Get with the Program, the Eavesdropping Program

RALEIGH, NC - Our inside sources told us of a recent conversation between Emperor Andy and two of his top advisors, Operations Subcommander Custer and his associate Zachary Attachery whose job title I forget. The conversation allegedly transpired as follows in the Emperor’s office.

“Your Gloriousness, we need to talk about this Forizon business,” Custer began.

“I did not send those texts,” Andy said. “And if I did I was drunk.”

“No, sir, I -- ” Custer started to reply.

“Don’t tell me NO,” Andy raised his voice.

“Emperor,” Custer tried a different tactic. “I was referring to the recent scandal with the phone companies.”

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Andy was beginning to build into a fury, and Custer did not have long before it was past the no stopping point and reason would no longer work. “It’s scandalous the way data plan works!” the Emperor fumed. “Scandalous!!”

“Your Excellency,” Custer attempted, “I’m speaking of the scandal involving the phone companies passing along phone usage data to the Security-Military Division’s Intelligencers.”

“How can there be a scandal?? How do we keep having ‘scandals?’” Andy made finger quotes. “We live in a dictatorship! It’s do or die.”

“Of course, sir,” Custer said, “but there seems to be a lot of concern about privacy and how this data is being used. And why the government is collecting this data about its own citizens, not foreign powers or enemies.” He said this quickly, hoping not to be interrupted.

“I repeat, this is a dictatorship,” Andy growled. “If they don’t like it, they can go live on the Prison Planet.”

Zachary suddenly spoke up. “I thought ‘Prison Planet’ was just a euphemism for ‘disappeared.’”

Andy wheeled on Zachary. “And why are you here?” he demanded.

Zachary looked up from a candy dish on the coffee table. “I’m just here for the Twizzlers.” And sure enough his hand was full of a wad of red twizzly candy.

“Good man,” Andy said, and turned again to Custer. “At least someone has his wits about him around here.”

Audit Know By Now

RALEIGH, NC - A scandal erupted on Earth today when it was learned that the Emperor has switched tactics from outright “disappearing” of political enemies and other dissidents to a more subtle approach, one involving the targeting of undesirables for extra audits by the Paratrooper Accountants.

“Let’s not pretend anyone is being punished here,” explained Mouthpiece Scott. “Some questionable individuals, corporations, and organizations do get targeted for ‘extra scrutiny,’ but that is all. The fact that many of them end up in Debtor’s Prison is a massive coincidence, nothing more. And anyone who says otherwise may end up the target of ‘extra scrutiny.’”

Former RFS Cathey, who now runs a photography business, if you can picture that, was the subject of similar scrutiny a year or so ago. Propaganda Pipeline was able to catch up him for some inside-outside perspective on this process:

"Yea, I was probably one of the first to be targeted for 'extra scrutiny.’ Something to do with making sure my photographs 'represented the Empire in the right manner,' whatever that means... urrr umm I mean, I get it. The Empire is awesome, my photos should display its awesomeness. Just to be clear the Empire is Awesome.

“Anyway, turns out, I was paying wayyyyyy to much in taxes. So surprise, I got a refund. Yea, they refunded their fists and clubs right into my body, but hey I'm not complaining. I want to be very clear that you understand that I am not complaining and was very satisfied and grateful for my ‘refund.’ Ooo look a bird eating a squirrel….”

More news as it develops. (subtle photography joke)

Mr. Cathey greatly contributed to writing of this post.

In a Pinch

Space Pirates series

Part 10 - "In a Pinch"

Continued from Part 9 - Captains Outrageous

"Captain Mallory, it's been too long," Turmel spoke into the comm unit gripped in his hand, while the other pulled back on his flightstick.

Mallory's commanding voice squawked back across the line, "Long enough for you to lose your way, Admiral.  Cease your hostile actions at once and surrender your vessel."

"Hostile actions?" Turmel replied.  "We were fired upon first, ma'am."  He knew Mallory hated being referred to as 'ma'am' when on duty.  It was against protocol!

