Part Seventy-Three, Chapter Three - What, Me Worry?

So hey, remember when I said back in Part Seventy-One, Chapter Four that it'd be nearly 300 pages until we saw Heller again?  Miiight have been off by an order of magnitude.  See, somehow I missed a 13-page Heller-centric interlude sandwiched between Teenie's underage gay orgy and the start of Madison's devastating PR campaign.  So the bad news is that I'm fallible, but on the bright side, we get a couple of pages without Teenie or Madison!  No attempted rape or monologues about incest!

Across another night, twenty-two and more light-years away, Heller was talking on a viewer-phone in his New York office to Prahd on another one in the hospital in Afyon, Turkey.  There was no problem in being overheard: the viewer-phone operated on a time-skip at the topmost quiver of energy bands and Earth was far from being up to that technology.

You might think that mixing instantaneous communications with "time-skip" functionality might cause problems viz a viz picking up a phone call that hasn't been dialed yet, but that's just your primitive Earth understanding of science holding you back again.

Prahd and Heller are discussing His Majesty's miserable condition - the cellologist is basically rebuilding the emperor's nervous system by soaking him in the magical medical healing tub, but the patient remains unconscious.  They could try to wake him up with another hit of speed, but that'd probably kill him, and that would be bad.  Better keep him in the pickle jar then.

Heller then switches lines to talk to Krak, who is organizing defenses against an unspecified enemy.  Heller doesn't see the point.

Heller shrugged.  "All right. But I don't think anybody will come.  Ghoul-face doesn't know we came here.

Who?

I've been giving this some thought and it's almost funny that he'd issue a general warrant for me: they're questionable on a Royal officer-courts usually just throw them out.  It would take a Royal warrant and he just plain can't get one issued.  It would have to be signed by the person who's lying there unconscious. 

Wait, so is "Ghoul-face" Hisst?  Why would you suddenly invent a nickname for him a quarter of the way through Book Nine?

Actually, Ghoul-face must be having fits.  There was no mention of His Majesty on that broadcast and I don't think Hisst will admit he's gone. 

And now it kinda sounds like "Ghoul-face" and Lombar are two different people.  Oy. 

If he were to do so, the whole Confederacy would go into chaos.  There is no heir: the other Royal princes are dead and Mortiiy is forbidden succession for starting a revolt.  The Grand Council would have to have a body before they would proclaim Cling dead.  So all Lombar can do is blunder around trying to locate me.

So hey, why isn't the whole Confederacy already going into chaos because His Majesty is old and heirless?  Why isn't this a major issue, completely overshadowing the fate of some backwater planet on the future Invasion Timetable?  Why was no one on the Council calling for reconciliation so Mortiiy to be eligible to take the throne, to ensure the ever-so-sacred royal succession of this backward government?

He's only got the Apparatus, a small force.

It's not like one man with advanced Voltarian technology can completely alter the fate of Earth.  What could several men with advanced Voltarian technology accomplish?

The Fleet and Army won't cooperate on the basis of just a general warrant on me.  The Fleet would laugh at him.  The 'drunk' is on the spot.  If he doesn't dare admit I have the Emperor, then I can't think of anything he could say or do to get people incensed against me.  He's only got the Apparatus and I'm not afraid of 'drunks.'  So I quit worrying."

In summation, the hero who conquered Earth with space magic is not at all concerned that the villain's men could do the same.  After being the victim of a smear campaign that turned him into a pariah, Heller cannot conceive of a way for anyone else to turn people against him.  He assumes that the spymaster who has been making a bid for power behind everyone's backs will use the expected channels and processes to operate.

The tactical mind of seasoned space commando Jettero Heller, ladies and gentlemen.

After this big, stupid half-page paragraph, Krak worries that Heller may be too calm, but his insists "That's my profession.  Keeping calm."  Then he states that he's tired of being separated and has, in a gross abuse of his power, ordered Mr. Bury to get the "air force" (no caps, it's just a nonspecific force in the air) to send a "Boeing Mach 3 Raider" capable of vertical take-off and landings to go pick Krak up at Afyon.  In the secret alien volcano base?

Oddly enough, it's not the potential Code Break that Krak worries about.

"WHO?" said the Countess Krak.

"A Boeing," said Heller.  "All the airlines are messed up trying to get back into operation and their backlogs are awful.  You'll be only three hours in flight.  I'll have you met at La Guardia."

"I mean BURY!" said the Countess, still in shock.

"Oh, he works for us now.  I forgot to mention it. 

And it's been how many days since Rockecenter died?  ...Does your girlfriend even know you now rule the world?  Or is that one of those little things you "forgot to mention," like working with the man who tried to kill you?

But it's someone else I want you to meet.  You'll like her."

"HER?"

"Yes," said Heller.  "We need her permission to get engaged."

"WHAT?"

Wasn't there something about trusting each other, and communicating with each other, following that stupid temporary break-up following Madison's devastating campaign of published fiction?

Heller orders the future Mrs. Heller to pack light for the plane ride.  Krak's still trying to get a handle on the situation.

