Oh, There's No Place Like a Hover-Biker Bar for the Holidays

Yeah, I'm writing this post drunk. SO WHAT?

Sorry. I'm a little testy right now. Lemme explain.

I got my final paycheck from my Undercover Santa gig at the Mall of Lallor. That was fine. They even threw in a bonus for all the extra business I was able to drum up; it seems that I was their most unforgiving, brutal Santa Claus ever, and it brought in the Solstice fanatics by the rocket-load! And those nuts, they'll spend space-cheddah on Solstice merchandise with such abandon, you'd think Gold Boy himself was crapping his gilded turds directly into their purses. I interrogated respectfully asked one of my Santa job clients about this phenomenon. Apparently, they believe their odds of achieving (wholly imaginary) salvation increase with every new piece of tie-in junk they purchase.

However. I can't deposit (or, to be perfectly honest, cash) the damn paycheck because the freakin' banks are all shut down. So that's Sucky Thing Number One.

Sucky Thing Number Two is how Eyeful Ethel was going to throw her employees a lavish Solstice Eve party at work today, but had to cancel at the last minute due to civil unrest. It would have been a fun bash, too, I bet. Everybody was there, save for Gadfly Lad, of course, and Storm Boy, who had visi-phoned in sick with something unpronounceable and contagious. (I bet he's canoodling with that "Ox" guy right now. ...Huh. Apparently, I believe in "Ox" after all! It's a Solstice miracle!)

We had just finished decorating the office and were wondering why the caterers were late, when that blimp I saw last week drifted by our windows. Which was a bad sign, considering we're only on the third floor. We all rushed over to "ooh" and "ah" at it. (Okay, so maybe it was more "AAAAA!!!" than "ah" but still.) The last "N" in its lighted slogan flickered out with a burst of sparks, changing its dire prophecy to "THE END IS EAR." Abruptly, the blimp banked upward and soared into a radioactive cloud. Mere moments later, it emerged, heading in the opposite direction and sinking rapidly. Several sky mutants clung to it. Its tail burst into flame. It planted itself nose-down into the public square a few blocks from us, and exploded. It was a sight to behold -- the conflagration featured an impressive, multi-stage display, with fountains of sparks; whizzing, boomeranging debris that shot gaily into the sky; and a stunning Roman candle sort of sustained burst. It was way better than most fireworks shows I've attended -- and I've attended a lot! About halfway through the blimp's lengthy demise, the lights blinked out in the nearby buildings. As if by some secret signal, hoards of rioters flooded into the streets, and started beating the shit out of one another. Then our own building went dark.

Ethel swore, loudly. Then she sighed, "Sorry, folks. Solstice is canceled. I'd advise you to all get home as soon as possible. You know, before things get out of hand."

I tried to visi-phone Klup, but I couldn't get a signal. Nobody could. The reason for this became apparent once the blazing communications satellites came pouring out of the heavens. One smacked squarely into Nightmare Boy's gloss-black Lallorghini XE rocket-car. "Oh, come on--!" he moaned.

"Didn't see that one coming, did you?" I quipped. He laughed, albeit ruefully.

As we hustled our asses out of there, I gallantly offered to walk somebody home. The only taker was Nightmare Boy.

I only had to clobber a handful of rioters at first (while Nightmare Boy cowered behind overturned baby carriages and other bits of detritus) but after six blocks or so, the crowds started getting thicker and meaner. Nightmare Boy's eyes looked positively wild, as he nervously checked street signs and his wristwatch. At one point, we had to retreat into an alley.

"Where are we?" demanded Nightmare Boy.

"Around Tcheru and 59th," I replied. "And don't take that tone with me."

He glanced at his watch again. "Duck."

"What?"

"Down on the ground! NOW!" As I blinked at him, utterly confused at this change in his demeanor, Nightmare Boy tackled me. I was about to smack him in his beautiful face when the engine block from an exploding zoom-lorry sailed overhead, right where my head had been.

Nightmare Boy rolled himself off of me, and smiled. "I saw that one coming! Oh, and you're welcome." He burst into the universe's suavest-sounding giggle fit. (It was very George Takei-like.) He hopped to his feet and extended his hand to me.

Flushed with embarrassment, I allowed him to help me up. "Thanks, dude," I said. "And I'm sorry I've doubted you. I guess you're not a big phony after all!"

"Not all the time, anyway," he grinned.

I scouted the other end of the alley. The chaos was less-pronounced on the adjoining street. I motioned for Nightmare Boy to join me. I explained to him that the crowds were getting too thick and too violent for us to safely make it all the way to his home, and that we were better off finding some place where we could hole up until the next morning.

I noticed that a hover-biker bar across the street still had its lights on, and suggested it to Nightmare Boy as a suitable spot. Two muscle-bound patrons tumbled out the establishment's front door, trading punches. Then they started to make out.

Nightmare Boy's pallid complexion blanched to lily-whiteness. "I think I see a dance club a few blocks down," he gulped. "That would be good, too."

