Message-ID: <21949asstr$945907800@assm.asstr.org>
X-Original-Message-ID: <19991222173030.59513.qmail@hotmail.com>
From: "Vickie Morgan" <artemis55@hotmail.com>
Cc: "missbehavin" <missbehavin@sprint.ca>
Subject: {ASSM} [2/4] Goodbye Columbus (Fantasy Train Story) {Vickie Morgan}
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain;
	charset="iso-8859-1"
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
X-Priority: 3
X-MSMail-Priority: Normal
X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V5.00.2314.1300
Date: Wed, 22 Dec 1999 19:10:00 -0500
Path: assm.asstr.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr.org/Year1999/21949>
X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-admin@asstr.org>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@asstr.org>
X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, newsman, gill-bates, apuleius

 WARNING: This story includes sexually explicit material.

 I would like to thank the proof-readers for all their help

 Any comments, including constructive criticisms, would be
 most appreciated.  Please send to artemis55@hotmail.com

 This work is copyrighted by the author.  You may download and keep
 one copy for your personal use as long as my by-line and e-mail
 address and this paragraph remain on the copy.  Any posting or
 reposting on a website, other than the archive or Dejanews, or
 to a newsgroup requires my permission first (but I'll probably say
 yes). This story should not, under any circumstances be used to make
 a profit by anyone other than the author.

======================================================================

Goodbye Columbus (A Fantasy Train Story)
Part Two

by Vickie Morgan

There seemed to be any number of parties going on throughout the
train, some more intimate than others.  I made several more failed
attempts to communicate with my fellow passengers, but anything more
than monosyllabic produced blank looks on my interlocutor's face.  In
my present anti-social mood, it wasn't really surprising I ended up in
the more isolated areas of the train.  Eventually I found myself in a
dark and deserted stretch of corridor that terminated in a small room.
There were so many dials and levers and buttons to occupy my attention
that at first I didn't notice the short green man perched on bench.

"Oh, you must be the leprechaun," I said, somewhat inanely.

"No shit," he responded grumpily.  "Full marks for observation.  And
before you start, I've already heard all the Lucky Charms jokes."

"Lucky charms," I asked in puzzlement.  "You mean those little
ornaments people hang on bracelets?  What's that got to do with
anything?"

"No, the breakfast cereal."  He stopped and looked at me more
carefully.  "You're not American, are you?"

"No shit.  Full marks for observation," I echoed sarcastically.

"Well, you must be Vickie Morgan.  Sit yourself down," the little guy
said, a smile appearing like magic on his face.  "Finally, someone
from the old country."

"I'm from Yorkshire, not Ireland," I pointed out.  "Sven the Elder is
from there, but I think he's too busy to take time out for this train
ride.  In fact, as far as I can tell, I'm the only one from the UK
here."

"Really?  There's quite a few British ASS writers, I'm pretty sure we
picked some up."

"If they're here, I haven't seen them.  I tried to get Nick to come,
even offered him not only a good argument but also to let him beat me
at chess, but I couldn't persuade him.  I thought maybe Bronwen or
Elena would be here, but I haven't seen hide nor hair of them.
Everyone I've met is American, and they can't understand a word I say.
As soon as I open my mouth, they look at me like I'm mentally
deficient," I groused.

"That's nothing to the way they treat me.  If they're not saying how
'cute' I am, they're making jokes at my expense.  Just because I'm
short doesn't mean I don't have feelings.  And when I tried to express
my admiration for Virago Blue, she got all ratty and half-throttled me
with Pami's nipple chains.  If I'd known that this was going to
happen, I'd have let Shon have his first wish and to hell with the
consequences.  Hey, would you like a drink?"

He produced a bottle and a couple of glasses from out of nowhere, and
poured me a generous measure.  The amber colour and unmistakable smell
told me that it was malt whisky, and I took a generous gulp.  It
burned down my throat and a lovely warm feeling spread through my
stomach.  I was feeling better already.  I settled down on the bench
next to him and took another swig.  I began idly inquiring about the
functions of the various buttons and levers in front of us.  The
little man gave me a rundown, all the while complaining about his
fate.  He seemed to be mainly reserving his venom for Shon, who he
blamed for his current predicament.  I gathered that not only was the
Fantasy Train a severe drain on the leprechaun's magic powers, but he
had also been forced to call in numerous favours to create it.