"Wait a minute, Jettero.  You've got me all in a spin."

"They better not spin or we'll court-martial the whole air force.  Wear your best smile.  Tell you all about it when I see you.  Love you.  Bye-bye."

It's endearing when someone takes total control of the relationship, leaving the other to be dragged along behind, right?

"Jettero," wailed the Countess Krak, "do you think your estimate of this situation is safe?"

But he had clicked off and the screen was dead.

Yeah.  Guess we've established that the hero is dangerously underestimating his enemies, continuing a theme of his honorable nature being able to comprehend his depraved foes, or something like that.  And the emperor is still sick.  And... the USAF has a neat new plane?

It's a chapter that doesn't contain any sex crimes, so I'll call it a good chapter.


Back to Chapter Two

Forward to Chapter Four

Part Seventy-Three, Chapter Two - In the Boudoir of Queen Hora

So the slave has been properly bathed, chained, given a "Property of Queen Hora" bathrobe, and electrocuted a few times.  That's like an aphrodisiac, right?

Madison's led up a dark, foreboding spiral staircase, then under an electrified portcullis, until he ends up in a dusty antechamber with a microphone and security camera.  His guard gives the password and, to show that he's not under any duress, activates Madison's shock collar again.  Somehow Madison doesn't collapse into a limp, twitching heap, keeps control of his bladder, and is led into a freaky alien boudoir.

A moaning sort of music caressed his ears.

He was hit with a feminine whiff of fragrance and he fearfully opened his eyes.

He was standing in a softly lit room of considerable dimensions.  Gently rippling colored lights bathed the walls in ever-changing pastels, soothing, almost hypnot­ic.  Overhead, at first he thought these must be the open skies and then he saw that the stars were slowly dancing in a pattern about a moon which, real as it looked, could never possibly, in nature, pulse with the same ripples as the walls: the ceiling was some sort of an illusion that must change the hour of the day or night on command.

I'd make a crack about Hubbard's drug collection finding its way into his work, but I actually approve of this.  All the other decor on Voltar has been pretty boring silks and gold spam, but this feels suitably alien.

Grammar's awful, though.

The floor suddenly frightened him.  It seemed to be a thick mist, not a rug, and he was standing ankle-deep in it.  But he was reassured to find it seemed to be holding him up.

The furniture, delicate and curved, bureaus and chairs and tables, didn't seem to have any legs; they were just motionlessly floating in place.

You might think now'd be time for Madison to have another little "I'm really on another planet" freakout, like he did on the spaceship.  Nope!

The lost feeling he had experienced at his first glimpse of this place--like nothing he had ever heard of or imagined on Earth--was leaving him.  The determination to be successful in his visit gripped him again.  Where was Teenie?

Seeing all this makes him less culture shocked.  It fills him with confidence and purpose!  It gives him focus.

Madison's only thrown off-balance in a literal sense when the Space Floor somehow carries, "without even so much as a ripple," him and his minder over to what he initially took for a "huge bureau" but is actually a bed.  Teenie's there, being... ah, tucked in by her maids.

Teenie turned her head slowly and her sex-glazed eyes gradually focused on Madison.  Then she closed her too-big mouth and smiled a slow smile.

In a lazy voice, in English she said, "You waited so long, I was finally certain you weren't coming so I let them go ahead--they wring their hands so when they see me all worked up by dancing and unsatisfied."  She was coming back to herself now and the musing quality was leaving her voice.  The lazy smile turned into a grin.  "Well, well, Maddie.  You finally decided to let me have a crack at breaking you of this mother fixation."  She laughed with delight.

This after Krak was shocked that a debased society like Earth would engage in sex with a minor.

Anyway, the guard recites his little presentation and shocks Madison a third time.  This last shock is too much for his poor body to withstand, and Madison goes into cardiac arrest, expiring on the floor while the horrified maids and an ambivalent Teenie watch, The End!

I can dream.

Teenie and the maids instead laugh cruelly while she orders them to get a pot of grease (?) and some "masculine-smelling powder" to blast him with, while Madison weakly tries to fend them off, helpless against two women and an girl.  It's sorta like a Hubbard Action Sequence, just y'know, rapey.  So another Hubbard Rape Sequence then.  As if one wasn't enough.

Madison's eyes were glazed with terror.  He was making a blocking motion with his hands.

Two maids' faces were laughing at him as they knelt in front of him.

Madison was backing up.

One maid had the pot of grease.

Madison was staring down at it.

The other was measuring out some hash oil.

"No, no!" shrieked Madison.

Teenie was convulsed with laughter. "Oh, Maddie," she shrieked, "you ARE a clown! This time you're going to be cured of your mother!" She sat up. "After me, you're going to get those two," and she pointed to her maids.

"NO!" screamed Madison.

But then Madison notices that nobody's holding the control pad for his electrified collar, and he socks one of the maids in the jaw (guess he can fend off a girl) and scrambles "like an agile ape" to the top of a twelve-foot-high bureau.  It's an impenetrable fortress, the guards' whips can't even reach him up there!  The others are too shocked to immediately react, because really, who'd have expected a man dragged into the room in chains to be less than compliant with this situation?

