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| And the Day is Saved! |
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Posted by: classicdrogn - 11-17-2023, 05:16 AM - Forum: Website
- Replies (4)
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I notice that the server clock still seems to be on Daylight Savings Time. Is this something that needs manually changing somewhere? It's not a critical issue of course, just a point of curiosity.
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| An update? |
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Posted by: ckosacranoid - 11-14-2023, 06:57 PM - Forum: Website
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Hey Bob, any chance to ask for an update to the front page by chance to say you are still alive at least? The last update was in 2019.
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| Genre question |
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Posted by: robkelk - 11-06-2023, 08:06 PM - Forum: General Chatter
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Does a book count as a techno-thriller when it's set in 1973? The story features items that are high-tech for the time, but the time is a half-century ago.
(Chris Hadfield has written two of these, so far.)
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| 2016-11-01: The Displaced Mrs. Pollifax |
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Posted by: Bob Schroeck - 11-01-2023, 09:25 PM - Forum: Stories
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The Displaced Mrs. Pollifax
A "ManaChara" Story
by Robert M. Schroeck
Mrs. Emily Pollifax normally woke with the sun. It had been her habit for many years while living alone in an apartment in New Brunswick, New Jersey. This habit had continued once she had remarried (to the second great love of her life, one Cyrus Reed, a former judge) and moved with her husband into a spacious farmhouse in Connecticut, not far from New Haven. There were times she was tempted to lay abed, either by its comfort and warmth or by her husband, but most mornings she rose promptly and attended to her yoga and karate before brewing a pot of coffee and considering what to prepare as breakfast for two.
This was not one of those mornings.
Mrs. Pollifax found herself half-awake, turning back and forth in a vain effort to return to a comfortable position that would let her slide back into sleep. Eyes still closed, she reached blindly for the covers to pull them back up over herself, to no avail -- her aimless grasp landed on nothing that felt like the down comforter that graced their bed now that Summer had firmly given way to Autumn.
Unwillingly waking just a bit more, Mrs. Pollifax murmured, "Cyrus, where are the covers?" No answer was forthcoming, save for the sound of her husband's long, deep breaths. Still asleep, she mused, an unwanted clarity pushing more of her desired drowsiness aside until she realized that she was sitting up rather than laying down.
She came instantly to full wakefulness, but with a caution born of a decade's adventures at the behest of the Central Intelligence Agency Mrs. Pollifax did not open her eyes, and instead tried to gather as much information about her situation as she could with her other senses. The first thing she determined was that they were moving. How could I have missed that before? she wondered to herself. A surprisingly faint engine noise plus an occasional bump or sway brought to mind a number of her past experiences, and she deduced that she and Cyrus were in a truck of some sort.
A particularly noticeable jolt in the ride revealed that she, at least, was restrained in some manner, and a moment's subtle flexing told her that no, she was not bound hand and foot, but was instead wearing a winter coat and strapped into her seat with what felt like a standard seat belt. A familiar pressure on her head suggested she was wearing one of her hats. I wonder which one. Discarding the thought as irrelevant, she concentrated on what else she could learn. She felt no warmth on her exposed skin, nor did she see sunlight shining red through her closed eyelids -- it was either night or their seat was in some enclosed portion of the truck. The air was cool without being chill, and carried no telltale scents.
How curious. She decided to risk opening her eyes.
Mrs. Pollifax was gratified to see that her deductions were, on the whole, correct. She was belted into the center position of a bench seat in what appeared to be the cab of a truck, with Cyrus still softly snoring to her right, his head leaning against the door window. Beyond the window was darkness, the glass mirrored with the lights of the dashboard. She briefly frowned, and peered through the windshield. Outside was a landscape that looked like she imagined a video game might from the inside: a perfectly straight road ahead of them with no sign of any other traffic, extending to the distant horizon, with a featureless vista of absolutely flat plains to either side. No landmarks of any kind punctuated the unnaturally empty terrain.
She squeezed her eyes tight for a moment, then forced herself to look away, instead continuing her survey of the cab. To her left was, she was gratified to note, the driver, who had glanced over at her when she turned her head. He was dressed in a plain grey coverall with a matching baseball cap, and as best as she could tell, he was tall and slender, with pale skin, night-black hair that clung tightly to the contours of his skull, and eyes of a peculiar dark crimson shade. His fingers, wrapped around the steering wheel, were not what she expected of a truck driver -- they were long, slender and delicate -- the fingers of a concert pianist.
"Awake, I see," he commented and she was surprised to hear him speak in a refined, upper class British accent. Behind her, Mrs. Pollifax could hear her husband stirring.
"Yes," she replied, seeing no need (or way) to deny it. "I do hate to be cliche," she continued, "but I must ask. Where are we?"
The driver nodded solemnly. "A perfectly reasonable question, although one I suspect you might want to wake your husband before I answer."
"No need," Cyrus rumbled sleepily behind her. "I'm awake. Trying to remember what we were doing last, though." He paused, ever so briefly. "Not succeeding."
"We'll get to that in a moment," the driver said. "Please allow me to introduce myself," he added, shooting her a sly grin. "I work for a man of wealth and taste." He paused, as if expecting a response, but when Mrs. Pollifax simply waited politely, he gave a little shrug and continued. "My name is Sebastian Michaelis. I am, in truth, a butler by trade, but recently I have found myself pressed into a number of other roles by the needs of the organization which employs me. This is not the first time I have served as a driver in recent months, nor, I suspect, will it be the last."
Mrs. Pollifax nodded. "I presume it is at the behest of your employers that Cyrus and I are your passengers?"
"Quite so," he replied, keeping his eyes on the road ahead, which, she noted, showed no signs of any variation or traffic at all. She frowned momentarily when she realized that the ride no longer evinced any of the any of the slight bumpiness which had woken her, and was in fact now perfectly smooth -- almost unnaturally so.
"Who are your employers and why have they an interest in us?" she asked.
"To answer that," Sebastian said slowly, "I shall have to explain matters which you may find hard to believe." He paused for a moment, as if waiting for them to react, before continuing. "I must start with a brief excursion into cosmology. To put it simply, there is more than one universe. There are an infinite number, running through a greater multiverse. Imagine, if you will, a room in which strings or threads stretch from one side to another. Some stand alone, others find themselves in bundles, and others twine together to form yarn or even rope." He glanced quickly at them and shared a sharp-toothed smile. "Now imagine the room is not three-dimensional but twelve, and the strings run every which way among those twelve dimensions. Whatever image is now forming in your minds is the closest most humans can get to visualizing the structure of the multiverse."
