Well, quite a few people, to my incredulous surprise, expressed an
interest in my stories. So.. here's what I have finished of the second
story in the series. (They're being written out of sequence, I know. What
can I say, I write them as I see them.)
Well, here goes nothing, folks.. the first three chapters of
Legion's Quest 2:Tanks for the Memories.
Ed.
"Dreamers may die, but the dream is eternal..."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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!
Well, here we go again...
Ed Becerra coming at you with another fan fic (of sorts!)
It's the grand and glorious start of Chapter 2 of "Legion's Quest 2"!
(Yeah, I know. Sounds real pompous, eh?)
As always, my thanks to:
My first fans, Dieter Hirsbrunner (drh@cherry-semi.com), Bree Duffy
(bree.duffy@chemek.com), Calvin T. Ellison (Zwiak@ix.netcom.com),
Louis-Philippe "Phoenix" Giroux (mgiroux@upc.qc.ca) and Kevin Eav
(geist@holly.colostate.edu) 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.
Enjoy the show.
Fortuna bless...
***********************************
"Nobody here but us folk heroes...."
- Doonesbury
"Did that hurt? It looked _real_ painful."
- Eddie Murphy, "48 Hours"
* * *
In the reality of "Dominion Tank Police":
Underneath the rubble of a jazz bar and restaurant was a _really_ irate
customer. Fortunately for the people cleaning up the rubble, he was buried
deep enough that they couldn't hear what he was saying.
After a while, Ed ran out of unusual languages to swear in, and he took a
look around. Or tried to, anyway.
*Jesus X. Bushmaster! This is HEAVY! How much damn rubble landed on me
anyway? I can't even turn my head! Waitaminute... I'm buried alive!*
He panicked for several moments, then calmed when he realized that being
buried alive didn't seem to be making much of a difference. Once calm, he
called out.
"Hey! Anyone there? Can anybody hear me?"
{I can, lover,} buzzed a quiet voice in his ear. {Don't worry. There are
rescue workers going through the wreckage. They don't really expect to find
anyone alive, though. You're going to give them a _big_ surprise, boss.}
{Minerva!} He sighed in relief. {Girl, you damn near gave me a heart
attack! But it's good to hear you. What the hell happened? Why can't I get
this junk off of me?}
{Well, first, you're not in any life-threatening danger.}
{Okay, I'll buy that. What's second?}
{After the lunatic in the micro-tank blasted through the bar, a few stray
shots hit the base of a near-by office building.}
{You mean...}
{You have about a hundred floors worth of rubble on top of you, boss. It
isn't a pretty sight.}
A few hundred oaths later, she interupted him. {Boss, why didn't you
_tell_ me you'd been reading the "Necronomicon"? I especially liked the one
about C'thulhu, the French Maid and Bill Clinton.}
Sigh. {Just tell me when you estimate they'll reach my position, okay?}
{Best guess is 14 to 18 hours, b'wana. They're using heavy equipment, as
they don't expect any survivors.}
{Good. I might as well get some sleep. Give me a wake-up call when they
get near me.}
{Right. Nighty-night, lover.} A soft giggle in his ear.
*I really wish she'd take this more seriously. Ah, well. Hmm... I wonder
what Zoner would do in my position?*
* * *
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 2
or
(You're from where??)
* * *
Hours later...
{Boss. Hey, boss! Wakey, wakey! They're almost reached you. Get ready.}
{Thanks, m'dear. Nice nap, while it lasted. Gotta go, girl.}
"Hey! We've got a survivor here!"
"Impossible!"
"Tell that to him!"
*Better go into the act.* thought Ed. *The last thing I need is a
suspicious rescue team.*
"Would somebody get this junk off of me!" *Jeez! This is _embarassing_!*
A police officer tried to reassure him. "Don't worry, sir. We'll have you
out in a few moments. Just don't move. We're bringing in the cutting gear
now. Just remain calm."
"I understand that. And I would appreciate it if you'd HURRY THE HELL
UP!!"
* * *
A medic was trying to check Ed out, and no matter how hard he tried, he
just couldn't seem to get rid of the man.
"I'm telling you, I'm fine! Now would you leave me alone? I've got places
to go, things to do and people to see."
The officer who'd spoken to him before stepped up. "I'm afraid that's
impossible right now, sir. After the paramedic is done examining you, we'd
like for you to come down to headquarters to answer some questions."
"What for?" Ed demanded. "Am I under arrest? And if so, what are the
charges?"
"We'd just like to ask you about what happened in the bar, sir. And how
you managed to catch the falling support beam. Several of the witnesses who
you rescued mentioned that. Understandably, we're curious."
*ARRRGHHHH! I _KNEW_ saving those people was a mistake. Damn. `No good
deed goes unpunished.' Might as well go along with the nice officer. I can
always wait 'til they put me in a cell. Minerva can beam me up, and I'll
have simply `disappeared'. Better an unsolved mystery than the truth. And an
unsolved mystery is just as good as an explanation, as long as it's
mysterious within a normal framework.*
"All right. I'll try to answer your questions. Just get this... this
_leech_ away from me!" He shook his arm free of the blood pressure cuff the
medic was trying to attach. "By the way, Officer, I didn't catch your name."
The officer smiled. "I didn't throw it. But the name is Wills. Lt.
Detective David Wills."
He started strongly at the name. *Why me? Why did it have to be me? Why
couldn't Smith have messed with somebody else's life? First vacationing
authors, and now hentai bumas from another dimension. I hate my life.* He
sighed deeply.
"All right, Leftenant. Let's be on our way. I got a story that'll just
fascinate the hell outta you."
He got into the back of the squad car and slumped dejectedly into the
seat, next to several two-litre bottles of Mountain Dew. The detective
looked at him curiously.
"What's the matter?"
"Lt. Wills, a bit of advice. `Do not call up that which you cannot put
down.' In other words, there are some things you're just better off not
knowing about. Trust me. I _know_ what I'm talking about." He laughed
bitterly. "Let's go. I'm sure you've all sorts of superiors who'd just love
to talk with me."
***********************************
The lieutenant looked at the person in the back of his squad car with
more than a little curiousity. In a case like this, he'd usually write off
the unusual strength and durability as just another rogue buma... but this
person didn't register as a buma. He didn't register at all, for that
matter. Wills wasn't getting anything from the survivor aside from height,
weight and general appearance.
*I would like _very_ much to know just "how" a human could survive that
collapse. And if he has a kawaii sister...*
"Hey, Lieutenant! Do you mind if I have some Dew?"
"No, go ahead and help yourself." Wills eyes widened as he watched the
young-looking man (?) drain a two litre bottle in one long swallow. Then a
second bottle. Then a third. *Ack! He finished my last bottle! We've got to
stop at the nearest Seven-Eleven immediately!*
"Ahhhhh..... I _needed_ that. Thank you, Lieutenant. It was mighty dry
underneath all that rubble." He gave the officer an odd look. "Why the kid
gloves treatment? If you think I've got something to hide, why not the third
degree?"
"For one thing, there were all the lives you saved. With the exception of
two bodies we can't identify, everyone in the bar escaped uninjured, thanks
to your actions."
"And for another thing...?"
"You look like someone on the run. But you're not in any of _our_
databases as a criminal. So, as long as you haven't done anything in my
jurisdiction, you haven't anything to worry about." Wills frowned. "Unless
someone is following you with extradition papers?" This didn't get the
response he expected. Fear, anger, guilt, any of the standard looks. The
last thing in the world he expected was laughter.
"Bwahahahahaha! Heheheheh!" Ed snorted Dew through his nose. "I'm sorry,
Detective. Extradition papers are the _last_ thing I've got to worry about.
Hahahahaha!"
He laughed all the way to headquarters.
***********************************
"One man's `magic' is another man's engineering. `Supernatural' is a null
word."
- Robert A. Heinlein, "The Notebooks of Lazarus Long"
"So, Mister... Becerra? Did I pronounce that correctly?"
"Close enough. It's Basque, originally. But call me Ed. Most everyone
does."
"All right, Ed. What's your story?" The detective leaned back into his
swivel chair.
