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Subj: Pt.2 It's sad to see robots used for evil rather than good :(
Posted: Tue Apr 07, 2009 at 07:33:52 pm EDT
Reply Subj: #331: Yet More Untold Tales of Ghost Taxis: Fare Play (complete)
Posted: Mon Apr 06, 2009 at 04:48:46 pm EDT (Viewed 48 times)



    Quote:
    #331: Even More Untold Tales of Ghost Taxis

    Go straight to Part One: The Rules Debate
    Go straight to Part Two: Garbage In, Garbage Out

    Previously: Lair Legionnaire Nats (Bill Reed) has accidentally gained ownership of the Ghost Taxi Co., a mystic organisation currently facing hostile take-over by the sinister Westminster Necropolis Company. The very souls of Nats’ employees hang in the balance. So naturally Bill calls in some help…

    #329: Untold Tales of the Ghost Taxis
    #330: More Untold Tales of the Ghost Taxis: Road To Nowhere

    Other previous chapters at The Hooded Hood's Homepage of Doom.
    Descriptions of cast at Who's Who in the Parodyverse.
    Locations explained in Where's Where in the Parodyverse    .

    ***


    1. The Rules Debate

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Okay,” sighed Vinnie De Soth as he looked at the people assembled around the abandoned warehouse off Kapitz Street. “I’m really, really sorry about this. I’d like to apologise in advance.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“He’s the sorcerer supreme now, right?” Nats checked nervously. “And he’s saying sorry to us. Xander the Improbable never said sorry to us.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Not even for that things at Mumphrey’s Christmas bash,” agreed Dancer, “The time where Con Johnstantine stole my underwear. One of the times.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Guys,” prompted Hatman, pointing to the nervous acting sorcerer supreme. “I think you might be putting Vinnie off his game a little.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Um…” said Vinnie.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Sorry, Vinnie,” Dancer said, a little shamefacedly. “Xander never blushed furiously when he had to speak in front of large numbers of people.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Just imagine everybody’s stark naked,” CrazySugarFreakBoy! advised De Soth. “I always do.”

        Vinnie glanced over at the Manga Shoggoth and winced.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Maybe if you were to put your head in a paper bag?” suggested Icy. The visiting snowman had been dragged along by Yuki Shiro and he was keen to be helpful. “I tried it that one time but the bag got all soggy and disintegrated. But some people say it can be very comforting. The bag I mean. Not the disintegration.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Disintegration has its charms too,” bubbled the Manga Shoggoth.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“It’s fine,” Vizh tried to comfort the nervous jobbing occultist. “Just try not to start singing ‘I’m Henry the Eighth I Am’. That’s my key tip. Oh, and check that your pants are on.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’m really really sorry,” repeated Vinnie De Soth. “But not quite as much now, so thanks for that.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Also you should make sure you’ve emptied the paper bag first,” offered Icy. “Otherwise you have to spend an hour or so getting grocery out of your snow head.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“But at least the frozen stuff didn’t thaw out,” offered Dancer brightly.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“We still haven’t quite worked out how Icy appears to cause localised temperature and humidity shifts inside an enclosed n-space transient environment,” Al B. Harper noted. “Every time I ask him for a sample he just snowballs me.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“As if you hadn’t learned about asking for samples after that time with the Shoggoth,” chided the Librarian. “We’re still trying to get the molecules in Lab Three to come down off the ceiling.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“The briefing,” Hatman steered the Lair Legion. “Don’t make me loose Yuki on you.” He glanced across the warehouse to where the dark funeral-suited agents of the Westminster Necropolis Company waited without moving. Many of them didn’t appear to even be breathing. “You don’t see those guys bantering away when we’re waiting for the big plot revelations.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“You don’t see those guys having their own ongoing series either,” countered CSFB. “But hey, it’s your call, o glorious leader.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Tell us now,” Yuki advised Vinnie. “While there’s a lull in the dialogue.”

