now for: A one page ninety minute movie...




THE HOUSE OF SEVEN UGLY DAUGHTERS

a space kung fu film set at an asteroid mining community terrorized by a ruthless manager



A pioneer of the asteroid mines has brought his seven beautiful daughters out to be with him when his wife their mother dies in a taxi accident. As the other miners are a rowdy lawless bunch he has holographicaly disguised his daughters to appear very ugly thus protecting them from the most evil of the lonely ones. His place/home/mine shafts became known as: 'The House Of Seven Ugly Daughters'. Years pass without much trouble while of course the family practices kung fu. No one notices as the daughters each leave as they grow older to advanced schools of Tera-side. A new manager from the ore corporation takes over the asteroids operations who recruits a gang of ruthless thugs to root out alleged ore loss in a plot to steal control of all the asteroids mines. The mean new boss focus's on the seven daughters dad accusing him of leading the ore thieves. The evil boss shut down all comm so Dad has to secretly ask his sister on Luna to enlist the help of his own mercenaries. They can only afford a mix of seven heroes; big hearted crooks, outcasts, and dreamers led by a wise grizzled old veteran. They will be outnumbered at least ten to one. Smuggled in on a sympathetic ore ship the seven mercs arrive just before the Evil boss starts shuttle searches and a fake quarantine blockade. The thugs violently raid the house of seven ugly daughters trying to bully Dad into giving up his mine shafts. Dad has used the holographic apparatus to disguise the seven mercs to appear to be his seven ugly daughters who no one has seen in years. Dad and his 'family' can do nothing as the house is overrun by the vandals. While haranguing them with threats the evil boss naturally falls completely instantly in love with one of the young mercenary/ugly daughters. She plays hard-to-get. Just before she has to marry him they are denounced as fraudulent daughters by a traitor and an epic space kung fu battle much of it in zero-g commences. They fight in the mines, on the surface of the asteroid, on ore ships and shuttles, and in the asteroids scattered community of taverns and casinos and party houses; the seven heroes battling valiantly against reinforced waves of evil thugs till overcome by treachery. Two of the merc/daughters are near death the others all wounded badly, the miners that fought alongside them have fled, Dad has been captured. Tragic defeat seems certain when the real seven beautiful daughters and their Aunt arrive to save them in a giant space kung fu battle and ultimately fire the evil mine corporation manager due to a clause the smart daughter has found in his contract. The wise old veteran merc and the Aunt fall in love. Three of the mercs and three of the daughters also pair up in love.Three of the beautiful daughters have saved their boyfriends/girlfriend from the other mining families who had fought along with their Dad who had no idea his daughters had secret friends. One daughter has fallen in love with one of the thugs. Two of the mercenaries fall in love with each other. The ex-evil boss leaves on the first shuttle accompanied closely by that formerly holographicaly ugly daughter/mercenary he had almost both married and defeated.

The End

Excerpt from The Answer continued:

(Scene Suits Armandos Restaurant Luna)

“Paul the Marines have secured your tube. It’s a little damaged.” Chevrolet always finds out stuff first with her thirty member team. I lament. Plenty of time to sue Utah later. I toast my brand new freshly damaged furnishings. I’ll not cry over scorched squishy walls; there is work to do.

I quickly get one of my new junior researchers on com no holo vid. “Are you the Senior Junior?” “Yes sir.” “I want you to set up a different section on all of humanities known religions of the pre reform type. Are there any animal religions? … Any religion regardless of species, animal, plant, bacteria, whatever! Catholics one section, animist snake worshipers one section, bright light devoted plankton one section. Even if there are hundreds of sections. Staff according to data flow.” “Yes sir.” “I want reports from department heads daily of pertinent info. First query: What is the nature of God?” That should take care of the rationalistic approach. “Atheists too sir?” “Especially all atheists! I need to know what God isn’t and atheists usually won’t shut up telling you exactly that.” This gets me a stern look from Helen's holo face. “Zubums also sir?” “No. The Zooboms are mine. First reports in say three hours?” He didn’t get time to respond before I primary com channeled the three hundred invites to my first conference on zoobums to be held on Luna. Anybody invited to my fete here that wants to study the fanatics up close will have to be let through the blockades both ways. Armando’s should serve nicely as the venue. Suit projects the plans to the restaurant to help me plan the seating and I notice there are four tubes above the restaurant level that house Armando’s offices and deluxe Condo Suite. I am assured that my extravagant clothing owns all this.

