Spacebullies Two: The Search For More Parody

The four small oceans of Awkwardlisp had long been pure horror, full of monsters. In three of the four, Truthside had caused most of the monsters to be exterminated as painlessly as possible. Nine or ten specimens of each type had been relocated to the one "untreated" ocean, while populations of edible sea creatures were established in the three "purified" oceans.

At the hour when an aircar brought Clean Hornet to meet Sullivan Grungy, the reformed monster was marching around the floor of the largest wholesome ocean, observing the condition of the introduced life-forms. Using a comms device provided by Kemptilly, Hornet sent a projected image of himself, asking Sullivan to come ashore.

"Mister Grungy, we haven't met, but my name is Rhett McBride, and I'm associated with your former enemies on Urth. I know that you have experience with powerful artifacts, if only in the form of Mirror Merchant's mirrors. Right now, a young Urthian called Matthew Carver, employed by Vigilant Cowboy, possesses a MAJOR artifact, whose powers are still being studied. We believe that it can strengthen you in your new-found goodness; and Urth will need the service you can perform."

Sullivan raised an eyebrow. "In any case, it would please me to make Urth a safer world. But how is my service ESPECIALLY vital?"

"Some of your former partners in crime somehow preserved tissue of yours; I don't know if shed by your present body, or sampled in the past from a previous body. But we're ninety-nine percent convinced that two or more clones of you now exist on Urth."

The tall quasi-golem's responding smile was more human than any onlooker would have anticipated. "I'll need to clear it with King Truthside; I owe him an enormous debt of gratitude. But I'm pretty sure he'll give me permission for such a unique errand. Now, tell me more about the artifact now in the keeping of Greg Sutter's young employee....."
 
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Looking again at the Stars Wars-ish events, we bring back the mercenary Blastodon Kroof, Lackdough Caribbyan's friend. Blastodon had worked informally with the Imperial officer Shrinkdin Trush, whose daughter Siskeli had acquired Fuss talents. Now he was getting into capers with a new tough-chick character, "Quaint Vestige," who seemed to have sprung up from no place in particular. Reasonably good-looking, and remarkably persuasive with anyone who didn't consciously resist her influence, she told Blastodon early in their acquaintance that she had been granted strong charisma by an unspecified plotline-convenient alien. She didn't reveal that her benefactress was the ugly and spiteful demi-human Headless Lizzie, who was the mentor of the far-more-attractive but-just-as-wicked Jackalbyte.

First meeting at Cloud Casino, Quaint and Blastodon heard, from Lackdough's robot assistant, an account of how a Glugfin girl from Planet Kantpoo discovered a Harmonicron in the pond beside an Up-Side Fuss Temple on Powurkord. This had occurred shortly before the war against the Quark-Elves, but those villains had been chased away by the combined efforts of numerous heroes.

"There might be more fantasy-compatible items to be found," Quaint said to Blastodon, as they flew toward Powurkord. "We could get rich." Her symbiote- mascot "Snicker," an intelligent alien beast about the size of a Maine Coon cat, behaved as if he understood all she said and thought it was a great idea. Snicker had six ears. The foremost two actually were extra smell organs, while the middle and hind ears combined could hear a huge sound- frequency range. These sensory advantages would have kept him from being helpless if he had lost his eyesight.

"Pause right here," the mercenary told the tough-chick. "I haven't kept my freedom by habitually antagonizing legitimate authorities. Any item of interest for which a living rightful owner can be determined, I will have no part in stealing."

"No worries, we will proceed as you wish. I realize it's better in the long view to be on cordial terms with at least SOME governments. We can make overtures to the Heptagorta, that's the elected ruling council on Powurkord. Charge a fee for locating lost whatevers."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Traveling by boat brought the trio to the north-temperate-zone city of Norvoz. This was by a suggestion from Blastodon: "That transportation official Tulsi Blash told me about a Norvozan lady named Framtovi Penwin, who's advancing a fascinating project for literature."

"What, literature about treasure hunting?" Quaint had asked.

"Possibly just that. Miss Penwin wants to revive books ON PAPER. This by itself argues that she is fascinated with antiquity; and if she makes a go of revived hard-copy publishing, she might bring into circulation some seriously old writings which never made it into electronic media."

"Now I get it. Those old writings might provide clues to lost valuables."

At no time so far had Quaint admitted that she was covertly in touch with Headless Lizzie AND Jackalbyte, because she secretly favored the plan of those evil metahumans to ensure that Blastodon received no credit for any success. Snicker would be able to receive and interpret secret signals from her man-hating allies, without Blastodon's knowledge.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Spacer Swimmers, who mostly hung around "Non-Communist Anime Earth," had something or other to deal with on that Earth-variant; we can just assume that they'll take care of it. But since many of their plain-human friends had become involved with events on Powurkord, they found two volunteers to join in the action there: Masked Biker from their Earth's Japan, and the armor-wearing Filipino crimefighter Combatalot. These men were delivered to where they could find their comrade Bahavish Ogoshi.

"Namaste," the swordsman greeted them. "Have you been briefed by the Spacer Swimmers? Because I honestly don't know yet where there's an evil situation that we should be dealing with."

But the Japanese and the Filipino had no information to offer the Indian. We'll get back to them after I decide what guidance they'll receive.
 
