Okay, this is the second try at sending this to the list. Hope it
makes it this time.
>From eabecerr@henge1.henge.com Wed Jul 10 20:22:21 1996
Date: Sun, 7 Jul 1996 14:02:51 -0600 (MDT)
From: Edward Becerra <eabecerr@henge1.henge.com>
To: fanfic@fanfic.com
Subject: [FANFIC] Legion's Quest 2
Well, as both Kevin Eav and Richard Lawson said go for it, I am.
Here's the first chapter of Quest part 2.
Since I don't want to overload anyone's mail box, I'll send these
one at a time.
First, some notes:
Kevin - You asked for it, my friend.. don't blame me! <heh, heh!>
Twister - This is what happens when someone spends two weeks with
both the entire 'Twisted Path' fic and the _complete_ 'Undocumented
Features' series on two text windows reading them _both_ at the same time!
<points at Twister.. blame him, folks! 8-) >
Bert Van Vliet - What can I say.. I envy you your gift for writing
a story that grabs you and won't let you go.
For everyone else on the list - if you want the first part to this
idiotic fic, and can't get it from MegaZone's archive, let me know. I'll
try to post it here for everyone to read.
And I hope you all enjoy the little joke at the end.. I did it
with RpM and Nigel's permission.... hehehehe!
Ed Becerra
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hello, again.
Well, after a bit of rest, here it is. Part 2 of "Legion's Quest". After
leaving "Undocumented Features", Ed is going to discover that finding his
way home is just a _little_ more complex than he thought.
My thanks again to:
My first fans, Dieter Hirsbrunner (drh@cherry-semi.com), Bree Duffy
(bree.duffy@chemek.com), Calvin T. Ellison (Zwiak@ix.netcom.com),and
Louis-Philippe "Phoenix" Giroux (mgiroux@upc.qc.ca) who sent me my first fan
letters and some greatly needed words of encouragement. I'm very grateful.
Thanks, guys.
Darren Steffler, Chris Schumacher, and Bert Van Vliet. Their works
introduced me to fan fiction. I owe you guys.
And always to the UF gang. MegaZone, Gryphon, ReRob, PCHammer, Chris,
Adam, Larry Mann and 'Doc Mui. Thank you all.
I hope you enjoy this. I know I enjoy writing it.
Have fun reading it.
Fortuna bless...
***********************************
"As eternity
is reckoned
there's a lifetime
in a second."
- Piet Hein, "Grooks: A Moment's Thought"
***
Aboard the good ship Calypso, in flight...
"Where the hell are we, Minverva?"
"Not sure, lover. Doesn't look like anything in the real database. We
might be in another fictional universe."
Ed snorted. "I'm not altogether certain that there _IS_ a difference
between reality and fiction anymore. I just spent the past several months
living in "Undocumented Features", a universe dreamed up by a bunch of
college students. That kinda makes me a little cynical about any differences
between the two."
"Hey, lover boy, if you hadn't, you'd be dead, or worse. And we wouldn't
have met."
"Yeah, well, there is that. Dead is depressing." He bit his lip. "All
right, start scanning. Maybe we can find something or someone that will tell
us where and when we are."
"On it, boss."
He looked out on the countryside below. "Nice and rural, where ever it
is."
***
STEEL BREEZE PRODUCTIONS
and
Industrial Might & Logic
Are Proud to Present
L E G I O N ' S Q U E S T 2 :
Tanks For The Memories
Chapter 1
or
(Reality? What's that?)
***
A half hour later, she found something.
"B'wana? I got something you're going to want to see."
"From the tone in your voice, it can't be good." He scratched at his
forehead. "Go ahead. It can't get any worse."
"Don't bet on that, lover. Take a look." She put it up on the main
viewscreen.
"Right." Sigh. "A five-headed dragon. Just what we need. Has he spotted
us?"
"Not yet, boss. I'm running under partial cloak." A hologram of Minerva
rezzed up at the science station. "Although, if he did, it wouldn't be a
problem. We got what it takes. We could turn it into alligator shoes, if
you'd like."
"Be a damned BIG pair of shoes." He frowned. "All right, if combat's not
the problem, what is?"
"It's the people that the dragon's attacking." She panned the viewscreen
down, taking in a group of five teenagers. Three boys and two girls, with
what appeared to be a elderly dwarf looking on from a distance. They seemed
vaugely familiar.
"Hmmm... I'd swear I know them from somewhere. Zoom in, please." As the
teenagers filled the center screen, he groaned. "I hate my life. I _really_
hate my life."
