NOTICE: Gene Roddenberry’s Andromeda is a copyright of Tribune Entertainment. A Christmas Carol is a copyright of Dickens, or maybe somebody else. Anyway, it’s gotta be Public Domain by now, right? This story is a work of fan fiction parody, and is not for sale in any form.
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Robert John Burke Presents
A Slipstream Players Production --- A Gene Roddenberry’s Andromeda Fanfic
(Sorta) Charles Dickens'
Tyr’s Very Special
Christmas Carol
Dramatis Personae
TYRENEEZER SCROOGE, A London software baron (Tyr Anasazi)
BOB HARPER, his faithful engineer (Seamus Harper)
BEKA SCROOGE, his niece (Beka Valentine)
RAFE SCROOGE, Beka's brother
JACOB RHADE, the ghost of Tyr's partner (Gaheris Rhade)
THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PAST (Trance Gemini)
THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PRESENT (Dylan Hunt)
THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS YET TO COME (Rev Bem)
TINY ROMMIE, a crippled android belonging to Harper (Andromeda)
DAWN & TWILIGHT, two Than collecting for the poor
FREYABELLE, Tyr's former fiancee
FANGAR SCROOGE, a High Guard Captain and Tyr's sister
KHALIDWIG, Scrooge's former employer and his wife
GUDERIAN, Scrooge's fellow apprentice
GERENTEX, KAY-LEE, JESSA, and XAX, persons of a disreputable nature
*****
ACT ONE
Scene I-- London. Scrooge's office.
Enter BOB HARPER, who addresses the crowd.
Harper: Rhade was dead, baby. I'd say he 'bought the farm,' but that'd just start a lot of trouble, so let's say he was dead as a doornail. Dead as the Commonwealth, even. The flexi of his burial was signed by the Wayist, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Tyr signed it, and Tyr's name was worth a couple'a thousand thrones on anything he chose to put his hand to.
Now, ol' Rhade-- being a treacherous, cheating bastard-- was not well-liked. Tyr was his partner, his Alpha, his sole administrator, and his sole mourner. And even Tyr's reaction basically boiled down to: "Hey, more females for me!"
So, anyway, Rhade's toast. This much must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of my story. But as you can see-- (gestures at a sign above his head, reading "Scrooge & Rhade"), Tyr never painted out Rhade's name. This way, he could be as nasty as he wanted as 'Scrooge,' and then when his enemies came calling, pretend to be Rhade. "Oh, yeah, that Tyr guy, I think he's coming back from vacation next week." Then he'd kill 'em when their back was turned. Clever, those Nietzscheans.
That oughta give you an idea of the kind of guy we're dealing with, here. Tyr was your basic squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old Niet. And his breath was terrible, too. He was secret, and self-contained, and solitary as a Diamond Than. That made him a terrific Alpha, but a hell of a wet blanket, as a friend of mine used to say.
Me? I'm just a down-on-his luck, slob engineer, busting my hump to build the future of the Universe-- and Tyr gets all my patents, 'cause of that damn 'Intellectual Property' clause. Never sign a contract with a Nietzschean, unless you got a magnifying glass handy. So the fruits of my genius are making him rich, and it's enough to... uh, sorry, tangent.
Where was I? Oh, yeah. Rhade was dead. Don't forget it.
Harper sits down at his desk and starts typing on a keyboard. Enter TYR.
Tyr: Mister Harper!
Harper: One second, I'm almost to Myst Island...
Tyr strolls over and unplugs the computer. Harper's monitor goes dark.
Harper: What d'you know? I'm done.
Tyr: Look at this bill, Harper! You've been visiting recreational Internet sites on company time again, haven't you?
Harper: No way. Everything I downloaded was for sound business reasons.
Tyr: According to this, your IP was logged ten times at a site called 'nakedandroids.com.'
Harper: Um... inspiration?
Tyr: Mister Harper, if I were you, I'd start thinking about what my Alpha does to people who aren't pulling their weight for the good of the Pride.
Harper: What Pride? There's only just you and me! Nobody else can stand you!
Tyr: In that case, I'd think of how much bigger and meaner my employer is than me.
Harper: Maybe I can work smarter, not harder.
He plugs the computer in and starts typing away frantically. Tyr watches until satisfied, then returns to his own desk.
Tyr: And turn down that thermostat! Ten degrees Celsius ought to be warm enough for anybody!
Harper: (Aside, whispering) You see what I put up with? Lucky for him I'm a freakin' coward...
There is a knocking at the door. Enter BEKA.
Beka: Merry Christmas, Uncle Tyr! The Divine save you!
Tyr: Bah! Humbug!
Harper: I been meaning to ask, Boss... what exactly does 'humbug' mean? I got a bet with the guys down in legal that they can't find it in the dictionary.
Tyr: Get back to work! (Aside) Actually, I don't know what it means either, but don't I just sound very cool saying it?
Beka: Christmas a humbug, uncle? You don't mean that!
Tyr: I do! What right have you to be merry? Your father's left you in debt up to the roots of your supposedly-blonde hair, your ship is falling apart, you haven't dated since that embarrassing thing with the drunken Vedran...
Beka: Geez, now I'm depressed. Got anything to drink?
Harper tosses her a beer from the fridge.
Beka: Anyway, uh, Merry Christmas... or... something. (Aside) He's right. My life sucks.
Tyr: Merry Christmas! Out upon merry Christmas! Does it contribute to my genetic purity? No! Does it make my Pride more powerful, or improve my standing with females? No! If I could work my will... and I can... every idiot who goes about with 'Merry Christmas' on his lips should be boiled in Magog spit, and buried with a bone spur through his heart. (starts to giggle at the mental image)
Beka: Y'know, Tyr, you're starting to worry me. Have you ever considered seeing somebody about this 'Hannibal Lector' thing you do every Christmas?
Tyr: Beka, you keep Christmas in your way and let me keep it in mine.
Beka: But you don't keep it! You just stare into the abyss all day!
Tyr: Sure, let's turn this into an attack on my cultural diversity.
Beka: Aw, now, don't be like that. I'm just saying that Christmas is a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable time; the only time I know of in the long calendar year, when men and women seem...
Tyr: (to Harper) Does she always ramble on like this?
Harper: Pretty much, yeah.
Beka: ...by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave...
Tyr touches a button on his desk.
Tyr: Security?
Beka: Watch it, buster! This is my big speech!
Tyr: Will it last much longer? I have a four o'clock appointment waiting.
Beka: I'll skip ahead, then. "...has done me good, and will do me good, and I say, God bless it!"
Harper stands on his desk.
Harper: They may take our lives, but they'll never take... our FREEDOM!
The others stare at him.
Harper: Sorry. I kinda got into the moment, y'know?
Tyr: Don't make me gut you on Christmas Eve, Professor. (to Beka) You're quite a powerful speaker. I wonder you don't put on a uniform and start giving speeches about restoring the Commonwealth.
Beka: C'mon, ya big baby, come dine on my ship tomorrow.
Tyr: Your ship. Ha! You're a fertile female. You should get married and pass on your genes.
Beka: But I'm not in love.
Tyr: I take it back. Anybody who subscribes to that silly 'love' theory probably doesn't have genes worth propagating. Good afternoon!
Beka: Well, fine, be that way. We've never had a quarrel, so far as I know-- except that time by the black hole when we almost shot each other, but that was all in good fun, right? Anyway, I'll just go back to my ship and have Christmas with my stupid brother...
Tyr: Don't let the door hit you on the way out.
Exit Beka, passing Harper's desk on the way...
Beka: Merry Christmas, Bob. How's that android of yours?
Harper: Buggy, like always. I just don't know how I'm going to afford the upgrades...
Beka: Gee, that's a shame. Christmas dinner on the Maru, as usual?
Harper: As long as you remember to spike the eggnog. Merry Christmas, Bek.
Exit Beka. Enter DAWN and TWILIGHT.
Tyr: Not those two again. (Aside, to the Author) I'm starting to think those two bugs are your answer to the old men in the balcony on the Muppet Show. (Listens) See-Threepio and Artoo-Detoo. I should have known. Well, in the next play, send them to bother someone else! Why must you pick on me? (listens) I am not lovable!
Dawn and Twilight approach Tyr.
Dawn: Scrooge and Rhade, I believe. Do we have the honor of addressing Mr. Scrooge or Mr. Rhade?
