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As they rounded the corner of Infinity Lane and Paradigm Terrace, the troupe came face-to-face with the most dazzling piece of achitecture ever gazed upon by human eyes.
Nelson's jaw dropped. ``My lord ...''
``The Majestic Temple of Yalinisi ... the spiritual hub of Galmador.'' The Turkles' voice indicated that even they were not fully prepared for the sheer glory of the structure. ``And, if my supposition is accurate, it is here that we shall find our way into the Hollow Earth. Now, with a bit of serendipity ...'' One of the Turkles attempted to open the massive gate, but it was a futile attempt. The other let out a muffled curse.
``Apparently,'' put in the Doctor, ``Galmador wasn't the kind of town where one felt safe leaving the front door unlocked.''
The Turkles nodded, attempting to look less discouraged than he clearly was. If they were to succeed in stopping GRAVIMETRICDAR, it was imperative that they somehow find a way into the temple. Soon. ``Whiplash, Dr. Guerring, help me try to pick the--''
Their words were cut off as the door suddenly opened. They tried to run, but in an atypical display of discoordination, the Turkles tripped over each other's feet. Helpless, they looked up in terror as through the door stepped ...
Julie.
No one spoke until she broke the silence. With a shrug, she pointed to the group's left. ``The window was open.''
Gathering their senses, the others followed her in. The Turkles took the lead, and after what seemed like hours the entrance to the Hollow Earth was found. The view was breathtaking and a bit terrifying. Clouds and even an inexplicable light source floated in what passed for a sky. The appearance of the cities and their inhabitants were distinctly alien, but somehow hauntingly familiar. And strangely enough, none of the beings which were milling about seemed to notice them especially much ... as if this sort of thing happened every day.
Abruptly, the Turkles stopped. After a quick glance to the right, they both dove into a side alley and beckoned the rest of the group to follow.
``This is it. This is the entrance to GRAVIMETRICDAR's dimension. I'm certain of it,'' said the leftmost Turkles, tossing aside the alley clutter to reveal yet another space-time portal. ``Come now, everyone, fate awaits ... and this portal seems unstable, it may not last long. We'll have to all enter at once to be sure we aren't split up.''
Cautiously, everyone moved toward the portal. ``On my mark,'' ordered the other Turkles, ``... NOW!''
With uncharacteristic grace (except for Nelson, who stumbled but nonetheless got through) the troupe entered the unknown. Sure enough, as if to prove Turkles right, the portal sputtered and died behind them. But none of the group noticed, for a number of reasons.
Summing up the most obvious one, Michael shouted, ``WHAT THE HELL IS THAT GOD-FORSAKEN NOISE?'' to the nearest Turkles.
With a look of horror in his eyes, the Turkles spoke in unison. ``I'M AFRAID I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT IT IS.'' In a voice almost too soft to be heard, he continued, pointing a finger upward. ``Because I have been here before. The sky is falling.''
``WHAT?!?'' screamed just about everyone, as they peered up through the dim, flickering light at ... something ...
``HE'S RIGHT,'' noted both Dr. Whiplashes. ``WE'VE GOT TO MOVE!'' continued Whiplash, suddenly easily distinguishable from the Doctor ... primarily due to the wings which he had somehow acquired.
``I have a very bad feeling about this,'' Lydia whispered.
It was at this inopportune moment that Julie's hair, which had been on fire since the end of Scene 20, decided to flicker out and bathe the scene in total darkness.
[deleted]
Turkles' initial reaction of abject terror quickly gave way to a most peculiar sense of deja vu. It wasn't that he felt that what was happening now had happened before; more like something different had happened and he'd been given the chance to do it over. He shivered at the memory of his last visit to this place ... or maybe it was just the cold.
``Jules, quick question,'' asked Nelson, ``how was it that you weren't burnt by that fire on your head?''
``There was a fire on my head?!? How come nobody told ME?''
``Ummmmm ... we were kind of wrapped up in things. 'Sides, at least I thought you would've realized it yourself.''
``Maybe one or both of you are latently pyrokinetic,'' said Turkles, ``not that that fact would help get us out of this predicament ...''
The throng stare at each other, unnerved by the plummetting sky.
``Oh my God! I've done this all before!'' screams Whiplash, ruffling his feathers.
``Well ... How'd you get out of it last time?''
``I ... I ... I forgot. All I remember is the wings, the falling city, the deja vu of a deja vu ...''
``Here's an idea, why don't you fly up to the City and see if you can get any help up there.''
Whiplash spreads out his wings, pummelling the troupe to the ground. He flies up, up, disappearing to a little speck against the fastly approaching doom.
The Turkles' minds were continuously churning away. How was this cylinder lit? Obviously not from above. How'd they get here? How come Julie wasn't burnt by her hair?
Michael nervously broke the silence, ``Errr ... ok, we've got to keep calm ... ok, ok, ok ... Ummm ... I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with the letter `C.'''
Thelma chimed in. ``The CITY ... THE ONE THAT'S GOING TO SQUISH US TO A PULP??!?''
`` *gulp* Yes, your turn.''
About an hour later, Whiplash returned, again clocking everyone with his wings. ``Ok, I found a small door on the bottom of the city. I could fly us all up there one at a time ... I think.''
Julie steamed, ``Yeah, or we could just stand under it and let the city fall around us ...''
**********
Meanwhile, on a street corner near you.
A black car drives up to Jack Fist, Action Hero. Out climbs Ed the Envelope Guy and a large quiet man wearing sunglasses. ``Hi, I'm Ed, this is Ski, you're Jack Fist, Action Hero, and WE must be going!''
Jack turns to Gloopy: ``These the `others?'''
``Well, yeah, I guess. I didn't quite expect the Envelope Guy, but I'd trust 'em.''
MEANWHILE
``You know, the sensation of falling isn't as bad once you get used to it. It's actually quite ... pleasing. The sense of weightlessness ... the calm--''
``AAAAHAHAHAHAAAAGHHHH!!!! AAAAAAAAIIIEIEIEIEEEEE!!''
``Doctor, I don't think Julia's listening.''
``Well, I don't think she, or any of us, had anything really to worry about. Knowledge of trans-dimensional/temporal physics can be quite reassuring at times -- for example, we've already no doubt reached terminal velocity. At this point, we're not really falling any faster, so really it can't get any worse.''
``You know, I used to think that myself. But then Julie's mom got eaten, and things fell apart on campus. All because of that damn machine ...''
``Well, the others have no doubt formulated some wonderful, world saving plan to stop ours and the city's descent by now. Turkles, anything different happening to you at this point?''
``It seems Doctor, that the link Turkles and I share diminshes as distance increases, no doubt according to some inverse square type law -- transdimensionally, that is.''
