Tim O'Neil was trying to tug Scribe down the hatch and into the seaQuest, without a great deal of success. Have you ever tried to stuff a pissed-off cat into a small animal taxi? Notice how they seem to grow extra limbs to hang onto the sides?

Tim was on the ladder leading down, and had his arms around Scribe's waist, trying to tug her into the entry. "Oh, come on, will you! Drat, I hate being written as one of the less aggressive members of the crew!"

"Me, go into an enclosed space with a bunch of people who are not only fan fiction characters, which makes them horny by definition, but are also sailors? I don't think so!"

"That is so unfair! The land characters have had their chance, so have the space characters. We undersea characters demand equal rights."

"Go jump Ariel!"

"The freakin' dolphin ate her, okay?" He pried one hand loose, and she promptly used it to smack him, then grabbed hold again. "Damn!"

Gary came over holding the cat. The cat had taken a good look at his surroundings, calculated his chances of swimming anywhere, and called a truce. Gary said, "Hey, that's my squeeze you've glommed onto. Let go."

"Yeah? And where do you think you'll take her?"

Gary looked around. "Um..." He shrugged. "Hell, I'm not adverse to doin' it on the deck."

"Oh, charming!" sniped Scribe. "Like I want to risk seagull poop, and this marine paint coated steel isn't the most comfortable surface in the world, Hobson."

"Hey, the bunks on board are really very comfortable," Tim assured her.

"Screw you."

"Yes, please."

"Jesus."

Gary dropped the cat, grabbed Scribe around the waist also, and started tugging up. "C'mon, sugar."

Scribe yelped as a dripping wet plot bunny clambered up onto the deck, ran over, and whispered in her ear before bounding off and swimming away. "Aaaarrrgh! Now you've done it! Dammit to hell! Now as soon as I get back to my computer I have to write a freakin' song fic about 'Torn Between Two Lovers'! GAG!" She kicked violently at whoever she could reach. "I hate that! Why can't it ever be heavy metal? Why is it always sugar-pop, bubblegum, or disco?"

"Because you listened to Bobby Sherman and David Cassidy when you were growing up," Gary explained.

She scowled at him. "If you say that in public, I'll sue."

Tim shrugged, still tugging. "Well, it's not a total loss. You did write that RP MarySue fantasy about the lead singer of Jesus Jones."

"It was the earings. It was the first time I ever noticed a guy who wore two."

"Hey, you don't have to explain it to me," Tim assured her. "I almost got my ears pierced because of that. Then I got a hint of what you were thinking about the Seth Gecko character in that Dusk 'Til Dawn vignette and got a tattoo instead."

She went still. "Really?"

"I'll show you, if you let go of the hatch."

"Ooo... No."

He sighed. "Well, I can't take any more time on this. I have to get you below, so we can dive." He looked at Gary. "Help me."

"HAH! Why should I help you capture someone I wanna jump?"

"You get first turn."

Gary picked up the cat and pointed its butt at Scribe, then squeezed.

*whoosh*

She fainted.

Thankfully, the cat had passed on the anchovy appetizer the previous night, so she was only out for a minute or two. She regained consciousness as her limp body was handed over to someone else, and Tim closed the hatch, sealing it. "Okay, ready to dive!" he called.

There were immediately official sounding buzzes and clangs, plus a *whoop whoop* that probably existed only in the fevered imaginations of pulp authors and their readers.

Scribe sneezed, blinked, and said, "The cat gets a case of Gas X for Christmas."

"Yeah. The little booger is gonna have to stay in the airlock during this voyage. I don't think the air filters could handle his output."

She blinked at the man who was holding her, then screamed and thrashed, managing to get herself dropped. Startled, the man said, "Hey! I know I'm not the cutest guy on board, but..."

"Brody!" "Huh?" Several people, including Tim and Gary, gathered around.

She'd located a chair and climbed up on it. Not that this'll do a freakin' lot of good, but I gotta do something. "Brody!"

Gary scratched his head, looking at Tim. "Is that some sort of author code-word for troll?"

The man who had been holding Scribe said calmly, "You could swim home, you know."

Gary consulted his newspaper, swallowed hard, and said sincerely, "I was only joking. I don't see how any of the rest of us stand a chance with you around." The man looked mollified. Gary looked intently at the paper. After a moment he sighed in relief, folding it and stuffing it in his back pocket.

The man turned back to Scribe. "What's got you so upset?"

"Aside from the fact that I'm once again in the clutches of a group that's pumping more testosterone than the combined NFL lineup and the audience at a Monster Truck rally? You're Martin Brody, Amity sheriff, and we're in the middle of the ocean, and that means that the fuckin' Moby Dick sized JAWS shark is gonna show up any minute now and chew a hole through the side of the submarine and eat me!" "I'm not Brody."

A bit of the tension seeped out of her. "You're not?"

"No. I'm Nathan Bridger, captain of this vessel."

She slumped. "Thank goodness. I'm not gonna get eaten after all."

He smiled. "Oh, I don't know about that."

"Ri-i-ight." She looked past him. "Should there be water running down the side of that wall?"

Everyone looked. She ran.

Ooo, hell! Submarines are even worse for ducking and hiding than space ships! Boy, talk about limited options. Footsteps were coming closer, so she figured she'd try to hide, rather than getting run down in the corridor.

The room she ducked into looked something like a cross between a laboratory and a marine petshop. Mainly because there was some sort of tank or something with a dolphin in it. "Hey, I didn't know people wrote Flipper fic these days!" The footsteps came closer. After a brief look around she crawled under a low table set against a wall and tugged some boxes in front of the open space.

The door opened and someone entered and spent a moment or two walking around, moving things. She held her breath. Someone outside in the corridor called, "Is she in there?"

"Nope. Go try the galley. She usually manages to find food, and I know for a fact that the cook took on a load of Pop Tarts the last time we were in port."

Scribe's tummy grumbled quietly, and she pressed on it frantically. Shut up! God, you're worse than Pavlov's dog. Just mention Pop Tarts and you're ready to give me up.

She felt relieved when the footsteps retreated toward the door, and it closed. Then the voice said, "Okay. Where is she?"

Scribe was utterly astonished when another voice answered, "Under the table, Einstein. Don't you remember that you left those boxes against the wall?"

"So I did." The boxes were shoved aside and an arm reached under the table. Scribe tried to evade the grasp, but there just wasn't anywhere to go, and she was quickly hauled out.

She found herself in the grasp of a very young, very cute guy. "First off, who the hell squealed on me? There wasn't anyone else in here."

"No one else humanoid, you mean." He nodded at the tank.

She looked. The dolphin popped its head out of the water and said, "When you're done having fun, toss her in here. Those World Weekly News articles about dolphins trying to mate with swimmers aren't all hooey."

"You malicious aquatic mammal!" Scribe fumed. "And to think I boycotted tuna to help preserve you endangered ass! The first thing I'm doing when I get home is making myself a big Starkist salad."

The young man was pressing her back against the table. "Whoa! Hang on there, sonny! Crap, you're even younger than Xander! I'm not a cradle snatcher..."

"Speaking of snatch..." His hand was moving toward her crotch.

She slapped it away. "God preserve me from horny teenagers and bad filthy puns! Horny post-adolescents and good filthy puns are another matter. Will you just..." She looked at him more closely. "Bastian?"

"Who?"

"Bastian Bux, right? Shouldn't you be hanging around with rock creatures and pseudo-fairies and wish dragons that look like cocker spaniels?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. My name is Lucas, and I quit being intersted in fairy tales about the time I discovered Playboy."

Scribe smacked her forehead. "Sheesh! That's right, your actor played both roles"

"You're into role playing? That works for me. What'll it be? Jock and cheerleader? Mrs. Robinson and Benjamin? Juvenile delinquent and teacher? I'm up for it." He humped against her.

"I can see that. I have a request: can I have a pen and a piece of paper first?"

"And let you write your way out of this? I don't think so."

