His Master's Voice

Suburbia Prime was a low population density settlement, orbiting an orange dwarf sun in an icy but intimate orbit. Its axis of rotation was tilted almost exactly ninety degrees, but the frigid oceans and thick atmosphere spread the tiny sun's energy surprisingly evenly. Twenty years of comet bombardment increased the surface temperature up to comfortable levels; a network of orbital mirrors did their best to simulate a more conventional day-night cycle, artificial sun-dogs that shined brightly in the twilight phases of the planet's five cycle year.

The equatorial region was surprisingly temperate. While the climate of the planet was still changing, the Corporation decided that a program of limited development would create highly desirable manors for the Corporate elite. Industrial activities were limited to the polar regions and interplanetary space; residents were expected to commute to orbital workplaces in private spacecraft.

The people who could no longer afford the punishing expense of interplanetary commuting gravitated towards the landing zones and industrial areas near the poles.

The Suburbian Interstellar Space Port was a five kilometer long, cylindrical space station that orbited the central star in an orbit with a 3:2 resonance with Suburbia Prime, describing a 'U' shaped orbit relative to the planet. (1) It was a stop-over point for long-haul star liners taking passengers to and from Suburbia Prime.

Two men in business suits sat at a table in a restaurant, watching transit passengers rush to catch the elevators to their terminals. The restaurant was packed with recent replicas of everyday antiques, filling every dark corner in an obsessive-compulsive urge to cover every square millimeter of wall space. View-screens surrounded the circular bar, staffed by chemically perky waitresses who prepared over-priced snack food for travelers on lay-over.

The larger and portlier of the two men watched Arsenal save the young woman.

"She was supposed to die, you know."

His companion, older and thinner, looked up from his gerbil in a bun, and chewed thoughtfully.

"It's hard enough to make the mushroom cultists a plausible threat without that showboating idiot shooting my scripts."

Judas Montclair scowled as his companion swallowed.

"The hero saved the damsel in distress. The people love that kind of thing."

"It's childish and silly. Wish fulfillment fantasy is all well and good, but it's adult fantasy that makes people come back for more."

"Sometimes, Judas, I think you just like hurting people."

"My lifestyle choices are irrelevant -- it's a big, violent universe out there. Everybody knows someone who was a casualty in a Reyll raid, or gotten killed by space pirates, or died in some stupid accident. People can relate to sudden, violent death."

"Especially if it happens to someone else."

"That's the key difference between comedy and tragedy, Mister Brown."

Judas' companion remained quiet for a moment. James Brown had been directing and producing "Honor Guard" for most of his adult life. He liked working with Montclair. However irritating Montclair's pedantic moments may be, the scripts came in on time and on spec. For a producer, this was more than good enough. James Brown decided to change the subject.

"How was the meeting with M-Seven?"

"Well, Demonslayer was a pain in the ass. I asked her why a group called M-Seven only has five members, and she went off on an hour-long discussion of numerological symbolism. The spirit of the people is Number One, she's Number Two, her flunkies are Numbers Three, Four and Five. At least she agreed to take on Jinx Bubastis as Number Six."

James Brown's organizer beeped.

"Speak of the devil. Jinx says she'll have an upload ready for me in a few hours."

"She's a real trouper, that one. A jobber in the best sense of the word."

Jinx Bubastis was an occasional Honor Guard adversary, a spell-casting space pirate that usually went by the pseudonym "Arcana". Rumor had it that she was some kind of psychic vampire; Montclair liked vampires. James Brown liked getting his feeds early.

The episode came to the first major cliffhanger, as a low, round hill shook and then rose up on a vast, cylindrical stalk ending in three stubby legs. Dirt rained from the canopy of the hundred meter tall fungal monstrosity as it closed in on a hapless platoon of police troopers.

A close-up on the face of young Victor, a cadet who had been exposed to a super-soldier virus invented by his deceased father.

"Victor to Honor Guard -- it's Fungo the Killopscybe. He's coming right for us!"