I squinted, trying to make out anything beyond the veil of smoke he was pointing at. "What, behind that overturned acid tanker and the Burning Effigy Parade? Good luck with that."

In front of the hover-biker bar, the two men had interrupted their make-out session to resume belaboring each other about the head and groin.

"I'll take my chances," replied Nightmare Boy. Convulsively, he darted out of the alley, and disappeared into the haze.

So here I am, by myself on Solstice Eve, in a hover-biker bar. I'd be tempted to brave the riots again, except the owner has had to activate the inertron shutters. No one enters; no one leaves! The Solstice carol videos belched out by the holo-box are bracingly gory affairs, but around their twelfth repetition they've lost their luster. The floors have filmed over with a combination of dirt, melted radioactive snow, and various bodily fluids. There's nothing to eat except soylent snacks. The heater is stuck on "blast furnace" level, which means I'm currently swimming in my own perspiration. I've been in three fist-fights already. None of them have ended in a make-out session, goddamn it. My vision is blurry. (Whether it's from the alcohol, the chokingly thick clouds of cigar smoke, or the pool cue chalk that nailed me in the eye when I first entered, I'm not sure.) An hour ago, somebody vomited into the complimentary bowl of rum punch. And to top it all off, the owner just came around with a box of those tacky dark beast ears (on headbands) for everybody to wear. I put some on. Because I don't care, anymore. "The end is ear," indeed.

...Hold the visi-phone! There's a hot, beefy dude "making eyes" at me, and he's got the brawniest arms and the lushest salt-and-pepper beard I've ever laid eyes on! I'm gonna walk over there and see if he wants to "wrestle." It looks like this day won't be a total loss, after all!

Happy Solstice, everybody!

E-Mail From a 30th Century Henchman

Dear Naa Mah,

Well it looks like Im going to miss spending Reverence Week with you and the boys this year due to me getting thrown in Takron-Galtos again so first off im really really sorry about that. Please be certin to tell Ham and Shem that daddy loves them and is away "on importent busness" or whatever excuse it is your giving them nowadays. Thank you I love you.

I should of knowen from the start that this latest job of mine was gonna go south on me as my employer in this case aint nobody big-time like a Starfinger or a Time Trapper or nothing but is instead some screwy kid who won a crapload of space-cheddah off an unauthorized "scratch and win" lottery or something. He calls hisself "the Mess" which is apprapoe because I dont think he never took a shower in his life I mean he could at least use some of that Atomic Ax Body Spray like the Perswader advertises on the holo-tube. Also he aint got no ambishun to be a crime lord he only wants to revenge hisself on the Mall of Lallor as it got depossitted onto the spot where he lived and he got trapped under there for a bunch of years living on the vast stores of snack pouches and soda drums he could scrounge outta the other trailer pods you know the ones where the inhabbatints already left or died or whatever and the radiashun from the ground soil didnt help none either so now hes all crazy in the skull and hairless to boot on top of already being kinda fat and pale and grubby plus hes addickted to home shopping and his "criminal headquarters" is cramped as all get out what with the nick nacks.

So anyway the Mess is really into these things they got on Lallor called "fallout globes" where its like a plasto-bubble filled with water and white plastic granyools and they got a minyatyoor reproduckshun of a famous Lallor monyumint in them and you shake the plasto-bubble and it looks like deadly radiashun is falling on the building just like it did after the Atomic Wars and still does sometimes if Im going to be perfecktly honest. And he picked up one of those globes on one of the rare ocayshuns he tunnels outta his den like a freaking maggot or some shit in order to buy more scratch-off tickets. Thats when he got the idea to sistermatickly shrink down the Mall of Lallor store by store by store and put it into globes only the globes are filled with this fancy-ass liquid they call "suspendum" on account it preserves stuff real good. Why he dont just shrink the whole mall down really really small and just get the damn thing over with all at once is beyond me or he could just put it in a bigger globe I dont know Im not an expirt. See the problum with doing it one store at a time is after a while the Mall catches on and then they hire ackshual SUPER HEROS to proteckt it. Like one time this crazy old homeless-looking fucker jumped on top of the get away car and then he changed hisself into a metal berrickade and I just narrowly got outta there with my life and then this other time this flying kid no bigger than my hand chases after us but Karel nailed him with a neurel granade. After that I wanted to shut down the whole operashun right then and there but the Mess wouldnt go for it and why would he I mean hes crazy but what threw me for a loop is how nither of the other guys would back me up! I think the problum was they aint been in the biz for near as long as I been and they still beleeved they were invinsibul well Ill tell you what when you been in the space-pokey as many times as I been you figyur out when to cut your losses. On the other hand you know this is the only work I can get and Im trying to put some money away for Shems and Hams collage fund and this "Mess" joker was only paying us the other half of our fees upon the jobs compleeshun so I felt like I had to stick it out a while longer.

