Lawless Sign Part Nine (Fiction)

Chapter 15: Down The Alley

Stan Goodman’s flight was delayed. He didn’t tell us that. Twenty minutes after the flight had supposedly landed, he hadn’t showed. Or called.

Doctor Colbert had the Magnum parked in a narrow lot on Cicero Avenue, just south of the airport. Several other cars were aligned near us the ‘Car Phone Call’ lot. Most of the other drivers were sleeping. One driver had her dog out, walking it around her white van on a leash.

“I believe that’s a corgi,” Doctor Colbert said, referring to the dog.

“Just bred to be small?” I asked.

“There’s some purpose behind all breeds. I think most of the small ones were bred as rat catchers,” Colbert said. He was busy tapping away at Stan’s laptop.

It was then closing in on 7:00 AM. If Stan doesn’t call us in a few minutes, Colbert wants to go into the airport to see what is happening. There’s no real information as to the delay on the data sewer. Colbert has suggested that we could just make a phone call into the terminal before getting our nuts in an uproar.

I have a donut. I have hot chocolate. Coffee made me gag, so we went back to Dunkin Donuts and got me a hot chocolate. Much better. We have a large black coffee, a selection of additives and donuts for Stan, if he ever shows. The sun had come up. It had stopped sleeting.

Large trucks with blades on their prows were prowling the six lanes of  Cicero Avenue at regular intervals. The woman walking the dog retreated into her truck as one approached. As with the last, its blade splays slush up from the blacktop which cascades in a heavy wave upon the short line of bushes edging the parking lot.

“Don’t have snow where you come from, Captain?”

“My home planet? No. My home city, Arsenal, was like Miami.”

“Ever been anyplace like Earth before?”

“Tiamore. Although it wasn’t exactly like Earth, it had the same level of advancement. Similar technologies.”

“I don’t think the people of Tiamore looked very human.”

“I never saw one with its skin on.”

“Sort of a tail-less, pug faced kangaroo. Hands were interesting. Extended dog paws. Is that something all intelligent species have? Hands?”

“There are no predictive physical archetypes. A creature that is longer than a foot or weighs greater than  ten pounds is more likely to be intelligent than a creature who is smaller, but that’s about it as far as a rule of thumb is concerned. We don’t break types of life forms down into the same classifications that you do.”

“What about heads? The size of brains? Brain to body ratio?”

“Ask me about pneumatics,” I said with a face full of donut.

“I was just wondering. From the looks of Windy’s sand painting, it doesn’t seem that these Meteor Beasts were all that developed. No real forehead.”

“I never met one. I heard they were very hard to kill. Something else about them. They were very hearty, capable of adapting to all sorts of environments. Supposedly they could live for a few minutes in the void itself.”

“She said they were very nimble. They don’t look it.”

“They had something in common with another creature. Not the Corona Surfers. I want to say something like a redundant endocrine system or a distributed nervous system or something like that.”

“Not keeping its brain in its head? That would explain the armored lump down its spine. How many intelligent species are there?”

“In the nine galaxies I am familiar with, there are seventy-five space faring races, maybe five hundred highly advanced species and three thousand or so creatures with a culture. Not all of that’s natural.”

“How does Earth stack up?”

“Space faring. We would know about you if you were near us.”

“You think that’s it? There’s no one around us?”

“Gamera,” I said, and then my helmet rang. “Let’s get going. Stan’s contacted Windy. He’s at Southwest gate three. He’ll be outside waiting for us.”

Colbert started the car and backed it out. “Did he say what the delay was?”

“Something about traveling without luggage.”

We turned back onto Cicero and headed north. Soon we were on a very narrow elevated ramp that rose dramatically, curved and then plunged. Goodman was standing alone on a concrete island across from the door to the terminal. I pointed him out to Colbert and he pulled in.

Stan got in behind the passenger’s seat. I introduced him. “Stan Goodman, this is Doctor Pierre Colbert.”

“Call me Pete. I believe I am your doctor, Mister Goodman. Very sorry about that.”

“I don’t recall you being my doctor, but if you say so. Call me Stan,” Stan said. Stan was still in the clothes I had last seen him in. His hair was askew and his eyes were droopy.

I asked “Are you ok, Stan?”

“No. I haven’t had much sleep. My kids are missing. I don’t think I’m ever going to be ok again.”

“I know how you feel,” Colbert said. “Donut?”

I handed Stan the coffee. He took two bags of sugar and one creamer from my hand. Then he looked into the box of donuts. “Got a Boston Cream?”

“The chocolate covered kind,” Colbert said, by which he was referring to one of the donuts without holes. I passed this into Stan’s hands.

I asked “Was there a reason for your delay?”

