Te Amo

Predator Press

[LOBO #64]

LOBO clone #32 arrived at the Pearly Gates bewildered.

He was dead?

Apparently.  And by now, there was a line of LOBO clones waiting to speak to Saint Peter.

"Hi LOBO clone #32!", says LOBO clone #71 and #16, waving enthusiastically. "Jesus Christ what a handsome clone."

"I was just about to say the same thing," grins LOBO clone #32. "You guys are downright gorgeous!"

"How did you die?" asks #71.

#32 shrugs. "High cholesterol maybe?"

"Wow," says #16.

"Yeah," says #32. "What about you handsome devils?"

#16 blushes. "You know I'm not sure. I was playing with plastic bags.  You know, putting them over my head, and trying to inflate them.  That's the last thing I remember."

"It was probably the mob," offers #71.

"That's a really brilliant insight," ponders #16. "I never thought of that. It could have been a really ugly, jealous mob. #71, you must be a genius."

"A really good looking, sexy genius," ads #32.

"What about you, #71?" asks #32.

#71 held up his right hand, inspecting his fingernails with arched eyebrows coolly. "I knocked up Sapphire."

"No way!" says #32.

"You're kidding!" says #16.

"Nope," says #71. "Several years ago, before I met Terri, me an Sapphire had a, uh, 'thing'."

"You lucky bastard," says #32. "You handsome, brilliant, lucky bastard."

"Tell us how it happened," says #16.

"Yes, please do," says #32, bouncing and clapping his hands. "Give us details!"



***

LOBO hated going to Chicago. It was always a big pain in the ass.

As usual, he would ride straight up Interstate 94 until he hit the inevitable gridlock. Deciding that this was more parking than it was actually driving, he would then abandon his car wherever he was -right there in the sea of beeping and cursing- and walk the rest of the way.

It wasn't a perfect or particularly convenient system admittedly. But on occasion when he came back hours later, the car was still there surrounded by the same beeping and cursing people that were there when he left. And sometimes -when he was really lucky- it would have maybe fifteen or twenty feet of open road in front of it.

At least he didn't have to tote around change for a parking meter.

On this particular day, he got within eight miles of his destination before the "parking" started.

It was shaping up to be a fine day.

Shuffling northward, he was reading the used car classifieds as he walked. In no particular hurry, he arrived at Sapphire's posh apartment building three hours later.

Outside was a disheveled, smelly guy, holding out a tin cup.

LOBO took the cup and looked inside. It was full of nickels and quarters.

"No thanks," he says, handing it back to the bewildered guy. Tapping his temple with his index finger he replies, "I did the free parking thing."

But as he starts to walk away, he notices someone else walk by and drop some change in it.

"Wow," says LOBO. "That guy just gave you money? Just like that?"

The guy with the cup stared.

"Oh I gotta get in on this action," he says to no one in particular. "This city rocks!"



***

So LOBO returns from the nearby convenience store like twenty minutes later with a small bag.

Unwilling to soil himself, he also had a Diet Pepsi which he promptly poured in his lap.

Figuring an environment less hostile to the olfactory senses might be more lucrative, in the bag he had two dozen pine tree air fresheners which he proceeded to sneakily hang on all the other people on the block holding out cups.

With a black marker and cardboard, he countered the abundant "WILL WORK FOR FOOD" signs with "WE ACCEPT VISA AND MASTERCARD". Where one guy's pants hung too low, LOBO's hung lower. Where one's clothes were inside out, LOBO's were inside out and upside-down. When one drooled, LOBO gushed. When one sang tunelessly or cursed at people that weren't there, LOBO would affix a Bluetooth earpiece upon them: this would transform the shabby-looking transient instantly into a trendy Gen-X high powered executive.

"Oh come on!" LOBO complained when the guy in Army fatigues missing his legs scooted by on a skateboard. Frustrated, he beaned "Skateboard Guy" with his empty plastic cup.

Frothing unrepeatable obscenities, he skulked on up to Sapphire's apartment in defeat.



***

Three hours later, the phone seemed to ring forever.

Finally, the semi-familiar voice answers. "Yeah?"

"Is this Fat Louie?" asks LOBO.

"Who wants to know?" says the disembodied voice.

"This is LOBO."

"Who?"

"You know, LOBO. We met downstairs. You asked me if I needed anything. Like 'H' or dope or crack or women."

"Oh yeah. You're the guy that said you were bored and looking for a 'good time'."

"Yep," says LOBO. "That's me."

"Well what do you want?"

"When you sold me this, uh, Liquid G stuff, you said 'one drop in a girls drink, and I was guaranteed to have a good time'."

"What happened?"

"She fell asleep!"

"Ummm ... what did you think was going to happen?"

"I don't know. I figured maybe she would call up some friends and we could play Trivial Pursuit or Monopoly."

Pause

"Uh huh," says Fat Louie.

"Should I give her some more?"

