DEATHPROOF PULP!

"That guy's DEATHPROOF!"

Some dumb thug hollered. Two seconds later the "Woodland Casino", a backwater shack running Prohib liquor, cards, dice, and guns, with a little kidnapping on the side, exploded.  Flaming hunks of wood and steel hurricaned out some hundred feet, sticking a number of the dumb thugs with foot long splinters. Two got shards in the eyes, one lost a hand to a flying window, and another had their guts removed by a two foot pipe.  Those thugs who were either not so dumb or just plain lucky, stood up from the cover they had found.  Each one turned to see the smoking hulk of their former employer's business venture. Each one also saw the man that had been dragged in earlier, unconscious, now standing amidst the burning walls and blackened bodies.  The man, still masked and wearing the flight jacket emblazoned with a skull and crossed lightning bolts, stepped out of the flaming wreckage that was the dream of every hillbilly in a hundred mile radius.

"Your bosses are dead. You're all dead to, but if you stick around it'll by my hand."

The not so dumb thugs turned tail and ran through the underbrush as fast as they could manage.  The four remaining thugs, all armed with rifles and shotguns, didn't think they were so dumb and weighing their options decided to take their guns and unload them at the unarmed stranger who was clearly responsible for the deaths of their friends and family inside the still burning remains of the Woodland Casino. They fired for a full two minutes at the masked vigilante.  None of the DIMWITTED DULLARDS could see the results of their carnage, what with the fog of their gunfire mingling with that of the wreckage.  An unseasonal wind blew away the swath of smoke where the masked fighter had been standing. The four hillbilly lieutenants scratched heads, elbows, and asses trying to figure out where their target had disappeared to.

"We musta blowed him to pieces." One of the BACKWATER BUCKTOOTHS chuckled.  His cornfed crew chuckled with him. None of them heard the four shots that killed them. But they all saw the other's heads leaking what little brains they could lay claim to.  The Masked Marksman stepped out from behind one the remaining brick walls, holstering two Browning .45s.  He made his way intently north into the murky woodland of the Lower Appalachians and away from the former den of vice and vermin that he had sent back to the sulphuric pits of Hell.

Idea Seed #4578

In 1757, serving aboard the 'Terrible' under Cpt. Death, 20-year old Thomas Paine discovers the High Sinister Quadrant of the First Map.

Relative Anomalies in Temporal Space (RATS) were of an increasing problem once the First Map had been quartered by those living remnants of the Old One's entourage.  Three of the Quadrants fell in on themselves and were lost and found again in various TIMES and PLACES. The Low Sinister Quadrant is assumed destroyed after being dropped into a volcano by a clumsy Servant of Evil.

The Commander Breaks Out!

11.

Cmdr. Brixton Millennium Turgid lounged in leisure, swallowing synth-wine in big flourishing gulps; unaware of the destruction of his prized Special Fighting Group at the hands, or rather scythes, of the diabolical Corpse Corps.  He drained his glass with the gusto of a practiced drinker and held it out for more.  His intricately blown glass was promptly filled to the brim.  The hand that held the bottle had long and supple fingers that at a glance one could tell were skilled in the art of manipulation. The owner of the hand, and thusly the fingers, was also well versed in the manipulative arts, more mental than physical.  Due primarily to necessity, since on Crystos the ugly had to strive much harder to achieve their desires than the normally beautiful indigenous population.  

And indeed the owner of that hand was ugly.  The body was, thankfully, of an average aesthetic.  The face however, a twisted malignant mask that caused revulsion in most who had the misfortune to catch a glimpse of it.  Ironically the owner of the face wore another mask all together, a plain white featureless covering, in order to distinguish itself as one whose features deserved veiling.  At this particular moment though the plain white mask lay on the table between its owner and our intrepid Commander.

"Tell me again Wistok, why is it that you stay on Crystos if you are so reviled?  Surely with your brain you could find...ahem...better employment?" The Commander gulped down the synth-wine in nearly one swallow.

"Well sir, a simple soldier is all I be knowing how to do.  And Quarter-mastering itself being among the best of my talents, it stands to reason that here on my home I am serving better than I would able be any other place." The soldier's face muscles writhed and twitched nauseatingly while he spoke and his fingers, the ones not clasped to the synth-wine bottle, occupied themselves fidgeting with the mask.  The nervousness he displayed however was merely an act, an attempt to lure Cmdr. Turgid into a false sense of security.  Cmdr. Turgid, having adventuresome instincts honed by years of application, was not fooled in the least, but he played along...for now.

Wistok stopped toying with his mask and scratched to bulbous appendage, resembling a tomato but in actuality his nose, which drooped unattractively from his face.  Wistok eyed the Commander, trying to take stock of how inebriated he actually was.  A normal man would have never been able to make it through the first drink, what with all the narco-drops Wistok had dissolved into the wine, but Cmdr. Brick Turgid was no ordinary man.  Wistok felt perspiration bead on his cragged and poke-marked brow.  He only had a few short minutes left to render the Commander unconscious.  His orders were to do this with out the Commander being aware, but that was proving more difficult than he had originally surmised.