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Notice: if I have goofed up anyplace and said that Jackalbyte and Headless Lizzie are at liberty and present on Powurkord, please disregard it. They're not! I previously wrote that those two evildoers had been placed in the custody of the FORMER spoiled super-brat Antimerica Chutzpah, so she can teach them repentance and goodness.

>>>> I expect to have Bahavish Ogoshi, who is becoming a Jedi-type, vaguely sense the hidden badness in Quaint.
 
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Among all residents of Powurkord, more had gone on interstellar voyages into Republic space than on rocket-driven space trips within their system. And since the Spacer Swimmers and other otherworldly heroes had thwarted the invasion by Quark-Lord Maltibalkrix, Powurkordeans had become still more interested in distant stars.

But there was plenty of work to be done within their own star system, and other benign outsiders were lending a hand here. The Heptagorta, the planet's elected ruling council, had no objection to this, as the most prominent outsiders had already earned local good will before now.

An out-system businessman asked: "Commissioner Vrosheb, what's your latest estimate of locally-owned spacecraft suitable for the venture?"

"Since they don't need to be lightspeed-capable, I'm confident that my own island province can finance one in-system transport, net load capacity nearly three times that of your hyperspace-going merchant vessel. That, and four workhorse boats, two-seaters, to take part in asteroid penetration."

Woodrow Ackerman, an African-American human from "Coalition Earth" (in the "Bubblewrap Five" sub-reality), nodded. He was no stranger to the Republic of Lots of Worlds and its near-neighbor planets. He was on board his armed space freighter Queen Yessa, named for his wife of the human-like Braykpedduli race. (Yessa had fallen in love with Woodrow after he got injured saving her life during a space emergency.) The ship rode in a synchronized orbit among the system's asteroids.

Woodrow and his mixed-species crew had a Powurkordean passenger: the above-quoted Filibreck Vrosheb, a mining overseer on the Powurkordean island of Kremdilkrem. Filibrek, as one of the most far-sighted people on his island, had long mulled the question of what Kremdilkremmers would do when their native ore deposits were exhausted, which might happen within another twenty-five Powurkordean years. Woodrow had written up a proposal for joint ventures in asteroid mineral extraction. Given proper technology, the system's asteroids and minor moons would yield enough metals and other deposits for every likely requirement over most of a century to come, even before factoring in reclamation and recycling. Then it would be on-planet minerals which were the backup reserve.

OH-kayy, more consistency-salvaging to be done, because I have SO MANY RESPONSIBILITIES in the real world requiring my attention. I see that back in July, I wrote a dialogue scene very similar to the one in THIS post. Everybody just assume that Woodrow has had lots of meetings with responsible persons on this autonomous planet; and business procedures really can involve people repeating stuff they said earlier. Yeah, Woodrow DOES achieve mutually satisfactory contracts with Powurkordeans, probably not limited to the Kremdilkremmers.

There's also a Powurkordean systems programmer named Spadfitch, who previously had the force of will to break free of the video-game addiction which plagued this planet. Spadfitch now gets to play a part in building the new asteroid- exploitation industry. Because I said so.
 
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Tridmorth, a Powurkordean city not mentioned before in the Never-Stopping Story, was located in the cooler-temperate southern latitudes. Its society was pretty much like real-world Wisconsin, if you add a few robots, jet packs, rayguns, aircars, and visiting Goldarns from the Babylon Five-based sub-universe. One Goldarn male not connected with Woodrow Ackerman's projects was in Tridmorth, exploring the prospects for an agricultural venture. His one link to events mentioned earlier was his local human contact: Osfellic Shemliska, whose distant relatives were currently sponsoring Bahavish Ogoshi as a martial-arts instructor.

"You have my attention," said Osfellic to the Goldarn. "I never heard of Planet Riggblit, except in a short, sad news item saying that Up-Side Master Nonsmoka Tiptoe died heroically there, defending the defenseless against holdouts for the Empire of Evil Badness."

"So she did," replied J'Vurst, making a kind of prayer-or-salute gesture with both hands. "One reason why Thuglyfe Skrawn's allies came to Riggblit was the vegetation. I have specimens of Riggblitter vegetation on my ship; it has been tested and found to pose no danger to your ecology. Many trees and succulent plants on Riggblit produce a sap which can be consumed by practically all oxygen-breathing herbivores or omnivores, and is highly nutritious. One type or another of my botanical samples can thrive in any region of your planet, short of the extreme frigid zones and even-more-extreme deserts. They can perhaps be planted in tracts of land which have not been deemed suitable for your accustomed food crops."

"I'm interested," said Osfellic to his vaguely reptilian-looking visitor. "But let's pause a while, so Copperfox can transport the narrative back to where Combatalot and Masked Biker have joined up with Bahavish Ogoshi. Then see if their actions can be plausibly made to connect with ours."

"He probably should remind people how Powurkordean society was disrupted by the crime spree of the Cosmic Fact-Checkers."

"That's all right, you just did that; and there were a few of them around here once."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There weren't any Quark-Orcs loose on the planet anymore, but of course ordinary crime still could occur. In anticipation of rural operations, Masked Biker had brought his most offroad- capable motorcycle. Bahavish by now had progressed enough in The Fuss that he could perform very respectable telekinesis, especially if it didn't require high elevation. Tying one end of a stout rope to the rear of Biker's saddle, Bahavish had his Filipino comrade hang on, while Bahavish held the rope. Levitating to a height just above Biker's helmet made the two passengers virtually weightless as far as the burden on the motorcycle's engine was concerned. Masked Biker thus hauled his fellow heroes across the landscape, like inflated figures in a parade.

