Check Your Prophets (fanfic) by Jonathan Scott-Farley

*this fanfic was scanned and there may be some errors in text translation. If you find any, please leave a comment and the webmaster will correct it.

Far away from the capital city of Sullom Voe, in the middle of
a dry sea is the island of Woz. Now that the sea is dry,
'island' is a bit of a misnomer. Mountain would be a more
accurate description. As the tides receded, the people of
Wozport cut steps in the rock ever downwards to the waters.
Building their jetties of Wozma wood lower and lower until the
tides no longer came and the boats were burned. Today, to
reach the precipitous heights of Wozport, you have to climb
four hundred feet up narrow steps hewn out of the mountain's
rock. Wozport, once famous for its elegant cuisine such as its
renowned delicacy mammelplatz, until recently was a largely
forgotten place in the middle of nowhere.
Once men would prove their bravery to their prospective
mates by diving off Wozport pier, and swimming to one of the numerous jetties before they were attacked by the legendary
Murla fish. The famous Wozport dive became more hazardous the
lower the waters sank, but ardent males were sticklers for
tradition, and wouldn't give up the custom lightly. The
population declined.
Today the four hundred foot Wozport dive is into a
waterless sea, there are no Murla fish any more, but that
hasn't improved the survival rate. The dive is now generally
considered to be the most heroic way of committing suicide if
your prospective mate has turned you down. Others think it is
just plain vulgar exhibitionism.
There is no housing shortage in Wozport, and there is no bus service either. Old men sit on the veranda of Grakharl's Wine Bar and take refuge in talk of the good old days before these young'uns were in their eggs.
The young'uns were so bored that they'd hang around on the corner, throwing bottles at Grakharl's window to see if the old dragon would come out and rile them. When he didn't, they got so riled anyway, they would throw more bottles or find a corner on their own and practise swearing. The girls would sit on the walls kicking their heels just to see what would happen, or form into bitching circles and pick on the outcasts. This was a good game, you had to get enough like minded bitchers around you to be safe. One of the best at this game was Drognar, who was voted by all her classmates as being "the one most likely to be had by the leader." Unfortunately, at that point, the scribe ran out of room in the yearbook, and Drognar left for the bright lights of capital city with this thought in mind. What her classmates really meant was "for lunch". Still, Drognor is not part of this story, and whether he ate her in the end isn't important, but our glorious leader does like his meat well travelled.
Anyway, you'd wonder how this dusty streeted town halfway up a mountain could survive with no commerce. The answer to that came from the town council. The honourable treasurer Glik had been skulking in his home for two weeks before the council meeting, attempting to couch some simple words in accounting persiflage. His statement to the council was to be something along the lines of:
"Revered members of the council, honoured Elders and Matrons, For a time not below fifty planetary rotations, the town expenditure has exceeded its revenue, and we now find ourselves in a negative finance situation." Of course, what this really meant was: "Voted members, members who have a seat on the council because they did something heroic in the past that no one can remember, and egg layers. We're bankrupt." But to say it that plainly was a sure-fire way of having your head separated from your body. What Treasurer Glik needed was a nice governmental piece of techtalk, so for two weeks, he poured through government legislation for a method of saying that the town was bankrupt without saying that the town was bankrupt. He didn't come up with a word, but he did come up with a cure. "Revered members of the council, honoured elders and matrons. For fifty planetary cycles, Wozport has been in a financial wilderness, but no longer. I have found a solution to our problems, a new industry to replace the Wozport fisheries." Every member of the council remained quiet, not one apathetic mouth was raised in enquiry. After all, having work to do would spoil their routine of sitting outside of Grakharls and reminiscing. Grik continued.
"Best of all, this new industry will not affect our lifestyle at all." Now that was better, the matrons looked up from their knitting.
"All right said Chairman Phting, what is this new industry." "Religion "
"What?"
"Religion, all we have to do is institute a position of town luminary, and watch the money roll in."
"Ughh, that means nasty unwashed traveller's with geckos on bits of string wandering around our nice clean streets," said one xenophobic matron.
"Homeless invaders sleeping in doorways," said another.
"No, No, No!" Shouted Glik, trying to regain attention, "not
at all. We don't have to advertise our luminary, and we won't
lay on anything like transport for people seeking
enlightenment, and they damn sure won't walk across the dry
sea to find us."
"So no one will come," said the chairman, "no tourists, no
pilgrims, no one?"
"exactly," said Glik
"Doesn't sound like much of an earner to me," said the
chairman.
"but a Lamasery that's income drops below the cost of
existence qualifies for government subsidy. All we have to do
is prove that every business in the town is dependant on
income from the pilgrim trade, and the government will give us
all lovely handouts without our having to do anything."
"1 must say, I rather like the sound of that," said the
chairman. The plan was put to the vote, and passed
unanimously.
The next task was to find a luminary for the town. This
wasn't as difficult as you would think. Auditions for the
post were held in the town hall the following week. Many
prospective candidates were turned away as the auditions were
so over subscribed. The winning contender was Mrl Tilnok of
South side buildings. He had once been a Garla vet of the
third circle, but since the sea had dried up there were no
Garlas left. He walked into the audition room swathed in his ceremonial third circle veterinary robes which he had died black and painted the symbol of the eternal egg on.
"Hmm, " muttered the chairman, "comes with his own robes. What is your name?"
"The answer to that my son, you must find within yourself," said Tilnok.
"ho ho!" Exclaimed the chairman, and where do you come from" "My son," said Tilnok, "These answers you must find within yourself."
"Ha, ha, ha, ha, han Went the council.
"All he has to do is repeat that if we ever get a visitor, and that's sure to keep seekers after truth away," said Glik. Tilnok was awarded the post on the spot.
Above the town on the pteranodon cliffs, a cave was hollowed out as the official audience chamber of the Sage of Wozport. A hidden elevator was also constructed so that Tilnok and his retinue would be able to get up there quicker than the seekers, who would have to clamber up the steep cliffs in true seeker fashion, (should any actually come). Every shop visage in Wozport was converted to an establishment that sought its profits from the passing seeker trade. Pilgrim trinkets shops, painted souvenirs of the cliffs of the sage. Authorized eating establishments purveying refreshments nfor Seekers only". No trade came, no money was taken over any counter, and the government slipped them a big bung of cash to keep the religious establishment going, after all, we have to preserve our traditions, don't we?