“The plane was late getting into Miami. Then they had to change part of the crew. Then when I got in, the TSA wanted to know why I had flown without luggage. I don’t think they thought I was a terrorist. I was kind of tired, half fell to sleep during their questions. They let me go.—Nah, I’m not a terrorist, I’m an alien abduction. What the hell am I going to do?”

“Is that normal?” I asked. “The TSA questioning people after the flight?”

Stan said “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never flown without luggage before.”

“It’s a little funny,” Colbert said. “You have broached the question of the hour, however: what it is we intend to do from here.”

“I want a gun,” Stan said.

I said “I don’t see what good that’s going to do.”

“I got a couple in a safety deposit box,” Stan said. “Or I did. Bank opens at 9:00. I think I have one for each of you.”

I started to say “I don’t think the doctor’s oath—“

“—Do you have a really big gun? Could I get a really big gun?” Colbert asked.

“I know I got a .357. I think I have a .45 automatic, army style gun. I might have one other gun,” Stan said.

Colbert asked “Did you bring any weapons, Captain?”

I protracted the baton out of my palm.

Colbert said “Let the record show that the alien invader has shown up with a cudgel.”

I added “It has a super heating, anti-welding, anti-magnetic pop out tip.”

“Duly noted, Captain,” Colbert said.

“And I can fire it out pneumatically and it returns to my hand,” I said.

I have no idea why they both sighed. Colbert put the Magnum in gear and we wound around to the airport’s exit, depositing us on Cicero Avenue heading north.

“Sounds absolutely useless,” Colbert said.

Stan asked “Don’t they have any guns where you come from, Cap?”

“Yes, they have guns where I come from. But I didn’t bring any. I didn’t even bring food,” I said. “When focused, my sonic tool can poke holes in steel from a distance of forty yards. It’s demonstrably weaker at greater range. I’m carrying this acid electric flaming crap. And my ship has a Mazon gun, an asteroid clearing device. Look guys, I’m all for weapons and violence. But I just don’t see how it’s going to do us any good right now.”

“What ship?” Stan asked.

Colbert answered “His space ship. The vehicle in the bank.”

“The back hoe flies?” Stan asked.

“Apparently on an intergalactic level, providing he brings enough twinkies and beer,” Colbert said.

I cautioned “No insulting my queen of space.”

Colbert said “Not only does it fly, it can move through walls—sometimes without disturbing anything, other times by cleaving through bricks. And it flies remotely, sort of. Was Windy guiding it or is there something else you aren’t telling me?—By the way, Stan, Captain Meteor is not telling us things.”

Stan asked “What aren’t you telling us, Cap?”

“This is my stupid act of heroism. You’re just victims. It’s only your fates I’m trifling with,” I said.

“Interesting tone, Captain. But I’m not biting,” Colbert said. “Regardless of these calculations of yours, the answer is that you do not trust us. Do not trust us to make informed decisions about our own destiny. Do not trust us to help you. Or just don’t trust us in general. I haven’t painted the whole picture, but the outline is ugly.”

“Did something happen while I was gone?” Stan asked.

Colbert handed Stan back a copy of the morning’s Chicago Sun-Times. He explained “Our benefactor’s handiwork is on page one.”

I explained “Windy took over the remote after I became distracted.”

“Someone crashed a plane into a building downtown?” Stan guessed, just glancing at the picture.

“Read the story. There’s a bit of confusion about police discharging weapons, but the story says it was an acetylene tank explosion. Which I know is utter horse crap,” Colbert said. “All I know is that first Windy was screaming at you and you weren’t there. Or at least not at the bank. Then she said you were being shot at. Next thing I know she’s monitoring air traffic around the Allerton Hotel. Then she’s getting phone calls from people who aren’t you. I’m awaiting an explanation. Or should I just say thank you and know my place?”

“I have made you aware of a situation you can do little about. I know that is no gift. But I couldn’t leave you the way I found you,” I said.

“Interesting twist on the martyr act. You are a fluent manipulator, Captain. That is established,” Colbert said. “A little more gruel, please. Although you said you were a recent émigré to Clout City here, you do seem to have enough clout to get your hotel remodeling and police baiting covered up on short notice. Do we have friends in high places? Do we have enemies in high places? Although I do so enjoy being a media star—I’m on page eight, Stan—I’m not much for improv. I play the role much better when I have the script. Or am I not qualified to conduct my own stupid life?”

Stan said “I want my damn kids back!”

“I want my wife back!” Colbert added.

So I threw caution to the wind and told them what I knew, in short order. They weren’t universally pleased. I ended my recitation with “I am open to suggestions.”

Eventually we cut over to Chicago Avenue and headed west. Truck traffic was just starting to clog up the streets. We passed what seemed to be unending blocks of two story brick buildings, most of which had vacant store fronts on the first floor. The shops, when active, seemed to be in one block or two block clumps. Chicago Avenue itself was somewhat industrial, once we got past a large high school and a restaurant district.

