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<table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="1" width="100%" class="forumline"> <tr> <th class="thCornerL" width="22%" height="26">Author</th> <th class="thCornerR">Message</th> </tr> <tr> <td width="22%" align="left" valign="top" class="row1"><span class="name"><a name=""></a><b>zendora</b></span></td> <td class="row1" height="28" valign="top"><table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0"> <tr> <td width="100%"><img src="templates/subBlack/images/icon_minipost.gif" width="12" height="9" alt="Post" title="Post" border="0" /><span class="postdetails">Posted: Mon Apr 10, 2006 12:50 pm<span class="gen"> </span> Post subject: </span></td> </tr> <tr> <td colspan="2"><hr /></td> </tr> <tr> <td colspan="2"><span class="postbody">Hey that's good. My first thought was: it's so long! But I have a short attention span so that happens a lot to me. I like the idea, keep writing <img src="images/smiles/icon_biggrin.gif" alt="Very Happy" border="0" /></span></td> </tr> </table></td> </tr> <tr> <td colspan="2" height="1" class="spaceRow"><img src="templates/subBlack/images/spacer.gif" alt="" width="1" height="1" /></td> </tr> <tr> <td width="22%" align="left" valign="top" class="row2"><span class="name"><a name=""></a><b>Janette Morgan</b></span></td> <td class="row2" height="28" valign="top"><table width="100%" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0"> <tr> <td width="100%"><img src="templates/subBlack/images/icon_minipost.gif" width="12" height="9" alt="Post" title="Post" border="0" /><span class="postdetails">Posted: Mon Apr 10, 2006 12:17 pm<span class="gen"> </span> Post subject: I Always Get The Butt End - Semi-Fanfic</span></td> </tr> <tr> <td colspan="2"><hr /></td> </tr> <tr> <td colspan="2"><span class="postbody">This started out as a dream I had, and rapidly escalated into a sort of Fangirl-Wish-Fulfillment story, although in no way do I actually wish this would happen to me. It's also an exercise in scientific gobbledygook. I suppose this qualifies as a "transformation" genre story, but I'd like to think it turns out a little less pointless as I write further. Rated PG for brief mild language. <br /> <br />I Always Get the Butt End <br />A short exercise in anger management <br />by Janette Morgan <br /> <br />It started out as a kind of field trip. A short foray into the world of astrophysics to try and grab some extra credit before finals. It wasn't too hard to get in; the lab was straight off the campus and Gina had some pretty good connections with the scientists. We'd set the time for Saturday morning (so we'd have enough time to actually put together a paper), and we were there prompt at eight, eager students with notebooks and plenty of pencils. We were there to <span style="font-style: italic">learn.</span> <br /> <br />There were four of us: Gina, myself, Nicky and Carol. Gina was the unofficiated leader of our group and probably the most rational (when she wanted to be), I was the undisputed smartalek, Nicky was a rambunctious genius with a judo obssession, and Carol was an artist with a string of bad science grades and a knack for complaining. <br /> <br />We were met by one Dr. Robert, a balding, middle-aged man who actually lacked a potbelly. He had a special project, he said, that he'd thought we'd like to see -- something so completely incredible that he wouldn't even tell us what it was. "Sounds great," Gina said. <br /> <br /><span style="font-style: italic">I</span> wanted to know what it was, but "How bad could it be?" So, we followed him. Down a very scientific-looking hallway. <br /> <br />"We could die," I answered sternly. "Especially with this Dr. Bob guy." (I'm also the undisputed pessimist, and there's just something about balding, middle-aged men <span style="font-style: italic">without</span> potbellies that gives me the jibblies.) <br /> <br />"I like Dr. Robert." <br /> <br />"Sure... 'he's just a little larger than life', right?" I teased. Somewhere ahead of me, Dr. Robert coughed. <span style="font-style: italic">(Yeah -- if he's larger than life, I'm Mary Steenburgen.)</span> <br /> <br />"No." <br /> <br />"My back is starting to hurt with this floor," Carol remarked. <br /> <br />"You just got here," I informed her. I didn't really care for concrete either, but that was ridiculous. "Your back <span style="font-style: italic">can't</span> hurt yet." <br /> <br />"It <span style="font-style: italic">does,</span>" she insisted. <br /> <br />"I could kick it into shape," Nick suggested. <br /> <br />"<span style="font-style: italic">Nicky...