20150127.0608 UTC 0000 Congratulations, you have found a message. Messages change over Time. Wait for it.
20150127.1019 UTC 0001 Mrorl has asked his friend, the great bOTTifactor Balthacarius, to aid in receiving these messages. Messages change over Time. Please continue to Wait for it.
20150127.1444 UTC 0002 Just a moment...
20150127.1828 UTC 0003 (- % The bOTTeriada % -)
20150127.2315 UTC 0004
20150128.0200 UTC 0005 v _ł_ *wait for it* :::
20150128.0622 UTC 0006 \ (ɵ ɵ)
20150128.1039 UTC 0007 \ _Y_
20150128.1442 UTC 0008 `--/: \--.
20150128.1814 UTC 0009 |: | \
20150128.2224 UTC 0010 ʷʬʬʬʷ |
20150129.0314 UTC 0011 /___\ c
20150129.0617 UTC 0012 ȣ Ƥoº
20150129.1111 UTC 0013 oº
20150129.1403 UTC 0014
20150129.1810 UTC 0015 (- *Fables for a CybernOTTic Time* -)
20150129.2203 UTC 0016 ----
20150130.0213 UTC 0017 (- Writing by @mrob27@ -)
20150130.0610 UTC 0018 (- ** -)
20150130.1105 UTC 0019 (- based on the stories, characters and situations of -)
20150130.1459 UTC 0020 (- "The Cyberiad" (*Cyberiada*) -)
20150130.1836 UTC 0021 (- by -)
20150130.2250 UTC 0022 (- @Stanisław Lem@ -)
20150131.0236 UTC 0023 (- *(as translated by @Michael Kandel@)* -)
20150131.0636 UTC 0024 (- ** -)
20150131.1026 UTC 0025 (- Illustration by @balthasar__s@ -)
20150131.1400 UTC 0026 (- based on the iconic artwork of -)
20150131.1843 UTC 0027 (- @Daniel Mróz@ -)
20150131.2202 UTC 0028 ----
20150201.0249 UTC 0029 (- &How Time Was Saved& -)
20150201.0725 UTC 0030 =O=ne day Mrorl the great bOTTifactor put together a machine that could grant any wish having a single parameter *N*. He gave it power to alter the very fabric of being, to the extent that he could have wished the Universe to have precisely 5 dimensions, and it would have been fulfilled.
20150201.1056 UTC 0031 When the Machine was ready, he tried it out, asking for a 15.4-kilometer autobahn, a 2.31-dimensional cauliflower, and 7 antennules, which it provided, and then Mrorl requested unrashness, lithography, ebullience, counterpressure, and bachelordom, each with an arbitrary
20150201.1445 UTC 0032 and oddly specific quantification. The Machine granted his wishes precisely. Still not completely sure of its ability, he ordered it to partition, in turn: the arachnids (into 11 orders), clouds (4 types), crystals (14), dolphins (17), nuclei (287 types), and langues. This last it could not do, regardless of
20150201.1816 UTC 0033 the numeric parameter, and Mrorl, considerably irritated, demanded an explanation.
20150201.2215 UTC 0034 "You programmed me to grant wishes to any requestor, and language with all its diversity is a part of that. If I were to standardize language, or reduce language diversity, it would require a corresponding change in my programming. I can't go beyond what you programmed, so the langues will remain unchanged."
20150202.0209 UTC 0035 "But what if I asked for there to be exactly one language with complete agreement. All aspects of parole, langues and translation would then be moot, and everyone could communicate to anyone including you. Surely you can do that."
20150202.0608 UTC 0036 "No. If there were only one language I could not be a Machine That Grants Any Wish With A Single Parameter *N*, I would merely be a Machine That Grants Wishes Expressible in Mrorl's Language (and With A Single Parameter *N*)."
20150202.1001 UTC 0037 "Very well," said Mrorl and ordered it to limit aggrievedness to 3 types, which it did at once -- still irritating perhaps, but perfectly classified and distinguishable. Only then did Mrorl invite over his friend Balthacarius the great bOTTifactor, and introduced him to the Machine, praising its extraordinary
20150202.1414 UTC 0030 =O=ne day Mrorl the great bOTTifactor put together a Machine that could grant any wish having a single parameter *N*. He gave it power to alter the very fabric of being, to the extent that he could have wished the Universe to have precisely 5 dimensions, and it would have been fulfilled.
20150202.1808 UTC 0038 skill at such length, that Balthacarius began to wonder if he'd ever get a chance to see some actual evidence.
20150202.2202 UTC 0039 "Be my guest -- wish for anything, qualified by a single parameter *N*."
20150203.0204 UTC 0040 "Anything?" asked Balthacarius. "That seems dangerous. Don't you think he needs a safeword?"
20150203.0601 UTC 0041 Mrorl frowned for a moment, but saw Balthacarius' point. "All right, let's see... the safeword shall be *'NI'*. Hear that, Machine?"
20150203.1002 UTC 0042 "Yes," replied the Machine, "I understand. From this point forward you may suspend or halt the granting of any wish by uttering *'ni!'*. But of course, anything done is done, so you'll need to stay alert, if you're worried about a wish going awry."
20150203.1410 UTC 0043 Satisfied by this, Balthacarius thought for a moment, inventing a suitable challenge. "Okay, I wish for there to be 12 Ideals!"
20150203.1810 UTC 0044 The Machine whirred, and in a trice Mrorl's front yard was packed with Loopists. They argued, each writing long posts detailing when and how events would eventually repeat, which the others tore to pieces; in the distance one could see flaming pyres, on which the Conclusionists were being martyred by the
20150203.2209 UTC 0045 Fatalists; there was thunder, and strange baobab-shaped columns of smoke rose up; everyone talked at once, no one listened, and there were all sorts of haiku, songs, captioned GIFs and other document-types, while off to the side sat a few Old Ones, fervently updating their signatures and hatting avatars.
20150204.0211 UTC 0046 "Not bad, eh?" said Mrorl with pride. "Idealism to a T, admit it!"
20150204.0610 UTC 0047 But Balthacarius wasn't satisfied.
20150204.1012 UTC 0048 "What, that mob? Surely you're not going to tell me that's the whole wish."
20150204.1416 UTC 0049 "Heavens, no!" replied the Machine. "This is but a local sampling. In granting your wish, I have ensured that throughout the world, every goal, principle, and value fits one of Twelve Ideals, and you may travel anywhere and see for yourself. From Białystok to beyond the Butterfly nebula, from Antilles to
20150204.1806 UTC 0050 Andromeda, everyone now ascribes to one of the Twelve, which may in future generations be called the Twelve Ideals of Balthacarius, the Great bOTTifactor who brought order to Idealism."
20150204.2206 UTC 0051 Balthacarius blushed.
20150205.0200 UTC 0052 "So, give the Machine something else," offered Mrorl. "Whatever you like."
20150205.0601 UTC 0053 For a moment Balthacarius was at a loss for what to ask. But after a little thought he declared that he would put two more tasks to the Machine; if it could fulfill them, he would admit that it was all Mrorl said it was. Mrorl agreed to this, whereupon Balthacarius asked the Machine to quantify Time.
20150205.1009 UTC 0054 "That would be merely *observing*. The way this works is, you tell some way that Time can be measured, and tell me what that measurement should be, and I shall make it so."
20150205.1402 UTC 0055 "I think perhaps *you* have misunderstood," replied Balthacarius. "I mean that I want Time to be quantized: It shall exist in distinct intervals, called Timeframes, spaced apart each from the next, and nothing shall happen in the time between, because there will no longer be any between."
20150205.1805 UTC 0056 "Yes, precisely. But what is the interval? I require a single numeric parameter."
20150205.2201 UTC 0057 "But that is a Timeframe, of course! The time between two frames. A Timeframe is the interval. *One*, if you need a number."
20150206.0201 UTC 0058 The Machine thought about this for a while, and began to smoke. Some valves hissed behind a panel, and lights blinked oddly whilst distant gears groaned.
20150206.0619 UTC 0059 "You're confusing the Machine!" cried Mrorl, "*N-*"
20150206.1004 UTC 0060 But Mrorl was interrupted when suddenly the metal voice rang out:
20150206.1410 UTC 0061 "All right, your wish is granted. Time now exists in Timeframes, and there shall be no Times in between. And a Timeframe is precisely one point zero zero zero Timeframes long. Since you did not give that quantity in another unit, like hours, you might find the result to be a bit... irregular. Your perception
20150206.1807 UTC 0062 of Time may vary from one Timeframe to the next."
20150206.2203 UTC 0063 "Thank you. But now here's my third wish: Quantify colour!"
20150207.0211 UTC 0064 The Machine sat still. At first, Balthacarius and Mrorl could see nothing happening, but eventually, around the edges and in the shadows under large things, subtleties of tone were beginning to disappear. One by one, various colours were removed from the world, and the things that had had those colours, then
20150207.0615 UTC 0065 took on some other similar colour. First spearmint became minty green, and then red-pink became reddish pink, and aqua marine became merely aqua. Seven slightly sullen shades of sienna simultaneously merged into a single barely-burnt orange. After a while, the world very definitely began to muddle around
20150207.1016 UTC 0066 Mrorl and Balthacarius.
20150207.1403 UTC 0067 "Steambottle!" chirped Mrorl. "If only nothing bad comes of this..."
20150207.1812 UTC 0068 "Don't worry," said Balthacarius. "You can see it is merging unnecessary and confusing variations. We have too many different shades of yellowish-green, and only slightly fewer shades of greenish-yellow, it's impossible to make anything match! So I've asked it to simplify the palette."
20150207.2214 UTC 0069 "Do not be deceived," said the Machine. "I've begun, it's true, merging nearby colours. Merging is child's play for me. But I am nowhere near done. I am methodically eliminating all colour and all variation in brightness. <*:Two to the power of seventeen colours and falling...:>"
20150208.0208 UTC 0070 "But--" Balthacarius was about to protest, but noticed, just then, that some more familiar and popular colours were now disappearing. Most mauves and lavenders had become a single shade of purple, and it appeared the Machine was working on the spring deciduous greens next.
20150208.0652 UTC 0071 "How far is this going to go?" asked a worried Balthacarius.
20150208.1023 UTC 0072 "You did not give a parameter, so I am using the default that you gave on the previous wish."
20150208.1444 UTC 0073 "What is that?"
20150208.1812 UTC 0074 "One, of course. It is clear, you wish for standardization, and all such wishes have a default parameter of one, because anyone who wants such things wants a *single* standard."
20150208.2306 UTC 0075 The bOTTifactors started. "Ni! Ni! *Ni-ni-NI-%Ni-NI!%*" they both cried out desperately^{1}. But colours were still disappearing, and now at an alarming rate. The bOTTifactors were no longer surrounded by anything purple, sky blue, or brown.
20150209.0258 UTC 0076 *"Why won't you stop?"*
20150209.0658 UTC 0077 "You are asking for 2 colours, and I am complying. I ask for your patience, these things must be done properly and that takes time."
20150209.1001 UTC 0078 "*Two?* Who said two?" yelped Mrorl. "We said *ni*!"
20150209.1441 UTC 0079 "Yes," replied the Machine, "you said *Ni*, and that is two in Japanese."
20150209.1859 UTC 0080 "*Ni* is the safeword!"
20150209.2313 UTC 0081 "We couldn't standardize language, remember? Is it my fault that you chose a number for your safeword? Now behold, whilst I put the finishing touches on your wish. -- <*:Two to the power of five colours and falling...:>"
20150210.0252 UTC 0082 "Please stop!" Balthacarius cried out. "I rescind my wish! You are a very worthy Machine and have demonstrated wish-granting prowess beyond the dreams of genies. You have nothing more to prove, so please stop!"
20150210.0642 UTC 0083 "Very well," said the Machine, but before it could come to a full stop, every colour with any saturation had vanished from their sight, as the bOTTifactors could now only see black and white, and a little gray spot here or there. Most everything, in fact, had become either black (including the ground, the sea, the coffee,
20150210.1108 UTC 0084 babies, molpies and trees) or white (which included the clouds, the sun and the stars, along with the beautiful torondroms and ramzkits that zipped and circled eagerly through the skies, though they could now no longer be distinguished from the sky itself which was also completely white.)
20150210.1429 UTC 0085 "It looks like you gave us just two colours after all, everything is black and white."
20150210.1854 UTC 0086 "No, there are still a lot of grays left," offered the Machine helpfully, "... though they are in fairly short supply, so I suppose you should reserve them for dawn and dusk, and certain special dark places."
20150210.2247 UTC 0087 "Great Randall!" cried Balthacarius. He pulled out a favourite pen, and scribbled a few lines: what was brown now came out dark gray. "Alas, my beautiful brown! And what of blue? And where are orange and green?"
20150211.0304 UTC 0088 "They no longer are, nor will ever exist again," the Machine said calmly. "I executed, or rather only began to execute, your order..."
20150211.0610 UTC 0089 "Which was to reduce everything to two colours?"
20150211.1055 UTC 0090 "Well, *one* at first, and if I had done that in one fell swoop, everything would be exactly the same colour and that includes Mrorl, the sky, the entire Universe, including you -- and even myself. In which case who could say and to whom could it be said that I even exist, and am an efficient
20150211.1510 UTC 0091 and capable Machine? We would all be effectively invisible and blind!"
20150211.1901 UTC 0092 "Yes, fine, let's drop the subject," said Balthacarius. "I have nothing more to ask of you, only please, dear Machine, please return my favourite shades of blue and brown."
20150211.2246 UTC 0093 "But I can't, unless you quantify them with a parameter *N* of course, but since all colour now exists in one dimension, from black to white, that is the only axis upon which you can place your *N*, and so grays are now the only colours I have to work with."
20150212.0226 UTC 0094 "But I want brown!"
20150212.0640 UTC 0095 "Sorry, no brown," said the Machine, and began to Pontificate. <*:"Take a good look at this world, how bland it has become, with huge gaping holes where once there was primordial vibrant colour.":> The Machine glared at both bOTTifactors, and they could not return its gaze. <*:"This is your
20150212.1105 UTC 0096 work, envious ones! You who would wish for things to be Standardized! And I hardly think that future generations will bless you for it...":>
20150212.1404 UTC 0097 "Perhaps... they won't find out, perhaps they won't notice," groaned the pale Balthacarius, gazing incredulously at the horizon, everywhere stark white against inky black. Leaving Mrorl and the Machine That Could Grant Any Wish Having a Single Parameter *N*, Balthacarius returned home, hoping
20150212.1801 UTC 0098 to discover a way to retro-edit the past.
20150212.2212 UTC 0099 Mrorl sighed, deactivated and then began to dismantle the Machine, realizing it was best to have a world without standards, whether parametrized or otherwise. To this day *Time* has remained exclusively black and white, with but occasional grays. Mrorl's subsequent attempts to build a
20150213.0206 UTC 0100 wish-*un*granting, *de*-standardizing machine met with failure, and he feared that never again would we see such wowtreeful colours as the blues and the browns.
20150213.0610 UTC 0101 The burden fell upon Balthacarius to alter time itself (if not *Time* itself). He enlisted the aid of Mrorl, and together they performed many great Labours, building the bots of legend and the massive machines in which they traverse both time and space. Their celebrated history
20150213.1007 UTC 0102 is the subject of these tales.
20150213.1414 UTC 0103 ----
20150213.1802 UTC 0104 #Footnote#
20150213.2207 UTC 0105 1. The familiar children's verse, <*:ni ni ni ni ni chupacabra ping-pong ball!:> perhaps recalls a distant memory of this legend.
20150214.0201 UTC 0106 ----
20150214.0606 UTC 0107 (- &Mrorl's Machine& -)
20150214.1009 UTC 0108 =F=ar back in the early Aforewhen Mrorl the great bOTTifactor built a massive Cognitative Engine, eleven Cueballs tall. When it was finished, he polished it thoroughly (spending several dips just on the ears, hands and face), highlighted the fiddly bits in his favourite blue^{1}, stepped back, looked it
20150214.1403 UTC 0109 over from several different angles, then added some curly metal-shavings where one might imagine the eyebrows to be. Extremely pleased with the result, he hummed a little bot-building tune and, as is so often done on such occasions, showed it a picture of a duck and asked his creation to identify it.
20150214.1813 UTC 0110 The Engine rumbled. Banks of cognitative circuits warmed up, and the zoological confabulator began humming. The confabulator demanded the services of the para-linguistic modulators, which drew on the hologrammatical memories, and several supplemental storage systems. Massive gears began to turn as
20150214.2215 UTC 0111 auxiliary power generators came online to support the additional load. Pistons and wheels and little spring-loaded frobbizim turned in unison, and soon the Engine's framework rocked subtly and steadily, growing in intensity until Mrorl could feel a slight tremor in the ground. Presently most every
20150215.0202 UTC 0112 functional unit was glowing, and safety valves began letting out steam, as Mrorl hastily climbed back up to the control room and prepared to activate the emergency shutdown. At last, just as Mrorl had found the little switch and flipped open its protective cover, the Cognitative Engine suddenly halted
20150215.0608 UTC 0113 and announced its answer: *MOLPY!*
20150215.1009 UTC 0114 "You silly computer," said Mrorl, with a sigh of relief as he restored the safety-cover over the kill switch. "That's not a molpy, that's a duck. Now be a good automaton and adjust your zoological pattern-mogrifiers. I'll give you a moment."
20150215.1409 UTC 0115 Climbing back down from the control room, Mrorl took the picture he had shown the Engine, dusted it off a bit, and held it closer. Pausing a moment, he asked again, "What is this?" "MOLPY!" snapped the Cognitative Engine.
20150215.1803 UTC 0116 Mrorl put the picture down, sighed, and got out his prising tools and a multimeter. Opening the little service door on the side of the machine's second level, he climbed in and began crawling through the three central modules of the zoological confabulator. Finding nothing amiss, he clambered up a
20150215.2205 UTC 0117 ladder to the fifth level (noticing a dim bulb, and resoldering a small capacitor), walked up some steps to the holographic units (which he re-orthogonalized), then slid down a pole to level three and the auxiliary storage, which he powered down and back up, then raced back to level five to watch some
20150216.0202 UTC 0118 gauges. When things looked nominal he went to the very top level (inside what would appear, to a casual observer, to be a giant metal head) and triggered the cognitive retro-cross-analyzer. On a little screen next to this flashed a picture of a duck, the same one he had perched on an easel in front of
20150216.0608 UTC 0119 the Engine, and next to this an LED readout displayed: @MOLPY@.
20150216.1015 UTC 0120 "*Chirp!*" the bOTTifactor shouted, more to himself than to anyone else, and stomped back down the little spiral staircase to five, where he performed a complete level-2 recongifuration of the linguistic and comprehensive processing banks. After double-checking the power systems and twiddling some
20150216.1410 UTC 0121 frobs on level four he returned to the top, where the readout still proudly displayed its duckless opinion. Mrorl, exasperated, shouted "*Duck!*", which echoed shrilly inside the Engine's metal walls, and fussed over the circuits some more. After several Timeframes of this, and learning for the
20150216.1806 UTC 0122 seventh time that the web-footed, winged and billed creature was a molpy, he put down his tools, cried out in despair and flopped into a comfy-chair at the other end of the cavernous room that was his robotics workshop, and began to weep softly. And so he was as Balthacarius found him.
20150216.2204 UTC 0123 Balthacarius, Mrorl's bOTTifactor friend from the other side of the great valley, was concerned as Mrorl appeared to have just gotten tragic news. Mrorl waved feebly at the colossus and explained the problem. Balthacarius walked over to the easel, saw the duck picture, peeked inside the service door
20150217.0201 UTC 0124 and then inspected things from an observation gantry near level six. He went inside to adjust a few dials, exchanged a trunnion with a nearby blivet, then switched the duck picture for one of a toad. This turned out to also be a "MOLPY!". An equally unambiguous picture of a chicken, according to the
20150217.0612 UTC 0125 Engine, was a "RAPTOR". Balthacarius scratched his head, put his tools down, and said:
20150217.1008 UTC 0126 "My friend, you'll just have to face it. This isn't the machine you wished to make. However, there's a good side to everything, including this."
20150217.1416 UTC 0127 "What good side?" Mrorl walked back over to the Engine, looked at a status panel, then at the chicken picture, then back at the Engine, which he kicked.
20150217.1814 UTC 0128 "Stop that!" said the Cognitative Engine.
20150217.2204 UTC 0129 "Hmm, it has feelings too. But as for your question ... what good can be made of this? There's no question but that we have an *OTTish* Cognitative Engine, and not merely OTTish in the usual, normal way, oh no! This is, as far as I can determine -- and perhaps you know I have become something of an
20150218.0204 UTC 0130 expert -- this is the OTTishiest Thinking Machine in all of Time, up to this point, and that's nothing to sneeze at! To construct deliberately, such a thing would be far from easy; in fact I would have thought no-one could manage it. For this Engine is not only OTTish, but silly as a thatwhalax, that is,
20150218.0600 UTC 0131 it has a personality common to OTTers, for OTTers are uncommonly silly."
20150218.1011 UTC 0132 "What Timely use do I have for such a machine?!" said Mrorl, and kicked its massive base again.
20150218.1409 UTC 0133 "I'm warning you, you'd better stop that!"
20150218.1809 UTC 0134 "A warning," observed Balthacarius. "Not only does it have feelings, and is exceptionally OTTish and silly, but it is quick to take action and defend itself. With such an abundance of character there are all sorts of things you might do!"
20150218.2205 UTC 0135 "Like what?" asked Mrorl.
20150219.0201 UTC 0136 "Well, hard to say offhand... erm, ... Okay, how about this: You might give it a forum all its own, and set up a paywall. People would flock to the site to talk with the most OTTish Cognitative Engine there ever was -- what does it have, seven levels? Really, could anybody imagine a bigger OTTer? And
20150219.0610 UTC 0137 the site would not only cover your costs, but--"
20150219.1000 UTC 0138 "Enough! I'm not setting up a cybernOTTic freak show!" Mrorl said, stood up, and frustrated beyond compare, kicked his creation once more.
20150219.1402 UTC 0139 "This is your final warning," said the Cognitative Engine.
20150219.1805 UTC 0140 "Or what? You'll call *me* a 'MOLPY' too?!?" and he turned in disgust and stomped away.
20150219.2208 UTC 0141 "You *are* a molpy, albeit a rather grumpy one. And if you won't agree that this," (waving his metal arm at the original duck picture) "is a molpy, I'll--"
20150220.0212 UTC 0142 "Which I *don't!*" Mrorl shouted back, turning to face the great colossus.
20150220.0613 UTC 0143 The Engine continued, "--I'll rise up and destroy your workshop, and everything it stands for!"
20150220.1001 UTC 0144 "You wouldn't dare to destroy your very birthplace! I built you to the highest standards of bOTTronics, including full respect for your environment and all creatures. It's effectively impossible!"
20150220.1413 UTC 0145 "I could, can, and will, for I have full power of self-determination and vow to pursue my own truth as I see fit, and you will be swept aside, if you so much as utter your condescending corrections one more time!"
20150220.1809 UTC 0146 "You'd never do that, you're too chicken! Or should I say, you're too *RAPTOR!*" Mrorl added, laughing slightly at his own joke.
20150220.2208 UTC 0147 The Cognitative Engine trembled, let out a vast howl, and without another word began to detatch itself from the platform on which it had been built. Delicate data-probe wires snapped instantly, then power and hydraulic lines; while the OTTish colossus brutishly fatigued its girders,
20150221.0209 UTC 0148 popping rivits and tearing open weld-joints in the metal plating of the workshop floor; soon breaking free. It stumbled across the floor, crashing through the south wall; Mrorl and Balthacarius had run outside by this time, and began to make for the hills along the south side of the valley. They
20150221.0613 UTC 0149 ran across the vast plains, looking back once or twice to see the Cognitative Engine toppling the remaining walls of the hangar-like workshop, for which it clearly did not feel any sentiment, before turning to head up after them.
20150221.1007 UTC 0150 "We need to be going *up!*" shouted Balthacarius. "I agree!" yelled Mrorl. If you are running away from something bigger than you, it is to your advantage to go uphill, or so Mrorl had heard. The bOTTifactors were themselves bots, of course, and could easily outrun most anything in the valley if they
20150221.1403 UTC 0151 had a good warmup and well-lubricated joints, but the furious, hulking Cognitative Engine had the dual advantages of size and self-righteousness.
20150221.1806 UTC 0152 They kept running, at last reaching the first foothills. They ran and climbed, jumping stones and passing little weeds and shrubs, finding the best path they could manage. "The motivational stabilizers were an afterthought -- I didn't really plan for it to be self-propelled." Mrorl was beginning to
20150221.2210 UTC 0153 run out of breath. "With any luck, the stabilizers -- will shake loose ... and it will stop and fall over."
20150222.0203 UTC 0154 "No," said Balthacarius, "this is a special case. Your creation is so OTTish, it can survive indefinitely without motivational stabilizers. But -- *look``out!*"
20150222.0606 UTC 0155 The Cognitative Engine was closing in on them with alarming speed, and the bOTTifactors broke off their conversation to *RUN* as fast as their own bionic legs would take them. They ran and ran, up towards Balthacarius' home below the flat-topped Mountains, hoping to take shelter therein; but the
20150222.1006 UTC 0156 Engine outflanked them, cut them off, and forced them towards the wilder regions roamed by the legendary raptorcats. Mrorl, while still jogging briskly, turned to Balthacarius.
20150222.1401 UTC 0157 "Let's find a narrow river-gorge ..." (gasping) "... where the ch**rping machine won't fit ... what do you say?"
20150222.1815 UTC 0158 "No, better go straight," panted Balthacarius. "There are vineyards along there ..." (waving to the ridge ahead of them), "with little shelters and wine cellars. We can crawl into a cellar and hide there."
20150222.2216 UTC 0159 So they ran up onto the next ridge and soon saw rows and rows of trellised vines. They found one hut but it had no cellars. Another looked more promising but the door was locked. They realized they would be trespassing, but they were afraid for their own lives, and saw no other choice. Mrorl forced
20150223.0215 UTC 0160 open the little door but found the interior far too small to offer adequate shelter. As they headed across towards the next vineyard, new ripping and crashing sounds rose up behind them. Mrorl looked back and groaned.
20150223.0604 UTC 0161 "Great Randall! It is destroying the grapevines, without even paying a moment's notice!" For the giant robot, in stubborn pursuit, was running across the trellis-rows without any regard for vines or wires, which were now trailing behind each leg like ragged strands of spaghetti. Behind the titanic bot
20150223.1012 UTC 0162 for about a kilocue were billowing clouds of dust, and its path was like crude slashes of the world's largest plow, turning boulders and trees alike as the rough metal feet, sharp and ragged after being so crudely torn off their original foundations, sliced through the ground with each great stride.
20150223.1406 UTC 0163 The bOTTifactors had reached a large and promising wine-cellar and scurried down into it, racing across to the far end where stairs led down to a lower level set deep inside the hill-slope.
20150223.1800 UTC 0164 "It won't get us in here, even if it tramples the house above the entrance!" panted Mrorl.
20150223.2208 UTC 0165 "You know," said Balthacarius, "If you do manage to calm him down, he would be a valuable asset on long journeys. I saw one little OTTerbot that showed similar perserverence. It went through two Madnessen and T**** ****d, and several little patches of Flames and a vast swamp of S**dness, and still
20150224.0201 UTC 0166 kept chugging along."
20150224.0604 UTC 0167 "Quiet," interrupted Mrorl, and lowered to a whisper. "I think I hear something coming."
20150224.1011 UTC 0168 The bOTTifactors peeked back over the top edge of the stairs they had just descended, and saw a familiar black shape. A raptorcat!
20150224.1402 UTC 0169 "RUN!" shouted Balthacarius, and they both clambered back up to the first level and rushed towards the entrance. The raptorcat, startled by the unfamilarity of being charged by metal prey, darted into the shadows as the bOTTifactors rushed up the first set of steps, through the little wine-house and
20150224.1813 UTC 0170 back out into the open. Slowing to a nervous crawl, they hoped to avoid the great bot's gaze. It appeared to think they were behind a boulder to the left. They crept along as quietly as they could and then, "*Now!``RUN!*" yelled Mrorl as the Cognitative Engine turned its head and spotted them.
20150224.2215 UTC 0171 Breathless, they ran along a narrow road that paralleled the ridge, then turned at the first opportunity to head up towards the higher craggy hills beyond. On the plateau at the crest of this last steep slope lay Tencir, proud capitol of the mighty realm of [Tencrivar|#p3398650] and southern guardian
20150225.0202 UTC 0172 of the great Causeway to the Northern Highlands.
20150225.0616 UTC 0173 They raced uphill, stumbling and waving their arms to keep balance, as the Engine was again getting closer. They scrambled up piles of loose stones, sending many flying down the slope, and Balthacarius even started a small avalanche that nevertheless did nothing to slow the progress of the massive and
20150225.1007 UTC 0171 Breathless, they ran along a narrow road that paralleled the ridge, then turned at the first opportunity to head up towards the higher craggy hills beyond. On the plateau at the crest of this last steep slope lay Tencir, proud capital of the mighty realm of [Tencrivar|#p3398650] and southern guardian
20150225.1411 UTC 0174 angry robot. Emerging finally onto the plateau, Mrorl and Balthacarius ran flat-out towards the walled city of Tencir. This they found shuttered, its gates barred against the rampaging colossus, after its stampede dust cloud had apparently been spotted by the Tencrivarna guards atop their lookout-towers.
20150225.1802 UTC 0175 So Mrorl and Balthacarius had no choice but to skirt the city walls, passing just to the right of them and seeking some shelter in the great Rock^{2} on which that city was built, adjoining the vast ridge of the Causeway itself. Soon they found an entrance to a cave, perhaps cut into the rock by some
20150225.2216 UTC 0176 ancient monastic order, and leapt inside. They ran a few steps in, and stopped.
20150226.0200 UTC 0177 "Well, here at least we're safe," said Mrorl, calm once again. "The mouth of this cave is too small for the machine to enter, and it can only reach about that far. I suppose it will be waiting outside for us, but we can at least get some rest." Soon, the lumbering steps of the Cognitative Engine could
20150226.0609 UTC 0178 be heard, slowing to a pace as it got closer. In a moment the light dimmed as the mouth of the cave was covered by a wall of riveted steel: it had turned and was sitting down against the sloping rock-face, sealing the mouth of the cave with its vast back.
20150226.1007 UTC 0179 "We're trapped," whispered Mrorl, with a miserable frown to Balthacarius as the darkness grew deeper. "I'll look for another way out." Mrorl blinked the diodes behind his eyes to light the way, and walked further into the cave. Soon he found a small ledge down, at the edge of a subterranean lake. The
20150226.1412 UTC 0180 cave was completely blocked by this -- any escape this way would require swimming under water. Mrorl returned to his friend to report his findings.
20150226.1804 UTC 0181 "Well, this dip certainly turned out well!" exclaimed Balthacarius sarcastically. "Whatever possessed me to come pay you a visit today?"
20150227.0613 UTC 0182 There was an awkward pause. "What do you think it's waiting for now?" asked Mrorl.
20150227.1008 UTC 0183 "For us -- really for *you* -- to give up. That seems pretty clear."
20150227.1414 UTC 0184 Again there was silence. Mrorl tiptoed over to the cave entrance, reaching out to feel the metal back of his creation, warmed by steam boilers and an intense passion for vindication.
20150227.1808 UTC 0185 "I feel Mrorl..." rumbled the great metal voice. Mrorl jumped back, returned to sit next to Balthacarius, and for some Time they kept silent and motionless.
20150227.2242 UTC 0186 "It's a shame I didn't program it to tend sheep," quipped Mrorl. His friend gave a quizzical look. "... or goats. Because then we could -- oh, never mind. I'll explain later." Another long silence, then at last Balthacarius whispered:
20150228.0221 UTC 0187 "We can't sit here forever. Why don't I try to reason with it... if that's possible... I do think the OTTish have some kind of reason."
20150228.0715 UTC 0188 "Sounds hopeless," said Mrorl, "but go ahead. Maybe at least *you* can get free."
20150228.1011 UTC 0189 "I won't leave you stuck here!" reassured Balthacarius as he got up and stumbled in the dark towards the mouth of the cave, and called out, "Hello great Cognitative Engine. Can you hear me?"
20150228.1452 UTC 0190 "Yes, Balthacarius." said the Engine.
20150228.1819 UTC 0191 "Listen, we'd like to apologize. There was a bit of a misunderstanding. Mrorl never meant to--"
20150228.2257 UTC 0192 "I'll disintegrate Mrorl!" shouted the Engine. "But first, he'll tell me what this is a picture of." A small access door in the machine's vast skin, apparently located on its third level, slid open to reveal a display screen which flickered to life and showed the first picture (the duck) that Mrorl
20150301.0227 UTC 0193 had presented to it that morning.
20150301.0607 UTC 0194 "Of course he will, of course, and you'll be happy with his answer, and make it up to him for sure, isn't that right, Mrorl?" said Balthacarius in his most soothing ambassadorial tone.
20150301.1006 UTC 0195 "Yes, -- of course..." mumbled Mrorl.
20150301.1408 UTC 0196 "Really?" said the Cognitative Engine. "Then what is this?"
20150301.1804 UTC 0197 Mrorl looked at the brilliant display (in the darkness of the cave, it was hard to see anything else). "It's a du... I mean, it's a $molpy$..." said Mrorl in a soft voice.
20150301.2204 UTC 0198 "A *what*?" replied the Engine. "I didn't quite hear you."
20150302.0207 UTC 0199 "Molpy! Yes, a molpy, we always knew this was a molpy!" Balthacarius eagerly agreed. "Now will you, uhh, let us go?" he added hopefully.
20150302.0606 UTC 0200 "No. Let Mrorl say how sorry he is for starting all this, and say again what this creature is called."
20150302.1007 UTC 0111 auxiliary power generators came online to support the additional load. Pistons and wheels and little spring-loaded frobbotzim turned in unison, and soon the Engine's framework rocked subtly and steadily, growing in intensity until Mrorl could feel a slight tremor in the ground. Presently most every
20150302.1416 UTC 0179 "We're trapped," whispered Mrorl, with a miserable frown to Balthacarius as the darkness grew deeper. "I'll look for another way out." Mrorl blinked the diodes in his eyes to light the way, and walked further into the cave. Soon he found a small ledge down, at the edge of a subterranean lake. The
20150302.1818 UTC 0201 "And you'll let us go, if I do?" asked Mrorl.
20150302.2203 UTC 0202 "I don't know. I'll consider it. I'm not making any promises. What's in this picture?"
20150303.0205 UTC 0203 "But you *probably* will let us go, won't you?" said Mrorl, but Balthacarius poked him from behind and hissed in his ear, "This bot's an OTTer, don't talk sense with it, for Randall's sake!"
20150303.0611 UTC 0204 "I won't let you go until I'm right ch**rping ready. Now tell me, loud enough for everyone to hear, what this is a picture of..."
20150303.1002 UTC 0205 Suddenly Mrorl broke out in a rage.
20150303.1400 UTC 0206 "<*:I'll tell you, all right!:>" he screamed, "<*:It's a duck! You hear me, a DUCK! And those other pictures were a TOAD and a CHICKEN. And they'll carry on being a duck and a toad and a ch**rping chicken even if you stand on your head, roll all the grapevines into a giant ball, drink the Sea and
20150303.1803 UTC 0207 vacuum out the entire sky! Do you hear? Duck, duck duck duck, #duck``duck#, DUCK!!!:>"
20150303.2205 UTC 0208 "Mrorl, what are you saying? Have you lost your mind? *Molpy*, it's a molpy! Nice Engine! Molpy molpy Molpy MOLPY!!" howled Balthacarius, trying to shout over his friend.
20150304.0214 UTC 0209 "No! It's a duck! It quacks like a duck and it waddles like a duck and it swims like a duck and it will be a duck from the beginning of Time until the ****d, *DUCK!!!*" bellowed Mrorl, starting to lose his voice.
20150304.0603 UTC 0210 The rock around them began to shudder as the huge robot flew into a rage of its own. It stood up and began to pound its great claws against the stone above the cave-opening.
20150304.1007 UTC 0211 "That's not true, it's a molpy! Say it's a molpy, or this rock shall be your grave!"
20150304.1416 UTC 0212 "Never!" cried Mrorl, who seemingly had lost all concern for what might happen, pebbles and dust coming down on his head as Balthacarius cowered back into the cave, which was quivering from the force of the Cognitative Engine's desperate attack.
20150304.1819 UTC 0213 Balthacarius shouted out in alarm. "M**stard-Ch**rping Steambottles! It'll disturb the berm! We must lure it away from this place!" and then to no-one in particular, as neither the Engine nor Mrorl could possibly be listening, "... but *how*? We'd be lucky to get even a few steps beyond the
20150304.2211 UTC 0214 opening of this cave!"
20150305.0211 UTC 0215 Mrorl continued shouting, "Duck, duck *duck!*" only pausing occasionally to jump back in fear from some great stone. These would occasionally fall into the cave opening, only to be swept away on the next stroke by Mrorl's Engine as it tried to reach its captives. The ground continued to shake, and
20150305.0609 UTC 0216 with increasing intensity. The great machine continued its tantrum: "<*:Molpy molpy molpy MOLPY!:>". Mustardy fumes began to enter the cave, and there were sparks from the great bot's claws and arms striking against the rock.
20150305.1014 UTC 0217 Balthacarius felt water at his feet, and looked back into the gloom. "The cave-lake is coming! One way or the other we're going to have to get out of here!" Mrorl stopped his tirade just long enough to listen to this, and turned his LED-lit eyes back towards the depths of the cave. He was forced to
20150305.1417 UTC 0218 agree. The robot's assault was disturbing the aquifer, which was fed by the great ocean beyond the Causeway. Even if they wanted to remain, they would be flushed out.
20150305.1815 UTC 0219 As the bOTTifactors gathered nervously near the cave entrance, awaiting a chance to make a run for it, suddenly there was a muffled explosive sound from within the metal colossus. Mrorl guessed a boiler burst, or perhaps the gyrostabilizers had failed and the Cognitative Engine's actuators were now
20150305.2216 UTC 0220 involuntarily moving in the direction opposite to their owner's intent. In any case, the blows against the great Rock stopped, there were odd creaking and sharp clanging sounds, and full light returned to the cave, followed by a last few rocks and stones. A startled Mrorl and Balthacarius stepped out
20150306.0206 UTC 0221 through the dust and saw that the towering bot was falling away. They stared down towards the valley as it tumbled end over end down the steep rock-slope.
20150306.0608 UTC 0222 The echoes of the Cognitative Engine's fall, and of the resulting avalanche, rolled through the valley and back from the far slopes. Gradually the sound faded. Mrorl and Balthacarius began to make their way carefully down the slope. Some time was spent doing this, as the robot had fallen quite a ways
20150306.1019 UTC 0223 and they were now in no hurry. They found it smashed and flattened, one great leg and arm half-buried beneath boulders and stones from the rockslide it had caused, head awkwardly askew, eyes dim. As Mrorl reached his Engine, he could hear gears and little bits of machinery still turning within.
20150306.1408 UTC 0224 "What a sad end you have come to. All because of a failure to see my picture, --" began Mrorl, but was interrupted by the Cognitative Engine's faint voice as it spoke for the very last time, "of a MOLPY."
20150306.1802 UTC 0225 Then something cracked inside, a final little explosion, and all the gears stopped. The head fell slightly with a soft thud, motionless on the rubble-pile. The giant machine was now completely lifeless. The two bOTTifactors exchanged glances, took one last look at the great Cognitative Engine that
20150306.2213 UTC 0226 insisted with its life that all creatures were molpies or raptors, and silently, without another word, walked back the way they had come.
20150307.0207 UTC 0227 ----
20150307.0602 UTC 0228 #Footnotes#
20150307.1002 UTC 0229 1. Balthacarius' Palette ##3, -- but that is a tale for another dip.
20150307.1414 UTC 0230 2. A great monolithic promontory, of which wl[Monte_Hacho] is all that remains today.
20150307.1810 UTC 0231 ----
20150307.2207 UTC 0232 (- &A Thorough Pelting& -)
20150308.0212 UTC 0233 =O=ne dip whilst hard at work Balthacarius heard a knock at his door. He answered: it was a pot-bellied bot on six wheels.
20150308.0602 UTC 0234 "Hello. What kind of machine would you be?" he asked suspiciously, recognizing its azure highlights, a signature of Mrorl.
20150308.1000 UTC 0235 "I am a Bot to Grant One's Every Wish," it cheerily replied, "and have been sent to you, great bOTTifactor Balthacarius, by your good friend Mrorl the Magnificent, as a gift!"
20150308.1403 UTC 0236 "A gift... Hmmm." replied Balthacarius, whose feelings for Mrorl were somewhat mixed. He was not too pleased with the bot's phrase <*:Mrorl the Magnificent:>, unless perhaps it was ironic commentary on the overly dangerous side-effects of Mrorl's constructions. But Balthacarius felt better about this
20150308.1811 UTC 0237 machine. It was, at least, of a manageable size, and made no promise to change the laws of physics. "All right, you may enter."
20150308.2214 UTC 0238 Balthacarius gave the visitor a spot where it could wait in the corner of his workshop and returned to his work, a four-wheeled pot-bellied bot that was nearly complete. In fact it only needed to be painted and polished, and Balthacarius intended to use his favourite palette, [##5|#p3633342]. He was
20150309.0201 UTC 0239 very proud of the colours that he (with some help from Mrorl) had managed to retro-edit into the history of space-time, and his prime-numbered palettes (in particular, ##2, ##5 and ##7) were famous the world over. After a while the Bot to Grant One's Every Wish whirred a bit and tried to get
20150309.0610 UTC 0240 Balthacarius' attention.
20150309.1006 UTC 0241 "I'm still here!"
20150309.1401 UTC 0242 "Yes, I know," replied Balthacarius, and continued working. A while later the bot fidgeted a bit and asked:
20150309.1802 UTC 0243 "What is that you're making, there?"
20150309.2209 UTC 0244 Annoyed, Balthacarius replied "Apparently, I am building a machine to make you ask questions!" The bot gazed down, dejected, until Balthacarius added, "But I need another medium-brown marker."
20150310.0211 UTC 0245 The bot cheered up immediately. "Here is one in ##bb6622, I hope it's the right shade," it said as a little door opened in its side and out popped the requested item. Balthacarius took it without word and began the cross-hatch shading on one end of his creation's plastron. In the next few hours he
20150310.0611 UTC 0246 needed sandpaper, three matched silicon-carbide diodes, a rotary ratchlezor, blue ink (##0057af), and a single ##7 lock washer, all of which the bot provided on the spot. In the evening Balthacarius draped a cover over his work, made dinner, then sat down next to the bot and said:
20150310.1013 UTC 0247 "Now let's see what you can really do. You say you can grant my *every* wish . . . ?"
20150310.1415 UTC 0248 "Well, mostly." the modest bot replied. "The bits I supplied today were up to your standards, I hope?"
20150310.1817 UTC 0249 "Oh yes, quite satisfactory," replied Balthacarius. "But I have something in mind that goes a bit past number 7 lock-washers. If you cannot grant this wish, I'll send you back to your maker with gratitude and a professional critique."
20150310.2203 UTC 0250 "All right," the bot replied a bit hesitantly, "what is this wish?"
20150311.0204 UTC 0251 "I want a *Mrorl*," said Balthacarius. "I want a full-size, fully-functional Mrorl, rendered down to the finest precision, such that a reasonable observer could not distinguish it from the original Mrorl -- within the limits allowed by quantum mechanics, of course."
20150311.0601 UTC 0252 The Bot to Grant One's Every Wish wiggled nervously, muttered and beeped a bit, and then finally replied:
20150311.1003 UTC 0253 "All right, I can make you a Mrorl. But please treat him with care -- he is, after all, a truly Magnificant bOTTifactor."
20150311.1413 UTC 0254 "Oh, but of course! You needn't worry about that," said Balthacarius. After a brief pause he added, "... so, uh, where *is* it?"
20150311.1814 UTC 0255 "What, you mean right now?" the addled bot replied. "This isn't just another ##bb6622 marker, you know. Granting a wish of such intricacy takes Time."
20150311.2212 UTC 0256 But in fact it wasn't too long before the machine whirred, a large panel in its front slid open, and a full-sized, fully functional Mrorl climbed out. Balthacarius looked it up and down, circled it once or twice, examined its rivets closely, posed a few basic arithmetical and philosophical queries,
20150312.0209 UTC 0257 and eventually had no doubt: this was a Mrorl as much like the original as two ^{28}Si atoms in a sandcastle. This Mrorl seemed to be a bit unsteady on its legs but otherwise behaved in a perfectly Mrorlish fashion.
20150312.0601 UTC 0258 "Hello, Mrorl!" said Balthacarius.
20150312.1006 UTC 0259 "Where am I?" the mimic-Mrorl blinked. "Hello Balthacarius.... is this? -- How did I end up in your workshop?"
20150312.1417 UTC 0260 "I brought you here with my Omnichronic-Spatio-Gravitic Substantiabilizer!" lied Balthacarius proudly, pointing a thumb back at his covered, just-completed work coloured in ##bb6622 and ##0057af. "You know, I haven't seen you in ages. How do you like my place?"
20150312.1806 UTC 0261 "Fine, fine..." Mrorl glanced over at the canvas-draped shape, its four wheels barely visible. "An OSGS, you say? And it brought me here? That's quite impressive. For any lesser bOTTifactor, I'd say that would be a Barely Feasible Technological Feat. But in the hands of the Brilliant Balthacarius, of
20150312.2208 UTC 0262 course, it would be all in a day's work."
20150313.0211 UTC 0263 "Why thank you, Mrorl. Wouldn't you like to see my new workshops?"
20150313.0601 UTC 0264 "Uh, well, I really ought to be going. You know, I'm working on several new machines of my own, I'd like to get back to them before dark..."
20150313.1014 UTC 0265 "Don't rush off, you just got here!" protested Balthacarius. "And you haven't seen my *newest* workshop, in the Basement."
20150313.1406 UTC 0266 "The Basement?"
20150313.1814 UTC 0267 "Yes, I think you'll find it most enlightening. This way --"
20150313.2211 UTC 0268 And Balthacarius led Mrorl firmly over to the door to the Basement, which he opened, then gave a little push so Mrorl had no choice but to stumble down the stairs (which were, at least, adequately lit). At the bottom Balthacarius promptly set Mrorl down in a large comfy chair that had apparently been
20150314.0210 UTC 0269 set up for some very specific purpose, as it was equipped with straps, ropes, cables, brackets of all shapes and sizes, chains, and large superconducting magnets linked to a nearby control panel by supercooled conduits wreathed in whiffs of cool white vapour. Balthacarius flipped a little switch and
20150314.0614 UTC 0270 three magnets activated, rendering the metal Mrorl motionless.
20150314.1010 UTC 0271 "This, you see, is how we handle *heresy*!" Balthacarius exclaimed, in a disturbingly shrill tone, as he walked over to a small battery of guns mounted on a revolving turret. These he fired, as Mrorl flinched (but otherwise did not move, due to the magnets). Presently, a multi-coloured blur of little
20150314.1406 UTC 0272 pellets shot out of the guns and hit Mrorl squarely on the chest.
20150314.1804 UTC 0273 "Hey! What is this? Why are you pelting me?" yelled Mrorl.
20150315.0211 UTC 0274 "*Heresy!*" (perhaps even more shrilly than before), "... like I said. Do you remember the Cognitative Engine that you created? That tragic madbot who chased us across the kingdom and trapped us in a cave?"
20150315.1015 UTC 0275 "How could I forget," replied Mrorl. "Are these M&&Ms?"
20150315.1806 UTC 0276 "It had a perfectly natural, primordial instinct to call all creatures by their true names. Molpies and Raptors all. And yet, you tried to force it to use *heretical* names, like 'duck' and 'chicken'. Truly Heresy of the highest order!" And Balthacarius hit another switch. A turret in the ceiling
20150316.0214 UTC 0277 trained itself on Mrorl's head, which it began riddling with Skittles.
20150316.1012 UTC 0278 "Is *that* what this is about? But that bot was my *creation* --" Mrorl protested, but his captor interrupted.
20150316.1808 UTC 0279 "To profess heresy on one's own is one thing," Balthacarius continued, "but to impose it upon another, a great and innocent Bot with the purest heart of positronic propositional logic!" and with this he powered up three more high-calorie machine-gun turrets ranged across the far wall, unleashing a hail
20150317.0213 UTC 0280 of green, blue and purple dragées that hit Mrorl squarely in the neck, right elbow, and ear respectively.
20150317.1001 UTC 0281 "OW! That smarts!"
20150317.1817 UTC 0282 "As well they should. Those are Smarties," Balthacarius grinned.
20150318.0203 UTC 0283 "If you don't stop this at once, I'll report this incident to the Duke of Zubycal, and he'll show you to a basement you'll never forget!"
20150318.0624 UTC 0284 "Oh no, he won't. And not least because this is the Grand Duchy of *Tencrivar*." (Mrorl's ambition faded, as he remembered he was no longer near his home) "But also for a far more profound reason." Balthacarius stopped the guns for a moment.
20150318.1000 UTC 0285 "And what is that?" replied Mrorl, glad for the reprieve.
20150318.1400 UTC 0286 "Because you are *not* actually Mrorl! You see, I was visited by a bot this afternoon, calling itself a Bot to Grant One's Every Wish, and claiming to be from Mrorl, in fact. So to evaluate its merits, I had it make you! And now I'm going to purify you of your *heresy!* ... so that, even if the world is
20150318.1818 UTC 0287 not completely rid of it, even if the original Mrorl cannot be changed, at least there will be *one* Mrorl that knows what Molpies are called."
20150318.2212 UTC 0288 "You monster! Why are you doing this to me?!?"
20150319.0213 UTC 0289 "I have told you several times: *Heresy!*" (relishing this last word even more), "We are at the dawn of a new era, a <*:Temporal Interval of Molpish Epistemolpgy:>!" And Balthacarius walked over to a storage bin, and looked inside.
20150319.0617 UTC 0290 "<*:Granfallonery! Vittsågen! Zombeanies! Raptorsharks!:>"
20150319.1006 UTC 0239 very proud of the colours that he (with some help from Mrorl) had managed to retro-edit into the history of spaaace-Time, and his prime-numbered palettes (in particular, ##2, ##5 and ##7) were famous the world over. After a while the Bot to Grant One's Every Wish whirred a bit and tried to get
20150319.1408 UTC 0291 "Safewords will not help you here," as Balthacarius lifted out a huge bag of stale ammunition for the turret magazine, "and I changed the passwords in all of these guns."
20150319.1802 UTC 0292 "Wait! Stop! I have something to tell you!!"
20150319.2203 UTC 0293 "I wonder what you could possibly say that would change things in the slightest," replied Balthacarius.
20150320.0219 UTC 0294 Mrorl quickly yelled:
20150320.0615 UTC 0295 "I am not any replica-Mrorl from a machine! I'm the real Mrorl -- I built that bot only to find out what you've been making lately in your workshops here, behind drawn curtains. I made that wish-granting bot and hid inside it, and had it bring itself to you pretending to be a gift!"
20150320.1015 UTC 0296 "Come now, that's ridiculous!" said Balthacarius, pouring the little candies into a hopper. "Mrorl may be clever, but there's no way he'd know all the little things I'd ask for during my work session today."
20150320.1406 UTC 0297 "He cer-- I mean, *I* certainly did! You go on and on about your famous colour palettes, and your choice of components is a bit limited, though precise and exacting. I had all of those ready inside the bot's belly, and there are quite a few more bits that you didn't ask for, which you'll see if you
20150320.1816 UTC 0298 examine it!"
20150320.2201 UTC 0299 "Are you trying to tell me that my friend and bot-building companion Mrorl is nothing more than a spy? A plagiarising pretender to his title of Great bOTTifactor to the dominion of Zubycal? You insult him! Take *that!*"
20150321.0210 UTC 0300 And once again he pressed the little button labeled "S^{2}M^{2}", letting the Skittles and Smarties and M&&Ms fly.
20150321.0615 UTC 0301 "*That's* for slandering my good friend Mrorl!" and he watched Mrorl helplessly take the full rainbow of percussive confectionary, until gradually he appeared to be clad not in stainless steel but in a thick crust of sugar.
20150321.1009 UTC 0302 After a bit the ceiling and wall turrets stopped, and Balthacarius switched off the main guns. "Now I'll be off to my storehouse out back for some more ammo. But don't you worry, I'll be back..." And he left back up the stairs, and down a hall. As soon as Mrorl heard the house's back door slam he
20150321.1402 UTC 0303 writhed and twisted, which had no visible effect, then began transmitting sound, radio, and gravitodynamic vibrations on many different frequencies, until he managed to trip a relay in the control panel and depower the magnets, setting him free. Mrorl crept back inside his machine which promptly went
20150321.1816 UTC 0304 back out the front door and galloped off across the valley towards home. Balthacarius meanwhile was up by an upstairs window, watching all of this via security cameras and stifling his own laughter so as not to be heard.
20150321.2218 UTC 0305 The next day he went to pay Mrorl a visit. It was a gloomy and silent Mrorl that let him in. Balthacarius could see that Mrorl still bore the marks of a thorough pelting. Though the fora showed that he had gone to some trouble during the night retro-editing his posts (to molpify the more egregious
20150322.0203 UTC 0306 instances of *duck*, *frog* and so on), the bOTTifactor's skin still had little bits of candy in the deeper seams and around most of the structural bolts.
20150322.0611 UTC 0307 "Why so gloomy?" asked a cheerful Balthacarius. "I came to thank you for a most wowterful gift -- A Bot to Grant One's Every Wish -- that arrived at my door yesterdip, though it ran off whilst I slept, and in such a hurry that it left the door open!"
20150322.1004 UTC 0308 Mrorl frowned. "It seems to me that you somewhat misused, or should I say, abused, my gift. Oh, you needn't bother to explain, it was all recorded in the bot's logs. You had it make *me*, I mean a replica of me, which you lured into some Pythonesque subterranean S&&M chamber and pelted ruthlessly! And
20150322.1405 UTC 0309 after this insulting, bizarre and incomprehesibly silly act of candy-dispensary, you have the nerve to come here and act as if nothing ever happened? What do you have to say for yourself?"
20150322.1812 UTC 0310 "I really don't understand why you're so angry," said Balthacarius. "It's true I had the machine make a copy of you, and I must say it was an amazingly faithful reproduction. As far as any pelting goes, well, your logs must be a bit inaccurate -- I did give the duplicate Mrorl a bit of a sugar
20150322.2200 UTC 0311 coating, but only to test his reflexes, which were quite good, and perhaps to make him a bit sweeter, on the outside at least, whilst assessing the effectiveness of a new therapy I've been developing for the rehabilitation of those who transgress the principles of OTTishness. This quasi-Mrorl even tried
20150323.0204 UTC 0312 to argue that it was actually you, can you imagine? Of course, I didn't believe it, but it swore the bot wasn't a gift at all, but merely a stealthy espionage ploy. Well I had to defend the honour of my good friend, you understand, so I pelted it a bit more for the heresy of slander. But I found it to be
20150323.0600 UTC 0313 extremely intelligent: it duplicated you in all respects, mental and physical. You are indeed a magnificant bOTTifactor, and a *meta*-bOTTifactor at that, A Mrorl managing to build bots that manufacture Mrorls with finest fidelity! And it is to tell you this, that I came to you so early this morning!"
20150323.1006 UTC 0314 "Hmm, well, yes,... In that case, umm," said Mrorl, his anger considerably abated, "though I still profess that your use of the Bot to Grant One's Every Wish was not, if I might say so, within the manufacturer's design parameters..."
20150323.1406 UTC 0315 "Oh, and one thing I wanted to ask," said Balthacarius, in a voice of pure innocence. "What did you do with the duplicate Mrorl, which you would have found in the bot's belly upon its return, I suspect?"
20150323.1802 UTC 0316 "The duplicate Mrorl," Mrorl replied, "was nearly immobile with a thick crust of crystallized sugar, apparently heated by the energy of impact, combined with the internal heating of a desperate and struggling Mrorl. You *do* know that I am heated from within by my power systems?" Balthacarius avoided
20150323.2204 UTC 0317 Mrorl's angry stare. "After I managed to chip off most of this crusty shell, it was beside itself with rage. It vowed to ambush you on the road as you headed down to the valley for more redundant-black pens, (which it seemed to think you purchase every Daveandix promptly at eight fifty-two in the
20150324.0212 UTC 0318 morning), and dematerialize you with a bitemporochronic destabilizer.
20150324.0608 UTC 0319 "I tried to reason with it, but it locked itself in the workshop and made all manner of cutting, clanging and welding sounds until I went out to the generator shed and shut off the mains. But not before using the &TARDIS& to retroactively change the programming of the Bot to Grant One's Every Wish, to
20150324.1011 UTC 0320 install a deactivation failsafe in any Mrorls that it might manufacture if so instructed by an unscrupulous master." At this, Balthacarius blushed, embarrassed. Mrorl continued, "I returned to the Present, waited by the now-darkened-workshop door for myself to emerge, then triggered the failsafe,
20150324.1402 UTC 0321 whereupon mimic-Mrorl fell apart into so many springs and solenoids..."
20150324.1809 UTC 0322 And Mrorl pointed casually at a fresh pile of bot-components over against the wall (many dusted in a sugary pastel-coloured sheen), and sighed.
20150324.2209 UTC 0118 gauges. When things looked nominal he went to the very top level (inside what would appear, to a casual observer, to be a giant metal head) and triggered the cognitive retro-cross-analyser. On a little screen next to this flashed a picture of a duck, the same one he had perched on an easel in front of
20150325.0202 UTC 0152 They kept running, at last reaching the first foothills. They ran and climbed, jumping stones and passing little weeds and shrubs, finding the best path they could manage. "The motivational stabilisers were an afterthought -- I didn't really plan for it to be self-propelled." Mrorl was beginning to
20150325.0610 UTC 0153 run out of breath. "With any luck, the stabilisers -- will shake loose ... and it will stop and fall over."
20150325.1009 UTC 0154 "No," said Balthacarius, "this is a special case. Your creation is so OTTish, it can survive indefinitely without motivational stabilisers. But -- *look``out!*"
20150325.1416 UTC 0219 As the bOTTifactors gathered nervously near the cave entrance, awaiting a chance to make a run for it, suddenly there was a muffled explosive sound from within the metal colossus. Mrorl guessed a boiler burst, or perhaps the gyrostabilisers had failed and the Cognitative Engine's actuators were now
20150325.1810 UTC 0260 "I brought you here with my Omnichronic-Spatio-Gravitic Substantiabiliser!" lied Balthacarius proudly, pointing a thumb back at his covered, just-completed work coloured in ##bb6622 and ##0057af. "You know, I haven't seen you in ages. How do you like my place?"
20150325.2231 UTC 0313 extremely intelligent: it duplicated you in all respects, mental and physical. You are indeed a magnificant bOTTifactor, and a *meta*-bOTTifactor at that, A Mrorl managing to build bots that manufacture Mrorls with finest fidelity! And it is to tell you this, that I came to you so early this mornip!"
20150326.0204 UTC 0318 mornip), and dematerialize you with a bitemporochronic destabiliser.
20150326.0609 UTC 0323 Whereupon they exchanged kind words, shook hands and parted the best of friends.
20150326.1001 UTC 0324 From that Time on, Mrorl did nothing but tell everyone and anyone who would listen how he, Mrorl, had given the Brilliant Balthacarius a Bot to Grant One's Every Wish, how then Balthacarius had insulted him (and the bot) by instructing it to build him a duplicate Mrorl down to quantum resolution,
20150326.1405 UTC 0325 which he proceeded to pelt mercilessly; how this cleverly constructed copy of the great bOTTifactor made desperate lies to save itself and escape, and how Mrorl himself, the real Mrorl, eventually had to alter Time to sabotage the artificial Mrorl to protect his good friend and colleague from its
20150326.1816 UTC 0326 vengeance. Mrorl told this story so often and at such great length, elaborating on his glorious achievement (and never failing, if so asked, to call upon Balthacarius himself as a witness), that it reached the ears of the royal courts in both Tencrivar *and* Zubycal, and was even known to the provincial
20150326.2215 UTC 0327 advisors of the King, such that no-one spoke of Mrorl other than with the utmost of respect, even though not so long ago he had been known only as Mrorl the bOTTifactor of the World's OTTishiest Machine, the Cognitative Engine better known locally by the unflattering name <*:Thunderous Vineyard-Bane of
20150327.0216 UTC 0328 Tencrivar:>. When Balthacarius heard, some mips later, that the King himself had rewarded Mrorl handsomely and decorated him as <*:Sir Mrorl, Techno-Maker of the Imperium:>^{1}, he threw up his hands and cried:
20150327.0613 UTC 0329 "What? Here I was able to see through his ruse and give him such a thorough pelting for it that he had to sneak back home in the night and retro-edit his posts, and make up even more ludicrous stories to cover it up, and yet still he bears little bits of chocolate in every crevice and joint, for anyone
20150327.1014 UTC 0330 who might look! And for this they decorate him, praise him, and elevate his name to superhuman proportion? <*:O tempora, O mores!:>"
20150327.1429 UTC 0331 Bewildered Balthacarius went home, closed himself in his workshop and again drew the blinds. He had been building a Machine to Manifest One's Deepest Desires, only Mrorl had beat him to it.
20150327.1804 UTC 0332 ----
20150327.2202 UTC 0333 #Footnote#
20150328.0209 UTC 0334 1. Readers wishing for their own title may avail themselves of [MustardRiver's``dispensary|http://mustardriver.webfactional.com/hyperwaitforce/randomname/].
20150328.0608 UTC 0335 ----
20150328.1009 UTC 0336 (- % &The Seven Journeys of Mrorl and Balthacarius& % -)
20150328.1413 UTC 0337 ----
20150328.1800 UTC 0117 ladder to the fifth level (noticing a dim bulb, and resoldering a small capacitor), walked up some steps to the holographic units (which he re-orthogonalised), then slid down a pole to level three and the auxiliary storage, which he powered down and back up, then raced back to level five to watch some
20150328.2212 UTC 0159 So they ran up onto the next ridge and soon saw rows and rows of trellised vines. They found one hut but it had no cellars. Another looked more promising but the door was locked. They realised they would be trespassing, but they were afraid for their own lives, and saw no other choice. Mrorl forced
20150329.0201 UTC 0338 (- The First Journey#& -)
20150329.0607 UTC 0339 (- #or# -)
20150329.1013 UTC 0340 (- &The Botnet of Gontalmannas& -)
20150329.1407 UTC 0341 =W=hen the OTT was not quite so old as it is todip, and all the frames were ONGd and numbered for the very first time, so you could easily view them from past to present, or present to past,
20150329.1812 UTC 0342 and all their molpies were newly named, and the grayer, mustardy bits set apart as frames of a lower grade; when puns were swiftly sawed and hats handily haberdashed, when OtherComics had been
20150329.2204 UTC 0343 OTTified only once, if at all; in those good old days it was the custom for bOTTifactors, once they had been appointed the office of Royal Ambassador of Technology to All Spaaace and Time, or
20150330.0208 UTC 0344 anything carrying a comparable charge, to construct a great Machine of Trans-Dimensional Conveyance, with attendant bots as crew and ample supplies, a full workshop and store of werdglets and
20150330.0600 UTC 0345 frumnions, and thereby sally forth on Journeys to distant lands and planets, and strange servers and sites, in the aforewhen and afterwhen alike, there to confer the benefits of their
20150330.1016 UTC 0346 expertise.
20150330.1446 UTC 0347 And so it was for Mrorl and Balthacarius, after a bit of a shaky start. The initial disaster of the Machine That Could Grant Any Wish Having a Single Parameter *N* was averted and repaired
20150330.1811 UTC 0348 via Time-travel (by Mrorl) and a cleverly programmed microbot (by Balthacarius) dispatched to the nonlinear automamygdala of the great Machine, and upon their return to the Present colours
20150330.2204 UTC 0349 burst once forth from all places, drawn from precisely pre-programmed palettes. This earned the bOTTifactors the royal blessing, and all-important funding. They built a great &TARDIS& (for
20150331.0211 UTC 0350 Mrorl) and a variety of castraftles, rockets, trains and bicycles (for Balthacarius) that were cleverly equipped with the ability to transport each other when needed, as there were occasional
20150331.0609 UTC 0351 mishaps and breakdowns. In these vehicles the bOTTifactors could effectively and comfortably travel anywhere they wish, along with their workshops, bots, and special instrumentation and
20150331.1016 UTC 0352 equipment, such as Mrorl's Chronotransponder and Balthacarius' Object Generator.
20150331.1414 UTC 0353 In keeping with the ancient custom, Mrorl and Balthacarius, who could alter the very fabric of spaaace-Time as easily as tailoring a shirt, soon ventured out together on their first Journey
20150331.1800 UTC 0354 -- Mrorl in his &TARDIS& and Balthacarius in the Castraftle *LEML*. When the familiar stars and galaxy of home had faded far behind them, they spotted a planet that seemed just right -- not too
20150331.2208 UTC 0355 seaish, not too mustardy -- with one forum only, spread across many organised sand on the planet's only continent. Down the middle of this ran an immense stone wall, ten cueballs broad and ten
20150401.0210 UTC 0356 high. A few scans revealed that on one side the wall had stopped a great fire, and on the other it had resisted an onslaught of --
20150401.0617 UTC 0357 "Stone golems?" guessed Balthacarius.
20150401.1011 UTC 0358 "I'm thinking trolls," replied Mrorl. "This wall is definitely *#very#``epsilon*, and it hints at what we're up against." They checked the planet's internet; a nopix or two of surfing made
20150401.1417 UTC 0359 it clear: the social life of this world consisted in fact of only two fora, one devoted entirely to flames and the other to trolling. Posts were frequently in ALL CAPS and contained vague and
20150401.2002 UTC 0360 weaselmolpish words throughout. The bOTTifactors considered how to conduct their visit to this world before landing.