        Vinnie took a deep breath and began. “There’s this challenge,” he explained. “You all know by now one of Paradopolis’ weird occult manifestations is the Ghost Taxi Company, a mobile supernatural event formed through a series of arcane convergences that aren’t fully understood unless you’re Xander the Improbable.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Which you’re not,” Icy clarified helpfully. “You’re Vinnie De Soth. You’re Vinnie, this is Hatty, that’s CSFB! and Yuki and the Shoggoth and Vizh and Al B. and Dancer and the Librarian and Nats, and I’m Icy. Over there are some scowling baddies and…”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Well, it’s good that we have somebody else around to footnote the obvious,” Al B. muttered to the Librarian. “Saves you getting all the exposition dialogue.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“I do more than the references,” Lee Bookman objected. “I also do the background research that tends to save the day at the end.” He glanced across at Al B., “I also don’t go evil every so often.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“I prefer to think of it as otherly moralled,” the archscientist shrugged. “Anyway, I didn’t destroy any worlds, did I?”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“So” Vinnie interrupted, clenching his teeth together, “The charter given to the Ghost Taxi Company by the Triumvirate is pretty clear about the terms of their continued existence. They have to have a mortal anchor, an owner with psionic and necromantic potential, who acts as the conduit through which they can still interact with the material realm.”

        A young woman with curly ginger hair escaping from a taxi driver’s baseball cap nodded. “That was my dad,” said Rosalind ‘Roswell’ Fellkirk. “He took over the firm back in ’87. We’ve been running it ever since.” She glared over at Vinnie then beyond him to the agents of the Westminster Necropolis Company. “Guess I’m not psychic enough to satisfy some people.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“But Nats is,” Al B. recognised. “His whole flying power is psychokinetically based and he absorbed the psionic spoor of the alien psychostave so…”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Exposition,” the Librarian interrupted, disguising it as a cough.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“I just wanted an apartment,” Bill Reed, the newly returned hero known as Nats objected. “Maybe something with its own bath. I never wanted to be the new MD of some Ghost Taxi firm.”

        Mr Wormcallow of the Necropolis Company smiled a parchment smile. “If that is the case then I have papers here to ensure a smooth and mutually satisfying transaction of assets.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Hey, nobody is getting any satisfaction just yet!” Dancer objected.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“And it’s not often she says that,” Vizh added. “Sorry. I miss Lisa. Sometimes the jokes just have to come out.”

        CrazySugarFreakBoy! faced the mortician. “We’re the Lair Legion,” he insisted. “When we’re involved nothing goes smooth.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“What he said,” agreed Yuki with a sigh.

        Hatman glared across at the operative of the WNC. “Since the guy you’re trying to acquire the taxis for is the demon lord Sage Grimpenghast we’re not exactly keen to see this hostile takeover succeed,” he warned.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“And your moms dress you funny,” added Nats.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“So in cases like this where there is contested jurisdiction of paranormal estates there are procedures to resolve a dispute,” Vinnie persisted. He was rapidly learning that you had to struggle on as acting sorcerer supreme or the Parodyverse just rolled right on over you. “In fact there’s a contest.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Based upon the Third Age Nirvarnic Conventions of the Host Interregnum,” the Librarian noted. He exchanged a defiant glare with Al B.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“A contest?” Hatman frowned. “Wait a minute! We’ve done one of these before! Back in India, on the world tour!”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“The Rakshasa games!” Visionary shuddered. “I still have nightmares! Although Woopsa still sends me a Ramadan card.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“We get to fight the Westminster Necropolis Company?” checked Yuki.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“You get to compete with them,” clarified Vinnie. “Basically this is a scavenger hunt. You chase after five maguffins of doom. Whichever team gets the most of them back here wins.”

        Yuki saw a tiny glimmer of smugness cross Mr Wormcallow’s face. She didn’t like it.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“What are we looking for?” asked Vizh. He’d got a sinking feeling about all of this.

        Vinnie held out his fists. In each hand were five index cards. “Split into teams,” he told them. “The Lair Legion are the defenders, so they can use the Ghost Taxis for travel if they need to.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“At a discounted fare,” interjected Roswell. “Slightly discounted.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“The Westminster Necropolis Company already have their Hearses of Misery,” footnoted the Librarian.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Magic,” muttered Al B. darkly.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“All you have to do is find the item then get it back here and hand it to me,” Vinnie explained. “Of course, some of these things are going to be a bit difficult to locate and harder to acquire.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“I love party games,” enthused Icy.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“I tried Blind Man’s Bluff once,” the Shoggoth reminisced. “It turns out I’m bad at bluffing.”

