Well, as some people have requested this, and the FAQ _does_
suggest that previous chapters/stories be posted if they haven't been seen
on the list before, I'm making part one of my fic available to the ML.
As always comments, critisism, and rotten tomatoes are eagarly
welcomed.
Try not to get _too_ ill reading this, keep your airsickness bags
close at hand, fasten your saftey belts, and please return all seatbacks
and tray tables to their full upright position.
Ed Becerra
"Dreamers may die, but the dream is eternal..."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hi, folks! As Twister once said, this is my first posting of a
fan fic to the RAAS newsgroup and.....
I'M A LITTLE NERVOUS!! AAHHHGGG!!!
But seriously, I'd like to thank the people who inspired my to
try my hand at fan fiction. Big THANK YOU's to Chris Schumacher,
(I love the Crys Saga, guy, but PLEASE don't kill Crys off), Darren
Steffler, (I start re-reading the Twisted Path stories and in a minute
I'm laughing hysterically), Bert Van Vliet, (SkyKnight is BOSS,
dude!), and all the gang who ever contributed to the fan-fic of all
fan-fics...
*DRUM ROLL, PLEASE*
!THE UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES/OTAKU RISING UNIVERSE!
Thank you all for the pleasure and enjoyment you've given an
embittered veteran.
And now, on with the show...!
******************************************
"Life Sucks!"
-Mel Brooks
This was the thought of the tired man sitting behind a customized
Amiga 500 home computer. He had just spent the night downloading
several chapters of the mega-novel known as 'Undocumented Features'
from the ftp site over at ftp.std.com/archives/anime-fan-works. His
eyes had raster burn and his mouth tasted like he'd just smoked three
pipefulls of tobacco. Wait a moment, he _HAD_ smoked three pipefulls.
Oh. _Duh_. Right.
"God," he muttered "These guys have adventures in _COLLEGE_ that
are better than my life, let along the fun they have in their fan
fics. I'd _KILL_ to have a life half as exciting or entertaining
(i.e. FUN). All I do is stay at home, collect my disability pension
from the Army, and vegetate."
He stood and roamed about the room while gzip v1.21 (the Amiga
version, of course, heh, heh!) finished unpacking the last few
chapters. The look on his face was that of a man comming to a
decision.
"All right, damn it! I've had enough! Tommorow, I'm gonna head
over to Northeastern Junior College and volunteer for that test
program the Psych and Computer departments are running. I haven't
anything left to lose. What's the worst that can happen? After all,
it's not like Largo or Deslock is going to appear from thin air, or
something"
Famous last words....
STEEL BREEZE PRODUCTIONS
and
Industrial Might & Logic
Are Proud to Present
L E G I O N ' S Q U E S T
(or, Where the Hell am I, and How do I get home?)
A _VERY_ BIZZARE FAN FIC.
by Edward Anthony Becerra
(It's not Undocumented Features OR Otaku Rising. Honest. Really it
isn't. I give you my word.)
"Ok, so what's involved in this experiment, and what do _I_ do?",
said a somewhat confused Edward Becerra. "And _WHY_ did you need a
former hacker for this, this, what-ever-it-is?"
"As to what is required from you, nothing at this moment. As to
the second question, we've found that, for reasons we do not fully
understand, people with the type of mindset that goes with the love of
computers seem to respond more positively to what we are trying to do
here." said the project leader, a weedy type with a snotty attitude
and a lab coat with a lop-sided figure-eight on it's side embroidered
on the pocket. "We are currently investigating an idea that was
_apparently_ discredited during the 1940's. I doubt _you'd_ be
familiar with it, although the concept has been throughly examined in
the science fiction of that primitive era."
"So, try me."
"Very well" the weedy type sniffed. "Are you at all familiar
with the works of L. Sprague DeCamp and Fletcher Pratt?"
"You don't have to be snotty about it, and yes, I'm quite
familiar with their works. Since you mentioned both of them, I assume
you're referring to their 'Incomplete Enchanter' series. For what
it's worth, I not only have the originals, I also own the sequels that
were written later by DeCamp and Christopher Stasheff, after Pratt's
tragic death from liver cancer in 1956. I've read them all, several
times over." *Take that, you arrogant little lab toady!*, he thought,
beginning to become irritated with the annoying snob.
"Then you know that DeCamp and Pratt postulated that the key to
trans-dimentional travel lies not in machinery, but in the depths of
the human mind." the weedy type expostulated.
"Yah, yah, I know that. The two of them thought that what held
anyone to his native universe was the weight of his belief in that
universe, acting like a sort of sea anchor. And that a universe could
be reduced to a set of syllogism's and sorites that defined that
particular universe. If you could erase your belief in your
_particular_ universe's syllogisms and substitute the syllogisms that
defined another universe in their place, you would be drawn to that
universe. Supposedly, that's what caused some forms of madness. The
mind had successfully made the transition to another world but the
body failed and remained behind."
"Exactly! With most of the difficulty being in how difficult it
is to correctly define any particular universe's syllogisms. What we
are trying to do here, is to avoid that problem entirely."
Despite himself, Ed was beginning to grow interested in this.
"How is it possible to do _THAT_? Even if trans-dimentional
travel by syllogismoble is possible, you still need to define your
destination."
The weedy type smiled. Even his smile was irritating. And where
was his name tag? All these burn-before-reading types running around,
and no name tags? You'd think these anal-retentive types would have
EVERYTHING labled to a fare-thee-well. Just what was going on here?
It was sounding (and looking) less and less like a junior college
experiment, and more and more like a Skonk Works-style secret project.
Not something that he really wanted to get involved in, after his
years in the Army. He decided that he'd turn Mr. Spook-in-a-lab-coat
down flat and get the hell out of Dodge, so to speak.
