Have you heard the word, Bird? Yes, it's true that Steve Hasen is leaving ABM. However, there are a few ugly rumors going around BSE about him and I would like to staunch them right now. Yes, it is true that Steve is leaving the States, but it has absolutely nothing to do with immigration authorities searching his home, arresting all those women he was living with, confiscating 14 pieces of luggage with false bottoms and all those brown paper bags full of unmarked tens and twenties. And it is not true that I found this picture down at the post office:

(Hey, how come a Mexican has a name like 'Hasen'? He's NOT Mexican? Get out of town. Next thing you know, Steve will claim that that white powder all over his clothes is dandruff from nose hair. Oh, he does?) And it is not true that the Planned Parenthood Association had a file on him because of their self-imposed mandate of keeping a pure gene pool in the U.S. After all, I know for a fact that all those women he was living with were not always women if you get my drift. You don't get my drift? Ever see rubber tits? Size 13 alligator pumps, Goat-hair wigs? (Hey, Steve was homesick.) Pancake make-up that smelled like old Spice? Are you starting to get the picture, And it is not true that he crossed the border in the dead of night disguised as a bag of Nachos with selective amnesia and suspicious furry growths on his head.

By the by, if anyone in Canada can offer Steve a job--well, he needs one. His qualifications : impersonating bags of Nachos, designing luggage and snorting white-out. He's the author of the bestselling books 101 Things to make with Eraser Dust." Help him if you can.

(Really not Mexican? Gawd. Well, Steve, drinking all that white-out didn't help at all, did it?)

Yadda uadda yo. Great issue this time, my children. 1 have been loaded down with artwork recently--and glad to get it. 1 have only heard from a few people concerning my little questionnaire. So far, voting is in favor of 75¢ an issue and no slander. Somehow that doesn't really surprise me.

Really and truly Steve is not Mexican? Man. There's a burrito in the woodpile somewhere.)

Anyway, time to quit jacking off and get with it.

-----

 HULLS TO HYPSO

by Steve Jungk

 Chapter 1:

 "What's he up to now?" asked Billy-Bob Brubaker, Salientia chief engineer, sotto voce.

 "Got me," second helmsman Yavitz replied. "I've never seen him acting so strangely. "

 "An' that's some kinda serious strange, too." mused Brubaker.

"You two," snapped Dixon, the Salientia exec. "What's your problem?" Heads turned at the sharp sound of the exec's voice. The bridge was normally quiet during these hyperspace transits with a skeleton crew on duty and the black less-then-empty void of hyperspace as their only scenery. Consequently, Dixon's strident tones were a break in the monotony.

If she were not the exact opposite of the commanding officer like the former exec, she certainly complemented his flashy devilmay-care attitude. In addition, Lt. Jean Dixon had a peculiar ability to see things coming. Still, the crew liked her, especially at the betting windows at skedbe races.

"It's the skipper, ma'am," replied Yavitz. "He's goin' around recitin' Shapespeare, coin' one-man shows of 'Twelve Angry Men'--which ain't easy--and crap like that. Are both the boss' oars in the water?"

"No, but that's nothing new," answered Dixon.

" Then what? "

Dixon flipped the latest copy of the Capellan Periphery Times at the bewildered helmsman.

"Okay, the headline reads 'Destructors Pillage Avarice'. What's that got to do with 'On The Waterfront' reprises? Are we gonna fight the Gobots? "

"Sorry Yavitz, you'll have to get your nephew his Christmas presents somewhere else. Read the entertainment section. "

"Hmmm. Lessee...here it is. 'Ion-Cannan Film Group Announces Contest.' Is that it, ma'am?"

" Bingo.

"'Film producers Menachem Golem and Yoram Global are looking for the ideal starcaptain to appear opposite interstellar sexkitten Cosima Marizzi in their latest film extravaganza, 'Hulls to Hypso'.'. Interested parties will be screen-tested at the selfsame starport starting immediately. Any interested parties are required to bring their ship, their crew and their resume...'

Is that what this is all about?" Yavitz fairly shrieked.

"'Fraid so," replied Dixon.

"He wants to be an actor???"

"No "

"I don't understand."

"The operative words-here, " Brubaker interrupted knowlingly, "are 'opposite interstellar sex-kitten'. Heavy emphasis on the 'sex-kitten' part. Even heavier on the 'sex' part.

"Understand now? "

"You mean we're gonna detour off our assigned mission, the ship is gonna be in a film, and' he's been driving the crew nuts just so's he can get laid?

Brubaker considered the argument momentarily. "Yeah, bud, you got the right of it, now. "

Just then the bridge door slid open with a resounding thud. "Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears'. Tobias exclaimed with an expansive wave of his hand.

All the crew could do was lend him a dozen deck sandals and a pair of jack-boots--all at once and at his face.

Golem paced the length and breadth of his office nervously. "Yoram, I'm worried. What if this doesn't work? What if we can't get a ship?"