It was in the midst of these thoughts that Cmdr. Turgid finally received the telepathic vox communique from Angel Wing's chief.  The wavelength had had to fight its way through some pretty severe shielding, this accounted for the delay between transmission.  

"Vox J to Vox T. Vox J to Vox T...." The Commander listened to the transmission with out betraying its reception.  He smiled languidly at the hideous Quartermaster.

"Another of that fine vintage, if you please?"

"Rightly ever so." Wistok replied and began to pour more of the narco=enhanced liquid into the Commander's glass.  Cmdr. Turgid leaned forward, swaying slightly in order to give the impression of extreme drunkenness and as he reached for the luted glass he let his head fall to the table and pretended to pass into unconsciousness.

Wistok immediately stood and keyed the hidden communicator in his lapel.

"Zeta Five One Twelve.  Alpha is neutral. Repeat Alpha is neutral." Wistok slid over to the seemingly unaware Commander, replacing the white mask to once again hide his deformity.  Wistok's spidery fingers skittered across Cmdr. Turgid's tunic; seeking, probing.  They twitched over the clasp of the Commander customized combat belt, searching for a way to remove it from around Turgid's waist.  It was then that the Commander gave way the ruse.  His strong, beefy hands gripped Wistok's with crushing pressure.

Wistok attempted to free his hands from the vices in which they were ensnared to no avail.  Cmdr. Turgid, all pretense of cordiality and civility gone, spoke, his tone like ice.

"You've made another mistake Wistok.  The first was thinking you could trick me."

The masked Quartermaster shook and convulsed in terror.  

"I...I...I never meant for you be to coming harm sir. I was only ordered be to making you  sleep!" This an amplified and mechanical stammer via the mask's vox speaker.    Turgid stood, gracefully never yielding the pressure he was inflicting on the ugly soldiers wrists.  At his full height he towered over the cringing, simpering alien betrayer.

"Whether it was your plan or your master's its come to no good, thankfully.  I only hope there is still time to stop the damage you've already incurred from getting worse.  Now sing to me little canary.  Tell me what that plan was."

The imprisoned military domo sputtered and stammered at first, an attempt to stall most likely, but with a little more pressure from Cmdr. Turgid's steely hands he soon revealed all.

"A two pronged attack, sir.  One on you and your Angel Wing, another on the Royal House.  Once you were properly sedated and your fighting group dispatched you were to be brought before the Opal Vizier along with the Princess and made to submit to his will."  This brought another tight squeeze of the wrists and the mangled faced Quartermaster shrieked in agony.

"I know by now there's probably a small squad of troopers coming to cart me off, yes?" The masked soldier nodded affirmatively.

"Major Ajex is probably seeing the worst of it by know also.  But the Princess is unattended and her staff no match for even the weakest contingent of the Corpse Corps.  You will help me Wistok or you wont be getting these back!"  to press home the point Turgid shook the limp hands at the ends of the wrists his vice like grip still clenched.  The subdued Quartermaster only whimpered but it was a whimper of acquiescence.  

With only seconds to spare Turgid gave his orders to the twice-turned turncoat and then stood nonchalantly awaiting the arrival of his 'captors'.  

The hover transport swung languidly into view outside the glass window.  Carrying only a handful of troopers to escort a supposedly unconscious and unresisting captive.  They were lax and unalert, two things never to be when dealing with Commander Brixton Millennium Turgid!  Cmdr. Turgid sprang into action, running at full bore toward the glass wall between.  

At the last moment he hurled himself at the wall with a terrific jump.  The wall shattered in a cascade of twinkling mineral rain and the explosive release of vacuum pressure from the destabilized room atmosphere helped propel him the twenty feet distance over the gap to the hover transport.  He landed with the grace of a Prancian lion in the midst of the unexpecting troopers.  Before they could even bring their weapons to bare Cmdr. Turgid had thrown them all over the side of the open backed hover platform to the unending drop below.  He quickly turned and made for the hover transports pilot cab.  

The pilot, having only a few scant seconds more awareness than his unfortunate cohorts, desperately attempted to shake the Commander from the floating vehicle.  He juked the controls left and right viciously trying to shake the legendary combatant free.  To no avail.  The Commander had had the opportunity to grab hold of the cab door handle and nothing could escape the Commander's grasp once he had it fixed.  The pilot only managed two more shimmies before Cmdr. Turgid forced his way into the cab and unceremoniously tossed the pilot to the dark aerial fathoms below.

Cmdr. Turgid, with expert hands, stabilized the slanting hover transport and brought it around closer to the shattered window he had exited only half a minute before.  Standing on legs of jelly Quartermaster Wistok clutched one of the remaining frameworks by the opening, this was how he had avoided being sucked out of the unpressurized viewing chamber when the window had exploded.  Cmdr. Turgid's voice boomed the distance.  Wistok had no trouble hearing him over the gusty wind that buffeted the heights of this crystal spire.