"We're working on a _GENERIC_ set of syllogisms, Mr. Becerra. Or
should that be Sgt. Becerra?"
Ok, that tore it. How the hell did they know of his prior
service, if they were just some hick college project? They had to be
fed-connected.
*Yaright, you weedy little bugger. I'm out of here so fast, it's
gonna make yer labcoat smoke.*
But first....
"So how on earth can you make a generic syllogism set? I've
always understood that, in order for a set to function, it had to be
highly specific."
"You'll discover that for yourself, if you choose to volunteer,
Mr. Becerra."
*Uh-huh. Right. Not on yer tintype, Dr. Frankenstein. Color me
_GONE_!*
"Did we mention that we pay volunteers $40.00 a day just to
remain on stand-by? In that status, you merely remain near a phone
Monday through Saturday, nothing more than that."
*!! SCHWING !!*
*My little Amiga 500 just can't cut it any more, what with all
the Pentiums and PowerPC chips out there. A 68000 chip just isn't
enought any more. But I can't afford a new Amiga 4000 or a Power
Macintosh on a $7000 a year medical pension. An extra $240 a week can
go a long way towards a new system!*
*Shut up!! Are you trying to get us killed? What if we're
activated, and this so-called "experiment" blows up in our face?*
*We can always call in sick, you know.*
*True enough.*
*Let's do it.*
"And if you're brought to active status, your pay increases to
$250 a day."
*!!*
"Ok, then. You just bought, err ... , GOT yourselves a
volunteer. Time to start showing me the ropes, er... Mr. ?"
"It's Doctor, actually. Doctor Smith. And the first thing we
need to do is to get you properly signed up for the project, and then
issue you a cell phone, so that we'll be able to contact you at a
moment's notice. If you'll come with me, I'll have my lab assistant
help you with the paperwork, and assign a phone to you."
"Works for me, Doctor. Can you arrange for transportation, as
well? I live about 30 miles away from the college, and I don't have a
car."
"That's not a problem. Let us know when you need transportation,
and we'll send one of the assistants to pick you up."
"Guess that's all, then. Bring on the paperwork."
***********************************
Three weeks and $720 dollars later, things seemed to be going
fine. He'd just deposited $700 bucks into the savings account for his
secured credit card, raising his limit to $1600 dollars and planned on
ordering an Amiga 4000 Tower system from Escom Gmbh (They'd bought out
Commodore Business Machines after the bankruptcy) with a 2 gig hard
drive and 32 megs of memory, once his card limit had reached $3000 and
he'd built up an additional two grand in his regular savings account.
Another three months, and he could tell 'Doctor Smith' {yaright, like
that's his real name} to go take a flying leap. Although he'd do it
from a phone booth. He didn't trust the Doc any further than he could
throw him. He didn't put it past 'Doctor' Smith's trying to keep him
from leaving the building when he announced his intention to quit the
project. The weedy little f*** was positively gone on the idea of
dimentional transposition.
*Little bugger positively drools whenever he gets on the subject
of the benefits of dimentional travel to the U.S.A. Hell, you can
even _hear_ the captial letters whenever he talks about how his
research will give AMERICA IT'S RIGHTFULL PLACE IN THE WORLD! Heh,
heh! Guy has more leaks in the brainpan than a Ford Pinto.*
RING. RING.
*It's not the cell phone. Wonder who it could be?*
"Talk to me!"
"Hello, dear."
"Oh, hi, Mom. What do you need?"
"We'll be home late tommorow. I have a late class, and your
father has another burial to do at Sunset Memorial Garden."
"Heh. They're going great guns out there, lately. I guess folks
are just dying to get in."
"Oooooo... (moan)"
"Yeah, Mom, I know. No more cemetary jokes. I promise."
"Thank you, Tony. Anyway, don't bother making dinner for us.
We'll just get something at Arby's."
"All right. You sure about that?"
"Yes, dear. But don't forget to feed and water the dogs."
"No problem, Mom. Drive safe now, ok?"
"Ok. See you soon. Bye bye."
"Bye, Mom!"
Click.
*Better check on the dogs. Last time 'Smith' called, I left
before checking on how much food and water they had in their feeders.
Mom got pretty sore about Abe and Spot going hungry. And my three
dogs weren't very happy about it, either. Puppy, Bandit and Bashful
had completely destroyed their feeder by the time I got home. Those
things cost too damn much to have to replace them every week.*
A few hours later.
BZZZZZ!
*That IS the cell phone. Better see what 'Smith' wants now.*
"Talk to me!"
"Mr. Becerra, this is..."
"Yaright, Smith, like anyone else has the number to this phone.
What do you need?"
"We'd like for you to come in this Monday. We believe we've make
a significant breakthrough, and need you for the test subject. This
will, of course, place you on active status, for which you will
receive 250 dollars for the day's work."
*!!*
"Nooooo problem, Smitty. Just send a car, and I'll be there.
What time do you want me there?"
"Nine o'clock will do, Mr. Becerra."
"Right. See you then."
"Good-bye."
"Be seeing you."
*Idiot couldn't catch the reference to "The Prisoner" if his life
depended on it. Ha!*
Click.
***************************
Next Monday...
Arriving at the old K-Mart building that the project had set up
in (this K-Mart had folded and the building had been up for rent,
cheap), Ed noticed the air of what... excitement? anticipation?
that seemed to have captured the entire staff.
*Hmmm. I know some of these people from NJC. They don't get
hyped up over nothing. Well, maybe over free beer. Anyway. If
_they're_ excited, SOMETHING is most definitely up.*
Just then, 'Smith' rushed up to him.
