“When I was a lad and went to Yale, I knew right then that I would never fail…”

Something by the human musician most popular among alien cultures across the Federated Alliance of Worlds – Allan Sherman. Heck, it was the first thing that came to mind.

This didn’t work when you tried it with the Lik’ems, Lorg and Besh, I pondered glumly. What makes you think…

But as I sang, the strand started throbbing, then oscillating with chaotic ripples. Hm. I must be on the right track.

I commenced a sample-medley, starting with opera – the cable seemed unimpressed – then working my way to bawdy ballads, to jazz riffs, to Orc-n-Roll, all of them eliciting various shakes and chaotic shudders that I took as rejection. Even displeasure. Once, the cable jerked so violently that I found myself suddenly cast out, ten meters or so beyond the balcony, grimacing with a sharp pain in one shin from striking the stone railing along the way. Looking back, I saw the gargoyles grinning at me. Beyond them, through the open doors, one of those old, painted figures seemed to chide:

See? I told you so.

But I was learning. Evidently, the cord wanted something gentler, more melodic… maybe even nostalgic.

A little classic Streisand? I cleared my throat and tried belting some Babs.

That seemed almost to do the trick. Memories triggered a clear response! A throbbing pulse that carried me forward at least a dozen meters before dying out. But for Pete’s sake, the cable seemed still unsatisfied.

Hanging there in midair, vocalizing olde standards to charm a persnickety sonic serpent while my feet dangled above the squalid streets of Squid, I felt foolish as never before… (and you get plenty of opportunities when you work with demmies.) Was it a last vestige of dignity that made me taper off and go silent, at last?

Foolish, yes. And yet, my situation also felt somewhat poignant and… well… hilarious. I had to chuckle at the absurdity of this predicament. In fact, it reminded me of the sort of thing you might see in some old-time comedic movie, from the days of flat-screen classics. Laurel and Hardy? The Stooges? No, a bit drier than that. Maybe something out of Hiroshi and Chang. Or Hope and Crosby.

I could tell my subconscious was busy. Dashing about, connecting dots, more or less. At times like this, I knew better than to interfere.

Unleash. Let it flow.

Bob Hope, Bing Crosby… and Dorothy Lamour. They did all those “Road” Pictures together. The Road to Hong Kong, The Road to Morocco… and what was that unfinished film they hid away? It never got released till a hundred years had passed.

A weird thing. Ahead of its time. Oh yeah.

The Road To Transylvania.

No wonder it came to mind. All about darkly funny – but risqué – adventures with Count Dracula and Wolfman and Duchess Succubus…