SFSTORY: HMS Golden Lance #35 - Battle at the Beginning of Time

Time Agent 357's favorite weapon, not counting his ship's Golden Lance energy beam, was his trusty Telechronal Displacement Pistol. This weapon had many settings. It could send its target into the far-flung future. It could send its target into the deep dark past. It could send every particle of the target a different amount of time into the past or future, effectively shredding it and scattering it from the beginning to the end of time.

357 particularly liked that last setting.

He wasn't particularly fond of it at the moment, though, as said weapon was being used against him.

Time Agent 357 squared off against his synthorg duplicate, the Transforming Intelligent Machine Engineered for Assassination, Galactic Exploration, and Nocturnal Troubleshooting #357. Or T.I.M.E. A.G.E.N.T. 357 for short. In addition to being a perfect reflection of himself personally, the T.I.M.E. A.G.E.N.T. also seemed to have all of 357's weapons.

357 generally carried a lot of weapons.

Most of the weapons and all his defenses were based on temporal physics in one way or another. He was, after all, a Time Agent. The good news was that most of his weapons were not very effective against his own defenses, what little temporal force that reached 357 did little damage due to his advanced Time Agent training and long personal history, and what little physical damage that actually occurred was quickly healed by his rapid metabolism. 357 could do this all day.

The bad news was that his opponent could do this all day as well.

Diana Dark squared off against D.I.A.N.A. D.A.R.K. (Digital Intelligent Android Normally for Accurate Destruction, Assassination, and Rational Killing), who matched her in intelligence, resourcefulness, and bra size. Each having broken her unbreakable staff over the other's head, they were currently involved in some complex gymnastics designed to disorient their opponents. Their opponents were, of course, not disoriented.

Being the gentle, caring, nurturing females that they were, they went back to biting, scratching, and hairpulling.

Meanwhile, Omegas faced his doppleganger. This was not a new experience for him. More than once, Omegas had been split into two beings and had faced his other half (who called himself Sagemo) in battle on at least one occasion.

"So," said Omegas the streetwise former timeless immortal servant of Heaven.

"So," agreed O.M.E.G.A.S. the Operational Mechanical Exploration and Galactic Assassination Soldier.

Meanwhile, Doctor Bing Von Spleen and V.O.N. S.P.L.E.E.N. (Versatile Operational Neohuman Skilled in Peacekeeping, Logical Exploration, and Efficient Nullification) sat on the sidelines. They were of course entirely too learned and mature to engage in something as silly as a gunfight or fisticuffs and lacked the unholy power of the likes of Omegas. However, between them, they had four whole cases of fine aged Denoobulan whiskey.

Well, three cases.

Well, actually, two cases and a few spares, but they were working on the spares.

Ralph the Giant Space Weasel of Anthrax V faced off against R.A.L.P.H. (Robotic Artificial Logical Peacekeeping Humanoid). In spite of his (assumed) predatory ancestors, he wasn't much a fighter. Neither was his opponent. They also weren't humanoids, so the duplicate's name didn't make much sense.

"We aren't humanoids," Ralph mentioned for not the first time.

"I had to come up with a name quickly," R.A.L.P.H. responded for not the first time.

"How about Robotic Artificial Lifeform Programmed for Harm?"

"Excellent!" They shook paws and congratulated each other for a while.

"I don't know why we're supposed fight."

"We don't even have weapons."

"All I carry with me is this ukulele."

"I have one, too."

"I'm pretty good with mine."

"Well, I'm quite accomplished my own self."

"I bet I can play better than you."

"You're on!"

Nearby, one 357 threw yet another grenade at the other, whose personal forcefield neatly deflected the blast. That one answered by releasing swarming spheres of energy, a memento of an adventure in an alterverse composed of primal Chaos. It was met by identical swarming spheres of energy which cancelled each other out quite spectacularly.

One Diana got the other in a chokehold, which she broke by yanking on her assailant's cape. When it ripped off, her opponent reacted by tugging at a loose thread on a nearby skirt.

Spleen poured Spleen another drink. By their calculations, by the time they started their last case of whiskey, both women would be completely naked.

Omegas stared at his double, who stared back.

"So," said one Omegas.

"So," agreed the other Omegas.

Ralph finally got Ralph's ukulele tuned the way he (Ralph) liked it, and they began to sing a song Ralph had written after an incident on the Netherspace Nympho Beach some years before. And it sounded a little something like this...

Satan Went Over To Netherspace

(Sung roughly to the tune of "The Devil Went Down to Georgia," with special thanks and apologies to the Charlie Daniels Band. $link:http://www.charliedaniels.com/$)

Satan went over to Netherspace
He was looking for a soul to take
Needed one on the double (he was having quota trouble)
And wanted a deal he could make.

Then he found a young weaseloid strumming
A ukulele and sounding so cool
So Satan jumped on the nearest nympho on the beach
and said "Listen up, you fool!

"I bet you never suspected,
But I can play the ukulele too,
And if you're set to make a bet
I'd like to compete with you.

"Now you strum a pretty mean ukulele boy
But give the old Deceiver his props
I'll bet a ukulele of silver against your liver
That old Scratch comes out on top."

The weaseloid said, "You can call me Ralph
And though it might be tactically unwise
I'll accept your terms and you'll soon learns
That I'm reasonable talented for my age and size."