The council continued to sit in front of the wine bar reminiscing about the old days, and the kids practised swearing on the street corners just as they had always done. For two years, the town continued in a government subsidised lethargy, until one day the chairman came shouting at the council. He was so annoyed, he didn't even wait for the sunthly meeting, he came right out in the street and shouted. A despicable display to be seen, especially coming from a council member.
"What's got into you?" said Glik.
"I'll tell you, shall I. You're stupid plan has got us a visit from the government's crack squadron of revenue inspectors. They have a habit of shooting people whose book keeping isn't up to date."
"What are you talking about?"
"The government inspector of prophets will be doing a snap inspection, sometime in the next two months."
"So what? All we have to do is look like we're running the town for tourists that aren't coming any more, and show empty account books. We just have to show we are expecting an upturn in the industry at any moment."
"If we don't get shot, it'll be a bloody miracle," screamed the chairman storming off. Glik clasped his hands together in true meditation manner;
"for miracles, you must look within yourself," he said, making a passable impression of Tilnok. "Hey Kids," he shouted at the Young'uns who were trying out a new game called 'Kick the Curb'. "You all have to pretend you are impoverished urchins preying on the tourists and seekers, or you'll end up decidedly dead. If you don't play along, I'll make sure you are prematurely dead! Now get to the town hall and we'll give you some roles to play." The kids showed how much they had been practising swearing and making gestures, Glik walked over to the ring leader who flashed his face in defiance. Glik picked him up and threw him over the pier rail.
"Who's going to miss a chameleon?" He said, "You can never tell where the little sods are any way! Now get to the town hall, all of you!" The children ran.
For three weeks, the town got into their parts. Tilnok adjourned to his cave and practised giving sage advice. The children ran around trying to sell pilgrimage badges to each other and the owner of 'The Seeker's Rest' had to learn how to cook again, very quickly ..
At the end of the third week, a cruiser fell out of the sky and parked in the town square. For two minutes it remained quiet while the townsfolk looked on wondering if they would end up seriously dead, or just marginally decapitated. The cruiser had emblazoned on it's side 'Sullom Voe Government, Prophet Returns Department." The hatch opened and Glik stepped up to make the ritual obesence that it is well to perform to any government official, just in case.
"Salutations," said the officer that got out, "I am Inspector General Garlik, and I am here to look at your books." One of the youths ran up to the inspector and took his photograph. "Honoured Pilgrim," said the child, "it is a shame to have to
.ask you for ten Krivs for this souvenir photograph of your visit to Wozport, but if I don't, my dad will beat me!" Garlik smiled at the child, reached into his pocket, then shot him.
"Now, if we could get on, my time is precious,"
"Certainly," said Glik, "I have assembled all of the business account books in the town hall, if you•11 follow me."
"No," said Garlik, "I'm not from the accounts department, I'm from Prophet Returns, I'm here to inspect your prophecy
accounts."
"My what?"
"I'm here to examine your sage's prophecies. I hope you have been keeping a record."
"Of course," said Glik, "we will have to go up and see the town luminary though. Would you like to climb the ritual cliff face, or shall we go up the newly installed steps for the disabled?"
"Cut the crap, we'll go in the elevator you've built yourselves." Glik swallowed hard and waved the inspector to follow him.
Journeying in the elevator with Garlik could not be described as being a relaxing journey for Glik, who felt that at any moment he might be embarking on a more metaphysical journey upwards.
"Why do you want to inspect the prophecy returns anyway?" he asked, trying to make small talk.
"To make sure your sage is not saying anything immoral or
illegal of course."
"But prophecy is prophecy I thought," said Glik naively.
"Yes, and prophecy that predicts the downfall of our glorious leader is treason. It is punishable with some interesting methods of Death we've developed." Glik swallowed, being an accountant, he knew nothing about religious book keeping procedure, he just knew about money. His only hope was that Tilnok would get blamed and shot for the absence of accounting instead of him.
The elevator doors opened and they passed from behind a curtain into a cave that had been soothingly decorated in the most livid purple that its decorator, Loxen, had been able to find. Glik wanted to throw up, the colour was so sickening, but the inspector seemed to approve. Tilnok sat at the end of the cave chamber on his luminary's throne, hands clasped in meditation.
"Greetings my son," he said, "you have travelled far, I am prepared to prophesy for you now."
"Drop it," said Garlik, "where are the books?"
"The answer to that my son, lies in yourself." Garlik drew a gun and aimed it at Tilnok.
"I said drop it! Where are the books?" Tilnok shrugged,
"over there in the drawer," he said indicating a Wozma wood bureau to his left. The only piece of furniture in the cave other than his throne. Garlik walked over to it and pulled the drawer open. Inside were two ledgers, Garlik took out. the first and examined it:
"First prophecy, ..... lies in yourself. Second
prophecy, ..... lies in yourself. Third Prophecy, ..... lies in yourself. Is that the only prophecy you hand out?"
"The answer to that my son ... " Garlik pointed the gun.
"No the long prophecies are in the other ledger." Garlik took the book out and examined it.
"But its empty," he shouted.
"Well, there's been no one worth prophesying for, yet."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Garlik.
"Come over here," replied Tilnok, "make the ritual devotion
and I will tell your fortune."
"Ho, ho," laughed Garlik, moving over and flipping his dorsal
in respect.
"You have come to Woz looking for evidence of Zonists, and
will go away angry because Zonism isn't followed here. But do
not be upset, when you get back to the capital city, you will
find you have been promoted, the leader has a new job for
you."
"Ho, ho, that's rich," said Garlik. Tilnok continued.
"Many years ago, the leader's scientists discovered a planet,
far away, and today, they return from their survey mission.
There is enough water on this planet to re-float Woz, and the
leader has decided that he wants the water. He has decided
that you should command his invasion fleet."
"What me? A prophet return's inspector?"
"Yes, you. Even now your promotion awaits you. This planet is
populated by a grotesque race of mammals who talk in a curt,
disgusting language and give themselves horrible sounding
names. Yet, the next craze to overtake Sullom Voe will be that
everyone will take upon themselves one of these names."
"That's right," interrupted Loxon, " he was telling me about
this just before you came in. I think I'll call myself
Oswald." Garlik pointed his gun and Loxon shut up.
"Always knew you were a fairy," said Glik.
"Is there any more," asked Garlik.
"Yes, you will call yourself John."