"Relax, Menachem. We already got several screen-tests "

Yoram Global sat in the Phuzwah reclinochaise sipping something called Aidan's Poison, which really didn't taste all that bad despite the vague aftertaste of kerosene. The luxury accommodations at Hypso's Executive Marriott were nothing if not lavish. But backwater is still backwater.

He watched his compatriot's agitation with amusement. Things normally went all right as long as Golem was nervous. The more nervous he wan, the smoother things went. Only once was this near-infallible barometer of the shape of things come, wrong. Ah, well, he sighed, who could have predicted that the leading man would've committed suicide by jumping down the largest volcano on Cyclops? That last picture, 'The Return of the Red Eve' was such a pain--and disaster' At least Cameron could've waited till we finished the close-ups before doing the back-stroke through the lava fields. What a putz!

"Oh, yeah, like that fat tub of Samillian jello who showed up here last week," Golem was saying.

"Which one was that?"

"I don't know his name. The guv in the plaid jumpsuit. Eech! What a pig! "

"Oh, yeah. Him. Well, never mind.

"Drunk. Unreliable."

"This guy Tofu Jack?"

"Nah. Didn't like something the casting director said, so he shot the guy's earlobe off. 'damn miners' Touchy bastards.

""DiGriz? "?"

"Nice ship. Mebbe...but he's full of himself."

"So? We're gonna do a write-over with Dirk Blackwell, our real leading man-anyway."

"Yeah, that's what bothers me, Yoram. What happens if this stooge we pick finds out we're only using him as a publicity stunt, not to mention to get interior shots of a real Capellan ship for free?"

"So, who's gonna tell? By the time the film makes its way back out here we'll be counting our fortune back on Terra. Who cares if the cluck finds out we used film computers to erase his presence and substitute Dirk's?"

"Damn budget constraints. I tell you, Yoram, if our last three films weren't flops we'd be able to afford our own ships and publicity shenanigans be damned.":

"But they were and we can't, Menachem, so we have to pull this little con. Look at it this way. The chump gets to prance around with Cosima Marizzi for a few days. That alone ought to soothe his petty ego when he finds out he's been had..

"Great. But if one of these frontier derelicts finds his way back to the Inner Empire and turns our faces into fried sausage, don't say I didn't warn ye."

"Fine, Menachem, you worry about our faces. I'll worry about the film." Yoram got up, downed his drink and deposited the glass in his frustrated partner's hand and left. "Gotta check on that new entry..

"Who's that?"

"Some CSS clown by the name of Webster. Heard of him?.

"Nah! All these idiots think they have reps. Mebbe they do out here, but they don't count for a bucket of warm piss back home..

"Just checking," and with that the door silently slid shut, leaving Golem to contemplate dark celluloid thoughts.

We got that guy Downing?"

EMERGENCY EMERGENCY EMERGENCY. RED ALERT RED ALERT RED ALERT I just heard that if there is no rain in Brazil soon, the cocoa crop will be endangered. No lie, Jack! Get down on your knees snd PRAY for rain on Brazil.

Run out and buy lots of little chocolate bunnies (the ones with marshmallow in them is okay) and lay them on an altar, pray over them and send them to me for a special blessing. I'll write the blessing on the wrappers and send it to you and it can be used to heal rashes, itches, VD, etc. Of course, you do realize that when I bless these things a miracle occurs and they disappear into the Twilight Zone leaving behind only the wrappers.

MAIL CALL:

Sirs: It's just a shame. You go out, work hard to become famous. You make one tiny little mistake and get yourself killed and what happens? Some asshole finds the fruit of your hard work and in one week ruins everything you've worked for. I should have blown the 'Fair Damsel' up. Signed: Sean O'Brien, Spinning,Grave.

Dear Spinnings: How do you do that anyway? Is it kind of like Linda Blair did in the 'Exorcist'? I mean, is your head still while your body is twirling, or vice versa? Are you dizzy when you stop? Which way do you revolve, clockwise or counter-clockwise? Do you use your hands for rudders kinda so you can determine the course?

How about a blurb, bubba?

SMS BIRD'S NEST PROUDLY PRESENTS:

CHEZ O'DEY

The ultimate in dining.

FEEL: Your heart race as our valet parking attendants test the exact specifications of your vehicle, causing only minor damage (Chez O'Dey's definition of minor more than 75% of original value

SEE: Your best hat and coat be unceremoniously dumped in the corner by our gum-chomping, tarted-up, bleached out hat check girl to make hanger space for 'someone important'.

DIG: Frantically through your pockets to find that 1000 stellar note or be compelled by our maitre d' to sit in the lounge for three hours and then be seated at the table by the kitchen (that thud is just the kitchen door hitting the back of your chair).

HEAR: Our wine steward speak authentic wine gibberish while sneering at your attempts to pronounce anything on the wine list (pointing will get you an outright laugh in the face).

CRINGE: As your waiter insults your shoes, your date and your knowledge of food while trying to look down your date's blouse.

DODGE: Our cretinous bus boy as he attempts to spill water, butter and ashes on your clothes.

