Watching The Stars
A few of you may know that I keep another "Faster Than Light " Journal for my Frederich Malcom Vaughn "Von" Schreeck alter ego. For those of you who would like to see the supplemental side-story I've been occasionally going on about, here are the relevant entries from that journal.
Every iceberg is afire.
Recreation Deck 5:
Not that I like to recall those dark days before my escape into this vibration but for those curious, the prison barge I was on resembled nothing so much as a typewriter element from your 1960s.
The "Klaus" was a semi-sphere of very heavy armor and 700 prison cells for each plate along the surface.
There was a work level the size of a large city capping one end of the ship where prisoners worked rotating 14 hour days in the fuel mines under the ever-watchful eyes of the turtle-like soldiers we called the Hell Guard.
If the artificial sun at the core of the barge unexpectedly went dwarf or nova, each prison tower would jettison outward into the unknown. What was to happen to the Hell Guard and their city was not something anyone ever told me anything about but I'm sure they had their own, likely superior evacuation plan.
Occasionally (probably more than any of us liked to think about) prisoners were forgotten in their cells. Depending on their proximity to the core or the surface of the "Klaus" these unfortunate souls were doomed to starve, or burn, or freeze to death in their own tiny, dark box of horrors.
As you can imagine, I'm downright thrilled to be singing Gary Numan songs and watching Electric Six videos in the basement of the Catch-One Entertainment Class Cruiser instead!
Sometimes, though, my thoughts return to those terrible years on the "Klaus" and I find myself throwing back several cocktails too many.
It's getting easier every day, though.
Love is a powerful thing.
One eye open.
Pressure Chamber X11 (just hanging out):
Occasionally I ponder the possibility of the stray beam of joyful energy, which tore my prison universe briefly asunder, having left behind a trace of its passing and, if so, whether this stain is traceable.
Could the wound be reopened? Could they, come here?
Which is to say, though I sincerely doubt my crimes would warrant such thorough pursuance, I still find myself feeling a tad restless on a fairly regular basis.
The "Catch-1" is a formidable fortress and I DO feel safe and cozy.
But.
I like to stay on the move. Keep to myself mostly.
Just in case Hell's around the corner.
I need a drink.
Forbidden Technology
Undisclosed Intervention Room (detained for questioning):
I made the blood offer and dropped my coin; pulled shut the privacy curtain.
The video screen pulsed to life as colored light swam across the curved white walls of the booth.
The Medium Well spoke, accepting my sacrifice and my token of respect, answering my unspoken question from a position of temporal fluidity:
“They were traveling along the currents in your history. Telephones, mostly.
“Drawn inexorably to your psychic imprint, they touched those who touched the machines you have touched before.
“They were the fiends in the Aether.
They were the ghosts of the in-between, jumping aboard the cosmic leys from the nothing that was before the Crossing Light.
“Flickering into tangible claws only long enough to scratch and feed, they sought the living, breathing source of their anguished travel.
“They are in your old spaces.
“Your home universe.
“They could not cross.
“They knew not how.
“Until now.”
The lights went out.
Souvenir
Behind closed doors, cleaning my gun:
I suspect something is amiss from the mismatched footfall slowly shuffling ever closer.
My instincts twig the rhythm coming around the curved shape of the hallway ahead of me is a cue for dread. Trying not to panic, I search my immediate environment for makeshift weapons.
The irregular steps growing nearer, faster, accompanied by a new sound - a wet, clacking sound like a muddy branch thrown into the wheels of a horrid machine.
It appears!
On the face of it, literally, the creature now attempting to charge towards me in its awkward, ambling way looks almost human. No. More than that. No!
I recognize the stolen features as those of a recent new visitor to the Ground Control Engine Room, a young man who oddly disappeared shortly after arriving. Oh god!
The face is a facade, a sick mask worn atop a motley collection of flesh, metal, plastic and fabric. The Monster is close enough for me to see my inverted reflection in the orbs of its dead gray eyes.
I have been afraid, all this time, that the Queen's Guard from my home universe would somehow find a way to follow me across, to collect their absent prisoner. This is worse.
"Fatherrrr," it gurgles.
I scream, jump back and swing the fire extinguisher in my hands with all the desperate force my panicked form can muster.
Luckily, the Aether Fiend's construction proves to be as bad as its disguise and it explodes outward in chunks of gore and hardware, the sparking/gushing remains finally clattering, harmless, to the floor.
Some time passes as I attempt to collect my shaken thoughts and nerves. As the adrenaline begins to subside, I feel a twinge of pain on my face. I feel the tiny, damp stripe of injury along my chin and pull a fingernail from the miniature wound. A souvenir!
After I incinerate the remains of the monster, I return to my personal quarters with a Security escort.
Two other visitors disappeared that same recent evening as the first. Will they come for me too, I wonder - and will they look themselves?
Runaway
Prep Lab NW 40 (showered, powdered and ready to float):
Tired of dreaming of continued pursuit by horror show Belmar dolls, I've scheduled an extended spacewalk to clear my head and contemplate my next course of actions.
A risky move, I know, as it will leave me alone and literally dangling on a line, vulnerable to attack. It's a risk I'm willing to take, especially if my presence is a possible threat to others.
This Monday is Pajama Party at Ground Control. I am regrettably unable to attend. Instead, I'll be in my vacuum suit with my in-helmet slide-show of old movie stills, listening to the stars.
Back Inside
Still in a Medical Bay, awaiting further results:
Four hours into a fourteen hour spacewalk, the vintage cinematics playing across my helm glass was interrupted by David Bowie's "Hallo, Spaceboy" blasting over my comm. and my Carole Lombard slideshow replaced by this ridiculous image of a young boy with an excited expression and sunglasses (?) fashioned into the shape of radar dishes.