Tyr: Does Scrooge owe you money?
Twilight: No.
Tyr: Then I'm Scrooge.
Dawn: At this festive time of the year, Mr. Scrooge, the Than Hegemony likes to provide for the poor, the tired, and the huddled masses...
Tyr: Then you're in the wrong place. This is London. The Statue of Liberty is several thousand miles due west.
Twilight: Oh, you know what we mean.
Tyr: Yes. You want a handout.
Dawn: Think of it as a 'tax write-off.'
Tyr: Sorry. Nietzscheans don't believe in philanthropy. Feel free to send the genetically inferior to prisons and workhouses, though.
Twilight: Many cannot go there-- and many would rather die!
Tyr: More females for me, then. Good afternoon.
Dawn and Twilight exchange glances.
Twilight: I don't think we're getting through to him.
Dawn: I agree. (to Tyr) Look, buster, you're gonna help us furnish some food and drink and warmth so the poor can have a merry Christmas, or maybe I know some termites who could redecorate this office for you. Comprendé?
Tyr: (Aside) I'm being extorted by Mothra. (to Dawn) A merry Christmas, eh? Look me in the eye. Do I look like a merry man to you?
Twilight: Well, now that you mention it, no...
Tyr: Then good afternoon.
The Than don't move. Tyr looks up again.
Tyr: Mr. Harper, do we still have those bug bombs in storage?
Dawn: My, look at the time. Must be getting back to the hive. (whispers, to Twilight) I told you not to visit this neighborhood. But no, homo sapiens are so festive, you said...
Twilight: Fine. Next time, you plan the route.
Exit Dawn and Twilight. A clock chimes five.
Harper: Woo-hoo! Quitting time, and a three-day weekend! I am so out of here!
Tyr clears his throat.
Harper: Oops. Did I say that out loud?
Tyr: You'll be wanting all day tomorrow, I suppose?
Harper: Let's see... extra day off, or come fester in this hellhole? I'm gonna take the day.
Tyr: Freebirthers have absolutely no work ethic. (sighs) Very well. Be here all the earlier the next morning.
Harper: How 'bout I come in at the normal time, but I work through that first cup of coffee? (Tyr glares at him) Right. Gotta stop treating you like you had a sense of humor... Merry Christmas, Boss.
Tyr: Humbug.
Harper: That's the spirit, baby.
Exits.
Tyr: (Aside, to the Author) My compliments on the first scene. I got to growl at people and be Nietzschean, and I didn't have to put up with Trance even once. (thinks about that) You're setting me up for a fall, aren't you?
Exits.
Scene II-- London. Scrooge's apartments.
Enter HARPER, as narrator, and TYR.
Harper: So while our dashing and brilliant hero was returning home from his underpaid, under-appreciated job, the big, nasty guy was returning to his dark, dreary room in a dark, dreary, corner of the city. He thinks it's just another night, but if all goes well, he's gonna jump right out of his chainmail. The FX guys-- including, of course, yours truly--have rigged up an awesome little gimmick. Trust me, you'll like this.
Mr. Tyreneezer Scrooge, an average Nietzschean with a below-average personality, has just entered... the Harper Zone.
Tyr works the lock of his apartment building, when suddenly--
Rhade (from off, ghostly): Tyyyyyyyyyrrrr....
Tyr jumps, his bone spurs snapping into place. He looks around-- nothing. When he turns back to the door, the knocker has assumed the shape of Rhade's face.
Rhade: Hi, how ya doin'?
Wasting not a second, Tyr draws his laser pistol and empties the power pack, decimating the door and blowing the knocker to shards.
Tyr: (Aside) What? You were expecting mute amazement? I prefer to save my shock until after my enemy is dead. (glances at the wreckage) It was a good door, too...
He enters his apartments.
Harper: To say that Tyr wasn't made wary would be untrue; hell, it'd be downright stupid. Niets are always paranoid. But they're also not superstitious, and Tyr promptly filed it away under "things to improve about my genes," and forgot it. On he went, not caring a freakin' bit about the darkness. Darkness encourages mating, and Tyr liked it.
Before retiring, he stepped up his nightly security check: Sitting room, bedroom, sewing room (don't ask), all as they should be. Then he sat down to dinner, which was supposed to be gruel, but Tyr wanted to know how he was supposed to keep himself in prime fighting shape on just gruel, so we went and ordered him a nice, thick steak and a garden salad.
Tyr sits down to eat. Suddenly a small bell by the fireplace starts ringing.
Harper: Tyr first thought this was a bit of continuity with the Midsummer Night's Dream parody, and another pixie had just gotten her wings. Then he realized that'd be a very obscure joke for the author to try so early in the story, and he decided to take precautions.
As the sound of dragging chains comes from offstage, Tyr presses a button on his chair, activating the Drago Musovini Brand Home Security System, complete with stunguns, lethal gas, and rings of fire. Then he puts his back to the wall, drops to one knee, and aims his pistol at the door.
Tyr: (Aside, to the author) Let's see your deus ex machina get through that.
The creaking chains comes closer...
Harper: (Aside) They're heeeerrrree...
Enter JACOB RHADE'S GHOST, into a miniature firestorm of pyrotechnics. He walks straight through all the traps, standing in front of Tyr, and promptly receives the entire contents of Tyr's reserve power pack. Rhade files his nails, takes off a bandage this is binding his mouth, and waits for Tyr to finish.
Rhade: Going soft?
Tyr: Beka's right. I've got to stop staring into the abyss... it's really starting to stare back now.
Rhade: You know, I didn't want to say anything, but this reflects poorly on your genes. No Ghostbusters-style antiproton beams? None of those little traps? Not even a silver bullet or a wooden stake? Sloppy.
Tyr: They're coming Tuesday. Besides, my genes outlived yours, didn't they?
Rhade: Ouch. Low blow.
Tyr: I try. Who are you, anyway?
Rhade: In life, I was your partner, Jacob Rhade. But you don't believe in me.
Tyr: Nothing personal.
Rhade: What evidence would you have, beyond that of your senses?
Tyr: DNA analysis? Retinal scan? Fingerprints?
Rhade: Ooh... left 'em in my other uniform. How 'bout I tell you something only Rhade would know?
Tyr: Like what?
Rhade: Like how you cheat widows and orphans, stab your adversaries in the back, and everything in your life is an intense, sexually charged negotiation.
Tyr: That's all pretty much common knowledge, actually.
Rhade: Look, gimme a break here, will ya? I've been walking abroad among my fellow men for seven years straight now, and I am totally dead on my feet-- hey, that was funny! Don't you think that was funny?
Tyr: (deadpan) Hysterical. Are we done here?
Rhade: Nietzschean of the worldly mind, do you believe in me or not?
Tyr: Well, I do want to get on with this, so... all right. I'll assume it's a flashback episode. Go on.
Rhade: You'll notice the attire... chains, mostly.
Tyr: Big deal. I wear chainmail all the time. I thought you were just trying to compete with me for the female demographic.
Rhade: Well, of course I am... but also, I forged this chain in life, and now I have to wear it for all eternity.
Tyr: Really? That was very poor planning. Doesn't speak well of your genes... but then, since I outlived you and all...
Rhade: Oh, let it go! Besides, you've labored on your own chain since we last met. Want to know how long it is?
Tyr: Sure, why not?
Rhade: Well, tough! It's my secret, do you hear? MINE! And I'm keeping it all to myself! Bwahaahaahaahaa!
Tyr stares at him.
Rhade: Sorry. I've had that frelling muzzle on for seven years now, and I think I'm going a little loopy.
Tyr: I see. Thank you for stopping by, Jacob. I'll keep your resume on file. Good luck in...
Rhade lets out an unearthly HOWL and rattles his chains.
Tyr: Well, stay a little longer, then. There's no need to be melodramatic.
Rhade: Oh! Captive, bound and double-ironed! Yet such was I! Oh, such was I! (Aside) You know, I never could get through to Dylan, either. Maybe my hints need to be broader?
Tyr: You were always a good Nietzschean, Jacob, with your genes spread throughout the Pride...
Rhade: My Pride! The Commonwealth was my Pride! Tarn-Vedra was my Pride! The Than, the Perseids, the Nightsiders, and even those weird Pyrian things that we've never seen even onscreen even though they're in the online database-- all were my Pride! My elitist little group of Nietzschean snobs was but a drop in the comprehensive ocean of my Pride!
