[Herr D]

Good luck to you. I occasionally have cp probs too. I’m the only person I know to have had a Norton person on the phone to tell me I’d worn out my viruscide and needed another copy. I’ve had fairly good luck keeping my libr on Photobucket (free) and posting from there.

[Herr D]

As a writer, I tend not to ditch anything that I can alter or build around. If Memphis is TRICKED into breathing the microbe or someone is genetically enhanced to deliver it . . . [insert 17 other derivative ideas here] then that’s fine. As for the breath holding for 20 years, you should probably research spiders–they can ‘stasis’ themselves for longer, not needing to breathe at all. Then all you need is a tappable power source to maintain the forcefield, and you’re done.

There have been many times in my life I’ve thought putting myself in stasis would be good. Build the compound interest, save on food money, wait until I’m no longer ahead of my time . . . but you know that feeling, right? Good luck with the story. Put it up in the Writer’s Room here if you like.

[Herr D]

Well, with a deliberately surrealist work in my thread now and a lot of cross-talk ‘twixt threads about madness, it’s time to show my entry for the vehicle pop quiz.

http://i1067.photobucket.com/albums/u438/jamais5/hm3/HerrD-TheSSFaewatch.jpg

Zeph, as his buds call him, is captain of the SS Faewatch. His achievement name was earned in 1981 when he gusted off a man’s hairpiece in Virginia Beach and made it dance across a parking lot like a clumsy squirrel doing an accidental shoulder roll. Formally speaking to him when on his ship, you must say “Captain Zephyrym-Gusts-Toupee.” This pic must have him scheming somewhere off the starboard side. If you need a spontaneous madness cure or to go mad in such a way that going mad will sanify you, book passage by promising him a weather scheme to cause mischief that will make him laugh or cry.

You’d better not break a promise to him.

This one is his ship at anchor. That probably means it’s an involved scheme. The iris lantern means he may need some ship’s power to pull it off or find his way back.

http://i1067.photobucket.com/albums/u438/jamais5/hm3/SSFaewatchAtAnchor.jpg

[Herr D]

As promised, my Dali Tribute.

“The Shapes Of The Persistence Of The Galateanization Or Idealization Of The Memory Of Lost Loves”

http://i1067.photobucket.com/albums/u438/jamais5/hm3/HerrD-DaliTribute.jpg

[Herr D]

Thank you! You should’ve seen my ice sculptures when I was in my prime!
This piece will also appear in Snail-Male’s pad; It’s a Dali Tribute.

“The Shapes Of The Persistence Of The Galateanization Or Idealization Of The Memory Of Lost Loves”

http://i1067.photobucket.com/albums/u438/jamais5/hm3/HerrD-DaliTribute.jpg

[Herr D]

Yah–I looked for a flight on a vehicle to be shown soon on my thread, but they don’t charter to specific locations unless something needs to be messed up there for a human.

[Herr D]

While we were in the Hairbrush Nebula, Veb, our xenobiologist on the Explorer LXVIIII, took a holiday and went spelunking. He found some local fauna not smart enough to avoid humans. He said it resembled a piece of equipment from his History of Industry class’ construction unit. Something ancient humans referred to as a ‘Cat.’ He also said that in that cyanotic atmosphere, all the local fauna had blue fur and green eyes.

http://i1067.photobucket.com/albums/u438/jamais5/hm3/HerrD-TheCyanCat.jpg

Veb needs to be more careful. The thing weighed nearly six and a half metric tons. I knew we should’ve waited for a ninth-grader. Field trips can be dangerous!

[Herr D]

Clearly for you, Neurotica wears a Dull Metal Jacket over a Motley Few, being Bad Company, casting a Great Light, inciting a Diet Riot, worthy of a Kiss by Somebody’s Fool. All while performing on Streets of Fire. And the reason for her ‘issues?’ Heavy Metal poisoning.

