============================================================================= DVANDOM | -. -. -. | ________| ____ \ ,___ \ ____ \ ________| | .' \ | | / ` | | | | | | | / ___| | | | | ` / | | __| | | < | __| | | | ,--- \ \ | | | \ | | \ ` | | | / | \ / | ___| _______-' ___| ____\ -______-' ____________| #39 - "Let Me Tell You A Tale" - CRISIS ON EARTH-GOON PART ONE! copyright 1994 by Dave Van Domelen A Coherent Comics UnIncorporated Production ============================================================================= [cover shows the Society of Wireless Heroes members lying unconscious or dead at the feet of stunned Dvandom Forcers as shadowy figures sneak up from behind. Banner proclaims CRISIS ON EARTH-GOON PART ONE!] ============================================================================= The scene is dusk in the Abandoned Warehouse District of Net.ropolis as two figures slowly approach a suspiciously suspicious building, which just happens to be the main headquarters of the Little Man's operations in the city. "I say, Ecc...er, Dustbinman, I don't like this job, I don't. It will get me deaded for sure," said the shorter of the two in a whiny childlike voice. His companion, a tall, ragged idiot wearing a leather gramophone and titanium steel socks with the image of a dustbin engraved on them replied in a slow but stupid voice. "Well, Bottle, don't you always get deaded? And don't Mr. Thunderbox always make sure ta put you back tagedder again?" "Dat's not the point, it hurts to be deaded...ooooOOo. Readers, Dustbinman! Turns to crowd for applause...not a sosinge. Sullenly sucks on jolly mixtures." "Ey, didn't dey used ta be...used ta be, mind you...dolly mixtures, Bottle?" Blue Bottle straighted up to his full four feet three inches of cardboard and string sinews and proudly proclaimed, "I have undertaken a modernisation programme, involving the alteration of minor details about my origin and powers to increase my market share. Proudly strikes hero-pose and puffs chest out to full eight inches. And as part of this programme, I have switched from my old wooden support shoes and laces to these sinful modern yellow ones. EeeHEE!" "Ooooh, you devil you! Say, shouldn't we be getting ready for the diversionary tackaticks? What time is it, Bottle?" "Oh no, you naughty Dustbinman, you want me to show you my piece of paper with the time writted on it, don't you? Well, I'm tired of that game. I did buy for myself a modern digital piece of plastic with the time writted on it, and it says we have five minutes yet." "All right, buddy. Say, why did Atom Jim stay with the others instead of me, like was the plan last issue?" "Ahems and reads off of special piece of paper what Mr. Macro would read off of if he hadn't disappeared. Ooh, I feel like a BBC announcer already!" "Dey can cure dat, y'know." "Ahems again. Atom Jim's power of Falling In The Water catchphrases was deemed to work better at the waterfront, and your connections here where there's all these lovely dustbins. Ends speaks, puts paper away." "What brilliant tactics!" "Yes, they are. Here, Dustbinman, take this tape measure. I have read in the comic books that a young lad such as myself could use his powers to improve his already manly physique. If I can use my jolly mixtures to expand my chest to much bigger, maybe we can scare the villains into not deading us!" "Oooh, I like that plan, Bottle. Okay, your chest measures eight inches around." "Let me puff up my chest to its full manly potential. Huff, puffy puff! Strain!" "Seven and a quarter inches." "Looks disappointed, but grabs bottle of jolly mixtures and partakes of the mixtures! Straaaaaainnnnn!" "Six and a half." "I think I will stop before I start to waste away to nothing." "At least you'll make a harder target now, Bottle." "Face lights up. Shine! Why did I not think of that before! If they cannot hit me, I will not be deaded! Puts bottle to lips and gives a mighty swallow! EEEEeeeh!" "Where'd he go?" asked a more-confused-than-normal Dustbinman. "I'm stuck in the bottle! HEEELP!" "Aioooow. Hold on, Bottle, I'll get you out. Here, take my hand!" "Why, are you a stranger in paradise?" [Editor's Note: "Take my hand, I'm a stranger in paradise" is a popular song lyric of the 50s.] "Pull, Bottle!" "I am trying...strain...pull pull pully pull...." "Aioowww...now we're both in it, Blue Bottle, you naughty boy you." "Dustbinman! Look! Someone's putting the cap on! HELP!" Vinnie Goth smiled as he put the trapped heroes in his pocket. "At'sa one short bottle, eh?" * * * * "Nosh me slappers and thud me gondola! It's Mr. Macro!" exclaimed Bludwulf as