Chapter 13: Magnum Thrax and the Amusement Park of Doom

Cause Monday means Magnum:

Jez waited down the hall from Thrax’s quarters quietly, standing in the service alcove, in the shadows. She liked the dark. In her hand she held a candy. It had been expensive to have the little pill programmed. Unpalatable favours had been given. But Job was the only one with the requisite skill. She checked the miniature detonator in her other hand. The readouts blinked. Fully operational.

There was a soft swish and her target stepped out of the domicile unit into the hall, carrying a recycling bucket.

“Hey, kid,” Jez snapped.

Sally stopped and looked at her warily.

“You Sally?” asked Jez, languidly slinking over. She knew she looked resplendent in her outfit; the girl was clearly impressed.

“Yeah, who are you?”

“Andromeda. Thrax wanted me to bring you this. Don’t know why. Some story candy. He forgot earlier,” she said indifferently, looking at the wall and ceiling, as if Sally didn’t matter. Jez didn’t want to seem eager, like she was handing over a poison apple or some shit. Play it cool, she thought. She was above anxiety. Didn’t know how it even entered her head; she wasn’t programmed for it. “Here.”

Sally looked at the glistening taupe candy and held out her hand. Jez plopped it into her upright palm. It was cool to the touch; on contact she got a flurry of images in her head of a princess and a handsome pirate in distress. A romance!

She sniffed it, inhaling the scent of strawberries and indescribable, genetically engineered fruits.

“Thanks,” she said.

Jez held her breath. Just swallow the thing, you vile little child, she thought. ”Give it a chance, kid. It’s the next big thing.”

Sally popped the treat in her mouth and skipped off down the hall.

“Ace in the hole,” whispered Jez, out of ear shot. Time to get up top, join the tema, and put the rest of her plan into operation.

****

Large, polished metal doors reflected the gently rolling cola Ad Clouds far above. With a soft hum, they began to slide away into the surrounding rock while Thrax watched glumly. A platform rose up bearing a regal, stretched white limousine.

Lashed to the top were boxes, bed rolls, supplies.

At the back was a sleek, compact turret mounting quad 20mm plasma bolt Bofors guns. Next best thing to an onboard Aegis-D for Disintegrator system.

Thrax grimaced from behind his stylish, polarized recorder sunglasses. He was dressed in his Sunday best for the mission, a white disco leisure suit so bright it could blind the enemy. He wanted to look sharp when he kicked ass. “We’re going in that?”

“What?” chuckled Sang, the elderly mechanic, stepping up beside him. Sang’s crinkled, craggy face wore an amused expression that rarely left it. “Goes with your suit. You wanna walk?”

“No, but seriously? Why aren’t we taking the tank? I mean, it’s a friggin’ tank.”

“Ah, ye of little faith. Me and your uncle used to take this limo south, selling drex boxes to the ant farms for chem pots,” said Sang. He held up his hands defensively, “That old Abrams-39 is a piece of junk. Ablative plates: ha! Panzerjocks are pansies, anway; I’m a car cowboy, kiddo. Deadly, and way, way, faster. Made a lot of mods. Pay attention, I’m not gonna repeat myself, and there’ll be a test later.”

Thrax, fuming inwardly at Buchanan and Ghatz, latched on to the name. He felt bitchy. Wanted something to punch. “The Lux Chariot?” he said with distaste.

“Ding! Yeah, kid. One point.” Sang walked around the vehicle, his pride and joy, pointing out features. “Twin maser cannons embedded beneath front headlights. Ten mini-HK missiles in an engine mounted rack. Got it? Smoke generators in back. Liquid filled tires. Anti-grav generators. This baby can skim the earth at twenty feet, like a gentle, sensuous caress. Loses bit of stability higher. Don’t want to hear it,” he warned, holding up a finger, before continuing. “Wet bar. Lead shielded CleanFuse-58 Reactor. Programmed nanoputty seats with two dozen configurations. Soft. Hard. Fold up into the size of a pocket book for more space. Kitchenette with a microreplobox, natch. Thousand item menu. Including my own personal favourite, the banana split. I’ve upgraded that with my mom’s recipe, Founders rest her soul. Exterior port for organic matter, chemical top ups. Naturally, nutrient injectors for organic material recycled form the septic tanks.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“No, kiddo, that’s practical. This mission could be a long one.” Sang pounded the hood. “Top it off with a self-cleaning, self-repairing shell, coated with a polymer composite of polyurethane and polyvinyl chloride with ultrafine powders to absorb and scatter radiation. Makon Inc’s best. This is the ultimate driving machine.”

Sang grinned and folded his arms over his barrel like chest. “So? What do you think now, kid?”

“Think I’d rather walk.”
“Holy shit! That is so cool!” exclaimed a voice behind them.

Kal raced up to the car in awe. “Oh, yeah! Yeah, baby! This is one sweet ride, Sang! Way to travel in style. Look at that hull. Fusion powered, I’m betting. This what we’re taking?”

Thrax shifted about. “‘We’? I thought the council forbid you to go,” he asked, annoyed. He didn’t want anyone near him. Especially not his friend.

