🚀 go-pugleaf

   The Mad Planarian leaned back and rubbed his eyespots
with chocolate-covered hands, seemingly oblivious of the
splotches this caused.  "You know, I think I'm beginning to
see a pattern here."
   "Uh-oh," Cantata 23 muttered tiredly, as she reclined at
a point of neutral buoyancy in the Pond (below the surface,
since she was wearing an environmental suit).  She was
seriously reconsidering the wisdom in keeping the Author
awake on a chocolate sugar high.
   "Well, my biggest problem is all these extra Richard
Jackson's running around."
   "Uh-huh."
   "First, there was my original character, who went off to
Japan, ..."
   "Yeah," Nene 27 inserted, ducking her fudge-covered face
down from the Pond surface.  "Back before Issue Eleven."
   "And then there was the brief appearance by Harry, who
got killed in the same episode in which he appeared."
   "Issue Twelve," Nene inserted happily.  "Oh, may I have
another mousse moose?"
   "Sure," the Planarian said idly, waving a hand with the
flick of a wrist.  "Up on shore, as usual."
   "Yay!" Nene swam away in a hurry.
   "You want one, Tatty?"
   "No way, thanks.  I think I'm getting a stomach ache."

   The Author covered a yawn, leaving a careless smudge.
"Now, where was I?  Oh, yeah.  After those two comes
Frankie. ..."
   "Episode Thirteen," Nene piped in suddenly, as she
returned.  "Though technically, he should be second.  His
conversion took place between Issues Ten and Eleven, as
implied by Horace's statements in number Fourteen."
   "Whad is this?" Cantata slurred, after a yawn of her own.
"Walkin' footnote?"
   "Sorry.  I've been working on this macro for the Readers.
At the rate this Author writes, all of his hints, details,
and connections get lost, so nobody has any idea what is
going on any more."
   "To which I'll be indebted, I'm sure," the Flatworm
smiled.  "Anyway, here's Frankie, who remembers everything
about that damned Anime-verse I've been trying to forget,
and is apparently planning on changing everything he
touches, followed by Horace, who takes up the mantle to
oppose him, instituting Order, as it were."
   "Right.  That's it," Cantata muttered, as she soundly
thwapped the Author several times.  "You are not to go
there!  Is that Understood?"  Her face glowed blindingly
bright behind her faceplate.
   "Ow-ow-ow!  That's a metal gauntlet on that suit!  Ungh!
But don't you see?  It's the perfect conclusion!  Ow!  I can
bring this, oof!, whole mess to an end, and still, owchie!,
use someone resembling a title character!  Oomph!"
   Cantata restrained and muffled the Author using methods
long practiced for use on a certain purple-haired individual
as she dictated her terms.  "You will Not create another
random impersonator.  You will Not contemplate this matter
further.  And you will Not bring that .. that Concept up
again at all.  Right?"
   "Eep."

   "Besides," Nene added, "you don't need another title
character.  You've got the one you want right now!"
   "Bwah?"  The Planarian darted back to his computer,
driving away at a keystroke the fish that swam back and
forth on his screen saver.
   "Take a look at the end of episode 19."
   "What?  Richard?  How'd he get back?"
   "Oh, this file should explain that," she added. as she
reached over his right shoulder.
   "'Jackson Six Special: Caverns of Gratuitous Death'?
Where did that come from?"
   "Sorry.  Trade secret," Nene replied, as she approached
from his left.
   "Hey," Cantata objected mildly.
   "Let's just say I found a way to get at the archives,"
Nene explained, again over his right shoulder.
   "And so you put this together for me?"
   "Well, *I* did," the voice at his left answered.
   The Planarian turned round in confusion, where he saw two
identical Nenei smiling back at him.  He finally broke the
awkward silence himself.
   "Um, which of you is the one I hired?"
   "We both are," they replied.