"Hmm... Well, first, I think I'd better tell you that I know what _you_
are, Detective Wills." He began to recite from memory.
"Name: David E. Wills Gender: Male
Height: 175cm (254cm in Buma form)
Weight: 65kg (233kg in Buma form)
Age: n.a. (25-30 in appearance)
Hair: Brown Eyes: Blue
Model: GENOM: Bu 99-hS-1EX-0
Activated: 680313 Deactivated: [FAILED]
Occupation: H-otaku
Aliaes: Jack Flack, Biocrete, Spoogemiester."
The detective looked astonished. The blood drained from his face. "How
did you..."
"It's a _very_ long story, Detective Wills. You got a couple of hours
free?"
"I think I'd better MAKE a couple of hours free." He shut and locked the
office door and pulled down all the window shades. "This looks interesting."
He reached for a bottle of Mountain Dew. "Want one?"
"Thank you." Ed drained half of it and began. "It all started some months
ago, in Colorado, on the campus of Northeastern Junior College..."
* * *
A few hours later:
"That was the most... different story I've ever heard."
Ed shrugged. "You should try it from my side." He pitched an empty bottle
of Dew into the growing pile near the wastebasket. "My life has definitely
taken a sharp right turn straight into the Twilight Zone. Anyway, if you
find it hard to believe, I'm ready to back it up with hard evidence."
"What sort of proof do you have?"
"Would you accept my ship as proof enough? I can have Minerva beam the
both of us straight to the bridge. There's enough high tech aboard her to
choke a horse. But if I do, you'll have to keep it a secret. From what
little I know of this reality, there are at least a dozen or more groups
who'd happily kill the entire city just to get their hands on her."
"I think that would be more than enough to satisfy me. You said beam up?
Like a transporter?" Wills looked curious.
"Exactly that. A lot of the technology was taken straight from Star
Fleet. Gryphon's shipyards at Utopia Planetia helped to refit her."
"Then let's do it. How long will it take?"
"This long. Minerva?"
{Here, b'wana.}
"Two to beam up, m'dear."
{Boss, he's a boomer. Can you trust him?}
Ed frowned. "I don't really have that much choice, girl. He trusted me.
It's a matter of honor."
{Your call, lover. Just say when.}
"You'd better let folks know not to disturb you for a while, Detective."
Wills tapped the intercom and explained he'd be unavailable to speak with
anyone for a while and asked not to be interrupted. Then he turned to Ed.
"I'm ready."
"All right. Now, girl."
A shimmer of light surrounded them. As it faded, so did they.
***********************************
As they appeared on the bridge, Detective Wills looked around,
fascinated.
"So this is the Calypso. Nice ship. But I thought you said it was a
Klingon Bird of Prey. It doesn't look like it from the inside."
"My future self re-decorated. Klingon decore lacks a certain something,"
Ed snickered. "So, you want the dollar tour?"
"Definitely. It's not every day a cop gets to tour a starship."
"Hey, it's not every day I end up owning a starship." He turned to the
main screen. "Minerva, would you like to help?"
She rezzed up at the navagation station. "Any thing for you, b'wana. What
would you like to see, Lieutenant?"
*Ah...* he thought, eyeing the hologram. *How about something in red and
black lace...* "Just the highlights, ma'am. We don't have a lot of time.
I've got to get back to the office soon." He began to drool heavily, looking
at her tight black dress.
She giggled. "I'm not a `ma'am', officer, but thank you for the
compliment. And be warned, you letch. I'm just a hologram, when I want to
be. So glomping on me means you'll just be groping air. Unless you like
carressing computer chips." She stepped to the exit. "Now wipe the drool
from your chin, and come along."
"But I'm not..." He looked down, and noticed the small puddle growing at
his feet. "Uh, yeah... right."
* * *
"I see what you mean by criminals wanting to get their hands on the
Calypso. You've got enough weaponry aboard to fight a medium-sized war."
David frowned. "What's with the heavy artillery?"
"I got folks looking for me. Remember, I mentioned picking up a few
things during my unintentional trip through infinity. There are some being
out there who think that _they_ have the monopoly on reality-altering. As
far as they're concerned, I either join their little self-congratulatory
club and abide by their rules, or die." A stormy look filled Ed's face. "I
_do not_ like being pushed around. It gets me angry. And when they push, I
like to be able to push back."
"That's understandable." Wills nodded. "But we have to get back. My
partner will be getting suspicious. She's probably thinking I've got a
kawaii babe in the office."
"What, you mean you don't do that?" smirked Ed
"Wellll.... I try to cut down, during duty hours."
"Sheyeah, right."
Wills clutched at his heart (hydralic pump?) dramatically. "Oooh! Right
here it hurts... Does no one trust me? Et tu, et tu..."
***********************************
"When a place gets crowded enough to require ID's, social collapse is not
far away. It is time to go elsewhere. The best thing about space travel
is that it made it possible to go elsewhere."
- Robert Heinlein, "The Notebooks Of Lazarus Long"
Back in Lt. Wills' office...
"So, what do we do about your ID problem? You don't have anything that
can pass here."
"Humph." Ed scratched at the scar on his forehead. "You've standard
access to the police computers, right?"
"Yes. But my clearance isn't high enough to fake an identity for you."
"That's not what I was thinking of. Minerva can do it for you. It's
breaking the security that causes problems. Do it stealthy, and it takes
forever. Do it quick, and somebody always sounds the alarm. But with you to
get her past the first line security..."
Wills nodded. "Sounds like a plan. So, what? I just log on?"
"Yeah. She tries to keep an eye and ear on me all the time." He paused.
{You ready, m'dear?}
{Always, lover.}
"Okay, Dave, just log on to your account and stand back. Watch a true
mistress of cyberspace at work."
* * *
A few moments later, a new identity took shape on the office terminal.
Lt. Wills watched in admiration.
"Hey! I really like the way she wove in that bit about your birth
certificate being destroyed during the last earthquake!"
"Minerva's quite artistic. She just can't resist putting in those little
flourishes."
A few more minutes and it was done. Minerva had even included a brief
passage detailing how Lt. Wills had voluntarily assisted Mr. Becerra in
reconstructing his identity papers. David smirked at that.
Then there came a loud hammering at the door.
"I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE, YOU PERVERT! SO TELL THE GIRL TO GET HER CLOTHES
ON!"
Wills panicked for a brief moment. *Oh no! The jig's up! Quick, hide the
gal! Hide the gal!! Oh, wait... <whew>*
"Who's that?" asked Ed.
David rolled his eyes. "That's my partner, Lt. Mariko Konjou."
Ed gave forth with an evil grin. "All right, let _ME_ get the door,
then. I've got an idea..."
He silently stepped over to the door and quick yanked it open. Mariko
rushed in to find a fully clothed, non-raving, officer of the law sitting
peacefully behind his desk speaking with a male citizen.
"Yes, Mr. Becerra, we of the police are always happy to assist those in
distress. I'm only sorry that we weren't able to rebuild and restore your
papers sooner."
"That's quite all right, Lieutenant. I'm most grateful for the help, and
your efforts in digging me out from under the wreckage of the restaurant."
The expression on Mariko's face was priceless. David forever after
regretted not having a camera on hand.
***********************************
Personal Log: Entry 95
Well, things have settled down, finally. Detective Wills added a little
something to my cover story. He noted the fact that my last name was of
Basque derivation, and when his partner noticed a few holes in my new ID (no
paper trail, that is) he swung into action.
He told her that I was a volunteer undercover operative who'd infiltrated
the Basque Liberation Front. My cover had been blown by a double agent in
Interpol, and I was running for my life. The `unusual' physical abilities
I'd shown were explaned away as the result of the BLF terrorists having used
me as a human guinea pig for one of their bio-warfare experiments, before
I'd managed to escape. It's a regular defense in depth.
Then, Mariko told her friends, they told their friends, and so on. The
story spread like wildfire. As my father once told me, the only thing faster
than the speed of light, is the speed of gossip.
As a result, I'm being treated like a minor hero by most of the law
enforcement officers in the city. Dave told them I don't like to talk about
it, so they simply say things like: "Lt. Wills tells me that there are
things you don't want to talk about. Nobody will speak of them to you. We're
all happy that you're with us; we'd like you to make our city your new
home."
