.|. COHERENT COMICS UNINCORPORATED ---X------------------------------------------------------------------------- '|` PRESENTS DVANDOM | -. -. -. | ________| ____ \ ,___ \ ____ \ ________| | .' \ | | / ` | | | | | | | / ___| | | | | ` / | | __| | | < | __| | | | ,--- \ \ | | | \ | | \ ` | | | / | \ / | ___| _______-' ___| ____\ -______-' ____________| #44 Writing Chance Part Two - "Born Ready" copyright 1995 by Dave Van Domelen ============================================================================= [cover shows Sig.Lad trudging dejectedly along a lonely road lined with motels. Instead of "No Vacancy" signs, they have neon lights reading "No Cure." The names of the motels are things like "The Wizard," "Joe's Place," "Stranger's Haven" and "Stomp And Go."] ============================================================================= WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE: Last issue, after breaking their self-imposed silence (needed to keep Acton Lord in the dark after the issue before that), Dvandom Force discovered that their leader Sig.Lad was losing control over his powers again. The Dvandom Stranger appeared and explained that Sig.Lad was originally Richard Franklins, son of Mr. Thingy of the Net.astic Nine, rescued from Limbo by the Dvandom Dial. His powers were revealed to be a result of the Super Molder Serum, which was inherently unstable and was once again breaking down.... * * * * In a comfortable one-room apartment that formed the totality of its small backwater newsgroup dimension, a young man sat reading a small stack of comic books, one at a time. "Ha! I knew there was something fishy about that police chief! Still, it does kinda break the mood of the story." He paused then, looking about for the cause of some disturbance he felt. Blinking, he let his mystic senses take over, and immediately saw a bulge in the "wall" of his pocket dimension. Someone was trying to get in, and they couldn't fit inside the dimension at its current size. "Looking" more closely, the lad recognized the insistent guests and their transport, and with a wave of his hand they were inside, seated on barcaloungers conjured up beneath them. "Make yourself comfortable, Secret Dvanders. Or Dvandom Force, as I supposed you prefer to be called now. The CheeeZeppelin is safe, I just didn't want it cluttering the place up." He stood and pulled a sixpack of Dr Pepper out of the fridge, laying it on the coffee table. "Help yourself." "Hello, Merlin," opened Sig.Lad, who looked like he was trying to combat a bladder problem as he strove to maintain his current form. "My guess is you know why we're here." "Yep. Specifically, I know why *you're* here. You need another fix of the ol' magic power to stabilize your galloping genes. And you wasted a trip, I can't help." Kopikat tried to stand and threaten the young mage, but found herself unable to move from the extremely comfortable chair. "Threats won't help, Miss Anders. I didn't say I *won't* help, I said I *can't* help." Merlin noticed Sig.Lad had fallen silent and contemplative, as if trying to find a reason why not, and then a loophole in the why not. "But you helped before," protested Sidewinder. "Why not now? Or is the author leaning on you to make the story last longer?" "He tried, but I told him he didn't have to. Look, I know you've spent a lot of time studying Arthurian Myth since you found out you were Arthur's net.reincarnation, right Richard?" Sig.Lad paused before he spoke. "Sorry, not used to that name yet. And yes, I did. What, are you bound by Nimue or something?" "Metaphorically speaking, maybe that's what's happening. But the reality is that although I'm the net.version of Merlin Ambrose, I'm not him exactly. I'm not an ancient and experienced mage with thousands of years of practice. But regardless of what reality we're part of or how long we've been around, one thing common to Merlins is odd life cycles. Most age backwards and are kids by this era. I suppose you assumed that was my case too. Well, it's not. Y'see, for this reality, it's normal to be 'born' as an adult or teen, and age in both directions...gain a future and a past at the same time, usually at different rates. Your childhood, for example, didn't 'occur' until it was written into a story, several *years* after you were 'born.'" "Your point being?" asked Squidman, who seemed to have jumped to the correct conclusion. "I was born when the net was born, more or less. And I age only in one direction. I look like a teenager, and I really *am* one. And both I and the net are going through puberty right now. A time of great changes, of great uncertainty. Uncomfortable new growth as the common idiots flood the net and displace our old brand of weirdo idiots. 