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CRANKYBLANCA
Chapter 17: Pie and Moocow Juice, and then A Fly on the Wall
RBB [voiceover]: People talk about how glamorous and exciting the life of a private eye must be, and people talk about how interesting and challenging the life of a historian must be. Most of the time, they don't know what the hell they're talking about. The two walks of life are a lot closer than people realize. Historians and private eyes have one big thing in common -- they end up poking into things that other people wanted to stay private. Historians usually have it luckier than private eyes, though; most of the time, the privacies they're violating belong to people who are safely dead. Another big thing that historians and private eyes have in common is that, much of the time, they're trying to explain and maybe to clean up the messes that other people have made and either can't be bothered to clean up or are past the point of caring about cleaning up.
Either way, it leaves you tired and drained and cynical and fed up to a point about two feet above where your collar button rests. And that's the way I was feeling about now. Jason Cranky had a mess on his hands and I was trying to clean it up. And I didn't much care for it. The mess was not simple or well-defined, either; it spilled over all sorts of things, and it was composed of blood and guts of dead and dying Crankizens, and it was growing faster than we could hold it back. At a certain point, I was tempted just to walk away -- to leave Crankyland to its own devices and to get back to what I was supposed to be doing with my life.
I don't know why I didn't quit. But sometimes you hang on with a case no matter what, not for any good reason that you can put into words but mainly because you couldn't meet your own gaze in a mirror if you walked away. And that's what was happening to me.
I told everyone else that I needed some time alone, and I was sitting there in the cafe, staring down into yet another cup of black coffee with my journal open on the table and my fountain pen uncapped in my hand, when Chica walked over from the bandstand. They'd taken ten, and she was carrying her flute, the way a proud parent would carry a newborn baby. I looked up as her shadow fell across the table, and put what I hoped was a smile on my face.
RBB: Hello.
CHICA: Hello. I ... I have a message.
RBB: From whom?
CHICA: From Ender_666. Ender wants to talk to you. About the case.
RBB [voiceover]: I let out a slow whistle of astonishment. Ender_666 was the most mysterious of Crankizens; nobody know who he was or where he came from, and there were some people who couldn't begin to understand what he was driving at. Every now and then, a post, all in lower-case letters, would show up on Jason Cranky's big board. It would be wry, and cryptic, and yet it would make sense if you just relaxed and savored the words. Ender_666 was good at deflating pretension, and he was also good at making people laugh. And I suspected that Ender_666 knew more about Crankyland than he was ever willing to let on. I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
RBB: Any time Ender_666 wants to talk to me, I want to listen and maybe talk to him. How do I reach him?
CHICA: I'll ... I'll take you to him. But he's ... well, he's odd, and he's shy, and it's a good idea to let him set the tone of the meeting. Please, Richard, don't push him, OK?
RBB: Don't worry. I understand and I'll play by the rules.
RBB [voiceover]: She smiled a quick, nervous smile that extinguished as swiftly as a generous gesture by Rudy Giuliani, and then she led me to a terminal in a corner alcove. She pulled over a chair for herself, and one for me, and we sat down. Then, frowning in concentration, she typed a URL too quickly for me to see it, and hit the "enter" key.
Suddenly it was as if we were walking down a shady rural path towards a cave. It was not a threatening place; it was just the opposite, quiet and soothing. I could have stayed there forever. On the hillside below where we were walking, I could hear a distant sound of music.
CHICA: It's the local symphony orchestra tuning up for an afternoon concert. Don't worry, it won't disturb the meeting, but Ender_666 does like music.
RBB: Relax, kid; so do I.
RBB [voiceover]: As we approached the cave mouth, suddenly a table and three comfortable chairs materialized before us. Chica took one and I took another. Then, I heard something from the cave mouth. It was the sound of footsteps, walking towards us -- measured, precise, yet slightly muffled.
When Ender_666 appeared, I realized why. He was about average height, which made him a bit taller than I am, but he was swathed in a large hooded cloak so that I couldn't see his face or anything else about him. I caught the gleam of two deep-set eyes, alive with intelligence and humor, but nothing more. He was wearing gloves, so I couldn't see anything of his hands, either. For some reason, I felt the impulse to stand, as a sign of respect. Chica, startled, did the same, looking anxiously from me to Ender and back again. Ender_666 nodded once, an acknowledgment of my gesture, and then with a graceful movement of his arm, he indicated that we should sit. As we did so, he sat too.
