You're Star Wench,interstellar adventurer!
With your pilot Suzie Starbright, you cruise
the galaxy with only one goal in mind:
the powerful and treacherous Queen of
Space! With her mind-control raygun eye
and her boundless space empire, she is
literally unbeatable. Your quest is doomed
to failure, but what kind of failure?
How does the story end? Only YOU can
find out! Your one choice: which page to
read. Keep reading until you've suffered
not one but ONE HUNDRED terrible fates!
This Choose Your Own Death adventure
was written by anna anthropy and
published by Omnium Gatherum books.
WARNING! ! ! !
Do not read this book straight through from beginning
to end! This book contains many different adventures
you may encounter as Star Wench , an intergalactic
rogue and space captain , as she pursues the nefarious
Queen of Space in the depths of her domain! Or,
rather, it contains many different ways for that
adventure to end. You'll never defeat the Queen, but
you can choose how you'll fail!
Just open to a page - any page - and read how your
adventure ends. If you're lucky, maybe you'll get to
meet your end at the hands of the Queen herself!
"DRINK ME?" Why not? You deserve something for
threading your way through this ancient
The liquid is a color some,vhere between green
and yellow, and it tastes like something between a
lin1e and a lemon . You smack your lips, trying to
shake off the strange aftertaste.
Suddenly you notice that the room looks smaller.
Your uniform feels tighter. It starts to rip! You're
You shove through the rotting wood door,
chasing your utility-thread trail through the winding
stone corridors. You've got to get out before you get
Soon you're hunched over beneath the heavy
ceiling, trying to keep up your speed. Then you're
crawling on hands and knees across the dirty floor.
Finally you see it: daylight streaming from the
door at the far side of the entrance hall. You throw
yourself at the door as you feel your body shiver and
stop growing at last.
You see rolling green hills, crystal river, and clear
blue sky again. The breeze on your face, after days in
the cold stone halls, feels wonderful. If only you had
managed to fit the rest of your body through the door.
Well, at least when this place is declared a
historical site fifty years from now you'll be part of it.
Sneaking into the factory in the m.iddle of the night
was a brilliant plan. You crawl along motionless
conveyor belts and shimmy past sleeping droids, their
laser-light eyes dim til the factory goes back online in
the morning. There's not a single light on, in fact - but
the longer you crawl through the dim factory tunnels
the better your eyes seem to adjust to the darkness. In
fact, by now you can make out the details on this
assembly bot almost perfectly.
It's not until you notice the window - and the
blue dawn light - that you realize your mistake: night
is much shorter on a planet with three suns!
The factory comes alive like an alarm clock.
Underneath you , a conveyor belt starts to move.
"QUALITY ASSURANCE FINAL TEST," announces
the bot as its eyes light up to scan you.
"PRODUCT DAMAGED. FILL HOLE." A tiny
nozzle shoots a pink liquid into your mouth, which
immediately inflates into a mouth -filling foam mass.
"IRREGULAR SHAPE. REPAIR ," chimes the
next robot , taping your arms and legs together for
your ride down the assembly line - along which
countless droids are rezzing sleep from their laser eyes.
Some while later, a package arrives at the
Queen's castle. "Just what I've always wanted," she
bea ms, getting comfortable in your lap. "A Star Wenchshaped armchair!"
"Hello, little star. I am Zanax Spectrum." The amazon
has you backed to the wall. How does she tower over
you like that? Your eyes slide down to her stiletto
heels. Her toenails are painted radiation green.
She catches you looking. "Synthetic," she pur rs,
lifting a leg and sliding the shoe from her foot. "Nano
machines. Tiny, like you," she whispers as she traces
the knife-tip heel of the shoe along your lips. A pink
jelly oozes from a pouch in her anklet and solidifies
into a perfect replacement shoe on her foot.
You wiggle in a way that means "! speak only by
reflecting light off my surfaces," and slide out of her
grasp. In this par ty full of assassins and torturers, you
don't want to draw any needless attention.
Way up on the wall, you sp0t an open window.
Escape! You realize you still have the amazon's extra
shoe. You grab some complimentary rope from a
servant (it immed iately grows back) and tie it to the
shoe. A grappling hook! You start swinging.
Suddenly a stiletto flies across the room and pins
your arm into the wall. ZI NG! You turn. Zanax is
already reaching for her new shoe. FWJNG!She pins
your other arm! CHING! Your ankle! FWISH! Soon
you're nailed to the wall like a butterfly in a collect ion.
"I was hoping we'd have some time together,"
Zanax coos into your ear, as the assassins and
torturers gather around, eager for a new party game.
You kick the door open and burst into the robot
factory. "I'm here to destroy the Queen of Space!"
"Yes, of course you are," says the cyborg seated
at the front desk. "But first, wou ld you please sit and
speak with me for a few minutes? It will help you ."
She gestures to a futon nearby.
"Do you feel like you're not in control of your
actions," she asks when you sit, "as though you have
no choices?" You nod. "And you're obsessed with
killing the Queen, aren't you? It dominates your
thoughts, doesn't it?" You nod again. "There's an
explanation: you see, this factory is your home. We
built you. You are a Kill-Bot, serial number 0101."
You decide you need to lie down, lying back on
the futon. "But you're a defective Kill-Bot. Since your
escape, we've been unable to give you the
maintenance you need . Your circuits are deteriorat ing.
You're engaging in more and more convoluted efforts
to get to the Queen. Fortuna tely, we can fix you ."
Mechanical belts suddenly snap around your
arms, legs and neck. "You're run down," says the
cyborg, wheeling the futon down the hall. "A trip to
the energizer and you'll be good as the day you came
out of the press.• You're slid under an array of sizzling
electrical coils. Then the cyborg throws a switch. ZAP!!
Registers tick in the cyborg's brain dome as she
looks over your charred corpse. "Mistaken identity."
You sneak out from the mousehole in lhe Queen's
bedroom wall. Your stolen vial of SHRINKDEX-1 has
allowed you to infiltrate the Queen's castle without
being spotted! All you have to do is drop this
microscopic robocapsule down the Queen's throat and
you'll be able to monitor her wherever she goes!
You creep up to the Queen's huge bed and
shimmy up the bedpost, creeping underneath the vast
bedsheets and turning on your tiny flashlight. Then
you blush. The Queen sleeps au natural! She lies on
her stomach, her soft snores shaking the bed beneath
you . Her perfect foot lies near you, the size of a hill.
You clamber up her toes and crawl aross the
wrinkles of her foot, then creep carefully up the back
of her right leg. You try to tickle as little as possible.
When your foot sinks into the back of her knee she
squirms, and you drop to your belly! Her left leg just
misses you as it swings to scratch the back of her right.
You Jay still until you're sure she's sleeping. Then
you climb up her thigh, scale a frankly magnificent
ass, and hurry across a majestic bare back . Then you
pop out of the blanket and stand face to face with the
Queen, robopill in your hands. She looks so peaceful.
Too bad she's wide awake and staring at you. "I
was hoping for a midnight snack," she says, her
enormous fingers collecting your trembling little body.
You gulp. Soon thereafter, so does she.
Finally ! It's been a long journey , across countless light
years and endless worlds, outwitting numerous
adversaries and escaping - often just barely - more
diabolical traps than you can remember! But at last,
your day has arrived ! The Queen of Space has been
brought to justice , her limbs wrapped in vacuum tape,
her ray-gun eyepatch bent, and her sneering face
beneath the heel of your boot.
But wait. Why is she laughing?
Your vision shifts and wiggles like a holo-monitor
on the fritz. And then you can make out the Queen's
face again, laughing at you. But she isn't under your
boot, nor is she wrapped up. In fact, you're the one
who's strapped to a chair, and a strange mach ine
seems to have been fitted to your head!
"Do you like my Excessive Device, pet? It can
show you any reality, make any fantasy real. What it's
going to show you during your long stay in my castle
are a hundred different deaths, some at my hands,
some at the hands of others: all of them, of course,
the result of your own foolishness, your own failure."
She places a lingering kiss on your lips, which
you realize are gagged. "I say goodbye because when I
leave this room I'm not going to see you again, though
if you're lucky you're going to see a lot of me.•
And as the machine whirrs back to life you realize
that this is just the beginning, not.. .
You swing open the visor of the helmet with a
CLANG! Your plan worked! No one suspected you
were hiding in this suit of armor!
CLANG CLANG. You search the castle of the
Pole People. Somewhere, you r pilot Suzie's being held
captive. You open a door. Whoops, kitchen storage it's floor-to-ceiling with sharpened knives. Yikes.
Aha, the dungeon ! Suzie throws her arms around
your armored body and puts her tongue in your
mouth. I guess she missed you! She points to the
chain around her neck. "It's frozen light," she frowns.
You tear open the jai ler's desk. Argh , there are
hundreds of keys in here! This will take hours. Wait if the chain is frozen light, that means the key is too!
"Be right back!" You yell, scooping up the keys
and CLANGing towards the castle's star attraction the enormous Magnet Shalt of the Pole People.
You set the keys on the floor and switch the shaft
on. A humming fills the room. And then, one by one,
the keys star t lilting from the floor - metal keys - and
flying toward the shaft. Leaving one key beh ind!
You could high-five yourself, but not in this
armor. You reach for the switch, but your arm
suddenly can't move' Oh no!The armor!
You're pulled through the air, CA-THUNKING to
the surface of the great shalt. You can't move an inch!
Then you see the kitchen storage door fly open.
"To be frank, we have doubts as to whether you are
who you say you are. Would the real Star Wench,
sworn enemy of the Queen of Space, have so
brazenly approached the immigration board of the
Queen's own home star and sought admittance?"
You feel a guard's fingers crawl along the back of
your thigh . Her other hand grips the chain linking
your cuffs, holding your arms out of her way.
"We've prepared a simple quiz that should reveal if
you are who you say you are. All very basic. questions
the real Star Wench would be able to answer without
hesitation ." The Provost slides a piece of paper onto
the desk in front of you, and the guard, laughing,
pushes your face down onto the desk. You read :
I . What is the name of Star Wench's ship?
2. And who pilots it?
3. Where's Star Wench's most ticklish spot?
4. What's the name of the Queen's homeworld?
5. And the name of her personal pleasure planet?
Someone stuffs a pencil in your mouth . "Get
writing. If you're unable to provide an answer to even
a single one of the questions, you're a replicant and
we shoot you. But if you can answer them all, we'll
concede your identity and admit you - to the Queen's
Nurse Bitpoker wil hdraws the swab-stick, shiny with
fluid. Blushing , you cover your infected bits, which
have sprouted several patches of little spiky teeth.
"Just as I thought," the Nurse says, peering into a
microscope. "You're suffering from a Beast Infection."
You yelp and pull back your hand! One of the
little teeth has nipped you.
"Fortunately! there's a cure," she continues)
retrieving a clean syringe. "It's derived from an
enzyme that Zoltan Shapechangers secrete in their
Spring to inhibit their polymorphism prior to mating."
The syringe fills with purple fluid. "It'll keep your
body from changing further - you can have a dentist
see to the teeth. Still, you're lucky we caught this
before there could be any further compll-"
Nurse Bitpoker freezes in horror. She also seems
to suddenly be much shorter than you. Then chitinous
purple arms you didn't have a minute ago grab her
and stuff her into your huge, toothy mouth.
Your new body gives out an animal howl! Oh no,
you are a monster! But your ultrasonic ears pick up
the TINK of a syringe hitting the floor - the antidote!
You struggle to control your new animal urges
long enough to pick up the little needle - not easy
with your huge claws! But you finally manage to stab a
big meaty vein and inject the anti-morph enzyme!
Your body stabilizes. You 'll be like this forever!
You feel your way carefully along the rough stone floor
with your feet. The hood on your head makes it hard
to navigate, and the ties on your wrists don't help.
"Don't keep her waiting." Somewhere ahead of
you is a guillotine and an Executioner. Behind you is
laughter and the prod or a pulse-po le.
Quickly, you grab the prodding pole and yank it
from the guard's hand. Before she can react, you whirl
it around with your bound hands and clunk the spot
where her laughter indicated her head would be.
"About time," a voice echoes. The Executioner!
You charge head-first, aiming for the chest.
OW!! The impact knocks your hood askew.
Under the Executioner's robe you can see a steel
cyborg midriff . "I saved you a seat." When you shake
off your daze, you're locked - wrists, ankles and neck
- in a very tmcomfortable guillotine. And the
execut ioner is tugging the rope and raising the blade.
She holds the end of the rope in her hand as she
reaches over to caress your cheek. You snap at her
hand - grabbing the rope with your teeth! Uh? You
also seem to have collected a plastic finger.
You'd shriek in surpise if it didn't mean letting go
of the rope. The blade is pretty heavy ! The
Executioner just laughs at you. "Let's find out how
ticklish you are," she grins as she removes the rest of
her fingertips - to reveal the metal talons underneath.
"You will appear before the Queen, yes," says the
Magistrate, "but not like that." She gestures at your
tattered, muddy uniform. It's been a rough couple days.
Two dark-ha ired maidservants take your arms and
lead you towards a side-chamber of the castle. "Don't
worry. We'll prepare you for Her Majesty." Oh?
Their quick hands strip the torn clothes from your
body. You blush , but the smiles on their soft lips make
modesty a distant thought.
"In the tub," orders one of the maids, and you
happily comply. The water is warm and soft. You slide
into it like you would your own bed . Then you watch
as your attendants remove their own clothes and slide
in beside you . They devote a long, long time to
making sure you're clean. They're quite thorough.
"Much better," they say, rubbing you with silky
towels. "Now let's get you dressed ."
Relaxed as you are, they handle you easily. Firm,
gentle hands direct you onto some kind of large disk.
You offer no resistance when those same hands begin
to rub oil all over your body. It feels so nice! "The
Queen is just going to love you," coos a far-off voice at least it sounds that way, blissed out as you are.
You almost get suspicious when one of them
stuffs an apple in your mouth. But when you hear the
oven roar to life, it becomes pretty obvious that you're
on your way to a dinner party!
"Let's see 'em," says Valerie Solaris, infamous star
smuggler, putting her boots up on the desk.
You open the droid-skin case to reveal a set of
twenty-four of the most beautiful , flawless crystal
spikes this side of the galactic core.
"I got them-" "I know where you got them ,
sweetheart," Valerie interrupts. "Any dealer would .
Hmm. Finding a buyer is gonna be tough, but I think
we can get as much as 100,000 credits for them ."
She smiles at you . "Split 25-75, that's 25,000 for
you, 75,000 for me."
WHA1? "Fifty-fifty!" you protest.
"I'll do 35-65. 35,000 for you, 65,000 for me.•
But you're adamant. She doesn't know what you
went through for those spikes - unscrewing them one
by one while clinging to the edges of the pit with your
fingers and toes for over two hours. It was the only
way to survive the Queen's nefarious trap.
"Fifty-fifty! 50,000 each! That's my final offer."
"Noted," she says, and clocks you on the head.
You wake tied to a chair. Valerie is comparing you
to your picture on a poster: WANTED! DEAD OR
ALIVE. 60,000 CREDIT REWARD .
"The famous Star Wench," Valerie smiles. "You
know," she says, lifting a spike from the case, "spikes
go for much higher on the deathtrap market when
they're 'signed' with the blood or famous adventurers."
After hours of slow wiggling, you've finally gotten Your
arms free of the pool of swamp muck. The sludge
jiggles like a pudding with your every movement.
You scope the edge of the pool: a
Stretching your fingers as far as you can, they only
brush against it. It takes all of your strength to push
another inch through the muck and grab the cord.
Another hour of squirming and pulling gets Your
legs free, green slime coating them. You collapse on
dry( ish) ground beside the pool of muck.
It takes half as long again before you've recovered
enough strength to stand and look at the swamp pool.
There's a fat black you-shaped hole in the sludge. It
reminds you of a frown. You smile wearily.
You tum to leave the swamp and then WHAM!
You hit the ground. There's a creeper vine wrapped
around Your ankle! It must have got snarled in the
pool. But when you reach down to tug it loose, the
vine pulls taut like a fishing line. Uh oh!
You pull with all your might, but YoU can't break
its hold!You're being pulled - slowly, of course, but
inexorably - back toward the pool and to that familiar
black hole. It's no longer shaped like a frown. In fact,
it's slowly licking lips that you're surprised YoU hadn't
If its speed is any precedent, it'll be weeks before
it finishes digesting You. But this is definitely...
"You pass!" the Magister exhales as she finally pulls
your head out of her lap. "With flying colors. There's
only one more test before you can become a full
member of the Moiety Society," she explains as she
pulls her robe back on and readjusts her hood. "Are
Of course you are! Once you have the help of a
secret society, there's no way the Queen will be able
to escape you! "Wipe off your face," the Magister tells
you, "and put on your lnitiate's robe. Then join us in
the Big Cave for your final test." This "robe" is more
like a coarse brown sack! Plus it smells like lighter fluid .
In the cavern you discover a gate made of flames.
Robed figures push you towa rds it. "Just reach the
pool," instructs the Magister, "put yourself out, and
you will have passed the final test: the Gauntlet."
Your eyes follow the trail through the cavern from
the burning gate to the small still pool. The path is
lined on either side with society members in robes,
their hoods lowered so you can see noth ing of their
faces but their eager grins. In their hands they carry a
variety of instruments: gnarled sticks, wooden boards,
laser tazers, metal-tipped flails, lit cigars, rubber bats,
plastic truncheons, branding irons.
You're beginning to have a bad feeling about this
even before the Magister ties your wrists and ankles
together. "Good luck!"
"The Star Vench Fan Club meeting on Sirius World ,"
Suzie tells you, "was the last place we sent WenchBot.
You were too lazy to show up personally."
Suzie steers the ship to Sirius and lets you off.
You havn't heard from your robot double in weeks.
Maybe it's too busy basking in the admirations of your
fans. Maybe you should have gone yourself! But
something about fans has always creeped you out. It's
their sense of entitlement, maybe.
You uncrumple the flyer and follow the directions.
Sirius City is cluttered and mazelike. Finally, turning
into an alley, you see it plastered on the far wall:
"STAR WENCH FAN CLUB MEETS HERE!"
Underneath the sign, mounted on the wall, is an
eerily accurate reproduction of your head.
"Help," WenchBot groans. You grab your double's
head from the wall and kick open the door. Your
mouth falls agape at the scene inside.
One fan is grinding against WenchBot's detached
leg while sucking greedily on the toes. Another has
your duplicate's arms, and is sliding its fingers in and
out of her pleasure holes. A third has your ass and
mid -section, and"Hey!It's the REAL Star Wench!" The club drops
their souvenirs and advance slowly towards you.
"DEATH!" cries the judge, banging her gavel over the
roa r of the crowd. "You are sentenced to death, the
sentence to be carried out by the Terrible Gnawgar."
Soon you are chained to a slab in the center of an
arena. A nearby pit of foaming acid
encouraging, nor are the howls and screams that drift
from a barred gate. "No fear, little prisoner. We are
not as merci less as we seem. A Virtual Reality mask
will spare you from the horrors of your execution."
A soldier approaches, carrying a golden helmet,
inlaid with sparkling gems and circuits, on a pillow.
Your captors place it on your head, then retreat.
You blink. Suddenly things are different. You're
no longer lying on a stone slab, but something Oat and
metal - a cookie sheet? You can't help noticing your
body has flattened and is now made of gingerbread.
A door swings open - and in comes a giant girl in
pajamas, licking her lips and rubbing her tummy.
Reaching down, she snaps off your cookie leg.
Frost ing goes everywhere. She licks it off her fingers,
then gobbles up your leg in three messy bites, crumbs
dusting you like confetti.
Delighted, she lifts you and CHOMPS off your
other leg! As she giggles, globs of chewed cookie fly
all over your face. She sucks on you, her saliva turning
your crisp cookie skin to mush .
Then she dunks you in a nearby cup of milk.
In the deepest, most hopeless depth s of the Queen's
dungeons - the infamous Droid Pits - you hide behind
the melted frame of a robot - a former prisoner - and
spy on the Queen's robotics whiz, Doctor Dos Boot.
The Doctor's goggle-eyes are focused on the
terrified femme-bot strapped to her operating table.
With her thumbscrewdrivers, she removes a wide,
smooth panel in the bot's belly and sets it aside. The
robot's LEDs light up in fear as the Doc's fingers reach
into the exposed wiring of her belly cavity, settling on
a small yellow-a nd-black dial. The bot stiffens.
"You know what this is, right?" Doc asks her
patient, stroking the dial with a fingertip. "It's the
sensitivity dial on your nervous system. What do you
think will happen if I turn it up a bit?"
As she twists the dial the robot starts to squirm
and then scream as every touch, even the feel of air
brushing against her plastic skin, is magni fied into an
overwhelming sensation. As her screams reach a
crescendo, Doc flips a switch and cuts her volume.
