Wednesday, October 24, 2007

WERE MAKING A MOVIE

Dear Readers.

A Major Motion Picture of our first novel is being produced in Second Life. We will keep you informed of our progress. But for the next few days we are writing our screenplay for Geo Meek and Code Tracer who are producing the film in Second Life.

We will keep you posted, and we are sorry that you will miss the daily chapters. However its only for a week or so.

Punky Pugilist
Sindy Blazer
Aiko Dynamo

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

CHAPTER 31 - YO-YO

Nimbus the cloud god, and Kronos the god of time, were standing atop Mons Aetas laughing. They had been making jokes at the expense of the elemental gods and goddesses, and Thorium was very annoyed and Neon was really pissed. Rather than continue with the jokes about valences and such, Nimbus and Kronos wandered off looking for some amusement or diversion in the world of avatars.

The first few hours of the voyage of the HMS Vengeance were uneventful as they headed south to the edge of the world and toward the sims of East Egg and Shangri La in the Kun Lun mountain range. Normal was in the pilot’s seat and the crew had settled into the anticipation of the monotony of a long two day voyage to deposit Kees and Macboy at their destination. But the monotony was not to be.

Three hours out from the blimp works they blew a head gasket on the port engine. Their speed slowed to just a few knots as Washrox and Witney overhauled the engine and replaced the gasket. Soon they were underway again, when same engine blew the gasket again. This time they replaced the gasket and torqued down the head bolts to more feet pounds than was specified in the hope that it would hold for a while. The gasket held but Punky told Normal to hold the speed down and Washrox to be especially careful of managing the pressure in both engines.

Just after lunch the weather turned foul. They had seen the cloud banks build and a prudent flight plan would have called for avoiding the growing towering cumulus clouds, but the crew did not have the time for a less direct route, and Punky was confident that they could traverse the region safely. Safely that is in a registered, well maintained, and normal blimp. The HMS Vengeance was another matter and the decision caused Punky concern. In another hour or two the cloud formation had changed and had become a classic cumulonimbus formation. Based on the size of the formation Punky estimated that it probably rose to 14,000 or 15,000 meters or more. By the time they entered the formation and the ship began to pitch and roll in the turbulence Punky began to think she had made a bad decision to proceed rather than reroute the ship.

They were pelted by rain and lightening appeared on the horizon directly ahead. Punky had the crew search about a bit for an altitude that was less violent, but they had such a limited ceiling in the ship that it did not matter. So Punky decided to seek the ceiling of the ship at 1000 meters to give them flight space if something bad happened. In this way they might have some time to review their accomplishments if they fell from the sky in a fiery ball.

As the sun was setting Punky felt a real jolt and the ship began to rise. Punky watched the altimeter carefully as it spun past 1200 meters and hit 1500 meters. “Were caught in an updraft,” said Punky. “Give me downward thrust on the engines.”

Normal adjusted the gimbols and applied downward thrust. The ascent of the ship from the rise of air within the clouds diminished, but it did not stop. They continued to rise and soon they were at 2000 meters. Punky began to be very concerned, because when they were thrown out of the rising air stream, and they would be there was no doubt about that, they would start to fall given that they did not have sufficient lift to maintain the altitude. If the descent was fast enough and from high enough an altitude the structural integrity of the ship would be compromised and they would experience structural deficiencies – or as Punky called it, they would disintegrate and crash.

The ship continued to rise ever so slowly as Normal applied more steam pressure to the engines to arrest the rise of the ship. In a few moments the ship began to plunge and before Punky could say anything Normal had reversed the gimbals and was applying power to fight the rapid and dangerous high speed descent.

Were on the thermal yo-yo realized Punky. The thermal yo-yo was a blimp captain’s nightmare and existed only in towering cloud formations where violent updrafts often paralled equally violent downdrafts. As the ship moved through the formation it would be suddenly thrown up and then thrown down. An enormous peel of thunder and lightening shook the ship violently.

Nimbus, the cloud god, was laughing wildly at his accomplishment.

Kronos, the god of time was watching in amazement. “Can you walk the dog?” asked Kronos.

“Sure,” said Nimbus. “Watch this.”

The ship suddenly lurched and began a rapid descent. Witney was thrown to the ceiling of the gondola before landing hard on the deck. Witney grabbed a hand hold but could barely hold on as the ship began a rapid and steep descent toward the hard ground below. Normal applied all the energy they had left in the double boilers to the engines but it was useless. They were in free fall. They broke through the lower cloud cover and Punky could see the ground rushing toward them. Punky thought to herself that it was about to end, but then the ship halted its descent only a few meters from the ground and it shot forward. This time Witney, Kees, and Macboy were thrown violently toward the rear of the gondola. Witney grabbed some ropes and they lashed themselves to the spars of the gondola walls. No sooner had the knots been tied when the ship shot back up into the darkening skies. Thunder and lightening resounded throughout the skies as the crew of the HMS Vengeance fought to maintain control of the ship and of their lives.

“Cool,” said Kronos. “I’ll bet you can’t ‘loop the loop’”

Nimbus laughed. “Watch this,” said Nimbus.

Nimbus proceeded to impress Kronos with all the tricks in his bag. After a ‘double loop the loop’ Nimbus demonstrated the ‘boing e boing’, ‘gyroscopic’, and the always popular ‘iron whip.’ But after a while Kronos grew tired of simple tricks and challenged Nimbus to a beer chugging contest which Nimbus accepted because he was both thirsty and his index finger hurt.

As suddenly as the wild movements of the blip had begun they were over, and the ship had stabilized, broken out of the cumulonimbus clouds and into a high cloud cover and a drenching rain. Vomit covered the deckplates. Everyone was bruised and Washrox had hit her head so hard against the steam gage that she was bleeding badly. Punky looked about in astonishment. They were alive. The ship was reasonably intact, and they were cruising at 30 knots toward their destination. A quick look at the maps revealed that they were significantly ahead of schedule and that the storm had moved them forward at a very fast pace.

Punky stood from her seat and attended to Washrox. Normal was as white as an egret in snow, but was focused and handling the ship well. Normal would need a change of clothing Punky noticed, as would they all she realized. Washrox was ok and a few bandages seemed to stop the bleeding. Then Punky turned to inspect the structure of the ship. There was going to be severe damage Punky knew. Punky was amazed that they were still aloft following such a harrowing and indescribable ride through the storm.

“Witney,” cried Punky in her most commanding voice which sounded a bit like a helium voice, “get a light and a clip board. We need to inspect the ship.” Witney unlashed herself and jumped to Punky’s side and they began a close inspection of the ship. When they discovered the gondola main spar bolts had sprung Punky’s mouth fell open. The gap between the superstructure and the gondola was large enough to put her hand through. Witney rushed to the machine shop and returned with a mini-welder. New bolts would not work, only a patch weld could be applied and hopefully keep the gondola attached to the Blimp superstructure above. In about an hour they had temporarily reattached the gondola to the blimp. That was close thought Punky.

“Now to the engine room,” said Punky as she climbed the ladder and through the hatch above into the engineering section. Witney followed and before them was even more devastation. There were pin hole leaks in two of the six hydrogen bladders and Punky and Witney applied duck tape and bubble wrap to the holes as quickly as they could. Then they turned to the engines. The were in good condition, but they were never intended to take the abuse of the last few hours and Punky was again impressed with Tek’s advanced boiler and engine designs.

Nimbus and Kronos grew tired of the beer drinking contest. Kronos decided to sleep and lay down upon a soft bed prepared by his friend Zeno. As he dozed off to sleep Kronos heard Nimbus belch and then the familiar tinkle of a very full Nimbus relieving himself.

The rain grew in intensity for a moment and the ship was hit hard by a sudden gust of wind and then the weather cleared. They entered clear air and the sun began to rise in the east as they headed south toward East Egg and Shangra La.

Monday, October 22, 2007

CHAPTER 30 - LAND USE

Sindy Blazer stepped from the pedi-cab and onto the sidewalk facing the Art Décolleté Times Tower which housed her office on the 19th floor. Sindy stood for a moment and took a deep breath and savored the smells, sounds, and energy of Capital City. An omnibus rattled past, Sindy began coughing from the fumes of the city. She wiped the tears from her eyes. Then as she prepared to mount the grand stair leading to the enormous zinc doors emblazoned with the famous ‘double cross’ symbol of the Murdstone publishing empire. She carefully read the motto to which all employees at The Times had dedicated their lives. Chiseled in Capibara Marble above the door in Times Roman Type read “if it’s printed, it must be true.”

A tall doorman stood in a green tunic with a black bearskin hat, looking like a tall evergreen tree with a burned top. The doorman had two purposes at The Times. One was to greet Ruprecht Murdstone, Executive Editor of The Times and head of the Lupine News Corporation each day as he arrived in his long gold toned limousine with avarice laced curtains and ruthless side walls. As Ruprecht would exit his limousine, the doorman would roll out a small red carpet and bow to Ruprecht telling his what a fine human being he had become and how he was first among the most honored of the journalistic profession. He would greet Ruprecht with phrases such as, ‘Ah Mr. Murdstone your tie is so much more elegant than Mr. Hurst’s,’ or ‘I see you have lost weight faster than Mrs. Graham,’ or the always popular ‘You are so much more intelligent than your worthless son and banshee daughter.’

The doorman’s other role was to make the employees and visitors to The Times tower feel small and insignificant in the face of the mighty Lupine News Corporation, owner of The Times, The Walled Street Drag, Feeble Magazine, and the always popular Screaming and Yelling Television Network. ‘Fear and banal,’ was the motto of the network and Murdstone was always telling the staff that fear sold newspapers and banal kept the costs down. The efforts of the doorman kept both the riff raff away, as well as any thought of employees asking for a raise or a new benefit from Lupine News. Once the doorman had been nice to Sindy and that was the time when Murdstone had gone missing and was temporarily replaced by Sindy as acting executive editor by the board of directors. He had been nice then remembered Sindy, but now he simply glared at Sindy from under his bear skin hat.

Sindy entered The Times Tower and walked into a waiting elevator.

Mr. Bubbs, the last elevator operator in all of Second Life, nodded to Sindy and asked “19th floor Ms. Blazer?”

Sindy nodded affirmatively in reply.

Mr. Bubbs grasped the enormous leaver, grunted, released the braking latches, pulled the lever forward, and called out in a very loud voice “Start ‘em up boys!” Far above on the 34th floor the whine of ferrets chasing a small white mouse could be heard as the elevator lurched into action. “Hard day?” asked the kind and knowing Mr. Bubbs.

“Not hard,” replied Sindy, “but really odd.” Sindy watched as the elevator avatar wrote down the floor numbers on a slate board in chalk as they passed by.

At floor ten, the archive and library floor, the elevator paused and copy boy Jimmy Whatshisname, entered, his arms laden with back issues, post it notes, yellow copy paper, and a cheap Mont Blanc knock-off pen in his white crumpled shirt pocket. There was a new stain at the bottom of his pocket protector. This time it was in green ink. The ink color only allowed to be used by Murdstone himself. Sindy guessed that the rumors must be true and that Murdstone had actually attempted to turn Jimmy into a journalist. The results must have been humorous thought Sindy. Or perhaps Jimmy had simply stolen the ink from Murdstone’s office. The ugly green ink stain was still fresh and wet at the bottom of his pocket protector.