“I’m a little dubious about disappearing under the auspices of this Mrs. Pines, whom you have just met,” Colbert said.

“If I had a hotter line on Emile’s whereabouts it would be a different story. If you don’t want Mrs. Pines’ help, I can possibly fly both of you out of the country,” I said.

“I have an apartment in Panama City. Feel free to join me, Stan,” Colbert said. He then directed this at me: “You don’t think they might know about that, do you?”

I said “I have no idea what they know. They have been in charge of your life for the past eighteen months, at least.”

“Is there anything special in your house?” Stan asked Doctor Colbert, referring to the news story about police activity there.

“Nothing I can think of. Emile and I aren’t the best housekeepers, but it’s hardly at the level which would attract the authorities,” Colbert said.

“This photograph in the paper doesn’t look that much like you,” Stan commented.

“I don’t look like me, currently. My wife has me on the Grecian Fromula. And I have no idea why I would have shaved off my fabulous mustache,” Colbert said.

Stan added “It was a hell of a stash.”

I said “Stan, we can’t find the warehouse you and Sal disappeared from. Do you remember where it is?”

“Chicago and Avers,” Stan answered with a yawn.

I asked “Is Sal a pilot, by the way?”

“Yeah, he is. Owns a part interest in two planes. We took a fishing trip down to Kentucky Lake once. We took a couple of trips up to Milwaukee to see the Cubs play the Brewers in it. One’s at Palwaukee Airport. That’s a Cesna—no, a Piper Cub. And the other one’s a twin engine job—I don’t know what it is—at Schaumburg Airport,” Stan answered.

“That’s good news,” I said.

Colbert asked “Why?”

“It means they can’t just impart skill sets,” I said. “Sal, it seems, is still alive.”

“You said my neighbor saw Emile. Did she have any idea when?” Colbert said. 

We hit a chuck hole and Stan mumbled “Are we there yet?”

“Closing in on it. You tell us,” Colbert said. “Where is this safety deposit box with these guns of yours?”

Stan said “Bell Federal. Milwaukee and Lawrence.”

“We can hit that and then we can hit the HIP,” Colbert said. “I think there’s a Best Buy or a Circuit City at the HIP where we can pick up another laptop.”

“Hip?” I asked.

“Harlem Irving Plaza,” they answered in unison.

“These ‘doctors’ you were having me look up. None of them are MDs. They’re all veterinarians and zoologists. And they all have a can tied to them, if you know what I mean,” Colbert said. “This Osario Giovanni person used to be the Italian Minister of Interior Wildlife and a member of parliament before he got tied up in some sort of bribery scandal.”

“Hopefully you and Stan can get something on all of them. It’s not much of a lead, but we know some of them are going to be at the Drake Hotel,” I said. The immediate going forward plan was that Stan and Colbert were going to help me dig into the packet of information Greg had provided me.

(Both Stan and Colbert thought Greg was trying to lure me into some sort of trap.)

We began to slow down. Stan popped up and was sitting in the middle of the back seat. All around us were low slung, mostly beige factory buildings. There wasn’t much traffic in the immediate area and many of the structures seemed abandoned.

Stan pointed to the right. “There. Those three buildings. The one we want in is right behind that grey one.”

We pulled into what in better times had probably been a cement paved parking lot. Currently it was rocks and glass with tarry black splotch islands. The grey building Stan pointed out was two stories tall and had a flat roof. A faded sign on the street side had the words ‘Pallet City’ on it. There was another similar building  on the this patch. Between the buildings was a fairly wide alley, which was in the same shape as the lot.

Neither of the buildings looked active. There was a white truck with letters on the side of its cab parked at the edge of the lot, across from the two buildings. I didn’t see smoke coming out of the tail pipe, so I assumed the truck was off.

The truck dock to Pallet City was even with the lot. Its door was covered in a thick black fabric. A substantial pile of debris was against it, indicating that it was not in use. There were no other doors on either of the sides we had seen.

  

“Down the alley,” Stan said, “It’s a little orange brick cold storage place. Something like an icehouse.”

I glanced back at the truck as we made the turn into the alley. ‘A U A Q’ was stenciled across the truck’s doors. The truck itself was within my helmet’s range, so I took a scan. There was one man inside. He was currently asleep. ‘A Q A U’ was also printed in block letters on the side of the warehouse across the alley, whose walls were oddly white sided.

As opposed to a little orange brick building down this alley, there was in its stead a white sided structure which seemed to be sharing a wall with the warehouse on the left side of the alley. They both had the same type of siding. The smallish story and a half building was unmarked.

“That’s where it was,” Stan said. “Maybe they knocked out a wall and put in an extension?”

“That confirms what Greg reported,”  I said. “Is there any reason they would be putting wooden siding on cement block buildings?”