"God no," says Louie. "Too much of that stuff could be dangerous. I would put it away. In something you know nobody will accidentally drink out of."

"Like a can of Tab? I'm way ahead of you." LOBO pauses. "How long is Sapphire going to be out? I think I need a ride home."

"About eight hours. She won't remember a thing, either."

"So I'll need to write out some directions?"

Another pause

"So what can I do for you?" asks Louie.

"Well, I'm bored. And I already watched all her Dawson Creek dvds." LOBO sighs. "So how's the wife and kids?"

"Look, 'LOBO'," says Fat Louie. "You got any condoms?"

"Yeah. I found some in her purse."

"Well use them, dumbass."

A click, and a dial tone.



***

Use the condoms? LOBO thought. What am I going to do? Make ribbed, glow-in-the-dark, 'lubricated for her pleasure' sausage?

He didn't get any ideas until he went in her bathroom. There, he found rows and rows and rows of Sapphire's bottled perfume.

It was all cheap crap, too. No Safari.

Remembering the hobos in the street, he started making pleasant-smelling water balloons. It took about five or six burst ones to determine the maximum density of a water-slash-perfume filled condom, and he disposed of the unusable ones in the toilet.

"Bombs away!" he cried over Sapphire's 35th story balcony, scoring a direct hit on Skateboard Guy.

Finally out of ammunition, he returned to the kitchen, thirsty. Finding an unfinished can of Tab, he chugged the whole thing as he wandered in to see if Sapphire had woken yet.

... And passed out right next to her.



***

Sapphire woke to find LOBO snoring loudly.

That's strange, she thought.

Having been unconscious for quite some time, she headed immediately for the bathroom, where she found an empty vial labeled "Liquid G", and a half-dozen burst condoms floating in the toilet.

She screamed.



***

"What happened then?" asks LOBO clone #16.

"She was trying to wake me up, but I couldn't understand a word she was saying; for some reason she was really upset and had one of those Early Pregnancy Test slides in her mouth. Evidently, I might have gotten her pregnant somehow-"

"Maybe you're so virile that just being near her was enough. Did you go near any cabbage patches?" asked #32.

"No."

"Or leave a half dollar under her pillow?" asked #16.

"Nope," replies #71, shaking his head.

"I'll bet that sneaky Skateboard Guy had a half dollar to sneak under her pillow," reflected #32.

#71 points to his nose, and continues. "I calmly explained that she shouldn't be ashamed of succumbing to her natural sexual desires for me, what with me screaming out all these incredibly manly testosterates everywhere. She's only human for God's sake: it's biology. And even though it was more likely Skateboard Guy's baby, I would raise it with her like it was my own, and we should get hitched so's the kid ain't no bastard."

"So ..."

"I don't know what happened next. Something crashed into my head. I turned to look, and it was the sidewalk."

"Hah!" says Saint Peter. "See Gabriel? You owe me fifty bucks!"

The War Room

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Why he has an enormous map of such an obscure location in Nevada is fairly mind-blowing.  But within moments he retrieves it, and sprawls it over the large table.

"First let me say that if there is even one percent truth in what you are telling me," he barks, "you would be the last soldier on Earth I would trust on an important mission like this.  You are ill-equipped, untrained, inept, and virtually worthless."

"Thanks dad," I reply.

"Have you considered just hiring a mover?"

"That sectional couch came from Ikea.  Only the most brilliant minds on Earth and Koreans can reassemble it."

He ignores my answer, poring over the map with a fingertip.  "Her signal is coming from ... "

... his finger thumps the map.  "Here."

"There's nothing there," I note.

"See?" he replies.  "Worthless.  Coordinate those last two brain cells!  The only reason you think there's nothing there is because the government wants you to think there's nothing there."

"Eh ..."

"There's nothing on Google Maps either, which proves it," he says.  Sighing deeply, he rises, pushing his helmet up an inch with his finger.  "Son, what we have here is a full-blown conspiracy."

"Obviously."

"So what the hell happened to your eyebrows?"

Ultra-Violent Light

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Once I decided I needed to rescue Sapphire from an alien race -who might possibly be planning an invasion- because I needed her help moving some furniture, a week ago I visited my dad for the first time in years.

"Are you on drugs, son?"

"No," I says, forgetting the Chantix.

"You would be a lot easier to explain to people if you started doing drugs."

"I'll try."

It gets quiet for a minute, and -after all the driving- I'm basking in the gaps of his enthusiasm to see me. 

My dad is an ex Chicago cop, that, at some point, said "fuck everyone."  He bought 100 acres of property on an obscure, undeveloped mountainside patch of land in Arkansas.  My mental image of him is often rocking on the porch with a six pack and a shotgun, serenely hoping "The Revenuer" shows up.

He has a garden, tomatoes, peas ... despite the austere doublewide trailer, everything seems kind of subdued and unremarkable. 

"How's your mom?" he asks good naturedly.  I can't really clock his eyes through his goggle-like Hubble telescope glasses, but I can see by his smile he is sincere.  "Fourth husband work out?"

