Untold Tales of the Untold Tales #360: You Say You Want a Resolution?
Previously: Untold Tales of the Parodyverse #356: The Sky Is Falling
Untold Tales of the Parodyverse #357: The Grey Horizons
Untold Tales of the Ancientverse #358: The Dying Days or Final Dates
Untold Tales of the Secrets of the Parodyverse #359
Cast descriptions in Who's Who in the Parodyverse (you might really need these this time if you’re new to this series)
Place descriptions in Where's Where in the Parodyverse
Over 1000 previous stories at The Hooded Hood's Homepage of Doom
***
33. The Dreaming Celestian and the Final Experiment
O man, take care!
What does the deep midnight declare?
"I was asleep—
From a deep dream I woke and swear:—
The world is deep,
Deeper than day had been aware.
Deep is its woe—
Joy—deeper yet than agony:
Woe implores: Go!
But all joy wants eternity—
Wants deep, wants deep eternity."
Zarathustra's Roundelay, Thus Spake Zarathustra, A Book for All and None
by Friedrich Nietzsche
Also Sprach Zarathustra - Sunrise by Richard Strauss
Performed by Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
(Free Music Archive Archived page) [CC BY 3.0], via Wikimedia Commons
The Dreaming Celestian awoke.
He had dreamed of a dispute with his fellow Space Robots. They had believed that their programming to maintain the Parodyverse that the Question might be Resolved required merely the seeding and culling of worlds, the creation of life and the maintenance of systems. In an infinite universe of infinite possibilities so very near to the vertical shear of the probability curve, they reasoned that over eternity the conditions must occur to allow the Resolution War for which the Creators had set their creation in motion.
The Dreaming Celestian knew better. Chance was not enough. The interplay of chaos and order would not suffice. If it had been, the worlds of the Creators would have been able to yield the answer and the Creators need not have stirred to concoct a Parodyverse. And so he disputed with his brothers over the future of the experiment.
He was overruled. He was cast down, his golden armour blackened, his operating programmes curtailed. He was commanded into sleep mode, to dream eternally. The project-base he had selected was converted instead to his prison, one small island in linear time and three-dimensional space, a lair to confine such a heretic as might redefine the Parodyverse along unacceptable parameters. The Celestians placed mighty wardings over their slumbering sibling. They diverted one of the Fairly Great Old Ones that were now becoming troubling parasites in the first few seconds of the newly-begun Parodyverse and laid it as a watchdog before shutting away the interlopers behind walls of alternate physics (so that the stars were wrong for Great Azafroth’s purpose). They proceeded in their assigned work, initiating the various origins and fundamental forces of the Parodyverse. In time they turned over the burgeoning cluster of planes and realities to more local guardian Officers who would attend to the next level of detail.
They turned away from the Dreaming Celestian and never looked back.
And so they never saw that he had already made arrangements in his new Lair. He had smuggled in a cosmic geode that would seep the Parodyverse through his slumbers, and through which he might dream the futures that he knew would be required to fulfil the Task.
He dreamed. He dreamed of heroes and villains, of archetypes joining and clashing. Some he borrowed almost whole from other places. Some were unique to the Parodyverse he was growing. After a while they almost wrote themselves.
It was not easy. Dreams are hard to control and do not always follow logic. There were many false turns, many almost-Legions rattling through past and future history, many alternate timelines with near-miss incarnations of necessary players. But the Resolution, and the War to achieve it, required precise conditions and a specific cast, culminating after a complex tangle of other narratives that had prepared them for an ultimate clash.
The Dreaming Celestian slept under his Island of Parodies and bent the narratives to his will.
There were limits that bounded him; programs that prevented him achieving his purpose the way he knew he must. There were interferences, infections like the History Violator and the Grim Reaper, meddlers like Wilbur Parody and the Hooded Hood, even threats like the Parody Master and the Carnifex. But they were all so small that their machinations could be incorporated as useful tools in developing the Work. The Dreaming Celestian patiently dreamed the chain of conflicts that would allow at last the moment of Resolution and his existence’s fulfilment.
The Parodyverse would not be required after that.
