Legion World Forums LEGION OUTPOST Bits o' Legionnaire Business RAINBOW GIRL: BOOK 21: "ONE LAST MISSION"

CHAPTER ONE - TROY

“Dori, I think you had better take this call,” said Bunny, over the wallscreen.

A handsome face appeared on the wallscreen. “Dori, this is Troy Stewart.”

“Troy Stewart, former United Planets Special Ambassador, former United Planets Planetary Representative, former President of Earth, former Legionnaire, former Champion of Marzal. That Troy Stewart?” Dori answered.

“Yes, all of the above,” said Tyroc. “And now happily retired from all of it. Almost.”

“Oh, dear,” said Dori. “I am guessing the U.P. wants to re-activate your status as a Special Ambassador for ‘one last mission’, and for some reason you want me to accompany you.”

“You are very perceptive,” said Tyroc. “But you will be accompanying us-- my wife will be part of the mission. Dori, Marzal has returned.”

“What? How is that even possible?” Dori was shocked in surprise. “The Dominators-- the Dominators destroyed Marzal. I’m sure if there were other survivors besides yourself you would have sought them out when you were President of Earth.”

“It is true, I expended some troops and effort combing the island for survivors. But the fact is, there have been three Marzals which appeared on Earth. I am the third Tyroc to serve in the Legion.”
“The first Tyroc returned to Marzal with Dawnstar and Shadow Lass-- they thought themselves stranded there, until Dawnstar found a path back to this Universe. A few years later, a different Marzal appeared, with a different Troy Stewart, with somewhat different powers. Shortly after his joining the Legion, he was shifted back in time with a number of other Legionnaires, who were only rescued just before the events of Black Dawn. Those events also de-stabilized the second Marzal, and that Tyroc returned to his home dimension with him. About five years later, my Marzal Island appeared, and was immediately set upon by the Dominators. Marzal appears intermittently on Earth, but these events have led us to conclude that it appears on different Earths in different dimensions. This particular era seems to be a confluence point when several Marzals are appearing: a fourth Marzal has appeared. Given Earth’s history with the last three, they asked the United Planets if I would fill the role of Special Ambassador once again-- and you were recommended as a member of the team.”

“Mr. Stewart, I am going to be married in just over three weeks, and I have a wedding to plan,” said Dori. “This is a fascinating development, and I am truly curious-- and flattered by your asking me to accompany you-- but I just do not think I can make the time.”

“Of course, you can decide for yourself. The U.P. is not going to draft you. But this is only a brief, First Contact mission. One day’s travel from Jahnson’s World to Earth, a day or two on Marzal, and one day’s journey back home-- three or four days at the most.”

Dori considered. “I have great difficulty saying ‘no’ to reasonable requests,” she said. “It is one of my personal failings. I have access to a teleporter who can take the three of us-- including your ship, I believe-- from Jahnson’s World to Earth instantaneously, and return us the same way. That will shave two full days off the mission, and I can get back to planning my wedding.”

“And I will make every effort to keep the mission on Earth to a single day,” said Tyroc. “Can we pick you up the day-after-tomorrow?”

“I’m sure that will be fine,” said Dori. “Contact Dr. Chandrasekhar again, her staff are serving as my appointment schedulers.

CHAPTER TWO: CELESTE

Troy Stewart arrived at the Schwarzwald Forest Parking Lot right on time. Dori was there to meet him.

“This is my wife, Celeste Stewart,” said Troy. He indicated his traveling companion, a sturdy redhead with an unmistakeable air of toughness about her. She reminded Dori a little of Mysa Nal.

“Is that a Darkstar vest you’re wearing?” asked Dori.

“Yes, I liberated it from my cousin’s weapons collection. It’s been mine ever since,” said Celeste.

“And you cousin is…?” asked Dori.

“Leland McCauley,” Celeste declared, as if daring Dori to judge her.

“Oh, you’re that Celeste,” said Dori. At that moment, Reges Questar appeared out of nowhere.

“Well, board your ship, and let’s get this journey started,” he said.

Celeste took the pilot’s chair. “Levitate the ship about six inches off the ground, retract the landing gear, and hold it there,” Reges Questar instructed.

“You know, I have teleportative powers,” Troy remarked. “Although I could never move a starcruiser across interstellar distances, no without technological enhancement.”

“And we are there,” said Reges Questar. “Good-bye.” And he was gone.