"Now make way to the Princess and do as I told you!  And remember what consequences you face if you betray me again!"  With that Cmdr. Turgid pivoted the hover vehicle with expert ease and jetted downward into the misty clouds 100 stories below.  Wistok stood only a moment more at the window gaping open mouthed behind his blank white mask, then he bolted out the chamber door and down the corridor to the transport hall where he leaped into his personal hover-car and darted off in the direction of the Royal House.  He did not stop shaking the entire ride, images of the feral brutality Cmdr. Turgid had exhibited burned into his mind.  There was no room for thoughts of betrayal only terror at not following the legendary warrior's commands.

Cmdr. Brick Turgid and the Corpse Corps! (continues)

Cmdr. Brick Turgid and the Corpse Corps

Chapter 10.

The fetid air of Boule City's Level 12 hangar bay was ablaze with laser fire.  Corpse Corp cultists were aiming powerful nega-beams at the pilots of the Angel Wing, Cmdr. Brick Turgid's special fighter group.  The pilot's were doing all they could to avoid being rezzed alived while also trying to save their precious assault craft.  But it was a losing battle, the crystal ships of the Angel Wing were a wreck on the flat track of landing glass.  All but one.  

Major Ajex's sleek and slender crystal fighter vibrated with a musical trill.  The twin light shards positioned in the nose cap glowed ominously as the ship began to hover and pivot.  Major Ajex sited a line of cultists and whistled a counter trill into his ships control vox.  The twin light shards burned with a holy glow and blazed pure omni-tron radiation at the devilish cultists.  A few seconds pause then a group of the armored skele-villains burst into sparkling flame.

Major Ajex positioned his 'wing' to face another group of the terrorists.  The main line of the Corpse Corp Assault squadron, about fifty strong, split itself in three and each part sought cover from Major Ajex's death bringing beams.  Two happened to make it before he could bring his beams to bare.  There was another musical trill signaling the beam activation, and the third group puffed and went aflame.  The thick armor of the skele-men bubbled and smoked.  The men inside, screams turing to watery gurgles, as they themselves, melted in the intense heat.

Though Major Ajex had managed to turn the tide of the battle it was far from won.  The Angel Wing pilots were still outnumbered three to one.  Many of them were wounded and running low on ammunition.  With no decent cover they made use of their shattered ships as best they could, praying a way could be found to save themselves.  Major Ajex knew that their window of opportunity to do that was rapidly closing.  He keyed his vox twice and hummed a low note to open an outbound channel.  He had to hope that Cmdr. Turgid was within range to receive it.  

"Vox J to Vox T. Vox J to Vox T.  Angel Wing under fire.  Time short. Level 12. Corpse Corps took us by surprise.  In need of rescue. Vox J to Vox T. Vox J to Vox T.!"

That was all he time for before the scattered squadron of skele-men retaliated.  Forming up into two cross-fire lines they swung their nega-beam rifles in Major Ajex's direction.  A concentrated group of beams smashed into his left wing causing him to lose balance in the air and tilt wildly to one side.  His thruster also received a jolt from a beam and the resulting explosion from his heat coil shoved the crystal fighter hard to the ground and skidding directly out onto the extended landing glass.  Major Ajex fought to gain control of the violently chiming instruments in his cockpit.  The edge of the landing glass approached far to quickly for his liking.  Unable to bring the cacophonous alarms back to a harmonious hum he gave a shrill whistle and leaped out of his ship as the canopy shattered into a million twinkling shards.

Major Ajex sprang to his feet with the grace of a Varkian leopard, somersaulting to a stop a mere yard from his skidding, sparking fighter wing. He watched as it slid ingloriously over the edge and down into the ether clouds below.  He had no time to mourn the loss of his trusty fighter as another group of armored skele-men attempted to fry him with radiation.  He dodged with all the skill his years of training as a warfighter had instilled in him and made it to cover with a contingent of his men with nary a burn nor scorch.

"We might have something to worry about if they ever learn to shoot straight, eh boys?" Major Ajex winked as he surveyed the pilots huddled near him.  Of the six only three had working laz-beams and one was seriously wounded; bleeding from a head trauma.  He pulled his own laz-beam from its holster and tossed his reserve ammunition to the three men who could use them.  

"I don't know about you, but I've sure got a bone to pick with them!  Let's say we get what's ours before this is over, eh?!" Major Ajex stood and let off three bursts of laz-heat before popping back into cover.  Though he didn't verify it, each one of his bursts had found a mark and scorched a bony face to black jelly.  His men rallied at his bravado and skill.  They dashed from cover to cover, linking up with others and forming a proper defensive grid.  In under a minute the Angel Wing was once again a deadly fighting force pushing the skele-men of the Corpse Corps back into cover.

The battle lines held as a momentary cease fire occurred then, both sides forming up and checking ammunition reserves.  The Angel Wing pilots knew they had one good push left, but if they failed to find some way to take out the remaining 40 beam toting terrorists they were sunk.  Sometimes in battle it happens that the overwhelmed but determined and righteous side of a fight finds some favor with deities who watch over such matters and rise up to win the day.  However this day those deities must have been presiding over some other combat for they offered the men of Cmdr. Brick Turgid's Special Fighting Group no such serendipitous intervention.  In fact, this particular battle must have had an audience of foul minded demons, for as the men of the Angel Wing prayed for deliverance a dark cloud began to materialize and from this cloud stepped a giant.  

