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

Tempest in a Teapot

RALEIGH - Breaking news in the wake of Hurricane Irene: Chief Diplomat Zachary Attachery announced today that the potentially devastating hurricane was thwarted or warded off when a last minute settlement was finally reached with the infamous fairy hordes.

The sprites had long been seeking official status as 2nd-class citizens, an upgrade from their non-person (3rd-rate minion / persona non grata) status. As you will recall, a rebellion in the cornfields of middle-America resulted in catastrophic battle and very nearly an all-out war.

Therefore, the Pipeline is pleased to report that an accord has been reached in which fairies will be paid wages and even have a designated representative in the Imperium, which the fairy folk will elect to speak for them in the congressional body. Their representative even has a special title, which we're told will be Stenographer.

Although the Diplomatic Corps denies it, sources within the Operations Division tell us this surprise agreement was reached when the fairy bands held hostage Americanadia's east coast with a massive tempest and the fairy queen, Titania, threatened to "unleash hell" last weekend.

"I realize this might on the surface seem to be a defeat for the Empire, but I want to assure you this is all part of the Plan," Operations Chief Nazionale spoke from his private villa in South Carolina. "Minorities and non-humans can't just be given rights. They have to earn those privileges or else they won't appreciate them."

Fairy Wrangler Patterson, however, who hitherto headed up the effort to crush the pixie revolt, left the Pipeline several angry voicemails stating, "Gol durn politicians! Ah'm so mad Ah could spit!"

To the Time Machine! - Part 27

"Interro-view"

Continued from Part 23

LeTrent was so pleased to be Security Chief, he was practically glowing.

Never mind that a ferocious skyscraper-sized Venus flytrap somehow infiltrated headquarters on his watch and very nearly destroyed this fledgling Empire before it had even begun.

Everyone has bad days.  And, besides, those security breaches weren't his fault.  That could've happened to anybody.

When the next threat to Imperial security came, LT would be on top of it.  He would be ready.  He would not be caught off guard.  So it was time to move on!

A strut would be the best term to describe LeTrent's stride.  There was a particularly proud and self-pleased demeanor to his swagger.  Behind the chief, shuffled the sullen, allegedly time-traveling detainee, Lorma Doom.  She was cuffed and escorted by two Imperial guards.

This odd quartet reached the end of the corridor.  LeTrent's arm jutted out to shove open a door and ran smack into a crowd of WOMEN laughing, chatting, and adjusting their sexy outfits.

The seemingly confident Security Chief might have thought himself ready for any threat.  He was sorely mistaken.

On his best day, the prospect of facing a solitary female was enough to send LT into the sweats.  An entire mob of misses might cause a complete panic.

At the sight of all those deep cuts and high lines, the strut came to a sharp, screeching stop.  Behind him Lorma Doom and her two guards plowed right into him. 

What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?  Lorma was not just a prisoner of the Empire; she was a prisoner of Physics.

They smashed into the gaggle of girls.  The resulting pileup rendered the crowd of chicks to Chaos.

Handcuffed, Lorma tried to break her fall with one of the girls, but was knocked to the hard floor instead.  She swore upon impact, causing several of the surrounding girls to blush.

The writhing Whorde was all around her and on top of her, arms and legs entangled and supine bodies intertwined.  Lorma struggled to right herself.  This was her chance to break free. 

For a second, she thought she recognized one of the damsels.  But then someone fell on Lorma's face, obscuring her view.

The tangle of women was a hot mess!  It took Security Chief LeTrent quite a few minutes to sort it all out, especially since he had difficulty looking the ladies in the eye.

Or talking to them.

Later

in the scorched Theatre

The cuffs cut into Lorma wrists, she could already feel her shoulders aching, and her fingertips tingled from poor circulation.  She shifted awkwardly in her chair, unable to sit comfortably.

She was again onstage in the auditorium, but the table and chairs told her she was there to be interrogated.  Well, she wasn't going to sing, that was for sure.  She set her jaw, ready for tough questions, extensive persuasion, and possibly torture.

"Hello, my dear." 

Lorma lifted her head to see who was speaking to her in such an erudite voice.

"I'm Harem Supervisor Doyle," the man said, "naturally."  All sophisticated charm, he sat down across the table.

"And according to this, your name is Lorma Doom," he continued, opening a file folder and skimming it.  "Lorma Doom, huh, funny...."

"Yes," she sighed.  "Like the cookie."  A tired old joke.

"Cookie?" Doyle asked, then nodded.  "Oh, yes.  I suppose.  I was alluding to the phonologic Blackmoore novel and its iconic Irish heroine."  He looked up from her file.  "But the cookie is good, too."

"Why am I here?" she said sourly.

"On my personal recommendation, His Grace has seen fit to reactivate the harem protocols.  This interview is to review your application and determine your aptitude and ------."

"Harem?" Lorma recognized that word.  "Is this some kind of punishment?"

"Punishment?  Hardly," Doyle almost scoffed.  "As harem supervisor, I can personally assure you will receive the greatest care and attention.  You and your welfare will be in my very capable hands."

