Logistics Across the Void

 

Flame's Magic Shop soon outgrew its space in the marina district. Specialty imports from the Earth dimension moved faster than pricey potions and talismans, though the imports weren't exactly cheap due to limited supply. Restocking only happened when Ed visited courtesy of Wicca's ability to cross the dimensional plane. Normally he'd bring fast food, coffee, and the Sunday paper for his teammates up at Team Dan's villa. But the success of Flame's enterprise--which Bonnie and Zena had bought into--required crates of goods on a regular basis. The return trip brought an equal amount of. . . .trash.

The dwarf Hecabano scowled at the lawn-and-leaf bags. "Is this necessary, Mistress Flame? Can you not burn or bury it?"

Flame, nee the blood banker Judy from an earlier life on Earth, was among many fellow laboratorians who'd made the relocation permanent. The moniker reflected her orange bob, made more prominent by black glasses. "Dan's rules. See for yourself."

One of the green skinned islanders in colorful wrap laid down coins for a small coconut pie, the kind travelers on Earth picked up as an afterthought at gas stations. A hired attendant removed the clear wrapper and tin foil bowl, dropping them into a bin. The happy recipient placed the treat in a covered crock for transport to her master's abode. 

"And there you have it," Flame said. "We don't want cans and paper littering the beach." She pulled down a ledger. "I sure miss computers. Let's see--here's the gold for this delivery." 

Hecabano pocketed the sum, to be used for reordering on Earth. He looked over the order list: perfume, specialty foods, sodas, and an item that gave him pause. "Magazines? Do they not become trash?"

"Not really. We make them turn in the old one for a new one. But there are pages missing: they sell 'em as status symbols. One guy has a liquor ad framed on his wall!" Flame surveyed giddy patrons enjoying carbonated drinks. They had to be chilled by magical means, that being done by a youth whose prowess was limited to minor cold spells. Just part of the overhead. "Where's Ed?"

"At the beach with Bonnie and Zena, who are getting rich on their shares in your stock."

"I suppose," Flame went on, "that scary vampire is visiting the other Brides on Rotbone Island."

"Cambris has a thing for neatness. I don't envy the count, who continues to blame Dan for having these women inflicted on him." 

Hecabano smirked. "She also craves to know what lies in the frozen north, what evil threatens this world as it does Earth, whose time is rapidly running out."

"I heard about that," Flame said, resting elbows on the counter. "Ed has a crazy idea of putting together his own team. As if the Dans will let him go there on his own."

"Precisely his plan to get them back in action, Mistress Flame. They were not fated to be mere merchants, growing lazy on their clientele."

Flame looked at him askance. "You trying to say something? There's nothing wrong with dropping out of the rat race." 

"I am in agreement." Hecabano flexed brawny arms. "It has been too long since I swung my axe."

 

Summit

 

"Ladies," Morticia began from her wicker chair, "I'm so pleased you could all come. We're here to clear up some confusion as to who is whom. Or something like that--I'm no grammarian. Now, as to which of us is the queen of horror, it must be Elvira, since she has the biggest following."

"Stolen from me," Vampira said with a toss of long locks. 

Elvira bristled. "You're gonna start that again? Look who's wearing Morticia's dress!"

Morticia held up her hands. "Now,  now. A man called Charles Addams was drawing cartoons of me back in the thirties. I predate all of you." She yanked a noose that set off a resounding gong.

The towering butler appeared. "Youuuuu rannnnng?"

"Yes, Lurch. What are you serving for lunch?"

"Poached aardvark." Only Elvira made a twisted look of disgust.

"You see?" Vampira insisted. "She isn't one of us." 

"Oh," Elvira said, "I don't know about that. Lily, you're the only one in white. I guess that makes you the odd man out."

Lily raised a brow. "I'm dressed in the style of Dracula royalty, I'll have you know. Here's what I think." She gathered them a short distance from the chair. "We need to get her off that throne. Why should she decide who gets what crown?"

"We could set it on fire," Vampira said.

"Let's try this." Lily held up her skirts and traipsed toward the solarium, where Gomez wandered about trying to stay out of the way. "Gomez, why don't you join us, mon cher?" 

"Lily--that's French!"

Morticia sprang up. "GoMEZ! Don't you dare!"

It was the opening Elvira waited for. "Gomez, I'm sure you'll vote for Morticia as most photogenic. I mean, look at that round baby face! Next, we'll vote for sexiest." She clapped a hand to her face. "Oh, right, right. That's me!" 