*'Smith just "rushed" somewhere. I've _never_ seen him do that
before. Maybe he _HAS_ made some sort of breakthrough! Just hope
whatever it is doesn't involve breaking _me_!*
"We've got to hurry, Mr. Becerra. We must get you to the viewing
room as soon as possible."
"Awright, awright, don't get yer shorts twisted, bub. We'll get
there when we get there. So what's so different about today, eh?"
*Damn! What is it about him that irritates me so? I don't
_usually_ talk like Wolverine. Only when someone REALLY gets to me.
I'd just love to run this little weasel through Basic Training. Just
once.*
"Please, Mr. Becerra. I can't explain it here. It would be much
easier in the viewing room."
"Okay. So let's get a move on."
As they strode down the hall, he could see the weedy little
researcher's urgency. It practically glowed from his eyes. 'Smith'
remained silent as they walked toward the viewing room, but his entire
body spoke his excitement. Then, instead of heading for the usual
room, 'Smith' turned to the left.
"Hey, 'Smitty', wrong way. Viewin' room's to the right, bub."
"We've set up a new room, just for this particular experimental
series, Mr. Becerra."
*New room, too. Yup, yup, yup, something is going on, all
right.*
New room was right. Full wall video screens on all four walls
AND the ceiling. Stereo surround sound system. Ankle-deep shag rug
on the floor. Full body chair that looked like someone had stolen it
from Buckingham Palace. Or maybe from NASA.
*I could _sleep_ in a chair that plush! Hell, it looks softer
than my own _BED_ at home!*
"So what's different this time, 'Smitty'? You finally got a
generic syllogism set to work?"
"Indeed, Mr. Becerra! And we want you to be the first to try it
out."
"Sure ya do. And I end up in another universe? I don't think
so, bub."
"You needn't worry about that, Mr. Becerra. We've divided the
syllogism set into two seperate groups. Each group alone is too weak
to move you out of our universe, yet remains strong enough to register
on the monitors."
"Okay. Let's give a try then. I wanna get that $250 ya promised
me. I got bills ta pay."
"Agreed. We'll be playing a recording of the syllogisms over the
sound system, and all four video walls will display images of the
sorites and the symbols. In theory, their effect should be to try to
pull you from _our universe to another, hence the chair. It is welded
to the floor and contains a saftey harness for your protection. As
this takes place our instrumentation should detect the attractive
force affecting you in this room."
"Then let's get started."
As 'Doctor Smith' left the room, Ed took off his hat and coat and
started to prepare for the attempt.
"Okay, 'Doctor' {yaright!}, I'm strapped in and the saftey
harness is cinched tight. By the way, you never _did_ explain how you
managed to develope a generic set of syllogisms. You wanna tell me
now?"
"Indeed, _Sgt._ Becerra, I'd be happy to do so!"
*Uh-oh. Why am I suddenly getting one of those sinking
sensations? Or put another way: Why is this little weasel smiling?
This does _NOT_ look good.*
"And you need not bother with the primitive accent, Sargent. I'm
QUITE familiar with your military record and I am well aware that you
are an educated man. Perhaps not as highly as myself, nor as
formally, but a well-read and well-educated man none the less. That
is part of the reason you were chosen. That, and your medical record.
It shows you "_suffer_" from schizophrenia, yet you dealt with it in a
truely remarkable manner. You have taken what would normally be
considered a serious mental illness and actually integrate it into
yourself, making it a useful part of your everyday life. Your skill
at dealing with the fragmentation of your personality will stand you
in good stead during this experiment."
*Knew I should have killed the little weasle a long time ago.
Ok, yup, harness is locked, {of course}, cut it with my pocket knife.
And keep 'Smith' distracted. Villain's Rule No. 1: Bad guys love to
brag about their evil plots..*
"So what's that have to do with the syllogisms, 'Doc'? And why
do you need someone used to dealing with schizophrenia? Got some mental
problems of yer own, huh? Figures."
"I take no offence from your insult, as you will soon hale me as
the man who makes you America's greatest hero. In a few moments, the
_FULL_ set of sorites and syllogisms will flood the viewing room, at
an intensity you will find impossible to ignore. And as for your
question, the new set we have devised is not so much generic as it is
universal. This set should send you careening through _ALL_ of the
universes that have existed, exist now, or shall exist in the future.
Hopefully, your special abilities in dealing with your own mind will
keep you sane, but sane or not, when you return, the information you
will be carrying with you will be more than enough to give America the
power it deserves, the power to ascend to the rule of the New World
Order!"
*Whooo... Better get out fast. Door's locked. Ok, short out
the lights and hope a fuse blows. That'll give me enough time to try
jimmying the door. Might even start a fire and bring the firemen and
the cops. If all else fails, start smashing the speakers, and then
the video walls.*
"I see you are trying to escape, Sargent. I can't allow that.
I'm sending some guards to the door to prevent your leaving. And if
you're hoping for the police to rescue you, I've had this building
declared a federal reservation. The local police no longer have any
jurisdiction here. You'll be much better off if you simply obey
orders, and do as you are told. It's really all for the best, you
know."
*Shit! Looks like the good Doctor has gone bye-bye, Igon. What
have I got left? I'd like to whack him up with a few _HUNDRED_ cc's
of thorazine. If I could reach him, that is. Better grab my coat and
hat, 'cause it looks like I'm taking a trip whether I like it or not.
I'll need the gear I keep stashed in them. Rat-bastard! If I
survive, 'Smith', _YOU_ _ARE_ _TOAST_!*
"I'd suggest that you recline in the chair, Sargent. I'm
beginning the syllogisms.... NOW!"
*Bet this is gonna leave a mark in the morning.*
He made it to the chair a mere second before the screens lit up.
The logical propositions began spilling from the speakers, and cards
bearing the symbols of syllogism equations flickered past at an
incredible rate. The screens began to pulse as the speed increased
and became readable only as a series of subliminal images.
