LNH: Dvandom Force #43 "Writing Chance 1: Born Yesterday"
Dave Van Domelen
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#43 - Writing Chance Part 1 : Born Yesterday
copyright 1995 by Dave Van Domelen
=============================================================================
[cover shows a cracked and faded picture of an unknown superteam,
with five of the members in deep shadow and four in the foreground.
An eleventh figure is obscured by a gloved thumb, the picture is
being held in someone's hand. Cover copy: "At last! The true
SECRET ORIGIN of SIG.LAD! Honest this time! No Kidding!"]
=============================================================================
In Sig.ago, many months had passed since the CheeeZeppelin had reappeared
at its mooring post downtown, and to the amazement of the residents, those
months had passed quietly.
Well, not exactly *quietly,* really. Better to say they passed in a way
that was no more eventful than the residents of the Spammy City were used to.
No giant robots marching down the street, no alien invasions (that anyone
noticed, anyway) and no highly destructive superhero battles. This last was
considered a good thing, since the city's Abandoned Warehouse District wasn't
up to code for such a large city, and it took all of that "free time" to expand
it properly, as well as move all important businesses outside a three block
radius of the Dvandom Force HQ. As was customary for the area around superhero
headquarters, space in those buildings was rented out at bargain rates to
aspiring stuntmen and disaster-relief specialists, for the plentiful
opportunities at practicing their trade. A sort of secondary economy sprang up
in the neighborhood, as these jaded thrillseekers set up restaurants,
laundromats, comic shops and other such necessary businesses to support the
residents of the very-probably-doomed buildings.
Hey, it worked. And between issues the tourist trade was quite brisk,
too. The locals joked that the biggest danger to the area's safety was posed
by weekend tourists from RAC.ine. They were right, of course, but that's
something for the *next* arc.
Um, drat. I seem to have written myself into an expositionary corner.
"Getcher plot bridges! Two-fifty plain, three bucks with cheeez!" shouted
a nearby vendor. Gotta love this secondary economy. Here's three bucks, dude.
"Sure thing, mister. See that store? It's being shaken down by the
Little Man's goons...whydontcha sic some of your heroes on them?"
Great idea. I've been meaning to get to the Little Man dangler
eventually, anyway.
Down the street, two figures shifted in their heavy winter-lining
trenchcoats which didn't quite hide their spandex outfits from normal view, but
since when to people have normal view in this kinda story? Anyway, they
shifted uncomfortably because it was a rather warm mid-February and they were
quite overdressed.
"So, you heard the plot-vendor?" asked one.
"Yep. Good thing the author forked out the extra fifty cents, I've been
looking for some action," replied the other.
With that, Sig.Lad and Cheeez Arrow threw off their trenchcoats (hey, CA's
rich, he can afford to clothe a few locals in this impromptu fashion) and
dashed into the indicated store. A few loud sound effects and a rather
nauseated "Uuurgh!" later (what, you think I'm wasting exposition on a fight
scene with thugs? Riiiiight), Sig.Lad was tying up the thugs and Cheeez Arrow
was apologizing to the store owner for getting Limbaugher (a particularly
noxious cheeez) on him.
"Okay, punk," threatened Sig.Lad, "Who's the Little Man, and where is he?"
"Yeah, right," the goon (no, not that kind) mocked. "Like I'm gonna be
scared by a candy-ass sooperhero with little antennae sticking out of his
forehead."
"Eh?" Sig.Lad felt at his forehead. Sure enough, the antennae he
manifested as Sig.Roach were starting to sprout. "Whoa, musta gotten angrier
than I thought," he muttered as he willed them to disappear.
The gunsel's reaction was to snicker.
Cheeez Arrow looked over and did a doubletake. "Um, Sig.Lad, shouldn't
you wait until after we have some information before playing Sig.lock?"
"Damn. These months of inactivity must have me out of shape. Still," he
picked up the mook with one hand as he took off the deerstalker cap, "that
doesn't mean I can't backhand you around the block, scumpuppy."
"Da Little Man's bigger'n you'll ever be, ya big red cheeez. And ya can't
stretch yer arms long enough ta exceed his reach!"
The (damn, I'm running out of synonyms) criminal's remark made Sig.Lad
realize his arm was now twice as long as normal and he was pressing the punk
against the ceiling. Disgusted, he tossed the, um, malefactor down with a
parting warning.