So anyway it was Saturday nite and the Mess was bilding hisself a gingerbread pod only he was eating most of it so it was slow going and Karel was sitting in the corner all fucked up from too much oxygen and Drogann was watching like his ninth strate hour of that live streaming Omnicom program Whore Dorm and his eyes were kinda glazed over but who could tell really the way he shook and I was bored off my ass waiting around for something to happen so guess what happened then. No guess.

The front door fell in with a THUD and I saw this creepy broad (well she had a nice shape on her I must admit I mean I aint made outta stone) standing there and she spit the doors chewed-up hinges on the floor! And behind her was that homeless guy and he got the mini-kid on his sholder and behind them was this big walrus-man with dental tools which is co-insidently the reason why Im now missing both my front teeth so consider yourself warned I just wanted to prepare you before your next conjugal visit sorry thanks for understanding. And anyway praise the Luck Lords the Messes tunnels were so narrow cause all these super heros got jammed up at the door or else I woulda been done for right then and there.

The Mess shouted "Minyuns attack!!!" with gingerbread crumbs shooting out of his fat mouth and that term always pisses me off but hey he was paying the bills so I sucked it up like I always do. I fumbulled for my phaser-pistol and I got a few shots off but it didnt matter none as the homeless guy squeezed in front of the creepy gal and turned hisself into a steel wall. The teeny flying kid swooped down on me and snatched my weapon right outta my hand. Then the walrus-man pounced on Karel with his own phaser-pistol and Karel freaked out and whimpered "Dont phaser me bro!" and I saw the walrus-man hesitate which gave Karel enuff time to blast him with a spray of gas from the spare xenon gas tank that was sitting next to him and then the walrus-man kind of choked and staggered backward and losed his grip on the weapon. Drogann charged at the homeless guy who shots these force-field things at him from his wrists but they passed right thru Drogann who just kept barrelling forward and then he pinned the hero agenst the wall and his elbow was at his throat and I saw the homeless guy was starting to pass out but his big bushy beard ackted as a cushun between Droganns elbow and the homeless guys wind pipe so it was taking a real long time. And the hero was trying to grappel with Drogann but Drogranns non stop vibrashuns made him real slippery. Mean while I was fending off the lady and the kid. The curvy dame ran at me with her teeth nashing and her eyes just looking insane but I hit her with one of Karels blasting pogs and she went flying into the Messes collecters case of commemerativ sporks. The kid buzzed all around me like a winged wampus and he pummelled me with a teeny electro-mace but he made the mistake of getting too close so I grabbed him and plucked his fakey wings off and thru him on the floor and stamped on him also for good meashur. As for the Mess hisself well he was down on the floor with his wormy hands over his head crawling crawling crawling.

So it looked like were winning but that never lasts like it ought to if you ask me. The homeless guy kneed Drogann in his vibrating nads and while Drogann was reeling from that he headbutted him and punched him in the face a coupel times. Karel grabbed a blasting pog from his belt to finish off the walrus-man but the walrus-man blindly lashed out with his dental pliers and shattered Karels helmet and Karel freaked out for realsies this time saying "NO NO NO NO" only he was laughing the whole time and he got this big toothy smile and fell ass-backwards onto the floor stiff as a board. Too much oxygen. (I hear they got him in the hospitul ward now.) The homeless guy grabbed me by the coller and he smashed me and Drogann both into the table where the Mess was working on the gingerbread pod and our heads went CRACK just over and over and the creepy gal and the walrus-man got theyre electro-cuffs out to put us into custody and suddenly ZAP!

I dont think nobody knew what happened at first but as it turns out the Mess had set up the shrink ray and pointed it at us so everybody found themselves on the table top and really really small. I saw the Mess over by the ray and he was huge and really far away and he had this nutty smirk on his chubby hairless face. As for myself I was pissed off about the whole thing to tell you the truth but then the Mess aint never had to work the damn thing before so I guess he didnt know how to adjust the apperchur settings so maybe I need to show more understanding for my fellow man but on the other hand fuck that noise. So we started fighting all over again. Drogann and me ran into the gingerbread pod for sheltur and we lobbed gumdrops and salted nuts outta the windows at them but the homeless guy snagged a candy cane and used it like a battering ram to bust the door down. The creepy lady clobbered me with a lickerish whip and even tied my sorry ass up with it and the walrus-man laffed his goddamn ass off but then he got a look on his face I didnt like at all and then out came the dental tools. The homeless guy and Drogann went at it mainly wrestling I suppose and the homeless guy kept getting Drogann in this bear hug where Droganns ass was pressed smack dab agenst the homeless guys crotch and I swear it looked like the homeless guy was getting off on it you know what with all the vibrashun and such. After like the seventh time this happened Drogann panicked I guess and he vibrated hisself thru the table-top and thats the last I seen of him and I have this awful idea that maybe he over-did the vibrating and kept going right thru the floor into the ground and now hes stuck down there with the grubs and the fossils and he cant see or breeth none which means hes dead. Anyway right then we got hit with the reverse-setting on the shrink ray and with four full grown adults on the table it busted and we all ended up in a heap on the floor under slabs of mega-sized gingerbread and I wanted to make a brake for it only the now-gigantic lickerish whip was still sinched around me. And we looked around and we saw the dinky flying kid only now he was almost normal size and he was supporting his two smashed legs by leaning hisself on the shrink ray tripod and he looked nearly as pale as the Mess did and he was sweating like there was no tomorrow but he was grinning too.

