TheGrayhound Chronicles The Grayhound Chronicles The legends of Boise's Greatest Superhero -JR Conlin (http://www.unitedheroes.net) with a good deal of help from JIM Evans (http://www.unitedheroes.net/hg) (Crossing Over) And Steve Keller (http://www.unitedheroes.net/ford) (Bad Day In Boise Part1 & 2) Book 2 Secret Battles - or ­ The eleven secret herbs and spices Of EVIL Thanks to: my wife, Anne M arie m y unofficial editor, H etta K ress m y greatest nem esis, Steve K eller and JIM Evans (for starting it all) "And so about where did you see the creature." "Well, at first I saw him about here. He was a short one so I didn't see him at first amongst the 'taters." "And that's when you switched on your flashlight." "Yes, sir. That's when I did." "And the creature didn't run?" "No sir. Like I said, that was the part I didn't understand. He just stood there and gave me this little wave, like we were drinking buddies 'r something. That's when he pressed the button on his boombox." "Was it a normal radio?" "I suppose so. I mean it looked like one of those things you see on QVC. He held it up and then hit a button on top. Next thing I know he's playing Eddie Rabbit." "But then he stopped suddenly?" "Yes sir. He got all mad and started yelling in a language I ain't never heard before. He flipped over the tape and held up the box, sighed real heavy like, then hit the button again." "And that's when you heard it?" Chaos Theory...................................................................................................................... 1 That's Not Budda, that's Parkay........................................................................................ 11 Scans Serif......................................................................................................................... 21 A Dane Shame .................................................................................................................. 31 Björkzilla........................................................................................................................... 41 Crossing Over .................................................................................................................. 51 Boise on the Side........................................................................................................... 65 Being Deuterium Boy..................................................................................................... 85 He Ain't Heavy Water, He's My Brother................................................................. 105 A Few Quartz Low........................................................................................................ 137 Grime and Pumicement ................................................................................................. 155 Eplilog............................................................................................................................. 177 Epilogue.......................................................................................................................... 187 Virtual Barbarian............................................................................................................. 195 Bad Night in Boise Part 1 (by steve keller) ................................................................... 205 Bad Night in Boise (by steve keller)............................................................................... 215 Bearing Crosses............................................................................................................... 229 Sacred Blows................................................................................................................... 241 Pastrami on Ire ................................................................................................................ 249 Ham Fisted Vengence ..................................................................................................... 257 Alphabet Coup ................................................................................................................ 267 To Kill a Sunrise ............................................................................................................. 277 Touch and Goad .............................................................................................................. 287 War Melon ...................................................................................................................... 297 To Be Determined ........................................................................................................... 307 Chaos Theory.................................................................................................................. 317 * Written with JIM Evans ** Written by Steve Keller Introduction Part of me feels like I should apologize for this year. First off, it's about six chapters short. Also, the real high-point of this year was my cross-over with JIM. Beyond that things just plummet down hill. Most of the chapters peter out long before they should. Then again, this past year involved a fair amount of more than stressful elements, including having to buy a house on 30 days notice, moving, changing hosting services and a redesign of the site at work. All of which seriously ate into the amount of time I could give the story. It shows. But that aside, I'm amazed that it still holds some water and hasn't really required as much of a re-write as I was afraid I'd have to do. There are some elements that I will need to address in more depth in the future (like the battle with the Ferrite Chef, and what happened to the rest of the gang in the cage match) but those will shake out in time. Most importantly (for me at least) is the fact that a good many of the initial plot points have been addressed, and the next wave of plot points gets underway. Hopefully things won't suck too bad. Oh, and a few other notes to explain some of the more confusing elements. Chapter 40 was written shortly after JIM's Chapter 80 super-funtastic celebrationy-thing. There are a fair number of jokes that branch from that. Also, Mount'n Man Munch is another JIM based creation involving a possessed box of cereal on a murder spree. Yes, the real branch of the government is the RUS, however I kept typing RUA. After several attempts to go and fix that, I simply surrendered to muscle memory and switched it to RUA. This, of course, means that I'll probably start typing RUS in the future. *sigh* And the floating head of Satan thing? Don't ask. Just presume that came from my month of house hunting. Chapter 26 Chaos Theory ProfDoom: Bob,You there? BM_BSev_682: Yeah, just checking my mail. ProfDoom: What do you think of this semester's assignment? BM_BSev_682: Metrix is insane. ProfDoom: What do you mean? BM_BSev_682: There's no way that I can afford to do anything like what he wants. ProfDoom: Well, you'll have to raise money, I guess. BM_BSev_682: Easy for you to say. Still, I guess, but it's gonna be rough. ProfDoom: Don't wanna go for the quick nick? BM_BSev_682: Not my style. I'd prefer avoiding putting studies on hold while I cool my heels next to Peaches. ProfDoom: ;) ProfDoom: What about getting a grant? BM_BSev_682: I thought about that, but after the last time, I'm not sure the best way to not have them screw up again. BM_BSev_682: Besides, I suppose since they already gave me Margie, I should try doing something more with her. What about you? ProfDoom: Oh, I've got a few ideas. What the hell? Huh? What? Oh, COOL!! JB, what the hell is this? Wow, they really don't waste time, do they? Man this is too cool, you've got all kinds of neat accessories. JB? I'm an action figure. Hey, am I in there? JB? Who decided to make me an action figure? USHA did. Come again? That's how they make their money, Chris. Geez, how do you think they can afford all of the benefits we get, pay off the huge repair bills and all the other crap. It was in the packet they sent us. Packet? Good Lord JB that thing weighed fifty pounds. The mailman had to get someone to help him haul it in. Besides, I figured they just sold our name to those junk mail lists. They get rights to promotional materials for us, or I guess you really. Man, what a gyp, I'm not in here. This doesn't look anything like me. This looks like someone dipped Lou Ferigno in gray paint and put a hat on him. Yeah, well, you're pretty new to the scene so they probably used an older model. But look at these nifty stats. Stats? 'Master martial artist'? WHAT? I can barely make a pork chop rather than a karate chop. It's artistic license. Face it Chris, describing you as a guy in a gray jacket that runs around Boise is hardly going to appeal to the six to twenty demo. JB, I never played for an indy rock band named Steamed Fresca! You played an instrument. Clarinet! Badly! In High School! Isn't there someone I can contact and get at least slightly more accurate information about me on these? Well, there was something in the info packet, but unless you've been at it for a while, you're probably not going to get anywhere. Man, look, your gun shoots little missles. JB, we don't have guns. Come to think of it, I don't have most of the stuff here. What's this supposed to be? What? This thing, the weird looking doll thing. Ok, this just sucks. What? What is it. It's me. Ok, so I'm getting a couple of these now, you want any? Bite me. So, like, is everyone, like, here? Ok so like let's get started and stuff. Ok, for like the new folks, my name is Kimberly Parks and I'm like the President of the Grayhound Fan Club. Hi! Hi! So like I'm super excited that, like, so many of you have shown up. Krystle? Do you like wanna tell everyone what we did last time? Uh, sure. So like we all came here, but there were a lot less folks and we talked about why GH&PB sound like a yummy sandwich, but like nobody had seen them for a while but Alexis said that she hadn't seen like their car in their driveway for a while so we figured they were like on some secret mission thingy and then Fallon asked if like it might like be true that they were in Atlantica a while ago but then Ashleigh said, like, no way, because that was like some burglar or something and then a couple of us talked about how cool it would be to see GH like being super in our own backyard, but then Savanah said that it would be kind of creepy really, and we kinda argued about it for a while until Kimmie said that we needed to talk about how we need to get busy on our fundraiser which got a bit boring but it's kind of important and stuff then Dawson's Creek came on. Ok, like thanks Krystle. So do we like have any old business to like talk about? Uhm, well we need to figure out if we're doing like bake sale or buttons. Didn't we decide that last time? Uhm, maybe but I think I kinda forgot to write it down. Awwuughh! Ok, so like, the vote is whether or not we like should hold a bake sale to like raise funds or like should we sell these buttons that Tiffany's dad said he'd help us make up? Oh, and like if you weren't here last time, like don't vote, OK? Cause you like probably don't know what we were talking about and it would take too long to explain it all and stuff. Ok, who wants "Bake Sale"? Ok, and who wants "Buttons"? And like who doesn't care? Cool, so what's the vote? Well, like if we count the folks who aren't here this time as folks who don't care, then.. it's.. Buttons. Cool! Buttons! So like on to the new stuff. Hey Guys? So like we got this letter from USHA. Like you did? What's it say? Well, the good news is that our boys have like been officially recognized. That is sooo cool! Yay! Yeah, but like according to the letters, it means that if we want to like do the buttons, we need to get the design approved first, and like we need to let them know how many we sell. Oh.. Or we can use one of the styles they sent us. Oh! Cool, so like what do they look like? I've got the sheet right here. Ooh, this one's cute… Funny, GH didn't look this tall when he was on TV. Yeah, but TV always makes people look smaller. They're like only six inches tall. Oh, Yeah, Duh! Ok, so like do we want to go with the original design or like the new design? I think we should do the new design. Yeah, me too! Ok, so like all that want the new design? Who wants the old design? Who doesn't care? Wait a minute! Fallon? What? Like is the vote only available to active members of the registered assembly or is the vote to exclude those members in attendance who have not been recognized as active in the association, and secondly if those members of the public are allowed to vote, should their votes be tallied as a vote of singular weight or do each of members of the public have an equal voice to those of registered members of the association? Ok, Someone switch Fallon to decaf. No, like I think she has a point, Alexis. Ok, like those of you who aren't in the club yet, like don't vote, 'kay? Ok, so like those who want the new design? Those who don't? Those that don't care? Ok, so new design it is. Megan? Are you cool with that? Sure. Well, we'll submit it for approval anyway. Maybe we'll use it later. So like what else is there? "And when did you say that this happened?" Cleatus Wayne McGurk shifted uneasily in his chair. He had already told the government man everything he knew, twice. Still, he had been nice enough and hadn't laughed at him like everyone else did. "I tol' you. It happened two nights ago after I had finished checkin' on the back ten." The man made a murmuring noise like he was working on a problem of some sort. "Mr. McGurk, I want to apologize if this seems like it's taking a long time. There are certain individuals that we speak to that are, shall we say, of questionable veracity." McGurk looked at the man, not knowing the book-meaning definition of the word, but getting a sense of it none the less. The suit continued, "I feel that the answers you have given us tonight indicate that you, however, certainly did encounter something unusual. If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you some final questions, just so that I completely understand the events that transpired that night." McGurk agreed with a slight nod. The suit stood and knocked on a door. It opened slightly and several maps were handed to the suit. He quickly returned to the table. "Excellent. Now as I understand it, this area here," he outlined a region on the map, "is your farm?" "Well, yeah, exceptin' that the county owns the part down by the river there." "Were you near there?" "No, I was over here, near the tractor barn." Cletus planted a heavy finger near one of the black lines the cross-hatched the area." "Ah, thank you." The suit made a careful notation of the fact on the map. "and you say you were coming back toward your house?" "Yes that's over here this-aways." "And you said that the night was brightly lit?" "Well, the moon was out full, but there were some clouds. I didn't need my lantern to see my way if that's what you mean." "So was it on or off?' "I normally keep it off unless I see something out there. No sense a-wastin' batteries 'les you need to." "And so about where did you see the creature." "Well, at first I saw him about here. He was a short one so I didn't see him at first amongst the 'taters." "And that's when you switched on your flashlight?." "Yes, sir. That's when I did." "And the creature didn't run?" "No sir. Like I said, that was the part I didn't understand. He just stood there and gave me this little wave, like we were drinking buddies 'r something. That's when he pressed the button on his boombox." "Was it a normal radio?" "I suppose so. I mean it looked like one of those things you see on QVC. He held it up and then hit a button on top. Next thing I know he's playing Eddie Rabbit." "But then he stopped suddenly?" "Yes sir. He got all made and started yelling in a language I ain't never heard before. He flipped over the tape and held up the box, sighed real heavy like, then hit the button again." "And that's when you heard it?" "Yes sir, it said something like: 'In nineteen years this may be a lovely spot to set up the internment camp. The Bad Guys are coming. Get your planet ready!'" "You're certain that's what was on the tape?" "As certain as I can be sir, it was like hearing a computer talk, and before I could get him to play it again, he had run off." "Back toward the road here?" "Yes sir, and that's where he got into the cab." "Can you tell us anything more about that cab?" "No sir, nothing else. Like I said, it was kinda dark out. I only know it was a cab because it had that big ad sign on the top of it." There was another knock on the door. The suit quickly got up and spoke briefly with the person on the other side. When he returned he held up an artist's sketch of a short caricature. It was if someone had taken a professional wrestler and squashed him down. He wore a mo-hawk style haircut and eighties style wrap-around sunglasses. "Yes Sir! That sure is him!" "Thank you Mr. McGurk. One of my associates will drive you back to your farm." He stopped at the door and turned to McGurk. "Mr. McGurk? I do want to make one thing very clear to you. You are not to speak of this event to anyone else. Do I make myself clear?" "Uh, sir?" "Mr. McGurk, I understand that this was a very frightening experience. Imagine what might happen if others, others unlike yourself, who might be prone to more, shall we say, socially detrimental activities under the guise of protecting their community. Things like this can quickly grow out of control, Mr. McGurk. It's happened in other communities before. I'm not asking you to lie. If someone asks you directly about this affair, feel free to discuss that affair with them. However, please do not mention us. Just know that we are doing everything we can to ensure that you and your community will be safe." The suit paused and leaned a bit closer. "Mr. McGurk, can I trust you?" McGurk was silent for a few seconds. "Aw, you don't have to worry about me. The few folks I told thought I'd been hittin' the hootch and if I ever told anyone that I had been picked up by a black helicopter and talked with a bunch of secret agents, well, they'd just throw away the key." The suit laughed a bit. "Rest assured Mr. McGurk, we are very real, and we are on your side. But we do need your help. Please, don't tell anyone that we're on the case. It might get back to our little green friend." "No sir, I won't tell a soul. Oh, and thank you." "No, Mr. McGurk, thank you." Krullux. Dum-dum-dum dah-dee-dum dah-dee-dum... C'mon, answer the phone. General? Thank you for taking my call General. Yes, I remembered. If I may, sir, my time is limited. My General I have uncovered news about our most loathsome enemy, I… Yes, I saved nearly forty-two percent when compared to other services, if I may continue, sir, the artifact you discovered has quite a different effect on the inhabitants of this planet… Yes, I know I can use any phone to call anywhere in the US. Sir this is of extreme importance! I feel that we must recover the artifact from these humans so that we can use it to create an army of warriors to defeat … LOOK, I KNOW I CAN LEAVE A FARGING MESSAGE IF THE P'JOJO ISN'T THERE! I DON'T CARE! I'M TALKING TO THE STUPID SON OF A BRAKA RIGHT NOW!!! SO KINDLY SHUT YOUR TAJ HOLE AND LISTEN!! I'm sorry My General, but my anger is only meant out of my want for justice for my people. As I was saying. I believe that we must recover the artifact and begin to use it on the inhabitants of this despicable ball of mud; once they are properly "conditioned" of course. We can rise up and take our revenge on those that brought our mighty empire to its knees and once again claim our rightful position in the cosmos. But to do it, I will need your help once again. I will need you to contact the others and let them know of our plan. I need not tell you that for our plan to succeed, secrecy is paramount. Have them contact me however they deem, I am still at the academy. Do you understand General? General? General!? General? Why do I hear something that sounds like a giant squeaky hammer being pounded against a sofa? What dastardly plot are the fiendish forces plotting and will they actually sell buttons or baked goods? Who are the secretive ones that are so interested in the alien affairs that they have mailing subscriptions to Weekly World News? (wait, no, sorry that's just a general question I have.) And where can I get one of those spiffy Grayhound Posable Action Figures for my birthday? None of these questions, and even more will be revealed in the next thrilling episode: Wall to Wall Religion or That's not Budda, that's Parkay Chapter 27 That's Not Budda, that's Parkay Recapping our top story, famed nomadic skink hearder, Chzkchljrrjk Jgrrchzczhp Jr. has just captured the new word record for flossing. Jgrrchzczhp, or as he likes to be called "Tzchrtczhggryrrchz", completed the eight thousand day flossing event using the same piece of dental floss. He credits his devotion to his effort, clean living, and having no teeth to speak of. And finally, speaking of holy floss, several minor religious artifacts have been reported missing from museums, temples and personal collections world-wide. Items have included Thomas Huxley's toothbrush, Confucius' nail clippers, and a comb once believed to have been used by Mohammad's barber. No estimate of value has been reported for the items. Authorities have also refused to comment on one report that the items were stolen by a group of two and a half foot tall, furry humanoids that were exceptionally well armed. Security for this weekend's opening of the Famed Toe-Nail Clippings of Buddha has been heightened. And now we turn to Ryan Holstein with yet another point of view regarding Canada's Silver Medal efforts in Salt Lake. It's brainwaves, man. That King Harald Dude, he focused his evil mind altering waves on Kevin Martin. He did things, man. Harald made the hammer like totally curl hard man. I saw him, man! He was all like oooOOOoeeeeEEEeoooooeeeooo sitting there on the sidelines watching man, just waiting for the right time to strike. And he DID man! Thank you Ryan. Uhm, Ryan, exactly how much sleep have you had recently? Sleep is for the weak and sickly, man! I'd like to take this moment to remind our viewers that the opinions stated by Mr. Holstein are not reflective of this station or it's management. Even if he is the owner. Good night and have a pleasant tomorrow. Senator, you must understand that with any such operation, there are bound to be both protests and occasional complaints, but rest assured that we do absolutely everything to ensure that our residents are treated with utmost respect and care. Granted, we are talking about the most dangerous individuals known to mankind. The safety and security of not only the other residents, but also the surrounding populous is forefront in our minds. That is one of the reasons that we've chosen the location that we have. We are not isolated because we are avoiding scrutiny; we're isolated because we believe that is the best way to care for our residents. Gentlemen, understand that these individuals are confused and often the product of less than ideal backgrounds. Often, the abilities that they have were not chosen. Instead, they were often discovered because of some element of stress. Need I remind you that a large number of our current residents are products of your so-called 'heroes' actions, victims of their mistakes and miscalculations or products of their wanton vigilante justices. But I'm not here to lay blame. You've asked me here to address some of your concerns. Concerns raised by the press, who are quick to jump on a story based on hear-say and third hand knowledge. Senator Fitzpatrick, you've toured our grounds more than once, and have you ever found anything remiss about how we operate? No, of course not. Our record is unparalleled. In our thirty years of operation, we have not had a single escape. I'm certain that you all remember the days before we started. Senator Parker, how much money did you spend on rebuilding some of the maximum security penitentiaries in your state? How many inmates were lost at Singsing during the Deathstrike incident? Rest assured that every possible detail of our care operation is well thought out and planned. We have multiple levels of redundancy and top level security. We also have something that few of the states could get, the full backing and support of the United Super Heroes Association. Gentlemen, The Facility is a private, not for profit treatment facility that specializes in recovery of those who are biologically enhanced in some aspect. We do not have "prisoners", we have residents. Everyone who works there is carefully screened and dedicated to safeguarding the community and helping the residents return to a more productive life. Our Associates are not guards, they're people who share the burden that comes with being enhanced. In fact, most of our current staff were once residents themselves. We understand what these people are going through and know how we can help them best. If I may speak openly, the world is reeling from the events in Melbourne and New York, two unspeakable horrors that changed the way that we view the world. We have seen the very worst that we as a species are capable of. Naturally, we are now trying to find out what other monsters lurk in the closet. As a free citizen of the world, I not only accept that light, I welcome it. Perhaps in the past, previous directors had seemed secretive, but please understand that what we do is delicate and sensitive work, years of effort can be destroyed by a single careless moment. Although our Facility is not open to the public, we welcome any of you esteemed gentlemen and ladies to tour our grounds. Talk to our residents. Naturally, there will be certain areas that are strictly off limits since they house those that need our help the most. We will happily provide you with as much information as we have and I am sure you will be satisfied with what you see and hear. Thank you, and I will now be happy to answer whatever questions you may have to the best of my abilites. Who was at the door, JB? Oh, it was the UPS guy again. More deliveries from QVC for Zrng. You know for a guy who's barely ever here, he sure orders a ton of crap. You're not paying for any of this are you Chris? Nope, I told him he's on his own about that. He didn't seem too concerned about it really. I don't know how, but he's got his own credit card. How'd he.. Online I'd guess. Speaking of which, did you find out anything more about him? No, not a whole lot. Granted, it's not like there's a Galactic Yahoo! out there that lists all this stuff. Wait a minute, you're wired into the Galactic Internet? Apparently. Yet another present from our buddy Plaskowitz. I tell ya, Chris, sometimes being nice pays off. So, what's it like? Being nice? No, the galactic internet or whatever? Same as ours, but the porn is much weirder. There's an understatement. So what did you find out? About the porn? No, about Zrng and his Gryllix buddies. Again, not a heck of a lot. There are some mentions about them selling videos for a bunch of these really bad prop comedians… It's like they discovered this whole planet full of Gallaghers. Eeehhhhggg!! Yeah, tell me about it. Why they'd unleash that on the galaxy is anyone's guess, but apparently they were quite a hit. Any luck they'd swing by and pick up CarrotTop? Well, I guess we can try keeping our fingers crossed on that one. Anything else? Nah, not really. Most of the races seem to think of the Gryllix as being pretty harmless. Annoying, but mostly harmless. Hmm. Can I say that doesn't make me feel better? Why? Well, considering that Zrng went toe to toe with that weird tree guy while every other alien in the room were gawking, I'm guessing that there's something more to this. Maybe the Gryllix are hiding something. You're being paranoid. Yep, sure am. Keeps me from getting killed. Speaking of Woody, anything about that Shareholder guy? Bits and pieces. Apparently, he's something called a Jelvan, they seem to be pretty common and are pretty darn high on the freaky meter. They're plants that worship a cabbage and play a game that no one ever has won. Very zen. So you're saying that they're all like that Shareholder guy. No, actually, quite the opposite. He seems to be the odd duck. Most of the rest of them seem to be more quiet abnormal rather than loud abnormal. How so? They bought up all those tapes from the Gryllix like they were going out of style. Wow, an entire race with severe brain damage. Hey, "Facts of Life" and "Full House" were both number one programs here. Point. Maybe they use them to torture prisoners or something. Well, whatever you do, let's not tell them about "Small Wonder". They'd wipe us out for sure. Bob nearly missed it the first time, but the second time he scanned the classifieds there was no mistaking it. There, buried in amongst the other ads under the Miscellaneous section, was a simple three liner. WANTED: Second FTL drive. First one worked fine. Will pay top dollar. Zrng BOX:33841 Bob wasn't quite sure if it was a joke or not. If he had mentioned it to the others, he would have sent a less than pleasant note to Nick telling him he's a real funny guy. The only problem was that he hadn't told anyone about the drive. Bob folded up the newspaper and put it aside. It must be a joke or some coincidence. Coincidence. Yeah, that's it. Someone else in the greater Boise area created a faster than light drive in the past month and successfully tested it in a clandestine manner. Bob was back looking at the ad again. But the drive didn't work. He had Margie scan Saturn looking for any trace or tell tale sign, and he didn't see anything. Or maybe he did and didn't recognize it because the effects of the artifact were wearing off. No, he was fine up until things just stopped making sense. The effect had worn off very quickly with no sign that it was going to happen. Bob rolled his eyes at his own thoughts. Like he was any expert on alien technology and it's effects on human beings. He needed to think. He glanced at his watch, then grabbed the leash from the counter and headed into the backyard. "No, this is insane. All you two ever do is eat out. Great Maker don't either of you know how to even use the microwave?" Chris continued to flip through the channels on the TV while JB surfed the net, neither of them reacting that much to Zrng's outburst. Chris, having discerned the answer to his question continued, "So, apparently Zrng's not up for Chinese tonight." JB nodded lightly and was about to speak. "And don't you dare suggest pizza!" Zrng nearly screamed at JB. "Great Maker! I've been here a week and all you two do is either eat cold cereal or get delivery!" "Well, we used to go to restaurants too…" JB began. "… but that turned out to be more trouble than it was worth." Chris finished. "It was a serious headache." "And back ache, and arm ache, and shoulder ache…" "Plus we usually wound up getting delivery anyway." "Sometimes a couple of days later." Zrng yelled in exasperation then stormed to where the "kitchen" was. He began rooting through the cabinets looking for something, all the while complaining. "I can't believe it. I know what human food is supposed to taste like! Your mother made some that was better than anything I had ever tasted and yet you two settle for that penc! Don't you even have a skillet here?" He continued on slamming cabinet doors in a vain attempt to find something to cook with. Chris looked at JB and raised an eyebrow. "Sooo… JB? What about the Furlong?" "What about the Furlong?" "Do any of them know how to cook?" "Roger knows which parts of a pine tree are edible." "So they ate out too?" "Pretty much every night. Occasionally someone would bring them a home cooked meal." "Cool, how can we scam that?" "Well, first you need to get the country to go to war…" "Ok, that idea's out." "A-HA!" Zrng cried as he pulled an ancient and more than abused pot out of a back cupboard. He set about cleaning it out then filled it with water. He stormed back over to where Chris and JB sat and carried the two of them less than gracefully back to the kitchen. He turned to JB first. "You, I want watching that pot. Turn down the flame once the water is at a roaring boil." He then turned to Chris, "You get to clean out some dishes and glasses. As for me, I'm going to take the shuttle back up to my ship and get some decent supplies. Maybe I'll stop by the store and pick up some spices or something too." He grabbed Chris' old overcoat and a baseball cap that barely fit, and stormed out of the loft mumbling something that neither of the translators could, or would, decipher. Chris looked to where Zrng had disappeared down the stairs. "You think that disguise will work?" "You should have offered him your glasses." "Maybe next time." Twenty minutes later Zrng returned to a scene he fully expected to find. The table wasn't set, nor was the water boiling. Both of these were probably due to the fact that both Chris and JB were running around the kitchen in a near panic swatting at the flames that were coming out of the pot. Zrng sighed heavily and walked across the loft. He put the sacks of groceries on the table, then took the lid for the pot and slid it in place, snuffing out the fire. "Do I even want to know exactly how you managed to set the water on fire?" Chris and JB both pointed toward each other and cried "His fault!" Zrng, didn't look at them. He simply pointed away from the kitchen. The Dogmatic Duo took the not so subtle command to leave the area and resumed their earlier posts in front of their respected sources of information, occasionally muttering accusations back and forth at each other. Zrng sorted out his ingredients and set about cooking. Within minutes the loft filled with a scent it never had while Chris and JB lived there. Efforts for either of them to sneak a look at what Zrng was making were quickly met by a near fatal blow by whatever utensil Zrng happened to be holding at the time. Considering the amount of chopping he was doing, the interruptions were generally kept to a small number. "Dinner's on." Zrng yelled out as he pulled a casserole dish out of the oven. It had small roundish meatballs served rice and covered with browned cheese that kept the rice moist. Zrng scooped out helpings and served them on the plates and handed them to Chris and JB. "Wow." Chris said as he looked at the presentation. "This looks fantastic and smells incredible." "Careful, it's hot." Zrng warned. Outwardly, he didn't acknowledge the compliment, but it was nice to hear. JB poured water for himself and Chris. Zrng had a rather large mug filled with water that had several other key ingredients which rendered it a light yellow and somewhat frothy. JB looked a bit hurt, "Where'd you get the beer?" Zrng looked at him and stated, "When you start cooking, you can have some of my beer. Now sit and eat before it goes cold. There should be a salad or some vegetable to go with this, but I didn't have anything that you would find palatable." "Wow." Chris said again around a mouthful. "This is really good. What is it?" "It's an old family recipe, baked Navzny Grfgrf" "Mmm, tastes like Swedish meatballs." Zrng decided truth wasn't appropriate and simply agreed. "So where did you learn to cook like this?" JB said as he too began enjoying the dinner. "Well, when you're planning to spend a couple of hundred years by your lonesome you learn to get really creative with the rations." Zrng offered. "Plus, I enjoy watching your Food Network." "All those in favor of letting Zrng do the cooking if we buy the food." Both Chris and JB held up their hands. "Oh, no, you two aren't getting off that easy." The humans looked disappointed. "You also have to clean up the kitchen after I'm done, AND you're not through cleaning until I say you are, understand?" The brothers Reid looked at Zrng, then each other, then the plate, each other, the plate again, and finally back at Zrng. It was rather impressive really. They could have gotten at least the silver in synchronized non-verbal communication. At the close of the exercise, they both agreed. Zrng smiled a bit. "Good, and if I catch either of you messing with my cookware…" Director Simmons, welcome back. How was your testimony? Six hours of pure hell, Boyd. But I think I got them off of our back for a while. Did I miss any excitement? Well, TSD-2 had a malfunction for about half an hour… Oh Lord, no. Did anyone find out? Unfortunately, yes, a few residents in Zone 12 had a bit of a dispute. Fortunately we were able to move in quickly once we got it back on-line. Casualties were minimal. What about Black Zone? They were unaffected by the outage. Thank God. Boyd, when will we get enough funds from central to get those damn towers fixed properly? I don't know, sir. The budget hasn't been approved yet. *sigh*, what else happened? Resident Edward Meyer is apparently unaccounted for. Meyer? Yes sir, I believe he was called the Ferrite Chef. He was a firster and was in the low security section. He failed to report in for morning roll. We've also not been able to pick up his transponder either. We've sent out trackers, but they've turned up nothing. When did this happen? We think it was some time this morning. And how long have the trackers been out there? About ten hours sir. Better call them in then. No sense wasting the money. Should I reclassify Resident Meyer? Sure, how long had he been here? About six months, sir. He sentence was for two years. Well, I'd say that he made remarkable progress then. Very good, sir. I will notify central that he has been released. Between you and me Boyd? Sir? He'll probably end up dead in a couple of days. It's wilderness out there for miles and miles. Where the hell is he gonna run? Saves us the cost of keeping him. Yes, sir. If I may sir, you have a 10 o'clock call this morning with Commissioner Duquais from SOIL. Holy Mint Jelly! The Chef's on the Lamb? Zrng's in the kitchen? And King Harald's exerting more than just political pressure on the games. Ok, not really, but you explain how the heck Norway won that last end. Be with us next time when the author addresses that darn curling addiction in: Making a Mental Note or Scans Serif Chapter 28 Scans Serif Milton Weedleby shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Various instruments and minor lights, none of which offered any comfort, dimly illuminated the helicopter's interior. He continued to hold the helmet he wore as "Magnifty", trying to get some hint of the kind of power he once enjoyed. For the past few months he had been a fugitive, no, that's not quite right. Officially he was the prisoner of the Y-Guys, the elite group of meta-humans who use their talents to protect society, even if it's from itself. He was positive about that last part. He'd heard each of the Y-Guys say it to the others at least once a day. Milton hoped that he would be dropped off somewhere soon, because he was starting to find their heavy dialog and incessant need for monologues really annoying. Well, that and occasionally being knocked unconscious for no reason by the one that called himself the Badger. Still, none of that was why Milton was suddenly, deeply wishing he could be somewhere else. Sitting across the way from him was a tall, sandy haired man with a bushy mustache. He wore a medium weight all weather jacket, jeans and boots. He looked like an average citizen out for a nightly walk. Milton wasn't totally sure who this person was, but he could empathize with him. The man hadn't complained when he was dragged into his seat, but he had woken up afterwards. At first the man looked at Milton suspiciously, waiting for Milton to react. Milton had just given a helpless shrug and then looked to the forward compartment where the Y-Guys had gone. The man had tested the straps that held him in place. The man then carefully studied everything with an angry eye. Eventually the compartment door opened and a woman entered the room. The man did nothing to hide the revulsion he had for her when he spoke her name. "Mentra. I should have known." "I'm glad that my reputation precedes me, but then justice is always feared by the wrong." Bob laughed a bit. "Justice? My dear, I'm afraid that you haven't been watching the news. In fact if I remember correctly, you and your associates were on your merry way to The Facility." "That was simply a misunderstanding driven from fear. Once we've proven that we were correct, we will be accepted again. There is a great evil afoot, Mr. Malevolent, we are simply doing what it takes to save the planet." "Ah, so keeping Mr. Weedleby your personal prisoner, attacking several officers of the peace, several counts of wanton destruction, theft of fuel, and now an additional count of kidnapping are now all acts of 'justice'. And there are some that wonder why some of us decide to pursue alternate lifestyles. Well, at least I'll never have to worry about lycra making my thighs look like that." Mentra looked very agitated. "I require information you may have about an alien artifact. You can either tell me or I am quite capable of extracting the information from you." Bob smiled, with a fair amount of confidence, "Oh, good, I was afraid that you might actually stop adding charges against yourself. I can only guess what means of torture you plan on using. Mind you, I'm not going to mention any, I want to see how creative you can be on your own." "We do not torture." Mentra hissed. "There are more efficient methods available." She raised a hand toward Bob. Bob grimaced hard as if in pain. Milton shifted again, he knew exactly what Bob was going through. He was having his mind opened by Mentra, who was sifting through his thoughts. Milton couldn't watch, he hung his head down, imagining himself back on his bike in New Jersey. Bob laughed. Milton looked up again to see Mentra turning a shade of red. Bob sat staring at her his eyes fixed on her, droplets of sweat were forming on both of their heads. "Impressive, Mr. Malevolent, " "Thank you. It's a little trick I picked up in class." "...but useless, I assure you." "Seems pretty useful right now. You know there's two ways that you can get through mid-terms when your professor can read minds, one is to actually study, the other is not let him find out you're cheating. I got an A." Bob stopped smiling, and winced again. "Your overconfidence is your undoing, Mr. Malevol-AAH!" "And your gullibility is yours, Ms. Carson, is it? " Milton could feel himself cheering Bob on. The Badger suddenly appeared through the door. "Mentra, I heard you yell. Are you...?." Mentra was concentrating hard. The battle between herself and Bob was not going well. Streams of sweat poured from the grinning Bob. Although he looked cool and collected, Milton could see that the battle was taking its toll on him. The Badger didn't talk, he simply leapt over to Bob and cold-cocked him. Mentra collapsed into a heap, panting. The Badger held her, "Are you ok? What was he doing to you?" Mentra shook her head trying to clear it. "Nothing, it was.. mirror... I'm ok." She looked toward Bob. "He is unconscious. This will be a bit more difficult." "Mentra, don't. We can beat it out of him later." "No! We are not criminals." Milton knew better than to raise the question about the long list of more than questionable activities a second time. Mentra glared at the slumped Bob, "But these are desperate times." She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. Bob jolted a bit, and moaned. Milton felt very uncomfortable again. "It's difficult going through his mind, there are.. blocks.. but.. the artifact, yes, what about the artifact? No, it was destroyed it was in some, some machine or something, Margie?" Mentra asked the last with a note of surprise in her voice? "Margie? Who's Margie?" The Badger asked. Suddenly the Chopper shuddered and began to sway. Mentra and the Badger were thrown against the far wall. "Margie.." Bob said with a bit of a smile still only half awake. The floor of the chopper growled. Attached to the rear of the helicopter, hung Margie, her titanium teeth slowly sinking into the armor and mechanics. The pilot desperately tried to keep the vehicle in the sky. Margie shook herself, trying her best to ensure that the vehicle did not remain there. Margie was currently winning. "What the hell is that?" the Badger yelled toward the front of the chopper. "Biclops, did we hit something?" "More like something hit us." "That's impossible, were more than six thousand feet up." Margie shook herself and sent the occupants rattling again. As if on queue the tip of a fang popped through one of the walls. "Yeah, well you might want to tell that to the thing out there. Get up here, I need you to help shake it." The two Y-Guys crawled out of the hold and back into the forward compartment. Milton released his seat harness and crawled over to Bob. "Who.. what.." "Shh. They'll hear you." Milton shushed. "This may be our only chance. There's something attacking the helicopter." Milton began undoing the straps holding Bob in place. "Something?" Margie growled again. Bob smiled wide. "Margie, good girl!" "Should I ask what 'Margie' is?" Milton said cautiously. Bob smiled as he rubbed his wrists. "Our ticket out of here." BEGIN ENCRYPTION LEVEL YGRT-3882 ID: 33418ADA99821 OK . FROM: Grylix Command > TO: QRNQ ZRNG > SUBJ: PLEASE REPORT STATUS > > You are overdue. Long range scanners do not . > indicate you in orbit around Purfgre-V. > Everything OK? Please report status immediately. > > TO: Grylix Command FROM: Qrnq Zrng SUBJ: Status Report (Purfgre-III) Uhm, Hi! So, I know it's been a bit since I wrote, but a lot has happened. I've spent a fair amount of time trying to figure out the best way of telling you everything that's gone on. So failing that I've just decided to get ripping drunk and write this all down. Good News: The Humans have managed to crack light about two hundred years early. I don't know where you got your time estimate from, but I'd hang on to the receipt. Bad News: We can't tell anyone yet. No, really. Look, the deal is that I was sitting out at Purfgre-V just like I said I was waiting for that batch of hyperactive space brine to finish doing whatever the heck it was they were doing. By the way, have I mentioned again what a really bad idea it is giving us no way to take on idiots like that? I know we're not supposed to interfere or anything, but let me tell ya, sitting on my fat ass while the planet I'm supposed to be guarding is about to get itself wiped out isn't the happiest of situations. Oh, and by the way? These guys aren't as helpless as we thought. I don't know how they managed to scrap one together but they got a pretty impressive fleet. I've attached vids. They were almost holding their own. So after all the fuss and strife, I figured I should keep my head down a little longer. I was just about to head back over to Purfgre-III when all of a sudden I get this incredible energy spike from within my hold. (see attached) I wander on down and lo-and­behold, there are two of the little dirt darlings sitting in a modified version of a ground transport vehicle, screaming their heads off. Before you ask, no I didn't get a chance to scan its signature. I didn't have to. Not ten micros later, a GTG ship pops up next to us claiming that they picked up a gate signal. (yup. More attached, note, this is what I could scrounge after they "accidentally" wiped the core) Hey, we may want to do a bit more research on the GTG, they showed up suspiciously fast and claimed that the signal originated months ago. This is the part that gets really weird. On board was some Jelvan claiming to be the Stockholder. Couldn't have been though since he not only decides not to gatebake the planet, but he also gives in when yours truly invokes our protectorate. I nearly geeked myself, but yes indeedy, he gave in. But he took the engine. Turns out that whoever built it was definitely human because it violated damn near every single g.patent out there. I'm trying to find out who built it, but so far nobody's stepped up. Heck, I'm even running ads in the local low-band comms. So that's why we can't tell anyone. I'm guessing that the engine was either a fluke or I haven't found the right group yet. Oh, that's the other thing. I'm now stationed on Purfgre-III. Wow, I can hear Onpba screaming from here. Look, this planet is already crawling with g.civs, but we kind of figured it would be considering where it is and what its got, right? One more ain't gonna make any difference. And besides, GTG already knows we're here. Heck, they pretty much handed us the place. Besides, if any of you have a better idea how I can find someone who apparently doesn't want to be found while I'm sitting in a can in orbit, I'm all ears. I'm also sticking with the original plan of getting these folks incentivised to haul it back into space. I tell you, these guys are perfect. Provided they don't blow themselves into atoms, they're just what we're looking for. Zrng out. PS. Oh, if you could, can you send another case of navzny grfgrf on the next supply run? I had to use the last can to keep some natives happy. Don't ask. In return I'll send you a case of some stuff that makes Taj look like a sedative. Billy had stopped trying to shoot, it wasn't helping and he had run out of ammo a while ago. Now he just ran blindly down an alley looking for somewhere to hide. He couldn't see anyone chasing after him, but he knew that didn't matter. He knew for a fact that Wayne was already down. He thought he heard Switchblade scream earlier, and knew full well that he was on his own. Billy dove behind a dumpster and peeked out. He tried to stop breathing hard but it only made him rasp louder. A car drove by and in the flicker of its headlights Billy saw a shape that nearly stopped his breathing, as well as his heart. It was a small figure wearing an old style hat and coat. At first Billy hadn't thought too much when the crew first saw that weird gray guy standing on their getaway car. He looked like something out of an old 1940's gangster flick. Switchblade even laughed when the gray guy had said they were under arrest. 'What was some little jerk gonna do against five of the toughest in the 'hood? 'specially when they do this! ' Billy remembered seeing the flash from Switchblade's gun. He remembered seeing the gray dude leap off the side of the car. That's when the car blew up. Everyone dropped the stuff they had, Lil' Mikey was the first one to go down. Billy could still see the surprised look on his face as Mikey realized he was wrapped up in some sort of leg restraint. There was a sudden whipping sound and Mikey's arms were bound up next. The rest of the crew took off running. It was like some bad movie. They guy seemed to be everywhere. Bullets didn't stop him, heck he just started laughing. Billy ran. He didn't care where anymore, he just knew he had to get away. "You really didn't make it much of a challenge you know." The voice brought Billy back to the moment. He was here, somewhere. Billy scanned the alley looking for anything, but everything was same dull shade of gray. Billy tried to squeeze himself into the wall "Who are you, man?" "I thought that would be obvious. I'm someone who doesn't like you." The last bit was almost whispered into his ear. Billy desperately looked around for the source, positive it was the shadow next to him. Billy tore down the alley again, fear driving him faster than he'd ever run before. "It's nothing personal, you realize. Well, actually yes it is." The voice taunted him. It echoed after his footsteps, unlike Billy, the voice sounded fresh and relaxed. "You probably don't know this, but I've been here for about a year now, and you lot have been sort of off limits to me. Honestly, I had been told not to leave you to the police." An arm came out of nowhere and caught Billy in the chest. It felt like he had been hit by a lead pipe, Billy collapsed in a heap barely able to breathe. "I've decided to ignore that request and see if I can't lend the finest a hand every now and then." Billy slowly opened his eyes, every deep breath sent a nauseating wave of pain through him. He must have broken a rib. A grey silhouette loomed above him. "In fact I've decided that so long as I have to live in this town, I'm going to do what I can to make it a nicer place to be." Billy threw something wet and heavy toward the shadow. The pain nearly made him black out, but he crawled to his feet and started hobbling away. The voice still continued, unaffected by the struggle. "The fact that running two bit hoods like you down is delightful exercise is just a nice perk, Oh, watch you hand!" Billy reached for the top of a fence. A pole that struck from behind neatly smashed across his knucles. Billy screamed in pain and sank against the wire meshing. The figure chuckled. "Now I know that you'll have lots to talk about when you're in jail, but if you could do me a favor can you mention me to your friends? If the ask, just say that I'm they guy that they don't want to meet." Billy opened his eyes to try to look at who was addressing him. The figure fixed his hat and brushed off a dark spot on his coat. "Wh… who… are…" "Me? My name isn't important, and if you really want to know it, it's not hard to figure out. Let's just say, I'm the last guy in Boise you want angry at you." "Are.. you… Bob?" The figure bristled a bit at the name, then stretched out an arm, "No, I'm worse." Billy felt two things hit his body, then blacked out as the tazer fired. 'A'hm bored' Becky Sue whined. 'How long are we gonna lay here watchin' ol' green drawers like some frat boy on a panty hunt anyway?' 'It's time well invested, or perhaps you'd rather we let our mysterious friend continue to run unchecked." Karl, who was never one to really chat, had drawn the short straw. His job was to keep Becky Sue occupied so she didn't do something rash like shoot Zrng or give away their position. Roger and the Detective were busy keeping JB unseen and alert, respectively. Had they been more corporeal, they would have left Lady Peacemaker behind. Unfortunately, that was not an option at the moment. As for JB, he was doing his usual best to play part referee and part conductor. 'Hmm, Roger, can you bring us in closer? I believe our target may be finishing up.' The Detective asked, JB agreed and gave Roger control of his body. JB leapt through the tree line like a squirrel, but far quieter. It seemed as if not even the branches creaked as Roger deftly moved closer to the dark shape in the moonlit field. JB had identified the shape to be Zrng's shuttle. It blended into the field so well that it was nearly invisible unless you knew to look for it. 'Ah still think yer brother would be better at this than us. I mean this kinda is his area, ain't it?' 'Not so long as we've got Roger.' JB thought. JB could feel Roger glow a bit at the praise. JB had been the first to really acknowledge or use what Roger had to offer. The other members of the Justice Furlong had been more the run-in-and-bust-heads type than the stealth woodsman. Roger moved the body as close as he could to the vessel, slowly making his way through the knee high grass, leaving almost no trail behind himself. 'Ya'll sure we can't just shoot 'im and call it a night?' 'None of us trust him more than a broker with an inside tip, Becky Sue, but I'm not willing to see what problems canceling his account might raise with his associates.' Suddenly the ground shook a bit. 'Whoa!' JB thought, 'Earthquake?' 'No,' replied Roger, 'that was too shallow.' 'Have we been detected?' 'I don't think so, the shuttle engine hasn't…' JB never got to finish his sentence as the shuttle's engine suddenly fired up, Roger dropped JB down as flat as he could. The shuttle leapt into the air, spun around and streaked off into the night. The ground shook again. "What the heck is shaking the…" JB said out loud. The moon sat low against the horizon, A shadow passed before it and it caught JB's eye. He pushed himself up a bit and squinted against the darkness. An instant later Karl had control of the body and was making JB run faster than any human was capable. JB headed of in the same direction as Zrng's shuttle, a direction directly opposite of the moon, and the source of that shadow. Will Bob and Magnifty escape the plummeting YGuy helicopter or will the author just say that they did like he avoided how Bob got captured to begin with? What plans do Zrng and the Gryllix have for Humanity, and will we get a cut of the residuals? And what shambling horror lurks in the darker places of Boise's backwoods? Be with us next time for: Disappointment in Copenhagen or A Dane Shame Chapter 29 A Dane Shame ... Have any information about the stolen lock of hair should contact either Sheboygan police or the Beth Israel synagogue. And finally on a lighter note, several houses were crushed last night by an unknown destructive force. Several witnesses reported seeing a large humanoid with a flowing beard wearing what appeared to be a horned helmet. Police have not confirmed the reports, partly since the majority of them came from Alpha Phi Omega frat house. Although police in Larchland have not determined what crushed the homes, and do appreciate any leads, they wish to emphasize that they are interested in serious reports only. I suppose that maybe we should ask someone in Minnesota if they are at war with us, ha-ha-ha. That's our report for... *Pfip* "Wait a minute." Chris looked at his brother while greatly elevating an eyebrow, "you mean you didn't find out what he was up to?" "We followed him to just outside of Larchland..." "We?" JB pointed to his head, Chris just nodded and let his brother continue. "... And tried to get close to him to see what he was up to, but that's when we saw him." "Who 'him', Zrng?" "No, the Viking." Chris held up his hand. "You mean to tell me you saw it too?" JB looked a bit embarrassed. "Well not precisely. Zrng must have seen him first because he kinda blasted out of there. I spotted a shadow and Karl felt a rapid departure was a good idea too." Chris looked disappointed. "You really should have stuck around." A few quiet seconds passed before JB said anything. "Excuse me?" Chris looked earnestly at his brother. "JB you can't expect to become a proper hero by running away from the unknown." Now it was JB's turn to look suspiciously. "Who are you and what have you done with Chris?" "JB, I'm serious." "So am I." Chris could feel his temper start to rise, "JB, homes were crushed last night. Thankfully, no one was seriously hurt." "Yeah, like me. Chris, we're a team, right. Sure, I was out solo last night following Zrng, but that's just because Roger is the best tracker we know, and it's not like he can head out on his own." Chris felt a bit uncomfortable, but didn't let it show. "yes, but..." "But nothing. Look I wasn't exactly prepared to take on something that was pounding out earthquakes and splitting level ranches by my lonesome. Plus if I did become jolly green toe-jam, you'd be stuck dealing with it yourself with no warning." Chris thought about that. Not the thought of facing down the giant alone, but the thought of trying to explain to the folks why there was no casket at JB's funeral. "So, do we have any idea what it was?" "Or where it went?" "You sure it was a Viking?" "We'll I'm not 100%, but I do remember seeing something like horns against the moonlight." "But where the heck would a hundred foot tall Viking hide in Boise?" "There they are! Boise's Beagle Brothers and my bestest customers." Annie was his usually exuberant self. Chris waved weakly toward the assembled group of trench coated customers that stood in the more pubic part of Annie's House of Bondage. Unlike those customers, however, Chris wore pants beneath his coat. "Annie" JB threw open his arms and shouted back matching every decibel of Annie's enthusiasm, "Did you get that shipment of edible codpieces you told us about last time." Annie mocked disappointment, "No sweetie. They only had blueberry and you just know how that stains." JB again matched Annie's overdone show with his own loud "Awww.." Chris shot a deadly glance at JB. "And you wonder where the stories start" "Oh be nice or you get the bottom bunk" Chris continued to glare at the smiling JB, who was blissfully enjoying the general aggravation he was inducing. "Well, don't just stand there. C'mon! C'mon! I've got all kinds of goodies to show you!" Annie waved Chris and JB behind the counter and into the back room. Chris was subtly amazed every time he entered the armory that Annie kept. Unlike the first time, there were slightly more newer looking items than abused ones. Suddenly Annie spun around and leaned uncomfortably close to Chris, "Oh and by the way I could just kiss you!" Chris blanched. Annie ignored him as he leaned back and threw his arms out. "Business has just been out of this world since you got the nod! I've been getting better toys than ever." He spun around, still with arms outstretched. Chris narrowly avoided getting a ham sized arm upside his head while JB was carefully looking at a display festooned with blinking lights and meters. "That's great Annie." Chris said with a bit less enthusiasm, "uhm, look, I just need to get refills on some stuff and ..." "Oh, yeah! So how do you like the Super Stiffy?" That caught JB's attention, "The what?" Chris attempted to quickly change the topic, "It's working very well, except that the recoil takes a bit of getting use to, so do you have any of the immobilization foam.." To Chris' frustration, Annie never heard a word of it. He had reached into a case and produced a pink cylinder, "Well, Chris got the cheaper version, of course, but I've still got a few of these in stock. Very popular with more than a few." JB was definitely curious now. "What is it?" "Well, this is the deluxe version, but if you press this button." The shaft immediately shot out to an eight foot length and began vibrating. "Geez, that's gotta hurt." JB said wincing slightly less than Chris. "Honey, let me tell you. Even I would think twice about this, but it's all the rage with some of the Amazon queens. It's called the Air Force Fun." "Right well, about that foam.." Chris continued. "You know Annie, I hate to say it but I'd agree with Chris. I think the vibration is overkill." "I suppose, but this one also has a nifty bendy tip at the top to reach, err, you could use to latch on to things." "Right, I'll also need some more of the lubricant. I realized that I was low after I took out the Y-Guy mansion and haven't gotten a refill in a while, so if you can…" "Ooh, what does this do?" JB held up a rope that appeared to be made out of spun metal. Annie smiled evilly, "That my darling is a specialty I had ordered. You ever hear of that rope that makes you tell the truth?" "Yeah?" JB said. "This one makes you talk dirty. Sadly, it's for another customer. I can order you one if you like, but they're a bit pricey. It's not so much the materials but the amazing amount of porn I need to send to that old perv wizard. You would not believe the stuff he gets into. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find underage meekrat films, and by God they better not be prairie dogs this time or else.." "THE FOAM??" Chris shouted more than asked. Annie rolled his eyes and began rummaging through a lower cabinet. "Ok, ok, the foam. Gosh, it's always work, work, work with you lately, well, that and cash payments and don't think I don't love you because of that, ah here it is." He pulled out a small set of capsules in a metal canister. "Here they are, guaranteed immobilization, immediate deployment, and safe for the environment. Best to keep them in the container unless you want to find out just how effective they are. I presume you want the usual assortment refill pack? Well, here they are." A sudden alarm and a muffled yelp informed Chris and Annie that JB had successfully, if accidentally, managed to activate a restraint. Annie pressed a button on a remote control and a dull thud followed JB's release and quick plummet to the floor. "ow." "Do you have anything that might help us against a hundred foot Viking?" "A hundred foot Packer?" Annie offered helpfully. "Excuse me?" Chris asked. "Never mind. So, where is this Viking?" "Uhm, we don't know." JB said sheepishly. "You lost a hundred foot Viking?" "We didn't lose a hundred foot Viking," Chris said defensively, "heck, we're not even sure he exists. I just prefer being prepared." Annie smiled broadly, "Oh that's so cute!" He leaned toward JB, "He's a recovering boy scout isn't he?" "I'm not a recovering boy scout, I was never a boy scout." Chris said angrily. "It's true. He never made it all the way to full scout." JB said matter-of-factly. Annie looked a bit confused. "Oh, come on, he had to be at least a cub scout." "Yeah, but he never made it past.." "Ixnay JB, IXNAY!!!" The evil glint came back to Annie's eyes. "Let me guess, Weblow?" "Do you have any idea how bad it is to sit in a room and have them yell 'Cub Scout', 'Boy Scout', 'WE-BLOW'" "Why Yes!" Annie said innocently then in mock surprise, "Oh, wait! You mean as a bunch of little boys." Annie looked wistfully into space. "No, but I can dream." Chris and JB looked a bit uncomfortable. Annie laughed. "Oh you two are too easy. That's not my thing. I'm more into the lycra set." Chris and JB didn't look more comfortable. Annie just kept smiling. "Do you have anything that might help?" Chris asked, desperate to change the subject. "Well, you could wear something a bit tighter." "With the Viking!" Chris hissed. "Oh, that silly thing. Well, I'm not sure really. I've got a few things. Here's a grappling gun, it's got kind of low mileage." "What's this brown smudge here?" "The previous owner. You want to be careful with the recoil on that when you're round big falling blocks of steel." Annie wrinkled his nose, "I've toned it down a bit. You're a bit lighter and a lot less macho. The cord is silk wrapped tungsten steel, so it can support up to five hundred pounds. That's the trigger there, and here's where you load the cartridges. It holds six, here's a box of spares." Chris looked at the tool carefully. "Uhm, thanks." "I've also got a few other little goodies…" Chris' phone rang. He spoke three words. "Yes? Where? Ok." He folded the phone and returned it to its pocket. "Sadly JB, you were right." JB didn't want to feel vindicated. "Annie, we'll take these, except for the pole. JB meet me by the car." JB headed out the door as Chris signed the receipt. It was more a formality than a requirement, but it made Chris feel better knowing that his accounts were always settled. JB was sitting in the passenger seat of the Maxima activating controls when Chris slid into the drivers seat. "Where are we going?" "East Bay." Chris said flatly. "What? Was he hanging out in a Best Western all day?" "Maybe there was a good buffet or something." "Well, we're low on fuel and the bridge is going to be a parking lot." Chris smiled, "That's the fun of driving something that uses a hydrogen collector, we can fill up on the way." The Maxima turned out and headed toward the bay, it didn't stop accelerating when it raced across the pier. Some credit the climate. Others credit the devoted work of generations of craftsmen. Still others credit the rolling green and verdant beauty of the valley. Scholars, aficionados, and casual tourists all heartily debate what exactly lead to this location, above any other, to produce some of the finest vintage potato chips in the nation. Papas Valley lies north of Boise. It's tranquil serenity and row after row of potato plants that line the winding valley roads. They have always been a huge draw with tourists. Oh, sure it's cheaper to simply go to the local market and get a bag or two, rather than to drive to a kettlery, take the tour and pay a tasting fee, but visitors felt the well manicured lawns and graceful vistas were worth it. The delicate taste of deep fried potatoes filled the valley air and mingled with flowers and the smells coming from some of the best five star drive-ins in Idaho. Unfortunately, this particular night, tourism was, well, a bit off. Although the news choppers were getting lots of good footage of the gigantic Viking boiling fish and potatoes. Chris dove back behind the makeshift foxhole and landed with a particularly hard thud against the wall. He scrambled around to plant his back firmly against the near wall where JB was. "There!" he said between heavy gasps for air, "you happy? The tazer wasn't much use either. I told you." "Did you set it up to maximum?" "JB, I drained the battery on him and all I think I did was put his foot to sleep. Well, I'm officially out of tricks." Chris stewed for a bit. He was stymied. Some hero he's turned out to be. Can't even defend his city from a measly hundred foot tall Norse Warrior. "Hey JB?" "Yeah?" "Can't you get, I dunno, Karl or someone to take over and beat this guy up?" "Doesn't work that way." "What do you mean, 'doesn't work that way'. I've seen you do all kinds of stuff. You punched a bus out of midair for cryin' out loud." "Yeah, well, it takes a lot of one of them to do that. Why do you think Karl doesn't talk much? Heck, he's still recovering from last night." "Well what about the Detective or Becky Sue?" "Since all they do mostly is crack comments and snipe at each other, they're usually around. Doesn't take a whole lot do to that. Plus it's not really like I can control who gets to drive. It's kinda up to whoever happens to be riding shotgun at the time." Chris sat thinking about that for a bit. "You're head is like a car?" "Kind of, I guess." Chris sat thinking a bit more, "Is it stick?" "Excuse me?" "Your head. Is it stick shift or automatic?" "What?" JB said a bit annoyed. "Look it's just a metaphor, ok?" "Oh, right, sorry." Chris apologized and stared off a bit. "Hatchback?" "Will you get off the car thing?" "Hey, you brought it up." "Don't remind me." "I'm sorry JB. I'll behave. Although the car metaphor does explain a few things, thanks." "Really?" "Yeah. Stuff like how you and the gang were able to do stuff. Why you were brilliant one moment and your normal self the next. Why your left ear keeps flashing. Why -OW!" "Laugh it up buddy-boy and I'll let Becky Sue decorate." "Ok, ok, I won't mention it again. Today. Besides we've got a much bigger problem at the moment." JB and Chris both looked to the top of the wall a bit nervously. How the heck were two junior superheroes ever going to take out a hundred foot tall Viking? "Is he still angry?" JB asked. "It's your turn to look." "No it's not!" Chris held out his fist, JB did as well, and they shook them three times. JB went with rock, but Chris was paper. JB slowly raised himself over the low wall. "Du yu boys need some help?" "GAAAAAAHHHH!!!" "JB, Who, Wha?" Both Chris and JB struck defensive positions as the slow sinking realization that the person that addressed them, while still Danish, was not over one hundred feet tall. Over six feet, sure, but definitely within normal homo-sapien ranges, even if he was dressed head to toe in a strangely familiar looking red. "I'm sorry if I scared you, but you looked like you could use a bit of help." The Dogmatic Duo relaxed a bit and both looked slightly confused at the prospective ally. Chris was the first to react. "Uhm, no offense or anything, but we're seasoned professionals…" "We are?" Chris ignored JB, " and we're having a heck of a time trying to get that Viking guy to leave. I really don't see where you might be able to help and I don't want to see you get hurt or…" The Danish visitor laughed a bit. "Ah, yes, well, I guess it's understandable. It's not often that were in the area but some of us figured we should try to help out even if we are on vacation. Besides, you might say that this sort of thing is our specialty. "Vacation?" Chris repeated. "Uh, can you excuse us for a second?" JB inquired politely as he pulled Chris aside. "I say we give Red here a chance." "What?" Chris quietly screamed, "Are you nuts? He could get himself killed and it would be our fault!" "Yeah good point since we're making such incredible headway ourselves. Look maybe this guy has a few tricks up his sleeve for dealing with really big Vikings. Like he pretends to be England or something. Besides, the big guy looks to be getting into his lunch right about now." The Giant began ladling out boiled fish and potatoes into a makeshift plate while humming what the Brothers Bark assumed to be a Viking War song. In fact it wasn't. It was ABBA. "That doesn't sound good." "So should we let Erik the Red here have a go at it?" JB asked a bit emphatically. Chris was still not 100% sure, but shrugged his consent. JB turned to the Dane, "Are you sure you know what you're doing? If we have to come fish you out of something, you'll wish that the giant got you first." The Dane simply smiled, pulled out a cellphone and spoke into it. "Go, Go, Mighty Stackin' LEGO Legionnaires!" Exactly what happened next is a matter of ongoing quiet debate between Chris and JB. Go, Go Mighty Stackin' LEGO Legionnaires? Go, Go Mighty Stackin' LEGO Legionnaires? Are you sure that the author isn't still nipping on that cough syrup? Be with us next time for: Björkzilla or Is he valley trained? Chapter 30 Björkzilla "I'm telling you, that's exactly what happened." JB said as he tried to focus on the least blurry version of his brother. They were sitting in a back booth of one of the lesser known dining establishments of the area, a place with a sign declaring it "The Vienna Sausage". Residents knew it by a different name, "That Gawdawful Dive." The menu consisted of two items. An empty pitcher of one of the featured items sat near the end of the table. "Here." The waitress flung the red plastic baskets in front of Chris and JB. Her decades of experience meant that no matter how violent the delivery, not even a potato chip fell out of place. The second menu item, steamed hotdogs with chips, had arrived. JB sat looking at the basket. "That… is a talent…" Chris simply nodded and looked at his meal. The hotdog had obviously been stored in a back steamer for the better part of the day. The bun, if it could continue to be called that, had exceeded the point of saturation and had become a weird doughy mass that adhered itself to the blank pork sausage. In the dim light, the meat, (at least that's what Chris hoped it was) almost had a slightly green sheen to it. The dog was served wrapped in a paper and foil envelope. The kind favored by ballpark vendors. Of course the downside of having paper on the inside was the fact that it stuck to most of the aforementioned steamed dough, tearing off huge drippy masses of it in the worst case, or squishing it near translucent in the best. The dogs were served with glass containers filled with cheap yellow mustard and lightly pickled minced sweet onion. Ketchup, relish and any other substance were not available and potentially life threatening anyway. In other words, they were perfect. Chris took a huge bite of the carcinogen-laced delicacy and reveled in its unidentifiable sources. JB was likewise enjoying his lunch. Once the simple euphoria of discovering somewhere that makes bad food really well passed, Chris picked up the conversation again. "JB, look I was there, remember? I'm just trying to figure out exactly what the heck we just saw. Let's start at the beginning when the Erik the Red or whoever shouted into his phone." "That's when he started glowing and turned into that big mini-fig." "Right, now when did those busses show up?" "You mean all the other Lego Legionnaires?" "Yeah, them. How many of those guys were there, anyway?" "Well, Erik said that there were about two hundred and thirty of them, not counting the expansion packs." "Yeah, that was the weird thing. I mean I guess I can understand them all turning into different types of Lego bricks and stuff, but not all of them could be used all the time right?" "Well, yeah, I mean when the first group went up, it looked like a bunch of the specialty pieces were setting up coffee and donuts." "That's just it, really. I mean, I guess I can understand the idea of them making themselves into various Lego constructs to battle the Viking dude, but really, how often do they need the ones that were those transparent cone-like bits?" "That's easy," JB said as he finished off his hotdog. "Did you try the crullers those cone gals brought?" "Ooh, yeah. Those were good. Nice of them to share." "Darn nice folks. Too bad that the main force kept getting broken up whenever that Viking guy hit them. You'd figure that they'd make themselves into something more damaging than a model of a racecar or sailboat. Kinda weird how the Viking's skin buckled though, wasn't it?" Chris became rather excited, "Good, you saw that too? I mean the way that Viking guy moved, it looked like a guy in a big rubber suit, didn't it?" JB sat thinking for a bit. "I suppose, but that doesn't really make sense either does it? I mean even if it were a guy in a hundred foot tall rubber Viking suit, he'd still have to be like, a hundred feet tall, right? Why bother with the suit?" "I guess the same reason that he put all those little smoke charges all over his chest. I mean every time the Lego guys even touched him a bunch of those stupid charges would go off. " "You want another pitcher?" The waitress asked JB. "No, no, thanks." "Can I get another Diet Coke, please?" Chris asked as the waitress simply grunted acknowledgement. They sat staring off into space for a few minutes. Chris poked JB's head a few times, "So, how are they handling your liquid lunch." JB turned a somewhat bloodshot eye toward Chris. "Are you kidding? It was their decision. I got outvoted four to one. Bunch of panty waists too, oh great, now Becky Sue's snoring." "You're going to be charming in about four hours when the hangovers start." "Maybe I'll just start thinking about a Who Concert to pay them back." "You think they're mad?" "No, they're all passed out. I'm the mad one." Chris waved his hand. "No, sorry, I meant the Lego Legionnaires." "What, you think they're upset that we piano wired the Viking?" "We didn't really piano wire the guy, I mean, c'mon it was kind of obvious wasn't it?" "Well, sure, I mean I guess I'm kind of surprised we didn't think of it earlier." "Who's idea was it anyway?" JB looked confused for a second, "I thought it was yours." "Me? Why would I think of driving the Maxima around the giant's legs like that? You're the one who was asking the guy if they had any of the Lego Star Wars pieces. It had to be you're idea." "My idea? Look Chris, why would I willingly sit in the open trunk holding the end of your zip-wire gun thing while you drove like an idiot around the Viking's legs?" "I suppose, but why exactly were you calling me "Wedge", "Luke"?" "Ok, so I kind of got into it a bit. I still say it was your idea." JB and Chris sat quiet for a few beats. "JB, you think they're mad at us?" "Who? The Lego Guys?" "No, the guys that own the Kettlery that the Viking crushed when he fell over." "No idea, but the owner didn't look really happy." "I suppose, I couldn't make out what he was screaming at the Legionnaires, but since they were all stuck together like that, it's not like they could have done anything about it. Hopefully, English wasn't their first language." "I wonder how many of them know international sign language?" "JB, the gestures that guy was making are truly universal" "I suppose. Good thing we were already in the car, made driving away at top speed pretty easy." Chris simply nodded. "I still say it was your idea." Canada Special Operations Center Dauphin, Manitoba 1400 Manitoba. What better place, than Manitoba? In a recent poll of Canadians, Manitoba ranked just slightly less popular, compared to the other Canadian Provinces, than Greenland. When the polled were reminded that Greenland was, in fact, not part of their fair country, Manitoba still managed to be outvoted five to one. Several of the polled even accused the surveyors of obviously lying and threatened physical action against anyone who'd slander Greenland or any other part of Canada. It continues to be, the most forgettable area of the country. Located in that province is the less than bustling city of Dauphin, incorporated near the end of the last millennium. You'll easily be forgiven for not knowing where the city is. No one knows where Dauphin is, possibly including several of the residents. This was a sore spot with the Dauphin Chamber of Commerce, of course, who were quick to point out that summer in Dauphin is the absolutely most memorable and spectacular afternoon one could ever experience. Of course, had they known that Parliament had gone through a good deal of trouble to ensure that Dauphin failed to become the hotspot of Manitoba, they might not have spent quite as much luring the Ukrainian National Festival back for it's 35th consecutive year. However for what it lacked in general appeal, it was perfect for the headquarters of the CSOC, the ultra secret branch responsible for overseeing Canada's largest southern province, the former United States. The elevator door slid open and Col. Foley strode out, a look of grim foreboding etched into his veteran's countenance. With a few long strides, he stood beside his superior, General Thompson, Head of Operations at CSOC. By reflex they exchanged salutes but quickly fell into the ease of the tight working relationship they had shared for nearly twenty years. "What's the latest, Foley?" "We've gotten several reports form our scouts saying that the RUA has been moving troops toward the city of Boise as well as another destination." "Boise? Why are they interested in Boise? What's the other location?" Foley answered the questions as they had been asked. "Yes sir, Boise Idaho. We're not certain but they may be using it as a staging area. Quebec." Thompson looked particularly grim at the last statement. "You're certain of that?" "As certain as we can be, sir. They're being particularly stealthy about it of course. We only discovered it after matching vehicle ids for several of their service vans when they pulled into motels for the night. When we mapped their movements we found that a large number of them seem to be headed toward Michigan. It may be a fluke, but we're keeping an eye on them." Thompson nodded. Foley had a sixth sense about things like this, but Thompson was the only one that could make the call. Things had been quiet down south, maybe a bit too quiet. He had blamed the general lull on Melbourne and New York. Still, the fact that they appeared to show great interest in this Boise town was oddly more disturbing than the movement toward the border. Thompson turned back toward the huge map of the border area that stretched across the main wall. "Foley, activate the Barista units, but only in the Boise area. I'm sure they're probably expecting us to have picked that up. No need to tip off the fact that we've got them headed toward the border too. Standard security operations, Foley, no need to frighten the chickens yet." "Yes, Sir." Foley snapped a salute, turned on his heel and left to make the calls. Thompson simply continued to study the town in Idaho, that was going to become much more interesting than it had before. Langell Valley, Oregon Two Weeks Ago. "", an older Asian man opened his door and looked straight down his walk, or more correctly he would have looked straight down his walk if he were capable of actually seeing. The man lived in a clearing of tall pine at the end of a long dirt path. His house, while fastidiously clean, was neither overly ornate nor Spartan, but each item obviously served a practical purpose. His yard was immaculate. Something people who live around very large pine trees would have a great deal of trouble accepting. This probably explained the reason why he lived alone. Hearing nothing the man sniffed the air, then regretted it. "", the man said in Classical Greek. He reached down and lifted the nearly comatose body. The body mumbled something, "Eh, what's that?" The old man spoke in heavily accented English. The body mumbled again. "Yes, I am the one called Mephisto. What of it." Again, the body mumbled, "Your words mean little to me. Prove yourself." He released his visitor. The man was obviously exhausted, barely able to stand. He was gaunt, his wild hair matted and filled with thistles. He wore the dirtied and torn remnants of an orange shirt and issued denims. Still he managed to collect himself as he staggered over to the kitchen area. Mephisto kept an impressive and well-stocked kitchen. A bowl of freshly caught river trout rested on the counter. The man carefully washed his hands, drinking hard from the water that flowed. He turned off the water, and paused, his ragged breathing the only sound. "Well? You waste time." The younger man's hand shot toward a knife block and pulled an eight inch blade, as his other hand dove into the bowl of trout. In a near blur of movement the man expertly cleaned and gutted the trout in the least number of moves. He then proceeded to clean two more. His hand swept over an assortment of vegetables snatching only the finest from the collection. A fresh blade cleaned and sliced the various vegetables into neat stacks each evenly presented. The man continued in this frenzy of activity occasionally breaking only to light a burner or pull a skillet from a cabinet. Twenty minutes later a gourmet feast was sitting before Mephisto. The younger man stood at attention, drawing ragged breaths from the exertions. Mephisto carefully studied each of the five courses carefully with each of his remaining senses. "The Trout with Sake and onion was light, with a delightful hint of miso. It complimented the seasoned Trout salad well. The Trout and Potato soup was well balanced but possibly a bit salty, still forgivable. I expected the braised trout in port wine with Portobello mushrooms to be heavier, but you've apparently balanced the wine with a combination of rosemary and thyme that accentuate the sweetness. Finally, the Trout fudge sundae was… an unusual dish…" "The potatoes, they have EYES you know…" "Ah, good! Delirium has set in, your mind is free! Sleep, Mr. Meyer, tomorrow you have much to learn." Edward Meyer, aka the Ferrite Chef was sound asleep on his feet. He stayed that way until he was rudely roused at five the next morning. Over the course of two weeks, Meyer was a star student. He studied even the smallest of Mephisto's gestures, memorized the ancient texts and ensignia, and with good reason. Mephisto was the last of a long line of the Greco-Sino-Mystic Masters, an order of ancient culinists that could weave powers beyond imagination in their craft, and some of the tastiest darn donuts you could imagine. Edward had studied a lifetime and risked everything for the opportunity to meet the master. Edward spent years chasing any lead that may have brought him to this place. Yet the old man had proven to be far more elusive. Fate intercepted during a chance meeting with one of the other residents at the Facility. Meyer left his low security compound immediately afterwards and traveled the way that destiny lead. Once he had mastered the old man's talents, he would be able to clear his family's name once and for all. His student's enthusiasm and attention inspired the old Chinaman. Mephisto sipped his ouzo and shared his secrets. Secrets of how to select the best tasting table grapes by sight alone to the dark mystery of using oregano to damn the souls of Englishmen. Perhaps his trust in the new student was his downfall. Meyer "graduated" within two weeks. The battle was fierce, but brief. A bit of otherworldly assistance rendered a soufflé collapse to be a bit more dramatic than usual. Meyer walked out of the now empty clearing in the woods. He was once again draped in his deep red and green chef's silks. He disappeared into a puff of cinnamon and ginger as he put in motion his plans for revenge. But first, a quick trip to Boise to settle another score… Thor? Can I talk to you for a bit? Uh, sure Mr. McKinney, like what do you want? Thor, things like this are never easy, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to let you go for the time being. Whoa. Bummer. Yes, I'm sorry, you're a good lad, but I'm afraid that I've gotten orders from headquarters that they need to bring some new folks in for a bit. Oh, man, Mom's gonna freak. Was it the fact that I gave that woman on the cell phone too much foam in her cappuccino? No, Thor, that woman was an idiot and a bitch. Rest assured that there's a special circle of Hell reserved for her and her ilk, one that's filled with ill-fitting shoes from Korean Knockoffs. No, nor is this about the time I caught you cleaning the wax out of your ears with the steam jet. You knew about that? Yes, Thor. You really do need to learn to wipe it off. By the way do you know that it also does wonders for you nasal passages as well? No, but I'll give it a try next time. Good, good, sadly it won't be here though. Oh, yeah, right, no… Well, off you go then. Do I get a going away lunch or anything? Ah, well I suppose, here, a token of our esteem. It's a napkin. Yes, but it's our special commemorative napkin. It's been used. And that's what makes it all the more special, off you go. Could I get a goodbye mochaaaa-AAAAAHHH!! I believe that answers the question. Lieutenant? Take your position behind the counter. Yes, SIR, Major McKinney, SIR!! And lose the beret, we have an image to keep. Leapin' Lucas! What bit of revenge does the Ferrite Chef have in mind for the Boys in Boise? Who is the RUA and does it have anything to do with that secret shadowy agency mentioned in the past (hint, hint)? Will the Author get endless reams of hate mail from Manitoba? Possibly one or all of these may be answered in the next thrilling chapter, Ah who are we kidding. Look none of this makes any sense. The author is pulling out a story line that's over eight months old. Maybe fourteen people grabbed the pdf of year one and who knows how many of them made it all the way through without their heads exploding. If it wasn't for that sugar addled mall-rat putting together that Story so Far thing, nobody would have any clue about… As a matter of fact my Prozac prescription is running late. How can you tell? Do You Smell Gas? or Crossing Over Chapter31 Crossing Over "What do you mean, 'Oops'?" Chris said, fighting back a more violent response. Chris wasn't particularly worried that the Chef was going anywhere considering that the bulk of him was currently underneath a sizeable quantity of Cherry Scented Security Foam. Chris didn't even want to think how the stuff was normally used, although he was glad that he had only used one of the capsules Annie had given him. "It's, well, uhm, gone." The chef's muffled stammer related. "It was over on the pedestal, but it's not there now, or well, the last time I looked. You know it's very rude to interrupt someone when they're describing their fiendish plot." Chris turned to yell, "JB check around the pedestal, see if you can find it." JB quickly checked the area and shrugged the bad news. "I guess it must have been more advanced than I thought." The Ferrite Chef continued a bit oblivious to the situation, " I suppose that it would go and try to be amongst others of its type, really. I suppose I should have probably talked to Mephisto about that. You want to get things like that while they're still young and fresh. That's when you can do the most with them. They get a bit unruly if they get over ripe. Ooh, speaking of which, could one of you please let me out from under this?" Not surprisingly, the sudden lack of previous occupants did not offer to help extricate the Chef. "Hello?" David Marcolin was feeling rather irritable today. Granted, after spending far too long in coach class and having to deal with US Customs, most would feel the same way. Still, unlike most folks, David had several additional reasons to be less than chipper that fine morning. "Good Morning David!" That was one of them. David had no real idea why he had decided to accompany his compatriot and fellow famed Canadian Physicist Jim Evans to a conference in Boise, particularly one that felt it necessary to feature him as the opening speaker and star attraction. It was hard enough trying to deal with his alter ego living in Hydrogen Guy's shadow, but with the heady accolades falling upon Jim, well, it was a wonder he was able to see the sun over Jim's head. "There you go", Jim offered in an abusively chipper tone, "One cafe mocha and cinnamon raisin bagel, light cream cheese for you, and a fresh hot chocolate and peach danish for me." David stared at the drink for a second. "No argon?" he asked in a somewhat beleaguered voice. "Sorry, I asked. Poor lad just sort of seized up. Quite entertaining really. I'm afraid that next time we'll have to bring our own." "Bring our own? After the full cavity searches I got yesterday?" "Well, I had my shoes scanned twice." Jim teased and then smiled broadly. David's mood just grew fouler. "I thought you were trying to lose weight?" David said looking at his companion's menu choices. "Traveler's dispensation, m'lad." Jim said as he took a sip of his cocoa. "Besides, one little danish won't hurt... " Jim didn't finish the sentence. Mostly because a flash of gray dove across the table and snatched the danish from his hand. It was followed by a set of sneakers attached to a costume that met with David's color scheme, loud. Jim looked at his hand then looked to where the gray figure skidded to a stop. The figure lay there panting for breath, then held up the pastry to his companion. "JB, quickly, diffuse the danish!" "What!?" his companion cried out. "Are you nuts!?" "JB! C'mon, you're the one that read the stupid manual!" "Manual? What manual? You mean those scribblings that fruit loop had all over the wall?" The gray figure got to his feet. "Well, I'm sorry. I guess I was just a bit occupied at the time." "Oh, yeah, you were screaming and running around weren't you?" David cracked a bit of a smile. It was nice to see two well-adjusted heroes. Jim held up a polite finger, "Excuse me?" "I was distracting the chef so that you could read the wall." Gray yelled back to his partner. Suddenly the danish uncoiled with an unearthly scream and wrapped itself around the gray figure's head. "Chris!" JB yelled and grabbed part of the pastry, the Danish Demon flicked part of its tail and sent JB sailing over Jim and David. The two seated scientists watched the less than graceful arc with the eyes of seasoned Olympic judges, then turned back to see Chris, who had somehow managed to extricate himself from the devilish desert with some sort of pink device. With a flip of his wrist, Chris deployed the device into a long pink pole that pinned the creature to the wall. "JB, You ok?" Chris yelled as he kept an eye on the beast. "Yeah, just got the wind knocked out of me." JB responded. Chris fought to keep the struggling baked good pinned. "David, you finished with that?" Jim asked politely as he picked up his own beverage. "Sure, let me help you." David said as the both stood. "HEY!" Chris called out, "Get away from that. It'll kill..." David and Jim both poured their hot beverages onto the pastry and it quickly dissolved into a pile of evil butter and sugar. "Uhm, thanks." Chris said as he retracted his pole, and quickly stored it. Unfortunately for David, he recognized the more phallic aspects of the device than he wished he had. "Always glad to be of service to a fellow in need." Jim said as he smiled again. "Sure, thanks again Mr..." "Doctor, actually, Dr. James Evans. This is my associate, Dr. David Marcolin" "The Dr. Evans!?" JB said in mild disbelief as he brushed bits of booth off himself. Jim smiled like a celebrity as his head inflated just a bit more. "You realize that was probably the dumbest move for someone to do. If that coffee trick hadn't worked..." Chris began to chide. "Oh, my associate and I have had similar problems in the past. We work at a University, and the cafeteria, well, it leaves much to be desired." "This is so cool," JB bubbled, "Oh wow, Dr. Evans, "I read your paper on the fundamentals of hydrogen and modern super string theory and I've got to say that it was gripping." "Oh, that old thing." Dr. Evans dismissed. David could feel the bile rise. "But I'm curious why you kept referring to anti-neutrinos as 'nasty little crabs'" "Uhm, Lobsters actually" Dr. Evans said a bit uncomfortably. Chris briskly grabbed his brother and dragged him toward the door. "Thank you for your assistance citizen, enjoy your visit, and be sure to tip your waitress." he called over his shoulder and the protesting JB. "Bright lad." Dr. Evans commented. "Yeah, he managed to drag JB out before we all died of boredom" David returned snidely. Thomas "Mack" Riley McGinty had a certain "knack" for growing potatoes. Some said that it was because he came from a long line of strong agricultural families back in Ireland. Others said that it came from his love of long hard toil in the fields to raise the best, most naturally disease resistant spud. Of course there were the few that said it was because he talked to potatoes and in fact, married one in the spring of 1894. Not surprisingly, it was the last group that actually had it right. Still, it wasn't until one hundred years later, when a time capsule was uncovered that T.R. McGinty's personal diary was discovered. A great many details about the world-renowned botanist and philanthropist were uncovered shortly afterwards. The world learned that the "Lucky Potato" he carried in his coat pocket (the very same one that he had drilled a large thumb hole into so that he could entertain the children of the neighborhood) was used for, well, more than just puppet shows and have them pet it for good luck. No group felt the bitter slap of reality worse than the McGinty High School Spud Luckers. Of course a great deal of this was lost to Mark Giovonni who kept himself to the basement computer lab. Mark was a non-descript high school sophomore with no social life, and well on his way to becoming yet another moderately well paid nameless engineer for some technology farm. The machine next to Mark started acting up again. Betzi Williams gave an anguished pout. She was blonde, beautiful and trying to finish her state mandated computer literacy course. "Like, I can't believe this. This is the seventh time today I've like gotten the Ox-Cooooooooooos error. If Thad were here he'd know what to do." Mark doubted that very much. Thad was most likely hanging around the Seven-Eleven trying to get strangers to buy him beer. Still, he knew better than to try to even look Betzi straight in the eye. They were in totally separate worlds. Betzi would have more to do with a garden slug than Mark. Still, Mark held onto the one thought that got him through days like this. Maybe, just maybe, years from now, with high school well beyond both of them, just maybe then Mark will see her naked in Playboy. Mark reached over and touched the case. He could feel the problem, the way that a violin player could feel the notes from his instrument; he could almost reach out and see the rigid structures that sent electrons flowing along like rivers. In his mind he saw the problem, a small chip had a slight imperfection that was causing it to just barely alter the bus speed. He thought about what it was doing and envisioned the pathway straightening out, allowing the flow to progress. "Oh, Cool!" Betzi exclaimed in surprise, "it's back!" She continued gleefully unaware of what Mark had done. Mark looked under the table. It was a new box. That meant he'd have to see about making the usual improvements to it later. The tan Chevy Malibu pulled up next to Annie's House of Bondage. Deuterium Boy shifted the package on his lap and peered out the rental car's window. He looked back at his partner sceptically. "Are you sure about this?" Hydrogen Guy put the car into park and shut off the engine. "Sure. On the phone that Annie guy said it was right next to his shop." "You're sure he wasn't just trying to lure us into his leather-clad clutches?" "Let's just go," said Hydrogen Guy. They opened the doors and climbed out of the car. Deuterium Boy continued eyeing the building uncertainly. "There aren't any lights on," said Deuterium Boy, "Are you sure they're home?" "If they're not," said Hydrogen Guy, "we'll just break in and wait for them." "You like doing these things the hard way, don't you?" "Ah, how much security could they need here in Boise?" Hydrogen Guy waved off his concern. "Besides," he said. He pointed to the bulky object tied up in yellow cellophane that Deuterium Boy carried. "We're bringing them a fruit basket." The door buzzed a second time as Chris limped blearily into the loft's living area. He'd already rammed his foot into two separate pieces of furniture. If whoever was at the door wasn't bleeding from a mortal wound, he though, he'd ram his other foot into them. He found the light switch and illuminated the room. He reached the door and, with blatant disregard for the basics of home security, unlocked it and flung it open. Two men were standing on the doorstep dressed in some kind of pirate outfits. One was in blue and black with a red tie and a yellow feather in his hat. The other was in a riot of mismatched red, orange, and green and was holding some kind of gift basket. "HAPPY KWANZAA!" they shouted in unison. Chris slammed the door. "JB!" he called as he headed back to bed, "It's for you!" A few minutes later, JB headed back down the stairs and toward the front door. He opened it, not exactly knowing what to expect, but figuring since Chris wasn't screaming, more than likely it wasn't hostile. "No, I'm not going to shout it a second time. He might be armed!" JB stood there for a second, his eyes only slightly wider than his jaw. "Ah, JB! Good to meet you. I'd offer you a banana, but I'm afraid they're probably bruised beyond their usefulness right now." Hydrogen Guy offered in his usual, jovial manner. "Aaarrrggh-hheeegg-ggraaarrg-aaaak" JB returned in a less than jovial, and more like near catatonic state. Deuterium Boy leaned over to Hydrogen Guy and whispered from the side of his mouth, "Is that normal?" "I'm not sure, but I'm guessing that we should start worrying if the first thing he says is 'Braaaiiinnnss'!" "Hiiigg-hyyggg-duuuh" JB managed to stammer. "I told you we should have gotten the gift assortment of brains instead of fruit." "What are you talking about? That's the basket the hotel left for you." "HYDROGEN BOY AND DEUTERIUM GUY." JB finally blurted out. "See, I told you that sounds worse than Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy." JB suddenly felt significantly a great deal shorter as the taste of shoeleather spread through his mouth. A period of more than uncomfortable silence followed, and was interrupted by a voice heard only by JB. 'I don't want to be one to tell you how you should treat your guests, but I believe it would be proper etiquette to invite them in.' "Ah, right Karl." JB replied a bit uncomfortably. "Karl? " HG said as he raised an eyebrow. "I told you to take it easy on the coffee. Next thing you know you'll be playing drums in a pick-up band." DB countered. "Uhm, Come in, won't you?" JB said, desperately trying to recover what little composure he could. The three made their way up the stairs and into the main loft. The loft was significantly less than what the Diatomic Duo had normally come to expect. The furniture, what little there was, was mostly used or covered with pizza boxes and take out Chinese containers. "Rooms" (if they could be called that) were divided up by large cardboard crates that were festooned by newspaper cutouts. Toward the center was a rather large... thing.. At first Hydrogen Guy presumed that it was their computer, but the dancing lights and blinking effects on the front reminded him more of an overpriced stereos he'd seen in some catalog. There was a small television sitting next to a minimally stocked kitchen. One of the antennas had been replaced by a length of aluminum foil. The total area of the place could have fit in one of the smaller closets of the Hydrogen Cave. Possibly the one nearest the garbage chute. "You're both single, aren't you?" DB said as he glanced about the room. "Excuse me?" JB said as he pulled a few various beverages from the fridge. He carried them back to the main sitting area. "Can I offer you something to drink or eat? We've got water, juice, wait, no we don't, uhm, water, uh, Carffee." DB perked up a bit. "You do?" "Yeah, it's diet Carffee." JB quickly opened the bottle and handed it to DB, amazingly, not spilling most of the contents in the process, possibly due to a bit of well hidden atomic speed. "I can't tell you how excited we are to have two real superheroes here." "You don't have to. We sort have noticed." "Oh, sorry, Cheese-Nip?" "No, thank you, I'm trying to cut down." "I take it that's the Grayhound?" DB indicated to the darkened corner behind several large boxes. "Yeah, don't mind him, he's just a bit cranky in the mornings." DB looked at his watch, "It's eleven thirty." "Ok, so sometimes it extends a bit beyond that. It was a long couple of days. I'm sure he'd be just excited, if he were more conscious. So, what brings you two to Boise?" JB said innocently then immediately jumped to pure panic. "OH MY GOD! THE CRUATACEAN IS HERE??" Hydrogen Guy was up and twirling around looking for his nemesis. "Where? WHERE?" JB stopped. "Uhm, don't you know? I mean, isn't that the reason why you're here?" JB said growing confused. "What? No!" HG said a bit annoyed. "Look, we were just in the area on separate business and figured we should stop by and say 'Hello'. Look, if this is a bad time or something, we can come back some other time." "Nononono!" JB said quickly trying to correct things from continuing down hill. He slumped down a bit. "I'm sorry. It's just that you two have always been big heroes to me. I've been following everything you've been doing for years. I've been dreaming of finally meeting the world famous Hydrogen Guy and when I do, I blow it. I suck." Hydrogen Guy softened a bit. "Aw, now look, sure we've got powers far beyond those of mortal men, and have fought villains of nearly every shape and size, and sure we've even been places that no human has ever been before, but really, deep down, we're just a couple of average guys. Once not too long ago, we were just like you." "No we weren't." Deuterium Boy corrected. Hydrogen Guy kicked him to keep him quiet. "So, let's just start over again. Happy Kwanza!" JB laughed. "You realize that was in December, right?" "Not for Canada, it's not." Hydrogen Guy smiled broadly. DB just rolled his eyes. The rest of the afternoon was spent by JB listening in rapt attention to Hydrogen Guy relating reasonably accurate tales of derring do, occasionally interrupted by a somewhat groggy Grayhound shuffling past to the bathroom. Despite JB's previous claims, the Grayhound showed a notable lack of enthusiasm toward the guests. "DB, wake up." Deuterium Boy, snorted awake, having drifted off to sleep sometime ago. He looked around for JB and didn't see him. "Wh.. where?" "He's in the back, getting something." Nearly on cue JB turned returned back to the sitting area holding a container. "Here it is. This is the stuff that Chris uses. He swears that it cleans out his sinuses." He handed the container to DB who looked at it in a somewhat confused way. "Right, that should really help DB keep from clearing his sinuses like that." DB looked at HG still not understanding. HG reached down next to DB "Ou-yay ere-way oring-snay" he whispered to his compatriot. Things were collected, goodbye's exchanged, and various promises to visit again were made. With the guests gone, Chris ventured out to the main area. He fished out an apple from the basket and took a bite. "You're pathetic, you know." He said as his brother topped the stairs. "What do you mean?" JB said a bit defensively. "Oh, nothing. Chris remarked. But I'm guessing they know the reason you call yourself 'Puppyboy'". "JB's a delightful kid, isn't he?" Deuterium Boy gave his partner a significant look as Hydrogen Guy helped him through their hotel window. Hydrogen Guy was familiar with that expression ­not quite a glare, but definitely not a look of unconditional support. In his experience, it was usually followed by some dryly sarcastic sentiment. He wasn't disappointed. "It was hard to tell," said Deuterium Boy as he shut the window and pulled the blinds, "somebody else was talking the whole time." Hydrogen Guy ignored him, as he usually did when he got like this. "How do you know, you slept through most of it." He pulled off his hat and mask and tossed them on one of the two beds. Jim Evans, world-renowned theoretical physicist, continued the conversation. "No, I mean, he seems quite eager. Eager to learn from the more experienced heroes, eager to take on all Scum and Villainy for the benefit of the innocent. Boyo, was he ever eager..." "Uh huh," said Deuterium Boy. He'd discarded his own mask and was in the process of disassembling his costume. He carefully folded his cape and tucked it in the rear of his handkerchief drawer. "Their set-up's interesting, a little spartan, but it seems like they're on their way, so to speak," Hydrogen Guy continued. "Can't say I was too impressed with the Grayhound, though. He's not what I'd call sociable..." He held his own cape out at arm's length and was brushing it with a special soft-haired brush he carried for the purpose. David Marcolin turned and gave him another look. "Maybe he didn't find the Wit and Wisdom of the Incomparable Hydrogen Guy quite as fascinating as you did." Evans paused while hanging his shirt. "Are you implying something here, David?" "Jim, all you did for two and a half hours was regale JB with anecdotes illustrating how wonderful you are. It was like listening to Captain Toronto at the last Justice Council wine and cheese." "What?! Dave, you wound me!" "Seriously! It was like having a fanboy to listen to you set you off on your biggest ego trip to date." "I was NOT on an 'ego trip'! He wanted to here about our careers from my perspective, and I obliged him. We both got a kick out of it. If the Grayhound -- " "You remember how insufferable Captain Toronto was when we first met him?" "That's different." "How?" "... Well, okay, maybe I did go overboard a bit..." "Ah ha!" "But I wouldn't have gone on if he hadn't let me. And we were always a lot more civil to the Big Blue Fromage than the Grumphound was today." "Well, maybe he was having a bad day. Having people shouting 'Happy Kwanzaa' at you first thing in the morning can do that..." "It was your idea... you want the bathroom first?" "Nah, go ahead, I'll finish getting changed." Evans finished hanging up his slacks and, grabbing his pajamas, headed into the bathroom clad in 'HG' monogrammed boxers and T-shirt. "Thanks... well, whatever. No harm done, I guess, and we're heading back to Maple Ridge tomorrow. But nonetheless ..." He waved his toothbrush pointedly from the doorway. "... I'm striking Boise off my list of desirable vacation spots." He shut the door behind him. David shrugged, and went back to stuffing his costume into his laundry bag. Mark stepped out into the night. It was late, which was nothing new for him. He waited patiently for the bus leaning against a post. He kept himself amused by playing with the stoplight timings. Mark wasn't exactly sure how it worked, but he found that if he pressed on certain parts of the pole, the lights would change to whatever color he wanted. No one else could duplicate the trick or would believe him if he said anything, but Mark didn't mind. Vengeance was best served cold. A few minutes later, the bus pulled up, and he got on. Half an hour later, he was home. He thudded his way up the stairs past his parent's room. "Mark?" his father called out, "Is that you?" Mark grunted. "You shouldn't come home so late, Mark. It's not good for you." Mark grunted again and closed the door to his room. His PC came to life and displayed the fact that he had several email messages (mostly spam) and that he finished thirty SETI packets today. He was tired, so he skipped reading the mail. Tomorrow was Saturday, a good day to go to the mall and get out a bit of frustration. Well, that went better than I thought. Here I was thinking that he'd drag it on forever and force folks to bounce back and forth between here and some other site if they wanted to make heads or tails out of anything. What do you mean "No, that's the point." You really expect folks to do that? My God, they get enough crap here, you honestly expect them to go to another site to get even more?? Mike? I thought his name was Mark something or other... Oh MIC'! Will Chris get scratched off Hydrogen Guy's Christmas Card List? Who is the mysterious Mark and why do we care about some surly seventeen year old computer nerd? And does this have anything to do with talking to dead guys or was the Author to damn lazy to come up with a better title? Ok the last one is pretty obvious. Tune in next Friday to The Files of Hydrogen Guy for the next thrilling episode: Episode 72: Crossing Over or Boise on My Mind(s) Chapter 31 h Boise on the Side At nine o'clock on the morning after their return from Boise, Idaho, David Marcolin walked into the coffee room of the Maple Ridge Institute of High Energy Physics. It was a sign of his distracted frame of mind that he wasn't floored by the fact that his frequent collaborator Jim Evans was already there. Evans, for his part, was absorbed in a pile of pre-prints he'd collected at the conference, and barely raised his eyes from the page as he greeted his partner. Evans Ahoy, face. Group meeting at one-thirty. Bring your Boise slides. Oh, and I put an article from Newfoundland Journal of Marine Nuclear Chemistry on your desk. I thought you might like it. Marcolin grunted with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. He collected a cup of coffee and sat down at the table across from Evans. Evans looked up from his paper, noticing his partner's drawn expression for the first time. Evans Great Feynman's G., Dave! You look rough. Feeling okay? Marcolin No. I feel horrible. I had a terrible sleep last night, and this morning I have a cold. I must have caught it on the plane. I can't smell a damn thing. Evans Probably for the best, Wicks made the coffee this morning. Stuffed up? Marcolin No, I just can't smell anything. Realisation dawned. Evans Oh, you mean smell smell. Well, no big deal. I've got enough super-atomic sense of smell for both of us. I guess if we need to distinguish isotopes, we're just out of luck... Or we'll do it the old fashioned way, with the Pocket Mass Spectrometer. Just enjoy life as a normal human being for a while, I guess... Marcolin That's not the worst of it, though. I could hardly sleep last night because of the disturbing dreams I was having. Evans Really. You're the last person I'd expect to say that. He looked at his partner with growing concern. David had a unique relationship with the world of dreams. Ever since shortly after the accident that gave them their powers, Deuterium Boy had been able to travel through the hidden land of dreams as easily as the waking world. Apparently there existed an entire realm, created and sustained by the collective psychic potential of humanity and some higher animals, that was accessible to normal man only during REM sleep. Hydrogen Guy had never been able to access it himself, other than in the fitful subconscious way that most people do. Apparently he was hopeless as a serious dreamer. Hydrogen Guy suspected that his partner had learned this mastery of dreams from Doug, but Deuterium Boy was always unusually reticent about discussing it. Deuterium Boy's alter-ego continued his complaint. Marcolin I kept dreaming about this crowd of people. They were blocking me from entering the dreamlands, and they kept shouting at me. I couldn't understand what they were saying, but I got the impression there was something that they wanted to know. They wouldn't let me pass until I answered them, but I couldn't answer them because I didn't know what they were saying. It was like that all night... Evans Sounds strange. Maybe it's just the cold... you ever have something like that when you were sick before? Marcolin Well, usually I don't sleep as well when I'm sick, and that makes it harder to dream-travel. But never like this before. And aside from not being able to smell anything, I don't feel like I'm sick... Evans It's probably just some weird bug... you've been working pretty hard lately, too, in the lab and the Cave. Not to mention playing kayak polo on the weekends. Maybe you should take it easy for a while. Talk to Doug about it, though, it might be significant. Marcolin Yeah, you're right... God, that's one of the things I hate about flying. You're cooped up in a plane with a hundred strangers, breathing recirculated air. It's a wonder we don't all die of the plague. Evans Easy there, pilgrim. Why don't you try and catch a few zeds before the group meeting. Here... He pulled a thick wad of paper out of the pile beside him. The single article was half as thick as the whole pile. Evans Pirbright's review article on solid state acausal field theory. The section on quasicrystalline limit cycles alone is enough to knock you into blissful slumber for hours. Marcolin Great. I feel sleepy already... Evans If you're still feeling like crap tonight, I'll give Yolanda a call and you can turn in early. Marcolin [sighs] Thanks, Jim. I should be okay. I stopped at the Cave and brought some of Carl's "pick-me-up" tea. I'll be fine for tonight. Evans nodded. Evans Good. We need you in top shape. Marcolin It's nice to be appreciated. Evans nodded again, sipped his tea, and took the next paper off the pile. Evans Besides, I have twenty bucks on your kayak polo team for this weekend's tournament. And I don't intend to lose it. When Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy returned to the Hydrogen Cave sixteen hours later, Hydrogen Guy was feeling far less benevolent towards his partner. An observer in the Cave could have heard Hydrogen Guy's voice before the elevator even opened. Hydrogen Guy I'm not being unsympathetic, but all I'm saying is, if you're not going to block the plasma blast, don't make me think you are! He waved his arms emphatically as they walked into the Cave's living area. He headed straight for his kettle and teapot, not even pausing as he pulled off his hat and mask and tossed them on the couch. Deuterium Boy threw himself wearily on the love-seat, stripping off his own mask. Deuterium Boy Will you just let it go? How many times do I have to apologise? I'm sorry, already! I tried, but the deuterium shield just didn't happen! Hydrogen Guy I'll add "can't get it up" to your list of ailments. I'll start you on a course of Elemental Viagra tomorrow. Deuterium Boy responded with a pithy and obscene imperative. Hydrogen Guy, however, had been distracted by a yellow sticky note on the cabinet door. Hydrogen Guy Hey, did you have somebody in the Cave today? Deuterium Boy No, why? Hydrogen Guy plucked the note off the door and held it up. Hydrogen Guy There's a note here in somebody else's handwriting. It says "Who are you?" Deuterium Boy What? Hydrogen Guy passed it to him across the counter. Deuterium Boy looked at it with a puzzled expression on his face. Deuterium Boy I have no idea what this is. Hydrogen Guy You saw me set the security system when we left, right? Deuterium Boy Of course! And you turned it off upstairs when we came in, too, remember? You think we have an intruder? Hydrogen Guy Impossible. Nobody could crack that security system, and if anyone had been in here, we'd know it. Why would they leave us such a stupid note, anyway? He took the slip of paper back from Deuterium Boy and peered at it intently. Hydrogen Guy A man's handwriting. Right-handed, maybe in his early to middle thirties. Very precise, small tight letters. Only suggestion of a flourish is on the question mark. I'd guess a very professional, business-like individual, and someone who expects this question to be answered... Sound like anyone you know? ... DB? DB, you okay? Deuterium Boy was staring glassily into the middle distance, as if listening to a faint, far­away conversation. Hydrogen Guy placed a hand on his shoulder, and Deuterium Boy started. For a split second he looked at Hydrogen Guy as if he'd never seen him before, then whatever it was passed, and his usual expression returned. Deuterium Boy Yeah... yeah, I'm fine, sorry, HG, I just kind of zoned out for a second. Hydrogen Guy withdrew his hand but continued to look at Deuterium Boy with concern. Hydrogen Guy That's it, no more midnight crime-fighting for you. You take the day off tomorrow. Deuterium Boy I told you I'm fine. Hydrogen Guy No you're not. You looked catatonic for a second. Go home, get some sleep, and don't come into the lab tomorrow, either. I'm serious, you're starting to worry me. Deuterium Boy Oh, all right... What were you saying about the note? Hydrogen Guy Oh, nothing, just a little handwriting analysis. I'll talk to Doug about this. Maybe it's him, and he's going off on another one of his weirdo oracle jags again. Either that or we have a ghost... He trailed off as a thought occurred to him. He glanced at Deuterium Boy. He was looking perfectly normal, if a bit tired. Hydrogen Guy filed his thought in the back of his mind and carried on as normal. Hydrogen Guy Anyway, like I said, go on home. Try to sleep. Take some NyQuil or something. Deuterium Boy Sure... sorry again about the shield thing... Hydrogen Guy shrugged. Hydrogen Guy It's okay. I'm sorry for ragging on you about it so much. Your energy's probably just down, is all... Hey, your staple-gunning and Deuterium-O-Rang throwing was just stellar tonight, though. That lasso thing - when'd you work that up? Deuterium Boy Uh... oh, you know, just something I'd been... working on. It's nothing, really. Okay, I'll take off. G'night. Hydrogen Guy 'Night, DB. He picked up his mask and headed off towards the garage. Hydrogen Guy watched him go, with an unsettled, thoughtful expression. He looked back at the post-it note for a few more seconds, then slipped it into his pocket. Meanwhile, in Boise, Idaho... "C'mon guys, this isn't funny anymore. What did I do wrong?" Not too long ago, this would have been something JB would have appreciated. For whatever reason he was now getting the silent treatment from the Justice Furlong. "Okay, I apologise. I'm sorry that I've been ignoring you, but seriously, you guys are almost always going at it. I needed a bit of 'me' time. Not that I don't appreciate all that you've helped me with, even if the waitress at Louie's aged a bit since the last time Myron came through town. We're all adults here, right? Guys??" A far-from-blessed silence was all he heard in reply. It was even worse when Chris finished his shower and opened the door. "There, do I still stink?" "No, not as bad, but a bit." "Kripes! I've taken three showers this morning. I don't think I have any skin left." "Well, maybe Zrng used too much garlic last night or something." Chris stormed by mumbling to himself, "Perfect, some hidden defender of the shadows if any two bit hood can smell me coming." "I didn't say you stank, Chris, I just..." the final part of the preceding statement wound it's way into JB's mind, "HEY!". Unfortunately, JB was unable to come up with an appropriate response. Might as well face it, he'd gone rusty. For the last year or so, that had been Becky's fun. JB slumped down a bit more and pressed a button on the remote, then panicked a bit. In his previous life (before becoming his brother's sidekick) JB was a computer geek. There is one smell that sends the cold shiver of panic through every one of them, and that's the smell of ozone. The smell that says "Hi, you now need to spend money replacing something, you idiot." JB sniffed again, but the scent was fading fast. He raced over to the laptop and began sniffing. Oddly, there were a large number of smells, more than he remembered, but ozone wasn't overpowering them. Strangely he didn't feel concerned. He then began sniffing everything else electronic to see if he could find out what had just blown. Nothing. "Chris?" JB asked. "Yeah?" "You running a hairdryer or something?" "No. We don't own one." "What about an iron?" "Nope. Why you smell something else now?" Chris asked with more than a bit of taunting annoyance in his voice. "No, um, I guess not." JB sat back down carefully and tried to recreate what had happened. Chris had walked by and then he hit the power button on the... ...the Remote! JB sniffed hard at the power button. There was no mistaking the scent of ozone that was coming from it. But the remote ran off of two AAA batteries, hardly enough to make that kind of smell, and he was positive he would have had to hear some loud crackle of electricity. He turned up the volume on the TV. "... have not been able to determine why vandals have somehow altered all of the televisions of this popular retailer to show only Yiddish Soap Operas. Police are asking for your help to get any information as to who..." No, his hearing was okay. "Jeez, JB! Could you turn down the TV?" "Um, sorry. I think there's something wrong with this remote..." "Probably, considering that Zrng has pretty much bonded with the thing." "Maybe we should get another one." "Why should we get one? If Zrng messed with it he should buy it." Chris pulled out his cell phone and dialled a number. A faint chirping could be heard coming from the kitchen. It wasn't from Zrng. Chris grew more annoyed, "Oh, fer cryin'... You get the guy a phone so that we can all keep tabs on each other and he keeps forgetting the damn thing. Advanced species, my ass. Well, if he ate all the Buzzy Bits as well, he's going to Costco to get a fresh supply. That'll teach him." Chris started foraging through the kitchen looking for his breakfast of choice. JB caught another strong scent. "Hey Chris, you may want to recheck that cabinet." It was the scent of greasy oats, chocolate, caffeine and... caffeine? How did JB know what caffeine smelled like? Yet there was no doubting that was exactly what it was. "Bingo! Thanks, Brah! Last box too, that greedy green..." JB wasn't paying attention. His mind was racing. He could smell chemical compositions. Instantly his fan-boy neurons leapt at the remote chance. He sat trying to think of another test. There, beside his laptop was his mug of water. It was a glass half-litre mug that was about half full. JB stared at the mug, or more precisely, the contents of the mug. He focused his thoughts, envisioning what should happen, and then suddenly, it did. There, sitting in the middle of the glass, was a bubble. It hung frozen half way between the bottom and the top, exactly where JB wanted it to. "chrrrriiiiIIIIIISSSSS!!!!!" "What?" Chris yelled back between mouthfuls. "Look, I... ", JB pointed at the glass where the bubble had been. "Hey, it's your turn to do the dishes." Chris said and shovelled another spoonful of cereal. "No, I made a bubble in the glass, right there. Here I'll show you." "You made a bubble?" Chris said not quite as impressed. "Yeah, I just focused on making one and.." "JB, have you been getting enough sleep?" "What? Of course I have, look, I think I might be an elemental" "I'm not so sure about the 'ele' part of that." "I'm serious, Chris!" "JB, c'mon, neither of us have any real powers to speak of. You just lucked out because of some bad fashion sense and a closet full of bad karma." Chris spoke up as if to a crowd of folks behind JB. "Not that I don't appreciate you guys." He dropped back to normal, "but seriously, were just a couple of average guys with less than average jobs. There's no need for you to keep looking for superpowers you don't have. Give it a break or you're going to get yourself delusional and seriously hurt." Chris plopped himself down on the couch and flipped on the remote. JB could still smell the ozone. "Now if you don't mind, I'm going to sit here and eat my breakfast, and then if you like, we'll head out to get a new remote. I think I see what you mean. Zrng's damn near rubbed the numbers off of this one." "Okay, great." JB said, less than enthused. Well, he couldn't get Chris to help. There was one place that he could turn to get a bit of guidance. "I'll just be over here going through some e-mail." Chris simply nodded as he chewed. JB went to his bookmark list and loaded a link that was near the top his "Groups" category. He clicked on "Post a new message" and then entered in the subject line: "How do you know if you've become an Elemental?" The next day, David took Hydrogen Guy's advice and called in sick. It had been another bad night - the same dreams about a crowd of spectres, shouting incomprehensibly at him and stopping him from entering the dream lands. He spent the day playing video games, eating chicken soup, and worrying about what his girlfriend Avalia - who was a waitress in one of the dream lands' more exclusive (not to mention eldritch) clubs - must be thinking. After dinner he went to the Cave and played some more games there. By the time Hydrogen Guy came in to get ready for his nightly patrol, David felt he was going out of his mind with boredom. At first Hydrogen Guy refused to let him go out with him, but finally he relented. Hydrogen Guy found three more notes in various spots in the Cave similar to the first, only in different handwritings, none of them familiar. These he slipped into a compartment on his Useful Things belt without mentioning anything to Deuterium Boy. They came back earlier than usual. Deuterium Boy protested, but his partner insisted. His cold, Hydrogen Guy said, was still affecting his powers. This made him a liability. Deuterium Boy pointed out his atomic speed still seemed to work (if sporadically), and he could throw Deuterium-O-Rangs better than ever, but his arguments fell on deaf ears. In fact, Hydrogen Guy had noticed this - and considerably more, which he suspected Deuterium Boy was only half-conscious of himself. They parted with the argument still unresolved. Deuterium Boy declared he was going in to work tomorrow, and Jim couldn't stop him. Hydrogen Guy said fine, but he'd go on patrol tomorrow over his dead body. Better mine, he emphasised, than his. The next day, Jim Evans woke up at the ungodly hour of eight AM. He put on his Hydrogen Guy outfit, grabbed his usual brown suit to change into later, and headed for the League of Heroes. One of the secrets to success in anything, Hydrogen Guy found, was knowing the right people to ask when a problem seemed too deep for one man to tackle. In his physics career, he had a long list of friends and collaborators in various fields with whom he often consulted to help shed light on thorny scientific problems. In his superhero career, he had a shorter but far more specialised list of those he called upon. Doug, of course, was his chief prognosticator and spiritual advisor. Chuck War was there whenever the problem involved extraterrestrials, mechanics, or things that went boom. Various informants, contacts and fellow heroes gave him needed tips on everything from obscure court rulings to the latest in underworld gastronomy. But when sheer volume of experience was needed, he turned to the Codger. And this, he felt, was an experience issue. The Codger had been a superhero and hidden defender of the shadows longer than practically anyone else in the business had been alive. At the hail-and-hearty age of 87, he was no longer on active duty, strictly speaking, but he still kept his hand in, providing logistics and worldly wisdom to the kids doing the job today. Including his grandson, who despite his reputation as both a world renowned theoretical physicist and one of the country's most successful superheroes, he still thought of as the moppet who tried to put pants on the dog. Hydrogen Guy found him playing checkers with the computer, an EOB 8850. The Codger was playing black; the computer was white, and its "checkers" were indicated by spots of light on the board. Codger 'Morning, pup. Aren't you supposed to be going to your real job about now? Hydrogen Guy Just thought I'd stop in for a word. How's the game going? Codger I've beaten it once already, and it's starting to forget its manners. He jumped two of the computer's "checkers". The lights went out on the board, and a sound reminiscent of a raspberry came from the computer's speakers. Codger Somebody needs to teach you how to be a gentleman. He hit the pause button on the board and gave his full attention to Hydrogen Guy. Codger Seems like you have something on your mind. Hydrogen Guy I do. I'm worried about Deuterium Boy. Codger What's the matter with him? Other than that he's a fat-head, of course. Hydrogen Guy I'm starting to think he's possessed. The Codger raised his bushy white eyebrows. Even for him, this was a new one. Codger Possessed? You mean as in possessed by Evil Spirits? Hydrogen Guy Well... I'm not sure if they're evil, yet... I'm not really sure. It's just he's been acting strange ever since we came back from Boise -­ Codger How was the trip, by the way? Hydrogen Guy Fine, thanks. I brought you a Spudchucker's cap, like you asked. The conference was above average, but the