That particular quote came from Wills' supervisor, as a matter of fact.
And they've covered for me with the press, as well. When I had to go receive
an award from the city for saving those people in the restaurant, the
department's undercover squad gave me a make over with the same kit they use
for their agents. By the time they were through with me, even my own mother
wouldn't have recognized me. Not that she could recognized me now, after the
accident.
And the chief of police has offered me a job. Not as sworn personnel,
mind you. He was trying to solve two problems with one solution. Seems that
they just can't keep any good mechanics in the Tank Police. One _particular_
officer keeps frightening them away, or beating the crap out of them. Her
excuse? They just aren't treating her beloved Bonaparte properly. Three
guesses as to which officer _that_ might be. The Chief thinks that since I
happen to be particularly... err... durable, so to speak, I'd make an
excellent mechanic for her tank.
I figured, why not? Minerva was right. I _do_ need a rest. And I think
I'll take it right here. Aside from a bit of crime here and there, this
isn't a bad reality. There's the bacterial cloud, but that's not something I
need to worry about, what with the new body I have. And it's not that
different from home. The technology is a bit more advanced than that of
1995, but after all those months living in Utopia Planetia, then the weeks
aboard the Calypso, high tech isn't really that much of a shock anymore.
The only real difficulty that I can see is the rampant crime, and given
that the muggers I... uhh... disabled have been spreading the word about me,
I don't have to worry about street crime anymore. And after a break-in or
two, burglers won't be much trouble either. I'm letting Minerva take care of
the security at my apartment. She's rather... _strict_ when it comes to
people who try to take my property. I just hope the first few thieves who
attemp it can survive her!
After I find a place to stay, I'll be reporting to work the following
Monday. It ought to be interesting. The irresistable force (Officer Ozaki)
meets the immovable object (me). Both the Tank Police and the ADP are laying
bets on how big the resulting explosion is going to be. I've already bet ten
ounces of gold on myself, at two to one odds. In my favor. Heh!
End Log Entry 95
***********************************
"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in
awhile, you might miss it."
- Ferris Beuller, "Ferris Beuller's Day Off"
Ed looked around at the appartment. It was roomy and well lit, with a
large window in the living room that looked out over the city. A excellent
appartment, in fact. It made him wonder.
"How'd you find this place, Dave?"
"Oh, I just happened to hear that it was available. Over the grapevine,
you know."
Lt. Wills looked innocent. TOO innocent, thought Ed to himself. *That
expression is the look of someone hiding something. I'd best find out what.
Before I walk into something unexpected.*
"Okay, Dave. Spill it. Just what's wrong with this appartment? The rent
is _far_ to low for a place this nice, and the manager seemed desperate to
get me to sign. What's going on?"
The look of utter innocence on David's face intensified, amazing Ed, who
didn't think that was physically possible. "I haven't got a clue. Honest, I
don't!"
*All right, time for the big guns. Hey, if it works for his partner,
Mariko, it'll work for me. Problem is, I can't pull one-ton mallets out of
thin air. I may be living in a anime universe, but I'm _not_ an anime
character.* Then an idea struck him. *Cartoon cliche' Number 2 - "That's so
crazy, it just might work!" Besides, I miss Yach'o, Wach'o and Dh'ot. And
all the fun I had with their crazy practical jokes. This one's for them.*
{Minerva?}
{Yes, lover?}
{I need your help, m'dear.} He explained his idea.
{That's _evil_, boss. Truly sick and twisted. I'm proud of you! I'd be
happy to help.}
The air in the apartment sizzled with the sound of the transporter
effect, and an Acme brand 50 kilo anvil suddenly appeared in mid-air,
directly above Lt. Wills' head.
!! C L A N G !!
"Ooooooh...." moaned the officer. He had assumed the standard anime
position, arms out-stretched, looking rather like a stepped-on cockroach.
*Heheh! Kind of reminds me of Ranma, after Akane hits him with a table.*
He sniggered helplessly. "Now, are you gonna tell me the truth? Or do I have
to go for the one hundred kilo anvil?"
"Ooooggh...."
"I can do this all day, Dave. And I'll never run out of anvils."
"NoOoOoOo..." Wills groaned. "I cOnfeSs. It's mY faUlt. I liVe uPstaIrs."
"Oh. Oho! Now it all makes _sense_! Wild parties, eh? Half-nude, kawaii
babes running around all hours of the night? The landlord must have had a
hellish time trying to rent this one with you right above it." He smirked.
"All right, Minerva, lose the anvil."
Another sizzle, and the anvil vanished. David slowly climbed to his feet,
rubbing the rather large lump on his skull. "He threatened to evict me if I
didn't help him find someone to rent this place to. And there aren't that
many places left that would take me." He grinned foolishly.. "My reputation
preceeds me."
"Well, don't worry. I'll take it." His eyes narrowed. "But not with the
original contract, mind you. I'm willing to bet that if I inspected the fine
print, I'd find some unbreakable clause that would keep me paying rent even
if I decided to move out. Right?" He shot a stern glance at the lecherous
police officer, who simply looked a little more guilty than he already had.
"Ahh... well... you see..."
"Never mind. I don't mind wild parties. And besides, it's a nice place.
I'll sign the contract right now. _After_ that penalty clause is removed,
that is. Now let's go get some Mountain Dew!"
***********************************
It took a day or two to move in. Ed didn't want Minerva to beam in his
belongings for fear of making the landlord suspicious. So he rented a small
storage warehouse for a few days, had some of his stuff beamed directly
there, and then hired a regular moving firm to haul it from there to his new
apartment.
After that, came the fun part. The first day on the job.
/* Dire Straights "Money for Nothing" */
*I've always hated this. Whether it's school, the army, or just plain
shlepping the 9 to 5 bit, I _hate_ the first day.* he thought as he waited
for the bus. *And having to face Leona Ozaki, well... Thank the deity of
your choice, Allah to Zeus, that I'm semi-invulnerable. That little gal may
be the kawaii sort that David drools over, but her obsession with that tank
of hers is just a little sick, if you ask me.*
After reaching headquaters and receiving his ID pass, he headed over to
the tank motor pool. Looking around, he spotted Lt. Britain slumped in a
corner.
*Has to be Britain. Who else would be picking his teeth with a knife and
reading `KILL' magazine?*
He walked over. "Lt. Britain? I'm your new mechanic, Edward Becerra."
Britain jerked upright, spilling his pistol from it's holster, which fell
to the ground and went off.
!SPANG!
The shot ricocheted off several walls and a few tanks before coming to a
stop. Neither of them noticed that the stray bullet had scratched
Bonaparte's paint job.
"Who the HELL are you and what are you doing here in Tank Police
territory? TALK!" Britain shouted.
Ed took a moment to wipe the spit from his face. *Say it, don't spray
it.* he thought. "I'm your new tank mechanic, Lieutenant. Edward Becerra.
I've just been assigned to your unit. I was told that you're having a bit of
trouble trying to keep a mechanic assigned to Officer Ozaki's machine." He
shrugged. "I'm a little harder to discourage than most, so they sent me."
Britain snatched up his pistol, and favored Ed with a nasty look. "I got
news for ya, newbie. Nobody maintains Ozaki's tank but Ozaki," he sneered.
"The last few guys who tried are still recovering from the double
orchidectomies she gave them."
"Yeah, well, I'm still gonna try, Lieutenant. Besides, she might get a
surprise if she tried that on me."
"Yer funeral, boy. Don't say I didn't _warn_ ya."
Ed nodded. "So where is she? I might as well give her the bad news in
person."
Just then a scream split the air.
"Boney! Boney, baby! Who did this to you? Who hurt you, baby? I'll make
them suffer for this..."
"There she is, boy. You go tell her that you're her new mech." Britain
ducked behind his magazine.
"All right, Lieutenant." He started over, then a thought popped into his
head. He looked at Bonapart, calculated the angles, and looked back at where
the Lieutenant's pistol had fallen. He turned back. "Oh, Lieutenant?"
"WHAT?"
