can hold the reunion."

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

Well before he finished eating, Gross-Goo addressed Noherra in a language not known to any resident of the station: "There is an up-side Fuss user in this habitat. Not one I ever met, but highly virtuous in spirit. That must be who is meeting with the local authority."

Yoga-Rug being ruled out because Gross-Goo did know him, Noherra was left to hope urgently that it would be the woman who had combined efforts with her and Klayman and Fizzra, back in the day....

When the Captain and Nonsmoka came within fifty feet of the entrance to the dining hall, Gross-Goo's ears rose up happily. By the time Nonsmoka came into view, Noherra was already on her feet and advancing. She had had many male and female friends among the Tugboata, but no other so dear as this one, who had given her crew hope and guidance in the old days of rebellion against Emperor Porkandbeen.

The Tugboata heroine joyfully exclaimed: "HEAD HUG!" This meant nothing to the Bubblewrap Five personnel witnessing the happy moment, but it meant plenty to members of the tail-headed races.

The space captain and the younger but spiritually wise Fuss adept ran headlong into each other's arms. Not only did they kiss each other, but in a token of affection which humans could not duplicate, Nonsmoka sent her head-tails winding around Noherra's head like an extra pair of hugging arms. Noherra's rear-articulated head-tails could not reach forward to wrap around Nonsmoka's head, but the ends of Nonsmoka's head-tails gripped Noherra's head-tails near the base.

After they had clung together for the better part of a minute, Noherra regained her composure and introduced Nonsmoka to Gross-Goo, who transmitted his greetings directly into Nonsmoka's brain.

Then, with Chief Salad joining them, they returned to the station commander's day cabin and office, to begin seriously brainstorming what to do about Drool and the Artifact.

 
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At Captain Broccoli's conference table, Gross-Goo sat on an elevated chair, while Noherra and Nonsmoka sat close together. The head-tails of Tryyurlucks could not extend to the front, but they could extend sideways. For the duration of the conference, Noherra's right head-tail and Nonsmoka's left head-tail remained firmly entwined together: a commonplace expression of any form of strong emotional attachment among both of their races.

"Captain Synthmusica, Adept Tiptoe, and Outrageously Cute Little Guy," the station commander addressed her visitors from the Spacebullies reality, "the first thing you need to understand about our possible approaches to Drool is that nothing we do can be kept secret from him, if he is paying any attention to us."

Snack Salad frowned. "But that's the problem: he DOESN'T pay attention when we NEED him to."

"My point," Captain Broccoli went on, "is that, while actively bonded with the Great Artifact, as he always is except when he needs to go to the bathroom, Drool is as near as no matter to being literally all-knowing. It's highly possible that he's listening to our conversation right now."

"I don't sense any mental presence that could be his," Nonsmoka told her hostess; "but if his remote awareness originates purely from high technology, I might not be able to pick up on it."

"Do you feel his presence down on the planet?" Noherra asked her.

"I feel what has to be Drool, a powerful intellect with many interests. Also several more ordinary sapient beings."

"I detect the same," Gross-Goo interjected. "On the planet, that is."

"The ordinary ones would be the Flapjacks," offered the security chief; "humanoids who maintain the Artifact for him. They all look and act the same, could be clones. They were already living on Upsydaisylon before Drool first became the Artifact's custodian, so now they answer to him. They talk as if someone made them up to be comedy-relief characters in a science-fiction TV show. Still, they do keep the Artifact in good repair, so Drool can just concentrate on USING its powers to gain ever more knowledge."

For the next ten or twelve seconds, everyone looked around in silence, expecting a disembodied voice to fill the air around them. But if Drool was eavesdropping, he refrained from interrupting-- or contributing to-- their deliberations.

Snack Salad muttered further: "If Drool had been on guard four years ago, when the Shadythings had Bubblewrap Five surrounded, Mister Craniumbaldy wouldn't have had to suffer for weeks as their captive."

