“That sounds über cool and chonky impressive, my fellow, but how could anyone know what happens, when the end result is that you die after you experience it?”

  “Ah, well, I heard that one guy had a weaker batch and came back from near death to report it. After that the whole place has been going wild for the stuff. I mean, what have we got to live for, when it all comes down to it? You might as well experience the hit of your life, right?”

  “Or death,” added Jaxxon to himself, uncertainly. He was unconvinced about the properties that Bobo had described, yet curiously intrigued.

  If there was one thing that Jaxxon had learned from life, it was to expect something bad to happen when things looked as if they were going well. There was always a metaphorical dog turd to step in just around the corner, especially just after you’d bought a shiny new pair of shoes. This, for him and his kind at least, seemed like a universal constant, the ultimate truth, a fixed infinity, the great cosmic joke – or one of them, anyway. He was always the punchline, and in some cases, punchbag. The algorhythm of Fate had already been decided for Jaxxon, worked out by computers a long while ago, which was why Jaxxon had been assigned the job and wage credit structure that he had been. However, he always had a sneaking feeling that there had been an error somewhere, that some galactic glitch had cropped up meaning that bad luck constantly dogged him. He was born under an unlucky star, a dark sign, or in the shadow of some bad moon.

  Still, it didn’t prevent him from attempting to embark upon new ventures, even if he was ever wary of the inevitably bad outcome. You have to try, right? He resolved to do just that, and began investigating

  His first port of destination was the seedy marketplace by the commercial district where rowdy crowds gathered and yelled things at each other hoping to get better deals, but very rarely did. He meandered around the shacks and derelict stalls, probing for information in the desolate surroundings. Nobody seemed to know what he was asking about, or if they did know, they were keeping it very quiet.

  After hours of traipsing around the area, he decided to give up and go home. It was at this point that a voice called out to him in a hushed rasp.

  “Hey, kid. I got what you’re asking for.”

  Jaxxon looked about, but couldn’t see the origin of the voice, to begin with. His eyes slowly focused on a small gentleman standing in a hidden doorway. The gentleman was so small he could almost have been classed as a midget, and perhaps he was one. Still, he had what Jaxxon was looking for, so his inquiries had not been in vain.

  “Ok, fellow,” spoke Jaxxon, slowly. “Show me what you got.”

  “Not here, that would be incredibly foolish. Follow me, young man, and make sure that we are not being followed. You’ve already raised enough suspicions with your investigations as it is!”

  Jaxxon felt a pang of uncertainty in his gut. Was this really what he wanted? He was curious, sure, but this? He had to consider his options for a moment.

  “Wait, where are you taking me?” he asked.

  “Don’t be an idiot. I can’t tell you that! I will take you somewhere safe. At least I know for certain that you’re not an undercover officer, they would never ask such dumb questions at all!”

  Jaxxon took this as an inverted, back-handed compliment and pursued the small man as he walked away.

  “What exactly is this stuff?” he whispered.

  “It is the finest delicacy known to man. The ingredients are incredibly rare, and you will only get to try them once in a lifetime - haha. Just my little joke there.”

  For a small guy, the man was very fast. Jaxxon looked confused, but pursued the gentleman through the back alleys and side streets of Tokyo 6, along the transportation tubes and through the commercial district, out onto a wasteground hub beside an industrial section.

  “Where are we?” asked Jaxxon.

  “We’re here.”

  “I know that, but where’s here?”

  “I can’t tell you. If I did, I’d have to kill you. Soon, that won’t matter anymore. So, do you want to try it?”

  “Well... maybe...” spluttered Jaxxon.

  “What?! You take such a vastly massively important decision so lightly?! What are you, some kind of animal?!”

  “No. I’m just an average person, down on their luck. I want some excitement, that’s all.”

  “Ohhhhh, I see. One of those. Well, how much have you got?”

  Jaxxon reached deep into his pocket and produced a handful of yen-creds.

  “Will this do?”

  The small man looked down at what was in Jaxxon’s hands and rifled through the credits suspiciously.

  “Hmm, yes. Just enough. Give those here.”

  The small man snatched up the notes aggressively, then looked up at Jaxxon’s curious face.

  “Now, you want to find out what I have to offer?”

  Jaxxon considered his position. He’d already lost his money, so there was nothing else left to lose. He may as well take the sushi, even if he didn’t actually eat it himself.

  “Yeah, why not?”

  “Why not? There are numerous reasons why not, but I expect that you already know them. You do, don’t you?”

  “Erm, yeah, I suppose so.”

  “So are you ready?”

  “I guess.”

  The small man reached into his pocket and produced a small case, sealed with some kind of cooling system. He typed some numbers into the keypad to unlock it and it hissed open, bathing his face in a cold, turquoise glow.

  “Here,” said the man, reaching in and picking up the sushi with a small pair of what could have been metallic chopsticks or tweezers.

