Tales of the Parodyverse

Post By

Dancer (with some plotting aid from the master-plotsman) brings this to a climax
Fri Oct 14, 2005 at 08:46:18 am EDT
Subject
Far Away - Part 13 - The Conclusion
[New] [Email] [Print] [RSS] [Tales of the Parodyverse]
 		Next In Thread >>

    The absolute ruler of the hell-planet Apocalsype stood before the Lair Legion.

    “Maybe my memory’s still fuzzy?” worried Trickshot. “I thought we only had to beat Dark Thugos.”

    “It was in the briefing,” Hatman reminded him. “Jury told us Thugos had been taken out of the picture.”

    “Yes,” agreed the Parody Master. “By me.”



___




    “What is the meaning of this?” demanded Granny Grimness as she was dragged across space to appear at the summons of the Keeper of the Booke of the Law, Ms Lisa L. Waltz. “How dare you?”

    “How dare we, madame?” thundered back Sir Mumphrey Wilton. “How dare you and your poxy toadies kidnap thousands of people from Earth for your vile games? And what made you think we wouldn’t react to this act of war?”

    “War?” Granny scorned, looking at the little group of people in the old Galactibus. “You think Earth could wage war against Apocalyspe?”

    Outside the bus’ windows, the ponderous Death Spheres powered through space, closing on the little armada. A yellow, red, and orange vehicle peeled away to engage them, slipping dexterously through their outer defences and shearing away energy cannons and drone launchers.

    “Jolly good, young Visionary and Goldeneyed!” Sir Mumphrey approved. “My compliments to Aunt Sally.”

    On the other side of the bus, a giant robot arm and a hemigod in a goat chariot were engaging the spaceborn rustivores and the jellyfish-like bloatoids. The armoured man aboard Zeke and the Ausgardian deity with the baseball bat seemed to be enjoying themselves.

    “We’ve tapped into your systems,” the Librarian explained to Granny. “Well, we had before they all crashed when the probability wave hit them. We’ve seen your combat simulations about a clash with Earth.”

    “I also have full access to the inner circle’s private e-mail,” Hallie added. “And I’m posting it to every remote terminal that’s still working. Just because I can.”

    “We will crush you as fleas,” Granny warned.

    “Well, you could do that,” Lisa suggested, “Or else we could chat.”

    And Lisa smiled like a shark.



___




    The Lair Legion adopted a standard battle formation around the Parody Master, but they weren’t looking well. Al B was bleeding from a head wound taken when he’d been clubbed by the Soldiers, and his sutured shoulder has split open again. De Brown Streak could hardly stand with the bio-poison in his system. Hatman was burned and bruised. Yuki was systems critical and close to redlining again. Dancer was bruised and exhausted. CrazySugarFreakBoy! couldn’t move because of his dozens of broken bones, including a snapped spine. And Mr Epitome was little more than a gory mess, barely conscious, swaying as he took his place in the line-up.

    The Parody Master had walked through the strongest rosters the team had ever assembled, but nobody was feeling like backing down.

    “You,” Hatman told the Parody Master, “are under arrest.”

    The Parody Master gestured and the steel-skinned Legionnaire was tossed through a bulkhead into unconsciousness.

    Trickshot loosed one of his discarded arrows with an Apocalyspian pain rod strapped to it. The Parody Master swept the missile aside and lanced lightning through the archer until he was twitching and unconscious on the grating floor.

    “You were behind this,” Yuki accused the tyrant. “You ordered Earth to be tested!”

    “Yes,” he agreed.

    “And us, you has us brought here, mind wiped…”

    “No. That was an unforeseen complication. But a happy one.”

    “So you can try and destroy us?” DBS snarled. “We won’t go down easily.”

    The Parody Master encased him in a shell of ice. “I think you will.”

    “You think the Legion are scared of you?” Dancer challenged. “We’ve taken on dozens of uber-deity types with megapowers and no personality.” She moved forward, pointing her finger accusingly at the villain. “And after what you allowed to happen here…”

    “The tests done on your Earth were already underway when I took control of this world of war,” the Parody Master said. “I simply demanded that they be focussed to assess your world’s capacity to withstand invasion.”

    “Our world will stand firm against all aggression!” warned Mr Epitome. “Starting with us.”

    The Parody Master didn’t seem impressed.

    Al B. sunk miserably down beside CrazySugarFreakBoy!, clutching his bleeding head and muttering to himself.

    “Oh come on,” Dancer said to the most powerful villain in the Parodyverse. “You don’t want to fight us like this. Not when we’re all softened up and hurt. You know you don’t. Everyone will say you killed us now because you knew you couldn’t take us when we were prepared, at full strength.”

