tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83550463271629230782024-03-08T03:32:58.440-08:00LOVE AND DEATH AT THE TIMES OF SECOND LIFEA Real Time Novel - Love and Death at The Times of Second Life. Action, romance, mystery, all set at the largest newspaper in the rapidly evolving world of Second Life. -- Punky Pugilist Novels are available for free online or in PDF format at -- www.TheTimesOfSL.comThe Times of HOTOhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00896785992606205250noreply@blogger.comBlogger101125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355046327162923078.post-38805947455548031592007-10-24T18:09:00.000-07:002007-10-24T18:12:26.063-07:00WERE MAKING A MOVIE<strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#990000;">Dear Readers.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#990000;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#990000;">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.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#990000;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;color:#990000;">We will keep you posted, and we are sorry that you will miss the daily chapters. However its only for a week or so.</span></strong><br /><br />Punky Pugilist<br />Sindy Blazer<br />Aiko DynamoThe Times of HOTOhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00896785992606205250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355046327162923078.post-24813365233312436262007-10-23T13:45:00.000-07:002007-10-23T13:47:14.422-07:00CHAPTER 31 - YO-YONimbus 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Nimbus, the cloud god, was laughing wildly at his accomplishment.<br /><br />Kronos, the god of time was watching in amazement. “Can you walk the dog?” asked Kronos.<br /><br />“Sure,” said Nimbus. “Watch this.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Cool,” said Kronos. “I’ll bet you can’t ‘loop the loop’”<br /><br />Nimbus laughed. “Watch this,” said Nimbus.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.The Times of HOTOhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00896785992606205250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355046327162923078.post-72237946845731042092007-10-22T13:24:00.000-07:002007-10-22T13:59:27.659-07:00CHAPTER 30 - LAND USESindy 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.”<br /><br />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.’<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Sindy entered The Times Tower and walked into a waiting elevator.<br /><br />Mr. Bubbs, the last elevator operator in all of Second Life, nodded to Sindy and asked “19th floor Ms. Blazer?”<br /><br />Sindy nodded affirmatively in reply.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Jimmy,” yelled Sindy.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“yes ms. sindy,” replied Jimmy.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />“sure,” said Jimmy. “you want creamer with that?”<br /><br />“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.”<br />“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.<br /><br />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.”<br /><br />“ok,” said Jimmy, “ill be back then.”<br /><br />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.’<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.The Times of HOTOhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00896785992606205250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355046327162923078.post-92106949925401934692007-10-20T19:33:00.000-07:002007-10-20T19:50:25.476-07:00CHAPTER 29 - DAVIDHOFFSThe 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Wake up Punkster. It’s almost time to go,” said Dagmon Zhukovsky, Chief Engineer of Zippy’s Blimp works.<br /><br />Punky rose and rubbed her eyes with her small fists. “Sheesh,” Punky said. “I need to sleep for a week and a day.”<br /><br />Daggy handed Punky a steaming doppy espresso with a jolt of jolt and turned back toward the hangar.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Punky turned to Kees and asked “What’s our destination tonight?”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Punky turned, pulled the maps for that region of Second Life from the navigation locker and began to plot a course.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />***<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“How about a pack of Davidhoffs too,” said Mallory.<br /><br />The man turned and without looking picked up the red and black hard pack of very expensive Davidhoffs. Mallory inwardly smiled.<br /><br />“On the other hand,” Mallory said, “I’ll stick with these,” as she waved the Galois in the air.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />The Omega squad was going over the building inch by inch, but Mallory knew they would find little.<br /><br />“Find anything?” asked Mallory almost as a courtesy to the squad .<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />The entire omega squad turned as Mallory kneeled down. Mallory began laughing at the pile of garbage strewn upon the club floor.<br /><br />“Oh Loopy,” said Mallory, “you should have known better.”The Times of HOTOhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00896785992606205250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355046327162923078.post-14009749111370179942007-10-18T16:45:00.000-07:002007-10-20T12:06:46.687-07:00CHAPTER 28 - X IN THE AIRPunky 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’<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Punky, are you listening?” asked Ted as he stood on the bridge of the X Ship with the crew.<br /><br />“Sorry,” said Punky. “Go ahead Tek.”<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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 …”<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Time to get moving, it’s almost dawn,” said a flight coordinator dressed in his yellow jump suit.<br /><br />Punky turned to the crew and said, “Ok button this ship up and lets get airborne.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Slowly the ship inched forward and in moments they were airborne into the night.<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Mallory stood and walked to the café doorway. She took one step forward into the sunlight and stretched. Then she dropped her racing form.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Omega squad will debrief Tux and then question the Baudelaires,” said Chris.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Mallory said nothing but slowly entered the Bright Flash Absinthe Mine and Club and started to look around.The Times of HOTOhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00896785992606205250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355046327162923078.post-56305868914698223452007-10-17T14:29:00.001-07:002007-10-17T14:42:37.331-07:00CHAPTER 27 - CAMPUSSindy 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.’<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />The taller girl looked perplexed as the shorter girl tried to think.<br /><br />“Wall,” said the short girl chewing on a wedge of tobacco, “I think that department is over by the Thigh Delts.”<br /><br />“Naw,” said the other girl as she applied a new layer of face paint. “Its over by the Student Lounge and Beer Garden.”<br /><br />“No, no,” said the chewing girl, “It’s over by the STD fraternity house, you know, the one with the funky swing sets.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Professor Flora turned to Sindy with a cup of tea in her hand. “Here is your tea Sindy,” the professor said. “Your welcome.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“That’s all I know,” said the Professor<br /><br />What, Sindy thought? “Hello I’m Sindy Blazer with The Times. May I interview you about your research?” asked Sindy.<br /><br />“Yes definitely,” said the Professor.<br /><br />“Do you have any thoughts about existence of secret sims?” asked Sindy.<br /><br />“Who would steal cycles? Ah that’s a question for the Criminal Brains and Perverts Department.”<br /><br />Weird thought Sindy, but then again this was Academe. Sindy asked, “What’s the relationship between secret sims and real sims?”<br /><br />‘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.”<br /><br />Sindy asked, “How are secret sims created?”<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />“Yes, I’d be happy to talk to you,” continued Flora.<br /><br />“Thank you for your time,” said Sindy.<br /><br />“How do you do Sindy, and how can I help you,” the Professor said. “Would you like some tea?’<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />After Sindy had finished scraping her salad dressing off the side, she remembered the woman from the photograph at Llanfair’s mansion – Loopy Loo.The Times of HOTOhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00896785992606205250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355046327162923078.post-42994510841610277032007-10-16T17:51:00.000-07:002007-10-16T18:10:44.079-07:00CHAPTER 26 - ZIPPY'SWitney 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Hey Tek, get your behind over her,” someone yelled from a distance.<br /><br />“Hi I’m Tek.” said the young man extending his hand to Witney.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />“This way,” said Tek as he turned into the hangar and shops.<br /><br />Nice gluts thought Witney as Tek’s wet coveralls clung to his rear and thighs. He’s not wearing undies she realized. Cool.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Tek, I need this test fitting threaded now, not tomorrow,” someone yelled.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />Punky was staring at the drawings and shaking her head. “Ok,Ok,” she said. “Forget about the ejectors, we will go without them.”<br /><br />Witney did not want to interrupt but she had critical messages from the Monforte’s.<br /><br />“Punky, Punky Pugilist,” Witney said.<br /><br />Punky looked up. Punky did not smile. She looked horrible thought Witney. Grimy, dirty, tired, and smelly too.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />Witney closed her mouth. Hmm, Witney thought ‘weapons officer,’ ‘leave before dawn,’ and Tek.The Times of HOTOhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00896785992606205250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355046327162923078.post-79620389370043830212007-10-15T21:24:00.000-07:002007-10-16T12:21:58.730-07:00CHAPTER 25 - NIGHT LANDINGPunky 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“How’s Fraley,” asked Punky.<br /><br />“Out. But its bad” said Washrox. She started to say more but changed her mind. There was nothing she could add.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Descend at 10 meters per minute, ordered Punky. “Call out the altitude Washrox, every 10 meters and loud.”<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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. <br /><br />“Ok, now 10 MPM descents until you reach 40 meters, Washrox call the altitude.”<br /><br />Normal’s hands were shaking and as Washrox called out the altitude her voice wavered.<br /><br />“80 meters,” said Washrox.<br /><br />“Louder Washrox,” cried Punky.<br /><br />“70 meters.” The wavering voice disappeared.<br /><br />At forty meters Normal leveled off.<br /><br />“Docking Protocol Normal, now.” said Punky softly to Normal.<br /><br />“Away the grappling hook,” yelled Normal Bellini.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />Normal had the procedure on his lap and was reading.<br /><br />“Down 10” Normal said, and he tweaked the wheel.<br /><br />“30 meters,” shouted Washrox.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“20 meters,” called out Washrox.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br />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. <br /><br />“Without any rest,” said Kees. Macboy nodded.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“At ease,” said Kraft. “Your report please.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Just a moment,” said Kraft. Kees and Macboy turned and returned to the Second Sea Lord’s desk.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />“Yes Mam,” Both Kees and Macboy said at the same moment.<br /><br />“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.The Times of HOTOhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00896785992606205250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355046327162923078.post-87189145525367781082007-10-15T14:42:00.000-07:002007-10-16T12:26:32.824-07:00CHAPTER 24 - FLOUNDERShortly 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Time to go,” whispered Kees, “its best to leave in the quiet.”<br /><br />“Yes,” agreed Macboy, “and with fewer complications as well.” Macboy laughed a small chuckle. Kees smiled.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />A thin young boy stood upon the far end of the breakwater. He leaned into the light breeze and began to sing.<br /><br /><em>“Come all you young sailorfolk, </em><br /><em>listen to me</em><br /><em>I'll sing you a song of the fish in the sea,</em><br /><em>and it's...”<br /><br /></em>A moment later the fisherfolk pulling on the oars replied in strong voices with a refrain,<br /><br /><em>“Windy weather boys, </em><br /><em>stormy weather, boys</em><br /><em>When the wind blows we're all together, boys</em><br /><em>Blow ye winds westerly, </em><br /><em>blow ye winds, blow</em><br /><em>Jolly sou'wester, boys, steady she goes.”<br /><br /></em>A good catch thought Kees, and no losses. They would not sing if there had been a loss.<br /><br />The boy waved. Then he sang again.<br /><br />“<em>Up jumps the eel with his slippery tail,</em><br /><em>Climbs up aloft and reefs the topsail,</em><br /><em>and it's..”<br /></em><br />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.<br /><br /><em>“Windy weather boys, </em><br /><em>stormy weather, boys</em><br /><em>When the wind blows we're all together, boys</em><br /><em>Blow ye winds westerly, </em><br /><em>blow ye winds, blow</em><br /><em>Jolly sou'wester, boys, steady she goes.”<br /></em><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Macboy let Irish down and asked, “Find me a small boat and a captain?”<br /><br />“Aye,” said Irish “and a good one at that.”<br /><br />“Lle vesta?” asked Macboy.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Pleased to meet ya,” said Pysgotwr.<br /><br />“Saesa omentien lle,” replied Macboy extending his hand. Pysgotwr wrinkled his brow a bit in surprise and gave Macboy a very firm hand.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />In the distance Macboy heard a me-Phone ringing from the church tower.The Times of HOTOhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00896785992606205250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355046327162923078.post-69796184483375677102007-10-14T18:40:00.000-07:002007-10-14T19:02:01.988-07:00CHAPTER 23 - SOLARIUMSindy 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“No thank you,” replied Sindy even though some tea would have been nice right now.<br /><br />The doorman bowed and was gone.<br /><br />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?’<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />Muffin laughed, but said nothing as he continued to puff on his pipe like a small locomotive pulling up a steep hill.<br /><br />“Sindy I’ve been expecting you,” said Chris Llanfair with a look of both mild amusement and friendship.<br /><br />“Why?” asked Sindy.<br /><br />“We could play games Sindy, but frankly we have another serious problem in Second Life,” said Chris.<br /><br />“Yes, the Lindens about to collapse,” said Sindy with confidence bordering on certainty.<br /><br />“No, its worse than that,” said Chris.<br /><br />Sindy looked at Muffin. He wriggled his eyebrow as if to say, ‘Yes, big trouble.’<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“You need to move fast Chris,” said Mallory. Chris and Muffin faced Mallory and Witney and they looked surprised.<br /><br />“What have you found out?” asked Chris addressing Mallory.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />Mallory paused carefully forming her words.<br /><br />“There’s tons of the stuff Dad,” said Witney. “Tons of it everywhere!”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.”<br /><br />“As we suspected,” said Chris. Mallory was not surprised at Chris’ comment. Chris always seemed to be a step or two ahead of her.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Wait, wait,” interrupted Sindy. “Who are the NAGS and what is cycle stealing.”<br /><br />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.”<br /><br />Sindy closed her mouth as a mosquito barely escaped death. Oh lord thought Sindy another unwanted adventure, and it’s almost fashion week.<br /><br />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.”<br /><br />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.”<br /><br />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?<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />Chris looked surprised realized Mallory. The President of the Reserve Bank had not figured that he and his family were in personal danger.<br /><br />Chris was about to say something but he paused and checked himself. He needed some time to think.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.”<br /><br />“But you gotta go Dad, there going to kill you,” said Witney on the edge of hysteria.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Aghhum,” said Muffin speaking for the first time. “Witneys, I thave a missions for yous. It’s dangerouff but criticals.”<br /><br />Witney looked surprised.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.”<br /><br />Tears began to fill Witneys eyes, but in her best punk rock manner she did not cry.<br /><br />“Ok,” said Witney. “When do I leave?”<br /><br />“Nows,” said Muffin. “Nows.”The Times of HOTOhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00896785992606205250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355046327162923078.post-35794191280482822242007-10-14T13:40:00.001-07:002007-10-14T13:50:25.526-07:00CHAPTER 22 - FLIGHTThe 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Gras, Foie, Pate de, 20 kilos,” read Normal trying to sound as official as possible.<br /><br />Punky looked at the dozen or so enormous loafs of pate.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />Eventually they got to the weapons Punky had asked Monforte to supply.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />“Bow, Cross, Ratchet, condition good, quantity 4, 10 kilos.”<br /><br />“How many bolts for the bows?” asked Punky.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />The checking of the cargo took another hour.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Punky fell asleep.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Washrox watch the starboard engine carefully. Tell me if anything goes wrong, anything! Got it?” Washrox nodded.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />Punky took a long look at the remaining operating engine and then she walked to the ladder and slid down into the gondola.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.The Times of HOTOhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00896785992606205250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355046327162923078.post-79848742064984208992007-10-13T23:24:00.001-07:002007-10-14T11:04:48.250-07:00CHAPTER 21 - FUNGISSindy never made it to the fire at the aerodrome. The confusion and congestion was simply too great. She got close enough to see that the devastation was horrific but mostly limited to the blimp hangars at the far edge of the Capital City Aerodrome. Vanessa from the fashion pages of the FT pressed on, but Sindy wanted to follow up on the pending monetary crisis. Vanessa had told Sindy a lot about the European perspective of the precarious state of the Linden.<br /><br />Since the me-Phones were not working and the message system seemed to be off as well, Sindy decided she had to use ground transportation. She exited the pedi-cab at The Times office and rushed to her office on the 19th floor and changed her shoes into comfortable ReBalanced running shoes. She decided to take a chance and go directly to Chris Llanfair the President of the Reserve Bank and Counting House of Second Life at his mansion in the Embassy District off of Immunity Parkway. <br /><br />As Sindy left The Times building she could see dull orange glow of fire in the south. She could smell wood and tar smoke. Finding a cab was difficult, but eventually she caught one at the corner of Beast Street and the Avenue of the Sims in front of the Temple of the Yellow Knights. Sindy always thought the old structure and its walled courtyard to be an oddity in Capital City, but after the Druid Incident and the battle with the Army of Circe, Sindy gained a new respect for both the building and the ancient curmudgeons who gathered there for their scary rituals and rites.