Everything went white...
rainbowed...
solarized...
***** G A P ! *****
solarized...
rainbowed...
Everything went black...
Time passed...
********************************
*Uuhhhh.... That hurt.... Huh....? What? Who? What happened?
Where am I? Why am I lying face down in the dirt? And Jesus X.
Bushmaster, why am I so damn _HUNGRY_?*
He staggered to his feet, noticing that he was standing in the
middle of a ten meter crater, one that was smoking. As a matter of
fact, so were his clothes. And his hair. Smoking, that is.
*Oohhh.... Ouch.... Arrghh.... Enough with the pain, all
ready! Shit, _everything_ hurts! Even my hair! I guess I'd better
take a look around and find out where I am.*
Looking down, he noticed his hat, which he immediately placed
back on his head. A Stetson, of the type favored by Indiana Jones,
it had cost him a bundle, and he was glad he hadn't lost it in...
...WHATEVER... it was that had happened to him. He failed to notice
the fact that, as he reached down to pick it up, it _jerked_ up to
meet his hand.
He did notice the fact that there seemed to be a man-shaped and
sized impression in the ground in front of him. A significantly
_deep_ impression.
*Whooo... Looks just like the Warner Brothers cartoons. Could I
have made that? If I did, I must have hit _REALLY_ hard. So how come
I'm not _dead_? No broken bones. I don't feel any bruises. I'm even
breathing easy. Heh! I've fallen and I _can_ get up! Ok, worry
about that later. First on the agenda, find out where I am! Next,
try to survive. After that, then worry about trying to get home, if I
can.*
He began to turn in place, looking all around himself.
*Nice place, aside from the crater. Wonder if the crater's my
fault. Well, if it is, I'll apologize. If there's anyone to
apologize TO. Better see if there are any signs of civilization.
Hmmm... I don't see any cities on the hor...ri...zon... URK!*
The urk! was from the fact that he had just noticed that the
horizon was curving _UP_!
*JESUS WEPT! I'M IN A FRIGGING DYSON SPHERE!*
He sat down rather suddenly, collapsing, actually. He put his
head in his hands and tried not to think for a few moments. It didn't
work. He was still in a Dyson sphere, and now he had a headache. And
there wasn't a bottle of aspirin in sight.
*Come to think about it, I'm probably in a state of shock.
Funny, I just feel numb. Nothing dramatic about that. Strange thing
is, it's actually easier to think clearly this way. No emotions
clouding my thoughts.*
As he sat there, a whining noise began to intrude itself,
catching his attention. It sounded like a jet engine of some sort.
He looked up, and spotted what appeared to be a large and powerfull
looking jet of an unfamiliar sort heading in his direction. It passed
overhead, and began to slow down. He thought he saw what looked like
an odd, geometric symbol of some sort emblazoned on the nose.
*You know, I could have sworn that I just saw an... naw, couldn't
be.*
The large purple jet had begun to circle his position. He stood
up. Then he received another shock. The jet, with an oddly familiar
noise, suddenly transformed it's self into a helicopter, which
proceeded to touch down about half a kilometer away from where he
stood.
Then the helicopter transformed again, with the same familiar
sound. Now it looked like a _large_ (*at least two and a half meters
tall* he thought numbly) man dressed in a large grey fedora, a purple
suit jacket, and a pair of purple pants, with a turtleneck sweater,
complete with flowing purple cape. This entity began heading his way.
*Oh, great. Darkwing Duck's bigger brother. Just what I need.*
Then, as the man, (or whatever) came closer, he noticed the
symbol displayed prominently on the man's jacket. A Transformer's
logo. The Autobot logo, to be precise.
*A Dyson sphere...*
*A man who is _also_ a Transformer, and dressed in _purple_, no
less....*
*Utopia Planitia.*
*PCHammer.*
*I can't handle this. I think I'll go bye-bye now.*
*System shutting down in 5 seconds.*
*Powering down in 4 seconds.*
*3*
*2*
*1*
*Shutdown.*
CLUNK!
***************************************
Watch this spot for Chapter Two of Legion's Quest.
(That is, if MegaZone, Gryphon, & Co. don't kill
me first!) I hope you enjoyed this. It's _NOT_
meant to be part of Undocumented Features or Otaku
Rising. My character is just passing through.
He'll stay just long enough to find his feet, and
then he'll be on his way around. Thank you all,
and I hope you enjoy what is my first effort in
the field of anime fan fiction.
Concepts stolen from:
L. Sprage DeCamp & Fletcher Pratt - "The Incomplete Enchanter"
MegaZone, Gryphon & ReRob - "Undocumented Features"
Corinthian - "Otaku Rising"
Mom & Dad - "Edward Becerra" (i.e., me!)
US Army - "The good ole Army!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Well, for those of you who read my first chapter and DIDN'T think
that it stank on ice, here's Legion's Quest: Chapter 2.
Of course, if you are reading this, then MegaZone DID put both
chapter 1 and this one up and _did not_ try to have me lynched for
mis-apropriating his and Gryphon's characters. Heh!
My Thanks to the whole UF/OR crowd and again to:
Darren Steffler - Just can't get enough of that Twisted Path.
Chris Schumacher - Love the Crys Saga, guy, gonna try Original
Flavor soon.
Bert Van Vliet - What can I say? Bubblegum Zone... EXCELLENT!
And who knows, guys? If it's OK with YOU, Legion might drop in
for a quick visit. (But only with YOUR PERMISSION, mind you. I'm not
a rude guest, to drop in on folks, un-announced. Most of the time,
anyway. Heh.)
Sorry if it's a little slow this chapter, I'm trying to establish
my character here.
Enough of that for now.....
