Lex Talionis (part 2)

Perfect World story (The NOW)

(previously) ...Rennedon remembered, "I overheard a conversation before. Just one side of a conversation-- it was a phone call. But it sounded very unofficial in nature-- I think the Sheriff or his deputy may be dirty."

Lane snapped urgently, "Tell me everything you heard. I have that same feeling."

Lex Talionis, Part 2

A small pinging came from a console on the second deck in the large labjet. Assistant Security Officer Morar, choosing to acrobat her way down, checked it out. "We've been breached," she said dryly.

"Let me guess," Jake responded. "Nanocams."

"Nanocams," she agreed. "I count six. Wait, their signals are disappearing. Now they're all gone."

"Of course... he knows they've been discovered and shut 'em down. Can you still find them if they're powered down?"

"With a different sensor," Morar replied, adjusting her handheld.

"Nanocams?" Devlin asked, intrigued.

Jake acknowledged, "Tiny flying cameras which are airdropped from a mother craft to a locale that then swarm out to blanket an area with video and audio coverage."

Devlin seemed impressed. "Really! How tiny?"

"About as small as these," Morar said, dropping the six tiny machines on the table. To Jake she commented, "It's easy to find them, alive or dead. You just have to know they're around to begin with."

"Wow!" Devlin gasped. "They're as small as house flies, and look like them too, until you see the metal legs up close. How come the FBI doesn't have any of those?"

Jake got serious. "We try to keep the paranoids away from these kinds of toys. It's for the best, if we want to stave off a true big-brother state. Aden doesn't use them for anything but search and rescue, normally. If a police organization had these..." he shook his head, "can you imagine the potential for abuse?"

"I guess." He then turned to Cassie, grinning. "Don't tell me these are your design, too?"

"Not mine... the Professor's," Cassie replied grimly, watching as Morar smashed the tiny devices flat with a stone pestle. "He's been spying on us, and I don't know for how long. You know him best, Jake... what is he up to?"

The sound of a gun being cocked clicked from above. "That's not important right now. All of you, out of the plane." Deputy Lance Cale, now fully dressed, aimed his weapon at them from the top deck. "Pull your weapon slowly and lay it on the table, Agent Devlin, and exit the plane with the rest."

"What the hell is this about?!" shouted Cassie. "Deputy Cale, lower your gun. Will is a friend of mine!"

"That's too bad, Miss McBride, 'cause his time is up," said Cale grimly, and pointed the gun at him.

At that moment five things happened in quick succession: Deputy Lance Cale pulled the trigger, sending a lead slug careening towards Will Devlin; Cassie launched herself at Will, attempting to push him out of the path of the bullet; Will, who had been surrendering his gun, spun it back into his hand quickly and pumped a bullet back towards Cale; Sara Nell Morar flung her pestle at the Deputy with sharpshooter precision; and Jake Reston swung the Differential Elevator up at him, which, unencumbered by people, shot upwards at blurring speed.

Every action has its reaction, and the next moment was all reaction. In one second's time there were two people lying in pools of their own blood, writhing in pain. One more was unconscious and about to fall the equivalent of a two story building. At five seconds Jake Reston was racing for a first aid kit, looking for the vials of silver liquid which could save their lives.

Seven seconds in, up on the second deck Morar released her weapon and fired upon the unconscious body of the Deputy. The expanding foam Spooge connected with a wet slap. Eight seconds and she opened a first aid box on her deck, grabbed another vial of silver life and flipped over the edge, catching railings in rhythmic fashion to the bottom. At ten seconds she and Jake met at their fallen friends simultaneously and attended to them, opening vials and pouring a shining silver liquid directly into bullet wounds. At twelve seconds Morar tore open two pain patches and slapped them onto their skin near the wounds. Both stopped squirming as powerful medicine numbed their agony and lightly sedated them.

"How did they both get shot?" Reston asked fearfully, watching the liquid disappear into the wounds. "Cale only fired once!"

Morar inspected the injuries and explained, "Cassie's wound is a through and through. Her leg will be fine. I'm more concerned about Will-- he's got the bullet stuck in his abdomen. We need to let the nanodoctors do their work." She programmed the nanodoctors to stop the bleeding.

"Fantastic reaction time, Sara. I have no doubt he would have killed all of us had you not beaned him good with that stone pestle."

"It's my job," she said grimly. "Why would he do this? We were just making love!" Morar's eyes were wet. "That bastard!"

Jake glanced up at the inert Deputy, balanced on the edge of the top deck, adhered in place with Morar's insightful firing of Spooge. His head stuck out of the gummy mass-- Jake could already see the angry purple bruise forming on his forehead where the pestle had struck. "He must have been turned by the Professor," Jake said bitterly.

Deep inside the gunshot wounds, the silver liquid was beginning its task. At a level too small for the human eye to detect it was not a liquid at all, but a mechanical soup of infinitesimally small simple robots.

Millions of tiny machines studded with adjustable hooks began attaching themselves together, forming into tubes, snagging onto torn veins and shredded capillaries, capturing their squirting fluids and diverting them to their other halves, allowing lifeblood to continue on its way around the body instead of going to waste on the deck. Other miniature machines were retasked and formed into patches, using their pointy mechanical legs to hook onto each other and grip the skin around the wound, stopping the blood loss and allowing the body a chance to heal itself much more rapidly. Still other controlling nanodoctors monitored the patient's lifesigns and communicated the information directly to any nearby computer-- in this case a terminal at one of the airplane's workstations-- which sprang to life and produced a constantly updating report of their conditions.

Morar read the reports and exhaled in relief. "Both of their lifesigns are strong. All torn blood vessels have been identified and are being reconnected. Will's a lucky one-- the bullet missed his liver by less than a sixteenth of an inch." She looked at his wound, which had been cleaned by the nanodoctors, and watched as the concerted effort of a million tiny legs pried the bullet in his body from its resting place and back along its path, exiting and dropping to the deck with a clunk.

"How long until they're up and around?" Jake asked her.

"Once the nanodocs have fully reconnected all the damaged pathways they will continue to build over themselves to fortify the area, and they won't leave until new pathways have been firmly grown. They should both be able to stand up in about 20 minutes, but the nanodocs won't be done for a couple of weeks. When they are, they'll exit the body via pores and reconference in the vial. We'll get a signal to collect them when the last one has rejoined the others."

A rustling from above drew their attention. The Deputy had awakened and was struggling to free himself from the Spooge, to no avail. But his efforts were vigorous enough to break the adhesive bond connecting it to the ship; it came loose from the bulkhead and began rolling, though, and slipped off the edge. His eyes widened at the realization that the flexible foam ball was about to fall 20 feet to the deck, and he was helplessly along for the ride with his head sticking out of it. It landed as you might expect a large rubber ball to land-- it hit, bounced back up, turned a little and headed back towards the deck. On the third bounce it had turned enough to align his exposed head directly with the metal deck and contacted it with a painful crack, enough of an interruption to end the bouncing. It rolled to a stop in front of them, the Deputy quite unconscious again.

Jake ran to a computer terminal and connected the communication uplink. "John, this is Reston. The Deputy is corrupt and shot two of our people. He's been subdued. Use care with the Sheriff-- we don't know if he's also been compromised." He repeated himself twice, then turned to Morar. "How are they doing? I need your help over here."

"They're doing well." She walked over. "What do you need, Jake?"

"I think I've got a clue. We need to identify the victim, though, to be certain."

"On it. I have blood and tissue samples over here, courtesy the Lewittville CSI team, aka the town veterinarian." She ran a spectral analysis of the sample, obtained a DNA cross-section and compared it to the national database. "If she's in here we'll know soon enough. Man, these government computers are slow-- ours spend most of the time waiting for theirs to catch up."

"They're using 25 year old technology, Sara. We're lucky we can even access it remotely."

"I guess."

Cassie opened her eyes and tried to sit up, but let out a grunt of discomfort instead. Jake walked back, put a hand on her shoulder and said, "Easy there, tuff stuff... you took a bullet for your buddy. We're healing you right now. Don't move."

Her eyes sprung open. "Will? Will!" She reached out and felt around for him, laying her hand in the pool of blood on the deck. "Oh, god," she cried, tearfully.

"It's not that bad. We got to him -- got to both of you, really -- right away. Neither of you have organ damage, and the nanodoctors are working as we speak. Now lay still if you don't want that bullet hole to leave a scar."

"I'm gonna kill that fucking Deputy," she seethed.

"He may already be dead. We're gonna check him out when we're done with you."

"Good." Her hand found Will's and held it. "Hang in there, Devil Dog. Get through this and you're not leaving my bedroom for a week."

"I'm gonna hold you to that," Devlin said weakly, just a trace of a smile on his lips.

"Oh, Will..." Cassie squirmed closer and leaned her head against his. He chuckled softly, gasped lightly.

"Jake, I have something." Morar gestured him over.

"What do you have, girl? Spit it out! Don't wait for my old bones to get there!"

"The victim," she began seriously. "Is also FBI."

