'A River with Currents' - by coldangel_1

[Reply #120 on:]

Beliefs are like arseholes - everybody's got one.

[Reply #121 on:]

But some arseholes have hair blocking the way out/in.

[Reply #122 on:]

...

[Reply #123 on:]

Sorry, that's either philisophical or utter bollocks. probably the latter.

[Reply #124 on:]

I couldn't get past the image, I'm afraid...
My landlady just left. I think she was a little intimidated by the swords and Soviet paraphenalia so she made no comment on the general untidiness of the property. Haha! Psycho loner behaviour prevails again!

[Reply #125 on:]

WOOOO, also, I love the update Coldy, I laughed out loud, but there was the bit where Fry decided that he didn't care if he couldn't be with Leela as long as she lived, I found that emotional. And time is a straight line, you can hop along it and cause it to slant in a new direction if you want.

[Reply #126 on:]

Actually time is every 'direction' at once. It's just the way we experience it as physical matter that defines our view of it as being a line running in one direction. We experience entrophy, but step out onto another plane and it runs the other way... or no way at all.

I didn't update today because I had a rental inspection and then I took the night off to make a new picture instead. Check it out in my art thread. It's not related to this story.

[Reply #127 on:]

I will when you post it

[Reply #128 on:]

1046 years earlier - October 14, 1960, University of Michigan

Senator John F. Kennedy feigned interest as he was led around the University campus. His mind was on the upcoming televised debates with Nixon; this part of the campaign trail was the height of tedium.
   “…As you can see, Senator,” the Dean was telling him, “many students and faculty here hope for a Democrat victory in the…”
   “Yes, your support is, ah, greatly appreciated,” JFK said, sounding slightly bored. “Will there be drinks at the, er, reception later?”
   “I think we can arrange some… what the?”
   The small party of aides, bodyguards, and VIPs came to a halt as ahead, in a cloister between two campus buildings, an incandescent light speared out, accompanied by an ominous crackling sound.
   “What the hell is that?!” Kennedy said, taking a reflexive step back.
   Suddenly, a dishevelled, orange-haired man in a red jacket stumbled out of the cloister with thin tendrils of smoke trailing from him. The fellow stumbled and fell headlong on the ground, gasping for breath, and Kennedy hurried over, stooping to help the stranger up.
   “The dangers of playing with fireworks, young man,” JFK said, as Fry got to his feet. “I too, pulled my share of University stunts during my time at Harvard.”
   “What?” Fry blinked, disoriented, trying to focus on the face in front of him. “Who are…?”
   Kennedy laughed and glanced at the Dean. “I do believe this young man has had a little too much to drink,” he said.
   “Oh God…” Fry wobbled on his feet. “Where am I?”
   “I think this fellow needs to lie down,” Kennedy motioned for an aide to assist the wayward stranger.
   “No, wait,” Fry said as the dizziness finally wore off. He stared at the man in front of him. “I know you… you’re Bill Clinton!”
   JFK raised an eyebrow. “No son, I’m afraid you’ve got me mistaken with someone else. Now I think you should…”
   “No, no,” Fry snapped his fingers. “You’re the other one – JFK!”
   “That’s right.” Kennedy stuck out his hand. “Always a pleasure to meet a young constituent.”
   Fry shook the Senator’s hand in a dazed state, and Kennedy looked down in bewilderment at the cold metal that met his skin. Realizing his mistake, Fry hurriedly stuck his cybernetic hand in his pocket. Suddenly remembering, he cast about quickly on the ground for the time machine, finding it lying beside the footbath. He picked it up and tucked it into his jacket while the official party watched him in puzzlement.
   “What’s that you have there, boy?” Kennedy asked, growing increasingly interested by the antics of the strange character.
   “It’s a… err… a Tricorder,” Fry said, looking around in confusion. “Wait… if you’re alive, and the sky isn’t filled by flying cars and invading aliens… then this must be… oh no… I’ve gone back too far!”
   “Senator, we’re on a tight schedule,” the Dean muttered to Kennedy. “We can have this man removed.”
   “Oh, he seems harmless,” Kennedy said. “Let’s get this, ah, show on the road.”
   As the group moved away, Fry took out the time machine again and glared at it.
   “Stupid piece of junk,” he muttered. The charge gauge was slowly filling up again – it seemed to require time to replenish its energy supply before he could time-jump again… but if the temporal coordinate setting was non-functional then there was no telling where and when he’d end up. He noticed the smear of dried blood on the device and cursed himself for his idiocy.
   He looked up to see JFK and his minders disappearing toward a large building and a sudden thought struck him. He hurried off after them.