And the LEGION continues...
(guess the StarTrek quote got misspelled, eh? Heh, heh!)
**********************************
"Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."
- Dorothy Gale.
Dreams can be a terrifying and dangerous place for some, and a
marvelous fantasy playground for others. But, on a rare occasion,
someone has what is known as a lucid dream. A dream where the dreamer
knows that s/he is dreaming and is often able to control what is
happening around them. This is usually considered to be a good thing.
Something that they might enjoy. Even have some fun with.
Usually.
But not this time...
STEEL BREEZE PRODUCTIONS
and
Industrial Might & Logic
Are Proud to Present
L E G I O N ' S Q U E S T
Chapter 2
(or, Hey, Which Way is Up?! And Why Am I Upside-down?)
In an Emergency Room in a hospital somewhere in (on? Dyson
Spheres are so confusing) Utopia Planitia, the on-duty trama team was
experiencing an unusual emotion. Total confusion. All the fault of a
single patient. And they couldn't even discover what was WRONG with
him, aside from simple unconsciousness.
Nothing worked. Ultrasound, CATscans, PETscans, Tricorders,
sensor suites, full spectrum scans, nothing could seem to penetrate
the patient's skin. All that they could get were basic heatbeat and
respiration. They couldn't even check for pupil reflex, since they
couldn't get his eyelid up far enough to shine a penlight into his
eye!
Even the Betazed on duty couldn't get anything. It was as if the
patient wasn't even _THERE_! Aside from his physical presence and the
fact that his body had mass, weight and volume, most instruments,
empaths, and telepaths simply reported that there just wasn't anything
alive lying there. It really irked the Betazed intern. Her eyes told
her that a person was lying on the bed before her, yet her telepathic
and empathic senses insisted that the bed was empty, that no one was
there. After a while, she requested permission to leave the room.
The conflict between her senses was giving her a headache.
Not that the rest of the team felt much better. None of the
usual surgical instruments worked on this unknown patient, and the
UNusual intruments kept on hand for for such patients as Model 33/S
Sexaroids, 55-C Boomers, Eiko Magami, PCHammer, Transformers, and the
occasional alien, meta-human or mechanoid lifeforms weren't doing much
better. One of the male nurses took a short break, simply to pound
his head against the wall in frustration. It didn't help.
Right now, the senior physician on duty was trying to take a
blood sample using a custom adamantium needle that he had to
specially request from Supply. It _seemed_ to be penetrating the
skin, albeit VERY slowly. Of course, it didn't help that they were
having to use a hydraulic jack to drive the needle in.
"Doctor, look!" said a nurse standing near the patient's head.
She pointed at his eyelids.
"Hmmm. Rapid eye movement. A good sign. It would indicate that
there is SOME level of mental activity taking place. And if he isn't
entirely flatlined then there is some hope of his recovering
consciousness eventually." The doctor mused. "Keep trying to take a
blood sample and place him under constant observation. Use one of the
meta-human wards, just in case he wakes up violent or confused. We
don't want him damaging the weaker portions of the hospital. But no
restraints as of yet. From what the Hammer told us of the unusual
circumstances under which he found this young man, I'm of the opinion
that our guest isn't here entirely of his own free will. It behoves
us to treat him as a guest until we have a reason to do otherwise."
"Yes, Doctor."
"And if you can't get the blood drawn by, ohh, say, the next
twenty or so minutes, leave it be, and move him to the meta-human
ward. And use one of the rooms with the normal looking furniture. If
the identity papers he was carrying with him are correct, we're going
to have one _VERY_ confused young man on our hands when he wakes up.
Come to think about it, I believe I should place a call to Dr. Mui.
If anyone could know what our visitor is going through, it would be
'Doc'."
**********************************
Deep in a confusing, lucid dream, Edward drifted....
*Heh. Sort of reminds me of that episode of "The Tick" where
he's unconscious, and we get to see inside his mind. Or maybe the
opening credits of the "Twilight Zone" series. Except this is _MY_
mind, dammit! And _MY_ dream. Why can't I wake up, already? And why
do I have this annoying feeling that I'm LATE for a meeting or
something?*
Right about then, the obligatory bright light appeared.
*OH COME ON, NOW!! How cliched can you get? A bright light?
_PLEASE!_ Is it too much to expect a little originality? Even when
it's my own mind? _Especially_ when it's my own mind!*
As the light grew brighter, Ed noted that he was being drawn
towards it at an increasing rate of speed. The miscellaneous objects
that had been floating all around him were swiftly fading into
nothingness.
Looking around, he noticed that the light had surrounded him on
all sides. Nothing else was visible. It was much like being in an
arctic white-out. He could see himself, but nothing else. He looked
down at his hands.
*HEY! Wait a moment. I got hands. Howcum I got hands? Oh, I
guess it must be my self-image. All those folks who blathered on
about out of body experiences all said they seemed to have an etherial
body, of sorts. Hmmm. As my hero Spock might say: "Fascinating."*
"Of course it's your self image. Now quit admiring yourself and
get over here. We've got a lot to talk about, and a relatively short
time to do it in."
"GAAAHHH!" Ed shouted. He started. He would have jumped, but
there was nowhere to jump to. SOMEONE had just appeared out of...
well, it couldn't be thin air, not in a dream. Out of nothing in
particular, then. A very oddly dressed someone, at that.
*I thought that buckskins trimmed in fur and beads went out with
the bow and arrow buffalo hunt. Although the knee length moccasins
are a nice touch. But the beaded headband is a bit _much_. And the
Indian Joe hat has _GOT_ to go.* he thought in a bemused sort of way.
"Just what I need..." he moaned. "A part of my psyche that
thinks it's a Native American. Why me? Why?"
