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SG: The Tribe of Behn #3: Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will
Will join the Dance?

Author's Note: There is no author's note today. I just like to talk to
you all in the first person narrative before I have to switch into third
person. Its just something that I do. Ignore it.

  Night in Windsor. Not much to say for it, unless you're into cheap and
fast entertainment in a shallow town. The smart stay at home and play
with their Amigas. However, there are sometimes people out looking for
more than a cheap drink and a strip club...and so is it tonight. Under
the pale yellow of the street lamps walked a hunched figure. Every now
and again he would check a street sign, looking for something. The only
word he would speak aloud, calling it out into the night, was "Aphra!".
No, it is not Marlin Brando.
***
  "I don't believe this. No news?", asked Aphra.
  "Its really strange. Of the one station which covers Windsor, they
aren't in a really hurry to cover anything! Unless we only want to help
out during news time we don't have any way to know where we're needed!",
stated Doyle.
  Aphra looked at the illegal cable splice in the cavern. For the last
few days, the Tribe had been going over what they needed to become
'Superguys'. One requirement was a way to know what was taking place, and
where. Many Superguys used the news for this purpose. Mulrooney's cuts to
television were severely hampering people, long after he had been booted
out of Parliament.
  "So, besides watching game shows", Aphra began, nodding at the others
who were tuned into a popular show starring an annoying man named Alex.
"What do you think we should do?"
   "I believe we should go on patrol. You know, walk around until we find
something that needs doing...and help out. What do you think?"
  The television droned on, "*Beep*", "Yes Michael.", said Alex. "The
answer is ten pounds of steel wool!", said the contestant happily. "I'm
sorry.", sneered Alex, "You forgot to phrase that in the form of a Zen
Koan. Play passes to Jenny..."
  "Now, what are we forgetting? What sort of things will we need for this
patrol?", asked Aphra.
  "Hmm...I suppose we'll need some way to communicate with each other..."
  "Okay..."
  "Let's see. Bullet proof vests..."
   "What?"
  "Well if someone shoots at me, I'd like to have a chance!"
  "Does that happen in this business?"
  "All the time..."
  "Right..."
  "Let's see...how about some'protection'? Mace, nightstick, handcuffs,
first aid kit. That's all I can think of."
  "You know, I'm really having second thoughts about all this..."
  Aphra ignored her second thoughts, and concentrated. First
communication....and seven cellular phones suddenly appeared on the table!
  "Will those be linked into the cellular grid?", asked Doyle doubtful.
  Aphra looked tired. "They don't need to. I've created our own."
  Doyle looked stunned. "Good lord, Aphra. I didn't know you were an
electronics genius!"
  "I'm not...I just concentrate, and it happens. Okay...now the rest..."
   And quickly, seven sets of the aforementioned gear appeared. The
bullet proof vests were a marvel to look at...thin as cloth yet resistant
as kevlar, but unlike kevlar, even knives bounced off! They could be worn
inconspicuously under the cloths and the wearer would only look like s/he
were wearing an extra undershirt.
  "Are you all sure you don't want uniforms?", said Doyle, addressing the
television crowd.
  "We're sure!!!", yelled the crowd.
  "Then I guess we're set. Let's get kitted up..."
***
  The craft glid (like glided, only less so) through space, looking for
yet another world to infiltrate. Its sensors picked up a main series
star, class G2 V. Very high chance of bearing life. Without a sound
(because in space, no one can hear you sneeze) the craft began to move
towards this star.
***
  The group had assembled above the caves, next to the mailbox. "You do
realise that if I have to squeeze out of that thing once more I will
simply hurl it into the street?"
  "Shut up Ben!"
  Charles spoke up. "I've got a question. Now I don't mind a brisk walk,
does the heart and mind some good, but how do we cover a lot of ground?"
  Aphra sighed, and a Jaguar appeared.
  "Very nice."
  "B-b-but...shouldn't i-i-it be on the r-r-road?"
***
  "Pull over here!"
  "Look out for that car!"
  "Slow down!"
  "Speed up!"
  "Stop!"
  Aphra turned around, "Would you all just shut up!!! Or I swear I'm
going to shrink the back seat to its normal size and you can all enjoy
doing the sardine imitation! I have taken my driver's test!"
  "Ah, but remember, you no longer have a driver's license. So we should
avoid trouble.", stated Doyle.
  "Speaking o-of trouble, look!", yelled Spenser.
  The group looked out the window. A building blazed with fire. Panicked
people futilely tried to reenter the building, risking their lives for
their possessions or loved ones.
  "I think we've got a job to do.", smiled Aphra, grimly.