“Not much of a conversationalist,” said Troy.

“He probably had another appointment,” said Dori. “I believe he has taken on quite a few other clients since we first recruited him.”

The ship hovered in the shallows in front of a sandy beach. Celeste guided it up into a quiet landing, and they disembarked.

“The light powers of my Darkstar vest are a good complement to Troy’s sonic abilities,” Celeste remarked. “Continuing our conversation. I felt it might be well to be prepared, as we really do not know what we are walking into.”

“I, personally, could never trust Controller technology,” said Dori. “They are just too… strange.”

“I would like to point out,” said Celeste quietly to her two companions, “that we are surrounded.”

CHAPTER THREE: MARZAL 4: SARI, TALA, AND THE SHADOW CHAMPION

“Why aren’t we resisting?” asked Celeste, as the well-armed soldiers drove them along the twisting roads.

“This is your wife’s first ambassadorial mission, isn’t it?” said Dori.

Troy sighed. “Wherever these troops are leading us, it is undoubtedly to some sort of person in charge, almost certainly someone we want to speak to. I can already see differences between this Marzal and my own. My island was colonized by the survivors of a European slave ship; the Africans were the only ones who were able to acclimate themselves to Marzal. But these soldiers are clearly multi-racial, so this will be a very different culture.” The troops seemed entirely unfamiliar with Interlac; there was no indication that they understood the U.P. prisoner’s conversation.

Dori fully expected that they would be held in some sort of prison, at least for awhile. However, they were immediately escorted into a great marble hall, and seated at a long table. Troy took out a small Universal Translator, and placed it on the table. It worked on the same principle as their telepathic earplugs, but broadcast in the local language.

“This will allow us to communicate more easily,” said Troy. The soldier who had been reaching for the Universal Translator was startled by the sound. Dori presumed he had been concerned it was some sort of weapon.

“Your device will be unnecessary,” said a woman’s voice in perfect Interlac. “The three of us are fluent in your language.”

Three young women entered, and sat at the head of the table. They were terribly young, only fifteen or sixteen, but by the reaction of the Marzalan troops, they were the ones in charge.

“I am Tasmia Mallor, Shadow Champion of Talok VIII,” the first introduced herself. Dressed in severe black robes, she was blue-skinned and elf-eared, a virtual teen-aged duplicate of the Tasmia they knew. “Clearly, this is a different Earth from the one we left to destruction over a year ago.”

“I am Bituin Langit of StarHaven,” said the second young woman, who was characterized by copper skin, large white wings, and tattoos on her arms and legs. “But I am also known as Tala.”

“In this Universe,” said Troy, “StarHaven was colonized by ancient North Americans who were abducted by aliens.”

“In our Universe,” said Tala, “It was inhabitants from across the Malay Archipelago which were used by the Athranians to colonize StarHaven.”

“And I am the elected leader of Marzal,” said the third woman. “My name is Toma Kinte, but my people call me Saree, which means ‘shout’ in our language.”

“My name is Troy Stewart, and I believe I am your opposite number in our Universe,” said Tyroc. Dori could see a clear cross-temporal familial resemblance. “I was Champion of another version of Marzal. I assume your powers are sonic in nature, possibly even temporarily altering local physical law, and you have also served in the Legion on this other, doomed Earth.”

Saree’s eyes narrowed. “It was the Legion of Assassins, from which the three of us narrowly escaped, which was responsible for the destruction of the Earth which Marzal last appeared on,” she said. “Having escaped, we have no intention of being forcibly drafted, tortured, and brainwashed by that organization again.”

“This Earth is very different from the one with which you are most recently familiar,” Troy noted. “As you can see, I am several decades your senior; and there have been two more iterations of the Legion of Super-Heroes since I was a member. My associates, Celeste Stewart and Dori Aandraison, were never members of the Legion of Super-Heroes per se, but have had some association.”

“Dori Aandraison of Xolnar, the Rainbow Tyrant?” Saree leaped to her feet.

“In his mind, I see that the population of his Marzal was entirely wiped out in a merciless genocide the moment they appeared on this Earth,” said the Shadow Champion of Talok, who obviously had some telepathic abilities. “I suggest that we have nothing to do with this alternate Earth, and return to the Interdimensional Void as soon as our scientists are able to complete their work.”