locals are a bit odd. But I was saying, DB's been acting strange, and I've been finding weird notes around the Cave. Codger Hm. Well, like the man says, tell me everything, omitting no detail however slight. Hydrogen Guy began by telling him about Deuterium Boy's strange dreams, lack of sleep and his mysterious "cold". Hydrogen Guy ... and that's just the beginning. The last couple of days, his other Elemental powers have stopped working, not just his atomic senses. When he tried to put a deuterium shield a couple nights ago, he failed, and last night he nearly fell off a building when he tried to float. His atomic speed works sporadically, but when it does - and this is very odd - it's accompanied by bursts of super-strength. Codger That's not one of your powers, is it? Hydrogen Guy Not that I'm aware of. Also, his Deuterium-O-Rang throwing has become simply incredible. And twice he's done this lariat trick with a cable that's like something out of a rodeo. Codger Hm. Funny. He didn't get another snoot-full of bad Indian food, did he? Hydrogen Guy I don't think so. That's not all, either. He's been doing other weird things, out of character. Codger Go on. Hydrogen Guy Last night I came out of the Usual Coffee Shop to find him sitting on a planter, talking to a pack of cats. And they seemed to be talking back to him. Codger He's always liked cats, hasn't he? Got two of the little buggers himself, if I remember... Hydrogen Guy Yesterday afternoon, when he was alone in the Cave, he rearranged the Cave's investment portfolio. Codger I didn't know you had one. Hydrogen Guy Neither did I. I found out about it when I listened to the voice-mail from our broker... And the other thing is, last night he showed me up in front of Peterson by solving a crime. Codger What do you mean, "showed you up"? Hydrogen Guy Last night the West Haney ING was apparently a victim of a cyborg attack. Peterson thought it was Battle Cyborg Bob's MO, and I didn't see anything to make me disagree. While I was engaged in the usual give-and-take with Peterson, though, DB scoped out a few footprints and some scratches of paint on a nearby car and deduced that the culprit wasn't the Vanguard of Carnage, but a local gang using titanium boots and a remote controlled mannequin. He explained his reasoning afterwards, and of course it all made sense, but I still can't see how he knew to look for those things... Codger Was he right? Hydrogen Guy Yeah. Peterson picked up the guy DB fingered and got a full confession. Codger Hah! You're jealous. Hydrogen Guy blushed. Hydrogen Guy Don't be ridiculous... I'm worried. The weirdest thing is, after he does these things, he acts like he doesn't remember! When I ask him about them, he mumbles a bit and changes the subject, but I can tell he doesn't know what I'm talking about. After the ING last night, I dragged him back to the Cave and took him off active duty. Codger Hm. You're right, that is strange. What about these notes you found? Hydrogen Guy pulled out four scraps of paper from his Useful Things belt and handed them across. Hydrogen Guy Here they are. I found the first one the night after we got back from Boise. The security system had been on the whole night, and no one entered the Cave except me and DB. But he'd been in the Cave alone earlier that day to pick up some tea. And I found this by the tea cupboard... The other three I found after he'd been alone in the Cave for the afternoon. One was by the PC, one in that bathroom, and one stuck to the fridge. I didn't tell him I found these ones. Codger You think he wrote them? They're not in his writing... Hydrogen Guy No, each note's in a different hand. I count two well-educated men in their thirties, a young woman from a poor rural background, and a left-handed young man. They all ask the same question. Codger "Who are you?" Hydrogen Guy What else am I supposed to think? It sounds weird, but taken together, the signs seem to indicate that Deuterium Boy has picked up at least four passengers. Or maybe he's just cracking up, I don't know. I'm in a muddle, to put it mildly. How do I handle this? What do you do when your partner's not who you think he is anymore? Codger Four superheroes who are replacing his powers with their own... He was staring intently at one of the notes. It was the one Hydrogen Guy had found next to Deuterium Boy's computer, written on a scrap of note-paper. Hydrogen Guy What is it? Codger I'm beginning to wonder if I'm cracking up myself. I know this handwriting. Hydrogen Guy You WHAT? Codger Wait here... He got up from the table with surprising speed for a man his age and left the room. About five minutes later he returned with a dusty photo album. He set it down on the table next to Hydrogen Guy and sat down. He flipped it open, raising a small cloud of dust. Hydrogen Guy tried to fight back a sneeze. Codger This is the one... glad I gave all this stuff to the League instead of donating it to the government like your Grandmother wanted... here we are! He tapped the album meaningfully. It was opened to a page near the middle. On one side of the page were a pair of ancient black and white group photos featuring costumed heroes from the 1940's. A yellowing cardboard booklet was attached to the other side. A few simple lines of typewritten text on the cover indicated what it was. Codger This is all from the General Assembly of '41, the one about the Kobiyashi Rai. Last time one was ever held in San Francisco. It was such a big deal they even called folks back from the Front for it. This is the program... He pulled the booklet out and flipped it over. With a triumphant "A ha!" he pointed to the faded ink on the back. The crabbed handwriting was identical to the one on the note. Codger When we got back from lunch, I realised I'd left mine back in the automat. A pal of mine gave me his - said he'd already committed it to memory. He'd made those notes on the back during the morning briefing... Hydrogen Guy Who is this? Codger He called himself the Dark Detective. What was his name... Myron something... Doesn't really matter. He was a deductive genius, pretty good guy, too. At that time he was based in Seattle, which was a big deal for the city in those days. Worked all over the American Northwest, so we saw him up here a lot more than most Yankee heroes. He pulled out one of the photos from the other page. It showed a group of about ten heroes, posing in front of the San Francisco Courthouse. Hydrogen Guy recognised the Blue Prowler - the Codger's Golden Age identity - on the left hand side of the group. The Codger pointed to a figure dressed in sombre colours, slightly behind and to the right. He had a stylish fedora and a cape that looked like it would flow nicely. Codger That's him. He was a pretty vocal opponent of the ban. He and Karl must have spent half their time arguing about it... Hydrogen Guy Karl? The Codger pointed to another figure a few spots away from the Detective, wearing a wide-shouldered pinstriped suit and cape. Codger Captain Industry here. Lord love a duck... Vancouver was a strong union town then, and this guy'd been mixed up in quashing some labour riots back in New York, so you can imagine our guys had no great love for him... He and the Detective were part of an outfit called the Justice Furlong, along with Lady Peacemaker and Faunaman. Heh, surprised I still remember the names... Here, those two between them. He pointed to a timid-looking younger man in a bright-coloured costume and a pretty woman in a patriotic cowboy outfit. Codger When the States got involved in the War, all four of them got classified 4F. I always got the impression that stuck in Myron's craw. The Justice Furlong moved to Sunnyvale, not far from San Francisco, to keep an eye on things. I always thought it was partly because Myron didn't want to let the city go - he had no superpowers but still had to keep the ban, and Karl wanted to make sure Myron kept it. The whole group disappeared about a year after these were taken, no one ever really figured out what happened. End of story. Hydrogen Guy was staring at the photo, his jaw hanging open in an unintelligent expression of shock. But his mind was none the less whirling. Two well-educated men in their thirties, a young woman from a poor rural background, and a left-handed young man. Four superheroes replacing Deuterium Boy's powers with their own. A hero named Karl. Puppyboy, back in Boise, addressing an unseen person named Karl. Hydrogen Guy jumped to his feet with the fervour of a man who'd just figured out he'd been had. Hydrogen Guy Thanks, Gramps. I think I understand what's going on here. Codger You going to tell me what it is, or do I have to wait for the incident report? Hydrogen Guy was halfway to the door. He called back over his shoulder. Hydrogen Guy Don't know how, don't know why, and just a hunch as to who, but I think DB's been possessed by the Justice Furlong! He shouted the last words from out in the front hall, and they were punctuated by the League's front door clattering shut. The Codger shrugged his shoulders and went back to his checkers. Codger Kids these days... When Jim Evans strode into his office, David Marcolin was surfing the web. He wore an amused smile. Marcolin Hey, check out this message on the diatomic.com message boards. David frequently lurked, and sometimes posted (under his civilian name), on the Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy fan site's message board. Mostly, Hydrogen Guy suspected, to counter what he claimed was a hydrogen-centric fan base. Marcolin "How do you know if you've become an Elemental?" I think somebody's been reading those comics too much. I wonder if it's the same JB we met in Boise... Evans felt a chill down his back. He swung around to David's side of the desk and scanned the message on the screen. Evans Damn. I hate being right. Marcolin Right? About what? Evans Come on, we're going back to Boise. David nearly fell out of his chair. Marcolin What?! Evans NOW. JB walked slowly into the dimly-lit room. He looked around in trepidation. He was in some kind of tikki lounge. A bar padded in red vinyl and lined with bamboo occupied one wall kitty-corner to the door. Tables clustered around the rest of the floor, all empty. Torches hanging on the wall did little to illuminate the booths around the edge of the room. Something told him this was a good thing - undefinable shapes seemed to occupy those booths, shapes that a rising terror told him he did not want to meet. The terror grew in proportion to the strange, thumping rhythm that came up through the floor from the club downstairs. JB had no idea where he was or how he'd got here. Suddenly a voice behind him shouted "HEY!" JB whirled around, expecting to see a clawed monstrosity swooping down on him, ready to tear out his entrails like crepe paper. Instead he saw a tall, dark-haired, unbelievably beautiful woman wearing white robes stalking towards him. Aside from these, she was looked like a waitress, with a black pocket apron with a pad and pencil in the pocket. She had a grim expression on her face. She stopped less than two feet away and glared down at him. "Who the hell are you? Where's Dave?" JB stared at her, stunned. "Well? Answers. Now." He gulped nervously. Finally he was able to find words. "What.. who... is Dave?" The waitress's glare intensified. "Don't give me that! You're only the third mortal in here in the last five hundred years, and he was the last. And you're a superhero. If that's a coincidence, then I'm a Gug's aunt." JB looked down. He was still wearing the costume. "Now," said the waitress, "you have exactly ten seconds to start telling me who you are and where David's been the last three nights,... or I'll show you to one of the booths." JB immediately started to gibber incoherently. Avalia rolled her eyes. "Okay, okay, okay. Shush!" JB fell silent. He continued to look at her with a look of pure panic on his face. "You don't know what I'm talking about, do you?" He shook his head. Her expression softened. "Do you have any idea where you are?" He shook his head. "Do you have any idea who Deuterium Boy is?" He started to shake his head, then stopped. "Y-y-y-yes!" "Okay, now we're getting somewhere. Take a breath... okay, good boy. You want a drink? No? Probably a good idea, anyway. Now, listen carefully. This is Club Kodor. It's not a safe place. Got that? Not safe." JB nodded emphatically. "You're not supposed to be here. Deuterium Boy is. He's my boyfriend. My name's Avalia." "I-I-I'm J-J-JB." "Hi, JB. JB, do you have any clue how you could be here and not Deuterium Boy? This is a very difficult place to find, even for experienced dreamers. Like I said, only three people have come here in the last five hundred years." JB stared at her, not fully comprehending. Suddenly, he heard a buzzing sound. It was comfortingly familiar... he felt the sound tugging insistently at him... "I-Is that the d-doorbell?" He looked around, curious. He didn't see an outside door... "Shit!" she exclaimed, "He's waking up! JB, you have to remember this! Contact Deuterium Boy, tell him something is wrong! Understand? Deuterium Boy, something wr--" Her voice faded away, and the buzz of the doorbell became the only sound he heard. He opened his eyes. He was lying in his own bed. He sat up groggily. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was nearly noon. Damn, he thought, half the day gone... another deep sleep filled with weird dreams... The door buzzed again. And kept buzzing, like somebody was pressing the button as hard as he or she could, and keeping it pressed. By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, Chris was already halfway to the door. "This is getting to be an annoying trend," the Grayhound muttered. He opened the door. Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy were standing on the doorstep, and this time they weren't bearing a fruit basket. They looked every bit as tired and disgruntled as Chris felt. "A really annoying trend," said Chris. Hydrogen Guy looked from Chris to JB, standing a few paces behind his brother. "We need to talk," he said. Holy Body Switches, Hydrogen Guy!! Have the 4F Foursome signed a new lease in the Isotopic Amigo's skull? Has Number One Pup become an Elemental? Is Hydrogen Guy right in his belief that there's been dirty work at the crossroads? Will Kirk Cameron be making an appearance? Find out one week from today, only at The Grayhound Chronicles! Chapter 32 Being Deuterium Boy Hydrogen Guy accepted the steaming mug from JB and bobbed his teabag a few times. He was seated next to his partner Deuterium Boy on the Futon/Sofa that comprised the main item of furniture in the Grayhound loft. The rest comprising mostly of a second hand dinette set, various tables, and other forms of cleverly arranged debris masquerading as furniture. Things had the look of semi-ordered chaos. JB pulled up a creaking office chair that he used whenever he was on-line. Despite its cracked leather and the various initials carved into the handles, it was still surprisingly comfortable. Chris sat at the table, somewhat away from the group, his head resting in one hand as he stared at the Canadian Visitors. Hydrogen Guy continued, acutely aware of Chris' intense gaze, but doing his best to carry on a civil conversation with the more hospitable JB. "Unfortunately it looks like I was right. You and DB have somehow swapped powers." He took a tentative sip from his mug. "Do either of you remember doing anything... unusual recently?" JB sat back, a little uncomfortable with the question. "What do you mean by 'unusual'?" "Well, something you haven't done before. Something like eaten some really good Indian Food, played bocci with a fickle demon, offered to look after Herr Schrödinger's cat..." Deuterium Boy continued to massage his temples, "Do they ever shut up?" During the past few nights, DB had dealt with the nearly constant background noise of the four voices speaking together. At first it was nearly impossible to distinguish what they were saying, but eventually they settled into a regular pattern. Still, it was like being stuck in an elevator with four noisy people and a hangover. "No," JB replied bluntly, then smiled a bit. "Hey DB? What's a world of laughter and a world of tears, a world of hopes and a world of fears?" DB looked at JB curiously for a second, then became a bit irritated as the song slowly became embedded in his brain. Then DB's eyes widened and he perked up. "Ooh, they hate that don't they?" JB sat back and grinned evilly. "Why yes, they do. Don't use that trick too often though, just when the arguing gets out of hand. Detective? What's your take on all of this?" DB sat listening for a few seconds. "That was the Detective? Uhm, Hello to you too. He says he's not really sure either." DB turned to Hydrogen Guy and said, "He also says that he doesn't remember JB doing anything peculiar, just a typical night. Zrng even made meatloaf." Hydrogen Guy raised a bit of an eyebrow. "Zrng?" "He's our live-in alien." JB said calmly. "I think he's also the Protectorate of the planet or something." "Protectorate of the what?" Hydrogen Guy said a bit confused. "He's a bit odd and he's usually out most of the time, but you should taste his cooking." Hydrogen Guy turned to his partner, "Do you think Chuck knows about him?" "Probably, but we should ask." DB replied. Hydrogen Guy took another sip from his mug as he mulled over the details. Finally he turned and addressed one of his problems. "Excuse me, but can I ask exactly what you find so fascinating?" It was addressed to Chris, who continued to sit and stare at Hydrogen Guy. Chris continued to stare for a few seconds longer, before answering in a calm voice. "I'm trying to figure out what you would have gained from exchanging their powers." Hydrogen Guy could feel his blood pressure rise several points. "Excuse me?" he said as he controlled himself. "I said, I'm trying to figure out what you would have gained." Hydrogen Guy took several deep breaths. "My apologies JB, but why exactly would I want to exchange DB's control over elemental forces powers for a bunch of flaky ghosts?" "Because of their delightful fruit filling?" JB responded with a weak smile. Hydrogen Guy was not amused. "Sorry," JB said as he slumped a bit. Chris continued, still unfazed, "I don't know, but it's a distinct possibility for someone who's keeping more secrets than you care to admit, isn't it, Dr. Evans?" JB's gaze snapped from his brother to his hero and back again. He stared at Hydrogen Guy for a few seconds. "Chris, I don't think that.." Chris didn't give JB time to finish, "I must admit that I understand your need for privacy and respect it, but you really ought to do something about your voice. Your costume doesn't do anything to alter it. Likewise your jawline is generic enough not to place, if it wasn't for that nasty zit on it." JB again focused on Hydrogen Guy. Sure there might be some passing resemblance, but JB still wasn't sure that... Chris stood up. "In case you're curious, my name is Christopher Crane Reid. I was born March 5th, 1969 in Dunn Loring, VA. My bloodtype is A positive, and the mask I wear provides eye protection from sudden blows to the head." Chris reached up to remove his mask and hat and stood, unadorned before Hydrogen Guy. "I have no idea what yours does. Like I said, I have no interest in who you are outside of what has happened to my brother. I am reasonably sure that you're not responsible for what's happened, but positive you haven't a shadow of a clue on how to go about fixing it. Sitting here isn't going to solve any problems and unlike in New York, I don't have to waste my time listening to you." Chris replaced his mask and hat. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go out and tend to my city. JB? I don't want you out with me until we know what's going on. Call me when you come up with something and I'll be back here in five minutes, clear?" JB simply nodded as Chris jogged down the front stairs. Hydrogen Guy simply stared at the Ruler, "C'mon glow a little, the guy's got to be evil." "Oh, don't be so hard on him, James, you did get his car wrecked." "N!" Hydrogen Guy shouted angrily as he whirled around. "And don't call me 'James'!" 'N' stood dressed almost identically to the departed Chris, albeit significantly taller and better tailored. He had a casual air about him that disturbed JB greatly. "Well, OK, it's not like you actually did it, more you happened to be one of the contributing factors behind it. You see, after returning from that little get-together in New York, Chris got a rather distressing reminder that they're called the cheap lots for a reason, but none of that really matters." N turned to look at JB. "Ah, but where are my manners?" N removed his hat and extended a hand toward JB. "If I may beg Hydrogen Guy's forgiveness, allow me to introduce myself. I am N as in the letter and not the downstairs neighbor with the Lycra fetish." "Are you sure about that?" Hydrogen Guy mumbled as JB tentatively shook N's hand. N grinned sociably as he proceeded to wipe his hand clean with a kerchief. "Tut-tut, even worse, I've not properly introduce the other guests, have I? Well, let me solve that problem right now." N walked briskly to where DB sat. He placed his hand on his chin for a second then reached over and opened DB up like a door. A two dimensional "DB" swung away from his place and a bright doorway filled the spot where he had been sitting. N smiled cheerfully and pointed the way for the others. Hydrogen Guy and JB simply looked at each other. "Please, Gentlemen, this will be much easier." Hydrogen Guy had no idea what to expect as he walked into his partner. JB was a bit more timid but relented and entered as well. N merrily closed DB behind him as he too entered the brightly illuminated door. Once "inside", things were a bit different. Hydrogen Guy looked around suspiciously at the nearly empty room. His eyes adjusted quickly to the ambient light. From the corner of his eye he saw JB walk up next to him. "Where are we?" JB asked quietly. N strode by briskly, "That's easy. We're in the one place where we can all be together." As he strode past JB four people suddenly appeared in the room, giving the same startled reaction that Hydrogen Guy and JB did. JB instantly recognized them, but Becky Sue was the first to talk. "JB? Is that you?" "Becky Sue?" JB said, still not quite believing his eyes. With a happy whoop, Becky Sue sprinted toward JB, then stopped suddenly as she bounced off something unseen. "Hey!" she cried out, unhurt, but significantly annoyed. "I'm sorry my dear, but I'm afraid that contact between you two is quite impossible for the time being. We're simply here to visit and save DB some translation time." "Who exactly are you, 'N'?" Myron said as he locked N in his gaze. N smiled and again stretched out his hand, "Yes, of course, I am called 'N'. I hope you didn't mind the exchange. I thought it might be good for you to stretch your legs a bit. Very nice work on the West Haney case." "Thank You." The Detective said with more suspicion than gratitude, and carefully shook N's hand. "Justice Furlong? This is Hydrogen Guy. Hydrogen Guy? The Justice Furlong." N said playing host. "And of course everyone knows DB." "Where is DB?" Hydrogen Guy asked N pointedly. "I'm here, kind of." DB's voice said. It came from everywhere. N smiled again. "As I said, we're the one place where we can all be together. We're in DB's head." "Well, that explains the empty space." Hydrogen Guy quipped, unable to resist. "Hardy-har-har," DB's voice replied less than amused. "If you like I can provide some background music..." The faint strains of "It's a Small World" started to fade in. "NO!" the Furlong screamed in chorus. The music faded away. N appeared to be blissfully unaware of the nearly averted disaster. "I must say, JB, that I am most encouraged by your progress. You have been adjusting to your role rather well. Even your brother is coming along rather nicely." N stood with his back toward the group. "Well, except for that whole 'Being a total ass' thing. He really should work on that." "Chris doesn't mean it." JB tried to defend his brother. "He's just under a lot of stress and he's not really a people person." N held up a hand, "Ah, no need, JB, no need. Most nouveau superheroes go through this sort of thing. You've been lucky enough to avoid it so far. Isn't that right, James?" Hydrogen Guy winced again, N merely smiled. "I'm sorry," N said to Hydrogen Guy, "Yes, I believe you've had enough breaches of etiquette today, Hydrogen Guy." N waved his hand and was no longer dressed like Chris. Instead he was dressed far more casually. He wore a pair of denims, deck shoes and a Hydrogen Guy Fan Club T-shirt featuring the Chibi Hydrogen Guy. "I think I liked you better the other way." HG said flatly. "Oh come now," N said, "those two are fun to watch on occasion, but I really am your biggest fan. If I weren't, do you think I would go through all this effort to get you back down to Boise?" Hydrogen Guy could have slapped himself. This did have all of the hallmarks of an N operation, but why? "I'm glad you asked!" N replied to the unasked question. "I tried to be more subtle about it..." N leaned against the small TV that suddenly flickered on to show two news anchors. "...authorities are still not sure exactly who was responsible for creating the traffic jam that brought most of Eastern Boise to a near standstill yesterday, although they have discovered that one of the city's main traffic control system computers had apparently either been tampered with or failed dramatically due to a possible malfunction in the computer's CPU..." The screen flickered past several channels before again stopping at another news report, oddly featuring the same two reporters. ".. reported that several of her shop's crystal figurines apparently sprung to life and began dancing the Macarena. Witnesses report that the figures performed the entire dance before returning to their previous state..." Again the screen flickered "...are reluctant to proclaim it as a miracle, even though the cement replica of Michelangelo's David had adorned their hall without incident for nearly seventy five years. In fact, Antonio DeVecchio, the owner of the hall, claimed that the statue's more aroused state was the work of vandals..." More flickering. "...this cute puppy will be finding a new home at the Billy Evan's Orphanage for Children suffering from Urban Legends Syndrome..." The TV flickered off. "Sorry, the last one wasn't part of the main thing. I just have a weak spot for puppies and orphans." N smiled a bit then quickly continued. "So you were busy around town, N?" HG said with a raised eyebrow. "Moi?" N said, "Of course not. All I did was convince a few stuffed shirts to have you be the guest speaker at some bore-a-thon. If you had been watching the news instead of going over your notes, you would have seen those or some of the other stories that have been going on here. Come now, use those finely honed skills. What do those stories have in common?" He paused again, "Well, except the last one, of course" Hydrogen Guy stood thinking for a few seconds. A broken CPU that tied up traffic, a report of dancing crystal figures, and an obscene classical statue. "Silicon," the Detective and Hydrogen Guy said together. They both turned an appreciative eye toward each other, then Hydrogen Guy was suddenly much more active. "That means there must be a Silicon Elemental in Boise." N stood behind a game show MC's podium. "Correct, 100 points for Hydrogen Guy. The next question is.." A bell clanged and a sign rolled over into existence. It read: "He would also be interested in finding a new Elemental." "Hans-Raoul." Hydrogen Guy said as he bristled. "Ooh, I'm sorry, you've forgotten to phrase that in the form of a question." N said as the sound of a taped "Awww" filled the space. Suddenly the game show was gone and N was standing very close and very serious to Hydrogen Guy. "But you are still very correct. The Elemental is young and impressionable. You need to find him and get him proper training before our mutual friend finds and eliminates him." "We can't bring him up to Maple Ridge," DB's voice stated, "ICBC would eliminate him on the spot." "You're darn tootin' they would, he needs to stay here, in Boise, and your best bet would be to get the Grayhound to take care of him." "That idiot?" Hydrogen Guy spurted out. "I wouldn't trust him to take care of my pet rock." "I hate to admit it, " JB said a bit timidly, "but Chris can't even take care of an artificial plant. Isn't there someone else that could do the job?" "Yes, there is, and Chris is the only one who can get in touch with her. JB, Furlong? I'm counting on your assistance in this matter. This is a very serious issue that effects more than just the life of one boy. Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy can't do it alone and will need all of your help. Can I trust you'll provide it?" "Yes." Karl spoke for the group. "Although, I'll say that I'd feel better if'n we were back where we belonged." Becky Sue said. "And I had my powers back" DB's voice added. N smiled slyly. "Ah, yes, but what fun would that be?" There was a sudden flash and Hydrogen Guy and JB were once again in the loft. "That was surreal." JB stated. "Sadly, not where N is concerned." Hydrogen Guy said dryly, "JB, call your brother. We need to find our elemental." The first clue Mark had that something was wrong was when he felt himself being jerked from the console controls and slammed against the wall. "Hey!" Mark yelled as an arm pressed hard against his chest, pinning him in place, "I didn't do nothing!" "Yes, you're right. If you had done nothing, I wouldn't have bothered you. However since you've now admitted in your broken English that you have altered that console, I have even more reason to bother you." The figure addressing Mark was not the owner of the store. The owner was sitting behind his case, just like normal, head buried in a game catalog, completely oblivious to the assault going on in his store. Tommy, the store-owner, was big, but normally would have clobbered anyone thinking about fighting before the first fist moved. The fact that he was ignoring the current proceedings was a bit disturbing. The figure pressing Mark into the pegboard was dressed in gray and wore a matching mask and hat. Mark recognized him. It was the Grayhound. Mark felt a bit nervous, but spat back, "Shouldn't you be out rescuing the city or something? You can't prove that I did anything to that Dreamcast." "Really, then how come it's playing an X-Box game?" the Grayhound said with the kind of anger normally reserved for accusations of murder or crimes against the state. Mark determined that this guy was waaaayyy too into Sega products. "Buddy, you seriously need a life." Mark responded dryly. The Grayhound pressed his elbow in a bit deeper. "Look. Some of us have a bit more on the job stress than others, and some of us look forward to coming home after a long day and getting a bit of that stress out of our system by playing a favorite game or two." "So go buy a Playstation or X-Box or something. Why are you hassling me?" "First off, I like the Dreamcast games. Secondly, out of everyone who's come into this shop, you're the only one that grabbed a Xbox game demo and popped it into the Dreamcast without pausing, making you prime suspect number one. Third, I know for a fact that particular console can't play Xbox games." "Oh really, you own it or something?" The Grayhound leaned even closer and growled, "Why, yes. Yes I do." Mark wondered why the console had suddenly just shown up one day, but considering how clean it was, he figured it was just an old demo model. Apparently, he was wrong. The Grayhound, having made his point, backed off a bit. "Now, normally I really wouldn't mind, except for one little detail. I can no longer play DC games on it. I would really appreciate you either changing it back or giving me the option to play my old games." Mark became visibly nervous again. "Uhm, I... I can't..." Instantly the Grayhound was back to his snarling self. "You WHAT!?!" "Look, Dude, it was kind of a major change. Maybe if there was another Dreamcast lying around somewhere..." The Grayhound let Mark go. He looked like his best friend just died. Yep, waaaayyyy too attached to Sega gear. Mark almost felt sorry for the guy. "Hey, but you can play all the new Xbox games, and Sega's porting over most of their stuff..." "I don't own any Xbox games." the Grayhound said flatly, then turned to the store owner. "Hey Tommy? "Yeah?" "Can you ban this punk from coming here?" Mark blanched a bit, "What!? Hey, this is the best game shop in Boise, I've got pre-orders here! You can't!" Tommy never looked up from his magazine, "Yep, hey kid, you're banned. Get out." The Grayhound grinned a bit evilly, "Chalk it up as a learning experience, don't dork with stuff that doesn't belong to you. Get out." Mark was stunned. He walked out of the shop in a haze. He had close to a hundred dollars of pre-orders that had just disappeared. Halfway home, "stunned" gave way to angry. Just who the hell did that jerk think he was? By the time Mark got home, he had planned exactly how he was going to get back at that "Gayhound" dork. Mark leaned against the door trying to feel for a circuit. Finding the Grayhound's headquarters had proved to be amazingly simple. Apparently, this Chris Reid dork didn't care if anyone with half a clue figured out who he was. Mark smiled, some superhero. He wears a mask but doesn't bother with a secret identity. Trying his best to look casual, Mark felt along the door for the tingle of the security alarm. Well, nothing around the lock. He stretched a hand up to feel along the door, trying his best to look inconspicuous. Zilch. Maybe the alarm was next to the door. Mark slowly slid down the wall toward the perv shop that the dork lived above. Suddenly Mark felt like his arm had caught fire. He yelped and leapt away from the building, looking for scorch marks on his palm. Nothing. He slowly reached out his hand toward the building again. Several inches away from the concrete Mark, could feel the circuitry pulse. It was stronger than anything he had ever felt before, and confusing as well. Try as he could, he couldn't sync to it. He started to get a really bad headache. Mark pulled away from the building, impressed by the security. This was going to be harder than he thought. He looked around, but no one on the street paid any attention to him. Mark decided to play it safe and look for a back door. The alley behind the building was dark, dingy and strewn with garbage. It had the classic urban smell that folks generally tried to avoid. Fortunately, it was also abandoned. Mark pushed a dumpster near the fire-escape ladder and pulled it down. It made a horrendous clattering that Mark was sure that anyone would have heard. He lay low, waiting for someone to come out to investigate, but once again, the urban ignorance struck in his favor. He scrambled up the ladder and made his way to the small windows of the upper floor. Several of them looked new. Mark crawled toward one of the darker corners and hid in a shadow as he peeked into the loft. The main room was sprawling and filled with what looked like empty boxes and folding furniture. Mark was once again less than impressed by the scale that Boise's "superhero" barely operated at. If anything it made Mark madder that he pushed Mark around. He needed to improve his mood. A bit of digital anarchy might just do the trick. Speaking of tricks, Mark looked a bit harder at the window casing. He wasn't sure if he could do the trick with this type of window, but figured he might as well try. He picked an older pane of glass that was near the window's latch and started pressing on one corner. He felt the pane slowly starting to give and then folded it slowly inwards. Once he had folded enough of the glass out of the way he reached in and undid the latch, the window popped open with a bit of a creak. Mark slid inside and carefully pushed the window closed again, he left the glass folded up for the time being. He could peel it back down later, when he was done. Mark tip-toed toward the laptops, carefully listening for anyone who might be coming in, turned to see a short green alien with massive arms and a mohawk looking rather surprised as he came out of the bathroom, and promptly fainted. Zrng screamed. Well, what would you do if you walk out of the bathroom wearing only a towel and find someone creeping through the loft? Fortunately (for Zrng's ego at least) the human had a far worse reaction and had apparently passed out. Zrng, feeling a bit guilty, reached in behind him and turned the bathroom fan on. He would definitely have to watch how much of that garlic he had in the future, or at least invest in some scented candles. No, wait, open flame might be bad. Zrng slowly walked over and poked the prone prowler with his foot. Nope, nothing. This guy was out cold, but at least he was breathing. Zrng began to steam a bit. This was just perfect. He had a whole day planned out and suddenly there was some prowler skulking around. Zrng added "Security System" to the long list of items he needed the humans to install in their living quarters. Zrng looked around for something to secure the human. He supposed he could use his towel, but considering that he had gotten in to the loft, Zrng wasn't quite sure what he was capable of. He thought about calling the police, but then remembered that he wasn't exactly a native. Zrng cursed himself yet again for not getting the vocal translator implant. The only people who could adequately deal with the situation and not wind up dissected or in front of Galactic Customs would be either Chris or JB. Looks like he got to be a prowler-sitter for a bit. Fortunately, he knew a good location to keep the visitor. He got dressed quickly and headed back out. The prowler was starting to wake up, but a quick rabbit punch solved that issue. Zrng hefted the human over his shoulder and headed toward the roof. Mark had no idea where he was, but he knew he was moving. He almost panicked not quite sure how he wound up here, then remembering entering the loft, then remembering that the alien that he had seen in the Grayhound's loft. A steady stream of unprintable expletives flowed through his mind as he tried his best to put the bits into place. None of which were adding up. Mark shifted in the tiny space trying to figure out where he was. He felt his stomach rise with the distinct feeling of freefall. He thudded against the floor but not nearly as hard as if they had abruptly landed anywhere. If Mark didn't know better, he'd swear that they were flying. A glint of light caught his eye and he squirmed to peek through the crack. He was definitely in something like an airplane, but quite obviously not your normal run-of-the mill airplane. The forward half of the area was filled with indicators, control levers and display screens. Seated squarely in the middle was a large chair. A large green arm reached out and punched a few buttons. He was on the alien's ship. 'Ok, calm thoughts, what the heck am I going to do? Get eaten. No he would have already done that. Maybe he forgot to turn on the microwave you're stuffed into. If it's a microwave, why is there all kinds of other junk stuffed in here too? Is the door locked? Yes, dammit! Ok, calm down, what kind of lock is it?' Mark pressed his hand against the door and "reached" into the circuitry. Ah, it was a chip of some sort. Mark couldn't recognize the language, but traced the wiring in his mind. There seemed to be two possible circuits that he could break. Hopefully neither were attached to the alarm 'or the microwave' Shut up! Mark closed his eyes, crossed his fingers and opened a circuit. The door moved a fraction of an inch, he had unlocked it. Fortunately it didn't swish open, which he had just realized was an unexpected possibility what with being stuck on a spacecraft and all. The floor vibrated and thudded. They had landed. The alien flipped switches and controls as lights flickered from green to red. The chair swung around. Mark held the door and his breath. The alien grabbed something that looked like a boom box, no, wait, it was a boom box (Mark had seen it last week on QVC) and headed out the main hatch. Then to Mark's disappointment, the hatch closed with a secure sounding clack. He waited a few seconds. Then Mark slowly opened his door. The craft's interior was smaller than he had expected, maybe the size of a van. Several seats lined the wall, but for the most part it was empty. Mark looked at the control panel, but had no idea what any of the controls meant. He looked through the main window, but it was nearly impossible to determine where he was. It looked like the middle of nowhere. A strange heat shimmer seemed to make everything swim a bit, but for the most part it looked like miles and miles of potato plants with a few cows sprinkled on the low hills in the distance. The pole that Mark was leaning on shifted a bit. Surprised, Mark leapt back, but still clung to the pole. It slid out of its holster and clattered to the deck. Well, actually now that he looked at it, it wasn't quite a pole. It was black metal, about three feet long or so with two brassy nubs at one end. Mark carefully picked the device up off the ground. There was a single button which he pressed slowly, making sure neither end of the device was pointing at him. The device made a low whining noise, but nothing else. He pressed the button again. This time, nothing. A sudden flurry of movement in the front window caught his attention. It was the alien running hell bent back toward the ship. The boom box looked like it had caught a shotgun blast. Mark dove back to the closet and pulled the door closed. He probably should have dropped the device. For the third time that day, Mark blacked out. This time it was preceded by a rather intense shock. I'm Ken Griffith, and we interrupt our regular broadcasts to bring you breaking report. Scientists at the USGS have confirmed that a magnitude 3 earthquake has shaken parts of downtown Boise. No injuries and only minor damage has been reported. The USGS says that although rare, the earthquake may have been caused by an undiscovered fault system that... What's happening? We... We seem to be experiencing another shake... Is everyone ok? Again, authorities are recommending that everyone stay calm, stay indoors and keep your radios and TV's tuned to this station for breaking news. "Look," Chris said calmly, "I appreciate the fact that you're in a hurry to find your elementoid," "Elemental," JB corrected. "... elemental, but if you don't mind, I need to find out what the deal is with the recent rash of earthquakes." Hydrogen Guy's normal nature was beginning to fray under the continual frustration, "What's there to find out about? They're earthquakes, they happen everywhere." "Not in Boise they don't. We're over a hundred miles from the mountains yet those quakes are occurring nearby. I just need to check with a geologist and find out if there's anything I should be concerned with, then we'll go on your happy little snipe hunt." "Chris?" JB asked, "Can I talk with you for a minute?" Chris looked at his brother, JB wasn't smiling but had a rather stern look on his face. Chris suddenly felt very uncomfortable. "Excuse us one minute." Hydrogen Guy nodded in an annoyed fashion. "Chris, what the hell is wrong with you?" JB asked his brother once they had moved a few steps away. "You've been a total jerk since they showed up." "I have not," Chris denied, "in fact I've been actively avoiding them." JB glared at his brother. "Oh, yeah, Ma would put up with that kind of rudeness. Look, this is a major item..." "JB, everything is a major item with guys like that." Chris whispered at the top of his lungs. "Give them the wrong cream in their coffee and you'd swear that Gabriel just blew his trumpet. JB, back when I was working at ECI I dealt with guys like those all the time." JB raised a suspicious eyebrow, "Super heroes did a lot of municipal right of way work?" "No, but I dealt with guys with bloated egos on power trips. The only difference between them and these guys is that they had better tailors. Trust me JB, they've got their own agenda and don't care one iota about you, me or anyone else that doesn't get them to their end." "Chris, you're so amazingly wrong on this one. Do you have any idea what those two have done? No, of course not, you've just made up your mind about it and proclaimed it gospel." "JB, you don't know.." "And neither do you, Chris. Jeez, this is so completely unlike you. You're the guy that does a week's worth of research before deciding what kind of butter to use, yet you're unwilling to even read up about those two. It's like you're.." Suddenly a light came on in JB's head. "You're jealous, aren't you." "What!?" Chris didn't bother whispering. "JB of all the outlandish.." "You're jealous that they're more powerful than you are and that they're going to show you up to me, aren't you." "JB even if they were to summon the dead, I don't think you could be any more infatuated by them. I'm more concerned that you might go blindly chasing into somewhere and get yourself killed." "Bull." JB knew when Chris was lying, and he knew when he needed to slap his brother around a bit. "Look, hotshot, let me spell it out for you. Number one, we are a team. I could have left at any time, but I didn't. We're both responsible for each other and we've saved each other's bacon more often than anyone else. Get that through your fat head. Second, I really do know where to draw the line between fiction and reality. I know full well that we are not, nor ever will be, on par with guys like those, but I'm not so bloody egotistical as to pass up the opportunity to learn from a couple of success stories. They've been at this longer than we have and have not been killed yet. I don't know about you, but I'd like to emulate that." Chris continued to glare, but he was listening. "Are you done, Mom?" "No, I'm not. But I don't want to embarrass you further in front of company." It was a line that both brothers had heard all too often growing up, and JB delivered it with perfect inflection. They both laughed a bit before returning to the Diatomic Duo. JB punched the button and the elevator doors slid open. The group entered as JB pressed the button for the correct floor. A few floors passed before Chris spoke. "Uhm, J... Hydrogen Guy...", Chris leaned over to JB and whispered again, "Do I really have to call him that." JB whispered back, "Yes, it's his name." "Yeah, but it's so goof--" Suddenly the elevator shook in a manner that it was never designed to handle. The lights went out and each of the group thudded to the floor. The shaking stopped a few moments later. "Is everyone OK?" Chris asked as he activated a hand light he mounted to the wall. "Perfect, I'm abso-fricking-lutely perfect" Hydrogen Guy said with as much sarcasm as he could muster. Mind you, he's Canadian, so it's a truly impressive amount. "You know, just when I begin to think that this trip couldn't get any better, I get stuck in an elevator with my current favorite human being while the fate of the world hangs in the balance." "Fate of the world?" Chris snapped back, "What? Is your coffee going to get cold or something? Are you going to blame me for the earthquake?" "Why not? You blamed me for giving your brother better powers than he had." "And don't think I hadn't ruled out the possibility that you still aren't responsible." "Uhm, actually Chris, he's not, you see there's this entity called N that..." JB offered, it was ignored. "In fact for all I know you're responsible for the earthquakes, too." "Ooh, there's a clever thought. Instead of going out and saving someone from being killed, let's go rot in an elevator shaft. Yeah, that's thinkin'. Besides, genius, it was your idea to come here." "That's because I wanted to see a scientist about the quakes." "What do you think I am?" Hydrogen Guy yelled. "HG, we're solid state physicists, I think he meant a geolo..." DB offered. It was ignored. "Go to hell." Chris said to Hydrogen Guy. "Been there, done that, got the T-Shirt!" "We never got any T-Shirts." "Deuterium Boy!" Hydrogen Guy wasn't interested in pedantics. "Besides, you're the all-powerful Hydrogen Guy. Why don't you just fly out of here and get Lassie to help us?" "That would be because although we can float, we can't generate lift..." DB again offered, the masochist. He was ignored again as the two continued to bark at each other. JB slid over to the only other non-shouting individual in the elevator. "Hey." "Hey," DB responded. "Do you think they'll actually start pounding on each other?" DB watched for a second or two. "Nah. Heck, this is probably what they both need right about now." JB laughed a bit at that. "Yeah. I suppose. Too bad they decided to get it out of their system here, in a small room with the two of us locked in it." Hydrogen Guy reached a quick crescendo. "My name's goofy? Well, at least it's spelled right!" Immediately the two started battling anew. JB leaned over to DB again. "So, do you have any ideas on how to get us out of here?" "Yeah, but they all involve either waiting for the power to come back or the fire department." JB nodded agreement. "So it's true?" JB asked DB. "What?" "You two really can't fly?" "Nope, granted we might be able to, but if we can, we haven't figured out how to do it. Floating isn't bad though. Kept us from becoming street pizzas on more than one occasion." "Yeah, I remember doing some pretty good leaps with Karl in control, but that took a lot out of him." "Karl?" "Yeah, Captain Industry. Have you had uncontrollable urges to read the Wall Street Journal yet?" DB beamed with a flash of insight, "Yeah, actually." He frowned and turned toward JB, "You know how hard that is to get in Maple Ridge?" "Well, that would be Karl." JB said, with an odd note of loss in his voice. "He's pretty quiet most of the time, but he's really good to have around when you need him." "Well they can show me on TV without having to blank out portions for sensitive viewers!" Hydrogen Guy snarled. "Yeah, you're right, the biggest problem they have is getting you off of the TV." Chris fired back. "So, how come in the old comic books about you two they had you flying all over the place?" JB continued. DB laughed a bit and rolled his eyes. "The publisher thought that it would help us look better. I hated those damn books. Pretty much nothing in them was accurate. You know that they had him as being an assistant prof at the University of Ottawa with only a Masters? They felt that would help us reach the 18-26 demographic. He was livid, of course." "So what about the other powers?" "Like what?" "I know about the super senses, speed, and the tricks with gasses, but what other powers do you really have? Can you really do the shield trick?" "Yeah, but only for a limited time. Takes a lot out of you." "What about converting yourself into a gas?" "Yeah, we really can do that one too." "That's got to be handy. How did you do it?" "Well, the first trick is to just relax and clear your mind, then give yourself a metal image. I like to think of big puffy clouds, then I think of myself kind of disappearing into the clouds and... JB?" Chris looked around the elevator room. "Where's JB?" Hydrogen Guy sniffed the air. "He's just evaporated into deuterium... ozone." Suddenly Hydrogen Guy was gone as well. DB's reaction was instant. He grabbed Chris' collar and lifted him through the elevator's access panel, or what Chris hoped was the access panel. Either way, they were suddenly standing on top of the broken elevator with DB speaking very clearly. "No questions. What do you have that can break their fall?" Chris' mind raced through his inventory "I... I've got..." Suddenly there was a loud pop as Hydrogen Guy and JB materialized thirty feet up the shaft. Just shy of the sparking electrical cable. For an instant, they both hung in mid air before the full effects of gravity took over. Mark awoke. He was a bit groggy, but ok. His leg still tingled from where the shock hit, but he could flex it. He pushed the door open and staggered into the main capsule. Fortunately, it was once again abandoned. Mark wanted to get out. The hatch light blinked green and the door opened. Mark looked at it suspiciously. Wasn't that just closed? The hatch light blinked red and the door closed. Open. The hatch light went back to green and opened. Mark wasted no time racing though the opening. Close. The door obediently closed behind him as Mark blindly sprinted down whatever the road was he was on. Holy Plummeting Personae! Is that device that zapped Mark what I think it was? For that matter, is Mark the Silicon Elemental? And where will Hydrogen Guy and JB go on their honeymoon after taking the plunge? Tune in Next Week over at The Files of Hydrogen Guy for: Chapter 74: Unwanted Discoveries or Bobbing for Silicon Chapter 32h He Ain't Heavy Water, He's My Brother Chris Reid wasn't the sort to list the things that went wrong on a bad day and dwell on them, but even he had to admit that this day the list was pretty impressive. First the famous Canadian superheroes showed up and declared they'd somehow swapped Deuterium Boy's powers for JB's Justice Furlong. Then there were the earthquakes, which worried him. Then at the mall, some cracker-wannabe had screwed up his Sega Dreamcast, which came close to sapping his will to live. After a burger in the food court, where the phrase "hold the mayo" is understood about as well as those Native American languages whose last living speaker is a hundred and four years old, he was intercepted on the way back to his car by the Canadians and JB, who started raving about silicon elementals and traffic lights. Then, to top it all off -like the condimenta non grata mayo on his Papa Burger with Cheese -another quake had trapped them in the elevator, where he'd gotten in a yelling match with the Hydrogen Jerk, and JB had, apparently, evaporated. Now he was standing on top of the elevator next to Deuterium Boy, while his brother and Hydrogen Guy were apparently somewhere in the atmosphere above them. He didn't need Deuterium Boy to tell him what would happen if JB's inflammable gaseous form crossed the sparking cable at the top of the shaft. Deuterium Boy was speaking to him like a father to a six year old playing with a loaded pistol. Deuterium Boy No questions. What do you have that can break their fall? Chris took in the scene quickly. The elevator system had obviously been damaged by the quake. There was at least forty feet of additional shaft above them, leading to the mall's rooftop courtyard, and something like four stories below them to the lowest parking level. The shock of two full-grown men hitting the elevator Chris and Deuterium Boy were standing on might very well send it plummeting. Grayhound I... I've got -­ Suddenly there was a popping sound as JB and Hydrogen Guy materialised above them, less than a two feet from the sparking electrical cable. Chris's time had run out. He reached into his trench-coat and from one of the myriad pockets produced an egg-shaped plastic container. He hurled it at the wall of the elevator shaft, about ten feet above them; the container cracked open and a giant, thick, black web spread across the shaft. JB and Hydrogen Guy hit it a split second later. They sank into the net, forcing Chris and Deuterium Boy to duck, then bounced a couple times like a trampoline. They came to rest with Hydrogen Guy and JB lying head to toe staring up at the dangerous electrical cable over-head. Hydrogen Guy Go web go, forsooth! Puppy Boy Wha... wha? Grayhound JB! Are you all right? Puppy Boy Yeah... what happened? Hydrogen Guy That, my dear JB, was an object lesson about there being a proper time and place for gas. Hydrogen Guy struggled to sit up, and failed. He was stuck fast to the net. Hydrogen Guy Ah... a little help? Deuterium Boy I'm on it, HG. He takes a bladed Deuterium-O-Rang from his Useful Things belt and started to cut at the net. In a few minutes, he and the Grayhound had the others free, and Hydrogen Guy and JB were standing on top of the elevator with their partners, picking stray bits of netting off their clothes. Hydrogen Guy [to Grayhound] Well... I suppose I should thank you. Grayhound You're welcome. Likewise, I should thank you for getting JB back -­ Hydrogen Guy Don't mention it. Actually JB would have been fine, it was the rest of us I was worried about. Particularly the elevator cable. Grayhound -- if it weren't your fault for sticking him with those powers in the first place. Hydrogen Guy opened his mouth to reply, a venomous retort forming in the back of his throat, but Deuterium Boy cut him off. Deuterium Boy All right! Enough! We have a whole truck-load of problems here, and number one is how to get out of this shaft! Puppy Boy Hydrogen Guy, can you float up to the next floor? Chris glared at his brother. Hydrogen Guy looked sheepish. Hydrogen Guy Well... in theory. Grayhound What's that supposed to mean? Deuterium Boy He means that when we use our powers, we attract hydrogen molecules to ourselves as a side effect. If he floats too close to that spark up there, he could catch fire. Grayhound I don't see the objection. Puppy Boy Chris! ... DB, how about Karl? Captain Industry... Could he use his super-speed to, I don't know, run up the side of the shaft or something? Deuterium Boy Uh... he says no, he needs a running start for something like that, and there isn't enough room.... NO! NO PIGEONS! Grayhound What? Deuterium Boy Sorry, Roger wanted to use...uh... birds... to send for help. There aren't any in this shaft, anyway, ALL RIGHT?! Puppy Boy Deuterium Boy, please! Go easy on him, Roger's just trying to help. He's sensitive. The Grayhound let out a disgusted sigh and reached into his coat. Grayhound So all your celebrated powers are useless. Fine, I'll do it the hard way. He pulled out what appeared to be a collection of suction cups - appeared to be, until the others noticed they had tassels on them. Hydrogen Guy Are those ... ? Grayhound Pasties. With real paste. He tied the tassels around his fingers on each hand, then stooped and attached the other two to his knees. Grayhound You three stay here. I'll climb up and then reel the car up. Hydrogen Guy Hang on, I'm coming with you. Grayhound And how are you going to do that? I thought you were too flammable. Hydrogen Guy looked at him smugly. He reached down and gathered up a few handfuls of the discarded sticky web, wrapping some around his hands and knees. Hydrogen Guy If it can support both JB and me, it can support me alone. Grayhound Great. Fine, if you're coming, let's go. Hydrogen Guy and the Grayhound stuck themselves to opposite walls, then started climbing, one step at a time. Hydrogen Guy Hold tight guys, we won't be a second. Deuterium Boy Uh, HG, are you sure you want to do that? You've never climbed before, and I've got my certificate... Hydrogen Guy There's a first time for everything, DB! Just hold tight! As they spidered their way up the walls, Deuterium Boy sighed. He spoke low enough that only JB could hear. Deuterium Boy Okay, fine, you want to prove you're as competent as Chris, be my guest. Just don't get yourself killed. JB snickered. Puppy Boy Primes, eh? They're like children. Deuterium Boy And they get huffy if you treat them like children. Honestly, if the stakes weren't so high, I'd think it was funny... Puppy Boy Deuterium Boy -­ Deuterium Boy You can call me David or Dave, JB. It's all right if we're alone. Puppy Boy Cool! Ah... Dave... I'm not sure what the stakes are. Why is it so important that you find this silicon elemental? Other than to stop him from doing any serious damage, of course. Deuterium Boy It's a bit of an involved story... basically, there's a guy at ICBC named Hans-Raoul who's afraid of Elementals. If he finds this kid, he'll kill him. Puppy Boy Wow, ICBC... why's he afraid of Elementals? Because you two keep Foiling ICBC's Nefarious Plans? Deuterium Boy Sort of, but there's a lot more to it than that. Hans-Raoul supposedly comes from some other Universe. Long story short, there used to be a lot more Elementals in the galaxy, and Hans-Raoul destroyed them all in a war. After we showed up, he came back to finish the job... N is a kind of being called a Mage. They were the ones who created the first Elementals, and now they're pushing us to beat Hans-Raoul. I'm not sure Hans-Raoul knows the Mages still exist yet, but they're the ones he really needs to be afraid of, not us. We Elementals are a pawn between Hans-Raoul and the Mages, and this poor kid is getting the shittiest end of the stick, so to speak. Puppy Boy So... what happens, say, if Hans-Raoul gets his way and wipes you guys out? He goes home? Deuterium Boy Why, thinking of offing us yourself? Puppy Boy looked shocked at first, then he caught the look in Deuterium Boy's eyes, and laughed. Puppy Boy No, no... I'm just curious how dangerous this guy is. Deuterium Boy Pretty dangerous. He almost finished us off once. I think, if he killed us, he'd wipe out the rest of the human race, too, to make sure no other Elementals appeared. Plus there's all the other planets in the galaxy where there are supposed to be humans with Elemental genes... JB's mind boggled. And here he thought that he, Chris, and Zrng had a lot on their plate, protecting Earth from the Shareholder... Puppy Boy Wow... Deuterium Boy sighed and leaned gingerly against the elevator cable. Deuterium Boy See, JB... It's all great and snappy for HG to ramble on about beating the Crustacean or the villain-of-the-week, and say that you got better powers out of the switch than you had -- no offence, Furlong -- but the truth is, when you've got "big" powers like this, you just end up with even more powerful beings yanking your chain around. It's not that much fun. Puppy Boy No, I guess it isn't. Deuterium Boy You know... when we got on this band-wagon, I think HG had something more like what you and Chris do in mind. I know I did. Spend your evenings beating up low-lives, play with a Cave-full of cool gadgets, once in a while have a showdown with some nutso mad scientist. You look after your own town and keep it safe. HG and I did that for a while, but it doesn't last. You get sucked into these bigger pictures, with bigger stakes. Puppy Boy That's what I always thought I wanted. Deuterium Boy Trust me, you don't. Saving the world looks good on a resumé, but it's a lot more likely to give you an ulcer... jeez, listen to me. I sound like the Codger. Must be all the extra experience squatting in my head. Puppy Boy Don't worry about it, Dave. I appreciate it... you don't get that point of view in the comic books. Thanks. Deuterium Boy If life was like the comic books,... He cast his gaze upwards. He looked like a priest praying for strength. Deuterium Boy ... HG and Chris would've stopped fighting by now and teamed up. Hydrogen Guy and the Grayhound climbed in silence for several minutes. Finally, Hydrogen Guy thought he'd give his reluctant companion another chance to make conversation. Hydrogen Guy Hey, uh... Chris... Grayhound Uh-huh? Hydrogen Guy This, uh, netting stuff... who's your tailor? Chris smiled. Hydrogen Guy couldn't see it, since they were climbing back to back, facing opposite slabs of concrete. Grayhound That would be Annie. Hydrogen Guy Annie... not the guy who runs the sex shop next door to your place? Grayhound The same. He also does a nice little side-business in used gear. A gruesome thought entered Hydrogen Guy's head. Hydrogen Guy These are fishnet stockings, aren't they? Grayhound Good call. Hydrogen Guy I don't want to know who would want a giant pair of sticky fishnet stockings... The Grayhound managed to shrug in mid-climb. Grayhound Hey, I got a great deal. Hydrogen Guy What do you mean, a "great deal"? Grayhound These ones still had the crotch in them. Hydrogen Guy Aw, jeeez... Grayhound Well, if you don't want to know, why'd you ask? Hydrogen Guy gritted his teeth. Hydrogen Guy Would it hurt you to be less confrontational? Grayhound Would it hurt you to be less of an ego-maniac? Hydrogen Guy Look, I'm not the one who's been in tantrum mode ever since we showed up! If you're looking for the prima donna here, look in the mirror, buddy. Grayhound Oh, I'm a prima donna? That's freakin' rich. I'm not dressed like some kind of trapeze artist. Nor do I spend hours recounting tales of my glorious exploits -­ Hydrogen Guy Of course not, you need to have some first. Grayhound --and I'm not too afraid to take a personal risk to get us out of here! Hydrogen Guy Hey, I'm climbing up the freakin' wall with you, aren't I? Grayhound Yeah, because you couldn't stand the thought of me saving your bacon twice in a row, or of that information hitting the evening papers. Hydrogen Guy All right! Okay, I get more press than you! So what?! Who the hell cares?! It's not like being famous makes me a better hero than you! Grayhound Finally, something we agree on! Hydrogen Guy Look, you've obviously got some problem with my high profile. That's not something I can do anything about, I didn't ask to be on the stupid Justice Council, they asked me, and seeing as how we were trying to prevent the planet from becoming a damned shrimp colony I didn't feel like I could say no. Nor, for that matter, did I ask that jackass N to switch our sidekicks' powers. A simple email saying "Hey, there's something in Boise I think you should look into" would have been enough. BUT it seems likely that switching them back ain't gonna happen until we settle this thing, so we may as well work together. Not only that, but this Silicon Kid is something that concerns us both, seeing as how it could likely bring the most dangerous man I've ever met into your city. So I think it's only common sense, if not common courtesy, that we work together. And I'd like to do that WITHOUT the constant bickering! Chris stopped his climb. He twisted carefully around to look at Hydrogen Guy. Grayhound Whoa, whoa. Back up a sec. What do you mean, "bring the most dangerous man you've ever met into my city"? Hydrogen Guy stopped, staggered half a foot above Chris. He turned himself best as he could to look at him. Hydrogen Guy Great Feynman's Ghost, man, weren't you listening to JB? Hans-Raoul, an inter-dimensional being who once destroyed galactic civilisation because it looked at him funny. He doesn't like Elementals, so we have to find this kid before he does. He's gotten within a hair's-breadth of killing me twice, and as little as you may think of me, you've got to admit that's hard