Subpoena 01013128718660, issued on the authority of the Supreme Court of Blackmoore II, Justice Colin (“the golem”) Imhotep presiding


INQUIRY:  directory listings for C:\WP51\-WPFILES\HOLY.*


As of 13/6/093S.E.,




HOLY.ACH   4,447   06/01/93 27:36 HOLY .ANS   3,681   06/12/39   14:52
HOLY.APE 3,779 05/24/93 23:18 HOLY.BED 1,366 06/12/39 22:32
HOLY.BEG 4,404 05/22/93 23:11 HOLY .BK! 1,023 06/12/93 22:07
HOLY.BOX  2,807 05/22/93   13:24 HOLY .CIG 1,497 06/06/93 23:25
HOLY.BUX 4,754 06/03/93  21:20 HOLY.END 1,262 05/24/93 22:54
HOLY.GOD 549 05/28/93 00:11 HOLY.HER 5,575 05/22/93 23:33
HOLY.LUK 2,177 06/01/93 19:29 HOLY.LUV 1,522 06/06/93 22:54
HOLY.REC 549 05/31/93 13:13 HOLY.SEX 1,544  05/28/93 23:51
HOLY.TIT 776 06/07/93  20:27 HOLY.WET 3,423 05/27/93 15:38


                Excerpt from Adonin 093 issue of Farrellian Archaeology Review.



The Latest From the Qumranni Front

by Dr. Phong Tzu Xec Berklowitz.



The excavation of the QumranniIII athenaeum is far from over, and it is incorrect to assume that the discovery of the Marjorie texts are the only find of significance.  The “collateral material” found around Lady Gretta’s Discovery has been as interesting—and revealing—as Marjorie’s.

For instance, on the shelf holding the four Marjorie mass-markets, the book to its immediate right was a an over-sized trade paperback by Matthew Farrell.  It has been speculated that he was a disciple of Marjorie first called Matthew Thomas, but who changed his surname when he converted.  The work in question is called essene, and is known from ancient anthologies of heterodox science fiction (along with Lord Foul’s Bane, and The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe.)   It is interesting to note that extant portions of the Qumranni essene deviate significantly from the earlier versions.  The last chapter, which explains the whole story, is full of gaps that editorial seams have not properly sewn together.  Several serious discrepancy between the Qe and younger copies have been demonstrated.

But tidbits such as this do not satisfy in our hunger for the real Farrell, M.  But with nothing translated since June, it is doubtful at best that Lady Gretta’s Discovery will be published in its entirety for the masses before the new year.

However, during the course of the legalities, curates at  Vs'Jnn'Tik University contacted us, and brought to our attention a series of fragments in their museum.  On file they had a computer library chip from four hundred years ago, discovered in diggings at Ox'Rinn'Chzz.  It was heavily damaged and most of the data was fragmentary, but several of the fragments were verbatim translations of Good Friday—in Kp'Tikk (a dialectic deviant of Old High Sl'Drin.)

Oddly enough, much of the interrelated material can be postulated to fit the themes of the above titles in the subpoena, and, in fact, contain a number of annotations relating to the translation team currently working on the documents.

The fragments were intriguing enough that we asked to see the originals.  Vs'Jnn'Tik University promptly informed us that the curate in charge of such requests was currently on extended sabbatical, and the office was currently being run by Dr. Jg'St'Tek.  'Tek, who is the Daegstrom Institute’s member of the translation team, told us that he would not let anybody see the chip until his superior returned from sabbatical.  However, it insisted that he had done the translations from the chip itself, so they were accurate.  Perhaps this accounts for the horrendous grammar and spelling: the fragments were clearly lacking in proofreading, though this could also be explained as textual damage.  Still, 'Tek was unwilling to explain why they contained direct references to both itself and the actual controversies taking place regarding the translation, nor would it answer questions concerning its colleagues’ claims that it’d just copied everybody’s hard drive and was just cashing in early.

The question of the authenticity of these fragments will unquestionably be solved with the eventual publication of the true text from QumranniIII.  But until final publication, we present these fragments as a preview of Marjorie’s genius.




Ox'Rinn'Chzz Fragment #23




Holding the door open for his companionette, he beckoned her in.