"Just a friendly piece of advise. You might want to police up that shell
casing before Leona notices it and figures things out. If she guesses that
it was one of _your_ bullets that just scratched Bonaparte, well..."
Britain went chalk-white, and made a sudden grab for the errant
cartridge. He quickly hid it in a pocket. "Thanks, kid." he growled
"Don't mention it. Happy to help."
As he walked over to where Leona was raving, he eyed the small tank. *Not
a bad design. She did a pretty good job building that, considering she
started with nothing but scrap from other tanks. I'll have to tell her that,
once I get to know her.*
The frantic officer quieted suddenly when she noticed Ed approach with a
toolkit. "Just what do you think *you're* doing?" she demanded.
"My job. I'm your new mechanic, ma'am." He pulled out a small buffer and
began to smooth out the scratch. "They told me you had a problem with
mechanics. That's why I'm here."
He heard a metallic clanking, and then felt a blow to the back of his
head. *Hmmm... I'd say that was a torque wrench, probably with a 10 mm
socket. Could have seriously injured someone else.* He finished feathering
the scratch, and noted that the bullet hadn't marred the metal underneath.
Reaching for a piece of cardboard, he used it to mask off the area and began
to apply a matching enamel. While he was doing this, several more blows
rained down, accompanied by some truly sulferous language.
*I wonder where she learned to swear like that. I hope she doesn't _eat_
with that mouth.*
As he waited for the enamel to dry, he began to whistle a little tune,
and then started singing.
"Slow down, you move too fast.
You've got to make the morning last.
Just kicking down the down the cobble stones,
Looking for fun and feelin' groovy!
Hello, Lampost, whatcha' knowin'?
I come to watch your flowers growin'
Ain't ya got no rhymes for me?
Shooby-de-doo-boop, feelin' groovy!"
Once the enamel was dry, he buffed it to a high polish. By the time he
was done, the various assaults had stopped. He finished by applying a coat
of carnuba wax.
Turning around, he saw Leona staring at him, her jaw hanging limply and
her eyes the size of saucers. Behind her stood the rest of Britain's unit,
looking at him in astonishment. He shrugged.
"What? Haven't you ever seen anyone repair a tank before?" He glanced
over at Lt. Britain. "You got a bad mosquito problem, sir. I could feel the
little annoyances all over, trying to bite me while I worked. You really
oughta spray for them."
Chaplain laughed, and held out a hand to Mohawk, who grumbled and reached
for his wallet. He dug out a fist-full of bills and passed them over the
reverend.
"Thou should not have doubted the skill and ability of our newest
mechanic, friend Mohawk." Chaplain smiled. "I have spoken with our
accquantance in the ADP, the dedicated, albeit lecherous, Lt. Wills. He
assured me that our new friend would prove worthy of caring for Leona's
beloved Bonaparte."
***********************************
"I only battled dragons when it was absolutely necessary, I rigorously
avoided deeds of heroism, great or otherwise, and this place may be
strange enough, but I wish I'd never seen it and I bet you all do too."
- Wiz Zumwalt, "The Wizardry Consulted."
A week later, life was going fine. Ed was keeping busy patching up
Bonaparte after Leona drove it into one problem after another, and
occasionally lent a hand to the other mechanics. It helped to be able to
lift a ton or so.
That Friday night, however...
Walking down the hall to his apartment, he noticed a large package
sitting there. He reached down, and examined the attached card.
"Belated apartment warming present. Hope you like it..." It was signed
'Dave'.
Ed opened the package, and grinned at the contents. "Oh, yeah! One gallon
of Industrial Strength Mountain Dew Syrup!" He shook his head ruefully. "You
are a buma of refined tastes, my friend." He set the package down, and
reached for his door key. He froze when he noticed that the door was
unlocked.
{Minerva? Minerva? Where are you, girl?} he called. He didn't get any
answer. A small muscle in his jaw began to twitch, and he shoved the door
open and stepped inside.
"Hello, Edward. We've been waiting for you. I hope you don't mind that I
made myself at home?"
Ed glared at the intruder. "So, you've found me."
The intruder lifted an eyebrow. "You're aware of who I am?"
"Given your present appearance, either you're a crazed Corben Bernsen
fan, or you're Q."
The omnipotent being smirked at him. "You're not quite as slow as the
others said you were. You get points for that. And before you ask, yes, I am
the one preventing your AI from reaching you. I didn't want her interfering
with this."
"And what might 'this' be, Q?" His voice sounded polite and reasonable.
Too reasonable.
"Why, you're coming with me, to the continuum. To be trained and taught.
You're not a human. You don't belong here with them. You're part of the
continuum, now."
"And if I don't _want_ to be?"
"What you want and don't want are irrelevant. You're coming to the
continuum, like it or not." Q frowned. "Are you really foolish enough to
think you're capable of defying the Q? You're nowhere _near_ being able to
understand your powers, let alone _use_ them."
Ed blinked at him. "No, I don't think I'm capable of fighting you on your
level..."
Q smiled. "Good, now let's be going."
"... but I _can_ drag you down to MY level!" He took several quick steps
forward and grabbed Q by the throat. There was a flare of brilliant light.
But when it faded, Q was still there, with Ed's hands wrapped firmly around
his neck.
"You know something, Q? You REALLY should have asked youself, did he get
anything from his future self, and can he use it! I may not be able to
understand or control most of my new abilities but I can use this one!"
All he got from Q was a strangled squawk.
"Legion left me a lesson in this little trick, Q. As long as I
concentrate, everyone has to play by MY rules. They have to live by MY
limits! And since I'm not much more than a human, still, you're stuck with
that. No Q powers, no flashy escapes. You can't do anything I can't do."
Q stared at him with hate in his eyes. But Ed didn't give him any chance
to express it.
"You know, I'll get too tired, and you'll get away, eventually. And I
don't want to kill you. So I think, instead, that a little lesson in pain is
in order. Class is now in session!"
He released Q and swiftly kneed him in the groin. As the retching being
dropped, Ed lashed out with the edge of one hand and broke Q's nose. He let
Q writhe for a moment, then kicked him in the ribs, breaking several. As a
final touch, he crushed Q's kneecap. Then he stopped.
After a very long fifteen minutes, he spoke again. "I know that hurts, Q
just as I know you'll heal yourself as soon as you can get away from me. But
the memory of that pain will stay with you. Perhaps it will teach you a
lesson. The same one your brother learned aboard the Enterprise-D. Now, I
want you to take a message."
"Wha.. What message?" the agonized Q got out.
"If you clowns want me, that's one thing. I can live with the Q chasing
me, I can put up with the Timelords of Gallifrey and the Guardians of Oa, as
well. But you touch anyone or anything else, and I'm gonna be all over you
idiots like a blanket. I'm sick and tired of innocents getting caught in the
line of fire. You got that?!"
Q nodded weakly.
"Good. Now bail. Get the hell out of my apartment. I don't want you
fouling it up."
The flare of light appeared again, and this time, when it faded, the Q
went with it.
{BOSS!} rang in his mind. {Boss! Are you all right?!}
"I'm okay. m'dear. Everything's all right now."
{But what happened?! I got cut off from the apartment, and when you
entered the building, from you as well!}
Ed chuckled. "That's a long story, girl. A very long story. Let me fix
myself a drink, and I'll tell it to you..." He stopped, and looked down at
his hands, which were trembling violently. "How remarkable..." he observed
in a detached sounding voice. "I must have over-exerted..."
As he began to perform faceplant manouver Number 1 into the carpet, he
hoped that Minerva wouldn't panic. He could hear her screaming thinly in his
head as he crashed into the coffee table.
*I'm sorry, baby...*
***********************************
And that's chapter 2. I'd like to thank my good
net.acquaintance, David Wills, the Official Raving
Hentai Lunatic of world.std.com for permission to
use him and his partner, Lt. Mariko Konjou, as
characters in this story.
Thank you, Dave. I hope you like it so far.
Dominion Tank Police, Star Trek, and all other
characters are (c)opyrighted by their owners and
appear in this work of fan fiction without any
official permission whatsoever. Lt. Dave Wills and
Lt. Mariko Konjou are (c)opyrighted by, and appear
courtesy of, David Wills.
