A Future We'd Like to See 1.15 - Excitement, Danger and Intrigue By Twoflower (Copyright 1993) "John Smith, is it?" the secretary asked. She didn't look real happy about my arrival. In fact, she looked downright annoyed. After all, here was someone who actually wanted her to work. In a place of work, nevertheless. "Yes. I'm with the Spinner Broadcast System? You know, syndicated family entertainment, holomovie of the week, action, sports that sort of thing?" "Yeah. That's the channel which keeps showing those annoying breath mint commercials over and over again, right?" "Umm. Yeah. I have a three o'clock with Mr. McGuffin?" "Head right in, he's waiting for you." "Thanks," I said, tipping my press hat and grabbing my notepad. The doors looked a little on the ratty side, not quite what you'd expect on the office of Billy Bob McGuffin, head of the Not-So-Secret-Agent Corporation. I found out why as automatic blasters whirred around and locked onto me when I stepped through the door. "DIE, YOU COMMIE PINKO!" McGuffin shouted, as I was on my way down to the floor, with full intention of covering my head and screaming. The screaming didn't help much, as the blasterfire which took out the doorframe drowned out the noise. After a fifteen seconds of electric death being hurled in my direction, which added to the burn marks and holes I was wondering about in the foyer, it ran out of power. Not one to lose the moment, McGuffin had a knife to my throat and cigar smoke in my face less than a second later. "You're not subverting me, you--" "AHEM," the secretary said, tapping her foot on the burnt wreckage of the door. "Mr. McGuffin, this is your three o'clock, John Smith from the Spinner Broadcast System. NOT the red menace." "Hmm? Oh, sorry," he said, dropping me nonchalantly on the floor. "It's the eyes, see. Had 'em replaced after the Murflan revolution of '13. Work better than my old ones, 'cept for the red-colored filters. Whatddya need, Mr. Stick?" "Smith." "What's in a name?" McGuffin shrugged, tossing the knife out a window. "So, Smith, watcha need?" he continued, ignoring the faint scream from the ground below. "Well, I've been instructed by Mr. Spinner to follow one of your recruits around on a typical mission, and take notes for use in a made for HV movie." "Again? Didn't you boys send someone by to do that last week?" "The representative from SBS that went with Agent 5684 died in the line of duty," the secretary recited, tossing a file to McGuffin. "In other words, the representative stood in the line between a gun and Agent 5684. Fortunately, 5684 wasn't hurt." "Good thing, too," McGuffin said. "Our funeral costs are starting to reach the red. So, a typical mission?" "Err. Yes. As typical as it gets. A safe one, if possible," I added. "Well, Mr. Smith, you're in luck!" McGuffin said, chomping his cigar and pounding me on the back. I regained my balance and dignity, although it was difficult. "Got a perfect one for you. Yttian ambassador to some colony. 'is daughter was kidnapped by some terrorist organization, Chaos Inc. We're sending in one of our best men, Agent 7333 to get her out. Usual beat the baddies and save the girl thing. Will that do?" "Yes, very much. I do have one request, though." * "Geez, how can you MOVE in that thing?" the jeep driver asked, peering at me in his rearview mirror as we drove out to the shipyards. "Very carefully," I replied. I wasn't taking any chances. I had McGuffin issue me blaster-proof vests, sleeves, gauntlets, pants, boots, helmets, and underwear. The reason for the plural nouns is because I was wearing two layers of the material. "Alright, here we are," the driver said, pulling up to one of the hundreds of NSSAC shuttleships. "Everybody out. You'll meet your contact agent inside, who'll... is there a problem?" "I can't climb out," I said. "My knees don't bend." "Here, lemme give you a hand," the driver said, grabbing a sleeve or two and pulling. Still, the suit wouldn't squeeze out of the jeep door. I should have known better than to suit up while en route. "Here, please allow me," said a civilized, Harvard sort of voice, as the biggest, nastiest, freak of nature I had ever seen lumbered up to the jeep, knuckles barely touching the ground. He grabbed my head and yanked me out of the jeep as easily as remind an adult-proof cap on an aspirin bottle. "Gahh," I thanked him. "Please to meet you," the voice continued. I briefly wondered where it was coming for, before realizing to my horror and confusion it was from the giant. "My name is Patrick Winchester the Third. But you may call me Agent 7333. I understand I am to have you accompany me on my most recent assignment, and observe my workings therein?" "Yeah," I said. There wasn't much else to say, on the whole. "Excellent!" 