The Network Strikes Back

by Gary D. Snyder

Epilogue:

After the tension that had preceded the shuttle pod's landing, the events following its touchdown were anticlimactic. As Exjay Nine had reported the pod's limited life support had given out not long after leaving the Video Star, and both the craft's oxygen level and temperature had dropped to dangerous levels. Both Carl and Tee had been semi-conscious when the pod landed on the small asteroid but quickly recovered under the influence of the artificial environment generated by the various ships. Cindy, who knew firsthand what the experience of near-freezing suffocation was like, was particularly relieved to see Carl and Tee revive.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "We thought you were both dead."

"I ain't dead," Tee objected. "I ain't never been dead. Why do you fools keep thinking I'm dead? Do you want me to be dead? Hmmm? Hmmm?"

"No, not at all," Zix quickly reassured him. "It's just that when we saw your scooter go spinning into the space station, we just…well…we just assumed the worst."

"It was pretty awful," agreed Travoltron. "Right after we saw it broadcast at Boracho's Cantina, Boracho said a few words and had us all drink a toast in your memory."

Tee seemed genuinely touched. "Really? That was real nice of him."

"Not really," said Zix. "What he said was, 'Dat bum still ain't paid orf his tab'."

"And he made everyone pay for the drinks they used for the toast," added Travoltron.

"It's the thought that counts," Tee asserted, then heaved a heavy sigh. "Still, it's too bad I couldn't see it."

Zix and Travoltron each threw a sympathetic arm around Tee's shoulders. "No worries, big guy," Zix assured him. "The way you keep rushing off to help people in trouble nowadays, you'll probably get killed off again in no time."

"Really? You think so?" asked Tee, his face lighting up again.

Travoltron nodded vigorously. "No doubt about it."

"Well, I can always hope. But next time," he warned his friends, "you'd better take some pictures to show me afterwards. Or else I'll squish your heads. Squish 'em good. Get it?"

"Got it," Zix and Travoltron hurriedly assured him.

"Good." Tee glowered at them and then suddenly grabbed each of them in a powerful arm, crushing them to him in a ferocious bear hug and made them gasp for breath. "I love you, fools!" he declared, on the verge of tears.

Carl appeared to be more withdrawn, and didn't say much despite Jimmy and Sheen's barrage of questions as to how he managed survive his lone adventure on the Video Star, much less escape it. "If it's okay, guy, I really don't feel like talking about it," he finally told them.

"Well, okay," Jimmy told him, puzzled. "But if you feel like talking, we'll always be here for you."

"You know it," agreed Sheen, then added. "Except, of course, during Ultra Lord's usual primetime broadcast, the encore showing right after that, the weekday syndicated showtimes, and of course the weekend marathons." He did a double-take at Libby's accusing stare and spread his hands. "What? It's not like he actually died, you know. Now if he had died I could understand missing a couple of the reruns, but -" He broke off in a yelp of pain as Libby grabbed him by the ear and marched him off, protesting vigorously. "Hey, stop that! I have hands, you know!" His voice reached strident crescendo. "You call yourself a girlfriend?!"

When the others had drifted away Princess Leama came up to Carl. "Hello, Carl."

As with most encounters between human boys and girls Leama was the person Carl most wanted to see and yet dreaded seeing. "Uh…hello, Princess."

"Call me Lee." The princess sighed. "None of the other Royal Guard ever do."

Carl fidgeted uncomfortably. "I know. It must be pretty hard sometimes, being all alone."

"Sometimes. I just wish there was someone I could just talk to, you know? Someone who wouldn't care that I was a princess and would tell me anything they were thinking. Someone like you."

"Umm…yeah." Carl squirmed, emotionally and physically, on the horns of a dilemma. He had promised he wouldn't tell the truth about Lord Versile. He had even crossed his heart and that, to Carl, would be blasphemy to break. But Leama had always trusted him to be honest with her. He wished that there were some way that he could somehow ask Jimmy what to do without actually saying what he needed advice about. As Carl struggled to reconcile these feelings he looked at Leama, who at that moment was enjoying the rare luxury of just being young and with a trusted friend, free for the moment of the worries and responsibilities that he knew must so often weigh her down. Carl sighed heavily, reluctantly accepting what he had to do. If he told her the truth, he knew she would never be free of the knowledge of what her father had done, even though he had tried, at the end, to redeem himself in some measure. As heavy a burden as the truth might be, he would be the one to bear it for her. It was more, he knew, than just an obligation he carried as a member of the Royal Guard. It was just one of the many silent sacrifices that every true friend made for another.