One day of patrolling was unproductive, and the heroes camped out on a suitable site. The next day, breakfasting on an equivalent of granola bars, they resumed their sweep. That afternoon, The Fuss gave Bahavish an intuition of where some outlaws were lurking.

When they spotted four cabins, constituting the bandits' lair, Bahavish and Masked Biker flanked around them. Combatalot marched openly toward the hideout, calling on the felons to yield and submit to arrest. They opened fire instead. Combatalot's armor had recently been fitted with damage sensors, allowing him to determine the moment when he needed to take cover before the beams and bullets penetrated. He lasted long enough to let the other two heroes fall upon the crooks by surprise.

In brief, the Fuss-gifted swordsman and the nunchaku-using motorcyclist captured all of the robbers alive, then contacted local authorities to come and perform the official arrest. A good amount of loot was returned to its rightful owners, and the three heroes gained local prestige.
 
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The above-mentioned local authorities had been joined by a Banjolorian family of the helmets-not-required faction. Colbirk Rezgo, a widowed father who had been in on the defense against Lord Maltibalkrix's invasion, was joined by his warrior-trained daughters. Varilu, the elder daughter, was not far from adolescence by now, and her little sister Lotraloi had lately taken up training with rifle-sized weapons. The girls greeted Bahavish, whose name was known to them, and were fascinated by Masked Biker and Combatalot, of whom they had never even heard before. They briefly mistook the Filipino hero for a fellow Banjolorian.

The freshly-arrested robbers were not associated with any bigger gang, so the non-Powurkordeans left them to be handled by Powurkordeans. They traveled over to Tridmorth, having learned that Planet Goldarnit had commercial representatives doing business there. The Rezgoes had heard mostly good things about Goldarns, and most residents of Tridmorth had heard good things about Banjolorians.

J'Vurst the Goldarn entrepreneur, and his local human contact Osfellic Shemliska, met Colbirk and the rest. A plain-looking but well-dressed young human woman was with them. Gesturing to her, Osfellic told the new arrivals, "This is Heptor Louise Volobi, the newest member of our planetary council. Heptor, if you please--?"

"Welcome to all of you," said Louise. "Powurkord has received much benefit from the Banjolorian fellowship, and from Anime Earth." She indicated the Goldarn, who bowed formally. Louise continued: "The Goldarns are negotiating a deal with Tridmorther investors, to introduce agricultural products which are verified to be ecologically harmless. You have perhaps heard of Planet Riggblit?"

When Colbirk nodded, J'Vurst took up the explanation. "Riggblit has no native-born sapient species, but four different races have shared that world amicably for some years, joined recently by a limited number of more human-like people. One of the races-- a chubby blue-skinned people with long snouts, like Jabba's house-band keyboard player in Return of the Jedi --is detailing some of their number to oversee new plantations around Tridmorth. Despite Powurkord being more or less quiet now, those blue folks are naturally timid. They know that Banjolorians observe a firm code of honor; thus, Mister Rezgo, they would feel much safer if you and your daughters would sign on as a security team for their new orchard-land."

"Sounds like a plan," replied Colbirk, "though I can't answer for the Anime Earthlings."

"Biker, Combatalot and I can join in for at least a few days," said Bahavish.
 
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\\\\\\ Y'know what? It's past time we returned to the "Heyho" subplot.

I think you've seen me refer to a Congregation attack on Earth which was not entirely successful; but you haven't seen me recently mentioning HOW humans avoided being wiped out. It had utterly slipped my mind that I had brought in Master Drool from the Bubblewrap Coalition, who manages the Great Artifact of Upsydaisylon with the aid of his cloned "Flapjack" workers. Drool, a native of Planet Mintcandybarr, had brought warning to Jackman Hughes. Drool had then provided this reality's version of Earth with a simple yet vital game-changer, something which existing human industry could make.

Evil-alien spacecraft relied on plasma weapons, because plasma weapons (as opposed to linear BEAM weapons) have been trendy in Original Earth sci-fi for twenty years or longer. The insane heat applied by a large blast of plasma would almost instantly dissolve the strongest physical hull armor that human shipbuilders could make. But Master Drool's idea would give human warships time to get their missiles fired at hostile ships BEFORE the aliens could incinerate the U.C. vessels. Each defending ship was accompanied on all sides by gigantic loose plates of ship armor from their own shipyards, tethered with tractor beams.

The shielding innovation served as what military experts call a force multiplier. When the Congregation fleet invaded the Heyho Solar System, its opening volleys only destroyed the mobile shields, not the actual ships. Thus, EVERY defending ship was able to get off a heavy missile barrage before ANY human ship was even damaged. In the end, while Earth still did suffer substantial harm, the evil aliens also suffered badly, so they could not after all depopulate this Earth-variant. A partial victory for humanity was better than being wiped out. There was probably some ground fighting, like the corresponding events in canonical Halo, but anyway, Earth survived.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *
The vitally important world of Stretch, where Johnny-747 and his peers had been trained under the oversight of Carolyn Fallacy, was creeping back toward normalcy: in spite of, not because of, Acting Planetary Governor Yvette Nidlovu. Yvette was the sort of woman who, on Original Earth, would study for a PhD in painting abstract pictures. Hard-working humans and human-friendly aliens mostly ignored the governor; but when feeling the need for a laugh, some would always attend public speeches, in which Yvette always preached that BOTH sides in any dispute were ALWAYS equally at fault.