"Trouble, b'wana?" asked the ACI.
"Access your database on late 20th century American cartoons, Minerva. I
think you'll place them." He walked over to the main screen and tapped each
image in turn. "The boy in steel-studded leather armor with the bow; a
fighter. The girl next to him in the hooded cloak; a thief. The young black
girl carrying the staff, dressed in the Sheena, Queen of the Jungle outfit;
she's an acrobat. The boy next to her with the glasses, wearing the robe and
pointed hat is a magician. And the stuck up snob in the full armor is a
paladin."
"Boss, you're not saying..."
"I am. We've fallen into `Dungeons and Dragons.' The little runt watching
them has to be Dungeonmaster." He winced, and returned to his seat. "And the
dragon is Tiamat. Get us out of here _NOW_, girl. This is _not_ a place I
want to get stuck in. Much too hazardous to the health."
"You got it. Rotating in five seconds... 4, 3, 2, 1. Rotating!"
***
"Well, at least this one looks familiar. Some kind of college campus.
Doesn't look like Northeastern Junior, though. And it's not Regis
University, either. No Rocky Mountains, so we're not near Colorado."
"There are GPS satelites in orbit. I'll get our position." A moment
passed, as Minerva accessed the satellites and matched the data against maps
and sensor data. "It's an Earth, obviously, and we're somewhere over North
America. Checking... Looks like we're over Maryland, lover. If the maps
match between realities, then we're over the University of Maryland. College
Park, to be precise."
"That rings a bell, somewhere. But I can't quite place it yet. Does it
look like we have a match with my native reality?" Ed had an eager look on
his face.
"Sorry, but I think I can be fairly certain this isn't your home, boss."
"Why not?"
"For one thing, the fact that several buildings appear to be heavily
damaged, the campus is currently surrounded by the National Guard and
elements of the US Air Force, and there seems to be a battle raging below
us."
"W H A T ?"
"And the giant turtle-shaped spacecraft was a good clue, as well."
His jaw dropped. "Put it on-screen." He stared at the *HUGE* (four
kilometers across, if he remembered the story correctly) craft and groaned.
"Suddenly, I've got a headache. And it's got `fan-fic' written all over
it. Phillip Moyer's gonna _kill_ me, if he ever gets his hands on me. Or I
may just kill him." He dropped his head into his hands. "Great. Just great.
First a bloody cartoon; now `Serendipity', the fan-fic that ate Maryland.
This I don't need. I'd cut my throat, but I don't think there's a blade
sharp enough."
"It was bound to happen, boss."
"Yeah, riiight. Just rotate us out of here before we get involved or
Edison Bell shows up. We may be cloaked, but he's sharper than a monoblade.
He might just spot us. A paradox we _don't_ need. And that damn ship's got
more guns than the Imperial Fleet. I don't want to catch a stray shot."
"Couldn't harm me, boss. No bragging, just fact."
"No matter. Just rotate. *NOW*!"
"Rotating..."
***
"Well, that was interesting..."
"For you, maybe. But while `Serendipity' is fun to read, I really
wouldn't want to live there."
"Oh, boss, you're such a stick in the mud."
"Yup. That's me. Mr. Stick-in-the-mud. Where are we now? Try a scan,
Minerva."
"Scanning... Earth again, b'wana. Pacific rim, this time. And another
battle."
"What is it with the battles?? Three universes, three battles. This is
getting old real fast. Who is it this time? Do we know them?"
"Looks like..." There was a pause. "...uhhh, boss? I don't think you want
to know."
Ed rolled his eyes. "Give it to me straight, girl. I can take it."
"I dunno..."
"Spill it."
She cleared a non-existant throat. *Nice effect,* he thought. "Would you
believe we're over Shadow-loo?"
"Uh-huh. Next you're going to tell me that Colonel Guile, Chuin Li and
the rest of the Street Fighters are kicking ass on whats-his-name, M. Bison,
right?"
There was an embarrassed silence.
"Please tell me I'm wrong, Minerva. _PLEASE_ tell me I'm wrong!"
"I'm sorry, Dave. I'm afraid I can't do that."
*Well, at least she does a nice HAL impression.* he thought in a stunned
sort of way. *But it just keeps getting worse and worse. This is all _your_
fault, Dr. Smith. I don't know where or when you are, but when I find you,
you're gonna DIE!!*
"Minerva..."
"Right, boss. Rotating."
***
Yet another universe...
"Minerva, what the hell was that thing that just flew by?"
"Would you believe a UPS van?"
"At this point, I'd believe just about anything. Put it on screen, ok?"