And where was the Mess you ask well Ill tell you. The kid held up a empty jelly jar with the lid on and the Mess was inside cause the dinky kid shrunk him down! The kids smile went all wobbly and he started to faint but the homeless dude grabbed the dinky kid while the creepy gal snagged the jar.

Thanks to Lallors new "speed trials" I got convickted and sentenced in under thirty minutes of my arrival at the court house so they hustled my ass off-planet right away which is just fine by me as it is Solstice Season on Lallor and from what I hear the whole damn population goes apeshit with riots and mass-murders and line-dancing and such so Ill just kick back in my comfy cell if its all the same to you.

Your loving husband,
No Ah

P.S. Please come visit just as soon as you possibully can and dont forget to bring those soylent butter cookies those are always a treat thanks.

The Unusual Suspects

This morning, Gadfly Lad and I had a conference-visi-phone call with Eyeful Ethel. The investigation is really chugging along. And it's about goddamn time, too! Lallor's Solstice Season is almost done, and with it, my "undercover" job as Santa.

The mysterious chemical in those bottles that dropped out of the getaway zoom-lorry? A contraband, extra-dimensional fluid known as "Suspendium." And it just so happens that several bottles of Suspendium were reported stolen from the Space Museum's Gallery of Liquid Curiosities. The fingerprints collected from that crime scene match the ones on the bottles. And sure, the perps had used a Fingerprint Scrambler (another fine product from BrainGlobeCorp) but we still managed to decipher them! We now have four "persons of interest" in this case. Three of them have long criminal records. And all of them have been "off the grid" for years!

No Ah*: Rimborian career criminal. Worked as a henchman for Grimbor, Doctor Regulus, Pulsar Stargrave, and multiple Starfingers. Skilled fighter and sous chef. Flunked out of grade school, beauty school, and clown college.

Karel Henrick Van Schoonhoven: Native of Xenon, where by pure coincidence, all the names sound Dutch. Explosives expert, adult film director. Must wear bubble helmet that simulates atmosphere of home planet, but is addicted to "huffing" oxygen. Never blinks, due to lack of eyelids.

Drogann: Kaffarian voyeur. Freak accident imbued him with uncontrollable power of super-vibration. He can shift his molecules through walls, but he ruins every photo he's in.

Meyer Qayd, a.k.a. "The Mess": "What, me bathe?" This hapless yokel has no prior convictions. That said, we have discovered that he grew up in a trailer pod over which the Mall of Lallor is sitting, this very instant! Y'see, Lallorian construction companies rarely bother to demolish condemned buildings. They'd much rather build the new structures off-site, and then just drop them on top of the old ones! Gentlemen, we have a motive!

But who are they all working for? I mean, if it turns out that the Mess is some kind of mastermind, I'll eat my hat. (Admittedly, this wager is a win-win situation for me. Even if I lose, I'll have an excuse to go hat-shopping!)

*Edited to fix punctuation error.

Don't Let My Beard's Bugs Bite

The test results came back on those mysterious white granules I found in that spot where the suspect's rocket-car had been parked. Turns out they're just plastic. That's it. There's nothing in the least bit extraordinary about them.

Fuck.

However! We actually managed to prevent a store theft the other night, which was kind of the whole reason Eyeful Ethel's agency got hired. Oh, and when I say "we" prevented it, I mean Gadfly Lad did. Better yet, he scored some more evidence! Yay, team! ...Er, I mean "good for him."

Ethel got the genius idea of putting Gadfly Lad on patrol outside of the mall, with a night-vision camera. So now we have some fuzzy, noncommittal video of two guys setting up some sort of weapon on a tripod, presumably a teleporter or something, and they're aiming it at the Radio Pod electronics store in mall sector 7-C.

Gadfly Lad went after them before they could fire it up, though. So they collapsed it and threw it into the back of a zoom-lorry they'd stolen, and then they took off. Gadfly Lad gave a good chase, but after a few miles, they tossed a neural grenade at him. I've seen the feed from a traffic monitor they had passed. It's pretty brutal. I mean, he's not permanently injured, but just to see him flattened out on the ground, having a seizure... well, it's pretty hard to take. Now, I really want to pound on those dirtbags. On the plus side, when they took a real tight corner, a couple of plastic jars filled with a mysterious fluid bounced out of the truck. So now we have some more chemical evidence, and maybe even some finger prints!