"That's horrible!" you say, and then clamp your
hand over your mouth. But Dos Boot is already
looking in your direction with her tele.scoping eyes.
You pull your arms to your sides. stand stock still and
pretend to be a droid. "Beep boop!"
Soon you are strapped to a table while Doctor
Boot prepares to open your belly.
"You poor dear!" the old woman exclaims at the sight
of you shivering on her doorstep. "Quickly, come into
The crone's eight eyes examine you as you sit in
front of the fireplace, slowly wanning. It feels so good
to get out of the endless blizzards of North Polestar.
Soon your teeth have almost finished chattering.
"C-c-could you spare ab-blanket?"
"Spare you, child? I'll make you one," she says.
And she settles at the foot of your chair, tucks her
eight legs under her, and begins weaving with a
gossamer fabric that seemingly comes from nowhere.
"What brings you to my home, little fly?" she asks
as she bundles your chilly feet in a growing blanket.
"Why yes, I do fly around, in a starship," you
explain, making an effort with her weird local dialect.
"Usually. But my ship crashed here and I've been
searching for help. Yours is the first house I've seen!"
You're beg inning to relax. This blanket is really
warm !Snug, too. When she's done weaving , you can't
seem to move your arms from your sides.
"I can see how you keep warm in this endless
winter," you tell her, enjoying your new blanket. "But
where does the food come from?"
"Sarne as any spider's. From the sky," she says,
and lifts and hangs you from a nearby web.
You glimpse strange silhouettes surrounding
before you close the door, leaving you in darkness.
Guards patrol this part of the castle regularly, and they
mustn 't find you in the Queen's secret storeroom!
You step gingerly through the pitch-black room,
feeling with your hands ahead of you. You paid the
finest star cobbler in this quadrant of the galaxy to
remove the squeak from your boots, and now your
feet move in total silence.
Somewhere in this room, you hope, is some clue
to the Queen's secret weakness . Your groping hands
discover something made of cold, rusted metal. You
run your fingers along it. Some kind of cage. Weird , it
seems big enough for a person . You press on.
You almost trip on some kind of long iron rod.
There's what feels like a metal letter Q on the end. Is
this a...branding iron? You shiver a little.
You set the iron down. Unfortunately, since you
can't see the floor, you accidentally drop it with a loud
CLANGGG that makes you fr002e on your feet!
Footsteps in the hall. coming this way! You have
to hide before they get here. Feeling around, you
discover some sort of tall, hinged box - big enough to
fit you, what fortune! You dive in, pulling the door
shut behind you .
Unfortunately, the box is an iron maiden, its
inside covered in spikes. Whoops!
"Suzie, that's such a dirty question!" You can almost
hear her grin. "You'd better have a dirty answer."
But your late-night phone caJI is interrupted when
a tribe of supine, dark-furred catwomen slide out of
the trees and into your campsite. They surround you.
"Meerowrrr!" purrs one who appears to be a
leader, or at least a diplomat, as she stalks forward .
"Suzie? Did you hear that?" Good thing you had
the foresight to set your gravity phone to "hands-free"
mode. "You speak alien languages! What did she say?"
"Um. I think she's inviting you to their village."
"How do I answer?" you ask, clipping the phone
to your belt. On the other end, Suzie clears her throat.
Then the phone crackles: "Preeeowwrr!"
The catwomen throw their
celebration, hoot ing and meowing .
Then they tie you to a pole and carry you to their
village. The diplomat springs a knife-like nail from her
fingertip and cuts the clothes from your body as you
strain not to move a single inch. You are bound
kneeling and nude to a post at the center of the village.
You watch the catwornen dance around you ,
hissing and purring. Then you notice your phone in
the pile of shredded clothing.
"Suzie!Can you hear all that? What's going on?"
There's a pause. "They're celebrat ing the arrival
of the village's new scratching post."
You elect to join the Venusian ambassadors on their
mission to Mars. If ycu could win the favor of the
Martian Spider-Queen, she would be a powerful ally.
"Every year, we send a tribute to the Queen of
Mars," the diplomats' leader explains, her delicate
antennae twitching. "This ensures continued peace
between Venus and Mars.They are quite warlike."
"Feeloria!" calls a voice from the leader's
bedchambers . "Excuse me," Feeloria says, blushing.
"Only a few hours lef t, ycu know !" She stands and
flutters down the corridor on her papery wings,
leaving you alone on the bridge.
As ycu kill time at the console you notice that the
ship doesn't seem to have enough crystals to fuel the
trip back . You'll pick them up on Mars, you suppose.
The red planet is famous for its power crystals.
Finally on Mars, you stand with the diplomat ic
party as the ship's doors open. Waiting for you is a
party of Martian amazons with spears pointed . In the
distance you can make out the Queen's entourage.
"We come from Venus wit h a tribute to the Spider
Queen," Feeloria announces to the soldiers. As one,
the ambassadors kneel and cross their hands behind
their backs. You hur ridly do the same.
"Where's the tribute?" you whisper to Feeloria as
the amazons advance, unfurling silk ropes.
"It's us," the leader of the bug-women replies.
"A letter !" you shout, striding into the Post Office. "A
letter to the Queen of Space!"
The long line of people in front of the desk ignore
you. You take your place at the end of the line and
wait. An hour later you reach the front.
"A letter," you tell the secretary. "The Queen of
"Royal mail," says the secretary. "According to
recent regulations, mail intended for the Throne has
to be delivered in limerick."
You think a few minutes, composing the words
that will lure the Queen into your trap.You dictate:
There once was a Queen of all Space
Vho possessed quite a ravishing face.
Though a callous, cruel creature,
I'd sure like to meet her.
Let's get together:your place?
The secretary nods begrudgingly, then calls out to
some orderlies."Royal mail!"
Two postal workers grab you and spread you over
the desk. Before you can protest, a stamp is slapped
over your mouth . You can feel the secretary lift your
uniform. Your bared back shivers. "All royal mail must
be delivered in person. Regulations."
You can hear her laser quill heating up.
You stare your pursuers down as you inch slowly
backwards. You dare not take your eyes off the Sisters
of the Saw for even a second, especially in their own
castle. The two sisters giggle and laugh - you discover
why when you back up against a wall! Oh no!
The younger sister waggles her tongue at you,
then reaches over with her right hand to pull the
ripcord of the chainsaw gauntlet - signature weapon
of the order - covering her left. It roars to life. With a
chuckle, the older sister does the same.
Groping desperately at the wall behind you as the
sisters advance, you touch a round metal protuberance
- a doorknob! This isn't a wall, it's a door!
Quickly, you open the door, dash through, and
bar the other side! A moment later, a chainsaw stabs
through the door, and you hear giggling on the other
side as the saw begins to carve a sister-sized hole.
You race down the hall . It looks like a dead end,
leading to a single room - wow! The sisters' armory!
Chainsaw gauntlets in piles. Time to even the score!
When the sisters step through the hole in the
door, they find you there waiting for them - with not
one chainsaw gauntlet, but one on each arm! Hal
Each of the sisters reaches over and pulls her
ripcord. You reach to do the same - and discover that
with chainsaws for hands, you can't pull the cords!
Whoops! The sisters begin laughing again.
You've spent hours trying to get Suzie on your gravity
phone to ask for a lift off this lawless planet. But now,
as the Huntress approaches, you lie as still and quiet
as you can in the neck-tall grass.
Laser Jane sniffs the air, trying to catch your
scent. Her namesake laser machete hums in her hand
and a set of human hands and feet hang from her
loincloth. You tactfully avoid whimper ing. While you
wait for the wind to turn, you try your best to make no
sound, no mot ion, and to exude no scent.
Jane's nose pricks up - has she caught you? Just
then , thankfully, the wind does change: it whistles
across the plain, rustling the hairy grasses. Phew!
Now you're downwind -Jane can't smell you !
YEEP! What was that? Something brushed your
side! It's the grass. The wind is blowing it against the
side of your belly. Uh oh! Your belly is ticklish!
You clamp your hands over your mouth and
endure a long, slow grazing by the feather-light fingers
of the rustling grass as Jane scans the area one last
time. A flickering strand finds its way into your belly
button. You bite down on your lip hard enough that it
hurts. Finally, shaking her head , Jane turns to go.
That's when your phone rings.
"And that's how your Grandma caught this
trophy,• Jane tells her descendents, gesturing at the
head, hands and feet decorating her mantelpiece.
'Ichallenge you to a duel!" you proclaim , your raygun
itchy in its holster.
The robot merely shrugs and tums with a smirk.
"You just signed your death warrant," whispers a
saloon girl around the lump in her throat. "Calamity
Android's the fastest draw this arm of the spiral."
Back-to-back with the robot, you can feel the
cool, unbending steel of its shoulders, and you begin
to doubt how wise a decision you've made. But your
aim is true, your reflexes laser-sharp! Under the
judge's directions, you each take five paces.
Before your eyes, the street winds to the horizon
like a canyon made of people - on-lookers and rubber
neckers eager to see some red hot gunplay. There's
not a shadow among them - the twin suns straddle
the peak of the green sky.
"At the count of five," the judge's voice creaks,
"tum. draw, and fire."
You give the handle of your raygun a pat,
reassuring yourself . A bead of sweat cuts down your
forehead. Then the ju dge starts to count.
But before the syllable is even finished, the laser
bolt fries the back of your head . Robots count in
When the din of clanging metal, muffled screams and
falling objects has passed, you are amazed to be alive.
"That has to be frustrating!" an echoing voice
announces . "The dreaded seven-ten split!" You blink
open your eyes. The Queen is standing at the end of
the alley, Power Glove on her hand . It's clenched into
an angry fist around a head-sized ball. Above her, a
gigantic mechanical hand imitates her every motion.
Turning your head as much as you're able, you
glance at Pin 10. She is, like you, locked into a narrow
standing cage, a wide base on bottom tapering to a
spiked tip on top, too tight to move, wiggle, or
otherwise disturb the game. You realize that it's either
your life or hers, and when her eyes flicker to meet
yours, you see she realizes that too.
The Queen cracks her knuckles, the metal of the
giant robot hand squealing as it copies her. Guiding
the hand like a puppet, she lifts the enormous spiked
ball and prepares to bowl . The bars of your cage are
so tight the gulp can barely fit down your throat.
You are momentarily relieved when you see the
ball roll in the direction of Pin 10.