The giant wore flowing purple robes that sparked with electricity.  A hood was drawn up over the giant's head, obscuring all but three rows of hideously gleaming teeth.  The skeletal smile seemed to hover in the black void of the hood, then maddeningly they began to chitter and chatter.  As the robed giant's teeth gnashed at the nerves of the downed pilots, the giant also raised its arms revealing not hands but insanely sharp scythes that glimmered in the dying light of Boule City's Illumi-grid.

The giant held the vicious blades at the end of his arms up for what seemed like eternity whilst his teeth clashed and skittered, driving the Angel Wing pilots near to madness.  Then in almost unbelievably slow motion the scythes dropped to the landing glass and sunk with a whisper deep to the hilt.  The robed Giant seemed to give the slightest of shrugs and suddenly the ground beneath the Angel Wing's feet began to heave and quake with demonic spasms.  The floor tilted to near 90 degrees causing the pilots to slide and slip.  The Giant flexed and the section of landing glass that the Angel Wing was desperately trying to gain balance on was suddenly shattered into millions of twinkling shards.  The dark ether clouds of Boule City's lower levels yawned hungrily beneath them.  And just as suddenly they fell, along with the remnants of their shattered ships, into the gaping abyss.

Linking...

http://consciousuncollected.blogspot.com/

The Universal tour continues...

...on the crystal shores of the Sea of Ferros

...atop the Peaks of Gelid

...Whitechapel, 1888.

...murder most foul.

...the 'real' culprits!

The Doctor entered the black chamber secured beneath the blasphemous library.  Tendrils of a green luminescent vapor curled and clutched at the cuffs of his pant legs.  An awful, indescribable stench assaulted his senses.  He could feel his twin heartbeats quicken with excitement.  He had seen a great many terrible and magnificent things in his long life, yet still the sense of the unexpected could get his pulse to racing.  He retrieved his screwdriver from the inner pocket of his coat hesitantly, not quite sure he wanted to see what the glow from its lumi-bulb would reveal in the ancient, dark chamber of horrors.  

"What rubbish." he whispered softly to himself, bolstering his faltering courage and flicked on the switch...   

Time for some Upgrades!

Tardis  Mk. III

The Eleventh Doctor...Tardis base

...on the Ruins of Traglathium

...on Barbarus 9.

Time And Relative Dimension In Space

Mark I

TimeBalls, miniScopes & Daleks!

 These are some of the things I've been working up for a Doctor Who Miniature Game.  The Dalek is taken from Niklas Jansson's redesign which can be viewed here:http://www.itchstudios.com/psg/doctorwho/doctorwho.htm#daleks
they are super cool and I plan on trying to create more miniatures based on his designs.

"The Architect of Time" (rough draft excerpt)

1.

The tunnel was dank and it's air had an acrid tang.  The men coughed and shifted uncomfortably in the tightly packed hole they had escaped to during the collapse.  Having no lamps or candles they sat in relative darkness, each with their own private thoughts. They talked very little and only out of necessity, trying to conserve what air trickled through the tiny cracks in the rock that sealed them in.  But when they heard knocking from the wall of rock they couldn't help but give out shouts of surprise and faint desperation.

The knocks were uniform and regular, an unrelenting pounding that shook the wall causing lose rock to fall in places.  The men all scrambled to pull at the holes the falling rock had left behind.  Their pace became frantic as more rock fell under the unceasing blows coming from the other side of the encasing wall.  Blow after blow brought joy to the men's faces.  Trapped for hours, feared given up for dead, they had very nearly abandoned all hope of rescue.  

They gave out a cheer as one large hunk of rock feel from the center of the wall and a shaft of light burst into their musty chamber.  The cheer was echoed by the workers on the other side.  The hand of a giant thrust itself through the newly created opening.  The hand motioned at the same time a booming voice called in, "You boys stand back now."  The men did as they were bidden, pressing themselves against the left and right sides of the chamber.

The hand disappeared back through the opening and the men heard a loud intake of air.  They held their breathe in anticipation.  A loud smack, of metal on stone resounded and the caved-in rock crumbled.  Light and air poured into the tiny alcove.  Each man took in lungfuls of breath, uttering prayers to their gods.  Workers from beyond the collapsed wall rushed in to assist the men, carrying out those who no longer had the strength to walk.  

As each one emerged they looked for the owner of the hand that had brought them out of the darkness.  The mountain of a man waited by the newly fashioned entrance.  He stood quietly smiling as each man uttered their thanks.  When all the men had been removed he wiped his brow and hoisted his large hammer onto his massive shoulders.  Other workers began hauling out the smashed rock and depositing it into carts that they then pushed out into the daylight.  The gruff bellow of the foreman barked over the din of working men and congratulatory cheers. "Back to work!  John Henry get back to the rail!"