A crowd had gathered at the steps of the University of Michigan Union. Press photographers and a large student body met the Presidential candidate as he came down the steps to deliver an impromptu speech.
   “I want to express my thanks to you, as a graduate of the Michigan of the East, Harvard University,” Kennedy said. “I come here tonight delighted to have the opportunity to say one or two words about this campaign that is coming into the last three weeks…”
   As JFK spoke, Fry eased his way through the crowd, shouldering past supporters and journalists to gradually make his way closer to the man who would be President.
“I think in many ways it is the most important campaign since 1933,” Kennedy went on, “mostly because of the problems which press upon the United States, and the opportunities which will be presented to us in the 1960s. The opportunity must be seized, through the judgment of the President, and the vigour of the executive, and the cooperation of the Congress. Through these I think we can make the greatest possible difference…”
   Fry got to the front of the throng and was dazzled momentarily by a number of flashbulbs going off in close proximity. He waited for JFK to finish his speech. Kennedy began speaking about students giving of themselves to help the world, and Fry tuned out, staring around at the stupid hats being worn by the 1960s reporters.

At length, JFK reached the end of his speech: “…Therefore, I do not apologize for asking for your support in this campaign,” he said. “I come here tonight asking your support for this country over the next decade. Thank you.”
   A series of rapid questions were shouted from the crowd, but Kennedy began to retreat – he was done talking. Fry stepped forward boldly.
   “Mr. President!” he yelled.
   JFK stopped and looked around in amusement. “You again?” he said. “I thank you for your confidence in me, son, but I’m not the President yet.”
   “No, but you will be,” Fry said. “And then someone’s gonna shoot you!”
   There was an audible gasp, and the crowd went quiet.
   “Young man, I think you’re a little confused,” Kennedy said, frowning in concern. “Nobody’s going to shoot me, now you just need to go home and sleep it off, okay?”
   “I’m not making it up!” Fry said. “I forget when it was, and nobody knows who pulled the trigger, but it happened in Dallas – someone with a rifle will shoot you in the head!”
   There was a long silence, and finally someone in the crowd shouted: “He’s threatening to kill the Senator!”
   “What? No!” Fry held up his hands as two bodyguards advanced on him. “It’s the truth, I swear – I’m from the future: look – I have a time machine.” He reached into his jacket to show them the device.
   “He’s going for his gun!” someone shouted.
   “No I’m not – I don’t…”
   The lead bodyguard draw a revolver and fired at Fry, who instinctively threw up his arm. The bullet ricocheted from the metal cybernetic limb with a small spray of sparks. Fry fell back and scrambled into the crowd as it began to disperse with screams of horror. He ran headlong, losing himself in the confusion.
   Kennedy stared out at the dispersing mass, catching a fleeting glimpse at the red jacket before it vanished. He shook his head.
   “Crazy son of a bitch,” he muttered.

Sirens could be heard wailing through the streets as Fry hurried along, his collar turned up and his head down. He found an alley and pulled out the time machine, dialling it forward. The power gauge had levelled out at a little under full capacity.
   There was a shout from the other end of the alley and Fry looked up in alarm as two policemen advanced with guns drawn.
   “Hold it right there, mister!” the lead cop shouted.
   “That’s him alright,” the second muttered. “Weedy lookin’ nerd in a red jacket.”
   “Put the weapon on the ground and place your hands on your head!” the first cop shouted.
   Fry said nothing. He hit the button on the time machine, and a ripple radiated out from the device, coalescing into a ball of light that swallowed him whole. The two cops gaped in astonishment at the pulsating sphere of energy that sucked their suspect out of existence.
   After a moment, the phenomenon vanished, and the two cops stared down the length of an empty alley.
   “That didn’t happen,” the first one said.
   “Agreed,” replied the second.