He studied the image. "Yup. That's the UPS Truck from Hell (tm), all right.
We're in `Otaku Rising'. One or two, I'm not certain which. Well, at least
we know what universe we're in. And if the story was right, we're still not
very far away from `UF' yet. I seem to recall a scene in `Otaku Rising'
where the Otaku Group showed up on the sidelines during the second Battle of
Worchester, from UF2."
"Rotate, b'wana?"
"Rotate."
***
K K AAA BBBB OOO OOO M M !!
K K A A B B O O O O MM MM !!
K K AAAAA BBBB O O O O M M M M !!
KKK A A B B O O O O M M M M !!
K K A A B B O O O O M M M
K K A A BBBB OOO OOO M M !!
"Jesus X. Bushmaster! How are the shields?"
"Holding firm, boss. No problem." Readout were flashing all over the
bridge, as the stabilizers kicked in.
"Shyeah, right. Tell me another one. But if the shields are intact,
then... JUST WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT??"
"We seemed to have arrived right in the middle of..." She was interupted
by a long, pained moan, which she ignored. "...another battle. And they
didn't hit us. The phase cloak is fully functional. We just felt the ripple
from a relatavistic mine. I didn't have the compensators on-line. I'm sorry
about that. I didn't expect..."
"It doesn't matter, Minerva. Are we squared away now?"
"Yes. Everthing's intact. It couldn't do me any damage. But it _did_
startle me."
Ed sighed. "You and me both, girl. Now for the sixty-four thousand dollar
question. Where are we, and who's fighting who? Do a scan, and let's see
what's out there."
"A armada of ships and an big army of bigger mecha, lover."
"And I'm pretty sure I know whose. Those over on that side are Invid, or
my name's John Jacob Jinglehymer Smith. Looks like we wound up in either
Macross or Robotech."
"Aren't those the same thing?"
"Not after Macek got through with them. Take a note, pretty lady."
The hologram at the science station made a `nothing up my sleeve' type
gesture, and pulled a steno pad from thin air. "Ready, boss."
"All right. Reminder to myself: When I _do_ get home, first thing I do is
find Carl Macek and hunt him down like a dog. Torture him slow. Take maybe a
year or two before I let him die. And video tape the execution. The anime
fans back home would pay good money to watch _that_."
"Can I help?"
"Be happy to have you along, pretty lady. Now let's get out of here.
Rotate."
"Rotating..."
***
When confronted by a difficult problem, you can solve it more easily by
reducing it to the question, "How would the Lone Ranger have handled
this?"
- Brady's First Law of Problem Solving.
"Minerva, find me an asteroid belt and pull over. I want to sleep for a
year or two. The past week... Gaaaaahh!"
"Hey, it could have been worse."
"I don't know how. Every reality we've arrived in has either been a
fan-fic, an anime, a cartoon, a comic book or a novel." He stood up and
started pounding his head on a bulkhead.
"STOP THAT! It's not your fault, lover. Quit punishing yourself. Now calm
down. I'll find someplace where we won't be disturbed. You need some rest."
He staggered back from the wall, unhurt. "All right. You're right. I'm
burnt out." He yawned. "But once I get a good night's sleep, we gotta
figure out what we're doing wrong. There's got to be _something_ we're
screwing up, else we wouldn't be hitting fictional universes so damn
consistently."
"Later, lover. Now go hit the sack." She opened the bridge doors. "I'll
work on this while you rest. You want some music while you sleep?"
"Yeah." Yawn. "How about some sounds of nature?"
"Here you go. `Sounds of Mountain Streams'. Will that do?"
"Yeah." Yawn. "See ya tomorrow, pretty lady." Yawn.
He wandered down the companionway and into his cabin, where he fell
asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.
***
*Mmmm... That smells good!* Ed thought sleepily. *What... Oh!* He woke
all the way up, and inhaled deeply. "Minerva? Is that breakfast I smell?"
"Steak, scrambled eggs, and hash browns. You _really_ want tabasco sauce
with that, lover??"
"Always, girl. I like my food spicy."
"I'm surprised you don't set me on fire with that stuff. It can eat
through deckplates."
"Hey, at least I'm not as bad as Zoner. I tried that Thai restuarant that
he goes to back in New Avalon. Jeez, talk about a nuclear attack! I thought
my mouth would explode. The man must have lined his taste buds with
asbestos."
"Well, finish your breakfast, b'wana. After you're done, we have things to
discuss. I may have found the reason for our ending up in so many fictional
universes."