"Get it straight, child. I'm not part of your somewhat confused
mind. Although, I will allow that you have every right to be confused
right now. That doesn't give you the right to insult me, however.
I'm here because you called out for help in the midst of your little
'accident' and since we are related, you had the right to ask for my
assistance. Even if you didn't ask for me, specifically. Now get
your thoughts in order. After I explain things, you can ask a few
questions, but we don't have much time left. You'll be waking up all
too soon."
"Okay, then. Just who the Hell are you, and what are you doing
in my dream, Mr. Mysterious Indian Type? For that matter, why am _I_
here, where is _here_, and what has happened to me?" His voice was
beginning to rise. "How did I end up at what looks like Utopia
Planitia? Was that _really_ PCHammer I saw before I passed out? And
most important of all... _WHAT THE HELL HAS HAPPENED TO ME??!!_" The
last question was roared out at a volume that suprised even himself.
"In the order given, I am Coyote, the Trickster, and sometime god
to the native tribes of the American plains. I'm here to guide you in
the dicovery and use of your newly acquired powers. _You_ are here to
learn from me. _Here_ is inside your mind, in a dream state. You
arrived at Utopia Planitia because that was the clearest image in your
mind when the syllogisms took effect. And that image was foremost in
your mind because of the time you spent reading the stories about this
particular universe. Yes, that really _was_ PCHammer you saw. As for
what has happened to you, that is what we are here to discuss."
"Oookaaay... Assuming that I believe you are who you say you
are, what HAS happened to me?"
"What's the last thing that you can remember before you arrived
at the Dyson Sphere?"
"Well... That weasley little 'Dr. Smith' telling me that his newly
created syllogisms would send me travelling through all the universes
that existed in the infinity of... the... multi-verse... Ooohh...,
Shiiit..." whispered Edward in an overwhelmed sort of voice.
"Exactly. Although he actually had very little to do with it.
What has occured was your destiny. All 'Smith' did was facilitate it,
slightly. When you went screaming through creation in that fashion,
for an infinite instant in time, you BECAME everyone you have been,
currently are or ever will be in each and every one of those
universes. You lived those lives in full. In a very real sense, you
now _ARE_ all those people, an infinite number of them. You have
their memories, their abilities, skills, powers, knowledge, and
strengths. You name it, you got it. But you are more than just the
sum of their parts. This is a case where synergy takes effect. In
that infinite instant, your mind was spread across all existance. You
experienced each of those universes through the eyes, and lives, of
your alternates, or dopplegangers, if you will. In order to survive
that, you unconsciously drew on the power available to you from them.
And drawing upon that much power has _CHANGED_ you."
"Now, wait just one cotton-picking minute! Are you trying to
tell me that I'm some kind of bleeding _GOD_?"
"No."
"That's a relief!"
"Just a demi-god. Or a godling, if you prefer."
"Oy! Oy vay iz mir! What did I do to deserve a fate like this,
huh? What? Did I piss off _GOD_ in a previous life? Why me?"
"That's something that I can't tell you right now. You'll
discover it on your own, anyway. It'll just take a while. Now calm
down, and I'll try to help you deal with using your powers in the
little time that we have left. Now listen closely. The reason you
have that gap in your memory is because you yourself blocked those
memories off in self-defense. The flood of other lives you so
suddenly lived threatened to overwhelm your mind and your sanity.
Instinctively, you blocked those memories from your conscious mind, in
order to survive. Removing that block now would do more harm than
good. What I'm going to help you to do is to slightly alter that
block, so that you can use those memories without their destroying
you."
"How so?"
"What we're going to do is place a filter into the blockage, so
that it will allow the memories through, but not the emotional baggage
that usually accompanies them. What you remember of those lives will
then seem... distant, as though they had happened to someone else, as
if they were something you had read about, rather than actually
having experienced them yourself. This way you will benefit from
them, without becoming overwhelmed by them."
"Sounds like a plan. Let's do it."
"Follow me..."
***
"Ok, that's finished. Is there anything else I urgently need to
do to my mind before you go?"
"No. Right now, the best way for you to learn about your newly
empowered self, is by doing. As Rikki-Tikki-Tavi once said, 'Run and
find out.' Experiment. But be careful. At your full power, when you
attain it, you will rival the beings of the 'Q' Continuum. However,
that won't be for quite some time yet. And I've place most of your
ability to handle magic under the control of that part of your
personality that calls itself 'Kickaha'. He appeals to me. And he
has a better sense of humor than you do."
"Gee, thanks {not!}. Does that mean I have to worry about magic
being used on me?"
"No. Your immunity is natural, and extends to all things. I've
merely placed the power to use _active_ magics under 'Kickaha's
control. I've made certain that he, and thereby _you_, won't do
anything potentially dangerous with the powers of the occult. After
all, not all of your other selves are nice people. One of them may
attemp to misuse those abilities. Magic is subtle, and you are still
unfamiliar with it. When you've learned enough, and have become
sophisticated in their usage, those powers will be yours to fully
command. If you want to use them at present, the two of you will have
to work together. As it is, anyone, or anything, who tries to trick
you into abusing magecraft will have to trick the two of you at the
same time."
"I don't like it, but it does make sense. A question or two
before you go, if you please?"
"Make it quick."
"You certainly don't seem like my image of an Indian, not even
like those who chose to live in the European's world."
"You weren't raised in the old ways, so you wouldn't have been
able to understand or accept me in any other fashion. You needed to
see me this way, so this is the way I came to you."
"You said we were related...?"
"Hey, the Greek gods weren't the only ones who slept around with
some of their female worshipers. Some of those Indian girls were real
!BABES!, you know? And I never used protection, if you know what I
mean. That was before the Europeans brought all those STD's to the
America's."
"Oh....."
