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Post By The literary and thological maunderings of... the Hooded Hood! Tue Jul 25, 2006 at 02:25:21 pm EDT |
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#278: Untold Tales of the Parodyverse: Marginal Notes, or Do and Die | |
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| #278: Untold Tales of the Parodyverse: Marginal Notes, or Do and Die Previously: Lee Bookman, Librarian of the Lunar Public Library, has been recalled to the Intergalactic Order of Librarians for a “new posting”. Meanwhile, his old library barely avoided destruction by the Parody Master’s dreadnaught fleet by managing a blind dimensional jump, taking Library staff D.D. and A.L.F.RED and guests Dr Blargelsalrch, Arnie J Armbruster, and Snookie Takashi with it. Nats, currently ruling a plane of hell, received news from his would-be mistress, the demon temptress Regret of the Damned, of the death of his former lover Princess Uhunalura of the Abhumans.  Beyond the Milky Way galaxy, on the very edge of known space, a planet-sized chunk of cosmic debris was caught in the orbit of a dying red sun. The sun had been dying for a long time, but the technology on its only satellite preserved and prolonged its life far beyond the time it would otherwise have collapsed into singularity. The broken block that surrounded it was one fragment of what had once been a much larger world. It was the largest remaining mass of a place whose very name had been forgotten along with the name of the race who had dwelled there. It had once been the archive world of the Second Oldest Race in creation. When the Second Oldest Race had spectacularly self-destructed, long before the seeds of humanoid life they had spread out across the universe sprouted into new species, their mighty technology was mostly lost. Only a few fragments remained, yet wherever those sciences were preserved powerful civilisations arose. The Observers found surveillance technology from which they derived their eternal task of recording all events of cosmic significance thought the Parodyverse. The people known as the Smuurfii salvaged energy transmission equipment that eventually became the reservoir for the Yellow Flashlight Corps’ power torches. And on this lost debris the Second Oldest Race’s database technology was preserved: machines that could record and retain the sum knowledge of a universe. The Founders of the Order of Librarians had ventured into the unknown to discover the rock, and on it they built the Central Library, home repository for all the literature carefully gathered from a thousand outpost branches. Here on this broken world they built their greatest edifice, atop the machinery that made possible their mission. That lost world was transformed, becoming an elegant interlocking network of graceful marble buildings, of domes and archways, of colonnades and atria. It shimmered white beneath the flickering of that undead star, concealed by the science of the Second Oldest Race, gathering information that might be vital to the future of the Parodyverse. Lee Bookman still remembered the first time he had seen the Central Library. He got the same feeling of awe every time he approached it. He was visiting legend. The communications channel was rattling data at him, checking his credentials. He absent-mindedly absorbed the information that was being sprayed at him through the Library’s biosystems, using his own complimentary gift to send back the data demanded in reply. No computer could have selected and responded with the right data as fast of an accredited Librarian. Of the million souls that toiled and studied on the world below, only those few who had gained that coveted title could have brought a ship this far without being destroyed. The purple and silver Galactibus threaded past the deletion satellites and glided down onto Landing Pad Z’Kutho. Lee Bookman span down the engines and patted his eccentric vehicle on the dashboard. “Well done,” he told it. “Thank you.” It was a farewell. The Librarian formerly assigned to Sector 7272, the Lunar Public Library hard by Earth in the Sol System of Mutter’s Spiral, did not expect to ever leave this place again; unless the impossible happened. He opened the rear hatch and spread out his arms to the humourless Library Guards who had gathered outside the Galactibus. “Hello folks,” he called out to them. “Did you miss me?” “Bookman!” growled Supervisor Garth. “So you finally got here.” “Well, at first you instructed me not to use the Galactibus. Then you said to get here by any means possible, including the Galactibus.” Lee Bookman smiled. “I’m so pleased to finally have my vehicle registered by the IOL. Now it’s a legitimate business expense.” The Governor in charge of Sectors 6001-11000 suppressed his facial tick and glowered at the former Librarian of the Lunar Public Library. “I suppose you think what you did with Library 7272 was very clever,” he spat. Lee shrugged. “The Earth Dewey Decimal system was quite good anyway,” he explained. “I just expanded a few categories for things it didn’t cover – simurrg hafelling, for example, or the art of quardering – but otherwise it was just the most logical classification choice…” “Not your feeble sorting system,” Garth snapped. “Putting your Board of Local Supporters up to dredging out those ancient charter provisions. Declaring independence.” “They what?” the Librarian gasped. “They filed an appeal under Article 204?” “You know full well what they did, Bookman!” the irate Garth accused. “You set up the whole thing, to stop a duly accredited Auditor from taking charge of your mis-run little branch while we sorted out a proper Librarian to do the job!” “Well actually I didn’t.” Lee wiped a fleck of spittle from his official robes. “Nice to see democracy in action. After all, if Article 204 wasn’t a proper part of the IOL charter it wouldn’t be there, would it?” Garth’s face twisted into a nasty smirk. “Well, it didn’t do them any good, Bookman. They didn’t realise that once they’d unhooked from the IOL’s galactic ultraweb their systems weren’t primed for an emergency dimension jump if the branch – former branch – was in danger of destruction.” “The Moon Public Library was in danger of destruction?” Lee frowned. “From what?” “So when they needed to escape transnuclear death and activated their transfer engines, there was no data to tell them where to go,” Garth went on triumphantly. “Boom!” Lee leaned forward so he was right in the Supervisor’s face. “If any harm has come to D.D., A.L.F.RED, Professor Blargelslarch, or my library you will be one very sorry little man, Garth,” he warned. “You’d better hope that my friends are smarter than you are and they’ve found a way to make you look stupid. Again. More stupid, that is. Because otherwise…” “You can’t threaten me, Bookman,” countered Garth, backing off a step. “You’ve been recalled to the Governors. Not just Governors. The Nine. You’re expected right now in the Grand Repository. They’ve been waiting for you.” Bookman turned dismissively away from Garth. “Right then. Let’s see them.” Beyond the conceptual realms and the Mythlands and the source dimensions of the elements of the Parodyverse there were other, darker places. Nobody knew how they came to be – those who claimed to know were lying and those who thought they knew were deceiving themselves – but the cluster of pocket realms that formed like scabs on a septic wound were sometimes called the Hell Realms. It was possible for humans to visit. Under special circumstances mortals could enter the Hell Realms and look around and walk away to tell the tale (often in iambic pentameter). But nobody walked away unchanged. For most people though, the Hell Realms were a one-way journey. The nature of the Realms was to trap spiritual energy, that intangible thing that some called an immortal soul, the part of the story of a human life that goes on after the last chapter of the biography. Certain beings found their essences drawn to the Hell Realms, or sold to the Hell Realms, or stolen to the Hell Realms; and there they learned why these lands had gained their name. And the most frightening thing about the Hell Realms was this: you could die there a thousand thousand times, each death more horrible than the last, and things could always get worse, but at the end of it those souls melted away, exhausted. And what they melted away to was beyond any fathoming, except that the expiring souls knew in their tormented cores that whatever came after was worse yet. The Hell Realms were unspeakably evil, but they were just the septic crust over something else. These Hell Realms formed around mortal concepts of geography and physics, the better to torment the captured souls who suffered there. Different places attracted souls from different worlds and times, each realm modified to be the worst possible experience for those souls that fuelled its purpose. And certain entities learned to leach the power of these realms, like parasites feeding on a corpse. They became very powerful, and they were dubbed Hell Lords. For now there was one Hell Lord who had not embraced his heritage. Bill Reed had become the lord of some prime infernal real estate almost by accident, and now he was the ruler of all the territory from the Agony Mountains and the Gorge of Regret to the Disharmony Spire and the Yearning Bridge where the Mewlips dance. The former superhero known as Nats had not yet succumbed to the lures of power. He had cleared his realm of every soul and closed the borders to prevent intrusions. So he was somewhat surprised when a vast complex of buildings suddenly dropped into his realm through a jagged dimensional rift and settled themselves on Plains of Mourning. “I’ll see to having the intruders rended limb from limb for you, master,” Regret told him. She was a willowy crimson-skinned girl with a body literally to die for, and she was Nats’ personal temptress. She was quite candid about her role, her ambition to become his mistress, and her hopes that he would one day soon embrace his power and her. “You stay here and feel bad about poor Uhuna dying and I’ll see you’re not disturbed.” “Just a scouting trip, Regret,” Bill ordered. His eyes were reddened and his face was darkened by three days growth of stubble. “Don’t rend anything. Don’t have anything rended. Just find out who they are, how they got here, and what they want. Without using torture.” “As you desire, o lord and master,” Regret promised him. She slid out of bed, padded over to the balcony that overlooked Nats’ domain, unfurled her glossy black wings, and took graceful flight out into the hot thermals that rose from the lava streams below. Bill Reed waited until she’d gone then jumped over to the wall. There was a secret passage there because he willed there to be. He slipped it open and spoke to the person behind it. Dead Boy didn’t know who he had been in life. Whatever scientific processes had been used to alter him so he lived on as an undead agent for some mysterious espionage organisation had so changed him that even Nats’ through soul examination hadn’t been able to determine his past. But DB had found it increasingly difficult to continue in the world of the living, and so he’d been secretly recruited to work here. Regret knew nothing of Dead Boy. “Something weird’s happened,” Nats warned the undead investigator. “Tell me about it,” Dead Boy answered fervently, looking around him at the demonic ribbed architecture of Everrue Palace. “I mean weirder. We’ve got visitors.” Dead Boy looked round. “More opportunistic pit fiends looking to conquer an easy mark and take the power contained here?” Nats shook his head. “Don’t think so. This might have something to do with the stuff I’ve had Chronic doing. Or it might be something new. Regret’s checking it out.” “And you want me to check out what she’s checking out,” DB surmised. “I so do.” Nats shuddered. “I’m losing here, DB. Losing ground. Losing myself. And now with Uhuna…” “Sorry about that man, you know I am.” “Uhuna’s death was damned convenient. And I mean damned. Timed just right to screw me up so bad with grief that I’m no good to anyone. Too upset to pay attention.” “But you’re not?” “I’m not.” Bill Reed’s eyes glowed with fury. “Grief comes later. First comes being completely pissed off!” “I’ll get after Regret,” promised Dead Boy. The Lunar Public Library was a collection of stone buildings and turrets with and silver domes, connected by cloister walkways. It looked like a cross between a cathedral and a space station. It spread out over a mile from the Central Repository, and inside there were many dimensionally folded spaces to contain the billions of documents maintained by the archive. Except that right now the Lunar Public Library wasn’t on the moon. When the Mare Ingenii had been attacked by the Parody Master’s Dimensional Dreadnaughts it had used its emergency plane-jump engines to take it to a pre-prepared safe spot. Unfortunately, as Supervisor Garth had pointed out, the information for such a jump was no longer available to the Lunar Public Library. “That’s… not Marbella, is it?” Arnie J. Armbruster suggested, looking out of the arched window in one of the study carrels off the first balcony of the Great Repository, the central bookstore of the library that bore a remarkable resemblance to the British Museum archive circa AD1900. “Not as far as we can tell,” admitted Dr Blargelslarch. “Sensors are apparently having a little bit of trouble working out exactly where we are. There appears to be no matter outside at all.” “My best guess would be that we didn’t have a proper destination track available to us when we jumped,” D.D. said worriedly. Her hologram form was flickering with circuit diagrams, always a sign she was working very hard and not paying attention to her appearance. “We were being partially jammed by those Dreadnaughts as well.” “We wouldn’t have been if you’d let me ram their guns up their…” began A.L.F.RED, the Library’s major domo defence robot, but D.D. continued. “So the automated systems locked onto the nearest dimensional transit passage they could find,” the A.I. went on. “Someone must have very recently made a journey from Earth to this place, so the Library followed.” “Someone actually chose to come here?” Snookie Takahashi asked sceptically. “Because of the sulphur springs being so bracing?” “What condition are the dimensional engines in now?” Dr Blargelslarch asked. “Are we able to transfer to somewhere more appealing while we make repairs?” “Those jump engines are an emergency last resort,” A.L.F.RED told them. “One use and they’re shot. It took us months to fix them after we left Earth Ranchburger.” “Earth what?” Snookie asked. “Don’t go there,” A.L.F.RED advised her. “I mean literally, after that Crisis thing.” “We’re stuck here?” Arnie Armbruster asked. “You do know I’m still on an hourly rate, right?” “I’m not reading any lifeforms out there,” D.D. reported. “Then again I’m not reading anything. Could the external sensors be off-line?” Dr Blargelslarch croaked happily. “Well, if there’s no other way to find out what’s going on, I volunteer to take a search party and investigate.” He pointed to the far horizon, where the crimson towers of Everrue Palace were just visible through the red dust clouds. “That looks like a settlement. Let’s go see.” “And maybe borrow a cup of sugar?” suggested Snookie. “Maybe find a bar,” suggested AJA. There was a groaning from the heap on the floor. Senior Library Auditor Blay-Kee was waking up from the blow on the head that A.L.F.RED had given him earlier. “Don’t worry,” the robot major domo told them. “I’ll deal with this.” “Let him up,” D.D. ordered the battle-eager killing machine. “He might be able to help. He’s got Librarian-level access to the systems here that we can’t access. He might be able to locate this place in the geographical archive. “What have you done?” yelled the Auditor when he came to his senses. “Where have you taken me?” “Still not too late for me to stun him again,” A.L.F.RED advised them. “Maybe with a particle cannon blast this time?” “We need you to tell us where we are, Mr Blay-Kee,” Snookie explained diplomatically. “Listen to her,” Dr Blargelslarch advised. “She is wonderfully squishy.” “We’ve ruled out Marbella,” Arnie said helpfully. “And probably Tahiti.” “So you withdraw your branch from the Intergalactic Order of Libraries, assault a duly authorised Senior Auditor, undertake an unauthorised dimensional jump to an unauthorised and unknown location, and you still expect me to help you?” “Now you have it,” D.D. encouraged him. “You want to help us while you have the same number of limbs?” A.L.F.RED encouraged him more. Blay-Kee glowered but laid his palms on the nearest interface panel. Data danced on the screen beneath them at a dizzying rate. “That stuff could cause epilepsy,” complained Arnie. “There appears to be nothing to match this in the geographical records,” Blay-Kee reported. “I’ve exhausted astrocartography. Let me try the parallel world archives. No, nothing there…” “Lee Bookman would have found it by now,” Dr Blargelslarch noted provocatively. “Nothing in there. Now to check trans-physical universes. Nothing in the Negativity Zone survey data, nothing in the transquantum physics department… Oh!” “Oh?” prompted Arnie. “Oh, I’ve got it? Or oh I need a drink? Or oh, I’ve just discovered where Lee Bookman keeps the good porn?” “I’ve discovered a probable location,” the Auditor admitted. “In the theology section.” “Theology,” puzzled Snookie. “But why there?” “It’s hell,” A.L.F.RED told them shortly, looking over Blay-Kee’s shoulder. “We’re in hell.” “Ack!” whimpered Arnie. “Mother was right all along!” “Selinda! What are you doing here?” Lee was being led by dour-faced Auditors towards his meeting with the Governors when he encountered the librarian from New Crystaxia in the Gardening Section. “Lee! What a surprise,” the crystalline tripedal entity told him with what passed as a smile to her people. “I was just looking up some advice on how to get Crystaxian plants to take root on New Volum – that’s where our new Moon Public Library will be as soon as its grown.” “That’d be nice,” agreed the Librarian. “There should be something about it in the old Plevivarian Quadrology Herbals. Here.” He touched one of the bookcases then transmitted the data straight into Selinda. In return Selinda transmitted information to him. “Nice to see you,” the Crystaxian told him as the Auditors marched him away. “Thank you,” Lee told her. “I’m getting to see a lot of old friends today.” This was the seventh such encounter he’d had on the journey to the Grand Repository. Word got round. “Hell is an actual place?” worried Snookie. “As in H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks?” “Opinion differs as to the actual nature of the realms,” sniffed Blay-Kee. “Some posit that this is merely a dimensional transit point, an antechamber if you will, to a greater unknowable mystery. Others see it as an accretion of beliefs similar but separate from the Mythlands some planetary bodies form. Yet others view it as a necessary narrative convention with no more reality than…” “Us?” suggested AJA. “Those brimstone geysers look awfully realistic out there.” “Which suggests this is an Earth version of hell,” reasoned Dr Blargelslarch. “On my homeworld the afterlife for the unprofitable is a bleak dry desert of eternal slavery.” He shuddered. “I’m setting all defences on maximum,” D.D. announced. “Whatever’s out there it’s not likely to be friendly.” “Yeah. I’m hoping to go outside and not be friendly myself,” A.L.F.RED anticipated. “What a shame,” pouted Regret. “Because you’d fit right in around here.” The stranded Library team whirled round to see the crimson-skinned temptress holding Snookie helpless by the throat. “Answer all my questions quickly and fully and I probably won’t tear her head off,” offered the demon. The Grand Repository was dark. The only light came from high above and played a circle onto the ornate mosaic floor at the very centre of the vast chamber. Arrayed on the edges of the light were the nine Senior Governors, and one other. “What is an Observer doing here?” demanded Lee Bookman as the Auditors dragged him forward. “Since when have the Observers been allowed in the Main Library?” “I am Oxo,” the large bald toga-wearing being replied. “I am here as representative of the Observers in our new alliance with the Intergalactic Order of Librarians, and to advise on the necessary changes that will entail.” Lee looked around him. He didn’t like the feel of this. The last time he’d seen a meeting like this he’d been executed. Only the intervention of the Hooded Hood had prevented it from being permanent. “What’s going on then?” he asked. “This is a very high-powered enclave for one branch Librarian.” “You are here to take up your new posting, Lee Bookman,” one of the Nine replied. “This will be your new role: you will deliver to us all intelligence you have regarding the planet Earth and its metahuman champions the Lair Legion.” “Anything I have on the LL is sealed on my authority until it can no longer be used against them,” the Librarian replied. “You know that kind of security can’t be over-ridden without destroying the whole library dataweb. It was set up like that so we could record things for posterity that would otherwise be concealed from us.” “You will now unlock that seal,” Oxo instructed. “This information is required.” Lee looked around him. There were disquieting silhouettes in the shadows. “Are those… Avawarriors?” “This Library is under new management,” agreed the new figure stepping into the circle of light. He was an ancient man in rather worn librarian’s robes, carrying a vast dusty tome under one arm. His appearance caused quite a stir. The Nine genuflected. Everybody bowed to the Head Librarian. “S-sir,” one of the Nine stammered. It was the first time the Head Librarian had left his office for over a decade. “Is there something…?” The Head Librarian ignored him and moved over to Lee. “The Observers have been decimated by the Parody Master. This installation was infiltrated through the use of the now-defunct Obedience Brands and has likewise submitted to the rule of the Parody Master. All the information in our repository is now at his disposal.” Lee Bookman swallowed hard. “I… I see. But the Charter…” “Either we submit or we die,” the Head Librarian replied. “Which would you do, Librarian?” Lee noticed that the Avawarriors had moved nearer. There was a satisfied look of anticipation on the Observer’s face. The nine were deathly pale. “Die,” answered Lee. “We took an oath here, to preserve and disseminate all the wisdom and literature of the Parodyverse. We’re not here to be a department of some cosmic tyrant’s war machine. If the Parody Master wants our information he can apply for a library card.” “That is an insolent, foolish answer,” the Head Librarian told him, “and here is your punishment.” The old man’s hands brushed against Lee’s forehead. Bookman screamed and spasmed as the Head Librarian sent raw information coursing through Lee’s head. So this is how much it hurts when I do this to others, Lee had time to think before even those thoughts were washed away in the agony. But the amount of data the Head Librarian was ramming through him was a billion times greater than anything the Lunar Public Librarian could achieve. Instinctively Lee reached out to his old library to buffer data there. If only he could activate a hyperlink he could try and shunt some of this maddening, brain-frying data out of his mind. To his horror he discovered the link was already open. This was how bad it was with his library’s data storage systems working at full capacity to relieve him. The Nine and Oxo watched for over an hour as the Head Librarian made Lee writher and scream under his touch. Finally the old man stepped back and let his victim slump to the floor. “I trust you have learned your lesson?” the Head Librarian asked dryly. “Yes,” Lee croaked. “Yes I have.” He’d learned that the Head Librarian had just downloaded the entire main catalogue of the Central Library through him into the Lunar Public Library wherever it was. And that the information he’d relayed was no longer actually in the Central Library at all. “Get him out of here,” the Head Librarian ordered. “Exile him.” “No,” countered Oxo. “He is to be interrogated. Our Master requires what he knows about the Lair Legion.” The Observer reached forward. “I shall probe his brain and wrench that knowledge from him. He will die in the process.” “How did you get in here?” demanded D.D. “This Library has defences.” “You can’t even detect trans-spiritual matter,” sneered Regret. “How do you think you’re going to keep it out with forcefields?” “Let the female go,” A.L.F.RED warned. “I really don’t care about friendly fire casualties.” “Yes, let her go,” Arnie pleaded. “I’d never find anything in the office if I lost Snookie.” Dr Blargelslarch stepped forward. “Perhaps it would be best if we were to mutually exchange information,” he offered Regret with a charming wide-mouthed smile. “Hello my dear. I’m Professor Ubo Extemperus Blargelslarch of the University of Glothklathalug on Frammistat Eight and Chair Emeritus of the Mutters Spiral Archaeology Club. How do you do?” “Regret of the Damned,” Regret answered. “I’m the mistress of the infernal lord who rules all the territory from the Agony Mountains and the Gorge of Regret to the Disharmony Spire and the Yearning Bridge where the Mewlips dance.” “But not Marbella,” AJA confirmed. “And what is it you want to know from us, Regret?” “How many rounds a second I can fire into your trans-spiritual bod?” A.L.F.RED offered. “Let’s start with how and why you’re here and take it on to the surrender and begging part next,” suggested the demoness. “Uh oh,” warned Arnie. “Exposition coming up!” But at that point D.D. spasmed, screamed, then seemed to explode into a million sparks as every byte of data storage in the Library was suddenly flooded with information. The Librarian tried to back away. If the Observer probed his mind he would find what the Head Librarian had done. From there, the Observers could finally gain access to the coveted master database of the IOL. And so would the Parody Master. The Avawarriors moved to grab him. Lee Bookman knew he was down to his last card. He smiled. “Sorry, folks, but I have to go. This has been fun. Let’s do it again sometime. You’re such party people.” The Avawarriors closed round him. Lee Bookman stepped backwards as arranged through the Portal of Pretentiousness into the Herringcarp Asylum home of his sponsor, the Hooded Hood. The Avawarriors that leaped through the Portal after him were never heard of again. Chronic rode in just before the storm, clearing the gates of Everrue Palace as the acid rain started to slam down on the abyssal fortress. He leaped off the horned motorcycle that blazed flames behind it and called over to Nats. “Bill, we have a problem.” “Only one?” Nats asked. “Right now, I’d say this one’s going to occupy the number one slot,” Chronic told him. The undead musician had taken to acting as Nats emissary to the other parts of hell. If he had bad news it meant it was really bad news. “Go on,” Bill sighed. Chronic pushed his long dank hair back from his corpse-pale addict’s face. “Despite all his big talk, Sage Grimpenghast has done a deal with the Parody Master. Seems that Donut and the Lair Legion have done something clever and sealed off Earth behind some Celestian barrier. The Parody Master can’t get in through any of the usual dimensions. The Mythlands and Faerie are blocked off. Even the timestreams are interdicted. But…” “But the hell-plane is different, and souls get here from all across the Parodyverse,” guessed Nats. “This place never closes and can’t be blockaded. So Grimpenghast is going to let the Parody Master through hell onto Earth.” “With a few rituals and blood sacrifices and stuff from the PM’s cultists on Earth, yeah,” agreed Chronic. “Grimpenghast apparently gets half the surviving humans to bring to his domain alive for his own purposes.” Nats rubbed his forehead. This was turning into one hell of a bad week. “Can we warn the Lair Legion?” Chronic shrugged. “Well here’s where it gets tricky. You see, Grimpenghast can’t get the PM to Earth no matter what without the other local Earth-interfering hell lords to agree. And that includes you.” “So if I