Seriously though, love the color scheme. What kind of prize would you ask for if you win?

[Herr D]

I thought I’d try a more gypsy-styled character heavy on the neurotic part–hair chewing and angry, sexy but uncomfortable to look at, right?

http://i1067.photobucket.com/albums/u438/jamais5/hm3/HerrD-Neurotica.jpg

That’s a hard balance to strike–so I put in more work on her insanely-fashioned boots.

[Herr D]

Circus life! Under the big top-whoa-ohh . . . (Journey)
I’d forgotten about this pic in my focus to finish the VCK.
Most performance artists in the movement media can do a fair job of the mirror gag.
These twin clowns, Tia and Crumpets, can have an audience in stitches for over fifteen minutes with their version of it.

http://i1067.photobucket.com/albums/u438/jamais5/hm3/HerrD-TiaAndCrumpets.jpg

. . . This is part of their opening. Without the prop swap too many people didn’t know there was no mirror and so didn’t think it was interesting. Acts can be done too well.

[Herr D]

That was a bit more involved than enjoyable from my end.
Back to more fun stuff.
Just under the highest point of the sandy ceiling, around the biggest phosphorescing kelp grove, the students of Craggy U enjoy the sport of bubble herding. They may not qualify as pros, but they are not amateurs. Some of them have set records the pros can’t beat. Why, before a bubble cluster can drop two tentacle-lengths, they have many times herded it without poppage more than eighteen standard lengths!
–And their fight song and their mascot are the most popular in the sport!
Out in the Marianas where the giant squid grow lean,
The bubble-herding champs of Craggy U–MAKE THOSE GREAT WHITES LOOK TAME!
OUR TRENCH DOGGIE! LOST SPECIES BARELY SOGGY! BADA BADA BAHHHHH!
http://i1067.photobucket.com/albums/u438/jamais5/hm3/HerrD-TrenchDoggieMascotForBubbleHerdingChamps.jpg
They’ve been criticized for daredevil tactics, following the bubbles too long, but they just say their opponents can’t take the lack of pressure!

[Herr D]

Wow. It’s finally over. YIPPEE!
–So, does anyone need anything explained?

[Herr D]

Or die trying — good action movie title, too– yours? I’m going to have to be careful. I have too many ideas now, and too much time looking at your stuff might inspire me. I think of you as ‘the other one,’ but you and I aren’t the only hm innovators. . .

[Herr D]