                With one step, three worlds joined at the axis mundi of Healing Earth Recources.  Matthew followed her in, found her a pace inside looking around amusedly.

                She hadn't even noticed the rest of the store; what held her attention was a section marked ASTROLOGY.  A smile formed on her lips, grew as she felt a form press up behind her, hands glide over her hips.  Blade's ponytail allowed ample access to the albinic curves of her slender neck; she felt warm moistness land firmly on the nape, kiss her with hot affection.  Her eyes became lazy slits as a purr rolled down her body.  Matt carressed her pelvis with a final squeeze,




Ox'Rinn'Chzz Fragment #43




Caandelenian Ice Coffee



                !  ice  (2/3 of cup or container)


                !  three shots of espresso


                !  whoke milk  (about 2/3 of cup)


                !  thimble-full of vanilla extract


                !  whipped cream


                !  healthy sprinkle of powdered chocolate




Ox'Rinn'Chzz Fragment #97




                The sun was in the centre of the southern sky: high noon.  It was about one degree below pleasant, and the everpresent wind was down to a soft breeze.  Without realizing he had even done it, Matthew slid an arm around Blade's waste, hung his thumb on the empty belt loop hugging her hip.  And without consciously realizing she was doing it, Blade moved in slightly closer to him, nessled an arm around his back, and worked her fingertips into his pocket.  They walked down the street together in a leasurely, synchopated stroll.

                To the east, the blue of Lake Michigan.  To the south, the green of Lincoln Park.  The green was broken by a black spike with a golden focus-point: the gilded statue of Matt's favourite Colonnial figure.  As they approached, a soft, eerie wailing could be heard from an indeterminate source.  Its volume grew inversely with their distance from the immense black slab.

                Several people lay suppine and prostrated before it, altering their complexions with doses of ultra-violet.  Matt began to feel the uncomfortable weight of a stranger's eyes baring down on him; he looked over, and saw that a young girl sat lotus in the shadow of the monument.  She had starkly blond hair and a definitely mongoloid, almost simian cast to her face.  Her eyes had the intense look of someone staring at an orange juice bottle marked concentrate.

                "Na," she said suddenly, "it's probably not important."

                Matt frowns, and suddenly an oversized butterfly net swoops down and ensnares her.  Men in sinister black uniforms reel her in, and begin to herd the creature south.

                Blade took no notice, but someone other than Matt saw this.  A young byciclist pulled to a stop and asked one of the dark guardians what had happened.  Behind mirrored sunglasses, the captain of the squad looked at the cyclist, then motioned at the ape creature with blonde fur being led away.

                "Escaped from one of Matt's other letters."

                Matt's attention was distracted by light but firm pressure around him, appearing in two brief pulses.  Eyes arced to a lateral view, met gray Caandelenian orbs smiling at him.  He invited himself into her gaze, looked around for the force behind the gray dilations, and found it.  The discovery made him return the smile.

                Blade felt warm and happy at occular interlocution, and even more so when she held his hazels for a full ten seconds.  It had taken her a while to realize that Matt was, beneath it all, timid around her.  She did as much as she could to encourage him out of it.  She repeated the squeeze with her arm, was delighted when he answered it with a smile and two gentle pulls with his own.  Soft smile, and she tilted her head to nest on his shoulder.

                Matt, stunned as always that she had allowed him to look at her for so long, looked at the snowy crown gracing him with its presence.  He kissed her lightly on the scalp, and rested the side of his head on top of hers




Ox'Rinn'Chzz Fragment #112




                Matthew pinned her to the mattress, and his willing victim entwined her arms around him to draw him as close to her as possible.  Warmth and weight on top of her, writhing in response to her litterally turned her on.  She surpassed Matt's passion and counterattacked his kiss with one that caused him to moan.  Blade closed her eyes, and left the visual world in favour of the tactile.  Her tongue spoke to his with a tenderly agressive energy, saying over and over the simple message i love you matthew  She pulled at him desperately, trying to bring their two bodies physically together.  Their passion had already merged to union, each rising with the other as it fed off the other's pleasures.  Matt felt her emotional energy surging into him, and






Ox'Rinn'Chzz Fragment #124




                "So, what do you want to do today."

                Matthew looked at her tender face, her open oval eyes, and his heart turned into a butterfly.  It pulsed its wings a beat; the flutter went into his belly and caused his whole body to quiver.