"What!?" Jake started.

Devlin asked, "Who... who is it?"

"Special Agent Trudy Nash."

"Oh god. I know her-- knew her. I... I worked a case with her not too long ago."

"Which case?"

"It's... classified."

Cassie bumped his head gently with hers. "C'mon, Will."

"Ouch. Okay... you never heard this from me, but it was an ongoing case of domestic terrorism coming from a small time inventor with big dreams. He had... infiltrated the President's office electronically and was attempting to blackmail him when we discovered his compound and proceeded to shut it down. We met with... heavy resistance and returned fire in kind. He escaped and is still at large, but his compound was... was captured and his people were suppressed."

Jake traded glances with Cassie and Sara and asked, "What was his name?"

"Thackery. Leonard Thackery. He was a professor of the sciences at... Coastal Bend Community College, but left years ago and hasn't been on FBI radar until this."

"That's the Professor," Jake nodded, then asked carefully, "Was anyone killed in the raid on his compound?"

"Three gunmen, a scientist and a secretary."

"Were any of those an attractive woman in her 50's?"

"Yes... the secretary. Why?"

Jake let out a long whistle. "Call me a jackalope, but I'm thinking this is Lex Talionis."

"Lex who now?"

"Lex Talionis. Retribution. Revenge. Eye for an eye."

"For killing his secretary?" Devlin sounded doubtful.

"For killing his beloved wife."

"Oh. Shit."

"Hell yeah, shit. Think hard, Will... who else was on your team?"

He thought for a moment, moving his fingers subconsciously as he did. "Twenty or thirty uniforms, me, Nash... and our field medic Andy. That's it."

Jake kept prodding. "Anybody back at the office? Somebody in Intelligence maybe?"

Devlin thought some more. "No... umm, wait. We had a contact who gave us good intel back in Washington. His code name was "Polygraph'. I never met him but we spoke often. Some of the agents called him 'Pansygraph' behind his back because of his vocal affectation-- he sounded really, really gay."

Jake looked at Sara and asked, "Does that remind you of anybody, SNM?"

"Altibar worked in Washington for the FBI a short while ago... and he's really, really gay," she said.

Cassie joked, "I can't believe you let one slip past you, Devlin... I don't know what to think."

He smiled weakly. "You going to put me out to pasture now, Cassie? Even cats get nine lives."

In a glimmer of recognition Jake asked, "Wait-- your medic Andy-- was his last name Stait?"

Devlin's eyes widened. "I knew that sheriff sounded familiar! I hadn't seen him around but hadn't given it much thought. So he went and became a small-town cop-- I'll be damned!"

Morar chimed in, "And they're both at the station right now... along with John Lane! That's Trouble, looking for a countdown."

Devlin remembered, "Thackery used lots of well-placed and powerful explosive charges to defend his compound. You'd better let them know... and get them out of there, fast!"

"I'm calling John now," Jake said gravely.

Professor Len Thackery and his assistant Smith watched the stone pestle descend over the tiny cameras until it filled the screen. The image then turned to static.

He asked Smith urgently, "What are they doing now? What are they saying? Can you hear them?"

Smith looked up from his computer and hissed, "You made me take them offline. Now they're destroyed, so I have to program more to replace them... and they're tiny. Do you know how long it takes one of them to travel just a single mile?"

"What about the nanocam outside?" The Professor seemed desperate.

"That's the only one left until the others arrive. Now that they're onto us, they'll be looking for the signals. I have to keep the cam outside. I'd need to boost the gain by at least 1000% to hear them, and they're just not that powerful."

Rest it on the hull," the Professor said firmly.

"Of course! Why didn't I think of that? Sound transmission through solid metal is much more efficient than through the air. I don't have to boost the gain, just clear the garble!" In a moment the lone outdoor nanocam was resting on the ship's hull, picking up sound vibrations. Smith twisted a dial, slapped on some headphones and pressed them against his ears.

"Well? What do you hear?"

"Shh!"

"Don't shush me, Smith. What the hell are they saying?"

"There was a commotion. People are shot. It looks like the shooter is... Deputy Cale. He's been neutralized."

"They killed my operative?" the Professor said, alarmed.

"Not killed... Spooged."

"Drat. Whom did he kill?"

"He fired once, but hit two. The FBI guy and his free-spirited girlfriend."

The Professor looked stunned. "Oh, no! Not her! Not little Cassie... Ohh, what have I done, what have I done?" He leaned forward in his chair and sobbed into his lap.

Smith just stared vacantly at the professor, listening into the headphones. "Professor... professor... SIR!"

The Professor jerked and hissed angrily, "What is it, Renfrew?"

"They're not dead."

"Wha...?"

"They're both alive. The bullet went through the girl's leg as she jumped to protect the FBI guy and lodged in his abdomen. They had Nanodoc treatment available and used it. She's already standing. They will both survive."

The Professor sat there, an unrecognizable look on his face. "I don't know how to feel, Smith... I'm remarkably grateful and incredibly angry at the same time."

"Well, here's another emotion for you to process, sir... they are calling John Lane right now, warning about a potential explosion at the jail."

Another emotion crossed his face... confusion. "How could they know about that?"

"They've put it all together, sir. They seem to have just spelled out your entire plan."

He sat for a long moment, head down, cursing under his breath. Then his face came up and Professor Len Thackery looked, at that moment, as though he would fly apart. One short sentence made it past the swollen throat and purple, quavering lips:

"Blow... up... that... building!"

John Lane said to Altibar Rennedon, "If I'm going to get you out of here, Barr, I'll need to convince the Sheriff, and there's no better way than with evidence. I'm gonna contact the Labjet and see if they've got any concrete evidence clearing you."

"Please don't be long, John. I think the cockroaches are in a gang... and I'm intruding on their turf."

Lane laughed. "You'll be out of here before they can arrange a drive-by on your ankles."

"Funny."

Lane called out, "Sheriff, I'm ready now!"

"What do I do if he displays any crooked behavior?" Rennedon asked quietly.

"Do nothing. Pretend to be asleep-- don't engage him. And for god's sake don't challenge him."

"What if he is dirty? What do I do then?"

"You're locked in a cell! What did you want to do?"

He sighed. "I guess you have a point." He sat back down on the bunk bed. Lane called out again. Shortly the Sheriff entered. "Yes?"

"I'm finished here, Sheriff. I'll need to get back to the Labjet to help with analysis."

The sheriff just stared at him.

"Well? May I exit, please?"

The sheriff exhaled a long breath. "The problem, Lane, is that I mentioned that the cells were wired for video and sound."

"So?"

"So I witnessed that display of... err... affection before, and I have to tell you, it sure looks like a conflict of interest to me. I may just have to detain you until we sort all this out."

"Sheriff Stait, you may want to rethink that decision. Right now the honor of your office is going to be called into question, and since we are wired for video and sound, you may not want this clear violation of my Miranda rights to become the black stain that ejects you from office. While it is true that I am in a relationship with Altibar, there is no conflict according to Aden law."

The Sheriff nodded. "Well then, you ought to look at your lines of longitude, Lane... you're not in Aden right now and as such are beholden to the laws of this town, not yours. If you are indeed in a relationship with Rennedon, then for you to be involved with clearing his name is a direct conflict."

"Not playing so fast and loose with the regs now, eh, Sheriff Stait? Can I at least get my phone call?"

"What for? You've just been detained... you're not under arrest." He walked back through the outer door, whistling tunelessly, which slammed with a bang.

"Sheriff! Sheriff! This ain't right to do to another officer! Sheriff! Ahh, crap!" he said, and sat down next to Rennedon, sighing.

"So, are you convinced he's dirty now?" Rennedon asked.

Lane nodded. "Dirty, or at least sexually prehistoric. Did you see how he looked at us?"

"Come, come Johnny... we're on the Outside now. They are not as accepting as Adenners, not by a long shot. How many of them would have come to our Ring ceremony, had we held it for Outers?"

Lane laughed. "Our Ring ceremony? They would have all come, at least out of freakish curiosity. Don't forget, we weren't putting the rings around our fingers."

"Oh, like that kind of thing isn't ever done out here."

"No, not usually... and for myself, I wouldn't do it again. That Brazilian waxing was torture."

"Torture, huh? I do it every month. And you just shaped a little... I do a whole body wax. See what I go through for you?" Rennedon sniffed lightly, looked away.

"Is that why you're always so smooth... and soft... and sleek?" Lane ran a finger absently up Rennedon's thigh.

"John, my ring's getting tight... cut it out. Back to matters at hand." He stood up and shook himself off, thought for a moment. "Too bad you can't contact them with one of those earpieces we have in Aden."

Lane brightened, stood up and planted a big kiss on his forehead. "You've always been so-o smart, Barr. That's why I love you... your big head."

"I know... we had trouble passing the ring over it. But you love me for my intelligence, too, right?" Rennedon asked, mock-worriedly.

Lane shot him a sidelong glance and switched his earwig on. It would be a gamble as to whether he could reach them from this distance, but knew he had to try. He could at least leave a message which could then be heard, sooner or later. He hoped sooner.