***
  The dark figure walked out of a dark alley. Across the street, a hotel
was aflame. Yes. That was good. Aphra would be there.
***
     Aphra took a deep breath, before addressing the team. Although she
preferred to seem calm and collected at all times, over the past few
nights of her'leadership' she had lost much sleep thinking about
disasters, team-work and the like. She really wished that she had taken
some time to go over teamwork with the tribe. Too late now...
  "Okay. I'll try to do something about the flames. Spenser, Milton,
Gaskell, you try to get all the people inside the building into Arcadia,
and then back here. Dickens, you're crowd control. Doyle, keep the team
in touch with each other if they separate. And Johnson...where the
hell(tm) are you going?"
    The stout author had climbed out of the car. "I will be saving the
building my dear, while you continue to ramble on." He turned, and began
to use his arrogance to shore up the walls.
   "Damn.", muttered Aphra. "Okay, plan remains the same. Let's go!"
  With that, the six leapt out of the car. The firefighters had a moment
of consternation when three civilians tried to run into the burning
building, but Charles had a 'little talk with them'. After that, they
were quite happy to let the innocent endanger themselves.
   Aphra busied herself with ways to put out the fire. She could place a
large, glass jar over the flames, even make it heat-resistant. But
everyone inside would be suffocated as the air ran out. She finally
decided on created large amounts of water. She would have preferred foam,
but that too would have left the tenants breathless. She also had to be
careful not to deluge the building, and bring the whole thing down.
   Gaskell walked up to the wall. She pushed herself into the wall,
wondering once again what the devil this power had to do with her! She
was followed by Milton and Spenser, who had side-stepped through
faerieland. They all had to be careful of the flames, even her...she
wasn't really intangible, she was just able to 'push' herself through matter.
     "Heaven!", shouted Milton. With a brilliant crack of light and the
sound of a thousand trumpets, a pseudo-angel stepped out of the bright
rift. "Your commands?"
     "Shield us from the flames. Heaven!"
     Repeat of the previous performance.
     "You called?"
     "Yes. Locate all the surviving humans in this building....and report
back!", he hastened to add. These pseudo-entities tended to take their
orders literally, he preferred to accompany them so that he could change
directives at will. He would have had the angels rescue the people, but
establishing a case in which the pseudo-angel didn't drag the humans
through the flames, or hurt them in other ways, would have taken too
long. However, with the pseudo-angel's help, the three were able to make
their way to the laundry room...apparently the only place from which life
had not escaped.
     Aphra continued to douse flames. By coordinated with the firehose,
she was able to do more than if she were just spraying randomly. The
crowd was under control, a consolation to her. Dickens was entertaining
them with a story of a grumpy old man who was made to see the error of
his ways and ever-after found only joy in his heart. The audience,
courtesy of Dickens' powers, was spellbound.
  "He should really form a cult.", muttered Aphra.
***
     Yes, there was Aphra. Just as he knew she would be there. Soon...not
yet...but soon he would approach her.
***
     "The fire's almost out.", said Chief Grady, who had been watching
Aphra's  aquatic techniques with awe. "I gotta say: thanks for the help
out. You some sorta superguy?"
     "Yes, I am."
    "Hmm...don't get many out this way. But you've done a great job.
Lotta people are safe because of you."
    "Well, I can't take all the credit. I've got some friends inside,
who're pulling the innocent out, and Ben there's holding up the wall so
it won't collapse."
    The chief looked at the wall, looked at the man insulting the wall,
and laughed. "Whaddya mean? That wall won't come down! Not much
structural damage!"
     Aphra laughed for a moment. "Wait five minutes. Then tell him that.
I want everyone together to hear this one!". She pulled out her
cell-phone. "Doyle, how're the rest of the guys doing?"
     The connection was clear as a bell. "Liz, Spense and Milton have
made contact with a small group of people. They'd breathed in some smoke,
so Spenser's let them into Arcadia for the elves to fix up. Or whatever
it is that fixes people with smoke inhalation."
     "Well, gather everyone out here. Bye! Dickens!"
      The happy storyteller had been just about to launch into another
tale. "Yes?"
     "Good work. Fire's out, there shouldn't be a panic."
     Dickens smiled, and released his power of happiness. The crowd
started buzzing around in confusion. Most confused were the people who's
nature told them that in any crisis situation, they should mill around
and be generally unhelpful. What was wrong? They had been quiet and calm!
The union was REALLY going to be mad about this one!
