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HH
In Reply To
J. Jonah Jerkson

Member Since: Fri Nov 19, 2004
Posts: 140
Subj: A splendid story of care and karma in the peerless Parodyverse parlance!
Posted: Fri Dec 16, 2016 at 02:26:20 am EST (Viewed 3 times)
Reply Subj: The Baroness, Part 70. The Price of Everything and the Value of Nothing
Posted: Thu Dec 15, 2016 at 10:07:59 pm EST (Viewed 605 times)

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The Baroness, Part 70. The Price of Everything and the Value of Nothing

In the ambulance speeding towards Phantomhwk Memorial Hospital

“You know, Charlie, it’s just amazing that that Zemo lady back there landed smack in her old condo’s back yard. “

“It’s the Parodyverse, Sam. Karma and all that. What surprises me is that she’s still the owner of record, after taking over the world and all that.”

The ambulance radio interrupted the philosophizing. “Rescue 7, Rescue 7, Phantomhwk responding to your 214 request for Zemo, Elizabeth, female, dob April 1, 1984. Copy? Over.”

Charlie picked up. “Copy, Phantomhwk. Rescue 7 here. Over.”

“Divert, I repeat, divert your 214, Rescue 7. Phantomhwk doesn’t want her within 10 blocks, let alone admit. Over.”

“Rescue 7 copies your divert order for 214, Zemo, Elizabeth. What the fratz is going on, Phantomhwk? This woman needs stabilization after severe concussions and contusions. Over.”

”One, her health insurance through Ozem Galactic Holdings, LLC has been cancelled for non-payment, Rescue 7. Two, if she bitches that we have to take her anyway as an emergency, tell her to remember Allan Harsch and Suzie Sheltie1
. We’re still looking for them. Phantomhwk out.”

“Where the hell do we divert her to, Charlie? GMY General? “

“Maybe. All the other hospitals on this side of the river have already radioed divert orders for her.”

Two minutes later Gothammetropolis York General Hospital also found a reason to reject the semi-conscious Baroness.

“Now wadda we do, Charlie?”

“We either drop her at the Zero Street Mission and hope Reverend Fleetwood remembers his Marine medic training, or go back to the condo , try to break in the door, drop her there, and try to get a next of kin to take care of her.”

The woozy ex-empress of Earth interrupted. “Urrgh. Neither. Take. Take back.”

“Back where, ma’am?”

“Back to Schloss. The castle.”

“Sorry, ma’am. There ain’t no castle there. Just a big hole in the ground .”

“Otto.”

“Auto? You want us to put you in a car? You can’t drive, ma’am.”

“Baron Ot-to.”

“Bare an auto? Cars are bare anyway, most of ‘em.”

Cath Simmons broke in from the shotgun seat up front. “She means her grandfather, Baron Otto Zemo. He’ll be there.”

“Not likely, unless he had a force field like Lizzie here. And then he’d be bouncing around Parody County like she was.”

“He’s unalive. Don’t ask me to explain it. He’ll be there, and probably won’t have a speck of dust on him.”

“Well, as long as there’s next of kin we can discharge her to, that’s the place.”

Ten minutes later, the ambulance screeched to a halt at the gates to the Schloss driveway, the only surviving structures of the vast complex. The two black sculptures of griffin vultures that had surmounted the gates had been twisted into abstract forms resembling bunnies by the shock waves. Baron Otto Zemo, faultlessly attired in a grey suit with a disturbing resemblance to SS mufti, was sitting on a large boulder just inside the gates. A few inches farther was the lip of the crater. The Baron was accompanied by an older, somewhat weedy man and another man instantly recognizable as a corporate functionary.

Outside the gates, a scrum of reporters, camerapersons and bloggers surged toward the ambulance, scenting a story, or even some pictures for the national tabloids and video blogs.

Charlie and Sam unloaded the stretcher and attempted to push it through the small crowd of journalists. When they failed, Cath Simmons pushed her way to their side and discharged a small bolt of electricity that cleared a path. To her surprise, the minor discharge of power caused her to stagger and reel, as if she’d run a half marathon without carbo loading. Sam steadied her and the two attendants shoved the stretcher through the gates before the ink-stained mob could react.

One reporter somehow had endured Cathode’s electrical sweep and shoved her way to Elizabeth Zemo’s side. Thrusting her microphone at the dizzy archvillain’s side, she trumpeted:

“Stacey in the Morning, WGMY 104.1 News. Ms. Zemo, is it true that this catastrophe is the response of the Eskimo Pantheon to your oil exploration activity in the Ellesmere Strait?

“Ah, heh?”