After a while his grumbling faded into the background and I just sat
there sipping my drink and feeling sorry for myself.  By the time I
realised that my glass never seemed to get any emptier, it was too
late.  There was a buzzing in my brain and my fingers seemed to have
become very fat and clumsy.  When the leprechaun sat forward and
peered into my face, I had difficulty bringing his face into focus.
He gave a satisfied grunt, then blew a handful of powder into my face.
When I stopped sneezing, everything seemed clearer but somehow more
distant.

"I think that's a good idea of yours," the little green man told me.

"You do?" I asked, trying to gather my wits together.  "Which idea was
that then?"

"To get rid of Americans," he prompted, a strange smile on his face as
he watched me.

"Get rid of Americans?"

"Yeah.  No more e-mails telling you that you can't spell because you
put a 'u' in 'colour'.  No more having to call football 'soccer' just
so they know what you're talking about, even though real football has
been around for hundreds of years before they invented their strange
game.  No more people telling you that you talk funny.  No more
machines that don't know how to make a cup of tea.  No more
Barbie-obsessed men tricking me into this caper."  His voice petered
out, but for some bizarre reason his tirade made sense.

"Um, remind me again, how am I going to do this?"

"This is a time travelling train, remember.  You can go back in time
and change things, if you want," he said carefully.  I tried to figure
out what he meant, but my brain just wasn't functioning properly.  The
leprechaun heaved a sigh.  "Who was responsible for the discovery of
America?"

"I don't know, I never did American history, just medieval European.
Oh, hang on, wasn't it that Columbus guy?"

"Well done," he said, for some reason heaving a big sigh.

"Mind you, the natives were there before that, and I'm sure plenty of
sailors knew it was there before Columbus showed up," I observed, the
buzzing in my brain quietening for a moment.

"Give me strength," the leprechaun muttered.  He dug in a pocket and
flung a handful of powder in my face again.  When I finished coughing
and spluttering I felt very strange, but everything he said seemed to
make perfect sense.

"Right, so if you wanted to get rid of all Americans, and Columbus was
the discoverer of America, and you had the means to travel through
time, what would you do next?" he asked.

"Well, I could go back and try to persuade Columbus not to find
America," I suggested brightly.

"What a brilliant idea," he enthused.  "Well if that's what you wish
to do, I'll take you to him immediately.  I'll aim for the point in
his journey when all on board had just about given up any hope of
reaching land.  If you show up then, I'm sure it will be easy enough
to persuade him to turn around."  He turned and started pulling levers
and entering data on a keyboard, but I'm sure I heard him mutter,
'Even for a clueless gowt like you.'

If I hadn't been looking out of the window, I would hardly have
noticed the train turning and slowing down.  Within moments the
vehicle was stationary, and when I stuck my head outside I discovered
that we were hovering just above the waves of an ocean.  It was
getting on for evening, and about fifty metres away I could see three
weather-battered ships sailing together in an otherwise empty ocean.

"Won't they think a hovering train a bit strange?" I asked.

"I've made sure they can't see us," he told me impatiently.  "Now we
have to get you prepared.  Can you think of anything you will need?"

"Food," I said immediately.

"Food?"

"Of course.  The way to a man's heart is through his stomach, I
thought everyone knew that.  If I give him a tasty and exotic meal,
he'll be much more willing to listen to my suggestions.  Especially if
he's been eating shipboard rations for weeks."

"Hmm, maybe you're right," he admitted grudgingly.  He opened a
cupboard and pulled out a collapsible table, which he proceeded to set
 up and cover with a white tablecloth.  He moved to a keypad, similar
to the one I had struggled with in the kitchen.

"Right, what do you want?"

"Er, let's see.  What century are we in?  Fifteenth?  How about a
stir-fry, he probably won't have had much Chinese food.  And one of
those Thai curries with all the coconut and lemongrass.  And a real
Indian curry, a mild Korma and something hot like a Vindaloo.  Then a
fresh green salad, with all those fancy purple leaves in it.  And some
pilau rice and some egg fried rice and some naam bread and popadoms
and prawn toast and prawn crackers.  Oh, and stick in some chicken
drumsticks with that spicy coating."  I paused for thought, and heard
the leprechaun muttering something about feeding a damned army.
Ignoring him, I continued with my menu.