THIS WAS HIS CHANCE!

Into the hiatus,

Thesaurus!

he shouted, "Teenie! Listen to me!  There's something you don't know!"  Now was the time to launch his beautiful idea.  Fate was trembling on the edge of the cliff.  Would she listen?

Madison's big plan is to reveal to Teenie that Soltan Gris is on planet Voltar with them, safe and sound in a Royal prison, completely out of her reach.  Any thoughts of sex clouding Teenie's teenage brain are immediately dispelled by rage at the mention of old Inky.

"THE SON OF A (BLEEPCH)!" cried Teenie, leaping to her feet.  "You mean after all he's done they're protecting him in safe custody?"

"Exactly!" cried Madison.

Teenie stamped her foot in fury.  "Well, God (BLEEP) HIM!"

"And Teenie, if I have your help, I can get him HANGED!  You know me and you know what I can accomplish if I'm turned loose!

Wait, just last chapter Madison reminded us that he never intentionally ruins anybody.  He thinks he's helping people when he gets them death sentences, so logically, if he were trying to get Gris killed he'd... not do PR on them? 

Teenie, if you back me up, then when they stretch his neck I can guarantee that I will personally put your hand on the rope!"

She looked at him: her eyes were furnaces of revenge.  "It's a bargain!" she screeched.  "Just tell me what you want me to DO!"

Also, why didn't Madison tell her this the minute he was placed on the bed, or even try to communicate with her beyond screaming "NO!" and recoiling from cooties?

All this to say, the subplot's now resolved.  Teenie gives Madison full access to the mansion and starts pacing and ranting and racing and panting about how she's gonna "GET Gris!"  Madison is free to get dressed and leave, all because he "remembered his Shakespeare: 'Hell hath no fury like a woman kicked in the teeth.'"

Tonight he had escaped death thrice!  Once at the hands of Teenie; again from the threat of being unfaithful to his mother; the third and the far more important one of being wiped out by the deadly Bury.

Because remember, Bury's a warlock who can kill people from across the gulf of space.

With Teenie's influence, cleverly working step by step, he could now get on with his job.

Heller, he thought, here I come!

Wait.  If Madison's finally acknowledged that his work ends up destroying people, might he not come to realize that maybe Mr. Bury didn't want Heller to become famous?  Maybe he hired Madison because his work ends up destroying people.  Maybe he wanted Heller destroyed.  Maybe he doesn't actually give a flying (bleep) about how famous Heller is!  Particularly on other planets.

Guess not.

The universe will never again see such magnificent and skillful PR as would now occur!

He had to be clever, he had to be careful, he had to advance step by step.  BUT HE WOULD GET THERE!

PR was the one weapon against which there was no defense. 

Except cynicism and/or skepticism.  Or fact-checking.  Or a modicum of common sense.

Oh, there were pitfalls on the way that would yawn.  But, in gleeful confidence, Madison strode into the Voltar night.

And with that, we're set to resume to main plot, such as it is... after a two-chapter interlude.  Try to swallow your disappointment.


Back to Chapter One 

Forward to Chapter Three

Part Seventy-Three, Chapter One - Alien Mating Rituals

Nothing like the bright promise of a whole new Part to lift the spirits after... it's not working.  Mission Earth's internal divisions are pretty arbitrary, and no matter how you number them, they're still chapters from Mission Earth.

Madison's unchained and led upstairs by an armed escort, who make sure he's presentable.  Gotta be all cleaned up before doing the nasty, no?

They thrust him into a washroom and made him strip and bathe.  They inspected him.  Intimately.

"He doesn't seem to have any lice or bacteria," said the original guard, 

Whaaaa?  Either Voltar has some huge-ass single-cell organisms, or - and this is almost unthinkable - Heller's super-duper vision isn't as special as we previously thought.

gazing critically at Madison, "but he's not well equipped.  I don't see how he can give her a good time."

But she's barely into puberty, why would he need... so what's the average... are enhancements like Prahd's common... why do you even care if...

"Well, listen you," said the sergeant to Madison, suddenly flicking a knife out of the back of his silver coat, "if you don't act nice and give her a good (bleep), I'll personally use this to cut your (bleeps) off.  Is that understood?"

Madison gulped, covered his (bleeps) protectively with his hand and backed up.

Have you not noticed she's underage?  Or is this one of those "she's royalty, I don't even have to think" things?  Or is Voltar just a place where bystanders are deeply concerned about the quality of strangers' sex lives?

With Madison bathed and thoroughly threatened with dire consequences for a poor sexual performance, it's time to present him to the "queen," which requires a certain amount of pomp and ceremony that the guards have remembered from their grandparents.  Which confirms that yes, these people have literally been sitting around this house for the past two generations, waiting for a noble to serve.  They're so utterly servile that they haven't thought to go out and make something of themselves.  They sat around, reproduced, and taught their kids to do the same jobs.