Kal shrugged and shoved Thrax his backpack. “Yeah. They obviously don’t understand the unquantifiable advantages my indubitable brilliance will bring to the mission.The hazard of working with lesser beings. Screw’em. Snuck out. Got my vibrating toothbrush. Does that sound dirty? Sorry. Sexual deviant. Bygones.”

“Yeah, yeah. How’d you get out?” Thrax demanded, grinning now. He looked back at The Pit entrance. Two android guards stood there, eyes vigilant, weapons at the ready. The whole place was under surveillance.

There was no other way out. Typical Kal. Always something up his sleeve. “Magic.”

“Bullshit.”

Kal ignored him and ran his hands over the surface of the Lux Chariot, lined his eye up along the curve, and smiled with glee. “This is The Founders personal car, isn’t it? The Lux?”

Sang grinned. “Damn straight. The one and only. Now this man has taste, Thrax.”

“Can I drive?”

Sang grinned wider. “Hell no.”

“Never say never, my friend. Exchange? I’ve got some great iDreams. Ones you’ll never, ever forget. Narratives with sex, drugs, rock and roll.”

Sang waved him off. “Only one man drives my baby: me.”
“How about a software upgrade? X-Ray vision? Or blood flow enhancements to you-know-what? Vibration and conscious control.”

“Riight. Upgrade. From you? Like you did with poor ol’ Uwe?” Sang laughed. “Don’t think so.”

Thrax gave him a quizzical look. Uwe was one of the three gigantoid hums, eight feet tall, physically powerful but of limited mental ability.

“Your friend here added a subroutine with the upgrade that made Uwe run around The Pit in a banana costume singing, ‘I am a banana!’ and doing this weird dance.”

Kal grinned. “What? It was an experiment in information warfare that will help preserve the colony against myriad potential attack vectors. Besides. It was funny! C’mon! ‘I’m a banana!’” He shook his booty and alternated thrusting his fists in the air.

“What did Uwe do?”

“Got him to deactivate it. Ripped Kal’s arm off.” “Bullshit.”

“No, true,” said Kal quietly. He stopped dancing about. Touched his left arm. “Seemed a little extreme. He could just have asked. Hurt like hell. Even re-growing it hurt. You ever have a major limb reknit?”

“When was this?” Thrax didn’t like shit going down that he wasn’t aware of. How had he missed this? It sounded freaking hilarious.

“Couple months ago. You were out hunting that werewolf circus.”

“Yeeeeah.” Thrax smiled at the memory. They’d been good, challenging prey. He’d shot two through the head with a silver bullet from his antique .357 magnum. They’d lined up perfectly. He’d caught it on his sunglass recorder and played it back at least fifty times since. It was one for the ages.

“Who’s on team?” asked Kal.

Thrax looked at the horizon and rubbed his nose. “Dickhead left it up to Jez.” Irritation at being sidelined couldn’t be contained. It was his squad. He should have had some say. He certainly should have been able to choose his own sarge. Ghatz was pulling rank, hard. The prick. Thrax always thought Ghatz was a sniveling little twerp, but he was the darling of the Guardians, of that fat Senator, and well embedded in the Pit’s power structure. What was Thrax? A peon, a bit of cannon fodder, a foot soldier good with a gun. A tool for the powers that be to use and discard, along with his family. It grated.

For the sake of his mom and little sister, he played along. There was no choice. No gain in making an issue of it. For now. But there would be a time, later, when accounts would be settled. Thrax would see Ghatz got what was coming to him. Nobody got away with threatening his family.

Sang pointed. “Here they come.”

The base doors opened and out walked the most beautiful, bodacious, buff and oiled team of combat sexbots ever seen. They strutted forward with all the confidence a thousand thousand programmers could imbue; so breathtaking was their march out of the personnel elevator, it seemed to Thrax they were walking in slow motion.

Jez led, a plasma bolt gatling gun slung over her shoulder, a black leather trench coat over her usual nothings. Behind came Candy, Jasmine, Thumper, Kitty, Blossom, Sable the sexy librarian, and finally Andromeda, who wore resplendent form fitting armour that evoked memories of the ancient and long dead Amazons.

“Aren’t we ready yet? Cripes. Let’s get this mission over with,” said Kitty, slinging her ruck sack on the ground and striking an annoyed, impatient pose. She looked over Jasmine and smirked. “Nice outfit, girl. Got that Asian submissive thang going on. I can see why it’s appealing. To weak men, that is. I prefer real ones.”

Jasmine rolled her big eyes skyward and tossed a mint into her mouth. “Whatever, fat thighs.”

“More cushion for the pushin’,” Kitty winked and smacked her gum extra loud. “Let’s go, people. Where the hell is Ghatz?”

Jasmine nodded at the exit. “Here he comes. With Herc.”

The bronzed and shirtless Hercules V, muscles rippling and long hair blowing in the wind, followed Ghatz out.

Thrax sniggered. Ghtaz’s tux was so cliché. Elvis never wore them, and that dude had class and the love of the ladies. Ghatz also walked like he had a rod up his ass.

Thrax noticed the Hercules V glaring death at him, and winked at him. So Ghatz was bringing a bodyguard along. Nice, thought Thrax. Doesn’t trust us. His own team. Good. Thrax could use that against him.

