Toby takes a last deep breath and grits his teeth before the g-forces push him down into his seat for what seems like forever. A great roaring fills his ears, the view of the cockpit is blotted out by dark, starting at the edges and hurrying on until the last two pinpoints blip out. Coloured spots dance in the blackness, then pirouette away to allow his green-staticist holographic visor to show him an image of the ship lifting off. All right, he thinks. Get on with it already. I’ve *seen* your special effects.

As the ship clears the atmosphere, the artificial gravity kicks in with a cough and a splutter. Nonetheless, his coffee leaves its cup holder and floats up to nuzzle against the ceiling. Must be something wrong with the G-Nerator^TM. Or just a bug. His thoughts are rudely interrupted by the sudden but entirely predictable appearance of a smart missile. Smart – but short-sighted. He's sure he has the right code painted on the hull, but he’s had to go back to the save point at the launch pad thrice today already. This time, however, it just squints malevolently at him and lets him pass. That's right. Smeg off, binary brain.

Leaning back comfortably in his seat, one hand on the joystick, Toby flies a lazy slalom past the exceedingly unlikely arrow-shaped constellations and the tiny rockets with large 'This Way To The Secret Moon Base' signs. This bit is fun. He likes this bit. It gives him time to go angle for his coffee and flick on the radio. Just for the hell of it, he twirls the ship in a brief waltz with a passing asteroid. Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do STATE. YOUR. PURPOSE. MORTAL.

Since cursing the grating computer voice that hijacks his radio out loud would be a sure-fire way of ending up down at the save point again, Toby hacks a string of asterisks and ampersands into his keyboard while replying quite calmly. 'My life's sole purpose is to serve...' – what was today’s vocabulary word again? – '...his Eruditeness Emperor Habbamabbak the One and Only.'

The computer processes this, piping some tinkly electronic muzak through the radio to keep the pilot annoyed. PROCEED. Toby proceeds. Soon, the beat-up orange ship with the brown corduroy seats – all he could afford, but he keeps it in good condition, thank you very much – is moored alongside the brick-shaped cargo shuttles, the sleek silver arrows, the miniature dirigibles, and the mysteriously shiny black cylindrical vessel he can never resist touching simply because it shows every smudge.

Ducking past the first checkpoint, he waits until the laser turret has revolved twice, to get in the swing of things, and then follows the red beam across the floor at a dead run, pressing himself against the wall at the far side. The blue crate is just being loaded into the cargo lift. That means he'll have to wait out two more cycles of the boom clacka thunk clacka boom thud boom machine that’s shaking the ground under his feet and providing an interesting rhythm for the background music. Just before the final boom, he launches himself over the approaching laser beam in a neat somersault and slips behind the guard as he steps out for his usual cigarette break between the green and red crates, then rides the lift all the way down into what the brief cut scene informs him is the moon base proper.

He just has time to insert his disc into the supercomputer and save before the hectic music and the digital countdown in his visor inform him that he has only two minutes until asphyxiation. Down the hall to the left, jump over the RoboScout^TM and squash the roaches for extra money Come on, daddy’s little girl needs new shoes for her ballet recital and then click the locker to the right, enter the combination and…

Too slow!

The hectic music and the digital countdown in his visor inform him that he has only two minutes until asphyxiation. Down the hall to the left, jump over the RoboScout^TM and squash the roaches for extra money No, I refuse to say that about the shoes again, she can have her sister’s from last year and then click the locker to the right, enter the combination and wrench open the door…

Empty!

The hectic music and the digital countdown in his visor inform him that he has only two minutes until asphyxiation. Down the hall to the left, jump over the RoboScout^TM and never mind the roaches, and then don’t click the locker to the right, keep on going and open any other locker, they don't have combinations because they’re not clickable. Whose is this? Freddy's? He’'s not coming in anyway today, his grandmother's funeral, the lucky sod, he won't mind if I borrow it...

Toby can breathe now, but he still finds it grossly unfair that he should have the clickable locker. People are always nicking things from the clickable locker. This means paperwork. And Freddy’s mask makes the same gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo, gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo, gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo noise that annoys him so much about his own.

