Plots Within Plots, Schemes Within Schemes.

Posted: September 11, 2011 in sci fi
Tags: ,

Know ye this: All things must have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Of the Kwisatz Haderach, we were there for his beginning. We were also, by some strange bit of cosmic wtf – erry, there for his end. We didn’t witness the middle part of his existence. Perhaps, that is for the best. What has been relayed to us has shown that those times were somewhat … tedious.

 – Schleme Oricio, First Speaker of the Galiffrey Federation: Address to the Galactic Senate, 1043 F.E.

Crap, he thought. I’m a Face Dancer. I can change shape – that’s what the Masters created me for. Why couldn’t I change my shape into that of a camel, or, or a glass of water, or something? “This is ridiculous,” he muttered.

“Ridiculous!” he roared. The word echoed through the canyon walls. It occurred to him that a canyon, normally the result of millions of years of erosion by swiftly flowing rivers, seemed out of place here on the Desert Planet. How long had it been since open water flowed freely upon the surface? Had water ever been a part of this cursed world’s ecology? More importantly, why was he, himself, here? What could there possibly be for him to impersonate – and to what end? He was exposed – no stillsuit, no thumper to call a Worm, not even a tube of sunblock.

“This will be a test,” the Masters had told him. “A test of faith.”

Whose faith?

What would be considered a passing grade?

Would it be graded on a curve?

What about a make-up test?

“You needn’t concern yourself with such things,” the Masters had replied. “Concentrate. Never forget the incantus. That will be your salvation.” They cast nervous glances between themselves, knowing that, at this, they might have said too much. “Er, that is, if there is a need for you to have salvation, that is. It probably won’t even come up,” Master Woot blurted.

“Right,” Master Viff agreed. “You probably won’t even need the incantus at all.”

Master Fruuk nodded. “You’ll be back in time for Elevensies, no doubt.”

Elevensies had come and gone, several times over. The days had burned themselves into the back of his brain. The nights had frozen his soul. And he had this really bad rash, to top it all off. Could he even remember the incantus? Would it even work in this God – forsaken place? He strained his mind to bring the words into remembrance.

In brightest day, in darkest night, he began.

No, wait. That wasn’t it. Was it, Ee Plebnista? No, that didn’t sound quite right, either.

I’m just a bill, yes I’m only a bill? Nah. Couldn’t be.

To infinity and beyond? Oh, hell no.

My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die. Was that it, maybe? It sounded something like that, he thought. That or, Get your stinking paws off me, you damn dirty ape …

He collapsed.

Looking down from his vantage in a hole in the cliff wall, the red – haired youngster allowed his lips to curl back in what he considered to be a most frightening grin. In time, perhaps, the look might become sinister. Today, however, not so much. There’s only so much spooky you can muster up when you’re wearing winged black leather underoos and not much else.

words and pictures © Christopher Ward. All rights reserved.

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Comments
  1. Ghani says:

    Stop making sense!

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