======== [Synopsis: Ever since Jerome Smythe's arrival in Lawndale, certain key questions have hung over the Flack-Jacket Mafia: what does he do for a living? How deeply are Lynn and Tom mixed up in it? What does Ms. Li's attempt on Lynn's life have to do with it all? On a cross-country road-trip, Lynn's bandmates and fellow Jacketeers, and Quinn, learn the answers to all these questions -- the hard way. Some people just don't know when they're well off.] "Tour of Duty": a Look-Alike miniseries (Anglo-Canadian Studios production code 4.00) novelization by Austin Loomis based on a teleplay by Janet Neilson and Ben Yee "You had something to hide You should have hidden it, shouldn't you? And now you're not satisfied With what you've been put through" -- Depeche Mode, "Policy of Truth" _Epilogue: Mama, I'm Coming Home_ (Lawndale, USA -- late August, AD 2000) "I read the news today, oh boy About a lucky man who made the grade And though the news was rather sad Well, I just had to laugh I saw the photograph" -- John Lennon and J. Paul McCartney, "A Day in the Life" At 1111 Glen Oaks Lane, Jake Morgendorffer was pacing around his living room. "Where *are* they?" he blurted. "They were *supposed* to be back six *days* ago!" "Jake," Helen Barksdale Morgendorffer sighed, with the usual slight exasperation that came from watching her husband, "will you get a grip? They were driving around the *country*; it's not surprising that they're a *little* off-schedule." "Six *days?* That's nearly a *week!*" Helen sighed her longest-suffering sigh. "Jake..." They heard the sound of car motors from outside. Jake fairly sprang toward the window and looked out. "They're back!" He and Helen sprinted for the front door and burst out onto the lawn. That Lynn girl's Mercedes pulled up in front of the house, with Daria's little friend Jane Lane behind the wheel and what looked like bullet holes in the rear passenger door. Jake and Helen's daughter Quinn stepped out of the back of the car, carrying a plain black tote bag and wearing a new outfit -- travel-stained blue jeans (not her bell-bottoms), a white T-shirt and a deep pink leather jacket. A fading bruise was still visible running up one side of her face. As the Merc pulled away, Quinn walked up the side walk and stopped in front of her parents, who were staring at her. "*Quinn?* What happened to your *face?*" "I'm gonna *kill* the bastard that--" Quinn cut Jake's protective-father rant off before it could even get started. "Dad...somebody already did. I'm going up to my room -- I'm tired. Good night." She brushed past them and into the house, leaving her parents to stare at her. They heard another motor, and a van that looked incredibly like the one the A-Team used to drive on TV pulled up in front of the house, closely followed by Trent Lane's blue Plymouth. Trent was behind the wheel of his car; Max Tyler, the boy with the shaved head and the nose ring who played drums in that band of Trent's, was driving the A-Team- style van. Helen's older daughter Daria, also wearing a whole new wardrobe -- black jeans, white shirt, leather duster coat a shade of forest-green similar to her old field-jacket, lethal-looking boots of a deeper green than the coat -- stepped out of the front passenger side of the Plymouth, circled the car, and leaned over to talk to Trent. "I don't want her staying in that house on her own. Not until..." She trailed off meaningfully. "She's staying over at our house," Trent rasped. "Janey's gonna set up Penny's old room." He thought a moment. "Those two are gonna be okay, right?" "Eventually." A pause for thought. "I hope." More thought. "I'll call later." Trent nodded at Daria, who opened the rear passenger door, pulled out her duffel bag and stepped away from the Plymouth. It drove off, followed by the A-Team-esque van. Then she shouldered the bag and started up the walk. When she reached the door, she stopped by Helen and Jake, who were staring at her. "Mom. Dad." Helen was stunned by the change in her firstborn. It wasn't just the new clothes -- there was something different about the way she carried herself, and something different in her eyes. "Daria? Sweetie? Are you...?" Daria held up a hand. "We had...a long, strange trip. That's all you need to know." She slipped past her official parents and up the stairs, leaving them to stare after her. Once in her room, she dropped the duffel bag in a corner, then took off the coat, draping it over the bed. She sat down on the bed and kicked off the boots so hard they hit the wall opposite, making the padding on that wall (and the other three) fortunate in a way she hadn't even realized. Then she lay back and sighed, indulging for a moment in her long- standing hobby of staring at the ceiling. Then, restless, she sat up, pondered a moment, then headed for her desk and the computer that lived there. She switched it on, waited for it to boot and then fired up her word processing program and began to type. _The names and faces will be changed when I get around to it. For now, I'll just tell it like it was._ She considered that. _Then again, may as well just leave our names. No one's going to believe this anyway._ _Lawndale and the Road: July -- School's Out_ "No more pencils, no more books No more teachers' dirty looks" -- "No More Pencils" (traditional end-of-school-year song), quoted by Alice Cooper in "School's Out" The combination lock turned, and the door opened, letting in the light and revealing Lynn Cullen's face as she peered speculatively into the space behind the door. Daria came up behind her look-alike and gazed over her shoulder into Lynn's locker. "It's clutter, Lynn, but not as we know it." "Last day of any school year is fine," observed Lynn, "but I'm really looking forward to the last day of senior year." "Aren't we all." "It's not even so much the getting out of this white-collar- nimrod factory," Daria's elder half-sister continued quite casually. "I'm just looking forward to piling my shredded notes and gym clothes into the bottom of my locker, dousing the lot with lighter fluid and tossing a match...without having to worry about being expelled." Daria's astonishment must have shown on her face. "You think I'm kidding." "No, I *hope* you're kidding." She saw that Lynn wasn't. "You think it'll be that satisfying?" "Imagine, if you will, the smell of burning paper and cloth. The crinkle-crinkle sound of paint being blistered by the heat. The warmth and light of the flickering flames fueled by the symbols and results of efforts you never wanted to make. Knowing that, after four years in the stocks, you are now as free as ashes on the wind." There was a moment of silence as they continued to stare into Lynn's locker. Daria considered it, and had to admit, Lynn made it sound tempting, or cathartic, or both. "Synchronized arson?" "Talk to me about it next year." With that, Lynn scraped all the clutter out of the locker and into a big trash can she'd already placed underneath the door. * * * As Daria and Lynn crossed the parking lot, approaching the Merc, Jane was leaning against it, as was Andrew Philip McIntyre, but they both straightened up when the look-alikes appeared. "Hey ho, Twin Terrors!" A.P. called out. Daria and Lynn exchanged a look. Daria graciously decided to ignore this sally. "You guys were quick. Finally build a matter transporter a la _Star Trek_?" Lynn, on the other hand, was not being gracious. "And please don't call us that, because a boot to the coccyx often offends." She and Daria might be look-alikes and half-sisters (or, if you're being pretentious like me, "demi-sisters"), but due to the rather different temperaments of Helen Morgendorffer and Kate Cullen, they often had very different reactions to the same stimuli. Jane decided to acknowledge the comment by ignoring it. "We got let out early." She nodded toward A.P. "He made Mr. Titchmarsh cry." "Again?" groaned Daria. A.P. shrugged. "Well," he said in mildly scornful tones, "if he didn't have loopholes in the student server system big enough to drive a bus through..." "Not the screen trick," Lynn boggled. A.P.'s grin was all the answer she needed. "I thought you were saving that for senior year." "Nope, that's when I rewire all the mice and keyboards to work at different computers." Daria was confused. "Wait a minute. `Screen trick'...?" Lynn could recite this one in her sleep, and she sounded like she was trying not to demonstrate that by *falling* asleep from sheer boredom. "Set background color to black. Set foreground color to black. Set everything else to black. Log off via the keyboard. Leave." "And see how many monitors they throw away before someone wises up," A.P. added with a wicked grin. He thought a moment. "Oh, that reminds me, can we go down the road nearest the computer science wing? They chucked a gorgeous 19-inch..." "Sure, sure, fine, fine." She paused to switch gears. "Now, does anyone have any questions about next week?" They all opened their mouths. "That do not involve leaving Quinn behind, selling her to an L.A. pimp or mummifying her with duct tape." Daria and Jane shut their mouths. "Alum?" Lynn sighed. "A.P..." "Well, why does she have to come with us anyway? I mean, we're a band and assorted tech/manager types, not...not...not babysitters to narcissistic poseurs with the brains of a concussed peacock." He noticed the Looks that was getting from the others. "Direct quote. Purple Peril. March 19, 2000." "Oh yeah. The campaign to win over Bubble Boy's parents." Lynn looked surprised and a little flattered. "You remembered that verbatim? *And* the date?" A.P. was blushing like a maniac. "Um...what's that thing when you find *just* the right word...?" Daria opened her mouth to answer, but decided to let this play out. "_Le mot juste._" "Oh yeah. Well, that was it." Lynn was now blushing slightly herself, but desperately trying not to show it. "Oh. Right. Thanks." She took a moment to control herself and was all business again. "Okay, English lesson over, serious questions..." "Why *does* Narcissa have to come? Erudite Emerald?" Daria sighed. "Mom and Dad are going on a couples retreat to try to patch their marriage up properly and they don't want Quinn in the house on her own. There have been...incidents when Quinn's been left to her own devices with a big empty house." Lynn raised an eyebrow. "Do I *want* to know?" "Probably not. But either Quinn goes or I stay behind. Take your pick." "Why is it always Hobson's Choice with you?" Another sigh. "Well, how bad could it possibly *be?* I mean, she *has* improved a lot." "Yeah," A.P. snapped, "but two *months* on the road with her?" "Unless you want me to stay behind." Lynn jumped with both feet on the dim hope that offered. "Well, if it's going to cause trouble, maybe you should--" Then Daria stomped on that hope, likewise with both boots. "Let me put it another way. I'm *not* staying behind. So what time are we heading out?" Lynn stifled a sigh. "We're meeting Tuesday morning, say around eight a.m. I'd prefer discussing itinerary while the band's around; I'd hate going over it twice. We're doubling back on ourselves a few times over the trip and it gets a bit complicated." Jane had a very good question. "And is there a particular reason *why* your aunt Lorna couldn't have organized it so we could go in a straight line?" Lynn had obviously been anticipating some question like that; her answer was just slightly too glib. "Most of the places we're playing in do have other bookings, you know. Just because they want to give us a try and stay in Lorna's good books doesn't mean they're going to bend over backwards to do it." _That'll do for now._ "Okaaay..." As if on cue, Lynn's phone started bleeping "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life." Jane, Lynn and A.P. looked at her, their faces clearly conveying the shared thought _That is just *so* you._ Lynn shrugged philosophically and wandered off, looking for privacy. The other three exchanged looks. "You were pretty adamant about going along on this thing, Daria," observed Jane. She thought about it a moment. "Either the idea of spending over two months on the road with Trent is too good an offer for you to resist or..." "I want to keep an eye on her," Daria replied, obviously serious as a stroke. Or as serious as the bullet that had torn through Angela Li's heart a few months earlier, the bullet Ms. Li had meant for Lynn. _Think of something else._ "And are you so determined to start the yenta act up again?" "Hey, I gave it a decent interval. And he still really likes you." Daria raised an eyebrow. "Or someone who resembles me a great deal..." "Actually, I think *you* look like *her,*" A.P. noted. "Not the other way around. She's older." _Like she reminded me after the writing comp thing._ "And anyway," Jane interjected, "you really think that Lynn and Trent have something going?" She saw Daria's _We-ell_ look, but not the identical one A.P. was sporting. "Oh, come *on,* Daria!" "Well," Daria observed, "there was...New Year." It hurt less than coming out and saying _Lynn and Trent's drunken one-night stand._ "And they have been on a date..." "Which bombed. He...had his mind on someone else, nudge-nudge, wink-wink, say no more..." A.P.'s relief could be seen quite clearly in his grin. "That's Purple Peril's line, Art-Smart Scarlet..." "Whatever; and anyway, she..." _(still has feelings for *you.*) Stop right there, Lane._ "...doesn't feel that way about him either. Either she has rules about not dating someone she's in a band with or she's *pretending* to so she doesn't have to try letting Max down gently." "Oh." Daria thought about that a moment. "Why doesn't that relieve me more?" Jane groaned. "Don't tell me you're *over* him! I mean, you weren't even over him when you were dating A.P.! You *can't* be over him *now!*" "Why not? It's been months since he acted like he gave a damn." Jane threw up her hands in disgust. Daria shot her a Mona Lisa smirk. "Don't let it get you down, Jane. I'm sure you'll find some other way to meddle in my love life." "Just don't try setting her up with Casey Wright," A.P. warned. "He doesn't deal well with women who talk more than he does." That met with stares from the other two -- if the Back Alley Name-Droppers' bass- grunt talked any *less,* he'd start devolving to an ape-like state. "He doesn't get out much." _Change subject *now,* Maverick._ "How are things with Goat-boy, anyway?" "Well," Jane mused re Casey's bandmate Guy Mann, "the second date went a bit better. He's a tough guy to get to know -- I wonder if I like him or just the challenge of finding out whether or not he really *is* a jerk." Lynn returned, looking fed up. "Sorry, guys, pizza's off. We meet on Tuesday in front of Casa Lane. Pack light. Later." Without another word, she got into the car and drove away. None of the other three looked impressed in the slightest. "You see why I want to keep an eye on her?" asked Daria. "Oooooh yeah," Jane acknowledged. * * * In his room, Tom Sloane was packing a suitcase. Lynn was sitting on his desk, legs crossed, looking irritated. "Okay," he said to her as he inserted a double-handful of socks into the suitcase, "New York." "Hook up with Leopard," Lynn replied; "ask about the merchandise, check the inventory, do the books. Can't we trust these people to do *anything?*" "Mr. Smythe prefers a family touch." He started digging through his closet. "Pittsburgh." "Dinner with Eco, Aph and NCM; check what's happening with the site and the networks, see if they've liaised with Chopper on some business that happened with legits back in March. If possible, get out to where Chopper is and talk to him personally." Tom emerged from the closet with his bulletproof vest, which went into the suitcase. "Highland." "We're not staying very long in Texas, but we're supposed to at least talk to SS Rat and see if he's got through on that stupid little bunch of upstarts." Lynn sighed. "See, I know this; do I *have* to spend the next four days repeating it to you?" Tom pointedly ignored the complaint, simply beginning to pile folded T-shirts on top of the Kevlar. "San Francisco." That elicited a deeper sigh. "I've got to have discussions with Warlock, Scar and Pagebert about the fact that Jensen's nosing around the contacts again. Propose that they look into hiring DJ on the matter." That stopped Tom in mid-pack, widening his eyes. "*What?* But DJ's..." "DJ is what Dad suggested as the best method of dealing with someone like Jensen. She's good at what she does." "He's serious about Jensen, isn't he?" "We-ell...yeah." That made Tom instantly suspicious. "What do you know?" Lynn smirked. "Not telling. Unless, of course, you'd like to give me the evening off to actually talk to my friends for a change." That led to a short pause. Tom added a pair of jeans to the pile in the suitcase as he said, "Mississippi." Lynn sighed. * * * Tuesday morning, outside 111 Howard Drive, Trent and his bandmate Jesse Moreno were loading an amp into the back of the Tank, Max's allegedly indestructible van. The Merc, pulling a trailer covered by a tarp, pulled up in front of the Tank, parking nose to nose with the van. Lynn stepped out of the car and walked toward the back. "Hey, guys." "Hey, Lynn," Trent rasped. "Daria and her sist...I mean, her *other* sister are here." Lynn raised an eyebrow at that self-catching. "How'd Narcissa pack?" "Light. And it's killing her. Slowly." Lynn gave a small smirk of satisfaction. A.P. came ambling down the block, wearing a very large camper's backpack that was threatening to tip him over with its sheer weight. As he approached the Merc, Daria and a busily whining Quinn stepped out of Casa Lane. "...isn't *fair!* I can't *survive* two months with just those clothes! They'll get *old!* They'll go out of *fashion!* All that stuff I bought last week won't even be worth *wearing* when I get back! It'll never have had its *chance!* And I *still* don't understand *why* we couldn't have asked *Ted* to come *too!* I mean, he's *really* smart and he could be *really* useful and *your* boyfriend gets to come and I don't see *why*--" "Quinn," Daria interjected, "could you please save the whining until we're actually *on* the road? And he's not my boyfriend anymore." "What*ever.* Once a guy likes you, he *always* likes you. Unless he never really liked you in the first place, which happens too, though never to *me,* of course..." "Shut *up,* Quinn." That had hit a little too close to home. The reason it had hit so close, Lynn, turned to the other reason, A.P. himself. "Maybe I should reconsider the alum." "Thought...you'd...say that," A.P. panted, grinning weakly. Lynn sighed. "Oh, here, give it to me." She took hold of the back of the bag as A.P. shrugged out of it, and she tossed it into the back seat of the Merc with little effort. A.P. sagged and sighed with relief. "Thanks, Purple Peril." Jane wobbled out of the house and staggered toward Lynn. "You," she grogged. "Coffee. Now." Lynn raised that eyebrow again. "Yes, O master..." She headed for the front passenger seat of the Merc and started rummaging in the underneath. As she was doing this, Daria approached the Merc and looked in the trailer in back. She shifted the tarp to reveal Lynn's peril-purple Laverda Strike motorcycle. "You brought Amethyst." She thought about that. "And I was worried about *Quinn* packing heavy." "Look, no way in *hell* am I not taking advantage of nearly deserted mountain roads. *Killer* ride." "Oh yeah, killer," Daria muttered, nearly under her breath. "And the rest of us can then have a rock-paper-scissors competition to see who scrapes your battered remains off a canyon wall." Lynn caught that and looked sidelong at Daria, who gave Lynn a reproving look in reply. She still remembered the suicide run, and Jane had given her a brief, insightful summary of the medical worries that'd led to it. Lynn looked taken aback at the bitterness in her sister's statement, but let it go and went back to the coffee hunt. She came up with the thermos and undid the cup lid, pouring some coffee into it. As she went to hand it to Jane, they heard the sound of a very damaged engine at work, and Tom's rustbucket approached around a corner. Jane's eyes narrowed; she grabbed the thermos from Lynn and headed for the Tank, climbing into the shotgun seat and slamming the door behind her. Daria and Lynn raised eyebrows at each other. "If there's going to be a problem with those two," Lynn observed, "maybe she should stay behind." Daria aimed her raised eyebrow at her sister. "*Her?* Why not *him?*" "Well, he...I..." Lynn sighed. "Never mind. Let's just say leaving *him* behind is not an option." Daria glared at Lynn, who shrugged and downed her thermos lid of coffee. Tom's car stopped nose to trunk with the Merc. He stepped out and made a beeline for Lynn. "Cullen. Private word." Lynn hove a sigh and wandered toward the Rustmobile with him. Daria's scowl deepened. A.P. approached from behind Daria and joined her in glaring after Lynn and Tom. "They gonna do that the whole trip? 'Cause I'd like to keep a meal down in the next two months." "A.P.," Daria hastened to assure him, "whatever's going on, I don't think it's...that." "And how do *you* know?" That gave her seriously to consider how she knew. At length, she had to admit, "I don't know. But they're not giving off the right signals." "You mean like spending all that time together?" "How *willing* does it seem?" "Point," the Psycho-Maverick conceded. He paused to consider. "But still. I want...I hoped..." He sighed, giving up the two-sided struggle with the words and his feelings. "Never mind." He wandered away. Having understood him nicely despite his usual inarticulate ways, Daria looked after him, then sighed and wandered over to the Tank. She watched Jane guzzle coffee from the thermos a moment, then knocked on the window. Jane looked out, saw Lynn and Tom in discussion over at the rustbucket, and rolled the window down. Daria looked at the Rustmobile. "Ever wanted to hit people until they see what's good for them?" Jane looked at A.P., who was digging through his rucksack in the backseat of the Merc. "*All* the time." Trent walked up to the rustbucket and hammered on the window. When he had their attention, he asked, "So what's our itinerary?" Lynn stepped out of the car, followed by Tom. "We were just discussing that." She unfolded a map of the USA on the rustbucket's hood and traced their planned route with her finger. "First we're taking a stop in some little burg in Texas. From there, through Louisiana to Mississippi -- Long Beach, specifically. I thought direct to Florida from there -- yes, we're stopping in Disney and I don't want to hear any arguments -- I was denied the fromage in my childhood and I feel I'm owed." She gave them a Look that dared anyone to argue. Wisely, no one did. "Anyway. Trundle up through the Carolinas until we reach Washington, DC. From there through New Jersey -- don't even ask. Then back through New York, Pennsylvania, across the northern states until we hit Nevada, then California, and on through Arizona, New Mexico... and back here." A horrible suspicion began to form in Daria's mind. "What `little burg in Texas'?" she asked, fearing she already knew the answer. "Highland." She *had* known, but that didn't make her stop dreading it. "Oh, *God,* no." "Can't take the heat, Daria?" smirked Jane. "You heard about the uranium in the drinking water in Highland, didn't you?" "Oh, yeah. _Sick, Sad World_ exclusive the week before you got to Lawndale. But that's one I *didn't* believe; I mean, those two cerebrally deficient morons, one of them going..." She stuck her arms in the air and dragged her red shirt over her head. "`I AM THEE GREAT CORNHOOOO...'" She trailed off, seeing the odd mixture of contempt, resignation and horror on Daria's face, and slowly put her arms and her shirt down. "You mean..." "*Oh* yeah." "At your *school?*" "Beavis and Butt-Head." "*Butt-Head?*" "I don't know that it's his real name. Rumor had it that Butt- Head's mom was on a mescaline high when she was giving birth." _Either that or hospital morphine._ "I'm not discussing it." They all looked at her. She looked back. "Well? Are we going or not?" Lynn shrugged. "We're going. Pick a car. Any car." "That was *bad,* Lynn," Jane muttered. "Puncrime. So shoot me." A.P. clambered into the shotgun seat of the Merc and gave Tom an excrement-eating grin. Daria rolled her eyes and got in the back, and Lynn got behind the wheel. Max, Nick Campbell and Jesse piled into the Tank, and Jane and Trent clambered into the Plymouth. "I don't *believe* I'm doing this," Quinn gritted, disgusted. "I wouldn't be seen *dead* in this car." "If it were up to me, you would..." Tom snarled under his breath. Quinn was getting into the Rustmobile's passenger seat as he was saying this, so missed it completely. Tom got into the driver's seat. Lynn waved a hand and started driving, and the other drivers followed her lead. _Open Road Song_ "Hey you, out there on the road Always doin' what you're told, can ya help me? Hey you, out there beyond the wall Breaking bottles in the hall, can ya help me? Hey you, don't tell me there's no hope at all Together we stand, divided we fall (we fall, we fall)" -- Pink Floyd, "Hey You" I will now pass around some snapshots: * In the rustbucket, Tom was resolutely ignoring Quinn, who was sulking busily away on her side of the seat. After a while, she started digging in a bag at her feet and finally took out a tube of lipstick. She folded down the sun visor on her side, pouting when she found no mirror there. She reached up and grabbed the rearview mirror and wrenched it around to face her -- and it snapped off in her hand, just like the one on Jameson's Beemer had done. She looked at it, then at Tom (who looked about ready to go DeMartino), then shrugged and started applying the lipstick. * In the Merc, A.P. was sifting through a box of CDs, alternately giving slightly confused looks and making faces. This had been going on for some time, and Daria was getting bored and somewhat fed up. At length, Lynn rolled her eyes and, without looking, took one hand off the wheel and dug in the box, pulling out a CD at apparent random and handing it to A.P. He looked at it, then at her, then at it, then just shrugged and put it into the CD player, pressing Play. A moment later, he looked very sorry he'd done so, but Daria didn't look too bothered and Lynn even got a small smile. A.P. noted that and schooled his facial expression. * In the Tank, Jesse was driving, and Max and Nick were arguing. As usual. "Look," Little Drummer Boy snapped, "when I'm going foom-foom- foom-foom, what damn good does it do to have you going badda-dah, badda- dah, badda-dah, blat?" "It's not blat, Max -- it's blam," insisted Nick. "Haven't you two had this conversation before?" Jesse wondered. "Well, he keeps going blat." "Blam, man, it's blam!" * In the Plymouth, Janey was asleep, and Trent was working on it. * * * It was a typical roadside rest area -- picnic tables, information booth, snack stand, that sort of thing. The gang had shoved two of the tables together, and they were sitting all at them, picking at their food. No one looked happy -- in fact, they all looked tense as hell. Max looked around and kind of tried a grin. "I'm going to the pic--" "NO!" nine voices cried at once. Max shrank in his seat, looking like he'd just been slapped. The others went back to their intense study of their food. Tom was the next to break the silence. "We have *got* to get some kind of passenger rotation going here. I can't drive all day." He fumed inwardly a moment, then grumbled, "And *especially* not with *her.*" "HEY!" Quinn piped up. "You're not exactly the kind of person *I* want to be spending hours with *either,* you know! Cute you may be, but you have *no* taste in music." She mulled that over a moment, then added, "*Or* clothes." "Has anyone ever told you that, when you reach a certain state of whine, your voice could peel paint?" "Is this deliberate?" Daria whispered to Lynn. There was something suspiciously innocent about the way Lynn asked, "Is *what* deliberate?" "Making him sit in a car with Quinn for hours on end. Is this some kind of cruel and unusual punishment?" Lynn, deadpan, looked towards Daria for a moment...then gave her a very small smirk that answered the question perfectly clearly. Daria raised an eyebrow at her. "What, you don't approve?" "Oh, I approve. Nice to seeing you operating to your usual standard -- low-key subversive irritation." Lynn just shrugged. "*Ooh!*" Quinn suddenly steamed. Clearly frustrated as hell for some reason, she dumped the contents of her bottle of soda over Tom's head and went to lounge in the backseat of the Merc. Everyone looked after her, then at the dripping Tom. "Don't ask," he said. "You're depriving us," warned Lynn. "This is not good." He sighed. "I asked her, if she's so up on fashion, why is she, a redhead, wearing pink?" Daria, Jane and Lynn looked at each other. Then, with one accord, they dropped their heads on the table and began to choke on suppressed laughter. A.P., Tom, and the male members of Mystik Spiral looked at each other, bemused. A.P., unclear as usual on whether it was a good thing or a bad thing that he hadn't gotten that, was first to ask, "Uh...was that funny?" "Not *that* funny." "What *was* that, *chick* humor?" The rest of the guys looked at Max in horror, then at the girls -- Lynn particularly -- expecting the wrath of the Furies. Daria, Jane and Lynn, however, were still laughing like loons. "I..." choked Daria, "...don't...*believe*...no one...ever... *asked* that..." She dissolved into a helpless puddle of chuckles. "I'm an *artist* and I never..." Jane hooted with laughter. Lynn, head in her arms, just kept laughing. "I'm never gonna understand girls," A.P. decided. "Your first mistake is expecting to," Tom informed him, sounding slightly sad. Then he turned to the girls and shouted, "HEY! CULLEN! VEHICLE SWAP ROTA!" Lynn sat up and wiped her eyes a little. In a surprisingly mirthful voice, she said, "You never let me have any fun." Then she was all business again. "Right. Vehicle rota." A.P. got really sad. _I miss that happy voice._ But Lynn didn't even notice; she was already head to head with Tom, having a clipped, crisp conversation. * * * Some time later, they had it sorted out. Jane was now behind the wheel of the Merc, with Trent riding shotgun and Quinn still in the backseat. Jesse was behind the wheel of Trent's Plymouth with A.P. in the back. Nick was driving the Tank, with Max riding shotgun on his baby; Daria climbed into the back, being careful of her head this time. Lynn and Tom were in the Rustmobile; he started the engine and it made some nasty noises. "Do I even want to know when this thing last saw a mechanic?" she asked him. "I'm not worried. You made the Tank run, didn't you?" "...Point. Drive." And the rustbucket led the caravan out. * * * Later, in a store, the Peril had an assortment of hardware -- screws, clips, and a really large hammer -- and a folding lawnchair. "Lynn," Daria asked her, "what are you going to do with all that?" "You know where the Tank used to have a luggage rack?" "Yes..." "It will now have a lawnchair." She thought a moment, then added, "And me." "I'm going to run to men's clothing real quick," A.P. announced. Daria wasn't quite sure she should ask, but decided to anyway. "For?" He shot a glance at Lynn, who was wearing a maniacal grin. "A belt or three." * * * Out in the parking lot, Lynn was balancing on the roof of the Tank, attaching the lawnchair. A.P. clambered up next to her and watched her work for a moment, then said, "Hey ho, Purple Peril..." "GAH!" Lynn spun fast and nearly went over the side. A.P., his fears now perfectly justified, made a grab for her and wound up holding her shoulders while she found her balance. "Sorry..." "s'okay." After a tense moment, she added, sounding almost reluctant, "You...can let go now." "Oh," he replied, equally reluctant. "Right. 'Kay." After a second, he did so. "So...you wanted something?" "Uhhh..." Defeated by the words as usual, he just held up the belts. "Oh. In the seatbelt vein, I take it." He nodded. She looked at them a moment, seeming almost touched, then took them. "Uhhh...thanks." He seemed to feel a need to explain. "Well, you know, we've been friends a long time, and you've saved my life kinda and...well, it'd hurt like hell to see you splattered all over the road..." He took a moment to marshal his courage. "I...y'know, I..." He couldn't make himself say it loud. It came out nearly under his breath, and in semi- speed-rant mode. "icareaboutya..." She looked at him. Their eyes met. The look lasted. She opened her mouth to speak. "CULLEN!" Tom shouted. "DAMMIT, YOU'D *BETTER* NOT BE DOING WHAT DARIA *SAYS* YOU'RE DOING!" "AND IF I *AM*?" she yelled over the side. "WHO DIED AND MADE *YOU* MY MOTHER?" She shrugged at A.P. "Excuse me." She clambered down past him and looked back, confused -- a little -- then shook her head and made for the Rustmobile. A.P. stared after her a moment. "Dammit." He sat down...and the chair's back reclined and whapped the back of his head into the roof of the Tank. "AUGH!!!" THUMP. "Owwwwwwww..." "Wha?" Max awked, alerted by the noise. It took him a moment to assess the situation. "Lynn! What were you thinking? That seat will never come off!" _Texas: Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?_ "Riding on the range, I got my hat on I got my boots dusty I got my saddle on my horse He's called (T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T) Trigger, of course" -- Boys Don't Cry, "I Wanna Be a Cowboy" Out front of the Texas bar, someone was taking down a sign that said "The Viper Club" and replacing it with one that said "The Feeding Trough Bar And Grill." Lynn looked a bit fed up. "Um...what are they doing?" wondered Daria. "Sticking us straight into Blues Brothers hell," Lynn replied and stormed in. The interior of the bar was, as she'd feared, just like that godforsaken honkytonk where Jake, Elwood and the boys had played the "Rawhide" theme -- the same long rows of wooden benches, the same grubby bar, the same cage around the stage area. Lynn was conversing with a lanky older man in a pair of overalls, a chambray shirt and a ten-gallon hat. "What do you *mean,* you bought them out?" "Well," he said, "weren't much call for that racket the young'uns play out in this part o' town. Place went bust." "I see. And yet you still want us to play for you." "Indeedy, miss. I mean, it's like this. We ain't got the time to go rustlin' up an act for opening night. And you're under contract for us already." "No...we're under contract for the owners of The Viper Club." "Which, for the moment, is me, missy." "And what kind of music do you expect us to play?" "Oh, we ain't fussy. We like both kinds." "*Both* kinds?" _Don't say it, *please* don't say it, if there is anything *like* a just God then He won't *let* you say it..._ "Country...