And now with a confident, tight smile on his face Ride played his ace card in the situational analysis: Bessel functions. Even now he remembered the months of long suffering in grad school as Cort, his seemingly obsessed teacher, ruthlessly hammered home every last property of these especially useful curves. He had to know every freaking one of the cousins of this disfunctional functional family. He had to know how the orders related. When recurrences applied. He had to know asymptotic limits. He had to understand the orthogonality relations. My god, he even had to know every goddamned approximation, in this age of modern computers and numerical methods, just in case he was marooned in the bush with the most resource challenged collection of problem solvers this universe had to offer.

He remembered with a little satisfaction how one of his problem sets had driven his tormentor insane, for a good few months. A fitting payment for his pains. The mountie was a master at transforming to bizarre coordinate systems to avoid having to use the most mind numbing of the techniques. But the one that stole Cort's linearity of thought was particularly good: 83 nonorthogonal dimensions with relativistic relative rotations and nonlinear oscillator circuit driven scaling.

"Try to find a tensor representation for this, maggot" Ride had scrawled in the margin in ancient Hittite. Having to use his own blood because all of his pens had run out of ink from the sheer length of the assignment.

But now as his mind tranformed so easily, like a well-oiled machine, with those deeply ingrained relations from his younger days, he felt a little guilty about his treatment of his old master. "I forgot the face of my father, my teacher" mumbled the mountie as his cocktail napkin filled with the fruits of the labor.

Cort's fate was especially horrible. His tie to the mountie, even so remote in the past, had been the reason for his too early and too painful death. Revenge for "wrongs" perpetrated by the mountie. Ah well. He had lived tall and free.

Another link in the chain that would haul down the construct of Evil was now complete. The napkin blazed forth Good's solution to the dilema of the confused universe. Once again man had proven master of his environment and would make Nature treat him so kind.

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"Try to find a tensor representation for this, maggot"





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It was a totalitarian world... but the dictator was benevolent, comparatively. The forces of Good had made an alliance with this leader. Ride was supposed to respect this. But he saw all the familiar things one finds in a repressive environment as he walked through the streets. It put him in a gloomy mood as he went to his hotel room after his long trip to arrive here.

It became more and more difficult to enslave people, even by trickery, the more time went by. Tyrants were having to learn that the passive looking creature in front of the T.V. one moment would be tirelessly risking all the next moment to win precious liberty. The clever mind fuck strategy that took months to dream up in sweaty conference rooms would be exposed to scorn and ridicule all over the galaxy within moments of its application. The more Medicine learned to prolong and protect life, the more people were willing to trade it for the principles that made life worth living. The more beings there were in the universe, the more the individuals learned to value themselves and their own lives relative to the historically manipulated, nebulous ideas of state or tribe. Related to this is that one of the great joys of mankind was seeing the flower of Reason unfold and work its wonders. Reason increased man's ability to survive and thrive in a universe that was neutral on the subject of man's future. Reason helped him to live with dignity. And in this sense to triumph even over death itself.

But on this world, a clever politician had managed to take total power and to convince the most free of societies that his way was right for this world. Or at least was tolerable so long as he held office. It helped that the world was rich in resources. It helped that it was a real gain to have it on your side in a battle. This was a problem of course that was as old as government itself. Diplomats seemed to enjoy showing their skill in making these little difficulties evaporate when it came time to cement friendships. At the parties here, that Ride was forced to attend and while attending to actively mingle, there was no hint of friction or trouble of any kind. Yet Ride figured that some day he would probably be back here again, helping some resistance movement remove some less benevolent dictator quickly from office before he wiped out some sizable portion of his subjects.

"Ah well, that is the circle of political strife" he thought.

It was in this frame of mind that he met some of the women of this world. Sadly he was so mistrustful of his host, so digusted with the lack of freedoms here, that he could not enjoy their company. This of course was a shame because here like everywhere else there were some wonderful people that would have enriched him by meeting. Warm, good hearted people. But humans are not purely creatures of Reason, no matter how much they value it, and Ride was all too human. He let his gloomy mood keep him distant and apart. While he pondered his next step...






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Tyrants were having to learn that the passive looking creature in front of the T.V. one moment would be tirelessly risking all the next moment to win precious liberty.



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The dictator moved through the crowd smiling. His secret policemen moved in a phalanx of dark- sunglassed pseudo-obscurity nearby. It was clear that the man fed off the energy of the people. That they loved him. It was a festival atmosphere. People were selling their wares, cheering for their leader, watching the parade on the next street.