He did a quick tally. With Sang, Kal, and Thrax, that made a total of thirteen. If they got to Mindy, the technowitch, they’d hit fourteen.

Full ship. Tight fit.

Shouldn’t be a problem. There would be... openings.

Ghatz stopped and glared at Kal. “Programmer Kal? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Last minute reassignment,” replied Kal cheerily. “Science officer. Technology specialist and management consultant. Check your feed.”

Ghatz paused while Kal’s forged details flowed into his neural relay. Thrax held his breath.

“Damnit,” Ghatz swore under his breath. Cleared phlegm from his throat and faced Kal. “Fine. Don’t know how you managed that, but fine. I’ll not put lipstick on a pig. Just stay out of my way, understand? Keep out of combat. Leave that to us.”

“Jawohl, mein Führer!” snapped back Kal, standing at attention, with faux reverence.

“Jez,” Ghatz called. “Assign one of your team to keep an eye on our walking target. Seems we have a civilian joining us.”

Jez nodded. “Jasmine, his ass is yours.” Jasmine slumped dejectedly. “Buzz killer.” “I’ll do it,” piped up Sable.

“I said Jasmine.”

Thrax noticed Andromeda was a little deflated as well. She’d been knocked back in rank and Jez promoted over her without explanation. There was nothing Thrax could do about it. Ghatz was putting his imprint on the squad. Or something more.

Sang popped open the doors with a remote. “Okay. Load up, kids! We leave in five.”

“Shotgun!” shouted Kitty, skittering towards the limo in six inch combat heel boots. Jez stuck out a leg in her path and sent her sprawling.

“Front seat goes to Ghatz and team sarge. In other words, me,” Jez asserted haughtily, stepping over Jasmine’s prone body.

Ghatz started towards the limo, but stopped, caught by the glow of Thrax’s luminous disco suit. Squinted and shielded his eyes, then laughed. “I hope that ridiculous outfit,” he sneered, “is self-cleaning.”

Jez laughed out loud, a little too eagerly, her ingratiating intent showing like a bare butt. Yeah, laugh it up, you two, thought Thrax. He gritted his teeth.

Karma’s coming. Like a freight train with laser guns and atomic weapons and fire breathing dragons. That made no sense at all, but Thrax didn’t care: he was going to kick Ghatz’s privileged pink ass.

Ghatz paused, mid-step, then leaned back toward Thrax. “Oh, yes,” he said softly, edging close, invading Thrax’s personal space, breathing on him. Their eyes locked. “Anything happens to me, your family gets it. M’kay?”

Dick, thought Thrax, not unjustifiably.

Chapter 12: Magnum Thrax and the Amusement Park of Doom

“The answer is still no,” said Job firmly. He sat in a sound proof room before a grand wall of floating monitors, two stories high, that gently arched overhead. Each showed a different area in the virtual world of Kiss-Ass Kingdoms. Behind Job was a semi-circular table covered with scattered tech and dormant, half-programmed nanopods, half-eaten lunch packets, dirty cups and bits of chips. 

But Job’s mind wasn’t on the game. The gun barrel Kal pressed to Job’s temple had all of his attention.

Kal flicked off the safety. The primer began to whine as it charged. “I seriously think you should reconsider, Job. Rethink your priorities. I mean, honestly. Be logical for once.”

“Please,” said Job irritably. “Think I can’t tell the difference between a disconnected primer and a connected one? That gun’s harmless.”

Kal tonked him on the head with the pistol butt.

“Ow!” cried Job, cringing and clutching at his head.

“Mostly harmless,” Kal corrected. Never try to bluff Job, he reminded himself. “Just the same,” groused Job, rubbing the bruise. “We need you here.”

Kal slapped his arms agains his sides and did a pirouette. “What for? C’mon, Job, this is the chance of a lifetime! We’re going to the Nike Monastery! The Nike Monastery, of legend and song and all that shit. I gots to go.”

“I need you here.”

“I’m not giving up the chance of a lifetime to work on Kick-Ass Kingdoms, Job.”

“The final round is coming up.”

“You know there is a post-apocalyptic world out there, full of cool mutants and hot chicks with big guns, right?”

Job waved the notion away with the flick of his hand. “So? Reality has no reset button, no undo. Too permanent for my taste. Look. Kal, we can win this round. I know it. But the team needs your help.”

“Forget it. End of the world is coming, man. I’m not going to miss it.”

“Too late. By about a thousand years,” sighed Job. He grabbed a bag of chips. “So forgive me if I don’t get excited. Listen: council doesn’t want its number one trouble shooter skipping off on a mission that’s got less than a one per cent chance of success.”

Kal froze. Grinned nervously. “Where’d you get that number?”

“Jen Five. Mainframe.” Job popped chips into his mouth and chewed loudly and with satisfaction.

Kal considered. “Victoria agree?”

“Victoria invited Doc Helen for virtual tea. They haven’t come out. But she’s been looking into uploading her consciousness into a migratory nanoswarm.”

“Oh,” said Kal. He leaned against the control console. “That’s not a good sign.” “Nope. I’m thinking of doing the same. Into the Kick-Ass Kingdoms memecloud.”