7333 said, shaking my hand. I definitely heard and felt a few bones crunch. "I shall look forward to your company during this dull journey. It is so nice to have someone to discuss the finer things in life with." * "...so after I was fired from my job as a lawyer, I earned a degree in accountancy," 7333 explained, from the seat he was wedged into in front of the shuttleship's control panels. "Unfortunately, I didn't have the right stuff to be an accountant. I lacked the correct whimper, the balding head, the glasses and the snappy wardrobe. I'm afraid that I also scared my employer a great deal when I had to throw a co-worker that was making advances on a married woman down the staircase and through a window on the sixteenth story. So, he recommended I take a job where the my excellent skills at fighting would be more appropriate." "Namely?" I asked, scribbling notes madly. "Why, a Not-So-Secret-Agent, of course. I must admit, I am not entirely happy with my career here. Bashing skulls, swinging from light fixtures and mowing down archvillains with chain guns is very boring work indeed, and somewhat depressing. I'm considering moving onward into financing or real estate." This wasn't working out very well. People come to expect certain things from action movies, even made-for-HV action movies. They want a heroic, musclebound, undertalkative hero that bursts dramatically through doors and mows down the bad guys, saving the girl and escaping in the nick of time. 7333 was musclebound, sure, but talked a bit too much and didn't have the expected attitude at all. Well, it probably wasn't that much of a problem. SBS has taken real-life stories and dramatized them more often that once, we'd just have to do the same here. I scratched out my notes, and restarted, writing down all the information I had gotten so far that fit the appropriate stereotype, then filling in the blanks where the inappropriate material was normally. "Ah, we've reached the asteroid base where the Ambassador's daughter is being held against her will. We'll be entering the air shield around it momentarily, so I suggest you buckle-- WHAM! The ship jerked violently as it entered the forcefield. "Are you alright back there, old chap?" "Yeah. I landed on about three layers of body armor." "Righty o. Landing now. Would you like to tag along with me as I infiltrate the enemy compound? I promise no harm will come to you." "It's my job," I shrugged (or tried to, considering the armor). "Lead on." * Now this was a bit more like it. Crouched in the bushes under cover of the perpetual night of space, ready to leap out and thwart the two door guards preventing entrance! However, as I was busy trying to crouch down in my suit, 7333 was already pushing through the bushes, just WALKING towards the guards. No running, no drawing out the blaster and rolling around on the ground, just a steady trot. "Hello!" he greeted, waving to the two goons at the gate. They waved back. "I'm afraid I've been sent here to reclaim a certain ambassador's daughter. Mind if I step inside and take a look around?" "Sorry, but as the great modern philosopher U'iil states in the Scrolls of Wonder and Delight, 'He who denies duty denies one's soul'," the first goon replied. "As it is our duty to guard this gate, I'm afraid we really shouldn't let you inside." "Ah, but didn't Confaristan state that 'The man that works for the forces of evil lets that evil seep into his very soul'?" "You forget J'kky's 'Yttian Psycho', in which he discusses good and evil and the relative viewpoints," the second goon interjected. "From your point of view, you are working for the side of good. However, to us, the tables are turned, and we are the good ones." "Now now," laughed 7333, "I've been more than reasonable. Please, friends, let us not resort to violence! Sure, I could slam a backfist into your friend here and throw you through the air, neatly impacting with the sturdy metal construction of this building, but I'm sure it wouldn't be an enjoyable experience for any of us." "Nevertheless, we can't let you by. I'm sorry, really. Is it of vital importance that you enter? I could arrange for the tour, or possibly a guest pass of some kind." "Could you? It would make my job so much easier," 7333 thanked. "Surely. I'll just call up to the control room. One moment please," the first goon said, pulling out a CB. "Hello, control? We've got what appears to be a Not-So-Secret-Agent down here who would appreciate a guest pass to enter the compound. Hmm? You don't say. Well, I don't think he'll be very happy to hear that. Well, thank you anyway. Oh, and give Sarah my love. Bye." The goon put down the transceiver. "I'm sorry, but we've been ordered to pummel you. You understand, it's a job thing." "Yes. I suppose it was silly for me to try to get in via a pass anyway. Imagine that! The hero walking around the enemy compound with a guest pass!" The three gave a hearty laugh, giving each other playful jabs to the shoulder. "So, should we begin?" "I'm game. Any rules before we start?" "Well, I'd like to request no punches to my abdomen," the second goon suggested. "I just had surgery." "Oh dear. Are you alright?" "Oh yes, it's healing up nicely, thank you." "And you?" "Hmm?" the first goon hummed. "Oh, me? No, I'm fine. No hits below the belt, if you would, I've got to deliver a presentation on warp engine dynamics tomorrow at the U." "Alright. On the count of three?" "Sounds fair. Should I count?" "Don't see why not." "One, two, three." 7333 executed a smooth ducking roundhouse kick, knocking the two goons to the ground. He picked up the second goon and drop kicked him into a nearby rock, and delivered a painful blow to the other goon's leg, snapping it in half. "Oh, I'm sorry. You had requested no hits below the belt. Are you okay?" "I'm fine. It was a clean break. You're quite good, I must admit." "Should I ring for medical help?" "No, I think the guards will be by soon. Don't let me stop you. Have fun storming the compound." "Thank you," 7333 said. "Coming, Mr. Smith?" "But... but..." I stammered, more or less in confusion. "You... TALKED to them. Chatted. Conversed. BARGAINED. This isn't right at all, you're supposed to sneak up and blindly attack the goons without fear of your life or limb." "Who's he?" the injured goon asked. "He's with SBS, it seems." "The channel with all those annoying mint