Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction. It is generating no money of any kind for me or anyone else, darn it! No copyright infringement is intended. I wrote this story out of frustration at the way my favorite show was being handled, schedule-wise, and I tried to turn something that was annoying me into something funny. My primary intention here was simply to tell a very silly story. I do not mean for this story to be offensive to anyone in any way.
In particular, I don't mean to cast any harm or disrespect on the Sci-Fi Channel and its employees. After all, if they hadn't aired The Secret Adventures of Jules Verne, and put up their BBoard, this story would never have been written.
I apologize to any Sci-Fi BBoard Society Members/Evil Twins whose names were not used. I really did try, but there just wasn't room enough for all of us.
I also apologize to any Society Members/Evil Twins who dislike what I am having their characters doing: please excuse me, and just substitute someone else's name in that place when you read this story. When you join a Society on the Sci-Fi BBoard, it is assumed that you won't mind seeing your "handle" used in a SAJV fan-fic. While using your handle in this story I make no claims upon either that name, or on your person. Your handle and identity are still your own.
Dedication:
I want to dedicate this story to my literary inspirations: Terry Pratchett, and the late Douglas Adams. I also HAVE to dedicate it to Grace Macy, for writing the scene that directly inspired this story, and for being nice enough to laugh at what I did with her terrific idea, as well as for encouragement and advise. And of course, my mom, Meredith, who kindly and patiently beta'd, gave excellent advise and suggestions, and listened to me moan and groan while writing this story.
Introduction:
The origin and direct inspiration for this story came from the Sci-Fi BBoard, Post 1623, Page 43, entitled "OT: Cookies from Sci-Fi" by Gaelle17. Gaelle was complaining about the 'cookies' she was getting up on her computer, as a result of ads running on the BBoard.
The first response, "Ouch Gaelle" by Grace (aka Lorrellai) was a brilliant short scene in which the Victorian Valkyries bombard the Sci-Fi Channel headquarters with catapult-launched cookies in order to save our show from the 1 am timeslot allotted it by the Programming Dept. At the close, our four heroes had just been released from their prison, and the Valkyries were preparing to continue the attack, just to be sure the Programmers got the point. (See here for a transcript of both posts.)
Which is where my story begins.....
The Secret Adventures of Jules Verne:
"The Great Cookie Battle"
© 2001, Melissa L. Harris (aka Isharell)
Part One
["Hi-ho, Davodd here," in a tan trench coat and hat, looking remarkably like a taller, less green, version of the ultra-cute Muppet News anchor, Kermit the Frog, "reporting to you Live, from the front gate outside the Great Wall at the main headquarters of The Sci-Fi Channel, where a remarkable and dramatic battle is taking place. It seems the Fans of The Secret Adventures of Jules Verne (now being shown at the criminally foolish time of 1 am -- yes, folks, I said ONE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING -- Eastern Time, on Saturday nights) have mounted a surprise attack against the programming department of the Sci-Fi Channel, in an effort to save their show and have it moved to a more reasonable time slot. We have seen some remarkable sights today, in what will probably go down in history as The Great Cookie Battle, and it's not over yet...."]
As the Ground Crew, led by General Gaelle, prepared to enter through the portcullis in the Great Wall, the intrepid Aerial Crew of the HMS Rubber Ducky swung in for a dramatic landing behind the Wall, directly in front of the Main building. They covered their comrades as the Ground Crew streamed in and took up positions in front of the file-cabinet bunkers, which had been set up for some of the Sci-Fi Channel's office workers to hide behind.
Then more Victorian Valkyries, yelling for a decent time slot, came tearing down the Rubber Ducky Gangplank, followed by a large wooden trunk, traveling on hundreds of little feet. They hurried over to join the main ground crew.
The evil minions of Sci-Fi shuddered at the sound of the aeroduck's war-cry: "QVACK QVACK! LET'S ATTACK!"
The handful of programmers on the Wall ran, cowards to the last man, and slipped into a secret passage at the base of the wall. The booby-trapped entrance collapsed behind them. Clearly, there would be no following them through the dark tunnels beneath the building. No one was sorry to miss a trip through the slimy sewers of Sci-Fi.
The Valkyries, undeterred, took up the war cry, as the Rubber Ducky ascended once more into the air, covering the ground crew's attack.
"Qvack Qvack! Let's Attack!" The Valkyries overran the bunkers, taking the hapless typists and clerks prisoner. They tied the poor souls up with typewriter ribbons and telephone cords, and left a ferocious contingent of the Attack Kitty Brigade and Doggy Reserves to guard the prisoners. Then they charged up the white marble steps, and BURST through the huge, 20-foot high doors, on which the words, ABANDON HOPE ALL YE WHO WANT TO WATCH QUALITY PROGRAMMING AT A DECENT HOUR could clearly be read in letters of gold.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the Line, the newly released brave adventurers stood blinking in the sunlight. Several ladies came rushing up, to escort the intrepid foursome to shelter.