Hope you like the story so far. It's got a ways
to go, yet. And, as always, if you enjoyed it, then
e-mail me at eabecerr@henge.com. I always like to
hear from a fan.
And remember,
"Anime... It's not just for breakfast, anymore!"
As always, my thanks to:
My first fans, Dieter Hirsbrunner (drh@cherry-semi.com), Bree Duffy
(bree.duffy@chemek.com), Calvin T. Ellison (Zwiak@ix.netcom.com),
Louis-Philippe "Phoenix" Giroux (mgiroux@upc.qc.ca) and Kevin Eav
(geist@holly.colostate.edu) 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.
Enjoy the show.
Fortuna bless...
And the Legion continues...
***********************************
"QVAD, MI VEXARI?" - Alfred E. Neuman, Mad Magazine.
* * *
"Please, no more with the photons." mumbled Ed as he tried to roll over
in bed. *Hey.. waitaminute.. bed?* He opened his eyes, wincing at the light,
and saw Dave Wills sitting in a nearby armchair.
"Sleeping Beauty finally awakens, I see." grinned the Lieutenant. "Now,
maybe we can get the whole story."
"Maybe, but not 'til I get something to eat!" He shook his head, trying
to clear the sleep from it. "How long was I out, this time? Hours? Days?" He
paused, a look of horror on his face when Dave remained silent. "Weeks? Not
months?!"
Dave stared back at him for a moment, and then broke into a wide smile.
"About 14 hours."
"AND YOU LET ME THINK... ARRRGGGGHHHH!! YOU'RE A DEAD MAN, WILLS!"
Dave fell from the chair, laughing hysterically. "Got 'cha good!"
"DEAD, DO YOU HEAR ME?! DEE EEE AY DEE, DEAD!!"
Minerva's voice interrupted. "Now, be nice, boss. Lt. Wills was the one
who carried you from the living room. For some reason, I couldn't get a
transporter lock on you."
He calmed down slightly. "I think I know why, m'dear. And I'll tell you
two the whole thing, just as soon as I get some chow."
* * *
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 3
or
(What, Me Worry?)
* * *
"This keeps happening to me. I don't know why. Landing face down on the
ground, I mean." Ed bustled around the kitchen, fixing a quick meal.
"Could be worse." Dave interjected.
"I'd like to know how!" he asked.
"Well," David mused, "You _could_ wake up without any clothes on. Happens
to me all the time."
Ed rolled his eyes. "And I bet I know why..." He threw a frozen waffle at
the hentai officer, who caught it, and chewed away.
"Did you notice what happened to your face, Ed?"
He froze. "My face...?!"
"Maybe you should go take a look in the mirror..." Dave didn't even have
a chance to finish the sentence. From the direction of the bathroom came a
long, drawn-out "Ooooooh, shiiiiiit!"
As he looked into the mirror, Ed felt strangely calm. *Have enough weird
things happen to you in too short a time, and you go kinda numb, I guess...*
His hair was still the same as before, a deep black that was tinged with a
faint hint of mahogany, but now his golden brown eyes had turned a solid,
metallic gold. They weren't glowing, as they had before, but tiny golden
flecks were floating in the dark spot of his pupil. He looked a second time,
and shuddered.
He wandered back into the kitchen and sat back down. "What in the hell am
I going to do about _this_?! I can't go to work like this! Too many people
will ask questions."
Dave looked thoughtful. "Well..."
Ed glared at him. "Spill it or die, sex maniac!"
"There's this doctor who's covered for me in the past, no questions
asked. She's faked the results of my annual physicals for me. You told me
you used to wear contact lenses before your accident.." He looked at Ed
questioningly.
"Yes.. Oh! Of course! Cosmetic contacts. Why didn't I think of that?"
"You were unconscious, maybe?" Dave offered helpfully.
Ed growled. "Yuk it up, funny man. Remember, I know where you live. How'd
you like to wake up some fine morning with a hundred Nerf balls Crazy-glued
all over your body?"
Dave smirked. "You know, there's this kawaii little gal I know who'd find
that an incredible turn-on..."
Ed sighed. *An infinite number of universes, a trans-finite number of
beings living in them, every possible and _impossible_ varity of existance,
and _who_ do I manage to end up with? A fusion-powered, bio-mechanical,
sexaroid version of Happosai! Somebody out there has a really _nasty_ sense
of humor.*
"So, what's the story, boss?" asked Minerva.
"Oy!" He passed a cup of coffee to David, and sat down with some himself.
As he dug into a plateful of waffles and scrambled eggs, he explained
between bites.
Dave frowned distastefully at the coffee, then picked up a napkin. As he
listened, he folded it, origami-style, into a little version of Minerva.
* * *
"If you eat a live toad first thing in the morning, nothing worse
will happen all day long." - California saying.
"To you or the toad." - Larry Niven's restatement of California saying.
". . . well, most of the time, anyway. . ."
- computer programmer's caveat to Niven's restatement of California
saying.
A half hour later...
Dave stared at Ed strangely. "You say you've got something with the
power of a god mad at you, that you just kicked the shit out of it, and
that's it?"
He nodded, mouth full of waffles.
"And you're not worried?! Are you crazy?!"
He held up two fingers, swallowing first. "Well, first, there really
isn't all that much I can do about it, Dave. Unless you happen to know the
address of Belgarion the Godslayer, or someone else in his general line of
work. And second, while I may not understand just _how_ I managed to do what
I did to Q, I'm confidant I can do it again."
Dave nodded slowly. "Yeah, that would make a difference. If you can hurt
them, then they'll be a lot more cautious next time around. But what _was_
it that you did?"
Ed bit his lip pensively. "Urrrm. Well, I guess you could say I gave him a
taste of home."
"Uhh, maybe a little more detail would be in order?"
He frowned. "Okay, picture this. After what happened to me, I may be _in_
other universes, but I'm not really _part_ of them. In effect, I'm like my
own pocket universe, one whose limits end at my skin. That's part of what
I've become. And I'm the guiding force of my own reality. I'm the one who
gets to define its natural laws. I suppose you could say I'm a microcosmic
god of sorts. But I have only one subject: myself." He looked faintly
embarrassed. "Or at least that's what the researchers back at Utopia
Planetia believed."
Dave played with his coffee as he listened, watching drops of milk make
interesting patterns in the dark liquid. "All right, I can follow that. And
the fight?"
Now Ed grimaced. "I wasn't in a very rational state of mind at that
moment, what with the previous attack at Osbourne Plaza and then Q's
appearance in my appartment. In my rage, I was able to do something that I
remembered from my future." He shrugged. "For a few minutes there, I was
able to _extend_ those limits to take in part of _this_ universe. That
_included_ Q. As long as he was inside my reality, he had to play by the
rules I set. But I wasn't able to extend it very far, or for very long. And
as I found out, doing it took everything I had. It wiped me out completely."
Dave's eyes brightened. For a moment, the hentai was replaced by the keen
detective. "That explains why your abilities seem so inconsistant."
"Huh? I mean, excuse me? You want to run that one by me again? I think I
missed something."
"You told me yourself that you're uncomfortable with your new powers,
that you don't want them, prefer not to use them and wish you were home
again, a normal human."
"Yes. So?"
"Well that's all conscious thought. And maybe some sub-conscious thrown
in. But _unconsciously_ at least, no one really wants to die. Get what I'm
driving at?"
Ed swore. "Damn. Clear as crystal. You're saying that my powers have
become a reflex, like my breathing, or my heartbeat. Something so basic,
it's beyond my control, except in a limited way. Defending me whether I want
it or not."
"BINGO! Since you want to be a normal human, that's what you are, most of
the time. But your powers act to defend you without any conscious effort on
your part. Reflexive."
He looked tired. "So.. I'm stuck with this."
Dave shook his head. "No, I didn't say that.. just that you don't have
the level of control to do anything about it _now_. Later on.. that's a
different matter. It's simply a matter of learning how to handle yourself."
Ed grunted, then looked thoughtful. "You sound just like Doc Mui.
Everyone's been telling me to learn control, and to be patient." He
grimaced, and finshed his coffee. "But those are my weakest spots. Always
have been."
