A Future We'd Like to See 1.5 - Rebel Without a Spine By Twoflower (Copyright 1993) "Well, um, what safety features does it have?" I asked, fidgeting on my spot in the Used Warpcycle Dealer's showroom. "Safety?" the dealer laughed vigorously, a spot of droll getting on his clean dress shirt. "My friend, if you're worried about safety, you don't want a warpcycle." "Maybe you're right," I said. "I mean, this was sort of a spontaneous thing. I figured I had the cash, and-" "How about this," he jumped in with. "I give you the deflector shield for small spacebound particles, the vac suit, the helmet, the whole works, and I'll also wire on an bungee cord or something to keep you from flying off when travelling faster than light. Howzzat?" I didn't like the sound of it at all, to tell the truth. I mean, this is me, Wendell Stibbly, balding accountant out of HappiWerld, the safest planet to grow up on. I mean, the group that originally settled it used stock episodes of 2-D shows like Leave it to Beaver and My Three Sons to plan it. The Republican party has its headquarters there. Would I, a cautious, twitchy accountant, normally buy a warpcycle? Of course not. But recently, while standing outside my office building trying to hail a cab, a group of teenagers in a HUGE-wheeled land rover zoomed by, splattering water on me from a puddle. They roared away, laughing like, well, happy kids. I realized that I really did miss the wild, rebellious days of my youth where I returned library books late, showed up to class tardy three times, and even wrote "Mr. Hodgepotter is a Weiner" on the bathroom wall in magic marker. Wow. I was such an uncontrollable punk back then! So, you, (meaning me in the literary term), Wendell Stibbly, have no social life now, as pointed out by kids you out-age many a year. So I liquidated my assets and funds, draining my Swiss bank accounts and consolidating loans and the like, and set out to take up the most dangerous, carefree lifestyle that exists : being a warpcycle gang member. I thought it'd be easy. Step one, buy a bike. Step two, find a gang. Step three, join the gang. Step four, take off for excitement, adventure, fast women, fast money. I was quite looking forward to the fast women part. When was my last date? It was with Sheryll from Public Relations, if I recall. She went to the bathroom at the movie theater in the middle of the movie, hailed a cab and burned rubber for the next state. "So, ah, what speeds does this bike have?" I asked the dealer. "Well, you've got yer standard warp speed," he said, "Plus impulse for light maneuvering." "Is that fast?" "Well, no. We've also got options packages that can propel you past the speed of plaid, slip you through hyperspace, break the fabric of space and time, move you eight dimensionally, and such." "Okay, I'll take those." "What, all of them?" "Well, it's got to be fast," I said. That was important, if I recall from the holomovies I saw to research this venture. Fast bikes are important. "We've also got this DAT player option." "Sounds good." "And a five year warranty." "Great." "Extra chrome and a flame job done by a galactically respected artist." "Terrific." "We can make the engine casing out of gold." "Okay." "Plus you can spend another thousand credits for no reason whatsoever." "Neat." "You'll never regret this purchase, my friend," the man said, shaking my hand at richter 4.5. "Truly a bike among bikes." * I stumbled into the spaceport bar, gasping and wheezing, clawing for the counter but falling short by three inches. Lucky I had my special helmet with lightning insignia on or I might have gotten a concussion. "What can I do you for, sport?" the waitress behind the bar said, clicking and chewing a wad of gumlike material and adjusting the headband at the base of her green ears. (Gosh, a Ytt. You don't see many aliens on HappiWerld. Sure, you see them in the holos, but... am I rambling? Never mind.) "Aspirin," I coughed, shaking. "And valium if you have any." She turned around, pumped on a few levers on the Pill-o- Matic(tm), and dropped one yellow stub and two white chalky things on my napkin, plus a glass of mountain spring water. I gulped all of them down (the pills) and gurgled the water. "What hit you?" the waitress pondered, absent-mindedly polishing the bar with a rag from a plaid shirt. "Oh, nothing, nothing," I said, trying to calm down. Good lord! The speed... one simple tap of the accelerator and I was screaming out of the atmosphere! It only took two seconds to reach orbit! I even had to turn around because I OVERSHOT the spaceport! And landing. Yeek. There's an image, or rather, collection of images in rapid succession I won't soon forget. The harrowing turns, wild 180s, frantic scrambles for the brakes and the thud as the magnetic locks took the bike from about 