Parade? Well it was a holy day here. A procession really. An image of a saint of this world was being carried by citizens dressed in holy robes of their faith. People would kneel in front of the image and say a quick prayer as it passed.

The dictator of course wanted the people's feelings for him mixed with their feelings for the divine, so he timed his walk to coincide with the triumphant entry of the religious procession down the main street of his capitol. He beamed with pride at yet another coup as he saw it arrive in step with his plans. He moved toward it so that he could make his bow and prayer in his characteristic way.

Hmmm but something was odd. The music was different. Gone were the watery sounds of his homeland, with soothingly evoking images of heavenly peace. Instead there was the tinny sound of trumpet, the slow methodical beat of drum, that had he been more familiar with the history of Earth, he would have immediately recognized as The Marcia Religiosa.

He should have paid more attention to his history lessons as a child, for then he would have known better than to simply stand in the middle of the street with a puzzled look on his face, he would have noticed his phalanx of security "accidently" obscured by a set of fast talking laborers moving a large piano and other band equipment.

He would not have been so surprised to see the four creatures carrying the relgious icon drop it and raise quickly up blast rifles to their shoulders...

The report from the guns was horrific. The piano went up in a shrapnel spewing inferno. Phalanx and leader were quickly .... no more.

One of the gunmen ripped off his robes and violently waved his fist in the sky. "Jesu Christu it maka my ganglia TWEEETCH. Meeta your new... Duce my friends."

And so one leader was replaced by another. Two worlds now ruled by lectroids. The forces of good may have kept the worst from happening, but they couldn't completely stem the rising tide of Evil.







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�Ladies and gentleman, we have a special treat for you tonight here at the Copa Cabana,� Please welcome one of our finest artists� a lady who needs no introduction� a sensation from the very first time she took the stage� The one� the only� Juuuuuuuuuuuuullllllliiiiiieeeeeeeeeee Broooooooooooownnnnnnn!!!!�

The formally dressed crowd claps politely and the spotlight soon finds the spot where Julie lurks, dressed like she was still locked up in an 80s video, ready to be thawed out� ready to take those first� giant� foot steps�

�Look, there she is
I�m gonna kick her blonde butt!
Hey girl, I wanna talk to you!

I�ve seen the way that you check him out�
When you think I�m not around.
(oh, sha-doo-bee)
Mentally undressing him
(Sha-doo-bee)
Trying to shut me down.

Well, you know last night he told me
All those nasty things that you said
You asked him if he gets lonely
Now you�re asking to be dead�

Girl fight tonight
(Shoo-be-do-bop and a shoo-bop-a run away)
Revenge is gonna be so sweet
Girl fight tonight
(Shoo-be-do-bop and a shoo-bop-a run away)
Your lips are gonna kiss the street
You only want him �cause I want him
Back off, girl, or else
Girl fight tonight

I hate the way that your sweater fits
(Tight)
I hate your baby talk
(Oh sha doo bee)
I can read your dirty mind
(Sha-doo-bee)
I watched you watch him walk

When you told him he looked like Rob Lowe
Well, that was the last straw
So now I have to tell him
That you wear a padded bra

Girl fight tonight
(Shoo-be-do-bop and a shoo-bop-a run away)
Oooh, we�re gonna have some fun.
Girl fight tonight
(Shoo-be-do-bop and a shoo-bop-a run away)
Bloody mascara will run
We�ll see how long your tan lines last
When you�re in a body cast
Girl fight tonight

Get her!
(Don�t let her get away)
Yeah!

All in love is fair
(She�ll rip out your hair)
Now I�m declaring war
(You know she�s killed before)
�Cause I�m a lover and a fighter -- bitch!

(Shoo-be-do-bop and a shoo-bop-a run away)
Revenge is gonna taste so sweet
Girl fight tonight
(Shoo-be-do-bop and a shoo-bop-a run away)
Your lips are gonna kiss the street.
You only want him �cause I want him
Back off, girl, or else
Girl fight tonight

