A Question of Trust (3)

 

Previous The Bot Queen, vampire Cambris, and tha avatar of starship Orchidia convene to figure out a way for the ship to return to the future. Young Eric has been sent back to New York.

On the set of the Wicca Horror Show, the namesake diva paced peevishly about a bizarre trio. The two bot brains were doing most of the talking; something about the whole affair had Cambris in a dreamy state, with no more understanding of the technobabble that had Wicca. 

Producer Ed lounged on the set's red divan next to Commander Moast. Both savored beers while keeping a wary eye on the proceedings. First Officer Kyra stood nearby with coffee, looking ready for action.

Ed took a swig for courage. "Look here, Moast--are you in charge of this shootin' match?"

"Nominally yes. But Orchidia has altered her priority to self preservation. I can't make her do anything she feels is a threat to her integrity. On the other hand, that trait has saved us more than once."

The devious mind of the gold cyborg Queenie sought to draw Cambris out of her aloof superiority over the artificials. Calculating outrageous statement for maximum impact. "I sense a sexual tension between us."

It worked. Cambris drew up in wide-eyed amazement. "I?--with a collection of wires and springs?" Fangs came out, though no target presented save for super hard metal.

Undeterred, Queenie made a proposal. "Access to the starship will allow me to reroute the injector coolant circuit for chronotronic interphasiality." 

Only Orchidia could fathom a tongue twister like that. "Plausible, though unlikely to see us home. Projected rationale: you will take the ship to Pluto Station, hyperjump to a suitable star system, and rebuild your Bot empire."

Wicca interjected herself with a toast of her small chocolate gin bottle. "A gal can dream. You know, Vern?" 

Three sets of eyes considered, then quickly dismissed her. 

Cambris recovered her aplomb. "To sojourn among the stars. How I yearned for it on summer nights."

"The observation is relevant," Orchidia said. "My alternate hypothesis relies on your species' ability for transforming into mist." 

"Species indeed!" Cambris' pinpoint pupils fastened on another unlikely target in the amorphous hologram. "My husband was village alderman centuries before you were constructed from junkyard scraps."

Not programmed for cattyness, Orchidia found the statement nonsensical. "Your data set is flawed."

Wicca spread arms in a pique. "Borrrrring!" She put a finger to Queenie's neck. "They need your help, but you aren't going near that ship. Tell Orchid what to do. Remember what I did to you once?"

"Barbaric. You briefly regressed me to my humanoid origin."

"You were a huntress, a regular Peter Pan with bow and arrow. Then the Bots came. They sure didn't bargain for a type A overachiever like you." 

"Preparing interface," Queenie prudently decided. She reached out to touch the virtual fingers of Orchidia. A clear disk formed between them, on which schematics flashed with mind-bending speed.

"Wow," Ed mused. "That's kinda hot."

Moast had arms crossed. "Your diva is unexpectedly resourceful."

"She's an enigma, all right. Still hasn't figured out the urinals in the men's room, but she can engineer the overthrow of an empire."

"Assimilation complete." Orchidia rotated to face Cambris. "You may contact the hull in an envirosuit, under escort of Commander Moast. He will conduct you to a junction of limited opening, where your mist form will deliver the required part."

Moast sat forward with elbows on knees and brow furrowed. 

"Quite a situation," Kyra observed. "Orchidia must trust you, and you must trust the. . . .the one with the fangs, in a restricted space."

"Then let's begin," said a resigned Moast.

A Question of Trust (2)

 

Previous The starship Orchidia accidentally reaches Earth in 2021. Seeking a way home, its commander identifies offworld technology involved with the Wicca Horror Show, and sets out for Hollywood. 

Commander Moast and his first officer had barely departed before two titan intellects began sparring. Orchidia came under intense scrutiny by hijacked satellites. The gold cyborg responsible was of demonstrably higher technology, but lacked the immense power available to a starship. Orchidia subjected them to rolling overload blackouts, which kept resetting the alien program in a non-terminating loop. She devoted a full second to analyzing every show from the franchise, especially those involving the cyborg called Queenie.

Assessment: evidence of long-term planning and brute force conversion. An unknown quantity exists via the subseries on Dracula Brides. Three, unnamed, appear in a period film. Cross reference with radio program of Derek von Halter, billed as a vampire hunter. Collating from Wicca Horror Show: Emmy, Cambris, Yelena, Mirjana. Portraits painted by Eric Harker. Accessing home address.

In Hollywood, a gold cyborg with a black punk 'do--courtesy of Wicca--tread heavily downstairs into the second-floor studio. 

It didn't sit well with the diva enthroned on a wing chair. "Queenie, who said you could pop out of your cubicle?"