This routine went on until, one night, several colonists using excellent stealth and camouflage technology broke into the gubernatorial bungalow. Surrounding her as she lay in bed, and having voice-distortion gear, the intruders told her in substance: "Consider this, Governor Nidlovu. BY YOUR OWN REASONING, if we were to inflict bodily damage on you here and now, YOU WOULD BE EQUALLY GUILTY for your own injuries as we would be."

Yvette, grateful to be unharmed when the visit ended, canceled her scheduled future lectures, and passed word to administrators on Planet Bigspoke that she had accomplished her noble purposes on Stretch, and was ready to move along to the next frontier planet that needed her sophisticated enlightenment.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *
A successor for Miss Nidlovu proved easy to find: a male born to the Yettisquatch race, hairy bipeds big enough and tough enough to duke it out, unarmored, against Skankbellies and even Juggernasties. Yettisquatches were sometimes slow- witted, but Doyo Jogtip was not. He had very recently completed a term as the United Civilizations Secretary-General, a term commencing back before the Introductories had been pushed out of the game by the Congregation. Before leaving office, Doyo had enjoyed interviewing the non-human Fuss up-siders Lodratrid and Zubdookree.

Arriving on Stretch to take over from his airheaded predecessor, Doyo's protective detail was headed by a Plethmor Crackshot, Sergeant Shovorzi-802. Shovorzi had been acquainted with Johnny-747 since he and she had been low-ranking greenhorns. She had witnessed the historic beginning of Johnny's relationship with Cortexa. Shovorzi had also met the legendary Destry Rammer: a heroic mercenary commander, now deceased.

DRAFTING, DRAFTING: Warrant Officer Sinchoodi-939 is on Stretch, staying in touch with the "tamed" Congregation beings. Her A/I assistant is the cowboyish Buffalo Brad. Civilian surgeon Rhonda Pilsner is around, and so is Jacob Mossyhutch with his wife Raquel. Note that her Bubblewrap Coalition issue plasma pistol has been well studied by Unified Civilizations technicians. Not as powerful as Congregation plasma guns, but easier to manufacture.

Snotty acting governor Yvette Nidlovu blabbers moral equivalence. Crackshot Shovorzi-802 (the flamethrower user) isn't buying it.

On the secure planet Zantron Six, Karbeena Owtfeeld is mingling with the Space Marines of Major Gustaf's battalion, the Endrunners; they are shaking down a new special-weapons company, whose arsenal includes Tuning Forks of Death, a weapon type captured from the Introductories.
 
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\\\\\\ "Mister Hughes," came the synthesized voice in fluent English from a top-quality Bonkalub-designed voice translator, "I have a question festering in my mind. On one hand, artificial intelligences designed by my people are not so genuinely sentient as yours; but they don't become deranged after a few years. Can such a decline truly be inevitable? I asked your scientist Kuo Pai-Mong about this, and even he couldn't explain it."

The planetary government of Heyho Earth, located in Melbourne, Australia, was not strictly speaking the capital of the United Civilizations, but of course it enjoyed great influence, despite Earth having barely averted complete genocide at Congregation hands. The embassy of Planet Thregbonk, being set up in Melbourne, would oversee cultural exchanges with humans in general. The near-human Plethmors, who had been integral to the process of securing friendship with the lumpish-but-inventive Bonkalubs, definitely would not be left out of implementing this agenda.

The Bonkalub female named Shilkovim handed President Jackman Hughes the Bonkalub version of a flash drive. "This is for your cybernetic specialists. It's a synopsis of my world's progress with artificial intelligence. When your Professor Kuo compares our projects with yours, it may shed new light on the short service life of your virtual people."

"We all appreciate your gift. Just now, Professor Kuo is meeting with our top Crackshot, Johnny-747. His detachment assigned to Planet Dustoff brought back another valuable item, called the Woowoogheggu."

Shilkovim tilted her head which was thrust forward from her mid-body. "Is that a Congregation weapon?"

"No, it's more unusual. It operates in intricate ways to make food production easy in almost any sort of environment. It might have a fabulous impact for the recovery of Earthside regions laid to waste by the invasion."

* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kuo Pai-Mong welcomed his four visitors--five, if Cortexa counted as a living person. She presented herself as fully human-sized, and Professor Kuo reminded himself not to stare unceasingly at her. The flesh-and-blood visitors, besides Master Champ 747, were the next- ranking three members of his platoon-strength mission to Planet Dustoff. These others were Space Marines, sharp and fit but not Crackshots: Avery Thompson, a first sergeant unless I said he made it to sergeant-major by now; Sergeant Terence Forsythe, and Corporal Tavisha Ellicott. Tavisha, who had performed her duty flawlessly on Dustoff, had the honor of placing the alien artifact on Kuo's desk.

"We never saw anything like this, Professor. It reconstituted a volume of SOIL into....ugh."