"Just tell your boss we're looking for him. And he *doesn't* want our
attention."
Not giving his verbal sparring partner time to engage in less-than-witty
repartee, Sig.Lad stormed out, Cheeez Arrow on his heels.
Once they had gotten out of sight around the corner, Sig.Lad slowed to a
normal pace.
"So, tag them both?" he asked.
"Yep," beamed Stan. "My special radioactive tracer Cheeez is all over
them, we should be able to track them from HQ anywhere within ten miles, twenty
miles if they stay upwind. Quick thinking, Sam...it's certainly preferable to
letting Kat try and get the information out of them. Um, so...."
"So...?"
"Was that little display of losing control intentional, to give the Little
Man a false impression of our being not at our best?"
"I wish. I *hope* it's just being out of practice, and not my powers
destabilizing again. I'd rather not have to choose between my health and
leaving the Sword of .Sig where it is, defending all of reality against the
return of the Multiversal Office Building [left there in Constellation #16 -
Ed]. Let's get back to the HQ, maybe I can get Doc Stomper on teleconference
and run a few tests."
* * * *
"How's it going, SM?" greeted Kid Macro. "Where've ya been lately?"
"A limited series, I think," replied the Deepsea Detective. "Hasn't been
written yet, you'll know what happened once it did, since you'll probably have
guest-shotted in at least one issue."
"Gah, I'm *still* not used to the way time works here."
"I'm a founder, and I'm not always comfortable with it, really. Anyway,
be on the lookout, it might be set after this issue too...still in the planning
stages. Where's Sig.Lad?"
"On the vidphone with Doctor Stomper, running some kind of tests. I
overheard something about 'instability' or something. Not like any of us are
stable if we're in this job."
Sidewinder stepped into the hall on hearing the conversation. "Sig.Lad
destabilizing? Damn!"
"Buh? Hey, where did you come from? Last issue you were still stuck on
RL-1!" claimed Kid Macro.
"Well, yeah, I woke up in Colum.bus (as opposed to Columbus) and rode out
here back in December. Guess the writer got lazy and decided to just say I was
back here [Um, yeah. - Ed]. See? Anyway, if Sig.Lad's destabilizing, that
could be Very Bad. Last time it happened was back in the Electrocutioner's
Song, when the Golden Age Acton Lord, disguised as me, zapped him with
something and then stuffed him in a teleporter/gene-scrambler device at the
LNHQ."
"What was the LNH doing with a teleporter/gene-scrambler device?" demanded
Kid Macro.
Sidewinder shrugged. "Hey, it had been moved out of the Plot Device room
by the prop guys when they were setting up the issue. These things happen.
Let's go see if we can offer some moral support in case he's really falling
apart again."
"And maybe Kat can come along and offer amoral support," Cheeez Arrow
quipped.
"I heard that!" echoed a voice from another room.
"Eep!"
* * * *
The mood was somber in the infirmary. The rest of Dvandom Force (except
for Bludwulf, who was busy tending the penguin) had gathered during Doc
Stomper's remote examination, and their faces reflected the bad news.
"Damn...looks like I'm falling apart again," said Sig.Lad, breaking the
silence.
"Well, look on the bright side. At least you're not being stupid and
keeping this to yourself for a dozen or more issues, letting yourself fall
apart when we could be looking for a cure," Squidman noted.
"So, do we go to the Multiversal Office Building to get you a Sword of
.Sig booster?" Kopikat asked.
"The risk is great, and the benefits in the end are none, for events have
conspired to render that avenue useless to you, Sig.Lad," came a voice from the
shadowed corner of the otherwise brightly-lit room.
"But more you cannot say, for you are a Stranger, right?" smirked Rotanna,
who apparently didn't care for the kind of hidden-motive mummery employed by
the trenchcoater.
"You are wrong, Rotanna. A Stranger I still am, yes. But more I *must*
say, for Sig.Lad's fate is a consequence of my actions in a former life, and I
have known always that one day I would be called upon to make amends for them.
Now, I will try to pay back part of that debt.
