The TGSPGoSSP 2-Part Trilogy Read online

Rivera foraged through his deep pockets. His face was despondent.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Pinto, tossing a shiny wrapper behind him.

  “I was saving a candy bar for the right moment. I was going to eat it when I was at my hungriest moment, but now I can’t find it. Aargh!”

  “Gee,” the halfling said, his words muffled as he chomped on a mouthful of chocolate, “that’s too bad. Wish I could help ya, buddy.”

  The wizard sighed. “A lot of things have been disappearing lately. I tell ya,” he eyed Griskh, “you can never trust some people, or any orcs.”

  Soon enough, the adventurers took a break. They sat down and rested near a sign. It was seemingly posted in the middle of nowhere.

  The deep yellow sign had a picture of a child on it, just an outline really. It read, “Slow Children at Play.”

  Looking past the warning, they spotted a yard full of youngsters being supervised by their parents. As they watched, the parents walked over to the resting retinue.

  “Look at our children,” said the parents. Their kids moved in extreme slow motion, the balls that they played with seemed to defy physics as they bounced at one-eighth normal speed. “You are adventurers. Won’t you help us? Please help us break this curse.”

  “If you travel a few hours east of here, you will find a mage with the power to cure them,” said one of the parents.

  “Sorry,” Brisco said, “but we don’t have time for subquests.”

  Shannon understood; any delays and their soda might get flat. She shrugged an apology to the parents of the slow-motion children and led her group down the road.

  * * *

  Ahead there was a fork in the road, they were forced to make a decision. The team needed to decide on the proper path to take if they were to reach the Eye of Argon. During the middle of the discussion, debating which way would lead them to the end of the world, and thus to the coveted jewel, Brisco dropped to his knees in supplication.

  “I beseech the powers that be. Now I lay me down to sleep...”

  “What are you doing?” asked Rivera.

  “Praying. Yea though I walk through the valley…”

  “To whom?”

  “To the almighty GM. Give us this day our daily bread. And they all lived happily ever after. Amen.”

  “Praying to the almighty GM? Does that really work?”

  “Absolutley!” the cleric hopped to his feet and pointed down the eastern road. “We go that way.”

  Eyeing him skeptically, Shannon flipped a coin and retrieved it from the dirt. She nodded at the face-up coin. “East it is.”

  The group moved along the decided path. They chatted as they walked along.

  “Maybe,” continued Brisco, “you should consider converting. You know, become a disciple and find true happiness and stuff.”

  “Well, how would one do that?”

  “Oh, it’s easy,” said the cleric as he removed a weighty tome from his satchel. He showed it to Rivera. The book was labeled Judges Manual. “First, you have to dual-class. Secondly, if you want to follow GM, you must recognize and accept his son, Gzus, and follow Gzus’ example.”

  “Ok, but how do I do that?”

  “Don’t worry. I will tell you exactly what to do. Just blindly follow my every instruction, and you will be fine.”

  By now, everyone was listening in on the conversation. Shannon rolled her eyes; this would not be the cleric’s first convert from within their ranks.

  “Its like this: King David once averted a deadly battle by ordering two of his men to their death…like this.” Brisco turned to Ragnar and asked him if he had finished those socks yet.

  “Sure thing,” the barbarian said, handing them over. “Here you go.”

  “Now kill yourself with the knitting needles.”

  “Okie-dokie.”

  A minute later, the barbarian lay dead in a pool of his own blood. The cleric smiled and tossed the socks irreverently to the ground.

  “You idiot,” challenged the paladin. “Look what you’ve done, and only in the interest of making a single convert: I can’t believe that you threw away those perfectly good socks!”

  “I apologize, but I got the impression that I wouldn’t be able to pay any dowry with mere socks.”

  Shannon seized the knitted stockings and put them in her own pack. She would never tell the cleric how wrong he was. Where she came from, socks were the most rare and prized possessions. Ragnar’s death was unfortunate, but it did mean that they would all save money when they purchased their coveted soft drinks; they would now only need to buy soda in five-packs, rather than sixers.

  They continued on.

  “Ok,” asked Rivera, “but what happens if I mess up? What if I can’t be everything that the GM wants me to be?”

