Subject: ADVENTURES IN SERVOLAND; Chapter IX
- The Mock Cronan's Story
From: openbook@sirius.com (Blackhawk)
Newsgroups: alt.fan.tom-servo
Message-ID: <openbook-1402001508570001@ppp-asfm06-071.sirius.net>
[AUTHORS COMMENTS: This chapter deserves a longer introduction than the
others having taken over 6 months to post. This was the most difficult
chapter to write so far.
The first patch of difficulty came when WWS released a hysterical "Chapter
One" of his own and I began to re-think whether to put the piece aside and
do my own Chapters 1-6. This idea didn't last long and I went back to work
on this chapter.
I worked it, and I worked it... and I worked it again. During this time
there was a "disagreement" over cross-posting from arna and at one time
this chapter was a rather pointed commentary on the whole affair. I wrote
most of this out when things resolved themselves and then tortured myself
for months over how much of it I could put back in... because... well...
it's funny now. :)
Thinking about all that took some time, but wasn't nearly the stopper that
loosing Cronan was. Each chapter so far has been a tribute to various
members of the aft-s community and the title of this Chapter had already
been announced.
I suppose the thing I labored over the most was that this chapter is
really two separate stories. Although (as in the original) the scenes with
the Wench (Duchess) are quite long, they are simply the set-up that gets
Blackhawk (Alice) to the Mock Cronan (Turtle). I always planned this
chapter to be a tribute to a living Cronan Thompson, so the last half of a
story in Chapter 9 never seemed a "big" enough tribute when he died. There
was also the fact that so many of his friends had joined aft-s after his
passing and they weren't part of the story thus far. This held things up a
bit as well.
It was to my own myopic chagrin that I realized after months thinking
about it, (and while reading "Alice" to my 4 & 5 year old godchildren
during the holiday break), that Chapter 10 will be an even wilder
playground for the characters established here (with room for some "new"
characters, heh!) and will be plenty "big" enough for a proper tribute.
And I might even post it in less time than this one took. - Best, BH]
BLACKHAWK'S ADVENTURES IN SERVOLAND
Previous chapter: The Witch's Croquet-Ground
CHAPTER IX
The Mock Cronan's Story
'You can't think how glad I am to see you again, you dear old thing!' said
the Wench, as she tucked her arm affectionately into Blackhawk's, and they
walked off together.
Blackhawk was very glad to find her in such a pleasant temper, and thought
to himself that perhaps it was only the porkwoman that had made them all
so savage when they met in arna.
'When I'm a Wench...er, Mench,' he said to himself, (not in a very hopeful
tone though), 'I won't have any porkwoman in my newsgroup at all. AFT-S
does very well without--Maybe it's always porkwoman that makes people
hot-tempered,' he went on, very much pleased at having found out a new
kind of rule, 'and Tropea that makes them vomit--and Cronan that makes
them bitter--and-and MQS and such things that make children
sweet-tempered. I only wish people knew that: then they wouldn't be so
hypocritical about it, you know--'
He had quite forgotten the Wench by this time, and was a little startled
when he heard her voice close to his ear. 'You're thinking about
something, my dear, and that makes you forget to talk. I can't tell you
just now what the point of that is, but I shall remember it in a bit.'
[Image] Blackhawk (with his "pepperoni") chats with the Wench
'Perhaps it hasn't one,' Blackhawk ventured to remark.
'Tut, tut, child!' said the Wench. 'Everyone's got a point, if only you
can find it.' And she squeezed herself up closer to Blackhawk's side as
she spoke.
Blackhawk did not much like keeping so close to her: first, because the
Wench had large fluffy artichokes and the spines would catch in his
uniform; and secondly, because she was exactly the right height to rest
her "points" about upon Blackhawk's shoulder, and they were uncomfortably
sharp points. However, he did not like to be rude, so he bore it as well
as he could.
'The ng's going on rather better now,' he said, by way of keeping up the
conversation a little.
