FORGOTTEN COMIC BOOKS #6: SECTAURS

G.I. Joe.  The Transformers.  Voltron.  Thundercats.  The Masters of the Universe.  They’re all great ‘Eighties toys, TV shows, and comic books.  But there are a few franchises that seem to have been forgotten by everyone.  In fact, I question a lot of my friends on this topic, and there seem to be three that NO ONE remembers:  Centurions, Dino-Riders, and Sectaurs.

At this time, there is only one other person I know who remembers Sectaurs, so I thought I’d take a look at a great forgotten franchise by examining the 8 issues Marvel put out between 1985-86.

All right, all right, I’ll admit, the execution is shit.  Holy fuck, does it suck.  But the idea is so awesome that I think it outweighs the awful storytelling.  Get a load of this:

Somewhere in another galaxy is a planet named Symbion, where insects instead of monkeys evolved.  They have a hexagonal map of their world (not round), and they even have their own language and alphabet (as depicted on the last page of issue one).  A long time ago, the Ancients ruled the planet, but there was a horrible storm that completely destroyed the world, including the Ancients.  As their last act on the planet, they created several Hyves to store all the knowledge they’ve acquired over the centuries.

Millions of years passed, and insects evolved into humanoid creatures called Sectaurs.  They’re broken down into two lands:  the Dark Domain and the Shining Realm.  The former is ruled by Devora, and as you can probably tell, they’re the Decepticons of our story.  The latter, our Autobots, are ruled by Regent Galken in the absence of the real commander, who vanished a long time ago in an attempt to find the mythical Hyves and therefore win knowledge of everything.

For the longest time, these two factions have lived in peace thanks to a treaty devised by Devora and Galken, but naturally, Devora has other plans.  She sends some of her soldiers into a borderland town to raid in the name of weeding out heretics (who are the only ones who understand anything about the Hyves).  As it turns out, there actually is a heretic in this town, and he accidentally finds a hidden Hyve.  The unfortunate result:  a poisonous gas shoots out into the atmosphere, and it’s capable of eating the flesh off the bones of any Sectaur on contact.

Now that everyone knows the Hyves really do exist, both sides find themselves in a struggle to be the first to discover the rest of them.  On the side of good, we have Dargon (the son of the rightful ruler of the Shining Realm), Mantys (later, Mantor, Dargon’s mentor and secret heretic), Zak (former head of the royal guard and best friend of Dargon), Pinsor (a local farmer who did good and became a renowned warrior), and Stellara (one of the only female Sectaurs; she used to be a great warrior until she lost her insectoid).

[One quick note:  all important Sectaurs are telepathically connected to an insectoid.  The more important you are, the bigger your insectoid.  For example, Dargon and Pinsor get to ride on their insectoids while the others hop along behind them, almost like pets.  However, the bond is so strong that if one feels pain or pleasure, the other one does, too.  If one of them dies, it’s a pretty good chance that the other will, too.  Stellara is rare in that she survived such an instance.]

On the side of evil, we have General Spidrax (the big bad with ambitions to surpass even Devora), Commander Waspax (bloodthirsty swine), Skulk (stepson to Devora and loyal to the cause), and Squito (a swamp rat with a penchant for being in the right place at the right time).

Since Devora didn’t technically break their peace treaty, Galken can’t exactly attack her and still keep the high road.  The solution:  Dargon and his friends will pretend to be traitors and leave the Shining Realm in search of the Hyves before Devora’s troops can find them.  The unfortunate thing is, Dargon has a lot of friends in the Shining Realm, and many of them think Galken is just a doddering old fool.  They’re starting to think of revolution . . . .

Pretty kick-ass, huh?  Sadly, writer Bill Mantlo falls prey to the way that every single fucking comic book was written back then.  He feels the need to explain everything.  How many times are we treated to the beginning of this story?  At least once an issue, and even then, we still get reminders from the editor as to what happened in the previous issues scattered about the body of the story.

Plus, you have to struggle through a lot of self-important dialogue to get to the good stuff.  Imagine the most stereotypical sword-and-sorcery kind of interactions and ratchet them up to a thousand, and you’ll get an idea as to how the Sectaurs talk to each other.  But it is worth it, just to see the strange idea playing around on the page.

But there really are great moments, like the time when Stellara finds herself in a position to telepathically connect with another insectoid.  It’s a pretty trippy scene, almost (not quite) worthy of early Vertigo books.