“We give Armando some time to pack and we can go up hatch and check it out.”

Chevrolet checks her vicinity contact display. “Armando just boarded a limo for Balance Station. Gave the keys to Jerome.”

“Carla tells me he’s abandoned all his stuff. Including a cat!” Space’s ear twitches.

“Pardon me, Paul, did you just call your suit: ‘Carla‘?” Chevrolet’s eyebrows arch. I can’t do that.

“Um…ah…”

“Paul! If it is not some liaison… than it is the suit!” The lawyer thinks she’s quite astute about the suit.

“Admit it Paul! A womyn would. For a womyn it would be easy to just say: ‘I love my outfit!’

“And he’s outfit loves him!” They laugh they laugh. What can I do? I’m always falling in love with computer programs. For once I got a rich one. Now, how can I loose them all so I can compare my unknow to the unknown of the liaison Folney? Carla, real Carla was never the jealous type.

The marines, the police, Chevrolet’s sec squad all go on alert and turn their weapons toward the doors. This clears that part of the bar. Helen’s holo voice whispers “Demarist and his librarian!” with more then forty staff and liaisons. “We’re gonna need another table. Jerome another launch tank!” Amanda looks worried.

This place has hit capacity. Only Demarist and Stoat are allowed through. The reporters and public already inside get up close with the most dangerous man on the moon: a militant Librarian looking for a war. I think he wants to attack me. I’m aware as he approaches that he’s armed with an Urbanizer automatic pulse pistol and is armored up like a sec sub grunt. Now I’m sure he’s going to attack me! He scowls at me with righteous indignation. Demarist is distracted by Helen’s holographic phone call image, he’s edging his way into her contact cone. How sweet. Chevrolet coordinates her sniper squad into the systems girders above us. 

“Should I declare war on you Dvorak! It follows you everywhere!”

“I go but to war… me war just finds…I war no cause…”

“My god! You’re drunk!”

“So where are you right now?” Demarist whispers to the laser beams. “You look great tonight.”

“Demarist! Could you pay attention?” Rex is riled.

“You can’t declare war on him! He’s not under investigation…the report it is filed!” Amanda attacks. It’s good to take a lawyer with you everywhere.

“No it isn’t. I haven’t finished my report.” Demarist would know.

“It’s that Paul’s been reinstated to a full budget, syscon one, and he gets his own librarian now.” Chevrolet says over his shoulder. “Or two...” I add. She continues: “And no librarian would ever declare war on another librarian. The military would never go for that. They’d say “To hell with them! That would make bad history. Let them fight it out with books.”

“I can declare war on whomever I want!”

“No you can’t…” Demarist puts a stop to this. “You can only declare a war if I’m concerned that some data relevant to my report is about to be lost to predisposed violence. Well, the subject of my report is Paul Dvorak and if anything happens to him than the data is lost so I would expect you to be prepared to declare a war any time he might be attacked. And his dog too!” Space likes Demarist.

“I think you need a drink Rex… what’ll you have… it’s on the house…”

“I… um… Gravatorade.” Nobody wants a dehydrated librarian.

“I want you both to attend my conference on Zoobums. Fully catered of course. Entertainment. Space Spa. Travel pay. Free accommodations. Gift Basket.” They would be there of course whether I invited them or not, I must respect any of Demarists warrants and subpoenas, professional courtesy among researchers is very important.

“Will you be there?” Helen is asked by Demarists holo cone. She blows him a kiss.

“Where is this to be? Here?” Stout’s tongue glows bright Space Gravatorade orange with ionizing electrolytes.

“Yes this is my new home base, operational HQ. With enough military defensible from all sides.” I guess. With enough military anyplace should be. “The party starts as soon as I awaken from the outcome of this one! You should move into the hotel next door and we could have overlapping liaisons.” That sounds kinky.

I suggest to Jerome to bring a keg tank of Gravatorade punch spiked just enough to not taste like it was spiked. Soon we all had bright orange tongues.