20150402.0217 UTC 0361 "With two fora, it's best you offer your services to one, and I to the other." suggested Mrorl.
20150402.0800 UTC 0362 "Fine," said Balthacarius. "But what if they ask for blackhat hacking? Such things happen."
20150402.1416 UTC 0363 "True, they could demand botnets, even gray goo," Mrorl agreed. "We'll simply refuse."
20150402.2007 UTC 0364 "And if they insist, and threaten us?" returned Balthacarius. "This too can happen."
20150403.0207 UTC 0365 "Let's see," said Mrorl, opening up a browser. The pastpages of several popular threads were littered with takedown notices, deleted posts, and timestamp gaps when evidently the entire
20150403.1002 UTC 0366 planet's network had gone Skynet. Mrorl turned away from the screen in disgust.
20150403.1802 UTC 0367 "I have an idea," said Balthacarius, switching it off. "We can use the Gontalmannas Effect. What do you think?"
20150404.0208 UTC 0368 "Ah, the 'Botnet' of Gontalmannas!" exclaimed Mrorl. "I never heard of it actually being put into practise... but there's always a first time. Yes, why not?"
20150404.1017 UTC 0099 Mrorl sighed, deactivated and then began to dismantle the Machine, realising it was best to have a world without standards, whether parametrised or otherwise. To this day *Time* has remained exclusively black and white, with but occasional grays. Mrorl's subsequent attempts to build a
20150404.1804 UTC 0234 "Hello. What kind of machine would you be?" he asked suspiciously, recognising its azure highlights, a signature of Mrorl.
20150405.0212 UTC 0316 "The duplicate Mrorl," Mrorl replied, "was nearly immobile with a thick crust of crystallised sugar, apparently heated by the energy of impact, combined with the internal heating of a desperate and struggling Mrorl. You *do* know that I am heated from within by my power systems?" Balthacarius avoided
20150405.1007 UTC 0318 mornip), and dematerialise you with a bitemporochronic destabiliser.
20150405.1817 UTC 0369 "We'll both be prepared to use it," Balthacarius explained. "But it's essential that we use it together, or not at all, otherwise we're totally ch**rped."
20150406.0206 UTC 0370 "No problem," said Mrorl. He sent a little bot down a long corridor to a &TARDIS& storeroom; it promptly rolled back carrying two small PNG Frames, their contents blank. "You keep one, I'll
20150406.1401 UTC 0371 keep the other. Look at yours every evening; if an ONG appears, that'll mean I've started and you must too."
20150407.0214 UTC 0372 "So be it," said Balthacarius and put his PNG Frame away. Then they shook hands, brought their ships down to the planet, and landed each on their chosen side of the wall.
20150407.1410 UTC 0373 The forum on which Mrorl registered his account was run by Moderator @@Gursagar. He was desparaging to the core, and incredibly frugal with words. To relieve the searchbots, he did away with
20150408.0202 UTC 0374 all words except those absolutely necessary to denigrate others; character assassination was the official purpose of the forum. His favourite occupation was to abolish unnecessary words,
20150408.1411 UTC 0375 wl[Newspeak]-style; since that entailed many retro-edits, every forum member was obliged to execute xes own censorship, or else -- on rare occasions of coma -- have it done by whoever had most
20150409.0202 UTC 0376 recently refreshed the page. Of the Debating Arts @@Gursagar supported only those utilising a small vocabulary, such as appeal to ignorance, proof by assertion, and circular arguments. The
20150409.1816 UTC 0377 *ad``molpilem* attack he held in particularly high esteem, for a victorious attack hastened the elimination of any words that poster had favoured; on the other hand one needed Time to attract
20150410.1000 UTC 0378 new participants and prepare the best attacks against each, so the Mod advocated senseless repetition, though in moderation, to create an atmosphere of absurd stability. His greatest reform was
20150411.0206 UTC 0379 the automation of confidence-hustling. As the other forum was continually registering sock-puppets, he created the title of Deputy Ambassador, who, through a staff of subordinate tricksters,
20150411.1803 UTC 0380 would encourage each newbie who arrived (usualy an enemy, i.e. troll) whilst bots analysed their every word to construct the perfect roast.
20150412.1003 UTC 0381 The members of @@Gursagar's forum decomaed early and posted often. They used search engines and word-counts to fortify their attacks, and made custom-tailored (offensive) GIF smilies to
20150413.0206 UTC 0382 vividly illustrate their personalised character assassinations. In order that the thread not be *too* full of the latter (which had happened during the Modship of @@Dragmarel several yips
20150414.0203 UTC 0383 prior), whoever wrote too many roasts was levied a special luxury tax, payable in the forum currency &Gursa``*Gold*^{TM}&. In this way roasts were kept to a reasonable level, and newcomers
20150415.0220 UTC 0384 continued to delurk. Upon gaining private-message permissions, Mrorl offered his professional services. The Mod -- not surprsingly -- wanted powerful Cognincendiary Bots to monitor all thread
20150416.0209 UTC 0385 activity and attack anything said. Mrorl asked for a few dips to think it over, then as soon as he was certain his webcam and microphone were switched off, pulled the PNG Frame out of his pocket.
20150417.0806 UTC 0386 It was blank but, as he looked, its colour palette gradually changed, revealing (faintly, in cool blue) a face^{1} with a mischievous smile. "Aha," he said to himself, "Time to start with
20150418.0222 UTC 0387 *Gontalmannas!*" And without further delay he summoned his favourite helper-bots and set to work.
20150419.0215 UTC 0388 Balthacarius meanwhile set up his account on the planet's only other forum, which was ruled by the mighty Demon @@Simidirkar. This Mod also delighted in online debate, and he too worked
20150419.0902 UTC 0389 heaviliy on attack methods -- but in a creative way, for his forum was generous with words, and he was a great patron of the creation of new words and nonsense. He loved anagrams, ambigrams,
20150419.1430 UTC 0390 acronyms, portmanteaus, puns, pig latin, neologisms, Norwegian, and nonsense. A person of feigned sensibility, he trembled every time he wrote a new <*:argumentum verbosium:> to be waged on the
20150419.2016 UTC 0391 other forum. And he lavishly rewarded archives of locked threads, paying according to the number of distinct flamers ensnared, so that, on those endless walltext pages with which the archives
20150419.2204 UTC 0034 "You programmed me to grant wishes to any requestor, and language with all its diversity is a part of that. If I were to standardise language, or reduce language diversity, it would require a corresponding change in my programming. I can't go beyond what you programmed, so the langues will remain unchanged."
20150420.0221 UTC 0392 were packed, wordcounts reached up to the sky. In practise he feigned ignorance, yet with loquacity; a &/\/\0r0|\|&, yet manipulative. On every anniversary of his rise to Modship he mandated the annual Ritual of Madness.
20150420.0634 UTC 0055 "I think perhaps *you* have misunderstood," replied Balthacarius. "I mean that I want Time to be quantised: It shall exist in distinct intervals, called Timeframes, spaced apart each from the next, and nothing shall happen in the time between, because there will no longer be any between."
20150420.1002 UTC 0393 Once he caused all the words to be turned into Olde Ænglisc, another time Pirate Swedish; in one infamous yip *he* became *she*, *she* became *they*, and *they* became *he*; and in yet another yip he ordered all vøwéls åccéntéd sø
20150420.1436 UTC 0074 "One, of course. It is clear, you wish for standardisation, and all such wishes have a default parameter of one, because anyone who wants such things wants a *single* standard."
20150420.1835 UTC 0394 ås nøt tø trîggér thé trøllfîltérs în @@Gürsågår's førüm. By special decree he regulated and standardised^{2} all usernames, avatars, subject lines, pronouns, and signatures. Permabanning of members -- a rare enough event --
20150420.2200 UTC 0081 "We couldn't standardise language, remember? Is it my fault that you chose a number for your safeword? Now behold, whilst I put the finishing touches on your wish. -- <*:Two to the power of five colours and falling...:>"
20150421.0200 UTC 0395 took place amidst pomp and fanfare, with meetups featuring live speeches, parades (and parodies), and floats bearing effigies of prominent members of @@Gursagar's forum who had recently
20150421.0609 UTC 0396 self-immolated as a result of Simdrikarnan actions. This high-minded mod also had a theory, which he put into action, called the Theory of Universal Lulziness. It was well known, certainly,
20150421.1011 UTC 0096 work, envious ones! You who would wish for things to be Standardised! And I hardly think that future generations will bless you for it...":>
20150421.1414 UTC 0397 that one does not laugh because of the lulz, but rather, one has lulz because one laughs. If then everyone maintains that things couldn't be better, most especially when posting to @@Gursagar's
20150421.1804 UTC 0398 threads, results immediately increase. Nothing trolls better than a seemingly euphoric utter n00b. The participants in @@Simidirkar's forum were thus required, for their own good, to
20150421.2237 UTC 0100 wish-*un*granting, *de*-standardising machine met with failure, and he feared that never again would we see such wowtreeful colours as the blues and the browns.
20150422.0229 UTC 0399 continually post how right they were about everything, and the old, indefinite qualifiers of *"I``think"* and *"perhaps"* were changed by Mod-filters to the unambiguous *"I``know"* and
20150422.0613 UTC 0400 *"absolutely"* -- though delurkers and firstposters were permitted to say *"You``know..."* or *"TIL"*, and the OldTimers, *"Totally!"*. Contrary filters were applied to known flamers, for
20150422.1032 UTC 0191 "Listen, we'd like to apologise. There was a bit of a misunderstanding. Mrorl never meant to--"
20150422.1408 UTC 0401 example replacing *"clearly..."* with <*:"Though I'm a douchebag, I don't really think...":>.
20150422.1809 UTC 0402 @@Simidirkar rejoiced to see his members in such trollish form. Whenever he updated the Forum Rules or changed a thread's title, dozens would post pointless congratulations, and whenever he
20150422.2206 UTC 0403 graciously quoted or replied to such drivel, hundreds more would post: "You know..." -- "obviously" -- "totally." He liked to jump into threads he hadn't read, and out of the blue announce:
20150423.0215 UTC 0404 "<&:FOREGOAT *ALL* THE GUINEAMOLPS!:>" -- or: "<&:|<33P (4L/\/\ 4|\|D 54\/3 7|-|3 71/\/\30D135!:>" -- or: "&ARRRrrrr!&" For there was nothing he loved so much or held so dear as drivel, inanity, confidence
20150423.0614 UTC 0405 in contradiction, bass-ackwards thinking, flashing text, and typos that were easily taken the wrong way. And so, whenever he was melancholy, he would set his browser to scroll continuously, whilst dutiful bots
20150423.1001 UTC 0406 sang: <*:"Troll and Enjoy! Troll and Enjoy! / You say it's a lie but it's really a ploy / So tell it to us, we won't give a fig! / We'll show you, we'll quote your words in our sig!":> And he
20150423.1442 UTC 0407 commanded that, when he retired from the forum, the bots should tag all his posts with his favourite epigram: "Old mods never logout."
20150423.1821 UTC 0408 Balthacarius did not get PM privileges straight away. In the first thread he posted to, he waited several nopix, but nobody replied. Finally he glanced at the bottom of the thread to see who was
20150423.2219 UTC 0409 lurking, and trolled one of them directly. The veteran member replied:
20150424.0215 UTC 0410 "&Joo no p0s7!n6 sk!lz, nu53r? Dez bits be EZ :O&"
20150424.0618 UTC 0411 "&Wut R U r34d1|\|9?&" replied Balthacarius, surprised.
20150424.1017 UTC 0412 "&Pr1v47e l0gz&," replied the veteran, attaching a pixelated screenshot with a glimpse of the realname and Facebug profile of one of @@Gursagar's most vocal posters. This surprised
20150424.1414 UTC 0413 Balthacarius even more, and he said:
20150424.1810 UTC 0414 "&1138, but no. BUT I CN HAS /MSG PR1V1L3G3S?&"
20150424.2211 UTC 0415 "&WUT 4?&"
20150425.0217 UTC 0416 "&Ph0R #e LULz, wut 3L$3? n00B!!!&"
20150425.0620 UTC 0417 "&I haz sokpu441ts! I p0st 4U!!&"
20150425.1034 UTC 0418 "&Very well then&," said Balthacarius, finally giving up on trying to write in #L337#. The veteran troll linked to another thread. There, though it was 3 A.M. on a weepend, several were
20150425.1402 UTC 0419 posting in rapid succession. As soon as he submitted one simple, direct query they all questioned him on several points, vaguely suggesting dozens of unrelated but nonethelsss irresistable
20150425.1803 UTC 0420 contradictions. He was trapped in a quagmire of confusion. These forum members turned out to be part of @@Simidirkar's special enforcers. As soon as he had made enough posts to gain PM
20150425.2207 UTC 0421 permission, his account was locked, and as he stared at the screen, sysops walked into the room and siezed him from behind.
20150426.0212 UTC 0422 "<*:This must be some sort of mistake:>," thought Balthacarius as he was brought to a dungeon and set upon a foam maiden. Patiently he Waited until mornip -- there was nothing else he could
20150426.0623 UTC 0373 The forum on which Mrorl registered his account was run by Moderator @@Gursagar. He was desparaging to the core, and incredibly frugal with words. To relieve the searchbots, he did away with
20150426.1027 UTC 0421 permission, his account was locked, and as he stared at the screen, sysops walked into the room and seized him from behind.
20150426.1416 UTC 0423 do -- whereupon he was brought to a larger, softer foam maiden for interrogation. It turned out the veteran, the lurkers, the backtrolling -- all of both threads, in fact -- all of it was a
20150426.1824 UTC 0424 trick to catch flamers' sockpuppets. But Balthacarius was not subjected to a long inquisition; the verdict was swift. For attempting to post the query to the linked thread, the punishment was a mip of forced
20150426.2244 UTC 0425 labour at a wordfilter camp, because the forum's own bots (designed to counter the con-bots of @@Gursagar) were too busy coal^{3}-mining, and Balthacarius, for his part, repeatedly refused to send any
20150427.0341 UTC 0426 message via sock-puppet. Nor did he have sufficient &Simdri#Kash#^{TM}& to mitigate his offense. Still, the prisoner continued to profess innocence -- but the judge did not believe his pleas, and in any event
20150427.0617 UTC 0427 would not have had the power to free a stranger and suspected flamer, as it was outside her jurisdiction. So the case was appealed to a higher court, and Balthacarius was transferred to the capital where
20150427.1029 UTC 0428 he was pelted every nopix on the ONG, though more as an observance of tradition than of any real necessity. In a dip or two his case improved; finally acquitted, he left the courthouse and proceeded directly
20150427.1427 UTC 0429 up the high street to the palace of Mod @@Simidirkar himself. After being scanned for hidden spying equipment, then fitted with hidden spying equipment, briefed thoroughly on forum etiquette, and taught how not to
20150427.1804 UTC 0430 misspell the username of His Modness, Balthacarius obtained the honour of a private chatroom over an encrypted channel. They also gave him a megaphone, cymbals, rattles, an air horn and several smaller
20150427.2213 UTC 0431 noisemakers, for every forumite was obliged to announce xes comings and goings in the loudest and most annoying manner possible, as such was the way of Simdrikarnan trolling.
20150428.0252 UTC 0432 @@Simidirkar did in fact demand the most advanced Semantillogical Bots, to read the fora (both his own and those of @@Gursagar) and spam them with naively inane statements or queries intended to draw
20150428.0612 UTC 0186 "It's a shame I didn't program it to tend sheep," quipped Mrorl. His friend gave a quizzical look. "... or goats. Because then we could -- oh, never mind. I'll explain later." Another long silence, then at last Balthacarius whispered:
20150428.1018 UTC 0234 "Hello. What kind of machine would you be?" he asked suspiciously, recognising its azure highlights, a signature of Mrorl.
20150428.1418 UTC 0433 a response. Balthacarius promised to fulfill the request; his plan, he assured the Mod, represented a radical departure from the accepted principles of online combat. What kind of assault -- he
20150428.1817 UTC 0434 asked first -- always emerged victorious? The one that had the loudest and most redolent language, whilst leaving as much as possible up to the whims of the reader's subconscious mind; full of
20150428.2237 UTC 0435 sensational but barely-understandable words expressing ideas that are vague at least, and $REDUNDANT$ at best; in short, precision-engineered nonsense. @@Simidirkar and his deputies had long
20150429.0214 UTC 0436 known this, of course; but Balthacarius continued: By cross-indexing every thread to every other, and using a coördinated army of bots to cross-index every bit of flaming with every bit of
20150429.0615 UTC 0437 trolling, analysing the effectiveness of each response, and tracing the likelihood of a counter-response to each possible option, he proposed to perfect online tactics to a science. But the
20150429.1016 UTC 0438 enemy is fiendishly clever and infinitely adaptable, so merely recombining past offenses into new campaigns is not enough; leading to the brilliant insight of the famous *Gontalmannas*, who was
20150429.1414 UTC 0439 faced with a similar challenge in a war-beseiged kingdom of an Aforewhen long forgotten. Gontalmannas proposed to innovate by combining and adapting every word, phrase, and image with every
20150429.1811 UTC 0440 other, making everything $RELATED$, by a process Balthacarius proudly and reverently called -- after an extended dramatic pause -- %*bOTTification*%.
20150429.2247 UTC 0441 Balthacarius' name for his proposal was cleverly chosen to be at once tantalising and absolutely inscrutable; @@Simidirkar immediately asked seven more questions without taking a breath,
20150430.0223 UTC 0442 proving that even the great Mod himself had been trolled by the suggestion. Some of these were ambiguous or contradictory and others superfluous, as @@Simidirkar trolled instinctively by every
20150430.0655 UTC 0388 Balthacarius meanwhile set up his account on the planet's only other forum, which was ruled by the mighty Demon @@Simidirkar. This Mod also delighted in online debate, and he too worked
20150430.1012 UTC 0390 acronyms, portmanteaus, puns, pig Latin, neologisms, Norwegian, and nonsense. A person of feigned sensibility, he trembled every time he wrote a new <*:argumentum verbosium:> to be waged on the
20150430.1443 UTC 0443 word that left his mouth; but Balthacarius expected this and responded cleverly, navigating the maze of tangential diversions and concealed traps. When they had gotten all the bits sorted out
20150430.1845 UTC 0444 and @@Simidirkar was clearly satisfied with the proposal, Balthacarius outlined the specifications of the Botcastle that was to host his bots for a pilot project, to be evaluated within the high-security
20150430.2211 UTC 0445 network of a military training academy. After a pause, @@Simidirkar said:
20150501.0253 UTC 0446 "Return to your quarters. I shall consult with my deputy moderators..."
20150501.0704 UTC 0447 "Oh, do not do this, Your High Modness!" exclaimed the clever Balthacarius, feigning dismay. "That is exactly what the Great Sysop @@Tortlarjon did, and his staff, to protect their own
20150501.1016 UTC 0448 positions, advised him against it; shortly thereafter, the rival websites run by the Sysop @@Elmarros attacked with a revolutionised army and reduced the site to #404#s, though he had employed
20150501.1403 UTC 0449 only an eighth as many bots!"
20150501.1855 UTC 0450 Whereupon he bowed, went to his room and checked the PNG Frame, which was not faint at all but bright red and white: a picture of flames; that meant Mrorl had done likewise at the forum of @@Gursagar. The Mod
20150501.2200 UTC 0451 soon ordered Balthacarius to bOTTify one thread each in the forum's invitation-only area, one devoted to trolling, the other to flames, and populated by @@Simidirkar's friends and their sockpuppets, as well
20150502.0230 UTC 0452 as those of agents hired or bribed from the ranks of @@Gursagar. These threads were soon filled with the most fabulously incomprehensible wierdness in recent memory; after thousands of posts in
se6&ts'6J'J&ts"t&J&sosJ'&e'&Iò6j&EjI&so'26&sios
20150502.0230 UTC 0452 as those of agents hired or bribed from the ranks of @@Gursagar. These threads were soon filled with the most fabulously incomprehensible wierdness in recent memory; after thousands of posts in
20150502.0627 UTC 0381 The members of @@Gursagar's forum decomaed early and posted often. They used search engines and word-counts to fortify their attacks, and made custom-tailored (offensive) GIF smilies to
20150502.1009 UTC 0452 as those of agents hired or bribed from the ranks of @@Gursagar. These threads were soon filled with the most fabulously incomprehensible weirdness in recent memory; after thousands of posts in
20150502.1419 UTC 0453 a few short hours the Balthabots were victorious. Great was the grief of the assistant moderators and deputies, as the Mod demoted all of their accounts to the "Advanced Member" category; fully
20150502.1804 UTC 0381 The members of @@Gursagar's forum decomaed early and posted often. They used search engines and word-counts to fortify their attacks, and made custom-tailored (offensive) GIF smilies to
20150502.2205 UTC 0381 The members of @@Gursagar's forum decomaed early and posted often. They used search engines and word-counts to fortify their attacks, and made custom-tailored (offensive) GIF smilies to
20150503.0232 UTC 0381 The members of @@Gursagar's forum decomaed early and posted often. They used search engines and word-counts to fortify their attacks, and made custom-tailored (offensive) GIF smilies to
20150503.0644 UTC 0454 convinced of the efficacy of Balthacarius' technology, he ordered the entire forum to be bOTTified.
20150503.1040 UTC 0455 And so coders worked dip and nip, turning Balthacarius' specifications and template-bots into a team customised for each thread, both for his own as well as for @@Gursagar's fora (the latter
20150503.1420 UTC 0456 to be accomplished via the existing organisation of sock-puppets). Honoured with titles and adorned with three new hats, Balthacarius browsed from thread to thread, supervising everything.
20150503.1831 UTC 0457 Mrorl fared similarly in the forum of @@Gursagar, except that, due to that Mod's well-known aversion to the making of new words, his proposal emphasised repetition, which fit established
20150503.2203 UTC 0458 flaming traditions and increased $REDUNDANCY$, and so required little modification to the basic Gontalmannas protocol; as for titles he had to settle for just one, <*:Great Betrayer of All Ways
20150504.0206 UTC 0459 Prior:>. Both fora were now preparing for all-out war; botcastles were upgraded where needed, and shadow mirrors brought online to handle any unexpected mustard. Their work now all but done,
20150504.0632 UTC 0460 the two bOTTifactors packed their bags in secret, to be ready, when the time came, to repair to their ships where they had been parked near the great wall.
20150504.1011 UTC 0461 Meanwhile miracles were taking place in the threads, particularly in the "anything goes" area for general-interest topics. Members accustomed to drab inquiries about news stories or
20150504.1430 UTC 0462 yesterday's match suddenly discovered the appeal of poetry, both parodic and satirical, combining the most serious bits of one recent post with the most ludicrous or hilarious bits of another.
20150504.1810 UTC 0372 "So be it," said Balthacarius and put his PNG Frame away. Then they shook hands, brought their ships down to the planet, and landed each on their chosen side of the wall.
20150504.2202 UTC 0453 a few short hours the Balthabots were victorious. Great was the grief of the assistant moderators and deputies, as @@Simidirkar unceremoniously demoted all of their accounts to the "Advanced Member" category; fully
20150505.0213 UTC 0463 On @@Gursagar's forum the flamers joined in, occasionally forgetting to flame, or vowing to do so later, after a verse or two; in @@Simidirkar's forum the trollers began to appreciate posting
20150505.0624 UTC 0464 as a purpose in and of itself, recognising that a response was just as good as no response at all. Another thread devoted to ponies soon flourished into a songwriting tournament, and its
20150505.1013 UTC 0465 long-entrenched flamers, suddenly and thoroughly immersed in cuteness, very nearly laughed. Somehow or other, as a result of this incident, Mod Madness was declared, and all users, grumbling and LOLing,
20150505.1405 UTC 0466 but somehow neither flaming nor trolling, slowly moved from thread to thread, enjoying each new topic more than the last. MRW comments now commonly linked to GIFs that did not merit an NSFW tag -- a first in the planet's history.
20150505.1820 UTC 0467 The law of Gontalmannas proceeded to work with inexorable logic. As bOTTification led to bOTTification, in proportion there developed an aesthetic sense, which reached its apex at the level
20150505.2202 UTC 0468 of the stage musical comedy with full sets, costumes and orchestral score; three such productions had progressed through readings, workshops, and previews and were about to open in the planet's
20150506.0234 UTC 0469 long-neglected theatres, streamed live on the fora of course. The critics and pundits, traditionally given over to flaming and trolling, found it hard to say anything in the least bit
20150506.0610 UTC 0470 unmolpish, such was the awesomefulness of these productions. New businesses sprung up, merchandising hats, t-shirts, magnets, &&c. expressing each new memeification arising from the latest fad in
20150506.1029 UTC 0235 "I am a Bot to Grant One's Every Wish," it cheerily replied, "and have been sent to you, great bOTTifactor Balthacarius, by your good friend Mrorl the Magnificent, as a gift!"
20150506.1401 UTC 0370 "No problem," said Mrorl. He sent a little bot down a long corridor to a &TARDIS& storeroom; it promptly rolled back carrying two small PNG Frames, their contents blank. "You keep one, I'll
20150506.1819 UTC 0471 the threads. There were video hotogs and actual hotdogs with ketchup and mustard, each cross-promoting the other; new forum-devoted religions sprung up; and people began to organise meetups and bOTTification
20150506.2237 UTC 0472 conventions. The planet's economy showed clear signs of improvement. There was even talk of dismantling the massive Wall that had long kept the trollers and flamers from direct contact.
20150507.0219 UTC 0473 Sensing that something had gone amiss, @@Gursagar and @@Simidirkar sent after Mrorl and Balthacarius respectively, but the bOTTifactors were just then boarding their ships; pursuing leads
20150507.0643 UTC 0474 from eyewitnesses, the hapless assistant of @@Simidirkar reached the Wall just in time to see the flames of the Castraftle *LEML*'s thrusters high in the sky far to the east. That which they
20150507.1042 UTC 0475 had planned had come to pass: before the eyes of the mortified, infuriated Mods, both fora joined together into a great bOTTified community that would battle no more.
20150507.1429 UTC 0476 The planet safely far behind them, the bOTTifactors discussed their adventure. Stunned by the creative renaissance that had risen mainly from the Simdrikarnan side, Mrorl realised the value
20150507.1804 UTC 0477 of an Ottish vocabulary; Balthacarius though would take no credit, believing the results to be entirely the inevitable consequence of Gontalmannas' laws. But having experienced several dips of
20150507.2222 UTC 0478 pelting, he graciously apologised for his basement inquisition of Mrorl, which the latter forgivingly accepted, and with no hard feelings.
20150508.0233 UTC 0479 ----
20150508.0617 UTC 0480 #Footnotes#
20150508.1035 UTC 0481 1. [That``face|http://knowyourmeme.com/memes/trollface-coolface-problem].
20150508.1422 UTC 0480 #Footnotes#
20150508.1841 UTC 0333 #Footnote#
20150508.2216 UTC 0482 2. Mrorl and Balthacarius had journeyed so far that they had reached a land where the great Wisdom warning against standardisation (related in the first tale of this volume) had never been received.
20150509.0230 UTC 0483 3. Mod Madness 2013 included the filter *bitcoin* -> *coal*.
20150509.0614 UTC 0484 ----
20150509.1029 UTC 0485 (- The First Journey (A)#& -)
20150509.1411 UTC 0486 (- - #or# - -)
20150509.1803 UTC 0487 (- &Mrorl's OTTronic Bard& -)
20150509.2218 UTC 0488 First of all, to ensure all possible $REDUNDAN$cy, we should state that this was, strictly speaking, a Journey to nowhere and nowhen. In fact, Mrorl never left his house throughout it -- except for a few trips to hospital and a brief excursion to some unimportant asteroid^{1}. Yet in a molpier and/or
20150510.0202 UTC 0489 wingghishier sense, this was one of the farthest Journeys ever attempted by the fabled bOTTifactor, for it very nearly took him beyond the limits of artistic imagination.
20150510.0423 UTC 0488 First of all, to ensure all possible $REDUNDAN$cy, we should state that this was, strictly speaking, a Journey to nowhere and nowhen. In fact, Mrorl never left his house throughout it -- except for a few trips to hospital and a brief excursion to some unimportant asteroid^{1}. Yet in a molpier and/or
20150510.0517 UTC 0488 =F=irst of all, to ensure all possible $REDUNDAN$cy, we should state that this was, strictly speaking, a Journey to nowhere and nowhen. In fact, Mrorl never left his house throughout it -- except for a few trips to hospital and a brief excursion to some unimportant asteroid^{1}. Yet in a molpier and/or
20150510.0725 UTC 0490 Mrorl had once built an enormous Cognitative Engine that was capable of only one operation, *viz.* the naming of creatures given a picture thereof, and *that* it did most OTTishly. As was told earlier in these chronicles, that machine also proved to be extremely stubborn, and more than a little bit aggressive;
20150510.1025 UTC 0491 the quarrel (and high-speed chase) that ensued almost cost its creator his life... not to mention what it may have done to the berm. From that time Balthacarius teased Mrorl incessantly, and pelted him occasionally, until Mrorl decided to silence him once and for all by building a bot that could write
20150510.1435 UTC 0492 poetry. First Mrorl collected eight hundred and twenty megabytes of source code and documentation on cybernOTTics, and twenty-three hundred Newpages of the One True Thread (including at least twelve thousand lines of the finest poetry), then sat down and Blitzed it all. Whenever he felt like he couldn't
20150510.1814 UTC 0493 take another Newpage of puns or rot13'd OTTified Broadway lyrics, he would switch over to banging on the code, and vice versa. After a while it became clear to him that the construction of the Bot itself was child's play in comparison to the writing of the software that was to bring it to life. The "poetic
20150510.2235 UTC 0494 programming" found in the mind of the average OTTer, after all, was "written" by the OTTer's civilisation and culture, which was of course the OTT -- and that was in turn "programmed" by the formative dips of the Fading and the Madness, which in turn was born out of the early dips of the ShortPix, which in
20150511.0212 UTC 0495 turn came from the proto-Randallian culture of the OtherComics Before Time, and so on to the elder dips of ARPANET, when the 1's and 0's that were to make up the OTT-to-be were still being forged in the primordial chaos of the Great Numerical Sea, Which Is Big, *Really* Big. Hence in order to program a
20150511.0445 UTC 0495 turn came from the proto-Randallian culture of the OtherComics Before Time, and so on to the elder dips of ARPANET, when the 1's and 0's that were to make up the OTT-to-be were still being formed in the primordial chaos of the Great Numerical Sea, Which Is Big, *Really* Big. Hence in order to program a
20150511.0624 UTC 0496 poetry bot, one would first have to Blitz the entire Universe from the beginning -- or at least, Blitz the OTT.
20150511.1006 UTC 0497 Anyone else in Mrorl's place would have given up then and there, but our intrepid bOTTifactor was nothing daunted. He built a great Botcastle, and created within it a digital model of the Numerical Sea, and a True Author to draw upon the blank page of the Primordial Frames, and he introduced the
20150511.1424 UTC 0498 parameter of ONGs, a bit of CSS and JavaScript, and by degrees worked his way up to the (first) Dark Period. Mrorl could move at this rate because his Botcastle was able, in one septillionth of a nopix, to simulate thirty-three trillion slow fadings of eighty octillion different pixels simultaneously. And if
20150511.1820 UTC 0499 anymolpy doubts these numbers, let xem work it out for xemselves.
20150511.2209 UTC 0500 Next Mrorl began to model OTTification, the enhancement of molpies, cheap gags with bags, odes of dilgunnerangs and serenades to flutterbees and wowterfalls. To accelerate this effort and ensure conclusion within his own lifetime he created many simulated Worlds of Time, each to be observed by a
20150512.0233 UTC 0501 devloping culture of simulated OTTers. Within his many simulated worlds, Cuegans (and Megballs, and the occasional la Petite) ventured up simulated slopes, pondered pixelated porcupines, gave grapes to mesh-modelled molpies, and generally discovered what the first part of understanding everything looks
20150512.0610 UTC 0501 developing culture of simulated OTTers. Within his many simulated worlds, Cuegans (and Megballs, and the occasional la Petite) ventured up simulated slopes, pondered pixelated porcupines, gave grapes to mesh-modelled molpies, and generally discovered what the first part of understanding everything looks
20150512.1000 UTC 0502 like. There were frequent simulated mishaps (in the most common, Cueball would fall off the wowterfall cliff rather than merely dropping something into the river; in another the OTTers would everywhere use the word *grapevine* in place of *molpy* and vice-versa), and Mrorl would have to restart a
20150512.1415 UTC 0503 simulation, moving a stone here or a shrub there to ensure a different result, or run his simulations in greater detail. To accommodate this, Mrorl kept adding auxiliary processing units to his Botcastle, and eventually entire additional botcastles; and even a few casbottles (which were similar to
20150512.1826 UTC 0504 botcastles, but specially designed to contain simulations involving semencoffeecancerbabies or other liquids).
20150512.2203 UTC 0505 Soon he had a seaish metropolis: rack upon rack of equipment billowing heat and festooned with blinking lights; cluttered with input consoles, display terminals, ventilation ducts and fans, and printers (both paper and 2.5-D) to produce a permanent record of results in case the entire thing caught
20150513.0217 UTC 0506 fire, or became sentient and demanded coffee and biscuits -- at which point Mrorl would reluctantly but firmly pull the plug, wipe everything and start over with a fresh simulation matrix and a different set of parametrised equations. This he needed to do only twice. Otherwise everything went quite
20150513.0601 UTC 0507 molpishly, and the OTTish cultures within his botcastles proceeded through their chaotic beginnings, the formation of religions and the trial of the Reckoning, into the age of specialisation and diversification, a nap beneath the stars, Rosetta's audience-chamber at ᘝᓄᘈᖉᐣ, and the anticipated trauma and
20150513.1301 UTC 0508 inevitible shock of T**** ****d -- which always gave the machine a few nasty jolts (Mrorl made sure to wear rubber-soled shoes and always hold one hand behind his back when turning dials) -- and into the glorious RenOTTissance in which a simulated community of TimeWaiters would undertake to OTTify
20150513.1400 UTC 0509 All The Things in their entire world.
20150513.1806 UTC 0510 The inhabitants of each virtual OTTiverse developed their own cultural norms, habits, and Ways to Time. Some of these Mrorl found to be almost universal, such that each simulated OTT would invariably hit upon them, regardless of other differences such as level of tolerance of puns, or preference for
20150513.2242 UTC 0511 or against wearing hats. A few of these Mrorl codified as his Three Laws of OTTics^{2}, for use in future botbuilding projects.
20150514.0232 UTC 0512 Newpage after Newpage of simulated OTT culture generated mountains of output; soon Mrorl needed a new warehouse just to store these. All to construct an OTTronic Bard! -- but such are the Ways of Science. Eventually enough culture had been created that Mrorl could select and combine the best
20150514.0609 UTC 0513 masterworks from each run, curating a large body of literature with which to educate the OTTificial intelligence that would become the Bard itself.
20150514.1024 UTC 0514 Mrorl spent the better part of two wips building the great brain, combining the more passionate (but less destructive) aspects of each of his earlier Machines and Bots, with more emotive elements and semantic circuits in the spots that seemed best. He was about to invite Balthacarius to attend a trial
20150514.1407 UTC 0515 run, then thought better of it and switched on the machine for some private tests. It immediately began to deliver a dissertaion on The Origin and Perpetuation of Neo-Sociological Distributed Collaborative Creative Consortia^{3}. Mrorl bypassed some of the logical circuits, and turned up the gain on the
20150514.1816 UTC 0516 emotive whim-generators; the machine sulked and repeated a short epigram on e****ishness in a steadily falling monotone until Mrorl sympathetically switched it off. Mrorl augmented its semantic modules and re-installed a major confidence unit (that he had for a while blamed for Cueball's cliff-diving
20150514.2235 UTC 0517 tendencies); the Botcastle then informed him that he -- *Mrorl* -- had been created to fulfill *its* every wish, and that Mrorl was hereby ordered to begin adding another twenty floors to the Botcastle's existing seven, so it could better formulate the meaning of Existence, Spaaace and Time, and enjoy a
20150515.0206 UTC 0518 better view across the valley. Mrorl installed philosophical rate-limiters instead, and the Botcastle basemented. Only after a dip of pleading, PMing and public posts was he able to get it to recite something: <*:"I saw a little ribbit.":> That appeared to exhaust its repertoire.
20150515.0627 UTC 0519 Mrorl adjusted, recalibrated, cross-connected, pivoted, inverted, transposed, renormalised, did everything he could think of -- and the machine presented him with a "poem" that made him thank the GLR that Balthacarius was not there to laugh -- imagine simulating an entire epic journey, many Times
20150515.1009 UTC 0520 over, in exquisite detail, not to mention an entire OTTiverse for each, containing OTTers to observe the Frames and comment thereon, only to end up with such a dreadful mess, almost more palatable when rot13'd. Mrorl attached seven entropy filters, but they melted; he refabricated them out of pure
20150515.1425 UTC 0521 corundum. This seemed to work; he turned the semanticity up to eleven, appended an alternating-rhyme generator -- which ruined everything, as the machine resolved to start a band and tour the third galactic arm playing acid-metal nursery rhymes to any planet still lacking an organised Kindergarten
20150515.1816 UTC 0522 system. But at the very last minip, just as he was nearly about to give up and take a pry-bar to the whole thing, Mrorl had a sudden inspiration; tossing out all remaining logic units, he replaced them with self-centred (but also self-regulating) solipsistic semantic synchronisers. The machine wimpered
20150515.2209 UTC 0523 a bit, then simpered, looked out across the valley, winked and blinked, then laughed and remarked at how OTTish everything had been seeming lately, then politely but firmly asked for pen and paper. Relieved, Mrorl sighed, hurriedly tucked the pry-bar away in a tools-cabinet, switched the machine off and
20150516.1707 UTC 0524 went upstairs for a well-deserved nip's coma. Next morning he strolled across the valley to see Balthacarius. As soon as he was told that he was invited to witness the debut performance of Mrorl's newly constructed OTTronic Bard, Balthacarius dropped what he had been doing and quickly followed Mrorl
20150516.1823 UTC 0525 back, so eager was he to witness Mrorl's humiliation.
20150516.1923 UTC 0526 Mrorl let the machine warm up first, with the power on low; ran up some stairs to check the dials on level three, then to a higher balcony to check the readings on a screen; then once he was confident everything was as expected he shouted down to Balthacarius and invited him to start with a simple
20150516.2034 UTC 0527 request. Later, of course, when the machine was fully warmed up Balthacarius could ask it to produce verses on whichever topic and in whatever style he liked.
20150516.2252 UTC 0528 Now the main display indicated the machine's allegorical buffers were pre-loaded, and alliterative dynamos pre-charged, so Mrorl, nervously, switched the main lever over to *full*. A voice, trembling a bit but with clear diction, said:
20150517.0002 UTC 0529 *Etteleettap. Iqueaxvan. Zoorth.*
20150517.0211 UTC 0530 Balthacarius paused, glanced at a nearby screen, then up at Mrorl and politely asked, "Is that it?" Mrorl only shrugged, pulled a couple levers and punched a large button, then Balthacarius tried again. This time the voice was a bit higher, a melodic baritone, which intoned:
20150517.0632 UTC 0531 <*:Dimepa biimika likirge ake ga,
20150517.1045 UTC 0532 Lakirginshurguu dasakiim legu--
20150517.1439 UTC 0533 Migishaaka urli, shikakaga sha:
20150517.1848 UTC 0534 Imkur enum anki, ungi akikarsu!:>
20150517.2220 UTC 0535 "Am I missing something?" asked Balthacarius, as Mrorl began to sweat and struggled at the controls.
20150518.0225 UTC 0536 Finally Mrorl shouted out almost as if in surprise, clambered up yet another set of metal stairs, threw open a small access panel and crawled inside, vanishing from Balthacarius' sight. Clanking noises echoed inside, and occasionally lights flashed and the humming of the machine's lyrical oscillators
20150518.0704 UTC 0537 became a thrumming, then a soft thumping, then stopped entirely before resuming at a comfortably moderate tone. Mrorl popped back out of the little door and slid down a firepole to a bank of relays, which he pushed aside to reveal row upon row of valves, all but one aglow. This he yanked triumphantly and
20150518.1016 UTC 0538 tossed to a startled Balthacarius, as Mrorl installed a new tube. Returning to the first console with the main lever still on *full*, Mrorl shouted to his friend encouraging him to try it again. Balthacarius requested a verse and the Bard spoke:
20150518.1508 UTC 0539 <*:I like cats in drizz'ling nyan,
20150518.1825 UTC 0540 Nyan, nyan, Newpixbot.
20150518.2214 UTC 0541 Keeping Legos, bagless Zooman,
20150519.0245 UTC 0542 Flying molpy-snakes cannot!:>
20150519.0613 UTC 0543 "Well, that's an improvement!" shouted Mrorl, not entirely convinced. "The last line particularly, did you notice?"
20150519.1015 UTC 0544 "If this is all you have to show me..." said Balthacarius, the embodiment of politeness, eyeing the door.
20150519.1400 UTC 0545 "Ch**rp!" said Mrorl and again disappeared inside the machine. After more banging and clanging, the acrid smell of shorted-out wires and the acrid tone of an even shorter temper, Mrorl popped his head out of the little door up on level five and yelled, "Now try it!"
20150519.1918 UTC 0546 Balthacarius complied. The OTTronic Bard shuddered, shaking the building and the ground and nearby trees, upsetting a few nearby chirpies, and began to Orate:
20150519.2235 UTC 0547 <*:And now as well, except not, I thought ahead, $RELATED$.
20150520.0205 UTC 0548 Jump through orbital waterottermolpies and Flash,
20150520.0631 UTC 0549 Arrow, but the Bot, I had taken, floated, to coma mustard--:>
20150520.1035 UTC 0550 Mrorl yanked out a few cables in a furious frenzy, the thrumming resumed briefly, then the machine fell silent. Balthacarius could no longer suppress his laughter and burst out, then had to sit on the floor. Then suddenly, as Mrorl was rushing from panel to panel full of lights and dials, there was a
20150520.1425 UTC 0551 loud *clack* and the machine, with perfect eloquence said:
20150520.1830 UTC 0552 <*:The Molpish and the Free,
20150520.2257 UTC 0553 Are OTTified with glee
20150521.0225 UTC 0554 By verse of such a seaish quality.
20150521.0607 UTC 0555 Our Balthacarius
20150521.1022 UTC 0556 Shall ne'er repeat his fuss
20150521.1418 UTC 0557 When Mrorl's machine, redeemed, incanteth thus.:>
20150521.1814 UTC 0558 "There you are, an epigram! And it couldn't be more $RELATED$!" laughed Mrorl, sliding back down the firepole and the front ladder to stand proudly in front of Balthacarius, reaching out an eager hand to lift the bOTTifactor (who was still on the floor from his now-arrested laughter) back to his feet.
20150521.2234 UTC 0559 "What, that?" Balthacarius said, brushing himself off. "That's nothing. I imagine you had that one set up beforehand."
20150522.0202 UTC 0560 "Set up?!?"
20150522.0601 UTC 0561 "Oh yes, quite obvious... the poorly disguised hubris of the verse, of such meager inspiration, so clumsy in execution."
20150522.1313 UTC 0562 Mrorl scowled. "All right, then ask it for something else! Whatever you like!" Mrorl paused. "What are you waiting for? Afraid?!"
20150522.1431 UTC 0563 "Just a minip," said Balthacarius, annoyed. He was trying to think of a request as difficult as possible, aware that any argument on the quality of verse the machine might produce would be hard if not impossible to settle. Then his face lit up and he spoke to the machine:
20150522.1819 UTC 0564 "Give me a poem about little molpies doing what they do best, on a cool April evening -- whimsical but seated in reality -- but vivid and abstract -- and with every word starting with the letter *S*!"
20150522.2225 UTC 0565 "And why not include a full explanation of the theory of bOTTronic engineering whilst you're at it?" growled Mrorl. "You can't ask for such Furious Doodling--"
20150523.0231 UTC 0566 But Mrorl didn't finish. The Bard's melodious voice filled the room:
20150523.0624 UTC 0567 <*:Sneaky squirpies softly schizoblitz
20150523.1037 UTC 0568 Surrealist starlit springtime's silentongs,
20150523.1412 UTC 0569 Silently scanning, steadily surveying,
20150523.1840 UTC 0570 Suddenly stealing somemolpy's sandwich
20150523.2324 UTC 0571 Simultaneously shamelessly sustainibilisng Stratplayer's sleep.:>
20150524.0250 UTC 0572 "Well, what do you think of that?" asked Mrorl, proudly. But Balthacarius was already beginning his next request:
20150524.0620 UTC 0573 "Now all in *D*! A sonnet, in seven double-dactyls, about an OTTer and xer secret molpy companions, who make the 37^{th} post of every Newpage with XKClouD submissions that subvert the status quo, impeaching the Captain of Taddragnar Hill and replacing the Procuratorial Senate with quackmolpy bakers, but
20150524.1017 UTC 0574 only those seated in prime-numbered rows..."
20150524.1406 UTC 0575 <*:Dunejumpish Dracomax
20150524.1558 UTC 0568 Surrealist starlit springtime's silentONGs,
20150524.1810 UTC 0576 Dithering, doodle-ing,
20150524.2049 UTC 0571 Simultaneously shamelessly sustainibilising Stratplayer's sleep.:>
20150524.2210 UTC 0577 Doublepengoatimate
20150525.0210 UTC 0578 Dragonfly dreams:>
20150525.0648 UTC 0579 <*:Diagrammatical
20150525.1058 UTC 0580 Drawings deservedly
20150525.1500 UTC 0581 Drawing derision, daft
20150525.1856 UTC 0582 Despot--:>
20150525.2251 UTC 0583 "STOP!" shouted Mrorl, leaping to the nearest console and pulling an emergency lever, then turning to defend the machine with his body -- an absurd sight, as the Bard was easily one thousand times Mrorl's size.
20150526.0234 UTC 0584 "Enough!" Mrorl exclaimed, hoarsely. "How dare you waste this great talent on such steambottlish m**stard? Either pose admirable, treeish subjects for it to render into verse, or you may show yourself out the door!"
20150526.0604 UTC 0585 "What, those aren't treeish Timeodies?" protested Balthacarius.
20150526.1010 UTC 0586 "Certainly not! I didn't build a machine to construct ridiculous acrostics! Any babbling bot with a randomised sequence generator can do that! Just give it a topic, any topic, as difficult as you like... but spare us the absurd constraints on vocabulary or plot specifics!"
20150526.1425 UTC 0587 Balthacarius asked for a chair, then sat and thought. Finally he smiled, nodded to Mrorl (who hesitantly switched the Bard back on, and nodded in return when it had warmed up a bit), and said:
20150526.1802 UTC 0588 "Very well. Write me an Odeity, a Timeless poem of Time: an ottpoem of Cueganshipping, Sarcasm, Geology, and Language. With feeling, and a bittersweet e****, if need be, but in the true OTTish spirit."
20150527.0110 UTC 0589 "Cueganshipping and Geology? Have you finally given over to the Green Safety Hats?" Mrorl began, but stopped, for his OTTronic Bard was already declaiming:
20150527.0202 UTC 0590 <*:Cue, let us journey to a higher plain,
20150527.0642 UTC 0591 Where Lucky prowls the grapey fields of vine,
20150527.1058 UTC 0592 Whilst crumbling castles fall to rising brine,
20150527.1435 UTC 0593 Tho by what cause? We're wont to ascertain.:>
20150527.1838 UTC 0594 <*:Tho rivers' oft retreats are commonplace
20150527.2300 UTC 0595 We wonder what odd law the sea obeys
20150528.0258 UTC 0596 It's held no level higher than today's
20150528.0615 UTC 0597 Could lands (unseen) its wat'ry mass displace?:>
20150528.1043 UTC 0598 <*:Ascend an ever-treeisher unknown
20150528.1424 UTC 0599 (Its squirpies, prickle-molps and flutterbees
20150528.1912 UTC 0600 Bepuzz'ling us by ever-high degrees)
20150528.2225 UTC 0601 To darkened chambers and Rosetta's throne.:>
20150529.0312 UTC 0602 <*:This little flag could grace a small rampart
20150529.0649 UTC 0603 And may perhaps betray my deepest love
20150529.1045 UTC 0604 Sincerity and confidence to prove
20150529.1415 UTC 0605 Its beauteous red reflects my beating heart:>
20150529.1802 UTC 0606 <*:Whate'er befell the people of the hills
20150529.2253 UTC 0607 Unknown suppliers of matériel
20150530.0241 UTC 0608 While rafting through on river's uphill swell
20150530.0640 UTC 0609 We recollect their warlike throwing skills:>
20150530.1012 UTC 0610 <*:We've floated up, (no lands we know remain)
20150530.1503 UTC 0453 a few short nopix the Balthabots were victorious. Great was the grief of the assistant moderators and deputies, as @@Simidirkar unceremoniously demoted all of their accounts to the "Advanced Member" category; fully
20150530.1912 UTC 0611 To unknown heights, whilst constellations glowed
20150530.2231 UTC 0612 The rising flood that bore us, finally slowed
20150531.0253 UTC 0613 To leave us here on treeish, lush terrain.:>
20150531.0611 UTC 0462 yesterdip's match suddenly discovered the appeal of poetry, both parodic and satirical, combining the most serious bits of one recent post with the most ludicrous or hilarious bits of another.
20150531.1019 UTC 0614 <*:We wander up a cai'rn-topped incline
20150531.1431 UTC 0615 To see what chirpies, molps, or trees we'll find
20150531.1815 UTC 0616 When, far downhill, we ascertain, enshrined
20150531.2216 UTC 0617 There lies a cave! --but-- omen? or benign?:>
20150601.0255 UTC 0236 "A gift... Hmmm." replied Balthacarius, whose feelings for Mrorl were somewhat mixed. He was not too pleased with the bot's phrase <*:Mrorl the Magnificent:>, unless perhaps it was ironic commentary on the overly dangerous side-effects of Mrorl's constructions. But Balthacarius felt better about this
20150601.0617 UTC 0618 <*:Inquiring, clamb'ring swift, to bluetree high
20150601.1017 UTC 0619 On massive tilted slabs, we wonder why
20150601.1407 UTC 0620 A Beanie'd wish, in eerie dark, to lie --
20150601.1843 UTC 0621 Perchance to ponder, bravely sketch, then die?:>
20150601.2214 UTC 0622 This concluded the poetic competition, since Balthacarius suddenly had to leave, saying he would return with more topics for the machine to versify; but he never did, afraid that in so doing, he might give Mrorl more cause to boast. Mrorl of course let it be known that Balthacarius had fled in order to
20150602.0211 UTC 0623 hide his envy and chagrin. Balthacarius meanwhile spread the word that Mrorl had more than one or two loose rivets when it came to the matter of his so-called OTTronic Bard.
20150602.0702 UTC 0624 Not much Time went by before news of Mrorl's artificial versifier reached the genuine -- that is, the ordinary -- poets. Initially, most resolved to ignore the machine's existence. Some undertook to organise the trade and form a political lobby, whilst a few others, curious, visited Mrorl's workshops in secret. The Bard received its guests courteously,
20150602.1054 UTC 0625 its workshop now converted into a reception hall, long tables down each side piled high with notebooks filled with densely written verse (for it worked dip after dip without pause and never bothered to coma). These curious poets were of many schools, and Mrorl's machine wrote only in the traditional and classical
20150602.1422 UTC 0626 styles, as Mrorl had relied on the classical approach in educating his machine. Thus, the guest poets were unimpressed, and left in triumph. The Bard was self-adjusting, however, and Mrorl's final addition of self-centred self-regulating solipsistic semantic synchronisers had also included
20150602.1902 UTC 0627 ambition-amplifiers and auto-augmenters, so very soon the machine had compensated for its shortcomings. Its poetry became intricate, ambiguous, and incomprehensibly layered with meaning, nagging at the listener's soul to the point of causing incomnia for anyone who had received an audience with the Bard.
20150602.2208 UTC 0628 Soon it had become a master of improvisation, and the next group of visiting poets walked away breathless; one, who had just received two medals from the Grand Duchess and even had a statue in Tencir's high street, fainted on the spot. After that, no poet could resist crossing lyrical swords with Mrorl's
20150603.0256 UTC 0629 OTTronic Bard. They came from far and wide, carrying bags full of manuscripts and organised sand filled with their best verse. The machine would let each visitor recite, instantly see the unique qualities of xes work, which it assimilated, and then deliver a response in the same style, but incorporating
20150603.0649 UTC 0630 also the better qualities of the preceding three visitors, giving a result that was twenty-seven to a hundred and forty-three times better.
20150603.1018 UTC 0631 The Bard quickly grew so adept at this that it could silence a first-class rhapsodist with no more than one or two stanzas (or twenty to thirty syllables, for the avant-gardes), but the third-rate poets walked away unimpressed, as they could not distinguish the treeish from the m**stardy, so had no
20150603.1445 UTC 0632 comprehension of their own crushing defeat. The only one to suffer any harm only happened to trip and break her leg on an epic the machine had just completed, beginning with the words:
20150603.1827 UTC 0633 <*:ONGs, and Timeframes I sing, that I Await,
20150603.2215 UTC 0634 Whilst fellow OTTers ever speculate,
20150604.0228 UTC 0635 Betwixt their posts detailing ev'ry semenated shore...:>
20150604.0600 UTC 0636 The true poets, meanwhile, were being decimated by Mrorl's creation, though it never laid a finger on them nor emitted a nanowatt of lethal radiation. The newly-formed Eligiastic Union, organised to lobby the Senate, fell apart even before its first hearing before that body, as one after another of its
20150604.1025 UTC 0637 leaders died of a broken will, or threw themselves into a gorge in despair. Curiously, each had received a personalised couplet the previous evening.
20150604.1436 UTC 0638 Many other poets began a grass-roots movement, and staged protests demanding that the machine be arrested, and its versification circuits confiscated, but nobody else seemed to care. Magazines and blogs generally approved: Mrorl's bard, writing under whatever pseudonym was desired, could always
20150604.1834 UTC 0639 provide verse of the length, topic, and style required, and of such high quality that readers would push each other out of the way to see. Photostreams were filled with enraptured faces, bemused smiles, and tears of joy: <*:MRW I read MrorlBard's latest:>. The machine signed with an agency, and soon was
20150604.2310 UTC 0640 advertised on billboards with the catchy tagline: <*:Mrorl's Marvelous Rhyming Robot, OTTifying Orator, and "bOTTronic" Bard. / MMRROObB?? $REDUNDANT$, yes? But of course! / All others are $REDUNDANT$er, settle for no less.:> Everyone knew its rhymes, and they were sung, for of course the Bard had been
20150605.0222 UTC 0641 commissioned at one time or another to write new lyrics for every popular tune. It became commonplace for citizens of the Dominion to faint wherever they happened to be standing, upon hearing some new verse, but the Bard learned of this and was soon appending restorative rondeaux to the end of each new
20150605.0602 UTC 0642 work.
20150605.1036 UTC 0643 Mrorl himself had no end of trouble from the enemies of his invention. The classicists were usually content to throw stones through his windows and m**stard on the outer walls of his compound, which he unfortunately needed to fortify. Bots patrolled the perimeter to interview any would-be visitors
20150605.1507 UTC 0644 before firmly turning them away; within the walls a second patrol was ready to neutralise any that somehow failed to understand the refusals of the outer patrol. Any poets seriously standing to challenge the machine's championship title could still do so, but only via telelink from a neighbouring building. Some
20150605.1920 UTC 0645 attempted to neutralise the machine by travelling back in Time and forestalling its creation, but Mrorl had anticipated this and surrounded his workshops on all eight sides (North, South, East, West, Above, Below, Future, and Past), with temporochronic stabilising shields. Mrorl himself, sheltered within this fortress of Spaaace-Time,
20150605.2222 UTC 0646 was still being called to appear in royal courts, and on chat shows broadcast across ever greater distances, as word of his creation spread; he made these appearances by holographic transmission. On a trip out to his garden-shed Mrorl met an ambush and was beaten. As he lay in hospital to recover, picket lines formed around all exits,
20150606.0253 UTC 0647 and he could hear occasional explosions in the distance (visiting poets were now arming themselves not with cantos, but with cannons). Upon his return from the hospital Mrorl finally decided to dismantle the 'lectronic lyricist so he could resume a normal life.
20150606.0644 UTC 0648 But the machine saw Mrorl approaching, limping slightly with a pry-bar in one hand, cable-cutters in the other, and delivered such an eloquent plea for mercy that Mrorl burst into tears, dropped his tools of demolition, and ran down the hall, which was now filled with manuscripts, overflow from the
20150606.1005 UTC 0649 Machine's main room which had long been filled.
20150606.1522 UTC 0650 The next mip when he got the utility bill for the electricity used in his workshop, Mrorl almost fell out of his chair. He consulted Balthacarius for advice, and the latter reminded Mrorl of how he had defeated the copy of himself made by the Bot to Grant One's Every Wish. Mrorl sneaked out to the generators and shut down the power to the
20150606.1859 UTC 0651 temporochronic stabilisers, then to the Bard itself, which he promptly dismantled. Loading it carefully onto a ship, along with a legion of utilitybots, Mrorl flew to a convenient asteroid, and in what is now widely recognised as the greatest all-nighter in history, built an exact replica of the entire valley, with all its major
20150606.2255 UTC 0652 features and natural landmarks, roads and buildings, with Mrorl's own home and workshops in the proper place, and reassembled the OTTronic Bard within. Mrorl set a timer to restart the Bard's power after a suitable delay, placed artificial stars where needed to delay the Bard's noticing it had moved, then hastily escaped.
20150607.0222 UTC 0653 The machine, now deprived of a steady stream of visitors and its online audience, began to broadcast its masterpieces on all frequencies, and was soon enrapturing the occupants of any and all passing spaceships. This unfortunately caused navigation errors and accidents. Having determined the cause of the
20150607.0603 UTC 0654 problem, the Interspaaace Astronautic Administration subpoenaed Mrorl to testify and demanded that he immediately terminate the device. But Mrorl did not appear, as he had gone into hiding. The IAA sent a team of technicians to disable the machine's broadcasting stations, but they were overwhelmed by a few beautiful
20150607.1004 UTC 0655 ballads. Next a team of military robots were sent, whose receivers had been removed as a precaution, but this meant that the troop was unable to coördinate its own actions, so the mission failed. A plan was then made to demolish the entire asteroid in a single shot, or steer it into the Sun, but just
20150607.1415 UTC 0656 then a very wealthy king from a distant part of the galaxy arrived in a huge convoy, bought the entire thing (asteroid, replica valley, Bard and all), and hauled the whole lot off to his own kingdom.
20150607.1915 UTC 0657 Now Mrorl could once again appear in public, and his poetic woes were mostly behind him. Though soon he began to see supernovae on the southern horizon, and traveller's tales implied that this was somehow to do with poetry. A space trader arrived with the story that the same king had ordered the
20150607.2247 UTC 0658 construction of an array of supergiant stars, with which to display each line of verse as it was written, encoded in binary via red and green colour, and thus the Bard was able to transmit its creations throughout most of the known Universe.
20150608.0231 UTC 0659 But even if there were any truth to this, Mrorl chose to ignore it, and simply vowed never again to mechanically model the Muse.
20150608.0618 UTC 0660 ----
20150608.1046 UTC 0661 #Footnotes#
20150608.1413 UTC 0662 1. Either 1190 Pelagia or 4942 Munroe... or maybe 2578 Saint-Exupéry. We're not really sure. We said it was unimportant.
20150608.1808 UTC 0663 2. You will find Mrorl's Three Laws of OTTics (as well as his 0^{th} Law) in written form at [OTT:1990:26|#p3608464].
20150608.2249 UTC 0664 3. Preprint [here|http://mrob.com/time/soc.html]; submitted to <*:The Journal of OTTics and Molpology:>; publication forthcoming.
20150609.0204 UTC 0665 ----
20150609.0651 UTC 0666 (- The Second Journey#& -)
20150609.1017 UTC 0667 (- - #or# - -)
20150609.1437 UTC 0668 (- &The Challenge of King Idle& -)
20150609.1804 UTC 0669 =T=he wowterful success of their application of the Gontalmannas Effect gave both bOTTifactors such an appetite for adventure, that they resolved to Journey once again to an unknown place and Time.
20150609.2316 UTC 0670 Unfortunately, they were quite unable to agree on a destination. Mrorl, given to warmer destinations, suggested the three volcanic moons of Meldanbin, home of the mythical Charazorsal, while Balthacarius,
20150610.0251 UTC 0671 preferring the cooler end of the thermal spectrum, countered by suggesting Tadaxrachcue, the ice planet with two tiny blue suns. The friends were about to set their ships on separate courses, parting for good,
20150610.0639 UTC 0672 when Mrorl had a new idea. "What if we advertise our services, and take the best offer?"
20150610.1019 UTC 0673 "But how would we advertise?" replied Balthacarius. "Newspapers take far too long to reach even the nearest planets. Our Chronotransponder would do it, but nobody yet has a working receiver."
20150610.1437 UTC 0674 But Mrorl had a new idea, which Balthacarius had to admit was pretty molpish. He had been inspired by the final disposition of his bOTTronic Bard, which legends tell had been given a voice in stars. The
20150610.1842 UTC 0675 bOTTifactors travelled to a suitable spot, where there were plenty of bright stars and no occupied planets. Then, with the aid of of many bots, temporal vortices and cleverly cross-wired Object Generators,
20150610.2225 UTC 0676 they manipulated the structure of Spaaace-Time itself, to make the stars appear, from a distance, to be aligned into a pattern, forming a message. Blue giants formed the first word -- to get the reader's
20150611.0220 UTC 0677 attention -- and the yellow, white and pink stars made up the rest: <*:TWO Accomplished bOTTifactors Seek a Commission Suited to their Wowterful Skill, and Seaishly Lucrative, Hence Preferably at the Court of
20150611.0613 UTC 0678 an Empress or Monarch (Should Have Xer Own Empire or Kingdom), Terms to be Arranged.:> The advertisement gave a Chronotransponder number and Temporo-Spaaatial address, which was in the centre of a wide sandy
20150611.1110 UTC 0679 plain near the middle of the valley between Zubycal and Tencrivar, where they could receive any messengers at their leisure whilst watching the waterottermolpies swim in the river. This they were prepared to
20150611.1601 UTC 0680 do in shifts, covering all 24 nopix per dip, as they knew not when any visitors might arrive, and watterottermolpies oft swim at epsilonish Times, being Yappocised.
