Dawson Filter as He Relates to Prison

It was Tuesday, they say, when the Quest Committee came to Rower’s Pokey. Or Sunday, if you trust Mac Dallas. Don’t. They seemed like any other gang when they were booked, tougher than a fresh lander; but this couldn’t have been any more than their second circus. Babe Listowel looked like the ringleader at first, had the hat to pass for one; but they all looked at Dawson “the Marble” Filter when anyone asked them a question. There were two others; Twelve-Anne Stradivari and Sylvester Denny. They both looked like the accountant type.

“What are you in for?” Martin asked.

“Just doing what we needed to to survive,” the Marble said. That was good enough for most everyone.

Sylvester was whitling next to Mac when the ‘nmates started to think they might be different.

“We’re going to (unintelligible) out of here,” Mac said he said.

There was genius in talking to Mac. Every single person in Rower’s Pokey was going to “break out.” But no one else would have said that kind of thing to Mac Dallas. Mac’d tell anyone. Sure, everyone knew about the Quest Committee’s plan; but given that Mac spread it, any of the Marble’s gaggle could deny the plan to the guards.

Rower’s Pokey was built in the base of a freighter; in holds 4-6. The freighter was in the Pacific, which contains too much water. There’s something you need to keep in mind about D. Marble F., though: he happened to have extensive knowledge of oil pipelines in the Pacific. Twelve-Anne’s good with the ears and the hearing, and heard one of the guards, Pike Hammer, say that the slammer’d be passing into British Columbian waters in about a month.

One day, while the ‘nmates were on wall-dusting duty, Babe Listowel (Babel, as Pope called him) slid a note under the captain’s quarters. Apparently there was going to be a glorious flock of fulvous whistling ducks at some cove around the time the freighter was in the B.C. Maybe Babe was telling the truth, but honestly, he’d earned enough of a reputation as a fabulist that I’d bet against it if anyone was willing to take bets against the author that controls truth in this story.

The Marble convinced a guard to give him a shovel. Said it was for his back pain, but everyone knew he had other plans for it.

And they dug. Babe Listowel did most of the grunt work, probably because of his rippling biceps; but Twelve-Anne kept watch and Sylvester hid the hole every night by sleeping over it. Many prisoners were confused about the exact purpose of the hole, but it felt important, and people respected it. Jackel even arranged for some of the other prisoners to dig down through the rest of the hold’s floor to make the hole’s indent less obvious, and to help Sylvester rest better.

Two weeks before Rower’s Pokey was due to be in the duck place, the Marble tapped the bottom of the hole with his fist. The sound resonated through the hold, and he said that was enough digging for now.

And they waited. Until one day, everyone agreed it was Thursday, the Marble said to hit the hole one more time. Babe did, and the Marble told him to hit it ’till it leaked. About five strikes later, and having gained an audience in just about all the guards, the hole sprung. The Quest Committee and everyone else who could swim dove into the opening that day. Swam into an oil pipeline. Through 20 kilometres of oil they swam, and came out the other side, they say. Most of the escapees were found, and brought back to ol’ Rower’s. The four who started the thing thing, though, they were never found. They were legends, they were.


Dawson Filter as He Relates to Ice

Being in Antarctica, Dawson Filter was cold. He made a comment about this to Sylvester Denny, who said that he was also cold; but was worried what his friends would think if he mentioned it. Babe Listowel placed his hand on Sylvester Denny’s forearm; and, feeling no difference in temperature between their respective skins, determined that he must also be cold.

“I bet that we would be less cold if were not in Antarctica,” bet Sylvester Denny.

“We should not be cold. We should not be in Antarctica,” reasoned Dawson Filter.

“We would not be in Antarctica if we left” ~ Babe Listowel, 2026.

“We could leave with a boat,” said Twelve-Anne, who was also there.

Babe Listowel instructed the group to close its eyes. After 8 hours, he told them that they could re-open their eyes, revealing a sailboat he had carved out of ice.

The sides of the ship were rough, and the sail was too octagonal to win any beauty pageants. The ship was only twelve seconds old, and was therefore too young to win any lotteries, either. Still, the sea didn’t really have any standards as to which boats were worthy to enter its waters, so the craft was deemed seaworthy.

The Quest Committee boarded the vessel, and adjusted its sail due north, to Murderville.