He moved back a little and turned his head slightly. I got a bulletin from the cleaning bot about how it’s power was draining too fast. Those batteries were never well made, and they didn’t have enough to power a maintenance arm anyway. Luckily I’d already sent for a backup. He studied the screen with his peripheral vision doubtfully. “How did he know to write backwards?”
“This place is bugged. He probably figured it out because he would use a mirror too.” I nodded at the screen. A certain portion of server had finished processing another description of remains and extrapolated the results. I went ahead and put it up. ‘Higgy’ in green replaced one unknown. Then I realized I had a bigger problem. Who really was who? Higgy and Jenko and The Surgeon were certain, but the pile of i.d.s didn’t necessarily go with the bones? What if some of The Six really HAD survived? What if one of them was the fake Jenko in front of me, lying to me? They were all sociopaths, so my StayNeur and augmented software wouldn’t be able to tell. If The Surgeon had reached the point he was able to alter a spine, then maybe the work I was doing was irrelevant. Inwardly cursing, I sent a team of droids to dig their way there, though it would take forever, to do chemical testing on the bones themselves. I needed to get back on task before this guy shot me. “So who are you, then?”
“I never had a screen name. I never even learned my prisoner number. They took me right out of the comaship.”
Hey! That was supposedly how the unnamed one joined up. They took him and didn’t have to break him because he was already so messed up. He supposedly volunteered for everything they tested out if it didn’t reduce his benefit to the group. Voluntary unnecessary surgery. Torture methods. Must have taken the thrill out of it for the sadists. . . “I mean your name; mine is Oscaw Huver Miller.”
He paused like he really didn’t remember. “Clay,” he said, “Clay Billins.” I sent it off. Why not? Maybe he was telling the truth.
“You might not have much to bargain with.”
“What?”
I pointed at the text box. “For your life? You don’t exactly live like a king.” His eyes flicked to the floor. “But I know what they value these days. I could save you some time in negotiations, maybe.” This was back to first principles. When you don’t have the goods to sell in the first place and things look bad, make sure what you don’t have to sell sounds more expensive without hurry or making nice-nice. At least now I knew where he put his wealth.
“That is, of course, unless you’re going to make sure we both die by killing me.” I nodded at the text box again–
BANG
StayNeur activated at machine speed, preventing me from reacting to the sound or the fall. I was machine-still for the fall to the couch and the program I’d written kicked in so I slid off the couch as if I had no bones. The Enforcer uniform’s shoulder cannon had fired right through the wall, deflected the calculated amount toward straight through, severed my hammock rope, and hit Clay in three spots on the torso, one in the lower neck, and one through the left side of his nose. He was probably dead before the exit wounds started blowing outward. My bots had done well.
I nullified the alarms as they started. No record of Enforcer electronics booting up would do. I was halfway through composing an arbitration scenario where Jenko had started a fight when I realized no one was reporting the noise. A quick check told me the only people anywhere near here were listening to fight footage at high volume. I had the bots take down the whole wall panel, had them clean the room and strip the mechanisms off the Enforcer’s suit. He was mummified inside. Enforcer number-end GL8. My bots dragged GL8 and Clay’s bodies out into the corridors. An assembly droid finally caught up and removed everything of potential interest from the bodies. I had the implants sterilized and hidden in the wall for when I could sell them. The suit, now empty, went right back where it was with a charged up battery, just in case. I hacked in and had Jenko will me his life and ask me to guard his room while he went off to do some claim-jumping. One camera malfunction was enough to cover him not walking to the jumper, which I sent on a collision course with an automated patrol at high speed. Cleanup was definitely getting easier.
Thrash never made it to the ship he was supposed to steal. An unscheduled morgue worker with a camera phobia had shoved him out an airlock. When the revolution finally came it was no big deal. The Enforcers weren’t willing to die for anyone who didn’t even want them back. Upclose, Chugger, and revolutionaries A through C died along with at least seven agitators, fifteen Enforcers, and at least twenty disinterested parties. Most people completely forgot about the cave-in and Door 23.
The truth was simple enough. The first BMPS workers hadn’t ever separated their recyclables, just dumped it and made landfill out of it for an external wall over that whole area of V-gamma-7. Clay had been mining it. He’d caused the whole thing and was only just sending his bot to make sure his bodies were still buried. I used a digital composite to fake poor footage of a terrorist attack by revolutionaries that died in the cave-in anyway and sent droids in to remove all the wrong bodies just in case. Clay had almost five hundred pounds of gold under Jenko’s floor. Pity it wasn’t iron or something else really valuable up here.
Some people can’t adapt completely, right?
I took up where he’d left off. Did it responsibly, though. Geodesic structure of compacted blocks and REAL junk ore. I was genuinely scared for over a year when I found out there was never any real Clay Billins. No one of that name was ever put in the BMPS system at all. Never convicted. There may never have been one. I may have been talking to the unnamed member of The Six for real. The i.d. tag he wore was Jenko’s of course, and I was never able to match up any more of the remains. He had limed them and ruined any chance I had of figuring out more of them. Five of The Six could not be really accounted for. The i.d. tags beside the bodies were of hookers. Hookers! We’ll never know what happened to them, I guess. This place is dangerous enough without worrying about them. I have my food delivered by bots. Same for everything else. I don’t leave this room and even Gibb isn’t welcome. He could be one of them . . .