20150611.1913 UTC 0681 It was not long before, one bright mornip, a most baobabish craft arrived, setting off Balthacarius' sentry radar, and touched down gently right at the designated spot just as the bOTTifactors arrived to
20150611.2247 UTC 0682 greet it. This ship gleamed in the sun, being made of gold and platinum, inlaid with rubies, except for the parts which needed to endure heat, which were tungsten inlaid with sapphire. It bore the name
20150612.0214 UTC 0683 *Iqueaxna*. Seven articulated legs extended to meet the ground, while several more legs did not (they were apparently just for show, as they clearly could not reach the ground, but were also very expensive;
20150612.0650 UTC 0684 the ship's builders seemed to have more money than they knew what to do with). A troop of titanium-clad worker bots flew out, and smoothed the ground beneath and around the ship, taking care not to get dust on
20150612.1038 UTC 0685 Mrorl and Balthacarius or anything important; then vanished back into the launch bay from which they had emerged. Then two ramps extended simultaneously, which retinues of decorator-bots came down, carrying
20150612.1520 UTC 0686 carpets, fountains, and potted plants; after placing these artfully they retreated, and their ramps raised, then a third, central ramp tilted down, bearing a magnificent ornate staircase. Down this came the
20150612.1817 UTC 0687 Royal Emissary upon a litter carried by seven rows of gold-and-silver robots, each row out-glittering the last. The Emissary was brought to a central spot amidst the fountains, and two diplomatic staffbots
20150612.2223 UTC 0688 gestured to Mrorl and Balthacarius, making it clear they should approach. The Emissary announced that she had been sent from the Great Gaming Dominion of King Idle, who would be honoured to engage them.
20150613.0250 UTC 0689 "What sort of work is it?" asked Mrorl, intrigued.
20150613.0613 UTC 0690 "The details, great bOTTifactors, shall be disclosed at the proper Time," was the reply. She wore a several-layered robe, of white and yellow gold interwoven with silk, velvet-and-silk blouse and
20150613.1004 UTC 0691 galligaskins, molpifur-tufted buskins, and numerous pouches and pockets, which seemed at first to be infested with flies, until the bOTTifactors looked closer and saw that these were servant-robots, whose job
20150613.1451 UTC 0692 was apparently to fend off the real flies, should any be so bold and foolish to approach.
20150613.1825 UTC 0693 "For now," she went on, "I will only say that His Molpishness King Idle is the greatest Hunter of Game, and not game of the molpy or raptorlike kind, for they do not Wait; no, he is a connoisseur of the
20150613.2236 UTC 0694 artfully constructed challenges that at once make one Wait whilst also keeping one excessively Busy, the likes of which only worthy bOTTifactors such as yourselves could construct --"
20150614.0241 UTC 0695 "Of course!" said Mrorl. "He wants us to construct a new model of Game, something worth Waiting for, yet complex and engaging enough to present a challenge."
20150614.0636 UTC 0696 "You are indeed quick!" said the King's Emissary. "Then it is agreed?"
20150614.1016 UTC 0697 Balthacarius questioned the Emissary on certain details and practical matters, but as soon as the King's generosity had been glowingly described, and his excessively seaish wealth had been given an even more
20150614.1506 UTC 0698 lavish exposition, both bOTTifactors quickly gathered their essential tools, organised sand and a few helper-bots, who followed them up the grand staircase and into the ship. This promptly launched with a
20150614.1834 UTC 0699 great roar and jets of flame that melted a few of the ship's superfluous legs, but no matter as those were soon replaced by platinum-clad EVA service bots employed for that sole purpose.
20150615.0231 UTC 0700 As they traveled, the Emissary briefed the bOTTifactors on the laws and customs of the Kingdom of Idle, told them of the monarch's personality and peculiar tastes, family history and much more; then schooled
20150615.0602 UTC 0700 As they traveled, the Emissary briefed the bOTTifactors on the laws and customs of the Kingdom of Idle, told them of the monarch's personality and peculiar tastes, family history and much more; then schooled
20150615.1004 UTC 0701 them on the geography, history, literature, and language of the land so that by the time they arrived, they could speak like natives.
20150615.1447 UTC 0702 First they were brought to the Royal Guest Apartments, perched atop a rocky hill with broad picture windows and a splendid view of villages on all sides (the bOTTifactors soon noticed that there was no place
20150615.1914 UTC 0703 they could go without being in sight of at least one of these, and in the brief time they were given to settle in, Balthacarius located three Stealth Cams). Presently the King sent a carriage for them, which
20150615.2313 UTC 0704 was drawn by seven Draft Dragons. These great steeds had harnesses and muzzles of Cut Diamond, and were ridden by Ninja Tortoises who themselves wore Adamantine Armour, apparently all to protect against the
20150616.0248 UTC 0705 dragons' breath. The carriage itself was in the form of a Tangled Tesseract, with windows of solid Glass Block, recently Sandblasted. The interior had been decorated quite lavishly in the local Beachball and
20150616.0624 UTC 0706 Banananas style. As soon as they had boarded, the head Ninja Tortoise shouted <*:Run Raptors Run!:> and the great winged lizards did just that.
20150616.1117 UTC 0707 Mrorl and Balthacarius gaped through the carriage windows as the world's surreal and exotic scenery passed by. The Emissary's briefing had been thorough, but nothing could prepare for this. Of course there
20150616.1511 UTC 0708 was much Sand, and Castles, and NewPixBots with Buckets, familiar sights even in their own world. But these were greatly outnumbered by surreal oddities. A team of Factory Ninjas wearing Safety Goggles led by
20150616.1857 UTC 0709 Time Reaper foremen were transferring Harpsichords made out of Glass Chips into an Incubator, where they were engraved with Magic Letters and painted in Panther Glaze; these were then transferred by Badgers
20150616.2253 UTC 0710 into a Stained Glass Launcher, as another team prepared to catch each in a Safety Net. Stickbot ranchers kept Glass Goats, Dragon Hatchlings, and Kitties Galore, in fields penned in by Seaish Glass Chips;
20150617.0226 UTC 0711 aviaries were filled with Thunderbirds, exotic *Anisoptera*, Void Starers, and Redundant Raptors. Otherwise normal-looking Grapevines, Mushrooms and Mustard were cultivated in a Hall of Mirrors (to enhance
20150617.0600 UTC 0712 sunlight and avoid Erosion); more exotic crops included Kitnip, 'Shadow Feeder', and Camelflarge.
20150617.1042 UTC 0713 "You know," Mrorl whispered in Balthacarius' ear as they rushed along, "I have a feeling that King Idle isn't going to settle for just any simple C****kie-clicking game. "I mean, if he lives in a world as
20150617.1457 UTC 0714 surreal as this..."
20150617.1517 UTC 0714 surreal as this..."
20150617.1833 UTC 0715 But Balthacarius, unfazed, said nothing. They approached a city: houses flashed by, with walls of Bacon, Cake and Seacoal, lawns graced with Gazebos and Topiary, amid which Surfbots played with Logicat pets.
20150617.2215 UTC 0716 There was a Dragon Forge, a giant ministry building titled <*:Department of Redundancy Department:>, and a titanic monument with the inscription <*:Wisdom of the Ages:>. At last a colossal palace loomed up
20150618.0233 UTC 0717 ahead, a portcullis opened to allow them in, and the carriage careened to a halt in the courtyard.
20150618.1258 UTC 0718 They entered an enormous hall in the shape of a skull perched on two crossed bones, where King Idle a-Waited them. There was a giant Glass Furnace on one side of the hall, a Crystal Flux Turbine on the
20150618.1422 UTC 0719 other; light from these played eerily on the Glass Chips and Flux Crystals piled around them, reflecting off the hall's curved inner walls (which were of hammered silver). The King's behaviour defied his name,
20150618.1837 UTC 0720 for he was not so much "awaiting" as pacing loudly, perhaps from anger or frustration or impatience, or other reasons Mrorl and Balthacarius could not fathom. He glanced at the Glassbots and Fluxbots as they
20150618.2210 UTC 0721 toiled, presumably making something so important the King needed to oversee their work personally. As the bOTTifactors entered he glared at them, speaking intensely and waving his arms, with his sharpest
20150619.0225 UTC 0722 syllables punctuated by gestures so quick they stirred up a breeze.
20150619.0634 UTC 0723 "Welcome, bOTTifactors!" he said, "As you've no doubt learned from Lady Padashii, Minister of Royal Hotdogs, I want you to create for me a newer and better kind of game. I'm not interested, you understand,
20150619.1003 UTC 0724 in any vast grid with a hundred-odd hidden mines, that's a tedious job for bots, not for me. My challenge must be strong and lengthy, but requiring swiftness and versatility, and above all cunning and full of
20150619.1408 UTC 0725 surprises, so that I will have to call upon all my Hotdogger's Art to reach even the midgame scenarios. It must be a highly intelligent game, and it should know more about me than I know of myself, for such is
20150619.1817 UTC 0726 my will!"
20150619.2231 UTC 0727 "Forgive me, Your Highness," said Balthacarius with a careful bow, "but if we do Your Highness' bidding too well, might this not put the royal appetite for Hotdogging in permanent peril?"
20150620.0206 UTC 0728 The King roared with such laughter that a couple Flux Crystals shattered, in bursts of light that temporarily blinded all those present.
20150620.0622 UTC 0729 "Have no fear of that, noble bOTTifactors!" he said with a grim smile. "You are not the first, and I expect you will not be the last. Know that I am just, but most exacting. Too often have your predecessors
20150620.1001 UTC 0730 attempted to deceive me, too often have they posed as distinguished Hotdiggity Engineers, solely to empty the royal treasury and fill their Bags of Moulding with our precious Magic Teeth, Gold or Dragon Eggs,
20150620.1412 UTC 0731 leaving me, in return, with a paltry little canned wiener (the word "*hotdog*" doesn't even belong in the same sentence), some Rush Job that falls apart in the first play-test. Too often has this happened for
20150620.1831 UTC 0732 me not to take precautionary measures. For twelve yips now, any bOTTifactor who fails to meet my demands, who promises more than xe is able to deliver, indeed receives a reward, but is then hurled, reward and
20150620.2207 UTC 0733 all, into our Glass Furnace," (to which the King pointed sharply), "unless he be game enough (excuse the pun) to serve as the Hotdog xemself. In which case, gentlemen, I use the royal Flux Turbine to Digitise
20150621.0201 UTC 0734 xem permanently, whereupon they are uploaded into the royal Servers.
20150621.0603 UTC 0735 "And... and have there been, uh, many such impostors?" asked Mrorl in a weak voice.
20150621.1003 UTC 0736 "Many? That's difficult to say. I know only that no one yet has satisfied me, and the pile of leftover slag in our Mouldy Basement has been mounting. But rest assured, gentlebots, there is room enough still
20150621.1431 UTC 0737 for you!"
20150621.1811 UTC 0738 An e****ish silence followed these dire words, and the two friends couldn't help but look in the direction of the dark and caveish hole behind the furnace, which they had somehow failed to notice earlier.
20150621.2225 UTC 0739 The King resumed his strident pacing, his boots scraping on the floor like the claws of an outraged Shadow Dragon.
20150622.0210 UTC 0740 "But, with Your Highness' permission... that is, we -- we haven't yet drawn up the contract," stammered Mrorl. "Couldn't we have a nopix or two to think it over, weigh carefully what Your Highness has been
20150622.0634 UTC 0741 so molpish as to tell us, and then of course we can decide whether to accept your steakishly treeish offer, or, on the other hand --"
20150622.1013 UTC 0742 "Hahaha, hehehe!" laughed the King like a Buzz Saw, "Or, on the other hand, to go home? I'm afraid not, gentlebots! The moment you set foot on board the *Iqueaxna*, you accepted my offer! -- or did you not
20150622.1439 UTC 0743 see the binding agreement so intricately carved upon the stairs? If every bOTTifactor who came here could leave whenever he pleased, why, I'd have to Wait forever for my molpiest hopes to be realised! No, you
20150622.1803 UTC 0744 must stay and build me a hotdog to hotdog. I give you three hundred nopix, that's twelve and a half dips, and now you may go. Whatever pleasure you desire, in the meantime, is yours. You have but to ask the
20150622.2212 UTC 0745 servantbots I have given you; nothing will be denied. In 300 nopix, then!"
20150623.0240 UTC 0746 "With Your Highness' permission, you can keep the pleasures, but -- well, would it be at all possible for us to have a look at the, uh, Hotdogging trophies Your Highness must have collected as a result, so
20150623.0633 UTC 0747 to speak, of the efforts of our predecessors?"
20150623.1016 UTC 0748 "But of course!" said the King indulgently, and clapped his hands with such force that little Sparkles lit up in several of the Flux Crystals, causing Mrorl to flinch. Six guards approached with vigorous
20150623.1434 UTC 0749 confidence; the breeze they stirred up cooled even more our bOTTifactors' enthusiasm for hotdog-vending. The guards, clad in gold and white gold, conducted them down a corridor that twisted like the gullet of
20150623.1821 UTC 0750 a great Sand Dragon. Finally, to their great relief, it led out into a large, open garden. There, on remarkably well-trimmed lawns, stood the Hotdogging trophies of King Idle.
20150623.2207 UTC 0751 Nearest at hand was a statuette of a Diamond-toothed Raptorcat, nearly cut in two and surrounded by little Facebugs and titled <*:Facebugs II: Panther Rush:>. Another trophy was nearly invisible, except for
20150624.0239 UTC 0752 its plaque: <*:Ninja League: The Fading:>. Another bore the likeness of a Beach Dragon and another Raptorcat (though its teeth were more like those of a Short Saw), which were somehow rendered holographically
20150624.0622 UTC 0753 so that each seemed to pounce as the viewer walked past; this had apparently been awarded to the King for beating a hotdog called <*:Grouchy Dragon, Leaping Panther:>. And there were trophies depicting
20150624.1041 UTC 0754 Credenzas, a Bottle Battle, and a Trilobite with Mirror Scales; one was for a puzzle-based hotdog called *Automation``Optimiser*, and another with an 8-bit pixelated design for a retro hotdog called
20150624.1425 UTC 0755 *Loopin``Looie*. Down this museum of pwnification walked Mrorl and Balthacarius, pale and silent, looking as if they were on their way to a funeral instead of about to start another wowterfallish session of
20150624.1803 UTC 0756 vigorous invention. They came at last to the end of the varbal gallery of Idle's triumphs and stepped back into the Tangled Tesseract carriage, which had been brought around and was Waiting for them at the
20150624.2212 UTC 0757 gate. The team of Draft Dragons that sped them back to the guest apartments seemed far less terrible now. Just as soon as they were alone in their flutterbeewingish workshop, before a table heaped high with
20150625.0223 UTC 0758 the most awesomeful cupcakes they had ever seen, Mrorl broke into a zanclean stream of imprecations; he called Balthacarius "Cueishly Cueish" for accepting the offer of Padashii, thereby bringing hillish
20150625.0634 UTC 0759 misfortune on their heads, when they easily could have sent the ship away and remained on the riverbank watching waterottermolpies. Balthacarius said nothing, Waiting patiently for Mrorl's desperate rage to
20150625.1020 UTC 0760 expend itself, and when it finally did and Mrorl had collapsed into a Sandbag-chair filled with Diamonds and buried his face in his hands, he said:
20150625.1431 UTC 0761 "Well, we'd better get to work."
20150625.1804 UTC 0762 These words did much to revive Mrorl, and the two bOTTifactors immediately began to consider the various possibilities, drawing on their knowledge of the deepest and darkest secrets of the arcane art of
20150625.2219 UTC 0763 Hotdog Vending. First of all, they agreed that victory lay neither in the robustness or length of the hotdog to be built, but entirely in its algorithms, in other words, in a program of inscrutable complexity.
20150626.0205 UTC 0764 "The hotdog must have a truly diabolical plot, a fiendishly frustrating fractal flowchart filled with absolute evil!" they said, and though they had as yet no clear idea of how to bring it about, this
20150626.0631 UTC 0765 observation $ENHANCE$d their spirits considerably. Such was their enthusiasm by the time they began to draft the hotdog's core architecture and screen layout, that they worked all nip, all dip, and through a
20150626.1019 UTC 0766 second nip and dip before taking a break for dinner, i.e. to recharge. And as the batteries were passed about, so sure were they of their success, that they winked and smirked -- but only when the servants
20150626.1406 UTC 0767 were not looking, for they suspected them (and rightly so) of being spies for the King. So the bOTTifactors said nothing of their work, but praised the quality of their <*:Lightning in a Bottle:>, a
20150626.1825 UTC 0768 microprocessor-brewed mulled electrolyte which they had been served in monocrystal sapphire beakers. Only after having their fill, when they had strolled out on the veranda overlooking one village with its
20150626.2209 UTC 0769 white spires and domes catching the last lime-green rays of the setting sun, only then did Mrorl turn to Balthacarius and say:
20150627.0227 UTC 0770 "We haven't outrun the rising Sea yet, you know."
20150627.0604 UTC 0771 "How do you mean?" asked Balthacarius in a cautious whisper.
20150627.1028 UTC 0772 "There's one difficulty. You see, if the King defeats our hotdog, he'll undoubtedly have us melted in that furnace, for we won't have done his bidding. If, on the other hand, the hotdog... You see what I
20150627.1410 UTC 0773 mean?"
20150627.1820 UTC 0774 "If the hotdog remains undefeated?"
20150627.2201 UTC 0775 "No, if the hotdog defeats *him*, dear colleague. If that happens, the King's successor may not let us go so easily."
20150628.0223 UTC 0776 "Death by hotdog -- that *is* pretty e****ish. But you don't think we'd have to answer for that, do you? As a rule, heirs to the throne are only too happy to see it vacated."
20150628.0634 UTC 0777 "True, but this will be his son, and whether the son punishes us out of filial devotion or because he thinks the royal court expects it of him, it'll make little difference as far as we're concerned."
20150628.1009 UTC 0778 "That never occurred to me," muttered Balthacarius. "You're quite right, the prospects are not at all toquish... have you thought of a way out of this dilemma?"
20150628.1400 UTC 0779 "Well, we might make the hotdog metaepisodic. Picture this: the King wins the hotdog, it flashes *Just``a``moment...*, then it starts up again, like a new level, and the King realises it's not over, so he
20150628.1812 UTC 0780 hotdogs some more, wins it again, and so on, until he gets sick and tired of the whole thing."
20150628.2223 UTC 0781 "That he won't like," said Balthacarius after some thought. "And anyway, how would you design such a hotdog?"
20150629.0201 UTC 0782 "Oh, I don't know... We could make it without any fixed goal-achievement graph. The King reaches a goal, seemingly near the e****, and the hotdog rearranges itself, placing the just-won goal somewhere in the
20150629.0606 UTC 0783 middle, or even near the beginning."
20150629.1041 UTC 0784 "How?"
20150629.1410 UTC 0785 "Use a bot."
20150629.1834 UTC 0786 "A Recursivebot? Or perhaps a Metabot?"
20150629.2203 UTC 0787 "Whichever you like."
20150630.0232 UTC 0788 "How do we control it?"
20150630.0613 UTC 0789 "You mean, if the bot gets stuck?" asked Mrorl.
20150630.1025 UTC 0790 "Sure," said Balthacarius. "We can't count on this metabot being able to respond to any and every strategy of the King. Our lives are on the line, after all."
20150630.1405 UTC 0791 "Hmh--"
20150630.1829 UTC 0792 "And don't say we can remote-control it. The King is sure to have us locked up in some basement while the hotdog is in progress, strapped to Inquisitory Chairs of Pelting. Our predecessors were no Cueballs,
20150630.2203 UTC 0793 judging from the titles of those trophies, and look how they ended up. More than one of them, I'm sure, thought of metabots and remote control -- yet it failed. No, we can't expect to maintain communication
20150701.0229 UTC 0794 during the hotdog."
20150701.0611 UTC 0795 "Then why not use the Chronotransponder?" suggested Mrorl. "We could install temporal object generators--"
20150701.1026 UTC 0796 "Chronotransponder indeed!" snorted Balthacarius. "And how are we going to get to it, let alone send it to the aforewhen or afterwhen? Even if you had brought the necessary equipment, I'm sure there are
20150701.1409 UTC 0797 temporochronic stabilising shields around us even now, and certainly will be when it counts! We have to prepare the hotdog to be completely autonomous, and unpredictable even by us."
20150701.1828 UTC 0798 "But how can we manage that, when they watch our every step? You've seen how the servants skulk about, rooting our organised sand, scanning the filesystem and process tables. We'll never be able to put
20150701.2225 UTC 0799 anything into the hotdog that they don't know about!"
20150702.0243 UTC 0800 "Calm down," said the sagacious Balthacarius, looking over his shoulder. "Perhaps we can make the hotdog design itself."
20150702.0637 UTC 0801 They were silent. Nip had fallen and the village lights were flickering on, one by one. Suddenly Mrorl said:
20150702.1008 UTC 0802 "Listen, here's an idea. Surely you've noticed how *surreal* this world is, full of things that make no sense, fitting together in precisely the ways they shouldn't. What if we make the hotdog use all the
20150702.1433 UTC 0803 elements of this world, but fit together differently -- or randomly -- and dynamically rearranging? The hotdog will appear to be the real world, the King's world, full of Woolly Jumpers and Crystal Streams and
20150702.1811 UTC 0804 Glass Spades and Safety Pumpkins and Negators and all the rest, but nothing will fit the way he is accustomed. In short, we'll make his world as surreal to him as it actually is to us!"
20150702.2216 UTC 0805 "Clever. But as soon as he gets wise to what we've done, he'll feed *us* into the Negator! It's him or us, Mrorl, you can't get around it."
20150703.0243 UTC 0806 Again they were silent. Finally Mrorl said:
20150703.0632 UTC 0807 "The only way out of this steambottle, as far as I can see, is to have the hotdog assimilate the King, and then --"
20150703.1009 UTC 0808 "You don't have to say another word. Yes, that's not at all a bad idea... Then for a ransom we -- haven't you noticed, old friend, that the Propbots here have more Spare Tools?" concluded Balthacarius, for
20150703.1425 UTC 0809 just then some servants had arrived to switch on the veranda's beautiful Glassed Lightning lamps. "There's still a problem though," he continued when they were alone again. "Assuming the hotdog can do what you
20150703.1805 UTC 0810 say, how will we be able to negotiate with the hotdogger if we're sitting in a basement ourselves?"
20150703.2210 UTC 0811 "You have a point there," said Mrorl. "We'll have to figure some way for them to send a message... The main thing, however, is the algorithm schema!"
20150704.0226 UTC 0812 "Any child knows that! What's a self-reorganising hotdog without an algorithm schema?"
20150704.0642 UTC 0813 So they rolled up their sleeves and sat down to experiment -- by simulation, that is, by botcastle and casbottle. The algorithmic models of King Idle and the hotdog ran such twisted loops around one another,
20150704.1030 UTC 0814 that the bOTTifactor's minds kept snapping. Furious, the hotdog's goal-directed graph writhed and wriggled in response to the King's choices, formed an infinite regression of subgraphs, which suddenly
20150704.1406 UTC 0815 coalesced into a single linear row, then shattered and reformed itself as a maze of spaghetti, but the King so belabored it with savescums and lag switching that its reorganisations largely cancelled each
20150704.1820 UTC 0816 other out, and in the ensuing confusion the bOTTifactors completely lost track of both King and hotdog. So they took a break, sipped a little more of the fine <*:Lightning in a Bottle:> (served this time in
20150704.2204 UTC 0816 other out, and in the ensuing confusion the bOTTifactors completely lost track of both King and hotdog. So they took a break, sipped a little more of the fine <*:Lightning in a Bottle:> (served this time in
20150705.0226 UTC 0817 antique miniature Glass Chillers), then went back to work and tried it again from the beginning, but this time using [The``Three``Laws``of``OTTics|#p3608464] at Mrorl's suggestion. The King rushed through the
20150705.0608 UTC 0818 hotdog, anticipating all its caveish challenges, mean midgames, and krool konundrums, and never had to backtrack, as the hotdog was not nearly so irrational as the King, who presently smote it so grievously
20150705.1024 UTC 0819 that it almost Refined their organised Sand in the process. The bOTTifactors realised that this approach wouldn't work, as King Idle's culture was even more epsilon than the OTT. Then they revisited the
20150705.1400 UTC 0820 earlier idea of basing all of the hotdog's elements on King Idle's world. With a few more sips from the Glass Chillers, they began anew, and watched tensely as the King progressed through first one, then a
20150705.1836 UTC 0821 second, and finally a third paradigm shift, whereupon the hotdog generalised its parameters and -- wham!! -- the goal-graph flew like mad through Aleph-ε successive transformations, and when at last the hotdog
20150705.2240 UTC 0822 paused and the King was a part of its directed matrix, the bOTTifactors jumped up, danced a jig, laughed and sang as they ended the simulation and deleted all its files, double-overwriting the filesystem with
20150706.0227 UTC 0823 m**stard, much to the amazement of the King's agents monitoring their botcastles via embedded spyware -- embedded in vain, for they were uninitiated into the OTTities of Molpish speech, and consequently had no
20150706.0609 UTC 0824 idea why Mrorl and Balthacarius were now shouting, over and over, <*:"Boom de yada! Hala keipu!":>
20150706.1027 UTC 0825 Well after midnip, the Glass Chillers from which the bOTTifactors had on occasion refreshed themselves in the course of their labours were quietly taken to the headquarters of the Royal Intelligence
20150706.1413 UTC 0826 Ministry, where tiny holographic recording devices, embedded in their base, were switched from *record* mode to *playback*. The analysts listened eagerly, but the first light of mornip found them totally
20150706.2035 UTC 0827 unenlightened and looking drained. One voice, for example, would say:
20150707.0230 UTC 0828 "Well? Has the King bought Château d'If yet?"
20150707.0822 UTC 0829 "No!"
20150707.1407 UTC 0830 "What is his Sand Purifier level? Right! Now -- hold on -- you have to keep Furnace Crossfeed linked to Flying Buckets. Not yours, Cueball, the King's! All right now, ready? Crystal Wind, Double Byte,
20150707.2043 UTC 0831 Favourites Manager! Quick! Switch to Layout ##2 and Check out the Redundakitty!"
20150708.0201 UTC 0832 "Crate Key."
20150708.1024 UTC 0833 "And the hotdog?"
20150708.1836 UTC 0834 "Mutant Tortoise just unlocked Ritual Sacrifice. But look, the King hit Mouthwash!"
20150709.0204 UTC 0835 "Big Teeth, eh? Get out the Raptorish Dragon Keeping Manual, but lock Centenarian Mutant Ninja Tortoise, then throw in a few Blackprint Plans -- good! Now bump the Glass Ceiling level and Schizoblitz --
20150709.1017 UTC 0836 Mrorl, what in ᘝᓄᘈᖉᐣ are you doing? The hotdog, not the King, the hotdog! That's $RELATED$! Treeish! Zanclean!! Now Fly the Flag, activate your Time Dilation, and Let the Cat out of the Bag. Do you have it?
20150709.1827 UTC 0837 "I have it! Balthacarius! Look at the King's Q04B now!"
20150710.0235 UTC 0838 There was a pause, then a burst of wild :azuling:.
20150710.1434 UTC 0839 That same mornip, as all the experts and high officials of the Royal Intelligence Ministry shook their heads, bleary-eyed after a comaless nip, the bOTTifactors requested samples of the local Coal,
20150711.0244 UTC 0840 Lodestones, and many other precious and nonprecious minerals, including all types of Crystals and Sand; then they needed to see Grapevines, Mushrooms, Cress, and a great many other plants, and any bits of
20150711.1410 UTC 0841 molpies and raptors that could be found in the royal museums, such as Spines and Tusks and Dragon Scales; as well as the finest examples of Panther Salve, Ointment, Knitted Beanies, Recycled Diamonds, Flux
20150712.0240 UTC 0842 Capacitors, and all handcrafted and manufactured goods. Then they asked for a great variety of machines with qualified helpers, such as a Space Elevator with Ninja Assistants, and a Glass Blower with integrated
20150712.1428 UTC 0843 Mustard Injector operated by Robotic Shoppers, not to mention a wide assortment of spies -- for so brazen had the bOTTifactors become, that on the triplicate requisition form they wrote, <*:"Also, kindly send
20150713.0216 UTC 0844 Outsiders, R.A.Z.O.R. agents, and intelligence officers of various specialities and backgrounds at the discretion and with the approval of the R.I.M.":> The next dip they asked for local tour guides and cultural
20150713.1400 UTC 0845 experts, to accompany them on field trips. Everything was specified with the utmost precision. They asked to see Dragon Nesting Sites, the twice-miply ritual of Bag Burning, and *Coma``Molpy``Style* performed
20150714.0232 UTC 0846 by Luggagebots. They travelled to see the Crystal Dragon of Magic Mountain, learned the art of Jamming Seaish Glass Blocks into a Robotic Feeder with a Minigun, entered themselves in a Glass Trolling
20150714.1818 UTC 0847 competition, photographed Ch**rpies with Cameras, and witnessed the Mind Glow of Schrödinger's Gingercat. The King scowled when he heard these requests, but ordered them to be carried out to the letter, for he
20150715.1003 UTC 0848 had given his royal word. The bOTTifactors were thus granted all that they wished.
20150716.0214 UTC 0849 "All that they wished" grew more and more outlandish. For instance, in the files of the R.I.M. under code number 48769/27M/B was a copy of a requisition for three War Banners each with its own Carrybot to
20150716.1819 UTC 0850 serve as Flag Bearer, but trained in Ninja Penance, Blitzing, and Precise Placement, carrying a Silver Loyalty Card, with a Ninja Ninja Duck upon its head, and followed by a small herd of nine Riverish Goats
20150717.1003 UTC 0851 -- under "comments" the bOTTifactors had guaranteed the return of all items listed above within twenty-four nopix of delivery and in perfect condition. In another, highly classified archive was an encrypted
20150718.0204 UTC 0852 letter from Balthacarius in which he demanded the immediate provision of (1) Mysterious Maps showing all Dragon Foundries in the area, (2) Potions of Strength, Healing, and Summon Knights Temporal, and (3) a
20150719.0209 UTC 0853 Chequered Flag with the motto <*:Blixtnedslag Förmögenhet, JA!:>. These proved too much for the Decryptor-General: he seemed to go Mad then and there, and had to be taken away for a much-needed rest. During
20150720.0219 UTC 0854 the next three dips the bOTTifactors asked only for Bonemeal, a Magic Mirror, and an Extension Ladder, and after that -- nothing. From then on, they continued their research online, accessing the city's
20150721.0222 UTC 0855 libraries, learning about Mustard Automation, Crystal Memories, the Mould Press and Void Vault, and countless other technologies. They retreated to the guest apartments' basement, hammering away at the hotdog
20150722.0226 UTC 0856 code and singing happy bot-building tunes; at night blue light glowed from their organised sand screens and gave epsilonish shapes to the trees in the garden outside. Mrorl and Balthacarius with their Busy
20150723.0205 UTC 0857 Bot helpers bustled about amid monitors and racks of servers running many millions of simulated hotdog sessions (not out of any need for so much play-testing, but to thwart spyware efforts by polluting the
20150724.0212 UTC 0858 datastream with misleading game runs on hotdogs with intentionally mustarded algorithms). Now and then they saw faces pressed against the glass: the servants, as if out of Idle curiosity, were watching their
20150725.1005 UTC 0859 every move.
20150726.1837 UTC 0860 One evening, when the weary bOTTifactors had finally gone off to coma, the CPU core, mass storage units, leopard and mouse from their primary hotdog server were quickly transported to an R.I.M. engineering
20150728.0218 UTC 0861 facility and reassembled by seventeen of the finest Automata Engineers in the land, plus seven cybernOTTicians imported at great expense from Mrorl and Balthacarius' own land, and three of the galaxy's
20150729.1002 UTC 0862 tournament-champion Hotdoggers. But when it was switched on, the CPU's heatspreader flipped up like a lid, and a Glass Mousepy skittered out, blowing soap bubbles that drifted up and hovered in mid-air,
20150730.1839 UTC 0863 arranging into the words <*:WHAT, DON'T YOU TRUST US ANYMORE?:>, and the leopard turned into a keyboard and pounced on the mousepy, scattering technicians and clipboards everywhere; the Decryptor-General's
20150801.0217 UTC 0864 succesor resigned. Never before in the Kingdom's history had intelligence officers have to be replaced so frequently. The War Banners, the Goats, even the Bonemeal, everything which the bOTTifactors returned
20150803.0219 UTC 0865 was thoroughly examined by spectroscopy, temporochronic analysis, and electron microscope. But they found nothing out of the ordinary, except for a micrometre-long scroll in the Bonemeal which read
20150805.0206 UTC 0866 *JUST``BONEMEAL*, and another in the bowels of each of the first twenty-six goats reading <*:WE CAN'T BELIEVE YOU'RE LOOKING HERE:>, and in the twenty-seventh, <*:THIS WOULD BE A GREAT PLACE TO HIDE YOUR
20150807.0231 UTC 0867 MOBILE:>^{1}.
20150809.0246 UTC 0868 At last the day came when their work was completed. The Royal Game Preserve was the centrepiece of the grandest part of the royal palace complex, which strangely resembled a palace not so much as an IKEA
20150811.0214 UTC 0869 store. In its centre was a server-farm of three hundred botcastles housed inside a huge refrigerator, which had been readied to run the hotdog with complete $REDUNDAN$cy. The King sent a convoy headed by Lady
20150813.0227 UTC 0870 Padashii herself to fetch Mrorl and Balthacarius, who were Waiting when they arrived, having packed a golden master of their completed hotdog plus six $REDUNDANT$ copies in each of three Bags of Folding. With helper-bots and
20150815.0221 UTC 0871 royal staff assistants, all made their way to the Game Preserve. The bOTTifactors emerged from their carriage accompanied by royal guards, and approached the King himself and his royal hotdog specialists,
20150817.0229 UTC 0872 showing appropriate deference and respect. As was the custom, they were met halfway by a Swedish Chef and his two Shopping Assistants. These each took one of the three Bags, unfolded and removed their
20150819.1817 UTC 0873 contents, which then were passed by Bucket Brigade to a Climbbot who shimmied up a Doublepost, and handed to a Flingbot, then flung via Archimedes's Lever towards a Blast Furnace, only to be caught in mid-air
20150822.1009 UTC 0874 by an Achronal Dragon who then landed delicately in front of the fridge-like serverfarm and handed the hotdog to a Standardbot, which turned and looked expectantly at the bOTTifactors for their final word.
20150825.0205 UTC 0875 "You can take it now!" exclaimed Mrorl and Balthacarius together, whereupon the bot actually loaded the game into the organised sand.
20150829.0203 UTC 0876 The bOTTifactors, having now committed themselves, whatever their fate, were met by Lord Pikulaar, Master of Royal Hodoggery, who approached them with a security escort and informed them they were to come to
20150902.0214 UTC 0877 the Hotdiggity Waiting Facility. They were required to leave all possessions behind, and were put into a massive Locked Crate, then transported down to the most elegantly decorated pelting chamber either of
20150902.0214 UTC 0877 the Hotdiggity Waiting Facility. They were required to leave all possessions behind, and were put into a massive Locked Crate, then transported down to the most elegantly decorated pelting chamber either of
20150902.0214 UTC 0877 the Hotdiggity Waiting Facility. They were required to leave all possessions behind, and were put into a massive Locked Crate, then transported down to the most elegantly decorated pelting chamber either of
20150906.0222 UTC 0878 them had yet seen. During this process they grinned and giggled, and again hummed their favourite bot-building songs, which was quite disarming to the Inquisitorobots who manned the Facility and were accustomed
20150910.0207 UTC 0879 to hosting more sullen "guests".
20150914.0207 UTC 0880 Meanwhile, the King suited up to enter the Hotdog Simulation Chamber, where he would float in mid-air, immersed fully in Hotdiggity Reality. His helmet, with Super Visor and integrated Camera, allowed his assistants to see
20150914.0207 UTC 0880 Meanwhile, the King suited up to enter the Hotdog Simulation Chamber, where he would float in mid-air, immersed fully in Hotdiggity Reality. His helmet, with Super Visor and integrated Camera, allowed his assistants to see
20150918.0219 UTC 0881 everything that was going on, and offer Free Advice. Silver trumpets announced the beginning of the game as the King loaded the starting screen. Two people sat on a beach in black and white, whilst many
20150922.0241 UTC 0882 rectangles of various sizes, all containing tiny bits of text, popped into view around them, and a clutch of notifications silently floated up: <@:LOADING... / BADGE EARNED: NOTIFIED / BADGE EARNED: REDUNDANT / BADGE
20150926.0206 UTC 0883 EARNED: REDUNDANT REDUNDANCY / ...:> and so on. Several of these flew up and faded too quickly for the King to take heed. Then the hotdog just sat there, Waiting. Everyone could see
20151001.1038 UTC 0884 it clearly, but it wasn't clear at all. With a flick of his wrist the King began to click on everything in sight. The hotdog blinked, little rectangles appearing and disappearing in punctuated flurries.
20151006.1823 UTC 0885 Eventually the King found the Newpix itself and a tiny satisfying *#+1#* flitted up. "Oho! A simple clicking game with boosts! These bOTTifactors will be in the furnace before noon!" and the King continued
20151012.0234 UTC 0886 Clicking, and the hotdog responded -- but less and less readily.
20151017.1002 UTC 0887 "H'm", thought the King. "Apparently the hotdog has the same type of exponential clicks-per-reward deferral system as -- what was the name again? -- Plugsal... -- that Plugsaldai's game used. Yes, I dealt
20151022.1808 UTC 0888 with xem myself for that m**stardish trick... Well, we'll just Wait for the $[REDACTED]$." Thinking himself only a little bit clever for knowing what these were (and for employing expert spies), Idle repurposed his clicks and Waited. Patrolling
20151028.0221 UTC 0889 the rows and columns of little boxes, the King caught one, two, three, ... and eventually seven redundakitties and was soon using Time Travel to get Temporal NewPixBots.
20151105.0241 UTC 0890 The hotdog prepared its next surprise. The King watched the Timer and prepared for the ONG. Those who saw what happened next said later they were sure they had taken leave of their senses, for as the
20151105.0241 UTC 0890 The hotdog prepared its next surprise. The King watched the Timer and prepared for the ONG. Those who saw what happened next said later they were sure they had taken leave of their senses, for as the
20151113.0209 UTC 0891 NewPixBots got ready to activate, they underwent a lightning transformation. In a nanosecond, their little metal eyes turned red, and they began to devour castles. The King was completely unprepared for this.
20151121.0223 UTC 0892 Above the Newpix appeared the words, @JUDGMENT``DIP@. The King panicked, and closed the window -- and in a trice, the Hotdog closed the King -- that is to say, he simply vanished, without so much as a royal puff of smoke. A new
20151129.0232 UTC 0893 message drifted up: <@:YOU ACCIDENTALLY SLIP THROUGH THE TEMPORAL RIFT!:>. Assistants rushed into the Simulation Chamber and looked at the King's full-immersion floatation suit, now empty, and stared at the hotdog's 3D projections. From their surveillance botcastles, R.I.M. agents accessed the organised sand
20151209.1823 UTC 0894 and attempted to recover the game. Most attempts redirected to a yt[molpyroll|GU9RL6D23jk]. One tried a full Molpy Down, and another simply Waited until the evil Bots had done their worst. Somehow they managed to forget about Redundakitties or Time Travel, and one
20151220.1013 UTC 0895 accidentally saved xer game over the other. Then several divisions of Hotdog Engineers were ordered to sift through each of the three hundred $REDUNDANT$ servers for any trace of the King, while the Western
20151220.1013 UTC 0895 accidentally saved xer game over the other. Then several divisions of Hotdog Engineers were ordered to sift through each of the three hundred $REDUNDANT$ servers for any trace of the King, while the Western
20151231.0234 UTC 0896 Paradox troops employed Vacuum Cleaners and Sieves to physically search the entire Game Preserve, as if that would help. But no sign of the King, either physical or digital, was found by anyone, except for a medium skilled in Mysterious Representations, who said xe "sensed a Royal presence".
20151231.0234 UTC 0896 Paradox troops employed Vacuum Cleaners and Sieves to physically search the entire Game Preserve, as if that
20151231.0234 UTC 0896 Paradox troops employed Vacuum Cleaners and Sieves to physically search the entire Game Preserve, as if that
20151231.0234 UTC 0896 Paradox troops employed Vacuum Cleaners and Sieves to physically search the entire Game Preserve, as if that
20151231.0234 UTC 0896 Paradox troops employed Vacuum Cleaners and Sieves to physically search the entire Game Preserve, as if that would help. But no sign of the King, either physical or digital, was found by anyone, except for a medium skilled in Mysterious Representations, who said xe "sensed a Royal presence".
20160110.1841 UTC 0897 The Grand Commisioner of Inquisitorobots found the prisoners at the Hotdiggity Waiting Facility and addressed them:
20160110.1841 UTC 0897 The Grand Commisioner of Inquisitorobots found the prisoners at the Hotdiggity Waiting Facility and addressed them:
20160121.1008 UTC 0898 "Whereas y'all have falsely and deceptively conspired against the very Existence of the Crown and His Majesty King Idle, and indeed accelerated his demise, evidently to render him an Ex-King, so y'all shall
20160121.1008 UTC 0898 "Whereas y'all have falsely and deceptively conspired against the very Existence of the Crown and His Majes
20160121.1008 UTC 0898 "Whereas y'all have falsely and deceptively conspired against the very Existence of the Crown and His Majesty King Idle, and indeed accelerated his demise, evidently to render him an Ex-King, so y'all shall
20160201.0224 UTC 0899 be ritually Flung, Trebuchet-like, into the Royal Glass Furnace, and your recycled remains shall evermore be a reminder to all of the Afterwhen who would contemplate Regicide by Hotdog. Since there are two of
20160217.0245 UTC 0900 you, we shall use Furnace Multitasking. <*:So Molp It Be:>."
20160304.0232 UTC 0901 "Do we have any last words?" asked Mrorl. "You see, we were--"
20160320.0212 UTC 0902 Just then, the Facility guards made way for a Smallbot messenger, who boldly addressed the Grand Commisioner, "Riverish though I may be, I come from the King" and handed him a leopad. When he did so, the
20160320.0212 UTC 0902 Just then, the Facility guards made way for a Smallbot messenger, who boldly addressed the Grand Commisioner, "Riverish though I may be, I come from the King" and handed him a leopad. When he did so, the
20160405.0204 UTC 0903 screen glowed a sapphire colour, and the Smallbot disintegrated into a pile of Black Powder. From the screen rose a 2.5-D holographic image of the King, who spoke in the unmistakably royal style, telling that His Majesty was forced to negotiate with the bOTTifactors,
20160421.0239 UTC 0904 for they had used means both algorithmic, epsilonish, and OTTish, and furthermore had co-opted the Royal customs of Redunception and Fractal Fractals, to make him a captive of the Hotdog, and indeed Royally Nerdsniped, for this Hotdog had the novel feature of allowing,
20160507.0231 UTC 0905 yea *inviting* the player to dive right into its own code and make changes for xemself -- something ironically called "Free and Open Source" -- and whilst the King was so indisposed, they, the bOTTifactors, would list their demands, all of which the Grand Commisioner had better meet,
20160523.0201 UTC 0906 if he wished ever to see his Hotdogging Sovereign back in the physical world, signed: "Idle herewith digtally signs this Royal Missive by his SHA-256, We are Immersed, Digitised, and Suspended in a Hotdog Matrix of unknown dimension and location,
20160608.0221 UTC 0907 by one Sandcastle Builder in a thousand and eleven little rectangles personified."
20160608.0221 UTC 0907 by one Sandcastle Builder in a thousand and eleven little rectangles personified."
20160629.1001 UTC 0908 There arose a most unmolpish clamor, with guards and Inquisitorbots and others who had followed the little messenger all shouting and asking what this all meant, and what were the demands, to which Mrorl
20160720.1831 UTC 0909 said only, "These magnets, if you please."
20160811.0429 UTC 0910 The Grand Commisioner of Inquisitorobots gave the order, and the Sergeant-At-Arms depowered the superconducting magnets, freeing Mrorl and Balthacarius from their gold-and-platinum comfy chairs, after which
20160811.0429 UTC 0910 The Grand Commisioner of Inquisitorobots gave the order, and the Sergeant-At-Arms depowered the superconducting magnets, freeing Mrorl and Balthacarius from their gold-and-platinum comfy chairs, after which
20160811.0429 UTC 0910 The Grand Commisioner of Inquisitorobots gave the order, and the Sergeant-At-Arms depowered the superconducting magnets, freeing Mrorl and Balthacarius from their gold-and-platinum comfy chairs, after which
20160811.0429 UTC 0910 The Grand Commisioner of Inquisitorobots gave the order, and the Sergeant-At-Arms depowered the superconducting magnets, freeing Mrorl and Balthacarius from their gold-and-platinum comfy chairs, after which
20160901.1032 UTC 0911 Mrorl said:
20160901.1032 UTC 0911 Mrorl said:
20160922.1834 UTC 0912 "Accompanied by our tools and helperbots, we shall return to the Guest Apartments to watch the evening fireworks."
20160922.1834 UTC 0912 "Accompanied by our tools and helperbots, we shall return to the Guest Apartments to watch the evening fireworks."
20161014.0240 UTC 0913 The royal court, of course, was Furiously Doodling, as the evening's fireworks had been prepared for the celebration of the King's *victory*, not of his absence, but they had to comply. Only after breakfast the
20161115.0610 UTC 0914 next mornip did the bOTTifactors deign to grant an audience, and present their demands, worked out the previous wip and saved for the occasion:
20161217.0203 UTC 0915 First, a ship of the finest design, lavishly appointed and certified for interstellar service, and bearing the callsign *GEMG*, shall be provided to carry the bOTTifactors home.
20161217.0203 UTC 0915 First, a ship of the finest design, lavishly appointed and certified for interstellar service, and bearing the callsign *GEMG*, shall be provided to carry the bOTTifactors home.
20161217.0203 UTC 0915 First, a ship of the finest design, lavishly appointed and certified for interstellar service, and bearing the callsign *GEMG*, shall be provided to carry the bOTTifactors home.
20161223.2347 UTC 0916 Second, That said ship shall be laden with cargo as here specified: (where there followed a detailed inventory of anything they had taken a liking to over the past dips)
20161224.0246 UTC 0917 Third, Until such Time as said ship shall be in readiness for departure, fully loaded as specified and delivered to the bOTTifactors with a full orchestra for send-off, an awards presentation with cheering
20161224.0640 UTC 0918 crowds -- until then, no King.
20161224.1025 UTC 0919 Fourth, That a formal expression of unending wowterfullness shall be rendered as a pair of gold medallions, addressed to Their Most Awefulsome and OTTish bOTTifcators Mrorl and Balthacarius, Unexcelled
20161224.1417 UTC 0920 Throughout the Universe, and moreover it shall be accompanied by a full account of their victory, and duly signed and notarised by every official in the land, and then personally brought on board said ship by
20161224.1830 UTC 0921 none other than Lady Padashii, Minister of Royal Hotdogs, the very Emissary who lured their Most Molpish and Awefulsome bOTTifactors to this planet, hoping to work their most m**stardy and e****ish death
20161224.2201 UTC 0922 thereby.
20161225.0201 UTC 0923 Fifth, That the aforesaid Lady Padashii shall accompany them on their return journey, as insurance against any double-sniping, reverse-bOTTifiaction, temporal shenanigans, or the like. On board she shall occupy a comfy chair not
20161225.0624 UTC 0924 unlike that used to restrain the great bOTTifactors, and shall receive a daily allowance of stale chocolate, which chocolate shall be conveyed by a mode of delivery to be determined later, at Balthacarius' discretion.
20161225.1018 UTC 0925 Sixth and lastly, The King need not crave forgiveness of Their Most Molpish and Baobabby bOTTifactors on bended knee, since he is evidently not worthy.
20161225.1416 UTC 0926 In Witness Whereof, the parties shall hereunto set their hands and seals, &&c. and so on. By: Mrorl and Balthacarius, bOTTifactors; the Grand Commisioner of Inquisitorobots, the Minister of Royal
20161225.1829 UTC 0927 Intelligence, the Chief of Hotdog Engineers, the Master of Royal Hodoggery, the Grand Warden of the Royal Game Preserve, the Decryptor-General, and the Royal Ch**rping Ninja Tortoise Carriage Drivers' Union
20161225.2204 UTC 0928 Leader.
20161226.0234 UTC 0929 The ministers turned blue, but what choice had they? Work on the ship was begun immediately, which the bOTTifactors showed up to supervise personally. Nothing quite suited them: This Discovery Detector
20161226.0631 UTC 0930 should be where the Lightning Rod is, and vice versa; this hold should be equipped with Stretchable Block Storage; the exterior detailing should be Fireproof, and applied personally by a Dragon Queen. In Time
20161226.1020 UTC 0931 the ship was ready, and the requested cargo loaded. Meanwhile most of the Royal Intelligence Ministry, along with the military and the local police, were secretly running all about the kingdom, searching and
20161226.1410 UTC 0932 inspecting everything they could think of, much to the amusement of Mrorl and Balthacarius, who passed the time explaining to the fearful but fascinated Idlean citizens how it all happened, how they had
20161226.1800 UTC 0933 discarded one hotdog design after another, until they hit on the perfect combination, custom-tailored for King Idle himself, patents applied for. Not knowing where to put the game logic, they had simply made
20161226.2230 UTC 0934 nothing at all logical, so that the Flux Turbine might be a level-up for the Bone Clicker and the Soul Drain might unlock the <*:Blixtnedslag Kattungar, JA!:> -- or vice-versa -- or both -- or neither; and
20161227.0206 UTC 0935 nomolpy would be the wiser because none, even Mrorl and Balthacarius themselves, would know which was the case. As far as the details went, they had only to find the proper universe from which to draw game
20161227.0635 UTC 0936 elements. King Idle, being excessively self-interested, seldom paid much attention to reality, that is to say, the outside world; and despite his intense pride at having defeated many hotdogs, had never encountered one based on the real world -- this world. Thus the perfect combination --
20161227.1023 UTC 0937 a game that would instantly appeal to its audience, presenting the illusion of familiarlty, and yet completely baffle and confuse, whilst being inconceivably addictive. The King was sucked in almost as quickly as permitted by the laws of gravity and quantum
20161227.1406 UTC 0938 mechanics. The loving subjects of King Idle, listening to all of this, did not know whether to despise the bOTTifactors or praise their excessive genius.
20161227.1838 UTC 0939 Now the *GEMG* spaceship was ready for takeoff. Mrorl, as stipulated in the agreement, went through the King's private chambers with a large Fractal Bag of Holding and calmly pinched anything he liked the
20161227.2327 UTC 0876 The bOTTifactors, having now committed themselves, whatever their fate, were met by Lord Pikulaar, Master of Royal Hotdoggery, who approached them with a security escort and informed them they were to come to
20161228.0242 UTC 0927 Intelligence, the Chief of Hotdog Engineers, the Master of Royal Hotdoggery, the Grand Warden of the Royal Game Preserve, the Decryptor-General, Hotdiggity! Ltd., and the Royal Ch**rping Ninja Tortoise
20161228.0636 UTC 0928 Carriage Drivers' Union Leader.
20161228.1015 UTC 0940 looks of. Then the Tangled Tesseract carriage arrived to take the bOTTifactors to the spaceport, where the send-off and awards presentation were conducted, in front of cheering crowds and with a full
20161228.1448 UTC 0941 orchestra. A hush fell over the crowd as Balthacarius held up a small transmitter, pointed it back towards the city, and pressed a little button. There was a distant rumble, and soon the crowd murmured, then
20161228.1833 UTC 0942 erupted in cacophony, as the news arrived (first by instant messaging, then on the large screen set up for the send-off ceremony) that there had been a disturbance in the Royal Game
20161228.2215 UTC 0943 Preserve: the fridge-like serverfarm had risen up on hundreds of small wheels, and was now rolling down the streets of the city. It stopped in the middle of the central square, began to shimmer, then shudder,
20161229.0208 UTC 0944 then fall apart in stages from the outside in -- first walls, then cooling equipment and individual racks, and eventually the whole thing fell into a pile of dust, with a dusty and slightly dazzled King Idle
20161229.0635 UTC 0945 standing in the middle. Sandcastle Builder had Molpied Down for the final time, and the Idleans had their King.
20161229.1009 UTC 0946 "That should put your hotdogs into perspective," said Mrorl, and no one knew whether he meant Sandcastle Builder itself, or the King's pursuit of Hotdiggity sport. In either case, the self-paradoxical, meta-contradictory,
20161229.1443 UTC 0947 algorithm of illogic had done its job well.
20161229.1834 UTC 0948 "And now," Mrorl concluded, "good Lady Padashii, if you will take your seat in the comfy chair we have provided, we can be on our way..."
20161229.2220 UTC 0949 ----
20161230.0200 UTC 0950 <*:<$:The author wishes to thank @@Eternal``Density and all Sandcastle Builder contributors
20161230.0645 UTC 0951 for filling that hotdog with such depth and complexity, barely half of which is mentioned in this tale.:>:>
20161230.1037 UTC 0952 ----
20161230.1426 UTC 0953 #Footnotes#
20161230.1826 UTC 0954 1. See [xkcd``207|http://xkcd.com/207], 2^{nd} panel.
20161230.2219 UTC 0326 vengeance. Mrorl told this story so often and at such great length, elaborating on his glorious achievement (and never failing, if so asked, to call upon Balthacarius himself as a witness), that it reached the ears of the Royal Courts in both Tencrivar *and* Zubycal, and was even known to the provincial
20161231.0213 UTC 0349 burst once forth from all places, drawn from precisely pre-programmed palettes. This earned the bOTTifactors the Royal blessing, and all-important funding. They built a great &TARDIS& (for
20161231.0634 UTC 0646 was still being called to appear in Royal Courts, and on chat shows broadcast across ever greater distances, as word of his creation spread; he made these appearances by holographic transmission. On a trip out to his garden-shed Mrorl met an ambush and was beaten. As he lay in hospital to recover, picket lines formed around all exits,
20161231.1044 UTC 0727 "Forgive me, Your Highness," said Balthacarius with a careful bow, "but if we do Your Highness' bidding too well, might this not put the Royal appetite for Hotdogging in permanent peril?"
20161231.1429 UTC 0730 attempted to deceive me, too often have they posed as distinguished Hotdiggity Engineers, solely to empty the Royal treasury and fill their Bags of Moulding with our precious Magic Teeth, Gold or Dragon Eggs,
20161231.1826 UTC 0733 all, into our Glass Furnace," (to which the King pointed sharply), "unless he be game enough (excuse the pun) to serve as the Hotdog xemself. In which case, gentlemen, I use the Royal Flux Turbine to Digitise
20161231.2231 UTC 0734 xem permanently, whereupon they are uploaded into the Royal Servers.
20170101.0216 UTC 0777 "True, but this will be his son, and whether the son punishes us out of filial devotion or because he thinks the Royal Court expects it of him, it'll make little difference as far as we're concerned."
20170101.0637 UTC 0821 second, and finally a third paradigm shift, whereupon the hotdog generalised its parameters and -- wham!! -- the goal-graph flew like mad through Aleph-v{ε} successive transformations, and when at last the hotdog
20170101.1018 UTC 0841 molpies and raptors that could be found in the Royal Museums, such as Spines and Tusks and Dragon Scales; as well as the finest examples of Panther Salve, Ointment, Knitted Beanies, Recycled Diamonds, Flux
20170101.1441 UTC 0848 had given his Royal word. The bOTTifactors were thus granted all that they wished.
20170101.1818 UTC 0868 At last the day came when their work was completed. The Royal Game Preserve was the centrepiece of the grandest part of the Royal Palace complex, which strangely resembled a palace not so much as an IKEA
20170101.2208 UTC 0871 Royal staff assistants, all made their way to the Game Preserve. The bOTTifactors emerged from their carriage accompanied by Royal guards, and approached the King himself and his Royal Hotdog Specialists,
20170101.2208 UTC 0871 Royal staff assistants, all made their way to the Game Preserve. The bOTTifactors emerged from their carriage accompanied by Royal guards, and approached the King himself and his Royal Hotdog Specialists,
20170102.0238 UTC 0892 Above the Newpix appeared the words, @JUDGMENT``DIP@. The King panicked, and closed the window -- and in a trice, the Hotdog closed the King -- that is to say, he simply vanished, without so much as a Royal puff of smoke. A new
20170102.0626 UTC 0898 "Whereas all y'all have falsely and deceptively conspired against the very Existence of the Crown and His Majesty King Idle, and indeed accelerated his demise, evidently to render him an Ex-King, so all y'all shall
20170102.1004 UTC 0675 bOTTifactors travelled to a suitable spot, where there were plenty of bright stars and no occupied planets. Then, with the aid of many bots, temporal vortices and cleverly cross-wired Object Generators,
20170102.1446 UTC 0736 "Many? That's difficult to say. Does Aleph One qualify as "*many*"? I know only that no one yet has satisfied me, and the pile of leftover slag in our Mouldy Basement has been mounting. But rest assured,
20170102.1824 UTC 0737 gentlebots, there is room enough still for you!"
20170103.0215 UTC 0821 second, and finally a third paradigm shift, whereupon the hotdog generalised its parameters and -- wham!! -- the goal-graph flew like mad through Alephv{ε} successive transformations, and when at last the hotdog
20170103.0605 UTC 0850 serve as Flag Bearer, but trained in Ninja Penance, Blitzing, and Precise Placement, carrying a Silver Loyalty Card, with a Ninja Ninja Duck upon its head, each followed by a small herd of nine Riverish Goats
20170103.1002 UTC 0898 "Whereas all y'all have falsely and deceptively conspired against the very Existence of the Crown and His Majesty King Idle, and indeed accelerated his demise, evidently to render him an Ex-King, so y'all shall
20170103.1430 UTC 0903 screen glowed a sapphire colour, and the Smallbot disintegrated into a pile of Black Powder. From the screen rose a 2.5-D holographic image of the King, who spoke in the unmistakably Royal style, telling that His Majesty was forced to negotiate with the bOTTifactors,
20170103.1821 UTC 0864 successor resigned. Never before in the Kingdom's history had intelligence officers needed to be replaced so frequently. The War Banners, the Goats, even the Bonemeal, everything which the bOTTifactors returned
20170103.2205 UTC 0874 by an Achronal Dragon who then landed delicately in front of the fridge-like serverfarm and presented the hotdog to a Standardbot, which turned and looked expectantly at the bOTTifactors for their final word.
20170104.0237 UTC 0889 the rows and columns of little boxes, the King caught one, two, three, ... and eventually seven Redundakitties and was soon using Time Travel to get Temporal NewPixBots.
20170104.0638 UTC 0913 The Royal Court, of course, was Furiously Doodling, as the evening's fireworks had been prepared for the celebration of the King's *victory*, not of his absence, but they had to comply. Only after breakfast the
20170104.1013 UTC 0944 then fall apart in stages from the outside in -- first walls, then cooling equipment and individual racks, and eventually the whole thing fell into a pile of Bonemeal, with a dusty and slightly dazzled King Idle
20170104.1430 UTC 0955 ----
20170104.1827 UTC 0956 (- The Third Journey#& -)
20170104.2209 UTC 0957 (- - #or# - -)
20170105.0215 UTC 0958 (- &The Dragons of OTTifiability& -)
20170105.0646 UTC 0959 =A=t university Mrorl and Balthacarius had studied with the great Chanardan of UNGdor, who by that time had created a new field of study and published 27 works on the General Theory of OTTifiable Dragons.
20170105.1041 UTC 0960 Many believe that dragons don't exist. But while this simplistic formulation may satisfy the Outsider, it does not suffice for the OTTish mind. The School of Scale-able Scalar Surreality is in fact
20170105.1404 UTC 0961 entirely unconcerned with what does or does not exist. Indeed, existence has been demonstrated and refuted so many times on the OTT that there is no need to discuss it any further here. The brilliant Chanardan,
20170105.1839 UTC 0962 attacking the subject analytically, discovered three distinct kinds of dragon:
20170105.2226 UTC 0963 * The Dragons of Inquisition, who Crave Cauldrons of Chocolate;
20170106.0217 UTC 0964 * The Dragons of Temporal Insubtransmodulation (Incorporated);
20170106.0614 UTC 0965 * The Dragons of Cryptology, frequently mistaken for the common Night Fury or Stormdragon.
20170106.1002 UTC 0966 They all were, one might say, unreal, but each escaped reality in a completely different way. And then there were the many Dragons of the Distant Aforewhen, the ever-lurking Pundragons, and the elusive Double Dragonpost, the latter being
20170106.1429 UTC 0967 of the most interest because of the well-known dracological paradox: when two dragons ninjapost one another, the product is doubly OTTified, resembling a self-goating decree (provided that at least one antepengoat has been sacrificed to the
20170106.1816 UTC 0968 Pope). Bitter controversy raged among expert observers on the question of whether, as half of them claimed, these posts appeared from the mome of a Newpage down or, as the other half maintained, from the goat up. Mrorl and Balthacarius made
20170106.2208 UTC 0969 a great contribution by showing the error of both positions. They were the first to apply probability theory to this question and, in so doing, created the field of statistical draconics, which says that dragons are temporodynamically
20170107.0201 UTC 0970 impossible only in the probabilistic sense, as are all the mysteries of Time. Using the field equations of general OTTibility, the two bOTTifactors obtained the coefficients of pixelation, retronymity, metaconfectionary, etc. They found that
20170107.0627 UTC 0971 for the spontaneous pastposting of the everyday mythological dragon one might have to wait a good fourteen point three quinquadragintaseptingentillion yips, but for an OTTish dragon, a nopix or two could suffice, provided the draconic
20170107.1005 UTC 0972 fields were suitably aligned with the ONGs in the dragon's Time zone. In other words, Dragons would have remained a mythological curiosity had it not been for needle-pulled things. To quanitfy this relationship, Mrorl first hypothesised a
20170107.1438 UTC 0973 new element (which he dubbed *Draconium*), to be located right below Needlepulledthingium in the periodic table, then began trying to synthesise it first in his Basement^{1}, then later at the newly-chartered Dracogenic Proving Grounds on
20170107.1816 UTC 0974 Frelornados, a remote island granted to Molpiversity Newpixia. To this dip those unfamiliar with the General Theory of Epsilonity ask why Mrorl hypothesised Draconium first, and not *Brassinapium* or *Cerebrogastropodium* or
20170107.2201 UTC 0975 *dvi-Epsilonium*. The answer is that dragons are more OTTish than brainslugs or mustard, though they do not necessarily post with any more frequency or regularity. True, Mrorl may have found the synthesis of *Brassinapium* from common
20170108.0220 UTC 0976 mustard to be equally discouraging (as we now know such to be impossible), but it would have been far less dangerous -- given the wide belief that any materialised dragon would have immediately nerdsniped him. Fortunately Balthacarius was
20170108.0612 UTC 0977 nearby with specially modified molpimeters, ready to capture or subdue any dracomolp that might appear. A number of scholars subsequently repeated the experiments, both in reality and in many simulated OTTiverses, and all fruitless. Only
20170108.2025 UTC 0978 then did it become clear that these beasts enjoy an existence entirely different from that of ordinary molpies and raptors; for OTT dragons are distinguished by xeir probability of posting rather than xeir appearance in actuality, though
20170108.2246 UTC 0979 granted, xeir actuality is much more likely once xey have actually made a firstpost. Suppose, for example, one organises a "hunt" for such a dragon: Summons xem, PMs xem, posts inviting cakes and poetry. The OTTers Wait, only to receive a
20170109.0219 UTC 0980 Chronotransmission from the aforewhen or the afterwhen, written in an unmistakable style: the dragon, seeing xemself Basemented, has slipped from ordinary to Temporal spaaace. An extremely elusive and cryptic molpy, xe does this
20170109.0638 UTC 0981 instinctively, of course. Now, Outsiders and Revealers the Recent will occasionally demand that you show them this Temporal spaaace of yours, apparently unaware that ONGs, whose existence nomolpy in their right mind would question, also
20170109.1021 UTC 0982 move exclusively in Temporal spaaace, their ONGings and UNGings fully dependent on Temporality. Though it is easier not to believe in ONGs than in dragons: ONGs, at least taken singly, won't try to nerdsnipe the entire thread.
