City of IF

[The Powers That Be]

Mitzclom’s sudden change of tone caught my attention for a moment, but it wasn’t long before I reverted to wallowing in self-pity. Why oh why did I have to go out for that walk? Everything had been going so well. And now I didn’t have the foggiest idea what to do, or what might happen next.

C’mon, Brill, focus. You’ve got to get yourself out of this. I’d been tempted momentarily by Clazpho’s offer, but the straps on my wrists and the veiled threats reminded me that this was not the ideal business partner. I looked over at Mitzclom, who’d plopped himself down next to the bowl of Hamentashen-snacks. He grabbed a handful (well, tentacle-full, really), tossed them into his mouth, and slowly chewed while staring at a large picture of (I guessed) Clazpho that adorned the far wall. After a long moment, he began to spit.

When I say that he spit, you must not think of the expectorations of one of our Earth-llamas. Nor should you envision a baseball player, cheek full of chewing tobacco, spraying randomly and letting half the juice dribble down his chin and drip on his shoes. No, Mitzclom raised spitting to an art form. Perfectly round little pellets of viscous silver-gray saliva shot across the room and slammed (splat!) onto the picture, with a bare minimum of spattering. At first I thought the aim was random, but eventually, when I noticed that the Clazpho in the picture now sported two pointy spit-horns and a handlebar spit-moustache, I realized that Mitzclom had total control over the trajectory of each individual loogy. As he started hanging spit-hoops from Clazpho’s llama-ears, I was struck again by the urgent thought: I have got to get out of this place.

“Uh, Mitzclom?” I asked tentatively. A terribly clever plan had hatched in my brain, and I wasted no time implementing it.

Slowly, he turned his llama-head around to face me. “What, human?”

“I’ve, uh, thought about it, and I want to accept your boss’s most generous offer. I would love to work with the two of you. And, you know, become the Governor of Earth and all that. Sounds, um, great! I’m so excited, in fact, that I want to get back to the factory right away and start delaying production. Lots of sabotage to do! So if you’ll just untie me and get me into the smoky thingamajig, I’ll get right on that, ok?”

I swear that it seemed terribly clever at the time, but you must remember that I was tied up, exhausted, and generally under a great deal of stress.

Mitzclom just stared at me for a long moment. Then he slowly turned his head back around and resumed chomping and spitting.

“No really,” I called to him, sounding more desperate than I intended. “I’ve got equipment to break, chemical labels to change, recipes to alter. So much to do. I, uh, oh yeah! I don’t think Clazpho will be pleased if that cement gets delivered because you wouldn’t let me get back and ruin it!”

This got Mitzclom’s attention. The chewing noises got louder, and then he spat with such tremendous force that he dented the metal bulkhead opposite him (giving Clazpho the cutest little dimple in the process). He got up and skittered across the floor toward me. He didn’t stop until his face was inches from my own – it was all I could do to avoid passing out from the stench of his breath.

“Let me explain something to you very clearly, human. Claz-f***…” he said, imbuing the name with all the virulent hostility he could muster, “may be just as stupid and gullible as you think. But do not for one minute compare me in any way to that, that person, and do not believe that I am so easily fooled.

“Now, let’s try this again. What is your answer?”

The confidence was draining out of me at a tremendous rate. “Um, well, yes? I mean, yes! I do accept!” In for a penny, in for a pound.

I don’t know if llamas can smirk, but it turns out that Hamentashen can. “All right then, let’s proceed,” said Mitzclom. But instead of untying me, he made his way to a storage cabinet across the room and rooted around in the drawers. Eventually, he seemed to find what he was looking for – he held up a pink gumball-sized sphere, examined it, tossed it into his mouth, and began to chew. Turning toward me, he said, “Hold still, human.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. I was protesting, “Hey, you’re supposed to be untying me…” when he spit one more time. This time, though, his target was my forehead. The pink projectile slammed into my face with tremendous force, and I felt alien saliva start to dribble down between my eyes. “What’s the big idea!” I shouted. “Keep your disgusting habits to yourself!”

Mitzclom ignored me. When I was done raving and trying to pull my arms free to wipe my face, he said, “There, that should be enough time. Now, human, are you going to join with us against the Rugelachs?”