"John?" queried Garlik, "What a boring name! Make sure you
copy that prediction down in your returns," he said laughing,
"and 1111 see you in a few sunths when I return with the
device we reserve for false prophets."
Garlik left the cave, laughing all the way to his cruiser.
"How did you know about the returns books?" asked Glik.
"You didn't think I'd accept the job without doing a bit of
studying for it first, did you?"
"You realise that he'll corne back and kill you when he proves
that prophesy false, don't you?"
"It isn't false, I tell you, I've been studying. But I didn't
tell him all of it."
"What else is there then?"
"Well, the leader has only given him the post so he has
someone to blame if it goes wrong."
"Yes, and?"
"And he'll be shot by someone who used to live in this town.
You know, the girl who used to head that bitching circle. You
know, Drogna, but of course she'll have re-named herself by
then. Diana, I think it is."
"You're mad," said Glik turning to leave.
Well as you know, Garlik was promoted, and he did set out
in command of the leader's fleet. So he never did go back to
Woz. In fact, he never did get the time to tell anyone about
this amazingly accurate prediction before he left for foreign
planets. Except that is for his empathic advisor, Bragakah.
Bragakah was a very sensitive man, but easy to rile,
especially when he thought he was being duped, which isn't an especially good trait for an empathic advisor. One day, a sunth or so after the fleet had left, he decided that his life lacked fulfilment. He needed advice and direction, and who better to get it from than the sage that Garlik had raved about. Putting a sign on his door saying 'Gone for Consultation' he purchased the ritual accoutrements of a seeker. Cloak, thumb stick and satchel and set off across the dry sea basin towards Woz.
It had been seven sunths since Woz had been visited by the Department of Prophet Returns, and everything had reverted to its lethargic, apathetic norm. The kids had found a new game, it was called 'Whip the Wocket', when one of them noticed a tiny dot on the horizon. He pointed it out to the others, and over the next two days they watched it until it resolved itself into a traveller, coming their way. The Young'uns leader ran off to tell Glik. Day by day, the council stood on the pier and watched the figure approach.
"What do we do?" asked the chairman.
"The same as last time," replied Glik
"But he might be from the good sage guide" said the chairman, "if he is, we'll never get any peace."
"Then again, he might be a government spy, checking up on us. We'll just have to play it by tongue," said Glik.
Two days later Bragakah started to ascend the steps of Woz. In his journey across the dry sea, he had broken three fingers, and had set them himself. He had even wandered into a crivit patch, losing a few bites from his dorsal. When he reached the town centre, he was assaulted by urchins trying to sell him pilgrimage badges, and restaurateurs trying to force Mammalplatz on him. Bragakah ignored them all, walked to the rock face of pteranadon cliffs and began to climb. Up he journeyed, all day, pausing only on a rocky outcrop for some Grola Grass sandwiches before continuing to the cave. At twenty past dinner, he arrived, and panting heavily, entered.
Tilnok, sat in meditation on his throne, in calm reverie.
Glik stood behind, (they had used the elevator).
"You have journeyed far my son, I am ready to prophesy." Bragakah flipped what was left of his dorsal in the religious sign of respect and said;
"Oh wise one, my life lacks fulfilment. I need direction. Please tell me why I am here? What is the meaning of life?" "The answer to that, my son, lies in yourself," replied Tilnok.
"I don't believe it," cried Bragakah, his temper rising, "What did you say?"
"I said, the answer, my son, lies in yourself." Bragakah was not amused.
"I have journeyed for eight sunths across the dry sea, lost part of my dorsal to a Crivit, broken three of my fingers, and you give me that piece of Rex Shit! Tell me the meaning of life now, or I break this thumb stick over your revered ass!" "OK, OK!" said Tilnok, "You are forcing this out of me. The truth is that the meaning of life can not be found here." Bragakah stood up menacing his stick. Tilnok raised a hand in pacification. "But I can tell you where the meaning may be found."
Bragakah fell to his knees,
"Tell me oh wise one where I may find this truth."
"I hesitated in telling you because it is such an arduous
journey."
"No matter, I need to know."
"Very well. On the planet our leader has sent the fleet to,
there is a wretched land of ice and snow, and there on one
mountain top there is a tree which blooms once every hundred
years, when the snows melt. If you taste of this flower, you
will know the meaning of life. But to taste this bloom, you
have to avoid the giant creatures with vicious claws that roam
the land, and defeat the tribe who protect the tree. If you do
this, you will know the meaning of life."
"Revered sage," said Bragakah, "I will set out on this journey
today, I will find the meaning of life, or death will overtake
me in the trying."
Bragakah crawled back down the slope and set out over the dry sea back to capital city.
"What did you say that rubbish for?" asked Glik.
"He threatened me, didn't you see? Anyway, prophecy under
duress isn't lawful."
"You're getting good at this sage stuff, arenlt you."
"I try my best. Its just a pity that sometimes it is easier
for people to swallow a load of raptor dung than it is to
swallow the truth. The 'in yourself' is the only answer to
that question." Tilnok sighed and got in the elevator to go
home.
Now as it happens, it doesn't matter whether the quest he gave Bragakah was true or false, (it was false actually, but Bragakah never found out. The red dust got him first). The prophecy still did the damage that Wozport feared. Bragakah returned to capital city and before embarking on his quest to Earth, he told everyone about Garlik's true prediction and the perilous quest he was going on by the direction of this most revered of sages. The listeners told other listeners, until the whole of capital city was talking about the sage of Wozport. Seekers began to journey for advice, and when Tilnok gave one of his long predictions, it was generally accurate (he'd been practising). These seekers told other seekers until every seeker of truth was setting out to hear the wise words of the sage, which only goes to show that from a very small investment, you can get enormous prophets.
The citizens of Wozport never managed to regain their lethargic parochial life, Wozport became too busy with pilgrims and tourists, but it didn't really matter because most of them made a killing selling sucker bait to the gullible. No one noticed when the government withdrew their subsidy either, or even when they started taxing them, heavily. And that is how the little town of Wozport became the religious capital of Sullom Voe. If you stand on Wozport pier at night, the whole of the dry sea is illuminated by pilgrim campfires, and if the wind is in your direction, you might catch a sniff of the Wozma wood burning and the odour of roasting Grola Grass. On the other hand, if the wind is still, you can hear the faint strains of camp fire singsongs that the seekers of truth indulge in when they bed down for the night. Those classic pilgrimage songs that every child now learns in class such as "The Wozport sage has news for me." or "We're off to see the Lizard, the wonderful Lizard of Woz."