Tyr: You really have gone loopy, haven't you? Tsk... I always wondered about that crazy uncle in your gene pool, but I never thought he'd come back to haunt you like this. (Aside) Pun not intended. (to Rhade) Maybe you should get more rest.
Rhade: I'd like to, but I have this whole penance thing staring me in the face. Which reminds me... I am here to warn you that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate.
Tyr: Actually, Jacob, I've been getting plenty of Vitamin-C and taking my nanobot injections, so you shouldn't have to worry about me...
Rhade: You will be haunted by three spirits.
Tyr: Certainly. Can you send them on Wednesday?
Rhade: If you zap these ghosts, you'll have no hope to shun the path I tread!
Tyr: Hmmm... (thinks about that) I'll risk it. Send 'em Wednesday.
Rhade: Sure. You got it, Wednesday. (Aside) Won't he be surprised when the first ghost comes when the bell tolls One? People really ought to stop trusting me...
Tyr: I heard that!
Rhade: And I, on the other hand, ought to stop gloating over my evil plans out loud... (to Tyr) Expect the second on the stroke of two. You're on your own with the third, but I'm told the FX guys are doing something creative...
Tyr: Harper's in on this, isn't he? I'll murder the runt...
Rhade: Why not? I've always suspected you murdered me...
Tyr: Oh, that's a lie! You were my only friend!
Rhade: And your only competitor for females...
Tyr: Yes. well... (sighs) No hard feelings?
Rhade: Nah, I'm proud of you. (checks his watch) Gotta run. I'm trying out for a guest shot on Poltergeist: The Legacy. Look to see me no more; and look that, for your own sake, you may remember what has passed between us!
Tyr: I was looking so I'll remember to get better locks for this place...
Rhade: (Aside, to the Author) Well, that's over with. Next time, can I please have a roll that'll showcase my sensitive side? I'm starting to be typecast...
Exit Rhade, in a spectacular show of floating spirits, dreadful moaning, and flashy smoke effects. Tyr takes all this in with annoyance...
Tyr: I wondered what that little pest was working on through all his lunch breaks...
Exits.
*****
ACT TWO
Scene I-- Tyr's bedchamber, TYR asleep
(Author's Note: Although we are aware that a certain percentage of the female audience is likely to swoon at the mere mention of "Tyr's bedchamber," the Slipstream Players ask that any and all applause, screaming, flash photography, and/or throwing of undergarments be left until after the final curtain. Thank you.)
A bell tolls One. Enter TRANCE, dressed all in white robes.
Trance: Yuck. What a depressing room... but I’m sure this is the place. Now, if I were a Nietzschean, where would I be?
She looks around for a moment, then draws aside the bedcurtains.
Tyr: (startled awake) Do you mind?
Trance: Wakey-wakey, sleepyhead! Guess who?
Tyr: (Aside) Rhade did this on purpose, I’ll wager anything. No hard feelings... Ha! (to Trance) Are you the pixie whose coming was foretold to me?
Trance: You betcha! Did you miss me?
Tyr: (deadpan) The minutes have been hours. I suppose that makes you the Ghost of Christmas Past?
Trance: That’s what they tell me.
Tyr: Did they tell you how I can make you go away?
Trance: Silly! I’m here for your welfare!
Tyr: Rule Number One, Tinkerbell: Nobody in this galaxy cares for anyone’s welfare but their own.
Trance: You didn’t always think so.
Tyr: Yes, I did.
Trance: Okay, yes you did. I was trying to make a point.
Tyr: And failing.
Trance: Will you just rise and walk with me, you big jerk?
Tyr gets up and follows Trance to an open window.
Tyr: Oh, don't even think about it. As the great philosopher wrote, "Never, ever, trust your survival to the flying abilities of a purple elf."
Trance: Nietzsche never said that.
Tyr: Well, he would have!
Trance: But a touch of my tail, and you shall be upheld in more than this.
Tyr: There's an NC-17 fic in that line someplace...
Tyr touches Trance's prehensile tail, and begins to float on air.
Trance: See? Just a little bit of pixie dust and some happy thoughts, and you can fly!
Tyr: If you break into song, I won't be responsible for my actions...
Trance: (unfolding a map) Okay, now, let's see, for the recent past I make a left at the... (looks up suddenly) Tyr, why is your collar smoking?
Tyr: (sniffs the air, smells smoke) The antigrav harness must be malfunctioning.
To prove the point, Tyr suddenly shoots up into the air and hangs upside-down from the ceiling. His costume bursts into flames.
Tyr: HARPER!
Trance: Um, curtain, please?
Exits, in search of a fire extinguisher.
Scene II-- The past, Kodiak Pride boarding school
Enter TRANCE and TYR. Tyr is bandaged in several places, and his eyebrows are singed off.
Tyr: (Shouting offstage): You heard me, two thousand thrones, dead or alive-- preferably dead! (to Trance) Your clever friend had best spread his genes quickly, because as soon as this play is over...
Trance: I'm sure it was an accident, and Harper's very sorry. You wouldn't really hurt him?
Tyr: I'm thinking about it... (looks around) What is all this supposed to be?
Trance: Gemini Airlines Flight 219 to the past, now arriving at Gate Fifteen. Please holster all laser weapons and lock your tray tables in the upright position...
Tyr: I know this place! I was a boy here!
Trance: Do you know the way?
Tyr: Know it? HA! In my first week here, my instructors dumped my class in the middle of the woods, blindfolded, with only a compass and a crude stone knife each, and told us there'd be no food unless we found our way back to civilization. After that, the survivors knew the way very well.
Trance: I keep forgetting I'm dealing with Nietzscheans...
They walk toward the schoolhouse.
Tyr: Look-- there's Aron (out of Miranda, by Jared the Tall)! And Vladimir (out of Catrina of the Naturally Curly Hair, by Theodore)! And Viola (out of Esmerelda, by Bob, who was called 'One-Eye').
Trance: Do you know the genetic history of every one of these kids?
Tyr: Of course. I was in the ninety-eighth genetic percentile of my age group.
Trance: You know, in case you thought you were the only one who was getting tired of the author pairing us up together...
Exit.
Scene III-- The past. A schoolroom, YOUNG TYR SCROOGE hard at work
Enter TYR and TRANCE.
Trance: Aww, Tyr, I had no idea you were such a cute little guy!
Tyr: True, I was.
Trance: And so lonely... well, no wonder you're grumpy. I think you just need to be hugged more...
Trance gives Tyr a big, happy hug.
Tyr: Unless you're offering to bear my children, I strongly suggest you remove your hands and never, ever hug me again.
Trance backs off quickly.
Trance: (Aside) Funny, that always gets such a good reaction when Barney does it...
Tyr: Besides, look at this child. This is a true Nietzschean. While the other children are out wasting their time with frivolities, he is plotting the downfall of his enemies and laying the foundation of a ruthless financial empire.
Trance: Precocious little fella.
Tyr: Stop calling me 'little.'
Trance: Okay, then, let's see another Christmas...
Tyr: Who put you in charge of the fast-forward button? What if I'm not finished here?
Trance: Sorry, but I'm an instrument of the Divine and you're just a greedy old miser, so I win.
Exit YOUNG TYR. Enter SLIGHTLY OLDER TYR and GAR.
S.O. Tyr: Gar? As in Captain Yasgar, Dylan's old friend? Why are you playing my sister? You're not even Nietzschean!
Gar: Yeah, but I'm the only remotely important guest star the author hasn't used in these parodies yet.
S.O. Tyr: I will be so glad when new episodes start...
Gar: Right, but now I'm here to bring you home, dear brother! Home, home, home!
S.O. Tyr: Thank you, ET. What did the rest of the Pride say about that?
Gar: They say it's cool with them, so long as you can pass through the River of Fire and defeat the Lizard Monster of Protax II in single combat. Got to prove those genes, ya know?
S.O. Tyr: And they wonder why I never write or call.
Tyr: (to Trance): By the way, how is it that my younger selves are able to appear in this production? I thought time travel was impossible in our series' mythology.
Trance: I asked that same question, but I only got the whole 'Harper is good' routine again. Just go with it.
Gar: All right, so let's blow this dump. Hey, d'you like the foam-rubber bone spurs?
S.O. Tyr: Spiffy.