The reception committee led by the walking wounded, Redmayne, who had a broken hand, and Danaan, who was concussed during a previous raid by the Evil Twins on the HMS Rubber Ducky (a raid which was thwarted by the valiant members of the ABS -- but that's another story), assisted by the non-combatant Gerty, and Yurikosan, head of the Catering Corps.
These ladies led the former prisoners of the Evil Time Slot through the camp. During the walk to the Sanctuary Tent, the intrepid explorers had ample time to examine their rescuer's encampment.
The Victorian Valkyrie camp was huge, with many tents of all shapes, colors, and sizes scattered around the hills surrounding the enemy headquarters. Brightly colored Society Banners flew everywhere, giving the place an almost party-like atmosphere. It was filled with busy people, mostly female, all hurrying to and fro on their various tasks.
Several crews were hard at work, bringing fresh baked goods up to the catapults at the Front Line. Jules sniffed appreciatively. "That smells good," he exclaimed, as they passed a particularly full bin. He snatched a handful of cookies as they went past and shared them out with his friends.
"It is Peanut Buttery!" exclaimed Passepartout happily. He and Jules tried to get more samples, but their guides hurried them on toward their destination.
Rebecca pointed to one small group of people, standing off to one side. They all appeared to be singing happily. "What are they doing?" she asked.
Danaan beamed. "That is our special Choral Group. They make up songs for our societies and sing them. We find it boosts our morale and really irritates the enemy."
"Are there children in that group?" Phileas asked, spotting several smaller figures happily carolling with the rest.
"Yes," smiled Gerty. "SherinaSue and several of the others have enlisted their kids. We've made sure to keep them well back from the battle. Aren't they cute?"
Passepartout waved at the children. "Adoringable." He said.
Jules pointed to another group, seated at a long paper-covered table, all typing and writing furiously. "What about them?"
"That's Stella's group," answered Yurikosan. "They are handling the letter campaign. They've been most effective, bombarding the enemy with their constant letters."
"Bombarding the enemy?" Rebecca repeated.
"Yeah." Answered Redmayne with a laugh, "Let me tell you, a good, firm, well-written letter can be a powerful tool. Especially when shot from a canon."
Rebecca blinked. "I should think it would be."
At last they reached the safety of the Sanctuary Tent. As they entered, Andi came rushing in, and threw herself at Passepartout. "Passepartout! Baby! Your Passionate Personal Bodyguard is HERE!" They fell over backward in a tangle of arms and legs.
Redmayne sighed. "Andi. ANDI!" Andi looked up.
"What?! I'm busy just now."
"Andi, you are supposed to be outside guarding the tent from attack. Danaan and I can't fight, because of our injuries, and Gerty is too young, as well as being almost a pacifist."
Andi looked mutinous. "So? What if someone snuck in from the back? I think I should stay right here and protect Passepartout." Passepartout, still lying on the ground under the passionate VPA member, gave a strangled little cough.
"Please, Miss Phenix d'Amour, Passepartout is needing to be breathing soon," he gasped.
"Oh! You darling! You DO read the postings and you know my nickname!" Andi cried. Passepartout nodded weakly, and began to turn blue.
Yurikosan pulled Andi off the suffocating valet before he could be hugged to death. "Andi, chill out! He only just escaped from dire captivity! He's too weak for that now."
Andi gave a gasp. "Oh, that's right! I am so sorry. POOOOOR BAABBYY!" She reached for him again, and the other Valkyries held her back.
"Remember, Andi, you said you had a sword and would protect this place of Sanctuary...." they reminded her. Andi sighed, cast Passepartout a smoldering look through her lashes, and went outside, blowing kisses. Passepartout sat up, looking dazed.
Rebecca looked around in astonishment. "What on earth happened to us?"
"Yes," said Jules, "one minute we were fine and then -"
"Everything became dark and confusing." Said Phileas. He reached down a hand to help Passepartout to his feet.
The ladies hesitated, and then began to explain recent events to the adventurous foursome.
A large group of Evil Twins were crawling through the tunnels which ran under the ground around the Sci-Fi Headquarters. The tunnels were dark, dank and filled with slime, even when the Evil Twins were not in them. They traveled quietly, splashing a little, but moving at a good pace.