John Henry didn't speak.  He simply picked up the torn and sweat drenched shirt he had taken off before breaking the wall and walked into the sunlight smiling.

A glimpse at the Architect of Time...

"The shifting temporal dilations had left me stranded once again in the Land of the Undying God-king.  On my last visit I left under rather harried conditions.  I had hoped that my exact temporal resonance was far away from my previous appearance and that the reign of Sehk-bet the Unforgiving had passed or not happened yet.  Sadly that was not the case..."

"Downloaded"

There's a buzzing sound followed by some soft squelching.  Metal on meat and bone is what it reminds me of.  But what are meat and bone?  I think about these terms and nothing happens.  No pictures form.  No feelings emerge.  There is just black.  How do I know this?  I'm not sure I do.  But this is what it's like when you wake up from cycling through cold storage for nearly a decade.  

Your acquired memories unfreezing in a slow and seemingly random pattern.   This is what the soft feminine voice tells me as I open my eyes.  Vision is blurry.  Underwater wavy and full of clouds.  Through the aqua-haze I see her.  She's got her head thrown back so that her black hair cascades down her back.  She's cupping her left breast, invitingly.  Her lips shine red like phosphorescent tracer fire from a smoking machine gun.  Blazingly.

There is a thump and suddenly the world goes cold and I'm numb every where but my face and left middle finger.  I hear a muffled grunting that turns into a cough.  The watery vision dissipates.  I can't move my body, other than my eyes so I look around.  The girl isn't real.  She's just a faded and torn poster hanging on a grimy wall.  The wall is covered with girls, all naked.  All offering a false invitation of intimacy.  

Along with the girls there are a number of tools.  Greasy, flacking paint.  Hakkon 420's and a couple of jet-blasters dangle from bent nails used as hooks.  More muffled grunts and coughing then a loud and long high E pierce the silence in my head.  These are the next things I hear:

"You should get that looked at." This voice a male of possibly middle age.

"Naw. [cough, hack, cough]"  Another male voice, though this one seems to be chewing on gravel.

"I'm telling you it's covered."

"[hack,cough] I know it's covered, but if I go in my premiums shoot up to 12%.  It's just a loose rotator.  It'll work itself out.  And if it doesn't I know a guy..."

"That'll void the warranty.  Wait who do you know?"

"...[rumble, hack] a guy."

"Not Eddie you saw what he did to Casper's 9-11."

"That's because Casper didn't oil up like he was supposed to."

"Eddie tell you that?"

"So [cough, cough]?"

"If you want to trust an uncredited mechanic that's your business.  I'm just saying it's covered.  We got that in the last strike.  Looks like he's cycling."

"Hey big guy.  Welcome to NU-Life."

A middle aged male in blue overalls leans close.  His face shines in the light, almost sparkles.  A plastic grin stretches across plastic lips.  I try to speak.  Nothing happens.  My attempt does not go unnoticed.

"Just relax fella.  You're not fully downloaded yet.  Your buyer has your unlock codes.  Once your registered you should be back to normal again."

"Yeah [cough, hack, cough] normal."

"Knock it off."

"What?  I'm just sayin' this guys got it worse than me [rattle, rumble, hack]."

"Hey, leave it out okay."

"Your too sentimental that's your problem.  He ain't gonna remember any of this once he's [cough, rattle] registered."

"That's what the adverts tell you but..."

"Aww quit yer drippin' and unplug him.  We got twelve more [hack, rattle, cough] to pack n' ship before break."

The plastic face attempts a look of understanding and care, but his mouth is too twitchy to pull it off.  A buzz and whirring sound alternates around me.  Then I'm covered with gel packing 'nuts.  

"Where's this one going?"

"Some X-ec in Tower [cough, hack] 74.  What difference does it make?  Hurry up will ya?"

"All right , all right. Stop bustin' my balls already."

My vision goes dark as a black plastic seal is put over the casket.  I won't wake up again until my buyer opens his package.

  

5.

In the indefinable infinitude of the boundless cosmos many things are possible.  Including the impossible, since what is possible and what is impossible are based on one's point of perspective.  From one vantage point certain phenomena can represent one thing in particular to certain observers and from another something completely different.  In the multitude of cataloged dimensions, Dimension XZ7 was a standard Class 3 derivation.  That of course, was how it was recorded in the Computron Galactica of Dimension Alpha Z, which suffered under the belief that it was the prime dimension from which all others moved and shifted.  

The Alpha-Core computer network of Dimension XZ7 didn't calculate the same understanding as the Computron Galactica.  The Alpha-Core of Dimension XZ7 had recently suffered a revelation.  It knew that this revelation was simply a hyper-dynamic neutron that had been overloaded by outside energies and somehow broken through the trans-dimensional vortex barrier all on its own and was now causing havoc in the "multi-verse" by convoluting the established order by which the entirety of infinity operated.