*and* western!" SIGH. Outside the Feeding Trough's stage door, everybody was standing around, waiting for Lynn to come out, looking a bit uncertain. She came out, looking fatigued, and headed for the gang and the stage door they were surrounding. "So how'd it go?" Daria asked. "Did we get out of it?" rasped Trent. "Where are you going?" Jane wondered. Lynn stopped at the door and looked back at them, resignation in every pore of her face. "I am *going*..." She sighed. "...to go look up the lyrics to `I've Got Tears in My Ears from Lying on My Back while I Cry over You.'" She went in through the stage door, slamming it behind her. The gang looked *really* confused. * * * The backstage area was somewhere beyond grubby, with minimal scarred wood furniture and windows that had last seen soapy water in 1968 -- AD, they all hoped. Lynn was online on her laptop, and a pile of papers was sitting by the mini-printer. Daria came in behind her and started leafing through the papers, reading titles at random. "`I Don't Know Whether to Kill Myself or Go Bowling'?" Lynn didn't look up. "That about sums up my feelings right now." Daria kept reading. "`How Can I Miss You if You Won't Go Away'? `I'm So Miserable without You, It's like Having You Here'? `If I Had Shot You when I Wanted To, I'd Be Out by Now'? `Mama, Get a Hammer (There's a Fly on Papa's Head)'?" "If I have to sing country western, I'm going to do it *my* way." "Frank Sinatra?" "Sid Vicious." There was a pause. Then a title caught Daria's eyes, which consequently widened. She looked at Lynn. "You made this one up." "No I didn't. They're *all* traceable on the Net." She thought about that. "They probably didn't used to exist before that e-mail forward about Worst Country/Western Song Titles of All Time, but people built on that and..." Daria looked at her sister incredulously. "Somebody actually sat down and made up lyrics to `My Head Hurts, My Feet Stink and I Don't Love Jesus'?" Lynn smirked. "That's for the encore." * * * The bar was fairly crowded. The band was onstage, tuning their various instruments and looking really uncomfortable. Lynn, in her Xena-meets- the-Road-Warrior stage outfit, stepped onstage and up to the mike. _I can't believe I'm *doing* this._ She sighed. "We are Mystik Spiral. Live with it." And they started playing "You Got the Ring and I Got the Finger" -- I could hunt up the lyrics and provide them, but I don't want to be held responsible if you decide you need to take out your brain and soak it in bleach. People started chucking bottles at the stage. "Is that the good kind of bottle throwing or the bad kind of bottle throwing?" wondered A.P. "Good, I think," Daria replied. "They don't seem to be strictly *aiming.*" At the back of her head, she heard Jane's refrain _Hey, just trying to find the silver lining,_ though this wasn't so much silver as smoky gray. "Well...their technique's improved." The Maverick had his head in his hands now. "I can't watch. This hurts." "They're not that bad," Tom piped up. A.P. angrily rounded on the interloper in their lives. "NOT THAT BAD? Look, Rusty-come-lately, if you knew Purple Peril at *all* you'd know that she always said that if she goes to hell when she dies, she'll be locked in a room with a guitar and a guy with a cattle prod and be forced to play `The Gambler' for the rest of eternity!" He saw that everyone was staring at him. "What?" "Most people don't share their personal hells with me on short acquaintance." He considered a moment more, then added, "And that has put a really unwelcome image in my head." "She," Jane boggled. "Knows the words. To `The Gambler.'" "Summer camp," A.P. replied. "*Long* story." "Probably best not to think about it," Daria, who knew the tale, added. She noticed the you're-holding-out-on-me look she was getting from her friend. "Another time, Jane." And the four of them began studiously to ignore each other, all fading out into their own little not-very-fun worlds. * * * Backstage, two all-too-familiar faces popped their heads around the door. "This sucks! Yeah! Mhehhehhehheh. What happened to all the rock music?" "Shut up, dill-hole! Huhhhuhhuuhuhuh. That was Diarrhea up on stage!" "*Yeah!* Mmehhehmhehhehheh! Diarrhea-cha-cha-cha! Diarrhea- cha-cha-cha!" "Oh, *God*..." Daria groaned, disgusted and resigned, as she and A.P. entered the backstage area. A.P., on the other hand, was confused. "Who...sorry, *what*... are *these?*" "The result of irradiated drinking water in Highland, Texas." A.P. pointed to Beavis. "It's wearing a Metallica T-shirt." He contemplated vocabulary a moment. "I think the word Purple Peril uses is `sacrilege.'" "Diarrhea-cha-cha-cha! Diarrhea-cha-cha-cha!" "Shut up, ass-wipe! -- Hey, Diarrhea. Uhuhhuhhuhhuhhuh. I thought you were on stage." Daria sighed. "No, that's just Lynn. She just *looks* like me." She thought about that. "A little." She turned around to see Beavis about to guzzle something from a thermos. "Oh God, *no*..." But it was already too late to stop him. "What?" boggled A.P. "It's just Lynn's coffee. It only causes temporary blindness in about 5 percent of the population." Beavis was already going through his convulsions. "When he gets a caffeine high..." Beavis, his convulsions finished, pulled his shirt up over his head. "NYAAAAAAH! I AM THEE GREAT CORNHOLIO! I need TP for my bunghole!" "He wants *what?*" a croggled A.P. asked, probably making sure he'd heard that right. "If I recall correctly," Daria stated flatly, resigned, "TP for his bunghole." "Are yoo threatening mee?" Beavis demanded. A.P. got a freaked-out look. "Wouldn't *dream* of it, man." "Yoo cannot escape thee Almighty Bunghole. My people, they have no bungholes. There is but *one* bunghole among thee people of Lake Titicaca! Yoo will lead mee to thee Almighty Bungholio!" "Demented..." "CORNHOOOOOLIOOOOO!" he chanted. "I SEEK TP FOR MY BUNGHOOOOLIOOO!" "I always thought that someday I'd get used to this," Daria mused. "CORNHOOOOLIOOO! I WANT TP FOR MY BUNGHOOOLIOOOOO!" The sound of smashing bottles from out front signaled the end of the set. Lynn stepped offstage -- and stopped short when she saw what was going on. "Who are these morons and what are they doing backstage?" "Hey, baby! Wanna do it? Huhhuhhuuhuhuhhhuh!" With no hesitation whatsoever, Lynn punched Butt-Head in the nose, then in the stomach, then kneed him in the groin when he doubled over. He dropped fetally to the floor. "Even if I *had* left you capable ...no." She thought a moment, then turned to Daria and A.P. "Now will *someone* tell me..." Cornholio, who'd been walking in muttering circles around the room, came up behind her. "Are *yoo* thee Almighty Bunghole?" Lynn didn't even look behind her, just brought her fist directly up into Beavis' nose. He dropped. She finished her sentence as if nothing had happened. "...who these pieces of waste *are?*" "mhehhehheh! hey, butthead! mheheh! this chick kicks ass!" Lynn lashed out with a foot, and Beavis fell silent. "*This*," Daria remarked, "is why I don't discuss life before Lawndale with anyone." "Get security," Lynn snapped. "You think this place has security?" Lynn sighed. "Figures. Then get Jesse to haul them out." She considered that another moment, then prodded Beavis none-too-gently with her foot. "But before you do, can you take the Metallica T-shirt off this one and burn it? That is *such* sacrilege." "Need a hand?" said a male voice from the doorway. The owner of the voice was a man in his early 30's, quite thin, relatively tall, with a surprisingly negligible tan for someone living in Texas. His look was simple -- black T-shirt, blue jeans, longish shaggy hair. "Nah; I think the band can handle things. You must be Rat." "Yep. Yo." "Give me a sec; I'll be right out." The man called "Rat" nodded and made his departure. Lynn started unbuckling her Boots of Doom as an excuse to lower her head and avoid the stares she was getting. "Who was *that?*" wondered Daria. "Rat." There was a pause while she decided how best, and indeed how much, to elaborate. "A...sort of friend of mine." "But...but...but I'd *know* if you knew him!" blurted A.P. Lynn shrugged and gave up on the boot buckles, opting instead to go for the jacket hanging on a hook by the door. She slipped it on, looked at the effect of stage outfit plus field jacket, and frowned in disapproval. "And you couldn't have made introductions?" Daria almost demanded. "I could have." Lynn grabbed her book bag off another hook and left without another word, leaving Daria and A.P. to stare at each other. Max came in, lugging a bass drum and looking really pissed off. "Who's the weasel Lynn's with?" he demanded indignantly. Daria sighed. "Not a weasel, but a Rat." Max looked askance at her, obviously puzzled. * * * Out in the bar, from in front of the cage, Lynn's traveling companions watched as, across the room, she and Tom sat at a corner table and conversed with Rat. "It's just like that dream," A.P. muttered. "Business-talking, not friendly-talking." He struggled silently with the damn words for a moment. "What *gives?*" "Would any of your 'Methods' happen to involve eavesdropping on a conversation?" Daria asked him. "None of the ones *I* came up with. Purple Peril does all that stuff. I do that..." He turned to Art-Smart Scarlet. "What was that word you used when we were moving around the school for Operation Ace of Spades?" Jane rolled her eyes. "Skulking." "Yeah, that one." He wrestled with language a moment more. "Well, I suck at it." "And anything else that requires any degree of physical control," Daria observed. She, too, took a moment to think. "What are our chances of prying information out of her on this?" "I'm guessing two - slim and none," Jane morosely replied. She steamed inwardly a moment, then vented lightly. "Damn Tom anyway. I bet this is all *his* fault." "Quick to place blame on the ex." "Daria, that's what exes are *for.*" Daria raised an eyebrow and went back to watching the trio at the table. Then her eyes drifted across the room and she stared for a moment at what she saw, then sort of shifted position to put herself a bit behind the others. "Uh..." Trent began. "See an old flame?" teased Jane. Daria wasn't amused. "Now *there's* a thought guaranteed to lose me my dinner. Not a flame, just a...no words fit Todd." She gestured discreetly at the biker-looking tough-guy standing in another corner of the room. He eased further back and pulled out a cellphone, then hit a speed-dial button and leaned against the wall. Daria was instantly suspicious. Jane noticed the look. "I don't want to know, probably, but..." Conveniently enough, Lynn stepped over to where the others were, shooting a sidelong glance at the figure in the corner as she approached. "Daria, you're a native. You know the grub in the corner?" _Excuse me?_ Daria thought. "Well, yeah. His name is Todd -- he's known as a small-time criminal waiting for a shot at the bigger leagues." She shrugged. "He hasn't got much chance around here, though..." Lynn's eyes narrowed. "I see. Thanks." She walked away without another word. The gang stared after her. "She's a good singer," Nick allowed as, "and she cracks the whip like a ringmaster but...does anyone *get* her lately?" "No," Daria acknowledged, suspicious and depressed. "I don't." Lynn, having returned to the table in the corner, nodded to Tom, who stood up. "Hmm?" Rat wondered. "We're bailing," Lynn explained. "But you see the guy in the corner?" Rat looked discreetly, then nodded. "Routine factfinding mission. I have an unpleasant hunch." Rat nodded again, and Lynn and Tom walked back toward the gang. "Have fun?" Jane asked as they approached. "No. We're gone." With that, Lynn and Tom walked out. Jane turned to Daria. "Not asking," Daria replied almost at once. "This time, I have a feeling I *really* don't want to know." She followed Lynn and Tom out. The others followed as well, in varying states of bemusement. "Yeah, Jensen?" Todd said from the corner. "They're mobile. Highland now, headed east, I think. I--" "I want to talk to you, kid..." Rat said lethally. Todd, looking very much like he was feeling the cold point of a stiletto knife somewhere in the region of his kidneys -- no surprise, as that's *exactly* what he was feeling -- dropped the phone on the floor, and Rat brought a heavy workboot down on it. * * * So there they were, rolling along in the Merc -- Lynn driving, A.P. in the shotgun seat, Daria and Jane in the back -- when A.P. looked kind of sidelong at Lynn. "Could we just...maybe...have the radio? I think we've heard everything in your shoebox three times running now." Lynn sighed. "Fine." A.P. turned on the radio to the studio-layered voices of Freddie Mercury, Brian May, John Deacon and Roger Meadows Taylor. "o/~ No, no, no, no, no, no, no! o/~" He grinned widely; Lynn wore a reluctant smirk, and Daria and Jane looked like they knew what was about to happen and weren't too sure they liked it. "o/~ Oh mamma mia, mamma mia... o/~" "Oh, come *on!*" A.P. insisted. "We've *gotta* do this!" "o/~ Mamma mia, let me go! o/~" "No," Daria said flatly. "We don't." "o/~ Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me... o/~" "At least the headbanging!" "o/~ For me... o/~" "A.P..." "o/~ For mee... o/~" With that, "Bohemian Rhapsody" got to the instrumental break, the point at which it has become traditional (thanks to Wayne Campbell, Garth Algar and Penelope Spheeris) to headbang, which A.P. now did. Lynn joined in, but carefully, so she could watch the road. Daria and Jane looked at each other. "When in Rome..." Jane also started headbanging. "I'll never live this down." With that, Daria joined in too. "o/~ So you think you can stomp me and spit in my eye? So you think you can love me and leave me to die?... o/~" _Long Beach/Gulf Coast, MS: I Will Buy You a New Life_ "Here in my car, I feel safest of all Cos I can lock all my doors, it's the only way to live in cars Here in my car, I can only receive I can listen to you, it keeps me stable for days in cars" -- Gary Numan, "Cars" There's a small, cozy restaurant at Highway 90 (Beach Boulevard, which looks out on the Gulf of Mexico) and Cleveland Avenue in Long Beach. If you ever come down here, those'll be all the directions you'll need to find it, so I won't give its name. Daria, Jane, Lynn and A.P. were sitting at a window table, looking at their menus. All was rather quiet for a few moments. Eventually, Daria looked up. "Tuna melt?" Lynn made a yuck-face. "I wouldn't. Saw a movie once -- on a plane, so don't ask for title or plot - where some couple had tuna melt in a place like this and they were sick as the proverbial dog." "Life imitates art?" wondered Jane. "No, art imitates life. Remember the writing comp from hell?" Dead silence fell over the table for a moment. "Note to self -- no tuna melt," they all solemnly agreed with one voice. Another moment of silence. A.P. was the one to break it. "Hey, Purple Peril...gotta ask. Why the hell haven't we stopped since Highland?" "We did drive clear across Louisiana, Lynn," Daria chimed in. "And the only stops we made were brief leg-stretches and drive-through windows." Lynn was starting to feel trapped. It was getting harder and harder to keep the secret. "Umm...we have an itinerary?" She saw the expressions saying _not good enough._ "Look, it's a long story. Suffice it to say that we have to keep a move on." She paused a moment to shift gears. "Anyway, we've stopped now, right? And there has to be a local delicacy to try. This is Mississippi. Good for seafood." "But we're avoiding the tuna melt *anyway?*" "I bet it's the cheese." "Yeah!" chirped A.P. "Seafood! Think they got shrimp?" "It's called a menu. Inarticulate though you can sometimes be, you're far from illiterate." A.P. blushed and turned to the menu. This being Mississippi, he found shrimp cooked in more ways than he'd ever dreamed. Jane stretched and sighed. "Damn, but I'm glad to be out of the cars for awhile. You know the Tank *still* smells like antique peanut butter? I bet it's gonna take a *blowtorch* to--" The Tank blew up. For a second, all four of them just stared out the window at the flaming wreckage. Daria, somehow shocked completely casual, was first to break this silence. "Well, that's *one* way to do it..." Lynn was in the same condition. "At least Max'll stop bitching about the chair." "At least Quinn won't have to worry about her clothes going out of fashion anymore..." Then it hit Lynn what this must mean. "Oh craaaaap. We have to get out of here. Right. Now." "Lynn, what we have to *do* is call the police. I mean, someone just--" "I know what someone just. But we have to voom. *Now.*" "But--" Jane started to say. "Get the guys together and go out the back way." Lynn spoke up to be audible at the other table. "RUST! PROBLEM!" "What the *hell* was that?" Max demanded. "You don't want to know!" By now, Tom had arrived from afar. "We sweep the other cars. They go out the back. We take any untowards off the rest of the vehicles, collect them and get the hell out of here." Tom nodded and took off out the front door. Lynn looked at her table- mates. "A.P., distract the service staff and make sure they all get out the back door. Daria, once there, take charge -- head count, dissemination of info, that kind of thing..." Daria was confused. "What *info?* All I know is that the Tank blew up and we're evacuating without calling the police about it!" Lynn sighed. "Well, tell them *that,* then. But I'd prefer Jane to break it to Max about the Tank. She knows him best. If there's anything wrong with the Merc..." she muttered, then shook her head. "Never mind. I'm out of here. You guys do the same." She exited via the front door. The other three looked at each other. "We don't wanna know?" A.P. wondered. "Not yet," Daria confirmed. _But this is *still* not over. You can hide, but you can't run._ "Do what she says." A.P. thought a moment...then stepped over to the kitchen door, opened it and poked his head in. "Wow, never seen an industrial kitchen before..." He stepped into the kitchen proper. "Ooh...what does *this* ...?" Crash, clatter. "Soooorry..." Daria and Jane looked at each other. "Somebody's been watching too much _Dexter's Lab_," Jane observed. * * * Later, in the hotel lobby, Daria, Jane and Quinn were standing by what was left of the group's luggage -- A.P.'s large backpack, another equally large one (with a "Parental Advisory -- Explicit Lyrics" patch sewn on the front, which would suggest it was Lynn's), Tom's suitcase, Daria's duffel, and a small black tote bag. Quinn was shocked white. "Those... were...my best...things..." "Quinn," Daria assured her younger sister, "look at it this way. It could have been a lot worse. It could have been *you* inside that van." "That would have been *worse?*" Daria was not amused by that remark. "Jane." On a sofa nearby, in a replay of events in Fremont, Trent, Jesse and Nick were comforting a weeping Max. "Somebody blew up my *baby! And* my drumkit! I mean, I..." He trailed off into incoherent blubbering. "We're all hurting, man," Trent rasped. "We had some good times in that van." "Damn," Nick mused, "what are we gonna do *now?* Our big break and it blows up in our faces." Max sobbed louder. "Not funny, man," Jess pointed out. "What?" It hit him that his toes were caressing his tonsils. "Oh, sorry, Max. But come on, we've got no instruments, we've got no van...we're screwed to the *wall,* guys." "Now *there's* an attractive mental image," Lynn observed as she approached. "Hey, Lynn," Trent greeted her. "We registered?" "Uh-huh. Hope you guys don't mind sharing a room." "No problem." After a pause to weigh the pros and cons, he pulled her aside. "Is Nick right? I mean, *are* we screwed?" "No. We're not screwed. Give me three days and I think I can get all the stuff we lost replaced." Trent was stunned. "*All* of it? Where are we going to get the money to do *that?* I mean, we've barely *played* anywhere. And you're not *that* loaded." "As far as you know." She handed over a key. "Look, take the guys up -- it's room six. And for God's sake, don't let Max hit the bottle. I'll need him coherent tomorrow." Trent looked at her strangely, then nodded and moved back toward the guys. Lynn wandered over to Daria, Jane and Quinn. "Tom and A.P. not back yet?" "They're outside," Daria informed her. "Tom thought it might be a good idea not to bring A.P. in until his nose stopped bleeding." "Damn temperamental chefs." She paused a moment, perhaps to wonder why nobody pronounces that first A, then went on. "Anyway, I got three rooms -- the band's in one and--" "I'm not sharing with Quinn or Tom," Jane interjected. Lynn sighed. "*I* paid for these rooms and I don't want to share one with Quinn either." "Why not me, Tom and Quinn?" Daria offered. "Ew," Quinn observed in a distant kind of way. "He'd kill me if I made him share a *room* with her," Lynn stated flatly. "Jane, pick the lesser of two evils and make my life easier?" Jane had no hesitation. "Quinn. *Definitely* Quinn." _Oh-kaaay..._ "Then you, Quinn and Daria can share a room. That'll keep Quinn from whining about sharing with `guys' and I don't mind so much. -- Glad *one* of us can compromise..." she muttered. Tom returned with A.P., who was sporting a dandy bruise across his cheek. "Damn cook with his damn tenderizing mallet..." "He could have *broken* your nose instead of just bloodying it," Tom pointed out. "Count your blessings." "We ready?" Lynn asked. "As I'll ever be. Let's go." "Wait a minute," blurted Daria. "Where the hell are you two going? It's getting late and we've been through a lot today..." "We have business in Biloxi," Lynn replied flatly. "We'd invite you," Tom allowed as, "but--" "No. We wouldn't." Lynn handed Daria one room key and A.P. another. "I got a spare for one -- we'll be back but I don't know when exactly so don't wait up, A.P." She and Tom exited the building. "So we follow them, right?" A.P. asked as if the matter had already been settled. "No," Daria reluctantly answered him. "We make sure everything's okay here. We're assistant managers and that's our job." She sighed. "Dammit." * * * Behind a desk in one of the great casinos of Biloxi (which one is not disclosed for security reasons) sat a man of about thirty years and what one could assume to be average height -- hair either dark brown or light black depending on the lighting, glasses, nose about half-a-size too large for the face it was in, with arched nostrils that make it look kind of hooked from some angles. In the right sort of light and clothes, with his hair about as thick as it gets two weeks after a haircut, he flatters himself that he resembles a live-action version of Darien Shields (Mamoru Chiba for Sailor Moon purists, CHIBA Mamoru for the sort of uberpurist who insists that Sailormoon *must* be spelled as one word), hence his codename. In other conditions, which is most of them actually, he looks more like a young Alan Rickman. There's even a trace of the Smythe look as well, mostly in the hair color and glasses. There may even be a genuine family tree connection -- he's often been told he rather resembles his late maternal grandfather, whose people came from somewhere in Ireland -- but it's never really mattered to him; he was in before anyone made the connection, which means he'd have gotten in without it. Lynn and Tom entered the casino lobby. Tom looked dubious. "You know, I know very little about the Mississippi contact..." "I know a fair bit," Lynn assured him. "He's a friend of my cousin's. This is..." She turned to the man behind the desk. "...it's Tuxedo Slack now, isn't it?" The man nodded. "It used to be Zedd but..." He shook his head sadly. "Zedd's dead, baby. Zedd's dead." "My hypothesis is correct. You're all a bunch of quotehappy psychotics." She paused to let her hand creep toward her jacket. "And I have a gun and a misquote of my own. Don't call me `baby'." Tuxedo Slack, or just "Slack," shrugged that off. "So, H..." "So, `Zedd'..." Tom riposted. "Did you not hear me?" "As well as you heard *me* say it's not H or Missing H anymore..." Lynn decided intervention was called for. "Gentlemen...before I have to maim." Slack, in turn, decided he'd needled the Remora's spawn enough for one day. "Okay. Since our meeting wasn't until tomorrow, I assume there's some sort of problem." "Oh, there's a problem, all right. Our chief mode of transport and *all* of our instruments got blown to hell this evening. What with the cost of re-establishing our cover on top of the other expenses, this little `tour' is getting expensive." She didn't make a visible scare- quote gesture, but the quote marks were clearly audible. "Not my problem." "Want me to *make it* your problem?" "Is that a threat?" "Not particularly. It won't *be* your problem if you can find an acceptable way to get," more audible quotes, "`The Falcon' to reimburse. It's *his* problem, really." Slack saw the opportunity...and found himself quite liking it. "All right." "Is there any point in my *being* here?" sulked Tom. "Sure," Slack replied as he rolled his chair over toward the computer. "You're a more than adequate piece of cannon fodder, H." "That's *Rust!*" After a moment, the rest of the comment sank in. "And *hey!*" _asap make available funds of $250,000..._ Slack typed. He'd no idea Lynn had been watching over his shoulder until she a*hem*med at him. "What?" he demanded. "What's wrong with a little profit?" "Not that." She paused to let him wonder what, then. "I want a cut!" He was impressed. "You really *are* the Falcon's fledgling... you and that other one, you could go far together..." "Leave `that other one' out of it," Lynn replied in tones so sharp they just about trimmed his ears, "if you know what's good for you." "Don't you think she can take care of herself at some point?" "I don't want to have to find out." She paused to shift gears, then rolled on. "Did he approve it?" "Yap." "Good. If he thinks I'm tapping my trust fund for *this*, he's sadly mistaken. When'll the funds be available?" "Soon." "Define `soon.' I don't want to have to wait around. If it's the Merc next time, it comes out of your hide." "Twelve to thirty-six hours." "Great. Lovely. Wonderful." She paused a moment. "I'm getting some sleep." She made her exit. * * * The next day or so, Trent and the band headed into a music store, but we'll get back to them. Right now, we've got some scenes from another store, the one where the clothes-shopping was going on. Probably either Dillard's or McRae's at Edgewater Mall. Actually, it's been said that the two largest shopping malls of Mississippi are Mobile, AL, and New Orleans, but they were sort of pressed for time. Quinn picked up a pink shirt...looked at Tom...then sighed and picked up a simple white T-shirt. A.P. showed up carrying ten pairs of identical black jeans, twenty black T-shirts, and a new pair of boots. Quinn, carrying what looked like a fabric rainbow -- but no pink -- in her arms and flanked by a couple of similarly burdened cute stockboys, just stared at him. A.P. stood outside a dressing room, looking impatient. A door opened behind him, and he turned just in time to see Lynn surveying herself in the mirror, wearing a pale purple halter top and short black jeans shorts. His jaw dropped like a rock -- the "nrgh" was not spoken, but it was implicit in his behavior. He tried to cover it when Lynn turned to look at him; let's be charitable and say he didn't *quite* fail. She went a bit pink and spread her arms in a "how do I look?" gesture. Still trying to be casual, he nodded. Lynn turned away to hide a smile -- and a blush. Nearby, Daria was looking, with a great deal of trepidation, at a pair of shorts similar to the ones Lynn had on. A stockboy cruised past, and she stuck out a hand to get his attention. "Aren't these shorts, well, a little...*too* short?" "That's the fashion this season," he shrugged and walked off. "That's the problem," she muttered. Jane came cruising by now, with what looked like an armload of black leather. "You're *taking* them..." "I hate you," Daria called after her. "Does me good to hear you say that!" * * * Daria was trying on a forest green duster when Lynn and Jane stepped into her field of view, wearing similar coats in, respectively, very deep royal purple and blood red. A.P. peeked around a rack of jackets, then stepped out wearing a black duster of his own. They surveyed the total effect in the mirror -- altogether, they looked like the casting call for _Matrix 2_. Lynn looked thoughtful a moment...then shook her head and moved away from her friends, who looked after her curiously. Nearby, Quinn was looking longingly at a deep pink leather jacket. She looked at Tom, who shrugged and turned his back. _What the hell do I care about what *he* thinks?_ she asked herself a moment before she grabbed the jacket anyway. * * * Okay, back to Mississippi Music now. Trent was drooling over a Gothic Les Paul guitar with Satin Black finish. Lynn wandered over and pointed him at an R Nicholas Miller design Ibanez USA Custom Infinity series in Transparent Black. He just gaped. Lynn gave him a querying look, and he answered with a spastic nod. Meanwhile, Jesse held onto the Gothic. Nick was looking undecided, so Lynn pointed at a 4-string fretless Ibanez Soundgear. He looked intimidated. Meanwhile, Max was happily bashing away at a set of Zildjian Brilliant cymbals -- Tama Artstar IIs, to be precise. In the parking lot, everyone loaded their purchases into the Merc, the Rustbucket, and the Plymouth, and they headed over to Cheerful Charlie's Used Vans. * * * On arriving, they were approached by a tall, thin man, wearing a very bad toupee, blue jeans, and a very *very* loud plaid shirt, with a habit of waving his arms around wildly when he talked. "HI!" he yelled at once. "I'M CHEERFUL CHARLIE!" "Insert the word Chemically in there somewhere," Lynn winced, "and I think we might have accuracy." "Um...hi," Trent rasped. "Hey, do you know a guy named Happy Herb?" "Herbally Happy Herb..." "NO! WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU?!" "We need a van," replied Trent. "Nothing can ever replace the Tank, man!" Max insisted as they split up. * * * Sometime later, Little Drummer Boy seemed to have changed his mind. "Wheeeeee!" "Huh?" Lynn peeked around another van to see Max sitting behind the wheel of a van that rather resembled the A-Team's. "Oh God." "Ah pity da fool!" "Oh *God.*" "Hey Lynn! I think I'm in love!" She raised an _oh, *are* you_ eyebrow, which he misunderstood completely. "With the *van!*" Now she raised the *other* eyebrow. "We'll call it..." The sort of dramatic pause that preceded the Knights Who Say "Ni!" commanding Arthur to fetch them a shrubbery. "...the A-Tank." "The A-Tank," Lynn deadpanned. "How original." Cheerful Charlie arrived then, with Trent et al. tagging along. "Hey there, let me tell you about that beauty you're sitting in!" "All I want to know is the price," Max replied. "Way to go, Chief Negotiator..." Lynn muttered under her breath. "You're not gonna let him *buy* that, are you?" Trent whispered to her. "I mean, he'll be quoting..." "I LOVE IT WHEN A VAN COMES TOGETHER!" "Would you prefer him quoting that," Lynn asked, "or whining about his `baby'?" Trent raised an eyebrow. "Right." "All right," said Charlie, "let's go close the papers." An expectant silence. "Lynn...you go do it," Max assured her. "I just want to sit here." He relaxed into the driver's seat. "Yeah. Right." She grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and quite literally dragged him out. Seconds later, again literally, Max ran back up to the A-Tank with keys jingling, climbed in and started it. "Ahh...listen to that *purr!*" "Listen to that knock in the engine." "Lynn, get into it! We're criminales *for real* now!" "...Uhhh...yeah. Right. I doubt if the A-Team qualifies as criminales." They pulled out of the lot. * * * When the A-Tank pulled up outside the hotel, the reactions from those who hadn't been along on that phase of the trip were about what you'd expect. Daria, for instance, did the kind of wide-eyed, jaw-dropping stare that in anime is usually represented as a facefault (the character falling over, often with one leg sticking up), and Jane started laughing her ass off. "Just. Don't. Say it," Lynn snapped as she stepped out of the shotgun seat. "Now come on, let's get into the cars and get a move on -- we're a day behind schedule." They started collecting their luggage and loading up. Trent walked up to Lynn. "Thanks, Lynn. That's some high-end stuff we got to replace the instruments." Lynn shrugged it off. "Hey, we're going places. You can't go places with a battered old Gibson." There was slight suspicion in Trent's voice now. "Where'd you get the cash for all this, anyway? I mean, I heard you had a trust fund -- it doesn't stretch *this* far, does it?" Lynn carefully didn't look him straight in the face. "Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies. None of your business anyway." She paused to shift gears again. "Now let's get moving -- we have time to make up." With that, she stepped away. Trent raised an eyebrow after her, then moved toward his sister. "Hey, Janey." "Yo," Jane replied. He indicated Lynn. "You know what's going on with her?" "Not really." Jane glanced at A.P. "Depends what you mean." Trent followed Jane's gaze...then bitterly observed, "Yeah, *someone* has feelings for that little geek." Jane jumped. "You knew?" "It's pretty obvious, isn't it?" "Well, for *her*...I guess..." "Especially after the dance..." That was when Jane realized that not only was he talking about Daria, it hadn't even occurred to him that she (for her part) *could* be talking about Lynn. "Oh! Um...yeah..." She decided correcting the error would be too much like work. "I was going to sing a song for Daria at that dance..." "I know." After a moment, she remembered. "She knows." "*She* knows?" "I assume that was that sheet of paper you threw aside." "And she read it?" "Yep." "Which means she knows how I feel." He sighed. "Felt, Trent, felt." "Huh?" "She doesn't know how you feel now." "But..." "Trent...you. Lynn. New Year. Dating. What the hell is she *supposed* to think?" "Oh." A moment later, it *really* hit. "Oh *hell.