``Hmm. Fascinating. Well, Julia seems to have fainted. At least we won't have to hear her incessant screaming any longer.''
``Er, Doctor?''
``Yes, Mich ... oh damn. I've forgotten your other name. Sorry.''
``Don't worry about it. It's just that the city seems to have gone into somewhat of a ruckus.''
``Yes, it certainly has. Can't imagine why.''
``I think I know why, Doctor,'' said Turkles.
The concious members of the group simultaneously turned their heads in the direction of Turkles's downward pointing finger. Below them, a massive cloud of smoke rose quickly to meet their open mouths. Choking and gagging, they all rubbed their burning eyes to reveal the onrushing spectacle.
The diffused light seemed to become much brighter, and a tad more reddish. The surrounding air became much warmer, to the point of quite a bit of discomfort. Just below their feet, a lake of flaming water was approaching. The scent of brimstone was in the air.
Apparently, they were going to Hell.
*HONK!*
Sylvia, bored to tears in this tiny non-descript room, looks up at the goose-like creature she's been stuck with for the past days. It stared back with empty eyes. ``Damn,'' she thought, ``Not even a knife to slit its long feathered throat.''
*HONK!*
``I think ...''
*HONK!*
``I'm going to ...''
*HONGGGGWARK!*
``scr ... hey, you made a new noise. Cool. Do it again.''
*GWARK* *BELCH*
``On second thought ...''
*BRAUP* *GAAAAK*
``don't.''
*HONNHUARF*
And a tiny stone-like object shot out of the goosish mouth and bounced against the wall.
**********
``Well ... we seem to have stopped falling,'' said the Turkles, brushing themselves off.
``Yeah,'' said Michael, ``but we didn't go splut ... at least, I don't think we went splut. I don't feeeel like I went splut.''
``Maybe we've arrived in Hell.'' Whiplash scanned the sky. ``No, doesn't look like Hell. Perhaps it's just Purgatory.''
Rachel scanned the other half of the sky. ``Either this is a flashback gone way-bad, or there's a giant Winona Ryder clone up there.''
Everyone turned to see the 200-foot woman.
``Hey,'' said Julie and Thelma doing their best Turkles impression, ``It's Sylvia! HEEEELLLLLOOOOO!! HELLLLLLLOOOOOO!!!''
**********
Sylvia may have heard them, if she put her ear to the two inch diameter stone.
``That's sick. Throwing up all over our room. Wish I had a dagger so I could slice that thing open, and find out what it is ... or what it eats ... or ... SHIT!''
As a large blade thrusts through the wall ...
``Here, put this on your forehead.'' Jack stared at the small red piece of paper that Ed handed him.
``What's this?'' he queried.
``A stamp. Put it on.'' It was then that Jack noticed that not only Ed, but also the tall thin man in black was wearing one of the stamps. Ed was also busy with some kind of metallic device with lots of keys and levers on it. ``There, I've set the address. Agent Lime-Rickey, would you put up the flag please.''
The agent pulled a gun from his pocket, and fired a multi-colored flare into the sky. Suddenly, swirls of red, yellow, and blue surrounded the Cadillac. All seemed normal, until the forward motion suddenly stopped and the car jerked upward as if lifted by some giant hand. The red stamps began to glow, as black stripes (`cancel marks' Ed called them) appeared on them.
**********
Postman Claven, a being in a meta-dimension above our own, tucked the thin, 3-dimensional object into his 14-dimensional postal bag and continued on his route. His next stop, a small classroom in the Outer Non Verities sector, was just a few blocks away. On his way, he stepped through a myriad of universes, noting the passing of each with only minimal attention. He stepped into the classroom, and delivered the inspirational letter. He was just about to leave, when one of the other students caught his attention.
``Hey, I'm not gonna let simple reluctance on your part stop me from delivering a complete package,'' he yelled, although the beings in this universe were not equipped to hear his speech patterns. He then grabbed the student and tossed him into the mailbag as well.
**********
Wanda sat, minding her own business, in one of the most boring classes offered at Arkham Polytechnic Institute -- Science for the Undisciplined. As usual, she was sharpening her pencil down to the eraser, with a jackknife. It was what she usually did while Professor Metricdar went on and on about whatever it was that he went on and on about. Being the child of wealthy children of wealthy parents, she didn't worry much about passing, so much as she did about not dropping out. She passed just enough courses to keep her in school for the rest of her life. Then two things occured that changed her life forever.
The first was that she suddenly was inspired. She had what she could only call The Answer. No, that wasn't enough capital letters. THE ANSWER! Yes, with an explanation point, definitely required. She knew that she had to tell everyone about it immediately, if not sooner.
The second was that the student sitting next to her disappeared.
Wanda did what any filthy, disgustingly rich girl with petty, shallow concerns who had just been given THE ANSWER! would do in such a situation. She fainted dead away.
**********
In the Cadillac, Jack suddenly found himself looking in a mirror.
``WHO THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU? AND WHERE THE BLOODY BUGGERING HELL DID YOU COME FROM?'' he yelled at his sudden duplicate.
Jack (the other one) fainted.
Wanda looked up at the time. 3:47 am. She had been writing for the past 7 hours this time. She looked at the stack of papers scattered about on her bed and sighed. ``Shit,'' she intoned. She rubbed her eyes and reread the last page she had written, mumbling the words quietly to herself.
``I finally write myself in after 93 pages? That's not going to work.''
Muttering softly to herself, she tries to organize all 93 pages into one coherent stack. The pages wouldn't fit together peaceably.
Leaving the confines of her bedroom, Wanda forays into the kitchen for yet another cup of coffee. She gulps at the magical brew and returns to her sanctuary. College was a tense time, with bills to pay and a reputation to uphold. She needed the money that a really amazing fantasy story would draw in.
Sitting down, she reviews the first page.
``It was not a good day. Michael could not remember the last time he'd had a good day ... It seemed like all of the things that could possibly have gone wrong in his life had gotten together and decided to make him miserable. In the space of a week, his mother and two of his closest friends had been mysteriously killed, he'd been attacked by a demon, and the female population of the campus had begun actively avoiding him. Especially Thelma ...''
``THIS IS SUCH TRIPE! I CAN'T BELIEVE I ACTUALLY WROTE SUCH SHIT!''
The woman living next door had probably woken up. Wanda didn't care. She began tearing pages into tiny pieces, slavering and grunting like a wild animal in a feeding frenzy. Little bits of paper littered the room like newly fallen snow, as the blizzard continued spewing from Wanda's hands ...
It began sounding like someone was remixing the sounds of the ripping in real time. Slowed down and much more grating, Wanda didn't notice until the first being materialized in the middle of her bedroom. She caught the man out of the corner of her eye and continued ripping ...