Neither Doctor Colbert nor Stan could think of one. I began scanning for minds, motion sensors and cameras. There was quite a bit of projected mechanical activity in the building to our left, but I was getting nothing at all from the one dead ahead.

“The truck dock, the garage door, was right there,” Stan said, referring to the wall we were facing. Doctor Colbert stopped the car about twenty feet away from the building.

“Other than us and a sleeping truck driver, there’s nobody here,” I said. “The building across the street is a book bindery. About eighteen people there. That’s all that’s in range.”

I got out of the Magnum and shot a glance behind us. My helmet reported that Paco the truck driver was still sleeping. I approached the wall. Colbert and Stan got out of the car and came up behind me. It was at this point that a compartment on my belt vibrated into life.

I plucked Toovy’s tool off and looked down at its suddenly illuminated face.

Colbert asked “Find something, Captain?”

“The atorec we are near is functioning perfectly.”

Stan said “Well, good for it.”

Colbert asked “What’s an atorec?”

“Atomic reaction chamber, something like a nuclear reactor. It and its integrated Amat generator, implosion generator and mechanical drive are all operational and functioning within limits. At 10% draw.”

Stan asked “Is that dangerous?”

Colbert added “Where is it?”

“Commercial grade. About two hundred years old. Built to last, it seems. Unlike the last one I ran into, properly installed. Offhand I would say it’s in this little building ahead of us here. I wonder why I didn’t pick it up from the road. Or from the bank.”

Stan asked “What’s it doing?”

Colbert asked “What does it do?”

“Fifteen pages of legalese. Don’t lick it, Stan.”

“Another thing not to lick. Got it,” Stan said.

“Did you upload its manual?” Colbert asked, glancing over my arm.

“Something like that. Installation notes. Not set up for power generation. Originally configured to provide tension for brackets holding objects floating in a no gravity environment. In a learning resource center, a library. Prior to that, it was in storage mode. Does not have a missile generator. Yea. Amat’s a little weak for missiles, in any case. Not giving the date of first installation. Has a mechanical drive. Entire unit was reconfigured about two years ago. Currently it is projecting mechanical force into the building to our left and into this wall here.”

I triggered my helmet and the slats of the siding ahead of us split in two, snapping to the sides. Revealed was a mouth-like opening. “There’s our missing door. And there’s our pal, instant hull shielding.”

“Don’t touch the white stuff. It’s really sharp,” Stan warned.

“Also, no licking,” I said. I bent down a slight and entered the opening.

“Any security in there?” Colbert asked, he and Stan having held up outside.

“No one has touched the atorec in two months. There are some other devices in here.”

This was not an all clear, but they followed me inside, anyway. Inside the roughly 30 by 30 space were a number of tub like objects of various sizes, all with triangular illuminated panels on their sides. Two large drums of what I believed to have been glycol were aligned against the wall on one side of the opening. On the other side of the opening was the atorec and its assembly, which took up nearly all of the space against that wall.

It was the atorec assembly that I examined first. It looked like nothing more amazing than an oversized water heater, two large freezers and an upright washing machine. A pair of knobby tubes were coming out of the washing machine looking device (the amat generator) and were snaking along the wall to the right, disappearing behind a pair of man sized empty glass tubes at the corner of the room. I had no idea what that was about, nor what they could possibly be feeding. That said, it looked like it was a standardized part of the device and not a modification.

Stan pointed at the two small, slowly rotating, luminescent clouds above the atorec assembly and asked “Batteries?”

“Close,” I said. “They’re dirt magnets, keeping the place sterile. Most of the things in this room are medical.”

“They are?” the doctor said, advancing a pace from the opening.

The white paneling  snapped back shut, sealing us in.

“Tell me you closed the door,” Colbert said.

“I closed the door. I figured Paco didn’t need to see this,” I said.

Stan said “Tell me you can open the door again.”

“A man after my own heart,” I said. I opened and closed the door again.

Colbert asked “Can you see in here?”

“Fairly. I can perceive it well,” I said.

“We can’t,” Colbert reported. It was a little dark. Halos of red light clung to the tubs.  I caused my helmet wings, bandolier, belt, shoulder rings. gloves and boots to emit a golden glow.

“No flashlight, Captain?” Colbert asked.

I protracted my baton. “No. Had one with the other baton, but not this one. Just the super heating, anti-welding doohickey. Stay close.”

“Doohickey. You’re assembling the strangest vocabulary, Captain,” Colbert said.

“I’m a glutton for the specifically vague. All spacemen are,” I said. We slowly moved in the direction of the vats. My companions felt they had the aspect of coffins, which wasn’t exactly incorrect. Having once emerged from one of these devices, I knew what they were on sight.