[Reply #129 on:]

NOTE: The date, location, picture, and quote excerpts, are historically accurate. However, JFK's speech at the University of Michigan in 1960 did not actually end with any shooting or apparent death threats.

[Reply #130 on:]

*sigh* When will Fry learn to stop trying to mess with the space-time continuum?  Then again, trying to save a life and significantly alter the course of human history are kinda what he's trying to do in the first place.  It's a question of temporal scale, i.e. the farther back from your point of origin you make changes, the more significant the divergence in history.

There were funnier ways you could have gone where I think you're going here, but I chuckled (especially at the picture...it looks shopped.  I can tell from some of the pixels and having seen quite a few shops in my time), and continue to watch for plot advancement.

[Reply #131 on:]

Yeah I made that pic myself.

He failed to make a difference there. I just want to have him pop up at odd times in history.

[Reply #132 on:]

"Kennedy began speaking about students giving of themselves to help the world, and Fry tuned out, staring around at the stupid hats being worn by the 1960s reporters."

I laughed a little too much at that. It seems like an observation I would have made, and it's so true. 

[Reply #133 on:]

Heh yes. The real speech was actually very emotive and honest, so it seemed only natural for Fry to ignore it, and for me to leave out the good stuff from the middle.

[Reply #134 on:]

Hmmm, nice update, a good spread of humor with a touch drama *slowly nods head and sticks thumb up* I approve of this update Sir Coldangel 

[Reply #135 on:]

Thankyou.
It's a bit of historian porn, but that's alright in small doses.

[Reply #136 on:]

No update today mister?

[Reply #137 on:]

I'm halfway through one... I don't know if I'll get it finished in time or not... people had me draw pictures for them... took up a lot of time... espcially since I ran out of pencils and had to use my own blood to sketch with.
...I'm feeling woozy...

[Reply #138 on:]

Use a pen, Sideshow Joel.

See what making the masses love you has done? Your drawing hands and feet have withered away to practically nothing.

[Reply #139 on:]

And they aren't paying me! 

[Reply #140 on:]

There, there. There, there.

Now, could you please draw a table morphing into a goat?

And then I would like you to bring it to life, and make it fight a brown paper bag for some 2 minute noodles.

Please?

[Reply #141 on:]

Okay...

[Reply #142 on:]

Haha! 
Oh my God, that update was the funniest ever! HIm weaving in and out of  the political crowd..and the picture! I almost died laughing!

[Reply #143 on:]

Excellent!
The upcoming update isn't funny though... but a little bit political. Nevertheless there will be some humourous moments further on in this time-romp.

[Reply #144 on:]

 

Originally posted by coldangel_1:
   “That didn’t happen,” the first one said.
   “Agreed,” replied the second.

You gotta wonder, how often has something like that happened. 

Loved the update! Is this the start of a similar chain of events?

[Reply #145 on:]

Yep. I'll jaunt around a bit through history before the advent of a certain Deus Ex Machina that I will not disclose at this point. You'll be surprised. 

[Reply #146 on:]