<br /><br />The pedi-cab driver was one of the few Sindy had met who spoke jinglish and he was anxious to talk. His name was Beebo and he came from a distant improvised sim which had been paved over with shopping centers and malls that were perennially empty. The only jobs were camping jobs, or window washing. Everyone knew you could not make a living camping or washing. <br /><br />“See the fire?” asked Beebo.<br /><br />“Yes,” replied Sindy. “I got too close for comfort.”<br /><br />“I saw it when it blew up. It was awful.” Said Beebo. “Lindens got to do something about this. First the me-Phones, then stadium riot, the script errors, then the IM flops, and now the aerodrome blows up and poof, the really good fares and high tips are gone. Without modern blimps how is an avatar to get home to visit the folks or see Mildred, Minne, and Mopsy. And if they come visit me where do I take them. The stadium is a pile of charcoal now and the Pi Ball games are cancelled.”<br /><br />“True,” said Sindy not paying attention.<br /><br />“Linden’s gotta do something. I pay taxes here, VAT taxes, maintenance; I think Linden is against small business. Yes he’s not a man of the avatars,” said Beebo with conviction bordering on anger. <br /><br />“There’s always the Rapido,” said Sindy.<br /><br />“Not working,” replied Beebo. “It’s down. Some idiot deleted the script and it can’t be found.”<br /><br />Sindy suddenly began to pay more attention.<br /><br />“What else is not working in Second Life?” asked Sindy.<br /><br />“Well I get around, I see things in this cab. I’m kind of an avatar of the streets. Yes, I got street smarts and street creds… that’s for sure,” said Beebo enthusiastically knowing he had the lovely Sindy’s attention and perhaps a big tip for some juicy information.”<br /><br />“What’s not right in Capital City?” Sindy asked a bit louder.<br /><br />“Well the edge of Capital City is wriggling. I know it sounds goofy but it’s wriggling out by there by the Oak Forest border near the stadium. Saw it with my own eyes.”<br /><br />“Really,” said Sindy.<br /><br />“And then there’s the really odd thing.”<br /><br />“Yes,” replied Sindy.<br /><br />“Well you might think I’m crazy but I’ve been peddling in this city for years and I swear that it’s smaller. Yup smaller,” said Beebo.<br /><br />“That’s not possible Beebo.”<br /><br />“I know, I know, But it used to be 4307 turns of the pedal to go from the pick up spot at The Museo to the drop off spot at the Capital Dome. I must do that trip thirty or forty times a day. Well today it was about 4190. Call me crazy, but its shrinking.”<br /><br />“Did you drop your rates?” asked Sindy with a smile on her face.<br /><br />“Heck no. The tourists don’t know. But something is not right. No, Lindens better fix all this stuff and fix it fast or I’ll vote for the independent party. Or I’ll call for the return of old King Monforte. Anything is better than this. The next thing you know we will have more flation. The flation is bad enough now, but if it gets worse avatars will be angry.”<br /><br />The cab pulled to the curb and stopped before the enormous brightly lit mansion of Chris Llanfair. As Sindy gave the cabby a 22 Linden note. Beebo held the note paused in thought. <br /><br />“I can’t prove this of course,” said Beebo “but I think it’s more laggy at night when there’s no one about. I know, I know it makes no sense. Lag happens when lots of avatars are about, but something in not right at night when no one is about.”<br /><br />“Got a card Beebo, I may need a man on the street interview,” said Sindy as she alighted from the cab seat.<br /><br />“No, but you can find me in the Book,” said Beebo. “Not that it will do any good. You can also find me either at Gigots Malt Shoppe and Gin Joint or running tourists up and down Beast Street.”<br /><br />“Keep the change,” said Sindy. <br /><br />Beebo smiled and peddled away. As Sindy looked it did seem a bit slower than usual. Perhaps lag at night was a new phenomenon like the copy bot or poisoned note card.<br /><br />Mallory stood staring down the alley toward the rendering plant outside the coin and currency shop. She was deep in thought. <br /><br />Witney wondered and then asked Mallory, “Was that true? What you said about changing the currency tonight?”<br /><br />“No,” replied Mallory.<br /><br />“What now,” said Witney.<br /><br />Mallory turned to Witney and said, “You’re familiar with politics in Second Life?”<br /><br />“I hate to admit it, but yes. I was Senator Funstas chauffeur for over three years. Took him everywhere. I saw a lot. Even participated in some. And there is may Dad,” replied Witney.<br /><br />“Who is the most corrupt, spineless, baby kissing, glad hander in all of the Senate?”<br /><br />“That’s easy, Hyrum Funstas, my boss. But he’s still missing so the next in line is Crosspond Fungis from the Sim of Sonogno, he’s almost as dirty as Funstas, replied Witney.<br /><br />“What party is Fungis?” asked Mallory.<br /><br />“Republicrat,” said Witney, “but he’s been a Demican at times. Depends on what way the wind is blowing and who’s got the most campaign contributions and party favors. The Senate is not in session, but I know where he will be tonight. It’s not far.”<br /><br />“Lead the way,” said Mallory.<br /><br />Witney led Mallory out of the tiny ally and onto AU Street. As they walked down the street they passed Sidney Mobile’s, the gem dealer and fence, past The Tobacco shop where Trixi worked. Mallory looked. Trixi was not there. Trixi was probably at home in the flat above the shop. As they approached the Capital City Madam Bitter’s hotel Witney paused.<br /><br />“Fungis has a suite here, at Madam Bitters. The Brothel and Bordello’s Federation of Congress pays for his suite and for his, ah, companionship. I can see the lights on. See that corner room on the fourth floor - the Governor’s Suite.” said Witney pointing.<br /><br />Mallory looked at the old brick hotel squatting in the financial district of Second Life. The building was of stucco covered mud brick and had seen better times. Most of the stucco had flaked off in recent years and the window sashes had lost their thin coat of paint. A few windows on the 6th floor ballroom were cracked and one was missing. The Capital City Bitters had become a tourist hotel in recent years and rooms were rented by the hour on the first two floors. ‘Family Rates’ said a fading sign in the dirty smoke stained window. A broken neon sign blinked ‘CHIC’ and made an ugly buzzing noise. There had once been a good bar in the lobby but it had closed years ago. Business had been bad. How that was possible in a tourist hotel was beyond reasoning in Mallory’s mind. The old bar was boarded up. Renovations had reduced the once large ornate lobby into a narrow hall at the end of which stood an oddly truncated reception.<br /><br />The revolving door was locked shut but the side door was open. Mallory entered and Witney followed. Two green overstuffed and stained couches had been pushed up against one wall of the abbreviated lobby. As Mallory approached the reception desk she noticed that the old dining room was still operating. The dining room had become a fast food joint specializing in fried fryers. The place reeked of stale grease and week old chicken. There was a trail of grease on the worn tile floor from the restaurant to the elevator. Take out, thought Mallory.<br /><br />There was no one at reception. Mallory walked around and behind the reception desk and hit the bell hard. <br /><br />Damaged Bocs, the receptionist appeared after a few moments. Bocs was dressed in a greasy black suit with a black tie and shirt. <br /><br />“Grey hides grease better Bocs,” said Mallory with familiarity.<br /><br />Bocs looked at Mallory with recognition and then worry. Mallory had busted Bocs years before for unmentionable crimes, which now are as normal as rain in a city with mud brick buildings and rusted tin roofs.<br /><br />“You retired, I heard that,” said Bocs with false conviction.<br /><br />Mallory said nothing but stared at Bocs and then inspected his suit and appearance like she had a magnifying glass in her hand and was about to burn ants with focused sunlight.<br /><br />“Mallory, I got a decent job here. Please don’t make any trouble. My boss he doesn’t know.”<br /><br />Witney grinned. Wow that silence stuff really works well she thought.<br /><br />“Is he in?” asked Mallory.<br /><br />“Who?” replied Bocs.<br /><br />Mallory said nothing.<br /><br />Bocs looked at Witney. “Hi Witney. No trouble, right? No trouble.”<br /><br />Witney said nothing but she tried the magnifying glass trick and Bocs became increasingly nervous and insecure.<br /><br />“Funstas still missing?” Bocs said nervously. “The girls miss him.”<br /><br />“Is he in?” Mallory repeated in a lower calm voice with a hint of potential for pain.<br /><br />“Yeh,” said Bocs, “He’s got guests, can’t be disturbed.”<br /><br />Mallory stood still staring at Bocs, then she broke eye contact and quickly scanned the reception. There were letter boxes and half were filled with keys. She turned and looked carefully at the back side of the reception desk and then grabbed a ring of keys that were hanging on a nail next to a rusted cash box and dusty yellowing registration cards which had not been used in a decade. Mallory placed a 20 Linden note on the counter.<br /><br />Witney noticed that Bocs started to object and then didn’t. He wants to be rid of Mallory thought Witney. Bocs was looking at the bank note.<br /><br />Mallory turned to Witney and said, “Count to 100 and then follow me up. Bocs is gonna be nice and quiet while you count. Bocs took the note.<br /><br />Witney turned and then bounded up the stairs rather than use the elevator. Witney could hear the tread of her footsteps on the creaky wooden stairs all the way to the count of forty. When she reached 100, Witney looked hard faced at Bocs. He averted his gaze and then Witney ran for the stairs.<br /><br />When Witney arrived the double doors to the suite were wide open and Mallory was in the bedroom of the suite standing over the naked form of Fungis. Two avatars, a furry and a female age player were wrapped in sheets. The furry in the fitted bottom sheet and the age player in the top sheet. The mattress was bare and oddly new. Probably a benefit from the Federation thought Witney. Two empty bottles of cheap campaign and some hand rolled cigarettes were on a dark brown night stand. One cigarette was still smoking as it sat on the edge of the wooden table. The table had lots of burn marks along the edge. Witney sniffed. Yep, she thought.<br /><br />Senator Fungis stood and tried to assume senatorial decorum, but it was hopeless. Without his clothes he was just another John caught in flagrante delicto. The senator recognized Mallory but was clearly not afraid of her.<br /><br />Mallory looked at Fungis’s instrument and began laughing. A hard cruel laugh.<br /><br />Witney realized that the senator was completely disarmed, embarrassed, insulted and deflated.<br /><br />“Fungis, I’ll let you alone. I just want to know one thing?” said Mallory with a stone cold stare of impending mayhem and disdain for his instrument.<br /><br />Fungis said nothing, but tried to reach for his pants which lay on the floor. Mallory was standing on them, and his shorts as well.<br /><br />Fungis looked up with a stupid guilty smile, like a teen age boy caught in the barn by his mommy doing what comes naturally. <br /><br />“How long have you been in NAGS?” asked Mallory.<br /><br />Fungis stood. His fear of Mallory had been replaced by a greater fear. A fear of cowardice mixed with panic. Mallory had hit a button.<br /><br />He’s gonna run, thought Witney as she backed up to cover the door to the sitting area.<br /><br />“How much phony currency did they pay you Fungis,” asked Mallory.<br /><br />Fungis’ panic was replaced by another fear, the fear of discovering that greed is a mortal sin if you get caught. “It’s not phony,” Fungis said in a voice far too loud.The Times of HOTOhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00896785992606205250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355046327162923078.post-26429195760292841282007-10-11T13:48:00.000-07:002007-10-11T14:05:14.634-07:00CHAPTER 20 - RARE COIN AND CURRENCY SHOPPEEMallory despised violence. She refused to pack heat since the Goodword incident. Situations that were violent were out of control. And control, investigative control, was critical to Mallory’s success. Deduction, inference, listening, all required some semblance of calm. The petty thieves, snitches, and weasels knew they had nothing to fear from Mallory. The bigger prey had a lot to fear, but violence was not one of their fears. Occasionally Mallory had to assert herself, but usually when there was no other path available. Mallory simply detested violence.<br /><br />Witney Llanfair, on the other hand, thought of violence as just another form of expression, like love making, or eating apple pie with your fingers. Witney spent most of her time in the School for Wayward Girls in either the mosh pit or on stage with her band – the Buttered Embryos. Violence was like art to Witney, with only one difference. It was best not to sign your art when you were through. But even this rule was not hard and fast as that pervert Taffy Dunst could testify, and did.<br /><br />Mallory and Witney made an unusual pair as they approached Blacky ‘One Eye’s’ Rare Coin and Currency Shoppee. The shop was in an unnamed alley off end of AU Street near the only rendering plant left in Capital City. If you had not known that the alley was there you were likely to miss it. Some neighbors, who had lived there for years, didn’t know it existed although they complained a lot about the smell. The small wooden building that housed the Rare Coin and Currency Shoppee was old and needed paint. The building was windowless except for a window in the door. A small window with a sliding steel gate and a speaking tube. The window as perhaps three inches thick and when you looked through it all you could see when the steel gate was thrown back was a single bloodshot eye staring back. That would be Blacky.<br /><br />Mallory pulled the bell chain twice, waited a few moments and pulled twice more. The steel grate flew back with a distinct heavy sounding thud. The eye startled at Witney and then Mallory. As Mallory and Witney stood waiting, and the door resounded with clicks, thuds, and squeaks. Mallory turned to Witney and said, “Now remember keep you mouth shut. Silence is the best interrogation tool.”<br /><br />Before Witney could answer the door slowly opened. Blacky, dressed in black baggy pants and a stained white tee stuck his 230 pound 5’2” frame out the door and made a quick look up the alley toward AU street and then down the alley toward the rendering plant. Blacky motioned them quickly to enter the shoppee. Mallory stepped in followed by Witney. The door slammed shut and Blacky began slamming home the levers and locks that kept his door secure.<br /><br />Funny, thought Witney, these old wooden walls are as thin as paper. Why the locks? I could just kick my way in here in a moment.<br /><br />Blacky turned to Mallory. “Who’s the kid?” asked Blacky.<br /><br />Witney looked closely at Blacky and he did have only one rather oversized eye. Mallory had said it was a medical experiment gone bad or perhaps an early Linden attempt at mind control. However, Mallory had cautioned, don’t state at his missing eye and never mention it. Blacky was sensitive about his deformity or his romantic advantages as some saw it.<br /><br />“My minder,” said Mallory.<br /><br />Blacky nodded and walked to the counter in the tiny shoppee. He lifted the gate of the counter and stood protected behind the counter by an ornate wrought iron barrier taken from an old bank. Barrons Bank said the elaborate script above what had once been a teller’s cage. Blackey rested his frame on a tattered bar stool he had found in the alley years before.<br /><br />“What ya want Mallory?” Blacky asked with all the eagerness of a man about to have his spleen removed or his alimony increased.<br /><br />Mallory said nothing, but she reached into her purse and pulled out a large gold ring. She placed it on the counter before Blacky. Blacky reached for his philosopher’s stone and rubbed the ring on it for a moment. The he lifted the ring to his eye and examined it carefully.<br /><br />“So,” said Blacky.<br /><br />“I want to buy some Lindens,” said Mallory. Then Mallory added “at a discount.”<br /><br />Blacky looked up and examined Mallory and the kid carefully.<br /><br />“Ill give you $L 20,000” said Blacky. Mallory visibly frowned disappointment, but she was shocked at the large discount. Mallory said nothing.<br /><br />“Ok,ok, $L 40,000 it is,” I can’t go a Linden more. Mallory said nothing.<br /><br />Witney was thinking that the amount offered was enormous, but Mallory knew better. Witney said nothing but began to look about the room. Mallory said that would be ok. Observation was critical in successful detective work. The room was pretty much bare, but there was an old tattered couch against one wall with a small tray. Blacky sleeps here Witney realized. Witney could see the muzzle of an ancient but effective shotgun sticking out from under several large tattered pink pillows, one of which read ‘Moth’.<br /><br />Still Mallory said nothing. Witney could see beads of sweat breaking out on Blacky’s face. Mallory was staring hard at Blacky even though she had warned Witney not to do so. Blacky was averting his gaze and was fumbling with the ring.<br /><br />Behind the iron bars protecting the counter were several displays of antique currency. Witney saw some old notes and coins with dead kings and queens stamped into them. There were some early Republic Notes as well, referred to in history class as ‘mud notes’, because the Senate had printed so many notes in its social improvement programs, that mud had become more valuable than currency. Some social program, recalled Witney. The only segment of society to benefit were the senators themselves. She knew, her former boss Hyram Funstas Senator from the Sim of Clissa, used to regale her with tales of excess, debauchery, and hedonism practiced by his ancestors – senators one and all. Things are better now. All classes in Second life are free to live in excess, debauchery and hedonism.<br /><br />The room was silent except for Blacky’s labored breathing.<br /><br />“Ok how about $50,000,? That’s my final offer Mallory,” said Blacky.<br /><br />There was a small back room and probably a basement as well realized Witney. The exterior proportions of the building told Witney that another room about two meters by six must be behind the counter. Perhaps a vault or a wash room she figured. The floor was wooden and had a spring to it. A basement for sure realized Witney. Behind the bars Witney saw a faded photograph of what must have been Blacky in his youth standing with a group of other folks on the steps of what Witney knew to be the Reserve Bank building where her father was president. It looked a bit like a graduation picture, except they were not fighting, but standing neatly in rows.<br /><br />“Gimmie the ring,” said Mallory after a long long wait. “Ill take it to Blind Ned’s”<br /><br />“No, no,” laughed Blacky nervously, “He will steal you blind, yes he will. His sisters in the hospital with AFK and he’s really desperate to keep her there. He can’t have her at home any more what with the triplets and all, you know what I mean, two lovers is difficult enough, but three, there’s no room for …”<br /><br />Blacky was babbling realized Witney. Mallory had made him so nervous that some thought dam had burst in Blacky’s head and a flood of words came spilling uncontrolled out his mouth. Neat trick thought Witney I’ll have to try that myself.<br /><br />“It’s the best price I can give you Mallory. Lindens don’t grow on trees. Well they are made of paper and that comes from trees, but, you know the Reserve Bank and the blue bloods on the hill, they just don’t print this stuff. No its real money. The best stuff ever, better than the worthless dollar or that joke called the Euro…”<br /><br />After a while Blacky realized he was simply filling space with empty words and at the same time revealing way too much about his business.<br /><br />“Ok Mallory, why are you here?” said Blacky.<br /><br />“I’m here as a friend Blacky,” said Mallory as she leaned toward Blacky.<br /><br />Blacky was suddenly suspicious and he reached for a dirty rag and wiped his forehead.<br /><br />“Sure Mallory, I can use all the help I can get,” Blacky said as he started laughing uncontrollably.<br /><br />‘Tit for tat Blacky,” said Mallory, “Tit for tat.” Mallory reached and took back the ring.<br /><br />Blacky wrinkled his puffy forehead trying to think what Mallory was up to.<br /><br />“First the Tit and then I want a Tat in return,” Mallory said in a scary voice.<br /><br />Witney thought that this is really getting strange. Was Mallory talking dirty or what?<br /><br />“The linden will demonetize this evening at midnight. The reserve bank is printing new notes as we speak.” Mallory intoned.<br /><br />Blacky went white, then Blacky gasped. He closed his eye and pressed his face into his flabby palms and began to cry.