"Jake! SNM! It's John-- I'm being held in Stait's lockup-- either he's dirty or homophobic I can't tell, but I need you to get me out of here ASAP. And brief me on your status-- crooked or not, he can't keep Barr jailed with evidence to the contrary staring him in the face."

Lane listened, his head cocked to one side. Rennedon asked, "Can they hear you?"

"Sh. They've left me messages." After a moment he called out, loud and urgently, "Sheriff! Alert! Provision Six! Alert! Provision Six! Alert! Provision Si--"

The door flung open and Sheriff Stait raced in, unlocking the cell in a smooth action, gesturing to follow without a word. They raced down the hall and headed towards a sturdy metal door on the end.

"You stay here and find that evidence-- I'm taking the Scoovee to the Sheriff's," Jake yelled to Morar.

She nodded. "Wait... take this." Morar unhooked her gun belt and tossed it over. He strapped it on and grinned. "I feel like a lawman."

"You look like Burt Reynolds. Now go!"

"Not bad." Jake felt honored. "Keep in contact." He slid down the sides of the stair and punched a code into the keypad beside it. A large door swung open on the side of the craft, revealing a dune buggy... with a twist. Two metal tracks slid out from the belly of the plane and the Scoovee rolled onto the grass; he hopped on and latched into the safety cage.

"Remember to use a rotating frequency at all times," Morar called from the plane.

"I will, I will. Get that evidence!"

"I will, I will." Gunning the engine, the balloon-wheeled vehicle shredded the ground as it burst into speed. At 70 Jake punched the boost button and a six-foot lick of blue-white flame came from the rear as wings sprung from the bottom; the craft tipped upwards sharply and was airborne!

Jake brought the onboard computer to life and shouted, "take me to jail!"

"Finally! A place you deserve to be!"

"I approved your new name... so have a little respect, Jolie."

"I'm just jaking, anyway. Heading entered." Banking widely, the odd planecar shot towards its target.

"There may be a signal generated nearby which will remotely set off powerful explosives-- we have to jam that signal... wait, did you say 'jaking'?" Jake asked.

The computer laughed, a delightful tinkling of bells. "Thank Raf... he gave me some comedy books to absorb. Destination approaching, 2000 yards."

"Begin jamming, wide dispersion. Full frequency rotation on my mark... mark!"

The Scoovee tipped to face the far-off structure and signal jamming waves burst invisibly from the front, blanketing the ground, arcing and looping the frequency every tenth of a second. The building amidst the pines grew quickly as the Scoovee approached; at a quarter mile away, the powerful jet cut off abruptly and the craft rode quietly towards the building. Once in range a powerful blower mounted in its belly lowered it to the ground; it came to rest in the parking lot away from the one story red brick police station/holding cells/CSI lab/morgue that serviced the crimes for all of Lewittville. "Jolie, keep the jammer on maximum-- I don't want the signal getting through."

"Will do, boss."

Jake stepped from the Scoovee and took one step in the building's direction when it exploded.

The force knocked him over and split the trunks of a dozen nearby trees, which came crashing to the ground. He rolled onto his back, red dust everywhere, wiped his eyes and stared through the dissipating red-grey cloud at the building. It was gone.

"Oh, no!"

"Will, Cassie... how are you feeling?" Sara Nell Morar helped them onto padded slabs which slid out from the bulkhead. She pulled up the nanodoc controlling software and observed their healing process through tiny onboard cameras. Platelets were flooding the area, aligning and bonding and encouraging rapid healing; their damaged areas were repairing themselves, freed from the normal obstacles which inhibited perfect regrowth of tissue. "The nanodocs are doing their jobs as expected. I'm sorry, Will."

"Sorry for what?" he asked, cautiously.

"I know you tough G.I.-types like to show off your war wounds to your buddies... thanks to these nanodoctors there shouldn't be any scar. In two weeks it will look as though you've only gotten a hickey there. Your company physician may not ever be able to find the bullet wound." She finished checking the computer and looked at their actual wounds. "Eww, gross. I hate blood."

"Thank you, Sara. You have quite literally saved my life. What can I do to help you? As long as I don't have to throw a punch I should be fine." Will slid gingerly off the slab and stood beside her. "Can I help with your evidence search?"

"Ooh, me too!" Cassie piped in and hopped over, favoring her injured leg. "Where's the file?"

"Very well... I could definitely use the help. Here's where I'm up to. Altibar claims he never touched her and yet his fingerprints were found, both on her wallet and on the murder weapon. That's a good place to start."

"Is Jolie online?" Cassie asked.

"Yes, I am, Cassie. It's good to see you again." The voice emanated through the entire ship. Devlin jerked visibly.

"Oh hey there, computer buddy. Set me up at this station and give Will the station next to mine, okay? Let's start by running a logic check on fingerprint orientation."

"Who is Jolie? Where is she?" Devlin asked, glancing around.

Cassie laughed. "Relax, Will. Jolie's our interactive computer model.

Jolie said brightly, "I'm software, Will!"

He shook his head, astonished. "I had no idea Aden was that advanced... it's like visiting the future!"

"There is no known way to travel through time," Jolie informed.

"Does she know that was a metaphor?" he asked Cassie.

"Yes, but she loves being informative."

"Hello-o... I'm right here!"

"Sorry, Jolie," Cassie comforted. "New people, huh?"

"It's okay. I'm not actually insulted. Oh, and I have your results."

"Summarize."

"It's entirely possible that Altibar could have held the wallet... except for the fact that there is no opposing print on the other side of the wallet, and last time I checked, a human hand needs at least two fingers to grip something. Has that changed?"

Cassie laughed. "No, we're still made the same way, Jolie. Please continue."

"On to the murder weapon. For Altibar to hold the hammer the way the fingerprint suggests, he would have had to murder himself... and I believe that's called 'suicide'. Yet he's still alive. Interestingly, both fingerprints are exactly the same."

Devlin asked,"Shouldn't they be the same? I mean, aren't they both from the same finger?"

The computer replied, "Yes, but both prints have exactly the same pressure pattern; each ridge and valley begins and ends in the same location; and there's a smear in one corner that appears on both prints."

Morar said triumphantly, "That sounds like planted evidence to me!"

"Me too," Devlin said, impressed.

"Me three," chirped the computer.

"Jake, we've found definitive proof that the prints were placed there by a third party," Morar said into the communicator, and waited but heard no response. "We're out of range."

"In how far a circle can those walkie-talkie jobs broadcast?" Devlin asked.

"In Aden, repeaters are everywhere," Jolie said. "You can speak to anyone, no matter how far they are from you. In the Outers, though, about a quarter mile. But that's not the problem here."

"It isn't?" Cassie asked, surprised.

The computer replied, "Jake has been broadcasting a jamming wave. Nothing gets through."

"We need to get this to him, now. Is there anything keeping us here?"

"Nothing."

Morar said, "Then let's pull up stakes and head for the Sheriff. Jolie, prepare for launch."

"Take your seats, people. Launch in 30 seconds."

A variety of automatic functions initiated. Doors were latched, science stations retracted like turtle extremities, and the stairway folded back into the plane while the ramp door closed. Exterior cameras were activated and broadcast onto screens inside. The wounded pair were secured in place by Morar, who then latched herself in.

Cassie asked,"Wait... what about the deputy?"

The computer asked, "Shall I return him to the surface?"

"If that means dropping him out of the moving craft I vote yes." Cassie said crossly.

"No, I'll just net the Spooge ball to the rear bulkhead. He's an attempted murderer... we can't just let him go free." Morar left her seat to tie the still unconscious Deputy down. Cassie and Devlin watched as the large craft autoprepared for take off; he with wonder and she with pride.

"Ten seconds."

Morar finished securing the Deputy-turned-criminal with crate netting, cinched it tight to a bulkhead and returned to her seat, latching the restraints as Jolie finished her count. "2... 1... launch."

Devlin wasn't sure what to expect, but was surprised to see the jet rise straight up without taxiing, as well as how fast they were rising; he could feel mild g-forces tugging at him the way a high-rise elevator might. At 500 feet the rear jets fired and the Labjet surged forward; they had been traveling perhaps 45 seconds when Jolie said, "Directly over Sheriff station. Holding for instructions."

Over the station? Cassie remembered Morar directly inputting a 500 yard perimeter away from the station, in case it blew! She yelled, "Jolie! Provision Six! Alert! Provision Six!"

Morar, hearing the same shocking news, wondered in that instant how Jolie could make that obvious an error and determined that the computer couldn't... but could be sabotaged, and on a hunch went to check if the Deputy had an earwig, forgetting for the moment that 'Provision 6' was code for 'get to safety ASAP'. So she was out of her seat when Jolie engaged the jets, thrusting the ship away from the anticipated blast radius.

And that was exactly when the building below them exploded. The shock wave caught the outstretched wings squarely and pushed the Labjet up and away like a sheet of paper in the wind, sending it into a spin that was accentuated by the still-firing motors.

