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                   Time Better Spent Productions

                       IN ASSOCIATION WITH

                 Continentally Transplanted Authors

                            PRESENTS

                 A Tale of the Author's Altiverse

                   "Silverstone can be slippery"
							
                             ---O---

[223DON'TTRYITAUTHORSONLY]
Tuesday, 28th January 1997,
Location: New Mitchell (Version 2.1),
Continent of Terror Australis Incomprehensible.

	High up in the top floor of Chifley Tower, The Nameless Author sat
and pondered the blank piece of paper in front of him. Spread across
the surface of his enormous executive style desk were many other pieces
of paper, similarly blank.
	The Nameless Author leaned back in chair and sighed. He spun his
chair around a few times, then stopped to look out the windows. He
casually noted the unusual absence of Swedes in the surrounding
countryside.
	"Ah, yes. They all blew up." He remembered.
	The Nameless Author opened the small refrigerator built into his
desk to retrieve a Cranberry-Grape drink. He took a few sips of the
pleasant fruit juice and then turned to ponder the blank pages
again.
	Five minutes later The Nameless Author got up out of his chair and
wandered over to the beer fermenter. He shone a flashlight into the dark
fermenting Stout and observed it's activity. He watched the bubbles
slowly forming in the fermentation lock and leaned over it to inhale
the aroma.
	Slowly the Nameless Author strolled around his office, taking note
of the various items of furniture, the potted plants and the light
fixtures. All very high quality. He continued over to the front of his
desk and looked down at the nameplate. It read "Nameless Author CEO of
Time Better Spent Productions", this was as it should be. He used his
sleeve to polish it a little, until he could see his face in it. A
strangely troubled face.
	Then the Nameless Author returned to his chair, and took a few more
sips of the Cranberry-Grape drink. He picked up his pen and regarded
the blank paper in front of him. Then he began to scribble aimlessly on
the desk blotter, accidentally writing out the Unified Field Theory.
	"Something is missing." The Nameless Author stated, tearing up the
desk blotter and throwing it in the trash. He reached across the desk
and stabbed the "Secretary" button on the intercom.
	Nothing.
	The Nameless Author proceeded to press the button several more
times, but there was still no response, he paused to ponder this
situation. He then paused to shine the flashlight into the fermenter
again. Hmm, Stout.
	But the Secretary, why didn't the secretary respond? The Nameless
Author looked away from the fermenter towards the oak panel doors that
were the entrance to his office.
	"Something is not right." He muttered and crossed the room reaching
the doors within a few seconds. The Nameless Author stood at his office
doors for a few moments. Whatever it was that was not right he would
find out, out there. Slowly the doors swung open and The Nameless
Author looked out into the 41st floor foyer. The Secretary was not at
her desk, in fact she was nowhere to be seen. He crossed the foyer to
the secretary's desk and looked at it. It was empty, except for the
telephone and a desk calendar opened on October.
	"October, November, December, January." The Nameless Author
counted. "Hmm." He sat down at the desk and looked at the intercom,
then pressed the button marked 'Editing Department'.
	<Bzzzzt>
	No response.
	'Distribution Department.'
	<Bzzzzt>
	No response.
	'Security Department', the same.
	'Novelty Rubber Toys Department', again the same.
