Where the Wild Worms Wreathe ============================ > This is a piece of fanfiction based in SpinDizzy MUCK. The events depicted never took place, either in RP or otherwise! Many thanks to everyone who graciously allowed me to use their original characters: Jukka the deer, Morticon, Casandro and of course Kantuck Nadie Nata-Akon, whose story it is. The Rose Garden was slow to wake in the morning as usual. Safely away from the central fountain, behind concentric barriers of thorny, flowering bushes, someone sat in the shadow of the ancient oak, serenely watching specks of silver race each other among the glittering spires of Neopolis, a few klicks to the west: a large housecat dressed like a steamship captain, fluffy white fur carefully groomed. At long last, one of those specks grew larger, resolving into a rainbow-colored disc just wide enough to hold its sole occupant, whom it safely deposited on the grass before flying away to the next customer. "Jukka!" The feline perked up and raced to meet the newcomer, tail held high. "How's my favorite cervine today?" The anthropomorphic deer bent down to hug his friend, letting his hoodie fall open. How he was supposed to get the hood over his antlers was a mystery for the ages. "Oh, you know, just deering about. How are you, Claude?" "Wistful. Not that I'll miss all the recent excitement, but it could be years until the next opportunity to see new faces." Jukka nodded. Even at faster than light speeds, space was just too vast. "Well, at least we'll have each other, and a big home to play in..." He trailed off. That wasn't enough anymore, and they both knew it. Everyone did, but nobody knew what to do. So they just cuddled together, Claude seemingly intent on purring the both of them right back to sleep. Until, that is, a wallaby with jet black fur and yellow eyes came hopping from somewhere, disdainfully dodging animated toys that were coming to life with the growing light, in his determination to meet the pair. "Morticon," the deer said coolly. "To what do we owe the displeasure?" "What," came the reply, accompanied by a smirk, "can't a brave defender of this planetoid take a break among the blooming nature now and then?" "Come on," chimed in Claude, "you seldom come out of your command center just to relax. So what is it this time?" "Well, test subjects won't kidnap themselves. There's always work to do... All right, all right. I might just need some help with a thing." "From us?" Jukka's expression showed clearly enough what he thought about that. The black wallaby huffed. "It concerns the whole of SpinDizzy, my deer concitizen. Hear me out. Last night in Flight Control we detected a spaceship coming at us fast." "Maybe someone who was at the gathering forgot their sunglasses?" Claude helpfully suggested. Jukka snorted, and Morticon made an obvious effort not to follow suit. "I wish. But none of them had an antimatter drive, or ever failed to answer when hailed." "Fair enough," admitted the deer. "So what do you want from us?" Morticon went shifty-eyed for a moment. "We-ell... Let's just say the SED is short on transportation capability for the moment." "And we need to intercept this visitor before it gets here," agreed the cat. "But I don't have a space-capable craft; the Flying Fish is strictly atmospheric. How about you, Jukka?" "Oh, I'm too boring a deer to own such a thing." "Then I'll have to ask elsewhere," concluded the black wallaby. He ear-wiggled in annoyance at a gaggle of cubs with school bags on their backs who chased each other among the benches, squirting water guns at all the wrong things. A book vendor who was just unfolding her stall chased them away, doing a convincing impression of Donald the Duck, and not even on purpose by the looks of it. "Maybe not. Look!" Claude's own ears swiveled towards a whirring sound, whose source turned out to be a small biplane. It circled above their heads a few times before coming to a land not far from the group. A cartoon skunk rezzed inside the otherwise empty cockpit, only to climb out a moment later. "Hi!" he greeted, taking off his aviator goggles. Claude bounded across the few meters separating him from the newcomer, who received the cat a little stiffly. "Airborn! How's it going?" "Oh, I am functioning normally. What about you?" "Just fine, really." "Same here," added Jukka. "Though I'm going to need a coffee soon." "Ah yes, deadpanned Airborn. "Organic life forms require regular refueling." Morticon did snort this time. "Mr. Airborn. How's business at the airport as of late?" "Picking up again now that Casandro and crew are back from their tour of the neighboring star systems. I even think they're done putting the Trashcan back together." Claude clapped his forepaws. Being padded, they failed to make any sound. "That's who we can ask for a ride. Shall we, gentlemen?" "Ooh, are we going to space?" "You can have my seat, Airborn," said Jukka, not giving the wallaby time to object. ---- They came out of the microjump no more than a few hundred klicks away from their target, close enough to see its shape. The little cargo ship's owner never missed an occasion to show off his mad piloting skills. And in all honesty, not having to spend hours on approach was a bonus to everyone. Airborn had stayed home after all, citing the trouble of folding his wings to fit into one of the Trashcan's cargo compartments. So there was just one other passenger apart from Claude: a tall, well-built tigress in a uniform with the SED logo sewn above the left breast, who had recommended herself as Arya number 73. She was leaning forward from behind Casandro's pilot chair, while the smaller cat perched on the backrest of the one to the right, trying to see over Jake's wide-brimmed hat. The latter, an athletic kangaroo-rat with armored cybernetic legs, busied himself with a sensor sweep. "It's a big one, all right," he said after a while, "and that drive is burning like a sun. How come we haven't seen it before?" "They've only just performed turnover a few hours ago," the tigress