"Wait a minute," Lily objected. "That gives you two crowns. Well then--since I'm the only one who cooks, that makes me the best horror wife."

"Nonsense!" Gomez raised his cigar skyward. "There's nothing horrible about any of you. But then there was my aunt Deirdre from Lumbago...."

Morticia patted his arm. "That's Pago Pago, dear, where your great uncle ran afoul of that witch doctor."

The gesture wasn't unnoticed by Lily. "Morticia, you're as insecure about him as I am about Herman. I suppose we have that in common."

Elvira turned to Vampira. "We haven't heard your specialty, unless it's filing lawsuits."

"I suppose," Vampira decided, "I'm Countess Cool. You girls talk too much." 

Gomez sided with the butler in the hubbub. "We may be in for a long day, Lurch. I doubt we'll regain the use of the living room until some time tomorrow."

Lurch expressed his classic mutter of disapproval. 

A Subtextual Encounter

 

Moonlight capered on the Southern Sea, riding the crest on a breeze that stirred Ed's lofty perch. The wooden walkway hung beneath a bridge spanning the harbor district. It provided passage for those wishing to avoid the vendors who'd taken up residence above. Not a bad place to think, either, after the raucous reunion with the team. Their villa still blazed with light atop one of the twin hills framing the seaport. 

Ed nearly dropped his Yeungling when a figure appeared nearby.

"Beware," said Cambris. "The Brides are abroad this night."

Anyone else would be headed for the pavement as a more merciful end. Ed's neck was reasonably safe owing to the number of times Cambris had visited the L A studio of the horror show. Speaking of which, he had to wonder what she was doing up here.

"Nevermore shall I imbibe on your world. The last, I spewed in supreme disgust."

"Sure you did: about half of  'em have a little DNA-corrupting additive. Can't blame you." 

Cambris joined him at the rail, likewise dangling legs over the side. Not one to hang out, she must want something. "A penny for your thoughts goes the idle adage." 

"Huh? Oh. . . .I just wondered whether I'm even going back." She offered a coin, which he favored with a sardonic grin. 

"I have offered payment," she prompted. When he started to take it, she pulled it back. "Does a writer not understand a jest? You have time yet before the days of a glabrous pensioner." 

Gloating over his mortality? "Yeah, well, I'm sure it sucks to be one of you guys." He grinned widely. 

"Your humor eludes me, Edward." 

"I sense there's something on your mind." Noisy revelers stomped by overhead, unaware of their peril. 

"Indeed. As you are a writer, I seek to understand subtext, for the betterment of my journal."

"No joke? Well, dialog is a character's goal. Subtext is how he feels about that goal." It seemed a good time to test her on the subject. "I sorta despair of getting Team Dan to go on anymore missions. They're too comfortable over in that cushy villa." 

Cambris did pick up on his hidden meaning. "Again you will broach the subject of Team Ed, and his need for spellcasters. Be mindful that we are not ideal, as we are available only by night. However, I am able to be abroad in a dim edifice." 

"And I can be a dude in a dim edifice." Cheesy grin. 

"Your humor continues to elude me, Edward." Glowing grackle eyes. "Do you desire to return to the party?"

Ed looked out at the forest of ship masts bobbing at anchor. "It's my turn for subtext? I get the feeling you have some alternate transportation in mind." 

Cambris stood up. "Prepare. I will not climb and walk when I can fly." She transformed into a  monstrous flying thing, slightly bent because of the bridge overhead. One taloned foot kicked away the railing. Seizing Ed in powerful arms, she leapt into the night. 

For a veteran of dragon flights and wild rides on Wicca's flying stick, it wasn't too bad. Ed's eyes watered at the passage of cool wind as they swooped toward the villa hill. "Good idea. You can practice subtext on Bonnie and Zena. They're masters of not saying what they mean."

No comment resulted, as the flying thing had no need for speech. 

MST3K: Fiend Without A Face

 

Clayton Forrester  Greetings, spacemen! We're going back to the fifties again, and this time your torment isn't half bad. It's Fiend Without A Face. Near an Air Force base, some goon is killing people vampire style. But it isn't blood he's after. The bodies have bite marks at the base of the skull, and contain no brain or spinal cord. No, he isn't eating them--he's animating them! 

Crow A brain vampire! Maybe he's squeamish about blood.

Forrester Nothing of the kind. Later, when the creatures become visible, they turn out to be antenna-sprouting brains with spinal cord tails. British censors complained about it being typical Hollywood over the top creepy.

Servo Really? I'm starting to think I might enjoy this flick. But if you like it, something has to be wrong.