                      Jackson Six #20
               Identity Crisis, CONCLUSION!
                       "The Orderly"
                      Roger Christman


   Richard Jackson ran down one of the moving concourses in
Reno Cannon airport, glad that his gate of arrival was in
the southern wing.  After passing a dozen others, he finally
found a relatively empty gate on the southern side of the
concourse, where he charged through a door labeled AIRPORT
PERSONNEL ONLY and down a metal staircase to the pavement
below.  After taking one look at the clear skies southward,
he sat down on an empty luggage cart and closed his eyes.
   One tactical advantage Richard found about his radio
communications ability was that it cared little about
ambient noise.  Anyone with a portable radio would be
totally hampered at an airport tarmac, since he would have
to compete with the decibel level of all the whining and
roaring jet engines, In addition, there was no danger of
being overheard.
   The fatiguing levels of white noise from those same
engines was a different matter entirely.

   "Jackson Six calling.  Come in.  Jackson Six calling."
   =Report.=
   "Mission inconclusive, sir.  One possible scenario of
Communist activity proved to be erroneous [CoGD Special],
but I have identified an organization that requires further
investigation, associated with the name Tornado."
   =Very good, Jackson.  I'll debrief you fully, of course,
but I have another assignment.  Your plane leaves at oh-two-
twenty hours.=
   "Already sir?"
   "Yes.  You will be investigating the assassination of
three good patriots.  You will coordinate with Interpol in
identifying the conspiracy behind them.=
   "With Interpol, sir?  Why me?"
   =The victims were acquaintances of yours: O'Hara, Li, and
DeLong.  [#14.#15] I heard nothing yet from Duvay, so you're
it.  You will also be working with an Agent Luther King
Johnson of the FBI, along with one other man.=
   "Understood," Richard said feebly.
   =Passage has been arranged for four, namely you, Mary,
Johnson, and .. the other, departing at oh-two-twenty.  They
will fill you in with what they know; you may provide them
with information at your discretion, but on a need-to-know
basis.=
   "Sir?"
   =Yes, Jackson?=
   "Permission to speak frankly."
   =Granted.=
   "Why is Mary included in this?"
   =She has manifested abilities [#7, CoGD], and this would
make a very good introductory exercise.=
   "But she's just a kid!  And I don't think she'll be up to
it.  She had a very bad experience in Japan."
   =Then I recommend you weigh your concern against the
success of this mission,= Tripper replied, in a voice that
admitted no argument.  =I'll send an orderly to deliver your
boarding passes within an hour.  Tripper out.=

   Richard sat on the luggage cart for a good five minutes
longer, feeling drained.  Many of these discomforts Richard
had endured before; the ulcer-like pain he got from tuning
his internal radio to and from the correct frequency; the
headache that came from zones of high interference; even the
understanding that his life and those of his buddies were
secondary to the mission at hand.
   Yet the sudden combination of all of the factors, so
close on the heels of his previous adventure was too much.
And he was felled by the news of the attacks on his former
comrades.  One expected such danger in the field, and he had
even accepted the danger connected with his own activities.
But it should no longer have applied to those that had long
ago retired from the field, and he began to somehow feel
responsible.
   But he had to go on.  His next mission was less than ten
hours away, and he had two kids to pick up back at the gate,
an FBI agent to track down, and a gun to retrieve from the
purser's office (he couldn't carry it on board himself).
With heavy tired steps, Richard climbed the stairway back up
to the concourse.

   There he found two men apparently waiting for him.  One,
an elderly nebbish of a man, simply stared at him, while the
other, a broad-shoulder black, stepped forward and flashed
his badge.  "Mr. Jackson, I'm Agent Johnson, FBI."
   "Luther King?" Richard asked, signalling for another
opportunity to check the credentials.  With another glance
he was satisfied and continued.  "I was instructed to meet
you; I didn't expect it so soon."
   Richard turned to the other.  "And who are you?"
   "Uh, call me Horace."  Richard's demanding glare goaded
him to glance around.  "I'll fill you in later, after we
pick up Mary and you recover the pistol."
   Johnson signalled the end of introductions with a touch
to Richard's elbow, encouraging them to walk.  "I left two
men back at the gate to watch for your daughter.  I'll have
them take her, while we use your car.  We have to talk."
   "You brought my car?" Richard asked disbelievingly.
   "I used the spare key from the desk," Horace replied.
   "What did you do?!?  Search my house?"
   Horace tried to calm him.  "I knew where to look.  I know
a lot about you, Richard.  More than you'd like."