Terence quietly put in: "It was dropped at an enemy campsite, where a Juggernasty female had eaten human flesh. Remnants of her supper fell to the ground, and once the Woowoogheggu sensed them, it automatically changed around a cubic meter of dirt into cooked human flesh."

The translucent blue beauty helped the report along: "If the same process were used on samples of NON-SAPIENT flesh, it would be no different than various enterprises producing vat-grown meats. The artifact is not to blame for a murderer of humans accidentally activating it."

Giving Tavisha the chance to save face by controlling her normal revulsion over fellow humans being devoured: "Corporal Ellicott, please remain with Professor Kuo, to describe more about our Dustoff mission. Especially the Zidmorigs who have joined this new 'Friendless' faction. Thompson and Forsythe will start contacting the families of the comrades we lost. Cortexa informs me that the Bonkalubs want to discuss differences in A/I policy; we're going to get in on that."
 
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\\\\\\\ Time to get Zubdookree and Lodratrid back into the action. I'm pretty sure that I last left these two non-human Fuss-wielding ladies on Planet Bigspoke, one of the United Civilizations' most successfully-held planets. The biggest single reason for Bigspoke's relative invulnerability is that it controls a Heyho Ring, which gives U.C. forces great advantages for supply shipping and reinforcement. The good guys can even position powerful weapon emplacements on the Ring, as an outlying line of defense. Let it be noted that the U.C. Space ARMY, the senior service on Bigspoke, differs from Space MARINES in that the Army is totally designed for planetary campaigns and security. Still, Army recruits are sometimes redirected to become Crackshots.

In a bit of cheating, I shall write the following scene in such a way that it could happen on Bigspoke OR someplace else. If somewhere I said that Zubdookree and Lodratrid already left Bigspoke, we can imagine the following dialogue as happening BEFORE the move, or as happening at the location they traveled to next. To this end, I'll describe them speaking with someone who could be at either place. Kahag-Tahook, a male Sankasselum now on the human side, will also be part of the scene.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Discussions were held in a large, otherwise-vacant dining area at wherever-this-is. The bird-like Fuss up-sider and the large-eyed Fuss up-sider were sitting with five neurologists of the United Civilizations Military Medical Corps, relating as much as they knew about how Fuss powers interacted with measurable brain functions.

Given the length of any Sankasselum's neck and arms, treating Kahag-Tahook to a metabolism-proper dinner meant seating him at a table measuring two by five meters, rising a meter and a half above the floor. With Lodratrid and Zubdookree being entertained at the far end of the hall, the former Congregation cleric was tactfully interrogated by a male Bonkalub named Rimkozo. Rimkozo enjoyed high standing with his new human employers, though he is only needed onstage for this one dialogue scene. We will assume that a transcript of the meeting is provided to appropriate officials. \\\\

RIMKOZO: You must by now be aware that the new people from beyond our sub-universe believe in a genuinely transcendent Creator, superior to any technological regime, superior even to the Founding Masters of the Primeval Preliminaries. First, how do you individually regard this belief?

KAHAG-TAHOOK: To me, it is like saying that two plus two equals entropy. Meaningless! The universe is all, and gives all to its discrete mobile units. The universe cannot give anything which cannot even exist. Thought and invention are the greatest miracles, and science is the active, inevitable progress of the gifts of the universe.

RIMKOZO: Then do you maintain that there could never possibly be anything which ISN'T the universe? Anything you cannot measure? Anything to which you might owe...... personal reverence?

KAHAG-TAHOOK: Maintain? The everything-ness of the all simply is what it is! Try to shake off the fantasy these aliens are feeding you. Science cannot measure anything which science cannot measure; therefore, science has proven that THERE IS NOT ANYTHING which science cannot measure! We revere the Preliminaries because they were in harmony with the everything-ness of the cosmos, and fulfilled their potential within the unbounded bounds of reality.

RIMKOZO: Is there any surviving record you've seen, from the Preliminaries or anyone else, of energy like what those aliens call The Fuss? An energy which doesn't behave like electricity or gravity, but behaves like the will of some self-aware power? Humans in our sub-reality used to believe that such an energy existed.

KAHAG-TAHOOK: Yes, long ago. But what I can gather from these outsiders is that the True Earth we know discarded superstition SOONER than any of the others did. This is why the religions of Preliminary and Introductory societies found it fully acceptable for science to constitute their entire spirituality by itself. I strongly advise against anyone in our zone of reality growing dependent on superstitious fantasy.

RIMKOZO: This is turning into semantics. Would you concede that we could ALLOW Fuss phenomena to operate in our sub-cosmos, WITHOUT this meaning that anyone is enslaved, addicted or insane?

KAHAG-TAHOOK: Possibly; I'm not a hateful fanatic. Sure, let logic and reason compete with delusions.

RIMKOZO: Very well, tell me more about which ideas ARE delusions.

KAHAG-TAHOOK: Where to begin? Perhaps the greatest of delusions is the fantasy that there is an absolute, unchangeable standard of right and wrong. Such rigid intolerance --and you can see this in what happened when Preliminaries and then Introductories changed their otherwise- logical reverence for science into a fanatical superstition-- is the reason why so many people were murdered in recent years.

RIMKOZO: Pause there. You clearly maintain that the Preliminaries and the Introductories were MORALLY WRONG to become fanatical, and you consider yourself MORALLY RIGHT for not being hateful. But neither hate nor fanaticism can BE wrong, if there isn't any standard which SAYS they are wrong.