Gar: I'm thinking of keeping them...
They Exit.
Trance: Your sister was a kind and generous soul.
Tyr: She was a sucker. Once the Commonwealth was beaten, she should have taken that ship of hers and headed for the hills. But I suppose she fought well.
Trance: Wow, that's almost sentimental by your standards. Have you noticed that Beka looks like her?
Tyr: Congratulations. You've just passed basic genetics.
Exits.
Trance: (Aside, to the Author) Please don't cast me alongside Nietzscheans in the next parody?
Exits.
Scene IV-- The past, Khalidwig's warehouse
KHALIDWIG, EVEN OLDER TYR, and GUDERIAN hard at work. Enter TYR and TRANCE.
Trance: Tyr Anasazi, this is your life! Do you recognize... this voice?
Khalid: Yo ho, there, Guderian! Tyr!
Tyr: Why, it's old Ishmael Khalid! Bless his genetic progeny-- Khalid alive again!
Khalid: Yo ho, boys!
Tyr: He was quite a Nietzschean, for a man who actually said 'yo ho' on a regular basis...
Khalid: No more work tonight, boys! It's Christmas Eve, Tyr! Christmas, Guderian! Go and set the automatic defenses in place while I close up!
Tyr: And there's old Guderian, the slimy little Orca. He pretended to be my friend, but all he really wanted were my plans for a working plasma cannon.
Trance: Oh, how sad.
Tyr: Well, I got him back when he tried to market it. The only things scarier than Nietzscheans are our lawyers...
Even Older Tyr and Guderian carry out their orders, while Khalid supervises.
Khalid: Hilly-ho, boys! Hilly-ho! Chirrup, Guderian!
Trance: 'Hilly-ho?'
Tyr: Come to think of it, maybe he was the one with insanity in his genes...
They clear everything away. Enter SARA KHALIDWIG, their CHILDREN, MUSICIANS, and various PARTYGOERS (mostly Nietzschean.) They start to dance...
Trance: I didn't know Nietzscheans could dance.
Tyr: Now I have to kill you...
Trance: A small matter, to make these people so happy. He only spent a few pounds...
Tyr: Oh, it cost him more than that. I got him drunk at one of these parties, and learned his private backdoor codes. Embezzled every cent he had. His wife left him for me, and as I recall, he died a broken man.
Trance: That's terrible!
Tyr: Oh, that's right-- I forgot freebirthers have strange ideas of what constitutes a 'happy ending.' Wasn't that one?
Trance: Keep trying.
Tyr: If it makes you feel any better, it was his own fault. He had the power to make us happy or unhappy, to make our service light or burdensome. He should have driven me into the ground.
Trance: After everything he did for you, the happiness he gave cost him a fortune? (Aside, to the Author) Anytime you'd like to start working a moral into this story, it'd be fine with me.
Tyr: Life's tough and then you die, girl. Don't go whining to the author for help.
Trance: Uh-oh. My time grows short.
Tyr: Leaving already? What a shame. But don't let me stop you.
Exit KHALID, GUDERIAN, and the OTHERS. Enter the REALLY OLD NOW TYR and FREYABELLE.
Tyr: Oh, dear. This last one's gonna be bad, isn't it?
Trance: I tell it like it is, baby-cakes.
Freya: (to R.O. Tyr) It matters little. To you, very little. Another idol has displaced me.
R.O. Tyr: What idol has displaced you?
Freya: Gee, I dunno. Maybe it's those seventeen other wives of yours?
R.O. Tyr: Oh, sure, throw that in my face!
Trance: (to Tyr)I've been meaning to ask, Tyr; you're a successful Nietzschean Alpha male. Whatever happened to your wives?
Tyr: Oh, different things... (casually) Did you know there's a killing to be made in insurance money?
Trance: I so do not like the way this is going...
Tyr: Also, did you know that some poisons are untraceable?
Trance: You're just begging for a Jedi Mind Trick now, buster.
Freya (to R.O. Tyr): One by one, I've watched your nobler aspirations fall off.
R.O. Tyr: I never had any noble aspirations.
Freya: Yeah, but at least you didn't used to revel in it...
R.O. Tyr: Alright, so I'm wiser now! I've propagated my genes a bit! Is that so wrong?
Freya: Our Double Helix is an old one, made when we were both young, and as I recall, kinda plastered. You are changed... and me, I'm starting to think that Guderian guy might not be so bad...
R.O. Tyr: You're dumping me? But look at these muscles! Check out the chainmail!
Freya: Oh, get over yourself. Toodles.
She gives him back the double helix band and Exits.
R.O. Tyr: I could have dated that redhead from Jaguar Pride, but no, my parents thought Orcas had better genes... well, that's it. Fortunately, I have my backup plans. I'll just have to betray her Pride and grind them all under my boot.
Trance: (to Tyr): I'm guessing you don't have a lot of practice getting dumped?
Tyr: Well, obviously not. Spirit, show me no more.
Trance: Well, in the book there's supposed to be one shadow more...
Tyr: I cannot bear it! Get us out of here!
Trance: Hey, don't get all snarky with me. I'm not the one with the screwed-up past... let me consult with the author. (stops, listens) Are you sure? (listens) You mean it! Goodie! (to Tyr) He says he's run out of funny things for us to say to each other...
Tyr: I think that happened about ten pages ago.
Trance: And it's okay if I call the next ghost up onstage and go water my plants.
Tyr: Next ghost? Now, just a blasted minute...
Exit Trance.
Tyr: Well, at least the next ghost can't be any worse. The only thing more annoying than the pixie would be that irritating, self-righteous idealist of a captain, and what kind of sadist would...
Dylan: (off-stage): Psst! Was that my cue yet?
Tyr: (Aside, to the Author) What did I ever do to you?
Exits.
*****
ACT THREE
Scene I-- Tyr's bedchamber, the curtains drawn
Enter DYLAN HUNT, the Ghost of Christmas Present, dressed in festive robes.
Dylan: This looks like a nice place for a Commonwealth. Yup, I'll start one right here. (Expansive gesture) Picture it-- representative democracy as far as the eye can see!
Tyr draws one of the curtains aside.
Tyr: I don't suppose there's any point in asking nicely for you to leave?
Dylan: Of course not! Come forth and know me better, man!
Tyr: I don't want to know you any better. I know you too well as it is.
Dylan: Don't make me get out the force-lance.
Tyr, grumbling, gets out of bed and joins Dylan.
Dylan: I am the Ghost of Christmas Present!
Tyr: Nice jammies.
Dylan: These are festive robes!
Tyr: Whatever.
Dylan: Haven't you ever seen the like of me before? Have you never walked forth with any of my elder brothers, born these later years?
Tyr: I think I'd remember that. Do you have many brothers?
Dylan: Over eighteen hundred!
Tyr: My compliments to your father. Are you sure you're not Nietzschean?
Dylan: No, but my friends say I should have been one. Now... touch my robe.
Tyr: Oh, I don't think so. Every time I touch one of you ghosts, something bad happens.
Dylan: Just go ahead and touch the robe. It won’t bite.
Tyr: I don't want to touch the robe!
Dylan: Will you just touch the robe, ya big wuss?!
Tyr: I'm going to regret this...
Reluctantly, Tyr touches the fringe of Dylan's robe.
Tyr: I trust you are completely dressed underneath the robe, right?
Dylan: Let's not go there.
Enter THAN, VEDRANS, HUMANS, and NIGHTSIDERS, all dressed warm and going about their business.
Tyr: What happened? Where are we?
Dylan: Welcome to Christmas morning!
Tyr: No, I'm pretty sure this is still my bedroom...
Dylan: The budget guys asked us to cut a few corners. Just pretend this is an exterior set, all right?
Tyr: It's just that I imagined London would be more impressive...
They walk for a few moments.
Dylan: Notice how bright and cheery everyone is?
Tyr: Bite me.
Dylan: And here we are at the Eureka Maru's berth!
Exit the THAN, HUMANS, etc. Enter BEKA with RAFE, who is pretending Tyr's bed is a control panel on the Maru.
Tyr: We can't even use the Maru set in this act? We are strapped for cash...
Dylan: As I recall, the producers asked you for a loan, but you were too much of a-- pardon the expression-- a Scrooge.
Tyr: Let's not air the dirty laundry in public, eh? (deadpan) I suppose it was your kind, generous nature and your sympathy with all poor men that led us here?