Another time and place…

Fry hit water feet-first and came up spluttering and gasping for foul-smelling air. He had the presence of mind to lift the time machine out of the water while he desperately tried to stay afloat, his waterlogged clothing and metal arm dragging him down. He looked around desperately and sighted a bleak shoreline twenty feet away, and began kicking toward it with all his strength, finally feeling a slimy river-bottom beneath his feet.
   Wading ashore, he slumped down on the black shingle, sodden and exhausted. The Professor’s gravitational triangulation seemed to work well to put Fry on Earth after a time jump, but the geographical position seemed to be at random. Fry had never been a strong swimmer, so if he wound up in the middle of an ocean he’d be finished.
   He looked around. What had at first looked like a rocky shoreline was revealed on closer inspection to be a shambolic mass of collapsed cement structures – walls and columns tilted at sharp angles and pock-marked by shell impacts. The heavy smell of smoke and cordite added to the bleak scene – it was a warzone.
   “Ugh… when the hell am I now?” Fry muttered to himself. The time machine was slowly recharging, and he tucked it inside his jacket before climbing to his feet and starting the steep climb up a cracked cement slope.
   He reached the top and looked out across a desolate wasteland of ruined structures and undulating debris. Numerous columns of smoke drifted from the horizon and muffles reports from gunfire and explosions rolled across the shattered landscape.
   “Oh my God,” Fry muttered. “Am I back in L.A.?”
   He started down an incline of crumbled brickwork, but his shoe slid on loose gravel, and he fell, rolling and sliding, down to the bottom of a narrow gully of debris. He coughed as the dust settled and slowly sat up… to come face-to-face with an enormous green insectoid robot that loomed over him.
   “Er… hi,” he said uncertainly, wondering which of the segmented mechanoid’s lenses he should look into.
   The robot ambled forward on massive metal legs, reaching for Fry with its forward manipulator claws. Fry scrambled back as the machine advanced on him.
   “No! No!” he said. “I don’t do hugging, okay? If you could just tell me what year this is, I’ll be on my way.”
   “UNKNOWN UNIT – REMAIN STATIONARY AND PREPARE FOR PROCESSING,” the robot said in a harsh grating voice.

   “Oh, no need to process me, I’m just passing through.” Fry continued backing away, becoming uncomfortably aware of the numerous weapons that encrusted the robot’s armoured flanks. One of the three-fingered claws shot out suddenly and clamped around Fry’s head, squeezing with tremendous force and lifting him up off the ground. His scream was muffled by the metal pressing against his face, and was cut off suddenly as a sharp jolt of electricity shot from the machine’s claw, rendering him blissfully unconscious.