Rebel Without a Clue (fanfic) by Jonathan Scott-Farley

"this fanfic was scanned and there may be some glitches in text translation... if you find any leave a comment and the webmaster will fix it"


Diana was pissed off! Her mothership was parked again behind Earth's moon while she tried to dream up some kind of a cure for the red dust. She sure as Algul wasn't going to go back to the homeworld in disgrace, that would only lead to execution. She would have to stay here until she managed to solve the problem, then the leader would be pleased with her again. Diana poured through the scientific journals that had recently arrived from the homeworld, Especially the latest piece from the professor of chronology. Reading between the lines, she realized that he had been holding out on the leader. His latest piece on attenuation field technology was more revealing of his achievements to date than perhaps he had intended. Diana quickly tapped out a message to the leader. "Send Professor Ensenstrom to me immediately, very important.
Elikashions and mice, Drogna." Diana returned to her reading.

Professor Ensenstrom was dozing happily in his campus office, while school life continued its hectic processes around him. One of the good things about being professor of Chronology was that should anyone catch .him napping while he was supposed to be working, he could always say that he was deep into applying the mathematics of time travel to the physical world (in his mind of course). Everyone knew that time travel was possible mathematically, but applying the knowledge in the physical world was the difficult bit, so wandering around looking as though you were half asleep came with the teritory. Ensenstrom had published several works on the subject, had instantly become the most renowned chronologist on the horne world and consequently could spend a great deal of time asleep at his desk. If the truth must be told, Ensenstrom had gone a lot further. He had actually built a time machine, just in case the leader challenged him to produce something, but he wasn't going to show it unless he was in mortal danger. The consequences might not even justify that risk. Most people on the home world believed that a time machine would be some bulky box like structure that you sat in, to be whisked into the past, future, or alternative present, thanks to all the spoof adventures on Sullomvision. Actually, the machine was small, crystal like and was disguised at the moment as a fancy clock paperweight on his desk. All you needed to do to make it work was connect it to the vehicle you wanted to push through time and allow it to generate the attenuation field that temporarily displaced it from real spacetime. The professor dozed on in a feeling of security that was soon to be shattered, and it wasn't because he was a secret Zonist. His communicator beeped for attention disturbing his fitful slumber, it was incredible how comfortable the sayings of the prophet Algul was as a pillow.

"Professor," said the voice, "you will report immediately to
the shuttle bound for Earth. Your lectures have been cancelled
until you return. "

When Ensenstrom arrived on the sentry mothership, he was
escorted to his compartment by a guard. Rather than bother
with washing, he sloughed a layer of skin and threw it down
the disposal chute. Placing the time machine by his bed, he
went off in search of Drogna.

"Why did you have me brought here?" he demanded.

"Because I have a job for you." retorted Diana.

"What could I possibly do for you?"

"I want you to build me a time machine, of course."

"Assuming that I can actually build one, what would you do
with it?"

"We are at a bit of an impasse with Earth. We can't go there
because of the red dust, which according to my information was
developed from a hybrid bacteria in the Maxwell child."

"So what do you want with a time machine then?"

"I want to go back and stop Brian from making love to Robin
Maxwell. Then the red dust will never be developed."