   "There they are," Agent Johnson interrupted, looking
ahead, where Dixon and Matson accompanied Jackson's fellow
travelers.  Mary walked slowly, staring ahead with bloodshot
eyes, as Ichii wrapped a protective arm tightly about her,
warily watching the agents with unconcealed dislike.
   "What's *he* doing here?" Horace whispered angrily.
   "He came back from Japan with me," Richard answered.
   "Who is that, anyway?" Johnson asked.
   "He's a friend of Mary's," Richard replied.
   "He's a punk!" Horace spat.
   "Yo, Mr. Jackson!" Ichii called.  "What's with the Feds?"
   "They want my help with some murders.  You watch over
Mary for a while, will you?"
   "What?!?" Horace objected.
   "Let's go," Richard said to Johnson.
   "You're just leaving her with *him*?" Horace challenged.
   "You got a better plan?  Let's hear it!"
   "You should've left him over there."
   "No go.  Mary would've bawled my ear off."
   "You have to be firm!"
   "You don't know Mary." Richard retorted.  Horace bristled
at this, but remained silent.  "Now, let's go.  I want to
hear what it is you've got to tell me."  Both men stalked
towards the purser's office in a huff, as Agent Johnsom
followed in bemusement.

   Although Ichii and Mary had already departed with Agents
Matson and Dixon towards the luggage carousel, they easily
overheard this last exchange. [cf. #1,#7]  Mary remained
sequestered in her silent shell, as Ichii gently led her
about, curtly refusing any assistance from the agents.
   Ichii wondered about old man Jackson; this was the first
time he'd ever heard the guy actually stand up for him.
They disagreed about several things, even while in Japan;
but something had happened to him -- in fact, Mary was
acting weird too.  But that was a different problem.
   No, the really old guy acted more like the Mr. Jackson
Ichii was familiar with -- distrustful, dominating, and
trying to keep tabs on Mary, when he wasn't spending the
night in his favorite bar.  Ichii found himself reminded of
another guy just like that, the one that got wasted back at
the Jackson apartment. [#11]
   Ichii felt out of touch.  This was the first time in
nearly a month that he got to spend some time alone with
Mary.  Before the trip to Japan, she had gotten snatched up
by her old man's secret friends, and he'd hardly seen her
since.  He really didn't like this funk she was in, and
resolved to find out what it was.

   The argument between Horace and Richard had not gone
unnoticed elsewhere either.  As the milling passengers
instinctively parted to make way for the two angry men, two
of their number backed against the wall.
   "Damn!" Frankie whispered.  "They've made contact!"
   "So, one of those men is Richard Jackson?" Phoc asked.
   "In the print shirt.  I should know -- I see that mug in
the mirror every morning."
   Phoc stared at Richard's face, memorizing its features,
then looked back at Frankie.  As he expected, there was no
resemblance.  "Come," he prodded.  "We go to France."
   "You go ahead," Frankie replied indecisively.  "I think
I'll stay and check things out.  I'm glad my Mary's okay."
   "*Your* Mary?  You seem young."
   "It's a long story.  It's good Ichii is around.  He'll
take care of her."
   "The one called a 'punk'?"
   "Him, but he's a good, honest kid. [cf. #8-9] Anyway, you
go on to wherever, and I'll follow my twin."

                           *****

   "That's it," the Mad Planarian muttered, as he stared at
his storyboard.  "This character has got to go."
   Cantata flashed resentfully as the Author quickly pulled
up another editor window.  "Hey!  You could have at least
let the scene play out!"
   "No, I couldn't.  That scene was going nowhere good."
   "Really?  I saw a lot of potential!"
   "I kinda liked it," one Nene inserted.
   "Potential for disaster, maybe.  I just can't write like
this.  I don't have a feel for this Frankie character."
   "Sure you do!  He's just like Richard Jackson himself!"
   "That's the problem.  That makes him an extremely focused
character, driven by a strong sense of mission.  He's
already finding reasons to turn away from Phoc..."
   "That can be fixed!"  Cantata swam over to the keyboard.

   "There is no need," Phoc countered.  "He'll soon hear of
the same things you did, and will certainly come to France
himself."