The covered vats were oblong and ceramic, a dark grey in color. Their bases and covers were rimmed by rounded bands of dull grey metal. Two of the larger vats on the right had their covers removed. Spindly, rubber sheathed armatures flashing blades of various shapes sprouted from the rims of those vats. Like the other vats, they had a rectangular clear panel next to the triangular light display on their sides. This panel enabled a view of whatever, whomever was inside the vat, usually from the perspective of the hand. From the panel you could see that the vats were illuminated on the inside.

The two open vats that we were approaching were throwing white light straight up. It wasn’t quite bright enough to throw a patch on the twelve foot ceiling, but they were the most illuminated objects in the room.

“Stan, you might want to stay here,” I said.

Stan said “I’m going where you’re going.”

Colbert observed “It appears to be some sort of automated surgery.”

“I’ll be right here, come to think of it,” Stan said, halting abruptly.

Colbert and I came between the two comparatively large vats. Their rims came up to about chest high on the doctor. He and I peered into the one on the right.

“There’s your Meteor Beast. At least most of him,” Colbert said. “Missing part of the tail and the rear legs. Windy had the color wrong, unless puce is natural. Could be decomposed. Or another race of the same species.”

“In my race skin color can vary, even in litter mates,” I said. “What do you make of the incision? What is revealed.”

“The zebra striped tissues? Could be neurological. Little brain in its head, big brain in its hump and then extending down the spine. He’s got a couple of dents in him, at the ribs. Like he was crushed,” Colbert said.

We turned to the slightly smaller vat on the left. Other than all being in the same place, I wasn’t sure it was a single creature. It looked like fish soup.

“Our Meteor Beast has nothing on this guy. All brain and a half ton of calamari,” Colbert said. “Squid, octopus, man of war, pick a phylum. Oh look, he has hands. He has hands.”

“So he does,” I said.

“Any idea what he is?” Colbert asked.

“None,” I said.

“What about your box doohickey? Does it say anything?” Colbert asked.

I had put it back on my belt. I sucked the baton back into my arm and retrieved the box. “Zip. Let me try this other thingamajig,” I said, snatching another square off my belt.

“Thingamajig? Do you have a whatchamaycallit?” Colbert asked.

“In my boots,” I said, activating the device. A small oval floated up from the square’s face. I didn’t have any readers specific to medical devices on me. This was a high end universal. Toovy had paid a left nut for the thing, but I had yet to find a use for it.

It instantly became very useful. I reported “The Meteor Beast’s name is, was, Konano. He was a 103 year old maintenance tech at the dry dock. His body was found in library environment one, after a wall collapsed on him. He was loaded in by the head librarian. Showed no vital signs. Dead on arrival. Placed in suspension, anyway.”

I waved it over the vat on the left and said “This is a Corona Surfer. This is the head librarian. She does not give her name or age. She loaded herself in, simultaneous with Konano. ‘May the sea of peace embrace us.’ Suffering from acute radiation poisoning. Succumbed before suspension completed.”

Colbert said “Radiation? Captain, do you happen to have a Geiger counter?”

“The mist clouds over the atorec should take care of that,” I explained. “That and static electricity.”

Colbert said “It doesn’t seem to have helped her.”

“She didn’t die here. This isn’t the library. All of these things have been moved. Some of them about two years ago and some of them a few months ago,” I said.

“Does it say who our surgeon is?” Colbert asked, then adding “Please don’t let it be me.”

“Royce Cole, esquire,” I said.

Colbert said “I hate it when lawyers mess with medicine.”

I said “Mister Cole has everything labeled in terms of projects. Blue model. Red model. Monetize Project One. Monetize Project Two. These two vats are R&D Project One. Everything in this room seems to be part of suspended or pended projects.”

“Mad scientist’s attic. Worse, a mad lawyer’s attic,” Colbert said.

“Guys. There’s someone in one of these,” Stan said. He was on his knees, looking across the room at a transparent panel. “I would recognize that hand anywhere. That ring cost me five paychecks. She’s still painting her nails maroon.”

“I believe Stan’s found his ex-wife,” I said.

“Joy of joys,” Stan said. “What about the girls?”

“This is Bio Project Storage Facility Two. Royce Cole, esquire, isn’t making things easy on us. He hasn’t given everyone in here a proper name. Poor fellow to the right over there is ‘Colonel Mustard In the Library With a Gun’ needing an attitude adjustment.”

Colbert asked “What, are we playing Clue here?”

“Before we do anything more, I think it’s best to check again on our friend Paco,” I said, heading back to the wall. I opened the door and ducked down. Paco was still asleep, but his alarm clock was set to wake him in a half hour. I made the clock flash 12:00 and shut the door.

Colbert said “Maybe we should move the car?”

“It’s been my experience that once you get out of the vats, you are pretty much ready to go. Wet, but awake and no worse than when you went in. I want the car close so that we can get Colonel Mustard and Stan’s wife out of here quickly,” I said.

