jeand@ihlpg.UUCP (AMBAR) (08/01/85)
THE SUBGRUNTS by the participants of Mail Wars II ************************************************* Once upon a time, as all tales begin, Roger finally reached his office at Indian Hill Main at around eight thirty in the morning. The bus from IIT had arrived at AT&T at eight, but instead of promptly going to work, he decided to play with the modems of Mike and Jean. After they had bored themselves by reading too many "cool dude" speeches and ignorant responses, Roger left Building 2 and went to Building 5. Roger entered his office, intent on dumping his backpack on his chair and turning on his HP Color Terminal, playing maybe one or two games of Star Trek, and begin a blaze of programming. Instead he was poorly prepared for the shock of seeing Natasha sitting at his desk, petting his unicorn. "You know," Tash said, not even flinching, "this is cute." Roger looked at her for a moment. As this was the height of Mail Wars, it took much to cause the seasoned IF member to faulter. "Yes, isn't she. Her name is Cordelia." "Cornelia?" Tash giggled. "Is that the feminine of Cornelius?" "No. It's Cordelia." "Ah. Why?" "Because. What else does one name a unicorn? Betsy?" Tash cringed. "No, not Betsy." "So, she's Cordelia. It means 'of the sea.' I like it, really." "Sure, anything you say." "By the way, Tash," Roger seemed to finally remember, "what are you doing here? Have they connected IH with CB all of a sudden?" "What do you think?" "Sorry, I stopped that last week. I've decided to stop emulating a human being." "That shouldn't be too difficult." "Gosh, that was funny." "Well, I told my mentor that I wanted to see what the subgrunts did here at Indian Hill. So he flew me out here for the week." "To spy on Mail Wars here, eh?" "Of course." "Does anybody else know you're here?" Frank appeared in the doorway, visibly shocked. He struggled to find the words, but merely stood there, mouth open in shock. "Now they do," Tash said. "Natasha!" Frank finally spoke. "What are you doing here?" "Visiting you, though I don't know why." "Ha ha! Great! It'll be a blast, Tash! Wow, is this going to be fun!" "Okay..." Tash said. "Yeah, it'll be a blast!" Frank said again, striking Cordelia, at which Roger picked up the phone. "Jean?" he said. Frank's face cringed. "Why are you calling her?" "Come on over and show a guest how you threw Franklin on the floor." "You'd do that, wouldn't you?" Frank said, amazed. "You would? You're scum, you know that! Real scum!" "And you're ameoba surface slime, Franklin." "At least I'm going to a real school!" Frank taunted. "At least I'll be living somewhere!" Roger countered. Tash got up. "This was a mistake." "That is a mistake," Roger said, pointing at Frank. Jean appeared behind Frank, poised to thud him to the ground. "Are you ready, Frank?"
jeand@ihlpg.UUCP (AMBAR) (08/01/85)
"No, I am not ready. You think this is funny, don't you. You bastards." "So that's AMBAR, eh?" Tash asked. "Hi," Jean said. "Now you know what's it like working with these clowns." "At least SOME of us CLOWNS WORK for a living!" Roger mocked Jean. "We don't post news forever or BBS all day." "No, no, no, no," Jean corrected. "It's like this: Monday no one works, because it's the day after the weekend. Friday no one works, because it's the day before the weekend. Tuesday no one works, because it's the day after Monday, and Thursday no one works, because it's the day before Friday. Wednesday no one works, because it's hump day; therefore, no one around here ever works!" "Yeah," Frank said, "that's the excuse." "You people are weird," Tash sighed, finally sitting down again. [Insert Scene Change] The subgrunts of IH decided to take Tash on a tour of their plant, telling her tales of the bus rides to and from the campus (campus?) of IIT. She cringed when they told her about the demon Mac, and of how Mac had managed to infiltrate the bus with thousands of Minimacs, terrorizing the ears of just about everyone, including himself. While they were on the ground floor, Jean, Frank, Roger, and Tash ran into Mike, who was carrying three blue notebooks. "Stockroom raid, eh?" Roger said. "No, not at all," Mike said, innocently. "Oh, I'll bet," Jean snorted, though maybe at the tag of "innocently" on anything Mike would say. "No, really." He finally noticed Tash. "Hey...wow..." "It's Tash!" Frank screamed. "You really are embarrassing, aren't you," Tash remarked. "And I thought Jean and Roger were exaggerating about you." Frank raised his hand to strike Tash, but Jean was too quick. She thudded him against the wall, and Frank bounced off, falling to his knees. "You enjoy doing this, don't you, AMBAR?" Frank wallowed, and banged Jean's toe with his giant key. Jean yelped and hopped away. Mike was the first to notice that the section of wall that Frank had hit was ajar. "Hey, dig this..." They pried it open. Inside was a dark corridor, apparently winding in and out of IH. They stared at each other for a moment, uncertain as to what to do. "Well," Jean said, "I'm just going to go through vnews for the fifth time this week. I say we just jump right in." "Me neither," Mike said. "I'm game. As long as we catch the bus back," Roger said. "Me neither." "Sure! Let's go! You only live once!" Frank said. "Me neither." "Me neither what?" Phyllis said, walking up to them. "Me neither," Mike said again, and walked into the corridor. The others watched him enter, and looked at themselves again. "You spend a year at IIT, and look what happens to you," Tash said, following Mike. One by one they entered, until Phyllis was left outside, wondering what to do. Recalling a line from "Risky Business," the girl darted inside, jumping as the door shut closed behind them. Inside, it was totally and completely and oppressively dark. Frank started fumbling through the collection of junk hanging from his neck. "Hey!", Phyllis yelped, as Frank accidentally elbowed her. "What are you doing?" "I'm looking for the penlight that I keep around here somewhere....." "It's around here somewhere......famous last words," someone said. "Who said that?" snapped Frank. "Me! and whatcha gonna do about it?"