to do. Grayhound Sweet Baby Zaphod! You see, that's the problem I have with guys like you! What gives you the right to drag Boise into your little war, huh? You might think you're saving the world here, but there's a few hundred thousand people out there that it's my job to protect who don't give a weasel's backside about Elementals! Inter-dimensional being, hell! Hydrogen Guy Oh, Boise's depending on you, huh? Poor Mr. Reid! Well, it's my job to make sure Hans-Raoul doesn't turn this world into a living hell, Boise included! I've seen what the world's like when he succeeds, Grayhound, and it isn't a nice place! Grayhound All right, all right! I'll make you a deal, okay? You get your Elemental, and then get the hell out of my town. And I'll make sure that nothing -not you or this Silicon Kid or your damned Hans-Raoul - happens to the city I'm supposed to protect. Okay? Hydrogen Guy If that's how you want to play it out, that's fine with me. They continued climbing in silence. After a few more minutes, Chris came face to face with an elevator door. Grayhound Okay, we're here. Hydrogen Guy Right. Let me come around to your side. Hydrogen Guy inched his way horizontally around the shaft until he was on other side of the elevator door from Chris. They each pulled a hand from the wall and stuck it to the elevator door, and after counting three, started to pull the doors open. They gave easily, and in less than a minute Hydrogen Guy and the Grayhound were once again standing on firm ground. A mall security guard ran up to them as they emerged from the elevator shaft. Security Guard Grayhound! What happened? Is there anyone trapped down there? Grayhound Don't worry, it's just our group. Nobody's hurt. What's happening? Is everyone all right? Security Guard Yeah, it looks like that last quake just shook us up a bit. We've got some other folks stuck in another elevator in the West Court, and some cracks in the concrete have show up in the parking lot. Just minor stuff. We've evacuated the mall, but there's still some people milling around outside... The elevators seemed to be the hardest hit. Grayhound You need help getting to the other elevator? Security Guard Maintenance was just getting it open when I heard we'd had another failure. We could use someone to disperse the crowd outside, though. Grayhound Lead the way. Hydrogen Guy Hey! What about Deuterium Boy and Puppy Boy? Chris reached into his coat and produced a cylindrical object which he handed to Hydrogen Guy. Hydrogen Guy looked at it and recoiled involuntarily when he saw it was horse-sized pink vibrator. Hydrogen Guy Aah! Chris twisted the front clockwise and the "vibrator" opened part-way to reveal a coil of fine metallic cable. The loose end of the cable had a clip on it. Grayhound It's a winch. Turn it on to unwind the cable, get one of them to hook it to something on the car, then hang on to something and reverse the switch. The cable's light but strong enough to pull an Amtrak train full of fat Hoosiers. And hang on tight, it vibrates. Hard. He tossed the winch to Hydrogen Guy and left with the security guard. Hydrogen Guy looked at the device with a mixture of fascination and revulsion. Hydrogen Guy Jeez... and Frank Magazine makes jokes about me and my Ruler... The winch performed exactly as advertised, and in less than twenty minutes Hydrogen Guy had off-loaded the loathsome appliance on JB and was complaining loudly about losing all feeling in his hands. The three made their way towards the deserted mall's front entrance, where the Grayhound was firmly but sympathetically calming a group of senior mall-walkers and urging them to return to their homes. As JB went to join his brother, Hydrogen Guy gently held Deuterium Boy back by the tail of his cape. Hydrogen Guy One sec, DB. We have a little problem. Deuterium Boy Oh, you'd noticed. Hydrogen Guy Hard not to. Look... I guess, to be honest, the Grayhound and I are both too fat-headed to work together. Deuterium Boy You'll get no argument from me... Becky Sue has asked me to point out that y'all are bein' more pernickety than two weasels in a hen-house with only one hen in it. What?... Okay, come on, admit it, you stole that from Foghorn Leghorn... you know, the rooster in the Bugs Bunny cartoons ... no, I'm not making fun of the way you talk, I'm -­ Hydrogen Guy If I may interrupt? Deuterium Boy Sorry. Hydrogen Guy DB, I have an idea. The Grayhound wants to talk to the Geological Survey. I think you should go with him. Deuterium Boy What? Why? Hydrogen Guy Well, obviously I'm not going with him! Look, DB... we both know that, of the two of us, you're the slightly less loony one. Your invisible girlfriend, the Cosmic Pie and recent extended conversations with the voices in your head notwithstanding. You could probably relate to him better, convince him we're not a couple of irresponsible glory-hounds. Give'em the old human touch, is what I'm saying. Deuterium Boy Your confidence in my diplomatic skills is a little alarming. Hydrogen Guy It worked with Cisneros when Ford and I were butting heads. C'mon, DB, it's a good plan. Deuterium Boy And what about you? Hydrogen Guy I'll get JB to help me look for the Silicon Elemental. Besides... that near disaster in the shaft made me realise what a unique opportunity we have with him. Deuterium Boy What do you mean? Hydrogen Guy Well, here we have for all intents and purposes a deuterium elemental with a full set of powers who doesn't know how to use them! I can refine some of our training techniques on him. Deuterium Boy HG, I'm not sure that's such a good idea -­ Hydrogen Guy Nothing dangerous, I promise. Besides, you have to admit, he'll love it. Deuterium Boy Yeah... all right, why not. I'll try to smooth things out with the Grayhound. Hydrogen Guy Thanks, DB! Now, all we have to do is talk them into it... Somehow, Hydrogen Guy was able to convince Boise's Pooch Protectors to go along with the idea, mainly because JB didn't give Chris a chance to object. He still wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea, but he considered Deuterium Boy to be the lesser of two annoyances. Chris lead the way to the parking lot in silence. Much to his relief, his Maxima had not been crushed by falling concrete during the quake. It would require a bit of extra washer fluid to get rid of the layer of dust that coated the windshield, but he considered himself lucky. Chris climbed in the car and unlocked the passenger's side for Deuterium Boy. Deuterium Boy belted himself in as Chris started the motor and began backing out. "Hydrogen-fuelled?" asked Deuterium Boy. "Huh? Oh, yeah. How'd you know? Getting your powers back?" "No, I just read the sticker by your fuel gauge that says 'Un-methanated hydrogen only'. How's it run?" "Pretty good. Nice pickup - 120 in the city, 340 on the highways." "Miles?" "Yup." "Sweet. Can I ask where you got it?" Chris smiled. "Nope." "Aw, come on." "Sorry, it's a state secret." "I could always drag it out of the Justice Furlong, you know." "Aw, nuts, that's right. All right, it was a little guy named Plaskowitz who worked for the Shareholder. This, uh, Jelvan... thing... that kind of owns the Galactic Transit Gate Authority. Well, okay, Plaskowitz just took out the warp drive, Bob Malevolent rebuilt the engine to take hydrogen the first place." " ... " "You're not gonna start asking me a whole mess of questions now, are you?" "Nope. In fact, I'm gonna forget everything you just said." Chris forgot to be annoyed long enough to chuckle. The car stopped at the parking lot exit, and they were waved through by police and engineers that had cordoned it off. The fact that the quake had given him a couple hours free parking was not lost on Chris. He turned into traffic and headed for the Geological Survey. Deuterium Boy looked out the window, taking in the unspectacular street-level sights of the foreign city. "So, tell me something...," said Chris. "Mm-hm?" "I'm pretty sure one of us nuts. I'm curious which one." Deuterium Boy blinked. "One of us is nuts?" "Me or Hydrogen Guy. All right, you might be nuts too, I'm not sure yet, and JB is, no question. But when me and Hydrogen Guy are within fifty feet of each other, that part of my brain that tells me when crazy people are talking starts going off." "Well... insanity is supposed to run in families." "That's what I was afraid of." "But, no question, hands down, Hydrogen Guy is the biggest loony I've ever met. Well, except for my ex's mother. And possibly the talking panda." "Really? Was he like that before he became Hydrogen Guy?" "Well... yeah, actually he was. But now he saves up the crazy for when he's in costume, before he was crazy all the time." "See, I've been starting to think that just being a 'superhero' makes you go nuts. I mean, I'm living with an alien -- " "Okay, hold on. If we're going to start listing the crazy, it'll take hours." "Yeah, I guess you're right." "So how'd you get into this, anyway? JB drag you into it when the Furlong took office?" Chris smirked. "No, actually, the Furlong showed up after JB insisted on becoming my sidekick. Truth is, I didn't want to be a superhero. I still don't really want to be a superhero, but Boise has some villain issues and nobody else is gonna take care of them." "So how'd it end up being your job?" "I did it for the parking." "The parking?" "I signed up when I was in University because my girlfriend lived across the street from the cop shop, and the job came with a parking spot. Then about a year ago I get a letter calling me up, I guess you could say, and for various reasons I couldn't back out of it." "Oh yeah, once you're in you never get out... That, if you don't mind my saying, is the coolest origin story I've ever heard." They were stopped at a light, so Chris turned and looked at Deuterium Boy in disbelief. "What?" "Seriously! I mean, come on... Jim and I got caught in a lab accident, I mean, how clichéd can you get? We always lose the League's 'Coolest Origins' derbies." Chris grinned and shook his head as he hit the gas. "I'll have to suggest that JB enter one of those at his next USHA shin-dig. I never go because, no offence, I can't imagine anything duller than hanging around with a bunch of superheroes..." Deuterium Boy shrugged. "Well, I'll say this for HG, he may be nuttier than a Hawaiian gift shop, and sometimes he's a self-centred bastard, but he's never dull." "Oh, so you admit to the self-centred thing?" "Oh, come on! Who do you think gets the spiky end of that particular club most of the time? It's his fault I'm dressed like a toucan and get called Deuterium Boy even though I'm older than him by three months! I said, why can't we be Hydrogen Guy and the Deuterium Avenger, and why can't I wear something cool and shadowy, but no, 'the name's too long and we need a contrasting colour scheme...'" "Ah good, it's not just me." "No," Deuterium Boy turned around, both literally and figuratively, "but you could cut him a bit more slack. He's treating you like an equal, or at least trying to, but you're the one insisting that he treat you like an inferior." "I -- " "Yeah, okay, he bugs the hell out of me too, sometimes, but when we're neck-deep in the crazy like we are here, he doesn't fool around. Listen... last year HG and I had what you might call a falling-out. The kind I hope you and your brother never have. And, I hate to admit it, it was mostly my fault. But once he calmed down, it was Hydrogen Guy who looked me in the eye, called me a fat-head and got over it. And we went out and got the job done." Chris opened his mouth and waited for the angry retort to tumble out of it. It didn't come. He closed his mouth and grunted instead. He spotted the USGS building and prepared to move into the right lane. "We're here," he said. He pulled the Maxima into the parking lot. The United States Geological Survey occupied half of a two-storey strip-mall-like building in an industrial park, the other half being occupied by a waste disposal company. The receptionist looked up in alarm as Chris and Deuterium Boy walked in. Chris pulled out his wallet and flipped it open to show his USHA card. "Hi," he said. He still felt a bit awkward doing this 'badge-flashing' stuff... "I'd like to speak to whoever you have that can tell me something about the earthquakes." "Uh... Dr. van Kalleran's not available right now, Mister, uh, The Grayhound, but --" "It's urgent," interrupted Deuterium Boy, "It's essential that we speak to Dr. van Kalleran before it's... Too Late!" The receptionist leapt several inches in her chair. She nodded emphatically and picked up the phone. "Yes, sir! Right away!" Chris looked at Deuterium Boy. DB shrugged. "You gotta use that sparingly, but it's effective," he said quietly. The head geologist arrived in less than a minute. He was in early middle-age with thinning hair, of average height, and wore a patterned dress-shirt, of which all serious scientists have at least one. He spoke with a trace of a Dutch accent, and introduced himself as Dr. Stefan van Kalleran. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I'm trying to dodge the press long enough to talk to my colleagues elsewhere in the state," he said. He indeed looked flustered. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr. Grayhound, and... Puppy Boy?" Chris spoke up before Deuterium Boy had a chance to answer. "This is my associate from up north, the Deuterium Avenger." "Ah, my word... If you'll follow me, please, we can talk in the conference room." Moments later he closed the door, and breathed a sigh of relief. " I can only spare you a few moments. Oh, you don't know what a panic we've been in since the first event this morning," he said, "Well, maybe you can imagine. The last one was just shy of magnitude 4.5, and people are worried." "We appreciate you taking the time," said Chris, "I suppose you could lump us in with everyone else. I guess the main thing I need to know is, are these normal earthquakes?" Dr. van Kalleran smiled thinly. "Well, there's not really any such thing as a 'normal' earthquake... The state is not sitting on a continental plate boundary, like California is, but areas in Idaho do occasionally have earthquakes due to smaller inter-plate faults. Most of these are centred in the mountains to the north-east, but we occasionally feel them here." "So where have these quakes been centred?" asked Chris. The geologist shifted somewhat uncomfortably. "Well... just west of the city, actually. Practically directly underneath Boise." "Have there ever been quakes recorded from that area before?" "No," van Kalleran confessed, "at least not in historical times." "Is there anything out of the ordinary about the seismic readings?" asked Deuterium Boy. "Yes," said van Kalleran, "there is. Odd that you should mention it, we haven't released this information publicly because we don't understand it yet... but the seismic waves originating from these events are not quite like what we're used to seeing." "How so?" Chris pressed. "Well... usually earthquakes are simple mechanical process. Rocks that are continually subjected to stresses give way with a release of stored energy, that's felt as an earthquake. Invariably, the rocks at the epicentre are the same after the quake as they were before, they've simply moved." "All right," said Chris. He wondered why scientists always seemed to circle around their explanations, like dogs before they lie down. "However, according to our data from today's events," van Kalleran continued, "these earthquakes appear to be accompanied by a change in the specific density of the rocks themselves. Absurdly, it's as if some of the rocks had undergone a dramatic change in volume, causing the rocks around them to shift, resulting in the quake." Deuterium Boy leaned forward slightly. "A dramatic change in volume? Like in a first order phase transition?" "Er...," said the geologist, "I'm not sure. I'm not a physicist, or a chemist. We don't really know why such a change would happen." "Has anyone been out to look at the location in question?" Chris and Dr. van Kalleran were both taken slightly aback by the change in Deuterium Boy's voice. Chris, of course, had heard JB speak in similar tones in the past when the Detective "took the wheel", so to speak, but it still sounded odd to hear somebody else doing it. "We haven't had time," said the scientist. He now looked slightly irked. "But as soon as we can, we will. I may very well go myself." Deuterium Boy nodded. "Pay very close attention to any unusual mineral species you find. I suspect you may find some surprises." "Ah... all right," said van Kalleran. "Do you have any idea," said Chris before the Detective could collar the conversation again, "when or if there'll be another quake?" "No," said van Kalleran shortly, "Earthquake prediction is impossible even when we do understand the process... As for these anomalous events, I can't even begin to guess. Although we're advising people to treat these as fore-shocks to a larger event." He rose. "Now, gentlemen, if you'll excuse me..." The Grayhound and Deuterium Boy followed his lead, thanking him. A few minutes later, they were outside, and Chris turned to Deuterium Boy. "What was all that about 'unusual minerals' and 'phased transitions'?" Chris asked. "Phase transitions ," said Deuterium Boy, or rather, the Detective, "are when a material changes its physical form. In the case of minerals, this can mean a structural change from one crystalline lattice type to another, possibly including a change in chemistry, and almost always accompanied by a change in volume." "Uh huh," said Chris, "You know, guys, I was never so hot in chemistry. Or geology, or whatever you're talking about. What are you driving at?" "Consider the following: after oxygen, the most second most common element in the earth's crust, accounting for 27% of sedimentary rocks and 29% of igneous rocks, is silicon." Chris stared at... whoever was talking to him. It took a few seconds, but the fog started to clear. "You're saying... that this Silicon elemental is changing the silicon in the ground from one kind of rock to another, and that's causing the quakes?" "Crudely, yes. It would seem advisable to take Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy to the area in question and examine it with their devices." "Great," said Chris, "Why would anyone change one kind of useless rock into another kind of useless rock?" Deuterium Boy shrugged. "Beats me." Hydrogen Guy and JB left the mall on foot. Puppy Boy So... how exactly do we do this? Hydrogen Guy You know my methods, JB. Apply them! He'd been waiting for the perfect opportunity to say that for years. Puppy Boy Well, er... we go to a coffee shop and get some hot chocolate? Hydrogen Guy beamed. Hydrogen Guy JB, you're a natural. Yes, the Coffee Shop - or, I'm willing to admit, any place that dispenses gourmet hot beverages and has the suitable atmosphere - is the ideal place for the finely-honed Elemental mind to begin an operation. Ideal for brain-storming, regrouping, forming what the French call les strategems. But first, I'd like to make a little detour. You know where I can find some good sand? Puppy Boy Good sand? Hydrogen Guy Yes. The fine, beach-like stuff, not the rough kind they dump on the roads in winter. We'll need a high silica content. Puppy Boy Well... there's not many beaches or sand-boxes in downtown Boise... Oh, wait -- there's a pet store a few blocks over, they should have some aquarium sand. And there's a café next door called Hallowed Grounds. Hydrogen Guy It sounds just the place. Lead on, my dear Puppy Boy. And lead on JB did, but barely, and with some effort. Hydrogen Guy strode energetically along the sidewalk, oblivious to the stares their costumes gathered from passing drivers, bicyclists and pedestrians. All the while he held forth with his theories on the Elemental fields, then on modern perspectives in quantum chemistry, leading to a few ribald anecdotes on the founding giants of quantum mechanics and a brief digression on great jazz bassists of the same era. Deuterium Boy would have sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, and Chris would have barely been able to restrain himself from physical violence, but JB drank in every word. At least until he had to call Hydrogen Guy back half a block when he'd reached the pet store. Hydrogen Guy Sorry. I do get on these rolls sometimes. Puppy Boy That's okay. I don't mind, just don't wander into traffic or something. Hydrogen Guy Ah ha ha... Okay, I'll handle the sand. Are you a bad enough dude to get the hot chocolate? Puppy Boy You can count on me. Hydrogen Guy Good stuff. I'll have a large hot chocolate, with whipped cream if they have it. And also a glass of water, about half to three quarters full. My treat, here. He pulled a bill out of his Useful Things belt and handed it to JB. Puppy Boy Uh, thanks, but... this is a Canadian $20. Hydrogen Guy Is it? Oh, pits, I forgot to get it exchanged... well, here, take another. That should cover two hot chocolates. I'll put the sand on my League Visa. Less than five minutes later, Hydrogen Guy entered the Hallowed Grounds carrying a half-pound bag of white sand. He had no trouble finding JB -- the café seemed to be a popular goth hang-out, and the two of them stood out like tropical parrots in a cage full of ankh-wearing crows. JB looked relieved to see him. Puppy Boy Maybe this wasn't a great idea... Hydrogen Guy It'll do. Thanks for the hot chcolate... You got the water? Excellent. He put the bag down on a chair beside him. Hydrogen Guy It's way more than we'll need, but you can sprinkle the rest in Chris's litter box or something. Now... He picked up a spoon and started carving into the mound of whipped cream on his cocoa. Hydrogen Guy What we're going to do is prepare a proximity alarm for silicon Elementals. A canary in the mine, if you will. And in the process, you will learn the Way of the Elemental. Puppy Boy Cool! Hydrogen Guy Consider the Elemental field I was rambling on about a few minutes ago. Although we don't know the nature of this field -- indeed, as far as DB and I can tell it doesn't even show up on the Scan-O-Matics -- we are personally attuned to it. We use it to reach out to the right kind of atoms, feel what they're doing, and if we desire, change what that is. But the important thing to remember is, it's not a stick that we reach out with and give a poke to that one atom. It's a field - it extends in space. And although we can alter larger and smaller portions of it, when we try to act on one atom, or one group of atoms, we cannot help but affect atoms other than the ones we're immediately interested in. JB nodded. Puppy Boy You couldn't alter just one atom anyway, could you? It would mean knowing more about its position and momentum than the uncertainty principle allows. Hydrogen Guy smiled and sipped his hot chocolate. Hydrogen Guy Precisely. You're better informed than I thought. But, as I said before, unfortunately my understanding of the field as an Elemental far exceeds my understanding of it as a physicist. I can't understand half the things I can do with it, but I know what it feels like and how to use it. Puppy Boy I'm not entirely clear on that, even. Hydrogen Guy Patience. Now, as I was saying... when we use our powers to affect the states of a particular group of atoms - we'll say hydrogen atoms, for the sake of argument -we also affect other hydrogen atoms that we weren't aiming at. And we can feel those side effects. Let me demonstrate. He looked at JB's glass, and concentrated on what he wanted to happen. As JB watched, the hot chocolate began to separate - a thin brown-black layer of chocolate at the bottom, a thicker yellow-white layer of milk fat in the centre, and on top a crystal clear layer of pure water. Puppy Boy Wow... Hydrogen Guy Did you feel anything? Puppy Boy Kind of... do it again. The layers mixed again, as if stirred by an invisible spoon. For a second it was perfectly mixed again, then it separated again - this time with the densest chocolate layer on top, and the water, paradoxically, at the bottom. Puppy Boy Yeah... it was like, I can't quite explain it... when you're doing it, I can kind of feel the deuterium in me sort of... vibrating funny. Hydrogen Guy Exactly. That's exactly what it is -- it's not a big effect, maybe not even enough to show up in a casual spectroscopic measurement, but the act of my moving the hydrogen compounds in your drink around also causes a shift in the vibrational states of nearby hydrogen and hydrogen-like atoms. He relaxed his concentration and the strata in JB's glass collapsed. JB picked up his spoon and gave it a good stir, just to make sure. Hydrogen Guy When I or Deuterium Boy are using our powers, or have been recently, the other can usually tell. This is how I intend to find our silicon Elemental. JB nodded. Puppy Boy Oh, I get it. If he uses his powers, you'll feel the side-effects. Hydrogen Guy Right. But, a silicon Elemental field doesn't effect hydrogen or deuterium atoms in any significant way unless they happen to be bonded to a silicon atom. So what we need for our canary is a whole lot of hydrogen, attached to a whole lot of silicon. Pass me the water? JB moved the styrofoam cup over to Hydrogen Guy's side of the table, as Hydrogen Guy pulled a small glass jar and a knife from his Useful Things belt. He removed the lid and poured the water into the jar, then took the knife and cut open the bag of sand. Sand spilled everywhere. Hydrogen Guy Whoops... With exaggerated care, he poured a small amount of sand, about half a small handful, into the jar. Sand continued to leak all over the table and floor. Puppy Boy Hydrogen Guy! Hydrogen Guy Don't worry about it, I'll leave a tip. Now... He brushed most of the sand off the table, and moved the jar to the centre of the table. Hydrogen Guy This sand is mostly quartz - silicon dioxide. What we're going to do is dissolve the silica into the water and form a colloid called silicic acid. This will be your next lesson in how to be a Hydrogen Guy. Puppy Boy Okay... Hydrogen Guy Okay, now I want you to imagine you're reaching out with your mind. Feel the motions of the hydrogen atoms in the water. Feel them travel, vibrate, rotate... Puppy Boy ... ooh, I feel them! Wow, they're fast... Hydrogen Guy Yes. Now, picture them flowing around the sand... bumping into the surface... peeling off the silicon atoms... Puppy Boy ... okay ... 129 Puppy Boy AAAH! Hydrogen Guy Sorry, should've warned you about that. But you're doing it, that's good! Now, try to speed it up. Get those water molecules flocking to the sand. Attack it without mercy. I'll give you a hand. The two of them focused their concentration on the jar in front of them. Gradually, the layer of sand at the bottom began to disappear, and the water became a thick, jelly-like substance. Hydrogen Guy mentally backed himself away from the jar. JB squinting at it intently, as if trying to burn a hole through it into the table. Hydrogen Guy Okay, JB, we're done... JB started. He looked up for an instant, then back at the jar. Puppy Boy Really? ... Wow. WOW! Oh, cool, I did it! Hydrogen Guy You certainly did. We now have a jar-full of colloidal silicic acid, which will start humming like a bumblebee if the Silicon Kid exerts himself in our presence. Well done, JB. He lifted his mug to toast JB. The upper part of the glass mug peeled off the lower part, trailing sticky strings of goo behind it, and the hot chocolate poured out onto Hydrogen Guy and the sand-covered table and floor. Hydrogen Guy looked at the upper half of the mug in his hand in bewilderment, then at JB. Puppy Boy Oops... sorry. Hydrogen Guy Don't worry about it. He regarded the gritty sludge spread across the table. Hot chocolate was dribbling on the piles of sand on the floor. Looking up, he noticed a rather large Java Serf wearing mascara and a dog collar looking back at them. Puppy Boy Maybe we should start the search now? Hydrogen Guy I think that'd be a good idea. The Original Idaho Jake's -- colloquially called T.O.I.Jake's -- was one of those ubiquitous chain restaurants that generally seemed more interested in branding you than feeding you. But, like many similar restaurants, it featured "All You Can Eat" nights for members of the USHA - reasoning that breaking the laws of physics in the pursuit of justice must work up an incredible appetite, and, hey, having the cape-and-cowl set sitting in once a week was great advertising. Plus it was an opportunity to clean out the walk-in freezer. Waitress HI! HowareyouguystonightmynameisJennandI'llbeyourserverwowareallyouguyssuperheroes that'ssocoolIloveyourfeatherokayanythingtodrinkwehavenonstoprefillsonCarffeediet CarfeeandnewCherryGinsengCarffeeI'llgiveyouguysafewminutestodecideokayI'llsee yourealsoon! Hydrogen Guy Hi, I'll have an ice tea, please? Deuterium Boy HG, she's gone. Grayhound It's wrong for anyone to be that perky... Puppy Boy Chris, did you call Zrng and tell him we weren't coming back for dinner? Grayhound I tried, but he didn't answer. He probably left his phone behind again. Hydrogen Guy So what's good here? Puppy Boy You like deep fried? Hydrogen Guy Deep fried what? Grayhound Everything. Deuterium Boy Geez, this menu reads like the Sears Catalogue. So where are the actual dinners? Puppy Boy There are some on page 97, just past the Hawaiian Delights Margaritas. Hydrogen Guy These are lawn mowers. Puppy Boy Oh... ah, my fault, it's page 99. Hydrogen Guy Oh, here they are... Deuterium Boy Hey... this menu's a hundred and sixteen pages long, but there's no desserts! Puppy Boy Oh, they have desserts. You see the barrel-chested guy over there? With the pictures on his T-shirt? Deuterium Boy Uh huh. Puppy Boy That's the dessert menu. Deuterium Boy What? Puppy Boy Check out page 43. You can buy the T-shirt, too. Waitress HI! Okayhaveyouguysdecidedwhatyouwanttodrink? Deuterium Boy Carffee. Puppy Boy I'll have a Diet Carffee. Grayhound Just water. Hydrogen Guy I'll have an ice tea, please. Waitress I'msorrythewhat? Hydrogen Guy Uh... the ice tea? Puppy Boy I think you have to say the name. A pained expression crossed Hydrogen Guy's face. Hydrogen Guy No, it's stupid! Puppy Boy It's what it's called. Hydrogen Guy Aw, for Einstein's sake... I'll have the Funky Fun Ice-sational Lemon Tea Chiller. Waitress Okaygreatthat'stwoCarffee'sonedietawateranda FunkyFunIce­sationionalLemonTeaChillergreatsuperI'llbebackinasecwiththedrinks! She bounced away again. Chris, Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy all shuddered. They looked at their menus in silence. Finally, Chris seemed to come to a decision, and closed his. He cleared his throat. Grayhound Okay... I just want to recap a bit, if you guys don't mind. Deuterium Boy Go ahead. Grayhound So, there's a silicon Elemental running loose in Boise. And he's powerful enough to cause earthquakes by changing the chemistry of large volumes of rock. Hydrogen Guy Unfortunately, I think the Detective's right on the money. Grayhound And it's a distinct possibility that unless we find this kid, aside from him flattening the city on some kind of whim, there's the possibility that some inter-dimensional being will show up and stop at nothing to kill him. Deuterium Boy And us. Puppy Boy And me... Grayhound You? What, why you? Puppy Boy Because I'm an Elemental now, too. Deuterium Boy Temporarily. Hydrogen Guy We hope. Grayhound Right. He sighed. His eyes wandered back to the menu and came to rest on a cartoon cowboy exhorting him to but packages of Grandma Emmy's Hickorette Bar-B-Q Nectar. Grayhound So it is as bad as I thought. Hydrogen Guy More or less. Grayhound Oh, uh... Hydrogen Guy. One other thing. Hydrogen Guy Mm-hm? He looked the Protonic Paladin in the eye. Grayhound You're a fat-head. Hydrogen Guy held his gaze. Deuterium Boy and Puppy Boy held their breaths. Hydrogen Guy Yeah, well, so are you. The corners of Chris's mouth turned up ever so slightly. Grayhound Good. Now, let's find this Elemental. Holy Heartburn Remedies! Will the Canine Crusaders and the Diatomic Duo find the Silicon Elemental before ICBC does? Has Chris finally gotten over himself? Well, no not bloody likely, but maybe he'll be tolerable for the duration. And has HG been hanging around Chris just a bit too long now? I mean seriously, what's up with the hydrogen powered vibrator? Tune in Next Friday to The Grayhound Chronicles for: Missing Elements or A Few Quartz Low Chapter 33 A Few Quartz Low "Son? Are you ok?" Mark woke with a bit of a start. He was lying face down in a ditch, not really sure where he was or how he got there. He remembered running away from the alien craft as fast as he could. After that, he wasn't quite as sure. Mark looked up at the fuzzy figure looming over him. "Are you hurt?" the figure asked. "No, no, I think I just got a bit lost...," Mark half mumbled. The figure laughed. "I can understand that." He helped Mark get to his feet and helped him to the road. The figure looked back for a few seconds at the spot where Mark had lain before continuing. "Well, I suppose I should introduce myself. Hi, I'm Bob." He smiled. "Uhm, hi, I'm... Mark" Mark said as he shook the offered hand. Bob returned to a more concerned look. "I don't remember seeing you around here before. Are you lost? Can I help you in any way?" "No," Mark said at first, then reconsidered. He could use some help. "Well, actually maybe. Although I don't know if you can really help me out." Bob shrugged. "Me neither, but we don't know for sure until we try. Hey, my house isn't that far away. How about we head back there, get you something to eat or drink and I let you make a few calls. Sound like a plan?" Mark wasn't really sure. For all he knew this Bob guy was an axe-murdering psychopath. He held a quick running debate with himself and the myriad of nightmare images dredged up from a lifetime of horror movies. "Look, if it makes you feel any better, I'm married, and the only axe I have is twenty years old and duller than butter," Bob said, as if reading Mark's mind. Mark nearly smiled. "Well, how do you know I'm not the axe-murderer?" Bob shrugged again. "I don't. But then I've got my dog for protection." He smiled again. This time Mark returned it fully. "Seriously, are you in trouble with the law or something?" Bob asked. "No, not the law, I don't think," Mark hesitated, not really sure what to say. He supposed the truth might work. Worst case, this Bob guy thinks he's nuts or pulling his chain. "It's more like aliens, and superheroes." Bob smiled again, but this time -- differently. Mark recognized it. It was a smile that Mark had whenever he was planning on a bit of fun. "Oh, I definitely think I can help you in that area. C'mon, let's go get you cleaned up a bit." Bob put his arm around the boy and lead the way. He stole one more glance behind him at where Margie had found Mark. Margie was now sniffing at the spot where Mark had lain on the ground, and where a perfect shadow image of Mark now lay, frozen in quartz. 'Good Girl, Margie,' Bob thought to himself, 'Take a good read on that.' "He was just lying in a ditch?" Avey said with growing concern. "You don't think he's some sort of druggie, do you Bob?" "No, no, I think he was just tired, lost, and more than a little scared. Is this the last of the decaf tea?" "Yes, I'll add it to the list. Do you think just one sandwich is enough? I mean, is he homeless?" "I don't think so. I think he's just caught up in something that's a bit bigger than he is." "Well, should we tell the authorities?" "Nah, I offered to give him a ride home if he wants it, and he's free to call his folks or whoever anytime." "Where's he now?" "Well, he and Margie were out playing in the back earlier...," Bob leaned out to look out the window. He could see Margie back looking into the house. "Mark?" he called out. "I'm in the back. Can I check my e-mail?" Mark called back from the den. "Sure, I'm logged in already." Bob collected the tea and sandwiches and gave Avey a quick peck on the cheek. "I better go check up on him." Avey still looked concerned, but she trusted her husband. Bob walked into the Den of Evil and set the tray down on the desk's last remaining bit of free space. "I brought you a sand... whoa!" Bob looked at his computer's monitor. The image was crisper than it ever had been, and small windows flew across the screen at a dizzying rate as Mark checked his mail. "I hope you don't mind, but I did a few upgrades to your system. It's the least I can do for you. I mean you've been like the nicest guy I've met, even if you do use AOL. And besides, your system must have been, like, five years old." "Seven actually," Bob said. "What kind of 'upgrades' did you do?" "Well, I boosted the chip a bit to 4Gig. I'd have done more except you've only got a P2 in here. I also redid the RAM a bit and sped up the bus while I was at it. Oh, and brought the temperature down so you can overclock it if you want. It's funny, your system seems way easy to work on. I kinda got carried away and upped your video as well. Hope you don't mind." Bob looked at his computer. It was still firmly wedged into it's place and still had all his old disks lying on top of it. Whatever upgrades had been made, Mark had managed to do them without entering the CPU. "Mark, exactly how did you do this?" Bob asked. "I dunno, exactly. I just kinda think about making it go faster and it sorta does. It's like...," Mark turned to face Bob and grabbed a sandwich. "It's kinda like making a sandwich, except I tell the cheese to go here, and the turkey to go there, and all the mustard, err, electrons flow easier," Mark said while pointing to the sandwich. "Can you do that to any computer, like, say Margie?" "No, just normal ones. Margie's different. I can't really even 'feel' her. You know, I think she likes that." "Well she seems to like you too," Bob said with a slight smile, "You're one of the first people she's met in a while that she didn't spook." Mark laughed. "Margie? Yeah, I guess some folks could be pretty freaked about her. Guess I'm just different." "That, my boy, is putting it mildly." Bob returned to the matter at hand. "What other things can you 'feel'?" "Well, I can do some stuff with glass", Mark said as he picked up his drink. "Like what?" "Like bend it,... Oh man!" Iced tea poured out of the container, and Mark quickly tried to catch it. He put the glass on the table next to the computer. "I'm sorry, Mr. Malevolent, I spilled tea on the floor." "It's ok, Mark, I'll get a few towels." Bob opened up the linen closet and grabbed the needful. He handed a towel to Mark, who immediately began dabbing up the tea from himself and the floor. Bob, however, was looking at the glass. The bottom had broken - no, it had opened - as if obeying Mark's command. Bob set it aside out of sight to study later and placed his own glass in its place. "Tell you what, Mark. Go into the room at the end of the hall. Third drawer on the tall dresser. I've got a bunch of T-shirts in there. Grab one and we'll get that shirt washed up for you." Mark paused, looking a bit uncomfortable "Thanks, Mr. Malevolent, I'm sorry about all of this. I'm being a big pain." "No, you're not, Mark, but I think you're discovering something new about yourself. I've got a bit of experience with things like that, and I might be able to help. Would you mind if we stayed in touch? Provided you tell your folks and they're ok with it." "Uhm, sure, I guess." "Well, check with your folks first. They can call me if they like. I'll make sure you have my number," Bob said. "Now, go get that t-shirt and ask Avey if she can wash that for you. I'd like to check a few things myself and admire your handiwork. Do you mind?" "No, of course not, it's your computer. Besides, I didn't have any interesting mail, anyway," Mark said as he walked out of the room. Bob looked at his computer. Fundamentally, it was the same, but the response time was phenomenal. It even seemed to download faster. Bob brought up his instant messenger. [ Slow fade from black to reveal a nondescript curb. In the background we see quite a number of feet walking by in either direction, occasionally pulling a wheeled suitcase. From the top of the frame we see a pair of women's feet clad in very expensive Italian strap heels striding purposefully to the curb. (We know they are expensive because of the inverse relationship between price and quantity of material inherent in any women's fashion). She reaches the curb and her feet stop, center of the frame. She shifts her weight to one foot as the other points down the sidewalk. From her stance we can tell that she'd obviously rather be anywhere else. Before the foot fetishists settle into a regular rhythm the camera slowly pans up her long lean legs. We hear her rustling through her purse as we glide slowly past the black micro skirt she's wearing. Eventually we hear the tell-tale duo-tone of speed-dial as we continue up her starched shirt and Gaultier jacket. She lifts the phone up to her ear and waits for an answer. She is young, well-to-do, Asian, and annoyed. She is Robyn Cheung. ] Robyn HR? Robyn. Ok, I'm in Boise. [ We cut to an office that is lined with rich walnut. A traditional leather high back chair faces out a window and away from the camera. A voice speaks in the taught staccato of strict business. The voice is vaguely European, but the nationality cannot be easily identified. The owner prefers it that way. He likes to keep folks guessing, but then that's quite natural for someone like Hans-Raoul Galerkin or, simply Hans-Raoul as he is known by friends and the soon to be departed. ] Hans-Raoul Robyn, good, you're using the crypto. Did you have a pleasant flight? Robyn No, the sparkling wine they served was from California. Hans-Raoul You didn't bring your own? Robyn Sorry, I figured I didn't have time to stop off and grab a bottle. Hans-Raoul Well, no matter, you probably wouldn't have gotten it through security anyway. If you can find our objective, I promise you that you'll be able to fill your swimming pool with Dom Perinon. Robyn Did you managed to get any more information about this elem-? Hans-Raoul Robyn! Please I know we're on a secure line, but this is a matter of extreme security. Be careful what you say! Frankly, I think we're taking a huge risk simply sending you down to investigate. If the two of us both went, that would simply raise too many eyebrows in unwanted places. Robyn I'm a professional, remember? I took care of everything personally. As far as anyone is concerned I'm simply going down to Boise to meet an old friend from High School. So, did you get any more information on him? Hans-Raoul [sighs heavily] No, but I'm still working on it. I'll call you once I have something more definite. I did manage to find the name of someone who might be able to help you out. His name is... let me see... Ah, here. A mister Robert Malevolent. Apparently he lives in the town of Atlantica, just outside of Boise proper. Robyn His last name is Malevolent? Hans-Raoul Apparently he comes from a long line of Malevolents. He's a student at the local branch of the DeVry School for Evil Genius. Robyn You're kidding, right? Hans-Raoul No, and frankly if I was, I would have picked something better. Robyn Do you have an address or description of this Malevolent guy? Hans-Raoul I've got a few things. Unfortunately, there are not a ton of details about the guy. Best I can say is go to Atlantica and look for a guy walking a really big dog. I'm not sure how much that helps you. I'll call you if I find out anything more. Robyn You're not giving me a heck of a lot to go on, you know. Hans-Raoul I know, and I apologize. But you understand that time is of the essence. Robyn You owe me, Galerkin. Hans-Raoul Find the objective, and I assure you that you will be rewarded beyond your dreams. Robyn simply hung up, and had a very large daydream. Robyn Cheung sat shivering in her bright green Ford Escort rental car. Although Boise is significantly further south than her normal haunt of Maple Ridge, British Columbia, the blowing fog drove the temperature down to a festive 7 °;C. Her silk jacket offered little warmth against the cold, and she hadn't noticed that the vehicle had a broken heater until she had reached the outskirts of Atlantica and (incidentally) the fog. She sat, shivering, and looking out across the sea-side park where several more appropriately dressed people walked dogs of nearly every size. The largest dog she had seen was a bull mastiff being escorted by a rather tough-looking but decidedly feminine individual. She kept her mind active by imagining various and increasingly less subtle means of torture that she would inflict upon Hans-Raoul upon her return. On the main road, an SUV pulled up to the main light. In it, a white, middle class youth of the suburbs was getting in touch with his gangsta rapper nature. Like all of his ilk, he insisted on sharing his poor choice in music with everyone in the neighborhood. She felt the regular driving base line vibrate against her cheap car. She thought of the story about the chickens in Australia who died because of the nearby factory's seven-hertz frequency matching the resonance frequency of their heads and scrambling their brains. She smiled, imagining the same outcome for the idiot in the truck. It did her little good, as the bass line seemed to grow increasingly louder and louder. She looked in her rear view mirror to see if she could somehow will the moron to turn down his damn music, but the truck was no longer there. Instead the only thing she saw was a man, wearing an all weather coat walking along the sidewalk toward the beach. The bass line continued to grow louder and louder as she stared at the man. She kept wondering where the speakers were right up until a massive metallic paw landed squarely beside her car. Her head snapped around to see a huge metallic robot dog happily trotting its way along, clearly the source of the overwhelming vibration. The dog was easily the size of a bus, yet the man walked comfortably next to the thing. Robyn snapped her jaw closed and tried to collect her senses. This, undoubtedly, was her contact. She opened her car door and stepped out into the blowing fog. It was then she realized that the car, even unheated, was still far warmer than the outside temperature. Still, Robyn was a professional, and she had a job to do. She walked toward the man who was throwing a stick for the metal behemoth to play fetch with. If it wasn't so outlandishly surreal, it would look quite normal. Oddly, no one else in the park even flinched at the massive machine racing along after the stick. They simply walked along as if it were an every day occurrence. Bob You're not exactly dressed for the weather, Ms. Cheung. Robyn froze where she stood. The man had not even looked at her, instead had simply waited for his "dog" to return with the stick. Bob Margie? Storage. The dog sat and Bob opened up a compartment on the dog's - Margie's - side. He pulled out an old insulated flannel jacket turned and handed it to Robyn. Bob You had best put this on before you catch a cold. Feel free to keep it if you like. My wife hates it. Bob closed the compartment and threw the stick. In a flash Margie was again bounding down the beach after the branch. Robyn tried to keep her feet during the resulting minor groundshake. She pulled the jacket on. Apparently the compartment Bob had pulled the jacket from was heated. Although it was a truly hideous garment, to Robyn its warmth and comfort were beyond measure. She pulled it close and tried to warm up. Robyn How did you know who I am? Bob I presume for the same reasons that your company told you to come look for me. Bob turned and smiled. He was far from a strikingly handsome man, but he had a certain rugged charm about him. Bob extended his hand. Bob Hi, I'm Bob Malevolent. Robyn coyly returned his smile and gently shook his hand. His hands were rough, but not the hands of a laborer. His grip was firm, but not crushing. Robyn stepped a bit closer while she kept Bob locked in the corner of her eye. She turned on all of her well-practiced charm. She felt a sudden warm down draft and looked up to see Margie's head looming over her. Robyn had no idea how something that huge could sneak up on her, and she let out a bit of a startled yelp. Bob laughed, reached up and patted the side of Margie's snout. Bob You'll have to forgive Margie here. She tends to be worse than my wife. Your car will be safe there if you want to join us on the rest of our walk. Robyn looked quickly at her shoes. Bob Oh, don't worry, it's mostly pavement, and not that far. Besides, you could always expense yourself a new pair and claim it as "entertainment costs". Robyn liked the way that this Bob fellow thought. Bob stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and started walking back the way he had come. Robyn slinked an arm around one of Bob's and fell in very close. Margie fell in rear keeping a possibly overly watchful eye on Robyn. Robyn tried not to let her reaction to that show, instead opting for a more flirty tone. Robyn So, Bob.. May I call you Bob? Good. So, Bob.. I'm betting you're wondering why I came all this way just to meet you. If Bob hadn't mentioned the fact that he was married, twice, Robyn would have sworn that the man was gay. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact that he had a jaw-droppingly beautiful woman wrapped around his arm. Instead, he kept his eyes focused ahead of him and his face in perfect Poker form. Bob No, not really. I presume this must have to do with the Silicon Elemental that is supposed to be in Boise. Robyn was beginning to find Bob's tendency to know far more than he should increasingly annoying. Still, she did her best not to let it show. Robyn Well, yes, that is one of the reasons I'm here, but there is another reason, too. Bob raised an eyebrow, but kept looking straight ahead. Bob Oh, really? Robyn Why, yes. We've heard quite a bit about you, Mr. Malevolent, and we're interested in knowing if you'd like to join our team. Bob stopped in his tracks and stared at Robyn. He wasn't smiling, but he wasn't angry, either. Robyn grinned a bit internally, knowing that she had managed to tell Bob something he hadn't expected. After a few quiet heart beats, Bob returned his gaze to the road ahead and his face returned to the inscrutable pleasant grin he had been wearing. Bob Well, now that is a surprise. We shall have to talk about that later, and of course, I'll have to ask my wife what she thinks. Robyn Ah, is your wife the prime decision maker? Robyn was pulled backwards slightly when Bob stopped walking. She looked up at him, and he caught her eyes squarely in his. He was neither angry or in denial, but simply spoke in measured tones that raised the hair on the back of Robyn's neck Bob Ms. Cheung, my wife and I are both very happily married. The things that keep us that way are trust, cooperation, and consideration. My wife is my partner as well as my soulmate and I would never make any major decision without her advice and consent, the same way that she would never make a decision without mine. With that simple declaration, Bob again began walking toward the house. Robyn looked up at Margie who seemed to wear the same expression on her fixed metal visage. Robyn slid her arm out from Bob's and began walking next to him, at a more comfortable distance. They reached the reasonably nondescript house after a few quiet blocks. Margie trotted ahead and with a single bound cleared the structure and landed in the backyard. Bob I really wish I could break her of that habit. I know we're just raising holy heck with the neighbor's china cabinets... Come inside and we can have a cup of tea and talk a bit. Bob strode up the walkway toward the door. He unlocked the door and went inside first. He called to his wife and gave her the kind of hug and kiss that newly married couples tend to give each other. Robyn had a sudden flash of Ozzie and Harriet that caused her to chuckle a bit. Bob began to take off his jacket as he did an informal introduction. Bob Honey, this is that woman I told you might be stopping by today. Turns out she has a rather interesting proposal as well. Robyn Cheung, this is my wife Avalon. Avalon was not a strikingly beautiful woman, but kept herself quite well. She was on the thinner side of average with shoulder length black hair cut in a popular casual fashion. She wore a long sleeve shirt beneath a simple sweater and blue jeans. If Robyn had to pick one woman she could imagine Bob to be married to, this woman would most likely be her. Avey Oh God! Please, call me Avey. The only people who call me Avalon are the priest who married us, and Bob when he wants to embarrass me in front of guests. Avey shook Robyn's hand politely. Avey Bob? Is that your old jacket? I thought you were going to give that to Salvation Army. Bob Yes, and yes. But I figured that it might come in handy today, and I was right. I promise, it'll be gone tomorrow. Robyn Actually, it was a life-saver this afternoon. Apparently I hadn't counted on the weather being like this. Avey gave Robyn's outfit an overtly critical eye and Robyn felt more than a bit uncomfortable. Bob I'm going to put the kettle on. Do you want tea or coffee? Robyn Oh, tea would be fine. Avey Bob, don't worry about it, I'll take care of the tea. Bob Oh, thanks, Angel. He gave his wife a quick kiss again. Robyn was growing a bit ill at the general show of affection. Bob Ms. Cheung and I have some additional stuff to talk about. School stuff. Avey just held up her hands and shook her head. Avey Good. Go into the Den and I'll bring your tea in when it's ready. Do you want anything with it? Bob No, Ms. Cheung? Robyn Hmm? No, no, just the tea. I just need to warm up really. Bob Well, this way to the Den, then... Mark practically leapt from his front door. Bob reached over to unlock the passenger door to his truck (or, as Avey called it, "His Rolling Deathtrap"). But then Avey had no appreciation for family heirlooms like the eighty-year-old flatbed truck. Besides, Bob found that sitting in this truck was the best place for him to think, and he really needed to do that right about now. "So, who are we going to meet?" Mark said with a trace of excitement. "Probably the biggest threat to your life," Bob said without embellishment. Mark sat staring at Bob, waiting for the punchline. He figured he missed it and started to laugh. "I'm being quite serious, Mark." Bob returned quietly with a voice that scared Mark. "Mark, I'm going to need your help. I need you to trust me and listen very carefully to what I am going to tell you. Do you understand?" Mark nodded. "Good." With a great deal of mechanical complaint, Bob started up the old truck and pulled out onto the street. In a way, Mark was starting to get used to being stuffed into closets. Ok, so this time it wasn't being stuffed in a closet so much as being stuffed in among a bunch of crates, but he was there carefully watching Bob, and doing his best to keep a low profile. Part of him wondered why Bob had brought him along if this was so dangerous. Oddly though, his paranoia wasn't buzzing as badly as normal. Even though he really didn't know that much about the man seated at a small table near the far end of the room, he felt he could trust him. Bob had said that it was important that Mark not use any of his powers unless Mark's life was in peril, and then it was no holds barred. Mark had worried that Bob might be hurt. Bob had laughed and said not to worry, because he'd be dead by then. The main door opened and a woman walked in. Deuterium Boy was examining the photo of the Komrade Kocoa Kamikazee Karamel Kaluha Kollision, trying to see if the stuff sprinkled on top was nuts or cookie fragments while trying not to look like he was ogling the waiter's chest, when things started to happen. Hydrogen Guy and JB suddenly looked at each other. HG pulled the vial of colloidal silicic acid he and JB had manufactured earlier. Not only was it buzzing like a cell phone to his Elemental senses, but the opaque white goop was gone, replaced by a perfect single crytsal of quartz suspended in water. "That's not good, is it?" asked JB. Hydrogen Guy shook his head. Deuterium Boy dismissed the waiter with an order for the check, proto. "Can you use that to home in on the elemental?" Chris asked. "Maybe...," HG said. He began to scan the bottle around. As he did, his and JB's eyes began to grow wider. "Ok... this is bad... We'd better get outside." Even if Mark were able to talk, the only thing he probably would have said would be "Whoa." The woman who walked in was without a doubt the hottest babe Mark had seen. She was pure style, and looked like she just walked off one of those BeBe ads they had down at the mall, and was dressed about the same, in theory professional, but Mark bet that those clothes were more for play. Seriously, Mark swore that when she turned he could catch a glimpse of her -­ The Heroes dove for cover. The building they had been standing next to rippled, then a wave of dust exploded up the length of the structure, leaving behind it a murky crystalline replica of itself. Chris was on his feet instantly and barking orders. "JB, you and HG see if you can spot any others! DB, check the perimeter for any victims!" Chris sprinted into the building. DB ran toward a group of people who had been standing nearby. Hydrogen Guy looked slightly disappointed. "Hey, that's my line..." Ok, calm thoughts, Mark, calm thoughts. She's hot, but she's also supposed to take you out. Damn, I wish I could hear what her and Bob are talking about. She seems irritated. Man what if she freaks out and does some ninja move on Bob? Well, if she does I hope it's a kick because that skirt just barely covers her -­ "AAAGGGHH!" JB recoiled as a second building erupted into quartz, spraying the area with a mist of lime and grit from the former concrete. "JB," Hydrogen Guy asked relatively calmly, "are you planning on panicking?" "Yes, actually." "Oh, good. I hate to be panicking alone." Bob was the picture of serenity and calm, and played the perfect Yin to Robyn's Yang. Robyn on the other hand, was becoming increasingly frustrated and vocal. Mark could catch fragments of the conversation mostly from Robyn. Things like "bounty", "promised" and "capture". These were not words that made Mark feel comfortable. In fact, he felt a growing knot in his stomach. Was Bob just trying to up the ante? Was he going to be sold off to this Robyn chick as her personal slave or something? Not that it would be all bad, Mark thought, sure, he'd lose his personal freedom, but he'd be the one handing her the towel when she got out of the -­ Detective Wallace turned when he heard the loud clang. Chris slid down the wall, his liquisteel body armor held him immobile in both an awkward and more than uncomfortable position. By the time Wallace reached him, Chris was able to move again. "Grayhound, what the hell is going on?" "Your guess is as good as mine," Chris said as he got to his feet. "As far as we can tell, it's due to some character that has control over silicon. The good news is that the folks inside the buildings are fine. A few scrapes and frayed nerves, but they're ok." "We're evacuating the area now." "It's just these few blocks?" "Yes. Do you have any idea how to stop it?" Wallace asked. "No, but we lucked out. We've got the best guys on the planet helping us. Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy." A strange creaking got Chris' attention. He turned and looked upwards. The tops of the buildings seemed to be growing and merging together. Chris looked to Wallace. "Do you need any assistance in getting this area secure?" "No." "Then I've got to get back in there." Without another word, Chris raised his grappling line and fired the hook toward the rooftop. He pressed a button and shot upwards. This time he hoped he'd have a better landing than the last one. Bob still looked very much in control. The woman had settled down a bit and was listening with crossed arms. Bob was smiling again and using calming gestures. Mark was having a hard time hearing anything. He wondered if he could... No! Bob said that he shouldn't do anything. But what if Bob was in on this? No. If Bob were, he would have just turned Mark over to that chick at the beginning instead of going through all this hassle. This didn't look like a haggling session, there was something else going on, here. Mark still wished he could hear. Maybe he could try reading lips! Well, Bob's kind of hard to read with that mustache, and besides the woman is speaking now. Ok, focus try to figure out what she's saying with those full, red, luscious, ... B-KANG! KRONNNNG! K-KAAAANNG! TONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGG! "Chris? You ok?" JB said as he raced up to where his brother lay. Chris moaned. "Must tell Annie to crank down rewind more..." The armor relaxed and Chris slowly got to his feet. "Any idea where our Silicon Buddy is?" "No, we're getting a bit too much interference from the neighborhood." "Does it make sense to try from somewhere outside of ground zero?" "No, I don't think it will," Hydrogen Guy admitted. "Unfortunately, the jar is more an indicator than a compass." "So that leaves us with what?" Chris asked as he tried to think of something. "Maybe we can let the Elemental lead the way," The Detective said via DB. "Wow." Chris remarked to JB, "you know it's kinda creepy when he does that voice thing." "What about when I'm doing it?" JB said in semi-protest. "You're easier to ignore." "Of course!" Hydrogen Guy said. "These outbursts have to have their origin somewhere, and that has to be where the Silicon Elemental is! We can use the Scan-o-matics to trace the route." "Cool, how long do you think it might take?" "Hmm, we've got to isolate all the silicon deposits and determine which ones are active, then we have to do triangulation scans to determine the location of the central vein, and then we calculate the path depending on the amount of energy that we figure he's putting out." Another building exploded into crystal and joined the arching structure that towered over downtown. "My guess is that the power level is well into the 'Horrendous' region. Look, how long is all that math and scanning going to take?" "I'm not sure really, I suppose fifteen, twenty minutes to an hour or so if we're off." "An hour? By that time downtown will be gone!" Chris put a hand to his head to concentrate. "There's got to be another way. What can we do to quartz that would effect him? Any good ideas, Dr. Science?" "Sorry, you're the only one I know with rocks in his head. I'm into electricity." Chris suddenly had an idea. "Electricity! How does the quartz in a watch work?" Hydrogen Guy suddenly got the same idea. "Well, yeah, but where are we going to get that kind of power supply?" "That's my problem. How much energy do we need?" "Remember that 'Horrendous' scale you mentioned before..." Chris fished out his guy line again. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Can you use that Geiger counter whatzit to figure out which of these is the most active vein?" "Well, yeah, but I don't see --" Chris disappeared as he arched over a building. A moment later they heard a semi-metallic clanging. "AND I HOPE THAT HURT!" Hydrogen Guy yelled to the echo. Zzzzzzzzzzz Huh? Wha! Oh, it's over. Oh, thank God! Geez, Lord of the Rings wasn't this long. Microphone? Jumpin' Gypsum! Is Bob planning on selling off Mark to the highest bidder? Is Mark going to have to say he's getting something other than a woody? And what exactly does Chris and HG have in mind? Tune in Next Friday to The Files of Hydrogen Guy for the thrilling conclusion.. Battle to Draw the Elemental or The Silicon Graph Fight Chapter 33h Grime and Pumicement Oh, man, that was painful... Any tourist flying in to Boise early that particular evening would have been forgiven had they thought that some kind of international exhibition was currently happening in the city, or something similar that had prompted the, um, erection of several dramatic new architectural marvels. In fact, nobody in particular had planned the recent additions to Boise's skyline, which made the downtown core look like somebody's new-age crystal mushroom garden. Hydrogen Guy, Deuterium Boy, and Puppy Boy were helping Boise's emergency personnel in evacuating the crystallised buildings. Hydrogen Guy was ushering the last evacuees out of what had once been the Boise First National Pulmonary Bank when the giant crystal began shuddering and growing again. He looked up at it with alarm. Hydrogen Guy Okay, lads. It's recap time. Deuterium Boy Make it fast, we've got some serious running around and yelling to do. Hydrogen Guy We have an immensely powerful -and apparently, rather puerile-minded -silicon Elemental "somewhere" in Boise -we can't figure out where -who's now gotten tired of causing earthquakes and has decided to turn the city into some kind of post-modern quartz sculpture. And we haven't got a frickin' clue what to do about it. Deuterium Boy That seems to cover it. Hydrogen Guy I thought so. By the way, DB, try not to inhale too much of the dust, it's aluminum rich. Deuterium Boy Thanks, HG. Puppy Boy I think Chris has some idea what to do. Or at least, he seems to. Hydrogen Guy Ah yes. Boise's favourite projectile. Listen, JB, as much as I respect your brother professionally, I somehow doubt that this time the salvation of the City by the Spud will depend on a few acres latex or a truckload of size C batteries. Puppy Boy Well at least he's doing something! They hear an explosion overhead. Looking up, they see that the crystal "buildings" are now sending out branches, some of which are colliding with one another. The three heroes beat a hasty retreat for a more open space in the centre of the street. Hydrogen Guy You're right. And it's time we did, too. DB, can we -­ He was interrupted as the Grayhound's Nissan Maxima came flying around a corner and ground to a halt beside the nearest crystal. Chris popped the hood and jumps out of the car bearing a set of jumper cables. The others ran over to him. Grayhound JB, gimme a hand. Hydrogen Guy What are you -- Where'd you get a hydrogen fuel cell like that?! Grayhound It's an import. JB, take these and try to find someplace on the crystal to hook'em on. I'm gonna show this guy what it's like being a Timex... He dove under the hood and located the hydrogen collector's power relays. He attached one end of each jumper cable to each polarity. Hydrogen Guy leaned over his shoulder and tried not to sound as annoyed as he felt. He failed. Hydrogen Guy Think our boy needs a bit of a jump start, do we? Grayhound You're a physicist. You know how a quartz watch works, right? Apply a voltage to the crystal and it starts to vibrate. Hydrogen Guy It's called piezoelectricity. Grayhound Whatever. Well, that's what I'm trying here. This H-cell is that "horrendously powerful" were talking about a while ago. When I start the engine, pop the clutch and hit the gas, I'll send a good dose of juice into the crystal, and hopefully the feedback will knock the Elemental for a loop. Hydrogen Guy Elemental fields don't work that way! It's not like he's plugged into some kind of circuit -- Grayhound Like I said, you're a physicist, right? A applies a force on B, so B must apply a force on A. Newton's laws. Hydrogen Guy You're not an Elemental, you -- Grayhound You have something better?! Hydrogen Guy No. Grayhound Thought not. JB, how you making out? JB and Deuterium Boy were staring at the perfectly smooth face of the crystal. Puppy Boy No good, bra, there's nothing to clamp on to. Deuterium Boy One sec. He took a Deuterium-O-Rang from his Useful Things belt and slammed the blade into the crystal. The first blow did nothing. Deuterium Boy grimaced, then wound his arm back and slammed the D into the crystal again. This time the quartz splintered and the blade sunk in. He repeated the performance with a second blade nearby. Puppy Boy Thanks! He attached the jumper cables to the two protruding pieces of metal. Deuterium Boy Thank Captain Industry. Man, if my banker was that strong, I would've paid my student loan back on time. Puppy Boy All set, Chris! Chris jumped into the driver's seat. Grayhound Everyone stand back! Hydrogen Guy sighed. He leaned over the engine and placed his hands on the hydrogen collector. Grayhound What do you think you're doing? Hydrogen Guy If you're going to do something stupid, you may as well do it right. DB, set the Scan-O-Matic on wide scan, all frequencies. If this actually works, we may be able to pick up the "feedback" on the Elemental's end... Deuterium Boy Got it. JB, we might want to stand on the other side of the street... Grayhound Ready, HG? Hydrogen Guy Ready, GH. Give 'er. As Hydrogen Guy willed the liquid hydrogen in the fuel cell to respond with maximum efficiency, Chris started the motor, popped the clutch, and gave the gas everything it would take. Mark remained behind the crates, caught between the very real feeling that he should be trying to read what Bob and the Asian mega-babe were saying, and the more illusory but oh-so-pleasant picture of being pool boy at one of her all-female clothing-optional pool parties. As the age-old instincts of self-preservation and unexpressed hormones waged war inside him, Mark was suddenly seized by an entirely new feeling. The feeling of being electrocuted by high-voltage power lines while being smashed into a brick wall by an out-of-control, fully-loaded cement truck. Only without the power lines, wall, or truck. The tremendous back-surge of power blasted Mark's rigid, unconscious body straight through the empty wooden crates and flying across the empty part of the warehouse. He collided with a wooden support beam, cracking it in two, bounced, and rolled several feet. The conversation between Bob Malevolent and Robyn Cheung came to a rather dramatic halt. The surge of current from the Maxima's hydrogen-collectors vaporised the jumper cables in seconds flat, and knocked Hydrogen Guy flying - an amateurish performance compared to Mark's, of course, but taken on its own merits, still a pretty good shot. The entire crystal - all nine stories of it, not to mention its branches - began to vibrate alarmingly as it absorbed the power surge. The rest of the crystals quickly took up the vibration. By the time Chris killed the engine, the whole block was humming audibly. Chris launched himself out of the car, nearly colliding with an orange flash that swooped in and collected Hydrogen Guy. Chris had the wind knocked out of him as a second flash grabbed him and whisked him away, a split second before a shower of deadly sharp quartz shards landed where he'd been standing. The crystals shook more violently. They began splitting apart with thunderous cracks, raining shards and slabs of quartz down on the streets below. Chris was shoved into a bus shelter next to the unconscious Hydrogen Guy. He squeezed his eyes shut in a futile instinctive effort to block out the tremendous noise of the vibrating, disintegrating crystals. Then suddenly, the noise stopped. Chris opened his eyes very carefully. The street was covered in quartz, from fine grains of silica dust to larger shards, to sizeable slabs which stuck straight out of the ground like candles shoved in a birthday cake. There was a fair amount of glass and concrete strewn around, too, from buildings damaged by flying debris and sympathetic vibrations. Chris looked skyward. Not a single crystalline monolith was left standing. They had destroyed themselves in less than five minutes. "Holy... cow," he said, almost in a whisper. He stood up, brushing off dust and the bus shelter's shattered glass. Funny, he didn't even notice when it broke. "You can say that again." Hydrogen Guy was getting to his feet next to him. "You okay?" they asked simultaneously. Chris grinned. "Yeah, just a ringing in my ears. You?" Hydrogen Guy held up his hands. His palms were a mass of nasty looking burns and blisters. "Ouch!" said Chris. "Happens every time I wreck someone else's city," Hydrogen Guy said ruefully. "Actually, it's not as bad as it could've been. I backed off at the last nanosecond. Hurts like a bitch, though. Where's -- " Two colourful flashes appeared in the quartz-strewn street - JB with his new super- atomic speed, and Deuterium Boy borrowing Captain Industry's own super-speed. "Chris!" shouted JB, "Will you look at this mess?!" "Yeah, I --" "DB! The Scan-O-Matic... ?" Deuterium Boy held up the instrument. "The resonance explosion almost drowned it out," he said, "but we have a faint peak. And co-ordinates - across town, near the waterfront." Hydrogen Guy whooped with delight. "Yes! Quick, we have to reach him before he moves!" He rushed towards his partner, stopped, looked around frantically, then with another excited cry, he spotted the Maxima. It was coated with yet another thick layer of dust, but it was miraculously intact. "Chris! We're taking the car!" "What?!" "Leave it to us! Your city needs you right now! C'mon, DB! You drive, I can't grip the wheel..." The Diatomic Duo swarmed into the Maxima as Chris stood sputtering. JB stood by with a mischievous grin on his face. The engine roared to life and the car jerked forward. "Hey! Hey! If you two wing-nuts -- !" The Maxima took off with a squeal and a cloud of grit. "Fill it up on the way back," Chris screamed after them, "and BUY SOME WASHER FLUID!!" Robyn stared open-mouthed; Bob was equally surprised, although he only expressed it by raising his eyebrows. He reached Mark a split second too late. Robyn moved surprisingly fast considering she was wearing stiletto heels. Mark was still unconscious, but Bob was relieved to see his chest rising and falling. He was far less than pleased to see Robyn cradling his head on her knee and pressing a glass dagger to his throat. Robyn You're in luck, Bob. He's alive - for now. So this is Mark, hm? He'll be quite a hunk in a few years... She heard the familiar click of a hammer, and found her self looking up at the barrel of Bob's grandfather's service revolver. He spoke with the same pleasant, measured tones, but she could tell from the slight tremor of the trigger finger that he was very upset. Bob Ms. Cheung, I think you want to put the knife down. She smiled. Robyn I don't think so, Bob. That would be throwing away what I can see is a very good bargaining position. Bob He's not the one you want, Ms. Cheung. I don't know who he is. Robyn You're a terrible liar, Bob. If he's a stranger, why do you care what I do to him? She pressed the dagger point lightly against Mark's Adam's apple. His eyes fluttered open. He tried to move, but his muscles refused to work. Bob He's not the silicon Elemental. Robyn Oh, really? Then what's he doing here? And why's he flying through the air like he's been shot out of a cannon? Keeping her eyes trained on Bob's revolver, and the glass knife at Mark's throat, she slowly rose from her crouch, lifting Mark up with her. Bob followed her with the gun, keeping it trained on her temple. Robyn Now, Bob... why don't you talk to me about what it'll take for me to drop this knife... and for you to lower that gun. Suddenly from outside there came the screech of car brakes, followed by the purposeful slamming of doors. Bob looked away involuntarily... Quickly, Robyn took the glass dagger from Mark's throat and thrust it into his side. Mark's eyes widened in shock, and a low gurgle came from somewhere in his throat. The mask of calm dropped from Bob's face and gave way to fury. Bob You -- ! Robyn lowered Mark to the floor. She looked apologetically at Bob as she pulled the dagger of out Mark's side and wiped it on his jacket. Robyn Sorry, Bob. I guess you were right. He's not the Elemental. A silicon Elemental could have deflected that. The sound of voices carried from outside. She backed away from Bob, slowly and calmly. Robyn Tough luck, Bob. Give us a call when you find the real Elemental. She turned her back on him and quickly strode the few steps to the front door of the warehouse. She spared him a parting glance as she stepped outside. The door banged shut behind her. Bob hurled the empty gun after her. It clanged off the closed door and clattered to the floor. He dropped to the ground beside Mark. Bob pulled off his jacket and pressed it against the knife wound. Bob Mark! Mark, are you alive? Mark's eyes opened and he focused on Bob. He managed a weak nod. Mark Man... whatta... bitch. Bob smiled. Bob Good, hang in there. We better get you to a clinic. Can you walk? Mark Dunno... I'll try... A noise something like a large electrical discharge came from out front. The hairs on the back of Bob's neck rose. Bob Come on, I think we better leave through the back... Hydrogen Guy This is it! Deuterium Boy slammed on the Maxima's brakes. They were in front of a warehouse on Boise's waterfront. Hydrogen Guy held Deuterium Boy's Scan-O-Matic, which held the GPS co-ordinates of the quartz crystal's feedback signal, on his lap. Hydrogen Guy I think it's in there. He pointed to the warehouse. A sign proclaimed it as belonging to "Krull-Ex International Shipping". Deuterium Boy You feel up to this? Hydrogen Guy nodded. He clasped his hand on the "pommel" of the Ruler of Elendil and winced involuntarily. Hydrogen Guy Yeah. You? ... and the Furlong? Deuterium Boy tilted his head. Deuterium Boy Yeah. They say to be careful, but they've got our backs. Hydrogen Guy Good to know. Let's do it. They unbelted and got out of the car. Hydrogen Guy (gingerly) set the Scan-O-Matic to local scan and waved it around. Hydrogen Guy Not picking up any energy readings... Deuterium Boy How about your crystal thingy? Hydrogen Guy shook his head. Hydrogen Guy Nothing. It's dehydrogenated... The door to the warehouse opened and a young Asian woman stepped out. The door banged shut behind her. Deuterium Boy Hydrogen Guy! Hydrogen Guy I recognise her, DB. This time. Cheung, isn't it? Robyn smiled sweetly. Robyn I'm so flattered you remember, Hydrogen Guy. She raised the glass dagger. Robyn Let's see just how memorable I can make myself. She threw the dagger at Hydrogen Guy's head. Completely drained from acting as a human flux capacitor, he barely had time to register the dagger's existence before Deuterium Boy had flung himself in front of him. Deuterium Boy caught the dagger by the hilt, inches from Hydrogen Guy's face, and then in one fluid motion hurled it back at its owner. Robyn dived out of the way with no time to spare. The dagger bounced off the side of the warehouse and shattered on the ground. Robyn looked up at Deuterium Boy, furious. He clucked his tongue disparagingly, and spoke with a Texas drawl. Deuterium Boy Now, sugah, that ain't no way for a lady to behave. Robyn got to her feet and stumbled. She looked down briefly, and when she looked back at the Covalent Crusaders, her eyes were coal black orbs. She spoke with a strange inflection to her voice. Robyn Now look... you've made me break a HEEL! She raised her hands and bolts of bright red electrical energy shot from her fingertips, enveloping the two heroes. Deuterium Boy jerked like a Marionette. Hydrogen Guy managed to hold his ground, the Ruler of Elendil absorbing the majority of the energy in a bright blue nimbus. As she continued the onslaught, Hydrogen Guy tried to move towards his partner, to get in a position to take the brunt of both streams. Robyn grimaced, and increased the power on Hydrogen Guy's side, forcing him back. Suddenly, Deuterium Boy began to scream. Robyn - or whatever the she-demon actually was - laughed with pleasure at the sound. However, there were those nearby who understood the sounds were not those of a human soul in torment, but a seagull in distress. When the screams seemed to multiply, Robyn first thought that Hydrogen Guy had succumbed as well, until a motion near the top of her field of view caused her to look up. In a moment, a hexadecimal dozen of seagulls were swooping at her, snapping and pecking with their beaks, beating with their wings, and tangling themselves in her hair. She dropped her lightning attack and tried to beat the birds off. The gulls drove her back against the side of the building, then with a shriek of fury almost as loud and piercing as theirs, she enveloped herself in a red burst of energy and vanished. Hydrogen Guy struggled to his feet. He stared in amazement at the flock of seagulls, who were now clustering around the prone Deuterium Boy and making concerned noises. Hydrogen Guy peeled the Ruler of Elendil out of his hand, and walked unsteadily towards his partner. The birds scattered, but not far. Some stayed on the ground, watching HG warily, while others circled the immediate vicinity overhead. Hydrogen Guy Dave? DB, are you okay? Deuterium Boy was crouched in a ball on the ground. He moaned softly. Hydrogen Guy Can I take that as a "no"? Deuterium Boy raised his head. Deuterium Boy Uhhh... yeah. I'm alive, sort of. What in the name of Tiamat was THAT?! Hydrogen Guy bent down and started helping him to his feet. Hydrogen Guy Damned if I know... but I suspect somebody got out of Aybabtu with a bit more than a lousy T-shirt... You sure you're okay? Deuterium Boy Yeah, yeah... I just feel a bit like the guy who cut Emperor Palpatine off in traffic... hang on a sec, Roger needs to say thank you... He craned his neck upwards and belted out a few caustic squawks. The remaining gulls took to the air and squawked back. The conversation continued for a few more seconds, and then the birds started wheeling away. Hydrogen Guy clapped Deuterium Boy on the shoulder and nearly bit his tongue. He waited for the stars to clear from his vision. Hydrogen Guy Faunaman... thanks. We owe you, big time. Deuterium Boy grinned sheepishly; then his smile widened, and the real David was back at the wheel. Deuterium Boy Thanks, HG. He really appreciates that... Aw, man... Hydrogen Guy turned to follow his gaze. He blanched at the sight of the Maxima, which the seagulls had taken the liberty to decorate, with gusto. Hydrogen Guy Aw man is right... If we don't come back with an Elemental, Chris is gonna kill us. Come on, let's check that warehouse... Robyn was awoken by the telephone's ring. Reluctantly, she forced her eyes open, then cursed as she groped for the phone in the darkened room. Robyn ... yes?... Hans-Raoul Robyn, it's me. Robyn wha? Hans-Raoul Hans-Raoul. Listen, did you meet Malevolent? What's happening? Robyn tried to sit up, which set her head to spinning. She lay back down. Damn, she didn't remember drinking that much... hell, she didn't remember drinking at all... She glanced at the clock. How did it get to be nine PM already... Hans-Raoul Robyn, are you there? Robyn Yes, yes, I'm here... shut up for a moment, will you? Hans-Raoul Excu-­ She dropped the receiver on the table. Slowly this time, she sat up, and swung her feet over the side of the bed. She tried standing, and slipped. Dammit! When did she break that heel? Kicking her shoes off, she stood up. Going to the window, she pulled open the curtains. The last traces of sunset still clung to the horizon. She tried to remember what had happened after she'd left Bob and the kid, and how she'd gotten back to her room. Had he drugged her somehow... ? She remembered Hans-Raoul, and went back to pick up the phone. Robyn 'Kay, talk. But softly, I've got a killer headache. Hans-Raoul Robyn, are you okay? Robyn Yeah, I'm fine... I had a few drinks with Malevolent, I'm just feeling a bit rough. Hans-Raoul I thought you held your liquor better than that... So, what's going on? Any business? Robyn Sorry, sweetie. He doesn't have the guy we want. He tried to act like he did, but I cut through that quick enough. Frankly, I think I'm on a wild goose chase. Hans-Raoul was silent for several breaths. When he spoke, it was with a calm in his voice that would have made Bob Malevolent green with envy. Hans-Raoul Robyn. Have you turned on your TV the last two hours? The radio? Been outside? She hesitated. Robyn No... why? Hans-Raoul Boise is all over the news. I've been watching scenes of the downtown covered in silica. Apparently six office buildings turned into some kind of crystal and then exploded. Robyn What? Hans-Raoul In the last hour, I've seen this "Grayhound" interviewed by CNN, ABC and CBS. Each time he's made the same bland comments about an ongoing USHA investigation. The US Geological Survey's trying to pass it off as an extremely rare but natural geological event. Right now I'm listening to some idiot named Sullivan blithering about "upwelling magma". Robyn, tell me something! Robyn Ah... I don't know... that's the first I've heard of it... Hans-Raoul I can tell. Robyn Hans-Raoul, I'm sorry, I'll call Malevolent back -­Hans-Raoul sighed. Hans-Raoul No, forget it. I've booked you on NorthAir, the flight leaves at 7:45 AM. Get a good night's sleep, stay away from the bar, and get out of there. The whole thing's too high profile all of a sudden, the only thing we can do is lay low and see what develops over the next few weeks. Robyn I'm sorry... Hans-Raoul Yeah, me too... I'll pick you up at the airport. Sleep well. He cut the connection. Robyn put the phone down and sank back on the bed. A feeling of dread she hadn't felt in ages started working its way up from her stomach. Mark walked stiffly into the clinic's waiting room, looking pale but well. Bob brightened up with relief. He exchanged a few words with the doctor and some plastic with the receptionist, and a few minutes later he was driving Mark home in the old truck. "Thanks, Bob," said Mark. "Really. You've been the nicest guy, ever." Bob smiled. "Thanks. I'm just sorry all this had to happen the way it did." "Yeah." Mark breathed an exaggerated sigh. "Man, what a day." Bob nodded. "I'll say. You were incredibly lucky. I'll bet you you'll only be able to skip gym for a week." "Sure, dwell on the negative already... Dr. Fingold's a pretty nice guy." "He is. He's very discreet, too. I've used him before, he has a kind of arrangement with my college." "Good. Mom and Dad would freak if they found out about this..." "I'll bet...," Bob drove in silence for several blocks. When he finally spoke, it was in an extra serious tone. "Mark, it's time I told you the truth about all of this." "Like why that woman was after me?" "Among other things... Mark, I'm what's called a 'chaos advocate'. What some people call a 'supervillain'." Mark laughed. "You?" He stopped laughing when he saw Bob was still completely serious. "Yes. We don't all wear capes and metal helmets. At least not until graduation... That woman Robyn Cheung worked for an organisation that's been involved -- well, that's been trying to kill people like you, with powers over chemical elements." "What do you mean, chemical elements?" "Think, Mark. You can manipulate glass and computer chips, right?" "Uh huh..." "Those are both made of silicon. Remember your periodic table, from chemistry?" "Yeah... I guess so." "You can control the states of silicon atoms. That's how you can fix circuits, even though you may not realise it. You're what some people have started calling a silicon 'Elemental'." Mark listened silently. He felt... he didn't know what he felt. He knew that he should tell Bob that what he was saying was crazy, but he knew instinctively that he was right. He felt something like relief, finally being able to put a name to these tricks he could do, and something like fear. The fear of standing at the edge of something he might not be able to back away from. Bob continued. "Remember you told me about that 'pole' in the alien's ship that zapped you? I've seen something like it before, I think... I think it boosted your power, dramatically, so much so that you've been doing some really big stuff without realising it." "What do you mean?" Mark felt something like a skipping CD. "You know those weird crystals downtown? I think that was you." "What?! How could that be me? That was when I was spying on you and that woman, I wasn't thinking about making giant perverted crystals, I was thinking about -- oh." "Don't be embarrassed. It happens to all guys your age, just not on that scale." "But... then why did I get... blasted like that?" "I think that's when our friend the Grayhound sent some kind of power surge into the crystal. It destroyed the crystals in the city and knocked you flying. At least, that's what I think happened. They didn't say what he actually did on the radio, but I probably would've tried something like that in his place." "Dammit! I HATE that guy!" "Get over it." Mark looked at Bob in disbelief. "Why?! You're a 'chaos advocate', right? Doesn't that make you the Gayhound's enemy?" "That's business." Bob sighed. "Mark... when I first figured out what you could do, I thought I might be able to take you under my wing, so to speak. Give you a hand with your powers in a way that would help both of us, and keep you out of the way of people like Ms. Cheung. But this afternoon proved I can't. Yet." "You think she'll be back?" "Maybe. Maybe other people. Mark, I think there's only one person who can help you, and it's not me. With your permission, I'd like to help you get in touch with him." A sombre mood pervaded the Grayhound loft. Chris sat channel surfing on the couch. Deuterium Boy was re-bandaging Hydrogen Guy's hands, while JB sat at the kitchen table staring at a glass of milk, trying to duplicate Hydrogen Guy's phase separation trick. So far he had mastered forming bubbles, boiling it, and even setting it on fire. The second time this happened, Chris got up from his seat, took the glass, and dumped its contents down the sink. Puppy Boy Sorry. Chris grunted. Hydrogen Guy A little less back-spin, I think JB. Grayhound This is getting us nowhere. Puppy Boy We can't do it all in one night, Chris. Grayhound We have to do something. Hydrogen Guy and the Detective both agree that somebody matching Bob's description had been in that warehouse and carried someone who was bleeding out the back. That can only mean he's got the Elemental. So Bob's already got a kid who can turn buildings into crystal and a she-demon who spits fire. I don't want to wait and find out what happens if that Hanson-Julius guy shows up. Hydrogen Guy Hans-Raoul; and, at this point, I don't think he will. Cheung's probably gone by now, too. HR's obsessive about keeping out of the spotlight, and with all the publicity this afternoon's fun's been getting, he'll probably back off for a while. See, grabbing headlines is a good thing sometimes... The Grayhound scowled. Grayhound Still, that leaves Bob with the Elemental. Hydrogen Guy Right. Our only choice now is to set up a couple more silicic acid detectors and start a street by street search. Deuterium Boy At least you won't have to buy sand this time... Chris wandered disconsolately back towards the entertainment centre. Grayhound We should've started that this afternoon, instead of trying to think up some smart way... He trailed off. He was staring at his pile of Dreamcast games, next to the empty spot formerly occupied by his console. Puppy Boy Chris? What's wrong? Grayhound Oh my God... I'm an idiot! Hydrogen Guy I couOWW! Deuterium Boy jabbed him in the palm. Grayhound I had him! I had the silicon Elemental in my hands this afternoon! Cripes! Deuterium Boy What? When?! Grayhound At the gaming store in the mall. This kid hacked my Dreamcast to play X-Box games without cracking the case! Hydrogen Guy He manipulated the silicon chip... Grayhound I had him banned from the store. He whined that he had a bunch of stuff on pre-order. They must still have his address! JB's eyes widened. Puppy Boy Great Mario's Hammer! Chris, that's brilliant! He looked at his brother in admiration. Deuterium Boy simply looked confused. Deuterium Boy Great who the what now? Chris leapt for the phone. Grayhound I'm gonna call Tommy, he can look it up on his computer and tell us where the punk lives right now! Puppy Boy Chris, it's 9:30 at night! Grayhound It's okay, I'll call him at home. Deuterium Boy You have the gaming shop owner's home phone number? Chris hit number six on the speed dial. Grayhound I take my hobby seriously... Hey, Tommy? Chris Reid. Listen -­ Just then, another phone rang. Hydrogen Guy realised to his surprise that it was his. He looked at his gauze-swaddled hands in consternation. Hydrogen Guy DB, could you ... ? Deuterium Boy Sure. He took the phone from HG's Useful Things belt (thankfully, it was in an easily reached an non-embarrassing spot), pressed talk and held it up to HG's ear. Hydrogen Guy Hello? Bob Hydrogen Guy? Hi, it's Bob Malevolent. Hydrogen Guy B-­ Bob Please don't say my name out loud. I know you're at the Grayhound's and I don't want them to know it's me you're talking to. Hydrogen Guy How did you get this number? Bob sighed. Bob Let's just say that I now owe someone about a half a ton of premium North Atlantic brine shrimp. Hydrogen Guy, I want to be quick. I have something you're looking for and I'm willing to let you have it, no strings attached. All I ask is a little discretion. Hydrogen Guy I'm listening. He listened. JB sat in the middle of the two conversations - on his left, Chris was cajoling the owner of the gaming store to go in and find the name on his computer. On his right, Hydrogen Guy sat in stony silence. After a few minutes he gestured to Deuterium Boy to take a message. A second later he was quietly relaying a house address to his partner. Chris and Hydrogen Guy hung up simultaneously. Chris was grinning triumphantly, while Hydrogen Guy looked thoughtful. He and Deuterium Boy were both staring at the scrap of paper in front of them. Grayhound Bingo! I played the superhero card, and even then I had to agree to let him wipe out my credit for that Final Fantasy III trade-in, but he'll do it. He should be faxing us the kid's address in about twenty minutes. Hydrogen Guy grinned. Hydrogen Guy Sorry, Chris, I don't mean to upstage you, but... I've got the address right here. He fumbled with the slip of paper. Deuterium Boy took it from him, moistened the back slightly, and then stuck it to Hydrogen Guy's forehead. Hydrogen Guy Thanks, DB. Deuterium Boy Don't mention it. Chris's face had fallen several stories to the pavement below, and was waiting for the paramedics. Grayhound Where'd you get that? Hydrogen Guy An anonymous source. Puppy Boy Anonymous? Hydrogen Guy One of many I employ throughout the continent... I think we can trust him. Chris ground his teeth. Grayhound We'll just see about that... Twenty minutes later, a paper scrolled off the fax machine, bearing five lines of co­ordinates and a receipt for fifty dollars cancelled in-store credit. Chris checked it against the address Deuterium Boy had taken down. JB hardly suspected his brother even knew those expressions. Mark was relieved when he got home and found his parents were out. There are some things, he felt, that even they wouldn't be able to ignore. And Mark wasn't prepared to explain, not yet. Heck, he could hardly explain it to himself. About a quarter after ten, the doorbell rang. He didn't move to answer it right away. It's not that he was scared, it's just... well, all right, he was a little nervous. When the doorbell rang a second time, he slowly pulled himself off the couch and headed for the door. He looked through the peep-hole first, just to be sure it wasn't Robyn Cheung, tracking him down. He saw a fish-eyed view of the Grayhound scowling back at him, standing next to a slightly taller man dressed mostly in blue. He a shimmery cape, and was wearing a red tie monogrammed in yellow, with a yellow feather stuck in what looked like a helmet or skull cap of some kind. Aw, jeez, if he ever started dressing like that, he'd turn himself into a rock and roll off a bridge. Mark grinned at the mental image and opened the door. Chapter 34 Eplilog Would you care for more Herbal Tea, Mr Guy?" "No, no thank you. I'm still working on this delicious cup." Hydrogen Guy lied. "How about you Mr. Hound. I see your cup is empty?" Hydrogen Guy was probably the only one who noticed Chris' wince. Chris managed a faint smile and graciously accepted the second helping. "It's a special blend of mint, wooly thyme and hemp that I find helps calm your inner chakras." Chris was happy that there was some sort of usefulness to the beverage, because it tasted like boiled carpet samples. The woman offering the delightless beverage was Starflower, the mother of the person both Hydrogen Guy and the Grayhound were there to see. Mark, the one recently identified as the silicon Elemental was a seventeen-year old kid with mussed hair who was favoring his left side. "I gotta say that I really envy you." That came from a bald, beared gentleman who obviously had his life epiphany in the late 70's and never saw fit to go much beyond that. The comment was clearly addressed to Hydrogen Guy. The Canadian hero was far from his peak presentation. His blue shirt and black pants were torn in several places and still bore the light dust of being in the center of Boise when several hundred tones of quartz came to a sudden shattering end. His hands were heavily bandaged from the burns he received helping Chris create what may have been the worlds largest and quite possibly most embarrassing high voltage mineral sex change. He feared what his dry cleaning bill would be for his cape. The only bright spot was that his bandaged hands made it nearly impossible to pick up the cup of tepid tea. Still, anyone being even remotely envious of him was enough to raise an eyebrow, even if it was under his mask. "Excuse me?" "Yeah, you're Canadian, right?" "Well, yes." Hydrogen Guy said, not quite sure where this was going. "You've got Socialized Medicine, man! That totally rules! Man, I just know we're going to be so screwed when we get the bill for Mark's injury." Chris raised an eyebrow at that. "I mean so he gets a piece of shrapnel from that big crystal thing blowing up.." "I told you Rufus, that wasn't quartz. Quartz is a healing crystal that reflects love. It's not like it was hiddenite or anything," Starflower said with a bit of a laugh. She laughed alone. "Uhm, about the shard thing." Chris said somewhat guiltily, "I'm pretty sure that USHA would be covering things like that. I think the hospitals already filed the paperwork.. Wow, that's going to be expensive." "Nah" Hydrogen Guy said with a shrug, "the city makes up the damages in tourism. Sure, they're annoyed at first, but they get over it really fast once the yokels come to gawk, and the souvenir folks start popping up, then there's the movie crews and…" "You say that like you've got experience destroying cities." Chris said more than a bit skeptically. Hydrogen Guy quickly changed the topic. "Mr and Mrs…" Hydrogen Guy suddenly realized that he had no idea what their last names were. Chris laughed a bit but realized that he had no idea either. "Oh. Last names are so restrictive!" Rufus said. "They saddle us with the baggage of our ancestors. We live in the now." "Oh" Hydrogen Guy said, trying to understand, then failing. "Ok, uhm, Rufus. If you don't mind, my associate and I have something we need to discuss with your son in private." "We prefer not having secrets in this household." Starflower said. "Very well", said Chris, "So, Mark, I appreciate you're willing to talk to us about Everquest strategies. The biggest problem I have is with trying to keep my tradesman skills up but not lose all my platinum. You know I thought being a half elf baker would be good as a thief, but now I'm just…" Rufus held up his hands, "Whoa! Video games. I'm out." "Me too. You boys have fun." Mark's parents quickly left the room Hydrogen Guy turned to Chris with an appreciative smile. "Nice trick." Chris shrugged, "Sometimes being anti-social has its good points." "You're really not here to talk about Everquest are you?" Mark stated more than asked. "No, no we're not" Chris replied. "What we're here to talk about, is you." Chris spoke in clear tones, not upset or angry, simply in a manner that stated he was interested in solving a problem. "I have to admit that you're not an easy one to solve." Chris leaned forward and locked Mark in his gaze, and looked a bit like a chess master at work. Hydrogen Guy decided to sit back and Chris speak, provided he didn't say anything too stupid. Mark looked a bit blasé. "I'm guessing you're a rather hot property that no one really knows how to handle." Chris began. "Wait, no that's not quite correct. We know of at least one individual who would stop at nothing to see you dead, and more than powerful enough to ensure that it happens. Something that, I trust, you have little interest in seeing come to bear." Mark looked a bit less blasé and began to look a bit more uncomfortable. "I presume that the thing you need most is some form of training. Your recent efforts were impressive, to say the least, but obviously not quite under control, were they?" Mark shook his head. "No, I didn't think so. The obvious choice in this matter would be Masked Molecule sitting next to me.." "Hey!" Hydrogen Guy verbally winced. "… but that would mean bringing you to Canada..." "I don't want to go to Canada," Mark whined. "…and into the direct crosshairs of the one person who'd most like to see you dead." Mark started to blanch. "Mind you, the proper course of action for me to take would be for me to place you under arrest for the destruction of several blocks of Boise and send you to the court system." Mark finished blanching. "But that's an even quicker way to see you dead. You're quite a curious problem, Mark." Mark was growing increasingly scared. "If I'm such a problem, why don't you just kill me and be done with it?" he barked back, fear filling in the lesser warbles. Chris smiled. "I have reasons. A few of them are: one, I owe the big blue gasbag seated next to me several major favors at this point. He has expressed an earnest interest in making sure you stay alive. The very least I can do is to make sure that remains the case. Mind you, if you go and do something stupid that gets yourself killed, like say, try out your powers in some uncontrolled manner, then there's not a good deal I'll be able to do to save you. Do you understand?" Mark nodded. Hydrogen Guy smiled. "Two, a good number of folks seem to be very interested in you, none the least of which is my personal nemesis, Bob." "Hey, Bob's a nice guy." Mark said very defensively. "Rest assured that he may seem that way, but it's probably due to the fact that you're worth more to him living than not. Frankly, I'm amazed that he let us find you so easily." "I'm not." Mark said and pointed toward Hydrogen Guy, "He called him." Hydrogen guy began whistling randomly and trying to look innocent. Chris thought about his now voided fifty-dollar exchange, closed his eyes, collected himself, and then smiled with appreciation. "As I said, he's my personal nemesis." His gaze returned to Mark. "As I said, you're quite interesting to a good number of people. That, naturally, effects my ability to carry out the first point, the one about keeping you out of coffins. Still, I have a feeling that you may be more interesting than any of us imagine, provided you can keep yourself considerably less interesting to anyone else." Chris continued to sit and stare at Mark. Mark fidgeted a bit. "So.. So what do you suggest?" "How do you feel about taking up a hobby; say, photography?" "I'm still not sure what you've got planned, but I can't see why I should stop you." Dr. James Evans took another mouthful of pasta. "Hmm, this IS good." The four sat around the dining room table of Chris' loft, sans costumes. Except for JB, who still managed to wear bits of his regardless. "Gunax lbh, vg'f n qryvtug gb or noyr gb znxr fbzrguvat sbe fbzrbar jub qbrfa'g oryvrir gur urvtug bs phvfvar vf bayl ernpurq jura gur zvpebjnir fgbcf.", the short green alien in a kitchen smock grumbled. Chris glared at Zrng. "Don't you have to BE somewhere?" "Fher, V'yy tb fhyx va gur xvgpura gura jvgu gur bgure uverq uryc. Bbu, guvf tvirf zr n punapr gb ohea fbzr zber fgnvaf bagb gur enatr sbe lbh gb fpeho hc!" the alien said with a bit of delight and scampered toward the kitchen area. "I have no idea what he just said," Dr. David Marcolin remarked as he watched the alien carefully spoon cheese onto a burner, "but I have the odd feeling he's enjoying making your life difficult." Chris glared at the back of the alien's head. "Don't worry, he is." "Getting back to the matter at hand, what exactly are you planning." Jim asked. Chris put down his fork and looked at Jim, much the way that he looked at Mark earlier. "I plan on keeping my promises. Are you aware of all of the abilities of Hans Raoul?" "Of course I.. well, most of.. ok, no." Jim admitted. "Fair enough, neither do I. So I can't exclude the fact that he may be psychic or have some listening device that is able to capture information that we don't want him to have." Jim was a bit annoyed. Partly because Chris wouldn't tell him and partly because Chris was also right. The less that Jim knew the better it was for Mark. Chris smiled at Jim's consternation. "Don't worry, I'll figure out ways to keep you informed and you'll be the first to know if there's anything major. I was incredibly wrong about you, and I apologize." "You know," Jim said, "there's a reason they call us 'Good Guys'." "Yeah, probably. One day I might even get that through my thick head. Besides, considering that you could show up and carbonate my blood without me even knowing about it, I know that the last thing I really want to do is make you upset." Jim looked at Chris in shock. "I.. No, I'd never do something like that! That's a wonton abuse of power that is totally uncalled for. Now, a mild version of the bends…" David shot him a withering look. Jim winked back. "So what about our other problems?" "You mean the city? I have absolutely no idea. In fact, I'm doing my best not to think about it." Chris got a bit glum thinking about the massive destruction that he was personally responsible for. Fortunately, Wallace had done a great job of evacuating the area. There were no fatalities and only minor injuries from the crystal detonation. Had he actually been at the scene, Mark's wound would have been among the worst. "I wouldn't worry too much about it." JB said as he munched on some salad. "While you two were out I got a call from USHA. I gave them the whole report. The guy sounded pretty excited about it. Apparently there's all kinds of opportunities for stuff." "Opportunities?" David asked. "Yeah," JB continued, "he said something about Boomin' Boise action figure sets and crystal radios shaped like mushrooms. I think the T-Shirts are already out. He figured that even paying back recovery costs, they'll net a couple of million." David wore an expression of horror mixed with dull surprise that anyone would seek to profit off of the near destruction of a city. He turned to look at Jim in total disbelief. "NOW do you understand why we don't head south more often?" Jim asked. "Oh, that reminds me. Here, I picked up some of this for you." Chris said as he handed a tube of salve to Jim. Jim leaned over and looked at it more than a bit suspicously. "Oh, don't worry, I didn't get it from Annie if that's what your thinking. Here, look." Chris opened the tube and squeezed a dab onto his hands. He briskly rubbed them to make sure they were properly coated and smiled a bit. "See? No Hair coming out of my palms, although they do feel a bit tingly. Ooh, nice. Gotta get me some of this stuff too." Jim cautiously squeezed a bit onto his pinky and touched it near a burn. It felt wonderful. The burn pain evaporated nearly instantly, as the swelling also reduced. Jim applied a bit more with the same results. He wasted no more time undoing the wraps and applying the salve to his hands. Within seconds they were nearly back to normal, except for a few spots where blisters had left his skin slightly more tender. Still, he could feel even those cooling and shrinking. "This stuff is great!" "Yeah, well, you can thank your number one fan for it." Chris said as he pointed to an embarrassed JB. "Chris!" JB said, "C'mon you said you wouldn't tell him." "JB, really, thank you. That stuff is amazing. Where did you find out about it?" JB looked a bit embarrassed and spoke in a very quiet voice. "Uhm, the Brown Streak. He said it helps when his costume chafes." Jim kept smiling as the slow sinking realization of what kind of chafing the fastest man in the world might have began to throttle his motor relays. The next morning, JB woke up the sound of snoring. It was a slightly high pitched nasal snore, definitely not Chris' moose with a saxophone variety that tended to set off car alarms when he had a head cold. Still, it was a bit familiar as if it was... "Becky Sue??" 'Wha? Huh? Did one of those dang horses bust out of th' stall a'gin?' "And a pleasant morning to you." N pushed a hotel room service cart dressed in a perfect replica of a 1920's bellhop, complete with pillbox hat. JB was more confused than disturbed at the sight. This was probably because it was still early and he hadn't quite fully awoken yet. "I trust you slept well." N asked as he began to remove the metal covers from an assortment of dishes. He poured a glass of orange juice and handed it to JB. JB thanked him and took a sip. It was delicious. "Ah, there, that's one of the reasons that I liked working with you. You are both polite and trusting. Now Hydrogen Guy would have thanked me, then sniffed at it a few times wondering what exactly I had put in the juice, but you just blindly trust that I haven't put anything that might alter your memories or is deadly in it." JB stopped sipping and sniffed in the glass. N was loading biscuits onto a silver gilded plate, "No, you recognize that some are simply grateful of the service that you have performed," N paused, "even if you've had no idea." N offered the plate to JB. Who selected what appeared to be a crumpet, and reflexively thanked N again. N beamed then turned back to the cart. JB sniffed the crumpet, then took a small taste. It was a crumpet. "I have to admit that swapping you and David's powers was a good deal easier than I thought it would be." "Uhm, why?" "Excuse me?" JB was very nervous. He didn't want to offend but he was genuinely curious. "Not that I'm doubting or even bothered by it, but I'm just a bit curious why you swapped our powers like that." N smiled again, this time with a bit of a mischievous glint in his eye. "If I told you, there's the faint chance that you might tell them, and that would completely ruin the joke. For now, let's just say that it seemed like a good idea at the time." N turned back to the cart and fished through more trays looking for something. "Besides it works out very well for everyone. I'll have you know that I've got one more favor to ask of you." N cracked a raw egg into a skillet. He slowly turned to look at JB, his face deadly serious. "And I don't really 'ask' for 'favors' if you understand what I am saying." Suddenly the egg in the skillet sizzled and smoked furiously even though there was no visible sign of heat. JB got the message very clearly. N continued, "You need to make sure that Chris finds the right person to help guide Mark." "Mark?" JB asked, "who's..." N slid the cooked egg out of the skillet and served it with toast and a selection of bacon. "As I was saying, it was a good deal easier getting the powers swapped over. With DB it involved a quick bit of paradimentional rewiring. It's a bit complicated, but if you think you two had it bad, there's a cy-duck in a pocket prime universe that's REALLY confused." N presented JB with silverware and a small tray to rest the plate on. "Now getting the Justice Furlong into DB's head was difficult, but it would have been completely impossible if they were actually dead." Five voices (four unheard) screamed "WHAT?" "Really just involved a bit retuning you two. Kind of like switching the ol' metaphysical car radio station so to speak. Wow, and talk about country music station overload. Ah well, looks like everything is in place here. Here's the bill, Ah, just kidding! And thanks again." With that N and his cart disappeared in a wink of light. JB blinked. The Justice Furlong blinked. Chris shuffled out into the main room. "Mmm, hey JB. Where'd you get breakfast? That smells great! JB? Yo! Earth to JB?" "What do you mean 'No, not yet!' I'm their sister, dammit!" The voice on the other end of the line remained as stoic and unhelpful as he was six months ago when she had started. "I'm sorry madam, but I'm afraid that your request for visitation rights has not been approved by the overseers committee. Please be aware that any request for visitations will require an extensive background check, full physical and.." "..and criminal background check. YES I KNOW ALL THAT!! I filled out your stupid forms and even got the full psychological and metaphysical profiling you required TWO MONTHS ago." The voice picked up where it always did. "Your request for visitation will be reviewed and screened and an answer will be provided between six to eight weeks." "It's been TEN you git!" "As always, our concern is for our residents, and your patience and understanding are appreciated." The voice droned on with a total lack of commitment. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" "Yes, but suicide is illegal in most states!" And with that she slammed the phone back onto its cradle. Sandra McCovey started to cry. She was frustrated, tired, and, truth be known, nearly broke. Without her two sister's business was more than a bit off. Sandra was an award winning photographer with portfolios filled with stunning pictorials. Unfortunately, not much of that seemed to matter to her publishers and agents. She had spent more than she had on futile legal fees trying to get to see her sisters. They were criminals. Sandy knew that. Still, they were family and to be this far apart from them made her feel, very, very alone. The business line chirped. Sandy looked at it, not quite sure what to do. It was probably a sales call, or some bill collector. She sat, terrified to listen to whom it might be. "Hi! You've reached McCovey Studios. Unfortunately, we're unable to take your call at this time, but please leave your name and number and we'll reach you as soon as we can. Thank you!" BEEEEEEEEP.m "Ms. McCovey?" The voice asked, "My name is Christopher Reid. I require your services for an extended period of time. I am willing to discuss a fair rate and am more than able to pay for it. I would like to fly you to Boise so that we can discuss the details. " Sandra looked at the phone, not quite believing what she was hearing. Something seemed familiar about the voice, but she couldn't quite place it. She quickly jotted down the number and checked it against the caller-id. It matched. The message ended and the voice hung up. Sandra looked at the paper. A million thoughts raced through her head. Half of her screamed that there was something wrong with a deal like this. The other half screamed that she had to take it, or at least talk to the guy. She picked up the phone and slowly dialed the number. She heard it ring a few times. "Mr. Reid? Hello, I'm Sandra McCovey. I believe you had an offer you'd like to discuss?" But wait! There's more... Go catch The Crossing Over Epilog, Part II And then tune in two weeks for the next episode that probably won't have any Hydrogen Guy at all in it, but please read it anyway. Pretty Please? Chapter 34h Epilogue Epilogue Jim Evans, world-renowned theoretical physicist and reluctant tourist, buckled himself in and settled down for his flight. Next to him was David Marcolin, sitting with his hands folded in his lap and his head tilted back on the seat, eyes closed. The plane was still filling up prior to take-off. Evans Right. Let's get this baby in the air and start doling out the beverages. Marcolin answered without opening his eyes. Marcolin There won't be any tea, the flight's too short. We're only going to Seattle. Evans looked shocked. Evans No tea?! But it's morning! There has to be tea! Marcolin Take it up with the flight attendant, Arthur... You know, it amazes me. In normal life you're a complete tea snob, but put you on a plane and you start salivating for whatever dishwater they decide to heat up to sixty degrees Celsius... Evans Discount flyers can't be choosers, and the caffeine helps dull the pain of bad in-flight movies... Jeez, Dave, are you talking in your sleep, or what? Marcolin reluctantly peeled one eye open. Marcolin No... sorry, I don't know why I'm so tired... Ever since I got on the plane, all I've wanted is a nap... Evans I'll keep the in-flight chatter to a minimum, then, I promise... Dave! Window! They both snapped their heads to the left and pretended to be absorbed by something outside. The woman in the window seat next to them looked up from the in-flight magazine in surprise, and started peering out the window, too. Evans Okay, all clear. David looked at him in bleary annoyance. Marcolin What was that all about? Evans lowered his voice to an urgent whisper. Evans That was Robyn Cheung that just went by! Marcolin Oh, great. And here I thought this was a "non-evil" flight. Evans I hope we don't have the same connecting flight. We probably do, though. Curses... Hang on, she's coming back. They plunged into their in-flight magazines as she walked by on the way back to first class. She identified them as members of the Olympic synchronised dork team and then promptly forgot them. Evans Maybe we should get transferred up to first class so we can keep an eye on her... Marcolin dropped the magazine and resumed his former relaxed position. Marcolin Good luck. If you manage it, just have them carry me up... Evans muttered something, but he didn't catch it. By the time the plane began to taxi onto the runway, David Marcolin was fast asleep. Deuterium Boy had the sensation of waking from a deep sleep. He found himself, not sitting in the cramped centre seat of a 737 in civilian clothes, but rather seated at his usual table in the tikki lounge of Club Kodor. He was dressed in his full Deuterium Boy costume. He looked around in surprise - the ill-lit booths with their shapeless and terrible occupants, the unearthly beat of the dance club downstairs, the bar with the cone-faced, tentacled bartender, the jukebox packed with Bauhaus and Depeche Mode - it was all as it always was. He looked around eagerly for the one person missing, and saw her standing with her back to him, waiting on a group of Egyptian priests a few tables away. Deuterium Boy Avalia! The white-robed, raven-tressed figure turned towards him. Deuterium Boy nearly fell out of his chair. Deuterium Boy N?!! N Be with you in a minute, sweet-cheeks, just let me place these drink orders. He made a quick detour to the bar - the bartender didn't seem to notice the substitution ­and then in a moment he was standing at Deuterium Boy's side, smiling coquettishly. N Do I get a kiss? Deuterium Boy N! Get rid of that -- outfit, now! N You don't think it's me? Deuterium Boy I mean it! N By the bones of Osiris, you're such a stiff. JB is a hundred times nicer to me than you are. He waved his hand and was enveloped in a flash of light. Immediately he was dressed in khakis, sandals and a loud floral shirt, his hair back to its normal close-cropped length. He was sitting across from Deuterium Boy, sipping on a bright green drink sprouting a forest of umbrellas and decorative swizzle sticks. N I go to all this trouble to restore your powers and reunite you with the "woman" you love, and you don't even let me have any fun. Drink? Deuterium Boy Where is she? N gestured indistinctly. N Around. Let's say she's on break. How about that drink? A concoction similar to his own appeared in Deuterium Boy's hand. Deuterium Boy banged it down on the table and glared at N. N Fine, but let me tell you right now, this is the last time I do anything for you without being asked. Deuterium Boy I would appreciate that... Wait, did you say you'd restored my powers? My deuterium powers? N Mm-hm. [slurp] You're a big ol' gas bag once again. And JB's once again hearing voices other than his own whiny little conscious. I hope you were nice to the Justice Furlong during their visit? Parted on good terms, mutual expressions of bonhomie and all that? Deuterium Boy I suppose. They didn't say much last night, I think Cheung's attack kind of spooked them. N Hmm, yes. I have to admit, that little hissy fit of hers took even me by surprise. I would've called in some more help for you if I'd known she was carrying a passenger. Deuterium Boy looked puzzled. He absent-mindedly took a sip of the green cocktail, then immediately wished he hadn't. Deuterium Boy All right, start at the top of that and work your way down. N heaved a long-suffering sigh. N I swear, sometimes I just want to chuck it all and start over with another planet... If you remember, I only have powers within this Universe, and whatever little pockets the Mages create. Anything that may have happened to Ms. Cheung on the Plane of Aybabtu would have slipped by me altogether. But now, it's quite obvious that the reason she escaped the place unscathed while you, James and Hans-Raoul were put through the wringer was that she agreed to bring something back with her... Twenty-twenty hindsight, of course... Deuterium Boy Hmm. Does Hans-Raoul know about this "passenger"? N Doubtful. I don't think it's manifested itself before... in fact, I've been watching her since she pegged all the thaumaturgical meters, and it's clear she doesn't remember any of it herself. Deuterium Boy Great... that's all we needed. N For once, I agree completely... [slurp] Nonetheless, I have to complement you, David. You and your overbearing partner acquitted yourselves very well, despite getting off to a typically slow start. Mark is in good hands with Mr. Reid, and things have arranged themselves so that Hans-Raoul will be staying out of the picture for a while. We'll see, perhaps we can use Ms. Cheung's difficulties to keep him busy until the boy is ready to join you. Deuterium Boy glared at him. Deuterium Boy Yeah, I bet you're thrilled with all this, aren't you? A whole bunch of new toys to play with - Chris, JB, Bob Malevolent, and most of all, Mark. Well, I'm not pleased with it. I don't like how you've set up this little Boise chess game, N, HG and Chris against Bob and Hans-Raoul. And Mark stuck in the middle as the most vulnerable pawn. N laughed, slapping his knee as if Deuterium Boy had told him the one about the neutron who walked into a bar. N Oh, David! I didn't think you had such eloquence in you! Heh heh... as for the "chess game" you allude to, my dear Deuterium Boy, you don't know the half of it. Things will be getting very interesting in Boise over the next year or so, and not all of the pieces will see the end of the game... He noisily slurped up the last of his drink. N Well, I'll take my leave of you. Avalia will have figured out by now that the cy-duck is far more frightened of her than she is of it, and they may start making some progress... He got to his feet and waved his hand again. The real Avalia appeared in Deuterium Boy's lap, a few stray pieces of mauve down stuck to her hair. Avalia What... Dave?! What happened? I was -­She caught sight of N. Avalia You! I should have known! How many times do I have to have you thrown out of here, anyway?! He bowed. N My deepest apologies. But it was essential that I have David's undivided attention. Now if you two love-birds will excuse me, I see some old friends over there in one of the booths... Deuterium Boy Hang on, N. You skipped over one of my questions. N Oh? Deuterium Boy What did you mean, "you would've called in some more help for us"? N smiled enigmatically - or rather, even more enigmatically than usual. N My dear Mr. Marcolin... a moment ago you compared the war we're engaged in to a game of chess. But it's not quite like chess... because in this game, Boise isn't the only board, and not all of the pieces have been revealed. Aloha! A back alley, late at night, in the city of Osaka, Japan. Dark deeds threaten -­ Woman Punk #1 Punk #2 The woman recoils against a wall in horror. Her two assailants advance menacingly. One of them pauses and sniffs the air. He wrinkles his nose. Punk #1 Punk #2 He starts gasping for breath, choking. Punk #1 Woman As his friend staggers back, turning faintly blue, the other grabs the woman and raises his hand to strike her. Suddenly -­ A fist appears out of nowhere and smashes into his face. He falls flat on his back, blood streaming from his nose. The other, suddenly able to breath once again, looks up to see a caped, shadowy figure in front of their intended victim. Punk #2 Shadow The voice was female, and sounded like it meant business. Ignoring the warning, the second punk pulled a knife from his belt and launched himself forward. The figure dodged, pushing the woman out of the way with her. The attacker whirled around, and caught only a flash of dark green as the fist struck him on the jaw. As he staggered back, his broken-nosed friend tried to grab and hold their assailant. She slipped out of his grasp. They tried to box her in, but she moved too quickly. The frightened young woman watching saw little, except for her attackers going down repeatedly and the occasional flash of green. The one called Zak, retrieving his knife, slashed wildly at the hero. She parried with a set of blades sprouting from her gauntlet, blades which snapped the knife in two like cheap plastic. He stared at it in amazement, suddenly finding his muscles unwilling to respond. She struck him hard in the forehead with the palm of her hand, and he toppled over, unconscious. The other lunged at her, but suddenly found the ground beneath his feet as slick as oil. He slipped and landed face first on the ground. The hero grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hauled him up. He only got a blurry glimpse of a yellow symbol on green, and a mouth smirking from behind a mask, before her palm collided with his forehead. He flipped over almost 180 degrees and landed on his back. The young woman looked on in fear and confusion. The shadowy figure turned to her. Woman Shadow Woman But she was gone, apparently vanished into thin air. The young woman was curious, and couldn't help a quick peek at her unconscious assailants. She was puzzled by what she saw - on each of their foreheads, black as if charred into their flesh, was the same symbol she had seen on her rescuer's chest: a small circle inside a slightly larger regular hexagon . She wondered what it meant. [fade to black; roll credits] Brain Dead Virtual Barbarian The electronic door to Cousin Beano's Grocery Store slid open. "Do you sit up late at night trying to figure out new ways to embarrass me?" "Salad Barbarian just try to strike up conversation." "You were talking to the lettuce section." "Salad Barbarian thought that maybe they were relative. One of those could even be Salad Barbarian Mother." "Barbarian, you realize that the heads of lettuce that might even be remotely related to you are probably.." Dressing Lad caught himself. He really didn't feel like explaining what Salad Bars are usually for, or try to explain the uneasy feelings he always got watching the Barbarian tuck into a large Caesar salad. "Probably what?" "Probably… are not those." Dressing Lad said with a smile and began to quickly pile the groceries into the back of the Barbarian Van. He prayed for some sort of distraction. "Salad Barbarian not really under…" The Dressing Phone rang. Dressing Lad dove for it. Cool Ranch splattered the side of his head as the phone rang a second time. Dressing Lad closed the bottle replaced it and pulled the phone out of his belt. 'Oh, having a phone that looks like a bottle of Salad Dressing will be so COOL' the little annoying voice in his head reminded him as lumps of dripping sour cream dripped from his chin. "Dressing Lad here. Oh, hey Sheriff, what's up?" "Ooh, Tell Commissioner, Salad Barbarian say 'Hi!'" "Why yes, Sheriff, he's standing right next to me waving like an idiot. Why do you ask? Uh-huh. I see. A Bird feeder? Sheriff, not to impugn you're fine deputies and the local constabulary but… Torn apart? Like how torn apart? Tissue, I see. Have there been any other… Ok wait I need to write these down. Three melted, two crushed, two cored, one frozen, and one just missing with chew marks on the pole. Is there any way that we can see one of these? Great, where? 1..3..6.. Trellis Ridge… Got it. See you there in about twenty minutes. Later." Dressing Lad hung up the phone and wrote a few more quick notes before he turned and walked toward the driver's side. "Hey Barbarian" he called back. "Yes Dressing Lad." "You can stop waving now." Dressing Lad, Salad Barbarian and Sheriff Gordon headed into the backyard of the small cottage. Toward the middle of the yard was a pole with a forest green, metal bird feeder on top and a dowdy elderly lady near the bottom. One of the items had a large hole punched through it and was dribbling bird seed. Unfortunately, it wasn't the one that was able to talk. "Would you look at the mess that critter made? That dad-burned feeder cost me over two hundred dollars. I tell you this, I'm getting my money back." Salad Barbarian bent over to look at the bird seed scattered on the ground. "Ooh! Look!" He carefully scooped up a handful. "What?" "Babies!" The Green Warrior chirped as he pointed to the seeds. "Babies Soo Cute!!!" "Right." Dressing Lad said, a bit disturbed by the thought. "Sheriff, as I was saying.." The Barbarian curiously sniffed the seeds, "Ooh, This one need to be changed." "Do I want to know?" The Sheriff asked Dressing Lad. "Do you ever?" "Good point." "Ma'am?" Dressing Lad asked the woman as she folded her arms and harrumphed. "Can you tell us what did this?" "You betcha," The woman leaned in close and raised an eyebrow. With as much bile as she could raise she grumbled, "It was that damn squirrel!" Dressing Lad absorbed the statement for a few beats, looked at the remains of the expensive and previously squirrel proof feeder and then back at the woman. "You mean to tell me that a squirrel did that?" he said as he cocked a thumb at the twisted remains. "Well it t'weren't no dang Budgie. That good fer nuthin squirrel came flying out of nowhere, hovered for a few seconds then landed on the bird ledge. Well, that lousy feeder closed like they said it would which just got that squirrel all sorts of riled up. Next thing I know he a chittering at the box like there's no tomorrow. Well I was smiling like a honeymoon bride at first. Then that stupid critter leapt back into the air and punched his way straight through my feeder. If I ever get my hands on that rodent!…" "Err, thank you ma'am." Dressing Lad smiled nervously and walked over to the Sheriff. Salad Barbarian was singing some sort of monotone lullaby to the seeds. "That's why I didn't call in Animal Control. Pretty much matches the other reports as well." Dressing Lad stood with a bewildered look on his face as he connected the dots. "Sheriff, you're not telling me that we're dealing with a…" "..squirrel with superpowers? Actually, that's the best guess we've got." "But, how?… Who?… Why?