Panache and the Curious Affair of the Gin and Tonic

[Birddog]

That no mention be made whatsoever of the incident in the Hamilton Pub where Grant tried to persuade a young lady to perform what is commonly known in the vernacular as a “kilt check”, the fact that this person was the foremost ranked woman highland athlete in Ontario

P.

When I get home, I have to try and find pics of this rubber chicken sporran...

[Panache]

Panache and the Curious Affair of the Gin and Tonic:

A Victorian Serial told in Chapters

Chapter 4

Those that have followed my previous narratives may recall that I had dealt with this Grant fellow in my excursion to the Arctic Circle (see Panache and the Great Hunt for the Acryli-Beast for details). He was certainly a most peculiar man, and had caused quite a lot of trouble, but I failed to see how even he could be responsible for the cessation of the Universe-at-Large. I said as much to the apparition before me.

“Now look here Madam Pleater, there are many things that can be said of Grant. Come to think of it they all have to be said as they are unprintable. But how can one person muck things up on such an epic scale?"

The shimmering image regarded me with a raised eyebrow “you have met Grant before haven’t you?”

I sighed and nodded, Madame Pleater continued.

“Apparently four days ago the members of the SOKS were attacked by a group of masked men led by Grant…”

“SOKS?” interrupted Arlen

“The Sinister and Obscene Kilt Syndicate” I explained.

“They sound like a bunch of wankers” said Arlen

“Errr…Quite” Madam Pleater admitted . “In any case the members of the SOKS were conducting an evening meeting in their secret headquarters…“

“Secret Headquarters?” Arlen asked.

“Well actually a little Irish pub in the York Region of Toronto. It was chosen as the SOKS headquarters because it was located across the street from a large warehouse the SOKS had rented and the happy hour beer specials

“Will you stop interrupting her Arlen! At this rate we will never get the exposition over with” Colin called out.

Madam Pleater continued “As I was saying, the members of the SOKS were well into their meeting and had just made the important decision to order crisps with the next round while they waited for their leader Grant to arrive. A (consistently) late arriving member, by name of MacHummel, announced that he had noticed from the parking lot a figure wearing a leather kilt with a rubber chicken as a sporran sneaking into their warehouse. It was none other than their leader Grant trying to break into the building! Thinking something was amiss the SOKS went out to confront him.

“If it was their warehouse why was he trying to break in?” asked Colin thoughtfully.

“Wait I thought Grant fellow was their leader? Didn’t they trust him?“ asked a confused Arlen.

Everyone in the room stopped and stared at Arlen with disbelief (including Mr. Tibbles the badger)

“You obviously don’t know Grant” I remarked.

“Please do go on. What happened next?” Trefor asked.

Madam Pleater resumed her story , “Another rather…salty… SOKS member known as Uncle Ricky offered some…well…very…colorful…words and then asked in no uncertain terms what Grant was doing? Grant didn’t respond and a group of masked kilted men rushed out of the night to attack the surprised SOKS. There was quite a scuffle as the SOKS tried to defend themselves, but they all had, I believe the term is “the stuffing beaten out of them”. When they regained consciousness Grant and the masked men were gone and the warehouse empty.

“What was inside the warehouse?”

“This picture was taken by an amateur photographer that very night." The image of Madame Pleater was replaced with a large color photograph. The picture was striking. Brightening the night sky above the city was a huge blazing circle of blue light with the back half of a blimp projecting out of it. Part of a large red leaf that adorned the white stripe amidships could be seen and the end of the airship was also red.

“Another Maple Leaf!” I exclaimed.

Madame Pleater’s image replaced the photograph “Indeed Captain Panache. From what limited information I was able to obtain it would seem that the SOKS had constructed a larger, more powerful, and better armed blimp to replace the first Maple Leaf."

“What is the blue circle of light?” asked Colin.

The apparition stared at us all with a grim look before answering.

“It is a gap in our Reality. Apparently the new Maple Leaf is equipped with some device that can punch a hole big enough to allow the blimp to slip through the Space/Time Continuum. It is a crude device that tears the very fabric of Existence.”