Major Selene Gemmell studied the strange device that had been found on the man the SuperTengu brought back. All the scans for explosive or radiological material had come back negative, though nobody could figure out what the thing was.
   She glanced at the orange-haired stranger. He was still out cold, strapped in a sitting position with his hands cuffed behind his back and his head hanging. The cybernetic arm looked state of the art, though he didn’t look like a rich man. The scarring on his face looked fresh. All in all, he was an oddity – a lone man, apparently unarmed, travelling through disputed Berlin wearing a garish red jacket.
   Fry’s vision gradually improved from black to grey, and then a general blue blur that resolved into the crotch of his jeans. He looked up groggily and moaned.
   “Oi, carrot-top,” a crisp British voice snapped nearby. “Get your bloody head together and start talking – who the devil are you and what were you doing out there?”
   Fry found himself looking at a striking woman with dun-coloured military fatigues and a shaven head. She had her arms crossed and an automatic pistol was held loosely in one hand. They were inside a large canvas tent.
   “What’s going on?” Fry asked.
   The Major’s eyes widened at the sound of Fry’s voice, and she bared her teeth in a snarl.
   “You’re a bloody YANK!” she hissed, bringing the pistol up and pointing it at Fry’s head.
   “Oh… what?” Fry blinked at the gun barrel. “I’m having a gun pointed at me again? I haven’t even done anything this time…”
   “Don’t give me that shite!” Selene barked, cracking the pistol grip against Fry’s temple. “You bastards have been sending sleepers into EU territory with tactical nukes for months now, killing tens of thousands of people…” she paused and pointed at the small device taken off the American. “Is that what this thing is?” she asked. “Some new kind of bomb Uncle Sam wants to test on a civilian population?”
   “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” Fry protested as blood oozed from his forehead where the pistol had struck him.
   “Rubbish!” The Major stepped away, and turned back to Fry, eyes shining with hate. “You’re lucky I don’t shoot you right now, yank,” she snarled.
   “But…” Fry’s mind struggled to comprehend. “You’re English, right…? I thought we were allies.”
   “Yeah, that’s right you daft bastard,” Selene said. “Right up to the point where you Nazi Freemason scumbags launched a massive invasion of South Asia and the Middle East, declared an American Empire, and started spreading out from there with all your damn talk of ‘New World Orders’ and such… well this IS the new world, and it don’t want you bastards.”
   “What… but America’s the good guy… right?” Fry blinked, reeling inwardly. “What year is this?” he asked quietly with a sinking feeling. Suddenly he wished he’d learned a bit about the history that had taken place while he had been frozen.
   “What kind of moronic question is that?” the Major asked, frowning at her prisoner.
   “I don’t know what year it is.”
   “Twenty-two forty-nine,” Selene replied. “Now are you going t’give ME some answers, you smelly little yank shite?”
   “2249,” Fry repeated. “Dammit, still way too far off…”
   “What on Earth are you babbling about?”
   “Listen,” Fry said, looking at the soldier woman imploringly. “I don’t know what this war is about, but it has nothing to do with me. I’m from… somewhere far away… and I need to get back there… but to do that, I need that machine.” He gestured with his head at the time machine where it sat on a table at the other end of the tent.
   Selene stared incredulously at the American for a long moment.
   “You expect me to believe that load of bollocks?” she said.
   “I can’t explain it,” Fry said, furtively testing the strength of the handcuffs. “I could try, but you would never believe me.”
   Growling, Selene stepped forward and put the barrel of her pistol against Fry’s left kneecap.
   “Name, rank, and serial number, before the count of three,” she said coldly. “Or you walk with a limp for the rest of your life… which may not be long, and might not involve much walking.”
   “Name: Phillip J Fry! Rank: Delivery Boy. Serial Number: I don’t have one, but my password at Blockbuster is ‘boobies’… that’s kind of like a serial number, right?” Fry sweated, staring up at the woman with wide eyes.
   The Major gaped and shook her head. “You’re either a ballsy bastard, or a complete loon,” she remarked. “Lets find out which…”
   A sudden earth-shattering blast ripped the air asunder, and an explosive shockwave tore one side of the tent open. Fry and Selene were buffeted by dust and smoke. More explosions were heard further off, joined by the accompaniment of staccato anti-aircraft batteries.
   Selene coughed and swore foully. A Private ran up and saluted.
   “Ma’am, the Americans…”
   “Yes, I noticed,” she snapped, turning to glare at Fry. “Looks like your friends have decided to dump a few million dollars worth of bombs on us yet again,” she sneered at him.
   “No friends of mine!” Fry said. “I’m with you guys all the way – God bless the Queen!”
   “Shut it, you tit,” the Major said. “You just sit there and enjoy the show – maybe you can have the hilarious honour of being blown the hell up by your own country’s bombs.”
   She hurried away with the other soldier to direct the defence operations. Fry was left alone in the half-collapsed tent, still bound to the chair, and with the time machine out of reach. Overhead, unidentifiable shapes screamed through the air, and more bombs blasted the area. Fry could see the gigantic green robot swivelling around and firing scores of weapons pods into the sky.
   Fry wriggled in the seat. A simple thought occurred – one too simple for a more intelligent person to immediately think of. The cybernetic right arm was wholly actuated by nerve impulses; he hadn’t mastered all the extra commands, but there was one he’d figured out. He sent it, and with an audible click, the hand fell away from the wrist joint and plopped onto the ground, allowing one side of the cuffs to swing free Fry got up, and hurriedly reattached the hand before scampering over to the time machine, hand handcuffs jangling from his left wrist.
   A devastating series of concussive blasts erupted, and the SuperTengu robot was torn asunder, sending a deadly wave of razor shrapnel scything toward Fry. Without even bothering to touch the useless coordinate dial, he hit the red button, and vanished an instant before the flying debris tore into the tent.

[Reply #147 on:]

Hold on! That robot is remarkably familiar…

However, I do love a good post apocalyptic future. ^_^

And zombie survival situations. ^_^

So many possibilities… *sigh*

And now, my favourite joke of the instalment:

 

Originally posted by coldangel_1:
   “Name: Phillip J Fry! Rank: Delivery Boy. Serial Number: I don’t have one, but my password at Blockbuster is ‘boobies’…

Heheheheh. 