"Fifth husband is treating her well."

"Fifth?  What.  Are you two in some kind of competition?"

"Very funny, dad," I says, a bit stunned by the raw observation.  "So what gives?  This place looks so ... normal.  Where is all the artillery?  We've never lived anyplace without at least one anti-aircraft battery within 100 yards."

"I keep most of that in the basement."

The basement of a doublewide trailer.

-Ah shit. Time for the crazy old coot to go into a home.  Well, he had a good run ...

Suddenly the lights dim to a flashing blood red, and an alarm blares.

"Quick!" He cries.  "To the wardrobe!"

***

The "wardrobe," it turns out, is a super-fast elevator to some kind of safe room.

The doublewide has three floors I notice.

As the door opens, dad storms into a very high-tech room with gun racks everywhere, replete with an operating desk and large, widescreen images of various parts of what I presume are his property.  I can't do any better than that, because I was barfing from the wardrobe ride ... I could tell you more about the carpet.

"It's a fucking rabbit," he says, selecting the screen depicting the area that triggered the alarms.  Pressing a button, large, unseen turrets slide up from the ground into the camera view.  "These guys are eating my tomatoes.  Wanna see something cool?"

The monitors lock into glowing, red crosshairs on the rabbit's head.

"Not really."

"But they are eating my tomatoes!"

Dust

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"Where are you?"

"I have no idea," I reply.  "About 200 miles outside of Las Vegas."  Glumly, I stare at the signs ROAD CLOSED and PRIVATE PROPERTY.  "And I'm out of road."

Lars Arson pauses.  "Are you going to Vegas?"

I associate Vegas with gambling, live shows, strippers and whorehouses. A colossal amount of effort and energy for which I have no interest.  Rubbing my sore eyes, I am rewarded by some scratchy eyebrow stubble.

"I gotta rescue Sapphire," I says into the speakerphone, ignoring the question.  "Do you know you long it takes for eyebrows to grow back?"

"You decided to rescue Sapphire?  Really?"

"Yeah.  My lease is running out, and I need help moving the sectional couch."

"You are rescuing Sapphire from an invading alien armada because you need help moving furniture?"

"Well you ain't gonna help move a sectional couch."

"True, dat."

Because I CAN

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Sapphire, naked and fearful, stood before the device -clearly an ancient Sapphire prototype.

"He will not save you," it explains.  "You are one mile under the Earth's surface, deeply entrenched in RDO's plan to invade this dump.  And LOBO spent last night organizing his comic books."

"I know," Sapphire replied in dignified resignation.

"Let's do this."

The Death of Sapphire

Predator Press

[LOBO]

I kind of vaguely remember taking the pills Jenny McCarthy gave me, and feeling calm and, well, productive.  God bless these things.  I recommend them to anybody.  They are all stamped "PLACEBO."

“So what's the deal with you 'recalling' Sapphire,” I ask bluntly. “Are you getting your troops together to finally invade this dump?”

RDO, gleaming teeth over Skype, countered.

”Let's just say having one of our best examples of technological innovation on a stripper pole diminishes our reputation,” he says. "We heard you were hurt in a fire where you work. How are you?”

“I'll be fine when my eyebrows grow back. But the plant is shut down. I have three weeks off until it's repaired.” I sigh. “This is nothing like when you rescued me on that island and I had eaten the four other survivors.”

”You were only stranded for nine hours."

“Those noble souls weren't getting any fatter,” I says. “So what are you going to do with Sapphire?”

”Scrap her for parts, and melt down what's left for an ultra-secret military invasion about to take place, that I'm not at liberty to talk about. At the moment. Right now.”

“Do you think she will let me have her stereo?”

Red Wedding

Predator Press

[LOBO]

My tires screamed in agony against the parking lot asphalt.

The warehouse of the media distributor I've worked at for two years was on fire.

An alarm blared. I noticed other cars in the parking lot, and this tells me there are co-workers inside. I grabbed my codekey and tried the door against hope. If the electricity is out, I would have to plow my car –my beloved 1990 Plymouth Horizon, fully equipped with optional AM radio and brakes on all tires- through a weak wall thirty feet to my right.

But the codekey fucking worked.

Thick black smoke billowed out, and I ducked under it. I covered my mouth for no reason I can readily think of; the air just seemed too thick to breathe. Lars Arson, Phoebe, and a handful of other vaguely familiar employees were crawling and wheezing to the door I opened. Blind from the smoke, I made a left. Forty feet, right, climb fifteen steps … Thinking quickly, I topple a shelf of thick philosophy books. You know, to distract the fire.

… Holy shit, it's hot.

… right … left. Smoke poured from the nursery as I ran by. Then I passed a small group of nuns as they choked and wheezed prayers, presumably for fire extinguishers.

Can barely breathe. I am so tired.

I arrive at my department, the door conspicuously labeled “Adult Materials,” and then the rescue operation begins.