“Where did the ship go?” I asked.

“Where or When did she go? That is the question and one you will all have to solve.”

“When?” Asked Colin incredulously.

Madame Pleater’s image again vanished to be replaced by a newspaper clipping. The photograph accompanying it showed a dragonfly with a wingspan of at least 2 feet lying dead on a sidewalk. Her voice explained “this appeared in the latest…hmmm…actually quite possibly the last ever edition of the Toronto Sun this morning. It appears to be of the species Meganeuropsis permiana from the Carboniferous period. Ill suited to life in our Modern world it perished.”

“Holes in the fabric of Reality” I whispered.

“This is what caused everything to disappear?” asked Arlen

Madam Pleater appeared again to answer him.

“Either the device Grant is utilizing to travel through the Space/Time Continuum or his actions in these Otherwheres and/or Otherwhens have caused the fabric of universe to unravel.

Trefor asked “How is it that we still exist then?”

“More importantly what can we do to put things right?“ I asked.

“That shall take some explanation.”

Madame Pleater’s projection removed its glasses and turned to face me.

“Captain Panache, much of the success of your mission will depend on your ability to understand the complex mathematics and theories behind quantum mechanics, particle physics, Relativity, and String theory ”

“We are all doomed” noted Colin.




To be continued.

[robthehiker]

“Another rather…salty… SOKS member known as Uncle Ricky offered some…well…very…colorful…words

That's funny. He sounds a lot like... Oh!

[Panache]

Panache and the Curious Affair of the Gin and Tonic:

A Victorian Serial told in Chapters

Chapter 5

The image of Madam Pleater sighed.

“Perhaps I need to make this easier for you. Have you heard of String Theory, Captain Panache?

I nodded, “Indeed I have. The basic idea as I understand it, is that the universe is entirely made up of these tiny little one dimensional objects called strings that vibrate at different frequencies”

Trefor walked toward me shaking his head with an amused smile. “Jamie my dear fellow, I’m not sure you have the concept down at all. You should probably start with the Holographic Principle and how it interrelates to the Dual Resonance model before getting into any of the overviews of any of the Superstring theories”

We were all a bit taken aback at Trefor’s apparent easy grasp of such esoteric principles. He smiled at our a surprised faces and with a shrug said “I’m Welsh”.

At this declaration Madam Pleater’s image cooed a quiet “ahhhh” and nodded in understanding.

“What does that have to with anything?” asked Arlen.

The shimmering projection said “Have you ever encountered the term The Music of the Spheres ?”

Arlen said “yes of course”

“Well the Welsh have not only always heard it, but they sing along in three-part harmony. If Dylan Thomas hadn’t chosen writing he would have been a physicist. I think Captain Panache you have found a Chief Engineer for your zeppelin.”

The image paused a moment and then began to expound.

“Now Captain Panache instead of imagining the universe as made up of a jumble of individual strings, I should like to imagine these strings as connected into long threads that are woven together”

I interrupted her, “Madame Pleater are you trying to say the Very Fabric of Reality is…”

“…a fabric that makes up Reality. With warps and wefts. I’m sure you have at least heard of the concept of different dimensions, other universes if you will. These exist parallel to ours. Science has speculated that there are places in our universe where Time and Space are folded. Only the Tewksbury theory has gotten to the truth. Reality is not so much folded as pleated, in an ordered fashion. Other universes exist neatly lined up next to ours but all are part of the same cloth of Reality.”

Arlen began laughing and the young Scot cried out “ Warps and wefts? Pleats? You make the universe sound like a kilt! So are we pleated to sett or stripe?”

Madam Pleater replied very gravely “Sett, but such a vast and vastly complicated sett that it is almost beyond human imagination. Remember young man, we are not speaking of merely the universe but Reality itself”

Arlen fell silent.

I asked “So these warps and wefts make up some sort of repeating pattern?

Madam Pleater nodded.

Colin spoke, “look I thought that there were supposed to be an infinite number of dimensions with an infinite number of possibilities. How can there be a pattern?”