“Ex-wife,” Stan muttered.

“What about the other caskets?” Colbert asked.

“Three of them contain some sort of devices. Mustard and Mrs. Ex-Stan are alive. The other four men are like Konano and the librarian, may the sea of peace embrace them. I will double check, though,” I said.

Stan was now hovered over his ex-wife’s vat. “How do you get this thing open?”

I took the six steps over to it and waved the remote about. “I don’t think these things are hooked up for release. They should be over floor drains. It was my experience that the hoods slide back, the tubes rise upright and then they drain. I don’t recall seeing a tube when I woke up, so I am guessing that they get taken away somehow.”

Colbert observed “Konano and the librarian’s vats don’t have tubes.”

“Neither do the caskets filled with devices. Hers does. Most of these do,” I said, pointing at the two empty tubes propped at the corner of the room. “It says there’s nothing wrong with her. She’s been in for nineteen months. She’s being held as leverage ensuring the participation of personnel.—That’s very good news, Stan.—Situation unsuitable for Procedure Three. May be a candidate for Procedure Five, currently pended due to rejection issues. Mister Cole, esquire is very anal.”

Colbert asked “Is Mister Cole, esquire anal enough to tell us how to get her out of there?”

“No,” I said, bending down to examine the triangular panel. I couldn’t read it, nor even guess at how it worked. “It’s a pretty standard piece of equipment. Ships use them as life boats. Industry uses them. The one I was in was medical. These are emergency versions. Most of them have some sort of impromptu method of popping the bands off. Then the gas and the liquid just drain out all over the place.”

Colbert said “If only we hand an anti-magnetic, weld removing thing. Hint.”

I protracted my baton. “It’s an idea.”

Stan said “You want to try that on something else before whacking my ex-wife with it?—I never thought those words would come out of my mouth.”

I stalked over to one of the caskets I believed contained devices. I twisted the baton’s base. Two electrified orbs began rotating around the weapon’s business end. It was another thing I had yet to have a use for.

Colbert said “Captain Meteor, you mentioned gas, releasing gas. What sort of gas?”

I explained “The gas is just there to provide pressurization for the liquid. That way, if it’s released in a zero gravity environment, the liquid shoots away from the body in all directions. The whole thing is really nothing more than a carbonated glycol compound in a thermos. A really good thermos.”

Colbert came to stand beside me. I lowered the baton slowly in the direction of the casket. At six inches away the bands sprung out, shooting a foot clear of the box. A quick spray of liquid out the sides followed, after which the lid stood up on end and fell off the box. The casket’s curved sides then split apart and tumbled one rotation so that the halves were facing away from each other.

“Rather damn comprehensive,” Colbert said.

Revealed was a mound of several hundred objects that

Colbert took to be either decks of playing cards or cassette tapes. Once the liquid had drained, the pile started moving and Colbert took a quick step back. Miniature jacks were sprouting out of their surfaces. The small things were hopping, spiraling in all directions, gaining maybe fourteen inches in clearance at best. In seconds they had vanished behind things. They seemed to be headed for the walls.

Colbert asked “Nothing to be concerned about, right?”

I said “They’re unarmed. Small electronic life—little computers. Probably library material.” The brain boxes had all yelled ‘charliq’ and made a break for it. I told Colbert “Why don’t you go pick up a few of those. We might want to see what’s in them. Just keep them away from your cell phone.”

Colbert spotted a few of them near the wall where our door out had been. Going  after a small cluster, he had no problem collecting five of them, which he stuffed into his pockets. He asked “Is the concern here that they might drain the phone’s battery?”

“Drain your minutes, more likely,” I said. “Stan, it looks like we are ready to go here. The only problem I can envision is the lid falling back in and breaking the tube. I’m going to need to have you and the doctor stand on either side to catch the lid.”

Stan said “I’m having some mixed emotions here.”

“It seems to be set up to protect the patient.” Colbert said, returning to the casket. He had a brain box in his hand which leapt away the moment he got within two feet of me. His pockets were rustling. “They don’t seem to like you much, Captain.”

I stepped back to the small end of the casket and they stopped moving. “Detected the Charliq mines I’m carrying. Sort of a natural enemy of theirs—I need one of you on each side.”

Colbert walked around the end. He said “Charliq mine? You didn’t mention that in your list of weapons.”

I explained “The flaming electrical crap.”

Stan said “I’m still having mixed emotions here. Couldn’t we push her outside and then just tell someone she’s in the box?”

I said “There’s really no other alternative..”

Colbert said “Imagine if the situation was reversed.”

Stan said “I would be sold as a coffee table.”