</span>" Carol moaned. <br /> <br />"Aw, stuff it," I said. "We're here for the welfare of your horrendous science grades, remember?" (One of my less charming idiosyncracies: picking on Carol.) <br /> <br />"Here we are," Dr. Robert announced, opening a door and ushering us into... a cavern. Well, not <span style="font-style: italic">really</span> a cavern. Just a really big laboratory that, for all intents and purposes, could have been fashioned from an Army scrapyard if only the pieces had "U.S. ARMY" painted on them. <br /> <br />I raised an eyebrow. "You don't <span style="font-style: italic">live</span> here, I hope." <br /> <br />He smiled. "Only when my work takes me into the wee hours of the morning." <br /> <br />"When do we get to see your machine?" Nick wanted to know. <br /> <br />"In a minute. It's somewhere over here." <br /> <br />Particularily uninterested in watching him rifle through a mass of mechanical junk, I grabbed one of my pencils and started doodling in my notebook. <br /> <br /><span style="font-style: italic">Note 1: Do not trust Dr. Bob. He's really, really weird. <br /> <br />Note 2: Dr. Bob is messy. Maybe he's not some kind of supervillain. <br /> <br />Note 3: Do not take Carol on field trips.</span> <br /> <br />"Here we go," said Dr. Robert. He'd managed to clear the junk away from a big metallic thing with a weird tubular thingy in the center -- it looked like a cross between some kind of crystal and an AA battery. The whole shebang was covered with wires and... shiny car parts, best as I could see. "Would you like to see what it does?" <br /> <br />Carol and Nicky started in immediately, but Gina intervened. "Could you explain it first?" <br /> <br />Dr. Robert sighed. "Since you insist. You see the core here -- this is a special kind of rock I like to call robertium, and it's particularily radioactive. Right now it's harmless. But when I press this switch, it activates a complex process that is actually capable of altering certain elements of reality." <br /> <br />"...Er?" I questioned. We readied our notebooks. <br /> <br />"The first thing it does is to release heat into the robertium core, triggering the release of radiation. It's perfectly harmless, and the only purpose it serves is to alter everything in the contained area in a way that makes it susceptible to rapid change. I'm not entirely sure why, but it's almost like it causes a temporary instability in the molecular lattice. Once the lattice is unlocked, as it were, the subject is receptive to a broadcast of reconstructive information, which this part of the machine releases." He lightly touched a chunk of radio from which protruded a satellite dish. "Anything within the contained area can be transformed to virtually any degree. I suppose a sentient human being could be fully transformed into a simple animal, or vice versa, as long as the blueprint was complete, but that's really not what this is for. I hope to use it for practical purposes, such as curing disease or healing injuries instantaneously. Although, in the meantime, I have had a very interesting time testing alternative applications." <br /> <br />"What kind of applications?" Carol asked. <br /> <br />"Patching up my wardrobe, among other things. In fact, the very first test subject was a rather hideous couch which has found itself a new life as a plasma television set." <br /> <br />"Can you turn nonliving things into living things?" I asked. <br /> <br />"This machine unlocks the arrangement of objects on a molecular level," he answered. "Concievably, I could do anything. Excuse me, I haven't finished. Once the subject is transformed, <span style="font-style: italic">this</span> part of the machine scrubs the atmosphere of all radiation, and the contained area can safely be opened again." <br /> <br />"What about living into nonliving?" Sinister, but I <span style="font-style: italic">had</span> to ask. <br /> <br />"Definitely. Though, I haven't tried this on any living subjects. Still waiting for some volunteers. Would you be interested?" <br /> <br />"No," I answered sternly. <br /> <br />"No," Gina echoed. <br /> <br />"No!" Nick exclaimed. <br /> <br />"No <span style="font-style: italic">way!