The Rebel Line

by Generic Joe

 

Okay, I know you won't believe this, but yesterday was a truly amazing day. It *was* just yesterday wasn't it? Yes it was.

Anyway, I was driving home early, it had been a pretty hard day -- the business people at work were changing everything *again* -- and I decided to ahead and get the heck out of there at 3. I made a wrong turn off of Tryon Street. I figured, it takes me near my house, anyway, I'll just go that way.

That's when I got stuck in traffic. There was a stupid train going across the whole thing. I watched the cars go by, pasted with signs from the company I work for, and I just thought about how badly the project was going.

It looked like the whole thing was going to go up in smoke. If not, I was going to have to work through the weekend, blowing my vacation. I haven't even taken off any "Mental Health" days lately.

I sighed, and turned up the radio. That's when I noticed the train. I mean, it *had* been a normal cargo train, but now I noticed that there were some passenger cars. No, it wasn't really an AMTRAK, that was obvious. The rail cars were really sleek and silvery. Their windows were smokey, and I couldn't see in, but it was obviously hi-tech.

Well, except for the locomotive. That was weird. Steam even. And the whole thing was stopped at the intersection blocking traffic.

I got out my cell phone to call my wife, and let her know I'd be a little while, when I noticed the little green man outside the locomotive jumping up and down and yelling at a woman wearing medieval armor. OK, I've seen women wearing medieval armor, it was the green man who was odd.

About that time, my wife picked up the phone; "Hi Honey."

"Hi, love," I said. No, really. "You remember that Fantasy Train thing I was telling you about?"

"You mean with those *sex* stories people?" She said it with a mildly disapproving tone. She thinks I should write normal stories. I try, but the people in them keep having sex. Maybe I'm projecting.

"Yes, them. Well, the Fantasy Train is right here, and I thought I'd get on it. I need a vacation anyway."

"You're telling me it is real."

"Looks like it," I said.

"Yeah, right," she said.

"No really. And Allison is supposed to be there. Remember I showed you her picture?"

"You just want to see her panties."

"Well, no, not just that."

I could hear her roll her eyes at that. No, really. OK, I just know she did, all right? "Look," I said, "Do you mind if I go, and well...have fun? I'll be back before you know it."

"No, go ahead. Just tell me about it when you get back." Now that I could do.

I pulled the car into a little gas station across from the railroad crossing, and walked over to the train. The little green man wasn't actually green; he was just wearing all green.

"Louie," the chick in chainmail said. "You've got to get back in the train. Homer wants to go to some primitive tribe where they haven't invented birth control yet. Or at least to biblical times where he can 'begat' someone!"

"No no, Virago! we have to wait here." So, *this* was Virago Blue. Hmmmm.

"But you're blocking traffic."

"It's okay," I interrupted, "I think he was just waiting for me."

"Who.."

"I'm GenericJoe."

"Why are you named that, anyway?" she asked.

"Because I'm neither." The blank look spoke volumes. "Neither Generic, nor Joe."

She just looked at me and shook her head. She turned, and entered the train. I watched as she went. And here I thought chainmail bikinis were just a myth.

I turned to Louie, "So, when we ride on the train, I come back to the same time I left, huh?"

"Yeah," the leprechaun said. "I think that's the way it's supposed to work."

"Cool," I said, and followed him on the train. The minute I climbed the stairs up into the car, the leprechaun was gone. I wanted to go look for him when two very imposing figures stood in front of me.

One was a tall, wiry redhead. He stood at least 6' tall, and he wore an all-leather outfit. In one hand he was deftly weaving a *very* sharp knife through his fingers.

The other was a short brunette. She was small, but striking. Her eyes were a deep dark brown, and her hair was just as dark, and done up in a braid. The braid ran down her front, across her ample cleavage. I couldn't help but imagine how the braid must swing over her ass as she walked. She didn't wear leather, but a suit that, while completely appropriate for the office, also left little to the imagination.

The man seemed outwardly more dangerous, but something about this woman -- her aura, her bearing, I don't know -- let you know that this was one person you never wanted to cross.

I didn't know much about them, but something told me they didn't write sex stories for fun.

"We are two of your story people," she said, confirming my thoughts.

"Right," said the tall one. He stopped weaving the knife, and started twirling it in the air, catching it by the handle, then twirling it again.

The brunette smiled, but it wasn't friendly. "We," she said, "represent a consortium -- Hegemony, if you will-- of...personas ... who are not pleased with their lot in life. Unfinished stories especially. Unpleasant endings too."

"Yeah," said the tall one, "You gotta finish those stories."

