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From: Andrew Roller <roller666@earthlink.net>
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 08 Sep 2001 07:45:17 PDT
Subject: {ASSM} girl patrol, chapter five
Date: Sat,  8 Sep 2001 20:10:02 -0400
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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.
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