Still, only two generations.  Better than that Chinese family from Battlefield Earth that waited a thousand years for an emperor to grovel in front of.

Props are involved: a collar, a gold chain, and a control for the chain's electrified wiring to shock any unruly slave.  I mean, paramour.  This is obviously how you handle a liaison between lovers.  You lead the slave in to the queen's chamber, announce "Your Majesty, here is one to do your bidding: pray thee, if he does not please thee, I shall be right outside the door with an electric whip."  Oh, did I not mention the electrified whips?  They give Madison a light zap just to make a point.

"Now, when you present him and go back to stand guard in the hallway, you keep your ear to the door and if you hear any protests or arguments or if you DON'T hear some moans and squeals of pleasure, you go right back in and sting the Hells out of him until he DOES do his job!  Understand?"

This would make a hell of a lot more sense of Queen Hora's usual slaves were masochists with a femdom kink.  As it is, I'm having trouble imagining how a reluctant slave would be better able to perform after being repeatedly tasered.  Might get a guy out of the mood, y'know?

The guard nodded.  "Sure is great to have things running normally again."

"Well, yes," said the sergeant. "And you just make sure that Her Majesty doesn't have to wear her thumb out pushing the button on that collar chain. The darling is entitled to all the fun this fellow can give her."

But remember: Earth is the perverted planet that hasn't heard of normal sex.  Earth is the disgusting society that one of these aliens has to save from itself.  See, none of these aliens electrocuting people for their sick pleasure are psychologists.

"What do I do when she's through with him?" said the guard.

"Oh, you'll probably have been relieved by that time and I'll be hanging around.  But if it happens on your watch and she hasn't told you otherwise, listen to make sure it's all quiet and has been for some time.  Then beckon up one of her maids--probably the one on watch at the foot of her bed--and tiptoe in.  Now, this is the tricky part: use your ultraviolet lamp and eyeglass so you don't wake Her Majesty, and look very carefully at her face.  If she's frowning or sleeping restlessly, take him to the execution hall.  If she's sleeping with a slight smile, then get this fellow out very carefully without waking her and send him back to his regiment."

And if she's sleeping with kind of a neutral expression?  Or drooling with her mouth slack?  Or with a pillow on her head?  What do your protocols say then?  And what does the Army have to say about officers who disappear after visiting a certain palace in the capital?  Do they have to put up with losing their best and brightest young soldiers because some noble slattern only rated them a 4 out of 10?  The needs of this woman's nethers outweigh the needs of national security?

The talk of regiments raises a problem - Madison doesn't belong to one, which might imply that he's not a nobleman at all, and in fact a commoner that they'd have to kill for daring to touch royalty. Thinking fast, our h... the character the narration is following declares that he's a Knight of Columbus.  The guards accept this in that they don't kill him, but they're still not happy with Madison.

The guard gave the chain a yank and Madison, not expecting it, flinched back.

The guard pressed the button in the handle.

It felt to Madison that his neck had been sawed through!  It wasn't an electric shock, it was a tearing sen­sation.  Awful!

Not all-caps, "I just saw THE COUNTESS KRAK through a window" awful, but still, ouch!  Though not nearly as bad as all the electroshock "therapy" those accursed psychologists put him through, rewiring his brain through raw voltage, twisting his... oh, wait.  No comparison to Madison's history with electricity.  No moment of him being reminded of his past therapy, or scoffing at how weak this is compared to his treatments, or even getting all tingly with nostalgia.  The author prefers to describe characters through huge infodumps that take up whole chapters, not subtle things like their reaction to electricity.

Chastisement completed, the guard lead Madison out of the washroom without even giving him slippers to walk on the cold floors.

Madison gripped his head so it wouldn't fall off.

He followed.

Everything depended on the next few minutes.  He would be a dead man or a hero!

His idea MUST work!

Option one is that this chapter is profoundly stupid, with guards giving their prisoner literal cold feet, a migraine from electric torture, and severe performance anxiety from constant death threats, while still expecting him to give their "queen" a good time.  The other possibility is that this is meant to titillate.  Badly-written drama or badly-written smut, take your pick.


Back to Part Seventy-Two, Chapter Eleven

Forward to Part Seventy-Three, Chapter Two

Part Seventy-Two, Chapter Eleven - Two Hours of Madison Sitting in a Chair

Mostly exposition here, a chance for the author to develop Madison's character, or more specifically explain more of how psychology has twisted him into a sexual deviant.  The publicist is still in his chair, faced with an execution at dawn, or a similar doom if he goes to Teenie's bed.

He had been very well brought up: He had to be true to his mother at any cost, even his life.  Since he had been a baby it had been dinned

There's that word again.

into him that boys who did not sleep with their mothers were unnatural and it had been proven to him without doubt, even in his schools, where the word of the psychiatrist Freud was five times holier than God's. 

I thought those monstrous psychologists were teaching everybody that they had no souls and God was dead and all that?