“That depends on the thread my Canadian friend, and that is why Captain Panache is crucial to saving Reality.”

“I don’t understand.” I declared.

Madame Pleater continued “ In each of these universes lined up next to each other there are some threads that define the pattern or tartan if you prefer. Captain Panache is one of them. There may be subtle variations but Captain Panache is (in all probability) always going to be a well dressed, polite, honorable, though vain and pompous individual with a tendency to digress and drink gin and tonics. He is (in all probability) virtually always going to be part of the League of the Moderators, and he will always be Captain of a ship called the Saltire. Just like in all these universes Grant (in all probability) is going to be a well dressed, pert-buttocked, blond-maned, strange-acting, megalomaniac, rubber chicken enthusiast with delusions of Royalty and a ship called the Maple Leaf."

“Who never gets kilt checked” I added still wincing a bit at the descriptors “vain" and "pompous“ .

“No Captain Panache, Grant’s inability to be Kilt Checked goes beyond the sett of our Reality. It is a fundamental Law of an ordered positive universe/universes. The concept of Grant being Kilt checked is inconsistent and antithetical with our Cosmos.

Now the most important thing is that the two of them will always follow paths that intersect in opposition. Grant is a warp to Jamie’s weft. Though it is possible probability that universes exist without the Jamie/Grant dynamic, they would be a regularly occurring irregularity that forms part of this Cosmic sett. Though I doubt if one could get a decent creme brule' in one of these rather odd dimensions”

The table Mr. Tibbles had been so diligently working on suddenly fell over with a crash. The badger regarded his efforts and burped with satisfaction.

Trefor stroked his chin “So because Grant is behind this disaster , and his path and Jamie’s always cross, Jamie is destined to oppose him”

“Jamie will always find him, or Grant will find Jamie. That is why Captain Panache is vital to the success of this mission. It will involve traveling through Time, Space, and perhaps different universes. If not for the fact that the pattern of Reality demands that they meet your quest would be futile. That is why I sent the device that allowed us to anchor your existence...” she pointed at my belt buckle. “....and the equipment that will allow your zeppelin the Saltire to travel through the other wheres / other whens to find the Maple Leaf.

Arlen asked “Is all this exposition really necessary?”

Madame Pleater’s projection sighed. “We are almost finished my young Scot. I and the resources at the Mata Hari Institute of Culinary Excellence no not know exactly what Grant and the crew of the blimp Maple Leaf have done to unravel the fabric of Reality. The device that the Maple Leaf uses to travel through Time, Space, and dimensions is crude and punches huge gaping holes in the fabric of existence. This may or may not be the cause of the disaster. The device you will install on your airship is code-named “needle” it will enable the Saltire to slip between the threads and move between universes. The machinery here at the MHICE code-named “pin” will give your ship a reference point to navigate by . They are connected by a stream of Tachyons, a “thread” if you will, that will bring you home. “

I murmured a few lines of Donne

“If they be two, they are two so
As stiffe twin compasses are two,
Thy soule the fixt foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if the'other doe.

And though it in the center sit,
Yet when the other far doth rome,
It leanes, and hearkens after it,
And growes erect, as it comes home."

“A bit romantic Captain Panache” said Madam Pleater blushing, “But more or less accurate. You must follow Grant and we will monitor your journey and help bring you home. We hope, with our Mr. Brown's help, to mend the breaches that Grant has created from our end. But you will have to find them and him.”

“So that’s it? We follow after this blighter Grant and you fix the holes. Then we find him, get him, and beat the stuffing out of him. Will then everything be as it was?” Colin asked.

“Beating the stuffing out of Grant is not necessary” she noted.

“Though rewarding” I said under my breath.

I was given a dark look from Madam Pleater and I motioned for her to please continue.

“The truth be told, you will need to discover exactly what Grant did to cause this catastrophic incident and correct it. Though actually it will be really what he will do, as you will need to go back in time and follow him from the beginning.”

Madam Pleater’s image began to flicker.

“This communication is straining the MHICE’s power reserves. Follow the enclosed instructions and get “pin” installed in your airship. When it is activated I will contact you again.