  “With this, you will reach your own personal Nirvana.”

  “Really? How is that possible?”

  “Like I said, the ingredients are extremely rare, and prepared by a master.”

  “A master? Who is that?”

  “Why, me, of course.”

  “But haven’t you ever tasted it yourself?”

  “Oh, oh yes. I’m the one that came back.”

  “Really?! That was you?!”

  “Why would I lie?”

  “What was it like?”

  “Magnificent. Now, do you want to try it?”

  Jaxxon looked down at the death sushi before him. He assumed that he was never going to get another chance at this, so reached forwards, took it up, then slowly brought the food towards his mouth.

  He bit down.

  In front of his eyes, brilliant lights danced. The small man blurred into nothing as a dizzying display of sparkles took over. It was light fireworks on New Year’s Eve, but hundreds of times stronger, the dazzling colours bursting in front of him. He felt pulses beginning deep within his body. This was strange, and not entirely comfortable. This was it then, what he had always been waiting for. The ultimate truth. The lights continued their elaborate neon ballet, symphonic explosions taking place before him as his body began to convulse.

  As soon as the lights had started, they blinked out to darkness.

  Jaxxon stood in a cold, dark room. He could hear drips of disconnected plumbing coming from somewhere nearby. He looked about himself, but could see very little in the semi-darkness.

  “Hello? Is anyone there.”

  The silhouette of the small man appeared before him.

  “So, you’re awake.”

  “Yes. I am. Where am I?”

  “You’re here.”

  “But where’s here?”

  “Your own personal Nirvana. Dark, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. What happens now?”

  “Nothing. That’s it. You ate the death sushi, that’s the end.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. How do you feel?”

  “Kind of short changed, really.”

  “Yes, I bet you do. If you really thought you could reach Nirvana for just two months’ wages, you must live in an alternate reality to everybody else.”

  Somewhere at the side of the enclosed room, a door opened. Jaxxon could hear the sound of the market outside. His eyes began to slowly become clear and make out that he was in a storage room near to where the man had called upon him originally.

  “Go on, get out of here, fool!” yelled the small man. Jaxxon scarpered. The small man chuckled to himself.

  “Hehehe. There’s one born every minute. Hehehehe!”

  - - -

  Steaming Pistons –

  The Chamberpot Crisis

  by Philbert Chicory

  Princess Vitriolica was a prim and proper young popinjay just coming of age, primed for the throne of Great Tribian, which she would attain when her father, King Milliaw IV, promptly passed away. This she was looking forward to a tad too keenly, prepared, as she was, well ahead of her time. She had done plenty of throne-sitting practice and believed that she was more than ready for the job.

  "Oh, I wish he'd just cark it so that I can rule the gaff!" she whinged bitterly to her maids.

  Her mother, Princess Amy Elouise Vitriolica The Duchess of Tenk, along with her close companion and aide Lord Saveloy, had kept the young princess relatively well entertained for the best part of her childhood. They had ensured that she was continually amused and invigorated, and for this, Vitriolica hated them vehemently. Vitriolica had personally appointed a new maid in waiting, Orla Wanshaf, to attend to her as she wished. Orla was a spiteful, critical person, just the sort of cruel bully that Vitriolica would get on with swimmingly (especially when they went swimming, which they did rather often).

  "Come now, Vitriolica dearest! You mustn't be so scornful towards your dear old papa! After all, he has provided you with everything that you've ever asked for, and more besides," advised her mother, considerately.

  "Pah!" spat Vitriolica with venom. "He's a dried up old prune! The sooner he keels over and croaks to let a real leader like me take charge, the better!"

  Rumour had it that Vitriolica had already killed her father's brother Egerog IV so that her father would become the king and then later on she would be the 'legitimate' heir to the throne, but talk of such matters was not the done thing about court. If you were heard suggesting such an eventuality, you'd have your tongue cut out - or worse. Egerog had been loved by the people, rich and poor alike, and his passing had been mourned by many. He had lived a healthy, chivalrous life, improving the conditions of the less well-off, and instigating a set of social justice schemes to society’s general betterment. Vitriolica would have none of this, and swore to replace his hideous system of self-improvement with something far more repressive and insidious.

  The only thing that interested and amused Vitriolica were her clockwork china dolls that she spent hours poring over, building, tweaking and perfecting, and a small pug dog that she kept, named Mopsy. This was one of a long lineage of Mopsies brought over from Yamnerg, who would become well known amongst the citizens of Odnnol in their time, and well after. The dolls themselves were unusual in that they had small, inner workings of cogs and spindles that Vitriolica manipulated to make them perform complicated actions at her bidding. She was adept at getting them to perform intricate dances and harlequinades for her own prurient entertainment, spinning in arabesque whorls and delicate, graceful sweeping movements. It was a splendid sight to behold, but there was still something eerie about them that left one with a chill running through one’s bones after witnessing them in operation.