Unless one had a firm Oedipus complex, expressing libidinous desires for one's mother, one could never hope to be a genius at his trade.  To abandon it would be a negation of his own wits.  Without this bright spark, according to all Freudian teachings, he would fall into crass mediocrity, descended to a mere hack or drudge.  There was no such thing, according to psychologists, as a genius who was not neurotic.  Without that genius--which Madison never doubted--he would die professionally.  Like all PR men, belief in him­self was the first thing one had to establish and only then could others believe in him.

I'd consider this whole section to be deeply ironic if I actually considered Hubbard anything close to a genius.  As it is, he got saddled with all the neuroses and none of the talent.

But his mother had reinforced it by continually reminding him of how indulgent she was.  After his father departed she had not burdened him with another whom he could only hate, and how very few mothers would bother to give a son this much attention.  His mother was a dear thing, still quite pretty at forty-nine.  When he thought of all the sacrifices she had made for him, foregoing all other men, the least he could do was reciprocate and forego all other women.  But it went deeper than that: completely aside from any Freudian orders from his child psychologist, made more real with mild electric shocks, he truly loved her.  She had warned him repeatedly of the dangers of other women, as had his current psychiatrist, and colliding in life with such heartless creatures as Teenie, he agreed with them utterly. 

Yeah, Teenie's a walking argument for contraception, if not voluntary human extinction

It would not only wreck him mentally to have sex with Teenie, it would break his mother's heart.  She would probably commit suicide, a thing she often had to be prevented from doing, and he knew, if that happened, he would promptly do the same.

No, to go up those stairs and get in bed with Teenie would be the end of all he knew.  Impossible!  That was out.  Better to die at dawn.  Far better.

Bless his heart, Madison's still convinced he'll be going back to Earth soon!  I'm sure most other characters in his situation would be considering their old lives over and be thinking of how to make the most of their new existence as... well, not prisoner, not exactly employed either, since they aren't being paid... huh.  How do you classify these two?  Hauled across the galaxy by a group that has decided to do jack squat with them.

Naturally, while reflecting on love and death, Madison starts thinking about Heller again.  The author's eager to blame psychology for this guy's incestuous tendencies, but offers no explanation for why Madison's fixated on finishing this job even though the original context has been completely torn away.

Madison recaps some of the previous books, his work with those three women to paint Wister/Heller as "the greatest outlaw lover in history," and shares his unrealized plans to have Heller/Wister rob the Federal Reserve before dying in "the biggest public execution man had ever known.  Wister would have been absolutely IMMORTAL!"  Oh, if only he had the opportunity to do Histler the same favor on Voltar!

He began to daydream in the dim and empty hall: headlines about Heller robbing the estates of Lords and giving the proceeds to the poor; Heller robbing spaceships, 18-point type; Heller kidnapping the daughter of some earl or duke and story after story of her pleading with him piteously to be raped--how the public would LOVE it!

I'm not sure Madison knows what "raped" means.

Headlines of Heller robbing every bank on every planet of the entire Confederacy, each one with a new twist, each one with new blood, each one with new staggering amounts of loot being given to the poor.  What a hero he would be!  Heller, the most hunted outlaw in 125,000 years!  Confederacy history!  MAGNIFICENT!

Now I'm curious how Madison's previous attempt to start WWIII over Heller fit into his obsession with bank robberies and not-rapes. 

Then he had another idea: He could hyphenate Heller's name.  He could call him Heller-Wister and rake in and rake over ALL the earlier stories, spreading them throughout the entire Confederacy.  No, his earlier work was NOT lost--it was only being amplified!

I'm pretty sure "back on another planet" is as good as lost, not "amplified!"

Madison continues to fantasize about Mr. Bury shaking his hand, tears in his eyes, and making him head of that F.F.B.O. publishing firm.  And then he gets morose, wondering if Bury might be able to punish him for his failure even here, since the man was "sort of supernatural."  This is an immensely strange and confusing thing to say, and of course the author doesn't bother to explain it.  But it's nice of him to sprinkle a little bit of "the hell?" on our sundae of stupidity.

Obviously, this required some other solution!

He was usually good at getting ideas and had always been proud that, because of the Oedipus complex, he was a genius at it.  But tonight his mind seemed bankrupt.

And we're back to our viewpoint character sitting around, desperately hoping for some INSPIRATION! to show him a way out of his current mess.  It's like we're in the middle of Book Seven all over again!

Fortunately Madison is less mentally deficient than Gris, and doesn't require weeks on a luxury yacht to get an idea.  Instead he realizes that two hours have passed since Teenie's presentation, redoubles his thinking, and mentally reviews his conversations with Teenie since meeting her by the pool.  Now, Hubbard could have mentioned that as a journa... ahem, as a guy paid to type things, Madison has a good memory when it comes to conversations.  It'd have added a sliver of verisimilitude, an acknowledgement that certain skills are useful in certain careers  But I guess even that would be giving Madison too much credit.

Suddenly he stiffened in his chair.

HE HAD IT!

