"No fair! No fair!" Gel Sadra stomped down the corridor of her base, the
very set of her shoulders announcing to the world that she was in a mood
familiar to (and dreaded by) every parent who has survived five years of
the job. "It's just NOT FAIR!"
The average Galactor goon has an exceedingly low intelligence quotient,
"general intelligence factor," capability to respond at a meaningful
level to assorted stimuli, or any other measure one wishes to take.
Otherwise, they'd never be *in* Galactor, would they? The standard joke
at the top echelon was that they were recruited from Planet Spango; of
course, knowing Sosai X's capabilities, that might even be true.
Nevertheless, even among them, the Darwin-Wallace principles of natural
selection are still in existence. Those that have survived as long as
they have have done so, in part, because of their ability to pass and
react to certain messages.
For instance: "Gel Sadra-sama's pissed. Get the hell out of the way!"
"WHYYY?!" she shrieked as she stormed into a room which had been hastily
vacated moments before. Since there were no handy people about, she threw
a chair against the wall. It hit with a satisfying crash. "WHY DO WE
ALWAYS LOSE? WHY WHY WHY WHY WHYYYYYYYY?!!!!!!" She threw another chair.
The top came off.
"Oops," she muttered quietly, looking around to see if anybody'd seen.
Sosai-sama hated for her to damage their property.
*
Five minutes later, the seat/back unit had been reattached to the leg.
Sort of.
She hoped nobody sat in it until it had been long enough that they
couldn't say it was her fault.
Sadra was still in a bad mood, of course, but at least she was no longer
about to break things or people. She decided to look in on the computer
room. The guys there were smart, and they knew how to sympathize with
her.
When she opened the door, it was empty except for one technician, who
was yelling at his computer. Wow. She didn't think people could even do
some of the things he wanted some unnamed guys to do, and he was using
some words she'd never heard before, even from the computer people. She
took mental notes.
When he had quieted down, she walked up to it. "What is it, Satoh-kun?"
"Another of these!" Satoh-kun declaimed, pointing grandly at his
computer screen. "That's the fifteenth time in as many minutes!"
Sadra peered over his shoulder. "That's one of mine," she said proudly.
Satoh-kun had a weird expression on his face, like Tomas when he ate the
junebug.
Wait a moment. Who was Tomas, and why on earth would he eat a junebug?
Sadra put the question aside to worry about later.
*
"Ah, Sadra-sama," Satoh said carefully, "this is a wonderful way to
paralyze the enemy."
His oversized commander seemed to perk up another foot at the praise.
"But," he added nervously, "it might be a good idea to make it so it
doesn't hurt us."
There was a pause. Then the blonde beamed. "Yes, it would be, wouldn't
it?"
Satoh breathed a sigh of relief.
"Work on it," she ordered as she left.
Satoh's forehead burst out in sweat. He wasn't *that* good a programmer.
He could get rid of most unwanted advertising by banning the usual
suspects, and he could set up protections to ward off nearly all virids,
but that was the extent of his talent. For something like what Sadra-sama
was suggesting, you'd need a master-level hacker.
Fortunately, he knew where to find one.
He'd back three of the women who posted to one of his newsgroups against
any computer or system in the world, and had every intention of passing
the problem on to them.
Not that he'd tell Sadra-sama, of course.
Sadra-sama reacted badly to the mention of *any* woman with more brain
than a guppy.
He began composing his message to
alt.fan.sex.gerbils.slash.wax.duct-tape.molasses.caltrop.washuu-sensei.
*
Gel Sadra winced as Sosai-sama finished raking her over the coals. Not
only was he incensed at how easily the Kagaku Ninjatai had destroyed
their latest mecha -- which HE had designed, although she knew better
than to point out that little detail -- he was disgusted at her failure
to bring back any of the scientist ladies he wanted to work for them.
Once she was out of his sight and away from there, she threw another
tantrum. It was not, not, NOT fair for him to blame her for problems that
were all *his* fault, anyway. She tried. She tried! She wished
Gatchaman's head would explode. Now THAT would be something to see.