<br /><br />“Get a hold of yourself Blacky,” said Mallory, “You still got nine hours to dump the stuff on some poor suckers.”<br /><br />Blacky looked up, his eye wide open, as a stupid grin spread across his face.<br /><br />“There’s opportunity in every disaster,” said Mallory. “Now Blacky its time for a Tat.”<br /><br />“Mallory thanks, but I can’t help you. These guys are bad eggs, really bad.”<br /><br />Mallory said nothing and Witney stepped forward. Intimidation time thought Witney.<br /><br />“Listen Mallory I got the grandkids to worry about. They said if I made even a peep we would all be cancelled. I know they can do it. I saw it when the cancelled Tally Ornst, you know Tally the bookie on Gigots. Well he’s gone, dead, cancelled. He tried to stiff these guys, No, I can’t talk Mallory.”<br /><br />Mallory stood staring at Blacky and then she said, “I’m not going anywhere Blacky till you tell me what I want to know, and with a basement full of worthless lindens, you don’t have a lot of time to find marks and losers.”<br /><br />Blacky had started sweating again.<br /><br />“What you got down there?” asked Mallory, “ a ton maybe two tons of the junk.”<br /><br />“Three,” said Blacky, “three tons.” Blacky was really worried he had already said too much. ‘Took me days to get it down there, I almost had a heart attack, twice, but the opportunity was too good to be true. Too good.”<br /><br />“What did they want Blacky?” asked Mallory.<br /><br />“Not much, some information and the deed to this worthless dump and the postage stamp of land it sits on.”<br /><br />“Good work Blacky now tell me what information,” asked Mallory with a growing ease in her voice.<br /><br />“Oh just some names.”<br /><br />“Who,” demanded Mallory.<br /><br />“Reserve bank people, and their addresses, stuff like that,” replied Blacky.The Times of HOTOhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00896785992606205250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355046327162923078.post-90607973672180165102007-10-10T15:04:00.000-07:002007-10-10T16:00:50.813-07:00CHAPTER 19 -BUNNIES AND WOLVES“Ungh.” Punky hit the soft ground hard and in the blackness. The only light on the darkened polo field was the blaze of lights from the Montforte Detached Palace in the distance. The polo field was black and Punky could only feel the giant oaks around her and the dark form of the blimp a few yards above her head.<br /><br />“Oh dear, I hope you didn’t hurt your self,” said Millicent Gellwat, a long time Detached Palace household staff member that Punky recognized from the incident in the Druid Grove. “My my, Punky, you must take more care.” Millicent was holding a copper lamp which provided the light of one candle power. Punky knew this because she could see the one candle in the lamp.<br /><br />Punky unclipped the beeners and the figure eight. But she reattached them to the loops on the climbing harness which she did not remove.<br /><br />“His Highness is waiting for you in the Reception of the Rival King Munderic The Burnt. Follow and watch your step. They were playing Polo this morning,” said Milicent in her sweet sing song motherly voice. On Punky’s second step her foot planted firmly in something mushy and wet.<br /><br />As Punky approached the palace she noticed a long line of household staff carrying bundles and packages to a staging area near the tied off blimp. Several elderly staff were pushing wheelbarrows loaded high with fire wood. Carpenters where setting up a ramp. The same ramp that Punky knew they had used for the “Spirit of Io” when she put down here during the recent disturbance with the Order.<br /><br />Punky blinked hard as she entered the Munderic wing of the palace. The room was enormous and after her eyes adjusted she saw Muffin and The Chair in the distance. They were smoking and drinking port as if nothing had happened in all of real or virtual life, except the need for a cookie or another sweet.<br /><br />Punky was not in a good mood, but she was most happy to see both the Chair and Muffin obviously awaiting her arrival.<br /><br />As Punky approached she noticed that she was tracking in muck and mud onto an ornate and ancient Flemish rug depicting the hunt and murder of a unicorn. Just like the Monfortes to have such a rug she thought.<br /><br />“Ah Punky,” said the Chair. “We were worried you might be late.”<br /><br />Muffin said nothing, but he frowned and puffed on his pipe as a small cumulonimbus cloud of smoke rose above his porti-throne. Muffin was not a man for chit chat or chat of any kind Punky remembered.<br /><br />Punky had a million questions so she drew a deep breath and asked, “Was it Loopy Loo?”<br /><br />The Chair looked at Punky with a perplexed look on his face and then he turned to Muffin. Muffin nodded.<br /><br />“Yes, Punky, it was Loopy Loo and the NAGS. They caught us flat footed.”<br /><br />“How many casualties at the Academy?” she asked with an edge of anger in her voice.<br /><br />“More than 20 wounded, but no deaths thank the gods,” said The Chair.<br /><br />“How much of the fleet remains?” she asked.<br /><br />“The Blimp cartel fleet has been wiped out, all 32 of our ships. Even old ‘Spirit of Io’. The NAGS got her at the breakers yard,” said The Chair with great sadness.<br /><br />“Theys got 80% of ta Blue Ocean Fleet,” said Muffin in the old tongue. “80%, its sickening. Ta Blue Navy ha casualties. HMS Indifferent, the old Indolent, and the Ironic gone. Destroyith on ta grounds.” Muffin was very upset Punky could tell because his meerschaum pipe was stone cold but he continued to puff.<br /><br />“How long until you can load the Poofer with water, food and fuel?” Punky asked.<br /><br />“You should be ready to go in about four hours. Just before dawn” said The Chair. “We have very little coal here and you will have to use cord wood just like in the ancient days. We have mostly olive wood, but it should substitute for a while.”<br /><br />“I’m going to Zippys Blimp works at Fort Balatro if its still there,” said Punky in her voice of command.<br /><br />“Oh yes,” said The Chair. “Loopy and the NAGS figured there was nothing there worth attacking, but you should be able to complete a decent refit there, although rushed. I sent a runner to the Chief Engineer and they will be waiting for you.”<br /><br />“And then what?” asked Punky. “How do I get this Loopy Loo and repay her.”<br /><br />The Chair looked to Muffin. Muffin shrugged. Punky realized they didn’t know.<br /><br />“It’s best to stay aloft during the day and as long into the night as you can. I expect the Second Sea Lord here in the morning after they have assessed the damages and tended to the wounded. Perhaps we will know more then. I’ll send word to Zippy’s when we learn something”<br /><br />“I need a set of carrier pigeons,” said Punky. “And some offensive weaponry.”<br /><br />“At Zippys they may be able to fabricate a weapon of some kind, as for the pigeons they are all ready to be loaded. Oh and stay off the instant messaging system. It’s not secure, not in the least. As for weapons we dont really have anything."<br /><br />“I figured that,” said Punky. “How about ancient weapons, swords, knives, blunderbuss, that kind of stuff?” asked Punky in a determined voice.<br /><br />“Yesf, yesf,” said Muffin, “I’ll ha Millicent visit ta armory in ta eastern wing, or was tha ta western wing. Is been such a long times.”<br /><br />”I have to tend to the loading of the ship.” Punky turned and walked swiftly from the room. Then at the doorway she turned and asked “What are the NAGS?”<br /><br />The Chair responded “The NAGS are bad eggs Punky. There called the Nerds And Griefers Syndicate and Loopy Loo is the kingpin.”<br /><br />Punky turned and raced out the door.<br /><br />“Goods luck Punkys,” said Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV, Royal, Dauphan of Second Life, “the future of Second Life may well be in your hands.”<br /><br />Punky was gone out the door. She had not heard Muffin’s last words.<br /><br />Kees had stretched out on the top of the hill above the village square. The fisherfolk had gone home and only the two sleeping snipers in the church tower remained watching the port of Jurang. The boss in the green suit, followed by his two colleagues had exited into one of the stone cottages. Soon smoke began to rise from the chimney. Kees feigned sleep in the warm sunshine.<br /><br />High over head seagulls floated and an occasional gull’s cry punctuated the stillness and the regular rhythm of the sea and the shore. A small boy dressed in ill fitting but warm tweed coat walked across the village square dragging a wooden fish trap toward one of the cottages. In about half an hour the kid appeared again with another battered fish trap. Just like at home, thought Kees, the kid was stealing fish traps.<br /><br />Kees saw a ship far out at sea along the horizon line. Within an hour it was gone. Clouds began to form high above, and as Kees lay on the grass staring at the sky he could see bunnies forming. Bunnies and then wolves.<br /><br />I could live here someday thought Kees. This is just the place I could retire to. Kees laughed. Omega squad members never retired. They usually disappeared one day and then a service was held in the Long White Hall. No, they never retired. However spending a long vacation here or getting the Second Sea Lord to sponsor a sea squid research station for a summer was always possible. I wonder if that young lass with Macboy has a sister thought Kees.<br /><br />At about three a fog bank appeared out on the Inland Sea and by four the cold wet clouds began to descend upon the village. Soon the church steeple was blanketed and obscured by the descending fog. Kees saw Macboy strolling down the hill from the barn. He was alone and was softly singing a tune Kees recognized.<br /><br />“If all the rest o Adam’s race,<br />Was assembled in this place,<br />I’d part with all without one tear,<br />Before I’d part with you, my dear.”<br /><br />Macboy tipped his cap as he approached Kees.<br /><br />Macboy began talking low and looking toward the descending fog. “They came here a week ago, five of them in a private yacht named ‘Ill Wind’. The yacht had about 20 on board and left immediately after they came ashore. It has not been seen in the region since. They rented a cottage and claimed they were looking for a place to build a coelacanth packing house, but they fooled no one. The waters here are too warm and too shallow for coelacanths. The locals figured they were money launders or such, because they spent a lot of lindens on food, grog, and fuel. A lot of lindens. And in these remote lands, money speaks loudly. They stay to themselves in the rented cottage there and don’t visit the pub which is a kind of insult in Jurang Port. The ferry is overdue, but it frequently breaks down. The messaging system is always flaky here so no one is alarmed. The fishing fleet will return tomorrow and we can probably rent a boat and a captain to take us to Meola. Perhaps we should avoid Meola and land on the coast.”<br /><br />Kees nodded as the fog enveloped them. “How’s the last line of that song go Macboy?”<br /><br />Macboy sang the last few lines.<br /><br />“And it’s oh dear grog, thou art my darling.<br />And my joy both night and morning”<br /><br />“Never met a girl named Grog,” joked Kees. “Let’s go have a drink.”<br /><br />Macboy smiled. He was thinking about an appetizer too.The Times of HOTOhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00896785992606205250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355046327162923078.post-26062971903336522142007-10-10T12:13:00.000-07:002007-10-11T11:38:06.415-07:00CHAPTER 18 - PORT JURANG TOWNThe Omega team of Kees and Macboy had seen enough of the secret sims on the edge of Second Life. The Second Sea Lord would be waiting for their report and it was time to return to Capital City and the Long White Hall. They had left their overlooking observation point after midnight. The far skyline of the hidden sims had become quiet although it was clear that their building efforts were incomplete. Security was clearly present in the secret sims, but the bulk of the workforce had disappeared. By dawn Kees and Macboy were four sims away to the north. And by the following morning they were at the port of Jurang.<br /><br />Jurang port town was a typical port village on the edge of existence. A small plaza of white stone which lead to the stone pier was surrounded by a few buildings. A pub called the Elven Nose, a blindingly white and completely empty Church of Ohm, and about a dozen thatched roof stone houses made up the hamlet. Sooty smoke was coming from the chimneys of three houses. Except for the ferry dock the town appeared deserted. The fishing fleet was still out. A fish canning factory could be seen on an estuary but it looked closed.<br /><br />There was a small crowd at the ferry building and a lot of very angry shouting. The ferry was late. Kees dropped his rucksack on a slight rise above the port and sat down to observe. Macboy strolled slowly down the road to the pier facing the inland sea. Macboy paused and sat on a wooden bench just opposite the loading dock of the overdue ferry. Macboy fished for his tobacco and papers and began to fumble making a cigarette. Macboy scratched his head and rubbed his right ear. Then Macboy yawned. Slowly he untied a shoelace on his hiking boots. Kees looked to the right and he saw three avatars who clearly did not belong in this simple fishing village on the edge of a cod fishery and a smelt canning factory. The avatars were dressed in city clothing, with city shoes, and city posture. They didn’t belong here and they were watching the village with outsiders eyes. The city people seemed not to be concerned with the late ferry, but were watching the pier closely as if they expected the smelt from the factory to make a run for freedom. Kees recognized amateur security when he saw it. They were packing heat, but they did not do a very good job of concealing it. Amateurs good enough to fool the locals. Dangerous, but still amateurs.<br /><br />Four local fisherfolk with several baskets of yesterday’s fresh cod, were arguing with the ticket booth attendant on the pier. The ferry had been delayed, the fisherfolk and Macboy heard the attendant say. No, he didn’t know what the problem was because the message systems were down again. The ticket agent was urging patience and was offering a discount for tickets purchased today. No one was taking him up on the offer. The ferry was a boat and this was a town of fisherfolk who understood the fickle seas.<br /><br />“Any time now,” Macboy heard the ticket agent say. The fisher folk were getting upset as the sun sucked the last hint of freshness from their day old glazed eyed cod. Macboy finally had a smokeable cigarette and he fished about for his matches. No matches were to be found. Macboy swore just loud enough to be heard. Then Macboy stood and walked to the odd men out – the amateur security. Kees suppressed a smile, but slowly unlaced the right pocket on the rucksack.<br /><br />Just before Macboy reached the security group he stumbled on his shoelace and began to swear. Macboy had their attention. He stood and brushed the dirt and gravel from his trousers. His hand rolled cigarette in his mouth was bent at a 40 degree angel.<br /><br />“Hey,” said Macboy to one of the avatars in a green suit, “got a light.”<br /><br />The avatar who was wearing a dull green sharkskin suit with a yellow plaid tie and blue starched shirt replied, “No, those things will kill you.”<br /><br />“Yeh, but we all die anyway,” said Macboy with a stupid laugh. Macboy turned and stumbled again. The security group burst out in ugly laughter. Macboy stood and kneeled to tie his errant shoelace. Macboy returned to the bench and sat down and got comfortable like he was going to take a snooze in the warm morning sun. Macboy scratched various bits of his body and rubbed his hands a bit. Then he yawned and appeared to fall to sleep with the bent cigarette still clinging to his lower lip. Macboy looked like a lazy idiot trying to sober up from a night of hard drinking at the Elven Nose Pub in the village.<br /><br />Kees read the signs from Macboy. “Three packing P99’s, two more in the church tower with Tippman 98’s. Green is in charge.”<br /><br />After about half an hour Macboy woke up and ambled off to the Elven Nose. The ancient wooden door to the pub was bleached white by the sun and sea. It was almost 10 oclock and a young well endowed girl in a dirndl with scarlet hair was wiping an empty table next to the crackling fire. There were only two patrons sitting in the snuggery doing some snogging. The pub was clean and with a fresh smell of springtime even though it was fall outside. Garlands of dried flowers decorated the bar.<br /><br />“Vedui' il'er,” said Macboy in the old tounge.<br /><br />The young woman with flashing green eyes looked up. She smiled and straightened her posture. She was single Macboy could tell and the gene pickings in Jurang Port were slim.<br /><br />“ 'Quel amrunm” the girl replied. “Not many visitors know the old language.” She shook her long red tresses just a bit.<br /><br />Macboy sat at the table by the fire and stretched a bit in the warmth of the fire and her reception. “I’m Macboy Jewell, I’m on holiday hiking the hills nearby. Ill have a pint,” he said.<br /><br />“Saesa omentien lle,” she replied. “My name is Irish, Irish Spring,” she said with a bit of a lilt and a twinkle of her nose ring. She turned and slowly walked to the bar where she picked up a spotless pint glass and began to fill it from an amber fountain.<br /><br />She returned with the pint. She leaned forward a bit too far for simple serving and placed the pint before Macboy. Irish’s long red hair brushed the lip of the glass. She grabbed a chair and sat down. She wanted to talk.<br /><br />“What’s with the ferry?” asked Macboy.<br /><br />She sighed, “No one knows. We haven’t seen the “We’re Here,” in two days. Perhaps Captain Troop is sick or something. The weather has been fine.”<br /><br />She leaned forward a bit to make sure that Macboy could fully appreciate her fresh country girl assets.<br /><br />Fecund thought Macboy.<br /><br />“I kind of like it quiet this way,” Irish said.<br /><br />Macboy took a long sip of the ale. The amber elixir was full-bodied with a grainy, malty sweetness and a taste of honeysuckle. “Very nice, quite tasty,” Macboy said placing his glass onto the worn wooden table and looking intensely into Irish’s eyes.<br /><br />Irish caught Macboy’s drift and blushed. Not the blush of embarrassment, but the blush of anticipation.<br /><br />“My da comes in at noon,” she said. “I could show you around the village. The sights you know.”<br /><br />Macboy smiled and replied, “Lle naa vanima.”<br /><br />Irish positively beamed.<br /><br />Kees remained on the hillock. He pulled out a shirt from the pack and a needle and thread and began to carefully darn several holes. The security took an interest in him at first, but after he started darning his old socks they paid no further attention.<br /><br />Kees noticed that just after noon Macboy exited the Elven Nose with a lovely young red haired lass. They were holding hands and she was motioning all about the village and laughing. A tour, thought Kees as he chuckled under his breath. Macboy was very good at research in small villages and hamlets throughout Second Life. In about half an hour the young girl and Macboy had circumnavigated the entire town square and they turned onto the gravel road that lead gently up the green hillside toward a large barn and hay ricks in the distance. Research in depth thought Kees.<br /><br />Kees gathered up his darning and his rucksack and headed down to the town square. He paused at the small fountain in the center of the village and took a closer look at the village chapel. The two avatars in the belfry were sleeping. The three on the ground by the pier looked bored. Nothing was happening here and Kees decided that the ferry was not coming today. Perhaps it would never come Kees realized.The Times of HOTOhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00896785992606205250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355046327162923078.post-14752707120680105492007-10-09T23:18:00.000-07:002007-10-09T23:36:51.704-07:00CHAPTER 17 - SAFE HARBORSindy Blazer, Society Editor of Times of Second Life and sometimes Science Editor was doing her nails in her cluttered office on the 19th floor of the Art Décolleté Times Tower when her rose colored me-Phone blasted the ring tone of Sydney Mobile, the famed gem cutter and gold bug. Jimmy Washisname, the copy boy and junior journalist wannabe, stood lurking in Sindy’s open door.<br /><br />“Hi Sidney,” said Sindy. “Yes, yes, it was a good photo spread wasn’t it. Your younger daughter Mugwort looked lovely... I know, the nose work by the art department was top notch… Really …Yes, back to reform school. How nice.”