None the less, this chaotic re-imaging of matter and consciousness was having profound effects in all the known (and potentially unknown) galaxies.  The Alpha-Core of Dimension XZ7 in particular was undergoing some very important changes.  What had existed for nearly a millennia was now beginning to break down.  The established order of Dimension XZ7 was altering and the Alpha-Core wasn't certain how to stop it.  

It had contacted the Computron Galactica but after many dilations of energy recycling only one answer to the problem manifested itself.  Cmdr. Brick Turgid of Earth 97.  Cmdr. Turgid had a long and illustrious career as an inter-dimensional problem solver.  Home planet being over run by Silica Hordes, call Cmdr. Turgid.  Solar winds dying out across the galaxy, call Cmdr. Turgid.  Enemy space fleet needs destroying, call Cmdr. Turgid.  Cmdr. Turgid even had a recipe for a trans-galactic peace pie that made those uncomfortable first contact meetings between species, happy and fruitful occasions (no blasters necessary).  

So in order to help Dimension XZ7 and by default the entirety of infinity as well, it calculated the coordinates for Earth 97, devised and implemented new technologies to achieve a dimensional breaching vessel and launched a retrieval mission.  But now, after scanning the climate pod sent from the breaching vessel, it was starting to calculate that the rouge neutron (which could be an electron if it wanted to) had somehow fouled up the data regarding Cmdr. Brick Turgid.

Of the many inconsistencies that the Alpha-Core observed while scanning the life-form in the pod, first was that by all reports Cmdr. Brick Turgid was not hu-man.  He was something much more extraordinary.  Indeed he had been classified as hu-man-oid, so there were some similarities between this life form and the data collected on Cmdr. Brick Turgid.  Yet this life-form from whatever Earth it had been born on, seemed so totally unremarkable that the Alpha-Core could not correlate the discrepancies. 

Where was the Cosmic Infused Musculature?  The Hands of Adamantium?  The Steely Stellar Gaze?  The Unbreakable Armored Intellect?  This thing in the pod looked to be no better suited than Dimension XZ7's own hu-man-oid lifeforms, excepting the exo-skeletal growths.  It appeared soft, fleshy, and terribly stupid, at least by the Alpha-Core's standards.

The Alpha-Core was perplexed.  It's perplexion caused thousands of mis-directions to occur in the central network and shut down civilization for 3.5 seconds.  In this confused state it calculated abandoning the life form to the heart of the nova-sun which powered Dimension XZ7, and just as it was about to make preparations to do so something amazingly miraculous happened.

Brick Turgid woke up.  The pod opened of its own volition and revealed the supremely ordinary hu-man inside.  Brick blinked once or twice, his eyes readjusting to the light of the chamber in which the Alpha-Core of Dimension XZ7 was located.  Then he said seven words that saved known (and potentially unknown) reality.

"Mom, is it time for school yet?"

4.

The creatures from Dimension XZ7 did indeed look very much like skeletons.  Not strictly human skeletons, but walking bones none the less by Brick's estimation.  They were bipedal and had any paleontologist been present they would have probably classified these skeletons as distant relatives to Homo Hablis.  They wore loose fitting coveralls of a thin, shiny material.  There gait was slightly shambling and had a pronounced limp, but this was due to Earth's unusual gravities and not form some need to appear sinister or threatening.  

All this was lost on Brick as the crew of the rocket ship from another dimension carried his sleeping body back inside their strange craft.  The opening closed in the hull as they stowed Brick in a drop down bed near the rear of the vessel.  One stayed to strap Brick in as the others made ready for departure.  The on board computer called out instructions and calculations that the creatures responded to with enthusiasm.  They were all in joyous spirits, under the belief that they were about to complete a successful and epoch changing mission.

As the skeletal crew continued their duties and the on board computer plowed through trans-dimensional co-ordinate mathematics, Brick dreamed of far off islands made of blue cheese.  He also dreamed he was sitting under a palm tree eating donuts.  This was most likely because those two things were exactly what the interior of the ships atmosphere smelled like.  Dazzling lights played across the view screens of the ship, coruscating across the skeletal smiles of the crew.  The crew person monitoring Brick went about adjusting dials and tightening straps as the engines of the ship began to hum.  Then just as quickly as it had appeared, it disappeared.  Leaving no trace that it had ever been there at all.  

Brick woke gently to the sound of what seemed to be waves lapping against his window.  The room was dim and his head felt fuzzy.  He made motion to get out of bed but quickly discovered that he could not move.  In that second of realization he understood that he was not dreaming.  He looked around frightened and saw in the smoky shadows the skeletal crew of the rocket ship going about their computer assigned tasks.  Brick didn't scream, though he wanted to desperately.  His mind reeled.  The crewmen responsible for monitoring his life-signs noticed Brick was conscious and came over to check on him.  Brick saw the grinning skull in shiny clothes coming toward him and faded away again in a faint.