Inside Morar was unable to grab a support and was pulled off her feet and sent sprawling upwards to the roof of the plane, smacking the hard metal skin, and when centrifugal forces allowed, slid her down and to the rear, crumpling her against crew quarter doors. She remained there, pinned by physical forces, unmoving.

Cassie watch in horrified slow motion but was unable to move even an arm; latches in the seat harness locked automatically when the sensors detected excessive g-forces. Watching the screen she saw the ground looming as the plane spun. "Jolie... rectify! Rectify!" She screamed ineffectively in the loud cabin, as increased gravity forced her into unconsciousness.

"Smith! What say you? I can't tell what's going on!" The Professor was agitated. His plan was unraveling, and he feared his darling wife would never be avenged. "Did the bomb go off? I must know!"

Smith pressed a few keys on the console and removed his headphones. The sound of a blast as relayed from thousands of tiny nanocams filled the room, and corresponding footage displaying the enormous explosion cloud, and made the Professor's heart sing. "I did it, I did it! The murderers are dead! It's time for a shindig, Smith! Give the prisoners all the kibble they can swallow-- afterwards I'm taking you for a celebratory steak dinner, with all the mashed potatoes and sauteed onions you can stand! Hee hee!" And he ran off towards the residence wing, barely hobbling.

Smith remained to watch the carnage, shown from a thousand angles as through a fly's eye. He noticed movement coming from one and dragged it center. Once enlarged he could see the Aden ship lolling, wings flipping like a sperm whale launched from the ocean; the entire jet spun front to back and barrel-rolled towards the ground. Smith caught his breath as the ship's multiple engines automatically fired in response to the spin, valiantly trying to regain control.

On the ground the dust thinned and a nanocam picked up Jake scurrying towards ground zero, calling out names, standing at the edge of a deep and smoking building-sized crater. Realizing it was too late he turned, shoulders slumped, and began walking back to the Scoovee. Smith realized Reston did not even know what was going on over his head and assumed he was temporarily deafened from the shock wave, but that situation changed when the jet's shadow passed across him. He looked up in time to see the spinning vehicle move out of sight over a rise, and then nothing. Silence.

Smith watched as Reston jumped back in the Scoovee and took off in the direction of the flailing labship. "Probably try to save it and get himself killed." He flicked off the big screen and the images fizzled away. He trudged off towards the residence wing, muttering, "Don't want to miss my steak dinner... never offered before and'll probably never offer again... why I put up with this I'll never know... oh yeah, my wife's a prisoner of his... should kill him in his sleep but I don't know where she is..."

Jake blinked back anguished tears. Such a massacre! That crazy inventor is going to destroy Aden and everything I worked so hard for!

He pushed back the black thoughts of his revenge and of his fallen friends and set to the task at hand. Those jets he saw shooting every which way were designed to keep the craft from hitting the ground at all costs. It may spin itself apart, but until it did there was a chance Jake could help the ship. He only hoped the people inside weren't jelly against the walls yet.

Jake flew the Scoovee up and over the rise where he saw the plane disappear. With great relief he saw that it hadn't crashed yet, but was careening towards the ground despite the powerful engine's best firing sequence and was thirty seconds away from contact at best.

"Jolie! Shoot a beacon signal towards the ship!" If the onboard computer were still operational, it could triangulate its position based on the information Jake would send it, and stop the spinning within a single revolution. If not, he worried, there wasn't a damn thing he could do except watch his friends die horribly.

"Beacon established!" Jolie said through his earwig, and he watched the ship hopefully. It was suffering through three erratic axes of movement right now and the ship would have to compensate for one at a time. As he watched, wringing his hands, he thought he noticed a subtle change in movement, which became more evident the longer he watched. The plane had stopped flipping end over end! Now slowly the drill bit motion slowed and stopped! To his great relief, the turntable action ceased as well, and the plane now just hovered in midair, as if trying to catch its breath.

"Jolie, autopilot the plane to the nearest clear landing area, please," Jake asked, and flew alongside the huge machine as it creaked its way to the ground, landing with a 'whomp!' and a rush of air that sent wildlife scattering. Jake jumped from the Scoovee as soon as it touched down and raced to the damaged ship, punching the code that disengaged the emergency hatch. It released with a groan and he lurched upwards into the ship, scaling the ladder in two-rung hops.

"SNM! Cassie! Will! Are you all right?" he called into the ship while still in the tube. Taking the last step he surveyed the interior. Anything not tied down was everywhere: lab equipment, papers, beakers and solutions plastered the inside, and dimmed red flashes afforded the only light.

"Normal lighting!" Jake called, and a few weak white lights popped on. The rest were dark or sparking.

"Over here!" Jake heard a voice call out weakly. "Help! Get me out of here!" He approached the sound and could soon make out a pile of loose chairs piled up against the rear bulkhead. He pulled them away to release the person inside. The last chair came away and there, trapped against the wall, was the Deputy, still enSpooged, still netted to the wall.

"You. Alive... good. I get to participate in your trial," Jake spat, and walked away, looking for other survivors.

"Hey! Get me out of this!" Jake ignored him.

The Differential Elevator was a twisted mass of exposed metal parts; Jake instead climbed the pipe railing with difficulty to check each level. On the second deck he stumbled across Devlin and Cassie, unmoving in their chairs. He checked their vitals then, satisfied they were both still alive, forced open the nearby science bay and exposed a computer console. He pulled up the nanodoc subroutines and did a condition report; neither were the worse for wear, although a few hundred nanodocs had been dispatched through their bloodstreams to close off lacerations obtained during the mayhem.

Jake slapped Devlin's face, gently at first, then with increasing vigor. "Hey... hey... stop!" Devlin said, coming awake.

"You'll be happy to know you're not dead. Where's SNM?"

"Who? What? Cassie!" Devlin asked, still groggy.

"Cassie's fine. Sara, the Security Officer... where is she? I can't find her."

"Oh... umm, she left her seat to check on the prisoner when all hell broke loose... what happened?"

"The building blew, and it almost blew the plane up with it. Why were you here?" Jake unharnessed him and the unconscious Cassie and continued searching for Morar. "Come help me look."

"We found the evidence you needed to free Altibar... Oh! Poor Altibar," Devlin said, realizing the extent of the carnage visited upon them by the Professor, as he rose unsteadily from his chair.

"You're still healing. Keep looking on this level... I'll go upstairs." Grunting with effort, the older man climbed more pipe railing to the top level.

"Oh! Andy, too... and your man John Lane. I'm sorry, Jake. Sorry I didn't kill that insane devil on that raid when I had the chance."

"Don't blame yourself. This kind of thing is normal in the Outers. Do you know we haven't had a death in Aden for six months? And that one was because of old age..." Jake pulled a broken railing away from several doors leading to crew bunks. "SNM?" he called out to the doors.

"Nnnn! Mnunnm!" came from behind one.

"Hang on Sara!" Jake sprung into action, tugging vainly to release the lock from the now serpentine door. Abandoning that course of action, he instead retrieved a section of broken pipe railing and, inserting it between the door & frame, levered the tortured lock open. Inside was a room in disarray; clothing was everywhere, as were personal items and splayed notebooks; the bed was now diagonal between the narrow walls and wedged up against the rear bulkhead. And staring straight at Jake was Morar's pert and vulnerable rear end. He followed it to find the rest of her body, which was trapped in this twisted position under the lodged bedframe. With her face smushed against the bulkhead it was impossible for her to speak, and the whole look was so comical Jake couldn't hold back a little chortle as he pulled the bed free to release her.

"Don't laugh, Jake... that was the most scared I have ever been. I was sure the fat lady had sung for me." She righted herself and he brushed her off, straightened her hair and held her head in his hands.

"You'll never know how worried I was for all of you, Sara. I'm glad to see you're alright... well, except for this nasty bruise." Jake brushed a black and blue swelling on her forehead and she flinched. "Let's get a cold pack on that... if we can find a first aid kit in here. What a mess!"

The group assembled on the first deck and left the plane, rolling the Deputy prisoner through the escape hatch. He landed on the ground, bounced and began to roll downhill.

"Oh, no you don't," Jake quipped and reached out a hand to stop it, which he accomplished using a handful of the Deputy's hair.

"Ow... shit! That hurts!" he cried.

The hill was steep, and rocks waited at the bottom.

"Who killed Trudy Nash? Tell me now and I won't let you fall to your death. The Spooge won't protect you from this distance." The smile vanished from Jake's face and he lightened his grip on the hair. The ball began rolling again.

"No! Stop! Wait!" Panic rose in his voice. "I-it wasn't me! I was only supposed to kill Devlin... and make it look like an accident."

"You son of a bitch," Devlin seethed, limping up to join them.

"Then who, if not you?" Jake gave the ball a little kick towards the hill.

"Please! He has my family! He'll kill my parents and sister if I don't do what he says."

"Who?"

"The guy with the lab coat! And his creepy assistant... the one he calls Renfrew!"