'Zits' in the form of uncontrollable outbreaks of spam. Uncertainty over what the future holds...will Senate Bill 314 pass into law, will it survive challenge...the equivalent of asking if a teenager will learn self-control or wither as control is imposed from without. Sure, it wasn't all sweetness and light back during the Electrocutioner's Song two years ago, but things were more stable at least. "The upshot of all this is that although I still have power, I *don't* have the ability to make things stable...I can't even keep myself very stable. Asking me for a cure is like asking the town drunk to be your designated driver. In a few years things will probably settle down a bit, but by then you'll either have found another cure or died. Sorry." The room was silent except for the sound of breathing and the turning of pages as Sidewinder leafed through the latest Soulsearchers & Company. "Well," sighed Sig.Lad, "could you at least recommend someone who might be able to help, or help us find my father?" "I'm afraid I can't do much on the latter, but the former I might have an answer for. There's a cosmic being named Joe who's setting up a presence on the net...the Web in fact...who might be able to help. He's no more stable than I am, but he has a talent for placing chaos into structure, insanity into order, that might help you at least stave off your fate long enough to find a real cure. The Web site isn't open yet, but I can help you get there...." * * * * "So this is what a Web homepage looks like through our perspective. Doesn't look like much," commented Kid Macro. The CheeeZeppelin was hovering overhead in the chilly afternoon sky, Bludwulf keeping it from drifting off. "Remember, it's not a completed one. Normally this road would have a huge amount of traffic on it as users zipped back and forth between hypertext entries and pages," pointed out Cheeez Arrow. "Although I didn't exactly expect a highway image...most tend to look like office buildings or busy downtowns even when not completed." Squidman had finished looking around and turned to the others. "Yes, but you're mostly familiar with the Web pages of business concerns, ones you dealt with as part of your father's company. Remember, this page is supposed to be the domain of a cosmic being, it need not conform to our expectations. In fact, from Merlin's description of this Joe, I expected something a lot odder than a Min.net.sota state highway." Kid Macro did a doubletake. "What, did you analyze the needles of the trees around us and determine they only grow in Min.net.sota?" Squidman simply pointed at the road sign. "Actually paying attention to what you see can be more valuable than any Sherlock Holmes tricks. Sig.Lad," he turned to the group's silent leader, "are you all right?" "Yes. I'm just trying to save my strength," he whispered, trying to hide the strain in his voice. Suddenly, Kopikat whirled to look at the horizon. "Something's coming down the road!" Before Rotanna could attempt a scrying spell, even before Kid Macro could step back from the road, an early 70's American car, back when they built them to chug gas and hold small elephants, stopped on a dime in front of them. "S'go! S'roadtrip!" shouted a voice from within, and a hand reached out and pulled them into the car as if they were cartoons. The car then peeled out with a smell of burning rubberized nylon. When he gained his bearings, Sig.Lad found he was in the passenger seat and everyone else was squashed into the back seat. Kopikat had oozed out to let others fit better, and they barely did. "Don't break the cheeez back there, eh?" said their spectral chauffeur. He was a gaunt man, so thin you could make out the bones on his face and hands. A terrible hunger seemed to fill him, as if he could eat an entire State and not be full. And a glint in his eye...was it merry or insane?...twinkled in the afternoon sunlight bouncing off the hood of his car. Cheeez Arrow shifted carefully to avoid breaking open one of his arrowheads full of Cheeez, and the driver nodded. "Are you...Joe?" asked Sig.Lad. "Yup." "Merlin said you might be able to help me with my unstable mutations." "Nah, I got enough of those. But I could help you with your Berserks." Kid Macro sighed in the back and thought to himself, "Not another cosmic being who plays that card game." Joe turned around and faced Kid Macro. "No, you're supposed to think to yourself, 'This kinda sucks!'" he grinned. Then he turned back to Sig.Lad and started to chant a poem of some kind. "Sig.Lad the unstable Sig.Lad the unstable Opened his doors and let out all the unhorses Sig.Lad the unstable" "But can you help me? I'm falling apart as we speak...could you give me some structure to hold me together, or perhaps cure me?" begged Sig.Lad. Finding Merlin couldn't help him had rattled his confidence much more than he'd thought it would. Joe started as if to answer, but then stiffened up as if he were channelling for some kind of spirit. He spoke: "Hell Storyline by H.M. Loaf" "Writers bite the hand that feeds them Into the giant-sized chippershredder Which already hungrily gnaws on Continuity. A plot device bursts half formed from your Spleen. You think to yourself, 'This kinda sucks.' Reality agrees and sucks you into a black hole. You try to redecorate, but you can't paint a point. 