1208-06 (a8hjb dist, 3.2 mean)


> All your queue are belong to us!



It was a dark night in the office. Only a single light shown upon the
drawn face of Sybil, the countenance of Pythia, and the total absence
of Cassie. Sybil pointed at a well-used piece of paper in front of
her, and said, for what was apparently the hundredth time, "We can't
claim that as an expense!"

"Sure we can, Syb. Business write-offs are like rabbits; you come up
with one, you're sure to find at least ten more buried in hard-to-reach
areas. Besides, that .44 came in damn handy when I was in a tough spot
in Siberia."

"In a completely different fiscal year."

"Well, yeah. But benefits are benefits."

"What about the massage? Or the seven gallons of pure hydrogenated
body oil? Or the seven-week stay in three of Hong Kong's more
expensive hotels?"

"What? I needed to relax!"

"But we can't claim those as tax write-offs. The IRS will have our
hide."

"Bah, the IRS. I could fight them off with both my hands tied behind
my back, and enjoy the experience."

"If we submit this tax form the way you want us to, that may become a
very real option."

"Trust me, Syb. I've been filing taxes long before I joined up with
Delphic Research. I know how to avoid an audit. In all this time,
have I ever lead you wrong?"

"Do sentient weasels ring a bell?"

"Oh, we needed to get the place fumigated anyway."

"Okay, have it your way. But if the IRS come knocking on our door, I'm
pointing them in your direction."
-----------

Date: April 16, 2001

*KNOCK*KNOCK*

"Hello? Miss Stodge?"

"It's ... oh, bloody hell, forget it. May I help you?"

"From the IRS I am, miss. Speak with may I you?"

"Our field agent, Pythia DiStephano, handles all our tax needs. Step
right this way. Oh, Pythia..."

"Yeah, Syb?"

"This man wants to speak with you. From the IRS."

"Oh. Dear."

"Hello, Miss. Afraid don't be, please if you. Answer questions would
like if you could."

"Er, sure. What's your name?"

"Mr Cant. Questions about form taxes do I have."

"Of course, Mr Cant. I'd be more than happy to go over any of the
problems you might--"

"Audit this concluded, it is."

"I beg your pardon? But you haven't even--"

"Office one look did I have to see. State of plight obvious financial,
me to."

"Really."

"Reclaim possessions, we will. Post-haste collection will I agency to
you."

"Not if I can help it."

"Use to point gun no. All your queue are belong to us."

"I'm afraid not. This is our livelihood."

"Useless resistance is."

"Alright, that's it. It's only the sixteenth; there's no way in hell
the IRS would have processed our tax forms that quickly. Who are you,
and who are you working for?"

"Revenue Internal--"

"Enough double-speak, Yoda-boy. I can shoot the eye out of a flea off
a dog's back at fifty paces, and right now it's aimed right between
your eyes. I'll promise to aim for the one of the pre-frontal lobes so
death'll be quick, if you don't start talking."

"Wouldn't you!"

"Oh, I would. Answer me."

"Great and all-powerful is he. Not like if speak do I. Master he is
of queue. Removed scene you from the does he want."

"The Oracle's behind this?"

"Indeed."

"I don't believe you."

"Incarnations has he. Several you dislike they do. Removal a pity,
but done can be nothing."

"Made up of many, is he? Dammit, now you've got me doing it!"

"And divided is he. Like you do some of him, others not. But will the
of many outnumber will the of few. Rules majority."

"I want names."

"Names I have. Price I want, and safet--"



"Dammit! Hey, Sybil, where do we keep the burn-removal chemicals?
We've got another failed Orrie agent here!"

You owe the DRI $35,000 in clean-up costs.