He dropped his fork. "What?? Why?!"
"Food first. Philosophy later. Eat up. Then come to the bridge. I have
something you need to see. And don't bolt your food."
"You sound just like my mother," he snorted. "But all right. I'll take my
time." He picked up his fork and stabbed a piece of steak. "By the way, do
we have any..."
"The Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee is in the blue carafe, and the Irish
cream is in the silver creamer next to it."
He rolled his eyes. "I _really_ wish you wouldn't do that, pretty lady.
It gives me the creeps when you know what I'm thinking of before I do."
"Hey, lover, they're _your_ bad habits. And speaking of bad habits, the
Cuban cigars are in the humidor on the desk in your cabin."
"Mmmmm. Now _that_ was thoughtful of you. Thank you, m'dear. Nothing like
having a girl with a built-in replicator."
"Just remember to use an ashtray, boss."
"You got it, pretty lady."
***
"You're telling me that it's all *MY* fault, Minerva??" He stared at the
instruments, not believing the readings.
"Not exactly, boss. It's that you seem to have picked up some kind of
static charge when Dr. Smith sent you hurtling through infinity. And the
energy seems to have a sort of `affinity' for fictional universes. It's like
that old joke. The one that goes `You have this animal magnetism. You
attract animals.' The charge you're carrying tends to bias our course in the
direction of fictional realities every time we make a rotation or
translation."
"Damnit!" His brow furrowed. "Is there anything we can do about it? Maybe
bleed the charge off, somehow?"
"I don't know if there is any artificial way to do that, lover. But the
*good* news is, it appears that the charge is bleeding off on its own,
albeit rather slowly. Every time we hit a new fictional universe, some of
the charge is drained away."
"If that's the case, then the obvious solution is to visit as many other
universes as possible, as fast as we can and drain off all the charge. Then
we can try finding my own reality." He laughed sourly. "Now where did I put
that copy of `The Hitchhikers Guide to the Universe'? Looks like I'm going
to end up as the tourist to end all tourists."
"Particularly when you have to spend at least a few minutes in each one,
b'wana. The charge doesn't drain right away. It takes a bit to get started."
A long sigh. "Well, then. Let's get exploring, m'dear. You know, it could
be worse."
"How's that?"
"As I recall, Harold Shea had the same problem. But he couldn't _leave_ a
universe until he'd done something that changed it for all time. Not a
condition I'd care to get stuck with. Being trapped was never a big favorite
of mine. Of course, he did get to marry Belphebe as a consolation prize."
"What, don't I count?"
"Always, pretty lady. Always. Now let's get going. We got a lot of
realities to go through."
***
"Where are we over now, Minerva?" Ed asked, not sure whether to be eager,
disappointed, or in shock. Well, maybe not in shock. That tended to fade
away after a few of these rotations.
"Looks like we're over Japan, bwana. Although, if I couldn't tell from
the satellites, it'd probably look like any other city."
"Is it home? Please tell me it's home... IhopeIhopeIhope?"
"Ummm...I don't think so. You might want to check this out."
The main viewscreen rezzed up, and zoomed in to a particular second-story
office. The door read, "Andrew Mays, Anime Detective."
"Oh, no..." Ed groaned. "Tell me this isn't..."
"Anime Detective? 'Fraid so, b'wana."
"Can we rotate yet?"
"In a few minutes..."
Their conversation was rudely interrupted from on-screen by a loud,
bone-crunching THUD near the office. A six-foot man wearing a trenchcoat and
fedora entered, dragging an unconscious, well-built Animate (sporting a huge
bump on his head) to a desk.
"Oy. I dunno how Andrew deals with that day in and day out."
"I don't know either, but we can rotate now."
"Good," Ed replied with palpable relief. "Sheesh...I think Doc's
counterpart in my reality was in a _really_ sadistic mood when he wrote this
universe up."
"Rotating..."
***
"For Man there can be no rest and no ending. He must go on, conquest
beyond conquest. This little planet, its winds and ways and all the laws
of mind and matter which restrain him. Then the planets around him, and
at last out across immensity to the stars. And when he has conquered all
the deeps of space and all the mysteries of time -- still he will be but
beginning..."
- H. G. Wells, "The Shape of Things to Come."
"How many universes does that make, Minerva?"
"Five hundred and four, lover. Not counting the duds." The hologram
blinked at him from the science station. "I really don't think the dead
universes should count."
Ed shivered. "Yeah. Some of those were pretty eerie. Especially that one
that had died a heat death. Nothing but cold dead stars and planets. Not
even a black hole. All gone. NO energy left. I don't _even_ want to think
about how much time that takes."