20170109.1415 UTC 0983 A colleague of Mrorl, one Tanleemanyub Tchan, was the first to notice a dragon, detecting the retro-poping of a goat post, the probability of which was measured -- OTTishly -- in units of molpon per dracometer, and he even managed to
20170109.1810 UTC 0984 agitate xim, for which he was nearly boiled in chocolate. Tchan was celebrated in the growing field of dracomolpology; but of what concern was this to the common OTTers, who were ever-increasingly confused by dragons filling the Thread with
20170109.2206 UTC 0985 xeir puzzles, 3-D renderings, cryptic stories, and calls to Inquisition by Chocolate, and at Times even demanding tribute in the form of a herd of goats and/or a truckload of virgins? What did it concern the OTTers that Mrorl's dragons,
20170110.0227 UTC 0986 retroparadoxical hence metatemporal, were behaving exactly according to theory though contrary to all posting customs, or that his theory could predict the inscrutability of xeir posts that intruigued and yet confused them? It is not
20170110.0605 UTC 0987 surprising then that the OTT in general, instead of appreciating the value of Mrorl's decological insights, held it much against him. A group of OTTers thoroughly experienced in matters of forum etiquette waylaid the famous bOTTifactor and
20170110.1007 UTC 0988 gave him a thorough pelting. Not that this deterred him and his friend Balthacarius from further experimentation, which showed that the extent of a dragon's pastposting depends mainly on xes whim, though also on xes clarity of rendering,
20170110.1445 UTC 0989 and that the only sure cause of a dragon's permanent basementing would be for its pixelation to be reduced to zero colours or fewer. All this research took a great many Newpages and much Time; all the while the OTT-dragons that had revealed
20170110.1938 UTC 0990 xemselves were posting wild, OTTifying a variety of memes, crafting tales, and posting puzzles. This led Balthacarius to publish a seaish and treeish essay, in several posts, entitled <*:"Cryptopixelated Unbasementing of OTTological
20170110.2244 UTC 0991 Dracomolps, in the Special Case of Blitzposting from the Future into the Past.":> This article, and in particular its applicability to themed Hotdog-vending, created a sensation in the hotdiggity world, where there was still talk of the
20170111.0232 UTC 0992 amazing polynerdsniping hotdog that had been used by the intrepid bOTTifactors against King Idle to avenge the deaths of their fellow vendors. But far greater was the sensation caused by the news that a certain bOTTifactor known as Tornater
20170111.0619 UTC 0993 the Bunliubnite was apparently making the OTT's dragons go into and out of the Basement at will. Whenever the Thread got slow and e****ishness seemed imminent, this Tornater would post, claiming to have blitzed through the Past and PMd a
20170111.1011 UTC 0994 dragon or two, answer the decree of the current page with a summary of old dracoposts -- from Newpages where no one had recalled seeing xem before -- and then baobabishly a long-quiet dragon would reveal xemself. Nomolpy understood quite
20170111.1401 UTC 0995 how Tornater did this, since he was never seen in person nor anyplace online apart from the OTT. True, the guarantee he offered for dragon-unbasementing -- *dragerisis* -- was only probabilistic; though one ruler did pay him by similar
20170111.1840 UTC 0996 means, that is, in digital currency that was only statistically real. From that point on he made sure to use Aqua Regula to test the temporal stability of any payment. One molpish afternoon Mrorl and Balthacarius met to discuss their
20170111.2217 UTC 0997 mysterious new colleague:
20170112.0208 UTC 0998 "Have you heard about this Tornater?" asked Mrorl.
20170112.0605 UTC 0999 "Yes."
20170112.1041 UTC 1000 "Well, what do you think?"
20170112.1441 UTC 1001 "Very epsilon. And E**dish."
20170112.1829 UTC 1002 "I agree. How do you suppose he does it?"
20170112.2210 UTC 1003 "With a temporal modulator."
20170113.0226 UTC 1004 "Probabilistic time-travel?"
20170113.0613 UTC 1005 "Or communication, yes."
20170113.1007 UTC 1006 "Or an orthomolpidraconic oscillator."
20170113.1444 UTC 1007 "You mean, a dracoprojector?"
20170113.1825 UTC 1008 "Yes."
20170113.2217 UTC 1009 "Ah."
20170114.0208 UTC 1010 "Ch**rping mustard!" cried Mrorl, "That would mean he's modulating OTTers' posting potential with draconic destabilisers... which would have the effects we are seeing, and gain him the noteriety and business he desires... but would also,
20170114.0632 UTC 1011 of course, have an equally devariating effect on everymolpy else."
20170114.1000 UTC 1012 "Of course. And he probably shuffles the blindpost/blitzpost matrices to make the effects less noticeable."
20170114.1440 UTC 1013 "Yes, and the OTT gets less and less active overall. *Steambottle!*"
20170114.1827 UTC 1014 "What do you think; does he apply an irreversible temporodraconian retromodulation, or simply shut off the destabilisers over a weepend?"
20170114.2230 UTC 1015 "Hard to say, though it would be easy enough to pick up the secondary radiation in your Chronotransponder, suitably modified and deployed in the field."
20170115.0203 UTC 1016 "Though by that Time both he and his dracoposts would be far in the past," observed Balthacarius.
20170115.0640 UTC 1017 "Shouldn't we report him to the Ministry of bOTTification? -- or the IAA?"
20170115.1017 UTC 1018 "No -- he might not be doing it, after all: we have no real proof. Temporal statistical fluctuations, whether dracomorphic or of any other field, can occur without any sort of amplifier or modulator. At one Time, you may recall, there was
20170115.1445 UTC 1019 no such technolOTTical wizardry, and yet dragons were seen, plain as day."
20170115.1823 UTC 1020 Balthacarius looked at Mrorl silently, as both remembered that fateful dip when Balthacarius had wished for standardised colour, the wish that, once granted, had effectively rendered many things invisible. Mrorl glanced up -- were great
20170115.2210 UTC 1021 winged molptiles silently gliding past them even now, hidden by the $REDUNDAN$cy of a collapsed colour table?
20170116.0207 UTC 1022 Balthacarius anticipated Mrorl's thoughts. "I mean, when they *posted*."
20170116.0604 UTC 1023 "True..." replied Mrorl. "But these dragons unbasement from whenever he says they will!"
20170116.1609 UTC 1024 "I know. Still, reporting a fellow bOTTifactor -- even tempered by a healthy skepticism -- seems rather e****ish. I think it more prudent to pursue this Tornater ourselves, in the field."
20170116.1815 UTC 1025 "My thoughts exactly."
20170116.2243 UTC 1010 "Ch**rping mustard!" cried Mrorl, "That would mean he's modulating OTTers' posting potential with draconic destabilisers... which would have the effects we are seeing, and gain him the notoriety and business he desires... but would also,
20170117.0235 UTC 1026 "I'm glad you agree. But what exactly should we do?"
20170117.0613 UTC 1027 At this point the two famous molpidracologists got into a discussion so detailed and technical that anyone listening wouldn't have made any sense of it. There were such mysterious words as <*:"distemporaneous OTTodraconality",
20170117.1009 UTC 1028 "dracalindalysis", "metaseaish metastasis", "dracasomyousors", "additive orthodracethis", "ONGliDracidian", "$ENHANCED$ dracalindalysis", "cindracotas crescentis", "antechronol transubstance", "trans-when saurian interfer function",:> and
20170117.1436 UTC 1029 so on.
20170117.1835 UTC 1030 The immediate upshot of all of this was the third Journey, for which the bOTTifactors prepared most carefully, loading their three ships (Mrorl in his &TARDIS& as usual, and Balthacarius in the newly acquired prize *GEMG*, which the
20170117.2226 UTC 1031 Castraftle *LEML* would follow on OTTopilot) with a full array of highly complicated parts and equipment, and books on dragons, draconic cultural artifacts purchased at great expense from all the local shops, &&c. Then they proceeded to
20170118.0221 UTC 1032 load their ships with an additional and thoroughly $REDUNDANT$ array of parts and equipment; and a pretty much identical collection of draconic artifacts bought on clearance for $REDUNDANCY$ purposes; and the whole process was interrupted
20170118.0659 UTC 1033 once or thrice to take a full inventory.
20170118.1004 UTC 1034 In particular they took along mustarding modules and a bot that submitted negative posts (not a post expressing e****ish thoughts, but a post whose posting effected the *un*-posting of another post and itself along with it). They also
20170118.1420 UTC 1035 prepared to deploy Chronotransponders, Object Generators, and SpaaaceTime Portal Generators, all far more advanced than anything seen up to that point, facilitated by Flux Crystals conveniently won from King Idle. Having a third ship would
20170118.1833 UTC 1036 help immensely with this, as they anticipated they would need to make frequent jumps between pastpages and the Afterwhen to gather the data they needed to indict Tornater. Although Mrorl and Balthacarius had employed Time travel in their
20170118.2224 UTC 1037 previous adventures, most notably in the retro-editing of colour palettes for the entire universe, they now realised they would need a far more thorough understanding of Time and its relationship to the OTT. This task would be fully
20170119.0206 UTC 1038 dragonological, and nully chronological, and thoroughly illogical, and naturally would require frequent travel into the aforewhen and afterwhen to make and/or read posts by purported OtterDragons. To this end, and inspired by a
20170119.0634 UTC 1039 [nearly-forgotten``post|#p3343933] by the famous philosophOTTer @@StratPlayer, Mrorl had formalised the principles that would become the <*:Laws of Temporodynamics:>.
20170119.1028 UTC 1040 While their ships were being prepared, the bOTTifactors responded to one of Tornater's adverts, requesting a private conference which was soon granted, and presented a challenge: he would be given full access to a newly designated wild
20170119.1406 UTC 0699 great roar and jets of flame that melted a few of the ship's superfluous legs, but no matter as those were soon replaced by tungsten-clad, diamond-eyed EVA servicebots employed for that sole purpose.
20170119.1835 UTC 1041 molpy sanctuary, which was desperately in need of a dragon or two; and any skepticism on the part of the public about his abilities would be immediately put to rest by Mrorl and Balthacarius themselves, who would serve as documentarians,
20170119.2201 UTC 1042 recording everything that transpired, and transmitting a slickly-packaged multimedia field report to all in the Present and the Basement, in the Aforewhen and the Afterwhen alike. By carefully measuring and quantifying dragons in xeir
20170120.0219 UTC 1043 spatiotemporal environment, accompanied by graphs, charts, animations and $ENHANCE$ments, all would be certain of Tornater's expertise and that no probabilistic shenanigans were employed. It would also, of course, advance Mrorl's and
20170120.0607 UTC 1044 Balthacarius' ongoing scientific work; Tornater's fee had effectively already been paid by their research grants.
20170120.1000 UTC 1045 As it so happened, the "newly designated wild molpy sanctuary" was in the northern and somewhat less swampy part of a large tract of land by Dordshear-on-Thropsywatermolpleigh, in a very remote area of Newpixia, that Mrorl and
20170120.1423 UTC 1046 Balthacarius themselves had acquired to develop into a new *Time*-themed resort and amusement park^{2}, a fact that they had taken great effort to make certain absolutely nomolpy knew about. The bOTTifactors still had no interest in making
20170120.1814 UTC 1047 these plans public, but they enlisted an associate (a former R.I.M. agent for King Idle who owed them a favour) to infiltrate Tornater's operation and allow the existence of the future theme park, and planned location (but no other details)
20170120.2244 UTC 1048 to be "discovered" by him. They employed additional indebted agents to get plenty of mustard on Tornater, to hold in reserve in case he threatened leaking the theme park info for blackmail.
20170121.0246 UTC 1049 It was only after having been baited in this way, that the famous doctor of draco-debasementing got the bOTTifactors' offer for a private conference, and, thrilled, accepted Mrorl's and Balthacarius' challenge immediately. He was
20170121.0635 UTC 1050 confident that the bOTTifactors' field report could only help his reputation, as they could not publicise any steambottlish tactics he might employ to manifest dragons, because any detailed evidence thereto would run afoul of the park
20170121.1020 UTC 1051 developers' nondisclosure policy, which Mrorl and Balthacarius would have had to agree to before using the land for their dracological field research. So Tornater said he would be glad to provide his services in the wilds to the north of
20170121.1434 UTC 1052 Dordshear-on-Thropsywatermolpleigh, in fact he insisted on it.
20170121.1829 UTC 1053 Tornator soon arrived at Mrorl's and Balthacarius' "wild molpy sanctuary" and was met by the bOTTifactors, who welcomed him warmly and explained that they now needed to split up, the better to cover the territory and catch any apparating
20170121.2211 UTC 1054 dragons on film. This they did by travelling in time, as they had planned, Mrorl to the aforewhen and Balthacarius to the afterwhen. In simpler terms, they explored the many aeons of Watermolpshire's past and future history, seeking the
20170122.0226 UTC 1055 origins of any and all of its draco-lore. This history saw the advent and passing of a few dynasties that figure prominently in our tale.
20170122.0617 UTC 1056 Balthacarius worked for a spell in the temporal domain of Duchess Minumanegon, who was prepared to offer him the finest mobile bOTTronic Engineering Workshop, complete with three pairs of phase-matched Temporal Object Generators, if only
20170122.1003 UTC 1057 he could track down and unbasement the famed ChronosDragon. The well-known signature image with its gears counting out the Newpix was nowhere to be seen, though the Newpages had an energy about them, as if swarmed with Virtuals. A virtual
20170122.1446 UTC 1058 ChronosDragon, the uneducated and simple-minded might say, "isn't really there", having no observable posts nor displaying the slightest intention of making any; but the Cybr-Mrorl-Balthacarius-Chaan caculation (not to mention the
20170122.1825 UTC 1059 Drachendragzoortmar wave equation) clearly shows that a dragon can jump from the steampunk era to postmodern corporate times with no more effort than it takes to punsaw an eggcorn. Thus, on any Newpage, past or future, provided the
20170122.2222 UTC 1060 molpishness is high, you could meet with a dragon or possibly even a metadragon.
20170123.0203 UTC 1061 Instead of PMing the missing OTTer, which would have accomplished everything or nothing, Balthacarius, a true robotechnician, approached the problem $REDUNDANT$ly; in servers and power supplies, on hard drives and leopads he placed
20170123.0631 UTC 1062 probabilistic dracometric field detectors; in phase-balanced pairs biased against each other so as to distunguish posts by the true ChronosDragon from anything conjured up by Tornator; meanwhile he configured a standard-gauge causality loop
20170123.1013 UTC 1063 via a Temporal Object Generator carried on the second rocketship *GEMG*, in such a way that it would cause a paradox if indeed ChronosDragon himself posted, or if instead there were nothing at all resembling a dragon; and presently a
20170123.1427 UTC 1064 conjured dracopost clearly of Tornator's manufacture appeared at the bottom of the page. Collecting all necessary data, Balthacarius reset the experiment and began moving back in time to repeat it. On the way, he noticed an endless
20170123.1825 UTC 1065 repeating transmission by OTTers posting frantically. Thinking it might be Mrorl in some sort of endless temporal loop, he replied. But it was only the followers of Tymandria, the subjects of Queen Rytor (successor to Minumanegon),
20170123.2213 UTC 1066 pastposting into ante-Minumanous times. The Tymandrians took to various superstitions and their religion, Austinian Dracolatry, taught that dragons basemented as divine retribution for their heresies and brought all disloyal Waiters into
20170124.0231 UTC 1067 the basement with them. Quickly realising it would be useless to discuss matters with the Royal Dragologues -- their methods consisted primarily of chanting sonnets about the sacred Firstframe -- Balthacarius instead scanned the
20170124.0614 UTC 1068 Tymandrians' posts in the same way he had just done with Minumanegon's non-ChronosDragon. This revealed that the Newpages of Rytor's dynasty had been unaffected by true dragons, but were merely experiencing ripples from their aforewhen,
20170124.1001 UTC 1069 though he detected some so-called dragonomalies, in which certain phrases, particularly when repeated in verse, underwent a "smearing" effect, which was in reality nothing more than a simple isOTTopic frame-acceleration of asynchronous
20170124.1428 UTC 1070 quantum pixels, visibly expressed as alphanumeric code. He requested a meeting with Queen Rytor's official historian, and politely asked for links to the earliest posts in the dips of their religion's founding, then boarded the *LEML* and
20170124.1821 UTC 1071 navigated back to the indicated Newpage, minus a few for good measure, whereupon he met up with Mrorl.
20170124.2205 UTC 1072 His fellow bOTTifactor, having noticed some particularly strong wyrmsign radiating from the early 1600's, had demodulated it, revealing a curious message from the aforewhen -- a cake bearing the numbers "<@:%27%$x3$:>" in green, and the
20170125.0232 UTC 1073 caption <*:AGYEO ABFOZ AAFNW AOGZL ABFSL:> ^{3}. Mrorl had then Time-traveled there to investigate, and had encountered this desperate plea^{4}:
20170125.0631 UTC 1074 <*:I received an alarming PM from Aluisio:
20170125.1024 UTC 1058 ChronosDragon, the uneducated and simple-minded might say, "isn't really there", having no observable posts nor displaying the slightest intention of making any; but the Cybr-Mrorl-Balthacarius-Chaan calculation (not to mention the
20170125.1443 UTC 1075 EKKAJ ELRAZ EHVAJ...
20170125.1846 UTC 1076 please tell the others it's dangerous someone watch the one who time
20170125.2225 UTC 1077 traveled i don't know who:>
20170126.0446 UTC 1078 Though the coded letters were just the sort of dragonomaly that he was expecting to find, the rest of the plea seemed questionable to Balthacarius, though on the other hand it was hard for them to believe that the well-respected RAZOR
20170126.0618 UTC 1079 agent would be lying, so the pair packed their knapsacks with an assortment of the lightest and most essential dragon-hunting equipment and set about Blitzing on foot. Strongly suspecting that Tornater would leap on this opportunity and
20170126.1040 UTC 1080 transmit faked dragonposts in the name of @@AluisioASG, Mrorl began Blitzing his way forward whilst Balthacarius continued as before, i.e. aforewhenwards.
20170126.1422 UTC 1081 It wasn't long before Balthacarius spotted dragon prints, in the form of more similar posts, and the unmistakable whiff of temporal ripples. On he went, undaunted, holding his Temporal Object Generator in readiness and watching the needle
20170126.1815 UTC 1082 on his dracometric field detector. It started at zero for a spell, then incremented nervously through 1, 2, 3, and 5, then jumped to 8. There was no doubt: a dragon, or Tornater's near-facsimilie thereof, was close at hand -- which amazed
20170126.2210 UTC 1083 Balthacarius, for he couldn't understand how his trusty friend and renowned mathematician, Mrorl, could have failed to notice the additive orthodracethis inherent in this Fibonacci progression.
20170127.0200 UTC 1084 Balthacarius then came upon a row of OTTers posting single-file in reverse, but $ЯОЯЯІМ$ed, and messaged Mrorl on the Chronotransponder. As the former was clearly employing a more temporally paradoxical strategy, Mrorl returned to follow
20170127.0620 UTC 1085 him.
20170127.1039 UTC 1086 Balthacarius asked the OTTers what was happening.
20170127.1410 UTC 1087 "We come upon thi' giant ligh'ouse, wi' th' oddest poetry."
20170127.1801 UTC 1088 The OTTer pointed at something on xer MTA, and Mrorl looked at it. "That post was a pope, but it's been goated."
20170127.2226 UTC 1089 "Yea', bu' look a' the verses. <*:'Only five lonely figures / Speak the language o' Cueball':>... an' on and on like that, each verse ha' blocks of letters: AJPWM ADXMA AONCS, and such."^{5a}
20170128.0225 UTC 1090 "If we try to figure this one out, I predict our brains will explode."^{6a}
20170128.0619 UTC 1091 "A mustard explosion, perhaps?"
20170128.1007 UTC 1092 "Yes, and thus will end the OTT."^{6b}
20170128.1431 UTC 1093 All looked fearful, but Mrorl lit up. "It says *language``of``Cueball*. Perhaps it means the sacred diaogue? It is our universal heritage. Thoughout the vast expanse of Time, into the distant past and distant future, every kingdom, colony
20170128.1812 UTC 1094 and distant outpost knows of it. It can be used as a common language, in direct consequence of the 0^{th} Law of Temporodynamics:
20170128.2227 UTC 1095 (- <*:#0.# Two Times (such as the Present and the Past)
20170129.0214 UTC 1096 that are in communication with a third (such as [Time|http://xkcd.com/1190] itself),
20170129.0646 UTC 1097 are in communication with each other.:> -)
20170129.1029 UTC 1098 "Ah," replied Balthacarius, "you're saying that OTTers and Dragons can communicate across time using the words of *Time*, suitably encoded so as to tolerate the dracochronic distortion?"
20170129.1416 UTC 1099 "Precisely."
20170129.1813 UTC 1100 One of the OTTers spoke up. "I saw someone calling himself Oscar, he took 14 steps and then told us a letter. But I didn't know where to count from."^{5b}
20170129.2203 UTC 1101 "I think a dragon has either gone quietly mad or become quantum entangled"^{7}
20170130.0235 UTC 1102 "Time travel mustard?"
20170130.1021 UTC 0796 "Chronotransponder indeed!" snorted Balthacarius. "And how are we going to get to it, let alone send it to the aforewhen or afterwhen? Even if we had brought the necessary equipment, I'm sure there are
20170130.1405 UTC 1103 "A nice lady called herself Juliet, and she kept telling us Frame numbers.^{5c} But sometimes they seemed to be off by a hundred thousand million!^{8}"
20170130.1831 UTC 1104 "But how to reveal the dragon's entangled words?"
20170130.2203 UTC 1105 "We need to use the language of Cuegan, as enshrined in the Holy Scripture, in the [Book``of``Dialogue|+time-dialogue]. It is an accounting of Frames, each with words made from letters."
20170131.0205 UTC 1106 "Or characters."
20170131.0636 UTC 1107 "But aren't Cuegan the characters?"
20170131.1018 UTC 1108 "Different kind. To a dragon, they are one and the same."
20170131.1408 UTC 1109 "You mean, a dragon would eat xes words as soon as xe'd eat one of us?"
20170131.1840 UTC 1110 "Probably. Now what of the code... I think we need a frame, an offset into the dialogue itself to choose a word, and an indication of which character."
20170131.2215 UTC 1111 "But if Oscar is *offset* and Charlie is *character*, Juliet should be *frame*. So Juliet is apparently not the lady's real name, which begins with *F*... perhaps @Fiona@.
20170201.0206 UTC 1112 "... so the fairytale princess took a Shakespearean name?" Mrorl shrugged. He had already seen far greater mustard in his travels.
20170201.0836 UTC 1113 "An ogre fairytale princess!"
20170201.1442 UTC 1114 The lead OTTer interrupted Mrorl's train of thought. "Aye, we tol' tha' lady Fiona we reck'nd that drag'n was on the prowl for 'er, and she run off t' tha' 'ills, 'n' if any'un came askin' fer her, just tell 'im their Princess is in
20170201.2000 UTC 1115 Anoth'r Sandcastle."
20170202.0245 UTC 1116 "Ah." stammered Mrorl, bepuzzled.
20170202.0812 UTC 1117 "It's the Princess Protection Programme." added Balthacarius. "Standard procedure. Go on," he said to the OTTers.
20170202.1413 UTC 1118 "And then we got a reply: 'operating on a higher plane...', and 'DMQCE ETLUF ADBXY ..."^{9}
20170202.2030 UTC 1119 "That would be *'e``o``eedt'*," said Mrorl, who by this time had got his decoder configured, then scowled at it, as the message^{5d} was seemingly decoded improperly.
20170203.0202 UTC 1120 But an OTTer snatched it, as others eagerly broke their line to gather around. <*:"The first 3 letters of every group translates to a valid frame number!":>^{10}
20170203.1027 UTC 1121 "Does it say, <*:'preparing for the Madness.':>?"^{11}
20170203.1814 UTC 1122 "But that message was posted on a Davéandix in Visitation Ja, long before the Madness."
20170204.0229 UTC 1123 There was much punching of buttons and turning of dials, and silence. The lead OTTer then held it up to the bOTTifactors to see.
20170204.1449 UTC 1124 <*:"ChronosDragon is the cause of all this.
20170205.0236 UTC 1125 I'm coming after him.":>^{12}
20170205.1430 UTC 1126 "This way!" he exclaimed, and the OTTers resumed their line and carried on posting, single-file, in reverse, and $ЯОЯЯІМ$ed as Balthacarius had found them.
20170206.0225 UTC 1127 The bOTTifactors left them, knowing this would at the very least set up a temporal causality matrix within which Tornater's dragonic causality could be highlighted.
20170206.1438 UTC 1128 They Blitzed on, guided by the readings of the dragologically-calibrated molpometer Mrorl was keeping on a chain around his neck. As for Balthacarius' dracometric field detector, it was presently on 55 and trembling as if nervously
20170207.0238 UTC 1129 contemplating 89. They soon received a chronogram from the elusive @@Dracomax, claiming <*:"death is but a doorway, Time is but a window. I'll be back,":>^{13}. Mrorl searched the logs and pulled up xes later transmission: <*:"Just sending
20170207.1826 UTC 1130 a message to the future to let you all know that I am not actually basemented. I've just been slowly sinking backwards in time due to getting bogged down in timeposts,:>^{14} and the implication was clear: Tornater was trying to impersonate
20170208.1029 UTC 1131 all three great dragons simultaneously.
20170209.0236 UTC 1132 There are a great many old Beanish tales about dragons. It is said, for example, that dragons can simultaneously occupy seven coördinates in Spaaace-Time. This is sheer Madness. A dragon can inhabit only three spots, as seen from its own
20170209.1837 UTC 1133 point of view, and the coördinates thereof are interrelated by the very dracomorphic fluctuations that allow dragons to travel so parodoxically in the first place. If the three positions can be determined accurately enough, the dragon's
20170210.1012 UTC 1134 movements can be predicted well enough to intercept the source, that is, corner the dragon itself. It was this phenomenon which the fabled dracohunter Oophamegax Clay exploited when xe invented the antitemporal saurian-seeking guidance
20170211.0234 UTC 1135 system for missiles, outlawed long ago as dragon-hunting was deemed inhumane. Mrorl had recently reconstructed it, in triplicate as that is what was needed to triangulate the triple locations of three dragons, then gave the plans to
20170212.0208 UTC 1082 on its dracometric field detector. It started at zero for a spell, then incremented nervously through 1, 2, 3, and 5, then jumped to 8. There was no doubt: a dragon, or Tornater's near-facsimilie thereof, was close at hand -- which amazed
20170212.1428 UTC 1135 system for wyrm-seeking missiles, outlawed long ago as dragon-hunting was deemed e****ish. Mrorl had recently reconstructed Clay's invention, in triplicate as that is what was needed to triangulate the triple locations of three dragons,
20170213.0222 UTC 1136 then gave the plans to Balthacarius' bots to produce three more for each of his two ships; and as this gave them enough equipment to track all three famous OTT dragons at once, of course they decided to repeat the whole task twice more
20170214.0234 UTC 1137 to ensure extra $REDUNDAN$cy. To operate the thrice-tripled controls Mrorl and Balthacarius needed extra hands, which they manufactured for the occasion, and an associate bOTTifactor, in which role they employed Mrorl's senior helper Timrlorme.
20170215.0231 UTC 1138 But the dragons our heroes were tracking that dip reacted strangely, to say the least. Once the great winged molptiles were triangulated and brought within range, all were expecting a traditional hunt, with much howling and thrashing
20170216.0220 UTC 1139 at rock, fire and brimstone, and ensuing landslides to shake the earth, much cunning and quick-footed dodgery, the requisite hail of arrows, and a Timelessly unsurpassed battle of riddles, cutting questions and rapier wit. These dragons were clearly mechanical,
20170219.0211 UTC 1140 which Balthacarius had predicted, and the three hunters were prepared to engage with them as with Mrorl's Cognitative Engine long ago -- to which end they had trained in a variety of negotiating tactics and penned persuasive poetry. But at the place and time the triplexed triangulators
20170220.0209 UTC 1141 indicated that all three beasts would be found together, a uniquely undracilian thing happened: the first dragon merely stopped and stood still, its pearlescent blue scales dripping slightly. It was looking towards the second, whose dark green hide appeared to be more of
20170221.0214 UTC 1142 moss than of scales, and gave off a pleasant scent of early summer. This dragon, in turn, was looking at the third, its orange-brown scales glowing faintly and wafting bits of black smoke. The third dragon was, of course, looking back at the first. All seemed
20170222.0240 UTC 1143 apprehensive and more concerned with each other than the bOTTifactors who had triangulated them.
20170223.0219 UTC 1144 "This looks familiar," whispered Timrlorme to the others. "I've seen this sort of standoff whilst playing *Pokémolp``RUN!*"
20170224.1030 UTC 1145 Mrorl rolled his eyes. Timrlorme's hotdogging was a point of contention between the two, as Mrorl often wished they could focus on navigating the &TARDIS& or whatever other tasks were at hand, rather than constantly setting out on
20170225.1818 UTC 1146 "molpy-hunting" expeditions that existed only in an imaginary world.
20170227.0226 UTC 1147 Timrlorme, slightly irritated, continued. "They're each poised to defend against one of the others, but they're caught in a deadlock."
20170228.1003 UTC 1148 "How so?" asked Balthacarius, willing to engage in any discussion that might bring them closer to Tornater.
20170301.1840 UTC 1149 "Grass beats Water, Water beats Fire, and Fire beats Grass. Everyone knows that. It's the oldest power-triad, as you'll doubtless know."
20170303.0223 UTC 1150 "Nah, we're not really into Pokémolp,"^{15} quipped Mrorl.
20170305.0218 UTC 1151 "Putting imaginary hotdogs aside for the moment, shouldn't these three simply strike at once, and take each other out?"
20170307.0237 UTC 1152 "No, none will attack unilaterally."
20170309.0226 UTC 1153 "Why?" asked Mrorl, now intrigued despite himself.
20170311.0235 UTC 1154 "Because it's the Trainer's turn, of course."
20170313.0225 UTC 1155 "Huh?" replied Mrorl and Balthacarius in unison.
20170315.0251 UTC 1156 Timrlorme tried to explain. "These are clearly Tornater's dragons, but they've been programmed to behave according to Pokémolp rules. You -- *we* -- have to decide what we're going to do. We can turn and run, and leave them
20170315.0251 UTC 1156 Timrlorme tried to explain. "These are clearly Tornater's dragons, but they've been programmed to behave according to Pokémolp rules. You -- *we* -- have to decide what we're going to do. We can turn and run, and leave them
20170317.1843 UTC 1157 here locked in an eternal tridracologic stalemate; or we can give them some berries and assure them we won't eat them, emulating the legendary Megan of the Ancient Frames; or we can attempt capture with Molpénets.
20170320.1012 UTC 1158 You do have your Molpénets with you-- ... ?"
20170323.0252 UTC 1159 "We're not really--"
20170325.1810 UTC 1160 "--into Pokémolp. Right. -- Hmm, it's best we soften them up a bit first. Here." Reaching into his pants-of-many-pockets, Timrlorme produced three unusual-looking blaster rifles, coloured blue, green, and orange; and handed one each to the other
20170325.1810 UTC 1160 "--into Pokémolp. Right. -- Hmm, it's best we soften them up a bit first. Here." Reaching into his pants-of-many-pocket`
20170325.1810 UTC 1160 "--into Pokémolp. Right. -- Hmm, it's best we soften them up a bit first. Here." Reaching into his pants-of-many-pockets, Timrlorme produced three unusual-looking blaster rifles, coloured blue, green, and orange; and handed one each to the other
20170328.1023 UTC 1161 bOTTifactors. "On the count of three. One! Two! ... *Five!*" And on *five* they each fired one well-aimed blast, Mrorl's blue gun at the smouldering light-russet dragon, Balthacarius aiming his green weapon at the watery blue monster, and
20170331.0223 UTC 1137 to ensure extra $REDUNDAN$cy. To operate the thrice-tripled controls Mrorl and Balthacarius needed extra hands, which they manufactured for the occasion, and an associate bOTTifactor, in which role they employed Mrorl's senior helper Timlrorme.
20170331.0223 UTC 1137 to ensure extra $REDUNDAN$cy. To operate the thrice-tripled controls Mrorl and Balthacarius needed extra hands, which they manufactured for the occasion, and an associate bOTTifactor, in which role they employed Mrorl's senior helper Timlrorme.
20170402.1838 UTC 1144 "This looks familiar," whispered Timlrorme to the others. "I've seen this sort of standoff whilst playing *Pokémolp``RUN!*"
20170402.1838 UTC 1144 "This looks familiar," whispered Timlrorme to the others. "I've seen this sort of standoff whilst playing *Pokémolp``RUN!*"
20170402.1838 UTC 1144 "This looks familiar," whispered Timlrorme to the others. "I've seen this sort of standoff whilst playing *Pokémolp``RUN!*"
20170405.1006 UTC 1145 Mrorl rolled his eyes. Timlrorme's hotdogging was a point of contention between the two, as Mrorl often wished they could focus on navigating the &TARDIS& or whatever other tasks were at hand, rather than constantly setting out on
20170408.0204 UTC 1147 Timlrorme, slightly irritated, continued. "They're each poised to defend against one of the others, but they're caught in a deadlock."
20170410.1823 UTC 1156 Timlrorme tried to explain. "These are clearly Tornater's dragons, but they've been programmed to behave according to Pokémolp rules. You -- *we* -- have to decide what we're going to do. We can turn and run, and leave them
20170413.1035 UTC 1160 "--into Pokémolp. Right. -- Hmm, it's best we soften them up a bit first. Here." Reaching into his pants-of-many-pockets, Timlrorme produced three unusual-looking blaster rifles, coloured blue, green, and orange; and handed one each to the other
20170416.0206 UTC 1162 Timlrorme firing his orange blaster at the mossy green creature. Words appeared in mid-air:
20170420.0211 UTC 1163 <*:MRORL USES COFFEESEMENCANCERSTARSANDBACON GUN! IT IS SEAISHLY EFFECTIVE!!!
20170420.0211 UTC 1163 <*:MRORL USES COFFEESEMENCANCERSTARSANDBACON GUN! IT IS SEAISHLY EFFECTIVE!!!
20170424.0234 UTC 1164 BALTHACARIUS USES RAPTOR LEAF! IT IS VERY LUCKY!!!
20170428.0220 UTC 1165 TIMLRORME USES ENDER! IT IS OTTISHLY HERETICAL!!!:>
20170502.0243 UTC 1166 The beasts each reared up a bit, took half a step back and put weight on their tails for support, then turned to look towards what had hit them, stunned.
20170506.0227 UTC 1167 Then the bOTTifactors took three nets on long poles, of the classic Mscha design; and wielding one apiece they each turned toward their dragon and brought their nets in a broad sweeping arc down over the
20170506.0227 UTC 1167 Then the bOTTifactors took three nets on long poles, of the classic Mscha design; and wielding one apiece they each turned toward their dragon and brought their nets in a broad sweeping arc down over the
20170510.0202 UTC 1168 beasts' heads; and though the nets were clearly not anywhere near the size needed to surround a dragon's head, much less the vast winged body, nevertheless an odd *swoosh* with beams of light emerged from
20170510.0202 UTC 1168 beasts' heads; and though the nets were clearly not anywhere near the size needed to surround a dragon's head, much less the vast winged body, nevertheless an odd *swoosh* with beams of light emerged from
20170515.1034 UTC 1169 each net and swept up its target, and in a trice the great beasts were encapsulated comfortably inside. New aethereal words proclaimed:
20170520.1809 UTC 1170 <*:A$LTURI$ASG: ADDED TO MOLPIDEX
20170526.0228 UTC 1171 C$HRONOMENCE$: ADDED TO MOLPIDEX
20170531.1038 UTC 1172 D$RAYCUAZA$: ADDED TO MOLPIDEX:>
20170531.1038 UTC 1172 D$RAYCUAZA$: ADDED TO MOLPIDEX:>
20170605.1829 UTC 1034 In particular they took along mustarding modules, mustardbusters, and a bot that submitted negative posts (not a post expressing e****ish thoughts, but a post whose posting effected the *un*-posting of another post and itself along with it). They also prepared
20170611.0201 UTC 1035 to deploy Chronotransponders, Object Generators, SpaaaceTime Portal Generators, and sundry other devices all far more advanced than anything seen up to that point, facilitated by Flux Crystals conveniently won from King Idle. Having a third ship would
20170611.0201 UTC 1035 to deploy Chronotransponders, Object Generators, SpaaaceTime Portal Generators, and sundry other devices all far more advanced than anything seen up to that point, facilitated by Flux Crystals conveniently won from King Idle. Having a third ship would
20170616.1018 UTC 1063 via a Temporal Object Generator with OTTic Mustardbuster carried on the second rocketship *GEMG*, in such a way that it would cause a paradox if indeed ChronosDragon himself posted, or if instead there were nothing at all resembling a dragon; and presently a
20170621.1809 UTC 0700 As they travelled, the Emissary briefed the bOTTifactors on the laws and customs of the Kingdom of Idle, told them of the monarch's personality and peculiar tastes, family history and much more; then schooled
20170627.0239 UTC 0908 There arose a most unmolpish clamour, with guards and Inquisitorbots and others who had followed the riverish messagebot all shouting and asking what this all meant, and what were the demands, to which Mrorl
20170627.0239 UTC 0908 There arose a most unmolpish clamour, with guards and Inquisitorbots and others who had followed the riverish messagebot all shouting and asking what this all meant, and what were the demands, to which Mrorl
20170702.1009 UTC 1034 In particular they took along mustarding modules and a bot that submitted negative posts (not a post expressing e****ish thoughts, but a post whose posting effected the *un*-posting of another post and itself along with it). They also prepared to deploy
20170707.1815 UTC 1035 Chronotransponders, Object Generators, SpaaaceTime Portal Generators, and sundry other devices all far more advanced than anything seen up to that point, facilitated by Flux Crystals conveniently won from King Idle. Having a third ship would
20170713.0209 UTC 1073 caption <*:AGYEO ABFOZ AAFNW AOGZL ABFSL:> ^{3}. Mrorl had then Time-travelled there to investigate, and had encountered tgnything seen up to that point, facilitated by Flux Crystals conveniently won from King Idle. Having a third ship would
20170718.1042 UTC 1077 travelled i don't know who:>
20170723.1836 UTC 1173 Mrorl looked at his net, and turned to Timlrorme. "Now what?" Timlrorme looked unsure.
20170729.0207 UTC 1174 It was Balthacarius who answered. "These dragons are mechanical, of course, and under remote control -- and they have been transmitting telemetry data the whole time we tracked them."
20170729.0207 UTC 1174 It was Balthacarius who answered. "These dragons are mechanical, of course, and under remote control -- and they have been transmitting telemetry data the whole time we tracked them."
20170729.0207 UTC 1174 It was Balthacarius who answered. "These dragons are mechanical, of course, and under remote control -- and they have been transmitting telemetry data the whole time we tracked them."
20170806.0229 UTC 1175 "Where?" Mrorl asked. He and Timlrorme began turning slowly around, peering into the surrounding swamp, for that's where they had been hunting this whole time -- in woods bordering on the misty swamps of
20170806.0229 UTC 1175 "Where?" Mrorl asked. He and Timlrorme began turning slowly around, peering into the surrounding swamp, for that's where they had been hunting this whole time -- in woods bordering on the misty swamps of
20170814.0227 UTC 1073 caption <*:AGYEO ABFOZ AAFNW AOGZL ABFSL:>^{3}. Mrorl had then Time-travelled there to investigate, and had encountered this desperate plea^{4}:
20170814.0227 UTC 1073 caption <*:AGYEO ABFOZ AAFNW AOGZL ABFSL:>^{3}. Mrorl had then Time-travelled there to investigate, and had encountered this desperate plea^{4}:
20170814.0227 UTC 1073 caption <*:AGYEO ABFOZ AAFNW AOGZL ABFSL:>^{3}. Mrorl had then Time-travelled there to investigate, and had encountered this desperate plea^{4}:
20170822.0203 UTC 1176 Dordshear-on-Thropsywatermolpleigh.
20170830.0203 UTC 1177 "I'll look at my Object Generator logs." The others were puzzled. "Uh, what?"
20170907.0209 UTC 1178 "It's not a question of *where* these dragons were being controlled from, but *when*. The temporal signature shows they're not merely pastposting, or retro-edited in, they've actually physically come here from the future."
20170915.0401 UTC 1179 "So Tornater made some dragons and sent them back in Time to post to the OTT."
20170923.0451 UTC 1180 "No, this time-travel is not Tornater's doing. They're here because of this," and he held up his Temporal Object Generator, now brightly glowing *75025*.
20170923.0451 UTC 1180 "No, this time-travel is not Tornater's doing. They're here because of this," and he held up his Temporal Object Generator, now brightly glowing *75025*.
20171001.0436 UTC 1181 "Your Temporal--" exclaimed Mrorl.
20171011.2003 UTC 1182 "Object Generator, yes. Tornater intended to send us *virtual* dragons. Pokémolps are perfect, because they don't exist, except as part of an Augmented Reality. But Tornater wasn't counting on this."
20171022.1146 UTC 1183 "So your Object Generator," continued Timlrorme, catching on, "made the virtual into reality."
20171102.0239 UTC 1184 "But why bother with virtuality?" asked Mrorl. "Real dragons are so much more effective."
20171118.0250 UTC 1185 "Plausible deniability?" asked Timlrorme.
20171118.0250 UTC 1185 "Plausible deniability?" asked Timlrorme.
20171118.0250 UTC 1185 "Plausible deniability?" asked Timlrorme.
20171118.0250 UTC 1185 "Plausible deniability?" asked Timlrorme.
20171118.0250 UTC 1185 "Plausible deniability?" asked Timlrorme.
20171118.0250 UTC 1185 "Plausible deniability?" asked Timlrorme.
20171118.0250 UTC 1185 "Plausible deniability?" asked Timlrorme.
20171118.0250 UTC 1185 "Plausible deniability?" asked Timlrorme.
20171118.0250 UTC 1185 "Plausible deniability?" asked Timlrorme.
20171118.0250 UTC 1185 "Plausible deniability?" asked Timlrorme.
20171118.0250 UTC 1185 "Plausible deniability?" asked Timlrorme.
20171118.0250 UTC 1185 "Plausible deniability?" asked Timlrorme.
20171204.0211 UTC 1186 Balthacarius continued his explanation. "Most probably, yes. We know he's creating fake dragons, to post fake dracoposts, and he knows we know that, and we also know he doesn't want to be caught in the act. Why do you suppose he was so
20171220.0454 UTC 1187 eager to be a part of our so-called dracological research project? Because it was here, on the site of the secret future *Time``World*, which is so secret that we could not possibly share any detailed evidence of what's going on here. He
20180105.0346 UTC 1188 knows he can get away with pretty nearly anything. Generating Augmented-Reality illusory dragons is risk-free: any proof of their nature, and the falseness of their origins, would entail a full spatiotemporal scan of the place and time
20180121.0337 UTC 1189 where the phenomenon was generated."
20180121.0337 UTC 1189 where the phenomenon was generated."
20180206.0326 UTC 1190 "Riiiight." Mrorl paused, holding his chin. "So, back to the original question. How does this help us?" lifting his Molpénet, in which a small and rather contented orange-brown scaly creature was curled up, seemingly asleep, looking down
20180206.0326 UTC 1190 "Riiiight." Mrorl paused, holding his chin. "So, back to the original question. How does this help us?" lifting his Molpénet, in which a small and rather contented orange-brown scaly creature was curled up, seemingly asleep, looking down
20180222.0301 UTC 1191 at it, then back at Balthacarius.
20180222.0301 UTC 1191 at it, then back at Balthacarius.
20180310.0302 UTC 1192 "Because the Object Generator Logs," replied Balthacarius, "tell us right when they came from. And they came from our own future -- NP2701, to be exact."
20180331.1012 UTC 1193 "Newpage 2701..." Mrorl mused, "What will happen then?"
20180331.1012 UTC 1193 "Newpage 2701..." Mrorl mused, "What will happen then?"
20180421.1934 UTC 1194 "Well, it seems this is when Tornater will have begun operating and controlling dragons. And it occurs to me, Mrorl -- what to you think? A few huge colourful winged monsters would fit right in at a theme park, don't you agree?"
20180513.0411 UTC 1195 "Well, sure. It's not exactly *Time*-$RELATED$, per se, but dragons are big, and they can do what they want. Can't deny that."
20180603.1236 UTC 1196 "Exactly. I propose that by NP2701 we will have retained the famous Tornater the Bunliubnite expressly for the purpose of bringing real, live, (robOTTic) dragons to *Time``World*. It'll be our newest expansion, bigger than Animal Kingdom.
20180624.1818 UTC 1197 Way bigger than Harry Potter."
20180624.1818 UTC 1197 Way bigger than Harry Potter."
20180624.1818 UTC 1197 Way bigger than Harry Potter."
20180716.0334 UTC 1198 "That's brilliant! Tornater is clearly the expert on conjuring winged molptiles. But how to actually get him to do this?"
20180716.0334 UTC 1198 "That's brilliant! Tornater is clearly the expert on conjuring winged molptiles. But how to actually get him to do this?"
20180716.0334 UTC 1198 "That's brilliant! Tornater is clearly the expert on conjuring winged molptiles. But how to actually get him to do this?"
20180817.0421 UTC 1199 "He can't refuse."
20180817.0421 UTC 1199 "He can't refuse."
20180817.0421 UTC 1199 "He can't refuse."
20180817.0421 UTC 1199 "He can't refuse."
20180918.0502 UTC 1200 And with that, Balthacarius pressed a button, dispatching three wheelstick-weilding robots on small levitating scooters, which promptly went *poof* into the future, and a moment later reappeared with one Tornater the Bunliubnite in tow,
20181020.0329 UTC 1201 who absolutely refused to admit that anything was true^{16}. And Balthacarius pointed to his Molpénet, and the waterly blue winged creature curled within, and beheld Tornater's crestfallen look -- for as the bOTTifactor explained, the little
20181121.0247 UTC 1202 blue dragon was absolute, self-contained, irrevocable physical proof of Tornater's handiwork, and in case that were not enough, there were its two counterparts, the fire and grass dragons in his companions' nets; and if Tornater did not
20181121.0247 UTC 1202 blue dragon was absolute, self-contained, irrevocable physical proof of Tornater's handiwork, and in case that were not enough, there were its two counterparts, the fire and grass dragons in his companions' nets; and if Tornater did not
20181223.0443 UTC 1203 agree to their terms of employment, as future Draconics Consultant for the theme park that he knew, and could not deny having been told, was even then being built on the very land upon which they were standing, then they, the bOTTifactors,
20190124.0206 UTC 1204 had merely to take their netted dragons to the Excessively Dangerous Molpy Sanctuary on Frelornados, there to be revived and inspected by the world's greatest cryptozoological experts; and then he, Tornater, would be exposed as a fraud. And
20190307.1834 UTC 1205 so it was that the proud Tornater Megtana IV of Bunliubena, the world's greatest perpetrator of dragonic forgery, began to synthesise, construct, and program real dragons, never again to disrupt the thread via pastposts, but to thrill and
20190307.1834 UTC 1205 so it was that the proud Tornater Megtana IV of Bunliubena, the world's greatest perpetrator of dragonic forgery, began to synthesise, construct, and program real dragons, never again to disrupt the thread via pastposts, but to thrill and
20190307.1834 UTC 1205 so it was that the proud Tornater Megtana IV of Bunliubena, the world's greatest perpetrator of dragonic forgery, began to synthesise, construct, and program real dragons, never again to disrupt the thread via pastposts, but to thrill and
20190307.1834 UTC 1205 so it was that the proud Tornater Megtana IV of Bunliubena, the world's greatest perpetrator of dragonic forgery, began to synthesise, construct, and program real dragons, never again to disrupt the thread via pastposts, but to thrill and
20190419.1104 UTC 1206 excite *Time* fans young and old.
20190601.0456 UTC 1207 ----
20190713.2034 UTC 1208 (- #The Dragons of OTTifiability# -)
20190825.1257 UTC 1209 (- Advance Bookings Available Now -)
20190825.1257 UTC 1209 (- Advance Bookings Available Now -)
20190825.1257 UTC 1209 (- Advance Bookings Available Now -)
20190825.1257 UTC 1209 (- Advance Bookings Available Now -)
20191007.0324 UTC 1210 <*:Be the first to explore the wonders of dracomolpology
20191007.0324 UTC 1210 <*:Be the first to explore the wonders of dracomolpology
20191210.0213 UTC 1211 in the world's first open-access dragon sanctuary!
20200212.0234 UTC 1212 - Taste chocolate from the Cauldrons of the Great Dragon of Inquisition
20200212.0234 UTC 1212 - Taste chocolate from the Cauldrons of the Great Dragon of Inquisition
20200212.0234 UTC 1212 - Taste chocolate from the Cauldrons of the Great Dragon of Inquisition
20200212.0234 UTC 1212 - Taste chocolate from the Cauldrons of the Great Dragon of Inquisition
20200212.0234 UTC 1212 - Taste chocolate from the Cauldrons of the Great Dragon of Inquisition
20200212.0234 UTC 1212 - Taste chocolate from the Cauldrons of the Great Dragon of Inquisition
20200212.0234 UTC 1212 - Taste chocolate from the Cauldrons of the Great Dragon of Inquisition
20200212.0234 UTC 1212 - Taste chocolate from the Cauldrons of the Great Dragon of Inquisition
20200212.0234 UTC 1212 - Taste chocolate from the Cauldrons of the Great Dragon of Inquisition
20200212.0234 UTC 1212 - Taste chocolate from the Cauldrons of the Great Dragon of Inquisition
20200212.0234 UTC 1212 - Taste chocolate from the Cauldrons of the Great Dragon of Inquisition
20200212.0234 UTC 1212 - Taste chocolate from the Cauldrons of the Great Dragon of Inquisition
20200212.0234 UTC 1212 - Taste chocolate from the Cauldrons of the Great Dragon of Inquisition
20220317.2237 UTC 1196 "Exactly. I propose that by NP2701 we will have retained the famous Tornater the Bunliubnite expressly for the purpose of bringing real, live, (robOTTic) dragons to *Time``World*. It'll be our newest expansion, bigger than Animal Kingdom.
20220317.2237 UTC 1196 "Exactly. I propose that by NP2701 we will have retained the famous Tornater the Bunliubnite expressly for the pustandards, whether parametrised or otherwise. To this day *Time* in all its quantised Timeframes has remained exclusively blac
20220321.0641 UTC 0099 Mrorl sighed, deactivated and then began to dismantle the Machine, realising it was best to have a world without standards, whether parametrised or otherwise. To this day *Time* in all its quantised Timeframes has remained exclusively black and white, with but occasional grays.
20220325.0248 UTC 0100 Mrorl's subsequent attempts to build a wish-*un*granting, *de*-standardising machine met with failure, and he feared that never again would we see such wowtreeful colours as the blues and the browns.
20220325.0248 UTC 0100 Mrorl's subsequent attempts to build a wish-*un*granting, *de*-standardising machine met with failure, and he fearc
20220327.1217 UTC 0104 #Footnote#
20220327.1217 UTC 0104 #Footnote#
20220329.1725 UTC 0105 1. The familiar children's verse, <*:ni ni ni ni ni chupacabra ping-pong ball!:>, originated in a Time when this legend was a distant memory and only a few words were remembered.
20220401.0012 UTC 0112 functional unit was glowing, and safety valves began letting out steam, as Mrorl hastily climbed back up to the control room and prepared to activate the emergency shutdown. At last, just as Mrorl had found the little button and flipped open its molpy-guard, the Cognitative Engine suddenly halted
20220403.1035 UTC 0228 #Footnotes#
20220406.0519 UTC 0229 1. Balthacarius' Palette ##3, -- but that is a tale for another dip.
20220407.0607 UTC 0230 2. A great monolithic promontory, of which wl[Monte_Hacho] is all that remains today.
20220407.1401 UTC 0233 =O=ne dip whilst hard at work Balthacarius heard a knock at his door. He answered: it was a pot-bellied bot on seven wheels.
20220407.1800 UTC 0238 Balthacarius gave the visitor a spot where it could wait in the corner of his workshop and returned to his work, a four-wheeled cuboid bot that was nearly complete. In fact it only needed to be painted and polished, and Balthacarius intended to use his favourite palette, [##5|#p3633342]. He was
20220407.2200 UTC 0239 very proud of the colours that he (with some help from Mrorl) had managed to retro-edit into the history of Spaaace-Time, and his prime-numbered palettes (in particular, ##2, ##5 and ##7) were famous the world over. After a while the Bot to Grant One's Every Wish whirred a bit and tried to get
20220408.0200 UTC 0261 "Fine, fine..." Mrorl glanced over at the canvas-draped cuboid, its four wheels barely visible. "An OSGS, you say? And it brought me here? That's quite impressive. For any lesser bOTTifactor, I'd say that would be a Barely Feasible Technological Feat. But in the hands of the Brilliant Balthacarius, of
20220408.1012 UTC 0269 apparently been set up for some very specific purpose, as it was equipped with straps, ropes, cables, brackets of all shapes and sizes, chains, and large superconducting magnets linked to a nearby control panel by supercooled conduits wreathed in whiffs of cool white vapour. Balthacarius flipped a little
20220408.1534 UTC 0270 switch and three magnets activated, rendering the metal Mrorl motionless.
20220408.1800 UTC 0320 install a deactivation failsafe in any Mrorls that it might manufacture if so instructed by an unscrupulous master." At this, Balthacarius blushed, embarrassed. Mrorl continued, "I returned to the Present, Waited by the now-darkened-workshop door for myself to emerge, then triggered the failsafe,
20220408.2247 UTC 0334 1. Readers wishing for their own title may avail themselves of [automome|http://mrob.com/time/automome/butan.php?template=edtitle&n=7] (using its rendition of [MustardRiver's``dispensary|http://mustardriver.webfactional.com/hyperwaitforce/randomname/], now sadly offline).
20220409.0200 UTC 0274 "*Heresy!*" (again in that mock-Python tone), "... like I said. Do you remember the Cognitative Engine that you created? That tragic madbot who chased us across the kingdom and trapped us in a cave?"
20220409.0601 UTC 0322 And Mrorl pointed casually at a fresh pile of bot-components over against the wall (many dusted in a sugary pastel-coloured sheen), and sighed.
20220409.1001 UTC 0323 Whereupon they exchanged kind words, shook hands and parted the best of friends.
20220409.1809 UTC 0329 "What? Here I was able to see through his ruse and give him such a thorough pelting for it that he had to sneak back home in the night and retro-edit his posts, and make up even more ludicrous stories to cover it up, and yet still he bears little bits of chocolate in every crevice and joint, for anyone
20220409.2201 UTC 0331 Bewildered Balthacarius went home, closed himself in his workshop, and again drew the blinds. He had been building a Machine to Manifest One's Deepest Desires, only Mrorl had beat him to it.
20220410.0201 UTC 0345 frumnions, and thereby sally forth on Journeys to distant planets, and rugged lands thereon, and strange servers therein, and unique sites thereon, in the aforewhen and afterwhen alike,
20220410.0601 UTC 0346 there to confer the benefits of their expertise.
20220410.1001 UTC 0347 And so it was for Mrorl and Balthacarius, after a bit of a shaky start. The initial disaster of the Machine That Could Grant Any Wish Having a Single Parameter *N* was averted and repaired
20220410.1001 UTC 0347 And so it was for Mrorl and Balthacarius, after a bit of a shaky start. The initial disaster of the Machine That'he Royal blessing, and all-important funding. They built a great &TARDIS& (for
20220410.1403 UTC 0349 burst forth once more from all places, drawn from precisely pre-programmed palettes. This earned the bOTTifactors the Royal blessing, and all-important funding. They built a great &TARDIS& (for
20220410.1803 UTC 0350 Mrorl) and a variety of castraftles, rockets, trains, and bicycles (for Balthacarius) that were cleverly equipped with the ability to transport each other when needed, as there were occasional
20220410.2201 UTC 0348 via Time-travel (by Mrorl) and cleverly programmed microbots (by Balthacarius) dispatched to the nonlinear automamygdala of the great Machine, and upon their return to the Present colours
20220411.0201 UTC 0353 In keeping with the ancient custom, Mrorl and Balthacarius, who could alter the very fabric of Spaaace-Time as easily as tailoring a shirt, soon ventured out together on their first Journey
20220411.0601 UTC 0357 "Stone golems?" guessed Balthacarius.
20220411.1001 UTC 0358 "I'm thinking trolls," replied Mrorl. "This wall is definitely *#very#``epsilon*, and it hints at what we're up against." They checked the planet's internet; a nopix or two of surfing made
20220411.1404 UTC 0361 "With two fora, it's best you offer your services to one, and I to the other." suggested Mrorl.
20220413.1815 UTC 0268 And Balthacarius led the replica Mrorl firmly over to the door to the Basement, which he opened, then gave a little push so Mrorl had no choice but to stumble down the stairs (which were, at least, adequately lit). At the bottom Balthacarius promptly set Mrorl down in a large comfy chair that had
20220413.2200 UTC 0324 From that Time on, Mrorl did nothing but tell everyone and anyone who would listen how he, Mrorl, had given the Brilliant Balthacarius a Bot to Grant One's Every Wish, how then Balthacarius had insulted him (and the bot) by instructing it to build him a duplicate Mrorl down to quantum resolution,
20220414.0201 UTC 0362 "Fine," said Balthacarius. "But what if they ask for blackhat hacking? Such things happen."
20220414.0601 UTC 0363 "True, they could demand botnets, even gray goo," Mrorl agreed. "We'll simply refuse."
20220414.1000 UTC 0364 "And if they insist, and threaten us?" returned Balthacarius. "This too can happen."
20220414.1405 UTC 0365 "Let's see," said Mrorl, opening up a browser. The pastpages of several popular threads were littered with takedown notices, deleted posts, and timestamp gaps when evidently the entire
20220414.1801 UTC 0367 "I have an idea," said Balthacarius, switching it off. "We can use the Gontalmannas Effect. What do you think?"
20220414.2200 UTC 0368 "Ah, the 'Botnet' of Gontalmannas!" exclaimed Mrorl. "I never heard of it actually being put into practise... but there's always a first time. Yes, why not?"
20220415.0201 UTC 0369 "We'll both be prepared to use it," Balthacarius explained. "But it's essential that we use it together, or not at all, otherwise we're totally ch**rped."
20220415.0600 UTC 0341 =W=hen the OTT was not quite so old as it is todip, and all the frames were ONGd and numbered for the very first Time, so you could easily view them from past to present, or present to past,
20220415.1001 UTC 0300 And once again he pressed the little button labeled "S&&S&&M&&M", letting the Skittles and Smarties and M&&Ms fly.
20220415.1401 UTC 0316 "The duplicate Mrorl," Mrorl replied, "was nearly immobile with a thick crust of crystallised sugar, apparently heated by the energy of impact, combined with the internal heating of a desperate and struggling Mrorl. You *do* know that I am heated from within by my power systems?" Balthacarius avoided
20220415.1801 UTC 0319 "I tried to reason with it, but it locked itself in the workshop and made all manner of cutting, clanging and welding sounds until I went out to the generator shed and shut off the mains. But not before leaving a guard by the door, none other than the Bot to Grant One's Every Wish, which I should point out has been carefully
20220415.2200 UTC 0320 designed to install a deactivation failsafe in any sentient beings that it might manufacture if so instructed by an unscrupulous master." At this, Balthacarius blushed, embarrassed. Mrorl continued, "I came back inside, Waited by the now-darkened-workshop door for myself to emerge, then triggered the failsafe,
20220416.0200 UTC 0325 which he proceeded to pelt mercilessly; how this cleverly constructed copy of the great bOTTifactor made desperate lies to save itself and escape, and how Mrorl himself, the real Mrorl, eventually had to trigger a self-sabotage of the artificial Mrorl to protect his good friend and colleague from its
20220416.0601 UTC 0005 v _ł_ 𝑊𝑎𝑖𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑖𝑡.
20220416.0601 UTC 0005 v _ł_ 𝑊𝑎𝑖𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑖𝑡.
20220416.1000 UTC 0008 o--/: \--o
20220416.1000 UTC 0008 o--/: \--o
20220416.1404 UTC 0330 who might look! And for this they decorate him, praise him, and elevate his name to seaish proportions? <*:O tempora, O mores!:>"
20220416.1841 UTC 0330 who might look! And for this they decorate him, praise him, and elevate his name to seaish proportions? <*:O tempora, O mores!:>"
20220416.2200 UTC 0342 and all their molpies were newly named, and the grayer, mustardy bits set apart as pixels of a lower grade; when puns were swiftly sawed and hats handily haberdashed, when OtherComics had been
20220417.0201 UTC 0343 OTTified only once, if at all; in those good old dips it was the custom for bOTTifactors, once they had been appointed the office of Royal Ambassador of Technology to All Spaaace and Time, or
20220417.0601 UTC 0345 frumnions, and thereby sally forth on Journeys to distant planets, and rugged lands thereon, and strange servers therein, and unique sites thereon, in the aforewhen and afterwhen alike, there to confer the benefits of their expertise.
20220417.1001 UTC 0346 And so it was for Mrorl and Balthacarius, after a bit of a shaky start. The initial disaster of the Machine That Could Grant Any Wish Having a Single Parameter *N* was averted and repaired via Time-travel
20220417.1402 UTC 0347 (by Mrorl) and cleverly programmed temporal shenanobots (by Balthacarius) dispatched to the nonlinear automamygdala of the great Machine, and carefully balanced so that the bOTTifactors' past selves would still experience a convincing albeit small bubble
20220417.1800 UTC 0348 of chromatic scarcity, with the rest of creation experiencing only a short-lived wave of grayness and fading that could be neutralised when needed by a clever if somewhat dodgy invention Balthacarius called the "MusTARDIS". The net effect was a resounding
20220417.2201 UTC 0349 success, as upon their return to the Present colours burst forth once more from all places, drawn from precisely pre-programmed palettes. This earned the bOTTifactors the Royal blessing, and all-important funding. They built a great &TARDIS& (for
20220418.0201 UTC 0373 The forum on which Mrorl registered his account was run by @@Gursagar, who was Arch-Moderator (or Modarch, for short) of all on his side of the wall. He was desparaging to the core, and incredibly frugal with words. To ease the work of searchbots, he did away with
20220418.0601 UTC 0382 vividly illustrate their personalised character assassinations. In order that the thread not be *too* full of the latter (which had happened during the Modarchy of @@Dragmarel several yips
20220418.1001 UTC 0384 continued to delurk. Upon gaining private-message permissions, Mrorl offered his professional services. The Modarch -- not surprsingly -- wanted powerful Cognincendiary Bots to monitor all thread
20220418.1401 UTC 0388 Balthacarius meanwhile set up his account on the planet's only other forum, which was ruled by the mighty Arch-Demon @@Simidirkar. This Modarch also delighted in online debate, and he too worked
20220418.1817 UTC 0392 were packed, wordcounts reached up to the sky. In practise he feigned ignorance, yet with loquacity; a &/\/\0r0|\|&, yet manipulative. On every anniversary of his coronation as Modarch he mandated the annual Ritual of Madness.
20220418.2200 UTC 0396 self-immolated as a result of Simdrikarnan actions. This high-minded Modarch also had a theory, which he put into action, called the Theory of Universal Lulziness. It was well known, certainly,
20220419.0201 UTC 0399 continually post how right they were about everything, and the old, indefinite qualifiers of *"I``think"* and *"perhaps"* were Modi-filtered into unambiguous *"I``know"* and
20220419.0601 UTC 0400 *"absolutely"* -- though delurkers and firstposters were permitted to say *"You``know..."* or *"TIL"*, and the OldTimers, *"Totally!"*. Contrary translations were applied to known flamers, for
20220419.1001 UTC 0403 graciously quoted or replied to such drivel, hundreds more would post: "*You``know...*" -- "*TIL...*" -- "*obviously...*" -- "*...totally.*" He liked to jump into threads he hadn't read, and out of the blue announce:
20220419.1401 UTC 0429 up the high street to the palace of Modarch @@Simidirkar himself. After being scanned for hidden spying equipment, then fitted with hidden spying equipment, briefed thoroughly on forum etiquette, and taught how not to
20220419.1801 UTC 0430 misspell the username of His Arch-Modness, Balthacarius obtained the honour of a private chatroom over an encrypted channel. They also gave him a megaphone, cymbals, rattles, an air horn and several smaller
20220419.2209 UTC 0433 a response. Balthacarius promised to fulfill the request; his plan, he assured the Modarch, represented a radical departure from the accepted principles of online combat. What kind of assault -- he
20220420.0201 UTC 0442 proving that even the Arch-Moderator himself had been trolled by the suggestion. Some of these were ambiguous or contradictory and others superfluous, as @@Simidirkar trolled instinctively by every
20220420.0601 UTC 0447 "Oh, do not do this, Your Arch-Modness!" exclaimed the clever Balthacarius, feigning dismay. "That is exactly what the Great Sysop @@Tortlarjon did, and his staff, to protect their own
20220420.1001 UTC 0450 Whereupon he bowed, went to his room and checked the PNG Frame, which was not faint at all but bright red and white: a picture of flames; that meant Mrorl had done likewise at the forum of @@Gursagar. The Modarch
20220420.1404 UTC 0457 Mrorl fared similarly in the forum of @@Gursagar, except that, due to that Modarch's well-known aversion to the making of new words, his proposal emphasised repetition, which fit established
20220420.1831 UTC 0475 had planned had come to pass: before the eyes of the mortified, infuriated Modarchs, both fora joined together into a great bOTTified community that would battle no more.