More creatures appeared, rubbing their eyes and staring around. Some seemed to be twins of others, and a Cadillac suddenly sprouted out of the closet holding a pair of twins and two other males.
``What in God's name is going on here?''
*HONK!*
Wanda couldn't begin to describe the creature that made the honking noise.
``I'm Saved! I thought I'd never get out of there, especially with this damn egress ...''
``You drove us into a building! Nice going, envelope head ...''
Wanda noticed that the room was much too small to hold all of these diverse creatures. They had started trampling her posters (she had never gotten around to putting the rest of them up). She decided to take control.
``EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP!''
A tense silence followed, broken only by the sound of the idling Cadillac.
And then she recognized them all.
And the knife cut through the wall.
And the whole room erupted into a chorus of screams.
The darkly-clad man behind the wheel was the only one not screaming, but managed to make his the loudest voice anyway. His hastily-shouted command of ``EVERYONE ... IN THE CADDY ... NOW!!!'' left very little open to interpretation. And no one was in the mood to argue very much as the wall continued to be torn to shreds.
It was an incredible sight to behold. In a span of precisely four and a half seconds, every individual managed to find a spot inside the vehicle. Some would claim it impossible, but there it was ... Special Agent Ski Lime-Rickey, Ed the Envelopistic Relativist and the two Turkles sat in the front seat. Wanda, the Jack Fist twins, and the two Doctor Whiplashes were crammed in the back. The Egress, Ed the Gibbering Doofus, and Dr. Rachel Guerring chose the path of least resistance and dove headfirst into the trunk. The others, consisting of Sylvia and an odd assortment of Thelmas, Michaels, and Lydias, were strewn every which way on top of the other passengers. All in all, the Caddy most resembled a vacuum-packed brick of Folger's crystals.
``HANG ON TIGHT!'' grunted the driver, gasping for air ...
And as the wall came crumbling down, what came through it caught only a passing glimpse of the Caddy's badly-scratched rear bumper as it blasted its way through the window across from the closet and vanished. A clawed fist slammed against the floor in frustration, knocking loose a few more pieces of the ex-closet and causing something (through the tire smoke, who could honestly tell what it was?) to come crashing to the floor. A set of eyes like none seen before stared menacingly at the twin trails of rubber leading to the now-nonexistent window.
GRAVIMETRICDAR was not a happy demon.
**********
Traditional wisdom dictates that anyone riding inside a vehicle when it unexpectedly goes careening out of a twenty-third story window and lands in the center of a highly-travelled thoroughfare will not have to worry about which shirt to wear the next morning.
In this case, traditional wisdom was utterly wrong.
For when this particular 1993 Cadillac LeBehemoth emerged from room 2317 of Warren Towers and plummeted onto a serendipitously vacant portion on Commonwealth Avenue, there was no need to call the coroner. Nor was there any time to do so, as the Caddy screamed (literally) off into the night.
Ski Lime-Rickey was extremely glad that he had purchased the high-quality sport suspension for his car.
**********
``No ...'' whimpered Wanda. ``This can't be happening. We just drove a car out of my dormitory room to evade a hellbeast that I dreamed up during a bout with writer's block two days ago. No ...''
``Yes,'' came the insistent replies from the Turkles. ``It is happening. All of this is real, and now you can't simply put down the proverbial pen and ignore it. We are all in danger, now.''
A Whiplash poked out his head. ``Good lord, Turkles! You know this woman?''
``Why, of course, as do we all ... although not by name. You may remember her most clearly as our `dear friend' the Omnipotent Narrator, from that pathetic excuse for a story which we were dropped into before this whole duplicate business started. I suspect that most of the others have had similar encounters with her.''
``Yes, we have,'' Thelma broke in. ``I'd recognize her anywhere. She's the bikini-clad roundcard girl from Scene 6.5 of our original story. It seems we have an author determined to make a cameo in everything she writes.''
Nelson, squirming toward the front, cast a questioning gaze at a Turkles. ``Wait ... if we're all the characters in a story she wrote, why are there two of most of us? And where are the others? I know this isn't everyone ...''
``Don't ask me.'' Turkles glared at Wanda. ``Ask our host.''
Wanda swallowed hard. ``Oh ... well ... The duplicates came about about a week and a half ago. I came back from this party, and I wasn't particularly sober ... and the whole dimensional transport thing happened. I'm really kinda sorry about that bit ...''
Turkles harumphed. ``Would this be the same night you wrote Scene 20, where another version of me deviated light-years from my established characterization, and where Rule Six was blatantly ignored throughout? Hmm?!''
``Erm ... yeah, actually. There was a Monty Python marathon showing at the party, sorry ... and I did explain it away in subsequent scenes.''
It was a Whiplash's turn to interrupt. ``Of course, you never did explain anything about that falling universe, or why neither I nor my double had a Doctorate in veterinary medicine, like I had in the old story.''
``Well, I wrote myself in a corner in the falling universe ... and, well, I couldn't find my copy of your old story when I named your degrees in this one, I apologize. Geez.'' Wanda took a deep breath, the continued on. ``As for the `missing' characters, who would be Prof. Metricdar and Gryph, they didn't appear here because they're real people. Or at least based on real people. I mean, Prof. Metricdar isn't really a demon ... and Gryph is just a friend of mine, not some heavily-armed hero.''
``That may have previously been true,'' added the Turkles. ``But now that the story and reality are one and the same, things have changed. And if GRAVIMETRICDAR and the Professor join forces, things will become far more problematic for all of us.''
An apprehensive silence followed, and the Caddy continued on its way ...
Everything was white. Gryphon had heard the explosion, so he was pretty certain he had in fact been blown to tiny bits of Morrissey along with that hideous fungal creature-thing. He wondered about a few things as he floated in the disembodied void:
1) Now what?
2) I wonder if that girl made it out okay.
3) Why couldn't I have had something really useful in my pack? Like, for
example, a phaser?
4) Now what?
``GRYPHON,'' a voice boomed. It boomed in a different manner than that of GRAVIMETRICDAR, or DATAPOS for that matter. It was a voice he knew well.
``What?'' Gryphon replied, and noticed that the universe was starting to take on definition again. The whiteness was darkening and he could feel his limbs again -- or what was left of them. Glancing down, he noticed that he had indeed been made something of a mess of by the explosion. In fact, he technically could be said to have no limbs. Nor much of a torso, to speak of. It was really rather revolting, but at least he didn't have to worry about throwing up.
``YOU'VE REALLY GOTTEN YOURSELF HOSED THIS TIME, HAVEN'T YOU?''
``Well, it was your fault. Throwing me into a room with GRAVIMETRICDAR with nothing but a flash camera and a grenade! The least you could have done was given me some combat skills! I was totally lost in there!''