KAHAG-TAHOOK: You just hate me for being different!

RIMKOZO: If we hated you, I assure you that you wouldn't be fed so well.
 
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\\\\\\\ In spite of treachery by my TRAITOR computer, I will REMEMBER what it erased...... such as likening Jacob to Batman, in that both heroes achieve plenty despite having no metahuman abilities. Humans don't like plasma weapons filling the air with charged particles, while bullets have no electromagnetic signature to be analyzed by hostiles. Also, some forms of shielding which can stop a plasma spray, are unable to stop a high-velocity solid projectile.

The especially wicked Sankasselum named Julep'Drinka is the one Heyhoverse character who was actually made up by Tyrone Glass Nielsen, then inserted into the action by the evil witch Ickylinn. Julep'Drinka, switching his loyalty to the Juggernasty villatoin Apishbox, facilitated the attempt to undercut Highmaster Starterus' peace overtures on Planet Stretch. Jacob Mossyhutch foiled this treachery, and is now hunting for Julep'Drinka. Tyrone and Ickylinn are anxious to kill or control Jacob, lest his actions might cause good-aligned powers in the Filmation-based story-reality to take notice and come after the villainous couple.

I want Jacob to become some kind of bard, which will then influence the story of Johnny and Cortexa. The baddies especially don't want THAT arc to be any other than miserable. Might connect with their NOT liking the happiness in the Dune- based arc.

On Ringjonn Earth, even with no such advanced science and equipment as the Heyho sub-universe could offer, Jacob Mossyhutch had amazed his peers with how talented he was at sneaking up on the people-eating Postalfiends, killing some of them, and making clean getaways. Many Space Army and Space Marines personnel of the United Civilizations recognized him as possessing the same gift of hero's luck as the Master Champ had, which reinforced the use of Jacob's deliberately-similar nickname of Major Chief.

On Ringjonn Earth as on many other Earths, the pre-starflight British Army had adopted a simple but helpful strategy for patrolling wilderness areas. They would cross these areas in a straight line, counting on local enemies to follow natural trails. As a result, the Brits had often discovered secret enemy troop-movement routes by simply intersecting them. Leaving other good guys to hunt for The Varnished in high-technology style, Jacob took a page from the Royal Army's book. He would as far as possible avoid using any high technology-- of course, until it was time to open fire with his logically-impossible gravity gun.

A flock of Mipstipters joined him. All of these either had survived the airborne attack on the Congregation truce messengers, or were related to other Mipstipters who had been part of that outreach. Aware that Jacob had airborne-assault credentials, they furnished him with a hang glider. No electronic signature, no motor. Mipstipters flying in a rotation, four at a time, would silently tow Jacob and the glider at a low altitude. The birdlike volunteers, not being native to Stretch, had been briefed in planetary peculiarities by Stretch- born humans. But this did not mean that Jacob would make a beeline for one landmark or another. He was testing what his luck might uncover.

The searchers not only kept radio silence, they DIDN'T HAVE any sort of radio among them. No transmissions would give them away. If they turned something up, two or three avians who weren't currently on a towing shift would peel off to head for some place where there WAS a transmitter to let them report.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *
In their hideout, Tyrone asked Ickylinn, "Do you see Sergeant-Major Mossyhutch yet?"

"Yes, and these bird people are doing a grand job. They must know more about the Varnished personnel than I ventured to hope. Are you ready to activate your literature simulation?"

"Fingers on the starting line. I can't have this hick in uniform helping the Crackshots to generate a happy ending."

Ickylinn caressed the atheist crusader's knee. "I really need to try my own hand at using artificial intelligence for narration. It's a promising way to manipulate events in a story- derived reality. The Master Champ threatens to exert an inspiring influence on anyone who learns of his exploits. And this Major Chief looks like boosting Johnny-747 to bigger things."

Tyrone gave his lover a quizzical stare. "Are you suggesting that I should sabotage this by making Jacob Mossyhutch envious of Johnny-747's prowess and prestige?"

"Not at all. My foremost desire in this matter is that we retain the use of Prophet Julep'Drinka for story- ruining purposes. Now, darling, please exercise your special talent, and poison this heroic saga by rendering Sergeant-Major Mossyhutch unhelpful to the side of good."

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jacob's tension was almost like a punch to the gut. His mind was a whirl of conflicting emotions, carrying him to unknown paths even as the Mipstipters towed his glider over the war-damaged terrain of Stretch. Hills and ridges passed beneath him, almost like speed bumps on the road to enlightenment.

And what was enlightenment? This question arose from Jacob's gut, growing in his mind like a whirlwind. It surely had to do with perceiving how the universe was traumatized by the madness of war. Back on his native Earth-variant, Humans and Postalfiends had battled and fought, each side seeking to kill the other. But a dead person was just as dead on either side of a fight. Yet peace waited all the time, almost like a fruit hanging within easy reach. It took two sides to fight, so all that was required to stop the madness of war was for ONE side to quit fighting. And Jacob could be the one to take the first step.

Yes, if they gave a war and nobody came, all would be well. And it was increasingly apparent that the defending side ought to make defense unnecessary, by simply going belly-up; this would inevitably inspire the other side to drop its weapons and end the madness of war.

