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It is said that, in space, no one can hear you scream. This is not true aboard the Satellite of Love. "YAAAH! Son-of-a...! It bit me!" "Well, you shouldn't try to pick him up by the ears, darling." Helen shook a reproving finger in Diane's direction, then bent down and scooped up the little brown dachshund that was sitting on the floor with a decidedly smug look on its face. As the Mistress cradled it, the dog turned and stuck its tongue out at Diane. Helen chuckled and scratched the dachshund behind the ears. "You'll be a good boy for the Mistress, won't you," she cooed. As the dog nodded, she carried him over to the large tub that took up most of the Satellite's cramped workshop and set him down inside it. The tub was a piece of work in and of itself. It had begun life as a simple piece of plasticware, a large and rather tacky yellow washtub of the sort found in most discount stores. That existence was far behind it now. Every open space on its outer surface had been painted with strange and disturbing glyphs and odd runes that seemed to writhe blasphemously when seen from the corner of the eye. Around it on the floor was traced an elaborate pentagram circumscribed with the names of forgotten gods, grim candles burning at each point. "Does everyone have their water pistols?" Nyssa asked as she dragged the last of the parabolic antennas into position and aimed it at the eldritch washtub. There was one of these in each corner of the workshop, all focussed on the washtub and all connected by thick cables to an elaborate device that looked rather like someone had cross-bred a mainframe computer with an industrial dry- cleaning machine. "Locked and loaded," Doug replied, brandishing his Super-Soaker 4000. Diane, still rubbing at the dog bite on her hand, held up her own water gun. Hers was marked 'COLD' on the side, while Doug's was 'HOT'. Helen picked up two more and took up position beside the shop faucet, ready to fill them as needed. "Are you sure this is safe?" asked Diane. She gave the whole setup a distinctly skeptical look. "Why, of course it's safe!" Nyssa's tone was chipper, upbeat, and confident, but she was also putting on a lead-lined apron, safety glasses, and a hardhat. She slipped around behind the machine and flipped up an armored defensive shield in front of the controls. Diane's skeptical look totally failed to vanish. "Then what's with all your gear, there?" "Oh, that's just for... my allergies," Nyssa's voice lilted back. "What are you allergic to?" "Shrapnel. Now, do you all remember what you are to do?" Doug nodded. "After you speak the ritual, you'll turn on the quantum phase disruptor and use it to maintain the structural malleability of the target area around Number One. When he starts glowing purple, we spray him alternately with cold and hot water to trigger his distorted Curse response, repeating until he eventually shifts and locks into human form." "Let's have a hand for Sir Douglas Exposition," Diane snickered. Helen sighed. "We aren't riffing right now, darling. This is the opening prose segment." There was a rumble in the distance as bits of the Fourth Wall cracked away. "Well, I'm still none too comfortable with all this," Diane said. "It all seems on the dodgy side of dodgy." "There is _nothing_ to worry about," Nyssa's voice reiterated from the depths of her safety equipment. "This is pure _science_. Now, go ahead and sprinkle the chicken blood while I recite the invocation to Yog-Sothoth..." ---- In the chill emptiness of space, several hundred miles from the Satellite, an object hurtled through the void in a decaying orbit. As it skimmed ever-lower into the ionosphere, questing radar beams registered the object's presence, causing a stir of excitement at the ground station. ---- A steady, tooth-loosening throb beat at the air in the Satellite workshop as the small patch of Reality at its center was converted to a state of quantum fluidity. The lights dimmed as Nyssa's nameless machine channelled more power through the parabolic dishes, holding the forces of Normality at bay. The little brown dachshund that was Number One began to glow a pale purple, while the symbols on the tub around him