30 MPH to 0 MPH. Lucky I had those extra seatbelts attached, although I might not be able to properly digest solid food for a day or two. Well, step one was over with. I'd get used to the bike eventually. The next important thing was joining a gang. "Think you got enough glitter on that suit, flyboy?" the waitress said, dishing coffee out to the other bikers. I glanced over my own spacesuit. I had tried to get the best one available, that being defined as the most expensive one. If in a strong light source, the glare and reflection off the sequins and gold lightning bolts could blind a man, however. It's a good thing bar lighting is normally quite dim. "It was quite expensive," I commented. "Must have been. Tinfoil is rising in price every year," she laughed. "Actually, tinfoil trade has been down this year on the Dow Jones. I wouldn't recommend it as a worthwhile or safe investment if you plan to hold your stock for a long period of time." "I was joking." "Oh." "You don't seem the biker type," the green waitress said. "More like an accountant." "Well, I was an accountant," I said. "But, well, it's not that good of a job." "Why is that?" "Well, you sit in an office all day, don't really get to travel, and kids laugh at you." "So you're a biker now?" "Yes." "That's a bit of a leap, isn't it?" "Err, yes. Look, is there a gang around looking for new members?" I asked, looking about the bar. There weren't very many people around, and most of them were drunk and/or asleep at the bar. "They don't exactly advertise, pal," she said, pouring me a coffee. "You don't 'join' a gang. They either walk up to you and say, 'you're in.' or you're not. What are you doing with that notepad?" "I'm writing this down," I said, scribbling. "Walk up... got it." "You're... taking NOTES?" I blinked, looking up. "Is this bad?" "Well, I guess there's no rule against it, but I know of a few bikers that can't even read." Before I could inquire about the illiteracy rate of warpcyclists, the door burst open (something about bars dictates that they have to 'burst' open. Go figure) and a massive Ytt plodded in. Everything about the guy screamed 'BIKER!'. Leather jacket, boots, helmet with two ear-hole cutouts and a white skull decal, and even an eyepatch to complete the picture. What I assumed was his gang followed in after him, which seemed to match the biker stereotype a bit less. First of all, they were dressed somewhat casually, no leather or chains anywhere. Well, a few of them had leather jackets, but that's it. I counted five total in the group. I'm quite good at counting. "The usual, Bruno?" the waitress shouted to the ringleader, who was busy trying to squeeze his partially muscle, partially cellulite, mostly huge form into a both with the rest of his comrades. "Yah, that'll work," he grunted back. The waitress nodded and began mixing multicolored fluids. "Hi there. Mind if I sit here?" I asked the leader. "Yes." "Okay," I said, turning to walk away. "Come on, Bruno, lighten up," the female Ytt hanging to his shoulder said. "Here, plop it down on the end. It's a big booth." Bruno gave the girl a look of protest, but she didn't seem to be paying much attention. "Nice suit," a shortish purple Murfle commented, trying to avoid looking at it directly. "S'bit blinding thou, isn't it?" "Well, I'm hoping to get it dirty sometime soon," I said. "Sort of reminds me of my grandma's jelly desserts," a Saren sitting next to the Murfle said, sucking down pretzels from the complementary bowl. "Doesn't look a thing like jelly," the Murfle said. "I know. I meant the foil she wrapped 'em in." "So, what do they call you, stranger?" the girl said. "Err, Wendell. Wendell Stibbly." "No, I mean your handle. Nickname. Alias. You know." "Ummm..." Dangerous. Pick something nasty and dangerous. "I'm the Sinister Evil Nasty Dangerous Laughing Demon of Death." The gang seemed noticeably silent. "Wendell for short," I added. "Well, then, hello there Wendell. Mine's Adell, this here's Bruno, as you now--" Bruno grunted. Adell continued. "Purple guy's named Paddington, and our Saren friend here is Third." "I have a big family," Third said. "Full name's John the Third." "You'll have to excuse Bruno's grunting," Adell said. "Someone parked in his favorite parking space outside." "Yeah," Bruno grumbled. "Had that space since I started this lousy career. Never used another. Someone with a big, shiny, overly chromed bike took it before I got here." "Oh, that's mine," I said, before realizing the stupidity of the statement. Bruno paused, information sinking in. "You... parked... in... my... space?" he said, adding in enough vocal pauses to instill exactly the right amount of terror. "Whoa. Bruno, chap, calm down," Paddington said, standing up on his booth seat to attempt to get more height. "It's just a space. S'not