Eureka!  Go to the room, punch the teenage girl in the jaw, and run for it!  ...Wait, you're thinking something different, aren't you?

If it didn't work, he would only be dead anyway.

IF IT DID, HE COULD FINISH HIS JOB ON HELLER-WISTER!

Hooray?

Madison looked up at the guard.  Calmly, keeping all signs of elation out of his voice so the guard would suppose him to be operating in defeat, he said, "Take me upstairs to your mistress."

OH, GOD, THIS HAD TO WORK!

And we're all... cheering for you, certainly invested in... and hoping for your success, yeah.  Go Madison.  Continue writing garbage about Heller.  Yaaaay.


Back to Part Seventy-Two, Chapter Ten

Forward to Part Seventy-Three, Chapter One

Part Seventy-Two, Chapter Ten - Teenie's Ultimatum

The party's over, all the stage stuff is put up, the manor staff assembles, and Madison knows his time has come.  And then he knows that oh, it's actually some "good-night" ritual, maybe they're not going to bathe in his blood after all.  Teenie declares her love for her humble servants, her maids get into a catfight - complete with "hissing and snarling" - over who gets to tuck her in, but Teenie resolves it and forgives them and everyone laughs and praises her and these people must have been absolutely desperate for something to do, good grief.  Never leave a bunch of bootlicks alone in a mansion without a proper noble to boss them around, otherwise there's no telling who they'll end up slavishly obeying.

Madison almost thinks he's gotten away with causing a rumpus, I guess?  But then a chamberlain reminds Teenie of her prisoner, so she decides to squeeze in a quick trial before bedtime.  See, Voltar is such an advanced and enlightened and better-than-Earth society that it still operates under separate legal codes for different classes of society - within his own palace, a noble has power of life and death over anyone of inferior rank who he feels has offended him.  So Teenie decides that Madison's pled guilty.

Madison said, "You haven't said what the sentence is!"

She was speaking in English again.  "Well, Maddie, I get all heated up conducting these classes; they sometimes bring me to the brink of (bleep) and I ache.  I've always wanted to break that fixation you have on your mother.  So you're sentenced to coming up to my bed­room and (bleeping) me until I'm all limp and satisfied."

"OH, NO!" screamed Madison,

C'mon, what about this is surprising?  The real miracle is that the author's let Teenie go this long without jumping on someone. 

and cringed back so hard his chains rattled.  Then he thought in quick streaks of blue light and inspiration hit him. 

Why blue?  Is the color significant?  Would red streaks of light produce different inspiration?

Stupid questions, but you're the one who brought it up, Hubbard.

Anyway, Madison tries to weasel out of sex with an underage girl by pointing out the over two hundred boys currently suffocating under the floorboards of the great hall, but Teenie explains that they're all so damn infatuated with her that if any of them actually succeeded in bedding her, "the rest would be so jealous of him they'd slaughter him!"  Plus she's trying to keep them catamites, remember, and the author's brain can't seem to handle the notion that someone could be sexually attracted to more than one gender.  So Madison points out that the mansion staff seems to love her, but alas, they're commoners, so if they're caught (by who?) in bed with her they'll be executed, because.

I can only assume regular elevation of new breeding stock to the nobility is how the empire has managed to avoid the whole "chinless imbecile emperor who keeps trying to mate with the furniture" situation.

Madison was shuddering to the depths of his soul.  "No," he pleaded.  "The answer is no!"

Teenie smiled and it made him flinch.  He knew this wasn't all of it.

"All right," she said, glancing at her Mickey Mouse watch,

Disney, of all the people you've gone after in your zealous defense of public domain characters you "own," couldn't you have spared a moment for ol' L. Ron?  Disney vs. Scientology, now there's a fight worth paying admission for...

"just sit there and think it over. This guard captain has orders that if you don't come up to my room tonight, then, straight up sharp at 6:00 A. M. you are to be taken to the dungeons and executed with an electric axe. So if you change your mind, your guard here will have orders to bring you up to my room, no matter the hour."

Her motor's running and ready to go, but she's willing to wait all night just so Madison will be the one to hit the gas?  Y'know, maybe that was a bad metaphor.

She gave him a little mocking wave and turned away.

The staff insisted that she sit on a little silver seat with handles as she might be too tired after her long evening to walk up the stairs, and they bore her off, up the golden steps and out of sight.

So here's this chapter's cliffhanger: Madison has been given an ultimatum to "betray" his mother and engage in some statutory rape, or he'll be killed.  Now, most of what we've seen of Teenie in general, not to mention those last few paragraph in particular, has given us little reason to like her, and good reason to root for any wild boars that might consider making her a snack.  Madison, meanwhile, is a character that even Gris-as-narrator looked down on, so we've gotten good as disliking him.

So, my good author, why should we the reader care what happens next?  Why is Madison's survival or "faithfulness" to his mother of concern to us, when you've spent considerable effort making him an unappealing character?  Why should we worry that he won't be able to convince Teenie to work with him when we'd be happy to drop her down a handy pit?