And there is a pretty big payoff in the final two issues, when Dargon finally finds another Hyve and actually gains access to it.  He connects with the Ancients’ technology (because, you know, the Sectaurs’ idea of magic is the Ancients’ idea of science) and finds himself in complete control of Symbion.  Immediately, he feels overwhelmed by absolute power, and he has to cut himself off from it before it corrupts him absolutely.  Zak, on the other hand, doesn’t think that he can be corruptible, not understanding what it means to CONTROL AN ENTIRE PLANET.

Of course, they certainly didn’t mean this story to last a mere 8 issues.  They leave enough loose ends to give a new creative team a pickup point, should Marvel ever decide to fund it.  But no, it was never meant to be.  Perhaps they just didn’t have the numbers of a G.I. Joe or Transformers, who were the big Marvel toy properties of the time.  It’s a shame.  It would be very interesting to see if Dargon ever finds another Hyve, and if he ever finds his questing, long-lost father.  Also, even though the last Hyve they found had its power source destroyed, Mantor seems to have kept a bit of power in his staff.  What exactly does he have in mind for that?

We’ll never find out.  Chances are, Mantlo doesn’t even remember now, if he’s even still alive.  [I'll save you the work.  He is still alive, but he was in an accident in the early 'Nineties that left him in a coma, so chances are, he really doesn't remember his plans for SECTAURS.]  However, Sectaurs will remain a hell of an ambitious project, maybe the most ever undertaken by a toy company.  Could you imagine the acid freak who came up with this idea?  I guarantee, though, you will never find a book that quite looks like this one did on the comic racks back in the day.  It’s one of the great disappointments of the ‘Eighties.

So really . . . tell me I’m not the only one who remembers these guys.

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COOL SHIT 12-6-12

MINUTEMEN #5:  I’m not too thrilled with this book.  In fact, I think it’s the weakest of the BEFORE WATCHMEN titles, but this issue made an impression on me.  There’s a lot going on in this one.  For example, this is the first time in the Watchmen universe where other superheroes are featured, and these two are based on comic book characters, which makes it all the more unusual.  The reasoning is actually pretty cool, too, considering how the supes in this one are showing off a bit of their racism toward the Japanese (since this is set just after WWII).  This issue also features Hollis and the other Minutemen dealing with a big event, namely the nuclear destruction of the Statue of Liberty.  Super-crime like this is never depicted in any of the other Watchmen books (except for Ozymandius’s plot in the original, obviously).  As if that isn’t enough, we find out why Hollis dislikes Dr. Manhattan so much, we see the Communist witch hunt that drove Justice away, and the solution to the biggest mystery of Moore’s original is supplied:  what the fuck ever happened to Justice?  We get the ugly truth in the last pages, and it’s pretty nasty.  Also, I don’t know if I buy it.  It sounds like something Hollis would have talked about later, but clearly he didn’t.  There’s a bit of a hole there that I’m hoping they’ll close up in the next, final, issue.

TRANSFORMERS:  REGENERATION #86:  Back in the old days, the Marvel TF book had to do things because the toy company came out with new products all the time.  Sometimes, they did a really good job of working shit out, like when the Headmasters came along.  Other times, they screwed the pooch, like when the Action Masters came out.  It was such a fucking awful idea that it ruined the original TF comic book.  For those who don’t remember, the Action Masters were Transformers that . . . COULD NOT TRANSFORM.  Kinda’ defeats the purpose, no?  Anyway, a lot of Autobots were near death, and Grimlock discovered something called Nucleon, and it could save them all.  His primary motivation was to save the rest of the Dinobots.  He tested it on himself first, and he found out that it made him very, very strong, but it took away his ability to transform.  He figured, fuck it, and he used it on all of those Autobots.  *sigh*  This had to stick in writer Simon Furman’s craw, because in this issue, he is working at undoing that piss-poor storyline.  Scorponok has discovered a way to fix everyone who came in contact with Nucleon.  From what I can tell, though, it means becoming a Headmaster.  I like the idea of doing away with Nucleon, but making Grimlock a Headmaster?  That just doesn’t sound right.  At the same time, it seems that Scoponok, whose head (Zarak) is dead by the way, has discovered that ‘bots don’t just choose to be Autobot or Decepticon; it seems to be a part of their CNA.  I can’t wait to see how this turns out.