anything to get into a tiff about." "It's MY space!" Bruno roared. "This... this... whoever this is--" "Wendell." "This WENDELL has DESECRATED it!" he finished. "You might want to consider running," Adell said, attempting to hold the man twice her size back. "It's been nice talking to you, really." Knowing a good idea when I heard one, I promptly attempted a heroic dash of cowardice across the room, leaping over tables and diving through the door to safety. However, since my foot tripped over my briefcase I had set down on the floor, I instead flopped forward, fists that were clenched in terror now connecting with Bruno's stomach before I hit the tiles. Bruno seemed more surprised than hurt by the sucker-punch, brief looks of panic, befuddlement, alarm, confusion, anger, and finally amusement passing over his face. "This chrome suited jockey's got guts," Bruno laughed. "He parks in my sacred space, then tries to deck me. I like that." "You do?" I wheezed from the dusty floor. Bruno picked me up, proving that he does have more muscle than fat, and set me somewhat gently on my feet. "You're a brave guy, Wendell. I could use brave guys. Whaddya say? Care to join up and tour with us for awhile?" Step three! My plan WAS working. "I'd be happy to, Mr. Bruno." "Just Bruno. What are you doing?" "Yes, quite right. I'm writing that down in case I, um, forget," I said, scribbling madly, then capping my pen and dropping it back into the briefcase. * The gang's bikes were parked outside the cafe, in a line near my own bike. Mine seemed shinier and neater-looking than theirs, but the other bikes were clearly built to be ridden, not to be looked at. "Alright guys, next stop's Port Liberty for some provisions," Bruno said, twiddling with some buttons on his bike. "Set yer navpanels to--" "How do I do that?" I asked. "Do what?" "Set a navpanel." "You don't know?" Paddington said, in disbelief. "How the heck did you get here and land without dying painfully without any navigational backup?" "Well, I just sort of turned it on and flew here. And landed, too," I shrugged. "See?" Bruno laughed, slapping me on the back. "The guy's got guts! Actually flew and landed without any computer support! Maybe doesn't have much brains, but he's got guts." "Here, lemme handle that," Adell said, dismounting and walking over to my bike. "Twiddle these knobs 'till the numbers match up, then this button locks it in. Head towards the green dot on your windshield and thing'll be okay." I nodded, and put my helmet on. I turned on the bike, power cells silently whirring to life, prepping the engines and turning on the oxygen/deflection shields. Of course, I couldn't hear the silent whirring over the grinding cacophony the other bikes busily produced. "Okay, we launch on three," Bruno shouted through his shielding and helmet. One--" I never heard two or three, on account of my bike screaming out of the hangar and shooting off into space. * After covering about a light year at some demented mixture of warp speed and hyperspace, I managed to hit the brakes and yank the thing to a stop. I instantly regretted it. Space travel isn't something I mind, but travelling without the comfort of a steel shell around you is a totally different sensation. Somewhat like being suspended in the middle of an empty, infinitely large fishtank whose owner likes to paste black paperboard to the sides. The spacetravelling equation states that infinity = nausea, and since all I had in my stomach was some aspirin, valium, coffee, and water, the resulting mix probably wasn't going to be very fun at all. Fortunately Third warped up right next to me a second later, giving me something to concentrate on other than the void. Third tapped the side of his helmet. Confused, I repeated the motion, accidentally discovering the radio switch on the side of my head. "Something tells me you paid a great deal of money for that bike," Third crackled over the radio. "A lot, yes." "Fastest damn thing I've ever seen, including my Aunt Mae sprinting for the buffet table," Third said. "The rest of the gang's still trying to catch up. Bruno's practically exploding with excitement for reasons he's not mentioning, and Adell's starting to worry about his mental well being." "How do I, ah, slow it down a bit so the rest of you can keep up?" "Well, what speed's it at now?" "I don't know!" "See the button marked SPEED? Press it." "Ah. Says it's in hyperspace-warp-overdrive." "Phreeeow. That's fast. Kick it down to normal warp with the switch next to that, unless you enjoy showing up at our destination and hanging out for two hours while we catch up." Paddington warped in next, shortly followed by Adell riding behind Bruno. Bruno served as a good view obstruction for Adell, but the female Ytt didn't seem to mind. "Boyo, how much cash did you