"Hey, kid, don't feel so shocked! I have lots of grandchildren,
some of them in the strangest of places. And I do try to take care of
them whenever I can. If you ever really need me, call. I'll try to
help, if I can. Take care of yourself, son. Make me proud..."
**********************************
"It's just another Manic Monday!"
-The Bangles, "Manic Monday"
"Sucks to be us, eh?"
-q, "Undocumented Features"
Meanwhile, back at the Fritz Koopman/Paul Heaton Memorial
Hospital, thing were beginning to take a turn for the better. Their
mysterious patient was showing signs of impending wakefullness, Dr.
Mui had arrived, and Edison Bell was walking the halls of the
meta-human wing. Although some people weren't so happy about that
last fact. When Bell showed up, thing tended to _HAPPEN_. Medical
personnel didn't like for things to _HAPPEN_. Or for things to
_OCCUR_, either. Not their fault, though. That's just the way
medical types are. They're always thinking about the next major
disaster that might come their way. It makes them a trifle touchy,
when it comes to the unexpected.
Some of the more nervous types were busy checking out the
emergency proceedures. They remembered how Bell had shown up at
Zoner's death, at Pearson Mui's first time leap, and in the middle of
the climactic battle with GENOM's AT&T battlestation. They felt,
"Better safe than sorry." Understandably so. And, hey, it never hurts
to be prepared, eh?
Returning to the private room where the staff had placed the
unconcious stranger....
"Unnnnh.... Why's the light so damn _LOUD_? Turn down the
volume, eh? Enough with the photons, already. C'mon, Bashful, it's
not time to get up yet..." mumbled the figure on the bed, twitching
restlessly. "What a fweird dream, weird, weird dream, weird to the
Nth power dream..."
Dr. Pearson Mui was seated in an armchair across the room from
the bed, watching the semi-conscious patient with a great deal of
patient interest. Given that he himself had arrived in the Wedge
Defense Force via a screwed-up leap through time, he found this
mysterious figure, who had appeared from thin air into the middle of
the most heavily defended habitat in the known galaxy, rather
facinating.
Suddenly...
Edward sat up suddenly in the bed and stared frantically around
the room, finally fixing upon the man in the armchair. "Whaaa.....
Where am I? Who the Hell are you? What is this place? And where are
my clothes?" This came out at a volume that didn't _quite_ put cracks
in the plaster. Not that there was any plaster in a high-tech
hospital like this one.
"You're in the Fritz Koopman/Paul Heaton Memorial Hospital.
Somebody found you outside the city, out cold, and they brought you
here. I've been sorta wondering when you were going to wake up. I
could also use a couple of answers, though. Don't worry, I'm not
gonna put you on the rack or anything." 'Doc' responded.
"Oh... Gah... Bwahh... Ahhhh... Oooghh..." Nothing much
intelligeable was getting out, thought Edward. *He probably thinks
I'm a mental defective of the first water, by now. Engage brain
before putting mouth in gear, STUPID! And _HURRY UP_! The nice man,
err... the nice Doctor is waiting on you.*
"If you're having trouble getting your thoughts in order, just
take your time. There's no urgency about this. You have plenty of
time. Just take a deep breath, relax, and try to let things just
flow." Doc told him.
*Plenty of time is right. If that wasn't a dream I just had,
then I'm even _more_ Hopelessly Lost than MegaZone and Gryphon ever
_DREAMED_ of being! First Rule in Disasters: When in Trouble or in
Doubt/Run in Circles, Scream and Shout! But I don't think that's
gonna work _this_ time. Okay, do like he says. Take a deep breath,
and try not to sound like a deranged lunatic. Ha. Right. Easier
said than done. Just hope they don't have some version of Arkham
Asylum here. Though the way my luck's been running, that's probably
too much to expect. Okay, loony bin, here I come.*
"I don't expect you to believe this, Doctor..." Ed hemmed.
"Pearson Mui, pronounced like 'boy'." Doc offered helpfully.
*Oy vay iz mir! Let's see. 5" 10' tall. Yep. Chinese
appearance. Yep. Wire-rimmed glasses. Yep. Note to Self: I AM IN
DEEP KIMCHEE, HERE. Fuck you very much, God, and remind me to screw
_you_ over someday! Well, at least one good thing has come out of
this. Of all the people who COULD be listening to my story right now,
Doc Mui is the most likely to believe it. After all, let him who has
NOT made a spatial-temporal jump cast the first stone. Maybe Coyote
is looking out for me, after all.*
"I hope you have some time, Doctor Mui, 'cause it's gonna be a
LOOONG story. And one that's hard to believe, as well. It's just a
guess, but would Edison Bell be here, by any chance?"
"Yes, he is! Do you know him?" asked Doc.
"Figures he'd be here. Aahh..., let's just say that I know 'of'
him. But since he's here, I think he should hear this, too. It would
save a great deal of time. And could we record this? That might be
for the best. It would keep me from having to repeat my story five
hundred times to disbelieving ears." Ed responded, with a wry
expression on his face.
"I'll have him paged. He's already here at the hospital. He
came when he heard about the unusual manner of your arrival." Doc
said.
"Somehow, I'm not surprised." Edward returned. "From what I've
heard about him, he always did have an uncanny ability to show up at
just the right time. Well, let's call him in, and get this story on
the road. Oh, by the way?
"Yes?"
"Could you tell me what year it currently is?"
"It's 2402. Why?" Doc offered helpfully.
"Oh, no reason in particular..." Ed said.
After Doc left to get Edison, Ed buried his face in his hands and
was heard to mutter, "Oh, great. Juuust frigging great. 2402. The
25th century. Buck Rogers is gonna _KILL_ me!"
***
"Well, we had a few beers, next thing you know, there we were in
Czechoslovakia."
