WHATTA HEEYYYY! How do you like the new masthead, man? I love it. David Gaider (aka Lt. E. Reston, ISS Ace of Wands) is the artist and I think he did a grand job. I sent him a pint of Muscatel for his efforts. He is working on a portrait of Maddie Mallard, but, alas, it may never see print. Your favorite bird is entirely in the nude in that picture, so I don't think it will get past the censor. It would make a nice Christmas gift, don't you think? From Maddie to the Readers of the Bone!
Speaking of Christmas gifts, Father Larry complained about a certain word that was used in the last issue. So that no one will be offended, I'll spell the word: F. U. C. K. I agree that we should use euphemisms, so I've gone to all the trouble to prepare a list for those of you who are interested: fornicate, copulate, couple, mate, come together, cohabit, sleep with, diddle, to name a few. So, if your character is in a bind and needs a real rip-roaring curse word, try these: "Oh, diddle!" "Copulate you, buddy!" "Well, you can just go cohabit yourself!" "Couple off!" On that farcial note, we will begin:
FLOWERS
by Michael Horn
Fione Mac Ric was in her quarters putting on the finishing touches on a painting when a knock came on the door. "Come in," she called, turning her head.
She smiled warmly as her brother, Bas, stepped in. His lips twisted in a slight smile, the widest smile he had ever made and only for her. He was the commander of her colony defences here at SMS Hydrothora and she was very pleased to have him helping her.
"How do you like it?" she asked, nodding to the painting.
Bas studied it critically. "Quite lifelike," he decided. It was a painting of the Emperor Jaxom. "Did he pose for you?"
"No," she said self-consciously, "But I would have liked a quick look or two to have refreshed my memory. After all it's been almost a year since I last saw him."
"Have you heard from anyone in the Inner Empire lately?" Bas asked.
Fione sighed. "I received a video of Princess Ara a few days ago," she admitted. "I owe her a reply."
"Any men there that you miss?" Bas asked, still studying the painting.
She frowned at his back. "Well. . . yes," she admitted. "But that's my business."
Bas chuckled. "Perhaps. A ship just landed With something for you. It's inside."
She eyed him darkly. Bas was the sober, quiet one of the family and his idea of humor wasn't always something to be trusted. "Well, bring it in."
"Very well," he agreed. He stepped to the door and opened it. "Bring it in," he called.
Fione exclaimed in delight as a soldier appeared carrying a huge bouquet of flowers. Then Bas smiled as her expression changed, because man after man appeared with more flowers.
"There was an entire ship load," Bas remarked. "I'd say someone misses you, too."
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COMPLAINTS AND OTHER TRIVIA
Dear Ms. Mallard: In you last issue you published a letter in your "Ask Maddie: More Advice to the Loveshorn" from a young woman who was very much distressed by the cool treatment she received at the hands of Lt. Tom Sawyer Samms. You told her to go search and find herself another man. You stated: "After all, as far as men are concerned--turn them upside down and they all look alike." I resent this sexist remark; it is typical of the stereotypical generalities that women are so fond of! PORK AND BEANS.
Dear El Porko; You're absolutely right! I will rephrase my answer to that poor woman. I should have said: "After all, as far as men are concerned--turn them upside down and they all like a look."
(*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*) (*)
HINTS
by Steve Anich
In the short time since I've graduated from the Space Academy there have been a few tidbits of knowledge that have made themselves apparent to me. I would like to take the time now to pass them on to other young starcaptains:
1) Never make fun of alien races. They don't have senses of humor.
2) Never walk behind a Moorlock.
3) Never buy USS stock; you're better off holding onto your CPR loan certificates.
4) Never get into a drinking contest with David Addison.
5) Beware of revolutionaries giving proclamations. It won't lead to anything unless they have a lot of weapons.
6) Do not covet your neighbor's property unless you're positive you can get away without being posted.
7) Never make fun of the Community because you're liable to get psi blasted or attacked by an Imperial fleet that only wants to take out your defenses.
8) Never buy a deed to a Snit, no matter how cheap it is.
9) Never attack alien races who have ships that are more than three times the size of your own. It will just be nasty in the end.
10) Never become allies of those that attack alien races (see above for details).
11) Trust nobody.
12) Suspect everybody.
13) Beware of animals. Remember where all those nasty diseases come from. Members of the WCE should especially take note of this.