[Reply #148 on:]

Wheeeeeeeeee, what an update, I like how you caught the British character, although I prefer to think we are more...refined then that. Anywho, keep up the good work

[Reply #149 on:]

TriggerHappyJim - it's almost identical to a Tachikoma 'think tank' in 'Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex', I just roughed it up a bit and sneakily called it a SuperTengu, as if it were a refinement of the more primative Tengu system from my novel, Silhouettes... which was actually inspired by the Tachikomas in GITS......... so I kinda have my own little time-loop going on there. Heh heh...

jle1993 - I know she was a little crass... but I figured 250 years and a few nuclear wars will rough the edges of any civilization. I should know; I'm from the future after all.

[Reply #150 on:]

Right, I keep forgetting   

[Reply #151 on:]

 

Originally posted by TriggerHappyJim:
Hold on! That robot is remarkably familiar…

However, I do love a good post apocalyptic future. ^_^

Wouldn't this be a post-apocalyptic past?

Also, this explains a lot about the "Earthican" culture of 3000.  Always painting America in the worst possible light.  Commie.

[Reply #152 on:]

 

Originally posted by coldangel_1:
TriggerHappyJim - it's almost identical to a Tachikoma 'think tank' in 'Ghost in the Shell: Stand Alone Complex', I just roughed it up a bit and sneakily called it a SuperTengu, as if it were a refinement of the more primative Tengu system from my novel, Silhouettes... which was actually inspired by the Tachikomas in GITS......... so I kinda have my own little time-loop going on there. Heh heh...

Yes, that's definitely where I’d seen it before. Another one of those things that I haven't, but must, see.

 

Originally posted by Nerd-o-rama:
Wouldn't this be a post-apocalyptic past?

I'm still thinking in year 2000 terms. Sorry boss.   

[Reply #153 on:]

Nerd-o-rama - Merely extrapolating a possible course of events from the state of the world as we see it today to the advent of a 'United States of Earth' type of scene that we see in the year 3000. You just KNOW that path had to have been paved with a lot of corpses.

[Reply #154 on:]

29–36 AD, Jerusalem.

The dusty track seemed to meander over hill and dale, around olive trees and boulders, following no apparent logic or purpose, as if some aimless giant child had dragged a stick across the landscape. Off to the right, some distance away, the walls of a city rose up, and a sprawl of low grimy buildings surrounded a hill with a temple on it.
   Fry wasn’t interested. He was battered and bruised; he’d been shot at and electrocuted, hit in the head, threatened… and now he seemed to have would up in the stone age, no closer to reaching his goal… reaching her.
   “Oh man, I’m gonna be floating back and fourth through time forever,” he lamented as he trudged along the trail. “Michael J. Fox’s head made this look so easy in ‘Teen Wolf Goes Back to the Future, Part 8’.”
   He came to a rock by the side of the path and slumped down on it with a grunt.
   “This blows,” he muttered, absently working at the handcuff that was still linked to his left hand. At length he was able to prise it apart with the increased strength of his cybernetic limb, and tossed the handcuffs away to puzzle archaeologists in millennia to come.
   He took out the time machine and looked at the power reading; it was moving upward much slower than before, and a sudden apprehension stirred in the back of Fry’s mind – what if he exhausted the power supply and ended up marooned in history?
   The sound of approaching footsteps made Fry tuck the time machine out of sight and pull the sleeve of his right arm down low. A procession of people in threadbare robes and sandals came into sight, moving down the path. In the front was a longhaired man with a hooked nose and azure eyes. Fry tried to look unimportant and keep out of the way of the group, but the leader stopped before him and stood looking down, taking in Fry’s battered appearance.
   Fry glanced up it the stranger’s odd knowing smile.
   “Uh… I’m sorry,” Fry said. “Is this your rock? I didn’t know.”
   The man said something in a voice that was warm and friendly, but in a language Fry had never heard.
   “Oh sweet Jesus!” Fry said. “You don’t speak American!? I must be on another planet!”
   The robed man held out a hand, and Fry hesitantly took it, again forgetting himself and using the cybernetic limb. The man raised an eyebrow at the touch of metal, and again there was that strange knowing smile, but he said nothing. He helped Fry to his feet and motioned for him to follow along. Fry found himself oddly captivated, and as the group moved off down the path he fell into step with them, not really knowing why. The twelve other men and one woman looked at Fry curiously, bemused by his unusual clothing, and the colour and style of his hair. He felt sheepish and out of place, and wanted to go off somewhere alone to wait for the time machine to recharge, but the enigmatic leader had an unshakable charismatic magnetism that was impossible to resist.
   The Shepard led His flock into the city, and eventually to a house where they were welcomed inside by the owner and led to an upstairs room. A low table was laid out with flatbread and an earthenware jug. The leader spoke quietly to the woman, and she nodded, moving to Fry and gently guiding him to sit on a cushion. Fry sat down gratefully, realizing how exhausted he felt. The woman knelt beside him and took his left hand, gently placing it into a bowl of water and washing it. Fry stared at her, taken aback and unsure of what to do. She moved over to his right hand and gaped at the robotic claw, then skipped it and moved to his feet, staring in confusion at the strange fully-enclosed sandals. She reached for the laces, but Fry stopped her.
   “That’s okay, you don’t need to do that,” he said. “The Judge made me promise to never take my shoes off around people ever again… it’s in everyone’s best interests.” She looked at him uncomprehendingly and gave a little shrug before taking out a small vial of fragrant oil and wetting a cloth, which she then applied to Fry’s forehead.
   All the attention and the lady’s embarrassing servitude was making him a little uncomfortable, but the atmosphere was welcoming, so he began to relax. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see the leader; the man smiled upon him, and Fry couldn’t help but smile back. At length, the woman finished her ministrations and the group assembled around the table.
   The Shepard began speaking to the group in a quiet sombre voice, and although Fry couldn’t understand a word he found himself enraptured nonetheless. The woman and the twelve other men seemed to grow very serious as their leader spoke, and Fry felt the weight of some unseen burden pressing down upon the gathering.