***
     Slowly, Gggthxtsth Whose Pronunciation Eludes All gathered his
powers. He had drained seven altiverses of their magic, and three of
those seven were drained of all existence entirely. Soon, he would be
ready to strike back at the worm who dared borrow his minions for his own
use. Prudently, he marked one minion-demon with a tiny sliver of
self-awareness, to ensure his obedience to Gggthxtsth, and not this
interloper. The newly de-lobotomized minion was sent to search the
altiverse, looking for a trail which would lead to the soon-to-be corpse...
***
     "And so, you're called Aphra?", asked the reporter who had shown up
when she heard there was a fire. A fire would be big news. Would
Superguys? Maybe, because there weren't many around in Canada, but she'd
rather have stuck with a tried-and-true ratings grabber, like a fire.
     "Yes.", replied Aphra. "Aphra Behn. This is Milton, that is Spencer,
over there is Gaskell. The guy making the balloon animals for the
children is Dickens, and the guy in the deer stalker...why is he wearing
a deer stalker? I thought that was added by those low-budget Hammer
films?... is Doyle. Finally, that guy holding up the building with
insults is Johnson."
    That was the moment the chief picked to walk over to Ben. He quickly
explained that the building was quite sturdy enough as it was, and
perhaps he should do something more constructive with his time than throw
curses at inanimate objects. Ben began to stalk angrily away, then
noticed the camera which had recorded every word! Blushing red, he ran
for the Jaguar, and locked himself inside.
     "Umm...well I guess I could ask you a few more questions...you know,
maybe you could come down to the station for an interview? I'm the
fire-person. I don't know anything about people. Besides asking them
about fires, that is."
     Aphra smiled. "Certainly. Shall I call and make an appointment?"
     "Yeah, sure! And could you remember to mention that I got the
interview?"
     "Why of course! What is your name?"
     "I don't have one. Just tell them that the bit-part who covered the
fire in episode three sent you. They'll know who I am."
     "Certainly. Nice chatting with you. Hope you find a fire...or
something."
     The fire-lady turned to leave. Aphra and the tribe were about to do
the same, when a strange man walked up to them. Yes, it was the same guy
mentioned in the first paragraph. He wore a shabby raincoat, and his nose
had been broken and healed several times. He was stocky, but not fat,
with a goo deal of muscle about the arms and the chest. He was either a
boxer or a bouncer for the Hard Rock Cafeteria. "Aphra!", he called out
in a Stallonish-type accent.
     She turned. The rest of the group did as well. "Yes? Do I know you?"
     The man looked them over. "'Course ya do! I been sent ta warn ya!"
     Aphra looked puzzled. "About what?"
     The man looked puzzled. "About da future! You know, you sent me...oh
ya, dat's right. You didn't send me, you did. But you ain't her yet, but
she's been ya. Get it?"
      "Yes, right, whatever you say...what are you saying?"
     "Okay, he're da real poop. I come from da future."
     "Riiiiiiiight......"
      "No, really! You sent me back here, ta warns ya about Gggthxtsth!"
      "What? Okay, what are you supposed to warn me about."
     But the little man was looking confused. "Hey, where'm I?"
     "What?"
     "Me! I ain't witches? I was witches when we went ta fight da fire! I
wanted ta meet me!"
      "Maybe you...*ahem*...joined us later for another fire fight."
      "No stinkin way! I was witches from da beginnin. Remember, we all
popped inta existence? And den you made da big tower, and dats how you
figgered out yer power? And den da rest of us did da same?"
      "No, I have no clue what you are talking about."
      "Maybe we go through this a lot?", suggested Spenser.
     Gaskell looked very angry. "We had better not!"
    Aphra turned to the stocky man. "Who are you?"
     "Me? Ya gots ta ask? I'm yer bud, yer teammate! I'm Will 'Da
Bruiser' Shakespeare!"
     Aphra slapped her hand to her forehead. "I should have known. Into
the car everyone, now!"
***
     "So, what can you do, Will?", asked Doyle as they drove down Oulette
street at a very fast clip.
     "Oh ya, our powers. I hit things. Hard."
     "And...?"
     "Den day usually fall down. Kinda predictable response, really."
     "That's it!!!!???"
     Gaskell chuckled from the backseat. "Guess he's in my category!"
     "Ya, I guess I got sent too far back. On account o Spence still bein
here."
     Spenser suddenly looked up from his reverie. "W-w-what did you say?"
     "Well, I gotta say its nice ta see ya one last time before...oops. I
really did it. 'Don't tell em anythin about da future', Aphra sez. Chee,
I'm real sorry."
     "I d-d-d-d-d-d-die, d-d-don't I?"