</span>" Carol shrieked. As usual, she was the first to overreact. <br /> <br />"Didn't figure. Anyway, the interesting thing about the instructional broadcast is the way it's created. The machine first has to read the structure of the subject and, through a computer program that was awfully difficult to assemble, determine how to reconfigure the lattice to achieve the desired shape. This is especially important for partial transformations, especially given the continual variation between subjects." <br /> <br />"What are you going to do when the military gets ahold of this and starts using it to make unstoppable soldiers... weapons... bombs?" Gina wondered gloomily. <br /> <br />"It's internally powered. Even if the military managed to disconnect the lab electricity and get close to it, I could catch them in the contained area and possibly turn them into something else before they get the chance." <br /> <br />"You could disappear if that happened," I pointed out. <br /> <br />He nodded grimly. "True." Then he brightened. "Well, the military <span style="font-style: italic">hasn't</span> got it, and I <span style="font-style: italic">have.</span> Now, if you'll just wait here, I'll show you how it works." He pressed the main button on the machine -- then started giggling insanely and ran away. <br /> <br />"What's up with him?" I wondered, staring at the retreating scientist. <br /> <br />There was an ominous <span style="font-style: italic">clunk.</span> <br /> <br />Something began to rise out of the floor. At the same time, something <span style="font-style: italic">else</span> began to lower out of the ceiling. It was that that drew my attention, and I spent a good bit of time staring at it, trying to figure out the shape, when I realized: It was a perfect hexagon, and it was around our group. <br /> <br />I would have dove for cover, but the containment shields were obviously well-oiled, because they slid into place almost instantly. At the risk of stating the obvious, I realized that we were about to become Dr. Robert's first human trial. It wasn't a bad idea -- four kids in college, miles away from home; if something went wrong, we could disappear without a trace. They'd stick our faces on the milk cartons for a couple of years, then forget about it, probably labeling it a cold homicide. Our parents would keep going for longer, but after fifteen or twenty years would eventually give up. <br /> <br />The robertium core started glowing. <br /> <br />Several questions flitted through my head at this moment: Am I going to die? What's Dr. Roberts going to do to us? Who let this guy use the lab, anyway? What was the sofa before it was a sofa? How does he know this radiation's harmless if he's never tried it on anyone? When did I get to be such a pessimist? <br /> <br />"Since we've got four subjects, I'm inputting multiple patterns into the computer. It'll select one at random for each of you, with the stipulation never to re-use a pattern. I'm a lucky, lucky man, ladies. Exactly four subjects. Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic." <br /> <br /><span style="font-style: italic">Note 4: Dr. Bob seems to be some kind of megalomaniac, with a wicked sense of puns.</span> <br /> <br />I put away my notebook and stared firmly at the machine. If I was going to die, I was going to do it like a man. Er, woman. Adult. <br /> <br />It stopped glowing, and started putting off a sound instead. A really high-pitched one, that didn't so much hurt the ears as whine on borderline-supersonic levels. <br /> <br />And then it <span style="font-style: italic">hit.</span> <br /> <br />I don't care if my molecules were receptive or not, it hurt like the dickens. Like all the cells in my body were swelling up, pressing against each other. And dividing. Swallowing atoms from the air around them to make more of themselves. (Actually, I didn't feel that last part. I just figured that was what was going on.) <br /> <br />I couldn't watch. Whatever it was, I couldn't bring myself to observe whatever horrible transformation might be occuring. I shut my eyes, noting that neither they nor my brain seemed to be suffering like the rest of me. Which was good in a way; if I was going to have a first hangover I wanted the first rest of it to go with, but in a way it got me wondering if only my body was going to explode, leaving my brain and eyeballs floating in a lot of goo. <br /> <br />"There's something wrong here," Dr. Robert said suddenly. And I knew: this was it. This was the part where I died. Ten... nine... eight... seven... "It can't handle the multiple signals. I think it's going to overload. I'd abort, but it's far too late." Six... five... four... three... "If anyone is listening, I fear these may be my last moments. Celia, Dylan, I love you. If anyone finds this machine, and if there's any chance you can reassemble it, never under any circumstances load multiple signals at once. This lack of foresight may be my undoing, and if that is so..." Two... one... "See that this technology never falls into the hands of the military." <br /> <br /><span style="font-style: italic">Nice last speech, Docbob. Why didn't I get one?