Slide On The Run

Episode Seven The Turquoise Tower

The Throne Room was like a chill and austere boudoir of muted purple, small, gauze-draped gatherings of white gold light, and soft-focus shadows, but, beneath the cool control and austere restraint of the supposed philosopher-queen, Slide sensed a ruthless, and potentially explosive barbarism that would, sooner or later, demand to run free, if only for short intervals and in small measures. And, indeed, what else should he expect from She of Fable who had melded minds with Count Dracula. The lingering spell-by-association of the bizarre combination of vampire, human tyrant, and old school demon king was both implacable and indestructible. Although driven from the material realms, and the undead body of the Tepes the Impaler, by Van Helsing and his gang of repressed and ravening, witch-hunting bigots, old Drac, the Infinite Count remained as potent as ever, circling in orbit in the ever-vague, over-there of the Ancients, but somehow managing, maybe fed by the mass energy of his Legion of Darklost, to maintain a disembodied icon-presence, black cape and manicured fangs, in the culture of the consumer dimensions. In one time-stream he even ruined the minds of children with a heavily merchandised, but also heavily drugged, brand of breakfast cereal.

Slide had noticed, however, as they entered the throne room, that Queen Mina was being unhooked from a intravenous feeding set-up with decoratively imperial hardware. From long experience, Slide recognized that the oily fluid being introduced into the royal veins as almost certainly a cocktail that contained a unhealthy amount of the old fashioned IV tincture form of tetradetoxin, know as oblividol. Where the fuck was she at if she needed to be doped up on tetradetoxin, plus fuck knew what else? By the time anyone reached the need for a tetradetoxin drip, they had almost certainly picked up rare tastes for a lot of other highly addictive shit along the way. And what did that effectively say about Count Dracula, if his link with the woman could only be maintained by large doses of a powerful time and dimension stabilizer? Unless of course the tetradetoxin was to keep the Count at bay.

Queen Mina leaned forward as Slide approached the throne. She seemed to be having a little trouble focusing her eyes. "You are the demon?"

"I'm Slide, Yancey Slide, your Majesty."

She had the ever-young, ever-old, look of the vampire, but with an added lines of contempt around the mouth. Her courtiers probably called her slender, but to Slide, she looked as emaciated as a twentieth century cocaine concubine whose price was about to plummet, with skin like wafer thin, transparent ivory. "You have probably heard things about us."

Slide was assuming the queen was using the royal "us". "I have learned to not to pay very much attention to gossip."

"About how we are the Victim Queen of a Great and Legendary Evil?"

"I am a Idimmu, your Majesty, we really

don't grasp the concept of evil."

She fixed him with a stare that was penetrating, but was also inclined to drift off-focus at certain moments. "You are something of a conundrum, Yancey Slide?"

"I'm sorry, your majesty. I don't mean to be. It is my aim to seek simplicity in all things."

The Queen swayed slightly and Slide took this yaw in her inspection and questioning as a chance quickly to examine his surroundings. He had visited a lot of courts in his time. As a demon, he was able to move with ease and speed from lowlife to high places, and had never been totally certain which one he really preferred. His real interest had always been in the extremes. It was the center that generally caused him trouble. As courts went, that of Queen Mina was sparse. A small gaggle of Green Martian handmaidens ministered to her

needs, along with an equal number of human attendants, all underdressed for the chill of the Martian night, in the style of the seraglio paintings so popular in the colonial 1800s. Mina herself was barely clothed in a loose jeweled robe that could have been designed by Gustav Klimt, and might have been considered more suitable for the bedroom than the throne room. The garment used abstract mosaics of small glowing gems that, coupled with the movements of the wearer, produced constantly shifting shimmer patterns, but Slide suspected that at least some of the crystals could only be radioactive, and, if the Queen was, to any degree still human, they were probably wreaking havoc with her cell structure. The robe was also heavy and tended to fall open whenever she leaned forward, affording Slide a clear view of the dark nipples of her small but firm breasts. He could only assume that this was a private audience, unless of course Queen Mina was the pace setter of the local decadence, or attempting to emulate Catherine the Great. The small compliment of courtiers certainly indicated that whatever matter had caused the Queen to summon Slide to her presence was hardly for public consumption.