    Improbably, the Parody Master considered this.

    “You seek truce, and a contest later?”

    “We’d consider it.”

    “After what he did?” Yuki fumed, then toppled over as her main bus fused again.

    The Parody Master looked at Dancer and Epitome, the last warriors standing. “I will grant you leave to depart,” he agreed. “But there must be a price.”

    “What?” Mr Epitome demanded suspiciously.

    “One of your women, I think. One of them must remain behind as tribute, in servitude to me. Surrender one of them as my captive and the rest of you may depart to fight another day.”

    “No way, bucket-head!” wheezed CSFB! from his place on the floor.

    “Dream,” Al B. warned him. “Will you please shut up? And concentrate.”

    “We’re not giving up anybody,” Mr Epitome told the Parody Master. “Nobody gets left behind.”

    “Then nobody gets out alive,” answered the tyrant. “Your choice. I’d have thought you could spare the robot, or maybe the baseline human chattel lying stunned over there. Of course, I’d prefer the Probability Dancer.”

    Epitome’s defiant answer choked in his throat. “What baseline human chattel?” His head jerked round to the sprawled unmoving shape of Katarina Allen. “She’s alive? But she took the full force of my strongest punch!”

    “She didn’t,” CrazySugarFreakBoy! said weakly. “I can shift kinetic energies round to bounce and stuff, remember? Why do you think I’m so pulped right now? I directed pretty much all the force of your punch into me. No more Gwen Stacies. Not on my watch. Not ever.”

    “She’s alive!” Epitome ran over and examined the bruised, battered woman lying crumpled by the gallery. “Kat? Kat!”

    “Very touching,” said the Parody Master. “So… my tribute?”

    Sarah swallowed hard. “If that’s the only way… then I guess I’ll stay behind. But you have to send back all the other people from Earth too, or it doesn’t count.”

    “You are in no position to bargain, slave.”

    “Maybe not. But we’re the Lair Legion. We don’t surrender easily.”

    “We don’t surrender at all!” Mr Epitome insisted, rising up and staggering towards the Parody Master. “You want our answer? Here it is!”

    And he steamhammered his fist into the Parody Master’s crimson helmet.

    The Parody Master’s head was knocked a couple of inches backwards. He reached out and caught Epitome by the throat so fast nobody saw him move. “So be it.”

    And then the baseball bat-with-a-nail-in-it shattered through the top of the dome and impacted with the Parody Master’s skull. “Vile abomination of a villain!” screamed Donar, hemigod of thunder. “Give me back mine Ausgard! And prepareth thou to die!!”



___




    The wave of Shoggoth rolled on through the dome. It bubbled under defunct security doors and through ventilation shafts. It dissolved air locks and shorted out force fields. It was angry.

    Its high-pitched war-shrieks echoed round the corridors, terrifying the remaining Soldiers, the Growlies, the Burrowers, the gladiators before they ever even saw the too-many-dimensioned monster. Laser fire refracted through it, scattering in all directions. Projectiles passed through it. It simply washed over the Seekers and their drones, absorbing them to replicate itself more.

    In the absence of strong leadership the factions fled. They were bullies, not warriors. And the Shoggoth kept on coming.

    And in the abandoned secondary control room, a black silk-clad figure in a Zorro mask sat at a keyboard and believed s/he knew how to operate it. “Go ahead, cute Al B.,” she said into the Legion commcard she believed she had. The commcard that could pick up transmission from CrazySugarFreakBoy!s wowie zowie walkie talkie. “How is to be done?”

    And the Lair Legion’s archscientist talked Yo through the procedures he’d worked out earlier to chain-link the blister pits all across the planet, to modulate the gravity lances that harnessed their power so that instead they would be provoked. To split Apocalyspe into debris.

    “Is not to be working,” Yo worried. “Is to be computer asking for secret over-ride coding before is allowing of me to do this.”

    The comm-card beeped to indicate a new signal was coming in. “Don’t worry about that, Yo,” came the voice of Lee Bookman, the Librarian. “We have those codes for you right here. Right, Granny?”



___




    Donar’s attack smashed the Parody Master down through the floors as far as Level 91-C. The Parody Master’s angry response sent Donar roughly 8000 miles across the planet.

    Dancer kicked the villain in the backs of his knees to set him up for another blow from Epitome. Improbably it worked. Then the Parody Master gestured to leave them hung spread-eagled in bands of force.

    “Anyone else?” he thundered. “Anyone else want to die?”

    There was the whirring of turbine fans and Aunt Sally alighted in the hole Donar had ripped in the dome roof. Goldeneyed teleported Visionary and Sir Mumphrey Wilton down to face the Parody Master.

