J
jrhume
Guest
Fellowship of the Spam
The Secret Council
Mike, the Great Admin, sent out a call to all the folk frequenting the hidden vale of Army.CA. Alas, only those from the ramshackle tent village known as The Mess answered his summons. Mike despaired of his purpose, for those lay-about clowns only showed up because the meeting would be followed by free beer, lots of spicy food and a horde of scantily-clad dancing girls.
Che, the dwarf lout, banged his empty cup and bellowed, â Å“More beer! Where's the food?â ?
DanJanou, the Elder, stood forth in his stained robes. â Å“There will be beer and food in plenty. But first we must discuss this matter of the Spam.â ?
Grumbling, the horde took their seat about a raggedy-assed table. On a chipped platter thereon lay a steaming pile of Spam.â ?
â Å“Looks like horse hockey to me,â ? mumbled Bossi, the Runtland gardener who had crashed the meeting looking for short, stout women.
â Å“The resemblance is intentional,â ? said Franko, a willowy elf-lord. â Å“A casual server might be convinced it was horse manure and let it pass unchallenged.â ?
â Å“Uh . . . sure.â ? Bossi edged away from the too-pretty elf. â Å“Thanks.â ?
Monk, the other runt who traveled with Bossi, but who was -- honest to God -- not involved with him, stood on his chair. â Å“On instructions from DanJanou, I brought this Spam to The Mess. In my own land it seemed harmless, hanging about with sheep and cattle dung.â ?
â Å“Yes,â ? said DanJanou. â Å“The Great Enemy lost this Spam in antiquity. Where it has been in the long years between the fall of Ignorance and this day is unknown. Yet it ended up in Runtland and our Enemy, growing now in strength and cunning, is seeking it far and wide.â ?
Another Runt named Slim belched. â Å“So what? Let him have the sodding Spam.â ?
â Å“We cannot!â ? cried Fusilier, the ragged Mountie. â Å“If Spam falls into the Enemy's hands, we are all lost! Bedlam shall haunt us down the years. Mindless drivel will spew from every digital device. Our networks will be devoid of order.â ?
Lance, a black-clad wastrel from North Blog, sneered. â Å“Yours is a foolish fear, Fusilier. In order to defeat the Enemy, we need this weapon.â ? He touched the Spam and yelped, drawing back a bleeding finger. â Å“Dangerous it is, but more danger to Infanteer than to us.â ?
A shadow fell over the gathering. â Å“Name him not!â ? whined DanJanou. â Å“Even his handle has the power of darkness!â ?
â Å“Oops, sorry,â ? mumbled Padraig, a fourth Runtland type. â Å“I must have bumped the switch.â ? He turned the lights back on. â Å“Sorry.â ?
Mike raised his arms. â Å“Quiet! I say quiet!â ? He glared at the assembly of goofs and drunks. â Å“Why are so many Runts here? I only invited Monk.â ?
â Å“You'll have to forgive them,â ? said DanJanou. â Å“Runts are irresistibly drawn to strong spirits and free food. I should have warned you.â ?
â Å“No matter,â ? said the Great Admin. â Å“We'll just send out for more pizza. Of greater importance is the question of the Spam. What must we do with it?â ?
â Å“Use it!â ? insisted Lance. â Å“Slather it on like peanut butter at an orgy! Then we can approach his Hideous Hideout with assurance and even a bit of style. His ports will be clogged, his bandwidth wiped out! Use it!â ?
â Å“We cannot!â ? screeched Fusilier. â Å“The Spam must be taken to Mount WorldWideWeb and be cast back into the randomness from which it sprang. I shall join with those who take up this quest.â ? He waved a dirty white piece of plastic. â Å“Behold the mouse that was broken!â ? Turning the device upside down, he showed the hole in the bottom. â Å“The ball has been destroyed.â ?
â Å“That's not the only thing lacking balls,â ? murmured Bossi.
â Å“It's an infrared mouse!â ? cried Lance.
â Å“Nay, it is not,â ? said Fusilier. He drew a small round ball from his pocket. â Å“We have new parts. The Mouse That Was Broken will be reforged!â ?
â Å“Well, la-ti-da,â ? said Monk. â Å“But who will carry the Spam? It's heavy. I packed the stinking pile from Runtland to here and I shan't carry it a step further.â ?
â Å“But you must,â ? said Mike. â Å“Your nostrils have already been obliterated by the smell. Cast not this burden on another poor soul.â ?
â Å“I'll help, Mr. Monk,â ? said Bossi. â Å“I've struck out with all the Runt women. Perhaps if we travel the wide world I'll find a suitable short, stocky woman.â ?
Monk, being a Runt of little willpower, agreed to carry the Spam. He nudged Bossi. â Å“Who knows? Your stocky lady might have a friend.â ?
Padraig and Slim leaped from their seats. â Å“Oh! Oh!â ? they cried. â Å“Take us!â ?
DanJanou waved the over-eager lads back from the deadly pile of Spam. â Å“You may accompany the Fellowship. It's always good to have cannon fodder along.â ?