The image vanished.

Colin spoke, “well gentlemen it sounds like we have work to do. Let’s get on with it!”

Everyone agreed and looked at me. I nodded and led the way to the secret hangar of my zeppelin, the wondrous Saltire. Though a nagging and terrible question plagued my mind as we walked through the Great Golden Hall of X Marks the Scot, I could not give it voice. For something had returned to the faces of the good fellows behind me. It had been lost at the sight of the oblivion that lay beyond our windows, but from that oppressive void this shining bright thing had come back to them...

Hope













To be continued.

[davedove]

Madame Pleater continued “ In each of these universes lined up next to each other there are some threads that define the pattern or tartan if you prefer. Captain Panache is one of them. There may be subtle variations but Captain Panache is always going to be a well dressed, polite, honorable, though vain and pompous individual with a tendency to digress and drink gin and tonics. He is always going to be part of the League of the Moderators, and he will always be Captain of a ship called the Saltire. Just like in all these universes Grant is going to be a well dressed, pert-buttocked, blond-maned, strange-acting, megalomaniac, rubber chicken enthusiast with delusions of Royalty and a ship called the Maple Leaf."

Interesting, so my team and I have managed to stumble across the one dimension where Panache and Grant do not fit this pattern. Or perhaps they did fit the pattern, but Panache's untimely death in that world somehow turned the sett assymetrical in that dimension.

[starbkjrus]

My my. I think I"m going to have to retire to the study with some strong ale and a good dram or two to contemplate these revelations.

[davedove]

My my. I think I"m going to have to retire to the study with some strong ale and a good dram or two to contemplate these revelations.

How do you think the original theory was formulated.

[davedove]

Though it is possible probability that universes exist without the Jamie/Grant dynamic, they would be a regularly occuring irregularity that forms part of this Cosmic sett. Though I doubt if one could get a decent creme brule' in one these rather odd dimensions”

I don't know about that, but I have it on good authority that they frequently serve a rather bland oatmeal for breakfast.

[Panache]

Panache and the Curious Affair of the Gin and Tonic:

A Victorian Serial told in Chapters

Chapter 6 (Part 1)

The next few days were filled with frantic activity for all of us. Though in truth I should be wary to use the term “day” or any of the vernacular relating to time, as we discovered when we reached the massive walnut grandfather clock down the hall from the Library. This impressive timepiece concealed the entrance to one of the many hidden elevators and secret passageways that filled the Great Golden Hall of X Marks the Scot. As I reached out to a particular carved sheep that formed part of the clock’s decoration I noted that it had stopped just after 4 o‘clock. What was unnerving was that pendulum was stopped mid swing instead of resting in the center of its arc as it should have. Instinctively we all checked our various pocket and wrist watches to find they were all stopped at just past 4:00. Even more unsettling was Colin’s discovery. On checking his very modern wrist watch (that made him feel particularly clever due to its use of lighted display of digits instead of a face and hands, though these were now frozen at 4:01:46 PM) he held his left wrist in his right hand. His eyes grew wide and he immediately felt his chest. “Your heartbeat, check your heartbeat!“ he gasped.

Not one of us had a pulse or heartbeat.

“Does this mean we are dead?“ asked Arlen.

Trefor answered, “No lad, we are just outside of Reality which means we are also outside of time.

“Then how are we alive? “ asked Colin.

Trefor pointed to myself and then the waist plate I wore. “It may very well be that at this moment we all exist more as a concepts in Jamie’s sub conscious mind than as living entities. A lot of existence is based on perception.”

“That does not make any sense at all!” complained Arlen.

The Welshman sighed. “Look would it make it any easier if I just said ‘It’s very complicated‘ , and left it at that?”

Arlen replied immediately “YES!”

Trefor shook his head “Arlen, It’s very complicated”

Arlen said “Oh , well then that's alright. Thank you”


I pressed the carved sheep and the clock slid aside, we entered the elevator, and descended into the bowels of the mountain underneath the Hall. A short ride in one of David’s monorail trains took us to the huge underground hangar of the zeppelin Saltire.