<br /><br />Sindy talked to Mobile for a few moments before Mobile got to his point. Sydney Mobile was having trouble buying raw stones and uncut gems from Neopet or Zwinki. The gem dealers wanted to be paid in worthless US Dollars and not in the sound Linden. Something was up and Sidney Mobile wanted to know what Sindy knew. Sindy knew nothing. They chatted a bit more about Mugwort and her wonderful admission to the best high security reform school for girls in all of Second Life. Then Sindy said she would look into the Linden situation and they hung up.<br /><br />Sindy stood for a moment, then grabbed her Gnocchi leather purse, a knock off from Purse Barn over on Ragnachar Avenue. She stood for moment thinking about who to talk to. The finance desk folks at The Times had all been laid off when Ruprecht Murdstone, her nominal boss and President of Lupine News Corporation, had purchased the Walled Street Drag. Ruprecht was her nominal boss because as Society Editor Sindy knew everything about everybody and especially their dirty laundry. Sindy had a stringer who worked in the Frog Laundry on King Pharamond Street. Sindy also collected photographs from One Moment Photo in the Dowdily building across the street.<br /><br />Perhaps she should walk the three blocks over to Au Street and talk the WSD? No, she thought, the WSD was rapidly turning yellow, which was a compliment in her sector of the news business, but Sindy wanted some information of substance.<br /><br />No, she would go visit someone over at the pink sheets. The Financial Times had a bureau here and Sindy knew the fashion editor Vanessa Friedman. Vanessa was here for fashion week. Besides thought Sindy, if the mighty Linden was in trouble then the Euro based paper might know something. Sindy dialed Vanessa’s assistant, Mr. Prince, and arranged a meeting at 6:00. Perhaps they could catch a quick bite at Blua’s or Café du Lune. Sindy could always get a seat there and she never had to pay. Blau’s and the Café always recognized Sindy when she walked in and she always got the best table. Sindy had become an item. As Society Editor Sindy made sure she was a hot item.<br /><br />The FT offices were not on AU Street, which was the financial center of Second Life, but on King Pharamond alley, not far from the Palais de Congres. Sindy decided to walk. It was not far and she needed the exercise. Pilates was a joke. Good hard journalistic research, dancing, and foot leather were a far far better form of exercise. Besides you got to talk to interesting people and see interesting things rather than stare at breathless sweaty posteriors.<br /><br />Sindy walked out into the darkening sky and turned right down Beast Street. As she passed the Long White Hall she wondered, as she always did, why they didn’t paint that old building. But perhaps Governor Linden was being responsible with Second Life’s finances. She laughed. The idea of the Governor being responsible with money was laughable, after all just look at that Paris girl he was so obviously supporting. What a joke. But thank the gods she was here, because it sold papers.<br /><br />Sindy was surprised to see a line in front of Furries New Life Bank. About twenty avatars were waiting anxiously at the door to the now closed bank. Sindy smelled a story so she paused and went up to an elderly female avatar with a speckled brow, oversized ears, and a brown senseless frock.<br /><br />“What’s happening?” asked Sindy.<br /><br />“I don’t know,” said the anxious senior, “but I’m nervous about my money. There’s a rumor that the Linden is about to fall and I want my money, even if I have to stay here all night.”<br /><br />“But tomorrow is Saint Golphus day, a banker’s retreat day, and they won’t be open till day after tomorrow,” Sindy relied.<br /><br />The senior looked annoyed and replied, “Well I’m not moving until I get my Lindens and buy something safe with them.”<br /><br />“What will you buy?” asked Sindy always interested in financial gain.<br /><br />“Hot Couture, I’m gonna raid the racks at Lowmans. Hot Couture never looses its value, better than money in the bank,” the senior said with conviction.<br /><br />“Thank you,” said Sindy filled with relief. Her closet was so full of Hot Couture that she could easily survive any financial crisis, even unemployment for a lifetime, if her clothes held their value. But then again here in Second Life there was probably no better investment than nice clothes.<br /><br />At Alameda del Museo Sindy crossed the busy street and turned east toward lower Ragnachar. In the distance, toward the Capital City Stadium or near the Aerodrome she heard a series of dull thuds. Like someone hitting a base drum in a dense fog with a sponge. Odd thought Sindy, but then again this was Second Life where all things were possible and odd was normal. When she reached Ragnachar and turned south she heard sirens in the distance.<br /><br />In a few moments she was on King Pharamond street, famous for Fanny’s Fabulous Fabrics, The Frog Laundry, and the Farmers Garage Sale Outlet Store. Sindy quickly spotted the two story pink brick Tesco building that housed the Capital City FT bureau on the second floor. She looked up and all the lights were blazing. It was early morning in London thought Sindy, I’m surprised they are still working. Sindy quickly climbed the steep creaky wooden stairs to the cramped FT offices. The place was packed with reporters, stringers, and hangers on. Something big was happening and she was missing it.<br /><br />She spotted Vanessa banging her me-Phone on the desk in obvious frustration. “What’s happening Vanessa?” asked Sindy.<br /><br />Vanessa looked up without smiling. She was pissed. “Damn me-Phones are down again. I could just strangle Jobless Steves and his Baffles Computer Company. What %$^#!<br /><br />“It’s a fire, definitely, a big one,” shouted a short round man Sindy recognized as Alan Beedy the farm reporter for the FT. “The whole aerodrome is aflame, get Tiny Tim out there to take pictures. I’m leaving now,” Beedy said grabbing his brown overcoat and bowler hat as he ran for the stair. “Oh,” he said as an afterthought, “The me-Phones aren’t working and the communications button is out. Get some runners in place.”<br /><br />“Wanna come with me,” said Vanessa as she grabbed her hat and coat. She stopped for a moment to apply her lipstick looking into a small mirror she held in her hand. “There’s always a fashion aspect to any disaster.”<br /><br />“Are you kidding?” said Sindy. “Let’s go!”<br /><br />They both ran to the stair and soon they hailed a pedi cab on Ragnachar Avenue.<br /><br />Quickly they ran into traffic. Emergency crews were abandoning their flying carpets, egg crates, and other forms of conveyance and hoofing it the two kilometers to the Capital City Aerodrome. Sindy and Vanessa could see the flames from their cab. Sindy looked at Vanessa’s three inch stiletto heels on her Ferraguano boots and Sindy’s own Manolo’s. They weren’t going to walk far in those. Best to stick with the cab.<br /><br />Sindy turned to Vanessa who was staring at the flames in the distance. “Is the Linden in trouble?” Sindy asked.<br /><br />Vanessa laughed, and looked at Sindy like she was stupid, and then laughed again. “The Linden is in the crapper,” Vanessa said.<br /><br />“Got those flares ready?” yelled Punky as she eased into the pilot’s seat. The wind had come up a bit from the north, and the landing was going to be tricky. A polo field looked big from the ground, but from a blimp running low on fuel and desperate to land in the dead of night, it was mighty small indeed.<br /><br />“Yes there ready,” cried Washrox. “and the grappling line too.”<br /><br />The crew stood ready and were in their life jackets. Monforte’s fishing pond was at the far end of the polo field and they might well end up in the drink. Besides Punky had learned just before graduation that the life jackets really helped in a hard crash – fewer broken bones and bad bruises. A bit like body armor for the knights of old she had learned on that awful morning.<br /><br />A sliver of moon had finally appeared on the horizon but it was still black as the reapers face. Punky was concentrating.<br /><br />“Turn on the lights!” she shouted.<br /><br />The landing lights came on in a blinding flash. In the darkened interior of the pilots station all the instruments, stanchions, and levers became hot silver white with black void outlines. Punky strained to look down. She reached for the port window and slid it back with a thump and she stuck her head out. There. She saw a glint of water to the north east perhaps a hundred yards.<br /><br />Below fires began to burn. Monforte had gotten their message. Bon fires two at each end of the Polo Field. Suddenly Punky could see the field below. “Kill the lights,” she shouted as she pulled her head back into the cockpit. Her own landing lights were blinding her and the bon fires below were the best landing illumination. She put the engines into dead ahead and slowly turned the UP&DOWN wheel. Gently the Poofer descended.<br /><br />“Away the grappling line,” Punky cried and Washrox dropped the line through the open belly hatch. The line was limp then it straightened and started the characteristic jiggle as the three foot tangs sought a purchase in the soft sod below. The line went taut.<br /><br />“Away the landing lines.” A gentle lift in the buoyancy of the Poofer told Punky that the fore and aft lines were away. She adjusted for the increased lift.<br /><br />“Call out the altitude” said Punky.<br /><br />“100 Meters,” yelled Normal.<br /><br />“50 Meters.” yelled Normal<br /><br />“25Meters.”<br /><br />Punky started to slow the descent. She leveled off at 15 meters. She could see the ground below clearly and the figures trying to grasp the landing lines. In a few moments the ship pitched a bit and lurched aft. The makeshift landing crew had the lines<br /><br />Punky threw open the window again and put her head out. She could see that the figures on the ground had tied the lines firmly to two huge oaks.<br /><br />“Away the docking lines,” shouted Punky.<br /><br />In moments the Poofer was secure and Punky increased the buoyancy a bit to make sure the ship stayed put. Below the bon fires went out in a hiss of steam that Punky could see from the cockpit.<br /><br />Punky turned to the crew. “Excellent job, excellent. Now I want all of you except Normal to get some sleep. Washrox, relieve Normal in two hours. We will be leaving before sunrise so I want all of you rested. Washrox you're Mission Commander. If something goes wrong on the ground take off and try to make it to Fort Balatro. The Zippy blimp works is empty at this time and it may not have been a target.”<br /><br />Before the crew could respond Punky had attached a climbing belt to her waste, clipped in a carbineer and a figure eight. Punky paused a moment and saluted her crew and then she was gone down the grappling line and into the dark.The Times of HOTOhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00896785992606205250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355046327162923078.post-29752219543831256912007-10-09T20:27:00.000-07:002007-10-09T20:47:49.859-07:00CHAPTER 16 - ALOFTChris Llanfair stood on the patio near the pool at Governor Linden’s Mansion in Clementina not far from Capital City. The pool area was crowded with new citizens who had been invited for the weekly pool party. Newbees were easy to spot. The bad hair, ill fitting shoes, pasty skin, -- they were just like immigrants and refugees in every culture. Chris felt sorry for some but was thrilled for all. What a great adventure they had before them. The world was their oyster they just hadn’t learned it yet. That is if they could keep their shells about them until the learned the mores and values of Second Life.<br /><br />Chris didn’t care much for the Spartan design of the Governors Mansion or its rather small size as mansion go. Chris knew that the Governor was here only for official occasions and that he lived in the Penthouse Suite of the Hotel Fronmount in Capital City with that Paris girl. The Penthouse was rumored to rent for more than $L 8000 per night, but Chris knew that the Governor owned the hotel and much of the private parcels in Capital City. It was part of a long term Linden plan to ensure quiet and decorum in Capital City and to keep the Rafs out of the city. The Rifs had proven harder to keep out since they had more money even if they lacked good taste. But Lindens were confident that in the next few hundred years they would own all but the Royal Lands of the Monforte’s.<br /><br />The Governor’s Finance Committee had just taken a short break and Chris needed to clear his head. The financial crisis was looming and the M0 and M1 supply were out of control. Perfect fake Linden bank notes were flooding the economy and as soon as one of the financial reporters at the Wall Street Drag or The Times wrote an article covering the crisis the Linden would as useless as the US Dollar. The Governor had contacted Ruprecht Murdstone, media Mongol, and owner of Lupine News and The Times and had arranged for a press blackout on the matter. But it was only a matter of time thought Chris before some blogger started ranting about the slipping buying power of the Linden and that set off a financial panic. Thank the gods no one reads blogs here in Second Life. As long as they stick to the mindless stupid pet stunts and psycho babble on me-tube and the social low-cal petit foir they called me-space all would be stable. For this week at least.<br /><br />Chris looked up at the rooftop garden and it looked like the Committee was reassembling. He walked past the pool and into the white stucco mansion. He paused on the ground floor and washed his face in the hallway bathroom sink. Chris was tired. It had been a long night and the day was bound to be even longer.<br /><br />Chris tried to dry his hands and face with a tiny paper towel from a dispenser. Useless he thought, but he was unwilling to wait for the stingy paper towel dispenser script to produce another, so he began walking up stairs with his face and hands still damp.<br /><br />At the top of the first landing of the staircase he saw The Chair of the Blimp Cartel. The Chair was waiting for someone and Chris soon realized it was he. The Chair approached and in a low tone asked, “Is she on the case?”<br /><br />“Yes,” said Chris, “It was close, but Mallory started a few hours ago. My daughter is assisting her, just in case.”<br /><br />The Chair nodded and they both turned and climbed the stairway to the conference room above and to the crisis impending.<br /><br />Punky was thinking fast and she immediately assigned Normal to the mission commander’s seat. “Plot me a course to the Capital Aerodrome.” Punky ordered. “Get Fraley down here, she’s physically wasted. Fraley your co-pilot sit down and shut up. Washrox stay in at the engineering station. You Paxford, up top and keep the steam pressure at the edge of the red zone. Step on it.”<br /><br />The crew responded quickly and they knew that they were about to start a great adventure. If they had known how difficult the adventure would be they may well have regretted even applying to the Academy of Balloons.<br /><br />Punky knew that the devastation at the Academy was complete. The explosions in all the blimp hangers had probably wiped out the entire fleet. It was not safe to put down there. Since it was dinner time Punky figured that they got every Blimp stationed at the Academy including the five Blimps of the Line. But the upside would be that the students, professors, and most of the support crews would be eating at the commissary on the far side of the campus. They were probably safe there. But with this well planed attack Punky could not be certain. Punky knew she had to save this blimp and its crew.<br /><br />Normal called out a compass heading and an optimal speed to conserve coal. Punky shook her head and shouted loud enough to be herd up above, “We gotta get to Capital City as fast as the Poofer can make it. Pour on the coal."<br /><br />Thank the gods that Fraley was such a slacker because her laziness had left them with more than enough coal to make the flight at top speed. Punky laughed, top speed was about 10 knots with a favorable tail wind. It would take about two hours to get to the Aerodrome at this speed.<br /><br />“Fraley, take control and keep the heading and course given to you by Normal. Call me immediately if any thing happens. Any thing you understand,” said Punky.<br /><br />Both Normal and Fraley nodded and Washrox was already hefting a heavy pipe wrench about a dripping joint. A good crew Punky though. A good crew.<br /><br />Punky watched the communications button closely. There was no traffic. Either there was a communications lock down or the saboteurs had gotten to the communications systems as well. Best to stay silent.<br /><br />“Kill the running lights,” ordered Punky. Washrox looked confused. Flying without lights was a serious violation of flight rules. In a moment they ship was dark in a very dark moonless sky.<br /><br />Punky went back to the rear of the gondola and jumped into the captain’s bunk. She was tired, but she was not going to sleep. She needed to think. What was happening? What actions should they take? Where should they go? The Poofer was clearly a target but why Punky could not guess. Punky needed to think and the humming and pulsing of a steam powered blimp was the perfect place for thinking through this crisis.<br /><br />“Captain, err… Professor Pugilist get up here now,” shouted Fraley. Punky had dozed off but while sleeping she had worked through a process of elimination and she knew that Loopy Loo was responsible in some way. Loo had sworn vengeance on the Academy when they drummed her out of the corps. Loo had been a brilliant student, clearly genius material, but she had a dark side. Loopy was a sadist, a sociopath, and a megolomaniac. Not a good mix in Second Life or any other place for that matter.<br /><br />Punky was out of her bunk in a flash and she ran to the copilot’s seat. “Whats happening,” said Punky as she glanced down on the plotting board held in Normal’s lap. They were about 5 kilometers out from the aerodrome.<br /><br />“Look,” said Fraley pointing dead ahead.<br /><br />In the distance there was a dull orange glow. As they approached it got brighter and brighter until it became in inferno. The Capital City Aerodrome was ablaze.<br /><br />“Get us out of here,” yelled Punky. "Reverse course."<br /><br />Fraley applied power and the ship began a tight banking turn. Punky grabbed the hand holds and after a few moments they leveled out.<br /><br />“Where to now?” asked Normal.<br /><br />Punky thought hard again. After a few moments she said, “Plot me a course to the Monforte Detached Palace. The west garden area. They have put blimps down there before.”<br /><br />“Washrox, get those distress flares ready. Were going to need to see the ground when we land.” Punky was praying that the Monforte household staff would remember how to assist a blimp in landing. They had done so months ago. The enormous oaks of the Royal Parklands next to the polo field should provide an excellent tie down. But Punky suspected that by morning they would have to be off and seeking the safety of the empty skies.<br /><br />‘Get me a rescue beacon carrier pigeon,” said Punky as she grabbed a pad of paper and quickly wrote a note. After a few moments the pigeon intended as a desperation beacon in a crash was winging its way to the Blimp Cartel Tower. Punky hoped that someone would be in the tower to receive their urgent message.