"At least Mister Craniumbaldy eventually was released, got to begin a new career, and married the woman he had loved all his life," observed Elizabeth Broccoli.

Noherra silently clenched her teeth and wiped her eyes. Nonsmoka stretched out an arm to side-hug her. Gross-Goo, meanwhile, asked, "Do the Flapjacks ever tell you about what Drool is watching?"

"Drool himself sometimes reports things to us, but his helpers don't." The station commander gestured toward her three guests. "If he HASN'T observed your worlds and civilizations before now, curiosity about you might incline him to permit a planetside visit by you. Then, every TRUE tale you can tell him of your exploits might help to shame him for his failures to intervene against evil."
 
All the way back now to Planet Spacebull

Dark Headgear was mortified. It was hard enough to bear that his helmet and his down-side Fuss ring had been taken away from him. Bad enough that his prison cell was lined with reflective material which would bounce back any Fuss bolts he managed to generate without the help of his ring. Bad enough that when they fed him pizza, it always had pineapple on it (which, as an evildoer, he was required to dislike). Harsh enough that so far he had not been assigned a defense lawyer.

Worst of all, when Professor Jean Yuss brought in the up-side hero Mopey-One Kanoli, one of Yoga-Rug's best students, to interrogate Bob Snooze's former right-hand man, Master Mopey-One insisted on addressing Dark Headgear by his real name: Slick Mudpackis.

Numerous crewmembers of the once-intimidating Spacebullion mega-mothership were still at large, a potential threat to Professor Yuss' efforts to introduce representative government on Spacebull. When Mopey-One demanded any information Slick might have about hideouts those evil escapees might be using, Slick decided to be stubborn. Up-side good guys, after all, would not use torture on him.

"I don't have to tell you anything, you STUCK-up-sider. You're afraid of what my men still at large may do. Your thoughts betray you!"

"No, you're the one who's afraid: afraid that your men will testify against you for additional crimes you've committed. Your thoughts betray you!"

Standing up in an attempt to project dignity, Slick stared Mopey-One right in the breastbone and retorted, "No! Your thoughts betray you!"

"YOUR thoughts betray YOU!"

"YOUR thoughts betray YOU!"

"YOUR thoughts betray YOU!"

"YOUR thoughts betray YOU!"

"Liar, liar! YOUR thoughts are the betraying ones!"

"No, yours!"

"No, yours!"

"You're a poo-poo-head!"

"You're the biggest poo-poo-head!"

Slick, alias Dark Headgear, stamped his feet in a tantrum. "You're wrong! All the boys who hang out at the Cloud Suburb Casino on Expansive Asteroid Base can tell you I'm not the biggest--!" The villain's jaw dropped in mid-tantrum, as Mopey-One quit pretending to be in a tantrum of his own. Then he shrieked, "I hate you, Mopey-One!"

The good-guy interrogator grinned. "But I thank you, Slick. Now we know where to start looking. Jean Yuss will thank you, too."
 
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At his next mealtime, Slick "Dark Headgear" Mudpackis received a surprise far more agreeable than being outwitted by his interrogator. The prison attendant who brought him his food served pizza WITHOUT pineapple. And this was only the beginning.

The air around them shimmered, and the orderly spoke in a different voice from the voice that Slick had heard before. "Listen carefully, Lord Headgear. You have more friends than you suspect: friends who agree with your profound insight that good is dumb. My close-to-magical technology is preventing the surveillance systems from hearing what we say here."

Slick stared in wonder. "So who are you?"

In the blink of an eye, the attendant's face became identical to Slick's own face. "I am what is called a Face Twister, able to change my appearance. I belong to a society of evil scientists, the Lazytaxies, with science so greatly advanced that it can produce effects approximating magic. You down-side Fuss users, and we Lazytaxies, are kindred spirits, both seeking to place all life under the dominion of hip, smart, fashionable evildoers."

Not being QUITE utterly stupid, Slick showed that he was capable of drawing a logical inference:

"Would I be right in guessing that your order of bad guys prefers to do everything in subtle, sneaky ways?"

