SFSTORY: HMS Golden Lance #23 - This is the Last Cowboy Song

Time Agent 357 pulled himself to his feet, which was not an easy task as he had been sitting on a log cabin's porch in an ancient human seating device known as a "rocking chair" which was extremely difficult to get out of if you were not practiced at it. If one was not careful, one could end up falling flat on one's face.

Diana Dark and Doctor Bing Von Spleen, humans from a little planet they liked to call Earth, got up with practiced ease. Omegas and Ralph ended up falling flat on their respective faces in the piles of wood mulch that constituted their host's sole efforts at landscaping the ground around the log cabin's porch.

Their host, a being known only as Cowboy, snickered softly. "Sorry about the flashback stunt," he said, not sounding sorry in the least. "It was the only way to fill everyone in on my backstory."

Omegas snarled. "You could have just said 'Hi! I'm a Zeroxed copy of the Cowboy. What can I do to help you?'" Omegas raised one hand as if he had half a mind to blast Cowboy with a power bolt of some kind.

Cowboy raised a hand of his own. "I wouldn't try it, Omegas. I'm not exactly an Author in this altiverse, but I've been here long enough to figure out how to tap into the local power structure."

"Stand down, Omegas," 357 ordered curtly. "Cowboy, it is true that we've come here looking for help. I've recently started fading in and out of reality. It all started--"

"I know how it started," Cowboy interrupted. "I've been watching it all on ESPN." He referred, of course, to the Extra-Sensory Perception Network. "I figured out what was happening almost immediately. This sounds very similar to an old plotline that I came up with years ago and just never got around to writing. Obviously, my original, THE Cowboy, has run out of ideas and decided to dust it off."

"Authors," muttered Omegas to himself as he brushed mulch from his jacket. A formerly all-powerful immortal, Omegas feared nothing, but was mightily annoyed by beings who possessed more power than himself. That was a very short list, comprised mostly of the current rulers of Heaven and Hell^TM, with various Authors rounding out the Top 10.

Cowboy ignored that. Seating himself on a nearby fence rail post, he commenced to speak to them all, one by one. His voice shifted from a pleasant nasal twang to deep, resonating tones.

"Time Agent 357, born mortal from a race of immortals, your situation is grave. You have taken the task of capturing renegade Time Agent Greez Hyperiok and recovering the Automatic Beet-Peeler and Sub-Atomic Re-integrator Mark II. I have no advice about that, as it is a recent storyline that I was not involved in planning. However, I do know the cause of your personal temporal instabilities. An enemy you do not yet recognize is systematically erasing and re-writing your past. You must track down and destroy this enemy before you are completely erased. Succeed in these things and you may yet get to retire.

"Diana Dark of Earth, transported into SFSTORY by an explosion caused by the interaction of Cheez-Whiz and beer, you have adapted well to your unusual situation. Trust your strengths and you will succeed in whatever you attempt. Also, we warned that that which you fear the most will come to pass, but you will find that you no longer fear it.

"Doctor Bing Von Spleen, the Galaxy's foremost Spamological Engineer (because you personally killed the other threemost) and inventor of the Automatic Beet Peeler and Sub-Atomic Re-Integrator (or ABPSAR), you feel that you are getting too damned old for all this. You are correct. After this, you need to retire.

"Omegas, former streetwise servant of Heaven and current pain in the collective ass of the multiverse, just be yourself.

"Ralph, the Giant Space Weasel of Anthrax V, actually a friendly, easy-going weaseloid from Leibowitz IV and an accomplished ukulele player in your own right, you control powers that you do not yet understand. You will know what to do with them when the time comes.

"VAL 9000 computer, heart and soul of the HMS Golden Lance for which this serial is named, stop eavesdropping on conversations that don't concern you."

=Oh, but I wasn't eaves... I hate you! Click!=

Omegas bristled at these comments, but then decided that bristling didn't look cool, so he feigned disinterest. Ralph peered myopically at the ring on his finger, obviously the source of the power that Cowboy referred to. 357 and Diana looked at each other thoughtfully. Doctor Spleen snored quietly, having sat back down and rocked himself to sleep at some point during Cowboy's speech.

