by Declan Finn
[PNH blinks] But, but, you can't be against us. You're a good leftist atheist. You hate right-wingers. You're just like us. You're on our side.
[JW's eyebrows shoot straight up] Really? Just like you? Have you two been paying attention to anything I've written? And I don't mean on Twitter, I mean on the screen. I don't shove my politics down the throat of my audience. Closest I think I got was making a lesbian couple on Buffy. I worked with a libertarian on Firefly. I'm all about the story, damnit. Haven't you noticed that the Hugo Award for best film went to Avengers in 2013? Last year, it could have been Pacific Rim, Iron Man 3, or Frozen. Seriously, are you blind? Your story format sucks. In 2015, all the film nominees were all about blowing stuff up -- Batman in space, Heinlein meets Groundhog Day, Legos, a Marvel space opera, and Captain America!
[TNH hisses] No!
[PNH] Not patriotism!
[TNH] Bad fic! Bad fic!
[JW rolls his eyes. Mutters] Why do I even bother? Let's try again: people want fun stuff to look at and read. Doctor Who is half of the television nominees. No one gives a crap right now about your message fiction. The only reason you have even half the voters you had in 2015 is because of--
[PNH] Don't say it!
[JW] Puppies!
[TNH immediately breaks out into hives. PNH sighs] Told you not to say it.
[JW] I'll let you know when I care.
[TNH] How can you do this to us! We gave you a Hugo for Buffy.
[JW rolls his eyes] In my last season. Thanks a lot.
[PNH grins] There were three nominations for Firefly!
[JW] Thank you for making my point. Those nominations meant jack. The show was and is still cancelled. You've managed to make the Hugos utterly meaningless. Why should one person be bothered voting for books when Tor has a lock? A lock you've rigged by handing your employees Hugo memberships.
[JW leans forward and points at them both] You two had better clean up your act, or else.
[TNH smirks] Or else what? You'll sic James Spader on us?
[An eight-foot fall robot of Ultron materializes behind Joss. The two publishers scurry against the wall in terror. The ghost of Ultron fades away. JW deadpans] Don't tempt me. That would be you getting off easy. He's already going to win 2016's Hugos. I don't need to be the spirit of Hugo future to see that.
[PNH] What are you going to do?
[Joss looks them both over] I'm going to tell you that your message fiction is dead, and if you fight the puppies like you have been, you're not going to like what happens next. Now, pardon me, I have to go write a script where I blow up all of Fox. I think I'll rewrite it later for an episode of Agents of SHIELD. Then I'll take a nap on my pile of Marvel money.
Third Spirit
[The Hayden's can't go to sleep. They're watching and waiting with the lights on. They almost don't see the shape that materializes from the wall. Unlike the others, it seems more solid. It is swathed completely in black, a hooded cloak that hides even the hands.]
[TNH jumps] Who the f*** are you?
[The cloaked figure looks back and forth between them. A card drops from each sleeve. They both pick up a card. The card reads "Ghost of Hugo Future, Esq. Nightmares, visions, and anxieties made manifest. 1-800-Bwa-HaHa"]
[PNH frowns] I think he's going to show us the future.
[TNH] Unlikely. Unless he's going to drag us out of the house. We are not moving from this bed --
[TNH throws the card down on the bed. It hits on a tiled floor. She looks up. She is on the floor of a hotel ballroom. It has been retasked like a giant throne room. There is a banner overhead: Hugos, 2035. Below the banner is a stage with a massive throne built on top of it. The man in the chair is dressed in a high-collared cape, and we're talking Dracula high. He is big and bald, with a beard that is oddly familiar]
[TNH gasps] No! It's Larry Correia!
[PNH] Not possible.
[PNH squints at the figure next to Larry. He is wearing a golden mask, but a military uniform] That's not Tom Kratman, is it?
[TNH] Forget him, who's that?
[Off to the side, a leather-clad figure lounges on the stage, as lanquid as the cats around her. PNH] Is that Sarah Hoyt?
[TNH clamps her hand over his eyes, then turns his head away from the Evil yet Beautiful Space Princess] Don't look.
[Larry Correia the merciless, the great and powerful International Lord of Hate, raises a gloved fist]. "Let the games begin!"
[Both Haydens look at the center of the main floor. It is covered with War Machine models, only they are not the standard miniatures, but bigatures that are life-sized models. Brad Torgerson is standing next to one side, flamethrower in hand. The hand-painted bigatures go at each other.]
[Meanwhile, overhead, there is a voice on a loudspeaker that says] Send out zee rocket ship Hugo to collect zee body!
[Tom Kratman looks up, and through the golden mask, says] It's not a real rocket ship, you know that, don't you? And what body? We haven't killed anyone yet.
[Loudspeaker] No, I just wanted to say that.
[Kratman sighs] Civilians.
[Larry laughs and slaps Kratman on the back] Be glad, friend Tom. You are once again going to win a Hugo.
[TNH] Again?
[PNH] No. Can't be!
[Kratman] Between me an John C. Wright, we've won every Hugo for the past twenty years. I guess Vox told the Tor editors to put some more work on his manuscripts, so he'll probably win next year.