***

By the time the fire department arrived, I had six pallets worth of “adult materials” stacked in the parking lot.  My clothes, hair and eyebrows burning, I am frantically trying to extinguish them.

“Hey!” a fireman says, jumping from his truck. “Is there anyone in there?”

“Yes!” I scream. “The entire Marilyn Chambers collection, and most of Traci Lords!”

Slippery Plastic

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"You gotta be kidding," I says.  "My first raise in two years, and you offer me this?"

"It's the best we can do," Lars Arson, the Receiving Department Manager insists.  "Most employees got nothing at all."

"I've been working sixty-hour weeks for six months.  And in the third worst winter in Chicago history, I drove through horizontal-blowing subzero blizzards -replete with lightning and thunder- to get here on time," I says, thumping my finger on his desk.  "They got nothing?  Good!  When I drag your ass out onto there and beat the fuck out of you in front of them, I'll be a goddamn hero."

"We also wanted to put you in charge of all the pornographic materials."

The tears well up so fast, I can't stop them.

"You're the best boss I've ever had," I confess.

Valkyrie Rose

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Part II

”I find myself having to choose if I flee back to the surface, or stay in here and figure out what happened,” I says. "At this rate, the door will be closed completely in a day or so.”

I pan the camera to the cave enormous and slowly descending steel door.

A shock of static.

”I’m staying,” I commit to the black and glossy disinterested dead lens, shivering, breath visible in the chill. ”There’s nothing up there anymore anyway.”

Valkyrie Rose

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Part I

s per design specs, the Mag Lev Network efficiently delivered Beverly to Winston’s apartment -200 miles away- within 20 minutes. Still, despite her rush, she found herself pausing at the door. What she is proposing is both crazy and frightening, and she steadied herself as a shiver ran through her like an electric current.

In this moment of forced and focused suppression of fear, she realizes her head is aching too. Suspecting her hastily-applied ponytail, she pulls the elastic ring out as she finally knocks. This unintentionally delights Winston who, already attracted to the good Doctor, has never seen her somewhat bookish and professional demeanor.

“Beverly,” Winston smiles blearily, still adjusting his robe.

“I’m sorry Winston,” Beverly smiles somberly. “I should have called first. But I spent the ride here convincing Rick to come.”

“Here? Now?” Winston winces at his own incredulousness.

“Yes. Can I come in?”

“By all means,” he steps aside invitingly and closes the door behind her.

If Beverly is impressed by Winston’s rather posh apartment, she doesn’t let on as she strides to his kitchen. “Do you have coffee?”

Still at the door, Winston scratches though his sleep-addled hair . “Sure. Is something wrong?”

“Did you watch the translated vid?”

“Some of it,” Winston shrugs, following her. “It’s a hoax,” he adds conclusively as he procures coffee grounds from a cabinet.

“It’s too elaborate to be a hoax. Nothing on this scale could be created in secret. Even the language is some long-dead derivative of Latin. Are you hungry? I want to order food.”

“It’s 11pm,” Winston protested mildly, filling the coffee maker with water. “And we have a meeting tomorrow morning.”

“To report our findings,” Beverly agrees. “We are having a meeting before that one. These findings are,” she chooses her words carefully. Only now does it occur to her that Winston’s apartment may have surreptitiously. But for that matter, her apartment could be too. “Significant,” she proceeds dubiously. “Particularly given who we are reporting them to. Mag Lev will want to drill regardless of our opinions, and with billions of dollars at stake it would surprise me for this to just disappear. We need to discuss our findings first. And what to tell them, if anything at all. Rick is already on his way.”

“So you watched the whole thing?”

“Numerous times. And read and re-read the transcripts and all the analysis I could.”

Winston chuckles. “And you thing is some kind of distress call from some ancient civilization.”

“No,” replies Beverly. “I think it’s a warning.”


***

“How are we doing?”

“Well, it ain’t good,” I says, peeling back my mask. “I’m a hundred miles behind. I went down as far as I could -maybe a mile. But visibility is pretty bad.” Tucking my head into my lapel, I finger sand from the filter. “I got a goddamn flat tire too.”

There’s a pause, and empty static crackled loudly.

“Can you get back on track?”

“I don’t think so,” I says, staring out unseeing over the clouded chasm. “Negative. I’m sure I can get the bike fixed; my grandpa had a farm out here a few miles back. But I can’t see a damn thing unless this storm clears up. It looks like the end of the Earth.”

Would grandfather’s farm even still be there? I thought. This was nothing but boring farm flatland ten years ago.

“I’m going to have to check in with you guys in the morning,” I says. “I have no idea what has happened here. The landscape seems totally different.” I bit my lip, thinking. “Unfortunately, I can guarantee we won’t be finding any food here.” Hesitant and frank, I commit, “I would guess this is the end of the road really.”

“Round trip?”