None of this made any sense to Lorma Doom.  Was this how they always treated prisoners?  Or was it just her perpetual bad luck with men?  Even in the Past, she couldn't escape her bad fortunes.

"Now, there isn't much info in your file here, which is odd," Doyle noted.  "What kind of experience do you have?"

"Experience?" Lorma asked.

"Yes," Doyle answered.

She was terrible at lying, so why not try the truth?  Couldn't hurt.  "Before I worked on the Brute Squad--" Lorma began.

"The what?" Doyle interjected.

"Brute Squad," repeated Lorma.

"Oh my," Doyle said, and made a note in the file. 

"I attended an all-girls school," Lorma continued.

"I don't think you're following," he stopped her.  "How many boyfriends would you say you've had?"

"Boyfriends?  Let's see," Lorma looked at the ceiling, as if doing the math in her head, "counting high school, college, and my time in the Empire, I'd have to say ... none."

"None?" Doyle asked.  "So you're a ...?"

"Yes?" Lorma was confused.

"Excellent," Doyle said, taking her question for an answer.  "Surprisingly, not very much of that around here."

He made some more notes in the file.

Great.  Just great, Lorma thought.  I'm here to witness my File get created, and it's already mucked up.

Meanwhile

In the Interrogation Room

(formerly the music library)

The two guards shoved her roughly down into the chair.  "Hey, careful I'm a delicate flower," she said.  The guards left the room. 

She counted the ceiling tiles.  That accomplished, she fiddled with the new dress she'd made.

How long were they going to make her wait?

After cooling her heels for what seemed like an hour, Keena jumped and clutched at her heart when LeTrent finally burst through the door.

"I'm Security Chief LeTrent," he said, and pulled out the chair opposite Keena.

"I know who you are," Keena said.  "Why are you here?"

"Don't play dumb with me," he sneered back at her.  "We know all about you and your friends," LeTrent said, tossing her file down on the table.  "So start talking." 

Striking a pose, one foot up on the chair and a hand on his hip, he leaned down to stare at her.  "Tell me something good and maybe I won't feed you to the triceratopses."

"Triceratops," Keena corrected him.  "And they're herbivores.  Hey, is that my file?" she reached out to the file folder and lifted up the edge to peer in.

"No one looks at their own file!" LeTrent slapped the folder shut and snatched it back across the table.  "That'd be a terrible breach of protocol."

"Kind of thick, isn't it?" Keena noticed.  "I've only been here a year."

"Exactly," LT sneered, leafing through the folder.  "We've got a lot on you.  It'd be in your best interest to cooperate."

"Oh, I'm a team player," Keena said, helpfully, with a wink, "if you know what I mean."

This went right over LT's head.  "Why are you here?" he demanded.

"The harem auditions," Keena said, a bit mystified, "just like the other girls."

"You really expect me to believe that?" LT scoffed.

"Um," Keena said, "yes?"

"Tell me about the time machine," LeTrent insisted.

"The Time Machine?" Keena hesitated, but replied:  "It's a novel by H. G. Wells."

LeTrent frowned, looking at some papers in his hand, and said, "Kenna, is it?"

"Keena," Keena recognized the document as her harem application and résumé.

"Riiiiight," LT held the application up in the florescent light as if it might hold some secrets.  "Tell me, Kenna, how many time travelers are there?  Are you a lone agent?  The vanguard of a larger temporal invasion?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Keena stammered.  "Is this some kind of obscure role-play?"

"If it were, I'd be the first to know," LeTrent shook his head.  "No, I'm afraid this is no game.  Now ---"

"Wait," Keena interrupted, "why aren't you looking me in the eye?"

"I'm asking the questions here!" LeTrent said.  "Did you really think you could infiltrate us so easily?  You stick out like a sore thumb."

"This is discrimination!" Keena was starting to get red in the face.

"Krenim nation?" LeTrent tried to control the alarm in his voice.  Aliens from the future??

Keena continued as if she had not heard this remark, "It's because of my scooter isn't it?

"Scooter?" LeTrent seized on the idea, "yes, the scooter, that's your time machine isn't it?  Your time cycle!"

"I admit it does resemble Wells' time machine, but believe me - it has only two speeds: Turtle and Rabbit.  There's no Time-Travel mode."

"If you're not a time traveler, why do you keep denying it?" LT insisted.

"What? That doesn't even make any sense," Keena sputtered. 

"Another denial!" LT huffed.

"I'm not a time traveler!" she cried.

"That’s exactly what a time traveler would say," LeTrent thumped the table triumphantly. 

Oh, he had her now.

Back in the Interview Room / onstage

"You are familiar with the Concubine Rebellion, of course," Doyle said,

"Um, not as much as I'd like to be," Lorma was completely out of her element and winging it.

"It's my job to ensure we don't have an uprising like that again," Doyle pontificated.  Happy to tell a story, his eyes lit up.  "Mistakes were made, petitions ignored.  But all that is in the past.  Today is a new day."

It was only then he took notice of how she was sitting.  "I see you brought your own handcuffs," he commented.  "Very kinky.  That'll help on your score."

"What?  Look, I've seen the filmstrips.  This is sexual harassment, and I don't have to take it."