[Larry gives a hearty laugh] Yes, where is the owner of Tor?
[Kratman shrugs] No idea. You know Vox Day. Can't pin him down. He might be sacrificing Andrew Marston to Cthulhu again. Maybe this time, the elder god won't cough him back up.
[TNH and PNH look at each other in terror at the prospect of Vox Day owning Tor. The cloaked figure gestures with a sleeve. Off to the side, there are two massive tables for gaming. Neither Hayden moves toward them, but find themselves at the tables anyway. The figures are old and gray, and being forced at gunpoint to play Dungeons and Dragons. There is a clock on the side of the table. The clock says they've been at it for three hours, yet the old folks are still at the character creation phase.]
[One of the guards nudges them.] Come on. At least fake like you can create a character.
[The old woman with the deadlocks snarls at the guard] We dont' do characters! We do messages.
[One guard looks at the other. They both growl in frustration] Screw it, they can't get past the character development stage. They're worthless. Time to party.
[Old woman 1 growls] And tell Vox I told him to screw himself.
[Guard calls over shoulder] Yeah yeah lady. Whatever you say. Whoever you are.
[Old woman 1] I'm NK Jemisen! I'm important
[The older, mostly dead folk at the table lurch to their feet, and wander over to the other D&D table, where there are no guards. This table is already rolling dice. The aged and decrepit start insulting and critiquing them. One player wheels himself out from the table. He is wearing a yellow suit while in a wheelchair. He simply reaches down into a pocket, comes up with ninja throwing stars, and drives off the puppy kickers harassing them. He goes back to playing.]
[Ninja] You really should have kept up with the technology guys. Science fiction really was writing the future. You could have gotten in on the ground floor of Prolong. But no, it sounded like a David Weber concept, and you people couldn't be bothered. Tsk tsk.
[The Haydens move closer. Two of the aged and ancient figures look familiar. It's them, only with a foot an a half in the grave]
[TNH] Noooooo! I'm old!
[PNH] I lived that long!
[In a flash, they are back in their beds. The cloaked figure of the future is still there. The Haydens are frantic]
[TNH] That can't happen, right?
[PNH] Of course not!
[They both look to the cloaked figure. It stays silent, then shrugs. After a long moment where they just stare at him like stunned bison, the figure sighs, and to
sses off his hood. It is Vox Day himself. The Supreme Dark Lord and Assistant Night Manager of the Abyss laughs] You've been told by everyone this night! And you'll never listen! I don't want you to listen. The Hugos will burn because you will let it burn! It's already burning! It will be either owned by Sad Puppies or you'll destroy it in order to protect it from Sad Puppies! Either way, I win! You lose! MWAHA HA HA HA HAHA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!
[Vox continues to laugh, even as he fades away like the Chesire cat.]
[The Haydens look at each other in shock and dismay.]
[PNH] Nah. Can't happen
[TNH] Won't happen.
[PNH] Won't let it.
[TNH] Only thing that makes sense.
[PNH] Gotta be a dream.
[TNH] Has to be
[PNH] I mean, Robert Heinlein? Joss Whedon? Joss would never say such things out loud.
[TNH] Especially not to us.
[PNH] There are no enemies on the left. Right?
[TNH] Right!
[They both roll over in bed, pretending it was all a dream. After a moment, TNH rolls over, and looks across the room. The lamp she hurled at Joss Whedon is still shattered on the floor. She rolls over, and pretends to sleep]
~FIN~
The Spaying Season
Top Secret Safe Zone
[In the headquarters of the "Friends of Sweetness and Light," George RR "Angel of Death" Martin is fresh from his ivory tower and settles into a chair carved from the bones of all the characters he's ever murdered. He glares around the table] I have no intention of having anything go wrong this time. If I lose control of the meeting again, I'm going to show you what I do to characters who don't cooperate in my books.
[Everyone around the table is very, very quiet]
[GRRM smiles] Okay. Good. I'm understood. Now, the Hugo votes are going to come in, and -- aside from the helpful suggestion by Arthur that we call in a bomb threat, we are not going to do that -- we need to come up with a response. A calm, reasonable response, that doesn't involve minions calling the other side Nazis, or psychotic stalkers from Massachusetts.
[Patrick "Hearst" Nielson Hayden] I object. There was no evidence connecting us to Irene Gallo's remarks or Andrew Marston stalking that Shadowdancer girl --
[GRRM glares. In the dark, they hear the raspy sound of a sword slowly being unsheathed PNH falls silent] Marston is allowed to run rampant on File 770 --
[John "Noah Ward" Scalzi continues to stroke his white cat, looking at GRRM through his black knight helmet] No one's seen him for days.
[GRRM turns the glare on Scalzi. Scalzi ignores it like it was just a scratch. GRRM turns back to PNH] As I was saying, in addition, your minion Igor backed Gallo against Tom Doherty; Doherty just tried for some civility while your minions were screaming censorship. Shut up, sit down, and stop interrupting me. As I said, we're going to be civil about this, no matter what the outcome is --
[Teresa "Long Knives" Hayden leans back in her chair] I already know the outcome.