"All well and good," Cyrus growled. "But what does it have to do with us?"
"Why, everything, sir," the driver said with a faintly mocking grin. "Each universe is a roll of the dice, from stillborn miniverses whose size can be measured in feet to vast continua bursting with energy and life. And with an infinity of possible worlds, every possible world appears. Even those which one might call... fictional." He glanced over at them again. "Although 'fictional' is entirely a local concept; that which is fiction in one universe is another universe entirely."
"I've heard of this," Mrs. Pollifax offered. "They call it the 'Many Worlds Theory', don't they?" Cyrus made a surprised-sounding noise and she turned back to him. "I do read the science section of the Sunday Times, dear."
He chuckled. "Fair enough, Em."
As she turned back to face Sebastian, Mrs. Pollifax's mind raced ahead to a conclusion she didn't think was unwarranted. "You're about to tell us you're taking us to a fictional universe, aren't you?" she declared.
Sebastian laughed delightedly. "You live up to your reputation, Mrs. Pollifax. But no, not precisely. I am not taking you to a fictional universe. I am taking you from one."
"From one...?" She frowned as the odd claim ran through her mind and her thoughts on the matter suddenly shattered and reformed. "Us?" she blurted. "We're fictional characters?"
"Again," Sebastian said, "'fictional' is a purely local concept. Rest assured, you are quite real, the both of you. But yes, there are a large number of universes in which you, Mr. Reed, and a number of your friends and acquaintances all appear in various works of fiction. Usually it's a series of books, anywhere from twelve to fifteen volumes, published between the mid-1960s and the early 2000s. Sometimes there are also movies, and occasionally a TV series."
Emily felt her eyebrows crawl up into her hair. "TV? Really?"
Sebastian smiled without taking his eyes off the endless, perfectly-straight road. "Indeed. I am reliably informed that Angela Lansbury frequently portrays you. At least in those worlds where she exists and does not end up starring in a competing series."
"Well, I suppose I should take that as a compliment," Mrs. Pollifax murmured.
Cyrus hmphed. "Why?"
"Why am I transporting you from one universe to another?" Sebastian had turned just enough toward them for her to see that he had one eyebrow raised. "There is something of a crisis. I would encourage you to think of it as a natural disaster, one that is striking many universes at once. My employers are seeing to it that... refugees... from the disaster are provided for, and in some cases we actively collect and transport them to a safe timeline to wait out the crisis."
"That what we are?" Cyrus asked. "Refugees?"
Sebastian dipped his head slightly. "I'm afraid so, yes."
"What happened to our world?" Mrs. Pollifax inquired with some trepidation.
"Sadly, I don't have that information to hand," Sebastian admitted. "I know that you were ejected from your timeline because of the crisis, as many others may have been, but without checking in with my home office, I could not tell you the current state of your world." He dipped his head again. "My apologies."
"About that -- your employers?" Cyrus prompted.
"Ah, yes." Sebastian nodded. "While I am specifically employed by an organization called Funtom Property Management, we answer directly to a number of higher-dimensional beings who are normally in conflict, but have united to deal with the the crisis."
Mrs. Pollifax felt a certain trepidation at this. "When you say 'higher-dimensional beings'..." she began.
"Gods and demons," Sebastian confirmed blandly. "Heaven and Hell have put aside their eternal battle until the Multiverse can be... stabilized, at least, if not entirely saved. They have jointly delegated oversight and management of the displacee situation within the timeline we have come to call 'Refuge' to Funtom. Which is owned and operated by a demon, making it admirably suited for the task."
"How so?" Cyrus demanded.
Sebastian smiled. "Heaven likes to think itself above crass economic matters, and thus has no use for money. Whereas Hell could easily finance the acquisition of residences and hiring managers to run them." He chuckled. "I expect the negotiations over what Hell gets in exchange for bankrolling the refugee program will take quite a long time."
Cyrus harrumphed as Mrs. Pollifax numbly murmured, "Yes, I suppose that makes a certain amount of sense."
"Calling bull on this myself," Cyrus declared. "Was a judge, young man. Know better than to accept a cockamamie story like that without evidence."
"Indeed," Emily agreed. "I think it would be for the best if you simply let us off at the next stop we see."
The driver chuckled softly, and lifted one hand from the steering wheel to gesture to the road ahead and the featureless landscape through which it ran. "I would happily comply with your request if it were at all possible, but the terrain you see before us is not so much a real place as a representation of our transition between worlds, provided for your comfort," and here he grinned, almost viciously, thought Mrs. Pollifax, "and sanity."
"A representation," Cyrus scoffed.
"Yes, or perhaps 'simulation' would be a better term. That said, if we were to somehow come across a viable stop, I would gladly allow you to disembark, though I assure you that if you are patient, we do have a... final destination." Sebastian's grin grew even wider and more vicious, in her opinion. "Meanwhile, Mr. Reed, if you would look upon the truth with your own eyes, all you need do is roll down the window next to you and the Void between the worlds will be there for you to view in all its madness-inducing glory."
Mrs. Pollifax felt her husband begin to shift his position in preparation to doing just that. Seized by a sudden intuition, she lay her hand on his. "Don't, Cyrus."
"Em?"
She shook her head. "I have a bad feeling about what would happen."
Cyrus was still for a moment, then patted her hand. "For you, Em. Won't do it." He looked back up at Sebastian. "Still don't believe you, young man. Extraordinary claims and extraordinary evidence, as they say."
Sebastian's grin had faded, and he slowly nodded without taking his eyes off the unending, unvarying road ahead. "Nor would I expect you to. So, given that I've described myself as working for a firm owned and operated by Hell, I trust it will not surprise you..."
Emily gasped as the young man became something... other. The features of his face hadn't changed, but everything else... His skin, already pale, had become paper white. The plain gray coveralls and cap were gone, and he was now clad in something skin-tight and gleaming black. His long, delicate fingers, so out of place for a truck driver, were now tipped with black talons that if anything made them seem even longer and more delicate. From his back grew two massive, black-feathered wings that impossibly fit in the space behind him. His hair had become wild, and a pair of heavy black ram-like horns curled among the locks. As he continued speaking, Sebastian turned to face them, revealing longer, sharper teeth and slit-pupiled eyes that actually glowed a fuchsia shade. "...that I, myself, am a demon?"