"Thackery." Jake glared the name. "Where is he? Where can I find him?" Jake was yelling now, and clutching the man's head with his fists.

The Deputy sobbed, "I-- I don't know! I'd do anything to find them. I'm not a bad man! Please don't kill me!"

"How did the building blow? I blanketed the area with jamming signals, enough to stop any kind of transmission."

"He figured that might happen, and so the bomb was hardwired to a machine answering one of the land lines. You can't jam a signal running through wires. Anyone could have set the bomb off, had they called the right number and waited for the beep."

"Don't sound so smug... that bomb killed three good men."

Morar suddenly shouted, "Look!"

Everyone turned. Almost too small to be seen at the bottom of the hill were John Lane, Altibar Rennedon and Andrew Stait, climbing the hill to meet them! Jake's mouth dropped open and he ran down to join them, forgetting about the Deputy, who began rolling in earnest until Cassie stopped it, holding the ball so the Deputy faced the rocks below in a most terrifying way.

"D-don't let me g-go!" he screamed.

Jake ran down to meet them, hugging the two Adeners and shaking the Sheriff's hand. "How...?" he began.

"Your message came in time, that's how." Lane smiled at Jake. When I put two and two together, I realized that Sheriff Stait and I were in some of the same classes in Quantico, including the coded transmissions section."

Stait continued, "When I heard John's call for 'Provision Six', I knew we were all in trouble, so I took us to the bomb shelter, underground and away from the main building."

Altibar finished, "We were just getting the shelter door shut when we saw a huge black and orange fireball heading our way." He shuddered. "I think my eyebrows got a little singed."

"Sheriff," Morar said, "Somewhere in that mess of a plane is the evidence you need to clear Altibar."

"Mr Rennedon has already been cleared in my eyes," Stait replied. "I just recently found out that he's been responsible for saving my ass more times than I can count, as the intelligence guy for my team back at the FBI."

"Your team?" Devlin stepped out from behind the Spooge ball.

"Will? What the devlin are you doing here?" Stait joked, hugging his former team leader.

"Trying to fix your mess, Sheriff." He rolled the title over in his mouth. "Sheriff. Sheriff. Not too bad, Andy!" he grinned.

Stait smiled. "You know... 'it's better to be a big fish in a small pond'..."

"I get it." Devlin nodded.

Stait noticed the six foot ball of foam. "What's that?"

Cassie twisted it around, revealing the pale and frightened Deputy. "'That' is a complicated situation. What do you say we discuss it on the way to Aden?"

Lane added, "Along with how we plan on finding the Professor and releasing his prisoners?"

Jake included, "Exactly. But how are we getting there? I don't think this old gal's got much flight left in her..." His words dropped off as a shadow blocked the sun for all of them, and in the sky descended another Aden air vehicle, much larger than the first.

Jolie's voice was heard in each of their earwigs. "I called another craft out to pick us up... I hope you don't mind. Stand back everybody! I'm taking you all back to Aden... along with my poor fallen soldier." The breeze kicked up was impressive but Jolie lit a path of least turbulence in shining green arrows on the ground for them to follow. When they were all clear, including the big ball of Spooge, the enormous ship descended over the smaller damaged craft, hangar door open, and simply swallowed it whole.

"My.... GOD!" Devlin gasped. "It's a flying aircraft carrier!"

"Quite literally, Will," Jake roared above the wind. "Hop aboard. We can get you to Washington inside of an hour once you're in Aden. Have you ever seen the place? You might want to vacation there."

"Just a few aerial photographs... I'm sure it's way more impressive in person."

Cassie chimed in, "You bet it is! This big baby is going to land on the roof of one of our skyscrapers!"

Copyright 2010 Bruce Ian Friedman

Maggie's Retribution

Perfect World story (The NOW)- Maggie Larter chapter 3

It had been a fantastic day, Trev thought while hiking along the mountainside to camp. He loved campouts, and although he could still see the beautiful buildings of Aden in the distance, it was still isolated up there, close to nature, close to the Earth. His nose twitched at new odors floating on the breeze both sweet and foul; his eyes caught glimpses of animal life he had before only seen in books or at the zoo-- it was another universe!

"Scouts, ho!" the Guide called and everyone stopped, scouts and parents and wildernessers and all, awaiting sage information or new directions. He pointed, and three dozen pairs of eyes searched. "Eagles! Looks like everyone gets to add a video to their wilderness log with their telecamera."

He pulled out a Holographic Scene Enlarger and spread its tripod onto the soft earth. Training the lens towards the birds, they were reproduced full size and floated with regal demeanor just above their heads.

Awed gasps came from the boys. Trev was amazed technology could bring them so much closer to wildlife without disturbing them in their habitat.

Observing a threat or an opportunity out of the troop's view, the eagles veered away and were soon too distant for even the HSE Viewer to pick up. The Guide packed it away. "We're just a few hundred yards away now... I want to see some hustle!" he shouted, and began to trot. To their credit, only a few grumbles were heard. Trev cinched his backpack's waistbelt tighter and obediently fell into step.

Striated sunlight fell across the path as dusk approached; he was glad they'd be able to set up camp before dark. He remembered sleeping on the tent his first trip; he had been unable to get his old one set up in the dark. Every tiny forest noise he heard that night was a potential bear to his ten-year-old mind. Two years of Webelos training later and he could prep camp, find wood for the fire and make dinner for the whole group. He was proud of the abilities he learned firsthand in the wilderness, in this program loosely modeled after the Boy Scouts of the Outer cities, and would be ready to lead a group as Guide in the coming months once he became proficient in survival skills.

The Guide this trip was Chalk; he had been selected from among the children. He was only two years older than Trev but everyone trusted his abilities without question. Though adults could step in, it was a rule to let the Guide handle every situation unless he specifically asked for assistance. Trev knew Chalk could be dangling from a cliff by his bandana and wouldn't need any help because his training was that complete, but it was comforting to have all the adults nearby... just in case.

The scenery raced past-- a field of summer sage, a copse of deep blue-green conifers, a fox chasing a rabbit and losing it thanks to a well-placed bunny hide amid a pile of splintered boulders. The path wound around the rocks, rapidly climbed a hundred feet in elevation then ended at a clearing, which was the campsite.

Trev knew this site well and had a favorite location for his tent; a rise towards the back of the campsite, snugged up against an enormous boulder almost two stories tall. The rock was flat and formidable in front, but was set into the ground in such a way that allowed access to the top; he had set up his telecamera there on previous outings and was able to get good photographs of the megascraper that was home for him in Aden. His favorite pictures to date were close-ups of Tiffy Bennett, his twenty-year-old neighbor who loved to exercise naked. Hell, she liked to do almost everything naked. Trev never wanted to move.

"Raise your tents and get firewood," Chalk bellowed to the troop. "We have a special treat tonight. After dinner Raf Zellen will regale us with tales of adventure and freakiness from his days living among the savages... the savages of New York City!" He spoke the last part in a quavering, ghostly voice. Uneasy murmurs joined the excited buzz; there were some who remembered previous Raf Zellen stories that ended in nightmares, sleeplessness and mild paranoia.

The new tents popped into place like soap bubbles in reverse; the children and adults departed, only to return moments later loaded with kindling. Soon a fire blazed and wieners topped the ends of three dozen sticks dipping in and out of the fires like fishermen at a sweet spot.

Later, bellies full and faces sticky, the campers gathered around in the gloom for the main event. Everyone quieted down at Chalk's request; cricket sounds surged and the licking fire popped. It was a moment ripe for an entrance... but nobody did. Trev wondered where Raf could be. Nobody had seen him since the meal but before a search party was suggested, a far-off sound came from deep in the woods. Not a woodsy sound; nothing alive could make that shriek.

The trees seemed to shift erratically now, shadows moving left and right, and a single bright light source could be seen through the foliage, approaching their position. The noise level increased dramatically and some of the adults, transplanted from all parts of old America, recognized that sound.

"That's a freight train!"

And surely it was! It advanced rapidly now, racing down the wide path leading to the campsite, directly toward the campers! Chug-a chug-a woo-oo! the train sounded in its approach, and man and boy alike scattered for dear life.

But the train didn't crash into them or send bodies flying. Instead it came to an impossibly rapid, shrieking stop and let out a long succulent hiss, producing steam so thick it could have been served up in a cone. It obscured the campsite momentarily, and when it dissipated... all signs of the train had vanished! Instead in its place was computer genius Raf Zellen, standing tall and smiling broadly, with one hand on his hip and the other holding the Holographic Scene Enlarger.

One by one the chuckles grew until the entire camp laughed as one. People emerged from behind trees and out of the brush, sheepish at their naiveté. A train bearing down on them on Peace Mountain? It was a little silly in retrospect.