<br /><br />In a short while the Poofer slowly banked into a gentle climb and began heading due north toward the home of Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV, Royal, Dauphan of Second Life, Associate Professor, famed historian, and Head of the Anti-Monarchist Party. Muffin will know what’s going on thought Punky. And the Chair of the Blimp Cartel was likely to be there as well.The Times of HOTOhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00896785992606205250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355046327162923078.post-72819860761168672972007-10-09T12:48:00.000-07:002007-10-09T12:49:12.998-07:00CHAPTER 15 - ORANGE TEAMFlight 101 took all of Punky’s energy and time. The class of 28 students was divided into seven flight crews. Each flight crew rotated the positions of Pilot, Mission Commander, Chief Engineer, and Coal Shoveler. After a training flight was completed you could always tell what position each student had held. Coal shovelers were almost entirely black and sometimes the only white you could see on them was the whites of their eyes. The Pilot was always pumped and bouncing around like someone who had consumed a quart of jumpy juice with two jolts of zing. The Chief Engineer was always wet from the boilers and usually greasy. The better the Chief Engineer did the job the wetter and greasier the student was. The Mission Commander, who was responsible for completing the overall objective of the flight lesson and for keeping an eye on the big picture was usually shattered, a jumble of nerves, and frequently needed a change of underwear. <br /><br />Pilots were notoriously focused people as were engineers. Chaos, madness, or death could be standing next to them, but their duties required unwavering focus on dials, gauges, horizon line, rate of descent, and stuff like that. The coal shoveler was up in the windowless engineering section and frankly was oblivious to everything except feeding the ever hungry maw of the boilers. <br /><br />The poor Mission Commander saw everything. Like the trees that almost took off an engine nacelle, or the replica of the Eifel tower they missed by a few meters, sometimes the mountain looming up suddenly from the cloud cover. Keeping a crew from getting hopelessly lost was a another responsibility as well as ensuring that they returned home with a smidgen of fuel left and in time for dinner. <br /><br />Six student instructors from the fourth year at the Academy of Balloons assisted Punky as flight instructors. The student instructors were sharp and knew their stuff and without them the program could not work. Punky took the worst performing team as her own in order to give that team as much attention and support as possible. <br /><br />Punky had completed six hours of flight with the Orange Team in Old T12 ‘Poofer” by late afternoon. The Orange Team was a mismatched group and most of their problems arose from personality issues, communications problems, and simple distrust of one another. <br /><br />That day the pilot had been Paxford Lint, a very tall young man who stuttered and frequently washed his hands. In the pilots seat he could not get to the wash basin so he had cleverly brought two packages of handi wipes. Shows initiative, thought Punky. Paxford was a sweet kid thought Punky. Paxford just needed to relax and enjoy flight. <br /><br />Washrox, who in violation of some basic rule had no first name, was also nice but troubled. Something bad had happened in her past and she would not talk about it. Under pressure, like when pipes began to dangerously leak on both engines simultaneously she would freeze unable to decide which one to fix first. Since the engines were constantly leaking she was often frozen in indecision. She had been assigned to engineering on this flight. Punky knew of several techniques for resolving this issue and she had a plan already formulated to help Washrox.<br /><br />Fraley Farnsworth came from a blue blood family and had all the advantages of a blue blood childhood including attending the exclusive Choke preparatory academy. Usually graduation from one of the ‘Seven Brothers’ academies was an automatic disqualification for the Academy of Balloons. But the Superintendent was trying to cast a broad net and respond to new social pressures within Second Life. Fraley was arrogant, insulting, full of herself, and felt that she deserved to fly even if she was so lazy as to completely ignore her studies and assignments. On this day she had been coal shoveler. They had almost broken the speed record for slow progress and although they had arrived back at the Aerodrome in time for dinner, they arrived with a record amount of fuel remaining in the bunkers. Punky had observed that Fraley had slept leaning on her shovel for most of the flight. Sleeping standing up was not easy and Punky knew that only blue bloods were really good at it.<br /><br />The last student, who was Mission Commander on this flight was Normal Bellini. Normal was anything but normal. In addition she was a Goth vampire but belonged to the reformed wing of the Goths. The Academy of Ballons was outreaching to minorities and to the oppressed majority as well, and Normal had entered the program under ‘special considerations.’ What those considerations were Punky was unsure, but she did notice that Normal always wore sunscreen when about in the daylight. SPF 2000 the tube said that had fallen from her rucksack on the day they first met in the hanger.<br /><br />Good kids all, thought Punky, who was still practically a kid herself. <br /><br />The flight had been uneventful and Punky had refrained from little sabotage tricks to test their readiness. Too early for that she thought. So Punky had not fiddled with the compass, or loosened some steam pipes, and had even made sure that the coal loaders balanced the weight of the fuel. That would all come later.<br /><br />Old T12, the ‘Poofer’ was as familiar to Punky as old undies. Poofer had been old when Punky as a student had been assigned to a team which spent hundreds and hundreds of hours in her cocoon like surroundings. Poofer even had her own unique smell, which was hard to describe, but which was something like cumin and carrots. <br /><br />What Punky had not known, was that two years before her first flight on the Poofer, there had been an accident and a fifty five gallon drum of cumin carrot soup had been spilled in the gondola during a humanitarian flight to the Sim of Pondicherry. They had tried to wash it out but the smell had stuck.<br /><br />The Poofer was on its last legs and at the end of this year she was going to the breakers. She was safe, but her design was very old and obsolete. Poofer was simply too expensive to maintain. Punky felt Poofer was a good training blimp because her infrastructure was constantly failing. The constant stream of emergencies and crisis made the crew work as one and learn to improvise in their collective terror, and fear of flaming death from the 80,000 cubic feet of hydrogen hanging just a few feet above their heads.<br /><br />They were approaching the aerodrome at a slow rate of about four knots into still air from about 200 meters altitude. The yellow windsock hung limply below them. Paxford had used the last of the handi wipes and was anxious to get on the ground, but he was managing his phobia well, and the descent was almost textbook perfect. Fraley had stopped shoveling an hour ago, but that was fine. Landing with too much steam pressure was always a bad idea. Just enough steam pressure to recover from a bad approach and then try again was about all that was desired at this point in the flight plan.<br /><br />Normal was huddled over the navigation station and was busily writing the flight report. Normal looked up at Punky and then at Washrox who was wiping her hands on a wet towel. Washrox was preparing the landing line and was fumbling in a locker looking for the grappling hook. Normal had forgotten something thought Punky.<br /><br />Punky returned her attention to the approach and to their soft landing. The sun was setting in the west and it would be dark in a few moments. A night landing with a green crew could be tricky and Punky was glad they were almost down and docked. On the tarmac below Punky could see the six training hangars and on the port side in the distance the four larger hangers which housed five Blimps of the Line for the Blue Ocean Navy.<br /><br />Punky was considering dinner when a bright flash filled the starboard windows of the gondola. The brilliant light was coming from the one of the hangars where the Blimps of the Line were housed. The Poofer shuddered and pitched hard to starboard. Paxford did a decent job of righting the ship as Punky shielded her eyes and strained to see what was happening. Then a second brilliant flash was followed by another violent buffeting of the Poofer.<br /><br />Punky dashed to the empty co-pilots seat and yelled ‘Everyone above, I need steam and I need it now, now now.’ Paxford got up and ran to the ladder and was gone in a flash. Washrox did not move. Punky was struggling to keep the ship under control when a third and fourth explosion punctuated the night. Finally Washrox moved. <br /><br />Punky spun the UP&DOWN wheel viciously and the ship began to rise. Punky reached for the red ballast dump handle and pulled hard. The Poofer dropped 1200 pounds of sand onto the tarmac and the waiting landing crew below. The Poofer rose swiftly and just in time. For immediately below the Poofer the training blimp hangers began to blow. It was like a line of fireworks set off by a malignant child. The Aerodrome field was ablaze and the Poofer rose higher and faster among climbing flames and flying debris. <br /><br />Punky knew if she didn’t get some more altitude fast they would all be toast- burnt incinerated toast. The ship buffeted first to port and then to starboard. The nose pitched up at a dangerous angle as hanger number 4 blew. Above Punky could hear swearing and the sound of someone thrown hard against a bulkhead. “More steam,” shouted Punky as she pulled into a climb. The engines roared so loudly that Punky doubted that the Orange Team could hear her. But the steam pressure suddenly rose and the scream of the engines increased in volume. The light below them flickered at they reached 1000 meters and pulled wide of the landing area. Punky banked the Poofer, throttled back the engines and began a slow turn around the field giving the dying fires a wide berth.<br /><br />The devastation was complete. The entire fleet stationed at the Academy of Balloons was gone. It was no accident Punky knew. The blimp hangers were too widely spaced to allow a single fire to destroy the fleet. No this was deliberate. There were undoubtedly casualties below. The fires had been to hot, too large, and too fast to allow anyone to escape.<br /><br />Washrox and Paxford came sliding down the ladder and paused at a portside window. Normal followed a few moments later. They stood transfixed by the flaming aerodrome below. Punky could hear Fraley furiously shoveling above in the engineering section.<br /><br />Washrox said the word first. “Sabotage,” Washrox said. “Sabotage.”<br /><br />“Who could have done this?” asked Paxford.<br /><br />“Loopy Loo,” whispered Punky between clenched teeth. “Loopy Loo.”The Times of HOTOhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00896785992606205250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355046327162923078.post-48363214077319522522007-10-08T19:23:00.000-07:002007-10-08T19:52:44.531-07:00CHAPTER 14 - GUILTTrixi and Witney managed to get Mallory cleaned up by dawn. At one dark moment Trixi was certain they were going to loose her. But with Witney’s help and a lot of residual survival instinct deep within Mallory she had pulled through. Then at Chris’ suggestion they decided to take her to Chris’ official residence on Immunity Parkway. They could both take better care of her there, and watch her more carefully on the isolated estate.<br /><br />“I just don’t understand,” sighed Trixi sitting in a dark brown leather chair in the ornate Argentium Room of the Pecunia Wing of the Chris’ estate. Trixi was gazing out the window toward the Monforte Detached Palace which could be seen in the distance through the trees and parklands. The early morning sun was streaming through the lower branches of the trees and the ground looked all golden, clean, and sparkly new.<br /><br />Chris sat not far away looking into a fire which was blazing in the pre-baronial fire place. “What?” asked Chris, “What don’t you understand?”<br /><br />Trixi sat for a while thinking, as Chris loaded his pipe with fruity tobacco. She began to reply as Chris scraped a wooden match across a black sandy surface and it burst into flame.<br /><br />“Oh,” Trixi said, “I just don’t know why someone with all the brains and charm of Mallory would do this to herself.” The sun was a bit higher and concentrated sun beams were entering the room from the clear eastern sky.<br /><br />Chris nodded as if in agreement, but he did know why Mallory acted as she did. He knew a lot about Mallory.<br /><br />Trixi wanted to say more just to fill up the empty space in the room. But there was really nothing to say. Earlier Chris had told her and Witney that Mallory Sauternau was the most intelligent, observant, logical person he had ever met. Mallory could have been President of the Reserve Bank and Counting House under different circumstances. Perhaps even Governor, or Treasurer of Linden Labs.<br /><br />But Trixi knew the demons were bad to Mallory and that if you clobbered Mallory enough times with doubt and fear she would collapse like a paper towel on the wet bar at Gigot’s gin joint.<br /><br />Sam’s death had been hard on Trixi too. Their little group had broken up following Sam’s death. The grief was too much. Danny who really liked Sam had drifted away from Trixi in the weeks after the funeral. Trixi found it painful to be with Mallory so she too drifted away. Later Trixi realized what an awful mistake that had been, to leave Mallory all alone with the demons.<br /><br />Trixi heard footsteps from down the hall.<br /><br />Witney entered and said,” Doctor Benway says it was close.”<br /><br />Then Witney paused she was simply at a loss for words.<br /><br />Witney continued, “If she gets that drunk again she’s probably a gonner.” After another long pause Witney continued, “She got a shot of vitamins and stuff. She should be ok by tomorrow. But we gotta keep her off the sauce.”<br /><br />“Tommorw is too late. I need here awake and in full reasoning power today,” said Chris between tightly clenched teeth. “If we don’t find the Linux Ambassador soon, then there will be an international incident of unprecedented proportions. Witney go back and tell the good Doctor we need her compus mentus now.”<br /><br />Witney started to object, but Chris raised his hand. Witney knew that the fate of Second Life was at stake again and that without Mallory they really had no chance. The cops were useless.<br /><br />“Why I ever agreed with the Governor to use that intelligence test to qualify police recruits I will never know,” mumbled Chris.<br /><br />“I took the test once, years ago,” said Trixi. I flunked. I could identify things like isosceles triangles, Stuben glass, and shoe sizes. I guess you don’t make a good cop if you know those things, although I don’t know why.”<br /><br />Chris knew. Chris understood that in order to keep law and order in Second Life that you didn’t need imagination, ingenuity, or vision. You needed only to toil, trod, and clomp through the streets and dives of Second Life. Small bribes were to be expected in a police force, they were like the VAT tax. But the Lindens and Chris had learned a long time ago that really big corruption could work only if the police were part of the deal. Big corruption required smart minds, so Lindens had decided to keep any one with smarts off the force. The failure level had been set at an IQ of 79. Above 79 you failed. The strategy had been a spectacular success. Real organized crime could not exist with such a dumb police force. But on occasion when there was a really dangerous crime or sophisticated plot the strategy failed to work. That’s where Private Detective Mallory Sauternau came in.<br /><br />Mallory was unique. She had analyzed the police department test and cheated to get exactly a passing grade of 79. Shortly after she started on the department Chris and other bureaucrats became aware that she was an odd woman out. So was her partner Sam Smart. How Sam got on the force no one could figure out. Probably a series of small bribes the Governor had suggested. Like peas in a pod they found each other and together they were crime busting machine.<br /><br />However after a few years of tolerating Mallory and Sam, the pressure groups became too loud about that team of coppers. The Union of Ticket Scalpers and Pick Pockets had started the complaints. Then the Possum Corporation chimed in with complaints about vendor harassment or ticketing its sausages for jay walking or speeding. Then the campaign donations started to dry up. The crime tax revenues fell, money laundries closed shop and became hair salons, and land speculators started looking over their shoulders and property values started to stabilize. Finally when the Order of the Bloody Stain of Saint Hymenos the Benighted complained about their diminishing take at the Goodword homeless shelter, Chris and the Governor had had too much.<br /><br />But the plan to rid Second Life of Mallory and Sam had gone badly wrong. To this day Chris was haunted by the cascading errors that lead to Sam’s death. Too many unintended consequences and a real failure to understand what righteousness and justice could mean to some avatars. Second Life was not a place for the righteous and the just.<br /><br />Chris and the Governor had gotten Mallory off the force and on a full pension. The Chief had wanted to eliminate the pension over some imagined slight, but both the Governor and Chris knew what they had done was so very wrong. The loss of Sam was tragic, but they had gained something really valuable that they had not anticipated. Mallory the private detective. Give her a set of facts and a basic question or two and within hours or days you had an answer. No cuffs, no paparazzi, no perp walk, no drama. Just a straight answer.<br /><br />Kees Kepler and Macboy Jewell moved through the forest only at night. During the day they had climbed high into the tree tops to observe the construction of the hidden sims in the distance. In two nights they had closed in to within 50 meters of the hidden sim boundary. The didn’t dare venture any further because in-sim radar would surely show their presence. That is if the hidden sim operators had in-sim radar. But there was no doubt in either Kees or Macboy’s minds that these operators were tough, rich, and smart.<br /><br />The hidden sim had hanging above it a camouflage screen. Anything flying above would see nothing more than empty space or open seas. Below the camouflage screen they were building furiously, but only during the night. During the day the Omega squad boys could see bunnies and squirrel avatars frolicking in the hidden sim. Using his monocular Kees could see that they were packing heat. They were security, or even worse – a private army.<br /><br />What they were building and why then needed such secrecy and security Kees and Macboy could only guess.<br /><br />The Second Sea Lord had not said much about what to expect. Just travel to the Kun Lun mountain range, locate the hidden sim or sims, scope out what they were up to, and return fast.<br /><br />The Second Sea Lord had been specific about a few things. They were under no circumstances to use the instant messaging system or chat because the Second Sea Lord knew that whoever was behind all this was monitoring all messages. That had been quite a shock to Kees and Macboy. Kees immediately stopped IM’s to his sixteen girl friends out of fear that they might start comparing notes. Kees was not an original thinker and all his love notes were identical. He had purchased them in a book store as a prepared set. He even called his girl friends by the same love name to avoid complications – Bubbles.<br /><br />The Monocular had shown at least three or possibly four sims on the edge of existence. But Kees and Macboy agreed that there must be more. One odd thing that they had noted was that the number of avatars working on construction within the closest sim exceeded the 40 avatar limit for any given sim. It looked like they had over a hundred avatars constructing buildings, and creating landscaping, and ornamenting structures. And most amazing the sims had no lag. Both Kees and Macboy knew this was impossible, but they carefully noted it their notebook. Those are really powerful servers though Kees who knew a bit about computer stuff.<br /><br />The Second Sea Lord had ordered them not to enter the hidden sims. Just to observe. And lastly they were not to be caught or captured under any circumstances.The Times of HOTOhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00896785992606205250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355046327162923078.post-26794855994547199222007-10-08T15:33:00.000-07:002007-10-08T17:06:33.772-07:00CHAPTER 13 - REAL SCIENCESindy arrived early at the boring science conference in the Heart of the Ocean Forum building. Sindy was quite interested in Professor Ora Fora’s paper ‘Time Inflation in Second Life.’ Sindy had watched the trailer on me-tube and was intrigued by the possibilities of time inflation. Things always seemed to be going faster and faster, especially the bad stuff thought Sindy. And the good stuff never seemed to last long enough. Perhaps there is some truth to this she though.<br /><br />But this morning she had arranged an important interview. It was worth at least 8 column inches and if she could spin it right she had a Sunday supplement article of at least 400 small words.<br /><br />She had managed to obtain an exclusive interview with Igor Eisenstein, Professor of Conventional Wisdom at the University of Sonogno. He was widely acknowledged on me-space as the smartest man in SL. Eisenstein was also the winner of the bronze medal and that made him hot stuff.<br /><br />Sindy climbed the marble steps into the glass and steel Forum building and headed to the press lounge. A large expectant crowd had gathered and Sindy noticed that many held autograph books and brownies for snaps. She knew they were autograph books because most of them said ‘Autographs’ on the cover.<br /><br />At the top of the stairs Sindy turned to the Press Room at the end of the glass and steel hallway. Sindy spied her journalistic rival Sally Snit from Second Life Today sitting on an overstuffed green couch. She was dressed in a bright red jump suit. Sindy laughed, Sally looked like a pimento stuffed into a huge olive. All she needed was vermouth and vodka. Eisenstein had not arrived yet and she was a bit early.