Somebody obviously sabotaged my audio-visuals and I have my suspects. As it turns out, the playful hijacking of my intended regimen was a blessing in disguise. Switching to actual view, I watched the various shuttles and satellites flit and pulse and burst about. It was breathtakingly beautiful- especially when the local star rose over ODIN-4403473, the moon that the Catch-One was orbiting at the time.
The walk was just what I needed to soothe my muddled mind. I have some ideas to combat any future Aether Demon visitations.
Speaking of which, it turns out that prick of shrapnel I caught in the chin a short time ago was probably tainted with god-knows-what. I appear to be infected and Medical is at a loss.
As it stands, I don't "think" the tainted fingernail had anything directly to do with the monster hybrid from Home/This Universe. I'm really hoping it goes away by itself in a day or two. We'll just have to see, I guess. How are you?
Happy Days Are Here Again
Personal Quarters:
Feeling good. The infection I spoke of recently seems to have all but vanished or at least gone into remission due to the able Medical Staff here on Jewel's ship.
Actually, The "Villager" is a Med-ship all its own, also owned by Jewel, in a semi-permanent docking wing custom-built for that ship alone. So now you know.
They specialize in alternative healing methods not always officially recognized by the Federation of Established and Acceptable Treatments. The price for treatment is free, with a donation preferred and most welcome. I'm from another universe so "alternative" health treatment suits me fine. There are several traditional Med-cruisers flying around if need be but insurance is hard to get when you're an escaped convict with no history of existence.
In other news, I placed a device (I'm being vague in case enemy eyes are reading this) on the outside hull of the Catch-One during my spacewalk. Using what little I know in the field of tele-radiance it should, fingers crossed, warn me of any future shifts in the trans-vibration. I'm hoping to gather some information on the rift as well, maybe figure out a way to seal the bastard.
Hope to see all of you tonight at Ground Control.
Fuel the engines of joy,
Von Schreeck
Negative Creep
Within The Host:
The words previously scrawled upon this v-space have been eliminated.
Everything is fine.
There are no zombies. There is no infection. There is no quarantine.
Come to Zombieoke at Ground Control tonight.
Never mind the armed persons in the audience. They are there for your protection.
Everything is fine.
Please arrive.
I cannot wait to be eating seeing you.
Love between the barriers,
Von Schreeck
False Alarum
Private Quarters:
I have a penchant for paranoia.
My infection from weeks past is completely healed and done for but, of course, I harped on about it anyway.
It seems my posts got the attention of a notorious prankster in this vibration, notorious for piggybacking in the minds of similar life forms without permission. He's wanted most everywhere for Will Crimes, Trespassing, and Vandalism, to name but a few. Here's an artist's rendition of what is believed to be his actual form. He's is SO full of himself.
Whilst borrowing my central nervous system, he decided it would be hilarious to unleash a harmless but temporarily horrific skin virus into the Catch-One's airways. Chaos apparently ensued at last week's Ground Control "Zombieoke" theme.
My body was there but I was not. The Puppeteer moved on, snapping photos for me to find later. We are not amused.
I Wanna Be Your Dog
Entertainment Hub Eleven:
In my Home universe, there was an actress whom looked very much like Marlene Dietrich. Her name was Kitty Flensh there, and she had shorter hair. Other than that, the spitting image.
Groundside
Private Quarters:
Sometimes a little vacation is just what the strange parallel cosmos orders and last weekend (Earth Center Standard) was one of those times. Fresh lemonade, long naps under undulating palms, and most charming hostess really made the grade. I sometimes forget how much I miss gravity and weather that is not of the mass-produced commercial variety.
Proud to be a Zahydran
Reflection Room:
In my home vibration, I come from the planet Hydra-Za, in the Hydra System. All the planets (all 80 of them) in the Hydra System are called Hydra-this or Hydra-that, with the sun at the center named Hydra-Prime.
I bring this up to avoid any confusion when I talk about my home world because, while the name of my planet is frequently shortened to just "Za", the inhabitants of that mostly aquatic world are called Zahydrans. So there you go.
The other thing I wanted to address is something only those VERY close to me and the Med Units know, my alien physiology. I am easily and often mistaken as Earth Standard Humanoid. While this may hold true to the average viewer, as I am physically the same in appearance (and mostly function) from the waist up, below the belt is another story.
The male Zahydran has clusters of raised flesh or "skin flaps" called flodes, usually concentrated at their center-trunk. They resemble idealized human eyeballs and can be quite startling to the less open-minded creatures of this vibration. Especially when they blink. Nah, just kidding. They don't do that.
My legs are covered in a soft, pale green blanket resembling a sort of translucent fur but which are, in fact, hundreds of thousands of individual appendages. I don't have much control over these tiny tentacles and in this universe they act more like a alert system than anything else.
When I quip that it's "nothing but fungus and eyeballs down there", I'm only sort of kidding.
F'tagn,
Frederick Malcom Vaughn "Von" Schreeck
Cosmic Vampire
Observation Craft “Obsidian”:
Feeling sapped lately and frequently. I sincerely long for an end to this temporary decline in my pizazz. I blame the meteors. Why not?
Eat At Cyndi's
Private Quarters, Media Nook:
So, after a week or two of not being able to stay awake, now I can't get to sleep.
Of course, anyone would have a hard time of it if they recently spent 45 pant-wetting minutes across the booth from the bruiser I had the displeasure of meeting last night.
That's the last time I drop off obsolete tech to a "collector" who couldn't even be bothered to show his mug. Instead, I get to have my eggs and coffee ruined by some hired psychopath. All this over some Earth relics. ( specifically a 4 pack of cellophane-sealed 1990's 90 minute blank cassettes and "Tetris" for the Nintendo Game boy)
Times are hard but I'm sticking to karaoke.