pulsed and writhed in a hideous country line-dance. "Now!" cried Nyssa as Doug took aim and sent a blast of hot water at the ensorcelled wiener dog. There was a shimmer of change and... ...a small hedgehog stared back at Doug, shaking its head. Diane stepped up and blasted the animal with a stream of cold water. The monitor lizard in the tub did not seem pleased. Squirt. Rattlesnake. Squirt. Penguin. Squirt. Holly bush. Squirt. Millipede. Squirt. Platypus. Squirt. Weasel. "That seems like a natural form for him," Diane commented. Helen whapped her lightly on the head. Squirt. Three-toed sloth. Squirt. Chimpanzee. Squirt. Velociraptor. The carnivorous dinosaur that was Number One held up a claw for the others to hold their fire and turned towards Diane with an evil, evil look in its eye. Very hasty squirt. Piglet. Squirt. Lemur. Squirt. Girl. "Yes!" whooped the wet, buxom little redhead in the tub, either not knowing or not caring that she was quite completely naked. "Almost there! I'm almost my wonderful self again! Keep going!" Doug pulled the trigger on his water gun, soaking down Diane due to the fact that he had his hand clamped tightly over his eyes. "Not me!' Diane shouted. "Shoot over there!" "I, uh... Could you... I mean..." Doug stammered, still not looking. Helen snatched the Super-Soaker out of his trembling hands. "Here we go, darling," she cried, dousing the naked girl with hot water. The change was immediate. Number One went from being a wet, naked girl, to being a wetter, naked girl. "What the...?! Why ain't I changing?! C'mon, more water!" Helen and Diane emptied their water guns onto her, but the redhead's body remained quite distinctly and emphatically female. That maddening throb of power died away along with the purple glow as Nyssa powered down her machine, the lights gradually returning to normal as it cycled down. The Trakenite mad scientist herself stepped from behind her shield and began peeling off her protective gear, a slightly forced-looking smile on her face. "What are you doing?!" Number One demanded. "Turn it back on! I have to change!" Nyssa's voice made a go at sounding soothing, but didn't quite make it. "You're human again. Aren't you happy? Isn't it wonderful to rejoin the ranks of intelligent beings?" "It's a gas. Now WHY AIN'T YOU CHANGING ME THE REST OF THE WAY!?!" "Well, um, you see... It's rather technical, but... Well... I can't. I must say, it's good to hear your voice again. Would you like a towel to cover up with?" Number One tossed the beach towel aside, too agitated to pay it any mind. "What do you mean, you can't change me back!?" "Well, you see, the way the process was set up to work was that when your genetic code fell into the range of human normality, it would then become locked in a fixed quantum state at the subatomic level, becoming thereby immune to further alteration by outside quantum-level stimuli--" "What does that mean?" asked Diane. "It means that once we turned Number One into a human again, we couldn't change her form any more." She cocked a thumb at the redhead. "So, what you see is what you get. Forever." Nyssa's shoulders rolled in a polite shrug. "Still, I'm quite pleased with the result, as my calculations indicated that there was a high likelihood of causing the subject's component particles to simply detonate at the speed of light. It's not her original form, but the subject _is_ human, so it's a qualified success. Half a loaf, and all that." All eyes -- except Doug's, which were still covered -- turned to Number One to get her thoughts on the matter... ---- At the radar base station, a computer model was constructed based upon the known data regarding the mysterious orbital object. Vectors were plotted, variables factored, flight paths worked out, and, finally, an impact point predicted. Panic ensued. ---- It is said that, in space, no one can hear you scream. This is not true aboard the Satellite of Love. "I'm a _girl_... FOREVER?! AAAAAAAAAUUUUUUGGGHH!!" ---- BKWillis presents... TO DIE FOR: MYSTERY PSYCHO THEATER 3000 [cue Theme Song] o/~ In the not-too-distant future Not too far from This Time Round There was a girl named Nyssa whose Sanity was not-quite-sound. She and some others used to fuss and