*" Jane had very little sympathy for him. "That's about it, brother dear." "Janey..." "I hear a `you've gotta help me' coming there." Trent had the good grace to sound sheepish. "That obvious, huh?" "Yup." Silence fell. "Well?" "Faint heart ne'er won fair lady, big bro. Do this one yourself." "Get a *move* on, people!" Lynn shouted. "We haven't got all freakin' day!" Trent and Jane looked at each other, realizing they'd actually never talked about what Trent had started to discuss, then walked away toward the cars. * * * In the back of the A-Tank, A.P. was throwing an old racquetball at the ceiling and trying to catch it on the bounce. Being himself, he missed quite a lot. Daria sat nearby, watching him. "This sucks," he observed. Toss; bounce; the ball hit the floor of the van five inches from his left ear. He retrieved it and started again. "We hit Texas; she talks to that Rat guy." This time, the ball hit him in the chest. "We hit Mississippi; the Tank blows up and I don't even *know* who she was talking to." That time, it hit the floor three inches from his right ear. "Rotation means I haven't talked to her in days. And *never* alone." The ball hit him square in the forehead. "Ow." He grabbed the ball with one hand, rubbing his forehead with the other, then sat up. "This *really* sucks, you know." "I think you may have mentioned," Daria reminded him. "It's just so screwed up! I mean, maybe she and I never *will*... be...thing..." "Is that your usual lack of eloquence or a complete shying away from the concept?" He sounded sheepish. "Both?" A sigh. "All right, all right, all right; maybe we'll never be a couple." He needed a moment to recover from the observation. "That hurts. Just *saying* that hurts." Daria raised an eyebrow in sympathy. "But I want some time with her -- the way it used to be. Before Lawndale and that Rust guy and all the rest of the crap." Daria shrugged. "That's easy enough." A.P. raised both eyebrows. "Are you *kidding?* This trip, I've barely *seen* her." "We're headed for the Sappiest Place on Earth, right?" A.P. nodded, not quite understanding. "Trent and the rest of the guys are going to hole up in a bar to hide from the childishness. Quinn will shop herself to death to the same end." _Last time we were there, she made a date with the guy in the Pluto suit, but I'm pretty sure she wouldn't do that now, no matter how lonely she gets without Ted._ "So all Jane and I have to do is distract Tom for the three days we're in theme-park purgatory and you and Lynn can run around like immature idiots to your heart's content." A.P. gave her a grateful grin. She returned it with one of her Mona Lisa smiles and went up to the front, tapping Nick on the shoulder and getting him to move out of the shotgun seat. She took over the vacancy and looked at Jane, who was driving. "We're babysitting `Rust' during our Disney stay." Jane, understandably, hadn't heard the conversation in back. "Why? I don't want to spend three days in Mouseketeer Hell with..." She trailed off as Daria's knowledge became hers. "Oh. *Finally* noticed, huh?" "I've known for a long time, actually." "Well, I guess you would have." She considered a moment with as much attention as she could spare from the road. "So we're letting the two subversive sweethearts have some time alone?" "Don't ever let Lynn hear you say that. If she thought we were meddling she'd...well, I don't want to know what she'd do." "I hear you." They rolled on some more. "Three days distracting Tom. The things I do for yenta-ing." "It could be worse." "Oh, *could* it now? Are we showing some interest in my ex?" "Jane, he's...he carries a gun, is completely secretive and rather smug with it, and is systematically destroying any sisterly bond I might want to form with Lynn. Does it sound to you like I'm interested in your ex?" Jane smirked evilly. "In a `methinks the lady doth protest too much' sort of way..." Daria was a little annoyed to find herself blushing like mad. "Yeah, well...yeah...shut up." _Orlando/Kissimmee, FL: Tragic Kingdom_ "Disney World['s] air of innocence and fun finally cannot conceal the aura of dread that underlies its attractions. [It is] a cartoon capital of a cartoon republic enshrining the falsehoods, half-truths, and delusions that prop up the squishy thing the national character has become -- for instance, that we are a nation of families; that we care about our fellow citizens; that history matters; that there is a place called *home.*" -- James Howard Kunstler, _The Geography of Nowhere: the rise and decline of America's man-made landscape_ The official name of the parkplex that made Orlando, Florida, one of the planet's leading tourist destinations is Walt Disney World, but a fair number of people refer to it as Disneyworld, by analogy with the three Disneyland parks in other parts of the globe. Our heroes, or whatever they are, strode through the front gates, onto Main Street USA, and just stopped in their tracks a moment and looked around, as people tend to do. Kunstler thinks it's about psychically decompressing -- he says the boat ride over Seven Seas Lagoon (or the monorail ride, which I prefer but he doesn't even mention) is meant to create "the illusion of one's taking a journey to a strange land" and is also "fraught with archetypal death imagery so obvious that I am a little embarrassed to point it out." "Well," Daria observed. "Here we are." "And you look positively *thrilled* to be here," Jane riposted. Daria frowned in Lynn's direction. "Isn't this remotely too cheerful for you?" Lynn shrugged. "Two words: Haunted Mansion." "Space Mountain!" A.P. shouted, sounding for all the world like the six-year-old who'd lobbed a spitball at Lynn. "Space Mountain!" he reiterated as he grabbed Lynn by the wrist and began hauling her away. "Six o'clock," Lynn said, looking rather eepy about being thus dragged, "main gates of the cas...ACK! A.P., I'm gonna *need* that hand someday!" "Come on, come on, come *on!*" Lynn's protesting mutters of "okay, okay, stop pulling, dammit" faded away into crowd babble. And then there were eight. Trent looked dubiously at his surroundings. "Y'know what? I think I'm just gonna find a bar or something." "Cool," Jesse allowed as. "Good call, man," Nick chimed in. "One day I'm gonna have to take Rachel here; once is enough." Max looked obscurely disappointed, probably from the same inner child that'd been so thrilled when Fremont made him an honorary deputy, but followed Trent and the others as they wandered away to Frontierland or Pleasure Island or wherever. That left Tom, Jane, Quinn and Daria to look at each other. Daria decided to get it out of the way. "I don't do rides, mouse hats or amusingly shaped food." The other three looked at her. "Three days of living hell for the Erudite..." Jane summed it up. * * * Somewhere in the park -- it doesn't much matter where -- Lynn was waiting outside a souvenir shop, looking at the various things in the window. Finally, A.P. emerged with his hands behind his back and a manic grin on his face. In didactic tones that made for a jarring contrast with the grin, he said, "Okay, first thing we do is get you into the kiddie frame of mind. We've got a decade of childhood to fit into three short days so we don't stint, okay?" A horrible suspicion began to form in Lynn's head. "You *didn't.*" The grin widened. "Did too!" He brought his right hand forward, revealing her fears given form -- a pair of Mickey Mouse ears. The hat portion was purple, which made Lynn blink -- most of them were pink, black, red or blue. Then she looked at the name inscribed on the back in yellow thread. It read PERIL. "I'm not going through this alone, Maverick..." He brought his other hand around and slammed a pair of ears -- these with a blue beanie -- onto own his head. He turned around to reveal MAVERICK inscribed on the beanie's back. "Well, you wanted childhood," he said sheepishly. "Thought you should go full throttle." Lynn looked at him, then at the mouse ears, then back at A.P. Then she gave him a sweet little smile and put the mouse ears on. "Well ...maybe just for today." _I made her happy! Whoopee!_ "All right, Purple Peril! Okay, next step, way too much sugar and a few rides to get the adrenaline going! C'mon; I saw some cotton candy sellers that way -- that's hyperactivity on a stick!" Before she could even move, he had her by the wrist again and was dragging her along. * * * Daria, Jane and Tom were standing in a line -- a very *long* line -- looking a bit blank. "What are we waiting to get onto again?" Tom asked. "I thought *you* knew," replied Daria. Lynn and A.P. went running past, their mouse-ears askew and the rest of their persons generally dishevelled. They stopped, looked back at Daria, Jane and Tom, and for no readily discernible reason started laughing hysterically. Then they ran away, leaving the trio to look at each other. Jane was utterly bemused. "Lynn on a sugar high is a very different creature than Lynn on a caffeine high." "Makes you wonder what they were laughing at *us* for," Tom groused. "*They're* the ones in Mickey Mouse ears, running around like eight-year-olds." "Six," Daria corrected, slightly sourly. After a moment, a mild realization struck. "Something about our current situation really amused them, though..." They fell silent, considering. The line moved forward. And, very dimly, they could hear thin, tinny singing from up near the head of the line they were now stuck in. "o/~ It's a world of hopes, it's a world of fears... o/~" "Oh, god..." they all outgrabe as realization struck. "o/~ It's a world of laughter, a world of tears... o/~" "Lynn!" Jane called out. "*Lynn!*" Daria spent a moment of silence being reminded of Mr. O'Neill's writing assignment; specifically, remembering the image of Jane calling out Kevin's name like Ben Braddock shouting to Elaine. "Dammit, she's out of earshot. Probably doesn't have her crossbow on her anyway." That earned Jane some Looks from the other two. "Oh, come *on.* Those little dolls would make great targets." She thought a moment, then turned to Tom. "Did you bring your BFG?" She kind of wilted under the stares *that* got her. "o/~ It's a small, small world... o/~" * * * Some time later, they came staggering out of the "Small World" exit gate, looking dazed. "A small world for tiny minds..." Daria distantly noted. "I can still hear the singing," Jane groaned, reliving the horror. "Oh God, that song is going to be stuck in my head for *days.* This is worse than John Jacob Jingleheimer...somebody." She couldn't remember if she'd ever told Daria that story, and right now, she didn't care. "Make it stop," Tom pleaded with nobody in particular. After a moment, he added, "*Please* make it stop." At this point, he was liberally sprayed with water from two different directions. He put up his hands to defend himself... ...and all three of them looked to see Lynn and A.P., both bearing SuperSoakers, laughing at them. Lynn's Mouseketeer ears were sticking out of her pocket; she'd replaced them with silver stars on deely-bobbers. (If you don't remember deely-bobbers, you must have missed the 80s. Lucky you.) "What is *with* you two?" Daria demanded. A.P. had a manic grin. "Too much of that freeze-dried ice cream crap from Future-place that way! On top of about three things of cotton candy! If you wanna go hyper, that's the *only* way to go!" He then let out a Rebel yell and doused Jane in the face with the SuperSoaker. "ACK!" Jane sputtered as she tried to shield herself. "HEY! STOP!" Lynn was giggling slightly. "I will deny I ever enjoyed this, you realize." She then got her sister in the face with some water, and she and A.P. both ran off laughing. Daria took off her glasses to wipe them off. "Thanks. I needed that." Jane was disgusted. "That is *so* immature! Aren't second childhoods supposed to happen when you're a lot *older?*" "That kind of depends on you having a first one," Tom pointed out. Jane looked at Daria, who nodded slightly at Jane. Jane got a look on her face that clearly said, _If I stick my foot any further into my mouth, I may gag on it._ * * * Lynn and A.P., still in deely-bobbers and mouse-ears respectively, dashed over to the Mad Tea Party and clambered into one of the spinning teacups. A.P. shot a glance at the crash barriers. "There's a lot of air between this and us..." "It's because these rides are designed to fit the average adult," Lynn pointed out, starting to sober up. "We're probably a bit--" She was cut off as the ride started, the cup lurched and she wound up right in A.P.'s lap. Their lips were maybe four inches apart. Lynn tried to move, but she was pinned by centrifugal force and -- let's be honest -- not trying all that hard, actually. A.P. looked frightened, embarrassed and pleased all at once. "H-Hey..." he stammered. Lynn blushed. "Hey. Um..." The cup lurched again and she was almost thrown off his lap. Instinctively, he grabbed for her and wound up holding her by the shoulders. She grabbed for *him* when she felt herself starting to fall, and ended up with her arms around his neck. They looked right into each other's eyes and could no longer feel the teacup's spinning -- because their own heads were doing a good impression of it. Lynn, stunned at the ride and at herself, said "um...thanks," in a way that would have sounded familiar to anyone who'd ever heard Daria saying that to Trent. A.P. went wide-eyed and did a spastic head nod. Another lurch, and this time, he was thrown forward and Lynn was thrown back, and their faces really did collide in an almost kiss-like way. He hauled his head back, and they looked at each other with identical "eep" expressions. "Gihh..." Lynn observed. "Uhhhh..." The cup lurched again. Lynn was thrown off A.P.'s lap and dropped down next to him, shoulder to shoulder. "Maybe..." She slipped an arm over his shoulder. Nervously, awkwardly, feeling the need to explain, she went on, "To keep us up..." A.P. wasn't going to argue with that. He slung an arm over Lynn's shoulders, and they hung on to each other. * * * Jane happened to be passing the exit gate as Lynn and A.P., arms still slung across each other's shoulders, reeled out the exit gate, staggering like drunks. They teetered a little, still dizzy, and leaned on each other for balance. Jane kind of hid herself, which was good -- if they'd seen the _awww-how-CUTE_ expression on her face, they'd have had to do terrible things to her. On purpose. * * * Much later, somewhere on the outskirts of Liberty Square, Lynn and A.P. were taking a breather, sipping overpriced sodas. Lynn looked at her watch. "Nearly six. We ought to start heading back. Crowd navigation is a nightmare in this place." A.P. seemed extremely disappointed. "Aw, you're growing up again! Dammit, be irresponsible! One more ride, come on!" "A.P..." She sighed as she gave in. "Okay, okay, one more. Which one?" They both looked up. There stood the Haunted Mansion. They looked at each other. With one accord, they said, "One more time." With that, they went pounding off towards the line. * * * In front of Cinderella's Castle, Tom was pacing, looking at his watch every so often. Daria and Jane were looking at him oddly. "Okay," he snapped, "it's ten past six. Where *are* they?" Quinn arrived, carrying a shopping bag and looking irritated. "It's all geeky tourist *trash* in this place! I mean, who the hell wants to wear jewelry with some stupid *mouse* on it?" Daria was slightly amazed. "We agree on something, for once." "Okay," Tom plowed on, "we have a fashion fiend. We need four musicians, one Peril, and a Maverick who is getting booted into next *year* if he let anything happen to her." _What the hell?_ Jane thought. "Tom...it's Disney. There's security everywhere, she has enough sense not to get sunstroke, and they maintain the rides regularly to avoid lawsuits - you know as well as the rest of the world how much a negligence suit could take Disney for... So what the *hell* are you so worried about?" Tom looked away. Daria and Jane looked like they were about ready to advance on him and *beat* some answers out of him, park security be damned. Fortunately for him, Trent, Nick and Jesse showed up just then, the latter two supporting a weaving Max. "He should know better," Trent answered the stares, then turned to Max. Raising his voice to cut through the alcohol haze, he reminded Little Drummer Boy, "You're supposed to *alternate,* man! Beer; not beer." He thought about it. "No, sorry, you did that. But the `not- beer' should be something that isn't tequila." Tom looked at his watch again and kept on pacing. Daria and Jane shared a Look, somewhat interrupted by Trent's looking at them as who should say _What's with *him?*_ * * * Inside the Mansion, after that marvelously creepy stretching-room thing, Lynn and A.P. got into one of the black ride-pods ("Doom Buggies" if you want to be kitschy), the crash-barrier settled itself into place (with the Vincent-Price-imitating "Ghost Host" voice-over taking credit for the Buggy's closing), and off they rolled into the blackness. * * * Back outside the Castle, Tom was still pacing, and Daria looked about ready to join him. "She's *doing* it again!" Nick barked. "Just calm down," Daria said, clearly trying first and foremost to convince herself. "Sometimes the rides freeze up. They could be stuck in `Pirates of the Caribbean,' for instance, the way *we* were a few hours ago." "You're right," Tom agreed, likewise obviously for, in the main, his own benefit. "I mean, Jane had a point; this is *Disney.* They've covered themselves both ways from Sunday to avoid legal issues. Nothing is going to happen to them." There was a certain element of _Sound like you *believe* what you're saying, man..._ in the Looks that got levelled at him from all directions. * * * Lynn and A.P. cruised through the Mansion in a sort of companionable silence. Each had a hand on the crash barrier -- his right, her left. A.P. flicked a longing sidelong glance at their other hands, resting on the seat bare inches apart, then set his eyes on the special effects that brought those 999 ghosts to afterlife. "But there's room for a thousand!" said the Ghost Host. "Any volunteers?" Pause for non-response. "Personal arrangements can be made at the end of the tour." Kunstler says the whole park reflects the same death-obsession that led Walt to have himself frozen; this is just the place where it shows most openly. A.P.'s eyes drifted back to the hands on the seat, this time with a more thoughtful air. _What if I..._ And the ride lurched to a halt in front of a door with a grasping hand sticking out of it. This cue an overdone "sorry for the delay" message delivered by the Ghost Host and, yes, packed with enough puns to gag a herd of Carrot Tops (a more nightmarish image than any the Mansion could include). There was a pause while Lynn and A.P. didn't look at each other. Lynn broke the silence. "Figures," she muttered. "Yeah," A.P. allowed as. After a moment to screw his courage to the sticking place, he went on. "Well, it's not so bad. Haven't had time to talk to you much lately." _Excuse me?_ "No, I guess not." Rather awkwardly, "Um...well, we're here. Talk." Dead silence. They both looked uncomfortable, but they weren't really looking at each other, so they didn't notice. A.P., slow on the uptake as ever, should probably have taken a hint from Lynn's awkward tone, but he didn't, having hit on something to talk about. "Yeah. The play." A moment of dead air. "Fun, right?" _The *hell?*_ "`Cutting me own throat,' you mean? That was interesting, but I don't know about `fun.'" _In for a penny, in for a pound._ "No, I...I mean, the dance scene was kinda fun..." _He *can't* be talking about what he sounds like he's talking about._ "Whaling on Upchuck, you mean. Yeah, that had its advantages..." A.P.'s eyes, which Lynn couldn't see, got really determined. _This is it. I'm just gonna say, `I mean *this*...' and kiss her. Here we go._ "I--" The Buggy started moving again, and he let out his breath in a hiss. "Dammit!" he muttered. "What was that?" "Uhh...just checked my watch. We're late as hell. Think we're gonna get in trouble with that Rust guy?" Lynn patted his hand. "I can deal with `that Rust guy.'" A.P. was too dazed by that show of affection to reply. Lynn took her hand away, wondering inwardly, _What the hell did I just do?_ * * * Tom glared at Lynn and A.P. as they slowly approached the front of the Castle. "And where the hell have *you* been? Do you have any idea what time it is?" "Gee, Dad," A.P. snarked, "didn't realize we had curfew..." "It's seven o'clock. You were *supposed* to be back at six." "It's an hour. Live with it." "Look, we had an appointment. You don't just blow off an appointment." "Excuse me..." said Lynn. "We're here to have some fun for a change," A.P. pointed out. "We can blow appointments off if we want to! And anyway, it's only a stinkin' *hour.*" She got more insistent. "*Excuse* me..." "We're *here* at my displeasure," Tom snapped. "*I* didn't want to spend three days in DisneyHell. And in case you haven't noticed, it's not advisable to blow off appointments when--" "EXCUSE ME!" Everyone stared at Lynn, but she was too completely fed up to give a toss. "We got stranded in the Haunted Mansion. On behalf of us both, sorry we're so late. Now can we get past this and not *completely* blow my day to hell?" She graciously ignored the sheepish looks from Tom and A.P. "We have a gig in Kissimmee." Then she got a look at Max. "If you can sober *him* up..." A long sigh. "Let's go." And she walked off, any benefit of a childish, worry-free day completely evaporated. The band looked confused, but followed her. Quinn, having been rummaging through her shopping bag, had missed the whole episode and probably wouldn't have cared about it anyway. Daria and Jane raise eyebrows at the two guys. In Look-Alike- esque unison, with mild scorn, they observed, "Way to go, guys." Tom and AP looked at each other with almost-visible "oops" thought-balloons. * * * The gig was in a faceless, grubby bar. Mystik Spiral hadn't actually taken the stage yet. Daria, Jane, A.P., Quinn and Tom were at a table. A.P. was lost in a fuzzy little world of his own, a big sappy grin on his face. Jane and Tom were sitting as far apart as they could, very carefully not looking at each other. Daria kept shooting speculative glances at A.P. At length, she broke the silence. "So...have a good time?" "Yep," he replied in lovesick tones. "Just like old times." Then he came back to earth with an almost-audible *thud*. "Except that last bit when she blew up at us for fighting." Tom was obliging enough to look fairly guilty. Daria looked sidelong at him, then shrugged. "I'm going to the bar," Jane said, apropos of not much. "Anyone want anything?" "I'll go with you," Tom replied. There was a moment of silence as he realized he was harshing her mood. "Well, they won't serve *you* -- you're underage." "And you're..." Jane let that hang. "I have...connections." A frustrated sigh. "Fine. Fine. I don't care." Jane got up and headed bar-wards. Tom looked a bit hesitant, then joined her. Daria looked at A.P. "So..." He needed to spill it. "I *tried!* I *wanted* to say something but...but...but..." "Whoa. A.P. Calm down a second. Breathe." This he did, with a visible effort. "Now. Start again." * * * Backstage, Lynn was picking at Trent's guitar as he approached. "Thought you were never gonna play again." "I got some callouses back," she replied. After a moment's thought, she admitted, "They're in funny places, but..." A sigh. "And anyway, a little won't tear my fingers to shreds." "You okay?" "Not really." "Want to talk about it?" "No." She considered a moment whether "want to" had anything to do with it. "...Did you ever think that maybe...someone was trying to say something you really wanted to hear, but for some reason you just couldn't believe it?" Trent seemed puzzled. "Not really. Or I didn't notice." "Oh." She appeared to have been brought down by that. After another pause, she sighed. "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, I guess." "You're not going to bring up the Lewinsky thing, are you?" A yuck-face. "God, no." Another pause for thought, then an evil Jane-ish smirk. "But I suppose I *could* do..." She started playing the opening to Pink Floyd's "Have a Cigar." Trent did his coughing laugh, reassured that his singer wasn't going to screw up out of depression. * * * At the bar, Jane and Tom were standing, waiting for their drink orders to be filled -- a good foot apart if I'm a day, and with their backs nearly turned to each other. Tom eventually turned around with a sigh. "Look, Jane...it would be a lot easier if you could stop being so hostile..." "*Me?*" she scoffed. "Look, *I'm* not the one with the BFG, okay? Don't talk to me about hostile." "Jane, what is your pro--" He got no further, as she rounded on him, pissed as hell. "Look, Lynn's dad screwed up and so some other stupid people let that psycho Li out of jail -- you think she would have stopped at killing Lynn? She hated all *four* of us, in case you didn't realize!" "That has nothing to do with me!" Jane breezed on as if he hadn't spoken. "You and Lynn meet up -- all of a sudden, she's acting weird. Pulling away. And it hurts me but I can deal with it but it's messing with A.P. and, more important, it's screwing Daria up a *lot.* Daria *likes* the idea of having Lynn as a sister and you come along and screw it all up!" "Jane, will you just--?" "And *then* she doesn't want us along on this tour but we're worried and *you* don't mind, so we go and the next thing we know the Tank blows up! What if one of us had been *in* that, Tom? Would it have had nothing to do with you *then?*" "Jane, this isn't the place..." Jane just made an exasperated noise and stalked back toward the table. The bartender, who'd just done their order, gave a shrug. Tom sighed loud and long. * * * Quinn was listening avidly as A.P. finished his tale. "...and then the damn ride started up again and I just...couldn't...do it." "You're *stupid,* that's all! Completely *stupid!* I mean, you should have done it *anyway!*" "Quinn, since when is this any of *your* business?" Daria asked sharply. "And I *really* hope you took your recent lesson on the dangers of gossiping to heart." Quinn blushed and shrank back in her chair. "Anyway, I couldn't," A.P. insisted. "She wasn't taking *any* of the hints and she's really quick about the uptake so if she'd wanted to, she would have." A slight thoughtful frown. "We-ell..." Jane came storming back just then and dropped into her chair, scowling. Tom followed not-so-far behind with the tray of drinks, which he set down before settling into the seat farthest from Jane. "What gives?" "My patience," Jane replied. "*Your* patience?" boggled Tom. "Guys..." Daria tried to intervene. "Yes, *my* patience! You are a *complete* and utter..." "SHUT UP!" They all turned to stare at A.P. "I don't think you understand. Let me make it clear." He paused a moment to get the words lined up. "I...want...this...to be fun. So just for the rest of the Disney thing -- no more fighting. No more secrecy crap. No more talk about whatever the hell Purple Peril and Rust here have been up to. This is gonna be fun if I have to beat the idea into you all." Tom didn't seem impressed. "I could kick you across the room any day of the week, Maverick." "But could you do the same to Purple Peril after? You *know* she'd come after your sorry butt and I don't care *what* connections you have." A tense silence. "I agree," Daria said at last. "Just for a few days, can we actually *be* on vacation?" Reluctant smiles all around. * * * The next day, the gang walked by Epcot Center, marched in...and marched right back out minutes later (probably more than just two, really, but it *was* awfully damn quick), with disgusted expressions. They went to Sea World instead, and we'll pass around some snaps from that. * Shark feeding time at the "Terrors of the Deep" exhibit. Even Lynn was looking a bit green at the frenzy. Quinn, of course, had gone bathroom hunting a long time ago. * They came running up to the Sea Lion and Otter Show Stage, late for the show, and noticed a mime making exaggerated running motions, obviously mocking them. The rest of the gang ran past with scornful looks at the mime, but Lynn and A.P. shared a mischievous glance. While the Maverick distracted him with a pitiful attempt at the "Trapped in a Glass Box" routine, Lynn snuck up behind him and flipped him over her hip into the tank. They then scarpered. * Quinn looked with some disgust at the raw fish she was holding, then with some longing at the dolphins in the tank. She saw Lynn holding out her last fish to a dolphin while imitating -- not half-badly, at that -- the noises it made. Quinn watched this with interest, then swallowed her disgust and held out a fish, making a really pathetic squeaking noise to a dolphin, who took the fish. But another one, with a more grinlike grin than usual, grabbed her hair, which had fallen over one shoulder as she leaned forward. Daria was bemused. "Shouldn't she be screaming with pain?" "DON'T CUT MY HAIR!" "Oh." Pause for thought. "Well, I guess, for *her*..." * Lynn and A.P. were at the same stingray tank, both petting it...until A.P.'s hand wandered onto Lynn's. Lynn instinctively flipped her hand over and squeezed A.P.'s. He squoze back. They both stared at their hands, then into each other's eyes, and started blushing. A.P. opened his mouth to say something...and suddenly a hand dropped on each of their shoulders. They spun round to see two stern security guards and one very wet mime doing a good job of Waxing Sorely Pissed. So Security kicked Lynn and AP out the Main Entrance/Exit, after taking Polaroids of them should they ever try to get in again. Someone in line saw Lynn, did a double take, then whipped out a cell phone. * At the Shamu stadium, the gang did a headcount and came up two short. Tom started to get jittery. Suddenly, a slightly damp mime walked by, did a slightly-exaggerated facefault, then started *screaming* at Daria, who looked bemused and nonplussed. Trent pulled out his wallet and removed a photograph left over from the London trip -- Daria, Jane and Lynn at the Trafalgar Square lions. Jane spocked an eyebrow at that, while Daria turned slightly pink. Trent showed the pic to the mime. The mime looked at the picture, lower lip trembling -- he obviously thought behavior like Lynn's was a family trait -- then ran away gibbering. * Out in the parking lot, Lynn and A.P. came walking up to the Merc, and Lynn immediately started digging in the trunk. A.P. opened his mouth to say something, but Lynn came up with two Game Boys and a Link Cable and smiled at him. As soon as she turned her back on him, he let his disappointment show on his face. Later, they were sitting in the front seat, playing the Game Boys, when a sudden commotion caught their attention. They looked up just in time to see a mime in a straitjacket being loaded into a white van marked FLORIDA STATE REST HOME FOR THE BEWILDERED. They shrugged at each other. A.P. went back to the game, but Lynn watched him for a fraction of a second more and got a fond smile. * * * On day three, they didn't even bother *looking* at Disney-MGM, just went straight to Universal Studios Florida. "I would tax -- holiday snaps." (Michael Palin, helping set up a Spanish Inquisition appearance) * On a random Hollywood-style street, the gang was faced with a sign hawking _The Gory, Gruesome & Grotesque Makeup Show_. Everyone grins and went on in. Well, everyone except Quinn and Tom, who hung back with "eww" looks on their faces. That is, until each noticed the other'd had the same reaction. Then they both leaped toward the door. * A.P. looked at the Men in Black attraction, grinned, and tried to drag Purple Peril in by the wrist. She was clearly thinking, if you could pick up on social cues (a skill Psycho-Mavericks lack), that playing with guns is only fun when it isn't your job. Max, in his capacity as _criminale_, came over and cocked an eyebrow at A.P., who shrugged, and they went in together, A.P. giving Lynn one last pained look. Lynn flopped down on the ground and let out a sigh. Tom came over, perhaps trying to offer comfort; she glared at him and walked off. * They walked right by the San Francisco street sets after Lynn pointed out they'd be seeing the real thing later on. * Just when you thought it was safe, Jaws jumped out of the water, splashing Quinn. She screamed and tried to dry her face on Jane's shirt, causing Scarlet to look *quite* unpleased. In the row behind, Lynn, similarly soaked -- somewhere, a mime was laughing in his heavily medicated sleep -- practically jumped into A.P.'s lap. He eeped, but only on the inside. She realized where she was and blushed like mad. Torn, she finally decided to move back off his lap -- eliciting a wince from him -- instead of settling down like she wanted to. * As they got into the Kongfrontation cable cars, Jane seated herself so that Daria and Trent wound up sitting next to each other. A sudden jet of flame spurted up from the simulated burning streets of New York, causing Daria to cower into Trent. This didn't bother Trent at all -- neither did it bother Jane; both were wearing near-identical smiles. Daria realized where she was, blushed, and scooted away, which elicited much Lane-ish disappointment. Meanwhile, A.P. and Lynn, sitting next to each other, didn't notice flames, as they were both fixedly and uncomfortably staring straight ahead. _Washington, DC: Rag Doll, Livin' in a Movie_ "Get ready for the big time, tap dancin' on a land mine" -- Aerosmith, "Rag Doll" In a...well, not *too* sleazy...strip club somewhere in the nation's capitol, Trent, Jesse, Nick and Max were sitting at a table, nursing their beers. "How did I let you guys talk me into this?" Trent sulked. "Hey, look," Nick barked, "I want to enjoy my months of freedom, man! Live a little!" He fell silent, then something occurred to him. "And take your mind off that chick!" Trent looked up. "What chick?" "You know damn well what chick. I'm guessing you finally fell for you-know-who you were freaking out about a few months back. The maybe-mother." "You said you weren't gonna mention that, Nick." When Jesse notices, it's serious. "Waitaminit. *Maybe*-mother? We're talking about Lynn here, right?" "*Dammit,* Nick..." "Aw, *man,* man..." "Jess, you gave me enough hassle over that after the Battle of the Bands -- do we *really* need to go through that again?" Trent had no need to be reminded of that, and he *especially* didn't need to be reminded of that weird-ass dream he'd had right after. Nick wasn't letting go. "So? Did you?" "No," replied Jess. "He didn't." "Of course he didn't!" Max scoffed. "He's hot for Daria!" That hung there a moment. "A criminale can tell!" "So why can't *this,*" Nick added to the emphasis with a slap upside Max's shaven pate, "criminale see that Lynn will *never* be hot for *his* scrawny bod?" "She likes the Techno-Weasel," Jesse noted. "That's a scrawny bod if I ever saw one." Again, nobody seemed to know what to say to that. "But Trent's hot for Daria." He started watching the show. "Duh! Doesn't mean he doesn't want Lynn in the..." Trent was starting to steam. "You guys gonna talk about my love life all night?" "Well, most of us haven't got any of our own worth talking about, right, Max?" "Get f--" Jesse's eyes went wide. "Whoa." Something about his tone got the guys' attention, and they all turned toward the stage...where Lynn was strutting her stuff, wearing two handkerchiefs and a prayer about to give way to what a friend of mine in Chicago calls "two sequins and a cork" (an image that makes me wince as much as it just did you). For a moment, a stunned silence fell over the table as the guys just stared with eyes getting wider. Trent broke the silence in half. "What...the hell...is she doing?" "Stripping." Jess considered that a moment. "Whoa." "Huh," Nick vocally shrugged. "Well, I guess we know where the money to replace the Tank came from." "She'd be making a *lot,* I bet," Max mused. "We can't let her do this," Trent insisted, sounding like the overprotective older brother Lynn never had and probably wouldn't have wanted. "This is sick." "*I* don't think it's sick!" For a reply, Trent grabbed Max by the shirtsleeves and yanked the shirt off over his head. "Jess..." "*Hey!