"You see, Sig.Lad, it is not you who have changed this time, it is the
nature of reality. In following Netlurker's desperate plan to save reality,
you may have doomed yourself...the Multiversal Office Building, while in a
quiescent state, is still alive. And in the restructuring shuffle required to
accomodate the infinity of new PluRealities created by Acton Lord, the Sword of
.Sig was carried 'farther' away from the Looniverse. The magicks within it
that stabilized you were expended far more quickly once it had to project them
over a greater interdimensional 'distance.' The enchantment placed upon it
by Merlin that helped you, while once powerful enough to last your entire life,
was drained in mere months. So, even were you to seek the Sword out, it can no
longer help you. Merlin himself is a capricious being, and now that you have
fulfilled the wyrd he placed on you, he may no longer feel obliged to help you.
Thus, it is important that you know your true origins, that you might have a
chance to cure yourself in the event the mage refuses to help...or is unable
to."
"Wait, I thought I was created from whole cloth by the Dvandom Dial, back
when you were Dial "D" for Dvandom!" protested Sig.Lad. "In fact, the whole
Bellerophon Gambit was necessary to fix that origin up post-Cry.Sig!"
The Stranger shifted uncomfortably, even though his trenchcoat was the
proper weight for the weather. "The Dvandom Dial was powerful, but not all-
powerful, Sig.Lad. It prefers to take beings who have been forgotten or
retconned away and revamp them, instead of creating 'from whole cloth,' as you
put it. Your background is tied in with that of the Net.astic Nine, a group
that has undergone so many retcons and time travel paradoxes that few even
remember their existence anymore. Let the sands of time be sifted with a
spatula and the story emerge...."
* * * *
MR. THINGY'S PERSONAL JOURNAL
Entry #154
The team was still reeling from the loss of over half our members at the
hands of the mysterious alien cyborg IMPLO [See Net.astic Nine #150, "Doom of
the Net.astic NONE!" - Dizzy Dave], and when Net.usa came to us for aid, I
suppose we can't be blamed for not noticing the possible drawback of adding
this former net.villain to our ranks, even temporarily.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. This morning I once more used the
Memory.thingy in an attempt to restore the time-lost knowledge of our former
teammates. In traveling back from the 26th Century where we had liberated the
world from the clutches of DeFacto V, we encountered a reality storm of
severity almost unknown to us...and we've experienced some fairly powerful
reality storms in our brief careers. The center of the reality storm was a
being named IMPLO, who sought to erase us from existence and partly succeeded.
We know we had five more members once, but none of us can even recall their
names to grieve for them.
After the session with the Memory.thingy, I was called to the roof by the
security systems, where I was joined by my three surviving teammates, The
Thingy, The Walking Argument and The !Visible Woman...my wife. Upon the roof
was a lone figure, one known to us from many previous battles: Net.usa.
It was obvious she wasn't there to fight, and I restrained Bob from
attacking her. Apparently she had had amnesia for the last several years, and
had been tricked into fighting alongside the Spamful Seven by MUDWizard's
wiles. But after our last encounter [Net.astic Nine #123, "The Spamful Seven's
Spacial Spoilers!" - Dusty Dave] her memory had begun to return, and now she
knew her heritage as one of the Net.humans, a lost branch of humanity possessed
of wondrous powers. So we accepted her as a probationary member over Jack's
objections. Leave it to The Walking Argument to object to something.
But the Spamful Seven wasn't about to lose one of their own to something
as trifling as a change of heart....
* *
"I'm so grateful you could look past my former deeds and help me, Mr.
Thingy."
"Please, Net.usa, we're all friends here. You can call me Fred, or Mr.
Franklins if you're not comfortable with my first name. And as long as we're
making introductions, The !Visible Woman is my wife, Florence Flame-
Franklins...."
"Call me Flo."
"Her kid brother Jack Flame is our own Walking Argument...."
"Bite me."
"Um, yes. Ignore his outbursts if you can, it *is* his power. And
finally, The Thingy also sometimes goes by Bob Grunion in public."
"Yeah, like I can go out in public with a face like this! When're ya
gonna come up with some kinda cure.thingy ta fix my ugly puss, eh genius?"
"Pleased to know you as more than foes. But...aren't there nine of you?
Where are the others? And why can't I remember who they are?"
"We...don't know either, Net.usa. We...lost...them in the timestream a
few days ago and many years in the future."
"I'm...sorry to hear that. Perhaps my people could help you find them?
We have many forgotten sciences and data-retrieval methods available to us,
left by our race's creators, the |<-r33. It is said they existed on the
earliest days of BBSes and know much that has been lost."
"Perhaps...Blue blazes! We're under attack!"
"It's those crummy Spamful Seven...and I see they brought Line-Lag Lou
along!"