I said, “Yes, I’ve already told you twice, yes I am.” Well, that’s what I meant to say, anyway. What came out of my mouth was, “No, of course not, I’m just trying to get you to release me so I can run away, soil myself, get a tinfoil hat and spend the rest of my life hiding from aliens. Well, llama-shaped aliens, anyway. I may still help out Rudy and Trudy, I haven’t really thought through all of that yet. Is there anything else you’d like to know?” I felt my heart sink into my stomach as I forced my lips together.

Mitzclom made a braying, choking sound that I interpreted as laughter. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said. “You didn’t really think we would let you go without testing you with truth tonic, did you? Even Clazpho” – here he turned and spat once more, turning his mistress’s nose pink – “wouldn’t be so simple.”

I sank down in the chair as far as I could, given the constraints, and was just about to have a good cry when one last desperate idea came into my head. “Why do you work for Clazpho, anyway? It seems like she treats you terribly, making you grovel like that. How often does she beat you, anyway?”

Even though Mitzclom was completely alien, I could see the pent-up rage in him welling up to the surface. “How often does she beat me? Ha! How often?! Stupid human. Feast your eyes on this!” He lifted a few tentacles, grabbed onto what I had thought was his skin but now realized was clothing, and pulled it up so I could see his actual flesh underneath. A shocked gasp escaped me as I took in the repulsive view. The mottled mauve skin was lined with what looked like recent scar tissue, from the edges of which a pus-like material was oozing. I had to turn away after a moment, and I felt a sympathetic rage toward Clazpho welling up inside me.

“Yes, that’s right,” said Mitzclom, “don’t look. Avert your eyes! Oh, woe is me! How can I go back home looking like this? Not a mark on me! Skin like a newborn baby’s! Oh, the humiliation!

“‘I see, Mr. Mitzclom,’” he continued, affecting the imperious voice of a skeptical interviewer. “’On your resume here it says you’ve spent the last three seasons interning on a Fortuneship, serving under a registered Fleet Captain. Most impressive, if it is to be believed. But I can see from here that you have all your tentacles. And your eyes and ears, too. Do you think me a fool, Mr. Mitzclom?! Get out of my office before I throw you out!’ Oh, I’m ruined!” He buried his face in his tentacles and started bawling, soggy llama-tears spattering loudly on the metal floor.

The feeling of complete disorientation and confusion was starting to feel like an old friend – it was almost comforting at this point to feel its return. “Wait a minute, Mitzclom. You want Clazpho to beat and torture you?”

Mitzclom blew his nose loudly and looked up at me. “Of course, human, what kind of question is that? A spot on a Fortuneship is the most presitigious position an intern can have on his resume – I’m one of twelve who were selected out of sixteen million applicants. But Fortuneship captains are notoriously brutal and sadistic masters who are prone to horrific violence. They torture interns for any perceived mistake, and they perceive a lot of mistakes. The only ones who come back unscathed are the sniveling weaklings who run and hide from their punishment until the captain forgets about it (Fortuneship captains are not known for their long memories). Returning interns are judged almost entirely by how much punishment they’ve managed to endure. The most famous Fortuneship intern of all is Reetzpoop, who is now our Supreme Overlord. His entire body consists of a small sac of internal organs and a single eyeball. And three hairs. That’s it. Oh, he is truly a Hamentashen’s Hamentashen! I worship him. My goal was to match his achievement. But then I got stuck with Clazpho. And now my dreams are shattered.” He started crying again.

“So what does Clazpho do to you when you make a big mistake?” I asked.

He looked up again, and this time I could see that his anger was directed at me. “I do not make ‘big mistakes’, or little mistakes, or any sort of mistakes.” he said haughtily. “I am extremely good at what I do.”

The piled-up confusion was giving me a nice buzz at this point. “So you’re upset that she doesn’t beat you when you make mistakes, but you don’t actually make mistakes? I don’t get it. Why don’t you screw up on purpose?”

Now Mitzclom looked confused. “I don’t understand you, human.”

“Well, if you were to do something wrong intentionally, maybe you could get her to beat you.”

“Perhaps my translator is not working. You are not making any sense.”