<br /><br />“Hi Sin,” said Sally as Sindy walked up.<br /><br />“Hello Sally,” replied Sindy. “Did you get that dictionary I sent you?”<br /><br />Sally winced. Sindy had sent Sally a full Oxford English Dictionary out of spite when Sally had won the famed Pubber award and Sindy had not even been nominated. Sindy felt bad about it later. Sindy had done it out of spite, because all writers at Second Life Today were not allowed to use any words more than five letters in length. It was their editorial policy and it was enforced. Yet Sally still won. Sindy used to tease Sally by asking questions that required more than six letters for an answer. Like ‘what’s an eight legged many eyed fanged creature that can bite you and lives in a web?’ To which Sally would reply after much thought ‘bug’. After a while it was not any fun so Sindy stopped being so catty.<br /><br />“How’s the conference?” asked Sindy as she changed gears.<br /><br />“Ok,” said Sally. “It’s nice, I guess.”<br /><br />“Did you see Sadie Silverman’s pitch on ‘Proofs that Second Life is Really Flat and Not Round Like The Big Brainy People Say?’ asked Sindy.<br /><br />“Nope,” replied Sally. “was takin my nap.”<br /><br />Sindy almost said something about contractions, but then Sally probably didn’t know what a contraction was. Her editor certainly didn’t.<br /><br />“Have you seen Eisenstein?” asked Sindy.<br /><br />“Nope, no big brain here yet.” Replied Sally. Eisenstein was a 10 letter word and would therefore present problems for Second Life Today and for Sally. Sindy dropped the line of questions, and strolled to the far end of the Press Room and sat down in a blue chair.<br /><br />In a few moments Professor Eisenstein came up the stair to the adulation of his adoring fans. Under each arm was a fetching young undergraduate of the female type. One was blond and one brunette. The girls were dressed in the usual undergraduate way, tight high riding thongs, holy jeans by Mr. Messiah, and very very tight tees. Emblazoned on the brunette’s thin white tee, across what must have been a 32 D, were the words “Science Sucks”. The other tee on the blond said “Engineers Do Me Better.”<br /><br />Eisenstein was smiling ear to ear and was waving at his adoring audience. He paused to sign autographs and a small child stepped forward and asked him to sign her large lollypop. The brunette was obviously jealous of the child’s attention and tried to turn Eisenstein away toward some seniors who were both unattractive and wrinkly. But Eisenstein spotted the child and licked the lollypop for a few moments. The child looked in wonderment at the famous man and then Eisenstein returned the lollypop to the tiny hand. The child went running away crying and searching for its mother. The child was so overjoyed at the famous scientist’s attention that it had been reduced to tears.<br /><br />“Professor Eisenstein, so good to see you again,” said Sindy.<br /><br />Eisenstein wrinkled his forehead desperately trying to remember where he had met the redhead standing before him. Perhaps she had been one of his students he thought. But that could not be the case, because he would have remembered those breasts and curvy hips. He loved curvy hips. No, she had not been one of his students. Perhaps another scientist thought Eisenstein? No, she looks too intelligent for Second Life science he concluded.<br /><br />Sindy could see the scientist’s discomfiture and she decided to stop teasing him.<br /><br />“I’m Sindy Blazer of the Times,” she said. Sindy had never met Eisenstein before and she was practicing the journalistic art of making her interview target feel un-comfortable before she asked the killer question.<br /><br />As they sat down in the Press Room Sindy noticed that the Professor had lipstick smeared all over his face and several hickies were apparent under his shirt collar. The two undergraduate bimbettes Eisenstein had dismissed with a little slap on their buts. A posterori and a priori thought Sindy. As they left Eisenstein had said “Now if you need help without your homework you know where to find the key!”<br /><br />He turned to Sindy and began ogling Sindy’s assets. Sindy forgave him because science had that effect on men.<br /><br />“I’d like to begin our interview with a few questions about the conference,” said Sindy.<br /><br />Eisenstein broke his gaze and shook his head a moment as if to checkpoint and restart some remote part of his enormous brain.<br /><br />“Ah yes, the interview.” Eisenstein said. “But first a small formality. A 2x2 headshot, in color, my abbreviated academic bio, a link to my me-space and me-tube sites, and at least 20 column inches.” He paused for a moment, “Oh and a photo spread of my latest advisees on page three of the Sun.”<br /><br />“No problemo,” said Sindy lying through her teeth. “Now let’s get started. You know the formalities?”<br /><br />“Yes, yes,” said Eisenstein, “your name, my name, your name, my name. It’s all so unscientific.”<br /><br />The Times: Professor let me start by congratulating you on winning the bronze medal. That must have been a grate honor. How were you informed?<br /><br />Eisenstein: Well it was the usual call in the dead of night. When I answered and some Swedish person began yelling and screaming I figured I’d won. I could not follow a word of it (laughter), but since there were no Swedish swear words I figured it must be the bronze.<br /><br />The Times: And how do you intend to spend the 500 linden prize. A prize that I hear is VAT free.<br /><br />Eisenstein: I have a special educational project for young undergraduate women. We simply don’t have enough women in the sciences, and I think that I can use this wonderful prize to mentor a few.<br /><br />The Times: You find mentoring young women satisfying.<br /><br />Eisenstein: Oh very, I especially like mentoring one on one, however one on two has many things to be said for it. Four of five at a time is best done in seminar format. By the time you do say, more than six at a time, it gets too formal and probably belongs in the classroom.<br /><br />The Times: And which of the papers at the conference have you found most interesting and scientifically exciting?<br /><br />Eisenstein: Well I especially liked Killey’s paper of ‘The Evaporative Dynamics Of Solid Coloring Matter Suspended in a Liquid Medium and Applied as a Protective or Decorative Coating to Various Surfaces, or to Canvas, Wood, Concrete, or Other Materials in Producing a Work of Art or Craft.’ A crackerjack paper that. Fascinating. I’m always getting my fingers colored whenever I see the warning sign ‘wet paint.’ I’m confident now that armed with the latest scientific data I can avoid this faux paw in the future.<br /><br />The Times: And which paper was the most preposterous and unscientific of the lot?<br /><br />Eisenstein: Well that’s hard to say. So many scientific papers these days are ‘unscientific’ if you know what I mean (chuckles). Probably the most silly was the Looby paper denying that Second Life is real. Such nonsense. Any enquiring mind can see through the application of Occam’s razor and perhaps some Gillogs shaving cream, that the world real. Its as real as this chair im sitting on. (chuckles.)<br /><br />Oh yes and the secret sim paper was a real riot. I forget the idiot that presented it, but the very idea that sims could exist that we cannot see is just a barrel of laughs (guffaws). The argument between the realists and the nominalists was waged long ago and the outcome was in no doubt when virtual life was discovered. It had actually existed all along, but no one really knew which rock it was hiding under (laughs). No extreme rationalism is the order of the day. If an object cannot be grasped, tasted, clutched, or ‘$%#^%$’ then it does not exist (laughs). I’m sorry, can you use that last biological referent in your paper.<br /><br />The Times: No<br /><br />Eisenstein: In any event, there are no secret or hidden sims. Its impossible. Besides I serve on the Linden Labs Advisory Board for All Things Scientific and Lunch related and Id know if such a thing as secret sims existed. Or for that matter secret avatars. No they cannot exist.<br /><br />The Times: And who is your favorite in the Eurovision song competition this year?<br /><br />Eisenstein: I favor the Splats from Spain with their hot ditty “Buzz You, Buzz Me.” But I suspect that the Romanians will win again with that pop tart Labus singing “Bring Me a Toco Mr. Momo.”<br /><br />The Times: What about the Finland’s Stumps or the Latvian Losers.<br /><br />Eisenstein: I love the Stumps. Its great bed music, if you get my drift. But as for the Losers I really don’t like classical music. Anyway Latvia has won too many times before.<br /><br />The Times: Any last thoughts for our dear readers Professor?<br /><br />Eisenstein: Well, I just want everyone to know that the rumor about me and the siamese twins and doing it in the loathsome ‘Thai’ way are absolutely not true. Oh, and what are you doing after this interview?The Times of HOTOhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00896785992606205250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355046327162923078.post-45187470311501129212007-10-08T12:11:00.000-07:002007-10-08T12:28:17.144-07:00CHAPTER 12 - ONE AND TENTilly Twollop was a new member of Linden’s ‘in sim’ Abuse Team Volunteer Corps. She had been a paying member of Second Life for almost two years and that made her really old and equally wise. Tilly had seen it all and then some. Tilly had even done most of it herself so she had the needed qualifications. But when Tilly found her virtual experiences lacking something, she sought ways in which to make the virtual life more meaningful and satisfying.<br /><br />Then one evening at about 2:30 am, when she was leaving Bad Girl’s club looking for some new cheap thrill, she saw an add in the classifieds. ‘Volunteer to help your fellow avatars make Second Life a better place to live,’ the advert had said, and a picture of a scantily clad male stud in a cute patrol uniform with an oversized truncheon cinched the deal. With a truncheon like that I would add meaning to this illusory existence Tilly decided. Tilly immediately volunteered.<br /><br />The training had been far more rigorous that Tilly expected and involved difficult subjects like password protection, secret questions, sim shut downs, memorizing a list of bad words not allowed to be said in some restricted sims. As well as lists of bad words required to be spoken on other sims. It was all very confusing at first. But after a while she got a grip on the subject matter and took the test. The test was really hard and it had three tricky questions on it. Thank the gods, thought Tilly, they were true false questions. After the third attempt she passed with flying colors because she got two out of three correct.<br /><br />She was given her little uniform and hat, and she had spent considerable time adjusting the clothing to reveal just enough skin, but no so much as to be unbecoming a member of the Abuse Team.<br /><br />“One nipple or two?” asked Tilly of her fellow graduate Dimweed Nelson.<br /><br />Dimweed turned toward Tilly in the locker room of the Abuse Team Headquarters and then into the mirror. Dimweed was a fluffy and Tilly really could not tell of what persuasion the fluffy avatar was – male, female, perhaps neutered? However Dimweed was an honest soul and a fine furry friend.<br /><br />“Well,” said Dimweed, “I prefer the symmetry of two, but I think that current fashion dictates only one.” Dimweed reached for Tilly’s scanty bodice and gave it a gentle tug downward and a cute little bosom popped out. “Hmm,” thought Dimweed out loud. After due consideration Dimweed tugged the other side with the same result. Dimweed stepped back to consider the options. After about too long, Tilly realized that Dimweed was a male.<br /><br />“Oh Dimweed,” laughed Tilly as she decided on a more chaste tank top with bare midriff, stiletto heels on thigh high boots, and panties by Verisimilitude.<br /><br />Tilly reached into her locker and pulled out her truncheon and her holster. She strapped the black leather holster in place, spun her truncheon with the expertise of a rookie, and slid it into the holster. Then she put on her smart officers cap. One last look in the mirror as she adjusted her eyeliner, and she was off to the graduation ceremony. Governor linden himself was going to be the speaker. Tilly was so excited at the prospect of a new second life.<br /><br />In the distance the Abuse Team Marching Band and Ska Corps had begun playing one of Tilly’s favorites. She listened carefully.<br /><br /><em>“I shot the sheriff, but I did not shoot the deputy.</em><br /><em>I shot the sheriff, but I did not shoot the deputy.”<br /></em><br />“We better get going” said Tilly to Dimweed who was combing his face. “We don’t want to keep the others waiting.”<br /><br />Dimweed nodded and they both went running out of the locker room and into the playing field at the old All Sims Stadium north of the capital. The usual venue for graduation was not available. The Capital City Stadium having been burned to the ground in the Little Ben riots several months ago.<br /><br />Tilly and Dimweed lined up with their fellow graduates, all two of them, in a line and stood at attention. The Band continued to play and was joined by the male chorus from the prestigious School for Wayward Girls.<br /><br /><em>“All around in my home town<br />They’re trying to take me down.<br />They say that want to bring me in guilty<br />For the killing of a deputy”<br /></em><br />Tilly felt proud and only wished her parents could be her to share this special moment in her life. But then again if they ever found out about her life in Second Life there would be Hades to pay. So she didn’t invite them. But her younger sister Nillis had seen Tilly’s me-space account and knew the truth. It had cost Tilly 1000 lindens to keep Nillis quiet.<br /><br />Tilly looked into the stands and many of her friends and past lovers were there. She had invited everyone she knew and she was happy that all three of them had made it.<br /><br />Governor Linden mounted the stage and went to the podium. He pulled a sheet of paper from his coat pocket and the Band wound up the final refrain.<br /><br />“Aghhraa”, said the Governor clearing his throat. The he glanced down at his notes and began his oration. “Pastrami on Rye, hot mustard, hold the …”<br /><br />“Oops,” said the Governor, “Wrong oration.”<br /><br />The crowd laughed and the Governor fished into his pants pocket and pulled out a small yellow Posit It note.<br /><br />“Ah here it is,” said the Governor.<br /><br />Tilly had hoped that the Governor would not drone on and on as was his want. And she was gratefully surprised when he simply congratulated everyone on a nice day and then sat down.<br /><br />Then the ceremony was over and they marched off the field as the band played and combined woman’s and men’s chorus sang:<br /><br /><em>“Fame and fortune,</em><br /><em>That's all they crave.</em><br /><em>And all it ever gets them</em><br /><em>Is an early grave”<br /></em><br />Rookie Abuse Team members were assigned to distant provinces and Tilly and Dimweed were no exceptions. They had drawn the name of the remote sim of LaLa Moon.<br /><br />There was not much to LaLa Moon. The sim was basically empty except for the usual juvenile castle and a shopping center for hair and skin that was run by the sim owner. The land was flat and was sectored out into a series of square grass plots separated by straight cobblestone roads. LaLa Moon was a bilingual sim and supported both Japanese and English.<br /><br />Tilly and Dimweed didn’t know a word of Japanese, but Japanese avatars were so polite and well behaved they never presented any problems.<br /><br />The job of the Abuse Team Volunteers was simple. Watch out for ‘griefers’ and others who could make life miserable for other avatars. Their job did not include stopping simple griefers, like the kind that insulted people, or mooned them in the public square. No it was the scripting griefers that Tilly and Dimweed were empowered to stop. During training Tilly had seen horrific me-tube videos of whole sims and sectors of Second Life brought to its knees by evil scripts. Often these scripts were simply replicate themselves until all the server capacity and memory had been consumed in the sim and everyone froze, or even worse continued to live an a jello lagged world of pain and suffering. Particle engine griefing scripts were the usual, but lately “advertising” prims which replicated like mad and flew in all directions had become all the rage among the insane set.<br /><br />Tilly and Dimweed were equipped with two powerful tools, beside their attractive truncheons. First they could call Linden Central and shut down an offending script or program. And second they could ‘ban’ a griefer temporarily until a trial could be held in Capital City. The ban was very effective, but the griefers never showed up for trial and they simply changed their names and appearance and popped up someplace else to spread their misery, hatred, and their jejune stupidity.<br /><br />They had been on the job for less than an hour when they spotted their first griefer. He was using an illegal copy bot to steal hair at the boutique. Dimweed was the first to spot the criminal and they both held back to make absolutely sure that the thief was guilty. Tilly did a quick profile check on the avatar named ‘sosyouroldman Samel’. Just as she expected the avatar was only hours old, yet he could walk, fly, and steal like the experienced pro he was.<br /><br />“He’s an alt,” whispered Tilly to Dimweed. Dimweed nodded.<br /><br />Tilly and Dimweed stepped behind a tall signpost to consider their options. Tilly consulted her note cards on policy and procedure for copy bot thieves. As she read Dimweed kept the ‘perp’ under survelience. When Tilly completed the logic tree the remaining branch pointed to ‘Call For Backup - Notify Linden Central.’<br /><br />Tilly was nervous and excited. Her palms were sweating. She reached for the message button and clicked it.<br /><br />“Yah, wadda ya want?” asked an irritated and sleepy voice on the other end of the IM machine.<br /><br />“Copy Bot thief observed stealing hair in LaLa Moon. This is Tilly Twollop ATV number 34B.” said Tilly in her deepest voice. “Requesting back-up per procedure 2, ASAP.”<br /><br />“Why didn’t you say that earlier,” said the disembodied voice. “I’m sending Officer Kropkee right away.”<br /><br />Within moments Officer Kropkee appeared. Tilly and Dimweed snapped to attention. Officer Kropkee looked annoyed at all their spit polish, neatly brushed hair and fur, and their newbee excitement.<br /><br />“Where?” asked Kropkee. Tilly and Dimweed both pointed to ‘sosyouroldman Samel’. Samel was ripping off red wigs only. Probably a fetishist thought Tilly. She had dated one of those for a month before she got disgusted with his constant need for licorice whips and banana fritters.<br /><br />Kropkee watched for a moment and then walked swiftly to the perp truncheon in hand. “Whats in your inventory Samel, if that’s your real name?” said Kropkee in a really deep and scary voice.<br /><br />Samel was surprised and practically jumped from his skin as he saw the Officer.<br /><br />“Nothin,” said Samel. “Nothin at all copper.”<br /><br />He’s a hard one thought Tilly. Probably a serial offender.<br /><br />“Come with me to the station, Samel, your under arrest for stealing stuff with a copy bot,” said Kropkee. Tilly and Dimweed came from out behind the sign and joined Kropkee figuring it was now safe to be seen.<br /><br />Samel sneered at them both. He’s a bad egg thought Tilly.<br /><br />Officer Kropkee cuffed Samel and turned to Tilly and Dimweed. “Nice job kids,” he said. “Good work.”<br /><br />Tilly felt so proud and she could see Dimweed smile in a toothy grin that revealed all seventeen of his canines.<br /><br />Soon Kropkee and the perp were gone.<br /><br />“That will show them,” said Dimweed.<br /><br />“What ya want for lunch?” asked Tilly.<br /><br />Dimweed thought a bit and said, “How about kibble and bits?”<br /><br />“Sounds good,” said Tilly “I never had that before.”<br /><br />As both Dimweed and Tilly turned to go to lunch the both stopped cold in their tracks.<br /><br />For standing before them was a sneering and evil looking sosyouoldman Samel. To make this difficult confrontation really bad, Tilly noticed, that there were 10 of sosyouroldman Samel standing there. Tilly gulped, this is not in the ATV note cards she thought.The Times of HOTOhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00896785992606205250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355046327162923078.post-8379458422245587042007-10-07T18:11:00.000-07:002007-10-07T18:14:49.379-07:00CHAPTER 11 - SORROWMallory Sauternau had slept late. The famed Tinker Bell had sounded 2:30 hours ago. Mallory’s wake up box had been screeching for hours. She lay in her slip and bra on clean but worn sheets in her Murphy bed oblivious to everything. Two empty rum bottles lay on the floor. ‘English Harbor’ read the labels on the bottles. Until last night they had lain in Sam’s drawer untouched for three years. Something had broken in Mallory’s psyche last night. The demons had gang tackled her as she returned soused from Gigots gin joint.