The Alex Kilgour Jokebook

by Allan Cole

  The Alex Kilgour Jokebook

  By Allan Cole

  From The Sten Series

  By Allan Cole And Chris Bunch

  *****

  Published By Allan Cole At Smashwords.com

  Copyright © 2011 by Allan Cole

  *****

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  *****

  The Alex Kilgour Jokebook

  The Sten series - read by millions across the planet - was nearly dead on arrival. To be completely accurate, it was very nearly dead before my late partner, Chris Bunch, and I were halfway through the first book.

  This was to be our Novel debut - the realization of dreams that had begun for both of us when our ages were still in the single digits.

  What the clot could be wrong?

  We had a contract from Del Rey Books commissioned by none other than Judy Lynn del Rey herself. We had a thorough outline of the first book, plus outlines for eleven others. (As the years went by the 12 books we originally envisioned were pared to a leaner, meaner eight.) And at the point we sputtered to a halt we were two hundred damned pages into the book.

  Each and every day, no matter how hard we tried, we just couldn't get our Sten mojo going. We'd sit hunched over our keyboards, brows furrowed so deep you could have planted whole fields of turnips. Then one of us would groan, the other would moan, and we'd quit and break out the Scotch.

  One day Chris made a depressing admission. "The trouble is," he said, "is that I've started to hate the little bugsnipe."

  I didn't have to think long before I came to the same realization. I just didn't give a horse's fat patootie about Sten one way or the other. And I was one of his creators, for clot's sake!

  Chris said, "Here we have this kid whose parents we kill at the very beginning of the story."

  "And his brother and sister," I said. "Don't forget them.'

  Chris snorted. "How could I frigging ever? He won't let me." Then he said, "We've got two hundred pages of this little buttwipe dragging around, going Boo-Hoo, Woe Is Frigging Me. I'm so sad and lonely I could kill myself."

  " I wouldn't care if he did," I added, my depression deepening. I was beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel and it was an oncoming train.

  "He's like effing Oliver Twist," Chris said. "Moping around all the time so it gets so you want to kick his butt yourself. Dump the bowl of porridge over his head and stomp on his toes when he asks, 'Please, Sir, just a little more.'"

  "Yeah, it's the Artful Dodger you root for, not little Ollie." I said. "The Dodger's had an even worse life, but he's always out there on the street laughing and hollering and cutting every purse in sight. He's a nasty piece of work. But much more likable than Dicken's darling orphan."

  A long silence followed. We replenished our Scotches - more J&B than Schweppes, because you really have to watch your sodium intake, don't you know?

  Finally, Chris sat up - light dawning. And intoned: "He was born with the gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad."

  I nodded, remembering. "Rafael Sabatini," I said. "Scaramouche. One of the best first sentences ever. Not quite up there with 'Call me Ishmael,' or 'Turkey Doolin's crotch itched but close."

  "That's our problem," Chris said. "Sten is a humorless little son of a bitch. That's what we have to fix."

  We thought on it long and hard, then made a very tough decision. One of the hardest ever for a writer.

  We dumped two hundred damned pages into the trash. (All except for the opening sentence, which is pretty good as first sentences go: "Death came quietly to The Row.)

  And started all over again.

  Except this time we gave Sten - and the series - a sense of humor. It's dark humor, to be sure. The humor of cops, soldiers, coroners, and desperate writers.

  After the first book, Alex Kilgour- Sten's heavyworlder sidekick - assumed the major burden with his incredibly awful jokes told in an impenetrable Scottish accent. But before we could get to Alex, we had to change the whole tone of the series.

  The first moment - and turning point - comes in Sten #1, when our hero is condemned to the Exotics Section - an area known by the denizens who work and died there, as Hellworld.

  The book that follows is the brainchild of Kathryn, my wife, and my late partner's sister. She's gathered together all the jokes - with the scenes surrounding them - that we could find. Unfortunately, there are a couple missing - the eight novels run over a million words so it's harder to find something than you might think, even with the aid of computers.

  I've reconstructed those jokes from old Sten notes, plus added others that Chris and I wrote, but had to scrap for reasons of space. I'm calling it The Alex Kilgour Toxic Scrapheap for obvious reasons.