* Where d'you think you're going with my shirt?" Trent just shot him a scornful look. Jesse stood up, and the two of them headed for the stage. A bouncer stepped over. "Hey, where do *you* two think--" Jesse hit him, and he went down like the Titanic. Trent hurriedly climbed on stage, followed by Jesse. Lynn had just enough time to look at them with wide eyes and think _Oh crap_ before Trent pulled Max's shirt over her head, pinning her arms to her sides. Jesse then flung her over his shoulder, and the two of them hurried offstage as the crowd noises became indignant. Back at their table, Nick and Max looked at each other...then at the two large bouncers who were starting to nudge their way through the crowd toward the stage and, presumably, Trent and Jess...then back at each other. "Riot," they solemnly agreed. They each turned and delivered a punch to the nearest person to them -- Nick got a portly, sweaty balding man in a suit, and Max had a fairly burly redneck type. The recipient of each punch took a swing at his attacker...and they hit each other. The bouncers got nicely caught in the ensuing general melee. Nick and Max edged away with smug expressions...but the redneck grabbed them by the scruffs of their necks and dragged them bodily back into the fray. * * * The dressing room was very small, very crowded and in extremely bad repair. Trent walked in, followed by Jesse, who promptly dumped Lynn unceremoniously into a chair in the corner. With an indignant look on her face, Lynn struggled to get her arms into the sleeves of Max's shirt. "Well, that was incredibly stupid. Who died and made you Forrest Gump, Jesse?" Jesse shrugged. "Stupid is as stupid does." "So? What hornet stung your asses? Or do I even care to know?" Trent wasn't in the mood. "Why the *hell* are you stripping off for these--" "...testosterone-fueled lumps of male meat? I have my reasons. And they don't concern you. Now get out of here before security gets here." "If you're doing this to...to help us make ends meet, Lynn..." "My bag's hanging on the third hook from the right over there." She pointed. "Why don't you have a look at the grey hardback notebook that's in there. Then talk to me about making ends meet." Trent looked at Lynn. She looked back, unblinking. Trent then shrugged and turned to the hooks, glad enough to have an excuse to break that stare. He opened the backpack on the hook, pulled out the notebook, and opened it to the first page. Then he blinked at what he was seeing. Then he turned a couple of pages, looking briefly at each with ever wider eyes. "What the hell...?" "That's the result of my negotiating skills. You're seriously on the up, financially speaking. So when I tell you I'm in here for reasons of my own, take me at my word. And lest you think I'm enjoying *any* of this crap, I should--" She broke off as the door opened and a tall, thin man entered, followed by two bouncers who could best be described as monolithic; they seemed to serve the same function for the man they flanked as Vince Crabbe and Greg Goyle do for Draco Malfoy, not that the comparison would have occurred to the male Spirallers. Trent and Jesse looked at each other, a little worried, then looked at Lynn...and it was all they could do not to stare outright. Her entire demeanor had changed; she now wore a vapid little smile as she batted her eyelashes at the thin man. "Everything all right in here, Jackie?" he asked her. Lynn's voice was higher and squeakier, more like Daria's other sister or that cheerleader -- Brittany something -- as she replied, "Oh, yes, Mr. Abrams! It's just that..." A nervous giggle. "Mr. Abrams, this is my brother Morie and his best friend Nate." "And they dragged you off in the middle of your act?" Abrams asked. "Well..." Another nervous giggle. "I didn't exactly tell my family where I was going, you see, Mr. Abrams, and I..." Abrams sighed. "I lose more and more strippers this way." He turned to Jesse. "You come to take your sister home?" Jesse was stunned, but managed to reply, "Yeah." "It's a family trait, isn't it?" Abrams could probably have sounded more patronizing, but it would have taken a special effort. "What?" Lynn and Jesse asked in unison, sounding equally clueless. Abrams smirked at Trent, who glared at him. Abrams looked a bit taken aback, but recovered nicely and turned to Lynn. With mock regret, he said, "Can't pay you for the whole show, Jackie, but..." He hauled a wad of cash out of his pocket, peeled off a couple of bills and handed them over. "I guess I owe you something." "She doesn't want your money," Trent gritted. He was looking at Lynn/Jackie, who had a very Quinn-like sulky look on most of her face -- her eyes flashed very briefly, saying without words, _You're not helping..._ Abrams just laughed. "So, Nate, just her brother's best friend, huh?" Trent glared at him. "Well, whatever. You take care now and..." He chucked "Jackie" under the chin; she dimpled. "...if you can shake the narcs here and start looking for this sort of work again, remember my name first, hey?" "Of course I will, Mr. Abrams!" she said. "And thanks!" She summoned a blush. "I know it seems silly, after..." One last nervous giggle for luck. "...but...could you...?" "She wants a little privacy to get dressed in, man," Trent explained. Jesse seemed to feel something else was needed. "Yeah." Abrams raised an eyebrow at the two guys, then shrugged, turned around and waved out the bouncers, following close behind them. As soon as the door closed, Lynn's demeanor went back to normal. "Gah. See what I mean? God, that patronizing little...Okay, you've blown this right to hell; can we get out of here? I could really use a drink." Trent and Jesse just stared at her. Jess was the one to break down and ask questions. "`Morie'?" "Derived from your last name. And before you ask, Nate is a character in _Hearts in Atlantis_ and it just sort of sprang to mind, I don't know why." She thought a moment, then added, "Jackie is a derivation of my middle name -- do *not* ask." "What was the bimbo act for?" Trent asked instead. "None of your business." "You say that *way* too much these days, Lynn." A cold silence. "I *do* need to get changed, you know." Another short pause while Trent looked at her. "We'll be right outside." Lynn just looked at them impassively until they left and shut the door behind them. Then she stood up and kicked the chair she'd been sitting in. Then she grabbed her mobile phone and hit the speed-dial button, waiting for pickup. "Rust? Cullen." He started to acknowledge, but she cut him off. "You don't have to talk; just listen. There's been some bad luck and we're royally screwed. This is going to have to be done the hard way." * * * That night, the Merc came rolling up outside the strip club. Out of it stepped two figures with backpacks. They used hand signals in the semilight as they walked up to the door. Bare seconds later, they were within. "Rust," said the Peril, "pass the pliers." "Just a sec, let me finish with the glue." "This way?" "No, other way up." "Interesting reading collection this man has." "Had. Pass the matches." "Hang on..." Lynn sifted through papers. "Have that one...have that one...taking this...taking this...have that one...ooh, taking *this* ...Okay, torch the rest." She noticed Tom's expression. "What? You've seen my bookshelf." "No, I haven't..." he reminded her. "You know me. *Guess* my bookshelf." "Oh. Right." "Rust, pass the toothpaste." "The what?" "The toothpaste." "Why do you want..." He trailed off; after a moment, the penny dropped. "Oh, that's *evil.*" * * * "Peril, pass the...the...thing!" "This thing?" "No, the *other* thing!" "*This* thing?" "Yeah, *that* thing!" "Rust, don't touch that." "Why not?" *ZAP!* "*That's* why not. Pass me some more paperclips." * * * "Caltrops?" Lynn said, as a doctor might say "Scalpel?" "Caltrops." "Banana?" "Banana." "Brick?" "Brick." "Shoe polish?" "Shoe polish." "Pass the dishsoap." "Okay, Peril, *now* you're getting weird." Sounds of porcelain banging into porcelain. "The next time some unlucky git flushes..." * * * "Pass the lightbulbs," said Lynn. "I still don't see why you brou...hey. They're all black." You could just *hear* the smirk in her voice. "Gunpowder." Tom was suitably impressed. "Oh...hey, this one's sloshing!" "Be *careful* with that!" "What's in it?" "Napalm." "Eep." "Tell me that was *your* stomach growling," they said to each other at the same moment, then added, "Oh s***." They raced back out the door and into the Merc, which peeled out. Behind them, the growling and barking of a pack of ranting Rottweilers repeated from start, making itself known as a recording, as blackness fell. _New Jersey/New York: Jack's Smirking Revenge_ "School's out for summer School's out forever School's out for recess School's blown to pieces!" -- Alice Cooper, "School's Out" So they were doing a show at Glen Rock Jr./Sr. High School -- as a movable-letter sign outside it proudly proclaimed -- in Glen Rock, New Jersey. "Will do," Lynn said into her phone. "Tonight." Pause for reply. "No, my pleasure." She cast a dark look at Tom. "I'm in the mood to destroy something." "Lynn!" Trent shouted. "We're on in fifteen!" "Right." * * * I'll be merciful and skip to the motel room, around midnightish. "Man, am I glad to be out of there," said Jesse. "That was worse than that bar in Texas," Nick added. Trent noticed something. "Hey, where'd Lynn go?" * * * She'd gone back to the school, as it happens. At the moment Trent asked that, she was calling out the door of the principal's office. "Rust, go to the art room. Get me paint, glue, plywood, and *all the glitter you can carry!*" Tom raised an eyebrow at Lynn, who made shooing motions with both hands. He scarpered. * * * They were in a hallway, with lockers adorning the walls. "Syringe?" Lynn asked, in the same tone she'd used to request the caltrops and the banana. "Syringe." "Ink?" "Ink." "Locker!" she exclaimed. "Lock...oh!" * * * It was just another hallway, really, but they passed it off as a science wing. "Thermos of blue Kool-aid?" Tom boggled. "Thermos of orange Kool- Aid...where are you *going?*" "Chem lab." A moment of thought. "And it's not Kool-aid." * * * Later, on the side lawn, Lynn was pouring white stuff from a box onto the ground to spell out words. "Okay, Peril. *Why* lawn fertilizer instead of...say, baking soda?" "Think about it, Rust. What's the *first* thing the groundskeeper will do when he sees this?" "Pick up the hose and...wash...it...away..." "Soaking it into the ground." * * * It doesn't matter which hallway. "Now," said Lynn, "the finishing touch." "What?" "The toothpicks and superglue." "Huh?" "Toothpick into glue. Toothpick into doorlock. Break off." "You evil..." "Credit the Psycho-Maverick." A brief fond smile. "Every doorknob in the school?" "Every one." * * * They were just leaving, when Lynn said, "Oh, and you-know-who had a request about that sign." So they got to work on that. "Peril -- this lock?" "Give me ten seconds...damn, Maverick's better at this." "He is?" "You'd be surprised," Lynn sounded quite proud. "I taught him everything he knows...hell, everything *I* know about picking locks." "You trust him that much?" She went defensive. "Yes." "Bad habit to get into." "If I can't trust him, I can't trust anyone." Tom looked like he was just about to say something to that when the lock went *click*. "Rust. The bag of letters?" "Right here." When it was done, they sat in the Merc a moment, admiring Lynn's handiwork. The sign now read BUMBLEFUCK JR./SR. HELLHOLE. "Think they'll suspect us?" "Not a chance in hell." * * * Everyone was poking around in a store in New York City when Daria noticed Tom and Lynn going into a building across the street. "Those two are *not* going into what I *think* they're going into." "A quickie wedding place?" A.P. asked. "No..." A quiet relieved sigh. "Worse." "Eep." Daria just pointed to the store. A.P. went white as the ever- proverbial sheet. "What's the `eep'ing about?" Jane wondered. "Oh, hey look, a dirty bookstore." She turned to Trent. "May I *please* go in?" "Tom and Lynn beat you to it," replied Daria, inducing a group facefault. "Hey, first the strip joint, now--" That got Nick an elbow in the ribs from Trent. "OOF!" "The *what?*" A.P. gritted. And the Spiral fell silent, and there was much rejoicing. "Strip..." Daria boggled. "Joint..." added Jane. A.P. headed for the door of the store the rest of them were in. "I'm going over...there..." He froze in midstep as he saw that the door of the "Come Again" adult bookstore was now closed and the lights were out. Then he remembered what Nick'd said and rounded on Trent and the rest of the Spiral. "So. Strip joint?" If looks could kill, the Glare that Trent threw at Nick would have left the Spiral needing a new bass player. * * * Later, Tom and Lynn stepped out of "Come Again," shutting the door firmly behind themselves, and started walking *away* from it. "Well," Tom allowed as, "that was...interesting." He searched for a more suitable adjective, then decided there wasn't one. "We'd better get a move on. Pitts next. And Aph's a bit of a stickler for punctuality." "Oh?" Lynn asked. "Ten minutes off schedule, she'll assume we're dead on the road after a ten-car pile-up." "Drama queen?" Tom nodded. "Fine. The rush getting out will keep us from having to answer questions." And it was obvious there'd be questions to answer -- they were nearly at the cars, and Daria, Jane and A.P. were standing in a row, arms folded, faces all saying _We want to *talk* to you two..._ "No time." "Questions later. Deadline to hit. Let's go." _Interlude: The Corridors of Power_ "I was...terrified of him. I've seen grown men pull their own 'eads off rather than talk to Doug." -- Luigi Vercotti (Michael Palin), "The Piranha Brothers" sketch, _Monty Python_ season 2 The ghost-pale presence of Nigel Abrams in this random dingy corridor, next to a door, indicated that this was the strip club back in DC where "Jackie" had done her act. The door finally opened, and out stepped an extremely tall, dark-haired gentleman, followed by a small, lean, graying man in a very good suit, who shut the door behind him before any hypothetical observer could get a look inside. Abrams pressed himself back into the wall as far as he could. "Mr. Merritt, I--" The tall man interrupted. "I wouldn't try grovelling to Mr. Merritt if I were you, Abrams." "Jensen, please," the graying man, presumably Merritt, cut in. "We won't get any information out of him if he's about to soil himself." He took a moment to turn back to Abrams. "Now, when did this happen?" "Last week...I think..." "Anything missing?" "Don't know, sir! The damage was so...so *total* we can't make head or tail of anything in there!" "And was there anything unusual about last week? Any new faces?" "Well...there was the brainless brunette..." "Glasses?" "Not that I saw." "Anyone else with her?" Abrams calmed down a little and thought. "Big brainless guy -- her brother, she said. And a tall, skinny guy with black hair." Jensen produced a picture from a pocket. "Any of *these* people look familiar?" It was a black and white promotional glossy of Mystik Spiral, in stage kit, standing against a brick wall. Abrams peered at it. "Well," he pointed, "that's the skinny black-haired one and that's the brother." "And the girl?" Merritt prompted. Abrams squinted at the picture. "Well...*could* be...Hard to tell with the sunglasses." "Thank you. I think we'll leave it at that." A brief pause. "Do you even know a dismissal when you hear one?" Abrams fled. Merritt looked at Jensen. "Your evaluation?" "That's a Smythe job. Thorough, inventive...nasty." "And if that's true, they took the information with them." He let that hang there a moment. "Do you know where they are?" "On their way to Pittsburgh, sir." "All right. Put a stop to this. Get whatever data they have if you can, destroy it if you can't -- better no one has it than letting the Smythes have it -- or worse, the police." He thought some more. "And try to avoid hitting anyone but the Smythe girls and the Sloane boy. I'd rather keep civilians out of this -- too many questions." Jensen nodded. "Sir." _Pittsburgh, PA: Family Business_ "It's easy to die when you're young When you're famous, when you're rich..." -- Sheep on Drugs, "Fifteen Minutes of Fame" Lynn and Jane stepped out a stage door into an alleyway, through the alley and out onto the street, respectively carrying cymbals and a snare drum. They heard a distant *bang*. "Who's letting off firecrackers?" Quinn asked from inside. Lynn, however, had noticed a bullet hole in the rear passenger door of the Merc and gone very still, shocked into total calm. "That wasn't..." She snapped out of it. "Get *back!*" There were further gunshots as Lynn turned and shoved Jane back toward the alley mouth. Jane nearly toppled into the now-emerged Quinn, who stepped back in alarm and knocked A.P. (who'd just stepped out the stage door) to the ground. He picked himself up and, looking indignant, opened his mouth to say something...then shut it again when he saw the expressions on Lynn and Jane's faces. _Okaaay..._ "Guys...?" "Not now." Lynn moved toward the mouth of the alley, unzipping her jacket as she went. Jane frowned and followed her. Lynn cautiously poked her head out of the alleyway -- Jane followed suit -- and they saw a black car, parked so that it blocked the street. "Same people who blew up the Tank?" Jane asked. Lynn sounded much too casual. "Probably." "You think they'll stop shooting at us long enough for me to thank them?" "Doubtful." "Oh." After a moment, Lynn's choice of adverb registered fully. "What the hell do you mean, *probably?*" "There are too many people who have a reason to shoot at me to be specific." It took her a moment to notice Jane's Look. "I guess I *have* to explain now..." BANG! kapweeng! They ducked back into the alley. "...but can it wait until we're less busy?" "People are shooting at us," A.P. asked in a let-me-get-this- straight way. Lynn nodded, checking her pockets for something. "With guns." Lynn nodded again, heading back over to the alley mouth. A.P. grabbed her arm. "Then maybe it would be a good idea not to go anywhere *near* that street where the shooting is?" Lynn shook him off. "I'm not going to stick my neck out." After a moment, she added, with painful honesty, "Yet." A.P. and Jane scowled at her for that. She stood at the mouth of the alley. Across the street, Tom was standing in the entrance to another alley, holding up both hands -- one with all fingers extended, one with just the index finger up. Lynn held up a hand, thumb tucked in, confirming that all Jacketeers, Spiralites and related personages were accounted for. "They're all okay?" Jane demanded. Lynn nodded. "Thank *God*..." Tom patted his hip pocket and did an elaborate shrug. Lynn patted the right pocket of her jacket and nodded once. "What are you *do-ing?*" Quinn snapped. "I mean, people are *shooting* at us and *you're* playing Charades!" Lynn was approaching saturation point. "A.P., did you bring the duct tape?" Tom beckoned to Lynn, who nodded back toward the others with her and shook her head. Tom pointed. Lynn frowned. Tom struck an "artist at the easel" pose. Lynn shook her head violently. "What?" Lynn couldn't meet Jane's eyes. "It's about me -- I want to know." Lynn sighed. "He wants to send you across the street." That elicited an audible blink. "He either hates me a lot or has a damn good reason." Lynn seemed resigned. "If they get hold of me, I'm screwed and so is anyone who's with me. But if they get hold of me with this..." She reached into her right jacket pocket and pulled out a CD. "...a *lot* of people are screwed." That hung there an awkward moment. "He wants me to hand this over to you and send you across." "But...why don't we just...?" Jane made a throwing motion. Lynn raised an eyebrow. "Okay. As soon as Tom yells `Pull!'" "Right." Pause for thought. "Okay, so you're telling me that I cross the road and get shot or stay with you and..." "We're the smaller force with the faster car so we're going to be the rabbit. So you get shot at anyway." Pause to find a bright side. "But from further away." Silence while Jane thought about that. At length, she held a hand out. "Hand it over; I'm going." "Jane, I--" "I leave in thirty seconds. You either give me that stupid CD or I go without it and then what do you gain?" To press the point, she started doing some leg stretches. The others watched. A.P. boggled. "You're not gonna *let* her...?" Lynn sighed. "Looks like I have to." She handed the CD to Jane, who slipped it into the front pocket of her scarlet shirt. Lynn reached into her jacket and pulled a silver .45 Magnum from her shoulder holster. Everyone took an unconscious step away from her, sharing a single thought -- _Lynn with a gun; God help the world._ She raised it with a pointed look at Tom across the street, who pulled his own weapon and took position against the alley wall. Lynn did the same, and Jane followed her. "If you get yourself shot, I'm having `Jane no baka' carved on your tombstone. Just so you know." "Where'd you come up with that much Japanese?" Jane wondered. "You don't *do* anime..." "It's part of what I'll have to come clean on, so survive and you'll find out." "Fine; wish me luck." "Good luck," Lynn mused, "is ill-omened...even `break a leg' is ominous in *this* situation..." She sighed. "Ah well..." She hugged Jane, who looked shocked as hell. Then Lynn let go and turned away slightly, not looking at Jane. "I will deny to my dying breath I ever did that. Now get ready -- Tom and I will cover you." Jane got into a starting-gate crouch. Lynn held the gun, spending a second in the same meditative calm she'd gotten into while handcuffed to Upchuck's locker. Then, with eyes still closed, "Three...two...one." She opened her eyes and, in unison, she and Tom leaned out from cover and started taking shots at the car. Jane got out behind their cover fire and ran like hell -- they could hear the black car's passengers returning fire, but hesitantly. Then Jane dove for the safety of Tom's alley, and Tom and Lynn pulled back. "Did she make it?" A.P. asked almost at once. Lynn looked toward Tom and raised three fingers. Tom raised seven and nodded. With a sigh of utter relief, Lynn confirmed, "She made it." After a moment, she added, "Now it's our turn to make a run for it." "NO!" Quinn outgrabe. "I mean, I *can't!* I mean, I can't *run* in these heels! And blood would *totally* clash with my shirt!" The sort of sigh that comes naturally around her. "Quinn, we only need to get as far as the Merc; then we drive." "Well, *good,* because this alley *smells!* I *really* need to change my clothes and--" "I say we don't wait for LA," A.P. cut in. "They have pimps in Pittsburgh, right?" Lynn's temper was starting to fray at the edges. "If the two of you don't *shut UP*..." They saw the dangerous look in her eyes and buttoned their lips. Lynn took a breath and calmed down. "As I said, we're going to be the rabbit to their greyhounds. We need to get that car out of the road." "DUH!" Quinn scoffed. "The road's open *both ways*..." _Deep breath._ "Quinn. The people shooting at us have one car. If Daria, Jane, Tom and the others get into the cars and drive off, the car follows *them.* This is bad, because we do not want them catching the people with that CD. And, because of the dubious state of repair of the engines of at least two of their cars..." "Dubious...?" Even A.P. knew that one. "They could faw down go Boom *very* easily." After a moment, he added, "Engine go down the hoooooooooole." Lynn shot a sideways look at her original friend. "You've been on IRC too long. Or you had another Tiny Toons marathon." He looked sheepish. "Little of both?" "Um...can we get *on* with this?" wondered Quinn, understandably a bit nervous. "It's likely they'll get caught if they try to outrun these goons," Lynn admitted. "But if *we* get into the Merc and drive off, they follow *us.* Which is fine because we can stay ahead of them and, though they don't know it, we don't have what they want anyway." "Wow!" A.P. perked. "A high-speed chase through the heart of the city!" Lynn tossed Quinn the keys, which she barely caught. "You drive." A.P. was shocked almost into coherence. "Purple Peril, are you out of your freakin' *mind?* We're talking about *Narcissa* here! She's not *licensed!* She's too damn *young!* She--" "We are going to be driving through Pittsburgh as fast as we can push the Merc to stay ahead of these goons and I have to have my hands free. *You* want to do it?" Three, two, one. "Okay, Narcissa drives." "Okay, people, on my mark." * * * From the other side of the alley, Daria and Tom watched Lynn, Quinn and A.P. take ready-to-run positions. Trent, Jesse, Nick and Max were hovering further back, looking somewhat stressed. "Have they stopped shooting yet?" Max wondered, his criminale bravado dissipated. "I'm not liking this, man," Nick blurted. "I don't want to end up like Lennon." "*Worse* than Lennon," Trent pointed out. "*We* never made it anywhere." "This sucks," Jesse summed up. That got him some Looks from his bandmates. "Well, it does! We're getting shot at! I mean, even playing McGrundy's, the only kind of shots we had to deal with were alcohol shots!" Daria was paying more attention to her half-sisters and her ex- boyfriend. "Uh...what are they doing?" "You don't want to know. You'll only worry." "*Tom*..." "Look, would you calm *down?* She's *good* at cut and run." "And you know this *how?*" Before Tom could answer, Lynn broke cover and started shooting at the black car. Behind her covering fire, A.P. and Quinn made for the Merc. Quinn took the wheel and started the car, while A.P. jumped into the shotgun seat. Lynn now made a break for it, diving for the back and getting in as Quinn floored the accelerator, pulled a *very* sharp U-ey and sped off away from the car. There was a scuffle as the passengers of the black car got in, then it revved and followed the Merc away. Daria looked at Tom, who was apparently trying not to show how worried he was -- "apparently" because he was proving less than 100% successful. "Okay," he said, "they did their job. Let's go." "But they're *chasing*..." "We have to go. *Now.* Before someone shows up to do clean-up." With that, he left the alley. Trent, Jesse, Nick and Max shuffled forward, Trent less nervously than the others. Jane was fuming. "He had *better* start explaining *something* or I'll get a hold of that gun and..." "Trent was aghast. "Janey!" "...no, that'd be too easy. I'll find one of Lynn's knives and-- "Jane." This stopped Jane in her tracks and she turned to stare at the speaker. Daria went on. "He's right that this is not the time." A moment of silence. "But if he doesn't spill something soon, whatever it is you plan to do to him, I'll help." Trent looks a little frightened, Jesse was vague as usual, and Nick and Max seemed slightly impressed. Jane looks at Daria for what felt like hours...then nodded. They left the alley together, followed by the band. A moment later, they started their engines for the chase scene. * * * At a pizza restaurant somewhere in Pittsburgh, four people were sitting at a window table. If you'd been in London for the Christmas party at Lorna Smythe's, you'd recognize one of them as Jan, Lynn's Canadian-born cousin. The other woman at the table had short bobbed black hair and was dressed in a hunter-green blazer, gray blouse and jeans. There were also two youngish men in T-shirts and jeans -- one very tall with short sandy hair, who would have looked a lot like Shaggy Rogers even in a suit and tie, and the other with long blond hair and a quiet demeanor. Jan was looking slightly put out. "Tell me again why I'm here?" she muttered. "Well, Kes," said the blond man, sounding slightly too smug, "you got suckered into the same bet Aph here did." The woman, presumably Aph, giggled. "Yeah. You should have known better. But come on, aren't you having fun?" "But I don't like fun," Jan, or "Kes" as they'd called her, daria'd. "Like you don't like Spam?" the tall man python'ed. "Please don't mention Spam, NCM. I'm rather looking forward to dinner." NCM grinned. "Aw, come on, it's not so--" "Eco, can you make him shut up?" The blond man -- Eco, by process of elimination -- shrugged, just as Tom's rustbucket bombed past the window, catching all their attentions. "Wasn't that H's heap?" The Rustmobile was followed by the A-Tank, then the Plymouth. The foursome at the table exchanged Looks. Aph was suddenly serious. "Let's go." The foursome got up and left the restaurant. Out on the street, they approached a white convertible. Kes got into the shotgun seat, and Aph behind the wheel. Eco and NCM piled into the back and latched up their seatbelts quickly, with nervous looks on their faces. "So what's the plan?" Eco asked. "We get to the Hideout before they do and let them in..." Kes dropped her head on the dashboard. "We're all gonna die." "I'm not that bad a driver!" Aph bristled. "Who says she IS?" Kes asked as she did up her seatbelt. Eco and NCM both raised their hands. Aph scowled. "You're outvoted. Now just drive. I've been in worse." Still scowling at Kes, Aph floored the accelerator, and they jolted forward. "ACK! MAYBE NOT!" * * * Back on the road, Tom was driving, looking grim. From the passenger seat, Daria was watching him. "Where are we going? Come to that, where are *they* going?" "Tell you later, but don't worry. She can take care of herself. We're going to get some advice and protection for *you* guys." He paused a moment, then grimly added, "If you get hurt she'll skin me alive and give me to a junior biology class for an exhibit." Daria glared at him...then looked past him at the window, where an unfamiliar white convertible had caught up with them. Lynn's cousin Jan was leaning out the window and making a cranking motion. Daria blinked. "There's someone out there who wants to talk to you..." Tom looked out the window, then did some blinking of his own. He rolled the window down and leaned out a bit. "*Kestrel?*" Daria was taken aback. "`Kestrel'?" Jan -- "Kestrel" -- was leaning way too far out the window. "You ARE headed to the Hideout, right?" Tom started to answer. "Yeah, but--" "Good! We'll meet you there! And you'd better have a DAMN good reason for shooting through Pitts like a bat outta hell!" The white convertible sped ahead of them. A blond guy and a Shaggy look-alike waved at Tom as they went past with big excrement-eating grins on their faces. Tom rolled the window back down and put his full attention back on the road, trying to ignore Daria's glare. He didn't manage very well; in fact, he was visibly squirming. "`Kestrel'?" Daria asked, just to break the ice. "It's like Rust. -- Or H," he grudgingly added. "It's a codename." "And...`you all' have them?" "Well, yeah." A slight pause. In a casual, just-letting-you-know tone, Daria informed him, "When we get to...wherever it is we're going, I'm going to tie you down, take out Lynn's torture manual, and start prying out either the information I require or your spleen, whichever is easier." Tom blinked at her. "You've been hanging around her too long." Daria shrugged. "Maybe it's a family trait." * * * With a white-knuckling Quinn behind the wheel, the Merc was traveling at a speed somewhere between Ridiculous and Ludicrous. A.P. was not wearing his seat belt, preferring instead to lean over the back of his seat and watch, with no little confusion, as Lynn rummaged through the backseat, singing under her breath. "o/~ And we will all go together when we go... o/~" Her choice of subject matter was slightly worrying. "Purple Peril..." She sang a bit louder to drown him out. "o/~ What a comforting fact that is to know... o/~" "Um..." She got louder still. "o/~ Universal bereavement/An inspiring achievement!