\END TEXTBURST \ROBOTARM:ADDON:LOC314

THE END

[Herr D]

THE VERY CROSSE KNIGHT Chapter VII: The Explanations

The three knights, baffled by all this, looked at each other and walked in the direction Herr D had pointed. In short order, they found the letter. It read:

TO WHOMSOEVERETH IT MAY CONCERN:

I, Sir Herr D, The Very Crosse Knight, Knight of the Third Choice, must admit to certain deceptions. This may be considered a full confession. First, the Remaker, as it called itself, I pursued here by luck entirely. It has caused many people grief, including myself, and so I was partially motivated by revenge. Second, I failed to protect your world and most of the challengers that came against it before you. They have caused your entire world to be radically altered several times while I made my preparations, usually in a negative way. I rigged up the Acme Portcullis Closer, but it took much time. (You may consider it and the underground dueling place a gift to your world.) Third, I knowingly and deliberately captured multiple Crystal Draconis and scared them into the Remaker’s tunnel, knowing most of them would likely die, for the purposes of altering your world back in a positive direction. It DID work. I do not regret my decision. Only the cost. Fourth, I did not ACTUALLY slay the Remaker. Surewecans merely reduce the power of their target to the level of their opinion of their attacker. It was already intangible and, in it’s own way, immortal, so I reduced it’s power by deceiving it into thinking that you all were cowards. It should never be able to alter anything on it’s own or even act on it’s own again. Fifth, I am not a knight at all, and from your perspective, perhaps not even a man. Glancelot and Schultz could hardly see me at all as I am beyond their experience. Emnoonbrashone saw my gloves and mask and so properly realized I am alive. Please donate the belongings I have left behind to the poor. As by your law I am facing multiple death sentences, I am leaving immediately through the Gate of Realms. (Sixth, I lied when I said I would wait.) Even if stripping slows me down, none of you will be able to catch me for the reason I could attack the Remaker harmlessly at all.
I see the world just as it is and so no one can easily see me as I am.
Nice knowing you,
Herr D

P.S. If Hastings comes by, tell him I luckily did not need to call him. —And under
no circumstances try to ride him or depend on him. He’s not actually tamable, just
an associate who sometimes comes when I call him.

The three knights ran as fast as they could. Halfway there Schultz swears to this day he heard the Gate of Realms open and a voice say “THANKTH! I WUTH–HEYYY!” but of course no one knows what that means. The Gate of Realms opened again, and just before Glancelot came within view of it, Herr D was gone. A mask fell to the ground. Everything else he had worn or been carrying except the surewecans he’d used and the mysterious staff he’d borrowed were collected to one side.
http://i1067.photobucket.com/albums/u438/jamais5/The%20Very%20Crosse%20Knight/Escaping.jpg
“I KNEW there was mischief about!” Schultz said,”I suppose I’d never seen mischief for a good cause before. . .”
They collected Herr D’s things. After a quick discussion they decided to skirt the royal forest and so found a most peculiar creature. It looked VERY powerful and dangerous, but Schultz said it was not inherently evil and walked up to it.
“Are you Hastings?” Here the creature nodded. “Herr D said he was lucky he didn’t have to call on you?” The creature nodded, twitched it’s massive nose, and disappeared. And so the three knights returned home to the Nabooian castle.

THE END

http://i1067.photobucket.com/albums/u438/jamais5/The%20Very%20Crosse%20Knight/Hastings.jpg
*

Author’s Note: Hastings is a tangible manifestation of the power of humor. He is named for an occurrence mentioned in old Ripley’s Believe It Or Not literature. Supposedly at ‘the battle of Hastings’ sometime in the 1100’s, two entire advancing lines of men fell back without striking a blow after seeing a frightened rabbit run between them. If a rabbit could save hundreds of men from death or terrible injury, it makes me wonder whether a camel could’ve stopped WWII . . . ah, well. Hope you enjoyed it.

[Author]

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