“Please, we come to you as Ambassadors of Goodwill,” said Troy. “Allow us to explain…”

“Yes, we know all about High Ambassador Andraison,” said Saree. “How she conspired with Brainiac and the Black Witch to subjugate the Galaxy. But I think your ‘diplomatic mission’ ends here!” Saree opened her mouth and screamed.

Dori felt waves of energy washing over her. Most of the sound seemed just beyond the edge of hearing, but there was an uncomfortable keening nevertheless. The room seemed to expand, looming large over their heads. Then there was a sensation of falling, strange shapes and colors flashing by.

Dori, Celeste, and Troy found themselves, still seated in their chairs, on a vast, smooth, iridescent plain. Above them, a violet-and-viridian sun shone in the silver sky.

“Where are we?” Dori asked.

“I believe Saree has used her powers to reduce us to sub-atomic size,” said Troy. “There was a distinct sensation of shrinking-- or the world above us enlarging-- and I have been here once before. I believe we have been banished to the Microverse.”

CHAPTER FOUR: MOTHERGOOSELAND

“Consider an electron orbiting an atomic nucleus as analogous to a planet orbiting a star,” said Troy. “That is one way of imagining what has happened to us.”

“But if we are now living on an atom inside the table or floor of the hall on Marzal… well, they are intending to return to their home dimension soon! We need to get out of here! I don’t have time to go dimension-hopping! I have a wedding to plan!” Dori exclaimed. “And more important-- to attend! I’m supposed to be getting married!”

“Our situation may not be as dire as you think,’ said Troy. “We are not literally living on an atom somewhere on Marzal. As an individual is reduced in size, quantum mechanical effects expose other realities which our three-dimensional senses are unable to fully comprehend. We are already in a separate plane from both Earth and Marzal’s Interdimensional Void. The question is, how are we to get back to our own Universe?”

“Imskian technology would do it,” said Celeste. “But Imsk is as far away as Earth. We don’t really understand how this Reges Questar’s powers work… do you think he might be able to teleport us back to our home dimension?”

Dori checked her Omnicom. “No service in this dimension,” she said. “I have no way to contact him.”

“Perhaps. We. Could. Be. Of. Assistance?” Two strange near-humanoid beings appeared out of nowhere. They had only one leg each, as well as one eye, and a single nostril. One had a right ear and arm, the other had a left ear and arm. They were both completely bald.

“Who are you?” asked Troy.

“You. May. Call. Us…” it was hard to tell which was speaking. They seemed to alternate words. “Tweedle. Yes. That. Would. Be. Appropriate. You. Are. New. Here. We. Can. Be. Your. Guides.”

“We need to return to the Macroverse,” said Troy. “The dimensional realm which lies… above… this one.”

“We. Understand,” said Tweedle. “You. Must. Enter. The. Green. House. Ask. The. Old. Man. For. Assistance. He. Has. Your. Doorway. Home. In. His. Cwtsh.”

“Which direction is the Green House?” asked Troy.

“Begin. Your. Journey. And. You. Are. Already. There.” said Tweedle, and disappeared as though they had never been there.

“Quantum mechanics,” said Troy. “Everything has a slight probability of being everywhere. If we begin moving, and the probability of being anywhere you want increases.”

“Lovely,” said Dori. She stood up. Her Marzalan chair vanished. “Well, maybe I ought to follow that chair.”

“Oh, it’s probably gone back to Marzal, that’s all,” said Troy. He and Celeste stood, and their chairs vanished as well. “How do the two of you think we should proceed?” Troy added.

“Let me fly up and take take a look around-- see if I can find any identifiable landmarks,” said Celeste. “No, it seems the Darkstar vest doesn’t work here. Grife.”

“What did I say about trusting Controller technology?” said Dori. “Unfortunately, I didn’t bring my flight ring, so I’m grounded too.”

Troy hummed a low note in the back of his throat, and levitated about three feet off the ground. “I could fly all of us, but it would be pretty tiring if it turns out we need to go all day. I could teleport us, but where? We really don’t have a specific destination in mind, yet. And considering it carefully, we probably should not get too far separated. At this size, we are probably quantum entangled, and we don’t want to disentangle, or we might suddenly find ourselves separated by unbridgeable distances.”

“Perhaps we should just start walking, and see we what we find?” Dori suggested. “Straight ahead seems as good as any, do you think?”

Although they moved slowly, the scenery changed radically, and often. Celeste kept a running commentary.