â Å“You speak of a Fellowship,â ? said Mike. â Å“Is such a thing determined then?â ?
â Å“Yes. The Mouse That Was Broken will be reforged. Such a thing is a portent of greatness, like a black cat falling off a ladder. So Fusilier will go along with Monk and the other Runts. Che and Franko are willing to go, in order that dwarves and elves will be in on the slaughter and looting at the Hideous Hideout. I shall go. I mind me a certain elf maid of easy virtue in the forest along the way. So that is eight.â ?
â Å“Yet,â ? said Mike. â Å“The Enemy has nine Routers. We should have nine in our group.â ?
â Å“Why?â ? asked Monk. â Å“Is there a magic in the symmetry?â ?
â Å“Well . . .â ? Mike's lower lip trembled. â Å“Can't we have nine . . . please?â ?
â Å“I'll go,â ? said Lance. â Å“I'll go though I think the Spam is a weapon for our own use and that to destroy it is folly.â ? He held up a rolled Visual Basic script. â Å“Never let it be said that the men of the North Blog shrank from hardship or corrupt commands. I pledge myself to the quest.â ?
â Å“I love long journeys with manly men,â ? sighed Franko, â Å“but I suppose this lot will do.â ?
â Å“It's settled then,â ? said Mike. â Å“The Fellowship of the Spam will leave in the morning.â ? He raised his arms high. â Å“The beer is on me!â ?
The Wireless Waste
Virtual Overlord Muskrat peered into the depths of his Magic Monitor. â Å“I can't see a thing!â ?
â Å“Here, m'Lord.â ? Chief Toady Dragoon rapped the monitor. â Å“You really need to upgrade, sire.â ?
â Å“To hell with that! When we get control of the Spam I'll frag Infanteer and send his bits and bytes down to the Sea of Random Data. Then I'll have his stuff. It's got to be better than mine.â ?
â Å“An intriguing prospect, m'Lord. Can you see anything?â ?
Muskrat caressed his lucky trackball. â Å“That's better, but not much. Hellions can't send back very detailed pictures. Tell me again why we're using them instead of a neat low-orbit satellite.â ?
â Å“They work cheap, m'Lord. And they accept Feedback Fortress scrip. The satellite dealers only go for dollars or yen.â ?
â Å“Dang! Won't they take gold?â ?
â Å“Not since you fobbed off that batch of dragon gold to them, sire. One brush with reality and the gold pieces turned back into lead.â ?
â Å“Well -- who was to know the dragon had pilfered the hoard of an alchemist?â ?
â Å“Who indeed, sire. Nevertheless, we're stuck with hellions for the time being.â ?
â Å“Right.â ? Muskrat tapped the display. â Å“Looks like DanJanou is taking his tour group across the Wireless Waste toward the Tunnels of Topology. He must like getting clients slaughtered.â ?
â Å“Perhaps, m'Lord.â ? Dragoon hesitated. â Å“On the other hand, he might be trying to sneak the Spam down to the Hideous Hideout.â ?
â Å“But . . . does he have the Spam with him? And if he does, why would he take it there?â ?
Dragoon shrugged. â Å“We have to assume he has it. Could he want to join with Infanteer?â ?
â Å“That's possible. But, why take that rabble with him? Infanteer hasn't any use for elves and dwarves and snotty ex-programmers.â ? Muskrat paused. â Å“Well, maybe the elf.â ?
â Å“Sacrifices? Perhaps the Spam needs blood.â ?
â Å“That may be it, Dragoon.â ? Muskrat paced over to a window. â Å“Keep your spies on the prowl. If DanJanou is heading to link up to Infanteer, we need to stop him.â ? He shivered and wrapped himself in a robe. â Å“Why can't we put any glass in these damned windows!â ?
â Å“Union rules, m'Lord.â ?
Muskrat headed for the lift. â Å“I'm going down to the dungeons and gouge out a few eyes. At least there's a fire down there!â ?
Once the Boss was gone, Dragoon lit a cigar and clapped his hands. Pop! A hellion stepped out of a cloud of smoke.
â Å“O'Leary! Must you use that foul smelling smoke?â ? griped Dragoon.
â Å“Low bid, y'know.â ? The hellion hopped up on a desk and took one of the Boss's cigars for himself. He lit it using a flame from his right thumb. â Å“What's up?â ?
â Å“You need to keep an eye on DanJanou and company,â ? said Dragoon.
â Å“We're already doing that.â ?
â Å“A closer eye. We need to know where they're going.â ?
â Å“That's easy,â ? said O'Leary. â Å“He's leading them to the Tunnels of Topology. Once inside, the Viral Orcs will slaughter and eat the lot. End of story.â ?
â Å“But if DanJanou gets through the Tunnels he could strike out across the river and join up with your old pal Infanteer. We don't want that.â ?
â Å“Infanteer's no friend of mine!â ? spat O'Leary. â Å“He's burned out a lot of good hellions in his time.â ? He paused and took a drag off his cigar. â Å“What makes you think that fool DanJanou is going to link up with Infanteer?â ?
â Å“What else could it be? If he meant to come here, he wouldn't be heading for the Tunnels.â ?