``DON'T GIVE ME THAT CRAP. YOU COULD HAVE JUST RUN AWAY. BUT NOOOOO, YOU HAD TO SAVE THE GIRL. JUST BECAUSE SHE LOOKED LIKE WINONA RYDER. BITE ME, GRYPHON, YOU'RE JUST NOT WORKING OUT.''
``So what does that mean, then? You're going to leave me like this?!''
``NO. I'M GIVING YOU ONE MORE SHOT. YOU'RE GOING TO THE REAL WORLD.''
``Characters aren't ALLOWED in the real world!''
``SO WHAT? I'M YOUR USER, DON'T ARGUE WITH ME. I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT. BUT, DON'T WORRY. I ADMIT THAT YOU WERE UNDEREQUIPPED TO BATTLE GRAVIMETRICDAR LAST TIME. THIS TIME, THINGS WILL BE DIFFERENT.''
With a shock, and before he could protest, Gryphon felt himself being rewritten. He separated into a grid-schematic of his old persona, the damaged limbs coming back and all his bits going back where they belonged; then that was modified, changed, erased, and remapped. His pack was still on his back, but had become heavier. There was something slung over his shoulder. He felt his entire body changing shape, becoming larger and much heavier. His face felt funny, and there was a peculiar weight in the back of his head.
``What the hell are you doing?'' he demanded. He noticed then that the whiteness was no longer whiteness, but had become a rather muzzy image of a city boulevard, with moderately tall buildings to either side. He really couldn't see very well, but it looked familiar.
``I'M GIVING YOU THE EDGE YOU'LL NEED. BETTER WEAPONS AND COMBAT SKILLS, JUST LIKE YOU ASKED FOR. I AM NOTHING IF NOT GENEROUS, AFTER ALL.'' The process ended, and Gryphon felt entirely strange.
``NOW GO, GRYPHON, AND MAKE ME PROUD OF YOU!''
``What am I--'' Gryphon began, and then the darkness and muzziness snapped away, and he was in the real world.
He had just enough time to catch his reflection in the windshield of the oncoming Cadillac LeBehemoth before it struck him just below the knees, toppling him onto the hood. Then he just dug his fingers into the metal and exchanged shocked looks with the two identical guys crowded into the passenger side of the car through the glass as they kept speeding down the street.
Or at least, he thought it was a shocked look; it felt like a shocked look. It was rather hard to tell, now that he had become an eight-foot Hecatonchires combat cyborg, cyclops eye, four smaller slave eyes, sense-extension rabbit ears, 25mm automatic rifle, and all.
He was really gonna get his User for this one.
11:12 p.m.
The kitchen of 156 Trident Avenue was dark and silent, except for a white candle in the center of the table, and a small transistor radio tuned to Annoying Whooshy Music 990. Papers lay strewn all over the room, from the top of the fridge all the way down to the floor. Most of them were covered with archaic-looking scribbles, diagrams of mechanical devices so fundamentally screwed-up that even residents of the worlds drawn by M.C. Escher would be confused by them, and formulae containing symbols which resembled that annoying musician's new name.
In the center of it all sat a meek, mild-mannered professor. His name was Ravi Metricdar, and he taught at Boston University. He was a very deluded man, who had managed to prove some obscure and elusive theorem that no one but those who never left their houses had ever heard of. (The actual name was Rickenbacher's Lemma, but even Prof. Metricdar had forgotten it.) What no one ever realized was that Ravi had gotten the correct result only through incredible luck -- every single step of his proof was utterly bogus. But that piece of luck, back in 1973, had been enough to allow him to slide his way into BU as an assistant professor. From there, it was easy. There he was -- a totally wacked, anti-social, disciplinarian who graded his tests on a curve flatter than Northern Maine. How could he possibly not get tenure?
It should be pointed out, however, that despite all of Ravi's shortcomings, he was definitively not a demon from the lowest depths of Hell.
The key word in that phrase is ``was.''
The moondial in the backyard now read 11:13 p.m.
A scream emanated from the kitchen.
A totally wacked, anti-social, disciplinarian demon from the lowest depths of hell ran out the door at fill tilt.
11:28 p.m.
156 Trident Avenue's charred remains continued to smoulder. Through the smoke, a single overturned white candle burned innocently on.
**********
``Did that ... *thing* ... just say `Hi, Wanda?'''
``I'm pretty sure I didn't write that ...''
Thelma raised her head just enough to peer between Inspector Cartwright's elbow and Nelson's shin and look out the back window. ``Ummmm, Guys, I think we have a small problem. That is, if it is still a bad idea to have, oh, call it, twelve police cars chasing you at high speed.''
``Not again!'' Jack Fist groaned, quite loudly.
Wanda, being the only one familiar with this universe, took charge: ``Quick, turn left here!''
Special Agent Ski Lime-Rickey is a fine driver. As evidence to support this fact, I direct your attention to post #49, in which he drove a 1993 Cadillac LeBehemoth filled with nineteen people (many of whom were duplicates of each other) out a window on the 23rd story of a building, landed on an expressway, and still managed to be moving at considerable speed just in time to take a large cyborg out at the knees (a cyborg which, it might interest you to know, had just materialized in the street, and is now clinging wildly to the hood). There are, however, limits.
Therefore, it is no fault of Agent Lime-Rickey that when Wanda shouted to turn left, he got slightly confused, what with Sylvia's thyroid gland (well, it's not actually hers, she just happens to be carrying it. I think it might belong to a lemur) sticking him in the testicles, and turned right instead. And who can be blamed if there happened to be an entrance for the T right there. Certainly not Agent Lime-Rickey.
``I said left, you idiot!''
``I turned left!''
``That was a right! Where the hell did you leave your brain!''
``Well, it's hard to see with this ... Thing on the hood. And will you get that disgusting bit of animal entrail out of my crotch!''
``Oh, Sorry.'' Sylvia moved her hand. Just then, the car careened down several flights of stairs, banging around corners. It was all Ski could do to keep it facing the right direction.
``Ummmm. Are cars allowed in the underground of this city?'' the Turkles asked.
``What?'' Wanda stuck her head out the window, got hit with a cream pie, thought better of it, and brought her head back in. ``We're in the subway, what are we doing IN THE SUBWAY!??''
Ed the envelopistic relativist looked over at the speedometer. ``About ninety.''
With a squeal of tires, the Caddy reached the bottom, careened off a newspaper stand, and, sending people sprawling in several directions, crashed through the turnstiles. Wanda got exasperated, ``Look, it is illegal in this city to drive a Cadillac through a SUBWAY TERMINAL!''
``You want out of the subway terminal?'' Agent Lime-Rickey took on a strange calm.
``YEAH! I WANT OUT OF THE SUBWAY TERMINAL!'' Wanda was hysterical.