A spike of terror shot through her heart, but Emily wrestled it down. If Sebastian had intended any harm to them, he could have easily committed it while they were still asleep. Or were we actually unconscious? she mused. "Cyrus," she said softly after a moment, "I'm inclined to believe him."
Cyrus' first attempt at a reply came out as more of a gasp, but then he swallowed and nodded. "Think I do, as well."
"Now that we've established that I am, in fact, telling the truth," Sebastian -- the demon -- continued, "I should tell you this entire experience has been arranged solely to help you two make the transition from your world to Refuge. As a demon, I must admit I wasn't originally in favor of it," and here he favored them again with another fierce grin, "but I find I've quite enjoyed sampling the darker emotions you've both been feeling." Without warning, he abruptly returned to his human guise, startling Emily no less than his initial transformation had.
"Why a truck?" Cyrus asked. "And not a car of some sort?"
Sebastian chuckled. "The truck, I have been given to understand, is a newly-traditional means of accomplishing the transition, although for your comfort it was decided that it was better that you were both inside it rather than in the street in front of it, as is the usual arrangement."
"I'm sure we're both grateful for that decision," she murmured softly, and Sebastian chuckled again, before lifting his gaze to the simulated horizon ahead.
"Ah, and here's our exit," he declared brightly.
Turning to look, Emily could make out for the first time a glowing speck in the artificial distance. Over the next few seconds it grew visibly closer, taking on the shape of an archway, shining gold around its edges, filled with a less intense, but still shining, golden light. Fascinated, she and Cyrus stared as the archway approached at speed -- Or rather, as we approach it, Mrs. Pollifax thought.
Then, with a flash, they were through.
Suddenly the endless twilit landscape was replaced with bright sunshine; ahead of them were dozens of cars and trucks scattered across a half-dozen lanes, ramping up into an overpass which make a wide, graceful curve to the left. More lanes of traffic at different levels were visible in all directions, and the trees beyond were half-bare and well past peak Fall color. Overhead was a brilliant blue sky dotted with a few scattered clouds. She glanced in the rear-view mirror on the door against which Cyrus leaned and saw the exit of a tunnel. She turned to Sebastian. "Is this...?" Emily began to ask.
Sebastian nodded. "The New Jersey end of this universe's Lincoln Tunnel, in the city of Weehawken. We're heading up the Helix and are now less than an hour away from our destination."
"Which is?" Cyrus asked.
Sebastian just grinned, but Emily suspected she already knew.
"Oh," Sebastian added, "it's shortly after 8 AM on Tuesday, November 1. The current year here is 2016. I should warn you that while things may superficially resemble 1993 in your home universe, there are quite a number of differences, subtle and not. Be prepared for surprises."
"Suppose we should," Cyrus grumbled, echoing her own thoughts. "Only makes sense, after all."
They sat silently as Sebastian adeptly navigated the truck through the maze of lanes and highways. Absently, she noted that automobile design had continued the trends that had been "new" in 1993 -- cars, even some trucks, were smoother and more rounded, more "futuristic" looking to her eye. Oddly, many of the cars had tiny protrusions that looked like shark fins above their rear windows; she wondered what purpose they served.
When Sebastian took the on-ramp for the New Jersey Turnpike she was surprised that he passed through the toll plaza without stopping, only slowing down a bit to go through a lane marked with a sign reading "E-ZPass" before taking the ramp to the southbound side. "E-ZPass?" she asked as her mind churned furiously. "Some kind of automated toll-paying system?"
Sebastian smiled broadly. "Quite so! First implemented in 1997, just a few years after your time."
She nodded silently, watching the road spool past. She had traveled this route several times in late 1980s, and thought she recalled it well enough, but cataloged the few differences she was sure of: a train station in Secaucus, mere feet away from the other side of the Turnpike; a Newark that seemed cleaner and brighter-looking, at least from a distance; a bright blue building with huge yellow letters spelling "IKEA" on the opposite side of the highway from Newark Airport; and then they were in Elizabeth, where the Turnpike was abruptly enclosed by walls easily as tall as the tractor-trailers that punctuated the early-morning automobile traffic.
Sebastian must have seen her reaction at the sight. "Sound barriers," he said. "Added in the late 1990s to spare the neighborhoods to either side the traffic noise."
"I see," she murmured.
In a few more minutes they passed the infamous refineries which in her time had given this entire area both a foul reputation and an even fouler stench. She noted that while there was still some manner of odor, it was faint, almost imperceptible, and the refineries seemed different in construction somehow. One had a massive building that proudly declared itself "Linden Cogeneration Plant ... Energy Efficient ... Environmentally Advanced." Not long past it, the industrial landscape faded into light woods and the occasional bit of wetlands.
As Sebastian passed several exits over the next half-hour or so, Emily grew excited. She was certain now that she knew where they were headed. And when he gradually eased the truck into the rightmost lane a mile out from exit 9 and she spied Two Tower Center rising up above the tree line, she felt vindicated. Home! Sebastian was taking them home. Her home, at least, the city where she had grown up, married, and raised two children before ennui (and what she had long ago realized was a death wish, now well and truly overcome) had sent her into the arms of the CIA. To be sure, Connecticut had been her home for five years now, ever since she had married Cyrus, but a part of her heart would always belong to New Brunswick.
Sebastian drove through another "E-ZPass" lane in the toll plaza at the end of the exit ramp, then turned abruptly right to take another ramp up to merge into the traffic on northbound Route 18. Emily could barely contain herself. What would her hometown look like, this far into the future?
She was not disappointed. Almost as soon as they had gotten onto Route 18 (which had gained sound barriers of its own, she noted, as well as more and broader traffic lanes) she could see them: skyscrapers! When she had left New Brunswick, it had been almost exclusively lower, older buildings; the tallest ones around had been a set of apartment blocks adjacent to Route 18 not far from Douglass College, the county administration building just off the downtown area, and the bright white tower of Johnson and Johnson's headquarters next to the river (which at sixteen stories hardly counted, did it?). Two of the apartment blocks had been demolished and replaced with what looked like a townhouse complex, but several more tall (and unfamiliar) buildings closer to the heart of the city more than made up for them. And even from 18 she could see that clustered around their feet were lower buildings just as new and modern as their taller counterparts. Overall, the city seemed cleaner, newer to her -- like the cars around them just ever so slightly futuristic, without looking like something out of Tomorrowland.
As they approached the overpass crossing the combined Albany Street and Route 27, she gazed upon the familiar long white form of the Hyatt Regency. Despite being several stories tall, its length coupled with the parking garage that stretched out from one end gave the structure the illusion of being short; and to her eye it fit far better in with this version of New Brunswick than the one she'd known. It echoed in style, though not in height, the Johnson and Johnson tower which stood on the opposite side of Albany. She pointed out both buildings to Cyrus as they rode the overpass and Sebastian took the exit for Route 27 South and Albany Street. This struck her as odd; now that she thought of it she would have expected him to have taken the New Street exit half a mile back. It was far more convenient for reaching Livingston Avenue and her old residence at the Hemlock Apartments.
Three short westward blocks later, she murmured, "Ferren Mall's scheduled for demolition? It was so new..." The broad brick building was surrounded by Jersey barriers topped by chain link fences and green screening, and at the sight she thought sadly of a merry impromptu Garden Club dinner at its Mongolian barbecue restaurant -- J.P. Lee's, she suddenly recalled, now certainly long-gone. At least the train station on the other side of the street was still there, with new platforms to boot. Sebastian, she absently noted, had started humming under his breath; "The British Grenadiers", she thought. How odd.
She lost sight of the station as Sebastian inexplicably turned right onto Easton Avenue and drove under the tracks, and Emily was forced to admit that wherever he was taking them, it was not, as she had thought, to the Hemlock Apartments. A quick look across the cab revealed Robert Wood Johnson Hospital through the driver's side window, even larger than it had been when she'd last seen it. "I swear," she murmured to Cyrus. "That hospital is going to overrun the entire city some day, the way it keeps expanding."
Cyrus chuckled, and Mrs. Pollifax remembered saying much the same to him during his first visit to New Brunswick, after they'd returned from Africa. "Didn't believe you before, Em, but it's definitely bigger than last time." He was silent for a moment. "Nowhere near your old building, are we?"
"No, we're not." She glanced at Sebastian, who continued humming and seemed to be pretending that he couldn't hear a word of their conversation as they crossed Somerset Street. Beyond him she noted with what was starting to become a familiar disappointment that Legends Deli had been replaced by an "Efes Mediterranean Grill". "We seem to be heading toward Rutgers," she added with a vague wave ahead and to the right. "At least the traffic hasn't changed," she noted wryly as she eyed a bookstore with exposed red-painted girders making up part of its façade which had replaced a garage, and a restaurant where there'd been a boarded-up former laundromat. True to her comment, though, the narrow two-lane street was surprisingly crowded for a Tuesday morning at the beginning of rush hour.
At the light that marked the end of the block, Sebastian abruptly turned left onto Hamilton Street. "We're not going to the University," she observed blandly.
"Thought as much."
Hamilton Street hadn't changed substantially, as far as she could recall. While she had grown up in one of the grander old neighborhoods on the southeast side of the railroad tracks -- mostly gone even in her time -- the smaller, closer buildings lining Hamilton and its side streets felt familiar, almost welcoming. Oh, she was sure there were still changes, but this part of the city felt untouched by the years, unlike downtown.
Mrs. Pollifax had almost drifted into a nostalgic haze, leaning up against Cyrus, when they crossed Louis Street and shortly afterward the neighborhood shifted from closely-spaced two-story urban houses to lower suburban-style homes with larger yards. "We've left New Brunswick," she murmured to her husband as they passed a school bus coming from the opposite direction. A wordless sound of acknowledgment was his only response. She turned to Sebastian, who still bore a disturbing grin on his face. "You've been playing games with us."
"Only a small one," Sebastian agreed as he negotiated a bend in the road, "and that only when offered by circumstances. This is indeed the most direct route to our destination, and if I took some small delight in misleading you about it with a deliberate lie of omission, and in your subsequent disappointment, well, I am a demon, after all. One gets one's little pleasures where one can." He glanced over at her with a raised eyebrow. "At least I did not drive you to the location in this world where the Hemlock Apartments would have been, only for you to find a different building entirely in its place."
Emily opened her mouth to reply sharply, then paused and considered this. "I suppose I cannot blame you," she finally said. "We are each of us bound by our nature, after all. I am grateful you have dealt with us as straightforwardly as you have." Cyrus harrumphed again, and Emily resisted the urge to elbow him, however gently she would do it.
Sebastian inclined his head to her without taking his eyes off the road. "You are very welcome, Mrs. Pollifax."
She straightened herself. "Now that that has been settled, I'll ask again what I should have insisted on more firmly at the start: where is it you are taking us?"
Grinning sideways at her, Sebastian flicked on the truck's left turn signal. "Why, right here."
As he made the turn into a two-lane road between two banks of long brick apartment buildings, Emily spied a red and gold sign in front of the closest doorway on the building to the right. "Douglass Gardens Apartments?"
"A wholly-owned subsidiary of Funtom Property Management," Sebastian agreed cheerfully. "And one of the residences I mentioned earlier." He made a right turn into a parking lot between the first two buildings on that side of the central street. To her surprise, it was filled not with cars but the remains of some manner of festival or party. Four trucks of varying size with "Friendly Rental Service" blazoned on them were parked along the other side of the lot, and several teams of men -- dressed for cold weather -- were breaking down a half dozen or more tents and pavilions, while others were folding and stacking chairs and tables.
As Sebastian brought their truck to a stop near what had to be the back door of the first unit in the building, she realized that there was someone waiting there -- a blond man with glasses and a mustache, wearing a puffy black jacket (of the down-filled variety, she thought), faded denim jeans and a black baseball cap with "Princeton" in orange on it. He had a manila folder under one arm, and waited patiently as Sebastian turned off the engine and got out.
"Sebastian. Good morning." Emily thought he sounded cautious, maybe even a touch nervous, suggesting he might know Sebastian was a demon. "I wasn't expecting to find you playing truck driver."
"A butler who can't use a truck to chauffeur two people between universes isn't worth his salt," Sebastian replied smugly.
"Uh-huh." The blond man glanced up and over Sebastian's shoulder at Emily and Cyrus and shot them a quick, friendly smile. "We got a call to let us know you were bringing some new displacees to our little bit of heaven."
