One of Our Submarines

Lord Townshend (aka Lord Turnips), the agriculturally-obsessed father of Captain Stuart Townshend (aka Lil' Stuart Turnips) stood on the deck of the Nautilus watching a glistening sunset of rare beauty. He was grateful that he could sit on the deck under natural light and read from the meager library of the Nautilus. Today he was reading an American author of the crime genre. It was not Lord Turnip's normal fare: definitely low-grade writing and second-rate subject matter, but filled with just enough titilation to keep one turning the pages. As he watched the sunset, the Nautilus, captained by the charming Nemo and his crew approached the Luzon Straight from the northeast. Turnips noted that Nemo and Brigadier Rossoroni bore a remarkable likeness. Perhaps a family connection?



Captain Nemo (left) and Brigadier Rossoroni (below)














Turnips recalled the conversation he had with Rossoroni about this matter as he showed the Brigadier the exact functioning of the time portal and they passed through to 1966. Lord Turnips had a very pleasant 2 hour block of training on the correct functioning of the time portal and Lord Turnips handed a facsimile copy of the owners manual to Rossoroni which included a 4 page troubleshooting guide and several FAQ about its use. The quality of the images in the owners manual was first rate as Lord Turnips had hired excellent pre-Raphaelite artists such as Dante Gabriel Rossetti to produce the schematics. (Author note: So there is no confusion, the Nautilus and crew are now in 1966).





(Picture of Lady Turnips commissioned by Lord Turnips done by Dante Gabriel Rossetti)

Turnips also wondered if his son was eating anything since starting his journey to capture the rascal Scaramanga. (Ed note: For further details on why this adventure took Turnips pre-pre-pre-pre tween son to the South China Sea see this link).

Lord Turnips decided to cable his wife, the Lady Turnips on his plans using the Nautilus' VLF radio. The VLF or ELF radio would theoretically be more secure than broadcasting in the clear on a higher frequency system but would take a longer time to send the message. Just as he was framing his message, one of the Nautilus crew ran up to him with a message from the radio room. Turnips could not recall the scruffy ruffian's name. Frankly he was terrified that this sudden movement from a member of the lower social orders was the signal for a mutiny. He'd been terrified of republican and jacobite rebellion ever since the incident at Boxing Day a few years back.

"Message for your lordship". Said the crewman who kept his eyes lowered and did a modest bow as he handed off the note.

"Thank you my good fellow". Lord Turnips tried to be as regal as possible as the lower orders tended to be over-awed by a show of grace.

Turnips opened the note which was apparently from Lady Turnips.

Dearest Husband,

I grow concerned at the quiet around the estate. I note that I do not hear the peals of laughter from our son. Is he off on some sort of adventure? Is he with you on the Nautilus? And what of you? Where are you? Why did you take the time portal with you? I had desired greatly to travel to New York in the year 1981 to witness the smashing 17 shows played by the Clash at Bonds Casino that was the pinnacle of their glittering but all to brief run as the only band that matters.

I worry also about the eating habits of our young lad. As you know the eating process is comprised of the following:

• Ingestion: placing food into the mouth
• Mechanical digestion & chemical digestion: mastication to tear and crush food, and churning of the stomach. Addition of chemicals (acid, bile, enzymes, and water) to break down complex molecules into simple structures
• Absorption: movement of nutrients from the digestive system to the circulatory and lymphatic capillaries through osmosis, active transport, and diffusion
• Egestion: Removal of undigested materials from the digestive tract through defecation

We must take care that the amount of food that he eats and the quality of same should be of sufficient quality that he derives sufficient nutrients to enable him to grow to full maturity.

Also, please return home soon to take care of other needs WRT our marital bed (e.g., the headboard is loose and makes superfluous noises whilst I sleep.)

Deepest love and respect, Lady Turnips.

As Turnips read this note with great interest he failed to note
the note-delivering crew member approach behind him with a truncheon.

WHACK!

At that Lord Turnips fell over the side into the inky black waters off of Orchid Island.

All Hail the Glorious People's Revolution!