“It’s your call. I’m familiar with this area, so maybe I can dig something up. And if the storm clears, there might even be a way to continue on.” I look back over my shoulder to see the gulch beyond the edge of the highway, but only see the whipping grey of sand and ash. “I don’t know how optimistic to be about the highway, but as far as being broken down, I couldn’t have picked a better spot. I grew up here. Blinding storm or not, I know the area.”

“I think it’s a good idea for you to get some rest.”

I laughed, “Funny. I was thinking food. I’ll bet a million bucks I’ll find a few cans of chili or something.”

“Let’s say you check in daily.”

“Grid permitting.”

“Of course.”

“We need to make this conversation short then, for my battery. I’ll bring back all the fuel I can carry too.”

“Refined?”

“Let’s not get picky yet. Lemme see what happens.”  There's a thick, dried brush under the sand, and sometimes it cracks under my steps causing me to sink several inches.  "This was a farming community.  Unless is was looted thoroughly, I should find a trove of useful stuff.  Frankly I don't know how you could have looted this place of everything considering how hostile it seems."

“I’m officially listing you as ‘Grounded by Severe Storm” until further notice.” A brief pause. “How long until we have you back on duty?”

“What makes you think I’m coming off duty?” I says. Re-applying the filtered mask, I switch off the doubtlessly-recorded conversation. The approval I wanted was, well, all I wanted.  They won't be hearing me for a while.  Did we do this?  I don't know.  Do I care?

Jesus fucking Christ. This place is a hellhole now.

I remember the Shell station sign, and that used to be at the highway exit.

No I don't really care.

-So that means that before the huge crack in the earth runs roughly perpendicular. I close my eyes for a moment to try and remember the place with roads. Eyes open, it occurs to me that I’m not on any of the ‘roads’ at all … I’m in a water retention pond, now full of sand.. Strangely fortunate, this leads me directly into the edge of the city.

I decide to prop up the bike and leave it.  With visibility as it is, I'm as likely to hit an abandoned car or a concrete pole or something.  Further complicating things is that my area knowledge is very old: you would be surprised how many new buildings and apartment complexes and roads creep in over the years.

Plus, my father's farm was well outside the city -maybe eighteen miles southwest of the -the "Rift"- as the crow flies.  Farm land, surrounded by wire fencing to mark borders and keep large animals in.  In short, biking any further off the highway would be a good way to get decapitated.

Still, I would live to regret my cavalier attitude.

This storm, to my knowledge, would never end.

And I would never hear another living human voice again.

Contact

Predator Press

[LOBO]

The days following the "Upstart" debacle were pretty crazy. I had to submit the sixteen page final essay for one, and it was already about six semesters overdue. The problem was that it was a paper based on activities in the student organizations, and invariably I somehow kept getting re-elected.

This college had a strange, quirky electoral process that inexplicably elected it's media people too. Not the reporters and so forth, but the Chairperson -me, at the moment- and this person was responsible for hiring a "Board of Directors". And The Board collectively hired the reporters, and so on. Very bureaucratic and boring. But the real trick was that the Chairperson was also a voting member of the Student Senate. As far as power and influence could go in the academic setting, I suppose I was doing pretty well.

Now as I mentioned, it was only days after the "circus", and it also happened to be Finals Week. The last finals week too, prior to graduation. And in true form, I had procrastinated virtually all of my really tough "core" classes until now.

So I'm studying for four hardcore finals which were all taking place over the next two days. Plus, I'm in the Honors Society and needed at least all "B"s to maintain that distinction. Plus I'm in the Senate, so I gotta write and give speeches. Plus I'm managing the school video program, newspaper, magazine, and radio programs. Plus I had to hand over all this crap to the newly-elected incoming administration, and get them prepared to take over. (Having never taken a single journalist class --let alone management and record-keeping training-- my desk was eight inches deep in paperwork.) Oh, and I also had a regular job as well.

I'm not trying to exaggerate: I was surrounded with a lot of very talented people, and a lot of this stuff was running on auto-pilot. But I had, in fact, achieved complete critical mass.

My entire day was carefully spelled out: meetings, meetings, meetings, punctuated violently by an Algebra exam I was having a lot of trouble with. But I had studied hard, and was pretty confident with the "B" --maybe even an "A" if I got through the sleep-deprived fog well enough. I got on campus that morning with my head swimming in numbers and letters. Don't Walk signs read "D" times "O" times "N" ... in regard to the test, I was In The Zone so to speak, and as well-prepared as I would ever be.

I got to the floor of my office about fifteen minutes before my battery of meetings was to begin, and was surprised to find it bustling with activity. We had scheduled all publications to have finished a few weeks earlier so the students could actually study this week. Even the final newspaper was already in the can: we planned to publish a quasi "Year in Review/Best Of" issue that required simple layout retooling. With the exception of maybe the layout editors, this whole floor should have been a ghost town.

I tried to sneak into my office, but Esther spotted me. Grabbing a pile of mail, she followed. And another woman I'd never met followed her.

