TO THE KRYPTONIAN BARRICADES

CONTINUED FROM THE UNKNOWN PLOT

EPIS REKINDLED INDEX

 

MAIN EPI INDEX

 

By Jo

 

(NOTE: This is going to be a more stand-alone epi in that though it takes up where The Unknown Plot left off, for the

first and only time only a mere, um, 20 Russell characters will be in it, not all of them, as well as a brief awayness from

the presence of any wimmenfolk.  This one is just too complicated what with all the creations made for it and so even

though it is written in the full spirit of epidom, it is its own thing.  I didn't necessarily intend it to be from its first

inceptive thoughts, but as the creations multiplied, I find that to be necessary for this particular section.  Therefore, it

is also not necessary to have read any other epis in order to get into this one, though, of course, one really, truly should

have for one's own benefit.  Ahem! )

 

PART 1: Transmogrification Required

 

 

There is little more inevitable than inevitability.  Those had been the last words scribed at

the end of The Unknown Plot.  All John Brennan had ever known of Pittsburgh had faded

around him and 19 of his fellows.  And what would be the first words of the new storyline?

It was...inevitable.  There is little more inevitable than inevitability.  Yes, it bore repeating and

so was inevitably repeated.

 

It began with a vortex in the blue, a vortex comprised entirely of birds.  None of the men saw

the birds as they traveled, but there was something within the vortex that saw them, indeed

observed them most carefully.

 

 

Catchoy, the greatest criminal mind ever known in the long and ancient history of Krypton,

was mentally prowling the universe, looking for someone who could destroy the hated El

family.  His eyes settled upon a certain individual, an individual with endless possibilities, and

so he appeared in the room with him, watching.

 

 

"Captain?"

 

There was no answer.  Captain Jack Tiberius Kaubrey was too busily suffering over the loss

of not only the entire Neutral Zone but three of the four known quadrants of space.

 

Catchoy studied Chief Science Officer Sick.  He not only had a great mind but he was no mere earthling.  No, he was a NanoCan, superior in every way to those around him.

 

Sick spread his long fingers, touching Kaubrey's neck.  "Forget," he intoned deeply, "forget."

Then Sick went to play chess.

 

 

The annoying ship's doctor, Wendell WhiteBones, interrupted him just as he was beating

himself for the third time.

 

"Sick," WhiteBones said, his voice low, serious, "where shall we go now that nearly everything

is gone?"

 

Sick turned from his game, giving WhiteBones a long, level look. "The plot is not gone. We

should go there."

 

WhiteBones straightened, a rather aghast expression forming on his face. "You don't mean...

you can't..."

 

"But I do, Doctor.  The Unknown Plot has become known and we have been sucked into its

relentless clutches.  There is no way out or back but only through."

 

WhiteBones literally staggered at the thought.  "It...it was horrible.  You know that, Sick.  It

was indescribably horrible even when there was no plot.  Now you are suggesting we head directly into one.  You know, you must know, what that..."

 

Sick stood.  "It is inevitable, Doctor, and this one thing above all others I learned at the

NanoCan Academy: nothing is more inevitable than inevitability."

 

"But, Sick, you never attended...you chose..."

 

 

"Doctor," Sick said, crossing the room in a few long strides, "I suggest you speak no further

of this.  We have encountered a plot and to the plot we will go."  Releasing WhiteBones from

the grip around his throat, Sick headed to his personal quarters where he calmed himself by

a liberal application of PonFarr Cologne.  Then he looked at the bottle cap, frowning. It

reminded him of a black hat he'd once seen on a member of their security team.

 

 

Catchoy was pleased. Yes, Sick had the potential to become all he required. Sick. The name

was a good one but would eventually have to be changed.

 

 

Meanwhile, standing with his pet on the shores of the great Kryptonian underground sea,

Jor-El regarded the ancient ruins from the BeforeTime.  Often he came here, his scientific mind

drawn by the half-buried statue, wondering what beings might have shaped it, what its significance could be.

 

 

(NOTE: the more you know the movies and programs I'm riffing on here, the better it is. For instance, in the scene from the original Planet of

the Apes above, the pet is Woola of Barsoom, John Carter's pet.)

 

Jor-El sighed, no inspiration coming to him. Ah, well, he'd discuss it with his brothers, Ben-El

and Biebe-El over dinner tonight.

 

 

 

The Captain was feeling better now that he'd completely forgotten the Neutral Zone and three

of the four quadrants had ever existed.  That is, he was feeling better until Sick told him they

had been sucked into the depths of a plot.

 

 

"No," he said, leaning back against a table, shaking his head slowly, "no.  It can't be."

 

"I assure you, Captain, it not only can but is."