Good Morning.
Early Birds.
En route to sunrise and beside service:
Sorry I had to retreat from the hot engines of joy prematurely. I didn't want to miss my ride to the Molkons concert at the Armadomo.
The desert and the deep black sea.
Observation Deck 2:
My cyborg boss is off on a wilderness survival training seminar for a week (Galaxy Standard Time). However, I'll still be helping fire up the engines of joy at Ground Control tonight. In somewhat unrelated news, my trained scanners have finally picked up unusual activity from another Space, perhaps my Home Vibration, though it could be anywhere, really.
Specialist
Carbonite Chamber (because it's cool in here):
Does anybody wonder WHY I was imprisoned in my home vibration? I'll tell you anyway.
I seem to have this, let's say talent, for occasionally being able to say exactly the right thing at the right time despite being all blubbery and thick-tongued for most of it. It is a trait that has served me well as host of Ground Control and in times that friends needed to hear a silly or endearing or optimistic turn-of-phrase.
Because of this knack for the random gem, I found myself in many posh parties back home, amongst many slick characters. I tried to stay quiet and save my breath for just the right moment, much to the delight of whatever sleek nest of creatures I had thrust myself into on that particular occasion.
Long story short, my stock rose. The parties got swisher, the company more delicately perfumed until one night I found myself face to face with Princess Hellka herself! I know you don't know who she is in these parts, but back home, she's a Big. Deal. Ruler of seven star systems and her Daddy constructed a planet full of ponies for her to ride, butcher and reanimate as cute little nightmares.
She was, in fact, a gigantic hell bitch on wheels but ohmygod she was/is HOT!
I couldn't contain myself. I started to blabber and futz and spit and croak. Then it happened.
My gift of the occasional perfect conversation also had it's evil mirror. I could also, on thankfully rarer occasions, say exactly the WRONG thing at the wrong time.
What I said would seem completely out of context for anybody in this universe to "get" without knowing the socio-political climate at the time, Hellka's personal history and the contemporary slang of her people. Believe me, I certainly remember EXACTLY what I said.
The official charges included Slandering An Esteemed or Royal Person or Persons, Verbal Assault of Most Grievous And Personal Nature, Religious Persecution, Mind Rape, and Treason.
The charge of Mind Rape was dropped and Treason was reduced to Second Degree Treason In Bad Taste.
Life on Klaus with the Hell Guards was actually a pretty lenient sentence. I should be thankful. Ha!
In Heaven
Hangar 18:
Last week found me freelancing what should have been a routine surveillance operation for a well-known intergalactic communications consortium. The work was simple and my credit stick will be duly compensated soon, they tell me. What they failed to mention, however, was the toxic fumes I would be exposed to due to the atmospheric conditions of the particular moon I was working on. It made for a difficult night at Ground Control the next evening and I had to leave early and get some minor medical attention.
Halloween Week
Observation Deck 5:
Feeling self-reflective this evening as I stare through the two-story porthole at the Milky Way. How are you?
Past My Bedtime
Personal Chambers, waiting for the Moloko Milk to kick in:
Boris Karloff gave good face.
In other news, I think I may decide to keep my mustache for Ground Control because my upper lip seems to have broken out from all the makeup I wore this Halloween season.
That is all.
Space Wear
Personal Quarters:
Are there still places in this universe where lovely ladies like to wear their bras as shoulder pads? Some girls can really pull it off!
Isolated.
Conference Deck 3, The Sherman Room:
Ever had one of those days?
Your Friendly Neighborhood Zahydran.
"Madfly" personal exploit vessel, somewhere in the Spiral:
Another week (relative Earth time/space) working too far away from any Worm Ports to get to the Jewel ship again.
The Engines Of Joy seem to be running just dandy without me. I'm glad.
I do miss the camaraderie, though, and hope to make it next "week".
Where was I?
The Vesper Academy Of Applied Physics (site of historic first laboratory-created "wormhole" material), that's where.
Some Kind Of Homecoming
Personal Quarters - thank you for the cards and streamers! :
I've been chasing anomalous patterns across distant space.
You may recall from a previous post something had finally "tripped the alarm" of my collection array, potentially a tear in the continuum that was/is letting creatures into your universe that SHOULD. NOT. BE. The strange frequencies were quickly captured, analyzed and tracked. Holes in space and time tend to flicker in and out of apparent existence but we finally discovered a kind of moving pattern.
We had to stop our physical investigation when the cosmic neighborhood became lengthily and dangerously dicey. However, my dedicated team believes they can continue to track the anomalous wavelengths for some time. They remain at the edge of the galaxy.
Meanwhile the base team continues to monitor the source locale of the escaped waves. There has, however, been no activity since my departure three Galaxy Standard weeks ago.
Returned from Worm-space late last night, thrilled to be back amongst familiar constellations.
Tonight, Ground Control will have a long-absent host ready to help fuel the engines of joy.
Engines Of Joy
Private Chambers:
So very glad I managed to tear myself away from the viddy fix and join in the reindeer games.
Hope everybody made it out of the airlocks and back to their home planets/ current star station posting/ "friend's house" safely and happily.
I think my spaceship knows which way to go
Shuttle Bay Five, awaiting departure:
Instead of Ground Control tomorrow night, I've booked a flight with Interstellax Comfort Cruises so I can spend my Birthday Eve in the best leisure accrued Galactic Credit can borrow!
It's okay, though. I'm sending in a friend of mine to host who also possibly happens to be from another universe altogether. That's what he tells me anyhow. A fellow by the unusually similar name of Malcom Schreeck. I'm sure you're in good hands.