"Time may not allow such rewrites," said Ensenstrom, "besides,
I may not be able to make one."

"I think," said Diana, "you are nearer to producing one than
you would like the leader to know. I wonder why?" Ensenstrom
swallowed hard, thinking of the completed unit in his room.

"I will certainly try, but it is mostly theory, it may not
work."

"It had better, for your sake."

"I will of course have requirements."

"No doubt. Draw up a list, and I will see to them." Ensenstrom returned to his quarters. How could he possibly give his masterpiece to this woman? he would have to work out a plan, but that shouldn't be difficult. After all, he was a theoretical mathematician of the inner circle, with qualifications in physics, psychology, and a few other subjects he had forgotten over the years. He needed to reduce the number of potential opponents for a start. It was bad enough having to deal with that social climbing woman Drogna. Ensenstrom sat down on his bed, pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, and began to scribble.

The following day,' he went to seek out Drogna. The woman sat back in her chair with feigned resignation.

"I suppose you have an exorbitant list of demands" she said. " Not a very long one, " he replied, "first, 1 need complete access to the mothership's master control in order to install the attenuation circuit should I complete it, that is."

"Not granted," replied Drogna, "but I'll give you level two
access."

"I need complete access"

"Level two is all you get, what's next?"

"I want everyone except those directly involved with the project evacuated from the mothership."

"Impossible," said Drogna.

"Without this, I am afraid we can't continue with the project. I'm concerned with security. suppose we have fifth columnists on the ship, they might try to sabotage my work."

"I do have an alternative solution to these problems, but continue for the moment."

"I need a laboratory, not too far from the mothership bridge."

"Why?"

"Because if I succeed, I intend to shunt the whole ship backwards through time."

"That I will grant you, everything else is denied. Was there anything else you wanted?"

"No, that should do."

"Fine, I'll see what I can do."

The following day, Ensenstrom was installed in a new laboratory next to the bridge. He spent his first morning using the lab's mini-m~nufactory to build coil sets, and began to assemble part two of his plan, a little black hole generator that would in a nanosecond vaporise the bridge of the sentry ship, just in case things didn't work out his way. About lunchtime, he needed to get something from his cabin and walked out into the corridor to find a guard blocking his way. "Out of my way," demanded Ensenstrom.

"Not until the end of your shift, go back to work" Ensenstrom went back to work, and spent the afternoon seeing how many different materials he could make field retention coils out of. A totally useless occupation, but it kept him amused for hours. He was particularly satisfied with those that used Wozma wood as their drums.

At about quarter past dinner, Drogna walked in to examine his progress, and stared at the immense number of coils stacked up against the wall.

"Enjoying yourself?" she said caustically,

"Can't think when I have been happier," he replied.

"I have been thinking abut your request to evacuate the ship of all personnel. I have decided for the security of the project, to reduce the crew to a minimum of the bridge crew and James's regiment of fighters. I have ordered another mothership to come and remove all of the nonessential personnel. I will of course supervise the project from there too. "

"Of course," replied Ensenstrom sarcastically.

"When you have completed the project, you will take James and his regiment back in time to before the fleet arrival, and he will ensure that Brian and Robin do not create the starchild."

"And if I don't?"

"You have a finite amount of time to complete your task, if you don't, then my other plan will at least ensure the humans won't win. I have set the ship's Domesday device to explode the day after tomorrow when the moon is perfectly between the earth and the sun. The explosion will vaporise half of the moon's surface, and the sun's rays will push the dust into Earth's atmosphere, causing a new ice age. If you don't complete the project, then you will be part of that explosion."

"And if I do manage to complete it?"

"Then I will transmit the disarming code to James." Drogna turned to leave, "You have thirty hours." she said, closing the door

This was a blow. Thirty hours before yet another planet fell prey to this social climber, and with only level two access, he would not be able to disarm the device. What to do?

Ensenstrom started running control cabling from the bridge to the laboratory when the mothership had been evacuated, and got the bridge crew and James's soldiers running around the ship installing the field retention coils . He had to save this planet from the leader and that woman. He couldn't disarm the device, but his security access did allow him to move the ship. If he tried to move it to a place where it wouldn't do any harm however, Drogna would detonate the device before he had gone an inch. On the other hand, if he moved it to another time, Drogna wouldn't be able to transmit the code to the ship. It would blow up, there was no doubt of that, but if Ensenstrom could move it to somewhere safe, in space and time, at least he would have been able to protect one planet. There was nothing for it, he would have to use the time machine. Ensenstrom walked back to his cabin to get a book, trailed discreetly by James and four of his soldiers.

Ensenstrom entered his cabin and laid down on his rock. He couldn't move the ship forward in time, because Drogna would just catch up by coming the long way round, so he had to go where she couldn't follow, The past.

After a refreshing nap, Ensenstrom dressed himself and prepared for the task ahead. He slipped the time machine into his pocket, and left for his laboratory. Outside the door, James was slouching in the corridor, the other soldiers had gone to find something more interesting to do. James's pseudoskin always looked baggy on him, like an ill-fitting suit, and it's fair complexion didn't react well to his love of sun
lamps.

"You have another twenty hours," said James, "I will of course leave the ship at least an hour before detonation, so I need to know if you have done it before then." Ensenstrom shrugged and walked off down the corridor to his lab.

"Don't think you're going anywhere," he muttered under his breath. James followed him at a discrete distance, as usual.

Entering the lab, Ensenstrom locked the door to ensure against interruption, pulled the time machine from his pocket, and began to connect it to the control unit he had rigged up.