"Incredible!" shouts the announcer moments later,
"Who would have thought it possible? Our beloved
Queen has actually managed to knock one pin into
the other, spike first! It's another spare for the Queen,
and an historic day for bowling here on Gamma Playa!"
"What amuses me," says the Queen of Space, "is that
you came to this planet to destroy my orchards, not
the Laser Gater orbiting it."
She raises the apple for a servant to breathe on,
then polishes it on the girl's face until it's a shiny blue.
"The unchecked genetic mod ification of food
threatens the health of us all," you say.
The Queen's servant checks that the straps
holding you to the post are tight, then tightens them.
Chuckling, the Queen places the apple atop your head .
"Don't squirm too much. You wouldn't want me
to miss." At the Queen's signal her servants and
soldiers climb into shuttles and lift off for lhe horizon.
Within mon1ents you are alone in the field.
As you watch and wait the sun sets and the moon
rises into the sky, its hot red eye trained on you.
That's not the moon - it's the Queen's Laser Gazer!
A tiny red dot slides across the field toward your
feet. It creeps up your leg, caresses your thigh, trails
against your belly, and delicately traces your neck . It
blinks in your eyes a few times, and you're careful not
to turn away, lest you drop the apple. Finally, after
lingering on your forehead for a nervous moment, it
arrives at its destination , the apple on your head. You
try not to tremble as you wait for the shot.
The Queen doesn't miss, but the laser is wide
enough to level a city.
That's right, you DON'T have to take it! You turn and
slap the owner of the hand that just settled on your
"Fiesty," says the Truxtan , her oiled purple body
glowing in the dim bar lights. "I like that."
Your hands curl into fists. "You want to fight, little
human?" Like rings around Saturn, the other bar
patrons form a small circle around you and your
aggressor. She licks her lips in anticipation of a fight.
Then, suddenly, she throws a punch!
WHUMP! You catch it in your right pahn. The
crowd hollars. The Truxtan leers at you as your
fingers twine between hers. "Not bad for a human .
You know, on Truxta we keep your species as pets."
She throws the second punch before she finishes
speaking, hoping to catch you off guard. She doesn't.
WHOOMP! Her fist lands in your left palm. The on
lookers holler and cheer as you lock fingers with her.
"You're pretty good, kid ," she tells you.
With both of your hands occupied , of course,
she's free to slug away at you with her other two arms.
The crowd hoots and hollers as they watch you get
punched and pummelled . When you're sufficiently
weakened , the Truxtan throws you over her shoulders
and takes you home with her - to Truxta, of course,
where you live out the rest of your life as a human pet.
"Maximum reality level!" you tell the console. Why
would you want to experience the HoloMuseum at
anything less than total immersion?
The room seems to melt around you like hot wax
- or maybe you're just reminded of the waxwork
museums that these holograms replaced. In just
moments, the room has cooled into a different shape.
Wow! The detail on this bathtub is amazing! And
these chains feel so real and heavy! You rattle them,
de.lighted by the noise they make.
But you're really stunned when you finally see her,
walking towards you like any living, breathing human
being. You blush a little tjhen she shrugs off her robe,
and the soft feet of Countess Elizabeth Bathory step
daintily down into the wide bathtub.
You're transfixed by her beauty as she kneels
before you, her eyes flashing. Your nostrils tingle.
Even your nose isn't neglected in this performance!
You take a deep whiff : she smells of rosewater and
something else, something coppery.
When her baby·soft fingers turn your head to the
side, you shiver like it was any real live person
touch ing you. And when she opens your neck with her
knife, you again react with the ubnost realism.
Maybe you should have paid more attention to
I he warning sign: "CAUTION! At MAXIMUM
REALITY level, the exhibits you experience are real!"
You've made it into the storage area of the Queen's
biotechnology lab, and now you're counting doors.
You're looking for the room where the synthetic
mouths are kept - hopefully they can give you a tip on
what the Queen is planning.
"Three, four, five, six, seven...aha! Forty-eight !"
Your realize you've miscounted when the door
opens and you're grabbed by what must be forty-seven
arms, which quickly spread you on the floor as they
start to tug off your clothes.
"Wait! I think I've got the wrong room ! I was
looking for-" But a hand clamps over your mouth
before you can finish. The others are deciding - by a
show of hands, natural ly - who'll be scratching, who'll
be squeezing, and who'll be tickling. A few of the
hands suggest, through vivid charades. other
As itchy lingers scurry towards you, you
commun icate the only way you can: sign language!
"Wrong room!" you sign with your own hands. "Could
you direct me toward Room Forty-Eight?"
As one, the hands stop, visibly disappointed .
Simultaneously, they all point their thumbs left.
Relieved, you hop over to the next door, pulling
your clothes back on. Unfortunately, disembodied
arms aren't good with directions, and you're soon
being trampled by a room full of legs.
Wrapped in chains on the cold metal slab, you watch
the pendulum swing back and forth overhead . The
pendulum , a pretty reptilian girl with icy scales, is also
wrapped in chains, hung upside-down by her
prehensile toes. A steel ring holds her mouth open.
A drop of yellow drool drips off her lips and
splashes onto the slab next to you, immediately
melting a hole through the metal. Yikes! You pull in
your legs just in time to avoid a second drip, which
burns through the place your feet had been moments
before. Looking up, you see your fellow prisoner's
mouth pool helplessly with acid.
As you squirm on the slab, dodging the fatal
drops, a sleek black robot with a camera for a head
sits on a chair nearby, recording the event for the
Queen - and perhaps the open market - while
thumbing the blinking pink buttons between her legs.
If the Queen wants a show, you'll give her one!
Deftly, you twist your body out of the way of a
downfall of acid droplets from your poor compatriot
above. Carefully, you let the drops eat through your
chains as they fall. Finally, you bust out of the
shattered chains like a cocoon. You sit up.
The slab, eaten through with holes like an anthill,
collapses under your weight. Undemeath is a titanium
steel basin , which has dutifully caught all the acid
you've dodged. The video sells out instantly.
FOR EVERYONE UNAFRAID
TO BE A STAR WENCH
OR A QUEEN OF SPACE
You plug the wire into your head . Sight, sound, touch
scatter like shadows before a flourescent light. Your
body shuts off. Your mind dives into an electric reality.
A Hat blue plain hums beneath you . Cyberspace!
You imagine a tower and it's there, stabbing red from
the ground . The Queen's NetFortress! Blocking the
door is an enormous wall of Intrusion Countermeasure
Electronics - ICE! Fortunately, you had the sense to
wear your data parka. You reach for your ICE-cracking
program and it's in your hands, a hammer and chisel.
The ICE shatters at the touch. You're in!
The Tower stretches endlessly, a torus covered in
data files, which rez into sight as neon women chained
to the walls. You approach one, reaching for your
hacking program : a spring-loaded mouth clamp. Soon
the file's telling you everything she knows: the Queen,
this very nloment , is on the Holodeck for "relaxation ."
This is your chance! If you can hack into the
Queen's relaxation simulation you can catch her
unawares! The Holodeck's wearing a chastity belt, but
you have a password breaker. You plunge in.
The Queen's face appears. Success! You've
infiltrated her program! Her holo-body is dressed in a
hooded red robe. And heating a metal poker over a
fire. That's when you realize that you're bolted to a
wooden table. And that you should have considered
what blowing off steam means to the Queen of Space.
Your contact at Roda's All-Night Diner never shows,
but through luck you make another connection.
"W-what's good here?" you ask, having a hard
time getting your eyes off the pair of lips smiling
across the table at you. "I see something that looks
tempting ," she says. Her skin is green - yours must be
red . Your eyes flee to the relative safety of the menu.
Beneath the table, her tentacles wra p around your
leg. The menu describes the house specialty: Spiral
Fries, curled in I he gravity of a kitchen singularity. Her
tentacles are unzipping your boot and tugging it off .
You dare to look up at her. Her smile remains
innocent as. beneath the table, lens of tiny sucker-lips
plant kisses and nibbles along your caught foot. You
try not to be squirming too visibly when the waitress
hovers over. "Vhat'll you have?"
You hurriedly order the fries. "And you?" asks the
other head. "Noth ing for me," says your companion. "I
already know what I'm having tonight." Both of the
waitress's heads blush. One of them winks at you as
"Saving room for dessert?" you dare.
"II the taste I've gotten is any indication ," she
says, "it ought to be delicious.•
You let her take you back to her place. where you
spend a hot, wet night digesting in a tentacle-lined
You gulp down the contents of the chic, chair-shaped
glass."Thick but tasty!What was that?"
"Uh, you just swallowed Amoeboid Officer
Hoglagoon of the Space PD," says the bartender. Your
hands, of their apparent own will, are feeling your face.
"Never met an amoeboid , eh? They control the
bodies of other life-forms from within. Your body's
hers for good in thirty days if she doesn't leave."
You try to jab a finger down your throat but your
arm yanks itself beh ind your back . Hurriedly, you
order one of every drink in I he house.
"Halt! You hear yourself shout at the bartender.
"Don't assist this criminal! I'm taking this perp in 1"
The bartender shrugs as you pull you rself to your
feet. •1 suggest you come quietly," you hear yourself
whisper as your legs carry you out of the bar.
You try and drag your feet. "Resisting arrest, eh?"
You shove yourself into several walls on the way
to the Precinct. "This is Hoglagoon, undercover," your
mouth tells the front desk. "Prepare a room. I'm going
to need to strip-search this perp." As you r body drags
itself toward the door, your hands pull on leather
gloves. You have nothing to do with the smile on your
At the trial, you confess to swallowing an officer.
Since it was an accident, the judge is lenient - she
gives you just thirty days in the local jail.
You step into the coliseum with the three other
combatants , each naked and unarmed but for the zap
collar on her neck . In the stands you spot the Queen ,
draped in slaves - if you want to win an audience with
her, you'll have to take first prize in her favorite sport:
You take your place inside a red circle. The four
of you stand in square formation: one in a Green
circle, one in Yellow, one Pur ple. If both feet leave
your circle, the zap collar will administer the fatal jolt.
Standing at the edge of her circle, Green swings
at Yellow. But Yellow grabs her and pulls her into her
own circle. She gives Green's lips a kiss as the zap
collar fries her from within .ZAPPO! That's one down!
You retrea t to the far edge of your circle. Yow!
Your heels start to sizzle! Your circle's shrinking
underneath you - and so is everyone else's!
Yellow aims a kick at Purple. But Purple gives her
foot a speedy tickle and she shrieks and ju mps back ,
out of her circle. ZAPPO! One opponent left.