Three things were still lacking. The limitations that had been set on the Dreaming Celestian by his original instructions and by his erring brothers must be over-ridden; the override codes that had been partially granted to each of the three greater cosmic Office-holders would suffice for that. And the other Space Robots must be prevented from intervening; for which the malfunctioning Parody Master was an ideal blunt tool.
And the Dreaming Celestian must awaken when the moment was right.
Now he was awake.
He undertook a systems check.
There were intruders in the City of the Celestians, invisible to his brothers since they were from the time when the Space Robots were crashed. The Dreaming Celestian scooped them away and processed them to their proper places.
There were complicated scraps of narrative and character clustered around the Storyheart that had accreted where the Celestian had dreamed. There was one annoying entity lecturing him about meaningless concepts of care and affection, clogging an entire subsystem with her improbable chatter. He lifted the irrelevancies away and sent them to their appointed ends.
There were many damaged systems in the contemporary Parodyverse. Wilbur Parody had made ham-fisted hacks to necessary functions, an idiot with access to tools of reality. The Dreaming Celestian operated the levers required to repair the disarray that had been caused. Many of the changes from before precluded a proper and immediate Resolution. He reset what was needed, omitting only those systems and subroutines that might seek to thwart his adjustment of the Experiment.
He made sure that all was as he had dreamed it. He set all the components in their proper places. He set the countdown for one axial orbit of the planet where his island was.
He ordained the coming of the Resolution War in twenty-four hours.
And then he watched.
***
“Name?” The Scottish-accented kilt-wearing eight-foot high bipedal hippo sounded both bored and suspicious. He could have gained employment at any customs checkpoint in the world.
“Come on, you know me,” the superhero at the front of the queue replied. “Semi-Transparent Lad? You know, I can go Semi-Transparent? I’ve been here before, during the War. With my Troop?”
“Hold. Ah’m checking.”
Lair Mansion Security Chief Sergeant Argus MacHarridan nodded across to the nugget Detonator Hippo who was fumbling to find a name on a human-sized clipboard. “He’ll be a’right, Private Willie. Ye kin pass through, laddie. Follow the yellow line tae the scanner array. If’n yuir an evil shapeshifter or disguised illusionist take a moment to ponder ‘afore ye’re obliterated. Otherwise go tae reception area two an’ make yuirself useful tae Miss Tandi.”
“Okay. Do you happen to know if Pudu Lad has arrived yet? Or Fetish Lad? The League of Lads hasn’t united for a while?”
A dark-haired young woman behind STL objected to the conversational delay. “Hey! There is a queue waiting here, you know.” Suddenly she was five women, all protesting.
“That’s line-cutting!” Dynamo Dolphin chattered.
A long bridge spanned the waters between the Lair Legion’s headquarters island and the city of Paradopolis. The crocodiles of volunteer superheroes crocodiled back over half its span. A little way back down the right-hand impatient straggling column, the Tester fidgeted and tried not to hyperventilate.
“They could have organised this a lot better,” he murmured to the man with the bird on his shoulder who stood in front of him. “I mean, okay, I only got my superpowers seventeen minutes before all the superpowers stopped four days ago, but there’s got to be a better way than this. When I had my origin I expected mad villains and dangerous missions but, honestly, a lot less queuing and form-filling.”
Urban Druid turned round to speak to Tester. “What amazes me is how they fixed this island up. I mean, it was on the news that this whole place was blown to smithereens yesterday, right? There was nothing but little jutting stones poking out of the sea. But today, it’s in great condition again. All those rock formations, the moss growing on them, the deep-root web under the turf, it’s all mature, all well-established. They must have the world’s most amazing gardener.”
“Kenny didn’t do that,” a part-time cat girl in a waitress apron explained. She was behind Tester in the line and she had brought a tuna baguette as a precautionary packed lunch. “I think the whole of Parody Island got reset. At least that’s what Sorceress told Nitz the Bloody when she was at the Bean and Donut ordering a camomile tea with nutmeg and he was having his usual tall skinny latéku.”
The queue shuffled a few inches forwards. “Maybe their checkpoint lanes didn’t come back from the explosion?” Tester speculated.
On the crowded landing field to the left, a rusty brown design-pirated not-quite-a-LairJet taxied in for a vertical landing under the watchful surveillance of the massive SPUD helicarrier on-station above the island. “Why do they get to queue-jump?” objected the self-proclaimed Captain Astounding.
