SFSTORY: HMS Golden Lance #28 - New Weaseloid Order, Part 3

Emperor Ralph, formerly a peace-loving weaseloid from the planet Leibowitz IV and currently the undisputed king of all reality, sat on his throne and sighed. Somehow, things just weren't turning out the way he had planned. No matter how many times he rebooted the universe, things in reality were never exactly the way they were in his mind. Never perfect. Sigh.

Never. Quite. Right.

He controlled the power of the ABPSARII prototype (Automatic Beet Peeler and Sub-Atomic Re-integrator Mark II) which combined all the reality-bending power of the original ABPSARI production models with a miniature time travel device and an ultra-advanced search engine. All Ralph had to do was type in his requested reality (on the ABPSARII interface, which unknown to Ralph resembled nothing so much as an ancient Earth computer keyboard circa 1985) and the device would search all times and all realities until it found one matching his request. Then, using the reality-altering power of SPAM (Sickening, Putrid, Artificial Meat, mistaken by some primitive planets as a food item), the ABPSARII would move him to his requested reality, or move his requested reality to him, or alter his current reality to resemble his requested reality, or something like that. Ralph didn't know. Ralph didn't care, as long as it worked. Sigh.

It wasn't working now.

Not even the assistance of his Least Great Ring of (un)Holy Power (+8 to AC) seemed to help. Not that such a ring was designed to help. The ring was a combination of ancient magic, alien power, and a few components Ralph had picked up at the local Radio Shack. He had originally obtained it from his one-time friend and travelling companion Omegas, who in turn had obtained it from his old college buddy Dorkmug, who had inserted himself into a reality where such rings were common in the hopes of using the rings to take over as a supreme malicious dictator of all things.

Ralph was nothing like that, of course. He was a supreme benevolent dictator of all things.

All things except the lifeforms standing before him now. Lifeforms such as...

Time Agent 357, from an immortal race whose origins Ralph could not determine even with all the power currently at his command, perhaps the greatest officer the Interstellar Time Police had ever had, who had spent the last few hundred years trying to retire, except for the time he spent trapped inside a temporal anomaly with...

Omegas, god-like alien or alien-like god serving Heaven, Hell^tm, and mostly himself, a timeless nigh-omnipotent, nigh-immortal being who wished to rule all reality himself someday, if only he could find a way of looking cool while he did it, and who would still be trapped inside said anomaly if not for his rescue by...

Doctor Bing Von Spleen, the galaxy's foremost (because he killed the other three) Spamologist, inventor of the ABPSARI, ABPSARII, and the beer milkshake, who needed their help to track down...

Greez Hyperiok, he of the jaw of heroic size, renegade Time Agent and sworn enemy of the Interstellar Time Police, who also wanted to take over the multiverse, and was doing a damned fine job of it with the help of...

Dijon Mu'tard, formerly a cosmic-level threat to peace in our time, and currently a powerless flunky, who tended to wear extremely expensive and ridiculously unstylish clothes, who had ordered via the Internet his assistant...

NEKKID 69, the Networked Electronic Killing and Kamikaze Infiltration Device Mark 69, an android battlebot as deadly as she was lovely, leader of Greez Hyperiok's legions trying to take over all reality, and second in bra size only to...

Diana Dark, sweet innocent girl from the Earth city of Chicago, or as sweet and innocent as anyone from that city can be, current partner (romantic) to Time Agent 357 and former partner (professional) to his nephew Time Agent 386, and who was currently getting the eye from...

Captain David Morgen of the Maudlin-class time cruiser Dentless, who himself had a jaw of heroic proportion, who was accompanied by...

Fim, his long-suffering and loyal second in command, who was currently slumping in the middle of...

A group of scuffily-dressed weaseloids who had risen up in revolt against...

Emporer Ralph, who was still sitting on his throne. Sighing.

"Well," asked Diana, "aren't you going to say anything?"

"I was waiting for the narrator to run out of breath," Ralph answered with a sigh. He looked them over again. "So, it's come to this, has it? Enemies and friends alike united against me. Is that fair? All I ever wanted was a universe where weaseloids were considered the highest form of life and and I was the supreme ruler. Is that so selfish?"

"Well, yes. Make it right. Please?" Diana gave Ralph her best teary-eyed, trembling-lipped pleading face, while also reaching into her panties for the knife she was planning to use to cut his furry little weaseloid throat.

Sigh. Ralph's furry little weaseloid paws danced across the ABPSARII's keyboard.

Time Agent 357 found himself typing in a firing sequence. A beam of pure destructive energy and Cheez-Whiz leapt from the HMS Golden Lance and sped towards the S.S. You Are About To Die.

Only to be turned aside at the last second by a forcefield.

"Very good shot, Agent 357," came the voice of Greez Hyperiok, whose image soon appeared on a convenient nearby monitor. "Fortunately, I was able to get to my ABPSARII in time to have it create a shield to block your famous Golden Lance energy beam."

Time Agent 357, Diana Dark, Doctor Bing Von Spleen, and Omegas shielded their heads a half second before the control room was deluged with a rain of hail-sized golfballs.

"Deja Vu," said 357.

"In spades," added Diana Dark.

"Anyone remember anything about a time loop?" Spleen spluttered.

"Of course," said Omegas. He turned to look at the remaining member of their party.

Ralph didn't look back. He was on the floor, using a convenient tin of SPAM to pound his Least Great Ring of (un)Holy Power (+8 to AC) to dust. In a distant reality, a disembodied spirit, ready to raise an army and take over the world in an epic story so grand that it would take three summer blockbusters to tell the tale, flickered out of existance. Ralph grinned a toothy little grin at them.