â Å“True.â ? O'Leary cackled. â Å“You don't suppose they mean to destroy it, do you?â ?
Dragoon and O'Leary roared with laughter. Soon enough the Chief Toady left to attend to various and sundry evil tasks and O'Leary vanished in his usual puff of vile-smelling smoke.
*****
Bossi had about had enough of the Fellowship. From the very start, things went bad. Not only did DanJanou insist they walk all the way to the Tunnels of Topology, but they had to carry heavy packs and sleep in the open. It was Admin Mike's fault, decided Bossi. He was too cheap to charter a bus for the trip. â Å“Walk, walk, walk,â ? he mumbled. â Å“And walk some more.â ?
â Å“What was that?â ? Monk looked back at Bossi. â Å“Aren't you happy in your work?â ?
â Å“Oh I'm delirious. Just delirious. I think my feet have worn down to my ankles.â ?
An offer of a Ugandan business deal slithered out of Monk's pack and dropped to the ground. It sizzled for a moment, then vanished, leaving only the tired smell of corruption. â Å“You're leaking bits of Spam,â ? said Bossi. â Å“Is the whole stinking pile going to disappear?â ?
â Å“Afraid not,â ? said Fusilier, moving up beside Bossi. â Å“The diabolical thing regenerates.â ?
â Å“Blast!â ? swore Bossi. â Å“I was hoping it would dribble away and we could go home.â ?
Fusilier laughed. â Å“I thought you were looking for a stout woman?:
Bossi swung his arm around the horizon. â Å“You see any women? Short or tall? Do you smell a hint of perfume? I mean other than that stuff Franko uses.â ?
The Mountie shook his head. â Å“We won't be seeing any women this side of the False Forest.â ?
â Å“What sort of females live there?â ?
â Å“Elf women. Tall, slender, mostly blondes,â ? said Fusilier. He held his hands before his chest. â Å“But stacked -- y'know.â ?
â Å“Well, that's something. No short ones, eh?â ?
â Å“None.â ?
DanJanou dropped back to walk with them. â Å“It's too soon to be thinking of women, Bossi. We have to get through the Tunnels first.â ?
Bossi sighed. â Å“You're always full of good news, DanJanou. Are the tunnels hard to enter?â ?
â Å“No, not hard to enter. Hard to get out of.â ?
â Å“Like marriage,â ? said Fusilier, with a grim look. â Å“Getting out could cost you your life.â ?
â Å“I've never been married,â ? said Bossi.
â Å“You've never been dead, either,â ? observed Monk.
â Å“It would be nice to have a little fun before either thing,â ? mumbled Bossi.
â Å“I offered you some fun,â ? whispered Franko. The elf minced up beside Bossi. â Å“You weren't interested. Have you changed your mind?â ?
Bossi felt his face grow hot. â Å“Um . . . no. I didn't mean fun as in this minute -- or even fun in camp tonight. I -- uh, we -- as DanJanou said -- we have to get through the Tunnels.â ?
â Å“Of course.â ? Franko dropped back to his rear guard position, pointy ears adroop.
Che walked point, along with Lance. Slim and Padraig capered about somewhat behind them, followed by the others.
Lance glanced back at the two silly Runts and shook his head. â Å“The first dragon we run into will snap those two up like salted nuts.â ?
â Å“Dragons?â ? Che scanned the horizon. â Å“Do those beasties still frequent the Waste?â ?
â Å“Of course. That's why it's the Wireless Waste in the first place. Dragons can't abide wire.â ?
â Å“Why? Superstition?â ?
â Å“No man knows for sure. They don't like to discuss it. Some suspect that young male dragons once got into the habit of binding females with telephone wire -- to assure compliance and protect themselves from their partner's teeth and claws. Others claim the binding was done by both sexes -- for mutually gratuitous purposes. At some point, the Dragon Elders clamped down and banned all kinds of wire from the Waste.â ?
â Å“Dwarves,â ? sniffed Che, â Å“have no strange practices of the like.â ?
Lance laughed. â Å“The bards tell us dwarves are budded from cankers in the rock.â ?
â Å“A flagrant misstatement of fact, I assure you.â ?
After several minutes of silence, Lance murmured, â Å“Other tales say that dwarf women look much like dwarf men, including their beards. They say dwarves refuse to speak on the subject.â ?
Che refused to speak.
*****
The dragon, a medium-sized one, flew over their camp that evening. It circled once, then came in for a landing. In the still air its approach was perfect, wings spread wide, flaring as it neared the ground. Unfortunately, one extended claw hooked a low-lying shrub.
â Å“Look out!â ? yelled Fusilier.
The dragon lurched to one side and almost plowed through the camp fire. With a raucous squawk, the beast flapped and floundered into a stand of prickle-berry trees.
â Å“Keep your weapons down,â ? warned DanJanou. â Å“Likely it means no harm.â ?
â Å“Right,â ? muttered Slim. â Å“No harm except to a tasty Runt.â ? He glanced at DanJanou. â Å“Cannon fodder, indeed. Dragon fodder, more like.â ?