  “Hey,” he comforted, “don’t worry. Here, do you see what this book says on its cover? Look closely.”

  The wizard put his nose to the book’s cover, squinting. Then, Brisco smacked him across the face with it.

  “It says ‘Judge’s Manual’ for a reason. If you mess up, you will be judged.”

  “Ouch!”

  Griskh tsk-tsked at them. “While I can appreciate the fact that you are trying to further your own religious endeavors, I find your belligerence and tenacity for condemnation to be quite loathsome.”

  Brisco cocked an eye at the orc who disagreed with him. Continuing to walk, the orc talked over his shoulder, entering a philosophical debate as they journeyed.

  “I have always fancied myself as somewhat of a neo-Platonist, myself. Though I often struggle with the concept of Plato’s metaphysical objective idealism; I find it a little too dualistic for my tastes. I would veer, methinks, more toward the later teachings of the Platonic philosopher Plotinus, who we all know rejected the Gnostic aspect inherent in the—AAEEEIIIIII!”

  Griskh had fallen to the ground, dead. Brisco stood over him, having stabbed him with a dirty pair of knitting needles. The bloody tines protruded from his back. “Philosophy! That’s a cult! We can’t have that kind of free thinking.”

  Shannon whirled around. “Are you going to kill everybody?”

  “No. But he wouldn’t shut-up, and you heard him: philosophy is dangerous. I can understand him acting all goofy and stupid all the time, he’s just an orc, he was born like that, but now he’s a heretic too. He had to go.”

  The rest of the group shrugged as Brisco explained himself. At least the orcs death would bring up the average IQ of the group members.

  “So,” said Brisco to Rivera, “are you in? You wanna convert or what?”

  * * *

  Wind gusts blasted their faces. In the nearby distance, the horizon had a definitive point where nothing else extended. It was the end of the earth.

  The gleaming, massive ruby hung just over the edge of the world. The Eye of Argon levitated above the emptiness that stretched on forever, a vast descent into oblivion.

  Her enthusiasm high after finally seeing her goal, the paladin crept to the edge of the cliff. She looked down, her vision dizzied and blurred at the sight.

  “Let me do it,” said Brisco.

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m incredibly close to leveling up. C’mon, I need the EXP.”

  “Fine, alright,” resigned Shannon.

  Brisco jogged backwards and set up to take a running leap at the crystal. It looked just within his range. He sprinted forward; just as he came to edge of the cliff, he tripped on an untied shoelace and went hurtling over the edge, “Aeiiii!” he screamed. “I should have gotten Velcro!” His body plummeted out of sight.

  The paladin shook her head. “Oh well, one less person to share the spoils with.”

  She took her own running start and hurdled the void that separated the Eye of Argon from the world. Her strong hands grasped the massive ruby and she hung on it, suspended over the abyss. Her comrades would soon throw her a line and reel her in, as planned.

  Yes! thought Shannon. The sweet taste
of sarsaparilla will soon be on my tongue. She was a connoisseur of fine root beers.

  “Throw me the crystal,” shouted Pinto. “I won’t steal it and leave you there to die. Really.”

  “Oops.” Holding the giant crystal in her tight grip, Shannon accidentally activated it. A faint humming sound crescendoed around her and then suddenly ceased. A split second later, the world erupted in flame and earthquakes. Fault-lines split and volcanoes exploded. The world broke apart and blew-up in one massive detonation.

  Shannon hung there, swinging her feet. The nothingness stretched forever in every direction; everything was destroyed and dead. The only thing that remained was her and the levitating gem, the Eye of Argon from which she hung.

  “Well,” she sighed sarcastically, “this is just perfect.”

  ###

  Part II

  Start Wreck: The Trouble With Toasters

  (originally published by The Cynic Online Magazine, June 2008)

  The Gilgalesh Satire Players Guild of Satirical Satire Players, (or the TGSPGoSSP since acronyms are always easier to remember,) presents…

  Start Wreck: The Trouble With Toasters

  …Space, the expected frontier. This is almost a voyage on the U.S.S. Rent-A-Car. It’s mission: to mildly go where genre fiction has gone countless times before…or maybe not.