14) Always give homage and compliments to the Great Bird else all your writing will be for naught*
*Editor's note: Smart man.
In an effort to get to know the P.D.'s of this grand and glorious universe, my assistant editor, Sebastian Sabre, has started a series of interviews beginning with P.D. Fores. We'll begin with the basic facts.
Full name: Chester Wilson Fores
Wife: Deceased
Children: Eleanor and Charlton
Height: 5'11" Weight: 210
Eye color: Brown Hair color: Brown
Hobbies and interests: Spelunking and rock climbing
Graduate of: Imperial Bureau of Mines School
Now on to the juicy stuff:
RG: Are you pleased with the current state of your company?
F: Recent defections have hurt but company is still fundamentally strong.
RG: At one time your company almost went under in the Periphery, How did you revive it?
F: I didn't do it completely. The extraordinary efforts of our coordinators were responsible for it.
RG: Were you under scrutiny from the Inner Empire because of the near failure of the Periphery company?
F: There were pressures but I was given a free hand.
RG: The P.D.s of several other companies are rumored to be thinking of giving up primary control to their established governors and starcaptains. Are you considering such a move? Why or why not?
F: It is being considered The company coordinator concept was a test for it. I would not expect any such a move until at least Week 26/188.
RG: Do you have any strong feelings about any of your rival P.D.s? What about companies, specific captains or aliens?
F: No comment.
RG: It's been rumored that the heavy freighter fleet actually pays roughly three times the amount the colony governor receives and that the difference somehow disappears. How would you answer that accusation?
F: The difference is used to purchase new ships, fund budgets and set up new colonies. Plus the profits are returned to Inner Empire Headquarters.
RG: It is also rumored that on occasion you have "recruited" young starcaptains into private service at unusually high pay. Is this true?
F: No.
RG: Any personal plans of note?
F: No.
RG: What are your short and long term plans for the SMS?
F: No.
RG: How many three-cent stamps in a dozen?
F: No.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Thus ends the interview with the long-winded Periphery Director, the Reverend Mr. Fores. I encourage all the other companies to interview the other P.D.s and send them to moi. Let's find out what these people are up to. Hint: Be sure and ask highly significant and momentous questions like: "Where does your lap go when you stand up?" Okay, kids, you're on your own.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
DINNER WITH DIGRIZ
187.30.02
by Steve Marte
I think James DiGriz snapped when his colony, Danzig, was attacked by the RIP over a year ago. Irregardless, whenever I am invited to dinner at the DiGriz residence on Kolars the RIP usually work their way into the conversation.
"I think Renoir is really Lord Gression. What do you think?" James said, unconsciously stroking his Commodore epaulets. Even though Lask revoked his commission to Commodore, James continued to wear the bars on his lapels. I don't think he realized that every thirty seconds his fingers played with the bars--as if involuntarily checking to see if they were still there.
"I think he had some form of operation! An eyebrow transplant, the voice box replaced with a digital system..."
James was up and pacing now. "If it isn't Renoir, then it's Prescott. I know it. I can feel it in my bones..." DiGriz pounded a gloved fist into his palm while pacing about the dinner table.
Beside me, Commodore Morgan of the SSL Lion of Ireland just shrugged and finished his soup. Across the table, the starcaptain of the AFT Pirate Killer was quietly slipping his silverware into the pocket of his jacket.
A typical Sunday dinner at the DiGriz household... James liked to surround himself with men he felt were dedicated to the cause of chasing the RIP from the Periphery. Morgan listened half-heartedly while pouring another beaker of Sludge. The AFT starcaptain nodded eagerly to everything James said, while polishing the salt shaker and placing it in his belt pouch.
"But where are they now, James?" I asked.
"Who?" replied DiGriz, sidestepping his son, James Junior, who ran about the table wearing an old Darth Vader helmet. The boy ran between his father's legs, rather deftly slipping a potato into James' boot (obviously pretending it was a fragmentation grenade).
"The RIP. Duncan Idahoe? Harry Flashman?" I said.
James pulled a wrinkled dispatch from his shirt. "Last reports put Flashman at a Dairy Queen at IND Yumoth. We're not sure about Idahoe. Travers has a COM report that Duncan is now working as a used starship salesman at PDC Gondolin.-
James Junior straddled his father's leg and whomped his father's boot. Pieces of potato flew across the room like shrapnel. DiGriz dusted a piece of skin from his RIP report.