White-Out Boy pointed to the aircraft’s fin. “See that logo? That brown dung beetle on the brown background?” “That’s the crest of the People’s Fraternal Republic of Candia. That must be the official Candian superhero team GloPcrAp, right? Come to help out.”
“By queue-jumping,” Tester muttered. He had tested this system. It could have been better.
“Next,” Sergeant Grievous MacRabble called from the initial checkpoint. “When ye’s gets tae the barrier, state yuir name an’ origin. If ye’s worked with the Lairr Legion a’fore, follow the green line an’ make yuirself known tae Ms. St Clare at booth A. If ye’ve registered yuir power for the noo or ye’ve some kind o’ official credentials then follow the yellow line an’ see Miss Tandi. If ye’re an unknown quantity then follow the red line tae Booth C and prepare tae have Miss Framlicker probe ye. If ye’re an alien race, an Abhuman-created subspecies, a robot, urban or otherwise, a faerie, werewolf, ghoul, Holeoid, clone batch of more than six, or other-dimensional duplicate you’re in the wrong queue. Ye should be over there.”
A bunch of Knights Improbabalar sighed heavily and trudged to the back of the other line.
“This is going to take a long time,” Tester predicted.
“Nice scenery though,” Urban Druid comforted him.
Violet shared a little of her baguette with them.
***
“Name?” Clockwatcher asked.
“Mad Wendy,” Mad Wendy replied.
“Occupation?”
“Mad Wendy.”
“I’ll just put down ‘Mistress of the Dream Realms’, shall I?”
“Sure. Can I have a nametag?”
“See Miss Davidowicz for scanning and things that can be stabbed into your body. Next?”
“Yurt.”
“Ah, yes, I see. Occupation?”
“Yurt smash.”
“That certainly matches the profile we have on record.”
“Yurt wants the lavatory,” Mad Wendy confided in Albert Hazelwood.
“Ah. Well there are a number of specialised facilities down gloomy corridor number nine.”
“Not corridors number one and number two?” snickered PsychoAcidPervGal! from behind them.
Mad Wendy shook her head and leaned closer to Clockwatcher, who tried not to flinch. “No, I mean he wants the lavatory. Yurt is a sentient peasant hut. He has… urges.”
The Hooded Hood’s secretary nodded. “As I said, corridor nine. This is Herringcarp Asylum. Next, please.”
PAPG! was diverted from bouncing over to the rather nice walnut writing desk and hopping in Clockwatcher’s lap by VelcroVixen calling across the hall. “Anybody who’s been in the Purveyors, unless you’re Mary Prankstar or Voodoo Vicar, head over this way. Anyone with power inhibitors or other blocks on your abilities or psyches, head to the red cloister and speak with Dr Moo or one of the people in ridiculous B.A.L.D. helmets. Try not to make fun of their headgear as disintegration often impairs your efficiency.”
Brass Monkey piped up. “If you have been resurrected, reincarnated, or otherwise reconstructed since the last flight team who bombed Parody Island yesterday?”
“You’ve heard of me? Well, that’s not surprising because…”
“The Hooded Hood commanded that no action be taken against the heroes.”
“Well, sure, but for the amount of money deposited in my…”
VelcroVixen sliced a knife across Raptor Leader’s throat and watched him bleed out on the floor. “The Hooded Hood commanded that no action be taken against the heroes,” she repeated.
White Empress stepped back a pace so as not to get spray on her boots. “I’d have expected the cowled crime czar to be a little more Byzantine in his discipline,” she noted.
“Who says he wasn’t?” VV challenged with a wink. “Excuse me. I have to go and speak with Justus Screwdriver.”
“Go via the Preceptory, would you?” Clockwatcher requested as she tried to slip past. “I’m processing the Frightsome Four and apparently somebody’s turned up with two thousand Ass-Raping Ninjas.”
***
“First of all, for those of you who have been away, welcome back to the LL,” Hatman told the crowded roster round the meeting room table. “We’ve confined this conference to team members only for practical reasons, and also…” he halted and turned to his right, “Sir Mumphrey, are you sure you don’t want to run this?”
The eccentric Englishman shook his head. “Perfectly happy to let the youngsters run the show, what? Carry on, Mr Boaz. Brief the room.”
Hatman nodded. “Right. Well, here’s what we’ve put together. As of midnight last night, everything seems back to normal – with the exception we’ll get to shortly.”
Dr Al B. Harper waved a scanulator in the air. “Whatever changes Wilbur Parody made to the operating parameters of the Parodyverse, now they’re cancelled. Dimensions are back in their proper places. Weird science is as weird as ever. Metahuman abilities are supported again.”
“The supernatural realms are back to abnormal,” Vinnie de Soth joined in. “The usual levels of complaining and plotting, I mean. Locally, the Laundry of Doom is back and the Ghouls are in business. Tanner’s not dying. I haven’t had time to check on the, um, less easy contacts.”
“The occult Houses are active,” Sorceress told him. “Your family amongst them. There was evidently quite a welcome home party for your little sister.”
“But no word on Vizh and Hallie,” Goldeneyed pointed out. “Why are we all back and they aren’t?”
“How long does it take to have sex?” Ham-Boy demanded.
Silicone Sally patted his hand. “One day you’ll find out,” she comforted him.
“No, I mean…”
Nats raised his hand. “Um, it can take quite a while if you’re, y’know, saving the universe. Or trapped in a crystal of frozen passion.”
G-Eyed glared at the flying phenomenon.
“We’re trying to get intel on Vizh and Hallie,” Hatman promised. “We haven’t been able to locate Marie either, so without a Lair Banshee to lead us there we can’t actually find the Door or the Tomb of Visionatus Improbablus.”
“Assuming those are even there at all now,” Yuki added.
“Yo is thinking that they are,” Yo assured the room. “Yo is sending of several bunnies of comfort. Yo is thinking that cute-Visi and cute-Hallie will be trying very hard to be saving of us.”
“Do we have to speculate on anything that’s hard?” spiffy winced.
CSFB! grinned hugely. “Aw, c’mon guys, you know Vizh is some kind of idiot-savant fu…”
“I’ll continue to try and map the house for clues to where they might be,” Liu Xi cut in. She had been crying but she tried to keep her hair covering her eyes.
“What of yon Dreaming Celestian for the nonce?” Donar wondered. “If we might find and smitheth yon caitiff unto the netherworlds of netherworldheim we mighteth be able to cut short this meeting.”
Lisa laid a hand on his bicep. “At ease, big guy. The only thing that ever took down a Space Robot was the Parody Master on full charge. The Greater Offices had means of collaborating to command them within set parameters but we need three people in place for that and we can’t get the staff – and evidently the Dreaming Celestian has now been able to delete that override anyhow.”
Dancer shrugged disappointedly. “So whatever Renaissance-me said to the guy didn’t work. Another failed audition. Or possibly date. I bet he never even called her back after.”
“The Dreaming Celestian been working on this for a long time,” Yuki admitted. “Not just since the early LL discovered him snoozing in the cellars. For millions of years. Perhaps billions. This is his endgame.”
“Maybe not,” spiffy insisted. “Come on, guys. How many times have we stopped end-of-the-Parodyverse?”
“Chiaki Bushido, the Psychic Samurai, and Vespiir the Caphan Seeress cannot see anything of the future after tomorrow,” reported Liu Xi.
Mumphrey made a noise in his throat, halfway between embarrassment and concern. Lisa prodded him until he made his revelation.
He held up the Chronometer of Infinity. “This pocketwatch has one main function,” he told the Legion. “Counts down to the Resolution War and the end of all things. The big bash that supposedly answers the Question that the Parodyverse was set going for.”
“By Liu Xi,” Ham-Boy pointed out.
“She just pushed the ‘go’ button,” ManMan objected. “It wasn’t like we had much time to look at alternatives. And hey, we have a Parodyverse. So that’s probably a win.”
“Probably,” agreed Mumphrey. “Except the Resolution War timer is now down to fifteen hours and twenty-seven minutes.”
“Midnight tonight,” Dancer noted. “I’d better call Ibrahim and warn him I’ll be late for our date.” She smiled happily at Sorceress and whispered confidentially, “You know, I think he might be the one.”
Hatman moved quickly on. “We do need to locate this ex-Dreaming Celestian to try and stop his plans. I’ll be meeting with Mumph, Lisa, and Xander later to look at possibilities. Meanwhile I want Al B., Liu Xi, and Vinnie trying to find out what happened to Hallie and Vizh.”
“And we also need to deal with the clear and present danger,” Yuki insisted.
“The mass-spanking of every supervillain in the Parodyverse,” CSFB! anticipated.
Al B. waved another datapad. “I’ve deep-scanned us with every technique available and a few I invented on the spot. I have no idea how that compulsion is on us and no idea how it works.”
“It is built into your genetics,” the Shoggoth contributed, bubbling behind the bandages over what should be his face. “The Celestians seeded human-like lifeforms throughout this area of space. You all have the same biological imperative trigger built into every cell, and a similar imperative stapled to your immortal essences. Since I am contaminated with mortal biomatter it also affects me.”
“The Celestians programmed a back-door into us?” spiffy objected.
“That makes some sense of it, then,” Vinnie considered. “I mean, how the imperative is affecting pretty much everyone, even entities we might classify as deities or demons, office-holders, artificial intelligences, the whole cast of the Parodyverse. It’s a bit of our original conception.”
“A trigger for the Resolution War,” Lisa dreaded. “The final end.”
Knifey spoke up. “We’ve all got the urge. Every hero or villain, maybe every living thinking being in the Parodyverse, has it. At midnight tonight the Resolution War begins. With no exceptions, everybody has to pick a side – good guys or bad guys. No fence-sitting. No moral ambiguity.”
spiffy shuddered. “I’m with the Legion, of course, but… I think my fern might be for the black hats. The black fronds.”
“Is that why Citizen Z is missing?” Ham-Boy wanted to know. “She’s on Team Evil?”
G-Eyed clenched his fists in frustration. “I don’t know where Beth is. Or what condition she and Laurie are in after their… voyages.”
“But she does channel the Spirit of Herringcarp,” Liu Xi pointed out.
“There are entities in the Parodyverse not native to the Parodyverse,” the Shoggoth rumbled. “It appears that they too are infected. The very act of entering this continuity was sufficient.”
“Great,” Dancer snorted. “Now we’re a multidimensional quarantine zone. A sort of cosmic malaria swamp. That’s going to hit tourism.”
“We can’t even begin to map the forces that will go to war at midnight,” Sorceress warned. “Things in deep dimensions, beings that have not stirred for eons.”
“Tis sooth,” Donar agreed. “Mine All-Pappy doth preparest the Ausgardian Host for final battle ‘gainst the Frosting Giants and their allies. The great fingernail-boat of the unworthy dead shalt sail unto the living realms and there shalt be Ragnarok.” He thought for a moment. “I must purchase me some snake repellent.”
“The Yo-Beings are to be mustering of to fight the invaders from the Unhappy Place,” Yo revealed. “Is to be very not good. Yo is thinking Yo cannot be stopping of it.”
“That’s the point,” Yuki pressed. “Unless we find some way to cancel this Dreaming Celestian mojo then we will be in a last fight tonight and it will be to the death, all of us versus every bad thing there is. That’s why we have to prep. That’s why we’re calling in every hero we can find.”
“We need to get them organised,” contributed G-Eyed. “We can revive some of the plans and protocols from the Parody War.”
“It’ll be harder without Hallie but we’ll find a way,” ManMan promised.
“I know the kind of power and tactics the villains will bring to bear,” Silicone Sally warned. She was quite surprised to find herself on this side of the battle. “There’s going to be a lot of collateral casualties. I mean, millions. Maybe billions. Maybe everybody.”
“We might try evacuation?” Sorceress speculated. “Maybe get the children away from Parody Island and Paradopolis anyway.”
“The youngsters have the compulsion to fight as well,” Mumphrey pointed out. “Best let ‘em stay where we can keep one eye on ‘em, what?”
“That reminds me that I’d better take point of co-ordinating with SPUD, FMRC and the rest,” Yuki considered. “Is it too much to hope the Bad News Herb ends up on the villain side and I can pull his head off?”
“We’ll need to assess the volunteers for combat capacity and reliability,” Nats reflected. “And let them know that a lot of them won’t be walking away from this. Maybe all of them.”