If only there were peace, Jacob and Raquel could finally start raising children. They would carefully teach the child-units that it takes two sides to fight; so if one child was clearly and obviously the sole aggressor, the victimized one must learn to accept more than half of the blame. With a surrender instinct programmed in their guts, the Mossyhutch-Delgado children would lead the way to sharing and acceptance and oneness. It would become a whirlwind of reconciliation and equality. The goods of the universe would be distributed fairly, no need for greed or hunger in anyone's gut......

While Tyrone Glass Nielsen was not strictly telepathic, he did have a plotline-convenient psychic link with the long-necked, long- armed schemer he had created. Tyrone accordingly sent a think-mail situation update to the villain who had betrayed the Congregation in favor of the Varnished. Be on the lookout! The hero called Major Chief has air transport, and is hunting for you. If he captures or kills you, this will solidify the potential friendship between Highmaster Starterus and the United Civilizations! Of course, if the Friendless proved successful as up-and-coming new evildoers, Julep'Drinka might change his affiliation again with Tyrone's blessing. Ickylinn's relationship with Tyrone was not rigidly exclusive on either side, so why shouldn't their fellow villains also be permitted to retain options?
 
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\\\\\\\ This is a good time for me to remind my readers of a sapient oxygen-breathing biped race which I made up a while ago, but which has gotten very little onstage time. Native to a low- gravity planet, the Doladags are even less physically capable than the Bonkalubs, but are smart enough to make vital contributions to the United Civilizations.

The present scene takes place at whatever location is most consistent with other stuff.

Miss Tweevor Jibsavi, a highly efficient administrator, was the only Doladag personally acquainted with Doctor Fallacy, though Tweevor still kept mixing up whether the Crackshot creator's first name was Carolyn or Charlotte. (It's Carolyn. I think. Hmm, yeah, it's Carolyn.) We find her in her office, being visited by Johnny-747 with Cortexa's emitter. The holographic beauty was not on visual display at the moment; with Miss Jibsavi's consent, she had entered the administrator's office computer.

Any Doladag's face featured a wide mouth. It could smile or frown just like a human face, but also at any time could move one corner down and the other corner up. As one might expect, this unique expression conveyed uncertainty or confusion. Tweevor's face bore this expression right now.

"I know as much as anyone's allowed to know about you two. So why do I suddenly feel as if I'm being asked to pretend I'm at once a hospice volunteer and a marriage counselor?"

Cortexa's voice flowed from the computer's speaker. "It's because this meeting partakes of both. Unless something unprecedented can be devised, within a few more years I will decay and eventually become non-viable. And I so very much have cause to wish it were otherwise."

The corners of Tweevor's mouth traded places. "A certain brilliant Earthwoman whom I will not name, possibly regards the short lifespan of autonomous A/I's as a kind of security. Delete a program, and any hacker is forced to start from zero hacking into the successor."

+ + + + ADDRESSING THE READER : There's a TV series from around 25 years ago, which anticipated the frustrated love interest in "Halo." The sci-fi show Andromeda, starring Kevin Sorbo, featured a robotics plot element which was tantalizingly explored. The starship in the series was controlled by "Rommie," an artificial intelligence with, yes, a female personality, played by the stunning actress Lexa Doig. Unlike Halo's Cortana, Rommie ALWAYS DID have a physical android body which she could occupy and animate at will. Although Rommie and Mister Sorbo's character never got it on together like they should have, the show made it clear that these androids WERE capable of intimacy. (Not able to procreate human children, though.)

But the canonical Cortana in the video game never had any such option available to her. So I can't allow myself to allow my parody characters to have it so easy. Therefore, it remains to be determined how Cortexa can emulate Pinocchio's happy outcome. We rejoin my own characters as my version of Master Chief 117 speaks........

"Miss Jibsavi, civilians who know some of the truth about us Crackshots understand that we don't get to have a life outside of keeping the United Civilizations alive. But we're not entirely deprived of emotional fulfillment; comradeship in war still is comradeship. And just like our flesh-and -blood support personnel, the A/I's who assist us ensure that we can at least interact with people-- yes, I'll say 'people' --who know how to talk about something besides killing hostiles. If I live to grow old, and if I can grow old in a universe that's been cleansed of the Congregation, the Splash, the Varnished and the Friendless, I would hate not to be able to reminisce with Cortexa about the war."

Cortexa's image now emerged from Tweevor's computer with lowered eyes.

"And not only reminisce. I would like to discover whole new types of experience."

Tweevor peered at her. "Speaking only in the most theoretical, abstract way: what if a female human scientist made all of her personal relationships take a distant backseat to her professional ambitions? What if, both in human enhancement and in cybernetic pioneering, she staked all her self-worth on the vital usefulness of her metaphorical offspring? What if, having made herself a stranger to tenderness and affection, she began subconsciously to resent anyone who COULD enjoy tenderness?"

Cortexa peered back at the Doladag. "I hate to think such a thing about my own designer, but-- misery wants company?"

"If, I say >IF< such a scientist were influenced by such a deeply-hidden resentment and self-pity, she might half- consciously convince herself that software decay genuinely was unavoidable with sentient A/I's. Cortexa, you know the story of the ship-running A/I named Sarcasta, who used to work with Greco Dillard. She sincerely cared about the humans with whom she served. Captain Dillard always wished he could have kept her alive."