In a great cavern she lay. The hangar had been blasted out of the solid rock of the mountain to form an enormous hidden hangar for my airship. The Saltire was perhaps the largest and greatest airship ever to be built. Her canvas “skin” was bright blue with a large white cross amidships which gave her her name. She was powered by 8 massive Maybach engines turning an equal number of mighty propellers from nacelles that jutted along her lower sides. Numerous rooms including a grand salon/observation deck were located inside her hull though she was controlled from the front gondola that was her bridge. This dirigible was armed with batteries of Vickers machine guns, bomb racks, a small squadron of Sparrow Hawk biplanes that could be launched and retrieved mid air, and virtually unlimited supply of hot coffee for her crew. This was provided via an elaborate system of pipes and tubes that ran throughout the ship. The system, invented by a famed kilt maker and coffee drinker Steve Ashton, provided an efficient cooling system for the engines while offering piping hot coffee from numerous spigots throughout the ship.

David and Todd, shortly before their disappearance, had just finished updating the zeppelin’s equipment. Todd with radar and a small armory, and David with a rack of deadly missiles, and a most ingenious machine of his own design. This device ionized water vapor in the air around the ship’s hull to create an “artificial cloud”. A collapsible periscope could be lowered from the bridge for viewing purposes while the airship was concealed.

The Saltire was moored in the hangar facing outwards toward the huge hangar doors (which from the outside looked much like a smooth formation of rock). When docking these camouflaged doors slowly swung open and observers from the rear gun battery would signal the bridge crew with directions as the zeppelin was slowly backed in toward the huge opening in the mountainside. A heavy mooring tower traveled the length of the hangar along railroad tracks set into the floor. This mobile tower was moved forward to the edge of the cavern and there attached to the Saltire’s aft end. Then it slowly pulled the airship back into the hangar. A second mooring structure descended from the roof to secure her at the nose. The doors would slowly close and no evidence of the airship or hangar remained to the outside observer.

This entire complex operation required a well trained crew of at least thirty people. Taking her out shouldn’t require nearly so many. If I was very careful and very lucky I myself could pilot her out with Colin, Arlen running one starboard engine and Trefor and Spasm operating one port one.

If I was very lucky.

Looking at my magnificent airship, I couldn’t escape the conclusion that our mission was doomed from the start.

The regular complement of the Saltire’s crew was 80 individuals, not including security personnel or the officers.

I might, just might, be able to launch my airship.

But I wouldn’t be able to fly her and certainly not fight her.

My companions were already eagerly opening the crates from the MHICE. Again I held my tongue and went to join them in their efforts.


* * *

[Panache]

Panache and the Curious Affair of the Gin and Tonic:

A Victorian Serial told in Chapters

Chapter 6 (Part 2)

Without the aid of our timepieces and without day or night is was impossible to tell how long it took us to install the complicated machinery. Trefor carefully assembled the “needle” device in a small room in the main hull above the gondola. The rest of us had to lay hundreds of feet of power lines from it to the ship's eight engines. We worked till we were exhausted, ate when we were hungry, and occasionally slept. The dreamless nature of our sleep somehow didn’t refresh us as it should.

Once the power lines had been routed we prepared the airship for flight. This wasn’t terribly difficult as I liked to keep the Saltire ready to leave at a moment's notice. She was fully fueled and held provisions for a full crew. Still with only Arlen, Colin, and myself to check over an airship hundreds of feet long even the simple preflight checks took a long time to complete. Spasm’s contribution, save tea and sandwiches, was the discovery of an old hand cranked phonograph and a few dusty records in the attic of the great Golden Hall. Our musician crew often played while we were flying and Spasm seemed to feel that our voyage should not want entirely for music. Mr. Tibbles the badger looked at our efforts with indifference and had set to work gnawing on an armoire in the parlor he had had his eye on for some time.