Dylan: Hey, that's a good way to put it. You ought to write that down. Now, listen up...
Beka: (to offstage) You hocked the Maru set? Somebody's got some explaining to do! (listens) No, I do not think this is "just as good!" (listens) We'll talk about this later; I'm on. (to Rafe) I wonder where Harper and Rommie are; they're usually not so late.
Rafe: Maybe they got stuck in traffic; the Slipstream's always a bitch right before Christmas.
Enter HARPER and TINY ROMMIE. Part of Rommie's exoskeleton is exposed, like C-3P0 in the Phantom Menace. Her movements are jerky and robotic, and her gears make a noticeable grinding sound.
Harper: Merry Christmas, gang! Who wants to be the first to get me under the mistletoe?
Rafe: (deadpan) Oh, me, me.
Harper: You stay outta this, ya crummy one-shot guest player. How ya doin', Bek?
Rafe helps Rommie to a chair, while Harper and Beka talk...
Beka: How was Rommie at the repair shop?
Harper: As good as neutronium, and better. She told me, coming home, that she hoped the other customers would see her, because it might be good for them to remember on Christmas Day that you should never buy your androids out of the back of a Nightsider's van.
Beka: I warned you about that.
(Author's Note: The author wishes to comment that although he was not actually hit by a lightning bolt for changing that line the way he did, he probably deserved one, and he really does think Christmas is a spiritual time of faith and love. It's just that that's not funny.)
Harper: I checked her batteries last night; I think her current's growing stronger every day.
Beka: Maybe, but you know as well as I do that only a complete overhaul can straighten out her buggy code.
Harper: I know. I’ll get the parts we need, even if we have to hock the Maru... hey, what happened to the Maru?
Beka: Don't ask, okay?
Harper: 'Cause this kinda looks like Tyr's bedroom...
Beka: Will you just sit down to dinner?
They sit down, and Rafe brings a Christmas goose to the table.
Rommie: (Max Headroom-style) There never wa-wa-was such a dinner!
Harper: I guess our goose is cooked, huh?
They all stare at him.
Harper: Well, somebody had to say it.
Rafe: Beka, you've outdone yourself!
Beka: Are you kidding? I can't cook worth a damn-- this is take-out.
They say Grace and begin to eat. As Rommie reaches for the mashed potatoes, a broken panel in her arm sparks and smokes, catching the tablecloth on fire. She calmly douses the blaze with her drink, and goes right on eating.
Tyr: I never knew Harper had a sick android. And you know, if she had all her plating on, she'd be very cute.
Dylan: (clears throat, blushes) I hadn't noticed...
Harper stands and lifts a bottle of beer in toast.
Harper: Can I just say one thing? Merry Christmas to us all. We rule!
Rommie: (still channeling Max) God bless us, every one-one-one.
Tyr and Dylan look on as they finish dinner...
Tyr: Spirit, will Rommie be repaired?
Dylan: Do you care?
Tyr: Of course I care! I'd hate to see a valuable piece of machinery like that go to waste!
Dylan takes a booklet from his pocket and flips through...
Dylan: Hmm... saluting, salvage, tanning Magog pelts... nope, apparently the High Guard has no temporal Prime Directive. I guess I can tell you.
Tyr: Well, does she get her overhaul?
Dylan: I see a vacant seat...
Tyr: In my bedroom?
Dylan: Pretend it's the Maru! I see a vacant seat. In the corner, a circuit board, carefully preserved. If these shadows remain unaltered, her mainframe will crash. But what then? If she'd rather die, she'd better do it, and be sold for scrap.
Tyr: I didn't say anything like that in this version. I said "More females for me," which obviously doesn't apply to Rommie. Besides, she's military-grade hardware. Nietzscheans never waste a potential weapon.
Dylan: I stand corrected. Are you going to pay for her upgrade, then?
Tyr: You don't stand that corrected.
Meanwhile, dinner is continuing, and Rommie makes a toast.
Rommie: I give you Tyr-- the founder of the feast!
Beka: Say what?
Harper: Yeah, here's to Tyr--
Beka: Have you both gone crazy?
Harper: --a big, dumb boil on the face of the galaxy.
Beka: Well, okay, I'll drink to that.
Rafe: Me, too.
All but Rommie clink glasses.
Harper: Somethin' wrong, gorgeous?
Rommie bleeps and sputters for a moment, then--
Rommie: Come on, guys, it's Christmas Day. Shouldn't we put aside our differences, forget past transgressions, and make an effort to understand-- nay, to love-- our adversaries?
All stare at her.
Harper: You been talking to Trance again, right?
Beka: We'd better get you that overhaul fast. I think your last logic chip has blown.
Rommie sighs, and as the others eat (and smoke from her faulty wiring comes out her ears), drinks a solitary toast to Tyr.
Tyr: Her I like. The rest are starting to annoy me.
Dylan: Yeah, the Crachits are almost as bad as the Waltons, aren't they? (catches himself) I mean, er, perhaps if you'd been kinder to them...
Tyr: Oh, up your nose with a force lance. Can we go now?
Dylan: Unfortunately, no. Because we weren't able to secure much of a budget--
Tyr: Sure, keep rubbing it in.
Dylan: We have to combine the Crachit scenes with the nephew scenes--
Tyr: And hold them both in my bedroom. Yes, I get the general idea. Please continue.
Dylan gestures toward the table, where the others are singing a carol and laughing.
Beka: He said that Christmas is a humbug! Can you believe it?
Rafe: What's a "humbug?"
Rommie: According to my database, it's "a deluding trick, hoax, fraud, or pretense."
Harper: Damn, I owe the guys in legal 20 thrones.
Rommie: I have a secondary definition now. It's also "a kind of hamster." Or maybe that's just my processor acting up again.
Harper: "A kind of hamster." I like it. For Tyr, it works.
Rafe: So why do you all put up with this guy?
Beka: Well, I can't speak for the Professor, but I have hopes of being in the will.
Harper: Me, I'm just scared of him.
Beka: Besides, it's kind of a challenge. I keep thinking one year I'll catch him in an unguarded moment.
Harper: He's Nietzschean. They don't have any unguarded moments.
Beka: You know what I mean. One day I'll win an argument with him, and my genes will be proven better than his, and I'll be, like, some kind of Nietzschean queen. I figure it could mean all sorts of valuable prizes. (seriously) Besides, my mother kind of liked him.
Harper: Why?
Beka: I've never known, actually; I think she read the script. But there you are.
Tyr and Dylan are watching all this...
Tyr: Well, she’s certainly out of the will now, the ungrateful little wretch...
Dylan: It's, um, time to go.
Tyr: (deadpan) Oh, no, please, let me stay and be humiliated a while longer.
Dylan is now looking old and weathered.
Dylan: No, we've got to go. This age makeup is killing me.
As they move offstage...
Tyr: Am I supposed to feel sorry for them? What kind of story is this?
Dylan: I would have thought you'd appreciate the classics...
Tyr: But we never do my kind of classics! Didn't Machiavelli write any plays?
They Exit.
Scene II-- London, a very hastily cobbled-together exterior set
Enter TYR and DYLAN.
Tyr: I thought we couldn’t go outside until the next act?
Dylan: I guess the backstage guys thought the ‘bedroom’ joke was getting a little old...
Tyr: It’s an improvement...
A wooden board falls off the cheap background and crashes to the floor.
Tyr: Sort of.
Dylan, now hunched over like an old man, struggles to a bench and sits down heavily.
Tyr: Grown old already? Are your genes that poor?
Dylan: My time upon this globe is very brief...
Tyr: (Aside) Says the three-hundred and forty year-old Captain...
Dylan: I believe it will end upon the stroke of twelve.
In the background, a clock starts chiming twelve.
Dylan: (to offstage) Oh, thanks a lot, guys! Would you jump into my grave that fast?
Tyr: Wait a minute. Aren’t we supposed to do the thing where those two ugly little children are hiding in your robes?
Dylan: Yeah, but that part’s kinda creepy. So...
The bell has sounded six times.
Dylan: Anything else you wanna talk about? Make it quick-- I’ve only got six chimes left.
Tyr: No, I think that should cover it.
The clock has chimed nine times.
Dylan: Did I ever tell you about the time, back in the High Guard, when Rommie and I took on two dozen Magog raiders near the ice rings of Iego?
