🚀 go-pugleaf

    Robotech_Master was sitting at the Chapterhouse, enjoying a
Guinness with his Muse, Miriam Marie [Something].  "You really
need to pick a last name for me," Miriam said accusingly.
    "Can I help it if I'm bad with last names?" Chris asked,
taking another pull at his frosty mug.  "I'm afraid I might name
you after a Reader or something."  Miriam just scowled, and drank
some more of her own Guinness.
    Things had certainly been quiet lately, Robotech_Master
noted.  There wasn't any hint of an Author plot going, and the
petty interAuthorial rivalries that tended to result in
large-scale blowups if they remained unchecked had apparently
been checked.  Not even the introduction of a new female Author
with a thing for catbunnies had produced much unrest.  Everyone
just bathed and shaved a little more often, but other than that,
not much change.
    By this time, Robotech_Master had managed to edit up a
reasonable facimile of his island bunker retreat in his space in
the Noj.  Due to his alterations in spatial geography, his was
now the only island that he knew of with a starship docking port
and egress to vacuum twenty levels underground.  He'd even gotten
a few posts written and sent out.  But there was still something
bothering him.  Something he couldn't quite place.  Perhaps it
was the cheerful "frinks" and "ptangs" and the occasional
"whoooo!" that emanated from some of his ventilator ducts.
Perhaps it was something else.  He wasn't sure.
    "Ahhhh," Miriam remarked, setting down her mug.  "Look at
them."  She pointed to the table where Pickle and Ruth were
sitting, on the opposite side of the room.  Pickle was downing a
beer, and Ruth was gazing at his wrist.  "She doesn't know what
she's missing," Miriam smirked.
    "Uh...yeah."  By this time, Chris knew better than to argue
with his Muse.  "By the way, have you heard anything about the
Edit Vampire in sickbay?"
    Ruth shook her head.  "Not recently.  I wonder if it's going
to develop into a plot?"
    "Let's hope so.  This is kind of boring.  Oh, well...at least
the beer's beer and not Nerf anymore."  He sighed and looked
around.  "Gadge is back...I wonder if Mike Escutia, Greg
Fishbone, or Jeff Pruitt plan to show up anytime soon.  I'm
considering starting a betting pool."
    "Some people just prefer writing from Real Life, where they
don't have to worry about Nerf planets falling on them," Miriam
pointed out.
    "Well, yeah.  But we need more new Authors around here, to
stir things up a little.  Ah, well.  Here's to new Authors."
    As R_M lifted his mug to imbibe again, he became aware of a
peculiar sensation.  It felt like there was a rather large paw
resting on his Dr. Scholl Birkenstock-clone besandaled left foot.
He looked down...there was a rather large paw resting on his Dr.
Scholl Birkenstock-clone besandaled left foot.  A rather large
WHITE paw.  Tracing the paw up to its owner, Chris became aware
that an approximately 90 lb Great Pyrenees dog was standing on
the floor next to him.  Said dog was white, with grey ears and
grey markings on his face.  Chris blinked.
    Miriam looked down.  "Eh?  Who let him in here?  And, more
importantly, whose is he?"
    "I think he's MINE," Chris said.  "At least, he looks just
like my family's Great Pyrenees, Rocky.  Hold on a second."  He
pulled out a tricorder, flipped it open, and ran it over the dog.
It beeped, whirred, and clicked at him, and Chris nodded.  "No
doubt about it, that's Rocky."
    "You can tell that by the vital signs and stuff on that
tricorder?" Miriam asked.
    "Well, that and the nameplate on his collar which says please
return him to my parents..."
    "Shouldn't he be back in Real Life?" Miriam asked.
    "Yeah.  I can't think how he could have gotten here.  I'd
better Edit him back."  Chris gestured.  Rocky didn't disappear.
Instead, he plopped down on the floor and peered up at Chris with
the perpetual expression of puzzlement that his large jowls
imparted to him.  "What in the world?  Edit doesn't work."
    "What?"  Miriam pushed her chair back and knelt beside Rocky.
"Let me see that tricorder."
    "Uh...okay."  He handed her the instrument, and she began
punching keys.  It began to whir.  "What are you doing?"
    "I'm scanning for the presence of inspiration dust in his
system.  Results should be coming in...now."  Miriam nodded.
"It's there."
    "But where's he getting it from?"  And then the full import
of what she'd just said sank in.  "He's an Author?!"
    "So it would seem..."  Miriam held the tricorder up to her
mouth and whispered something into it.
    "What are you doing now?"
    "Accessing Mademoiselle Muse's computer system's inspiration
dust dissemination records."
    "You can do that?" R_M asked.
    "I'm a Muse, remember?"
    "Oh yeah."
    Miriam frowned, and punched some keys.  The tricorder made
some little "tink tink" noises.  "There's no doubt.  He's on
here--but there's only the barest minimum of records.  It doesn't
say who his Muse is--or even if he HAS a Muse."
    "Let me see that."  Chris took the tricorder and examined the
readouts.  "He was apparently just added five minutes ago.  But
why?  And by who?  Shouldn't it say?"
    Miriam shook her head.  "Technically, yes, but there are ways
around that."  She reached down to Rocky and petted him on the
head.
    Chris looked at his dog, who looked quite happy about now.
"I'm almost hesitant to ask this...but...has he, um, WRITTEN
anything?"
    Rocky seemed to recognize his cue.  "Arf!" he said, hopping
up and pawing at Chris's leg.
    "What, does he want me to follow him?"
    "No, look!"  Miriam pointed.  Rocky barked again, and a sheaf
of papers appeared on the table.  Chris grabbed them, scanned
them.
    "What is it?"
    "It's...a story, sort of.  I think he wants me to publish it
for him.  I'm kind of hesitant about it, though..."
    "Let me see that."  Miriam took it.  "Hmm.  It looks like the
universal translator's on the fritz again.  'Arf arf arf heroic
dog, arf arf bone, arf arf arf chew-toy, arf arf arf arf pretty
Cocker Spaniel.'"  She looked up.  "It's more coherent than 'Mime
Man.'"
    "MUCH more coherent than that 'SMURF!' thing a while back,"
Chris noted.  "But seriously, do you think I'd be justified in
publishing three hundred lines of this?"  He shook his head.
"Sorry, boy.  You'll have to get a bit more understandable
first."
    Rocky plopped down on the floor again and whimpered.
    "What do I do now?" Chris asked.
    Miriam shrugged.  "Don't ask me.  YOU'RE the one who wanted
new Authors around here..."
    Chris's only response was to groan, and then to take a long
pull at his Guinness.  Somehow, he felt he was going to NEED it.

WHY HAS ROCKY THE GREAT PYRENEES SUDDENLY APPEARED IN THE
  AUTHORS' ALTIVERSE?
CAN HE REALLY BE COUNTED AS AN AUTHOR?
WHAT WILL HAPPEN VIS-A-VIS THE EDIT VAMPIRE IN SICKBAY?
WHAT WILL HAPPEN VIS-A-VIS GADGE AND THE CHRONOLOGICAL
  DISCONTINUITY?
WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT?

FIND OUT IN THE NEXT EXCITING INSTALLMENT OF AUTHORS' ALTIVERSE,
  ONLY ON SUPERGUY!
--
Chris Meadows/Robotech_Master  | "The only lucky round that'll kill an
cmeadows@nyx.cs.du.edu         | A-10 is one that goes through the
cmeadows@ozarks.sgcl.lib.mo.us | forehead of the pilot."
robotech@ins.infonet.net       |     --Col. Christopher Russo
robotech@worf.infonet.net      | "A-10 Tank Killer" instruction manual