Joyce Goodman’s release went fairly much as expected. We forgot that her container was illuminated, so much so that the lid standing on end blinded Colbert and Stan. They caught it anyway and were nimble enough to dodge the sides when they flipped over. We all had wet shoes, but that was about it.

Joyce was dressed for someplace that wasn’t Chicago in October. She had on a long yellow dress and red pumps. Her hair was grey at the scalp and streaked unevenly a dark brown thereafter. Apparently Ms. Clairol and glycol don’t mix. She was, of course, soaked through and her dress was clinging to her undergarments. Joyce was 5’9, muscular and thin. I saw her eyes flutter awake and grabbed her ankles. At some point she raised her arms to help me ease her out of the tube’s bottom.

She sat up the moment she was clear of the tube. Doctor Colbert knelt beside her, checking her vital signs. He said “She seems fine. Just wet. Amazing.”

Joyce checked her reflection in my darkly mirrored blast shield, glanced at the doctor and then fixed her gaze on Stan. “I feel like I’ve just been born. But you weren’t there for that, were you Stan? I think there was a doctor. My mom mentioned a medical bill and a hospital stay.” She turned to Colbert and asked “Are you a doctor? You look like a doctor.”

Colbert said “I was a doctor.”

She said “I was someone’s wife. Someone who is going to give me his coat right now.”

To give Stan credit, he had already taken off his heavy blue car coat and was about to drop it on her shoulders. She grabbed Stan by the arms and started to stand up.

Colbert cautioned “I don’t believe that is advisable.”

“You can give me advice when you are a doctor again,” she said, becoming upright and wrapping her arms around Stan’s shoulders. She whispered in Stan’s ear “Hold me, Stan. Not that I still don’t hate you, but it’s you or Doctor Demento or Captain Video here.”

“Captain Meteor,” Stan said.

“Shazam!” she said. “No, Stan. Wrong again. He’s not wearing a cape. Although he is wearing gold boots—with wings on them! And wings on his helmet! Captain Video, where are your All Planet Airmen?”

Colbert said “I don’t think Captain Video had all planet air men.”

She said “If you don’t have all planet air men, then where are you from?”

I said “I am Captain Meteor of Half Marble.”

“He sounds homesick,” she said.

Stan said “Alright, peaches, that’s enough.”

“Did you know what the name of his planet was? No, of course not. And I am not about to wait for answers. From you, Stan. No, I’m not.” She turned her face in my direction and asked “So, Captain Meteor, how far away is this planet Half Marble, where you are from?”

“Let’s go with at least a million light years. I’m still on the Prime Material Plane, still in coded space,” I said, opening up the universal again and waving it over Colonel Mustard’s coffin. Doctor Colbert retreated to a position next to me.

“Homesick, dejected and lost,” she said. “And what are you doing here, Captain Meteor?”

“Currently I am releasing the living victims of Royce Cole, esquire, of which you are one and Colonel Mustard is another,” I said.

She said “You mean Major Mayhem?”

“You know this person?” I asked.

“No, I was just giving him a snappier name. Or at least an original sounding one,” she said.

I put my finger on Colbert’s mouth before he had a chance to speak.  I told him “No, we cannot put her back in the box. We broke the box.”

The moment I lifted my finger, Colbert said “Being awful selective with your telepathy, Captain.”

“I am always selective with telepathy,” I said. “I’m sure when the situation calms down, Joyce will be very helpful.”

“Telepathy, he says,” she said. “That you are going to have to prove to me.”

By way of proof, I said “Here’s one you’ve heard before: What is the shortest distance between two points?”

Stan had no idea what I was talking about, but Joyce did. She sneered at me and said “Alright, proven.”

Colbert asked “Does it say what’s wrong with Colonel Mustard? Maybe he’s like her?”

Stan said “Actually, Joyce seems pretty normal for Joyce.”

“Talking appears to be the exact opposite of Colonel Mustard’s problems. He’s been in for eight months and has been revived three times. Cole’s notes indicate that he intends to threaten to emasculate him. This time in a convincing manner,” I said.

“Threaten? Why can’t he just mind zap this guy?” Colbert asked.

“That’s why we are going to revive him and take him with us,” I said. “Stan, we may need your help with this. I’m going to check out these other caskets, just in case I missed something.”

Colbert and Stan gathered by Colonel Mustard’s casket. Joyce came to follow me as I examined the other caskets.

She asked “You are going to tell me what’s going on, right?”

“Absolutely. When I have the chance,” I said. “What’s the last thing that you remember?”

“You’re talking out of your belt buckle,” she said. “I don’t really remember anything. How long have I been asleep?”

“Eighteen months. You’re very observant,” I said.

She grabbed the fabric of my sleeve and felt it. Something about the way light reflected off of it had drawn her attention. The quick feel confirmed something for her: that it had the texture of something called cheesecloth, although it’s made from woven metal. Her eyes then lit to the floating read out I was glancing at. She could see that parts of it were in English and parts of it were six sided geometric shapes.