…" "That's your department, DL. Mine is to make sure that the populace doesn't panic." "Or at least has a ready supply of peanuts laced with Kryptonite. C'mon Barbarian. We've got work to do." The Barbarian looked a bit disappointed, but gave the handful of seeds a quick kiss and gently put them on the ground. He patted them. "Nighty-night Babies." He strode out of the yard, head high and back straight, which was fortunate because that way he didn't see the swarm of birds descend. Salad Barbarian feel stupid. Ow! Dressing Lad! What happen? Oh,nothing. I just bit my tongue. Why Salad Barbarian wear fancy bucket on head? That's not a fancy bucket. It's a VR helmet. Hang on a second, I need to patch myself in. DL slid the helmet into place and pressed a switch on the side. There vas an electronic chime followed by the kind of needlessly elaborate digital boot sequence popular among the Hollywood types that don't really use computers all that often. Oooh, pretty! Salad Barbarian get Light cycle? No Barbarian. This is just training environment. Choo-Choo! Not that sort of train! Oh, Diesel! Salad Barbarian like those too. What? No. Look this will let you control your homunculus, err, vegunculus, whatever. Salad Barbarian not swing that way. Barbarian!! Here look at this. A window displayed a plastic version of the Barbarian. The figure suddenly raised an arm and pointed out. Little dolly look like Salad Barbarian. Little dolly MOVE like Salad Barbarian! The doll then started on a series of body builder poses. That.. dolly.. is actually a cybernetically linked automaton that was developed to minimize insertion risk during encounters with unknown hostile --what are you doing? Little dolly a bit short in shorts. Will you please close your fly and just listen! Why Barbarian need little dolly? Let me put it this way. We're going after a squirrel that can fly and rip through steel. What do squirrels eat? Squirrel run up oak trees to eat the nu... Salad Barbarian understands. Well, I was going to say that squirrels eat plants, but that'll work too. Like I was saying, the system uses a set of synchronized processing cores. Ooh, that remind Salad Barbarian… The cores then pass along the signals from the suit you're wearing to the servo motors in the armature of the vegunculus. It's a wonder of miniaturization and remote controls that allow us to safely examine all sorts of areas that would be otherwise too hazardous for you or I to venture. The only draw back is that the controls are a bit too complex for you to manipulate directly, so I need to monitor you at all times. Also the battery life is a bit limited, so you need to pay attention to the small indicator at the bottom of your view, do you see it, Barbarian? Barbarian? Barbarian? Where are you? Salad Barbarian back. Wh.. Where did you go? Dressing Lad remind Salad Barbarian that Salad Barbarian have to take core dump. You what? Oh man, You remembered to remove your helmet first, right? What helmet? I am NOT cleaning that up later! Look, let me turn on the vegunculus' cameras and.. SQUIRREL! Stacy Williams took his first sip of coffee as he stared out into his backyard. It was summertime. He liked summertime. Things were alive. The trees, the birds, the squirrels, the small green toy running across his deck toward the squirrel. The what? Stacy took another sip. Nope, it was still there. A six inch tall plastic green guy with way too many muscles and what looked like lettuce on his head was looking at the squirrel, and apparently was making Karate-like poses. The squirrel sat, munching on something, utterly unimpressed by the dolls display of gymnastics. Stacy could tell that the doll was somewhat bothered by this, and took to standing with one fist against his hip and the other.. well, if Stacy didn't know better, or was a bit more awake, he'd swear that the doll was lecturing to the squirrel. If it were possible, the squirrel looked even less impressed as it continued to munch on whatever it was eating. The doll, deciding that the lecture wasn't working, then struck a classic boxer stance. It set about a rather impressive display of fast footwork. Amazingly, the doll finally got a brief reaction from the squirrel. The squirrel melted the doll where it stood using some sort of heat vision. It then went back to munching on the apple. Stacy required no more coffee that morning, and made it to his office in record time, running and screaming the entire way. "Salad Barbarian guess that not go the way Dressing Lad planned?" The Green Guardian said as he pulled off the now useless VR helmet. "No." Dressing Lad shot back, "it didn't! Now what do we do?" The last was said mostly rhetorically. "Dressing Lad wait here. Salad Barbarian have idea." It took a few seconds for Dressing Lad to fully understand that very alien statement. By the time he did, Salad Barbarian had returned to the room. "Barbarian?" "Yes?" "Barbarian, what are you wrapped in?" "Barbarian use Duct Tape." "You've wrapped yourself, head to toe in…" "In Duct Tape. Salad Barbarian get idea from Home Improvement Network." "And, what show was that?" "Red Green Show." "Right. Well. You realize that you're going to have to remove that tape later, right?" "Salad Barbarian like to burn one bridge at a time. Now is time for Salad Barbarian to fight Squirrel. Salad Barbarian know that squirrel eat.. things... Salad Barbarian prefer squirrel not to eat. Salad Barbarian confuse squirrel and make Salad Barbarian not look like main course at squirrely café! Salad Barbarian show squirrel who is boss!" "The big green moron wrapped in duct tape?" "Big SILVER moron wrapped in duct tape!" The Barbarian corrected, and strode out of the back of the van and into the backyard of the recently vacated Williams household. Dressing Lad busily detached himself from the computer equipment and prepared himself to aid the Barbarian. He didn't have to wait long. There was an all too familiar scream followed by a resounding THUD as the Barbarian made a sizeable dent in the roof of the van. "Barbarian! You ok?" "Squirrel much smaller in real life. Took Barbarian by surprise." The Barbarian leapt off the roof and walked back into the yard. Mighty war cries from the Barbarian were interspersed among high pitched chittering and ground shaking thuds. Dressing Lad sat and watched the trees shake violently from the battle. Several flocks of birds took flight, escaping the carnage that ensued below. Then there was silence. Dressing Lad grabbed as many bottles of dressing he could carry and raced toward the backyard, fully expecting the worst. Before he could get there, though the gate opened, and out stepped the Barbarian, significantly worse for the wear, but still very much alive. The question of how most of the duct tape was going to be removed was also no longer quite as much of an issue. "Barbarian? Did you do it? Did you win?" The mighty Barbarian looked at Dressing Lad, blinked, then held out a hand. Dressing lad rummaged through his collection before pulling out a rather potent mix of blue cheese and garlic that seemed to help the Barbarian after larger battles (even though it meant he had to sleep outside for a while). Salad Barbarian didn't rub it on himself. He simply snapped the top off the bottle and guzzled the mixture down, then sighed. He dangled the now empty bottle idly between two fingers, as if nothing unusual had just happened. "Salad Barbarian not really win, per se.. Salad Barbarian not really lose either. Salad Barbarian and squirrel simply come to… understanding." Dressing Lad sat at the dining room table of the Salad Citadel finishing up a report on the benefits of Raspberry Vinegar in a regular diet for class when he first noticed the small flap door. It looked like a doggie door, well, no, more of a cat door, except for the fact that it was located near the top instead of the bottom. Almost on cue, the door flapped open and in... err.. flew... well.. floated the squirrel. Strangely, that wasn't the part that really caught Dressing Lad's attention. The squirrel was wearing a tiny cape and mask. The cape was somewhat stylish and featured an yellow acorn on a dark green background. The mask was a matching dark green, as were the gloves and boots. The squirrel scanned the room and saw the Barbarian watching cartoons. He flew over and hovered in front of the Barbarian. "Dinner already?" The squirrel chittered a bit. "Squirrel have that for lunch. You sure you want it again?" The squirrel chittered a bit more. "Well, Squirrel and Salad Barbarian can go to Pantry." The two walked past Dressing Lad and toward the pantry. The Barbarian opened the door. Dressing Lad leaned back in his chair, trying to see what was going on. The back wall of the pantry was lined with every sort of nut known, and quite possibly a few that weren't. There was also a wide assortment of dried fruits, peanut butters of various makes, and other tidbits that the squirrel carefully examined. Eventually the squirrel floated down to a package of cashews and chittered. "Ok, squirrel can have cashews, but squirrel also need to have some of these." The squirrel made a sort of disappointed chittering. "Squirrel not argue. Pellets good for squirrel. Make squirrel healthy and strong! ..er." The squirrel snatched both and floated back out into the living room. It drifted down to the table and began munching the pellets. Salad Barbarian ambled his way back to the sofa as well. "Barbarian?" Dressing Lad asked. "Yes Dressing Lad?" "This was the agreement? We feed the Squirrel?" "Yes. Squirrel pretty up on the idea too." "I can imagine. But why did you dress him in that costume?" "Salad Barbarian not dress Squirrel in costume." "You... then who did?" "That Squirrel's idea. Though costume good way to pick up chicks." "Barbarian?" "Yes Dressing Lad?" "Nevermind." 02:07:05 Bad Night in Boise Part 1 (by steve keller) Roger hopped out of the van, looked both directions, and then approached the folding card table. "You again," the gypsy said, watching him approach. "What have you got this time?" Roger asked. "Tchagran video games? Bootlegged Centauri action films?" "Pokemon cards," the gypsy replied. "Strictly legit. I got them from eBay." "What's the real reason you're here?" Roger asked. "SAG won't let me have my dental coverage if I don't show up in at least four episodes a season." "Shame about these cards," Roger said, picking one up. "That fad's over. You're out whatever you spent on them, I guarantee." The gypsy growled a burst of profanity that would make Phil do a double take. "You really don't have anything illegal on your person?" Roger asked. "What, and ruin your day?" the gypsy quipped. "I've got a half a cube of Warban jerky in my pocket that I've been using to keep myself from starving to death. You want to take it from me? Go ahead. At least, if I starve to death, I won't have to put up with this miserable planet anymore." "A little touchy?" Roger asked. "I just need some information and I'll leave you alone." "Sorry, I'm fresh out." "You weren't near the Rideau Canal Wednesday night, were you?" "If I was I didn't see anything," the gypsy said. "No boats, nothing." "That's a shame," Roger said. "Apparently a shipment of Tamarlin nova grenades made its way into Ottawa on Wednesday, destined, no doubt, to end up in the hands of humans who would actually put them to use." "You're crazy," the gypsy said. "Nobody I know would deal in those things. They're too dangerous. One little coating of wax seperating the explosive core from swift and loud combustion. Uh-uh." "Well, if you're sure," Roger said. "Still, it would be a shame if someone cooked one of them off in the Capital here. Especially if you're still here." "Nobody's that stupid," the gypsy said. "Haven't you been watching the news?" Roger asked. "Wait, forget I said that. I wasn't thinking about who I was talking to." "Ok," the gypsy said. "Suppose I did hear something about a shipment, assuming I didn't know what was in it. What's in it for me?" "Beyond saving your own skin?" Roger asked. "I might be willing to overlook the twelve cases of Carffee you've got on order to trade with the Pidarians." "How did you know a-" the gypsy stammered. "Wait. I don't want to know. It's more fun when you show up unannounced. Ok, here's the deal. There's a Slax working out of an apartment above Zaphod's. He sells anything he can get his hands on, and I've done a few runs for him, but nothing dangerous. Anyway, he wanted me to do a run on Wednesday, pick up a few dozen crates from a private boat that was supposed to be in the Canal. I couldn't do it because I had a shipment of bootlegged Team Canada World Cup jerseys coming in." "Your timing is impeccable," Roger noted. "Regardless," the gypsy replied. "That's who you want to talk to. That's really all I know." "You're sure?" Roger asked. "Yes. Positive." "Ok, I'll be right back," Roger said. "Where are you going?" "Back to the van," Roger replied. "To get Phil so she can make sure you're telling me everything." "I swear!" the gypsy yelled. "Don't get Phil! I don't know anything else! I swear to the maker that I know nothing else!" "You know," Roger smiled. "I'm going to believe you this time. Of course, you do realize that, if this doesn't pan out, Phil's going to want to express her displeasure, right?" The gypsy blanched and nodded. The floor beneath Rhino's heels was thumping with the rhythm of the club downstairs as he reached the top of the stairs. He rounded the corner and threw his back against the wall, pointing his rifle down the hallway. Phil swept in behind him and ran to the end of the hallway. She pressed her ear against the door, then nodded in Rhino's direction. Rhino nodded back and Phil stepped aside. Running down the hallway full speed, Rhino picked up a good head of steam before plowing into the door with his forehead. The door, not willing to debate the matter, gave way and Rhino tumbled into the room. It was a small apartment, a living room and dining room in one rectangle, with a kitchen area leading off of one end and a bedroom off the other. There were two young men sitting on pillows on the floor. One was holding a pipe and a lighter; they were both staring at Rhino when Phil came in and drew their attention. "Where's the Slax?" Phil asked, leveling her weapon at them. "The what?" the holding the pipe gasped, obviously terrified. "Big guy," Rhino shouted. "Three arms and a tail." Before they could get a reply, a beam of cyan shot from above the island separating the kitchen and the dining room. Rhino hit the floor and rolled behind the couch; Phil took shelter behind the doorframe, halfway into the hallway. The Slax fired again, this time at Phil. Rhino leapt up from behind the couch and pumped a round into the kitchen, blasting a large hole in the island. The Slax dropped to the floor and Rhino fired again. Phil rounded the corner again and opened fire with a fully automatic weapon that chewed large holes in the far wall of the kitchen. While she had the Slax pinned down, Rhino got to his feet and continued pumping round after round into the island until all that was left was a pile of particle board and a stream of water shooting up where the kitchen sink had been moments before. Phil pulled a small object off of her belt and pulled a ring out of it before throwing it into the kitchen. Rhino fell down behind the couch again and Phil ducked into the hallway seconds before a loud pop shook the apartment. Before the noise even subsided, Phil and Rhino were in the kitchen, weapons readied. The Slax was laying on the floor holding his ears and wiggling his jaw. A dozen or so small, green rodents zipped around inside a cage, obviously terrified by the noise. "Gobliaks," Rhino said, pointing to the cage. "Don't move," Phil growled, kicking at the Slax. "I said get DON'T MOVE! Unless you want me to take practice shots at your tail." "Bloody 'ell!" the Slax shouted. "I can't hear a bloomin' thing!" "Good," Phil said, reaching into her shirt pocket. "Here's a pamphlet listing your rights." "And who the feck are you?" the Slax yelled, then looked at the pamphlet. "Galactic Customs? Get knotted, bint!" Phil swung the back of her weapon down, catching the Slax across the jaw. "I don't have time to play with you today," she said. "Otherwise I'd give you three new elbows on your third arm there. Where are the grenades?" "The what?" the Slax asked. Phil raised her weapon again and the Slax shied back. "Oh, those grenades. They're gone." "Gone where?" Phil asked. "You let the bird do all yer talkin', mate? Where's yer nadgers?" the Slax said to Rhino. Phil stomped her foot down, the tip of her boot in the Slax' crotch and the pointed heel pushing down on the base of his tail. The Slax gasped in pain as his eyes crossed. When he could see straight again, he was looking directly down the barrel of Phil's weapon. "Mine are a bit further down than that but, that's about the same general area." Rhino said casually. "We don't take kindly to arms dealers," Phil said. "I can blow yer head off right now and not even get a reprimand." "Right, right," the Slax said, holding up a hand. "The grenades are on their merry way into the States, innit? A bloke by the name of West. S'all I know. I dumped 'em as soon as I saw what they were, and dumped to someone who would take 'em far away from me." "Where was he taking them?" Phil asked. "I dunno. He said something about Idaho, that's all I know." "That doesn't give us a lot to go on," Jack said, standing at the podium at the front of the meeting room. "What do we have in Idaho?" "Besides the largest chemical warfare stockpile in the world?" Shimo asked, rhetorically. "Nothing." "That's not entirely true," Roger said. "There's a small arms dealer in Boise. Annie Perry." Roger tapped a few keys on the keyboard set into the table in front of him and the image of a pudgy, androgynous face with thin, stringy hair filled the projection screen behind Jack. "Who's she?" Rhino asked. "He," Roger replied. "Er - as far as we can tell. Annie's House of Bondage is a front for a recycled super-weapons shop. Annie sells new, used, and unusual items to superheroes in the greater Boise area and sometimes deals nationally." "Wait," Jack said. "Is this the same Annie Perry that's wanted in San Francisco for selling super paraphernalia against city regulations?" "The same," Roger said. "Why haven't we moved on him?" "Because, so far, he's worked only for the good guys," Roger said, tapping a few more keys. A list of sales replaced Annie's face. "Most of what he carries is legal Earth tech. Nothing that violates GC regs. And anything he's bought from off world has been minor enough to not matter. Plus, Annie's pretty careful about the things he sells and who he sells to." "How often do we hear that?" Rhino chuckled. "You think Annie's moving up in the potency of his wares?" Jack asked. "No," Roger said. "But he's our only lead. Boise's not exactly a hotbed of intergalactic trade. At least, as far as we can tell." "Fine," Jack nodded. "Roger, you and Shimo get down there and do a little spying on this Annie. See if he knows anything. Carla, I want a list of every bus, plane, train, rickshaw, and bicycle carrying goods out of Ottawa and headed for the states." "Er -" Carla said. "Phil, Rhino," Jack continued. "I want the two of you to ready every piece of heavy hardware you can find. I'm giving you full jurisdiction to use whatever means necessary to recover those grenades. If even one of them goes off in the states, we're looking at a major problem. I don't like getting involved in Earth politics, but the GC's responsible if anything happens." The GC agents nodded solemnly, their eyes looking down. "Well let's go, people," Jack said. "Move!" "Ringing," Shimo said, holding an earpiece in up against the side of his head. "Answer. Another 900 soap opera hotline." "What's that, four calls this morning?" Roger asked. "Annie likes his soaps," Shimo replied. "I'll log it, but I think we're wasting our time here," Roger said. "This is the most boring stakeout I've ever been on, and that includes the time we were looking for that Carpolin Sloth in Springfield." Shimo put the earpiece down as the computer in front of displayed a status bar, letting him know it was recording the phone call. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes, then stood up. The inside of the van was cramped, but Shimo was short enough to stand almost completely erect. "I need some air," he said, opening the back door. Shimo hopped off the back of the van and stretched his back out. The pest-control van they'd been sitting in was parked at the end of the block that housed Annie's House of Bondage, and Shimo could see, down it's lazy, tree-lined sidewalks, the front of the store. He turned around and closed the van door almost completely as a Maxima pulled out of the driveway next to Annie's and approached them. "We know who that is?" he asked through the crack. "Annie's neighbors," Roger replied. "They live in the apartment upstairs." "Clean?" "Clean," Roger said. "As far as I can tell they wouldn't know a super weapon if it bit them in the ass." Shimo nodded to the driver as the car rolled silently past the van. "Someone reads a bit too many comics," he said, noting the passenger's outfit. "Annie's got some customers," Roger said. Shimo noticed a pickup that had just parked in front of Annie's. Two men left the vehicle and headed inside the store. Back inside the van, Roger was watching the display of a cleverly hidden camera that Shimo had placed inside the store while pretending to browse an hour or so before. "Terry, Mick," the tiny Annie on the screen said, squeezing his way out from behind the counter. "Any news?" "A shipment of pocket-sized vibroguns," one of the men replied. Annie raised a finger to his lips, then reached behind the counter. He must have turned on some sort of jammer because that very instant the video display went black. The audio, however, kept coming in. "Well, the secondary shielding held anyway," Shimo said, taking the chair behind Roger again. "How many?" Annie asked. "Thirty," one of the men replied. "Anything else?" "A few shock whips." "Shock whips are so Eartha Kitt," Annie said. "Gimme some good news." "All he told us was 'other stuff' when we got the call." "Damn," Annie said. "I really hate dealing with freelancers. If this West guy didn't come so highly recommended from my friends in Ottawa -" "Ottawa?" Roger and Shimo said at the same time. "- I swear," Annie continued. "So when and where?" "Five thirty at the warehouse on Muldoon." "Five thirty?" Annie yelled. "I've got a business to run besides my business. Besides, I'm going to miss John Edward." "I think we just got our time and location," Roger said. "Calling Jack now," Shimo said. "What ever happened to the days of holding decent hours?" Annie asked. "What's wrong with meeting in abandoned warehouses in the wee hours of the morning?" "Ok, Jack," Carla said, staggering into the meeting room with a weighty stack of papers in her arm. "I printed out every manifest I could find for the last four days out of Ottawa." "Good," Jack said. "I also cross-referenced against the name West." "That's why we pay you," Jack grinned. "And this," Carla said, thumping the stack of printouts onto the table, "is the best I could do. This one on the top, a guy named West got onto a train headed directly into Baker City with several crates he listed as 'Pet Supplies.'" "Right up the highway from Boise," Jack thought, out loud. "Good work Carla." "Thanks Jack," Carla beamed. "Roger and Shimo just called in to give us the time and place this West guy has his meeting set up for." "They -" Carla muttered. "Who - wha - buh? Oh poop! You mean I did all that work for nothing?" "Not for nothing," Jack said. "We now know how many boxes he's moving." "I so need a vacation," Carla mumled. "You're sure that's necessary?" Roger asked, looking Rhino up and down. "Positive," Rhino grinned, snapping into place the last bit of ffinch-ffirnian battle armor into place. "Besides, Shimo says the computer system he put into it is better than the original one that got fried." "We also know nothing about this West guy," Phil said, walking over. She was dressed, head-to-toe in an odd combination of Shadowrun tech gear and Wagnerian Valkyrie armor. "No sense in taking chances," she said. "We really have to get a transport out to pick up contraband more than once every three years," Roger noted, to nobody in particular. "Rhino," Jack said, walking up behind him, "I'm trusting you here. You too Phil." "Gotcha," Phil said. "I mean it," Jack said. "I know," Phil said. "No, really, you can trust us." "There's a truck approaching," Shimo said, from the back of the semi they'd filled with surveillance equipment. "I think it's West." "Five-thirty on the dot," Shimo said, watching the screen as the pickup they'd seen earlier pulled up to the warehouse. "Annie is nothing if not punctual." They watched as Annie, Mick, and Terry got out and entered the building. Shimo flipped a switch and the view changed to inside the warehouse. Annie walked in and looked around at the dozen open crates that West had dragged in just a few minutes before. One of Annie's sidekicks picked up a sample of the wares and Annie chastised him for playing with things. West, dressed in a cowboy hat and duster, both of which conveniently hid his face and body from the cameras, was beaming with pride as he led the three between the rows of crates. West had his own helpers, Shimo had counted fifteen of them, although the GC agents couldn't see any of them at the moment. "Don't touch," Annie said. "I was just looking at it," the man said. "Don't even look," Annie said. "I don't even know what that is. Looks like a ball gag." "It's a grenade," West said. "Not my bag," Annie replied. "You sure?" West asked. "These are some might powerful grenades." "That's our cue," Rhino said, and he and Phil ran down the lane between warehouses. "Freeze!" Phil shouted, as they ran into the warehouse. West's henchmen immediately appeared from various hiding places around the warehouse, each had a weapon trained on the agents. "Galactic Customs," Phil yelled. "You're all under arrest." "Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" Annie yelled. "I'm a bleeder!" "Kill them," West said, then ran toward the back of the warehouse. West's men opened fire. That, in and of itself was not surprising. What caught Rhino and Phil off guard was the fact that they were firing plasma weapons. "Hey Phil," Rhino called, from behind the pillar he was using for cover. "Yeah Rhino?" Phil called back. "Ready for a little fun?" "I thought you'd never ask." Rhino and Phil both came out of cover at the same time, guns blazing. Guest-1 Bad Night in Boise (by steve keller) I knew right away it was going to be one of those days. Port Charles was interrupted by a speech from the President about Somebody-or-other doing something in some place that, three weeks ago, I'd never even heard of. Then Mom called with the usual half hour of guilt and depression. And as if things couldn't get bad enough, the cat knocked the Clorox bottle off the shelf and into a basket full of clean laundry. My Sailer Moon shirt was a total write-off. Boy, was my therapist going to get an earful tomorrow. I try to have the store open by noon, but I never have any customers until one or two in the afternoon, and then it's usually the closet freaks in suits looking for the latest copy of Barely Legal on their lunch breaks. But, that's what I do. I sell porn. When I left San Francisco four years ago, I had no marketable skills. Fortunately, I was able to fall back on my experience managing an adult book store, and opened one of my own. Annie's House of Bondage, adult toys, videos, and reading material of every persuasion, conveniently located on West Grand Avenue, just off of 184. Stop by and see me. I'm Annie. As I said, I never have any customers before one, so I was kind of surprised when, around noon thirty, a cute asian man entered the store. He kind of looked like Gedde Watanabe, but there was something odd about him. I'm a hands-on kind of person when it comes to my customers, but when I asked for help, it was clear he was a little nervous, so I left him to wander around the store. That's when the Fantastic Female came in. That's the other side of my business. I've always had a knack for finding bargains on items that most people wouldn't know existed, things like stun bracelets and electronic pocket boomerangs; the usual superhero knick-knacks. It's been a nice side business for me. It's also the reason I left San Fran, but that's another story entirely. "Hey, Annie," the Fantastic Female said, sashaying through the door. Seeing her always made me smile, mostly because I knew her father was a deacon at Second Methodist, and he would have an absolute heart attack if he saw her in here. "You know," I said, giving her my best mischievous grin, "I got a shipment of fishnets in, and there's a leather bustier on the rack over there that's just your size. How about we do something about that Miss America look of yours?" "Not today, Annie," she said. She's so up tight, poor girl. "I actually just came in to get a bottle of vinyl oil for my costume." I rolled my eyes and reached down to open the back of the glass case. "Oh," she whispered, "and is my 'special order' in yet?" Her 'special order' had been on my shelves for almost a year, but I could charge her a little more if she thought I had to make a few calls to get it. After grabbing the bottle of oil, I headed into the back and threw a box of extra-strength laxatives into a paper bag. Well, you didn't think she stayed Fantastic for a decade with diet and exercised, did you? I came back out and sat the paper bag on the counter, then rang up her total. As I did so, another of my favorite customers came in. He was The Stallion, and, although the only thing equine about him was the tail that dangled from the back of his suit, he still fit the name perfectly. "Annie," he said, flashing his sixteen-hundred dollar grin, "how's your love life?" "As fulfilling as chinese food," I said. "I've got your special order." The box of extra-extra-large condoms was the size of your average cereal box, and still only contained six condoms. The Fantastic Female's eyes almost fell out of her head and rolled across the counter as I sat the box down. She looked from the box to the Stallion and back several times, all the while turning the most amazing shade of red I'd ever seen. "Well, they don't call him the Stallion for nothing," I told her. She plopped a twenty down on the counter and ran out without waiting for change. The Stallion and I exchanged grins and I rang up his purchase on the register. "Thanks Annie," The Stallion said, "now she'll never be able to make eye contact with me at the League meetings." The Stallion flashed the smile that sent girls everywhere into cardiac arrest, then headed for the door. As the Stallion was leaving, I noticed that Gedde had disappeared. It was close to one-thirty when Terry and Mick came in. Mick did some sniffing around town for me on occasion, finding out which heroes were going bankrupt or hanging up their spandex, setting up meetings with brokers, things like that. The trouble with Mick was that he had a lead foot, and lost his license. Terry was his brother, a total moron, but Terry had a license, so wherever Mick went, Terry went too. "Terry," I said. Acknowledging his presence made him feel important. "Mick, any news?" "A shipment of pocket-sized vibroguns," Mick replied. I shuddered. The man had absolutely no concept of secrecy. I shushed him and reached under the counter where the signal jammer was. The trouble with signal jammers is that, if someone really is listening to what's going on in your store, turning one on looks really suspicious. They also play hell with your TV reception. "How many?" I asked. "About thirty," Mick replied. That wouldn't do. Those things have small batteries and die after just a few uses. I usually sell them to the younger heroes cheap. "Anything else?" "Shock whips." "No no no," I said. "Shock whips are so Eartha Kitt. I'm not running a Hollywood prop store here. Gimme some good news, there has to be something interesting." "That's all I know," Mick shrugged. "He listed that stuff and said 'other stuff.' Wouldn't tell us no more." "Fine, fine," I said. "This is why I hate dealing with freelancers. You get such better deals at foreclosure auctions, and you always know what's up for sale. If this West guy didn't come so highly recommended by my friend in Ottawa I'd never agree to this. So when and where is this meeting?" "Five-thirty, in a warehouse on Muldoon," Mick said. "Five-thirty?" I choked. "As in the evening? That's ridiculous. I have a business to run besides my business. Besides, John Edward's on then. What ever happened to clandestine meetings in the wee hours of the morning?" Mick shrugged helplessly. I noticed Terry was fondling a key chain shaped like a boob, so I slapped his hand. "Fine. Be back here in four hours." "You're taking us along?" Terry asked. "Unfortunately," I said. "My Kia's in the shop." West had the place all decked out when we arrived, and was beaming like a Hyundai salesman. He looked like Steve Irwin would look if Steve Irwin had grown up in a middle-class neighborhood in Montreal. There were two rows of crates, a wide walkway down the middle. I felt like I was shopping at black-market Ikea. The first box was the pocket vibroguns. They were about three inches long, and topped with the mouthless face of a well-known cartoon cat. I decided to buy all that West had. I turned to ask West a question and noticed Terry and Mick giggling off to the side. Terry was holding a small, red ball attached to a leather strap. He had the ball in his mouth and was attempting to tie the leather strap behind his head. "Don't touch," I chastised. "You don't know what that is." "It's a grenade," West smiled. "Quite powerful. Will take out most of a city if you light it off." He picked one up and showed it to me. The ball was about an inch in diameter, it looked like a jawbreaker except that it was coated in red wax. The strap had a hook at one end and a loop at the other, like a wrist watch. "You tie this strap around your arm or whatever other appendage is handy," West continued. "The ball pulls off easily. You scratch the coating, then throw. Doesn't matter how far you throw it because you can't throw it far enough to get away." "Sorry," I said. "Not my bag. I don't deal in weapons of mass destruction." "You're sure?" West asked. "They're some mighty powerful grenades." "Quite sure," I said. "That's the kind of thing the super villains would use, not the heroes." West put the grenade back and picked up a pillow shaped like a male organ. "This here," he said, holding it out where I could see it, "is a pocket speed boat. Pull this cord here and it inflates into a cigarette boat about eight feet long. Enough fuel in the two chambers here at the bottom for about twenty minutes of continuous, high-speed sailing." "Interesting," I said. I looked into the crate to see what other colors they came in. If they came in black I could sell at least three of them to the Grayhound. Or, at least, I could have, if I'd been able to buy them. Unfortunately, the purchase was interrupted by a giant ant and an extra from Flight of the Valkyries, both of whom charged into the warehouse with rather large weapons on their persons. "Freeze!" the Valkyrie yelled. "Galactic Customs, you're all under arrest." I panicked. I threw my hands over my head and dropped to my knees. "Don't shoot!" I yelled. "I'm a bleeder! I surrender!" This wouldn't be the first time I was 'apprehended' during a sale, but it would be the first time I've had to deal with Galactic Customs. From tales I've heard, they don't mess around. Apparently they were some kind of international government agency, and they usually showed up with tanks and jets and giant robots. I looked up and noticed West, reactionless. I had thought he was alone when we came in, now I noticed there were a dozen or so men around the warehouse, also holding large, angry-looking weapons. "Kill them," West said, then turned around and walked away. Before the first shot was fired, I was hiding between two crates as best I could. Terry and Mick had apparently had the same idea I had, they were both hiding behind the same crate I was. Terry was holding a leather strap in his hand. He had a look of total fear on his face. "It's ok," I told him, ducking as part of the crate above me exploded into splinters. "We'll deal our way out of arrest." "It's not that," Terry said, holding up the leather strap. That's when it hit me. "Where's the ball?" I asked. "I swallowed it," Terry replied, forlorn. "It's ok," I said. "I got something in the shop that will help." The gunfight was short. Apparently the giant ant and the Valkyrie had done this kind of thing before. West wasn't even out the back door before he was trapped in a quick-drying foam. I wondered where they'd gotten it and if it was better than the brand I carried. "Mr. Perry," the one in the suit said. If I didn't know better, I'd swear he was Carmen from Guiding Light. He gestured toward the crate of grenades while filling out a form on a clipboard. "These grenades are banned weaponry. You are hereby placed under arrest for violation of Galactic Treaty T-655, code ST-643, section 41, sub-section C, attempting to purchase contraband weapons, and code ST-631, section 48, attempting to purchase off-world technology on a quaranteed planet." "But I wasn't going to buy the grenades," I protest. "We have the whole thing on tape," he replied. "If you have it on tape then you know I wasn't going to buy them." "He's right," the older one said. "Let him go, Roger." "Roger" grimaced and walked away. "Thanks," I said. "Don't thank me," he said. "You lead us right to West. Now get out of here." "You're not going to neuralize me, are you?" I heard Terry ask. "I could if you wanted me to," the redhead next to him said. "No!" Terry shouted. "Come on," I said, pulling his arm. "Let's get you back to the store." "You're sure about this?" Terry asked, looking at the size of the pill. "Just be thankful it's not a suppository," I said. "These are the most powerful laxatives in the world. Swallow this and in less than an hour you'll no longer have to worry about that grenade in your belly." Terry made a face and popped the pill in his mouth. He chased it with a swig of water. "Don't tilt your head back," I said. "It makes the pill float to the top. Tilt your head forward." Terry did, and then swallowed. "Good," I said. "Come back in a week when you've got something for me that doesn't involve getting shot at." "What about our fee?" Terry asked. "Your fee," I said. "Ok, I offered you fifteen-hundred, right?" Terry nodded. "So that's fifteen hundred to you. But," I said, holding a finger up, "the dealer you lead me to was being watched by government agents and got busted, which means that I lost all the merchandise I was going to buy. So that's thirty times forty for the vibroguns, and, I'll be nice, four hundred for each of the inflatable boats. The way I figure it, you still owe me nine-hundred dollars. Now, you can either pay me, or get out of my store and we call it even." "I - er - think we'll call it even," Terry said. "Good man," I smiled. "Now get out of here." It wasn't twenty minutes after they'd left when Gedde came back in. He was followed by the short redhead and that Roger guy in the suit that I'd seen at the warehouse. Now it made sense, Gedde was working for Galactic Customs. "Looking for something for off-hours fun?" I asked. "Hardly," Roger said. "Nothing you have in here would work for me anyway, and Carla would be too embarrassed to use any of it. Shimo on the other hand -" "Hey," Shimo said. "Anyway," Roger continued, "That's not why we're here." He held up the leather strap for me to see. "Apparently, you weren't very honest with us, Mr. Perry. Where is it?" "I didn't take it," I said. "My associate swallowed it." "What?" all three said, simultaneously. "That's a good act," I said. "You should take that on the road." "Did you say he swallowed it?" Roger asked. "Yes. But, he'll pass it, flush it, and that'll be that." "No," Roger said, "that won't be that. Do you know how they work?" "'Fraid not," I said. "I don't deal in things like -" "Yeah, I know. The saint routine," Roger said. "Well let me give you a quick lesson. The core of those grenades is highly reactive to air. Once it touches air, the reaction begins. If it touches air long enough, it goes off. That core is also is protected by only a thin wax layer, which I guarantee will not be able to stand up to your associate's stomach acids and internal body temperature." "So the air inside his stomach -" I said. "Is mostly methane," Shimo said. "What little oxygen may be in there won't be enough to complete the reaction, but enough to start it." "So he goes, the grenade falls in the water of the toilet and washes away," I said. "No air." "Until it reaches the waste processing plant," Roger said. "At which point a good portion of Boise disappears in a close approximation of a solar flare." "Ugh," I said. "So where is he?" Roger asked. "Little Dick's Halfway Inn," I said. "It's a bar next to the Hilton on River Road." "Let's go." "Me?" "You have to identify him for us," Roger said. "Besides, it won't matter if you're here or there if it goes off." "I guess not." The bar was crowded. People were dancing around on the dance floor, and mingling in various places around the room. I looked around quickly, trying to spot them. If I knew Mick and Terry, they'd already have been slapped by most of the women here. Fortunately, my guess was right, and Mick was standing alone at the bar. We hurried over and grabbed him. "Where's Terry?" I asked. "I think he's in the bathroom," Mick said. "That laxative you gave him -" "Laxative?" Roger yelled. "Where's the bathroom?" "Over there," Mick pointed. Roger grabbed my arm and we ran for the bathroom. He pushed the door open. We shoved our way past the crowd of patrons waiting for a urinal and headed for the stalls. Roger's hand went flat and slid into the gap around the first door and lifted the latch. The guy on the other side wasn't too appreciative when we opened the door on him. "Hey!" he protested. "Sorry," Roger said, then repeated his amazing trick on the next door. Terry was sitting on the toilet, a pained look on his face. "Terry stop!" I yelled. Terry looked up in terror. "Annie," he said. "You said there's a hotel next door?" Roger asked me. "Yeah, a Hilton." "Do they have a pool?" "Yeah," I said. "Why -" Roger grabbed Terry and pulled him out of the stall. Shimo put his hand under Terry's other arm and they dragged him out of the bathroom. The bar patrons erupted into hysterics as they pulled Terry through the room with his pants around his ankles. "If this is one of your initiations, Annie, I'm not interested!" Terry cried. "Hold it in, Terry!" I said. "I can't!" Terry yelled. "If you don't it's going to explode," I said. "I know!" Terry said. "That's what I want!" "No," I said. "I mean explode as in BOOM explode." Terry went white. "The grenade will -" he said. I nodded. Outside the bar, Roger stopped. He looked up at the hotel, then he and Shimo started leading Terry to the gate surrounding the pool. "I can't hold it any longer," Terry moaned. The gate was locked, but Roger pulled out a gun and shot it open. Fortunately, there was nobody in the pool. Unfortunately, we had a large crowd following us from the bar. Carla shut the gate behind us and the crowd complained. Roger and Shimo pulled Terry over to the pool and threw him in. Terry made his way over to the steps and sat down. "Why am I -" "Ok," Roger said. "Now you can go." "Go?" Terry asked. "Yes," Roger said. "You can - um - go potty." "I uh-" Terry said. "I can't." "Why not?" "I'm in a pool!" Terry yelled. "And - and there's all these people watching me." "Terry," I said, kneeling down on the pool. "You have to. You can do it." "I can't," Terry said, tears welling up in his eyes. "You can." "I can't, I want to take this all back." "You can't take it back, Terry. Just push." "I can't push, it hurts!" "You have to push. Take a deep breath." Terry inhaled deeply. "Now push!" I told him. He did. "You can do it, push!" "I - ngh - I can't!" "You're doing fine," I said, rubbing his forehead. "Take another breath." "I hate you for this!" Terry growled. "This is all your fault!" "One more big push for Daddy," I said. "Deep breath." Terry took a deep breath again and bore down. "I caaaaaaan't," he groaned. "You're doing it," I said. "It's almost here." "Aaaaagh!" Terry cried. The grenade shot out from under him and skittered across the bottom of the pool. Then, so did everything else he'd eaten since. "You did it," I said, cradling his head in my arms. "You did good. I'm proud of you." The audience erupted into thunderous cheering. I heard the gate open and looked up to see the older Galactic Customs agent walk in, followed by a stereotypical jarhead and a goth chick with long, black hair. "What's the situation, Roger?" he asked. "Right there, Jack," Roger said, pointing into the pool. "Well, at least, you could see the grenade a few minutes ago - when the water was clear." "So go get it," Jack said. "Me?" Roger asked. "Well," Jack said. "We could send Carla in." "I - uh - forgot something in the van," Carla said, then ran away. "Shimo?" Jack asked. "I have to - um - do - something - with the computers," Shimo said. "Rhino?" "No," Rhino said. "Well, Roger," Jack said. "You could always ask Phil if she would do it." Roger looked from Jack to Phil and back to Jack. "I want hazard pay for this," he said, then hopped into the water. "Take this card," Roger said, sliding the business card across the counter to me. "Next time you come across something that seems out of the ordinary, send an email to fish@ehalibut.com and we'll show up." "Gotcha," I said, tucking the card under the drawer of the register. Roger grinned, then walked out of the shop. "So," I said. "So," Mick said. "How's he doing?" "He'll live," Mick replied. "Good," I said. "Take one of those inflatable hemmorhoid seats for him." "Will do," Mick said. "Still, I think he'd rather have you send flowers." "I could kill you and he'd have all he wants after your funeral." Mick grinned and walked out. After Mick left, I locked up. I'm usually open until three, but tonight I decided to close early. In the back room, TIVO was happily blinking at me. I picked up the remote and sat down and John Edward appeared on the screen. Ok, can Everyone still alive? It's ok, the shaking will stop shortly. Will John Edward actually make contact with the ghost of the mother of the woman in the third row? Will Roger file a request for reimbursment for his drycleaning? And when the hell will JR be back? (I know you're all screaming that last one) Tune in Next Time for: JR's Triumphant Return or Guest Spots Are Best Done by the Sane Chapter 35 Bearing Crosses A green and sliver Subaru pulled into the dirt parking lot above Louis' Diner. Inside the car, Sandra McCovey checked her makeup and attempted to put her hair in some semblance of order. She had spent the night driving to Boise. Granted, it was her choice. Whoever this Chris Reid character was, he didn't scrimp. He had wired her more than enough money for a first class, round trip airline ticket and a three-star hotel downtown. He had also sent along a rather nice selection of itineraries that she could pick from, along with directions on how to get to the diner. A diner. Sandra looked down at the ancient restaurant and smiled. The place was an absolute throwback, but not in the kitschy way that you'd normally expect. This place simply hadn't been updated in well over fifty years. It had a beautiful view though. Sandra presumed that her soon-to-be boss probably wasn't interested in trying to impress her. Actually, the fact that he was offering to bring her up and buy lunch was pretty much unheard of. Normally, she was the one who had to kiss up. Of course that was when she had Tiffany and Alexis around to close the deal. 'No!', she thought, 'I'm not going to get myself all bothered, particularly not before I meet a prospective client!' Sandra gathered her attaché and portfolio and made her way down the hill toward the diner. A grandmotherly woman met her and showed her to a booth with a "Reserved" sign. Well, not so much a sign as the word "RESERVED" written in marker on a placemat. "Is Mr. Reid here yet?" Sandra asked. "Who?" "The man who reserved this table. Mr. Reid?" "Oh, him? No, he's not been in yet, but I suppose we'll probably hear from him shortly." The woman smiled then turned toward the kitchen and yelled "CLEM!! Watch the Pastries this time!!" Sandra smiled back as confusion began to creep into her mind. Several cups of decaf and random moments of small talk with the waitress later, Sandra checked her watch. Mr. Reid was over forty minutes late. She felt herself growing annoyed. She always prided herself on being prompt for any business deal, and expected the same from others. 'Perfect, I drive all the way up here and get stood up. This is JUST what I needed. Granted I could stay over in some hotel... if I hadn't already sent that money to the lawyers. Good going, Sandy! Way to dig yourself deeper.' She continued to mentally beat herself. 'Heck, I don't even know if this Reid guy is legit. He might be some sort of total perv looking for nudie shots or somethingi, then I've got to get in my friggin' car and drive all the way back home and I'm back to square one. What was I thinking! I should have just insisted on a phone conference instead of getting myself hooked like a trout.' There was a chime at the door. "Sorry, I'm late, Ms. McCovey. I was delayed by..." Several cars came to a screeching stop as the large pane glass window disappeared in a spray of glass and grit. Hidden near the center of the explosion was a figure dressed in dark gray. Chris hit the ground and rolled a few extra feet. "Ah, I see you remember me." Sandra McCovey leaned out the window and began screaming unprintable words, venting the frustration she felt toward the one responsible for putting her sisters behind bars, her career in shambles and generally ruining her life. Chris sat up and said nothing. He simply waited for Sandra to finish venting. Occasionally, he dodged a few of the heavier forms of aggregate that the Sand-Wytch hurled to emphasize a point. Eventually Sandra stopped screaming and began crying. Chris waited a few more seconds before getting up and calmly walking to the front door of the diner. "Mind putting that on my bill, Ginger?" "Already done, hun. We were looking to replace it anyway," the old waitress said as she wrote on her pad. Chris removed his hat and mask and reached out a hand to Sandra. "Ms. McCovey?" Sandra looked at Chris through swollen eyes. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Christopher Reid." Sandra stared at her cold home fries. Although they were good, they weren't what left her speechless. No, that was due to the latest in a long line of similar statements originating from to the gentleman sitting in her tailgate next to her. "You want me to what?" Chris finished chewing and washed down his waffle with a sip of luke-warm coffee. He would have preferred eating inside of the restaurant, but considering that the Diner was a bit of a mess, and he was once again to blame... "Basically, I thought you might like to have a student." "You mean to teach photography?" "That would be what you would tell anyone who was to ask." "Mr. Reid..." "Please, call me Chris. The last woman who called me Mr. Reid wore a habit." "Mr. Reid, " Sandra said, not willing to give in to informality, "The skills I posses cannot simply be taught like some sort of card trick. They require years of study, careful training, and frankly should not be taught to simply anyone. You, of all people, should realize the danger that such power can..." "I'm not asking you to teach anyone. He already knows the trick." Chris said in a casual tone. "'Knows the trick?' What do you mean, 'knows the trick?' If he's already an accomplished wizard, he certainly doesn't need me telling him what to do. Heck, I'm a one trick pony." "He's not an accomplished wizard. He's a seventeen year old kid who just figured out how to turn downtown Boise into a rock garden." "A rock garden?" Sandra said in puzzled disbelief. Then she remembered the newscast she'd heard briefly on the drive up. Something about huge crystal pillars forming in Boise due to some bizarre natural phenomenon. "Oh, come on! You mean to tell me that was done by some freaky seventeen-year-old kid? Look, I've been doing this for twenty years, and the most I've been able to do is summon a few twenty-pound rocks. And let me tell you, doing that takes a lot out of you." Chris winced, remembering his own experience with those rocks. "Yeah, I know." It had been a long time since Sandra was really able to talk about her 'hobby'. Plus the whole idea that there was someone out there that powerful, but that untrained, sent her mind reeling. "Having enough control to summon something like that takes incredible force of will. Maybe a group of Summoners, but not a lot of folks decide to become Summoners. Well, I did because I could never get the hang of the other stuff, even though it drove Mom nuts, but to just suddenly be that powerful you'd have to be..." Sandra stopped talking. She knew of a group that was that powerful. Her mother had spoken of them in whispers. They were an old race, older than the world. They were gods who were so attuned to their elements that they were inseparable from them. But, they were the stuff of legends, warriors, architects, engineers of inconceivable power. The Ancients had gone. They disappeared suddenly and a without trace a to take their place amongst the stars. "...the Al Ma'tals," Sandra whispered. Chris gulped down the last of his coffee. "Yeah. Ji.. err, my associate to the north called him that. He said that this kid was a Silicon Elemental." Elemental? Al Ma'tal? Sandra felt a chill slowly climb up her spine. "And you want me to train him?" "I will pay for your expenses, within reason of course. As I said, you are not to mention what he is to anyone other than myself or individuals I introduce you to directly. Nor do you disclose that I am your direct employer. Ms. McCovey, I will say that what I am asking you to do involves a good deal of risk. There are individuals that are very interested in killing this person and would stop at nothing to see that happen. I, however, have made a promise to someone I respect greatly to see that never happens. If the first line of defense is killed, I know that you are more than capable of taking care of yourself, and possibly the Elemental." Sandra hadn't really listened to what Chris had said. "I... I'm not sure..." "I can understand that," Chris said with a bit of a shrug. " I'm not going to push you for an immediate answer, although I do need one before you depart Boise." Chris produced a card. "This is my residence. Feel free to stop by at any time. Do not call me, or you'll put your student at risk." Chris stood and collected the breakfast containers. "Ms. McCovey, I'm not going to force or coerce you into doing this against your will, but I sincerely hope that you consider accepting my offer. Regardless of your decision, I look forward to your answer. Good Day... oh, and please use this for your current expenses in Boise. It has a limit of $400. That should be enough for today?" Sandra looked at the debit card. On the back was a small post-it with a pin number. It was registered to her. She nodded, absentmindedly. "Very well, I'll see you before you leave, then." And with that, Chris turned and walked to his car. Sandra didn't watch him drive away. She sat in silence, staring out at the horizon from the back of her car. "Hi, can I help you?" JB asked. The woman standing at the door looked a bit uncomfortable. "Uhm, yes. My name is Sandra McCovey and I'm here to see..." JB smiled widely and waved her in. "Oh, Hi! I'm JB. Come inside, come inside." Sandra's lack of comfort grew. She hadn't really planned on going in. "Well, uhm, ok..." "Can I get you something to eat or drink? Zrng made a batch of brownies earlier, but then he's evil that way," JB called back as he jogged up the stairs to the main area. "Ooh, they do kind of smell good," Sandra said. She hadn't really eaten anything since breakfast, and it was getting toward mid-afternoon. JB smiled and started slicing into a pan. "Here, let me get you one. Do you want tea or milk or anything?" "No, I... uh, well if you're having tea already, I'll have a cup, too. " "No problem. Hey, sorry Chris isn't around, but I'm guessing you're here with an answer. He told me someone might be stopping...," JB stopped carving and looked at Sandra with a cocked eyebrow, "Aren't you?... You're the sandblaster chick, aren't you?" JB said with a grin as if remembering an old friend. It was a bit disconcerting to Sandra. She smiled demurely and shook her head. "The, uh,... I'm sure you're mistaken." JB pulled out a chunk of brownie and put it on a plate. "No, I recognize you. Wow, I'm sorry about the whole confusion back then, but you understand that we had no idea either." He put a second on a plate for himself, and walked back toward Sandra. "Maybe I should come back later." Sandra said as she started to rise. JB handed Sandra her brownie. "This is about Mark isn't it?" JB said, rather seriously. "Who?" "Did Chris mention anything about a Silicon Elemental to you?" "Uhm, I'm not really supposed to..." "No, wait, look I'm sorry, it's ok. Please, sit, and at least finish your brownie. Chris told me a few things about this, and we've got a fair amount of shared experience. You can trust me, really. I'm assuming that you're the one he asked to help tutor Mark." "Well, yes. He... Chris.. never told me what the Al Ma'tal's name was." JB rolled his eyes. "Ugh, great. And I just did. " "No, it's ok. I'm just here to return this and say 'No'." Sandra pulled out the ATM card and started to place it on the table. JB suddenly became a bit more animated. "What?? No, please. You can't!" Sandra held up her hands. "I'm sorry, but this is far bigger than what I can do. Besides, I don't think you can trust me." JB straightened and said plainly, "Well, now you're just being dumb." "I beg your pardon?" Sandra said, feeling a bit insulted. "What do you mean 'we can't trust you'?" JB said as he took a forkful of brownie. "Well, excuse me, but the two of you did manage to get my sisters sent to that gawdawful Facility place. You don't go there for jay-walking you know." Sandra said with as much sarcasm as she could muster. "Oh, and so you were the one responsible for robbing the jewelry store and the string of thefts before that? Pretty good trick, considering that you not only had air-tight alibis, but also had recorded appearances over three hundred miles away. Sandra, you weren't the one committing those crimes. Heck, you didn't even know about them." JB responded. "How are you so sure?" "Because I watched you blow a fuse when you found out." "I could be a very good actress, you know." "Sandra, I'm Chris' brother," JB said, as if explaining why the sky is blue. "I know the difference between someone acting like they're ticked at a sibling and someone who really is. You were. The only reason you didn't unleash on them is because they're family. An actress wouldn't have made that distinction. " JB had a point. "I suppose." "And as for not caring, if you didn't give a damn, you wouldn't be sitting here." Ok, two points. Still, Sandra wasn't going to let him know that. "What? I.." "You would have simply emptied that debit card and took off. Instead I'm guessing you probably didn't even use anything on it?" Three points, game. "No, I.. I filled up my gas tank." "$20." "With premium." "$29" Sandra leaned back a bit. JB was right, and it irritated her. The fact that JB even echoed the little voice in her head irritated her more. "Sandra. Look. I really don't know you, but I think I know what you're thinking.", JB paused, then asked, "Did that sound anywhere near as confusing as I think it did?" "Well, yes." "Good, I thought it was just me. Anyway, Mark has a gift, but needs to be guided, and I'm not just talking about his power. He's a good kid, but a little messed up right now. There's no one else he can turn to, no one else that understands what he's going through, or how to handle the responsibility. You didn't screw up, your sisters did, and they're paying the price." "They're paying too much!" Sandra spat. "What's going on is too cruel. You know I haven't even been allowed to visit them since they got sent there? All it's been is one dead-end after another!" JB shrugged, "Ok, well, maybe we can help you with that. Kind of use the system to get you to see them. Would that help?" The flicker of hope, regardless of how faint, was still very attractive. Sandra didn't show it. "Yes, I suppose." "Ok, then. I'll get working on it." Sandra sat thinking a bit longer. "But I can't be a mother to this kid, I mean, I've got my own responsibilities." "And so does Chris. He's not leaving you alone on this. Hey, he may be an insufferable jerk at times... Ok, most of the time, but deep down he's a pretty decent guy. I think he really cares about making sure Mark turns out ok. I'm also pretty confident that he has no intention of turning him into some spandex-wearing idiot." Sandra hadn't really thought about that angle, but felt relieved. "You sure?" JB laughed. "He's getting enough of that from me. Hey, he hates being a superhero, but he feels it's his responsibility. Chris is funny that way. He does a lot of things that he dislikes doing because he feels it's better for someone else. I know he jumped through some pretty nasty hoops to make sure you were cleared. He was the one that found all the evidence to clear you, not the defender's office." "I see." Sandra had wondered how that evidence had surfaced so quickly. "Look. Sandra. I don't know what's going through your mind, but Myr... friend has this advice. Do not be distracted by the things you cannot prove yourself, instead work with the facts you know. The fact is, there's a kid out there you share certain talents with who needs someone to help him make sense of it all." It all sounded too good. "I suppose, still, I'm not sure..." "Ok, how about this? Try it out. It'll give me a chance to figure out how I can help you see your sisters. You can get a feel of what's going on. If you don't like it, you tell us, and we say goodbye. Don't worry about Chris, I'll handle it. If you think you can help, even better. If nothing else, it's easy money for a while, right?" Yet another point. Sandra needed the money, and frankly wasn't doing anything anyway. "Ok, I'll try it out for a bit. " JB smiled again as if he'd just won the lottery, "Great! That's all we can ask for. Thank you." There was a strong note of sincerity in his voice. Sandra believed him. She really didn't know what else to say. Maybe this might work after all, provided she could stand dealing with the guy responsible for causing this mess. The decision made, Sandra finally took a taste of the brownie. "Mmm. This brownie is good, but, it's the strangest thing.." JB took a sip of his tea. "What?" "I keep smelling, something.. like, scrambled eggs?" Sandra had never seen a spit take in person before, nor one executed quite that well. Hi Hi I'm Sid. What's your name? Jesus. That's a Mexican name, isn't it? Yeah, I think so. You really don't look like a Sid. I don't? Heh. Sorry... I think... Oh, no sorry, don't take it wrong or anything. It just kind of struck me funny. Well, if it's any help, you don't look Mexican. Yeah, I noticed that. There was a guy named Mohammad who said the same thing. Nice guy, you should meet him. Really? Well, point him out sometime. Sure. Oh, hey, the big screen is coming on. FzzzzRRzzzrrZZZZZZffffFFFZZZZ Welcome! Welcome one and all. My name is Professor Doom. Charming name. Must have been a fun wedding when his folks got hitched. Oh, be nice. We haven't really heard what the guy has to say. Well, now that you're all finally here, I can set in motion my master plan! "Master Plan?" Is that a good thing or a bad thing? Don't ask me, I just got here myself. Really? Me too. For years mankind has suffered trying to find the answer to one question. Wars have been fought, and countless people have died not knowing if their actions were in vain. A tragic waste of resources, and more importantly, life. This horrible situation can no longer be tolerated. Hear, Hear! Ok, great, but where do we come in? Finally, mankind can answer this question for itself. Provided that someone is bold enough to take the initiative. No one else had stepped forward, so I was forced to do so. I decided to go straight to the source, so to speak. My loyal minions scoured the globe with only one task in mind. Is that one of his "minions"? Kinda looks like a cat. Yeah, but I thought that cats walked on all fours and generally didn't carry rocket launchers. Maybe they're kittens? They brought back the raw samples and materials I needed to create you. Did he just say "create"? Yes, each of you were grown from the samples. Your DNA matches the major religious figures of history. Abraham, Mohammad, Tlamacaztequiuaque, Sidhartha Budda... I'm a religious figure? Guess so. ... and all the others. Each of you were trained in your philosophies while you grew. Well, that explains all those Books on Tape that were scattered around my bed. And now, each of you is ready to take your place and face off. Come again? Because, very soon now, you will help me settle the question that has caused so much suffering among Man. So, I'm guessing what? Round table or something? Only one of you will emerge supreme. Only one will have the strength to rise to the top. From the way he's talking, I'm not so sure. Only one of you will survive the Cage Match of Destiny. Sorry. Didn't quite catch that. Come again? What's a Cage Match? We start with all of you, and by process of elimination only one will remain. I've even gotten a sweet pay-per-view contract. Are we going to be getting a cut of the revenue? Who was that? Some bozo named L. Ron something or other. Tried to tell me about some sort of alien conspiracy crap. Got really nervous when I told him my name though. I'm still kind of curious about this whole "Cage Match" thing. So, prepare! For soon, you will all meet in Boise for The Ultimate Match! Mwah-ha-ha-ha-fzzzRRrrrSSSSSSFFFFFTT Oh, he and that L. Ron guy will get along great. Ok, can I just take a minute here to say HOW INCREDIBLY WRONG THIS STORY LINE IS!? Right, relax. Calm breaths, relaxing images. Will Sandra accept her role as tutor? How will JB help get her access to The Facility? And will the author be descended upon by a swarm of nuns with yardsticks? (my money is on the last one) Tune in Next Time for: The French Exclamation or Sacred Blows Chapter 36 Sacred Blows Damage estimates from the Crystal Catastrophe are in. Estimators have placed it between forty and seventy million dollars. Representatives from USHA have stated that they are willing to pay the city up to thirty million for the resulting damages. Which they feel covers the cost of damages resulting directly from actions performed by the local representative The Grayhound, however they were not immediately willing to discuss any possible reparations for damages created by the Canadian League of Heroes representatives, Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy. Insurance companies at first stated that they were not liable for covering the balance of the repairs because of initial reports that the large crystalline outgrowths were the result of some natural phenomenon, and therefore fell under the "Acts of God" clause. This decision was later reversed when, on Wednesday of this week, huge flaming letters appeared above the damaged area stating "No it's not. Pony up" And speaking of religious acts, promotions have begun for what's been billed as The Cage Match of Destiny. The event has gathered more attention then simply record breaking advanced ticket sales, since it reportedly features clones of major historical religious figures. Several religious organizations have already filed official protests with the City regarding this event. We asked City Hall if there was any comment and received this statement: "The office of the Mayor is carefully reviewing the concerns raised by the various members of the religious community regarding the upcoming attraction, "Cage Match of Destiny". The office wishes to express that it will thoroughly investigate this fun-filled event for the whole family to determine if the participants are the true to life, clones of the major historical religious figures of our