Dave poured his coffee into Ed's mug, and put his cup in the sink. "Hurry
up and finish. I'll take you to that doctor. And we'll see what else we can
do."
"Are you always this annoyingly logical, Dave?"
"Only during times of crisis. I'll revert to drooling sex maniac mode as
soon as things calm down." The hentai sparkle returned to his eyes. "Maybe
that endurance you have extends to .. _other_ matters?"
Ed gave an exasperated snort. "Starting already? I knew it couldn't
last." He piled the dishes in the sink, and grabbed his coat. "Let's get
going. The sooner we get this fixed, the better!"
***********************************
"A friend is someone who helps you move. A BEST friend is someone who
helps you move... a body."
- Anonymous.
"Hellooooooo, Nurse!" - Yakko, Wakko, & Dot Warner.
Ed squirmed uncomfortably in the examination chair as Doctor Duffy held
various filters before his eyes.
"Well, is there anything you can do for me, Doc?"
She paused a moment, and held up another filter. "I think so. It seems
like a number 7 grey lens should do the trick. It will darken your eyes back
to a normal-appearing brown, and hide the specks entirely." She placed the
filter in a frame and moved it back in front of his face. "Yes. Perfect.
Your eyes will look completely natural."
"Thank you, Doctor. What do I owe you?"
"You'll get my bill. If it appears a little .. large, please remember
you're buying a pair of closed lips as well as the medical treatment."
He nodded.. "I expected as much. Will gold be acceptable?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Coin or bullion?"
"Either way you want it, Doctor."
"I give a cash discount of 10% for rare coins. They're easier to deal
with. Bullion makes the wrong people curious."
"I have American $20 double eagles, from the 1890's."
The doctor smiled widely. "Perfect. I know several dealers who will
accept them, no questions asked."
Ed grinned. "I thought you might. You must have an .. _interesting_
practice, Doctor."
She chuckled. "You have _NO_ idea how interesting. Particularly with
-him- in town." She jerked a thumb at Wills. "I can't even begin to COUNT
the number of requests I've had to neuter him. At least a quarter of the
women in the city have offered to take up a collection to pay for it!"
Wills shivered at the thought. *Ah! My heart sings with joy at the very
thought of so many kawii girls with such powerful emotions for me. But for
now I will just beam with joy. Oh, musn't forget the tin halo... It's so
nice to be wanted. :)~*
"Oh, I can imagine. I know him better than you might think, Doc."
"And you're still his friend?" She arched an eyebrow. "Either he has
something on you, or you have the temper of a saint."
"Perhaps a little of both, Doctor." He opened the package she handed him
and looked inside. Along with the contact lenses was... "A prescription,
Doc?"
"I thought you might not want to wear the contacts all the time, so I
threw that in. Don't take it, just get it filled, and carry some with you,
along with the prescription. It's a powerful antibiotic used to clear up
drug-resistant eye infections. We don't use it very often because it has two
annoying side effects: it can change a patient's eye color, and make their
eyes extremely light sensitive. It should help you explain things away."
"Ahhh... Nice touch! I can wear sunglasses, and blame it on the drug. And
if someone gets a look at my eyes, I can do the same. Thank you!"
"All part of the service. And if you're ever in need of more medical
care, my door is always open." Doctor Duffy nodded towards Wills. "Just try
to give me a little advance notice if you're going to bring him along. I
want a chance to warn my nurse and receptionist."
*Ack!* thought Dave. *Caught with my hand next to the cookie jar's
skirt!*
Ed laughed at David's crestfallen look. "Will do, Doc. And thanks. I'll
remember that." He poked Dave in the ribs. "C'mon, guy.. there's always the
red-light district."
Dave's face brightened. "Yatta! How could I have forgotten all those
kawaii little gals down there, so wonderful.. so willing.." *Yes! Partners
in crime!* he thought. *We will set the red light district aflame with a
raging inferno of unbridled lust for all kawaii gals!*
"Dave? Hey, Dave."
"What?"
"You're drooling again.."
***********************************
"If Stupidity got us into this mess, then why can't it get us out?"
- Will Rogers (1879-1935)
The lenses worked like a charm, and Ed returned to work the following
Monday as if nothing had happened. This was fortunate, as things began to
hit the fan right about then. Buaku had just lifted a painting known as
"Innocent" and took Leona hostage. Now the Tank Police, the Red Commandos,
and the mob were all chasing Buaku and his hostage around the city. The Puma
sisters were running around, trying to keep the police and the Commandos off
of Buaku's trail, Al had taken Bonaparte to search for Leona, and things
were really getting confused.
*I am NOT going to get involved I am NOT going to get involved I am NOT
going to get involved I am NOT going to get involved...* ran through his
mind as he cleaned up his workspace in the tank motor pool. Then he swore.
"Oh, who am I kidding?! The way my luck's been going, they'll probably fall
right into my lap!" He threw a wrench at the floor, then swore again when it
punched a hole through the concrete, spraying cement chips around the empty
room.
"Besides, I can't let 900 million dollars worth of rare painting be
destroyed." He sighed. "It would a crime against art. Just as bad as burning
books, or accepting censorship. Hmmm.. lessee.. the question is, what _can_
I do?"
{That depends, lover. Define your objectives, then you can make your
plans.}
"Ahhh.. hmmm.." He looked annoyed with himself. "I honestly have no
ideas, Minerva. Aside from saving the painting from going up in smoke when
the Puma sisters blast the chopper with the Red Commando leader."
{Well, that's a start, boss. And I already know you want to remain
undercover, so there's a second objective. We can plan around that. Now, we
know the exact time when the painting will be destroyed, and there's a third
point.}
"Huh? I mean, we do?"
{It won't happen until after Anna 'borrows' the heavy artillery tank from
the Tank Police motor pool. So, if you keep watch on it, then we'll know
when things will begin.}
Ed nodded and then brightened. "Baby, do you think you could get a
transporter lock on the Red Commando chopper?"
{It shouldn't be too difficult.}
"Good. Then we have the plan. If things don't differ _too_ much from the
anime, he'll radio in a report that he's recovered 'Innocent' and he's
returning to base. That was his last contact. He didn't make any more calls
after that, and Annapuma blew him out of the air almost immediately
afterward." He grinned. "All righty, then. Search and scan for the chopper,
and maintain a loose lock on it. Also, listen for any radio transmissions
from it. When Annapuma steals the artillery piece, prepare to beam
'Innocent' straight to you."
{That's cutting it close, b'wana. Maybe _too_ close.}
"I know, m'dear. But I don't want to take a chance on screwing up these
folks's continuity. I might make things better, but then again, I might make
them _worse_" He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "It seems a lot
like time travel. You have to be DAMN careful, or you end up destroying what
you came to preserve." He frowned at the hole he'd just made in the floor,
and sighed. "Crud. I'm worse than Ryoga. Could you fill that in, love? I'm
going to keep an eye on the artillery tank."
{Right, boss. Be careful.}
"What do I have to worry about, m'dear? It's not like Annapuma could hurt
me. Hell, I just had an entire office building fall on me with no harm
done!"
{It's not your body I'm worried about, lover.}
"Huh? What do you mean?"
Minerva sighed. {She's a female. You _do_ have a soft spot for the
ladies, boss. Especially cat girls.}
"Errr.. Ahh.. Now wait just one minute, here.. Are you saying I'm some
sex crazed loon like Dave?"
{No. Just a hopeless romantic. Go play with your tanks, boss. I'll keep
an eye on the chopper.}
* * *
"Drive defensively. Buy a tank." - Anonymous bumper sticker.
As he looked out the window at the sidewalk, Ed spotted Buaku and Lenoa
on their motorbike, crashing into the bar across from Tank Police HQ. He
turned, and ran for the staircase, headed for the motor pool.
{Minerva, they're here. Have you got the chopper spotted?}
{Got it, boss. A nice firm lock. They aren't going to shake me}
He looked down the stairwell. *Shit! I gotta hurry. There's no time. Oh
well..* He gritted his teeth, and jumped down the center of the stairwell. A
few seconds later, he landed at the bottom, punching a hole in the floor
with his feet. *There go _another_ pair of shoes..*
Racing to the motor pool, he grabbed the keys to the new tank gun that
had just arrived and was waiting by it when Annapuma arrived. She aimed her
assault weapon at him.