In no time, the device was ready, The only place he could go was the past, then he needed to find some open space so that the explosion didn't harm anything. About a hundred million years back should do it. Ensenstrom fed the time into his machine, and hit the activate button. The whole ship shuddered as it lurched itself into attenuated space. Ensenstrom looked approvingly at the machine's dial which indicated a speed of one hundred and twenty years per hour and accelerating. There was a bang, and the door collapsed from its runners under the force of the infinite-death cannon James held in his hands. "What's going on?" he shouted.

"You're too late," laughed Ensenstrom, "we're going back at over three years a minute. If we stop now, you'll have to wait ten years for the fleet to arrive!".

"Algul!" shouted James, pointing his cannon at the time machine and pulling the trigger. The crystal clock disappeared in a plume of glasslike dust. Ensenstrom laughed. The controller may have been broken, but the ship was still travelling backwards at an ever increasing speed.

"No one is going to abuse my invention," he shouted. James turned round and started running to the bridge. This time it was Ensenstrom's turn to follow. James sat down at the flight controls and started the sequence to break orbit. The ship lurched again in its attenuation field and James brought it out from behind the moon, he lifted it clear of the satellite and began to set course for the home world.


"It won't work," said Ensenstrom, "our race won't even have started to evolve by the time you get there." James pulled his gun out of its holster and pointed it at Ensenstrom.

"Stop this thing now!" he shouted.

"No," replied Ensenstrom, calmly.

"I will kill you!"

"Zon appoints each man his time of death, who am I to argue."

James pulled the trigger and Ensenstrom collapsed to the floor dead. The phase pulse of the blaster hit the magnetic field of a retention coil and ricochet back towards James who leaped out of his seat in time to see the beam destroy the flight control console. The ship shuddered again, and all power to the drive unit died. Free to float, the ship began to drift, slowly, at first but increasingly faster towards Earth.

"Algul!" exclaimed James again, running out of the bridge and
off towards the nearest fighter bay.

One of the first rules of existing in attenuated space, is not to move out of the attenuation field until it has synchronised again with real space. This is what James tried to do. He lifted his fighter off and flew out of the landing bay, straight at the field wall, as his fighter hit the wall, there was a bang and the control console began to smoke. parts of the hull surface disintegrated as its atoms fought for
existence over the microscopic dust particles that were floating around in real space. Most people think this kind of thing creates a new big bang, it doesn't. The losing particle sheds all its mass and becomes a pure quantum packet of energy. Light! James screamed and tried to cover his eyes, but the intensity of light being given off was too much, he was instantly blinded, and his skin started smoking from radiation burns. The fighter's power system died, leaving a blind and screaming James in utter darkness after the light as the fighter was suddenly thrown back into real spacetime and hurtling uncontrollably towards Earth. The Body-wing design of the fighter, like a cat, instantly righted itself when it hit the planet's atmosphere and began an uncontrolled descent across the top of the world, slowing under the friction burn up of its outer hull. James, barely conscious, crashed to Earth, near a little known town called Roswell in 1947. He survived for about half an hour after the crash, and his body, (though you would never recognise it), has been pickled ever since at area 51.

The mothership continued to drift towards Earth at an ever increasing speed, and an ever increasing pace backwards in time. It eventually hit Earth, detonating the Domesday device about 65 million years ago near a place in South America that would eventually come to be called Chiexulub. Which is a pity, because if it hadn't, the human race would never have evolved, and the Earth would have been ruled by a lizard species that the leader might have liked.

The Tale of Willie's Rats (fanfic) by Jonathan Scott-Farley

*this fanfic was scanned and there may be some errors in text translation. If you find any, please leave a comment and the webmaster will correct it."

When our glorious leader says jump, you jump. You might harbour thoughts about him that at best would get you killed, and at worst might ... well, I'll leave that up to you to figure out. Anyway, the best position to occupy in relation to our glorious leader is as far away as possible. Especially if you have committed some horrendous social gaffe, such as arriving at a function three minutes early, or, as was the case with the hero of this piece, accidentally warming the
leader's bedrock to a whole degree below the way our noble leader likes.

Having committed this terrible faux pas, Vinko Globar, (for that is our hero's name), pulled every string that he knew, and a few he'd only heard about, to get a transfer from his position of palace bed-warmer to something with the benefit of a great deal of distance. Granted, his new position was a step down in stature for him, but who is going to worry about that when the alternative is experiencing one of the lesser forms of death.

Anyway, Vinko this time couldn't have found a position more distant. It was on the science research mothership dispatched to survey the newly discovered world called Earth. The giant mothership decelerated quickly as it entered the planetary system, and positioned itself so that the planet's moon kept it hidden from the species that occupied it. All of this was mere academia to Vinko, his job on the ship was ducting sanitation technician. As part of the maintenance department, it was his job to see that all ducting on the ship was free of obstruction, dirt and pests.

One of the biggest problems with a mothership isn't the amount of energy needed to push it, or make it hover above a city you are trying to intimidate, nor is it the complexities of navigating such a monstrosity through space. It is the number of pests they manage to accumulate. Three miles in diameter, one hundred levels is one hell of a large area to keep clean when you are building ships. It doesn't take long for an adventurous sewergator to get in, and as they say, 'it only takes two to quango!' So before you know it, your ducting is full of Flugs and Sneels, and your sewer pipes are full of Sewergators and Mudwumps. And guess whose job it is to attempt to institute pest control procedures? Yes, you guessed it, poor Vinko.

Now as it happens, Vinko isn't the only ducting sanitation technician on the ship. There are actually nine. Hey wait a minute, I hear you cry, do your mathematics please! Three miles diameter and a hundred levels divided between nine means 260 miles of ducting per technician, and you try keeping a pest problem down in an area that size on your own.
To make it worse, most of the technicians that Vinko had to work with were semisens, so Vinko was the smartest of the bunch. He got away with hiding among them because his mother was a chameleon, so he could fit in well.