COMEDIAN #4:  I’m going to say one thing, and it alone is worth dropping what you’re doing now and buying the entire series.  Ready?  Comedian goes to Vietnam, where he drops some acid and murders an entire village.  Holy shit, right?  There’s more.  He’s been hanging out with a couple of Vietnamese kids, and he’s named one Hearts, the other Minds.  Jesus Christ.  We’ve already seen his reaction to JFK’s death, but something tells me we’ll get to see what he does with RFK’s death in the next couple of issues.  Comedian was sent overseas in the first place because he was supposed to be a symbol to inspire people, but he’s decided to actually fight the war while he’s over there.  Why?  Because he actually wants the war to end.  All of the big guys, on the other hand, have a time schedule for the war.  It can’t end until they’re ready.  Wow, things just keep getting more and more fucked up in this book when the most sadistic character in the Watchmen universe is the voice of reason.

AMONG THE DUST, WE LIVE: Chapter 3

13




Finally, after what felt like an eternity of searching, Ben found the door and cranked it open. Relief flooded his body as he noticed the corridor was slightly better lit than the gym. Darkness still reigned supreme, but at least he could make out a few things.



Now that he knew where he was, he felt a bit sheepish about his earlier display. Lost in a fit of fear, he’d screamed into the dead comm, and then he’d slapped it over and over in an attempt to make it work. He hoped the surveillance cameras were dead, too; otherwise, he would have made for a good GoogleTube video back home.



Ben stepped into the cool hallway, and a peculiar lightheadedness came over him. He braced himself against the wall, feeling like he’d just downed ten shots of tequila in a row. Then, he blinked, and the world fell away.



He plummeted down into a dark well, except instead of one hole above, there were two. Those are my eyes. The clarity of this thought startled him.



Looking up, he watched his hand move of its own volition. It flexed, and he felt the whisper of a touch as the fingers tickled across his chest.



“Hey!” he shouted. “What’s going on?!”



The air hummed around him, and it sounded like speech. The cadence slowed, and the garbled words started making sense.



“Benjamin Hardwicke Lockheed. Male. Six feet tall, one-seventy pounds. Twenty-four years of age. Dark hair, blue eyes. Military guard for scientific supplies bound for Quarf 5 aboard the privately-owned vessel, Duke 12. Sportsman. Cocksman. Capacity for intelligence: limited. Capacity for violence: astounding. Very useful to our society.”



“Who the fuck are you? And did you just say I’m stupid?”



“It’s a short-coming, Benjamin. At least you get laid a fair amount.”



“Well, there’s that. But, dude . . . who are you?”



“My name is Aladnadine, and I am the new owner of your body. A good specimen. You’ve taken good care of it. Thank you.”



“Um . . . no. You can’t have it. I don’t have many things, but this body is definitely mine.”



“Good luck taking it back. I’ve waited hundreds of years for this, and you’re not going to ruin it for me.”



“What?! Are you nuts?! This is stealing!”



“You bet. Now shut up before I make the subconscious absorb you.”



14



“Well, Captain? I’m waiting for an answer.”



Drake covered the speaker. Snichlo couldn’t hear him without pushing the button, but his paranoia prevented him from relying on technology. “Since this thing is working again, I’m going to see if I can use it to get everyone up here.”



“Great plan, Cap,” Everson said. “I knew there was a reason you’re in charge, and I’m just second-in-command.”



Drake’s face squinched up. “Yeah, that’s you, all right. You’re a great, big number two.” He pushed the button. “All hands. Repeat, all hands. This is your captain. Report immediately to the bridge. Repeat—-“



Snichlo laughed. “Nice try, Captain. This communications line is strictly one on one.”



Drake grimaced. “Where’s Dirk?”



“Taking a nap. Shall we meet or not?”



Drake looked to Pamela, and she stared back with a blank face. Everson’s turn: he merely shrugged. “What else are we going to do? We’ve got less than a day’s worth of life. Let’s not spend it being bored.”



Drake nodded. “Okay.” He pushed the button. “Let’s meet in the common room.”



“I’d rather not,” Snichlo said. “The cafeteria sounds like a better place. Agreed?”



“Sure. I’ll be down in ten.”



“Good. Come alone.” There was a click, and the comm died again.



Drake turned to Everson. “Go down to the armory. Get guns. Then get Rico, Ben, and Winter to help storm the commissary. Okay?”



“Aye-aye.”



“Pamela. Wait until I’ve engaged the enemy in conversation, so you don’t run into him by accident. Then get Janna and a first aid kit and check on Dirk. Get him up and working, no matter the cost.”



