CHAPTER 6 – THE LONG WHITE HALL

The blimp docked with a hard thump and to a standing ovation from the passengers. After a few moments, Ed exited the blimp and walked briskly down the loading ramp. He was struck by a blast of cold winter air as he proceeded to the exit. On his left passengers were playing luggage roulette. “Double oh green, double oh green, please, double oh green,” he heard a small white haired matron in a pink muumuu muttering over and over again. Thank the gods I have a return ticket for this evening and no luggage, he thought as he shifted his me-comp to his left hand.

Ed walked past the statue of Hani Hanjian, the person after whom the Capital airport was named. No one knew why. The statue needed dusting. Ed now faced the perennial question of Hanjian Airport – how to get to the Capital, by express handcart, the famed Rapido, or by rented flying carpet from Blurts? If he took the handcart he would be all sweaty and stinky when he arrived at the Long White Hall, on the other hand if traffic were bad on the byway and the scripts failed, which they often did, or the lag was bad it always was, he could get stuck for hours behind an overloaded semi Killum, or a family of tourists driving a Tiki or Sarouk. Ed was dressed in his Reserve Navy Officers uniform which dictated that he stay crisp and sharp. But the clock ordered him otherwise. He was running out of time. He headed toward the Rapido. The line was not too long and the wait short. He used the time to limber up and do some stretching exercises. After a long haul Ed arrived at the Capital Station under Memorial Park. He headed toward the Blimp Cartel exit when he spotted Punky Pugilist bounding down the stair.

“… five, six, seven,” said Punky. She looked up at Ed and smiled. “Ed!” she shouted, and leapt into Ed’s arms squeezing him tightly in the navy way.

“Why, Punky, it’s good to see you again. It’s been too long.” Ed said.

“Months and months and months,” laughed Punky exhibiting the Joie de vivre and spunk she was famous for.

“Listen Punkster”, Said Ed, “I’m in a real hurry. Got to see the Naval Board. How about I call you later. Ok?”

Punky briefly frowned then she said in a low tone of voice, “It’s not about the, well you know…”

“Yes,” Ed replied, “it is.”

Punky was sad. They were going to start that all over again she thought. Poor Ed, everyone in HOTO and everyone up and down the Sonogno Coast all the way to Clissa and past Io knew Ed was not at fault. In fact he was a hero. Without Ed the few survivors of that dark and stormy night would surely have drown or even worse. It’s a shame, a rotten shame

Punky put on a brave face. “Well go get’em tiger”, she said, then jumped and planted a wet smooch on Ed’s face. The smooch was well aimed and well executed and very difficult given Eds height of 6’ 8”, average for an avatar, and Punky’ tiny frame at 4’ 2”. “Ok give me a call,” she cried out as Ed ran for the exit, past the ticket fumbling and return dock and out into the cold afternoon air of a winter in the Capital of Second Life.

The Long White Hall was only two blocks from Memorial Park behind the Blimp Cartel Clock Tower. Ed decided to cut through the park even though it meant walking on the pristine grass textures. He paused briefly to check the time on the Clock Tower, The ancient clock read 13:40. Ed was going to be on time. He stood for a moment gazing at the old bronzed statue of Mofo the Extreme and Very Dead, the hero of the insurrection and the overthrow of the monarchy. Mofo stood in a pose called recumbent. In one had he held the bloody adz and in the other the Concordat of Abdication. The dat-Ab which every school child memorized and quickly forgot. Ed strained to remember those stirring words, ‘When in the life of avatars, after the King has proven himself a dim light, and a witless nincompoop, the body politic unites, and in its unity it must divide the body royal into small parts…” yes, that was it thought Ed. Poor King Seersucker Monforte IV, known as “Monforte the lame.

Pigeon poop had fallen into Mofo’s glaring eyes. It gave him a tearful look, like a man who could see failure and success combined in a single moment. Ed found the look disturbing, given his concern about the Navy Board summons.