“The escarpments on our left are now fjords,” she would say. “The sun, previously a ruby-red hexagon, has now morphed to be a blue hypercube.”

Although perfectly smooth when they arrived, the terrain became, at turns, rocky, jagged, swampy, and wide, rolling grasslands of varying hues. For a long while, the Tweedle entities were the only other living beings they met, although a variety of life-forms could be seen in the distance. Once they passed through a rocky vale bordered by cliffs composed of what appeared to be sleeping stone heads stacked one upon another. None of the three had any desire to awaken them. When the strange sun-- or suns-- would set, the ground became pleasantly soft and spongy, and the blankets of fog which sprang up as warm as real blankets. They spent a full day lost in caverns beneath a great misty mountain, a maze of narrow twisting passages, all alike. They fell asleep in great carved stone chairs, and awoke the next morning in a forest glade, the trees around them indigo blue.

Somehow there was always some sort of recognizable food to be found, two or three times a day, and they ate as much as they could when it appeared. If they tried to carry any foodstuffs away with them on their journey, it would soon transform into dried flowers, or pebbles, or sand.

One day they came to a labyrinth of small pinkish-gray hills, five to seven feet high. It took Dori some time, with all the twisting and turning, but she finally made sense of what they were seeing.

“We have been walking in between rows of giant, sleeping earthworms,” she announced. “Let’s not wake them up.”

“Sounds like Planet Dune,” said Troy.

“Or Bleeeegh,” said Celeste. She pronounced it carefully, half-way between ‘blee-eegh’ and ‘ble-ee-egh’.

Dori was heartily sick of having worn the same clothes for a week, and complained to Troy and Celeste, who she felt must also be feeling mightily uncomfortable. Troy was able to use his ‘Tyroc’ sonic powers to give the three an adequate ‘sonic shower’, cleansing both themselves and their clothing together.

“Why can’t you use your powers to undo Saree’s miniaturization shout?,” Dori wondered.

“All the Tyrocs seem to have somewhat different abilities,” said Troy. “I am capable of levitation and kinetic effects, and can temporarily convert myself and other objects into pure sound waves, enabling a sort of teleportation. Super-ventriloquism as well: I can imitate virtually any sound. But I cannot use my voice to warp the nature of physical reality, as the first Tyroc and Saree have shown themselves capable of doing. R.J. Brande once built a device that tapped into my peculiar trans-dimensional vibrational frequency, and magnified my powers to the point I was able to teleport an entire planet from another dimension, but it was terribly expensive, and it is uncertain whether it would be possible to do it again.”

Dori thought for awhile. “If I understand the chronology correctly, you were never really a member of the Legion per se,” she said.

“No, that’s true,” said Troy. “I was a member of the Resistance-- although, at the time, we did not realize we were resisting a stealth takeover of EarthGov by the Dominators. Then I was drafted as President of Earth, despite not being ‘of Earth’ at all.”

“You were part of that one small group that went around rebuilding after things settled down,” said Celeste. “You, Sussa Pakka, Harmonia Li, Shanen Dreyus, Myg of Lythyl, Devil-Fish, and that little Vyrgan… Gates, was it?”

“Ti'Julk Mr'Asz,” said Troy. “Devout communist and experience time traveler. He kept forgetting that I wasn’t the Tyroc that had accompanied him to the twenty-first century.”

“What was it you called yourselves?” asked Celeste.

“We were just known as ‘The Meta-Humans’”, said Troy, “Although Devil-Fish and Ti’Julk weren’t really human. Nor Harmonia, as it turned out. Artificial lifeform, with a downloaded human consciousness.”

They had come at last to an inhabited area, a little village of cunning little pastel-colored houses that reminded Dori of a Norwegian tourist town she and Irveang had once visited.

“Oh, dear, this is disturbing,” said Celeste.

“It looks ordinary enough to me,” said Dori. “What are you seeing?”

“Look,” said Celeste.

Behind the ordinary little houses, and through the crooked streets, Dori could see odder, stranger dwellings. A house that appeared to be a giant boot. A cottage that appeared to be constructed entirely of gingerbread. One house was carved from a giant pumpkin shell, another was a massive toadstool. Another looked so crooked it ought not to be standing, another stood on stilt-like chicken legs.

