This is the first three chapters of my new novel "Young Republican, Yuppie Princess", now available for the Kindle at Amazon and the Nook at Barnes & Noble. The paperback should be available sometime in April 2011.

3. YOUNG REPUBLICAN,
YUPPIE PRINCESS
by Nicole Chardenet
Full version now available for the Kindle at Amazon.com & Amazon.uk
And also for the Nook at Barnes & Noble
Just search on my name ­ Canadians can order/download from Amazon.com
Paperback due out by end of April from both sources

4. To John, Bonnie and Vandar
and all the great times we had at
The Bluefish Tavern and Kuwait
(not the country!)

5. CHAPTER 1
It was 1984, and all was well with my world. The economy was booming, Ronald Reagan had
just been voted back in the saddle, and we had shown the Rooskies a thing or two in Grenada which
destroyed our candy­ass wimpy do­nothing reputation. (Thanks for nuthin', President Carter!)
The next four years were going to be great. I mean, look at what the Republican Party stood for:
Free enterprise, small government and deregulation. Okay, they're a little weak on women's rights – but
hey, they'll come around soon enough. I mean, how can they afford to blow off half their brain power?
All things considered, isn't Ronald Reagan just about the greatest President since Truman dropped The
Bomb on Japan? I envision a string of Republican Presidents from now until the end of my days. What
have the Democraps ever done for us?
It was winding up to be a damn good year for me, Joyce Diana Bacyrus, future terror of Wall
Street. I had survived a rigorous Spring Semester by mastering the dreaded Principles of Investment
Management class, one of those dreaded 'weed­out' courses designed to separate the wheat from the
chaff in the Business Administration program, which we future yuppies shortened to 'BusAd.'
Eventually, of course, I would get my MBA.
I had also passed (albeit with a low A) my Intermediate Macroeconomics class. Hacker insisted
it would have been easier if I'd come over and used his amazing VisiCalc spreadsheet software program
on Baby­­the name Raven assigned to the Amiga, the most recent acquisition in Hacker's long
succession of Bigger, Better, and Faster PC's. This semester I was taking an Introduction to Computers
class, required of every BusAdder.
My favorite TV show was Cosmos, because I adored Carl Sagan for his keen, incisive
commentaries and his dedication to the truth, even if he did sound suspiciously liberal and utopian at
times.
Dr. Carl, as I fondly referred to him, required proof for everything. In Broca's Brain, he
laughingly debunked the mystics and fortunetellers who'd foisted various metaphysical ghost­chasing
psychic­psycho baloney on the more gullible members of society (you know, mushy­brained liberals).
For Dr. Carl, everything was explainable. He had no time for fluff­and­nonsense. I respected
that. The world is what it is, tangible and explicable.
Of course, I have no idea what he would have said about the bizarre adventure which began with
those damned flying kickballs...
* * *
It was the week before Thanksgiving, and Raven and I were meeting Hacker and J.B. to see The
Karate Kid. I didn't much care about the story, but I wanted to get out of our cramped little dorm room,
and Raven had assured me it wouldn't be an American version of those dreadful Japanese ninja movies
with little dialog and tough­looking out­of­sync­speaking Orientals kicking each other's faces into
downtown Osaka. Hacker, a brown belt in tae kwon do, had chosen the flick.
"Joyce, have you seen Hacker's baseball hat?" Raven asked as I dug into the back of my
shoebox­sized closet for my favorite sweater. The weather had been unseasonably warm and was

6. predicted to be so through the weekend, but I was taking no chances. I had a big Advanced
Macroeconomics exam on Monday and could not afford to catch a virus.
"I thought it was in your closet," I replied as I pulled out what I thought was my sweater but was
actually my Pat Benatar sweatshirt. I threw it back and began digging again. "Do you have his jacket?"
"Right here," she replied, and she tossed his tatty­looking red rag on the bed. Hacker was always
leaving stuff in our room.
He'd asked us to come early. He said he had something Pretty Serious he wanted to show me
and Raven and since he'd already shown it to J.B., I was reasonably certain it wasn't his penis.
I put on Hacker's jacket and Raven donned his cap. We surveyed each other. Quite a pair, we
were. Raven was average height with big dark eyes and glossy shoulder­length black hair with straight
bangs. With black eyeliner she looked like Cleopatra. She was actually quite attractive but didn't know
it. She was very intelligent but lacking a few social skills. This probably explains why she got on so
well with Hacker, who was often as clueless as she.
I, on the other hand, was a little taller and thinner with brown eyes and straight chestnut­red hair
I usually wore pulled back in a ponytail. I was no glamor girl because I didn't have time for that vanity
shit. There were far more important things in life, like making mucho dinero. Besides, it was my
opinion that men didn't take a woman seriously if she looked like some kind of centerfold model, and it
was imperative as the Future Terror of Wall Street to set the proper expectations. I wore the latest
designer jeans and a green IZOD shirt. I frowned. Something was missing. I fished around in a drawer
for my old 'Reagan­Bush in '84' button and pinned it to my shirt. Even though the election was over, it
was fun to annoy the campus liberals.
I picked up a copy of the college newspaper lying on the floor. I noticed Stephanie Oliveri's
picture was on the front page again.
"They still haven't found that girl from Hacker's computer class, have they," I commented as
Raven and I headed for the elevator.
"The campus police have brought in the cops," she answered and we stepped inside. "Hacker's
been pretty preoccupied this week, and he mentioned something about trying to find her. I think he's
more upset than he's letting on."
"He probably just wants to boff her," I sneered to take my mind off the descent. I hate heights.
They make me nauseous and dizzy.
Raven gave me a disgusted look. She was wearing that stupid orange Day­Glo headband again
from her D&D game. Along with some weird blue tunic­type shirt that came below her hips and belted
with a fringed sash, over a pair of blousy black pants and leather boots that laced up to the knee. The
baseball hat, which she wore with the brim to the back, made her look like an Egyptian redneck
medieval peasant. I hoped no one I knew saw us.
"I'm sure that's not true," she replied. "They're good friends. He's been helping her with
programming and she's been helping him with English comp. He says she's really sweet."
"He wants to boff her," I concluded. We walked out of the building into the November night.
The air was only slightly cool, although I was still glad for my sweater.
We passed a tight group of students with a small boom box on the grass. The funky New Wave
strains of One Thing Leads To Another filled the air as a tall skinny kid attempted what he thought was
break dancing. One of the girls, sporting the ever­popular Flashdance 'just raped' look, with torn
sweatshirt carefully fallen off one shoulder (no bra strap), giggled and tossed back her perfectly permed
curls. A Madonna wannabe grooved to the beat and pursed her scarlet lips at the breakdancer as we
passed. Raven and I looked at each other, smiled, and shook our heads. Raven may dress like a Lord of
the Rings reject, but at least she's not an MTV loser.