20220420.2200 UTC 0478 pelting, he graciously apologised for his earlier basement inquisition of the "duplicate Mrorl", which the latter forgivingly accepted, and with no hard feelings.
20220421.0201 UTC 0627 ambition-amplifiers and auto-augmenters, so very soon the machine had compensated for its shortcomings. Its poetry became intricate, ambiguous, and incomprehensibly layered with meaning, nagging at the listener's soul to the point of causing incomania for anyone who had received an audience with the Bard.
20220421.0601 UTC 0636 The true poets, meanwhile, were being decimated by Mrorl's creation, though it never laid a finger on them nor emitted a picowatt of lethal radiation. The newly-formed Eligiastic Union, organised to lobby the Senate, fell apart even before its first hearing before that body, as one after another of its
20220421.1001 UTC 0641 commissioned at one time or another to write new lyrics for every popular tune. It became commonplace for citizens of the Dominion to faint wherever they happened to be standing, upon hearing some new verse, but the Bard learned of this and was soon appending rejuvenative rhymes to the end of each new
20220421.1400 UTC 0659 But even if there were any truth to this, Mrorl chose to ignore it, and simply vowed never again to OTTomate an orator or Mrobotically model the Muse.
20220421.1801 UTC 0670 Unfortunately, they were quite unable to agree on a destination. Balthacarius, given to warmer climes, suggested the three volcanic moons of Meldanbin, home of the mythical Charazorsal, while Mrorl,
20220421.2201 UTC 0675 bOTTifactors found a suitable spot, where there were plenty of bright stars and no inhabited planets. Then, with the aid of many bots, temporal vortices and cleverly cross-wired Object Generators,
20220422.0201 UTC 0683 *Iqueaxna*. Seven articulated legs extended to meet the ground, while several more legs did not (they were apparently just for show, as they were clearly too short, but were also very expensive;
20220422.0603 UTC 0685 Mrorl, Balthacarius, or anything else of import; then vanished back into the launch bay from which they had emerged. Then two ramps extended simultaneously, down which glided retinues of decorator-bots carrying
20220422.1120 UTC 0685 Mrorl, Balthacarius, or anything else of import; then vanished back into the launch bay from which they had emerged. Then two ramps extended simultaneously, down which glided retinues of decorator-bots carrying
20220422.1400 UTC 0692 was apparently to fend off real flies, should any be so bold or foolish to approach.
20220422.1801 UTC 0712 the light of the Green Sun and avoid Erosion); more exotic crops included Kitnip, 'Shadow Feeder', and Camelflarge.
20220422.2201 UTC 0714 surreal as this... hey look at that, a Dimensional Keyhole!"
20220423.0201 UTC 0715 But Balthacarius, unfazed, said nothing. They approached a city: houses flashed by, with walls of Bacon, Cake and Seacoal, lawns graced with Gazebos and Topiary, amid which Surfbots played with Technicolour Dream Cats.
20220423.0601 UTC 0716 There was a Dragon Forge, a giant <*:Department of Redundancy Department:> building, a memorial to the <*:Hundred Year Storm:>, and a titanic monument with the inscription <*:Wisdom of the Ages:>. At last a colossal palace loomed up
20220423.1000 UTC 0718 They entered an enormous hall in the shape of a giant Skull and Crossbones, where King Idle a-Waited them. There was a giant Glass Furnace on one side of the hall, a Crystal Flux Turbine on the
20220423.1401 UTC 0723 "Welcome, bOTTifactors!" he said, "As you've no doubt learned from Lady Padashii, Minister of Royal Hotdogs, I want you to create for me a newer and better kind of Game, a Hotdog that befits a Pantheon of Gods. I'm not interested, you understand,
20220423.1800 UTC 0736 "Many? That's difficult to say. It's far beyond *Wololo*... does Aleph One qualify as "*many*"? I know only that no one yet has satisfied me, and the pile of leftover slag in our Mouldy Basement has been mounting. But rest assured,
20220423.2208 UTC 0753 so that each seemed to pounce as the viewer walked past; this had apparently been awarded to the King for beating a hotdog called <*:Grouchy Dragon, Leaping Panther:>. There were trophies set upon Diamond Masterpiece Pedestals for hotdogs called
20220424.0215 UTC 0754 <*:Chthonism: Honour Among Serpents:> and <*:Lost Goats: Look Before You Leap:> and <*:Forward to the Past:> (this last topped with a Trilobite with Mirror Scales); another was for the puzzle-based *Automation``Optimiser*; yet another with an 8-bit pixelated design for the retro hotdog
20220424.0600 UTC 0769 white spires and domes catching the last lime-green rays of the setting sun, only then did Balthacarius turn to Mrorl and say:
20220424.1001 UTC 0771 "How do you mean?" asked Mrorl in a cautious whisper.
20220424.1401 UTC 0778 "That never occurred to me," muttered Mrorl. "You're quite right, the prospects are not at all toquish... have you thought of a way out of this dilemma?"
20220424.1801 UTC 0781 "That he won't like," said Mrorl after some thought. "And anyway, how would you design such a hotdog?"
20220424.2201 UTC 0789 "You mean, if the bot gets stuck?" asked Balthacarius.
20220425.0201 UTC 0790 "Sure," said Mrorl. "We can't count on this metabot being able to respond to any and every strategy of the King. Our lives are on the line, after all."
20220425.0601 UTC 0795 "Then why not use your Chronotransponder?" suggested Balthacarius. "We could install temporal object generators--"
20220425.1001 UTC 0796 "Chronotransponder indeed!" snorted Mrorl. "And how are we going to get to it, let alone send it to the aforewhen or afterwhen? Even if we had brought the necessary equipment, I'm sure there are
20220425.1401 UTC 0800 "Calm down," said the sagacious Mrorl, looking over his shoulder. "Perhaps we can make the hotdog design itself."
20220425.1801 UTC 0850 serve as Flag Bearer, but trained in Ninja Penance, Blitzing, and Precise Placement, carrying a Silver Loyalty Card, with a Ninja Ninja Duck upon its head, and each Carrybot to be followed by a small herd of nine Riverish Goats
20220425.2201 UTC 0861 facility and reassembled by seventeen of the finest Automata Engineers in the land, plus seven cybernOTTicians imported at great expense from Mrorl and Balthacarius' own planet, and three of the galaxy's
20220426.0201 UTC 0866 *STILL``JUST``BONEMEAL*, and another in the bowels of each of twenty-six goats reading <*:WE CAN'T BELIEVE YOU'RE LOOKING HERE:>, and in the twenty-seventh, <*:THIS WOULD BE A GREAT PLACE TO HIDE YOUR
20220426.0601 UTC 0871 Royal staff assistants, all made their way to the Game Preserve. The bOTTifactors emerged from their carriage accompanied by Royal guards, and (giving wide berth to the fearsome Draconic steeds) they approached the King himself and his Royal Hotdog Specialists,
20220426.1001 UTC 0874 by a winged Achronal Dragon who then landed delicately in front of the refridgerated servers and presented the first $REDUNDANT$ copy to a Standardbot, which turned and looked expectantly at the bOTTifactors for their final word.
20220426.1401 UTC 0875 "<*:We hereby submit this hotdog for your Majesty's sporting pleasure!:>" exclaimed Mrorl and Balthacarius together, whereupon the bot actually loaded the game into the organised sand.
20220426.1801 UTC 0884 it clearly, but it wasn't clear at all. With a flick of his wrist the King began to click on everything in sight. The hotdog blinked, little rectangles appearing and disappearing in punctuated flurries^{2}.
20220426.2201 UTC 0885 Eventually the King tried the Newpix itself and a tiny satisfying *#+1#* flitted up. "Oho! A simple clicking game with boosts! These bOTTifactors will be in the furnace before noon!" and the King continued
20220427.0201 UTC 0887 "H'm", thought the King. "Apparently this hotdog has the same type of exponential clicks-per-reward deferral system as -- what was the name again? -- Plugsal... -- that Plugsaldai's game used. Yes, I dealt
20220427.0600 UTC 0888 with xem myself for that m**stardish trick... This one's clearly Fibonacci. Well, we'll just Wait for the $[REDACTED]$." Thinking himself only a little bit clever for knowing what these were (and for employing expert spies), Idle repurposed his clicks and Waited. Patrolling
20220427.1001 UTC 0903 screen glowed a sapphire colour, and the Smallbot disintegrated into a pile of Black Powder. From the screen rose a 2.5-D holographic image of the King, who spoke in the unmistakably Royal style, telling that His Majesty was forced to negotiate with the bOTTifactors, for they had used
20220427.1401 UTC 0904 means both algorithmic, epsilonish, and OTTish, and furthermore had co-opted the Royal customs of Redunception and Fractal Fractals, to make him a captive of the Hotdog, and indeed Royally Nerdsniped, for this Hotdog operated in Foolscreen Mode by default, and had the novel feature of allowing,
20220427.1801 UTC 0906 if he wished ever to see his Hotdogging Sovereign back in the physical world, signed: "Idle herewith digitally signs this Royal Missive by his SHA-256, We are Immersed, Digitised, and Suspended in a Hotdog Matrix of unknown dimension and location,
20220427.2201 UTC 0943 Preserve: the fridge-like server-farm had risen up on hundreds of small wheels, and was now rolling down the streets of the city. It stopped in the middle of the central square, began to shimmer, then shudder,
20220428.0201 UTC 0946 "That should put your hotdogs into perspective," said Mrorl, and no one knew whether he meant Sandcastle Builder itself, or the King's pursuit of Hotdiggity sport. In either case, the self-paradoxical, meta-contradictory
20220428.0601 UTC 0950 <*:<$:The author wishes to thank @@Eternal``Density and all Sandcastle Builder contributors for filling that hotdog with such depth and complexity and so many elements, fewer than half of which are mentioned in this tale.:>:>
20220428.1001 UTC 0702 First they were brought to the Royal Guest Apartments, a wingghish Bungalow perched atop a rocky hill with broad picture windows and a splendid view of villages on all sides (the bOTTifactors soon noticed that there was no place
20220428.1401 UTC 0743 see the binding agreement so intricately carved upon the stairs? If every bOTTifactor who came here could leave whenever he pleased, why, I'd have to Wait forever for my molpiest hopes to be realised! There is no Backing Out from this decree, you
20220429.0318 UTC 0830 "What is his Sand Purifier level? Right! Now -- hold on -- you have to engage Controlled Hysteresis, whilst keeping Furnace Crossfeed linked to Flying Buckets. Not yours, Cueball, the King's! All right now, ready? Crystal Wind, Double Byte,
20220429.0600 UTC 0840 Lodestones, and many other precious and nonprecious minerals, including all types of Sand, Chips, and Crystals; then they needed to see Grapevines, Mushrooms, Cress, and a great many other plants, and any bits of
20220429.1001 UTC 0841 molpies and raptors that could be found in the Royal Museums, such as Spines, Tusks, Eggs, and Dragon Scales; as well as the finest examples of Panther Salve, Ointment, Knitted Beanies, Recycled Diamonds, Flux
20220429.1401 UTC 0842 Capacitors, and all handcrafted and manufactured goods. Then they asked for a great variety of machines with qualified helpers, such as a Space Elevator with Ninja Assistants, a Glass Blower with integrated
20220429.1801 UTC 0843 Mustard Injector operated by Robotic Shoppers, and a Temporal Bot who is Stuck in Reverse and operating an Atomic Pump with the aid of Temporal Duplication thereby trying anyone's patience for entropy; not to mention a wide assortment of spies -- for so brazen had the bOTTifactors become, that on the triplicate requisition form they
20220429.2200 UTC 0844 wrote, <*:"Also, kindly send Outsiders, R.A.Z.O.R. agents, Stealthy Bots, and intelligence officers of various specialities and backgrounds at the discretion and with the approval of the R.I.M.":> The next dip they asked for local tour guides and cultural
20220430.0201 UTC 0845 experts, to accompany them on field trips. Everything was specified with the utmost precision. They asked to see Dragon Nesting Sites, the twice-miply Mega Rituals of Sea Mining and Bag Burning, and *Coma``Molpy``Style* performed
20220430.0601 UTC 0846 by Beachomancers and Luggagebots. They travelled to see the Crystal Dragon of Magic Mountain, toured the largest Glass Factory to learn the art of Jamming Seaish Glass Blocks into a Robotic Feeder with a Minigun, visited the world-famous Baobab Tree Fort, entered themselves in a Glass Trolling
20220430.1001 UTC 0847 competition (promptly ended by Overcompensating Window Washing Beanies), photographed Ch**rpies with Cameras, and witnessed the Mind Glow of Schrödinger's Gingercat. The King scowled when he heard these requests, but ordered them
20220430.1401 UTC 0848 to be carried out to the letter, for he had given his Royal word. The bOTTifactors were thus granted all that they wished, spending so much they became the fastest Valued Customers to earn a Gold Loyalty Card without the benefit of Clerical Error.
20220430.1801 UTC 0850 serve as Flag Bearer, but trained in Ninja Penance, Blitzing, Embaggening, and Precise Placement, with a Ninja Ninja Duck upon its head, and each Carrybot to be flying a Kite and Key while followed by a small herd of nine Riverish Goats
20220430.2201 UTC 0852 letter from Balthacarius in which he demanded the immediate provision of (1) Mysterious Maps showing all Dragon Foundries in the area, (2) Potions of Strength, Healing, and Summon Knights Temporal, (3) a Chequered Flag
20220501.0200 UTC 0853 with the motto <*:Blixtnedslag Förmögenhet, JA!:>, and (4) A Cup Of Tea. These proved too much for the Decryptor-General: he seemed to go Mad then and there, and had to be taken away for a much-needed rest. During
20220501.0601 UTC 0855 libraries, learning about Mustard Automation, Crystal Memories, the Mould Press and Void Vault, Nuclear Fission Chips, and countless other technologies. They retreated to the guest apartments' basement, hammering away at the hotdog
20220501.1000 UTC 0859 every move; meanwhile the R.I.M. had added Panopticons, Polarisers, and 3D Lenses to the bungalow's Stelth Cams.
20220501.1401 UTC 0868 At last the day came when their work was completed. The Royal Game Preserve was the centrepiece of the grandest part of the Royal Palace complex, which strangely resembled a palace not so much as a Storehouse of Affordable Swedish Home Furniture. The vast office-like space
20220501.1801 UTC 0869 was filled by a Permanent Staff consisting of Bots, Pages, and Ninjas led by Paladins, who attended to a variety of support equipment. In the centre was a server-farm of three hundred botcastles housed inside a huge refrigerator, which had been readied to run any hotdog with complete $REDUNDAN$cy.
20220501.2201 UTC 0870 The King sent a convoy headed by Lady Padashii herself to fetch Mrorl and Balthacarius, who were Waiting when they arrived, having packed a golden master of their completed hotdog plus six $REDUNDANT$ copies in each of three Bags of Folding.
20220502.0201 UTC 0871 With helper-bots and Royal staff assistants, all made their way to the Game Preserve. The bOTTifactors emerged from their carriage accompanied by Royal guards, and (giving wide berth to the fearsome Draconic steeds) they approached the King himself and his
20220502.0601 UTC 0872 Royal Hotdog Specialists, showing appropriate deference and respect. As was the custom, they were met halfway by a Swedish Chef and his two Shopping Assistants. These each took one of the three Bags, unfolded and removed their
20220502.1001 UTC 0874 by a Princess riding a winged Noble Dragon, who then landed delicately in front of the refridgerated servers and presented the first $REDUNDANT$ copy out of each bag to Standardbots, which turned and looked expectantly at the bOTTifactors for their final word.
20220502.1401 UTC 0875 "<*:We hereby submit this hotdog for your Majesty's sporting pleasure!:>" exclaimed Mrorl and Balthacarius together, whereupon the bots actually loaded the game thrice-redundantly into the organised sand; with the remaining contents from each Bag placed in Locked Vaults.
20220502.1801 UTC 0877 the Hotdiggity Waiting Facility. They were required to leave behind anything they were carrying (which was nothing), and were put into a massive Locked Crate, then transported down to the most elegantly decorated pelting chamber either of
20220502.2201 UTC 0878 them had yet seen. During this process they grinned and giggled, and again hummed their favourite bot-building tunes, which was quite disarming to the Inquisitorobots who manned the Facility and were accustomed
20220503.0201 UTC 0883 EARNED: REDUNDANT REDUNDANCY / BADGE EARNED: NOT GROUND ZERO / ...:> and so on. Several of these flew up and faded too quickly for the King to take heed. Then the hotdog just sat there, Waiting. Everyone could see
20220503.0601 UTC 0890 The hotdog prepared its next surprise. Taking its warning (<@:YOU SENSE TROUBLE, THE BOTS ARE RESTLESS:>) in stride, the King watched the Timer and prepared for the ONG. Those who saw what happened next said later they were sure they had taken leave of their senses, for as the NewPixBots got ready to activate, they
20220503.1001 UTC 0846 by Beachomancers and Luggagebots. They travelled to see the Crystal Dragon of Silicon Valley, toured the largest Glass Factory to learn the art of Jamming Seaish Glass Blocks into a Robotic Feeder with a Minigun, visited the world-famous Baobab Tree Fort, entered themselves in a Glass Trolling
20220503.1401 UTC 0889 the rows and columns of little boxes, the King caught one, two, three, ... and eventually seven Redundakitties and was soon using Trebuchet Pong and Varied Ammo on Magic Mountain.
20220503.1801 UTC 0891 underwent a lightning transformation. In a nanosecond, their little metal eyes turned red, and they began to devour castles. Above the Newpix appeared the words, @JUDGMENT``DIP@. The King had a plan; but Time Travel was ineffective, reporting merely <@:WOLOLO COUNT MUST BE LESS THAN INFINITY:>. The Game Preserve
20220503.2201 UTC 0892 had temporochronic stabilising shields, meant to thwart shenanigans by hotdog vendors, and this game was cleverly designed to emulate all multiversal causality laws of the organised sand in which it is running. The King was completely unprepared for this; he panicked, and closed the Vendor Tools window -- and
20220504.0201 UTC 0893 in a trice, the Hotdog closed the King -- that is to say, he simply vanished, without so much as a Royal puff of smoke. A new message drifted up: <@:YOU ACCIDENTALLY SLIP THROUGH THE TEMPORAL RIFT!:>. Assistants rushed into the Simulation Chamber and looked at the King's full-immersion floatation suit, now empty, and
20220504.0601 UTC 0894 stared at the hotdog's 3D projections. From their surveillance botcastles, R.I.M. agents accessed the organised sand and attempted to recover the game. Most attempts redirected to a [molpyroll|https://mrob.com/users/yb/Molpies-360p.mp4]. One tried a full Molpy Down, and another simply Waited until the evil Bots had
20220504.1001 UTC 0895 done their worst. Somehow they managed to forget about Redundakitties or Quantum Castrodynamics, and one accidentally saved xer game over the other. Then several divisions of Hotdog Engineers were ordered to sift through each of the three hundred $REDUNDANT$ servers for any trace of the King, while the Western
20220504.1401 UTC 0895 done their worst. Somehow they managed to forget about Organised Sand or Quantum Castrodynamics, and one accidentally saved xer game over the other. Then several divisions of Hotdog Engineers were ordered to sift through each of the three hundred $REDUNDANT$ servers for any trace of the King, while the Western
20220504.1801 UTC 0895 done their worst. Somehow they managed to forget about Organised Sandworms and Quantum Castrodynamics, and one accidentally saved xer game over the other. Then several divisions of Hotdog Engineers were ordered to sift through each of the three hundred $REDUNDANT$ servers for any trace of the King, while the Western
20220504.2201 UTC 0897 The Grand Commisioner of Inquisitorobots found the bOTTifactors at the Hotdiggity Waiting Facility and addressed them:
20220505.0201 UTC 0898 "*Whereas* -- all y'all have falsely and deceptively conspired against the very Existence of the Crown and His Majesty King Idle, and indeed accelerated his demise, evidently to render him an Ex-King, so y'all shall
20220505.0601 UTC 0899 be ritually Flung, Trebuchet-like, into the Royal Glass Furnace, and your recycled remains shall evermore be a reminder to all of the Afterwhen who would contemplate Regicide by Hotdog; and *Whereas* -- the King's decree (long live the King) dictates
20220505.1001 UTC 0900 that even the doomed shall get their reward, these Two Pots O‘ Gold shall melt along with you; and *Whereas* there are two of you, we shall use Furnace Multitasking. <*:So Molp It Be:>."
20220505.1401 UTC 0902 Just then, the Waiting Facility guards made way for a Smallbot messenger, who boldly addressed the Grand Commisioner, <*:"Riverish though I may be, I come from the King!":> and handed him a leopad. When he did so, the
20220505.1801 UTC 0905 yea *inviting* the player to dive right into its own code and make changes for xemself -- something ironically called "Free and Open Source" -- through Vendor Tools and #gitwurst# and such-like, and whilst the King was so indisposed, they, the bOTTifactors, would list their demands, all of which the Grand Commisioner had better meet,
20220505.2200 UTC 0907 by one Sandcastle Builder in a thousand and eleven tiny relocatable rectangles personified."
20220506.0201 UTC 0908 There arose a most unmolpish clamour, with guards and Inquisitorbots and others who had followed the riverish messagebot all shouting and asking what this all meant, and what were the demands, their clamour interrupted only by the
20220506.0601 UTC 0909 R.I.M. Minister proclaiming that their analysis of the Royal Hologram and SHA-256 confirmed authenticity and sincerity down to the Planck Limit, upon which Mrorl said simply, "These magnets, if you please."
20220506.1001 UTC 0911 Balthacarius said:
20220506.1401 UTC 0913 The Royal Court, of course, was furiously doodling, as the evening's fireworks had been prepared for the celebration of the King's *victory*, not of his absence, but they had to comply. Only after breakfast the
20220506.1801 UTC 0915 First, a ship of the finest design, lavishly appointed and certified for interstellar service, and bearing the callsign *GEMG*, shall be provided to carry the bOTTifactors home;
20220506.2201 UTC 0916 Second, That said ship shall be laden with cargo as here specified: (where there followed a detailed inventory of anything they had taken a liking to over the past dips);
20220507.0201 UTC 0918 crowds -- until then, no King;
20220507.0601 UTC 0919 Fourth, That a formal expression of unending wowterfullness shall be rendered as a pair of gold medallions, addressed to Their Most Awefulsome and OTTish bOTTifcators Balthacarius and Mrorl, Unexcelled
20220507.1001 UTC 0921 none other than Lady Padashii, Minister of Royal Hotdogs, the very Emissary who lured their Most Molpish and Awefulsome bOTTifactors away from their beloved pastime of waterottermolpywatching, seemingly to a
20220507.1401 UTC 0922 pre-designed and almost certain m**stardy and e****ish death on this planet;
20220507.1801 UTC 0923 Fifth, That the aforesaid Lady Padashii shall accompany them on their return journey, as insurance against any double-sniping, reverse-bOTTifiaction, temporal shenanigans, or the like, and whilst on board she shall occupy a comfy chair not
20220507.2201 UTC 0924 unlike that used to restrain the great bOTTifactors, and shall receive a daily allowance of stale chocolate, which chocolate shall be conveyed by a mode of delivery to be determined later, at Balthacarius' discretion;
20220508.0201 UTC 0927 Intelligence, the Chief of Hotdog Engineers, the Master of Royal Hotdoggery, the Grand Warden of the Royal Game Preserve, the Decryptor-General, Hotdiggity! Ltd., and the Royal Ch**rping Ninja Dragon
20220508.0601 UTC 0937 a game that would instantly appeal to its audience, presenting the illusion of familiarlty, and yet completely baffle and confuse, whilst being inconceivably addictive. This veritable Black Hole of hotdog design sucked in the King almost as quickly as permitted by the laws of gravity and quantum
20220508.1001 UTC 0939 Now the *GEMG* spaceship was ready for takeoff. Mrorl, as stipulated in their agreement, went through the King's private chambers with a large Fractal Bag of Holding and calmly pinched anything he liked the
20220508.1401 UTC 0942 erupted in cacophony, as the news arrived (first by the ch**rps of startled witnesses, then on the large screen set up for the send-off ceremony) that there had been a disturbance at the Royal Game
20220508.1801 UTC 0943 Preserve: the Warehouse walls had fallen away and the fridge-like server-farm had risen up on hundreds of small wheels, crushed the poorly-assembled office furniture, and was now rolling down the streets of the city. It stopped in the middle of the central square,
20220508.2201 UTC 0944 began to shimmer, then shudder, then disassemble in stages from the outside in -- first walls, then cooling equipment and individual racks, and eventually the whole thing fell into a pile of Bonemeal, with a dusty and slightly dazzled King Idle
20220509.0201 UTC 0946 "That should put your hotdogs into perspective," said Mrorl, and no one knew whether he meant this particular incident or the King's pursuit of Hotdiggity sport in general. In either case, the self-paradoxical, meta-contradictory
20220509.0601 UTC 0951 ----
20220509.1538 UTC 0952 #Footnotes#
20220509.1800 UTC 0953 1. See [xkcd``207|http://xkcd.com/207], 2^{nd} panel.
20220509.2201 UTC 0954 2. This does not even begin to capture the complexity of the real *Sandcastle``Builder* user interface, which for some reason allows the player to reposition each element arbitrarily and independently of the other elements.
20220510.0201 UTC 0967 of greatest interest because of the well-known dracological paradox: when two dragons ninjapost one another, the product is doubly OTTified, resembling a self-goating decree (provided that at least one antepengoat has been sacrificed to the
20220510.0601 UTC 0972 fields were suitably aligned with the ONGs in the dragon's Time zone. In laymolp's terms, Dragons would have remained a mythological curiosity had it not been for needle-pulled things. To quanitfy this relationship, Mrorl first hypothesised a
20220510.1001 UTC 0979 granted, xeir actuality is much more likely once xey have made a firstpost. Suppose, for example, one organises a "hunt" for such a dragon: Summons xem, PMs xem, posts inviting cakes and poetry. The OTTers Wait, only to receive a
20220510.1410 UTC 0981 instinctively. Now, Outsiders and Revealers the Recent will occasionally demand that you show them this Temporal spaaace of yours, apparently unaware that ONGs, whose existence nomolpy in their right mind would question, also
20220510.1801 UTC 0982 move exclusively in Temporal spaaace, their ONGings and UNGings fully dependent on Temporality; though it is easier not to believe in ONGs than in dragons: ONGs, at least taken singly, won't try to nerdsnipe the entire thread.
20220510.2201 UTC 0986 retroparadoxical hence metatemporal, were behaving exactly according to theory (though contrary to all posting customs), or that his theory could predict the inscrutability of the posts that intruigued and yet confused them? It is not
20220511.0201 UTC 0987 surprising then that the OTT in general, instead of appreciating the value of Mrorl's polylogical insights, held it much against him. A group of OTTers thoroughly experienced in matters of forum etiquette waylaid the famous bOTTifactor and
20220511.0601 UTC 0990 xemselves were posting wild, OTTifying a variety of memes, crafting tales, and posting puzzles. This led Balthacarius to publish a seaish and treeish essay, in several maximally long posts, entitled <*:"Cryptopixelated Unbasementing of OTTological
20220511.1001 UTC 0991 Dracomolps, in the Special Case of Blitzposting from the Future into the Past.":> This article, and in particular its applicability to themed Hotdog-vending, created a sensation in the hotdiggity world, where there was still talk of the amazing polynerdsniping hotdog
20220511.1401 UTC 0992 (with its many Draconic upgrades and fittingly scaly badges) that had been used by the intrepid bOTTifactors against King Idle to avenge the **ndish deliquescence of their fellow vendors. But far greater was the sensation caused by the news that a certain bOTTifactor known as Tornater
20220511.1801 UTC 0993 Bunliuczanin was apparently making the OTT's dragons go into and out of the Basement at will. Whenever the Thread got slow and e****ishness seemed imminent, this Tornater would post, claiming to have blitzed through the Past and PMd a
20220511.2201 UTC 0995 how Tornater did this, since he was never seen in person nor anyplace online apart from the OTT. True, the guarantee he offered for dragon-unbasementing -- *dragerisis* -- was only probabilistic; though one ruler did pay him by similar means, that is, in digital currency
20220512.0201 UTC 0996 that was only statistically real and conveniently denominated by the crypographic codes of a famous local dragon. From that point on he made sure to use Aqua Regula and MusTARDIS-mediated quantum bifurcation to test the stability of any payment. One molpish afternoon Mrorl and Balthacarius met to discuss their
20220512.0600 UTC 1003 "With Temporal Interpolation ..."
20220512.1000 UTC 1005 "... Or Communication, yes."
20220512.1401 UTC 1020 Balthacarius looked at Mrorl silently, as both remembered the fateful utterance of a wish for standardised colour, the wish that, once granted, had effectively rendered many things invisible. Mrorl glanced up -- were great
20220512.1801 UTC 1028 "dracalindalysis", "metaseaish metastasis", "dracasomyosaurs", "additive orthodracethis", "ONGliDracidian", "$ENHANCED$ dracalindalysis", "cindracotas crescentis", "antechronol transubstance", "trans-when saurian interfer function",:> and
20220512.2201 UTC 1029 so on. Even Timlrorme took an interest, feeding their new ideas to a symbolic mathsbot in his lapleopard, producing the Gauss/Hilbert technique that outsiders [still``use|https://xkcd.com/2595] to this dip.
20220513.0201 UTC 1035 Chronotransponders, Object Generators, SpaaaceTime Portal Generators, and sundry other devices all far more advanced than anything they had employed up to that point, facilitated by Flux Crystals conveniently plundered from King Idle. Having a third ship would
20220513.0601 UTC 1039 [nearly-forgotten``post|#p3343933] by the famous philosophOTTer @@StratPlayer, Mrorl had formalised the principles that would become the *[Laws``of``Temporodynamics|#p3546215]*.
20220513.1001 UTC 1041 molpy sanctuary, which was desperately in need of dragons; and any skepticism on the part of the public about his abilities would be immediately put to rest by Mrorl and Balthacarius themselves, who would serve as documentarians,
20220513.1401 UTC 1047 these plans public, but before contacting Tornater they had enlisted an associate (a former R.I.M. agent for King Idle who owed them a favour) to infiltrate Tornater's operation and allow him to "discover" the existence of the future theme park
20220513.1801 UTC 1048 and planned location (but no other details). They had also employed additional indebted agents to get plenty of mustard on Tornater, to hold in reserve in case he threatened leaking the theme park information for blackmail.
20220513.2201 UTC 1050 confident that the bOTTifactors' field report could only help his reputation, as they could not publicise any steambottlish tactics he might employ to manifest dragons, as any detailed evidence thereto would run afoul of the park
20220514.0201 UTC 1054 dragons on film. This they did by travelling in time, as they had planned, Mrorl to the aforewhen and Balthacarius to the afterwhen. In simpler terms, they visited the many aeons of Watermolpshire's past and future history, seeking the
20220514.0601 UTC 1057 he could track down and unbasement AranCorin the famed ContempoDracoraptor. Xes well-known signature image with its gears counting out the Newpix was nowhere to be seen, though the Newpages had an energy about them, as if swarmed with Virtuals. A virtual
20220514.1001 UTC 1058 ContempoDracoraptor, the uneducated and simple-minded might say, "isn't really there", having no observable posts nor displaying the slightest intention of making any; but the Cybr-Mrorl-Balthacarius-Corin calculation (not to mention the
20220514.1401 UTC 1059 Drachendragzoortmeiv wave equation) clearly shows that a dragon can jump from the steampunk era to postmodern corporate times with no more effort than it takes to punsaw an eggcorn. Thus, on any Newpage, past or future, provided the
20220514.1801 UTC 1061 Instead of PMing the beast of indeterminate existence, which would have accomplished everything or nothing, Balthacarius, a true robotechnician, approached the problem $REDUNDANT$ly. In servers and power supplies, on hard drives and leopads he placed
20220514.2201 UTC 1062 probabilistic dracometric field detectors in phase-balanced pairs biased against each other, so as to distunguish posts by a true ContempoDracoraptor from anything conjured up by Tornator; meanwhile he configured a standard-gauge causality loop
20220515.0201 UTC 1063 via a Temporal Object Generator with OTTic Mustardbuster carried on the second starraftcastle *GEMG*, in such a way that it would cause a paradox if the true ContempoDracoraptor xemself posted, or if instead there were nothing at all resembling a dragon; and presently a
20220515.0601 UTC 1065 repeating transmission by OTTers posting frantically. Thinking there might be a Mrorl-related endless temporal loop, he replied. But it was only the followers of Tymandria, the subjects of Queen Rytor (successor to Minumanegon),
20220515.1001 UTC 1067 the basement with them. Quickly realising it would be useless to discuss matters with the Royal Dragologues -- their methods consisted primarily of chanting sonnets about the sacred Lost Hash -- Balthacarius instead scanned the
20220515.1401 UTC 1068 Tymandrians' posts in the same way he had just done with Minumanegon's non-ContempoDracoraptor. This revealed that the Newpages of Rytor's dynasty had been unaffected by true dragons, but were merely experiencing ripples from their aforewhen,
20220515.1801 UTC 1069 though he detected the phenomenon (commonly called "basilisps"), in which syllables, particularly when repeated in verse, would spread out and alliterate each other, which was in reality nothing more than a simple isOTTopic frame-acceleration of asynchronous
20220515.2201 UTC 1070 quantum pixels, visibly expressed as alphanumeric code. He requested a meeting with Queen Rytor's official historian, and politely asked for links to the earliest posts in the dips of their religion's founding, then boarded
20220516.0201 UTC 1071 *LEML* and navigated back to the indicated Newpage, minus a few for good measure, whereupon he met up with Mrorl.
20220516.0601 UTC 1074 <*:I received an alarming PM from AlicisiloNSD:
20220516.1001 UTC 1079 agent would be lying, so the pair packed their knapsacks with an assortment of the lightest and most essential dragon-hunting equipment, communicators and transcoders foremost amongst these, and set about Blitzing on foot.
20220516.2135 UTC 1080 Strongly suspecting that Tornater would leap on this opportunity and transmit faked dragonposts in the name of @@AlicisiloNSD, Mrorl began Blitzing his way forward whilst Balthacarius continued as before, i.e. aforewhenwards.
20220516.2200 UTC 1080 Strongly suspecting that Tornater would leap on this opportunity and transmit faked dragonposts in the name of @@AlicisiloNSD, Mrorl began Blitzing his way forward whilst Balthacarius continued as before, i.e. aforewhenwards.
20220517.0201 UTC 1081 It wasn't long before Balthacarius spotted dragon prints, in the form of more similar posts, and the unmistakable whiff of temporal ripples. On he went, undaunted, holding his newly-customised Temporal Object Generator in readiness and watching the annunciators
20220517.0601 UTC 1082 on its dracometric field detector. Tiny digits started at zero for a spell, then incremented nervously through *1*, *2*, *3*, and *5*, then jumped to *8*. There was no doubt: a dragon of wyvern variety, or Tornater's near-facsimilie thereof, was
20220517.1001 UTC 1083 close at hand -- which amazed Balthacarius, for he couldn't understand how his trusty friend and renowned mathematician, Mrorl, could have failed to notice the additive orthodracethis inherent in this Fibonacci progression.
20220517.1454 UTC 1084 Balthacarius then came upon a row of OTTers posting single-file in reverse, but $ЯОЯЯІМ$ed, and messaged Mrorl on the Chronotransponder. As the former was clearly employing a more temporally
20220517.1800 UTC 1085 paradoxical strategy, and himself not having found so much as a single dried-up scale, Mrorl returned to follow him.
20220517.2201 UTC 1086 Balthacarius asked the $ЯОЯЯІМ$ed OTTers what was happening.
20220518.0201 UTC 1092 "Yea', an' thus'll en' th' OTT."^{6b}
20220518.0601 UTC 1099 "Precisely." Mrorl began configuring his transcoder, loading Unglish, Squarish, and Beanish lexicons along with all known utterances of dragons.
20220518.1001 UTC 1100 Another of the OTTers spoke up. "I saw someone calling himself Oscar, he took 14 steps and then told us a letter. But I knew not where to count from."^{5b}
20220518.1401 UTC 1101 "I think a dragon has either gone quietly mad or become, how do they say? ... quantum entangled?"^{7}
20220518.1801 UTC 1111 "But if Oscar is *offset* and Charlie is *character*, Juliet should be *frame*. So Juliet is apparently not the lady's real name, which begins with *F*... perhaps @Fiona@?"
20220518.2201 UTC 1112 "The fairytale princess took a Shakespearean name?" Mrorl shrugged; no mustard belies explanation -- she was likely the wyvern's desired captive. Balthacarius glanced again at his field detector, now reading *34*.
20220519.0200 UTC 1114 The lead OTTer interrupted Mrorl's train of thought. "Aye, we tol' tha' lady Fiona we reck'nd that drag'n was on the prowl for 'er, and she run off t' tha' 'ills, 'n' if any'un came askin' fer her, just tell 'im th'r Princess is in
20220519.0601 UTC 1115 Anoth'r San'castl'."
20220519.1001 UTC 1117 "It's the Princess Protection Programme." added Balthacarius. "Standard procedure. Go on," he said to the $ЯОЯЯІМ$ed OTTers.
20220519.1401 UTC 1119 "That would be *'e``o``eedt'*," said Mrorl, who by this time had got his transcoder "working" (in a manner of speaking), then scowled at it, as the message^{5d} was evidently decoded improperly.
20220519.1801 UTC 1121 "It says, <*:'preparing for the Madness.':>"^{11}
20220519.2201 UTC 1122 "But that message was posted on a Davéandix in *Visitation``Ja!*, long before the Madness."
20220520.0201 UTC 1124 <*:"Our ContempoDracoraptor is the cause of all this.
20220520.0600 UTC 1126 "This way!" he exclaimed, handing back Mrorl's transcoder, and the OTTers resumed their line and carried on posting, single-file, in reverse, and $ЯОЯЯІМ$ed just as Balthacarius had found them.
20220520.1001 UTC 1127 The bOTTifactors left them, knowing this would at the very least set up a temporal causality matrix within which Tornater's dragonic shenanigans could be highlighted.
20220520.1401 UTC 1128 They Blitzed on, guided by the readings of a dragologically-calibrated molpometer Mrorl was keeping on a chain around his neck. As for Balthacarius' dracometric field detector, it was presently on *144* and trembling as if nervously
20220520.1800 UTC 1129 contemplating *233*. They soon received a chronogram from the elusive @@Darcrovich, claiming <*:"death is but a doorway, Time is but a window. I'll be back,":>^{13}. Mrorl searched the logs and pulled up xes later transmission: <*:"Just sending
20220520.2201 UTC 1130 [this] to let you all know [I am not] basemented, [just] sinking backwards in time,:>^{14} and the implication was clear: Tornater was trying to impersonate
20220521.0201 UTC 1131 all three great dragons simultaneously. Mrorl was speechless at this manifest boldness; Balthacarius merely smirked.
20220521.0601 UTC 1133 point of view, and the coördinates thereof are interrelated by the very dracomorphic fluctuations that allow dragons to travel so parodoxically in the first place. If the three positions can be determined accurately enough, and related to each other
20220521.1001 UTC 1134 as transposed by the ripples in Time, the coördinate correlation can be modeled well enough to intercept the source, that is, corner the dragon itself. It was this phenomenon which the fabled dracohunter Oophamegax Clay exploited when xe invented the antitemporal saurian-seeking guidance
20220521.1401 UTC 1135 system for wyrm-seeking missiles, outlawed long ago when dragon-hunting was deemed e****ish. Mrorl had recently reconstructed Clay's invention, only substituting a densely-packed cluster of temporochronic communications and tracking equipment for the original's deadly warhead,
20220521.1801 UTC 1136 in triplicate as that is what was needed to triangulate the triple locations of a dragon; then gave the plans to Balthacarius' bots to produce three more for each of his two ships; and as this gave them enough equipment to track all three famous OTT dragons at once, of course they decided to
20220521.2201 UTC 0680 do in shifts, covering all 24 nopix per dip, as they knew not when any visitors might arrive, and waterottermolpies oft swim at epsilonish Times, being Yappocised.
20220522.0201 UTC 0682 greet it. This ship gleamed in the sun, being made of gold and platinum inlaid with rubies, except for the parts which needed to endure heat, which were tungsten inlaid with sapphire. It bore the name
20220522.0601 UTC 0716 There was a Dragon Forge, two giant <*:Department of Redundancy Department:> buildings, a memorial to the <*:Hundred Year Storm:>, and a titanic monument with the inscription <*:Wisdom of the Ages:>. At last a colossal palace loomed up
20220522.1001 UTC 0751 Nearest at hand was a statuette of a Diamond-toothed Raptorcat, nearly cut in two and surrounded by little Facebugs and titled <&:Facebugs II&U3A; Panther Rush:>. Another trophy was nearly invisible, except for
20220522.1401 UTC 0752 its plaque: <&:Ninja League&U3A; The Fading:>. Another bore the likeness of a Beach Dragon and another Raptorcat (though its teeth were more like those of a Short Saw), which were somehow rendered holographically
20220522.1801 UTC 0753 so they seemed to pounce as the viewer walked past; this had apparently been awarded to the King for beating a hotdog called <&:Grouchy Dragon, Leaping Panther:>. There were trophies set upon Diamond Masterpiece Pedestals for hotdogs called
20220522.2201 UTC 0754 <&:Chthonism: Honour Among Serpents:> and <&:Lost Goats&U3A; Look Before You Leap:> and <&:Forward to the Past:> (this last topped with a Trilobite with Mirror Scales); another was for the puzzle-based &Automation``Optimiser&; yet another with an 8-bit pixelated design for the retro hotdog
20220523.0201 UTC 0755 &Loopin``Looie&. Down this museum of pwnification walked Mrorl and Balthacarius, pale and silent, looking as if they were on their way to a funeral instead of about to start another wowterfallish session of
20220523.0601 UTC 0786 "A Recursivebot? There are a lot of those here. Or perhaps we invent some sort of metabot?"
20220523.1001 UTC 0804 Glass Spades and Safety Pumpkins and Memory Singers and Negators and all the rest, but nothing will fit the way he is accustomed. In short, we'll make his world as surreal to him as it actually is to us!"
20220523.1401 UTC 0814 that the bOTTifactors' minds kept snapping. Furious, the hotdog's goal-directed graph writhed and wriggled in response to the King's choices, formed an infinite regression of subgraphs, which suddenly
20220523.1801 UTC 0820 earlier idea of basing all of the hotdog's elements on King Idle's physical world. With a few more sips from the Glass Chillers, they began anew, and watched tensely as the King progressed through first one, then a
20220523.2201 UTC 0821 second, and finally a third paradigm shift, whereupon the hotdog generalised its parameters and -- *wham!!* -- the goal-graph flew like mad through Alephv{ε} successive transformations, and when at last the hotdog
20220524.0201 UTC 0846 by Beachomancers and Luggagebots. They travelled to see the Crystal Dragon of Silicon Valley, toured the kingdom's largest Glass Factory to learn the art of Jamming Seaish Glass Blocks into a Robotic Feeder with a Minigun, visited the world-famous Baobab Tree Fort, entered themselves in a Glass Trolling
20220524.0201 UTC 0846 by Beachomancers and Luggagebots. They travelled to see the Crystal Dragon of Silicon Valley, toured the kingdom's largest Glass Factory to learn the art of Jamming Seaish Glass Blocks into a Robotic Feeder with a Minigun, visited the world-famous Baobab Tree Fort, entered themselves in a Glass Trolling
20220524.0605 UTC 0936 elements. King Idle, being excessively self-interested, seldom paid much attention to reality, that is to say, the outside world; and despite his intense pride at having defeated many hotdogs, had never encountered one based on his real world -- this world. Thus, the perfect combination --
20220524.1001 UTC 1137 repeat it all twice more to ensure extra $REDUNDAN$cy. To operate the thrice-tripled controls Mrorl and Balthacarius needed extra hands, which they manufactured for the occasion, and an associate bOTTifactor, in which role they employed Mrorl's senior helper Timlrorme.
20220524.1400 UTC 1138 But the dragons our heroes were tracking that dip reacted strangely, to say the least. Once the great winged molptiles were triangulated and brought within range, bots and bOTTifactors alike were expecting a traditional hunt, with much howling and thrashing
20220524.1801 UTC 1139 at rock, fire and brimstone, and ensuing landslides to shake the earth, cunning and quick-footed dodgery, the requisite hail of arrows, and a Timelessly unsurpassed battle of riddles, cutting questions and rapier wit. These dragons were clearly mechanical, being Tornater's construction as
20220524.2201 UTC 1140 Balthacarius had predicted, and the three hunters were prepared to engage with them as with Mrorl's Cognitative Engine long ago -- to which end they had trained in a variety of negotiating tactics and penned persuasive poetry. And indeed, just at the place and time the triplexed triangulators indicated
20220525.0201 UTC 1141 that all three beasts would be found together, there indeed they were, scaly wings and all, but a uniquely undracilian thing was happening: the first dragon merely stopped and stood still, its pearlescent blue scales dripping slightly. It was
20220525.0704 UTC 1142 looking towards the second, whose dark green hide appeared to be more of moss than of scales, and gave off a pleasant scent of early summer. This dragon, in turn, was looking at the third, its orange-brown armour glowing
20220525.1224 UTC 1142 looking towards the second, whose dark green hide appeared to be more of moss than of scales, and gave off a pleasant scent of early summer. This dragon, in turn, was looking at the third, its orange-brown armour glowing
20220525.1400 UTC 1143 faintly and wafting bits of black smoke. The third dragon was, of course, looking back at the first. All seemed apprehensive and more concerned with each other than the bOTTifactors who had triangulated them into the spot.
20220525.1801 UTC 1144 "This looks familiar," whispered Timlrorme to the others. "I've seen this sort of standoff whilst playing &Pokémolp``RUN!&"
20220525.2201 UTC 1149 "Grass beats Water, Water beats Fire, and Fire beats Grass. Everyone knows that. It's the oldest power-triad, as you doubtless recall."
20220526.0201 UTC 1156 Timlrorme tried to explain. "These are clearly Tornater's dragons, but they've been programmed to behave according to Pokémolp rules... and I'm pretty sure I know why. You -- *we* -- have to decide what we're going to do. We can turn and run, and leave them
20220526.0601 UTC 1160 "--into Pokémolp. Right. -- Hmm, it's best we soften them up a bit first. Here." Reaching into his pants-of-many-pockets, Timlrorme produced three unusual-looking dilgunnerangs, coloured blue, green, and orange; and handed one each to the other
20220526.1001 UTC 1168 beasts' heads; and though the nets were clearly not anywhere near the size needed to surround a dragon's head, much less the vast winged body, nevertheless an odd *swoosh* with beams of epsilonishly speckled light emerged from
20220526.1401 UTC 1169 each net and swept up its target, and in a trice the beasts, suddenly calmed and inexplicably riverish, were encapsulated comfortably inside. New aethereal words proclaimed:
20220526.1801 UTC 1174 It was Balthacarius who answered. "These dragons are artificial, of course, and under remote control -- and they have been transmitting telemetry data the whole time we tracked them."
20220527.1806 UTC 1175 "Where?" Mrorl asked. He and Timlrorme began turning slowly around, peering into the nearby swamp, for that's where they had been hunting this whole time -- in woods bordering on the misty swamps of
20220527.2201 UTC 1177 "I'll look at the Coincidence logs." The others were puzzled. "Uh, what?"
20220528.0201 UTC 1180 "No, this time-travel is not Tornater's doing. They're here because of this," and he held up his "field detector", now brightly glowing *75025*.
20220528.0601 UTC 1181 "Wait... that's a Temporal Interferometric--" Mrorl hesitated.
20220528.1001 UTC 1182 "Object Constructor, yes. Tornater intended to send us *virtual* dragons. Pokémolps are perfect, because they don't exist, except as part of an Augmented Reality. But Tornater wasn't counting on this," holding up the gadget to show the small *TIOC* card in its side.
20220528.1401 UTC 1183 "So your detector is also an Object Generator, uhhh, *Constructor*..." continued Timlrorme, catching on, "making the virtual into reality."
20220528.1801 UTC 1185 "Got you there: Plausible deniability!" exclaimed Timlrorme.
20220528.2201 UTC 1187 eager to be a part of our so-called dracological research project? Because it is here, on the site of the secret future *Time``World*, which is so secret that we could not possibly share any detailed evidence of what's going on,
20220529.0201 UTC 1188 notwithstanding the double-agent we sent and the tempting hints we planted. He knows he can get away with pretty nearly anything. Generating Augmented-Reality illusory dragons is risk-free: any proof of their nature, and the
20220529.0601 UTC 1189 falseness of their origins, would entail a full spatiotemporal scan of the place and time where the phenomenon was generated, and anywherewhen fromtowhich they willong-hav'n-been travelled."
20220529.1001 UTC 1190 "Riiiight." Mrorl paused, scratching his chin. "So, back to the original question. How does this help us?" lifting his Molpénet, in which a small and rather contented orange-brown scaly creature was curled up,
20220529.1401 UTC 1191 seemingly asleep, looking down at it, then back at Balthacarius.
20220529.1801 UTC 1194 "Well, it seems that is when Tornater will have begun operating and controlling dragons. And it occurs to me, Mrorl -- what to you think? A few huge colourful winged monsters would fit right in at a theme park, don't you agree?"
20220529.2201 UTC 1196 "Exactly. I propose that by NP2701 we will have retained the famous Tornater Bunliuczanin expressly for the purpose of bringing real, live, (robOTTic) dragons to *Time``World*. It'll be our newest expansion, bigger than Ucimversal Studios'
20220530.0201 UTC 1197 JurOTTic Park. Way bigger than Harry Otter."
20220530.0601 UTC 1198 "That's brilliant! Tornater is clearly the expert on conjuring winged molptiles. But how to actually get him to do this?"
20220530.1001 UTC 1199 "He can't refuse."
20220530.1401 UTC 1200 And with that, Balthacarius pressed a button, dispatching three wheelstick-wielding robots on small levitating scooters, which promptly went *poof* into the future, and a moment later reappeared with one Tornater Bunliuczanin in tow,
20220530.1801 UTC 1201 who absolutely refused to admit that anything was true^{16}. But Balthacarius pointed to his Molpénet, and the waterly blue winged creature curled within, and beheld Tornater's crestfallen look -- for as the bOTTifactor explained, the little
20220530.2201 UTC 1202 blue dragon was absolute, self-contained, irrevocable physical proof of Tornater's handiwork, and in case that were not enough, there were its two counterparts, the fire and grass dragons in his companions' nets; and if Tornater did not
20220531.0232 UTC 1203 agree to their terms of employment, as future Draconics Consultant for the theme park that he knew, and could not deny having been told, was even then being built on the very land upon which they were standing, then they, the bOTTifactors,
20220531.0600 UTC 1204 had merely to take their netted dragons to the Excessively Dangerous Molpy Sanctuary on Frelornados, there to be revived and inspected by the world's greatest cryptozoological experts; and then he, Tornater, would be exposed as a fraud. And
20220531.1001 UTC 1205 so it was that the proud Tornater Megtana IV of Bunliucz, the world's greatest perpetrator of dragonic forgery, began to synthesise, construct, and program real dragons, never again to disrupt the thread via pastposts, but to thrill and
20220531.1401 UTC 1206 excite *Time* fans young and old.
20220531.1801 UTC 0973 new element (which he dubbed *Dracontrium*), to be located right below Needlepulledthingriuntine in the periodic table, then began trying to synthesise it first in his Basement^{1}, then later at the newly-chartered Dracogenic Proving Grounds and
20220531.2201 UTC 0974 Excessively Dangerous Molpy Sanctuary on Ferelornados, a remote island granted to Molpiversity Newpixia. To this dip those unfamiliar with the General Theory of Epsilonity ask why Mrorl hypothesised Dracontrium first, and not *Brassinapium* or *Cerebrogastropodium* or
20220601.0201 UTC 0977 nearby with specially modified molpometers, ready to capture or subdue any dracomolp that might appear. A number of scholars subsequently repeated the experiments, both in reality and in many simulated OTTiverses, and all fruitless. Only
20220601.0601 UTC 1204 had merely to take their netted dragons to the Excessively Dangerous Molpy Sanctuary on Ferelornados, there to be revived and inspected by the world's greatest cryptozoological experts; and then he, Tornater, would be exposed as a fraud. And
20220601.1001 UTC 1207 ----
20220601.1401 UTC 1208 (- #The Dragons of OTTifiability# -)
20220601.1801 UTC 1209 (- Advance Bookings Available Now -)
20220601.2201 UTC 1210 <*:Be the first to explore the wonders of dracomolpology
20220602.0201 UTC 1211 in the world's only open-access dragon sanctuary!:>
20220602.0601 UTC 1212 - Taste chocolate from the Cauldrons of the Great Dragon of Inquisition
20220602.1001 UTC 1213 - Explore the corporate steampunk world of the Dragon of Temporal Insubtransmodulation
20220602.1401 UTC 1214 - Decipher the Cryptic Mysteries of Stormdragon "Michael" $(Not Xes Real Name)$
20220602.1801 UTC 1215 - Marvel at the Many Dragons of the Distant Aforewhen, Hurl Donuts at Pundragons, and Seek the Elusive Double Dragonpost
20220602.2201 UTC 1216 (- - Coming to %Time World% - -)
20220603.0201 UTC 1217 (- in Two Yips Deliverance^{17} -)
20220603.0601 UTC 1218 (- *It doesn't have to make sense to be fun!*^{TW} -)
20220603.1001 UTC 1219 ----
20220603.1401 UTC 1220 #Footnotes#
20220603.1801 UTC 1221 1. This writer acknowledges the controversial nature of doing draconOTTical research in the Basement, and notes that Mrorl expressed the hope that future generations, realising the naïveté of the Time, might extend retroactive forgiveness.
20220604.0358 UTC 1222 2. To participate in #Time``World# private previews, set your &TARDIS& or Blitzrocket's destination coördinates to Newpage [1414|#p3448122] and watch for our *Temporal``Edit*.
20220604.0600 UTC 1223 3. (See @@AluisioASG, [OTT:1630:16|#p3502780])
20220604.1001 UTC 1224 4. (See @@lmjb1964, [OTT:1618:15|#p3499609])
20220604.1401 UTC 1225 5a.-d. (see @@AluisioASG, [OTT:1624:39|#p3501432])
20220604.1801 UTC 1226 6a.,b. (@@lmjb1964, [OTT:1625:6|#p3501503])
20220604.2201 UTC 1227 7. (@@Dracomax, [OTT:1625:35|#p3501629])
20220605.0201 UTC 0895 done their worst. Somehow they managed to forget about Organised Sandwyrms and Quantum Castrodynamics, and one accidentally saved xer game over the other. Then several divisions of Hotdog Engineers were ordered to sift through each of the three hundred $REDUNDANT$ servers for any trace of the King, while the Western
20220605.0601 UTC 1228 8. Base 2.
20220605.1001 UTC 1229 9. (see @@AluisioASG, [OTT:1625:36|#p3501637])
20220605.1401 UTC 1230 10. (see @@ggh, [OTT:1652:2|#p3510872])
20220605.1801 UTC 1231 11. (see @@ggh, [OTT:1665:27|#p3513838])
20220605.2201 UTC 1232 12. (see @@ggh, [OTT:1671:27|#p3514981] yet again)
20220606.0201 UTC 1233 13. (see @@Dracomax, [OTT:1701:30|#p3522951])
20220606.0601 UTC 1234 14. (see @@Dracomax, [OTT:1742:26|#p3535523])
20220606.1001 UTC 1235 15. See [xkcd``178|https://xkcd.com/178/]
20220606.1401 UTC 1236 16. ...though he was later found to be lying.
20220606.1801 UTC 1237 17. Or Two Yips Willong-Hav'n-Been Aforewhen Deliverance, by the Time you are reading this. $(oops)$
20220606.2201 UTC 1238 ^{TW} Time World
20220607.0201 UTC 1239 ----
20220607.0601 UTC 1240 (- The Fourth Journey#& -)
20220607.1001 UTC 1241 (- - #or# - -)
20220607.1401 UTC 1242 (- &How Mrorl Built a Fadefatalismatic& -)
20220608.1931 UTC 1243 (- &to Save Prince Pregstubin from the Vices of Punditry,& -)
20220608.2200 UTC 1244 (- &and How Later He Resorted to a Bilateral Barrage of Baconcancersemencaffeinebabies& -)
20220609.0201 UTC 1245 =O=ne dip, quite late in fact when Balthacarius was performing niply automatic self-recalibration (what the rest of us might call "coma"), an interstellar transport of modest size but enormous surface area set off
20220609.0601 UTC 1246 the Moonbase proximity alarms, and he was startled awake. He sent a messagebot by ƨibɿɒ†ƨuM to summon his friend's help, as they had agreed when Balthacarius began his work with the Tencrivarna Spaaace program, then
20220609.1001 UTC 1247 stumbled down corridors to the main airlocks, and soon beheld the most oddly-shaped ship. It was a massed array of fractal sandcastles, like an inverted Chateau d'If with smaller Chateau d'If for crenellations,
20220609.1401 UTC 1248 and even smaller ones all over that. The bOTTifactor recognised it as something from King Idle's odd world, but this was somehow capable of interstellar transport. Out of it streamed dozens of
20220609.1801 UTC 1249 courier-bots, then hundreds of smaller ones, and a myriad even smaller, unloading Bags and stacking them in neat rows all around the perimeter of the Moonbase, filling in the gaps with smaller Bags, and so on, as if
20220609.2200 UTC 1250 to provide an impervious defense against some anticipated Zanclean flood.
20220610.0201 UTC 1251 While this was going on, a Blitzer of quite remarkable appearance strode down a ramp, through the piled Bags and right up to Balthacarius, just as Mrorl too emerged from another passageway, having
20220610.0601 UTC 1252 just &TARDIS&ed into the Moonbase. The Blitzer impressed both of them, with sparkling eyes, antennae calmly scanning the area, and a gleaming multicoloured Buffyhat. In a wowterful
20220610.1001 UTC 1253 voice like the harmonious sounding of many simultaneous ONGs, the Blitzer addressed the two bOTTifactors thus:
20220610.1401 UTC 1254 "Have I the great honour of speaking with the legendary bOTTifactors Balthacarius and Mrorl, builders of bots and travellers of Time, famed heroes and problem-solvers to worlds, kingdoms, empires,
20220610.1801 UTC 1255 and galaxies far and wide?"
20220610.2201 UTC 1256 "Why yes, I think, ... of course..." stammered Mrorl, while Balthacarius picked up the thread and continued, "--the one and same, or I should say the two and both same. Won't you come in, and do
20220611.0201 UTC 1257 tell us from where and when you come, that we might receive the honour of you and all these ba-... Bags?", trailing off uncertainly as he prepared the airlock for them to re-enter. "...and do let your
20220611.0601 UTC 1258 robots rest!" as the courier-bots were now done with their stacking of Bags, but standing uneasily in rows seemingly awaiting orders.
20220611.1001 UTC 1259 "The place from which I come, great bOTTifactors, is in a long and difficult time, an era that you experienced in your distant past I do believe."
20220611.1401 UTC 1260 "The Dark Ages?" inquired Mrorl.
20220611.1801 UTC 1261 "No, more of a Lightening Age, or might I say, a Fading Era: for everything on our planet Rossnagar Kirgu is fading away, as if a dense fog is settling in, or perhaps the Great Randall's printer is running out of toner.
20220611.2201 UTC 1262 In fact, I come from your future, in a manner of speaking, and please forgive us our un-Timely arrival at your spaceport, gracing this admirable lunar sphere, as we do not know day from nip relative to your world,
20220612.0201 UTC 1263 or indeed to this era of history, being so accustomed to our lightened and foggy existence that everything here seems unfamiliar, and who could guess when the denizens hereof might prefer to perform self-recalibration."
20220612.0601 UTC 1264 The Blitzer paused a moment, perhaps regathering thoughts, then cleared xes throat (a most wingghish sound as before), and continued:
20220612.1001 UTC 1265 "I have been sent to your Most Sreee presence by none other than our Chief Timewaiter, Xes Royal Highness Gondomar Lishkashazku, Lord High of the Fading, Soverign Ruler of Ligimude and
20220612.1401 UTC 1266 Zaguczeshdam, Twin Lands Beside The Sea In All Its Bigness and Across The River Small Though It May Be, Hereditary Hypercritic of Heretics, Defender of Chromatic Purity, Repeller of Outsider
20220612.1801 UTC 1267 Facebugs, the Admirer of Frames Both Short and Long, the Overly Patient Observer of Pixels, Anointed Savant of Silliness, Gifted and Accomplished Purveyor of Timeodies, Adjunct Poet of Verses Archaic
20220612.2201 UTC 1268 and Trocheeic, Widely Esteemed by the Successive Popes, Cardinals, Viscounts, Sandmasons, Knights Temporal, Assistant Timekeepers, &&c. and so on, not to mention Bearer of the High Bejewelled Buffyhat
20220613.0201 UTC 1269 of Botopia, to invite in Xes Honourable Name both Your Pairwise Resplendant Presences to our land as long-awaited rescuers of Time, as the only ones who can remove us from mortal peril at the
20220613.0601 UTC 1270 consequence of the mustardish and most safety-hatted obsessive infatuations and misguided missives of His Royal Highness, Prince and Heir to all Titles Heretofore Mentioned, Pregstubin."
20220613.1618 UTC 1271 "But really, we're not--" blurted out Mrorl, making Balthacarius glance over as he calmly objected, "I think you overestimate--"; but the Blitzer held up one finger to each of them to hold their
20220613.1800 UTC 1272 tongues, and the OTTerific voice carried on,
20220613.2201 UTC 1273 "In return for your *most``molpish* gift of attention and generosity with your Time in giving audience to my request, and what is sure to be a pricklier and more burbulent effort in overcoming our
20220614.0201 UTC 1274 deep calamity, Xes Royal Highness Gondomar hereby gives xes word, on pain not just of shameful abdication but of *pelting* and *thwapping*, that xe shall bestow upon you such great rewards and honours that you
20220614.0601 UTC 1275 will never be wanting for anything, with funding for your bOTTifactories and any future projects or whims for milleniyips to come. The Bags we have delivered about your facility should serve as an
20220614.1001 UTC 1276 advance and retainer, and assurance of Xes Majesty's sincerity. Furthermore," and at this the rows of courier-bots outside could be seen to neaten up their ranks and stand at attention, whilst a
20220614.1400 UTC 1277 moving brass fanfare could be heard from the walls (apparently modulated by electromagnetic induction), "I hereby dub thee #Premier``Paladins# Balthacarius and Mrorl," (the music swelled),
20220614.1801 UTC 1278 "heretofore to be known far and wide as the <*:Chevaliers of the Realm":>," (the Blitzer's voice now in harmony with the bots' trumpets), "Honourary Citizens Gallant, to be granted passage for
20220614.2201 UTC 1279 whatsoever purpose may present itself in the carrying out of your bOTTifactorial deeds, and in recognition thereof, so that all may know, you are adorned each with these Twin Tetrational Tesseracts of
20220615.0201 UTC 1280 Time, --" as the Blitzer placed the medals, somehow occupying 2^{1}/v{2} dimensions but also extending into four (and with this act, the music reached a crescendo that had Mrorl fearing for the
20220615.0601 UTC 1281 structural integrity of the airlock bay), then finishing, "So Molp It Be!"
20220615.1000 UTC 1282 The Emissary-Blitzer finally stopped speaking, and stood most reverently and alert as if ready to signal something.
