Posted on Wednesday 30 January 2008
The phone on the bar rang only once before the bartender answered. “Dirty Dick’s Dockside, we don’t deliver and don’t know nuthin’ about the Resistance.” He listened to the phone then held the receiver out and shouted, “Any one here taking calls for Spider-Man?”
The only reply was silence, punctuated by a urinal flushing in the men’s room.
“Nope, no Spidey here,” he said into the phone. He listened again, “No, not even a fake gold one,” and hung up.
“Hey, that call was for me!” Fake Gold Spidey exclaimed, wandering back from the restroom. “Who was it?” he demanded. Ben Reilly was already at the bar, but only shrugged.
Classic Spider-Man settled on a barstool and ordered a club soda, spritzed with lemon. He turned to Fake Gold Spidey. “Do I know you?” He asked.
“Don’t start that crap again,” said Fake Gold Spidey.
“No, really,” Spider-Man insisted, “my history has been revamped. I can’t keep track of who I should know and who I don’t. Am I supposed to know you?”
Then he shook his head, “Oh, forget it, Faker. I’ll let Brand New Spider-Man worry about it. Look at him over there, with his happy-day attitude and C3 feet. His soul doesn’t look very tormented to me. In fact, he’s chatting up Jessica Drew! She doesn’t know not that slacker, she thinks he’s me! Barkeep, mix me a double and a drink for the lady in red.”
“Sit down!” Snapped Fake Gold Spidey, who was still peeved about missing the only phone call he’d ever received. “You’re not going to hit on Spider-Woman.”
“Yeah, Peter,” Ben Reilly agreed, “we all know you love Mary Jane, so chill. You’re not the only one lost in continuity.”
Simple Minds belted out of the jukebox, singing “Don’t You (Forget About Me)”. Fake Gold Spidey stared into his beer and wondered what that call was about.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the secret headquarters of the Second MiniMate Institute of Research and Knowledge resistance cell, Dr. Banner was only half listening to his colleague, Dr. Richards.
“We performed conductivity tests early on,” Dr. Richards was saying to Doc Brown, “and the results were quite disappointing. The JP1000 will not handle that level of electrical power, regardless of its velocity.
“Now,” he continued, “about your application to join the SMIRK fellowship –”
“Great Scott! Construction cranes!” Doc Brown burst out. “Of course! The broken economy has forced work stoppage downtown. If we tie three abandoned cranes together with a bungee cord –”
“Dr. Brown!” Dr. Richards interrupted. “About your application? What, exactly, do you hold a doctorate in?”
Peter Parker burst into the room. “JP is awake! He’s up and about! Although, after Emo’s discussion on pension plans, he’s on the verge of relapsing.”
“Congratulations, Dr. Baltar,” Dr. Banner said, “your investigations must have triggered some sort of response routine in JP1000.”
“Ah…yes. Well,” agreed Dr. Baltar, his mind racing with suspicions.
“Now, Peter,” Dr. Richards interjected, “does this news truly warrant interrupting Dr. Brown’s interview?”
The aspiring geek scuffed a toe against the floor. “But JP…no, Dr. Richards, my passion overcame sound judgment.”
“Exactly. The JP1000 unit has been inactive for a year, no one will notice its sudden awakening now.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The shocktrooper was fast, but not fast enough. When the Comm Room door banged open and the Overlord swept in, he certainly saw the trooper’s screen switch away from SnapTiteBabes.com.
Jean-Pierre, Supreme Overlord and Ruler of the World, spoke dangerously low, “Trooper, if you value your optical orbs, you will have one excellent reason for paging me.”
“Sir!” The trooper jumped to attention. “Of course, sir! We recorded a brief transmission from the fake original Da Bomb #90 TD robot. I can put it on the big screen if you want, sir.”
“That automated scrap heap hasn’t called in for months. What does it want now?”
Want, sir?” The trooper hesitated. “I don’t think it was checking in, I think the transmission was a glitch.”
“I didn’t ask you to think, trooper,” the Overlord rumbled, “I asked you to play the recording.”
“Sir! Right away, sir!” The shocktrooper tapped his keyboard and audio spilled from the speakers. It sounded like a mob of children chanting.
“Where’s the picture?” Jean-Pierre growled.
“It’s there, sir, it’s just black. Like Da Bomb is in a garbage bin or something…”
The children sang out, “He’s mean! He’s clean! Macho Cinque’s gone green!”
Macho Cinque’s deep voice answered them, “Gracias, los niños. Recall what we learned today.”
The children yelled some more, then their noise dissolved into chaos and faded off. After a pause the camera view tumbled horribly and daylight streamed in. Macho Cinque’s face loomed uncomfortably close in the picture.
“Hey, Roberto, buenas news!” the neighborhood hero said, “Una call come during our show: Heypee-1000 está fuera de su coma! Oh, su helmet is come off, I can assist you, yes?”
“Zzzt…Leader…”
“Sí, mi amigo, –” abruptly the signal cut off.
Empty static hissed and the shocktrooper waited very quietly for his supreme ruler’s reaction.
“It’s time,” was all the Overlord said before swirling out the door and bellowing for Wormtongue.

