“What about Jason? FNG, I mean,” Everson said.



“I get the feeling that’s who I’m going to see in the caf,” Drake said. “You have your orders. Let’s move!”



#



The thing inhabiting Jason’s body looked down at the unconscious Dirk. He figured it was safe to leave the body there, but one thing took precedence over all.



Snichlo took Dirk’s booze from its hiding spot and broke it on the floor. The stink nearly overpowered him, but it was worth it. He couldn’t have anyone else finding that bottle.



15



Ben licked his lips, then realized he didn’t have lips anymore, and he wished for a beer. Or perhaps some whiskey. The day he was having, a good tequila brain blast was probably in order.



“Hey, Aladdin! Or whatever the fuck your name is! How’s about tossing a brewski down here?”



“I don’t drink alcohol, Benjamin.”



“I do. I don’t think I can survive the rest of my life without beer. It’s one of my few joys.”



Blinding light stabbed through the eyeholes above him, and he heard a distant echoing voice: “Ben! Thank God I found you! We’ve got trouble!”



Ben squinted, and the brightness diminished enough to reveal Lt. Everson, holding a flashlight. “LT!” Ben shouted. “Help! Some alien fuckin’ possessed me!”



Then, he heard his own voice: “Hey, LT. What’s shaking?”



The conversation above faded out, and Aladnadine’s voice filled the void. “He can’t hear you, Benjamin. Now, who is this LT?”



“Fuck off. Why should I help you?”



Aladnadine growled in annoyance. “Never mind. I’ll get the information from your brain notes.”



“Hey! That’s private!” Ben hoped Everson was not filed close to Jerking Off.



“Lt. Rockne Everson. Asshole. Pilot. Interesting. I can’t tell whether you like him or hate him.”



“He’s a friend. We bust each other’s balls.”



“Regardless, it looks like he’s gone to pot. He’s always been an ugly bastard, but years of drinking and poor diet have caught up to him. You people get fat easily.”



“Well . . . .” Ben found it hard to defend LT on this one. “I’ve known him for ten years. That’s like, a third of my life. A lot can happen in that time.”



“Not good with math, either. How did you get so far from your home planet? Luck?”



“Don’t look at me. I’m just a guard.”



“And not a very good one. Still, you gave me an excellent physique, which your friend sadly lacks. I’m stuck in a bit of a quandary on this one.”



“You can always go fuck yourself . . . .”



Aladnadine groaned. “Are you never at a loss for words? Now you’re just talking to talk.”



“Talk’s all I have left right now,” Ben said.



“Your friend’s fat and ugly. We’re desperate for bodies, but we don’t want to accept a substandard quality. Should I kill your friend and save him from your fate?”



“Wait. You want to kill Everson because he’s fat and ugly?”



“More or less.”

“Jesus. It’s a good thing you weren’t in on the childhood obesity Senate hearings. Our population would be cut down by, like, three-quarters overnight.”

“I don’t get it.”



Ben grunted. “Look it up, asshole.”



“Keep it up, Benjamin. I may still yet terminate you.”



Something clicked in Ben’s mind, and he realized with sudden clarity that Aladnadine could not do this. If he had the capability, he would have certainly done so by now. Ben would never have put up with this kind of shit from anybody, so why would this alien?



He filed this bit of useful information away and hoped his visitor wouldn’t be able to find it.



#



“You okay, Ben?” Everson asked. “You seem kind of distant.”



Ben blinked and shook his head. “I’m fine. It’s just, you know, all of this is too hard to swallow. We’re being taken over by aliens?” He sniffed at the lieutenant. “Have you been drinking?”



“No, but I should be. Have you seen Rico and Winter around?”



The thing inside Ben’s body detected no odor of alcohol. He smiled. “Nope, but they’ve got to be around here somewhere. Did you check the caf?”



“Fuck that. Cap’s meeting the alien in there. We need to get guns. Follow me.”



16



Janna had never been one for booze, but on occasion, she’d found that drinking helped her self-esteem and brought out the conversationalist within her. Considering the value of these characteristics, she always kept a bottle of vodka in her quarters. It didn’t smell bad, and the taste didn’t make her want to puke, like all the other hard liquor she’d tried. Best of all, vodka got the job done.



Now more than ever, after seeing the horrible display between Rico and that . . . that . . . slut, she needed oblivion. She poured an inch into a glass, reconsidered, and filled the glass to the halfway mark. Then, as she raised the tumbler to her lips, someone knocked on her door.