''Tis so,' said the Wench: 'and the point of that is--"Oh, 'tis love, 'tis
love, that makes the Usenet go round!"'
'Somebody said,' Blackhawk whispered, 'that it's done by everybody minding
their own business!'
'Ah, well! It means much the same thing,' said the Wench, digging her
sharp little point into Blackhawk's shoulder as she added, 'and the point
of that is--"Take care of the sense, and the sounds will take care of
themselves."'
'How fond she is of finding points in things!' Blackhawk thought to
himself. 'But it seems to me this constant bar-b-que of porkwoman, the
eating of Fuller-Haggis, the roasting of Dan the pig, et al; will beg for
an eventual 'kharmuppance', or at least a 'non-kosher' warning!'
'Speaking of 'kosher', I dare say you're wondering why I don't put my arm
round your waist,' the Wench said after a pause: 'the reason is, that I'm
doubtful about the temper of your pepperoni. Shall I try the experiment?'
'He might bite,' Blackhawk cautiously replied, not sure if he was now
really speaking with the Wench or a clever forger and not feeling at all
anxious to have the experiment tried.
'Very true,' said the person who seemed to be the Wench: 'pepperoni and
Animal 57 both bite. And the point of that is--"Birds of a feather flock
together."'
'Only Animal 57 isn't a bird,' Blackhawk remarked.
'Right, as usual,' said the Wench: 'what a clear way you have of putting
things!'
'It's a mineral, I think,' said Blackhawk.
'Of course it is,' said the artist-formerly-known-as-the-Wench, who seemed
ready to agree to everything that Blackhawk said; 'there's a large Animal
57-mine near here. And the point of that is--"The more there is of mine,
the less there is of yours."'
'Oh, I know!' exclaimed Blackhawk, who had not attended to this last
remark, 'it's a vegetable like Dan. It doesn't look like one, but it is.'
'I quite agree with you,' said the Wench; 'and the point of that is--"Be
what you would seem to be"--or if you'd like it put more simply--"Never
imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others
that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had
been would have appeared to them to be otherwise."'
'I think I should understand that better,' Blackhawk said very politely, 'if I
had it written down: but I can't quite follow it as you say it. Is that
like saying Captain Infinity started this newsgroup?'
'That's nothing to what I could say if I chose,' the Wench replied, in a
pleased tone.
'Pray don't trouble yourself to say it any longer than that,' said
Blackhawk, thinking about how upset Cap. would be that he mentioned it...
again.
'Oh, don't talk about trouble!' said the forger (who unbeknownst to
Blackhawk, had, in fact, replaced the Wench). 'I make you a present of
everything I've said as yet if you'll tie me up with those ropes and beat
me.'
'A cheap sort of present!' thought Blackhawk. 'But I wish people wouldn't
post junk like that!' But he did not venture to say it too loud.
As they continued on together, Blackhawk heard Porko say in a low voice,
to the company generally, 'I seem to recall a Servo in which, if somebody
didn't like what some other member was doing, it was simply mentioned more
or less amicably...'
Suddenly, the Infinity Cat's teeth appeared and said "That's it, I'm outta
here. I've got too many good novels sitting unread on my shelves to waste
time reading anymore. Especially since this story has become a satellite
site for 'porkwoman' and Tropea jokes.
Blackhawk didn't know what to say since the porkwoman people had already
left in the last chapter and he wasn't planning to write Dan's character
into this one. He decided that the Infinity Cat was punishing him for the
'Cap started this newsgroup' comments.
'Thinking again?' the forger asked, with another dig of her sharp little
point.
'I've a right to think,' said Blackhawk sharply, for he was beginning to feel a
little worried.
'Just about as much right,' said the forger, 'as pigs have to fly; and the
m--'
But here, to Blackhawk's great surprise, the forger's voice died away, even in
the middle of his/her favorite word 'point,' and the arm that was linked into
his began to tremble. Blackhawk looked up, and there stood the Witch in
front of them, with her arms folded, frowning like a thunderstorm.