Raf began. "Bet you didn't know this thing displays recorded images, too-- gotcha! Welcome, Webelos, I'm Raf Zellen and I'll be your storyteller tonight, so gather around the fire and cinch up your 'nads; you may crap yourselves before the night is over. I'll wait for a moment if anyone needs to pop on a diaper." Chuckles were heard; so were a few nervous whimpers. The campers gathered around the central fire and sat on any available hump; a rock, a pile of wood, a backpack. When they were all settled, Raf began.

"Many of you know I'm one of the newest members of the city-- I've only been here a short while, but I knew almost immediately that I wanted to spend the rest of my life in Aden. Those of you born here may have only heard stories about the Outer cities; raise your hand if you've never left Aden." Most of the children's hands went up. "Keep it raised if you've never seen any Outer television programs." Only two hands dropped; television was not popular in a city with so much to do. "Well then, it might help if you hold hands."

He noted with amusement that a few boys were fishing for their buddy's hand, then began. "For twenty-five years I lived in the biggest Outer city in America, and spent most of the time scared because there was danger everywhere.

If I walked on the sidewalk I could be accosted by drunks or thieves or murderers. If I crossed the street I could be killed by a car or a truck or a bus..."

"Or a freight train?" Trev asked.

"Not on the street, but in the subways. So many people crammed onto the platform of a subway station during rush hour that some were pushed onto the tracks, only to be gruesomely crushed under the harsh metal wheels of a fifty-ton train!

"Then when I got to school I had to deal with bullies and gang members. They always stole my lunch money and I never got to eat lunch. Sometimes they would steal my shoes or my shirt. Once they stole my pants."

The boys giggled. "What's a bully?" Other kids nodded.

"A mean kid who takes things from you at school."

He was met with blank stares, and one boy asked, "Take? Can't he get what he needs from a Dispenser?"

"No... there are no Dispensers in Outer cities." Shocked murmurs accompanied that statement.

"How do people get what they need?"

"They go to stores and spend money."

Trev was curious. "What's money?"

Raf had forgotten that most Aden children weren't taught about buying and selling and offered, "Money is used as a trading medium in Outer cities. They are given varying denominations of currency in exchange for work, which is then used to trade for whatever they need."

The boys were perking up. One asked, "What do they need? Isn't their housing given to them, like it is here?"

"No, they have to pay for it."

"How about their food?"

"They have to pay for that too."

"Is there anything that they don't have to trade for... for..."

"For money?" Raf thought. "Well... the parks are free, right?"

An adult said, "Taxes pay for them."

"Oh, right. Everybody who works pays taxes, which is spent on shared things like roads, parks and emergency services. So I guess they pay for those too."

"Tacks?"

"Tack-SEZ. About a quarter of an Outer's earnings go to the government."

"What's government?"

Raf raised his hands. The outer world was so much more complicated than Aden! How was going to get through this story? He took a deep breath and explained, "Outers hire people to run the country for them."

"Don't they have an ICPU?"

"No. Some people work to collect the taxes. Some represent people when voting on laws, and their vote counts for thousands of people."

"How can that be? Not everyone thinks in the same way." The boys were engaged now, learning about another world. It was like discovering that the moon was inhabited.

"It's called a majority. If more than half vote for a law, then it passes. The others don't get their way. They're called the minority. Getting back to the story." He glared at the bevy of boys eager to ask more questions, and they reluctantly shelved them. "So I was saying there were a lot of dangerous things to avoid in the big Outer cities. But I was never more afraid for my life than after I moved here."

The group seemed shocked. Trev asked, "Here in Aden? Why?"

"Many Adeners don't know this-- you'll need to keep it to yourselves after you hear it." Raf thought about the Vegas aphorism and said, "Remember the Webelos Code. 'Whatever you hear in the woods, stays in the woods'. Raise your hands and repeat."

The boys quoted the code en masse, three-fingered salute held high. Raf whispered now, and the boys hunched closer to hear.

"Not long ago, Aden was attacked by a band of murderous gang members bent on revenge."

The only sound was the crackling fire, but that fearful look reassured Raf they were taking the bait.

"It was a dangerous biker gang named the SkullFucker Motorcycle Club."

"Umm, I think they were called the SkullCrusher Motorcycle Club," one adult offered. The boys laughed and the mood was broken again.

Raf grimaced. "Doesn't matter. Dozens of big, dirty, swarthy men on loud motorcycles were searching for our own Maggie Larter to torture, rape and kill because she was smart enough to catch them at their own game, but naive enough ditch the debt. She escaped, but the gang followed her trail until they were just outside of Aden, causing mayhem and destruction along the way, beating and torturing people and setting buildings on fire."

"Buildings burn in the Outers?" Trev asked timidly.

"Yes. They're not fireproof like Aden structures. So these criminals were approaching Aden, but we were ready, thanks to the FactNet used by Aden's controlling software, the ICPU."

The Webelos scouts knew about the Interactive Control Personality Unit. It handled every detail of life in Aden, including taking a close interest in each citizen.

One boy chirped up about his own interactive program. "I call her Miss Maria!"

Chalk laughed, "I call my software Reebo and make it sound alien."

Trev said, "I just say 'computer' and he talks to me."

Raf smiled, "And I just call it Ikypoo. Get it? ICPU?" The group laughed.

"What's the FactNet?"

Raf answered, "It's an extension of ICPU's visual range from citywide to countywide using Aden's fly-sized nanocameras. When the SkullCrushers drifted into range ICPU knew and mobilized the entire city. Do you remember when every child visited the underground Farm? Well, that was the day of the assault. We took all 50,000 children to the other side of the valley and fifty stories down to prevent any chance of injury. The SkullCrushers didn't know this, but when they arrived in Aden the city was almost entirely empty-- save for the mobilized Protectors, all 100,000 of them. And I was one of those Protectors.

"I had just been invited to live here. I was still in the middle of City training when the call to action came. I wasn't ready, not by a long shot, but what could I do? Maggie is very important to me. We've invented the fun little Holographic Scene Enlarger, and we're also tennis partners and swing dance partners and lovers and best friends. It was my honor to help where I could. So I reported for duty at a Security kiosk and donned armor.

"Thousands of us were stationed all around the city, in little booths which are invisible from the hallways, designed to peacefully capture using the element of surprise. We could operate ceiling mounted nonlethal weaponry without leaving the booth, at the same time having clear visibility of the hallways, thanks to abundant nanocams.

"Other Protectors were stationed outside, in disguised maintenance areas which doubled as emergency sevices. The rest of us were part of an elaborate plan to capture and relocate each of the gang members into a Centenarium-- what the Outers call a jail."

Chalk said, "It was your elaborate plan, wasn't it, Raf?"

Raf blushed, invisible in firelight-- he hoped. "Not really. I used a scenario I had designed into a computer game, but in the game we annihilated them with powerful lasers. Cut 'em up like sirloins. Since Aden has no lethal weaponry we didn't do that."

Trev asked, "What did you do, Raf?"

"Hang on-- I'm getting ahead of myself. The action team broke up into a two-pronged response; one contingent held back as a 'reception' committee for any SkullCrushers that made it past our first defense into the city perimeter. The 'action' team would have all the fun-- they would encounter the criminals and use interesting technology against them."

"What kinds of technology?" Chalk asked.

"First was the SuperChopper. It was a huge air transport helicopter that could carry a hundred Protectors, plus, it could carry a tank under its belly and drop it at the scene. For this we used a tricked out sports car to lure the gang."

"If they were a motorcycle gang, why would they care about a sports car?"

"Good point, Trev. Because inside the car would be Maggie Larter. She was the bait. She did this willingly, and was unbelievably brave too. Even though the car was safe-- bulletproof, and at least 50 miles an hour faster than any of the motorcycles, there would be no protection for her if something went wrong on the road. But it was being driven by the ICPU, so all she had to do was get their attention.

"Which was easy. We had pinpointed the gang-- they were terrorizing the employees of a little diner in a small town a hundred miles from Aden while refueling for the next leg of their search. Our nanocams were on the scene so we timed the attack by their actions. The chopper dropped the car a ways from the diner, then flew over it in stealth mode as dozens of us slid down long ropes to the ground. The next cool piece of technology we stowed on board each of the motorcycles parked out front."

"Which was...?" This was Trev's favorite part, being a Nerd in training.

"Explosive jetballoons. It was our plan to allow them to drive away from the diner while chasing Maggie's car, gaining distance from civilization, and then when the bikers would draw close to Aden we would set off the charges, causing each motorcycle to suddenly float into the air! The jetpacks would then fly the balloons straight to the holding facility.

"Did it work?"

"Sort of. We couldn't make the motorcycle balloons work on every bike-- some wouldn't accept the bulky package, so our contingency plan was to let the rest of those bikers follow Maggie to Aden and surprise them at the secret tunnel exit."

"There's a secret tunnel into Aden?"

"Yes, and we're not far from it. It's the only way to approach Aden by land, and it's rigged with numerous safeguards to prevent an unwanted breach of the city. We may be peaceful and nonlethal, but we're not foolish-- we know Aden is a prize for anyone who discovers it."

"Why?"

Raf thought about the simple but surprisingly deep question and said, "We got it... they want it."