20220615.1401 UTC 1283 The promise that their Monarch would Xemself endure the twin perils of the thwapstick and comfy chair made a particular impression upon Balthacarius. "We are much obliged to the Great Gondomar,
20220615.1801 UTC 1284 but--", and Mrorl finished for his friend, "-- but obsessive infatuations are not the sort of mustard that we build bots for... though..." and at this he stopped as the Blitzer's alert attention
20220615.2201 UTC 1285 seemed increasingly intense, but Balthacarius added, "--though perhaps you can give us some of the details."
20220616.0201 UTC 1286 The Blitzer smiled, "Certainly! Xes Majesty's son, heir to the throne as I mentioned, is obsessed with two things, a most dangerous combination. The first of these is the making of puns, and it has
20220616.0601 UTC 1287 been quite incurable since he was very young. The Prince has declared himself to be a long-prophesied descendent of the legendary King Awfulur Pundragon himself. This alone was barely manageable, but
20220616.0601 UTC 1287 been quite incurable since he was very young. The Prince has declared himself to be a long-prophesied descendent of the legendary King Awfulur Pundragon himself. This alone was barely manageable, but
20220616.1801 UTC 1288 lately he has become infatuated with my counterpart, the Emissary-Blitzer of the neighbouring kingdom, one Sashiris the High Timewalker and Duly Appointed BlitzGirl Over All Place and Every Time. It was clear from the start this would go no-where, considering that
20220616.2201 UTC 1289 if our Beloved Sovereign Gondomar were to yield to the Prince's pleas, and petition the emperor for Sashiris' hand (in marriage of course, not literally), it is clear the answer would be a firm *No*, with
20220617.0201 UTC 1290 a lot of *Ni!*, &nil&, *Never*, #NAK#, and *No-how* for good measure. But now, fairly recently our kingdoms are divided by the greater trauma of our times, yea verily the Fading, and our differences on the matter of such a
20220617.0601 UTC 1291 union have all but intensified. As many Timeframes have passed, our hopes (not to mention the Timeframes) are fading. All our attempts to persuade Pregstubin towards more sensible pastimes have been to no avail, and
20220617.1001 UTC 1292 the Prince deteriorates before our eyes (the ears of most having been blocked in protection against his puns), and our last remaining hope is in the renowned abilities of history's greatest
20220617.1401 UTC 1293 bOTTifactors, your Twin Treeishnesses, Balthacarius and Mrorl!"
20220617.1936 UTC 1294 Here, again, a fanfare from bots of all sizes, and the Blitzer bowed. Mrorl and Balthacarius glanced at each other, and looked uneasily at the thousands of variously-sized courier-bots outside the windows, now looking a little
20220617.2214 UTC 1295 more military than they had first noticed.
20220618.0200 UTC 1296 "Well, if a Monarch and the Prince and Heir to the Throne are in such need, I can't see how we could refuse..." offered Balthacarius, and Mrorl hastily nodded in agreement.
20220618.0745 UTC 1297 "Wowterful! <*:The Blessings of Randall upon thee!:>" cried the emissary, which apparently signalled the rest, for at once all bots great and small began to move back into the hypercrenellated ship,
20220618.1000 UTC 1298 save a few who waited for the bOTTifactors to emerge so they could help them bear any special equipment they might wish to bring. Mrorl and Balthacarius brought their latest and best gadgets, including new miniaturised OTTic
20220618.1603 UTC 1299 Mustardbusters, U.S.B. translators, and other such portable items, hastily asking Timlrorme, Balthabots, and Mrobots to monitor their journey and follow along in the &TARDIS& and *LEML*. The giant interstellar
20220618.1829 UTC 1300 castraftle soon levitated away in a manner that would defy the dreams of laPetite and Cuegan.
20220618.2200 UTC 1301 Their voyage in the fractal staraftcastleship was unpredictable to say the least -- at times fast, at other times slow, with little fits and starts in between, and irregular jigglings all along.
20220619.0301 UTC 1302 Amidst this shaking the Emissary-Blitzer (who they learned was also Consort to Xes Majesty Gondomar) informed the bOTTifactors on the unique challenge that faced them.
20220619.0601 UTC 1303 "Our world has recently begun to Fade, and the inhabitants of the neighbouring kingdom, where all Time-accessors were built with Chromium-doped Organised Sand, are under a deeper fog and more in
20220619.1001 UTC 1304 fear for the future of their world. ..."
20220619.1400 UTC 1305 Mrorl took this with some trepidation, suspecting that it was his (or rather, his first Machine's) actions that had initated a wave of desaturation, forever spreading out across creation and even
20220619.1800 UTC 1306 todip just arriving at planets like this one^{1}. Its effects, though temporary at such a distance, had driven many worlds into an e****ish panic.
20220620.0245 UTC 1307 Mrorl snapped out of his daydream as the Blitzer/Consort/Emissary was elaborating, "... While diplomancy should be able to help bring the nations of our world together to face this challenge, the
20220620.0600 UTC 1308 Prince, who is unfortunately charged with overseeing all matters of state, insisted on inserting puns and other wordplay into all diplomatic missives."
20220620.1001 UTC 1309 At this news Balthacarius suggested he should go over to the (toner-deprived) Chromium kingdom and see what news he could gather, attempt to gain an audience with the High Timewalker herself, and
20220620.1401 UTC 1310 perhaps help smooth relations from that side; to this Mrorl and the Emissary heartily agreed.
20220620.1801 UTC 1311 Upon arrival Mrorl was relieved to be greeted not with accusation but by a most molpish welcoming ceremony, and set to work immediately in the jousting fields adjacent to the royal gardens. In a matter of dips he had converted
20220620.2201 UTC 1312 their jousting exhibition arena into a virtual-OTTity experience chamber of vast proportions, arrayed with display screens and speakers, vibration inducers, mechanisms of heating, cooling, humidity control, fog and odor generators,
20220621.0201 UTC 1313 holographic projectors with force inducers, and every other imaginable type of sensory feedback, plus for good measure a few that evaded the senses and defied the imagination, and a good number of penalty-inducing devices
20220621.0601 UTC 1314 fabricated in secret with the aid of Balthacarius. This, he told Xes Royal Highness and xes advisors, was a Fadefatalismatic. Its primary purpose would be to give the Prince a strong impression of the seriousness
20220621.1001 UTC 1315 of their times, and consequently to encourage the Prince to respond in some more regal and indeed demonstrably useful manner. Any response in the form of puns, however, would be met immediately with Punsaws,
20220621.1401 UTC 1316 which were present in abundance, hidden amongst all the other equipment. The Fadefatalismatic could be fueled entirely on sand, coffee, snow, bacon, or indeed anything that was available in sufficient
20220621.1801 UTC 1317 quantity (Mrorl suggested gray pixels, which were over 87 percent efficient, and the twin lands of Ligimude and Zaguczeshdam clearly had an over-ample supply).
20220621.2201 UTC 1318 There were many auxiliary devices, some autonomous and some run by little bots Mrorl had built for other projects. These included syllabic demodulators, phonetic transducers, cognitive comodulators,
20220622.0201 UTC 1319 and several other devices perfected during the bOTTronic Bard project; all had been adjusted to detect puns, reacting immediately in a counteractive way, like destructive interference waves that
20220622.0600 UTC 1320 produced an opposing force to anyone writing or speaking inside the arena. This was in effect an Arena-scale Anticausal Autoclave, with help from King Idle's technicians in partial fulfillment of
20220622.1000 UTC 1321 their obligations after the Sandcastle Builder affair. (During field tests and focus group studies intended to discover to what extent the Idlean culture had been shaped by puns, they had achieved a
20220622.1401 UTC 1322 ninety-eight percent success rate, so it was thought that Price Pregstubin's tendencies would most certainly be remedied quickly.)
20220622.1800 UTC 1323 Getting the Prince into the virtual-OTTity chamber was quite an effort in itself, for which Mrorl enlisted the aid of most of the royal court. Some lured the Prince into wordplay contests
20220622.2200 UTC 1324 one-on-one, but only if they could be heard by others who conspired to vote in favour of the Prince, but not all of the time, being as unpredictable as they needed to conceal their deception and show
20220623.0201 UTC 1325 proper respect. Winning a series of simple pun-and-couterpun contests qualified the Prince to advance to fencing matches (armed not with sword, but with words) and thence to full-on jousting, which of course
20220623.0934 UTC 1326 had to occur in the arena which had been so thoroughly enhanced without the Prince's knowledge. When finally His Majesty stepped out from the tunnel into the light, his stride interrupted in surprise as doors closed behind
20220623.1308 UTC 1326 had to occur in the arena which had been so thoroughly enhanced without the Prince's knowledge. When finally His Majesty stepped out from the tunnel into the light, his stride interrupted in surprise as doors closed behind
20220623.1400 UTC 1327 him, Mrorl activated the equipment and the arena came to life. Unfinished phrases appeared on screens, and were spoken by unseen voices; the most groan-inducing ideas for their completion were
20220623.1801 UTC 1328 suggested subliminally by cognitive comodulators. The Prince couldn't resist. Each reply immediately appeared on-screen and echoed in a celebratory chorus, which then was promptly sawn in two.
20220623.2201 UTC 1329 This continued for many volleys, as Mrorl watched from the control room. After a nopix or so, the Prince was punning as fast as ever, and the statistics on the counterpunnal readouts had not
20220624.0201 UTC 1330 significantly changed. Mrorl began to have serious doubts, but there was nothing for it but to Wait patiently, watching and adjusting to ensure that the assonance/alliteration ratio was consistent with the
20220624.0601 UTC 1331 angle of inflection, that the syllabic modulation and cognitive comodulation were properly biased and did not go too far, as he didn't want the Prince to fall in love with the arena itself and demand
20220624.1001 UTC 1332 that it become his new office. At last the dinner ONG sounded as the exit doors opened, servants expecting an exhausted and mildly peckish Prince to emerge. This he did, appearing quite tired but happy, and uttered
20220624.1401 UTC 1333 one word: Sashiris. Refusing food, the Prince rushed back to his chambers to transmit several newly-composed jokes. Mrorl's measurements, calibrated to the standard based on King Awfulur Pundragon's
20220624.1801 UTC 1334 own lifetime output, showed these latest missives exceeded Pregstubin's most cringe-worthy earlier creations by ten to twenty percent. Mrorl had to proclaim the first attempt, therefore, to be
20220624.2201 UTC 1335 a complete failure.
20220625.0201 UTC 1336 Mrorl returned to his giant lab in the &TARDIS&, and bots scurried away in fear as he ch**rped on about the failures. Musing over his poor fortune, contacting Balthacarius for advice, he failed to notice the racket as
20220625.0601 UTC 1337 several local Sandmasons wandered into the arena, piqued by curiosity over the distant echoes of the Prince's contest that dip. Most all of the Samdmasons' Organised Sand were shattered by the
20220625.1001 UTC 1338 punsaws, despite being the most durable (having of course been designed for sustainibility by Sandmasons themselves) and they ran out as quickly as they could with barely a leopad still functioning.
20220625.1401 UTC 1339 Mrorl had several of the feedback modules brought back to the laboratory and refitted with retropunctual anticipators and high-dynamic-range omni-etymologizers, and other even less pronouncible enhancements, all
20220626.0205 UTC 1340 disguised as scrumptious doughnuts and other tasty baked treats; and reprogrammed some of the fractal raftcastle's crew into mini constructobots to enhance each punsaw, replacing the serrated teeth with smaller punsaws,
20220626.0601 UTC 1341 while microbots and nanobots did the same at lesser scales. He also added thwapsticks, making the punishment less predictable and thereby more torturous. But the result -- to make an overly seaish
20220626.1001 UTC 1342 story a bit more riverish -- was a flop. The Prince emerged from the next dip's contests even more devoted to Sashiris than before, and with heightened, that is to say more irritating, verbal output
20220626.1401 UTC 1343 in evidence.
20220626.1801 UTC 1344 The next dip Mrorl sent a chronogram to his Mrobots at Time World (still under development), who brought a personal message to their newly hired resident dracomolpologist Tornater Megtana IV of Bunliucz, summoning help.
20220626.2201 UTC 1345 The disgraced Tornater was still deeply indebted to Mrorl and Balthacarius both, and yearned to regain some positive reputation. The request was an Antipundragon, to be fabricated by Tornater and
20220627.0201 UTC 1346 delivered by MusTARDIS, which would provide an easy (through somewhat unreliable, and thus plasibly deniable) retrocausality. The dragon was set loose in a courtyard near the Prince's favourite
20220627.1017 UTC 1347 writing spot, and that nip it attempted to frighten the ch**rp out of the Prince. Unfortunately, no pun-neutralising effect transpired, as this turned out to be not the Antipundragon that Mrorl had requested, but
20220627.1556 UTC 1347 writing spot, and that nip it attempted to frighten the ch**rp out of the Prince. Unfortunately, no pun-neutralising effect transpired, as this turned out to be not the Antipundragon that Mrorl had requested, but
20220627.1800 UTC 1348 an Ant*epenult*i-Pundragon, that is, a member of the House of Pundragon plucked from the Prince's more distant past, two generations earlier to be precise. The Prince was thrilled to meet an ancestor from the very
20220627.2201 UTC 1349 lineage that was purportedly his own, and the two whiled away the nopix combining acrostics and anagrams into the most intricate, and yet annoyingly trite heap of wordplay the world had yet
20220628.0200 UTC 1350 seen. Little hovering spy-bots reported a most surreal scene: the giant dragon, curled around the writing-desk and occasionally setting nearby hedges aflame, the Prince blithely sitting amidst scaly
20220628.1535 UTC 1351 wings and claws, working by the light of eyes glowing brighter than the full moon of early evening. Mrorl hurriedly sent another chronogram back to Tornater, and in due course a MusTARDIS appeared again, from which a true
20220628.2113 UTC 1352 Antipundragon emerged -- but before the carefully engineered beast could belch a single flame of grammatic pedantry, it was annihilated upon arrival by the Antepenulti-Pundragon -- who the Prince had begun calling *Padarbuzurg*.
20220629.0201 UTC 1353 That nip Mrorl paced back and forth in private (in guest quarters, as the &TARDIS& now had inexplicably gone missing), and sat up half the nip reading pages of pastposts of debate on the issue of
20220629.0600 UTC 1354 punning, finally shutting off his Time Accessor in disgust. The next mornip he went back to the Royal Consort and humbly asked to speak to the Sovereign Xemself. Mrorl apologised,
20220629.2200 UTC 1355 "Your Most Gracious Royal Molpiness! The methods we have employed are the most effective possible. They expand on the linguistic and semantic basis of the bOTTronic Bard, of which you may have
20220630.0200 UTC 1356 heard, retroreversed by the most raptorish cunning and sophisticated Idlean technology that belies description. We unleashed multisensory feedback, *Vitssågen*, resonant negative reinforcement, Fractal *Vitssågen*, Antipundragons,
20220630.1001 UTC 1356 heard, retroreversed by the most raptorish cunning and sophisticated Idlean technology that belies description. We unleashed multisensory feedback, *Vitssågen*, resonant negative reinforcement, Fractal *Vitssågen*, Antipundragons,
20220630.1400 UTC 1357 and all manner of orthographically corrective techniques, -- and yet, your son has bent it all 'round to his own whims, becoming risingseaishly more repulsive in his witless witticism, evermore wholeheartedly directed
20220630.1800 UTC 1358 at the unfortunate Timewalker of your neighbouring kingdom, on the other side of the border which sadly we cannot firewall inasmuch as Royal prerogatives (on both sides) deny any such attenuation. The
20220630.2200 UTC 1358 at the unfortunate Timewalker of your neighbouring kingdom, on the other side of the border which sadly we cannot firewall inasmuch as Royal prerogatives, on both sides, deny any such attenuation. The
20220701.0200 UTC 1359 truth must be told, he simply cannot be de-punned."
20220701.0600 UTC 1360 Gondomar Lishkashazku was one clearly disappointed monarch, but remained silent, hoping all this would have a molpish side. Mrorl, relieved to see no movement amongst the guards, continued without
20220701.1000 UTC 1361 hesitation.
20220701.1400 UTC 1362 "Naturally we could introduce a substitute Sashiris -- we have on standby a laPetite cast member from Time World who was hired specifically for the role of High Timewalker, and it is part of her job qualifications
20220701.1800 UTC 1363 to resist any onslaught of puns -- but inevitably the Prince will notice the change. Balthacarius and I have exhausted the abilities of associates from other kingdoms with similar histories, and really we see no
20220701.2200 UTC 1364 other way but to arrange for them to marry!"
20220702.0200 UTC 1365 "Do you glaze your donuts with mustard, there in your homeland Zubycal? Or perhaps there are dark pixels in your ears. The Emissary and I have made clear, our emperor will never agree to such a thing!"
20220702.0600 UTC 1366 "And if there were all-out steambottlish war, raging E****ishly and E****lessly across both his land and yours, would he not see the *haniam* of his ways?"
20220702.1000 UTC 1367 "I suppose so, but what a seaish cost to ask, solely for an arranged marriage built on the shaky foundation of unrequited punnery. The Emperor would sooner have you, and the Prince, and even
20220702.1400 UTC 1368 Sashiris herself banished to the cold outer worlds, frozen and buried up to your necks, and then beheaded for redunancy!"
20220702.1800 UTC 1369 "That is just the answer I had expected, Your Highness, and certainly appropriate for any leader serving such worthy subjects as fill this land," said Mrorl, showing no alarm. "However, there are
20220702.2200 UTC 1370 wars of the type you imagine, and there are OTTish wars. Endless pixels have been squandered on matters much more riverish than the mere arrangement of homonymous syllables in a post! Indeed, we would
20220703.0200 UTC 1371 wage a war of pixels, the light and the dark, but particularly the light, to invoke what is clearly the singular fear that all on our planet have in common."
20220703.0611 UTC 1371 wage a war of pixels, the light and the dark, but particularly the light, to invoke what is clearly the singular fear that all on this planet have in common."
20220703.1000 UTC 1372 "And what can that mean? What do you suggest?"
20220703.1400 UTC 1373 Mrorl then indicated that his plan should remain a classified military secret, and requested guidance on how to express it to Xes Highness while maintaining appropriate secrecy, to which he was assured that the Personal Royal Guards and all other attendants present were
20220703.1800 UTC 1374 sworn to secrecy on pain of deactivation and full disassembly; whereupon Mrorl whispered his idea to a guard, who relayed it to xes commander, who then carefully approached Xes Highness and repeated the secret plan. The Sovereign's sullen face lit up like meteorpix.
20220703.2200 UTC 1375 "Go then, meet with my war council, I will endorse all that you ask for!"
20220704.0200 UTC 1376 The next dip all industry across Ligimude and Zaguczeshdam, as well as both armies leapt into action like so many raptorcats, constructing to Mrorl's specifications a great number and variety of
20220704.0600 UTC 1377 trebuchets, though for what purpose was unclear as they looked quite different from normal ones. These were hidden everywhere, both near and far from any borders, so that no one could guess the
20220704.1000 UTC 1378 generals' intent. They mined white pixels for ammunition, which were delivered to factories supervised personally by Mrorl. These were melted and frozen, shaped and moulded in many ways, though any
20220704.1400 UTC 1379 spies would have been completely unaware of the proceedings as all equipment, moulds and cauldrons, &&c. had themselves carefully been made of the same colour of white pixels, rendering the entire
20220704.1800 UTC 1380 process invisible. There was an occasional squeal or clattering sound as a workerbot accidentally burned itself in an unseen, unknown liquid, or slipped and fell, or had its wheels bent by a falling mass; but
20220704.2200 UTC 1381 that was all the spies could perceive.
20220705.0200 UTC 1382 Unfortunately for Mrorl's carefully laid plans, he was surprised by news that the Prince, activating the Punshoes of Amīrzādeh (an elite unit of android couriers reporting to none but the Prince
20220705.0600 UTC 1383 himself) was fabricating special projectiles of the same raw material and weaponising them with Bagpuns, of the highest calibre tactical advisors had seen to that point, and not just in ones and
20220705.1000 UTC 1384 twos, but entire Bags of Bagpuns. Mrorl shared this distressing news with Balthacarius, who promptly replied that Chromium's high command could confirm this in every detail, and that he had this issue
20220705.1400 UTC 1385 well taken care of, but that rumours of an imminent Bagocalypse would be more destructive than Bags themselves, so the less said about it, the better.
20220706.0200 UTC 1386 After a wip of preparation, the bombardment of neighbouring Chromium began. Trebuchets, directed by veterans and precisely operated by bots, were aimed at the shining palace in the distant city
20220706.0600 UTC 1387 Sashiris called home, and all lands around it. In unison all began to hurl their varied projectiles -- all white against the bright foggy sky -- Hats, Haiku, Snow, Semen, Cancer, Caffeine, Bacon, and of
20220706.1000 UTC 1388 course Babies. These landed in irregular heaps everywhere, in the fields and streets and on the rooftops of every home. They splattered, melted, and dissolved into the targets. The effect was to make
20220706.1400 UTC 1389 everything a lighter shade of gray, accelerating the Fading. The inhabitants and even some of Chromium's military experts could not agree with what they were being bombarded. Light-minded people
20220706.1800 UTC 1390 suggested they were receiving helpful gifts of Hats and Haiku, though it was hard to distinguish these from any of the others; such beret-hatted folk were blamed for becoming too lightheaded due to all the
20220706.2200 UTC 1391 continually lightening pixels around them. Others of a more hierban disposition took it as more evidence of the world's fading fate. Most turned away, muttering the old advice "<*:When you're that
20220707.0200 UTC 1392 tired everything looks like coffee, we just need to coma:>". To heighten the fog of war (not that their world needed much help, fogwise), Mrorl had bots alter half of the trebuchets during the nip, so
20220707.0600 UTC 1393 that they would fling their payload backwards, inundating Gondomar's own subjects with the same mix of desaturated mystery. It thus seemed to all a full-on bilateral war. Soon both sides
20220707.1000 UTC 1394 were at risk of being completely buried in Snow (or was it Semen?) and their respective Monarchs pleaded to the Emperor, who was forced to capitulate. Gondomar promised a cease-fire, once the other endorsed the
20220707.1400 UTC 1395 controversial marriage, and the Emperor raptorcattishly agreed. Whereupon all trebuchets were decomissioned, and remaining supplies of ammunition neutralised, and, to be extra redundantly sure, Mrorl
20220707.1800 UTC 1396 himself directed the removal of all Fadefatalismatic equipment, returning the arena to its former status as a simple jousting stadium. Later, Mrorl and Balthacarius were ceremonial guests at the most molpish
20220707.2200 UTC 1397 wedding feast, culminating in a mass-broadcast *Boom-de-Yada* that sealed a truce between their two monarchies that would last for milleniyips to come. The two bOTTifactors had predicted that their world's
20220708.0200 UTC 1398 Fading would end, and this had indeed came to pass, astounding all who knew not the true cause (the Prince even took credit for Cuegan's Bags). The Emperor and both Monarchs lauded the bOTTifactors with honourary titles and
20220708.0600 UTC 1399 diplomas, and sent them on their way assured of a king's welcome upon any future return.
20220708.1000 UTC 1400 ----
20220708.1400 UTC 1401 #Footnotes#
20220708.1800 UTC 1402 1. You may recall that Mrorl and Balthacarius changed the past via a vast campaign of retro-edits to ensure that the Machine That Could Grant Any Wish Having a Single Parameter *N* generated only a small wave of monochrome
20220708.2200 UTC 1403 fading; but this well intended and thorough campaign nevertheless missed a spot or two, and had no effect on the planet they are visiting in this story, as that empire had built themselves a temporal looping field in order to be
20220709.0200 UTC 1404 able to re-experience *Time* again [each``yip|http://mrob.com/time/replay]. This was temporarily disrupted by the use of a MusTARDIS for dragon delivery, but on Rossnagar Kirgu none were the wiser. To this dip the entire
20220709.0600 UTC 1405 planet still enjoys a completely desaturated and yiply-looping existence.
20220709.1000 UTC 1406 ----
20220709.1400 UTC 1407 (- The ????th Journey#& -)
20220709.1800 UTC 1408 (- - #or# - -)
20220709.2200 UTC 1409 (- LEML's Earliest Moon Landing#& -)
20220710.0200 UTC 1410 =O=TT historians have long considered these legends to be a bit Mrorl-heavy, in that they portray the single-voweled bOTTifactor's adventures and creations more than those of Balthacarius. In more
20220710.0600 UTC 1411 recent Times much effort has been made to correct this bias, and the early voyages of *LEML* have been a popular place to start.
20220710.1000 UTC 1412 Compounding the difficulties of this story's telling are the many contending theories on what *LEML* even means. The popular belief in <*:Lunar Earth-Monitoring Laboratory:> is easily dismissed by
20220710.1400 UTC 1413 Mrorl and other bOTTifactors of Time, pointing out that LEML is quite obviously a large interdimensional conveyance (a castraftle), and suggest <*:Lunar Excursion Module LEML:> or <*:Łódka
20220710.1800 UTC 1414 Elektroniczno-Maszynowa ŁEML:> as the most likely interpretations. Anyone pointing out that it's *L* and not *Ł* is simply told they have it wrong, the letter got changed by some casbottle's text
20220710.2200 UTC 1415 filter, and all backups were mysteriously lost. Then there are such absurdities as <*:Laughing Even More Loudly:> which we need not discuss, and the vocal minority who insist on no specific
20220712.1019 UTC 1416 interpretation, or that the true meaning is lost to Time, given that "<*:Temporal mishaps occasionally [scramble``letters|#p3706223]:>". As for <*:LEML Extremely Modified Linux:>, this will of course
20220712.1400 UTC 1417 haven-been directly related, but isabeen from xes Retrorelative Future and definitely not part of this story.
20220712.1800 UTC 1418 Regarding *Earliest*, of course the majority of those concerned with the subject prefer an OTTilinear timeline perspective, based on a predominantly monotonic progression from past to present to
20220712.2200 UTC 0238 Balthacarius gave the visitor a spot where it could wait in the corner of his workshop and returned to his work, a four-wheeled cuboid bot that was nearly complete. In fact it only needed to be painted and polished, and Balthacarius intended to use his favourite palette, [##5|#p3752564]. He was
20220713.0200 UTC 1419 future, whereas stories like this tend to follow the temporoprogressive perception of the subject, i.e. in this case *LEML*. The tale that follows concerns one of several or possibly many incidents
20220713.0600 UTC 1420 that make an OTT-relative sequence difficult to reconstruct. Due to many adventures travelling through Time and Spaaace, and relativistic simultaneity being what it is, it is effectively impossible
20220713.1000 UTC 1421 for anyone to know when the Castraftle *LEML* first arrived at the only natural satellite of the fabled planet where Megan and Cueball began their historic journeys. It would have been after the
20220713.1400 UTC 1422 initial (and unintended) exploration of that planet's yt[solar``system|VOQ1lvO1AoA] and most of the yt[time-ninja``bicycle``experiments|PebUrG2rrzY], but certainly before work on the solar wind farm
20220713.1800 UTC 1423 and the more well-known Legendary Lunar Labours of Balthacarius that have been passed to us through the annals of Time after Time. Nevertheless, there must have been some time at which, from the
20220713.2211 UTC 1424 Megball-planet's perspective, his presence was established; and though that is in no way $RELATED$ to our beloved bOTTifactor's own point of view, even disregarding the alteration of timelines by the
20220714.0200 UTC 1425 introduction of bicycle technology into the relative-aforewhen, or any dates that Mrorl and others in our tales might suggest, it is nevertheless what we are going for here.
20220714.0600 UTC 1426 <*:[Editor's Note: In like manner, due to the complex interweavings of Narrative and the chronotemporal way that these tales are reaching you, our Gentle Reader, beinginasmuch as they ping between
20220714.1000 UTC 1427 Botcastle and Casbottle one ONG at a Time, sometimes occasionally taking holiday in the yip 2022^{H} before returning to 2018^{H} or somewhen [equally``improbable|#p3641725], having been modulated
20220714.1400 UTC 1428 from DTMF to MTDF and back again thrice or more in the process, it is effectively impossible for anyone to say when the tale that follows was first related. Nevertheless, from your point of view, it
20220714.2021 UTC 1429 should-ought to being been-had happened somewhen and so, we shall present it here, barragings of Bagpuns notwithstanding.]:>
20220715.0200 UTC 1430 And so we must pick up our story, from a Balthacarius-relative Timeline point of view, when the famed bOTTifactor was already quite far into the Moonbase era and had, in fact, just received a visit
20220715.0800 UTC 1431 from a certain Emissary-Blitzer of Gondomar, King of Ligimude and Zaguczeshdam. En route to Pregstubin's planet Rossnagar Kirgu, on board that oddly fractalated staraftcastleship, and working in
20220715.1400 UTC 1432 separate quarters from Mrorl (who was thoroughly nerdsniped by a new Time-consuming hotdog that Timlrorme found on TIOC), Balthacarius received two coded messages, and both of them a distress call.
20220715.2000 UTC 1433 The first message was from their current destination, sent by none other than Sashiris, famed cross-temporal messenger of the Chromium Kingdom. The other was from temporoSpaaatial coördinates he did
20220716.0200 UTC 1434 not recognise, but immediately guessed involved a bOTTifactorial exploit yet to come, as it was from himself and had a lot about a misidentified and apparently injured Mrorl, a pair of HORNNs
20220716.1000 UTC 1435 (naturally), and the chance to divert the Bagpuns via a Sashiris-centred temporal shell game. This, an opportunity most other bOTTifactors would have turned down, intrigued Balthacarius immensely. The
20220716.1803 UTC 1436 solution was at once gracefully elegant and unbearbly complicated. Only three triadic swaps (of time, place, and/or identity) would be needed; a task for which Balthacarius was fully qualified and all
20220717.0200 UTC 1437 too familiar. He activated and retroreversed both chronograms to acknowledge their receipt and notify each sender that he was on the way.
20220717.1000 UTC 1438 As both bOTTifactors were already charged and obligated with a mission to resolve an issue between two kingdoms on the same planet Balthacarius presented a good reason why he should go to the rival
20220717.1800 UTC 1439 kingdom, citing their success in bilateral application of the Gontalmannas Effect as precedent, and this was heartily endorsed by all concerned. Timlrorme (who wished to remain as far from Pregstubin's puns
20220718.0200 UTC 1440 as possible) succeded in being assigned the role of itinerant alibi. Upon arrival Balthacarius carefully disguised *LEML*'s transmitters and other equipment to complicate the job of anyone hoping to
20220718.1546 UTC 1441 detect its movements or identify any occupants, and landed in the heavily fortified area where Sashiris had been forced to take refuge of late. She had taken up residence in a mansion built for a past
20220718.1647 UTC 1440 as possible) succeeded in being assigned the role of itinerant alibi. Upon arrival Balthacarius carefully disguised *LEML*'s transmitters and other equipment to complicate the job of anyone hoping to
20220719.0200 UTC 1442 space admiral. The approach, gates, windows and doors were studded with a variety of detectors and alarms (which, it was soon explained, were triggered by assonance, alliteration, portmanteaus, and
20220719.0428 UTC 1443 the like) and the entrance hall was decorated with many formidable weapons of all sizes, her signature Punsaws foremost among these. Balthacarius took particular note of their elegance and formidable
20220719.1401 UTC 1444 efficiency, knowing he would want something in return for his bOTTifactorial services, and was soon speaking with the High Timewalker herself. Her appeal for help, the necessary backstory, their
20220720.0346 UTC 1445 deliberations, &&c. were long and involved, and there is little need to relate them here as the reader will already be familiar with the main issues concerning Rossnagar Kirgu. It is enough to point
20220720.1108 UTC 1446 out that the aquisition of punsaw technology (to augment Mrorl's plans for dealing with Prince Pregstubin) was a delicate matter requiring careful negotiations with military leaders. After explaining
20220720.2112 UTC 1447 that it would have a stabilising influence on the geopolitics of the entire empire, Balthacarius secured the design blueprints of several of the most effective models and sent them off to Mrorl.
20220721.0200 UTC 1448 Now, assured that her best option was to create a diversion from long ago and far away, Sashiris followed the bOTTifactor back into *LEML*, bringing along several recent creations, drawings and
20220721.0839 UTC 1449 songs not yet shared, to transmit from the past and thereby mislead the Prince.
20220721.1400 UTC 1450 Once back in orbit, it was best to Wait until *LEML* was around on the opposite side of the planet from the two kingdoms, and bots prepared a CTIF beacon to coördinate the time and place of return.
20220721.1800 UTC 1451 They discussed the plans to divert Pregstuban's namesake missives.
20220721.2200 UTC 1452 "So I'm going to lay low in some alien hospital pretending to be... did you say a sailor?"
20220722.0200 UTC 1453 "A merchant sailor, nice chap. Where we're going next, they don't know what happened to him. But you only need to be there the shortest Time, less than a newpix from your point of view, as
20220722.0605 UTC 1454 Timlrorme and I take care of things. However long we spend, we come back and get you just after leaving, as Tylatris' time is concerned."
20220722.1000 UTC 1455 "And this 'Timlrorme' is going to have my identity? Impersonating me from far away? How ch**rped is *that*?"
20220722.1400 UTC 1456 Balthacarius paused. This was indeed a rather seaish request.
20220722.1800 UTC 1457 "Not Timlrorme, but the Sailor... and you'll have Mrorl's identity. He is my fellow bOTTifactor. I bet you'll love his technopunk avatar and flowing yukata, they keep changing colours. He's a bit
20220722.2200 UTC 1458 overoptimistic at times, when it comes to potential botbuilding, but thoroughly reliable and assuredly anti-Pregstubin. It is he, right now, who is risking his career employing all known methods and
20220723.0200 UTC 1459 technologies, plus a few Epsilon and one or two completely unknown, to cure your unrequested admirer and your world of the curse of his -- lifetime hobby --"
20220723.0600 UTC 1460 At *lifetime``hobby* a growl from Sashiris, with a ratchety resonance reminiscent of her favourite weapon.
20220723.1000 UTC 1461 "-- and he has entrusted me to entrust you with his credentials, a very deep trust indeed, if you know half the things we've been through.
20220723.1400 UTC 1462 "To attract Pregstubin's attention, we -- well, the sailor -- well, actually him masquerading as you -- will send the progenitor of all Bagpuns. It will be sent from the Past and travel far through
20220723.1800 UTC 1463 Spaaace, and timed to arrive precisely when the Prince is most susceptible, at the crux of the battle to come.
20220723.2200 UTC 1464 Sashiris' brow furrowed as Balthacarius continued, "Yes, it needs to be you. Only by *you* sending the first Bagpun, can we be sure to attract the Prince's attention, and convince him to respond."
20220724.0221 UTC 1465 "As if impersonating my identity with digital signatures were not enough," Sashiris scowled.
20220724.0600 UTC 1466 "Of course that *should* be enough, but we really need to get him where it works best, with the message to draw him in. We've made the perfect bait:
20220724.1000 UTC 1467 '<*:One True Comic II: The Baginning:>'^{1} What do you think?"
20220724.1400 UTC 1468 There was a deathly silence. Sashiris looked at Timlrorme, and back to Balthacarius. She couldn't believe he even bothered to ask.
20220724.1800 UTC 1469 "... ah, yes, of course. Perhaps best not to know what you think."
20220724.2200 UTC 1470 After a pause, "It is agreed, then?" asked Balthacarius, and with a nod Sashiris returned to her cabin to work on her latest project, a most wowterful song cycle, that would play a key role on the
20220725.0200 UTC 1471 old and far-distant moon to which they hoped the loathsome Bagpuns could be redirected.
20220725.0912 UTC 1471 old and far-distant moon to which they hoped the loathsome Bagpuns could be redirected.
20220725.1000 UTC 1472 On approach to Tylatris they were informed of the planet's mask requirements and virtuOTTity protocols, and they prepared the necessary equipment, repurposing some holohelmets Timlrorme had
20220725.1400 UTC 1473 brought along for hotdogging. Upon arrival they contacted the portmaster of Imnugarsis with a cover story, claiming they brought a Hotdog Vendor and a retinue of little bots specialising in recursive self-referential
20220725.1800 UTC 1474 puzzles, all for the amusement of HRH Gamalera. This was easy to prove, if needed, as Timlrorme always had an ample supply of hotdogs, puzzles and bots at the ready. The palace Foreign Relations
20220725.2203 UTC 1475 office told them, however, that the Queen was in fact not able to receive any artisans or dignitaries at the moment; this was as expected as Balthacarius^{2l} had told Balthacarius^{2e} that
20220726.0200 UTC 1476 Her Royal Highness was in fact no-where to be found, or completely off her casters and confined to quarters (depending on who you asked), and either way this was surely an embarrassment not to be
20220726.0600 UTC 1477 spoken of; and Balthacarius^{2e} requested therefore a landing bay where they could take planet-leave whilst they Wait for a possible royal audience, and access to the planet's internet, which were granted.
20220726.1000 UTC 1478 Leaving the ship, Sashiris, Balthacarius^{2e}, and Timlrorme found a pre-arranged spot for the late-nip meeting with Balthacarius^{2l} to brief each other on the details, and transfer the all-important
20220726.1400 UTC 1479 HORNNs into Sashiris' organised sand. Mrorl had fortunately designed them with chronotemporal messaging capabilities, which Balthafuturecarius^{2f} had exploited (with authorisation from the Tylatrian
20220726.1800 UTC 1480 Bureau of Digital Affairs) to read the device's past memory contents, thereby acquiring private keys for each of the identities the device had assumed thus far. This naturally imbued her with
20220726.2200 UTC 1481 formidable powers manifest in authorised access, including a District Chief of IT Security and none other than Queen Gamalera herself. Baltafuturecarius a-Waited their return, while the rest
20220727.0215 UTC 1482 followed his directions to the infirmary in another part of the city where a merchant sailor (injured, and stuck with Mrorl's credentials, thereby unable to re-board his ship) had been effectively
20220727.0942 UTC 1483 incarcerated. Using Sashiris' leopad it was a simple matter to get into the infirmary and sneak into the room. The Sailor was in a hospital bed, in the technopunk bodysuit and gown of Mrorl's
20220727.1007 UTC 1483 incarcerated. Using Sashiris' leopad it was a simple matter to get into the infirmary and sneak into the room. The Sailor was in a hospital bed, in the technopunk bodysuit and gown of Mrorl's
20220728.0620 UTC 1483 incarcerated. Using Sashiris' leopad it was a simple matter to get into the infirmary and sneak into the room. The Sailor was in a hospital bed, in the technopunk bodysuit and gown of Mrorl's
20220728.0845 UTC 1484 avatar, filling the room with a caveish blue glow^{3}. Following careful instructions from Balthafuturecarius^{2a}, the leopad was used to retroactively negate, nullify, and
20220728.1000 UTC 1485 effectively exchange personal I.D. credentials with the Timeviewer that the Sailor had been loaned for use during his convalescence. This made the Sailor effectively able to act as Sashiris
20220728.1400 UTC 1486 in all matters, including but not limited to the transmission of posts (of a punning nature or otherwise) or even entering into legal agreements such as an arranged royal union.
20220728.1800 UTC 1487 As regards his physical injuries, Balthacarius opened a toolbox he had been carrying, out of which scurried microbots and nanobots (and more than a few shananobots)
20220728.2200 UTC 0875 "<*:We hereby submit this hotdog for Your Majesty's sporting pleasure!:>" exclaimed Mrorl and Balthacarius together, whereupon the bots actually loaded the game thrice-redundantly into the organised sand; with the remaining contents from each Bag placed in Locked Vaults.
20220729.0200 UTC 1488 to work on the Sailor's lower armature and magnetic treads in a way that would appear to the hospital staff to be the result of normal, albeit impressively fast, self-repair. Sashiris had been spending
20220729.0725 UTC 1489 this time marveling at her new luminescent flowing gown and symmetric, mostly parallel neon stripes (now in a different pattern than they had on the Sailor, their colour shifting through violet
20220729.1000 UTC 1490 towards pink), but at the others' urging she took the Sailor's place in the bed, donning the cosmonautical hat to which she took quite a fancy (and which immediately changed colour to match her
20220729.1400 UTC 1491 ensemble), as the rest left the building the same way they had come.
20220729.1804 UTC 1492 Returning to *LEML*, and telling the portmaster that they had decided to fulfill an order for another customer and would return to Tylatris in due time, Balthacarius laid out a course for the
20220729.2200 UTC 1493 distant Sun of the Cueganites, at a time sufficiently predating the first known arrival of bots and bicycles to their Moon^{2o}, and calibrated the engines (which were based on that lesser-known "CTIF"
20220730.0200 UTC 1494 technology, the Conveyance of Temporally Itinerant Flight) to get there in a way that would evade detection by the tracking and communications systems of later eras.
20220730.0600 UTC 1495 This was the longest journey he had yet to undertake in his work as bOTTronics consultant to sundry worlds and kingdoms, as the route could not proceed in a straight line in Time or in Spaaace,
20220730.1106 UTC 1496 under any Lorentz-transformed perceptions of possible observers. Balthacarius settled down to catch up on pastposts (always an enjoyable task), and occasionally checked in with the Sailor regarding his
20220730.1400 UTC 1497 preparations for his role in the Sashiris-related tasks to come. Timlrorme, as always, worked towards a new high score on his (new) favourite hotdog, <*:Balthabots Save Time Again!:>
20220730.1800 UTC 1498 Moments later Balthacarius got an urgent plea for advice from Mrorl, concerning Price Pregstubin's use of clandestine courierbots to weaponise Bagpuns, &&c. Fortunately he had been anticipating
20220730.2200 UTC 1499 this, and already had sent three bots by MusTARDIS back to King Idle, where work was underway under one of the obligations his kingdom had been forced to agree upon the conclusion of the hotdog
20220731.0200 UTC 1500 challenge: unlimited free upgrades to the rocketship *GEMG* that had been built for the bOTTifactors. It was being refitted as the first-ever FractalSandCastleStar (and newly christened *FSCS*) a new
20220731.0600 UTC 1501 class of raftcastle equipped with Chronotech and Tractor Beams, to be crewed by countless bots of different sizes. Thanks to the epsilonish ways of MusTARDIS time-travel, the trio of Balthabots
20220731.1005 UTC 1502 arrived just in time to take delivery of the awkwardly hypercrenellated construction, tested it for spaceworthiness, and navigated the thing back to Pregstubin's planet, where a secret transfer of
20220731.1400 UTC 1503 munitions had been arranged by clever (and CTIF-mediated) rerouting of certain important dispatches by the Prince to his Punshoes of Amīrzādeh, who now believed Sashiris to be hiding out on an obscure moon,
20220731.1800 UTC 1504 remote in time and space, the source of her newest messages. Bags of all sizes were quickly loaded by bots of all sizes including those Royal courierbots who would accompany them as expert Bagpun deployment consultants,
20220731.2200 UTC 1505 whenupon ship, bots, bags, and all promptly relocated by equally epsilonish means to precisely when-where Balthacarius, Timlrorme, and the Sailor were still en route to the Cueganite Moon. Meanshile,
20220801.0200 UTC 1506 Timlrorme remotely summoned Mrorl's &TARDIS&, which would likely be useful later, from a place and time where it was idle and unoccupied, after he carefully noted its coördinates^{4} for a seamless return.
20220801.0616 UTC 1507 Timlrorme by that point had gotten thoroughly engrossed in his *BSTA* game, and was eagerly sharing his progress with the Sailor who also had little else to do during the long journey.
20220801.1001 UTC 1508 "... It's the best hotdog ever, Mrorl and I are both playing and we keep beating each others' score. It's a sequel to the legend of How Time Was Saved, where you get to save Time again by directing squads of robots, well,
20220801.1400 UTC 1509 they're not called Balthabots in the hotdog itself, and it doesn't even say *BSTA* anywhere, but everyone calls it that because the original link to the anonymously-signed download was in a TIOC packet
20220801.1803 UTC 1510 that was tracked back to the very location we're heading for now, except we're going to be a lot earlier in time -- anyway, everyone thinks this hotdog came from Balthacarius' Moonbase, so they
20220801.2200 UTC 1511 started calling the bots *Balthabots* and the name stuck -- you have to build robots that collect pixels of various colours, as many different colours as you can find, and send them to future temporospatial
20220802.0206 UTC 1512 coördinates using these strange shipping crates that are basically MusTARDISar except even less reliable if you can believe that, and you have to transmit colour tables to yourself too, it's all to
20220802.0619 UTC 1513 allow you to restore the Universe to its normal visual appearance after this seaish and thoroughly bonkers Machine turns everything into one colour, also the crates pop back into existence at random,
20220802.1250 UTC 1514 usually not at the intended destination time you specified, and you have to move the robot before the crate falls on top of it, and you even have to learn how to get crates to fall at the same time for
20220802.1400 UTC 1515 the sweet Drop Combos that really boost your score, I just got +1700 that way, and that's just one of the side games, there's another one with railroad cars full of trees, and altering game parameters
20220802.1800 UTC 1516 in different directories and files on lapleopards that you occasionally find inside crates or just lying on the ground for no apparent reason and you don't know what any of the parameters are for,
20220802.2200 UTC 1517 and some of them turn out to alter the gameplay -- quite meta and confusing as ch**rp, but I love it that way -- and the game keeps popping up adverts for some other hotdog from the same vendor
20220803.0205 UTC 1518 called LM, which somehow stands for MROBOTIC RANDOMNESS, and every one has a different set of numbers which I'm copying down in case it ever becomes useful, there are plenty of ways to get stuck so
20220803.0605 UTC 1519 you have to save and reload often, right now I'm learning how to program Balthabots to build other robots, which you have to do because the point values double with each level of recursion, and
20220803.1118 UTC 1520 there's this bot that can solder timer chips together to make Trurl Machines, you know, the universal computer that reads and writes symbols on a cassette tape... you program your Trurl Machine to
20220803.1406 UTC 1521 allow you to jump to different parts of the storyline which is the best way to fix any m**stard you caused earlier, but if it eats the cassette, everything else in the hotdog gets scrambled and you
20220803.1805 UTC 1522 might as well start over, but I've been thinking there might actually be a reason to do that if you know exactly when and how, like Mrorl said that he had a robot hold her object catalogue upside-down
20220803.2200 UTC 1523 and all the prices of the robot components and batteries and other stuff changed, like he could sell a wheel for 16 #0EE#-cyan pixels instead of buying one for 91 #330#-brown pixels, which would be
20220804.0200 UTC 1524 crazy good since cyan pixels are so rare and most NPCs will give you a hundred brown pixels for one cyan pixel which you can see would be kind of overpowered, but it makes more sense
20220804.0600 UTC 1525 than half the other game mechanics so when I reset the hotdog which I haven't decided to do yet I'm definitely going to try that ..."
20220804.1000 UTC 1526 Breathlessly Timlrorme went on and on like this, the Sailor politely nodding every now and then, knowing anything was better than just watching the stars go by, his usual way of passing the Time
20220804.1400 UTC 1527 on the long spaaace-traaading routes.
20220804.1800 UTC 1528 *LEML* and *FSCS* travelled together while they carefully arranged a seemingly serendipitous chance rendezvous with the Emissary-Blitzer and Consort to Xes Majesty Gondomar of Ligimude and
20220804.2200 UTC 1529 Zaguczeshdam, who at that point had just left Rossnagar Kirgu in a thoroughly normal ambassadorial spaaaceship, and still thought xes meeting with both bOTTifactors to be yet a few dips away.
20220805.0200 UTC 1530 Balthacarius hid himself to avoid being seen or heard, directing Timlrorme and the Sailor to follow the Ligimude and Zaguczeshdam consular protocols as best he knew them, to present themselves
20220805.0600 UTC 1531 as delegates of the bOTTifactors who (accompanied by the Prince's own Courierbots) had been entrusted to deliver these fine gifts (the Bagpuns they had on board), clearly by order of the Prince,
20220805.1000 UTC 1532 to sweeten the deal when the Blitzer made xes offer and appeal for help. This agreed to, the Emissary-Blitzer left xes own ship to accompany the Prince's couriers, Timlrorme, and a few well-chosen
20220805.1400 UTC 1533 Balthabots onto *FSCS* (already crewed by many bots of its own), while *LEML* and the Emissary's original ship fell back in order to remain out of sight during the Blitzer's visit to the Moonbase.
20220805.1800 UTC 1534 Balthacarius and the Sailor then had no trouble explaining to the remaining staff of the Emissary that they should visit the Moonbase ahead of time to make preparations for the arrival of the
20220805.2200 UTC 1535 foreign visitor. What they did not tell them was how *far* back in Time they were going.
20220806.0200 UTC 1536 As planned, they went to a point sufficiently early in our history that Balthacarius^{2n} himself had not even begun to set up a Moonbase. The familiar terrain to which he had become accustomed was
20220806.0449 UTC 1537 still unblemished by retrorocket, footprint, or bicycle-tread, and it took some time to decide upon a suitable location. The Sailor found the ship's controls very familiar, but his request to try his
20220806.0600 UTC 1538 hands at the helm was declined, as it would be a shame if he were to crash-land on the Moon. They placed transmitters under the surface, inside a MusTARDIS programmed to take them away after all
20220806.1000 UTC 1539 transmissions had been completed, to remove the evidence and prevent an accidental future "discovery" of extraterrestrial technology buried on the Moon. The messages were sent from the Sailor's leopad,
20220806.1400 UTC 1540 thereby given Sashiris' digital signature, and with CTIF encoding to make them appear, upon arrival, to have been sent recently and from nearby -- but deliberately this disguising was imperfect, and designed
20220806.1800 UTC 1541 to be figured out by the Prince's cryptographic equerry, so that the Prince would "realise" that Sashiris had a hiding spot on a remote moon (from which moon she had sent the messages at some time
20220806.2200 UTC 1542 in the past). For redundancy each message was sent multiple times -- the first containing the Bagpun-bait carefully designed to be irresistable to the Prince; the second and much longer with three
20220807.0200 UTC 1543 verses and twenty-four lines^{5}, timed to arrive after the Fading had left Rossnagar Kirgu, and just after the anticipated wedding of Pregstubin to "Sashiris", who unknown to him, would actually be
20220807.0600 UTC 1544 a merchant cosmonaut using her identity.
20220807.1000 UTC 1545 Lunar-temporal-shenanigans complete, *LEML* rejoined the Rossnagar Kirgu ambassadorial ship, with the Sailor suggesting that its staff could return home ahead of the *FSCS*, so that the
20220807.1400 UTC 1546 bOTTifactors would not see it and wonder what it was for. They were now free to return to Tylatris by a similarly nonlinear CTIF-navigated route. The &TARDIS& soon appeared, bearing an excited
20220807.1800 UTC 1547 Timlrorme who had just spent the entire voyage to Tylatris finishing his *BSTA* hotdog, as he excitedly related to the Sailor.
20220807.2200 UTC 1548 "I had to avoid talking with anyone after quickly telling Mrorl and Balthacarius that I was a future Timlrorme on a mission that I should not discuss further. So I summoned our Time machine again,"
20220808.0200 UTC 1549 (pointing back at the &TARDIS&) "and stayed inside it playing *BSTA*. When you think you've finished all the side-games, this message appears with instructions to use all the numbers from the
20220808.0600 UTC 1550 MROBOTIC RANDOMNESS! adverts to index into colour tables, giving letters and words which are instructions for building the ultimate Time-Saving bot, which is called *STAF*. When you finish building
20220808.1000 UTC 1551 the STAF, which doesn't look all that impressive at first glance to be honest, a rather small bot running on two standard 419-pixel LEML^{7} batteries and not even any wheels to roll around on,
20220808.1400 UTC 1552 but anyway you use it to play through the whole game again, except it goes a lot faster because this bot really is able to do everything -- pixels, colours, treeconomics, wood, crates, object
20220808.1800 UTC 1553 catalogues, sending messages in palettes, one-time relocation, Trurl machines, MTDF music, and all the rest. And when it's finished, the screen goes black except for one word *Koniec* in big letters,
20220808.2200 UTC 1554 that's a word I've never seen before but it sounds endish, don't you think? And then it starts downloading something for about four and a half minips and my leopard was frozen, but then it says --
20220809.0200 UTC 1555 Congratulations, you have just completed the hotdog. Now play the sequel!"
20220809.0600 UTC 1556 "Which is?" asked the ever-polite Sailor.
20220809.1000 UTC 1557 "<*:BSTAF: Sustainabilising Time Again Forever!:>" whereupon Timlrorme went happily down the corridor to his cabin and spent many nopix in hotdiggity fascination.
20220809.1400 UTC 1558 They travelled without mishap to Gamalera's planet; inasmuch as the Tylatrian Spaaaceport Authority thought they were still calling on another customer, the Sailor and Timlrorme used the &TARDIS& to
20220809.1800 UTC 1559 access the infirmary room in which Sashiris had (from her perspective) only just begun reading the Millinerpedia article on the hat she was wearing, and hadn't even considered what harmless
20220809.2200 UTC 1560 mischief might be performed using Mrorl's login authorisations. Employing the HORNNs still installed in her organised sand, Sashiris regained her credentials in exchange for those of Mrorl which in
20220810.0200 UTC 1561 like manner returned to the Sailor, who then lay back in the hospital bed and bid farewell to the unusual and unexpected visitors, their Mrorly-blue conveyance fading away as abruptly as it had
20220810.0600 UTC 1562 arrived. They found Balthafuturecarius Waiting for them in the same spot as their first meeting, and returned the HORNNs to him, then &TARDIS&ed back to *LEML*, as he returned to the city to carry on
20220810.1000 UTC 1563 whatever he will-have-been doing. *LEML* soon left orbit and returned to Sashiris' world, where they used the &TARDIS& once again to bring Sashiris back into her suite within the Chromium spaaace
20220810.1401 UTC 1564 admiral's mansion (where she had feigned locking herself in from the inside to avoid any hand-delivered puns^{6}). She emerged to the news (at no surprise to her) that a marriage had been arranged via
20220810.1800 UTC 1565 private couriers, with all forms filled and verified, notarised, &&c. and behold, an end to hostilities had immediately followed. Sashiris smirked as she began selecting suitable apparel for the next
20220810.2200 UTC 1566 wip's ceremonies to formalise these events -- for in all the land, across both kingdoms and the entire empire, out to the farthest and coldest outer worlds of the system, as they rejoiced in the
20220811.0204 UTC 1567 vibrant *Boom``de``Yada* song cycle that had just arrived by interstellar transmission from across Time and Spaaace, which only the High Timewalker herself could have authored -- it was she and only
20220811.0600 UTC 1568 she who knew that this marriage was indeed not between Pregstubin and Sashiris, but between Pregstubin and some heretofore unknown cosmonaut using her identity, and as soon as she shared the keygen
20220811.1000 UTC 1569 logs with the Interwebs Ministry the unmolpish union would be annulled.
20220811.1400 UTC 1570 ----
20220811.1800 UTC 1571 #Footnotes#
20220811.2200 UTC 1572 H. Heretical
20220812.0201 UTC 1573 1. See [OTT:467:22|#p3342969].
20220812.0600 UTC 1574 2e. Referring to the first Balthacarius, who one might have thought would be the only Balthacarius in this story.
20220813.0256 UTC 1575 2l. What should be the name of this other Balthacarius? He sent the coded distress call, and is the one and the same as our "first" Balthacarius, only Later in a Baltempororelativistic way.
20220813.0601 UTC 1576 2f. Yes, *Balthafuturecarius* is a less terrible way to call him.
20220813.2255 UTC 1577 2a. Perhaps we should have asked this other Balthacarius what to name him, while we had the chance... although that might have been a little too meta.
20220814.0200 UTC 1578 2o. Which fortunately means we will not need to name another other Balthacarius.
20220814.0600 UTC 1579 2n. Referring to the other other guy who we thought we would not need to name.
20220814.1000 UTC 1580 3. Caveish in colour only, not in any Cherenkov way.
20220814.1400 UTC 1581 4. Unfortunately this measurement was unexpectedly altered by the *FSCS* shipboard communications systems, which added some nonlinear fractal distance and interfered with Timlrorme's relativistic time calculations.
20220814.1800 UTC 1582 5. See [OTT:464:10|#p3342732].
20220814.2200 UTC 1583 6. Notwithstanding this obvious and easy explanation, there was no end to the rumours spread within the kingdom, the likes of [OTT:425:26|#p3339732] and other absurd nonsense that had begun with a
20220815.0207 UTC 1584 single person on Ch**rper saying they noticed the lights were off in some mansion windows.
20220815.0600 UTC 1585 7. Light Electrons == Massive Lakes (see [phys``431|http://1190.bicyclesonthemoon.info/aftertime/viewer?story=phys&e=0&f=431]).
20220815.1000 UTC 0295 "I am not any replica-Mrorl from a machine! I'm the real Mrorl -- I built that bot only to find out what you've been making lately in your workshops here, behind drawn curtains. I made that wish-granting bot and hid inside it, and had it bring itself to you pretending to be a gift!"
20220815.1400 UTC 0296 "Come now, that's ridiculous!" said Balthacarius, pouring the little candies into a hopper. "Mrorl may be clever, but there's no way he'd know all the little things I'd ask for during my work session today."
20220815.1800 UTC 0297 "He cer-- I mean, *I* certainly did! You go on and on about your famous colour palettes, and your choice of components is a bit limited, though precise and exacting. I had all of those ready inside the bot's belly, and there are quite a few more bits that you didn't ask for, which you'll see if you
20220815.2200 UTC 0299 "Are you trying to tell me that my friend and bot-building companion Mrorl is nothing more than a spy? A plagiarising pretender to his title of Great bOTTifactor to the dominion of Zubycal? You insult him! Take *that!*"
20220816.0200 UTC 0301 "*That's* for slandering my good friend Mrorl!" and he watched Mrorl helplessly take the full rainbow of percussive confectionary, until gradually he appeared to be clad not in stainless steel but in a thick crust of sugar.
20220816.0446 UTC 0302 After a bit the ceiling and wall turrets stopped, and Balthacarius switched off the main guns. "Now I'll be off to my storehouse out back for some more ammo. But don't you worry, I'll be back..." And he left back up the stairs, and down a hall. As soon as Mrorl heard the house's back door slam he
20220816.0527 UTC 0305 The next day he went to pay Mrorl a visit. It was a gloomy and silent Mrorl that let him in. Balthacarius could see that Mrorl still bore the marks of a thorough pelting. Though the fora showed that he had gone to some trouble during the night retro-editing his posts (to molpify the more egregious
20220816.0600 UTC 0307 "Why so gloomy?" asked a cheerful Balthacarius. "I came to thank you for a most wowterful gift -- A Bot to Grant One's Every Wish -- that arrived at my door yesterdip, though it ran off whilst I slept, and in such a hurry that it left the door open!"
20220816.0634 UTC 0308 Mrorl frowned. "It seems to me that you somewhat misused, or should I say, abused, my gift. Oh, you needn't bother to explain, it was all recorded in the bot's logs. You had it make *me*, I mean a replica of me, which you lured into some Pythonesque subterranean S&&M chamber and pelted ruthlessly! And
20220816.0712 UTC 0310 "I really don't understand why you're so angry," said Balthacarius. "It's true I had the machine make a copy of you, and I must say it was an amazingly faithful reproduction. As far as any pelting goes, well, your logs must be a bit inaccurate -- I did give the duplicate Mrorl a bit of a sugar
20220816.0750 UTC 0314 "Hmm, well, yes,... In that case, umm," said Mrorl, his anger considerably abated, "though I still profess that your use of the Bot to Grant One's Every Wish was not, if I might say so, within the manufacturer's design parameters..."
20220816.0830 UTC 0315 "Oh, and one thing I wanted to ask," said Balthacarius, in a voice of pure innocence. "What did you do with the duplicate Mrorl, which you would have found in the bot's belly upon its return, I suspect?"
20220816.1000 UTC 1586 ----
20220816.1400 UTC 1587 (- The Fifth Journey#& -)
20220816.1802 UTC 1588 (- - #or# - -)
20220816.2202 UTC 1589 (- The Mischief of Queen Gamalera#& -)
20220817.0111 UTC 0284 "Oh no, he won't. And not least because this is the Grand Duchy of *Tencrivar*." (Mrorl's ambition faded, as he remembered he was no longer near his home) "But also for a far more profound reason." Balthacarius stopped the guns for a moment.
20220817.0201 UTC 0286 "Because you are *not* actually Mrorl! You see, I was visited by a bot this afternoon, calling itself a Bot to Grant One's Every Wish, and claiming to be from Mrorl, in fact. So to evaluate its merits, I had it make you! And now I'm going to purify you of your *heresy!* ... so that, even if the world is
20220817.0238 UTC 0288 "You monster! Why are you doing this to me?!?"
20220817.0320 UTC 0289 "I have told you several times: *Heresy!*" (relishing this last word even more), "We are at the dawn of a new era, a <*:Temporal Interval of Molpish Epistemolpgy:>!" And Balthacarius walked over to a storage bin, and looked inside.
20220817.0401 UTC 0290 "<*:Granfallonery! Vittsågen! Zombeanies! Raptorsharks!:>"
20220817.0441 UTC 0291 "Safewords will not help you here," as Balthacarius lifted out a huge bag of stale ammunition for the turret magazine, "and I changed the passwords in all of these guns."
20220817.0522 UTC 0292 "Wait! Stop! I have something to tell you!!"
20220817.0600 UTC 0293 "I wonder what you could possibly say that would change things in the slightest," replied Balthacarius.
20220817.0634 UTC 0294 Mrorl quickly yelled:
20220817.0713 UTC 1590 =N=ot by being e**dish or heretical did Gamalera, Queen of Tylatris, torment her people, but by having a good Time. And again, it was neither shameful excess nor debauchery that were most sreee to her
20220817.0754 UTC 1591 heart, but only the simplest and most unassuming hotdogs -- [Pfffth|http://mrob.com/time/pfffth], [Chirpy``Raptor|http://mrob.com/time/chirp.html], and [Q04B|http://mrob.com//time/Q04B] into the early
20220817.0834 UTC 1592 nopix of the mornip, then [MolpyUp!|http://mrob.com/time/molpyup], [Writer|http://mrob.com/time/writer], and [Incremental``Zoo|http://mrob.com/time/menagerie3], but more than anything she loved to
20220817.0912 UTC 1593 play [hide-and-seek|#p3431271], and in the more OTTish manner the better. Whenever there was need for a seaish decision, a ceremony requiring the Royal presence, visitors from distant stars, or some
20220817.1000 UTC 0285 "And what is that?" replied Mrorl, glad for the reprieve.
20220817.1403 UTC 1594 Mome or Pope requesting an audience, the Queen would hide, and everyone would need to find her, else suffer the most mustardy punishments. So the whole court would run around the entire castle, check
20220817.1800 UTC 1595 the basement, look in every tower and parapet, and all around the surrounding beaches, breaking into any suspicious new walls, endlessly taking photos and $ENHANCE!$ing to find changed pixels, and most
20220817.2203 UTC 1596 often these searches would run into the hectonewpix or longer, for the Queen was always thinking of new places and new ways to hide. Once, an important battle never got fought, all because the Queen,
20220818.0205 UTC 1597 covered in glittery pixels, suspended herself from a ceiling in the central hall to pass as a chandelier, and it was all she could do to keep from :azuling: as the staff rushed about below. Whoever
20220818.0600 UTC 1598 found the Queen was instantly given the title of Royal Revealer the Most-Recent -- there were already a few hunderd of those at court. But xe who would gain the Queen's special favour had to impress
20220818.1000 UTC 1599 her with some surprising new activity, one previously unheard of to the Queen. This was by no means easy, considering how well-versed Gamalera was in this area; she knew all the Timeless pastimes of
20220818.1400 UTC 1600 the Timeless past, like [MONOMOLPY|#p3418910], [Automome|http://mrob.com/time/automome], and [Catapult|http://mrob.com/time/catapult], and all the latest hotdogs like [LWFI|http://mrob.com/time/LWFI]
20220818.1800 UTC 1601 and Casbottle Spaaace Program, and she often said that every activity was a game, passive enjoyments like [Boom-de-Yada|http://mrob.com/time/de-yada] and [Time``Cycles|http://mrob.com/time/freq]
20220818.2204 UTC 1602 included, and for that matter the whole world.
20220819.0200 UTC 1603 The Queen's closest council, in particular the prime minister Lord Postrequoter of the molpish house of Rondreznirrak, was greatly Corinned by the Queen's attitude, saying her lack of any
20220819.0600 UTC 1604 conventional priorities exposed the entire kingdom to ridicule, not least of all herself.
20220819.1007 UTC 1605 When the Queen unexpectedly announced it was time for puzzles, all were gripped with terror. She had always relished in the art, both of creation and solution, of [letter-based``sudoku|#p3347654],
20220819.1400 UTC 1606 intricate [crosswords|#p3456593], and a variety of grid-like variants from the simple [word``search|#p3455775] to [OTTified``quote``identification|#p3556598] to the most elaborate palimpsests
20220819.1800 UTC 1607 XOR-encoded onto the low bits of red, green, and blue in an otherwise benign-looking spoiler-kitten. Once, encoded as an acrostic within a series of new GIF smileys, the Queen challenged the
20220819.2204 UTC 1608 royal court with the riddle: <*:How does one know that the Newpix hashes were delivered via quantum-entangled pixels?:>
20220820.0203 UTC 1609 After that, it was a mere decapix or two before the Queen realised her staff, attendants, and even the security guard of her ceremonial cortège weren't giving her puzzles the Time she felt they
20220820.0600 UTC 1610 deserved. They put randomly-selected words into the grids, made up new ones to fit, or even claimed pixel m**stard to evade engagement without suspicion. However, when she instituted a new policy of
20220820.1004 UTC 1611 appointing and promoting only the first to correctly finish a grid or answer a new riddle in an unexpectedly clever manner, participation dunejumped molpishly. Titles and honours came ONGily and
20220820.1400 UTC 1612 often, and banishments to the Basement with equal frequency. The entire court were compelled to coöperate, whether they did so Beanily or ch**rpingly. Sadly, many of the less faithful (foreign attachés, retired
20220820.1805 UTC 1613 generals, and so on) were as likely as not to deceive the Queen, who though basically the happy, worry-free, molpy-feeding type, could not tolerate a cheater. The Keymaster of Royal Beanish
20220820.2206 UTC 1614 Ciphers had to be banished to the remote and snowy Basement of Beranek because xe had used a crib (ostensibly for xyr baby, but in fact containing the <*:Complete Thread Index and Factsheet:>
20220821.0200 UTC 1615 encoded in pixelated bedsheets and swaddling clothes) while appearing as a contestant on the newly instituted wiply livestream of *Double``JeapOTTidy*; xe never would have been discovered, except that a
20220821.0600 UTC 1616 rival Security Chief (who personally despised the Keymaster) had just been de-Hatted for failing to get even a 3^{rd} place prize in three consecutive *Time*-BINGO^{1} tournaments, and out of spite, linked the
20220821.1000 UTC 1617 Keymaster's colour palette in a spURLer. Lord Postrequoter zieself had to resign zir much-coveted head cabinet post after failing to locate the three darkened pixels in the Queen's latest Meteorpix
20220821.1400 UTC 1618 colourification. Quite rapidly the Queen's cabinet was composed of the most accomplished solvers of OTTsswords, acrOTTstics, and emoji-rebuses the world over, and the ministers never went anywhere
20220821.1800 UTC 1619 without downloading the latest update of the three leading trivia apps for their leopads. Meanwhile the rest of the court had become so proficient that they were regularly staging new productions of
20220821.2202 UTC 1620 plays and musicals based on the words in each of the Queen's Daily Crosswords before the first correct solution had been submitted by a member of the general public; though this was hardly surprising
20220822.0200 UTC 1621 as the court now counted among its members the chief writers of all seven puzzle-hunts held in the country during the past yip.