I found all this out from Ethel and the mall's security guys when I showed up for work. I found Gadfly Lad in our dressing room, still shrunken down to doll-size and "sleeping it off." He looked spent, the poor li'l fella. His teensy chest heaved. With a shiver, he clutched himself and curled into a ball. I was so touched, I picked him up (being careful to not wake him) and laid myself down on the couch in his place. Then I tucked him under my beard, like it was a blanket.

Okay, so maybe that wasn't the best idea in the world. Or I at least should have warned him I was gonna do it, 'cause when he eventually awakened, he flipped out.

Heh. Oops!

I guess it's a good thing I have that date tonight with Flev's buddy, Glub. (Or maybe his name is "Blug". Or "Gulb"? I dunno. It's some goofy Lallorian name.) At any rate, it'll be nice to think about something other than work.

Everything Must Go

Last night, we lost another store.

And naturally, it happened on my shift. Balls.

Y'see, when my security shift extends past regular mall hours, I change from Santa Claus into my other other (other) identity: Gud "Whiskers" Florpzu, prematurely-grizzled mall custodian. That means I just wear a backwards baseball cap; steel-toed work boots; suggestively-unzipped coveralls with no shirt or underpants; and a rolled-up copy of "Barely Legal Clones" magazine in my back pocket. And I drag around a sonic mop and a hover-bucket, and occasionally I pause and pretend to clean the floor. If I hear a suspicious noise, I'll turn myself into one of those little folding plastic signs that say "CAUTION: FRICTIONLESS SURFACE".

So! It was nearing 2 AM, and I was on the lowest level, doin' my thing, when a terrible groan reverberated through the mall. It sounded like metal beams getting wrenched apart. Scanning the darkened complex with my multi-spectrum I-noculars (an officially licensed Eyeful Ethel tie-in product), I saw a massive cloud of sawdust billowing out of and quickly obscuring the Lumbak Liquidators discount flooring outlet. Lumbak's is -- or was! -- all the way at the opposite end of the shopping complex, two levels up, by the way. Eschewing the mall's slow-ass levitator platforms, I bounded up the stairs, four at a time. As I bounded towards the dust cloud, I encountered the mall's real custodian, working the riding hover-vac. Since my adrenaline was in the red zone -- and for the sake of DRAMA! -- I kickboxed him off of it* and commandeered the thing. I shifted it into high gear (a surprising 140 kilometers-per-hour!) and hurtled into the roiling cloud. I air-skidded to a halt when I suddenly found myself outside. Above me should have been Lumbak's ceiling. Instead, I was looking at Lallor's fallout-ridden sky, dotted by a few malfunctioning spy satellites; plus a private blimp that flashed the message, "THE END IS NEAR." And instead of Lumbak's floor, I could see the rafters of the Old Space Navy on the lower level. Thank the Luck Lords, I was driving something that floated!

Before I could back up, a blinding light exploded into my eyes. The next second, I was airborne.

At first, I thought I was floating. Then, I realized that my keen Amadan brain had merely altered my perception of time (as it often does in times of stress) and I was actually perceiving the world in slow-motion. I traveled in a graceful arc over a primer-gray, rusted-out (29)'72 Parakat GT rocket-car. As I neared the tail-end of the vehicle, I grabbed onto one of the fins. Time sped up again, and I winced as my arm was nearly torn from its socket. Avoiding the blast of the rocket engine, I clambered over the car until I was standing on its hood. The windows were tinted black, so I couldn't see who was inside. I screamed at the driver to stop, and when that didn't work, I dug my security badge from my pocket and slammed it against the windshield. The driver kept swerving, trying to throw me off of the rocket-car. That really pissed me off. With a powerful leap, I did a back-flip off of the hood. As I landed in front of the car, I changed into a steel wall. Only I didn't land quite right, because the fucker just ran over my sorry ass like I was a fucking ramp. And of course I hadn't finished changing yet -- my face is always the last to go -- so now I have a black eye. I changed back and fired my forcefield bracers at the car. It was too far away by then. Damn it.

I trudged back to the mall and set about collecting evidence. I could tell exactly where the rocket-car had come from, by the scorch marks in the adjacent parking tower. There was a thin trail of white granules leading up to it. (Drugs? Plastic explosive?) I scooped some into an envelope. The agency is still waiting on the results from the crime lab. We've already learned that the rocket-car was reported stolen yesterday morning, although the owner claims she had never tinted the windows. Huh.

As I'm writing this, I have another hour to go before I have to put on my Santa Claus get-up. So I'm still dressed as "Gud", and I can hob-knob with the rest of the mall staff. Like this dude named "Flev", who's in charge of the mall's seasonal props and window displays. Flev brought me a mug of space-java about ten minutes ago. We joked and bullshitted a little, while we watched his staff erect another giant tent to hide the spot where this latest vanished store used to be. Flev says he wants to set me up with a friend of his: some artist guy whom he describes as having "friendly muttonchops and an even friendlier mouth." Sounds like fun to me!

And I sure as hell could use some fun right now.

*And if I accidentally hurt you when I did that, I sincerely apologize, Duplicate Boy.