"Quite correct, Lord Headgear. We are inferior in head-on slug-it-out combat with noble warriors like the desert heroes of Planet Srirachiss, or the Fuss users who have defeated you two-for-two; we need to use cunning tricks to win. But our tricks ARE useful, as witness my being able to stroll right in here and begin planning your escape with you. If combined with your prowess in open combat, our cleverness will strike devastating blows against all that yucky goodness.

"Imagine, for instance, if someone who SEEMED to be King Lowbrain of Directvideo declared that accusations of you trying to slay all life on that planet were fake news. If the seeming king, a Face Twister in disguise, told the galaxy that what almost happened to his world was really the work of evil reactionary militia groups who hate everyone that's different?"

"I'm starting to like this," replied the Spacebullion villain. "Keep talking."
 
On "Terra," with my caricatures of Winter Soldier and Falcon

In their version of New York City, Slam and Backy brought their suddenly-acquired, changed-into-good-girls girlfriends to see Mutt Muckrake, attorney to superheroes. They reckoned that Mutt, alias the blind superhero Dustdevil, could obtain pardons for Wholesome Vine and Carly Whiz.

Mutt was already seeing (so to speak) another client. Sherri Subpoena, Mutt's loyal secretary, was intrigued to learn that two super-villainesses wanted to sign up with the straight-and-narrow team; to keep them from going elsewhere, she engaged them in the liveliest conversation she could strike up.

"The woman in Mutt's office," she told the visitors, "is named Gracie Carryout Bunting. She's ninety-six years old now; but in her day she was both a beauty queen, and an impressive adventurer.

"During World War Two, Gracie was a U.S. Army nurse in the European theater of action. Rendered aid to casualties, under fire, many times. One day, she became the only survivor of a transport plane which went down in the Atlantic Ocean west of Africa. She would have drowned also, if not for a gravely injured co-pilot who helped her into a life raft with the last of his strength. She always felt guilty after that, guilty for having lived."

"I heard of her!" exclaimed Backy. "As you may have heard, I was around during World War Two, also in the European theater."

"You acted on the stage in Europe? Awesome gravy!" exclaimed Carly.

"Sorry, beautiful," replied The Winter Trooper. "I should have specified that Miss Subpoena and I are saying 'theater' in the military-geography sense."

Carly leaned over to kiss Backy. "Okay, I get it."

Vine laid a long green hand on one shoulder of The Kestrel, saying, "Both of Slam's grandfathers were in that war as well. And Slam served in the Middle East twelve years ago."

Sherri Subpoena resumed: "In 1948, Gracie Carryout met a Navy torpedo-bomber pilot named Rock Bunting, whom she would marry six years later. Besides him being handsome, polite, and a fellow war veteran, she was drawn to him because he was also haunted by the loss of comrades. He had been the last survivor of his squadron after an air-sea battle in the Pacific. The two of them were destined to have a happy marriage and a meaningful life. Rock lived to age ninety-seven; he passed away less than a year ago, leaving five children and eleven grandchildren."

"What made their postwar life especially meaningful?" asked Slam. "I mean, besides having children, which is meaningful in itself."

Sherri smiled at The Kestrel. "The same thing that makes yours especially meaningful now: protecting good people and defeating villains." She glanced at Carly and Vine. "Though you and Winter Trooper have added a new angle, helping miscreants to come clean. But to continue---

"Gracie and Rock had barely begun dating before President George Patton asked them to join a new special-forces team. Their team was needed to deal with extraordinary threats to the world, in a generation which didn't have as many superheroes as we have now. The roster was filled out with scientific specialists: the kind who would investigate flying saucers and lost civilizations. In order to have all of the team on the same page where heroism was concerned, these additional members were men who ALSO suffered survivor guilt, for having lived when dear friends of theirs died bravely."

"And is Mrs. Bunting's visit to Mr. Muckrake about something to do with her past adventures?" asked Vine.