“Are you kidding me? Into a superficial, corny caricature of real life filled with two dimensional characters? No way. It’s the real world for me.” Kal paced back and forth. “Come on, Job. You’re being a dick. I’ll appeal this,” he finally declared, and tossed the disintegrator onto the work bench. He headed for the exit.

“You do that, yono. Thrax’ll be long gone by the time your appeal’s even heard. Take my advice: get ready for the next game round.”

**** 

Like bloody hell, thought Kal angrily.

The air duct reverberated with sound of popping metal sheets. 

Bang! 

THWANG!

Kal awkwardly heaved his lanky body upward, weighted down by a large backpack stuffed to breaking point. He looked up at the light, above. Almost there. Just a few feet more, he thought to himself.

Keep going.

He released the suction cup on his hand, planted it higher.

No one else knew about these ducts. He’d deleted them from the database ages ago in case he’d ever needed an escape route.

That day had come.

There was nothing in the Pit for him, really. Kick-Ass Kingdoms had lost Kal’s interest several tournaments ago, when a ten year old adversary had defeated his supreme ice fortress with fireballs of pitch and hay. Totally bogus: Kal’s ice was magical, so there’s no way it should have been affected. Stupid arbitrary rules. Kal had had enough of that; now, he wanted to explore and see the real world, where things made sense.

Not to mention find out what happened to humanity. If there was anyone else left.

His mom and dad had been killed by raptors while harvesting, years ago. Partly his fault, too, which made it worse. Rather than being on guard, he’d skipped off and smoked snuff with Thrax. Kal felt, deep down, that he should have died with his folks. The lab was more like a tomb now, an emotional crucible of torment and regret and guilt that ran in endless circles of condemnation. He had to get out. If he did something good, something significant, maybe he could atone for what he’d done. Or rather, not done.

Oddly enough, Thrax was the only one he regarded as a real friend. The other scientists in The Pit hated Kal. People cooperated to compete, and as the best, he was the one they were competing against.

He was already outside, emotionally speaking, and had been for some time.

Time to make it literal. And do something big, to prove himself to the others. Real combat couldn’t be much different than the virtual reality simulation games, could it?

Before setting out, he’d uploaded PageTurnerDeluxe into his virtual assistant. It turned life events into a compelling narrative. You could shoe horn your experiences into any classic story structure: quest, revenge, romance, what have you. The software even flavoured it: Hemingway Staccato, Dostoyevsky Gab, Elmore Leonard Jazz. For this, Kal had picked a combination of Hemingway and Leonard, quest format, with maximum settings for action and sex.

He even secretly seeded app feeds into the others members of the squad using their system updates. His virtual writer would include their experiences in the story. Get the full picture. After all, if you’re going to save the world, you’d better damn well document it. Why save it if it isn’t for bragging rights? For security’s sake, he stripped the feed of all mentions of the dodecahedron and Thrax’s virus. Kal thought long term. One day there would be an entertainment industry again, and his ancestors would be armed to exploit it with a kick-ass, first-person historical adventure franchise.

Best of all he had his experimental EMP gun. The one he’d been trying to modify to target nanotech, just in case Victoria went nuts, which seemed increasingly likely. A kind of nanovore gun. It would impress the shit out of everyone. If it worked, and Victoria went nuts, and there were still people alive to impress. Success was such a mind game.

A spot of warmth hit his cheek. Sunlight. He looked up.

In a moment he’d reached the weathered grill. He’d released the seal that concealed it, but forgotten about the analogue bars.

No matter.

He was prepared.

With a tiny laser torch he melted the dozen bolts holding it in place.

No worries.

He shifted about, being careful not to lose his grip. It was a long way down. If he fell, he’d trigger the defenses and be crispified. Then dismantled molecule by molecule.

Gathering his strength, he shoved with his left arm. It was stronger. The grate didn’t budge. Rust.

Planting his knee suction cups firmly, he thrust upward again, this time with both hands and all his paltry strength. The grate gave way, flecks of orange speckled his face. It tottered a moment, and then fell away to the side.

Kal rolled over the top into the long prairie grass.

He was out, and he wanted a cola.

A small robot fly lifted off from his shoulder and dissolved into smoke.

The 100: Wanheda Part II Review

Now this is what I'm talkin' 'bout.

Part one was awkward setup. This episode, the ball gets rolling.

And we get one of those great The 100 conundrums: a Grounder warrior is mortally wounded by the evil Ice Nation, but he's a friend of Guy-Who-Takes-His-Shirt-Off, so he's taken to the medical station. They don't have what they need to save him at the fallen space station, but if they go to Mount Weather, they can use the Vampire President's medical gear and blood supply to save him. To top it off, traveling there might also threaten the peace, as it means traveling through enemy territory. Or something like that. My memory on that point is fuzzy. Anyway. They have to decide if the risk is worth it, and if it is ethical to use the lab of The Mountain People, who stole their blood supply from the Grounders. The injured soldier would be benefiting from tainted blood, so to speak.

And someone (Guess who!) gets their ethics all up in a knot.

I love that sort of stuff.

The episode has betrayals, new characters FINALLY being killed off (It's already episode two! I mean, talk about slacking), and people having reunions with old friends thought long dead, to expand the cast so, obviously, more can be killed off. And these new people say great stuff like, "We're Grounder killers, one and all. Boo-yah!" to people traveling with, and allied to, Grounders.