At the front of the group was their Twisted Leader. Evil Isharell grinned and contemplated the successful conclusion of her Lovely Evil Plan. "Mine, all mine," she cackled softly. She rubbed her hands together in the cliched fashion of villains everywhere. If she had worn a mustache, she would have twirled it. Instead, her bunny ears bobbed and quivered evilly.
Evil Gilesluver frowned suspiciously at her. "WHAT is yours, all yours?" she asked sharply.
"Er, no - no one. I mean, nothing. I mean, it's MY Plan," she stammered. "We'll all SHARE the Treasure, remember?" She smiled insincerely. The other Evil Twins all smiled back, just as falsely. Really, with all those flashing teeth being exposed, it looked like they were filming a toothpaste commercial. Or a shark attack. Clearly, this particular alliance would not last for long.
They continued to sneak around in the sewer pipes under the hill, looking for a particular opening. At last, Evil Faeling, who had charge of the map, shouted out, "Here!" She whipped out a can of red spray paint, and painted a big X on the wall, under a ladder which led upward. The other Evil Twins crowded around, and prepared for the trip to the surface.
["Davodd here again, and, boy, things are really moving now. The Victorian Valkyrie Ground Crew are about to enter the lobby of the Sci-Fi Channel's Main Headquarters. What sights will they see, in this amazing building, which no outsider has ever entered and lived to leave again? The Ground Crew's Assault is being covered by the Attack Forces on the Hills on the other side of The Great Wall, and we have the HMS Rubber Ducky hovering overhead, offering its support as well. We are sending a cameraman into the lobby with the Valkyries, and Bob, our new Roving Reporter, has been allowed to board the Rubber Ducky. Oh, what a vision it is, gleaming like a lemon in the sun, as it fires its delicious chocolate chip missiles at the security guards on the roof of the building."]
The ground forces, led by General Gaelle and Captain Lorrellai, surged through the doors and into the ground floor lobby of the Sci-Fi Channel Headquarters.
The room was already a mess, with cookies and letters strewn across the shiny marble floor. A large circular reception area stood in the center of the room, while the elevators lined the far wall. The other walls were covered with TV screens and posters, advertising the current lineup of programs. Not surprisingly, there were no ads posted for Jules Verne.
A handful of frightened receptionists and interns were hiding behind the reception desk, while a group of security guards had ranged themselves in the area directly in front of the desk. Near the back of the room beside the coffee machine stood a small crowd of cleaners, still clutching their mops and vacuums. The small clear area around them suggested they had been called upon to begin cleaning the lobby, and now they appeared to be taking advantage of all the cookies scattered around to have an impromptu coffee break.
The leader of the security guards swaggered forward, clipboard in hand. His uniform was crisply pressed, and his many badges shone. His name, L. Dickie, had been embroidered with gold thread on the breast pocket of his uniform. A gold-plated whistle hung from a gold chain around his neck. He was clearly overimpressed with his own unimportance. He sneered at the Valkyries. "All right now, are you on the list?" he asked shortly.
General Gaelle laughed. "I very much doubt it. We are here to see the Head of the Programming Department. We wish to issue a formal complaint, in person."
Dickie shook his head and smirked a little. He looked very happy to be delivering bad news. "I am sorry, but the Boss is seeing no one just now. I must ask you ladies to leave the building, and take your cookies with you."
"I am afraid that is impossible. We will not leave. We will see your 'Boss.' You may consider the cookies as . . . as a special token of our esteem."
"And just be happy they're not rotten eggs," snarled Spacecase.
The Chief of Security shrugged. "Then we will have to escort you out of the building." He turned to his companions, and blew his whistle loudly, as though they were across a football field, instead of standing right beside him. Several of them flinched, and stood glaring at him, rubbing their ears. "Okay, men, let's get these broads out of here."
The Victorian Valkyries all gave a little growl. They glared at the security guards, and The Luggage pushed through them, and stopped at Captain Lorrellai's side. It, too, seemed to glare at the uniformed men.
The rest of the guards were older men, semi-retired, working part-time. They were not evil men, just misguided in their choice of employer. They didn't ask for much in their job, just free coffee and a chance to stand around gossiping out of the rain. They certainly didn't ask for much pay, which was a good thing, since they wouldn't have gotten it. They paused, and looked at the attacking Valkyries.
The Victorian Valkyries were an impressive, colorful bunch, wearing clothes ranging from 1860's high fashion (corsets and hoop skirts) to modern clothes like stretch pants and blue jeans. They carried a variety of weapons, covering a wide range of practicality, iron frying pans (some quite nicely decorated), hatpins, feathered boas, umbrellas, riding crops, and even a pair of matching flamethrowers. Each woman wore an expression of intense determination, like a last-minute shopper during the Christmas rush.