I Don't Know Any Lullabies
Pacing the platform on Ranga-Lu:
Back in my home vibration, I could have easily made it to Ground Control following my earlier obligations AND taken a nap on the way there! I would punch in the coordinates, and the apropos subscription pips, and the Thunder-Cruise would zap down a motoway of its own accord.
However, this isn't that space and I don't trust the Matter Transfer stations in this part of Ranga-Lu. I've chartered a cheapo shuttle service. I'll be back home in 4 Light-hours, give or take.
Man Of Mystery
"Helen Of Trois" Casino Station (practically derelict):
I'm pulling a Greta Garbo and retreating from the public eye once again this week. May the engines of joy fire triumph through the star-filled night.
Patience is a virtue
Candy Land Virtual Landscape Program:
It would seem the probes I set up months ago have been busy tracking and analyzing various anomalies in the area of the cosmos from whence I emerged. They recognize a particular pattern linked to the Aether Daemon attacks and have locked their focus on specific pattern of space-stuff which manifests as a bubble of visible white light, popping and contracting and flashing in and out of the explainable universe like a tiny strobe lamp in a traveling flea circus. So I got that going for me.
Do Zahydrans Dream of Electric Creeps?
Med Centre Dispensary, considering taking OM or Peace Tab:
When I can sleep at all I often have terrible visions of Aether Daemons, those terrible parasitic signals from the In-between Void, flashing their wicked way to my home Vibration.
Homing in on old lovers and long lost friends, they corrupt and inhabit the fleshly shells of those beautiful souls that once meant so much to me.
Souls now gasping for freedom in some hellish last-ditch hiding place of consciousness, if they still exist at all, and I cannot save them.
It's a wonder I ever close my eyes.
It Looks As If They're Here To Stay
Achilles Medical Station, Psyche Ring, Level 32:
Out for psychological screening on account of my continued night terrors involving Aether Daemons and my loved ones from the Home Vibration. The visions have increasingly become a motif I would usually associate with the Joker of classic Earth comic book infamy - more so than the hissing, shambling piece-flesh monstrosity I encountered in the "Catch One". I suspect I'll be prescribed sleep aids of some kind, which will not work; and a short vacation to a serene locale, which might.
"New Dawn Fades"
Ganesha:
By the time this transmission reaches target, I will have already spent some days on Ganesha, near the H Cluster as part of my prescribed Rest and Relaxation program following my Psyche and Safety Examination. The experts thought I would be taken in by Ganesha's "old world charm" and I must admit, I've been having fewer restless nights.
Barrel Of A Gun
Personal Quarters:
Entered familiar constellations earlier this (relative) evening via Wyrm-Space. I am now within docking distance to the Catch-1 Entertainment vessel and ready to return to Ground Control, at least on a "guest host" basis. My recent prescribed excursion to Ganesha did what the Psychegineers and I hoped. My dreams have become rich and varied and my thoughts regarding the Aether Daemons have become, mostly, academic. I have, however, finally heeded the advice of MP3JSark and our Chief Security Officer and posted a guard outside my quarters, just in case. Old paranoia dies hard, especially when it has manifested from actual experience.
Anyhow, I'm back.
I've missed you.
Right, then.
Everywhere and nowhere forever never (with a lime twist):
I seem to have missed Ground Control this last week. Sort of. I thought I WAS there, thanks to a study I volunteered for at the EM T T (Emerson/Mallard Tachyon Testing) facility and, in fact, I was, even though, strictly speaking, I wasn't. It's all very confusing to me right now/ then/ when? Those crazy tachyons!
I need a non-Euclidean cocktail right about - sthwoomp!
The very end, my friend.
Undisclosed cafe' and bait shop, near city of Empress:
It seems admission of extra-dimensional origins is a dangerous thing. I have been warned of various crackpot parties, posing at scientific research firms, that have less than my best interests at heart. Great. As if worrying over Aether-Daemons wasn't trouble enough.
Speaking of, new research of my own suggests an increase in rift activity both in intensity and number! It may be as I originally suggested. The Engines Of Joy may have the unfortunate side effect of poking trans-dimensional holes across the galactic tapestry. Unfortunately, it may be some time before I can continue recording my team's findings as I find myself too often on the run or in hiding these days.
Someday, I hope to see you again.
Joy always,
Frederich Malcom Von Schreeck
Return Home
Personal Quarters (new location), Catch One:
I tentatively step back aboard the Catch-One tonight. Many friends and contacts reminded me in recent weeks that I am surrounded by personalities ready to face whatever evil means to befall me. I can't say how many weeks I will be able to help fuel the Engines Of Joy due to my continued work on the various space/time fissures appearing in near-space. However, I certainly plan on living it up whenever possible. See you tonight at Ground Control, yes?
Looking Forward
MCLEOD research skip, en route to undisclosed locale:
Fissures in the space/time keep appearing in the wake of entertainment ships, like the Catch-One, that run on the controversial line of Emotors. Ground Control and the rest of Jewel's entertainment vessel are powered, of course, by Engines Of Joy. There are red-light districts out in the black that have pleasure cruisers of a different sort, the so-called Lust Boats. They have Emotors and those too are tearing the universe a new one. Military ships that run on [MSG KILLED BY INTSTLR AUTH] are also[ MSG KILLED ]big-time.
So I'm working with an ever-expanding research group and a few interested corporate parties on devising a system which allows traffic betwixt alternate dimensions and this one whilst buffering against the interference of those nightmare creatures which live between.
I've mixed feelings about my involvement. I'm not proud to be a part of "playing god" and rending the fabric of All-That-Is. On the other hand, the damage is already done and if I can help to bring about a greater understanding and perhaps, one day, control of inter-vibrational travel, then yeah, I'm all for it.