“Janna! Are you in there? It’s me, Pamela!”



“Shit.” She put the glass down without taking even a sip and cranked open her door. “What’s up?”



“I’ll explain on the way. Do you have a first aid kit?”



“Uh . . . sure.” She rushed back to her desk, where the vodka awaited, and grabbed a white box from the middle drawer. “Who’s hurt?”



“Dirk. Come on! We’ve got to hurry!”



Janna glanced back at the booze, then decided there was no time. Besides, she thought she might need a level head for whatever happened next.



#



Drake was not surprised to find the door to the commissary open; what did surprise him was the presence of Rico and Winter. Both stood like guards behind a sitting Jason, one on each side, arms crossed.



Jason leaned forward and steepled his fingers. “Captain Drake. Good to see you. Have a seat.”



“I’ll stand.”



“Suit yourself.”



“What are they doing here?” Drake pointed to his crewmates.



“They’re with me.”



“Possessed?”



Jason chuckled. “What a primitive word. According to the brain notes, a lot of religious sects on your planet came up with the word. It has such negative connotations.”



“You stole their bodies,” Drake said. “That’s pretty fuckin’ negative.”



“Needs must, my new friend.”



“Is that why you’re here? To steal us?”



“I’m here to free my people.”



“At the expense of my people.”



“Yours is an unenlightened species. Primitive. Slow to learn. We, on the other hand, are vastly superior. This is no different from what you do to lesser animals on your planet.”



“If you’re so awesome, why do you need our bodies?”



Jason’s jaw clenched so hard it looked like bugs were crawling under his skin. “It was no fault of ours, I assure you. No one could have survived what happened.”



Drake sat down and grinned. “Enlighten me.”



#



When Pamela finished explaining, Janna couldn’t believe a word of it. Then, she thought about the scene between Rico and Winter, and she had to wonder if they’d done it because they’d been possessed. No, she decided they would have probably done it, anyway.



Just to be safe, she told Pamela about it.



“And you think they might have . . . not been themselves?”



Janna nodded.



“It kinda’ sounds like something they’d do, though.”



“Yeah, but still, you should have seen how hard they were going at it. I’m surprised they didn’t break each other.”



They arrived at the engine room and rushed through the open door. The customary heat down here had dwindled to a coolness, and the stink of oil and gas almost faded in comparison to the reek of whiskey.



Both women stepped over the broken bottle and rushed to Dirk’s side. Janna gave the first aid kit to Pamela so her hands were free to check the mechanic for injuries.



“Is he going to be all right?” Pamela asked.



“His breathing and pulse are fine,” Janna said. “There’s some swelling on the back of his head, but it’s not too bad. He’s got a concussion, but he should be okay. Give me some smelling salts.”



Pamela opened the kit and fumbled through it for a moment, then handed a vial over to Janna. “Do people actually use these things?”



“Uh . . . yeah. I’m using it right now.”



“Oh.”



“Help me turn him over.”



As soon as Dirk was on his back, Janna opened the vial and waved it under his nose. It didn’t take long; his eyes popped open, and he sat up, rubbing at his nostrils. “Jesus! What happened?”



“We don’t have time to explain,” Pamela said. “We’re in deep shit, and we’re probably going to die. Get your ass up and fix the engines.” She slapped a flashlight into his palm.



Dirk paused, ready to make a witty comment, but when he saw the fear and desperation in her wide eyes, he only said, “Okay.”



17



Snichlo opened Jason’s mouth and said, “We were so very close to the next step in our evolution. We could do nothing more with our bodies, so we started working on living without a physical vessel. We’d had some success, but our spirits kept returning to our flesh traps.”



Drake laughed. “I know how that goes.” He glanced at Winter.



“We knew a nova would eventually take our sun and our solar system, but we thought it wouldn’t happen for centuries. We were wrong, and we all died because of it.”



“So, you’re a ghost?” Drake asked.



“Yes. Just like our planet.”



“I did not drink enough for this conversation.”



“You people depend too much on chemical alteration of moods. Perhaps this is why you’re not very advanced.”



“Yeah, but at least we’re still alive, Casper.”



“If we hadn’t been so advanced, we would have perished with our bodies. Instead, among the dust, we live. If you can call it life. At first, we were overjoyed. Our intellect had overcome the most powerful force in the universe. And then, we started missing the physical pleasures.”