        Hatman quickly divided up the teams. “Me and Dream. Vizh, Icy. Yuki, Al B. Librarian and Dancer. Shoggoth, Nats.” He paused for the inevitable celebrations and expressions of dismay then went on, “All of you keep in touch with Hallie if you can.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“But not in a Vizh kind of way.” Yuki couldn’t resist the comment. It was just a shame the possibly-fake man wasn’t eating or drinking this time.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’m going with Bill Reed,” announced Roswell. “As his driver. And to keep an eye on him, because if he screws this up and destroys my father’s life work and damns everyone I care about to servitude with the WNC I’ll need to be close by to kill him.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Seems fair,” considered Yuki Shiro.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“As long as it doesn’t hurt him,” added Icy judiciously.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Are there written rules?” demanded the Librarian. “Only I’d quite like a copy for the files.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Is it too late for me to call Donar to sub for me?” checked Visionary.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Does nobody care that magic makes no damn sense at all?” grumped Al B. Harper.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Can we start?” Dancer asked. “Only those Necropolis guys will probably explode if they have to try and be any creepier.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Fine,” agreed Vinnie De Soth. “The challenge of oneric transcendence will begin.” He raised his fists. “Pick a card. Any card.”

    ***


    2. Garbage In, Garbage Out

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Mobile Anti-Superhero Hazard Elimination Robots… destroy them!” shouted Stillwell Crothers, President of ZOXXON Oil’s Biodiversity Recycling Division.

        Hatman and CrazySugarFreakBoy! glanced around them as the six gleaming killer machines rose up from the swamp around them. Then they grinned.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Dude, there’s six robots,” Dreamcatcher Foxglove pointed out to the cackling ZOXXON officer. “Six. Would you like us to wait here while you send for reinforcements?”

        Hatman swapped out the Sherlock Holmes cap that had led them to this illegal waste dumping operation in the Wookiegetlucky wetlands for something a little more physical. “Call off your tin toys, Crothers,” the leader of the Lair Legion warned. “You’re going down.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Destroy them now!” howled Mr Crothers, gesturing with his finger to indicate exactly which pair of meddling superheroes he wanted eradicating from the planet. In these days of corporate bonus cutbacks he had targets to meet.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“We gave him the chance,” Hatty noted to his old crimefighting partner. “Now we do it the satisfying way!” His pitching cap gave him the power to pick up CrazySugarFreakBoy! and hurl him hard straight at the first robot.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Wheeeeeee!” shrieked the wired wonder as he caroomed off the first mechanoid, tumbling it backwards. “This guy really didn’t do his homework did he?” CSFB!’s impossibilitium body magnified the kinetic impact with the MASHER and hurtled him into the next one harder, and the third one harder still. “Doesn’t he know who we are? The team supreme? The brave and the boastful? The world’s famousest?”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“I’d say not,” Hatman agreed. The capped crusader donned his Hurricanes cap and battered down the site security guards and their recovered Parody Master weaponry. “We beat the bad guy who had this stuff made. We’re not going to give up against some guy in a Wall Street three-piece who got second-hand alien tech at Factor X’s garden sale.”

        CSFB! continued his frenetic bouncing between the confused MASHERs, hammering between them like a fluorescent pinball off ever-more-battered bumpers. “It’s not like these robots even get a footnote in the list of bad guys we’ve taken down,” Dream mocked. “Whose idea was it to paint them dull green to strike terror into the hearts of their enemies? You guys would make the Decepticons cry!”

        Hatman spotted the incoming hovertank and flew through it with his Torpedos hat. CSFB! seemingly exploded in a shower of silly string that clogged the MASHERs together and set them up for the moment where their weaponry hammered into each other. Hatman flattened their remains with the tank.

        CSFB! somersaulted into Stillwell Crothers, knocking him down into the mud and ruining a $5000 suit. “What’s up, Doc?” the embodiment of chaos asked the corporate raider. “You do know that dumping waste in a federally protected zone of environmental significance is a naughty thing to do, right?”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Illicit disposal of toxic and radioactive materials from the sites of the nuclear fallout from the Parody War,” Hatman frowned, approaching the fallen executive. “The EPA fines alone are going to cost your bosses half a billion dollars.”

        Crothers sneered up at the capped crusader and the sucrose superhero. “You have no proof of anything!” he crowed. “This operation is wholly owned by LargeCo, a former subsidiary of ZOXXON Oil which is now completely independently run with no ties whatsoever. There is no link back to my former employers and no liability other than to an asset-stripped shell company.” The businessman smirked. “As of thirty seconds ago. Computers.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Really?” Hatman responded as CSFB! dragged Crothers from the mud and patted him down to get the slime off him. “Hallie?”

        The Lair Legion’s resident artificial intelligence appeared on Hatman’s comm-card. “Hi, Jay. Yes, they tried the old retrospective asset transfer subroutine. I blocked the whole transaction cycle and traced the property and finance chain right back to ZOXXON’s central division. I’ve already called Garrick for the subpoenas and placed a hold on thirty-two hidden accounts ZOXXON had squirreled away while they appealed for presidential bail-outs.”