“I mean mess up. Don’t do what she tells you. Do the opposite. Do it wrong.”

“Still not following.”

I sighed. I knew this was leading somewhere good, I just needed to figure out how to get there. “Ok, Mitzclom, what were your orders when Clazpho left earlier?”

Mitzclom pondered. “I am to keep you tied in that chair and not let you out of my sight.”

“Ok, great.” Ooh, this was perfect. “So let’s just suppose that, say, you got very sick and fell unconscious. And I somehow managed to get out of the chair and get over to the smoky transporter thingy and get out of here. What would happen when Clazpho came back?”

“She would be infuriated. She would have no choice but to punish me most severely.” Clazpho brightened for a moment at the idea, but it didn’t last. “But I am not sick and I will not fall unconscious.”

“Ok, now let’s suppose that you didn’t get sick, but that you accidentally – accidentally, you see – untied me and I escaped. What then?”

“Well, the result would be the same. But what’s the point of all this? Are you simply trying to upset me even more?”

“No, no, hear me out. Now let’s say that you untied me but – now listen carefully, this is very important – it wasn’t really an accident. What then?”

Mitzclom waved his tentacles impatiently and said, “You still don’t make any sen…oh, wait a minute. Not an accident. Untied, escaped…not an accident.” Mitzclom was silent for a long moment. Then, suddenly, he leaped up high in the air and shouted, “On purpose! Human, you are a genius!” He came over and untied my bindings. “Wonderful, this will have to work. Go now, quickly!”

I jumped up and ran over to the Dissolv-o-Porter. Next to it was a touchpad covered with alien symbols and flanked by some buttons and levers. “Uh, Mitzclom, I can’t work this thing.”

Mitzclom visibly deflated. “Oh, no, our beautiful plan, ruined! Thanks for nothing, human, for getting me all excited – ”

“Mitzclom!” I interrupted. “I’ve got a crazy idea. What if you work it for me and send me back home.”

“Now why would I do such a thi – oh, of course, right!” Mitzclom scooted to the controls, helped me into the tube, and started pushing, pulling and tapping controls.

After a few painfully long moments, the air around me turned smoky and I could see my body begin to dissolve away. I was preparing myself for the bliss of transport when I heard Mitzclom’s voice, seeming far away, say “Uh-oh!” I looked around frantically and noticed that some of the smoke in the tube was starting to congeal. I panicked, thinking the transport was failing, but looking down, my body was still disappearing. But then what was that body that was taking shape in here with me? The realization hit me and I panicked still more.

Clazpho was returning. As I was melting away, she was solidifying. There must have been some overlap between us, because I could feel her solidifying in my arms and legs. Her llama-face was coming into focus just an inch from my own. Her eyes formed, became solid, and widened hugely as she saw me. In the instant before I dissolved completely, she got her mouth back and I heard, “MITZCLOM!” Then I was gone.

I reformed a few moments later, back on the hilltop. I was shaking so badly that I collapsed in a heap and stayed there for several minutes. Then a voice inside my head said, Get moving, Brill! She’ll come back! I forced myself to stand up. I scanned my body to make sure all my parts were here and they were all human. I gave a quick sigh of relief and looked around me.

I could head back to my office, get inside where no claws or rainclouds could reach me. But if the Hamentashen came looking for me, that would be the obvious place. Down in the town square, the farmer’s market was going strong now – maybe I’d be safer in a crowd. My eyes wandered past the market to the far end of the square, where the Little Falls Ledger had its offices. The newspaper's editor, Joel Hahn, was a friend of mine. Maybe I should visit him and tell him my story. If all these aliens were trying to use me to take over the world, shouldn’t people know about that?

I thought for a moment and made my decision. I scanned the sky for clouds but didn’t see anything – perhaps Clazpho was otherwise occupied, dealing with Mitzclom. But I wasn’t going to wait around to find out. I scratched the itch on the back of my neck with my left index tentacle, and started down the hill.

[ethereal_fauna]

:x Tentacles...hehehehe.

Head to the Ledger...although I think that itch isn't going away any time soon. Maybe you should try to contact the twinkies somehow. Make it appear that the factory is on fire and they should show up shortly. Something involving loads of smoke but no actual flames?