"It's the Sapster now, Thingy! And my speed-sapping devices are even more
potent than before, as you can feel for yourself!"
"Moving...slower...but...not...so...slow...I...can't...do...this!"
"ARGH! My ears! Clapping his hands together with supersonic force is
making me...black...out...!"
"The fool disobeyed my orders to hang back. Still, I, the MUDWizard and
my companions still match you in numbers...and we more than overmatch you in
talent!"
"The day The Walking Argument's outclassed by a goon like you is the day I
let Bob win an argument! And I see you still wear stupid hats!"
"No! I will not let myself be drawn into your kind of fight, Flame!
Scanned Man, Captain Netcom...deal with that fool!"
. o O ( Must act fast, before Jack's overwhelmed! ) "Say, Captain Netcom,
have you seen the latest list of newgroups? Looks like a nice crop of well-
thought-out groups, even in alt.*!"
"You won't get me that easily, Mr. Thingy! Wait, did you say alt.*?
Well, maybe just a peek...AIE! No! That name makes SENSE! <faints>"
"Drat! Two of my forces downed, and none of yours even scratched! But
what is this? A child wandering conveniently onto the battlefield as if by Act
of Plot!"
"No, MUDWizard! Don't harm Richard...he's done nothing to you! This is
our fight!"
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! But he *has* done something to me! He's given me an
idea! Now, let Alt.chemist and Baron Umlaut combine their powers to wrap him
in unbreakable bonds!"
"Yes! I call upon the Neon Noodles of Net.torak to bind the child of our
foe until death does he part!"
"And I, the mighty Alt.chemist, do reinforce the bonds with the most
potent of elemental Threads!"
"NOOOOOO! Richard!"
"Don't lose your head, Flo! Project a !visible force field around our
son, to keep the bonds from crushing him!"
"Ya bum! Attackin' a kid ta get whut ya want!"
"And get it I will, Thingy. You will turn Net.usa over to us, Mr. Thingy,
or your son will die as soon as The !Visible Woman tires and lets her
concentration slip!"
"Fred...."
"I know, Flo. But can we hold our son's life over that of Net.usa's? Who
knows what they'll do to her once they find she's no longer evil? We'll just
have to find a way to save our son without betraying her trust."
"Yes, but if only she hadn't been knocked out by a piece of debris off-
panel, she might do something self-sacrificingly heroic?"
"Perhaps. And perhaps she would have surrendered herself only for us to
find the foul villains going back on their word...not that they have given
their word to let Richard live. NO DEAL, YOU MADMAN!"
"Yeah, geddoudahere before I tear yer guts out thru yer noses!"
"Empty threat, Thingy. We shall have our wayward member back, Mr. Thingy.
And in the meantime, it will warm my heart to know your own flesh and blood was
crushed to a pulp...and it was ALL YOUR FAULT! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Come, gather
up Sapster and Netcom and let us away!"
"Now what, oh fearless leader! You gonna let my little coz get mooshed
over your damned principals?"
"Quiet, Jack, I need to think. Wait...it's a slim chance, and untested at
that, but it might be just the thing!"
"What, darling? <unnnf> I can't hold this much longer...."
"It's something I've been researching in an attempt to give myself inborn
powers, the result of a pre-WWII research project foiled by agents of Schwa
Khan [See "Deadly Coincidences" by Sue D'Nimme for the classic tale to which
Fred Franklins refers! - Dippy Dave]. The Super Molder Serum! It would give
Richard the ductile qualities needed to escape these bonds. But...."
"But what? And why haven't you used it yourself yet?"
"It's unstable, Jack. He might become a puddle of goo and never reform."
"Yeah, well, he's gonna be a puddle a' goo in any case pretty soon, so go
get th' stuff!"
"Yes, Bob...it's the only choice. I only hope he can someday forgive
me...."
* * * *
"Ow. Did people ever really talk like that?" asked Kid Macro, clutching
his head.
"No. But comicbook characters used to, all the time," replied Squidman.
"Wait. Let me get this straight...my real name is Richard Franklins, son
of Mr. Thingy and the !Visible Woman, and I got my original automutation powers
from the Super Molder Serum?"
"Correct, Sig.Lad. You spent your childhood as a perpetual four year old
trapped in a suit of plastic armor which maintained your structural integrity.