They found me sitting, elbows on piles of paperwork on my desk, rubbing my eyes and temples alternately. I hadn't slept in days, and couldn't remember the last time I ate. It was then I first noticed a bunch of flowers, trays of homemade-looking pastries and dishes, colorful fruit baskets and so forth, sprawled randomly across the desk.

I glanced up at Esther, indicating the packages. "What's all this?" I asked.

"I don't know." She says, tossing the mail in front of me. "I'm not your fucking secretary."

So I look at the new pile of mail. "Okay, then. What's this Princess?"

Now Esther is my Comptroller -whatever the Hell that is- and presumably going to carry on under the incoming administration. She's talented, she's tough, she's brilliant, and she's fully-augmented with these great big awesome accounting-whiz number-crunching boobs. "It's mail on that stupid Upstart thing."

"Is it good or bad?"

She pauses for a second. "Well, I guess it's about fifty-fifty."

I leaned back in my chair. "Perfect."

"How the fuck am I supposed to run a creditable newspaper when the Board Chairman is constantly in it?" She demanded.

"Look, you said yourself the mail was fifty-fifty. I've effectively cancelled it all out."

And the poor girl just stared at me like I was a moron. "I'm going to try to get Melody to publish these you know."

I shrugged. "It's your call. Really. I'm graduating. Do your worst."

Esther visibly softened up a little as she left. She was definitely pissed -and perhaps justly so- but she wasn't really that mean-spirited. And the bottom line was that in a year I had tripled our circulation. The whole damn Student Organization -Senate, Media, everything was reorganized and re-vitalized. They went from zero participation to having to turn away people. It was a hard-fought year fraught with legendary silliness for sure, but I felt I was leaving the whole thing a lot better off than it was when I got it.

I looked to the other woman who had remained silent during the confrontation, stood and smiled, offering my hand. "Hi, I'm David. Can I help you?"

"Pleased to meet you," she replied. "I'm Dana."

There was an awkward silence.

"Your ten o'clock," she added.

I nodded.

Another awkward silence. She sighed. "I'm the incumbent Student Media Board Chair. I'm relieving you after this semester."

***
I don't know how I imagined this moment before. I think I was leaning towards either burning the whole building down or maybe distracting The Incumbent momentarily as I threw the keys and bolted for the door.

But it turned out that I genuinely liked Dana. She was a sharp firebrand redhead, and already looking for trouble. We spent about three hours on a cursory tour, discussing the operational nuts and bolts of the organization: office locations, where the files are, keys, et cetera.

Finally she has to go to class, and I get a quiet moment.

I slip into my office and turn off the lights so no one thinks I'm there. It's a great trick, because right behind my desk is a huge picture window that offers plenty of light anyway.

I notice that one of the packages is obviously a tray of brownies, and my stomach growls. Like I said earlier, who knows when I ate last.

Suddenly I notice I'm hungry.

All the packages have "Congrats!" and "Thank You!" on them, and the "From" parts are either hand-scrawled names or printed company logos I don't recognize. I wolfed down some brownies as I examined them. One package was a bowl of mushrooms, and I thought. Gee, I really shouldn't fill up on just brownies, and began popping mushrooms like M&Ms.

And speaking of M&Ms, behold! Here's a whole bowl of them. Odd that they're all purple. But I get M&Ms that are accidentally printed with Es, Ws, and 3s all the time. Maybe it's a contest or something.

I didn't even suspect the white powder that was obviously a poorly-manufactured fragrance of some kind. But when I saw the colorful basket full of arranged hypodermic needles, I began to suspect that there was something afoot.

So I tested the hypo on the six-foot cactus that had suddenly sprung up in my office.

No effect on the cactus.

This puzzled me.

And that's how I met Sapphire.

***

"LOBO" says the guy.

"What?" I yawned, a little disoriented.

"The Robot Dinosaur Overlord has commanded your presence."

"Now?"

"Yes. Behold! You are now aboard a legendary warship feared throughout the universe --fully equipped with charged ion galactic detonators-- flying at approximately eleven times the speed of light. Cubed."

"That sounds pretty fast. Do you guys name your ships too?"

"Yes. We call her Daisy Mae."

"Does she have a gift shop?" I asked.

"Promenade Deck."   ***

Well, call me crazy, but wearing the sneakers, jeans and rumpled T-Shirt of a college student probably isn't the best way to dress when meeting The Robot Dinosaur Overlord. At the gift shop, I found a kewl leather outfit and a cape. I almost bought one of those cute little perpetual motion machines as a souvenier, but the cashier warned me that the civilization that honored the warrantee on it had been extinct for millions of years.

So now I'm all decked, and we're speeding towards The Leading Edge of the Center of the Universe: secret lair of the Space Dinosaur Overlord. We intercept the mother ship, and I'm escorted into a vast, dark room, and left alone in silence.

Then, seemingly from out of nowhere, the room explodes into fiery life.