jeand@ihlpg.UUCP (AMBAR) (08/01/85)
Roger finally got tired of this lousy dialogue and flipped on the light switch that he had located five paragraphs back. The light revealed a narrow corridor, with no windows, and IH's infamous ugly orange carpet. "Well," Jean said, "lead on, MacRios." "How'd *I* get elected leader of this lous--terrific group of mail warriors?", Mike amended hastily, as Jean and Tasha moved to either side of him. "You walked in first," Roger pointed out. "What are we waiting for?" The puzzled and wary group of summer students moved cautiously down the hallway. Had any of them had the presence of mind to yell "BOO!", the other five would have collectively jumped a foot--and then inflicted dire mayhem upon the person of the yeller. Thus, no one felt juvenile enough to pull such a stupid joke. Around a bend in the corridor, they discovered two doors--one on the right, and one on the left. Frank and Mike tried the doors; both were locked. Tasha nonchalantly produced a bunch of lockpicks and opened the door on the right. "Tell me you DIDN'T learn that at IIT," Phyllis pleaded. "As a matter of fact," Tash muttered, "I did." "Which class?" This, of course, came from Mike. "Ok--who forgot Mike's straitjacket? That unlucky soul is the one who will be responsible for keeping Mike's hands out of other people's computer terminals........" "I don't need a keeper--unlike some people I know!", Mike retorted, and took off through the door that Tash had opened. "'There he goes again'", quoted Jean. The group moved through the door into yet another DARK corridor (why should we walk into a lit corridor? Lit corridors are no fun)! Frank stuttered in the darkness, "What's that thumping noise?" "It must be Roger groping the walls for another light switch," answered Jean. "Whoa, Roger! That's NOT the wall," Phyllis exclaimed. "Who are you anyway?" "Who's who?" "Who's that?" "Who's THIS?" "Natasha would like to know who that is." "Who WHO is?" "Well I know Frank, Roger, Mike, and AMBAR, so who's left?" "Me!" yelped Phyllis. Mike called out from across the room. "Wait! Here's some kind of lever. . ." ZAP! In a puff of smoke the room became dimly lit with a green haze. In the floor before the awestricken subgrunts were three trap doors, illuminated with tacky neon lights. The doors read Door #1: The Death Trap Door #2: The Forbidden Tunnel Door #3: The Right Choice. "What is this anyway? Indian Hill or Adventure 2.1?" Tash enquired. "Well, what are you FOOLS going to try next?" sneered Mike. "US? FOOLS?" cried Frank incredulously. "Quit squabbling, children," Jean admonished, "or I'll throw you BOTH through Door #1!" "I say we try #3. There's something about that door. . . I just can't explain it. . . it's . . . it's . . . ." "Go for it, Roger," Tash interrupted, shoving Roger a little closer to the door. Roger grabbed the trap door and yanked forcefully. The door opened easily sending Roger reeling across the room on top of Mike. "Hey, watch it! Is that any way to treat your ex-roommate?" While Roger and Mike nursed their bruises, the rest of the group peered into. . . yes, darkness.