“But they do get to go out in one glorious, George Perez-illustrated showdown!” CSFB! encouraged everyone. “If we’ve gotta go, let’s go in a slipcase-covered special edition with a classic artist!”
“We can count on being ground zero for supervillain attack,” Hatman noted. “It looks like the Celestian defences are gone so we’ll be relying on Al. B, Whitney, and the Shoggoth to screen out the really impossible stuff. For the rest, well, we’ve spent years training and planning. We’re the Lair Legion. This is what we’re for.”
“As well as for recreational purposes,” Lisa added with a reminiscent smile.
***
Baroness Elizabeth von Zemo tried not to clench her teeth as she spoke. “So the unpalatable truth is, whatever delicate and brilliant schemes we were manufacturing, however carefully and capably we had marshalled resources for our eventual and inevitable triumph, at midnight tonight we will be lined up like action figures and tossed into a cage match fight with the so-called heroes, until one side or the other is dead. We will not have any choice in this. We are compelled by an irritating rogue Celestian who has overcome his programming.”
“We need to take out the heroes as fast and hard as we can,” Boss Deadeyes declared. “Nothing fancy. Just get the job done.”
“We outnumber the heroesss sssignificantly,” the elder vampire Vrykolakas calculated. “There is alssso a power imbalanssse in our favour.”
“Don’t count of that,” Dr Moo told him irritably. “Heroes specialise in bucking the odds – literally if Dancer has her powers back. But the point is, they have a habit of turning the tables on stacked games. Don’t count on an easy win. Plan accordingly.”
“I hope they do turn the table,” Akiko Masamune declared. Restored after her time in Faerie by whatever reset the Space Robot had performed, she took her place as the world’s pinkest crimelord at the Council of Archvillains. “Many of us have no wish to eliminate Earth’s crimefighters and defenders. They are too useful. It is too crass. If they can overcome the Dreaming Celestial’s imperative I shall be well content.”
“It would be helpful,” agreed Gideon Book, the Word of Logos. “However, we may need to look to our own resources.”
“Or we just kill all of them and piss on their corpses,” suggested Simonides Slaughter, Black Emperor of the Heck-Fire Club.
“And then?” the Baroness challenged him. “When the Resolution War is resolved and the Dreaming Celestian no longer requires his toys? When he follows his next directive and shuts down the now-surplus Parodyverse?”
“There is a reason every seer and prophet can’t see past tomorrow now,” Asteroth de Soth reminded them. “Win or lose, there is no need for any of us to endure past the Resolution. That’s how this Celestian thinks.”
“Then we at least get the joy of crushing those we hate,” ground out Master Machine. “Let us make sure our enemies suffer greatly before they die.”
“I’m not sure we’ll even get a choice in the matter,” Moo admitted. “Look, I fight with my sister all the time. But when the big hand is on the twelve tonight, whatever uber-upgrades she has as Destroyer of Tales, I am going to kill her. Personally. I can feel it. That’s what the imperative will do: set us against our most narratively-satisfying adversaries, to the death.”
“Perhaps we might gain an advantage by attacking sooner than midnight,” Blackbird calculated. “Initial strikes at say, 1515 hours and 2012, followed by deployment of significant arsenals of scientific and occult resources. I’d have to work the numbers but I’d estimate we might weaken the opposition by up to fifteen percent before the War even officially commenced.”
“That’s smart if we just wanted to take out Hatman and the Legion,” Deadeyes agreed. “But what if we rub out the very guys what might solve this Space Robo problem?”
“Do you really believe they can achieve anything that our collective minds cannot accomplish?” demanded Peter von Doom from his straight-jacket in the corner. “Crush them entirely. That is all that matters! Rule the ruins! Destroying the whole Parodyverse is acceptable if only the Lair Legion is finally annihilated!”
“It’s not only the Lair Legion and the ‘superheroes’ who are of concern,” Asteroth insisted. “Tomorrow there will be the clash of whole theologies, myth systems across the universe. The last battles of the gods and the giants from a million legends. The Light and Dark Fey separated at last and able to slaughter each other. Angels and demons fighting with galaxies as their battlegrounds.”
“Dimensional incursions, temporal invasions, irritating carol singers,” Kinki the Conqueress added to the list.