   "That was sudden!  Not to mention awkward, wordy, and
forced!"
   "Not like your writing at all," a Nene added snidely.
Two amazingly cute smiles made it impossible to identify
which one.
   "That's not the point!" Cantata retored.  "Let's just see
what happens, shall we?"

   Frankie stared down the concourse, then shrugged.  "True
enough.  And hopefully what we find out will tell me what to
do about it."

   "Voila'!" Cantata shouted, as she cast a victorious grin
at the two Nenei, both of whom merely stuck their exceedingly
cute tongues out at her.
   "Lucky shot," the Flatworm muttered.
   "Now, once you've revised the dialogue the way -- what did
you say?"
   "That was a lucky shot.  You only delayed the issue, and
I really don't wish to spend my time painting my way out of
corners."
   "What do you mean?  He's just as predictable as Richard!"
   "Do you think so?  Then what's his Motivation?"
   Cantata saluted boldly, ignoring the snickering Nenei.
"To serve God and Country!"
   "But there is no concept of country where he comes from."
   "Er, then to serve the World!"
   "He hates this world -- haven't you noticed?  It's too
cruel and dirty for him."
   "Ah, then he wants to clean it up!  My kinda guy!"
   "If anything, a Jackson clone is *not* your kind of guy."
   "He's got a point there," a Nene agreed.
   "No.  If I'm going to ever achieve a reasonable posting
schedule, I can't waste my time second guessing a character
who shouldn't even exist.  Fortunately, I've got just the
thing."
   The Mad Planarian struck a key and snatched a sealed
envelope that emerged from his desk.
   "I had the hardest time finding out how to print things
while submerged in a corrosive Pond."
   "What do you think you are doing?" the Musae asked.
   "Just running an errand.  I'll be right back."  With a
grand gesture, the Author launched himself from his chair
and snapped his fingers.

   "Impressive," Cantata lied, as nothing happened more than
the Planarian landing gracelessly at her feet.
   "Sure is," a Nene chimed in.  "That Frankie guy doesn't
stand a chance."
   "So what was that all about?" asked the other Nene.
   The Author sat grumbling back into his chair, then shook
his head.  "I don't get it.  It worked before."
   "What worked?"
   "Putting myself into the story universe."
   "BZZZT!" Tatty buzzed shrilly.  "Thank you for playing."
   "Owie," murmured the latter Nene, as she rubbed her ears.
   "What did I do?" the Planarian asked blankly.
   "You tried to break the Rules," Cantata accused.
   One of the Nenei filled him in.  "'Use of EDIT shall be
restricted to domain creation and retaliation for parti-
cularly bad puns, and no Authors shall be allowed to leave
the Authors' Altiverse until further notice.'"
   "A clause from the Manifesto, when the Musae declared
Martial Law.  Please see related text, dated August 22,
1995," the other Nene footnoted.

   "Martial Law?  1995?"
   "Well," Cantata temporized, "it's been lifted since then,
I think."
   "Never heard of it."
   "You should have," Nene chided.  "It's a matter of public
record.  In fact, the Musae distributed the notifications."
   "But before you two, er, three showed up, I never had a
Muse."
   "That's your problem."
   "Hey!  Do you know how hard it is to find a Muse that can
survive my Pond without suffering any ill effect?"
   Cantata and the Nenei looked at each other, then shook
their heads.  "No," they chorused.
   "Well, none of you even existed at the time," the Author
finished irritably.  "So, what you're saying is that none of
us Authors can write ourselves in?"
   Cantata equivocated.  "I think it's only you now."
   "You see," Nene interjected, "you kinda broke curfew last
year by writing yourself into Nevada after your first arc--"
   "--as witnessed by the prologue to Episode Eleven."
   "But I didn't know!  And I had a whole city to fix!"
   "That's the way the cookie crumbles."
   "Anyway," Cantata added, "you're not allowed to do that."
   "And you all are here to watch me?  Make sure I don't?"
   "Yeppers," Nene replied with a cutely feral grin.  "Think
of us as more than just Musae in training.."
   Cantata finished the thought.  "Think of us as your
probation officers."
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