                "I was going to work on your story some more," he said, feeling happy and giddy all over, "but I'd rather spend the day with you."

                Blade saw the flame of affection burning behind his eyes, and its heat melted her heart.  She could feel it dripping wax-like into her taught, pale belly, and a giddy shudder identical to his rippled her body.

                "Well I was thinking of sculpting, but I'd rather spend the day with you, too."

                Matt was moments away from that awkward moment when one discovers that they have not been breathing for quite a while.  In the mean-time, Blade smiled "so what do you want do do?"

                Well, I know what I want to do, and he thought of the excstacy of last night and the frustration of this morning.  Unfortunately, by mutual agreement that wasn't an option.

                But as he looked upon her simple beauty, he saw that her eyes were a mirror of his own.

                Or so he hoped.

                "I have a brilliant idea," he said at last.


                "Let's run off to Arizona and get a little place out in the middle of nowhere.  Just the two of usx"




                        X  This is probably the most controvercial and debated line in Lady Gretta's Discovery.  Listen: The excavations at the QumranniIII Athenaeum revealed numerous fragments of works which had not weathered time as well as others.  The generally shoddy manner in which the library was unearthed doubtless destroyed much of what still remained, reducing some tomes to powder and others to mere fragments.  [A complete (as of 3/6/093) accounting of this is given in QumrannIII by Dr. Phong Tzu Xec Berklowitz, Cassidine State University Press ($1995 direct mail--coupon in index--first 100 copies autographed so order now) ]

                One of the fragments was part of a paperback novel apparently called Bones, for that was the title written atop each page.  It appeared to have been an anthology, the surviving vignettes being Lawn Pizza, How to Beat the Legal System (Plan B), and the first half of Familiar.  This tasteless tripe is cheap pulp fiction, and there is no doubt whatsoever that Marjorie was not the author.  However, part of the Book of Bones was six pages from an untitled story.  About midway through it,


                "Let's run off to Arizona and get a little place out in the middle of nowhere.  Just the two of us."


                It is even more revealing that the line is said by a gorgeous man to a mysterious, beautiful woman.  The man is Billy Greyraven.  The woman is identified alternately as Anjelikka, and Anjel.  Although it is never specifically stated (at least on the surviving pages), it is heavily implied that she is some form of un-dead parasitic monster.

                The fragment mostly concerns how the two met, using a then-popular literary technique called an acid-flash.  He had hit an armadillo with his Harley while doing around seventy (scholars are still trying to figure out what that means) and was bleeding to death at the side of the road.  Angelika literally appears out of nowhere, and through a vague (and ambiguously--though highly erotic) manner staunches the bleeding and saves his life.  Billy thanks her, and makes his proposal.  She agrees.

                On the surface, this might appear to be a very weak Marjorie plot, and indeed there are many darkly erotic scenes interspersed.  However,






Ox'Rinn'Chzz Fragment #142




                Matt wasn't sure how long he had been awake before he was actually aware of it, and to open his eyes from total blackness into total white was even more disorienting.  However, the white wall in front of him moved slightly, and a moment later he heard the sound of a page being turned.  A smile spread across his lips, and he placed them on the back of her neck.  He was greeted with a throaty purr which his lips actually felt before mouthing the words "good morning."

                Blade turned her attention from her book to her companion; she rolled over her side, which actually brought her partially on top of him.  Taking advantage of the position, she draped a leg over his side and propped herself up on her elbows so she could look down upon him.  Long folds of her thick white mane curtained his face, again casting him into a monochrome world broken only by two hungry gray circles and arched, cherry lips.  They danced into motion, exposing teasing hints of a cardinal tongue as she purred "yatnah akoozah, Mah'theyuah."






Ox'Rinn'Chzz Fragment #132




                Matthew peered into his vertical mailbox, saw it barren.  Void.  Berift of life, it rests in peace.  If you hadn't nailed it to the [...]x  it would be pushing up the daisies.xx




                        x unintelligable--possibly five letters, including an "r" and a "c".  Obviously, the permutations are endless, as are the theories of what the whole word was.  Dr. Jg'st'Tek points to the Easter theme of the story and offers that the word is "cross".  However, linguist-without-portfolio Dr. Donald "Duck Dunn" Dharma Lipschitz the Fourth points out that this would require "cross" to be spelled "**rcos".  When he further suggested that the word might be "perch," Dr. 'Tek began bludgeoning him with an unabridged Saladrin/Human dictionary.  Lipschitz attempted to fend off the assault with his portfolio, but realized that he was without it and proceeded to get the stuffing pounded out of him until 'Tek could be restrained.