Since he's going to be late anyway, he takes his time strolling over to the next supercomputer, pausing to feed the roaches the fluff-covered sweet that's been rolling around in the bottom of his pocket. He saves his progress, fills out the breathing mask requisition forms – in triplicate, although they’re electronic – and briefly salutes the sign over the door before passing through.

He stops running just in time to keep from falling into the dark chasm crisscrossed with slender metal walkways, laser beams, and mysterious pipes leaking pink steam. He can just hear the architect at the grand opening now... And this interior void expresses your Vocabularywordness' dark desire for grandeur, showing the tenuous connection between your mind and the outside world, while the violence of the lasers glinting on the chrome is evocative of your desire to own – nay to pawn – all things bright and beautiful, while your carefree, charismatic side is echoed by the cheerful tendrils of steam counter pointing the angular harshness of the beams. Also, it was a chance to use the dust mote effect. And look, Ma, no workplace ergonomics or safety features! This is an evil moon base after all! Muahahahahahahahahaha! Allegedly, he’d been silenced by the throttling grip of one of the Emperor's Hand-EE-Clawz^TM, but Toby had been standing too far back in the ranks to see.

Toby edges along the top of a pipe, timing his progress carefully to avoid the jets of sticky pinkness – he's just polished his boots. Gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo, gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo, gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo… The pipe breaks, as it does every day. Should've found yourself an evil engineer to work with. He does an elegant grand jetté to the next pipe, dangles off the end briefly, and drops neatly onto the bridge below, incidentally squashing a furry green spider.

Gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo, gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo, gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo... The sound is driving him mad. I don't breathe nitrogen. The rest of the squad doesn’t breathe nitrogen. The heroes certainly don’t breathe nitrogen. The Emperor doesn't breathe nitrogen. So why is the base flooded with nitrogen? Oh yes, for the evil space squid. But the evil space squid isn’t until level five. Why can't we have plain old oxygen here? Fewer of these smegging spiders, too. He pulls a chittering arachnid out of his collar and tosses it behind him, listening to it bounce off the pipes before he continues.

To the left, sandwiched between the glowing red bulkheads, is another supercomputer, so he inserts the disc and saves. He stands on the switch that opens the door and rolls under it before it can close again, and runs over to hide behind a crate, slowly straightening up when the guard’s back is turned.

INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER!


INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER!

The guard spins around, firing, but the PlasmaBurster^(TM) projectile never hits Toby, because the laser turret takes him out first.

He stands on the switch that opens the door and rolls under it before it can close again, remembers to kick the panel to short-circuit the laser turret and runs over to hide behind a crate, slowly straightening up when the guard’s back is turned.

INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER!


INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER!

The guard spins around, firing, and the PlasmaBurster^TM projectile grazes Toby's neck. He claps a hand to the stinging cut.

'Bloody hell, Jules, you could've killed me!'

Jules pulls his helmet off, revealing a very red face, which he proceeds to mop with a handkerchief.

'Sorry, Toby. You know how it is, these visors fog up when you've been under them a while... Anyway, it's not bloody, it's greeny. And it’s not hell, it's heck. We're trying to keep our under-sixteen rating, you know...'

Toby flexes his arm. He's still got a bruise in the crook of his elbow from where the nurse injected the green dye yesterday. She’s not very good. She’s an evil nurse.

'Yeah, I know. But at the moment, there are no bloody heroes around, so I don’t bloody care...'

Jules comes over to inspect the injury, still looking worried about the breach of protocol.

'Can't do anything about that now, we’ve not had a new delivery of MediMenders^TM and the, well, greeny heroes took the last ones.'

Toby wipes the green ooze on his fingers off on his trouser leg.

'Never mind, it was only a few hit points.'

Leaving Jules to repair the laser turret, he ducks into the supply closet to put on his armour. He's tempted to take the suit that his visor zooms in on when he stands near it, save everyone down the line a lot of bother, but then he'd be hearing the Emperor's communications all day... First a lot of padding. Especially in some areas. Because an architect who can't plan a proper pipe also can't remember to put in toilets. Anyway, waste water would interfere with all the pink steam. Then the hard outer shell that’s impervious to lasers. Of course, that only means that from here on out, the defences don't rely on lasers.