"You are in direct violation of orders," Mallory countered.

"The only thing I'm going to violate is that financial distortion bearing down on Earth," Turmel said.  "Do us all a favor, don't try and stop me."

"I am bound by duty to do so," Mallory barked back.  "Stand down this instant!"

"I'm bound by a higher duty, captain," Turmel said.  "If you weren't so blinded by your regulations and commitment to order, you'd see that.  I'm going to save this planet or die trying.  Now, either help me or get out of my way."

He slammed the comm unit down in its cradle almost breaking both.

This only added to the stress of the pilot beside him.  The poor pilot had recently witnessed his former co-pilot become a casualty.  And now they were pushing the flagship of the armada harder than she'd ever been asked to fly, accelerating and decelerating, turning and twisting, whipping around the planet's orbital docking-ring.

Prior to this mission, the most maneuvering the old girl'd been asked to do was to tailgate another ship so the good admiral could read the bumper stickers on the aft end.

“How is she catching up to us?” Turmel said, frowning in disbelief at the rear-view monitor.

“Our Considine-drive is still out,” explained the co-pilot.  “Her’s isn’t.”

Meanwhile, aboard Writing on the Wall, a skeleton crew was doing the work of a crew 4 times its size. 

“Fire a warning shot across her bow,” Captain Mallory ordered. She had been sitting in her command chair, but now stood.  She tried to sit down as often as possible, because she resembled a female comicbook character and was therefore somewhat top-heavy.  Sitting made her back hurt less.

At her order, the weapons officer made one final adjustment to his targeting solution, flipped up the protective cover, and pressed and held the firing button.

A particle beam erupted from the Writing on the Wall’s forward cannon, sizzled across the gap, and plowed into the nose of her sister ship, Chocolate Love Stars. 

“I said a warning shot!” Mallory said hotly.

The weapons officer spun in his chair to face her.  “Captain, that’s exactly what I programmed into the computer.” He indicated the scopes so she could see for herself.  “I warned you there would be unexpected ramifications from leaving the shipyard ahead of schedule.”

Mallory’s burning glare made him turn his chair and get back to his duties.

“I want to disable, not destroy,” Mallory told him.  “Target her guns.”

“Aye, sir,” the weapons officer responded, tapping in new attack parameters. 

“Gun deck reports ready,” relayed the communications officer.  “Ready to unleash hell on your orders.”

Mallory paused only a second then grimaced and said, “Open fire.”

Pew pew pew!  The sounds of space battle filled their ears.  Very exciting stuff.

The bridge crew of the flagship, Chocolate Love Stars, once again was thrown about the command deck as the ship rocked with the impact of ordinance from Writing on the Wall.

“It’s no use,” the pilot grumbled.  “She’s faster than us.”

Seemingly unworried, Admiral Turmel squinted at the viewscreen.  Something else was bothering him.  “What’s wrong with the viewer?” he demanded.

“That last salvo took out our audio system,” reported the a/v technician.  “As you know, there’s no sound in space; this was the device that added in sound effects to accompany all the amazing visuals of space combat.  It’s not responding.  Damage control reports …” there was a pause while the tech waited for the report over his earpiece.  “Audio system is damaged beyond repair.”

“No.  No, no, no.”  Turmel murmured, then mouth wide, screamed, “MMMAAAAALLLOOOOORRRRRYYYYYYYY!!!!!”

The room went quiet following that outburst.

Turmel began programming new orders into his console.  “Hard to starboard,” he barked.  “Prepare for broadside.”

The Weapons Master cringed at the thought of turning their guns on their own fleet, not because of the possible loss of life, but for the costly damage, the waste of taxpayer dollars. Here they were, facing the worst financial crisis since the "Great" Depression, and they were going to war?

“She’s changing course,” reported Mallory’s sensors officer.  “Turning to starboard.  Slowing.”  Then, more alarm in his voice, “I show heavy activity on her gun deck.  She’s prepping for broadside!”

“Run out the guns,” Mallory squeezed her stress ball absent-mindedly.   “Maneuvering speed.  Pilot, bring us along-side.”