Ralphie limber up your paws, strum that ukulele fast
'Cause Satan's come to Netherspace to dine on soul repast
If you come out on top you'll get a ukulele made of silver
If Satan succeeds he'll carry off your liver!*

(* Weaseloid mythology erroneously states that the weasoloid soul resides in the lower half of the liver, much the way many humanoid cultures mistakenly place the seat of romance and emotions in the human heart instead of the kidneys.)

Satan whipped out his ukulele and said,
"If you don't mind, I'll start this thing!"
Unholy power sprayed across the beach
As his fingers strummed across the string.

And when he tapped his fingers on the fret
It sounded just like a hammer.
Then he conjured some demons from out of nowhere
And they set up an awful clamor.

No matter how hard and fast Satan played
It just never sounded any better
And the demons started calling him names
And insuating he was a bed wetter.

Finally the demons got completely fed up
And dragged Satan back to Hell.
Ralph picked up his silver ukulele and said,
"My, that turned out well."

And Ralph played:

Satan's in Netherspace, run girls run!
Beach is heating up in the morning sun!
Weaseloids in the cooler picking up beer!
Buddy does your Nympho bite? No, friend, no fear!

It was, of course, just a song. It never really happened Obviously, the forces of Hell had never actually invaded Netherspace. Satan had never actually challenged anyone to a ukulele playing contest. Ralph had never actually won a silver ukulele.

And, of course, Ralph would never take advantage of his opponent being carried away in song to club him over the head.

Ralph stepped over the broken and battered form of his robotic duplicate and marvelled at the ukulele-shaped dent in its cranium. Humming softly to himself, he went about touching up the woodgrain paint on his ukulele.

The silver was shining through again.

Time Agent 357 and Diana Dark stumbled against each other. Both were looking somewhat worse for wear. Neither had felt this tired since their last all-night lovemaking session. They looked over their shoulders at their opponents.

"Switch dance partners!" they both decided at the same time.

In the Superguy alterverse, this is called castling, I'm told.

As they each squared off against their lover's duplicate, they suddenly realized that they weren't exactly sure who was the original and who was the copy. They hesitantly leaped into battle.

Spleen and Spleen were holding onto each other very tightly. They had to. The floor kept moving and trying to make them fall off.

"Jush a coupla mores," slurred an intoxicated Spleen.

"Tee lootle bottles left," agreed an equally intoxicated Spleen.

"So," said Omegas.

"So," agreed Omegas.

357 traded blows with Diana, decided that she didn't feel quite as soft in quite as many places as usual, and blasted her with his Telechronal Displacement Pistol. Her atoms, individually address to sequential years from now until the Big Crunch at the end of the universe, went their separate ways.

357 turned to see the other Diana flashing the other 357. She then used his popped-out eyes for leverage and twisted his head off.

They faced each other, doubt clouding their features.

"How do I know it's you?" Diana said to 357.

"How to I know it's you?" 357 said to Diana.

"I guess you'll just have to kiss me and find out," Diana suggested.

They were still "kissing" several minutes later when Ralph and Omegas pulled them apart and made them put their clothes back on.

"Omegas!" 357 sputtered. He looked around and saw that the other Omegas had been dismembered, mechanical parts laying everywhere. "How did you defeat your duplicate? We never saw either of you actually do anything!"

"Foolish mortals," sighed Omegas. "I am a timeless, all-powerful being. My kind do not engage in senseless combat. My duplicate and I carried on our conflict in higher plane, far beyond the understanding of your pitiful intellects."

"Really?" Diana asked.

"No, not really," Omegas scoffed. "We were still trying to fake each other out when Ralph slipped up behind us and brained us both with his ukulele. When I threatened to barbeque Ralph's face instead of accepting his apology, he knew I was the real me and clubbed the other one a few dozen more times."

They went over to the pair of comatose Spleens. "My god, they're both dead!" Ralph shrieked.

"Dead drunk," Omegas corrected.

Picking up the Spleen who puked the most when they poked him in the stomach, they returned to the HMS Golden Lance (for which this serial is named) where the other members of their party waited.

"Was I right or was I right? Right? Was I right or what?" asked Thirteen, temporal physicist and the reason they were here at the beginning of their universe. "High five! Don't leave me hanging."

"I'm beginning to remember why I never liked you growing up," 357 snapped.

"Obviously, honey," Thirteen's wife and fellow temporal physicist Suzie416 said, "you were wrong." Again, she left unstated.

"But-but-but," Thirteen stammered. "My calculations showed that in order to completely destroy our universe without any possibility of it reforming later, renegade Time Agent 386 would have to either return to the beginning of its formation or the very end of its existence. And my calculations clearly showed that it would be the former."

"Any my calculations showed that it would be the latter," his wife quipped. "Val! Reverse course! We've got to get to the end of time before 386 does."

She was speaking, of course, to the VAL9000 computer which was the mind, heart, soul, and small intestines of the HMS Golden Lance. She powered up her drives.

And got her engines started, too.

357 took the controls. He stared ahead, ready for his date with Destiny.

"Destiny is running a little late. Why don't you sit for a minute and visit with me and her father. Harold, say hello to the nice man. Harold! Oh, don't mind him, young man. He always gets this way when he's cleaning his guns. As I said, Destiny will be right down... Where are you going?"

What will 357 discover at the end of time?
Will he be able to stop 386's plot to destroy the home alterverse?
Why do they say 6:30 when they know they won't be ready to leave until after 8:00?

Be sure to tune in again soon to see The Battle At The End Of Time. Only on... SFSTORY!

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