The inhabitants were engaged in similarly peculiar activities. A young girl led a flock of sheep down the middle of a street, another led a flock of geese; a young boy led a herd of cows, blowing a bugle. A girl and boy were climbing up a hill with a well on top, rolling down, then climbing up again. A man was wandering the streets in a nightshirt, another was jumping over a series of lighted candle in his front yard. A witch-like woman flew overhead, riding not a broom, but a goose.

“I believe that what we are seeing-- what we have been seeing all along, perhaps-- are ideas, possibly from our own minds, imposed upon this reality”, said Troy. “Does any of this seem at all familiar to either of you? Some of what we have seen in some of the places we have seen resonated with me, as though from long-forgotten memories.”

“Oh, it’s very familiar,” said Celeste. “It looks like Nursery Tales come to life.”

“You grew up with different nursery tales than I did,” said Dori.

“But it is familiar to you, Celeste?” said Troy. “If so, we may be nearing our destination.”

A calico cat, walking on two legs and carrying a fiddle approached them.

“Can you tell us,” said Troy, addressing the cat, “Where the Green House is?”

“Center of Town,” said the cat. “All roads lead there.”

The center of town lay further away than they had imagined, but they reached the place by nightfall. The Green House sat in the middle of a circular plot of grass, and was not a house at all. It was a perfectly flat pentagon, a representation of a green house with a pointed red roof, a rectangular red door, and two square yellow windows, such as a child might draw. A rusted iron knocker had been nailed to the door.

“Shall we see if the Old Man is home?” asked Dori, rapping on the door with the knocker. The red door swung open. On the other side was a long, grey road stretching off to the horizon.

The three travelers passed through the door. On this side, the Green House straddled the grey road: walking around it, the same road could be seen stretching off into the other direction. Passing back through the open door, the Green House was wholly contained in the Nursery-Land world.

“We’re used to this,” said Troy, when they were all back on the grey road side. “It’s like a Stargate. Right? Perfectly ordinary.” A wind slammed the little red door shut.

“Perfectly ordinary,” said Dori, sitting down on one of three four-poster beds that stood beside the road. “And they have been expecting us.” Beside each of the three beds there was a table with hot soup and salad, bread and meat, fruit, a pot of tea, and a teacup and saucer. “I, for one, am tired of the Microverse, tired of quantum uncertainty, and ready to go home. But I am also hungry and just plain tired of walking, so I suggest we make camp here for the night, and get a fresh start in the morning. And before we get on the road again, I would appreciate another sonic shower.”

CHAPTER FIVE: THE OLD MAN

When the opened the red door of the Green House the next morning, there was a blue sky and a bright yellow sun on the other side. Nothing more. The blue sky extended forever upwards and downward, left and right.

Back on the grey road, immense steel-and-glass skyscrapers loomed, disappearing into the fog above them. There were no visible windows or doors. The tables next to the beds, from which they had had their dinner the night before, were now empty, so they set off without breakfast.

They had only been travelling a few minutes when Celeste whispered to Dori, “Look behind us.”

Dori looked back to the three four-poster beds. A half-dozen copper-and-verdigris Japanese beetles, each at least seven feet tall, where changing out the sheets, blankets, and comforters for fresh linens.

“Bed-bugs,” said Celeste.

“Not that this is unusual for this world,” said Dori, “But the plants alongside the road keep changing.” Indeed, flowers by the side of the road blossomed, wilted and went to seed in minutes. On a somewhat slower timescale, trees planted intermittently along the roadside bloomed, lost their leaves, and bloomed again, all the while their branches stretching and growing, until they too withered away, to be replaced by another tree in a short time. It was possible to gaze up and down the road, and see foliage in every stage of growth. In fact, there seemed to be waves of blossoming, maturity and senescence that rippled down the road.

“Oh,” said Troy. “This must be the city whose streets are paved with time.”

“You will need to tell me that story,” said Celeste.

“It’s not really a story,” said Troy. “It’s… well, yes, perhaps it is a story.”

The grey road, which had previously been straight, now curved. The air grew cool and wet, and Celeste pointed out the the City of Time had vanished, and their backs were now to a great expanse of water. Sea spray filled the air, and a great red-and-white striped lighthouse loomed ahead of them.

“I suppose the Old Man lives in the old lighthouse ahead,” said Celeste.

But upon entering the lighthouse, they found themselves at the base of a great, grassy hill, with a strange, lonely, temple-like monument at the top. At the base was a placard, half-buried in the grass, which read, “This Stone Was Laid By
Thomas, Earl Of Zetland”.