time. The office takes such matters very seriously and although tickets are still available, we urge citizens to consult with their religious consultant and or pastors before they act now to get good seats." BM_BSev_682: Tony? PrfDoom: Bob! Hey! Long time, no chat! How's Margie? BM_BSev_682: Fine, Tony, fine. Tony? What are you doing? PrfDoom: Right now? I'm chatting to you Bob. ;) BM_BSev_682: You know what I mean, Tony. What's up with the Wrasslers for Jesus or whatever I keep seeing commercials for? PrfDoom: What makes you think that has anything to do with me? BM_BSev_682: The fact that it's brought to us by "Professor Doom, Inc." PrfDoom: Oh, yes, well, I suppose I probably should have been a bit more creative when it came to naming the holding company, but I was in a bit of a hurry. PrfDoom: You know how hard it is to find good mindless drones that can do decent marketing? BM_BSev_682: Tony... PrfDoom: Well, it's even harder to grow them from a Petri dish, let me tell you... BM_BSev_682: Tony I PrfDoom: Plus all the good ones want to go work for WalMart BM_BSev_682: TONY!! Look, Boise's my territory. Why can't you do this shindig in Poughkeepsie? PrfDoom: I couldn't get a hall. It's wedding season. BM_BSev_682: Ah, right. So why Boise? PrfDoom: I got a really, really good deal. Apparently the Hare Krishna / Amway conference got cancelled at the last moment. BM_BSev_682: And you had nothing to do with that? PrfDoom: No, absolutely not. PrfDoom: well, nothing that can be easily traced at least. PrfDoom: Besides, Boise's been a hopping place lately. I thought it might be nice to get a bit of exposure myself. BM_BSev_682: By having actors wrestle? PrfDoom: Bob! You insult me! Those aren't actors, they're the real deal. BM_BSev_682: Wait, you really did clone Jesus? PrfDoom: Yep, and Mohammad, and Buddha, and anyone else I could get a reasonable DNA sequence of. It was a lot of work, I'll have you know, but I think it was worth it. BM_BSev_682: Why? PrfDoom: Oh, that's right, you don't watch much TV. Let me just say that I wasn't up for yet another rerun of Frasier. BM_BSev_682: Tony, Good Lord, man, you realize that it would have been nice if you had given me a bit of a heads up or asked or something, right? PrfDoom: I suppose, but like I said, it was a good deal and I was in kind of a hurry BM_BSev_682: TONY! Look, I'm a bit tired after that whole crystal thing and would have liked to take a bit of time off first before I have to get into something like this. PrfDoom: What do you mean? You don't have to do anything! I've done all the hard work BM_BSev_682: What's Rule 103, again? PrfDoom: Rule 103? Hang on I need to look it up… PrfDoom: Oh, poop. LAYITEY AND CLERGYMEN!!! CLERICS OF ALL AGES! WELCOME TO THE ENOCSOM IN BAY-OOO-TIFUL DOWNTOWN BOISE. And we're back, LIVE in Boise, I'm Brother William from the Brotherhood of Notre Dame and I'm joined by the 2001 Hooters Calendar Girl, Holly Pechogrande. Hi! Brother Bill! That sure was some battle on the opening card, wasn't it Holly? You bet Brother Bill! If you had asked me putting Confucius up against someone like Bjarke my money certainly wouldn't be on Confucius. No, but looks like he's a regular demon when he's cornered, doesn't it? Confucius say, you goin' down now! But that wasn't the only surprise of the night, was it Holly? You bet Brother Bill! Early on in the Swami Sqwabble, Swami Vivekananda came out strong against eighties EST founder Werner Erhard. I'm guessing that Vivekananda has a sensitive spot about his sarong. But nowhere near as sensitive as Erhard's glass jaw. I don't think it was Erhard's jaw that was glass. Maybe you can talk to him about that vow of celibacy later. Ha ha! Of course most of the serious action has been going on in the stands. You bet! Naturally for an event such as this, security has been tight, but that didn't stop a group of zealots trying to take out sections of the crowd with stuff from the concession stands. Ooh, which sect? Most of them. Well, enough chit chat. That's right! Coming up next are the heavy weight tickets so get to the bathroom now, you're not gonna want to miss this! We'll be right back! Hey, there you are, Jeez! Check this out! What's up Sid? Well, a bunch of us were just sitting around talking about this whole cage match thing. Yeah, kind weird isn't it? You bet. I mean, it's not like we're actually the guys, right? I mean you haven't made the water cooler any more fun or anything have you? Anyway, so I was talking with the Moes… Moes? Yeah, Moses and Mohammad. Oh, right. Anyway so we were talking about the stuff that we got drilled into us in the tanks, and I think we've got it! Got what? The answer! Heck, we don't have to fight it out, dude! We don't have to lift a finger. Ok, I'm listening. It's so dang simple, really. We just should be nice to each other. And what? Ask before we hit or something? No, no, no. That's the basic thing! All of the big-time religions boil down to just that. "Be nice to each other." Instead of beating each other up, all we need to do is just go out there and tell folks that. Hmm, You know, now that you mention it, you're right. I'm pretty sure that's the key bit for me as well. That and something about eating seafood before the weekend or something. Forget that part, Jeez. It's just extra junk they made up after the fact. So, you in? Are you kidding? You bet! Heck, I'll be the first one to shout it out. Coolies! After all, what's the worst thing they can do to me? "…that Fluffy will be back catching Frisbees in about a week. Ken?" "Thanks Susan. Recapping our top story, the Enoscom Center erupted into massive rioting last night as thousands of the devout stormed the center ring after an announcement made by one of the participants… *click*" Luigi turned off the television set when he heard the jingle of the door chime. "'Ey, Welcome to Luigi's Deli, What can I get for you.?" The figure stood dressed in bright red and green garb that had seen better days. "Meyer!" Luigi called as he spread his arms to welcome his best customer. Luigi, a large man by any standard, embraced the smaller customer in an Old Country bear hug as he laughed. "It's been too long Edward! That's odd. Ey! I smell cherries. You change your shampoo or something." Edward extricated himself a bit and brushed bits of hardened pink foam from his cuff. "No, no. I was merely.. detained, a bit longer than I really wanted to." Luigi turned on his heel and strode back behind the deli case. "I have something for you to try." Luigi pulled out a long, thick salami. He carefully chose his sharpest knife and with the skill of a master split and then sliced a paper thin selection from the log. He held out the translucent slice of cured meat that glinted in the late afternoon light. Edward smiled, knowing from the scent alone that this was one of the legendary Pironelli. He carefully took the offered meat and tasted it. It filled his mouth with delicate flavors from the bite of pepper and hints of fine wine to the ancient dried molds that offered an earthy sweetness to the skin. Pironelli was the Stradivarius of Salami, and the offered slice was easily worth it's weight in 24K gold, and generally cost that much too. "Here" Luigi offered a deep red wine served in a simple tumbler to accompany it. The wine was no where near as rare or phenomenal as the salami. Luigi knew that, as did Edward. Still, it was the perfect companion. For a few moments, Edward said nothing, simply enjoying the taste. "So, my friend" Luigi said, "what have you been up to, eh?" "Oh, the usual. Plotting revenge and destruction to those that deserve it most." Luigi sighed heavily and hung his head. "I don't understand you sometime, Edward. Why are you so hard on your family? They've taken good care of you. They even give you plenty of money. Why are you always planning and plotting." Edward smiled. It was an argument they had a hundred times. "Luigi, you, you of all people should know why. I am doing what has to be done. I've tried everything else. This is the only way I have left. I have to stop them." Luigi held up his hands conceding the point. There simply was no changing Edward's mind when it came to this. "And now there's someone else I must deal with. Someone who has decided he needs to stand in my way, and that simply will not be tolerated." "Oh? And just who is this somebody." "Just someone in town. Someone… forgetful." Edward flicked a few more hardened morsels off of his chef's silks and stared intently at nothing. In a wink Edward turned to Luigi and smiled. "Luigi, my friend, I need some sliced meats. Let's start with the Maple Roasted Ham." Luigi laughed and reached for the ham inside the case. "Good choice, Edward. How much you need? Half a pound this time?" "No, a bit more. Let's try seventy three thousand, nine hundred and four slices. Number two thin please." Luigi hesitated halfway to the slicer. "Seventy three thousand… " He loaded the block of meat into the slicer. "I'm going to have to check the locker." That's it? He goes on vacation for two weeks and that's it? No wonder they rioted. Can I get my money back? Tune in Next Time for: Pastrami on Ire or Ham-Fisted Vengance Chapter 37 Pastrami on Ire Zrng slammed the door shut and pressed his back against it. His eyes were wide and skittered back and forth for a few seconds before he raced up the stairs. "Hey Zrng, back so soon?" Chris asked as he completed his latest lap around the cable system. "Bad, bad, bad, bad…" Zrng half mumbled to himself as he darted about the loft. "Uhm, Zrng? Tell me you just forgot your car keys." There was a flush and JB returned to the main room. Zrng raced over, lifted him easily above his head and bounded back toward the stairs. If it were possible, he spoke even faster than he was moving. "Good,JBYou'reBetterAtHandlingTheseSortsOfThingsUhListenThere'sKindOf AbitOfDetailThatIForgotToMentionAboutBeingTheProtectorateAndAllButNow IGuessIKindaNeedToExplainButI'mGuessingThere'sNoRealTimeSoIfYouDon't Mind-HERE!!" JB stared at the closed door suddenly rather disturbed at what might be on the other side. "Uh, Zrng?" JB asked the rapidly retreating alien, "What's out there." Zrng froze in mid step, he turned and smiled weakly. "Them? Oh, it's nothing really. Heh, just a bunch of.. well.. tourists." Zrng continued up a few steps. "Wait a minute, Tourists?" JB felt himself grow a bit agitated. "Well, yeah, sort of, but don't worry, it's a small group, only about thirty or so. Just keep them delayed for a few minutes.. I've.. got a few things to take care of." And with that Zrng finally made it back up the stairs. "THIRTY? Zrng? ZRNG!?" JB called after the erstwhile roommate. It was no use. JB caught an occasional flicker of green beneath a spray of paper or other like debris. There was a knock. JB leapt as if the door suddenly materialized. He steeled himself, not really certain what to expect. He slowly opened the door and looked out at.. well.. Tourists. They were dressed in bright floral shirts and shorts as well as sandals and floppy hats. A few had cameras and were busily taking pictures of all sorts of things they found interesting, such as a patch of sidewalk, or a sign on a lamppost. They chatted amongst themselves, but weren't loud or out of control. In many respects they looked quite normal. Just your every day group tour ready for a full day of fun and adventure, provided your everyday group consisted of five-foot tall wallabies. JB creaked the door open a bit more. And was confronted by an official looking wallaby carrying a folded umbrella. Apparently, the concept of the tour guide's umbrella was more universal than JB had thought. The guide quickly slid inside and closed the door. "Ah good, you would be Ja-hay-Bay-cho?" The official said as he shifted through a metal binder filled with indecipherable documents. "Uh, yeah, I'm JB, and you would be…" "I am Nuyuta Godwalski-cho." The figure said as he quickly squatted down and back up again. JB determined that was as close to a handshake as he would get and returned the gesture. Nuyuta didn't take offense, so JB breathed a quick sigh of relief. "I am from Ywucci Tours, I believe all of the papers are in order if I can get your approvals. As you can see we've got two G-4's , so I'll need a full bioguard rundown and the xenotox coordinates, plus I'd like to make sure that your guide license is properly…" "Is that the manager, Mr Reid?" Zrng stood at the top of the stair. He looked quite different than his previously panicked self. He wore a kahki uniform that still bore a few packaging creases. A metal binder similar to the one that Nuyunta carried was stuffed beneath his arm. He glared down the stairs like a drill sergeant. "Nuyuta Godwalski-cho" the guide squatted quickly, then brushed past JB and headed up the stairs. Zrng simply continued to stare at the alien who recounted his litany of demands to Zrng. JB looked back at the door that stood between himself and the large gang of picture snapping gawkers from beyond. Part of him wondered if he should bring the group indoors and away from any curious onlookers. The other one thought of a loft filled with five foot wallabies. The second argument won, hands down, and he jogged back up the stairs toward the loft. A few steps before he cleared the stairs, though he stopped. The loft didn't look like this when he left. The dining room table had been cleared of the several days worth of accumulation and was set up near the middle of the room. Most of the other furniture was likewise rearranged into various waiting areas near the outside perimeters. The sleeping quarters had been effectively eradicated as the boxes that had made up the walls were pushed against one of the inner walls and draped with sheets to conceal their nature. The only thing that was close to the same spot it was originally was the huge Audio-Tron, but the deep scratches in the wood told JB that Zrng had other ideas initially. Even the TV had been moved atop a few filing cabinets and was tuned to Headline News, which was weird because Chris had just finished watching the report and he hated watching the same thing twice.. "Chris?" JB whispered suddenly realizing that his brother was nowhere to be seen. There was a faint but regular knock from the pantry door. JB opened it and was met by a flood of some of the clutter that normally filled the room. One of the items was Chris. Zrng and the other alien shot them both a withering glance then continued speaking in low tones. Chris, continued to lie on the floor in an uncomfortable position. "JB?", he asked calmly, "What's going on?" "Doesn't that hurt?" JB asked his motionless brother. "Considering how I was a minute ago? No, this is surprisingly comfy. I plan on letting Zrng discover that for himself, right after feeling comes back to my limbs." "Wallaby Tour." "Excuse me?" Chris asked as he looked up at his brother. "As far as I can figure out, there are about thirty odd wallabies with cameras lined up downstairs. They're apparently on some sort of tour or something. I'm not exactly sure how Zrng fits into this, but apparently, he does." Chris stood up, and brushed a few stray flakes of whatever from his lapel. "Darn good reason to go ask him, violently." He straightened his hat and took one step toward Zrng. Zrng quickly rose to his feet and gruntled something to the tour manager. The manager waved his hand and returned to the paperwork as Zrng intercepted the Doggie Duo. "Zrng, what the --haruuff--" Chris managed to get out before Zrng dragged them into the bathroom. Now, understand that this is a downtown Boise Loft. And like most other similar facilities the bathrooms are far from what one would consider spacious. The bathroom in the Grayhound loft was an exception to this standard, however. It was considerably smaller. Three beings could fit into the room provided they were all on very good terms with each other. At the time, this was not the case. "ZRNG! WHAT THE HE.." "He's from the Stockholder." Zrng said cutting Chris off sharply. "So let me get this straight, we either have to play tour guide for a bunch of aliens for the day," Chris said as he tried to massage his forehead (in the tight confines of the bathroom, it meant rubbing his temple against the showerhead), "or we get classified as a hostile planet and our spacestation is destroyed." "Well, in reality, any off world habitation is quarantined until the level of threat can be isolated, classified, and removed, so if you had, say a moonbase or something, you'd really have your seeds in a clambake." Zrng said grumpily. The translators were amazing bits of technology, but they really did need to have their thesaurus' updated. "Can they do that?" JB asked. "After the Slax, they have whole departments devoted to it." Zrng said. "Look, I've got my people working on trying to solve that, but for now, we're fastened. We've got to play nice and give the W'dalloos a nice friendly safari of Boise. I've convinced the manager that we've only got facilities for max forty-eight hours. He's not happy, but he understands. This is a backwater ball of mud anyway." "Hey, that's my ball of mud your insulting." JB said defensively. Zrng raised an eyebrow, "I'll talk to you after you spend a day with a busload of W'dalloos." "So what are we supposed to do if there's an emergency or something?" Chris said. "Improvise." How does one go about describing the kind of sounds that several tons of animated lunch meat makes when it's thudding down the road? Sure, there's the dull thud that it makes as huge, meaty feet crease the asphalt, but then there are also the weird echoes of vaguely rude noises as the piles of prosciutto pound the pavement. Most people simply had no appreciation for the sound. Granted, this was probably because they were spending a good deal of time running away and screaming. The Ferrite Chef, Edward Meyer, however, had no such problem. He giddily laughed and waved as he lead his thirty foot cold meat golem through the streets. Several police cars skidded to a stop before the gourmet goliath. Meyer simply smiled and let his gastronomic gargantuan step over him. "Ah, good day Gentlemen!" Edward yelled to the officers. "Do be good lads and see if you can rustle up The Grayhound for me? I seem to have some unfinished business to deal with." "… and to your left you'll see the… err.. First National Bank of Boise which is famed for it's collection of Holy Nasal Hair, said to give rejuvenative powers to those who carry a minimum balance of two thousand dollars a month." JB said into the microphone. It wasn't true of course. The bank had no such collection that JB was aware of. However considering that this was Boise and neither he nor Chris grew up there or, frankly, got around all that much, he had kind of run out of things to say several hours ago. So he just started lying about it. To be more precise, he and Becky Sue were holding a contest to see who could come up with the biggest whopper to tell the furry yokels. Currently, Becky Sue was ahead by three, but JB was gaining. Chris, on the other hand, busied himself trying to become unlost in downtown. This was a feat that few would imagine to be difficult, considering that a good deal of downtown had recently been removed. Chris, however, had a skill. Whenever left to his own devices, Chris unerringly managed to find the worst possible part of town and become forever trapped in it. This did mean that the bus had passed Annie's House of Bondage three times this past hour, but JB had managed to point to various buildings to distract the occupants. Amazingly, the occupants were still as enthralled as they were when the "tour" had begun four hours ago. Every time JB pointed to anything, they cheerfully took pictures and prattled on about how wonderfully primitive it was. JB wasn't quite sure if he should feel insulted or not. "Geez, Chris, how many times are you going to take this turn?" JB asked his brother. "What do you mean?" Chris asked defensively, "we haven't been down.." He stopped talking as Annie's passed by the right side of the bus. "JB, Shut up." "Look, take the next right, we'll head up Jekyll to Sprokety and at least go by Louie's once." Chris grunted. "Turning right, we see the World Famous Spleenatorium famous for their internal organ sundaes. Mmm-mmm!" "So who's ahead now?" "Becky-Sue. You think I could come up with the 'Spleenatorium'?" "You came up with the Boise Acrophobic Trapeze Artist Association, the last time we passed by a subway station." "How could you tell?" "'Cause you did the same little check thing you do when you frag me in Quake." "We haven't played that in a long time." "Yeah, because you've got Annie Oakley in there drawing the beads. Would you play against her?" "Depends on how good the blindfold was." JB smiled, then stopped suddenly, "Oh, really?" "What?" Chris asked. "She just told me that the finale she used to do in her Dad's show was plug quarters in midair while blindfolded on horseback." JB turned the mike on again. "And to the left, we have Mr. Pickles, founded in 1849, and makers of the world's only Chipsage, Tasty homemade chocolate chip cookies on the outside, wholesome polish sausage on the inside. Be sure to try one today!" "Uh-oh…" Chris said as the bus stopped. "What? No, that last one was mine. She's only two up on me now." Chris didn't answer. He simply leaned back in his chair and pointed out the window in front of the bus. JB turned around to see dozens of police cars lining the street and leading up to a huge mottled brown, red, and pink figure that filled the alley between the buildings. "What the heck…" JB said as he stared out. A number of the tourists started taking pictures. It was a natural reaction, and one that they had all paid good Gobliaks for. "Stay here and keep them amused, I'll go see what the deal is." Chris said as he pushed past JB and exited the bus. "Chris? Wait, we're a team! You're not gonna, CHRIS!" It was no use, Chris was already out of the bus and making his way toward the scene. JB looked toward the bus full of smiling tourists. Actually, JB had no idea if they were smiling or not, but considering their generally chipper nature, he made a good guess. "Uhm, Hi!" Chris spoke into the mic. "So, uh, we're experiencing a bit of a technical issue at the current moment. Please stand.. err, sit by…" "Ah, there you are!" Edward waved cheerily toward Chris. "So I've been meaning to talk to you a bit about LEAVING ME ABANDONED UNDER SEVERAL TONS OF CHERRY FOAM!" The last statement was not stated in a cheerful manner, unless you mistake the throbbing neck veins and bits of spittle as cheerful. "Oh, that's right, sorry about that. We were a bit busy." "A bit busy? After ruining months of preparation and training you became busy. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA what I had to go through to summon that danish?" "You should have gotten a refund." "A REFUND!?" "Well, it didn't go too well with coffee." The Chef stood making semi articulate noises and various inflections as a thousand evil thoughts fought to gain control. Finally, as his face turned colors to match his wardrobe, he spat out his command "SIC 'EM!!" The Golem's roar shattered windows as he tossed aside several police cars to reach Chris. He's going to go for another chapter out of this? Is he Insane? Holy Meaty Menace! Will Chris get minced? Will JB manage to get a decent tourist board rating for the Earth or will funding for NASA be a non-issue for a while? The Chipsage? Ok, that last one was just plain gross. Tune in Next Time for: Fighting the Fillets or Beat Your Meat Chapter 38 Ham Fisted Vengence As any good chef will tell you, "Presentation is key." Sure, good quality ingredients are also required, and skill is undoubtedly essential, but to the customer, both of these are easily forgiven if you provide a dish that stimulates the senses. Sure, with proper training in the darker culinary arts, anyone could animate several tons of lunchmeat and send it on a path of devastation, but Edward Meyer wasn't just anyone. As he stood in the shadow of his gastronomic giant, he knew that now the real presentation would begin. It was a shame that most of the potential audience had fled the scene. Sadly, it looked as if this might be a more intimate affair. Edward sighed. In that case, candle light would have been a nice accent, but sadly, not an option at the moment. "Well, Mr. Grayhound, I'm so very glad you arrived." "I was in the neighborhood." Chris stated as he dangled upside down from the meaty fist of the giant. It was not one of his prouder moments. He tried to make the best of it by crossing his arms and trying to appear in control. It wasn't really working, but we'll humor him. "Yes, well, I suppose a proper invitation would have been better, but I figured that a nice surprise would be more in character. You do realize that you brought this all upon yourself, right?" "Excuse me?" Chris said with a raised eyebrow. "You're the one that grabbed that stupid spatula and started busting up Boise. You know how much I had to pay to get my car rebuilt after having one of your pancakes flatten it?" "Ah yes, the Holy Spatula of Ayehoep. It was the one thing I needed to take back my family name from the evil that had befallen it." Edward paused for a moment, "Actually, that's always bothered me in a way. How did you do that?" "Do what?" Chris asked. "Well, one minute I'm standing in the museum holding the Spatula the next you show up in a cloud of dust and shoot it out of my hand. Scared the willies out of me." "What?" Chris asked in disbelief. "Look buddy, you were the one on the destroy the city with baked goods binge. That's what the whole trial was about, remember?" "Ah yes, the mockery of a trial you put me through. I don't know how you managed to pay off all those witnesses to condemn an innocent man, but they wasted no time packing me up and sending me to that hell-hole." "The Facility?" Edward put his hands to his ears trying to block out even the name of the place. "Yes, there! You have no idea what that place is like, or the horrors that even I saw." "What? Did they make your eggs runny or something?" The Chef stopped and looked toward Chris. Chris stopped smiling. "No. In the purest sense of the words, the Facility is the Hell on Earth. If you doubt me, go there yourself sometime." Edward looked away. "You 'Heroes' speak of doing justice, yet keep a blind eye toward where your precious justice is measured. I'd die before I ever went back, and while I was there, every moment I wasn't concentrating on survival I was planning on how I will extract my revenge on the man that put me there." Edward closed his eyes and threw his head back, "And now that moment has arrived! Any last words, Grayhound!" He leered evilly and raised his hand to point to the defiant Grayhound. Or at least where the Grayhound had been. For that matter, where the Gollum had been as well. Edward spun around frantically looking for either when he noticed a rather large number of what appeared to be large wallabies in flowered shirts eating sandwiches. "Sorry about the delay Chris. It took me a bit to find enough rolls." Puppyboy stated as he wadded up the last of the plastic bags. "Wow! These guys were hungry!" "HEY!" Edward shouted, more than slightly annoyed. "Oh, yeah, that's right." Chris said then flicked his wrist forward. Edward felt two thuds against his chest then his body spasmed violently. He fell after a few seconds unable to move. "Well, whaddya know? The tazer really does work." Chris said as he pressed the retrieval button and the contacts retracted back into the weapon. "Help me get fancy-pants into the bus, willya?" Chris and JB secured Edward into the luggage bin of the bus. Before he closed the lid, he looked at his captive. Edward was crying. Edward knew that his next stop would be back in the Facility, more than likely in the "Hard Timer" section. He probably wouldn't survive. Chris continued to look at Edward. Something bothered him at a very deep level. "Hey, is it really that bad?" Edward slowly turned his head toward Chris. His voice was barely a whisper. "Worse." Chris looked at Edward for a few more seconds, as if weighing far more options than he originally planned, before finally closing the door. "JB, gather our guests back into the bus. We need to leave. Now." Hi, it's me, Bob. Bob? Hi it's Mark. Mark! Good to hear from you. How are you? Tired, but good kinda tired. How so? Well, the Gayhound, err, Mr. Reid has really been on me about schoolwork. He's kinda strange really. One minute he's grilling me about history and math, the next we're playing Soul Caliber. You want to know the weirdest thing though? What? He's nowhere near what I expected. I guess I kinda expected him to be all show and bluster, or a bit psycho, but he's not. Don't get me wrong, I still think he's a total jerk most times, but he actually seems to care about folks. He's kinda like you really. Excuse me? I'm not so sure that's a complement. No offense, Bob. I just mean that there's a good deal more to him than you think. I guess he just doesn't make that good a first impression. He's nothing like his brother. JB? Yeah, JB's kind of a trip. He's got a weird angle on things that you just don't think of, and he just seems to know all this really weird crap. Like for my Lit class we had to read "Great Expectations" which I thought was really dull and kept wandering around aimlessly. So I told JB and he told me that it was the first soap opera. Turns out that the guy who wrote it did one chapter at a time and based it on the letters he got the week before. Really? I hadn't known. Yeah, that and apparently Dickens was also trying to make a point about how bad Victorian prisons were. Apparently folks could buy their way into better facilities and the guys that couldn't were pretty much screwed. Fascinating. Yeah, I guess. I like the stuff I do with Sandy better though? Sandy? Yep, she's the woman that Mr. Reid hired to help me with my "self defense" classes. Interesting, tell me more. Well, there's not a lot to say really. She's got me doing a set of exercises that seem to really help keep me focused. Granted, she's got to 'recharge' every so often and watching her absorb rocks is kinda freaky in a way… Careful, my boy. Right, anyway, she really has been putting me through the paces, and I think I've been helping her out as well. She's really nice. So I take it you like this Sandy? Yeah, sorta, but she's already spoken for, granted, they'd be the last ones to admit it. What do you mean? Her and Mr. Reid, I think they like each other, but keep acting like they don't. I can always tell whenever Mr. Reid is going to drop by on training because Sandy does her makeup and dresses better than normal. Then, Mr. Reid spends most of the time watching her more than me. And they fight like they're already married anyway. Heh, well, some married couples I suppose.. Yeah, I guess. Does Mr. Reid talk at all about his day job? Nope. Well, other than telling me to avoid it for something less dangerous, like bomb disarming or in-flight jet engine repairs. Hey, how's Margie? Oh, she's fine. Although she's in the doghouse at the moment? Uh-oh, now what? There was a rather large mess on the front steps when I came home last Tuesday. I didn't think she could do that sort of thing. She can't, but apparently the two Jehovah's Witnesses she barked at can. Ah, so she popped up rather unexpectedly? I can only guess. Still she knows better than to jump up on the house. She might break the roof. I bet. Oops, better go. I think I hear Sandy, and.. Wow! I'm guessing Mr. Reid will definitely be dropping by later. Ok, have fun. Glad to hear things are going well for you. Thanks again, Bob. Not a problem. Just keep me up to date. Will do. Bye! Good bye, Mark. Edward woke up when Chris reopened the bus' luggage bin. Chris didn't bother with formalities. "Ok, talk." Edward blinked a few times. Trying to remember where he was and what happened. Chris sat down next to him. "Tell me what you can about the Facility." Edward sighed heavily. "Why? What difference will it make? It's not like there's anything I can do to prevent the inevitable. Well, other than killing myself, but I'm too much of a coward to do that." Chris showed no sign of emotion. "Quite the contrary. A coward is unwilling to face fate head on instead opting for the simplest solution. Besides, who said that anything is inevitable?" "There is death and taxes, you know.." "Walt Disney proved that even those aren't always an issue. Tell me about the Facility." Edward slumped. "Where do I begin?" Chris stared out into the night. "In the early 60's several major Asylums were closed down due to a combination of political agendas and pro-prisoner agendas. Many of these were specialized institutions that contained one or two supervillains in specialized containment. The protests centered around these individuals being held in unusual manners. In some cases, these prisoners were held in what amounted to solitary confinement due to their somewhat specialized nature." "The courts agreed, and the institutions were shut down. Many of the inmates were transferred to various high security facilities, others had their sentences reviewed and were released into halfway homes or rehabilitation programs. There were several major success stories that were paraded out to the public." "Unfortunately, there were also several major failures that were not so quickly disclosed. The public was already very wary of the government, and superheroes faced even harsher scrutiny. Many of the riots were quickly covered up. Some were ruthlessly dealt with." "The Facility was created shortly after several major prison riots in the late 60s. It was designed to house all of the 'enhanced' prisoners or those that could not be contained by more conventional means. Several groups funded it privately, USHA being principle among them. It was also determined that in order to avoid future incidents, it would be located in a remote section of the Pacific Northwest and would be privately staffed." Edward looked at Chris. "It would seem that you know quite a bit about this place." Chris continued to stare out at the night. "How I know is not your concern. Understand that I knew as much as the average citizen when we first met. Tell me what you know of the place." Edward stared at Chris. "From what I've been able to tell, the place is run by ex-inmates or 'residents'. There are several areas that they place prisoners, excuse me, residents into. I was in the low to medium security area which meant that whenever the suppressors went out…" "Suppressors?" Chris asked. "The area is surrounded by several devices that suppress most superpowers. One's usually enough but there are supposed to be a bunch for safety reasons. Even though it's never supposed to happen, occasionally they go out and suddenly you've got a bunch of very powerful folks getting to take their shots. More often than not, it's the guards doing the shooting. I just learned to find a safe corner fast and make myself as invisible as I can." "I see. Go on" "As I was saying, when the suppressors went out, they always were off for two minutes and thirty-three seconds. Just long enough for some folks to do some serious damage. Even after they came back on, you learn to keep your head down pretty much for the rest of the night. Next morning, there's always at least one hearse pulling out of the infirmary block." "Why did they put you in the low security area." "Because I wasn't considered a major risk, and because I could afford it." Chris raised an eyebrow at that. "You bribed your way?" "No, I paid it. The ones I feel the worst for are the ones that have the least. They're the slaves in there and the staff doesn't do much about it." Chris sat thinking for a few more minutes. "Turn over." "What?" Edward asked. "I said turn over so I can reach the cuffs." Edward was confused. "Why are you doing this? I told you that I planned on killing you." In a flash Chris had Edwards shirt wadded in his fist and lifted the man off of the floor of the compartment. "Don't think that I had forgotten about that or the fact that you're still very much a dangerous man. So am I." Edward didn't doubt that. Chris relaxed his grip, "That said, I also need your help. You're the only one I know of who's been there and can give me the information I need." "And what information is that?" "How to shut down The Facility." "You're insane." Chris smiled. "You're right. Still want to kill me?" "No, mostly because there wouldn't be enough of you left to make a difference." "So do we have a deal?" Edward was very confused. "What's in this deal for me?" "You get to leave Boise tonight, alone, never to return." "Sounds good to me.." "and you give up this 'vengeance' thing. All of it. Even where your family is concerned." Edward's face flushed purple. "WHAT?! After what those bastards did to my family name and reputation? They need to pay, my honor.." "…is so important that you'd be willing to go back to The Facility?" Edward stopped. "How do you know I won't lie and say yes?" "How do you know I haven't planted a sub dermal tracking device on you and won't send the frequency to our mutual friends?" "You expect me to believe that?" "You were asleep for a while. Possibly your decision, possibly because of some gas I had pumped in. Maybe your arms and legs are asleep because of the bindings and being in close quarters, maybe they're asleep to numb the insertion point until the muscle injection swelling disappeared. As you pointed out earlier, I may be insane, but I prefer to have the upper hand. So, do we have a deal?" Edward weighed his options. "What do you propose I do with my life?" "That's not my problem. That's yours. Off hand, I'd say that you're a very talented chef who needs to go make a name for himself. Preferably a new one with no easily traceable ties to the past. If your information pans out, I'll make sure that you get enough of a start to get going. After that, you're on your own." "Do you actually believe that you will be able to take out someplace like the Facility?" Chris said nothing, instead he held up a small key. Will the next episode not be so damn dialog heavy? Will there actually be some jokes in it? Where the heck is this going? Nope. No idea either. Tune in next time for: A Civil Second or Alphabet Coup Chapter 39 Alphabet Coup "Oh, Hey Chris." JB greeted his brother as he walked up the stairs. Chris nodded back to his brother while he pulled off his coat and hat. JB never looked up from his paperwork. "How's Sandy?" Chris grumbled as he set about filling his mug with water from the cooler. "Mark's doing great, Sandy is insane. The whole time I was there she had Mark balancing a bowling ball on top of a stack of sand grains, while he sharpened her knives using a bit of hardened grit. The poor kid was doing it for three hours and looked like he was about to drop. I thought it was some sort of Karate Kid kinda crap, but she just looks at me and says, 'No, I just needed someone to sharpen my knives and figured the Bowling Ball would be a good distraction'. Mark overhears and loses it, rightfully so mind you, and the bowling ball falls off the sand. Sandy gets furious and she starts yelling that Mark has to start all over and they get into a screaming match for about ten minutes before I open my big, fat mouth and start sticking up for the poor kid. Sandy then starts on me trying to look down her shirt..." "Were you?" Chris hesitated a bit. "Well, yeah, she did have me on that one. But Jeez, JB you should have seen what she had on." Chris made a slashing motion about mid sternum. "So, how were things when you left?" "Hmm? Oh, fine. Mark was back balancing bowling balls when Sandy and I got back from the restaurant. I'll give that kid one thing, he's part bulldog." JB smiled at the passing restaurant reference, but was careful not to let Chris see him. Chris walked over to the table. "You still working on those forms?" "Yep. Just finishing the last up now. Apparently Zrng informs me that as the Earth attaché, it's my responsibility to enter in all this crap." JB sat back and surveyed the piles of printouts that were spread across the table. "You know you'd figure that the Galaxy would have evolved beyond paper at some point." "Are you kidding? I'm sure there are whole species that are specially bred to be bureaucrats. Getting rid of paperwork would probably be tantamount to genocide. So where is our beloved Protectorate anyway?" "Oh, he's passed out over there." JB jerked a thumb past the futon that had apparently grown several empty kegs and a rather blurry, disgruntled looking green wart. The wart was intently watching "Invader Zim". Chris hoped he wasn't taking notes. Chris walked over and sat down next to his alien roomy. "If you hurl, please be so kind as to spare the futon or the floor. I don't want your post-processed alien cookies burning a hole through to Annie's." Zrng ignored him and merely belched loud enough for several moose in Alaska to take notice. "Blahzer-frazin' space rats don't know a p'jojo paradise from a have sexual relations with ball of mud." The universal translators that both Chris and JB had, uhm, received were amazing devices. Unfortunately, they don't really capture a fair amount of the nuance of speech. In this case, while Zrng was quite obviously slurring and barely coherent, the happy little translator provided him with a surprisingly clear voice, only the odd untranslatable phrase arriving as originally issued. It was a bit like listening to an English professor reading Faulkner while the original author blurted out words whenever he regained consciousness. "So the reviews are in?" Chris asked, not really expecting to get an answer. Zrng looked at him with bloodshot eyes. Chris presumed they were bloodshot, but considering that most of the time Chris had ever seen Zrng, he wore those weird wrap around sunglasses. Zrng dug around the futon looking for something, finally pulling out a device that looked like an exceptionally large palm pilot. He held it close and carefully tapped a few areas. He then handed the device to Chris. It showed a rather glossy picture of two happy what-zits frolicking in what appeared to be yellow asphalt. The words quickly resolved into English. One of the smaller titles read "Latest Safari Reports, What's the Latest Frontier have to offer?" Chris tapped it. The screen displayed various shots of Boise. Chris' eyes grew wide. "Zrng! I thought you said that you were going to keep the tours away!?" He asked very concerned and more than a bit worried. "Don't have to. Read on sporty." Tucked away in the D'saggi Cluster is the recently discovered planet of Chester-III. Chris looked confused. "'Chester'? Our planet is named 'Chester'?" Zrng looked like he was talking to a three year old. "No" he said as he held up a finger, "your star is named 'Chester'. Your planet hasn't been accepted yet so you don't have a name." Chris continued reading This is a primarily agricultural planet with a sprinkling of quaint communities. This is not the planet to go to if you're planning on dancing through the night. "Oh, come on! This is Boise for cryin' out loud! What did they expect?", Chris shouted at the magazine. Our tour guides were knowledgeable about various sites, but a great deal of the so-called city appeared exactly the same. This is obviously not a people known for creativity, so skip the museums. "Heh, if they only knew that JB was lying the entire time, I bet they'd have another opinion about the whole creativity issue." The luncheon show was moderately tasty, but the natives involved some campy acting that spoiled the actual presentation. "ACTING!? I nearly got myself bludgeoned by a thirty foot bologna and they call it ACTING!?' In summary Chester III gets a grade of 43 which puts it somewhere between TwineWorld and the Planet of Lint. Unfortunately, it lacks even the goofy charm of those two planets. If it comes down to spending time in the Intergalactic Void or Chester III, consider taking a trip down to HoloBuster and seeing what's available for when the Zen of the Void becomes a bit overpowering. Chris put the device on the table, and quickly drained his half-liter mug of water. He passed the now empty glass to Zrng. "Beer me." A few moments later, the lofts windows exploded in a shower of broken glass. Roger! We've got a serious situation that I don't think I can handle. Go fetch Karl, he needs t' take control. Now Git! Whoa there partner! No need to get all grabby! Here why don' cha just cool off with a bit of ice. Ooh, bet that hurt. What? Sleepin'? Well go wake his sorry hide up, we've got a serious, EEP! serious situation here! Rope, rope, rope, this'll do. Yah! Gotcha, now you just set for a bit! Well, go shake him, 'r kick 'im in the head or somethin', Roger, Crimany, Ah'm a bit busy here! Ooh, nice shot JB. What? Myron! You sure? Well, I'd Yow!.. Git, GIT! I'd prefer if Karl were here... Ok, well if you think so. Of course I can handle this. I was quite the pugalist. Take THAT! A-HA! Amazing, these individuals appear to be disguised as some utility workers. Feel the fists of fury from the Detective! Ah, so you want more? Then take thi... Let go of my arm! Oh, are you going to kick me in the h Property: Tabor and Associates. ACCOUNT: JSR TOYS -- 8091JSR-0023 ADMIN: B. MALEVOLENT [music: something light, happy, invoking carefree childhood days] [SCENE: young MOM sitting at kitchen table with coffee cup, looking at camera like a good friend. (Good for young family demo.)] MOM: I've read recent studies that say that our children aren't learning important math and science lessons early enough to become competitive in a global marketplace. Of course I'm worried about my own kids. I want them to have every opportunity to be the best and brightest they can be. [MOM stands from table and bends over to pick up TOMMY (age: two to four or midget. Make sure he's shaved.)] MOM: That's why I'm doing something now to make sure that Tommy is aware of the wonders science has to offer him. [MOM places TOMMY in BFFC and stands clear] ANNOUNCER V.O.: That's why we make Baby's First Faraday Cage, a safe environment where your children can explore the wonders of electromagnetism. [Camera watches proud MOM contently watching arching electricity strike the BFFC] MOM V.O.: Sure, at first I wasn't sure if I wanted Tommy in something like this. It sure looked scary, I was told that provided Tommy keeps all limbs inside Baby's First Faraday Cage, he'd be safe and secure. And the best part is that Baby's First Faraday Cage has hundreds of other uses too! [Montage of clips] MOM V.O.: I can rest secure that Tommy is always safe from kidnappers and other threats. [Footage of KIDNAPPER being juiced by several million volts. May need mannequin if we can't get Bill again.] MOM V.O.: Tommy never needs me to turn on the night- light. [Footage of Tommy in jammies tucked safe into the chair. (ATTN PROPS: Janine from Child Safety said we may need welder's goggles for Tommy.)] MOM V.O.: And Mealtime has never been so much fun! [Footage of MOM opening freezer to remove dinner and tossing it toward BFFC.] MOM V.O.: or so easy! [Footage of hot cooked meal landing safely in Tommy's hands. (ATTN PROPS: NO ALUM. TRAYS!!)] ANNOUNCER V.O.: Baby's First Faraday Cage. New, from JSR Toys. JB awoke with a throbbing headache. "JB? Don't move! I'm almost out of these." Chris said. There was the sound of a small, motorized saw cutting through something fibrous. It sounded like a dentist's drill, which only made JB's head hurt more. JB forced his eyes open to stare up at the ceiling. He lifted his head up to see Chris wrapped in what appeared to be several bright green straps. His coat, and a fair number of items from it were strewn out on the floor beside him. A few of the straps hung loosely, JB presumed that Chris had managed to cut through them. "Oh, man, how long was I out?" JB moaned. "About twenty minutes. Long enough for our buddies to finally hustle Zrng out of here. Hey! I told you to... Well, I guess I can safely presume your neck isn't broken. How do you feel?" "Like I've been kicked in the head." JB muttered. The room swam a bit as he sat up, but it fell back into place. "I bet. That was some shot you took." "It was nothing compared to what Myron got." "Should I ask?" "No. Just let it be said that having been the all metro boxing champ of Seattle, 1923 is no match for professionally trained martial artists." "Or long-linesmen apparently." "Is that who attacked us? Here let me get a few of those for you." "Thanks. Yeah, from what I was able to see, these guys looked like they should have been running powerlines rather than storming the loft. Aw, man! I just got those windows replaced!" "Are you going to let Annie install the security system NOW!?" JB asked his brother. Chris said nothing, simply glared at the far wall. "I still think I could get one that didn't cost as much, OW!" JB didn't apologize. "Ok, ok, I'll talk to Annie this week." "Good, he could use the money after that whole pool incident and there's only so much you can make off of those laxatives." "Ok, OK!" Chris snapped back. JB started on the final strap. "Granted, I'm not all that bothered by what happened." Chris let a small smile cross his lips, "Good point, now those clowns from RUA have to deal with Zrng when he's hungover. Hope their insurance is paid up." JB stopped cutting."Who?" "Oh, that's what was written across their backs. A big R-U-A, just like you see on those FBI and CIA jackets on TV, except these guys were wearing coveralls." JB looked confused. "Who's the RUA?" An unusual number of utilities trucks raced by the local Caribou's Coffee outlet, this did not escape the attention of the unusually clean-cut looking barista with the clip-on nose ring. He immediately excused himself and ran toward the back of the shop, much to the disappointment of the woman on her cell phone waiting for her tall decaf latte with extra foam. He burst into the back room where a very military looking individual stood leaning over several maps, schemas and diagrams, none of which had anything to do with coffee, other than the conspicuous rings along the outer edges. The Barista snapped a salute. It was returned. "Sir," the Barista barked, "I just spotted a fleet of RUA moving due west past our operations." "What? How many?" The officer asked. "I'm not certain sir, however I estimate at least five trucks, possibly six. There was steam from the expresso machine.." "Fine, due west you say, how fast do you estimate they were moving?" "Approximately 90-110 sir. Well above the speed limit." "Hmm, well speed limit out there is aboot 72.. damn English system they use here. Get on the radio and notify HQ. There's something on and it's time we found oot." Is that him? Yes sir, that's the alien from Boise. Do you know what species he is? No sir. Is he sedated? He's not moving. No sir, that's how we found him. It may be that he was a prisoner of the two USHA reps. Kinda strange though, sir. Hmm? What's that? He smells like beer, sir. Beer? Can aliens drink beer? We're not certain. We don't have a good deal of information about the effects of alcohol on alien species. Frankly, it just wasn't something we thought about investigating. He seems to be waking up. How are those restraints? The cables are tungsten steel alloy sir, the navy uses them to launch aircraft. They'll hold. What about the eye guards the alien is wearing? We're not certain, but we felt it would be best to leave them in place. I see. I suppose we should begin. Yes sir. 'AT-TEN-TION A-LI-EN VIS-I-TOR. WE MEAN YOU NO HARM. PLEASE TELL US WHAT YOU KNOW OF CA-NA-DI-AN ACT-IV-I-TY.' Uh, Sir? Why is the volume up so loud? We don't have a translator. Shpx lbh. Johnson? Write that down. "Shpix libuh." Get the boys in the lab working on that, stat. Sir? Stat. Quickly! Geez, don't you people watch ER or anything? Uh, right, yes sir. Uhm, how is that spelled? It's spelled... 'A-LI-EN VIS-I-TOR. CAN YOU PLEASE SPELL SHPIX LIB-UH?' Sir, he's looking rather annoyed and keeps trying to cover his ears. I think he might be hung over. Possibly, but he obviously understands us. Look he's spelling it out. I think that's an I, or maybe a lower case L. Damn, probably some alien alphabet. Hmm.. 'A-LI-EN VIS-I-TOR. WE DO NOT UN-DER-STAND. YOUR SPEL-LING. CAN YOU SHOW US WHAT SHPIX LIB-UH MEANS?' There, look he's showing us what *KSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH* Who is the RUA? What do they want with Zrng? Who's got a good deal of asprin, tobasco, tomato juice and a raw egg? . Tune in next time for: Hair of the Dog or To Kill a Sunrise Chapter 40 To Kill a Sunrise Hey Annie. Hey Cutie! I'll be with you in one minute, I'm just taking care of another customer. Annie I wish you wouldn't, ...ew. mmmrrrpph! MMMRRRPHH! Is that comfortable? Well, no not at first, but some folks really get into that. Now hold still Leonard and I'll fix your plug and those nipple clamps. MMMMMRRRRRRRRMMMMMPPPPHHHH!! There, much better? MRRPH! mrr MRFFMRRG!!! Maybe it's that thing poking him? What thing? That.. it looks like a tranquilizer dart stuck under that strap. Oh, silly me! I forgot to remove that one. mrrFFFF-RRRRRFFFFF! Are you sure he's enjoying that? Sure he is! Aren't you Leonard? Ack, kaff-kaff! JIM YOU MISERABLE BASTARD! WHEN I GET THROUGH WITH YOU, YOU'LL BE DRINKING HOT CHOCOLATE THROUGH YOUR MMRRRRFFFF. Annie? Why was there a tranquilizer dart sticking out of one of your customers. It's very important when fitting someone for a hanging truss like that they be in a relaxed state. So you tranq them? It's cheaper and less messy than single malt. But enough about Leonard. What can I do for you, hun? I.. uh.. I need some information about... Can we talk somewhere else? Seeing a slowly rotating naked man struggling against his bonds is a bit distracting. mm-mmm, isn't it though? ... Still I suppose you want to be a spoil sport and talk shop in the back room? Yes. Oh, fine, ruin a guy's fun. MIKEY! Mikey, be a sweet and look after Leonard for me? Who's Mikey? Oh just someone I met at an Anniversary party. Now, let's adjourn to the back room. Gee-GEEE! MMRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPHHHH!!! Annie closed the door to the back room. For a moment Chris thought he saw a monkey in a blue shirt holding a dented folding chair, but the door closed before he could get a good look. Chris decided to just try to put the whole front half of the store as far out of mind as possible. "Now, where where we?" Annie said cheerfully. Chris got straight to business, "Zrng's been kidnapped by some outfit calling itself the RUA. Apparently they look like utility work…" "The Rural Utilities Administration? HERE!?" Annie became a bit more animated than Chris was accustomed to seeing. "The who?" Annie's eyes got even wider, "They're here too? Geez-uz I didn't even hear that tickets went on sale!" Chris put his hand to his forehead, and attempted to stave off any additional confusion, "What? Huh? No, Annie, who is the Rural Utilities Administration?" Annie apparently wasn't paying attention, "I thought that Willie had just smoked one too many wumpus, but if you say they're here…" "Annie!" Chris interjected. "Who - are - the - Rural Utilities Administration?" Annie dropped back into the current conversation. "Oh, that's just the cover they use. I haven't been able to get all that much information about them, really. Other than some stuff about how the government pretty much ran out of secret, shadowy organizations back in the 80's so they had to start borrowing from other departments. Apparently this one has some bee up their bonnets about Canada. I don't know if it's some NAFTA thing, or just some bad blood about curling, but supposedly they've been on the move lately." "That's fine, but what would they want with Zrng?" "Maybe they have a thing for short green guys with Mohawks?" Chris simply stared at Annie. "Honey, you get used to all kinds of bends in this business." "Let's presume for the time being that's not the case." Chris said. "Is there any way we could ask your contact?" "No, sorry, he was just passing through town on his way to meet some friends south of here." Colonel Johnson tried to make the best of it, but there was simply no way that his maple desk would ever stand properly again. It sagged, then with the same groaning scrape it once again separated at the fracture and slumped into two parts. "Uhm, sir?" A heavily bandaged Captain knocked on the frame of the shattered door. Johnson flicked a glance as the Captain attempted to salute, and nearly brained himself with his splinted arm. Johnson sighed, "At ease, Captian. We've been through a heck of a battle. I think the formalities can slide for a day." "Uh, yes, sir." The Captain agreed. "So what's the damage, Mike?" "Most of the rooms are trashed, sir. He pretty much knocked out most of the comms and recon. Six of the trucks are beyond repair. Damage control is trying to extinguish most of sections three through nine. No fatalities, but we're down to only about five percent, and they're currently got guns trained on our guest. Oh, and one other thing, sir." "What's that?" "He backed up the toilet." Johnson grumbled beneath his breath. "Fabulous, just freaking fabulous." "Do we have any idea how he managed to break the cables that were holding him?" "Well, that's actually the good news sir, they didn't break." Johnson shot the Captain a curious look. "He sheared through the aluminum clasps that were holding the cables in place, sir" Johnson went back to rubbing his forehead. "Actually, we're kind of lucky. I'm guessing the cables held him back." Johnson slowly surveyed the damage he could see. Even though he was in a supposedly inside office he could make out a fair amount of it. "Lucky indeed." He said with little enthusiasm. Johnson's phone rang. "Johnson. Yes Sir!" He snapped into the phone. "The interrogation went worse than we had planned, sir. There was a bit of unexpected excitement. The visitor managed to escape, Sir, but we have him secured again." Johnson listened to his superior officer speak. "Sir, I understand, but I think that the visitor is a sizable threat, I think it would be better if we dealt.." "No Sir, He made pretty short work of our operations center as is. Sterilizing it would be about half an hour's work in the worst case.." "Yes Sir. I understand, sir. I just believe.." "Yes Sir." "Aye Aye, Sir." Johnson listened for a few more seconds then carefully hung up the receiver. "No need to tell you who that was." Mike quietly nodded, he figured. "And we've gotten the latest set of orders. We're to make sure that our visitor stays healthy and secure. I'm adding the last part. They have also informed me that we are not to take first offensive, and to meet any CSOC action with matched defensive actions." "Sir?" "We can't shoot 'em first but if they punch us, we get to punch them." "Aye sir." Mike nodded, a bit disappointed really. "Apparently, the brass still wants to keep things quiet. Damn stupid, but we're just the grunts. Go tell the rest that we're gonna be staying here for a bit. I'll determine work detail later. Right now, I'm just curious about one thing." "What's that, sir?" "Whether or not HQ will ok the beer and pizza I order for the troops tonight." Chris glared at the utility van as it pulled back into the municipal lot. It was another dead lead. He leaned his head forward and rested it on the steering wheel. "JB? Tell me you found something." "Nope. Looks like it's a normal utility truck." JB said as he monitored the scanner. "And the building the driver walked into is just another alien free US-West warehouse." Chris said nothing. "Uhm, Brah?" "Yeah?" "I'm not sure how I can put this." "What?" "Well, it's just that you're not going to believe me." "Try me." "It's just that I think that following utility trucks around isn't really going to get us any closer to finding Zrng. We need to figure out a real plan of attack." "You're right." "That we need to plan?" "That I wouldn't believe you said that." Chris pulled his head up off the steering wheel and looked out the front window. "But you're right. Chances are that whoever these RUA guys are, they wouldn't be roaming around once they found what they're looking for. Presuming that Zrng was what they were looking for.." Chris fired up the engine and put the car into reverse. "JB, wanna know where you can get great maps of any Federal installation in the world?" JB sat thinking for a moment. "Army Corps of Engineers?" "Nope." Chris said as he hit the accelerator. "The Russians." Chris sat idly rapping his knuckles against the kitchen counter. "C'mon, Jim. Answer the phone..." After four rings, there was a click, then silence, and then a raspy otherworldly voice spoke "A shout cast against the tide spends much time going nowhere, a whisper washed with the tide reaches beyond imagination. Cast wisely *gurgle*" Chris looked at his phone for a second to make sure he had dialed the right number. "Uh-- Hi, HG? This is, Chris. Uhm, I need to ask you a favor and see if you know anything about a Canadian group called C-S-O-C. We're kind of in a rush because our roomie from out of town has gone missing. Call me on my cellphone or just send JB an email or whatever. Thanks!" Chris thought he heard another gurgle before he hung up the phone, but the line had gone dead. "Those guys have got the weirdest answering machine." "Who does?" JB asked as he poured himself a bowl of cereal. "Oh, your buddies from up north. At least I think it's theirs. I may have gotten the number wrong. Hey, where's the Buzzy Bits?" Chris said as he dug further into the pantry. "We're out. You finished off the last of it last night for dinner, remember?" "I thought we got five boxes last week." "We did. Seriously Chris, you need to cut back or at least switch to something better for you. Try this." "What is it?" "It's Mount'n Man Munch. It's kinda tasty." "It looks like sugar frosted horse feed." "Well it doesn't taste like it. Look, just try a bowl. We don't have anything else." Chris reluctantly poured a small amount into a bowl, he added some milk and took a mouthful. He chewed slowly. "See?" JB told him, "eating that stuff didn't kill you." "Not for lack of trying." Chris said, and tried to chew a second time. Rob, Janet, welcome, welcome! Vanessa! Hi! Oh you shouldn't have! The blooms are lovely! Well, we didn't want to come to your housewarming empty handed did we Rob? Uh.. yeah. And we figured that you could plant it out front in the garden! Oh, how fun! I'll do that this weekend! Well, come in - come in! Let me show you around! Oh Vanessa! I love this place! Nice hardwood foyer and the colors are so rich! Must be a bit of Martha in you, right Rob? Err.. yes, I suppose. Well, thank you, thank you, I can't take all the credit. The previous owner did the walls, I just touched up the trim. Anyway this is the main entrance, down the hall are the bathrooms and bedrooms, I'll give you the grand tour later, but first let's go into the living room. You know, I got a fantastic price on this house, I mean it was practically a steal, and there were no other bidders. Really? Why? Oh, probably because there's a floating head of Satan in the living room. I noticed. Thanks? Oh, no you didn't you big fibber. Ooh, your furniture fits in nicely here. Rob, stop staring. Uh, Vanessa? Why is there a floating head of Satan in your living room? We're not sure, really. At first we were thinking about getting rid of it, but it's funny, it really comes in handy every now and then. Well, it sure is a conversation piece. You bet. Plus we never have to worry about break-ins. I can bet. Plus it's fun to snuggle by the light of the otherworldly fire that flicks off his head. It's not bad, kind of like Opera once you get into it and try to ignore the words. Doesn't it seem a little odd to have an disembodied incarnation of the hoary underworld drifting in your house? Robert!! No, it's ok! I've heard it all, believe me. The worst thing is the groups of villagers that storm up here every month. They wind up yelling and carrying on for a few hours which just gets the head all riled up. After a while Ray goes and turns the hose on them. Where is Ray, by the way? Oh, well, he's got a small pox of boils he's trying to deal with. That's it, no Oprah for you Mister! I sent Ray down to the Longs to get some Clearasil for it. He should be back later. So, shall I give you the rest of the tour? Sure, we can't wait! Great! Well, this way to the kitchen, mind the pentagrams. Ok, so how much more material could he steal from JIM? What fiendish plan does the RUA have in mind for Zrng? Will Chris and JB rescue their alien roomate before they have to go back to eating their own cooking? Will I ever get the image of Leonard out of my mind? Tune in next time for: A Feel for Battle or Touch and Goad Chapter 41 Touch and Goad Early fall is a time of color and change in Idaho. It's as if the land gives up one last burst of energy before the rains and snow set in and the world surrenders to the muted grays of winter. But winter was still a month away and now was the time for that one last outdoor fling. People found excuses to take longer walks this time of year. Restaurants kept out the tables just a little longer, and it's not uncommon for football or soccer games to spontaneously break out in open fields. It is uncommon for about half the participants to be lying unconscious on the field. It's also a bit unusual for a soccer game to be missing the ball. Many of these details were not lost on Chris as he watched the game with a puzzled expression. JB opened the passenger door and slid back into the car. "When I asked the woman at the desk, she just kinda looked at me funny. Apparently there just aren't any Canadian food restaurants around here. She did suggest a few donut shops and a..." "A coffee chain?" Chris interjected, while continuing to study the players. JB was used to his brother some how guessing the end of his sentences. The semi-surprised look was more a courtesy than a register of any sort of surprise. This time, however, it gave JB a chance to notice Chris' stare. He stopped and stared out at what had captured his brother's attention. The players were deftly maneuvering about with an obvious team captain calling out positions for each of the players. Oddly it took JB several seconds to also realize that there was a noticeable lack of ball, Frisbee or any other sort of marker to tell who's winning or who's losing. Occasionally, one player would tackle another while the other players looked on. "Chris?" "Yeah JB?" "What the hell are they doing?" Chris waited a few seconds to see if any stroke of insight might arrive. It didn't. "I have no idea." "It's like we're watching a biker fight that's playing according to Hoyle's rules." Chris nodded a bit. It was an apt description. "JB, take a look at those guys over at the far end of the field." JB squinted a bit. "Which end?" "Well, I'd be tempted to say the visitor goal if this made any sense." JB looked. There were three guys lying on the ground with one guy apparently setting an arm. Then JB saw one of the guys talking on a cell phone and relaying hand signals to the captain. Occasionally, the two of them would glance toward Chris and JB. They were trying very hard not to be obvious about it, but Chris' paranoia shot right through the ruse. Apparently they were just as interested in the spectators as they were in the game. "Apparently, we're not expected." "Not by either side." Chris replied and pointed at the home team's spotter. He too was glancing over his shoulder, but was trying to be far less conspicuous about it. Chris' well trained paranoia naturally made him far more interesting than the visitor team. "Hey," JB asked, "doesn't that guy who just got blindsided work over at the coffee shop?" "Yeah, I think so. That's why I guessed the woman told you to go ask at a coffee shop." "Seems like we saved ourselves a trip. Let me go ask him what he knows about our new friends." JB said as the Detective stepped into the role. "Sic'em Myron," Chris jibbed. The Detective shot him a withering glance. Chris just smiled a bit more. "I'm going to go talk to the other side and find out what this is about." The two exited the car and headed across the field. Instantly both spotters spoke very quickly into their phones and hung up. The home team spotter called out some command and the players began to scatter. Chris instantly recognized the spotter's voice. He was one of the RUA idiots that broke into the loft! No wonder they were trying not to be noticed. Chris yelled out for them to stop but the team was far faster, which was impressive considering that they were also carrying wounded. 