Anyway, back to the story, The mothership was parked behind the planet's moon, and for twenty sunths (ship time), the analysts, linguologists, sociologists, theologists zenologists, biologists, rheologists, politicologists and the captain, listened and watched the transmissions emanating from the planet. This would enable them to assimilate their languages, and develop an understanding of the diverse cultures, theisms, zenisms organisms and rheisms of the planet. One whole sunth was wasted in argument by the theological and politicological research teams on the politico-religious symbolism in Starsky and Hutch, until some bright spark from the canteen who overheard the debate, suggested that it didn't have any symbolism at all. It was just a 'Shoot-ern-up' cop show where the good win, the bad die and everyone feels happy about it. And hence, Soup Dragon Stemron became the acknowledged founder of the school of cathartology, though he never knew it. Two days later, his soup was poisoned by a bunch of rheologists who decided that they didn't like smart bastards stealing their thunder.

After looking at the planet for some time, the scientists decided that they needed hands on experience of the life forms. So they decided to go and collect some samples. I will leave it to your imagination how they managed to bring back an elephant, but they did. The elephant turned out to be most revealing about how mammal life forms had developed upon this planet. There were significant differences with the mammals of Sullom Voe. Earth mammals had developed viviparous birth, while those of the homeworld lay eggs like all advanced life forms. Soon, the cargo carriers were making daily runs, bringing all kinds of flora and fauna back. It was during the forty second Bunth that the most important information was obtained, all life on Earth was edible. When, at last, the cargo delivery brought the first sample of dominant life, everyone thought that they would now be able to get down to the serious matter of determining whether the species was friend or food. Things didn't get off to a good start though, for all the creature would say was; "I knew it! I knew it! You buggers kidnapped Elvis!" Not one rheologist was able to discover any more thought processes occurring in the creature's head, so it was determined that the species were food. The subject was instantly declared to be unfit for consumption however due to the advanced ethanol induced decay of the savoury organs, so the rheologists continued to work on the other specimens. It was about this time that a particular rheologist called Kevlar, (who was, lets face it , orbiting a little above his cranium at the time on account of his addiction to the whacky weed itself, grola grass), left a cage door open, allowing a minor group of mammals to escape into the ducting. Normally, this would have been cured instantly by a ducting purge in the escape area before the pests became established. Unfortunately however, the escape didn't get reported because Kevlar's boss just thought he had treated himself to a little snack on account of getting the munchies.

Now, as I said before, it only takes two to quango, and in this case, it looks like there were sixteen holding a complete rev of a time in the ducting. Sixteen soon became thirty two, became sixty four became a hundred and twenty eight, became very adventurous. The first evidence of a new pest problem was not noticed because lets face it, semisens are just that, semisens! They do what they are told and don't usually have a free thought to themselves.

If you have ever wondered why the person you have never seen before, dressed in red is always the one that gets shot in the space dramas, it is because that's real life kiddo. They're the semisens, and we always send them into the tricky situations first. If they don't make it to the next episode, well hell baby, there's plenty more where he carne from.
So where was I? oh yes, Earth mammals in the ducting, not being noticed by the semisens. They had managed to completely colonize ducting level three and outer ringmain one and inner ringmain seven before Vinko got to noticing they were there. It happened like this. When a pest problem gets too large, the ducting is sealed off and a super cooled air is blown through it. This puts the pests into a torpor, like all of our life forms. The techs then go in wearing thermal suits to lift and dispose of the critters where ever they lay. Vinko was doing the rounds of inner ringmain sewer four with two of the semisens, when he came across a sewergator, the semisens just saw a body they had to dispose of. Vinko saw a body that had been half eaten by something that obviously was not put to sleep by the cold. The eating had to have been done while the creature was inert, because as sure as Zon made little blue frapples, you wouldn't want to pick an argument with a gator when it was awake. Vinko called security, which did two things, first it alerted those upstairs to the fact that Vinko was not a semisens, and secondly, there was a nasty bastard alien wandering around the ducting. This wasn't helped much by the fact that the security team had just been watching a video from Earth covering the same theme.
Emergency pest commander Ashok, paused to regard the 'big bastard alien combat team' before him. Crack hombre's with the latest firepower.

"Now listen up! It looks like we have an alien species that's taken up residence in the ducting. We are not sure, but we may be looking at a xenomorph ... "

"You bet you are looking at a xenomorph" said one particular rheologist who had attended the meeting as consultant but in fact knew sweet .. ahem,- onwards ...

"If you don't mind," said Ashok, trying to regain authority, "This creature is very dangerous, and extremely hostile. Judging from the size of the bit marks we have examined, we believe that the creature has already passed through it’s nymph phase, and has probably grown into something extremely large, and incredibly dangerous." Every member of the big bastard alien combat team swallowed hard. This didn't look too promising.

"I am not going to lie to you men," said Ashok, "The risks of this operation are extreme, many of you may not survive, but that does not mean you are to neglect your tasks. Our glorious leader expects each lizard to do his duty. I want each of you to group into squads of five men, and start from the bridge level and work downwards. Each squad will be issued with motion detectors, flame throwers and repeating phase pulse rifles. I want weapons prep and full tactical assimilation by twenty seven hundred hours."

"Shit! " said Vinko, "I think that film's gone to his head."