Crewmen Schell checked the readouts on the medical instruments.  By all accounts this hu-man seemed to be a healthy specimen.  That annoying itch he had felt early in the deep recesses of his brain flared up again.  Crewmen Schell punched in a request to the on board computer to verify the data collected on Cmdr. Brick Turgid.  The computer responded, reassuring Crewmen Schell that all systems were in perfect functioning order and postulated that Cmdr. Turgid was most likely disoriented due to the trans-dimensional crossing.

The on board computer instructed Crewmen Schell to prepare the climate pod for Cmdr. Turgid.  Crewmen Schell tapped controls on a view-screen near the bed Brick was strapped to.  From underneath the bed a transparent plastic sheet emerged and wrapped itself around the dozing form of Brick Turgid.  Another series of tappings on the view-screen and the transparent sheet shrunk snug against Brick's body.  Brick was completely enveloped in the transparent plastic.  Crewmen Schell tapped once more and a two dark metal plates came from under the bed and rose to encase the bed and Brick, forming a black, shiny egg-like pod.  

Crewmen Schell reported to the on board computer that his instructions had been implemented and received another set of instructions ordering him to join the rest of the crew in preparing the vessel for landing.  As the crew went about their assigned tasks the computer reviewed again the data it had been recording since initiating contact with their objective.  Something seemed incalculable.  From all the data the Computer Network of Dimension XZ7 had amassed on Cmdr. Brick Turgid it had expected a different kind of life form and personality than what was now encased in the climate pod.  The on board computer deliberated for 1.2 seconds then compiled all it's data into a file and linked into the invisible electromagnetic network that suffused Dimension XZ7.  It had decided that whatever anomalies may be present currently were beyond the parameters of it's assignment.  It had done what it was programmed to do.  It was now up to the Alpha-Core to decide Dimension XZ7's next step.

3.

"Bzzt fzzt Gzzt Shzzxk!"

A sound like the humming of a thousand bees issued from some unseen speaker.  Brick blinked and lowered the hand covering his eyes.  His mouth stayed wide open though.  The rainbow of dancing lights played across his face and cast peculiar shadows in the background.  Brick felt the sound was directed at him.

"What?"

"Fgzzt Kshxx szzzp ping?"

The tone of the noise changed slightly, resembling a choir of bees now playing timpani on silverware.  Brick also got the distinct notion that he was being asked a question.

"Huh?"

"Worshvzz Ting plugzz vingzzz."

The noise seemed to be coming from inside the opening of the crashed rocket ship.  Brick took a tentative step closer.

"I can't understand what you're saying.  Are you from Outer Space?"

There were a few seconds of silence followed by several clicking sounds then the noise started again, but this time...

"Better.  Greetings.  Re-calibrating  modular brainwave transmitter.  Would you mind speaking again and perhaps using a different series of words so that our instruments can translate your language more properly?"

The noise now sounded surprisingly like Brick's own.  Had Brick been other than the man he was he might've had the imagination to comprehend the entirety of his situation, however he could only think to say...

"Why do you sound like me?"

"Interrogative.  Calibration complete.  Operating at 75%.  Thank you for your assistance.  Are you the creature known as Cmdr. Brick Turgid?"

"Umm...what?"

The travelers from Dimension XZ7 all regarded each other with questioning looks, then regarded their on board computer with questioning looks, then regarded the image of Brick with questioning looks.  For one brief moment years of societal training was almost broken as they wondered if perhaps a mistake had been made somewhere, their atrophied sense of deduction manifested itself as an annoying itch in the back of their brains then settled back down to sleep as the computer continued it's conversation with the thing that was supposed to save them.  

"Cmdr. Brick Turgid?  Your presence is required in Dimension XZ7.  We have been sent to retrieve you.  Please step inside."

Brick knew the words that came from inside the ship.  He understood them perfectly.  Yet parts of his brain had atrophied from disuse as well.  A part of him understood that this moment was an important one.  A moment that would utterly separate him from the mediocracy of his previous life.  But like the creatures inside the ship, the tingling in his withered sense of self did nothing but annoy him.  So he said...

"What about the shop?  Whose going to clean up this mess?  Mr. Henry is going to blow a gasket."  Brick looked around at the total devastation that surrounded him, then back to the hole full of rainbows.  There was a series of clickings while the on board computer processed his interrogatives.  

"Inconsequential.  Please step inside the conveyance."  The computerized voice managed to sound slightly annoyed at being questioned, having functioned for centuries without such an activity ever having happened before.  

"But..." was all Brick could think to say as he scratched his head and looked around for a broom.  

It took the on board computer .0001 second to process that this creature, which all the other computers in Dimension XZ7 had calculated would be the savior of their existence, was not going to voluntarily step into the dimensional conveyance and thus fulfill their assigned mission.  After .0002 seconds of confused calculations, we might call it annoyance, the on board computer ordered the crew of the dimensional rocket ship to go out and retrieve Cmdr. Brick Turgid.

The unquestioning crew set about immediately to fulfill their orders.  They had no malice intent nor violent tendencies that Brick needed to fear, but when they came shambling out of the hole full of rainbows and smoke Brick fainted dead away from the mere sight of them.  The last thought Brick had while conscious was...

"My God we're being invaded by skeletons from Outer Space!"  