"You might be in the wrong line of work," observed Doyle.

"Tell me something I don't know," Lorma sighed.

Spitler Day 2011

RALEIGH - Perhaps out of resentment for being forced to work on a holiday, the legislative body we call the Imperium met this morning to try Political Officer Spitler for "crimes against the Empire."

Normally, such hearings are held in closed sessions before only a subcommittee, but the Political Officer's interrogation was docketed for a rare, full congressional session in the Forum of the Imperium.

While not without precedent, this large a hearing has not been seen since the Dark Times.

Much to the surprise of many, the High Commissar took time from his shadowy and presumably busy schedule to answer the charges. Or so it appeared at first.

This reporter cannot recall seeing the Political Officer in anything other than military fatigues, but on this occasion Spitler arrived for the proceedings early in a coat and tie.

And so it seemed the inquiry was set to begin.

The Spitler stood accused of masterminding the invasions of Uranus and Neptune, manipulating the Emperor himself, pushing for war upon endless war that took their toll on the budget and stretched the Empire thin.

Spitler remained strangely silent as the politicians pontificated, but once they began to fire impertinent questions his way, the Political Officer simply cleared his throat, then waited as hush fell over the crowd (no one was injured).

All eyes on him, Spitler leaned into his microphone and spoke in a loud, clear voice. "You dare question my loyalty?" he said. "My Choices? As I see it, you are all guilty. Guilty of wasting my time with this political posturing and kangaroo show trial."

He snapped his fingers into the microphone and the sound reverberated off the Forum walls as if the building itself snapped.

This was the cue. A squad of smartly-dressed commissars burst through the ornamental doors, marched into the room, and quickly placed the entire congressional contingent under arrest.

"You will be sent to Political Re-Education," Spitler informed the assembly as they were led away in chains. "We will make good Imperial citizens of you yet."

The Propaganda Pipeline is therefore pleased to announce that Mr. Spitler subsequently cleared himself on all charges.

On an unrelated but equally happy note, we are also pleased to announce the formation of our new sister publication, the Spanish language news feed, Pipelino Propagrande.

A Climate of Debt

RALEIGH - Emperor Andy walked out of a high-level budget talk today at the seat of the Imperium.

"It was really boring," he told one reporter in the lobby outside the legislature.

Asked if there was still a chance for the Imperium to reach a Compromise, Andy winced and replied, "Please don't use the C-word."

The Glorious Founder voiced his frustration at the wily Imperium members. "I don't see what the problem is," he said. "Yes, we spend more than we bring in. Yes, we have a massive debt that increases every year.

"But we haven't missed a payment in years. Our credit score has got to be through the roof! There's no good reason, at least none that I've heard, that we can't continue transferring our balance from one credit card to another."


Amidst these intense budgetary negotiations, Anti-Opposition Party leader Consul Pytell was accused by the Operations Division of siphoning money from the weather satellite program and hiding it in extra-terrestrial bank accounts.

The so-called "climate change" over the past few years has directed a lot of attention to finding a way to control instead of predict the weather.

Pytell is head of the climate control subcommittee, charged with funding, constructing, regulating, and maintaining weather-controlling satellites around the Earth.

Prior to his appointment to the Empire's highest law-making body, however, Mr. Pytell was C.F.O. of Bob's Fine Accounting, an agency notorious here in NC for its "creative accounting."

"You can clearly see on this document," Pytell explained during the hearings, holding up some complicated and impressive paperwork, "where the climate money was transferred to the Imperium's special Bribery account.

"The weather satellite funds," he added, "were re-appropriated for bribes to be given to Earth's weather gods.

"For more information, see the Thor movie, out in theatres."

Speed Demons

RALEIGH - More and more traffic cops are riding with a new partner these days and we don't mean Jesus. We mean the next best thing.

"Raleigh Civil Protection, in conjunction with the Catholic Diocese of Raleigh, is working to pair every officer on the highways with an ordained priest," explained Commissioner Honeycutt. "The priests will perform road-side exorcisms at traffic stops. We mean to purge the Triangle of this speed demon, once and for all."

Beyond the immediate concerns, largely ignored, of a possible violation of the separation of church and state, the Atheist Civilized Liberties Union filed a formal protest against the RCP.

"Forced exorcism is a violation of civil rights," Mrs. Stallings, head of the ACLU, explicated. "You've got drivers pulled out of their vehicles on the side of the road without warrant or trial. I realize things have changed since the inception of the Empire, but sometimes 'innocent until proven sinful' might be worth remembering."

The cooperation of church and state for this pet project is due in thanks to the large religious lobby and is ironically funded by a new motor fuel tax.

"Just because you're a pagan or heathen doesn't mean you can't share the road with everyone else," added Honeycutt.

Motorists will see Civil Protection officers out in full force this weekend. Historically, the large Dependence Day crowds are too juicy a temptation for the police to ignore.

The new secular-spiritual partnerships have had an unexpected and positive side effect, as Officer Sixguns explained. "Now when I beat down a suspect I might not hit him quite as much because I know there's a second set of eyes judging my every move."

Ah, yes, judgment. Now, that's my Empire!