Fa La Lallor La

Blockade Boy explains all about the Solstice Season on Lallor.

All Bending Low with Folded Wings

I gotta be honest, here: I did not want to work with Gadfly Lad on this undercover "Mall Santa" deal. Why? 'Cause the dude's annoying, plain-and-simple. Besides his raging hard-on for rules and regulations, he's an eavesdropper, which bugs the shit out of me. I'll be telling Frigid Queen some anecdote from my kick-ass life (only slightly altered, to omit all references to space piracy) and then Gadfly Lad -- who is across the room --will holler corrections at me about the coordinates of some planetoid, or about how long it takes to travel from Braal to Throon, or some other piddling nonsense that has nothing to do with the point I'm even trying to make! I'd jack his shit up, but I don't want to lose my job. Also, he's like five-foot-one, tops. And how would that look?

So. The assignment. Gadfly Lad and I are practically living at the damn Mall of Lallor, working in overlapping 36-hour shifts. That means that both of us are there every day while it's open, and then we alternate evenings, patroling it while it's closed. It takes me about an hour-and-a-half to get into my Santa costume. (The majority of that time is consumed by beard grooming.) Then I help Gadfly Lad get into his costume. It's an interesting look for him, I have to admit. The costume itself might even be sexy, if it weren't being worn by a wiry li'l bugger with grotesquely-oversized hands and feet. Plus, he has a pretty big noggin.

That's a Lallorian's idea of a Christmas elf, for you: raven wings and lederhosen (in this case, a modified version of Gadfly Lad's flying harness) worn without a shirt; a beaky mask straight out of a Venetian carnival; leather gloves and boots. All in black. It seems like the good people of Lallor have confused Santa with Odin, and Santa's elves with Odin's ravens... and ravens with people who go to raves. Do you like the hair? That was my idea. I thought it would look better with the outfit if it was all spiked up. Gadfly Lad didn't want to do it. I tried to reason with him, and when that didn't work, I thought I had just better show him how he'd look. But when I tried to touch his hair, he freaked out on me. So then, of course, I had to put him in a headlock to keep him from fidgeting. And then he shrunk down and tried to fly away. I finally managed to trap him in an old mayonnaise jar, and I jabbed at the goopy, product-drowned mess on his head with a toothbrush, until his coif had achieved the effect I wanted. Once Gadfly Lad calmed down and saw himself in a mirror, he understood how right I was! So now, he'll just stand in front of me, all serious-like, while I do his hair for him. It reminds me of how Mom would tie my ties for me. Until I was three, and I learned how to do it myself. And then I discovered ascots... er, but I digress.

Gadfly Lad's official character name is "Munin", after the mythological raven, whose name means "memory." But I like to call him "Brainfart." Just to piss him off.

And oh, how the little fucker deserves it! Just yesterday, I was holding court as Santa, just "chilling" (as the young Tharrians like to say) in my sweet Santa throne, which is located about three stories up in the highest part of the mall, so I can see everybody. Have I mentioned, the throne is accessible only by a narrow flight of steps, sans a railing? (And before you ask, movie buffs, there's no slide, either. Know-it-alls.) Anyway, I noticed that the crowd looked a little more disorganized than usual. Then I spotted Gadfly Lad, stomping purposefully around, and looking very important. He was talking into his visi-phone, like bodyguards and bouncers usually do. So I wondered what was up, and I made whichever douche-nozzle who was sitting on my lap and crying into my beard at the time get the hell off me for a minute. I figured something big must've been going down. I called mall security on my own visi-phone, to see why Gadfly Lad was calling them. Turned out, he wasn't. A few more quick calls told me he wasn't calling the agency, or the local emergency dispatch. I got pissed.

"SILENCE!" I bellowed. "SANTA DEMANDS SILENCE!" I rapped my barbed candy hook weapon on the platform several times, for emphasis. The throng gasped, and dutifully parted for me as I descended the long staircase and headed for Gadfly Lad. As I approached him, I could hear Gadfly Lad's congested haute-contre voice: "Jena... Jena, baby... I do say 'I'm sorry.' I do! I've apologized to you a total of thirty-two times over the course of our relationship! Thirty-four-and-a-half, if you count the times you've interrupted me before I could finish... Well, that's because you're wrong... No! Jena... honey, listen...!"

He was so wrapped up in his call, he didn't even notice me... until I snatched the visi-phone out of his hand. I leaned in, and snarled in his ear, "Conference. Throne. NOW." Drawing back, I motioned broadly toward the throne, and with a jovial, booming voice, I roared, "COME, BRAINFART! SANTA CLAUS HAS NEED OF YOUR WISE COUNSEL!" Gadfly Lad shrunk himself down to bird-size and perched on my shoulder. I gently booted my last client off the platform and into the crowd below (they caught 'im; he's fine) so I could rip Gadfly Lad a new one in private.