Forrester For one thing, it has sloppy editing. 'Green dog' is alternately shown as an 8-engine B52 and a 6-engine XB47, the prototype of the B52 precursor. 

Crow Only you would notice that. What a perfectionist.

Forrester Is that so? The plane has XB47 painted on the nose!

Joel Let's get to the plot, shall we? 

Forrester Townsfolk think the base atomic reactor is powering the creatures, and for once, they're right. The ghouls lay siege to the mad scientist's house, the guy whose TK experiments created them to start with.

Crow Don't tell me, don't tell me--the ghouls destroy their master!

Servo Well of course they do! I'll bet they burn the place down to boot.

Forrester Well no, but don't try to con me into giving up the ending. You'll have to sit through the whole schlock-o-rama to find out!

Joel Have a heart, Doc. We can riff better if we know where it's headed. . . .

Forrester Nice try. [Hits the space station movie alert button, panicking the guys.]

A Return on the Investment

 

A trio of highwaymen confronted a pair of dandies outside of Milano, swords drawn. They grinned at the small object produced by the one with dark hair--until, with concussive force, the lights went out. 

Carl Franconi, professor of linguistics, stared at the victims who'd fallen into a ditch. "You didn't kill them, did you?"

"Only stunned," said Commander Moast. "Let's resume our leisurely tour of the countryside." He addressed the hidden comunit in his tunic. "Kyra, what's our tactical?"

First Officer Preston sounded tinny in the receiver. "Spanish and Venetian forces have consolidated in the north. The French are in retreat. Distance to objective is two point three miles."

The two men moved aside for an aristocrat's carriage thundering past, then resumed their trek in dappled sun on the dusty road. 

Franconi glanced about nervously. "Listen, Moast--how can you trust me to stay mum about how you've discovered time travel?--or do I suffer a mysterious accident?" 

"Who'd believe you?" Moast countered. Among thousands of teleportals scattered throughout the galaxy was one orbiting Tau Ceti. Now, to protect it's time travel function, it floated in an asteroid belt. That had been no mean feat.

"It's a violation of contract," Franconi insisted. "You have command of that ship in return for handing over everything you find out there. All captains follow that rule."

"Think so?" Moast went tongue in cheek. "You have a high opinion of your fellow man, Professor. The Consortium is no different. They're trying to shake me down for a 'rental fee', which is money I don't have."

"You'll certainly have it if our mission succeeds, and if we don't get killed."

As profitable as were the missions out of Pluto Station, the central hub for the Earth system, Moast had plenty of detractors. It all started when with an attempt to plant spyware in Orchidia's AI. The technicians were routed by an army of servobots. It seemed the AI had acquired a keen sense of self preservation, and trusted no one but Moast. 

"Remember the agreement," Franconi said. "I get whatever I can negotiate for, apart from the main package."

"You can afford it after all that gold we traded for lire. Don't sweat it."

"But whatever we take back will be brand new, and labeled forgeries."

Moast laughed. "That's the beauty of it. The goods will age accordingly, which is why we can't take back anything living." 

The comunit interrupted. "Destination has six life forms. We're prepared for selective stun on your orders." 

"Stand by," Moast said. He surveyed the impressive villa of Vaprio d' Adda, owned by the Medici clan. Was there anything they didn't own? " Okay, Prof, it's time to test that proto Italian."

They came upon a gardener who frowned at the odd accent, but he admitted them to a cluttered workshop that smelled of oils and varnish. An elderly gent in a floppy hat was working on a sketch of an equestrian monument.

Franconi made introductions, then made his pitch. "You recently accepted a commission of 500 lire for a portrait. We're prepared to double it if you'll paint an alternate version."

The gent made a clenched fist gesture of agreement.

Franconi beamed gratitude. "Imagine it--another Mona Lisa. We're in your debt, Monsignor da Vinci."

So was Moast, who now had a year's rental on the starship Orchidia.

Canker Barrels (2)

 

Previous Holmes, Watson and Colton are invited aboard a ghost ship.

Our steam launch bobbed in a gentle swell as it nosed alongside the derelict. The three of us made use of a rope ladder to reach a port on the gun deck. Long bereft of powder, the cannons didn't represent the threat promised by Captain Weehauken. An oppressive mist arose to engulf the ship in a pall of gloom. The pirates were expecting us.

I had to duck the low beams bracing the main deck. "Abysmal place. It smells of rotting fish."