FEAR! For your life as any question about the food (any question at all) will bring our on-the- fringe chef out of the kitchen with a nine-inch paring knife with your name on it.

FUME: In silence as the head waiter admonishes you for even thinking of complaining about anything in this superior restaurant which was gracious enough to let even you through their doors.

SPEND! All your life savings on one meal while our smug cashier insults the color of your credit card.

Whoa' Bet they don't have to worry about people beating down their doors. How about another blurb? Wanna see what the Bird has done to SMS Hydrothora? Hmmmmmmmmm?

SMS HYDROTHORA

Welcome to 'Hydrothora'! Our complex' has been totally revamped puruant to the directions of the governor, Maddie Mallard, AKA The Bird'

Now that Hydrothora is a Nudist Colony, as you enter the starport you are asked to check your clothes. Then, you are frisked for 'weapons' (woo-woo) to make sure you have them. In some cases, they may have to be provided.

Then, it's onward to an entirely new concept in hostelry, the General Hospital Hotel which has been remodeled to look exactly like the latest in health care facilities. Our 300-bed lodging boasts state of the art mechanical beds, big screen TV's chained to the ceilings, visitor chairs strictly suited to legless giraffes, fur upholstered bedpans or individual restrooms including bidets designed by Goose 'Em, Inc., IVs filled with vintage Glucochocolate, an around the clock nursing staff (your choice of gender), the very best in institutional cuisine (gasp--was that a mutually exclusive term?) catered by Toss Yer Cookies, Inc., and complimentary wheelchairs. Come recuperate from the tough life of a starcaptain in the relaxing greenpainted and lushly linoleumed rooms of the newest hotel in the Periphery'

Across from the Hotel is the Periphery's newest restaurant, The Hawg Cawl, which features the finest in Old Terran Southern viands. Come relax in plastic-upholstered and fly-specked Old World Southern charm and peruse our glow-in-the-dark menu while being serenaded by Biffle's All Moodge Band and Kazoo Review. Our appetizers feature those tasty crustaceans known among those who know as Crawdads (pronounced crawdeads), including Crawdead Heads for Suckers. Our entrees rely heavily on pork, highlighting the best damn ribs to be had and then some (yes, bathing caps are furnished to those of you who are serious about your barbecue sauce) but has been known to deviate into other delicious Southern tuckers Alligator Pie, potage aux grits, beans a la pinto, cowpeas avec gout a fatback, chit-terlings, fried green tomatoes, cornbread, possum shanks, and Eggs Ostosis On the Half-shell--a truly eclectic board of fare and sure to please every palate. For dessert, come graze in our Choco-Buffet--four acres of tables and bins full of the largest selection of chocolate desserts and candies in the Universe. Complimentary solid milk chocolate ducks are distributed to anyone who can emerge unscathed from that.

Next door is our Tent Temple which has been completely refurbished and rededicated to Neo-Paganism. Lectures and demonstrations on all facets of the occult are being held every night, including Tarot card readings, palmistry, numerology, Kahuna, astrology and nakedology (the art of walking around naked with a straight face). Fundamentalists mocked and mortified around the clock. Spiritualist services are held as the spirit moves (of course)--so move on in and take advantage of our priests' and priestesses' open minds, hearts and drawers.

STAY A WHILE, BUBBA, AND ENJOY!!!

 And how about another?

 AIDAN'S BAR AND GRILL

 Aidan's Bar and Grill is the place to go if you are a funloving starman who wants to relax. The bar is the largest in the periphery and serves heavenherb, grassjuice, liquors from our famous distillery, and imported liquors such as Terran Scotch directly from the Inner Empire. Calodon Fire Water, Aidan's Best, Ozark Moonshine, David's Delight, and German Brew are only a few of the better drinks sold here. Our waitresses are fun loving and wear nothing but a large smile to please our guests.

To help you get back in shape after those weeks of idleness in space, we have a sauna,exercise rooms, and trained professionals to help you. Hot tubs are standard in all the rooms but if you are one of those people who enjoy company we also have sync rooms, swimming pools, gaming rooms, and pool tables. Knowing how hard it cometimes can be to find friendly companionship in a port, we have a staff of hostesses who are eager to make your stay enjoyable.

Our food is delicious. Our master chef knows over 2000 recipes which contain at least 10% alcohol. Quick food is also available for those of you who hate to take any time away from your fun. For the convenience of the customers, the furniture has been tested to withstand a vlupe charge and is bolted securely to insure that no one accidently slides it around. The management sees no need to send mediators to ruin what could otherwise be a friendly disagreement. And all our beds are not only comfortable but are made to hold at least two people.

Children are not accepted.

Have you heard about the new restaurant somewhere in the Trans-hole? It's called Night of the Living Bread--you have to chase down and kill your food yourself. I don't know about you, but if I'm hungry, I don't want the damn food leaving while I'm trying to salt it, or have it sneeze when I throw pepper all over it. Jeez. Anyway--how about a bio by new player, Deb Sommi:

Fiyah Irons, born on the planet of Pharos in 157 during the month of Lyos, grew up in the noble house of Aideen' one of the five royal houses of Pharos. Her father is Geoffrey Thomas Irons, a former Terran diplomat to Pharos, who married Katya, a Pharosian noble daughter of the great Raewyn, current head of the house of Aideen. Pharosian codes of conduct for members of the noble houses constrained this young woman whose aspirations rose higher than the normal pleasantries envisioned by other Pharosian women.

