Tales of the Parodyverse

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J. Jonah Jerkson is slowly catching up.
Tue Mar 07, 2006 at 11:10:20 pm EST
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The Baroness, Part 42
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The Baroness, Part 42



Slosh, splosh, splush echoed down the tunnel as Sally Rezilyant attempted to keep up with Elizabeth Zemo. "Hey, wait up," she burbled.

"That little act we put on for Exemplary won't hold them off much longer," her employer warned.

"Little ACT? You sneaked up behind me in that gay Citizen Z rig, zapped me with that sonic disrupter, knocked me out, dunked me in acetone, vibrated me into soup, and go telling those SPUD nut cases that you wanted to do it to me anyway - some act! What about all those computer doubles you were bragging about? At the least, you could have given me some warning!"

"What's my last name, Sally? Zemo. We're genetically prone to double-crossing. I couldn't help myself."

"So you betrayed me and double-crossed Exemplary. It must have given you quite a rush," Sally riposted. "'I dissolved her,' you said. All you did was to give me the biggest case of bloat in history." Indeed, Silicone Sally looked like the Michelin tire man, puffed up to the size of a small Godzilla.

"They fell for it, didn't they?" Elizabeth preened. "Acetone doesn't dissolve silicone rubber, it just expands it."

"Yes, but I'm eight times my original size! I'm over ten feet tall! I'm the consistency of mush! I dissolve nail polish at twenty yards! I weigh - don't ask me what I weigh, whatever you do. I'M UGLY! And I was supposed to spend tonight with Lance."

"Forget about Lance. They branded him. And Raheem, and Randy, and Lars, and Washington and. . . who else?"

"You left out Tony."

"They didn't brand him - but your Italian Stallion's back in Leavenworth."

"Damn. And I sure can't sneak in like this."

"I've got an extractor in the alternate castle, so let's get moving, Sally. Unless you want to spend the rest of your life in a glass tank at OPS headquarters."

"I can't even roll down the tunnel like this. And I keep getting out of breath. Can't you just teleport us there?"

"ITC's compromised and teleport frequencies are monitored, Sally. So stop whining and get going. We're almost to the Volkswagen anyway."

"A Volkswagen? How the hell am I going to fit inside a Volkswagen?"

"Be thankful I'm German. I could have chosen a Mini Cooper."

Meanwhile, Baron Ottokar Zemo's taxicab pulled up to the black, grim porte cochere of Schloss Schreckhausen, at the peak of Parodiopolis' posh Pierce Heights. The driver was impatient. "Look, Mac, if you don't come back with my fare in one minute, there's going to be hell to pay. I don't work on credit."

"Hmmph," the Baron sneered. "My granddaughter's staff will take care of your fare. Wait here." He alighted from the cab and stood in front of the blackened brass doors, waiting for them to open.

"Hey mac, get moving!"

"Silence! I am waiting for our butler!"

"Butler yourself in, or I get my crowbar!"

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me, weasel-face!"

Baron Otto turned away disdainfully but nevertheless reached for the bell pull. For the first time in memory, the incomparable Franz had failed to open the door precisely at the moment of his master's arrival. Ordinarily such incompetence would merit at least an evening on the rack, combined with a severe harrowing, but these were perilous times, not suited to such leisurely corrections. A quick zap with a cattle prod might be all there was time for.

Annoyed, the Baron finally pulled the latch himself and entered the dank, stygian front hall. The smells of gunpowder, laser scorches and overheated machine oil floated to his attention. There had been a pitched battle here, and what remained was the scent of defeat.

Suddenly, lights flared and the Baron found himself confronted by an even more sinister presence, clad in 19th century finery topped off by a billowing black opera cape lined in crimson silk.

A sepulchral voice intoned, "Zemo. Back from New Orleans, I see, without your prey. Bad luck, Ottokar, if you can’t even nab a shrike.”

“I don’t answer to the undead, Hertzog, especially you,” the Baron sneered back.

The Count’s reply was cut off by the entrance of the taxi driver, brandishing a tire iron. “The staff’s going to pay me, huh? This place is a wreck. What were you going to do, you old fart, hand me this broken vase for my fare? Pay up now, or you get another ride – in an ambulance.”

“Excuse me, Werner. This rowdy lacks respect.”