"So it is. The spec-ops team which Rock and Gracie led carried on the finest traditions of the Greatest Generation. They valued the safety and freedom of the United States above their own lives, and they achieved victories which heroes WITH superpowers would have been proud to have on their record. The risks they willingly took for good causes led to their being nicknamed The Sacrificial Squad."

Carly Whiz abruptly covered her eyes with one light-skinned hand. "Oh no! I don't think I belong here now!"

Wholesome Vine already knew the reason for her friend's reaction, but the other three persons in the anteroom chorused as one: "What do you mean?"

"I mean Miss Hamhanda Blubber," sighed Carly. "She's the bureaucrat who roped me and some other crooks into going on secret missions..... ALSO using the name 'Sacrificial Squad'."

"Ouch," said Backy. "Got to be the most insulting copyright violation I ever heard of. Meaning nothing against you, Carly, I sure would rearrange the face of anyone who wanted to re-use the name of the Yelling Commandoes that way."

Sherri nodded. "Yep, it stinks to have the name of a noble team swiped for a project forcing convicts to risk death UN-willingly, in the hope of shortening their prison sentences. But don't think you have to leave, Miss Whiz. Mrs. Bunting realizes that you and others in the newer Sacrificial Squad weren't responsible for the name Hamhanda Blubber gave to your conscripted group."

Carly would have thanked the tactful secretary, if they had not been interrupted by Mutt Muckrake emerging from his inner office.

"I heard all of that," said the lawyer-hero.

"He hears everything," added the elderly but still straight-backed lady appearing behind Mutt. "Miss Whiz, have no fear, I don't blame you for the name-theft." She jogged Mutt's elbow. "As a matter of fact, if Miss Whiz can obtain the pardon she wants, we could USE HER as a surprise witness in our lawsuit against Hamhanda Blubber!"

 
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Planet Upsydaisylon

Drool, from his cradle within the Great Artifact, was at least responsive enough to give permission for a visit from the station. Leaving Snack Salad on board Bubblewrap Five just in case Lieutenant-Commander Cordwood might need input from a more experienced officer, Elizabeth Broccoli rode a shuttle down to the planet. Accompanying her were Nonsmoka, Noherra, Gross-Goo, and Chief of Medical Services Frank Stevia. The landing party made no secret of the fact that they wished to assure themselves of Drool's good health.

At the small-spacecraft bay on the surface, they were met by three of the humanoid Flapjacks, bearing number badges Three, Eight and Nine. Flapjack Eight spoke:

"Is welcome Captain Broccoli, Doctor Stevia and guests." Gesturing to each of the three non-humans, he added: "Tugboata, Tryyurluck, and Toofah-Roffian. Alliteration makes Flapjack Eight little dizzy. Master Drool knows of existence of all your races, but never extensive study had time for. Will be happy to meet you, yes. Please follow us, use Elevator Six. Not pass through Section Fifteen-Four; maintenance in progress there, very bad is the smell. Not bother Flapjacks, often have to work on stinky machinery, but disgusting for guests."

When the Flapjacks ushered them into what they called the Symbiosis Chamber, the visitors beheld Drool, standing up in a recess in the far wall. Life-support tubing and sensory conduits connected the elderly Mintcandybari to the unfathomable environment which the Artifact had designed for itself.

"Master Drool now running comparison of two galaxies, opposite of directions from our galaxy," Flapjack Eight told them. "Examine worlds with life in both directions, catalogue similarities."

"Remarkable!" said Doctor Stevia. "Are there many intelligent races in those other galaxies?"

"Yes, yes, Captain. Many sophisticated cultures, Master tells us. And one particular phenomenon. Contrary to accepted belief in some scientific circles, Master says. Yesterday he tell Flapjacks Eight and Fourteen this.

"Every intelligent race Master finds in those galaxies, they have music."

"Simply having music isn't strange," observed Captain Broccoli.