'A fine day, your Majesty!' the forger began in a low, weak voice.
'Now, I give you fair warning,' shouted the Witch, stamping on the ground as
she spoke; 'either you or your head must be off, and that in about half no
time! Take your choice!'
The forger made a choice, and was gone in a moment.
'Let's go on with the game,' the Witch said to Blackhawk; and Blackhawk
was too much frightened to say a word, but slowly followed her back to the
croquet-ground.
The other guests had taken advantage of the Witch's absence, and were
resting in the shade: however, the moment they saw her, they hurried back
to the game, the Witch merely remarking that a moment's delay would cost
them their lives.
All the time they were playing the Witch never left off quarrelling with
the other players, and shouting 'Off with his balls!' or 'Off with her
breasts!' Those whom she sentenced were taken into custody by the Servo
posters, who of course had to leave off being posters to do this, so that
by the end of half an hour or so there were none except the Witch, and
Blackhawk.
Then the Witch left off, quite out of breath, and said to Blackhawk, 'Have you
seen the Mock Cronan yet?'
'No,' said Blackhawk. 'I don't even know what a Mock Cronan is.'
'It's the thing Mock Cronan Posts are made from,' said the Witch.
'I never saw one, or heard of one,' said Blackhawk.
'Come on, then,' said the Witch, 'and he shall tell you his HIStory,'
[Image] Hole asleep
They very soon came upon a Hole, lying fast asleep in the sun. (If you
don't know what a Hole is, look at the picture.) 'Up, lazy thing!' said
the Witch, 'and take this young fellow to see the Mock Cronan, and to hear
his HIStory. I must go back and see after some executions I have ordered';
and she walked off, leaving Blackhawk alone with the Hole. Blackhawk did
not quite like the look of the creature, but "on the hole" he thought it
would be quite as safe to stay with it as to go after that savage Witch:
so he waited.
The Hole sat up and rubbed its eyes: then it watched the Witch till she
was out of sight: then it chuckled. 'What fun!' said the Hole, half to
itself, half to Blackhawk.
'What is the fun?' said Blackhawk.
'Why, *them*,' said the Hole. 'It's all *their* fancy that; they try to
punish each the object of their rage, but they punish everybody else you
know. *Peep*!'
'Everybody says "*Peep*!" here,' thought Blackhawk, as he went slowly
after it: 'I never was so "peeped" about in all my life, never!'
They had not gone far before they saw the Mock Cronan in the distance,
sitting sad and lonely on a little ledge of rock, and, as they came
nearer, Blackhawk could hear him sighing as if his heart would break. He
pitied him deeply. 'What is his sorrow?' he asked the Hole, and the Hole
answered, very nearly in the same words as before, 'It's all his fancy,
that: he hasn't got no sorrow, you know. Come on!'
So they went up to the Mock Cronan, who looked at them with large eyes
full of tears, but said nothing.
'This here young man,' said the Hole, 'he wants for to know your HIStory,
he do.'
'I'll tell it to him,' said the Mock Cronan in a deep, hollow tone: 'sit
down, both of you, and don't speak a word till I've finished.'
So they sat down, and nobody spoke for some minutes. Blackhawk thought to
himself, 'I don't see how he can even finish, if he doesn't begin.' But he
waited patiently.
'Once,' said the Mock Cronan at last, with a deep sigh, 'I was a Plain and
Simple Cronan.'
These words were followed by a very long silence, broken only by an
occasional exclamation of '*Peep*!' from the Hole, and the constant heavy
sobbing of the Mock Cronan. Blackhawk was very nearly getting up and
saying, 'Thank you, sir, for your interesting story,' but he could not
help thinking there must be more to come, so he sat still and said
nothing.
'When we were little,' the Mock Cronan went on at last, more calmly,
though still sobbing a little now and then, 'we read our news in rastb5.
The master was an old fart--we used to call him JMS--'
'Why did you call him master, if he wasn't one?' Blackhawk asked.
'We called him master because master-debated all over us,' said the Mock
Cronan angrily: 'do try to keep up!'