"Alert: two crewmen from an orbiting warship. Arrival imminent."

The producer, Ed, set down his script copy. "Don't we have space weapons?"

"These are inordinately outclassed by the intruder."

Wicca stepped off the stage. "If this in one of your Bot ships. . . ."

"Negative. There is no Bot presence in this dimension."

Two people were shown in. One was a rugged type, the other a no-nonsense blonde. They looked a little out of place in L A, wearing casual hiking attire. 

"Alert. Particle weapons detected."

"Oh, we can't be having that." Wicca motioned for them to disarm. To their surprise, they came up with water pistols.

The woman squirted a few shots. "We hadn't thought you capable of transphasic conversion. Where is your emitter? I don't detect one."

"I'm not emitting anything," Wicca said. "Who says I am?"

The blonde indicated her partner. "This is Commander Moast. I'm First Officer Preston." She decided on Galactic Intro 6B. "Friends call me Kyra."

"What do you want me to call you?"

Kyra recovered smoothly until she glanced at her scanner. "Commander, this woman has no life signs. Are you reading this, Orchidia?"

"Confirmed," said the AI via comlink. "She is a fully preserved animated corpse. I detect an energizing force of high kinetic potential, type unknown."

"Just a little Outworld magic," Ed said. "She spent years finding and absorbing the five crystal skulls." He shook hands with Moast. "I'm Ed, and you can tell easy enough who the diva is. If you're like the gold one here, I reckon you're magic-challenged."

Moast eyed the cyborg. "We're from your future, here by accident. I don't suppose any of you have time traveled."

"Nothing to it." Wicca said. "I brought Queenie here from a thousand years ago because she was just too cool to kill."

"A costly mistake," Moast pointed out. "Are you aware your cities burn due to nanobot infection?"

Wicca turned on the Bot Queen. "I thought I had you neutered, missy!"

"If you mean spayed," Queenie said, "I was able to infect a cat before you corrupted my nanites with native force."

Ed shrugged. "Today a cat, tomorrow the world."

"Native force?" Kyra asked.

Wicca rolled eyes. "She's another unbeliever."

"What about you, Commander?" Ed shook hands again, forgetting he'd already done it. "Forget magic--I mean, what's it like in your time?"

"Thanks to your gold friend," Moast said, "Earth is one big video game playground where soldiers of fortune hone their skills. The uninfected live on Mars. And. . . .elsewhere."

Queenie faced him squarely. "You believe I don't know about your Pluto Station?"

"Regrettable," the AI said. "Her access to satellites briefly penetrated our peripheral files." 

Wicca leaned forward to address the unit on Kyra's hip. "Relax, girlie. Queenie's nanites--at least the ones still inside her--only do my bidding."

"Ladies--" Ed raised hands to interrupt.

They encountered another surprise when Eric Harker came in. The young college student was a long way from home. Ed and Wicca rushed to greet him, launching a flurry of questions. 

"Hold on," Eric protested. "I got kidnapped aboard a spaceship. The AI asked a lot of questions about the show, the Outworld, the Brides. Then she sent me here on a remote-controlled skimmer," 

"Accessing Bride One," Orchidia said. From Kyra's hip unit she sent an energy beam that unscrewed the top of a coffee mug on Wicca's belt. A mist flowed out, taking the white-gowned form of Cambris.

The vampire stared daggers. "Who dares to summon me?"

Eric came forward. "It's okay, Miss Cambris. These are some space people who need help getting home." 

Tearing her gaze from Moast's muscular neck, Cambris said, "I will see the one who disturbs my repose."

Orchidia's avatar materialized, a ghostly waif with a power crystal set in the forehead. She formed a very odd trio with Queenie and Cambris as they gathered for high-level talks.

Wicca's mouth went aslant. "Freak showwww. . . ."

A Question of Trust

 

The return hyperjump to Pluto Station was anything but routine. Orchidia's mission to the dwarf starburst galaxy NGC 4449 turned up little of profit; only a plant that could copy appearances, even human heads. Yet they arrived at a dark and deserted moon-sized sphere, not one bustling with activity. The logical course was a return to Earth for answers. During final approach, the AI switched them to stealth mode, making them invisible to observers below.

Commander Moast looked up from the tactical display. "Orchidia, explain."

"Problem: this is the year 2021."

That was a problem to say the least. "It explains Pluto Station: it hasn't been discovered yet."

First Officer Kyra methodically got down to cases. "The Builder portal  has a time-travel aspect it wasn't designed for. Orchidia, account for influencing factors."

"The dwarf galaxy inhabits the star cluster Canes Venatici. Its blue spectrum is indicative of metal-deficient stars of ancient origin. Theorizing: its hyper rate of star production has altered the enhanced dark matter content typical of dwarves, diverting the stellar stream from the Magellanic Clouds. The portal's quantum field generator--"

"Message received," Moast said. "The portal has a bug. The question now is how we get home."