'Wind sprints' Chris thought as he struggled to keep up. 'I need to do more wind sprints' He rounded a wooded area and saw the RUA trucks lined up in the far parking lot. They roared to life as the agents leapt on board. The wounded were hurled into the back of a larger truck as it started to pull away. That was not good. Chris reached into his coat and pulled out his wire gun. The shot rang out and it latched itself to the back of one of the trucks. He felt the line tension as the truck started to speed off. Chris hooked the lanyard to his arm and hit the recoil button. The force pulled him off his feet and he flew toward the back of the truck. The truck accelerated far faster than a truck that size should have been able to. Chris was thrown far past his mark and came within inches of pounding himself through the outdoor restrooms. Chris began to suddenly reconsider his actions as the truck continued to hurtle down the road with him in tow. Fortunately Chris' flapping coat managed to generate enough drag to keep him from dragging along the pavement at seventy miles an hour. Somehow he doubted that he or his body armor would appreciate that. He continued to press the recoil button harder as if that would help make the tiny motor work any faster. At times it would, but then a sharp turn would overload it and Chris would be thrown out further. The end of the ordeal came rather suddenly when a hand bearing wire clippers interrupted the ride. Chris screamed and put his head down strait, afraid of what the recoiling wire would do to anything soft it happened to slice through. Fortunately that was not a problem, as the now liberated recoil system could easily retract the length of wire without incident. Unfortunately, that could not be said for the plate glass window, several walls, and a rather large assortment of Garden Grrls action figures that had just arrived for the holiday rush. Chris just remembered hearing a good deal more crunching than he ever wanted to and the feeling that he just belly-flopped off the high dive about seven or eight times. As the world slowly regained focus it was filled with the recorded battle cries of the sultry plastic superheroines mingled with the steady drizzle of plaster and Korean epithets. It took him a few seconds to realize that the reason his butt was vibrating wasn't due to any of those. C'mon, C'MON! Pick up the… err… answer your.. no. Look, I know you're there, say something. Ah-HA! Yeah!! JB! JB! Great I got you too. What do you mean 'Who is this?' Who else would be calling you on your translator implant? It's me, Zrng. Ah, well, a bit cramped really, and the manacles itch.. Good question really. I'm not totally certain where I am. Although, provided you humans have yet to make cement space craft, I think I can safely presume that I am at least somewhere on the planet and within half a qbqrpnsybbz from you. Excuse me? Ah, I see I guess that's not something in the translator's lexicon. Well, I can presume that we're both within the same province since the signal seems to be strong enough. Granted, if I had access to my proper tools even that wouldn't be a problem. Pardon me? Ah, right, uhm, it's probably because, well, the Grylix invented the translator implant, you see. Of course once we made it the Rhankaunians figured out how to make a bazillion of them for practically nothing. Thank the Maker that we retained licensing fees for the devices. Err, well, maybe, we might be interested in uh, seeing if your planet might, well, be interested in buying a few… billion or so… but that's not really important, now is it? Look I'm still in a bit of a bind here and I'd really appreciate it if you and your brother were to help out. Well, once Chris finishes dealing with the owner of the shop he's apparently destroyed. Oh, he's mostly ok. Apparently he had to make an unscheduled stop in, or perhaps through, I'm not really sure, he was kind of fuzzy and most of what I got was from the rather angry gentleman screaming in the background. No, unfortunately, I don't really know where he is. He wasn't certain himself. I'd guess if you were to look around for a toyshop with a significantly larger entrance than normal, he'd be toward the back of it. I trust that he's not near you? I see. Well where are you? I thought you didn't like coffee? I thought the folks that worked at those were called Barristers not Canadians? Bar-is-tas. Ah sorry. My fault. I'll have to see about improving my thesaurus too I see. Canadians. You know, the p'jo-jos that decided to pick me up were asking about the Canadians… What's a sokkar game? Look, tell me when you get here. Oh, I'll set up a locator loop. You'll find me. It'll be child's play. Oh, but you may want to stay away from anything that's got a lot of metal in it. Uh, yeah I suppose it could cause signal interference too. "Warmer, we're getting warmer." JB said as they walked along. Chris had an air about him that was somehow darker than the pitch of night that surrounded them. The pool of luminance cast by his flashlight bounced against the pavement with a nearly audible thud. "Uh, colder." "Which way?" JB did a quick circle around his brother stopping toward the right of him. Then turned around suddenly. "I think… That way". He pointed off to the left, down an even darker row of abandoned warehouses. Chris' shoulders slumped. "You sure?" Chris nearly whined. "Yeah, sort of. Look, surprisingly it's not that easy to tell." Chris grumbled, then turned and headed in the indicated direction. "Exactly when did Boise become the empty warehouse capital of the free world?" "1936" Chris stopped and looked at JB not quite sure if the Detective had provided yet another tidbit of useless trivia. "Ok, I'm lying. I just figured it'd break the mood." JB smiled, which in the offset light made him look like a homicidal lunatic. Chris wondered what he looked like and if it might be useful next time he's out for a stroll. They continued walking. "Ok, definitely warmer." For the next half hour JB continually reported back the state, occasionally shifting his stride or bouncing on occasion. "You OK?" Chris asked, flatly. "Anything checking out early?" "No." JB said, a bit embarrassed. "It's not that." They turned a corner to find themselves nearly adrift in a sea of utility trucks. "Definitely warmer." JB announced needlessly. Chris flicked off his lamp and hunkered down to think of what to do next. He didn't have to wait that long. "FOR CANADA!" The battle cry was accompanied by a near blinding burst of brilliant light that filled the area. Several helicopters seemed to appear from nowhere and filled the air with the steady thrum of their blades. In the next instant the warehouse lit up from the inside with hundreds of laser sites as windows dropped away to reveal very active and very armed missile arrays tracking the copters every move. Chris and JB dove for any sort of cover. Chris fished around his coat pockets for a few seconds before pulling out a small hand mirror. He carefully raised it up like a periscope to survey the scene. "Well whaddya know. It's NAFTA." "What? They're here too?" JB asked trying to see whatever Chris was looking at. "Dunno. But we've got Americans and Canadians in a Mexican Standoff. Pretty much covers all of 'em doesn't it." Both sides were evenly matched and neither was about to give in. There was a crackle in the loudspeaker system and a voice boomed out. "This is the Canadian Special Operations Command. You are in violation of the Canadian Purchase Act of 1985 and are hereby ordered to surrender all arms and cease these acts of rebellion." Chris and JB exchanged puzzled looks. "Canadian Purchase Act?" JB asked. Chris shrugged his shoulders. "Dunno. It's not like they teach Canadian history in school. Heck, I don't even think they teach it in Canada." "Stuff it in your touques! That treaty is no longer valid!" A voice inside the warehouse called back. "You've expanded your non-terran dealings without declaring intent. Plus a specialized team of your operatives stole and destroyed evidence and destroyed our Embassy in Ottowa." "Your -- Embassy-- destroyed several city blocks and nearly leveled Parliament. And if that Psycho Americana wasn't stopped…" "Well, what do you call.. THIS?" Then the sound of something heavy hitting the pavement outside of the door. "Off hand? I'd call it a short green guy in handcuffs." Chris and JB both looked at each other again then leapt together over the small truck they were hiding behind. Somewhere just past the 4 yard mark, Karl took over from JB and Zrng disappeared in a brightly colored flash. Upon a moment's reflection Chris probably didn't really need to run out there. That moment came when he discovered he was now the center of a very large number of scopes, lights and other sighting mechanisms. Chris then did what came naturally to him. He bluffed. "Ok, so just what the hell are you people doing here?" He demanded of the blur that surrounded him. After a moment of silence "Excuse me, but who are.." "That's just none of your damn business." Chris shot back. "I asked you a question." The voice from within the warehouse spoke next "Uh, I think he's the local tight. The Strayhound or something." "That's Grayhound!" Chris yelled. When needed, Chris could be very loud. Now was one of those times. "And I'll have you know that this is my city you've currently decided to play in." "This is a matter of national security" Both voices replied in unison. It was unplanned, and Chris could almost feel the anger rise in their voices because of it. "No, " Chris corrected vocally, "this is an unscheduled arms exhibition in a warehouse district, and while I'd normally be happy for you to decide to remove a few of these damn warehouses, the folks that actually own them and who have asked me to protect them and their fine city, would be. So if you DON'T mind, LEAVE!" There was a moment of relative silence, if the general throb of helicopter blades could be considered quiet. "And what if we don't?" Came one reply. Chris folded his arms and turned to address the general area that the voice seemed to come from. "Let me ask you. Do you know what I'm capable of doing?" Chris said clearly, but less forcefully than before. The air around him grew thick with self-confidence. "That blur that whisked away our roommate, and your prisoner I'd add, was my sidekick, Puppyboy. I'd note that is not his principle strength, as he has previously knocked busses out of mid air, communicates with woodland creatures, he's able to deflect bullets with his own shots and has a mind shaper than all of you combined." He let that sink in. "Oh, yeah, did I mention he's my sidekick?" "Now based on that, do I have to show you what I'M capable of doing, or are you going to pick up your toys and get the hell out of my town?" Chris filled the last words with as much contempt and anger as he could muster. The brim of his hat covered his eyes from the glare. A few moments passed, then as if on cue the lights shut off and the air filled with the sound of retreating heavy artillery. Chris waited for the Canadians to depart then turned toward the warehouse. "You. Out!" he commanded. The heavy door rolled up and a number of utility trucks roared to life. Chris watched a number of them depart then surreptitiously flicked a small packet of gel on the road. He reached out a hand and as one of the truck tires became locked firmly in the gel's grasp. Chris grabbed the door handle at the same time and opened the driver's door. The occupants of the suddenly stopped vehicle looked at Chris, somewhat terrified by what they believed had just happened. "Oh, one other thing," Chris said calmly to the occupants of the truck. "The green guy? He's with us. He's not with the Canadians, you, the Koreans, The Free Range Puritans, or anyone else you get a wild hair about. If your curious, he saved this orbiting chunk of rock from someone who wanted to host a planet wide barbeque so if I were you, I'd be very nice to him in the future. In fact you may want to send him a nice six pack or some flowers or something and a note saying your sorry and you'll never do that again." Chris leaned in a bit more. "Because if you do, you'll make me - very - angry. You wouldn't like that, would you?" The occupants violently shook their heads. Chris smiled. "Good. That's very good to hear." Now, go catch up to your friends before they get worried." Chris closed the door and checked that the Super Spirit Glue Solvent had reduced the content of the pack to a more liquid state. He waved at the occupants who smiled nervously and waved back weakly before roaring the engine and driving off. Chris crossed his arms and smiled at the shrinking taillights. "Wow." Zrng said as he and JB walked up behind Chris. "And you did that without soiling yourself. You've got a career in galactic politics ahead of you." Chris placed a hand on his stomach and winced, "That's only because all I've been eating is that damn Mount'n Man Munch crap that JB's got. That stuff binds harder than mortar." JB frowned. "It's good for you. Lots of fiber." "Fiber good," Chris replied. "Sugar coated loofa sponges, bad. Well, might as well start walking. It's a hike back to Boise. Hmm, should have asked one of them for a lift while I was at it." Zrng laughed. "Oh, yeah, some omnipotent angry demigod you'd be then. 'I'll call forth the wrath of Xyzzy, provided someone has change for the phone call.'." JB and Chris both laughed. Zrng, fished a small device out of his pocket. "Besides, no need to walk when we can travel in style." He pressed a nub and his shuttle shimmered into view. JB's jaw dropped, "How.. How they heck did you?" Zrng pointed to one of the other nubs. "Homing beacon. Never conduct a trip planet side without one." He strode off towards his ship with the Bowser Brothers chasing after him. "Shotgun" JB called out. Then looked inside the craft. "Oh, uh, well, never mind." There was no passenger side seat. Zrng settled in quickly and began flicking controls on. There were four other seats in the craft, Chris and JB climbed into two of them. "Actually, Zrng, If you don't mind, can we stop by a park about ten miles away to pick up my car?" Chris asked. "No problem. Just let me check my messages and.." Zrng stared at the screen for a few moments. "Zrng?" Zrng continued to stare at the screen "Oh .. fuvg." Neither Chris nor JB really needed a translation of that. Nearly thirty episodes later and finally he gets around to wrapping up that thread. What further fun awaits the Doggie Duo? Does the CSOC and RUA believe Chris or did he just ruin the moment? Do I even want to know what the Super Spirit Gum is really used for? Tune in next time for: War Melon or Sledge of Discontent Chapter 42 War Melon Dark. Stuff like this always starts off like that, in darkness. Quite possibly it's a union thing, but that's probably not the case here. Something not quite a trumpet plays a few quick notes. The echoes fade away slowly. The dark gives way to light that begins to glow against a huge fluttering flag. It's a simple design heralded in history, a field of white flutters against a slight breeze. Near the center, a moderately stylized galaxy hangs within the clutches of an iron gauntlet. The fingers curled around, threatening to crush the mass of stars and planets at the fickle whim of an unseen titan. Against the stirring image we see a shadow work it's way toward the raised dais. The trumpet plays another pair of notes that echo and fade, accompanied by a steady, low drumbeat pounding out a military order of attention. As the lights slowly grow brighter, the shadow takes on a blocky form. It stops in time with the final drum beat. The center of the robot flickers to life and a chrome helmed figure with a sinister van dyke peers out with a satisfied grin. "Doomians!" The voice booms out, "Our hour of conquest has arrived. For years now, we have suffered the humiliation of the unprecedented attack on our.. Yes?" "Hey, why did Taco Bell pick a Chihuahua as their mascot? Don't dogs eat anything?" Krullux looked a combination of confused and angry."What?" Another voice called out. "You know what'd be cool? Strap a whole bunch of old tires around your car and you'd have a big ol' bumpercar." Krullux stopped being confused and simply glared at his audience. The screen showed him slowly raise up a small remote control. He carefully pressed the button. The hall was filled with the anguished cries as hundreds of shock collars went off at once. Krullux surveyed his now somewhat more sedate audience, raising an appreciative eyebrow. "As I was saying... I have gathered all of you together so that we make take revenge on our greatest enemy, the ones that have... Is that a giant shoe? That had better NOT be a giant shoe I see! Krullux's Resumatrix spun around to view several pieces of crushed melon splatter against the flag. He turned back and glared again. He thought about using the shock collars again, but decided against it. He thought about the stirring speech he had planned on giving, a speech about justice and destiny. Instead he simply dropped his head into his hands for a few seconds as pandemonium reigned below him. He raised his head up again. "Ok, well, screw the speech." He turned the amplifiers up to just below deafening. "The armada lands in two weeks. Oxygen drops the day before. I recommend you all be suited before then." The small art-deco bot simply turned and stormed off of the stage. Even unmanned, the Doomian war bots would make the required impression. Zrng looked at the ship's message monitor without blinking. JB climbed over his shoulder trying to determine what had brought out Zrng's untranslatable reaction. Unfortunately, the screen full of untranslatable gibberish wasn't much help. "Zrng," JB asked with more than a bit of concern, "wh-what's wrong?" Zrng slowly blinked and with a touch, cleared the screen. He continued to stare at his screen for a few seconds. He turned and looked at JB with a disturbingly blank stare. "I.. can't believe it. It had been years. I never.. I never thought I'd ever hear from them again," He mumbled. JB grew increasingly nervous. Chris wasn't paying any attention to the micro-drama unfolding in front of him. He was more intent on the partially opened closet, and the short dark rod that lay just inside of it. The rod was vaguely familiar looking, with two brass-looking nubs at one end and what looked like a cow with far too many... Chris looked over his shoulder and quickly stored the device into one of his coat pockets. "ZRNG!" JB yelled, Chris flashed a glance, knowing that he must have been caught, but neither JB nor Zrng were looking his direction. "You were giving me a major heart attack there." JB was yelling at the alien. "Look, do you have any idea how much of a pain it's been to get a high speed omninet connection? I've had to use burst, and I've never gotten anything faster than 48Gigs or the connection would drop in the middle of a download, or..." Amazingly, JB was not as impressed. . "From the way that you acted, I thought that you saw an invasion heading toward earth." Now it was Zrng's turn to be a bit defensive. "Look, do you have any idea how long it takes to send a 200 Terrabyte planetary update over burst? It's kind of a big deal for me." Chris tuned out the two as his mind began to whirl with what having the device meant. For the few minutes it took for Zrng to fly them back to the car Chris was silent. Likewise, he gave no response to JB's rambling on the drive toward home. He nearly ignored the buzz of his cellphone, but habit made him answer it. "Yeah?" "We're still going tomorrow, right?" Sandy asked. Chris stared as his mental clutch burned. "Chris? You there?" She asked. "Yeah! Sandra. Uhm, yeah if you're still up for it." "Of course I am. I've made the reservations, you took care of getting the flight, right?" Chris winced and lied, "Transportation is all taken care of. When should I pick you up?" "Chris?" Sandy asked, "Shouldn't you be telling me when we should go? I mean you did get the tickets right?" "Uh, yeah, but they're pretty flexible. Let's shoot for me picking you up around eight or so. That'll get us down there nice and early and we can make a good day of it." "You're the boss." Sandy replied, not quite believing Chris, and hoping she could rub it in anyway. "But if we lose our reservation, you're still paying for it." Chris winced again, so much for that dodge. "I'll see you at eight, Chris." "Eight it is." Chris said cheerily and hung up. He leapt to the laptop with amazing speed and started looking around for any available flight. The dense morning fog that hovered over the California coast muffled most of the thunderclap as a gray Maxima slipped out of the deflector field and rolled to a stop in an ocean side parking lot. The cries of the startled gulls were no match for the unholy scream of terror emanating from the passenger side of the car. Sandy stared out the front window as Chris removed his set of earplugs. "See, I told you we'd make up time once we got out over the Pacific." He checked his watch. "Eighty five seconds, had I known about the fog I suppose I could have trimmed a few off. Is that the hotel?" "Sandra?" Sandy sat gripping the safety belt, waiting patiently for her heart, stomach and any other major organ left behind to finally catch up to her. Her head jerked as she shot Chris a terrified stare. Chris calmy looked at her and pointed again to the building outside. "Is that the hotel you made reservations at?" He asked in calming measured tones. Her head snapped to where Chris indicated. "Uh -- yeah." She said, finally able to put words together. Chris eased the car forward and Sandy slammed her eyes shut, not yet ready for another burst of speed. Chris said nothing and simply pulled up to the lobby and went to the reservations desk. By the time he returned to the car, Sandy was back to normal. "Would it have killed you to have just gotten a few simple airline tickets instead of showing off the latest toy? We could have gotten ourselves killed in this hyperactive death mobile, and I'm not going to end up stuck to..." "I don't believe this! I go in and tell him that my name is Chris Reid and that I've got a reservation for two rooms, no smoking just like you requested and he tells me that he only has one room available and but it's got a double." "What?" Sandy asked. "They've only got one room left. Apparently there's some festival going on in San Samunci and everyone's booked up solid." Chris stewed for a few moments. He put the car in gear and started to pull away. "Well, screw that. Let's just head on back to Boise. Lemme warm up the drive and set the route..." "NO!" Sandra commanded in a voice that refused to be denied. "If you so much as move this car one more inch you're going to find out exactly why having rocks in your head is a bad thing." Chris looked at Sandra's hand, then her expression. She was not joking. He slowly put the car into park and carefully turned it off. He smiled nervously. "Right, well, let me go find out what room is ours." Chris scrambled out of the car and ran back into the main office. Sandra sat at a small table outside of an equally small coffee shop. The town of San Samunci sat just beyond the reaches of the fog, but the air was still cool and damp. She dug her hands deeper into the army green jacket, fighting a chill. Chris emerged from the coffee shop holding two steaming cups. "Here you go. Steamed Cider, with cinnamon. You sure you don't want anything to eat too?" Sandra took the offered cup and let the heat warm her hands. "What? No, I'm still stuffed from lunch. Mmm, thanks. This is good." Chris blew a bit of steam from his and took a sip. "You're welcome." "Chris? I.. "Sandy, I.." They both began. Sandra held up a hand. "I'm sorry, you go first." Chris swallowed a sip of cider and a gulp of pride. "Ok. Look I'm sorry I didn't get airline tickets down here. I know that this was my idea, to go somewhere other than Boise and talk about Mark and other stuff. I shouldn't have brought you here in the Maxima." Sandra watched the steam rise from her cup. "No, no, it's ok, just a bit disturbing the first time. I'm sorry I kind of lost it with you too. I know you've got a lot of responsibility and I appreciate all you're doing for me. Let's call a truce and start over." Chris chuckled softly, "No problem. This will be truce number?..." Sandra smiled, "Eighty six by my count." Chris turned and began to stroll along the street. "Oh, good, we match then." Sandra laughed and fell in step next to him. The main street was littered with the usual antique shops, café's and gift shops found in most coastal towns. "This is a nice place." "Yeah, it's not too bad. It's an artists colony." "Oh, where are the studios?" Sandra asked, suddenly aware of the loss. "Well, there haven't been any relapses." Chris said with a shrug. Sandra took a few steps before the confusion hit. "Excuse me?" "Ah, there's Tom", Chris waved to a man sweeping in front of his shop. The man smiled warmly and waved back. "He has a case of severe Post Modernism, but looks like he's in remission." "Chris!" An elderly woman called. Chris smiled and waved to her. They exchanged polite small talk for a few moments before Chris continued on his way. "That was Sarah. She nearly succumbed to folk art three years ago. Thanks to drugs and therapy though..." Sandra turned to look at the woman. Sarah waved and smiled matronly. Sandra gave a polite smile and wave back. "Are you saying that..." "Colleen!" Chris called out to a woman who obviously recognized him. "How's Jack?" "Oh, he's fine, fine. He's over helping at the Center right now. You know how he is with that darn thing." She laughed. "Well, it's good to see him find a good way to get that monkey off his back, particularly one that's got a chainsaw." They both laughed politely and carried on a bit of small talk. They parted with a wave and Chris continued on his way. "I, " Chris began, "had a friend of mine here for a while. I used to visit him pretty regularly." Sandra raised an eyebrow as she folded her arms. A slight smile curled her lips, "Right...." "He's currently up in Alaska somewhere, I think. I haven't really kept up with him much this past year. I should see if I can give him a call." Chris said as he strolled further down the lane. Sandra shook her head and quickly caught up with him. "Hey Sweetie." JB jumped back from the penguin that was drifting above the field of donut sprinkles. "Becky Sue?" He asked in a curious voice. A wisp of blond hair drifted by the corner of his eye, he turned to look. "In the flesh, sort of." She stood against a wooden water trough that would normally seem shocking on the surface of Io, but the landscape shifted to a Texas ranch. "What are you doing here?" JB asked, the rainbow of laser fire that once lit up the ice mountains now forgotten. "Yer dreamin' hun." Becky Sue said with a wry smile, "I figured y'all wouldn't mind a bit of company." JB suddenly felt a bit nervous. "Uhm, Becky? What about..." If it were possible for JB to point in three directions with only two hands, this would have been the place. Becky giggled, "Hey, they all gotta sleep too, y'know. Right now, it's just you and me babe." She slowly walked over to JB, who was feeling increasingly more uncomfortable. "Is this part of some job description for sidekicks or something?" Becky stopped, put her hands on her hips and looked at him like a dog that just didn't understand, only far more upset. "What?" "I just didn't know if I should be in some sort of Elder God Bar and Grill with shambling horrors lurking near a juke box." He then shuddered realizing a few other details about that scenario and the individual behind it. Becky had folded her arms and wore an expression that might as well have been one hundred and eighty degrees from the previous one. JB felt a bit sheepish "Look, Becky Sue, I'm sorry. It's just that I'm not really sure that..." he caught himself. He knew that anything he said right now would only make things worse. Becky continued to stare him down, but an extra glint in her eye told JB that she was fighting back some tears. JB felt about three inches tall, and dropping. He sighed heavily and sat down in the chair that appeared behind him. "Jeez, Becky, I don't mean to hurt you but I'm just worried that if you find out how much of a jerk I am and get ticked at me, it'll just be worse for you. You won't be able to leave my head, you know." Becky laughed. "Sugar, I can't leave it now." She walked over and took JB's hand. "Look, in case y'all hadn't noticed, I've been settin' up house in your head for well over a year now so I'm pretty sure that if y'all were a jerk I'd know about it. Aw heck, if you were one o' my ol' dates you'da never even thought of all that." Becky Sue leaned a bit closer. Her deep green eyes held JB transfixed. "Fact is Mr. JB, you're really the kinda guy a gal could get right sweet on." It took a few moments before JB realized that Becky Sue was kissing him. The part of JB's mind that argued for rational thought and team balance never stood a chance. He kissed her back. They kissed a few more times that night. Among other things. JB awoke to the sound of Chris' heavy footfalls up the stairs. "Chris? That you?" Chris' barely gutteral grunt was the only acknowledgement that some form of communication had occurred. JB carefully slid out of the futon so that he didn't... He looked at the empty futon and felt confused, embarrassed and any number of other thoughts. Most of them were pleasant, so he smiled a bit as he walked out to the living room. Chris looked like he had just finished a pair of marathons. He moved slowly and his head was at an odd angle. "You.. You ok Brah?" He asked. Chris turned his whole body to look at his brother with an expression that clearly stated "no". "JB, you know how in movies and stuff they always talk about sleeping in the bathtub? My advice to you is: Don't" JB had no idea what his brother was talking about. "Why didn't you sleep in your bed?" "Because I didn't have a bed." "Wait, you went to a hotel and there wasn't a bed in the room?" Chris snapped his hand up in classic Holmesian style. He also instantly regretted the sudden movement. "Ah -- ow. But there was a bed in the room." JB closed his eyes trying to figure out why the tub would be more attractive to sleep in for two nights. Chris let him stew over it for a few seconds. "Unfortunately, Sandra was occupying it both nights." Chris applied some Aspricreme to his neck and shoulders. "Ok, the hotel goofed up and didn't book us two rooms, they booked one. Sandra didn't want to come back and I figured since I already paid for it we were going to damn well use the room. She got the bed and I made due with whatever else there was. I tried the tub but it was freezing, so I spent both nights in one of the chairs." He flexed his cramped muscles as the medicine began to work its way in. "I guess it's my fault really. She did say I could sleep next to her, but it just didn't seem right. Actually she was pretty nice about it and made sure I was comfortable. She even drove back all night I could get some extra sleep in the car. Well, that and she wanted to make sure we took longer to get back than to get there." JB listened carefully to his brother and then smiled. "You, uh, do realize that she likes you, right?" Chris looked at JB as if his language skills had suddenly departed. JB laughed a bit harder. "Oh come on, Chris! It's obvious. In fact I think she likes you as much as you like her." Chris continued to look freshly lobotomized. "Why else would the two of you go down to a romantic part of the California coast for a quiet weekend alone? Why else would she have booked a single bed? The two of you already act like an old married couple, now. I've seen the way the two of you sneak peeks at each other when the other isn't looking. About the only thing you two haven't done is gone for dinner and a movie." JB yawned and stretched, then turned to the shower. "Geez, and to top it off she's drop dead gorgeous. She's got two supermodel sisters, fer cryin' out loud. And you spent an entire weekend alone with her. You're a case." Chris closed his open jaw and thought about the past weekend. They'd stood close to each other, but then the fog made it damp and cold. And Sandy said that she only had that stretch babydoll T-shirt because that's all she brought to sleep in. Chris shook his head. 'Nah, look we're just doing our part for Mark. That's all. In fact this past weekend was good because they really covered a lot of ground about... whatever it was that we were supposed to talk about. While in the shower, JB never heard the sound of Chris pounding his head against the kitchen counter. Can I just take a moment to thank him for not using the really horrible joke about JB's date? What did that have to do with the title? When the heck did this become Five Star City? When will he get back to the really bad jokes and (lack of) thrilling action scenes? Tune in next time for: Becoming Resolute or To Be Determined Chapter 43 To Be Determined It was yet another slow night at the Grayhound Loft. The remains of dinner sat in the fridge as the dishes finished drying in the rack. Zrng was back "upstairs" in his transport playing with his new highspeed link. Chris likewise was passing the time surfing around various websites, some of which not featuring scantily clad women. The main reason he wasn't attached to a game controller sat on the couch alternating between the Western Appliance Championship Rodeo Semi-Finals and the Nightly Business report. Chris watched his younger brother stare nearly fixated at the battling images. The main image showed some carefully coiffed twenty something tailing out the days stock actions and market reports as a rider mounted atop a bucking bull played out in the bottom corner of the screen. JB held the remote out, swapping the images during commercials. Chris smiled to himself and thought 'if the rodeo featured bear riding too, the whole thing would probably blur together nicely.' An image flicked on Chris' laptop. It was an instant message. From JB. boise_puppyboy chris you there? Chris Reid JB? boise_puppyboy yeah Chris Reid High bucking business report not your cup of tea? boise_puppyboy no not really but karl and beckysue like it, so I let them watch. Private time is goos. Chris Reid Your spelling is pretty bad there brah. boise_puppyboy yeah I know it's hard because I down't want to look at the screen. Can I talk to you. Chris Reid Uh, yeah. All you have to do is move your mouth and make noises. boise_puppyboy no, can't it's personal. Chris Reid Personal? boise_puppyboy yeah I need your advice. Chris Reid Well, I can suggest gold bond powder, but if the itching is too bad, I'd recommend seeing a doctor. boise_puppyboy no, it's about a girl. Chris Reid Although I'm flattered, JB, I'm not exactly Don John. boise_puppyboy that's juan. Chris Reid Whoever. boise_puppyboy look, chris, I've been ... seing someone Chris Reid Who? You've been either here or with me for months now. boise_puppyboy well, I've been with her now for about two years. Chris Reid Two years? Geez, JB you should introduce her to me. boise_puppyboy i have. Chris Reid When? I've never seen her. boise_puppyboy no, you haven't Chris Reid JB, you're making less sense than normal. boise_puppyboy sorry. She likes rodeos. Chris stared at his terminal for a few seconds. Chris Reid JB? boise_puppyboy yes? Chris Reid Do you mean who I think you mean? boise_puppyboy yes. Chris again, stared at his screen, but with a very different expression. Chris Reid JB? Can I just say that's way oogey? boise_puppyboy what? Chris Reid Dude, she's dead. boise_puppyboy i'm not so sure about that either at least she doesn't act like it. Chris Reid Brah, she's like old enough to be your grandmother. boise_puppyboy no, she's a lot younger than that. I think she's only like twentysomething. Chris Reid How do you know. boise_puppyboy cause there's not a wrinkle on her, anywhere. "Aw man! That's just wrong!" Chris yelled out. "Chris, stop looking at those furry porn sites." JB said still staring at the TV. Chris Reid JB? Your boffing a dead chick in your mind? boise_puppyboy chris it's not like that, it's I mean I like her. Chris Reid Was that a mistype, because if it was I'm going to hurl. boise_puppyboy no, I really like her as in she's sweet and funny and likes me chris I'm serious but I don't know what I should do. Part of me says this is right, but part of me says we're moving too fast. Chris could see where this was going. He decided not to continue to ride (no, bad choice of words) tease? (not much better really) taunt his brother any more about the fact that he's having hot and heavy romance with an eighty year old dead chick. He glanced over at his brother. Heck, this was probably the first time JB had gotten a sort of real girlfriend. Granted, it was in his mind, which was probably where a great many of his ex-girlfriends lived before. He tried to put the whole affair into a much better light. He pretended that Becky Sue had simply stepped out for a few moments. Maybe to relube her hip. Ok, REALLY bad mental image there. boise_puppyboy chris? Chris Reid Sorry, just thinking about something else. boise_puppyboy So, what do you think? Chris Reid I think I'm really not going to be much help here, brah. Let me ask you, you like her, right? boise_puppyboy Yes, yes I do. Chris Reid And she likes you too? boise_puppyboy Yeah, pretty sure about that. Chris Reid Well so long as it doesn't effect the team, what you do on your personal time is your business. Understood? boise_puppyboy Yep. Chris Reid Oh and one other thing? boise_puppyboy Yeah? Chris Reid Don't mention this to Mom & Dad. boise_puppyboy Deal. Margie stopped and stared up at the night sky. Bob didn't notice it at first. "What's the matter girl?" The air was crystal clear and heavy with stars. Margie was a silhouette against the moonless sky as she focused toward the heavens. That's when she growled. Bob swore at himself for not bringing the laptop hookup, he'd have to make due. "Margie, let me see." She lowered her side panel down so that Bob could open it. It was still nearly impossible to use the touchpad to bring up the right display. He ran a tracer through her optical sensors and it came up with nothing. He scanned the alternate frequencies looking for anything out of the ordinary. There was nothing he could see. "Margie, what are you… Hel-lo." At the far end of the tachyon field detector, there was a smallish spike. Bob grabbed as much info as he could and closed up the panel. "Ok girl, I think I got most of it. Come." Margie glanced down toward Bob, then let out a low "wuff" at the invisible point in the night sky. The two headed back down the road. Number 98? Now serving number 98? Yes, yes, I am here. Good day. Here is the required paperwork. I believe you will find it all in order. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that applicants are not permitted to use robotic agents and must present themselves in person unless... I have such a statement and authorization. May I see it please? Thank you. It says here that you're currently locked inside of your classroom? I am in a secure location because of a planetary threat that has been imposed upon us. It says here that you lost the keys to the door.. That is a vicious lie perpetrated against me by those that seek to overthrow me. I am quite capable of leaving my cla.. bunker at any time. I merely choose not to do so. This avatar is merely my agent. Uh-huh. Name? Krullux of Doom. Is that hyphenated, Mr. Of Doom. What? No, it's just Krullux. I am from the planet Doom. I see, so it's not hyphenated, Mr. Lux? No. It's… My name is Krullux. K-R-U-L-L-U-X. Is that first or last? Fir.. F.. First or last what? Name. Is Cruex your first or last name? No, It's just Krullux. K-R-U-L-L-U-X. It's a family name of great importance. It is right on the form. Ah, so it is Mister Cruller. No! It's.. So what are you applying for today Mr. Cruddux. I.. … I am applying for a military expedition to an unaligned planet. I see, and your faction would be? We are Doomian, we do not belong to any factions. That will require a form 40-93B. Do you have a form 40-93B? Yes, I have such a form. It is here. And I presume you've done the environmental impact study? Yes, I forsee that the environment will primarily suffer plasma burns and moderate radioactivity. I don't see need for orbital shelling. So you're saying you waive the environmental concussion clause. Yes. We shall not need that. Ok, we'll skip the environmental impact part then, but be advised that if we discover you've violated that part we will fine you severely. How severely? 10 Goblaiks per incident. 10?… that's not a great deal. Confidentially, I think it's a terrific deal, but the rate increases have been blocked by a very strong lobby. Really? Yeah. Apparently there's quite a good deal to be made from both sub-orbital rock chuckers and very, very large pothole repair. I see. Still, I really wouldn't recommend it. They get a bit protective of their intellectual property. Intellectual property? You mean dropping rocks from space? Yes, apparently. There was a group of astro-physicists that tried to challenge them, but they dropped their case when the lobbyists dropped theirs. I don't under… From what I understand, most of the crater where the astro­physicists were has been filled back in. I see. I have no plans for using such devices. My goal is simply to obtain the extradition of the Gryllix on that planet for crimes against my people. Ah, I see. Let me just check the files then and.. oh dear. Is there a problem? Yes, it would seem that there is only one Gryllix on the planet. Then this should be a simple effort. Normally yes, however in this case he is the planet's protectorate. I see.. Well, that's a whole different set of forms then. Even in the darkness of space, they were nearly invisible. This was not the original intent behind building the massive sleek war cruisers out of highly polished chrome, merely a pleasant side effect. One that possibly soothed the acceptance of the oversized swept back fins, finials, tiered lighting, and other art-deco flourishes that the twin ships shared. The ships hurtled through space at nearly staggering speeds, but appeared to be motionless against the perpetual night sky. Within their alien frames ranks of armored soldiers stood motionless, prepared for imminent battle. Ok, they were prepared for imminent battle about twenty hours ago. Now most of them have fallen asleep from pure boredom. Then again, a fair number of them had oversized purses or were holding rubber chickens too. "When I get done with this gig." One of the articulated tanks grumbled. "I'm definitely talking to my agent." Next to the mechanical warrior, a similar suit of heavy armor shifted back and forth on it's might piston legs. "C'mon, C'MON, Gotta Go! GOTTA GO!" "Hey, Chuk, What's his hurry?" a third unit asked the first. "Got me, Mael" The first replied. "I guess he's just antsy to get into action. Fine, he can go charge into the cannons. Me? I'll be happy when this is all over." "AAAUUGGGHH!!" the second unit yelled in frustration as it hopped in place. "Jhoee, will you calm down? Geez, we're switching you off of decaf." Chuk grumbled. "Wait a minute" Mael interrupted no-one. "Chuk, are you here because you owe Krullux a favor too?" "Yeah, you bet. He got me a great gig on Praxis III. I was the opener for Grrblrrg Odwalski. I figured I owed him a weekend. I didn't think I'd be stuffed into this stupid ship for two weeks though. I'm missing a gig on Deggra Nineteen." Jhoee continued to do his calisthenics in place, his powered legs hammering against the base hull. Fortunately for him and those around him, the armored suits were well insulated. "Yeah, that's right. Now that you mention it, didn't our buddy Krullux say that the drop was supposed to be today? He said two weeks, right?" "Yeah, you're right. he did, didn't he? Oh, there go the darn lights again. Geez, it seems like they're on for a couple of days then they're off for a few." "Hey, you know something Mael?" "Hmm?" "There's something about those lights that's been bugging me." "What's that?" "Well, I think that they're timed to the day. It's supposed to be night now." "Night? But it's 52 in the afternoon! It's not night now, well unless you're on… Oh, you don't suppose?" "It would make sense, wouldn't it? The polished knucklehead has never left Doom, so of course the ships clock would be set to Doomian time. " "Oh, fantastic." Mael groaned as he threw his hands up. "So how many days have we been on this bucket?" "I was kind of hoping you were keeping count." Chuk said with a depressed tone. "So we're not on standard time. Fantastic. Well, do you even know what month it's supposed to be?" Mael groaned. Chuk lifted his hands up, silently acknowledging that he hadn't the foggiest. "Well, that's terrific. We have no idea what month it is so we can't even guess how many days there are supposed to be in the week! For all we know, we could be there in an hour or stuck here another two, maybe three weeks! And who knows when that little megalomaniac shut off the air." "TWO OR THREE WEEKS. AAAARRRGGGHHH!!" Joey screamed an became more frantic "GOTTA GO!! GOTTA GO!!" "Johee, what the fark is your problem?" Chuk finally burst at his overly energetic neighbor. Johee was nearly bent over, but let out a pretty pathetic whimper. "Bathroom." "Oh." Chuk realized. "Ya know, I wish he hadn't said that." Mael said uncomfortably. You know, that romance was really nice. Well up to the point that Chris had to point out the eighty year age difference. What will Bob do now that Margie's sniffed some chrome? Will Krullux get the right permit or will he realize he's in line for a fishing license? Are huge mechanized battle suits leak proof? Tune in next time for: Motel Diner or The Dinner Bates Chapter 44 The Dinner Bates No doubt about it, JB needed a set of wheels. It really hadn't been much of an issue up until recently since both he and Chris tended to need the car at the same time. Times like this, however, were just annoying enough to raise the issue again. JB shook his arms out and again took his stance. He stuck out a bit of tongue and squinted down the road as he held a phantom bowling ball. He lined up his shot, envisioning the imaginary projectile slowly curving against the slope of the road and into the group of street dancers performing on milk crates. He took three quick steps and released the non-existant orb as he balanced on one foot. He hopped slightly as he worked his body english against his own imagination. "Go. Go." he urged the ball toward it's mark. 'What are you doing?' Myron's voice asked in an unusually flat tone. "Mime Bowling." JB replied as he shimmied left, attempting to alter the invisible bowling ball's course after he imagined it striking the sewer cover at an odd angle. 'Mime Bowling?' Myron asked in a tone that made it quite obvious that he was glad he wasn't actually standing next to this imbecile. In his mind's eye, milk crates and spray-painted dancers went flying in various directions as the bowling ball crashed into the group with a satisfying clatter. Despite the chaos that played out in his mind, JB slumped his shoulders, "Dang it!" 'What.' "I got a spare." The elderly woman seated inside the bus shelter appeared to continue to try to ignore JB. She would have appeared to be successful too, if she had not drawn a slash through the first of the set of nine boxes JB had drawn on the shelter's glass earlier. JB didn't acknowledge her act, but a smile played across his face as he reached for the imaginary ball return. The frame ended early when the bus rounded the corner. JB helped the woman with her groceries and took a seat toward the rear of the bus. He figured he'd get a bit of Holiday shopping out of the way. Unfortunately, that meant that for the next two and a half hours, he'd be using a combination of almost every form of mass transit Boise had to offer. If he had the car he could've been there in half an hour, but he didn't. So he simply convinced himself that sitting across from a guy muttering to himself about the government controlled rhubarb conspiracy was probably better for the planet anyway. Chris was out of town. More specifically, Sandy had called in a favor. Although from either of their expressions, "favor" was probably not the right word. Chris looked up the snowy driveway at the single level ranch perched atop the hill's crest. He realized that description made it sound much better than it actually was. The crest lay about twenty feet in and thirty feet up. Chris was certain that if things ever got bad enough, the residents could solve their trash problem by putting their can on a skateboard and aiming it down hill. By the time it hit the bottom of the five mile slope, the garbage would easily merge onto the freeway at about sixty or seventy and probably wouldn't stop 'til Greenwich. The rental car scraped hard against the ice covered asphalt as Sandy gunned it up the drive. It was the first time that Chris had been to Massachusetts, and he was far from enjoying the experience. All he remembered was Sandy's last command. "Shut up and let me do the talking." He wasn't quite sure what to make of the command, mostly because of the way it was said. Sandy wasn't angry or upset when she made the declaration. She simply said it the way that someone would ask for the salt or respond to a question about the time. Amazingly, it worked. Chris got out of the car and grabbed for the luggage in the trunk. "Sandra." a voice sang from the house entrance. Chris guessed that would be the mother. He glanced around the trunk lid. Sandra's mother was shorter than she was but looked absolutely nothing like he expected. Chris pulled back a bit. He really had no idea what Sandy's mom would look like. His mind filled with hairpins and old Chuck Jones cartoons before he shook it out. Mrs. McCovey was a rounded woman, but not well rounded. Her hair was done in a loose bun and she spoke with a hint of a German accent. She was dressed in a large sweater with a light shawl, sweatpants and house slippers. She spoke at Sandy more than with her. Actually Sandy and her mother seemed to be having two separate conversations. "Need a hand with the bags, do ye?" Chris was startled to see the person that he presumed was Mr. McCovey suddenly standing next to him. The man was thin, wirey and his face and hands were well weathered. He wore a tweed jacket with dress pants and a sweater. "Uh, no, I've got it. Tha.." Mr. McCovey reached in regardless of the protest and easily hefted out the larger bag. Apparently he was far stronger than he appeared and he easily swung the weighty bag as if it were empty. "Ach, na' trouble a'tal. We'd best head inside before the women, so we can get a moment's peace." He stopped and looked at Chris with a long suffering expression. "I've learned to cherish those moments when I find 'em." Chris smiled as the two of them glanced toward the women who were blissfully wrapped in their own conversations. "So, Can I get you a cup of tea to warm up?" Mr. McCovey asked as he set the kettle on the stove. "Yes, please." Chris said rubbing his hands from the cold. As they waited, their conversation fell toward the weather, Boise, the fall of classical literary providence with the rise of post-modernism in America and other light topics. The old man was sharp and welcomed the banter easily. Sandra and her mother entered as the kettle whistle blew. The two women were still engaged in their own conversations as they pulled cups, teabags and other bits from the cabinets. With their tea made they entered the living room to continue whatever it was they were talking about. The gentlemen were left to enjoy the emptied kettle and their own company. "Does that happen often?" Chris asked. "Over the years I have learned that it's best to make more than you need." Mr. McCovey said as he pulled two still steaming mugs from the microwave. "I prefer the water heated the way God had intended, but still one learns to make due. You care for anything in that?" "No thanks, plain is fine." Chris smiled again. He was starting to take a real shine to the cagey fellow. Chris dipped the tea bag into the water and began to steep his tea. "Ah, you're a good lad. But you'd forgive an old man if he ads a bit of sweetener." McCovey added a rather large dose of a liquid "sweetener" that he apparently kept in a whiskey bottle. McCovey gave a sly wink to Chris. "Not a word to the missus if y'will." McCovey dispensed with wasting a teabag on his own beverage and returned the unused teabags to the cupboard. Chris smiled, "And why would I be telling her how you make your tea?" he deadpanned. "Auch, I think I hear a lull in th' prattering. We should adjourn to join the ladies before they get thoughts of our mischief." In the living room, McCovey sat by the low, crackling fire as Sandra and her mother sat on the sofa. Chris turned a chair from the dining room table and sat toward the edge of the room. Mrs. McCovey suddenly stood with a flurry of hand waving. "And where are my manners? Sandra dear, who is our guest?" Sandra remained seated on the couch. "Oh, sorry Mom, that's my current employer, Mr. Chris Reid. I hope you don't mind, but I invited him up here to get him away from work for a weekend." Chris stood, politely shook Mrs. McCovey's hand, and exchanged quick pleasantries with 'Katrina'. He then turned and did the same with Mr. McCovey, who insisted to be called 'Mick'. "Wait," Katrina asked the two, "didn't you to do that earlier?" "No, we thought we'd wait so that we didn't ruin the surprise", was Mick's casual reply. Chris simply shrugged. Katrina and Sandra laughed. 'Ahh. I love the smell of commerce' Karl, it should not be surprising to note, happened to have a deep seated love of the holiday shopping season. It might even border on wanton lust. JB just smiled and adjusted his earpiece. "Calm down Karl, you'll scare the children" JB said aloud. JB found that with the heavy use of cell phones, crowds didn't seem to notice one more person talking to themselves. The earpiece was simply there in the off event that he encountered anyone who might not be accustomed to the notion, but it was less and less of an issue. 'This is a total waste of time.' Myron grumbled. "No it's not. Look I need to pick up a few gifts for folks this holiday, plus it gets us out of the dang loft for a day." 'We should be on patrol and not sifting for overpriced baubles.' 'Aw will y'all give it a rest?' Becky Sue barked back. She, too, enjoyed the shopping season, but not for the same reasons as Karl. Still, she wasn't about to have her day ruined by the Detective's whining. 'Actually,' Roger chipped in quietly, 'this is probably the best place we could be.' 'Oh, really?', the Detective dripped sarcastically. 'Well, yes,' Roger continued, ignoring the undercurrent of hostility, 'we're in the busiest mall on one of the busiest shopping days of the year, right? Well, if anyone was going to try something, it would be here, where there are the most number of people.' "Hey that's a darn good point!" JB chimed in. "The bad guys are all about show, right? Besides, if something were to happen up North, we could just hop a cab and be back in about half an hour." 'Half an hour' Myron sputtered. "Yeah, you're right, chances are we'd get there faster than that what with all the traffic heading the other way. Oooh, pump action nose hair trimmers!" Myron was silent for the rest of the shopping trip, notably when Roger was giving JB tips on proper birdcalls to make when flapping his arms on the escalator. "So, this is Torryton?" Chris asked, feigning interest. "Well, yeah, it's changed a little since when I grew up here." Sandra replied. They had wanted, ok, needed to get out of the house for a drive. The McCoveys were pleasant enough folk, but there were only so many times one can listen to the story of Margret DiPeccio's hernia operation, even if the neighbor's dog was psychic enough to warn Mrs.Edolowkwitz that her muscle and cabbage casserole might be done. Sandra and Chris had spent the first part of the drive in raptured silence before Chris broke the silence. "Still, there's a lot of charm in the town." Sandra added. Chris looked out the passenger window at 'The Wasteland' head shop, filled with Def Leppard posters, located next to the burnt out shell of Gussard's Paint Shop. Off hand, Chris estimated the fire took place fifteen years ago. "Charm is a word for it." Sandra slumped. "Ok, the town sucks. I admit it. It's a desolate hole in the dismal backwater of New England. When my sisters and I were old enough to get out of here, we left vapor trails. I've been trying to convince my folks to leave for years, but they've got too many obligations they feel they need to do." "Look, it's ok" Chris said. "you don't have to impress me or anything." He slid a hand behind her neck and began to gently massage away the tension she was feeling. It didn't work. In fact it had quite the opposite effect. Sandra was suddenly, quite uncomfortable. She pulled over to the side of the road, but kept her eyes fixed ahead. "Chris? What are you doing?" "Sorry, and I rubbing too hard?" "No, and yes." Sandra removed Chris' hand and placed it on his side of the car. "Look, I like working with you and all..." Chris suddenly grew very confused, then started to laugh. "Ok, that's what I get for listening to my idiot little brother. He had me convinced that you and I were an item." Sandra turned and looked at Chris with a very impressive Deer-in-headlights gaze, then it was Sandra's turn to laugh. "Us? Good Lord!" "When I told him that you invited me up to Massachusetts for the holidays, he became convinced that we were there to meet your parents." "Didn't you tell him how ludicrous that would be?" "Of course, but once that idiot gets an idea in his head, it takes an act of Congress to get him to forget about it. Well, that or a new episode of Invader Zim." "Look, I asked you to come up here because, as much as I love my folks, the thought of having to spend an entire weekend trapped in the house with them.. what can I say, I value my sanity." Sandra laughed again, "Us? Getting engaged? I guarantee that there'd be three arguments and at least one of us would be dead before the ring box had fully opened." They both laughed again before trading a few quick verbal spars. Sandra headed the car back toward the house as Chris continued to look out the window and played with the small box in his coat pocket. "Oh, I'm sorry about that Bob." JB said as he picked up one of the shopping bags that had bashed against Bob's side. He put the items back into the sack before suddenly leaping away as he realized what had just happened. He stood in a defensive position with a look of stark terror on his face. Bob, however, paid no attention to him. JB turned his head to follow Bob's gaze. The fog was just starting to fill in and whisps began to blur the streetlights. Still, it wasn't difficult to determine that something very large loomed just beyond their light. Actually, several somethings. JB heard them before he saw them, and felt them before he heard them. The ground rumbled against the soles of his feet. The pattern was far too regular to be an earthquake. The first thing to appear was a ridiculously small television on legs. It reminded JB of "Mike the TV" from ReBoot except for the fact that the monitor displayed a guy with a chrome beanie. The unit stood about three feet tall and was in no way responsible for the heavy thudding echoing through the fog. That honor belonged to the much larger, mechanized war machines that emerged shortly afterwards. JB was speechless. The machines were huge. They were the size of upright tanks with appropriate legs and arms. He could tell that they were heavily armored as well as heavily armed as each one had a number of blinking lights indicating the lethal force that they could easily generate. The fog showed the bright traces of laser sites that were collecting on Bob. Of course the other very striking feature, as if there could be such a thing, of these heavy weapons was the fact that a number of them had huge arrow-through-the-head gags or were carrying obviously inflatable squeaky mallets. Bob, still showed no signs of backing down, even against those odds. The little robot spoke. "Ah, Bob. Good to see you. I'm glad that you've decided to join us." "No, I haven't." Bob replied coldly. "In fact, I've come to ask you to leave." "Leave?" The little robot chuckled. "Why would I do such a thing? Particularly after I've gone and gotten all of the paperwork authorized for this little excursion." "I don't care why you're here. I only care that you're not going to be here much longer." "Give me the one I seek and I'll happily be on my way." "You know I can't do that Krullux." Bob replied. "There's far more at stake here then you're petty revenge." The little robot, Krullux, laughed hard and gave a signal. One of the massive warbots leveled some form of cannon at Bob. Bob continued to stare defiantly down the barrel of the warming plasma core. Krullux calmed his laughter, "I don't believe you are in a position to make any form of demand. Besides, what were you planning on doing, sic'ing your toy dog against my warriors?" "No." Bob replied. "Margie isn't here. I wouldn't risk her for something as foolish as this." "Yet you risk yourself." Krullux began to laugh again. "Krullux!" Bob shouted, "Hear me. I know what you intend and I know that you're being played for a fool. We haven't always gotten along, but I do respect you. Killing the Grylix would only make matters far worse." The Grylix? Zrng? Was this about Zrng? JB's mind raced with the implications of what he was hearing. This army of warbots wanted to kill Zrng? Why? And why was Bob of all people defending him? What had Zrng really been up to? Five minds in one body began to pay the little diorama a great deal more attention. Krullux stopped showing any form of amusement. "What do you know about 'worse'?" Krullux spat back. "My entire race has been devastated by that being. We have been denied the thing that we existed for! Worse, you say? I say then let it become worse. Let the entire universe know the pain that I've known for the past eighty of your years." The robot stopped and collected himself. "Worse? You have no idea, but you are most fortunate, Mr. Malevolent. I will spare you from knowing how much worse things can get. General Carrot Top, you may fire at will." "I KNEW you looked familiar!" JB shouted with the sudden burst of enlightenment. What's more, he suddenly became the most interesting thing on the battlefield, which, as any soldier with a flamethrower will tell you, is not the best thing to be. Countless targeting lights shifted onto Puppyboy as he smiled and pointed. Inside his head, JB ignored the sudden screams of protest and very active suggestions that he depart as quickly as meta-humanly possible. "I knew it! You're Carrot Top, right? And your Gallagher?" "Well, yeah." One of the suits of mechanical armor said. "I mean it's not a total 'Duh' considering I've got a freaking watermelon painted on the side here. But what about it?" "Oh, man I loved the show you did four years ago at the Metro." JB said enthusiastically. "Are you guys going to be doing a joint gig anytime soon? Man, that would be fantastic." Two of the robots looked at each other. Gallagher's Mellon Masher spoke up, "To be honest, we never really thought about it." "You should." JB called back. "I mean prop comedy would pretty much sell out somewhere like Branson." "Branson?" "Yeah, Branson, Missouri. They do a ton of shows down there all the time. I'm serious you guys could become headliners tomorrow if you announced it." A third robot leaned over to Carrot Top's. It conferred for a few seconds, before Carrot Top asked, "What about, uhm, new talent." "Hey, if Jim Stafford can make a mint off of his 3D thrill ride, I'm betting anyone you introduce will have more fans than air conditioner repairman in the wintertime." The warbots again put their heads together in conference. They broke after a few seconds. "Commander Krullux?" The Gallagher-bot asked. "Yes?" "Later." And with that the entire horde of warbots quickly ran off toward what JB presumed would be Missouri. Krullux stood sputtering for a few seconds, then began screaming for the cowards to return. Bob simply folded his arms and listened to the fading rumble. Krullux spun around to face Bob, "You have not yet won, human! I will have my revenge!" And with that JB was engulfed in a beam of energy.