Dori sighed. “One thing after another, and we seem no closer to getting home than when we first arrived. Still, nothing to do but press on, I suppose. Otherwise, where would our next meal come from?”

“I think we must be very close, now,” said Celeste.

“Ever the optimist,” said Troy.

“No, I’m serious,” said Celeste. “The microverse seems to respond to us, personally. And those are Doric columns.”

The three turned their back on the pseudo-Greek architecture, and found themselves facing a great, gothic mansion only a short walk away.

“One more door,” said Dori, and knocked politely once again.

“Ring the bell,” called a voice from inside. “That’s why I had it installed.”

Frustrated, Dori searched for a bell, found a little key set in the wall, and turned it. It made a small tinkling sound. The door opened, creaking ominously.

“‘M just sitting down to supper,” said the Old Man. “Would you like to join me?”

He certainly was an old man. His white hair was quite long, but there were very few strands of it. His eyes were simultaneously sunken and bulging, his cheekbones prominent. He seemed to have all his teeth. The table was set for four.

“You were expecting us?” said Troy.

“Well, I knew someone was looking for me,” said the Old Man. “Glad it turned out to be you.”

“I’m sorry-- do we know you?” asked Celeste.

“No, no, just glad it wasn’t somebody else who found me,” said the Old Man. “Someone I might’ve owed money to, like.”

The food was plentiful, although soft and bland, for the most part. Some of it was unrecognizable, but there was enough that they were all able to have a good meal.

“Now, what-all can I do for you?” asked the Old Man. “You say you’ve been looking for me. What for?”

“We were told by…” Troy began, “Well, it called itself Tweedle, but I think that is just a name it made up… that you might have a doorway to our home in your…” he paused, and then, as though playing back a recording, said, “Cwtsh.”

“What’s a Cwtsh?” said the Old Man.

“No idea,” said Troy. The others were equally at a loss.

“Well then, where’s home?” said the Old Man.

“The Macroverse,” said Troy. “The dimensional plane above this one. The world which contains his world.”

“I think I know what you mean,” said the Old Man. “And I’d like to know who knows I have it.”

“Two beings,” said Celeste “Semi-humanoid. One eye, one ear, one arm, one leg each. Alternate words when talking.”

The Old Man shrugged his shoulders. “Could be anybody,” he said.

“Bald?” said Celeste.

“Oh, him!” said the Old Man. “Ha! No, no help at all. Could be millions of folks around here. But come with me, I think I have just what you need.”

They followed him through a small wooden door, and down a flight of cellar stairs. The Old Man took a bottle of whiskey from a half-full wine rack, popped off the lid, and took a drink. “Just refreshing myself,” he explained. Then he turned back to a small cupboard under the stairs, dusty and cobwebbed. It was no better inside, but contained a number of tins and jars. He reached in, and took out a little, apple-shaped jam jar. He handed it to Dori.

“That’s what you want,” he said.

“This will take us back to our Universe?” asked Troy.

“That is your Universe,” said the Old Man. “Bought it with my own money at auction, fair and square. Twice ten shillings sixpence.”

“That’s not possible…” said Dori. But in the dim cellar light, she saw what appeared to be little stars floating inside the jam-jar.

“I would think that after the last two weeks, you wouldn’t even think such a thing,” said Celeste.

“Two weeks,” sighed Dori. But “How does this work?” she asked the Old Man.

“Well, you might take off the lid,” the Old Man said.

The jar was slippery, and when the lid came off, the jar dropped from Dori’s hand. She screamed a little “Oh!” but they were already falling, falling through star-spangled space, and landing-- feet-first, with only a slight jolt-- outside Room Number One, Schwarzwald Hotel, Ennis Jahnson’s office. The door was locked, so Dori knocked loudly.

“How long have we been gone, Ennis?” she gasped, as soon as he appeared.

“Gone?” said Ennis. “Have you even left yet?” He invited Dori, Troy, and Celeste into his office. On the wallscreen was an image of the Schwarzwald parking lot. The Stewart’s cruiser was still there. As they watched, the four passengers entered the ship, it rose a little off the ground, and vanished without so much as a ‘pop’.

CHAPTER SIX: LOST: ONE STAR CRUISER

“So let me understand,” said Reges Questar. “You want me to take the three of you back to Earth, to recover the Star Cruiser you left parked on Marzal Island, which is inhabited by hostile extra-dimensional aliens, several of whom have super-powers, and at any rate, at any moment, vanish into some unknown, trans-dimensional void.”