Awkward!

Sure, the Arkers should all be dead, their station should have broken up on reentry, but the show would be much less interesting if it had.

Clarke is being hauled about by the studly bounty hunter Roan (Or so I'm told. Has he taken his shirt off yet? I don't remember, I get distracted by Clarke's heaving bosom).

Arkers almost catch up to them, but the reunion is dashed by the appearance of the Ice Nation army, which is on the march.

More difficult choices follow.

In the end, Clarke is delivered to Lexa, who wants Clarke's help. Clarke, being Clarke, spits in her face, because this is The 100.

War and character based conflict are coming.

All I can say is, yeah, baby, bring it on!

Battle of the Blurbs: Magnum Thrax and the Amusement Park of Doom Blurb Bash

 

Wondering which sounds better. Never mind which is more accurate, I'm trying to sell books here.

When a giant prairie squid delivers an unconscious android to the door of Pleasurepit Five, everything changes for Magnum Thrax, the King of Kick-Ass and Lord of Rocket Launchers. As leader of a team of fiesty, combat repurposed fembots, he's used to defending The Pit against mutants and legacy ad memes. This time it’s different: the android brings word of an unstoppable, rogue amusement park that is expanding at an exponential rate, threatening to rewrite the world on a subatomic level into sanitized, G-rated blandness.

To stop it, Thrax’ll need help from the technowitches, but the only way to reach them is across The Death Zone.

And no one who has entered the zone has ever emerged alive…

That's the short version. Here's the long:

In a post apocalyptic world overrun by mutants, death bots, and legacy ad memes, there remains only one last bastion of human civilization: Pleasurepit Five, a former sex emporium and edifice to all things carnal. It is mankind's last hope in a hyper-predatory dark age.

The defense of the installation falls upon young Magnum Thrax, a genetically engineered warrior-god and king of rocket powered kick-ass who’s otherwise rather clueless.

His world is turned upside down when an enormous, bloated prairie squid delivers an unconscious android to the Pit’s door. The artificial man brings word of a new threat rising in the East: an unstoppable rogue amusement park. Expanding at an exponential rate, it threatens to rewrite the entire post-world on a subatomic level into sanitized, G-rated blandness.

Nothing living will remain, not even a three-eyed atomic rat.

The Pit is sent into a tizzy at the prospect of both imminent doom and song worthy adventure. Inevitably, it falls upon Magnum Thrax to lead an ultra-deadly team of combat repurposed fembots, armed with deadly weaponry and impractically scanty attire, on a mission to save the wretched remains of the Once-World. Joined by his programmer buddy Kal, who provides the brain-power and angst, they’re humanity’s last line of defense.

But to defeat The Amusement Park of Doom, they’ll need the help of a mysterious girl who lives with the dread technowitches. Wielding dark powers beyond imagination, these fetching yet demur witches will turn inside out (literally) anyone who intrudes upon their placid realm uninvited.

Worse, the only way to reach their holy monastery is across the aptly named Death Zone, from which no one has ever emerged alive…

Thinking that I'll try them out with the chapter postings, as lead ins... so you'll be seeing them again.

Who's The Doctor's Best Companion Ever?

Best Companion of The Doctor… Evah.

This is it: Companion Smack Down. The top contenders go in, only one comes out.

I’m going to rate the best of the best.

Romana

A fellow Time Lord assigned to work with The Doctor in order to find The Key to Time by a guy with a pigeon stuck to his forehead, she adopted the appearance of a princess after her first season, and went on to marry Tom Baker. Briefly. Sharp witted and resourceful, Romana’s an equal in every way to The Doctor. You’d think he’d prefer to shack up with her as opposed to a former chips shop worker he’s 47 times older than, but no. What’s the age of consent on Gallifrey, anyway?
Score: 8

Captain Jack Harkness

Rogue time cop and pansexual omnivore, Jack’s always the most interesting person in a room. A preening narcissist who makes Captain Kirk look modest and self-effacing, Jack was less a companion than a competitor. He’s better off with his ego on another show.
Score: 3

Leela

Leela grew up on a planet that was royally messed up by The Doctor’s earlier (off screen) meddling, which resulted in a kind of extreme social experiment. A savage warrior, foxy lady, and indomitable spirit, Leela was the perfect foil for the pacifist Doctor. Raw animal sexuality combined with predator instincts were an inversion of The Doctor’s detached, sophisticated, peaceful personality, as her first answer to every problem was to kill it. Based on a Palestinian resistance fighter Leila Khaled.
Score: 9.5

Rose Tyler

A young Londoner who ran into The Doctor during an invasion by killer shop mannequins. Rose was Russell T. Davies’ obvious favorite and likely stand-in (R.T. and R.T.D.). An uneducated former gymnast who worked in a chips shop, it has to be said that she was a real go-getter and kept The Doctor on his toes, but she had the depth of a shallow puddle and was a little on the young side for him.
Score: 6.5