jeand@ihlpg.UUCP (AMBAR) (08/01/85)
"I say we look behind the other doors before we commit ourselves to this one," Phyllis suggested. "I say we don't," chortled Frank. "Come on, Frank! Where's your sense of adventure?" "I think we should at least open. . .Hey! Where'd Tash go?" "Back to Columbus, I hope," grumbled Mike. "She climbed through Door #3 while you idiots . . ." "WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!" "What was that?" "It sounded like Tash. Let's go!" ordered Jean. The five remaining subgrunts climbed down into the pit to discover a WELL LIT hallway lined with offices. "LOOK OUT! WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!" Natasha came wheeling gleefully forth in a rocking-rolling-swivelling desk chair. "It's a deserted AT&T plant!" she exclaimed. "With bannering programs?" cried Frank. "With vnews?" cried Jean. "With unmangled printers?" cried Roger. "With a full stockroom?" cried Mike. "YES! With all of that and MORE! It even has . . ." Natasha slammed fatally into a wall as she flew past them again. ". . . dead end corridors . . ." "You guys come here! I hear something behind this closet door! I sounds like voices!" remarked _________________. "WHO?" the subgrunts yelped. "I say, my boys, I did." Mike cringed, his face turning green. Frank whirled around, and Roger just shook his head, in a sad tribute to Vic Moore. "It's Mac!" Frank screamed. Mac was looking at them through the experimental system monitor that normally hung around the ground floor of IH Main, and which never seemed to display your system name, except on its manual poster. "Hey, Frank. I was comin' up to get you for lunch. See, I found these chicks down in South...y'know how that is, Mike. My boy, Mike, y'know? I found these chicks in South, y'know? Y'know, Roger? Frank, get it? Southern Macced Chicks, y'know?" Jean turned the screen off. "Ye gods, is his dialogue boring." Frank was appalled. "That was the Great Marcus Mack!" "Now, Frank, come on," Mike said, patting Jean on the back. "The last thing I want to do is watch Mac on TV." "Where to now?" Roger said, examining his hands. He wasn't too sure just where they had gone on his last quest for a light switch, and he wondered whether he would clobber anyone, or anyone would clobber him. "The Stockroom!" the grunts cheered. "Why did I ask?" Roger moaned. The following week, it seemed to them, they roamed the corridors of IC (as in Indian Cemetary). Once they had withdrawn every possible thing from the stockroom, crashed the computer, blew up a vax, they got bored. And, as they sat around in the IC auditorium, they tried to think of things to do (since IC did not get vnews, much to Jean's dismay). This is what went through Jean's mind: >> "I don't *want* to sit here anymore," Jean said, *visibly* angry. >> "Me *neither*," Mike grumbled. >> "I'm *bored*," Frank groaned. >> "Me *neither*." >> "Why don't we try and *think* of something to *do*," Phyllis chanted. >> "How about removing these *stupid* asterisks (?..sorry, *?*) from >> our dialogue. I'm tired of listening to people say, 'I don't >> astericks-want-astericks to sit here anymore.'"
jeand@ihlpg.UUCP (AMBAR) (08/01/85)
And Tash was thinking: "I don't want to sit here anymore," Tash said, VISIBLY ANGRY. "Well, don't come TO ME and complain," Roger said. Suddenly Tash looked SULTRILY AT Mike. "You know, Mike...now that it'll just be the two of us at IIT..." And Mike looked deep into her brown eyes, his eyes cool with gallons of suave-ity, said: "Natasha...I have always desired you from afar, from the day that Nathaniel--Satan take his soul--destined us to remain at the Hole...it's just...just..." "What, Michael..." She looked at the others, who were PLAYING VIOLINS and her eyes were bleared with tears. "What could it be?" "It's just that if it's not throwing up on your new gymshoes, it's chasing after menial laborettes." "No, Michael! How could this be...How could this (slap) be (crash) between (wham) us (thud) ... (Tash!) please, (Tash!) remember (NaStasha) ourrrrr" "Welcome to the Real World, Tash," Roger grinned. "I just had the bizarrest dream..." she said. "Ooo, tell us, tell us," Mike chanted. "No, I don't think so," Tash sighed, desperately trying to forget the dream. (What kind of terminal did she eat last night?) "Well, I don't know about you people," Phyllis said. "But I have an idea of how to get home." "HOW?" "The same way we came. The door in the wall. That'll get us out of IC for good." They cheered, running out of the IC auditorium. Desperately they searched the walls of the ground floor, until Frank looked out the windows looking out unto the courtyard. "Uh...guys...look at...(meep) that..." ******************************************************************************** ....Mike taunted them, holding the white and green printout of their creation, their imagination, in front of them. Never had they been so outraged as when Mike snuck into Jean's open RJE directory and yanked the nearly completed "Subgrunts" and deleted it, only to preserve an honor that none of them knew, or cared, about. "Mike, quit being a geek and give it back," Jean said, the ring on her finger glowing with anticipation. Long had it been since it had tasted the face of a human being. "Me neither," Mike said, sounding more like a sick pig than anything else. "Why did you steal it?" Phyllis asked, confused about the whole situation as indeed, they all were. "No one's posting this to the net. If it's being mailed, I'm editing this dream sequence, and changing my name," Mike rallied. "What rot!" Roger muttered. "People on the net are going to look at the name 'Mike,' and say, 'Gee, this Mike must be Mike Rios, Box #550 at IIT...and look...he's in a dream sequence with this Natasha Richardson, also at IIT...ooh...' Sure, Mike. People care. People are gonna know." "A Mike who hangs around with a Frank, Roger, Jean..." Mike blurted. "Yeah, we all post together, like a big family!" Frank yelled. Mike ripped the printout. They gasped, not realizing it would come to this. This, so tantamountly stupid. "I hope the ground opens up and swallows you whole," Roger hissed. Mike merely chuckled, until the floor of 2B-4 did indeed open. Mike fell into the depths, screaming until his lungs could scream no more. The hold closed, leaving those in Indian Hill very perplexed.... ******************************************************************************* This, then, is the legacy of Mail Wars II. NOW you know why the story was never completed. NOW you know what AT&T's summer students REALLY do for a living.....