                        xx  At this point the text is heavily damaged.  The italicised portion is a tenative translation, though its seeming nonsense suggests it is too heavily damaged to translate properly.  Dr. D. "Weasel" Sappah of the Daegstrom Moon Unit Anthropology Department suggests that the damage is "bitched type," that is, a printing error.  " frequently happened with the mechanical printing presses of Ancient Earth: lines would get in from juxtaposed columns."  Dr. Jeg'St'Tek denies this.  While he acknowledges that bitched type was an occasional problem, 'Tek contends that this is a Holy Manuscript, written by Marjorie Herself, and thus immune to any errors.  He was also overheard to say, unofficially, that "...the only bitch involved here is that butt-ugly, trout-lipped, abortion cunt of a sister of his."  >Officially, Dr. 'Tek says that barring a better translation, the line stands as is.  He plans the release of a six-volume dissertation of the line's meaning "after I've had some time to gel on what the fuck She was getting at."





Ox'Rinn'Chzz Fragment #144






Holy Saturday




                Blade stretched out her full length, felt bones scrack into comfort as her whole frame vibrated with a tremendous yawn.  Morning light filtered in, the sun in full bloom having just cleared the oceanic horizon.  More than the light, it was the warmth that Blade enjoyed as the rays drenched her body.  She allowed a shiver to ripple her body as she closed her eyes and surrendered with a smile to the ascending sun.  It felt wonderful.  The arch of her angel's mouth became the sweetest smile, and she purred physically and verbally.

                This was her favourite way to wake up.

                When you wake up on Caandelen's Star, the first thing you are aware of is how cold the world you've entred consciousness into is.  It is thus bliss to wake up surrounded by heat.  Even through the synth-silkx sheets the fire of Blackmoore's Star hit her head on, tenderly broiling her stretched form.  She relaxed into a pool of warm, amorphous flesh, and smiled even more as the amorphous pool of warmth behind her reacted to her movement.  The pillow of warmth her head rested on was, in fact, an arm, and it moved reflexively under her.  A moment later, its mate draped over her slender belly and pulled lightly on her tummy before losing all life and slipping down to the matress.  She allowed herself another yawn, and slowly opened her eyes.

                Lying on her side, her perception was tilted 90.  In her immediate sight was Matt's arm, passing out and away, and draping off the side of the bed.  Out the far window of the studio, a post-card view of the now-complete dawn.  Matt's arm seemed to be a pointer at the orange ball.  The window's photosensors had activated, and digitally dimmed a sphere over the sun (updating it every 300ths of a second) so it didn't hurt the eye to look at.

                As I rise to consciousness, so the sun rises to the heavens to bring us light and warmth.

                Her readings hadn't taken her as far as Easter yet, so she was unaware that her thoughts were symbolically twenty-fourxx hours prematurexxx

                She decided to change that.  Reaching over to her night stand, she lightly took hold of the thick red anthology she had borrowed from Matt.  Opening it up to the place she had marked, she resumed her reading.


Blade on the Bible


Day Two



                        x  the real stuff, like ivory, was illegal.



                        xx  Contrary to popular belief, the Old Earth day was twenty-four hours long.  The Twenty-five hour Standard Day of modern use was a common sense corruption implemented during the first fifty years of the Migration.


                        xxx  Indeed, many prominant Farrellogists argue over the previous two paragraphs and their placement in the story.  Dr. Imhotep says that such imagery is tailor-made for an Easter Sunday, and is not only out of place in this chapter but completely lacking in the next.  Imhotep's conclusion is that an accidental or spurious post-publication revision has reversed the morning sequences.