[GRRM stares, slackjawed] You what? How? The votes just came in. And we're not supposed to know.
[TNH smiles] I knew when the Puppies got all the nominations, what makes you so surprised that I know about the winners?
[GRRM] I don't want to know, that would make me a party to --
[Scalzi leans forward like an eager schoolboy being offered his first encounter] I do, tell me.
[TNH slips out a piece of paper and slides it over. Scalzi's smile falls.] I don't see a single "No award" winning.
[GRRM, through gritted teeth, says] Scalzi, put that away.
[Scalzi] Oh, grow a pair, George.
[GRRM] Do I look like one of the Wu family?
[PNH] Brianna or Frank?
[GRRM glares] Brianna had hers cut off, and keeps Frank's in a lockbox, so either one will work.
[Scalzi] Just because Brianna is trans and claims half of Frank's Hugo award doesn't mean --
[GRRM] Keep this up, and your balls will join them. Now we will not cheat and look at who wins. Let's just say that any Puppy victory will be a slight setback, and --
[N.K. Jemisin, Angel (of color) of the Morning] NO! Any win will be a triumph of racist, sexist Nazi homophobes!
[GRRM holds up two fingers] One: isn't that redundant if they're Nazis? And two: enough with the insults. You're not helping the cause.
[NKJ] Two fingers? Don't you know that's an insult in Britain? Are you trying to --
[GRRM] Seriously, even Cersei does a better job of pretending to be a lady than you. So does Bruce Jenner.
[NKJ pouts] How dare you! I've already been spayed! Now you're insisting on being gender-normative? You CIS-male dirtbag you.
[In the darkness, a sword swings and sings, an occasional slash catching the light. Someone is obviously taking some practice swings. NKJ falls silent. GRRM clears his throat] As I was saying, we're going to be civil, damnit. Hell, if some of you idiots hadn't been ranting, raving, and railing nonstop for months on end, this wouldn't look like a total train wreck as we have our heads handed to us.
[Scalzi] We won't --
[GRRM] You've made it so that anything less than a massive Noah Ward win would mean defeat, you moron! Even though that would actually mean a Rabid Puppy win! You cried like a stuck pig, whining that they stole the damn voting process, and instead of trying to back it up and saying "they cheated, game called due to interference," you tried to hide behind the skirts of the voters, telling them to No Award everything puppy. You slandered and libeled the puppies, and didn't have the balls to back it up. Did you and Jemisin get a bargain deal on being neutered?
[NKJ] No, I had mine done recently. He's been like this for years.
[GRRM nods sagely] True. This presumes that Scalzi ever had any balls to start with.
[TNH] I know how to respond. We have friends over at the Guardian. They'll just do one of their weekly articles.
[GRRM groans] I said civil, not those losers again.
[TNH] They're British, so they're always civil. We'll run it past Adam Roberts.
[GRRM blinks] Who?
[TNH] Exactly. Now, does Torgersen have two E's or two O's?
[David "Cryptkeeper" Gerrold, off in the corner, drooling and staring blankly, suddenly screams] VVOOOOOXXXXX DDDAAAYYYY
[TNH nods, as though taking notes] Right David. Mustn't forget Vox Day. And the outlandish John C. Wright!
[GRRM cocks his head] How is Wright outlandish? Have you ever heard him? The man doesn't get much more civilized.
[NKJ scoffs] He's white.
[GRRM] So am I. And?
[Scalzi sneers] He's Catholic.
[GRRM] So?
[Arthur "Ladyboy" Chu flings his feather boa up into the air in frustration] Wright actually believes all of that religious claptrap, and hasn't even apologized for it. Not once!
[GRRM] Do you people even listen to yourselves, or does noise just randomly pop out without needing to go through your brains?
[Scalzi] Make sure the article reminds everyone that the Puppies are angry white men --
[GRRM sighs] Obviously not. Didn't we have this discussion? Sarah Hoyt? Cedar Sanderson? Kate Paulk? Larry is Portuguese? Brad's wife is black?
[TNH] -- whose real issue is that society is too feminist, too multicultural, and will listen to trans and gay people. Right?
[GRRM] Not only do you not listen to yourselves. You don't listen to me, either.
[AC] And the Puppies are pissed that they're losing
[GRRM shakes his head] Now that's just delusional.
[Gerrold] VVOOOOOXXXXX DDDAAAYYYY
[TNH nods] And all their nominees are crap.
[GRRM goggles] Jim Butcher's proceeds from his last book could buy and sell you all three times! And that's inflating the retail price on every last one of you!
[Scalzi cackles] By the time we're done, the Guardian will have shifted the goalposts so far, we'll win no matter what the outcome!
[GRRM glares, rises to his full height] I
told you I will not let this spiral out of control again. And now, I have only one thing to say to you all.
[Everyone ignores him as they continue to take notes on what the article should say]
[GRRM whispers] The Lannisters say hello.
[Every last one stops talking and looks up in terror. White Walkers emerge from the darkness. Screaming ensues.]