Life among the nobles came endowed with the proper education and training in protocol as one would expect. Fiyah soon found herself being groomed for a possible future as a royal consort. For being of heterogeneous ancestry, her beauty was highly prized. Pharosian women do not have blue eyes by birth. The daily routine became monotonous and Fiyah longed for something more fulfilling in her life. Adventure was definitely her watchword. Fate played a trump card the day Fiyah decided to walk in one of the palace gardens. For there she met the person who would be instrumental in changing the course of her future. To this day, Fiyah only refers to him as her 'confidant'.

On the evening of the Rite of Osiris (this rite allows young noble women to be auctioned for the right of marriage), her confidant secretly stole her away from the auction moments before her fate was to be sealed. Shocked, horrified and dismayed at the serious breach of etiquette, her parents appealed to the sovereigns to send trackers to find their daughter. Several years later, the investigators found her enrolled in the Academy and excelling in several fields of study.

Now known as the Dark Rose of Pharos because she defied the Rite of Osiris, Fiyah graduated from the Academy during 187 and joined the SMS. Her command is the SMS Caliburn, so named because of her love of the ancient Terran legend of King Arthur.

Although a relatively new starcaptain, Fiyah has shown great aptitude for command. She is strong-willed and says that she can "match glass for glass of David's Delight with anyone-. She considers herself to be very independent but will be fiercely loyal to those whose cause she allies herself with. In support of his sister, Fiyah's brother, Jaemy, serves as her first officer. Fiyah has recently broken off a relationship with an SMS starcaptain and is considering going into the Transhole to go on a hunting expedition for wrabbits.

Want to see what the little darlin' looks like? Then turn the page, Bubba--Deb drew the picture, too.

The following is a little item done by the dolphin-man, Rick Hobson. As background: "The information contained in this story is true, according to present theory that dolphins communicate by sending sophisticated 'sound-pictures' The best that I could explain this is like this' it would be as if I could beam a complete three-dimensional x-ray of an event, and modify this at will. The possibilities are, at least in story terms, nigh inexhaustible."

A SAD FAREWELL

 The lights were off in the cabin, and yet I could see that she was timorous. I say "see" where others might say "hear". When an animal--you, me, anyone--is under stress, their muscles tense and the pulse quickens. Things happen in our bodies that we have absolutely no control over. If everyone knew what to look for, and could carry a holographic big-scanner with them, then prices would be lower at starports.

Thirty million years of evolution gave me mine. The only problem is that whoever or whatever I desire to scan has to be in the water with me. In the Dolphin's Dream, this isn't a problem, as most of the ship is flooded with an oxygen-saturated compound. You can breath it, but it isn't pleasant.

N'yssa was new to space, as were we all. Being the only human in a 'fin ship, she had been having difficulties adapting to both her new role as ship astrogator, and to the surprising, absolute lack of privacy. You can't hide anything from someone ~4 who can tell you what you had for lunch by "looking". She was giving me her resignation

"This ship is set up for 'fins," she was saying, "which means that I have to access the computer via translated whistle commands for ship lighting I just don't feel that my skills are being used to the best of their ability with you. You need another 'fin for an astrogator."

"You've found our paths for us all these weeks, and now you must find your own," I agreed. I gently took her hand in my mouth, a sign of friendship and reciprocal trust. Her heart told me that she was about to cry. I had known N'yssa for some time, having gone through the academy with her. She had been a caring sister to all of us "You are 'fin, deep inside," I stated quietly. "It and we will be there for you, if you should need us. Your dreams shall not fail you." She bowed her head and started sobbing quietly to herself. I swam close to her, gently nuzzling her shoulder with my rostrum. Sometimes we 'fins see too much, I think.

We set down at Secudus starport, and as I eased into the prosthetics that allow me to function out of the water, N'yssa passed by my cabin door, with only a quick glance in. I do not know what bond it is that draws human and 'fin together so, and sometimes it scares me. Perhaps it is the sea that we evolved from, that still pumps through our veins and gives us life.

Perhaps the fact that we evolved together, on the same planet. At that time, I only knew that I was losing a friend and companion, and given the immensities of space, I knew that there was a good chance that I would never see N'yssa again

 RLO TAKES A PRIZE--PART 2

or

Heroes and Zeroes

by Wayne J. Alexander

The shuttle buzzed the outer edges of the colony as it headed north across the southern quadrant towards the inner colony towers that indicated the population centers of Messalina. Colonel Ace Krieger sat stoically next to the shuttle pilot, while Myron stared out of the windows at the sights below.

"Mr. Rlo, you must see this. It is absolutely beautiful, " said Myron with awe.