-Bill Murray, "Stripes"
It was a longish story, and it took the better part of two hours
to finish. Ed had to dredge his brain for details of the "UF" series,
in order to substantiate his claim of coming from another universe.
But when he came to the part about knowing of the appearance of the
'other' Zoner, Gryphon, and ReRob, along with Vaughn and Bell himself,
aboard the "WANDERING CHILD" during the final battle with Largo, well,
that pretty much did the job of convincing them that his wild story
was true. Still, the extra details didn't hurt any, and probably
up'ed his credibility with Edison Bell by a significant margin. He
definitely needed it. After all, how many _non_-insane people do you
know who can claim to have met an honest-to-god God? Even a
relatively minor one like Coyote? Of course, Telute didn't count.
Almost everyone meets _her_, eventually. Although there were a few
exceptions, like Bell, himself.
By this time quite a few people had joined them via a
teleconference link to his hospital room. This included Gryphon,
Zoner, ReRob, PCHammer (after all, he'd _FOUND_ Ed), many of the
original Wedge Rats and even Lord Wolfgang Amadeus Fahrvegnugen.
***
(Author's note: I still think he sounds like some kinda
Volkswagen... Lord Wolfgang appears in a nimbus of light and clubs
the author over the head with his sword. CLUNK! Author apologizes
profusely, blood streaming from his new scalp wound. End of author's
note. On with the story...)
***
"And that's pretty much the whole story, as far as I know it.
That's how I arrived here, that's what Coyote told me, and that's
everything I can remember to prove myself. I don't know what else to
say. Hell, I don't know what else I _CAN_ say! Except, maybe, that I
hope you believe me, 'cause it looks like I'm gonna be stuck here for
a while, until I can figure out how to get home. And I think I'm
gonna need some friends..."
Doc shook his head. "Believe me, I have a pretty good idea of
how you feel. Hell, I've done the transdimensional tango a few times
myself. I've seen blasted earths, survived encounters with ancient
Lemurian sorcerors, nearly gotten myself killed via radiation, vacuum,
under a Kilrathi's claws, and all other sorts of nastiness."
By now, Ed had downed several glasses of water. Giving out with
a story like that was thirsty work. And being both parsecs and
centuries from home didn't help any. He found himself begging his
audience's pardon and heading to the bathroom. And towards another
big surprise.
After turning on the light and closing the door, Ed used the
facilities, then turned toward the sink to wash his hands. That's
when everyone in the room, and those on the conference link-up, heard
it.
"Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhgggggggggggg!!!!!!!!!"
As screams go, it was rather impressive. It had both carrying
power and penetration. It reached down the hall to the nurse's
station, causing several of them to rush for his room at a dead run.
But since Doc was already IN the room, he was the first to reach Ed,
with Bell close on his heels. Charging into the bathroom, Doc knocked
the door aside with one arm to discover Ed slumped to the floor with a
slack expression on his face and his mouth hanging open in total
astonishment, his left arm gently waving in the direction of the
mirror. As Doc tried to help him to bed, with Bell's assistance, he
noted that Ed was trying to whisper something. He leaned over to
catch the faint words.
".... my face ...." Ed wheezed faintly.
Doc examined Ed's face closely. There didn't seem to be anything
wrong with it that he could see.
"What's the matter with it?" Doc asked him.
".... not mine ...."
"I don't understand."
"..."
"What?"
".... check wallet ...."
After getting Ed to the bed, Doc did just that. Opening the
wallet, which had been included with the rest of Ed's personal
effects, he extracted a Colorado Driver's Licence with an expiration
date of 1997 on it. *Hmm. He'll have to get that renewed.* thought
Doc. Then he noticed the photo. According to the licence, the Edward
Becerra in the photo was in his mid 30's, and looked it. The one
lying on the hospital bed looked barely 20, if that much. They were
clearly the same person, that much could be told from the photo, but
equally as obvious, there had been some MAJOR changes in his
appearance since his little adventure began in the K-Mart some 30 plus
hours ago. Like, the loss of, what, fifteen years or so?
*No wonder he screamed! I might have too, if somebody dumped a
surprise like that on me without any warning. Looks a little like a
cheap remake of "The Picture of Dorian Grey." And there are a few
other anomalies in the physical infomation. Says here he weighs 195
lbs. When he was checked in, he weighed out at 150, with less than 1%
body fat. In the photo, he's going grey at the temples, and if I'm
not mistaken, it looks like his hairline has receeded slightly. Right
now, that hair looks reddish-black, and it's thicker than a brand-new
shag rug. Whatever happened to him during his 'accident' has changed
him rather extensively. And the change in his face was the straw that
broke the camel's back. He was putting up a good front, until then.
He's going to need help dealing with this. And as soon as possible.
But who is there who can provide psychological counseling to a
super-human? I'd better find out, and quickly. The last thing we
need is for a being with semi-phenominal, nearly cosmic powers to go
irrational on us. One I.C.Z.E.R.-2 per lifetime is _more_ than
enough! If Vaughn hadn't been there... Hey! Maybe that's the
answer!*
With that, Doc walked down the hall, to make a few calls in
private.
**********************************
And that's Chapter 2. Hope you enjoyed it,
folks. If you did, e-mail me & let me know,
ok? Watch this space for Chapter 3 of...
"Legion's Quest"! (like you didn't already
know that, eh?) Thank you, and have fun
reading this.
Concepts stolen from:
Native American History & My Great-Grandmother - Coyote.
Undocumented Features - Fritz Koopman, Paul Heaton & Pearson Mui.
D.C. Comics - Arkham Asylum.
Disney - Alladin. (Did anybody notice that bit about
semi-phenominal, nearly cosmic powers?)
Ha!