  Like iced tea, the Captain walked briskly through the hall. Klaxons echoed down the corridors in time to flashing red lights. That either meant red alert, or someone scored big at slots; either way, he was needed on the bridge.

  “Status report!” Captain Brisco demanded, bursting onto the bridge.

  First Officer Rivera reported, “Enemy vessel, straight ahead.”

  “A search of known energy signatures confirm it, captain,” stated Lieutenant Ragnar, the Security Chief, “It appears to be a Redneck ship. But they seem to be using some kind of primitive cloaking device.”

  Brisco switched the screen to a live video feed. The image filled the screen: a spaceship wearing a red, hooded cape. Oversized mudflaps affixed behind the warp drive emitters confirmed its origins.

  “Rednecks!” Brisco blurted. “The only members of the Galactic Civilization who refuse to obey the rules outlined by NONRA. These foul beings use illegal weapons! They must be destroyed.”

  “Captain, we’re being hailed,” said Rivera.

  “On screen, Number two.”

  A freckled man with a disheveled appearance came on the monitor. “Greetins, I’ma Captain Cletus. Are yalla’ware that’sher trespassin in this here Gilgalesh sector?”

  “Is thaaat th’truuuth?” Brisco replied with mock drawl.

  “Pardon?” asked Cletus.

  “You can’t handle the truth!” howled Captain Brisco. He severed the communications feed.

  “Power up our weapon systems,” barked Brisco.

  “But Captain…” Griskh stepped forward, “There has been no evidence of hostilities from this adversary.”

  “Listen, Mr. Griskh, when I want your pointy eared, irrational logic, I’ll ask for it. The only reason you made the crew is as our token alien.”

  Griskh raised an eyebrow, wordlessly questioning his superior.

  Brisco retorted, “You talk like an idiot, Mr. Griskh. Start making sense when you talk or I’ll have you demoted. When I want intellectual conversation, I’ll talk to our super-intelligent android. Lieutenant Toaster, should we attack?”

  The humanoid-shaped machine at the center console sat inert for a couple seconds. It finally dinged and two slices of toast popped through the top of his head. “Ka-chink!”

  “Attack!” Brisco shouted.

  Two giant, mechanical grappler arms separated from the chassis of the U.S.S. Rent-A-Car. One arm brandished a giant length of lumber, a steel spike protruding from the far end.

  “When did this turn into an anime?” asked Mr. Griskh.

  “Shut-up,” ordered Brisco as he opened the communications channel. “Now, Captain Cletus, prepare to witness the awesome power and superiority of the ‘Stick-With-Nail!’”

  “But weer’a peaceful people!”

  “Nonsense! You are savages who wield firearms and talk with a corrupt drawl. You ain’t even talking righted English, like every other species of reasoning… um, species in the galaxy.”

  Rivera pressed a button and the stick crashed down upon the enemy, ripping through them. The redneck ship exploded. Flotsam and bodies floated from the wreckage.

  “May the Almighty have mercy on their souls,” Brisco said reverently.

  “Really?” queried Rivera. “You believed in that religious mumbo-jumbo?”

  “Not really. Besides, rednecks’re so different that they’re barely even human people.”

  “I reckon yer right,” commented Rivera. “Anywho, crisis averted, so everyone can go back to computer solitaire, or whatever.”

  * * *

  Reaching for the magazine rack, Captain Brisco contemplated his earlier statements. Religion always struck him as futile; he hadn’t found a god that he could personally relate to.

  He shrugged. Maybe things will change next time I level-up.

  In the meanwhile, he had magazines with shiny pictures.

  Captain Brisco sat on his space toilet, leafing through “Stick-With-Nail Enthusiast.” The cover sported a custom-carved hickory and twelve-penny model.

  “Yes,” he sighed. “A refined mans’ weapon.”

  The emblem pinned to his chest chirped. Brisco tapped the communications unit. “This is Captain Brisco.”

  “Yes,” a voice interrupted. “This is First Officer Rivera.”

  “Ahh, Number Two.”

  “Yes, Captain. You’re running behind for the meeting. We’re just wondering what you’re doing.”

  “Um… number two.”

  “Yes, Captain. You seem to be running behind for our meeting. We’re wondering what you’re doing.” Rivera carefully annunciated.