Padraig nodded and dragged Slim back behind the others. â Å“We need some armor, cousin. No sense being soft-shelled treats for various beasties.â ?
â Å“I mistrust that DanJanou,â ? said Slim. â Å“This dragon may not require us for dinner, but I think our leader expects us to serve in that capacity eventually.â ?
Padraig chuckled. â Å“Your imagination runs riot at times. The quest is dangerous to us all. What makes you think DanJanou has plans to offer us as a meal to some chance-met creature?â ?
â Å“Check your pack,â ? muttered Slim. â Å“Someone packed a value-sized box of instant gravy in mine. If it wasn't DanJanou I'm a Viral Orc. I'll bet he did the same with yours.â ?
Padraig blanched and ran to his pack. He ripped it open and rummaged through the contents. A moment later, he returned, sighing with relief. â Å“No gravy mix. Just this.â ? He held up a plain woven sack. â Å“Dried veggies to eat on the trail.â ?
Slim shook his head. â Å“Is your head stuffed with cotton? Dried veggies? Or stew mix?â ?
â Å“Who's in charge?â ? boomed the dragon, having extricated itself from the prickle-berry trees.
â Å“I am,â ? said DanJanou, easing forward a fraction of an inch. â Å“DanJanou is my name. You may have heard of me.â ?
â Å“Indeed I have,â ? snorted the dragon. â Å“I was told to keep a claw on my money pouch when in your presence. What are you doing on the Waste?â ?
â Å“We are on a quest,â ? said Fusilier, stepping to the fore. In his country he was known for being too forward and for speaking out of turn.
â Å“A quest? We dragons don't like quests. Too often the questing party intends to stab or slash an innocent dragon as part of his or her endeavor.â ?
â Å“Too true,â ? said DanJanou, pushing Fusilier to one side. â Å“In my callow youth, I was once a party to such a thing. But, no more! We are mere travelers, sir. Our destination is yet to be determined, but we intend passing the Tunnels of Topology.â ?
The dragon's red and green scales flashed, then faded. â Å“The Tunnels? If you enter there you will indeed pass -- your remnants shall pass through the gut of a Viral Orc -- or worse.â ?
â Å“I knew it!â ? hissed Bossi. â Å“I knew we'd come to a bad end.â ?
DanJanou shushed the perky Runt. Turning back to the dragon, he nodded in agreement. â Å“I am well aware of the dangers, sir. May we have your name?â ?
â Å“Call me Dorosh. My true name I'll keep to myself, thank you very much.â ?
DanJanou bowed. â Å“Dorosh. An excellent handle. We have no provisions for a dragon or I'd offer you supper.â ?
Dorosh's laughter was like two rocks tumbling in a barrel. â Å“I see ample provender,â ? he said, eyeing the Runts. â Å“However, I supped on the wing this evening.â ? His gaze bent back to the Elder. â Å“I caught and ate a half-dozen Dark Data Packets.â ?
â Å“Dark Data Packets!â ? exclaimed Fusilier. â Å“Those only come from . . ." He shuddered as if caught in an icy draft. ". . . the Hideous Hideout.â ?
â Å“Yes,â ? agreed DanJanou. â Å“They serve he who we do not name.â ?
â Å“I thought that might interest you,â ? said Dorosh. â Å“Why would the maker of the Black Code be concerned with your movements?â ?
â Å“It has to do with our quest,â ? said DanJanou. He shrugged. â Å“I cannot be more specific.â ?
Again the dragon laughed. â Å“Of course you can't. What good are quests without confidential information, two-part passwords, secret handshakes and a certain amount of skulking about?â ?
â Å“You have the right of it,â ? admitted Fusilier. â Å“Except you forgot the occasional dallying with large breasted females.â ?
â Å“Dragon ladies don't have those,â ? said Dorosh. â Å“But I apologize for the omission. Quests would pale in popularity were it not for the delectable women involved.â ?
â Å“What women?â ? snarled Bossi. â Å“An evening with a squatty wench would square my account.â ?
Whatever the other members of the Fellowship may have thought about wenches in general or particular went unvoiced. Dorosh turned suddenly and sniffed. â Å“Viral Orcs, or I'm a lizard!â ?
â Å“Gather your gear,â ? snapped Lance. He looked up at Dorosh. â Å“How far to the West Portal?â ?
â Å“Not above ten miles. Can you run that far?â ?
â Å“We'll have to,â ? said Fusilier. â Å“It's that or grace an orc stew pot by morning.â ?
The dragon spread his wings. â Å“I'll check out the competition. Maybe snap up a few for tomorrow's breakfast.â ?
â Å“Gag me with a spoon!â ? exclaimed Lance. â Å“You eat those things?â ?
â Å“They're not bad,â ? said Dorosh. â Å“Thin slices -- that's the secret. And salt. Lots of salt and beer.â ? He sprinted downslope, flapping his great wings. Twice, he stalled and crashed before managing to stay airborne.
â Å“Can he do us any good?â ? asked Slim.
â Å“Maybe,â ? said DanJanou. â Å“If nothing else, he may crash. Viral Orcs like nothing better than raw dragon for dinner.â ?