he set down the Penguin of Goon. "But you died of the Spon years ago!" "Ahem, that was me from this reality, Fortnightman," corrected the portly announcer-cum-wireless-hero. The scene pulls back to reveal that it's taking place in the lobby of the Dvandom Force HQ, and most of the Force is either in the room or entering as this scene happens. Sig.Lad stepped into the room and slapped his forehead. "It's a really good thing Consty left already...I don't think he could have handled this plotline. Lemme guess, Mr. Macro: some foul villain in your reality has set up the Society of Wireless Heroes up for a fall, so as to clear the way for world domination?" "Exactly. Unfortunately, none of the scenes that would properly motivate you to come with me have actually been revealed to you." Squidman tapped his forehead. "Sounds like the writer's being rather cavalier with plotting here. Hope he's not going insane." "Would we be able to tell?" replied Kopikat. "Hey, why are we each getting just one line?" asked Kid Macro. Cheeez Arrow tipped his hat back. "Probably because this might be the only time we appear in the issue, so we'd better get some lines in so people don't wonder if the title got slapped on the wrong book." Sig.Lad nodded. "Yeah, probably. Okay, Mr. Macro, we're in. We needed to test the CheeeZeppelin's interdimensional transit capabilities anyway, and I'm willing to forgo an actual reason for now. No doubt the writer will figure one out later on and make the trip worthwhile." "Unless he's just vamping so he can show off his knowledge of Goon Show scripts and has no real plot worked out," countered Kopikat. "Hey, you're getting pretty good at this fourth wall thing, Kat," replied Sig.Lad. * * * * CHUNK-SHHHK. CHUNK-SHHHK. KRANG! "Bloody fe***ing rock!" hissed Withnail as the shovel's blade turned aside. "Whatwhatwhatwhatwhat? Your name was Kipling last episode, you rogue!" exclaimed Ned Thunderbox. "What, mate?" boomed the deep voice of the magic Thunderbox, only to be ignored. Withnail sighed and leaned against the shovel. "I'd disguised my knees with a leather beard...oh, ^&*^% this. This is almost as bad as what I went through in that Retcon Hour thing. I quit." With that, the disgruntled not-a-trenchcoater-in-this-reality started to toss down his shovel, but if he knows what's good for him, he won't. "Won't I?" No. There's far worse things than playing along with this storyline, after all. "Like?" [Editor's Plug: Keep an eye out for "Trenchlander Alone 4," starring Duncan MacLeod and Willoughby Withnail as two wacky immortals chasing after a snotty little kid in the heart of a future dystopia! More groin-shot jokes than you can shake a canoe at!] "GAHHH! Okayokayokay...you win. %^&^$ *^$&*@#...." He sighed. "I cleverly disguised my knees with a leather beard and tin trilby, mate. Are ye sure this tunnel's a good idea?" Ned quickly stepped back into shot, having nipped round the back for the old brandy whilst Withnail was being persuaded. "Of course it's a good idea! Thynne's never led us astray before." "Except during the Whirling Regiment Murders," noted Black Minnie. "Ooooh, yes, and the...nk nk...Vicar's Garden Party Affair," added WildCrun from behind his rosewood piano. "And the..." started Black Minnie. "Yes, yes...but this time I know he's not leading us astray. After all, he's the beneficiary on all our life insurance policies. And if you can't trust your beneficiary, who can you trust, eh?" At this point, Withnail realized exactly how unhealthy it would be to stick around, and with editorial permission, tried to sneak away. He didn't get far. SPLOOSH! "'E fallen in da water!" beamed Atom Jim. There was a round of applause and cheering. Withnail pulled out a sodden script and grimaced as he read his next line. "HELP! Spelled left to right H-E-L-P, HELLLLLP!" "Th'rote, if you will?" "Right, mate," rumbled the magical being as it hoisted Withnail from the dreaded drowning-type water. Ned looked thoughtful for a moment. "You know, it could very well be that there *is* dirt all the way to the warehouse. After all, Per Annum's a reformed supervillain, not a Royal Geologist." "And a good thing too, buddy. We'd not be consorting with any sinful Royal Geologists," exclaimed WildCrun, who was currently trying to extricate himself from his piano. "Well said *well said* WELL SAID!" babbled Neddie. "Jim, bring the red sticks of dynamite. We'll BLAST a hole for the submarine tunnel!" "Um, but won't that attract attention?" asked Withnail, as he carefully backed along the darkened shore to get away from these madmen. "All the noise, that is." "Not if we