                This view has been roundly--and less than eloquently--denounced by Dr. Jg'st'Tek, who insists that the order in the story is correct, and that it is historical recollection that is at fault.  He points out that since no existing copies of the mysterious book in question, The Bible, exist, we can only guess and conjecture






Ox'Rinn'Chzz Fragment #152


                X  The meaning of this colloquialism is unclear, though we can only hope it is a metaphor (even the most limber human would break their backs trying this.)






Ox'Rinn'Chzz Fragment #153




                The last of the water trickled onto her forehead, and she could feel the surrounding envelope of steam dissipate around her.  Pale skin bristled with goosepimples, rising in a wave up her body as the studio's slight chill replaced the warm shower vapor.  Her frame tingled all over, and she shuddered at the sudden temperature shock.  She closed her eyes and quivered at the sensation, drew a choppy breath as she felt her nipples transformed into perfect points of tender red hardness on a perfect euclidian curve of alabaster flesh.  Her whole body petrified, and for a brief, pure moment she became the most perfect--and perfectly beautiful--sculpture in flawless marble.

                Eyes still closed, she reached out to her left, and began to drift to the far wall.  With familiar comfort she blindly found the handle to the self-contained laundry unit, and pulled the handle open.  A pocket of warm air puffed out at her, and she felt it float into her body wth a delightful, familiar tenderness.  Her natural smile became one of happiness, and she reached in with zen-like precision to extract a fluffy, hot towel.  She fealt the warmth in her hand, and quickly brought it up to her still-dripping face.  The delightful cloth bathed her with drying heat, and as she began to roughhouse with her hair, she spun and with blind grace walked over to the vanity.  She heard the splash as she stepped over the drain, then the silence of dry floor.  She took another step in the darkness, which experience told her was all the leeway she had before colliding with the vanity sink.x

                She finally opened her eyes, found she had drifted off course by five feet.  She bent over, feeling warm, loose muscles stretch with a tingle, and brought the white cloth onto her legs.  The delightful toweling suddenly became tickelish as residue hairs that hadn't washed off became embedded in her towel.  She sponged and scraped each of her legs down, then walked over to the vanity while cleansing her back.  Her reflection smiled back at her as she appraised herself.

                Although Blade liked what she saw, and put effort into mainaining that appearance, she did not find the female in the mirror to be particularly attractive.  Her art had given her a very disinct, personally unique view of aestetics, which approved of her body, but her hormones and her tastes and desires in companions did not.  Being saw nothing wrong with being attracted to women (she was one herself, after all,) and indeed had chosen that option three times.  However, if she met herself on the street, she would have no desire to make her a fourth.

                Which meant that she didn't think anyone else would, either.xx






Ox'Rinn'Chzz Fragment #156




                "Where was Jesus on Holy Saturday?"

                Matthew cocked his head, considered the question.

                "You know, I don't think says."

                She nods.  "Don't you think that's odd?"

                Frown.  "What do you mean?"

                "Friday he was crucified to death, Sunday he is risen.  There's a whole day missing."

                Skimming his synoptic recolection, he recalled that the account did skip straight to the the day after the Sabbath, with the discovery of the empty sepulcher.

                "Anything could have happened in those tweny-four hours," she went on.  "Doves could have come out of the sky and bourne the body away.  It could have laid there in the dark, needing a full day before it could rise.  Maybe his Spirit went to the tree Judas hung from, and consoled Judas' ghost and forgave him, and took him into heaven.  Maybe the tomb was broken into by a sinister little midget with shovel and a fishing net."

                She looked at him, a curious smile preceeding her next words, "Something happened on that day, and even if nothing happened, that's still something, and I want to knowx what it was."

                Blade slithered up to him.  She put a hand on his shoulder blade, purred "And that means Holy Saturday is Anything Can Happen Day."

                She leaned forward, and kissed him.  Her other hand slid to the small of his back, and they entwined playfully for half a minute.

                Finally she withdrew, held his eyes with glad gray pupils.



                        x  Gr. "Gnosis"





Ox'Rinn'Chzz Fragment #260




                One of the other girls came over.  About Sirolta's age, and about as cute.  Painted-on brown spandex that ended in lace around well-defined calves, loose-fitting brown top with a copper ankh neclace.  Matthew recognized her from several previous visits.  They smiled at each other.

                "Ten," Matt repeated, displaying his plastic-tubed treasure.  "It's a dollar nine," he added helpfully.