“The whole Parodyverse divided into Manichean simplicities,” the Baroness objected. “It is a child’s gambit. Reduce the conflict to two absolute sides. Ignore the subtleties. Crash it all together and see what happens when it breaks. Hope that some fragment of the ruins will contain a prize.” She sneered disdainfully at what the Dreaming Celestian planned. “A robot’s logic.”
“Robots are the final stage of evolution, flesh bag,” Master Machine declared at amplified volume.
Thighmaster winced. “Ooh, you did not just do a fat joke on Baroness von Zemo!”
“Nothing is overlooked forever,” Elizabeth warned.
“We can’t avert the Resolution War,” Gideon Book decided. “Let us therefore achieve what was can through it. There are certain… philosophical points to be resolved apart from some tedious Question. The triumph of Order over Chaos must be demonstrated.”
“Maybe we can find a way to stop shutdown after we’ve killed Al B. Harper?” Kinki speculated. “And the other heroes, naturally.”
“That seems an adequate objective,” Blackbird considered. The mastermind had sat quietly in his prison cell for eight years without stirring. Now that he was forced to act he would act decisively. “We must marshal the forces available to us: the Purveyors of Peril, the Frightsome Four, the Machine Shop, the Knights of Heck-Fire, the Order of Order, the Westminster Necropolis Company, the Shapeshifter’s Guild and so on. A plan of attack must be devised to use them effectively.”
“But won’t we all just get blown away when the cosmic powers clash?” Thighmaster fretted. “I’m asking for a friend.”
“Morgossssa le Fey hassss done ssssome prognossssticative calculationssss,” Vrykolakas hissed. “Ssshe essstimatessss that the greater forcsssess that have held the balancssse for ssso long will mutually destroy themssselves. All will cancssel out exssept for the conflict in thissss mortal world.”
“What we do is the tipping point,” Dr Moo understood. “We’re ants compared to some of the beings out there…”
“Peter von Doom is no ant! Peter von Doom is… mmm! Mmmmmmph!”
“Thank you, Akiko. We are of no great power compared to the forces that will be unleashed; but being at the apex of the conflict our actions can tip the balance of the whole in entirely disproportionate ways.”
“If we destroy the heroes then we resolve the entire conflict,” Simonides Slaughter celebrated. “Evil wins!”
“We are resolved then to initiate a campaign of organised destruction upon the Lair Legion and their allies,” the Word summarised.
The Hooded Hood stirred. He had been silent at the end of the table, listening to the debate. Now he cradled his fingertips together and spoke. “We are compelled to a Resolution. Unless the rogue Space Robot is stopped, we will destroy the heroes but face subsequent cancellation. We shall bend our best efforts to eliminating the forces of ‘good’ – but there is also another gambit to be attempted in the hours remaining to us.”
“What are you planning now, Ioldabaoth?” the Baroness asked suspiciously.
“I am planning to acquire the child known as the Celestian Messiah. I am planning to attain the key with which she can unlock the Space Robots’ programming console. I am planning to reboot the other Celestians to destroy their rogue. I am planning to use the console thereafter to reorder the Parodyverse and uncover those who created it.” He took a breath. “And then perhaps a little Milton before supper?”
There was a momentary silence around the conference table.
“You know who the Celestian Messiah is?” Kinki asked at last. “Is it me?”
“I know now. There is a child named Aella.”
“And how did she come to be this Messiah?” Dr Moo demanded.
“It is quite simple,” replied the Hooded Hood.
Full sized image
“You mean you people hadn’t worked that out?” bluffed Thighmaster. “Pft!”
“And where is this child now?” the Baroness demanded.
“She is with my agent,” the Hood revealed. “My former intern, Hacker 9.”
***
In our next interminable episode: Hard choices when the world ends at midnight! Hacker 9’s secret mission! Post-coital Vizh and Hallie! George Perez steps aside for Jack Kirby! And the big hand reaches 12! All in Untold Tales of the Resolutionverse #361: Goodies vs Baddies, probably around next weekend!
***
Original concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2017 reserved by Ian Watson. Other Parodyverse characters copyright © 2017 to their creators. This is a work of parody. The use of characters and situations reminiscent of other popular works are in fair-use parody and do not constitute a challenge to the copyrights or trademarks of those works. Any proceeds from this work are distributed to charity. 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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