And he apologized! Then I felt like a jackass, so I apologized for snapping at him, while still explaining about the need to keep one's job and one's love life private. (I learned that one the hard way!) I firmly-yet-politely told him that the little stunt he had just pulled could never happen again. He seemed to take me seriously. But a couple of hours later, I caught him doing it again. I finally decided to confiscate his visi-phone until the end of the day. He objected, rattling off some spiel about how the agency's contract with the mall specifically stated that I was his "associate" and not his "superior."

"STILL THY TONGUE, THRALL!" I thundered back at him. As a symbolic gesture, I deposited the visi-phone inside my codpiece. (It was a snug fit.) When I gave it back to him, he complained that it smelled funny. Maybe I should have rinsed it off, or dusted it with Gold Boy Medicated Powder, or something.

I don't know what Gadfly Lad's deal is. Maybe his problem is that he's just young, is all. He's nineteen, but emotionally, he's more like fourteen. I get the feeling he hasn't had much interaction with other people, outside of visi-phones and omnicoms. He might not be such a bad little dude. At any rate, I'm stuck with him for the foreseeable future. So I guess I'll find out.

I'm Telling You Why

I woke up Friday morning -- alone, consarn it! -- to find a white patch in my beard, just on the upper part of my chin. I wasn't all that surprised. It happens to a lot of Amadan men, when they hit their mid-twenties. No big deal.

I didn't think it went that well with the "Boy" part of my codename, though. I decided to call in sick, and see if I could "fix" it. Normally, I'd get a professional, to-the-DNA-strand dye-job from Color Kid. However. His services cost a fortune, nowadays. He's hit the big time! As for me, I have only the smallest crumble of space-cheddah to my name. So I had to spring for a box of "Just For Male Humanoids" facial hair dye, down at Lallorgreens. Guess what? It didn't work. On the contrary, upon contact with my beard, the dye itself blanched a pure white. In fact -- if the Lallorgreens clerk who keeps angrily visi-phoning me is to be believed -- the boxes of dye on either side of the one I purchased were remotely affected, somehow, and rendered every hair on their purchasers' bodies permanently, indelibly, snowy-white! My manliness, it is metaphysical!

I realized that until I afford to see Color Kid, I'd just have to tough it out. Begrudgingly, I phoned the detective agency, and reported a miraculous recovery. On the way to work, I picked up two entire racks of barbecued kanga-bronc ribs for lunch. Seeing my beard, the dude at the drive-up window offered me the "senior discount". Bastard. Not that I was too proud to accept it, mind you. The restaurant even gave me a complimentary wheelbarrow, filled with sauce, to carry the ribs in.

When I got to the office, Nightmare Boy blinked wonderingly at me. He took a break from reapplying his mascara, to make a wiping motion in front of his chin. With a smirk, he informed me that I had "a little something, right there."

I flicked a dollop of barbecue sauce into his perfect hair. "So do you," I replied.

The only other person I saw in the office right then was Gadfly Lad, who noted that I looked "twenty-two years and eight months older." I sat down at my desk, fired up my computer, and started in on my ribs. A minute later, Gadfly Lad peered over my shoulder (as is his wont -- he has a thing about not talking to people face-to-face) and pestered me with questions about the white patch. "Did you have a scary dream?" he asked. "Did somebody throw bleach on you? Is it a virus? Will I catch it? Have you tried Just For Humanoid Males dye yet? Because I read some studies that say it may be toxic..." Etc, etc.

I raised a sauce-covered paw and growled, "So help me, I will stick this hand where the dainty little sun of Imsk don't shine if you don't get out of my face." He retreated.

The door to Eyeful Ethel's office slid open. The Boss Lady Herself peered out into the "bullpen." "Blockade Boy!" she cried. "There you are! Listen, I have a new assignment for--!" Her eyebrows shot up as she took stock of the white in my beard. Her lips parted in a huge smile. "Oh, that's perfect! Come in, come in...!" She gestured anxiously for me to join her.

Plopping down on her comfiest couch -- with my legs splayed wide apart, natch -- I wiped the sauce from my lips with the back of a hairy hand. "'Sup?" I queried.

"I just got a call from the owners of the planet's largest shopping complex, the Mall of Lallor. They have a huge shoplifting problem."

"Huh. No offense, Ethel, but it sounds like a pretty run-of-the-space-mill problem. Do they really need to call a detective agency of our magnitude for something so minor?"

"Give me a chance to explain, wiseapple. When I say 'shoplifting,' I mean that entire stores are disappearing, floors and windows and inertron siding and all. So far, they've managed to hush this up, by replacing the empty spaces with tents, and erecting "Under Construction" and "Pardon Our Mess while We Remodel to Bring You a More Exciting Shopping Experience" signs. Eventually, of course, folks are going to catch on."

I was suitably impressed -- actually, I was stunned, to be honest -- but I managed to restrain my reaction to a murmured "Ah!" and a curt nod.