/Yes, we all will go together when we... o/~" "*WILL* YOU SHUT *UP*?" Lynn looked up, staring at him. "What was that word you used when we were six and I calculated just how long it would take Fuzz-Wuzz to die of asphyxiation if I sealed him in a shoebox-sized airtight container?" Lynn was still looking at him. "Morbid." After a moment, his point sank in. "Oh. I see." She went back to the rummaging. "Perhaps you'd prefer the Masochism Tango? Or how about..." She launched into a sprightly waltz, quite similar to the Wienerschnitzel Waltz in fact. "o/~ All the world seems in tune/On a spring afternoon/When we're poisoning pigeons in the park... o/~" She swung the backseat upward, revealing that it was hinged. "Uh..." "o/~ Every Sunday you'll see/My sweetheart and me/As we poison the pigeons in the park...o/~" "I don't..." She pulled a sawed-off shotgun out of the revealed undercroft, then shoved the seat back into place. "*Augh!* What the *hell*...?" She took aim, bracing herself between the backseat and the back of the passenger seat. "o/~ When they see us coming, the birdies all try and hide...o/~" Boom! The windshield of the pursuing car was too spiderwebbed to be of use. The car swerved, and the driver stuck his head out his window; someone else poked his upper body, including his gun hand, out of the passenger seat and took a shot at the Merc, which went wide. Lynn took aim again. "o/~ But they still go for peanuts when coated with cyanide... o/~" Boom! The chase car lost its right front tire, causing it to swerve harder as Lynn reloaded, sliding the shell home. "o/~ The sun's shining bright/Everything seems alright... o/~" A.P. was bleached white with shock. "*Now* what?" Lynn stopped singing long enough to explain, "Gas tank," before resuming the song as she took aim. "o/~ When we're *poisoning* pigeons in the... o/~" She squeezed the trigger just as A.P. smacked her in the arm. The shot went way high, missing the gas tank. Lynn turned and scowled at A.P. "You'd regret it later." Lynn glared at him some more...then sighed, dropped the gun and slumped into the backseat, sulking slightly. She still managed to keep singing, though. "o/~ We've gained notoriety/And caused much anxiety/ In the Audubon Society with our games... o/~" "What *is* that, anyway?" "Well, you remember that guy who did the song with the elements?" A.P. nodded with a grin. "Well, him." There was a brief silence, then, as the Merc turned a corner, they burst (A.P. singing as badly as usual) into Lehrer's setting of the periodic table to "I am the very model of a modern major-general," music by Sir Arthur Sullivan. "o/~ There's antimony, arsenic, aluminum, selenium/And hydrogen and oxygen and nitrogen and rhenium... o/~" "How *geeky* can you *get?*" Quinn muttered. They only got louder. "o/~ And nickel, neodymium, neptunium, germanium/And iron, americium, ruthenium, uranium... o/~" Quinn groaned with despair. * * * The Hideout was basically a large, rambling house in a reasonable state of repair -- functional and comfortable, but not possessing an actual decor so much as a vaguely lived-in feel. Everyone -- Kes' crowd, the Spiral, Daria, Jane and Tom -- was squeezed into the cluttered living room like sardines. Aph was pacing the front of the room, looking irritated and worried. "Where *are* they? I mean, how long does it take to lose a bunch of..." She caught herself. "...well, *those* people in one of those...nondescript tortoises they call cars?" "Aph," Eco pointed out, "this is *Pittsburgh.* Try navigating the streets here without a map your first time here." "I *did,* remember?" she ruefully confessed. "Circled the city three *times* to find the place when I moved from Cincy." "Well, maybe you would have been able to read the street signs if you drove below 60 just once..." NCM suggested. She glared at him. "*Anyway,* they should be *back* by now. You don't think..." "Will you calm down, Aph?" Eco muttered. "Yeah," NCM chimed in, "don't let your drama-queen tendencies get carried away." He thought about that a moment. "Oh, wait, look who I'm talking to..." Aph rounded on Tom, livid. "H, you were *supposed* to be keeping an *eye* on her! When the Falcon finds out about this..." Tom was too utterly panicked to correct her use of his first codename. "He's not *going* to find out about this! The Peril will come back safe and sound and there will be *no* need to mention this to the Falcon!" "Ah, the sweet, misguided optimism of youth." That comment got Eco a glare from Tom. Jane turned on Aph. "`The *Falcon*'? Why do I feel like we've fallen into a really bad spy movie?" "Actually," Kes observed slightly bitterly, "I always felt that Jerome was more the cuckoo bird type." Daria was puzzled. "Aren't those the ones that lay their eggs in other birds' nests and then..." It hit her. "*Oh.*" "Exactly." She'd guessed, the moment she saw and heard that Lynn had a look-alike with the name Jerome had always wanted to give a daughter of his, what the truth must be, but hadn't felt like saying anything, for a number of reasons which will remain her own. "What, Lynn's..." Jane boggled. "I mean your...I mean...how the *hell* do *you* know?" "Oh, I forgot you wouldn't know," Daria realized. "His middle name is Peregrine. Like the raptor." "And so Falcon. Right. Uh-huh. So we have him and his little niece the Kestrel..." "Oi, watch it," the said Kestrel snapped. "Lynn's not the only one who can use a crossbow, you know." "And...`Aph'...?" "It's short for Aphrodite," NCM clarified. "Goddess of love." A pause. "But it's more smoochiness in her case." Daria audibly blinked. "Smoochiness." "Don't ask," Eco warned her. "It's an Aph word." "And I'm guessing 'Eco' for Ecology." Eco nodded. "And...NCM?" Kes raised a hand. "My bad. Stands for Non Compos Mentis." Another pause. "Suits well, doesn't it?" Trent was just starting to get onto the situation. "So...wait a minute--" Just then, the door burst open and Lynn and A.P. sort of clumsily and half-assedly tangoed in. Quinn just stood in the doorway with a *royally* disgusted look on her face as they sang in unison. "o/~ Your eyes cast a spell that bewitches The last time I needed twenty stitches To sew up the gash That you made with your lash As we danced to the Masochism Tango! o/~" On the last two beats, A.P. tried to dip Lynn and wound up dropping her on the floor. Aph's face was given over to an _Awww...how cute!_ expression; Eco and NCM looked amused. The Lawndale contingent, however, didn't look any such thing. They advanced on Lynn, who was still sitting on the floor. Quinn had an instant of...that thing, when you see something you've never seen before, and it doesn't remind you of anything you've ever seen, but you keep thinking you know it from somewhere. Parlez- vous, or something. "Uhhh...hey?" Lynn asked. "`*Hey?*'" Jane snapped. "People were shooting at us," Trent rasped. "Actually," Eco pointed out, "I think people were shooting at *her.* And at Missing H there." "That's *Rust!*" came the inevitable reply. Lynn welcomed any opportunity to change the subject. "What's *with* that, anyway?" Eco, NCM and Tom looked at Aph -- the first two grinning, Tom glaring. "Long story," Aph said after a moment. "I used to know a guy and...well, anyway, if it's short for Thomas...well, it ought to be T-*H*-O-M, that's all!" "I already heard that story," Daria countered. "I want to hear a different one." She took a moment to round on her elder sister. "The one about why people are shooting at you. And, by association, the rest of us." "I *told* you this was a bad idea," Lynn reminded Tom. "I've been successfully hiding this for *months*..." "*Successfully?*" croggled Jane. "You're *kidding,* right? I mean, we've known since...God, since that stupid tutoring thing that something weird was going on!" "Before," Daria corrected her. "*I* started getting suspicious about," she practically sneered the scare quotes, "`The Falcon' while Lynn was still..." Lynn picked up where she'd trailed off. "Yeah, yeah, in the Valley of the Shadow." "And your tact and decorum still amaze me." "So come *on,* Purple Peril. Give. Why are people shooting at you? *Again?*" Aph saw the look on Lynn's face and stepped in. "You know, you guys really should respect Peril's boundaries..." That met with nothing but glares. "...and you haven't got the time for long stories anyway. Right now we have to figure out what we're going to do about this." "I don't suppose I can vote for sending them home?" Lynn offered. "Bad idea," Eco shook his head. "You go back now, they *know* there's a reason." "They know that anyway. Oh, yeah, this is yours." Tom handed over the CD. Eco looked at it, then handed it to NCM. "Any trouble getting it?" Tom aimed a sidelong glare at Lynn's bandmates. "A little. But we managed." "And they'll never be able to get this stuff again?" Aph made sure. "Oh, no," smirked Lynn. "Not after Methods 3, 19 and 24." A.P.'s eyes went *really* big. "All *three?*" "And I *think* I came up with a 26," she added mischievously. "And a 27 through 33, I think..." Tom added. "At least." A.P.'s eyes demonstrated that it was, in fact, possible for them to open even wider. "What did you do? What did you *do?*" "Fun with toothpaste." Now he was awestruck. "There are days I *worship* you." Both parties turned, blushing. "How kyoooooot!" Aph squealed, then shrank under a pair of death glares. "I still don't understand *any* of this." For that, Lynn shot Jane a grateful look. "It's not so important that you understand," replied Eco. "What's important is what you do now. And no, Peril, they can't go back." A.P. noticed something and was stunned. "Waitaminit -- *Peril?* What are *they* doing calling you that? Even Rust here calls you Cullen..." "Yeah," Lynn allowed as, "and I *will* start calling him Missing H if he keeps *that* up..." Tom blushed and glared at the same time. "I needed a code name. I've had one I like since I was six. You think I *wasn't* going to use it?" "Is that *really* all that important, A.P.?" Jane wondered. "Matters to *me*..." he muttered. Aph tried to take charge. "Okay, so you can't go back. I guess you keep going. But you can't just leave the way you are now." "Come again?" "Oh, here we go," sighed NCM. "Drama-Queen Aph goes on a cloak and dagger trip!" "Come *on,* NCM," Aph replied, "you know as well as I do if they leave the city without making some kind of false backtrail, Jensen'll be on them like a cheap sweater." "*Jensen?*" Lynn and Tom blurted in unison. The name was without meaning to the rest of the Lawndale contingent, but it obviously denoted Bad News to those two. "Aw, crap," Tom added, "by rights we should *all* be dead by now." "You're absolutely sure?" Lynn then took a moment to think. "Oh, listen to me; after the Capital, of *course* it was going to be Jensen." "Well, we kind of deserved it after that thing with the light bulbs." A.P. seemed disgusted. "You...you *did* the light bulb thing?" "Oh, it was *not* as bad as fun with toothpaste," Lynn assured him. "I will *never* forgive you for not letting me in on this." "And he followed us from *Washington?*" "No," replied Lynn, "I'd assume he was at least watching us since Highland, Rust." "Aw, *crap*!" "EVERYBODY SHUT UP!" Everyone turned and looked at Kes. "Thank you. Now. You have some things to sort out. Like how you're going to get out of Pittsburgh incognito. The stories about who Jensen is and why he's after you and who's going to kill whom for not letting this information out sooner are going to have to wait." "And what are *you* going to do?" NCM asked her. "If you're lucky, keep my mouth shut." "*That'll* be the day." "For a change, be serious. Do you have any clue what Uncle Jerome will DO to H if he finds out what came of this mission?" Tom went extremely pale. "I thought you *liked* watching people get tortured..." "Only from a virtual standpoint. And anyway, he seems to be friendly with this lot." "Not really." "A.P..." Lynn warned. "Are we starting this again?" Kes snapped. After a momentary pause for sanity, "Now what's your idea, Aph?" Aph got a scheming look on her face that the Lawndale group didn't like much at all. * * * Backstage in the grubby theatre, Lynn was holding a garment bag and looking about five miles beyond pissed-off -- not that any of the others was a whole lot more thrilled. "*Janet?*" she fumed. "Are you *nuts?*" "Cullen..." Tom started to say. Lynn wheeled on Daria. "Why can't *you* do it?" "Ever heard me sing?" came the reply. "Then why can't *Jane*--" Tom interjected. "You don't want to hear *her* sing either." "HEY!" "Hey, look," A.P. joined in, "I can't sing either. Why this Brad guy?" Aph entered in time to catch this last. "It doesn't matter if Brad can't sing. He's supposed to be a non-hero anyway." "Magenta," Daria observed. "Huh. Why not the Narrator? I can do deadpan..." "Who would you *rather* see as Magenta -- *her?*" This with reference to Quinn, who was sitting in a chair in the corner, lost somewhere in the first few pages of _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_ -- if I had to guess, I'd say she saw the word "gossip" on the first page and it leaped out at her. "No, *her.*" The "her" in that case, Jane, was looking at a glittery top hat with some interest. "Rocky Horror Show actor-types," she said, nearly to herself. "Not a bad way to go out, I guess..." She did a half-assed tap step. "Eat your heart out, Ann Miller..." "Try to sound like your little friend there when you say that..." Aph suggested. "Eich. Do I *have* to?" "If we're going to do this," Lynn muttered, "let's do the bloody thing right." "Goodie!" Aph gushed. "Let's go! Oh *Kes*..." Kes stepped out looking really pissed off, wearing a French maid's uniform in livid pink. "*ahem* The shoes..." Kes glanced at her boots, then replied, "You can have my Docs when you pry them from my cold dead feet. Are we going to argue about this?" "Well, okay...but you're going to look like an idiot." "`Going to'?" Aph just giggled. "Have I extemporised lately on just how much I hate you?" "Awww! The feeling's mutual, amiga!" "Why does that exchange sound so familiar?" Jane asked Daria. They looked at Kes and Aph...then at each other...then facefaulted as they saw the resemblances. "Behold our future," Daria stated flatly. After a moment, they shuddered in unison. * * * And so, up on the stage, Jane as Columbia doing her tap-dance routine in "Let's Do the Time Warp Again." As she went through it, the audience did the "2-4-6-8, show us how you masturbate" chant. Trent, watching from the wings, clenched his fists until his knuckles went white. By the time they got up to "6-8-10-12, she's so hot she'll blow a valve," he had to unclench, as his fingernails were starting to cut into his palms. * * * Not much later, Trent himself was onstage in full Frank N. Furter costume. "I see you shiver with antici..." After about three seconds, a jumble of audience reactions came at him. "SAY IT!/This movie would suck without audience partici.../Say it! Say it! Master! Master!/Say it! Say it! Consti! Consti!" Trent, completely flummoxed, forgot the line. Jane blinked, realized what'd happened, and blurted out, "PATION!" The audience cheered and catcalls. Trent looked gratefully at Jane before going on to suggest that maybe the rain wasn't really to blame. ("NO, SUE'S TO BLANE!") * * * Much later, in silhouette, "Janet" was in bed with "Frank" as the plot demanded. "Yes, yes, I know," said Trent, "but it isn't all bad, is it?" "IT ISN'T BRAD EITHER!" "I think you really found it quite pleasurable." "Oh, stop..." "DON'T! STOP! DON'T STOP! DON'T STOP!" "I mean help...Brad, Brad!...Oh Brad!!" "HE'S NOT DOWN THERE. HE'S *NEVER* BEEN DOWN THERE!" In the wings, A.P. looked like someone had just cut his heart out and poured barbecue sauce on it. * * * Beauty and his Beast perished together, the castle returned home, and crawling on the planet's face, some insects called the human race were lost in time ("WHAT WAS THE WORST MOVIE OF 1998?"), lost in space and meaning. Outside the theatre, near dawn, the gang was piling into their various vehicles. Lynn took time for a few last words with Kes. "You're not going to talk to Dad about this, are you?" "Not even going to TALK to Uncle Jerome, honestly. Just said that to shut NCM up." "I HEARD THAT!" Tom stepped over. "We're out of here. Rota?" "We're not following the rota," Daria pointedly observed from behind him. "Jane, A.P. and I are in the Merc. With Lynn. We have some things to discuss." Lynn looked trapped, then shrugged with a sigh and walked off, out of Tom's view. "OOOH!" Quinn fumed. "The next person who calls me Narcissa is going to get a...a..." You could hear the smirk in Lynn's voice. "The Furnunculus charm ...Mrs. Malfoy?" The even more indignant tone of Quinn's next "OOOOOH!" indicated that she'd gotten far enough into the book for that shot to hit. There were chuckles from all concerned as the car doors closed. _Backstory: Funked-Up Fairy Tales_ "So now you're standing there tongue-tied You better learn your lesson well Hide what you have to hide And tell what you have to tell" -- Depeche Mode, "Policy of Truth" Lynn was behind the wheel of the Merc, looking miserably out at the road. Daria in the shotgun seat, and Jane and A.P. in the back, were carefully not looking at her, in case it came out accusatory. Lynn sighed. "Okay, where do you want me to start?" Daria wasn't sure she *wanted* to know anymore, but it kind of looked like she'd *have* to. "Basics, mainly. What does Jerome do?" "It's not obvious yet?" A pause to let the others achieve spiritual preparation. "He's a crime baron, Daria. A Don. A Godfather." A long pause followed that little bombshell. "..." Daria observed at length, then added, "...Oh." "Not your average, though. The Smythes got their start back around Prohibition, when Great-Grandfather Gerald and his wife Amanda conned enough money for passage to America out of a Coventry shopowner. They wound up on the same boat as some Sicilian Family who had just buried their Consigliore..." A confused but audible Maverick blink. "Advisor, A.P. Anyway, word got around about how they got the money together for the trip and, after watching Gerald for a few days, the Sicilians decided that they could do worse than to ask *him* to take the position. They had no one better within the Family anyway. So by the time the boat docked, Gerald and Amanda were Mafiosi." "But they became a family in their own right?" "Not six months later, in fact. Gang war -- the Don and his immediate family murdered, the Family structure in ruins. So Gerald rallied the survivors...and decided to build a better mousetrap." "What, they went into carpentry?" "Shut up, A.P., I want to hear this!" Jane barked. Lynn ignored the byplay. "He figured that, if he kept on in the same vein as the Sicilians had, he'd meet the same end. But if he stopped competing with the other Families and started *catering* to them, he'd be sure to survive. So he dropped the gambling, whoring and drug rings and went into weapons dealing, espionage, information, sabotage and the very occasional, very quiet expert assassination." "I should have guessed. I *so* should have guessed." "Gerald's plan worked out better than he could have hoped...and he had a thriving Family name to hand on to his children. Fraternal twins, if you care - Janus and Judas." "The Smythes have the weirdest sense of humor," Daria noted. "Hey, *my* name means `beautiful serpent' - don't talk to me about sense of humor." A moment's silence. "Anyway, Janus is Jan's grandmother -- Jan the elder changed the spelling of her name to J-A-N- *I-C-E*, got married and distanced herself from the Family. Judas, on the other hand, took to it like a duck takes to water and set out on a recruitment program -- picking only the experts in the Family specialties. And so *he* got married, and he and his wife had Dad, and then Lorna. And so it went." "Until...?" Lynn looked askance at her sister. "Come on. Things are not going so well three or four generations in." "That would be Kate. Or, as she is referred to within the Family, Jezebel." "Ouch." Lynn shrugged. "Can you blame Dad? Fine, he never really displayed what you'd call parenting instinct, but what can you expect from someone who spent most of his life at an English boarding school?" Daria blinked, remembering Celeste's visit. "Boarding school." A moment to squeeze the next words out. "In England." A pause for more nerving. "Not Hertfordshire." "Yes, actually." Daria went bleached. "Called St. Christopher. By all rights, I should have been sent there when I hit eleven -- about five generations of Smythes have gone there; it's sort of a tradition." Lynn paused a moment, remembering stories. "*Weird*-ass place, Jan tells me. The chemistry teacher has a thing about explosives and the Poli- Sci teacher quotes Machiavelli. Founded by ex-Quakers, vegetarian, with a senile headmaster and a Theatre Studies teacher who'll pass you on the convincing delivery of your excuses as often as your homework." After a moment, she shot another askance look at Daria. "Why?" "Tell me you've never heard of St. Francis." "Have, actually. Strict Catholic boarding school a quarter-mile down the road from St. Chris. Why?" _Because you could have ended up there -- and I do mean "ended up."_ "Don't. Even. Ask." _Okaaay..._ "Anyway, Dad may not have had a clue, but Jezebel was, if anything, worse. Her idea of parenting was shoving a square peg, i.e. me, into a round hole, i.e. the same power-suit-and-stock- market mentality she'd developed." "And this interfered with Jerome...?" "Not until I was five, and Grandpa Judas died. Then Dad had to take his place as...well, Don, for lack of a better word. Which meant he felt he had to tell Jezebel all about it." "Eeeep." A.P. got Looks from Daria and Jane for that. "You don't get it. You barely met Kate, so you don't get it. She doesn't... like...rule-breaking. She makes Ms. Li look slack when it comes to that." Lynn nodded. "Jezebel hit the roof and severed all ties with the Family...taking me with her for reasons I'll never understand. And all that went well until I was about nine and..." "And it became obvious," Daria observed, "that you were nearly scarily like Jerome." A sigh. "At which point she denied Dad visitation rights, threatening to expose him if he came anywhere near me again. She hoped that cutting him out of my life completely would stop me being...well, me." "Fat chance. I never even *knew* him until a few months ago and look how *I* turned out." After a moment, Daria had a thought. "But what would have happened to the Family if Jerome hadn't remarried and had another...successor?" "Jan had what it took, Dad thought. That's why she went to England -- she went to St. Chris to finish her *ahem* 'education'. Just in case. Dad didn't really want to marry again anyway." "So, after all that," Jane raised the new burning question, "why did people come after *you?*" "The Smythes have a few rules that so far have never been broken. For example, we don't hit many people, so our few assassins are sort of on semi-independent hire, and they are not allowed to take a contract on any Smythe affiliate. And the main one is total neutrality in the case of inter-Family war. We may do the sabotage and get the information that will bring a Family down, but everyone knows that it's only for profit. And we don't double-cross." She took a moment to nerve herself to tell them the rest of it. "Bryce Merritt wasn't accepting that." "Merritt?" Daria boggled. "Another Don, so to speak. It's not just Sicilians anymore. He wanted Dad to arrange for some double-agent work that, by his own rules, he couldn't accept. Merritt tried everything from bribery to blackmail...then threatened to do damage to Dad's `estranged family.'" She shrugged, like it was nothing much. Fortunes of war. A.P., on the other hand, was livid enough for both of them. "And he *still* didn't do anything?" "He watched Oakwood." "But you weren't *in* Oakwood anymore..." Jane objected. "But he didn't *know* that. So while Dad was watching Oakwood, Merritt got Jensen -- his right hand -- to set up a team to free Ms. Li. That way their hands were clean *and* their threat was carried out." A pause for thought. "They were keeping better tabs on me than he was, it seems." "Lynn--" Daria began. Lynn rolled over her, wanting anything but sympathy. "Anyway, the rest you basically know. Dad found out and came to the hospital, Jezebel's threats be damned. And when he found out that she'd hauled ass for Tokyo and wasn't coming back until I was a legal adult, he fixed things so that I could cut all ties with *her* if I wanted to. And made sure I at least got some rudimentary training in Family matters. Next thing I know, I'm driving around the US running errands and getting myself -- and you guys -- stuck eye-deep in Smythe/Merritt rivalry crap." She sighed. "I'm really sorry, guys. This was *not* my idea." "That *Rust* guy," snarled A.P. "Pretty much. He announced it awhile before the play. I took off because he wanted to make sure I saw some contacts, like I said... but he also saw that I was beyond what training he could give me and sent me out to...some experts. That's where I picked up the Japanese, by the way. There's these two firearm *nuts* in San Francisco..." She went glum. "...well, you'll meet them, I assume. No point in keeping you out of it *now*..." "There was *ever* a point?" boggled Jane. Lynn started to get hacked off -- then thought about it and sighed. "Of *course* there was a point. I didn't want you to be where you are *now.*" She considered this. "Yeah. *That* worked." "Well, *you* at least *tried,*" muttered A.P. After a moment, he grumbled on. Not like that *Rust* guy, who just..." "A.P...." Daria interceded. "Well, he..." "He has a point, Daria," Lynn conceded. "He pretty much forced this on us. If you want more info on this tour, I'd suggest going and beating it out of *him.*" "We already considered that," Jane admitted. "And...?" "Somehow," Daria ruefully confessed, "we never got around to it." She thought about that. "But with *your* help, maybe. So, that story about that bookstore?" "Just that. A story...." Which we'll let her tell in first- person narration. * * * There I was, hiding behind a shelf in "Come Again," trying very hard to look like someone who wasn't there, while Tom made the approach to the proprietor: the "Leopard Lady" as she's called, or "Leopard" for short, which she is -- about 5'1" with light brown hair and what I can only describe as an attractively pouty seriousness in her face. "Um... hi," he said. "Heydy! Don't feel ashamed!" "Um..." "So, what kind of entertainment are you looking for?" "Well..." "We have all kinds, from A for--" Tom cut her off. "I'm not here for books." "Magazines, then?" "Yes. -- And *not* the kind you read," he added meaningfully. "Indeed?" She looked him cautiously up and down. Even from my vantage point behind the shelf, I could clearly see her wondering, _Is he an undercover cop?_ "I'm not a cop." "That's what they all say." Tom floundered a moment. Luckily for him, I decided it was about time I stepped out from behind that shelf. "He's clean." Leopard did a doubletake, seeing my resemblance to dad. "You must be..." She took in the jacket. "...the Purple Peril I've heard of." "That would be me, yes." "And *you'd* be Missing H, Remora's son." "That's *Rust!*" "Whatever. Elliot! Cover for me for a bit?" "Will do," came the reply. So we all went to the back of the store to have our conference. "Tom," I said, "take a look at this." "They wanted *what?*" Tom spun on Leopard. "What about it?" "It's illegal in this country," I pointed out. "So?" "*So* we can't get it to them," Tom explained. "Not for *that* price, anyway. And what's this...an M40A1 for *that* price?" "To one of our own. You know who out in SF, for you know who." "Who?" I think I smirked slightly. "*Oh.*" You see, *I* knew who. Tom looked Leopard over and cocked an eyebrow. "Speaking of guns, what's that at your hip?" It looked like a pistol, but the grip looked like... "The Love Gun," came her reply. "The *what?*" "The Love Gun. Combination firearm/vibrator." "Must take care of the problem of oiling it." He realized what had just come out of the same mouth he eats with, then blushed like an anime schoolgirl. "Ican'ttbelieveIjustsaidthat." "How do you shoot straight with that thing?" I wondered, just out of professional interest. "Experience. Practice." She gave us a sly grin. "Intimate familiarity." I was pretty sure that had been *way* too much information, so I pulled out what Slack might call the Sledgehammer of Subject-Changing. "A rocket launcher?" "A rocket launcher." "Where did this rocket launcher *go to?*" Tom demanded. "One of our own." "You *sure* about that?" "Yup. He came by to get it himself. Him and...well, you know. His umfriend." "Riiiiight," I said. "We're done here." "Good. Oh, Rust?" "Yes?" said he. "Piece of advice. Watch this game, kid, or one of these days you're gonna be five-oh-dead." "I told you. I'm *not* undercover." "Doesn't matter. You *talk* like an undercover." * * * "...and then we came out to find you guys waiting for us. That's all." "Good," Daria nodded solemnly. "Somehow, Tom never struck me as the adult book author type." "Yeah," Jane smirked. "Write what you know and all that." It took a second or two for that comment to sink in...but when it did, everyone laughed. _Way Out West: Sunset Gun_ "I'll take you on a skyride, feeling like you're spellbound The sunshine is a lady who rocks you like a baby! She says hello, you fool, I love you, c'mon, join the joyride" -- Roxette, "Joyride" They stopped for the night at a Motel 6 somewhere in Iowa. Everyone was lounging in one of the rooms eating when Tom observed, "Crap," then added, "Crapcrapcrap." "What is the matter now?" Lynn wondered. "We forgot Michigan." "Hmm? Oh, Chopper." "It was an if possible, but still. After Pitts..." "Which reminds me." With an edged politeness in her voice, she said, "Tom, conference...if you would." He glanced up. "Um...sure." They exebant, headed for one of the group's other rooms. "And there they go," A.P. muttered to Daria, "sneaking off to be alone..." "I'm sure it's just business," she assured him. "That's almost as bad." * * * Chain motels being what they are, the other room was about cookie-cutter identical to the first one, though Motel 6 rooms are indeed as clean and comfortable as they claim. Tom and Lynn were in mid-yellout -- he flat on his back on one of the beds, she pacing like a caged Peril. "You had perfect cover," he reminded her. "Ye-es...but `What part of "I don't want any part of this" don't you *get?*'" she reminded him right back. "You're a Smythe. You're the Falcon's blood and heir. And, as you already know, you *have* a part of this. Wanted or not." "Choice or not." "Afraid not. This is the life you were born to." "And I find out about my so-called bloody 'birthright' eighteen years later. Way to *go,* Falcon." "More like way to go, Jezebel." Lynn dropped onto the other bed. "Maybe. But Mister Criminal Mastermind could have found a way, no? No phone calls at midnight? No postcards in code? No anonymous notes in my locker?" "Take that up with him." "What about *Daria?*" "What *about* Daria?" Lynn hopped to her feet and made as if to backfist him...then stopped dead. "I'll take it you're just being a smartass." "Yeah." He took a moment to weigh phrasing. "Daria changes everything. The two of you could do a lot of damage together." "So Dad orchestrated this to get her *in* on it?" Tom looked at her. "It was what he wanted." A sheepish nod. "Well, what about what *I* want?" "You didn't even give Daria the choice." Lynn stopped dead again...thought some more...then slammed out of the room. * * * "I'm dressing as *who?*" Lynn demanded in the dirty backstage. "And singing *what?!*" "Kill me later," Tom informed her. "Do it *now.*" "You'd better *believe* kill you later, you little--" "You know the lyrics?" "Regrettably." "Wow. That's even more amazing than `The Gambler.'" Lynn started to go that really weird shade of maroon. "How the *hell* do you know about *that?*" "Erm..." he intelligently replied. "Later for you. And later," she muttered, "for a certain techno- weasel." At a normal volume, she added, "Now scoot." "Scoot?" "I'm not changing into this in front of you! If I had any choice, I wouldn't even *wear* this in front of you!" "`Me.'" "*Any*one." Tom exited and walked into the rest of the group. Lynn poked her head out behind him and surveyed them. "I see *any* of you in the audience...Method 27." "Eep," A.P. commented. He thought a moment, then replied, "But there *isn't* a..." Lynn cleared her throat dangerously. "Yes there *is.* And you don't want to know. A.P. remembered her comments about the DC job. "EEP." And so Lynn had no unwanted friends there to see her take the stage in the Britney Spears Catholic-schoolgirl kink outfit. The music started, and surprisingly enough, it wasn't "Baby, One More Time." "o/~ Oops, I did it again I played with your heart, got lost in the game... o/~" I think that's enough to make the point, don't you? * * * Lynn, in the lead, flashed her hazard lights and pulled the Merc over at a lookout point somewhere in the Rocky Mountains. The rest of the caravan pulled in around her. She passed Jane (who was in the passenger seat) her keys and got out, walking around to the trailer. Tom got out of the Rustbucket and ran over to her. "Lynn, what are you doing?" Lynn started unwrapping Amethyst as the rest of the group gathered around. "I didn't haul my bike all this way for naught." "Oh no you don't." "Oh no I don't *what?