He suddenly realized that Leama was watching him, a curious look on her face. "Are you all right?"

"What?" Carl tried to collect himself and sound convincing. "Oh, yeah. Fine. I guess I'm just a little tired, or something."

Leama thought she understood. "The trip back here. I guess the life support failing was quite an ordeal for you."

"Yeah. Let's go with that." He tried to think of something to say, and somehow blurted out, "What was your father like?"

"My father?" The princess seemed startled. "I don't know, really. I guess you never really try to describe your father. You don't think about how he is, you just know how he is. And the things you remember are things that are hard to describe. The way he would laugh when you were being silly, or kiss your forehead when he put you to bed, or even the tone of his voice when he didn't approve of something you'd done. You never really think much about them while they're still here. You think they'll be here forever. But when those things are gone…it's like a part of you is gone also."

Leama had gotten out the last few words with difficulty, choking back tears as she said them. Carl quickly put an arm around her and she leaned into him. "I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have asked."

"No. It's all right." The princess wiped her eyes and gave Carl a little smile. "It's if I won't feel anything that it will be wrong. Some people – Captain Valtor, for example – think that I'm a lot like my father. If you know what I'm like, then I guess you probably know what my father was like." She studied Carl's face very carefully, and Carl wondered how much she was reading there. "It's too bad you never met him," she finally commented. "I think you would have liked him."

"Yes," he replied, somewhat absently. "I think I would have."

Not far away Cindy had followed Betty as she headed back with most of the kids to the motley assortment of makeshift spacecraft that had once been amusement park rides. "Hold it, right there, Quinlan," she called.

Betty turned and met Cindy's hot anger with a cool stare. "Yes?"

Cindy moved forward until she and Betty were only a couple paces apart. "What's the big idea?" she demanded.

"'Big idea'?" The older girl seemed genuinely puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

"Not long ago you said that Neutron was all mine," fumed Cindy. "So what's with your cozying up to him like that?"

"I was just being supportive, is all," Betty argued. "Is there a problem with a friend doing that?"

"Supportive?" Cindy almost grazed Betty's nose with hers as she leaned forward. "If you were any more supportive the Serta people could sell you as a mattress." Cindy planted her hands on her hips. "So tell me straight. Are you making a play for Jimmy or not?"

"Me?" Betty laughed easily which made Cindy all the more uncomfortable. "No, I'd never do that. I said he's all yours, and he is. But there is something you should know."

"And that is…?"

Betty folded her arms and her expression, while still amiable, became inscrutable. "Just this. I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. Guys like Jimmy don't come along every day. Only a fool wouldn't seriously consider the possibilities, and I'm no fool. So, yes, like I said, he's all yours, Cindy. The ball's totally in your court. But…" Betty's smile faded and her tone became deadly earnest. "…you'd better bring your A game. Because if you fumble this, if you dump Jimmy, then all bets are off. I'll be there to catch him before he even hits the ground. And I'm going to be sure that he knows that."

"Really?" Cindy addressed Betty with equal civility. "Well, don't count on that happening, Quinlan. Because, as flighty as Neutron can be sometimes, there's something he already knows that has you beat hands down, Quinlan."

"And what would that be, Vortex?" Betty asked politely.

Cindy gave a smile that, while pleasant enough, Betty could read all too well. "That I'll always be there when it matters."

While Betty and Cindy were deciding Jimmy's future, he had sought out Exjay Nine in an attempt to learn more about Carl's miraculous escape and found him in conversation with Captain Valtor. "Am I interrupting anything?" asked Jimmy.

"No, Master Jimmy," replied the robot. "We were discussing how unlikely it was that things turned out the way it did."

This piqued Jimmy's curiosity. "How so?"

"Well," Captain Valtor said, "that I would find a way to convince myself that the pod really wasn't a trap and that it was Exjay Nine who was communicating with us."

"How did you know?" asked Jimmy.

"He said something that he had said to me once before, under similar circumstances," replied Exjay Nine.

"And his reply was the same," the High Captain concluded. "It convinced me that I was speaking to Exjay Nine, and that he could be trusted."

"Under the circumstances," the robot postulated, "is it not unlikely that the survival of Sir Wheezer, Mister Tee, and myself would hinge on the occurrence of such an improbable event?"