Berl, the beefy helmsman, swiveled about. "If it helps, I'm seeing a lot of civil strife worldwide, especially in the U.S." 

"Ancient history," said bearded navigator Chet. "That was the start of the Cataclysm Wars."

That worldwide collapse of civilization gave rise to soldiers of fortune like Moast. His exceptional talent led to his being chosen as a starship commander by the Mars-based Consortium.

"Warning: scanning two anomalies."

Moast sprawled in the command chair. "Helm, transfer graphics control to the AI. Orchidia, we may have a unique chance to determine the cause of the insanity. Proceed with analysis."

The main viewer featured a human figure alight with thousands of bright dots.

"Violent anarchists and their handlers are infected with nanobots."

Moast traded a puzzled look with Kyra. "That technology wasn't available at the time. It suggests an offworld source."

"Collating a series of unexplained events. All are beyond scientific plausibility."

Kyra frowned. "If not scientific, that leaves the supernatural."

It caused the AI a rare second of hesitation. "There is no verification of the supernatural. However, I have used a matrix construct to locate the origin of these events."

Moast stared at the screen. A man with a goatee stood with a mischievous-looking woman and a large-boned man in a suit. At the end was a dwarf in logger's cap. He read the graphic. "The Wicca Horror Show?"

"I am scanning a super intelligence that has just become aware of us. The source is verifiably offworld. In addition, the dwarf and the female vibrate at different galactic frequencies compared to indigenous forms. They are not from this dimension."

Moast took a  moment to digest it all. "Are these people responsible for the wars? They must be stopped. Kyra, you're with me. We'll need clothing from this era."

"There's a bigger problem," Kyra said as they walked to the turbolift. "Can they or will they help us get back to our own time?"

Stereo Pairs as Inspiration

 

We've seen stereo pairs before: you look "through" the screen until the two images overlap. That third image--in the center--will be in 3D.  Hint: look between the L and R at the top, then make them overlap. The view directly below will be 3D.  That places you right in the cockpit with Koenig and Helena. Now you're off and running with a fanfic adventure. If Space 1999 isn't your bag, there are other stereo sets you can do a search for. Harry Potter is one example.

Borga Lisa

 

Disaster! The Borg went back in time and. . . .well, you know.

AMOK Halloween 2020

 

The owners of a white, newly-built warehouse rented the empty space to station W-AMOK for its Halloween bash. Along one wall, beneath glass-block windows, stood a seven-foot overseer's platform. It afforded ample room for the camera crew broadcasting live on Saturday at 10pm, a nice coincidence for the Wicca Horror Show. 

MC Wicca was joined by producer Ed, the dwarf Hecabano, the Dracula Bride Cambris, and a reporter from a women's mag who liked to quote Ed's zingers. Hecabano used a small fan to blow bubbles and black balloons over the party goers. No hokey Halloween tunes for Wicca; currently they danced to the Altered Images rocker Think That It Might.

A wide screen on the opposite wall featured highlights from classic TV Halloweens. Powered by Wicca's glass skull, they served as warmup for the Team Dan feature to come. A Gilligan's Island show offered his nightmare about being a vampire after being bitten by a bat. He swooped in on a victim.

"My favorite episode," Wicca said into the mike. "Mrs Howell finally gets hers."

Cambris sneered over fang tips. "What parody of a dread lord is this? I shall wring the black ichor from his veins." Such pleasant thoughts made her notice the reporter. "If you have need of the powder room, I can show you there."

Ed leaned forward. "You stay right there, Gladys!"

The next clip had the Munsters overnighting in a ghost town. Hearing noise downstairs, Lily was rousting Herman out of bed to investigate.

"She's always doing that," Wicca griped. "They all brag about dead relatives dropping in to visit. Give them the benefit of the doubt."

Hecabano showered those in range with German "misfortune cookies", which came with comically pessimistic predictions. "In this case, Maven of Misery, Lily is correct. Two con men try to scare them off the property."

"Whomever and whatever." Wicca motioned at the screen as Collide's The Lunatics Have Taken Over The Asylum wound up its calypso beat. "Here's the showdown between the Dans and Count Rotbone."

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On a low stage, dancers gyrated to makeshift music: barrel drums, triangle chimes, wood flutes. Their "costumes" consisted of paint fanned on in bizarre patterns. Nearby in the glow of a red lantern sat Count Rotbone, whose bravos grinned in anticipation of a rumble.

Zena spoke low to Dan. "If he's been nipping at this crowd, he must be three and a third sheets to the wind."