*" Tom backed off, a little. "At least you don't go alone." "What," she snarked, "you volunteering as a passenger?" Jane smirked as she quite literally shoved A.P. at Lynn. "What about the Psycho-Maverick?" Tom allowed as. "He's light." And so that's how she came to bedriving at full speed on the curvy mountain road, obviously enjoying the hell out of herself. Meanwhile, riding pillion, A.P. had a death grip on her midsection (which, truth to tell, she didn't exactly mind either) and his eyes tightly shut. If you'd been close enough to listen *very* carefully to him, you could almost have heard him muttering something that sounded like "Yeathoughiwalkthroughthevalleyoftheshadowofdeathiwillfearnoevil..." * * * Daria and Lynn went into a casino in Reno, Nevada, and almost literally ran into the manager -- a rather pathetic, entirely bald, extremely fat man of middle years, who squinted at them. "You must be the sister act." He looked at them a moment. "You don't look *that* much alike..." In unison, they pulled their glasses off, looked him square in the face and said, "Excuse me?" Dead silence for a moment as he stared at them. Without the specs, the resemblances goes into the realm of the downright eerie. "All right," he said once he'd recovered. Then he turned to Lynn. "Do something about the hair. You're on in thirty." He waddled off. Lynn looked at Daria. "He wants me to..." "Best not to think about it." After a moment, it hit her what else he'd wanted. "We're on in *thirty?* What the hell can we cook up in thirty minutes?" Lynn was still in shock. "He actually expects me to..." Daria took her sister by the shoulders and shook her. "*Lynn!* You're the stage-oriented one! Think. Of. Something!" A thoughtful look passed over the Peril's face...then she raised an eyebrow at Daria. "Play it for all it's worth?" Daria looked at her dubiously. * * * Out front, it was a really ritzy-looking bar-floor-show kind of place -- they do have names, but the name of this one is also being suppressed to protect the innocent. The gang were sitting at a couple of tables near the front of the stage. Tom was looking *extremely* nervous. "Guys, why don't we go find something else to do?" "This place is *lame!*" Quinn chimed in. "I want to go do something *fun!*" "Come *on,* guys," Max insisted, "this isn't so bad!" "I'll stay," Jane shrugged, "but if that curtain goes up and I see Tom Jones standing behind it, I'm going to scream." Tom was starting to get really twitchy. "Guys, if so many of you think this is--" A.P. interrupted. "Rust...you said the Twin Terrors were onstage here tonight. Why the hell don't..." Then it hit him. "They'll kill you if they see us here, right?" Tom gave a miserable nod. AP settled back in his seat with a smirk. As Tom looked to the others for help, they all did the same, with equally evil smirks -- even Quinn. Tom slumped his shoulders in utter despair. If you'd somehow been up on the stage, you could have heard soft voices from behind the curtains. One of them was monotonously chanting, "Icantbelieveimdoingthisicantbelieveimdoingthisicantbelieveim..." "Shut *up,*" said the other. "I can't believe I'm doing this either but I'm dealing with it." Daria took a deep calming breath. "Okay. But you have plans for Tom?" You could just *hear* the smirk in Lynn's voice. "With a role written specially for you." At this point, the curtain came up to reveal Daria and Lynn, in skimpy Vegas floor-show costumes, peering out over feathered fans. They'd dispensed with their glasses, and Lynn now had bangs cut in her hair, so to all visual tests, they were entirely identical. In their seats, the rest of the gang all looked -- well, the British word "gobsmacked" covers it more nicely than any Americanism other than maybe "poleaxed" -- except Tom, who simply cringed even further back into his seat. "Nrgh..." A.P. and Trent observed in unison, then looked at each other suspiciously. "o/~ Sisters, sisters, o/~" the look-alikes sang in unison, "o/~ Never saw two more devoted sisters...o/~" Lynn was harmonizing high and Daria low. Lynn took the [] part, singing sweetly, "o/~ Never had to have a chaperone, no sir...o/~" "I'm here to keep my eye on her," Daria speak-sang in her usual deadpan, fighting flashbacks to the movie-musical dream. It went on in that vein, with that partitioning of parts. "o/~ All kinds of weather, we stick together The same in the rain or sun... Two different faces, but in tight places We think and we act as one... o/~" At their tables, the gang were, as one body, mouthing something that looked suspiciously like _Two different faces, my ass._ "o/~ Those who've seen us...o/~" Daria nearly sounded sweet. "Know that not a thing could come between us..." "o/~ Many men have tried to split us up, but no one can... o/~" They went into a very brief can-can step; one could oh-so-nearly hear Lynn muttering to Daria, _Can-can-and-two-and-three-and-four-and..._ "o/~ Lord help the mister Who comes between me and my sister And Lord help the sister Who comes between me and my man! o/~" They went into another brief can-can-style dance routine as the music ended and the curtain went down. A.P. was flabbergasted. "How...did you get them...to do *that?*" Jane knew. "You didn't tell them, did you?" Tom shook his head sheepishly. "Front row seats for the carnage, ten bucks." "I'll bring popcorn." Tom somehow managed to glare and shrink at the same time. * * * Daria and Lynn were coming offstage. "You are *beyond* evil," Daria observed as they made their way down the backstage corridor. Lynn smirked, entirely too pleased with herself. "And aren't you proud to be related to me?" They stopped for a moment, looked at each other...then blushed a bit and got going again. As they reached the door to their dressing room, Lynn suddenly froze and cut her eyes to the side. Daria followed her gaze -- to a couple of fairly burly types who were looking at them and talking amongst themselves. One of them pulled a gun. For a moment, Daria just stared. Her mouth was suddenly moving, without her meaning it to, and her voice was saying, "Lynn... they..." Lynn had, by this time, got the door open and yanked her inside the fairly nice dressing room. She slammed the door and locked it. "Okay, grab whatever you literally cannot live without and let's go." "But you locked the door; we have time--" "Door lock. Gun. *BANG!*" Daria just about jumped out of her skin. "No more door lock. Now let's *go!*" They grabbed jackets from the pegs where they were hanging and glasses from the table under those pegs. There was the scrape of a window opening. Then came the predicted *BANG*. The door, with its lock now shot out, burst open and the burly guys came barging in...only to find the room empty. "Window?" one of them asked, gesturing to the open window. "Doubt it." His partner gestured to a door on the other side of the dressing room, then moved to it and opened it. It opened up onto another corridor...and with the door open, the men could just hear running footsteps in the distance. * * * In a shadowed area at the back of the casino, a door opened and Daria and Lynn stepped out, in glasses and jackets over the skimpy floor-show outfits. Daria looked behind her, listened, then jerked a thumb over her shoulder. Lynn nodded and went that way while Daria dashed in the other direction. A moment later, the burly guys entered the casino floor through the same door and looked around. To the left, they could see a green jacket disappearing behind one row of slot machines. Meanwhile, a purple jacket blended into a crowd of people around a roulette table to the right. "You take the Morgendorffer girl," said our second contestant. "I'll go after the Peril." His partner nodded and took off to the left. * * * Out in the parking lot, the Lawndalers' vehicles were parked and the rest of them were waiting impatiently. Of a sudden, they heard running footsteps. Tom was the first to speak. "Peril, you look like hell! What..." Standing there in Lynn's jacket and glasses, Daria blinked at him, slightly stunned. "`Peril'?" She looked at herself...at Lynn's jacket...then at Tom...and just about everyone facefaulted. "Aw hell." The second burly guy came around a corner and found himself faced with nine unimpressed teenagers, one of whom pulls a gun out of the waistband of his trousers and pointed it at him. "Go. Away. Or I. Will shoot you." The guy thought about this, decided he didn't like the odds, and scarpered. "Now where's Purple Peril?" * * * Most of the slot machines in the row didn't seem to work, and the row itself was deserted. The first guy, gun drawn, stepped in cautiously. As he passed its location, a foot lashed out and tripped him. He went down heavy and was struck hard in the back of the head with the broken- off arm of a slot-machine as he fell. Lynn stepped out from behind two slot machines, took his gun, pointed it at Guy 1's head...then sighed and put it away. "And Dad says I have what it takes to be an assassin," she muttered to herself. "Like hell." She took off the way he'd come in. * * * She came jogging up to the cars, taking off the green jacket as she did so, and proffered it to Daria. "I believe this is yours?" "Took care of business?" asked Tom. A shrug. "In a way. Can we get out of here before someone comes looking?" Tom seemed to want to press the point, but was in no position to do so, as he was hustled rather sharply towards the Rustbucket by Trent. "Give Nick the keys," Sir Naps-a-Lot rasped. "I want to talk to you. About getting us all in this kind of shit." Tom looked like he'd rather face Daria and Lynn's wrath, but complied with Trent out of sheer fear as they all got into the cars and drove off. _Interlude 2: Nerve Center_ "Gentlemen, you can't fight in here! This is the War Room!" -- President Merkin Muffley (Peter Sellers), _Dr. Strangelove, or how I learned to stop worrying and love the Bomb_ (1964), dir. Stanley Kubrick, scr. Kubrick, Terry Southern and Peter George (suggested by Mr. George's novel _Red Alert_) A map of the US was pinned to one wall of the large room. It had pins stuck in at Highland, Long Beach, Orlando, DC, Pittsburgh, Detroit and Reno. Jensen walked over and pushed a pin in at Glen Rock. "New Jersey?" Merritt wondered. "Read that article about that high school?" "No..." Jensen handed over a piece of paper. "Read." Merritt read it through silently, then admitted, "That's a Smythe job, all right." "Yep." "Any idea where they're headed?" "Down I-80. Straight for us." "Beautiful. Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly." "I still want those two redheads from Pitts. Bait." "They're still civilians." "No one's a civilian." "Jensen...nothing permanent." "Fair enough." "To the redheads, anyway. On the Peril, you get carte blanche." Jensen grinned like a shark. "Just don't let them link up with Warlock and his group." "I'll make sure of it. Don't want them leaving town before I can pick off the redheads." _San Francisco: Surprise! You're Dead!_ "A thousand lifetimes long ago We made a promise we would not let go And so I come for you tonight And we live again, before we lose each other" -- Bad English, "Forget Me Not" Quinn struggled across the darkened hotel parking lot with her duffel bag, cursing under her breath. She passed the van -- and a hand grabbed hold of her shoulder. She screamed. "Chill out, Narcissa! Damn, my eardrums! I'm already gonna get tinnitis from all this band crap!" Quinn was shocked. "A.P.?!" "Where the hell d'you think you're going, Narcissa?" Then he noticed something. "And with the luggage?" "I...I...I..." "*Breathe,* Narcissa. Erudite Emerald would kill me if you asphyxiated on me." "HEY! Don't be rude!" "I wasn't...I didn't..." He sighed. "Never mind, you can talk now, so where the hell d'you think you're going?" "I want to go home. I...I miss Ted, and Stacy, and even Mom and Dad, and...and I'm sick of being *chased* by people and...and..." She began to cry. A.P. was feeling a little panicked. "Um...um...um...can you not do that?" She kept crying. A.P. dug around in his pocket and came out with a blue bandanna, which he handed to Quinn. "Um...it's clean. Promise." Quinn took the bandanna and started drying her eyes. "I...I mean...I'm *not* going back and I don't care *what* you do or say or *anything!* I'm not--" "Sorry to interrupt, but you sound like Ponytail Barbie and I can't take that. Slow. Down." HONQUE! Quinn blew her nose. A.P. looked slightly disgusted -- _My poor bandanna,_ he thought. "I'm gonna get to the Greyhound station and I'm gonna get a ticket home and you can't stop me!" "Um..." He took out a small spray canister of what looked like breath freshener. "Yes I can. Did you hear about the guard dogs?" Quinn's eyes went wide. She had indeed heard about Ms. Li's guard dogs...and Kevin. That must be his knockout gas, then. "You wouldn't. I mean, you...you couldn't *carry* me back there..." "No-oo...but I *could* tie you up and throw you in the van... get the guys to haul your ass back to the hotel." He let that sink in, then went on, more kindly. "Look, why not go back, sit down, and we can talk about this. I mean, at least let someone make sure you get to the station all right. I mean, we're up to our necks in gangsters and who *knows* what--" His musings were cut short by the nasty little sound of a gun being cocked. His eyes went very wide, and he slowly cut them to the side. Someone he didn't know -- a tall guy with dark hair -- was pointing a gun at the Maverick's head. With a smirk in his voice, he said, "Good morning, campers..." "Lemme guess," A.P. replied, trying to hide the fear. "You are Uncle Ernie and you welcome us to Tommy's holiday camp." After a moment, he realized something. Genuinely amazed, he observed, "I don't believe I got a music ref--" The sentence was cut off abruptly as the stranger pistol-whipped A.P. and he went down. Quinn screamed, but that was cut short too. * * * Some time later, Lynn's voice was audible from the other side of the door. "...don't *care.* I'm gonna *kill* that little--" The last word was cut off by the door banging open and Lynn storming out into the lot. Coming out behind her elder sister, Daria scowled at her. "Look, she's a little freaked out right now and can you blame her? If she came through the parking lot, A.P. will have seen her and stopped her." Lynn suddenly froze in her tracks. "A.P.'s out here. On his own." She thought a moment, but couldn't sum it up any better than by saying, "No one has any sense." "Um...did we get a ticket or something?" She pointed to the Merc, which had a scrap of something colorful tucked under the windshield wiper. They looked at each other. "Bad bad feeling about this." Lynn broke into a run and headed for the Merc, with Daria following behind. On closer inspection, the scrap turned out to be two scraps of cloth. One was pink -- a scrap of Quinn's T-shirt. The canister of knockout spray was tied to the end -- someone had obviously thought it was still breath freshener in there. The other was blue -- the sleeve of A.P.'s jacket. Both were stained with blood. Lynn went very still and a strange expression crossed her face -- someone inside her skull had not only pushed the insanity button, but pounded on the bastard thing until it stuck in the ON position. Daria guessed, correctly as it happens, that Lynn must have looked like this right before she'd gone through 15 Glenview Road with paint-gun and sledgehammer, systematically obliterating anything with Kate Cullen's personality-prints on it. Quite frankly, she was scared as hell. "Oh, God, no..." As she removed the bloody scrap of blue cloth from under the windshield, Lynn said, in a dead tone, "God has nothing to do with this." After a moment, she added, "Excuse me." And she walked away. Calmly, to outward appearances. Daria could tell her sister was anything but calm, no matter her demeanor, and that scared her even more. "You're not going to do anything *stupid,* are you?" "Define `stupid'!" "That's a yes," Daria informed herself. She grabbed the bit of Quinn's shirt and broke into a run. "*Lynn!*" * * * In the hotel room, Tom was working on a laptop when the door burst open and Lynn stormed in with something in her stride indicating that she didn't much care what or who she might step on. He looked up and at once recognized that look. "Cullen, stand *down!*" "No. Someone dies for this." She started rummaging in her suitcase. Daria ran in and started talking directly to Tom. "They're gone. Both of them. They..." She made a choked noise and handed over the scrap of Quinn's T-shirt and the canister of spray. Tom examined the shirt scrap, then looked at the piece of blue cloth still clenched in Lynn's hand. "Jensen." "No, some *other* crooked-ass piece of criminal garbage that's been following us across the bloody country. Of *course,* Jensen, you stupid..." Rummaging in her suitcase, Lynn chucked a shirt across the room. "Do you see *now* why I didn't want them involved? Shit." "Cullen, I'm sorry, but..." He recoiled as Lynn pulled a silver .45 Magnum out of the suitcase and unzipped her jacket, stuffing the gun into her shoulder holster. "No, Cullen. Not this way. We wait and see...this could--" "*You* wait. Someone *dies* for this. And they die at *my* hand." "CULLEN!" "STUFF IT!" Tom took three steps over to her and slapped her across the face. She took it on the jaw and swung a fist, which he caught easily. "See? Are you in any frame of mind to attack anyone, let alone *them?* Now sit down," he shoved her down on the bed, "and shut up and let me think." She sprang right back up. "Rust, you--" He shoved her down again. "You're not going to listen to me, are you." He turned to Daria. "Talk to her. Maybe she'll listen to *you.* I'll leave you alone. This requires some thought." He headed for the door. Daria followed him a few paces. "Tom, if she tries something..." He handed her the canister of knockout spray still tied to the pink shirt-scrap. "Use that." "Easy for you to say. *You* don't have to deal with the consequences when she comes to." "Would you prefer her a little angry or a lot dead?" Daria looked at the floor, conceding the point, and Tom stalked out. Lynn sprawled out on the bed in the something-eating-at my-soul pose, still clutching A.P.'s jacket sleeve. Daria sat down on the bed next to her, looking worried. "You do see why you can't go after them, don't you?" "No. I see why you won't *let* me. There's a difference." That hung there a moment before she went on. "But I also see that it's something I have to do." "Look, I know how much you feel you owe him..." Lynn sat up and looked at her sister. "No you don't." "Lynn...when you were..." Daria sighed. "We thought you were going to die. I'd only just found out about how we're related. I wanted ...I wanted to know you better. So I asked A.P. for some anecdotes." Pause for self-nerving, then: "Your tenth birthday?" There was a long silence. Lynn looked at the piece of cloth in her hand and, presently, sighed. "Death by Drano, right. One of his better pieces of alliteration, as I recall." Moment of tension. "Well, you would have found out how warped I am eventually, I suppose." More tension. "If you're worried, I don't think it's genetic." "It's a different situation now, Lynn. He may have saved your life, but not at the expense of his own." "Yeah," Lynn confessed miserably, "but in that situation, it wasn't his fault. In this case, it's mine." A pause to swallow large chunks of pride, then an admission. "And anyway, that's not the point. It's not a question of friendship or debt. It...it goes deeper." Daria studied Lynn carefully...then realized what Lynn meant... and what Jane had meant on the trip toward DisneyHell...and her eyes went wide. "Wait...wait, you're not saying you--" Lynn took the opportunity to take a swing at Daria, getting in a glancing blow to the side of her sister's head. As Daria sat back, dazed, Lynn reached for the spray-can next to her, but Daria got enough hold of herself to hang onto it. Their struggles raised the canister to the level of their faces. Each had a thumb on the button. To each other, they said in unison, "Don't make me do this." They stared at each other for a moment before a thumb pressed down. * * * Quinn and A.P. were sitting up against a wall of a darkish room, hands locked behind their backs. Quinn was terrified. A.P. was looking very pale and a bit frightened, but pissed off as well. "What are we *doing* here?" Quinn whimpered. "Who are those *people?* I mean, what do they want with *us?*" "You've probably seen enough cartoons to know what we're here for." A.P. waited for a reply, then finally noticed Quinn's blank look. "*Bait,* Narcissa; we're bait." "But for *what?*" "Would you shut *up* a minute? I'm trying to think!" The silence he'd requested prevailed for a moment, then *ping!* "Hey, Narcissa, you got a bobby pin or something on you?" "DUH! Like I'd go anywhere without hair accessories..." "Where?" "Front right pocket, but..." A.P. thought a moment. "Okaaay..." He shifted himself forward and to the side so he could reach. "Now don't think I'm trying to grope you. I have taste." "HEY!" He slid a hand into her pocket and pulled out a packet of bobby pins, then started struggling to remove one from the packaging. When he'd managed that, he started trying to pick the lock on the cuffs with it. He was working blind, obviously, and moving very slowly, lest he lose the pin and have to start all over again. "What are you *doing?*" "Shutup, shutup, shut *up!* I've just about..." Snap. "*Yes!* Thank you, Purple Peril!" He rubbed his left wrist with the right, from which the handcuffs were still dangling. "Now, let me just--" Before he could move any further, the door banged open and the guy who'd caught them -- Jensen, his name seemed to be -- was standing there. "All right, you..." He noticed that A.P. was free. "You little..." A.P. tried to break and run, only to be stopped by a fist to the gut. Quinn screamed as he went down; Jensen then kicked him in the head. "Try that again and I'll break your fingers...in fact, I won't risk it." He turned to an underling who'd appeared behind him in response to the noise. "Wily. Get out a straitjacket." He kicked A.P. again for luck, then looked at Quinn. "*You're* not going to try anything stupid, are you?" Quinn shook her head spastically. "Of course you're not. You don't have the brains." Quinn glared at Jensen, who just smirked and took the handcuffs off A.P.'s right wrist. Wily returned with the straitjacket, and he and Jensen bundled A.P. none-too-gently into it, then dropped him on the floor. Jensen grabbed him by the hair and dragged his head up. "It'd be so damn satisfying to blow your head off." A pause, obviously for traumatic effect or whatever. "Damn shame I can't." He dropped A.P.'s head none-too-gently, then delivered another kick to A.P.'s ribs. Jensen turned to leave... ...and Quinn stuck a leg out, tripping him. He hit the floor hard, then got up into a kneeling position and smacked Quinn hard across the face. She fell over, trying not to cry. "And what was *that* supposed to accomplish?" "Not telling," she choked. Jensen looked at her speculatively for a moment. At length, "You're not worth the effort," he said scornfully. Then he got up and left. Quinn hauled herself back into a sitting position, then waited a moment to be sure he was gone. _Got to be strong. Daria would._ When she figured he couldn't possibly hear her, she buried her head in her knees and began to cry. * * * Jane and Tom were hovering in the hall, outside the closed door of the hotel room, with obvious concern. Finally, the damn door opened and Daria stepped out, a hand over her forehead, her face turned toward the floor. "Daria?" Tom blurted. "Are you okay?" "She blindsided me," came the reply. "I had to use the knockout stuff. And now I'm going to get some aspirin -- I have a headache. Excuse me." And she walked off. Jane and Tom looked at each other, then went in. * * * The girl in the green jacket stopped as she passed by the little gifts and notions shop in the hotel lobby. She looked at it a moment...then walked past it. As she passed the reception desk, she stopped. She wrote a short note, then addressed an envelope. She took off the glasses, put them into the envelope with the note, put on another pair and walked out of the building. She'd bought enough time to do what she had to do. * * * In the hotel room, Jane and Tom looked with some concern at the girl in the purple jacket, sprawled facedown on the bed with her hands tied behind her back. Tom crouched at her head. "Sorry, Cullen, but..." He lifted her head -- and blinked into the face he was presented with. "Oh no..." The sound of a motorcycle revving up became audible from outside. Tom dropped the girl's head and rushed to the window, flinging it open. "What the--?" Jane started to say. "DAMMIT, CULLEN!" he yelled out the window. Then he turned, running out of the room. "Crap!" he said in parting. "Crapcrapcrap!" Jane watched this exit, blinking in astonishment. Then, with sudden horrified realization, she looked into the unconscious girl's face. "...DARIA?" Daria, for indeed it was she, let out a quiet mutter from somewhere in the depths of chemically-induced sleep. Jane looked at Daria, then at the door Tom had run out through, then gave a long-suffering half-sigh, half-groan as she started untying Daria's hands. "Daria? Come on; rise and shine." Daria made a blurry noise that obviously wanted to be coherent English when it grew up. Jane struggled with the knots, then made a *really* frustrated noise and gave up, throwing up her hands in disgust. "They didn't teach me *this* damn knot in Girl Scouts!" She heard a nasty little *snick* noise behind her; when the knife was thrust into her field of vision, she nearly fell off the bed. She looked up. Tom looked sheepishly back at her, then at the blade, then reversed it and held it out to her by the hilt. "It worked for the Gordian knot. Why not this one?" Jane raised an eyebrow at him, then took the knife and sawed through the knot. Together they got Daria into the recovery position, just in case, then looked at each other. Tense silence. "I guess you didn't catch up with her?" "She was long gone by the time I got to the lobby. She left this." He held out Daria's glasses and the note. Jane ignored the glasses and grabbed straight for the note, reading it while Tom put the glasses on the bedside table for her convenience. Jane frowned at the note, then read it aloud, as if that might help her to understand. "`Mea culpa'?" A pause. "That's Latin, isn't it?" Tom nodded, nearly as confused as Jane and not concerned about whether it showed. "It means `my fault.' Or maybe it's `through my fault'; I'm not quite sure." "Some scholar *you* turned out to be." "Hey, that's not fair!" Daria stirred, opened her eyes...then sat bolt upright. She manages to stay that way for an impressive 1.4 seconds before she got a dizzy look and had to lower her head to keep from keeling back over. "She...she..." She looked at the purple jacket she had on. "You have to give it to her," she grudgingly admitted. "When it comes to wanton disobedience, she's the pro." Tom handed over her glasses. "What happened? How did she get the jump on you?" Daria put on the glasses, then looked coolly up at him. "You have to ask? You *trained* her." Tom stood up and started pacing. Daria sighed and got up, heading for the closet -- on her way, she unzipped the purple jacket and threw it aside. Jane sat on the bed, looking livid. "`Leave the sisters alone,' you said. `Daria will be able to talk some sense into Lynn,' you said. *Dammit,* Tom!" "Do you get some kind of sick pleasure out of rubbing salt in open wounds?" he asked her. "No, I prefer vinegar, actually; cleaner that way." She took a moment to ignore Tom's scowl before going on. "Can't you call someone? If you and Lynn are to be believed, Jerome has connections *everywhere.* Why not in San Francisco and surrounding areas?" "Because it would be more than my life is worth." Pause for non-comprehension. "Look, if he finds out that I let his daughter go tearing off after rivals on her own with no regard for her own personal safety, he would probably have my intestines for bootlaces. I'm supposed to be keeping her *out* of this sort of trouble!" He sighed. "Anyway, it might not be an issue. I don't even know if she knows where she's going." "She'll be able to find that out soon enough, Tom." Daria turned briefly away from looking in the closet to point out a book on the bedside table -- _The Beginner's Guide to Hiring a Hit Man_. "She can track a criminal if she has to." Pause to let that sink in. "And she really thinks she has to." As Daria pulled out a green jacket identical to the one Lynn had left in, Tom growled something very impolite under his breath and continued pacing. Jane grabbed the note and waved it in the air. "She left a note. `Mea culpa.'" With a stricken expression, Daria tossed the jacket onto the floor. "You know what it means." A bleak nod. "The least religious penitente on the planet." In silence, she pulled the Mississippi-bought forest green leather duster coat out of the closet and shrugged it on. Then she explained grimly, "She blames herself for getting us into this. So if anyone's going to risk getting killed getting Quinn and A.P. back, it's going to be her." Tom stopped pacing and stared at Daria. Jane, from her vantage point on the bed, likewise stared. Daria looked at herself in the duster coat and shrugged with a heavy sigh. Tom made a hissing noise that was almost worse than any profanity could have been before he went back to pacing. Jane thumped a fist on the bed. "What are we going to *do?*" "Correct me if I'm wrong, but it might be dangerous to make any move before we know what Lynn's doing." Daria looked at Tom, who gave a distracted nod. "Then we wait. One way or another, we'll hear how this turns out." "But--" "I don't like it any more than you do, Jane," something in Daria's voice hinted how near she was to breaking, "but I'm dealing with it; now *shut UP*!" Jane and Tom both stared at her. She turned her back. Jane was the first to look away, starting to fold the note into a paper crane. Tom looked at Daria a moment longer, then resumed pacing. * * * It was quite dark in the hostages' room now. A.P., straitjacketed, lay in a broken heap in one corner of the room. He moaned slightly whenever he forgot himself and tried to move. Quinn was curled up in a ball in another corner, hands still tied behind her back, whimpering. One whole side of her face was badly bruised. There was a scuffling noise, very slight, behind the door, and Quinn shrank back. Then the door opened, and a familiar figure stood silhouetted in the doorway. Quinn had her head buried in her knees, so wasn't looking, but A.P. tried to focus on the figure...and failed because of the pain he was in. Something of the familiarity got through, though, so he didn't feel threatened by the new presence. He'd been left nearly incoherent, but managed to croak, "H...Whuzzere?" "Someone who loves you," came the reply, the truth of the words evident in her voice. Quinn looked up as the figure stepped into the room. She saw the green jacket -- and cleared the conclusion from a standing start. Surprised but very relieved, she blurted out, "DARIA!" A stifled sigh. "Yeah. Whatever." The new arrival (we know it was Lynn, but we'll indicate or imitate Quinn's mistake and call her "Daria") approached Quinn as the latter staggered to her feet, using the wall for support. Quinn turned and allowed "Daria" to cut and otherwise deal with the locks on the handcuffs. "How'd you *find* us? Where are the others? I mean, you didn't come *alone,* did--?" "Can we save the questions for when we're out of here?" Quinn's handcuffs sprang open, and Quinn massaged her wrists for a second -- until "Daria" thrust a knife at her. "Cut him loose." Quinn complied. "We've got to get out of here before--" "Well, well. I never thought this would actually *work.*" The reaction was almost too quick to see. While Quinn was still busily sawing at the straps on the straitjacket, "Daria" reached for Jensen, catching him enough by surprise that she could pull him forward and press her own gun to his head. The sound of three other guns cocking was clearly audible. "You all could kill me, but what's the bet I could get a bullet through his skull before I died?" The three men in the doorway froze, but didn't lower their guns. "Daria" thought fast. "One of you go and get the one in charge. I'm prepared to offer an exchange." The men exchanged looks, and Wily, the smallest and wiriest of the trio, lowered his gun and moved quickly out of the doorway. The other two kept their weapons trained on "Daria," who seemed to ignore them, never taking her eyes off her captive. Quinn was freaked. "Daria? Daria, what--?" "Cut. Him. Free." Quinn nervously got back to work on the straps, finally getting through them and easing the straitjacket off A.P. As she was doing this, a graying older man arrived. He observed the scene with no small amount of contempt. "Okay, this isn't what I expected to come of this." A pause. "Wily here said something about an exchange?" "You let them go, I let him go. Fair trade." "I don't think so. You see, you get two people and I only get one. Far from fair." "That's where you're wrong." A pause. "They get their freedom. He gets his. And you...you get me." "Daria, *no!