On another note, I'm looking forward to Ground Control's 6year anniversary Blackout Party. I hope I can make it. I would love to drop trou and let my trunk lights shine but I hear there's still laws against that sort of thing in these more "civilized" parts of the galaxy.
Every iceberg is afire.
Recreation Deck 5:
Not that I like to recall those dark days before my escape into this vibration but for those curious, the prison barge I was on resembled nothing so much as a typewriter element from your 1960s.
The "Klaus" was a semi-sphere of very heavy armor and 700 prison cells for each plate along the surface.
There was a work level the size of a large city capping one end of the ship where prisoners worked rotating 14 hour days in the fuel mines under the ever-watchful eyes of the turtle-like soldiers we called the Hell Guard.
If the artificial sun at the core of the barge unexpectedly went dwarf or nova, each prison tower would jettison outward into the unknown. What was to happen to the Hell Guard and their city was not something anyone ever told me anything about but I'm sure they had their own, likely superior evacuation plan.
Occasionally (probably more than any of us liked to think about) prisoners were forgotten in their cells. Depending on their proximity to the core or the surface of the "Klaus" these unfortunate souls were doomed to starve, or burn, or freeze to death in their own tiny, dark box of horrors.
As you can imagine, I'm downright thrilled to be singing Gary Numan songs and watching Electric Six videos in the basement of the Catch-One Entertainment Class Cruiser instead!
Sometimes, though, my thoughts return to those terrible years on the "Klaus" and I find myself throwing back several cocktails too many.
It's getting easier every day, though.
Love is a powerful thing.
One eye open.
Pressure Chamber X11 (just hanging out):
Occasionally I ponder the possibility of the stray beam of joyful energy, which tore my prison universe briefly asunder, having left behind a trace of its passing and, if so, whether this stain is traceable.
Could the wound be reopened? Could they, come here?
Which is to say, though I sincerely doubt my crimes would warrant such thorough pursuance, I still find myself feeling a tad restless on a fairly regular basis.
The "Catch-1" is a formidable fortress and I DO feel safe and cozy.
But.
I like to stay on the move. Keep to myself mostly.
Just in case Hell's around the corner.
I need a drink.
Forbidden Technology
Undisclosed Intervention Room (detained for questioning):
I made the blood offer and dropped my coin; pulled shut the privacy curtain.
The video screen pulsed to life as colored light swam across the curved white walls of the booth.
The Medium Well spoke, accepting my sacrifice and my token of respect, answering my unspoken question from a position of temporal fluidity:
“They were traveling along the currents in your history. Telephones, mostly.
“Drawn inexorably to your psychic imprint, they touched those who touched the machines you have touched before.
“They were the fiends in the Aether.
They were the ghosts of the in-between, jumping aboard the cosmic leys from the nothing that was before the Crossing Light.
“Flickering into tangible claws only long enough to scratch and feed, they sought the living, breathing source of their anguished travel.
“They are in your old spaces.
“Your home universe.
“They could not cross.
“They knew not how.
“Until now.”
The lights went out.
Souvenir
Behind closed doors, cleaning my gun:
I suspect something is amiss from the mismatched footfall slowly shuffling ever closer.
My instincts twig the rhythm coming around the curved shape of the hallway ahead of me is a cue for dread. Trying not to panic, I search my immediate environment for makeshift weapons.
The irregular steps growing nearer, faster, accompanied by a new sound - a wet, clacking sound like a muddy branch thrown into the wheels of a horrid machine.
It appears!
On the face of it, literally, the creature now attempting to charge towards me in its awkward, ambling way looks almost human. No. More than that. No!
I recognize the stolen features as those of a recent new visitor to the Ground Control Engine Room, a young man who oddly disappeared shortly after arriving. Oh god!
The face is a facade, a sick mask worn atop a motley collection of flesh, metal, plastic and fabric. The Monster is close enough for me to see my inverted reflection in the orbs of its dead gray eyes.
I have been afraid, all this time, that the Queen's Guard from my home universe would somehow find a way to follow me across, to collect their absent prisoner. This is worse.
"Fatherrrr," it gurgles.
I scream, jump back and swing the fire extinguisher in my hands with all the desperate force my panicked form can muster.
Luckily, the Aether Fiend's construction proves to be as bad as its disguise and it explodes outward in chunks of gore and hardware, the sparking/gushing remains finally clattering, harmless, to the floor.
Some time passes as I attempt to collect my shaken thoughts and nerves. As the adrenaline begins to subside, I feel a twinge of pain on my face. I feel the tiny, damp stripe of injury along my chin and pull a fingernail from the miniature wound. A souvenir!
After I incinerate the remains of the monster, I return to my personal quarters with a Security escort.
Two other visitors disappeared that same recent evening as the first. Will they come for me too, I wonder - and will they look themselves?
Runaway
Prep Lab NW 40 (showered, powdered and ready to float):
Tired of dreaming of continued pursuit by horror show Belmar dolls, I've scheduled an extended spacewalk to clear my head and contemplate my next course of actions.
A risky move, I know, as it will leave me alone and literally dangling on a line, vulnerable to attack. It's a risk I'm willing to take, especially if my presence is a possible threat to others.
This Monday is Pajama Party at Ground Control. I am regrettably unable to attend. Instead, I'll be in my vacuum suit with my in-helmet slide-show of old movie stills, listening to the stars.
Back Inside
Still in a Medical Bay, awaiting further results:
Four hours into a fourteen hour spacewalk, the vintage cinematics playing across my helm glass was interrupted by David Bowie's "Hallo, Spaceboy" blasting over my comm. and my Carole Lombard slideshow replaced by this ridiculous image of a young boy with an excited expression and sunglasses (?) fashioned into the shape of radar dishes.