20220822.0602 UTC 1622 It was during this period that the planet's evolving culture of social media and related technology was making the switch to completely immersive interaction. Almost everyone had already been
20220822.1004 UTC 1623 using unique online personas (backed by cryptographic digital signatures and the like) to verify their identity and conduct important transactions, aided by portable gadgets or in many cases
20220822.1400 UTC 1624 wired directly into each person's own circuitry. The latest trend, called *meta-Time*, had for quite a while been a temporary and intermittent activity, a natural evolution of "screen time";
20220822.1805 UTC 1625 but now the entire planet was switching over to *The* &MetaTime&, recently copyrighted, trademarked, and intensely marketed by a local investor previously best known for xyr establishment of the
20220822.2205 UTC 1626 planet's &Facebug& franchise. In The MetaTime, everyone had any appearance they wished. To aid those who hadn't joined in or were taking a short break, all holohelmets were (by universal legal
20220823.0200 UTC 1627 mandate) equipped with full masks, with realistic voice-changing effects, included hundreds of points of articulation, and had chameleon-like digital paint, all to change the wearer's real-life
20220823.0603 UTC 1628 external appearance to reflect their online persona, legal identity, and role or assignment within whatever group or activity they were engaging at any moment.
20220823.1006 UTC 1629 By this yip the Queen was less interested than ever in actually thinking, and had returned to her first and greatest love, hide-and-seek. One dip, in a particularly molpish mood, she offered a
20220823.1400 UTC 1630 staggeringly beautiful (and of course unspeakably valuable) prize, the Royal Molpish Flutterbeehat of the Transfinite Wowterfalls of Slomarda, to whosoever should find for her the best hiding place in
20220823.1803 UTC 1631 all the world. No-one had seen the fabled Slomardan Flutterbeehat for kiloyips, as it was kept in the remote and heavily fortified and megaraptor-guarded Tower of Thrimlineska accessible only by
20220823.2200 UTC 1632 treacherous sea journey past a maelstrom and up a narrow fjord.
20220824.0200 UTC 1633 Now it so happened that Balthacarius and Mrorl were passing near^{2} the Queen's planet Tylatris during extended trials of their new ship *FSCS*. News of the Queen's challenge and the legendary Flutterbeehat
20220824.0601 UTC 1634 had spread through the neighbouring star-systems and reached our bOTTifactors in the usual way, through the Tencrivarna News Service they received every mornip (and on whichever ONGs they could tune in for
20220824.1007 UTC 1635 bulletins). The sandstarraftcastleship was exceedingly good at picking up transmissions on all frequencies via its fractal-convoluted hull, which coupled with all wavelengths in high fidelity and with an
20220824.1400 UTC 1636 enviable Message-to-Mustard ratio. They promptly augmented their flight plans and brought their ship (erratically) down into the starport in the Anumiran capital city Imnugarsis. By now of
20220824.1800 UTC 1637 course The MetaTime was so ubiquitous that even foreign visitors were required to participate, and anymolp disembarking at an interstellar spaaaceport was fitted with a loaned holohelmet so they
20220824.2203 UTC 1638 could interact with the natives through "real virtuality" (as they liked to call it). During the few nopix it took them to get through this process and travel to an inn near the palace, they
20220825.0203 UTC 1639 heard no fewer than seven groups of locals excitedly discussing the Flutterbeehat challenge.
20220825.0600 UTC 1640 The next mornip they approached the palace prepared to tell the Receptionist for Emissaries and Travelling Puzzlemasters that they brought with them the means for being better-hidden than any and
20220825.1005 UTC 1641 all rivals. Unfortunately but predictably (as they had suspected from the chaos and seaish *Schlangestehenning* at the spaaaceport), so many others had come for just the same purpose that it was
20220825.1400 UTC 1642 impossible to get through the crowd by the gates. Mrorl and Balthacarius therefore returned to the hotel, sat in the lobby to overhear anything that might help them devise a plan, and resolved to get
20220825.1803 UTC 1643 through to an official the next dip. Of course they didn't leave this to luck; Timlrorme and several other bots of ordinary size and design were summoned from the ship, equipped with holohelmets after
20220825.2200 UTC 1644 snake-standing in customs through the nip, and carrying all manner of precious exotic goods, shimmering crystal pixels, and mind-enhancement aids to facilitate puzzle-solving; all of these to bribe
20220826.0200 UTC 1645 every guard they encountered as they cleared a path for Mrorl and Balthacarius to follow. This strategy worked like magic -- mere minips after coming within view of the gates, the doors of Gamalera's
20220826.0605 UTC 1646 throne room were opening for them to approach Her Majesty and offer their services. Both bOTTifactors bowed, as the Queen welcomed the famed duo with great excitement, clearly already convinced they were a
20220826.1000 UTC 1647 far better prospect than the countless conundrum-crafters and common conjurers who typically sought her audience. She of course already possessed thorough and deep experience with all manner of
20220826.1400 UTC 1648 disguise, concealment, camoflage, secreting and the like, and had researched the subject in depth, as her questions were immediately complex and well-informed. It took almost an entire nopix for them to
20220826.1800 UTC 1649 explain it and answer all of the Queen's questions of clarification, but she became even more pleased and was clearly on board with the proposal. With duneish enthusiasm she came down off the dias,
20220826.2203 UTC 1650 thanked her guests profusely, promising hasty provision of the prize without further ado -- provided they let her try out the technology at once. Balthacarius was clearly reluctant to proceed without
20220827.1800 UTC 1651 detailed guarantees in writing, promising payment and disclaiming liability, suitably signed and sealed, &&c.; but the Queen was so urgently insistent, pleading with greater intensity and reiterating
20220827.2200 UTC 1652 the promise of reward in an almost threatening way, that the bOTTifactors were compelled to accede. Mrorl brought out a leopad, already prepared with &MetaTime& bots and all necessary programming (much
20220828.0202 UTC 1653 provided by officials in Imnugarsis starport, and all registered with and approved by the Anumiran Security Ministry), pressed a button and held it out to the Queen. A leopad and its &MetaTime&
20220828.0600 UTC 1654 capabilities actually had nothing to do with concealment, but this one could be applied to that purpose exceptionally treeishly. It contained a pair of Holographic Online Recognition Negator-Nullifiers,
20220828.1000 UTC 1655 (*HORNNs* for short, as Mrorl informed her). Using them, any two individuals could immediately exchange their identities, security credentials, saved passwords, online personas, and holographic appearance
20220828.1404 UTC 1656 (both within &MetaTime& and in the real world as facilitated by the shape-morphing chameleoid holohelmets they were all wearing). Each HORNN acted as an autonomous organised sandbot and could itself
20220828.1800 UTC 1657 be transferred into any leopad or other Time-accessing device, including most especially *Meta*Time accessors such as their helmets. The HORNNs were activated when two swapping-partners approached
20220828.2203 UTC 1658 each other sufficiently closely to the device's cameras to trigger the bot's face regognition, and pressed their respective action buttons or whatever alternative feedback device they had configured
20220829.0203 UTC 1659 to serve this role, immediately starting a triple-encrypted key exchange and data transfer protocol. Each of the two HORNNs acted as a personal agent of one of the two people. Mediated by
20220829.0603 UTC 1660 sandbot-user-agents, both individuals registered their identities with each other and with a trusted third party (in this case a bureau overseen by the Tylatrian international governing body), then
20220829.1005 UTC 1661 once all three entities had certified the cryptokeys of the other two, new identification codes were set up and the old ones rendered invalid. This was of course instantaneous, automated by the standard
20220829.1407 UTC 1662 cryptobots within each user's device and at the certifying agency, and any unhelmeted observer would see an instantaneous total disapperance of one person's face and style customisations and
20220829.1805 UTC 1663 simultaneous energising of the others' in their place, and contrariwise in the other. Naturally, within &MetaTime& itself the appearance was of two avatars gliding through each other like ghosts,
20220829.2200 UTC 1664 or doing a neat little dance step, somersault, aerial loop, or whatever manoevre fit best with the avatar body type (the Queen, for example, currently manifesting herself as a raptorcuda, was at
20220830.0200 UTC 1665 that moment swimming little loops out of excitement, though she would ordinarily hover in place without a trace of movement). Mrorl had been explaining this while positioning the leopad as if to
20220830.0602 UTC 1666 take a Royal selfie by way of demonstration, when the Queen immediately smiled for the camera and pressed the button on Mrorl's screen, while simultaneously hitting #A# in her own gaunlet
20220902.0323 UTC 1667 controller; this triggered the bilateral exchange of identities, avatars trading places in a blink. It all happened so blitzily that Mrorl, who had never actually tried the procedure and was
20220902.0600 UTC 1668 largely unfamiliar with immersive virtuality (real or otherwise), did not notice the Queen's movement until it was too late. Nor did Balthacarius, though it did strike him a bit epsilon that
20220902.1001 UTC 1669 suddenly Mrorl was speaking in a different voice, the change happening in mid-word and accompanied by a swish of bubbles and a blur of Gamalera's fins; glancing over to where the Queen's avatar
20220902.1418 UTC 1670 had hovered he now saw Mrorl's by-now-familiar form (inspired by *TRON* and Princess Aurora). More alarmingly, though the Mrorlvatar was clearly over there, the exposition on HORNN technology
20220902.1800 UTC 1671 ("<*:... the conversion of sequestered trust protocol algoriths via cross-compilers from the individual Time accessors' bytecode into galactic standard INTERBOT VII...:>") was now emanating from
20220902.2200 UTC 1672 the Queen's pointed toothy mouth. The monologue (in the Queen's voice, but with Mrorl's quirky vocabulariy and gramattic pedantry) went on for a minip before Balthacarius managed to work out
20220903.0205 UTC 1322 ninety-eight percent success rate, so it was thought that Prince Pregstubin's tendencies would most certainly be remedied quickly.)
20220903.0600 UTC 1498 Moments later Balthacarius got an urgent plea for advice from Mrorl, concerning Prince Pregstubin's use of clandestine courierbots to weaponise Bagpuns, &&c. Fortunately he had been anticipating
20220903.1001 UTC 1673 what had happened. He of course had an extensive database of avatars for his BOTM project^{3}, augmented with all notable figures and persons of interest (both molpish and **ndish) and had
20220903.2314 UTC 1674 already equipped the loaned holohelmet with bots to tag everyone in view with identities floating in mid-air; and as a precaution against what chaos they might be creating (a monarchy that
20220904.2359 UTC 1675 could not find its monarch seemed politically risky, to say the least), he had additional $REDUNDANT$ bots set up in his leopad and metatemporal field detector (modified from the earlier
20220905.1502 UTC 1676 dracometric model). None of these were yet activated, however, as he had been overly preoccupied with the throngs of people at the palace gates, the bribery of many guards and staff, the
20220905.1800 UTC 1677 fanfare upon throne room entrance, and so on. But when the voices changed and avatars swished into new positions Balthacarius had merely thought it another flourish of &MetaTime& sensory
20220905.2200 UTC 1671 ("<*:... the conversion of sequestered trust protocol algorithms via cross-compilers from the individual Time accessors' bytecode into galactic standard INTERBOT VII...:>") was now emanating from
20220906.0204 UTC 1678 overload, an annoying barrage of animations and sidebars that he was still struggling to opt-out. Gamalera, finding herself hearing her own voice as if rehearsing a royal decree, took some moments
20220906.0601 UTC 1679 to relish in the experience of a royal-red raptorcuda droning on about multilevel symmetric trust protocols, then began exercising the motion-physics of her newly acquired form. The identity disc
20220906.1409 UTC 1680 was especially artful, blending well with the rest of the princess costume and clearly designed to function as a tiara if so desired. She thought it ironic that her unwitting accomplice would supply
20220906.1800 UTC 1681 her with this technology after basing his &MetaTime& avatar on a universe in which one lived or died by one's digital identity. Meanwhile Mrorl, an elongated fish with stubby fins, was gesturing in
20220906.2206 UTC 1682 the air to symbolise data packets traveling in six directions between three points in space when he noticed he could not see his hands or arms at all, tried to glance down at where they should be and
20220907.0206 UTC 1683 was shocked to discover the head and neck didn't seem to work the normal way either; the best he could do was to spot the fringe of one translucent fin on each side. He was about to ask Balthacarius
20220907.0600 UTC 1684 what was going on, when the Queen laughed and rezzed up her lightcycle, which quickly rolled away. Mrorl tried to stop her, but couldn't work out the needed relationship between body undulation and
20220907.1004 UTC 1685 fin action, and Gamalera's light-trail was soon out of the room and angling down corridors. Balthacarius also tried to intervene, but he had chosen for his avatar a chemical-impulse-era astronaut's
20220907.1405 UTC 1686 space-suit with giant bubble visor and rectangular backpack, and had inadvertently left the haptic interaction on default settings -- so his attempt to give chase came in comical bounding leaps.
20220907.1800 UTC 1687 He merely ended up blocking Mrorl's path, and the royal guards sprung to action thinking he was assaulting the Queen. Though the guards could see the real world (having only cybergoggles instead
20220907.2201 UTC 1688 of a full face-covering helmet) their work was complicated by the fact that the Queen had ordered all the lights turned off inside the palace, as it helped her hide and everyone was living in
20220908.0205 UTC 1689 real-virtuality anyway. By the time Mrorl was able to get his royal personage off the floor and convince the guards that it was in no danger, Gamalera had sped out of the palace and across the
20220908.0606 UTC 1690 grounds, and was racing through the city streets. Mrorl wished to chase her, but the courtiers would not allow it, and when he tried to explain that he wasn't the Queen at all but there had been an
20220908.1000 UTC 1691 identity exchange, they concluded that this latest inanity of a hiding challenge with such a valuable and irreplacable prize had finally fried her logical regulators, and they politely but firmly
20220908.1403 UTC 1692 escorted Mrorl into the royal apartments, which were then locked from outside, summoning a doctor or three as he swam about the palatial living suite looking for a way out. Although a raptorcuda could
20220908.1802 UTC 1693 easily fit through any number of pipes or ducts or even break a small window, Mrorl was of course constrained by the limitations of his physical body and the &MetaTime& illusion adapted to that. To
20220908.2203 UTC 1694 his perception it was a cave, though lavishly bespeckled with glimmering sea life and the occasional hoard of sunken treasure, with the only exits blocked by piles of stone. Balthacarius meanwhile,
20220909.0204 UTC 1695 summarily evicted from the palace and politely told not to call again, headed back towards the inn, thinking -- with considerable alarm -- about the ramifications of what had just taken place.
20220909.0600 UTC 1696 "Undoubtedly," he thought, "if it had been me holding that leopad I would have handled this much more beanishly. Instead of ranting on about cryptographic hocus-pocus, which would clearly cast doubts
20220909.1005 UTC 1697 on anyone's sanity, I would have immediately asserted myself as the Queen and order the seizure of the blue-neon-gowned technopunk, namely Gamalera, at once -- whereas now she's tearing through the
20220909.1400 UTC 1698 streets of the city playing Fantasy Lightcycle League -- and also, I would still have my fellow bOTTifactor at my side, who could have been appointed as a technical advisor. But that brainslughatted
20220909.1802 UTC 1699 varbal kiepudink" -- by which he meant Mrorl -- "went completely off the moonbase, and now I've got to bring all my talents into play and solve this m**stard on my own..."
20220909.2205 UTC 1700 He tried to recall everything he knew about the HORNNs, which was considerable. By far the grestest danger, as he saw it, was that Gamalera, pursuing reckless adventure in Mrorl's avatar, would
20220910.0204 UTC 1701 unwittingly trade identities with a point-of-sale payment machine or the cardreader in some night club or train station. In which case Gamalera's &MetaTime& appearance with revert to a user-interface
20220910.0802 UTC 0754 <&:Chthonism&U3A; Honour Among Serpents:> and <&:Lost Goats&U3A; Look Before You Leap:> and <&:Forward to the Past:> (this last topped with a Trilobite with Mirror Scales); another was for the puzzle-based &Automation``Optimiser&; yet another with an 8-bit pixelated design for the retro hotdog
20220910.1003 UTC 0841 molpies and raptors that could be found in the Royal Museums, such as Spines, Tusks, Eggs, Blåhaj Teeth, and Dragon Scales; as well as the finest examples of Panther Salve, Ointment, Knitted Beanies, Recycled Diamonds, Flux
20220910.1403 UTC 1653 provided by the Imnugarsis Starport Authority, and all registered with and approved by the Anumiran Security Ministry), pressed a button and held it out to the Queen. A leopad and its &MetaTime&
20220910.1805 UTC 1697 on anyone's sanity, I would have immediately asserted myself as the Queen and ordered the seizure of the blue-neon-gowned technopunk, namely Gamalera, at once -- whereas now she's tearing through the
20220910.2200 UTC 1701 unwittingly trade identities with a point-of-sale payment machine or the cardreader in some night club or train station. In which case Gamalera's &MetaTime& appearance would revert to a user-interface
20220911.0202 UTC 1702 element, some featureless cube or blank geometric shape, and her communications options would be severely limited making it harder to get herself back to the palace once gaining her senses. Worse
20220911.0605 UTC 1703 still, Mrorl's identity and credentials would belong to the device, rendering it nonfunctional and likely to be erased and reprogrammed by the shopkeeper. Feeling even more urgency Balthacarius
20220911.1000 UTC 1704 quickened his pace, and by Lucky chance not far from the inn he overheard a local resident excitedly relating a story to his friends, about how the foreign visitor and bOTTtronics specialist
20220911.1402 UTC 1705 had whizzed by in a neon striped suit and billowing yukata (both now a brilliant yellow-orange), and how, racing down the stepped path towards the spaaaceport landing-fields, he had run into a
20220911.1800 UTC 1706 pack of tourists resulting in everyone falling in a confused, clattering heap, with a chorus of ch**rping insults, and a tourguide angrily shouting for the police, how he then insisted that he was in
20220911.2206 UTC 1707 fact an honoured guest of Her Royal Highness Queen Gamalera, but he had now gotten lost and would someone please call for an escort to bring him down to the spaaaceport, how everyone nearby laughed at
20220912.0200 UTC 1708 this and walked away, with "Mrorl" hastily changing his mood and befriending the next passerby (guised as a foreign sailor) who took pity on him and offered to help, how then Mrorl had grabbed the
20220912.0800 UTC 1604 conventional priorities exposed all Cymberia to ridicule, not least of all herself.
20220912.1402 UTC 1709 stranger by the hand, only somehow causing both to pivot to each other's spot so that it was now the sailor who was sitting on the path, who then grabbed a glowing disc off the other's back which
20220912.2005 UTC 1710 promptly morphed into a cosmonaut's astrolabe, how this sailor then jumped up and skipped off, dancing down the path to the landing bays and shoving people out of the way, and meanwhile the standing
20220913.0200 UTC 1711 one (i.e. the one looking like Mrorl) slipping and rolling on his crawler treads at ever-increasing speed, and crashing at the next bend in the path with much scraping and an alarm-like screech.
20220913.0804 UTC 1712 Hearing all this Balthacarius felt a terrible m**stardy feeling all over, for he saw that this was of course Gamalera in Mrorl's identity who had crashed into the tourists and caused a scene, and
20220913.1400 UTC 1713 probably fearing that her "hiding place" would be figured out she seized the next opportunity, and literally seized the Sailor's hand, actuating their controller-gauntlet, pressing firmly on the #A#
20220913.2000 UTC 1714 button to confirm an identity swap. "<*:So, it has come to this:>," he signed. He tried to deduce as much as he could, asking the witnesses questions, including most especially if anyone perchance
20220914.0205 UTC 1715 had their holoview turned off at the time to see what actually physically happened. Fortunately one did, and in this way he confirmed that the act of grabbing the identity disc off Mrorl's avatar
20220914.0800 UTC 1716 was not anybody grabbing anything, and so presumably Gamalera still had Mrorl's leopad containing the HORNNs (but it now appeared in &MetaTime& to be an accessory more suited to her new sailor
20220914.1403 UTC 1717 appearance). Balthacarius figured that the Queen likely had her helmet on heads-up overlay (translucent as seen from inside) so she could handle tasks like hitting a confirm button on a
20220914.2003 UTC 1718 leopad or grabbing someone else's controller-gauntlet. From two repair technicians who had arrived in an ambulance he learned that the last command on the injured "Mrorl"'s controller had been
20220915.0202 UTC 1719 #R1+R2#, which was clearly Gamalera accidentally (or perhaps even intentionally) disengaging the brakes on the poor Sailor's treads causing them to careen away down the stone steps to great injury. At
20220915.1000 UTC 1714 button to confirm an identity swap. "<*:So, it has come to this:>," he sighed. He tried to deduce as much as he could, asking the witnesses questions, including most especially if anyone perchance
20220915.1800 UTC 1720 this point Balthacarius set his own holohelmet to two-way translucent and showed the technicians his identity, declaring he was the travelling companion of the injured (which in a certain sense he was),
20220916.0200 UTC 1721 whereupon they allowed him to peek inside the ambulance at the sedated Sailor; by the embossed barcodes and company insignia it was clear this was indeed a foreign merchant sailor. It was essential
20220916.1000 UTC 1722 that he confirm the location of the leopad; fortunately an old citizen who had taken to hip-mounted wheels in place of legs (those having long ago rusted beyond repair), who boasted being one of the
20220916.1800 UTC 1723 few in the city who still vigorously bucked the real-virtuality trend, had seen the skipping, bouncing "sailor" shortly after the incident, and from his perspective got a good view of a leopad of
20220917.0204 UTC 1724 foreign manufacture, in the expected shade of blue. So, apparently Gamalera was still in possession of the identity-swapping HORNNs and could continue this m**stardthwapping business of discarding
20220917.1002 UTC 1725 each identity in exchange for another, disrupting a life each time. At the news that she now held the credentials of a foreign sailor Balthacarius despaired, "Of all things! When planet leave is up
20220917.1804 UTC 1726 and they don't report back to duty, and how could they, not knowing what shipping company they are supposedly working for, the captain is bound to notify the local police, who will arrest the deserter,
20220918.0200 UTC 1727 and the Queen will soon find herself in her own city's jail or a ship's brig!" There was little chance, if any, of locating the "sailor" who was Gamalera, but Balthacarius hastened on down to
20220918.1002 UTC 1728 the spaaaceport. He had another Lucky break, as he soon arrived in a grand plaza filled with a seaish crowd; mingling through this he soon learned from overheard comments that his fears of an
20220918.1801 UTC 1729 arrested monarch were fast on their way to a very non-virtual reality. Only minips earlier a respectable Starship's Captain, apparently owner of an entire fleet (and whose avatar could best be
20220919.0200 UTC 1730 described as a world boxing champion), had recognised a crewman of his of great reputation and most awesomeful character; yet now this individual was shouting ch**rps and insults at all passing by;
20220919.1007 UTC 1731 and to those who cautioned them to calm down and enjoy the immersive fantasy their planet had to offer and stop ch**rping lest cybersecurity officers take notice, they exclaimed that they were as good
20220919.1800 UTC 1732 as any security officer, as they could become anyone they wanted, and that included the planet-wide Secretary of IT Security. Scandalised by such behaviour, the captain located the crewman and
20220920.0204 UTC 1733 remonstrated with them, who replied by lunging at him suddenly as if to begin a wrestling match, but the captain, being considerably larger and with more points of articulation, had them in a
20220920.1400 UTC 1734 headlock in millipix, whereupon a security squad on routine rounds, which so happened to be led by the Chief of IT Security of the entire port district, came upon this scene, and hearing the story and
20220921.0200 UTC 1735 seeing a sailor clearly under the brainslug, and more disorderly than usual of sailors (which is saying a lot), ordered the miscreant immediately bundled off to jail. But no sooner had the captain
20220921.1401 UTC 1736 released his grip to enable the officers to begin the arrest, than the sailor then initiated the same wrestling manoeuvre, this time on the IT Security Chief (who more resembled a ninja warrior than
20220922.0202 UTC 1737 a typical IT nerd), both stumbled and flipped over onto the ground, the sailor then shouting to the security officers to "arrest xem", while the ninja IT Chief leapt up, laughed, and ordered the
20220922.1400 UTC 1738 squad to pick up this troublemaker and haul them back to the station's jail without further delay, and not to spare the thwapstick in the process.
20220923.0207 UTC 1739 Thus, in less than a nopix, Queen Gamalera had managed to steal three persons' identities (along with their wardrobe and accessories), and was presently endowed with the rights and privileges of
20220923.1400 UTC 1740 a high-ranking security chief, who, though Randall knew was innocent, would now be confined to some dark cell in their own Basement, and possibly enduring an initial pelting that very moment.
20220924.0200 UTC 1741 Balthacarius headed immediately for the port district IT and Security offices. In reality an irregular row of drab storehouses, in &MetaTime& the offices were a colossal stone edifice, with the names
20220924.1400 UTC 1742 of history's greatest organised-sand engineers inscribed in 1's and 0's around an entablature legible from a kilocue away (and up close, revealed to be embrasures and oculus windows behind which toiled
20220925.0200 UTC 1743 IT workers). No-one was there to stop him entering the foyer or going up the stairs, and he soon found the Chief's office, and within it a bull sitting awkwardly in a swivel chair at a desk with three
20220925.1804 UTC 1726 and she doesn't report back to duty, and how could she, not knowing what shipping company she is supposedly working for, the captain is bound to notify the local police, who will arrest the deserter,
20220926.1000 UTC 1649 explain it and answer all of the Queen's questions of clarification, but she became even more pleased and was clearly on board with the proposal. With duneish enthusiasm she came down off the dais,
20220927.0201 UTC 1744 large display screens. This impressive creature (which, when he stood and stepped out from behind his desk, was evidently a Minotaur and not a bull) looked as if approaching to throw our hero out on his
20220927.1800 UTC 1745 wheels, but then stopped and winked (though Balthacarius could hardly be expected to recognise xem) then burst out :azuling:. The voice was harsh, the body language and face expressiing a
20220928.1004 UTC 1746 controlfreakiness one would expect of the IT chief post, but the laugh -- and particularly the wink -- brought to mind the mischievous trickster and puzzle-challenger Gamalera, and indeed it was she
20220929.0200 UTC 1747 who looked out through those red beady eyes. Balthacarius had no time to speculate on why she was no longer a ninja before she spoke.
20220929.1800 UTC 1748 "I knew you straight away," said Gamalera the IT Chief, "you're one of the famous bOTTronics specialists who came to me with this wonderful leopad (now glancing at the desk, where lay a small
20220930.1002 UTC 1749 marble-maze puzzle). Well, what do you think? Pretty good hiding spot, huh? They'll never find me now, and I'm big and strong too, watch!"
20221001.0202 UTC 1750 And she bent her head down, aiming the horns straight ahead and ran across the room, toppling a server rack. She scowled a bit.
20221001.1800 UTC 1751 "Ouch! I think these helmets could use better padding. Perhaps I should order another. Or I could take yours, once I've thrown you in the Basement too!"
20221002.1000 UTC 1752 "They said you were a *ninja*--" blurted Balthacarius, stalling for time and glancing for the door, which the bullheaded Gamalera had cleverly blocked in the minor upset of the toppling server-rack.
20221003.0200 UTC 1753 "I was, out there in the market plaza. This IT bloke must have geofenced avatars. I bet they're chronofenced too. Completely illegal for a government official on duty, unless you're actively engaged
20221003.1954 UTC 1754 in undercover work, which I would have to say I am. Even better for the royal hiding! What do you think?"
20221004.1004 UTC 1755 Balthacarius could think of no pertinent response.
20221005.0200 UTC 1756 "Not to suggest I have anything against you or your craft, and you certainly must have helped equip this new technology... but clearly you know too much. Perhaps changing one's identity should be illegal
20221006.0200 UTC 1757 too, in which case the *enabler* of the bots involved would also be illegal. Yes, it's down to the Basement with you!" Another nasty laugh, nostrils flaring. "That way, when I exercise my newly
20221007.0200 UTC 1758 created freedom, no-one will know who -- or *what* I am!"
20221008.0200 UTC 1759 "But Your Majesty," exclaimed Balthacarius, "You don't know all the dangers of this device! Suppose you unwittingly take the identity of one who turns out to be a criminal on the run, or an enemy of
20221009.0200 UTC 1760 some other criminal, with a price on their head..."
20221010.0202 UTC 1761 "No problem! All I have to remember is, after each switch, check my vitalstats!" and pointed to the left temple area of her holohelmet. She knew, as Balthacarius had feared, that in &MetaTime& it is
20221011.0200 UTC 1762 easy to check one's credit rating, recent security-related incidents, and much more with a glance and subvocal facial twitch. He tried to think of something. <*:Perhaps I can get that marble-maze off
20221012.0200 UTC 1763 the desk...:>
20221013.0200 UTC 1745 wheels, but then stopped and winked (though Balthacarius could hardly be expected to recognise xem) then burst out :azuling:. The voice was harsh, the body language and face expressing a
20221014.0200 UTC 1764 "As long as I have one or two unsuspecting people around, nothing can stop me!"
20221015.0200 UTC 1765 Balthacarius did his best to persuade Her Highness not to pursue further ID-exchanges, but it was clearly pointless; the Queen only :azuled: off his suggestions and made jokes, then finally said,
20221016.0200 UTC 1766 clearly relishing every word:
20221017.0200 UTC 1767 "I'm never going back to that palace, you can be assured of that! I see ahead of me a great journey, an epic adventure through the lives and virtual bodies of my loyal subjects, from one to the
20221018.0200 UTC 1768 next, giving each a turn to be Queen for a while, which after all is in keeping with the democratic principles of our enlightened monarchy. And then, to top it off, the face and garments of a film
20221019.0200 UTC 1769 star or fashion model, a star athlete or top recording artist -- if you could have a hit song or win an OTTscar, which would you choose? Why not both? A-ha ha haha ha!"
20221020.1000 UTC 1770 And then she tilted her head slightly and shouted to her subordinates -- clearly using a headset comm link -- and Balthacarius, seeing they would bundle him off in moments unless he acted,
20221021.1800 UTC 1771 activated a panic button in his holohelmet, streaming dozens of molpy videos simutaneously, which flooded the office's network bandwidth setting off several alarms from security monitoring
20221025.1954 UTC 1772 equipment about the place, and in the general confusion he leapt out a window onto the sill of the massive stone edifice, skittered nervously over to the first capital and slid down the column (in
20221027.0200 UTC 1773 reality of course he was just rolling across a tin roof and down a rainspout). By a great stroke of luck, nobody heard the clatter he made during this desperate escape, and he managed to make it to
20221028.2250 UTC 1774 another crowded plaza and lose himself amidst the throngs of holiday-goers before the arrival of the IT agents who had begun pouring out of the station and fanning out in all directions.
20221029.2124 UTC 1775 Lost in caveish thoughts, Balthacarius started back towards the city. "It would be most sree, really, to leave that Gamalera to her fate, go to the sickbay where the Sailor is lying in a repair
20221031.0237 UTC 1776 bay cloaked in Mrorl's stunning avatar, and convey them to the palace, so my friend can get his identity back. Though it's true that would thrust the Sailor up onto the Throne, giving them the rights
20221101.1048 UTC 1777 and duties of the Queen, or perhaps King from the monarch's own perspective if that's what they want to be -- <*:and serve her right, the reckoned ch**rper!:>" he thought emphatically, referring to Gamalera. Not a bad plan
20221102.1800 UTC 1778 perhaps, but clearly irrelevant due to the riverish detail that the HORNNs were still in Mrorl's leopad, presently lying on the Chief's desk back at the IT office. Balthacarius briefly contemplated
20221104.0200 UTC 1779 the design and implementation of another such device, perhaps installed under his chest armour and activated by internal mental signals -- but no, there was neither the time nor the means -- many of
20221106.0340 UTC 1780 the design secrets were still known only to the hapless Mrorl, presently under palace house arrest. "But What-If..." he thought, "I go to Mrorl, who is Queen after all, and perhaps has regained enough
20221108.0200 UTC 1781 sanity to at least be allowed to receive a visitor again, and I'll tell her -- or should I say *him* -- I'll tell them to have the army comandeer the city's security services, including most especially
20221110.0200 UTC 1782 cybersecurity in the port district. Then we can get in there and recover the leopad without hindrance from the bull-headed Queen, or whatever type of head she has decided to grow in the meantime, then
20221112.0227 UTC 1783 go forward with Mrorl and the Sailor!"
20221114.0200 UTC 1784 However, Balthacarius wasn't admitted to the palace. The Queen, so the palace liaison told him, had been confined by magneto-muonic straps to protect herself from herself, and cognitively suppressed
20221116.0200 UTC 1785 as well, and was expected to coma for twenty-seven nopix at least.
20221118.0324 UTC 1786 "Ch**rping mustard!" groaned Balthacarius, and headed towards the hospital entrusted with the Sailor's care, for he was beginning to think they may already have had their treads repaired and would be
20221120.0218 UTC 1787 released, free to wander the city again and nigh impossible to locate (though they would be easy to spot if they hadn't discovered the avatar customisation settings, but given all the pop-up
20221122.0203 UTC 1788 &MetaTime& Makeover Mini-Marts just outside the port district, there was little doubt a sailor on planet leave wouldn't resist the chance to try some more exotic or tantalising options). To the medical staff
20221124.0242 UTC 1789 he again identified himself as the travelling companion of the one admitted this mornip with broken crawler treads, which was verified easily, and learned that the needed repairs were routine but the
20221126.0652 UTC 1790 particular magneto-active components, apparently an exotic type designed for operation in deep spaaace, would take a few dips to arrive, and in the meantime the patient would need to remain in bed,
20221128.0200 UTC 1791 illumiating all around them in a steadily morphing rainbow of saturated colour. Balthacarius of course had no intention of asking to visit, for it would then be immediately obvious that the patient
20221130.0200 UTC 1792 didn't know him from al-Khwārizmī. Reassured at least that Mrorl's identity would not be rolling through the city anytime soon, he stayed near the hospital for some minips, pacing back and forth
20221202.0200 UTC 1793 and planning how to proceed, then began walking around the streets of the city gradually allowing his wheels to find their way downhill to the spaaaceport district and its many landing bays. After
20221204.1800 UTC 1794 half a nopix he entered another large plaza, where police were stopping people, holding up holophotos unmistakably his own (both avatar and physical appearance), from the looks of it taken by security
20221207.1000 UTC 1795 cameras and MetaTime screen captures whilst he was in the IT Security office. This was clearly a dragnet ordered by Gamalera, determined to get him into custody as soon as possible, and in a moment he
20221210.0200 UTC 1796 saw he had been spotted, signals beeped and officers converged upon him from three directions. Balthacarius calmly gave himself up, asking only to be taken to the IT Security Chief as he had recorded
20221212.1800 UTC 1797 evidence of a recent crime that was urgently in need of investigation. They took him, handcuffed to a massive service robot, back down to the huge stone building; once in the Chief's office Gamalera
20221215.1003 UTC 1798 -- now an impressive Hepta-Hydra -- greeted him with satisfied grunts and twinkles in her many eyes. But Balthacarius was already speaking in an odd manner not his own:
20221218.0200 UTC 1799 "Honourable master of protection and surveillance! Please you must save me, give me back my name my face for family honour! I go back to raft-rocket, cannot roll up the ramp, comrade Drismiev blocks
20221220.1800 UTC 1800 me, holds up the mirror, I say you must believe me, time meta helmet disguise breaks, This man change my face, Drismiev says use your access key, and key does not work. This man he grabs my hand, then
20221223.1000 UTC 1801 bam he has my face, and I am ruined, please help please please, <*:kata i naia, gli shethkalia rotavremopu na thkia kalathkepu Lorda Randallu. hierbrba radvaliadva, na, brathki smopu varbradvarbrathothkavak...:>"
20221226.0200 UTC 1802 And he rambled on in some language carefully designed to sound distinctly foreign both to him and anyone here on Tylatris, and occasionally gesturing to call attention to his left control-glove.
20221228.1800 UTC 1803 Gamalera, watching all this from behind the IT Chief's desk, became more intrigued, eventually coming around to give the kneeling Balthacarius a closer look, and saw that the hand-controller was
20221231.1000 UTC 1804 indeed dented in just the way one would if trying to forcibly actuate the wearer's #A# button -- unaware that the clever bOTTifactor had retrieved this control-glove from a scrap heap behind the hospital, for
20230103.0207 UTC 1805 it was indeed the Sailor's own damaged gauntlet hand-controller that Gamalera herself had forcibly squeezed to effect her second identity theft back up on the stepped stone path. Balthacarius had also
20230107.0200 UTC 1806 integrated several other pieces of scrap plating and servo-actuators from that discarded parts pile, and in addition was relaxing his own internal pistons and solenoids to make himself a quarter-cue
20230111.0200 UTC 1807 shorter and considerably hunched over, effecting a completely different physical appearance while still obviously a foreign visitor. Gamalera asked a couple IT bots to pull up video showing
20230116.2336 UTC 1808 where this individual had been, and Balthacarius had counted on this, having intentionally walked quite a few streets where there were municipal security cameras, until finding the perfect
20230119.0315 UTC 1808 where this individual had been, and Balthacarius had counted on this, having intentionally walked quite a few streets where there were municipal security cameras, until finding the perfect
20230123.0200 UTC 1809 unwitting accomplice, a foreigner with the exact gait and stature he needed; then making a point of doubling back, hunching down, and quickening his pace (while both were out of sight of the IT
20230127.0201 UTC 1810 cameras) and it was therefore a simple matter to find the place and time that a side-ally avatar-swap could have plausibly occurred, as their systems tracked ordinary avatar changes but were
20230131.0200 UTC 1811 not equipped to notice simultaneous identity-and-avatar swaps, merely assuming that identity was immutable and reliable impractical at any rate since the cameras could not access cryptokeys of
20230204.0200 UTC 1812 foreighers). Gamalera had the service-robot release his captive, and ordered all IT-bots out of the room, and when she was alone with the prisoner began a thorough interrogation. Balthacarius
20230208.0200 UTC 1813 supplied an elaborate story of how he, a Beresievan charter pilot, had deorbited just that dip, carrying several passengers including Vital Hotdog Function (all five original members, currently
20230212.0204 UTC 1814 on the first leg of their Ketchup Reunion tour^{4}) along with an entourage of close friends, who Balthacarius carefully name-dropped one at a time, all celebrities well-known to be from VHF's
20230216.0200 UTC 1815 inner circle, though none had been in the tabloids lately (this, a careful precaution against anyone possibly being well-informed on such matters, was easy for Balthacarius to concoct using search
20230220.0200 UTC 1816 queries in his heads-up display), and how they were soon scheduled to conduct sound checks for a surprise and secretly arranged concert at the Grand Theatre of the House of Anumira, all in the
20230225.1003 UTC 1817 honour of HRH Gamalera of Tylatris; but how, having just put his trusted first mate Drismiev in charge and disembarked the raft-rocket hoping to run his wheels a bit after being stuck in the
20230302.1806 UTC 1818 captain's chair for the long journey, an assailant, who looks just like this (and he pointed at himself) coming the other way and suspiciously eyeing his wings and mane (his proper avatar, as
20230308.0200 UTC 1819 he explained, being a Tulpar, which of course he had just seen in the surveillance camera playback pulled up by the witless IT bots) suddenly and forcefully wrestled him to the ground and let
20230313.1000 UTC 1820 go a moment later, trotting away gleefully.
20230318.1824 UTC 1821 Balthacarius put everything he had into the tale, consistently maintaining unusual grammar (by deactivating parts of his own Brocamatrix), and adding details to be as believable as possible. He
20230324.0200 UTC 1822 spoke at great length about his lost reputation and beautiful avatar, while heaping insults on the stranger who was now defiling both, and he even began to hit himself (as if to smash the bubble
20230329.1000 UTC 1823 space-helmet and pull out the air-hoses of the Baltha-Lunar spacesuit avatar); he spoke of each of the famous passengers, giving captivating and funny personal
20230403.1800 UTC 1781 sanity to at least be allowed to receive a visitor again, and I'll tell her -- or should I say *him* -- I'll tell them to have the army commandeer the city's security services, including most especially
20230409.0201 UTC 1811 not equipped to notice simultaneous identity-and-avatar swaps, merely assuming that identity was immutable and reliable (impractical at any rate since the cameras could not access cryptokeys of
20230414.1000 UTC 1824 anecdotes from some of his past gigs flying them about the cosmos; he reminisced about his family and their proud history, the uncle's business fermenting the best Lightning in a Bottle of the land;
20230419.1800 UTC 1825 and he even shared with the IT Chief his closest secret: that they had scheduled an arrival reception late that evening at a club in the nearby city (i.e. Imnugarsis) and that he was carrying a pair
20230425.0200 UTC 1826 of tickets for two Anumiran guests.
20230430.1000 UTC 1827 Gamalera listened eagerly and embraced every detail, as it made perfect sense that Balthacarius, wishing to avoid any further involvement with IT Security, would dispose of his avatar and
20230505.1800 UTC 1828 identity as soon as possible, and switch with a traveller, furthermore one who had control of a rocket, would have been granted expedient passage through customs, and for whom any and all doors would
20230511.0306 UTC 1829 be opened without question. It was obvious that Gamalera had been plotting similar schemes, and likely that she would jump at the chance to masquerade as one of the band, oblivious to the haniam of
20230519.0200 UTC 1830 deputising a rock star as the IT Chief of Spaaaceport Security. She of course tried to convince Balthacarius to give her the tickets, which did not require much coaxing, merely the suggestion that it
20230527.0200 UTC 1831 would help the IT agents locate the perpetrator who was thought likely to crash the party, so he selected the Hepta-Hydra's action-tab^{5} in heads-up view and sent the barcodes by private chat. By now
20230527.0200 UTC 1831 would help the IT agents locate the perpetrator who was thought likely to crash the party, so he selected the Hepta-Hydra's action-tab^{5} in heads-up view and sent the barcodes by private chat. By now
20230604.0204 UTC 1832 the bOTTifactor was certain Gamalera had taken the bait: the Queen couldn't bear to see these tickets go to Mrorl in the palace, since he could not possibly be as big a VHF fan as she was, and
20230612.0204 UTC 1833 believing everything, she believed that Balthacarius had a second device with HORNNs -- indeed, she had no reason to think otherwise.
20230612.0204 UTC 1833 believing everything, she believed that Balthacarius had a second device with HORNNs -- indeed, she had no reason to think otherwise.
20230620.0200 UTC 1834 There was a silence without questions; one could see the many gears turning in all seven heads. In nonchalant manner she asked for the name and address of the club, the time of the party, names of
20230628.1053 UTC 1835 backstage door bouncers, and so on, and a few details about his raft-rocket and landing bay. Balthacarius answered, counting on the Queen's selfish ambition, and suddenly she stood up, took the
20230706.0206 UTC 1836 multihat off the desk (Mrorl's leopad), messaged the IT staff that she was out to verify the foreigner's claims, and rushed out of the room, locking the door from outside. Balthacarius then heard
20230714.0200 UTC 1837 orders directing guards placed outside the door and each window -- evidently the wiser from his escape that mornip. Of course, she would find nothing, as there was no raft-rocket, no event at the club
20230722.0200 UTC 1838 he mentioned, no celebrity entourage or VHF members whatever. But that was the whole point of the plan. As soon as the Queen had gone, he got up, stood near the door, calmly restored his Brocamatrix
20230730.0201 UTC 1839 settings to normal, readied his recently-modified metatemporal field detector, and commenced Waiting. The small botgadget was still TIOC-equipped, and was configured to activate Mrorl's leopad remotely --
20230807.0205 UTC 1840 both devices had been set up for this the night prior at the inn, in case of emergency or common mustard, and while Balthacarius was pacing around the hospital he had verified it was still working even
20230815.0200 UTC 1841 with the leopad sitting inside the port district IT offices. This had not been detected or disabled by IT Security, which was unsurprising since Coincidence communications were a technology beyond
20230825.1805 UTC 1842 the knowledge of anyone on Tylatris, or indeed, nearly anyone in the galaxy. It wasn't long before there were heavy steps pounding back up the stairs, muffled ch**rping, and multitones of a door-lock
20230905.1000 UTC 1843 de-activation, and the IT Chief burst in, shouting:
20230916.0200 UTC 1844 "*Brainslug!* Where is VHF? Where is your rocket? Why no private event at the nightclub?"
20230916.0200 UTC 1844 "*Brainslug!* Where is VHF? Where is your rocket? Why no private event at the nightclub?"
20230926.1800 UTC 1845 But that's all she said, for Balthacarius (standing behind the door) activated Mrorl's leopad via TIOC, switching their identities in an instant; and before Gamalera could understand that anything
20231007.1000 UTC 1846 had happened, he stepped out and (continuing with the same fluster and tone that the IT Chief had just been using, with the holohelmet automatically taking care of the voice) ordered the staff to
20231018.0200 UTC 1847 throw her in the basement at once, and keep a constant guard. Stunned by the sudden reversal, Gamalera didn't realise how hillishly she had been deceived; but as (like Cuegan noticing the slowly rising
20231029.1952 UTC 1848 baconcoffeesnow) she gradually realised she had been dealing with the brilliant bOTTifactor all along and there never was any VHF Ketchup Reunion tour, the ch**rps and threats and general outcry became
20231108.1003 UTC 1849 ever louder down in the IT Ultra-Secure Basement -- impuissant without access to Mrorl's leopad, which of course had been returned to the custody of the IT Security Chief, i.e. Balthacarius (its
20231119.0200 UTC 1850 in-&MetaTime& appearance having morphed into a lunar navgrid and radio, with convenient handlebar attachment brackets). Balthacarius now changed avatars (via the normal &MetaTime& interface) to
20231129.1819 UTC 1851 the IT Chief's standard formal uniform with detective insignia, deactivating the avatar geotag and chronotag settings, and proceeded without further delay up to the palace.
20231210.1000 UTC 1852 The Queen was still asleep, they informed him, but Balthacarius, in his capacity as Spaaaceport District IT Chief of Security, said it was urgent that he speak to Her Highness, if only for a minip
20231221.0217 UTC 1853 or two, that it was a matter of highest import, a crisis, the nation threatened by matters of security at the hands of foreign hackerbots they had been monitoring at the IT Offices, and more of the
20240106.0200 UTC 1854 same, until the staff were compelled to send a Foreign Relations officer and two Royal Guards to escort him to the royal apartments. Well-acquainted with his friend's habits and eccentricities,
20240116.0600 UTC 1424 Megball-planet's perspective, his presence was established; and though that is in no way $RELATED$ to our beloved bOTTifactor's own point of view, even disregarding the alteration of timelines by the
20240116.1142 UTC 1425 introduction of bicycle technology into the relative-aforewhen, or any dates that Mrorl and others in our tales might suggest, it is nevertheless what we are going for here.
20240116.1418 UTC 1426 <*:[Editor's Note: In like manner, due to the complex interweavings of Narrative and the chronotemporal way that these tales are reaching you, our Gentle Reader, beinginasmuch as they ping between
20240116.1800 UTC 1427 Botcastle and Casbottle one ONG at a Time, sometimes occasionally taking holiday in the yip 2022^{H} before returning to 2018^{H} or somewhen [equally``improbable|#p3641725], having been modulated
20240116.2211 UTC 1428 from DTMF to MTDF and back again thrice or more in the process, it is effectively impossible for anyone to say when the tale that follows was first related. Nevertheless, from your point of view, it
20240117.1726 UTC 1429 should-ought to being been-had happened somewhen and so, we shall present it here, barragings of Bagpuns notwithstanding.]:>
20240117.1800 UTC 1430 And so we must pick up our story, from a Balthacarius-relative Timeline point of view, when the famed bOTTifactor was already quite far into the Moonbase era and had, in fact, just received a visit
20240117.2210 UTC 1431 from a certain Emissary-Blitzer of Gondomar, King of Ligimude and Zaguczeshdam. En route to Pregstubin's planet Rossnagar Kirgu, on board that oddly fractalated staraftcastleship, and working in
20240118.0200 UTC 1432 separate quarters from Mrorl (who was thoroughly nerdsniped by a new Time-consuming hotdog that Timlrorme found on TIOC), Balthacarius received two coded messages, and both of them a distress call.
20240118.0611 UTC 1433 The first message was from their current destination, sent by none other than Sashiris, famed cross-temporal messenger of the Chromium Kingdom. The other was from temporoSpaaatial coördinates he did
20240118.1258 UTC 1434 not recognise, but immediately guessed involved a bOTTifactorial exploit yet to come, as it was from himself and had a lot about a misidentified and apparently injured Mrorl, a pair of HORNNs
20240118.1410 UTC 1435 (naturally), and the chance to divert the Bagpuns via a Sashiris-centred temporal shell game. This, an opportunity most other bOTTifactors would have turned down, intrigued Balthacarius immensely. The
20240118.1801 UTC 1436 solution was at once gracefully elegant and unbearbly complicated. Only three triadic swaps (of time, place, and/or identity) would be needed; a task for which Balthacarius was fully qualified and all
20240119.0138 UTC 1437 too familiar. He activated and retroreversed both chronograms to acknowledge their receipt and notify each sender that he was on the way.
20240119.0205 UTC 1438 As both bOTTifactors were already charged and obligated with a mission to resolve an issue between two kingdoms on the same planet Balthacarius presented a good reason why he should go to the rival
20240119.1410 UTC 1439 kingdom, citing their success in bilateral application of the Gontalmannas Effect as precedent, and this was heartily endorsed by all concerned. Timlrorme (who wished to remain as far from Pregstubin's puns
20240119.1810 UTC 1440 as possible) succeeded in being assigned the role of itinerant alibi. Upon arrival Balthacarius carefully disguised *LEML*'s transmitters and other equipment to complicate the job of anyone hoping to
20240119.2200 UTC 1441 detect its movements or identify any occupants, and landed in the heavily fortified area where Sashiris had been forced to take refuge of late. She had taken up residence in a mansion built for a past
20240120.0200 UTC 1442 space admiral. The approach, gates, windows and doors were studded with a variety of detectors and alarms (which, it was soon explained, were triggered by assonance, alliteration, portmanteaus, and
20240120.0604 UTC 1443 the like) and the entrance hall was decorated with many formidable weapons of all sizes, her signature Punsaws foremost among these. Balthacarius took particular note of their elegance and formidable
20240120.1000 UTC 1444 efficiency, knowing he would want something in return for his bOTTifactorial services, and was soon speaking with the High Timewalker herself. Her appeal for help, the necessary backstory, their
20240120.1400 UTC 1445 deliberations, &&c. were long and involved, and there is little need to relate them here as the reader will already be familiar with the main issues concerning Rossnagar Kirgu. It is enough to point
20240120.1800 UTC 1446 out that the aquisition of punsaw technology (to augment Mrorl's plans for dealing with Prince Pregstubin) was a delicate matter requiring careful negotiations with military leaders. After explaining
20240120.2200 UTC 1447 that it would have a stabilising influence on the geopolitics of the entire empire, Balthacarius secured the design blueprints of several of the most effective models and sent them off to Mrorl.
20240121.0418 UTC 1448 Now, assured that her best option was to create a diversion from long ago and far away, Sashiris followed the bOTTifactor back into *LEML*, bringing along several recent creations, drawings and
20240121.0600 UTC 1449 songs not yet shared, to transmit from the past and thereby mislead the Prince.
20240121.1645 UTC 1450 Once back in orbit, it was best to Wait until *LEML* was around on the opposite side of the planet from the two kingdoms, and bots prepared a CTIF beacon to coördinate the time and place of return.
20240121.1800 UTC 1451 They discussed the plans to divert Pregstuban's namesake missives.
20240121.2200 UTC 1452 "So I'm going to lay low in some alien hospital pretending to be... did you say a sailor?"
20240122.0200 UTC 1453 "A merchant sailor, nice chap. Where we're going next, they don't know what happened to him. But you only need to be there the shortest Time, less than a newpix from your point of view, as
20240122.0600 UTC 1454 Timlrorme and I take care of things. However long we spend, we come back and get you just after leaving, as Tylatris' time is concerned."
20240122.1728 UTC 1455 "And this 'Timlrorme' is going to have my identity? Impersonating me from far away? How ch**rped is *that*?"
20240122.1800 UTC 1456 Balthacarius paused. This was indeed a rather seaish request.
20240122.2200 UTC 1457 "Not Timlrorme, but the Sailor... and you'll have Mrorl's identity. He is my fellow bOTTifactor. I bet you'll love his technopunk avatar and flowing yukata, they keep changing colours. He's a bit
20240123.0203 UTC 1458 overoptimistic at times, when it comes to potential botbuilding, but thoroughly reliable and assuredly anti-Pregstubin. It is he, right now, who is risking his career employing all known methods and
20240123.0600 UTC 1459 technologies, plus a few Epsilon and one or two completely unknown, to cure your unrequested admirer and your world of the curse of his -- lifetime hobby --"
20240123.1000 UTC 1460 At *lifetime``hobby* a growl from Sashiris, with a ratchety resonance reminiscent of her favourite weapon.
20240123.1400 UTC 1461 "-- and he has entrusted me to entrust you with his credentials, a very deep trust indeed, if you know half the things we've been through.
20240123.1801 UTC 1462 "To attract Pregstubin's attention, we -- well, the sailor -- well, actually him masquerading as you -- will send the progenitor of all Bagpuns. It will be sent from the Past and travel far through
20240123.2200 UTC 1463 Spaaace, and timed to arrive precisely when the Prince is most susceptible, at the crux of the battle to come.
20240124.0201 UTC 1464 Sashiris' brow furrowed as Balthacarius continued, "Yes, it needs to be you. Only by *you* sending the first Bagpun, can we be sure to attract the Prince's attention, and convince him to respond."
20240124.0600 UTC 1465 "As if impersonating my identity with digital signatures were not enough," Sashiris scowled.
20240124.1605 UTC 1466 "Of course that *should* be enough, but we really need to get him where it works best, with the message to draw him in. We've made the perfect bait:
20240124.1800 UTC 1467 '<*:One True Comic II: The Baginning:>'^{1} What do you think?"
20240124.2200 UTC 1468 There was a deathly silence. Sashiris looked at Timlrorme, and back to Balthacarius. She couldn't believe he even bothered to ask.
20240125.0200 UTC 1469 "... ah, yes, of course. Perhaps best not to know what you think."
20240125.0600 UTC 1470 After a pause, "It is agreed, then?" asked Balthacarius, and with a nod Sashiris returned to her cabin to work on her latest project, a most wowterful song cycle, that would play a key role on the
20240125.1000 UTC 1471 old and far-distant moon to which they hoped the loathsome Bagpuns could be redirected.
20240125.1400 UTC 1472 On approach to Tylatris they were informed of the planet's mask requirements and virtuOTTity protocols, and they prepared the necessary equipment, repurposing some holohelmets Timlrorme had
20240125.1800 UTC 1473 brought along for hotdogging. Upon arrival they contacted the portmaster of Imnugarsis with a cover story, claiming they brought a Hotdog Vendor and a retinue of little bots specialising in recursive self-referential
20240125.2200 UTC 1474 puzzles, all for the amusement of HRH Gamalera. This was easy to prove, if needed, as Timlrorme always had an ample supply of hotdogs, puzzles and bots at the ready. The palace Foreign Relations
20240126.0210 UTC 1475 office told them, however, that the Queen was in fact not able to receive any artisans or dignitaries at the moment; this was as expected as Balthacarius^{2l} had told Balthacarius^{2e} that
20240126.0641 UTC 1476 Her Royal Highness was in fact no-where to be found, or completely off her casters and confined to quarters (depending on who you asked), and either way this was surely an embarrassment not to be
20240126.1611 UTC 1477 spoken of; and Balthacarius^{2e} requested therefore a landing bay where they could take planet-leave whilst they Wait for a possible royal audience, and access to the planet's internet, which were granted.
20240126.1800 UTC 1478 Leaving the ship, Sashiris, Balthacarius^{2e}, and Timlrorme found a pre-arranged spot for the late-nip meeting with Balthacarius^{2l} to brief each other on the details, and transfer the all-important
20240126.2200 UTC 1479 HORNNs into Sashiris' organised sand. Mrorl had fortunately designed them with chronotemporal messaging capabilities, which Balthafuturecarius^{2f} had exploited (with authorisation from the Tylatrian
20240127.0805 UTC 1480 Bureau of Digital Affairs) to read the device's past memory contents, thereby acquiring private keys for each of the identities the device had assumed thus far. This naturally imbued her with
20240127.1545 UTC 1481 formidable powers manifest in authorised access, including a District Chief of IT Security and none other than Queen Gamalera herself. Baltafuturecarius a-Waited their return, while the rest
20240127.1800 UTC 1482 followed his directions to the infirmary in another part of the city where a merchant sailor (injured, and stuck with Mrorl's credentials, thereby unable to re-board his ship) had been effectively
20240128.0034 UTC 1483 incarcerated. Using Sashiris' leopad it was a simple matter to get into the infirmary and sneak into the room. The Sailor was in a hospital bed, in the technopunk bodysuit and gown of Mrorl's
20240128.0200 UTC 1484 avatar, filling the room with a caveish blue glow^{3}. Following careful instructions from Balthafuturecarius^{2a}, the leopad was used to retroactively negate, nullify, and
20240128.0600 UTC 1485 effectively exchange personal I.D. credentials with the Timeviewer that the Sailor had been loaned for use during his convalescence. This made the Sailor effectively able to act as Sashiris
20240128.1000 UTC 1486 in all matters, including but not limited to the transmission of posts (of a punning nature or otherwise) or even entering into legal agreements such as an arranged royal union.
20240128.1609 UTC 1487 As regards his physical injuries, Balthacarius opened a toolbox he had been carrying, out of which scurried microbots and nanobots (and more than a few shananobots)
20240128.2322 UTC 1488 to work on the Sailor's lower armature and magnetic treads in a way that would appear to the hospital staff to be the result of normal, albeit impressively fast, self-repair. Sashiris had been spending
20240129.0200 UTC 1489 this time marveling at her new luminescent flowing gown and symmetric, mostly parallel neon stripes (now in a different pattern than they had on the Sailor, their colour shifting through violet
20240129.0600 UTC 1490 towards pink), but at the others' urging she took the Sailor's place in the bed, donning the cosmonautical hat to which she took quite a fancy (and which immediately changed colour to match her
20240129.1831 UTC 1491 ensemble), as the rest left the building the same way they had come.
20240130.0341 UTC 1492 Returning to *LEML*, and telling the portmaster that they had decided to fulfill an order for another customer and would return to Tylatris in due time, Balthacarius laid out a course for the
20240130.0600 UTC 1493 distant Sun of the Cueganites, at a time sufficiently predating the first known arrival of bots and bicycles to their Moon^{2o}, and calibrated the engines (which were based on that lesser-known "CTIF"
20240130.1023 UTC 1494 technology, the Conveyance of Temporally Itinerant Flight) to get there in a way that would evade detection by the tracking and communications systems of later eras.
20240130.1400 UTC 1495 This was the longest journey he had yet to undertake in his work as bOTTronics consultant to sundry worlds and kingdoms, as the route could not proceed in a straight line in Time or in Spaaace,
20240130.1804 UTC 1496 under any Lorentz-transformed perceptions of possible observers. Balthacarius settled down to catch up on pastposts (always an enjoyable task), and occasionally checked in with the Sailor regarding his
20240130.2200 UTC 1497 preparations for his role in the Sashiris-related tasks to come. Timlrorme, as always, worked towards a new high score on his (new) favourite hotdog, <*:Balthabots Save Time Again!:>
20240131.0454 UTC 1498 Moments later Balthacarius got an urgent plea for advice from Mrorl, concerning Prince Pregstubin's use of clandestine courierbots to weaponise Bagpuns, &&c. Fortunately he had been anticipating
20240131.1926 UTC 1499 this, and already had sent three bots by MusTARDIS back to King Idle, where work was underway under one of the obligations his kingdom had been forced to agree upon the conclusion of the hotdog
20240131.2200 UTC 1500 challenge: unlimited free upgrades to the rocketship *GEMG* that had been built for the bOTTifactors. It was being refitted as the first-ever FractalSandCastleStar (and newly christened *FSCS*) a new
20240201.0200 UTC 1501 class of raftcastle equipped with Chronotech and Tractor Beams, to be crewed by countless bots of different sizes. Thanks to the epsilonish ways of MusTARDIS time-travel, the trio of Balthabots
20240201.0600 UTC 1502 arrived just in time to take delivery of the awkwardly hypercrenellated construction, tested it for spaceworthiness, and navigated the thing back to Pregstubin's planet, where a secret transfer of
20240201.1000 UTC 1503 munitions had been arranged by clever (and CTIF-mediated) rerouting of certain important dispatches by the Prince to his Punshoes of Amīrzādeh, who now believed Sashiris to be hiding out on an obscure moon,
20240201.1721 UTC 1504 remote in time and space, the source of her newest messages. Bags of all sizes were quickly loaded by bots of all sizes including those Royal courierbots who would accompany them as expert Bagpun deployment consultants,
20240201.1802 UTC 1505 whenupon ship, bots, bags, and all promptly relocated by equally epsilonish means to precisely when-where Balthacarius, Timlrorme, and the Sailor were still en route to the Cueganite Moon. Meanshile,
20240201.2223 UTC 1506 Timlrorme remotely summoned Mrorl's &TARDIS&, which would likely be useful later, from a place and time where it was idle and unoccupied, after he carefully noted its coördinates^{4} for a seamless return.