“Like sex?”



“Yes, but not just that. What is your favorite food?”



“Cheeseburgers. I love ‘em. Can’t get enough.”



“Imagine living forever and not being able to eat one ever again.”



Drake nodded. “Yeah, I guess that does suck.”



“For hundreds of years, we floated through the cosmos with nothing to do but exist. We couldn’t even kill ourselves. Conversation helped, but after the first twenty years, we ran out of things to say.”



“Wait. So you’re all fired up because you were bored?” Drake let out a belly laugh and nearly doubled over. “Holy Christ, that’s rich! Hold on.” He stood and headed for the kitchen. “I’m getting a beer. You guys want one?”



When he turned to look at them, all three faces wore the same look: horror. But as soon as they noticed they’d been seen, their expressions shifted to disinterest.



Weird, he thought. “I’ll take that as a no.”



“We don’t need your pathetic mood enhancers,” Jason said. “We’re in touch with ourselves. We know who we are, and what we’re capable of.”



Drake strode back to the table and pointed his finger at Jason. “You want to know what’s really pathetic? Floating around in space with nothing to do but stroke your pompous, superior minds. Is that what you mean by being in touch with yourselves?”



Jason smiled, not the result Drake had been hoping for. “Say what you will, Captain Drake, but we are still smarter than you. We lured you out here, and now you belong to us.”



“Bullshit. I’m here to deliver cargo—-“



“—-to a crew of humans who never made it to Quarf 5,” Jason continued. “We intercepted them, stole the useful bodies, destroyed the others, and radioed earth to send us more of you. What do you have to say to that? No snappy comebacks?”



Drake had a few witty remarks he could have made, but he thought he’d do something useful instead. “No. Just a question. Why didn’t you possess all of us? Why not me? It would make sense if you took over all of our bodies.”



Jason smiled and started playing with his fingers. “That’s no big mystery. We’re just an exploratory expedition. As soon as we have the lay of the land, the rest of us will arrive. As to whom we choose, it’s just arbitrary.”



Drake grinned back. Not even aliens were immune to his bullshit detector. This, coupled with their apparent fear of alcohol, formed a theory in his head, and he couldn’t wait to try it out on his companions.



“All right, FNG,” a voice at the door said. “I’ve heard enough. Surrender before anyone gets hurt.”



Drake turned to see Everson and Ben, both holding pulse rifles. The latter aimed loosely around the room while the former trained his sights on Jason.



“If you’ve been listening,” Jason said, “you’d know my name is actually Snichlo, and it would be a mistake to shoot me.”



Everson lifted an eyebrow. “Cap?”



“Stand down, Lieutenant,” Drake said. “We don’t want to hurt Jason’s body before we can bring him back.” Jason’s body chuckled at this. “Besides, they can’t hurt us, either. They need our bodies.” This time, Drake laughed and looked at Snichlo. Eat it, asshole.



“Oh, really?” Ben asked.



“Yeah,” Drake said. He turned just in time to see Ben level his gun at Everson, but not in time to warn him. The gun fired with a room-rattling chum!, and Everson’s back exploded, showering the floor with charred meat.



“No!” Drake yelled. Without thinking, he launched himself forward, his hands in claws as he rushed Ben. Rico moved so quickly the captain had no idea what hit him; he only knew that a crushing weight held him down, and no matter how hard he struggled, he’d never break free from the half-nelson.



Ahead of him, he saw Everson’s blank face, his wide eyes staring back. The scent of freshly cooked steak filled the room, and Drake’s vision wavered and blurred.



Snichlo stepped between him and the lieutenant’s corpse. “Don’t take too much for granted, Captain.”



Snot ran down Drake’s upper lip. “You son of a bitch!”



Snichlo knelt down and grabbed a handful of Drake’s blond hair, jerking his head back. “I’m going to leave you here to mourn for a while. I also want you to think about surrendering. You’re ours, anyway, but we’re not merciless. If you willingly give up your bodies, we can make it easy and painless. If not . . . .” He did not finish the sentence. Instead, he motioned to Rico to let Drake go, then he nodded to the door. “We’ll be in the common room, when you reach your decision.”



Drake’s body shuddered as tears came freely down his cheeks. Rage choked up in his throat, and he wanted to scream his revenge at them, but all he could do was weep over the body of his closest friend.