    “I guess that would be us,” G-Eyed said. “Have you got time to fit us in?”

    Visionary was looking around the devastated lab in horror. “What the hell happened here?” he demanded roughly. He looked from Gloriana’s dissected remains to the decapitated Torkamahda to Splendiferous Stuart groaning and whimpering in spastic agonies beside his ripped-out spine, and then at the torn battered Legionnaires. Then he looked at the Parody Master. “I was talking to you!”

    “I have offered terms of surrender,” the Parody Master said. “They were refused.”

    “Well then,” Sir Mumphrey Wilton said, “let’s talk about the terms of truce instead, shall we?”

    “Truce?” the Parody Master scorned. “You have nothing to bargain with, old man. Your Austernal vessel cannot harm me. Your time-tricks cannot affect me now. Nothing you can do can harm me.”

    Visionary gestured for Goldeneyed to be ready to teleport the wounded up to Aunt Sally.

    “We might not be able to hurt you physically,” Sir Mumphrey admitted, “but we could certainly humiliate you, make you look bad in front of your troops.”

    “How so?”

    Mumphrey pulled out his comm-card. “NTU-150. Are we ready?”

    “Oh yes.”

    “Yo, all set?”

    “Yesing.”

    “Hallie?”

    “Check.”

    “Lisa?”

    “You bet. Ready and willing.”

    “Ready?” asked the Parody Master.

    “To destroy this planet,” Sir Mumphrey Wilton explained. “Blow up Apocalyspe. A major chain reaction in the nuclear magma core, as I understand it. Don’t pretend to understand the technical details.”

    “Well you see…” Al B. Harper began, before a glance from the leader of the Lair Legion shut him up.

    “Mumphrey, we can’t destroy this planet!” Dancer called out. “We’d be killing innocent victims as well as their persecutors!”

    “Better a clean death than leaving them here to be enslaved and tortured,” argued Epitome.

    “You couldn’t destroy this planet,” Sir Mumphrey answered Dancer. Then he stared up at the Parody Master. “But I assure you I would. And I have Ms Waltz with her finger on the trigger button right now.”

    “And I’m getting bored,” came Lisa’s voice over the comm-card.

    “We don’t have to destroy the planet,” Visionary urged the Parody Master. He got to play good cop in this scenario. “If we did, you’d probably survive. But you’d be a laughing stock. A few humans from Earth came in and took your greatest conquest from you, made it blow up right in your face. That can’t be good for your rep. So maybe we can cut a deal.”

    “That doesn’t involve one of us dating you,” added Dancer hastily.

    The Parody Master allowed his consciousness to roam out over the battlefield. The elder being was sluicing through the arena now, bringing his own brand of judgement as he went. Some of those he oozed over emerged shivering and wide-eyed but whole. Others appeared soiled and screaming, their minds shattered. And a few never appeared at all. At least not intact.

    Out on the nearest blister pod, an armoured Terran warrior had done some impossible engineering to over-ride the safety and control systems that operated the gravity lances. The thought being had switched master control over to his station, and he had cross-wired all the blister pod management programs together.

    What computer banks hadn’t been fried by a peevish probability wave now seemed to be under the control of a complicated Terran computer sentience.

    And on an old Galactibus in near-Apocalyspe orbit, Granny Grimness had betrayed her rivals for her own political advantage. A determined young woman was indeed sitting beside a trigger mechanism, and her mind was like a steel trap.

    “What do you propose?” demanded the Parody Master.

    “You let the Legion go,” Mumphrey answered briskly. “And all the people kidnapped from Earth. The machines that brought them here are used to send them back.”

    “Not just the people from Earth,” CSFB! called out. “From everywhere. All the slaves. Nobody should be left here that doesn’t want to be.”

    “Yes, everybody,” agreed Dancer.

    “Everybody,” Mumphrey amended. “And we’ll be taking these blighters here back to Earth to stand trial.” He gestured at Kwatrain, Steppenstoat, and Stuart. “War crimes.”

    The Parody Master didn’t even glance at the failed fallen men. “And in exchange?”

    “In exchange we vacate this planet as soon as the last prisoner is clear, and we don’t activate the devices that would turn it to rubble,” Visionary offered. “And we won’t tell anybody about the deal either. It’ll look like we cut and ran rather than face you.”

    “Which we didn’t,” growled Mr Epitome.

    The Parody Master stood for a moment while he calculated the odds. “The experiment is completed,” he said at last. “I have assessed Earth’s threat level and military capabilities. I have adjudged you and your planet worthy of my attentions.”