wear these earplugs!" "Aiowww...nk nk nk...are all your family this clever, Neddie?" asked Black Minnie, filling in for the absent Eidelberger. "Only the trichordates. Now let's get a hole dug for the dynamite. Withnail! Drat, he seems to have left. Oh well, Th'rote, dig us a hole!" "Cor blimey," it replied as it scooped up a few cubic meters of dirt. "Neddie, why not use the Thunderbox to dig the tunnel to the sinful villain hideout?" "Brilliant idea, Crun! I was worried no one would think of it, considering the cast we're stuck with here. Th'rote, start digging!" "Right, mate," it rumbled. Seconds later, it broke through to a pocket of empty air. A tall man, sinister upon the shoulders of a heavily oiled French wreck, addressed the assembled heroes. "I thought you'd never get this far, Neddie. Men, @@@@@@@@@@ @@@@@@@ @@@@@@@@ @@@@@@@@@@ @@@ @@ @@ @@@@@@@@@@ @@@@@@@ @@@@@@@@@ @@@@@@@@@@ @@@ @@ @@ @@@ @@@ @@@ @@@ @@@ @@@ @ @ @@@ @@@ @@@ @@@ @@@ @@@ @@@@@@ @@@ @@@@@@@@@ @@@@@@ @@@ @@@@@@ @@@ @@@@@@@@ @@@@@@ @@@ @@@ @@@ @@@ @@@ @@@ @@@ @@@ @@@ @@@ @@@ @@@ @@@ @@@@@@@ @@@ @@@ @@@@@@@@@@ @@@ @@@ @@@@@@@ @@@ @@@ @@@@@@@@@@ @@@ The Wireless Heroes fell before the deadly hail of gunfire, Crun's piano being totally un-tuned by the experience. When the smoke cleared, the sinister figure stepped out of the shadows and stood triumphantly over Ned Thunderbox. It was (muscial sting) PER ANNUM! And beside him, the insipid InfraHumanite! "Aiowwwwww...." Ned coughed and lifted his head. "Thynne! How could you turn on us like this?" "I found your switch," calmly replied the fiendish fiend. "WhatwhatwhatOOF!" "Oh no, you don't, you silly twisted boy. Men, be sure to wrap them tightly in the brown paper parcels, and don't forget extra postage on Neddie here. Then drop them off in the postbox, and we can get to work looting this town for all the money it has!" InfraHumanite and Per Annum sung happily as they walked out of the shot, "April in Paris...." * * * * While in one world, Per Annum's men began the herculean task of finding and affixing enough postage to get Ned Thunderbox to Sig.ago, Sidewinder found himself in a rather unpleasant situation in his world. Specifically, he was driving down the road into the path of a rather large gang of teenagers on dirtbikes. More specifically, they took up both sides of the road as well as the shoulder on both sides...and dense forest lined the road. Still, in all, that didn't worry him too much. After all, he was driving a motorcycle that eats dirtbikes for a midnight snack, the pride of Milwaukee, a Harley Davidson. No, what worried him was that the lead bike had no rider. What it did have was an all-too-familiar insignia on the mudguards. The stylized morningstar of MACE, the Mobile Artificial Consciousness Empire. No time to get fancy. He laid the Harley down, wincing as the chrome peeled away from the left side. No way he could actually turn around and get up to speed in time, he'd have to hope the dirtbikes using his cycle as a ramp didn't do too much damage, and that the MACEr didn't recognize him as anything more than a startled normal. After the way he was shot down last time he fought these robots [in Johnny Stomper #1-2: Ed.] he didn't want to act hostile until he knew how many he faced, and if he should call in backup. One, two, three bikes leapt over him. He could feel his shinbone protest the treatment, but nothing broke. Then the bikes all stopped. He was surrounded by blank-faced teenagers astride idling dirtbikes. The MACEr transformed into a human-sized robot and walked towards Sidewinder, the kids clearing him a path. "Hi, I'm ATV Frank. Are you a superhero?" Sidewinder was taken aback by the directness. He decided to try guile. "Um, no." "Good, 'cause then I'd have to kill you. That's what Firebrand said, 'Start taking over the squishies, and kill any superheroes you run into.' I wonder where all the others went, though. See how many squishies I've taken over? Aren't I doing a good job?" Underneath the inane chatter, Sidewinder felt something...wrong. Something that set his teeth on edge. Something trying to bend his mind, crush his soul...of course! Some kind of mind control device. Probably subsonic, since his cycle helmet was designed to muffle the subsonic harmonics of wind noise. Probably why he wasn't already blank-faced like those stupid kids who never wore their helmets [Editor's note: always wear a helmet when riding a motorcycle! That way when you go over the handlebars at 70mph, they'll be able to identify you by dental records.]