Writing on the Wall was faster at the moment, but thanks to some handy upgrades from the space pirates, Chocolate Love Stars was more maneuverable.  Writing had a hard time correcting to pull along-side the flagship.

Railguns flared and sizzled.  Electro-magnetically accelerated shells battered the hulls of both ships.

“Captain Mallory, gun deck reports we’ve exhausted our compliment of conventional ordinance,” called out the anxious communications officer.  “Requesting orders.”

“They must be joking,” Mallory groaned.

“I’ll ask,” replied the comm officer.

“No, cancel that,” Mallory cut him off before he could transmit.

“The rest were to be delivered Tuesday, captain. We’re empty.”  Over the sound of explosions impacting the hull, the weapons officer shouted over his shoulder, “All we’ve got left is the particle cannon.”

Mallory stood, and leaned over the weapons console.  “Didn’t we take on a supply of experimental weaponry?”  The poor weapons officer was nearly knocked out of his chair by her cleavage.

“Sir, you don’t mean --?” he asked.

“Yes, I do mean,” Mallory walked back to her command chair.  “Stand by for space-lobsters.”

The weapons officer gulped. 

Mallory sat, and then turned to look at the communications op, who seemed to be stunned.

“Now!” Mallory barked.

Down on the gun deck, weapons technicians hurriedly removed the lobsters from their tanks and attempted to load them into cannons.  Soon, the deck was wet and covered in crustaceans.

“No, no, don’t take off the rubber bands before you load them,” the deck chief bellowed at the panicking munitions men.  “They’ll burn off when fired.”

But it was too late.  The lobsters were fighting amongst themselves.  The floor of the gun deck seemed to be alive, for it was teeming with awkward lobster-on-lobster battle.

“Ow!”  “Ouch!”  “Aiieee!”  The gun crew was getting pinched right and left. 

“Dammit,” shouted the exasperated munitions chief.  “Put on your heavy gloves and get those damned things loaded.  Or I’ll be loading you into the cannons.”  He was boiling mad.

The gun crew scrambled to comply.

“Admiral, there’s something fishy going on,” the sensors operator reported.  “Scanners indicate Writing on the Wall is firing,” and here he paused in disbelief or perhaps apprehension, “crayfish or crabs or something.”

Turmel tensed. He’d so far evaded the space crabs. Could this be it?  Had they finally caught up with him?

“Confirmed,” the sensors officer reported.  “Mutated space lobsters are bombarding our hull.  They seem to deploy on impact.  Sir, they’re tearing off our armor-plating with their claws.”

This was clearly some cybernetic and genetic engineering, thought Turmel. And mention of such a new development had been suspiciously absent from those boring security briefs he always had to read.  Surgeon General Jernigan immediately came his mind.  No doubt she’d had a nicotine-stained hand in this chicanery.

“We’ll have to cook them off,” Turmel decided.  “Prepare to take us into the atmosphere.”

His pilot looked at him like he was crazy, but then shrugged and did as he was told.  At this point, hey, why not?  With one movement, the admiral and the pilot pushed down on their controllers.  Suddenly, Earth was getting bigger and bigger on the silent screen.

Seeing what was about to happen, Mallory shouted over the din of battle, “Signal the lobsters to disengage.”

“They’re not responding,” reported her comm officer.

“Magnify image,” Mallory commanded.  The viewer altered to show a close-up vantage of the Chocolate Love Stars’ hull, where the mutant space lobsters had stopped their work to once again fight among themselves, again awkwardly.

“Make a note in the log,” Mallory instructed her communications officer, “space lobsters are ineffective.  Recommend the sciences department should weaponize something a little more intelligent next time.”

Meanwhile, back on the Chocolate Love Stars, temperature sensors lit up across the status displays.  The viewscreen flared red with the heat.  Outside, the hull of Chocolate Love Stars turned as red as cooked lobster.  Fire scorched the attacking crustaceans.

Inside the command deck, the sound of a thousand tiny screeches pierced the cabin.