"No need for that, girl. Here you go. You'll need these." He tossed the
keys to her. Shocked, she fumbled the catch and almost dropped them. "Better
hurry, Buaku needs you."
She gave him an odd look. "Why?"
"My reasons are my own, little girl. And you don't need to know them.
Just get going, and don't ask questions that you don't want to know the
answers to."
She climbed into the cockpit and drove the tank gun out onto the street.
Ed followed behind, staying in the shadows.
{Ready, m'dear? Anna's about to fire!}
{He's made the call, boss.. got the lock.. transporting..}
He watched, and winced as Annapuma's shot blew the Red Commando
helicopter into firey scrap. {Shit! She fired! Did you get the painting?
Tell me you got it, Minerva?!}
{Ahhh... I got "Innocent", boss. It's safe and sound. But..}
{But? But _what_?}
{You don't want to know, b'wana.}
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. {I think you're holding something back,
girl. But it's clean-up time, here. Whatever the problem is, it can wait for
now. We'll handle it after I get off work.}
{Err... Yes. That might be best, boss.}
He flinched at the uneasy tone in her voice. *At just what point did I
lose control here? I can feel another one of _those_ headaches coming on...*
He sighed and shook his head, waiting for the tanks to return with their Red
Commando prisoners. There'd be a LOT of clean-up and repair work after this
night.
* * *
After a very long night of patching up the battle damage, Ed wandered
upstairs to watch the last of the Red Commandos being booked and processed.
The desk sargent gave him a one of those _looks_ when he began to snicker
loudly, then tried to ignore him. He drifted over to the soda machine, and
bought a cola, hoping that a drink would help him stop. About then, Al
passed by.
"What's so funny, Ed?" Al asked.
".. hehehe .. I .. hahaha .. You had to be there, Al.." and he threw his
coat over his shoulder and headed home. *He'd NEVER understand! But it
looked just like the first day of basic training!*
When he got home, he debated finding out what Minerva was so worried
about, but decided against it. "I'm too tired. I'd probably blow up at her,
and end up doing something stupid. I'll find out what happened tomorrow."
He took a hot shower, headed into the bedroom, and tried to forget about
the entire day.
***********************************
"I'm not having a good day, and killing you would improve it
dramatically."
- Demona, "Gargoyles"
The next morning...
"Ooogh.. I _hate_ getting up in the morning." Ed grumped. "It's a damn
miracle I lasted eleven years in the service!" He cleaned up, and finished
off a hot breakfast before he approached Minerva about the previous night.
"So what were you so worried about last night, m'dear?"
"We have a .. `continuity' problem, b'wana."
"What do you mean by that, girl?"
"Well, you mentioned that you were worried about tampering with the known
history of this reality, boss. I'm afraid we have. The explosion of the
helicopter interfered with the transport. I saved `Innocent' but some other
.. err .. 'items' came along for the ride."
He began to look worried. "What _items_?" he asked in a flat tone.
"I think I'd best show you, boss."
A small hologram appeared in the middle of the kitchen table, obscuring
the breakfast dishes. He looked at the figure in the center of it, and went
as white as bleached muslin. "Fuck meee..." he wheezed.
".. long and hard with a chainsaw. I believe those are the words you're
looking for, boss."
"Get Wills on the phone. Now. Secure the line. Military grade encryption
at both ends. If this gets out, there'll be hell to pay.."
* * *
At Wills' office the phone rang. When he answered it, all he could see in
the screen was a hash of static. A barely recognizable voice spoke.
"I need your help again."
"Ed.."
"NO NAMES!" the voice hissed. "I'm in deep trouble. Over my head deep.
And I don't dare let anyone else find out. As soon as you're off duty, I
need you to come to my girlfriend's place. She'll get in touch, and pick you
up. You know how."
"It's that bad?"
"Worse."
Dave winced at the thought of something worse than the little 'incident'
in Ed's living room. "I'll be there."
"Thank you." The line went dead.
* * *
After the duty day ended, Dave headed over for the apartment complex.
Just as he'd expected, Ed's door was unlocked. He opened it and stepped
inside. Minerva was there to greet him.
"Thank you for coming, Lieutenant. I'm afraid I've made a rather large
error, and gotten the boss in between a rock and a hard place. If you'll
come with me...?"
He nodded, and closed the door behind him, locking it. The hologram began
to de-resolve, and Wills could feel the transporter effect take hold. The
world appeared to dissolve around him, and he found himself standing on the
main transporter pad of the Calypso.
"I think you'd better talk to him, Detective. I.. I'm the one who landed
us in this situation. I don't believe he'd like to listen to me right now."
Dave looked a little confused, but shrugged. "Sure. Where is he?"
"On the bridge. Do you remember the way?"
"I have a perfect memory," he leered. "After all, I'm a Bu 99-hS-1EX-0."
He padded down the main boom to the bridge, noticing that aside from a
few instrument read-outs, there were no lights on. That wasn't any trouble
for him, but he did wonder why. When he reached the bridge, he spotted Ed,
sitting alone in the dark.
"What's the matter, guy? Why the doom and gloom act?"
"I screwed up big this time, Dave."
"I thought Minerva was the one responsible. She said so herself."
"I made the plans and gave the orders. I'm the commander." He let out a
long slow breath. "In the final analysis, I'm responsible when things go
wrong."
Dave cocked his head. "As a cop, I can understand that. Been there, done
that, got the T-shirt; to coin a phrase. But beating up on yourself won't
help. Now, what went wrong?"
"That .. is a long story. but a picture, as they say, is worth a thousand
words. Minerva, playback the logs covering what we did, and then show the
good Lieutenant what you've got stashed in the transporter buffer."
It didn't take long to replay the logs, and Dave's face got longer and
longer as he heard the two of them plot to rescue 'Innocent'. On top of
that, when Minerva showed him the recovered painting, and informed him of
it's coded contents, his jaw hit the floor. He shook himself all over, like
a dog shedding cold water, and thumped himself on the forehead.
"I can't believe you two did this! Why.. No. Never mind why. Just return
the painting anonymously, and there shouldn't be any problem."
"It's not that simple. When Annapuma blasted the chopper, by some freak
of chance, she hit it at just the right millisecond to screw up the
transport." He saw Dave dart a glance at the painting. "Oh, it's all right..
but in order to save it, Minerva had to pull along a little more that she
intended to." He waved a arm dejectedly at the main viewscreen. "Go ahead,
Minerva."
"When I finished the transport, I found that _this_ had hitched a ride."
The screen lit up to show Dave the shocked face of the Red Commando Leader!
"I can't just kill him..it's not self-defence. But if we let him go, and he
talks.." Her shapely shoulders shrugged, bugging Dave's eyes out as he
tracked the ripple of motion down her holographic body. "And even if he
doesn't talk, how do we explain his _survival_?! There wasn't a piece left
of that helicopter big enough to use as a paperweight!"
Dave dragged his mind away from the lewd thoughts of what he'd like to do
if he could entice her into a holodeck, and considered the situation. "Where
is he now?"
"In the pattern buffer of the auxillary transporter." she replied.
He favored her with a confused glance. "I thought that was impossible. I
remember those old shows. Aren't transporter patterns supposed to degrade
with time, or something like that?"
She returned his gaze with a tired look of self-satisfaction. "Anything
that Montgomery Scott can do, I can do better. After all, I have superior
equipment. I took a page from his book, disabling the rematerialization
subroutine, and locking the pattern buffer into a continuous diagnostic
mode. No pattern degredation. He just loops through the transporter,
non-stop. He'll stay in there until I lose power, or until hell freezes
over."
Dave laughed. "Now _there's_ an interesting picture." He frowned. "Why
don't you just.." He mimed pulling a plug. ".. and be rid of the nuisance
altogether?"
They both shot him dirty looks, and he raised his hands in self-defence.
"Just kidding! Sheesh! You try one little joke..."
Ed looked away. "That's part of the problem. But I'll explain that later.
Right now, what are we going to _do_ with him?!"