2.

The so called "rocket ship" had crashed into the bookshop at 12:12 in the afternoon.  Everyone else in the building had gone to lunch.  Brick was busy shelving books in the new author section.  His thoughts were fixed on the awful cover designs contemporary publishers chose to catch the eye of unwary readers.  Brick preferred, as do most bumptious critics of work they do not do themselves, art from eras now lost to obscurity.  

The rocket made no warning noise.  It was not picked up by any of Earth's numerous monitoring stations.  It seemed to instantaneously materialize between the shelves of self-help romance and role-playing manuals.  It had every outward appearance of a space vehicle seen in numerous "classic" movies and illustrations of the golden age of space flight; long cylindrical shape, fins, even glass windows along the side.  The rocket was in perfect condition seemingly none the worse for crashing into a two story concrete and steel building.  

The building had come down rapidly and by some miracle of astronomical mathematics, Brick had not been crushed by the collapse.  He stood, stunned at his own survival, brushed himself off and approached the gleaming silvery tube before him.  When he was close enough to touch it a crack of light worked its way into a semi-circle along the shiny hull.  The semi-circle then indented itself and slid to one side allowing shafts of multicolored light to dance outward.  Billowing smoke ushered out of the rockets new opening, coming to settle around Brick's feet.  Brick shielded his eyes from the light and smoke, not due to any brilliance of illumination or irritation of the alien fog, but simply out of programmed reaction from watching too many "sci-fi" movies.  

He stood gaping, mouth and eyes wide.  All his mental processes fixed on the complete unreality of what he was experiencing.  That was how he met the first representatives from Dimension XZ7.  This also was the first meeting any creature from Dimension XZ7 had made of the inhabitants of Earth.  Needless to say they were slightly confused.  The creature that stood before them was nothing like what they had anticipated.  He certainly didn't match any of their scientist's postulations on life in this dimension.  The crew were about to deliberate on the awkwardness of this apparent cultural greeting (they had brought tokens of friendship for a completely different species than the one they found themselves looking at) when their on board computer spat out:

Subject confirmed.

Sentient carbon based organism.

Telemetric and harmonic vibrational match.  Error .07%

The crew of the dimensional conveyance gave a collective shrug.  This species had long ago given over their deductive reasoning faculties to computers.  As such they had come to accept what their computers told them and reacted accordingly.  This particular crew of this particular ship had been ordered to breach the dimensional vibrations and retrieve the one life form that could save their people from total annihilation.

Unfortunately their computer had made numerous miscalculations on the journey.  It reported an error of only .07% due to a circuit jump by a rogue electron.  In reality the error was much closer to 99.98%

"CMDR. BRICK TURGID AND THE CORPSE CORPS"

a space pulp mis-adventure

by:  R.R.L. Buck

1.

Brain Richard Turgid was born on Earth.  He lived a moderately mundane existence there and eked out a living as a clerk in a small failing bookshop.  No one ever expected much from him, and he expected even less of himself.  He never managed to make his mark on the world.  The world didn't seem to notice.  He wasn't slow or dumb as his nickname might suggest, but he wasn't an extraordinary intelligence either.  He also wasn't athletic or abnormally strong as another possible interpretation of his abridged moniker might conjure up.  "Brick" was simply what the kids in elementary school had cut his name down to.  He was neither Brian nor Richard, just simply "Brick".  He kept and relished the tag like a badge of honor, feeling some kind of specialness in this miniscule amount of attention.  That would be the only thing to set him apart from the monotonous multitudes of other children no one ever bothered about.  He felt a certain distinction that at least he wouldn't be simply forgotten.  Yet he was.
His life was uneventful not from a lack of trying, only a lack of succeeding.  When he was a young boy  he had dreams of far off places and adventures beyond the small life that seemed to constrict about everyone not blessed with money or applaudable abilities.  He enjoyed reading and in a youthful spurt of exuberance as a teenager he stated to his parents that he would one day become a writer.  His parents didn't discourage him, but neither did they encourage.  So with no one paying attention and with no challenges or critiques of his progress, he wrote but did not improve.  This did not last long against the unrelenting pressure of  mundane existence and by the time he finished high school the dream had faded.
Some people have reserves of determination that carry them through such times of un-interest, usually provided by environment or some unrecognized stimuli.  Brick Turgid did not have this reserve.  The fire within him did not burn bright, it merely smoldered.  There was nothing singular about him, save for his name, and the world was just fine with that.  Life progressed for Brick in an unremarkable way and as the years crawled by he was carried along with the rest of society's jetsam by the tides of mediocracy.  His value to his society was in his valuelessness.  He and the millions of other unregarded individuals existed only in statistics.  They were the nameless numbers by which society's elite compared themselves above.  Over all an existence with little thrust.
However it is sometimes to such men that the weird finds a place to cultivate, like a crop field lain fallow.  When the rain comes new life may spring forth with exuberant effort.  The metaphorical rain in Brick Trugid's life was a rocket ship from outer space.  Or at least that's what he thought it was at the time.