"He has been hitting it pretty hard," Dan said. "I think you're onto something, seeing as how we're on the third floor."

"Where ya goin', Danno?" Pete, with Bonnie's help, tried to restrain him. 

Ed started to rise before Dan eased him back down. "You can't mix up alone with this doom shyte mofo."

Gladys: Let me jot that down for Ed to explain. Doom. . . .shyte. . . .

Hecabano: Er, scratch that out, madame.

Dan merely strode to the window overlooking the harbor district. "Nice breeze tonight. Count, you shouldn't fly after all that boozing."

"Vat are you trying to say, Daniel?" Rotbone's eyes glittered.

"That you can turn yourself into a sheet and float home. Unless you're scared to try."

"Rotbone," warned the crime boss Eliot, "get back here."

The count flung Eliot into a table of rowdies, scattering the dancers. "A most velcome challenge, Earth man!" He swaggered unsteadily  to the window and mounted the sill. "By the Fates and Furies, I'm a sheet!" A flyblown pile went splot on the cobblestones in the courtyard.

Dan nodded with satisfaction. "And that accent didn't let me down."

Zena peered down. "Whoa, like, that's not natural." The pile sprouted a skull and wings. "He can't be serious. He's gonna fly in that condition?" She ducked as the thing took flight and come through the window.

With a maniacal cackle, Rotbone-Pile flapped around the tavern driving terrified folks under tables. He didn't  notice the support column, into which he piled with a wet splat, then slid down with eyes crossed. 

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Cambris glared at the crowd laughter. "Since the arrival of the brides, he is less inclined to so disgrace the dark arts."

The reporter turned to her. "You have a good turn of a phrase. Can I quote you?"

"We need a quiet spot in which to be alone." Cambris' eyes became pinpoints.

Ed leaned forward. "You stay right there, Gladys!"

Spark

 

"Beaver is upstairs, Miss Landers. You can go right up." June Cleaver appreciated the "curb service" of having Beaver's teacher bring his missed homework assignment. It outweighed the problem of her movie star looks and intimidating IQ, but June nonetheless was glad her husband had earlier left for work. "I hope you can find out what's wrong. He says he isn't going back to school."

"I'll certainly try, Mrs Cleaver."

And no doubt succeed, Wonder Woman. "Er. . . .thank you!"

Beaver's surprise at seeing her come in didn't translate into action. A little embarrassed at being in PJs, he pulled the covers higher. "Oh, hi, Miss Landers."

"I brought your assignment and new arithmetic book." She set them on the nightstand. "What's this about your not coming back to school?"

Reluctantly he handed over a scrap of newspaper, titled "Local Girl To Wed". How could she do that?

Miss Landers spent a moment looking at it. "Beaver, I'll be teaching for some years yet."

"But Mrs Brittingham will be your new name!"

"Not in school. I'll keep being known as Miss Landers there."

"No foolin'? Still, you'll wanna start havin' babies."

"Not right away. Say--I'll bet you're wondering what the Culture Corner was today." The five-minute segments, just before recess, ranged from grammar and vocabulary to history and math; just about anything the class hadn't yet experienced. 

Beaver eased up to a sitting position. "I like those."

"All right, then." She sat on the bedside. "Take the word 'spark'. Create as many words as you can, at least three letters long, without rearranging any. Here's a clue: this one has the maximum possible, five."

He had to write it out, coming up with park, ark, and par. 

"The class found those as well. There's also spa and spar. It trains you how to analyze possibilities."

"Oh. How about the one for tomorrow?"

"Part vocabulary and part writing. The word is 'euphony'."

"Gee, I never heard of that one."

"It's defined as a pleasing sound, in music or speech. The dictionary isn't specific on how it's achieved, but it's essentially alternating vowels and consonants. Consider this: The ship's maiden voyage was a smooth one. Compare it with: The vessel's first cruise went without a hitch. Notice the hard stop between 'first' and 'cruise', where two consonants collide. That also happens between 'went' and 'without'." 

Beaver shook his head in wonder. "How come you aren't an atomic scientist?" 

"I'd rather shape the next generation. So then--you'll be in class tomorrow?"

"Sure! I don't wanna miss out on neat junk like that. Besides, you explained it better than my brother Wally. He said in a few years you'll be thirty--and old woman--and I'll forget all about ya."

"He did, did he?" Miss Landers had a strange little smile. "Do you think Wally would play tennis with me?"

"Gee, I dunno. Why?"

"Oh, just to give me a few pointers, since I help him with calculus."

"He'd like that. He's always showin' off for the girls."

Miss Landers patted his arm and stood up. "Fine. Tell him I'm looking forward to it." And showing him all the trophies after wiping the court with him.