ads?" "My point is that this is all wrong!" I continued, ignoring the goon. "I thought I was on a typical mission." "My dear Smith, you must keep an open mind about such things!" laughed 7333. "After all, some people are more civilized than your normal brain-bashing psychotic." "Millions and millions of viewers will be watching this, though," I protested. "They're not gonna have open minds. People want HV a certain way." "If you cannot accept reality, you ought to just go wait by the shuttle," 7333 sighed. "Oh no," I taunted. "I'm not leaving THAT easily. I've got a job to do, and even if it means turning in a plot where the lead hero has tea with the supervillain or something silly like that, I'm gonna do it!" * "More tea?" the supervillain asked. "Surely," accepted 7333. "One lump or two." "Shouldn't you be pounding a few lumps into this guy?" I suggested, trying to steer the weirdness of tonight's excursion to more suitable levels. "You'll have to excuse Mr. Smith here," 7333 laughed. "He seems to think that every villain fits the accepted role of maniacal dictator." The villain didn't fit it at all, in fact. He was a short, nebbishy little man that twitched a lot and whined about his inner child and how he felt about things. "I really feel this is nice, those guys from the colony sending out a real NSSA to get Candy back," the villain squeaked in that annoying, high pitched voice of his. "It's a good touch. It makes me feel more wanted, like I mean something." "You do realize I'll have to take her back," 7333 reminded, stirring his tea. "Well, I dunno," the villain twitched. "I mean, that guy who runs the place wasn't real nice to me. He reminded me of my Dad, who used to call me a bad boy and... well... my therapist says I should be honest. He did..." Unprintable material "...with the horse." "Not a particularly sociable fellow, was he?" "No, not very nice at all." "Well, thank you for the tea and conversation," 7333 said, setting down his cup on the saucer. "I'm afraid I have to knock you out now and dodge your deathtraps to rescue the girl." "I understand." "Thank you," 7333 thanked, and then belted him a nasty knock across the jaw. The villain was out like a light. "No duel to the death?" "Come along, Mr. Smith. We do have those traps to deal with." * Now THIS was more like it! Whirling knives! Trick floor panels! Poison darts! Shock fields! There was even a piranha tank at the end of the hallway. This fit reality as I knew it much better. 7333 frowned at the traps, and turned them off with a handy switch on the wall. "WHAT?" I yelled. "Is something wrong?" "You... you turned them off?" "Well, it wouldn't be very easy to cross with them ON, would it?" "But you're supposed to do it that way. You know, whip- slinging and such." "Please, we have little time left," 7333 beckoned. "If she's not home in thirty minutes, our client's next rescue is free. Ah, here's the door to the broom closet. Candy must be tied up in there." Please, please, please let candy be a shapely blond with round breasts and a short dress that has to be saved from evil, I begged the gods of drama. 7333 opened the door, and the mammoth green figure that fell out and crushed me underneath didn't look very shapely at all. Well, maybe if the shape you were comparing her to was a brick wall. "Are you alright?" "Murph," I mumbled, gasping for air under the goliath of an ambassador's daughter. "Sorry," she growled in a cro-magnon voice, climbing to her feet. "You not hurt?" "I had my armor on," I reminded them. "Who are you?" "Me Candy. Who you?" She didn't look like Candy, unless it was those hard brown things that tasted terrible when actually chewed on. She was built like a brick wall with green fur, with round, firm... biceps. "Hello, I'm from the Not-So-Secret-Agent Corporation," 7333 said, bowing and kissing her hand. "I've been sent to take you home. Shall we?" Candy grunted, and lumbered off down the hall after us. The alarm sounded. No, not a normal alarm either, this one was merely a soft female voice repeating "Warning. Warning." over and over again. "That's our cue to leave," 7333 said, walking on after Candy, with me in tow. Two goons jumped out from either side of the hall, but didn't get very far as Candy grabbed one head in each hand and squeezed. Ugh. "I hope the janitor is on duty," 7333 pondered. * I had to fly back to base with these two freaks of nature in tow. One musclebound and educated, the other musclebound and ignorant. The pairing was unusual, but there was still hope for a romantic ending. All hopes were dashed when Candy took offense to 7333's clothing sense and decided not to talk to anyone for the remainder of the voyage. Alright, I reasoned, as I was peeled out of my armor and put on a ship back to HollyWorld, I can still make some sort of plot out of this. Maybe a comedy. No, too absurd. I could always just write it as it happened, even with the chats, the tea, and the behemoth damsel in distress. Reality based HoloVision... a new concept, surely. It was possible. It might work. Maybe I should. Maybe. Naah. * COMING UP THIS MONTH ON SBS! Danger! Intrigue! Romance! A universe gone mad, where crack agent 3337 of the Not-So-Secret-Agent risks life and limb in a daring rescue of a helpless, captive supermodel -- the president's wife! See the action this month on SBS! Stay tuned for Beverly Hills, 90210 : The Retirement Home Years, a stunning and informative documentary series about debauchery and betrayal by senior citizens in spandex. SBS - Your HV Network of Choice for all the shows that are fit to watch.