“golly gee. hi miss sindy,” he said in lower case, always averting his eyes from direct eye contact as a sign of submission and respect. Sindy kind of liked the kid, he reminded her of herself when she had been without sleep for two days and recovering from the flu. In other words really slow and stupid.

“19th Floor,” announced Mr. Bubbs thrusting forward the great lever, smashing down the dog latches, and barking out “Shut ‘em down boys.” The whine from above slowly died as the ferrets caught the mouse and began tearing it apart tail to nose. The door swooshed open and the tiny space was filled with the cacophony screaming editors, me-phones ringing, and reporters shouting epithets at their slow re-booting Macs.

Sindy proceeded to her office followed by Jimmy. Jimmy had an uncanny ability to know when Sindy arrived or left from work. The uncanny ability was based in part on Jimmy’s lurking in Sindys office doorway all day long. This helped him detect where Sindy was at any given time.

“Jimmy,” yelled Sindy.

Jimmy thought for a moment. Sindy only yelled at him when giving him an assignment. That was the newspaper way. Yell at the copy boy so that everyone would know you were more important than him.

“yes ms. sindy,” replied Jimmy.

“Jimmy.” yelled Sindy again, “Go to the archive and get me every thing you can find on cycle stealing, temporal distortions, and the meta-virtualized pseudo-reality simplicity-complex paradigm.”

“sure,” said Jimmy. “you want creamer with that?”

“Sheesh, Jimmy,” said Sindy. “I’ll write it down for you and you can give it to the librarian Ms. Tarttle. Then wait till she is finished and has the information for you then get back here pronto.”
“yes,” replied Jimmy reaching for the slip of paper Sindy had written her search terms upon. He started breathing heavily. Hyperventilating actually, so that no one could interrupt his critical mission for something unimportant like getting Pastrami on White with double mayo from Khrons across the street. In a moment he was gone, racing for the elevator and on to the tenth floor and the librarian. That horrible Ms Tartle thought Jimmy.

As he handed the paper slip to Ms. Tartle, she frowned at Jimmy. Adjusting her glasses she read the search terms carefully. “This will take several hours Jimmy, I will have it ready at 3 o’clock.”

“ok,” said Jimmy, “ill be back then.”

Jimmy raced for the elevator and was soon safely ensconced in his secret office in the sub basement of The Times Tower. He lit a candle stub, reached for a cyan crayola, found the big book of words, and began to look up each term on Sindy’s list. Journalism is not easy he had learned. His muse had told him so. But now the muse was not around to coach him in the journalistic arts and mysteries. He was on his own Jimmy knew, but he still believed that the Muse would someday return and would want to see his draft articles perhaps for inclusion in Jimmy’s biography, ‘My Life in Times’ or in a retrospective collection of his works entitled ‘Crayola Scribbling of a Journalist.’

Sindy looked out the window at the vast metropolitan landscape of Capital City. Capital City was laid out in a neat geometric pattern. Some sims were chaotic, given the unplanned nature of subdivision within Second Life, and the complete lack of zoning rules other than immature, mature, and disgusting. Her home town of Heart of the Ocean, in the Sim of Sonogno, had an escort service building on a tiny sliver of land the village elders were unable to purchase at the time of the founding of the town. The owners wanted a huge amount of money for the property, far, far more that it was worth. This was Sindy’s first introduction to extortion in land sales within Second Life. The extortion got worse when the Casinos tried moving in to adjacent lands, causing horrible sim lag, and demanding huge payoffs to go away. Land use was a mess in Second Life.

Then she had an idea and grabbed her Baffles Computer me-Comp, righted her overturned desk, and sat down to do some research. She logged on and looked at the Second Life Map. The big map appeared and she looked carefully about the edges of the known universe. The Linden provided mapping system was very detailed. Then Sindy switched over to Googoo streets, the new controversial mapping system that successfully eliminated all respect for privacy and concerns for common decency. Focusing on the edges of virtual life she examined the streets and lanes of the edge sims carefully. Sindy was amazed at the amount of mooning, snogging, and prevaricating, that Googoo had captured in its cinematic efforts. Grist for the society pages she thought as Sindy saw Sissy Plumblossom slipping out a second story window in the sim of Gigolo.

Sindy spotted Governor Linden twice. Once with that Paris girl in the Sim of Cookie at the Literary Conference of ‘Authorship of Self Help Monologues and Feel Good Scams,’ and another glimpse of the Governor is dark glasses and a bad wig standing out front of a Dilbert concert in the sim of Meolo.

After hours of endless false starts, and even worse false ends, she found an anomaly she suspected might be found. Peering from the edge of the sim of East Egg to the south, she could see another sim, perhaps two, that were not present on the Lindens mapping system.

Saturday, October 20, 2007

CHAPTER 29 - DAVIDHOFFS

The X ship sailed all morning and into the late afternoon sun without serious incident. About lunch time they blew an o-ring on a hydrogen feed line, but Paxford rerouted the fuel and Washrox and Witney quickly repaired the line. Washrox was showing less hesitation and was clearly less fearful of making a decision. The crew had settled into their roles and responsibilities, and Tek haD spent the entire day teaching about the features of this flying test platform for advanced boiler and engine designs. They had even practiced rapid descents and air braking with the new gimbaled engine mounts well out to sea and far from prying eyes. The X ship was indeed fast and nimble. But at times, when Punky looked at the interior of the ship, she knew that the X ship was ineffective as an operational air ship. She was cramped, hastily assembled from old bits and parts of scrapped blimps, she lacked any safety features, and was never intended for anything but daytime fair weather flying. She was exactly as Tek described. The X ship was a flying test bed. Nothing more, yet she was all they had in the face of a looming crisis.

Witney had busied herself in the tiny machine shop and had been grinding, welding, and banging away all day while she sang to herself. Witney was singing K-pop and Punky could not understand a word of it, which made sense, because Punky did not speak Korean. Witney seemed very happy thought Punky. One after another Witney had collected the broadswords provided to the crew by the Monfortes and ground them down to match the height of each avatar. In addition she removed much of the excess weight on the swords by drilling out portions where the structure of the weapon allowed without compromising strength. The result was a much lighter and more useable weapon. The weapons were still antique, and quite useless in most of Second Life, but they were comforting to the crew in these tense times.

Whitney had given special attention to the four crossbows they had been provided and had crafted bolts for the weapons from wooden dowels, a pane of glass, and several bits of cardboard. The arrows were deadly Punky realized when she examined them. Whitney had modified one crossbow to fire magnesium flares. Witney estimated that the flares could be sent about 150 yards. 150 yards of flaming white hot inextinguishable mayhem thought Punky.

As the sun set Punky had Washrox plot a course for the blimp works and as the dark of the night settled upon Fort Balatro the X ship slipped into the blimp works hangar unseen. The landing had been excellently performed by the crew and all Punky had to do was fret about death and destruction in a flaming crash.

Daggy welcomed them, but Punky and crew were immediately whisked away as the engineers and ground crews descend upon the ship to prepare her for her new role as raider in distant lands. After handing the engineering manager a list of items needing attention Punky went to the makeshift dormitory threw her clothes into the washer and then took a long hot shower. Punky noticed Witney and Tek had wandered off to his ‘abode’ in a giant packing crate at the far corner of the hanger. Punky sat around exhausted for a while as her clothing dried. Then Punky dressed in warm undies, trousers and blouse, found an empty bunk, and crashed.

Punky did not sleep well. That night at the Druid Grove kept recurring in her sleep. The volcano’s glare and the horrible desperate fight against the Armies of Circe kept her from any restful sleep. The wicked smile of Adel Flossberg, and finally the image of Sister Letum shaking her fist at the sky as it exploded into white hot flames when the HMS Dread immolated Letum in its fiery crash.

“Wake up Punkster. It’s almost time to go,” said Dagmon Zhukovsky, Chief Engineer of Zippy’s Blimp works.

Punky rose and rubbed her eyes with her small fists. “Sheesh,” Punky said. “I need to sleep for a week and a day.”

Daggy handed Punky a steaming doppy espresso with a jolt of jolt and turned back toward the hangar.

In a few moments Punky was back at the gantry of the ship. Her crew was assembled and she spotted Kees and Macboy across the room.

“Hi Kees, Macboy,” Punky said. They snapped to a salute and waited for Punky to acknowledge it. Punky frowned in confusion until she remembered she was an acting Blue Navy Blimp Captain. “At ease,” Punky said. Gee that’s fun she thought. “Ok,” shouted Punky, “time to get going.”

As Punky turned toward the ship she noticed that the large X was no longer painted on her side. Instead emblazoned on the ships side was her new name – HMS Vengeance. Punky smiled. A suitable name she thought.

They boarded the blimp and the gangway was pulled away. They were six. Washrox was at engineering, Normal sat in the pilots seat, and Paxford was standing at the fueling controls. Macboy and Kees stood to the rear of the gondola and were watching Witney building a zip gun powered by things found in the medicine cabinet. They were laughing a lot.

Punky turned to Kees and asked “What’s our destination tonight?”

Kees stopped laughing and pulled from his vest pocket a map and pointed to the location. The Kun Lun mountain range at the southern edge of Second Life. At the end of the world thought Punky. The very edge of reality.

Punky turned, pulled the maps for that region of Second Life from the navigation locker and began to plot a course.

Soon the undocking procedure had begun, and with little help from Punky, the HMS Vengence took to the sky. As they exited the hangar, Punky looked to Port at the immense and looming form of the HMS Insouciant which was waiting to dock in the black night. Punky could not see much in the dark, but what she did see was grim. Half her enormous gondola was missing and she was listing badly on one very scorched and blackened side. There must have been casualties she thought. Lots of them.

***

Mallory stood at the open door and once again surveyed the street. The news urchin was gone as was the street sweeper. The urchin had been nabbed in the raid. The kid would know nothing. The street sweeper was gone because there was a lot of cleaning to be done following the assault. The street was littered with debris. Mallory laughed under her breath. He’s probably going to wait for auto-return she thought.

SOMA, where the Club was located, was a slum during the day and hot club venue after midnight. The graffiti, the homeless, and the litter filled streets faded into oblivion late at night, but, here and now, in mid afternoon the place was filthy and dead. Mallory knew that nothing happened in this district until well after midnight. At the north end of the street there was some light traffic on the cross street. Across the street a few employees of the Café were gathered together talking. Probably talking about the raid thought Mallory. Next to the café was an antique shop which was open only by appointment and a hair salon. On the south end of the street was a bodega that sold mostly booze, cigarettes, and Doritos. Mallory turned toward the Bodega.