dish over for that bike?" Bruno radioed. "I haven't seen that much spent anywhere since that time I bought fifty thousand shares in DI Softcorp." "Aren't they those chaps who made the VOS game where you blast Nazis and demons from 'ell or something?" Paddington asked. "I could never get by that fellow that shouts 'Aufweidersen' and blasts you with two guns." "That bike is FAST, man," Bruno said, ignoring Paddington. "Just what we need." "Need for wot?" Paddington inquired. "The hovercycle runoff compo over at Qwang's!" Bruno shouted. "Did you see all the flyers two starports back? At the restrooms?" "Yes, but I used them for wot 'verybody else woz using them for. Bog rolls. Ever try wiping your arse with that magazine- type shiny paper? Ugh." "Wendell, you and that hyper-bike of yours are gonna get us all a little more food money for this month. Enough to buy all the tea in Columbia." "That's China. Columbia is for coffee," I corrected. "Whatever." * The line at the impromptu registration desk wasn't very long at all. Only four other gangs had signed on, each picking out their best bike/biker pair to enter. Apparently Qwang's was just an asteroid, and this was mostly a local contest. "Sure you can handle the bike, Third?" Adell said. "No problem," Third said. "I used to fly for the HAAFF. Both Inertias and the kinda bike Wendell here owns can do some really astounding things." "I don't believe it," Adell gasped. "You doubting my knowledge of mechanics?" "No, that you used to fly in the HAAFF. I mean, your family's rich and all, wouldn't that be a little beneath you?" "Well... I sort of ran away from home to join at age seventeen," Third muttered. "Seemed like fun. Was, too, before I realized six minutes after joining that you stand a good chance of not surviving for your second tour of duty." "Come on, Adell," Bruno said. "You know it ain't kosher to ask a biker 'bout what they did in the old days. Wendell, please stop taking notes." "Hmm? Sorry," I said, putting the pad away. "Just curious," Adell shrugged, as we advance in line to the front. "Name of biker?" the bored-looking waiter said. Apparently Qwang was using his own diner staff as the racing staff. "Third," Third prompted. "Bike type?" "Harley Model 56000," I prompted, remembering the sales pitch told to me only earlier today. "Eh?" the waiter said. "You don't look like the type who has enough money for one of those, Third." "Well, I don't. It's Wendell's bike," he said, pointing me out. "Rules state that only the owner of the bike can enter with his bike," the waiter read off a sheet in a perfect monotone. "You can't mix and match." "Okay," Adell said, "So we enter Third on his own bike." "My bike, quite frankly, sucks," Third said. "All of our bikes do except Wendell's, and judging by the competition, they could outrun us easily." "Okay, we enter Wendell," Bruno concluded. "Doesn't Wendell get a say in this?" I prompted. "Don't panic, Wendell my boy," Bruno said. "It's real easy. You just point it and it goes. Just that it goes really fast." "But I haven't even steered the thing once since I got it!" I protested. "I just turned it on and then off occasionally." "It's a drag race. No need to steer," Bruno said. "Just do what comes naturally. Ah, they're ready to start. Hop on." "This is all moving a bit too fast for me--" "You get used to it, mate," Paddington laughed, as my bike was pushed into position by Adell, Bruno, and Third. I guessed I'd kill myself if I tried riding it into position on my own. I quickly fired up the engines and got the bike ready to go. A slightly-bored waitress walked to the side of the track, where I and about four other dangerous-looking guys were lined up in equally dangerous suicide machines/ "Okay, on three," she shouted other the roar of the other four engines and the warm purr of mine. "One, two, three--" I tapped the accelerator, causing space and time to blur momentarily. I lifted my finger from the gas button, and found myself back in the void, Qwang's merely a glowing dot in space behind me. I hoped that the others hadn't zipped by me already, because going to dead stop in the middle of a race isn't a good way to win. Shrugging, I put it into normal impulse and cautiously flew the five-minute trek back to the asteroid. * I saw quite a few open-mouthed stares aimed at me as I landed/crashed near where I had taken off. "Did I win?" I asked. "Win?" Paddington exclaimed. "The others were only halfway down the smegging asteroid when you shot by like a light wave! A chunk of the asteroid was torn off when your warp bubble slammed into it!" "Am I going to have to pay for that?" "Not if we don't mention it to anyone," Bruno whispered. "Attention all racers," said a busboy's voice over the PA system rigged up, "Please get in place for the final 2000 mile