"So, ready to rotate again, b'wana?" She waved at the viewscreen.
"Not quite yet, m'dear." He frowned. "I'm just not ready to take on
another so soon. Maybe I should take some time and try to understand what
we've already taken in."
"You sound a little depressed, lover." She looked at him closely. "But I
don't think it's lack of sleep, this time. I'd diagnose emotional overload
and exhaustion."
"Since when are you a doctor?" he smirked.
The hologram shifted from Elvira to Counselor Troi. "I sense great
wearyness, and too many stressful situations encountered far too quickly. I
sense ... great pain."
"You're gonna sense a sledgehammer in your CPU if you don't quit the Star
Trek gags." She switched back, and he continued. "But you're likely right.
I've had so much go through my head, and no chance to simply sit down and
digest it all. Not since we left Utopia Planetia. So, what do you recomend,
`Counselor'?"
"Shore leave."
He raised an eyebrow. "Shore leave?"
"It's the traditional cure. And you've been aboard for almost two months
now. You could use a few days on a planet. I'd recomend that the next
resonably non-dangerous universe we encounter, fictional or not, we stop
there for a while and you take a few days of rest and recreation."
"I don't know. We still have a long way to go, and a lot of universes to
go through."
"You've got plenty of time, boss. It's not like you're punching a
timeclock, and you certainly don't have to worry about getting old. The
multi-verse will still be there after you're done resting."
"Gee, thanks! Bring up the `eternal life' bit again. Rub it in, why don't
you? Would you like some salt to rub in the wound?"
She straightened. "OK! That's it! You're taking shore leave. You are
_way_ too cranky. No arguing about it, either."
He flinched. "I'm sorry, pretty lady. It just..."
She calmed down. "It's all right. But you ARE going to take that shore
leave. Next peaceful reality we find. Ok?
"All right. I promise. And I'm sorry for snapping at you, m'dear."
"Good. Now I'll start looking for a pleasant spot to vacation at. You
just rest."
***********************************
Personal Log: Entry 94
Minerva's trying to find someplace where I can take a bit of shore leave,
and I'm doing a bit of studying. I still don't buy into this crud about
becoming some incredibly powerful being sometime in the future. But studying
never hurt, and I _do_ like to learn.
I wonder how Twister managed to handle this sort of thing. There are
times when I begin to believe that all this is just one massive
hallucination, that I had an accident in Smith's lab and I'm now in a
hospital bed somewhere. If I am, I'm having one _hell_ of a fever dream.
Anyway, I've been doing some studying, and have learned a few things
about the Calypso. Originally built by the Imperial Klingon shipyards, she's
a B'Rel class scoutship, designed for a crew of twelve. Pretty roomy for
just the two of us. As I mentioned in an earlier entry, the engines have
been replaced with a Burroughs Irrelevancy drive, the cloaking device with a
Federation phasing cloak, and a dimentional rift has replaced the
anti-matter reactors, along with some total conversion matter/energy units
for backup power.
I've been comparing the modifications made to the Calypso to a set of
plans for the B'Rel class that I found in a copy of "Jackill's Ships of the
Fleet." The oddest thing about this, is that all the modifications are the
sort of thing _I_ would have done if _I'd_ been the one redesigning her.
It's a little like seeing a letter in your own handwriting, a letter that
you KNOW you never wrote.
And it's a perfect fit. Literally tailor-made for me. I almost dropped my
teeth when I found the library archives on my personal terminal. So _many_
books! I won't have to worry about running out of reading material for a few
centuries, at the very least.
In addition, I've been testing my _self_. I think that if my enemies know
what I'm currently capable of, I should know as well. Just common sense,
there.
I can't completely test the invulnerability while on-board. I don't want
to take a chance on hurting Minerva. But I did try leaving the ship once,
and had her fire full phasers and disrupters at me. Painful, very painful,
but it didn't do any permanent damage to me. My clothes were a total loss,
though. Photon torpedoes knocked me flat on my back and stunned me, but did
little more than that. Again, I've got to remember to either not wear
anything during these tests, or find some _really_ sturdy clothing. (Hmmm...
I wonder where Superman shops? Maybe I can find his tailor.) And my reaction
time is way, WAY up. Perhaps 1/10th of what it should be for a human in
perfect physical condition. As for strength, I seem to be able to press a
ton under normal conditions, and in emergencies, much, much more. I don't
know the limit to it, since I'm unable to consciously control it. But it
does increase to whatever I need at the time I need it.