“Well, only Celeste and myself,” said Troy.

“You realize I’m not contractually obligated to transport anyone but Mr. Jahnson and Ms. Aandraison,” Reges Questar said. “Guests are at my discretion. It’s in the contract.”

“Yes, but…” Dori began.

“You have to understand my position,” said Reges Questar. “I’m a coward, and Marzal scares the sprock out of me. I could take you as far as Monrovopolis, but that is as close as I am willing to get to the situation. And that’s only because I’m a patriot, and this is official United Planets business.”

Troy shrugged. “I suppose it’s the best we can do. We can arrange a transport there, but if I would hate to have to tell UPGov I abandoned a Star Cruiser without making some effort to recover it. It is bad enough that this First Contact turned out to be such a disaster.”

“Well, blame me,” said Dori. “Or rather, blame Dori Aandraison, High Ambassador and Rainbow Tyrant. And come to the wedding, if you can. If you’re not stuck back in the Microverse.”

“Thank you, Dori,” said Celeste. “We have already received your invitation.”

I am getting a little bored of transcribing this material into electronic format from the notebooks I originally wrote it in two years ago. My old self seems so much different from myself today. Odd, isn't it?

So here's a little bit of something I wrote recently. Just a thought, really.

ADDENDUM – WHATEVER HAPPENED TO MEYER QAYD?


“Outside the ordered universe is that amorphous blight of nethermost confusion which blasphemes and bubbles at the center of all infinity—the boundless daemon sultan Azathoth, whose name no lips dare speak aloud, and who gnaws hungrily in inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond time and space amidst the muffled, maddening beating of vile drums and the thin monotonous whine of accursed flutes.”

And just beyond the bounds of the boundless annoying cacophony of this empyrean fife-and-drum corps, rests the opulent, comfortable Council Chambers of the Lords of Chaos.

The young human male sat in a comfortable, well-stuffed recliner in a well before the Council. There were fewer Lords of Chaos than he had imagined. Less than forty, although their shifting nature, and their comings and goings made them difficult to count. He did not recognize any from his study of the Mystic Tomes: Flaw and the Child, Chaon of Darkworld, Shivering Jemmy, Gorrum, Koth, Mr. Keeper,Tuoni Dominus, the Laughing Dancers… all were missing from the assembly.


“It appears we have a quorum,” said a large black toad with a mouthful of shark-like teeth. “Meyer Qayd, we have received your petition.” She held up a ragged parchment. “Copies of your resume have been provided to all members in attendance.” Meyer noticed that many of the duplicate parchments held by the various entities were in the process of being shredded, eaten, or burned. “You may call me Little Miss Sunshine,” said the toad. She reached under her desk and took out a wig of blond curls, which she plopped unceremoniously on her head. Then she placed a pair of pince-nez on the bridge of her snout. She examined the resume in front of her.

“You are applying for a position as a Lord of Chaos?” she asked.

“Yes, er, Ma’am,” Meyer replied.

“You understand what this entails?”

“I am well-studied in the Dark Arts, Ma’am.”

There was a murmur from the assorted assembly.

“You are quite a joiner,” the toad noted. “It says here you applied to some sort of organization called ‘The Legion of Super-Heroes’, under the name of ‘The Mess’.”

Meyer had not included that on his resume.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“And you were rejected.”

“Yes. They chose instead a space-pirate and serial murderer named Vorm. It was then I realized that Evil was a more powerful force than Good.”

“And yet you are not applying to become a member of the Mystical Council of Lords of Evil.”

“No,” Meyer admitted. “Is there a Mystical Council of Lords of Evil?”

“No,” admitted the toad. As she said nothing more, Meyer felt it was his place to continue the story.

“After my application to the Legion, his parents had me taken him to several genetic specialists in an attempt to have my powers neutralized. However, I realized that what I really needed was to increase my abilities and my control over them.
“I began a home correspondence course in biogenetics under the guise of attempting to find a cure myself. I developed several out-of-the-mainstream theories, which, but led me to develop mental and physical exercises led me to gain greater control over my abilities— and even increase then to an extent. I was able to become more disgusting, absorbing dirt and filth from the environment around me.”

A creature which seemed to be made entirely of knife-blades stood up.