race." "2000 miles?" Adell asked. "Are these miles in a, say, linear fashion?" "Heck no," a parking valet said. "We've got this wicked figure-eight mobieus strip combo thing whipped up for it." "Steering?" I gulped. "Yup. Hope you fly as well as you, well, zoom," he said, before leaving. "This is not a problem," Bruno said. "All we gotta do is... umm..." "Got it," Paddington said. "No problem, I just program up 'is nav computer to follow along the track. All 'e'll have to do is turn 'is accelerator on, then turn it off. You're good at that, right?" "Err, yes. It seems." "'Course, might want to give him a siphon pipe to 'is 'elmet." "Why?" "Well, 'cuz at that speed and those angles in this slight- gravity bubble, it's gonna be stomach spewing time." "Adell, run into that drugstore and see if you can get some motion sickness pills," Bruno suggested. * "One, two, three-" Try to imagine your stomach, brain, lungs, spine, and various limbs all trying to travel in different directions at once, rapidly reconsidering what direction they want to go in ten times a second. Elongate that to about thirty seconds and you'll have a good feel for how the race went. I never saw the track, or the competitors. It was just one incredible, repetitive blur, fading in and out of hyperspace, or whatever incredibly risky scientific space that's been developed recently and built into my bike. I never got why people didn't just pick one kind of propulsion and stick with it. Fortunately someone had the thought to construct an incredibly strong shock-absorbing net at the end of the track. I ripped directly through it without slowing down, of course, which is why it was equally fortunate for someone to have installed a small horizontal gravity field behind it to finally stop the bike. I hopped off the speed machine from hell, and wandered back towards the competition area, where Bruno was already proudly hefting the winner's trophy over his head, to the scattered cheers and scowls of the audience. "The prize money is fifty thousand credits," Qwang himself said. The diner manager seemed a bit on the thin side, but had no other striking features. "Please hand me your credit chip so I can transfer it." "Wait, we gotta be fair," Bruno said. "Divide it evenly, ten thou for each of us. Guys, pass up your chips. You too, Wendell." After all the money was rationed, Bruno hustled us off to our bikes, and we sped off at normal warp. * "Why didn't we stay?" I radioed as the bikes shot along at a fast, but acceptable, speed. "I mean, I thought part of the fun of being a biker was the glory, money, ekcetera." "Yeah, but part of the not-fun is the guys who want to shake you down for cheating them out of prize money," Bruno replied. "What he means," Adell added, "Is that someone found out that we preprogrammed the track into your bike just as we got the prize. We're lucky we got away." An orange blast of energy ripped through the center of our formation of warpcycles. Turning my head around (but careful not to hit any buttons when twisting in a panic), I saw four bikes closing in, fast. "I don't think we got away," Third said. Two more bolts whizzed by, Bruno and Paddington evading as best as possible. Bruno cursed under his breath, then swung by closer to my bike. "Wendell, your bike's not armed, and Adell here isn't exactly helpful for maneuvering--" "Hey!" "It's the weight, Adell." "You saying I'm fat?!?" "Look, just hop onto Wendell's bike, will you?" Bruno radiopleaded back as the Bad Guys(tm) started to catch up. Bruno swung closer, his shield bubble interfacing with mine to give Adell room to jump onto my bike. She gave a sort of a shrug and hopped on (bumping into me in the process). This was the closest I had been to a female of any species since that date with Sheryll from Public Relations, and the bike wavered slightly before I got a hold of my nerves. "You two zip on ahead," Bruno said, swinging back into formation. "We'll join up with you after teaching these turkeys a lesson. Got your credit chips?" "Um, yeah." "Good. Get us some lodge rooms or something, we're probably going to have to stop for repairs afterwards. Off you two go." "Which button is it again?" I asked Adell. "Ahh crud," she grumbled. "Here, scoot over, let me pilot this thing." It took a bit of balance and defiance of the basic laws of physics, but somehow we managed to swap seats on the warpcycle. Adell's fingers quickly tapped in a code sequence, kicked the bike into the fastest speed possible, and space strained under the pressure of the engines as we shot onward. * After about three stomach-wrenching minutes of this (which didn't seem to affect Adell at all), we popped back into impulse in front of a particularly pleasant blue-green planet. "Terra," she said. "Haven't been here before. Have you?" "The mother of my