I think the logic behind Mission Earth's cliffhangers is that readers are eagerly turning the page in hopes the guy will fall.


Back to Chapter Nine

Forward to Chapter Eleven

Part Seventy-Two, Chapter Nine - Teenie Reminds Her Audience That They Are Not Dead

This part of the story was later assembled by Monte Pennwell, yes?  I wonder why he felt the need to go into such detail about what Madison saw during Teenie's "demonstration." (editor's note from the future: oh, it'll all make sense by the end of Book Ten)

No, Teenie's not done.  She gets out a new diagram and asks for another (virginal) volunteer, a sixteen-year-old in a rainbow-colored garment identified as the son of Lord Snor, who you'll remember is in charge of HomeView.  And that's how the kid is referred to for the rest of the chapter: "the son of Snor."  Hubbard couldn't be arsed to switch out a letter and call him Fnor or Stor or something.

Madison of course goes nuts, valuable resource, Teenie and her "INFLUENCE!", must think of something, the same things we've been reading over and over again for this torturous sequence.  Meanwhile Snor Jr. swears his eternal allegiance to this strange alien monarch.  Then our good friend Too-Too is brought out, the orchestra starts up a "hard and sexy rock beat," and Teenie's next lesson begins.

The diagram shows the human... Voltarian sphincter muscle, which of course performs a very important function, albeit one not to be discussed in polite company.  

She turned and fixed them with her eye.  The music pounded and the lights pulsed.  "Now, if this muscle were NOT under your control, it would be disaster, right?"

"Right!" they chorused back.

And pretty gross.

"IT IS THE MUSCLE OF LIFE AND DEATH!" cried Teenie.

They stared at her with awe.

"When people die," she cried, "it lets go!"

A gasp of horror rose above the beating music.

"Therefore," cried Teenie, "an active sphincter muscle is a sign of life!" 

Can't argue with that logic.

She drew herself up sternly and called, "Is yours active?"

The crowd of catamites and catamite initiates responded with an emphatic "YES!"

Teenie shouted, "Then you LIVE!"

Cheers racketed around the hall above the beat of music.

Looking back over Mission Spork, I realize that I missed a few opportunities, such as keeping a running tally of how many aspirins were consumed over the course of reading and reviewing these books.  Whatever that number is, it just went up.

Teenie has more - not only can a muscle in your body be controlled by you, but this sphincter muscle in particular can be trained to "go round and round!"  This sounds as reputable as the rest of Hubbard's science, but honestly?  I'm not inclined to research the matter.  So sure, whatever, humans can develop an Amazing Rotating Anus.

Since her audience cannot believe such a wonderful thing could be possible, Teenie naturally is going to have Too-Too give them a demonstration with the help of Snor Jr.  Madison suddenly starts a commotion, shrieking "No, Teenie, no!"  I'm not sure why he's trying to disrupt the "INFLUENCE!" Teenie has over these critically important government pages, or why he's trying to put his foot down now.  I think the author decided someone needed to object to these events, so it wouldn't sound like he was suggesting big gay underage sex shows were a good thing.

Or maybe it's a form of self-censorship?  Madison's guard snarls for him to be quiet and brings out his axe, coincidentally blocking Madison's view of the stage with an electrified chopamajig.  Madison wiggles in his seat to get a better view - he's horrified by this, just not enough to stop actively trying to watch it - but all he can see is the look on Snor Jr.'s face while Too-Too's sphincter works its magic.

Sometimes I look back on what I've just typed and have a little existential crisis.

When Too-Too's demonstration, ahem, finishes, the audience is so worked up that Teenie throws off her cloak and commands them to "HAVE AT IT!"  Cue the big gay underage orgy.

They gave a thankful shout!  Behind the ropes they fell upon one another like wolves in heat.  The music and marijuana and the tableaux, the pulsing colored lights, had driven them mad with lust that no longer could be restrained.

The air above the roped-off areas was a sudden explosion of castoff jackets and other clothing.

The floor behind the ropes began to sink and with it went the sound of savage music and the lights, the stacks of sweetbuns and sparklewater and the cries of the boys.

A second floor slid over and the crowd was gone.

So even though the room's floor can sink into a neat little depression, they still wheeled in a stage for Teenie to work from.  Also, where does the floor go?  Does the place have a basement, or a little storage area?

Whatever.  Now Teenie's show is over, which is good.  Unfortunately, Teenie's still up to her antics, so as I said last time we're not quite done with her yet.


Back to Chapter Eight 

Forward to Chapter Ten

Part Seventy-Two, Chapter Eight - Teenie Flexes Her Muscles

So Teenie just got on stage and poked a kid's happy buttons until he made a mess in front of his peers.  That really ought to be enough for this scene, but nope, the author isn't done yet.  Teenie thanks her audience for paying attention thus far and continues her lesson.  Madison is so baffled that he lumps several thoughts together in the same paragraph.

Madison blinked.  She certainly taught a very unorthodox class!  What more could there possibly be to this after TWO (bleepulations)?  He knew she could be taken in hand and educated in good presentation.  She had achieved a program peak with "Long Live Your Majesty."  There couldn't be anything more.  Then he wondered why he should be so anxious to be tried and probably executed.  He must think of something!