A tiny bell tinkled as she entered the Bodega. The store was cramped and a short fat man sat on a stool behind a counter in a bullet proof glass box. Mallory looked about the store before studying the clerk. The Magazine section was a mess and the new issue of Saints and Sinners Monthly lay on the floor. Booze took up half the store. Low priced booze like TinkerToy fortified wine, Scum’s Irish, and Rhubarb flavored Rum, were the featured items. From the looks of it they sold a lot of Rhubarb flavored Rum. The food section was entirely snacks. Most were lo-cal snacks, since they cost practically nothing to make, and the margins were high. That is if you could move them on the local clientele. Mallory saw the sell by date on a half kilo package of Ante Christo’s fudge was three years ago. The edge of the package had been nibbled open but the fudge untouched inside. So much for nutrition realized Mallory.

Mallory turned to take in the clerk and the cage from which he ruled his domain. Cash only said a poorly written sign above a small hole in the glass at counter level where payments were transacted. There was an apartment above the bodega, but it was silent in the mid afternoon. Probably some club workers or band members sleeping through the day. Behind the clerk lay stacks of cigarettes. All the usual popular brands, Mawled Boy, Strike Outs, Death Knells. Mallory spotted her brand.

“Galois,” Mallory said in a firm voice. The clerk was nervous noticed Mallory. The clerk turned and hunted for the pack of cigarettes. Mallory watched closely as he fumbled with the packs until he found the blue soft pack next to a stack of black and red ones. The clerk was about 40, old for an avatar thought Mallory. His face was pasty white and his hair a deep black. He used hair gel to create a whispy spiky look so popular with the SOMA club set. On his pinky ring he had a rock of considerable size. Not zirconium or paste Mallory could see at this distance, but the real thing. His clothes were tailored denims and an ill fitting white shirt. The sleeves on the shirt were about an inch too long but they showed little sign of wear. The denim looked fresh with the current popular distressed look created by vagrants hired to urinate on the fabric until it faded to a pale green. Expensive trousers Mallory knew. Very expensive. The guy was unarmed, but given the location of the Bodega, Mallory had no doubt that under the counter would be all the love and care a bodega clerk could need in this town.

Mallory slid a 7 linden note through the hole. The clerk had not taken his eyes off Mallory since she entered even though she was clearly a woman of some means. He’s paranoid or he really has something to hide she thought. Mallory took her change and cigarettes and walked to the doorway. Then she turned and returned to the clerk.

“How about a pack of Davidhoffs too,” said Mallory.

The man turned and without looking picked up the red and black hard pack of very expensive Davidhoffs. Mallory inwardly smiled.

“On the other hand,” Mallory said, “I’ll stick with these,” as she waved the Galois in the air.

The clerk shrugged and Mallory exited the building. Mallory stood on the street for a moment and then walked to the alley behind the Bodega. There were two trash bins in the back. Mallory peeked into one. It was filled with store debris. The other was household trash from the apartment above. Mallory took the two plastic bags from the household garbage bin and carried them across the street and into the club.

The Omega squad was going over the building inch by inch, but Mallory knew they would find little.

“Find anything?” asked Mallory almost as a courtesy to the squad .

“Yes, lots of clues here,” replied a short very buff Blue Navy commando named Sandy Elbow. “Over here’, Sandy said, motioning to a table with carefully tagged items. Mallory took a quick look at their precious discoveries.

Mallory turned and walked to the center of the dance floor which had the greatest illumination in the room from skylights above. Then to the horror of Sandy Elbow, Mallory dumped the two bags of garbage onto the floor. Mallory pushed the garbage about with the toe of her Ferraguano knock offs.

The entire omega squad turned as Mallory kneeled down. Mallory began laughing at the pile of garbage strewn upon the club floor.

“Oh Loopy,” said Mallory, “you should have known better.”

Thursday, October 18, 2007

CHAPTER 28 - X IN THE AIR

Punky boarded the experimental blimp before dawn, with her crew from the Poofer as well as Tek Cronon, the steam engine designer and near genius. Tek was there to train them in the new engines and systems. Fraley was in the infirmary and would remain there for along time. This was no longer a training mission, and Punky assigned Normal Bellini, the Goth, to be pilot, Washrox to the engineering station, and Paxford Lint to the now obsolete position of coal shoveler. The X ship was hydrogen powered, not coal fired as were conventional blimps. Witney Llanfair joined them as weapons officer and to get her ‘air legs’

Punky was free to choose a different crew from the available staff at the blimp works, but the pickings were few. There were no experienced blimp captains on the station except for Daggy and she was disallowed by orders of the Second Sea Lord. There were excellent coal shovelers but the new ship did not need their strength and endurance so Punky stayed with a known crew compliment including Paxford. Punky became mission commander.

Punky required that the crew outfit themselves with the primitive weapons supplied by the Monforte’s. The crew hated the idea of carrying these heavy cumbersome and near useless weapons. But Punky insisted, because these where the only weapons they had, and the crew had to gain familiarity with them. Witney had shown the crew how to sling the broadswords across their backs with the hilt sticking above the left shoulder. All the crew including Punky was so armed, except for Witney. Witney had both a sword and a crossbow that she was lovingly polishing and caressing.

The X ship was experimental and was not really fit for patrol service. The ship was built as a test platform for engines and had very few amenities such as showers, bunks, or a small lounge. The ship was bare bones, or bare spars and hard seats. Further the gondola was small and cramped. A pile of sleeping bags was stacked next to the tiny toilette.

The NAGS had not attacked the blimp works and the X ship, when the wiped out most of the fleet, because they thought they had accounted for all registered blimps. What they failed to realize was that the X ship was not registered. The X ship was only a temporary test platform.

“Punky, are you listening?” asked Ted as he stood on the bridge of the X Ship with the crew.

“Sorry,” said Punky. “Go ahead Tek.”

“Well as I was saying,” said Tek, “This ship is hydrogen powered from these tanks of liquid hydrogen there.” Tek pointed to two long cylindrical tanks that were lashed to the sides of the gondola and ran the length from one end to the other. The tanks were covered in a thick layer of insulation, but even the top layer of the insulation was covered with ice. Liquid hydrogen was really really cold.

“Hydrogen has two advantages on a blimp,” said Tek. “We can use it for fuel and for lift. But it has also two disadvantages and those are that we can use it for fuel or lift. Take your pick.” Tek laughed as if he had told a really dirty joke. But it was not funny at all to the crew.

Punky knew that if you ran out of fuel you could tap the bladders holding the lift hydrogen and run the engines. On the other hand, if you did that you would eventually fall to earth. Having extra hydrogen as fuel you could reroute the hydrogen to the bladders if you were leaking from a breach or hole in the bladders and this was a comforting thought. However the cost to the airship may well be no fuel for the steam engines.

Tek went on the describe the gimbaled engines that could be tilted in almost any direction. The ship was both very fast and extremely nimble. How fast, Tek was unsure, but she was capable of doing at least 100 knots safely. Certainly the engines were capable of greater speed, but the airframe was unlikely to hold up very long at speeds above 100 knots. Tek was careful to explain the engine tilting mechanisms to both Normal and to Punky. At the pilots and copilots seats was a new control. Another wheel with 360 degrees etched into its rim stood next to the throttle levers. This was the engine tilt control.

They had packed sandwiches and several thermos of tea and were ready to depart. Punky had plotted a course that would take them to the ceiling of the X ship, about 3000 meters, and they would cruse at that height all day until sunset. Then they would return to the blimp works in the dark, load the ship with supplies for a four day voyage, pick up their passengers, and be off well before dawn. They needed to be out before dawn because the heavily damaged and very large HMS Insouciant was scheduled to arrive for a fast repair job as they left. All this had to be accomplished in the dark of night and without lights.

Their voyage had two critical purposes. First to keep the blimp out of the destructive reach of the NAGS, and second to learn the new ship in order to deliver their charges to the distant Kun Lun mountain range on the boarder of the remote sims of East Egg and Shangri La at the very edge of Second Life.

“Now this ship is very buggy,” said Tek to an attentive crew. “But as a test platform she is also very flexible and we have a tiny machine shop here in the gondola for building new fixtures and for making quick modifications and repairs.” Tek paused. “I know that things will go wrong on your flight to the edge of wherever you are going, however, if you are creative and fast on your feet you should be successful. I only wish I could come with you on your mission, but …”

“I’ve been trained as a machinist,” interrupted Witney. “Yup, I took all the shop courses at the Reform School.” Witney was smiling. “I can even make zip guns, stun grenades, and shives.” Witney laughed with a gleam in her eye. No one else did.

Punky could see that Witney was warming up to her assignment about as fast as Witney was warming up to Tek. Punky respected Tek, and she even liked Tek in a lot. But romance with Tek was impossible for Punky to even think about. She shuddered a bit at the very thought. Not that Tek was not good looking, but he was odd, and obsessive about things mechanical, and his hygiene left much to be desired. Witney clearly thought otherwise about Tek.

Punky sighed. What am I thinking in criticizing Tek’s hygiene, Punky thought. I have not had a shower in three days and here I am about to go aloft in a ship without a shower for another day. Punky heard footsteps climbing the gangway.

“Time to get moving, it’s almost dawn,” said a flight coordinator dressed in his yellow jump suit.

Punky turned to the crew and said, “Ok button this ship up and lets get airborne.”

The crew went to their positions. All except Paxford, who now was assigned to a fueling station next to the engineering station. Before her was a wide variety of pipes, valves, and shunts. Pasted to the bulkhead above was a drawing with many erasures and additions indicating the routing of the precious and explosive hydrogen. Punky sat in the co-pilots chair. Normal had the departure procedure on her lap and was proceeding down the check list with Washrox. In a few moments the boilers began to churn and very quickly they were at full flight pressure. Nice design Punky thought, charging the boilers was at least a tenth of the time of the old coal fired systems. In a few moments the engines began to turn with their characteristic thumping sound. Normal threw open the window and looked aft then forward. Then the interior of the hangar went dark. Void dark. Then forward of the X ship a sliver of just black appeared in the void. It grew and grew until half the forward view port was simple black. The hangar doors had opened.

Slowly the ship inched forward and in moments they were airborne into the night.

* * *

Mallory entered the Café du Carpaud on Flea Street and took a window seat with a view of the building across the street. Mallory carried a copy of the Daily Racing Form and was quickly at work studying the odds for the pick six at Anita Bryant Park. From time to time Mallory would glance at the building across the street as if thinking about Vanity Fair in the fourth.

The waiter came forward and placed a menu before Mallory. Mallory ignored the menu and remained focused on the racing form. “Coffee, black, hold the grounds,” said Mallory to the waiter. The waiter disappeared and Mallory returned to her concentrated study.

At the end of the street stood a news paper urchin with a late edition of The Times. Really late observed Mallory, like yesterdays edition. The kid was wrong. On the café side of the street was a Capital City street sweeper leaning on his broom and picking his teeth. Entirely correct thought Mallory. If he had been sweeping then he would have been wrong also. In a few moments a delivery van which had been double parked in front of a chemists shop was bumped by a pedi cab and an argument ensued. The pedi cab driver was yelling at the two men from the delivery van. The pedi cab passenger, who looked a lot like Chris Llanfair on a bad hair day, had his nose buried in today’s issue of The Times. Our folks thought Mallory. The pedi cab driver took a swing at the delivery man and a group of onlookers formed as a fight broke out.