That's about it, though. No enhanced senses, no ultra abilities, nothing
like that. Although, while I might not be able to fly, I can do one hell of
a broad jump.
I seem to be thinking more clearly, as well. The small glass figurene I
made for Eve was a good example of that. Before, I couldn't have sculpted
anything to save my life. Now, I'm ... adequate. Doesn't sound like much,
but for me, that's a HUGE improvement. Maybe I'll try my hand at painting,
next.
My memory is ... odd. It's much sharper, but the area where I went
sailing through infinity, thanks to that bastard Smith, is still one big,
long blur. And I don't think that bit will ever clear up. At least I hope it
won't. Somehow, I feel that there are some things in there that I REALLY
don't want to recall.
And that worries me.
End Log Entry 94
***********************************
He closed out the log entry, saved it, and stretched. *I need a sandwich.
And a coke. I wonder if Minerva has any in the replicator files?*
"Boss?"
"What is it, pretty lady?"
"I think I have something. As worlds go, it's not too far from what
you're used to. And aside from what looks like a little atmospheric
pollution, it's not a bad place. Some crime, though."
"Well, it's not like I have to worry about getting mugged, m'dear. If
anything, the muggers are the ones who'll get a big suprise." He snickered.
"It'd be fun to see the expressions on their faces when they try shooting
me. Ed Becerra, crime fighter extraordinare."
"You'd make a _good_ superhero, lover."
He shook his head. "Nah. It's just not me. That's for folks like Bert Van
Vliet and Darren Steffler. I've always been a librarian at heart. Books and
writing are where I'm at." He snorted. "If I hadn't gotten involved with
Smith, I'd be sitting at my Amiga, pounding out another novel."
"Perhaps. And perhaps not. Do you want to give this a try?" she asked.
"All right. Will there be a problem with money?"
"Gold may not be universal, b'wana, but it IS accepted in most universes.
I'll pull a kilo or two from stores and format it as both coins and jewelry.
That way, if they don't take the coins, you can sell the jewelry at any
jeweler's shop."
"Good idea. I think I'm going to like this. A little vacation never hurt
anyone."
Famous last words, there.
***
"Minerva, quit worrying! I'll be all right. If that third-rate knock-off
copy of Largo couldn't kill me, then it's highly unlikely that there's
anything here that can. Unless you've managed to drop us into Demon City
Shinjuko or something like that. Now you find someplace safe to park, and
take care of yourself."
"Well... all right. But if there's a problem, call me. Promise?"
"Okay. If it makes you happy, I promise that I'll call for you if there's
any trouble I can't handle. Satisfied?"
"Yes. So, what are you planning on doing first, lover?"
He smiled. "I'm gonna find me a _good_ bar and grill. You do good food,
baby, but I miss having people around me, and live entertainment."
"Better take a pair of Gargoyles with you." Minerva interjected.
"What on Earth (or off it, for that matter) for?"
She snickered. "Have you looked into a mirror lately?"
Ed started. "No... I haven't needed to shave for a while now. I..." His
jaw dropped and he turned towards the closest reflecting surface. "Aww, no!
Not again!" His shoulders sagged. "Great. Just what I need. Eyes that glow
in the dark. And glow golden, to boot."
"Here, boss." A pair of wraparound sunglasses appeared on the table next
to him. "These ought to do the trick."
"Sheesh. Now I'm Clark Kent. What next? Do I start running around town in
a set of blue and red leotards?"
"That's entirely up to you. But I think you'd look cute in them." She
giggled. "My own little superhero."
"Yahright. As if! Now where did I put my Stetson..."
***
"Enough with the gratuitous cameos, already."
- Slappy Squirrel, "Animaniacs"
Walking down the street, he got a few odd looks. *Hmmm. I guess the
leather duster was a bit much, with the Stetson. Or maybe it's the fact that
everyone else is wearing filter masks. I wonder why? The pollution? Maybe. I
haven't seen it _this_ bad since the last time I visited Los Angeles. Even
Denver's 'Brown Cloud' wasn't this bad. Yugggh! I may be invulnerable to
it's effects, but that doesn't help with the smell. This must be how Doc
always felt about the odor of alcohol.*
He shrugged and put it out of his mind and started looking for a good
restaurant. It would have been easier, except for the muggers. He was
attacked three times in one hour. After that, though, the rest of them got
the word. The fact that he'd broken all their fingers after putting them
down might have had something to do with it.
"Hopefully they'll get the message." he fumed to himself. "I REALLY don't
like doing that. I'm not the Punisher, damn it!"