</span> <br /> <br />BOOM. <br /> <br />I hadn't cared to watch the explosion, but I sure felt it. It knocked me off my feet, propelling me into... a sheet of aluminum foil. Or at least, that was what it felt like, if aluminum foil was still ridiculously flimsy at two inches thick. I didn't have long to ponder this sensation, however, as I found myself colliding with a wall and thumping down into a load of equally-flimsy scientific garbage amid electronic cries of "Containment breach!" <br /> <br />With an explosion like that, I didn't doubt it. <br /> <br />And then the entire thing drifted into blissful silence. <br /> <br />I didn't move. With a hit like that, I had little doubt that most of me was fractured if not compounded, and I didn't care to test anything. I opened my eyes, but all I got was a view of the floor. Well, I'd just wait for someone to come get me. <br /> <br />I heard Gina's voice first. "Nick? Liz? Carol?" <br /> <br />Followed by a cough. "I'm okay," Nick grunted. <br /> <br />"Ooooouuuuwwww, my back!" Carol moaned. <br /> <br />For once, nobody made a joke about it. "Where's it hurt?" Gina asked. <br /> <br />"All over." <br /> <br />"Are you okay?" Nick asked. <br /> <br />"Yeah. Kinda winded, but I feel fine. Where's Liz?" <br /> <br />I wanted to talk, but I couldn't force the air through my vocal cords. I managed to raise a finger, but all I could do with it was scratch on the ground. Negligible alertment noise there. <br /> <br />"Try the big crater," Carol suggested. <br /> <br />Then came a groan, and Docbob's voice. "Ogh... I'm alive. You're all alive! It worked!" <br /> <br />"<span style="font-style: italic">What</span> worked?" <br /> <br />There was some clanging around. "The robertium core is still intact. I can rebuild! Tell me, how are all of you feeling?" <br /> <br />Gina made a sound between a groan and a sigh. <br /> <br />"My back is killing me," Carol whined. <br /> <br />"Alive." I would've bet Nick shrugged right then. <br /> <br />"<span style="font-style: italic">What</span> worked?" Gina asked again. <br /> <br />"The partial alteration. I already know I can turn one thing completely into another thing. Now I know that I can successfully blend two designs!" <br /> <br />"<span style="font-style: italic">What</span> two designs?" <br /> <br />There was an irritatingly dramatic pause. "I blended your physiologies with the physiologies of four comic book characters. The device chose one for each of you at random from a pool of five." <br /> <br />"You can do that?" Nick asked. <br /> <br />"Why five?" Gina asked. <span style="font-style: italic">Go you,</span> I thought. <br /> <br />"I seem to be able to, because it worked! I used five because there were five main characters from the particular universe. At first I wasn't going to include the fifth, because he's not part of the team, but I thought hey, why not add an element of excitement to the matter?" <br /> <br />Funny. Once he got excited, Docbob completely lost his scientist demeanor. <br /> <br />"<span style="font-style: italic">Which four?</span>" Gina demanded. <br /> <br />There was a pause which sounded particularily awkward. <br /> <br />Nick let out a half-dead chuckle. "That four." <br /> <br />"...Oh." In that single word, Gina expressed more awe, confusion and disgust than I think I'd ever heard in a whole sentence. <br /> <br />"And the fifth character, of course. Which reminds me, where's the other one of you?" <br /> <br />"Try the big crater," Carol repeated. <br /> <br />I heard footsteps. Not just any footsteps, but the kind that just kept coming closer and didn't stop until you thought they could be standing on your head by now. There was another pause - less dramatic and more awkward - followed by, "I hope she's alive." <br /> <br />I wiggled my finger again as a response. Then, figuring that might not be enough, I gave a shot at inhaling. It worked pretty well -- there was a lot less pain than I'd thought there would be. <br /> <br />"She's alive!" <br /> <br />"Is she okay?" Gina demanded. "Is she..." <br /> <br />I think Carol <span style="font-style: italic">gasped.</span> <br /> <br />"Liz," said Docbob. "That's your name, right?" <br /> <br />I pried my hand from the ground in acknowledgement. <br /> <br />"Liz... can you get up?" <br /> <br />I slammed at the ground, resulting in a satisfying <span style="font-style: italic">bang.