  “Number two!”

  “Yes! Captain! Can you hear me?”

  “I said…oh, never mind.” Brisco flushed, audible through the device, and then headed to the meeting.

  Arriving, he warmly greeted the members of his advisory council and shook their hands vigorously. Then, he grabbed an attendant. “Send someone from maintenance to my quarters. It seems that my bathroom sink is broken… no water.”

  He turned his attention back to the meeting. “Counselor Shannon, can you please explain this dilemma to us so that we can see to fixing it promptly?”

  “Yes captain,” replied the raven-haired female. “As usual, we hope to patch this up within the next fifty-five minutes or so.”

  Toast popped through the seated Lieutenants head.

  “Ensign Pinto,” commanded the Captain, “go butter those for me.”

  “What,” complained the miniscule man. A genetic mutation, he stood only thirty inches tall. “This isn’t fair! Why do I have be the Ensign? It’s because I’m short, isn’t it?” Seeing no sympathy from his peers, he crawled from his booster seat and went to the mini bar, muttering something about using margarine as revenge.

  Shannon continued. “We’ve had an explosive population boom in recent history.” The counselor displayed a colorful diagram onscreen for them all.

  Brisco raised his hand to ask a question.

  “No… Captain. People are not exploding.”

  He put his hand down.

  “As you can see on the chart, these lines represent our maximum resource capacity overlaid with population growth trends. At this current rate, we won’t be able to sustain life on our vessel within a few reproductive cycles.”

  The captain asked, “Worst-case scenario?”

  “The death of everybody onboard.”

  “Hrmm. If that’s as bad as it sounds, we should fix this problem.” He’d hoped to pass the buck on this one and step out for a high-stakes game of Candy Land. “Any suggestions? We must act swiftly, before we’re overrun by children.”

&nbsp
; Lt. Ragnar offered a quick question. “Is there any nutritional value in them?”

  Griskh balked at his hypothetical. “Your query is as obscene as it is absurd! I certainly hope you had implied this suggestion in off-color jest.”

  “Um, yeah. Ha, ha. Just kidding, guys.” Ragnar discreetly slid his copy of A Modest Proposal under a stack of files.

  Shannon rolled her eyes. “What a dufus. Eat them? That’s what we have replicators for. No, the solution is much more betterer than that. We simply take those whom we don’t want and permanently stop their growth and developmental functions.”

  Griskh raised an eyebrow. “How exactly do you mean? Won’t placing our kin into an ongoing stasis tax our resources further than current alternatives?”

  “No, no. You’re not listening. I know it’s hard for you to comprehend, but try thinking up on our level—use your brain for once.”

  The Captain listened as Shannon explained. “Let’s amend our ship’s bylaws, it’ll be smooth sailing. The beauty is in our ‘right to choose.’ Those who are unwanted or unneeded will merely cease to be.”

  Suspiciously, Griskh asked, “elaborate further on this plan of yours.”

  Shannon rolled her eyes. “Simple. Say I come back to my quarters to find little Timmy has spilled cranberry juice all over my white cardigan…” She fumed as she spoke, an obviously personal story. “So now what? Well, to prevent any further damage to the ship, our society, and my own personal wellness, little Timmy is simply aborted. His functions are terminated… I will not wear a red shirt on this ship!”

  Gasps echoed around the room.

  “I can see that you are all as appalled as I am at the suggestion,” Griskh said.

  “Yeah,” snapped Rivera. “That is an appallingly excellent idea.” Rivera clapped.

  “No!” argued Griskh. “She suggests killing children!”

  “Is this true?” asked Captain Brisco.

  “What?” Shannon leveled an accusing glare at Griskh. “That’s stupidity talking. They won’t even be human after the bylaws are changed. Terminating late-stage fetal materials isn’t illegal.”

  “Do you place no value upon the lives of your fellow man?”

  “Captain, are you listening to this? What an unfounded argument, he wants to infringe upon my legal ‘freedom of choice,’ even outlaw abortion. We’re trying to curb the population boom, not encourage it!” Shannon pointed to the climbing line on her display.

  “That is awfully heavy-handed of you” Rivera chastised Griskh. “After all, she has a chart. Do you have a chart?”