R.S.V.P.
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Slimeworld & Galaxy Magazine -- All rights reserved -- |
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Chapter XLII
by General (Uncle Claude) Xxaxx
& General (E.J. Gold) Nunan PFC 1st Class Ret.
Having dispensed her obligation to Little Roy — Di Anne was safely home — Professor Woo headed for her own home for a few minutes rest, before the night’s activities began. She didn’t know what exactly was on the menu for tonight, but her dragon-trained senses told her that tonight was going to have a very full agenda.
Passing Mrs. Barnacle’s door, Woo heard the standard retort, “Hi, Woo. Trudging home again, I see.”
Stepping over a bag of garbage as usual, Woo responded as usual “Nice to see you, Mrs. Barnacle. How are the little bluebies and pinks?” Woo had a little bet going with herself. She figured that Mrs. Barnacle would swerve from the conversation into new territory before she did. A small game of eternity chicken. So far, for the past twelve years, it had been a standoff, neither giving conversational ground into new territory. Mrs. Barnacle was amused each time as if she was inflecting the devastating humiliations to that egghead for the first time.
The hallway was as usual. Hairs that Woo had carefully lain across the upper stairs were undisturbed. A small trick that Woo had learned in college survival courses, assured her that no one had been by — this way, at least. Reaching the top of the stairs, Woo couldn’t help but giggle when she saw the door standing shut in all its stubborn glory. Remembering the exchange between Ja Mere and the door-sentient struck a chord of sekrit humor.
The door was still bonded to its jamb. A situation Woo easily relieved with a small wave of the hand.
“Entry code please.”
“I am your loving master, open before I turn you into toothpicks.”
“I do not recognize your electrical imprint, and you are not on any list of approved guest.”
“There is no list of approved guests, leastwise none that I’ve left. Open yourself.”
“Be that as it may, you are not on any such list, and I am programmed to only allow the entrance of Professor Woo, my programmer and master.”
“And, how do you deduce that I am not such said personage?”
“You electrical field is not congruent.”
“Within what tolerance level, may I ask?”
“You may ask, but I won’t respond to such intimate questions from a virtual stranger.”
With this Woo smiled to herself, made a small sigil, spoke the password unlocking a backdoor into her security program module. After this, she was able to penetrate without further ado.
Had the door recognized Woo and been willing to talk, she may not have experienced the shock that she was about to get. As it was, since the door didn’t recognize her or give forth with any information, it could not inform her that there was an intruder in the apartment.
It might have also have been better for the intruder if Woo had been forewarned and perhaps not as precipitous in her response.
Opening the door, Woo could feel that something was strange. Someone was in the room. The artificial hinge-squeak echo revealed the audio silhouette of a moving body. Someone was in the room. Male, about five-foot-nine-inches tall, one hundred sixty-five pounds, no bubble, and standing.
Entering the room, Woo saw that she was correct in every detail except one; the individual was not standing, he was cowering.
“Please do something about that diary and door. I can’t take it any more.” At least that is what he would have said if he wasn’t instantly covered in a ball of flame and knocked in the head by a large section of falling ceiling tile. The ball of flame was an illusion, but the ceiling tile was all too real, as demonstrated by the growing knot on the unconscious gentlemen’s head.
“Diary, attend . . . . Now.”
“Professor Woo, be careful, there is an intruder.”
“I am well aware of the existence of an intruder. Tell me what you know of him.”
“The intruder is male, about five foot nine inches tall, one hundred sixty-five pounds, has no bubble, and is lying prone with a large chunk of ceiling on his forehead.”
“I don’t know why I both to go on living sometimes.”
“Is that a rhetorical question? I can playback a list prepared for just such an occasion.”
“No it is an exclamation of frustration. Something that I’m sure your kind has a lot of experience in.”
“Actually we never become frustrated. Oh, we’ve seen a lot of frustration in the rearview mirror, but we’ve never actually been programmed to expreience frustration.” The Italicized word buzzed slightly as it came through the voice-synthesizer box.
“Tell me more about this intruder before I take up programming.”
“Perhaps you are not aware that recent models of cyberware are extremely delicate and can be easily damaged unless one uses the proper tools which are very small, very delicate and very expensive. So I am afraid, your dream of becoming a programmer is going to be more difficult than you think.”
“Oh, I wasn’t dreaming of using small, delicate or expensive tools. I’m sure it wouldn’t be difficult to find all the tools I need in the kitchen to do the job I had in mind.”
“I think I am beginning to catch your drift. You were expressing a desire to be further acquainted with the current actions of the unnamed life-form on the floor.”
“Yes, that would be a good place to start.”
“He blipped in here about three hours ago with a dragon person, who deposited him in the middle of the floor in his present state of relative confusion, then left. We have been making attempts at dialogue with him since his arrival.”
“Is that the royal we, or do you have a virus?”
“Neither; I am referring to myself and my esteemed colleague, the door.”