'But there's always room for yellow!' you protest. You profail the protest and get held back But you file a return and get most of yourself back in the mail. The bank won't cash you without an ID, but it's in your pocket. A Catch-22 in Car 54 on a Top 10 List. The manager approves the check and cashes you But the teller gives you all to you in arms. Now you ain't got no body. Nanomachines munch your mitochondria. Ignore them." Everyone looked confused except for Kopikat, who looked somewhat worried, but tried to hide it. "What...does it mean?" asked Sig.Lad as Joe snapped out of it. "It means what it isn't," he replied as he stopped the car. "All out!" They found themselves lying on a table in Net.xarkana as the car tore off into the distance. "Damn," was all Sig.Lad said. Everyone else was silent for a moment. Then Kid Macro spoke. "How come he gets to say Hell(TM) without the TM(TM)?" "He's cosmic," replied Squidman. "Oh...." * * * * The LNHQ was a chilly place. Not because Invisible Incendiary had taken the night off...the temperature was pleasant as usual. No, chilly in the sense that the members of Dvandom Force could feel the palpable lack of welcome from the rest of the Legion. The silence Dvandom Force had kept after the Crysys of Ynfynyte Tyms had spawned all manner of rumor, and the whole involvement of the Green Trenchcoat had made it worse. The Green Trenchcoat had betrayed the Looniverse, said the rumor mill. But he wasn't to be punished for it. Dvandom Force knew why, but said they couldn't tell. A sense of conspiracy descended over the Legion, simmering below the surface and bubbling up whenever Sig.Lad or the other Forcers were mentioned. Now the secret was out, everyone knew that it had been imperative to keep Acton Lord from knowing his plans had been thwarted. But it didn't magically make the bad feelings go away. In fact, some Legionnaires felt insulted that they hadn't been trusted enough to tell. That, and knowing the full magnitude of what Green Trenchcoat almost helped do made his lack of punishment seem all the more unfair to some Legionnaires who couldn't know how much the mystic was punishing herself already [See Legion of Occult.Heroes #6 - Ed.]. And now Dvandom Force was making a little visit, asking for help. On the surface, everyone was cordial and helpful, but there was a wall between them and the prodigals. Dvandom Force was no longer really part of the LNH, it seemed. Resentment over the Crysys aside, all of the new plotlines were alien to them, there were many new members who they had never met and new takes on old members. The feeling of alienation which had been growing in Sig.Lad since he found out his real family was lost in Retcon Limbo sharpened acutely the moment he stepped into the lobby with Kopikat and Squidman. And it only got worse as the afternoon wore on, waiting for Doc Stomper to take data, analyze it, forward it to other experts...and so on. Finally Doc Stomper seemed to exhaust his resources. He wasn't so much done as he'd run out of things *to* do. Grim-faced, he approached Sig.Lad. "I'm sorry, but my initial hypothesis has been confirmed. The degeneration of the Super Molder Serum cannot be stopped by any means known to modern science. Currently it only affects you on a more macroscopic level, but as time progresses it will affect you on a cellular level, rewriting your DNA at random. And while you can, with great effort, control the macroscopic changes, once the microscopic changes start you will not know what to stop. And it will only be a matter of time before one of those changes triggers a malignant cancer of astounding proportions." "So...that's it. The cosmic beings can't or won't help, and science can't help either. I'm doomed." Squidman was shocked. He'd never seen Sig.Lad so fatalistic before. "Doc, are you sure there's nothing you can do?" "I never said there wasn't. I *can* help with the macroscopic fluctuations, letting Sig.Lad more productively use the time he has before his system barrels runaway into uncontrolled cancerous death. This suit of