  Stregg Forever, Allan Cole (Boca Raton, Fl. 2011)

  *****

  STEN #1

  The Book:

  Vulcan is a factory planet, centuries old, Company run, ugly as sin, and unfeeling as death. Vulcan breeds just two types of native — complacent or tough. Sten is tough. When his family is killed in a mysterious accident, Sten rebels, harassing the Company from the metal world’s endless maze-like warrens. He could end up just another burnt–out Delinq. But people like Sten never give up.

  *****

  The Setup:

  Our hero is befriended by a Hite, a fellow Hellworld inmate with a mysterious background that includes an education both in medicine and street fighting on the deadliest level. It is Hite who teaches Sten how to survive. How to fight. How to use cunning and guile. He helps Sten create a marvelous knife that is surgically implanted in a fleshy sheath. But, most of all, Hite teaches Sten how to laugh.

  The Scene:

  "Sten, lad. The problem with you is you don't laugh enough."

  "Laugh? I'm stuck in the anus of Vulcan...everybody's trying to kill me - they're gonna succeed - and you want me to laugh?"

  "Of course, boy. Because what could be funnier than all that?"

  "I don't get it."

  Hite leaned closer. "It's because the gods hate you. Personally."

  Sten considered. Then smiled slowly. And started laughing.

  "There's your other problem, boy. You laugh too much."

  "Huh?"

  "What's there to laugh about? You're up the arse of Vulcan and everyone's trying to kill you. I'd get worried if I were you."

  Sten stared at him. Then shook his head and started howling.

  *****

  From The Alex Kilgour Toxic Scrapheap

  The Setup:

  This joke was originally intended for the segment where Sten is being trained as an Imperial Guardsman. But that section was running perilously long, so we cut it. The story was to be told by one of Sten's mates over a few narco-beers.

  The Joke:

  A green troopie was on sentry duty at the main gate. The orders from his sergeant were clear. "Maggot!" barked Lanzata. "Mark this, and mark it clottin' well. No Gravcar may enter the camp without an official holo pass on the windguard."

  "Yes, Sergeant!" bellowed the recruit, scared spitless by the snarling behemoth of a woman.

  "And there will be no exceptions, 'Cruit," growled Lanzata. "Screw this up, and I'll have your scrote for breakfast. And a very small breakfast it will be. Do you understand me, maggot!"

  "Yes, S
ergeant," cried the troopie.

  "If anyone, tries to pass without authorization you are to shoot, maggot! And I mean shoot, to kill! Do you clottin' understand me, 'Cruit!"

  Shaking in his boots, the troopie bawled, "The maggot understands, sergeant. Shoot to kill. No exceptions."

  Sgt. Lanzata hadn't been gone more than a millisecond, when up purrs a big, black staff gravcar. In the back, was General Clottinheimer, himself. Up front is the chauffeur, a lowly corporal.

  Our green troopie stiffens to attention, rifle held smartly. Then, recalling his duty, he examins the gravcar. And lo and behold there's not a holo pass in sight.

  The gravcar inches forward and the troopie bars the way. "Halt," he shouts. "Who goes there?"

  The corporal at the gravcar's controls shouts back: "General Clottinheimer!"

  Hearing that name and that exalted rank, the young soldier is so scared he's ready to drakh his britches, but he even more scared of Sgt. Lanzata.

  Voice quivering, he says, "I'm sorry. I can't let you enter. You don't have a holo pass on your windguard."

  Gen. Clottinhemier's face turns red with fury. He bellows at his corporal, "Drive on!"

  But the young sentry is adamant. "Halt!" he shouts as the gravcar edges forward. Then, more reasonably, "You really can't come through here. I have orders to shoot if you try driving on without a holo pass. No exceptions."

  The general isn't having any of this. He pokes the corporal with his swagger stick. "I'm ordering you, Corporal - drive on!"

  The sentry doesn't know what to do. Finally, he walks to the rear window to confront the commander.

  "General, sir," he said, brave as could be. "I'm new at this. Do I shoot you or the driver?"

  *****

  Enter The Scotsman:

  The character of Alex Kilgour was introduced in the first Sten, but it wasn't until the Wolf Worlds that he really came into his own and we unleashed his special brand of humor - shaggy dog stories that would sometimes be spread across not just one book, but two.