Most bewildering of all was the large wooden trunk, which stood fidgeting on its hundreds of tiny feet. The Luggage kept opening its lid in an oddly threatening manner, revealing gleaming rows of ivory teeth and a mahogany tongue -- and then closing the lid with a loud and startling snapping noise. Then it shifted a little, and seemed, somehow, to glare at them with an angry keyhole, and the security guards (who were, after all, only armed with radios and little notebooks) suddenly decided that they were not prepared to deal with this particular problem.
"It's time for our coffee break, Les," one said.
Dickie scowled at him. "I've told you not to call me that, Dad," he hissed. "Call me by my title, darn it."
The older guard sighed. "Okay, 'Chief Dickie'. We won't try to throw these ladies out without help."
Dickie gestured imperiously at the receptionists and interns still cowering behind the receptionist's desk. "You there," he called, "come on out and help us clear the lobby." One lone piece of office paper, wadded up into a ball, was thrown out in response. His face turned red, and he turned slowly back to the Valkyries, struggling to contain his fury.
The receptionists and interns held a hurried conference, and suddenly shoved forth one of their number, an elderly woman, who was obviously the Office Manager. She waved a box of Kleenex, in lieu of a white flag, crawling forward with her hair all askew.
"We surrender," She cried breathlessly, adjusting her glasses.
"Yeah, we totally give up," Chorused the rest, still hiding.
General Gaelle nodded. "All right. We accept --"
"You can't surrender!" Dickie shouted, jumping up and down with rage. "It's not allowed in the Employee Handbook!"
Everyone ignored the Little Napoleon.
"We -- we just want to clock out and go home," The Office Manager begged. The rest of the frightened interns and receptionists crept out behind her, weeping.
"Clock out?" Faeling repeated.
"Yes, we are required to clock out, or we don't get paid for working all day," they sobbed.
"We don't have time for all of you to clock out," General Gaelle began, and then paused.
The Luggage had shuffled over to the Time Clock, which was tucked away near the elevators. Everyone watched, fascinated. It marched all around the terrible, tyrannical machine, which was never on the right time, and always said you were late no matter how often you adjusted your watch to match it, and which somehow always made you wait forever for that last minute to click over to 5:00, and suddenly -- SNAP! The hated Time Clock was gone. Hundreds of time cards fluttered to the floor around The Luggage, which somehow managed to look very smug. The employees all gave a gasp.
"I guess that means we're already clocked out," whispered one of the interns.
General Gaelle smiled. "Okay, form a single line and go out the door quietly. I'll radio the attack forces on the hill to let you out." The Valkyries were nearly bowled over by the crowd as they rushed past, clawing to get out the door.
"I feel just the same at 5:00 pm," murmured SeriousJane.
The lesser security guards had joined in the stampede, leaving the Security Chief alone. He swore, and yelled to the cleaning staff to help him, blowing his whistle for all he was worth.
The cleaners came walking up, wearing dubious expressions.
Their supervisor, a rather stout woman, wearing a frillier smock than the rest, paused at the guard's side. "Dickie, you fool, you must be crazy! That's not our job. We're just here to clean, not throw people out the door!" Her companions all nodded fiercely. "And another thing! I'm tired of hearing that stupid whistle! You just stop that blowing right now!" The other cleaners nodded again, and glared at him. He stared at them, stunned by this mutiny. The whistle dangled, forgotten, from his lips. "And we're not cleaning up this mess, either! Here!" She shoved her mop into Dickies limp hand, "now just see how YOU like cleaning up after all you crazy people. Come on, everybody," she turned to her employees, "we're all going home!" And with that, she swept past the guard (although not with a broom) and they all headed out the door.
As the cleaners passed, the Valkyries heard one of them complaining to her companions. "Man, I knew it, I should've stayed home! Miss Cleo told me not to come to work today. She said she saw some baaad cookies in my future, but I thought she was just talkin' about lunch."
Security Chief Dickie's gaze moved from the mop, to the Valkyries, to The Luggage, which came running over to bump against his legs. He gave a little gasp, nearly choked on his whistle, and ran out of the building.
"Well!" said Gaelle, "I guess it's .... so long, Les Dickie! Okay, let's get going!"
The Ground Crew triumphantly entered the elevators and began their ascent to the tower.
The Rubber Ducky crew, monitoring the Ground Crew's attack via the Live feed from the mobile cameraman (as well as the cameras in the attack forces bunny ears), let out a cheer and flew up to write their message in the sky: 'Qvack! Qvack! Let's Attack! Find our Show and put it back!' The other Valkyries, seeing the Qvack-Symbol, renewed their catapult assault on the lower floors, to keep the remaining security guards and maintenance crews busy.
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