race? The origins of man? The headquarters of the Terran Confederation? No, actually, I haven't. Spent all of my life on HappiWerld." "HappiWerld?" she mused as the bike went screaming through the atmosphere. (I found that the easiest way to handle bike travel was to just close your eyes no matter what you're doing.) "What were you doing on HappiWerld?" "Accountancy." "Go figure. I had you pegged as the real estate type. Okay, we're landing now. Hang on." I hung on. "Don't hang on to those parts." "Oh. Umm. Sorry." The warpbike slowed to a decent 160 MPH, continuing descent and deceleration (although really there's no such thing as deceleration, it's just a negative acceleration factor.) * "Hi," I said to the clerk, looking back to make sure the parking valet drove off with my bike in the direction of the garage. Never can be too sure about those red-jacketed fellows. "I'd like a reservation for, ah, five adults." "Will that be five separate rooms, two rooms one holding two and the other holding three, three rooms one holding one and the others holding two, five adjoining suites, two adjoining suites and three rooms, one extra large suite or would you just like to compact all five into the same room like sardines?" the clerk cheerfully responded. "Could you please repeat that?" "We'll take two rooms. Put a fold-out couch in one," Adell interjected. "Gotta keep costs down to a minimum. You'd be surprised how fast twenty thousand credits goes on homeworlds. Something about tax." Ah yes, there was Terra to deal with. I had seen it in a lot of holos, and I guess all humans are expected to know it like the back of their hand, but I was quite surprised when I landed. First off, it seemed that the entire east coast of North America was coated in urban sprawl. Since HappiWerld is 100% suburbs, this was a bit of a shock. I have no idea how she managed to pick out one city and hotel out of millions... maybe she's been here before with the rest of the gang. "How long before the others catch up?" "Oh, maybe an hour or two," Adell guesstimated. "The three of 'em are good dogfighters. They'll be fine." * "So if you call in right now," the holovision continued, 1- 8000 number flashing repeatedly at the bottom of the screen, "You can have not only the cubit-zirconium tennis bracelet, but also the hand crafted porcelain doll depicting a small boy being attacked by rotweilers AND the Juice Lion for only 29.95 TC credits! Hello, do we have a caller there?" "Yes," Adell said into the phone. "Did you know that you can get all three of those items at a garage sale for under five credits total?" "Ha ha, such an amusement, those callers," the HV host said, slapping the DISCONNECT button on a nearby phone. Adell dialed again. "Ah, we have another caller." "I'm gonna get you for that defective salad slicer I bought from you creeps," she said in a fake, whiny voice. "There's a bomb in your studio RIGHT now and it's gonna go off the minute I hang up." "EVERY SALESMAN FOR THEMSELVES!" the host screamed, running towards the camera. The camera fell to the ground, showing a now sideways view of panic and mayhem. Adell hung up, laughing. "Late night shopping can be such fun," she said, flipping through through 496 channels, looking for a call-in talk show. "It's been five hours," I commented, tapping my watch for the fifth time. "Aren't you the least bit worried?" "Of course I am," she said. "Yanking people's chains in front of five billion viewers is just my way of calming the nerves." I certainly was nervous. In the span of the last 12 hours I had spent my lifesavings on a warpcycle, almost crash and died twice, nearly threw up on three occasions, been shot at, and now was on the lamb from seriously angry bikers. And just yesterday I was busy filing reports and auditing clients. Maybe I wasn't cut out for this life. There seems to be actual danger involved, not just dastardly deeds and fast living as the holoflicks show. I could always return to accountancy. "How much would my bike sell for?" I asked Adell. "Considering it's undamaged and only been flying for a day, probably most of what you paid for it. Why?" "Well... I'm considering going home. Back to my old job." Adell laughed. "Naaah. You won't." "What?" "That's EXACTLY what Bruno said the first day he was a biker. 'Dammit Adell, this is too fast for me,' were his exact words. 'Let's go back home to mum and I'll stay a checkout clerk.'" "He was a CHECKOUT CLERK?" "Yeah. Go figure. Paddington was a systems analysist, Third was a fast food worker before joining HAAFF. You're not alone in the wimps-turned-scoundrels department." "And you were a secretary, I take it?" "No. Actually, I was a lion tamer." I blinked. "What, those little brown things with the long noses?" "No, those big yellow things with the gaping jaws. Bruno told my mum that he wanted to be a biker and cause great public mischief. 