ENDER_666:
professor,
youm un plinky wombat.
we talk about crankyland
and the siege
of the badgers.
see?
RBB [voiceover]: I couldn't tell anything from the voice; in fact, it was as if he wasn't speaking at all but using my mind's voice to speak to me. It was a soft, gentle voice, alive with humor and playfulness, yet grasping the seriousness of the situation too. It reminded me of the great British actor Ralph Richardson.
RBB: I see, Ender. Yes, there is a siege of Crankyland and I suppose you could call them badgers.
ENDER_666:
first,
have moocow juice
and pie?
yes?
RBB: Yes, and thank you.
RBB [voiceover]: With a wave of his hand, a tall cold glass of milk materialized before me and before Chica, along with a piece of pie on a plate and a fork. I tentatively tasted the pie; I can't tell you to this day what flavor it was, but it was extraordinary. I knew that we were in a strange cyberrealm where the line between reality and unreality was blurry, and thus I decided to try something as an additional gesture of respect. I waved my hand and, before Ender_666, there materialized a piece of pie with a glass of milk.
ENDER_666:
youm understand
hospitality.
pie is plinky,
even froopty.
ender thanks youm.
RBB: You're welcome, and thank you in return. I want to tell you about what we have been going through for the past few weeks. I'm hoping that you can help us.
ENDER_666:
youm tell story.
ender listen
and think.
story is good
with moocow juice
and pie.
yes?
RBB: Yes, I think so, too.
RBB [voiceover]: Then I filled Ender_666 in, from soup to nuts. I have no idea why I did that; I don't know why I trusted this shadowy figure in the large, muffling cloak who looked like a Jawa from one of the STAR WARS movies. But there it was; the situation made no sense, but nothing else was making much sense and maybe this would open a doorway to sense.
I didn't realize that I'd said that last thing aloud, but Ender_666 startled me.
ENDER_666:
doorway to sense
can be opened.
road to sense
leads through nonsense.
road to good
leads through evil.
road to victory
leads through defeat.
see?
RBB: I'm aware of the role of paradox in any case like this one, but I need something more specific to help us through this case. These guys are going to bring down Crankyland all around our ears. Some people have already died.
ENDER_666:
death is choon --
not plinky
nor froopty.
those who deal death
are choon badgers.
they must be defeated
and crankyland saved.
yes.
RBB: I'm glad we see eye-to-eye on that.
ENDER_666:
they have picked ground
where fight is.
you must pick ground
for fight with them.
you stand up
for plinky and froopty
against choon.
see?
RBB: I got a similar idea just a little while ago. But how do we do it?
ENDER_666:
chica
who plays flute plinky
found something.
you go with her,
wait till right time,
then do to them
what they would do
to you.
see?
RBB: I think I do see. Many thanks, Ender_666. Is there any way I can repay you?
ENDER_666:
no repaying needed.
stay froopty,
stay open to plinky.
and do not become
choon badger.
and remember --
true leader not always
big cheese.
yes....
RBB [voiceover]: He stood, bowed slowly from the waist, and then turned and walked back into the cave. After he left, the table and chairs, the plates of pie and the glasses of milk, all faded away, and Chica and I found ourselves back in the corner alcove at Cranky's Cafe Americain, staring at the computer screen.
RBB: Whoa. Whoa indeed. Chica, have you ever met Ender_666 that way before?
CHICA: No. It was ... amazing, wasn't it?
RBB: He's skilled at this -- of course, I don't know that he *is* a he. I think it's time to use that URL that you found, and I think we have to do so as soon as possible for our first step.
RBB [voiceover]: I arose from the alcove, shut down the terminal, and took Chica's arm. We walked back through the maze of corridors behind the central rooms of Cranky's Cafe Americain. As we did so, every now and then we were checked for listening devices or tracking transmitters by humorless guards in deep purple uniforms. At the last checkpoint, the guard stopped us.
ROBERT_C_HOLK: You may not go farther than this point without special authorization.
RBB: We *have* special authorization, from Jason Cranky himself.
ROBERT_C_HOLK: Let me confirm that.