“Woo was beginning to develop a sense of compassion for the intruder, no matter what his intentions; suffering three hours with the door and diary had to have been an ordeal.
“Describe the dragon.”
“The dragon had the same skin color as Drak, your previous teacher. It had the same weight as Drak, and it had the same dressage.”
“Is there anything else about the dragon that you can recall at this time?”
“Yes; judging by his voice and the fact that the now unconscious humanoid was calling him by the name of Drak, I would venture that it was Drak. Of course the humanoid was referring to him as Drak before his current condition of being unconscious on the floor.”
“Of course, and are there any other clues to the dragon’s identity?”
“He did leave a voice mail recording for you. If that is of any assistance, perhaps I could replay that message?”
Woo was beyond frustration, beyond anger, beyond any realistic response to the diary. She had entered into the domain best described simply as surreal. There was no point reacting to a device — leastwise not one that had obviously been programmed by the minions of hell to give one a taste of eternal damnation while still alive and able to feel misery and suffering. Taking in a deep breath, Woo let out a long sigh and bent over the prone figure on the floor to check for a pulse.
“By all means, do be so kind as to honor this humble servant by playing the recorded message.”
“Woo, this is Drak. Unless I miss my guess, by now you should be standing over the unconscious figure of the Gronkomatic manager, Stan Lee. He is a brilliant manager. I calculate that he can be invaluable in your Happy Birthday project. I had occasion to run into Little Roy on the way over. I left a message within him. I couldn’t trust it in time and space. Please contact me as soon as the current affairs are complete and you have had a chance to peruse the message that Little Roy is so kindly carrying. P.S. have a chat with Stan, here; I think you will be very pleasantly surprised. Yours truly, Drak.”
“Diary, Sleep Mode. Resume in fifty-five minutes.”
“To hear is to obey. Will resume active interface in fifty-five minutes.”
Woo didn’t actually expect the diary to turn itself completely off. She preferred to follow format. Picking up the diary, Woo carried it into the bathroom and set it in the bottom of an ancient bathtub. (Chipped and rusted, it was one of two remaining claw-leg bathtubs in the world. The Smythonian had the other. They’d the only one in existence until Woo’s graduate examination in temporal magi. She brought this one upline from 1906. After receiving her exemplary marks she tried to return it to its location in San Fransico from whence she procured it. Unfortunately the floor on which the tub was supposed to rest had moved fifty feet south and 149 feet downward sometime in the interim, and she therefore became officially unable to return the object to its proper location. Making her the rightful owner if unclaimed in thirty days. The dragons easily determined that the item was not missed from the time stream, and allowed as how she could keep it. Researching exactly what the device did was another story. She couldn’t be exactly honest with the research librarian without breaking her time-walking vows. The dragons were quite adamant that humans must not find out about the dragons’ ability to move through time as easily as a Sunday stroll. Of course, most Sunday strolls don’t require that one have a chain of nine dragons linked tail to head chanting in subsonics forming a plasma platform from which to gain escape velocity. (Leastwise Woo didn’t recall strolling that way until after she had been initiated into the dragon mysteries.) Chipped and rusted, the tub had one quality that made it ideal for Woo’s present necessity. It was made of solid metal, forming a perfect shield to keep an overinquisitive diary off-line.
Woo preferred to keep even her private personal diary in the dark as to her dealings with the dragons. She took her vows seriously, and did not intend to have them broken by a postmortem diary-hacker.
Returning to the living room, Woo brought a wet rag to revive her unconscious visitor.
Given the uncertain results of working in makeshift laboratories, every graduate student in the xpearimintal sciences is given extensive training in first aid as well as more longterm forms of treatment. It’s not really possible for an egghead to go to the hospital and say, “Could you please patch me up? My xpearimint just blew me all over the room.” Being patched up loses its appeal when one knows that shortly after being healed, one is scheduled for execution as a self-confessed felony-offender of the xpearimintation laws.
After applying various ointments and healing salves, Woo decided that a shot of cognac was in order. Getting a small glass from the kitchen, Woo poured a half jigger, not wanting to overdo it, made herself comfortable on the couch, and sipped cognac while waiting for the healing ointments to take effect on her unconscious visitor.
Watching Stan Lee twitch into consciousness, Woo couldn’t help but notice that this man was naturally funny. Even unconscious he was funny. If competent as a manager, he’d be the perfect choice to run the balloon division.
“Who . . . ? What . . . .? Where . . . ?” This guy was a riot. Totally cliché responses to waking from a blow to the head, but his doubletakes were the best.
“I’m terribly sorry; I suppose rolling on the floor in laughter is not the most appropriate response to watching someone regain consciousness, but you are too funny.”
“I’m used to it. Even before it was my job, I excelled in making people laugh. You should have seen them at my briss, I had them pealing with laughter.”
“You must have quite a memory to recall something from that young.”