``Ok.'' Ski swung the wheel of the car all the way to the left. A 1993 Cadillac LeBehemoth filled with nineteen people and a monstrous cyborg on the hood is not the ideal vehicle for travelling down a subway tunnel, but, in a pinch, it will do.
**********
12:20 on the Green Line.
Meat and four of his buddies from the football team stepped onto the subway car. It had been a killer party, and he was totally smashed. Well, almost totally. He could still walk. Kind of. He didn't dent too many walls on the way here.
The five of them collapsed into the seats of the empty car, as the doors closed and the automated train lurched on its way. Gus passed out.
Just then, the door at the back of the car slid open. In walked Rick Savage and twelve of his pals from the Death Dragons gang (Green Line cars 213-215 is their turf). Shiv called out to the jocks, ``Hey man, this is our car, you gotta pay the toll.''
Meat leered at them. He didn't actually mean to, it's just that he couldn't manage anything as quick as a glance in his inebriated condition. ``We already paid, back at the terminal.''
``That was for the suits upstairs, now we get our cut.'' Shiv pulled out a two-foot straight razor, and began to rub it along the leather strap hanging from his belt.
``Look, we don't want any trouble.'' The jocks stood up, and did their best to present an imposing presence at their end of the car. Two of them held up Gus. ``We wouldn't want to have to hurt you or anything.''
``Hear that Rick, they don't want any trouble?'' He started laughing, the rest of the gang joined in, until Rick cut them off by punching one of them in the solar plexus. (They're a new gang, but they're tough!)
``Looks like trouble is what they found.'' Rick's voice was subtle, almost like he'd spent hours studying Clint Eastwood movies to get just the right inflection in it. (He had.) For a moment, nobody moved, then with a roar like something out of a B-grade Italian western, the Death Dragons charged. Rick arrived first, his fist connected with Meat's jaw. Meat flew several thousand feet and was reduced to his component atoms.
**********
12:20 in the Green Line Tunnel
Ski downshifted. Sylvia grunted as the stick shift jabbed her in the ... stomach. The car roared down the tunnel, doing his best to see around Gryphon's metallic biceps.
On the hood, Gryphon did a half-turn to see if he could get a better look at what was coming. At first, he was relieved to see the light, thinking at last they'd broke out into the above ground section. Then he remembered what time it was.
``Shit!'' he cried, and from the sling on his back, he whipped out his Seburo 25-mm, Laser-Targetted, Hyper-Velocity, Armor-Piercing, Anti-Hell-Beast Cone Rifle, and whicked off a 465 round burst. His aim was true. The oncoming subway car, as you would expect, exploded.
Ski spotted the explosion, and, thinking quickly, performed a classic S.T.U.N. Runner (copyright 1992, Atari, Inc.) maneuver and swerved the car off the tracks, up the wall, over the roof, and down the other wall, neatly missing the explosion. That kept the bulk of the car out the explosion. Unfortunately, Gryphon found himself passing through a white-hot cloud of debris.
As the car settled down onto the tracks again, Gryphon took a brief moment to feel a pang of loss for having destroyed however many people he just did. Then he noticed something clinging to the Tucker Automobile symbol on his chest. Snatching it, he flipped it over and read.
DEATH DRAGONS GANG MEMBERSHIP CARD and Parking Permit
Eugene ``Shiv'' Wilson
ID: 000000004 Expires: 12-31-93
On the back, in crayon, were written the words: Jim Lokker - 4 4 4.
Gryph felt a lot better.
There were only two flaws in Ski's amazing loop manoeuvre. The first was that he was unable to hold the Caddy on the tracks after the first cycle (or, in fact, the second) around the tunnel. This in itself was not a major problem. The fact that the tunnel ceased to exist (because the tracks returned to the surface) at the precise apex of Ski's world-record-tying third loop ...
... that was a problem.
After a long flight, the Caddy came down on its wheels. Well, two of them. Unfortunately, it quickly became obvious that the sidewall is not the most useful part of the tire to land on. Suffice to say that the car began to roll, side over side over side.
It continued on this way for a good five seconds before it met up with a building (the A.K. Retrovision Tower) which decided that it was very satisfied with its location, and that the vehicle would just have to find its own patch of real estate somewhere else, thank you very much. As if dejected, the caddy stormed away (end over end this time) and settled (literally) on an adjacent patch of asphalt. (The car was still running.)
Ski threw open the door, grinning madly, and gave a lavish gesture motioning the others out of the car. ``Here we are! `Gonzo Gary's Used Cars!' I knew it was around here somewhere.''
Wanda fainted. Gryphon broke.
An hour later, Wanda had awakened, and vehicles had been distributed. There was initially some dissent among those who didn't care for the idea of stealing cars, but it didn't last. Not once Ski started slapping cash payments equal to the sticker prices on Gonzo Gary's desk. (Wanda began to feel very grateful that she hadn't torn up the story before introducing Special Agent Lime-Rickey.)
After a quick change of clothes (since the others had taken on a post-apocalyptic look), Gryphon immediately was drawn to the bright red Geo Metro LX9 Turbo convertible, and Dr. Rachel Goerring dived in the passenger seat. Sylvia dragged the Michels and Thelmas into a nearby Pontiac Trans Spork minivan, and was followed by the Egress, which seemed to have developed an affinity for lemur entrails. Jack Fist, Action Hero took the nearby Harley-Davidson FXLRT. Ski, Wanda, and Dr. Ed remained in the front seat of the Caddy, with Ed the Gibbering Doofus and Jack Fist, Unconscious Nerd cowering silently in the back. The Turkles, the Whiplashes, and the Lydias piled into the nearby Bentley Mulsanne Turbo.
``Hmmm, not quite as nice as my old car, but it will suffice,'' commented the Turkles behind the wheel.
Finally, Ski fished some customized CB radios out of his glove compartment and handed them out to everyone, intsructing that they should be tuned to channel 14.6 to avoid eavesdropping.
>>And now, << Ski intoned over the airwaves, >>we're off. <<
>>So, << came the voice of Ski over the radio, >>care to explain who you are and where you came from, large metal person? <<
Gryphon snickered, and would have grinned had he still possessed a mouth capable of turning up at the corners. He turned the CB radio he had just realized was part of his cybernetic audio package to the appropriate frequency and replied, ``I am Gryphon, of Borg.''
>>Very funny. <<
``Sorry. I am Gryphon ... Wanda and I go way back ...''
>>Gryphon? << came Wanda's voice. >>What the hell happened to you? <<
``I'm not sure,'' Gryphon replied. ``Guess I've been RETCONned.''