(Shoo-be-do-bop and a shoo-bop-a run away)
That�s right you slut, I�m gonna get you
(Shoo-be-do-bop and a shoo-bop-a run away)
I�m gonna rip out your hairs one by one
(Shoo-be-do-bop and a shoo-bop-a run away)
I am
(Stop it, let go of me!)
(Shoo-be-do-bop and a shoo-bop-a run away)
(You ripped my blouse! Stop it)
(Shoo-be-do-bop and a shoo-bop -a run away)
(Your choking me! Stop It!)
(Shoo-be-do-bop and a shoo-bop-a run away)
Get out of here
Get out of here, that�s right
(Stop it!)
(Shoo-be-do-bop and a shoo-boop-a run away)
(Oh, my god!)
(Shoo-be-do-bop and a shoo-bop-a run away)
(She deserved it)
(Shoo-be-do-bop and a shoo-bop-a run away
Shoo-be-do-bop and a shoo-bop-a run away
Shoo-be-do-bop and a shoo-bop-a run away
Shoo-be-do-bop and a shoo-bop-a run away
Shoo-be-do-bop and a shoo-bop-a run away
Shoo-be-do-bop and a shoo-bop-a run away)







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Ride breezed into a bar on yet another world... The war was far away... His duties did not call...

He really did not spend too much time in bars. But when he went, he thoroughly enjoyed himself.

He was capable of spending long, long times without the company of others - his mind full of hobbies, problems, possibilities. But now he found himself longing to visit some of his old friends again. To enjoy the simple pleasures of catching up, matchmaking, planning the kinds of quests that a group of good friends plan. Enjoying sunshine, good music, with time moving so slowly.

He pulled out his guitar and played something that was haunting him. Enjoying every moment of the experience. The feel of the string. The rich tones of his old trusty guitar. So much music came back to him and made his playing distracted. So he put down his guitar. And simply relaxed with these memories playing so strongly in his mind. He allowed himself to whistle now and then. Not caring about the effect on those around him. Enjoying the experience of recalling something with surprising accuracy from memory. The experience of hitting the perfect pitch, seemingly, but perhaps with a little trickery going on on scales too fast for the ear to pick up. His mind running over with amusement the limitations of the ear, the tricks played by the mind, and scheming of ways he could play this to his advantage in future compositions. He still remembered how delighted he was to discover the secret of the perpetually falling scale so long ago. He knew that there were some beings in this place that would enjoy quite a different experience from his because of the fundamental differences in how their brains processed the signals, how their 'antennas' effected the inputs...

And in this light mood his thoughts turned again to the Model in Black. This was no accident. Long experience had taught him to deliberately seek time for tough problems in different mental states. He had looked at this particular issue in just about every possible state that his gray matter was capable of producing. He felt that he was reaching the ultimate conclusion now. The final pronouncement. The end of the trail.

So much had been revealed to him. All the cards were on the table. Bullets dodged... Doors laid open... Great wastes traversed...

The other matters he set aside... They were not his particular problem... For him was the Model to deal with and nothing else...

Evil cannot hope to beat a man in such a state. Relaxed. Looking confidently down from his comfortable vantage point at the pinnacle of a successful life. The universe itself goes meekly hat in hand when a man enjoys this brief moment of ... I don't know... fundamental insight.

When a man feels comfortably his proper place in a long lineage of men. His thoughts and accomplishments adding to the glorious rising wave of human ... shall we say... progress? The progress up the scale in the mean? The tendency toward more and more enlightenment, of waking, of ... of... yesssss, harumph, well though not spoken, to such a man, enjoying such a time, there was no need... for the universe opened itself with utter transparency for him to view.

This of course is just the feeling that some women, married to such men, cannot tolerate and upon sensing will try immediately to dispel. mmmmmm but there are others who sensing do their utmost to enhance the experience.

Because of my good mood this day, I will write for Ride that there was such a woman of the latter sort, who added to his good feeling, and made this moment one of those precious few that we cling to with our jealous memories. And offer my hope that such moods are so contagious to all who ponder them.

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Evil cannot hope to beat a man in such a state.



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Plans are made for the changing... Boundaries for crossing...

So when Ride realized he had the solution for the red lectroid upsurge, he dropped everything and organized an immediate raid deep into the lectroid midst.

We will skip all of the preliminaries... the maneuvering... the skulking. We won't go through the price, so high, that the team had to pay to accomplish their objective...

Suffice it to say that there was battle. There was heat. There was trickery. And then...

Deep within the bowels of a mountain... lit by blue hissing light... crossed by densely packed field lines...

A mountie. His adversary. Rendered helpless. Constrained by bonds too powerful to be broken. Gagged. Eyes the only way to communicate his hatred, his fury at being caught in the mountie's net. Oh how they flashed... in this... his last moments.

Ride: You have committed innumerable crimes against all beings every chance you have been given.

Emilio: mmmmmph. mmmmph. mmmmmmph.