	'Department for the conquest of undeveloped island nations', Ditto.
	'Maintenance Department.'
	"Hello, this is Maintenance." the voice issued clearly through the
intercom.
	"Maintenance. This is the Nameless Author. I want you up in my
office in five minutes." He switched the intercom off, and quickly
returned to his office.
	Sitting down back behind his desk, The Nameless Author arranged the
pages of blank paper into a neat pile and placed his pen on top of it.
Then he waited. Something would happen now.
	Four minutes and fifty five seconds later, the elevator in the
foyer chimed and it's doors slid open, the sound of hurried footsteps
followed. Another four seconds and the Maintenance Engineer was
standing on the other side of the Nameless Author's desk. He glanced
nervously at the pile of blank paper.
	This worried the Nameless Author, and he thought maybe those pages
shouldn't be blank.
	"Well now," The Nameless Author started. "Perhaps you can answer a
few questions for me?"
	"I'm sorry I haven't fixed the toilets up here yet sir." The
engineer blurted out. "I've been so busy, what with everyone leaving
and all."
	"The toilets, um yes." The Nameless Author considered. Yes the
bathrooms had been a bit smelly lately. "Well, that's not why I called
you up here." The Nameless Author continued. "I was wondering if you
could tell me where everybody has gone. I think Time Better Spent
Productions used to employ over a thousand people."
	"They left." the engineer replied.
	"Left?
	"Right!"
	"Left."
	The Nameless Author paused to consider this. Then he paused to
consider why he had been pausing to consider so many things so far. He
realized there would be much more pausing and considering going on
later.
	"Why?"
	"Well, the general consensus was that the entire staff would rather
become a tribe of subsistence hunter gatherers, living amongst the wild
scooters, than continue working for Author who hardly ever wrote
anything." The engineer explained.
	"WHAT!" The Nameless Author roared, rising from behind his desk
with the light of a thousand suns shining from his eyes, red hair
blowing in the wind, right hand outstretched with the power EDIT ready
to flay the very soul from the miserable creature in front of him.
	"I thought that criticism was a bit harsh." The engineer quickly
added.
	Back in his chair as if nothing had happened, the Nameless Author
smiled. "Please, elaborate."
	"Well, you have written sixteen episodes of a single series, two
AA's and you even contributed to Frobozz's WTA."
	"Yes I did." The Nameless Author confirmed.
	"And you were studying full time at university, as well as working
full time at Brambles, and finishing your Thesis."
	Smart boy, The Nameless Author thought. I may promote him.
	"And then you then packed up your entire life and moved to a
continent on the other side of the world. Where although you speak the
language and understand the culture you still had some adjusting to
do."
	"Like that 7.75% sales tax thingie." The Nameless Author grumped.
	"Then you discovered Warcraft II." The engineer continued.
	"Die Orcs! Die!" The Nameless Author chanted.
	"Then brewing beer, drinking home brewed beer, and brewing mead."
	"Hmm, Mead." The Nameless Author said dreamily.
	"So all in all, I think you've done pretty well." The engineer
finished.
	"And you could convince no one else of this?" The Nameless Author
incredulously.
	"There were some people saying if only you'd get a muse, you might
become inspired and write some more. In fact the entire mail room is
choked with ads from Mademoiselle Muse for Muse Services."
	"A muse?"
	"A muse!"
	"A muse."
	"A muse!"

