" 'No reason to get excited,' the thief he kindly spoke. 'There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke. But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate. So let us not talk falsely now -- the hour is getting late.' "
-All Along The Watchtower
(SCENE: The Interview Room. MATTHEW THE ASTROLOGER sits behind the desk. The overhead fluorescent lights blink and then go out, replaced by the dim and reddish emergency lights. The door to the room opens and URANUS IN VIRGO IN THE THIRD HOUSE enters. He makes tiny clanks and hydraulic hisses as he walks, being half human and half cybernetic being. His left eye has been replaced with some sort of laser imaging device, and his right forearm appears to have been replaced by a complex mechanical probe. He comes to a halt and stands to MTA's left.
Next, an enormous black Rottweiler the size of a small pony enters. It is PLUTO IN VIRGO IN THE THIRD HOUSE. He trots into the room and jumps into the seat in front of MTA's desk.)
P3H: Hello. I'm so glad you could make it.
MTA: What do you mean? I'm the one who invited you.
P3H: I mean "glad you're still alive," made it.
MTA: You didn't come on schedule.
U3H: Unpredictability, advantage gained. Interview is now in our control.
MTA: Oh. Um, nice touch.
P3H: The last thing we wanted from you was a rigged, pre-arranged interview where you made us look silly. (Lifts his leg and begins licking himself)
MTA: Right. So I guess you two have an effect on my style of communication, being in the Third House --
U3H: Insufficient! Parameter too small! Recalibrate!
P3H: What my friend is trying to say is that saying that the Third House is "communication" is far too limiting. The third house is how your mind works. How, in your case, you remember tiny trivial details for decades, even when your Mercury drops the ball and loses your keys. And how you can assemble those details to form a bigger picture than what was at first expected.
U3H: Additional data: high affinity for metaphoric imagery.
MTA: You mean how I like to find oddball metaphors for things, like making my Uranus in Virgo a Borg... a weird species of alien who will go to unusual lengths to achieve what they see as perfection?
MTA: (To P3H) And you are...?
P3H: The neighbor's dog that scared the hell out of you when you were six.
MTA: Ah. You know, you guys aspect most of the stuff in my chart. Pretty much everything except Mercury, Venus, and Jupiter. That makes you pretty significant.
P3H: Venus and Jupiter? A pushover and a clown. Not of any real significance. And your Mercury is scattered to near-uselessness.
U3H: They are irrelevant. We do not need them.
MTA: What are you talking about?
P3H: We're here to correct you. In past, you have said that strong placements in other signs can overwhelm a relatively weak or isolated Sun Sign. Like the Gemini you know with the stellium in Taurus. Or, in your case, the Moon in Cancer on the Ascendant. particularly in times of stress. Like you've experienced recently.
MTA: And you don't agree with that?
(U3H extends his metal probe-arm out to MTA. A pair of mechanical fangs shoot out, stabbing MTA's left shoulder, and withdraw.)
MTA: Ow! What was that for?
P3H: We agree with your theory, in principle.
MTA: (Absently scratching the back of his left hand) Then what are you trying to prove?
P3H: That the idea is right, but you got the placement wrong. In your case, it isn't sweet little Moon In Cancer. It's us. And we are taking over.
U3H: We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own.
(MTA scratches harder at the back of his left hand, then holds it up to examine the source of the itch. A rash has broken out, but no ordinary rash: it is composed of electronic components and wiring wrapped in thick black dog hairs. And it is slowly spreading up MTA's arm.)
MTA: This... this is... you can't...
(U3H begins to produce a quavering feedback sound, and P3H barks, and then begins to howl. Both the feedback and the howling soon mutate into maniacal laughter. The red emergency lights dim, then flicker out completely. The insane laughter continues.)
MTA: Oh. Shit.
(Part of the "Personal Planets" series. Click HERE to collect 'em all!)