Ed turned up Beast Street and there stood the Long White Hall in the distance. The seat of the Navy of Second Life, ancient, tired, proud, and in need of white wash. Up the stairs Ed went, dread in his heart, and wondering if he and Sparkle would ever get that cottage on Amazon beach in HOTO. Ed instinctively turned left at the statue of Fighting Jack. He knew the Long White Hall by heart, except for those portions of this huge building he did not know. He continued down the Hall of Drown Heroes and Sunken Ships. There was Horatio. And then the Magnificant Nelsons, all four of them. Dotty Nelson clutching a four pounder and looking out far into the distance. Then Witty Nelson attired in an Arabic Burnoose and holding a frigate bird in one hand and a Map of Bimbo’s Bay in the other. Ed, could not suppress a slight laugh as he remembered Witty’s clever stratagem during the battle of Bimbo’s Beach and the way he brought the house down. Then came Nellert Nelson, the less said about her the better, remembered Ed, and finally the Old Man Himself. Ed paused at the statue as all Naval Officers do, and rubbed the Old Man’s burnished tummy for good weather and clear sailing. How many times a day did officers and even common sailors and marines rub the old mans belly thought Ed. Must be hundreds if not thousands each day.

After about 800 fathoms laid on their side Ed reached reception in front of the large imposing Navy Board insignia. Below it hung a smaller sign reading ‘Quiet - Courts Martial in Session'. Ed’s heart sank to his navy issue keds.

“May I help you?” asked the lovely young desk clerk.

“Yes, Captain Ed Hallard reporting as ordered by the Navy Board.”

“Hallard, Hallard,” she repeated bending over revealing an impressive cleavage and shuffling through some papers each with micro dots and bits of ceiling wax and ribbons. “Hmm,” she said. “I don’t see any Hallard here. How do you spell that?”

“H A L L A R D, E D W I N, NMN” he said slowly.

“No,” she said as she straightened up and brushed a wisp of auburn hair from her cleavage. Ed detected a hint of a nipple but modesty took over and he stared intently.

This is really nuts Ed thought.

With a lifetime at sea and the experiences of a lifetime, Ed felt a presence behind him. Something dreadful, like rouge wave or an unpaid madam. He turned slowly. Two Marine Sergeants snapped to attention and saluted Ed. Ed returned the salute. Both sergeants were dressed immaculately in their dress blues with red silk bunting and yellow speckles. The creases on their trousers were so sharp that Ed became concerned for his knees and other important parts lest he bump into one of them. They were packing heat a sure sign of trouble.

“Captain Hallard?” asked the taller of the two marines.

“Yes,” replied Ed, noting the campaign ribbons on the taller sergeant’s chest. You could not miss them for they hung down nearly to his starched white satin belt with little anchors and penguins in fine embroidery. Ed recognized the campaign ribbons for the Suppression of the Lesbians, the Campaign to Chastise the Grommet League, The anti-Theorist Campaign that still went on to this day, and the rarest of all, the Whip Inflation Now button.

“Please follow us, Captain Hallard,” said the smaller marine. He handed Ed a Black Security Badge which had clearly printed in large black letters “Visitor, to be escorted at all times.” Ed’s heart sunk again, this time lower than his keds and deep into the basement of the Long White Hall where the retired spirits of long dead sailors went to fade away into oblivion. The Black Security badge Ed thought, that could only mean one thing, and as the Marine Guards smartly turned and Ed followed. Not Admiral Villeneuve, not Villeneuve he prayed. At the statue of Villeneuve, who was always portrayed with his pants down, they turned left and into the Long Black Hall.

The limo skidded dangerously as it turned from Beast Street and onto Immunity Parkway. In a moment the Embassy of the Neopets.com came into view. Llanfair gunned the engine again, and the car shot past the Neopet guards, crashed through the textured wrought iron gate and skidded to a stop in the Port Couture. Sindy Blazer leapt from the open door and shouted to the stunned guards, “Press, press, Financial Times, I’m here to hype your stock.” That should put them at ease she thought and lo it did. The captain of the guard, a pixy like creature in a revealing forest green peter pan suit, smiled as she lowered her AK 47½ . “Doy ya hab an appointment?” asked the Guard.