"Yes, yes, Gondolin, that fits. It's all beginning to make sense now," James mused. "Scaflock's insane speeches, Flashman'g aversion to fried ice cream, my wife's refusal to do it doggie style...yes, yes...it all makes sense now."
As I left the DiGriz residence an hour later I sighed. Ahh, nothing interesting to report to my friends in the RIP this evening. Nothing as juicy as some of the tips I had picked up in the past. I grinned as I remembered DiGriz's attempts to get the SMS to help blockade FET Cobol, DiGriz's request that I chase a sighting of Flashman's ship in Justin. his ineffectual attempt to chase the RIP Thomas Bishop after the Wolf Pack had taken the IAN Rifampin...
Nero issued me a salute as I stepped aboard the SMS Landwaster.
"Anything interesting, sir?"
I dusted a piece of potato skin from my jacket. "Not tonight Nero." I yawned. "It was worse than an SMS stockholders meeting. Go ahead and fire up. Let's get out of here. "
@ # @ # @ # @ # @ # @ # @ # @ # @ # @ # @ # @ # @ # @ # @ # @ # @
You are not going to believe this: Cdr. Paul Harrell of the SMS dropped me a letter a few weeks back in which he mentioned my raunchy crossword puzzles. To wit: "Father Larry is quite disturbed because he couldn't figure out the first crossword and this second one is more difficult:" AHA: SO NOW WE KNOW WHY FATHER LARRY OPPOSES MY PUZZLES: I REFUSE to be intimidated by that uppity friar any more: NEXT ISSUE---I promise a new and EXPANDED Super-gross and raunchy crossword puzzle: Guaranteed to make you toss your cookies, put on the horns, eat more tacos and think lustful thoughts. And to get the balls rolling, here is the answer to Raunchy Crossword #2:
Yes, of course, 24 across combined with 26 across makes a sentence: Would I lie to you? It's just not in our language. Geez--what a nit-picker.
!@!@!@!@!@!@!@!@!@!@!@!
Speaking of picking nits, I received this note:
Dear Maddie: HELP: I am at my wit's end: I have repeatedly curried my brains trying to figure out a way to get rid of the DTN, also known as the GoBots. How can we get rid of the GoBots?
Dear Curried Brains: How do you get rid of a GOBot? Change channels !
Back in the saddle again, hum, hum hum. John Pitzel came up with a dynamite idea for the Bone. He suggested we do an ongoing story with each chapter done by a different author. He wanted me to do the first chapter but I begged off citing too much curry powder in my typewriter. Anyway--to get us started John invented two characters:
Rollo McAllister, STC Special AGent, Revenue Collection
Rollo is average looking. No one passing him on the street would give him a second glance. That is entirely as it should be. Rollo is in charge of collection from those deadbeats who have defaulted on various loans made to them by various individuals, firms, etc., that have now been turned over to the STC's collection arm in hopes of getting some cash back. he plays by the rules, but has been known to break them on occasion. Deadly with all forms of weaponry, especially the computer.
Swek, Alien creature
Swek is from somewhere, but no one really knows where. Rollo found him in an abandoned freighter in the Ryerson System. Looking somewhat like a six-legged cat, only smaller, Swek possesses rudimentary telepathy as well as other as yet undiscovered skills. He (?) usually is not exposed to the public too often, as it would ruin the anonymity Rollo strives for. He is usually aboard the yacht, STC Repossession, and allowed out only for certain occasions.
PLOT, Rollo and Swek travel the Periphery and Transhole in search of deadbeats and other lowlifes that owe money. On their travels they meet many unusual people and situations.
@#~~&*( )t?@#$%~&*(}t?@#$%~&*@#~~&*( )t?@#$%~&* (cussin. a black streak?)
Home, home on the strange. Did you know that there was an Anniversary celebration at EEM Romulus? Yes, indeed. I sent the RG's Special Correspondent, Chuck U. Parley, but haven't heard from him, yet. Can't imagine... Anyway, I did hear from Mark Calkins:
BOSK PARTIES AGAIN
When we last heard from LCdr. Bosk of the SMS Dorna, he had just taken off from SMS Thorlia with a ship full of hungover crew members. Since then two of his crew disappeared while on leave at AFT Hope. Rumor has it that they were persuaded into marriage by angry shotgun toting fathers from Thorlia. Since then Bosk has been busy doing manifest runs for the SMS.