Somebody obviously sabotaged my audio-visuals and I have my suspects. As it turns out, the playful hijacking of my intended regimen was a blessing in disguise. Switching to actual view, I watched the various shuttles and satellites flit and pulse and burst about. It was breathtakingly beautiful- especially when the local star rose over ODIN-4403473, the moon that the Catch-One was orbiting at the time.
The walk was just what I needed to soothe my muddled mind. I have some ideas to combat any future Aether Demon visitations.
Speaking of which, it turns out that prick of shrapnel I caught in the chin a short time ago was probably tainted with god-knows-what. I appear to be infected and Medical is at a loss.
As it stands, I don't "think" the tainted fingernail had anything directly to do with the monster hybrid from Home/This Universe. I'm really hoping it goes away by itself in a day or two. We'll just have to see, I guess. How are you?
Happy Days Are Here Again
Personal Quarters:
Feeling good. The infection I spoke of recently seems to have all but vanished or at least gone into remission due to the able Medical Staff here on Jewel's ship.
Actually, The "Villager" is a Med-ship all its own, also owned by Jewel, in a semi-permanent docking wing custom-built for that ship alone. So now you know.
They specialize in alternative healing methods not always officially recognized by the Federation of Established and Acceptable Treatments. The price for treatment is free, with a donation preferred and most welcome. I'm from another universe so "alternative" health treatment suits me fine. There are several traditional Med-cruisers flying around if need be but insurance is hard to get when you're an escaped convict with no history of existence.
In other news, I placed a device (I'm being vague in case enemy eyes are reading this) on the outside hull of the Catch-One during my spacewalk. Using what little I know in the field of tele-radiance it should, fingers crossed, warn me of any future shifts in the trans-vibration. I'm hoping to gather some information on the rift as well, maybe figure out a way to seal the bastard.
Hope to see all of you tonight at Ground Control.
Fuel the engines of joy,
Von Schreeck
Negative Creep
Within The Host:
The words previously scrawled upon this v-space have been eliminated.
Everything is fine.
There are no zombies. There is no infection. There is no quarantine.
Come to Zombieoke at Ground Control tonight.
Never mind the armed persons in the audience. They are there for your protection.
Everything is fine.
Please arrive.
I cannot wait to be eating seeing you.
Love between the barriers,
Von Schreeck
False Alarum
Private Quarters:
I have a penchant for paranoia.
My infection from weeks past is completely healed and done for but, of course, I harped on about it anyway.
It seems my posts got the attention of a notorious prankster in this vibration, notorious for piggybacking in the minds of similar life forms without permission. He's wanted most everywhere for Will Crimes, Trespassing, and Vandalism, to name but a few. Here's an artist's rendition of what is believed to be his actual form. He's is SO full of himself.
Whilst borrowing my central nervous system, he decided it would be hilarious to unleash a harmless but temporarily horrific skin virus into the Catch-One's airways. Chaos apparently ensued at last week's Ground Control "Zombieoke" theme.
My body was there but I was not. The Puppeteer moved on, snapping photos for me to find later. We are not amused.
I Wanna Be Your Dog
Entertainment Hub Eleven:
In my Home universe, there was an actress whom looked very much like Marlene Dietrich. Her name was Kitty Flensh there, and she had shorter hair. Other than that, the spitting image.
Groundside
Private Quarters:
Sometimes a little vacation is just what the strange parallel cosmos orders and last weekend (Earth Center Standard) was one of those times. Fresh lemonade, long naps under undulating palms, and most charming hostess really made the grade. I sometimes forget how much I miss gravity and weather that is not of the mass-produced commercial variety.
Proud to be a Zahydran
Reflection Room:
In my home vibration, I come from the planet Hydra-Za, in the Hydra System. All the planets (all 80 of them) in the Hydra System are called Hydra-this or Hydra-that, with the sun at the center named Hydra-Prime.
I bring this up to avoid any confusion when I talk about my home world because, while the name of my planet is frequently shortened to just "Za", the inhabitants of that mostly aquatic world are called Zahydrans. So there you go.
The other thing I wanted to address is something only those VERY close to me and the Med Units know, my alien physiology. I am easily and often mistaken as Earth Standard Humanoid. While this may hold true to the average viewer, as I am physically the same in appearance (and mostly function) from the waist up, below the belt is another story.
The male Zahydran has clusters of raised flesh or "skin flaps" called flodes, usually concentrated at their center-trunk. They resemble idealized human eyeballs and can be quite startling to the less open-minded creatures of this vibration. Especially when they blink. Nah, just kidding. They don't do that.
My legs are covered in a soft, pale green blanket resembling a sort of translucent fur but which are, in fact, hundreds of thousands of individual appendages. I don't have much control over these tiny tentacles and in this universe they act more like a alert system than anything else.
When I quip that it's "nothing but fungus and eyeballs down there", I'm only sort of kidding.
F'tagn,
Frederick Malcom Vaughn "Von" Schreeck
Cosmic Vampire
Observation Craft “Obsidian”:
Feeling sapped lately and frequently. I sincerely long for an end to this temporary decline in my pizazz. I blame the meteors. Why not?
Eat At Cyndi's
Private Quarters, Media Nook:
So, after a week or two of not being able to stay awake, now I can't get to sleep.
Of course, anyone would have a hard time of it if they recently spent 45 pant-wetting minutes across the booth from the bruiser I had the displeasure of meeting last night.
That's the last time I drop off obsolete tech to a "collector" who couldn't even be bothered to show his mug. Instead, I get to have my eggs and coffee ruined by some hired psychopath. All this over some Earth relics. ( specifically a 4 pack of cellophane-sealed 1990's 90 minute blank cassettes and "Tetris" for the Nintendo Game boy)
Times are hard but I'm sticking to karaoke.
Good Morning.
Early Birds.
