Princess BigLots Krispy Kreme and Alcoa Ruskin took the whoosh tube down to the Roomba's Closet, where the Miniaturized Library was kept behind a few cans of Tribble-B-Gone. The Roomba looked up at them in evident annoyance, then skittered away down the hall.
"What's gotten into that Roomba?" asked Alcoa.
Princess BigLots smiled a smile that seemed mysteriously mysterious. "Well, I was interested in trying out this 'sex' thing, and he does have a good sucker."
Alcoa blushed, deciding it was much more prudent not to ask what she was refering to. "So, here is the library, and now where is your box?"
"It's here," said Princess BigLots, aiming her Pocket Deminiaturizer.
Suddenly, a grizzled head poked into the closet. "Where's the Roomba?" It was Kilgore Trout, one of Tampax/MillerHighLife/WeightWatchers/Redbull/Stridex University's first students. In 25 years, he had neither graduated nor left the campus.
"What do you want, Trout?" asked Alcoa.
"I just was looking for the Roomba. I was working on my thesis and some Morlocks came up through the sewers again and just made a mess of things. What's with the box?"
"It's something Princess BigLots found."
"It has to do with sex!" exclaimed Princess BigLots. "I wonder if the Roomba will come back?"
"What's sex?" asked Trout, his fishy face fishily fissuring folicles from his forehead.
"We don't know -- that's why we're poking into this box," said Alcoa.
"It has your name on it."
"It is of a long-dead relation, I think."
Princess BigLots opened the lid. "I'm afraid to put my hand in it."
"Stop being so timid -- with boxes, it is sometimes easier to use your finger first and work up to your whole hand," said Trout. "You know, ease into things."
"Great Mobo, it smells like a Karfaluian Krepple Flume in here! There's journals, strange tubes, oils, sketches I can't begin to understand," said Princess BigLots, growing bolder and bolder as if she were a brave explorer diving down into the deepest black hole, the two men at her side gaping open-mouthed at the strange objects inside. "What do you think these plastic tubes are for?"
"They look like Space Worms," said Alcoa, waving a floppy purple one around his head. It had a top like a mushroom and a decidedly veiny appearance.
"I don't think they're food," said Trout, gnawing on the end of one. "But I do taste something -- bitter, oceany maybe. Maybe there from the Great Flood of 2050."
"No, they're older than that," said Alcoa, licking one experimentally. "They do taste weird though."
Princess BigLots took a yellow worm out of the box and wrapped her lips around it, blowing as hard as she could until her eyes bugged out and her cheeks broke into a sweaty sweat. "Well, they don't seem to be musical instruments."
Trout took out his key chain and flipped through the devices hanging from it until he found his electron microsope. He peered at the worms. "There's human DNA on these."
"Really?" asked Princess BigLots, running her tongue across her teeth. "I don't taste any."
Trout fumbled through his keychain again until he found his Little Tykes Clone and Cell Genome Growth Device. "I took this from John Carter, my nephew, who kept reanimating his grandmother through the cells he found on her doilies. I can't tell you how depressing it is when you have to kill your own mother for the 30th time. And she was tired of it, let me tell you. O.K. Stand back. Let's see what we can grow here."
Trout pointed the device. There was a bang. A flash. And then a smell of cordite and electrons. Suddenly, the closet was jammed with two more naked bodies, who appeared strange in every appearance. One was older, on the rotund size, with three legs, one shrunken shorter than the others, and great big bushy hairs growing out of his jowls. The other was a scrawny boy, with the same mishapen leg situation, who looked around with wide, frightened eyes. "Where are we?" he asked in a tremulous voice.
"I don't know, but I like it," said the older man, his middle leg raising up and forcing Princess BigLots against a stack of buckets and Anti-Matter Wipes.
"Are these false legs?" asked Princess BigLots, staring down at the impertinent beast that was jabbing her in the stomach.
"No, they are not. I, madam, am Allen Ruskin, and this young whelp next to me is my valet, Pip. While we are not in need of clothes just yet, I would like to know where we are."
"I think the operative question is 'when,'" said Trout, jumping backward into the closet door as the strange man's leg swung to face him.
"So, I'm to take it this is the future?" asked the man.
"Hmm, in my time it was customary for hosts and guests to exchange physical pleasantries upon meeting."
"Like what?" asked Princess BigLots.
"Well," said Ruskin slapping his palms together, "Let me demonstrate. Who wants to go first?"
What trickery and laciviousness can Ruskin get up to in this new innocent era? Find out in our next exciting installment!