   At length, the man took up the large pieces of flatbread and began breaking them up and passing them around. A piece found its way into Fry’s hand, and he sniffed at the unfamiliar spices. Red wine from the jug was distributed in wooden mugs, one was given to Fry. He hesitated. The leader spoke again briefly, and with a strange sense of melancholy, the group ate and drank. Fry followed suit.
   Time passed, and gradually Fry felt he should take his leave. He got to his feet and looked at the leader.
   “Thank you very much for your hospitality,” he said awkwardly, but realized the man couldn’t understand him. He bowed, hoping the gesture could convey gratitude and respect.
   The leader stood gracefully and took Fry by the shoulders, leaning forward kissing him on each cheek. Fry blinked in surprise. The man spoke, and although the language was incomprehensible, the meaning of his words seemed somehow clear.
   “Go in peace.”
   Fry nodded and turned away, leaving the house.
   He felt refreshed and invigorated, and in a narrow alleyway between mud brick walls, he hit the button on the time machine and vanished.

…Reappearing into a nightmarish Hell on Earth.

[Reply #155 on:]

Sorry for the triple-post, I just want to say that I really intended no offence by that last post, and if anyone is offended by it in any way then I do apologise. It just seemed like a nice thing to do, and if it was wrong then you must forgive my heavy-handedness.

[Reply #156 on:]

 

Originally posted by coldangel_1:
Nerd-o-rama - Merely extrapolating a possible course of events from the state of the world as we see it today to the advent of a 'United States of Earth' type of scene that we see in the year 3000. You just KNOW that path had to have been paved with a lot of corpses.

Well, it could have been more like the ending to Independence Day, where America led the world's effort to rebuild after an alien invasion (i.e. those seen through the window in the pilot), and thereby imposed their culture on the rest of the world.

Now, yours is far more likely, but I like to keep my mind open to all possibilities.

On to the latest part, I wasn't offended.  It's reasonably accurate to the usually-accepted source material, and you shopped Fry into Da Vinci's Last Supper.  I can't not like someone for that, although if recent Hollywood news is any indication, someone's going to get pissed at you claiming Mary Magdalene was there.  Funny, you never struck me as someone to take religious belief seriously; guess it's the whole anarcho-Communist thing.

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Oh, I'm not religious. But I reckon JC was a pretty alright dude.

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His-tor-y never re-peats...

So, nightmareish hell on earth,eh? I'm assuming that means there won't be cake. 

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Right.  The whole anarcho-Communist thing