Dinner is excellent and not just cause I’m space drunk. I’m not as think as you drunk I am. I say “Celebrate!” for my research is on and tomorrow we find God. Spare no expense! In fact no religion has yet to find out exactly how much money is needed to find God, they keep needing more. So…

A big budget is a wonderful thing. Of the thirty two active research’s currently listed mine’s the biggest once again. Yet I haven’t spent hardly any Government monets. My expenses lately have been literally out of pocket. And now in the latest ten minutes my staff grew by three hundred. We start with everything ever written about God and work backwards from there to rock piles and cave art. Nothing commed by the great eight to me about any interest at the library in God. Why send a librarian to liaise with me on a research into God? Who declares war on God? Not sensible librarians. What does the Public Library Board know about God? Probably everything. I should start there for sure and Moody hires another hundred juniors and clerks. Instantly the opinions on Gods existence flow into the chaotic data vacuum which is my style.

We refugees and fugitives at suits Armando’s are cut off, with destruction, a construction zone, and a police cordon keeping me from home. The UNG hold my tube. Housekeeping tells Suit that the locks have been overridden. I have clear vid of paramilitary burglars documenting my choices in sanitary suit liners. This gets great laughs at our tables.

“Forlney?” She beams at me from purest open warmheartedness. “You document the unknown for the Anti-library?”

She frowns at that. She gets quite clinical. “I’m not a librarian or anti-librarian. I’m a field trained unknowologist. We are certain you will encounter the active unknow. I intend to draw a publishable conclusion relative to the nature of the unknow aspects of current evolving deistic sociologies.” She gets worried for a moment. “Of course if you will allow me to liaise with your research…”

“Well you could wait around till I don’t know something, which shouldn’t take too long, or we could combine our research’s.”

“Combine…?” “Paul often combine’s with young female liaison’s.” “He’s married several.” “Eet is how we met in Paris WE...”

“The key to successful liaise-ing is to combine with the Senior Researcher.” I knit my fingers together and raise the universal gesture of combining toward the glowing screen zone that floats with a no-G lab suited co-ed at its center. “I need your help. I want to know what the Public Library Board doesn’t know about God. Isn’t that unknow not stored in the database of the non existent anti-library? The PLB stores all the information it can get into databases. All. All mans knowledge of God is stored in there somewhere. It could solve the whole question of Gods nature if we could find out what the Public Library does not know.” This should cover mysterianism amidst the shelves of unknow.

“I don’t know…”

“You’ll be my Aeropagite! Strip away the light and bring me a box of the darkest unknow!”

She got cagey with me, projecting a holo calling grant adviser between us for a moment. With a gesture he cleared it as covered by her contingency clause. “There’s a lot they don’t know…” She fairly growled. Soon she had to get a separate table for all the holo callers of her support staff, her Aeropagus in my Athens, interns all busily considering how to find out what the most knowledgeable organization known does not know. I knew they would love it.

“I need a drink!” A nice launch tanker of Marstini.

“Lets see if Armando’s is open.”

With Jenkins covering us we stroll the shops to Armando’s Cafe Lunar, the one place on Luna where Amanda can feel European and I can enjoy the best imported dusky red olives of a marstini.

It’s open and the bar is packed with media entnews crews from all the Solsys broadcast channels. Everyone in the room is stunned to silence as we enter directly beneath a huge vid screen wall at that very moment lit by our three faces framed with destruction bracketed by ricochets the foreground of a scene of crumpled bodies of Utah National Guardsmen. Faces before us rise and fall from screen to us in apparent disbelief. Then it is a rush of questions amidst a jostling mob of drunken pundits and anchorpersons.

“Mr. Dvorak Mr. Dvorak! Why did you cause this war?”

“What do the aliens want?” “How will you plead to the charges?” “Why don’t you surrender to them so the destruction will stop?” “Who do you think will win the Oscar for best actor next week?” We’ll pay any amount you name for an exclusive!” “Do you really intend to investigate God?” “Are you afraid of burning forever in hell?”

“I’m no librarian! I didn’t cause anything!” “You tell me.” “Fuck You!” “Fuck You Too!” “Roomey Bepal for her remarkable performance in O San Jimja” “More money then my suit has?” “Yes.” “Who wouldn’t be?”

“Now then, what do I have to say to get a drink in here? One launch tank of Marstini Armando!”