Sarah Jane Smith

Blessed with insatiable curiosity, Sarah Jane was always getting herself in trouble in pursuit of the truth. A journalist by trade, and a born revolutionary, Sarah Jane stirred shit up wherever she went in time and space. By the end of her run, she’d led more rebellions than Princess Leia, Che, and Lenin put together. We never met her family, but thanks to Elisabeth Sladen’s portrayal, she felt more real and had more depth than any companion in New Who, with one exception. Also a crack shot with a rifle. Because Sarah Jane!
Score: 9.4

Amy Pond

A sexy-gram delivery girl who grew up with a rift in time beside her bed, she’s had a life long connection to The Doctor and witnessed his… tenth(?) regeneration. Got stranded in New York in the 1930’s, and apparently could never interact with The Doctor again, even though she’d naturally travel out of the Thirties into the Forties and presumably the Fifties and Sixties, in which The Doctor was rather active. Whatever. Her life was intertwined with The Doctor’s in novel and clever Moffat-esque ways, but her personality was a lacuna. Unlike Rose, I can’t think of anything to even complain about with her. She’s just relentlessly bland.
Score: 6.5

Ace

A young explosives expert and punker from the… You know, I have no idea. She was an over-the-top, wish fulfillment cartoon character who grated on the nerves. Walking, talking sandpaper armed with a baseball bat and explosives. Her idiosyncratic colloquialisms fell flat with mind boggling relentlessness. Small wonder the show was cancelled.
Score: 5

Donna Noble

A mouthy lady whose wedding The Doctor interrupted, Donna had more personality and sass than ten other companions combined, but was unfortunately saddled with a dreadful end to a wonderful character arc. In her last episode, her brain was overstimulated, necessitating a mind wipe. Her personality was reset, undoing everything she’d learned, which was a particularly sad end for a such great, standout character. She deserved better. Someone should write her in again.
Score: 9.1

River Song

First appearing as the leader of an expedition to a library planet, she was later revealed to be much more (and thus less) than that. Initially interesting, she became a mugging, one-note ’Spoilers!' cliché. I think of her like an irritating grain of sand in an oyster that forms over time into a pearl, only instead she just becomes more irritating. A psychopath grown and groomed by a secret organization to be the perfect assassin and meant to kill The Doctor, he went and married her. Yeah. That’s messed up.
Score: 6

Martha Jones

Jones is an actual doctor, as in a physician, and she pined away unsuccessfully for The Doctor. The man was blind. Martha was smart, educated, beautiful and competent. Alas, she was never terribly popular with audiences, or The Doctor for that matter (who preferred younger, less educated and less intelligent chip shop workers), but had more substance and was less superficial than the overrated Rose. Did I mention the BBC shielded prominent pedophiles from prosecution and covered up their crimes for decades? Just saying.
Score: 7.6

Jo Grant

Assigned to be the assistant of Jon Pertwee’s Doctor by The Brigadier, she replaced the less popular but highly intelligent scientist The Doc had been hanging with earlier. A sweet heart who looked great in short shorts but was unfortunately a bit on the dense side. Thoroughly lovable nonetheless, Jo was a great stand in for little kids, who could always identify with her. At least I could. She was pretty awesome. I’ll not stand anything negative being said about her. So there.
Score: 7.2

Peri Brown

An American who got sucked into The Doctor’s TARDIS while wearing a bikini, Peri was a stunningly beautiful brunette with a figure that just wouldn’t quit. She frequently dressed in said bikini (see above), or similar nothing. What’s not to like? Her voice was a high pitched whine and she lacked much in the way of personality that wasn’t annoying. The only companion The Doctor ever tried to literally strangle. I’m not sure what that says and probably don’t want to.
Score: 36 24 36

The winner: Leela.

Why?

Because drama.

What is the source of drama? Conflict.

What drives conflict? Character.

Which companion offered the most in-built conflict with The Doctor? Hands down, bar none, Leela. He's a hyper-educated, sophisticated Time Lord and moralizing pacifist. She's a savage warrior woman who's always ready and eager to employ lethal force. Leela had an alternate way of doing things, and wasn’t afraid to say, or do, so.

It was like The Odd Couple, only with time travel, deadly Janus thorns and a gender switch.

And yet Leela was intelligent, always learning, and willing to be essentially tutored by The Doctor. That offered room for growth, for a clash of values that could ultimately change them both. So much the show runners could have done here and ultimately didn’t. They achieved a lot, but certainly could have taken it much further. Why they've never revisited this sort of combination I'm not sure, but I imagine it would be seen as too extreme. Too controversial for safe spaces.

The only other character to push the envelope as much as Leela is Donna Noble. An argument could be made that Jack Harkness pushes it as well, but he’s just malignant narcissism with a mouth and a mirror shagging himself.

So there you go: Leela is the best companion in Doctor Who.

QED.

Chapter 11 of Magnum Thrax and the Amusement Park of Doom

It's that day again. 

Time fo' mo' Magnum:

Thrax woke to find himself standing in a vast, empty amusement park wearing his favourite Tarzan pajamas.

Before a castle of gleaming silver stood the android, in a state of much better health than he’d been in a moment before. The synthetic man strode down towards Thrax. To the right, upon a great pile of gold treasure, lounged a red dragon. It looked down upon them with evil eyes. White wisps of smoke drifted from its flaring nostrils. To the left was a tree village populated by dead eyed elves silently smoking long, thin pipes and eating soft tortilla chips.