Aside from the guards and servants, just six individuals waited on the monarch's pleasure, five humans and one Martian, and the arrival of Slide and Lupo raised the total to eight. After introductions had been made, Slide found that he was in the company of Bolivar Morlock, an obvious Captain of Industry, the stereotypical fat capitalist, red faced from over indulgence in whores and vintage port, and arrayed in frock coat and solid gold watch chain. Sir Hubert Guest was the elderly commander of the Royal Martian Air Force, while the even more antiquated General Cairngorm, was the senior officer of Queen Mina's imperial staff. An admiral would have completed the set, except that, on Mars, with its scarcity of water and complete lack of seas, high or otherwise, a navy was clearly redundant; something that Slide knew must have been a blow to this faux-British collective consciousness. On the Red Planet, Britannia had no waves to rule.

The two men were formally attired in full dress uniforms, blue and scarlet respectively, and all but bowed down by decorations and gold braid, and, Slide would quickly learn that they shared a common and aggressive stupidity that it was near-miraculous that the Slimy Things had not wiped out Extrosylvania long ago. A conniving oaf called Captain Harry Flashman was the human commander of the Throne Room's Red Martian guards, while a mute young woman who was referred to only as Prudence the Kitten, and whose function Slide was never to learn or fully understand completed the human representation. The ranking native in the throne room was Jalja Hajd, the Red Jeddak of Amhor, and Master of Indigenous Regulars. Queen Mina, however, totally ignored these supposedly familiar courtiers and concentrated exclusively on Slide. "You are said to have the ability to exist and function in multiple places at multiple times?"

Slide shook his head. "That is not strictly true, Majesty. It might appear so, but only because of the relativity of time and the singular perpetuation of the observer."

"We are not sure we understand."

"And I'm not sure I could explain without expounding a brief history of time and the separation of parallel dimensions."

"We have neither the time nor inclination for a history of time."

"That's why I hesitate to attempt it."

"We have heard that they hunt you in other realms of the continuum." "That is true, your Majesty."

"It is said that you deliberately caused disastrous alterations in an entire swath of very important time lines."

"It is said, ma-am, but that does not make it true."

"Then you are a fugitive from retribution for a crime that you did not commit?"

"That is my story, your Majesty."

"And you're sticking to it?"

"I am, ma'am."

"You must have been relieved when brought we you to our realm."

Slide resisted giving himself away by raising a cynical eyebrow. Either someone was deceiving the Queen about the reason for Slide's presence on Mars, or some temporal discrepancy had come into play. At his side, he heard Lupo let out a faint exhalation as though he knew that the Queen might be misinformed. As far as Slide was aware Dr. Zen's Carter Machine had hurled him across both space and time on the Gridley Wave, and he had been slammed naked into the hard sands of Mars with not even Mahdjfb the Fygglhgis to witness his actual arrival. No one in the Turquoise Tower, or anywhere else on the planet, could have had a hand in the event, although he knew, from his perception of the subjective present, that could easily not be what they firmly believed. Thus Slide's reply was thought-out and guarded. "I would certainly rather be here than in some of the other places I have recently found myself."

"But are you grateful to us, Yancey Slide?"

Slide half bowed and smiled. He might as well play along with the illusion for the moment. "Yes, you majesty. I am extremely grateful."

"Grateful enough to be of service in return?"

Yeah, well, he might have known. Nothing was for nothing, anywhere in space-time. Again he bowed. This time lower and with a greater flourish. "I am at your service, you Majesty."