Ride: You and your species have shown the watching peers that you are nothing but a blight on the face of the universe. As you develop you simply become more evil, more powerful, more of a threat to all that is good.

Emilio: (simply tilted back his head a little to convey his pride)

Ride: I have been thinking of what to do about it. How to resolve this. How to punish you. I have it now. It came to me while I was discussing with a student the reason for nipples on men... The secret is development. Just development.

Emilio: mmmph pffffft mmmmph

Ride: You see... you and the black lectroids share a common history. Up to that last branching in your family tree, things were perfectly fine. But something happened... something terrible... during the developmental trip of one ancestral lectroid fetus so long ago. Some dark force entered the mix and flipped 3 hox genes from "low" to "high" at a critical step in the process. That was all it took. The embryo now went down a modified path, in a darkly pioneering way, and produced your line.

Positive constraints failed to fix the aberration. Maybe they were temporarily passified. We may never know how.

But know evil one... that this can be undone... for every cell in your scheming, twisted body regenerates itself every 10 seconds. Even your foul mind. You were always so proud of your regenerative powers well... now they will be the death of all that you ever were...

Emilio: (cannot hide the horror in his eyes as his sharp, though insane scientific mind realizes the implications of the argument) mpppppppfffft!!!!

Ride: (doing his best Gene Wilder) Ever since a bit of slime crawled out of the swamps and said 'I am lectroid' your kind has sought immortality... has sought glory... your destiny went briefly off track and served Evil but now... I will play the god... I give you ... morality!!!

(he threw a big switch. Sparks flew. Machinery shrieked. Wolves howled........ And then there was an enormous flash of white light)

Ride: You have 10 seconds lectroid.

Emilio: mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppffffffffffffffttttttttt!!!!!!!!!!

And so it was that Ride performed the first documented case of developmental reversal. Effectively converting the red to black. Evil to good. Only in lectroids could this procedure work for no other species had this one's powerful constraints and regenerative powers...

It would be only a matter of time before the reds were all bathed in this light.



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Ride: I have been thinking of what to do about it.




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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HNGaa5Opfmc Quote

little girl: That whole last chapter raises all kinds of troubling issues.

gramps: (assuming a studious look) Yes?

little girl: I mean the mountie basically decided the future of an entire species himself. Where was due process? Trial? Judge? What kind of story is this? Freaking vigilante justice?!? I should tell my mother on you!

gramps: Easy, easy. The matter is more complex than it appears.

little girl: Oh really? Looks pretty simple to me. Mountie gets idea. Mountie raises army. Mountie kidnaps lectroid. Mountie forever modifies lectroid DNA. How do you justify that?

gramps: Well...

little girl: And what about free will? What about the principle of individual vs. nation or species. How can you judge an entire species anyway? It is a horrible precedent! How is that not discrimination! Stereotyping!

gramps: You are right to view such things with suspicion. Evil often does don the guise of Good, especially in matters of 'justice' and punishment.

little girl: Damned straight!

gramps: (sighing) The universe is so complex. It is unwise to hold rigidly to any principle, no matter how benign it is. Every act must be examined closely with full knowledge of the circumstances. It takes wise and experienced beings to approximate true justice. And because of the difficulty of the task they will make mistakes too.

So while the act could set a terrible precedent for unwise or evil judges, I think a wise, virtuous judge would see the uniqueness of the case. Don't forget, no lectroid was killed, as we tend to define it. I'll grant that the act of regeneration created effectively a new individual in each case, a virtuous one in place of an evil one. But don't forget that the whole existence of the red lectroid species was due to the interference in a normal development process by some unknown, presumably evil, influence. Are we to take such a thing as the act of the gods and not to be undone?

little girl: Yes I see this. I also understand that it prevented a lot of further death and destruction. It just violates so many principles.

gramps: Well I am glad that you are able to see that and to not take the scene without question and reservations. This too is the purpose of any good tale.



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Deep in his secluded chambers... away from the maddening throng...

our lurking menace broods.

Now revealed to us, ...

as he is... was...

and ever shall be I suppose - at least until Good gets organized and does something about him aside from advocating judicious Jell-O purchasing. I mean how many people have to die before ...? I won't say anything more about this, it is too irritating. When I think of how high my taxes are... but no matter.

Oh he was so weary at the moment. His work was no picnick to be sure. Not a lot of recognition in it for him either. No parades. Not even a pat on his ... hmmmmm well before I can address that I have to say something about his form, his substance, if not his ethos.