. He used his best "mind control victim" voice, "Yes...you...are, ATV Frank." Maybe he could get some information out of the guy. "But...all...the other...robots...went...away? Why...are you...still...here?" "Drat, I hate it when that happens. I command you to stop talking with all those pauses." "Yes, sir." "Anyway, I don't even really know who all the others are. Firebrand built me while driving to Washington.gov, and sent me out to get test cases for his more advanced mind control experiments. But why am I telling you this? You're just another squishy. Come on, pick up your bike and follow us." Ah, that must be it! Spartacus had used that strange pyramid to send all the MACErs back where they came from, but Frank came from here. "One more thing, oh evil overlord...." "Yes?" "I thought ATVs had four wheels. You only have two." ATV Frank shook with rage, and had he been human would have been on the verge of either crying or holding his breath until he turned blue. "DON'T YOU THINK I KNOW THAT!??!?!?" With that, he turned back into a dirt bike and started leading his pack back down the road. --All I have to do is lag behind a little and use my comm thingy to call in reinforcements from the LNH...what's this?-- Sidewinder reached down to pull out the thing that was jabbing into his leg beneath the body of the cycle. His comm thingy. * * * * SPECIAL PULL-OUT SECTION! BLUEPRINTS FOR THE CHEEEZEPPELIN! __------------__ =====\__\------/__/===== ====XXXXX\__\----/__/XXXXX==== Top View Exterior ====XXXX....\__\--/__/....XXXX==== ===XXX........\_|--|_/........XXX=== Elevations ==XXX...........\_\/_/...........XXX== ... - highest ==XXX.............\__/.............XXX== XXX - middle ==XXX............./\/\.............XXX== === - lowest ==XXX.............|()|.............XXX== ==XXX.............\__/.............XXX== Diameter: 20m ==XXX............................XXX== ===XXX........................XXX=== ===____X......./^^\.......X____=== / \XXXX...| |...XXXX/ \ / \=XXXXX| |XXXXX=/ \ | |=====| |=====| | \______/ \__/ \_______/ __------------__ ---- \ / ---- Top View Interior --- \ 1 / --- -- \ / -- 1 - Cockpit and general - \ / - crew area - \ / - 2 - Entrance hatch (on top - \ / - and bottom) - / \ - 3 - CheeezBags - 3 | 2| 3 - 4 - Engines and cargo - \ / - 5 - Penguin Pool - __/ \__ - - / \ - -- / 4 \ -- --- / \ --- --__/ 5 \__-- ---------------- _--__ / | _____________/^^\___________/ / Side View Exterior _--^/-/ (______--^ /--/--/ |^^\ |^^^ _______\___ Height: 5m (--(--| | | |-- (___________) \--\--\ |__/ | / ^--_\-\ (^^^^^^--_ ^^^^^^^^^^^^^\__/^^^^^^^^^^^\ \ \ | ^--^^ * * * * And thus, having filled a few pages with more ASCII drawings (hey, it worked in #37), the author joins the actual title group again, as they discover that flying a Cheeez-fume-filled Zeppelin through interdimensional space powered by a mystic penguin and driven by a revamped 50's hero isn't as easy and smooth as it sounds. Which is to say, those capable of doing so were on the verge of losing their lunches. "Bludwulf, can't you stabilize the Zeppelin somehow?" asked Squidman, glad for his clinging gloves in the madly heaving crew compartment. "Well, you see, it's this insane control panel design. Every time you push one of these Cheeez controls labelled in Cheeez on a Cheeez background, it lights up Cheeez-colored to tell you what you've done. And I was trained on an old fashioned leather-paneled horse-drawn Zeppelin...." Bludwulf's muttering (which included a desire to go round the back for a bit of the old brandy) faded into the ever-loudening [Is that really a word? - Ed.] howl of interdimensional space as everyone shot cold glares at Stanley King, the Cheeez Arrow and designer of the CheeeZeppelin. "HEY, AT LEAST I DIDN'T PAINT THEM ALL BLACK!" shouted Stan as the howl suddenly died down. His face flushed with the kind of embarrassment you feel when the song stops at a dance and you're still shouting at your date, and everyone hears you bellow sweet nothings. "You get it under control, Major?" asked Sig.Lad. "No, I just cut power. Now can I stop this cardboard and tin imitation of a Douglas Adams character and get back to my own gags?" "Sure," nodded Sig.Lad as he stepped over to the no-longer-wobbling-back- and-forth Cheeez Computer to determine why they'd been meeting so much resistance. "Maybe it's like that Next Gen episode where the harder you push with your ship the harder space pushes back?" suggested Kid Macro. "No, I don't think so," mumbled Sig.Lad as he scrutinized the readings. "Our author usually leaves the Trek refs to Martin. ...the hell? What's a killfile doing *between* newsgroup realities? Bludwulf, bring us around a quarter turn to the