#



Once outside the caf, Snichlo turned to Aladnadine. “A thought occurs to me. The captain’s discussion with us might have been a distraction to keep us away from the engine room. Is there any way to stop the others from fixing this ship?”



“Well, from what I understand, their mechanic is an idiot. But he’s good at fixing things. The only way to make sure he doesn’t fix the Duke is to bust up the engines, but that would be too much effort.”



“Agreed.” Snichlo tapped his chin with a forefinger. “I was hoping to spare that Dirk guy, since he is a good specimen, but the alcohol in his blood stream won’t be gone for several hours. I’m afraid you’ll have to kill him.”



“Not a problem, sir.” Ben checked the rifle and saw that the energy level had replenished. “This won’t take long.”



“Good,” Snichlo said. “Let’s call the others, shall we?”



TO BE CONTINUED!

HOLY SHIT, WHAT A GREAT BURGER! A review of the Medici Restaurant

From the outside, it doesn’t look like much. It’s just a small restaurant in Hyde Park near the university. In fact, it’s a popular hang-out for the students, but since the fall semester hasn’t begun yet, there is no crowd. There is no wait to get in and get a seat. The steps to the upstairs portion of the restaurant is roped off, but undoubtedly, it will be open near the end of the month to accommodate the customers.



There are a few small booths along the walls that can only fit two people at any given time. There are also very small tables scattered about the floor. In theory, four people can sit at them, but they’re so small, two is probably more realistic. Some of them have a checkerboard pattern, where, if you think enough to bring your own set, you can probably play some chess.


The walls are covered with penciled and markered messages from previous customers. Mostly, it’s people signing off that they had been there or tiny drawings. At the booths, you can see where people have actually carved their messages into the wall and the table.


On the way in, you are greeted by a statue of Lorenzo de Medici. Beyond him, many people, presumably on dates, are enjoying their meals. A customer sits alone at a booth, sketching in his pad. Near the back, a middle-aged man reads a book of poetry, smiling at some verse or other.


Glory of glories! Even though this place serves no alcohol, they have a healthy BYOB policy. You don’t even have to pay for the privilege. The servers will even bring you glasses. It’s a good place to bring fine beers like Fat Tire or Stella or your favorite microbrew.


But all of this is cosmetic, really. The important thing is, how is their cheeseburger? Exquisite. One of the finest in the land. It even gives the Country House a run for its money. They make their own bread, so their buns are homemade and fresh. They have high quality angus meat, nicely sized. And they have some kind of specialty mustard that really enhances the overall taste. To top it all off, their fries are the perfect compliment to the burger. They’re shoestring, and they’re probably made at the restaurant, just like the buns. If you are a cheeseburger connoisseur, you can’t miss this place.


They’re also known for their pizza, which was not consumed on this trip, but will most certainly be sampled next time. If looks are any indication, it might very well be the perfect thin-crust pizza.

The Medici isn’t just a restaurant; it’s an experience. Try it out quickly, though. Class is going to be starting soon, and you don’t want to wait in line for this burger.  [Sorry, this review was written a while ago.  Class is in, and finding a seat without a wait will be next to impossible.]


Medici Restaurant
1327 E. 57th St.
Chicago, IL 60637
773-667-7394

FORGOTTEN COMIC BOOKS #5: LOBO

No, not THAT Lobo! Come on, what do you take me for? Granted, Lobo is not as awesome as once he was (he probably stopped being so after the Alan Grant monthly), but he’s not exactly forgotten now, is he?



No, many years ago, back when you’re parents were kids, there was another comic book called LOBO. Wow, I’m really reaching back through the archives for this one. Has anyone ever heard of Dell’s 1965-66 comic book series? Probably not, especially since it only comprised of two issues. However, it has a great significance to the history of comic books: it’s the first title to feature a black hero as its protagonist. That’s right, up until then, black guys couldn’t be the main character of a book. No sir, that just wouldn’t work for a predominantly white, suburban audience.


Truth be told, LOBO didn’t change all that much in the world. In fact, it was completely ineffective, but shortly thereafter, people seemed to be a bit more accepting of the idea of black people being more than supporting characters at best, and at worst, racist caricatures.


With a title like that, you could probably guess that it was a western book. Yep. “Branded for life! An honest man . . . blamed for a crime he did not commit!” Sounds pretty common for the time, right? Actually, LOBO is a pretty common book for its time, aside from the shade of the protagonist’s skin.