Mallory stood and walked to the café doorway. She took one step forward into the sunlight and stretched. Then she dropped her racing form.

Suddenly a small explosion could be heard in the club across the street as the door tumbled into the street. The crowd, that had moments before been watching the street fight, rushed into the club. Several more muffled explosions followed and smoke poured from the open doorway and parts of the roof of the Bright Flash Absinthe Mine and Club.

The raid was over in moments. Mallory strolled over to Chris who was talking to a well built young woman who had Omega squad written all over her muscled body. Chris turned to Mallory. “We got Tux, the Linux ambassador. The penguin has been roughed up but it will survive. And we got Baudelaire. Five of him. Hard to believe but we captured five identical Baudelaires, but no Loopy Loo. Loopy was not here.” Mallory nodded.

“Omega squad will debrief Tux and then question the Baudelaires,” said Chris.

Mallory knew they would get no information from either Tux or the Baudelaires. Tux was too simple minded. Tux was a religious zealot who could barely reason. As for the Baudelaires, the Omega squad would undoubtedly torture them and they would squeal like a corn dogs on a stick, and they would certainly spill the beans. But the beans would be just that – beans and completely useless. Loop Loo was too smart. The Baudelaires would be in the dark, or even worse they each would be planted with different false information which they thought was true about NAGS real plans and actions. Five different stories, five sets of facts extracted through torture and coercion. And all five completely misleading. No, they would learn nothing from this raid, except what Mallory herself could deduce.

Mallory said nothing but slowly entered the Bright Flash Absinthe Mine and Club and started to look around.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

CHAPTER 27 - CAMPUS

Sindy Blazer wakened early. Early for the Editor of the Society Page of The Times who usually went to bed as the sun rose. Covering blue bloods, hoi polloi, celebutantes, escort services, and even the occasional hoity toity was arduous and tough work. The food, wine, dancing, trysts, snooping, and sniping, all took their toll on a reporter and Sindy was no exception. Not to mention the guessing, hypothecating, prevaricating, postulating and back stabbing required of Second Life’s newspaper of record and flagship of the Lupine News Corporation. It was dirty difficult muckraking work but on occasion the assignments could be very emotionally rewarding. Sindy remembered fondly the time when she learned that Lindsey was caught snogging with Nicole at the famous Paparazzi’s Lens Club on the Avenue of the Sims. The Paris girl then gave Sindy an exclusive interview accusing Lindsey and Nicole of animal magnetism and other crimes against nature, after which Lindsey gave Sindy an interview in which she accused Paris and Donny Thump of unspeakable acts at Nello’s Famous Meats Club on AU Street. Sindy won a Hurst prize for the series.

The previous night Sindy had agreed to hold the article she had been writing on the pending collapse of the Linden. As a responsible journalist Sindy had intended to publish it anyway, come heck or high water. But when her boss, Ruprecht Murdstone, Executive Editor of The Times, said he would not publish such scurrilous and unfounded information until he had converted all his Lindens to the Zwinki, and that would take a week or more. Sindy decided to prepare a lengthy Sunday supplement article, op-ed piece, backgrounder, and insightful analytical bit on the pending crisis for when the crisis broke. She would have it ready after Ruprecht changed his mind or managed to finish his money laundering.

After checking her bank balance and ensuring that she was badly overdrawn, Sindy decided to find Ora Flora of the Junior University of Second Life and the author of the widely denounced scientific paper on time inflation. Perhaps the professor would have some insight into cycle stealing and secret sims. Sindy was certain that the conventional scientific community was hiding something, or just being rejectionists of anything new that required science to perform any original thinking, which was always hard work for scientific lobes. They really are foolish thought Sindy. If the scientific community were more willing to accept new ideas, then they would be able to update their textbooks and articles more frequently. Scientists’ incomes would rise substantially. But scientists were really slow to recognize the potential of ‘new thinking.’

The Rapido was still down so Sindy hoofed it over the Junior University of Second Life which was about half a kilometer from her spacious condo in the Jung Tower. Since the me-Phones were still out she was taking a chance that Professor Ora Flora would be at the college. Sindy had gone to the University of Sonogno and knew that only TA’s and Acting Professors were ever actually ‘present’ at the university. Associate Professors were usually present only in the faculty club bar, and Full Professors could usually be found only in the course catalogue. If the professor was tenured, well you could forget about ever seeing them, except perhaps cast in stone in the Hallway of Great Ideators and Pedants.

Sindy was not familiar with the lay out of the Junior University and as she entered the elaborate west gate, featuring a spray of cast iron nymphs pursuing Pan. She stopped to ask two female students where she might find the professor. They were dressed in the fashion of the day, blue blazers, starched white shirts, thin black neckties, and matching thongs with thigh high red leather boots on 4 inch stiletto heels. Sindy had asked about where she might find professor Ora Flora of the Department of Disasters, Ruin, and Desolation.

The taller girl looked perplexed as the shorter girl tried to think.

“Wall,” said the short girl chewing on a wedge of tobacco, “I think that department is over by the Thigh Delts.”

“Naw,” said the other girl as she applied a new layer of face paint. “Its over by the Student Lounge and Beer Garden.”

“No, no,” said the chewing girl, “It’s over by the STD fraternity house, you know, the one with the funky swing sets.”

The both girls turned to Sindy and almost simultaneously said “I donno.” Then they laughed. The laugh was an undergraduate laugh, full of pheromones, lust, and with the slight echo of an empty head eager to be stuffed to overflowing with the wisdom of the sages.

Sindy entered the campus and walked toward a clock tower and the center of the campus. On the right she saw the campus bookstore. They were celebrating Harry Potty week and the new release “Harry Potty and the Gout” was the featured book. In the distance she could hear the symphonic band and choir practicing in the concert hall. Sindy recognized the catchy tune as Stockhausen’s 'Chore Fur Doris' which was the current rave at raves through out Second Life’s many clubs and hot spots. Sindy approached a fountain that was bubbling and spraying and filled with soap suds. Some kind of prank Sindy thought remembering the time when she was a student and together with the other girls they had filled Prissy Plumblossom’s room full to the ceiling with autumn leaves from the lawn below the dorm. How fun she thought. They had even topped off the leaves with four feet of snow. A seasonal and harmless prank of her carefree youth.

Now Sindy realized she was totally lost. She looked about carefully and spied a sturdy stone structure without windows and with crenellations along the roof line and small slits in the walls at strategic points. The fortress like structure was covered with graffiti and sports team insults. All the insults seem directed to the University Pi Ball team. The structure was surrounded by a high iron fence with razor wire strung at the top. A sturdy steel gate blocked entrance, but it was open today. A tiny sign read Administration Building. Sindy walked through the gate and into a small courtyard. She knew it was a courtyard because a gallows stood against one wall. She entered the Admin building and asked a sleepy clerk for directions. He gave her a map and circled a small rectangle with a red pen. The map was in Latin with Greek footnotes.

Sindy eventually found the run down decrepit building. ‘Time Research’ read a dull brass plaque which was attached to a crumbling brick wall. The building had once been a horse barn and Sindy could see that the tin roof was more sky and less tin than most. A few windows were boarded up, but in one open window she could see that the lights were on and there was some activity beyond.

Sindy entered and found Professor Flora standing before an enormous complex machine with spinning wheels. Wheels within wheels within wheels went round and round and round. Two clock dials were spinning on the machine. A pendulum of great weight was slowly swinging to and fro as a loud ticking sound filled the space.

Professor Flora turned to Sindy with a cup of tea in her hand. “Here is your tea Sindy,” the professor said. “Your welcome.”

Sindy took the tea. How nice Sindy though. I was thinking tea would be nice right now and the professor anticipated my desire. How thoughtful. She must read my column.

“That’s all I know,” said the Professor

What, Sindy thought? “Hello I’m Sindy Blazer with The Times. May I interview you about your research?” asked Sindy.

“Yes definitely,” said the Professor.

“Do you have any thoughts about existence of secret sims?” asked Sindy.

“Who would steal cycles? Ah that’s a question for the Criminal Brains and Perverts Department.”

Weird thought Sindy, but then again this was Academe. Sindy asked, “What’s the relationship between secret sims and real sims?”

‘Cycle stealing. That’s how. They find cycles in servers supporting sims and steal them and create new virtual realities. In some cases they actually deny real sims the cycles needed to support Second Life and these pirated cycles are used to create a virtual virtual Second Life, or as we in the scientific community call meta-virtualized pseudo-reality simplicity-complex.”

Sindy asked, “How are secret sims created?”

“Ah a question of great import. Yes secret sims are possible, in fact like string theory or white zits, they are probable. The real cannot exist without the virtual. To even posit the question of secret sims is to define them and make them real,” Flora said.

“Yes, I’d be happy to talk to you,” continued Flora.

“Thank you for your time,” said Sindy.

“How do you do Sindy, and how can I help you,” the Professor said. “Would you like some tea?’

They talked for over an hour and Sindy left the building more confused that she had entered, yet she felt she was starting to understand the pseudo science of secret sims and the sneaky tools of cycle stealing.

She stopped for a late lunch at Diarrhe’e and was quickly seated in the number one table. As she looked at the lunch specials she spied Charlie Baudelaire, long time resident of Heart of the Ocean village, noted botanist, respected raconteur, and owner operator of the Bright Flash Absinthe Mine and Club. He was sitting with an absolutely gorgeous woman that Sindy thought she recognized. The woman’s face was like the real Paris of the thousand boats. Simply stunning thought Sindy. Sindy turned her attention to the menu and for a moment she considered the Manatee Steak, but decided instead on winter salad with dressing on the side. As the waiter took her order Charlie and the young woman departed leaving a rather large cash tip on the table.

Sindy sat playing with her napkin trying to remember the name of the beautiful woman. There was bound to be a story angle here. Charlie was always in the news and although not a blue blood, she maintained a stable of famous pop stars, celebutantes, and top models at her club. Perhaps the woman was a model.

After Sindy had finished scraping her salad dressing off the side, she remembered the woman from the photograph at Llanfair’s mansion – Loopy Loo.

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

CHAPTER 26 - ZIPPY'S

Witney arrived at Fort Balatro and Zippy’s Blimp Works late at night. The entire fort was dark, but here and there Witney could perceive motion and when she approached the main gate she was challenged by heavy security. From the main gate to the blimp hanger took almost two hours of checking, re-checking, scrutiny of her profile, checking her avatar face against the pictures on file. They even asked the secret question which made Witney very nervous. As Witney talked to the guard stations she could see that the Morse Light on top of the guard house was busy. In the distance she saw a blinking light and then another. Security had established some kind of relay with distant stations. Morse light at night and heliotrope by day though Witney.

At the last stop, an officer bearing the snarling weasel insignia of the dreaded Ministry of Secrets and Capital Crimes, had denied Witney entrance to the gate and had threatened to open the documents Witney had been entrusted with by Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV, Royal, Dauphan of Second Life. Witney threatened to tear the weasel’s throat out if he touched the documents. The officer then smile with a thin smile bordering on a smirk and then allowed Witney to pass through. Some kind of test Witney realized. Just a stupid test.