"MAXIMILLAIN HECTORUS DEXALLIUM!" a booming voice demanded over the giant screen. By the firelight slipping through it's huge jaws, I saw the impossibly gigantic lizard-like form coiled in the center of a vast room.

A dragon. A goddamn bona-fide football-field length, fire-breathing, leathery-winged dragon.

"MAXIMILLAIN HECTORUS DEXALLIUM!" it repeated as the camera closed. "YOU HAVE BEEN FOUND GUILTY OF TREASON AGAINST THE GALACTIC DINOSAUR EMPIRE, AND ARE HEREBY SENTENCED TO DEATH BY FIRE."

"Maximillian who?" I asked.

"MAXIMILLAIN HECTORUS DEXALLIUM!" he roared. Then he paused. "YOU ARE MAXIMILLAIN HECTORUS DEXALLIUM, AREN'T YOU?"

"Never heard of him."

"GODDAMN IT ERIC!" he roared over his shoulder. "WOULD YOU PLEASE DOUBLE CHECK MY ITINERARRY BEFORE YOU GIVE IT TO ME?"

"Sorry there Big-O," a disembodied voice replied in the background. "Eric is on maternity leave ... his ol lady laid like six thousand eggs last night. I'm actually the guy in charge of brimstone."

The dragon looked at me, shrugging and completely exasperated. "OKAY. SO WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?"

"I'm LOBO sir."

The background voice piped up again. "Say's here LOBO is your two o'clock."

The dragon exhaled into the sky, rolling his eyes. "ALRIGHT EVERYBODY ... TURN THE LIGHTS ON. AND MAKE SURE THE ACID BATH IS READY FOR MY TWO FIFTEEN."

I shielded my eyes from the sudden lighting.

"I'M HERE TO INFORM YOU THAT, REGARDING THE GALACTIC DINOSAUR EMPIRE, YOU ARE BEING RELIEVED OF YOUR DUTIES.

"You're relieving me of my duties?" I asked, puzzled. "I'm actually pretty good at relieving myself of my duties." I pause.  "What duties did I have, anyway?"

The dragon grimaced. "LOOK SON," the dragon put his claw around my shoulders as we walked, "AFTER THE GREAT STEVE LOVES AMANDA WARS ENDED, I'VE BEEN PRESSURED BY ALL THOSE HIPPIE, LIBERAL-MINDED VEGETARIAN BRONTOSAURS ABOUT DOWNSIZING OUR MILITARY." He sighed. "YOUR SERVICES ARE NO LONGER REQUIRED."

"But just what exactly were my services to the Galactic Dinosaur Emp--?"

"WE'VE ELIMINATED YOUR POSITION." the dragon interrupted.

"So I'm being fired?"

"LOOK, THE FACT IS THAT THE CREATIONISTS ARE EXCEEDING OUR WILDEST EXPECTATIONS. WHILE YOU HAVE BEEN EXEMPLARY AND LOYAL MAKING CONTRIBUTIONS VITAL TO THE GLORIOUS EMPIRE, WE'RE CHANGING HORSES."

"Hey!" I replied dejected, staring at my boots. "I don't know who these 'Creationists' are, but I'm sure once you tell me what my duties are, I can--"

"IT'S OVER SON," replied the dragon, shaking his enormous head. "BUT WE DO CONSIDER YOUR CONTRIBUTIONS EXEMPLARY, AS I SAID. I AM HERE TO REWARD YOU FOR YOUR SERVICES."

"With fire, right?"

"NO. ACTUALLY IT'S A WATCH." he paused chuckling. "JUST KIDDING. IT'S IN HERE."


***
The beautiful woman lie motionless on the center of the room. I was dazzled.

The dragon put on a lab coat as he explained. "WE HAVE STUDIED THE PEA BRAINS AND FEEBLE DNA OF HUMANS QUITE EXTENSIVELY, AND HAVE DECIDED TO SPARE YOUR POOR BACKWATER CIVILIZATION FOR NOW; A BIG FULL-SCALE EXPENSIVE INVASION DOESN'T SEEM WARRANTED ON A CIVILIZATION THAT HAS ONLY RECENTLY DISCOVERED RUDIMENTARY SCRABBLE. BUT WE HAVE DESIGNED THE LAMBDA-CLASS R1000." He threw a switch, and the woman opened her eyes. "THIS ONE IS PROGRAMMED TO MATCH YOUR EXACT PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE AND PHYSICAL TASTES. HER DESIGNATION IS SAPPHIRE.

Sapphire sat up, blinking. She looked at me and smiled. "Have I told you how handsome you are lately LOBO?" She inquired.

I looked at the dragon, eyebrows furrowed.

The dragon sighed as he unfolded the instructions, and read them through a big thick magnifying glass the size of a bus.

"'CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR RECENT INVENTION OF THE LAMBDA-CLASS R1000. SHE IS ATTRACTIVE, OBEDIENT, INTELLIGENT AND HARD WORKING, AND WILL CATER TO YOUR EVERY WHIM BY PREFORMING ANY AND ALL ACTS YOU DESIRE.'"