I will start very basic to keep it simple. He is made of the same fundamental particles as you or I. Nothing novel there. Those particles are glued together with the same kind of forces, same type of chemistry that we are all so familiar with.

It was merely in the organization of the substances that novelity had arisen. Another example of complexity. His cells were simply like no other in existence. They did not arise from some ancestor, they were created, by a man, using new rules.

He could grow. But could not reproduce. And so was a very lonely creature. But very focused to be sure.

Now the press had gotten some incoherent description of him. I don't see how. For there never were any survivors. They of course could only offer analogies from their own experience and that of their source, I suppose, and their name for him had stuck - ChickenHeart.

ChickenHeart. This was not a statement about the magnitude of his courage. This was not a suggestion that he loved to wear kilts. It had to do with what he looked like, what he sounded like, the moment before he devoured some victim.

I have dabbled only a little in the theory of neo-Lagrangian gelatinous suborgannelles... but I'd say that he could be summarized, to first order, as a piece of dangerous goo that you'd better stay on the other side of the planet from. Of coure this is wildly inaccurate as he is not a piece of goo, he is all there is of goo of this type, and you'd better not be looking around for more, just go as fast as you can away from this one, if you want to have a nonzero probability of surviving the experience of meeting him.

Is he evil? And just what do we mean by 'evil' anyway? Should he be grateful to man for bringing him into this universe? Should he be expected to serve those who fear him? Are repulsed by him? Is he just really, really hungry?

I dont' know... but I do know that I really could use some tangerine, rum filled jello now. It is hard to be too tough on a villain when you are playing with that.









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His work was no picnick to be sure.



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It was then that Ride felt a disturbance in the Force. It was definately NOT as if a multitude of voices suddenly screamed out frantically and then were silenced completely. No no no. It was something much different. But strong nonetheless.

He could feel a yearning across the universe. A need. A deep rooted desire for some lovin'. For some compassion. A weariness with battle and strife. A longing for comfort, for peace.
For some meaning anchored in the most basic of ...

He switched off his analysis of the situation and simply "stroked the belly of the universe" He consoled it. Buttered up its bruised psyche and stroked its wounded pride.

There was a universal sigh and warming. Forces relaxed their grip a bit. Careening destinies downshifted and pulled over one lane. Mini-renaissances flourished in the middle of windy steppes.

"Go in peace... Preserve and cherish life..." tolled the words released by the soothing tricks of the mindful mountie.

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A deep rooted desire for some lovin'.



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When we achieve some level of success, when we have survived so many trials with flying colors, when we have grappled with Death and have learned how to relegate it to its properly modest, humble place in life... then we are indeed wonders to behold - brimming with confidence, surging with power, propelled by great purpose.

Yet along the road to this level of mastery, we are vulnerable. Life is tough, the universe sometimes cruel. As would be expected of any rational being given our circumstances, circumstances that require us all to have some heroic qualities merely to function well at all, as expected for any us, Dudley went through his troubled youth phase.

It is always important to remember that the figure tallest in the saddle was at one time a conflicted, cowering adolescent. The most fierce of warriors was once afraid of the dark. There is intelligence to be fournd in fear and oddly courage too. Virtue can be seen in the fearfull when one sees in him a refusal to accept untrue explanations, to see the situation to be as awful as it really is. There also is the kind of fear that is related to the desire to not be the cause of suffering, perhaps through failure for example in battle, to your loved ones.

In fact, many believe that to be truly courageous you must first feel true, unmitigated fear and overcome it. Otherwise you may be blessed only with bravado or foolhardiness.

Ride's time of trial in the distant past involved near-death and the self sacrifice of one who loved him for the sake of his cause. Early in life he had to deal with Death and the guilt and responsibility that comes when someone noble sacrifices all for you. During this time he was referred to by his friends as 'Dudley Darko'. For it left him for a while in a state that many have experienced to some degree at some point in their lives. A little mad. A little self-destructive. Daily grappling with harsh realities that must be dealt with before we can soar. Feeling the unfairness of having so much heaped upon one's narrow shoulders so soon. Rebeling.

But we expect so much from each other. We demand a certain kind of heroism from all. This is rational. This is necessary. But we should never forget the dignity that also should be accorded heros. Despite our many failings, flaws, shortcomings - there is something noble that we all share. And so no matter what the outcome of your struggle, and we all do owe the gods one death, you can stand proudly, if notionally, in the presence of your most ancient of ancestors... for you have conquered the true foes as they did so long ago...

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