Some time during those years you came in contact with the primal Sig.Force as
the result of an experiment performed by your father, but you quickly erected
psychic barriers preventing you from using it at its full potential, given the
sheer power of the .Sig and your youthful inability to limit yourself to a
power level that would be interesting to read about...a limit you only recently
managed to establish [Constellation #7 - Ed]. In order to let you stay in the
story once you had been pulled from Retcon Limbo by the Dvandom Dial, you were
given a mild resistance to Retcon Energy by the Dial."
"Which explains why I could do things like remember Kid Macro during times
he didn't exist in Retcon Hour."
"Among other things, yes," acknowledged the Stranger. "And why you
remembered the Net.astic Nine. In fact, although most LNHers are aware of the
thingy.thingy technology, only a scant handful know its origin, such as the
Kirbian. But, as I mentioned, the Dial is not all-powerful, and it could not
remove the inherent instability of the Super Molder Serum, it could only
temporarily stabilize you. With the first serious assault on your genetic
integrity during the Electrocutioner's Song, the Serum's design flaws
reasserted themselves full force. The Sword of .Sig offered amelioration of
the symptoms, but not a true cure."
"Do you know the cure?" Kat asked, perhaps a bit more earnestly than she
intended to.
"Yes, but I cannot reveal it to you, for that would be in abrogation to my
Stranger's Oath to preserve the Drama of the Story. You have had first-hand
experience with the dangers of violating this principle..." he trailed off
ominously. Everyone thought of Constellation's actions in the Baron Umlaut
case.
"Hey, on the subject of Umlaut," interrupted Rotanna, "where did he get
the power to invoke entities like Net.torak? I knew him during that time, he
never had the knack for magic."
The Stranger simply held his silence, but Squidman broke in. "I don't
think the Stranger wants to reveal that yet. Maybe Umlaut was sandbagging
around Schwa Khan and your father...maybe he lost those powers in a side-effect
retcon associated with the Net.astic Nine. Or maybe the writer just decided
that 'Baron M.org.o' just didn't cut it as a name [Hey, stop that! - Writer].
Anyway, since he was released from custody on lack of evidence, we'll probably
find out soon enough."
"Indeed. Now my debt is discharged, and I must be away to continue my
lonely duties on the cold threads of the Net...for I am ever a STRANGER."
Smirking as he managed to sneak his line in uninterrupted, he vanished into
the shadows, shadows which themselves vanished in turn, leaving the room bright
again.
* * * *
Beneath the surface of Andale Atoll, a single figure brooded dramatically.
And since there's only one figure residing on the Atoll tall enough to brood
dramatically, it was obviously Acton Lord.
He fumed silently at the foiling of his plans. His former employee
Netlurker had neatly nipped his plan in the bud...and it was *who* foiled it
more than it *being* foiled that annoyed the master manipulator. His intention
had been to draw in the cosmic net.powers to prevent the damage to the
Looniverse, at least one of whom he could then corrupt and gain immense
personal power from.
Still, there had been other side-effects of the plan that did not
displease him. The wedge driven between the LNH and one of its few mystics by
the Green Trenchcoat's participation in his plans was certainly beneficial to
any future plans. The less magick arrayed against him, the easier it would be
to succeed...it was something he still did not fully understand, and therefore
it was hard to guard against.
And then there was that personally satisfying side-effect, which his
gradgnomes should be confirming any minute now....
"Boss! Boss! We have communication intercepting from LNHQ to Dvandom
Force, is to be confirming reports of Little Man's agents. Destabilizing is
Sig.Lad, from Super Molder Serum!"
"Thank you, Jameel. That will be all."
"But...?"
"But, don't I want to launch an all-out effort to find a cure for this
destabilization, since I'm just a future alternate version of Sig.Lad and might
get the syndrome myself? A cure that I could then dangle over Sig.Lad's head
to taunt him, only to have him heroically snatch it away from me?"
"Well, yes."
Acton Lord threw his head back and let loose a hearty, villainous laugh
which cleared his head and made him feel all evil inside. "But, Jameel, why
would I ever want to find a cure for being me? In that eternity in the echo
server, I fully destabilized...and in embracing my own corruption, I abandoned
the Sig.Force and became linked to an even more puissant power source, that of
corruption itself! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA...!"
The laughter echoed for an eternity....
==============================================================================
NEXT ISSUE: Part 2 of Writing Chance, "Born Ready!" Sig.Lad starts his quest
for a cure, traveling across time and dimension!