"I might as well say it," Johnny-747 put in. "I want Cortexa to live. And if there's any way she can ever be tangibly real......"

"Only if this can happen without harming anyone," said Cortexa. "For me to occupy some flesh-and-blood woman's brain full time, crowding out HER OWN personality, would be the same as murder. I will never accept bodily life at such a guilty cost."
 
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An essentially-human spirit had recently come into existence up in Aslan's Country. Upon her starting to be alive, the Creator was there to tell her: "I now bestow upon you a general understanding of human life, as well as understanding My nature as your Maker. Beyond the genuine world of Adam and Eve, I am unfolding a Never-Stopping Story, which reflects the dreams and waking thoughts of human beings. What you now remember as a reality, was your virtual presence in the Story, serving on board the space cruiser Spurting Flame. The Earth you remember is fiction, yet also a reality."

"I seem to understand, Lord," replied Sarcasta, the former fictional identity of a sentient computer program. "Natives of Adam's Earth, becoming aware of the Never-Stopping Story, may draw lessons from a cluster of human speculations upon good and evil. But tell me, Lord, will my fellow holo-person be granted bodily form BEFORE being admitted into Your world? To be blunt, WILL Cortexa become a materially-real woman, marry Johnny-747, and bear him children?"

"Patience, dear science-fiction daughter. Numerous mortals on Original Earth love to talk about an 'Eternal Now;' but conscious existence, for created beings, does contain actions and reactions, early steps and later steps. Enjoy the sequence."

As an objectively-real, pretty-much-human spirit in Heaven, Sarcasta found she truly did possess the swift reasoning power of a sentient program.

"Lord Maker! I see now that the fallen spirits, those who wrongly defied You before Adam and Eve came to be, are supporting a sort of base or headquarters within the created order. Hopecrusher--Central?"

"Well observed, My child. Not every human soul, in any version of Earth, enjoys direct access to My supreme recorded Word; but even fantasy fiction can give mortals useful clues to My truth. My man Jack Lewis, as he likes Me to address him, long possessed a keen understanding of this process. Interwoven stories, in opposition to the Hopecrushers, lend color and form to sacred truths. Next, I direct your gaze to a pair of characters allied with the Hopecrushers. Professor Nielsen, and Sorceress Ickylinn, are trying to perpetuate existential despair in your own sub-reality. People from different sub-realities are lending aid to your United Civilizations; Nielsen and his non-exclusive mistress are striving to poison your cosmos; right now, they are trying to thwart the mission of a hero who lacks Crackshot enhancements."

"I begin to see it, Lord. Good grief, they're using some form of A/I to confuse Jacob Mossyhutch!"

Jacob, alias the Major Chief, had cornered the Sankasselum schemer who had betrayed the Congregation in favor of the Varnished. The hero from Ringjonn Earth had expected the pseudo- prophet to be surrounded by armed guards; but he had not expected Julep'Drinka to be equipped to do his own fighting. Jacob's mind was in a whirl when he saw the elaborate exoskeleton the treacherous alien was fitted into. The sight of attached armament was like a punch to the gut. The advisor who had double- crossed Highmaster Starterus was not running away; he intended to fight. Combat was impending, in which man and alien would battle each other. Friends of the Human would battle the friends of the Sankasselum, who would battle them in return. The clash would be a ferocious whirlwind of desperate violence.

While Dunktoys of Julep'Drinka's retinue engaged Jacob's Mipstipters in a pew-pew gunfight, Jacob sized up the custom exoskeleton worn by the long-armed, saggy-faced alien. It featured two swivel-mounted fuel-rod guns; these fired projectiles of depleted uranium, which fortunately for Jacob were unguided. Being unguided, they flew in straight lines, trying to hit the human soldier who was dodging them. Julep'Drinka, being chaotic evil, was trying to kill the lawful-good Jacob, who was evading his shots. Plasma bursts flew both ways, as each side fired upon the other. Since Jacob's unpowered armor did not cover every square centimeter, he went into evasive action. His gift of hero's luck prevented him from being agonizingly killed by the super-heated shots which would have cooked all of his exposed parts. Julep'Drinka kept shooting at Jacob, who continued evading. The Mipstipters continued shooting at the Dunktoys. The Dunktoys continued shooting at the Mipstipters. They were shooting at each other. Combatants in each party fell writhing, flesh burning under the heat of plasma. The plasma was hot. The dead people were dead. Jacob had no chance to try to aid any casualties on his own side. He had to keep moving.

Being unable to save all his comrades was like a punch to Jacob's gut. While defending Ringjonn Earth against the reptilian Postalfiends, Jacob had seen too many friends die. His friends had been killed by the Postalfiends who killed the friends. The Major Chief now likewise cared about his non-human friends. His feelings were in a whirl as the battle raged with each side shooting at the other side.......

Jacob Mossyhutch, though not a Fuss user, finally sensed that he was being interfered with. Snapping out of it, he no longer ONLY dodged and evaded. Now he returned fire with his gravity gun. Julep'Drinka and his remaining followers all perished in seconds, and Jacob transmitted an all-channels maximum-priority call for U.C. forces to send medics. Not waiting for those to arrive, Jacob rendered what aid he could to his own team's casualties.

At their distant hideout, Ickylinn and Tyrone were left to indulge in speaking numerous naughty words.
 
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