7. Her corner of our dorm room looked like a set from a swords 'n sorcery flick. Pictures of
dragons, elves, half­orcs, and long­haired leather­booted humans graced the pale green walls, and a
Boris Vallejo calendar hung over her desk. Her small bookshelf was crammed with a vast assortment of
fantasy­oriented science fiction novels, as well as several D&D playbooks. Three fencing trophies
graced the sock drawers beneath the mirror. A large typewriter dominated the desk, along with two
unopened reams of paper. A sword hung on the wall.
When I first entered the room that semester, my new roommate glanced up from the large parti­
colored assortment of hexagonal and dodecahedral gaming dice on her bed.
"Hi, you must be Georgina," I gulped. I confess with a name like Georgina I'd expected some
shy, retiring little Library Science nerd with thick glasses and a thrift­store wardrobe. Instead I found an
exotic­looking geek who looked unlikely to be shy or retiring.
"Yes, but you can call me Raven," she replied. "With a name like Georgina I'm sure you
understand. Raven is my D&D character and everyone called me that in high school. Because of my
hair, you know."
I nodded weakly and extended my hand. "I'm Joyce. It's nice to meet you. You play D&D a lot?"
I wanted to know how much of this nonsense I'd have to put up with. I found fantasy role­
playing games slow, dull, and babyish. Imagine near­adults pretending they're dwarves or elves or
dervishes or whatever, running around casting spells and beating witches and vampires and man­eating
leeches! Not only did I feel like a fool trying to decide what I would do if a Gelatinous Pudding offered
a direct attack (and apparently, eating it was not an option), but calculating hit points and charisma
scores and all that other crap slowed down the game.
"I play all the time," Raven answered enthusiastically. (Oh no!) "I've been DM'ing a game over
in Walczyk Hall for the last year, and we might put together a live D&D game soon. We're hoping
maybe to use The Swamp. You ever heard of the live games?"
Weakly I nodded. Oh dear God, she was a worst­case scenario! In live games, people dressed up
in silly pseudo­medieval clothing and ran around in the woods with Spock ears and wolf fangs and
plastic weapons acting out their puerile fantasies. It was my firm opinion that such people were
emotionally arrested and needed to get a real life, and I was entirely certain I couldn't stand living with
one of these socio­nerds for an entire semester, let alone the rest of my school career. Suddenly an off­
campus apartment sounded appealing.
"Do you ever play?" Raven asked with an eager look. Better set her straight right now, I thought.
If she thinks she'll be running those D&D all­nighters in this dorm room, well, like the popular Judas
Priest song said, You Got Another Thing Comin'!
"Nope, never," I replied. "I don't have time for games. I'm a junior, and I've got my hands full
with my classes. Corporate Accounting is a real bitch and I'll be taking two classes with labs next
semester."
"Oh, you're a BusAd major?" I thought I detected a note of distaste. "What do you want to do
after you graduate?"
I looked her straight in the eye and put on my best Wall Street wolf's expression. "I want to work
in investment banking and make an obscene amount of money before I'm thirty." That's what my father,
a Republican lobbyist, told me I should do. He says there are two kinds of people in the world, hard
workers and lazy­asses. People like us are smart and make lots of money, and everyone else needs to
just work a little harder.
"Oh," she commented and went back to her dice. I decided this was probably not the best time to
mention that my role model was Leona Helmsley. Look, she was a talented businesswoman before she
sold out by marrying a rich guy.