 

"But...but...there's never been a plot, not ever, not in the whole last decade." (NOTE: Epilife

started in the spring of 2002.)

 

"Be that as it may, Captain, there is one now and we are in it."

 

"Now? You...you are saying that...now...we are in the midst of...of...a plot?  Why was I not

informed?"

 

"You were suffering when the plot began," Sick shrugged. 

 

"Where are we?" the Captain asked in an attempt to be stoic even though he was not Roman.

 

"We would appear to be in orbit around a white planet with a large dome."

 

"Dome?"

 

"Yes, Captain, and I suggest we beam down the doctor and the security guard with the hat

shaped like the top of my cologne." 

 

"WhiteBones and Ensign Javert?"

 

"Yes, a most imminently expendable landing party."

 

And so it was the good doctor and the red-shirted ensign soon found themselves walking across

the surface of Krypton.

 

 

"I don't like this," Javert grumbled. "Not at all."

 

"You don't like this planet?" WhiteBones asked.

 

"The red shirt.  I don't like the red shirt.  Couldn't I have worn something...anything...else?"

 

"You are only saying this, Javert, because it's always the guy in the red shirt who gets killed."

 

Javert pressed his lips into a thin line, thinking of his fellow security men.  It amazed him that

any of them were left.

 

 

"Why me?" he asked. "Why?"

 

"It may have something to do with the Seine," WhiteBones sighed.  "There is a Sertain

Synchronisity between Sinister Seinely Suicide and Starfleet Security Susceptibility.

(NOTE: My thanks to 'Cat' for that S-ish phrase.)

 

 

Jeffdalf the White closed his eyes, smiling to himself.  It was time.

 

 

"Jor-El," he said, seeking out the great warrior scientist, "I come to you at the turning of

the tide."

 

"This is Krypton, Jeffdalf.  We have no tides."

 

"Nonetheless, I have come for the tides of the affairs of men are turning."

 

"For good or ill?"

 

"I fear great foulitudiness is afoot.  I have sensed Catchoy's pleasure and that can only mean

his search is over."

 

"You believe Catchoy has found...him?"

 

"Indeed, that is my belief."

 

Jor-El turned to the man standing beside him.  "You heard?"

 

 

Himself had been wondering just where he would fit into this plot.  "How may I be of service?"

he asked maximally.

 

"You may not like it," Jor-El sighed heavily, "for it involves great transmogrification on your

part."

 

"How, um, great?"

 

"Greater than that from Hando into Arthur."

 

"This is what the plot asks of me?"

 

Jor-El nodded.  "You look too much like me, like Ensign Javert.  It requires you have, um,

somewhat of a greater difference to your appearance so that no mistake may be made as to

your identity."

 

"You mean I don't get to be Russ-El?"

 

"Too simple.  There is nothing simple about this plot."

 

"I've begun to be aware of that."

 

"Most unfortunate," Jor-El sighed again.

 

Together, with Jeffdalf the White watching from a distance, the two men went outside.  "The

dome," Jor-El said, a move of his hand indicating the smooth white half-sphere that dominated

the background of the page as well as the Kryptonian skyline.

 

Himself licked his lower lip.  "What of the dome?"

 

"You must go within."

 

"And...transmogrify?"

 

Jor-El nodded.  "Only there may you become the great hero who can save Krypton from

total annihilation, not to mention great unpleasantness."

 

"Krypton has a great hero?"  He looked intently at the dome then back at Jor-El.

 

 

"Indeed, but he can only come to us when a brave and willing heart enters the dome...alone."

 

Even though Himself had never been painted half blue and half white, he knew he had a

brave heart.  Hadn't he survived filming in Pittsburgh? Wasn't he soon to go to Iceland?

Hadn't he a full ten years of epis under his belt?

 

"Alone?  Why alone?"

 

"No one, well, no one living anyway, has ever witnessed the transmogrification process.  It

must be done alone so there is no, um, collateral damage."

 

"It...hurts?"

 

"No one knows."

 

"Will...will I still know I'm me?  I mean...after...will I know?"

 

"It is very possible."

 

"Possible?"

 

"Our hero has not come for generations, Himself.  We have not needed a great leader to

exhort us to the barricades in our fight for truth, justice, and the Kryptonian way."

 

Jeffdalf came up.  "We must hurry.  There's not a moment to lose."

 

Himself looked at him, the line sounding rather familiar. "Is...is there any...some...preparation

I must do first?"

 

"You have a will?"

 

He nodded, not greatly encouraged. 

 

Jeffdalf waved his staff and Himself disappeared.  "When the dome opens, we shall know if he

has survived the transmogrification."

 

"So let it be written; so let it be done."  Jor-El said that, knowing full well there were no

pharaohs in the plot.

 

 

ON TO PART 2

 

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