RBB [voiceover]: He did something to the large keyboard before him, read over the three VDTs that activated, and nodded reluctantly.
ROBERT_C_HOLK: Very well, Professor, the two of you can go in.
RBB [voiceover]: Again he did something to the control panel, and what looked like a solid wall irised open. We stepped through the opening and it closed behind us, once more invisible. We walked down another corridor, this one hung (like the corridor outside the main control panels) with posters for classic movies interspersed with the Mr. C logo. Then we paused before the final door on the right. I put my palm flat on the sensor, and it too irised open. We went inside.
Hans was sitting in the main command chair of the backup control room. He was looking tired and irritable, and no wonder. He'd been cooped up there ever since the explosion that had killed the intrusive Ken_Kaminski, and although Jason Cranky had refused to let the news out that Hans was dead, the dark hints that were being dropped from time to time throughout Crankyland were enough to do the work for us.
HANS: What is it? Why are you here now? Can I leave this insufferable hole? It was only supposed to be used for a day at a time.
RBB: Hans, bear with us. If you leave this place, you'll be targeted for assassination. You know that. And then the bastards will bring this place down like a rotten tree.
HANS [sighing]: I know, but it is damned uncomfortable. Already I had to dispose of a major basement thread without notice, and it is much harder from here than from the main control room.
RBB: I guessed as much. Look, we have a lead, and we need your help to track it.
RBB [voiceover]: I explained to Hans what we had, and I also filled him in on Ender's suggestions and on Wulfgar's brainstorm. He liked the idea -- at least, he let the ghost of a smile creep briefly over his usually frosty features. He accepted the piece of paper bearing the URL of the clone Crankyland that Chica had found, and he set to work at a workstation. We watched and listened, standing behind him as he navigated the web like a hypercautious U-Boat captain on "silent running."
HANS: Neither of you make a sound louder than a soft whisper. Yes?
RBB [voiceover]: He picked his way through the Internet till before us on the console's VDT we saw the clone Crankyland looming. He slowed down and then, with infinite patience, he continued to thread us through the various security devices and countermeasures, till somehow we found ourselves with a clear view of the clone website's control room. We saw figures moving around. Hans touched two buttons on the keyboard and the view brightened gradually.
RBB [whispering]: There's Charlton Casino the 2d...
CHICA [whispering]: And there's Bulworth.
RBB [whispering]: And there are jen and Pvt_Gump. But who are the others...?
CHICA [whispering]: I think that that's Captain_America, whom you probably know as mr_streamofconsciousness, and that one is ... damn ... MickieT.
RBB [voiceover]: We fell silent as we watched our adversaries sitting down around the table. I shook my head in disgust.
CHARLTON CASINO 2D: Welcome, my friends. It is good of you to be here.
MICKIE_T: When do we do it? I want to screw with Jason Cranky but good.
BULWORTH: I admit, I'm getting impatient, too. We've been planning this for a long time, and I hate having gone out of circulation.
PVT_GUMP: Wait for Mr. Casino to lay the plan out.
mr_streamofconsciousness: I'm tired of waiting, too. I've worked too hard to build this website and to put together the systems that let Jason Cranky do the hard work for us.
CHARLTON CASINO 2D: My friends, our leader has to give the signal.
BULWORTH: But I thought you --
jen: No. He's not the leader. *I* am.
RBB [voiceover]: I couldn't believe it. This was the woman who had welcomed me to Crankyland, the most friendly and gentle person in the place, the nicest person in the whole damn website. I had to grip the back of Hans's chair to keep from falling over, and I felt Chica's fingers tighten convulsively on my arm. With every ounce of willpower I had, I held my tongue.
jen: You think that you've been waiting? For years now I've been waiting for my chance to show Crankyland how wrong they have been about me. All those jokes about vegetarians ... and all those people who would short out there and choose to rip me up to do it ... and all those comments about Gump ...