They sat there in the semi-gloom of the darkend bridge for some time,
quietly thinking. Then Dave jumped up, excited.
"I _GOT_ IT!"
"Got _what_?" blinked Minerva.
Dave stepped over to her, and began to whisper in her ear. As he
explained, his eyes wandered, and he took advantage of the oportunity to
gaze down into her holographic cleavage.
Ed simply sighed and waited. *The man makes Ataru Moroboshi look like a
celebate monk. How he got to be a police detective I'll _never_ know.*
* * *
"Why do you have to be so negative all the time? Why can't you offer
some...constructive criticism?"
- Ben 'Gryphon' Hutchins to Leon McNichol, "Hopelessly Lost 2: Midnight
Sun"
As Minerva carefully explained Dave's suggestion to him, Ed's face took
on a growing expression of horror.
"Are you completely _insane_, Dave?! That has to be the -worst- plan I
have -ever- heard!"
"Well, do you have a better one?" Dave looked at him closely. "After all,
_you're_ the one sitting in the dark here, trying to figure a way out of
this."
"You've got to admit it, boss.. it has the virtue of never having been
tried before." Minerva smiled. "Besides, we've got nothing to lose."
A loud creaking noise filled the bridge, and Dave realized that Ed had
just crushed the metal armrest of the captain's seat with his bare hand.
*That is _not_ a good sign.* he thought. *The stress is getting to him. What
he needs is a wild party and a cute girl.*
After a moment of silence, Ed nodded. "You're right. I hate to admit
that, but you are. We DON'T have a choice. Right, then." He turned to
Minerva. "Prepare a room to hold the Red Commando, and re-materialize him in
it as soon as you're done. I'll try to get things ready at my end." He shook
his head. "I _still_ don't believe I'm doing this. It has to be the last act
of a desperate man."
"I don't care if it's the first act of 'Henry the VIII', b'wana. Just as
long as it gets our unexpected passenger out of our hair."
"Well, it'll either do that, or get us ALL chased out of town." He gave
an resigned shrug. "I suppose I should have expected something like this.
When your life has turned into an adventure novel, you have to expect these
little .. dramatic re-arrangments in your life."
"What, you mean it's possible to live without bizzare, life-threatening
situations popping up every five minutes?" Dave smirked. "What a novel
idea!"
Ed threw a nerf brick at him. "Next time, it'll be Jyusenkyo water."
* * *
About 15 minutes later, everything was set, and Ed picked up the small
metal canister that the painting had arrived in. He carefully rolled
'Innocent' up and and placed it back inside.
"How is he, Minerva?"
"Outwardly calm, lover. But he's showing spikes on all the medical
scanners. I'd say he's about ready to tear someone's head off. I really have
to admire his self-control."
"That means a lot coming from you, pretty lady." He looked back at Dave.
"You'd better stay on the bridge. If he sees you, that could throw
everything off track."
Dave shruged. "No problem. Is there any Dew on board?"
He got a dirty look for that. "Minerva..."
"Right, boss. A gallon of Dew for the Lieutenant."
"And put it up on the main monitor. Dave might spot something we'd miss."
Ed turned, and walked down the main corredor to the room where Minerva had
put the Commando. He paused.
"This is nuts. I can't believe I'm actually going to use the _truth_!" He
took a deep breath, and opened the door.
Inside, behind a force field was the Commando. He was sitting on a bunk
recessed into the wall. He got to his feet as Ed approached.
"Who are you, and why have you taken me captive?"
Ed arched an eyebrow. "Blunt and to the point. That's good. I _really_
don't feel like playing cute little intellegence games. As for my name,
that's of no concern to you. As I understand it, you were hired to recover
the painting known as 'Innocent' for Southerby's." He placed the cylinder on
a table and tapped it. "Here it is, safe and sound. We recovered it when
your helicopter blew up. Unfortunately, we recovered _you_ as well. We
intended to return the painting, but you put a wrinkle in that plan."
The Red Commando glared at him. "I repeat, who are you."
"Is that really any of your business? We have the painting, and we're
quite willing to return it to you. The only problem we forsee is your
silence, Mr.. Mr..?" Ed frowned. "What IS your name? I just can't keep
calling you Red Commando Leader."
The commando remained silent.
"Look, I can't deal with you if you aren't willing to talk. As it is, I
could simply return the painting anonymously, and have you disposed of. But
that's not my style. All I need is a name. I don't want to know who your
real employers are, and I'm not interested in any of your secrets. I just
want to get you and this painting out of here. Can we talk?"
A very long moment passed, then the commando muttered something.
"..slzzly.."
"Pardon me?"
Another muffled growl answered him.
"I can't hear you."
"IT'S LESLIE, DAMN YOU!! LESLIE VAN EASTERBROOK!" shouted the commando.
On the bridge, Dave spat up a mouthful of Dew, spraying the main screen.
Over his link to Minerva, Ed could hear hysterical laughter coming from the
bridge, followed by a loud thump. Minerva was giggling helplessly in his
ear.
"Leslie? Uh.. Yeah.. Right.. Excuse me for a moment." Using every
particle of willpower he possessed, he managed to keep a straight face as
he stepped out into the corridor. Once the door slid shut, however, he lost
it.
"BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!" Tears were rolling down his cheeks as he howled
with laughter. "Oh my gooooood!!! No wonder he didn't want to talk! That's
almost as bad as 'A Boy Named Sue'!"
Several minutes passed while he tried to regain his composure. It wasn't
easy. Everytime he came close, Dave would repeat the name, and break the
both of them up again. Minerva's constant giggling over the speakers didn't
help much either.
Once the fit of laughter had subsided, he re-entered the room. "Mr. ..
Easterbrook. As I've already told you, I intend to return the painting. The
question remains.. is it safe for me to return _you_? And the only person
who can answer that question for me is you." He looked at the commando
steadily. "What's the answer?"
Easterbrook returned the gaze. "All you want from me is silence,
correct? Silence concerning yourself, and this.." He waved a hand at the
room around him. ".. facility of yours. I can agree to that. But how can you
return me without some embarrassing questions being asked? According to that
display, it's been nearly 24 hours since the explosion of my aircraft."
Ed stepped over to the table and tapped on the surface. A small hologram
sprang up in responce. "As you can see, this is a map of the area around
Tank Police HQ. And over here," his fingers trailed down a street several
city blocks, "is a small, old warehouse about 1 klick away." He tapped twice
on the warehouse, and the hologram expanded, centering on the building.
"You'll note that it has a large skylight in the roof.. currently broken. Or
at least that's what the records are _going_ to show. That's it's been
broken ever since your accident last night."
"And I'll be found inside the warehouse, I assume." Easterbrook nodded.
"But how will I explain my lack of broken bones, bruises, and other serious
injuries?"
Ed smirked widely. "I'm glad you asked that. Take a look at this." The
hologram dissolved into a skeletal view, revealing what looked like a large
vat of some sort directly underneath the hole in the skylight. "This should
take care of that, and incidently explain _why_ it took you so long to
return." A few more taps on the table, and a list scrolled up along side the
tiny building. He slid a finger down along the list, and stopped at the 5th
item. "There. Read that. The contents of the vat."
Easterbrook leaned over, and peered closely at the line of text Ed had
pointed at. A faint smile creased his stern expression. "I see. Yes. That
will do nicely. How soon can this be done?"
"That's up to you. But to make this look good, you are going to need some
slight burns on your armor, and a few flash burns on your face. Are you up
to that?"
"Just try me."
"Good. I have a xenon flash lamp that my.. `assistant' can use to give
you a few minor facial burns, and some scorched hair. While you're taking
care of that, we'll scuff up your armor to match. All in all.. maybe 15
minutes. Once you're there in the warehouse, the rest will be up to you."
Easterbrook nodded, then frowned. "Why are you doing all this? It would
have been much simpler on your part to kill me and dispose of the body."
Ed sighed. "Let's just say.. I'm repaying a very old debt. By sparing
your life, I'm one step closer to being quits on it. And leave it at that."
The commando looked back at him. "All right."
* * *
"What better way to vanquish an enemy, than to make him an ally?"
- Modoc, "My Best Friend Is A Vampire."