                The Girl in Brown examined the electronic machine before her, and pressed one button: clear.  She explained aloud, "so we've got ten items", and she pressed two buttons, "at ten cents apiece," and she pressed three more buttons, "equals this amount" one button, "plus tax," one button, "makes a total of one dollar and nine cents."x  She looked from the led printout to the customer who had prophecized the price aforehand (oh yea and verily.)

                "Wow," she says, impressed.  "Man knows his tax."

                Blade leaned heavily into him, and teasingly whispered "he knows his nerve clusters, too."  Hot breath tickled his inner ear, and he trembled as the very tip of her tongue darted out to tag him.

                His eyes did the smiling for him as he quickly glanced at her, then to his jacket as he unearthed his funds.  It was a five dollar bill.  He dropped it on the counter, then sent a finger probing into the black depths of the black denim change pocket.  The tip encountered solid metal, and his thumb joined in the pursuit.  They tweezered out the coin, vicing it into the grip reserved for guitar picks.  He placed the five cent piece next to the five dollar bill, then quickly checked for any additional coinage.  Alas, he choked.

                "Sorry," he said, "It's all I got."  One hand reached out to withdraw the nickel, the other floated laterally, encountered long skeletal digits wrapped in pure white.  The backs of their hands touched, and their fingers interlaced at the knuckles.

                Brownhilda hits four more buttons, and the drawer pops open.  She is surprised to see that Greenietta has allowed her drawer to fall into a sorry state.

                "Oh," she laments, "I'm almost out of ones."  Looking over the counter, Matt sees that the depletion also extends to most of the coin kingdoms.  Each barracks in the till had few metal-armoured soldiers in its walls.  Matt, a cashier himself, ascertained that his ninety-one cents were in there, but the next customer might not be so lucky.  Likewise, the pieces of paper quaranined in the far right pen, the lowest caste of the Noble House, were the last of a dying breed.

                To help keep his sanity as a cashier, Matt took to looking at it as a war in feudal Japan.  More than once he had been invaded and conquered.  Just the other day, his very first customer opened his assault with a tactical nuclear missile: a one hundred dollar bill to purchase a $125 issue of Jet.  After quadruple-checking for the water-mark, he'd been forced to say, "I'm sorry, sir, but you've broken the bank."  When he was at work, he was the defending armies.

                But when he was a customer, he was on the offensive.  He saw that he had the oportunity to launch a crippling blow to the Nation of H.E.R.

                "Do you have anyhing smaller?," Browndylion asked.  Matt said no, and smiled, both in knowledge of his military victory, and at the sensation in his fingertips.  Blade's pads rested on his, and the very tips of his rested comfortably in the long concave contours of her pointy nails.

                Charlotte BrowntT frowned.

                "Do you have nine cents?"

                "No," he replied.  "Just a nickel."

                She shrugged.  "I'll take it."

                Matt put the coin back on the counter, glad to pass his five years of bad luck onto someone else.  As if to signal reward, he felt pressure twice on his fingertips.  He smiled inwardly, then pulsed his fingertips twice in reply.



                        x  FN1





Ox'Rinn'Chzz Fragment #1016



                Here, can you wear these?"

                She pulled out a pair of charcoal gray jeans and held them up to Matt's hip, seeing how far they fell down.  Right above his ankle.

                Matt placed his hand over hers as he relieved her of the garment.  The easiest way was simply to try them on; he stepped into the leg with off-balance grace.

                "Wow, those totally fit you!" Blade said, happy at the surprise.  "Want 'em?  They're yours!"

                "Hey, thanks!" Matt exclaimed, and gave her a great big hug and a little bitty kiss on the cheek.  Blade approved of the hug, but she thought the kiss should be more involved.  Taking is face in delicate white fingers, she kissed him you're welcome my friend.

                He put his forehead on hers, looked into playful smoke eyes.  Blade giggled: the parallax made it look like a Cyclops was leaning in her face.

                "Tell me," the Cyclops asked, "did you wear these a lot?"

                Blade hung her arms on his shoulders, began to sway gently with the soft music.  "All the time," she purred, in a way which left little doubt that she did.  Matt felt glad for the jeans: hugging her supple curves with a familiarity and comfort he longed to duplicate.  He hoped that they would treat him with the same care.