At twenty to lunch, fifty squads of soldiers entered the ducting to engage in combat with an alien that everyone
believed to be at least eight feet tall. Squad D7 were working towards the inner ringmain, when their motion detectors
indicated five objects approaching them cautiously. All five of the squad positioned themselves at a corner intersection
and waited. Soon enough, five dark shadows approached the intersection. D7 squad leader yelled "Now!" and his soldiers opened fire, flooding the ducting with pulse beams and liquid fire. The Aliens screamed.


"Squad D5 just bought it," said the comms officer to Ashok who was seated safely in the command chair on the bridge, "It looks like we have fire breathers from the last I heard." "Pass that information to the other teams," replied Ashok. So now the teams are looking for an eight foot tall fire breathing Earth creature.

In the ensuing battles, twenty five squads were killed by friendly fire under the assumption they were aliens prowling the ducting.

After ten hours of raging battles with these smart aliens, not to mention considerable losses, without one alien to show for it, E3's squad leader Dramsar was hot, bothered, and quite frankly a bit pissed off with the whole tactic of that stupid vrag Ashok. He cane to a maintenance cupboard off corridor 17, and entered. Here were spare mops, buckets, brooms and flug powder. In the corner was a sink, connected to a cistern above. He turned on the tap and poured a sink full of cold water and dipped his head in it. His squad did the same then carried on with their sweep of the sector. Two hours later, they were dead. Their agonized shouts poured out of the speakers on the bridge, and a bio hazard team. were sent in to collect the bodies. They were a sight, It looked like they had been trying to shed three layers of skin at the same time.

Ashok sounded a general retreat. The whole of the lower levels of the mothership were evacuated until someone could work out a plan to combat this alien threat. Of the two hundred and fifty soldiers who entered the ducting, seventy came out alive.

"It's a blippng war zone down there," they said, "they just come out of nowhere, attack you and disappear again, leaving your mates dead allover the ducting." Ashok sent an emergency ansible communication to the home world, and received in reply that agents from the weapons division were on their way to collect samples for the bio-weapons labs, and all they had to do was contain it which was fine, because not one of the scientists wanted to go near the ducting. Vinko on the other hand was examining data on Earth, no one bothered him except Ashok, who wanted to know what an honest middle class lizard was doing hiding among the semisens. Vinko managed to avoid the question. He turned up some interesting information, like no Earth mammal goes through a nymph phase and develops into a big nasty bastard alien. The clincher was when he read about Weil's disease. Vinko put on a bio suit, grabbed a small cage from a biologist, and descended into the ducting. He searched for days, without seeing another crew member, but his search paid off. In the garbage hold, he found a colony of an Earth creature called a 'Rat', and it didn't take long to catch one. It took him several days to walk back again, and each time he stopped for a meal, hi examined his new companion. As far as mammals went, it was quite cute. It was almost completely black haired, except for its tail which was hairless. It had long incisor teeth, and tried most of the time to talk to Vinko, alt least that was how Vinko thought it was acting.
By the time Vinko walked on to the bridge, the agents from weapons division had arrived.

"We haven't seen it, all we know is its big and breaths fire," Ashok was saying.

"No it doesn't," said Vinko, "here's one, he said holding up his caged rat. The weapons department officer walked over to Vinko and stared at the creature which squeaked back at him. "What, this little thing has killed over a hundred people?" "No sir," answered Vinko, the soldiers killed each other while looking for this. They were only semisens, they saw each other moving, and thought they were aliens and started shooting before thinking, as usual."

"This is absolute vripple!" exclaimed a Rheologist, "This man I'll admit has found an Earth species running wild in the ducting, but this is certainly not the alien we are looking for. We Rheologists have been studying this subject all our lives, and I can assure you, what we have somewhere in the ship is eight foot at least by now and very hungry." The rat squeaked objection, but no one listened.

"No sir," said Vinko, "it is what you are saying that is absolute vripple. This creature ate a swampgator alive because it wasn't capable of defending itself, that incident allowed your imagination to go wild."

"Look! I really don't think that we should even be listening to this man," said the rheologist sneeringly, "after all we
are all highly trained scientists, and he is merely a sanitation technician, and not a very good one either."

"That doesn't matter," said Vinko, "search as much as you want, you won't find anything other than more of these very
clever, and very adaptive Earth creatures." The Weapons Division officer grunted, looked at his colleagues and said

"Looks like we've been sent across the galaxy on a wild raptor hunt men."

"Look, you really don't have to listen to him, he's just a grunt."

"But what have you got?" said the officer, "no images on cameras, no bodies, nothing."

"Look, OK, what about Dramsar, what affected him. Certainly not this little thing! It must have been a virulent poison
from a large creature." "Weils disease, is caught from rat urine, there's no telling what the bacteria can do to us. it's probably that."

"How's it transmitted then?" sneered the Rheologist.

"Through water that rats have been swimming in."

"All right," said the officer, then pointing to one of the semisens, "go and get me a bucket of water, quickly." The
semisens ran off, and a few moments later returned with a bucket. The officer upended the cage, and tipped the rat into
the water, allowing it to swim around for a few minutes, then pulled the cage out again and gave. it back to Vinko, then before anyone could blink, picked up the bucket and threw it at the semisens.

"If Rheology is wrong, and our sanitation engineer her is right, then all we have to do is wait." Two hours, and one dead semisens later, the Rheologist was fuming, and the weapons officers were storming back to their shuttle muttering. "Called half way across the galaxy, and for what? a small furry pest." As Vinko walked of the bridge, the Rheologist muttered in his ear. "We'll get you for showing us up like that." Vinko smiled blandly back at him. After all, how could a bunch or Rheologists possibly get even without everyone noticing. Vinko reassured himself of his safety.
But the Rheologists did get even. They taught him Arabic, then during the invasion, sent him to America.