En route to sunrise and beside service:
Sorry I had to retreat from the hot engines of joy prematurely. I didn't want to miss my ride to the Molkons concert at the Armadomo.
The desert and the deep black sea.
Observation Deck 2:
My cyborg boss is off on a wilderness survival training seminar for a week (Galaxy Standard Time). However, I'll still be helping fire up the engines of joy at Ground Control tonight. In somewhat unrelated news, my trained scanners have finally picked up unusual activity from another Space, perhaps my Home Vibration, though it could be anywhere, really.
Specialist
Carbonite Chamber (because it's cool in here):
Does anybody wonder WHY I was imprisoned in my home vibration? I'll tell you anyway.
I seem to have this, let's say talent, for occasionally being able to say exactly the right thing at the right time despite being all blubbery and thick-tongued for most of it. It is a trait that has served me well as host of Ground Control and in times that friends needed to hear a silly or endearing or optimistic turn-of-phrase.
Because of this knack for the random gem, I found myself in many posh parties back home, amongst many slick characters. I tried to stay quiet and save my breath for just the right moment, much to the delight of whatever sleek nest of creatures I had thrust myself into on that particular occasion.
Long story short, my stock rose. The parties got swisher, the company more delicately perfumed until one night I found myself face to face with Princess Hellka herself! I know you don't know who she is in these parts, but back home, she's a Big. Deal. Ruler of seven star systems and her Daddy constructed a planet full of ponies for her to ride, butcher and reanimate as cute little nightmares.
She was, in fact, a gigantic hell bitch on wheels but ohmygod she was/is HOT!
I couldn't contain myself. I started to blabber and futz and spit and croak. Then it happened.
My gift of the occasional perfect conversation also had it's evil mirror. I could also, on thankfully rarer occasions, say exactly the WRONG thing at the wrong time.
What I said would seem completely out of context for anybody in this universe to "get" without knowing the socio-political climate at the time, Hellka's personal history and the contemporary slang of her people. Believe me, I certainly remember EXACTLY what I said.
The official charges included Slandering An Esteemed or Royal Person or Persons, Verbal Assault of Most Grievous And Personal Nature, Religious Persecution, Mind Rape, and Treason.
The charge of Mind Rape was dropped and Treason was reduced to Second Degree Treason In Bad Taste.
Life on Klaus with the Hell Guards was actually a pretty lenient sentence. I should be thankful. Ha!
In Heaven
Hangar 18:
Last week found me freelancing what should have been a routine surveillance operation for a well-known intergalactic communications consortium. The work was simple and my credit stick will be duly compensated soon, they tell me. What they failed to mention, however, was the toxic fumes I would be exposed to due to the atmospheric conditions of the particular moon I was working on. It made for a difficult night at Ground Control the next evening and I had to leave early and get some minor medical attention.
Halloween Week
Observation Deck 5:
Feeling self-reflective this evening as I stare through the two-story porthole at the Milky Way. How are you?
Past My Bedtime
Personal Chambers, waiting for the Moloko Milk to kick in:
Boris Karloff gave good face.
In other news, I think I may decide to keep my mustache for Ground Control because my upper lip seems to have broken out from all the makeup I wore this Halloween season.
That is all.
Space Wear
Personal Quarters:
Are there still places in this universe where lovely ladies like to wear their bras as shoulder pads? Some girls can really pull it off!
Isolated.
Conference Deck 3, The Sherman Room:
Ever had one of those days?
Your Friendly Neighborhood Zahydran.
"Madfly" personal exploit vessel, somewhere in the Spiral:
Another week (relative Earth time/space) working too far away from any Worm Ports to get to the Jewel ship again.
The Engines Of Joy seem to be running just dandy without me. I'm glad.
I do miss the camaraderie, though, and hope to make it next "week".
Where was I?
The Vesper Academy Of Applied Physics (site of historic first laboratory-created "wormhole" material), that's where.
Some Kind Of Homecoming
Personal Quarters - thank you for the cards and streamers! :
I've been chasing anomalous patterns across distant space.
You may recall from a previous post something had finally "tripped the alarm" of my collection array, potentially a tear in the continuum that was/is letting creatures into your universe that SHOULD. NOT. BE. The strange frequencies were quickly captured, analyzed and tracked. Holes in space and time tend to flicker in and out of apparent existence but we finally discovered a kind of moving pattern.
We had to stop our physical investigation when the cosmic neighborhood became lengthily and dangerously dicey. However, my dedicated team believes they can continue to track the anomalous wavelengths for some time. They remain at the edge of the galaxy.
Meanwhile the base team continues to monitor the source locale of the escaped waves. There has, however, been no activity since my departure three Galaxy Standard weeks ago.
Returned from Worm-space late last night, thrilled to be back amongst familiar constellations.
Tonight, Ground Control will have a long-absent host ready to help fuel the engines of joy.
Engines Of Joy
Private Chambers:
So very glad I managed to tear myself away from the viddy fix and join in the reindeer games.
Hope everybody made it out of the airlocks and back to their home planets/ current star station posting/ "friend's house" safely and happily.
I think my spaceship knows which way to go
Shuttle Bay Five, awaiting departure:
Instead of Ground Control tomorrow night, I've booked a flight with Interstellax Comfort Cruises so I can spend my Birthday Eve in the best leisure accrued Galactic Credit can borrow!
It's okay, though. I'm sending in a friend of mine to host who also possibly happens to be from another universe altogether. That's what he tells me anyhow. A fellow by the unusually similar name of Malcom Schreeck. I'm sure you're in good hands.
I Don't Know Any Lullabies
Pacing the platform on Ranga-Lu:
Back in my home vibration, I could have easily made it to Ground Control following my earlier obligations AND taken a nap on the way there! I would punch in the coordinates, and the apropos subscription pips, and the Thunder-Cruise would zap down a motoway of its own accord.