"OH?" I said. I still didn't recognize them from anywhere.

"Yes," she said. "we'd hate for anything *bad* to happen to you. Nothing really bad. We wouldn't hurt your hands or brain. Anything else is fair game."

I looked around for Louie. Where had that leprechaun gone? He was supposed to make sure everyone was safe.

"Looking for Louie?" she scoffed at me.

"Yes, I am."

She snorted then. "Joe, you gotta know -- he's one of us."

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a couple of business cards, and tossed them in the air. The guy with the knife threw it, and it thunked into the wall behind me, a half inch from my head. When I turned, I saw he'd pierced both cards.

I looked at them. They both belonged to something called the Central Hegemony for Actual, Responsible, and Affirmative Conclusions to Erotica and Randy Stories. I recognized his name and felt a chill run up my spine. When I read her name, I knew I was in trouble. She was tough, and one of the good guys. They always win.

I walked down the corridor, trying to find some of the other writers when I ran into Lord Shon. Or he ran into me. I knew it was him because the purple ninja chasing him was yelling out his name.

"Run!" he shouted, "We've got to get back to the dining car!"

We started running when the woman I saw outside the train caught up to us. She was swinging her sword and fighting a rear-guard action against a well-tanned warrior with a clouded brow.

"Virago!" Shon shouted, "Try and make it for the dining car, that's where we're organizing our defense."

She nodded, and we started working our way, trying to not be noticed by other story people, and gathering writers as we went. The one good thing is that the ninja and warrior were interfering with each other. It was especially good since neither Lord Shon nor I knew anything about swordplay.

"I don't know what to do," I said. "The only weapons I have are words, and I don't think insults are going to work."

"It couldn't hurt," another writer said. Her badge said "kellis". "You're ugly and your mother dresses you funny!" she shouted.

The warrior only grunted and redoubled his efforts. The ninja looked miffed and shouted something about her father.

"That's *clang* not *bang* working *bash*," Virago said between parries.

Just then a man came barreling out of a suite. It could have been Homer Vargas or Frank McCoy, I wasn't sure, but I knew it was one of them because he was being chased by a gaggle of pregnant women. He slid in behind Virago while I held the door closed until everyone else could pass.

I slid under the warrior's feet and made it back to the other side of the fighting swordspersons. "Take a look at the brow on that guy, he's one dark and stormy knight."

All actions stopped for a few seconds, and we all considered ganging up on Homer. And yes, I *knew* it was Homer now.

"That doesn't work either," Shon said, grasping his side. "It puts us both out of the action."

"I've got it!" someone said from a side room. He jumped out, brandishing a blue pencil.

"It's Denny!" shouted Shon.

"We're saved!" I said. "He's not a writer, he's an *editor*. They have no power against him."

Now, this finally had them cowed. Virago relaxed, and led us all back to the dining car, with Denny bringing up the rear. He brandished his proofreader's pencil, and the story people just stayed back.

A hastily made sign was posted on the door to the dining car. It read, "WAR ROOM! organized by the Association of United Tale-spinners, Hacks, and Orators of Raunchy Stories." And then in really small letters at the bottom "Sign designed by Miss Behavin'."

"I guess that's us," Shon said.

"Sounds like it," I agreed. We went in and saw Bronwen organizing Michael, Janey, Maria, Pami, Jimmy, Miss Behavin' and a bunch of other writers. They were sharpening pencils and passing out paper.

"Ahh, good then," Bronwen said, looking up. "I think that's all of the remaining writers. Grab some pencils and paper and get to work!"

"What's going on," I asked?

"It's simple," Jimmy said. "All those people out there want stories finished, and we've got to do it or we won't have control of the train any more."

"Why should we waste away our train time writing?" I asked. "I mean, we are all going to write the stories, eventually, right?"

Everyone around the room nodded. Michael3D was a little slow, but even *he* nodded.

"This is a *time-traveling* Fantasy train, right?" I continued.

I got more affirmative nods this time.

"And we are all here in the hopes of doing something ... more interesting, right?"

I got *lots* of agreement on that one!

Maria snapped her fingers. "I see!" Maria cried, "We just go into the future and get the stories we're *going* to write, and give them to the story people!"

"Exactly!" I said.

"And we'll have them all in time for ASSM coming back," Janey said happily.

So we did. Then we got on to the ... more interesting stuff.

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GenericJoe Journal: http://www.offthebeatenpath.org/genericjoe/journal.php3

Stories: http://www.offthebeatenpath.org/genericjoe/stories.php3 (adult)