115 hungry

Canada choked back the full-meal-in-a-pill with a minimum of water to wash it down. The Bald Man had put the entire crew on extreme rations for the duration of the journey. The entire crew consisted of three people and one of them was a robot. Baldy possibly failed to think this far ahead -- food storage would have been a nice contingency plan -- but more likely he was just a masochistic sadist. He dry swallowed his dinner, gave a deep demonstrative exhale as if this were the most satisfying act in the history of mankind and followed it up with the movement of the corners of his mouth in an upward direction, resembling something like a grin, but it would have felt wrong to describe it as such.

"What are you?" said Canada. This was a fair question. The escape pod and its escapees had been floating were ever it was that they were for a lengthy period now and Canada still knew little to nothing about her captor. This was as good a moment as any for get to know yous.

"I'm a monster and I eat little girls." It was all starting to make sense, he had brought food after all.

098

The Bald Man strapped himself into a small escape pod with Canada and Octabug in tow. The walls were coming down around them, the metallic structure was folding like so many nylon sheets that Canada used to help her mother with, as the pod blasted out to temporary safety. She expected that it had been built of sturdier stuff, the way it collapsed had her almost thinking that she could have broken free from her shackles any moment if she'd only exerted a glimmer of effort. Encouraged by the thought she attempted to circumvent her current restraint, but found that her belt was securely fastened.

The Bald Man looked at her and grinned "They found me, but they still couldn't stop me. I can't be stopped. That's something you'll learn very quickly."

Canada recalled that her captor had in fact been stopped mid-soliloquy when whatever it was attacked, but she didn't call him on it, she was more interested in what it was he was saying when the unknown enemy interpolated.

"What happened back there?"

"Always inquisitive aren't you?"

"You almost got me killed. I think I have a right to know."

A loud clang reverberated through the ship as if some one were using its hull as a gong. Greens and browns flashed across the monitor display. Octabug sprung to the dashboard and began working away furiously. The pod zigzagged multiple times in what Canada guessed were evasive maneuvers, and felt would soon result in motion sickness.

The bald man Grimaced."That my dear, was the Other." He didn't even bother to look at her when he spoke.

"OK, that doesn't help very much. Are they what we're saving the world from?" she said in a half-mocking tone.

"You are wise beyond your years, young lady. It is indeed."

"And you're leading the charge?"

"Right again."

Canada looked away from The Bald Man, mirroring his communication style. "We've got no hope then."

095

The siren resonated through The Bald Man's auditory system with vibrations powerful enough to fell a bridge. Fortunately the Octobug's quick reaction in deactivating the alarm prevented any permanent damage to his human associates mental faculties; in any event, they would need to readjust the audio balance of the security system in order to produce a state of readiness rather than an immobilizing effect upon it's sounding.

"&*^% they're on the way! Get up! They've breached security, we need to get out of here right now!" said the Bald Man

Canada reluctantly rose to her feet. Her shackles inexplicably unlocked themselves. Baldy possibly had a psycho-electric connection with particular parts of the building. "Who's they?"
she said as she was scooped up by the Octobug.

86.

Her Great Aunt was kidnapped a long time ago. Now she was too. Were these felonies somehow related? She couldn't be sure. The Bald Man was waffling on still, better pay attention.

"You have been brought here for a purpose. A very important purpose indeed. Do you understand?"

Canada scanned the room as subtly as possible, the octabug had retired to a neutral corner, the door, which was indiscernible from the walls was shut, no immediate points of escape were apparent.

"You're allowed to talk little one, we're all friends here. Nod or say yes." He was back to good cop, that game usually involved a foil, but he seemed content to play both roles.

"Um, no. What are you talking about. You're not making any sense."

His eyebrows revealed a slight exception to this last comment, but he managed to stay in character.

"Of course, of course. I don't want to overwhelm you Miz Canada."

"Canada will do." She was pushing it.

"I think I may have jumped the gun, perhaps it's better that I do the talking and then I'll field your questions and/or snarky comments at the end. O.K?" He kicked over the mini table, spilling the uneaten burger over the floor. "This is important, important enough that I've brought here at great risk to myself. You see, the world is in trouble, big trouble and only you and I and your miserable friends can save it."

"I can play the piano, what the hell are you talking about?"

He bent down and half-heartedly slapped her, "That's your last warning. We haven't got much time. The genes are -"

Whirooooooooo!!!!

"Oh for *&%$ sake. Now what?" Some kind of alarm was sounding.

73.

All parents should have a favourite. I only had one child so I wouldn't have to choose. This is the kind of jacked up thinking Canada had to endure on a daily basis. She harvested that gem from her mum's (mom's?) journal, with out her knowlege of course. The rest of its contents she'd rather not think about, yes it got a whole lot worse. C wasn't entirely sure what her mum had to do with her current prediciment, maybe she was getting soft.