8. Raven came from a middle­class family in Massachusetts and was on a scholarship. Her major
was English and she wanted to be a writer. She wasn't interested in working for a newspaper but her
father insisted she minor in Journalism because he wanted her to leave school with at least one career
skill. Smart man.
She penned short stories and poems and wanted to write fantasy­science fiction novels. One was
half­finished, she said, and she hoped to send it off to a publisher by the end of spring semester. She
was convinced she could support herself with her writing, her father's opinion notwithstanding, and it
wasn't my place to tell her she was insane.
"I hope your typewriter is quiet," I remarked. "I sometimes turn in early.”
"Oh, it has word processing capabilities," Raven answered. "See, you can put a floppy disk in
the side. I can print out in the morning. I'd like to get a computer but right now I don't have the money."
I was thankful I wouldn't have to deal with that annoying rat­a­tat­tat of an old Selectric like my
poor beleaguered classmate who was rooming with a doctoral student working on her thesis.
Raven also, it turned out, was one of the top ten fencers in her state. In high school she'd made
the state finals twice and the national semifinals once.
"Those aren't all my trophies," she explained as I observed the ones lining the mirror, and her
tone wasn't boastful. "But I knew this would be a small suite, and that I'd have a roommate."
"Thanks for the consideration," I mumbled as I stared at the tiny silver swordsmen. Now damn,
there’s a useful skill in this day and age! I wonder when she'll learn how to spin wool into thread!
In the weeks that followed, however, Raven kind of grew on me. She had a warm personality,
she liked Dr. Carl too, and she could be quite insightful when she wasn't too flaky. I could relax around
her the way I couldn't around my fellow yuppie classmates.
Although I know she disapproved of my politics (ah, she was still young and idealistic), I think
she appreciated my sophistication and sarcastic humor. She came to me several times for help with her
Business Math class, a course I could have aced unconscious, and a couple of times she proofread my
English Comp essays. Sometimes we ate dinner together or grabbed a bite after a late­night study
session, and we even came to appreciate the other's passion for music (she liked Jethro Tull, I adored
Pat Benatar).
So anyway—
"What do you think Hacker wants to show us?" Raven asked as we trudged across the campus
green to Tramski Hall. The Swamp was off in the distance, a large cluster of trees and shrubbery that
earned its name during the rainy season and the spring thaw, when the soft, clay earth turned to muck,
and during the summer became a Club Med for mosquitoes. Not that it ever stopped fruitcakes like
Raven and Hacker and the rest of their socially­stunted friends from running around in there pretending
they were lost in a parallel universe.
"Beats me," I shrugged. "He was pretty cagey on the phone. He said something about 'improper
channels.' Maybe it has something to do with Stephanie Oliveri's disappearance."
"Could be," Raven agreed. "He's been uncharacteristically quiet the last few days, and when I
ran into J.B. yesterday he said Hacker's been working furiously at his computer, mumbling to himself
and refusing to break for meals."
"This is unusual?" I laughed. “Except for the being quiet part.”
"No, he's upset. I mean, the campus cops searched Stephanie's room and found nothing amiss.
The bed was turned down, her computer was running, and the stereo was on although the tape had run
out. It was like she'd stepped out for a moment and disappeared into thin air."
"Did anyone see where she went?"
Raven shook her head. "It was a Sunday morning. Most of the students were in bed, except for

9. the floor fundies who were in church."
Stephanie, according to the local news rag, had no known enemies or nutty exes. She was
described as shy, quiet, and unassuming. I'd never met her, but her name had begun popping up
frequently in Hacker's conversation in recent weeks, which I assumed meant he wanted to jump her
bones, as was typical for our socially inept and hormonally­overstimulated friend.
Tramski Hall stood in the distance, just beyond the Swamp. The campus, I noted, seemed
unusually quiet, with few students about for a Friday night. One of the local fraternities was holding a
large open­house party this evening, which probably explained the absence.
Raven babbled about some guy in her English Lit class, and I only half­listened. She was always
falling madly in love with one guy or another, and usually getting completely ignored. As attractive as
she was, she didn't realize she tended to descend into babbling doltishness. She was a sex goddess
waiting to happen, if only she'd dress like she belonged in the right century and learned when to shut
up.
My thoughts had turned to a speech on Reaganomics on campus in a few weeks when I became
aware of a strange sound emanating from The Swamp. It sounded almost cartoonish.
"Raven, do you hear that?" I asked as we stopped. She fell silent.
"What on earth could that be?" she said, and I just blinked at her. I half­wondered if maybe it
was some frat guy's idea of a joke. It grew louder.
"Let's go check it out," I suggested, and I started toward the Swamp.
"Wait, Joyce, it could be dangerous!" Raven called, but I turned with a smile.
"What danger can it possibly be?" I asked. "Unless it's the Rooskies planting nuclear weapons so
they can take over the country starting with this little nothing backwater town. I know if I was a
Communist, I’d certainly start with this pinko­infested school!"
"I just think we should be careful," Raven replied. "There's no sense in walking blindly into
anything."
Now it sounded like a whole chorus of weird noises, and they seemed to move around within the
trees as we approached.
We paused close to the edge. It was too dark to see much, and because it had rained heavily the
week before I didn't care to step in a lot of smelly muck.
A large black object hurtled toward my chest and veered up just before it hit my face. With a
small yelp, I jumped back and glanced at Raven, who was staring at something in the treetops.
"What the hell was that?” I cried, but before she could answer, another black shape came
hurtling through the darkness, this time buzzing the top of my head and emitting the strange sound.
"Did you see what that was?" I asked. "Was it a bird, or a bat, or what?”
"I couldn't tell, it happened so fast. But it didn't look like a bird or a bat," Raven gasped. “Look,
there goes another one!"
I followed her pointing finger. A large black sphere emerged from the trees and circled around
the Swamp. Against the lighter backdrop of the night sky, the silhouette looked sort of like a ball with
wings.
"What the bloody hell is that thing?" I breathed as it disappeared around the other side. "A
mutant nuclear mosquito from Hell?"
"I don't know, and I don't think I want to know!" Raven answered with a note of panic. "I vote
we get out of here!"

10. CHAPTER 2
Three more of the objects descended from the trees. They circled around us, and in the light of a
street lamp we saw them clearly.
They were something out of a nightmare. The first—uh, thing was about the size of a large
grapefruit and of a brownish­red color that reminded me vaguely of the kickballs I'd played with in
grade school. A shriveled, hairless appendage like a tail hung down from behind. The creature
possessed a protruding face, with bulbous glassy eyes and sharp white teeth lining its tiny mouth. When
it opened its jaws it emitted that weird sound.
"Come on, Joyce, let's go!” Raven shrieked, and we ran. The three monsters followed us, and
when I turned back to look, similar shapes were emerging from the trees.
"Faster, faster!" I screamed, and we flailed our arms to protect our heads. One of the critters
grazed my back, and I reached back to brush it off, and another touched my arm. I grasped its stubby
little tail, which felt unpleasantly hairy, like the rough bristles of an elephant, and flung it away. It
squealed with surprise and maybe pain, and I wondered if I had perhaps endangered myself and my
friend. Who knew what kind of injury the unknown beings could inflict upon us, or what kind of
diseases or infections we could catch from their bite.
The kickballs buzzed all around us, and I wondered where in hell Campus Security was. Raven
shrieked, and we raced around the side of Tramski Hall, and stopped just long enough to pound
frantically on Hacker's window, which was what we usually did to announce our arrival, albeit less
violently.
Raven reached the first set of glass doors, which she opened and was able to shut before any of
the flying kickballs could follow us. Two hit the glass and bounced back. I turned to see one drop to the
ground, its large gauzy wings beating like an insect's for a few moments before it rolled over and took to
the air again. The swarm of critters flew about outside, temporarily thwarted.
Hacker and J.B., cleverly alerted by our hysterical pounding, opened the second set of doors,
locked to all except residents. We shoved inside, slamming the first doors behind us. I fell to the floor
and Raven fell into Hacker's arms, and then I backed up against the wall and covered my face with my
hands as I shook and tried to block out the hideous sounds from those vile little monsters outside.
"What the devil­­" J.B. breathed as he stepped close to the doors.
"What on earth did you two pick up on your way over here?" Hacker cried. One of the kickballs
hovered just outside the first set of doors, displaying its ugly little piranha face before it flew off and
was replaced by another.
"I don't know, I don't know," I mumbled from behind my hands. "They came from The Swamp.
We were passing by and we heard strange noises, and then they just flew out and attacked us!"
"Are either of you hurt?" J.B. asked, and we shook our heads. Hacker's roommate probably
knew more ways to injure, maim and kill than anyone else I knew, and it comforted me to have him
there. He also possessed a knowledge of healing and medicine that defied known science. The guy can
take a damaged back muscle and after fifteen minutes of kneading it and rubbing it with certain herbs,
cause the pain to disappear and leave you unable to find where it ever hurt.

11. "Just take us away from these awful things!" Raven sobbed, and J.B. helped me up. Hacker led
us to their room. I flopped down on his bed and Raven curled up in the beanbag chair, with Hacker
hovering protectively over her. I caught sight of his computer, piled high as usual with papers and
textbooks, with one particularly high heap weighted down with a large rock.
"What the hell can those things be?" J.B. mused.
"I don't know, but I never saw anything like them on Wild Kingdom!" Hacker retorted. He ran
his free hand through his shiny brown hair and pushed his glasses up. "Are you sure neither of you are
hurt?"
J.B. brewed chamomile tea in his crock pot. Although I don't have much use for his funny­
tasting concoctions, I knew chamomile was a good tranquilizer. I would have preferred a good stiff shot
of Hacker's favorite whiskey, but felt it would be impolite to ask.
"I wonder if they're life­forms from another planet," J.B. remarked.
"Oh come on, you mean space aliens?" I retorted. "Let's be real, shall we?"
"Be real? You show me what's real about those winged demons!" he shot back. "I think we can
all agree they're unlike anything we've ever seen before. Have you got a better explanation?"
I hadn't, so I looked away, but I was still annoyed.
"Maybe they're experiments gone awry in the biology building," Raven offered. "You know, like
in cross­breeding species, or something."
"Yeah, the world would be so much more interesting if we could mate kickballs and
dragonflies," I snapped. "Still, that's better than the space aliens theory. The questions that remain are,
how long have they been living in the Swamp, who else knows about them, or why didn't anyone know
they existed until now?"
J.B. opened his mouth to reply, but then we heard the familiar buzzing sound and the strange
cartoon noises, and I bolted up from the bed as the first of the horrible beasts flew through the
bathroom and into the boys' room. The suites in Tramski Hall were connected by a bathroom so that
neighbors shared the same facilities. Apparently the other guys had opened their windows and then
gone out.
J.B. grabbed a set of nunchucks on the nightstand—yes, that's normal for him­­and started
swinging at the creatures, his impeccable aim catching the first squarely across the face and sending it
careening into the wall with a sickening thunk. I threw up my arm to cover my face, fully expecting the
creature to explode in a gaudy shower of flesh and blood, but to my immense surprise it bounced and
fell down, just like a kickball, and rolled over the blankets and took to the air again.
Raven was shrieking hysterically and beating at the air with her arms, and I felt a kickball seize
my ponytail – with its teeth, I guess. Hacker knocked the thing off me like he was serving a volleyball.
This creature, too, bounced off the ceiling as though made of rubber and then off each wall before
disappearing through the bathroom. They seemed indestructible.
"Follow me!" Hacker ordered, and he pulled Raven off the beanbag chair and pushed us toward
the bathroom. I thought he meant for us to escape through his neighbors' door, but J.B. guided me
toward the shower.
"Are you crazy?" I screamed. "Those things are trying to kill us! What do you think the shower's
going to do?"
"Just get in there!" he commanded, and he pulled back the cheap white plastic curtain. He was
about to push me into this tiny little space barely large enough for one person to comfortably shower, let
alone hold four bodies under attack, but as I didn't want to trip on the porcelain abutment in front of me
I stumbled over it and felt J.B. push me hard towards the cold tile wall, and I cringed to feel my face
smash against­­

12. ­­nothing.
I fell, and my hands flew out to meet­­what? A blinding light filled my eyes as I rolled over and
over on grass, and J.B. rolled after me, and I pulled myself up to see Hacker and Raven stumble
gracelessly through­­thin air?­­and then fall on the ground next to us.
"What in hell is going on?" I demanded. I sat up and looked around. I began to think I was
caught in the middle of a truly abysmal nightmare, as the events of the evening were just too fantastic
and horrific to be real. Kickballs, last time I checked, don't fly, and I suspect Hacker and J.B. did not
initially accept their dorm room with a meadow in the shower.
Because that's exactly where we appeared to be.
And that was, mind you, a bright glade with brilliant green grass, fluffy white clouds, a forest of
trees, and a multitude of birds' songs emanating therefrom.
I checked out my companions' reactions to this. J.B. sat with his elbows resting on his knees,
casually playing with a blade of grass. Hacker lay on his back, cleaning off his eyeglasses with his
shirttail.
Raven, on the other hand, clearly noticed that the shower had expanded considerably since the
last time we'd visited. She craned her neck in all directions as she drank in the vision with wide­eyed
wonder. Not that either of us had ever been in their shower, but I think the boys might have mentioned it
earlier if they'd discovered an alternate universe in the twa­lette.
"Love what you've done with the bathroom, Hack," I finally remarked. "The landscaping is
really boldly avant­garde. Do you think you might install an Olympic­size swimming pool in your
closet?"
"This is what I wanted to show you," he said.
I nodded. "Apparent­ly. But really, Hacker, the forest is a bit much. I think you should have
saved that for your underwear drawer."
"What is this place?" Raven demanded.
Hacker sat up and put his glasses back on. "The best I can tell you right now is, welcome to
Chassadril."
I began to suspect J.B. had added some funky herb into our tea, as he was the only one among
us who knew of such things, except he wasn't the type to slip people unknown drugs. But I knew there
had to be a logical explanation for this.
"Chassadril," I repeated. "Lovely name. But I don't recall seeing it on the map. Then again, I
don't recall ever seeing your shower on the map, either."
"Near as I can determine," Hacker began, and his tone was deadly serious, a state which one
rarely saw in the goofy computer nerd, "Chassadril is an alternate universe I somehow opened up with a
program on my computer."
I nodded silently, my face blank and impervious. I suppressed my first urge to strangle my friend
until his brilliant blue eyes popped out of his head.
"J.B.," I said calmly, "I know I can always count on you to be a breath of reason and rationality
when Raven and Hacker go out of their minds, as they are wont to do from time to time. Judging by
your reaction, this isn't your first visit to­­uh­­Chassadril. Please tell me where we are and how we can
get back, and if you still have some time, maybe tell us what the hell those goddamn kickballs were."
J.B. sighed and slapped one of the nunchuck rods into his palm. "I don't know what the
kickballs were," he replied, "but I suspect they came from this universe. And to the best of my
knowledge, the explanation is exactly as Hacker has given it."
Ordinarily, I would expect this kind of nonsense from Hacker, who once thought it was funny to
program Raven's typewriter to talk back to her, and which scared the living crap out of her (she was

13. sure it was haunted or afflicted with gremlins or some such poppycock), but J.B. and I have always
been of similar nature, as he is more serious than his whacked­out roommate, just as I am more reality­
bound than mine. Heck, he's a fellow Republican.
"I want you guys to know I don't find this the least bit amusing," I announced, and I punctuated
my words with a withering look. "I don't know what you've done to produce Shangri­La in the lav, but I
suspect at the very least you've been mucking around in something dangerous and if I find out it's
drugs, I know two guys who are going to get slapped upside the head with a two­by­four!"
"Joyce, we're not playing with you. What I say is true," Hacker replied, and his face was as
serious as mine.
"Hacker, that's crazy!" I shot back, and I threw a disgusted look at J.B., who had decided to go
delusional for no apparent reason. "People don't just have alternate universes pop up in strange places.
There isn't even any such thing! That's all a lot of science fiction hokum! It's like time travel and E.T.
phoning home­­it makes a good story, but let's not confuse fantasy with reality!"
"Joyce, don't assume just because you've never seen something, that means it doesn't exist," J.B.
admonished.
"Come on, J.B.­­you're the sensible one! How can you buy into this ridiculous story?"
"Because," J.B. explained, and I could see my reflection in his ever­present sunglasses, "I think,
therefore I am. It is, therefore it exists."
"Is this really an alternate universe?" Raven exclaimed as she jumped to her feet. Hacker
nodded. "This'll make a great story idea! COOL!"
The temperature was definitely warmer than it had been in the boys' room or the outside. The
time of day appeared to be either early morning or late afternoon, depending on whether the sun was
rising or setting, (make that late afternoon – no dew) and the meadow had all the familiar outside
smells one would associate with it­­the rich earth, the occasional whiff of wildflowers, the aroma of
lush greenery. It was solid enough­­and at a different time of day than it had been a few moments ago.
Or had it been a few moments ago? My sense of time was completely hosed.
"I discovered this yesterday," Hacker explained. "I opened the portal in the shower with a program I
saved on my floppy disk. I went exploring and left my Swiss Army knife here. I also brought back a
rock from this universe. It appears that the knife and the rock are acting as 'anchors' and opening the
portal from both sides.
"I showed it to J.B. and we spent half the night talking about it. Joyce, I think this may somehow
be connected with Stephanie Oliveri's disappearance! I think she may have somehow discovered how to
open a portal to this universe, and either got lost or met with foul play here. I don't know what to do.
Should I bring in the police? What would happen if the people in our world found out about the world's
first alternate universe? What kind of impact would we have here? Or vice versa? Would the
government try to use or exploit the native life­forms here? There are all kinds of ethical questions. I
wanted to show this to you and Raven and get your input, because I respect your opinions."
"It's kind of like Star Trek," J.B. added. "Like the Prime Directive."
It was on the tip of my tongue to say that both of them had consumed far too much Saurian
brandy. Raven appeared to have accepted this explanation completely.
Gee, now there’s a surprise! It's no wonder she's a liberal.
There were only two possible explanations. Either Hacker really had produced colossal
weirdness with his computer, or that all three of my friends, two of which had a tenuous grip on reality
at best, had flipped out and somehow managed to pull me into their delusion. At the very least, I was
convinced that Hacker and J.B. truly believed what they were saying, and were not conducting an
elaborate joke at our expense.

14. "Well, this is all very fine and dandy," I began, "but just how do we get back?" I waited tensely,
half­afraid Hacker was going to tell me he didn't know how.
"The portal is open on both sides. Just step back through," he shrugged.
"Step back where?" I didn't see anything around me resembling a portal. I hadn't seen anything
in his shower that resembled a portal, either. In fact, I had no idea what a portal looked like.
He pointed behind me. "See those two rocks on the ground, about a yard apart?" he asked. "I put
those there yesterday to mark it."
"These two here?" I walked up to two large gray rocks. Hacker nodded.
"And if I step between these rocks I'll be back in your dorm room?" He nodded again.
I half­expected nothing would happen, but when I stepped between them, damned if I didn't find
myself back inside the shower. And I was promptly dive­bombed by a couple of kickballs!
With a shriek of terror I leaped back into the meadow. Only now I'd shown the kickballs our
escape route. Raven and I began flailing. J.B. swung ferociously at the kickballs with his nunchucks,
while Hacker issued karate chops which stunned several of them.
"Nice going, Joyce!" J.B. sneered as we all broke into a run. "Head for the trees!"

15. CHAPTER 3
I met Hacker the first week of school while sitting in the Student Cafeteria reading my Intro to
Computers textbook.
"Hi there, Hot Stuff! You taking Tyler's PC class?" I looked up to find a skinny kid with unruly
brown hair and large blue­framed glasses with matching eyes peering down at me.
"Who are you?" I asked, which I suppose was impolite, but I was unaccustomed to being
addressed as Hot Stuff by complete strangers, or by close friends for that matter.
"My name's Dan," the kid replied. "Daniel J. Thompson. But my friends call me Hacker."
"Hacker," I repeated. "How come?"
"Because I'm a computer wizard. I can program in four languages, I'm a CP/M wiz, and I can
crack any corporate mainframe. Do you know what a hacker is?"
I shook my head. He took the seat across from me and I saw for the first time the expression I
would come to know as his Oh­my­God­he's­gonna­start­babbling­about­computers­again look.
"A hacker is someone who illegally enters other computer systems and networks. Usually it's
just for curiosity, or to prove they can do it, but it's always criminal. The government has begun
cracking down on hackers. But they're having trouble prosecuting them. Know why?"
I shook my head, amazed at the consummate gall of this nerdy little twerp.
Hacker grinned broadly. "Most of us are kids. And judges don't want to send nice middle­class
kids to jail when they don't really understand the crimes these kids committed.”
"So you're trying to tell me you're a hacker?"
"I used to be. Remember that case about four years ago out of De Kalb, Illinois­­the
MotherVAXers?"
I remembered it vaguely­­a ring of teenage kids who'd made a game of breaking into
mainframes and altering data. Somewhere along the way they crashed several servers on some big
government network, and the media got involved. "Didn't they break into the computer system at
Yeshiva University and grant a diploma in Jewish Studies to Yasser Arafat?" I asked.
Hacker grinned even more broadly. "It was Harvard University. And we erased the president's
existing college degrees and replaced them with a B.S. in Modern Anarchy and a Ph.D in marijuana
agriculture!"
"What do you mean, we?" I asked.
"I was the first of the MotherVAXers prosecuted!" he announced.
I stared at him. “You're joking."
He shook his head. "Seriously. I was fifteen at the time. They wanted to make an example of
me."
"And you're proud of this?"
He shrugged. "I wouldn't do it again. I did some time in Juvie. So, are you taking Tyler's
computer class?"
"It's required for my major," I replied. "Not that I care about this stuff. I don't need to know how
a computer works or what binary is or the difference between a mini and a mainframe. All I want to

16. know is how to operate it and where to take it when something goes wrong."
"Oh, you don't want to do that," Hacker said. "Lots of people take their computer in for repairs,
only to find out they simply did something wrong and the computer was only doing what they told it to
do. Do you know what a RYFM is?" He pronounced it 'RIF­fim.'
I shook my head.
"It's a name computer salespeople use for the customers who are always calling and hollering at
them about a system they think doesn't work, or bringing it in to be fixed a couple of times a month."
"What's it mean?"
"Read Your Fucking Manual," he replied with a self­satisfied grin.
"Well, isn't that lovely," I commented. "Listen, I have to get back to my studying­­"
"Oh, don't bother with the textbook. It sucks. Why don't you come back to my room and I'll
show you my Amiga? I have some soft drinks in the fridge, and if you like I can make us some rum and
Cokes."
Oh lord, I thought, he wants to have sex. "I don't think so. I have class in an hour."
"Oh, c'mon. I can show you all around the inside of a computer better than that old CompSci
geezer. And wait 'til you see this new program I wrote­­"
“I don't think so," I stated, and Hacker smirked.
"What's the matter, don't you trust me? I'm a harmless guy. Unless you don't want me to be," he
added with a leer. Fortunately a student walked past Hacker's back and stopped at our table.
"Hey you guys, do you know each other?" It was Raven, carrying an armload of books and
dressed in a light summery white blouse and shorts. She was braless and her breasts poked impudently
through the thin fabric. Hacker's eyes swept her figure appreciatively.
"We just met," Hacker answered. He turned back to me. "Although I don't think you ever told
me your name.”
Raven said, "Oh, this is Joyce, my roommate. So now you know Hacker, huh Joyce?"
I nodded dumbly, not the least bit surprised that these two flakos knew each other.
"Grab a seat and join us," Hacker offered, and Raven sat down next to him. For the next forty­
five minutes we talked, and I found when he was not in Computer or Getting Laid mode, Hacker was
actually an interesting guy. He read a lot and had the same passion for Cosmos and Dr. Carl that I did.
That alone made me forgive him for his horndog introduction. He was a little liberal, like Raven, and
another D&D dork, but he seemed less naive.
He wasn't horrible­looking, just geeky. His skin was clear and his large blue eyes were his
strongest feature. His hair was medium brown, baby fine, and cried out for a better haircut, but Hacker
just let it fall in his face, sheepdog­style, and was constantly pushing it back. He could also have dressed
a little better—old faded jeans and a nondescript shirt. I supposed it wasn't beyond belief that someone
somewhere had come along and introduced Poindexter here to the rites of love, but I had my doubts.
Raven and Hacker were still talking when I returned for dinner. He wanted us to join him at the
cafeteria in his dorm hall.
"You can also meet my roommate, J.B., if he's around," he added. "But I have to talk to someone
from my Structured Programming class, so give me a minute, okay?"
"So what do you think, Joyce?" Raven asked when he was out of earshot.
I snickered. "I think I may not be safe with him in his room!"
"Oh, he's okay. Besides, if I come along you'll be safe."
"Unless he plans to double­team us!"
"Don't worry about Hacker. He's pretty harmless. I take it he hit on you?"
"Tried to pick me up first thing."

17. "Yeah, me too. But he takes no for an answer. The only problem is when he forgets to ask the
question!" It was hardly surprising ol' Hack had struck out with my lovelorn roommate. Hot 'n horny
definitely wasn't her type. She went more for the Romantic Hero—which more often than not was out
of her league.
I smiled to see Hacker talking animatedly to a pretty blonde. It was obvious he was trying to be
suave and debonair, although she seemed to be the Jocks and BMOCs type. Our Major Mover
apparently hadn't yet learned when he was out of his league either.
"I wonder if he's a virgin," I mused.
Raven was shocked. "It's none of your business!"
"No, it's not," I agreed, "but I'm curious all the same. Would he know what to do if he actually
got a girl into bed?" Raven looked pretty offended so I added, "Relax, bunkie, I was only kidding." I
suspected she was a member of the Virgins Guild too.
Hacker returned, and judging by the look of hope on his face, I gathered the blonde had neither
discouraged his attention nor right­hooked his lower jaw, and we all walked back to his dorm. He
babbled about the newest technology in Winchester drives the entire way.
The first thing I noticed in his room was the dark­haired man wearing sunglasses sprawled on
one of the beds. He glanced up, like Joe Cool, and mumbled a gruff, "Hey."
"Hi, J.B., how're you doing?" Raven greeted, and he smiled faintly. He was a little better­dressed
than Hacker and also very handsome.
His rich dark wavy hair was brushed straight back, and his body well­toned. His jaw was square
and clean­shaven, and although I couldn't see his eyes, I imagined they were dark and sensuous.
Although I wasn't terribly interested in men at that point because I was so focused on my degree and
subsequent career, I admit I felt a small stirring of lust. I mean, I'm human after all, not completely
bereft of sexual feelings. It's just that I'd had an unhappy love affair the year before and had wasted far
too much time and energy on feelings of loss and rejection that would have been much better spent on
my classes. And anyway, love won't buy the penthouse apartment in Manhattan I'm going to have
someday.
"J.B., meet Joyce. She's Raven's roommate," Hacker announced.
J.B. sat up and shook my hand. "Nice to meet you, Joyce." He reminded me vaguely of someone
but I couldn't quite place who.
"So what does J.B. stand for?" I asked.
He half­smiled. "What do you think?"
"Jingle Bells?" I shrugged.
"My name is Joshua Brandon Crawford," he replied, not smiling at my joke. "I prefer J.B.."
He crossed his arms at his chest and appraised me head to toe. I felt like a bug under a sheet of
glass and didn't like it. It was like he was putting on an act.
"So what's your major?" I asked.
He leaned back against the wall with his hands behind his head. "Criminal Justice," he replied.
"I want to work for the FBI. I know twenty­seven ways to kill a man."
"That's nice," I commented, taken aback. "Where do you keep the bodies, in the basement or
with your clown costume?"
"J.B.'s also an expert on holistic medicine," Hacker put in. "After he hurts you, he can heal
you!"
I turned back and raised my eyebrow. "Seems a bit incongruous, don't you think?"
With a quiet arrogance he replied, "Nothing is incongruous with me."
Lust level dropped precipitously. I hate posers.

18. "So," I said as I sat down on Hacker's bed, my arms crossed as well and emanating a quiet sense
of unconcern, "why are you wearing sunglasses inside the dorm?" Steve Dallas. That's who he looked
like. The sleazy lawyer from Bloom County. A supremely unfunny liberal comic strip.
"I always wear my sunglasses," was the cool reply. I barely refrained from rolling my eyeballs.
What little lust was left melted away like investors from Braniff Airlines stock.
But J.B., like Hacker, proved to be more interesting than I'd guessed, and I found a bit of a
kindred spirit in the tall character who also reminded me of Dirty Harry­­his hero. J.B. was Republican,
conservative on most issues, and left of center where he needed to be, like women's' rights.
While I never stopped hanging out with my own crowd­­my fellow yuppie gonna­bes from
BusAd, or even mentioned my less mainstream and somewhat flaky buddies, I found my three new
friends oddly refreshing.
* * *
Tree branches clawed my face and I stumbled over rough terrain as the four of us tore through
the forest. The kickballs buzzed everywhere, and although no one had yet been injured, I didn't want to
find out exactly how they could hurt us.
We came to another glade and J.B. and Hacker stopped running, so Raven and I stopped also.
J.B. started swinging his nunchucks, knocking kickballs right and left. Hacker began doing damage in
karate stance, and Raven had found a large stick and was fencing the beasts quite capably. Although
she'd claimed to be out of practice, had she been wielding a true sword, she could have presented us
with Kickball Shish­ke­bab.
I was painfully aware that I was the only one incapable of defense—and knowing I was
fulfilling the stereotype of the helpless female simply infuriated me. I picked up the nearest rocks and
began hurling. My aim, however, couldn't have hit the World Trade Centre, and my missiles sailed
harmlessly past my targets. Out of sheer desperation, I did the only thing one can really do with a
kickball­­I kicked the low­flying ones, and served the others volleyball­style, watching as they sailed
passed the trees, sometimes coming back, but sometimes not.
Yet there always seemed to be more. I didn't remember this many kickballs when Raven and I
were attacked outside The Swamp. Here there was a never­ending supply.
"Hacker! What do we do now?" I hollered, my arms red from smashing kickballs and my legs
growing tired. The noise from the monstrous swarm was incredible, and the sweat trickled down my
clothes, plastering my hair to my neck and making my shirt stick to my back. I pulled off my sweater
and resumed kicking and serving.
"I don't know! I can't seem to kill any of them!" he hollered. J.B. was tiring too.
"HELP!" Raven screamed. Several of the beasts were ganging up on her. She fell to her knees,
weakly swinging, and as I ran to help I felt two kickballs make a grab for my hair. I kicked three near
Raven and savagely beat the rest, and then I, too, fell to the ground. I heard a horrible piercing squeal. I
plugged my ears and the kickballs scattered.
"What the hell was THAT?" I asked when the last shrill squeal died away. J.B. and Hacker
dropped to the ground, panting.
"Look, someone's coming!" Raven cried, and pointed to a dark area in the trees.