    “Oh good,” said Dancer faintly.

    “You may have your truce, because you have done well. You will be worthy opponents when the time comes.” He looked down at Mumphrey. “I give you one quarter of one of your planetary solar years to prepare. And then look to your defences.”

    “Look for us to be bringing you to justice for your part in this horror-show here,” Mr Epitome told him.

    The Parody Master gestured and released Epitome, Dancer, and De Brown Streak. Then he vanished.



___




    Katarina Allen woke up. She was folded into strong, gentle arms. She was safe.

    “Ouch,” she said.

    “Oh yes,” agreed the battered and scarred Mr Epitome. “Ouch indeed.”

    “Why aren’t I dead?” she asked. “You must punch like a girl.”

    “CrazySugarFreakBoy! did something heroic and noble that he’s going to hold over me for a long time.”

    Kat’s brow wrinkled as she recognised the name. “CrazySugarFreakBoy! Of course. I knew Glowing Bouncing Man’s costume was familiar. I saw him on Saturday Morning Cartoons, on the Frog-Man Hour! And he’s got a line of condoms! CrazySugarFreakBoy!”

    “We’ve got our memories back, Kat. And we’ve won the battle, if not the war.”

    “You… you know who you are? Miles, that’s wonderful!”

    “Not Miles. I was wrong about being Miles. And as it turns out, Sarah’s not Sarah, either. She’s the Probability Dancer, of the Lair Legion, and she’s not my wife.”

    “Good,” Katarina said. “That she knows who she is, I mean. Not the wife thing. I’m not saying…” She paused and thought a minute. “So that’d make you Mr Epitome?”

    “Yes.”

    “Remind me to get your autograph.”

    Mr Epitome shifted uncomfortably. Everything was different now. “We’ve taken the planet under administration while we locate and evacuate all the people who’ve been brought here against their will. We’ll be heading for home soon – some of us are still badly injured. But we’ll be leaving the Shoggoth, Yo, NTU-150 and Lisa behind for a while to supervise the exfiltration.”

    “I’m glad you’re putting everything right, Mil… Mr Epitome. You promised you would.”

    “I try to keep my promises.”

    “That’s not what they said on Crossfire”

    “I try not to get upset by the left-wing press.”

    “I’m a registered Democrat.”

    “Nobody’s perfect.”

    Kat struggled up. Her body felt like one big bruise, but she couldn’t stay in Mr Epitome’s arms forever. She might have been able to stay in Miles’ arms forever though. “What happened?” she wondered. “Did you stop Torkamada.”

    “Oh yes,” Epitome promised her. “At the time I thought… Well, I was pretty angry. Unprofessional of me, maybe, but…”

    “Nobody’s perfect?”

    “Nobody.” He turned to look at the preparations the others were doing. Hatman, Donar, and Trickshot had already been taken aboard Aunt Sally, and the talking spaceship was offering Yo advice about the best kinds of poultices to strap onto the injured Legionnaires. Lisa was establishing her authority over the few surviving med-techs and control centre staff. This wasn’t the first time Lisa had taken over a planet.

    Kat held out her hand. “Well…” she said, “Thanks for everything.”

    Epitome shook her hand. “You too. They’ll be arranging your transport back, and the Bautista Foundation’s setting up a fund to help people get resettled and restarted. The glowing green hologram lady over there will give you the programme details before you go.”

    “Well, I guess that’s it then. You kept me safe. Good bye.”

    Epitome watched her go. But it would never have worked between them. He kept telling himself that. For a long time.



___




    Dancer caught up with Katarina as she walked down to the compound where the other liberated prisoners were gathering. “Hey, Kat, you can’t go yet! We’re going to need you to help us with the mission debriefing. Mumphrey likes to know what’s been going on.”

    Katarina shrugged. “Okay. What do I have to do?”

    Dancer’s face broke into a cunning smile. “Travel back with us on the Galactibus. That’ll give us time to talk. We’ve been through a lot together, you and I. We don’t want to lose touch with you.”

    “Really? Because I thought…”

    “Just ride with us, okay?” Dancer glanced over at Epitome. “We all have a lot wall have to remember. Some of it’s pretty important. I really think we’re going to need your help…”


Continued in an Epilogue
What, you thought we were going to leave Miles & Kat like that…?




manc-cache-7.server.ntli.net (213.104.241.136) U.S. Network
Microsoft Internet Explorer 6/Windows 2000 (0 points)
[New] [Email] [Print] [RSS] [Tales of the Parodyverse]
Follow-Ups:

Echo™ v3.0 alpha © 2003-2006 Powermad Software
Copyright © 2004-2006 by Mangacool Adventure