Now your circles are too small now for either of
you to move. You and Purple stare each other down,
faces stern. Then you bring your hands to your mouth
and make the ugliest face you can! She's caught off
guard and takes a step back. It's her undoing !ZAPPOI
You're the champion ! Yes! You bow gracefully,
then turn and step off your circle. ZAPPO!Whoops!
The Queen hot on your heels, you throw open the
first door you find and slam it behind you. Then you
stop cold. The Queen's bathroom has a living floor!
The noor of the Royal Bath Chamber is tiled with
girls, their bare backs twitching under the light of
flourescent bulbs. From this sea of bodies rises an
enormous black toilet-throne twisted and crenella ted
like a haunted house. But what catches your eye is the
small window at the far end of the girl-carpet. You
hear the doorknob turning - better hurry!
You pull off your boots and begin crossing the
floor of flesh . "Sorry! Sorry! Gosh, you're sweaty!"
Muffled groans and - moans? - accompany your
traversa l of the floor. You hear the door swing open.
Finally you reach the window - locked ! Muffled
cries of pain sound closer and closer. You fumble
with the latch. Finally the window swings open!
"Don't move." You tum. The Queen is perched
like a gargoyle atop her monstrous toilet, laser gun in
hand . She shoots at your feet! You jump - and the girl
you were standing on shrieks and dissolves into a red
paste. You slide down into the hole she occupied.
"You look good there," says the Queen. She gives
you the privilege of being installed face-up.
The next day, the door swings wide. "The
window's still open," the Queen observes. So she
comes to shut it. She's wearing six-inch spike heels.
"Take me to the Death Ray!" you order, damping your
hand over the guard's mouth. After an initial muffled
squeal of surprise, she relaxes considerably, nestling
her body against yours. "Uh, o-okay. Start walking!"
With one of your hands over her mouth and the
other pinning her arms, she leads you through a small
labyrinth of beetle-black hallways, moaning softly. You
enter a large room that stinks of Kessel Rum.
"Jetta Jupiter! Taken hostage again? That's the
third time this week." Two guards are seated at a table
covered in a game of Poke Her. Behind them: the
Queen's Death Ray in all its majesty.
"Don't move!" you threaten. "Or I'll-" One of the
guards lifts you effortlessly with metal arms. "Wanted
a look at the Gun, huh? Here you go."
Up close, the cannon seems to have a huge six
chambered titanium cylinder, each chamber currently
empty. "Ray-Gun Roulette?" asks the second guard,
grinning with metal teeth.
You're stuffed face-first into one of the cannon's
chambers. Through the barrel, you can see the guards
tying a frantic Jetta to the wall and painting a target
on her belly. Then huge metal arms push in a huge
metal bullet, spin the chamber, and pull a giant trigger.
"Phew," sighs Jetta, when nothing comes out of
the gun. "Ew," says Arms, puling out the bullet, sticky
with the smooshed remains of your body.
You've done it! You've successfully taken Space
Medusa's place. It was hard undressing her without
looking at her, but Suzie, your pilot, let you practice
on her in the dark. You cut tiny eye-slits in the veil as
you race to make the meeting with the Queen.
"These ones will make magnificent columns,"
says the Queen of Space, runn ing her hands along the
stone bellies of the four statues, tall girls holding their
arms over their heads. "But what I need now is...a
center piece. I'll double your pay. You may use this."
The Queen's guards untie a pretty, star-skinned
girl and push her forward. She strikes a dramatic pose.
"Cover your eyes," the Queen commands. "An
artist demands privacy.• On cue, everyone present,
save the girl, obediently covers their eyes and waits.
This is your chance!
You fling the veil from your face - ah, now it's
much easier to see! Immediately you locate the Queen
of Space and race towards her. Now you've got her!
"IMPOSTER!." someone screams, and you
instinctively turn your head to gaze upon the most
beautiful face you've ever seen in your life.
"It's perfect," says the Queen when she unsh ields
her eyes, admiring her newest statue, the head turned ,
the eyes full of wonder. "You truly are an artist."
Space Medusa just smiles, adjusting a veil made
from a hastily-procured plastic bag.
"It's the archeological find of a century! cries Dr. Reba
Roundbottom , climbing out of her heels and across
her sorapus-wood desk to get a better look. "You were
right to bring this to me."
Mummies drifting in space sarcophogi have been
turning up for years, but this is the first time one of
them was interred with a map to the homeworld .
"We've found it," says Dr. Roundbottom , her heels
tapping across the ancient stone of a long ead world.
"The Afterlife Engine." You take a few steps forward ,
gazing in awe. A star-splashed alien sky is blotted out
by the pyramid· haped bulk of the ancient mach ine
and the cannon-like column at its very top. Its Gate of
Eternity lies open before you, real as the grave, its
threshold untrodden for countless eons.
"But does it still work?" You feel a heel in your ass
and you're shoved forward into the ancient mach ine.
Lights like the eyes of ghosts wink to life around you.
"Excelsior!I will achieve immortality through this
discovery!" Reba Roundbottom revels as the ancient
craftworks wrap you toes-to-head in bandages. "And
you will achieve immortality in the classical way."
Wrapped tight in synthetic rags, you feel the
space sarcophagus slam shut around you. Though the
coffin-bullet accelerates up the launch tube towards
space and eternity, your adventu res in the land of the
living seem to have come to...
You tap the auto-pilot with a lazy foot and the ship
begins to slowly cruise toward the Septagon Starwash.
The Starwash is a conf iguration of satellites arranged
above the serpent world Septagon, equipped with
lasers that will methodically comb the outside of the
ship and burn off any clinging material.
Just what the ship needs. especially after that
detour through the Tarball Nebula. You lost the
Queen's starf ighters, but your ship, the Involuntary
Moan, emerged so filthy that it's almost invisible
against the black of space. Your pilot Suzie has been
pretty strung out about the state of her beloved ship.
Where is Suz.ie, anyway? You check her cabin.
Then you think better of it and check your own.
Though the bed is ruffled , your mate is long gone.
You comb every inch of the ship, but no pilot.
She wou ldn't have gone outside and started cleaning
by hand, would she? She can't be that obsessive?
Climbing out onto the top of the ship, sure
enough, you see Suzie - lying face-down on the ship's
blackened surface. "Mm stff dr drr shff!" she says.
"Huh?" you ask, kneeling beside her with a
SQUELCH. Eww! You realize you r knees have
become glued to the sticky ship! You push with your
hands.SQUELCH . Now those are stuck too! lck!
While you tug helplessly at the black tar, you
notice the laser satellites blink online.
the planets you've crash-landed on, the best so
far is undoubtedly Aqua Agua - the water planet. Your
ship bobs like an island on an endless green ocean.
On top of the craft your pilot Suzie has stretched out a
blanket on which she lies belly-down, holophones over
her ears, sunbathing. Crashing her precious ship did
not leave her in the mood for skinny-dipping.
She doesn't know what she's missing. You float
with the sea. Suddenly you feel what must be seaweed
brush past your ankle. It tickles in the weird way that
things do under the water, and you wish you'd been
more persistant in trying to persuade Suzie. You turn
back toward the ship, which has grown smaller on the
water bu t is still within earshot.
"Hey, Su-" Before you can finish you're tugged
underwater. You come up gasping, looking around
you. You suddenly realize that seaweed needs ground
to grow on and open your mouth to call out again.
Down you go again, and come up spitting out
water. You definitely felt it this time: hands around
your ankles. You take a deep breath, hold your mou th
closed, and make a break for the ship.
This time she keeps you underwater, smiling into
your eyes. A mermaid! She pries your mouth open
with her tongue, giggling as bubbles stream past her
face. Then she holds you tight to her sinuous body,
and shows no signs of letting go anytime soon.
Your disguise worked perfectly! It took forever to dig
up the right robot parts, but they got you into Dome
Three. Now you've just got to find the Mother Brain,
the living repository or all the information of a galaxy
and the central intelligence of Planet Gemrule.
"YOU ARE NO ROBOT, HU-MAN," shouts a
reprimanding voice inside your mind. You look up and
see her, a mass of red coral in a titanic fish bowl armless and legless, for the machines are her arms.
"F forgive me, Mother Brain," you begin, taking
off your robot mask, "I was hoping that-"
"WHY HAVE YOU LIED TO YOUR MOTHER ,"
screams that voice again. Metal arms suddenly
descend from the ceiling. their pincers taking hold of
you. "YOU HAVE BEEN VERY, VERY BAD."
"Hey! Don't! Lemme go! you struggle as the
meta l claws tug down you r robot pants. "DON'T
YOU TALK BACK . YOU NEED TO BE PUNISHED ."
WHAM!! You cry out, tears forming in your eyes.
You weren 't expecting the sudden slap of a meta l
hand on your rear. WH.AM!! "Space butts!" you curse.
"HOW DARE YOU USE THAT KIND OF
LANGUAGE .• A robot hand descends, a bar of soap
clasped between its pincers. You tremble.
After she's done washing your mou th out, Mother
Brain puts you in the corner for a long ti1ne: one
thousand yea rs. You'll be cryogen ically frozen.
Good going! Now you're trapped on the only desert
island on Wet World, with nothing to eat but a handful
of tasteless food capsules - rationed carefully, they're
scarcely enough for one person , let alone two!
But at least your companion is cute. Stella
Starborn, having shared your escape pod , now shares
your beach, wearing nothing but the remnants of her
space pirate uniform tied around her waist. Her lithe
blue body seems to twinkle in the sunlight. Just you
and she alone for miles - you could do much worse.
You catch her staring at you a few times while
she tosses twigs onto the signal bonfire. Once, you're
sure you see her lick her soft orange lips. Your heart
flutters! You smile back at her. then return your
attention to what's between your legs - a hole in the
sand in which to store the precious food capsules.
Finally Stella makes her move. A bare foot shoves
you back onto the sand, and then she's straddling you,
hand over your mou th and teeth sunk in your neck.
Wow! This lady knows exactly what you like!
She pulls out a length of rope that she must have
fashioned from vines and bark. You blush, allowing
her to do whatever she wants with you.
She ties your arms and legs like a Martian goose,
then hangs you on a stick above the bonfire . As the
flames tickle your back, you see Stella smile and drop
the food capsules in the ocean.
"Rainy season on this planet comes suddenly.
Unpredictable, though. Could be months , could be
hours. Dunno about you, but I'm thirsty right NOW."