"Indeed." Sebastian turned back to the cab, and a moment later helped first Cyrus and then Emily from the truck. When she reached the ground, Mrs. Pollifax was glad for the winter coats she and Cyrus were wearing; despite the bright sunlight and lack of wind it was easily freezing out. "Mr. Cyrus Reed and his wife Emily Pollifax-Reed."
Behind his glasses, the blond man's eyes widened. "Mrs. Pollifax? Wow. I'm sorry," he held out his gloved hand, and Cyrus then Emily shook it. "Bob Shrek." (Or so it sounded to Mrs. Pollifax. She later learned it was spelled "Schroeck".) "My wife Peggy and I manage this complex for Funtom. Welcome to Douglass Gardens." He paused a moment, then added, "Peg and I were very much into your adventures back in the 90s, Mrs. Pollifax, and we have most of the books published about you in our library. If you'd like to read them sometime." He shifted his attention back to Sebastian, who was holding out a clipboard.
"Sign here to accept delivery," the demon said with a smirk.
The manager tilted his head and gave Sebastian a flat stare. "Really?"
"Proper records must be kept." If anything, Emily thought both Sebastian's British accent and his smug tone had grown even more pronounced at that.
Mr. Schroeck took the clipboard and a pen from Sebastian and quickly read through the papers on it. "This says 'two large packages and assorted smaller packages'. I presume Mr. Reed and Mrs. Pollifax-Reed are the large packages, but the rest?"
"Ah, yes." Sebastian strolled around to the back of the truck. Mr. Schroeck followed him, and so did Emily and Cyrus. She noticed for the first time that the truck was a box design, painted white with red and black highlights and a large "Ekman Transport" logo on the side. It had the same slightly rounded, slightly futuristic look as many of the other vehicles she'd seen. As they joined the demon and the apartment manager the former was already swinging open the doors to the cargo area; as he did, Emily spotted what must have been the manufacturer's emblem -- three red diamonds in a trefoil arrangement. Her attention was suddenly drawn away from it when she realized that inside the truck, among several assorted cardboard cartons, were two sets of very familiar luggage.
"Since I already had the truck, I took the liberty of rescuing some of the Reeds' personal effects as well as the Reeds," Sebastian said. "Including a selection of Mrs. Pollifax's favorite hats."
"You did? How thoughtful of you," Emily exclaimed, surprised.
Sebastian smiled and sketched an abbreviated bow.
"Well," Mr. Schroeck declared, "we can't have Mrs. Pollifax without her hats, can we? Even if they don't have any passports hidden in them." He shot her a grin, which Emily found herself returning. "Let's get this all unloaded and into your new place," he added as he pulled out a ramp cleverly hidden in the floor of the cargo area.
It took only a few minutes to unload their possessions -- luggage and boxes alike -- from the truck, interrupted only by the appearance of a gaggle of girls calling out greetings to Mr. Schroeck as they piled into a minivan. "Some of your new neighbors," he said as they drove off. "Nice girls, all of them. That bunch goes to Rutgers." Cyrus took one of the larger suitcases from him halfway down the ramp, after which he hopped off it. He then slid it back under the cargo area's bed before closing and latching its doors. "Thank you, Sebastian," he added as he turned to the demon and finally signed the papers on the clipboard.
"You're very welcome," Sebastian replied before facing Cyrus and Emily. "Mrs. Pollifax, Mr. Reed, it was a pleasure meeting you and serving as your driver."
"Thank you for rescuing us," Mrs. Pollifax replied.
"Get the feeling we'd've shown up here one way or another," Cyrus noted, "but thank you for making the whole thing easier."
Sebastian made a deep, formal bow to them, the hand holding the clipboard sweeping back and up behind him, that despite his tradesman's clothes seemed entirely appropriate for him. "Truly, it was no imposition on me," he said as he straightened up again. "And now I must go. No rest for the wicked, after all," he added with the sly grin which Mrs. Pollifax now thought suited him well.
Once goodbyes were exchanged, Sebastian climbed into the truck and a minute later had vanished into the traffic on Hamilton Street. Mr. Schroeck turned to back them and held up a ring with several keys on it. "Well," he said. "Why don't we get you moved into your new apartment? And after that we can do a grocery run, as well as pick up anything else you might need?"
Cyrus nodded. "Yes. Too cold to stand around out here."
Mrs. Pollifax gave an exaggerated shiver. "Oh, yes, let's."
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Nine hours later, Emily looked around the open area that made up most of the "common room" section of the complex's community center. So many new people to meet and get to know -- it was almost like one of her adventures, but without the danger and the urgency that always seemed to underline them. Or at least, she thought with a moment of shame, without danger to her -- her entire world was in danger, with only Cyrus and herself safe.
She shook her head and reminded herself that that was true for almost all the people surrounding her right now, too -- from Mrs. Schroeck ("Peggy, please") through the sweet young Japanese girls who bowed to Cyrus and respectfully called him "Grandfather" to the young men who moved like dangerous fighters but were ever so charming to the rather bombastic fellow in the glasses to... Emily took another glance across the room just to confirm that her recollection hadn't been confused. ...To the disturbing fellow who was green.
And then there was the goddess. Whom she would have thought was just another sweet young girl except for the palpable aura of goodness that radiated from her. Not to mention her arrival through the mirror.
They had all gathered there for an informal welcome dinner, with herself and Cyrus as the guests of honor. After checking with them, Mr. Schroeck ("Please, call me Bob") had arranged for the delivery of a large quantity (and variety) of Japanese food, through a battered-looking hand-held device of gold metal and glass which Emily dearly wished to examine more closely. Despite all her travels, she had never tried Japanese cuisine before and was quite enjoying it, even though more than one person had informed them that they were missing half the experience because it was take-out -- they'd been assured that the proper presentation added so much more.
She would have to take their word for it. Even so, it must have been good Japanese food because so many of her new neighbors were enthusiastically indulging.
She glanced across the room to where Cyrus was in deep conversation with a thirty-something fellow who had a shock of brown hair covering his eyes and an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, and a tall, strong-looking black man with milky white eyes and a shaved head. Mrs. Pollifax smiled at the sight as another trio of tiny girls with Asian features and unexpected hair and eye colors bowed and introduced themselves to her. She did her best to memorize their names (Umi, Fuu and Hikaru) and bowed back -- a practice her lower back was coming to regret -- before thanking them for their welcome.