This brings us up to last week when Bosk and crew showed up at EEM Romulus'
anniversary celebration. Bosk had entered First officer Lola into the wet
T-shirt competition and himself into the drinking contest ~ After Miss Bubbles
LaRouche's bizarre performance and hasty departure, Lola proceeded to show
the rude and crude crowd on hand how to exhibit the perfect wet T-shirt.
Other contestants' efforts to sway the judges by exposing the contents or
their shirts were futile. Lola was the obvious winner and pleased the crowd
by slowly changing into dry clothing while still on stage. It was rumored
that after leaving the contest, Bosk and Lola went to the 'House of the Rising
Sun', where at least one other famous couple could be found. In any case,
Bosk never showed up at the drinking contest. Eager crew members of the
Dorna determined to have their ship represented in the contest, attempted
to enter the contest as 'walk (stagger) ins'. While making a respectable
showing, none were standing when Caspar Milquetoast (wine steward at the
'House of the Rising Sun') finished his last drink to win the contest.
% % % % % % % % % %
NEW CONTEST: Connect the dots and you'll get a picture of a Moodge spaceship
(or the numbers 666). Be
the first to do it right and get a free trip to the planet Dweeb, home of
the Moodgekateers. Of course,
you'll go First Class on the Moodge ship. Just cut along the dotted line
& go!
Hey, boys and girls. It’s time for another Imperial Law as explicated by our own, Nebo the Moodge.
Imperial Law #31 Anyone involved in any violence against an alien race must explain his actions to the ISS Periphery Director.
right.
INCOMING ROUND: DUCK: Oh, it's just Maddie's boyfriend. I finally heard from Special Correspondent, Chuck U. Farley, but the transmission is hard to decipher because there was so much background noise--but here goes:
Me: Go ahead, Chuck.
CF: That's exactly where I am--in the head.(Bang! Bang! Bang!)
Me: What?
CF. This is...uh...Yesh. This is Chuck M. Farley checking in from EEEEEEEEM Romulomucous. Or something. I'm in the only dry spot in this burg--the men's restroom. {Bang! Bang! Bang!)
Me: I hear a banging noise.What is that noise?
CF: Do you hear a banging noise? (Bang!)
Me: Yes!
CF: Oh. thank God. I thought I was dreaming it. (Bang! Bang! ) There's a lady knocking on the door. Hey lady!
Me: A lady knocking? Are you sure?
CF: Hey, lady! Cut it out! Can't you see I'm makin' a call here? (Bang! Bang!) Come on, Lady! (BANG BANG BANG BANG.) Hey, lady!
Me: Chuck: We don't have all day, here. Come on, man, you have a report to file.
CF: Hey, lady! (Bang! Bang:) I think she likes me (BANG!)
Me: Chuck. do something!
CF: Okay, okay. I'll let her out.(Bang! Bang!) Hey, lady, what's your name?
Me: Call me back, Chuck. I give up
While we're waiting for Chuck to pull himself together, let's see what happening with the Ringbone Tribe:
THE RINGBONE CHRONICLES
On the voyage to Tragell, I got to know Rod and the more I knew him, the more it appeared to me that there was an entire world out there of which I was ignorant. We broke into the ex-captain's stock and drank and ate our way to Tragell, spending most of our time in the anti-grav bubble, watching stars whizz by and mooning over old times.
Rod was wanted in twelve docks for everything from starting a food riot on Rempel to assassination of a government official on Yarbel. He was 27 years old having roamed the systems since childhood, earning his keep doing any- thing that offered itself but mainly as part of a very large, very lucrative black market organization. I came across him at a low point. He had spent all his money on drugs and women and in an effort to get some back, tried to skim a little from the organization. A local magistrate--also a member of the organization found out about it and trumped up charges against him. Rod lost his ship because the charges involved his ship. So, there he was at the Blaster in a foul mood when I stumbled in.
Rod's life was a constant source of incredulity to me. I had never met anybody like him. Heretofore, my world had been peopled with those responsible, rich, conservative citizens whose lives were models of virtuosity. In other words--the very people who ran the systems. And then, there Rod and I were, juxtaposed in the garish light of criminality.
I howled in perplexity. Rod floated by, turned his face to mine, said "Really," and wafted on.
