”What was he thinking?” André Norton contemplates the hirsute head floating in the glass jar.
“He was thinking he didn’t need his seat belt.” Heinie‘s adapted to the low tobacco content of Mars by fashioning a cigarette holder from cast-off plastic with a bit of rolled paper, colored red at the end so you know he’s got it lit. He’s shifting the surrogate smoke from side to side in his teeth.
MarsFest is showing on the bar’s large monitor. ”Why don’t they get on with it?” He waves his fake smoke at the screen.
”Pence always has to give a speech. Want another G ‘n’ T, Mr. Heinlein?”
”But of course, must fight the scurvy you know.”
”Got any new work in the pipeline Mr. Heinlein?” Asks Marigold.
A slight shake of the head. “Nah, nothing solid. Not yet. I miss my typewriter.”
André turns from Kilgore’s head. “We could finish some of Trout’s work. I found some manuscripts in his luggage.”
”Say what?”
”True. He stowed his luggage better than he stowed himself. Even with his free ride to LunaCon he was still busy writing filler for girlie mags.”
”Really?”
“Well Marigold, our friend Kilgore was always short on money.” She shrugs. “Porno mags always need filler between the photos and they don’t care much about what it is, so you can crank out a few thousand words and cash the check.”
She puts a sheaf of papers on the bar. ”The Million Dollar Dildo.” André makes a flair in the air with her hand. Heinlein is chuckling.
”What a card, where did he come up with this stuff? What’s it about?”
“Let me tell you. This isn’t a finished manuscript, more like a general outline. Here we go.” André adopts her dramatic voice and begins reading. “On an alternate Earth, somewhere near you, an oppressive government regulates all pleasure with devices.”
”Ah, you mean sex toys?” Winks Heinlein.
”Does the Pope wear purple knickers?”
”That’s what I’ve heard. Please continue.”
”The US government is being secretly run by The Association of Spiritual Sisters who give their instructions through the TeeVee…”
”…the A.S.S. As it were…” adds Asimov.
”…indeed. They always appear in white leather nun getups. The devices are built by a company called JizSys and they’ve been implanted in everyone’s underwear.”
”But of course…”
”This being a Kilgore Trout story there’s yet another level of mind games. JizSys is run by a CEO known as Jonah Castro, but his secret identity is ‘Rebel Genius’. Rebel Genius takes a particular daily cocktail of drugs that makes him immune to the A.S.S. broadcasts, and dammit if he isn’t sick of those things and the whole A.S.S. business.
You see, Rebel Genius has come up with a plan he calls ‘The Big O’. He’s going to blast the American public out of their stupor. To put his plan in action he’s built The Million Dollar Dildo – using his advanced research into Teledildonics the M$D is connected to the panties of every American through Quantum Entanglement.”
Asimov leans forward. “You mean?”
André continues reading from the story outline. “That’s right. When the user of the M$D climaxes, so will every American. Rebel Genius calls this ‘The Big O’. The catch? As a male R.G. just can’t use that dildo to swing an orgasm with the catastrophic wallop needed for this job so he’s got to get it into the happy hands of someone who can really hit the spot. He’s planned ahead and he’s already got his woman in place, ready for the Super Bowl when every American will be watching.
Word of his plan gets out and Jonah Castro (secretly Rebel Genius) gets a call from President Big Dingus. “Castro!” Dingus barks, “Agnew Jr here tells me there’s a plot by some guy calling himself >snort< ‘Rebel Genius‘ – a plot to blow the minds of innocent Americans who just want to have a good time at the Super Bowl! I need you to do something, yesterday!”
”Say what?” Castro snaps his fingers and waves one of his cloned midgets over. “Number Five, put together an elite squad of MurderBots and get over to The Taco Bell Dome STAT!” but inside he’s thinking: “I have to not catch myself, before it isn’t too late!” André points to the page. “Kilgore noted in pencil about how he loves throwing in a little mindfuck plot twist.’
Meanwhile President Big Dingus gets a video call from Queen Bee, head of A.S.S. “Dingus! Have you nailed that fucker yet!” She beats her riding crop over the head of a man in a French maid uniform who appears to be pruning her toenails.
“We’re on it, Queen Bee!” Dingus snaps off the vid screen and turns to Agnew Jr. “Queen Bitch is more like it. Sheesh.”
Meanwhile, in the back room of Rebel Genius’s sex toy lab, a sneering midget with a Freddy Mercury mustache and rubber underwear is tuning a short-wave radio. “Queen Bee, this is Termite. Rebel Genius is sending the Dildo to the Super Bowl and Castro is sending a squad of MurderBots to the SuperBowl to stop himself. What should we do?”
”Alert the cheerleaders.”
Marigold knocks back a shot of Mars Tequilla. “¡Carumba! This story is pretty weird.”
“The scene changes to somewhere in the concrete corpus of The Taco Bell Dome. The roar of the crowd above can barely be heard over the smell of the crowd’s sweat. Two battered robots are handing a long and narrow box to Heavy Biguns, leader of the Super Bowl cheer squad.”
”Quick Mistress, take the dildo and get in the cake. It’s almost the halftime show and here come the MurderBots and the other cheerleaders!” She climbs inside the cake, where she will be hidden from view until the big moment when the spring-loaded floor flings her out of the cake at the climax of the half-time show. She flips open the box and lets out a low whistle when she sees what’s inside.”
”The things I do for Freedom, America, Liberty and Apple Pie.”
“Out on the field the pride of American Manhood kicks a field goal and the clock says it’s halftime. A stage rises from underneath the field and the music begins to swell as dancers cavort. But that’s not all that’s swelling. Queen Bee jabs another male French maid in the chest with her riding crop. “What’s with you, Cabaña Bob?” “Dunno, I feel funny. In my pants.”
“At JizSys HQ, watching the Super Bowl crowd on their feet and screaming with a throaty roar Rebel Genius is rubbing his sweaty palms. “That Jonah Castro, I’m using his own weapons against him. At last I’ve got me where I want me!”
“Invisible to the crowd, inside the cake, now high on the stage with Heavy Biguns inside with the Million Dollar Dildo, only a few nearby are disturbed by the loud buzzing and moaning. The guitars hit a crescendo, fireworks burst over the dome, and from the cake springs a new queen!”
”It’s The Big O!” Screams Rebel Genius as a tremendous shout and moan rolls through the crowd in the stadium and across bars and TV rooms all over America. It’s…”
”It’s? It’s what?” asks Marigold.
”I dunno” answers André. “That’s all he wrote.”