"Then we'll need something sweet.  So lets have a fresh fruit salad,
with all the exotic fruits in it like mangoes and kiwis, and lashings
and lashing of custard and cream.  And a sherry trifle, and
queen-of-puddings, and lemon meringue pie, and chocolate cake, and
summer pudding."  I stopped, having run out of both breath and
imagination.

"Right, got all that," he sighed, pulling the covered plates out of
the machine and stacking them on the table.  He fitted them on
somehow, sighing and grumbling as he rearranged them.

"Now, how about you?  You'll be wanting something to wear, I suppose."

I looked down at my jeans and top.  "Good point.  Can you magic me
something up?"

"I'm no fairy godmother and you are definitely not Cinderella," he
snapped, yanking open the door of a cupboard.  He rummaged around,
then tossed me a long white robe that laced up down the front.  "Here,
put this on?"

"This?" I asked doubtfully.

"All the saints preserve us," he exclaimed.  "Just put it on, trust
me.  After all, you're going to have to tell him you're a vision sent
by God to warn him, so this is very appropriate."

"Why am I going to tell him that?"

"Well, how else are you going to explain appearing on his ship out of
nowhere, along with a small banquet?"

"Oh, good point.  I'm still not sure about this dress thing though.
It's a bit flimsy, are you sure you don't have anything else?"  I
peered over his shoulder into the cupboard.

"No," he snapped, slamming the door shut.  However he wasn't quite
quick enough and I had a quick glimpse of the contents.

"Wigs!"  I cried in delight.  "Can I have a wig?  One with long blonde
wavy hair.  I've always wanted to try a wig."

"That's maybe a good idea," he said, giving my hair a disparaging
look.

"It doesn't normally look this bad," I said defensively, automatically
running my hands over my hair to try and make it lay down neatly.
"It's just last time I was at the hairdressers we got talking, and she
asked me if she had been ripped off by a computer shop.  I had to tell
her she had, and she got a bit wound up and cut off more than she
meant to.  Which is why it looks like this."

"I don't really care," he said brusquely.  "You could have chosen the
demented hedgehog look on purpose, it doesn't matter.  All I care
about is you getting over there and persuading Columbus to turn around
and go home."

"Oh, he couldn't do that," I said.

"What!" he screeched.  "Why not?"

"He'd have to go to Spain first, return the ships to Isabella and
Ferdinand, before he could go back to Italy."  For some reason, the
little green man began banging his head against the wall, muttering
what sounded like curses.  Eventually he stopped, grabbed a long
blonde wig and jammed it onto my head.

"Now if you just get changed, we can get started," he said.

"I'm not changing with you watching me," I pointed out indignantly.

"Fine, I'll just look at this wall until you say I can turn back
round," he suggested, suiting his actions to his words.  I fought my
way into the robe, which took a few minutes because I was still
feeling very dizzy.  There was no mirror to see what it looked like,
but by looking down I could see that my bra was visible through the
lacing and looked silly, so I took it off.  I kept my knickers on
though, VPL or not.  Trainers didn't seem to be appropriate footwear
for a vision, so I went barefoot.

When I was ready, the leprechaun positioned me on a pad, and my table
of food on another.  He clipped a band around my wrist, which he
explained would serve as a locator for the transporter, and he
attached my translator-cum-name-tag to it.  Apparently the table had a
built in locator device.

"I'm going to watch and listen on this monitor here," he told me,
turning it on.  When you want the food, clap your hands and I'll send
it over.  If you need to return in a hurry, press the button on that
band and it will bring you straight back here.  Ready?  Off you go!"

There was a rushing sound, and for a moment everything went black.
When my vision cleared, I found that I was stood in the centre of a
small cramped cabin.  I immediately fell over, as the floor was
pitching and rolling under my feet and I was still dizzy from the
whisky and whatever it was the leprechaun had been throwing in my
face.  I felt a hand on my elbow, helping me stand back up, but the
moment I regained my feet, the floor lurched again and I tumbled
forward.  I somehow ended up sprawled on the lap of a man who I
devoutly hoped was Columbus.  I tried to discreetly straighten my
clothes and push my borrowed hair out of my face.  He was a
middle-aged man, with weather beaten skin, bad teeth and a generous
growth of stubble.  I wish I could say he was good-looking, but I
would have to lie to do that.  He was staring at me as if I was a
snowman in June, which was hardly surprising.