The “needle” device was a brilliant wheel-like machine of some silver metal, not unlike a miniature carousel , some 6 feet in diameter. It rotated slowly clockwise. Instead of painted wooden animals, a series of crystal balls of various sizes spun and moved up and down twelve sliver poles around its circumferences. In the center of the machine was a curious and delicate looking device that resembled a spider of silver wire and glass. It spun anti clockwise while its Twelve thin arm moved in a slow seemingly random pattern. Each arm pieced numerous smaller crystal spheres that also spun as they moved along the arms. A control box was mounted on a table nearby containing literally hundreds of small levers.

Trefor had diligently followed the instructions that had been provided for the machines’ assembly. The poor Welshman had become beside himself soon after completing the device as he couldn’t find a table of probable settings to calibrate it. He enlisted our aid to search for it. Eventually Arlen found them stapled to the underside of the lid of one of the crates. Trefor was absolutely certain that it hadn’t been there before. Taking the table he locked himself into the room with the strange machine and set to work adjusting it, emerging only every now and then to drink large amounts of whisky, swear, or sing Welsh songs. All of which, he later explained, were vital in assisting him with his calculations. After much work (and several empty bottles of single malt) Trefor announced the machine was ready.

We gathered at the hangar before our ship ready to start our voyage. Trefor had donned a kilt in the tartan named after the Patron Saint of Wales and wore a shirt, cap, hose, and jacket in lovat green to match it. Colin proudly sported his Mackenzie tartan kilt and a wore a black Canadian hockey jersey. In addition he carried a hockey stick.

“What’s with the hockey stick? “ inquired Trefor.

“It is part of my Canadian heritage. It serves as a reminder of the great athletes who were my childhood heroes and inspired me as a child with their fortitude and strength. In an uncertain time such as this, it is a symbol of the rugged determination that characterizes Canada and assuages my sense of loss …”

Trefor raised an eyebrow.

“…it is also very useful to smack people over the head with.” Colin admitted.


Arlen, perhaps being influenced by Trefor wore a kilt in the Heritage of Wales tartan and a very familiar looking bright red tunic with badge above his heart shaped like a target.

I groaned inwardly.

“Jamie I found this absolutely wonderful pullover on the ship! It’s absolutely fantastic with this tartan! “

“That would be a Security Ensign uniform Arlen…” I began.

“IS IT! WOW! CAN I BE A SECURITY ENSIGN? OH MAY I? MAY I PLEASE?” he enthusiastically pleaded.

I sighed and nodded .

Spasm was dressed in his usual black tail coated butler’s uniform (which I imagined had originally been made in the early 1800’s) and carried what appeared to be a hubcap instead of a silver tray. Colin had slipped on Mr. Tibbles formal spiked collar for the occasion and the badger was currently gnawing on one of Spasm‘s shoes. The aged retainer didn‘t seem to notice.

For myself I had chosen to dress in the manner of those brave Scottish regiments when they were dispatched to the wild unknown of tropical climes. My kilt was of the Black Watch tartan and I had paired it with tan hose, safari shirt, brown sporran and leather accessories, red flashes and pith helmet. I had stuck a brown leather braided horsetail fly whisk given to me by my beautiful wife in my thick belt for luck.

We were as ready as we were going to be.

I was about to give the order to embark when the shimmering image of Madam Pleater appeared.

It nodded approvingly at us. “Good work gentleman. I apologize Trefor for forgetting the probable settings. Mr. Brown was able to pop in back in time and get them to you. Did you have any problems with your calculations? “

“Only the hangover” replied the Welshman rubbing his temples.

“Madam Pleater”, I interrupted.

“We are as ready as we can be. But you must know that it is going to be virtually impossible to fly this zeppelin with only five people and a badger!”

Madam Pleater adjusted her glasses and nodded.

“Indeed I do, but Mr. Brown is a resourceful fellow and has found a crew that should prove quite satisfactory in this great endeavor.”

“Where are you going to find a crew that knows this ship as well mine did?“

The image smiled and there was a great flash of light.

The hangar was filled with a crowd of kilt wearing men with neatly trimmed beards.

They all wore the Black Watch tartan

…and safari shirts

…and pith helmets

As I stared they moved as one...


...and eighty Panaches turned to face me and snapped a salute!









To be continued.