                "They used to be Luke's," she continued, "and he wore them a lot, too."

                Matt thought, Luke?"x



                        x FN 3




Ox'Rinn'Chzz Fragment #1112




                It is with great sadness that we not only bring to an end the second installment of Marjorie Farrell's masterpiece, but also announce the untimely death of Dr. Phong Tzu Xec Berklowitz.

                The eminent Farrellogist was found dead in his office at Cassidine State University, where he had been drafting what was to be the original epilogue to this chapter.  That original draft, which was to contain what he claimed to be "new prima facea of galactic importance" about the trilogy, was nowhere to be found.  Indeed, his entire main frame was destroyed from an apparently accidental explosion of indeterminate cause.  His files and notes were permanently erased as collateral damage.  It would seem the anguish of this was insufferable, for he stabbed himself twenty-seven times with a hk'ch't--the ceremonial Saladrin weapon traditionally used in vendettas).  His odd suicide motif merely capped a stunning career.

                We can only




Ox'Rinn'Chzz Fragment #1133




                Blade pressed a button, and the red light ceased its blinking and remained solid.  The grayness of the screen was replaced by the grayness of machinery, and a day-glow printout in the corner of when the call had been made: yesterday, 1pm exactly.

                It took a moment for Matthew to discern the spindly Saladrin from the equipment around it.  The alien wore a home-made, customized, and truly cool looking atmosphere suit.

                "Ugh!" said Blade with mock horror and surprise.  "It's Packratula!"

                "Packratula?" asked Matt, surveying the screen.  Multitudes of gadgets in various states of repair cluttered the area, making it hard for the caller to move around.

                "Unless he's stoned," continued Blade, " 'cause then he's Packroachula, or if he's got the munchies, which makes him Snackratula."

                "Ah," said Matt, as the alien arthropod leaned into the screen.

                "Hey, Baby," came the greeting, and the translator had been adjusted perfectly to convey the mock-lust tone, "just got done making some new prosthetic deee-vices!"  Suddenly an appendage snaps into view, holding a home-made metal phallus.  "Strap on this quimby for size!"  He twisted the handle, almost like throttling a Harley, giving a couple loud Rrrrrrrrrrrrrr's.  "And while you're over," he continued jovially, "you can pick up your chisel drill.  The bits should work fine now."  Pregnant pause.  "Did I mention I'm huge?" Another extremity snaps into view, wielding the Great Grand-Daddy of Marital Aids.  He let loose with a long, preposterously noisy demonstration.  Blade had her head buried in her hands, almost crying with laughter.

                The video gave its equivalent of a beep, and continued on to the next message.  Ten thirty last night; probably just before they got in.

                On the screen, a youngish man stood stoically for several moments before speaking.  Actually kind of cute; a wispy thin smile, eyelids closed to half-slits.  He looked like he was having a pleasant daydream.

                "Hi, Jim, it's Blade.  I..."  pause  Blade giggled, smiled a little more.  "I mean, hi Blade, this is Jim.  Uh..."  another pause  "...I was just thinking about you, and I wanted you to know it."  Guilty smile, and Blade actually blushed.  Matt thought he heard her go "awwwww."


                In the intermittent silence, Matt turned to her and politely but enthusiastically inquired "who was that?"

                Blade's blush deepened a hue, but she managed the perfect smile.

                "A friend."

                After a moment, she darted forward and planted a quick kiss on his lips with surgical precision.

                Matt reached out, and dipped two fingers under the collar of her shirt, pulled her forward to him.  Not only did she succumb, but she met him eagerly, wrapping her arms around him moments after she wrapped her lips.  Tongues spelled out playful messages





Ox'Rinn'Chzz Fragment #1218




A sixty year-old bag boy, thought Blade.  What a frightening thought.

                "Can I he'p you?"

                "Yeah.  Do you sell clove cigarettes?"


                "Do you know where I can get some?"


                "Do you even know what I'm talking about?"


                By then, the girl behind the counter was off the phone.  Blade got her attention.

                "Excuse me," she asked, "do you sell clove cigarettes?"

                Methuselah laughs.  "I told her we didn't, but she didn't believe me."

                "Why should I?  I've known you five seconds and already I can tell you're an idiot."