  After Wolf Worlds, Chris and I made the Kilgour shaggy dog stories an integral part of the Sten formula. We made it a rule that we had to have at least one Kilgour type joke in every book. We spent the months in between each Sten collecting suitable jokes, then when the time came we'd pick the best - which in Kilgour's case meant it had to be the worst.

  Sometimes we couldn't decide and in the first rough draft of the book we'd put in a whole passel of jokes. Then, when the final draft was written, we'd make the hard choice of which would stay, and which would be banished to The Alex Kilgour Toxic Scrapheap.

  As a disservice to you, Gentle Reader, I am including the worst of those trashed jokes.

  A side note: The character of Alex Kilgour was based on a real life Scotsman, who also went by that name. The real Alex Kilgour was a retired SAS soldier. (Strategic Air Services - The UK's elite commandos, arguably the best fighters in the world). Like the fictional Kilgour, he was short, tubby, immensely strong and amazingly fast. Chris befriended him while vacationing in Scotland and I became acquainted with Alex when he visited Chris in the U.S. (For the full skinny see My Hollywood MisAdventures - Episode #42, Alex Kilgour In Hollywood http://allan-cole.blogspot.com/2010/07/alex-kilgour-in-hollywood.html)

  One other thing: The Real Alex Kilgour was also addicted to shaggy dog stories, many of which appeared in the Sten series.

  And now, on to:

  STEN #2 - The Wolf Worlds

  The Book:

  Raised on the factory planet of Vulcan, Sten soon learns about the survival of the toughest. Now he wants more than survival. The Eternal Emperor rules countless worlds across the galaxy. Vast armies and huge fleets await his command. But when the Emperor needs to pacify the Wolf Worlds, the planets of the insignificant Lupus Cluster that have raised space piracy to a low art, he turns to his Mantis Team and its small band of militant problem–solvers. Sten’s destiny is in his own hands.

  The Setup:

  This joke was told by The Real Alex Kilgour. In the story Sten and his Mantis Team are dispatched by the Eternal Emperor to settle a religious dispute that is likely to end in all out warfare. The trouble is there are three Pope-like beings who are at each other's throats. The Emp doesn't much care who comes out on top, as long as the conflict doesn't interrupt Imperial trade. It is in the Wolf Worlds that we also introduce the Bhor - an incredibly violent breed of warriors whose favorite drink is Stregg - a booze so strong that the drinker's breath would stop a charging Banth in its tracks.

  The Joke:

  (Scene One - Alex killing time as their spacecraft hurtles toward certain doom)

  Alex broke in. The tubby three-gee-world Scotsman was lying on his accel couch. He'd insisted that if he were going to die, he was going to die in uniform. And the others agreed.

  "It wae back ae Earth... ane, b'fore the Emp'ror, even. In those days, m'ancestors wae called Highlanders, aye."

  "Twelve minutes, even, and closing," Ida announced flatly.

  "Now, in th' elder days, tha' Brits wae enemies. E'en tha, we Scots ran th' Empire tha had, wi'out tha' known it."

  In spite of the tension, Sten got interested.

  "Howinhell, Alex, can anybody run an empire without the boss knowing about it?"

  "Ten minutes to atmosphere," Doc said.

  "Ah 'splain thae some other time, lad. So, one braw day, there's this reg'mint ae Brit guards, aw braw an' proud in their red uniforms an' muskits. An' th' walkin' along thro' this wee glen, wi' they band playin' an' drumits crashin' an singin' and carryin' on, an' all ae sudden, they hears this shout frae th'crags abouve 'em. 'Ah'm Red Rory a' th' Glen!'

  "An' th' Brit general 'e looks up th' crag, an' here's this braw enormous Highlander, wi' his kilt blowin' an' his bearskin o'er one shoulder an' aye this braw great claymore in his hand. 'E has this great flowit beard on him.

  "An' yon giant, 'e shouts just again, 'Ah'm Red Rory a' th' Glen! Send oop y'best pickit man.'

  "An' so the Brit gen'rl turns to his adj'tant an' says,' Adj'tant! Send up our best man. Ah wan' tha' mon's head!'"

  "Hold on the story," Ida cut in coldly. "We're on launch." Dead silence in the control room… except for the increased panting of the lashed-down tigers.