Of course, that still left the problem that they were about to die.

=I hate to remind everyone, but those missiles fired by the Planet of the Supermarkets are still on their way, and their Zipper-Locked^tm protective field is keeping us from warping out of here,= reported the VAL 9000 computer. =At this range, both the HMS Golden Lance and the S.S. You Are About To Die will be destroyed when they hit.=

"What about the HMS Dentless?" 357 asked, refering to the Maudlin-class time cruiser which had earlier attempted to intrude on their private battle.

=Out of range and drifting off into deep space. They should be safe enough once they restore power, as long as they aren't foolish enough to return to the Planet of the Supermarkets without the proper coupons.=

"Good," decided 357. He didn't like seeing other members of the Interstellar Time Police getting hurt, even if he was trying to retire.

On the viewscreen, Greez was shaking the ABPSARII violently. Dijon Mu'tard, his chief flunky, took some readings. "The Zipper-Locked^tm protective field of the Planet of the Supermarkets is interfering with the ABPSARII's ability to process SPAM. If I read this right, it only has enough power to grant one more request. One. Uno. Single."

"Then what do I do?" Greez said, obviously to himself as he never listend to Dijon's advice, anyway. "I want to enslave Time Agent 357. Yet, if I do that, my ship will be destroyed by those missiles, which will impact in less than 60 seconds. I can't decide."

Dijon reached for the device. "Give it to me. I've got an idea which can save both you and the ship."

"Never!" Greez shouted. "I will never give up the ABPSARII. I will die first!"

=Missile impact in 30 seconds.=

"Here you go!" Greez shouted, shoving the ABPSARII into Dijon's hand.

Dijon typed a few commands and pressed [ENTER]. Almost immediately, a tiny point of blackness appeared in the air over his left shoulder.

"What is that?" demanded Greez.

"It's a miniature black hole. I've been sorely missing the company of my lost pet black hole, Rick. Now I have Mabel here, whom thanks to the ABPSARII will be my friend forever." He reached over his shoulder to scratch Mabel just under the event horizon, right where she liked it. "You're a good naked singularity, aren't you? Yes, you are! Yes, you are!"

=Missile impact in 15 seconds.=

Dijon scoffed. "Mabel, be a good girl, please."

The tiny point of blackness bobbed in assent and then disappeared. In nearby space, the missiles wavered, shrunk, and disappeared. Mabel returned to Dijon and spit out a pinkish chunk of matter into his hand.

"Neo-Spam," he told Greez. "When you throw certain substances into black holes at a certain angle under certain cirsumstances, limited by the local time-space-spam ratio compared to... Well, I see your eyes are glazing over again. Let's just say that if you have access to a black hole, you can sometimes create a SPAM-substitute which, though not quite as powerful as the real thing, is much more stable and works in some places were regular SPAM does not. Like here, I'm betting."

He placed the Neo-Spam in the ABPSARII. It lit up and its readings showed, while not full power, certainly power enough to get them away from the Planet of the Supermarkets. Greez reached for it greedily.

Dijon yanked it away from him.

"Cut that out," Greez demanded. "I'm in charge here. Give me the ABSARII. I command it. I'm going to use it to make sure I get everything I deserve."

Dijon smiled. "Oh, I'll make sure that you'll get everything you deserve." He gestured to Mabel.

Greez had just worked himself up to a full power-mad dictator psychopathic rant when he suddenly went silent, a tiny spot of blood appearing on his forehead. A matching spot appeared on the chest of his uniform. Then on an arm. A leg. Greez was just beginning to realize something might be wrong when, eaten alive pinhole by pinhole, piece by agonizing piece, he disappeared into the tiny black hole.

Mabel returned to Dijon's side. He held out his hand expectantly but Mabel merely shook from side to side. Apparently, power-mad dictators did not make good Neo-Spam.

Dijon looked back to the viewscreen. The crew of the HMS Golden Lance peered back at him, still in shock after the recent turn of events. "Dijon," Time Agent 357 began.

"Save it, 357," Dijon snapped. "I'm not giving up the ABPSARII. And I'm not going to try to make a perfect universe like Ralph there, so don't worry about the entire multiverse imploding. I'm just going to set myself up as the imperfect Supreme Being of some little backwater universe and rule there until the end of time."

"We'll stop you!" blurted out Diana.

"Oh, my beautiful young lady, I'm sure you would, given time. Which is why I'm not giving you any. I could just vaporize you, or throw you down a convenient spacial anomaly, or even just render you dead, but you heroes have a way of coming back from such things against all odds. That's why, while we were speaking, I programmed the ABPSARII to locate each and every sentient being on the HMS Golden Lance and transport it directly to its final reward. Have fun in the afterlife!"

With that, he pushed a button. The HMS Golden Lance was suddenly dark. Quiet.

Empty.

The S.S. You Are About To Die turned ponderously as a tiny point of blackness circled about it. The point stretched into a line, which grew until it became a complete circle. The circle began to wobble, then rotate along another axis, until it swept out a sphere. The sphere became solid, then shrank to nothingness. The S.S. You Are About To Die was gone.

The HMS Golden Lance hung alone in space. Down on the Planet of the Supermarkets, a defense computer in aisle 5 noted that one of the three ships at which it had fired missiles earlier had not been destroyed. It fired another salvo.

Is this the end of the HMS Golden Lance?
Is this the end of our SFSTORY?
Which universe will Dijon take over?
Chocolate and rice, together at last?

For answers to none of these questions, tune in next week, same SFchannel, same SFtime!

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