left." "Is that starboard or port?" "Port." "Don't mind if I do," After the audience laughter died down and Kid Macro stopped looking for where the laughter was coming from, Bludwulf put down the bottle of Port and turned the Zeppelin slowly, if not majestically, to the left. Although the scene outside the window was generally a roiling miasma [Hey, you used that phrase already recently! - Ed.] [So I like it. Bite me. - Author] of interdimensional stuff, not quite the Astral Realm but rather a subdimension that linked alt.versions of the Net.realities, damn, I've lost my train of thought. [Ha! - Ed.] Oh yeah. A solid image came into view before them. It was a sphere of some kind of killfile energy, with five figures dimly visible inside it. A sign floated in the non-air in front of the sphere, with writing in a number of languages and in both 7-bit and 8-bit characters. "VERY DANGEROUS. DO NOT RELEASE. SIGNED, KILLFILE" Squidman hissed from behind his cowl. "Killfile.... He must have imprisoned these people between dimensions to keep them out of the way. I say we rescue them." Sig.Lad held up a hand. "Wait a minute, don't let your dislike for the villain blind you. [Editor's note: As Squid Boy, Squidman was one of the Cosmic Plot Device Caper participants, and has experienced Killfile's villainy first hand.] Remember, we're between alt.universes. It's possible that a good Killfile imprisoned them." "Possible, but unlikely," replied Squidman. "First off, in most of the reverse universes, the good versions of villains still lose. Someone would have come for these guys, if only to kill them. Second, making an extra- dimensional killfile is a bit of an overkill, if you will. A good Killfile would simply imprison villains within the newsgroups, right? And although Killfile's powerful, anyone so dangerous as to require putting them totlaly outside reality would be too powerful for him to stop. Only a villainous Killfile would go for the overkillfile, as it were." Sig.Lad frowned. "I'm still not sure you're right, but if they do turn out evil, we can *probably* stall them long enough to get out of here and leave them stuck. Hmmm...and anyway, we're not going anywhere unless we find a way around the killfile they're in. Any other arguments against?" Silence. "Okay. Rotanna, can you delete the killfile?" Rotanna stood still for a moment, concentrating. Her Rot-13 magic was closely tied to the net.elements, but she'd never really explored the specific alt.chemical nature of it. Still, she should be able to tie into elemental Thread and break the killfile, even here where there were no threads. "Xvyysvyr or tbar, guernq sybj serr!" The sphere shuddered and was gone. The captives stood up and looked about in confusion and relief. "Well, they haven't attacked yet, that's a good sign," noted Kopikat, deciding she needed to get a line in sometime. "Let's go out and greet them. Rotanna, work up a spell that'll get us all back inside if we need to bolt. Readings show the barrier to our passage is gone, but it'd be scuzzy to not at least check on these guys." Leaving Bludwulf to keep the engines running and ready for a fast departure, the rest of Dvandom Force stepped out of the hatch in the middle of the CheeeZeppelin. Being similar to Limbo, the interdimensional fog had a solid "ground" that they walked out onto. The leader of the group of captives looked uncomfortably familiar. In fact, he looked like Sig.Lad, albeit in a different costume. "Hey, thanks for getting us out. Killfile's such a loser, always locking us up like that. Man, is he a dork...I bet he even thinks Canada has a real socialist government." Sig.Lad got a sinking feeling. He recognized this alt.version, although he'd thought it had only been a failed clone of himself created by Acton Lord in his Flipseid guise [see The Kinda Big Darkness Saga - Ed.]. Poli.Sig. Of course, in infinite PluRealities, even hoaxes are true somewhere. "It isn't?" asked one of the other strangers. "Don't let him bait you, Clueless Kid. I used to see that kind of political stuff all the time on my BBS, ya get used to it," said a young man with "No 300 Baud Lamoz Allowd!" inscribed on his costume top. "Me too," agreed the lone female in the group. Squidman began to get the sinking feeling of an "I told you so," and said, "We're Dvandom Force, we're from Earth-Loon, on our way to Earth-Goon. And you?" The fifth member of the group stepped forward and smiled. "I'm Kid September, and my friends here are BBS Lad, Clueless Kid, Poli.Sig and Me Too Lass. Together we are..." he paused for drama, "THE NEWBIE SYNDICATE OF EARTH- SEPTEMBER!"