“Where am I?”

“The Land of Wonder,” replied the android calmly. “The Worlds of Tomorrow Entertainment Complex and Amusement Park. Heart of the Engines of Creation, realm of the Dark Lord. The big bad, as it were. Our mutual enemy, Mr. Thrax.”

Thrax looked over the android. “You look better.”

“I am dying,” replied the artificial man with a wan smile. “But then, so are you.”

“Me? Nah. I feel fine,” said Thrax with false bravado.

“You won’t, soon enough” said the android. “The synvirus will dissolve you in seven days time. It will not be a pleasant death.” The android shrugged. “Sorry.”

Thrax punched Eight-Oh-Nine in the face. The android stumbled back, then righted himself, undamaged. He looked at Thrax with pity. “Do you feel better? You may hit me again if you like.”

“Why? Why the hell me?” Thrax asked.

The dragon laughed, rumbling laughter shaking its elephantine belly and causing vibrations to course through the ground.

“Chance. The general injustice of existence. But there is a way to avoid a horrible fate. A cure.”

“Peachy. What?” asked Thrax, skeptical.

“If you infect the Dark Lord, the virus will leave you unharmed. And save the world.” The dragon turned its head like a bird and focused a vast yellow eye on the android.

“Planet’s pretty screwed up as it is,” snorted Thrax. “But I get it. Do or die.”

“Yes. Look,” said Eight-Oh-Nine, gesturing at a man imprisoned in a medieval stock.

“Hello, Thrax,” said Darwin, waving glumly.

Thrax rounded on the android. “What have you done with Darwin?”

“I’ve overridden him for the time being. My consciousness,” said the android, “will be coming along with you.”

“Let Darwin go,” demanded Thrax. “Or no dice.”

The android shook his head sadly. “I will activate every pain receptor in your body on a randomized schedule until you cooperate.”

Thrax punched the android in the face again.

The android took the blow, then continued calmly, as if he was dealing with a disobedient and unruly child. “It need not be entirely unpleasant. As I can punish, so too can I reward, by stimulating the pleasure centres of your brain.”

Thrax felt a tingle. “Holy!”

“Like so. I also noticed your reaction to the female technowitch.” “You mind your own business, pal.”

“Her name is Mindy. She’s young. Powerful. Combines the gene lines of ancients who had high level command nanites. A clear threat to the Dark Lord. But inexperienced. Unfocused. Vulnerable as a catepillar in a cocoon. Alone, on her own, he will win. She needs your help as much as I.”

Thrax gave it some thought. She was pretty hot. He couldn’t leave her hanging. Wouldn’t be chivalrous. Hell, this was the kind of heroic rescue mission he’d always wanted. A world to save, a beautiful princess to rescue.

Purpose.

Who could ask for more? And, honestly, there didn’t seem to be much choice. “Okay, like I said, I’ll do it. But I think you’re a jerk wad. You could have just asked nicely.”

“Perhaps. And yes, I will release Darwin the instant the Engines of Creation are destroyed.”

Eight-Oh-Nine held out a hand.

They shook.

“Are you ready to go back, Mr. Thrax?”

He nodded, then remembered as the world began to swim. “Wait, wait! The dodecahedron!”

“Oh, yes.” The android smiled mischievously, his image distorting with his surroundings. “That will be our secret. Tell no one else. Give it to the girl, when you find her. It will give her the power to defeat The Dark Lord if the virus fails. Always have a backup plan, Mr. Thrax. Now?”

“Yeah,” replied Thrax. “Your guts better not have stained my pants.”

As the world dissolved around him, it occurred to him that in the great joke that was life, he’d just become one of the punchlines.

****
Panting, Ghatz rolled off of Jez and stared at the blood red ceiling.

“That was incredible,” he gasped, drenched in sweat.

Jez leaned over him and ran a finger around his left nipple.

“I told you it would be worth it,” she purred, and gave the nipple a sharp squeeze. Ghatz gasped and she planted her lips over his open mouth, kissed him hard, whipping her tongue about, tasting his tonsils, then shoved him away. She slid to the side of the bed. She was still wearing her thigh high boots and bustier. She slipped on her latex bikini and stood up.

“We’re going to make a great team,” said Ghatz, admiring her buttocks.

“We?” repeated Jez, a shadow crossing her cruel features. She turned about. “There is no ‘we’. There’s only me. You’re a clerk, a front man, commander of this mission in name only. You’ll take my orders. Is that understood?”

“Please.” Ghatz propped his head up on one hand. “You’re squad leader. Andromeda is no longer in command, just like you wanted. But don’t push it. I lead this mission. You’re nothing but an android.”

Jez jumped on to the bed, straddling him, and belted him in the face. Snatching a knife from the bedside table, she pressed it to his throat.

He looked up at her and for the first time, fear in his eyes. Even Jez was a little surprised.

Control engrams should have prevented her from going this far.

“How...?” Ghatz sputtered, frozen in place.

She pressed her face into his.

“Personality over programming,” she sneered, half speculating. “You humans think you’re in control. But you’re not.” She turned the knife. “Are you?”

“Release me. At once,” he said sternly, using command tones.