"The owners suspect that the theft is an inside job," said Ethel. "That's why they want a detective working undercover there, as an employee. Since it's the Solstice Season, you could take a job as their mall Santa Claus, and nobody would suspect a thing! Now, I don't know if you're familiar with the concept of Santa Claus. It's an old Earth custom that the Lallorians have adopted."

"Sure!" I said. "I know all about Santa. In fact, I wore a Santa Claus-inspired costume for a while when I was stranded in the 21st century."

"Good. So you know that a mall Santa wears a red, fur-trimmed..."

"...Suit."

"Well, a cloak, anyway. With no shirt. So everybody can see your abs and your massive guns? Remember? And then there's the silver codpiece and the matching belt with the polar bear on it, and the bear-themed boots? With the spurs?"

"Er. Yeah. Of course. And a big, floppy hat with a pom-pom."

"No...! It's just a holly crown! And you'll make your entrance every morning in a chariot, pulled by dark beasts -- y'know, those huge, wingless, bat-like creatures -- while you brandish Santa's traditional weapon, the barbed candy hook."

"Holy cats! Won't that scare the kids?"

"What kids?"

"The ones who line up, to sit on my lap."

"Ew, no! Santa Claus is strictly Adults-Only! No children allowed! I mean, it wouldn't do to have children sitting on your lap and telling you all of their darkest, filthiest secrets, and then asking you to punish them accordingly! I mean, that'd just be grotesque."

"Yikes."

"Exactly. I mean, really, Blockade Boy, I thought you said you knew all about Santa Claus!"

"...I was just trying to impress you."

"Aw! That's cute. So, what do you think about the assignment?"

I pretended to mull it over. Finally, I said, "Well, I think I can throw myself on that grenade...!"

"Terrific. The role usually goes to an older man, with some white in his beard. I was afraid we'd have to resort to bleaching to get you to look right, but look at you! You're way ahead of me! It's just that Santa beards are usually longer and fuller than that. I know that Amadan beards grow pretty quickly. Do you think you can grow it out another decimeter or so by, say, next week?"

"I suppose," I said, coolly. "Or, I could do it right now! BEHOLD!" I tensed up my entire body, and closed my eyes in concentration. With a grunt, my beard flowed down to the middle of my chest. I opened my eyes and grinned up at Ethel, whose mouth was agape.

"How did--?!"

It's a trick most Amadan guys have to learn," I explained. "The older we get, the faster our beards grow. A few years ago, I could grow a nice, full beard in a few days. The hair on my upper lip grew even faster than that. Nowadays, the whole shebang grows out at four times that rate. An Amadan man's only options at this age are to stop shaving altogether and let it grow out to its terminal length -- which is usually past his feet -- or to master the ancient art of Suspended Follicular Animation. Some planets have holy men who can slow down their heart rates by an incredible amount. Amadans like myself can do the same thing with their beard growth. That way, I can wear my beard in all sorts of styles without having to constantly trim it back. I'd been holding this beard in for a couple of weeks."

"It's amazing!" Ethel gasped. "With the squinting and grunting and everything, it's like you pooped it out of your face!"

"Hey! You don't have to put it like that."

"Sorry. You're the only Amadan I know. I guess I should be more sensitive to your culture."

"It's okay. Just think for a second before you say something about my facial hair... er, boss."

"Certainly. Oh, and you'll need an 'elf' to keep the crowd in line. So you'll be working alongside Gadfly Lad."

"Who?! Wait a minute--!" But she was already shoving me out the door.

"Too late!" she laughed. "You already agreed. Get back to work, 'Santa', while I make the rest of the arrangements."

Back at my desk, I wound up brooding so intently on our conversation that I dribbled about a liter of barbecue sauce all over my huge beard. The white hairs had a Teflon-like quality that made the sauce bead up and roll right off of them, but the brown hairs were a sticky mess. I set about dabbing up the sauce with the puny, one-ply napkin the barbecue joint had provided me.

Storm Boy strolled in, late again, and glowing with what I took to be the satisfaction of another round of lovemaking with his never-seen, so-called "boyfriend", Ox. His entire body looked to be coated in shellac, he was so shiny. His teeth were not merely white; they appeared to have been lit from within. He was drenched in cologne -- the vapors made the air around him shimmer, like a mirage. He made a beeline for my desk. I presume he wanted to brag. He stopped short when he saw me with my sauce-covered beard. His smile vanished.

"I hope you gave 'Ox' my regards," I offered.

He stared at me in mute disgust. Then, with a bitter edge in his sing-song voice, he said, "I swear, Blockade Boy, sometimes you can be perfectly appalling." He spun around on the heels of his shiny new boots.

As he walked away, I called after him, "Don't pretend you don't want some of this!" He stumbled, as though he'd been hit with a phaser rifle. Then he shook his head, and continued on his way.

Gosh, I hope he realizes I was referring to the barbecue sauce.

And here I am, now:

"KNEEL DOWN BEFORE SANTA, MORTAL FOOLS!"

(And don't worry, I'll get around to showing you Gadfly Lad's get-up sometime this week.)