But before allowing her on the grounds of the blimp works Witney was blindfolded, her hands tied together, and she was put into the backseat of a carpet van and driven some distance. The documents she carried were placed in a small sack and tied around her neck. The distance was greater than Witney had estimated from the gate and many turns were involved. Witney thought about getting carpet sick but changed here mind. At one point Witney was certain they had driven in circles for a moment.

Finally the van stopped and Witney was harshly pulled from the van. She could hear a door opening from a well lit room because the blindfold was not very good and she could see her feet. She could also see the feet of the guards and since she had loosened the ties on her hands, Witney was seriously considering beating the pulp out of the guards, but decided that such a violent action was inappropriate of a messenger from the Monforte’s. She was led over a threshold and then the guards left closing the door. Later perhaps she could settle the score. Wherever the closest beer joint was she would find the guards, or for that matter, some other guys who looked like them. Some one untied her hands and removed the blindfold. She was in the enormous interior of the blimp hangar and the immensely bright lights hit her eyes like a one kilo salami across the bridge of her nose.

Standing before her was a tall thin young man with a concerned smile on a greasy face and wearing filthy coveralls. His hair was brown and very wet. In fact he was soaking wet from head to foot and in his hand he held a Rigid Exposed Ratchet Bolt Threader and in the other a 25 mm die. Witney recognized them because she had asked for just that set for Christmas when she was 14, but instead she got a Screw You Elmos from her father. It had been the beginning of her difficulties and rejection of her dad.

“Hey Tek, get your behind over her,” someone yelled from a distance.

“Hi I’m Tek.” said the young man extending his hand to Witney.

“Witney, Witney Llanfair,” she said as she took his hand. They shook hands and Witney felt the most amazing calluses on a hand she had ever felt. Witney thought Tek looked cute and his hands gave her ideas. But that would have to wait. “I’ve got an important message for Captain Pugilist.”

“This way,” said Tek as he turned into the hangar and shops.

Nice gluts thought Witney as Tek’s wet coveralls clung to his rear and thighs. He’s not wearing undies she realized. Cool.

The place was big. Really big, thought Witney. She saw two blimps tethered in the blimp hangar but they looked small in here. One blimp was old and the name Poofer written on its side. The Poofer was pretty ordinary, but the other Blimp with a big ‘X’ on its side was shaped more like a rugby ball and the engines had cowlings and looked different somehow. The Blimps were tethered on one side of the structure because down the middle was the skeleton of something really big. What it was exactly Witney could not tell but it was not an ordinary blimp. Perhaps it was a replacement for the machine that crashed into the Druid Grove nearly killing all of them but ending Adel’s evil attempts to overthrow the Lindens in Second Life.

Witney had some idea of the size of the blimps, but the hangar was something else. She stopped and looked up. High in the rafters, which she could barely see, beyond the green pickle lights, she could see clouds forming. Clouds on the inside of the building. This is really big realized Witney.

“Tek, I need this test fitting threaded now, not tomorrow,” someone yelled.

Witney looked down and continued walking to a long two story line of windows at the far end of the building. As she walked she saw that the blimp called Poofer, was being unloaded and there were crates and packages and piles of wood logs lying about on the hangar floor. They appeared to be sorting the crates and reloading some onto the other blimp with the big X on its side. The floor of the hangar was alive with avatars and along one wall there sat engines and machine tools grinding and sparking away as small groups of men and women were intensely focused on building things of iron, aluminum, and fabric.

It took forever to reach the door to the office complex. A sign hanging over the first floor door read ‘Design Shed’. Across the room Witney saw Punky Pugilist and she turned and walked toward her. She was surrounded by a small group of engineers and some Blue Navy officers and they were examining drawings and documents. They appeared to be arguing.

“But it can’t wait,” said an engineer. “The HMS Insouciant will be here day after tomorrow. We simply got to get her repaired, rearmed, and out by dawn. We cannot wait.”

Punky was staring at the drawings and shaking her head. “Ok,Ok,” she said. “Forget about the ejectors, we will go without them.”

Witney did not want to interrupt but she had critical messages from the Monforte’s.

“Punky, Punky Pugilist,” Witney said.

Punky looked up. Punky did not smile. She looked horrible thought Witney. Grimy, dirty, tired, and smelly too.

“Here these are messages for you from Muffin,” said Witney handing the blue envelopes with the Monforte Crest to Punky. Witney felt odd calling Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV, Royal, Dauphan of Second Life, Muffin, but it made sentences a lot shorter she decided.

Punky reached out and took the envelopes. Punky looked at the envelopes carefully and said “You guys work out the details on the hydrogen fuel pumps, I need to read these dispatches. For my eyes only.” Then Punky laughed a tired laugh, and walked across the room full of drafting tables to a small windowed office in the distance. Witney could see Punky sit down and rub her eyes and face with her hands before she opened the envelopes and began to read.

Witney was already planning on how to get back to Capital City now that her mission was complete, but she was exhausted. She sat down on a vacant stool two drafting tables away. No one paid any attention to her. They were too busy with their pencils and erasures to even notice that she had fallen asleep leaning on a slanted table.

Punky opened the first envelope and examined the contents. It was a dossier on Loopy Loo. Punky read quickly but she knew most of the background information from the files at the Academy of Balloons. What she wanted to know was where Loopy Lou was? How many henchmen did she have? What kinds of weapons did they hold? The files contained little data on the critical elements Punky needed to find Loopy Loo and repay the debt in blood and fire.

The Punky opened the second envelope. It was a situation report and a set of orders from the Second Sea Lord. Punky had been activated and was now officially a captain in the Blue Ocean Navy. Punky laughed as a little fabric patch fell from the envelope. Contained in the envelope were her orders.

Punky was to take the X ship into the air before dawn and test her out of sight of eyes on the ground. She was then to return at night and in the dark, refuel, pick up two commandoes, and proceed to drop off the commandoes at a location they would inform her of when they arrived. The journey would take four days. Upon completion Punky was to return to the blimp works, refit, and assume patrol duty along the southern edge of Second Life. Punky was free to pick her own crew from the avatars available at the blimp works.

All except Dagmon Zhukovsky and Tek Cronon could be chosen for her crew. Then Punky’s heart sank as she learned that only four Blue Navy Blimps of the Line had survived the attacks and that two were badly damaged. The HMS Insouciant was limping its way to the blimp works and needed to occupy the hangar in two nights. They had allotted only 36 hours to refit the damaged ship. 12 hours later the even more damaged HMS Indefatigable would arrive. Daggy and Tek were desperately needed to refit and repair the ships. They could not be released.

Punky shook the envelope from the Second Sea Lord and a small code book fell from it and onto the desk. A folded paper note floated down and landed on the code book. Punky reached for the folded note.

The note was from Muffin. The note was a personal plea to take Witney into her charge and remove her from the Capital City area. Witney was on Loopy Loo’s termination list. Muffin asked that Punky make up some plausible story as to why Witney was accompanying them on the next flight, but that as a personal favor to both himself and for the future of Second Life, Punky needed to keep Witney out of sight.

Punky sighed. She did not need a civilian at this time. But then again, Punky remembered the fight in the Druid Grove and Witney’s hand to hand combat skills were the best Punky had seen in years. At that moment Punky decided to take Witney along. Punky placed the code book into her breast pocket next to a few Testosa Grandes. Then she took the dossier, the orders from the Second Sea Lord, Muffins personal plea, and fed them into the shredder in the corner of the room.

Punky rubbed her eyes again. Time to go to the infirmary and visit Fraley she thought. Punky exited the office and walked to where the engineers and Blue Navy Officers were still arguing. She tapped Witney on the shoulder and Witney awoke with a start.

“Witney, your drafted,” said Punky. Witney opened her mouth about to object. “You’re now our weapons officer. Go find Tek and get us some personal defense and perhaps a little offense as well. We leave before dawn.”

Witney closed her mouth. Hmm, Witney thought ‘weapons officer,’ ‘leave before dawn,’ and Tek.

Monday, October 15, 2007

CHAPTER 25 - NIGHT LANDING

Punky thought about relieving Normal Bellini from the pilot’s seat to bring in the ship to the Aerodrome at Fort Balatro. Night landings were hard, but in these black out conditions it was going to be very difficult. Punky decided that it was time for Normal to “learn by doing” as professor Raphus used to say. In this case Normal may well learn how to crash a blimp, hopefully in the soft manner rather than the flaming inferno way.

Punky sat in the co-pilots seat. There was a decent head of steam in the remaining boiler. Punky shouted for Washrox to assume the engineering seat. She came sliding down the ladder and ran to the engineering station.

“How’s Fraley,” asked Punky.

“Out. But its bad” said Washrox. She started to say more but changed her mind. There was nothing she could add.

Normal was intensely focused sitting in the pilots seat. Tunnel focus Punky realized and it’s normal at this point in a pilots training. The entire balloon section of the ship could disappear and the pilot would not know until he hit the ground. That’s what concentration did to the uninitiated. Punky would have to focus on the big picture and landing a blimp was all about the big picture. A big picture composed of dozens of little pictures, inattention to any one of which will kill you.

“Normal, your the pilot. Poofer is your responsibility,” said Punky, “but I’m here and I’ve done this thousands of times. Stay focused but listen to me.”

Normal nodded but remained focused on the narrow slit of the black gondola windows and the wriggling instruments. Normall’s right hand was on the UP&DOWN wheel and her left on the throttle lever. Her feet were correctly positioned for the ailerons.

“Dead ahead slow,” called out Punky in her best imitation of a steamboat captain. Punky’s voice was way to high in pitch for this ploy to work. She sounded more like a parrot demanding more beetle nuts than a steamboat captain. But the irony was missed on the nervous crew. The crew held Punky in high regard both as a Professor but also as a legendary pilot. Punky knew the truth. She was an acting professor and the legend was entirely the creation of the press eager to sell papers.

Normal throttled back and the ship continued forward for a few moments as momentum carried it into the darkness. It was pitch black outside and the altimeter read 200 meters.

“Descend at 10 meters per minute, ordered Punky. “Call out the altitude Washrox, every 10 meters and loud.”

“190,” yelled Washrox. Punky knew that somehow shouting orders and instrument readings kept the tensions down. She was not sure why, but it helped considerably. Less time for bad thoughts she figured.

Slowly they descended and Punky called for level flight at 90 meters. Normal leveled off. Punky knew the hanger was exactly 55 meters high and there was nothing in the immediate aerodrome facility except the hangar.

“Ok, Washrox listen carefully,” said Punky as she slid open the port window and stuck her head out. She could see nothing below. “Hit the lights now!,” she cried. Punky was squinting before the lights came on. “Kill the lights.” The lights went out leaving an echo outline of the building below etched into Punky’s retina. Punky pulled her head back into the gondola, but did not open her eyes. “Bring her around to 120 degrees and bring us forward 30 meters or so, dead slow.”