</span> <br /> <br />"The crash shouldn't have hurt you too badly. The only discomfort you'll probably experience is the aftermath of your transformation. In fact, I don't think you'll have so much as a bruise." <br /> <br />I <span style="font-style: italic">know</span> Gina gasped. <br /> <br /><span style="font-style: italic">I could try it.</span> I started with my elbow. There was a bit of stiffness, but he was right -- it wasn't broken. I tried my other arm, finding the same result. So I pried myself off the ground - first my face, then my chest, and finally the rest of my torso - and opened my eyes again to stare balefully at Docbob from my knees. <br /> <br />He nodded. "Good. I see your clothes were also affected as specified; that would have been embarassing. Can you stand up?" <br /> <br /><span style="font-style: italic">Why not?</span> Obligingly, I stood up, and gave a good stretch for good measure -- then noticed my accomplices, standing around the room, staring open-mouthed. If they'd gone any farther, their jaws would've hit the floor. (Gina's was getting close... <span style="font-style: italic">er?</span> I looked again. It was. I didn't remember any superhero with an unhinged jaw before. Unless...) <br /> <br />It took only a quick glance to confirm what I suspected. <br /> <br />"WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?!" I screamed, lunging at Docbob. (Never mind that I <span style="font-style: italic">knew</span> what he'd done to me; I had to ask stupid questions anyway.) He backed away, but not fast enough for me to miss. I grabbed him by the shoulders, finding only a negligible enjoyment in the strength I was suddenly experiencing. "You <span style="font-style: italic">jerk!</span> You're a total <span style="font-style: italic">ass!</span>" (The voice was still mine, but I realized quite instantly that it sounded like it'd gone through a blender.) "How could you <span style="font-style: italic">do</span> this to <span style="font-style: italic">anyone?</span>" <br /> <br />He looked scared. Honestly scared. 'Course, I think I could've killed the guy. "I-I <span style="font-style: italic">like</span> the Fantastic Four!" he exclaimed. <br /> <br />"You like it <span style="font-style: italic">this</span> much?" I exclaimed, placing my face as close to his as I could manage. "You like it enough to turn some kid into a comic-book monster?" <br /> <br />(Under normal circumstances, I <span style="font-style: italic">liked</span> that character. This was just ridiculous.) <br /> <br />"B-b-b-I can fix it!" he exclaimed. <br /> <br />I let him go, not so much for concern as I was probably going to fracture his shoulders. "You can fix it?" <br /> <br />"W-with time - and the money to rebuild the machine - I might be able to salvage your original imprint -" <br /> <br />"MIGHT?!" <br /> <br />"If the reader wasn't damaged - I might be able to retrieve-" <br /> <br />"How long?!" <br /> <br />"W-well-the machine took years to build - since I know what I'm doing this time - I should be able t-to reassemble it within twenty-four months - if I can obtain proper funding-" <br /> <br />I held up my finger. My enormous, rocky yellow finger. (Of which I had precisely four, counting the thumb. Where had the other gone?) "Do you SEE this finger?" I demanded. "Would you LIKE to see how far I can stuff it up your nostril?!" <br /> <br />"Pl-please! By scientific standards, that would be almost instantaneous!" <br /> <br />"I'm in COLLEGE here!" <br /> <br />"I'll do what I can! Don't kill me, or I can't do anything!" <br /> <br />I backed down and let out a sigh. I don't usually stay mad long before it wears me out. "I'm not going to kill you. But get <span style="font-style: italic">on</span> it, or I may repeal." <br /> <br />He nodded. <br /> <br />"Right now." <br /> <br />Properly intimidated, Docbob nodded again and scampered off toward the machine. Gina, Nick and Carol were still staring. <br /> <br />"So... what about you two?" I asked, motioning to Nick and Carol. "Which did you get?" <br /> <br />Nick blinked. "I dunno." <br /> <br />And then promptly burst into flame. <br /> <br />"Darn, Nick!" Carol exclaimed. "I wanted that one!" <br /> <br /><span style="font-style: italic">Yeah, mope all you like. I always get the butt end of these things.</span> <br /> <br />(Try and guess the universe this relates to before it's revealed at the end. Continual jokes throughout the story should make it pretty obvious.)</span></td> </tr> </table></td> </tr> <tr> <td colspan="2" height="1" class="spaceRow"><img src="templates/subBlack/images/spacer.gif" alt="" width="1" height="1" /></td> </tr> </table>
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