“It’s working,” exclaimed Turmel’s co-pilot.  “They’re being cooked alive.”

“What?” Turmel shouted, his hands over his ears.

“Admiral,” interrupted the sensor technician, “the rest of the fleet is catching up.”

That can’t be right, Turmel thought, ketchup doesn’t go with lobster.

“We can’t fight them in atmo,” the pilot declared.

“Pull out,” Turmel ordered. “I mean, pull up.”

To be continued …

State of the Empire 2012

As you are no doubt aware, there is a good deal of controversy over marriage these days. Should gays be allowed to marry? Do clones have the right to marry and have children? Why can’t I marry more than one person? And so on.

Frankly, I’m sick of the whole thing. I know more divorced people than I do married people. More marriages fail than succeed. I have therefore decided to issue a flat ban on all marriages, effective immediately.

Your first question, I’m sure, is what about people already married? Can they stay married? No, I’m afraid not. Currently married people will not be grandfathered in under this ban. The only people who will be grandfathered in are grandfathers. And that’s only because I missed a loophole when writing up this imperial decree.

Now I want to talk about something that matters. War. It has come to my attention that some citizens are worried about the duration of the current war or wars. When will they end? Why is it taking so long?

Well, let me tell you that - the premise behind your question is flawed. You are assuming that a war or wars should end, as if that is a goal of the enterprise. You could not be more wrong. So I don’t want to hear any more about it.

Let’s talk about birth control. Reproduction is not a right. Now, yes, The Lord commanded the first humans, Adam and whatshername, to be fruitful and multiply. Well, they did. Commandment fulfilled. Reproduction is a privilege.

And, no, there are no plans to deactivate the conception-inhibitor fields anytime soon. So stop asking. Just keep practicing in case we decide to turn them off someday.

Someone told me the other day that the Earth is in no danger of being overpopulated. China has a negative birth rate and if you put all the people on our planet shoulder-to-shoulder they would only fill the state of Texas.

First of all, that’s ridiculous. You could never get them all organized to show up and stand there long enough to make sure they were all present. Second of all, I forget where I was going with this so I will talk about something else, less boring.

Now, I want to talk about the issue that is really the most timely and pressing and in the forefront of all our minds. The year is 2012 and as you know the Mayan calendar ends in 2012. Many people suspect this means 2012 will be the last year ever, that it signifies the end of the world.

Clearly, the Mayans did not predict the arrival of Europeans and the destruction of their civilization, so I am disinclined to take their predictions very seriously. However, just as we did with the Why Tooth Decay Bug, it is better to be prepared than to be caught with your pants down. I can’t tell you the number of times that has happened to me.

Have no fear. Concerted efforts are already under way to ensure the survival of mankind and possibly womankind as well. In the event of the end of Life as We Know It here on Earth, the Empire has seen fit to colonize many other worlds, often against their will.

 No matter the fate of Earth, humanity will live on, just not as comfortably. It would be a shame to lose the Earth, as we just finished paying for it, and Earth is where we keep all our stuff, but sometimes sacrifices must be made. Just ask the Mayans.

Unbearable!

continued from The Loyal Order

before the Dark Times

Dossaic Realm

Antechamber in the Temple

Bruce pried loose the last fuse and tossed it into the widening portal.  He watched it burn off on the event horizon as the twinkling crack stretched into a bear-sized portal.  Its pink light reflected in the koala's black eyes.  He closed the access hatch and turned to enter the final Send command.

Ling Ling stood between Bruce and the controls.  The panda grinned as best a bear could and said something haughty in Mandarin.

Bruce cut him off mid-sentence.  "You're not from China," he said.  "You're a Dossai.  You're just in panda form right now."

At this, the panda looked considerably less pleased with itself, but spoke, "I said the rest are dead and you're next."

Bruce believed him, from the sounds of carnage he'd heard and the blood spatter on Ling Ling.

In reply, the normally lethargic koala whipped a boomerang out from under his chainmail vest and hurled the weapon.  It streaked past Ling Ling, and the panda barked laughter at the feeble attack.