"We travelled a gazillion miles through untold altiverses for a bunch of banal self-help tips?" he gabbered crocthedly when awoke.

"Actually, I think this is just the information we needed to know," 357 said as he gathered everyone together for teleport back to the ship. "Cowboy, I owe you one. Is there anything I can do? Can we drop you somewhere?" The last was said with just a bit of hope. Having an Author, even a dusty old copy of one, on his side would make 357's quest a lot easier.

"My place is here, 357," answered Cowboy. "I have one final duty to perform, then I'm getting written out of the series. But thank you for the offer."

Cowboy waved as the group disappeared in rainbow splash of colors. Another figure stuck his head out the cabin's front door. Seeing the cost was clear, the small, balding, man walked out to join Cowboy.

"You could have gotten us both out of this mess right then," the smaller man said in a high, whining voice.

"Our fates have already been determined," Cowboy answered. "It's too late for us. The best we can hope for is a well-written death scene."

The sky above their heads suddenly clouded over. Lightning struck the ground all around them. The earth (so to speak) shook. Winds rose and a tornado sprang into existance just long enough to rip the cabin from its foundations and send it flying off into the rapidly fading sunset. The crickets stopped chirping.

A huge, dark, hooded figure strode through a rip in the very fabric of time and space itself. Its voice boomed throughout the valley.

"THAT CAN BE ARRANGED."

In the HMS Golden Lance's Temporal Teleporter Terminal room, the group of adventurers shimmered into being. 357 shimmered back out a time or two, but finally stabilized.

Doctor Bing Von Spleen, in addition to being a crotchety old fart, was also a brilliant scientist. "Val, do we still have those complete life histories that 357 and Omegas recorded back when they were trapped in that unknown and unknowable temporal, dimensional, and spacial anomaly way back in episode 1?"

=Of course, Doctor,= answered the VAL 9000 computer in her sexy though slightly annoyingly nasal voice.

"Well, burn an audio copy onto a CD-R and dig out my Phony Warpman personal CD player. I just had one of them there epiphany things."

Diana assisted Spleen in setting up the Warpman and inserted the CD-R. "I was born in a small hospital just outside of..." it began in 357's quiet, gravelly voice. Spleen cranked the speed up to a few thousand times normal, then crammed 357's head between the headphones. 357, who had been looking a little fuzzy around the edges, solidified.

"There," said Spleen with pride. "357 is being constantly reminded of his life history. That should keep him from fading out until I can work out something more permanent."

=Just finished a scan of all the newsfeeds,= mentioned VAL 9000 almost casually. Almost.

Diana looked up at the ceiling questioningly. "And?"

=I think that Cowboy guy was right. 357 and I cleaned out a mess of pirates in the Barbaron Nebula several years back. According to the newsfeeds, that never happened and they're still operating. And the Evil Dictator we took out back when we first started working together was, according to all reports, actually taken out by a Superguy team from another storyline altogether. Somebody's rewriting history.=

Diana tried to look concerned, but succeeded only in looking sexy. "Well, we're in a timeship with interdimensional capabilites. We could try to fix everything..."

=I estimate that even with all of the Time Police helping us, we'd only be able to fix history at 47% the rate that it's being changed.=

"Needlewarp!" cursed Spleen. "This is turning into a blasted space opera again. We need a plan. 357, what do you suggest?"

357, still in headphones, was busy grooving to the tunes of his teenage years, and had little to offer. Spleen saw that Omegas and Ralph had wandered off somewhere. No help there.

A very long distance away, the S.S You Are About To Die, which looked to be made of modeling clay and pipe cleaners and designed by a small child, hung menacingly in space. It was, quite possibly, the most powerful destructive force ever known to sentient life, created for Greez Hyperiok by Doctor Spleen's ABPSARII, or Automatic Beet-Peeler and Sub-Atomic Re-integrator Mark II, which sat in the corner beeping and buzzing and contentedly and generally looking nothing at all like a food or sub-atomic processing device.

Greez Hyperiok, former Time Agent and current power-mad dictator, turned to his chief toady, Dijon Mu'tard, former cosmic-level Satanic Agent At Large and current... um, chief toady. "Has the new shipment of battlebots arrived?"