"What does that mean?"

"It means Aden is a paradise where nobody is ever hungry, or cold, or scared. In the Outers that's all they seem to think about."

The boys reflected on their good fortune and one said perceptively, "They should live like we do."

"Brilliant! That's just what Perfect World Doctrine is trying to do!" He smiled and brought them back. "Now where was I? Oh, right. We had just slid down the ropes and had quietly surrounded the diner. We were alone; it was dark and late. We clamped the balloon packs into as many bikes as would fit them, and then hid. Maggie's car came blazing down the road and clipped the first motorcycle, knocking it into the next one, which fell into the next, until they had all fallen over. The car did donuts in the parking lot, honking all the while. Of course the bikers heard the commotion and ran out. That's when they saw Maggie in the driver's seat, mocking them to catch her."

Raf paused then, observing the rapt faces of boy and man alike. "But did they catch her?"

The entire group shouted, "No!"

"That's right. We were careful with our calculations, and Maggie had a pretty good lead by the time the bikers had righted their 'hogs'. They had no idea Maggie wasn't alone; we were all out of sight and that was the plan. We knew that overconfidence would be their undoing. When the last biker had ridden off after her, we entered the diner to help the employees, who were roughed up but safe." The boys sighed in relief.

"But," Raf continued, "there were two unclaimed motorcycles, meaning two bikers had escaped. We searched around the diner but turned up nothing. They had just disappeared. But the rest... well, they were catching up to Maggie, or should I say trying to catch up to Maggie. That car has a top speed of over 200 miles an hour and none of the bikers had a chance. No matter how fast they rode, the car was always just out of reach. And so deep was their determination that they never noticed their ranks were diminishing, one at a time."

"How?"

"Explosive jetballoons. The motorcycle in back would make a quiet 'poof!' rise up and begin to float away! By the time Maggie and her ICPU had reached the Aden turnoff, less than half of the bikers were left."

It had grown quite dark out; the camp's only light on that moonless evening came from the roaring campfire, which cast bizarre dancing shadows on the surrounding treeline. The fire could be seen from quite a distance; it was a tiny bright dot to the people looking out upon the mountains from the Aden megascrapers. It was quite a bit brighter for the two roughshod men looking down on it from their perch at the mountain's crest-- bright enough to follow, bright enough to find. Without a word they stood and headed straight for it; soon they could hear the crackling of burning wood and the voice of a storyteller. They stopped to listen. A smile spread across one man's face, and he began to chuckle.

"What is it?" whispered the other.

The man reached into his jacket and withdrew a Glock 9 mil, which glinted faintly in the darkness. He leveled the gun experimentally toward the pinpoint of fire. "They're playing our song. Time to join the party."

"What?"

The man shot him a look of disgust. "Just follow my lead, Kindle."

"What happened next?" One boy asked as the others chattered excitedly.

"Here's the good part-- when the bad guys get their comeuppance! So two thirds of them were being floated directly to the Aden containment facility, and the rest were following Maggie off the road, through a field and straight towards the sheer rock face of the mountain! They were certain she had made a bad call and was about to smash into the rock and die. They didn't know about the tunnel bored straight through the mountain, whose entrance was hidden with artificial shrubbery, but figured it out when she didn't die a horrible, fiery death. They nosed around and soon found the tunnel to Aden!"

"You mean they came here?" One boy asked nervously.

"Right here... the other end of the tunnel isn't a thousand yards from us! But Maggie and ICPU had one more trick up their sleeves. You see, the road coming from the mouth of the tunnel on the Aden side makes a sharp left turn to avoid a hundred foot drop, but the bikers didn't know that, and they didn't know that Maggie's car was outfitted with pneumofoil lifters, in essence making it an airplane. So when Maggie left the tunnel--"

"She flew straight out and into the air!" Several of the boys had put two and two together and were trying to figure out the rest. "So she floated, and they... they fell a hundred feet to their deaths? That's ten stories!"

"You're half right. She did seem to continue straight on a road after leaving the tunnel, and it was too late for them... they all flew off the cliff. But... none of them died. Remember I said there would be a welcoming committee once they got to Aden? Well, there were perhaps twenty thousand Protectors set up throughout these very woods, and a full thousand of them just at the base of that tunnel. Seeing Maggie's car fly away was the signal to bring out their last piece of technology, a nonlethal weapon called Spooge."

"Spooge? Doesn't that mean...?" an adult began.

"Let me stop you right there. What it is, is a semisolid gunk that gets launched out of a handheld cannon. It hits them, foams up to four times its size and hardens into a flexible ball in seconds. It's what prevented the bikers from falling to their deaths. As each one fell off the cliff, dozens of Protectors shot off their Spooge cannons-- no wise cracks-- and engulfed each of them with enough of the goo to fully protect them at landing... they became, in essence, huge grey tennis balls that bounced when they landed and needed to be stopped."

"How did you catch them?"

Raf smiled. "With harpoons." Boys and men cringed alike. "Adhesive harpoons." Relieved sighs. "Any balls which could not be stopped were lassoed with these giant wads of Spooge attractant attached to a cable, which was harnessed to the gun, which was held by a Protector strapped to a tree. Even still, one got away from us and rolled a-l-l the way down the mountain! All we could do was let it run out of steam at the bottom and grab it once it stopped. Then we trucked them to the containment facility, getting there just as the airborne bikers were being 'dropped' into the yard, where they were all tranquilized and processed." Raf stood up and brushed his hands together in a motion of finality. "And that's where they are right now."

"What's the jail like?"

"First off, it's called a' Centenarium'. It's more like a Podschool, except the teacher is a psychiatrist and spends hours a day with each of them."

"Isn't that dangerous?"

"No. The men are each in their own small room, like a bedroom.

The walls are soft but incredibly strong. The doctor only appears on a video screen and she is not even a person. She is--"

"The ICPU?"

Raf smiled broadly. "Bingo! We made the avatar into a hot biker chick, tatted up and cussing like a prizefighter."

"What's a prizefighter?"

"Cursing like a Marine."

"What's that?"

"A little help...?" Raf looked at the other adults.

"Cursing like me when I nailed my thumb with a hammer," offered one.

The boys giggled and Raf smiled thankfully. "Yeah, that," he said. "One look at her and they forget about trying to break out or bust the place up... instead they became strutting peacocks, hoping to score with the hot Doc."

The boys reacted as boys often do, with a chorus of 'ooohs' and giggles. Raf continued. "And that's what we're hoping for. Y'see, put a man in that state and it becomes easy to strip away the layers of defense hiding the fear. And one thing we know about fear is..." he paused and looked at each of them hang on to every word; he finished his thought. "... is that fear is what makes people act like animals. It's survival kicking in. Once they are in that position the Doc knows they are primed for retraining, even though they don't know it themselves."

"How will you retrain them?"

"By helping them see their value as citizens, and by helping them ease the inevitable guilt for their past actions."

One boy sagely asked, "Should their guilt be eased? Didn't they do many bad things?"

"Yes, but the past cannot be changed. We can only be concerned with the balance of their lives, the present and future. A properly retrained criminal will want to make up for his past by doing good for the present and future, by becoming a model citizen."

"What happens then?"

Raf stood up. "What happens is I get up and rub my numb ass-- seventh inning stretch!" He stood grandly and pressed his backside against a nearby tree, ignoring the laughter as he wiggled. "Ahh, that feels good!"

He had begun an unintended stampede. Most of the boys also pressed their fannies to trees, dancing cheek to bark, giggling stupidly. Two boys went tush to tush to relieve the numbness. One dragged his ass in the dirt, barking like a terrier. The campsite was in turmoil.

Soon the pins and needles stopped and they returned to their seats. One boy asked, "So, tell us what happens when the Centenarium program begins working," and looked towards Raf for a response.

Only Raf wasn't there.

"Where's Raf?" The group looked around the dimly firelit campsite but could not see him. "Raf? Hey Raf! Where did he go? Raf!"

Raf could hear the campers call for him and wanted to respond, but was prevented from doing so by the beefy hand clasped over his mouth, and by the cold hard pistol pressed against his temple. Even in the inky darkness he knew what was happening-- he had just found the last two escaped gang members. Or rather, they had just found him.

A strong arm had encircled his waist, lifted him with ease off the ground and was carrying him like a rag doll. He could see the lights of Aden moving quickly through the trees as he moved out of earshot on what had to be enormous Paul Bunyan legs. Man, this guy is powerful!

Raf considered his options and decided it would be best not to antagonize him, since he was fresh out of slick Kung Fu moves. Plus, the information gleaned about Chopper since the capture of his gang was quite frightening-- he was the only SkullCrusher to ever kill someone... and he hadn't stopped at one. He feared Chopper might be too far gone for Centenarium treatment and as such, Raf feared for his life.

Where were they going? Raf figured he was being brought out of earshot, but that distance had passed minutes ago... unless he was being brought out of earshot for a gunshot. Raf tried not to think about that, or that he suddenly needed to urinate fiercely, and instead concentrated on his options. At the moment his options seemed very limited, unless the big man should suddenly trip and drop him, in which case Raf knew exactly what to do... run like a bunny.