RBB [voiceover]: For a moment she reached out a hand to the Fabio clone sitting by her side, and he took it and looked up adoringly at her. I thought I'd be ill; these days, I was ill-equipped to tolerate public displays of affection. But she was just getting warmed up.
jen:. All those men at that website -- and you're all among them -- who pretended to respect women, but would only respect women who acted like men and condescended to women who were cheerful and cute and friendly and loved animals and would never eat one. Well, they'll all learn what it means to look down at women. They all will learn what it means that Jason Cranky and Hans never let women into the highest reaches of command at Crankyland. Why is it Hans who ran the control room? Why not someone named Hannah? Or why not --
RBB [voiceover]: Here she gestured and a door opened. In strode a tall woman, her brown hair cut short, her face a model of classic beauty, her body magnificently proportioned and dressed in armor out of a bad rerun of XENA: WARRIOR PRINCESS. She glared around her with the coldest gray eyes I've ever seen. She was nearly six feet tall, and she strode in like all the cliched warriors of bad sword-and-sorcery fiction. She had a gigantic broadsword slung over her back, and in a holster round her waist she packed a pair of MAC-10 automatic weapons. She looked as if she could fire both of them at once without ever worrying about recoil. She snapped to attention before jen and saluted her. Then jen turned to the group of men sitting around the table, paralyzed with astonishment and fear, and spoke, her mouth forming a grim sardonic smile:
jen: Gentlemen, if any of you deserves that title, here is our new chief of staff, Helen the Dyke.
CHICA [whispering]: Oh, crap.
RBB [whispering]: Well, now we know who killed the various people dumped into Cranky's desk chair.
jen: Within seventy-two hours, we will mount our final assault that will bring down Crankyland once and for all, and bury all the remaining trolls beneath the ruins of that place. Then all the Crankizens will have a choice -- give up the pleasures they knew in Crankyland, or come to our website and meet their new ruler ...
RBB [voiceover]: She reached under the table and pulled out a flat, wrapped package. With two deft swipes of her broadsword, Helen the Dyke severed the wrapping, which slid to the floor. jen then picked up the square piece of poster board and displayed it for the room to see. It was a new logo, of a curvaceous female figure standing like the ancient Greek mythical hero Perseus, who had slain the Gorgon Medusa. There were many statues of Perseus holding up Medusa's head. This logo showed that beautiful, strongly built woman standing, holding up the head of Jason Cranky.
jen: Behold ... MS. CRANKY! Ms. Cranky will reshape the ways that movies are made. No more movies that show women only as naked sex objects or figures of fun! Now women will take their rightful place! And no more needless killing of animals! Now we'll see movies that promote vegetarianism as a sensible way of life, not as a habit of bozos who die in the first twenty minutes or are made fun of the whole movie long!
RBB [voiceover]: We listened to the rest of the meeting, but nothing of significance happened, save that one or two of the male conspirators were looking sullen and resentful. MickieT in particular was looking angry, and suddenly, he burst out.
MICKIE_T: I didn't work to bring down that purple prick just so that a bunch of girls could take over.
HELEN_THE_DYKE: What did you say, you corndog?
MICKIE_T: You heard me. I was working to bring down Cranky and that bastard BrownStain! Any guy is better than any girl any time!
jen: I am sorry you feel that way, Mickie_T. I felt towards you almost the way I would have towards a kid brother, but a woman can get another kid brother, and there's only one Ms. Crankyland. Helen...
RBB [voiceover]: Helen the Dyke had walked up behind Mickie_T and, with one brawny arm, pinioned him to her, angling him away from the table. He kicked and struggled, but it was no use. With her other arm, she drew her sword and deftly cut his throat. His cries of protest died away in a choked gurgle, and then he went limp.
I glanced over at Chica. She was looking dead white, but she managed to stay standing, her eyes wide with horror and dismay.
jen: Dispose of the carrion; I don't care how you do it, so long as the body attracts attention in Crankyland. This meeting is adjourned.
RBB [voiceover]: She and Helen and Gump strode from the room, leaving the others slumped in their chairs. Hans cut the connection, and I went over to Chica.
RBB: Here, kid, sit down and put your head between your legs. Take deep breaths. If you have to be sick, go ahead.
CHICA: No, Richard, I'm fine. Just shook up.
RBB: You're tougher than you look. Hans, can you resume that connection when you need to?
HANS: Yes, Professor.
RBB: And did you record what we saw and heard?
HANS: Of course.
RBB: Good. We'll have to play it for the others. We have three days before they strike. [sighing] I hate this case.
[...to be continued...]
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