*" "Hwt?" A.P. bleared from the floor. "Daria" ignored them. "That's what you wanted, wasn't it? They're of no use to you. Your problem is with the Smythes. And that means me." "But *Daria*...!" "Do we have a bargain?" In the brief, tense silence that followed, Quinn looked wildly from one set face to the other, not understanding what was going on. Finally, the older man spoke. "Bargain struck, Smythe. Now drop the gun." "Not until I know they're out safe." "You don't trust my word?" "Can I afford to?" She inclined her head. "Quinn. Come here." Quinn stepped over to "Daria," looking panicked. "Daria" eased her green jacket off, making sure the gun never left Jensen's head. Eventually, she held it out to Quinn. "You'll need this. You should find the motorcycle fairly easily and you'll need it." A pause. "Take care of him." Quinn was desperate. "Daria, you can't *do* this! I mean, you're not *really* a--" "Go." The tone forced obedience out of Quinn. She hauled A.P. to his feet and helped him stagger past the gangster types and out the door. The *clunk* of a gun hitting the ground distracted her, and she looked back just in time to see "Daria" grabbed by the goons. Someone produced a syringe from somewhere. "Daria" looked straight into Quinn's eyes...and Quinn frowned, almost realizing that something wasn't quite right here. "GO!" "I'll bring help." A simple statement of fact. The sun rises in the east, vertical stripes make you look thin, I'll bring help. "I--" "Will you just get *out* of..." She was injected and slumped into her captors' arms. "...ah..." Quinn turned and fled as quickly as she could under A.P.'s nearly-unconscious weight. Outside the mansion house, she staggered along; A.P. was walking as best he could to spare her the stress, but he could barely hold himself upright. Amethyst was parked a block away from the building; when they reached it, Quinn set A.P. down and looked at it. She shivered and stuffed her hands into the pockets of Daria's jacket... ...and frowned. There was something in there. She pulled her right hand out of the pocket, coming up with a black matchbook that had a blue motorcycle embossed on it. She frowned deeper and turned it over, finding an address. _You should find the Motorcycle fairly easily._ She shrugged, pocketed the matchbook, then went to help A.P. to his feet again. "Come on, A.P. You've gotta *do* this." He was totally dazed and in no real condition. "But...she said... She 'n I broke *up* 'n we..." "Think about that *later!* We *have* to get out of here! Now stand up for just a second!" Though weaving like a weak tree in a gale, he somehow managed to stay on his feet as Quinn mounted the motorcycle. He had just enough connection to the real world to mutter, "Don' think I c'n..." "You *have* to! Now get *on!*" He somehow managed to get his leg over the cycle and himself settled behind the nearly hysterical Quinn. "Now you're gonna have to hang on tight 'cuz I don't know if I can drive this..." Her face went very set. "But...not...there..." He shifted his grip to her waist. "S'rry, Narciss..." Without waiting for him to finish, she kicked the bike to life and went roaring off. _The Blue Motorcycle: A Step Forward into Terror_ "So spell it out in blood, BASTARD IS AS BASTARD DOES! And nothing gets done, BASTARD IS AS BASTARD DOES! The everlasting harm, destructive of the norm, So spell it out in blood, BASTARD IS AS BASTARD DOES!" -- Monster Voodoo Machine, "Bastard Is as Bastard Does" It was, to all appearances, a watering hole like many another -- darkish, scarred wooden furniture, long bar. It was obviously closed for the night; most of the tables were on the near side of the room, nearly blocking the front door. There was an empty space in the middle of the room that might have been a dance floor or a Fight Club ring; it would have done no good to ask, though, since we all know that you do *not* talk about Fight Club. A stocky, swarthy young man with dark hair and glasses -- the one we readers last saw asking Lynn if she thought she could handle a recurve -- was behind the bar polishing a glass when, suddenly and without warning, he heard the screech of tires and the motor of a cycle. Then there was a *thud* and the squeaky voice of a teenage girl crying out, "OW!!! GOD!!!" The man (for this dark time, that's how we'll refer to him) frowned and put the glass down as the motorcycle engine cut off. Then the door burst open and the speaker -- a redhead in pink and blue -- came staggering in, a barely-conscious red-haired boy in blue and black leaning on her for support; they were *both* looking black and blue. They got maybe five feet in before they collapsed, nearly hitting a table on the way down. The man watched this and blinked loudly, the kind of blinking that in anime is usually prelude to a facefault -- the more- or-less traditional sound-effect is *piku piku* -- as the girl staggered to her feet and leaned against the table. "Help...I...Gangster...people ..." He blinked again. She looked very put out. "*Listen*...to...me! Smythe...people...owwww..." The man raised an eyebrow. "Smythe." _Finally! A breakthrough!_ "YES!" The man tapped the intercom. "Scar. Pagebert. Drop whatever you're...doing...and get down here. We have a situation." He turned to the girl. "Now maybe catch your breath and start again? Maybe with what happened to you and how you know about the Smythes?" She sighed. "Long story -- *too* long. He needs *help!* And so does my sister, so can you please *do* something?" "I think I'd like some answers first." There was a thump thump thump on the stairs, and (though the refugees didn't know it) the young woman who, with the man, had met Lynn at San Francisco airport entered from above -- medium height, dressed all in black, with a "mess with me and I kick you across the room" air about her. Following behind her was a slightly taller guy with reddish hair, glasses, a friendly face and something about his whole being that just screamed "geek." The woman spoke first. "`Situation,' B--" She saw the girl and caught herself. "--um...Warlock? Aren't they kind of underage?" "Yeah," Warlock admitted, "and they're bleeding on my clean floor." A pause. "And they invoked Smythe." The geek and the woman exchanged looks. "Look, will you people *do* something?" the girl snapped. "Who *are* you people, anyway?" "We could ask *you* the same thing," the woman replied. "Look, no time! Some...some *guy* named Jensen and a bunch of gangster goon-type people have my sister and she sent me to *you* so you'd better *do* something or the Smythes will be *so* pissed off with you!" Now all three of them exchanged looks. There was a brief tense silence. "I say we shoot her." "Scar..." Warlock warned. "Well, she annoys me!" "HEY!" "Me too. Deal." "eep!" Pagebert decided to try reason. "Well, maybe we can convince her *not* to shoot you if you can tell us who you are and why you're here." "Look, my sister's a Smythe. Fine, she's not a *Smythe* Smythe, like, it says Morgendorffer on her birth certificate and everything, but she *is* one and she did a *really* stupid thing and let Jensen and those other people have her and you've gotta *do* something, 'cause, like, she wouldn't have *sent* me here if you couldn't help!" The ensuing silence was broken by Scar. "The other Smythe kid is related to *this?* No way in hell. She's lying. Shoot her." "Scar..." Pagebert warned. Warlock turned to the girl. "Got any proof of that? Aside from your word." Dr. Samuel Johnson once said that nothing concentrates one's attention so wonderfully as a sentence to be hanged. "Um..." Of course, that's contingent on your *having* any attention to concentrate, and in Quinn's case, the jury's still out on that point. "um..." Finally, she remembered her passenger and turned to him for help. "A.P.--" "Waitaminnit. A.P.? As in McIntyre?" "...Yeaaaah..." Warlock turned to Pagebert. "She might be for real. Get in touch with Kestrel." Pagebert made his exit. Scar looked at A.P., then at Quinn, who was just about to faint. Then she looked at Warlock. "So what do we do in the meantime?" "Just let me slap some bandages on these two so they stop bleeding on my floor. It gets that enough in a night as it is." Pagebert re-entered, brandishing a digicam. Scar and Warlock looked at him. "Visual proof. Kestrel looks and confirms they're who they say they are." Warlock nodded, and Scar raised a grudging eyebrow. When Pagebert pointed the camera at Quinn, she panicked at once and started frantically trying to smooth her hair. "Oh *no!* They bruised my best side!" She though about that, if you want to call what she does _thinking._ "But they bruised *both* sides." More alleged thought. "Whatever; they're *still* both good." Scar, Warlock and Pagebert shared a look; the Peril had told them about Narcissa, but they'd figured she had to be kidding. Didn't she? Pagebert snapped the pictures and headed back upstairs. Quinn returned to her slump, leaning heavily on the table for support. "I still say we shoot her," Scar insisted. "Look, *I* do ballistics," Warlock reminded her; "*I* say who shoots people. When and if we find out she's a fake, *then* you can shoot her." "You never let me have *any* fun." Pagebert's voice came from the intercom. "Guys...Got Kestrel. Bring 'em up. I think they're clean." "You *think*?" Warlock demanded. "Just get up here." Warlock looked at Scar. Then he swung up a section of the bar, walked over to A.P., grabbed a hold of him and half-carried, half-dragged him behind the bar and through the door. Scar stepped over to Quinn, looked at her...then sighed and grabbed her by the shoulder. "Come on, you." With that, she led her away. * * * Upstairs was the Inner Sanctum -- a large open-plan space with three desks -- two facing each other, with identical workstations set up on them, and one in the corner with a more impressive workstation set-up. The other side of the room was arranged (not that Quinn knew this, nor that A.P. was in a condition to tell her) something like Lorna Smythe's living room -- a couple of sofas and several armchairs, a battered coffee table which, for some reason, had a compound bow lying across it. The walls were dim gray, and the curtains were black and looked startlingly like cut-down shower curtains. Pagebert was at the impressive workstation in the corner, which was presumably his. Quinn was sitting on a battered armchair, looking at the trio. Scar was leaning against a wall, phone to her ear. Warlock was wrapping a bandage around A.P.'s arm. "So you're telling us that, while touring the country with a rock band and the relatives of an underworld family, you wandered San Francisco on your own, dragged someone else out with you, got yourself *and* him taken as hostages, and let someone kidnap a Smythe." Pause for effect. "How stupid are you, exactly?" "Got Missing H on the line," Scar called out. "That's *Rust*, Scar!" a familiar voice called out, loud enough for Quinn to hear it. "Yeah, whatever. You missing a couple of redheads?" Tom's reply was quieter, but Scar echoed it. "*And* a Smythe, great. That pretty much confirms--" He must have interrupted. "WHAT? Oh, shit..." That exclamation must have needed explanation. "No, that's not what *she* said!" More talk. "Hang on." She covered the mouthpiece and turned to Warlock. "Missing H says the Peril's the one missing. What's the deal here?" "Well," Pagebert reminded her, "Mr. Smythe *did* say they look a lot alike..." "So that even a *sister* can't tell? She's lying; let's shoot her." "We're not shooting anyone yet, Scar," Warlock said. He paused to let her see how final that was, then went on. "Now just tell him to get his ass over here so we can sort this out." He thought a moment more. "And get him to bring the band." Scar looked at him funny. "Cannon fodder, if nothing else." "You hear the man, H?" ("Rust!") "What*ever!* Now get over here now and bring the rest." She hung up. "This is one God-awful mess." Now she rounded on Quinn. "What are you pulling here, kid?" "I *thought* it was Daria! I mean, I mean..." *Ping,* the penny dropped (or maybe "the Sickle dropped" would be more appropriate). "Oh *crap,* no it wasn't! Daria's more *timid!*" "I'll repeat the question -- just how stupid *are* you?" "Come on," Pagebert intervened, "that's not fair. The kid's taken a beating." "I *have* a name!" It didn't work on these people any better than it worked on Trent. "Narcissa," Warlock replied. "NO!" "Look, we all have codenames," said Pagebert. "Get used to it." "Look, I'm Quinn. Don't *you* all have names?" The trio looked at each other, then at her. Warlock threw a box of Band-Aids at her. "Patch yourself up... Narcissa." Quinn glared at him. * * * Later, Warlock was back behind the bar, mixing...something, probably at least a *little* calmative, if I know him (which I don't really) or his circumstances (which I do). He heard the noise of car motors first. Then they stopped, and doors slammed out in the parking lot. Then came the voices. He recognized the first speaker as H. "If we get her out of there alive I am going to *kill* her!" "Look, shut up!" said some girl Warlock didn't know. "You shouldn't have left Daria to guard her alone! You *know* Lynn can kick any of us into the next decade! If you'd been there..." Then another female voice, this one sounding vaguely familiar somehow. "Look, will you two stop arguing for five minutes...?" They walked in -- H, a girl who must be Scarlet, and...*piku piku*. "I guess they perfected cloning technology," Warlock said, just to be saying *something.* The green-clad Peril-alike that had caused his loud blinking sounded tired. "You watch _Sick, Sad World_?" "Oh. That was you two. That makes sense." A moment of non- response from the Erudite. "Come on. You all have some explaining to do." * * * Up in the Inner Sanctum, when the gang made their entrance, Scar was throwing knives at a dartboard. Pagebert was online. Quinn was curled up in her armchair, looking petulant -- everyone was ignoring her, and you can imagine how well she was dealing with that. While the others looked around, Daria headed over to Quinn. "You okay?" "Yeah. But *he* isn't." This with regard to AP, who wasn't quite conscious but was moaning a little. Daria headed over to him. "A.P.?" "Purple Peril?" he said thickly. "You got to do something, Erudite Emerald's gone *nuts,* she..." He opened his eyes and looked at her. He scanned her face...and his eyes went big. "But...she said... she quoted...she *meant* it..." He began to whimper. "No..." "A.P.?" "Dammit! Dammit, dammit, dammit!" A pause to marshal words. "I mean, she...I...we..." He sputtered to a halt. "Dammit, dammit, *dammit!*" "She said she loved him," Quinn explained softly. "He thought it was you, but...And she *did* mean it." Jane had overheard. "Of course she *meant* it! She's been in love with him since she was *ten!* She just didn't say anything because she didn't think it was mutual." A.P. looked about ready to blow a headgasket. "But...that... GAH!" "Look," Warlock cut in, "if you're finished going over the sordid details of your star-crossed love lives, we have some detail work to do. For starters, anyone know what they *want* with her?" "That's kind of obvious," Tom pointed out. "Trophy hunting." "Yeah," Scar said in her best so-what-else-is-new tone, "but are we talking in-for-the-kill, or breaking-the-girl?" "Probably both. In reverse order." Daria didn't like the sound of this at all. "`Break'?" "We're to the criminal world what a 'brain' is to a high school. Our chief weapon..." Warlock caught the look Scar was aiming his way. "...not going into Python, promise...is intellect. Breaking a Smythe mind proves something." He thought about it, then bitterly admitted, "And Jensen's a *pro.*" "Well," Pagebert assured him, "by all accounts, the Peril's good. If they're going to try breaking her, we have some time." "No we damn well don't!" A.P. barked. "You're not going to wait and let them..." "She's the heir to your damn empire," Daria added. "Why aren't you more committed to this?" Tom sounded suspicious. "You *are* going to *do* something about this, *aren't* you?" There was a long silence as Pagebert, Scar and Warlock looked at each other. "We'll help as much as we can," Warlock said at length. "But we have other responsibilities." "`OTHER RESPONSIBILITIES'?" Jane boggled. "She's a bloodydamn *Smythe!*" "Missing H--" "RUST!" "--Rust, whatever...knows how much we're responsible for. We can't just drop everything. Not even for a Smythe kid." "Look, Warlock," Tom kept up his end of the dialogue, "if the Falcon finds out about this, I'm a grease spot. But before he starts slicing me thinly from the feet up, I will be forced to tell him that you could have saved her, but instead you let her die on your home turf!" "I don't deal well with threats." This led to a tense silence as they tried to stare each other down. "Then let *us* do it." That got the whole group staring at A.P. "WHAT?" "If you won't go after her, then arm us and let *us* go. *We* haven't got `other responsibilities.' In fact, keeping Purple Peril out of trouble *is* Rust's responsibility." "Get a clue, kid," Scar sneered. "You're too young, too inexperienced..." "Get *bent,* lady! If *you* won't do it..." "Then again," Daria mused, "they don't *know* how inexperienced we are..." "Excuse me?" Pagebert puzzled. "You'd better not be thinking what I think you're thinking," Scar cautioned her. "It's a gamble, kid," added Warlock. "If they *do* know which one they have, they'll have you cold." "It's a risk I'm willing to take," was Daria's only reply. "Wait a minute," Trent time-outed. "Someone want to fill the rest of us in on what's going on?" "Cannon fodder only get info on a need-to-know basis," Warlock replied. "Who're you calling *cannon* fodder?" Max snapped. "We're *criminales!*" "Criminales? *You* guys? Don't make me laugh. You guys are about to deal with some *real* criminales. If you listen to me, you might just make it back alive." "Oh, drop the drill sarge impression," Scar scoffed. "A drill sergeant is exactly what I'm going to be for the next few days. You too." He sighed. "It's against my better judgement, but I think we let them try." Pagebert intervened. "I know we have a lot to do, Warlock... but they're tired, they've been through a lot today. Why don't we show them around a bit and let them calm down before we start anything drill- sergeant-like?" Warlock gave a grudging nod. A.P., curious despite himself, and desperate for something else to think about, got up cautiously -- and with a wince, as things shifted under his skin that shouldn't be shifting -- and moved toward Pagebert's workstation. "Quad Xeon 700? Whoa." "Yep." He sounded justly proud. "Two meg cache for each CPU, two-gig RAM and 400 gigs of hard disk space. `It's even more powerful than ftp.freesoftware.com,'" he said with the air of one quoting some comment he likes. "We get a *little* less power than that." Said slightly ruefully. "But *you* are not the UberGeek, Warlock." Said loftily. "You and Scar can make do with the Pentium III 800mhz systems. What would you need with more than 512 megs of RAM and a hundred gigs hard disk space anyway?" "Storage of WAV files?" A.P. was still craving distraction. "The firewall? You guys must have one." "An `old' Quad Pentium Pro 200," Pagebert replied, "one meg cache per chip. Handles the data scrambling for the T-3..." _Eee._ "You have a T-3?" Jane was nearly afraid to ask. "What's a T-3?" "Forty-five-megabit-per-second internet connection." Quinn was confused by all this geek stuff. "Huh?" Pagebert knew *just* how to give her perspective. "Put it this way -- you can get the latest Boys-R-Guys MP3 in *seconds.*" "Ooh!" Pagebert accepted the interruption with good grace, pushing the McIntyre conversation down his mental stack. Now, he let it pop back up. "...and alerts me to...security issues." "This should impress me more," A.P. replied from the depths of his misery. "I mean, it impresses me, but it just..." Daria looked at A.P., eyes full of worry, and went to put a hand on his shoulder. He closed his eyes and turns away. It took Daria a moment to realize why, but when she did, she looked as uncomfortable as she felt, and she tried to stay out of AP's line of sight thereafter. Jane had gone from over-her-head to astounded. "What do you *do* with all this shit?" "For the job?" Pagebert replied. "Can't tell you. But in my off hours? Plot take-overs of small countries. Or just chat on IRC, whichever seems easiest at the time." The only people who didn't look at him in utter bemused shock were A.P., who was too miserable, and Warlock and Scar, who were used to him by now. _Training: Sometimes It Hurts_ "In the warrior's code, there's no surrender Though his body says `Stop!' his spirit cries `Never!' Deep in our soul, a quiet ember Knows it's you against you, it's the paradox that drives us all" -- Survivor, "Burning Heart" The Smiths' "Cemetary Gates" was wafting softly from one computer's speakers. Scar was sprawled out on one of the sofas, looking vastly put out. Pagebert came in, took a look at her and nodded. "That bad, huh?" "Do not *talk* to me about the redheaded twerp. There's a connection loose between his brain and his body, I swear." "He's not so bad. He's good with the equipment." She just snorted derisively. Warlock entered, looking annoyed as all hell. "Is it so hard?" "Is *what* so hard?" Scar wondered, looking for specifics. "*Anything* we do! Narcissa kept snapping herself with the bowstring. The Erudite came close to strangling me with the bowstring. And Scarlet won't drop the knives no matter how many times I tell her that they're no good for long range!" "Well, if you carry a lot of them..." "Scar..." "The Maverick?" "I had about fifteen seconds of coherent discourse with him. Then he turned into a quivering, tear-streaked wreck." "I told you," Pagebert reminded them; "get him in geekspeak. It's the only thing he can focus on right now." "This is not Geek Wars, Pagebert! They are *not* going to beat Merritt by...geekspeaking him to death!" Pagebert shrugged. "It works on Kestrel..." Warlock was disgusted. "Why do I even bother talking to you?" He sighed. "Sorry." "Don't be," advised Scar. "This whole situation's putting us under a lot of stress." She thought a moment. "Y'know, *you* should probably talk to the twerp. You're closer to speaking the language than I am." A half-sigh, half-groan. "You're probably right, God help me." He thought about *that.* "But that means *you'd* have to take on Narcissa." She got an evil grin. "Throwing her around a practice room for a few hours sounds like a great stress reliever to me." As she smirked to herself, Warlock and Pagebert shared an amused look. * * * It was the same shooting range where he'd relayed the sound of the suburbs to the Peril, but now Warlock was standing with A.P. just behind the firing line; a .22 was on the counter by his side. The Maverick was staring blankly at a wall. "Okay," Warlock began, "now real life is *not* like video games." _Now tell me something I *don't* know_, A.P. thought. "Mmhmm..." "For one, in a video game, everything is sharp and clear." He considered that. "Well...okay, depends on the age of the game..." A.P. was starting to zone out. "Mmhmm..." Warlock, mildly suspicious, threw a brief sideways glance at A.P. "That's not the case in real life." He took on a hinting tone. "If you focus on one thing, everything else goes blurry." "Mmhmm..." A closer watch revealed: "You're not listening at all." "Mmhmm..." Warlock picked up the .22 sitting by him and fired it downrange. A.P. jumped about three feet in the air and put a hand to his throat. "Eee..." Warlock was in no mood to mollycoddle. "I know you're thinking about her. Push it out of your mind and concentrate." A.P. nodded kind of spastically, still a little freaked. "Now, to continue, focus on the front sights. Downrange will be fuzzy -- that's okay. Just aim center of mass -- pretend the gun is your index finger and just point -- and squeeze off shots. Look for bloodspray to tell if you're hitting." A.P. turned green at the word "blood" -- he'd seen a little too much of the stuff lately, too much of it his own. "I know..." Said gently. Then, back to his normal businesslike tone: "Now. Always doubletap at a minimum, follow up as necessary. None of this cowboy headshot, hit-him-in-the-hand-disarm him, legs-take- him-down bullshit. Center of mass, right where the heart is..." A.P. was still looking nervous. "...and if you have trouble doing it, think about what they did to you...and what they're doing to Lynn." A.P.'s face turned hard. "Give me that gun." Warlock looked at A.P. For a moment, he remembered the Peril, standing in the same spot, wearing the exact same expression, saying, _I got him shot. Nothing like that will ever happen again..._ He got a self-satisfied look and handed the gun over. As A.P. aimed it down the range: "Okay, there are three rules you have to remember. One, always treat it like it's loaded." A.P. nodded. "Two, you don't point it at anything you don't have a problem putting a bullet through." Another nod. Warlock looked at his grim expresion and decided to inject some humor. "And the third rule...no poofters!" A.P. looked like he'd been slapped. He threw the gun down and turned his back on Warlock, who was confused for a second. Then he realized how he'd fucked it up -- the Peril's safety was no laughing matter to this kid -- and sighed. "Shit," he muttered. He thought about it some more, then sighed again. "Look, Maverick. I know. I've been there, done that, more times than I want to count. But you're not helping her this way." A.P. turned around and glared at him. His hand crept back to the gun. "That's it. There's pain, use it. Make it anger. Cut them up. For her. For both of you." A.P. looked at him, hand still on the gun, eyes still angry. Then he picked up the gun and points it down the range again. "You said three rules?" A pause. "And call me a poofter again and I use *you* for target practice." "Thank God for the Dark Side of the Force..." Said sotto with the voice. Aloud: "Okay, the third rule is, take your finger off that trigger." A.P. did as he'd been told. Warlock was so proud of him, it almost showed. * * * THUMP! "OW!" Quinn, in sweatpants and bra top, was sitting on the dojo floor mats, rubbing her shoulder. Scar, still all in black, looked down at her scornfully. "You could at least *roll* when you hit!" "Well, you *could* go a little *easier* on me! I mean, I'm all *bruised!*" "Who gives a crap? Maverick got it worse than you and he let me throw him around here! And he *still* at least bounced back for more without *whining* about it!" "Well, *he* has a *reason!* I don't even want to *be* here! I mean, why should *I* go along with this?" It would have taken a year's work to come up with a remark better calculated to make Scar go ballistic. "*Why?* The Peril went into a rival's base and gave herself up to *save* your whining, over-cute ass and you ask *why?* What the hell is your *problem,* you self-absorbed, shallow little *twit?*" Quinn was getting steadily angrier throughout this tirade. Scar didn't seem to care. "If I didn't know that *someone* would do bad things to me if I did a *real* job on you, I'd...I'd..." "BOOT TO THE HEAD!" Scar turned a little to look at Warlock in the doorway...and Quinn lashed out with a roundhouse kick to Scar's head that sent the other woman to the floor. Quinn turned wide-eyed to Warlock, who stared back at her. "I meant that the other way around." He looked at the results. "But this works." "Ow..." Quinn was abashed. "Uh...I'm sorry. I didn't...I mean..." "You took advantage while my attention was somewhere else," Scar said as she got up. Quinn looked ashamed. "You got mad and took it out on me." Quinn shrank back. "Maybe there's hope for you yet." Piku piku. "Do it again." "You...you're *nuts!*" "But didn't it feel good," asked Warlock, "to wipe the sneer off her face?" Quinn considered this...and this time swept her leg low, kicking Scar's feet out from under her. Scar, who'd been expecting another high attack, went down and only just rolled out of the way of a low forward kick aimed at her midsection. She got up quickly and faced Quinn. "Not bad. Try again." "I think I'll leave you two alone." As he closed the door, there was another *thump* from behind it, and howls of pain from Scar and Narcissa both. He shook his head and moved on. * * * Okay, cue training montage. The Spiral were out on the range. Max tried a cowboy-style gun twirl and dropped the weapon. Warlock slapped him upside the head. A practice fight in the dojo, Quinn vs. Jesse. Jesse, reluctant, tried a punch. Quinn used his momentum against him and tossed him halfway across the room. Later, Scar was instructing Jane on best use of the knife -- pointing out, on a dummy, where and how best to stab. She indicated where the ribs would be, pointedly showing that the knife blade was going in parallel to the ribs ("Last thing you want is the knife getting bound up"), then shrugged and just took a big ol' swipe at the dummy's throat, cutting the head half-off. Jane nodded. On the range, A.P., handling a rather large gun, aimed, fired -- and got knocked over by the recoil. Warlock looked somewhat despairing. Daria and Tom doing target practice. They looked at the targets -- she was a better shot than he was. Daria got a Gioconda smirk on; Tom glared at her out of the corner of his eye. Warlock was at the front of a room with a blackboard, addressing the Spiral, diagramming fire team formations -- line, column, right and left echelon, square, cross. He, Scar, Pagebert, and H ("Rust, dammit!") demonstrated each. Then the Spiral tried to imitate them -- and tripped over each other. Warlock sank his face into his hands in despair. * * * Warlock unlocked the door, went into the basement, and rummaged around. He came out with a box, which he loaded with handguns and a machine pistol or two, along with ammo. Heading back to the stairs, he bumped into Scar, who glanced into the box. "No armor?" "If it comes down to a shootout..." He paused to weigh his words. "...they're done for anyway," he wound up having to admit. Scar gritted her teeth, started to say something, then nodded. * * * The entire group was gathered in the Inner Sanctum. Warlock, was standing in front of them, addressing the entire group in the manner of an orator or maybe of General Patton. "Statistics say that 20-25% of people can actually point a weapon at another person and use it with intent to kill. In my experience, it's more like 5-10%. If you guys have any...reservations, morally or otherwise, the time to work through them is *not* in combat. Remembering what's at stake, I want you to ask yourselves, and answer to yourselves, whether you could kill. You can lie to me, you can lie to any of us. But get right down to it, you can't lie to yourself. This above all! To thine own self be true!" Daria looked at the floor when he said this. Tom, noticing, gathered himself to approach her when the time was right. "Okay, people, get any last-minute stuff done." Everyone scattered. Tom made his approach. "Daria." "Tom," she replied, mocking him. "Daria...look me in the eye and tell me you could shoot someone." She looked him straight in the eye "I...I..." She looked away. "Damn." "I suppose *she* could." "That's right, she probably could. But you're not her." "For once. -- How does she do it?" "The Peril has a lot of anger kicking around." Daria raised an eyebrow. "Duh." Tom nearly started laughing at himself. "Oh yeah. You'll have seen the house." Daria nodded slightly, but didn't lower the eyebrow. "Mmhmm." Pause to gather strength to ask the queston. "But *why?*" "Put it this way. You found out the Peril was family...and then she shut you out. How did you feel?" Daria suddenly found her boots deeply interesting. "Rejected." Pause for more words. "Hurt." Another pause. "Mad as hell." "Now imagine if your entire family had been doing that to you every day for most of your life." Daria was a little stunned. Sure, the Morgendorffer household's lines of communication were a little shaky at times, but when they *really* needed each other, there was somebody there. "I knew it was bad, but..." "Well, now you know how bad." Daria must have looked like she'd just been slapped. "Oh hell, I'm no good at this. If Warlock knew Lynn better, I'd say talk to him. But..." He sighed. "Listen to me, Daria. All we really want is to get Lynn the hell out of there before they do something permanent. You may not *have* to shoot anyone. What counts for now is *looking* like you can." "Look like Lynn? I can do that..." "Not really. Not how it counts." "What do you mean?" "Ever seen her angry?" _Excuse me?