        Crothers suddenly stopped smirking. CSFB! dropped him back in the swamp.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“You’re busted,” Hatman told the executive. “And I don’t just mean your wind-up robot toys.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Wait!” Crothers gurgled, turning an odd shade of puce. “It doesn’t have to be like this. You could be rich…”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Sure we could,” CrazySugarFreakBoy! agreed. “You should see the income I pass on to charity for my condoms franchise, for example, and that’s just the start of my CrazySugarSexToys! Line, as endorsed by my mom and her business associates, including such primo-quality shtuppwear as…”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Later,” Hatman interrupted with a shudder. “Much, much later. Really later.” He turned back to Crothers. “For now we just want to trace one particular bit of junk you happen to have illegally dumped here.”

        Crothers didn’t follow. “What?”

        CSFB! gestured round to the desolate basin that had once been a thriving living swampland. “Somewhere in this cess pit you’ve made you dumped some rubble from a clean-up contract you took in Paradopolis. You cleared the wreckage from a battle of ours at a nightclub called the Willow. You hauled it away. We want it back.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Specifically we’re looking for something that was in the rubble of Camellia of the Fay’s mystic stronghold,” Hatman clarified. “An item called the Amulet of Lost Souls.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“I don’t know…” stammered Crothers. “We just dump stuff…”

        CSFB! hogtied the executive with silly string and dumped him back in the mire. “I guess it’s plan B then,” Dream said.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Guess so,” Hatman agreed. He dug deep into his multi-dimensional Hatility Belt and pulled out a badly-knitted homemade bobble-cap. He touched it with thoughtful affection then carefully placed it on his head. His whole body language changed.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Which way?” CSFB! asked.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“That way,” Hatty answered. His voice had a soft southern drawl to it. “About three hundred yards, about fifteen feet down. Ah can get at it with my miners hat.” He hastily pulled the bobble cap from his head and stared at it. “I still miss Whitney,” he admitted. “I’ve got to return this to her sometime.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“But you’ve gotta admit that even when she’s not here she’s one helluva Sorceress,” admitted CrazySugarFreakBoy!

        Hatman carefully returned the cap to his belt. It wasn’t exactly a traditional witch’s hat, but then Whitney Darkness wasn’t exactly a traditional witch. The strange nostalgic sense of her presence left the capped crusader and he set off through the swamp to the location he’d sensed before.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“What about me?” wailed Crothers.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“The cops’ll be along to arrest you shortly, bozo,” CSFB! promised him.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“But I’m sinking!”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Better hope they don’t stop for donuts on the way then. Bye!”

        Hatman and CrazySugarFreakBoy! made their way through the swamp.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Any sign of the opposition yet?” Jay Boaz asked his partner. “The Westminster Necropolis Company have magicians on tap too. If they have someone this close then they’d be able to fix the Amulet’s location as well, even through the background interference of the Nexus of Unrealities.”

        The Wookiegetlucky Swamp was the focal point for a series of tangled multi-planar events that made Earth the current narrative centre of the Parodyverse. As such it could be a weird place to travel through. When Dreamcatcher Foxglove gazed at the tangled undergrowth through his Gawker Goggles on their supernatural spectrum setting things got really trippy. “Holy Ditko!” he muttered to himself.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Over here!” Hatman called. “They’ve dumped a cache of debris in this mud pool. It’s not a job for my miners hat. Too wet. I think it’ll have to be the Beavers.” He glanced over at CSFB! “Let’s assume you already did the joke, okay?”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Okay. But you have to assume it was pretty damn funny and cracked you up even though you’re a stuffy born-again Canadian.”

        Jay dragged his Beavers hat on, took a breath, and plunged down into the foetid pool.

        The foetid pool rose up around him, clamping him tight in solidified garbage as it formed into a towering humanoid shape. All the breath was squeezed out of Hatman’s body as the thing rose from the swamp.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Trespassers!” hissed the trash giant. “Pissants stealing the source of my powers! Crapsack does not like trespassers!”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Crapsack?” CSFB! blinked for a moment. “Oh, Crapsack! Sentient garbage-based supervillain from Young Heckfire that got promoted to being guardian of the Nexus of Unreality! You can manifest anywhere on the planet through any pile of reuse and shape and control it as you want.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Crapsack knows what Crapsack can do! Crapsack is going to squash you like bugs.”