Almost as if in answer, a humanoid form walked in. All in silver metal, it was almost two meters tall and vaguely suggested a humanoid female shape. "NEKKID 69 reporting for duty," it said in a perfectly normal (and fairly sexy) feminine voice.

Two technicians in the corner seemed to think this was humorous, or so one would judge from their laughter. "She said 'naked.' Hehe. I think... ARGH!"

Greez and Dijon never did find out what he thought, as NEKKID 69 attacked the two technicians with weapons that seemed to spring into her hands from thin air, or at least from places that humanoid females normally did not store items quite so large. The two technicians soon resembled quivering sushi.

"Urp!" said Dijon, apparently unfamiliar with this particular feature of the NEKKID battlebot series.

"I dislike laughter at my expense," stated NEKKID 69.

"Obvsiously," Greez answered smoothly. "NEKKID?"

"Networked Electronic Killing and Kamikaze Infiltration Device."

"I see. Will any more like you be joining us today?"

"I appear to have been the only one of my product line in the current shipment," NEKKID 69 answered. As she spoke, holographic projectors went into action. Her silver metal form was quickly covered by the appearance of firm, pink flesh, followed immediately by the illusion of leather and metal. "However, I am accompanied by eighteen other robots of varying designs."

"Eighteen?" Dijon asked. "Plus you equals nineteen. I ordered twenty units from your manufacturer."

"Eighteen others are still functional," clarified NEKKID 69 as she ran a holographic brush idly through her illusionary blonde hair. "As I said, I dislike laughter at my expense."

Dijon decided not to press the matter. Greez snickered and passed NEKKID a data crystal, which NEKKID placed in her reader. After lengthy soul-searching, the Author decided not to describe the exact shape of the data crystal or the location of NEKKID's reader port in order to maintain his story's PG-13 rating.

"You have your orders," Greez said. "You'll find the interdimensional transporter down that corridor. Get to work."

She did so.

"Your plans proceed as anticipated," Dijon said in his best toady voice. "Yet, I would be remiss in my duties as your chief toady if I did not point out that such plans are completely unnecessary."

Greez snarled. "Dijon, I am NOT going to simply pick up the ABPSARII, type in my request, and have it instantly make me Ruler of the Entire Multiverse. I keep telling you, there's no fun in that."

"But shouldn't you cement your victory before something goes wrong?"

"I can't be defeated. Time Agent 357 and his cronies are dead, I am the baddest bad guy in the storyline, and the Authors are smiling on me. Nothing can go wrong!"

In an altiverse a long, long, way away, an Author frowned. Cowboy faced a bad guy much badder than Greez Hyperiok. Far above their heads, the HMS Golden Lance warped out of orbit, 357 and his cronies safely aboard.

Cowboy and his opponent both shivered. "Did you just sense someone tempting the fates to kill him?" Cowboy asked almost conversationally.

"DO NOT CHANGE THE SUBJECT."

"Oh, sorry. I almost forgot. Big bad evil overlord come to kill me. I suppose you want to get started now."

"YOU WERE WARNED."

"Yeah, you sent that little short, round, orange guy and his tall, angular, yellow friend. Brnie and Eert were their names, if I recall. They explained that you were going to take over SFSTORY and that if I left you alone, you'd leave me alone, else you'd kill me." Cowboy smirked. "I was never one to take ultimatums well.

"THEN YOU WILL-- WHAT?"

The small, balding, man had been standing off to the side, almost unnoticed. With a squeaking feral scream, he had launched himself at the hooded figure and was currently biting at its ankle.

"THIS IS AN ATTACK?"

Cowboy made an expansive gesture with his arms. "No, that's what I like to call a diversion. This is an attack." With that, space and time distorted around them. They materialized on top of a small mountain of suitcases, backpacks, and camera carrying cases of varying designs and sizes.

The hooded figure sent a power bolt flying toward Cowboy, but the aim was way off. The figure realized that it was now being held upside down, its booted foot firmly held in the jaws of a twenty foot tall demonic creature. Clawed hands tore at its robes. Leathery wings beat against its body.