explained crisply, "while running silently otherwise". "But where did they come from? Nothing came out of hyper mode recently. We'd have seen it on the way in." "If its extrapolated trajectory is correct, that may have something to do with the unstable natural wormhole we detected during the gathering." "You mean they traveled via wild worm?!" Pete interjected from the back. The teenage skunk's black and white fur was even more ruffled than usual. "Where else are you going to find a bigger rollercoaster?" quipped Casandro. He took one hand off the control yoke to arrange his leonine mane. "Speaking of which, hang on." The Trashcan's rotation was calculated to afford them a good view of the mysterious visitor as they shot past, then started decelerating again to match speeds. Both ships had a boxy design, but that was where the resemblance stopped. The Trashcan was a literal space truck, except much larger than its land-based ancestors, and with antigravity pods instead of wheels. Just the command module on the other vessel was even more massive. It perched atop of a boom three hundred meters long that had the drive section at the other end, itself of industrial proportions. Hadn't the system been crawling with artificial objects until the previous evening, it would have been hard indeed to miss. "Well, at least they're not shooting," mused the Arya. "Do they even have weapons?" Jake opened a different set of sensor views. "I'm afraid so, Pete. These look like missile tubes, and see here? Lasers. Big ones, too. All powered down, but still." "And still no attempt at communication?" inquired the tigress. Casandro shook his mane. "No hails, no answers. I just tried again." "How about analog radio?" asked Claude. "You know, below microwave frequencies." Everyone else looked at him, then at each other. Arya 73 slowly facepalmed. ---- "This is the star spire Crazyhorse, ship's AI in command," said the voice from the speaker, after the Trashcan's complement had introduced themselves. "We require assistance." Behind the translator's mechanical monotone, the words were spoken with a mixture of feelings, echoing distantly from the insides of a vast mind. "We're stranded in unknown space, with insufficient supplies to reach any other place. We've suffered extensive radiation damage, beyond my ability for self-repair even if we did have supplies. My pilot is in suspended animation. Please help. Our only other option is flying into the local star." "Great, a suicidal AI," the Arya muttered under her breath. Loudly, she asked, "How do we know you are to be trusted?" Everyone else cast her a weird look. "Scan us," said the alien ship. "I don't know what else to tell you." "Fair enough," answered Jake. "Stand by." "What's that going to accomplish?" the tigress inquired. Jake's fingers were already flying, In a moment, his half of the dashboard was covered in holographic displays that even obscured the windows. A few were migrating towards the roof. "You'd be surprised. Installing upgrades on this baby is my hobby. Okay... here we go. One biological organism. Readings resemble Jukka's, of all people. Missile tubes are empty. Power distribution is spotty. Can't tell much more, they have a ridiculous amount of shielding. Thick steel and water tanks, not to mention that piece of asteroid strapped to the prow for ablative armor. And it still wasn't enough to protect them." "No force fields?" asked Casandro. "There's no sign of any. Or of a FTL drive for that matter. And you know... it's odd. They have plenty of energy. The ship looks in one piece at least, too. So how can they be low on replicator mass?" "They said 'supplies', not replicator mass," Arya pointed out. "Maybe they don't have replicators either." "That's really low-tech," commented Claude. "Says the steampunk cat," Pete teased him. Said cat nibbled him playfully. The tigress stood straight. "Very well, I've seen enough. If you'll excuse me for a moment." She took out a bulky communicator and walked into the rear compartment. When she returned, Casandro was telling one of his jokes to that Crazyhorse character, who seemed terribly puzzled. "I have good news," said Arya, looking non-plussed. "We are willing to offer you sanctuary." "Weren't we anyway?" whispered Claude. "Oh right... SED." "I am most grateful," answered Crazyhorse. The AI didn't sound especially relieved. "But my pilot has the final word, once she wakes up. Can't make the decision without her." "Understandable. We'll bring the planetoid over in the mean time." "Trashcan, I didn't copy that. Please repeat." In the way of a reply, the distant star that was SpinDizzy winked out, only to reappear in a swirl of light, its 60-Km disc wrapped in a blue aura from the landscaped flat top to the inverted mountaintops hanging raggedly off the underside. "... Never mind. Initiating suspended animation reversal procedures. Crazyhorse out." ---- Back in the Rose Garden, Jukka sat cross-legged in the grass, nursing a cup of coffee. Under the fake summer sky, all too real clouds rode the wind. One of them winked back at him. In the distance, a fiery streak climbed vertically, picking up speed as it went. The deer sighed. Were their long, pampered lives in this paradise becoming so unbearably dull that they had to make any old thing into an adventure, to be met head-on? Morticon's militia had to see enemies everywhere; other residents kept scouring forgotten corners -- even the underside a few times -- for stragglers who often just wished to be left alone. And deep in the bowels of SpinDizzy resided a bored deity of destruction, who thankfully sought worshippers in other planes of existence. An earthworm had ended up in the middle of a pathway, and now writhed blindly on the dry pebbles. Jukka picked it up with a twig and moved it to a patch of soil, before summoning a street luge that would fly him back to Neopolis. At least people in the compact futuristic city were grateful for his invisible administration, and he was more than happy to provide. Claude LeChat 29 July 2017