At this point, Gryphon realized he had a passenger. He had not noticed this before, mostly because he was working out the intricacies of settling his eight-foot, three-inch (not counting the rabbit ears) frame into the driver's seat of this truly tiny car. He had managed it rather well, considering; his arm was hanging out of the side of the car, and he was looking over the windshield, not through it. That wasn't a problem; he had little washer-wipers on the lenses of his eyes. Now that he had ascended through the gears and achieved a decent speed (he couldn't go faster than the Skimobile, but that wasn't bothering him, considering that Ski was blitzing along at nearly 150 mph.)
Now, however, he realized that there was someone in the passenger seat. He looked over and down with one of his slave eyes, not taking his main optic off the road (he was getting the hang of this borg thing, and contrary to most cyberpunk fiction, he was finding it to be summarily cool). What he saw did not displease him. He didn't know who she was, but she looked like another of his favorite screen stars. (He wondered for a moment about this universe, but discarded the line of thought as unproductive.)
``Hi,'' he said cheerily, extending one of his large metallic hands. ``I'm Gryphon.'' He thought rapidly for a moment; his old name was, after all, fairly irrelevant now. ``Gryphon Hecatonchires. I'm afraid I don't recognize you.''
``Goring. Dr. Rachel Goring.'' (You'll have to imagine the umlauts, I'm afraid. All those other spellings are just Anglicized perversions in feeble attempts to simulate their effects, anyway.)
>>Say, << another voice announced, >>that's a mighty nice gun you've got there. <<
``Thanks,'' Gryphon said. ``And you are ...?''
>>Jack Fist is my name, and wherever action goes, I follow! <<
``That's ... um, interesting. Kind of what I do for a living, except I tend to get thrown after it.''
>>Oh, sorry, << came the first voice, that of the driver of the Cadillac. >>Special Agent Ski Lime-Rickey. Wanda here vouches for you, so I guess you're okay for now, but I'm keeping an eye on you. <<
``Okay, fine,'' Gryphon said. He turned his eye back to Dr. Goring. ``Hope my appearance doesn't disturb you, Doctor. I haven't been like this all that long, and I'm still getting used to it myself.'' He turned the rear view mirror to take a look at his face. ``Not bad, really. Got a certain symmetry to it which my old face singularly lacked.''
(It bears mentioning here that he did look rather sharp, having exchanged his blast-charred, Comics Code-approved post-apocalyptic cyborg warrior look for a slick-looking black two-piece suit, white dress shirt, and narrow black tie. Completing the ensemble was the obligatory hat, which fit nicely on his head in such a way that it would not blow off in the wind, although it did force him to keep his rabbit ears below the X axis. In fact, he now looked, clothing-wise, exactly like Ski.)
``Er ... I suppose so. It's marvelous equipment ... I've never seen its like before. Where did you get it, if you don't mind my asking?''
``I don't mind at all. I only wish I knew the answer so I could tell you ...'' Gryphon shrugged. ``Sorry. It's all a bit fuzzy.''
``Oh. Well, perhaps it'll come back to you. If we had time, I'd hook you up to my Temporoichthyonic MindScape and see if we could access the memories that way, but I guess it'll have to wait.''
Temporoichthyonic MindScape??? thought Gryphon to himself. That question brought another to his mind.
``By the way, Ski,'' he said onto the radio frequency, ``where the heck are we going, anyway?''
I stopped, put down the pen.
The page, like the ones before it, were covered with a scrawl I barely recognized as my own handwriting.
The day had passed quickly.
The night had passed almost as quickly as the day.
And now it was morning again, and a sheaf of scrawled papers was spread across my desk and floor, and my hands were ink-spotted and shaking. I had never fallen so deeply into the trace before, and the visions had never come so strong. And once out of the trance, I found that, for the first time, I retained the memory of writing. And, more than that, I retained the memory of what I had been writing. The visions of Thelma and Michael and their twins, and of Turkles and Doctor Whiplash, and of their gang of cohorts still reverberated within my skull, every detail as fresh as when it first appeared.
And I had transcribed all of it, including confusing shifts of point-of-view and characterization.
Or was ``characterization'' the correct phrase? When I began having the visions, I called what I found when I awaked my ``stories.'' They were no more than fiction then, and I could seldom remember any details without reading the words myself. Now, though, I felt that I had been wrong all along; the ``stories'' I had been transcribing were no mere fiction -- they were true visions of another land, another place. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as the possibilities implied by this revelation made their way throughout my mind.
If what I had seen was real ... If what had happened in my vision had happened, somewhere, in reality ...
As I thought, a now-familiar sensation began to pulse through my skull. Trembling, my hands reached for pen and paper, and I dipped the quill once more into the ink bottle and began to scratch twisted lines onto the sheets of parchment.
And as I wrote, I saw, and as I saw, I wrote.
**********
Ski shifted his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, bulging eyes fixed on the vanishing point of Route 172. ``Where do you think?''
``Well, duh,'' replied Gryph, ``I wouldn't have asked if I had any idea, now, would I?''
Ski's tight-lipped grin split into a toothy grin. ``It's somewhere interesting. A place you've long sought, whether or not you knew it at the time.'' He led the convoy through the traffic, deftly swerving through the clumps of slower vehicles. ``A place of which you have all long dreamt. Turkles, you were born there. Whiplash, you have seen it in your fondest fantasies. Michael, your unskilled hand drew sketches of it before you had gained enough of an intellect to understand what you drew. Thelma, your writings oft spoke of it as if you knew it, and yet you have never been there. Sylvia, you follow the teachings, although you are not aware of them as such.'' A twist of the steering wheel and a shift of gears, and Ski had blasted his way through a tollbooth, leaving the attendant staring in awe at the receding cars as they vanished into the distance.
``But ...'' muttered Sylvia through her own radio, ``there's nothing like that.''
``Think about it.'' Ski's teeth glinted in the shadows of his Caddy. ``You know what I mean.''
``Turkles,'' said Whiplash, eyes widening, ``could it be ...''
``Yes,'' replied the extra-dimensional traveler, ``I think it is. And it would explain why my discoveries catapulted me into your backwards time-frame.''
Sylvia gasped. ``No! It's a myth! It doesn't exist! It can't!''
``Of course it can,'' replied Ski. He turned from the route they had been following onto a deserted country road. His Caddy clung tenaciously to the curves as he guided it along the twisting strip of asphalt. ``And it does. But not here.''
``Um,'' said Michael, non-plussed, ``would someone like to tell me what you're talking about maybe?''
``Oh Michael,'' chided Thelma, ``haven't you figured it out yet?'' Michael just looked at her. ``We're going to the Lost City.''
``The Lost City?'' asked Michael, uncomprehending.
``The Lost City of Galmador, boy!'' cried Ski, ``and here is the portal through which we must travel!''