<br /><br />She had sat at the edge of the bed and had started crying. Her failed career as a detective on the force, they way they threw her out of the department, the Goodword incident, the rampant corruption and hypocrisy of Capital City, and Sam’s murder had all driven her to the edge of madness. Everyone knew Mallory was tough and hard, all except Mallory herself. She new the truth.<br /><br />Her hand on her cheeks and her elbows on her knees she sobbed and sobbed. Unable to overcome the grief and sadness rising up within her from some dark place in desperation she sought relief in drink. Rum had done little to stop the thoughts, the memories, and the fears. At about four in the morning she had passed out. But as drunk and unconscious as she was she kept seeing Sam’s face. Always Sam’s face.<br /><br />She had come to hate Sam for leaving her, for taking her last chance at happiness, and for abandoning her in this ugly dirty world. Just when she thought she might find something better, ever just a little better, it had been snatched from her. Taken by Goodword, stolen by corruption, and destroyed by greed.<br /><br />There was a light knock on the door. The smoked glass on the door read Mallory Sauternau and Sam Strong – Private Detectives – by reference only. Mallory did not hear the knock. She heard nothing in her dark oblivion. The knock came again a bit louder. A key slipped in the lock on the door and a young woman in a green dress stepped in. She walked through the office and into the bedroom. She looked down at Mallory and sighed.<br /><br />Trixi set her oversized and once fashionable bag down on the only chair in the bedroom. Trixi turned to the tiny bathroom with its small shower. She turned on the water which ran brown for a few moments. The water pressure wavered. Finally the water grew warm. Not too hot, thought Trixi, just warm enough. She returned to the bed room & kitchen and killed the wake up box.<br /><br />“God Mallory,” Trixi said to herself, “how could you let it get this bad?” But Trixi knew the truth. Sam had been everything Mallory. Every girl wanted a man like Sam. But now he was dead. Murdered at Goodword in a town that didn’t care. This town killed Sam, Trixi knew. The Mayor, the Chief, the Order, even the Governor were part of it, or had turned away when they saw Sam lying on the cement of the homeless shelter with a dagger in his back.<br /><br />Trixi drew a deep breath. She pulled Mallory from the bed and carried her to the shower. Mallory’s lost weight again thought Trixi. She removed Mallory’s few underclothes and put her in the shower. Trixi grabbed a wooden waste basket. She dumped the few contents into the sink. Trixi turned the waste basket over and sat on it. She sat watching the shower and Mallory.<br /><br />Mallory moaned.<br /><br />Trixi knew Mallory was going to be sick. But she also knew that there would be nothing in Mallory’s gut but rum, grappa, and bile. The shower with running water was the best place for her to be sick. And I’m here, thought Trixi, to keep her from drowning in the inch of water at the bottom of the shower.<br /><br />Trixi fumbled for the me-Phone. A long night was ahead. She phoned Khron’s deli and ordered delivery for six oclock. Chicken soup for Mallory. A ham on rye with brown mustard and a dark beer for her. Khrons was on the first floor of the Dowdily building and Mallory’s office flat was on the sixth. She would have to tip the delivery girl for climbing all those stairs. The elevator had quit working years ago.<br /><br />Across the street stood The Times building and several small crowds had gathered around the news urchins who were shouting out about an extra edition. Trixi thought about getting up and closing the window to keep out the noise. But she decided that Mallory would not be bothered by the noise. At least not yet.<br /><br />Trixi stood and took five steps to her purse and immediately returned to the shower. Mallory had slipped just a bit. Not enough to matter. She opened her purse and pulled out a half empty pack of low cal cigarettes. She lit one. Trixi sat thinking about the past. About the days when Trixi with Danny and Mallory with Sam went dancing at the Ocean Club at the far end of the Ocean Shore Pier. Those were wonderful days and fantastic nights. The rhythmic music, the silly flirtatious dancing, the small talk that had so much meaning, the gazing at the sea and the stars, before setting off for home, and bed, and love.<br /><br />Trixi was about to cry when Mallory moaned again. Mallory started to shiver. She’s not cold knew Trixi. “It’s the booze,” she said to herself, “The damned booze.”<br /><br />Trixi looked carefully at Mallory laying naked under the streaming water from the ancient brass calcium encrusted shower head. She took a chance and walked quickly to the window. She stuck out her head and shouted to the news urchin, “bring up a paper, there’s a linden tip in it for you. Office 603. Fast.” The news kid smiled, a linden was a lot for just running up six flights of stairs.<br /><br />Trixi checked the shower, Mallory was still as death. She had not moved.<br /><br />There was a hard knock at the door. Trixi reached for a two linden note and opened the door. The news kid was short or very young. Perhaps 9. Not more than 10 thought Mallory. The kid had a big smile. A high tip smile. She gave him a two linden note. The kid doffed his cap, handed her a thin paper, and turned running for the stairs.<br /><br />Trixi closed the door and rushed back to the shower. She dropped the newspaper on the closed fabric covered toilet seat. Mallory had not moved. Trixi tested the water. The water was a bit warmer. Trixi nudged the cold tap a bit and the pipes began to bang and thump. Water hammer Trixi knew. Mallory moaned again and then tried to vomit. The dry heaves though Trixi. Trixi turned down the hot water and the noise stopped.<br /><br />A long night thought Trixi. Trixi reached for the toilet lid and lifted it a little. The newspaper fell to the floor. She dropped her dying cigarette into the water. The stubby cigarette hissed briefly and died.<br /><br />Mallory tried to vomit again. A thin brownish stream of mucus and fluid flowed from the corner of Mallory’s mouth. Mallory began to cough.<br /><br />Trixi grasped Mallory’s fading blond hair and held up her head. Then Trixi stood and grabbed Mallory about the shoulders and tried to lift her to her feet. Mallory was all dead weight. Trixi set her down carefully on the tile shower floor.<br /><br />Mallory tried to vomit again.<br /><br />Trixi reached for her purse again and found the cigarettes. She lit one up. Then she looked about at the bathroom and the apartment. The bathroom was old and worn out, but it was clean. Mallory was clean thought Trixi. The shower curtain was plastic and cracked. Butterflies and autumn leaves had once adorned the curtain, but they had faded.<br /><br />The yellow paint was fresh. Mallory and Trixi had done that in a weekend not long ago. The paint had softened all the hard edges in the bathroom and rounded out the corners. They had joked on that day that the paint must be twenty coatings deep. They were almost right. The paint was thirty coats deep and was the strongest element in the bath that held up the rotting and weakened walls.<br /><br />A small high window let in fresh air and allowed the shower mist to vent into the darkening sky. The toilet seat cover was fashioned from an old apron that Trixi remembered from happier days. There were large yellow daises imprinted on the fabric. A tiny shelf held a small collection of high end cosmetics. Most of the containers were emptied long ago. They had become monuments to another life, a separate existence, now gone but never forgotten.<br /><br />A small bottle of Old Spice aftershave held the place of honor on the little shelf. The mirror was screwed to the wall and the silver was pealing on the back. To apply lipstick you had to squat a little. Mallory had called it subterranean beautification. The tile floor of the bathroom had a large crack running diagonally from the door toward the far wall. Air had flowed from below through the part of the crack. But one night, not long after Sam had died, Mallory had filled the worst portion of the crack in with tooth paste. She was desperate to keep the cockroaches out. It had worked. In a month or so it had solidified and regular washings of the floor did little to affect it.<br /><br />Two large pink towels hung from a brass rail on the door. The railing had once been silvery. Trixi could tell because the ends were still a bit shiny. But the silver had worn away a long long time ago. The towels were new but they were cheap. The pile was thin.<br /><br />It was getting quiet outside. The news urchins had stopped shouting an hour or so ago. Probably moving off into other portions of the central city. Trixi looked at her watch. 6:30 it read. Khrons was late as usual. She was about to call, when there was a loud knock on the door. Trixi looked at Mallory. She figured she could leave the bathroom for a moment.<br /><br />She stood, pulled the hem down on her green dress. She lifted the toilet seat a bit and threw her dying cigarette into the water to join its dead soggy brethren. The door resounded with an even louder knock. Khrons was never that insistent, besides they made deliveries all the time the office and they usually just left the packages on the floor by the door. Malloy was good for it they knew.<br /><br />“Ok, ok,” said Trixi loudly. She took another look at Mallory and then exited the bathroom and walked quickly through the bedroom and into the office. She unlocked the door and it opened.<br /><br />A man stood in the doorway. He was dressed in a white Tuxedo and he was in a hurry. A young women dressed in the latest punk fashions stood behind him.<br /><br />“Where’s Mallory,” said the man as he forced his way into the office. Trixi stood back. This guy was determined thought Trixi. The young woman followed. The woman looked about the room and Trixi thought she must be security for this guy. She had that look in her eyes. She was tough and wiry.<br /><br />“She’s out on a case,” lied Trixi. She could hear the water running loudly in the bathroom. She knew she was going to fool no one. Mallory had started coughing again.<br /><br />“Have you seen the paper,” asked the man in the tuxedo.<br /><br />“No,” said Trixi. “I got the paper but I didn’t look at it.”<br /><br />“Here,” said the man handing Trixi the extra edition of The Times.<br /><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">EXTRA – AMBASSADOR TUX KIDNAPED</span></strong>,<br /><strong>LINUX DEMANDS RELEASE OF FAMED PENGUIN</strong>,<br />read the headlines.<br /><br />Trixi heard Mallory trying to vomit again. Trixi turned to the young woman and said, “I need your help.”<br /><br />“Sure,” said the young woman.<br /><br />Then she turned to the man in the tux. “Stay here,” said Trixi with a voice edged in iron.The Times of HOTOhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00896785992606205250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355046327162923078.post-34595882202650073392007-10-07T14:36:00.000-07:002007-10-07T14:53:32.904-07:00CHAPTER 10 - TUXChris Llanfair stood before a tall mirror and adjusted his bow tie.<br /><br />“Your cummerbund is all wrong,” said Witney his daughter. Witney reached for the pull tab on the cummerbund and pulled it down a bit and to the left. “There, that’s better,” she said.<br /><br />I ought to buy a tuxedo though Chris rather than always rent one. This one smelled kind of funky he thought. Whitney had insisted on white, even though Chris preferred traditional pink and orange.<br /><br />Chris had been invited to a reception for the Ambassador from Linux at the Governor’s Mansion. Chris did not want to go. He had been to five receptions in one week and the canapés, Dom Pigeon, and idle chit chat were driving him nuts. Perhaps Sindy Blazer would be there thought Chris. Sindy was always good for a laugh and a snide but penetrating remark. That is if he did not have to sit on the dias and look interested while the Governor droned on about mutual respectful relationships and goodwill in both the real and virtual universes.<br /><br />Witney was going to be his escort. Following the Druid defeat on Mount Sodom, both Chris and Witney had developed a better more balanced relationship. Witney was not longer the self obsessed delinquent nietzscheist little girl he had loved as a child and despised as a teenager. She had become a responsible young woman, even if she was a bit of a punk and was constantly humming weird songs by Discharge, or Deathchange. Witney had talent thought Chris. Humming punk music was especially difficult. She was also handy with her hands and feet Chris had observed during the ferocious fight with the Druid's Army of Circe in the ancient forest on Mount Sodom. Chris was happy to realize that all those years at the very expensive Reform School for Incorrigible Girls and Dykes, where she had learned to fight with aplomb, grace, and with a wicked and deadly hook kick, were well worth the lindens.<br /><br />Witney looked at her dad and though about how much smarter he had become in the last two years. She realized that her dad was no longer the money obsessed uncaring bureaucrat she had known as a child and teen. He was now simply filthy rich and under here careful tutelage he was learning how to spend it. He was pretty smart too, she had come to understand. How many fathers could print legal tender in their basement and in huge amounts. Yes, her dad had really grown up after he eventually got around to reading the compendium of the Medway Group of Poets she had given him as a send off gift as she stood at the gate to the reform school and freedom. The school had been the best thing that ever happened to Whitney and she never failed to attend the annual reunions or carefully read the monthly alumni magazine ‘Die Pig Die.’ Witney loved her job as Chauffeur to the powerful and still missing Senator Hyram Funstas. The Senator was easy to work for and he paid for all the tickets and parking fines she got while driving his armored limousine. The Senator has some odd ideas about sex, but to Witney just about everything concerning sex was either odd or outrageously funny. Except for the good parts of course, thought Witney.<br /><br />Witney looked at the clock and realized they would be late if they didn’t get hustling. Witney paused for a moment to adjust her tee shirt with the fashionable and revealing tear across the chest. She looked at her Doc Martinis and realized she needed to sandpaper the toes better when she got home. Her bondage pants of a pale yellow and puce plaid completed her look and her single spike of hair toped off her look in a stunning and trendy way.<br /><br />“Come on dad, we gotta run.” Witney said as she headed toward the stairs and the enormous armored limo with gold wall tires waiting below in the circular drive. It was the Senator’s limo and the V8 engine was warming up.<br /><br />A long line of flying carpets was streaming down Capital City Expressway on the way to Governor Linden’s Official Residence. They were moving fast and security was light although all precautions had been taken to ensure the Ambassador from Linux would be safe. In the lead were two police carpets with red lights flashing as if to say “get out of my way or ill run you down.” The caravan swiftly passed the burned out Capital City Stadium from which wisps of smoke could still be seen even thought the riot which had burned the stadium to the ground had occurred months ago. Soon the caravan reached the sweeping curve of the expressway as it headed north toward the capital dome. On the right of the expressway was the famed Oak Forest which had just begun to loose their leaves in the autumn weather. Ahead was the King Chlodric the Paracide Suspension Bridge which spanned the wide and wet Muddy River.<br /><br />A bridge maintance crew was painting new wriggly lines on the bridge and three avatars stood leaning against their shovels next to a large Turkoman Van parked by the side of the bridge. On the side of the van was a large logo and lettering that said ‘NAGS Industries.’ The logo looked a bit like an avatar surrounded by ghost images of itself fading into the distance.<br /><br />A Possum’s Hot Dog cart was on the roadside under the shade of a very large and very old oak and several tourists were munching on Possum’s famous dogs. Sandy, the hot dog vendor was having trouble making change for a 100 linden note. Finally Sandy substituted extra condiments for the change he lacked.<br /><br />A cement mixer had stalled in the middle of the span, and two City Cops were setting out flares and stopping traffic. The Ambassador’s caravan slowed to a stop. Traffic soon piled up behind them. The driver of the cement mixer had the hood of the carpet up and he could be seen kicking the leading fringe and shouting.<br /><br />The cops at the bridge approached the two lead police carpets and chatted briefly with the officer in charge. They were laughing at some private joke. In a few moments the two bridge cops approached the line of cars in the caravan.<br /><br />One of the cops came up to the Ambassadors’ Limo and motioned to the driver to lower the window. Montgomery Melva, the limo driver for the Governor was driving the Ambassador and he hit the window button and leaned out the window to ask the cop how long it would be. He never got the question out of his mouth. His account was canceled before he could even speak.<br /><br />Sindy Blazer had just left the afternoon session of the boring scientific conference. She had written her article on the presentation on her blackburry. Her thumbs hurt and her chocolate red nail polish had been worn on the leading edge of her finger nails and this put her in a bad mood. She reached for her me-Phone and called her number at the office. One ring, two ring…<br /><br />“hello, sindy’s not here leave a message the beep. beeeepp”<br /><br />“Jimmy,” yelled Sindy “Stop that, you’re not an answering machine.”<br /><br />“oh sorry miss sindy, i didn’t know it was you,” said Jimmy Whashisname the copy boy and office lurker at The Times.<br /><br />“I going to send in my lead article now by blackburry. Make sure it gets to the city desk and this time don’t correct my grammar. Jimmy do you even know how to spell preposition?”<br /><br />“no,” said Jimmy. “i wont mark it up or improve it i promise.” He said.<br /><br />“You better not,” said Sindy. “Ok here it comes.” Sindy punched a sequence of keys on the blackburry and the article hit the ether.<br /><br />“Bye,” said Sindy and she hung up without waiting for Jimmy’s reply.<br /><br />Jimmy went to the printer and immediately printed a copy of the article. He reached for his yellow crayon, but it was too worn to be useful. As the article was printing he faced a dilemma – eggplant or peach. Decisions were difficult for Jimmy so he decided to choose based on alphabetical order. He pulled the papers from the printer and sat down at Sindy’s messy desk. Holding the peach crayon in his hand he quickly realized he could really improve this journalistic effort. Before he set to work he read the article carefully.<br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:180%;"><strong>MORE CRAZY HUMOR FROM THE SCIENCE CONFERENCE</strong></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>FLAT FRACTURES FUNDAMENTALISTS</strong></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><strong>Sindy Blazer, Science Editor The Times. Times Semaphore.</strong></span><br /><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">(HOTO Forum, Sim of Sonogno)</span></em> The assembled geniuses and really smart people at the Conference for the Scientific Determination of All Things, known as CSDAT, have seen a number of humorous and loopy ideas presented, along with some serious proof’s for conventional wisdom. Today’s nutty suede-o-scientific theory was presented by Sadie Silverman of Rideo College.<br /><br />The cause of all the merriment and laughter her paper entitled: ‘Proofs that Second Life is Really Flat and Not Round Like The Big Brainy People Say.’ Sadie, who has a GED equivalent from the Sonogno School for Wayward Girls, was not into her presentation for more than a moment before the laughter and guffaws sounded through out the vast hall of the Forum. In research funded by the Flat Second Life Society Sadie humorously claimed that if Second Life were indeed round how could the ‘accepted’ scientists explain the impossibilities of holding unsecured objects in place on a curved surface.<br /><br />To which Igor Eisenstein, the smartest man in Second Life and winner of the bronze medal, shouted “Yes, and how can you hold all those impossible ideas in such a small head!”, as he threw his popcorn and soda at the podium.