But Bruce had not missed at all, for his target was the GO button on the controls.

The aperture flexed and hummed behind the koala.  "G'day, mate."  Bruce stuck his little tongue out at Ling Ling, spun around, and scurried through the waiting portal.

Earth - the mother realm

"Alert Alert!  Warp Jump detected!"

Dossey looked up from his work in the Armory.  He'd almost forgotten he had that alarm, it hadn't sounded in so long.  He pushed away from his workbench and rushed over to a large wooden trunk that looked as old as he felt.  Prying it open, he groped through its contents.

"Incursion imminent!" the computery voice chirped another warning.

"Dammit, I heard you the first time," Dossey growled at it, still groping around for the right tool.

"Aperture eminent," it added.

"Oh, ha ha," Dossey muttered at the computer's bad pun.

At last his hand brushed up against the cold metal of his little companion.  He freed the device from the mass of mess in the trunk.

Dossey cradled the gadget and prayed it still worked.  He brushed off the screen, adjusted the antennae, and flipped the power switch.  It stared back blankly at him, so it he gave it a whack and that seemed to do the trick.  It whined to life.

Dossey trudged outside and began immediately to sweep for valences.  Buies Creek was a Nexus - one of the points where neighboring realms butted up against each other.

But there was no way to predict exactly where an individual portal would open, as arrival points varied with the shifting of dimensions and their moods.

Past the cafeteria, Dossey headed to what was almost but not quite a park.  A gateway opening here in plain sight of students shuffling between classes was the last thing he needed.

The sun beat down on him as he looked about for the telltale smoke.  Thank the Lord he'd grabbed his fedora on the way out the door - it shielded him from the sun.

There!  He spotted the glimmering, warped air and tendrils of smoke.  He rushed over as quickly as his sandals would let him. 

The portal was a massive, festering, pulsating orb of light and heat.  Such a big gateway meant a big visitor, maybe an army.  Not good news.  Dossey scanned the surroundings, but saw only bewildered and frightened pupils. 

Out of the corner of his eye, a glimpse of smoke revealed a slight, smoking shape huddled by a decorative stone.  Dave hurried over to what he took to be the traveler, who looked up on his approach.

"Don't let me down," the little guy said.

"Bruce?" Dossey replied, but before the koala could respond, the portal crackled, popped, and smoldered; flexed its unearthly maw; and out of the hot gate lumbered a black and white bear.  The portal sputtered shut behind him.

When he spied Dossey hunched over by the rock, the panda reared up on its hind legs.  So of course Dossey did the same.

The panda wore one of those conical Asian hats.  What were they called?  Coolie hats maybe.

Malzuh?  More importantly, the panda had a gun strapped to its furry hip.

The Panda said something Dossey couldn't make out.  So he just shrugged in reply.  It sounded like Chinese and Dossey was allergic to Mandarin.

The panda sighed, but translated, "You must be the Exile."

Dossey frowned at this painful reminder.  He'd been cast out of the Dossai and indeed his home realm for violating the Rules of Order.  Interpreting the signs before his brothers, he saw conflict coming.  And so he'd converted his old cave into an armory and set himself to manufacturing weapons.

Ling Ling shambled over to the brick pathway and slowly but deliberately reloaded his gun.  There sure were a lot of bricks, he thought, looking down at the path and over to tangled web of walkways.  Must be a brickyard nearby that gives them a deal.

Dossey shook the dark thoughts from his shaggy head and stepped onto the brick sidewalk to face this interdimensional intruder.

At that, Ling Ling holstered his weapon and stared down The Dossey.

Dossey raised his hand near to his own shooter, a custom revolver he'd crafted to only fire deadly, poisonous darts.  It hung at his side hanging from a belt loop by a chord of twine.

Across the brick path, Ling Ling tensed, save for his gun hand, which hovered lightly over the pearl handle of his own lethal-looking eight-shooter.

What students still remained, sensing the coming firefight, scattered.

