By Way of the Dodo

In a large, pink-metallic office building, on the 234th floor, the third board room on the right after passing the exploding water fountain and the tempermental stairway, Dratnal Fjord was not happy. However, the stairway had just met with its psychiatrist, and felt rather well after a hefty dose of Soopem-Up-Feelem-Good pharmaceuticals.



It is the year 2314, and there are still office buildings and boardrooms. In fact, there are more office buildings and boardrooms than had ever existed before. Elevators are the subject of massive wildlife conservation campaigns as they are being replaced all over with empty vertical corridors and personal jet packs--more expensive, more neurotic, but considerably less safe.



Dratnal Fjord was an angry man. Due to a horrific accident involving stupidity, plutonium and juggling chainsaws, most of his natural body had been replaced. Now he was a patchwork of different colored plastics and metals. The only prosthetic arms available to him at the time of his accident were of infant-length; he lacked the patience to wait for a more suitable pair. Dratnal did not like being called Stubby. His employees knew that calling him Stubby would result in their instantaneous vaporization, in spite of the union ruling against vaporization of its members.



Of course, they also realized it was just one of the professional risks of working for the Whoopie Fun Ice Cream Company.



Dratnal's glowing red eyes made everyone in the boardroom uneasy. He drummed his fat yellow fingers on the table as his head was enveloped in the smoke from his atomic cigar. If he had friends, they would have encouraged him to quit the nuclear stogies, or at least cut down. But Dratnal Fjord didn't have any friends, and he liked it that way. No one to annoy him with their concern for his health. He puffed.



Mutter Haslow and his pet briefcase Bork finally arrived in the boardroom. Mutter scurried over to Dratnal, and bowed humbly. "My corporate lord," he pleaded. "I am very sorry to be late."



Dratnal spoke no words, but grunted. Mutter looked for his left hand, and discovered it had been vaporized. He smiled in relief. "Oh thank you, thank you, sir, for your leniency." Mutter and Bork assumed their seats.



With a wave of his hand, Dratnal closed the doors of the boardroom. A loud clank resounded as the room was locked. The twenty-odd assemblants--human, creature and briefcase--quickly jumped to their feet and began to sing:



"All hail the corporate master we love



With the skill of adept and the smell of a glove



To you, oh master, we pledge our devotion



And not just for the chance at a promotion



Oh no! We live to serve you, and we rejoice



We wouldn't quit, even if we had the choice



May you forever over this world reign supreme



Great Dratnal Fjord, of Whoopie Fun Ice Cream!"



They sat down.



"Mumford," growled Dratnal. "You didn't keep in harmony."



"Sorry, sir," the feathered man with the fluorescent cock-comb apologized. "My cat ate my ears this morning."



"How many more times will you use that excuse?"



"I can't help it. My cat has weird tastes."



On a normal day, Dratnal would have pursued the matter to such extremities that extensive proof of Mumford's indiscretions in the company would be created, and, more than likely, Mumford vaporized. But Dratnal had bigger things on his mind.



Dratnal Fjord cleared his voluminous throat with a noise not unlike an elephant imploding. "This is Dr. Slime, from the Time Travel Institute." He motioned to a large beige blob sitting on the table in front of him. The blob opened its blue eyes, and sprouted an arm. It waved.



Everyone envied Dr. Slime. Dratnal had almost never vaporized a guest.



"Dr. Slime approached me last week about a discovery his team had just made at the institute...a discovery directly affecting the Whoopie Fun Ice Cream empire. Naturally, I was eager for this information, and so I pooled all of your salaries for the next three years in order to make an offer for which he would negotiate his ethics."



"I assure you, Dratnal," Dr. Slime spoke from some unseen orifice in a nasally, congested voice. "It was a bargain."



"Oh, I agree." Dratnal puffed harder on his cigar. "So I have brought him here to tell all of you what he has told me. Then we can do our dictated democratic process."



The board members all nodded eagerly.



"I'll cut to the chase. The Whoopie Fun Ice Cream Empire is in dire danger. It will be completely erased from existence, utterly destroyed."



Mutter Haslow paled. As did his briefcase. "What do you mean, erased?"



"Just that. Just like it never existed. Eradicated. Kaplooie!"



A panicked murmur overwhelmed the room. "Now, hold on," Dratnal shouted. "It won't happen, because the good doctor will tell us how to fix everything."



Dr. Slime moved in something like a nod. "As you all know, the Whoopie Fun Ice Cream Company has been in existence for four hundred years. It has ruled the world for two hundred. Before that, it held the monopoly on ice cream and other frozen treats in the western world."



As we have discovered, the past is not solidified. Through the process of time travel and universe-shift, our pasts and futures are able to be altered. Such an alteration is going to occur that will destroy Whoopie Fun."



Unless," the blob gargled. "We stop it!"



Mumford squawked. "What do we have to do?"



"Time travel," declared Dr. Slime. "You must choose someone to go back and sabotage the one who shall destroy you."



"And who is the wretch."



Dratnal lifted a poster board from under the table for all to see. "And this is the trouble maker. Lute Napper."



Mumford chirped in horror. Mutter looked away and wretched quietly. A board member with long fangs and scaled skin screamed in terror.



"Hideous!"



"Abominable"



"Evil!"



"And so, here's the mission," Dratnal growled. "You, Mumford. You will go back in time. This Lute Napper lived in this very geographic area, 350 years ago. You will use the Institute's Phenetron Generator."



"I understand," Mumford said.



"According to our history files," Dr. Slime added. "The one who you seek was working in a university laboratory, but was fired. However, a time swerve is bound to occur, that will keep that one from being fired, and will lead to your destruction." Dr. Slime coughed. "It is up to you to correct that time swerve."



"I will do so," Mumford declared.



"You'd better," spat Dratnal. "Or I'll vaporize you twice."