The dragon paused. "WE'VE EVEN GOT A JINGLE ALREADY". He swung his paws as he danced a little, singing tunelessly "NEVER AGES, GAINS WEIGHT OR MEN-STRU-ATES ..."

"Well, what if I want kids?"

Tracing the instructions with a massive claw, the dragon skimmed the paragraphs. "LET'S SEE ... 'COMPLETELY INDESTRUCTABLE' ... 'STATE-OF-THE-ARTS LETHAL DEFENSIVE SYSTEMS' ... YADDA YADDA YADDA ... OH HERE IT IS. 'THE LAMBDA-CLASS R1000 IS FULLY CAPABLE OF BEARING AND RAISING CHILDREN, AND IN FACT HAS AN IMPROVED GESTATION PERIOD OF ONLY THREE MONTHS, AS WILL HER OFFSPRING.'"

I began counting on my fingers, but Sapphire interrupted. "David, at full capacity within thirty-four years our brood will have multiplied with the human race exponentially: roughly 27.8% of the Earth's population would be our progeny."

I whistled. "But that's like a lot of kids that all have to be put through college. And Christ Thanksgiving would be a nightmare. What if I don't want kids?"

The dragon peered down through the glass. "SAYS HERE THERE'S A SWITCH."

"This is crazy." I said. "What if she gets pissed off and tries to gooify me or something?"

Sapphire giggled, twirling a lock of my hair in her fingers. "My programming will not allow me to be angry with you, sexy."

"Well, while I'm impressed with your visual clarity, what if I leave the toilet seat up?"

"Then the toilet seat in exactly where you prefer it, as reflected in my programming," she whispered into my ear.

"Okay," I replied, thinking hard. "What if I come home late, drunk and surly after a confrontation with your mother over how she hoped you would marry some suave, rich space entrepreneur robot doctor instead?"

"Then I would do the dishes while reciting any of the complete works of Louis L'Amour that I have memorized for your amusement, you hot stud."

I continued to be impressed by her visual acuity --and she definitely had the right breasts for reading Louis L'Amour books-- but that was a trick question. "I don't wash dishes, I just buy new ones."

"I guess we could just get our freak on."

"Let's hit it" I said.

***
You know, I am The Man.

Fifteen minutes in space, and I'm sporting a cool new leather outfit, speeding back to Earth with a hot, scantily clad robot space chick giving me a massage, and poised for complete and total global domination. By sex.

Gimmee my props.

But then Sapphire piped in. "David I need to tell you about my upkeep."

"Jesus Christ! Nag, nag, nag! Can't we just enjoy a nice quiet moment without you complaining about something?"

"Every six years you need to change my AAA battery--"

"Hold it right there, sister. You never told me you were going to be so needy. I haven't changed. You've changed. I'm just not ready for this kind of commitment!"

"But LOBO .."

"Shhh!" I put a finger over her lips. "Baby look, we're just too different. I'm sorry. I love you, but I'm not in love with you. It's not you, it's me. I just can't deal with your relentless mother anymore. I think we should both start seeing other species." I turned to the crew on the bridge. "About face. Turn this bucket around ... we have to take 'Little Miss Needy' here back to the mother ship."

The crew of the Daisy Mae looked at each other in confusion. "Uh, Sir," one finally piped. "Nobody has ever asked us to do that before. We're supposed to sit hear and look busy pushing buttons. This ship is on auto pilot."

Then I noticed Sapphire was crying.

"Honey, I imagine this to be an intensely painful experience for you. And I'm a really sensitive, sensitive guy." I took her hand. "That's what makes jettisoning you out of the airlock such a painful thing to do."


***
FOOM! Sapphire shot into the void. Then, suddenly, the ship lurched. Hard.

"What's going on?" I demanded.

"Sir!" a crew guy replied. "We've figured out how to disengage the auto-pilot and turn around!"

"Good" I replied, pressed against the wall from the inertia. "Then we can drop off Sapphire back on the Mother Sh--"

Sapphire clanged noisily off of the ship's nose, and then was sucked violently into the starboard engine.

"Um," I replied. "Just forget it."

***
I woke up in my office.

Because my pants were on fire.

Somehow, a photograph of the inside of my pocket was inserted into my pocket, and it smoldered painfully. I procured it, and stomped it out on the floor.

It was ten at night.

And while I had completely missed the algebra exam, I would soon discover that I had accidentally wandered in on a Calculus class and got an A+ doing their entire exam on the blackboard in fourteen seconds.

Without pants.

Pictures of it would be in the school paper.

But I stood in the darkness of the quiet abandoned campus looking out my enormous picture window. Wistfully gazing out at the beautiful cloudless sky, the stars glowed their infinite presence like gems. And one fell, burning a silent blue arc across the sky.

And I remember thinking one thing:

Sapphire.