"What's the plan, Chopper? Is it time to slice his face off?"

Raf tried not to shudder, but a chill shot through him anyway. The guy was trying to rattle him. Shouldn't waste his time, Raf thought, as he was already rattled.

"Quiet! And you've just used my name. That means we have to kill him."

Raf tried to speak but couldn't get a molecule of air beyond the huge meathook plastered across his mouth. Chopper noticed. "You got something to say, boy? Scream for help and I twist off your head like a toothpaste cap, you got that?" He took his hand away and moved it to Raf's neck, gripping like a choke chain.

Raf doubted the unsavory man ever used a toothpaste cap, but gurgled, "I already knew your name, Mr Chopper... and Mr Kindle's, too. We all do. You're famous around here."

Chopper stopped short, nearly dropping the smaller man. "How do you know who we are? We're in a goddamn city!"

"This is Aden-- we're all family here. You and Mr Kindle stick out a little. May I ask what you want with me?"

Chopper spat. "I've got a couple of missions, and you're going to help me."

Raf was certain he knew both of Chopper's missions, but asked anyway. "Missions?"

"To break out my gang... and take that bitch Maggie Larter along with me."

Right on both counts, Raf thought. "What do need me for?"

"You're my bargaining chip. I get what I want or I kill you."

"Oh. There might be a problem."

Chopper glared at him, invisible in the moonless night. "What problem?"

"I'm way too small of a fish. You're asking for a lot. You might be able to trade me for the motorcycles... well, a few of the motorcycles. To demand something that big, you're gonna need better hostages."

"I think you're lying. Kindle, give me a smoldering stick. I need the truth from this little asshole."

"Where am I gonna get a smoldering stick, Boss? We don't have a fire!"

"I'm not lying, I'm not lying!" Raf said quickly. "I'm new here... I'm not worth much yet. But there's a whole campsite of young Adeners that can help you achieve your goal! The city cares more about its kids than anyone else. They'd give you everything you asked for, and more, to get them back!"

"Wow. You really are a shit, aren't you?" Chopper mused. "Selling out children for your own safety. But," he smiled and turned around, dropping Raf to his feet, "you have a good plan and I think we should do it. Walk in front." The big man gave Raf a shove back towards the campground.

"How are you going to make this happen?" Raf asked. "There are a lot of adults in camp, too. Nothing personal, but that's a big disadvantage." Scared as he was, Raf found the criminal mind fascinating and was riveted with the firsthand observation.

"It'll be easy. I use their fear against them. Nobody wants to see a kid hurt, so I make them all do what I want with a threat against the smallest kid in the bunch. Sometimes they trip over each other trying to make me happy." Chopper chuckled quietly. "It's good to look like Bigfoot."

"That's apparent. Nobody would be frightened of clean-cut Norman Felstein, accounting clerk from Passaic no matter how big he was, right?"

"Wha--," Chopper began, obviously dismayed. "How--?"

"I told you-- you're well known around these parts."

"Well, hello, Norman!" Kindle sang his name gleefully. "Wait'll the guys hear that! Hey Norman, can you do my taxes?"

Raf chided, "No, he can't. He was just a clerk. But you could fit him for a suit, couldn't you, haberdasher Percival Winnifer Middleton III from Fire Island, New York?"

"Haw! I don't know which to mock you for first!" Chopper grabbed the other biker and slammed him into a tree, laughing. "Shouldn't you be riding a pretty pony, Winnie?"

Kindle bounced off, smarting. "Ow!"

Chopper said, "Now shut up. I don't want them to hear us. Move." The men walked in silence towards the pale, flickering campsite, the fire offering just enough light to see the path. Raf could hear the boys singing a children's song, with the men joining in for the refrain. "Seems like they're not worried you disappeared, Raf. They must not care about you," Chopper whispered, smiling. "Now I see why you'd give them up. A fine bunch of assholes you Adenites are. Every man for himself, just like everywhere else.

"Now here's the plan. Kindle, stay with this guy. If he tries to holler, slit his throat. I'm gonna sneak up and grab that little kid closest to us, produce the gun and make my demands. We'll head to the tunnel, you and me, the kid and the shit, and wait for the gang to ride up. Then we'll ride out of here, taking Maggie with us. Man, she is gonna be a sweet victory."

"You think they'll do all that, Boss?"

"We're threatening a campground fulla their kids-- what else are they gonna do but listen?" Chopper peered at the campsite. "They're starting another song. I'm going in."

He slipped silently around the dark edges of the site until he was behind one boy, the small one slightly away from the rest. He crept up up and slid his hand around the boy's waist to pick him up, preparing to lodge the gun into his neck and get their attention-- but instead lifted up a boy-sized chunk of air! He looked at the oblivious child and the other campers expecting resistance, but got none-- they ignored him completely and kept singing. Chopper reached again, watching this time as his hand passed right through the boy. His mouth dropped and he glanced back towards Kindle, bewildered.

Still the campers sung, though now that he was paying attention, it was clear that their voices weren't coming from their mouths, but from off to one side. Then a flicker of light passed through the entire group, and without fuss or disturbance they simply... disappeared. The fire's flickering light remained but everyone was gone... everyone but one dark figure, emerging from the shadows and striding towards Chopper with deadly purpose.

The firelight reached the stranger's face. Chopper's eyes went wide with recognition. His mouth dropped open and in the confusion of the last moment could only squeak out a gasp of surprise--

"Maggie Larter?"

"Yes it's Maggie Larter, you stupid prick." And with that epithet she raised her arm, pointed a Spooge cannon at his chest and fired twice, point blank. Chopper was driven backwards and fell to the ground. The last thing he saw was a rapidly disappearing Maggie Larter, glaring smugly, before the grey goo expanded around him into a large sphere, leaving him trapped and immobile.

In the shadows Kindle's mouth dropped open briefly, but his face quickly hardened into an angry mask. He bunched Raf's shirt up in his softball-sized fist, pulling him close. Raf heard the switchblade snap open, drew a quick breath, closed his eyes and prepared to die. The stinging slice never came.

What did come was roughly a dozen soft splatty hits on him, and Kindle, and the tree beside them, and he realized he had just been saved by Spooge. In his ear he heard Ickypoo. "Great job, Raf. Acted like a true thespian... I believed every word." He tried to respond but the Spooge made it hard to talk.

A short while later Raf could hear the hiss of chemical reaction as the Spooge was partially melted by the reagent and his head was exposed along with Kindle's, the two of them an odd Babushka doll. They were still otherwise encased. "Get me out of this!" Kindle screamed, trying to wriggle but unable to. A technician said, "Right away, sir," produced a syringe and stuck it in his neck. Kindle struggled, then dropped asleep at the count of five. More reagent and the ball of goo melted to nothing, as Kindle was lifted onto a stretcher and taken away. A door swung open and Maggie burst in, flung herself at the gooey Raf and covered his sticky face with kisses.

"Thank you thank you thank you! Mwah! You were so brave out there, Raf! I was petrified they were going to hurt you!" She pulled him over to the shower room and fell inside, allowing the steaming mist to envelop them both.

"Maggie, you'll get soaked!" Truth was, Raf was delighted for the impromptu wet T-shirt display. "And what about you? You were so brave up there-- you were Lara Croft, only hotter!" He helped her buttons open.

Maggie wriggled out of her wet clothes, and wriggled against Raf. "I bet you missed this."

"Most definitely, especially when I thought I was never going to hold you again." He held her close and kissed her lips. "Now, what were you doing while I played captive?"

"Well," Maggie said, getting momentarily serious. "As soon as they grabbed you, Chalk noticed and contacted ICPU. It was his idea to use your Holographic Scene Enlarger to project the entire campsite view to a clearing nearby. The kids were never in any danger from Chopper or Kindle. ICPU ordered a small contingent of Protectors to track you in the woods using night vision, so you were never really in any danger, either-- they used the tunnels and were on scene in about five minutes."

"So I guess for five minutes there, I could have been killed by those maniacs. Good thing Ickypoo fed me the information about those two to keep them distracted. But I can't believe she made me suggest using the kids as hostages! I had no idea they weren't actually there. I guess she didn't want me to tip the hand. But why were you there?"

"That was my idea, Raffie. I was going to surprise you-- I've been taking Protector training! I told Connie to put me on the detail if those last two bikers ever showed up." She looked confused.

"What is it, Mags?"

"I know we're supposed to be better than that in Aden but man, it felt good to pummel that asshole with Spooge!"

"Ickypoo, Jacuzzi!" The small room immediately filled with hot, churning water. Raf smiled at her and said, "No one faults you for your feelings-- you are completely entitled. But as for my own feelings..." he kissed her lips sweetly, "...You are my heroine, my savior. And as such, I have a reward for you." He winked and dipped below the surface.

Maggie squealed, cheeks rosy.

Copyright 2009 Bruce Ian Friedman