fight And destroy the pub almost every night. So the staff and patrons of that place Used Borusa's Time-Scoop to stick them up in spaaaaace... (Nyssa, shouting:) "You'll regret this!!" (Adric, singing:) "We'll send them crappy fiction The worst we can find. (la-la-laaa) They'll have to sit and read them all To drive the violence from their minds." (la-la-laaa) Now keep in mind only Adric controls When the session begins or is through As he tries to force some sense into This completely unhinged crew. PSYCHO ROLL CALL! NYSSA! ("The rockin' Traken!") DOUG! ("This isn't what it looks like.") HELEN! ("Me, the other white meat.") NUMBER ONE! ("Call me 'babe', and you die.") DIAAAAANE! ("I thought blondes had more fun?") If you're wondering how they eat and breathe And other science facts, Just repeat to yourself, "It's just a 'fic. I should really just relax." 'Cause it's Mystery Psycho Theater 3000! (bwang) o/~ ---- [Interior bridge of the Satellite of Love] [The bridge has been turned into a typical suburban-type living- room, with a personal computer sitting on one end of the console and a television on the other. A chair and couch are back-to-back at the center, the chair facing the computer and the couch toward the TV. DIANE (an attractive blonde woman wearing shorts and a 'What Would Lina Inverse Do?' t-shirt) sits at the computer, while DOUG (a tall, thin man with a ponytail, wearing combat fatigues) is watching TV right behind her.] DOUG: Anything good on there? DIANE: Nope. Just a typical rec.arts.mpt3k flamewar. DOUG: Over what? DIANE: Can't really tell for sure. Something called 'Pro-Jovanka Trolls' appear to be involved, though. DOUG: Oh. DIANE: Anything good on there? DOUG: Nope. Just a typical 'Sister Roxanne the Demon Killer' battle. DIANE: Over what? DOUG: Can't really tell for sure. Something called 'Anti-Christ Imps' appear to be involved, though. DIANE: Oh. [BOTH sit in silence for a moment.] DOUG: Bit boring, isn't it? DIANE: I suppose. [BOTH sit in silence again. After a few seconds, MISTRESS HELEN (a tall, well-built, auburn-haired woman in a leather catsuit) and NYSSA (a petite, very pretty young brunette wearing a lab coat over a short blue dress) enter from the right, carrying a battering-ram between them.] NYSSA: Well, we're off to have another go at getting Number One out of her room. HELEN: We're going to 'stage an intervention' to prevent her from doing anything foolish. DOUG: (to NYSSA and HELEN) Worried about her, are you? NYSSA: No. She's got my Kikuko Inoue CDs in there, and I'm afraid she might get blood and bits on them if she does herself in. [HELEN and NYSSA exit to the leftt, while DOUG and DIANE continue to stare at their respective screens. A few seconds later, the sound of repeated impacts and much female shouting and cursing can be heard from off-stage.] DOUG and DIANE: (in chorus) Boring is good. [A light begins to flash on the console.] DOUG: Looks like Kyle, Nolt, and Borgoff are calling. [presses light] ---- [Interior back room at This Time Round] [The room, which is ordinarily full of electronic telemetry and broadcating equipment and a large amount of pub supplies, has now been reinforced with layers of sandbags along the walls. Behind the control console stand ADRIC (a black-haired teenager in an Armani suit) and HARRY (a handsome thirtyish man with curly hair, clad in a barman's apron). BOTH look a bit uneasy -- in HARRY's case evident only in a slight twitchiness about his smile -- and are holding old steel army helmets in their hands.] ADRIC: Greetings, Otaru and the Saber Marionettes. Where are Cherry, Bloodberry, and Marine? ---- [SOL] DIANE: Does that mean I'm Lime? [starts giggling and jumping up and down] DOUG: The others should be here any minute now. [HELEN and NYSSA enter from the left, with NUMBER ONE (a short, cute, red-haired girl wearing jeans and a 'Molly Hatchet' t-shirt) in tow. NUMBER ONE has slicked back her hair and drawn beard stubble on her face with a pen, her breasts are flattened down, and there is a large bulge in the front of her jeans.] DIANE: [looking at NUMBER ONE] What... What... Just, what? NUMBER ONE: (deep voice) Hey thar, li'l filly. I'm just a typical red-blooded American man, yessir. DOUG: [lloking at NUMBER ONE] As much as I hate to ask, what's with the... bulge? NUMBER ONE: (deep voice) Hey, pardner, you know how it is. Gotta keep yer equipment under control... [HELEN slaps NUMBER ONE's 'bulge' with the handle of her whip. There is a jingling of metal as the 'bulge' slides apart and things start falling out of NUMBER ONE's pantsleg.] DOUG: [looks down] Quarters? There must be ten dollars there. DIANE: I don't care if it's a million, _I_ am not touching them. NUMBER ONE: (normal voice) Aaaagh! I was just trying to be my old self... DIANE: [looking at the quarters] You were trying to be about three times your old self, looks like. And how is your chest so flat? [NYSSA reaches up the back of NUMBER ONE's shirt, grabs something, and pulls. There is a loud ripping sound and NUMBER ONE jumps, yelling in pain, as her breasts suddenly spring outwards.] NUMBER ONE: (yelling) AAAAYOWCH!! [NYSSA holds up a long strip of something grayish and sticky.] HELEN: Duct tape? Ooh, can I have it? ---- [TTR] ADRIC: Excuse me, but your tormentor is talking to you, so pay attention! As you can tell, all is not well here on Earth. HARRY: We're doomed, you see. ADRIC: Indeed. Life as we know it will end sometime within the next two hours. ---- [SOL] DOUG: (to self) Duct tape? [shakes head] (to screen) How so, Adric? And what's with all the sandbags? ---- [TTR] ADRIC: That's what I've been telling you. Catastrophe looms. Armageddon. Ragnarok und Fimbulwinter. Civilization fall down, go boom. ---- [SOL] NYSSA: What are you babbling about, Swamprat? What's this big catastrophe? Are Hootie and the Blowfish breaking up? ---- [TTR] ADRIC: This is not a time for trenchant flippancy! Our radar picked up an unidentified object in orbit this morning. When we plotted its flight path, we found out that it is on a collision course with Earth and, what's more, that the impact site will be somewhere within a mile of where I am now standing. I predict chaos, anarchy, mass starvation, plague, and species extinctions, or possibly just the obliteration of the entire surface. HARRY: But we're jolly well ready for it! ADRIC: [puts on helmet] So we are. [ADRIC and HARRY pick up a pair of old Enfield rifles and sling them on their shoulders, then start strapping on bandoliers of ammunition while they speak.] ADRIC: We here at MPT3k, Inc., are prepared to fulfill our duties to the public by seizing power in the aftermath of the spaceborne holocaust. As the only organized force for order in the land, we will gradually revive the glory and majesty of human civilization. With a few improvements, of course... [FRANCOIS the Ogron (a huge, brutish-looking humanoid) enters from the right, carrying a large box.] FRANCOIS: (to ADRIC) Where boss-boy wanting copies of _Gospel of Saint Adric_ put? ADRIC: (to FRANCOIS) Over there by the Saint Adric Prayer Medallions will be fine. [FRANCOIS exits to the left.] ---- [SOL] DOUG: Well, that's one way to spread the ADF's message, I suppose... HELEN: (hopeful) So, since the world is ending, and all, I guess you don't have a session for us today... ---- [TTR] ADRIC: You guess wrong, Helen. And since there's no viewer mail today, I'll get right to the hurting. As this might very well be my last transmission to you lot, I thought I'd make it good, or more correctly, bad. Thematic, too. Death and doom are the motif for the day! Your first session will be a flaccid 'fic called, with great eponymity, 'The Death of Doctor Who: The Anniversary Special from Hell'. If that doesn't snap your twisted wills like so many pretzels in a pile driver, the followup most certainly will. It's a pre-prologue to a novel, intended as a teaser for the book _Devil- Goblins from Neptune_, and goes to show that even professional authors can inflict savage literary pain. This day will mark my victory! Or at least, our highest ratings. Send them the fanfic, Harry! HARRY: At once, your Saintliness! [presses a large and conspicuous button on the console] ---- [SOL] [Various alarms, lights, and sirens go off as general chaos ensues.] ALL: Aaaaah! We've got apocalyptic fanfic sign! [ALL run off.] Notes - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six
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