[DukeReg]

Nice. I think you should go and make some headlines.

[Smee]

Great chapter. Careful though, you're spoiling us with these once a month chapters. :D

Quote: back of my neck with my left index tentacle, and started down the hill.

I thought he checked himself for non-human parts. Is he too addled to notice?

I say head for the factory and try and contact the twinkies. You're best chance of getting hold of them will be in the factory.

Happy Writing. :)

[Shady Stoat]

Yey! Chapter four! (and just in time to pay the rent, I see) :cool:

I can't see the media helping with this one. Editor friend or no, Frank is doomed to the white coat and the comfy padded walls if he tells a story like this with no evidence.

If he really has sprouted tentacles, then that could be considered evidence of course. However, if he only thinks he's got them, that's evidence of a whole different kind! Cue the straightjacket again.

I like the idea of a fake fire in the factory. That might work. It seems better than trying to fight this on his own anyway. :D

[Key]

I agree with Stoat: the only headline Frank's likely to make by going to the media is "Local Businessman Loses Mind, Is Locked Away." The fake fire to contact the Twinkies is a good idea, but if Frank goes there himself he's likely to get picked up by the Hamentashens.

I'd say try to get someone else to do the fire (or some other distraction) and then leave a message at the factory for where the Twinkies can find him. They got a purchase order from Frank's company, so someone at the factory must at least be able to recognize them if they come looking for him.

[Ingrothechundyer]

I agree with the above. Frank should go hide and get a friend to fake a fire at the factory. No talking to editor friends about why. (possibly a bet or dare with an old drinking pal?)

[The Powers That Be]

Well, there you have it. Storygaming at its finest. Given a million years and an endless supply of mind-altering substances, I think it's safe to say that I never would have thought of faking a fire as the next logical step.

Keep the ideas coming, folks! Please God, let's get some more ideas. Somebody? Anybody? Buehler?

*wanders away shaking his head and mumbling a f***in' fake factory fire? How do I write that in?*

[ethereal_fauna]

*giggles*

Fire, fire, hehehe. Yeah, fire. :-x

[Sorrow_A]

Search your body for a transmitter. Perhaps the Rugelaches put a tracking device or transmitter on you; if it was the former, you just went off the planet, so they're looking for you anyways. If that doesn't work, then

BURN, BABY BURN! BURN, BABY, BUUUURN!

[D-Lotus]

Well, there must be another way to communicate with the twinkies...

but it seems strange...they should be very fearful for his life...(he is their future supplier of the most precious material in the universe)they must have planted some device on him to ensure he doesn't get hurt. Therefore, search for something like that, and then hurt yourself, and hopefully they'll come. Or burn the factory... :D

[Shady Stoat]

Just one more idea occurs to me...

If the twinkies have given Frank a purchase order, wouldn't it have delivery details on it? Or contact details? I believe it's in the Factory Safe at the moment (between the notebooks containing the secret recipes for Lemon-Fresh Cement Scent and Extra-Gooey Rubberized Slime), but not much has been said about it.

If Frank doesn't want to go check, he could always get his friend Chuck to go in his stead...

[D-Lotus]

I guess you're right

[Key]

Hmm...well, Frank took the purchase order, so hopefully he would know if it had contact details on it, even if he doesn't remember what they were. If it does, it's better to get that and contact the Twinkies than to start a fake fire.

But he might want to sneak back into the factory to get the P.O. instead of asking someone else to do it. He shouldn't give away the combination to the safe, considering it now contains one of the most valuable secrets in the galaxy.

[The Powers That Be]

Looks like there are only two different proposals for this chapter. Poll's up!

[ethereal_fauna]

As attractive as the fake fire sounds, I still want him contacting the media...tentacles and all. :) I can just imagine the looks on the twinkie faces when they see him getting carted off to the cuckoos nest on the six o'clock news.

[The Powers That Be]

All right, the factory it is! Thanks to everyone who voted. I'll get to work on Chapter Five.

[Chinaren]

Quote: I’m one of twelve who were selected out of sixteen million applicants

Hehe. 16 million.

[The Powers That Be]

At long last locked. Chapter Five is here.