     "Sorry, I an't sayin nothin more."
      Spenser's hands wrapped around Will's. "T-t-t-t-tell m-m-m-me!"
      "Gaaaaa...", answered Shakespeare.
      "Oh, come on guys, you really want to be nice to each other, don't
you?", suggested Dickens.
     "Ya, you're right Dickie."
      "I d-d-d-don't know w-w-what got into me...Hey!"
     "Sorry, but I want to know more about Will. If he is from our
future, I want to know why he doesn't remember the past right.", answered
Dickens.
     Quietly, Gaskell intoned, "Maybe WE don't remember the past right.
Our memories aren't exactly perfect, you know."
     The car was silent for a while. Finally, one lone voice in the night
called out.
     "Hey, can youze stop at a Mickie D's? I gotta wiz."
***
     At the Harvey's (it was closer), the group sipped their shakes and
considered.
     "Well, its obvious you know us. We haven't been out in public more
than five minutes, so you really couldn't have seen us on the news. And
the fire-lady didn't react to our names when Aphra told her who we
are...so I figure that Shakespeare must have some connection to us. The
question is, what?", said Doyle.
     "I guess we'll have to take him back to the cave with us.",
mentioned Aphra gloomily.
     "I wish to register my deepest opposition to this plan. It is
foolishness itself, allowing this buffoon into our lair without knowing
an iota of fact about him!", blustered Ben.
     "I j-j-just wish you'd all s-s-shut up!", yelled Spenser. Several
patrons shot him disapproving glares.
     "I know you're worried about what he said...", began Aphra.
     "You're d-d-d-amed right I-I-I'm worried!", yelled Spenser, albeit
more softly, "I-I-If he is f-f-f-rom the f-f-f-future, then he knows how
I die!"
     Doyle broke in. "If you'll recall, his memories of our own past is
significantly different from ours. While what he knows parallels our
knowledge, it does not in fact mirror it. Perhaps what he remembers as
your death is actually a sickness."
     Milton looked up. "Or maybe its someone else's death."
     The group looked gloomily into their milkshakes. By the end of the
night, they had had a little too much ice cream to drink, and went home
with painful cold headaches.
***
   The gaunt character turned to his prisoner. A Grey Lupine was
embroidered over his pocket, where an alligator would normally go. He
flipped through a thick "Book o' Torture: How to Lose Friends and
Influence People, Painfully"  Finally, after making his prisoner sweat
(and enjoying the picture on page XVII), he looked up, and began to speak.
    "I can see that my decision was the right one. Pulling you from the
group when I sensed a disturbance...although after what they have done to
my cards, I only wish I'd gotten them all."
     The stocky figure in the cage hit the bars defiantly. "You ain't
gonna keep me here long! I'm gonna get out, an when I do!"
     "You are partially right. You will not remain in that cage much
longer. I have laced your food with a particularly deadly form of
poison...you have two, maybe three hours left before your body literally
falls apart. It is intriguing, though, that you are about to die and yet
maintain a visible future presence. I would not have thought that
possible. I can only get glimpses of the meddling group, but he is you
in appearance. I would very much like to scry him magically.", chuckling,
he picked up another book.
    "However, I do not wish to give you several hours to escape, and
perhaps find an antidote. The poison will be my safety measure, in case
you escape from the pit of acid."
    "Pit a acid?!", laughed Shakespeare, "There ain't no pit a acid
*click* heeeeeeerrrrr..........*splash*"
     The man laughed maniacally for a few minutes, then observed there
was no more audience to be had, and stopped that stupid cackling. One
must always keep up appearances, even to the doomed. He resolved to peer
into the future, and find this new Shakespear's temporal trace. He picked
up a very popular Grey Lupine gaming product, and flipped to a reference
on Time Travel...the cross reference was page xx. Smiling, he mocked the
fools who simply thought that this was a misprint. Page XX was a page
included in every gaming products, but could be found only by those who
knew its purpose. He flipped, until he found the deadly page, which
sought control of his mind. He beat the control down, and defended his
mastery of the book once again. Slowly, he read the terrible runes, until
he was sure there would be no mistakes. Then, he sat down...to cast his
spell.
     In the depths, an acid pit bubbled. No hand shot to the surface
defiantly. No ledge sheltered a body clinging to its life. And no hole in
the wall evidenced escape...

As usual, this story is trademarked, all rights reserved 1994 to Chris
Angelini (email:cangelin@uoguelph.ca). Everything alluded to is intended
as satire, and no trademark infringement is intended nor implied. In
fact, if you even entertained the notion that I'm violating a trademark,
shame on you!