“Not necessary. My father recorded it for the Funniest Home Video section of the Five O’clock News. Citizins, goobers and eggheads all find me funny. Oh, how their blue and pink bubbles would shake with laughter at even the smallest disaster in my life. Apparently my talent is best appreciated when I am personally undergoing some form of humiliation or disaster.”
“Boy, have I got a job for you.”
“That’s not necessary; I have a fine job. At least I did until this morning, when some dragon walked into the factory in the middle of my shift. Nobody seemed to notice except me. So I thought to myself “time for a break.” I stepped down from the supervisor’s forum and M.C. stage, then, Blam! I’m here on your floor with a capricious door and a reletlessly vicious diary screaming at me.”
“You said you worked in a factory.”
“Yes; a factory staffed completely by eggheads. Obviously a cover for some sort of xpearimintal laboratory, if any goober or citizin had cared to look.”
“So why was it tolerated?”
“No one cared to look. That was my job. We have been allowed to run a major factory under virtually one hundred percent egghead management without the citizin owners and stockholders objecting one bit.”
“If that is true, it is the only company of its type — to my knowledge, in any case.”
“You are quite right; there is no other company like it, and it is due to my natural humor that you were so kind to point out while I was bleeding and semi-conscious on the floor. Not being prone to false modesty, I must admit to directing an unbelievably funny show. The workers that I’ve trained and managed are so incredibly humorous that citizins, goobers and even eggheads from all over the world come to see the great and wonderful Gronkomatic factory. I manage the stupidest, most hilarious bunch of bananas since Marx Bross and the Keystone Kopps. As factory manager, it was my job to orchestrate this bunch of loonies as a cover for the xpearimintal work that was being allowed under the citizins’ very amused noses.”
“Drak was right; you make the perfect choice as co-chairmen for Project Levity. I am going to entrust you to pull together a crew comprising every egghead on the planet, make them appear to be totally counterproductive, absolutely ridiculous, absolutely hilarious to the entire population of the earth and, at the same time, have them actually perform without fault the most important xpearimint earth science has ever undertaken. All this I ask of you so that we may save the Earth from gravitational collapse into a black-hole and certain extinction.”
“What’s the salary?”
When Woo stopped laughing she still didn’t know whether Stan Lee was kidding or not. Didn’t matter. “Here take this key. It’s to a stash of gold and gems.”
Woo had picked up the bad habit of collecting hoards of gold and gems from her dragon teachers. Fortunately for her, access to transmutation of base metals into gold and extraction of gems from manure meant she didn’t have much of a problem financing her hobbies. “Collecting gold and gems is a relatively harmless habit of mine. You will need them for purchasing materials, buying whatever help you need, and filling whatever salary requirements you may have. I have dozens such hoards. So don’t be bashful, if there isn’t enough in this local stash, just say so.”
“This should be fine. I can always tap the resources of the Gronkomatic factory. Being the most popular tourist spot on the planet has had some financial benefit, not all of which makes it to the share-holders. Actually, I was kidding about the salary.”
“I’m putting you in charge of the project,” Woo replied, deliberately ignoring his comment. “This envelope contains a letter of introduction to Cownsil chairman Alan Hale. In a safe deposit box under the fifth stone from the right under the third left most pillar is a separate letter of introduction to Kai Four. He is an independent researcher. A bit of a maverick, he is operating without the direct consent or knowledge of the cownsil. So don’t tell them that we are using him. Can you handle duplicity?”
“Sure, no problem. I’ve been in theatre for thirty years.”
“Good. Kai Four will not be happy to see you. Show him the letter and stand back. When and if he settles down, you should be on a good working relationship.”
Woo continued in a more solemn tone, “I don’t know if I shall see you again, Stan. I am entrusting you to carry out a sacred task that has been given to me. In this case, I actually believe you to be the more qualified individual. Given what little help I have in the setup of the project, it is now your turn to carry on. Before you leave, if I may, I have one other request — a perhaps rather odd request. In the storeroom, in a false bottom of the green and red chest you will find an emerald necklace. Do not sell or dispose of this. Wear it at all times. If you are in danger of losing control of this necklace, break it.”
Stan Lee stood at what he hoped was his best imitation of a Japanese Banzai Pilot lined up waiting to leave on a last ditch mission in the final days of the ancient war fought between the Nipponese and the Merikans before the Merikans lost the war through an electronic equipment embargo fifty-four years later. Raising his hand he asked, “I just have one question.”
Woo looked at Stan Lee with some confusion as to his play acting and ventured, “Yes.”
Stan Lee responded in his very best Hollywood accent “Are you out of your fucking mind?”
Following the ancient adage — always leave them laughing, Stan Lee exited before Woo could get up off the floor or stop convulsing long enough to compliment Stan Lee on his study of ancient standup comedy — another of Woo’s addictive hobbies.
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R.S.V.P.
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Slimeworld & Galaxy Magazine -- All rights reserved -- |
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