Slide knew he was entering the art of the deal, but this was doing it the hard way, when the first phase was clearly going be waiting for Queen Mina and her coterie of courtiers to define exactly what the deal was all about. Like those who hunted him, and those from whom he ran, the Queen seemed to be under the delusion that Slide had the power to alter history and change the course of the future. It was nonsense, of course. Just part of the bad rap that had been laid on the idimmu almost since infinity. Sure, they could mightily fuck things up by the classic "Stepping On The Butterfly" time paradox, but any entity with

temporal jump capacity could emerge into a particular era, inadvertently destroy one crucial factor, and wreak havoc in another. Like the story went, he could step on butterfly in one time zone, and cause towers to fall millions of years later on the same timeline. The trouble was that survivors of the cataclysm would not remember that the towers had ever existed in the first place, because, in their reality, the towers never had.

The whole business of rearranging time was all an academic conundrum, with no practical application, no matter what his enemies might claim. He imagined that the Queen had some scheme in mind whereby he expected him casually to hop back a few eons, and eliminate the source of the Slimy Things, or whatever else might threaten the kingdom, but such an operation was never going to happen. Even if he had the power, the timelines in this neck of the nexus were almost certainly inalterably fucked up already. Only the Ancient Ones could know what havoc Mina and her Victorians had wreaked on the ecology of nearby time when they'd arbitrarily set down their imperial dog and pony show on antediluvian Mars.

The truth was that Slime didn't have half the power with which he was so often credited. Without the help of technology like the Gridley Wave and its more advanced cousins, he had no way of controlling, or even knowing, where his time jumps might take him. The myth that idimmu could navigate the streams of time, as opposed to merely jumping and hoping, was as specious as their supposed immortality. Sure they could handle immeasurably more wear and tear than humans, but, if he was sufficiently unlucky or careless enough to run into his own specific Instant of Termination, he could find himself as non-existent and effectively dead as any deceased mortal. He wasn't about to tell the Queen any of that, though. While Mina and her crew went on thinking that he was the solution, and not just another itinerant problem, he at least had a hole in which to hide, here in out-of-the-way Extrosylvania. His only alternative was to jump out, cold and discorporate, back down into the Gantenbrink matter and the sub-atomic foam, and that was something he had no desire to do.

"We are glad to hear that, Yancey Slide, but I wonder how your enthusiasm will hold up when you learn the nature of the service we require of you."

Slide looked deliberately nonchalant and composed. "I find I can take most things in my stride. Why not tell me and see how I react?"

Queen Mina was about to respond when the capitalist Bolivar Morlock huffed and took a step forward. "Your Majesty, I must protest…"

"You protest too much and far to often, Bolivar."

"I'm sure Slide will prove a great asset in the long run, ma'am, but right now I feel we have to address the impending industrial strike. How can we hope to take the fight to the Slimy Things if the foundry is going to be closed down be idle malcontents, even for a matter of days?"

"As you well know, Bolivar, I am against sending in the army to intimidate your human workers and preserve your profits."

"It's the Green Martians this time, ma'am."

"You always claimed they were to stupid to demand a living wage."

"The Human Syndicalists have feeding them Marx, and they are taking to it like ducks to water."

General Cairngorm grunted and spoke for the first time in a voice so vague that it more than hinted at senility, opiates, or possibly both. "On Mars, there are no ducks and very little water."

Morlock snarled at Cairngorm. "You know what I mean, goddamn it." He turned back to the Queen and spoke with an awed urgency. "They have formed a union, ma'am."

The Queen lost patience and waved a dismissive hand. "Be silent Bolivar. Your labor troubles are going have to take a lower priority. Now Slide is here, we can perhaps strike at the very root of the problem rather than merely trimming each branch as it appears."

Before Morlock could respond, he was again interrupted. This time by the doors of the throne room being thrown open for the entrance of Miss Harriet Marwood and Sir Richard Barton. The couple were slightly breathless, as thought they had been rushing, with Marwood already making her apologies. "I humbly beg your Majesty's pardon. We were detained."

"Detained?"

"Yes, ma'am. Richard had me birched.

The Queen turned her attention from both Slide and Morlock and starred quizzically Miss Marwood. "Birched?"