Jimmy considered it. "When you think about it, there are an infinite number of possibilities for every situation, and only one actually occurs. So I think that, in the final analysis, every outcome is the result of a series of improbable events," he concluded.

"Logical," Exjay Nine agreed.

Captain Valtor appeared skeptical. "So you believe that what we experienced and what finally happened was due to chance, and nothing more?"

"Not at all." Jimmy shook his head.

"But I thought you said -" the Felangian began.

"Let me explain, "Jimmy hurried to say. "It's true that we can't control the Universe and everything we might experience. But our lives are a continuing search for answers – the meaning of life, the nature of good and evil, or just for something that's missing in our lives. Captain Valtor, I know that you didn't really think much of humans or even Exjay Nine when this all started."

Captain Valtor looked almost ashamed. "Yes, I have to confess that I did not. But I have learned much since then and sincerely apologize."

"No apology necessary," Jimmy assured him. "But consider this. You needed to be able to trust us if we were going to succeed. Whether you knew it or not, you were looking for reasons to trust us – or not, as the case might be. In light of that, you could consider that everything that happened and everything you witnessed became a test of whether or not you could trust others. Is it so surprising then that some key events came down to your ability to trust?"

The Felangian reflected on this before answering. "Put in those terms, no," he admitted. "I suppose that maybe we all experienced what we needed to experience."

Exjay Nine asked, "And is this limited only to organics?"

"I don't see why it should be," Jimmy replied. "I mean, aren't robots also seeking answers? Whether there is a First Creator? Or a purpose beyond programming? If mechanicals are seeking answers, I'd say that they'd find them."

The robot looked down at a twisted piece of metal in its hand. What's its purpose had once been was not clear to Jimmy, but its shape suggested that it may have once part of a spherical metallic casing. "Yes," Exjay Nine ventured at last. "I would say that they would."

Jimmy had almost forgotten that he had wanted to ask Exjay Nine about the Carl's and the others' escape from the Video Star. Before he could ask, however, Zix sidled up and coughed hesitantly. "What's up, Zix?" Jimmy asked, postponing his questions to Exjay Nine for another day.

"Well, Jimmy, it's like this," the reptilian began hesitantly. "Those weapons we got were pretty cheap, but not exactly free. Our generous suppliers did insist on a couple conditions should we come out on top in exchange for letting us use them."

"Oh? Such as?"

Zix handed Jimmy a folded piece of paper, which Jimmy opened and skimmed. He smiled and gave Zix a reassuring nod. "No problems," he said. "I'll get right on it once we get home."

Several weeks later, in a particularly bad section of Mos Slimey, a cloaked and hooded form in a private room sipped the diluted beverage before him impatient indifference. The surroundings were not of his choosing, but his potential backers had insisted that their business be conducted there, or not at all. Beggars can't be choosers, the solitary figure accepted philosophically, but once he had the money he needed and was back on top he would be calling the shots once again. He looked up as the door opened, flooding the soundproof chamber with the clamor of the general saloon outside and admitting the bar's proprietor.

"They are here," the hexapod who owned the establishment reported.

"Excellent," the room's occupant acknowledged. "Show them in." The owner dropped a complicated curtsey with four of his six legs, and withdrew. "And would it kill you to freshen these snacks?" the secretive figure called as the door closed again. Whatever, he thought. In just a few minutes he would have enough quatloos to never have to enter a sleazy dive like this again. When the noise from the saloon once again briefly intruded, indicating that his financial backers had entered the room, he looked up. "I'd like to thank you -" he began, and froze at the sight of the three beings standing before him.

"Hello, Meldar," the Junkman greeted him pleasantly, a large container under one arm.

"So good to see you," King Goobot agreed.

"I trust you're happy to see us as well," concluded Khormak.

"Hi, guys," Meldar replied. "This is somewhat…that is to say, I was expecting some business associates. I must have made some mistake."

"Oh, no, no mistake," the Yolkian assured him. "We're the ones who contact you."

The Junkman and Goobot flanked Meldar as Khormak sat down opposite him. "Admittedly we used some assumed names. It seems that you haven't been returning our calls."

"But…but how did you find me?" Meldar stammered, trying with little success to keep an eye on all three of his former business associates. Calling out for help was not an option. Any sound would not pass beyond the door.