"What happens to me if I'm caught?" I asked.
"They put you into a tiny shuttle and pop you into a Black Hole."
I was stunned. "Oh, how awful."
Rod shrugged. "Not so bad. You have a good chance of traveling down a worm hole and coming out into an alternate universe."
"No! Are you serious?"
"As a franoose in heat."
"How do you know that?"
"I've heard transmissions from worm holes."
"How is that possible? Look, the gravity is so high at the hole that light can't get out. How can sound get out?"
"If you hover at the event horizon, you can pick up things, When the hole rotates, some things get out."
He backstroked languidly past and I know he noted the disbelief on my face. He swam back, grabbed me by my belt loops and swung me toward a terminal.
"Punch it up: I'll give you the code to get into the com on my ship. I logged in a little number once called 'The History of the Capellan Periphery'. It's in your com now because before we left Liberty I transferred and wiped my banks. Go on--get a random from the 'History'."
I did. At 182.15 I learned about the Kiddie Corp being unleashed. 183.18 a monster ship was found. In 184.12 the feature was 'the slurp heard round the world' as the planet Daloe was sucked into a Black Hole. 185.17 saw a real shocker-- Spock nabbed on drug charges. The last entry I viewed was from 186.11 and the Imperials had declared martial law in the Periphery. But then could I have gotten the date wrong? Could it have been more recent? How could we be sure that we would end up in that particular alternate?
I punched the com off, then flung myself away from
it.
"What am I going to do?" I wailed.
"Go back to Daddy. He'll take care of it."
I can't. If I go home I'll end up marrying Benj".
Rod perked up at the name.
"The guy who owns half the Sed system?"
I nodded.
"Great Friggin' Harlan! What's wrong with that?"
"He may be super-rich,.but he has the personality of a douche bag. I could. not live with that from now on."
"Oh, I don't know. Douche bags come in handy sometimes."
"So do assholes, but I wouldn't marry one."
"You almost did." Rod mercilessly pointed out as he drifted past. "I could always hold you for ransom, collect the money then cut out. That way we could all have what we wanted: I get a bag and you as the poor kidnap victim would be welcomed back into the bosom of your money-- I mean family. I could knock you around a little, sexually assault you. Of course that depends on how much you enjoy it."
At this he made a grab for me but I twisted away from him. Afraid to take him seriously, I yelped, "Now cut that out! I did away with one cretinous beast for that."
He chuckled then glided down to the dispenser to refill his canister. "By the way, what did you do with the body?"
"Nothing."
"Harlan's Nuts! Is he still here? On this ship? In his cabin?"
"Well, I never went to look, but I'm sure he is."
"Gotta get him out of here."
Leaving his drink hovering, Rod launched himself toward the hatch. We were near Tragell's sun so Rod shoved the body out depending on the sun's gravity to draw down the body and cremate it. Catching a movement out of the corner of my eye, I looked up and directly into the face of what was left of the spacer.
Despite the great speed that we were traveling, he hung there, his remains caught in our wake. I cried out, shocked at what I had done to that body.
Rod returned, putting his hands over my face and drawing me down and away from that horrifying vision. But I had seen my fill and a photo had entered the appropriate file in the copious record room of my mind. And it was to stay. Some things get misfiled over the years--this one would not be. As I took a great gulp of the Likin juice that Rod pressed on me, I recognized that moment for what it was. I had walked out of the room of my life that held the bright, sunshiny irresponsibility and uncluttered fun of my youth. I had opened the door marked 'No Return' and like a cavalier wanton, had rushed through and jubilantly slammed the door closed behind me. I was sure that I would end up in that place of no return called the 'Capellan Periphery'.
And another one bites the dust, kiddies: I just feel so good to finally be liberated from all the guilt over the crossword puzzles and the dirty words. I mean, I have got the padre out of my hair for good. Oops, here he comes. Watch my dust!
..... Sir? Do what? Yes, sir. How many, sir? That many? Whatever you say, sir. Can I just kneel here?
Hail Liz. full of gaming,
the Post Office is with thee. Blessed art thou among gamers
and blessed is the fruit of thy pen, turnsheets.
Holy Liz, Mother of BSE,
Pray for us gamers, now and
at the hour of our final turn. Amen.
Hail Liz, full of gaming....
I know what you're thinking. Later--
