Last week as you recall, our own Doctor Zachary Smith was falling.
Quite the fall, actually.
It would kill a regular person,
In fact it would have killed our own Doctor Zachary Smith, if it weren't for the gunk.
Technical term. gunk.
Now, you must understand that Dr. Smith did not say "splat" It was a stage direction. A sound effect, if you will. Dr. Smith flailed about in the thick, gooey tar until he hit shore. It was then that he took stock of his surroundings,
|-=fig. 344: the shadow world=-|
They were black.
Not for want of lighting, but for want of color. Well, and lighting. Dr. Smith took stock of his surroundings from a reclined position, the black tar that he had landed in had siphoned his energy and all he felt like doing was sleeping.
But not being one for sleeping, usually, he made a last ditch effort to crawl as far as he could away from the tar, which was difficult because the whole place seemed to be covered in the stuff. His prize-winning fedora had fallen off somewhere along the way, most likely sucked into the terrible goo which covered this god-forsaken place.
Dr. Smith finally collapsed, face-down in black goo.
Dr. Smith was awoken by the sound of a kettle boiling over.
As Dr. Smith negotiated himself into an upright position, he noticed his shadowy host had poured the tea into two faded pink glasses.
"Thank you." Said Dr. Smith as his host handed him his cup.
"*grunt.*" Said his host.
"Can you talk?"
"Thank you for saving me." Dr. smith gave a weak smile.
This was returned with a grunt, then The Man slurped his tea through his teeth without taking his eyes off Dr. Smith, as if he expected him to pull out a sword and run him through.
"You don't talk much do you?"
"What's your name?"
"I'm sorry, did you say rendezvous?"
"No. Ron DaVeu." Dr Smith was taken aback, he'd expected the famous Ronald DaVeu to be, well, taller. And more eloquent. Also, given the sheer quantity of places named after The Great Ron DaVeu, you would expect him to bathe once in awhile, which obviously wasn't the case as the smell was very nearly unbearable. To distract his mind from the smell, Dr. Smith took a drink of his tea.
And then spat it out. It was terrible.
"Great tea!" There was no sarcasm in his voice, merely pain.
"How did you get here little man?"
"My name's Dr. Smith. I fell. From the sky."
"You don't believe me do you?"
"I believe you little man. I fell from the sky too. I was traveling in the woods. There was a hole, a square hole that I didn't see 'cause 'twas covered in leaves. I stepped on the leaves and" –pause for a *growl*– "ended up here." Ron's voice was as rough as gravel, and he had a permanent scowl as if he were ready to chop off your head at a moments notice. It should also be noted that the cup he was drinking from was pink and had a small, happy kitten embellished across the front.
"Where'd you come from, kid? Before this black place took ya?"
"Legopolis ain't a city. Tain't more'n my wife and me's cabin."
"Dame Lisa O'Callaghan the first. Her family has money. Can't see why she married me. Idiot."
"Probably loved you."
"Hrghm. Ain't seen her in more'n nine years. All on account of this <expletive> place."
"Well! Lets get you outta here!"
"How do you suggest that?"
Dr. Smith Thought d=for a moment,
"What's in these letters?"
"They were here when I got here. Dint read 'em 'cause I can't read. Burned 'em 'cause I was cold.
Dr. Smith Picked one up and read it:
Dear Mayor: The Darkness is coming! ITS COMING SAVE US!!!
DO SOMETHING ABOUT THE MONOIDS!!! Their <expletive> Guns shot off me leg yesterday and by Jacob it hurts like the blazes of hell!
"Ah! this was the mayors office. Ther're usually pretty high up, how high up are we?"
"Two Feet. That black stuff you were floundering in is like tar. And It seeps in from everywhere. Hardens in a day or thereabouts."
"I don't suppose you found a small leather briefcase out there? Probably near where I fell?"
"Well, now we're stuck. I don't know what to do." This was very hard for Dr. Smith to admit, being brilliant he usually knows what to do. A plan for everything, that's our Dr. Smith. A plan usually named after a city.
"At least there aren't any animals out there that will eat us."–This was punctuated by an unearthly roar.
"Don't worry kid. They don't live long in this muck."
"What are they?"
"Ain't got no idea. They're big and have hellish teeth. Better'n those Monoids though."
"What are they doing here anyway?"
"Dunno, don't care."
"I'll bet you that if we follow them back to their base they'll have a way out of here. They're in my Legopolis too. The Monoids, I mean."
"Where are you from? I've never seen ya in Legopolis."
"I'm pretty sure I'm from your future. Legopolis turns into a grand city, with streets and everything."
Ron met this with a growl. The roof started to leak black muck, the same tar that's outside.
"What is this stuff?
"Dunno. Sticky, black and it gets everywhere. Steals yer energy if ya' let it touch ya'. Works a treat for sealin' up cracks in the ceilin'."
Dr Smith watched as Ron took a glob of it in a handy mitt and spread it over the slice of ceiling where the tar was getting in.
"How did all that get up on the roof?"
"Rains down from the sky every once in awhile. Nasty stuff."
"We need to get out of here. Quick."
"How Do you suggest? Walkin' don't work for long. Wheels gum. Boats don't move. Lucky I'm tough and you were in my foragin' pattern else you'd never be alive. And the stuff boils up like you wouldn't believe. Get caught when one of those blows and you're dead. "
"How do those Monoids get around?"
"Well, uh. They have this–"
|-=fig. 346: the marvelous monoid moving machine=-|
A small, slow smile breaks across our hero's face as Ron tells him about the Monoids marvelous machine.
"I have a plan!'
Join us next week at 4:10 G.M.T. For our next exciting episode: