Message-ID: <32473asstr$999994202@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Path: not-for-mail X-Original-Message-ID: <3B99CD24.3437@earthlink.net> From: Andrew Roller Reply-To: roller666@earthlink.net MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=iso-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 08 Sep 2001 07:45:17 PDT X-ASSTR-Arrival-Date: Sat, 08 Sep 2001 14:45:17 GMT Subject: {ASSM} girl patrol, chapter five Date: Sat, 8 Sep 2001 20:10:02 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: newsman, gill-bates Our story so far: a pedophile and three little girls dressed in Frederick's of Hollywood costumes try to survive in the final days of earth's future. - NND --------------------------------------------------------- Visit my FTP site: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Roller/ <--click Click, or put the address into your browser. All my stories are there. --------------------------------------------------------------- Andrew Roller Presents GIRL PATROL Chapter Five Real men worked this mine, hard-digging men who knew the value of a dollar, because that's all they were paid for a day's work in it. When the mine played out the company moved on. Since it was the middle of the depression when the mine gave up the last of its coal, the company left a big gaping hole under the ground, miles of tunnels and chambers, and mineshafts leading to the top that were only indifferently sealed. One mineshaft was left so poorly blocked-off that by the 1960's it had become a hangout for children, or at least the uppermost part of it had, where the old iron elevator sat motionless, perched at the top of a mile-long shaft. Had Bill Gates been the one to die in 1978, Microsoft would not have dominated the computer world by the 1990's. But it wasn't Bill Gates who died, because he knew nothing of the mine or the old mineshaft manned by the motionless elevator. In 1976, the year of America's Bicentennial, just before the Fourth of July, Henry Dorkson and his friend Milton found the mineshaft. They couldn't resist entering its old elevator, though it wouldn't budge no matter how hard they tried to get it to lower itself down into the bowels of the earth. The next day, on the third of July, they went into the old generator shack that stood next to the mine opening. The generator was a victim of years of neglect and, since the 1960's, long summers of abuse. But Henry Dorkson and Milton set about repairing it. By August they had it repaired, and by the time they went into the eighth grade, at George Washington Junior High, they had some solar cells hooked up to the generator to give it that extra "oomph" that would get it going and keep it running. In November they learned how to bypass the generator altogether. An array of solar cells, open to the hot Arizona sky but hidden from the prying fingers and eyes of children, powered the elevator that Henry Dorkson and his friend Milton had in working order. The year 1978 saw the introduction of the first Apple computer. Henry Dorkson and Milton were ready for it. They were fascinated by cryogenics, the freezing of bodies, but they needed a computer to run it all and keep it going in their absence, powered by the solar cells a mile above their heads. Down deep in the mine, they installed the first of the Apple computers. They hooked it up to the cryogenic bed they'd constructed. To their delight the solar cells ran the Apple just fine, and the cryogenic bed, big enough to squeeze in two adults. It was a year before Alien, and already they had beaten Ridley Scott to the punch, constructing a bed that most people wouldn't see until a year later. Henry Dorkson and Milton congratulated themselves on their accomplishment. "But, man, we need to get a volunteer," Henry said to Milton. He gave him an appraising look, prompting Milton to say, a little fearfully, "No way, Henry! I'm not getting into that thing." "It would only be for a little while. Like making a snow angel or something," Henry Dorkson said. "I've never made a snow angel," Milton answered, for, unlike Henry, he'd lived all his life in Arizona. "I guess we'll have to find someone else then," Henry said. Milton's eyes lit up. "Hey! How about Fat Arnold? It's big enough for him," Milton suggested. "I knew there was a reason we built it so big," Henry Dorkson said. "Let's go ask him. If we promise him lunch at McDonald's he just might say yes." "Sure," Milton agreed. And they went and found Fat Arnold, and he found the offer of a burger to irresistible to pass up. Plus a coke, extra large, and fries and a shake, of course, all paid in advance. When Fat Arnold was nice and full he let Henry and Milton show him their "experiment," deep in the mineshaft. "Hey, we used to play here!" Fat Arnold said, as he passed the generator shed. "But I've never been inside before," he added, as the boys directed him eagerly into the old iron elevator. He meant, of course, not the elevator itself, which he'd even fallen asleep in, back in the fourth grade, on a hot summer day, but the shaft. Down they went into the ever-cooler mineshaft, leaving the hot desert behind, going down to the "computer room" that Henry and Milton had constructed deep in the bowels of the earth. "Just lie down, Arnold. We'll take care of the rest," Henry told Fat Arnold. The big boy obliged; the walk out to the old mine had been tiring and the trip down the mineshaft was rather unnerving and scary. In this well-lit room, though it was deep underground, Arnold laid down in the large cryogenic bed his two friends had constructed. He had nothing to fear from the boys. They were friendly, geeky guys, not prone to playing tricks on him like some of the other children. Henry and Milton went to their computer and babbled happily in geek-speak. Arnold listened for a bit, then started to doze off. He didn't notice when Milton and Henry eased a plexiglass shield over the top of the cryogenic compartment. When the gas hit him, it rendered him unconscious. Then, inside his plexiglass-domed bed, Fat Arnold lay there as the temperature went down. Farther and farther, until it was well below that found in any refrigerator or freezer. "It's working!" Henry grinned at Milton. The boy observed the body and said, "The computer should keep him going, although that is a lot of blubber to keep alive." "Don't worry. Everything will work out okay," Henry assured Milton. "What are we going to say to Arnold's mother if we kill him?" Milton asked, growing a tad nervous as ice crystals began forming inside the compartment, on the interior of the glass. "It's not a problem. We'll let him sleep for awhile and then we'll wake him up," Henry told Milton. "But the experiment is successful based on how long we keep him on ice," Milton replied. "What are we going to do, wake him up in time to send him home for dinner? Nobody will believe that we could have kept him under for decades." "We'll keep him down for a week and then revive him," Henry said to Milton. But the other boy knew his friend well enough to know when he was lying. "You want to keep him here forever," Milton said to Henry. His friend blinked at the accusation, then frowned. "You want to be in on this or you want to be a sissy?" Henry asked Milton. "I'm just saying--" Milton persisted. "Let's go celebrate at McDonald's. We'll discuss what to do and take a vote." "Alright," Milton said. They had been so excited at recruiting Fat Arnold that they hadn't eaten with the boy when he'd had lunch. They'd just sat with him, watching him down their money, eagerly telling him how important he'd be once their "experiment" had proved that they were great scientists. Now, feeling in their pockets to come up with the last of their change from their lawn mowing jobs, they took the old elevator back up to the surface. It would be a great lunch, although not as lavish as Fat Arnold's, and as they ate it they would prepare the speeches they would undoubtedly be asked to give to the Nobel Prize committee. In the event, Henry Dorkson and Milton were so overwhelmed with the apparent success of their "experiment" that they forgot a most basic lesson of kindergarten. Failing to look both ways as they crossed the street, they were struck by a bus and killed. 30 ----------------------- Dreamgirls! ----------------------- -- More stories at: http://groups.google.com/ Search by typing: roller666@earthlink.net Click on "Power Search" Change "standard" archive to "complete" archive. -- Other providers: IFLC: http://assm.asstr-mirror.org and http://asstr-mirror.org Anya's Lil' Hideaway: http://www.insatiable.net/ Silver: http://www.mr-yellow.com/goodies The Backdrop Club: http://www.backdrop.com Usenet Newsgroup: alt.sex.stories.moderated -- Great art books by David Hamilton and Jock Sturges are at: http://www.amazon.com http://bn.com (photos of naked little girls) -- Naked little girls/politics: http://www.AlessandraSmile.com Man/boy love: http://www.nambla.de Politics: http://www.lp.org http://www.isil.org http://www.fear.org http://www.fija.org http://www.aclu.org -- Naughty Naked Dreamgirls (Library of Congress ISSN: 1070-1427) is copyright 2001 by Andrew Roller. Dreamgirls, Naughty Naked Dreamgirls, and NND are registered trademarks of Andrew Roller. All rights reserved. -- Visit me at: http://home.earthlink.net/files/Authors/Roller/www666/index.html Or at http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Roller/www/index.html (It is case sensitive, i.e. type Roller, not roller). -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+