armor, modified from the designs for Myk-El's powersuit, should stabilize you. I've replaced the Red Sun radiation projectors inside it with a mild emission generated by one of the PlotDevicium cores you recovered from Schwa Khan's robots. The radiation from this minor plot device will counter the plot device of your powers running amok." Sig.Lad grimaced. Not only would he be totally unable to use most or all of his powers in that suit, wearing a version of Myk-El's suit wouldn't exactly help his growing rift with the rest of the LNH. "Well, as long as it's only temporary, I guess it'll have to do. Thanks for your help, we'll be leaving now...." "A moment, Sig.Lad, I'm not done. There's also one other thing I have yet to point out. While there is no cure available to modern science, this is largely because those who developed and redesigned the Super Molder Serum never passed their secrets on, and the project was abandoned. To rediscover all of that work would take far more time than you have, but if you could locate one of the former experts and give them the benefit of modern computer technologies and Kirbian devices available to us, they might be able to cure you." "Well, I did have that figured, Doctor. My father spent years on trying to cure me before being lost to the timestream. And while he might be able to cure me now, finding him would be like searching for a needle in a pile of pins. Especially if DeFacto V is actively keeping him retconned out of existence. I don't think I have time to find him before I die, much as I'd like to." Doctor Stomper shook his head. "There's more than simply your father, Sig.Lad. There's the man who developed the Super Molder Serum but mysteriously stopped working on it during the war...Dr. Amick-Tention, also known as Dan "Sinful" Amick-Tention of P.U.L.P.! It was an outgrowth of his styrofoam work, I believe, since it was in those documents that I found his only references to the project. He said it failed and the data was lost, but never elucidated." "So, how do we get there?" asked Kopikat. "The Penguin of Goon can take us to other dimensions, but not back in time." Doctor Stomper beamed like a kid who had just found a really cool toy hidden behind a stack of old Net.ional Geographics in the attic. "While attempting to search for records of Mr. Thingy's research, I dislodged records of his design for a Time.thingy in the LNH computer core. I should be able to send the three of you back in time to just before Dr. Amick-Tention abandoned the research, where you can ask him for copies of the research." "Wouldn't he be a bit bothered by visitors from the future? From what I remember, superhuman powers weren't exactly common during the P.U.L.P. era," noted Squidman. "What we know of the man indicates very little perturbs him. However, this date is some time after Panta's little jaunt back in time to avoid Retcon Hour...in his timeframe as well as ours...and so you won't be the first he's seen. I wish I could ask Panta to accompany you, but...." The master of scientific bulldada let his sentence trail off. The others didn't ask, they knew she was missing and possibly dead [see current issues of Tales of the Legion of Net.Heroes - Ed.]. "Okay. What year will we go to, so I can prepare to at least try and blend my team in?" asked Sig.Lad. "1942, after P.U.L.P.'s pre-war escapades were mostly over and the team had entered the war effort more directly. I can have the Time.thingy primed and ready to go in an hour, and I've transferred the files on P.U.L.P. to your terminal upstairs, Sig.Lad, along with what little we have on fashions and the like...mostly clips from Demon Boy's older movies." "Thanks," said Sig.Lad as he turned to go. Then he turned back. "May I ask you a personal question, Doctor?" "Certainly." "The rest of the Legion hasn't exactly been welcoming me back with open arms, yet you're acting like nothing happened. Why?" "I'll have to admit that I was as sour things as anyone for a while. But you did come out and explain everything in the end. And as long as everything has an explanation, all's right with the world as far as *this* Legionnaire is concerned." Sig.Lad nodded. As a CPDC member, the Doctor had a refreshingly uncluttered philosophy, like most from his group. He then followed Squidman and Kopikat up to his old quarters. * * * * "Did you *have* to choose to look like Betty Homepage, Kat? Everyone's staring at us, and that's not exactly a good thing," hissed Squidman as he pulled his brown fedora further down over his eyes. "Trust me, I've been at this job longer than you've been alive...in any direction. Of *course* they're staring at me. And totally ignoring you two, who can't reliably change shape