        Hatman fumbled for his Blasting Cap before he blacked out.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Dude, we totally don’t need to fight,” CSFB! called to the towering trash-heap. “We’re not gonna harm the Nexus. We just want some abandoned doohickey from the heap of crap somewhere around your butt area and we’re out of here.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“You steal Crapsack’s crap!” thundered the monster of detritus. “You stop men who bring Crapsack more power!”

        Hatman blasted away a chunk of Crapsack’s chest and rolled free. “Okay, we do this the hard way then,” he announced.

        CrazySugarFreakBoy! bounced in, bracketing Crapsack with fizz-bang whizz-bangs then popping bottles of rocket fuel soda into the mountains of garbage. “This is kind of like fighting the Yurt with hygiene problems,” he noted.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Last chance to back away, Crapsack!” Hatman warned, donning his Suns hat.

        Crapsack abandoned humanoid form and fell upon them in a tidal wave of rubbish.

        Hatman burned through the wall of detritus, incinerating the material to toxic gases. CrazySugarFreakBoy! somehow surfed the wave, narrowly avoiding being buried under ten feet of radioactive waste. He grabbed up Hatty as the capped crusader began to falter. Radical physical manifestations tended to exhaust Hatman after a short while.

        Crapsack growled. Fifteen more giants of garbage rose from the devastated swamp. All of them were Crapsack, and all spoke in unison. “You people have no idea what I’m capable of! You people have no idea how powerful you’ve made me! But you will. You all will! One day I will bury you all and make this world my own!”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“We’ll get Amber our Admin gal to send you a booking form for your turn at world domination,” CSFB! promised him. “In the meantime how about you bite my…”

        And then time stopped. CSFB! found himself strangely aware of it somehow, but unable to avoid the effect. He hung motionless in mid-bounce, Hatman clasped in his arms. Crapsack towered over him, unmoving.

        Mr Mortlack of the Westminster Necropolis Company restoppered the bottle of timefreeze decanted many years earlier when Madame Symmetry of Synchronicity had held the Chronometer of Infinity. Mr Testament and his team of undertakers glided past the combat and carved their way into Crapsack to retrieve the Amulet of Lost Souls.

        The mortician wiped off the faeces from the strangely-carved mithrum trinket and held it up to the light. It seemed to flicker and twist of its own accord. CSFB! thought he could hear distant anguished screaming.

        Mr Mortlack raised his old-fashioned top hat at the time-locked heroes. Mr Testament spoke. “You could pursue us, of course. Your driver, Mr Levi, could attempt to follow us along the paths we travel. Or you could assist the children of Nansosket Elementary School, three miles from here on the edge of the swamp. I understand that they have just experienced a sudden incursion of flesh-eating zombies and are all about to die in horrible grotesque ways. It’s entirely your choice. Good day, gentlemen.”

        The Westminster Necropolis Company returned to their hearse and drove away.

        Time reasserted itself. Hatman dragged on his Tornados hat and surrounded the Crapsacks, dragging them together and spinning them high into the air.

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Hat, we got zombies at a school three miles from here!” CSFB! called over the tempest. “Meanwhile the creepy bad guys are getting away with the maguffin of doom. No more Gwen Stacies!”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Agreed,” boomed Hatman through the tempest. “You take the WNC. I’ll take the school.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“And Crapsack?”

        Hatman whirled the detritus-shapes of the Nexus guardian ever more fiercely. “He’s going to the school to help in his own special way,” promised the capped crusader. “Let’s see how the walking dead get on with five hundred tons of crap.”

        Ã¢â‚¬Å“Take photos for later, buddy!” grinned CSFB! He twirled impossibly quickly and fired a single strand of silly-string impossibly far and fast to snag the vanishing hearse. The black vehicle dragged him along behind it as it disappeared into dreary dimensions.

        The Hat-tornado rose high over the swamp, dragging Crapsack with it, then bent away towards the nearest civilisation, where death stalked the innocent.

        Jericho Levi watched the heroes vanish from the drivers seat of his Ghost Taxi. “I’ll, um, just keep the meter running then, shall I?” he asked hesitantly.

    ***


    Continued in Part Three on the enchanted Isle of Avalot when Visionary and Icy “See How My Garden Grows”.

    ***


    Original concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2009 reserved by Ian Watson. Other Parodyverse characters copyright © 2009 to their creators. The use of characters and situations reminiscent of other popular works do not constitute a challenge to the copyrights or trademarks of those works. The right of Ian Watson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved.






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