As the three returned to the buffet table for what looked to be their second helpings, a pair of young boys, about eight or ten she thought, ran laughing through the room together. One had eyes hidden by his hair much like the fellow with the cigarette did, and she thought it likely they were father and son. They were followed closely by a teenaged girl with bright magenta hair, also laughing, who weaved through the other attendees with an almost feline grace. So many unusual hair colors, Emily mused, and they all seemed natural, unlike dear Franca in Sicily with all her wigs. She thought of Sebastian's comments about infinite worlds and infinite possibilities, and decided that some worlds must have more possibilities than others.
She wondered what kind of possibilities her world had had -- and if it would still have any possibilities when the crisis (whatever it was) was resolved. Emily's thoughts turned to her children and grandchildren, and to Bishop and Mr. Carstairs, her nominal superiors -- and dear friends -- at the CIA. If only she could be sure they were all safe... but it would do them and her no good to fret. Hope for the best and carry on, as she had always done in her adventures. And what was this but another adventure, only painted on a much larger canvas than any before it? She would persevere, and whatever she could do to help, she would do it, and gladly. Just as she always had.
With luck, Mrs. Pollifax thought, she would once again be unexpected, but exactly what was needed.
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| 2016-10-02: Tell me, what do you want? |
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Posted by: robkelk - 10-18-2023, 08:21 PM - Forum: Stories
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Antigonish, Nova Scotia, Canada
October 2, 2016
Epsilon was reading through his contract, again. He stopped when he reached the part about helping his residents — "willing to assist the people around him or her" was in the job description — and realized that he needed more information if he was going to do that. So he'd better find out what he could assist them with.
Beyond the obvious things that he could see in practically any episode of Ranma ½, that is.
"What's it worth to you?"
Epsilon sighed quietly. He should have known better than to start with Nabiki. "I'll just put down that you want money and control over your own life," he said in the vaguely-friendly tone that he'd learned over years of working in a call centre (and had been using quite a lot since his displacees had arrived).
She nodded and quickly said, "Sure, I can live with that."
Which left him a bit worried as to what else she wanted that she wasn't willing to admit to for free.
"What do I want while I'm here? It would be nice to be back in class, at a school where nobody wants to beat me up in order to date me."
"Right, we should see whether we can get all of you into school, if you want to continue your studies here." Epsilon made a note to talk with somebody at Dr. John Hugh Gillis Regional High School, once he knew who else wanted to take classes. "Is there anything else that we can help you with, Akane?"
"Only if you can get Ranma to take me seriously," she whispered sourly.
"Sorry, but I doubt even the gods can help you there."
"When he fought Saffron, he said he loved me. But he keeps stringing along all the other girls! He might love me, but he doesn't respect me!" After she caught her breath, Akane added in sudden realization, "Or any of the others, either."
"That means it's his problem, not yours."
"But it affects me!"
"Respect would be nice," Mousse said, "but I'm so used to Shampoo and Cologne not respecting me that I don't know what I'd do if actually got some respect. Who's that American comedian who doesn't get any respect?"
"Rodney Dangerfield?" Epsilon asked.
"Yeah, he knows what my life's like. Or knew," he corrected himself. "No, wait, maybe you can help me. Is there any way to get rid of Saotome? Maybe send him to a different residence?"
"He'd have to be willing to move. I don't think that'll happen any time soon."
Mousse shrugged. "It was worth a try. Could you look the other way while I take care of the problem my way, then?"
"Are you asking me to be complicit in a murder? Because that would get both of us sent to jail. Besides, do you really think that hurting the boy that Shampoo loves will get her to love you instead?"
"Maybe, maybe not. But I know that she and the rest of the Joketsuzoku believe this: Obstacles are for killing."
"I'm not a fighter, so I can't stop you, but please don't kill anybody while you're here."
"You Westerners are all soft that way. I don't see how your societies function when a person isn't allowed to stand up for his rights." After a moment, Mousse added, "Of course, I don't see a lot of things."
"That, we might be able to help you with. Eye surgery has come a long way since 1992."
"Shampoo busy-busy with lunch rush. Talk later."
"I don't know whether you can help me. I turn into a pig when I get wet, I have the worst sense of direction in the world, and the girl that I love didn't come with us to this reality."
"But Akane-san..." Epsilon started, only to stop when Ryouga shook his head.
"I know that I don't have any hope to win her heart. Saotome's beat me to her, the cad. And I don't mean any of the other girls here, either. Mousse likes Shampoo, and he can have her. Did you know she tried to turn me into lunch for Saotome the day she met me?"
Epsilon nodded. "I saw that episode, yes."
"So you know why I can't trust her. Ukyo-san's nice enough, I guess, but she doesn't really understand me despite being a martial artist herself. No, the girl I love is Akari Unryu. She knows who I am and what I am, and she still loves me. Can you talk to your bosses and get her here?"
"I... have no idea."
Ryouga sighed. "I didn't think so. I suppose you can't do anything about the Jusenkyo curse, either."
"I could give you a Thermos."
"I already have three. The water doesn't stay warm enough for more than an hour or two."
"Oh." After a moment, Epsilon said, "I might be able to do something about your lack of direction. Ryouga, have you ever heard of GPS?"
"Yes. They tried to arrest me for vagrancy."
Epsilon looked puzzled for a moment, then had a realization. "Not the Guelph Police Service. How did you get to Guelph, anyway? No, don't answer that. GPS as in Global Positioning System - a set of satellites and portable devices that help people find their way around."
"Like a map? I've never been good with maps."
"These devices tell you where to go."
"I'd like to tell Saotome where to go..."
"Not like that."
"I know, but I couldn't resist. I don't follow directions well, either. But it's funny..."
After a moment, Epsilon asked, "What's funny?"
Ryouga looked straight at Epsilon, thought for a moment, then said, "I end up going places I never thought I could get to, just by walking. And since we all came to your world, I've discovered that kami really exist. What if they're guiding me?"
"Using you as their agent, you mean?"
"Like that Sam Beckett guy seems to be in that TV show that that cute girl in New Brunswick mentioned."
"I didn't know you've been to New Brunswick, although I'm not surprised."
"I do get around, don't I? No, wait, it wasn't New Brunswick, it was the next town over."
Epsilon looked puzzled; New Brunswick, as far as he knew, was a province, not a city.
Ryouga didn't seem to notice. "Somerset, that was the place."
That town, Epsilon had heard of. "Do you happen to know the name of that girl?"
"Oh, yeah. She's named Yui. Or maybe Ui. No, that's her sister. Definitely Yui."
Of course, Epsilon thought.