A stub of bamboo stuck out from the corner of the panda's jaws.  He worked the bamboo shoot around a bit, before he spat it defiantly into the dirt.

A discarded plastic bag tumbled slowly by in the breeze.

Time stopped. 

Quick as lightning, hands plunged for guns, wrists twisted to aim, barrels thundered; Time rushed to catch up with it all and it buffeted reality around them.

It was over as fast as it started.  Ultimately, pandas are slow animals and despite Ling Ling's experience, Dossey was quicker on the draw and always shot from the hip, gun or not.

It was actually kind of anticlimactic.

Dossey walked over and checked the panda's pulse.  Nothing.  Dossey looked down at his own revolver with some pride.  A successful field test of his most recent creation!

He was distracted from his revels by a student peeking around a primordial oak trunk.  "Mr. Dossey killed an endangered species!" the student wailed.  "Oooh, I'm telling!" And off the student ran.

Great.  DD had enough difficulty staying out of trouble with the university.  The last thing he needed was animal cruelty rumors.  Speaking of which:

"Bruce is that you?"  Dossey rushed over to the slumped koala.  "Are you injured?" 

"Huh?" the koala blinked its big black eyes.  "No, I must've just dozed off."

DD looked the small bear over.  Singed fur and burnt blood.  He was in bad shape.

"Might've been one too many slides for you," he told the koala.

You are the Exile no longer," Bruce wheezed.  "Our brothers are slain.  You are the last Dossai."  He stopped to cough, which Dossey thought funny since the guy reeked of cough drops.

"I destroyed the control mechanism," the koala struggled to say.  "The aperture will cascade and destroy the machine and the entire Temple cavern.  The Dossaic portal will be of no use to the Enemy."  He panted with the exertion of so much exposition.  "That won't stop 'em, but it will slow 'em down a mite."

"You did good, little buddy," Dossey told him, blinking.

"You ok?" the koala asked.

"Just got something in my eye," DD said dismissively.

"You can never go home," Bruce coughed, "but we will be reunited after the long hibernation…."

"… in the forest of eternal spring…." Dossey completed the quotation.

The koala nodded then clawed at Dossey's vest to pull him closer.  "You are Rah now," he said with one final gasp.  And then li'l Bruce died right there in Dossey's arms.

Dossey stared at the lifeless furball in silent shock.  His revolver fell from his hand to the grass. 

But from that day until his dying day, he was called Dossey-Rah.

To be continued!!

The Loyal Order

before the Dark Times

The Dossaic Realm

The Temple

Ling Ling chewed absentmindedly on a shoot of bamboo, his eyes slowly taking in his new brothers around the Table.

Grizzald finished off his mug of mead and mopped his wet snout with a furry paw.  "Why are we here?" he growled.  "I thought we agreed to stop congregating, that it was too dangerous."

Around the Table, the substantial shapes of the brotherhood cast odd, hefty shadows in the flickering light, the low ceilinged chamber lit only by a string of lanterns that dotted the cavern like silent sentinels.

"The Exile believes he has located the Chosen One," Kodiak reported, but his attention was on the tin of snuff he was trying to open with his claws.

"I told you it was a mistake to send David," the smaller black bear, Baribal, snarled.  "This is too delicate a matter for him."

"He was the only one of us still able to assume human form," Grizzald pointed out.  "He was the logical envoy to Earth Realm." 

"What other Choice did we have?" added Ephraim, the brown bear, talking with his snout full of salmon.

The Koala said nothing, just sucked on a cough drop.  His glazed eyes did not seem to focus on his surroundings.

The Polar Bear's nose curled at the smell of the eucalyptus.  Articus did not care for the new additions to their Order.  The purring Koala seemed drunk or stoned all the time and the Panda was stupid and lazy.  He gave them both an icy stare.  It was a sign of the desperate situation that the Dossai had even accepted these poor man's bears into the Order.  What was next? he wondered.  A Russian-speaking platypus?

Across the Table, Ling Ling noticed Articus giving him the stink-eye.  This polar bear looks ridiculous in his Hawaiian shirt, he thought.  Are those supposed to be 'retirement' clothes?