"By the way," said Cowboy as he responded with a power bolt of his own, "I don't think I introduced you to my friend here. Big Evil Overlord, meet Angorax. Angorax, meet Evil Overlord."

"Mrmphle," growled Angorax from around the boot.

"WHAT?"

"Yes, I know that Angorax is a former Satanic Agent, but he's reformed now. And, as you might have noticed, in most altiverses other than his home one, he manifests as a very powerful demon."

The hooded figure's cloak glowed white hot and blasted out with a wave of raw power, throwing Angorax into the middle of a pile of carry-on bags. He clawed his way out and was on the hooded figure again before it could regain its feet.

"That gave me an idea," Cowboy continued, digging through a pile of steamer trunks as if looking for one in particular. "Welcome to altiverse 418LOSTLUGGAGE. This is one of the dumping grounds for, you guessed it, all the luggage lost in all the other altiverses. These were all lost while their owners travelled on airplanes. The next universe over, lost during sea travel."

The hooded figure's cloak parted to reveal a utility belt just brimming over with really neat-looking destructive devices. The figure pulled the pin on one and shoved it into Angorax's mouth. Angorax belched nuclear flame and spit neutrons for several seconds before he could continue his attack. This gave the hooded figure time to almost close the distance between itself and Cowboy.

Cowboy ignored him as he ripped open a particular trunk he had finally located. "It occurred to me that if Angorax, an unassuming librarian in his home altiverse, was a demon is most others, then somewhere in the multiverse there existed realities where all librarians manifested themselves as demons. This, incidentally, is one of them."

The hooded figure reached out a gauntletted hand to snatch at Cowboy, but was knocked back by the impact of a well-targetted, hard-thrown leather-bound reference book.

Nanoc the Librarian, his leather loincloth and horn-rimmed glasses looking slightly out of place on his huge demonic form, advanced on the hooded figure. A dozen other librarians spread out behind him, the least of which looked as large and powerful as Angorax. Other groups appeared on the distant horizon.

"About time you got here," Angorax grumbled.

"Took a while to decide if this copied Cowboy guy was serious," Nanoc to the L answered, lofting another dictionary at the hooded figure. "The original Cowboy only signed us up for the one episode. Is this guy on the level?"

"Oh, he's disgustingly honorable," replied Angorax. "He's quite willing to set each of you up as supreme being in any altiverse he can get his original to conjure up for us, assuming any of us survive long enough to actually ask it of him."

"Assuming that, yes," one of the other librarians answered after performing a flying sidekick that bounced inneffectually off the hooded figure's forcefield. "Still, it's the best offer I've had since I gave up medical school to become a librarian."

One of the new arrivals pushed up a library cart. "Has anyone tried an Encyclopedia Galactica yet?" he asked almost cheerfully as he began chucking said tomes at the hooded figure.

Cowboy, in the mean time, had unpacked the steamer trunk. He was now wearing silver and gold powered armor that would have given any member of Aurora or Team M.E.C.H.A. wet dreams for a month. Jumping fifty feet into the air, he brought a flaming sword down on the point of the hooded figure's hood, which actually dented it, forcefield or no. The hooded figure was not amused.

"I WILL DESTROY YOU ALL!"

"Save your breath!" Cowboy snarled, launching a full rack of plastic bottles of Coca Cola and Sprite. The resulting cola/uncola reaction threw the hooded figure backwards into a group of librarians. Having realized that they had heat vision in this altiverse, several combined their efforts to set the hooded figure's cloak ablaze. "And take out a loan and buy a caps lock key, newbie!"

The hooded figure's response was drowned out by the roar of his chain gun, which mowed down several of his opponents before they swarmed over him again.

"That won't work, either," Cowboy replied, his armor apparently having very good audio processing filters. "The only way to destroy a bunch of demons like this is to destroy the entire universe that gives them power, and that means destroying yourself, because I made damned sure when I transported you here that you wouldn't be able to teleport out on your own!"

The hooded figure, his utility belt almost empty, clutched at two metal cans hidden within his robes. With small metal keys, he worked feverishly to open them. Angorax, from his viewpoint atop a small hill composed mostly of Samsonite luggage, was able to read some of the writing on the cans.