"But now that I'm thinking about it, I'm starting to think that being a wandering Ally of Justice just might be what I'm destined to be. And if that is my purpose in life, all I really need from you and your bosses is a bed to sleep in once in a while and a place to keep my stuff."
"I think we can accommodate you. Literally."
"I got pretty much everything I want, Epsilon," Ranma said. "Except that Pops and Mr. Tendo keep pushing me to marry Akane."
"You don't want to marry Akane?"
"Not as long as I'm being forced into it. Oh, could you arrange for people to come by and challenge me? Not every day, or even every week, but I gotta keep my skills honed, and nobody here's good enough to do that any more."
Epsilon nodded. "I'll see what I can do, but I can't promise anything. If you want to work on your speed training, there are plenty of farms around that could use somebody to pick berries right now."
"That's not much of a challenge."
"It is if you don't want to squeeze the berries to pulp while picking them, and make them useless."
"I'll think about it. Oh, speaking of thinking," Ranma paused, looked around, didn't hear any comments from Ryouga, Mousse, his father, or Nabiki, and went on, "I got to the point where I was actually enjoying school. Can you sign me up for classes here?"
"I already promised Akane that I'd look into that. I'll add your name to the list."
"Thanks. Oh, and can you get Mousse to stop bugging me about Shampoo?"
Epsilon sighed. "You do know that the easiest way to solve that little problem is to convince Shampoo that you don't want her, right?"
"She ain't taking hints."
"Tell her outright."
"Can't do that. Honour's on the line."
"Whose honour? Yours, your family's, or hers?"
Ranma didn't have an answer for that.
"Tell our ungrateful children to hurry up and get married already," Genma said as Soun re-arranged the pieces on the shogi board.
"I think that that's something I should leave to their parents to do," Epsilon quickly replied. "I'm not part of their social circle."
That comment got him a couple of sour looks from said parents, but neither man said anything about it.
October 3, 2016
"Of course I want Ranma-honey as my husband. Our fathers made an agreement, and the Saotomes already took the dowry that the Kuonji family offered."
Epsilon thought for a moment. "What if they gave back the okonomiyaki cart? Or paid for it, with interest?"
Ukyo shook her head. "The only payment I'll take is Ranma. The Kuonji family has already made enough money that the loss of the cart isn't a financial issue. What it is is a matter of honor: He has to marry me, and then we work together in a okonomiyaki-ya."
"He is a martial artist, though. Do you think he'd be happy as a small-businessman?"
"Who cares? Honor says that that doesn't matter. Even you should be able to see it: If he marries anybody but me, I'm honor-bound to kill him and whoever he marries."
"Or die trying?"
"No, sugar, that isn't an option."
Epsilon knew a losing battle when he saw one. "Is there anything else, that isn't related to Ranma, that I can help you with?"
Ukyo thought for a moment. "I wouldn't mind going to school."
"Only one thing Shampoo need. Manager can help by hiring priest and booking wedding chapel for Shampoo and Ranma."
"Doesn't he have a say in the matter? You aren't in China any more, or even in your own universe; those laws don't matter any more."
"You say Shampoo not bound by laws of the Joketsuzoku now that she in this world. Shampoo say she and great-grandmother are last of the Joketsuzoku. Oh, and Mousse," she added dismissively. "That make it more-more important to keep old ways alive. Shampoo must marry airen. It matter of honor. Who care he not love Shampoo?"
So much for that idea, Epsilon thought. "I suspect he cares. And there's also the fact that he needs to be seen to sign a marriage licence, of his own free will. Other than getting Ranma, is there anything that I might be able to help you with?"
"No. Manager not fighter or cook, cannot train Shampoo."
"But I do know that there are other fighters and other cooks in other residences. Maybe some of them would be able to teach you."
"Shampoo think Shampoo train them, not other way around, maybe."
"As long as Shampoo is happy, I'm happy. Although using that word reminds me: Where is Happosai?"
"I think you're inviting trouble needlessly by asking that, Cologne."
"I think I'm being properly paranoid, Aaron. Everybody who lives in this building has a long-standing relationship with each of the other people here, except for you, our local guide. Happy is the only person who fits into our group who isn't here. And there's obviously a bed set aside for him in Soun's apartment. I don't believe in luck. Where is he?"
Epsilon thought for a moment. "I want to say you're wrong, but I can't believe that. I can ask around for what good it'll do."
"Thank you. Oh, there is something that you or your friends can help me with. Ever since we arrived here, Shampoo and Mousse have been deferring to me."
"Shampoo told me that she considers the three of you to be the last of the Joketsuzoku. Isn't it normal for her to defer to her village Elders?"
"Village elder? Me? I suppose that it might look that way from the outside because I'm so old, but I'm not in charge of anything there. If I was, they'd have never let me go to Japan. No, I'm just an old woman who was enjoying her retirement until my great-granddaughter went and got herself cursed at Jusenkyo." Epsilon very carefully did not point out that Cologne had taken an active part in said cursing. "But that doesn't solve my current problem. Somebody needs to tell those two to stop."
"Ah," Epsilon pointed out, "you did just say that you wanted Shampoo to be happy."
"I did, didn't I? In that case, I need some lessons in leadership."
"Would some informal lessons work?"
"How informal?"
"The 'throw you into the deep end and let you learn from doing' level of informal, alongside some other people who are doing their best to lead their groups."
Cologne stared at Epsilon for a moment. "You're trying to get me to do some of your work for you, aren't you?"
"Not really. You'd be working beside me in the Advisory Board that the residence managers have set up to deal with things that are too big for one residence to deal with but too small to bring to the attention of the staff at Funtom."
"That sounds like something you should be doing, not me."
"I don't know what to look for in your group that would be a sign of a problem. You've known everybody else here for years."
She thought for a moment. "All right, you've got yourself a colleague. But I expect some actual on-the-job training in the role."
"I think that can be arranged."
"He didn't talk to you? I'm going to give him a piece of my mind!"
Akane headed for the door, but stopped in surprise when Kasumi said, "Imouto-chan." Kasumi almost never called her that; she usually used her name. "You can't force him to like me."
"But why wouldn't he like you?"
"I don't know. Does it matter?"
"I think it matters."