"Yeah, share, what evve youse says," Rlo remarked abstractly as he stared at the back of the seat in front of him. Boy, he must really be in trouble, he thought. Nobody ever woke him up at ten in the morning before. And Ace didn't usually kill people in broad daylight; his specialties were best carried out in the dead of night, deep within the bowels of his dungeon laboratory. Somehow sensing his master's mood, Rlo's pet skedbe, Phuzy, perched on Rlo's shoulder and nuzzled his furry snout against the beanie-covered head of his master.

The shuttle circled the shuttleport at the main government complex and swooshed into a dock without so much as a bump.

"Hey, Ace, I could use a guy like dat," Rlo said to Ace. "I needs a good pilot to gets-me outta scraps once in a while. Can I have dis guy?"

Ace turned slowly and gave Rlo a look that would make buildings shake and bad guys wet their pants. "No," was all the Colonel said. Rlo squirmed and did not ask again.

The party left the shuttle and were met by four black-armored mercenaries who escorted them to the main building. Once inside the building their escorts left them at an elevator. The Colonel pressed '101' on the keypad and the car sped up the shaft to the governor's floor. When the car door opened the party was met by four more mercenaries, only these were four of the governor's personal troops, still clad in the gray and silver of the FrontierGuard.

The Colonel, Rlo, Myron and Phuzy were escorted to the reception area of the governor's offices and the guards took up position inside and outside of the door. The reception area was spacious and well-lit, but sparsely furnished. The walls were covered with paintings of long dead Krieger ancestors, including an oversized painting of the family patriarch, ISN Admiral "ZigZag" Krieger. At the other end was a large desk. Behind this desk sat Miss Stellarpenny, the governor's personal secretary.

"The governor will be right with you, gentlemen," said Miss Stellarpenny, as she busied herself at her word processing terminal.

Woo-woo, thought Rlo to himself, what a dish. But then, every time he saw her he thought the same thing. But there was NO way that Rlo would ever get any closer than sniffing range of that particular lady: she belonged to Stu Krieger, plain and simple. Just then, one set of doors to the left of Miss Stellarpenny's desk opened and the governor, Stu Krieger, came out dressed in his usual jodhpurs, synthisilk tunic and flowing, floor-length robe embroidered with the flying K logo on the back.

"Rlo, welcome to Messalina. I trust that your stay will be as short as possible," remarked the governor, not even looking at Myron.

"Phuzy! How's my favorite skedbe?" Stu exclaimed as he rubbed the skedbe's snout and slipped him a drinkbead of white wine and 3-in-1 oil. Phuzy squeaked as he affectionately squirted skedbe poop on the governor's boot.

"Yes...and I love you, too," said the governor. He turned to Rlo and whispered in his ears "(If you bring that beast into my office, I swear I'll kill you both)"

Won't you come in, Rlo. I'd like to discuss a mission with you, Stu said with false graciousness. Rlo took Phuzy's leash off his wrist and passed it to Myron.

"Here, take Phuzy and stay outs here til I gets back," Rlo told Myron. "And try not to get scared about anything, 'cuz I is tired of having to pay for all dat carpet cleanin'." Myron smiled meekly and promised to be good.

Once inside of Stu's large window-rimmed office, the governor motioned Rlo to one of the spacious recliners in front of the large but spartan desk. Rlo snuggled in as he reminded himself to get a couple of these for the ship.

"Now, whotz does youse want, brudder-o-mine?" Rlo queried. "I ain't likin' be woke up at no ten in the A of M. Dats too early."

"Shut up, Slimey," said Stu forcefully. "All we want you to do is sit there and listen to what's said, then do exactly as you're told...and don't screw it up. Go ahead, Ace and tell him the details."

"Rlo, you will lift off immediately and proceed to the orbit of Frederick in the Detero system. You will need extra equipment amd personnel and they are being loaded on the yacht as we speak. You will scan and rendezvous with a derelict Morlock cruiser, badly damaged, but the engine section is 100% intact and functional. You will transfer sufficient crew and equipment into the ravaged Command section, power up and get the hell out of there. Your orders state that you move the ship to a starport friendly with the Morlocks where it will be turned over to a Morlock ground party. Can you remember that?

"Sure, dat sounds easy enuff. Capture a Morlock cruiser, take it outta orbit under the guns of some unfriendly colony, fly it across the Periphery to some outta da way Morlock colony and leave it in da starport. All widout gettin' blown outta da heavens. Yeah, sure. Hey, I may be crazy but I ain't stupid. Whatsa matter wid youse guys, don't youse love me anymore? I ain't doin' it and dat's final!!" Rlo said as he got out of the recliner. Rlo flipped off his own brother and headed for the door. "MYRON!" Rlo yelled. "C'mon, we is gettin' outta dis madhouse, NOW"'

Stu stood up behind his desk and said softly, "One hundred new pleasure slaves, your own colony, and one million stellars if you pull it off."

"MYRON' " Rlo yelled again. "Get out da salt, we is goin' visitin'." He turned to Stu and Ace as he opened the massive door. "Rio's da name--rescue's my game."