Angorax called out to Cowboy. "What do 'Hormel' and 'Armour' mean?"

"It means he's going to do it. Damn him to hell! He's actually finally going to do it!"

The cloaked figure threw the contents of the two cans, globs of a meat-like substance that were similar to and yet different from each other, onto the ground in front of him. They had just started to glow in a very strange manner when a group of nineteen robots appeared in a violent teleportation effect that threw all the combatants onto their respective backsides.

The apparent leader of the group, a robot wearing the holographic guise of an attractive blonde humanoid female wearing leather and metal, addressed nobody in particular. "I claim this altiverse in the name of Greez Hyperi--"

And that, as we say in the South, was that.

Onboard the HMS Golden Lance for which this serial is named, Diana Dark entered the control room. "Status report, Val."

=All systems working normally. I'm working an automated program which is discreetly walking us through some of the places and times where history has been re-written, looking for distinctive energy signatures and whatnot. Nothing so far.= VAL 9000 paused. =How's 357?=

Diana sat down. "I gave him a few beers and fu... This is to say, I *tucked* him in bed. He's had a big day. Made sure his headphones will stay on nice and tight while he sleeps. He's okay, for now."

=Hmm, that's odd,= VAL 9000 said in an equally odd tone.

"What is it?"

=According to my sensors, the entire LOSTLUGGAGE milliverse just ceased to exist. Everything in it has been destroyed.=

"Milliverse?"

=1,000 altiverses, everything from 000LOSTLUGGAGE, which contains only European designer leather overnight bags, to 999LOSTLUGGAGE, which contains mostly paper grocery bags used as luggage by rednecks.=

"What could do something like that?" Diana wanted to know. She had once had vague plans to travel to 394LOSTLUGGAGE to get back some vacation slides she'd lost. No such luck now, she guessed.

=If these readings are correct, it was a massive spam/antispam reaction on a scale never before seen. I have no idea what could have caused it. The only good thing is that whoever did it can't possibly still be around to do it again. Anything and everything that was in that milliverse at the time of the reaction has been destroyed.=

Onboard the S.S You Are About To Die, NEKKID 69 materialized. Her polished silver frame was actually bent in a few places, and in said places was visible through her hologram, which wavered and flickered in a way that the skin it was simulating should not. The projectors responsible for clothing didn't appear to be functioning.

Greez Hyperiok, who was busy berating an underling for doing exactly what Greez had ordered him to do the day before, was taken aback by NEKKID's sudden appearance.

"I'm taken aback by your sudden appearance," Greez said. "Didn't I just send you and your squad off to take over an altiverse for me?"

NEKKID's programming did not allow for the possibility of failure, nor embarrassment, but she adapted. "When we arrived in 418LOSTLUGGAGE, ready for battle, we discovered that the locals were already engaged in a battle of their own. Before we could take any action other than announcing our presence, one of the combatants set off a massive spam/antispam reaction. I was barely able to teleport out in time. The entire milliverse has been destroyed."

"Oh, no!" shouted Dijon Mu'tard. "My vacation slides!" No one paid him any attention, and you wouldn't either if you were in the presence of an unclothed hologram built like NEKKID 69 was.

Greez digested this, then belched up an answer. "No matter. The multiverse actually requires a place to store lost luggage, so the LOSTLUGGAGE milliverse will eventually re-create itself once the imbalance caused by so much luggage actually reaching its destination has time to effect the chrononic hypersphere."

He looked to NEKKID 69, who unfortunately had already repaired her malfunctioning hologram projectors. She was also using the head of a technician who had been laughing at her nakedness as a fulcrum as she bent one of her structural members back into the proper shape.

Greez remembered that he had not sent out that "no laughing" memo yet.

"Get yourself cleaned up. I have another assignment for you."

An entire milliverse, destroyed?
Our beloved Evil Overlord, dead?
All those vacation slides, gone?

For the answer to none of these questions, tune in next week for another exciting episode of... SFSTORY!

Copyright 2006 by Troy H. Cheek. Free to read, but please reprint only with permission.