(to be continued)
The Secret Council
Mike, the Great Admin, sent out a call to all the folk frequenting the hidden vale of Army.CA. Alas, only those from the ramshackle tent village known as The Mess answered his summons. Mike despaired of his purpose, for those lay-about clowns only showed up because the meeting would be followed by free beer, lots of spicy food and a horde of scantily-clad dancing girls.
Che, the dwarf lout, banged his empty cup and bellowed, â Å“More beer! Where's the food?â ?
DanJanou, the Elder, stood forth in his stained robes. â Å“There will be beer and food in plenty. But first we must discuss this matter of the Spam.â ?
Grumbling, the horde took their seat about a raggedy-assed table. On a chipped platter thereon lay a steaming pile of Spam.â ?
â Å“Looks like horse hockey to me,â ? mumbled Bossi, the Runtland gardener who had crashed the meeting looking for short, stout women.
â Å“The resemblance is intentional,â ? said Franko, a willowy elf-lord. â Å“A casual server might be convinced it was horse manure and let it pass unchallenged.â ?
â Å“Uh . . . sure.â ? Bossi edged away from the too-pretty elf. â Å“Thanks.â ?
Monk, the other runt who traveled with Bossi, but who was -- honest to God -- not involved with him, stood on his chair. â Å“On instructions from DanJanou, I brought this Spam to The Mess. In my own land it seemed harmless, hanging about with sheep and cattle dung.â ?
â Å“Yes,â ? said DanJanou. â Å“The Great Enemy lost this Spam in antiquity. Where it has been in the long years between the fall of Ignorance and this day is unknown. Yet it ended up in Runtland and our Enemy, growing now in strength and cunning, is seeking it far and wide.â ?
Another Runt named Slim belched. â Å“So what? Let him have the sodding Spam.â ?
â Å“We cannot!â ? cried Fusilier, the ragged Mountie. â Å“If Spam falls into the Enemy's hands, we are all lost! Bedlam shall haunt us down the years. Mindless drivel will spew from every digital device. Our networks will be devoid of order.â ?
Lance, a black-clad wastrel from North Blog, sneered. â Å“Yours is a foolish fear, Fusilier. In order to defeat the Enemy, we need this weapon.â ? He touched the Spam and yelped, drawing back a bleeding finger. â Å“Dangerous it is, but more danger to Infanteer than to us.â ?
A shadow fell over the gathering. â Å“Name him not!â ? whined DanJanou. â Å“Even his handle has the power of darkness!â ?
â Å“Oops, sorry,â ? mumbled Padraig, a fourth Runtland type. â Å“I must have bumped the switch.â ? He turned the lights back on. â Å“Sorry.â ?
Mike raised his arms. â Å“Quiet! I say quiet!â ? He glared at the assembly of goofs and drunks. â Å“Why are so many Runts here? I only invited Monk.â ?
â Å“You'll have to forgive them,â ? said DanJanou. â Å“Runts are irresistibly drawn to strong spirits and free food. I should have warned you.â ?
â Å“No matter,â ? said the Great Admin. â Å“We'll just send out for more pizza. Of greater importance is the question of the Spam. What must we do with it?â ?
â Å“Use it!â ? insisted Lance. â Å“Slather it on like peanut butter at an orgy! Then we can approach his Hideous Hideout with assurance and even a bit of style. His ports will be clogged, his bandwidth wiped out! Use it!â ?
â Å“We cannot!â ? screeched Fusilier. â Å“The Spam must be taken to Mount WorldWideWeb and be cast back into the randomness from which it sprang. I shall join with those who take up this quest.â ? He waved a dirty white piece of plastic. â Å“Behold the mouse that was broken!â ? Turning the device upside down, he showed the hole in the bottom. â Å“The ball has been destroyed.â ?
â Å“That's not the only thing lacking balls,â ? murmured Bossi.
â Å“It's an infrared mouse!â ? cried Lance.
â Å“Nay, it is not,â ? said Fusilier. He drew a small round ball from his pocket. â Å“We have new parts. The Mouse That Was Broken will be reforged!â ?
â Å“Well, la-ti-da,â ? said Monk. â Å“But who will carry the Spam? It's heavy. I packed the stinking pile from Runtland to here and I shan't carry it a step further.â ?
â Å“But you must,â ? said Mike. â Å“Your nostrils have already been obliterated by the smell. Cast not this burden on another poor soul.â ?
â Å“I'll help, Mr. Monk,â ? said Bossi. â Å“I've struck out with all the Runt women. Perhaps if we travel the wide world I'll find a suitable short, stocky woman.â ?
Monk, being a Runt of little willpower, agreed to carry the Spam. He nudged Bossi. â Å“Who knows? Your stocky lady might have a friend.â ?
Padraig and Slim leaped from their seats. â Å“Oh! Oh!â ? they cried. â Å“Take us!â ?
DanJanou waved the over-eager lads back from the deadly pile of Spam. â Å“You may accompany the Fellowship. It's always good to have cannon fodder along.â ?
â Å“You speak of a Fellowship,â ? said Mike. â Å“Is such a thing determined then?â ?