Before them, the sky had split asunder, a great slash of blackness cutting across the world -- impossibly real. Tiny specks of silver glinted within. The road ahead curved upward and then down again into the depths of the blackness, and it was toward these depths that Ski was leading them.
``Follow me, troops!'' he called. ``Through the portal and To The City ...''
And then Ski slammed on his brakes. Hard. If it had been possible for his Firestone UnlimiTred 349XT's to blow out, they would have taken enough wear to do so sixteen times over. The other vehicles, their drivers more confused, stopped a little slower and came to rest at odd angles to the road. There were no complaints from the other drivers, however ... for the reason for the sudden stop was plain to see.
There, in the middle of Route 174, stood Professor Ravi Metricdar. And nothing else.
With a single swipe of Ravi's Number F pencil, the portal had ripped itself in halves, quarters, eighths ... and was gone.
And then he spoke. It was a voice Wanda had never heard the professor use, even in his sternest lectures.
``You FOOLS! Do you really BELIEVE that after bringing myself AND my counterpart into this realm, that we would allow you to LEAVE? And to a place where you could possibly gain the power to defeat us? NEVER! Most of you morons have all been there once before, and what did you accomplish in the, oh, 5 MINUTES you were there? NOTHING!! You will regret that error. No ... GRAVIMETRICDAR and myself have grown in power even SINCE Wanda brought us here. We have enough power to seal the cracks of the space-time continuum ... MORE than enough, I assure you ...''
The sound of a weapon being fired cut him off, but only briefly. Gryphon had taken aim on the professor, hoping that his target wouldn't notice until it was too late. After firing approximately 400 rounds, he realized that Ravi probably didn't care.
For no matter where he aimed, the shots curved neatly around the little man, wiping out the occasional semi-truck, parking garage, or gas station behind him. In a failed attempt to avoid the carnage, a glass truck and a Reddi-Whip tanker collided. Little attention was paid to them, which was too bad.
In pure frustration, Gryph fired off one final round.
Imagine his shock when #401 struck paydirt. The pencil Ravi was holding imploded in a manner that would make Spielberg's special effects team green with envy. And imagine Gryph's dismay when Ravi nonchalantly pulled another from seemingly nowhere.
``That was a hint. Now leave me before I get angry.'' Ravi paused. ``Oh, wait. This would be easier if I left, wouldn't it. Hm. Well, where was I ... oh, yes. LET IT BE KNOWN! If you wish to rid the world of Our presence ...'' with a motion of the pencil's eraser, Ravi began to fade out.
``YOU WILL HAVE TO DEAL WITH US HERE, AND AS YOU ARE NOW!'' Pause. ``Wow. This voice would really have come in handy in Physics XXXIII. Ah, well. FAREWELL, HEATHEN!''
And with that, he was gone.
>>Damn, << grunted Ski. >>We were THAT close. << His fist slammed hard into the dashboard, leaving a one-inch deep dent that took an entire minute to self-repair.
>>Yes, << replied a Turkles, >>but there is no use in belaboring the point. We now know what we are dealing with, at least. Somehow, even with what little raw material is available in this universe, it must be possible to defeat this menace. The nineteen-- <<
>> *HONK!* <<
>>--oh, sorry, TWENTY of us will certainly be able to find a way. <<
Silence for a moment, and then Turkles went on.
>>Oh, and Wanda? <<
>>Yes? <<
>>Please discontinue that piece of introspective writing you began composing a few minutes ago. First of all, it won't work. And besides, hasn't your writing caused enough problems already? <<
Well, it was worth a try. Wanda sighed, and crumpled ( not tore) her single page of new writings and threw it, along with her only remaining writing utensil, out the window.
>>I have an idea, << came the voice of Jack Fist, Action Hero. >>Would you happen to know of a good pool supply store? <<
Nineteen sets of eyes (yes, even the Egress') shrieked WHAT?! in Jack's general direction.
>>You'll have to trust me on this one, guys ... <<
>>Well, << Wanda offered, >>There's a place a little bit west of here ... Into The Abyss Pools, on Route 9. I can give directions. << Glancing at her watch, she added, >>and they open at 6 a.m., so we should get there about when they open. <<
>>Perfect. Let's go. <<
They all started up again, save one vehicle ...
``Sorry, Doctor Goerring ... I didn't *mean* to bury you neck-deep in spent shell casings. Here, let me clear those away for you ...''
``Oh, that's quite all right.''
A moment later, a cyborg in an econobox convertible rejoined the fray, leaving a mountain of brass in the center of Route 174.
On an island somewhere in the mid-Atlantic, a lone creature sat moping. Beside him, a large number F pencil leaned against a palm tree. Several island villagers hovered just out of sight, hoping their new master wouldn't do anything else horrific. A storm brewed in the lagoon, but soon fizzled out. GRAVIMETRICDAR sighed.
``I'm bored,'' he said out loud, and the villagers quaked in fear, but he barely tossed them a second glance.
His day had started out poorly, and it had just gone downhill from there. Suddenly arriving in/being possessed by the body of a tenured physics professor/demon from the pits of hell is not the best way to start a Thursday morning. Especially not when your Thursday morning is starting Wednesday night. And then, when he was just inches from destroying the vermin, they escaped from his claws. He flicked a pebble across the beach towards the lagoon. It skipped twice, achieved relativistic speed and shot skyward. 50,000 feet up, it side-swiped a passing 747 and continued on to orbital height.
The bellow of rage at their escape had levelled the entire building. Unfortunately, he was still in it at the time. He wasted precious seconds digging his way out, and by the time he'd gotten out, they had made good their escape, the vermin. He'd arrived at the T station just in time to see 12 police cars pile up in front of it. He could still smell the charring rubber, and he smiled at the memory as he'd helped it along by flicking a fireball at the cars. From there, he followed them down into the subway. Tracking them was easy, they'd left a wake of destruction behind them that a deaf, dumb, blind, pinball-playing, autistic teenager could have followed without much trouble. By the time he had caught up with them at Gonzo Gary's Used Car Lot, they had already acquired more vehicles and left. Gary had proved useful with his information, once he'd been given a little, inspiration. GRAVIMETRICDAR fingered the shrunken head hung around his neck. It had a distinctly used car feeling about it.
At last he caught them, and stopped them from leaving this dimension. ``If I'm trapped in this dimension, there is no way I'm going to let those vile, disgusting, do-gooders have the run of the multiverse,'' he mused. Thinking through all this again, made him upset. He gestured with one claw-like hand (the only disfigurement the possession had caused in his human form), and sent a bolt of energy screaming towards the villagers. They screamed and they ran, and there was no way they could escape.