  (Much Later -The joke continues with Otho, the Bhor Chieftain)

  Otho watched the screen time-tick seconds until dropaway with half his attention. The other half was listening to the droned story from behind him, coming from the humanoid that Otho sometimes found himself wishing to be a Bhor:

  "Ahe," Alex went on. "S' th' Brit gin'ral hae order't ae squad up tha' hill f 'r Red Rory's head. An' aye, a pickit squad wan' roarin' upit tha' hill.

  "An tha's screekit an' scrawkit' an' than, bumpit, bumpit, bumpit, doon tha' hill comit th' heads ae th' squad.

  "An' th' Brit gin'ral lookit up tha' hill, an' on th' crest still standit thae giant.

  "An' he skreekit, 'Ah'm Red Rory ae th' Glen! Send up y'r best comp'ny!'

  "An" th' Brit gin'ral turnit a wee shade more purple, an' he say, 'Adj'tant!' An' th' adj'tant sae, 'Sah!'

  "An' th' Brit gin'ral sae, 'Adj'tant, send up y'r best comp'ny! Ah wan' tha' man's head!

  "The adj'tant sae' Sah!'

  "An' he sendit oop th' hill th' reg'mint's best comp'ny!"

  And the timeclick went to zero and Otho touched the button. Alex cut his story off as the Bhor captain got busy...

  *****

  (Still Later: The Mantis Team prepares for the final assault on Sanctus, the heavily guarded fortress of their enemy. As they await certain death, Alex takes the opportunity to return to Red Rory...)

  "Sharrup, lass," Alex replied. "Ah'm dooncast. Ah fearit this scheme wi' nae workit oot f r th' benefits of Kilgours."

  "You're probably right," Sten agreed. "We're doomed. And doomed without hearing the last of Red Rory."

  "Red Rory, aye?" And Alex brightened. "W'noo. Wh'n last w'sawit Red Rory, an entire Brit comp'ny wae chargint up thae hill, a'ter h
is head, aye?"

  Sten nodded wearily. The things he did to keep morale up.

  "So tha' screekit, an' scrawit, an' hollerint, and ae kinds ae goin' on, an' then heads come doon thae hill, bumpit, bump-it, bumpit.

  "Anh t' thae Brit gin'ral's consid'r'ble astonishment, here's his wholit comp'ny, lyin' dead in thae dust.

  "But b'fore he hae a chance to consider, yon giant on tha hillcrest screekit again:

  '"Ah'm Red Rory ae th' Glen! Send up y' entire rig'mint!'"

  An the gin'ral turnit sa red hi' adj'tant fearit he gae apoplexy. An' he holler, 'Adj'tant!'

  '"Send up tha' wholit blawdy reg'mint! AH WAN' THA' MON'S HEAD!'

  "An' tha' whole reg'mint fixit thae bay'nits an' thae chargit up thae hill. An' thae's screamint, an' screekit, an' shoutint, an' carryint on, for aye half ae day.

  "An' thae's dust, an' thae's shots, an' thae's aye battle. "An' th' gin'ral's watchint frae doon below.

  "Ah sudden, thro' thae dust, he see't his adj'tant comit runnin doon thae hill.

  "An' tae adj'tant screemit. 'Run, sah! Run! It's ae ambush!

  "Thae's two ae 'em.'"

  Very complete silence for many minutes.

  Finally Sten turned to Alex, incredulous. "You mean, that's the story I've been waiting for, for the last year?"

  "Aye," Alex said. "Dinnae it b'wonderful?"

  Even more and longer silence…

  *****

  The Alex KilgourToxic Scrapheap

  Strictly speaking, this isn't from one of the books. I liked the joke when I heard it, and wrote it up as a tale from the Eternal Emperor for the enjoyment of a few online friends. I envision the joke taking place near the beginning of The Wolf Worlds, after the Emp has returned from a fishing vacation. One cheat: I introduced Stregg before it was mentioned in the books. And who among you wouldn't?

  The Eternal Emperor's Fish Story:

  "How was the fishing, boss?" asked Ian Mahoney, the Eternal Emperor's right hand man. He knew the answer, of course. But out of politeness he had to ask. As head of security he knew everything the Emperor did, and that included his fishing trip to his estate on old Earth, which included what had once been the state of Oregon.