Check it out: When we first meet Lobo (and that isn’t his real name; we never get to know his actual name), he’s a soldier for the Union army, and he’s just received the good news that the war is over. He can go back to being a regular person. Like many other such folks, he went west to give himself a new beginning. He takes on a job at a ranch, where a couple of trail hands decide he’s kind of a joke. One day, after a successful cattle drive, he is framed for the murder and robbery of his boss by these two jokers (who are the ones who dub him Lobo, as he’s a lone wolf). However, there is one guy who knows he’s innocent: the criminal who really killed his boss. He goes out in search of this guy, only to find that he’s been killed by Indians. Along the way, he rescues a drowning prospector, who is surprised that a killer like Lobo would save his life. Lobo tells him his story, and the prospector has a similar story. It turns out this old man really did strike it rich, and he’s dying. He gives Lobo all of his gold provided Lobo brings justice to the west.


This story has everything a western comic book had back then: a hero who was framed for murder and is bent on clearing his name, a hero who refuses to kill people (even when his life is in danger), a hero who bears a symbol of his name (in this case, gold coins bearing an image of a lone wolf), everything.


But the problem is, Lobo is the every-hero of that time. The only difference is his skin color, and that is purely cosmetic. It never comes up in the course of the story that he is black. His experience of the west is the same as if he’d been white. Granted, Dell is a mostly remembered as a children’s comic book company (just look on the inside front cover of #2 to see what else they were advertising), but they had the chance to really do something interesting with this series. Instead of taking a few risks to promote discussions of race in a time when the racial climate of America was changing drastically, they decided to make Lobo a common cowboy. The conflicts he encounters are purely because he’s a wanted man, not because of the color of his skin. One could almost wonder if maybe he was meant to be just a white guy; the colorist just decided to have a little fun.


Almost.


As it turns out, the color of Lobo’s skin was enough to cause the publisher to tug at his collar. There are only two issues of this book. It looks like Dell didn’t have the guts to continue the series, which was supposed to be a monthly. Look at the release dates: the first issue came out in Dec. ’65, and #2 had to wait until Oct. ’66 before being released. LOBO #3 simply wasn’t meant to be.


It’s a shame. LOBO could have been so much more than it was. If only Dell had the guts to make something of this book. Still, as cosmetic as it was, LOBO is still the first comic book to feature a black hero, and that counts for a lot.


Good luck finding copies of either book. They’re pretty scarce, although you probably wouldn’t have to spend too much on them, even if you do find them. I got mine for about $20 each (and I found them about 10 years apart). Not bad for a groundbreaking book. Too bad it’s mostly been forgotten by people today.

COOL SHIT 11-29-12

CROSSED:  BADLANDS #18:  Wow.  Take a minute to admire that cover above.  That is my absolute favorite Crossed artwork right there.  The sheer depravity of something like that shocks even me.  Thank you, Raulo Caceres, for painting something that fucked-up.  This issue also marks the end of David Hine’s story arc about an inexperienced guy who just wants to learn how to write convincingly real characters from a lunatic bestseller.  This is also the first time we get to see the inner thoughts of one of the Crossed.  Yes, part of this is narrated by one of the Crossed.  How crazy is that?  And the very last panel is a grotesque masterpiece.  The quote from Poe’s “Masque of the Red Death” is very apropos for the occasion.

AMERICAN VAMPIRE #33:  This is also the end of a story arc, one of my favorites, second only to the previous one.  It ends on a rather melancholy note, at least for Pearl, but for Skinner Sweet, it’s back to business as usual.  It would seem that he’s now free of the device that keeps him under the sway of the VMS, so who knows what the fuck he’s going to get up to the next time we see him?  The thing that worries me, though, is the title of the next arc:  CODA.  I’m pretty sure I haven’t seen any announcements about the end of AMERICAN VAMPIRE.  Considering how everything is sucking over at Vertigo right now, I wouldn’t be surprised to see this title come to an end.  I hope I’m jumping at shadows, though.  Have any of you heard anything about this?

DICKS #10:  Wow, today was a day for endings.  This is the final reprint issue of DICKS, which means we will be getting BRAND NEW DICKS ACTION NEXT!  Also, look at that cover!  While it isn’t the most offensive cover they’ve ever done, it’s a really funny take on SAGA.  Also, you can never go wrong with shit-centric Christmas stories told with a thick Irish accent.  My favorite line comes from the devil himself:  “Aye, all hail me.  Ye do know these two wee hooers’ve made a cunt outta ye, don’t ye?”