Now the scientist ladies -- at least that was genuinely her fault. She
hated those scoldings, but she endured them. They were, after all, better
than the alternative.
She'd bring Sosai-sama all the scientist men he wanted. But no scientist
ladies. She wouldn't let any scientist ladies NEAR him.
For if he had *real* smart ladies, he wouldn't need her, Gel Sadra,
anymore. After all, she wasn't really a Smart Grown-Up Lady, not like...
like... well, anyway, she wasn't. She was just a pale imitation, with her
silly computer, and her silly mask. If Sosai-sama ever got to observe the
real ones, whether they were scientist ladies, or doctor ladies, or
attorney ladies, or whatever, he'd be sure to like one of them better
than her. And then he'd make that lady his special leader and confidant
and tell *her* all his plans, and make *her* the ruler of the world, and
give *her* all the goodies. And Sadra would be... she would be... well,
she wouldn't be anywhere. Because she didn't have anywhere to go.
*
"Ooh, Oneechan, you're checking *that* group again, aren't you? Aren't
you?"
"Jinnnnpeiiiii..." Jun gritted. "I've told you and told you, it's a
group for people who like anime and computers and can do lots of stuff
with them."
"Ah, yes," the great Tsubakuro no Jinpei-sama said, "but what *kind* of
stuff?"
Jun turned her head to look at her little brother. "Jinpei, you want to
die, don't you?"
"No...." Jinpei said. But teasing Oneechan was fun. "I still think I
ought to tell Aniki the name of your group. He's always looking for ninja
tips about where to hide where *nobody* will ever suspect..."
"*Don't you dare.*"
"But it is a wonderful disguise, isn't it?" Jinpei asked with the
innocent tone he had long since perfected.
Jun sighed. "All right, what do you want now?"
"I want to be on the computer so I can challenge my friends to Quake.
The great Tsubakuro no Jinpei-sama can never be beaten!"
Jun rolled her eyes. "When I finish with this group, okay?"
"Yatta!" Jinpei cheered, hopping up and down. Then a thought occured to
him. "This is the one you check last, isn't it?"
"Yup."
"But, oNEEchan..."
"Now *this* is interesting," Jun mused.
"What is it?" Jinpei asked instantly. "Whatwhatwhat?"
"A request to come up with a particular kind of defensive program. You
know, recently the ISO's been having the same kind of problem this guy
wants the program for..."
"So if you made it and gave it to them, they'd probably be pretty
grateful."
"Right. They might even give us a bonus."
"What sort of a bonus, Oneechan?"
"Well, it's been a pretty annoying problem; probably anything we want,
within reason."
"Anything we want... like maybe a pet seal!?"
"I *said*, 'within reason.'"
*
Gel Sadra was finally feeling better.
The fact that she had spent the past hour royally trashing someone who
called himself 'Tsubakuro' in a semi-anonymous over-the-Net game of Quake
might have had a little to do with it. Just a little.
Now she had called up her e.mail program and begun. The latest step in
her wonderful, marvelous, brilliant plan to distract and immobilize the
ISO, governments, and other people so they couldn't even notice the Solar
Shift Plan, much less deal with it.
'To: selected-members@iso.org,'
Really, shouldn't that be is.org? Sadra thought about it for a moment,
and then continued typing her long lists of people in the 'to' and 'cc'
fields.
'..., 2p@umich.edu, tezukanokami@manga.or.jp, mizuno231@tsuushin.co.jp,
billybob@aol.com, cygnulight@tangle.org, mihokiyo@tsuushin.co.jp,
Oowashi.Ken@aol.com, bill@bandai.co.jp, Invader.Oni@aohell.com,
monkey@capsule.com, Dick.Saucer@bishonen.com, amellia@sailoon.go.sl'
There. Finished.
Now it needed a name. Every good project should have a name, so that it
could go down in history and people would remember it forever.
AHA! This was the perfect name. Just perfect.
'Subject: Good Times'