Tyr: Well, look at that. Just one stroke shy of twelve. (whispers) So get off the stage!
Dylan: I never seem to get enough screen time in these things...
Exits. Tyr sits down on the bench.
Tyr: The only thing I can’t figure out is why I’m having this elaborate acid flashback when I never took acid...
Enter REV BEM, the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, unnoticed behind Tyr.
Tyr: Let’s see... I made it through Trance and Dylan... we’ve already used Harper, Beka, and Rommie... I got rid of the bugs early this time... who would a really sadistic author send to torment me now? I know I’m forgetting someone... I just can’t put my finger on it...
Rev: Well, bless you, too.
Tyr: One moment, Rev. It’s on the tip of my tongue. Let’s see... all the other Nietzscheans were used up in my past...
Rev: Are you ready to seek the Way?
Tyr: Rev, please! I’m trying to... (realizes) Uh-oh.
Rev: You seem troubled, friend. Let’s go for a little... walk, shall we?
Tyr: (Aside, to the Author) Couldn’t we have the bugs back, instead?
They Exit.
*****
ACT FOUR
Scene I-- London, the same cheesy exterior set, REV and TYR standing together.
Tyr: Are you the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come?
Rev: Let’s just say the Divine has a plan for us all.
Tyr: So you can tell me the future?
Rev: Wayist ghosts don’t tell people the future; they simply show them that the present is already becoming the future.
Tyr: Okay, let’s pretend that was an intelligible statement, and move on. I just want to know if you can tell me the next ten World Series winners.
Rev: Why would a Nietzschean care about the World Series?
Tyr: Well, for one thing, I could trade that information to the author for a better part in the next parody...
Rev: Hmph. Stop being silly and come with me. We’ve a lot of ground to cover.
They walk. Enter a knot of NIETZSCHEANS, talking amongst themselves.
First Nietzschean: I don’t know much about it either way. I only know he’s dead.
Second Nietzschean: More females for us, then. I thought he’d never die.
All laugh.
Third Nietzschean: I understand that engineer of his just founded his own startup company. Went public this morning.
First Nietzschean: Not wasting any time, eh? I like that.
Third Nietzschean: And the stock’s already through the roof!
Second Nietzschean: Do you happen to have the Web address, my good man?
Third Nietzschean: Of course. It’s www.harperisagod.com...
Tyr: (to offscreen): HARPER!
Harper: (from off): So I snuck in a little commercial into the script... geez, what’s the big deal?
First Nietzschean: Likely to be a very cheap funeral. Anybody feel like going to it?
All stare, and then laugh.
Second Nietzschean: Good one!
First Nietzschean: Yeah, I crack me up...
They Exit. Tyr stands fuming...
Tyr: Three more on the list. I tell you, I’m going to be spending the next six months in paying off vendettas. I must thank you spirits for exposing all these backstabbers before it’s too late.
Rev: I don’t think that’s quite the lesson you were supposed to take from that.
Tyr: You learn your lessons, and I’ll learn mine.
Rev: (sighs) Suddenly I have this urge to become a ‘fire and brimstone’ type of preacher...
They Exit.
Scene II-- London, a wretched hovel (actually Tyr’s bedroom set, hastily redressed)
Enter TYR and REV.
Tyr: If they wrecked my bedroom turning it into a wretched hovel, they’re going to get a bill for every cent of the damages.
Rev: So, Scrooge, are you starting to see where all this is leading?
Tyr: Of course I am. I’m dead. I’m unlamented. I must say, it’s something of a disappointment, but it’s rather obvious.
Rev: That’s very good. Most Scrooges take a while longer to get a clue.
Tyr: Hey, I’m greedy, not stupid.
Rev: Doesn’t this make you want to reform, then?
Tyr: No. It makes me want to find out how I died, so I can do something else that day. Otherwise, I’m fine. And you?
Rev: Truthfully, I’m developing a bit of a headache.
Tyr: A Magog with a migraine. The night gets better. Shall we proceed?
Enter GERENTEX, JESSA, KAY-LEE, and XAX, dressed in rags.
Gerentex: Oh, these rags will never do! Has anyone seen my disco outfit?
Jessa: I had that thing burned. Think of it as a public service.
Gerentex: Well, all right, but I’ll be speaking to Wardrobe about this. In the meantime, it’s time for my Fagan impression. So... what did you all steal today?
Xax: Does anyone else feel a sense of moral bankruptcy and real pathos at our reprehensible conduct? (looks around) I’m guessing no?
Kay-Lee shows a bundle to Gerentex.
Kay-Lee: Hey, life’s tough in the city, babe. Anyway, if he wanted to be treated better, he shouldn’t have been such a humbug.
Tyr: (to Rev) See?! I’m not the only one who uses it!
Jessa: Then at least he would have had somebody to care for him when he was struck ill, instead of lying there, gasping out his last breath...
Tyr: (writing on a pad) Note to self... hire Home Healthcare Professional... (to Rev) Now, what can you tell me about the stock market?
Rev: Oh, for the love ‘a Mike...
Tyr: Old Nietzschean proverb: Those who do not know the future are doomed to live through it.
Rev: Yeah? Well, an old Wayist proverb says to be careful what you wish for!
Tyr: That’s a Chinese proverb. And can we do this later? My future’s waiting.
Rev: Oh, by all means. I’d hate to inconvenience you. After all, I’m just the Ghost of Christmas Future. What do I know?
Tyr: Not enough to wear pants, apparently...
Rev looks down, as though suddenly realizing his Magog outfit doesn’t include pants, and grabs a blanket discarded from Tyr’s bed to cover up with. Meanwhile...
Gerentex: All right, that’s eight shillings for the pig’s haul...
Xax: Let’s remember the emotional pain my life of crime is causing me.
Gerentex: Oh, okay, nine shillings.
Xax: Yes-- yes, I do believe the healing process is starting.
Gerentex: And one pound, two shillings to Jessa for his sheets, towels, and teaspoons.
Jessa: I knew I should have stolen the tablespoons, too...
Gerentex: And let’s see... Kay-Lee, what’s in your bundle?
Kay-Lee: One side, amateurs...
Gerentex opens an extremely large bundle, revealing...
Gerentex: Well, this is impressive. Car radio, silver hubcaps, Ming-dynasty vase, first editions of The Iliad and The Odyssey, gold candlesticks, diamond necklace...
Rev: (to Tyr) Why do you own a diamond necklace?
Tyr: Because emeralds clash with my chainmail.
Gerentex: CD collection, portable mini-television, and... oohh... a Samsung 3-disc changeable DVD player! With DVD-ROM capability and THX sound!
Kay-Lee: I thought you’d like that.
Jessa: Where the heck did you find all that stuff in 19th century London?
Kay-Lee: It’s a gift.
Gerentex: And it’s all tied up in... bedcurtains? (he looks around and above himself) Weren’t these just hanging right up there?
Kay-Lee: What’s your point?
Jessa: For that matter, who would even want stolen bedcurtains?
Kay-Lee: Don’t knock it, pal. You’re forgetting how many groupies this Tyr guy had...
Gerentex: Ooh... I see, yes, a collector’s item. Very nice; we’ll put it on eBay this afternoon.
Kay-Lee: Who da thief, huh? Who da thief?
They all slap her on the back and laugh.
Tyr: (rolling his eyes at Rev) Charming.
Rev: Don’t say I never take you anywhere. Are you starting to see how all this could have been avoided?
Tyr: Oh, I suppose they wouldn’t have stolen from a nice guy?
Rev: You know what I mean!
Tyr: Oh, all right, yes... but isn’t it cheating only to show me the bad things? We’re dealing with six galaxies here... surely in all of that, somewhere, somebody is broken up by my death?
Rev: Hmm... not really.
Tyr: What about Harper?
Rev: Multi-billionaire software tycoon. You couldn’t chisel the smile off his face.
Tyr: My niece and nephew?
Rev: Vacationing in Bermuda after successfully contesting the will.
Tyr: Freya?
Rev: Very happy with Guderian, and living in the suburbs of Cleveland.
Tyr: All those satisfied customers of my mega-giant corporation?
Rev: They’re just glad that they won’t have to fulfill the terms of your licensing agreement.
Tyr: I knew that firstborn son clause was overkill! What about Dylan? He likes everyone! Surely he’s upset?
Rev: He would have been, but that ‘jammies’ comment was apparently one step too far.