Fully dressed, Toby snaps down his helmet, punches his timecard in at the supercomputer by the door, and goes to relieve Jules, who salutes him and scrambles off down the corridor leading away from this area. One-way switches on the doors, have to run through to level four where you can get into the ductwork with the chainsaws in and cut across the quicksand pool to get back topside...

Toby stretches a few times, then stands on the 'X' painted on the floor, staring straight ahead, his arms by his sides. ++Please rotate 90° to your left.++ He turns stompily, accompanied by the armour's usual chlink jingle jiggle clank and stares at the conveyor belt carrying the pink crate past him. ++Please rotate 90° to your left.++ He turns stompily, accompanied by the armour's usual chlink jingle jiggle clank and stares at the crate the hero can duck behind when coming out of the passage. ++Please rotate 90° to your left.++ He turns stompily, accompanied by the armour's usual chlink jingle jiggle clank and stares at the laser turret. ++Please rotate 90° to your left.++ He turns stompily, accompanied by the armour's usual chlink jingle jiggle clank and stares at the passage down which Jules has disappeared, to give the hero a chance to shoot him in the impervious back.

Gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo, gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo, gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo… Oh, yes, of course. The air hose goes outside the armour, so heroes can shoot it, rendering him helpless. He'd had an idea last month. A brilliant idea... He'd put the air hose inside the armour covering his back. This had earned him a week of spider-cage mucking duties when he was found out at inspection... Good thing this is level two, innit, and you don't get the zap gun until level three, and most of them don’t figure out the trick with the turret and the mirror...

++Please rotate 90° to your left.++ He turns stompily, accompanied by the armour's usual chlink jingle jiggle clank and stares straight ahead. Remember not to look in the niche, now.

Gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo, gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo, gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo...

++Please rotate 90° to your left.++ He turns stompily, accompanied by the armour's usual chlink jingle jiggle clank and stares straight ahead. Wonder if the 90° woman is the nurse, sure sounds like her.

Gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo, gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo, gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo…

++Please rotate 90° to your left.++ He turns stompily, accompanied by the armour's usual chlink jingle jiggle clank and stares straight ahead. What's worse, the commute here or the commute back?

Gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo, gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo, gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo…

++Please rotate 90° to your left.++ He turns stompily, accompanied by the armour's usual chlink jingle jiggle clank and stares straight ahead. And it's stewed wombat in the canteen today...

Gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo, gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo, gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo...

++Please rotate 90° to your left.++ He turns stompily, accompanied by the armour’s usual chlink jingle jiggle clank and stares straight ahead. Just had stewed wombat last week – maybe it's leftovers?

Gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo, gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo, gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo...

++Please rotate 90° to your left.++ He turns stompily, accompanied by the armour's usual chlink jingle jiggle clank and stares straight ahead. Could be time to look for a different job.

Gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo, gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo, gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo...

++Please rotate 90° to your left.++ He turns stompily, accompanied by the armour’s usual chlink jingle jiggle clank and stares straight ahead. Yeah, but who's going to accept referrals from his Emperorness?

Gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo, gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo, gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo…

++Please rotate 90° to your left.++ He turns stompily, accompanied by the armour's usual chlink jingle jiggle clank and stares straight ahead. Maybe there’s a different evil emperor to work for.

Gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo, gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo, gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo…

++Please rotate 90° to your left.++ He turns stompily, accompanied by the armour's usual chlink jingle jiggle clank and stares straight ahead. One who's so mad he's gone sane again, keeps his Jewel of Unending Pain^TM in a Swiss bank account and just needs someone to walk his alligator.

Gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo, gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo, gaaaaasp-PHEEEE-ooo…

++Please rotate 90° to your left.++ He turns stompily, accompanied by the armour's usual chlink jingle jiggle clank and stares straight ahead. A man can dream, can't he?

INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER!


INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER! INTRUDER!

Fiction Archive

Malabarista

09.10.08 Front Page

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