However, this isn't that space and I don't trust the Matter Transfer stations in this part of Ranga-Lu. I've chartered a cheapo shuttle service. I'll be back home in 4 Light-hours, give or take.
Man Of Mystery
"Helen Of Trois" Casino Station (practically derelict):
I'm pulling a Greta Garbo and retreating from the public eye once again this week. May the engines of joy fire triumph through the star-filled night.
Patience is a virtue
Candy Land Virtual Landscape Program:
It would seem the probes I set up months ago have been busy tracking and analyzing various anomalies in the area of the cosmos from whence I emerged. They recognize a particular pattern linked to the Aether Daemon attacks and have locked their focus on specific pattern of space-stuff which manifests as a bubble of visible white light, popping and contracting and flashing in and out of the explainable universe like a tiny strobe lamp in a traveling flea circus. So I got that going for me.
Do Zahydrans Dream of Electric Creeps?
Med Centre Dispensary, considering taking OM or Peace Tab:
When I can sleep at all I often have terrible visions of Aether Daemons, those terrible parasitic signals from the In-between Void, flashing their wicked way to my home Vibration.
Homing in on old lovers and long lost friends, they corrupt and inhabit the fleshly shells of those beautiful souls that once meant so much to me.
Souls now gasping for freedom in some hellish last-ditch hiding place of consciousness, if they still exist at all, and I cannot save them.
It's a wonder I ever close my eyes.
It Looks As If They're Here To Stay
Achilles Medical Station, Psyche Ring, Level 32:
Out for psychological screening on account of my continued night terrors involving Aether Daemons and my loved ones from the Home Vibration. The visions have increasingly become a motif I would usually associate with the Joker of classic Earth comic book infamy - more so than the hissing, shambling piece-flesh monstrosity I encountered in the "Catch One". I suspect I'll be prescribed sleep aids of some kind, which will not work; and a short vacation to a serene locale, which might.
"New Dawn Fades"
Ganesha:
By the time this transmission reaches target, I will have already spent some days on Ganesha, near the H Cluster as part of my prescribed Rest and Relaxation program following my Psyche and Safety Examination. The experts thought I would be taken in by Ganesha's "old world charm" and I must admit, I've been having fewer restless nights.
Barrel Of A Gun
Personal Quarters:
Entered familiar constellations earlier this (relative) evening via Wyrm-Space. I am now within docking distance to the Catch-1 Entertainment vessel and ready to return to Ground Control, at least on a "guest host" basis. My recent prescribed excursion to Ganesha did what the Psychegineers and I hoped. My dreams have become rich and varied and my thoughts regarding the Aether Daemons have become, mostly, academic. I have, however, finally heeded the advice of MP3JSark and our Chief Security Officer and posted a guard outside my quarters, just in case. Old paranoia dies hard, especially when it has manifested from actual experience.
Anyhow, I'm back.
I've missed you.
Right, then.
Everywhere and nowhere forever never (with a lime twist):
I seem to have missed Ground Control this last week. Sort of. I thought I WAS there, thanks to a study I volunteered for at the EM T T (Emerson/Mallard Tachyon Testing) facility and, in fact, I was, even though, strictly speaking, I wasn't. It's all very confusing to me right now/ then/ when? Those crazy tachyons!
I need a non-Euclidean cocktail right about - sthwoomp!
The very end, my friend.
Undisclosed cafe' and bait shop, near city of Empress:
It seems admission of extra-dimensional origins is a dangerous thing. I have been warned of various crackpot parties, posing at scientific research firms, that have less than my best interests at heart. Great. As if worrying over Aether-Daemons wasn't trouble enough.
Speaking of, new research of my own suggests an increase in rift activity both in intensity and number! It may be as I originally suggested. The Engines Of Joy may have the unfortunate side effect of poking trans-dimensional holes across the galactic tapestry. Unfortunately, it may be some time before I can continue recording my team's findings as I find myself too often on the run or in hiding these days.
Someday, I hope to see you again.
Joy always,
Frederich Malcom Von Schreeck
Return Home
Personal Quarters (new location), Catch One:
I tentatively step back aboard the Catch-One tonight. Many friends and contacts reminded me in recent weeks that I am surrounded by personalities ready to face whatever evil means to befall me. I can't say how many weeks I will be able to help fuel the Engines Of Joy due to my continued work on the various space/time fissures appearing in near-space. However, I certainly plan on living it up whenever possible. See you tonight at Ground Control, yes?
Looking Forward
MCLEOD research skip, en route to undisclosed locale:
Fissures in the space/time keep appearing in the wake of entertainment ships, like the Catch-One, that run on the controversial line of Emotors. Ground Control and the rest of Jewel's entertainment vessel are powered, of course, by Engines Of Joy. There are red-light districts out in the black that have pleasure cruisers of a different sort, the so-called Lust Boats. They have Emotors and those too are tearing the universe a new one. Military ships that run on [MSG KILLED BY INTSTLR AUTH] are also[ MSG KILLED ]big-time.
So I'm working with an ever-expanding research group and a few interested corporate parties on devising a system which allows traffic betwixt alternate dimensions and this one whilst buffering against the interference of those nightmare creatures which live between.
I've mixed feelings about my involvement. I'm not proud to be a part of "playing god" and rending the fabric of All-That-Is. On the other hand, the damage is already done and if I can help to bring about a greater understanding and perhaps, one day, control of inter-vibrational travel, then yeah, I'm all for it.
On another note, I'm looking forward to Ground Control's 6year anniversary Blackout Party. I hope I can make it. I would love to drop trou and let my trunk lights shine but I hear there's still laws against that sort of thing in these more "civilized" parts of the galaxy.