â Å“Yes. The Mouse That Was Broken will be reforged. Such a thing is a portent of greatness, like a black cat falling off a ladder. So Fusilier will go along with Monk and the other Runts. Che and Franko are willing to go, in order that dwarves and elves will be in on the slaughter and looting at the Hideous Hideout. I shall go. I mind me a certain elf maid of easy virtue in the forest along the way. So that is eight.â ?
â Å“Yet,â ? said Mike. â Å“The Enemy has nine Routers. We should have nine in our group.â ?
â Å“Why?â ? asked Monk. â Å“Is there a magic in the symmetry?â ?
â Å“Well . . .â ? Mike's lower lip trembled. â Å“Can't we have nine . . . please?â ?
â Å“I'll go,â ? said Lance. â Å“I'll go though I think the Spam is a weapon for our own use and that to destroy it is folly.â ? He held up a rolled Visual Basic script. â Å“Never let it be said that the men of the North Blog shrank from hardship or corrupt commands. I pledge myself to the quest.â ?
â Å“I love long journeys with manly men,â ? sighed Franko, â Å“but I suppose this lot will do.â ?
â Å“It's settled then,â ? said Mike. â Å“The Fellowship of the Spam will leave in the morning.â ? He raised his arms high. â Å“The beer is on me!â ?
The Wireless Waste
Virtual Overlord Muskrat peered into the depths of his Magic Monitor. â Å“I can't see a thing!â ?
â Å“Here, m'Lord.â ? Chief Toady Dragoon rapped the monitor. â Å“You really need to upgrade, sire.â ?
â Å“To hell with that! When we get control of the Spam I'll frag Infanteer and send his bits and bytes down to the Sea of Random Data. Then I'll have his stuff. It's got to be better than mine.â ?
â Å“An intriguing prospect, m'Lord. Can you see anything?â ?
Muskrat caressed his lucky trackball. â Å“That's better, but not much. Hellions can't send back very detailed pictures. Tell me again why we're using them instead of a neat low-orbit satellite.â ?
â Å“They work cheap, m'Lord. And they accept Feedback Fortress scrip. The satellite dealers only go for dollars or yen.â ?
â Å“Dang! Won't they take gold?â ?
â Å“Not since you fobbed off that batch of dragon gold to them, sire. One brush with reality and the gold pieces turned back into lead.â ?
â Å“Well -- who was to know the dragon had pilfered the hoard of an alchemist?â ?
â Å“Who indeed, sire. Nevertheless, we're stuck with hellions for the time being.â ?
â Å“Right.â ? Muskrat tapped the display. â Å“Looks like DanJanou is taking his tour group across the Wireless Waste toward the Tunnels of Topology. He must like getting clients slaughtered.â ?
â Å“Perhaps, m'Lord.â ? Dragoon hesitated. â Å“On the other hand, he might be trying to sneak the Spam down to the Hideous Hideout.â ?
â Å“But . . . does he have the Spam with him? And if he does, why would he take it there?â ?
Dragoon shrugged. â Å“We have to assume he has it. Could he want to join with Infanteer?â ?
â Å“That's possible. But, why take that rabble with him? Infanteer hasn't any use for elves and dwarves and snotty ex-programmers.â ? Muskrat paused. â Å“Well, maybe the elf.â ?
â Å“Sacrifices? Perhaps the Spam needs blood.â ?
â Å“That may be it, Dragoon.â ? Muskrat paced over to a window. â Å“Keep your spies on the prowl. If DanJanou is heading to link up to Infanteer, we need to stop him.â ? He shivered and wrapped himself in a robe. â Å“Why can't we put any glass in these damned windows!â ?
â Å“Union rules, m'Lord.â ?
Muskrat headed for the lift. â Å“I'm going down to the dungeons and gouge out a few eyes. At least there's a fire down there!â ?
Once the Boss was gone, Dragoon lit a cigar and clapped his hands. Pop! A hellion stepped out of a cloud of smoke.
â Å“O'Leary! Must you use that foul smelling smoke?â ? griped Dragoon.
â Å“Low bid, y'know.â ? The hellion hopped up on a desk and took one of the Boss's cigars for himself. He lit it using a flame from his right thumb. â Å“What's up?â ?
â Å“You need to keep an eye on DanJanou and company,â ? said Dragoon.
â Å“We're already doing that.â ?
â Å“A closer eye. We need to know where they're going.â ?
â Å“That's easy,â ? said O'Leary. â Å“He's leading them to the Tunnels of Topology. Once inside, the Viral Orcs will slaughter and eat the lot. End of story.â ?
â Å“But if DanJanou gets through the Tunnels he could strike out across the river and join up with your old pal Infanteer. We don't want that.â ?
â Å“Infanteer's no friend of mine!â ? spat O'Leary. â Å“He's burned out a lot of good hellions in his time.â ? He paused and took a drag off his cigar. â Å“What makes you think that fool DanJanou is going to link up with Infanteer?â ?
â Å“What else could it be? If he meant to come here, he wouldn't be heading for the Tunnels.â ?