<Cue music: "Everybody Ought to Have a Maid" From "A Funny Thing
Happened on the way to the Forum" Music and Lyrics by Stephen Sondheim>

Engineer:        Everybody ought to have a muse.
Nameless Author: Everybody ought to have a guiding light.
Engineer:        A delightful and inspiring sprite.
Nameless Author: To putter around your brain!
Engineer:        Polishing up the neurons!
Nameless Author: Jiggling the creativity!
Both:            Puttering all around your brain!

Both:            Everybody ought to have a muse,
Both:            Someone who's inspiring and yet critical,
Both:            Considerate and reliable, who's subtler than Rob Furr!
Both:            Oh! Oh!
Both:            Wouldn't it be so simple,
Both:            Fiddling the with plotline,
Both:            Straightening out the grammar,
Both:            Puttering all around,
Nameless Author: My brain,
Engineer:        Your brain,
Both:            The brain!

	"Hang on." The Nameless Author interrupted. "A muse isn't a
necessity, Rob said so. And see my Rob Furr Secret Decoder Ring? It
let's you decode all the hidden messages in any installment of Superguy
101."
	"Putting all that aside for moment." The engineer said cautiously.
"Perhaps it might be the time to finally get yourself a muse."
	"But who, who should be my muse." The Nameless Author queried.
	"Well how about her." The engineer replied pointing at framed photo
on the Nameless Author's desk.
	"Of course!" The Nameless Author exclaimed picking up the frame.
"Alicia Silverstone! Funny, I didn't notice that before."
	"I would have thought that was obvious." The engineer muttered
under his breath. Noting the Alicia Silverstone wallpaper, the charcoal
sketches of Alicia Silverstone, life sized cardboard cutout of Alicia
Silverstone, and ice sculpture of Alicia Silverstone.
	"Pardon." The Nameless Author asked.
	"Oh nothing."
	"So how do I go about getting her."
	"You're Author, right?"
	"Duh!"
	"Can't you just edit your muse?"
	"Nope."
	"Why not?" The engineer asked perplexed. "Is there some kind of
universal law, prohibiting it?"
	"Nope."
	"Then why not?"
"Mademoiselle Muse will sue you. I mean if every Author could go
around creating Musae, they'd go out of business. Besides a muse is
something external to the Author, to inspire and fill in the gaps that
the Author can't come up with."
	"So how are going to get her?"
	The Nameless edited himself into a caveman's outfit, complete with
club. "The olde fashioned way. This shouldn't take too long. Thanks for
all your help."
	The engineer looked expectantly at the Nameless Author, hoping to
be showered with Authorial gifts.
	"And while I'm gone." The Nameless Author added. "Why don't you fix
those toilets." Then he vanished in a puff of Authorial excess.
	"Rotten, stinking, ungrateful Authors." The engineer muttered,
heading off towards the toilets. On the way there he inadvertently
brushed against the ice sculpture which fell to the ground and
shattered. He cringed expecting instant Authorial reprisal, but
nothing happened.
	"Hmm. subsistence hunter gatherer is beginning to look like a good
career move at this point. He can fix his own damn toilet."
	
                             ---O---

NEWS ITEM: Yesterday the British Grand Prix at Silverstone was
interrupted when a man dressed as a caveman appeared in the middle of
the track and was subsequently struck by Gerhard Bergher's Formula One.
Miraculously, the man was uninjured and had vanished before police were
able to interview him.

                             ---O---

NEWS ITEM: Workers at kitchen ware factory were surprised yesterday,
while when unloading a set of frying pans that had coated with non
stick Silverstone surface. Along with the pans was a man dressed as a
caveman, covered entirely in the non stick coating, and he also had
rubber tire marks across the length of his body. Miraculously the
man was uninjured and disappeared before police were able to interview
him.

							 ---O---

	"Think Hollywood." The Nameless Author thought. "Think Clueless. Do
not think Silverstone. Ack! Too late!" As a Formula One racing car
coated entirely with the miracle non stick surface ran him down.
	The Nameless Author picked himself up off the ground trying to
ignore the sounds of his shattered bones crunching together.
	"This isn't working." He complained. "I've never get her."
	"You never know." A voice behind him said. "You might get Lucky."
	The Nameless Author spun around and saw that the person behind him
was not, as he had been momentarily hoping, Alicia Silverstone. In fact
he'd never seen this woman before. She was about the same height as the
Nameless Author and had dark hair. Her eyes seemed to hint at something
you couldn't pin down for certain. She wore a dark business suit with a
brooch in the shape of two dice pinned to the lapel.
	"G'day Mr McManus." she said.
	"Ah, Hello." The Nameless Author replied, at a loss for words.
	"Allow to introduce myself. My name is Luck, but you can call me
Ifni."
	"Infi?" A still stunned Nameless Author replied.
	"It's short for Infinity, which is my real name. Most people call
me Luck, some call me Fate, but I prefer Ifni."
	"Wait a minute." The Nameless Author caught on. "You are luck?"
	"Indeed I'm the essence of all the chance random things that happen
in the Multiverse, all those thing you'd never think could possibly
happened, but do."
	"Well, pleased to meet you Ms Ifni. How can I help you?"
	"I've come to apply for the position as Muse."

<INSERT SOUND OF JAW HITTING GROUND>

	"You never would has gotten this far without me anyway." Ifni
added.
	The Nameless Author edited his jaw back into position. "You're
hired."

LUCK IS THE NAMELESS AUTHOR'S MUSE? WHAT NEXT?

(c) Copyright 1997 Keiran S McManus, as described in the Superguy FAQ.
All other rights not mentioned in the Superguy FAQ are reserved to
Keiran S McManus.