You hear the popping of a cap followed by a
glugging sound: Jane drinking from her canteen. From
your height, though , all you can see are her bare feet
on the hard clay. You glare at them in jealousy , your
dry throat sizzling.
"You too, huh? Well, don't ever say Laser Jane
was unfair to you . A parting gift." She scratches out a
tiny hole in the earth a few inches from where you're
buried up to your neck . Then she wedges the cap of
her canteen inside and fills it to the brim with water.
"Make it last," Jane says as she turns and walks
away across the wasteland. As your parched tongue
waggles helplessly in the direction of the capful, you
watch Jane's form diminish unt il it is absorbed by the
brown haze. You stare at the cap, trying to will the
water to jump into your mouth .
Suddenly you think you see a tiny splash. Is this a
mirage? Are you getting heat stroke? Then you feel a
raindrop land on your head . And another. And
another and another. It's starting to pour!
Jane didn't lie about the rainy season. Now you
have all the water you could ask for. In fact, it's already
reached your chin and showing no signs of stopping'
All you can drink - but you'd better drink fast!
You remember the Duchess' warning: the third and
final riddle was rigged by the Queen to keep intruders
from finding the secret entrance to her castle.
The blinking red eyes of the Robot Riddlemaster
stare at you, awaiting your answer to its most
dastardly question. You give the response you've
"They both taste weird on a bun!"
The Riddlemaster whirs and clicks. Then its eyes
glare solid red .
Did the Duchess lie to you? You don't remember
her tongue being forked. You remember it being soft,
quick and seemingly tireless. But in your defense, she
did make you wear a blindfold most of the time.
How could you have fallen for her trick? She's the
Queen's vassal - of course she would deceive you!
Before you can chide yourself further for your
incredibly foolish decision, the floor opens up under
you and you tumble towards what looks to be a sky
full of stars. Then you realize the stars are actually the
gleaming tips of a thousand knives.
The air conditioners cough to life, but they're not
going to have much of an effect with the ship hurtling
towards the sun. You've got to get to an escape pod!
You stumble out the door onto the main deck.
The heat is already approaching overwhelming. As
you hurry toward the launch bay your clothes begin to
melt on your body. You peel them off and hop on
bare feet down a corridor of hot steel.
If you can just reach that escape pod!
The mechanism controlling the door to the launch
bay has melted. To open it you have to press your
naked shoulder to the white-hot metal of the door and
shove. You grit your teeth and do it, screaming
You're immediately blinded . The transparent
aluminum window of the launch bay fills the room
with the searing white light of the nearing sun. You
throw yourself blind into the inferno.
Feeling along the fire-hot walls, you find the
escape pod hatch at last. You slam it shut behind you,
wiping a pool of sweat from your forehead. Any
hotter, any hotter at all and you'd collapse! Thank
goodness you've found the escape pod at last!
But then your sight comes back, and you see that
the inside of the pod and its lone seat are all
upholstered with fur.
Valerie slips the noose around your neck and tightens
it. Her hands linger for a moment. "Any last words,"
she purrs, "before I switch the gravity back on?"
You push away from her, swinging towards the
back of the small pod like a pendulum . "Yeah ," you
say, as you brace your feet against the back wall of the
spherica l chamber. "You snore like a vacuum breach!"
You push off the wall and bring your knees up
against Valerie Solaris's chin - POW! - knocking the
dreaded star smuggler out cold. You spit at her, but in
zero-g your spit coalesces into a small, hovering ball.
You lift your legs, sliding your bound hands under
and to your front. Hyperelastic tow cable, and so's the
noose - there's little hope of cutting or loosening it.
The noose is held by an emergency clamp at the top
of the pod - you're going to have to disengage it!
The button blinks on the dashboard near Valerie's
snoring body. You take the noose in your hands and
swing your legs to the wall. Then you begin walking
along the rounded wall toward the controls.
"Ack!" A floating ball of spit smacks against your
eye. You slip and flail across the pod, tapping a
button with your foot. You can't tell at first because of
Valerie's snoring, but it turns out to be the airlock.
The good news is that your hyperelastic noose
keeps you from being sucked into space. The bad
news is that the velocity snaps your neck.
You slam the door beh ind you, panting. Then you
hurridly check yourself over: you're fine, to your
surprise. They may be phantoms , but you could swear
you felt the space ghosts' claws tear through your
Oe.sh!Your clothes and body are unmarked, however.
If the ghosts can't pass through the door, then it
means your suspicions are correct: somewhere on this
derelict vessel is a Spectre Projector, which emits a
field in which spiritual beings have the properties of
physical matter! You've got to find it and turn it off!
You creep down the corridor. The ship has been
without p0wer for eons, but an eerie green glow lights
up the hallways. This is a haunted place, alright.
"WhooOOoo!" You stop in your tracks'
"VhOOooOO!" You can hear the ghosts dosing in ghostly wails come from all directions! You fill your
lungs with air and shout "WhoooOOOOOoooo !!"
"WhOOoooo!" the ghosts answer, receding ,
satisfied that you 're one of them. With so many ghosts
around, you must be near the Projector!
Sure enough, you find the machine nearby,
crackling with green ghost energy. As you approach
the big on/off switch, a dozen ghostly forms slide out
of the shadows, waving their claws.
"Begone, spooks!" You flip the switch, and the
ghosts fade into nothingness , What a relief! YARGH!
You're fading away too! You were a ghost all along'
"I must thank you on behalf of the Resistance League
for volunteering ," says Field Nurse Bitpoker. ''The
Resistance needs those nitrogen bombs . And there
aren't many humans in this pa rt of the galaxy."
"What does being human have to-?"
"Drink this," says Bitpoker, handing you a cup
filled with some dear liquid . Gulp! It tastes like water !
"And this. And this. And the rest of these." They
all taste like water. Your belly feels wobbly and heavy.
"Now this part may be embarassing, so I'll turn
away.I need you to insert this catheter."
Blushing, you reach beneath your short gown and
carefully inser t the catheter with a grunt. A tube runs
from it - to an enormous tank in the corner of the
room. When Nurse turns back you give her a look.
"We recently discovered," she says, poking your
swollen belly, "that human urine is an excellent source
of nitrogen ." You squirm, suddenly very nervous.
"I, uh, I can't pee when someone's watch ing."
"That's what the hands are for." she says.
Four svelte robot hands on long mechanical arms
swing down, grabbing your wrists and ankles. Six
more swoop down towards your belly, sides, and
underarms, plastic fingers wiggling in anticipat ion.
Over your laughter, Nurse Bitpoker shouts, "We're
almost halfway toward a nitrogen bomb ! Of course,
the fleet won't launch until all 9,000 ships are armed."
There's no time to visit Dinosaur World! You've got to
rendezvous with the mothership as quickly as possible
and detours mean wasted time!
You barely glance at the next space billboard as it
goes by - barely read the promise of hundreds of
dinosaur species brought back from extinction , of an
entire planet crawling with life that has miraculously,
aided by gene splicers, jumped death's chasm to arrive
in the now, just a few light-years off your present
course. You frown and steer your star pod onward.
You definitely see the next billboard , though.
"Dinosaur Slide?'" Time to change course!
"All lhese dinosaurs!" you exclaim to the tour
guide as she leads you up the stairs to the famous
Dinosaur Slide. "How do you afford to keep them?"
"We sssurvive entirely on tourisssm ," she hisses.
"But how can you possibly feed them all?"
You arrive at the top of the stairs, face to face
with a giant lizard ! Its smooth long neck stretches
down down down . The Dinosaur Slide!
"The universsse providesss ," says the tour guide, a
reptilian smile cracking her face in half . Then the
dinosaur opens its huge mouth and she gives you a
shove from beh ind!
As advertised, it's a long, exhilarating ride to the
bottom, and the final splashdown is like nothing you'll
ever experience anywhere else.
You kneel before the Lollipop Princess of Candy
Constellation. She extends to you a perfect foot of
transparent pink candy to kiss. You give it a slow,
tasting lick instead. Yum !Strawberry!
"How dare you!" Suddenly candy cane hooks are
around your throat. "Who granted you the privilege of
tasting Our roya l body? As though We were some
common bonbon for your sweet tooth !Milk chocolate
maids lie melting in Our dungeons for less!"
You open your mouth to apologize and an
enormous gumdrop is stuffed into it. "Take this
insolent piece of meat to the kitchen!"
Soon you're strapped to a high-chair, watching as
Imperial Jawbreakers march a procession of licorice
tied candy prisoners - marshmallow, jellybean ,
saltwater taffy - into the eager hands of the Royal
Chefs. A girl made of cake is dragged screaming into a
side chamber. Minutes later, a plate full of cupcakes is
carried out by a chef in an icing-splattered apron and
set on the kitchen table.
Hard candy fingers pry your mouth open and the
first of the cupcakes is stuffed inside. As you struggle
to choke down the cupcake pile, you watch as more
prisoners disappear into the adjacent room and more
and more plates of food stack up on the table.
One of your captors opens a carton of milk and
pours it out on the floor at your feet. Gulp.
"So you're our new dancer, eh?" says Madame Zzt,
looking you over. "Yes. Oh yes. You'll do marvelously.
Here, put these on. This will be your costume."
She hands you a set of wide metal bracelets for
your wrists and ankles. They're covered in intricate
lines that retnind you of circuitry. You put them on.
Madame coughs. "They're the entire costume,
dear." Blushing , you remove the rest of your uniform.
You're nervous as you wait to be called on stage.
The only reason you signed up at this joint is because
you'd heard the Queen is among the clientele. You're
not especially confident in your abilities as a dancer you're really more of an action-adventurer .
But, amazingly, when you start your routine you
quickly fall into a groove. You're moving like you've
never moved before! Then you realize that it's these
bracelets that are actually moving your limbs - you see
Madame Zzt nearby, fingering a joystick!
You blush . Your dance is getting increasingly lewd
-and you have no way of controlling it!
Madame raises the controller into the air. Gulp.
You realize she's taking bids! "A thousand credits!"
shouts one voice. 'Five thousand! shouts another.
"One million credits," a cool voice commands.
Madame Zzt smiles and hands over the controls to
your limbs. No one would be insolent enough to bid
against the Queen .
You've had enough of Minnow Star, the planet of tiny
beings. Your departure is hastened by a crowd of
miniature natives chasing you with tiny ropes, torches
and pitchforks. You're fortunately faster than them your legs are much, much longer - but you keep
tripping over ankle-high forests and hills. Their angry
shouts remain a continuous buzz on the horizon.