"Captain is right, yes. But here is part that are surprising. Contrary to predictions made by societies in past. Many planets in both galaxies under examination have DISCO MUSIC; but no communities destroyed by it!"

 
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"I'd be interested to hear that kind of music someday," said Nonsmoka. "It couldn't be any weirder than what cantina bands play in Moss Icy."

"But now for business," replied Noherra, and faced the Mintcandybari scholar in his vertical bed. "Master Drool, I am Noherra Synthmusica, of the Restored Republic Movement. Until now, I've never visited the volume of space within Bubblewrap Five's sphere of influence. But from what I've learned about you today, it's probable that YOU have already explored MY neighborhood of the universe. And since you consented to our planetside visit--"

A deep, pleasantly resonant voice rang out behind the Tryyurluck spacefarer: exactly the voice Noherra and others had thought might interrupt their meeting in Captain Broccoli's office.

"Your conclusion is correct, that I could not possibly be unaware now of your arrival on Upsydaisylon," Drool's holographic image told Noherra. "I have indeed observed your zone of space. Full of conflict. Everybody thinking she's right and the other side is wrong. Building walls instead of bridges."

Nonsmoka turned toward Doctor Stevia. "Does everybody around here talk in cliches like that?"

"It seems to come with the territory," answered the medical chief.

Elizabeth Broccoli assumed her best I'm-the-adult-in-the-room attitude. "Master Drool, what about when there are people building NEITHER bridges nor walls, but rather building battering rams to break in and attack us?"

The hologram speaking for Drool smiled. "Excellent turn of phrase, there. I must remember that one. I suppose you're thinking about that short moment of awkwardness, when the Shadythings deployed a fleet against your station?"

"I certainly am. You did nothing to defend us then. If Bruce Loxbagel, the previous commander of Bubblewrap Five, hadn't pulled off his own surprise attack against their homeworld, the Shadythings would have pressed their attack on us. And without your armaments, we would have had no chance against them. That's without even mentioning the other times hostile forces invaded this system. Were we supposed to 'build bridges' for THEIR convenience?"

"Goodness, my dear Captain, there's no need to be upset. Everything worked out in the end, did it not? I know that your station did not suffer more than five or six hundred fatalities during any one invasion. If you had my perspective, you wouldn't be so perturbed."

Next, the virtual Drool turned to face Nonsmoka and Gross-Goo. "I'm aware that you represent a civilization which reveres the concept of balance. If I overdid my assistance to those who consider themselves good, would that not injure the balance of good and evil? Good cannot exist without evil."

At this point, Gross-Goo spoke for the first time in the visit: "Holy ambiguity, did you REALLY just say that bantha doo-doo?"
 
The precocious question from a little green boy took Drool so much by surprise that he shut off his hologram and opened his own physical eyelids.

"Youngster, unless a bantha is emblematic of miraculous insight, I believe you have just shown me disrespect."

"Sir," said an unflinching Gross-Goo, "let Nonsmoka correct me if I'm wrong, but NO up-side Fuss user has EVER said that evil was necessary."

Nonsmoka promptly supported the Toofah-Roffian child: "Indeed we do not. If 'balance' required a voluntary inclusion of evil, how would we measure the right dose of badness? Would we have people be kind on odd-numbered days, then be cruel on even-numbered days? Or be truthful in the morning, then speak lies in the afternoon?"

Captain Broccoli joined in: "Should I tell my subordinates to obey half of my orders, but ignore the other half? That would have Lieutenant-Commander Cordwood's head spinning, trying to figure out whether he should disobey the order TO disobey."

Drool's face appeared the way someone's face might appear who THOUGHT he was divinely wise, but then found himself tripped up in argument.

Nonsmoka felt intuitively that she needed to press ahead. "I grant you that there cannot be goodness without the free will which COULD CHOOSE evil. But that isn't the same as an actual decision for evil being necessary. If all people everywhere had the POTENTIAL to go wrong, but never did go wrong in practice, their goodness would never be LESS valid for their not having gone wrong!"