Rlo waddled joyfully off down the hallway, and dey better be virgins, he thought to himself as he gave Phuzy a playful tweak, and Myron an affectionate kick in the pants.

(((((((((((((((((((((((((((((())))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT' CONEST CONTEST CONTEXT CONTASTE Whoa, went away for a minute there. I'm back. Let's have a Scratch 'n Sniff Contest. Below is an unregnizable blob. Scratch off the outer grayness, hold the paper to your nose (or whatever you call that blob sticking out of your face) and take a deeeeeep breath. If you pass out then you need to get into detox fast or switch dealers. Anyway, once you have taken a whiff and identified the aroma then you are on your way to winning a year's subscription to Farm Fowl Digest, luggage designed by Steve Hasen (I'll bet it used to be Steve Jose), an 8X10 color portrait of a mutilated skedbe, the best-selling cookbook "1001 Ways to Prepare Goat Gonads", and a date with Myron. Ready? Go for it, booger!

MORE DAVID

Thrust engines howling, the Edain skidded into orbit around Stormgate-4. David and the rest of the crew were in the middle of a version of "Rosalita" and so missed the sight of the ICN battlefleet ranged around the planet and the accompanying moon, Abyss. After receiving landing instructions from the starport at CSS Enterprise, the Edain grounded and the crew left a vapor trail on the way to the entertainment district. In preparation for the Edain's arrival, the security force had cancelled all leaves and was on 24-hour alert for the duration.

David slid down the stair railing and crossed the foyer of TSL's new headquarters. TSL had recently relocated from IMP Carl Leigh and workmen were still putting the finishing touches on the building. Wearing a pair of wraparound sunglasses, he danced by the receptionist (getting her phone number and a dinner date) and entered the office of Fleet Commander Montoya.

"Hidey-ho! Anyone home?" David said as he opened the door.

"Iago, ol' buddy. How about a stimbrew or two?"

No reply. The office was empty. David went over to the desk, sat down, and began to go through the drawers. He was interrupted by the entrance of a dark-haired, serious-faced man of average height and build.

"Excuse me," the man said. "My name is Kir Avon, and I am here to apply for the vacant position of Defense Coordinator.

"Oh, yes, Avon," said David. "You were once the governor of SMS Succubus, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"Well, then, you understand that the position of Defense Coordinator is a difficult one to fill, for it requires a man with both tact and determination, who can both negotiate and lay down the law with equal vigor."

"I understand."

"As a measure of your aptitude for the position, you must undertake seven small labors. First, you must transport 18,641 shoeboxes to AFT Dangermouse. The shoeboxes are-to contain two left Converse hightops, red only. Secondly, you must bring to P. D. North the upper left claw of the SAM queen. Thirdly, camp in the lair of the Water Demon for 140 tus. Fourth, stop the next Hulken invasion of Fort Pitt with a butter knife and a dessert fork. Fifth, sell a DiGriz baby on the Carl Leight black market. Sixth, you must cover the GTT stargate with masking tape. And finally, for the seventh small labor, you must resign the DTN to their television contract and ensure that they do not bother the Periphery again. "

David slid a pad of paper across the desk.

"Please outline briefly how you would propose to deal with each of these. I will return shortly to see how you are getting along."

Fighting to keep a straight face, David left the room. As he was recrossing the lobby, he was accosted by what to David's eyes was a short duck in SMS livery.

"Excuse me, but is the Hershey giftshop in this building?"

"Yes, it is. On the seventeenth floor "

"Thank you, kind sir. May St. Oreo guide you."

David checked his flask It was his regular brand. "Things are getting stranger every day." The last David saw of the duck, it was jumping up and down in the elevator in a futile attempt to reach the button for the seventeenth floor.

Meanwhile, in the entertainment district, the crew of the Edain was hard at play, as were the crews of the other ships. Inter-affiliation and inter-ship rivalries were coming to a boil.

"Ace of Wands, Reston? I'll bet you can't even find your wand. "

Furious, Eric turned to face the speaker. He saw a slim, athletic definitely female figure, standing with hands on hips and a saucy grin. He matched the grin with one of his own and walked over to her.

"Oh, yeah? I bet you could get a charge out of it."

"Hmmmm," she purred. "Maybe I could.' She ran a finger along his arm. "Oooohh. Such muscles."

Lt. Reston's smile got broader. "Why don't you come on back to my ship and we'll do some wand-Bring of our own?

"I thought you'd never ask."

The couple left the bar, A few minutes later, so did a couple of men. They were followed by others. The last group bumped into Addison and a few of his crew, who were on their way in.

Reston and the girl were on the way to the docking bay when she grabbed has arm and pulled him into an alcove.

"Boy, can't you wait?" Chuckled Eric, a chuckle that died in his throat as he saw the laser pistol.

"Alright, Reston, Strip."

Eric looked at her blankly.

"Take your clothes off--all of them, " she ordered. "Oh, and don't get any ideas about taking me on--I've got friends."