“And I’ll have Calvados.”

“Bark! Yap!”

“No beer for you Space!” I must be firm about this. I’ve been warned by the authorities he’s technically not old enough to drink on the moon. We’ll top off his suits hydration basin collar with water neat.

We claim a table at gunpoint near the back in a corner next to the kitchen hatches. Space marines carrying multiple weapon systems wait not for restaurant seats. The drinks arrive. Once again suit buys. Jenkins has an energy cocktail that sparks and foams, that he must drink through his goggled blast visor to protect his eyes from the fumes. Space has a bowl of cool moon water. Amanda’s suit, what little of it remains, takes audio control of our local zone and play-lists us a selection of rousing accordion songs. This barely drowns out the background roar of a bar full of excited drunks and their holo caller staffs blinking in or out.

The entnews multi screen update reports in several languages that the zubomilary council has cordoned off the area invaded by the UNG who have their contractors already repairing the damage. It has been announced that damage claims will not be disputed. They are being, as usual, very generous to the victims of their destruction. The spokespersons in Salt Lake City spin the mess back at me. I am to be charged further in Idaho with mass murder and assault as the cause of all the casualties on Luna is my refusal to surrender to their “Police pursuit” of me. I need more Marstini. “Armando!” I wave the empty launch tank. He has one in the sonic shaker instantly.

Jenkins keeps the ravenous reporters at bay with lowered blaster muzzle.

“Researcher Dvorak!” A no-G lab suit with a girl in it pushes the muzzle aside. Her lami’s flash “record” in academi-documentary format. She’s not media-tarian working an entvid news broadcast, she’s from the Governmental University Industrial Complex! The two holo callers on 'observe' mode indicate that: “Folney Shoreham, Sir.” is here on a grant. “I’ve been sent to you by the NN Taleb Anti-Library to assist you in encountering the unknown.” She’s quite cute. I’m falling in love with the unknown of her. I have so much to learn about her I get suit started with the tap of a lami tab, and her message previous plays out silently on a 3cm display strip. Lovely Folney is lami tapping also and her observers on 'holo call muted' disappear with a “bip”.

“My I liaise?” Her eyes say please.

My mouth says: “Have a seat. Would you like a drink?” She has a triple latte in a low-G sippy cup. Amanda calls for the Calvados bottle. Suits treat. Ooooh I predict cat fight. Sor Bon vs. Smith?

Space growls an alert at the heavily armed squad of space Marines who reinforce Jenkins’s perimeter by evicting the most immediately nearby tables of their drunken vid jockey’s. Another team posts at the entrance hatches. Chevrolet pushes through the burgeoning crowd leading a six person team dressed in very expensive invisi-camo armor that makes the scene shimmer as they move. When they semi encircle us the many cameras aimed at me vid only the nano-fiber bent mood lighting of Armando’s artful décor. Chevrolet orders Scotch and cola. We push two tables together. Jenkins sets up his OP by the piano out of grenade range so his cohorts head up displays are not blurred by the invisi-camo. I wonder how soon before he hauls his loungi-cliner out and bivouacs. Armando ushers a gaggle of waitpersons bearing trays of snacks.

“Paul.” Armando is looking very pleased for having a wanted fugitive hiding at his establishment with complete multi-media coverage. “Let me introduce to you, Jerome, my replacement.” Jerome does a bow towards us.

“Your replacement! Armando where are you going?” Amanda is concerned.

“I retire Mademoiselle. I have sold Armando’s Café. I am now a very wealthy man and I am off to live out my wildest dreams!” He turns and leaves through the kitchen door as if chased.

“Suit!” Chevrolet, Amanda, and I exclaim in unison.

“The probability that this place will be destroyed soon made buying it now a sensible investment.” Suits Carla voice tells us. Cheaper then paying the tab? “Ahhh…insurance…” Dawns the Mormon “settle-ers” We three think alike.

So as the owner of the pants that own this bar that’s about to be destroyed I can only think to do one thing: yell as loud as I can…

“Everybody tonight drinks for free!” To the cheers of those not on armed duty. “Free food for all who can’t get drunk yet!” “Free everything! The party is on me!” One sure fire way to be popular in a room full of bloging reporters is free booze and food.