A voice buzzed in his ear. {At least they won't be bothering anyone else
for a while. Until after their hands heal, anyway.}
{That they won't, pretty lady,} he sub-vocalized. {Keeping track, eh?}
{Welll...}
{Don't sweat it, Minerva. I thought you might. And I'll enjoy the
company.} He broke off, spotting a likely prospect.
*A jazz club? Here? Well, I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth. As
long as it's anything but Dixieland, I'll just sit back and enjoy it.*
He examined the sign outside the door.
!! ALL THIS WEEK !!
The WORLD FAMOUS
Calvin T. Ellison
and his
New Orleans Jazz Trio
Cover charge required
*I haven't heard any decent jazz in .... I can't _remember_ how long it's
been since I've heard any. As Bugs would say, "Dis' must be da place!". Of
course, I _NEVER_ should've taken that left turn at Albuquerque! Heh, heh!*
As he entered, he heard some blues playing gently in the background. A
doorman rushed up, but was easily handled with a US $20 double eagle gold
coin. A second coin got him a table near the musicians, where he could enjoy
the music. It also sent a waiter rushing to his service.
*Heh. Nothing like being a big tipper to get good service!*
"Hello. I'm Dieter Hirsbrunner, and I'll be your waiter for tonight.
Would you like a drink as you look over our menu?"
A few more gold coins later, and he was enjoying a light salad, while
waiting for a T-Bone steak smothered in mushroom gravy. As the music shifted
from blues to Bourbon Street, he could feel the knot in the back of his mind
begin to unwind.
*Minerva was right. This is what I needed. A few days of this, and I'll
be on top of the world and ready for anything. Doc told me that the first
time; that I needed to take time to stop and smell the roses, so to speak. I
should have listened to him. After all, he's the expert when it comes to
bouncing all over eternity like some demented tennis ball!*
One minor annoyance intruded, however. He had ordered a bloody mary,
trying to relax, and noticed that the alcohol was having no effect. Curious,
he asked Dieter to bring him a bottle of vodka. Two bottles later, he was
still stone cold sober. *And I'll bet,* he thought, *that if I could draw
some blood, somehow, I'd have a blood alcohol level of 0.0000%. I never
thought invulnerability could have any drawbacks, but I guess my new body's
interpreting the alcohol as a poison and taking action against it. This
really sucks.*
He gave it up as just one of those things, and dug into the steak when it
arrived.
"Mmmmm... Good! Well done, just the way I like it. Thank you, Dieter. My
compliments to the chef. And can you find me a Havana cigar? With some
cognac?"
"Immediately, sir. Will there be anything else?"
"I don't suppose there'd be a piece of cheesecake wandering around the
kitchen anywhere, would there?"
"If there is, sir, we'll find it for you. With strawberries, perhaps?"
"No, thank you. They're not to my taste. Plain will do."
"Very good, sir."
*Amazing what a little money can do. Mel Brooks was right. "It's _GOOD_
to be the king!"*
After the dinner was done, he lit up, and enjoyed the Louie Armstrong
selections Mr. Ellison was playing. Calvin's trombone was excellent. Soon,
however, the music was drownding under an argument from a nearby table.
"I'm telling you, Nigel, we just can't give in on this!" said a squarely
built, vaugely hawaiian-looking character.
"I dunno, Rod. Isamu _does_ have a point." interjected a short, thin,
asian-looking fellow with glasses. "After all, we didn't write him any lemon
or battle scenes." He frowned. "Well, there was that dream sequence, but I
don't think that really counts."
"We made you rich, independant, and gave you Nabiki for a girlfriend."
Rod said in an agitated manner. He emptied his glass, and refilled it from a
pitcher of coke nearby. "What more could you possibly want?"
"Everything," replied Isamu. He was another thin young man, looking much
like Nigel, but without the glasses. "I want to defeat all the bad guys, get
all the girls, and generally take over the story."
"You can't _do_ that!" Rod pounded on the table. "It's a RANMA fan-fic,
not an 'Isamu' fan-fic!"
"So? You're the authors. Rewrite it. Or I'll walk."
Nigel looked horrified. "But you have a contract! You _can't_ leave now!"
Isamu shrugged. "I'm an anime character. I can do anything I like."
"We'll sue!" shouted Rod.
"Go ahead. I'm rich. You've seen to that. And it won't do you any good to
re-write me as being poor. Too much trouble, and I've already hidden some of
my assets in a Swiss bank account." Isamu smirked at them both. "Even an
author can't touch them there!"