Normal nudged the throttle and turned the rudder wheel and the ship moved ever so slowly. Punky stuck her head out again. There! She saw them – landing lights. Small, tiny lights were lit in a line with three lights at one end. The opening of the hangar was at the end of the line where the three tiny lights stood flickering in the darkness below.

“Ok, now 10 MPM descents until you reach 40 meters, Washrox call the altitude.”

Normal’s hands were shaking and as Washrox called out the altitude her voice wavered.

“80 meters,” said Washrox.

“Louder Washrox,” cried Punky.

“70 meters.” The wavering voice disappeared.

At forty meters Normal leveled off.

“Docking Protocol Normal, now.” said Punky softly to Normal.

“Away the grappling hook,” yelled Normal Bellini.

Soon the grappling hook purchased earth and sod and as the docking lines were thrown out they felt the gentle but firm tug of the apron jacks hauling in the ship.

Normal had the procedure on his lap and was reading.

“Down 10” Normal said, and he tweaked the wheel.

“30 meters,” shouted Washrox.

Soon in the gloom below they could see the ground and the gaping maw of the open hangar doors. The interior of the hangar was slightly darker than the moonless overcast night.

“20 meters,” called out Washrox.

The Poofer moved forward into the mouth of the darkened hangar. Punky could feel the ship as it was pulled down by winches and tied down safely. Slowly it grew darker as the hangar door was closed. Then the pickle lights glowed green for a moment and Punky could smell the hint of ozone from the open port window and then the light of a thousand suns illuminated the hangar. They were safe. Safe in a ship that was crippled and probably doomed.

As Punky’s eyes adjusted to the bright light she saw that the Poofer was not alone. At the other end of the hangar stood an oddly shaped blimp with oval engines. There was a large X painted on its side.

Kees, Macboy, and Pysgotwr had walked down the coast about four kilometers to Gwinau inlet as Pysgotwr’s teenaged son Baychan took the dory out into the afternoon setting sun. Baychan had halted the dory in the middle of the bay near the opening to the estuary and threw some crab pots overboard. Any resident of the village would have scratched their heads in wonderment and thought Baychan lazy and stupid, but Green and the thugs were fooled. In about an hour the fog rolled in and the dory disappeared.

Baychan brought the dory to Gwinau inlet at about midnight and Kees, Macboy, and Pysgotwr together with Baychan began to row to the north. Pysgotwr had warned them that there was patrol boat outside Jurang sim, but the area to be covered was simply too large and if they moved quickly and carefully they could avoid detection. The dory had a small sail but they dare not raise the sail until they were well beyond the patrol area. As the sun rose they hoisted the small sail and it caught a four knot wind. Kees and Macboy felt good that they had managed to row with the same energy as Pysgotwr and Baychan. Pysgotwr thought it was a good thing he had gone easy on Kees and Macboy because, while they were strong, they had no skills for rowing. Baychan thought the strangers wimps.

Pysgotwr gave the Fina Islands a wide birth even though it added an hour or so to the journey. The hermit kingdoms of Gor were always to be avoided. Many a sailor who landed upon those shores, by shipwreck, tempest, or foolish curiosity never returned. “'Ksherea, evil ones,” said Baychan as they passed the islands.


About sundown the coastline of Meola came into view. They brought down the sail and rowed hard toward the hopefully empty shoreline. Once ashore Kees and Macboy waved to Pysgotwr and Baychan as they pulled out into the sea.

“Without any rest,” said Kees. Macboy nodded.

They moved quickly inland, in four days of hard hiking, horse riding, and a short argument with the flying carpet vendor at Bluts they made it to Capital City and the Long White Hall. About them they saw confusion with many systems down and occasionally the could see the still smoking ruins of aerodromes.

They entered the Long White Hall via the delivery entrance. Security was heavy and portions of the building were sand bagged. Armed marines were everywhere and intensely alert. Soon they were ushered into the Second Sea Lords office. The Second Sea Lord, Admiral Candy Kraft, looked at their disheveled state as they snapped a crisp salute. Kees and Macboy looked at the Second Sea Lord who had aged a great deal in the week since they had left.

“At ease,” said Kraft. “Your report please.”

Kraft stood as Kees spoke and told her that they had indeed discovered the secret sims and that they had seen at least three and possibly four, but that they were sure that there were more. The sims were active with heavy construction, but only at night. The secret sims were supporting two to three times the number of avatars that any sim server known to Second Life was able to currently support. During the day the sims were quiet but heavily guarded by well armed furries. Six days ago the construction had ceased and the number of guard avatars was significantly diminished.

Kraft nodded. “I want a written report and your photos on my desk in two hours,” said Kraft. “Well done and dismissed.” Kees and Macboy spun around and proceeded to the doorway of the Second Sea Lords office.

“Just a moment,” said Kraft. Kees and Macboy turned and returned to the Second Sea Lord’s desk.

“When your finished with your report, how about a trip back there to deliver some packages?” she asked. “Volunteers only, you probably wont make it back,” she said slowly.

“Yes Mam,” Both Kees and Macboy said at the same moment.

“Good,” said Kraft “be prepared to leave as soon as your report is complete. Go to Zippy’s Blimp Works. Ill have one of our few remaining airships ready to get you back to the mountains quickly.” She reached for a small black box and slid it across here desk toward Kees. “I want you to deliver these Sim Interrupter Scripts to our friends. Its time they learned that two can play this game,” the Second Sea Lord said in an icy voice.

CHAPTER 24 - FLOUNDER

Shortly before dawn Kees and Macboy arose from their downy beds in a warm little room on the second floor of the Elvin Nose in Jurang Port Town. Both Kees and Macboy removed the contents of their packs and carefully laid out their possessions before repacking them for an ocean voyage. They gave careful attention to their weapons, ensuring, that if needed the weapons would not fail to deliver their deadly intent. The fishing fleet would return to the port today and they hoped to charter a small boat and a captain to take them to mainland about 40 kilometers away to the north. The day would be long and possibly dangerous.

Kees stepped to the small high window, pulled back the thin pale white curtain and stared onto the town plaza below. Fog obscured everything in a dark enfolding blanket which covered the entire port, including the seacoast and even reaching far into the foothills and valleys inland. Macboy finished lacing his pack and turned to Kees.

“Time to go,” whispered Kees, “its best to leave in the quiet.”

“Yes,” agreed Macboy, “and with fewer complications as well.” Macboy laughed a small chuckle. Kees smiled.

They slipped out the door and into a dark and quiet hallway and proceeded down the steep narrow stairs. The bar was empty, as was the snuggery, and the embers in the fireplace cast a dull orange glow across the room. Kees opened the door and slipped into the still black mist followed by Macboy. The two Omega Squad members crossed the plaza silently and climbed the little grass covered hill behind the square. They set down their packs and waited for the fog to leave. The fog was easily irritated by the sun, but determined to return when the sun turned his back in a few hours.

Kees tapped Macboy on the shoulder and then closed his eyes and dozed off. Macboy listened carefully in the fog and waited for the warming rays of the sun. Soon the inky blackness faded to Payne’s grey and then to a simple grey. Kees woke up as the first bits of clear sky began to form above the mist and the sounds of a port town awaking could be heard on the hill. In the distance a child was calling out a name, probably a dog called home from a tryst or an adventure. Someone was coughing in the plaza. A smoker thought Kees. Kees heard the screech of a swollen door jam giving way to an opening door, as a child’s laughter echoed in the distance. A dog began barking, bragging of last night’s adventures or complaining about rejection. It was hard for Kees to tell which it was, because the dog wasn’t very verbal at this time of the morning. In just a few moments the grey fog faded and the plaza looked as if it were viewed through a damp and dirty window. Then in a few moments the plaza burst into sunlight and the fog retreated about 100 yards off shore. The estuary, Kees could see, was still shrouded in fog but a bubble of fire could be seen just at the tip of the estuary. A bonfire to guide in the fishing fleet realized Kees. Then the deep bass church bell began to chime. A regular pattern of chimes also intended to help the fleet find home and safety.


Macboy took his monocular and looked into the church tower. The snipers were gone. Too loud thought Macboy, the bell was too loud for them to maintain their station. He scanned the rest of the plaza and the intruders from the city were nowhere to be seen. They are not early risers realized Macboy.

In about an hour a tiny white boat, no larger than a small car, popped out of the fog bank and into the clear sunny bay. Within moments small skiffs and dories appeared like baby ducks paddling swiftly and seeking the warmth and safety of their mother. Fisherfolk in black rain slickers pulled hard on oars and the sound of splashing and singing could be heard even upon the hill where Kees and Macboy sat leaning against their packs. Women in full patterned dresses with aprons and children were lining the breakwater, waiting for the family to unite, and to feast upon the bounty of the seas of Second Life. Baskets had been piled upon the pier and the breakwater, waiting for fortune and fate wrung from the depths of the ocean. The women folk began to wave and the larger children as well. The little boats seemed to pick up a bit of speed as they approached the shore. The port was alive. The church bell in the tower went quiet and Macboy could see the two snipers had returned to their station. Green and the other tugs were not to be seen, but fresh smoke streamed from the chimney of their cottage on the square.

A thin young boy stood upon the far end of the breakwater. He leaned into the light breeze and began to sing.

“Come all you young sailorfolk,
listen to me
I'll sing you a song of the fish in the sea,
and it's...”

A moment later the fisherfolk pulling on the oars replied in strong voices with a refrain,

“Windy weather boys,
stormy weather, boys
When the wind blows we're all together, boys
Blow ye winds westerly,
blow ye winds, blow
Jolly sou'wester, boys, steady she goes.”

A good catch thought Kees, and no losses. They would not sing if there had been a loss.

The boy waved. Then he sang again.

Up jumps the eel with his slippery tail,
Climbs up aloft and reefs the topsail,
and it's..”

A chorus followed but this time louder and with more energy. The little boats increased their speed to shore as the sailors pulled even harder on their oars.

“Windy weather boys,
stormy weather, boys
When the wind blows we're all together, boys
Blow ye winds westerly,
blow ye winds, blow
Jolly sou'wester, boys, steady she goes.”

Kees smiled and thought about the rhythms of the sea and the port of Jurang. Moments ago the sleepy village lay in slumber and in the obscuring comfort of a blanket of fog. Now the village was awake and alive. Waving, singing, preparing for a feast, happy honest fisher folk gathering to welcome their own to home and hearth.

The first boat approached the shore and two fisher folk in the bow jumped onto the stony waters and pulled the boat ashore with the gentle scrape of wet wood on small round wet stones. Children and youth ran yelling and laughing to help haul the lines. Wives and grandmothers shielded their eyes with their hands from the bright glare of the sun searching for loved ones. As each waiting wife, or mother, or girlfriend, recognized hers, she rose on her tip toes and waved. Happy and relieved thought Kees. Fishing is a dangerous business.