"Who are you?" he demanded roughly.

"I'm a vision," I told him, gratefully remembering the leprechaun's
suggestion.  "I've been sent to warn and guide Columbus."

"Warn me about what?" he demanded.  "And who sent you?  Are you from
the devil, a witch sent to taunt and torment me?"

"No, no," I said quickly, vague memories of the usual fate of witches
at this point in history floating through my befuddled brain.  "I work
for the other side."

He still looked suspicious.  "You speak strangely," he observed, "but
how do I know you speak truthfully."

"I'm your guardian angel," I said, groping for inspiration.  "I have
come to feed and sustain you during your long journey, and warn you of
great peril.  See, a feast."  I clapped my hands, and the table
materialised in front of us.  I was hoping the sight and smell of food
would side-track him from asking awkward questions.  Sure enough, when
I started removing the covers, he lost no time pushing me out of his
way and getting tucked in.  Even allowing for the fact he might have
been extremely hungry, his table manners were disgusting.  He crammed
food into his mouth with his fingers, chomping away with his mouth
full and morsels escaping as he masticated.  It was a good job I
wasn't particularly hungry as the sight was turning my stomach.  I sat
in a corner and let him get on with it.

Looking around, I found my surroundings quite spartan considering that
this was the leader of the expedition's cabin.  There was a bunk down
one side, with a thin mattress and blanket, and a board that could be
raised during rough seas to stop you falling out.  There was a chamber
pot in one corner, which emitted a strong smell even though it was
empty.  A chest occupied one corner, with a chart draped over it and a
few more stacked besides it.  A smoky oil lamp swung from a hook in
the centre of the room, and there was a door with a simple bolt
holding it closed.  I don't quite know what I had been expecting, but
definitely something more salubrious than this.  Between my spinning
head, the motion of the ship, the sight of Columbus eating and the
mingled smells of stale sheets, urine and burnt oil it was a wonder I
didn't throw up.

At last, my companion gave a loud burp, and sat back with a satisfied
sigh.

"Good," he grunted, digging something out of his teeth.  His appetite
sated, he turned his attention back to me.  "Did you say something
about a warning?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, eager to complete my mission and get out of there.
"You must turn around and return home.  A dreadful fate awaits not
only you, but the whole of humanity if you continue."  I lowered my
voice and attempted to look suitably portentous.

"What kind of fate?" he asked.  "Are we talking sea monsters and
demons, or just storms and high seas?  There's nothing marked on the
charts."

"Terrors beyond your imagination, leading to awful agonies and a long
drawn out death," I told him, trying to avoid exact details.

"When is this going to happen?" he persisted.

"Soon!"

"Right, I'll go topside and see if I can see anything.  Maybe get them
to reef in the sail a bit."

"That won't be enough, you must turn back."

"Now look here," he said stubbornly  "do you know how hard it was
convince anyone to finance this expedition?  If I just turn back now,
I'll never get another chance.  Not only that, but I used my last bit
of gold to buy provisions and directions.  If I go back, how am I
going to live?  So I'm going to go on deck and see if there's anything
dangerous around right now, then when I come back you can tell me a
bit more about this terrible danger and we'll see if we can find a way
around it."

"There is no way around, you must turn back," I told him again, but I
was talking to his back as he left the cabin.  More than a little
disgruntled, I pressed the return button on my wrist.


Copyright Vickie Morgan, 1999
E-mail artemis55@hotmail.com

This story is distributed free of charge for your entertainment. It
does take quite a lot of time and effort to write, type, edit and post
a story, especially a long one like this.  All I ask is that you take
a couple of minutes to e-mail me, let me know that you've read this
and perhaps give some reaction. Thank you.

-- 
If you enjoyed this work, take a moment to email the author.  Your comments
are their only payment.  Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is
copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+- alt.sex.stories.moderated --- send stories to: <story-submit@asstr.org> -+
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-admin@asstr.org> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+