“That sounds like a yes. Does that mean that you are now willing to accept the proposal of Haqqisaq, the Pantheon’s spokesman, for, and I quote, “A far ranging conversation that recognizes the historic oppression of the Inuit peoples and bends the arc toward restorative justice?”

“Buh-wha?”

“He was talking about a half-billion dollars. U.S., not Canadian.”

“Not on your f***ing life, you weasels! I’ve got lawyers!” She paused for a moment and continued in a much softer tone. “At least I had lawyers. When I could pay them.”

By this time the stretcher had passed through the gate and the wards erected by Baron Otto bounced Stacey in the Morning back to the street, where she uploaded her scoop. A few moments later the Baron had signed the discharge papers, confirming that his granddaughter was being abandoned at the edge of a 50 foot deep pit, of her own free will and with a caretaker available.

Cathode moved back to the gate to provide a little extra disincentive for gate crashers, but wondering why it had become so difficult to discharge her electricity. Meanwhile, Baron Otto was filling Elizabeth in.

“The Good Neighbor Insurance Company sent their adjuster right away for a quick settlement. I know we’ll get less than full value, but since you’ve been complaining so much about that irrelevant cash flow, the settlement will tide you over.”

“Uhh, I suppose. But you aren’t going to take their valuations, are you? I can be exploited, but not screwed.”

“Precisely,” preened the Baron. “So I brought in Mr. Weissman, there. The Appraiser. The definitive authority on any question of value. Even if he’s a Jew.”

“Baroness ,” Rupert Weissman greeted her, pointedly ignoring Baron Otto.

“Charmed. Uhh. Forgive me for a moment.” After a pause, “Don’t you work for Visionary, a lot?”

“Not really. Very occasionally. But he does have some of the most interesting valuation questions I’ve ever encountered. It’s a privilege to assess his properties. But, one must make a living, so here I am.”

“Get to the point,” growled Baron Otto. There was silence.

A few moments later, recognizing that the Appraiser had concluded that Baron Otto was too valueless to waste speech on, Elizabeth provided a cue. “Yes, I’d appreciate hearing your assessments.”

The corporate functionary, who identified himself as the insurance company’s adjuster, drew near.

“Starting with the assets, we have an impressive array of values that have been extinguished here. Real estate, a loss of $22.5 million to restore the grade. The castle is a complete loss. Replacement value of the structure $22.6 million. Depreciated value of furnishings $11.2 million. Laboratory equipment and vehicles $29.8 million. Artwork, $500,000, most of which is for that A.H. watercolor. Your taste is somewhat out of the mainstream. Clothing and personal effects, $2.7 million.Finally, the collection of hunting trophies is probably the third greatest in the world, $36.7 million. Baron Otto bagged some irreplacable specimens. Total loss, $126.0 million.”

The adjuster blanched. Refuting the Appraiser in any material way would be impossible, and he would be the bearer of horrible news to the CFO.

“But,” Rupert Weissman continued, “we have to consider the counter-liabilities.”

“What liabilities?” Elizabeth grated. “I own the Schloss and its contents free and clear.”

“True,” replied the Appraiser. “The hunting trophies, however, pose problems under the Endangered Species Act, CITES, the Lacey Act, the Migratory Bird Treaty and implementing act, the Wild Bird Conservation Act, the Marine Mammal Protection Act, and the GMY State Wildlife Code. Extrapolating from the fines payable by the last hunter who tried to bring in a single African lion trophy, about $2.3 million, there would be a possible fine in the range of $686.321 million if these dead endangered species were brought to the attention of the authorities. I therefore appraise the net value of the loss of your real and movable property here at negative $560.3 million. Your property had negative net value, and the insurer has no liability. You also owe me my fee of $50,000, payable immediately.”

Elizabeth was speechless. Baron Otto quickly faded away before his granddaughter could attempt to disintegrate him.

At that moment, however, a shimmering light gray oculus appeared at the side of the stretcher. The Baroness identified it as an apparition of the Portal of Pretensiousness. Unclipping the remaining straps binding her, she rolled off the stretcher and tumbled through the portal, muttering as she left, “Whatever Ioldabaoth has in mind for me, it can’t be worse than this.”

In that she was correct, for as she emerged on the other side of the portal she was fully conscious, healed, and dressed in a smart Parisian outfit.


1. Dedicated readers will remember that Beth was evicted from Phantomhwk Memorial back around Baroness #10 by administrator Allan Harsch and assistant Susie Sheltie, and that she took her revenge around Baroness #23 by shrinking both to bacteria size and introducing them to a hungry amoeba. Karma’s wheel spins again. ↩





The Appriaser is a scary bastard, isn't he?




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