“No,” replied Blazer, “but I’m sure the Ambassador Sloth will welcome us and provide an excellent quote to boost your declining business, once its published of course.” Blazer flashed her press pass and a bit of thigh and hip, hopping they would not read the pass too closely or see her combat panties. It was no real problem thought Blazer, Neopets can hardly read anyway.

After a few moments, Senator Funstas and Sindy Blazer were escorted into Ambassador Sloth’s ant room. The Ambassador turned to face them. He was puffing on a Testosa Grande and the ash was nearly an inch long. The room was so filled with smoke and orange peals that Sindy could barely move. Ant farms lined one wall of the very large room filled with the scurrying forms of millions of ants of all persuasions.

“Ah, the famous Sindy Blazer, intrepid reporter for the Times, and of course my old friend Hyrum,” said Pernicious Albert Sloth, Ambassador Plenipotentiary of the Republic of Neopets.com. To what do we owe this hasty sham visit to our peaceful little corner of blessed Neopet.com?” asked Sloth. Sindy noted that he made no move to shake their hands.

Before Sindy could reply in formal diplomatic language, Funstas blurted “We were almost killed. Assassinated. It was horrible, I was walking down the…” Funstas stopped and he began to sob. Tears flowed like beer in October. The pressure had been to much for him Sindy realized. Funstas was a broken man. She always knew Funstas was weak. He lacked spine. He had no pluck. He was a fool. Sindy needed a drink.

“Ah yes, we saw the notice on the message system,” replied Sloth. “Very sad, very sad, about Murdstone, I mean. So tragic. A real shame and loss for journalism.” Sloth took a hankie to his nose, blew heartily and continued, “He’s going to survive they say.” Sloth paused to gage the Senator’s reaction. He resumed, “Taken to the hospital of the Order of the Bloody Stain of Saint Hymenos the Benighted. Good people there, the best in Second Life,” he continued. Sindy, who until now had been steady as a clam in warm broth, now began to dread all that was happening. It was going too fast she thought. Much too fast, and now Murdstone was in the hands of the Sisters. Ill be lucky to survive the day and have my jamies and hot milk before bed this night, she thought.

“Of course you’re welcome to spend the night here at the Embassy,” said the Ambassador. “Perhaps you would like the Court Dancer’s Suite or perhaps the Faerieland Wing?”

“I won’t be staying,” said Blazer, “but the Senator would be happy to accept your invitation.” The Senator was still sobbing uncontrollably. “The Senator needs a drink Ambassador.”

“Ah, how thoughtless of me,” he replied. “Claptrap, oh Claptrap,” he shouted. “Get a drink for the Senator if you will. Will Uncle Bens Private Reserve do?” he asked no one in particular. “Oh and a towel for the Senator please, no, on second thought a towel and a mop,” chuckled the Ambassador.

The Ambassador could be cruel Sindy remembered, very cruel. Behind that benign smile and his mink smoking jacket covered in fine ash, laid an empty space where a heart normally sat. Sloth had been an Ambassador for a long time.

Stepping into the sunlight Sindy motioned to Llanfair to bring the car around. Llanfair jumped out and opened the door for Sindy. “How’s the old fart doing?” asked Llanfair, feigning interest in the Senators condition.

“He’ll be fine, just fine, once he changes his underwear and has a couple of bottles of Uncle Bens,” she replied. “I hope he remembers the beer chaser.”

Llanfair got into the drivers seat. The engine turned and the roar of the 80 squirrel V8 came to life. “Where to?” asked Llanfair as she fished for a muffin from a greasy bag labeled Strawbucks.

“My office at the Times,” she replied. “You got another one of those?” she asked.

“Sure”, replied Llanfair, “mackerel or buttered peas?” she asked.

Sindy fell into a reverie as the limo pulled back onto Immunity Parkway and then onto Beast Avenue, past the Ministry of Antiquities and Dusty Relics, and on to her office in the magnificent Art Décolleté building that held Second Life’s most influential paper, the Sonogno Times. In the distance she could see the Navy Building, the Long White Hall, a bit dingy with its white flags fluttering briskly in the cold afternoon wind. Smelled like rain she though.