<br /><br />Sadie barely got out her second argument that “down is down and therefore the world cannot be round, for if one avatar’s down is another avatar’s up, then the whole of Second Life would be in chaos”.<br /><br />At this point the assembled leading lights of the scientific community began to glow incandescent with mirth and gaiety. Soon the amused attendees realized that the presentation was the evening’s farcical entertainment. Hanging on every joke, the brainy, canny, and clever were reduced to tears. Of particular note were the jokes on the difficulty of maintaining oceans and the ‘fluid problem’ on a sphere.<br /><br />Some of the jokes and audience replies, although hilarious, cannot be printed here due to their scatological nature. Sadie’s presentation ended to thunderous applause and a jolly time was had by all. Sadie Silverman is appearing nightly at Heart Of The Ocean’s comedy club – the Bloodshot Eye.<br /><br />Tomorrow an overflow crowd is anticipated to hear Professor Ora Fora, head of the Department of Disasters, Ruin, and Desolation of the Junior University of Second Life (Rossa Campus). Her paper ‘Time Inflation in Second Life – A Proof’ has already created much buzz and rotten tomatoes were sold out early for her presentation.</span>The Times of HOTOhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00896785992606205250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355046327162923078.post-62377615351150641192007-10-07T11:04:00.000-07:002007-10-07T14:37:38.010-07:00CHAPTER 9 - LONGINGChief Petty Officers Kees Kepler and Macboy Jewell, both members of the Blue Navy’s elite Omega Squad, had been given a months leave after the defeat of the Druid plot to restore the disgraced Monforte’s to the throne of Second Life. It took them almost two months to complete the paperwork, the reviews, and all the minutia of military life before they could find a month that would be free.<br /><br />But as early fall approached they finally broke free of Blue Navy responsibilities. This was to be a commando’s holiday and they had planned carefully an adventure to the most remote and difficult lands to explore in all of Second Life. After searching all the available maps and plans they could find in Linden’s sim libraries they decided to climb the mountains of the Kun Lun range on the boarder of the remote sims of East Egg and Shangri La on the very edge of Second Life.<br /><br />There remained only one unpleasant task to complete before they could leave for their holiday in the remote mountains.<br /><br />They were to be decorated by the Second Sea Lord for bravery.<br /><br />Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV, Royal, Dauphan of Second Life, Associate Professor, famed historian, and Head of the Anti-Monarchist Party, had granted them the entry into the exhaulted order of the Kinghts of Garter of Saint Squamus Third Class. The last thing both Kees and Macboy wanted in their lives was to be called ‘Sir’ Chief Petty Officer by every wet behind the ears recruit and wise ass in the Blue Ocean Navy. They had thought seriously about declining the offer but when they approached their commanding officer Lieutenant Commander Growling he would not hear of it. They simply could not decline an honor from the Monfortes. Regardless of the clear line of insanity and madness that ran through the Monforte clan, the Blue Navy had never declined an honor since the Navy saved the Monforte clan by switching sides and joining the Lindens in the Yellow Revolution on the condition that the Monfortes be neutered and preserved in the Sim of Aspic. That had been more than 200 years ago, and much had changed, but the Blue Navy had a long tradition of deference to the Monfortes, even if they always disregarded their advice and council. Tradition was powerful in the Navy and both Macboy and Kees knew that it was hopeless to decline the offer.<br /><br />The ceremony had been brief and was held at the secret garden within the Long White Hall in the capital. Since both Kees and Macboy were members of a secret special services force, the Dark Commandos and they were never allowed to wear the patch of the commandos – the screaming ferret. But just about everyone in the Blue Navy knew of the Dark Commandos and their motto "Audaces Fortuna Juvat." Any observant Navy person with any tenure could just look at the physique of Kees or Macboy and know who and what they were. There was something about the eyes, and the biceps, and the gluts that said “Don’t mess with me or I’ll kill you.”<br /><br />As much as they didn’t want the recognition, they still thrilled to the ceremony and honors when the Second Sea Lord and Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV entered the courtyard to the thunder of the drums and the flourishes of the trumpets. Lined up in two neat files were 22 members of the elite corps. As Macboy and Kees stood at attention they saw many famed and honored warriors including One Eyed Peet the famed parrot hero of the Battle of Nobs, Seaman Pookie, Bucky Fullerine, Commander White Fang, and the old and aged Black Tooth. They were standing at attention in recognition of Macboy and Kees.<br /><br />The Second Sea Lord read the letter of commendation signed by Governor Linden himself, and then Bradford Cananticle Monforte IV stepped forward to pin on their medals. Both Kees and Macboy were once again surprised at how tall the last of the Monforte dynasty was at 4 foot 2. A large box had been placed in front of both Macboy and Kees and Montforte IV stepped up and began the pinning ceremony. After kissing Macboy on both cheeks, in the Montfore way, he held Macboy’s cameo lapel and thrust the pin of the medal deep into Macboys chest. Macboy, who was expecting this, having met Muffin during the Druid plot, did not flinch. Nor did Kees, when Muffin repeated the gesture on Kees manly chest.<br /><br />They both smartly saluted and marched off to the arches over the exit to the hidden courtyard of the Long White Hall. Then out of sight, they winced in pain.<br /><br />“Got them good, didn’t you Muffin,” laughed the Second Sea Lord.<br /><br />“Is mus learns ta do it rite,” said Muffin in the old language. He was always getting the pining part wrong he recognized.<br /><br />Armed with a tube of newsporin and a package of band aids Kees and Macboy set out on their adventure. Carrying 70 pound packs of camping gear, foodstuffs, and of course ever present weapons for personal defense and overwhelming offense. They caught the Rapido under Memorial Park and traveled south to the end of the line at Meola. From Meola they caught the ferry to Jurang and began a hike to the very edge of second life and the Kur Lun range along the boarder of East Egg and Shangri La.<br /><br />They arrived at the Valley of the Hearts Delight on the southern side of the range and set up camp for the night on the edge of a vast forest and in the shade of an enormous Kauri tree. About a dozen scripted Elk grazed in a meadow below their campsite. A brook meandered across a green meadow and in the distance they could see the headwaters of the River of Stix. It had been a long five days to get to this location and the set up camp in the late afternoon. The ground was damp but they built a large campfire and by the time the sun had set they were comfortable and dry. They had placed a plastic collapsible bucket of water near the campfire just in case.<br /><br />Kees stood on a small rise where they had pitched their tent and surveyed the countryside through his powerful Monocular. They were far from civilization and the mini-maps indicated that they were alone and that the surrounding sims were empty as well. These were wilderness sims.<br /><br />Neither Kees nor Macboy spoke as the sky faded to jet black and the stars shone like a million rats eyes reflected from the campfire below. Macboy stood and stretched and threw some more sticks on the fire. It briefly died down with the new fuel load, but soon it grew in brightness. The moon had not appeared and according to the SL Almanac, printed by The Times, the moon would not rise until about midnight.<br /><br />Kees grabbed his pack and unlaced a side pocket. He pulled out a couple of lumps of C-10 scripted explosives, two tins of Clumpetts Fern and Lichen Soup, and handful of wolf biscuits. Never can tell when you need wolf biscuits thought Kees. Then he reached deeper into the pack and pulled a deck of playing cards from the pocket. Kees carefully repacked the pocket on the pack and relaced the flap.<br /><br />Macboy sat down. Kees shuffled the deck and then handed it to Macboy who promptly cut it and returned it to Kees. On the back side of the playing cards was a picture of a scantily clad girl. Macboy recognized Miss Tuesday from Navy Babes Magazine. A good choice thought Macboy. It showed good taste. Kees delt out seven cards in two piles and picked one up. Macboy looked about the ring of light that surrounded them from the fire and then into the darkness beyond. Frog scripts sounded in the distance down by the brook<br /><br />“Does not get any better than this,” said Macboy.<br /><br />Kees nodded.<br /><br />“You go first,” said Kees.<br /><br />Macboy looked closely at his seven cards. “Got any nines?” Macboy asked.<br /><br />“Go fish,” replied Kees.<br /><br />Kees reached for a card. It was an 11 of plums.<br /><br />“Remember those girls on Singsong Island in the Sea of Dreams?” asked Kees.<br /><br />Macboy looked up and smiled. “Who could forget,” he replied.<br /><br />“What was her name? You know, the one with the jugs,” asked Kees.<br /><br />“Ah,” said Macboy. “The wine bearer. I remember you were drinking Merlot and I stuck with the Chables. Those were some jugs I must say,” he said while a large smile slowly spread from ear to ear.<br /><br />“Well what was her name?” repeated Kees.<br /><br />Macboy looked into space to think a moment. In the distance he saw a shooting star. A good luck omen in Second Life. Then there was another and another. Kees stood to get a better look and Macboy stood too. Kees leaned down and picked up his monocular to get a better look. The western sky was filled with bright lights descending from high above. Kees set the monocular to the maximum distance allowed by the graphic preferences setting and began to carefully look.<br /><br />“There not stars,” said Kees as he handed the monocular to Macboy.<br /><br />Macboy took a look. A long time passed before Macboy lowered the Monocular and spoke. “No not stars.”<br /><br />“Yeh,” said Kees. “More like 10 meter blank prims falling from the sky.”<br /><br />“But why out here in the wilderness,” asked Macboy. “I thought this was protected lands?”<br /><br />“It is,” said Kees as he looked carefully at his map. “Those prims are falling from a region of void. There are no sims out there. None. Its beyond the edge of Second Life.”<br /><br />“What do you think,” asked Macboy.<br /><br />Kees thought for a while before he spoke. “Its just like the Second Sea Lord said, there’s a ghost sim out there and someone is constructing stuff there. A lot of folks I’d say based on the volume of those falling prims.”<br /><br />Macboy walked to the fire, lifted the bucket of water and poured it onto the flames. The fire hissed and a cloud of smokey tasting steam rose from the fire pit. The fire was out but a few coals remained glowing.<br /><br />“Her name was Lilly,” said Kees. “Lilly Longing.”The Times of HOTOhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00896785992606205250noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8355046327162923078.post-91919676359572950802007-10-06T20:04:00.000-07:002007-10-06T20:16:26.532-07:00CHAPTER 8 - REAL WORLDPunky rose early from her big fluffy bed in the Faculty Housing section of the campus. She had an enormous Victorian style house all to herself. Punky decided she could sleep here in a guest room, but she was very uncomfortable, in the old house, because this was Professor Raphus home. She had too much respect for Old Bird Brain to enter any of the rooms other than to take a quick glance and to make sure that the windows were closed and everything was ship shape. She had decided to restrict herself to the guest bedroom, the guest bath, which was quite nice, and the professor’s study. She had planned not to use the study, but in order to prepare her lesson plans for Flight 101 she needed a mountain of reference materials and flight manuals. All these and more she found in the study.<br /><br />The study was a large room and toward the front of the house on the first floor. It had obviously once been a parlor, but now it was positively stuffed with books, manuals, files, records, air ship models and designs, and all kinds of memorabilia covering almost a century of teaching at the Academy of Balloons. Punky had decided that Professor Raphus would say it was ‘ok’ if he had been there and understood the need to keep the cadets on schedule in meeting their graduation requirements.<br /><br />The professor always was insisting on “time in the seat” as a solution to almost every flight issue or pilot error. By that, the Professor meant that in every spare moment a cadet had, should be airborne. Flying, flying, flying was his mantra.<br /><br />Punky remembered once when the Professor had come across Punky sleeping under the giant second class gum tree. He laughed loudly, kicked Punky gently, and ordered her aloft.<br /><br />“If you’re going to sleep Punky, I insist you do it airborne,” intoned the Professor.<br /><br />Which is exactly what Punky did. She ran to the Aerodrome and joined a crew that had formed to go on a lark to the Sim of Io. She went along, but sleep was impossible. It was too exciting. That was the day she learned to swap red hot exhaust tubes from an active boiler with nothing more than two spoons and an empty soup can. Yes, ‘time in the seat’ was critical Punky had come to recognize.<br /><br />Punky had skipped breakfast to stay in the Professors Study and get the lesson plan in order. For the life of her she could not remember the details of the wreck of the Hesperus which was always used in the first class to demonstrate the need for proper training and carefully following protocol, and then throwing out the protocols, when they didn’t attain the desire outcome. So she started looking about the office for reference materials. On a table near the door she found a large and carefully laid out stack of folders. Each one was labeled Flight 101 and a lesson number. Wow, thought Punky.<br /><br />Dare I use the professors lecture plans? This would normally present a moral dilemma, but Punky was only an ‘Acting Professor’ and by using the professors notes Punky was more likely to avoid fatalities which inevitably occurred in flight training at the Academy. Yes she though, Old Bird Brain would approve.<br /><br />Punky picked up the stack of folders and took them to the desk and sat down. She opened the first file and began to read. Quickly she realized that the lecture notes were the work of generations of Blimp and Balloon flight instructors, not just the professor. They were written in many hands and the style of the language indicated that the notes went back at least 200 years and perhaps to the dawn of the balloon. Some sections dealing with ancient technologies or outdated flight concepts were crossed out and new section attached by little slips of paper carefully pasted along one side and covering the older section. You could lift up the new inserts and still read the older instructions. The section on navigation aids was almost a tiny book and the oldest entry referred to bonfires and dragons teeth. The whole history of navigation in the Balloon service and then in the Blimp Corps was laid out in the little stacks of notes covered in dense writing from many generations of instructors.<br /><br />It was almost evening when Punky realized that she had become entranced by the lecture notes. She was really hungry. She was about to stand up and go the commissary when she noticed that the Professors rug in the far corner had a lump under it. She would not have noticed, but the slanting light of the setting sun created deep shadows on the rug along the far wall near an over-loaded bookcase. The lump was rectangular and was clearly a file. Punky’s curiosity got the better of her and she walked to the edge of the rug and pulled the corner up.<br /><br />Yes it was a file. A brown file with a red diagonal stripe. The file used for holding student records. Punky picked up the file unsure if she should look further, but clearly the file did not belong here decided Punky. Perhaps in the morning she would return the file to the Registrar of Cadets.<br /><br />She placed the thick file on the desk and then she read the tab on the edge. Loopy Lou, 7488, it read.<br /><br />Punky swallowed. Then she was stuck with an uncontrollable urge, like the night she jumped onto the ghost ship, and she took the file to a big red leather overstuffed chair. She turned on the tiffany lamp and sat down. She opened the file and began to read. Soon she had forgotten all about lesson plans, potential fatalities, and dinner. What she read raised the hair on the back of her small neck.<br /><br />Sindy and gone to the boring scientific conference and had found it quiet interesting. Fascinating in fact. She sat in her office thinking about the impact of what she had heard in the evening keynote lecture and the entertainment that followed.<br /><br />“Copy boy,” she yelled.<br /><br />“yes sindy,” replied Jimmy already out of breath even though he had been lurking in the doorway for hours.<br /><br />“Take this copy to the City Desk, and pronto,” shouted Sindy in her best reportorial voice.<br /><br />Jimmy grabbed the copy carefully written out in long hand on pulpy yellow paper. He dashed from the office, but had barely turned the corner when he stopped. No one was looking so he stepped into the Janitors closet to read Sindy’s copy and learn more about journalism.<br /><br />“Get out of here your pervert!” shouted Lilly Long.<br /><br />“Sheesh get your little journalistic nose into somebody else’s business,” said Tanner Gunst.<br /><br />“sorry,” said Jimmy carefully noting with his newly developed journalistic eye that Tanner’s trousers were all akimbo.<br /><br />Jimmy exited the janitor’s closet and found an empty cubical. It was the cubical used by the famed sports reporter Armstrong “Its Outta Here” Weik. Weik was never here because he was always at the game or in Willie’s Sports Tavern under center field interviewing fans and players. Jimmy sat in Willie’s chair and spread Sindy’s copy before him. Jimmy got a fresh piece of paper from the drawer and a yellow crayon from his shirt pocket and prepared himself to take lessons and learn from an acknowledge master of journalistic slander and innuendo.<br /><br />The article read:<br /><br /><strong><br /></strong><span style="font-size:180%;"><strong>UNIVERSITY PHENOMONOLOGY SCIENTEST SAYS SECOND LIFE IS NOT REAL.</strong><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>REAL WRONG WRITES LOONY LOOSER</strong><br /></span><strong><span style="font-size:85%;">Sindy Blazer, Science Editor for The Times. Times Semaphore.<br /></span></strong><br /><em>(Heart of the Ocean Forum, Sonogno)</em> - Disgraced University Scientist, Daneel Looby, former head of the Phenomenology and Existential Sciences Department at the University of Sonogno, was booed off the stage at the Conference for the Scientific Determination of All Things meeting held at the Forum of HOTO in the Sim of Sonogno.<br /><br />In a controversial paper, Professor Looby stupidly claimed that all that we do and say is not real.<br /><br />“What a loopy idea,” commented famed Scientist Igor Eisenstein. “My foot is real, the air I fly through is real, and the lust in my loins is really real. What a dope,” said the bronze medal winning scientist.<br /><br />Donnatella Fernachi, science maven and all around hottie, kept screaming over an over again the phrase "Esse est percipi" as the crowd drowned out the presentation by the really dumb scientist.<br /><br />Speaking for conventional wisdom, Professor Rogoshin of the University Department of Accepted Precepts and Safe Thought pointed out it follows that any knowledge of Second Life is obtained only through direct perception, and mistakes come to us from thinking about what other individuals perceive. Knowledge of the world and of avatars and prims and actions may be purified and perfected by stripping away all but the pure perceptions found on our graphics displays.<br /><br />Therefore the ideal avatar in Second Life forms his knowledge through pure un-thoughtful perceptions of the graphics display, and if we would all look to the superficial found in SL, we would develop deep insights into the natural world and the hearts of avatars.<br /><br />Fernachi conclude that the goal of any right thinking avatar is to de-realiticize and de-morphacize avatar perceptions.<br /><br />The foolish Professor Looby was chased from the stage by a pack of raving empiricists carrying pitchforks and flaming torches. Looby’s whereabouts are unknown.The Times of HOTOhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00896785992606205250noreply@blogger.com0