'Alright, but make sure your older sister tags along to keep you out of trouble,' she said. Very open minded, my mum is." "You're brother and sister?" I asked, confused. "Yeah. Didn't you notice the family resemblance?" "Well, I figured it was the Bike Gang Leader and his Hench Wench situation, like in the movies." "Life isn't anything like the movies, Wendell. The boy doesn't always get the girl, the hero doesn't always thwomp the evil wizard Foozle, and--" "And the good guys don't always win against all odds," I interjected, remembering our current situation. "Yeah," Adell said, a look of worry assuming its position on her green face. "What'll we do if they don't get back?" "Well... I try not to think about that, Wendell. I guess I'd just take my money and maybe hike back home or something. Maybe buy my own bike and look for a gang to hook up with." "Either way, I'm selling my bike," I confirmed. "This lifestyle is not for me." "That's exactly what--" "--yes, yes, what Bruno said once," I finished for her. * In my dreams, I was moving faster than the fastest speed one should be allowed to travel, running from a thundering horde of evil Nazi clan biker rapists, back home towards HappiWerld, where I was promptly run over by a large land rover filled with laughing kids. I really don't like symbolism, especially not when I'm trying to get a decent night's sleep. "Wake up, shiny suit," said a patronizing voice in my ear. I popped awake, getting the unpleasant view of the business end of a blaster as my wakeup call. "Eh?" "Took us awhile to track you down after finishing off your pals," the biker grinned. "Shame about them. Now, if you'd be kind enough to tell me where your credit chip is with the money you wrongfully won?" "Err, it's in my briefcase, I said, pointing to my prized leather attache leaning against the wall. "Where's Adell?" "Floyd's working her over in the bathroom to get the location of her chip," the man said. I briefly considered leaping to the aid of the damsel in distress, wrestling the gun from the man's hands and valiantly thwarting the evil bikers. But however stupid I might appear to others, I have more brains that to try a stunt like that. "What's the combination on this thing?" the man said, fiddling with the buttons and digital readout on the case. "And if I didn't tell you?" I prompted, holoflick reflex beating common sense to the buzzer. "I'd blast it open." "Wouldn't that melt my chip?" "Hmmm. Hadn't thought of that." A green finger tapped the man on the shoulder. "Hey." The man turned around, and Adell laid one of those punches that is normally accompanied by a white flash on the holoscreen neatly on his jaw. The man physically soared into the air a bit before crashing against a nightstand. "Ow," she said, rubbing her fist. "Remind me not to try that again." "What happened to the heroine not defeating her captors and breaking free?" I said. "Well, drama is acceptable in small doses," she said. "I think we ought to be moving along, I think there's another guy out the door." "Two, actually," said Yet Another Biker, entering the room with his partner, blaster drawn. Bruno simply mashed their heads together, as one might clap their hands. "Scratch two. You okay, sis?" "Oh, fine," Adell said. "Wendell here did all the hard work." "I did?" "See? The kid's got guts!" Bruno chuckled. "Third and Paddington are out parking what's left of our bikes. Gonna take a lotta that cash to get them repaired. We're lucky we had enough power to get here." "Any other teams of evil bikers on our rear?" I asked. "Naw. The others accepted defeat gracefully. Although I doubt I want to run into them again," Bruno said. "Come on, let's get a bite to eat and see about those repairs. Got another port to hop to in a few days." "Coming, Wendell?" Adell asked, as her brother left the room. "No. I can't stand this lifestyle. It's all going here and there at high speed, getting shot at, never staying in one place for very long. It's too much excitement for me, I'd much rather go home and file papers for the rest of my life," I completely failed to say. "I'm selling my bike, getting a shuttle home and settling down to find Sheryll from Public Relations, then to have three screaming kids and an ulcer before I'm fifty," I didn't add. "And what's more, I'm not hungry," I couldn't finish with. As I tried to pronounce each word, a large land rover with oversized tires and laughing kids kept running over my train of thought, splattering the puddle of doubt on my befuddled accountant of reasoning. My life as of yesterday was dull, empty, and meaningless. Today had more entertainment packed into it than fifteen years of my old job. You only get one life. "Screw it," I said. "Let's go grab a burger."