Tyr: Well, this sucks. (thinks about it) Wait a minute. What about Rommie? She drank a toast to me!
Rev: Yes, but as you learned one ghost ago, she’s been reformatted and tossed in the old Recycle Bin by now.
Tyr: Then why is Harper happy?
Rev: He’s not, really; for some reason, that ‘chiseling’ line just struck the author as too good to pass up.
Tyr: Well, if he’s miserable, take me to see him! I hate to suffer alone!
Rev: My son, I’m really not sure that’s such a good idea...
Tyr: Just take me to the cemetery... immediately!
Rev: (Aside) You know, some days you have to work for it, and other days it walks right up to you...
They Exit.
Scene III-- The Eureka Maru (for real, this time)
Enter TYR and REV, invisible, plus BEKA and RAFE.
Beka: (to offstage) That’s better. I’m glad you see it my way. (listens) No, I’m sure the force-lance can be surgically removed...
She pats one of the ship’s consoles.
Beka: What did they do to you, baby? Did the mean old men try to sell you? Don’t worry, I had a little talk with them, and it won’t happen again.
Rafe: If you two are finished, I have lines to say. I’m late for a card game on Orion’s belt.
Beka: Sorry. Go ahead.
Rafe: I was just thinking Harper ought to be here by now.
Beka: Yeah. I think he’s walked a little slower these past few nights...
Rafe: Remember when he used to drag that android of his around? I always wondered why he didn’t just build a better one-- but he loved her so that it was no trouble.
Beka: Wait. I’ve got something on the external sensors.
Enter Harper, very downbeat.
Rafe: Hey, Harper! How’s our favorite engineer today?
Harper: Eh. Made a couple’a million thrones. Dated a supermodel. Took over a small, island nation. Same old, same old.
Beka: (trying to cheer him up) Hey, an island nation! That’s pretty good! You’re a god, Harper. Rafe, wouldn’t you say he’s a god?
Rafe: Oh, definitely a god.
Harper: (laughs bitterly) One’a those pathetic little demi-gods, maybe. Like ‘God of Static Cling’ or ‘God of That Bubble-Wrap Stuff That Comes in UPS Packages.’
He sits down in a lonely corner. Beka slowly approaches.
Beka: Did you go by... the junkyard... on your way here?
Harper: Yeah. I wish you could’ve been there, Beka. It’d do your heart good to see how little rust there is. I got her a little place in the shade... and another little place on top of the hill... and another little place just by the antiproton melting chamber...
Tyr: (to Rev) Huh?
Rev: Androids get disassembled before they’re scrapped. Think C-3P0 in Cloud City.
Tyr: That’s disgusting.
Rev: Well, you try to think of something funny for this scene, then!
Harper: Oh, why didn’t I switch to a Pentium Processor when I had the chance?! I almost had her fixed, and then her stupid Operating System crashed again! Damn Windows!
Beka: You can’t blame yourself.
Harper: I gotta; there’s nobody to sue. Look, guys, the universe hates us; that’s the way of it. We’re all gonna meet that Big Windshield in the Sky one day. But however and wherever we part from one another, I’m sure we’ll think of Rommie, and we’ll remember to ask for the three-year warranty on both hardware and software.
They burst into tears. Tyr turns to Rev.
Tyr: Pathetic. What happened to the cemetery?
Rev: I’m trying to break it to you gently.
Tyr: You call this gentle?
Rev: Well, you know that old joke about the man who calls his brother to say that their cat died, and the brother says, ‘Break it to me gently next time; first say the cat is sick. Then a few days later, say the cat got better, but now he’s climbing up on the roof, and it looks like he might fall. Then tell me the cat is dead.’ And a few days later the brother gets a call: ‘Mom’s on the roof.’ Have you heard that one?
Tyr: Can’t say that I have. What does it have to do with me?
Rev: Oh, nothing. How’s the view up there, by the way?
Tyr: I never know what you’re talking about...
They Exit.
Scene IV-- A cemetery
Enter TYR and REV. Rev points to a solitary grave, in one corner.
Tyr: I suppose that’s my grave, is it? I suppose you want me to think that I’m a failure as a Nietzschean? That the grave is untended and unloved because I was such a jerk in life? I suppose you want me to express remorse now, is that it? Well, is it?
Rev just points to the grave, and says nothing.
Tyr: You’re doing this to spite me, aren’t you?
Rev gets a big smile on his face, but does not speak.
Tyr: Well, all right then. I’ll just go look at the grave. I ain’t afraid of no ghosts. Really. I’ll have you know I’m not the slightest bit affected by all this. Nope, not a bit.
Tyr takes a step toward the grave, and suddenly an owl hoots in the distance, making him jump.
Tyr: (small voice) I want my mommy.
Another step.
Tyr: Spirit, tell me one thing first. All that ‘unalterable past’ stuff in our time-travel episodes? We were just kidding, right? The writers were just having a little fun? Right? All of this can be changed? I mean... seriously? Come on, you can tell me. Please?
Rev: Walk forward with the Prophets, my child.
Tyr: Hell of a time to toss in a DS9 reference...
Another step.
Tyr: On another note, doesn’t anyone else think it’s a little sadistic that the third spirit won’t answer Scrooge? I mean, would it kill him to just say, ‘Sure, the future can be changed?’ Would that have been so wrong? Who hires these spirits, anyway?
Tyr goes to the headstone, and wipes away snow to reveal the words: ‘TYR ANASAZI.’
Tyr: Wait a minute. This is supposed to read ‘Scrooge.’ That’s my real name!
Sound of offstage laughter.
Tyr: Very nice. A little joke by the prop department. Remind me to kill them.
Suddenly, Tyr realizes that the grave itself is open. There is an open coffin below, beckoning to him.
Tyr: I have a bad feeling about this...
Rev has crept up behind Tyr.
Rev: You know, my son, I could go for a little midnight snack. What about you? Want munchies?
Tyr: This is so not funny, Rev. Why don’t you go back to being silent?
Rev: Let’s see... what am I in the mood for? Chips? Barbecue? Or a nice rack of Nietzschean?
Tyr: I thought you gave up eating people!
Rev: Oh, that was just temporary. Lent’s been over for months.
He rears back and sprays Magog venom all over Tyr’s costume.
Tyr: Oh, that’s elegant. Have you no shame? This is my best chainmail!
Rev: You’re right. I’m embarrassed by my conduct. Say, what’s that behind you?
Tyr: What?
When Tyr is looking the other way, Rev pushes him into the grave. There is an audible THUD.
Tyr: (from off) Wasn’t there supposed to be a mat down here?
Rev: Heh, heh. Sorry. (Aside) You know, I’m starting to like human literature.
Exits. The graveyard is silent for a moment.
Tyr: (from off) Ow! Hey, Rev, what’s in this stuff? Acid? It’s eating through my costume! Ow! You used the fake venom, right? Right? Rev! (mutters) I’ll probably never get this stain out...
Curtain.
*****
ACT FIVE
Scene I-- Tyr’s bedroom, still with pieces of the Maru and the wretched hovel visible around the room, TYR on the bed.
Tyr: I swear, Rev, if even one little Magog comes burrowing out of my skin, I’ll... (waking) What? Wait a minute-- the bed is my own! The room is my own! The scenery is rented from the Paramount lot! I’m back! (Aside) That does it. No more Pizza Pockets right before bed.
There is offstage whispering.
Tyr: ‘Live in the past, the present, and the future?’ Maybe you’ve confused this show with Quantum Leap. (listens) Well, reformed or not, I’m still Nietzschean. We only worry about the present. (listens, sighs) Oh, all right. I’ll see what I can do.
Tyr goes around and starts to get dressed.
Tyr: Ha! I’m as light as a Nightsider! I’m as happy as an Emerald Than! I’m as spaced-out as a Perseid! I’m as giddy as a drunken Vedran! As God is my witness, I’ll never go hungry again! (Aside) That last one mihgt have been overkill...
He goes to the window, but somebody has hung a large piece of Maru plating over it.
Tyr: First thing I’m going to do is make that loan to the producers, before they decide to redo this place as Dante’s Inferno or something...
He exits, laughing.
Scene II-- London, Scrooge’s apartments, a CHILD playing before the building.
Enter TYR, his chainmail askew.
Tyr: I say there, my fine fellow! I... wait a minute. Have we met?