“Scherenmann here,” it said in a quiet, refined, although somewhat sharp voice. “It seems that what you were doing was increasing Order, by removing dirt and filth from the environment around you. You might as well have been a cleaning-lady.”

“Is that not the way of the Universe?” asked Meyer Qayd. “Disorder increases here, Order increases there, the Universe as a whole is kept in balance.”

“Ooh, we have a philosopher,” said a humanoid with a red sun for a head.

“Great Rao, let the boy continue,” said a fox, morphing into a jaguar, morphing into a coyote.”

“So speaks Keylock the Trickster,” said Great Rao mockingly, “Whose voice must be obeyed.”

A white-haired humanoid, at least nine feet tall, with an iron mask riveted to the left side of his face, stood in the council. A blue flame burned behind the iron half-mask. “Meyer Qayd, I am Kal Torak. You may worship me.” There was a significant pause. Kal Torak sighed. “I say, let the boy continue.”

“Needing money to finance my experiments,” Meyer Qayd continued, “I had a short career under a series of super-villain names. Dust Devil, Dust Demon, Compost King, the Living Rubbish Heap. Each new identity reflected an increase in my chaotic powers. Unfortunately I was eventually captured by the Science Police, and remanded to a low-security detention section of Takron-Galtos. I was no more popular there than I had been with the Legion.”

“Following rumors I had heard in prison, from a fellow Legion Reject named Eyeful Ethel, I began a quest to seek out Disgust of the Endless, a transcendental being who evidently does not actually exist. However, during that time, I learned of certain forbidden tomes of Dark Magic that might be be accessed on the Sorcerer’s World. I applied to the Unseen University there, and was accepted.”


“Which Sorcerer’s World?” called out a voice from the crowd.

“You know-- Mordru’s World,” called back another.

“Mordru, that old goat?” called out a third. “He’s operating a school for budding magicians now?”

The conversation continued, swelling to an unintelligible babble of sound. Meyer sat patiently, eventually noticing a bowl of cherries on a small table beside him. He reached to take a cherry from the bowl, when a rumbling voice interrupted him.

“A Bowl of Cherries is a member of our Council,” said an old-fashioned robot, all silvery-black cubes and right angles. “Listen to your Uncle Clank.” The bowl of cherries managed to glare balefully.

Little Miss Sunshine rapped a large gavel. “Eotha Sin! Fifty-Two Thousand Seven Hundred and Eleven! Lord Firepants! Qwrtypxz! I demand Disorder!” There the babbling cacophony quickly died down. “Pray continue, Meyer Qayd.”

“I managed to steal the forbidden grimoires,” said Meyer. “Using them to further augment my powers through supernatural means. I migrated to other astral planes, and learned the secrets of Baalzebub, Lord of the Flies, and Gehennon, Realm of Brimstone and the Undying Worms. I mastered the secrets of the swamps, quagmires, and ooze. Worms, flies, maggots and carrion-eaters are my servants. I aspire to be Lord Filth, Lord of Chaos!” To emphasize his point, he summoned a tremendous cyclone of dust, debris, detritus, and filth. An immense tangled mass of slimy tentacles and eyeballs, who Meyer recognized as Chthonoth slapped two several tentacles together.

“Bravo, bravo!” Chthonoth cried.

When things had settled down again, Little Miss Sunshine regarded Meyer Qayd thoughtfully.

“You may call yourself Lord Filth, if you like,” said the toad, smiling somewhat menacingly. “But we cannot admit you into the Council of the Lords of Chaos based upon these minor accomplishments. Perhaps you can apply again next year. Possibly we will need a new janitorial service by then.”

There was a murmur of agreement from the gallery. Meyer Qayd stood up to leave. As a measure of spite, he grabbed a cherry from the bowl on the way out. It was wonderfully sweet, and oddly, had no stone. The bowl and the remaining cherries managed to project an aura of irritated resignation.

“I almost feel sorry for him,” said Chthonoth.

“Him so smart,” said Bizarro Yellow Lantern Le-Mon. “No one can be Lord of Chaos. Anyone can stop him.”

Over the next few hours, the assemblage more or less adjourned.

That was an entertaining jaunt. That Microverse turning out to be a Macrovere, and the numerous Marzals aligned. Excellent.

Bituin Langit! Tala! I love it!

Loved the fate of The Mess as well. Quite entertaining!