"Like I said my dear, I'm here to help you. Maybe it's better you didn't eat that burger, what I'm about to share is probably best received on an empty stomach."

66.

The octabug continued to pull implements from what may have been a Doctor-Who-Telephone-Boothe dimensioned storage unit tucked away under its shiny exterior. Before Canada knew it she was armed with a knife and fork, complimented with a paisley patterned bib.


The bald man pulled up a chair. "Don't be shy, dig in, Octa here will show you what a real burger tastes like." He gestured toward the table. The bug obliged and popped out 2 burgers with twin bottles of prestige spring water.


"Generous. But I'm not hungry, crazy guy." Canada needed to work on her conflict resolution skills.


Things by most measures of normality had gotten drastically out of hand. This guy had at least 20 different personalities to choose from. C would have liked to hone in on the weakest one and crush it, but the rapid random toggling of personas kept her on her toes so much so that she couldn't find her feet. All the fancy foot work in the world couldn't help her now, she wasn't even sure that this was the same world that she'd woken upto this morning. A different strategy was in order. She just couldn't think of what it should be.

59. Earthcore Edition

"Look b#&^." said the Baldman,"If you know what's good for you. You'll say hello to my best friend here."

At the door stood an impossibly shiny, sickly tentacled, shiny hentai like creature. It was actually all of those things (except for the hentai part Canada hoped). She sat bolt upright and stood statue still. This guy was a piece of s&** on her shoe that she needed to dispose of immediately before his stink became overwhelming. And now he had a friend even more disgusting than he was. F&*^%$# prick.

The octobug approached with uncannily smooth vomit inducing movements, no doubt perfected through years of evolutionary development (If the creature was in fact a living being). It drew a crafty looking knife from its -- some undefined body part -- did I mention it was impossibly shiny.

"Mother Fu@#$%" said Canada, "That's one shiny f*&%$&# bug." She was sick of the Baldman's mood swings, sick of his cryptic musings, sick of this sickly creepy crawly monstrosity that was on its way to greet her.

It began to talk...

click, click, click.

"Mother Fu@#$%" Said Canada.

* * *

somewhere Scott Sigler's eyes are rolling. Please read/listen to Earthcore

51.

When Canada turned 7 she was diagnosed as a musical prodigy. When she turned 12 she was committed to the School Of Gifted Youngsters For The Under Privileged Bourgeoisie Who Are Good At Arts That Have No Measurable Value (that's how she remembered the name, anyway). There she discovered her love for herself and the prospect that if she were ever to take Philip K. Dick's Voight-Kampff test she would have surely failed, perhaps the only test that could have bested her.

Bolstered by her innate abilities, she continued to distance herself from her peers by her good looks and in a revolt against orthodoxy by her talent. Air Canada was destined for arrival at Carnegie, ETA: any time now. Unfortunately, her parents concerned with her lack of social decorum, insisted she enlist with the rank and file at a normal high school. They even made her get and hold a job before she could move on to the bright lights of Seventh Avenue. If their goal was to deny her ambitions of displaying her prodigious talent at a venue which she deemed worthy of her skill, they had surely succeeded. She was now at the mercy of a somewhat disheveled, highly erratic, possibly madman.

48.

"What's so damned funny?"

A shock wave of tyrannical glee passed through the Bald Man's body.

"Oh, it's nothing really." He stifled a giggle, and edged a little closer to composure. " I'm just admiring your pathetic predicament, I was the engineer, and I must say: I do good work."

"%*&# you."

"Is that what you really, want?"

If Canada were a ray gun the concentrated force of her present death stare would have vaporized the Bald Man instantly. As it was, she wasn't, she'd have talk her way out. Not her strong suit, not when she was this pissed. Who was this guy?

"I want out. Now if this is about your burger, sure I got my mate to spit in it, after your performance you earned it. But I think this is taking revenge just a little too far. You got issues mister. I didn't want to have to go all Oprah on you, but you've got to sort your #&%$ out you piece of #^$."

"Enough! Contrary to what you may think you insipid tart, I've brought you here to help you."
It was uncanny how quickly baldy cycled through moods, this statement was absorbed into Canada's conscious almost entirely through the spittle that he barked out as he charged her and squatted so that they were face to face.

"Right. Whatever. You always knock out and lock down people you're trying to help?" She said sullenly.

He stood resolutely, "Always."

The seeming earnestness of his answer momentarily caught Canada off guard. All she could manage in reply was a meager "Oh..."

41.

A potpourri of emotions burst open in Canada's chest. She was angry at the Bald Man, who'd disrupted her fast food chi and later rendered her unconscious with very little provocation. The escalation from light cussing to physical violence was unwarranted. He stood in front of her now, with that stupid grin, while she was anchored to the ground by a ball and chain.