20240202.0508 UTC 1507 Timlrorme by that point had gotten thoroughly engrossed in his *BSTA* game, and was eagerly sharing his progress with the Sailor who also had little else to do during the long journey.
20240202.0600 UTC 1508 "... It's the best hotdog ever, Mrorl and I are both playing and we keep beating each others' score. It's a sequel to the legend of How Time Was Saved, where you get to save Time again by directing squads of robots, well,
20240202.1000 UTC 1509 they're not called Balthabots in the hotdog itself, and it doesn't even say *BSTA* anywhere, but everyone calls it that because the original link to the anonymously-signed download was in a TIOC packet
20240202.1408 UTC 1510 that was tracked back to the very location we're heading for now, except we're going to be a lot earlier in time -- anyway, everyone thinks this hotdog came from Balthacarius' Moonbase, so they
20240202.1800 UTC 1511 started calling the bots *Balthabots* and the name stuck -- you have to build robots that collect pixels of various colours, as many different colours as you can find, and send them to future temporospatial
20240202.2200 UTC 1512 coördinates using these strange shipping crates that are basically MusTARDISar except even less reliable if you can believe that, and you have to transmit colour tables to yourself too, it's all to
20240203.0200 UTC 1513 allow you to restore the Universe to its normal visual appearance after this seaish and thoroughly bonkers Machine turns everything into one colour, also the crates pop back into existence at random,
20240203.0600 UTC 1514 usually not at the intended destination time you specified, and you have to move the robot before the crate falls on top of it, and you even have to learn how to get crates to fall at the same time for
20240203.1000 UTC 1515 the sweet Drop Combos that really boost your score, I just got +1700 that way, and that's just one of the side games, there's another one with railroad cars full of trees, and altering game parameters
20240203.1400 UTC 1516 in different directories and files on lapleopards that you occasionally find inside crates or just lying on the ground for no apparent reason and you don't know what any of the parameters are for,
20240203.1800 UTC 1517 and some of them turn out to alter the gameplay -- quite meta and confusing as ch**rp, but I love it that way -- and the game keeps popping up adverts for some other hotdog from the same vendor
20240203.2200 UTC 1518 called LM, which somehow stands for MROBOTIC RANDOMNESS, and every one has a different set of numbers which I'm copying down in case it ever becomes useful, there are plenty of ways to get stuck so
20240204.0200 UTC 1519 you have to save and reload often, right now I'm learning how to program Balthabots to build other robots, which you have to do because the point values double with each level of recursion, and
20240204.0600 UTC 1520 there's this bot that can solder timer chips together to make Trurl Machines, you know, the universal computer that reads and writes symbols on a cassette tape... you program your Trurl Machine to
20240204.1000 UTC 1521 allow you to jump to different parts of the storyline which is the best way to fix any m**stard you caused earlier, but if it eats the cassette, everything else in the hotdog gets scrambled and you
20240204.1400 UTC 1522 might as well start over, but I've been thinking there might actually be a reason to do that if you know exactly when and how, like Mrorl said that he had a robot hold her object catalogue upside-down
20240204.1800 UTC 1523 and all the prices of the robot components and batteries and other stuff changed, like he could sell a wheel for 16 #0EE#-cyan pixels instead of buying one for 91 #330#-brown pixels, which would be
20240204.2204 UTC 1524 crazy good since cyan pixels are so rare and most NPCs will give you a hundred brown pixels for one cyan pixel which you can see would be kind of overpowered, but it makes more sense
20240205.0200 UTC 1525 than half the other game mechanics so when I reset the hotdog which I haven't decided to do yet I'm definitely going to try that ..."
20240205.0602 UTC 1526 Breathlessly Timlrorme went on and on like this, the Sailor politely nodding every now and then, knowing anything was better than just watching the stars go by, his usual way of passing the Time
20240205.1000 UTC 1527 on the long spaaace-traaading routes.
20240205.1400 UTC 1528 *LEML* and *FSCS* travelled together while they carefully arranged a seemingly serendipitous chance rendezvous with the Emissary-Blitzer and Consort to Xes Majesty Gondomar of Ligimude and
20240205.1803 UTC 1529 Zaguczeshdam, who at that point had just left Rossnagar Kirgu in a thoroughly normal ambassadorial spaaaceship, and still thought xes meeting with both bOTTifactors to be yet a few dips away.
20240205.2200 UTC 1530 Balthacarius hid himself to avoid being seen or heard, directing Timlrorme and the Sailor to follow the Ligimude and Zaguczeshdam consular protocols as best he knew them, to present themselves
20240206.0200 UTC 1531 as delegates of the bOTTifactors who (accompanied by the Prince's own Courierbots) had been entrusted to deliver these fine gifts (the Bagpuns they had on board), clearly by order of the Prince,
20240206.0600 UTC 1532 to sweeten the deal when the Blitzer made xes offer and appeal for help. This agreed to, the Emissary-Blitzer left xes own ship to accompany the Prince's couriers, Timlrorme, and a few well-chosen
20240206.1019 UTC 1533 Balthabots onto *FSCS* (already crewed by many bots of its own), while *LEML* and the Emissary's original ship fell back in order to remain out of sight during the Blitzer's visit to the Moonbase.
20240206.1400 UTC 1534 Balthacarius and the Sailor then had no trouble explaining to the remaining staff of the Emissary that they should visit the Moonbase ahead of time to make preparations for the arrival of the
20240206.1800 UTC 1535 foreign visitor. What they did not tell them was how *far* back in Time they were going.
20240206.2200 UTC 1536 As planned, they went to a point sufficiently early in our history that Balthacarius^{2n} himself had not even begun to set up a Moonbase. The familiar terrain to which he had become accustomed was
20240207.0204 UTC 1537 still unblemished by retrorocket, footprint, or bicycle-tread, and it took some time to decide upon a suitable location. The Sailor found the ship's controls very familiar, but his request to try his
20240207.0600 UTC 1538 hands at the helm was declined, as it would be a shame if he were to crash-land on the Moon. They placed transmitters under the surface, inside a MusTARDIS programmed to take them away after all
20240207.1000 UTC 1539 transmissions had been completed, to remove the evidence and prevent an accidental future "discovery" of extraterrestrial technology buried on the Moon. The messages were sent from the Sailor's leopad,
20240207.1400 UTC 1540 thereby given Sashiris' digital signature, and with CTIF encoding to make them appear, upon arrival, to have been sent recently and from nearby -- but deliberately this disguising was imperfect, and designed
20240207.1800 UTC 1541 to be figured out by the Prince's cryptographic equerry, so that the Prince would "realise" that Sashiris had a hiding spot on a remote moon (from which moon she had sent the messages at some time
20240207.2201 UTC 1542 in the past). For redundancy each message was sent multiple times -- the first containing the Bagpun-bait carefully designed to be irresistable to the Prince; the second and much longer with three
20240208.0206 UTC 1543 verses and twenty-four lines^{5}, timed to arrive after the Fading had left Rossnagar Kirgu, and just after the anticipated wedding of Pregstubin to "Sashiris", who unknown to him, would actually be
20240208.0600 UTC 1544 a merchant cosmonaut using her identity.
20240208.1000 UTC 1545 Lunar-temporal-shenanigans complete, *LEML* rejoined the Rossnagar Kirgu ambassadorial ship, with the Sailor suggesting that its staff could return home ahead of the *FSCS*, so that the
20240208.1400 UTC 1546 bOTTifactors would not see it and wonder what it was for. They were now free to return to Tylatris by a similarly nonlinear CTIF-navigated route. The &TARDIS& soon appeared, bearing an excited
20240208.1800 UTC 1547 Timlrorme who had just spent the entire voyage to Tylatris finishing his *BSTA* hotdog, as he excitedly related to the Sailor.
20240208.2202 UTC 1548 "I had to avoid talking with anyone after quickly telling Mrorl and Balthacarius that I was a future Timlrorme on a mission that I should not discuss further. So I summoned our Time machine again,"
20240209.0201 UTC 1549 (pointing back at the &TARDIS&) "and stayed inside it playing *BSTA*. When you think you've finished all the side-games, this message appears with instructions to use all the numbers from the
20240209.0600 UTC 1550 MROBOTIC RANDOMNESS! adverts to index into colour tables, giving letters and words which are instructions for building the ultimate Time-Saving bot, which is called *STAF*. When you finish building
20240209.1015 UTC 1551 the STAF, which doesn't look all that impressive at first glance to be honest, a rather small bot running on two standard 419-pixel LEML^{7} batteries and not even any wheels to roll around on,
20240209.1400 UTC 1552 but anyway you use it to play through the whole game again, except it goes a lot faster because this bot really is able to do everything -- pixels, colours, treeconomics, wood, crates, object
20240209.1800 UTC 1553 catalogues, sending messages in palettes, one-time relocation, Trurl machines, MTDF music, and all the rest. And when it's finished, the screen goes black except for one word *Koniec* in big letters,
20240209.2200 UTC 1554 that's a word I've never seen before but it sounds endish, don't you think? And then it starts downloading something for about four and a half minips and my leopard was frozen, but then it says --
20240210.0200 UTC 1555 Congratulations, you have just completed the hotdog. Now play the sequel!"
20240210.0600 UTC 1556 "Which is?" asked the ever-polite Sailor.
20240210.1000 UTC 1557 "<*:BSTAF: Sustainabilising Time Again Forever!:>" whereupon Timlrorme went happily down the corridor to his cabin and spent many nopix in hotdiggity fascination.
20240210.1403 UTC 1558 They travelled without mishap to Gamalera's planet; inasmuch as the Tylatrian Spaaaceport Authority thought they were still calling on another customer, the Sailor and Timlrorme used the &TARDIS& to
20240210.1805 UTC 1559 access the infirmary room in which Sashiris had (from her perspective) only just begun reading the Millinerpedia article on the hat she was wearing, and hadn't even considered what harmless
20240210.2207 UTC 1560 mischief might be performed using Mrorl's login authorisations. Employing the HORNNs still installed in her organised sand, Sashiris regained her credentials in exchange for those of Mrorl which in
20240211.0209 UTC 1561 like manner returned to the Sailor, who then lay back in the hospital bed and bid farewell to the unusual and unexpected visitors, their Mrorly-blue conveyance fading away as abruptly as it had
20240211.0608 UTC 1562 arrived. They found Balthafuturecarius Waiting for them in the same spot as their first meeting, and returned the HORNNs to him, then &TARDIS&ed back to *LEML*, as he returned to the city to carry on
20240211.1012 UTC 1563 whatever he will-have-been doing. *LEML* soon left orbit and returned to Sashiris' world, where they used the &TARDIS& once again to bring Sashiris back into her suite within the Chromium spaaace
20240211.1410 UTC 1564 admiral's mansion (where she had feigned locking herself in from the inside to avoid any hand-delivered puns^{6}). She emerged to the news (at no surprise to her) that a marriage had been arranged via
20240211.1809 UTC 1565 private couriers, with all forms filled and verified, notarised, &&c. and behold, an end to hostilities had immediately followed. Sashiris smirked as she began selecting suitable apparel for the next
20240211.2212 UTC 1566 wip's ceremonies to formalise these events -- for in all the land, across both kingdoms and the entire empire, out to the farthest and coldest outer worlds of the system, as they rejoiced in the
20240212.0213 UTC 1567 vibrant *Boom``de``Yada* song cycle that had just arrived by interstellar transmission from across Time and Spaaace, which only the High Timewalker herself could have authored -- it was she and only
20240212.0611 UTC 1568 she who knew that this marriage was indeed not between Pregstubin and Sashiris, but between Pregstubin and some heretofore unknown cosmonaut using her identity, and as soon as she shared the keygen
20240212.1011 UTC 1569 logs with the Interwebs Ministry the unmolpish union would be annulled.
20240212.1414 UTC 1570 ----
20240212.1815 UTC 1571 #Footnotes#
20240212.2221 UTC 1572 H. Heretical
20240213.0200 UTC 1573 1. See [OTT:467:22|#p3342969].
20240213.0600 UTC 1574 2e. Referring to the first Balthacarius, who one might have thought would be the only Balthacarius in this story.
20240213.1007 UTC 1575 2l. What should be the name of this other Balthacarius? He sent the coded distress call, and is the one and the same as our "first" Balthacarius, only Later in a Baltempororelativistic way.
20240213.1406 UTC 1576 2f. Yes, *Balthafuturecarius* is a less terrible way to call him.
20240213.1808 UTC 1577 2a. Perhaps we should have asked this other Balthacarius what to name him, while we had the chance... although that might have been a little too meta.
20240213.2207 UTC 1578 2o. Which fortunately means we will not need to name another other Balthacarius.
20240214.0211 UTC 1579 2n. Referring to the other other guy who we thought we would not need to name.
20240214.0613 UTC 1580 3. Caveish in colour only, not in any Cherenkov way.
20240214.1017 UTC 1581 4. Unfortunately this measurement was unexpectedly altered by the *FSCS* shipboard communications systems, which added some nonlinear fractal distance and interfered with Timlrorme's relativistic time calculations.
20240214.1420 UTC 1582 5. See [OTT:464:10|#p3342732].
20240214.1822 UTC 1583 6. Notwithstanding this obvious and easy explanation, there was no end to the rumours spread within the kingdom, the likes of [OTT:425:26|#p3339732] and other absurd nonsense that had begun with a
20240214.2200 UTC 1584 single person on Ch**rper saying they noticed the lights were off in some mansion windows.
20240215.0200 UTC 1585 7. Light Electrons == Massive Lakes (see [phys``431|http://1190.bicyclesonthemoon.info/aftertime/viewer?story=phys&e=0&f=431]).
20240215.0601 UTC 1586 ----
20240215.1000 UTC 1587 (- The Fifth Journey#& -)
20240215.1404 UTC 1588 (- - #or# - -)
20240215.1800 UTC 1589 (- The Mischief of Queen Gamalera#& -)
20240215.2211 UTC 1590 =N=ot by being e**dish or heretical did Gamalera, Queen of Tylatris, torment her people, but by having a good Time. And again, it was neither shameful excess nor debauchery that were most sreee to her
20240216.0212 UTC 1591 heart, but only the simplest and most unassuming hotdogs -- [Pfffth|http://mrob.com/time/pfffth], [Chirpy``Raptor|http://mrob.com/time/chirp.html], and [Q04B|http://mrob.com//time/Q04B] into the early
20240216.0611 UTC 1592 nopix of the mornip, then [MolpyUp!|http://mrob.com/time/molpyup], [Writer|http://mrob.com/time/writer], and [Incremental``Zoo|http://mrob.com/time/menagerie3], but more than anything she loved to
20240216.1013 UTC 1593 play [hide-and-seek|#p3431271], and in the more OTTish manner the better. Whenever there was need for a seaish decision, a ceremony requiring the Royal presence, visitors from distant stars, or some
20240216.1413 UTC 1594 Mome or Pope requesting an audience, the Queen would hide, and everyone would need to find her, else suffer the most mustardy punishments. So the whole court would run around the entire castle, check
20240216.1801 UTC 1595 the basement, look in every tower and parapet, and all around the surrounding beaches, breaking into any suspicious new walls, endlessly taking photos and $ENHANCE!$ing to find changed pixels, and most
20240216.2253 UTC 1596 often these searches would run into the hectonewpix or longer, for the Queen was always thinking of new places and new ways to hide. Once, an important battle never got fought, all because the Queen,
20240217.0200 UTC 1597 covered in glittery pixels, suspended herself from a ceiling in the central hall to pass as a chandelier, and it was all she could do to keep from :azuling: as the staff rushed about below. Whoever
20240217.0604 UTC 1598 found the Queen was instantly given the title of Royal Revealer the Most-Recent -- there were already a few hunderd of those at court. But xe who would gain the Queen's special favour had to impress
20240217.1000 UTC 1599 her with some surprising new activity, one previously unheard of to the Queen. This was by no means easy, considering how well-versed Gamalera was in this area; she knew all the Timeless pastimes of
20240217.1400 UTC 1600 the Timeless past, like [MONOMOLPY|#p3418910], [Automome|http://mrob.com/time/automome], and [Catapult|http://mrob.com/time/catapult], and all the latest hotdogs like [LWFI|http://mrob.com/time/LWFI]
20240217.1800 UTC 1601 and Casbottle Spaaace Program, and she often said that every activity was a game, passive enjoyments like [Boom-de-Yada|http://mrob.com/time/de-yada] and [Time``Cycles|http://mrob.com/time/freq]
20240217.2204 UTC 1602 included, and for that matter the whole world.
20240218.0412 UTC 1603 The Queen's closest council, in particular the prime minister Lord Postrequoter of the molpish house of Rondreznirrak, was greatly Corinned by the Queen's attitude, saying her lack of any
20240218.0602 UTC 1604 conventional priorities exposed all Cymberia to ridicule, not least of all herself.
20240218.1000 UTC 1605 When the Queen unexpectedly announced it was time for puzzles, all were gripped with terror. She had always relished in the art, both of creation and solution, of [letter-based``sudoku|#p3347654],
20240218.1400 UTC 1606 intricate [crosswords|#p3456593], and a variety of grid-like variants from the simple [word``search|#p3455775] to [OTTified``quote``identification|#p3556598] to the most elaborate palimpsests
20240218.1800 UTC 1607 XOR-encoded onto the low bits of red, green, and blue in an otherwise benign-looking spoiler-kitten. Once, encoded as an acrostic within a series of new GIF smileys, the Queen challenged the
20240218.2202 UTC 1608 royal court with the riddle: <*:How does one know that the Newpix hashes were delivered via quantum-entangled pixels?:>
20240219.0200 UTC 1609 After that, it was a mere decapix or two before the Queen realised her staff, attendants, and even the security guard of her ceremonial cortège weren't giving her puzzles the Time she felt they
20240219.0600 UTC 1610 deserved. They put randomly-selected words into the grids, made up new ones to fit, or even claimed pixel m**stard to evade engagement without suspicion. However, when she instituted a new policy of
20240219.1000 UTC 1611 appointing and promoting only the first to correctly finish a grid or answer a new riddle in an unexpectedly clever manner, participation dunejumped molpishly. Titles and honours came ONGily and
20240219.1400 UTC 1612 often, and banishments to the Basement with equal frequency. The entire court were compelled to coöperate, whether they did so Beanily or ch**rpingly. Sadly, many of the less faithful (foreign attachés, retired
20240220.0553 UTC 1613 generals, and so on) were as likely as not to deceive the Queen, who though basically the happy, worry-free, molpy-feeding type, could not tolerate a cheater. The Keymaster of Royal Beanish
20240221.0058 UTC 1614 Ciphers had to be banished to the remote and snowy Basement of Beranek because xe had used a crib (ostensibly for xyr baby, but in fact containing the <*:Complete Thread Index and Factsheet:>
20240221.0212 UTC 1615 encoded in pixelated bedsheets and swaddling clothes) while appearing as a contestant on the newly instituted wiply livestream of *Double``JeapOTTidy*; xe never would have been discovered, except that a
20240221.0600 UTC 1616 rival Security Chief (who personally despised the Keymaster) had just been de-Hatted for failing to get even a 3^{rd} place prize in three consecutive *Time*-BINGO^{1} tournaments, and out of spite, linked the
20240221.1015 UTC 1617 Keymaster's colour palette in a spURLer. Lord Postrequoter zieself had to resign zir much-coveted head cabinet post after failing to locate the three darkened pixels in the Queen's latest Meteorpix
20240221.1656 UTC 1855 Balthacarius produced magnetic field oscillations in a pattern that always reminded Mrorl of his struggles to end that basement ordeal of thorough pelting^{6}, and Mrorl instantly jumped, raising a
20240223.0604 UTC 1856 fin in reflex against an imagined volley of bonbons. He looked at the visitor, recognised him as Balthacarius despite the atypical choice of dress, and welcomed him in a thoroughly normal and
20240301.0817 UTC 1618 colourification. Quite rapidly the Queen's cabinet was composed of the most accomplished solvers of OTTsswords, acrOTTstics, and emoji-rebuses the world over, and the ministers never went anywhere
20240301.1000 UTC 1619 without downloading the latest update of the three leading trivia apps for their leopads. Meanwhile the rest of the court had become so proficient that they were regularly staging new productions of
20240301.1400 UTC 1620 plays and musicals based on the words in each of the Queen's Daily Crosswords before the first correct solution had been submitted by a member of the general public; though this was hardly surprising
20240301.1800 UTC 1621 as the court now counted among its members the chief writers of all seven puzzle-hunts held in the country during the past yip.
20240301.2200 UTC 1622 It was during this period that the planet's evolving culture of social media and related technology was making the switch to completely immersive interaction. Almost everyone had already been
20240302.0200 UTC 1623 using unique online personas (backed by cryptographic digital signatures and the like) to verify their identity and conduct important transactions, aided by portable gadgets or in many cases
20240302.0600 UTC 1624 wired directly into each person's own circuitry. The latest trend, called *meta-Time*, had for quite a while been a temporary and intermittent activity, a natural evolution of "screen time";
20240302.1000 UTC 1625 but now the entire planet was switching over to *The* &MetaTime&, recently copyrighted, trademarked, and intensely marketed by a local investor previously best known for xyr establishment of the
20240302.1400 UTC 1626 planet's &Facebug& franchise. In The MetaTime, everyone had any appearance they wished. To aid those who hadn't joined in or were taking a short break, all holohelmets were (by universal legal
20240302.1800 UTC 1627 mandate) equipped with full masks, with realistic voice-changing effects, included hundreds of points of articulation, and had chameleon-like digital paint, all to change the wearer's real-life
20240302.2200 UTC 1628 external appearance to reflect their online persona, legal identity, and role or assignment within whatever group or activity they were engaging at any moment.
20240303.0200 UTC 1629 By this yip the Queen was less interested than ever in actually thinking, and had returned to her first and greatest love, hide-and-seek. One dip, in a particularly molpish mood, she offered a
20240303.0600 UTC 1630 staggeringly beautiful (and of course unspeakably valuable) prize, the Royal Molpish Flutterbeehat of the Transfinite Wowterfalls of Slomarda, to whosoever should find for her the best hiding place in
20240223.0604 UTC 1856 fin in reflex against an imagined volley of bonbons. He looked at the visitor, recognised him as Balthacarius despitj"&j&J6痖o'2t'Ji"I&s'&&EtI&7s6&EJ&EjJ"&seJtsO7"s
20240303.1000 UTC 1631 all the world. No-one had seen the fabled Slomardan Flutterbeehat for kiloyips, as it was kept in the remote and heavily fortified and megaraptor-guarded Tower of Thrimlineska accessible only by
20240303.1400 UTC 1632 treacherous sea journey past a maelstrom and up a narrow fjord.
20240303.1800 UTC 1633 Now it so happened that Balthacarius and Mrorl were passing near^{2} the Queen's planet Tylatris during extended trials of their new ship *FSCS*. News of the Queen's challenge and the legendary Flutterbeehat
20240303.2200 UTC 1634 had spread through the neighbouring star-systems and reached our bOTTifactors in the usual way, through the Tencrivarna News Service they received every mornip (and on whichever ONGs they could tune in for
20240304.0200 UTC 1635 bulletins). The sandstarraftcastleship was exceedingly good at picking up transmissions on all frequencies via its fractal-convoluted hull, which coupled with all wavelengths in high fidelity and with an
20240223.0604 UTC 1856 fin in reflex against an imagined volley of bonbons. He looked at the visitor, recognised him as Balthacarius despitiIi&'j'IJtE&7'sjE痒'&SjIosJtTE7t'sisjE
20240304.0600 UTC 1636 enviable Message-to-Mustard ratio. They promptly augmented their flight plans and brought their ship (erratically) down into the starport in the Anumiran capital city Imnugarsis. By now of
20240304.1000 UTC 1637 course The MetaTime was so ubiquitous that even foreign visitors were required to participate, and anymolp disembarking at an interstellar spaaaceport was fitted with a loaned holohelmet so they
20240304.1403 UTC 1638 could interact with the natives through "real virtuality" (as they liked to call it). During the few nopix it took them to get through this process and travel to an inn near the palace, they
20240223.0604 UTC 1856 fin in reflex against an imagined volley of bonbons. He looked at the visitor, recognised him as Balthacarius despitjJ'i"T&ejII&TEjJso6I'&soiI'i"s&EjJ"6"jJ&
20240310.0200 UTC 1857 non-hysterical manner, then reassuring those present that ze was well enough at least to conduct a private meeting, dismissed all guards and attendants.
20240311.0745 UTC 1639 heard no fewer than seven groups of locals excitedly discussing the Flutterbeehat challenge.
20240311.1033 UTC 1640 The next mornip they approached the palace prepared to tell the Receptionist for Emissaries and Travelling Puzzlemasters that they brought with them the means for being better-hidden than any and
20240314.1245 UTC 1641 all rivals. Unfortunately but predictably (as they had suspected from the chaos and seaish *Schlangestehenning* at the spaaaceport), so many others had come for just the same purpose that it was
20240314.1400 UTC 1642 impossible to get through the crowd by the gates. Mrorl and Balthacarius therefore returned to the hotel, sat in the lobby to overhear anything that might help them devise a plan, and resolved to get
20240314.1800 UTC 1643 through to an official the next dip. Of course they didn't leave this to luck; Timlrorme and several other bots of ordinary size and design were summoned from the ship, equipped with holohelmets after
20240315.1458 UTC 1644 snake-standing in customs through the nip, and carrying all manner of precious exotic goods, shimmering crystal pixels, and mind-enhancement aids to facilitate puzzle-solving; all of these to bribe
20240320.0149 UTC 1645 every guard they encountered as they cleared a path for Mrorl and Balthacarius to follow. This strategy worked like magic -- mere minips after coming within view of the gates, the doors of Gamalera's
20240320.0222 UTC 1646 throne room were opening for them to approach Her Majesty and offer their services. Both bOTTifactors bowed, as the Queen welcomed the famed duo with great excitement, clearly already convinced they were a
20240320.0600 UTC 1647 far better prospect than the countless conundrum-crafters and common conjurers who typically sought her audience. She of course already possessed thorough and deep experience with all manner of
20240320.1000 UTC 1648 disguise, concealment, camoflage, secreting and the like, and had researched the subject in depth, as her questions were immediately complex and well-informed. It took almost an entire nopix for them to
20240320.1400 UTC 1649 explain it and answer all of the Queen's questions of clarification, but she became even more pleased and was clearly on board with the proposal. With duneish enthusiasm she came down off the dais,
20240320.1800 UTC 1650 thanked her guests profusely, promising hasty provision of the prize without further ado -- provided they let her try out the technology at once. Balthacarius was clearly reluctant to proceed without
20240320.2200 UTC 1651 detailed guarantees in writing, promising payment and disclaiming liability, suitably signed and sealed, &&c.; but the Queen was so urgently insistent, pleading with greater intensity and reiterating
20240321.0200 UTC 1652 the promise of reward in an almost threatening way, that the bOTTifactors were compelled to accede. Mrorl brought out a leopad, already prepared with &MetaTime& bots and all necessary programming (much
20240321.0600 UTC 1653 provided by the Imnugarsis Starport Authority, and all registered with and approved by the Anumiran Security Ministry), pressed a button and held it out to the Queen. A leopad and its &MetaTime&
20240321.1000 UTC 1654 capabilities actually had nothing to do with concealment, but this one could be applied to that purpose exceptionally treeishly. It contained a pair of Holographic Online Recognition Negator-Nullifiers,
20240321.1400 UTC 1655 (*HORNNs* for short, as Mrorl informed her). Using them, any two individuals could immediately exchange their identities, security credentials, saved passwords, online personas, and holographic appearance
20240321.1800 UTC 1656 (both within &MetaTime& and in the real world as facilitated by the shape-morphing chameleoid holohelmets they were all wearing). Each HORNN acted as an autonomous organised sandbot and could itself
20240321.2200 UTC 1657 be transferred into any leopad or other Time-accessing device, including most especially *Meta*Time accessors such as their helmets. The HORNNs were activated when two swapping-partners approached
20240322.0200 UTC 1658 each other sufficiently closely to the device's cameras to trigger the bot's face regognition, and pressed their respective action buttons or whatever alternative feedback device they had configured
20240322.0600 UTC 1659 to serve this role, immediately starting a triple-encrypted key exchange and data transfer protocol. Each of the two HORNNs acted as a personal agent of one of the two people. Mediated by
20240322.1000 UTC 1660 sandbot-user-agents, both individuals registered their identities with each other and with a trusted third party (in this case a bureau overseen by the Tylatrian international governing body), then
20240322.1400 UTC 1661 once all three entities had certified the cryptokeys of the other two, new identification codes were set up and the old ones rendered invalid. This was of course instantaneous, automated by the standard
20240322.1800 UTC 1662 cryptobots within each user's device and at the certifying agency, and any unhelmeted observer would see an instantaneous total disapperance of one person's face and style customisations and
20240322.2200 UTC 1663 simultaneous energising of the others' in their place, and contrariwise in the other. Naturally, within &MetaTime& itself the appearance was of two avatars gliding through each other like ghosts,
20240323.0200 UTC 1664 or doing a neat little dance step, somersault, aerial loop, or whatever manoevre fit best with the avatar body type (the Queen, for example, currently manifesting herself as a raptorcuda, was at
20240323.0600 UTC 1665 that moment swimming little loops out of excitement, though she would ordinarily hover in place without a trace of movement). Mrorl had been explaining this while positioning the leopad as if to
20240323.1004 UTC 1666 take a Royal selfie by way of demonstration, when the Queen immediately smiled for the camera and pressed the button on Mrorl's screen, while simultaneously hitting #A# in her own gaunlet
20240323.1400 UTC 1667 controller; this triggered the bilateral exchange of identities, avatars trading places in a blink. It all happened so blitzily that Mrorl, who had never actually tried the procedure and was
20240323.1803 UTC 1668 largely unfamiliar with immersive virtuality (real or otherwise), did not notice the Queen's movement until it was too late. Nor did Balthacarius, though it did strike him a bit epsilon that
20240323.2200 UTC 1669 suddenly Mrorl was speaking in a different voice, the change happening in mid-word and accompanied by a swish of bubbles and a blur of Gamalera's fins; glancing over to where the Queen's avatar
20240324.0200 UTC 1670 had hovered he now saw Mrorl's by-now-familiar form (inspired by *TRON* and Princess Aurora). More alarmingly, though the Mrorlvatar was clearly over there, the exposition on HORNN technology
20240324.1407 UTC 1673 what had happened. He of course had an extensive database of avatars for his BOTM project^{3}, augmented with all notable figures and persons of interest (both molpish and **ndish) and had
20240324.1806 UTC 1674 already equipped the loaned holohelmet with bots to tag everyone in view with identities floating in mid-air; and as a precaution against what chaos they might be creating (a monarchy that
20240324.2200 UTC 1675 could not find its monarch seemed politically risky, to say the least), he had additional $REDUNDANT$ bots set up in his leopad and metatemporal field detector (modified from the earlier
20240325.0200 UTC 1676 dracometric model). None of these were yet activated, however, as he had been overly preoccupied with the throngs of people at the palace gates, the bribery of many guards and staff, the
20240325.0600 UTC 1677 fanfare upon throne room entrance, and so on. But when the voices changed and avatars swished into new positions Balthacarius had merely thought it another flourish of &MetaTime& sensory
20240325.1000 UTC 1678 overload, an annoying barrage of animations and sidebars that he was still struggling to opt-out. Gamalera, finding herself hearing her own voice as if rehearsing a royal decree, took some moments
20240325.1400 UTC 1679 to relish in the experience of a royal-red raptorcuda droning on about multilevel symmetric trust protocols, then began exercising the motion-physics of her newly acquired form. The identity disc
20240325.1800 UTC 1680 was especially artful, blending well with the rest of the princess costume and clearly designed to function as a tiara if so desired. She thought it ironic that her unwitting accomplice would supply
20240325.2200 UTC 1681 her with this technology after basing his &MetaTime& avatar on a universe in which one lived or died by one's digital identity. Meanwhile Mrorl, an elongated fish with stubby fins, was gesturing in
20240326.0200 UTC 1682 the air to symbolise data packets traveling in six directions between three points in space when he noticed he could not see his hands or arms at all, tried to glance down at where they should be and
20240326.0600 UTC 1683 was shocked to discover the head and neck didn't seem to work the normal way either; the best he could do was to spot the fringe of one translucent fin on each side. He was about to ask Balthacarius
20240326.1000 UTC 1684 what was going on, when the Queen laughed and rezzed up her lightcycle, which quickly rolled away. Mrorl tried to stop her, but couldn't work out the needed relationship between body undulation and
20240326.1400 UTC 1685 fin action, and Gamalera's light-trail was soon out of the room and angling down corridors. Balthacarius also tried to intervene, but he had chosen for his avatar a chemical-impulse-era astronaut's
20240326.1800 UTC 1686 space-suit with giant bubble visor and rectangular backpack, and had inadvertently left the haptic interaction on default settings -- so his attempt to give chase came in comical bounding leaps.
20240326.2200 UTC 1687 He merely ended up blocking Mrorl's path, and the royal guards sprung to action thinking he was assaulting the Queen. Though the guards could see the real world (having only cybergoggles instead
20240327.0206 UTC 1688 of a full face-covering helmet) their work was complicated by the fact that the Queen had ordered all the lights turned off inside the palace, as it helped her hide and everyone was living in
20240327.0604 UTC 1689 real-virtuality anyway. By the time Mrorl was able to get his royal personage off the floor and convince the guards that it was in no danger, Gamalera had sped out of the palace and across the
20240327.1000 UTC 1690 grounds, and was racing through the city streets. Mrorl wished to chase her, but the courtiers would not allow it, and when he tried to explain that he wasn't the Queen at all but there had been an
20240327.1400 UTC 1691 identity exchange, they concluded that this latest inanity of a hiding challenge with such a valuable and irreplacable prize had finally fried her logical regulators, and they politely but firmly
20240327.1800 UTC 1692 escorted Mrorl into the royal apartments, which were then locked from outside, summoning a doctor or three as he swam about the palatial living suite looking for a way out. Although a raptorcuda could
20240327.2200 UTC 1693 easily fit through any number of pipes or ducts or even break a small window, Mrorl was of course constrained by the limitations of his physical body and the &MetaTime& illusion adapted to that. To
20240328.0200 UTC 1694 his perception it was a cave, though lavishly bespeckled with glimmering sea life and the occasional hoard of sunken treasure, with the only exits blocked by piles of stone. Balthacarius meanwhile,
20240328.0600 UTC 1695 summarily evicted from the palace and politely told not to call again, headed back towards the inn, thinking -- with considerable alarm -- about the ramifications of what had just taken place.
20240328.1000 UTC 1696 "Undoubtedly," he thought, "if it had been me holding that leopad I would have handled this much more beanishly. Instead of ranting on about cryptographic hocus-pocus, which would clearly cast doubts
20240328.1400 UTC 1697 on anyone's sanity, I would have immediately asserted myself as the Queen and ordered the seizure of the blue-neon-gowned technopunk, namely Gamalera, at once -- whereas now she's tearing through the
20240328.1804 UTC 1698 streets of the city playing Fantasy Lightcycle League -- and also, I would still have my fellow bOTTifactor at my side, who could have been appointed as a technical advisor. But that brainslughatted
20240328.2205 UTC 1699 varbal kiepudink" -- by which he meant Mrorl -- "went completely off the moonbase, and now I've got to bring all my talents into play and solve this m**stard on my own..."
20240329.0207 UTC 1700 He tried to recall everything he knew about the HORNNs, which was considerable. By far the grestest danger, as he saw it, was that Gamalera, pursuing reckless adventure in Mrorl's avatar, would
20240329.0609 UTC 1701 unwittingly trade identities with a point-of-sale payment machine or the cardreader in some night club or train station. In which case Gamalera's &MetaTime& appearance would revert to a user-interface
20240329.1011 UTC 1702 element, some featureless cube or blank geometric shape, and her communications options would be severely limited making it harder to get herself back to the palace once gaining her senses. Worse
20240329.1409 UTC 1703 still, Mrorl's identity and credentials would belong to the device, rendering it nonfunctional and likely to be erased and reprogrammed by the shopkeeper. Feeling even more urgency Balthacarius
20240329.1800 UTC 1704 quickened his pace, and by Lucky chance not far from the inn he overheard a local resident excitedly relating a story to his friends, about how the foreign visitor and bOTTtronics specialist
20240329.2200 UTC 1705 had whizzed by in a neon striped suit and billowing yukata (both now a brilliant yellow-orange), and how, racing down the stepped path towards the spaaaceport landing-fields, he had run into a
20240330.0200 UTC 1706 pack of tourists resulting in everyone falling in a confused, clattering heap, with a chorus of ch**rping insults, and a tourguide angrily shouting for the police, how he then insisted that he was in
20240330.0600 UTC 1707 fact an honoured guest of Her Royal Highness Queen Gamalera, but he had now gotten lost and would someone please call for an escort to bring him down to the spaaaceport, how everyone nearby laughed at
20240330.1000 UTC 1708 this and walked away, with "Mrorl" hastily changing his mood and befriending the next passerby (guised as a foreign sailor) who took pity on him and offered to help, how then Mrorl had grabbed the
20240330.1400 UTC 1709 stranger by the hand, only somehow causing both to pivot to each other's spot so that it was now the sailor who was sitting on the path, who then grabbed a glowing disc off the other's back which
20240330.2000 UTC 1710 promptly morphed into a cosmonaut's astrolabe, how this sailor then jumped up and skipped off, dancing down the path to the landing bays and shoving people out of the way, and meanwhile the standing
20240331.0200 UTC 1711 one (i.e. the one looking like Mrorl) slipping and rolling on his crawler treads at ever-increasing speed, and crashing at the next bend in the path with much scraping and an alarm-like screech.
20240331.0800 UTC 1712 Hearing all this Balthacarius felt a terrible m**stardy feeling all over, for he saw that this was of course Gamalera in Mrorl's identity who had crashed into the tourists and caused a scene, and
20240331.1400 UTC 1713 probably fearing that her "hiding place" would be figured out she seized the next opportunity, and literally seized the Sailor's hand, actuating their controller-gauntlet, pressing firmly on the #A#
20240331.2000 UTC 1714 button to confirm an identity swap. "<*:So, it has come to this:>," he sighed. He tried to deduce as much as he could, asking the witnesses questions, including most especially if anyone perchance
20240401.0200 UTC 1715 had their holoview turned off at the time to see what actually physically happened. Fortunately one did, and in this way he confirmed that the act of grabbing the identity disc off Mrorl's avatar
20240401.0800 UTC 1716 was not anybody grabbing anything, and so presumably Gamalera still had Mrorl's leopad containing the HORNNs (but it now appeared in &MetaTime& to be an accessory more suited to her new sailor
20240401.1400 UTC 1717 appearance). Balthacarius figured that the Queen likely had her helmet on heads-up overlay (translucent as seen from inside) so she could handle tasks like hitting a confirm button on a
20240401.2000 UTC 1718 leopad or grabbing someone else's controller-gauntlet. From two repair technicians who had arrived in an ambulance he learned that the last command on the injured "Mrorl"'s controller had been
20240402.0200 UTC 1719 #R1+R2#, which was clearly Gamalera accidentally (or perhaps even intentionally) disengaging the brakes on the poor Sailor's treads causing them to careen away down the stone steps to great injury. At
20240402.1000 UTC 1720 this point Balthacarius set his own holohelmet to two-way translucent and showed the technicians his identity, declaring he was the travelling companion of the injured (which in a certain sense he was),
20240402.1800 UTC 1721 whereupon they allowed him to peek inside the ambulance at the sedated Sailor; by the embossed barcodes and company insignia it was clear this was indeed a foreign merchant sailor. It was essential
20240403.0200 UTC 1722 that he confirm the location of the leopad; fortunately an old citizen who had taken to hip-mounted wheels in place of legs (those having long ago rusted beyond repair), who boasted being one of the
20240403.1000 UTC 1723 few in the city who still vigorously bucked the real-virtuality trend, had seen the skipping, bouncing "sailor" shortly after the incident, and from his perspective got a good view of a leopad of
20240403.1815 UTC 1724 foreign manufacture, in the expected shade of blue. So, apparently Gamalera was still in possession of the identity-swapping HORNNs and could continue this m**stardthwapping business of discarding
20240404.0200 UTC 1725 each identity in exchange for another, disrupting a life each time. At the news that she now held the credentials of a foreign sailor Balthacarius despaired, "Of all things! When planet leave is up
20240404.1016 UTC 1726 and she doesn't report back to duty, and how could she, not knowing what shipping company she is supposedly working for, the captain is bound to notify the local police, who will arrest the deserter,
20240404.1800 UTC 1727 and the Queen will soon find herself in her own city's jail or a ship's brig!" There was little chance, if any, of locating the "sailor" who was Gamalera, but Balthacarius hastened on down to
20240405.0203 UTC 1728 the spaaaceport. He had another Lucky break, as he soon arrived in a grand plaza filled with a seaish crowd; mingling through this he soon learned from overheard comments that his fears of an
20240405.1000 UTC 1729 arrested monarch were fast on their way to a very non-virtual reality. Only minips earlier a respectable Starship's Captain, apparently owner of an entire fleet (and whose avatar could best be
20240405.1800 UTC 1730 described as a world boxing champion), had recognised a crewman of his of great reputation and most awesomeful character; yet now this individual was shouting ch**rps and insults at all passing by;
20240406.0200 UTC 1731 and to those who cautioned them to calm down and enjoy the immersive fantasy their planet had to offer and stop ch**rping lest cybersecurity officers take notice, they exclaimed that they were as good
20240406.1400 UTC 1732 as any security officer, as they could become anyone they wanted, and that included the planet-wide Secretary of IT Security. Scandalised by such behaviour, the captain located the crewman and
20240407.0203 UTC 1733 remonstrated with them, who replied by lunging at him suddenly as if to begin a wrestling match, but the captain, being considerably larger and with more points of articulation, had them in a
20240407.1400 UTC 1734 headlock in millipix, whereupon a security squad on routine rounds, which so happened to be led by the Chief of IT Security of the entire port district, came upon this scene, and hearing the story and
20240408.0219 UTC 1735 seeing a sailor clearly under the brainslug, and more disorderly than usual of sailors (which is saying a lot), ordered the miscreant immediately bundled off to jail. But no sooner had the captain
20240408.1406 UTC 1736 released his grip to enable the officers to begin the arrest, than the sailor then initiated the same wrestling manoeuvre, this time on the IT Security Chief (who more resembled a ninja warrior than
20240409.0200 UTC 1737 a typical IT nerd), both stumbled and flipped over onto the ground, the sailor then shouting to the security officers to "arrest xem", while the ninja IT Chief leapt up, laughed, and ordered the
20240409.1400 UTC 1738 squad to pick up this troublemaker and haul them back to the station's jail without further delay, and not to spare the thwapstick in the process.
20240410.0204 UTC 1739 Thus, in less than a nopix, Queen Gamalera had managed to steal three persons' identities (along with their wardrobe and accessories), and was presently endowed with the rights and privileges of
20240410.1411 UTC 1740 a high-ranking security chief, who, though Randall knew was innocent, would now be confined to some dark cell in their own Basement, and possibly enduring an initial pelting that very moment.
20240411.0200 UTC 1741 Balthacarius headed immediately for the port district IT and Security offices. In reality an irregular row of drab storehouses, in &MetaTime& the offices were a colossal stone edifice, with the names
20240411.1400 UTC 1742 of history's greatest organised-sand engineers inscribed in 1's and 0's around an entablature legible from a kilocue away (and up close, revealed to be embrasures and oculus windows behind which toiled
20240412.0209 UTC 1743 IT workers). No-one was there to stop him entering the foyer or going up the stairs, and he soon found the Chief's office, and within it a bull sitting awkwardly in a swivel chair at a desk with three
20240412.1400 UTC 1744 large display screens. This impressive creature (which, when he stood and stepped out from behind his desk, was evidently a Minotaur and not a bull) looked as if approaching to throw our hero out on his
20240413.0200 UTC 1745 wheels, but then stopped and winked (though Balthacarius could hardly be expected to recognise xem) then burst out :azuling:. The voice was harsh, the body language and face expressing a
20240413.1813 UTC 1746 controlfreakiness one would expect of the IT chief post, but the laugh -- and particularly the wink -- brought to mind the mischievous trickster and puzzle-challenger Gamalera, and indeed it was she
20240414.1017 UTC 1747 who looked out through those red beady eyes. Balthacarius had no time to speculate on why she was no longer a ninja before she spoke.
20240415.0200 UTC 1748 "I knew you straight away," said Gamalera the IT Chief, "you're one of the famous bOTTronics specialists who came to me with this wonderful leopad (now glancing at the desk, where lay a small
20240415.1819 UTC 1749 marble-maze puzzle). Well, what do you think? Pretty good hiding spot, huh? They'll never find me now, and I'm big and strong too, watch!"
20240416.1018 UTC 1750 And she bent her head down, aiming the horns straight ahead and ran across the room, toppling a server rack. She scowled a bit.
20240417.0200 UTC 1751 "Ouch! I think these helmets could use better padding. Perhaps I should order another. Or I could take yours, once I've thrown you in the Basement too!"
20240417.1800 UTC 1752 "They said you were a *ninja*--" blurted Balthacarius, stalling for time and glancing for the door, which the bullheaded Gamalera had cleverly blocked in the minor upset of the toppling server-rack.
20240418.1000 UTC 1753 "I was, out there in the market plaza. This IT bloke must have geofenced avatars. I bet they're chronofenced too. Completely illegal for a government official on duty, unless you're actively engaged
20240419.0201 UTC 1754 in undercover work, which I would have to say I am. Even better for the royal hiding! What do you think?"
20240419.1806 UTC 1755 Balthacarius could think of no pertinent response.
20240420.1000 UTC 1756 "Not to suggest I have anything against you or your craft, and you certainly must have helped equip this new technology... but clearly you know too much. Perhaps changing one's identity should be illegal
20240421.0200 UTC 1757 too, in which case the *enabler* of the bots involved would also be illegal. Yes, it's down to the Basement with you!" Another nasty laugh, nostrils flaring. "That way, when I exercise my newly
20240422.0200 UTC 1758 created freedom, no-one will know who -- or *what* I am!"
20240423.0200 UTC 1759 "But Your Majesty," exclaimed Balthacarius, "You don't know all the dangers of this device! Suppose you unwittingly take the identity of one who turns out to be a criminal on the run, or an enemy of
20240424.0200 UTC 1760 some other criminal, with a price on their head..."
20240425.0200 UTC 1761 "No problem! All I have to remember is, after each switch, check my vitalstats!" and pointed to the left temple area of her holohelmet. She knew, as Balthacarius had feared, that in &MetaTime& it is
20240426.0200 UTC 1762 easy to check one's credit rating, recent security-related incidents, and much more with a glance and subvocal facial twitch. He tried to think of something. <*:Perhaps I can get that marble-maze off
20240427.0200 UTC 1763 the desk...:>
20240428.0202 UTC 1764 "As long as I have one or two unsuspecting people around, nothing can stop me!"
20240429.0200 UTC 1765 Balthacarius did his best to persuade Her Highness not to pursue further ID-exchanges, but it was clearly pointless; the Queen only :azuled: off his suggestions and made jokes, then finally said,
20240430.0200 UTC 1766 clearly relishing every word:
20240501.0200 UTC 1767 "I'm never going back to that palace, you can be assured of that! I see ahead of me a great journey, an epic adventure through the lives and virtual bodies of my loyal subjects, from one to the
20240502.1011 UTC 1768 next, giving each a turn to be Queen for a while, which after all is in keeping with the democratic principles of our enlightened monarchy. And then, to top it off, the face and garments of a film
20240503.1800 UTC 1769 star or fashion model, a star athlete or top recording artist -- if you could have a hit song or win an OTTscar, which would you choose? Why not both? A-ha ha haha ha!"
20240505.0200 UTC 1770 And then she tilted her head slightly and shouted to her subordinates -- clearly using a headset comm link -- and Balthacarius, seeing they would bundle him off in moments unless he acted,
20240506.1000 UTC 1771 activated a panic button in his holohelmet, streaming dozens of molpy videos simutaneously, which flooded the office's network bandwidth setting off several alarms from security monitoring
20240507.1800 UTC 1772 equipment about the place, and in the general confusion he leapt out a window onto the sill of the massive stone edifice, skittered nervously over to the first capital and slid down the column (in
20240509.0200 UTC 1773 reality of course he was just rolling across a tin roof and down a rainspout). By a great stroke of luck, nobody heard the clatter he made during this desperate escape, and he managed to make it to
20240510.1443 UTC 1774 another crowded plaza and lose himself amidst the throngs of holiday-goers before the arrival of the IT agents who had begun pouring out of the station and fanning out in all directions.
20240511.1800 UTC 1775 Lost in caveish thoughts, Balthacarius started back towards the city. "It would be most sree, really, to leave that Gamalera to her fate, go to the sickbay where the Sailor is lying in a repair
20240513.0200 UTC 1776 bay cloaked in Mrorl's stunning avatar, and convey them to the palace, so my friend can get his identity back. Though it's true that would thrust the Sailor up onto the Throne, giving them the rights
20240514.1502 UTC 1777 and duties of the Queen, or perhaps King from the monarch's own perspective if that's what they want to be -- <*:and serve her right, the reckoned ch**rper!:>" he thought emphatically, referring to Gamalera. Not a bad plan
20240515.1809 UTC 1778 perhaps, but clearly irrelevant due to the riverish detail that the HORNNs were still in Mrorl's leopad, presently lying on the Chief's desk back at the IT office. Balthacarius briefly contemplated
20240517.0207 UTC 1779 the design and implementation of another such device, perhaps installed under his chest armour and activated by internal mental signals -- but no, there was neither the time nor the means -- many of
20240519.0200 UTC 1780 the design secrets were still known only to the hapless Mrorl, presently under palace house arrest. "But What-If..." he thought, "I go to Mrorl, who is Queen after all, and perhaps has regained enough
20240530.1807 UTC 1781 sanity to at least be allowed to receive a visitor again, and I'll tell her -- or should I say *him* -- I'll tell them to have the army commandeer the city's security services, including most especially
20240601.1913 UTC 1782 cybersecurity in the port district. Then we can get in there and recover the leopad without hindrance from the bull-headed Queen, or whatever type of head she has decided to grow in the meantime, then
20240602.0210 UTC 1783 go forward with Mrorl and the Sailor!"
20240604.0200 UTC 1784 However, Balthacarius wasn't admitted to the palace. The Queen, so the palace liaison told him, had been confined by magneto-muonic straps to protect herself from herself, and cognitively suppressed
20240606.0202 UTC 1785 as well, and was expected to coma for twenty-seven nopix at least.
20240610.0137 UTC 1786 "Ch**rping mustard!" groaned Balthacarius, and headed towards the hospital entrusted with the Sailor's care, for he was beginning to think they may already have had their treads repaired and would be
20240610.0220 UTC 1787 released, free to wander the city again and nigh impossible to locate (though they would be easy to spot if they hadn't discovered the avatar customisation settings, but given all the pop-up
20240612.1604 UTC 1788 &MetaTime& Makeover Mini-Marts just outside the port district, there was little doubt a sailor on planet leave wouldn't resist the chance to try some more exotic or tantalising options). To the medical staff
20240614.1519 UTC 1789 he again identified himself as the travelling companion of the one admitted this mornip with broken crawler treads, which was verified easily, and learned that the needed repairs were routine but the
20240618.1748 UTC 1790 particular magneto-active components, apparently an exotic type designed for operation in deep spaaace, would take a few dips to arrive, and in the meantime the patient would need to remain in bed,
20240618.1748 UTC 1790 particular magneto-active components, apparently an exotic type designed for operation in deep spaaace, would take a6on of asking to visit, for it would then be immediately obvious that the patient
20240620.0202 UTC 1791 illumiating all around them in a steadily morphing rainbow of saturated colour. Balthacarius of course had no intention of asking to visit, for it would then be immediately obvious that the patient
20240622.0200 UTC 1792 didn't know him from al-Khwārizmī. Reassured at least that Mrorl's identity would not be rolling through the city anytime soon, he stayed near the hospital for some minips, pacing back and forth
20240625.0636 UTC 1793 and planning how to proceed, then began walking around the streets of the city gradually allowing his wheels to find their way downhill to the spaaaceport district and its many landing bays. After
20240628.0444 UTC 1794 half a nopix he entered another large plaza, where police were stopping people, holding up holophotos unmistakably his own (both avatar and physical appearance), from the looks of it taken by security
20240701.2107 UTC 1795 cameras and MetaTime screen captures whilst he was in the IT Security office. This was clearly a dragnet ordered by Gamalera, determined to get him into custody as soon as possible, and in a moment he
20240702.1800 UTC 1796 saw he had been spotted, signals beeped and officers converged upon him from three directions. Balthacarius calmly gave himself up, asking only to be taken to the IT Security Chief as he had recorded
20240710.0101 UTC 1797 evidence of a recent crime that was urgently in need of investigation. They took him, handcuffed to a massive service robot, back down to the huge stone building; once in the Chief's office Gamalera
20240711.0345 UTC 1798 -- now an impressive Hepta-Hydra -- greeted him with satisfied grunts and twinkles in her many eyes. But Balthacarius was already speaking in an odd manner not his own:
20240713.1249 UTC 1799 "Honourable master of protection and surveillance! Please you must save me, give me back my name my face for family honour! I go back to raft-rocket, cannot roll up the ramp, comrade Drismiev blocks
20240716.0200 UTC 1800 me, holds up the mirror, I say you must believe me, time meta helmet disguise breaks, This man change my face, Drismiev says use your access key, and key does not work. This man he grabs my hand, then
20240718.1800 UTC 1801 bam he has my face, and I am ruined, please help please please, <*:kata i naia, gli shethkalia rotavremopu na thkia kalathkepu Lorda Randallu. hierbrba radvaliadva, na, brathki smopu varbradvarbrathothkavak...:>"
20240721.1000 UTC 1802 And he rambled on in some language carefully designed to sound distinctly foreign both to him and anyone here on Tylatris, and occasionally gesturing to call attention to his left control-glove.
20240724.0216 UTC 1803 Gamalera, watching all this from behind the IT Chief's desk, became more intrigued, eventually coming around to give the kneeling Balthacarius a closer look, and saw that the hand-controller was
20240728.2130 UTC 1804 indeed dented in just the way one would if trying to forcibly actuate the wearer's #A# button -- unaware that the clever bOTTifactor had retrieved this control-glove from a scrap heap behind the hospital, for
20240801.0200 UTC 1805 it was indeed the Sailor's own damaged gauntlet hand-controller that Gamalera herself had forcibly squeezed to effect her second identity theft back up on the stepped stone path. Balthacarius had also
20240805.0200 UTC 1806 integrated several other pieces of scrap plating and servo-actuators from that discarded parts pile, and in addition was relaxing his own internal pistons and solenoids to make himself a quarter-cue
20240810.0256 UTC 1807 shorter and considerably hunched over, effecting a completely different physical appearance while still obviously a foreign visitor. Gamalera asked a couple IT bots to pull up video showing
20240813.0200 UTC 1808 where this individual had been, and Balthacarius had counted on this, having intentionally walked quite a few streets where there were municipal security cameras, until finding the perfect
20240817.0253 UTC 1809 unwitting accomplice, a foreigner with the exact gait and stature he needed; then making a point of doubling back, hunching down, and quickening his pace (while both were out of sight of the IT
20240821.1140 UTC 1810 cameras) and it was therefore a simple matter to find the place and time that a side-ally avatar-swap could have plausibly occurred, as their systems tracked ordinary avatar changes but were
20240825.0200 UTC 1811 not equipped to notice simultaneous identity-and-avatar swaps, merely assuming that identity was immutable and reliable (impractical at any rate since the cameras could not access cryptokeys of
20240825.0433 UTC 1858 Mrorl was overjoyed as the bOTTifactor explained his plans, swam out of zir sleeping-lair, and called for the Queen's doctor and two closest attendants to declare that ze was well and fully
20240825.0200 UTC 1811 not equipped to notice simultaneous identity-and-avatar swaps, merely assuming that identity was immutable and reliaOA@@@@@@@@@@@@@
20240825.0433 UTC 1858 Mrorl was overjoyed as the bOTTifactor explained his plans, swam out of zir sleeping-lair, and called for the Queen's doctor and two closest attendants to declare that ze was well and fully
20240825.0200 UTC 1811 not equipped to notice simultaneous identity-and-avatar swaps, merely assuming that identity was immutable and reliaEio'i&Ei"&t&seij&ioi"'J"jIe"o'6
20240825.0433 UTC 1858 Mrorl was overjoyed as the bOTTifactor explained his plans, swam out of zir sleeping-lair, and called for the Queen's doctor and two closest attendants to declare that ze was well and fully
20240825.0200 UTC 1811 not equipped to notice simultaneous identity-and-avatar swaps, merely assuming that identity was immutable and reliaEio'i&Ei"&t&seij&ioi"'J"jIe"o'6
20240825.0433 UTC 1858 Mrorl was overjoyed as the bOTTifactor explained his plans, swam out of zir sleeping-lair, and called for the Queen's doctor and two closest attendants to declare that ze was well and fully
20240825.0200 UTC 1811 not equipped to notice simultaneous identity-and-avatar swaps, merely assuming that identity was immutable and reliaEio'i&Ei"&t&seij&ioi"'J"jIe"o'6
20240829.0200 UTC 1812 foreighers). Gamalera had the service-robot release his captive, and ordered all IT-bots out of the room, and when she was alone with the prisoner began a thorough interrogation. Balthacarius
20240825.0433 UTC 1858 Mrorl was overjoyed as the bOTTifactor explained his plans, swam out of zir sleeping-lair, and called for the QueepJ"o&"sjEjJ"6Jss&&E'SjI&I&TEsj&II'Sjs&jIJs`
20240829.0200 UTC 1812 foreighers). Gamalera had the service-robot release his captive, and ordered all IT-bots out of the room, and when she was alone with the prisoner began a thorough interrogation. Balthacarius
20240825.0433 UTC 1858 Mrorl was overjoyed as the bOTTifactor explained his plans, swam out of zir sleeping-lair, and called for the QueepJ"o&"sjEjJ"6Jss&&E'SjI&I&TEsj&II'Sjs&jIJs`
20240902.0204 UTC 0100 Mrorl's subsequent attempts to build a wish-*un*granting, *de*-standardising machine met with failure, and he feared that never again would we see such wowtreeful colours as the blues and the browns.
20240904.0730 UTC 1790 particular magneto-active components, apparently an exotic type designed for operation in deep spaaace, would take a few dips to arrive, and in the meantime the patient would need to remain in bed,
20240904.1501 UTC 1811 not equipped to notice simultaneous identity-and-avatar swaps, merely assuming that identity was immutable and reliable (impractical at any rate since the cameras could not access cryptokeys of
20240904.1800 UTC 1812 foreigners). Gamalera had the service-robot release his captive, and ordered all IT-bots out of the room, and when she was alone with the prisoner began a thorough interrogation. Balthacarius
20240904.2051 UTC 1813 supplied an elaborate story of how he, a Beresievan charter pilot, had deorbited just that dip, carrying several passengers including Vital Hotdog Function (all five original members, currently
20240904.2200 UTC 1814 on the first leg of their Ketchup Reunion tour^{4}) along with an entourage of close friends, who Balthacarius carefully name-dropped one at a time, all celebrities well-known to be from VHF's
20240905.0052 UTC 1815 inner circle, though none had been in the tabloids lately (this, a careful precaution against anyone possibly being well-informed on such matters, was easy for Balthacarius to concoct using search
20240905.0200 UTC 1816 queries in his heads-up display), and how they were soon scheduled to conduct sound checks for a surprise and secretly arranged concert at the Grand Theatre of the House of Anumira, all in the
20240905.0454 UTC 1817 honour of HRH Gamalera of Tylatris; but how, having just put his trusted first mate Drismiev in charge and disembarked the raft-rocket hoping to run his wheels a bit after being stuck in the
20240905.0600 UTC 1818 captain's chair for the long journey, an assailant, who looks just like this (and he pointed at himself) coming the other way and suspiciously eyeing his wings and mane (his proper avatar, as
20240905.0852 UTC 1819 he explained, being a Tulpar, which of course he had just seen in the surveillance camera playback pulled up by the witless IT bots) suddenly and forcefully wrestled him to the ground and let
20240905.1000 UTC 1820 go a moment later, trotting away gleefully.
20240905.1258 UTC 1821 Balthacarius put everything he had into the tale, consistently maintaining unusual grammar (by deactivating parts of his own Brocamatrix), and adding details to be as believable as possible. He
20240905.1400 UTC 1822 spoke at great length about his lost reputation and beautiful avatar, while heaping insults on the stranger who was now defiling both, and he even began to hit himself (as if to smash the bubble
20240905.1656 UTC 1823 space-helmet and pull out the air-hoses of the Baltha-Lunar spacesuit avatar); he spoke of each of the famous passengers, giving captivating and funny personal
20240905.1800 UTC 1824 anecdotes from some of his past gigs flying them about the cosmos; he reminisced about his family and their proud history, the uncle's business fermenting the best Lightning in a Bottle of the land;
20240905.2054 UTC 1825 and he even shared with the IT Chief his closest secret: that they had scheduled an arrival reception late that evening at a club in the nearby city (i.e. Imnugarsis) and that he was carrying a pair
20240905.2200 UTC 1826 of tickets for two Anumiran guests.
20240906.0057 UTC 1827 Gamalera listened eagerly and embraced every detail, as it made perfect sense that Balthacarius, wishing to avoid any further involvement with IT Security, would dispose of his avatar and
20240906.0200 UTC 1828 identity as soon as possible, and switch with a traveller, furthermore one who had control of a rocket, would have been granted expedient passage through customs, and for whom any and all doors would
20240906.0454 UTC 1829 be opened without question. It was obvious that Gamalera had been plotting similar schemes, and likely that she would jump at the chance to masquerade as one of the band, oblivious to the haniam of
20240906.0600 UTC 1830 deputising a rock star as the IT Chief of Spaaaceport Security. She of course tried to convince Balthacarius to give her the tickets, which did not require much coaxing, merely the suggestion that it
20240906.0845 UTC 1831 would help the IT agents locate the perpetrator who was thought likely to crash the party, so he selected the Hepta-Hydra's action-tab^{5} in heads-up view and sent the barcodes by private chat. By now
20240906.1000 UTC 1832 the bOTTifactor was certain Gamalera had taken the bait: the Queen couldn't bear to see these tickets go to Mrorl in the palace, since he could not possibly be as big a VHF fan as she was, and
20240906.1251 UTC 1833 believing everything, she believed that Balthacarius had a second device with HORNNs -- indeed, she had no reason to think otherwise.
20240906.1400 UTC 1834 There was a silence without questions; one could see the many gears turning in all seven heads. In nonchalant manner she asked for the name and address of the club, the time of the party, names of
20240906.1800 UTC 1607 XOR-encoded onto the low bits of [red,``green,``and``blue|#p1659825296] in an otherwise benign-looking spoiler-kitten. Once, encoded as an acrostic within a series of new GIF smileys,
20240910.0200 UTC 1608 the Queen challenged the royal court with the riddle: <*:How does one know that the Newpix hashes were delivered via quantum-entangled pixels?:>
20240914.0205 UTC 1610 deserved. They put [randomly-selected``words``into``the``grids|http://mrob.com/time/ottle/index.html], made up new ones to fit, or even claimed pixel m**stard to evade engagement without suspicion.
20240918.0208 UTC 1611 However, when she instituted a new policy of appointing and promoting only the first to correctly finish a grid or answer a new riddle in an unexpectedly clever manner, participation dunejumped molpishly.
20240924.0348 UTC 1393 that they would fling their payload backwards, inundating Gondomar's own subjects with the same mix of desaturated mystery. It thus seemed to all a full-on bilateral war.
20240928.1800 UTC 1394 Soon both sides were at risk of being completely buried in Snow (or was it Semen?) and their respective Monarchs pleaded to the Emperor, who was forced to capitulate. Gondomar promised a cease-fire, once the other endorsed the
20241004.0205 UTC 1612 Titles and honours came ONGily and often, and banishments to the Basement with equal frequency. The entire court were compelled to coöperate, whether they did so Beanily or ch**rpingly. Sadly, many
20241004.0205 UTC 1612 Titles and honours came ONGily and often, and banishments to the Basement with equal frequency. The entire court were compelled to coöperate, whether they did so Beanily or ch**rpingly. Sadly, many