â Å“True.â ? O'Leary cackled. â Å“You don't suppose they mean to destroy it, do you?â ?
Dragoon and O'Leary roared with laughter. Soon enough the Chief Toady left to attend to various and sundry evil tasks and O'Leary vanished in his usual puff of vile-smelling smoke.
*****
Bossi had about had enough of the Fellowship. From the very start, things went bad. Not only did DanJanou insist they walk all the way to the Tunnels of Topology, but they had to carry heavy packs and sleep in the open. It was Admin Mike's fault, decided Bossi. He was too cheap to charter a bus for the trip. â Å“Walk, walk, walk,â ? he mumbled. â Å“And walk some more.â ?
â Å“What was that?â ? Monk looked back at Bossi. â Å“Aren't you happy in your work?â ?
â Å“Oh I'm delirious. Just delirious. I think my feet have worn down to my ankles.â ?
An offer of a Ugandan business deal slithered out of Monk's pack and dropped to the ground. It sizzled for a moment, then vanished, leaving only the tired smell of corruption. â Å“You're leaking bits of Spam,â ? said Bossi. â Å“Is the whole stinking pile going to disappear?â ?
â Å“Afraid not,â ? said Fusilier, moving up beside Bossi. â Å“The diabolical thing regenerates.â ?
â Å“Blast!â ? swore Bossi. â Å“I was hoping it would dribble away and we could go home.â ?
Fusilier laughed. â Å“I thought you were looking for a stout woman?:
Bossi swung his arm around the horizon. â Å“You see any women? Short or tall? Do you smell a hint of perfume? I mean other than that stuff Franko uses.â ?
The Mountie shook his head. â Å“We won't be seeing any women this side of the False Forest.â ?
â Å“What sort of females live there?â ?
â Å“Elf women. Tall, slender, mostly blondes,â ? said Fusilier. He held his hands before his chest. â Å“But stacked -- y'know.â ?
â Å“Well, that's something. No short ones, eh?â ?
â Å“None.â ?
DanJanou dropped back to walk with them. â Å“It's too soon to be thinking of women, Bossi. We have to get through the Tunnels first.â ?
Bossi sighed. â Å“You're always full of good news, DanJanou. Are the tunnels hard to enter?â ?
â Å“No, not hard to enter. Hard to get out of.â ?
â Å“Like marriage,â ? said Fusilier, with a grim look. â Å“Getting out could cost you your life.â ?
â Å“I've never been married,â ? said Bossi.
â Å“You've never been dead, either,â ? observed Monk.
â Å“It would be nice to have a little fun before either thing,â ? mumbled Bossi.
â Å“I offered you some fun,â ? whispered Franko. The elf minced up beside Bossi. â Å“You weren't interested. Have you changed your mind?â ?
Bossi felt his face grow hot. â Å“Um . . . no. I didn't mean fun as in this minute -- or even fun in camp tonight. I -- uh, we -- as DanJanou said -- we have to get through the Tunnels.â ?
â Å“Of course.â ? Franko dropped back to his rear guard position, pointy ears adroop.
Che walked point, along with Lance. Slim and Padraig capered about somewhat behind them, followed by the others.
Lance glanced back at the two silly Runts and shook his head. â Å“The first dragon we run into will snap those two up like salted nuts.â ?
â Å“Dragons?â ? Che scanned the horizon. â Å“Do those beasties still frequent the Waste?â ?
â Å“Of course. That's why it's the Wireless Waste in the first place. Dragons can't abide wire.â ?
â Å“Why? Superstition?â ?
â Å“No man knows for sure. They don't like to discuss it. Some suspect that young male dragons once got into the habit of binding females with telephone wire -- to assure compliance and protect themselves from their partner's teeth and claws. Others claim the binding was done by both sexes -- for mutually gratuitous purposes. At some point, the Dragon Elders clamped down and banned all kinds of wire from the Waste.â ?
â Å“Dwarves,â ? sniffed Che, â Å“have no strange practices of the like.â ?
Lance laughed. â Å“The bards tell us dwarves are budded from cankers in the rock.â ?
â Å“A flagrant misstatement of fact, I assure you.â ?
After several minutes of silence, Lance murmured, â Å“Other tales say that dwarf women look much like dwarf men, including their beards. They say dwarves refuse to speak on the subject.â ?
Che refused to speak.
*****
The dragon, a medium-sized one, flew over their camp that evening. It circled once, then came in for a landing. In the still air its approach was perfect, wings spread wide, flaring as it neared the ground. Unfortunately, one extended claw hooked a low-lying shrub.
â Å“Look out!â ? yelled Fusilier.
The dragon lurched to one side and almost plowed through the camp fire. With a raucous squawk, the beast flapped and floundered into a stand of prickle-berry trees.
â Å“Keep your weapons down,â ? warned DanJanou. â Å“Likely it means no harm.â ?
â Å“Right,â ? muttered Slim. â Å“No harm except to a tasty Runt.â ? He glanced at DanJanou. â Å“Cannon fodder, indeed. Dragon fodder, more like.â ?
Padraig nodded and dragged Slim back behind the others. â Å“We need some armor, cousin. No sense being soft-shelled treats for various beasties.â ?
â Å“I mistrust that DanJanou,â ? said Slim. â Å“This dragon may not require us for dinner, but I think our leader expects us to serve in that capacity eventually.â ?
Padraig chuckled. â Å“Your imagination runs riot at times. The quest is dangerous to us all. What makes you think DanJanou has plans to offer us as a meal to some chance-met creature?â ?
â Å“Check your pack,â ? muttered Slim. â Å“Someone packed a value-sized box of instant gravy in mine. If it wasn't DanJanou I'm a Viral Orc. I'll bet he did the same with yours.â ?
Padraig blanched and ran to his pack. He ripped it open and rummaged through the contents. A moment later, he returned, sighing with relief. â Å“No gravy mix. Just this.â ? He held up a plain woven sack. â Å“Dried veggies to eat on the trail.â ?
Slim shook his head. â Å“Is your head stuffed with cotton? Dried veggies? Or stew mix?â ?
â Å“Who's in charge?â ? boomed the dragon, having extricated itself from the prickle-berry trees.
â Å“I am,â ? said DanJanou, easing forward a fraction of an inch. â Å“DanJanou is my name. You may have heard of me.â ?
â Å“Indeed I have,â ? snorted the dragon. â Å“I was told to keep a claw on my money pouch when in your presence. What are you doing on the Waste?â ?
â Å“We are on a quest,â ? said Fusilier, stepping to the fore. In his country he was known for being too forward and for speaking out of turn.
â Å“A quest? We dragons don't like quests. Too often the questing party intends to stab or slash an innocent dragon as part of his or her endeavor.â ?
â Å“Too true,â ? said DanJanou, pushing Fusilier to one side. â Å“In my callow youth, I was once a party to such a thing. But, no more! We are mere travelers, sir. Our destination is yet to be determined, but we intend passing the Tunnels of Topology.â ?
The dragon's red and green scales flashed, then faded. â Å“The Tunnels? If you enter there you will indeed pass -- your remnants shall pass through the gut of a Viral Orc -- or worse.â ?
â Å“I knew it!â ? hissed Bossi. â Å“I knew we'd come to a bad end.â ?
DanJanou shushed the perky Runt. Turning back to the dragon, he nodded in agreement. â Å“I am well aware of the dangers, sir. May we have your name?â ?
â Å“Call me Dorosh. My true name I'll keep to myself, thank you very much.â ?
DanJanou bowed. â Å“Dorosh. An excellent handle. We have no provisions for a dragon or I'd offer you supper.â ?
Dorosh's laughter was like two rocks tumbling in a barrel. â Å“I see ample provender,â ? he said, eyeing the Runts. â Å“However, I supped on the wing this evening.â ? His gaze bent back to the Elder. â Å“I caught and ate a half-dozen Dark Data Packets.â ?
â Å“Dark Data Packets!â ? exclaimed Fusilier. â Å“Those only come from . . ." He shuddered as if caught in an icy draft. ". . . the Hideous Hideout.â ?
â Å“Yes,â ? agreed DanJanou. â Å“They serve he who we do not name.â ?
â Å“I thought that might interest you,â ? said Dorosh. â Å“Why would the maker of the Black Code be concerned with your movements?â ?
â Å“It has to do with our quest,â ? said DanJanou. He shrugged. â Å“I cannot be more specific.â ?
Again the dragon laughed. â Å“Of course you can't. What good are quests without confidential information, two-part passwords, secret handshakes and a certain amount of skulking about?â ?
â Å“You have the right of it,â ? admitted Fusilier. â Å“Except you forgot the occasional dallying with large breasted females.â ?
â Å“Dragon ladies don't have those,â ? said Dorosh. â Å“But I apologize for the omission. Quests would pale in popularity were it not for the delectable women involved.â ?
â Å“What women?â ? snarled Bossi. â Å“An evening with a squatty wench would square my account.â ?
Whatever the other members of the Fellowship may have thought about wenches in general or particular went unvoiced. Dorosh turned suddenly and sniffed. â Å“Viral Orcs, or I'm a lizard!â ?
â Å“Gather your gear,â ? snapped Lance. He looked up at Dorosh. â Å“How far to the West Portal?â ?
â Å“Not above ten miles. Can you run that far?â ?
â Å“We'll have to,â ? said Fusilier. â Å“It's that or grace an orc stew pot by morning.â ?
The dragon spread his wings. â Å“I'll check out the competition. Maybe snap up a few for tomorrow's breakfast.â ?
â Å“Gag me with a spoon!â ? exclaimed Lance. â Å“You eat those things?â ?
â Å“They're not bad,â ? said Dorosh. â Å“Thin slices -- that's the secret. And salt. Lots of salt and beer.â ? He sprinted downslope, flapping his great wings. Twice, he stalled and crashed before managing to stay airborne.
â Å“Can he do us any good?â ? asked Slim.
â Å“Maybe,â ? said DanJanou. â Å“If nothing else, he may crash. Viral Orcs like nothing better than raw dragon for dinner.â ?
(to be continued)