I'm not sure where the "trial" threat came from, as I'm under the impression that Madison was instead in danger of being murdered by angry servants for insulting their "queen."

Teenie offers her class "a moment's relaxation" and breaks out the marijuana, proving how juvenile delinquency, sexual activity, and drug use are all linked.  To aid in the relaxation, Teenie has the band strike up some "ROCK AND ROLL!"  Yes, she had a bunch of cassettes in her luggage and taught the aliens to play an old favorite by a certain English group, adding the Beatles to the list of things ruined by association with L. Ron Hubbard.  At least he doesn't specify which song.

While everyone else is rocking out, Teene's test subject returns looking pleased, shortly followed by her two assistants, who are still adjusting their clothes.  Some big winks and "ok" hand gestures are used to spell out what happened offscreen.  And then, because ruining one musical legend wasn't enough, a male vocalist gets on the stage, starts gyrating his hips, and croons along to a tune supposedly inspired by Elvis Presley. 

Oh, a soldier's life is the life for me,
Tuma-a-diddle, tuma-a-diddle, paw-paw.
In camp and plain, I'm always free
To tuma-diddle, tuma-diddle, paw-paw.
No women ever spoil my view
With tuma-diddle, tuma-diddle, paw-paw.
They're always wanting something new,
Not tuma-diddle, tuma-diddle, paw-paw.
For it is the men that I enjoy
To tuma-diddle, tuma-diddle, paw-paw.
The best there is, I find, is boy!
Oh, tuma-diddle, tuma-diddle, paw-paw.

Yes, it's not just Space Elvis singing awful lyrics, it's Child-Molesting Space Elvis.

The enemy I do not mind
If tuma-diddle, tuma-diddle, paw-paw
Can go on in my behind
With tuma-diddle, tuma-diddle, paw-paw,
And if my bunkmates all are kind
With tuma-diddle, tuma-diddle, paw-paw.
Surrounded by ten thousand (bleeps)
That tuma-diddle, tuma-diddle, paw-paw,

Wait, you changed the rhyming scheme.

All passionate and hard as rocks
To tuma-diddle, tuma-diddle, paw-paw,
Eager to slide in my buttocks
And tuma-diddle, tuma-diddle, paw-paw!
So (bleep), (bleep), (bleep) and (bleep) in me!
Tuma-diddle, tuma-diddle, paw-paw.
And let me (bleep) and (bleep) in thee
With tuma-diddle, tuma-diddle, paw-paw.
Oh, what a love-ul-lee Arm-eee!
With its tuma-diddle, tuma-diddle,
OH! BOY!

So, uh... now that Elvis, and the army, and homosexuals have all been... satirized?  Well, that's still not enough for this chapter.  Teenie gets up, the spotlight comes on, and she tears off her military outfit, stripping down to a thong, extremely short jacket, and the "PHALLIC SYMBOLS!" painted all over her body.  So what, are we talking ♂'s?  Or just doodles of dongles?

Whatever they are, Teenie's audience, who is of course gay and therefore disinterested in her nearly-naked form, is absolutely spellbound by her suggestive temporary tattoos.  Especially when she starts contorting her muscles to make those tattoos dance.  Y'know, much how like straight guys appreciate footage of women when projected onto a man's naked, flexing ass.  Then she starts strutting around, tossing a baton, and the crowd emits "SCREAMS OF ECSTASY AND APPLAUSE," while Madison is impressed by both the "muscle dance" he just saw and Teenie's showmanship.

She certainly held these boys in her palm.  Their attitude toward her was expressed in their adoring eyes.  If he could only get her to listen to reason.  This was a juggernaut of influence to be channelled!

I think "influence" is the new "leverage."

But she certainly must be finished now, and any moment she would come over and say "Off with his head!" and he never would be able to bring Heller the fame to which he was entitled.

You'd never be able to take out an insurance policy on a motorcycle, either.  There's actually a pretty long list of things you can't do without your head.

A tear coursed down Madison's cheek as he thought how brutal life really was.  The plum was almost within his grasp and yet he sat here starving.

You could always go back to Hisst, see if he's on a different drug and more agreeable to your terms.  Just sayin'.

Then he sat up with amazement.  This program had even more to it!  But it couldn't have!  Not after that climax!

So after having a young female character - one he repeatedly emphasizes is underage and undeveloped - fondle boys only slightly older than her, then get up on a stage and perform more sex acts in front of an audience, then give an allegedly erotic dance, the author still isn't done yet!  Maybe he thinks he hasn't sufficiently made his point, whatever that is.  Or maybe he thinks that the plot requires more underage sex, even though this is all a subplot to allow the main plot to get started due to an artificial obstacle.

At any rate, this crap goes on for another thirty pages.  If there's a particular brand of liquor you use to get through this, you may want to stock up over the weekend.


Back to Chapter Seven 

Forward to Chapter Nine