"But in what I have observed of your cosmic region," Drool protested, "your people, in all their biological diversity, DO talk about balancing the up-side and the down-side."

"That's a matter of semantics," Noherra told him. "As a wise man on Original Earth observed, evil only can exist because of originally good things being warped. As when an innocent desire to prosper and succeed CHANGES INTO greed which transitions from honest work to the shortcut of stealing from others. Accepting this wrongness is not the way to cure it!"

Frank Stevia had been silently listening. Suddenly, seeming to remember something, he spoke up: "Yes! Not only may good things become bad, but there are multiple possibilities of WHICH good things become warped! One person might warp the normal desire for order into a wicked desire to enslave others, while another person warped the normal desire for freedom into a wicked desire to be utterly lawless. Therefore the true balance to be sought NEVER WAS an artificial arrangement where evil was allowed to trespass; rather, the true balance means a balance between SOME good things and OTHER good things, with each virtue stabilizing the other virtues.

"I've been trying to recall where I first saw this truth spelled out. It was in a work of fiction written on Earth, called 'The Divergent Series.' The woman who wrote the novels imagined a society where separate factions or tribes practiced particular virtues, but each group emphasized its own virtue at the expense of OTHER good qualities. THAT was the real issue of balance.

"Captain Synthmusica was right to speak of semantics. If people don't bother to examine the MEANINGS of subjects they talk about, they can fall into exactly such absurd errors as thinking that evil is necessary. Really, now: if evil is needed for life to be complete, then evil is good; but if evil is good, then an absence of evil is evil. And if the absence of evil is evil, then THE ABSENCE OF THE ABSENCE of evil is good! But-- oh, never mind, you should get the idea. I think."

Drool's mouth hung open. Before he could come up with any reply, a voice rang in the entryway to Drool's control chamber, crying in alarm. It was the voice of a Flapjack who had never entered the room; evidently he had been listening from the corridor.

"That was Flapjack Ten! Why didn't he simply come in with the rest?" Drool exclaimed. It scarcely mattered how he knew which Flapjack it was. Nonsmoka and Gross-Goo looked at each other.

"Infiltrator!" snapped the Tugboata woman, producing a light saber from her Fuss ring and making for the door. Fleeing footsteps were audible from the passageway.
 
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As the others, including Gross-Goo carried by Noherra, pressed the loyal Flapjacks to help hunt for the apparently evil one, Doctor Stevia drew near to Drool. "Drool, did Flapjack Ten have particular duties affecting your own brain's connection with the Artifact's information-gathering functions?"

Drool's expression turned sheepish. "I'm afraid he did, Frank. Please go and stand by that blue panel over there. The panel to the left of that schematic.... good, there you are. When I give the word, press the rightmost of the buttons on it."

"Excuse me, but before we go any further, this isn't one of those blow-everything-up-just-because buttons, is it?"

"Of course not! But it's a sort of two-person fail-safe. I need to flip this green switch over here at the same time."

When both controls were activated simultaneously, Drool sighed in relief. "What we just did was to disconnect me from those components of the Artifact which were most likely to affect my awareness..... if the Artifact were to be sabotaged. Now I can work like a stand-alone computer, and perform a malicious-code search on myself."

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

During the long centuries in which Naughtygators had existed, they had scouted areas of the universe about which even the Penny Jezebels of Srirachiss knew nothing. Before the unspeakably evil Shadythings had been driven out of known space, Lazytaxies working with corrupted Naughtygators had assisted the Shadythings in subverting many civilizations.

For the fun of it.

The Lazytaxie Face Twister known to Drool as Flapjack Ten had been assigned to tamper with Drool's interfaces, inserting nonsensical interpretations into the elderly Mintcandybari's cosmic explorations. This had served, above all, to alter Drool's attitudes without him realizing anything was wrong. The resultant moral-equivalence thinking was what had caused the Artifact's custodian to withhold his help when Bubblewrap Five was in peril.