The moment this woman realizes her kids are missing, her composure is going to go straight out the window. I wanted to delay that.

“I had called Stan. I had tried to call Stan. It was urgent,” she said. “Are all these caskets Royce Cole’s?”

“That’s what it says. Royce Cole, age 27. Royce Cole, age 58. Royce Cole, age 36. Royce Cole, age 42. All labeled as ready for relocation,” I said. “Do you recall where you were when you were trying to get a hold of Stan?”

“Or even why I would want to get a hold of Stan? No,” she said. It would have had to have had something to do with the girls. For some reason that inkling had yet to cross her mind.

“I promise you that I will answer all of your questions to the best of my ability, but we are a little pressed for time at the moment,” I told her as we started to head back to the rest.

“Swear on your oath as a space ranger?” she sarcastically whispered.

“Trust Captain Meteor. At least until we are out of here. After, I will answer all questions. I don’t want to say anything in front of the man we are about to release. And you know why. Same source as my last statement,” I said.

“Loose lips sink ships?” she guessed.

“Right source. Not exactly what I was fishing for. This person is being held by the same people who had you, but I still don’t want to reveal too much to him. Why? Same source. Try again,” I said.

“Because the enemy of my enemy is not always my friend,” she said. “You know, you’re channeling my mom.”

“Gentlemen, are we ready?” I asked, holding up my baton.

Colbert asked “The others in the caskets dead?”

“All Royce Cole, or versions of him, and all brain dead. And apparently that’s the way he wants them,” I said, activating the electronic bolos on the baton’s end. “Makes me wonder what all of this is really about.”

“The real Royce Cole is brain dead and in a hospital, too,” Colbert said.

As I lowered the baton, the box burst open, like Joyce’s had. For some reason, the light inside this box was considerably dimmer. Stan and Colbert had no problem catching the lid.

The man inside the box was an officer of some type. He was clad in an Air Force uniform. And he was a major, as it should turn out. He was a thick man with very broad shoulders. His hands were bound behind his back. His feet were manacled. He was gagged. There was duct tape over his eyes. A circular, palm-sized open wound was over his left temple. Blood  mixed into the matted brown hair around his face. The major seemed to be in his mid forties.

“Anyone recognize him?” I asked.

No one did. He wasn’t moving. We weren’t even sure if he was breathing until we dragged his limp body from the tube. Under the blue uniform, he had a build to match Stan’s, although he was shorter than even Doctor Colbert.

Doctor Colbert was bent over, examining him. He handed me up a collection of plastic sheathed cards which had been clamped to the Major’s pocket. Colbert said “He’s in his dress uniform. Breathing. Pulse is normal. That’s not actually a blow on his head. More of a burn. If I didn’t know better, I would say someone put a cigarette out on his forehead.”

Stan said “That would be one thick cigarette.”

“Looks like a pilot. He’s short enough,” Joyce said.

“Major Otto Gonor,” I said. ‘Gonor’, of course meant ‘cyborg’, but it could have been a coincidence. It would be a phonetic English spelling of a word with roots galaxies away. Whoever he was, he had well used visitor’s passes for Fermi Lab, Argonne Laboratories, Baxter Labs, the Defense Logistics Agency and Boeing on him. The one from Baxter identified him as a ‘Procurement Officer.’

He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who could spend eight months on ice without someone noticing.

“His ribs are fine. He’s got a gun! And he’s wearing a bullet-proof vest. Some sort of body armor from the stomach down,” Colbert reported.

“Careful, doctor. He could be a robot. Or a cyborg. I’m not getting anything, but it could be shielded,” I said.

Colbert squatted on the balls of his feet. “Vest is pretty much saturated. On further review, it seems to be a medical harness, like for a soft tissue back injury. If he’s a cyborg, he’s nothing like you.”

Major Gonor was doing a convincing job of not moving. I couldn’t get a telepathic read on him.

Right at that moment, I detected something sizzling from a position right beyond his casket. I moved past the rest and tried to track the noise. It was clearly caused by the pools of glycol we had released. I wanted to see if it was immediately dangerous.

The noise was emitted from the room’s corner. I spotted a length of knobby tubing from the amat gen and followed it left. The tubing went into what seemed to be a crudely made plywood platform flush with the wall.

This only took a few seconds. My thought was that the sizzling might have been coming from inside the wall. It didn’t matter. I was just about to tell them it was time to leave. We would have to drag the Major out to the car. Then I remembered to check him telepathically again.

Before I could do that, I stepped on the platform. There was an inundating, bright purple flash. Not that I am an expert, but it is my conjecture that this is the sign that you have just activated a Zoom Tube to a Voliant Wave  portal.

Scab universe, here I come.