``By the Great Sea Turtle A'tuin, Grandfather, we cannot let this monstrosity rule over our island!'' The thin youth's skin was brown and had not yet taken on the leathery texture peculiar to islanders who had spent many years braving the sun and wind to eke out a living sailing tiny canoes across the waves to harvest the tides of scarpin. (Scarpin: a kind of fish.) The skin of the ancient who crouched across the tiny sputtering fire, on the other hand, could have quite easily been used for boots, if an enterprising cobbler could find a way to seperate it from its owner, who was, understandably, rather attached to it. ``We must fight this creature who claims to be human -- we must wrest our island back from him!''
``Now, now, young a'Kla, you are far too hasty.'' The old man's eyes glinted in the firelight. ``To attack him openly -- that would be to kill oneself, and where would that get you?'' He shook his head. ``No, no, to defeat this perversion, we must use his own methods against him.''
``But Grandfather,'' protested a'Kla, ``he shoots fire from his hands -- his eyes burn white and he has other -- unspeakable -- powers. How are we to use his methods to fight back?''
His aging ancestor grinned, rows of white teeth shining. ``This creature claims to be a teacher of some sort -- an elder like myself.'' a'Kla blinked, unable to make any connection between his wizened grandfather and the demon that had pulled the island from beneath him and had turned everything he knew about How The World Worked against him. ``We must go to him and ask to be taught. And then, when we know what he knows ...'' The old man trailed off, and a'Kla grinned, realizing.
``And then,'' said a'Kla, slamming his fist into the opposite hand, ``when we know what he knows ... We can use his knowledge against him.''
``Yes.'' His grandfather nodded, satisfied. ``And we can use his knowledge against him.''
a'Kla turned his face toward the stars, smiling in anticipation of the power that would be his.
.
.
.
In the back seat of the Caddy, Ed, the gibbering doofus, gibbered.
``Hi, I'd like the customer to come through here? It was I that caused loving your fellow creatures for generations. What horrible luck. Everyone, such tripe never did explain anything. Gonzo gary wasn't particularly sober. Lets see about Dr. Goerring. HEEEELLLLLOOOOO!! I could tread on it if you've ever seen Gravimetricdar bite me. Gryph's the bikini-clad subway terminal. I'm personally responsble for one doubly recycled icky apple. Well, oh my God! I guess I as retconned during a bout in the caddy. I'm afraid your weird envelope is always right. Monty Python got involved a few times with a young student ... Scientific thought is used as often as possible on your forehead. Hi, I'm Joey, metaphysician? Yeah, I want out of this writers block! I claim the hugest fucking cockroach is falling. Hi, Gloopy, can you locate Michael?''
Next to him, Jack, computer nerd, was talking in his sleep.
``Sure.''
.\ .\
Meanwhile (doesn't that word scare you?), words were being exchanged on the swiftly-moving Harley ...
``So, Gloopy ... now that we've convinced everyone to follow us to the pool supply store, care to tell me why we're headed there?''
``Like I said, Jack, it's just a hunch.''
Jack scoffed (however one does that). ``Well, isn't this just terrific. The Great Silicon Being is letting the fate of mankind rest on a wild guess.''
``First of all, you know I'm Molybdenum-based. Second, I've been using intuition for years ... I just never told you.'' The baboon-face on the screen gave a look of concern. ``What's with your recent attitude shift, anyway?''
Great, even Gloopy can notice, he thought. ``It's ... well, it's Sylvia. It's her, but it's not her. Not the vibrant woman I've always known her to be. She seems so ... so placid.'' He had to fight back tears as he spoke. ``Acting nothing at all like she did when she helped me wipe out the Ellici menace on Quintason V. It's as if something has happened to her mind. I don't think she even remembers who I am. She certainly doesn't let on that she does.''
Gloopy understood all too well. In the five years since Jack lost Sylvia, almost every conversation contained some mention of her. The only way to help Jack cope now was to keep him focused on the task at hand. ``Anyway, Jack, would you like me to tell you what the hunch is, so you don't look like a fool when we get to the pool shop?''
Struggling to compose himself, Jack replied, ``Sure.''
``Here goes ... it's a one-in-a-million shot, but I think the good Professor may have already visited Into The Abyss Pools by the time we arrive. If so, then I think I know what he's up to.''
``Well,'' huffed Jack, ``don't leave me in suspense.''
The AI continued, ``Ok, take a look at this. It's Prof. Metricdar's file.'' A holo showing a small asian man's face and a slowly-scrolling bio appeared above the watch.
``Heh, look at that,'' Jack chimed in, smirking. ```Full Name: Gaea Ravi Metricdar.' With a name like that, I might be tempted to smite mankind a bit, too. Must have had wonderful parents.''
``Leave it to you to focus on the single most irrelevant piece of information in the entire file.'' Gloopy let out an electronic sigh. ``Look at the guy's life story! He's a believer ... a preacher ... of every misguided dogma known to man. But the part that seems most relevant here,'' he added, altering the display, ``is his background in alchemy. You see, despite all the tricks he showed us earlier, I think it's pretty much all he's got. He can bend spacetime, he can manipulate the laws of physics to an unknown extent, and he can block us from doing funky things with the interdimensional multiverse, sure. But I don't believe that he has the kind of interdimensional control he once did ... when you get right down to it, he'd be better off dragging us back to the universe he custom-made for himself and fighting us there. It was built for the sole purpose of making him all-powerful within it. There's no way this dimension could suit him more perfectly. Personally, I think he's bluffing until he can find a way back home, stalling for time so we won't attack him while he's vulnerable.''
Jack considered this, and could find little fault with the argument. ``So, you think he's trying to work out a way back right now?''
``I'm almost positive of that. What I'm unsure of is what he's going to try. My best guess is this.'' With that, a diagram of a truly incomprehensible device replaced the bio screen. ``It's called a Tri-Intraverted Polyconduit. It's rather ingenious, actually. A guy named Frenois theorized it in 1563, but it was so complex no one ever considered making one. It supposedly could create a portal between any two points in the universe, but I think it would work just as well between dimensions. The physics behind it are brilliant ... the only problem is that it's heavily based on alchemy, which is pure bunk. But Ravi could make it work. Now ... notice what one of the vital components is?''
Even Jack could discern what Gloopy meant this time. ``Chlorine. One hell of a lot of chlorine.''
``It may be a wild goose chase, but it's my only idea. It'll take a lot of supply runs to acquire that much. And besides, for this design, chlorine pool tablets would be ide--''
Neither uttered a sound as the pool supply store came into view.
Or rather, completely failed to come into view.
For all that remained of the establishment was its front door, eerily standing on its own. Painted on it on blue and black were the words ``Into The Abyss Pool Supply Co.'' Hanging on the door was a sign saying ``Closed.''
``Well,'' offered Jack, breaking the silence, ``Never let it be said that our demon friend has no style.''
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