later on." "She's right, Squi...David. I can't possibly hide the full armor Stomper built for me, and this plotdevicium medallion isn't doing as good of a job. Better everyone be staring at her when my nose shifts to one side or something. No one notices the men who trail along with a pinup girl, eh?" "I guess so," admitted Squidman. "I *know* so," replied Kat. "After all, the best way to be noticed in a bad way is to look like you're trying not to be seen. Then everyone thinks you're up to something. HIPS plan." "And other body parts," snickered Squidman, ducking back from a quick elbow jab. "Yeah, I know...Hide In Plain Sight. Still, I do feel a little uncomfortable without the rest of the team as backup in case some time-travelling villain like Defacto V noticed us and sends goons." "Well, Kid Macro's too likely to blow our cover, Rotanna's bound to attract the attention of Schwa Khan, who may or may not have recovered from being dropped in a spaghetti maker by now, Cheeez Arrow's fairly useless if he can't keep his bow around and if Bludwulf met his past-self here it could get unpleasant," noted Sig.Lad. "What, collapse the timespace continuum? I thought Looniversal time travel wasn't that touchy?" said Kat. "It isn't. But two of him would still get unpleasant." "Ah." "We're here," hissed Squidman. "The semi-secret research lab where Dr. Amick-Tention worked on the Super Molder Serum. It's located behind this rubber recycling center, a perfect place for the raw materials he'd need, and a good patriotic front as well." The trio strolled into the recycling center. Behind the counter stood an exceptionally ugly man...crooked yellow teeth, bulbous nose, beetling brow and cauliflower ears. When he spoke it was with a thick German accent. "Ja? Any tires oder rubber products to rezykle, mein Herren?" Sig.Lad leaned in conspiratorially. "We're here to see Dan, in back. Tell him it's about his pet cat we've been taking care of for him." The man paused for a moment, then lowered his voice to a whisper. "May I zee your passes, Herren und Fraulein?" When the trio produced impeccably forged identification from their pockets (it's amazing what a laser printer can do these days, is it not?) he nodded and disappeared through the back door. A moment later he reappeared and ushered them through the door, staying behind to secure it. Once they were gone, he opened a drawer and pulled out a miniature radio rig. "Zis is Agent Blucher. Doktor Amick-Tention's catalyst must be close to completion. Request orders." The buzz of the reply was inaudible to all but him, but he smiled crookedly. * * * * Squidman had seen some powerfully built men before, but they had all been superheroes. To see such a giant as Dr. Amick-Tention, a normal human being, was enough to take even him aback. Yet for all his size and implied power, when he spoke it was softly and in a measured tone. "Jerry tells me you're here about my cat. But since I own no cat, and since you're wearing fashions which are not yet in vogue, may I assume that you're friends of Panta's?" Sig.Lad nodded. "Apparently only Mr. Naime's shadow has kept your own deductive prowess from being legend, Dr. Amick-Tention. Yes, we're from the future...you see, I'm the first and so far only subject of your Super Molder Serum, and it's unstable. I was hoping that with your help and the technology available in my time a cure could be fashioned." "Hmm. I'd ask if I was successful in my own time, but your own mission tells me I wasn't. No, I won't ask more questions. The man from the future who asked for copies of my notes last week warned my extensively about the dangers of knowing your own future...may I assume, however, that he was the one who used you as a test subject?" "Probably. Unfortunately, he's lost in the timestream." Sig.Lad paused and looked at a worried Kat. "Kat, what's wrong?" "I'm not sure...most of my memory banks on this era are phased out...but that guy back at the counter looked like a Nazi Spy of some kind." "Ol' Jerry Blucher?" chuckled the man-mountain of P.U.L.P. "Sure, he may be German in descent, and maybe he's rather sinister looking and sounds suspicious, but...say, you know...now that I think about it...." Then the building exploded. ============================================================================== NEXT ISSUE: Can the addition of Dan Amick-Tention to the storyline help Sig.Lad? Will the author actually wrap up Writing Chance next issue, or find a way to drag it out another issue? Will the rest of the cast show up next issue? And just how unpleasant would it be if Bludwulf met his past self? All this and more genre-convention- twisting action in Dvandom Force #45, "Born Under A Bad Sign"!