“Who’s Werner? I don’t see no Werner here. Is he another one of your f****in’ imanginary staff? Let’s see your wallet!”

“Shall I?” Graf Hertzog’s bass voice rumbled through the room. Moments later his face, death white, with fiery eyes and jutting fangs, materialized in front of the angry cabbie.

Clang! The tire iron fell to the floor.

“Urk.” The cabbie almost instantly assumed the ashen pallor of the vampire confronting him.

“Yum.” Belladonna Rouge floated into the room and escorted the trembling driver to the small dining room.

“Thank you,” Baron Otto grudgingly said. “But you have no right to be here. Certainly none of us invited you into our Schloss. Leave.”

“It’s not your castle anymore, Zemo,” Graf Hertzog sneered. “It’s been confiscated by– I’m sorry – forfeited to SPUD, as proceeds of illegal metahuman activity. Your granddaughter’s life was also forfeited – even before SPUD got here.”

The Baron paused for a moment.

“Mourning your only granddaughter, Otto? Not like you at all.”

“Just . . . considering.”

“Well then, I have just the thing for you. Some work to get your mind off your personal concerns. You will assist me in eliminating all the unhealthy elements in the occult community – just like you were doing in the War.”

“And since when do the unalive truckle to the undead? You have no hold on me, Hertzog, and you well know I have only a sentimental attachment to this castle.”

“Ah, but I do, my old rival. Witness this.” With a flourish, the aged vampire withdrew a small box from his pocket, and cracked the lid. A puff of oily dark smoke emerged for a moment, and then a keening sound emerged, causing both men to flinch. Graf Hertzog clicked the lid shut almost instantly.

“Pure necromantium, Zemo. The Parody Master’s gift to me. A pinch of this and a hair from your head in a pentagram and you become my mindless slave. The unalive kissing the boots of the undead.”

“How lucky for me that I am bald,” the Baron spat.

“Anything else from you will do, Otto. For all you know I have already found the right artifact to bend you to my will.”

“But you haven’t.”

“Join me and stay loyal, and you will never have to find out. And the Parody Master is a most generous sovereign. Fail me, and lose your free will for eternity.”

“Put like that, I have but one choice.”

The boulevard leading to the Englehart Bridge was one long traffic jam this evening.

“Since when is there a traffic jam here at this time of night?” Silicone Sally’s voice was somewhat muffled by the fact that she was taking up the entire back seat and trunk of the Volkswagen Beetle she and Elizabeth were riding in, and was still squashed.

“The radio traffic report said ‘normal conditions,’ Sally.”

“Well, while we’re stuck, let me tell you what that Armbruster dick found out about your grandfather.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Here it is: “I surveilled a guy in a gray coat who was about Baron Ottokar Zemo’s size. He went to the bank. Then he went to an office building in Gothametropolis York. Then he went to a house somewhere in Mosman Park. I’m not sure where, because I lost him. Then I ran out of cash to pay for more gas, so I walked home. I need more than $250 a day’ – oops.”

“I’m paying that cretin $500 a day, aren’t I?” The Baroness’ voice had become icy.

“Well, yes.”

“And you decided to skim half for yourself?”

“Well, he clearly didn’t rate $500 a day.”

“You’re learning too fast, Sally.”

Further discussion was quelled by the sight of what had caused the traffic jam – an OPS roadblock at the approach to the bridge, manned by a squad and two Sentinoids.

“We’re trapped! I’m filling up the whole back end and you’re in a purple goofball suit!” Sally squealed.

“Shut up and let me handle this,” Elizabeth replied. She flicked a hidden switch and the Zemo camouflage field activated, screening Sally and making the Baroness look like a middle-aged waitress returning home after a long shift.

Several minutes later, the tiny Volkswagen reached the checkpoint.

Handing over a fake license and registration, Elizabeth played her part. “Here they are, cop. Just let me get home.”

“And where are you coming from, Miss Tuttle?”

“An eight-hour shift at the Bean and Donut back at Parody Plaza.”

“They have good coffee there. I like the crullers, too. Go ahead.”

The Volkswagen sped off, heading for the bridge.

“Hey, isn’t that Beetle riding awfully low for one person?” asked an observant corporal.

“Nah,” said the sergeant. “She’s probably been eating a few of those crullers.”

Playing the part of Elizabeth Zemo

J. JONAH JERKSON
Voice of the People


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