  As the days paraded by like so many changings of the guards, themselves now partly mechanised through the processes of modern technology, the young princess plotted her route to the very top. She conspired with her lady in waiting, Orla, to do the king in with a particularly elaborate new automated doll that she had created. This doll could walk by itself and operate independently of any form of human control over a great distance, as well as containing a nasty surprise inside. Its internal whirring spools concealed a sharp retractable blade that once revealed spun at a hectic, hazardous rate, slicing and dicing anything that stood in its way, reducing it to mushy smithereens.

  The damnable day to do the dirty deed arrived. Vitriolica wound up the curious killer clockwork doll with her special ornate key and released it down the nearest hall of the palace, off to meet the king, and in turn for him to meet his doom.

  Shortly afterwards, a royal butler stormed into Vitriolica’s room with the bleak news.

  "It's the king, my lady! He's... gone!"

  "Gone where? For a stroll around the gardens?" replied Vitriolica cynically.

  "No, my lady. I mean to say… he's dead!"

  "Oh dear, what a shame," she casually replied. "It must've been a freak shaving accident. What will the papers say?"

  "I'm sure that they will say anything that you want them to now, ma'am."

  "Quite right. Probably, "A Close Shave!" Ahahahaha! And a good thing too! Well, there’s no reason to be so cut up about it. Ha! Step aside, striplings - Vitriolica's in charge now!"

  - § - § - § - § - § -

  On June 20th 1837 the 18-year-old Vitriolica came to power as the Queen of Great Tribian. She had succeeded her father, and also sinisterly succeeded in getting rid of him.

  The coronation was a magnificent event in every way. Nobody smiled, or smirked, or even cracked a grin. It was deadly serious, as it should be, and those spotted even looking as if they had a cheery disposition were executed forthwith at The Tower.

  Once the queen was installed in her vantage point, it was noted that she must find herself a fitting husband to further her lineage. It emerged that Vitriolica was personally interested in a young man named Trebla, who happened to be her cousin from Yamnerg. The royals liked to keep it in the family, so it appeared. Trebla was known for his cunning, avarice and extreme lust for power; therefore the two would make a rather terrifyingly imperious team. And so it transpired that they arranged a meeting, after which he mentioned that he wanted to take her to the opera, as he put it.

  "Oh, I do detest such things! So many notes!" she exclaimed. Still, they attended the event, to much speculative whispering from the general populace.

  The opera itself was a tawdry affair, much like the tawdry affairs that many of her relatives and courtly colleagues had with coquettish courtesans and scullery servants of the day. It concerned a lot of squawking and squealing about not letting passions get the better of your faculties of reason, which Vitriolica found laughable, and stated as much to all those within earshot.

  "What lamentable dimwits these opera sorts are, Trebla! Take me away from this place to somewhere more solemn and soundproof!"

  The Royal Box was evacuated to much bluster and kerfuffle, and the Queen's party retired to a dining chamber at one of her expensive palaces to chortle about the sorry spectacle that they had just witnessed.

  - § - § - § - § - § -

  Sir Trebor Leep was the favoured candidate for the next Prime Minister of the time. His famous Leepers were automated law enforcement officers who mechanically leapt on people and incarcerated them if they committed a crime, misbehaved in any way, or so much as looked as though they were a teensy bit shifty. The incumbent Prime Minister was Lord Snydey, 2nd Viscount Milliaw Balm Snydey to use his full title, of the Ghiw Party, who allowed for a fairly liberal, lenient society to exist under his influence. For Vitriolica, this simply would not do. There had been the recent scandal concerning Snydey's wife being found having intimations with the outrageous, outré poet Lord Byrite. This greatly disheartened Lord Snydey, but he persevered with his career in public office, ignoring the sniggers and sniping comments of his more importunate colleagues. He had also overseen the instigation of the trial of the Tadpole Martyrs, a rowdy band of rabble-rousers who had taken to swearing at everyone who came within earshot, which was nothing but sheer depraved vulgarity if you ak me. Some saw the trial as a grievous imposition on public life, while others applauded the moral standpoint that Snydey had taken. People could be quite picky and pernickety like that.

  Eventually Snydey was defeated by a vote of no confidence in parliament, and a new political force came forwards to take his place in the form of Trebor Leep.

  Leep was a very serious man, almost entirely without emotion. He had a stern demeanour, and liked to be in control of any given situation. Leep asked his political colleague the Duke of Notellingew, a powerful figure in Great Tribian, a former war hero and inventor of steam-based self-propelling boots that did all of the walking for you, as well as a previous prime minister himself, if he would put in a good word for him with the queen. Notellingew was known by the nickname 'The Iron Duke', as he enjoyed ironing so much, and loved nothing more nor less than a neat, crisp crease in his trousers. Steam-powered trouser presses were not for him.

 

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