"I promise not to write a single word about myself." She held up three fingers pressed together. "Look, Girl Scout salute. I was a Girl Scout for a few years, though I think they'd probably try to keep that quiet."

"Girl Scout, huh? Did you keep the uniform?"

"I haven't run into this many kinks since the last time I didn't use conditioner when I washed my hair. Just let me write, huh? It'll be interesting, I promise."

"Okay, but I'm going to watch closely. One word about you escaping, and I pounce."

"Don't worry." Scribe took the paper and pen and started to write. //Lucas looked around his laboratory suspiciously. Something was different.//

Lucas looked around his laboratory. "You know, something feels different around here."

//His eyes came to rest on an item he hadn't noticed before. It was a huge book: bound in elaborately tooled leather, and looking ancient and full of wisdome.// Damn, that's kinda awkward, but I'm pressed for time, here.

"Hey! I never noticed this old book before. Did you bring it with you?"

"N-ot exactly." She wrote quickly. //It was fascinating.//

"Boy, that looks interesting."

//He picked it up.//

Lucas picked up the book, examining the exterior. "Cool."

//He couldn't resist opening it.//

Lucas hesitated. "Waitaminute. Mysterious old books that suddenly just appear very seldom are as innocent as they seem."

Damn! He must read fan fiction. Gotta improvice fast. //It occured to him that such a volume might contain rare, vintage smut.// Lucas eagerly started flipping through the pages. //And he was sucked back into The Neverending Story!// A tinkling sound, a shower of sparks, and the book thumped to the floor, falling closed, Lucas nowhere to be seen.

Scribe picked it up and held it to her ear. From inside she heard faint cursing, then a surprised, "Awright! Fairies!" followed by surprised squeals. She dropped it, mumbleing, "He'll do all right. There's gonna be some tired fairies, though. Okay, next order of business... Getting off this tub."

She got a fresh sheet of paper, pulled up a chair, and tapped the pen thoughtfully against her chin. I really don't think this will work, but it's worth a try.

//Scribe closed her eyes, thinking "This is all a dream. It's a nightmare. I'm going to wake up, and be safe and snug in my own little home.//

Now. Scribe closed her eyes. This is all a dream. It's a nightmare. I'm going to wake up, and be safe and snug in my own little home.

She opened her eyes. Nothing had changed. "Well, piss." She looked at the paper. Something had changed. Right under what she had written were the words //FAT CHANCE. You think it will be THAT easy? Think again. THE POWERS THAT BE.//

"Why, you sons of... Oh, all right! Can I at least get myself off this submersible frat house?"

More words appeared. "Sure, why not? Go for it."

At that moment she heard steps again in the corridor, and someone saying, "I'm telling you, I don't trust him. He never came out of here, and I think he's trying to cut us out..."

"Ooo!" She scribbled hastily. //Luckily the water tank proved to be an interdimensional passageway. leading back to...// "Where, dammit, where?" The doorknob rattled. "Crap!" //...someplace her pusuers couldn't follow.//

Scribe dropped the pen and dived for the tank just as the door opened.

The amorous dolphin didn't prove to be too much trouble, as he didn't have any limbs to use for catching and holding. Scribe wasn't exactly sure that dolphin's HAD crotches to get kicked in, but she did her damndest. Boy, they made high pitched squeals.

She popped to the surface of what appeared to be a shallow pool in a large marble room. Dragging herself out of the water, she collapsed on the floor and just lay there a moment, gasping.

A pair of feet appeared beside her, and she looked up. She noted the dark haired man smiling down at her and groaned, "Curse you, PTB! You said you'd let me off the seaQuest! Look, O'Neil, can't we work out some sort of future activities agreement? I'm kinda stressed right now..."

She was hauled to her feet. "After the number of times you've dodged me? I don't think so!"

Scribe was dragged into a tight embrace and a wet kiss. It would have been rather pleasant except for the armor. Armor? She pulled back. "O'Neil?"

Joxer smiled. "Hey, call me Cupid, if it makes you happy," and dived in for another kiss.