In moments the entire fleet was beached and three larger two masted vessels tied to the pier. The fleet was home and the port was alive. Soon baskets were filled with seaweed and shiny fresh fish with bright eyes. Kees could smell the fish and the seaweed. The fish smelled good and clean thought Kees, not like the fish you purchased in the city so far away to the north. Small carts began to haul the fish into the distance, to the cannery or to an icehouse down the road. Wives embraced husbands. Children gathered round and even teens pressed their kin in the embrace of welcome and thanksgiving. Often a large fish or lobster was held aloft and the wife or girlfriend beamed at the thought of a fresh catch as the center piece of the afternoon table.

Macboy stood and stretched. Leaving his pack on the hill he turned and went down the far side of the hill away from the village and walked into the village along the gravel road from the south. Macboy could see that the snipers in the church tower took notice, and as he approached the town square, Green and two thugs stepped out of their rented cottage and rubbed their eyes. They have had a long night thought Macboy.

Macboy spotted the red haired Irish from a distance and shouted. Irish waved, and came running to him. They embraced and Macboy whirled Irish around in a circle as he kissed her. Green lost interest and turned back to the warmth of the cottage as did his two thugs. Macboy could see that the snipers had also lost interest. Some local they must have thought. Just another stupid local.

Macboy let Irish down and asked, “Find me a small boat and a captain?”

“Aye,” said Irish “and a good one at that.”

“Lle vesta?” asked Macboy.

“Ed' i'ear ar' elenea!” replied Irish. Then they embraced again. Hand and hand they walked to the beach and toward a freshly painted white flat bottom, high bow, flaring sides dory. A bearded man and a youth were lugging a basket of flounder onto the shore. The man looked up and smiled at Irish and then at Macboy.

Irish spoke holding Macboy’s left arm in both her hands, “This is Macboy, Uncle Pysgotwr.” Macboy saw that Irish was positively gleaming in the radiant sun.

“Pleased to meet ya,” said Pysgotwr.

“Saesa omentien lle,” replied Macboy extending his hand. Pysgotwr wrinkled his brow a bit in surprise and gave Macboy a very firm hand.

Pysgotwr turned to the west and toward the church tower then he turned back to Macboy. “Sereg'wethrin,” he said motioning with his head to the tower. “Assassins,” he repeated as he shook his head. Then he turned back to unload a basket of flounder. Macboy stepped forward and helped bring the catch to the shore. A cart soon appeared and Pysgotwr began to haggle a bit with a small old fellow about the price and the difficulties of the sea, and the unreliability of the ferry, and then they settled on a price. The little man spit into his hand as did Pysgotwr and they shook hands. With Macboy’s help four baskets of fish were loaded onto the cart. Pysgotwr turned to the Elvin Nose and said, “Malia ten' yulna? Perhaps a wee dram to liven the spirits and begin the day.” Macboy nodded yes, and together the three of them strolled across the stone plaza to the Elvin Nose.

In the distance Macboy heard a me-Phone ringing from the church tower.

Sunday, October 14, 2007

CHAPTER 23 - SOLARIUM

Sindy Blazer approached the grand double doors of the Mansion of the President of the Reserve Bank and Counting House of Second Life with confidence and determination to get to the bottom of the rumors concerning the value of the currency of Second Life – the Linden. The ornate doors were painted a cream color and stained glass windows with dollar signs glittering upon them flanked the doors on either side. Sindy reached for the silken red bell cord and pulled. A faint tiny bell was herd ringing within.

In a few moments Sindy heard light footsteps and the door silently opened wide. A pale short man in a black tuxedo and sparkling white shoes greeted her. He was wearing white gloves and very small pince nez glasses were propped on his rather large nose. His hair was grey and he had a bald spot the size of a hand on his head where bald spots usually resided. The doorman smiled the kind of smile you saw on the dentists face when he told you it was not covered by your insurance, but he was willing to make you a deal.

“Ah Miss Blazer, the President has been expecting your for some time,” said the little man as he stepped aside, held out his arm, and motioned Sindy into the grand hallway.

As Sindy stepped onto the parquet floor, the door was silently closed, and the doorman led Sindy down a very long hall toward a solarium in the distance. She passed several larger rooms on either side of the hallway. The fireplaces were blazing in each room although the rooms were empty of avatars. Probably reception rooms thought Sindy, as she passed a grand spiral staircase leading to the second and third floors. She paused at a large painting of a sea battle long ago. The little brass plate at the bottom read ‘Battle of CousCous Bay and the Glorious Victory of the Yellow Fleet.” Sindy looked closer. The painter was Jack Louy David, and Sindy was certain it was real, and worth a large fortune. The doorman had paused and Sindy turned and resumed her hike to the meeting with Chris Llanfair.

The doorman paused again and motioned Sindy into the solarium. “The President will see you soon, please wait here.” Sindy looked about. “May I get you some tea or cocoa perhaps?” asked the doorman.

“No thank you,” replied Sindy even though some tea would have been nice right now.

The doorman bowed and was gone.

The solarium was huge and was over three stories tall and covered with glass on three sides as well as on most of the roof. There was a pond in the middle containing several green three eyed koi with a statue of a small boy peeing onto the fish. The fish were not amused. Enormous fish tailed palms surrounded the pond and lovely bracken and ferns lined the base. The pond was lovely and slightly illuminated from below with a golden light. Little windows lined the base of the pond allowing the fish to view the floor. Only the fish were odd and they stared intently with their three eyes focused on Sindy as if you ask, ‘are you going to feed me or eat me?’

After a moment Sindy heard footsteps from down the hall and shortly Chris Llanfair dressed in a dark blue Seville Row suit arrived with Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV, Royal, Dauphan of Second Life, Associate Professor, famed historian, and Head of the Anti-Monarchist Party, in tow. Several elaborately dressed footmen in powdered wigs followed the royal, whom Sindy called Muffin, carrying his dark red velvet and gold gilt porti-throne. Muffin was dressed in a tweed hunting jacket, jodhpurs, and black riding boots with spurs still attached. Muffin was puffing, as usual, on his meerschaum pipe and slowly rocking his 4’2” frame back and forth until the throne was properly placed in a position of prominence in the solarium. As Muffin sat, the footmen took up positions on either side of the throne. Sindy recognized one of the footmen as Muffin’s security although she knew that both of the footmen were likely to be full members of the Assassins and Au Pairs Union.

“Ah Muffin, how delightful to see you,” said Sindy turning on her feminine charms. “And Chris. I hope you have both fully recovered from the Druid Grove incident.”

Muffin laughed, but said nothing as he continued to puff on his pipe like a small locomotive pulling up a steep hill.

“Sindy I’ve been expecting you,” said Chris Llanfair with a look of both mild amusement and friendship.

“Why?” asked Sindy.

“We could play games Sindy, but frankly we have another serious problem in Second Life,” said Chris.

“Yes, the Lindens about to collapse,” said Sindy with confidence bordering on certainty.

“No, its worse than that,” said Chris.

Sindy looked at Muffin. He wriggled his eyebrow as if to say, ‘Yes, big trouble.’

Sindy’s mind was racing. What could be worse than a monetary collapse? Well, there certainly were worse things like the plague, mandatory re-boots, and the loss of ones inventory, but Sindy knew Chris was referring to something else. Like a plot or conspiracy to destroy all they held dear in Second Life. Sindy heard footsteps approaching the solarium. In a few moments Mallory Sauternau and Chirs’ daughter Witney walked in. They were clearly in a hurry.

“You need to move fast Chris,” said Mallory. Chris and Muffin faced Mallory and Witney and they looked surprised.

“What have you found out?” asked Chris addressing Mallory.

Mallory said nothing but looked toward Sindy whom she recognized from here picture on the Society Page of The Times. Sindy recognized Mallory as the disgraced cop from the Goodword affair who was now a famous private dick and generator of the most delicious scandals in all of blue blood society.

“Its ok, Sindy is one of us. You can speak with her here,” said Chris as he looked at Sindy. “I know Sindy is a responsible reporter and will be of aid to us in preventing panic, chaos and terror.”

Mallory looked about as if to memorize the room and its occupants for later reference thought Sindy. Witney was jumpy, which was not unusual, realized Sindy, because she knew Witney well and Witney was always edgy. But tonight was different. Her energy seemed focused and more intense than usual. Not the usual mosh pit energy, but a more fixed intensity with a real purpose behind it.

“NAGS are behind the counterfeiting of the Linden,” said Mallory. Chris nodded as did Muffin. “Not thievery, but chaos and confusion is the goal. The methods are clear and I think they are behind the attacks on the aerodromes as well. The motive unknown, but they are seeking maximum instability throughout Second Life. The NAGS began with an attack on the currency. The currency they supply is not counterfeit. It’s real. It’s cloned.”

Mallory paused carefully forming her words.

“There’s tons of the stuff Dad,” said Witney. “Tons of it everywhere!”

Chris nodded. Muffin taped his dying pipe on the arm of the chair. Glowing ash fell onto the marble floor and sat there smoldering like a mad eyeball determined to win a stare down with the fish. Muffin repacked his pipe, and a footman held a flaming taper to the edge of the pipe as Muffin drew in breath and the tobacco began to glow and trails of smoke rose into the fish tail palms above.

Mallory continued, “They bribed the senate and the Rapido operators. They have been buying up property on the edges of sims with counterfeit notes.” Chris was listening intently.

Mallory spoke, “Also the NAGS are behind the cycle stealing on the servers. They are the only ones who could easily pull off cycle stealing through bribery and infiltration. Cycle stealing is getting bad late at night and I’m sure that citizens are noticing. They are blaming the Governor as usual.”

“As we suspected,” said Chris. Mallory was not surprised at Chris’ comment. Chris always seemed to be a step or two ahead of her.

Sindy stood motionless with her mouth open as two three eyed fish stared at her thinking she was related to a grouper or a sea bass. The fish concluded Sindy was dangerous and went to hide in the underwater castle by the sunken pirate ship and the mermaid. The mermaid was annoyed because the fish kept peeing in the water.

“Wait, wait,” interrupted Sindy. “Who are the NAGS and what is cycle stealing.”

Chris thought a moment and then spoke clearly and slowly. “The NAGS are a secret organization who want to overthrow Governor Linden and replace the Lindens with their own organization. Their motto is ‘Freiheit durch Sicherheit’ – Freedom in Security. They are a bad bunch. NAGS stands for Nerds And Griefers Syndicate. Almost every banned avatar is a member and they want revenge on all of us.”

Sindy closed her mouth as a mosquito barely escaped death. Oh lord thought Sindy another unwanted adventure, and it’s almost fashion week.

Chris continued, “Server cycles are what keeps Second Life alive. If they are stealing cycles they are sucking the life out of Second Life. Without adequate cycles we can’t move, support sims, build, or breathe. But what there doing with the cycles I cannot guess, but I know they are up to no good.”

Chris reached inside his suit coat and drew out a thick envelope. He handed it to Mallory and said, “I want you to locate this person. We think she is behind the counterfeiting, the attacks on the aerodromes, and is the leader of the NAGS. She is unlikely to be in Capital City, but in order to take over she’s going to have to show up here. Perhaps in a few days.”