The Brigadier stood at his entryway and watched Prince Otto’s carriage depart. The crisp early morning temperature had frosted the estate’s luxurious green sward, but the Brigadier betrayed no sign of discomfiture, or any sign of emotion whatsoever. As the Prince’s carriage rounded the bend, past rows of Italian poplar trees and prize winning hedges, Lord Townshead emerged from a nearby side hatch. The Brigadier began to grin.

“Why the happy face, Ambrose?” asked his turnip enthusiast friend, “and why on earth did you let that miscreant go? I would have run him through, or at least press ganged him onto my son’s pirate ship.” “It’s all part of a clever ruse, dear friend,” intoned the Brigadier. “Come inside, and I’ll explain it all over breakfast.”

And explain he did. As the Brigadier knew that no amount of torture could persuade Prince Otto to divulge the whereabouts of Lady Marzipan and her accursed Q-Device, the most logical course was to devise a way to make the she-devil come to him. Lord Townshead, after swallowing a bite of the delicious Monte Cristo being served for breakfast, said “But what about Otto? Won’t he and, by extension, Lady Marzipan, now know the whereabouts of the Ur-Gin?”

The Brigadier smiled confidently and tossed a small bit of his delicious Monte Cristo to his pet Corgi, Cerberus. “Oh, the Ur-Gin is quite safe here, old friend. My Pan-Dimensional Force Shield (PDFS) is quite unassailable and can only be deactivated by my own touch. But this also presents a problem. While my hands are needed to deactivate the field, they don’t necessarily have to be attached to my body to do it. So I must be proactive, and draw Marzipan to a place of my own choosing. And this I have done, I believe. Come into my study and I will show you.”

Upon entering the study, dominated of course by the magnificent armoire containing the Ur-Gin, the Brigadier explained his Ruse. “You see, as I ‘gloated’ in front of Prince Otto, I explained to him the story of the creation of the Ur-Gin in ancient Xanadu and how Chinese philosopher and strategist Sun Tzu led an expedition into the heart of Central Asia to recover the alcoholic talisman.”

Lord Townshead’s eyes lit up. “I see, I see. You gave Otto a point in time and geographical location that an unprotected Ur-Gin could be found. Marzipan will be drawn to it like a magnet!” “Precisely,” responded the Brigadier. “And I have conveniently arranged for an Asiatic Horde to be waiting for her when she arrives in 7th century BC China."

Townshead smilles, "You sly dog. You've done it again!"

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Lord Woodpecker-Smythe had a problem. He was sitting comfortably, and unfettered, on a sofa in a living room in Eastern Michigan sipping a Gin and Tonic and watching something called TV. But he was still a prisoner. Oh yes, he could come and go as he pleased, as long as he took his shoes off after entering the house, but he could not escape. He could not escape back to his own time. Marzipan has imprisoned him in the year 2008. She was a pleasant enough jailer, to be sure, if one forgave her quick temper and homicidal nature, but she was his jailer nonetheless.

On this particular evening Smythe was watching something called “Starship Troopers” on the “TV.” It was a fascinating story about how a group of fantastically good looking people saved the planet from some giant bugs. It was a story worthy of the Bard.

A loud buzzing sound started coming from Marzipan’s study, where she was engaged in something called “The Internet.” It was the blasted Q-Device with another message from one of her minions, no doubt. W-S soon heard gleeful chortling coming from the room. “I’ve got him! I’ve got him! Oh, well done Otto. You shall serve at my right hand.” Lady Marzipan came into the living room. “Put your shoes on professor, we’re going on a trip! Come on, chop, chop.” “And just where are we going this time,” quizzed W-S. “China, circa 7th century BC. I’ve got a date with Sun Tzu.”

“But I so detest the Chinaman’s cuisine, my dear,” started Woodpecker-Smythe. Marzipan didn’t care. “Shut up. I’ll need your considerable language skills to make my way amongst these barbarians.” Lady Marzipan began manipulating the Q-Device.

As the room began to spin, and the familiar blackness started to overtake him, Woodpecker-Smythe could have sworn he heard “Oh crap, forgot to carry the 9. 1966? We’re so screwed…”