say no, the deal’s off.” “If you say no, then the Parody Master will march his unstoppable legions right to Everrue Castle, slaughter you, and give your vote – and power – to Grimpenghast.” “Ah.” Chronic patted Nats on his leather-jacketed back. “Congratulations, fellah. You’re about to get royally screwed.” The Devil’s Guitar on Chronic’s back hummed happily to itself. “You will tell me what is going on right now,” Regret of the Damned told Dr Blargelslarch, “or this mortal’s life-blood will spill across the floor and I shall consume her screaming soul.” “You better not try,” Arnie warned. “I know origami, you know.” “D.D?” A.L.F.RED called to the distressed, data-overloaded Library A.I. “D.D. honey, what’s going on? Where’s that massive data-shunt coming from? How the hel… how is it getting here?” “Everybody stay calm,” Dr Blargelslarch called. “Especially people with positronic particle disruptors or iron fingernails. We’ll get to the bottom of all this as soon as…” “Don’t worry about Regret,” Dead Boy advised, dropping down from the gallery where he’d been eavesdropping. “She’s under orders from her boss not to hurt anyone. He never thought to tell her not to bluff though.” Regret shot DB a furious glance. “And you would be…?” AJA frowned. “He’s not with you? Only what with the whole Michael Jackson look…” “Your bluff’s called, Regret,” Dead Boy told her. “So just let the lady go.” The temptress released Snookie and threw her into Dr Blargelslarch’s arms. “Oh, so squishy,” he croaked happily. “Is anybody going to explain what’s happening here now?” AJA asked plaintively. “I’d even go for some exposition. Or maybe a bottle of Scotch.” “I’ll explain what I can,” the Librarian announced, stepping through the dimension-reflecting Portal of Pretentiousness to confront Regret. “But first I have a message for this young woman.” “For me?” Regret asked, as surprised as everybody else at this latest in a series of sudden appearances. For a start, there were very few artefacts in the Parodyverse that could so easily open a doorway to a closed part of hell. “For you,” agreed Lee, “from the Hooded Hood.” He reached forward and brushed his fingers against Regret’s cheek, transmitting the entire text of the Holy Bible into the demoness’ mind. Regret screamed and went down hard. “The Hooded Hood says he does not appreciate others impersonating him,” the Librarian relayed. Dead Boy looked down at the twitching temptress. “Yep. That sounds like the Hooded Hood alright,” he admitted. “So hold on…” struggled Arnie. “This guy who appears through mirrors that aren’t there now is… Bookman?” The Librarian turned away from the crumpled demoness and strode out to the master desk in the Main Repository. “No time to waste on introductions now,” he told the others. “We’re just become de-facto the central – and only – branch of the IOL. All our eggs are in one basket, and that basket is in hell in the path of an invasion.” He looked at the others. “We have work to do.” “But I’m still on hourly rates, right?” Arnie J. Armbruster checked. “Uhuna? Princess Uhuna? How did you get here?” The Abhuman girl looked up and recognised the person leaning over her. “I died,” she explained. “I sold my soul to the devil to save the world and then I died.” “Oh. Right.” She sat up and looked around her, not recognising her surroundings. “I expected eternal torment,” she admitted. “But why are you here? Where is here?” “Those,” agreed Cody Harper, “are quite excellent questions.” Next Time: Back to the homefront for life under siege, the mystery of Annj, the plottings of Citizen Z, the secret origin of Kara Harper, Liu Xi and Annar, and anything else that occurs to me in the meantime. Untold Tales #279: The Lights Are Going Out Do Not Footnote, Spindle, or Mutilate: Relevant previous chapters include: Untold Tales #189: The Trial of Lee Bookman, wherein Supervisor Garth and Auditor Blay-Kee place the Librarian on trial for infringing IOL codes. Untold Tales #226: Nats Must Die, in which Nats meets Regret, crosses Sage Grimpenghast, and accidentally becomes a Lord of Hell. Untold Tales #273: Of the People, By the People, For the People, in which Uhuna gives her life and sells her soul to save the Earth. The Hooded Hood's Homepage of Doom Who's Who in the Parodyverse Where's Where in the Parodyverse Original concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2006 reserved by Ian Watson. Other Parodyverse characters copyright © 2006 to their creators. The use of characters and situations reminiscent of other popular works do not constitute a challenge to the copyrights or trademarks of those works. The right of Ian Watson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. |
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