Child: We might have. I was an extra in that episode with all the obnoxious little High Guard children.
Tyr: Scraping the bottom of the barrel for cameos, I see... Well, what’s today, son?
Child: Today? Why, it’s Christmas day!
Tyr: Christmas Day! I haven’t missed it! The Spirits have done it all in one night! Of course, they can do anything they like...
Child: Um... sure they can. Why don’t you just relax, take deep breaths, try not to become violent... and, oh, listen, I hear my Mom calling. Gotta run...
Tyr: Wait just a minute. Do you know the poulterer’s, just down the block?
Child: Yeah.
Tyr: All right. Go and buy a big turkey, and...
Child: Um... hello! I just said it’s Christmas Day. What kind of shop do you think is gonna be open?
Tyr: Good point. I always wondered about that part of the story. All right-- new plan. Here’s my security authorization. Run down to my electronics outlet and buy everything in the place. Power packs, android parts, sound card, computer modem... and a Unix platform, if you can find one. Then deliver it all to Bob Harper, at this address... do it quickly, and you can pick out your favorite computer game, free of charge. Heck, two computer games.
Tyr gives the boy his security card, and a paper with a note scrawled on it.
Child: I don’t know... my mother always told me never to accept software from strangers.
Tyr’s bone spurs slide into place.
Tyr: Did your mother also tell you not to try a Nietzschean’s patience?
Child: Suddenly I’m filled with the Christmas spirit. Be back in a jiffy.
Exits.
Tyr: Delightful boy... a remarkable boy. Now Harper can fix Rommie, and in the meantime, I’ll tell the insurance people that my store was robbed, collect a big ol’ check for damages, and pin it all on the kid... (Aside) Hey, I never promised the Spirits I’d be a saint...
Enter DAWN and TWILIGHT
Twilight: Is it me, or does this street look very familiar?
Dawn: You dimwit! I told you this was the same pheromone trail we followed yesterday!
Tyr: Bugs! There you are! I’ve been hoping I’d run into you! Merry Christmas!
Dawn and Twilight exchange a look. Twilight makes a whirling, "he’s crazy" motion with one hand.
Dawn: Um... Mister Scrooge?
Tyr: You remember me-- good. I’m afraid I was a bit rude, yesterday, but if you’ll go to my counting-house you’ll find a blank check on my desk. Make it out for any amount, to the charity of your choice.
Twilight: Wow. When in this story did you have time to make out a check?
Tyr: I’m trying to speed the last act along. Just go, will you?
Dawn: Wait a second. Are you sure this isn’t some insurance scam?
Tyr: Me? Would I do that? Look at these innocent eyes.
Dawn: Welll....
Tyr: Oh, by the way, while you’re there, you may see a little package marked ‘Ant Poison...’ Um, I mean ‘Than Food.’ That’s what it says, ‘Than Food.’ You’ll find some yummy goodies in there. Feel free to help yourselves.
Twilight: Aw, what a nice gesture.
Tyr: I thought so. In fact, why don’t you take some back to the rest of your hive?
Dawn: Uh, oh...
Twilight: Are you sure there’s enough?
Tyr: Oh, believe me, a little goes a long way. Make sure your Queen gets some. Wouldn’t want to leave her out.
As they part...
Twilight: We will, thank you! And Merry Christmas!
Tyr: Merry Christmas!
Twilight: (to Dawn) You know, I think we had that Scrooge guy all wrong. Sometimes, all you have to do is get to know a person, and then...
Dawn stops short and stares at Twilight.
Twilight: What?
Dawn: This is a prime example of why our kind never evolved into a higher form of life.
They move to exit...
Twilight: It is? No, but really... what?
Dawn: I knew I never should have helped you crawl out of the breeding pit. I don’t think you could find your own antennae without my help...
Twilight: C’mon, tell me... what am I missing?
Dawn: Just think about it.
They Exit.
Tyr: (Aside) Hmm... not a bad morning. I’ve cured Rommie and rid London of its pest-control problem. Well, off to the Maru.
Exits.
Twilight: (from off) Hey, this stuff is pretty good... sure you don’t want a bite?
Dawn: (from off, sighs) You are such an idiot.
Scene III-- The Eureka Maru
Enter HARPER, BEKA, RAFE, and ROMMIE. There is an open plate on Rommie’s back, with Harper is going at with an arc welder.
Rommie: Oh, yes, that’s very good. I like that.
Harper works some more.
Harper: How ‘bout that?
Rommie: Well, something’s not right, because now I can’t see...
He works a little more, and as he does, Rommie’s head swivels around 180 degrees.
Rommie: Oh, yes, that’s much better. Wait a second... Harper, when did you walk around to the other side of me?
Harper reaches out and corrects the problem.
Rommie: Oh. Thank you for helping me get my head on straight.
Harper: Don’t mention it.
Beka: Well, this is quite a Christmas. First that big delivery of android parts, and then Rafe comes in with that giant turkey... say, Rafe, where’d you get that turkey on such short notice?
Rafe: Do you really want to know?
Beka: Right. Forget I asked.
Rafe: And if the law shows up, you never saw me.
Harper: Holidays with the Valentines. You gotta love it...
The door buzzer sounds.
Harper: I got it.
He opens the door, and TYR Enters.
Tyr: Mister Harper! You, Professor, were not in your cubicle this morning as we had discussed!
Harper: What is this, a gag? Tell it to the Union, bub. I got rights!
Tyr: Well, I’ll tell you what, my friend. I am not going to stand for this any longer. And therefore... and therefore, Harper, I am going to lower your salary!
All stare at him.
Beka: Um, Tyr, maybe you’re not used to this ‘nice guy’ stuff, but it’s the other way ‘round.
Tyr: Says you. (to Harper) I’m cutting your salary in half. And no key to the executive washroom, ever.
Harper: Oh, that’s it! This is the part where I bravely run away! You can’t fire me, I quit!
Tyr: Well, fine!
Harper: And I’m takin’ all my designs with me! I’ll start my own company. I’m getting a spiffy idea for a web address right now. It’s www.harperis...
Tyr: Don’t push it, runt. Anyway, you’ve forgotten the intellectual property clause.
Harper: No, I haven’t. But it so happens that when I was snooping around in your computer system this morning... as I do daily, just to stay in practice... I found a bunch’a files with some very interesting stuff in ‘em.
Tyr: How interesting?
Harper: Do the words ‘grassy knoll’ ring a bell?
Tyr: (Aside) Uh-oh. (to Harper) Harper... buddy... pal!
Harper: Have your people call my people, babe. We’ll do lunch, and talk about our new arrangement. C’mon, Rommie.
Harper grabs Rommie and the bag of android parts and heads for the door. He stops.
Harper: Everybody say it with me, now: I rule!
Rommie: Uh, God bless us, every... well, you know.
They Exit.
Tyr: Well, that’s that. What’s to eat?
Rafe: You’re just gonna let him go? I thought he was dead!
Beka: Wait a second. Tyr... Even Harper couldn’t find anything in your files by himself. You’re too careful. You let him do that.
Tyr: Who, me?
Beka: Yeah, you! You wanted him to start his own company and get rich! You were actually being nice there, weren’t you?
Tyr: (changing the subject) So where’s this turkey? I can usually spot turkeys. They’re large. I have good eyes.
Beka: Merry Christmas, you big lug.
Tyr finds the table set with food. He, Beka, and Rafe sit down. Re-Enter HARPER, as the narrator.
Harper: Well, believe it or not the ol’ Niet was better than his word. I got rich, Beka stayed in the will, the ‘bug poisoning’ thing was only a joke, and he stopped cheating widows and orphans, except when he really felt they deserved it. He even went to Cleveland, kicked Guderian’s ass, and convinced Freya to take him back. To Andromeda, who of course did not die ‘cause she’s got a super-genius engineer to tend to her every need, he become a second inventor.
He became as good a Nietzschean, as good an Alpha, and as good a man as the six galaxies ever knew. It was always said of him that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any Nietzschean alive possessed the knowledge... which is kind of a left-handed compliment, if ya stop and think about it.
And so, as the great philosopher Seamus Harper once observed: You can find the best deals in software, hardware, and military-grade equipment online at www.harperisagod.com. All major credit cards accepted. Trust in our merchandise; our merchandise is good.
God bless my customers, every freakin’ one.
Curtain.
THE END
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