"A prolonged and thorough thrashing, ma'am. And in public, before the entire evening clientele at Mrs Rosa Coote's. Even though your summons was pressing, I needed a little time to recover."

Slide sensed a deep and probably degenerate relativity between the two women, but he could only guess at the explicits. The Queen arched a second eyebrow. "You allowed such intimately exposed infliction?"

Marwood gestured to Sir Richard. "I lost a bet with the brute, ma'am. It was a gambling debt, don't you know? What could I do but humble myself accordingly?"

"And now you're late and must humble yourself a second time, dear Harriet."

"Again, ma'am, I'm sorry."

"And was it a source of excitement?"

"The thrashing, ma'am?"

"The thrashing, Harriet. Later you will reveal your stripes to me, and promise to tell me all the lewd specifics, but for now you may generalize."

"Actually it hurt like hell, ma'am. My delicate cheeks still throb."

"You really can't complain, my dear, after all the thrashings you've administered in your time. Don't forget. I have more than once been a witness." The Queen smiled as Barton and Flashman studiously avoided each others eyes, and the Red Jeddak permitted himself an expression of knowing satisfaction. "Did Miss Coote lay on the flogging herself? I understand she had a subtle technique."

Before Marwood could reply, Morlock huffed and began to protest. "You Majesty…"

"Shut up, Bolivar. How many times do I have to tell you?"

Suddenly the tower shuddered and a light dusting of plaster dropped from the ceiling of the throne room. Slide assumed a seismic occurrence. "Marsquake?"

Lupo moved beside him and spoke in a

low voice. "The Slimy Things are firing their planet guns again."

"What?"

"They're firing their interplanetary cylinders. Probably at Venus."

"Damn." Slide wondered if might just be simpler to get the fuck out of there.

The Gantenbrink matter and the sub-atomic foam didn't seem so bad when compared to an enemy with guns that could throw an payload from one planet to another, but, for the moment, he decided he would stay with the situation and see what it might have to offer. The Turquoise tower shook a second time. Then a third. The Queen rose unsteadily to her feet and glared angrily at nothing in particular, and even, for a moment, dropped the royal "we". "I hate those damned things."

The courtiers exchanged concerned glances. Slide speculated, having seen the quantity of IV tetradetoxin she was taking, if the Queen was prone to psychotic episodes, and if this might the start of one. "We hate them."

Somewhere over the horizon, another planet gun was fired. Queen Mina pulled the jeweled, Gustav Klimt robe tight around her shoulders. "We can't stay and listen to them."

The Queen staggered away from the throne, throwing the courtiers into confusion. Captain Flashman moved to assist her, but she waved him away. "Leave us. This audience is at an end. It is postponed. We cannot listen to their guns. Soon they will be coming for us."

Her guards massed around her, and swaying but determined, she turned towards an arched doorway to the right of the throne. "Slide will come with us. The rest of you will wait in attendance. We will resume this later."

None of courtiers said anything, but they exchanged worried looks. Sir Richard Barton appeared particularly exasperated by the sudden turn of events. Another explosive rumble shook the palace, and Slide stared round look for some hint as to what he was supposed to do. Flashman supplied more that a hint. "You better go with her, old boy. She doesn't like to be kept waiting, especially when she's threatening to have one of her turns."

As Slide moved to go after the Queen, he caught Lupo's eye. The vampire allowed the slightest questioning shrug that clearly said "Humans? What the fuck can you expect?"

Slide returned the silent comment with a nod, and then followed Queen Mina and her guards through the arch, and down what turned out to be a long and dark corridor.

Story so far: Yancey Slide, Idimmu Demon of the Tenth Continuum leaves fractal butterfly trails of fragmenting backstory as he flees what may or may not be inter-dimensional justice. Arriving on ancient Mars via Doc Zen's Carter Machine, he finds himself in the perverse company of neo-Imperial Victorians who have established a faux-British Raj on the Red Planet. At the palace of Queen Mina, the ruler of Extrosylvania, he is granted an intimate, if hallucinatory, one-on-one audience with the Queen.