"Well, admittedly we wouldn't have been able to do it," the Junkman replied. "But there's a certain bright you man for whom we did a favor he was happy to do a couple of favors in return for us. He was actually able to locate you fairly quickly. Did you know that the energy of those matrix generators of which you're so fond leave a faint but very unique energy signature on whoever uses them? And there are only a handful of beings in this whole quadrant that have done so. Once we knew your location, it was easy to arrange a meeting."

Despite his fear Meldar seethed with anger. "Neutron!" he spat. "You're actually working with him?"

"Call it a temporary truce," King Goobot clarified. "Have you ever hear the saying 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend'? I'm afraid that we've all lost a good deal of money because of this decidedly unprofitable business investment."

Meldar swallowed hard. "Listen, guys," the frightened alien ventured, "if it's your money that you're worried about, then I've got a lot more ideas that will get it back in no time at all. There's no need to get mad."

"Oh, don't worry about that," the Junkman smiled. The smile hardened into a vicious grin. "We don't get mad." He opened the container, pulled out a device that looked something like cross between a bicycle without wheels and a cross-country ski machine, and placed it carefully on the floor.

Meldar stared wordlessly and had to try three times before he could get the words out. "Is that…is that an…"

"An Electron Toner?" Khormak finished. "Not exactly."

"That was the second favor that bright young man did for us," King Goobot explained. "It's the new and improved Turbo Toner."

"Yes," the Junkman chuckled. "Twice the results, in half the time." He paused to let the Meldar consider the various implications of this statement before dropping the other shoe. "At four times the voltage."

Despite the practically non-existent chances for success Meldar bolted for the door in a desperate attempt to escape. The Junkman, anticipating this, seized the little alien before he could clear the table. With two hands he held his struggling captive in place and with the other two clamped Meldar's wrists to the machine's vertical poles. "You can't do this to me!" Meldar shrilled.

"Oh, don't be so negative, Meldar," the Junkman said. "What say we give it a try, hmm?"

King Goobot removed the remote from the container. "May I do the honors?"

"I'd be offended if you didn't," replied Khormak.

King Goobot activated the Turbo Toner, sending powerful shocks through Meldar and causing him to jerk wildly about like a demented puppet. After a few seconds the electric shocks ended, leaving Meldar limp and temporarily unable to speak. "Oh, yes, this will be a big seller," the Yolkian commented with satisfaction.

"Mech-Vanna will be so pleased," the Junkman observed.

"Mech…Mech-Vanna?" Meldar whispered hoarsely.

"Oh, didn't we tell you?" the Junkman asked apologetically. "Yes, she leaped at the chance to work with you again when we discussed this new product. It seems that she had a number of friends on that space station of yours. You know…those 'worthless drones', every one of which you were willing to sacrifice to put on your show?" He chuckled. "Oh, yes, she was extremely eager to work with you again."

"And by my calculations, your round-the-clock infomercials and on-air demonstrations should sell enough of the Turbo Toner units to repay us all in, oh…" Khormak performed some quick estimates in his head. "…say, fifteen or twenty Earth years."

Meldar let out a faint sob. "You realize that this is going to kill me, don't you?"

The Junkman lifted the exercise machine and Meldar into the soundproof container. "I wouldn't say that," he assured the hapless alien as he lowered the lid. "After all, you'd be surprised what you can live through." With a smile of satisfaction he shut the container, secured the latches, and swung the container onto a massive shoulder.

"He did raise a good point, you know," King Goobot pointed out as the three exited the room.

Khormak considered it. "That is true," he admitted. "What happens if this machine does kill him before we get all our money back?"

The Junkman scoffed as they headed out into the squalid streets of Mos Slimey. "Neutron assured me that that can't possibly happen. And if it should somehow happen, well…" He shrugged, bouncing the container and its contents slightly. "That's show biz."

THE END

Author's Notes:

I never intended or foresaw when I started this story that it would take nearly two years to finish. However, much as in the story, authors can't really foresee things that will happen to them any more than the characters can in the stories.

As you noted in this chapter things are heating up a bit between Cindy and Betty. I personally like Betty as I don't consider her a bad or manipulative person I can't believe that she hasn't considered the possibilities with Jimmy. Some future stories will build on this and lead to an eventual resolution, but just what I can't say. What I can say is that in the past couple years I have been developing new story ideas to work on should I find more time now to write them. These stories include Cindy facing a killing machine from the future a la "The Terminator", the final installment of the Lou trilogy, a story titled, appropriately enough, "I, Brobot", the return of Dyno Lad with an appearance by the N-Men, and a couple others.