She was tired, she was scared, she was confused, not to mention intrigued, it wasn't every day that she managed to get herself kidnapped. This was the most excitement she'd seen outside the confines of your typical bombastic mass media escapism. But this was real life. What a stupid thought (she thought); she should be terrified out of her brains.

33.

The bald man walked down a corridor muttering to himself, a bad habit he'd developed over the years."I am a singularity in the space time continuum of life. I am the Robinson Crusoe of post-modernity. I am the missing link in the horror that is the Human Genome. I am your brain on imaginary magic mushrooms. I am..." He pushed a button unlocking a heavy set steel door "...very happy to see you Mizz Canada."

Canada looked up, she wasn't impressed.

29.

The bald man has a name, as surely as he has an unnerving monkey face grin he has name. Its pronunciation is lost to prehistory, buried deep in some distant ice age. The bald man has many things that no one knows about but himself, he prefers it that way. He hasn't always been so bald, neither was he ever so egregiously demonstrative, he has seen empires rise fall and has contributed some of his own. As time flows, things change it's the way of the world, adapt or die, be Nietzsche, be Darwin, be God, don't trust any of them, just be. The bald man knows this. He sits and shines his cranium till he can see a reflection of his own reflection of himself in the mirror on his head and he smiles.

18.

"what was that son?" said the bald stranger.

He began to swing his crutch cum weapon with the finesse of a professionally trained ballerina. This was no ordinary man. He had both class and elegance as his savvy dress sense and propensity to knock out defenceless woman clearly indicated.

"ohahohewho."

"that's quite enough gibberish."

The bald one, by the malicious look on his face delivered a fierce blow to the side of Daly's head. Daly looked up blankly. This vacant stare was answered with a series of strikes that left him spasming on the ground.

Absolom scuttled over to the man who had once tried to feed him to an exotic lizard and whimpered uncontrollably.

14.

"You *#&%!@ you're the %$^&*# from work today."

"Indeed my dear. I'm your worst nightmare, an abusive customer who doesn't actually want to buy anything."

"Terrifying. What are you doing here? Where's Simon?"

"You know as well as I do you impetuous self-absorbed wench. He went that way."

Canada gave a big huff, lent slightly forward with arms open at an acute angle and flared wrists, pausing for dramatic effect. Then she stormed away, stopped mid step suddenly realizing that she hadn't actually done anything useful yet. Simon was still flying(!?) off into the dark night, Absalom was in need of hair and skin grafts, while Daly seemed to be struggling to find his freshly spilt marbles.

She turned to her agitator again, "Now you list--," he smashed her over the head with his flashy walking stick.

13.

The bald stranger emerged from the scattered rubble of Simon's former home. His shades were dislodged from their standard position and sat asymmetrically on his head. He smiled like he may have just killed your gran ma.

"Hey you!" screamed C "What just hap--. It's you!"

7.

Simon sat up and scratched his head, something wasn't right. It wasn't left either, it was more like directly in line with his gaze, 12 o'clock as they say.

"Hello, Simon."

"Good morning?"

"I've been waiting." The Stranger was bald, or at least his head was shaven clean. He wore what looked to be a black leather trench coat and and an ostentatious pair of purple tinted glasses. A poor man's white version of Morpheus. He looked like a bit of a tosser.

"My dream..."

"You're perfectly awake young man. This is real life."

Simon and reality weren't quite on friendly terms just yet, "But, it didn't make any sense. Just like what's happening now. Who are you and what are you doing in my room!? It's really disturbing. I need to rest, I've got a big trip this evening."

The stranger dropped his cane, which had an impressive red gem as it's head, it clanked on the floor as he reached into his coat. Simon squeezed his sheets, bracing himself .

Out came a bag of gummi Bears, "Lets talk boy."

2.

Canada had been at work all day. It was the kind of work that most of us can appreciate. Flipping paddies, scrubbing floors and making smiley faces at people like you're an email emoticon. Her experience had taught her that people we're infinitely dumber when they took on the mantle of customers and that by some inexplicable gift of providence she was somehow spared from adopting this stupidity herself when she was on the other side of the counter. This made it all the more difficult to empathise when someone ummed and ahhed and changed their order for the nth time, but in spite of her superiority she played it cool, made it out like she understood indecision and sometimes even wished deep down that she really could...

"Can I take your order, please."

"How bout you make it and I'll take it."

Was that a joke, lame.
"Ha, of course sir. If you'd be so kind as to let me know what you'd like, we'll have it here in a flash and you can be on your merry way."

"You'd like that now wouldn't you."

"Excuse me?"

"you types are all the same with your shiny badges and matching uniforms, think you can talk down to the rest of us civilized folk. And if I wanted you to flash anything it certainly wouldn't be my meal."

....This wasn't one of those times. Canada paused for a moment took a deep breathe and felt a whole lot more justified about her stance on customers.

"I'm sorry sir, you're right, can I take your order please Mr. ****wit."