With that remark, six figures moved out of the darkness and formed a circle around the two. Eric gulped and began to take off his tunic. Just then another voice came out of the darkness.

"Hold it, everybody." The thugs turned to face this new arrival and Eric saw his chance. He ran into one of the men, knocking him over and took off down the street back the way he came, running with his tunic in his hand. He reached the starport bar without further incident, put on his tunic, and ordered a Double Morlock Special. Shore leave in the Periphery was not for the fainthearted.

130 TUs later, the crew of the Edain reassembled. By all accounts it had been a successful shore leave. Bail payouts were not too high, and crew members reported the entertainment was actually worth the money--especially the chainsaw juggling burlesque show. As the crew was performing pre-flight checks, Oliver walked over to David.

"Say, David. Did you hear what happened while we were on leave?

"No, Oliver, I was busy with Ingrid and Astrid. What happened?"

"It seems this ISS Lieutenant, Reston, wan almost mugged by a group of bandits."

"Nothing too unusual about that."

"Ah, but it seems that these bandits were hired by Ruler Maddie Mallard of SMS Hydrothora. It seems that Lt. Reston was a contributor to some literary rag and 'the Bird'--that's how Mallard refers to herself-- 'the Bird' was worried about competition so she decided to have someone 'take care' of Reston."

"I always knew publishing was an ugly business. I'd rather face Vodkynville at feeding time than get into publication. Ugh! Makes my skin crawl."

"Well, the attack was broken up and no one was hurt."

"That's good." David turned. "Corrigan, what the hell is the matter? How long until we lift?"

"Well, sir, that is a problem. It seems that an Imperial battlefleet has interdicted the area around the planet and is controlling all inbound and outbound traffic. They claim that they are looking for a ship that was stolen by the RIP."

"Yeah, right M'denge, get the IMP commander on the horn."

"Commodore DiGriz on the line, sir."

"So, DiGriz, we meet again. I assume you need my expert assistance in this matter. Where did you leave your ship last? Were the keys in the ignition? Are you just looking here because the light is better, or what?"

Commodore DiGriz winced. It was apparent that dealing with Addison was getting to him.

"Look, you mental pygmy..."

"Where? "

"Addison, I have had enough of you," said DiGriz. "And now I have you safely out of the way. You will stay out of the way until this operation is over. I will not allow you off the planet. Good day." And the screen went blank.

"Good golly, Miss Molly," muttered David. "What are we going to do?"

"Sir, a message arrived from Captain North. He says that due to the interdiction of the area around Stormgate-4, you are to assist the governor in the survey of the area around the colony."

"Great! exulted David. I'm an even better ground party leader than starcaptain. C'mon everybody, let's go play junior woodchuck."

 (Next: David's GP--and a few surprises.)

 @(@(@(@(@(@(@(@(@(@(@(@(@(@(@(@@)@)@)@)@)@)@)@)@)@)@)@)@)@)

 Howse about a few more Buckett ships? Ooooooookay.

Can the man do ships or what? You know, I was sitting on the pot this morning and had a great idea (that's where I get my best ones). I thought, you know, a player who had a lot of important contacts in several different affiliations could take over a derelict affiliation and turn it into a sort of intergalactic hit squad. He and his pals could be a sort of brotherhood and if one of the brothers got into a snit with another player (or maybe out of sheer avarice want another player's position) then they could send in this ace to wave his magestic wand and zap their 'enemies' for them. This one ace could take all the credit and probably pile up plenty of stellars in payoffs from his brothers. We're talking Periphery Mafia, here. Hey, it worked in New Orleans, why not the galaxy? But then it would take a bunch of players with stunning cunning, vivid verve and incredible intellect--they would have to be able to hatch plots that could not be seen through by anyone with an I.Q. greater than a plant. Think it will ever happen? Nyahhhhhhhh.

More Bucketts?

The following is a visual story by our own Assistant Editor, Sebastian Sabre:

MAKEUP

 YEAH!YEAH'YEA'CORNER HIM'YESSS'MANUEL RELEASE THE OTHER TWO ICE BEARS'YEAH'GET HIM HAT'S A GOOD ONE ' MORE LIGHT WOUNDS ' DON 'T LET HIM OUT OF THE CORNER YOU STUPID BEAR EAT HIS DUMB ASS!MANUEL DON'T YOU TRAIN THESE STUPID SONS OF BITCHES?NO,STAYAWAY F HIS FACE!NOOO!MANUEL THEY'RE HATING THE MAKEUP OFF!SHIT!IT DOESN'T LOOK ANYTHING L HIM NOW!DAMN!I THOUGHT YOU TRAINED THESE STUPID ANIMALS 'YOUR BEASTMASTER IS WEARING AKEUP NEXT ' GET YOUR ASS IN HERE NOW!MANUEL,YOU GQB OF SPIT,GET YOUR ASS IN HERE NO RRGGH'NOW,YOU HEAR ME?

 "What's going on?

"Is this your first fit?"

"I guess so. What's the deal? Who's Manuel?"

"Wild Willy's personal servant."

"I can see why they call him wild, now."