Phantomhive Manor, County Kent, UK
October 9, 2016
Sebastian looked through the very first report filed from the Antigonish residence. Not bad. Somewhat sparse in details, though. He read through some of the longer entries, and wondered with a bit of trepidation about the entry for the Hibiki boy. If there actually was somebody on the Other Side using him as a cat's-paw, it bore investigating as to why. Quietly, so as not to upset the current agreement between the Daimakaichou and her equivalent in that blessed place.
He smiled at the mention that Shampoo wasn't speaking fluent English. This wasn't something to bring to the attention of that little debugger in Heaven, this was something that he would have done in the mortal's place. Smart mortal, playing to the stereotype and not revealing her fluency.
Then he reached the end of the report before he expected to. No, this won't do at all. We need full information. He took a sheet of paper from his desk and dashed off a hand-written note to be delivered in the next post:
Quote:"Mr. Peori,
The Transplanted Persons Services report that you filed is insufficient. The report on one of the Tendo sisters is woefully incomplete, and you failed to report on another of the Tendo sisters at all. Nobody told or forced you to begin this process, but since you did, you have to finish it. I expect a complete and updated report next week.
— Sebastian Michaelis,
Funtom Property Management
Then he made a copy of the report that he did have and composed a covering letter for it, addressed to Dr. Harold Shea in Vicksburg. For the sake of Lord Phantomhive's building-repair budget, something needed to be done about the personality conflicts in the Antigonish residence — the sooner, the better.
Antigonish, Nova Scotia, Canada
October 10, 2016
"So, you're back. Did your bosses tell you to do a better job of finding out what I want while I'm here?"
"They did," Epsilon admitted to Nabiki.
"I guessed this would happen as soon as you gave up without even trying to make a deal with me."
"I doubt I can afford your prices. But now that I've been told to do this, I can use company funds."
"Put your money away," Nabiki said, which astonished Epsilon. "I'll give you this one for free because it helps me get what I want: Not everything that's an asset can be measured by money."
"So why do you charge Ranma for every favour he asks from you?"
Nabiki laughed. "Because that's all he's got, besides his martial arts skills. And he was already beating up Kuno for free."
Epsilon thought for a moment. "If you tell me what you want while you're in Refuge, I might be able to help get it for you."
"That's the way to do it! Now, can you help me find a decent high school around here?"
"That depends on your definition of 'decent'."
"Some place with an International Baccalaureate Diploma Programme, if that's still a thing. I want to get into a good university with a good business program."
"The local high school offers IB Diplomas. I found that out when I got the enrolment forms for Ranma, Akane, and Ukyo."
"Well, then, help me with the paperwork and I'll get out of your hair."
"What little hair I have left," he muttered.
"Oh, you have more than Mr. Saotome does."
"Oh, my. I don't need anything, really."
"That wasn't what I asked, Ms. Tendo."
"I see." Kasumi wasn't happy about being kept at a formal social distance by her building manager, but she had no choice in the matter. "The harmony of the house is important to me; I would like to see it preserved as much as possible. I also hope that I am doing a good job helping to keep the building clean and the people living here fed."
Epsilon sighed deeply. "That is what everyone else here expects of you, Ms. Tendo. It still does not answer my question."
She thought for a moment, choosing her next words carefully so that she wouldn't annoy her landlord any further. The harmony of the house was important, after all. "I would very much like to continue my studies, and become a chiropractor. Does the university here offer courses in this field?"
"They do not."
"Then I see no way to further my studies. We don't have any money to send me to school in another city." After a moment with no reply from Epsilon, she continued, "I wouldn't mind a boyfriend. Oh, not you, of course, somebody closer to my own age. I used to think that I didn't want a boring boyfriend, but after seeing Ranma's life, some boredom looks attractive now."
"I can't help you with either of those things, Ms. Tendo."
"I know that, Mr. Peori. But you did ask, so I would be remiss if I failed to answer."
As he was getting ready for bed, Epsilon took a look at himself in his bathroom mirror and sighed. "So, Aaron... what do you want?"
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| The Adblocker, blocker, blocker.... |
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Posted by: Dartz - 10-18-2023, 12:28 PM - Forum: General Chatter
- Replies (5)
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It's blocksception.
At least for youtube. Which has launched a full blown war on people blocking its adds.
Anyway - add the following to your customer filters on uBlock and make the nag screens go away,
Code: youtube.com##+js(set, yt.config_.openPopupConfig.supportedPopups.adBlockMessageViewModel, false)
youtube.com##+js(set, Object.prototype.adBlocksFound, 0)
youtube.com##+js(set, ytplayer.config.args.raw_player_response.adPlacements, [])
youtube.com##+js(set, Object.prototype.hasAllowedInstreamAd, true)
Youtube ads are cancer, designed to force you to buy Youtube Premium.
Unlike Spotify, Youtube Premium gives you nothing but the peace and quiet you used to get before the stuck ten minute alt-right scumbag ads on every video.
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| The Middle East. Once Again. |
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Posted by: Dartz - 10-11-2023, 05:41 PM - Forum: Politics and Other Fun
- Replies (19)
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So on Saturday, Hamas raided out of Gaza, and attacked several small settlements and a music festival. The resulting massacre led to over a thousand civilian deaths, with hundreds more taken hostage.
The Isreali Defence forces had been caught completely napping - or paying more attention to the West Bank areas.
This has, of course, led to Isreali going absolutely Gomorrah on Gaza for the last three nights, with no real signs of stopping.
Biden has weighed in behind Isreal. So has Ukraine. So has basically the entire world on some level - with varying levels of 'restraint'.
The disinformation bots are in full swing.
It's an Iranian op to disrupt Saudi' normalisation of things with Israel
It's a Russian op to distract the West
Ukraine armed Hamas with Western weapons
Russians armed Hamas with captured Western weapons to blame the West
Russia and Iran are involved somehow.
The EU is suspending aid
The EU is NOT suspending aid to Palestine
The EU is specifically supplying aid to the Palestinian Authority - which is technically an enemy of Hamas
Countries are blocking the suspension of aid....
It was just one Hungarian minister who shot his mouth off.
Israel provoked this.
Israel didn't do enough to help Gaza
Israel did too much to help Gaza.
Citizens of $country are hostages too.
Egypt claims to have warned Netanyahu days before. This claim's been repeated in multiple places from other sources with timeframes ranging from the 10 days, to 3-days. Which is basically the end of Netanyahu's career if its true.
Otherwise it's all noise, with the only signal being the desperate sadness, the death tolls and the response and the vague sense that those who were truly responsible are unlikely to ever be punished.
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