At this point, Ed was reaching the point of bodily throwing the three of
them out the door. He'd come here for the music, damn it! And no bunch of
vacationing authors and their characters were going to interfere with that.
*Fan-fic authors. Humph! I don't care if they _are_ from back home! I
came here for a peaceful night of good food and good music. If they can't
argue quietly, then I'm gonna toss them out on their backsides so hard,
they'll bounce two blocks!*
However, before he could get up to thrash them soundly, sirens began to
sound in the street outside. Through the large picture window, Ed could see
pedestrians scattering in all directions.
Suddenly, a girl on a motorcycle came crashing through the window, flying
across the room and striking Rod, knocking him to the floor, and injuring
him severely.
"Jesus X. Bushmaster!" shouted Ed. *I know that face! How many girls with
blond manes and cat's ears on armored motorcycles could there be?? That's
Unipuma! GOD DAMNIT! I'VE FALLEN INTO `DOMINION TANK POLICE'!*
He stood up, but before he could reach Rod's table, another cycle raced
through the center of the room. Sure enough, it was Annapuma, followed
closely by Buaku. In hot pursuit was Officer Leona Ozaki and the famous
Bonaparte.
Unfortunately for Rod, as the tiny tank with it's crazed commander at the
wheel bounced through what was now the rubble remaining of the picture
window, (and the wall that held it), it landed right on top of him with all
four treads. Squish!
"Yuuuck!" *They'll be picking _him_ up with a stick and a spoon, all
right.*
The Puma sisters and Buaku had disappeared out the back of the
restaurant, making a rather large hole in the kitchen, with Officer Ozaki
close on their trail. Nigel and Isamu had picked themselves up from the
wreckage of their table and were congratulating themselves on their close
escape and mourning the loss of Rod.
That's when Lt. Britain came barreling through what was left of the
building. Isamu dived out of the way in time, but Nigel was caught by a
jagged splinter of the table. "Oh, Bugger!" he shouted, just before
Britain's tank flattened him like a live-action version of Wile E. Coyote.
Then it was silent. Ed looked around. Aside from the two authors, it
looked like no one had been seriously injured. He was glad to note that
Calvin and his trio were safe.
"That was ... interesting." He threw a few heavy tables out of the way
and started waving the stunned dinners out of the restaurant. "Come on,
people, hurry up! It isn't safe in here. Get a move on!"
Then a creaking noise caught his attention. It was coming from overhead.
"Oooohhhhh, Shiiiiit!!!" A main support beam had snapped and was falling
towards him. He caught it on his shoulders, keeping the rest of the building
from falling on top of the few people left inside.
"Get the hell outta here!" he shouted. The last person ran for it, and he
was left alone in the wreckage of the restaurant.
*Now, if I can just drop the beam and roll outta here before the whole
damned thing comes down on top of me...* he thought.
Then the entire building collapsed.
*Oh, fuck...*
***********************************
And there's the beginning of Part Two. Bet you want to
kill me for ending it on a clifhanger like that. What can
I say? I guess I'm a sadist when it comes to my fans.
(Heh, Heh!)
Now for the obligatory notes.
The fan-fic "Serendipity", and all related characters &
scenes belong to Phillip Moyer, and are (c)opyrighted by him.
Rod (aka RpM@UH.EDU) and his friend Nigel M. are real
people. If you want to use them, you are going to have to
ask _them_, not me. (I did.) The character of Isamu Hentaii
and the fan-fic "Eight Days A Week." are (c)opyrighted by
RpM and Nigel M.
The UPS Truck From Hell (tm) belongs to J. Daedalus
Govoni (aka Corinithian) and Mario Di Giacomo (aka DC/
Digicom/Bookwyrm) The truck and the scene from Otaku Rising
are (c)opyrighted by them.
"Dungeons and Dragons", "Street Fighter" and "Robotech"
along with the "Macross" movies are (c)opyrighted by their
respective owners. Personal Note: Carl Macek is the anime
Anti-Christ.
The plans for the Klingon B'Rel class scoutship and
"Jackill's Ships of the Fleet" are (c)opyrighted by
Eric Kristiansen. Used with his permission. (Yes, I spoke
with him personally. We met at StarFest '96, in Denver.)
And I'd like to personally thank Pearson "Doc" Mui for
the scene set in the `Anime Detective' universe, which he
wrote for me, on the house. You're one great guy, Doc!
That's all for now. I can be reached at a new address.
eabecerr@henge.com.
Watch this spot for chapter 2 of "Legion's Quest 2: Tanks
For The Memories". Coming Soon!