 MANUEL, HERE BOY.COME TO WILLY.I'VE GOT SOMETHING FOR YOUR ASS!HEEERREE MANUEL.COME HERE YOU LITTLE BEANER! YOU AND YOUR BEARS ARE GOING TO MEET YOUR MAKER ' WHERE 'S MY BLADE?

 "So why does he put makeup on those poor slaves and have them killed?"

"Listen, pal, don't ever say anything about this to anyone. As a matter of fact it's not even safe to talk about any of this unless Willy's having a tirade. He can't hear anything when he's like this."

 TER?WHERE ARE MY GUARDS? SHIT! I'LL OFF YOU WITH MY BARE HANDS! TIME TO PUSH UP THE DASIES MANUEL! WHERE ARE YOU, YOU LITTLE MAGGOT?*1000 STELLARS TO THE ONE THAT FINDS HIM! RAPHAEL? CAN YOU HEAR ME? FIND MANUEL AND KILL HIM! NOW!YOU HEAR ME?YOU LKE YOUR JOB?"

"So who does he make up these guys to look like?

"W.X Horn."

"Who's that?"

"The ex-dockmaster of Pittsburgh."

"I don't get it."

KILL MANUEL OR WEAR THE MAKEUP.AND WHILE YOU'RE AT IT, KILL W.X.HORN! YEAH!YEAH!I KNOW WHERE WE WENT WRONG ALL THOSE OTHER TIMES ' OH YEAH THIS IS GOOD!WE'LL FARM IT OUT! YES!

"You see, Willy comes from Pittsburgh, also"

"So?"

"So, Willie's Minister Powell Horn's nephew"

"He's a Horn?"

"Right. He's W.X.'s brother."

"So why does he hate him?"

H! RAPHAEL ROUND UP ALL THE DREGS OF THE PERIPHERY AND PUT OUT A CONTRACT ON THE MOTHER!YEAH! CONTACT EVERY VICIOUS CRIMINAL IN THE UNIVERSE!WE WANT BOUNTY HUNTERS,CUTTHROATS!

"Since you're new here, you wouldn't understand. Powell Horn banished Willy here when Methane Madness was just one colony structure, 20 mines and beaucoup fossil fuels."

"Sounds nasty."

"Willy tried to set fire to the fossil fuels. That's when everyone started calling him wild."

"So what did he do to Powell?"

GOATS,DREGS,THUGS,PUGS,NITWITS,HALF-WITS,DIM-WITS,VIPERS,SNIPERS,CONMEN,BANDITOS,MUGGERS,BUGGERERS,BUSHWACKERS,HORNSWOGGLERS,THIEVES,DYKES,MOTHER RAPERS,FATHER RAPERS,ROBBERS,ISP MARINES,ASS-KICKERS,SHIT-KICKERS AND METHODISTS'YEAH!EVEN CONTACT THE WCE AND DTN!

"Nothing. That's just it. W.X. set him up with some phony pictures of Willy and Powell's favorite serving boy."

"Why would he do that?"

"To become dockmaster."

"He did all that to become dockmaster?"

"I don't think W.X. intended to make Powell so mad he'd banish Willy."

PDC.THAT MOTHER IS DEAD MEAT! REMEMBER I WANT A VIDEO'GET GOING RAPHAEL!I'LL HAVE SOMEONE ELSE KILL MANUEL!MANUEL! I'M GOING TO FIND YOU AND WHEN I DO YOUR ASS IS GRASS! SOMEBODY7 GET ME A WEAPON OR I SWEAR...

"And Willy's so crazy he wants to kill W.X.?"

"He's tried several times."

"And?"

"And he keeps missing. W.X. has always managed to get away. Hell, the plans usually backfire so badly that W.X. doesn't even know Willy's trying to kill him."

 HE'S BEAR MEAT AND BEANS FOR A MONTH EVERYONE! WHERE ARE THE BLASTERS? DAMN!WHAT THE HELL GOOD ARE SOLDIERS IF YOU CAN'T FIND A DAMN BLASTER? SOMEBODY GET ME A WEAPON OR I SWEAR..

 "Sounds like he's going to try again." "Yeah. All his tirades end in an attempted hit."

"W.X. has been exiled from Pittsburgh."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Willy's going to be pissed."

"He's not already?"

 I'LL LIGHT THIS PLACE UP.WHERE ARE MY MATCHES?WHERE'S MY ZIPPO?MANUEL!HAVE YOU GOT THEM? WHERE ARE YOU,YOU STINKING WETBACK?YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM ME BECAUSE I CAN SMELL YOU

THE END THE END THE END my little pets. It's time to wind this sumbitch down, put my feathers up, get on my dancing shoes and hit the trail. Remember, pray over your little Easter bunnies for rain in Brazil because if the crop fails I'll hold each and every one of you personally responsible and I'll tell God that you're all a bunch of flaming assholes and you'll be struck by lightning or be involved in a horribly disfiguring accident. In our next issue we'll hold an auction for Brother Swaggert's little black book. And lots of other fun things!!! Smooch.