Jez froze for a moment. Started to withdraw. Then pressed the knife back, hard enough to draw a speck of blood. She laughed. “I don’t think so. Not this time. Not anymore.”

Ghatz swore under his breath. “You’ve got a serious discipline problem. This mission is the biggest opportunity of my life. Lacus himself gave me command. It’s my core competency. I’ll die before I give up control!” He glared up at her defiantly. “You’re just going to have to kill me. See what that gets you.”

Jez considered this for a moment, then shifted the knife down below, to his blood engorged staff. “I could do worse.”

“Go ahead, I’ll have a new one grown in an hour.”

They glared hate at each other for what seemed like an eternity. With a laugh, Jez broke the tension and sat up. Relaxed. Smiled.

She tapped him gently on the chest with the tip of the knife. She’d have to be indirect, clever, but properly handled, this mission could result in her, Jez Lykopis, android, ruling the planet as its immortal, beautiful, undying queen. She just had to sell the team out to The Dark Lord, then seduce him. Turn him into her sex slave. Armies would be no defense. She had the skills to make any man she wanted whimper and beg. The possibilities felt so close, so powerful, she could explode. This Ghatz creature would be a stepping stone leading, eventually, to ultimate power. “You’ve more balls than I’d have given a worm like you credit for.”

“Fuck you. You’re colder than a witch’s tit.”

“Yes,” she said, putting the knife aside and pulling down her bikini again. She rubbed her bubble like buttocks against his quivering meat rod. “I think we’re going to make a good team after all.”

And she slipped him inside her and thought of Thrax.

Stay classy, my friends, so I don't have to.

The 100 Season 3 Premiere: Wanheda Review

The Post-apocalypse 90210 is back, baby!

And it's off to a rocky start.

Some details are jarring: there are broad, flat and possibly graded roads now for jeeps (yes, they have jeeps). Who made the road, and why? There are no cars. Well. Now there are. But come on, do you see Grounders doing road work? They wear skulls for decorations. They'd be more likely to eat the road crew.

But that's just nit picking.

The episode starts a couple months after the end of the last series. The passage of time is shown through Murphy's eyes, who's been locked inside a bunker for eighty days (giver or take) and is on the verge of insanity, watching the same video over and over again until he can quote it verbatim. It does give the writers a chance to info dump about the fall of human civilization and the role possibly played by the mysterious AI in a red dress.

Funny how AIs always represent themselves as foxy women in red dresses.

I'm not complaining.

Anyway, crazy former commander Jaha lets Murphy out after the opening credits, and tells him about the City of Light. It's real, but virtual, or really virtual. Virtually real? Take the blue pill, Murphy. Have a juicy steak with Agent Smith. They hint at a Matrix like angle, and if that's the case, it opens up a pile of possibilities for scenes set in our current world, with all the budget savings that has to offer.

Commander 'Gonzo' Jaha has teamed up with the AI, who may, or may not, have destroyed humanity. There are hints both ways. Jaha and Red Dress have gotten a nuclear reactor going, and just in time. It can provide the power for the hot showers Clarke's going to need.

Clarke's been living in the woods, feral style, wrestling black panthers and selling meat to a trading post. Because that's what you do in the future. She looks like she hasn't bathed in three months, and she's gone Ginger. Or is that mud?

Apparently, Clarke's being hunted by everybody, who want her Mean Mama Mojo.

Feeling lonely despite all the panther snuggling, Clarke and the young lass managing the trade shop have some hot, steamy and arguably gratuitous sex. Then Clarke's off again, only to fall… into pushing the plot forward. Because something has to happen in the episode.

Young Jasper, in the meantime, has gone over-the-top bananas over the loss of his one true love, Vegan Vampire Girl, and repeatedly manifests a death wish. He's so annoying about it you just wish they let him do it.

But no. Jasper's dragged along on a mission by Beefcake (Bellamy), Worrywart, and Lame Leg Lady. They drive a jeep across fields… which clearly show the lines of cut grass made by sweeps of modern machinery. CUT GRASS, people. In the Post-Apocalypse! I had no idea there would still be landscaping. Makes it much more appealing.

The 100 is going for epic on a shoe string, so you have to accept this sort of thing. They gotta cut cost corners somewhere, and the grass got it. Just use your imagination and think of Love Canal.

Where did they get a jeep? Best guess is Mount Weather, because why would you have one on a space station? Yet the Weather folks didn't seem to use them. Could be wrong. Not important, a throw away line later will cover it, no doubt.

Otherwise, more of the same. War is looming on the horizon, because stuff. Adults are proven wrong and praise the superior wisdom of teenagers. A real life pop singer makes an appearance to sing and play the piano. Two hunky guys fight with their shirts off.

It's fun and gleeful, but even more preposterous than usual.

The combat skills and abilities of some characters, who spent their entire lives in, essentially, antiseptic closets, are now elite warriors, which kinda makes the savage Grounders look incompetent and needlessly lame. Maybe they wear skull ornaments to compensate. They'd be ten times more dangerous and competent if they were teenagers. Their leader, Doe-Eyes (Lexa), is a teen, after all.

It's still the CW.

The premiere is only the opening salvo.

It's packed with set up and teen tropes.

All the better to subvert and kill them later.

Here's hoping.