"As well it should, matey." Weehauken closed a creaking hatch behind him. He'b brought his attire up to date, had even replaced the hook with a gloved prosthesis. The outlandish hat looked much out of place. Regardless, it served as the nidus for him to take shape as a gray-fleshed corpse with one staring eye. 

Holmes balanced well on the swaying deck. "I understand you're in possession of forbidden facts."

"I be for a fact." The captain swept his hat in a mocking bow. "I didn't have it all 'til I tricked one of the hellspawn into coming aboard. We'll let him do the talkin'." He opened a chest and removed a moldy coat. It bucked in his hand, arms flapping, emitting a maniacal scream.

"Stow that blarney, ya scabrous bilge rat!" Weehauken forced it to limp compliance. "Assume the form by which ye profaned this mortal plane." A figure materialized.

"My word!" Colton took down the handkerchief covering his nose. "His name was Barnes. He disappeared over twenty years ago, highly placed in the exchequer." 

The captain leered. "Where else but centers of power and money, news, and education. That's where the rotters always be."

"I say," I mentioned to Holmes. "That's an unfortunate word for him to use."

"Yes," Holmes said. "Shall we hear from Mr Barnes?"

Weehauken interrupted. "You won't like it. They'll start their evil empire by taking down the greatest of the free nations. That's you, unless the Americans manage to overtake you. And don't think royals haven't invited themselves to the party."

I was about to protest this aspersion on the queen when Barnes launched into his dreary prophecy. The Illuminati were planning decades ahead. They dreamed of a world drastically shorn of population. They even had theories as to what form this magic bullet might take, right down to the necessity of inducing the public to believe their unwitting suicide a good thing. But first, they must create class structures and pit them against each other.

"Diabolical!" I burst out. "This is mass murder on a record scale!"

"With Illuminati at the top," Holmes mused. "Gentlemen, I must speak to the captain alone."

Reluctantly I accompanied Mr Colton back to the launch. Holmes rejoined us twenty minutes later, having little to say about the proceedings.

Next day, the newspapers described the disappearance of a derelict ship surrounded by anchor buoys. 

"Hmpf. I say, Holmes, the pirates have gotten away. Do you think Captain Weehauken will make good his threat to go 'canker barrels' on the world?"

"Not the world, Watson--the Illuminati, wherever he finds a chance to bedevil them."

I continued reading. "Curious. It happened during routine maintenance, when one of the buoys was briefly unchained. How could the pirates have known?"

"As you say, old boy." Holmes picked up his fiddle. "Most curious, isn't it?"

Canker Barrels

 

From the journal of Dr Watson

Our only maritime case of greater strangeness had involved mermaids. We'd not normally investigate a missing ship, save for the fact that Sherlock Holmes was requested by none other than the missing captain. 

Mr Colton sat neat the sunny window here at Baker Street, dispatched by the Home Secretary. He fretted with a bowler hat in his lap. "The ship in question is the Manitou. Her crew ran our blockade of Napoleon, because the Illuminati favored a greater European dictatorship."

"Ah yes." Holmes fired up his pipe. "I've often delighted in defeating their evil schemes. But we know the ship isn't really lost, don't we."

"Quite right; we have it trapped a few miles off Land's End."

"Trapped?" I set down my tea mid-sip. "You make it sound as if crewed by pirates."

"Not pirates, Dr Watson. Ghosts thereof."

I started to laugh, then remembered the case of the succubus. "I can imagine the mischief they could be about. How does this involve us?"

"Quite simply, it's Captain Weehauken who wants a meeting with Mr Holmes." Colton displayed a photo of a captain's hat apparently floating in a ship's cabin. "They manifest through physical objects, their spirits not being captured on film. The captain was privy to Illuminati secrets he decided to profit from, with predictable results. Then he and his dead crew were brought back by some unholy means to serve the masters they had betrayed.  As years went by, the crew threw off those shackles, coming and going in a mist."

Holmes listened closely. "That would make them ideal smugglers. I presume the captain wishes to impart his dangerous secrets to me, hoping to even the score."

Colton made a deferential nod. "Very astute. The Admiralty is equally intrigued, because nothing these people do benefits anyone but themselves. Besides, we can't be certain how long we can prevent Weehauken from carrying out his threat to go 'canker barrels' on the world."

"Now that's a curious expression," I allowed.

"It has something to do with spoilage of ship's stores. In other words, he threatens to go ape dip on the high seas, whatever that entails." 

Holmes stood up. "Then we mustn't keep the captain waiting."

We still didn't know why the captain was so eager to spill the secrets, or what he expected us to do with them. But when it came to Illuminati, the less one knew about them, the better.