As Chris spoke Mallory opened the envelope containing papers and several pictures. One picture fell to the floor. Sindy spotted a head shot of a cadet from the Academy of Balloons. She was beautiful Sindy could see. Perhaps the most beautiful face Sindy had ever seen in a reality of lovely faces and bodies. Sindy reached down and picked up the photo. As she handed it to Mallory she read the legend below the picture. Loopy Loo read the legend. Loopy Loo wondered Sindy?

“And I have another thing Chris,” said Mallory. Chris looked toward Mallory. “You and your family are on a hit list. So is your senior staff. You need to get your people and their families out of the Capital immediately.”

Chris looked surprised realized Mallory. The President of the Reserve Bank had not figured that he and his family were in personal danger.

Chris was about to say something but he paused and checked himself. He needed some time to think.

“There’s no time Chris.” Said Mallory. “You need to go to a sim where you have no history and no past. Somewhere remote and primitive.”

Chris spoke, “I can order the staff out of town immediately, but I can’t leave. No I have to stay and support the government.”

“But you gotta go Dad, there going to kill you,” said Witney on the edge of hysteria.

Chris turned to his daughter. He looked upon her as a 12 year old little girl, just on the edge of delinquency and parental rejection. He always saw her this way. Except for that night at the Druid Grove when Witney decked Sister Letum with a vicious kick in the desperate fight to stop the return of the True Kings. At that moment he saw her as a powerful woman and more than capable of taking care of herself. That’s what four years at Second Life’s best reform school will do for a young lady he thought. Now she was 12 years old again in Chris eyes and he had to get her out of town to someplace safe. But Chris knew Witney would not leave him alone. And he could not go. He had to stay and face the threat.

“Aghhum,” said Muffin speaking for the first time. “Witneys, I thave a missions for yous. It’s dangerouff but criticals.”

Witney looked surprised.

“I needs you ta takes a message to Captain Pugilist at ta Blimps Worksf,” Muffin said. “The fate of our lands may well rest on your shoulders Miss Llanfair,” he concluded.

Witney was torn by loyalties. She liked Mallory and Mallory needed minding because of the demons and the booze. She could not leave her father in Capital City in an increasingly dangerous and unstable town. At the same time saving the country and Second Life was also important too. She didn’t know what to do.

Sindy looked at Witney and said, “Witney take the message to Punky, its time to think of what’s best for everyone. You cannot protect your Dad and you cannot protect the city or second life. Punky needs something from Muffin. You have no choice. You must take the message now.”

Tears began to fill Witneys eyes, but in her best punk rock manner she did not cry.

“Ok,” said Witney. “When do I leave?”

“Nows,” said Muffin. “Nows.”

CHAPTER 22 - FLIGHT

The old Poofer sailed aloft into the dawn skies just as the autumnal sun began to peek over the horizon and into bedroom windows throughout the capital city. As couples blinked into the sunlight and though about hitting the snooze bar, the Poofer rose slowly into the cold clear morning. She leveled off at 200 meters and slowly circled the Monforte Detached Palace and then headed north toward Fort Balatro and Zippy’s Blimp Works. The Poofer was heavy and slow.

Although the crew had been ordered to get some sleep, no one slept that night. They had spent the evening assisting the loading of fuel and supplies, and Washrox and Farley had overhauled the leaking values on the port boiler.

Punky was examining closely the cargo supplied from the Montforte’s larder, wood lot, and armory. Punky had placed Washrox in the pilot’s seat and Paxford Lint was heaving logs into the two boilers above in the engineering section. Fraley, the blue blood, was assigned the task of Mission Commander and was busy plotting a slow indirect course to Fort Balatro and the blimp works. Normal, the Goth, stood next to Punky with a clipboard reading off the items taken on board together with an estimate of their weight.

“Gras, Foie, Pate de, 20 kilos,” read Normal trying to sound as official as possible.

Punky looked at the dozen or so enormous loafs of pate.

“Claret, Pimp, Château du, 40 bottles, jeroboms, 140 kilos. Lobsters, poached, yesterday, large, 1.6 kilos each, quantity 10, 16 kilos. Asparagus, White, Tips, 10 kilos. Cigars, Grande, Testosa, Primero, three gross, 7 kilos,” read Normal.

Punky raised her hand and Normal abruptly stopped reading. Punky advanced on the cargo which lay in the engineering section held down with netting. She reached through the netting and pried open a small brown wooden crate and then a slim cedar box within the crate. From the box Punky pulled four cigars, three of which she placed into her shirt pocket, their little brown tips poking up from the edge of the pocket like so many little heads with yellow ties waiting for a date. The remaining cigar she smelled and a broad smile broke out on her face like the smile of a young ferret about to pounce on another ferret of the opposite persuasion.

“Testosa Grande,” said Punky as she sniffed a second time. Then she carefully placed the cigar with its anxiously waiting brethren in her breast pocket.

Eventually they got to the weapons Punky had asked Monforte to supply.

“Sword, Broad, Claymore, condition good, quantity 6, 22 kilos.” Punky raised her hand again and Normal stopped reading. Normal looked up. Punky pulled one of the swords from an oil cloth covering. There was rust on the hilt but someone had carefully sharpened the blade and it gleamed in the slanting rays of the morning sun streaming through the starboard port hole. A deadly weapon Punky knew, but exhausting to use and requiring considerable skill. Punky replaced the sword and Normal resumed reading the cargo manifest.

“Bow, Cross, Ratchet, condition good, quantity 4, 10 kilos.”

“How many bolts for the bows?” asked Punky.

“None,” replied Normal. “When we tried to load them they just fell apart, all rust and wood dust. I thought we might fashion bolts from aluminum rods at the blimp works.”

“Good thinking,” replied Punky knowing that the crossbows were practically useless against modern rapid fire air powered rifles and handguns. The weapons gave the crew a psychological boost even if they were dead weight.

“Mace, flexible on chain, condition poor, quantity 6, 75 kilos, Shield, kite shaped, wood with leather covers, condition good, quantity 6, 30 kilos.” Normal continued on down the list.

The checking of the cargo took another hour.

When they were finished Punky ordered Normal to get some sleep and she returned to the flight deck. The altitude read 900 meters and they were on a roundabout slow course toward a landing at Fort Balatro at sunset. They were darting in and out of a field of clouds. Comforting clouds thought Punky. Dense grey clouds that obscured their presence and their direction in the skies above Second Life.

Punky loved being among the clouds despite the fact that most blimp captains hated clouds and the turbulence that inevitably occurred in certain cloud formations. A blimp in flight was a living breathing being to Punky. On the ground a blimp was simply a bag of gas, but in the air, in the airship’s natural environment the blimp was transformed into something magnificent and alive. In clouds and moving air a blimp became a steed to be ridden hard enjoying every moment of being alive and racing into the wind. They were flying through what Punky recognized as ‘fractus’ clouds or bits of clouds broken off from towering formations above. The clouds above were probably cumulonimbus with puffy rounded tops as high as 3000 meters. They would be loaded with moisture and potential for thunder. It would rain tonight thought Punky. A hard rain.

Nimbus, the cloud god, was sleeping peacefully. Somewhere he felt a little itch as something crawled along the edge of beatific unconsciousness. Nimbus thought about scratching or rolling over, but the tickle went away and Nimbus fell back to sleep. After a while he began to snore.

Punky was exhausted so she went to the rear of the gondola to catch some sleep. There was thunder in the distance perhaps 10 kilometers out. Normal was sleeping soundly above the droning rhythmic hum of the engines above. Punky lay in the captain’s bunk and tried to think of what to do after they arrived at the blimp works. Daggy would be there. The Chair had said so. Daggy would be preparing a set of quick repairs for this old training ship. Dagmon Zhukovsky, Chief Engineer, was as familiar with this blimp series as she was with traditions and absurdities of the Blue Navy of Second Life. Perhaps some offensive arms, both for the blimp and for themselves would be ready. They needed arms badly.

Punky fell asleep.

She awoke to the loud hiss and growl of escaping steam and the shouts of Washrox and Farley. They had blown a high pressure head on the port engine. Punky knew that ugly sound. The whole ship shuddered violently and began to pull to the left. Punky jumped to the deck and raced to the ladder leading to engineering above. Punky climbed fast and saw Paxford rolling about on the floor grasping his right arm and with a fierce grimace of pain on his face. Washrox was tugging hard on a valve trying to shut down a wall of super heated steam. The whole engineering section was wet and painfully hot. That steam will kill you knew Punky. Punky reached for the pry bar lever and together Washrox and Punky pulled. The valve would not move. Fraley appeared with a med kit and began attending to Paxford.

Punky shouted, “Hit it, hit it hard on the stem.” Washrox stared at Punky in disbelief. That would be destroying Blimp Cartel property. Punky grabbed the pry bar from Washrox’s fist and brought the bar hard down on the stem. Then Punky grabbed a greasy rag and yanked the valve. It moved a bit. Washrox reached for the valve and slowly the two of them got it closed. The hissing steam slowed to a small but still deadly stream as the valve closed.

Punky turned to Paxford. Paxford Lint was badly burned on the right side. His arm got the worst of it, but the right side of his neck and face were also burned. Second and some third degrees thought Punky. Paxford was lucky. He would live, and have some attractive scars with which to impress the young ladies.

Punky inspected the engine carefully. The high pressure piston head was cracked. There was no way it could be repaired in the air. The head needed to be replaced. In fact, as Punky looked at the engine carefully, the entire assembly needed replacement. Balatro was unlikely to have replacement parts, and casting them would take weeks. Punky knew that a blimp with only one engine was like those cross bows without bolts. Helpless.

“Washrox watch the starboard engine carefully. Tell me if anything goes wrong, anything! Got it?” Washrox nodded.

“Fraley,” shouted Punky. “Don’t move Paxford, get him sedated, but don’t move him. We are going to need to remove a bulkhead to get him out safely, and we can only do that at the blimp works.” Fraley looked troubled but nodded his head. Paxford looked bad thought Punky. Paxford was groaning.

Punky took a long look at the remaining operating engine and then she walked to the ladder and slid down into the gondola.

Normal was in the pilots chair and had reduced the power output of the remaining engine in order to maintain a forward direction. There was butter dripping from her chin and lobster shells on the floor. I need to eat something thought Punky. “Reduce pressure on the engine to 90 pounds,” said Punky, “Head straight to the Blimp works. Keep your altitude at 900 meters until we are out about 2 kilometers,” said Punky in as calm a voice as she could muster. The Poofer was finished Punky realized.

The sun had begun its slow descent to the horizon and a few of the lower clouds began to glow orange and then red. Soon the sky burned with fiery light. Tung’s of flame were interspersed with deep blue darkening sky and black outlined patches of white. The land below receded into shadow and then into darkness. In the distance, to the north, Punky could see nothing. Not a single light dotted the darkening horizon. There were no approach lights, or Morse lights flashing out signals to remote stations, no drum fires lit by guards trying to stay warm. Only black. Punky prayed that the blimp works would be intact. Then in a brief flash of lightening Punky saw the enormous blimp hangar. The blimp works was whole and intact.