Overcoming a waist-high hill, you're met with the
welcome sight of your landing pod, standing where
you parked it on top of the local burial grounds.
Whoops. It's on the other side of what must be a
canyon to the little people - but just a single leap for
you! Escape is near!
You reach to your belt and dick the remot e to
open the landing pod. While you're looking down a
small redwood tree snags your ankle and you trip! You
see brambles like knives coming at your face!
Phew! You manage to grab the far ledge with
your fingers, hanging on to the near one with your
toes. That was a close one - those brambles are sharp
and inches from your skin. You tighten your grip.
While you're wondering how long you can hold
yourself up, your pursuers arrive. Fortunately, they
forget their anger when they see your open pod
glittering with giant-size treasures. They send back for
volunteers, wheelbarrows and tiny elephants, which
they proceed to march across their newfound bridge .
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" proclaim the partygoers. The
Queen of Space has just turned forty - forty rotations
of her fortress planet, Gamma Playa, around its sun.
"Some at Your age consider drinking the youth of
their slaves," the Duchess of Milabia discreetly
whispers to the Queen. "I'm not saying You need to,
My Grace, but it wou ld be a shame if the galaxy were
to ever be deprived of Your beautiful countenance."
The palace slaves are scrambling to wait on all
the celebrities who have shown up to wish the Queen
well. Lady Ladystomper, High Priestess of SlayVor is
here, keeping her distance from Sister Mary Maglaser
of the House of the Endless Nova . The hunter Laser
Jane is bragging about her latest trophies to Valerie
Solaris, the notorious star smuggler. Venus Velva , host
of KHIWheel, the galaxy's most popular game show,
sits with a fractal martini in her tentacle. The Queen's
head engineer, Doctor Dos Boot, rummages through a
robot's innards. The Lollipop Princess gossips with
the Big Bird of Highest Climb, while the Martian
Spider-Queen wraps some slaves in silk for later.
And of course, you're here too!
The Duchess, giggling , ties a blindfold around the
Queen's eyes, and Venus slides a long, polished
ptu1ishment stick into her hands. Doctor Boot spins
the Queen around and gives her a push - right toward
where you're hanging bound from the ceiling!
WHAM! You bring your arms down on the back of
the soldier's head, knocking her cold. Then you tug
her into one of the less busy alleys of Eroticon Nine,
the Queen's personal pleasure planet, to strip her.The
soldier - Lieutenant Jetta Jupiter by the name on her
badge - has a date with the Queen's favorite whore
and confidante, who has informat ion you need!
In your new uniform, which you notice seems to
lack underwear, you slip tOvard the boud ior.
"You've been a naughty little soldier, Lieutenant
Jupiter," hisses the mistress, "I've read your Fetish
List." One hand dangles the thorough -looking paper,
while her other arms quickly ensnare you in a web of
rope. Surprise nearly causes you to blow your cover,
but fortunately she crams an enormous rubber ball in
your mouth in the nick of time.
"Good thing I knOv just what to do with worms
like you." She sets the paper down nearby and turns,
her asses wiggling in the air as she walks to the corner
of the room to retrieve something shiny. You pull your
eyes off her bobbing bottoms and scan the list.
Going commando ...rope
resistance ...oversized gags...needles to the face,
"WHAT?" you try to shout, but that gag doesn't
even leave you room enough to move your tongue.
"I know exactly what you want," she says with a mean
little smile. She's not kidding.
Telepathic whores are among the most desired
pleasures of Eroticon Nine, the Queen's personal
pleasure planet - though some clients, of course, are
terrified at the thought of confronting their greatest
and most intense desire.
Not you! By the time the telepath takes off her
Queen of Space costume hours later, you're feeling
exhausted but great. Weird how she hasn't unt ied you
yet , though. She chuckles at your quizzical expression .
"Today I have the rare opportunity to actually
provide a client's greatest desire, not just a simulation."
Nude, nine-eyed women burst through the door,
playing a fanfare on telescoping space horns. Behind
them a crawling, hooded slave unrolls a red carpet
with her head. Finally the Queen - the real one! strides across the rug, her space-black cape following .
"Your Majesty," says the telepath, between licks of
the Queen's boot, "this creature harbors treasonous
thoughts against your Empire. Also, some interesting
ideas about what goos on in the Royal Chambers."
The Queen snaps her gloved fingers and the nine
eyed servants gather you up for the luggage chamber
of her starship. You hear the telepath ask what the
Queen has planned for you . The Queen says nothing ,
but you can see the horror in the mind-reader's eyes.
"Alright ," you tell the Purloin urchin kneeling at your
feet, "a shoe-shine." Why not? You've recently come
into some money. The Purloin smiles and unfurls her
tongue, a prel1ensi le pink tentacle furred like a cactus
in tiny bristle -pricks. She sets to work.
Slowly and methodically, her coarse tongue
trawls every inch of your boots. The urchin really gets
into her work - you think you catch her moaning a
few times. You're blush ing when she finishes. And
your boots are, as promised, spotless and glean1ing!
"Get yourself something nice," you say, tossing
her a couple of Loin-coins. She thanks you.
"Thief!" you hear someone
Spinning, you see a mob of naked Purloins shoulder
their way through the crowd . Looks like they're not
happy about your recent windfall! You can't help it if
you're a strip poker pro.
You grab a raggedy overcoat from a nearby
vendor, tossing the merchant a coin, and wrap the
coat around you, hiding your face and body . The mob
comes over, scanning high and low. You think they're
about to walk on when they notice your gleaming
Soon you're splayed nude on the poker table,
coin purse stuffed in your mouth, surrounded by a
crowd of Purloins. They lean down over you, licking
their lips witl1 long cactus tongues.
"Sure, I'll get right to work on maintaining the ship's
robots," you tell Suzie, your pilot, then head straight
for the bathroom. I'll get right to work - after a quick
shower, you think . The shower-bots need verification
as much as any other system on the ship, especially
since you taught them those special programs .
"Shower," you command, reclining on a soft,
chair-like mass formed out of the pliable elasti-plastic
walls of the shower pod, "special program M. Level l."
You relax as one of the shower-bots , a long,
snake-like tentacle with a nozzle on its head, begins to
slither up your leg. This is gonna be good, you think,
letting your eyes close. That whole ordeal with the
Artemedian "exercise" machines left you exhausted.
PHBBBBBT. "Laser labies! you curse as the
robot sprays you in the face with a jet of cold water.
The heck? Maybe the bots DO need maintenance!
"Shower-" you start, then the tentacle wraps
around your neck. Huh? Choking's not until Level 3!
You reach for the manual controls, but the tentacle
holds you back , shoving you against the elasti-plastic
wall. Now the other bots are getting into the act - you
watch the one with the moving bristles nervously.
The nozzle continues to spray water everywhere.
No doubt about it, these bots are on the fritz. In fact,
that one just started sparking! Hey, wait - you just
realized you're in a shower filled with water! BZZZZT!!
"Boots," a slave tells you calmly as she scrubs blood
from the floor below you. "She's going to skin you and
have your skin made into boots." A second slave,
chained to an anti-matter grindstone, is sharpening a
glowing blue laser sword .
"Oh, don't worry!" the slave reassures you when
she sees you struggle with the ropes. "The boots are
made by robot craftsmen. Jt takes almost no time at
all! You'll get to see the Queen try them on before you
bleed to death. Maybe," - there's a dreamy look in her
eyes - "maybe she'll even let you lick them."
That night you hang above the sparkling clean
killing floor. coarse rope around your ankles. The
sword glows softly on a ceremonial tray nearby.
Nearby, but far enough that even if your hands weren't
tied you would be unable to reach it. You'll have to rely
on the psychic training you underwent in Psi City!
You fix the sword with a hard stare, reach ing out
to it with your mind. You visualize an unseen hand
lifting the blade into the air and cutting you free. For a
long time. the sword remains still. But suddenly it
starts to shake!Then to rattle' Then it flies into the air!
"The Queen will be furious." laments one slave
as she sponges the floor, "that the prisoner managed
to commit suicide before she arrived!"
nDon't vorry," her companion assures her. "You
and J will make beautiful boots."
"Witch! Witch!" You can hear the villagers chant as
they chase you down the street. "For the last time,"
you shout back at the.m, "I said my name is Star
WENCH!" Then you trip and fall on your face.
You look up. You're on the stairs of the local
church , the House of the Endless Nova . "Sanctuary!"
you shout. "Sanctuary!" A cyborg nun with a robotic
eye opens the cathedral doors and ushers you inside.
"All wayward travellers sooner or later find their
way back into the Light," says Sister Mary Maglaser,
over the drone of nearby prayer. "In the Light of the
Endless Nova the truth cannot hide."
The prayer seems to be coming from an ornate
metal box. There are two holes in its top: from one
emerges two hands, clasped together in prayer. From
the other emerges the accompanying head, her four
eyes raised heavenward , her mouth frantically reciting
prayers along with a list of sins that makes you blush.
You put your hand on the box. It's hot to the touch.
"The Inquisition Machine gives sinners a taste of
the sun that awaits them in the hereafter if they do not
repent. When its occupant isn't praying fast enough, it
slowly heats up." Sister Mary fixes her robotic eye on
you . "Tell me, child, have you any sins to repent?" A
series of clicks as the Sister sin-scans you. "Oh my."
Before Sister Mary puts you into the box, she ties
her habit over your mouth.
Finally, you've infiltrated the Queen's secret training
grounds on Delta Venus. But you 're not in the clear
yet - you hear the footsteps of a guard patrol ling the
wall! You drop to the floor and hit your cloaking
device. Instantly, your entire body assumes the color,
texture, and lighting of the floor. Perfect invisibility!
Sure enough, the guard looks around, sees only
the unbroken texture of the floor, and leaves. Ha!
Creeping inside, you're almost caught admiring a
huge portrai t of the Queen, beneath the motto,
"Laser, Gas 'er, Just Don 't Let Her Get Away !" You
quickly tl1row yourself against the wall and cloak.
The two guards stare righ t at you - or at the
Queen . One has a look of admiration , the other,
something a little different. Is she biting her lip? You
hope your blushing doesn'I give you away!
Finally you make it into the courtyard - an open
field with bright red BULLSEYES painted on the
walls. Suddenly, there's a whistle. It looks like you've
arrived in time for a training drill!
No sweat. You slip against the wall and cloak as a
platoon of soldiers marches into the courtyard, laser
rifles in hand . At the order of a drill instructor, they all
raise their rifles - and aim directly at your chest.