Dawson Filter rested his head against the halyard and followed an especially blue patch of sky with his eyes. Sylvester Denny set about chasing all the rats off of the ship, and Twelve-Anne worked on her memoir. Babe Listowel bailed out water that must have leaked into the boat. Dawson, Sylvester, and Twelve-Anne broke from their activities to sing some shanties; but Babe Listowel remained unable to find where the water was coming from.

“Is it raining?” he asked the others.

Sylvester Denny checked his barometer.


Science Background for this Portion of the Story:

Ice can melt. When it melts, it becomes water. Water is dangerous, and ought never to be touched. Our heroes are forced to face this reality when their ice-boat begins to melt. Water, when heated to 100 °C, boils and turns into water vapour. This provides one method of escape for our heroes, namely to evaporate the ocean, making the water benign; however, this requires more time and resources than they currently have, which is why they opt to scream for help.

“Aaaah! Help!” our heroes screamed.

Hearing their cry of distress, a group of people dressed as sailors turned their boat to face the crew of the ice boat. The leader held up a resealable bag and a lifesaver.

“We’ll rescue you if you buy these illicit drugs from us.”

“Alright,” Sylvester Denny said.

“Jokes on you. We’re undercover cops,” the leader said, pulling out a badge.

“THAT’S ENTRAPMENT!” Sylvester objected.

“Silence, you degenerate. I’m going to throw you these handcuffs, and you’re going to put them on. That goes for the rest of your crew, too. You’re everything that’s wrong with this ocean.”

A tall woman with a police-officer-ish face threw four pairs of handcuffs that were fastened to a pole with ropes into the ocean. The members of the Quest Committee fastened them onto their own wrists; loose enough to be humane but tight enough that they felt the weight of what they’d done. The officer who’d spoken turned a crank, hoisting them onto the coast-guard ship. A burly, toothless man with custom sunglasses labeled “Luther O’Finn” chained them together at the knee, and threw them into a room labeled “Prison.”

Dawson Filter as He Relates to Chairs

Dawson Filter whistled. He was in Antarctica at the time. Babe Listowel, who had the idea to invade Antarctica in the first place, looked around himself for defending troops. Seeing none, he took out a pen to write down the number of defending troops, and panned the area for civilians to rule. One stood by a table South of the ocean. His name tag read “North Tender.”

“We don’t have chairs, so you’ll have to stand or lie down or sit on something that’s not a chair or kneel or jump or something,” North Tender called out to the group.

“What to you mean ‘we’?” Babe Listowel asked, “There’s only one of you!”

“Then who am I talking to?”

“You’re on our side, then?”

North Tender pointed to Babe’s lack of chairs. “Looks like we’ve got something in common. I’m Tender, by the way; but most of my friends call me North, on account of my first name.”

“I am Babe Listowel, king of Murderville, Nevada. I have come to invade your lands.”

“Nevada…” North Tender thought for a moment, “…I guess that’d be north, wouldn’t it? If you’re planning on living here, you’d better change your name to North Babe. We have certain conventions here.”

The rest of the group introduced themselves, and North Tender called over some of his friends.

“This is North Winnie and North Dallas, and their son Neutral Peter. He born yesterday. People whom I just mentioned, this is other people. I forget most of their names. They’re from up north.”

Everyone took turns making eye contact until they all felt they knew each other adequately.

“Father, do they have any chairs?” Neutral Peter asked North. He could have easily looked up and seen the groups glaring lack of chairs, or stopped being everything wrong with the youth of Antarctica and listened to his elder; but Neutral Peter was only born the previous day, so he can perhaps be excused, although he was 89 in doughnut years. North Dallas took the perhaps and excused his son.

Babe Listowel began to feel the heat of the invasion starting to fade. He took out his pen again, filled it with gasoline, and took out a highlighter. He covered the portion of the lighter that read “high” to deceive the Antarcticans. Holding the highlighter to the pen, he warned them to step back.

“Oh no!” cried North Winnie, “What are we going to do about all this danger?”

“Flee!” two Norths and a Neutral suggested in unison. As they dashed away, they stumbled across a penguin and saw an opportunity. North Tender picked up the penguin and covered the portion that read “guin.”

“Look, Babe, we both have pens; both of us do. We don’t need to fight or something! We can just do something else.”

Dawson Filter let out a clap of agreement.

“See, that one gets it,” North continued, “if we co-operate, we can do something else! Co-can! Co-can! Co-can! Co-can!”

Others joined the chant. Dawson Filter smiled as Babe Listowel threw his highlighter onto the ice. This was what feelings were all about.