Ling Ling could not stand the smell of fish.  All around him, the bears gorged and the stench of salmon was pungent.  I hate those omnivores, he thought.  I hate their guts!

"If Dave has truly tracked down the Foretold One," Baribal chuffed, "the Veranda must not find out."

"Major Ursula," the Grizzly asked, "what news on those enemy troop movements?"

At the one end of the old, wooden Table, a she-bear stood up from her seat.  She was the only one of them wearing armor, Ling Ling noticed.  Must mean she was in the Dossaic militia, the only warrior among them - the rest were scholars, scientists, monks, and/or drunkards.

"My best agent, Nanook, missed the last check-in on her stealth mission," the major reported. "I fear the worst."

She held up an AIM chat transcript.  "Prior to her disappearance," she continued, "our last intel indicated a significant reallocation of manpower and assets by Verandan forces."

"They're up to something," Kodiak growled.  "I can smell it."  Ling Ling didn't see how Kodiak could smell anything anymore.

Baribal grunted in reply, "And I'd bet my right paw they already know about the Foretold One."

Articus nodded his white head in agreement.  "Which means, they'll make a move to intervene on Earth Realm," he said.

"They wouldn't dare!"  interjected Ephraim.

"Perhaps not directly?" Articus said. "But clearly they mean to act."

Nods all around the table, so Ling Ling nodded, too.

At the far end of the Table, a faint, scratchy voice spoke for the first time.  "Kodiak, warm up the gateway," the old, gray bear instructed.  "Prepare for incursion."  It was their leader, finally electing to speak.  The Decision had been made.

He was Bobo-Rah, the Elder and de facto boss.  He was shrunken and gaunt, and had his paw in a honey jar most of the time.  This elderly fellow wore a top hat and monocle as if an attempt at some dignity; it just came off as comical, Ling Ling mused.  Maybe he was a former circus bear?

"Intervention?" asked Ursula, adjusting her beret.

"What Choice do we have?" Ephraim pointed out.

"You keep saying that," Articus said coldly.

"Set emitters for the mother realm," Grizzald ordered, quickly finishing another mead.

But no one had moved yet.  The Panda, silent until now, stood up - and all eyes were on him.  The 'bear' growled something in what must've been Chinese.  And that's when they noticed he had pulled from under the Table a firearm.

"Bears do not carry guns," Articus barked. "It is against the code.  Only Man carries a gun."

The Major was the logical first target and the shot knocked her back.  Blood slapped across the cave wall where she hit.

To say that the others were not in the militia was true, but they were still bears.  Any one of them alone was an intimidating opponent; Ling Ling now found himself in a small room full of large bears.

(A cave of bears was best left sleeping, but these weren't sleeping.  Even the damned Koala was awake now.)

Although quite outnumbered, Ling Ling brandished a shooting iron and he knew that would even up the odds nicely.

The bears shot to their feet, knocking over their chairs.  Not one showed the slightest sign of fear - just alarm, alertness, anger.  Their snarls and growls filled the room.

Only the cowardly Koala scampered away, quickly retreating up a nearby column.

The Grizzly leapt up onto the large, round Table and roared!  All he got for the display was a face full of buck shot.

The urisdae dossai rushed their former brother and, while they put up quite a fight, there was no room to fight; they were in each others' way.  The Loyal Order was ultimately no match for the armed panda.

No room to fight.  In each others' way.

It was over very quickly.

Ling Ling stepped over the bodies and approached the aged ring leader.  "Any famous last words?" he asked.

The gray bear glowered up at Ling Ling.  "You're not a Bear," Boborah croaked out, his aged body quaking with fury.  "You're nothing but a wannabear!"

BLAM!  the old bear slumped to the side of his leather chair.

Ling Ling licked some blood from a paw and looked around at his handiwork.  Someone was missing….  Yes, that runt of a bear koala was nowhere to be found.

In no particular hurry, the black and white would-be bear lumbered out of the chamber.

the story continues in Unbearable