'You ought to be ashamed of yourself for asking such a plain & simple
question,' added the Hole; and then they both sat silent and looked at
poor Blackhawk, who felt ready to sink into the earth. At last the Hole
said to the Mock Cronan, 'Drive on, old fellow! Don't be all day about
it!' and he went on in these words:
'Yes, we went to post in the Usenet, though you mayn't believe it--'
'I never said I didn't!' interrupted Blackhawk.
'You did,' said the Mock Cronan.
'I love your sweet ebony ass!' added the Hole, before Blackhawk could
speak again. The Mock Cronan went on.
'We had the best of educations--in fact, we went to fandom every day--'
'I've been a bootlicking fanboy too,' said Blackhawk; 'you needn't be so
proud as all that.'
'With extras?' asked the Mock Cronan a little anxiously.
'Yes,' said Blackhawk, 'we learned Star Trek and Babylon 5.'
'And Smurfs?' said the Mock Cronan.
'Certainly not!' said Blackhawk indignantly.
'Ah! then yours wasn't a really good froup,' said the Mock Cronan in a
tone of great relief. 'Now at ours they had at the end of the bill, "Star
Trek, Babylon 5, and the Smurfs--extra."'
'You couldn't have wanted it much,' said Blackhawk; 'living at the bottom of the
sea.'
'I couldn't afford to be a SMOF.' said the Mock Cronan with a sigh. 'I
only took the regular courses.'
'What was that?' inquired Blackhawk.
'Posting and Flaming, of course, to begin with,' the Mock Cronan replied;
'and then the different branches of Trolling-- Ambition, Distraction,
Fiscal Repackaging, and Derision.'
'I never heard of "Fiscal Repackaging,"' Blackhawk ventured to say. 'What
is it?'
The Hole lifted up both its paws in surprise. 'What! Never heard of Fiscal
Repackaging!' it exclaimed. 'You know what to 'spin-off' is, I suppose?'
'Yes,' said Blackhawk doubtfully: 'it means--to--make--anything--derivative.'
'Well, then,' the Hole went on, 'if you don't know what Fiscal Repackaging
is, you still are a bootlicking fanboy.'
Blackhawk did not feel encouraged to ask any more questions about it, so
he turned to the Mock Cronan, and said 'What else had you to learn?'
'Well, there was Satire,' the Mock Cronan replied, counting off the
subjects on his flappers, '--Satire, ancient and modern, with Peepography:
then Whoop-ass -- the Whoop-ass master was an old hermit krab, that used
to come once a week: He taught us Veracity, MST'ing, and Woody Woodpecker
Bowls.'
'What was that like?' said Blackhawk.
'Well, I can't show it you myself,' the Mock Cronan said: 'I'm too stiff.
And the Hole never learnt it.'
'Hadn't time,' said the Hole: 'I went to the Peep master, though. He was
an old peep, he was, stale and chewy!'
'I never went to him,' the Mock Cronan said with a sigh: 'he taught
Peeping and Grief, they used to say.'
'So he did, so he did,' said the Hole, sighing in his turn; and both
creatures hid their faces in their paws.
'And how many hours a day did you *PEEP*?' said Blackhawk, in a hurry to
change the subject.
'Ten *peep*'s the first day,' said the Mock Cronan: 'nine the next, and so on.'
'What a curious plan!' exclaimed Blackhawk.
'That's the reason they're called The Kamikaze Peep Squad,' the Hole
remarked: 'their numbers lessen from day to day.'
This was quite a new idea to Blackhawk, and he thought it over a little
before he made his next remark. 'Then the eleventh day must have been a
silent day of mourning?'
'Of course it was,' said the Mock Cronan.
'And how did you manage on the twelfth?' Blackhawk went on eagerly.
'That's enough about peeping,' the Hole interrupted in a very decided
tone: 'tell him something about the snuffleupagus, the duct tape and those
things you use to open sardine cans now.'
Next chapter: The Krab Kwadrille
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