The jig was up now. Flapjack Ten might have been able to hide from his present pursuers; but now that Drool was aware of having been tampered with, he himself would swiftly hunt down the saboteur.

Arriving at one of many secret subspace transmitters which he had installed for himself during his months on Upsydaisylon, the evil secret agent sent out a summary of his most recent spying, with a report of his being exposed. In closing, he swallowed a poison capsule, then bade farewell by shouting, "Hail Hydra!"

Not the usual salute to be given to the Snarkonnen ruler, but it sounded cool. And after all, what could the Baron do, tell the spy to commit suicide?

Nonsmoka Tiptoe reached the scene too late to prevent Flapjack Ten from dying, but she did pick up a fading snatch of thought: a nostalgic recollection of a world called Greedy Crime.
 
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Nonsmoka instructed Flapjacks One and Thirteen to run every possible test on the corpse of the infiltrator. When she and her companions returned to Drool's high-tech nest, it was to see the Mintcandybari looking much more clear-minded.

"I wish all my patients would recuperate this rapidly," Doctor Stevia told them. "Of course, while I'm wishing, I wish that my friend Martyr Soul had managed to save Suzie Icequeen's life without dying himself."

"I can at least help you draw closer to the fulfillment of the first wish, Frank," Drool replied. "Now that I've been cleansed from that confounded moral indifference, you and I need to schedule a series of conferences, in which you will be joined by your own infirmary staff, plus any medical professionals from other worlds who are on hand. I can pass to you hundreds of discoveries I've made which would assist you in your work of healing."

The visitors to Upsydaisylon were soon flying back to their orbital habitat. There was no need to linger on the planet, since Drool in his holographic form could speak with them, and with all medical professionals who took up his offer, at any time.

Captain Broccoli assigned long-term living quarters for Noherra and Gross-Goo, and shorter-term lodging for Nonsmoka. Both of the tail-headed women pledged to give data packages about their ships to every government which supported Bubblewrap Five. (It appeared that no Fuss adepts existed among the civilizations associated with the diplomatic habitat. Accordingly, Nonsmoka felt confident that, in the event of any of those worlds going rogue, the help of up-side heroes would be a sufficient advantage for the peace-loving worlds.)

Drool assembled all the medical data he had accumulated from his virtual space exploration, then collated it in categories for broad species-types. For instance, Humans, Mintcandybari, Snitsnobbies, Goldarns, Tryyurluck, Tugboata, and other bipedal oxygen-breathers belonged in one category, while the relatively few intelligent races which didn't even use oxygen in their metabolisms formed highly distinctive categories.

To several Flapjacks who were quality-checking his work for him, Drool remarked, "I'm going to enjoy being useful to more people!"

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

He resolved to begin by projecting his awareness all the way into another galaxy. He stayed there long enough to visit six planets where intelligent races were existing in a primitive state. In each of these worlds, the natives' very survival was imperiled by huge carnivorous beasts, or by adverse environmental conditions.

In the Snarky Trek reality, Drool reflected, their Prime Directive tells them never to interfere in the development of any pre-spaceflight civilization. In one adventure, some of them purposely refused medical aid to a plague-stricken intelligent species, because a huge death toll supposedly would "advance their evolution." Yet at the same time, they admire super-duper-advanced alien everything-doers who HAVE interfered in the development of many such civilizations. To chaos with that. I'm going to help these reasoning beings, WITHOUT encouraging them to worship me as a deity!!

Being able to communicate across any language barrier, the Mintcandybarri-born holographic super-being introduced himself to tribal rulers and elders on all six planets, in order of greatest need. Using a bit of sci-fi extravagance to enable ultra-rapid learning (because reasons), he taught them how to make manufacturing tools and hunting weapons, produce relatively-modern products, and learn techniques, which would allow them to fend off predators, prevent illness, control flooding, etc.

Then it was back to Upsydaislyon to rest for a few hours.
 
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