What's gone wrong? You look down. Your
cloaking device is working perfectly - right in the
nliddle of your chest is a bright red bullseye. BLAM!!
You've made your decision! Valerie Solaris, the
notorious star smuggler, might have saved your life
when she picked up your escape pod , but she didn't
tell you that she immediately diverted her course - to
Gamma Playa , where the Queen has placed a bounty
on your head! Plus she snores like a vacuum breach.
Under cover of snores, you hop in the transporter
and zap yourself over to the nearest planet. The hours
you spend wading through knee-high snow give you
ample opportunity to reflect on your decision. Valerie's
kisses were always wam1. At least you had the
foresight to grab her wumpus-fur parka and boots
before you beamed out.
"Hey kid! You there?" It's Valerie!You spin, then
realize there's a communicator in the pocket of your
stolen parka. "So you bolted, huh? I guess things were
moving pretty fast. No hard feelings."
"I've been having second thoughts!" you shout
over the roar of the snow.
"There's a transporter beacon on the collar of
that pari<a you borrowed. Give it a tap and I'll lock on."
You find the tiny button and push it. It lights up
red. Then you're surrounded by a bright glov.1, and
you feel a tingling sensation on your skin. When it
fades, your pari<a and boots have disappeared.
"Wumpus fur's not cheap, you know. Sorry things
didn't wori< out!" Then the communicator clicks off.
For weeks, you've been chasing the Queen's spy
across Hump World . Now you have her trapped - on
the other side of a narrow rock bridge over the moon's
infamous Sex Plains. The spy shouts to you over the
noise of the endless orgy roiling below.
"Let's settle this like warriors!" She strips to a pair
of rocket-covered space shorts and strides onto the
narrow bridge. She holds two cylinders. With a flick,
one springs into a glowing red laser staff . "Game?"
You strip and step onto the rock . Your opponent
tosses you the second cylinder, which unfolds into a
bright blue staff in your hands. You immediately raise
it in a defensive stance. The rules are dear: whoever
falls will be fucked to death on the plains below.
She lunges, sparks flying as her staff strikes yours.
You push and she staggers back. Then you swing at
her feet. She jumps it but misjudges the landing: now
she's hanging from the bridge by her fingers, terror in
her eyes as one by one they lose their hold.
You catch her wrist as she falls. She dings to you
desperately, her eyes pleading. You try and lift her,
but she's heavier than she looks. Soon you're hanging
by your toes. "You are a true warrior," she says.
That's when the rockets on her shorts fire and
she flies back up to the bridge. A quick tickle on your
foot and you're plummeting towards the death orgy.
She smiles sadly. "I, however, am a mere spy."
You are woken by a foot in your side. "Rise and shine,
Number Fifty! Today's your special day!"
The guard grabs you by the hair and pulls you to
your knees. She yanks your arms behind your back
and begins wrapping rope around them while her
partner fashions a collar around your neck.
"Let's go, Number Fifty." A tug on your leash and
you manage to pull yourself clumsily to your feet.
You leave your cell for the first time since you
were tossed here - forty days ago, maybe more? With
one guard tugging on the leash and the other
prodding you from behind with the butt of a knife,
you're led past a hall of empty cells to a dark room .
"Number Fifty. Welcome." You see the speaker
first, a woman in a black hood. Then you see the forty
nine heads on pikes.
The guards laugh and shove you onto your knees
over the block. "T-they're all me!" you gasp.
"I never get tired of giving this speech," the
Executioner says as she reaches for her axe. "The
Queen sentenced you to death. not once, not fifty, but
a hundred times." Squatting, she lovingly traces a line
along your neck with a finger.
"We had to set up a cloning lab. You and I will be
seeing a lot of each other, sweetheart." And as she
lifts her axe, you realize that this is nowhere near...
WARNING! ! ! !
Do not read this book straight through from beginning
to end! This book contains many different adventures
you may encounter as Star Wench , an intergalactic
rogue and space captain, as she pursues the nefa rious
Queen of Space in the depths of her domain ! Or,
rather, it contains many different ways for that
adventure to end. You'll never defeat the Queen, but
you can choose how you'll fail!
Just open to a page - any page - and read how you r
adventure ends. If you're lucky, maybe you'll get to
meet your end at the hands of the Queen herself!
They took your ship and your pilot! But you soon find
Suzie, strapped to a gurney while she waits to be
taken to the Robot Tickling Room , one of the Queen's
most nefarious places of punishment. There's a single
guard, reaching for a red call button! You clonk her
first and free Suzie, to the pilot's great relief. Now
you've got to find the ship. "Strap her down," Suzie
says with a wicked smile you know too well.
"What docking bay is our ship in, Lieutenant, ah.
Jetta Jupiter?' Suzie asks, reading the captive's badge.
"I don't know!" Jetta pleads, squirming in the straps.
"Maybe I should pass you on to tickle bots," Suzie
threatens, tracing a finger along the call button that
summons the robots. You'll have five minutes to clear
out before they get here, collecting whoever they find
and taking them to the Tickle Chamber. Jetta's eyes
go wide. "You're not ticklish, are you?" Suzie asks,
fingering the lace of Jetta's boot. "No," she whimpers.
But Suzie's adept fingers quickly reveal the
captive's lie. "Which of these piggies knows where my
spaceship is?" Jetta makes lots of sounds, not many
of them words. Watching Suzie at work is getting you
a little flustered. You have to lean against the wall.
Five minutes later, Jetta squeaks, "It's Bay 12!"
Suzie turns to you with a smug smile. Then she sees
that you're leaning on the call button. Right at that
moment, robots burst into the room .
"A letter," commands the Queen, "to the Duchess of
Milabia, in triplicate!"
The Queen's three stenographers, chained to
their typewriters, prepare to take dictation. Each is
nude save for an opaque black hood over her head:
the Queen's stenographers are touch typists.
This is your opportun ity! You'll replace the
Queen's overtures of diplomacy with a letter that you
yourself have prepared ! Ha ha! As the Queen's
secretaries type - "It was really nice seeing you the
other night..." - their pages flutter down a chute to
stack in the Out Box. Masked by the sound of thirty
fingers typing, you creep behind the three-slave desk
to the pile of papers and make your substitution .
"And just what are you up to?" asks the Queen.
Uh oh! As the servants dutifully type her words, you
feel the Queen's eyepatch ray-gun pop you. Your body
tingles and stiffens. "Stand up." Your body obeys.
As you look on, immobil ized, the Queen snatches
the paper from the Out Box and reads. "With the
blindfold over my eyes, I can't see you, but I can feel
your breath on my ear. I tremble as you describe how
my body looks tied to the bed." That's the wrong
paper!! You blush. The Queen raises her lip in a smirk.
You spend the rest of your life chained to a
typewriter in a dungeon cell, writing stories for the
"The undercaves of Sub Sapia comprise a planet-wide
cave system, a mazelike inner world just below the
surface," the Galactipedia on your belt cheerfully
lectures. "The most dangerous native hazard to huma n
explorers are the indigenous Tunnel Trolls, but having
evolved in pitch darkness they avoid all light.•
At that exact moment , your plasma torch nickers
and goes out. It is now pitch dark! You bite your lip,
listening. Is that the shuff ling of feet in the distance?
"Relevant survival information," chirps your
Galactipedia. "Tunnel Trolls, being near blind , stalk
their prey by sound. If you suspect you 're being
tracked, endeavour to make as little sound as possible."
You sit, cover your mouth, hold your breath , and
pretend you can't hear troll mouths slathering nearby.
"Further information:" the Galactipedia continues ,
"Tunnel Troll diet." "SHH!" you hiss, fumbling in the
darkness for the 'Pedia's off button . Where is it?! "Sub
Serpentans are carnivorous," it goes on, "requiring
many pounds of meat each day to survive."
"Shut up!" you yell, now just slapping al the
thing. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!! Then unseen
hands snatch you off your feet!
"Relevant: Troll recipes. Sub Sapien Tunnel Trolls
actually possess a surprisingly accomplished culinary
culture. Shish-kebab is currently in vogue: tradition
stipulates a live roast."
A guard comes to release you early from the prison
recreation area - that's where the guards take turns
hitting you. "Gurg blarg VISITOR." She returns your
uniform , a grey sackcloth with an alien symbol you
think translates to "be extra mean to this one."
Your heart skips when you see Suzie, your pilot,
on the other side of the glass - as opposed to this side.
"Did you do what I asked?" you say. The guard's
standing right there, tentacles folded, but she only
knows a few words in your language.
"Yes," Suzie replies, producing a small cake as
pink as her hair. ''There's a photon grenade inside."
The guard teleports the cake across to you.
"I'll see you soon," you tell Suzie, reassuringly.
You stand and wait for the guard to escort you
back to your cell. But she doesn't move. "Blargle
gurgle EAT," she howls, tentacle tapping. Uh oh.
You lower your head and carefully take a tiny bite
of the cake. 'BLURGLE GARGLE EAT!!" the guard
screams, shoving your face in the cake with a tentacle.
You manage to pull the grenade into your mouth ,
keeping it hidden from the guard . You raise your head ,
smiling at the guard with your lips shut tight while you
pat your belly. "Mmmm ," you say convincingly.
"Garg blurg JAJLBREAKll" Your eyes snap to the
cake. Something metal is lying exposed in the pink
mush - the ring of a grenade.
"Finsters are just the nastiest mutants you'll ever meet
beneath the waves," Jane tells you while she ties your
ankles. 'When they catch an air-breather, they feed
her just enough oxygen to keep her alive while they
torture her in their underwater circus for the
amusement of the crowds." Laser Jane throws a
switch and you're hoisted into the air.
oday, of course, they're coming up empty.
We're gonna bag us a finster. You and me, partner."
You hang from the end of a small crane like a fish on
a line. The sea sparkles beneath you, unbroken.
You strain to watch as Jane ties some empty cans
to the line. Then she plops down on her beach chair,
lowers her hat over her eyes, and begins to snore.
The sticky jungle juice Jane painted your body
with is supposed to do the job of keeping would -be
captors stuck to you til Jane can reel you in. But the
sand that's gotten stuck in the juice has the added
effect of keeping you very, very itchy.
Jane's tied you much too tight to scratch yourself.
All you can do is squirm, skin burning, and stare at the
cool, wet sea. After a while, you begin to fantasize
about the cold sea rising up to take you, even
imagining dripping hands reaching up to cut you free
of your bonds.
Hours later, Jane wakes. "Goddammit," she says
to the cut rope dangling from her crane. "Not again!"