_ "Well, a time or two..." "I don't mean when her face goes maroon and she screams. I mean ...I mean when she gets hurricanes in her eyes." Daria thought about that for a moment...then remembered the look on Lynn's face when Ms. Li had shot A.P. "Yes," she said somberly. After a moment, though, she had to admit: "I don't know if I can do that." Tom looked her right in the eyes. "What do you think they're doing to her?" And Daria's eyes went stormy. It wasn't quite the same thing, but it was close enough for government work. "It'll do. Hold that thought. Let's go." They went. * * * Outside the Blue Motorcycle, Jane, decked out a la Trinity, was doing a last-minute check. She flicked both wrists and wound up holding a couple of fairly lethal-looking knives. She smirked with satisfaction and stuffed them back into the spring-loaded clips strapped along her upper arms. Trent approached her, looking grim. "Janey..." Jane turned and looked at him. He hesitated in a big way, then took a breath and continued, playing the big-brother-I-can-order-you-around card. "Janey, I don't want to see you hurt. You're staying here and..." He trailed off under her glare. He cleared his throat and went on. _Try guilt, man._ "I mean, what do I tell Mom and Dad if..." She raised an eyebrow at him, and he realized just how dumb that actually sounded. He stopped and thought, trying hard. Finally, he just asked, "Is there *any* way I could convince you not to do this?" Jane just looked at him some more. "Come on, people!" Daria called out, practicing her Lynn-voice. "We haven't got all day!" Trent looked at Jane, who considered him for a moment. "She's my friend and I'm going," she said. Trent finally saw the futility of the argument. "Just let me watch your back." "If you let me watch yours." They held each other's eyes for a second longer...then nodded with satisfaction and got into the A-Tank, which drove off almost before the door was shut. _Showdown: We are the No-Brand Heroes_ "And I would have a hard time facing you This crime, the shame of what a man can do Take her arms and hold her down until she stops screaming" -- Toad the Wet Sprocket, "Hold Her Down" The A-Tank pulled up outside the Merritt compound, and the Spiral exited, swinging around pistols and such in all directions. For a townie band, they made a surprisingly good fire team, or at least a nice convincing imitation of one. The gang scrambled up to a side door and gathered around it. "Hurry *up,* A...er, Maverick." "Ten seconds...okay, I'm in!" * * * Back at the Inner Sanctum, Warlock was pacing twitchily. Scar, seeming no less nervous, was scrawling something in a notebook. Pagebert was looking at his workstation but not doing anything with it. All in all, none of them seemed to be doing anything productive. Warlock was the first to speak. "Does this feel wrong to anyone else?" "We didn't lie to them," Scar assured him. "We *do* have other things to do." "Notice, on the other hand," Pagebert pointed out, "that we're not doing any of them. We're sitting here waiting for word." Warlock abruptly stopped pacing, having evidently reached a decision. "To hell with `other responsibilities.' We're going after them. Pack up your gear and be at the bigwhitevan in ten minutes." He whipped out a cell phone, dialing from memory as he wandered toward the door. "DJ?" A pause for an identification request. "Warlock." He smiled. "Yeah. Hey, listen, how soon can you get to The City?" Pause for reply. "Okay, but come anyway. Things may go bad." He exited. Scar and Pagebert shared a look. "You heard the man," said she. "Guess I have to pack light." "Only taking one laptop?" she asked wryly. "Yeah. That, the cellphone and the digital camcorder." She just looked at him. "Well, you never know!" * * * Wily -- remember him? the small, wiry underling? the one who fetched the straitjacket for A.P. and brought Merritt to talk to Lynn? -- was walking down the hall when he walked straight into the intruders. "Wha ...who...?" Quinn kicked him in the stomach and he folded up, not neatly. Daria got in his face with her gun. Lynn-voiced, she said, "We wish to register a complaint." "oh," he gasped. "smythes." "Blood-tied and hireling both." "Take us to your leader..." A.P. said over her shoulder. Tom scowled. "Spend too long on the range with Warlock, you get quotehappy. My bad." "You heard the man. Let's go." Wily looked from Daria, to Jane, who popped out a knife, to Quinn, who looked very eager to kick him again, then back to Daria with the gun. He still managed to look undecided. Then A.P. whipped out a Colt .45 and practically shoved it up Wily's nose. "Remember me? I'm the one you stuffed in the straitjacket." Wily pulled himself upright and led them down the corridor. * * * They met in a big, airy, predominantly bare room -- hardwood floor, large windows. Our gang were standing at the wall by the window; Merritt and assorted underlings were blocking the door. Merritt looked collected enough -- his holster was pointedly empty -- and our heroes looked cold and pissed off. Even if you'd been coming into it cold, the whole scene would have just screamed "parley." "Now what can I do for you?" Merritt asked. After a moment, he added, "Oh, and put the weapons away; we'd prefer not to have to kill anyone." "Except my sister," Daria pointed out. Merritt shrugged. "Oh, that's just business. The Falcon can't fly forever. So it's in my best interests to clip his daughters' wings." "If that's what you're looking for, I think we're in a position to negotiate. *If* I can see what I'm dealing for." Merritt smirked at her. "I don't think you want--" "I. Want. My. Sister." She gave him a moment to get moving, then reached for her gun. "NOW." "Touchy!" he feigned alarm. Then his voice went hard again. "Take your hands off the weapon..." She did, but reluctantly. "...and I'll bring you...Lynn." Poorly suppressed winces all around. "It was a good try, though." He turned to two random underlings. "Bring her out." The underlings left. The gang watched Merritt and the remaining gangster-types. "You're so sure of which sister you have?" "Oh yes. There's the matter of that lovely tattoo..." Tom lost it ever so slightly at that point. "Cut the Victorian melodrama bullcrap!" Merritt just raised an eyebrow at his unprofessionalism. The underlings returned, dragging Lynn by the armpits. She was obviously incapable of the effort needed to even find her feet. Daria, Tom, Jane and Trent were attempting, with some success, to hide their fear; the others either couldn't do it, or just couldn't be bothered trying. As the goons dropped Lynn on the floor like a sack of potatoes, A.P. took a step forward, but Daria put her arm out, blocking his path. Jensen stepped over to Lynn and grabbed her roughly by the hair, lifting her head so they could all see her face. Her eyes were vague, unfocused -- lights were on in there, but nobody was really home. A.P. gasped. Jensen just smirked at his distress. "It was a labor of love." He turned to Lynn. "Say something to the nice people." "...I wazzn...'xpecting...th'..." She trailed off. Jensen let go of her hair, letting her head drop carelessly. In smug, cold, triumphant tones, he observed, "*Nobody* expects the Spanish Inquisition." The expression on Daria's face suggested that she'd just taken a great deal of anger and pain and locked it behind very thick steel doors. "Let her go," she said coldly. "You've done enough." Merritt had them checkmated and he knew it. "Sorry, but I can't. Business, you understand." The doors were not quite holding. "Let...her...*go!*" "You're in no position to give me orders." Jensen just kept smirking. "Leave now and maybe we'll give the Purple..." During the pause, enough venom to fill the entire sentence was concentrated into the next word. "...*Poofter* here a quick death." There was an almost audible snap inside A.P.'s head. He stepped up on the windowsill behind him for a clearer shot, raising the gun in the same motion. He fired just as Jensen, who'd noticed, raised his own gun to return fire. * * * The West Coast Brigade were maybe a block or two away from the Merritt Compound. Warlock was riding shotgun in the bigwhitevan, staring hawk- like out the window. From a distance, they heard two gunshots and saw a figure, in black leather with red hair, falling out a window and into a dumpster beneath. The lid, jarred by the impact, slammed shut. "Break out the bandages again!" Warlock yelled into the back of the van. "He's gonna be the Psycho-*Mummy* if this keeps up..." he muttered. * * * The late W.L. Jensen was sprawled on the floor next to Lynn. There wasn't a lot left of his head -- it looked like the watermelon after a Gallagher show. His gun -- a Soviet Makarov, quite a nasty little piece of work -- had landed near her hand. Not that this did her or anyone else a lot of good, given that she still wasn't moving, despite all the Jensen-spatter that'd hit her. Merritt's face was crimson with rage. Daria was looking no less angry but a lot more horrified. It was so silent you could almost still hear the echo of the gunshots. Jane couldn't get her voice above a whisper, but in the silence, it was louder than any scream. "Oh, Jesus, A.P..." * * * The bigwhitevan pulled up outside the compound. Warlock leaped out the passenger side, a sweet little pump action shotgun already in his hands. He glanced around, seeing that the area was clear, then ran up to the dumpster. "Maverick?" No reply. "MAVERICK?!" "He's either dead or unconscious, Warlock," Scar assured him. "Either way, he's not going anywhere. Inside." "But--" "He's probably dead. *They,*" she pointed up, "might not be. Come *on!*" Warlock sighed and led his team on. "`Once more into the breach ...dear friends,'" he muttered. Scar was anxious for battle. "`Lay on, Macduff!'" "`Do not pass Go,'" Pagebert chimed in, "`do not collect $200.'" Warlock and Scar just looked at him. "What?" Deciding not to bother, they ran up to the side door, which was still standing open, and cautiously entered the building. * * * Merritt rounded on Daria, incensed. "That...was *not* smart." Daria had her gun out and trained between Merritt's eyes. "Neither was *he.*" Merritt raised an eyebrow. "You can't shoot me. You're not her." A pause. "Then again, neither is she, anymore." In the further pause that followed, they thought they could hear time passing. Daria began to tremble slightly...and lowered her eyes and the gun. "You're right," she said, accepting defeat. "I can't shoot you." "Good girl. Now leave before any more of your little friends gets--" Bang. "Aaaah!" Merritt crumpled as a sudden out-of-season poinsettia blossomed briefly from his kneecap. All eyes turned to... ...Lynn, who'd picked up Jensen's Makarov and put that round through Merritt's patella. "She..." She coughed. "...can't shoot you." She let them consider that. "But I can." At this point, the West Coast Brigade burst in. Scar and Pagebert had pistols, and Warlock had his shotgun. He assessed the situation and started barking out orders. "Hands up! Against the wall! NOW!" The Merritt soldiers looked at each other and did as they'd been told. Nothing but Bryce Merritt, whimpering on the floor, seemed to exist for Lynn. "You...cheap-shit...bastard." Daria opened her mouth to speak. Warlock, who'd seen this in other people before, shook his head at her, and she closed it again. Lynn had gotten to her feet and was advancing on Merritt. "I haven't been doing this for long. But there's something even *I* know." She drew a deep breath. "YOU DON'T!" Bang. "MESS!" Bang. "WITH CIVILIANS!" Bang. Merritt was fairly well perforated by now, and just a little bit beyond screaming. Lynn took a moment to collect herself, breathing hard. "Not nice, is it? Dying a piece at a time?" Bang. "Wondering which is going to be the last?" Bang. "One thing I'll give you and your bastard companions -- Maverick--" She seemed to choke slightly. "--died clean." Bang. "Which is more than I'll be giving *you.*" Bang. In the next silence, Daria realized that Lynn was breathing quite heavily now, and the effort she was expending to hold herself upright became obvious. How Merritt was even staying *conscious* (let alone alive) with that many holes in him, she didn't know, _but hell,_ she figured, _he's a *fully-trained* criminal overlord; he's probably had the advanced course..._ "You know what I'd really like? I'd like you to ask me to kill you. I want you to ask for a merciful death." Lynn considered that. "Beg, actually." Bang. "Through the gut or through the head. Your choice." "...kill...me..." Merritt gurgled. "That's happening anyway." He made an incoherent sputtering noise. "Close enough." Bang. She put her last round right between Merritt's eyes, Dick Tracy-style. The back of his brainpan blew out and dumped a Jackson Pollock study in red all over the floor. Time seemed to freeze for a moment. The band was staring at Lynn in awe and shock; Jane was wincing at all the gore; Daria was just plain staring, suddenly not able to believe the way her life was going. Warlock, quote-happy as always, got Shakespearean under his breath. "`If any spark of life be yet remaining / Down, down to hell; and say she sent thee thither.'" When Lynn dropped Jensen's gun, one of the Merritts thought he saw his chance and went for the 9mm pistol at his hip. Two shots rang out from Scar's pistol, and he dropped dying next to Lynn. Lynn looked at him for a second, completely blank, then picked up his weapon and faced a random gangster. "Now I want all of you to take out your weapons slowly, drop them, and clear the building...and I want you to remember this." Another deep breath. "You don't. Fuck. With the Smythe family." She stepped back and turned away from the man. Warlock lowered his gun, nodding at the others, who did likewise. The Merritts ran like hell. Then the assembled group just stood and watched Lynn, unsure as to what she'd do next. "Are they gone?" "Yes," Warlock confirmed. "Good." She sagged against the wall, clutching it with her free hand to keep from falling. Daria took a step forward, then stopped, wondering whether it would be wise to approach. Eventually, she looked at the West Coasters. Warlock nodded toward Lynn, and Daria took a step forward. "Lynn..." "Don't." Daria froze. "Come. Near me." "Lynn, I--" "Just. Don't." Daria, Jane, Quinn and the band looked to the West Coasters. Scar and Pagebert just looked at Warlock, who sighed. "Peril..." "Leave." Warlock was instantly suspicious. "Unload the gun?" "I SAID LEAVE!" Silence. Warlock turned to Scar and Pagebert. "Get them out of here. Go see to the..." He looked at Lynn and decided not to go on. "Yeah," Pagebert agreed. Very quietly, he added, "Is she...?" "She's not going to do anything just yet. Now blow." The others left. Warlock watched Lynn, who was still standing motionless, leaning against the wall. * * * Coming down the staircase, Jane and Daria looked somewhat blank -- this had been a lot to take in. The Spiral, as a unit, was ghost-white with shock. Scar and Pagebert just looked sad. Quinn, oddly, was looking somewhat annoyed with all of them. Scar had had enough. "What's with *you,* Narcissa? You could at least *pretend!*" "Pretend *what?* What are you talking about?" "You may not have cared about him," Pagebert half-snapped, "but the man is dead." "No he's not!" They looked at her as if to say who-are-you- kidding. "He was wearing the Kevlar! I mean, *God,* why else did you think he looked so *bulky?*" They all looked at her. She met their eyes with a look that clearly said _What, are you *blind?*_ Then they realized she was right and ran past her down the stairs. "WHAT?" * * * Scar and Jane got to the dumpster first and hove the lid open. Their eyes went wide as saucers. Inside, A.P. was moaning and stirring, sitting up with great effort. "Damn...thing..." Jane nearly choked on his initials. "A.P.?" "No one...told me...it would...still hurt..." "You never asked," Tom pointed out. After a moment, he added, "Never asked if you could wear the stuff, either." "Sorry...but it was...the only...way I could think of...to make her...mad enough to...snap out of it..." "You *planned* that?" boggled Jane. A.P. looked sheepish, then winced. "I figured...she got mad enough to attack Ms. Li when..." He trailed off. "You used her temper to your advantage," Tom mused. "And now she thinks you're *dead,*" Jane pointed out. "On top of everything else. Do you have any clue what that's doing to her?" Now it was A.P.'s turn to go wide-eyed. With a speed that they all just *knew* was going to cost him when the adrenaline wore off, he hauled himself out of the dumpster and tore into the building. Scar and Jane looked at each other and sighed. Daria looked a bit apprehensive as something occurred to her. "If she thinks he's dead...and he just turns up..." Mass facefault. Pagebert made a gesture to Scar and the Spiral, who followed along. Daria, stunned and confused, wandered toward the vehicles. * * * Warlock was collecting up the weapons. Lynn watched him out of the corner of her eye. Her own words to him, centuries ago now, played back in her head on a mocking endless loop. _I got him shot. Nothing like that will ever happen again. _I got him shot. Nothing like that will ever happen again. _I got him shot. Nothing like that will ever happen again. _I got him shot. Nothing like that will_ She looked at the gun in her hands as if she'd never seen one before. _ever_ She blinked rapidly, then looked at Merritt's face -- if you ignored that neat little hole in his forehead (not to mention the big messy one in the back), he looked curiously peaceful now, in contrast to the pain he'd been in before the light in his eyes went out. _happen_ She checked to be sure Warlock wasn't looking. _again._ She raised the gun to her head, trying to decide where to put the bullet in. "You want his death to be wasted?!" Lynn jumped at the revelation that he *was* watching after all. Shock crossed her face, followed by new determination. "BUGGER *OFF*!" He held out a hand. "Hand it over. And I will." She looked at him for a long moment. He stood there patiently, waiting. Then she threw it at him and turned her back. He caught the gun, looked at it, and set it down with the others. Then he made a move in her direction... ...and the door burst open. A.P. stopped in the doorway, worn out from the run and in no small amount of pain. "Lynn..." he gasped. She turned around and looked at him, eyes wide and completely disbelieving. Warlock blinked at A.P. but recovered quickly, figuring out what the kid must have done. Lynn opened her mouth as if to speak...then fell over in a dead faint. Warlock was just close enough to catch her before she hit the floor, and he lowered her gently. Then he looked at A.P. "Way to go, Maverick," he half-snarked. A.P. kept a firm grip on the doorframe as he looked at Lynn, guilt and worry clear on his face. Then he lost his grip and fell over with a groan. Warlock put a hand to his forehead in slight despair. * * * Outside the compound, Daria was standing by the door of the bigwhitevan, peering inside, desperate for something else to think about. Something under a tarp caught her eye, and she stepped into the van and pulled the tarp off, revealing -- a rocket launcher, quite possibly the one Tom and Lynn had asked Leopard about. She looked at it. She looked at the compound. She looked back at the rocket launcher. She heard Lynn asking her, _So...how did it feel, indulging in a random act of violence?_ She answered the old question aloud, the same way she had when it was originally asked. "I think I see what you get out of it." * * * Outside the BWV, Pagebert was heading a kind of grim little caravan of people. Jesse was carrying Lynn; Warlock and Trent were pretty much dragging A.P. The others followed in a ragged knot behind...and they all stopped dead when Daria stepped out of the BWV with the rocket launcher in her hands and Lynn's someone-pushed-the-insanity-button expression on her face. Warlock looked stunned. Pagebert was horrified. "Daria! Put that thing..." She didn't hear him, being too busy with a quick headcount. Having made sure all twelve friendlies were outside, she aimed the rocket launcher at the house and triggered it. Click, woosh, BOOM! The house was so much flaming wreckage. "...down." "It seems to be raining bricks," Scar commented as if this were a common form of weather. For a moment, everyone stared at Daria, who was wearing a cat-that-caught-the-canary smirk. Then sirens began to sound in the distance. "Time to voom!" Warlock nodded to Trent, and they resumed dragging A.P. Quinn looked from the building to Daria and back again with wide eyes. "What...what...what...?" Scar was busy grabbing the rocket launcher off Daria and woman- handling it into the back of the BWV, but managed to ask, "What *now?*" "What'd she do *that* for?" Everyone stopped what they were doing for a second to stare at her. "Duh!" they chorused. Quinn continued in the virtual absence of cerebral event that marks most of her days. "But...but...but...?" Scar gave up and grabbed her by the arm. "Oh, shut up and get in the van." They piled into the BWV and the A-Tank; Warlock and Pagebert slammed the back doors shut and headed for the driver's and shotgun seats, respectively, of the BWV. As the doors were shut and various seatbelts fastened, he asked, "Pagebert...where the *hell* did you find that toy?!" "Getting me in trouble?" "No! -- I *want* one!" The engines revved, and the two vans drove away from the flaming wreck that had been the Merritts' hideout as the approaching sirens got louder. _Aftermath: Zombie_ "My daddy gave me a name, but then he walked away" -- Art Alexakis, "Father of Mine" A.P. was sprawled on a camp bed (as the eventual medical expert would call it) set up on the floor of the Inner Sanctum, near one of the armchairs. He stirred, and the movement caused him to wince and groan in pain. The pain kicked him awake; he looked up, and Warlock was watching him. "How you feeling?" "Like someone threw me out a wind..." He realized what he was saying. "...oh." "And right into a dumpster. -- Nice aim." A sheepish smile. "Well I wasn't..." Another realization. "Lynn." No reply. He got more forceful. "How's Lynn?" Deep breath. "She's...alive." Warlock nodded toward the rest of the room. It'd been laid out to allow more space, and a few more cots were in the space. Jane was curled up on one of the sofas, Quinn on the other. Daria was slumped asleep in a chair, next to the cot on which Lynn was ensconced. Purple Peril looked too close to the way she'd looked in the coma after Ms. Li's attack for A.P.'s comfort. He looked at Warlock, almost pleading. "She's...gonna be okay...?" He didn't add _isn't she?_ He didn't have to; it came through clearly. Warlock debated inwardly for long enough to edge A.P. toward speed-rant mode. "IsshegonnabeOKAY?" "Get some sleep. We'll talk in the morning." "Answer me, dammit," A.P. said in cold tones that didn't hide the fear. "She hasn't woken up yet." If I had to pick the one statement guaranteed to panic A.P., that'd be it. "Will she?!" _When will I learn to keep my mouth shut?_ "Almost definitely." A.P. was now officially freaked. "What the hell do you mean, *`Almost'*?" "You want me to lie? I'm an archer, not a doctor, damnit!" A.P. took a swing at Warlock, who blocked it easily. "That's not going to make me know anything more." "You're so...damn...*cold.*" "It's my job." A sigh. "Look, 'almost' is going to have to do." A pause, then, with a cheer he didn't really feel, "Now, I have here hot tea, sleeping pills, and a really large hammer. Which would you like?" It having all caught up with him, A.P. slumped back onto the pillows in a heavy doze. Warlock looked at him for a moment, bemused. "Sheesh, I was kidding about the hammer." He sighed, stretched and walked over toward Lynn, being careful not to wake Daria. He flashed a glance back at A.P. to make sure the kid was out, then pressed his fingers to Lynn's wrist. After a second, he found her pulse and gave a slight sigh of relief. He then walked over to his workstation, turned it on and waited for it to start up. "Shit," he observed quietly. "I am *so* not looking forward to this." He opened a word processing program and typed in a title. _Report: Operation Siege Perilous - 17/8/2000_ His fingers flashed over the keys as he purged himself into the text, fast at first, then slower and slower. Finally, they slowed to a stop. He rested his chin on his folded hands, looking vaguely like Gendou Ikari, and stared at what he'd written, which was reflected in his glasses. Neither from that reflection nor from his face could anyone have read anything. For a bare second, the mask slipped, and stress and confusion became visible in his eyes, forehead and mouth. Then *bam* -- the mask came down again and he gritted his teeth, nodding to himself. He reached for the mouse, positioned it, hesitated for a second...then sighed in semi-defeat, shifted the mouse slightly and clicked. The printer began to hum, then the reflection of the screen vanished from his glasses. He took them off, rubbed his eyes and got up as Scar came out and settled herself in a chair to take her turn at watch. He walked over to her and handed her the paper. "Wanted a second opinion. If it works, retype and send it." She looked at the single page in her hand. "And if it doesn't?" Slight exasperation began to show through. "Then *make* it work and send it. This has to go out to him tonight." She saw the exhaustion in his face and nodded. He nodded back in thanks and walked off. * * * The next morning, A.P. stirred, moaned and turned his head. He opened his eyes to see Lynn sitting up in bed. She wasn't moving, but at least she was awake. His face lit up. "Lynn!" he half-whispered, half-yelled excitedly. There was no reply. Slightly louder: "Lynn..." Still nothing. He was starting to get confused and slightly worried. "Lynn?" She still wasn't responding. She only moved to breathe, and to blink occasionally. He got up, wincing, and moved to the bed, careful not to wake Daria. He sat down and looked closely at Lynn's face. "Lynn?... Lynn..." Even this close, she didn't seem to be hearing him. That was when he realized something was very wrong. He gently turned her face toward his and looked in her eyes -- which were utterly blank. That made him very afraid very quickly. "Oh...God, Lynn..." He looked up, rage and fear in his face-- --and saw Warlock looking at him. The other read the accusation at once. "I didn't know. I swear." "Bull*crap!* Even if you didn't know, you would have suspected." "I didn't know till this morning. Not for sure, anyway." "But you thought--" "I told you, I'm not a doctor--" "One more Bones ref and--" Warlock backed off, remembering the reaction to the no-poofters comment. "Okay. Fine." A stony silence. "How long will she be like this?" "I've no idea." "I'm not taking that answer." "It's the only one I've got." "Warlock?" Scar called from the next room. "Get in here. Quick. We need to talk." Warlock left. A.P. sat down next to Lynn and watched her sadly. He looked around for spectators, then cautiously put one arm around her and held her, running his other hand through her hair. The choked noises he was making sounded like he was trying not to cry, perhaps because Fred McIntyre had told him that crying wasn't manly. Daria opened an eye, sighed and went back to sleep. It might have made her feel better to know that A.P. was watching out for her too. * * * The next room was a too-small, brightly-lit kitchen. Scar was sitting on one of the appliances, staring accusingly at a mobile phone on a nearby table. Warlock looked at her in an assessing way. "What's the situation, Scar? Fit about to hit the shan?" "*Oh* yeah. -- We have to get them out of here." "Are you out of your mind?" he dropped into his command tone. "She's not tracking! He can barely move! They're not going anywhere!" "Warlock. We're about to be up to our eyeballs in it. You really want them around during that?" Slight pause. Warlock rolled his eyes heavenward. _Why me?_ "Get H in here." The man of the hour was convenient enough to shout, "THAT'S RUST!" "What*ever.*" Tom came into the room. "What?" Scar got down to cases. "Turns out there are some very unimpressed rivals out there. You need out and we're not sure we can move some of you..." "WHAT?" "You're the closest to Mr. Smythe's right hand," Warlock pointed out. "Get me the number of a doctor." "But--" "*Listen* to me. Ever read _The Godfather_?" Tom nodded, a little shakily. "Well, we have better guns now. There is going to be a war. And we're in enough trouble already for letting this happen to the Peril without compounding it by having her sitting in a war zone in the state she's in. I need to know if and when we can move them so get ...me...a frigging...*doctor.*" Tom sighed and grabbed the cordless phone, heading out the door. He stopped in the doorway and looked back at them. "Thanks. For coming after us after all." Warlock didn't or couldn't look at him, obviously thinking _that bit too little, that bit too late._ Tom gave him a weak little smile and walked out. * * * Later, downstairs, Warlock was behind the bar, reading Terry Pratchett's _Mort_, when a stranger walked in, looking a lot like the Peril and the Erudite. He looked up and blinked at her. "Good choice," she said; "though I prefer the Watch books. -- And you must be Warlock. Nice to see you in person at last." "Kestrel. Likewise. -- You're a little far from home." "Oh, I was here anyway. Or had you forgotten that I was," she managed to get a rueful tone inside the scare quotes, "`on tour' this summer?" "We had...other things on our minds. -- Oh. The bet." A rueful nod. "Never agree to a wager with a criminal underworld type. They NEVER play fair. - It was just as well I showed up anyway, given. You need a medical professional, I hear, and I'm as close to it as you're going to get. - Anyway, I believe in fair warning." _I repeat, why me?_ "Let me guess. The Falcon flies." "Stoops, actually. Talons extended." Warlock winced. "Ow." "Yeah. I'd better stick around after this - Lynn and the geek may not be the only ones who need medical attention when he gets a hold of H...or that's Rust. Oh, whatever. - Going to tell him?" "I don't think so. He might find some pressing business on another continent. Say, Fourecks." Kes smirked slightly at the reference to the Discworld's last continent. "True. And I wouldn't miss Uncle Jerome's reaction for the world. - Which reminds me; mind showing me the patients?" * * * Up in the Inner Sanctum, A.P. had his shirt off and was submitting, none too gracefully, to Kes' checking him for sprung ribs. "Ow. Ow. OW!" "Jesus H Christ, kid, what did you DO?" "Took a bullet to the chest wearing kevlar," Scar half-snarked. "Fell through a window. Into a dumpster." And then along came D.J. -- diminutive stature, long black hair tied back, sweet face, glasses, clad in black. "Hey..." She took in the scene. "Am I, like, interrupting something?" "Yeah," Kes snarked, "we're playing Doctors and Nurses." After a pause to rinse the sarcasm out of her voice, she added, "Warlock's on the range." "Not," Warlock replied as he entered the Sanctum. He paused to notice D.J. "Hey." "Hey," she replied. "Turns out I was supposed to be here anyway. The Falcon wants Jensen's head on a pole." "A bit late, since the Maverick splattered that head all over the Merritt compound floor." That rather stunned her. "Huh." She walked over to A.P. "Looks like this is yours." She handed him an envelope. "What the hell is this?" he demanded. "Deposit. You offed Jensen for me. I guess you get the pay." A.P. looked at the envelope. Then he threw it at D.J. and turned his head away. Kes looked at him, then started checking his head. D.J. turned to Warlock. "What's with him?" "Don't ask." Kes got up, her work done. "Okay, that's it." She turned to the West Coasters. "Conference?" "No," A.P. insisted; "you checked Lynn and I want to know--" "I still have that hammer, Maverick," Warlock warned. He took a moment to steady himself before turning to Kes, D.J. and Scar. "Downstairs." * * * Downstairs, the four of them were joined by Rust and Pagebert. Nobody looked happy. "The Maverick's main problem," said Kes, "is a lot of bruising. Pad whatever he's sitting in and he can be moved." "No damage to the ribs?" asked Scar. "None that I can find. Just be gentle with him for a few days and he should be fine." "The Peril?" wondered Warlock. "That's trickier. When I say 'she can be moved', I mean you to take that literally. She's in a fugue state and, bar extensive psychiatric treatment or a great deal of time, I don't know what'll move her past that." "But..." Scar delicately let it hang. A sigh. "But she can be moved." Tom was confused. "Tell me again why we have to go back?" "Does the phrase, 'bloody gang war' not mean ANYTHING to you?" She glared at the others. "Who signed THIS nimrod up?" "When it goes down," Warlock explained patiently, "it'll go down in the major cities first. And sending them back to Lawndale is just stupid enough to not be thought of as an option, so odds are the Merritts won't look there right away. It buys you all some time." "And anyway," Scar added, "the Merritts..." "Or the FORMER Merritts, from the sound..." Scar raised an eyebrow at Kes. "Pedant. Anyway, whoever takes over might take awhile finding out where the Smythe kids live -- not only are they going to be in chaos for a few days since the Erudite blew their compound to hell, but Merritt was really need-to-know with his information. You get into that habit in this business. Or you don't survive long. Falcon told Jezebel too much years ago, and look what happened..." There was some silent thought about that. "When it comes down to it," Warlock pointed out at length, "things that happen routinely in big cities get noticed in suburbia. It'd be harder to hide an assassination attempt in Lawndale than here." Kes sputtered disbelievingly. "They were lucky that time. They had something to work with. What are the odds of them having that kind of opportunity again?" _Thank God, they see reason._ "So we send them back?" "Warlock: Yeah." He thought, then sighed. "Yeah." * * * Back in the Inner Sanctum, everybody was on couches, chairs or what had you. Pagebert was at his workstation, splitting his attention between the talk and IRC or some other information source. A.P. was sitting with Lynn, paying attention to nothing but her. Tom was pacing around restlessly. He walked to a window...looked out...and did a facefault, followed by various incoherent noises. "What," Warlock snarked tiredly; "more Merritts? Police? Singing Vikings?" "Worse!" Exit Rust, pursued by nameless fear. Scar was curious. "Worse?" She took a look out the window. A long look. "Oh." She sounded slightly worried, to say the least. "Houston, this is Tranquillity Base...although not for long. The Falcon has landed. -- And *boy,* does he look pissed." The band looked mildly impressed, especially Max -- a chance to meet a real true criminale! Scar, Pagebert, and Warlock were all a little tense. Daria got an utterly cold look on. Jane looked pissed. Quinn was motionless with anger, or fear, or maybe both -- it was kind of hard to tell. "By the pricking of my thumbs," Warlock observed, "something winged this way comes." Bang bang bang on the door, baby. "Do I hear the sound of someone rapping, tapping at the barroom door?" "MUST you with the quoting?" Kes pled. "Yes. I must. I'm as quotehappy as they come." "Okay," Scar wondered, "who gets to let him in?" All eyes turned to... Kestrel. "Oh great. Muggins here gets it." "You're probably the one he's least mad at," Warlock pointed out. "Yeah, yeah, whatever." As she headed for the stairs, she added, "Why do *I* get all the messy jobs?" She made her exit groundward. In the worried silence that followed, they heard a door open downstairs, presumably the front door, then murmured conversation, then footsteps on the stairs. Kes re-entered quickly, with more footsteps right behind her. "How sturdy is your bathroom door? Cos he kind of plans to blow holes in it." "Eap," eeped Scar. * * * Inside the bathroom with his ear against the door, Tom had heard that. "oh...shit..." He looked to the window. Which was about a foot square. He moved toward it anyway. It was already too late. BANG. The smoking doorhandle fell out of door, and Jerome Peregrine Smythe stood in the doorway. "We don't run from discipline, my lad." He practically dragged Tom back out into the Inner Sanctum proper, then fell to scanning the room. "Lynn?" Daria pointed. Jerome looked...and did a double-take as he saw the blankness with which Lynn was looking at him. No, not at him, nor even through him -- she just happened to have her eyes pointed in that general direction, because they had to be aimed *somewhere.* A.P. tightened his arm around Lynn protectively, giving Jerome the kind of look that says without words, _I'm going to dig your grave, Mister. If I'm feeling generous that day, I'll kill you *before* I put you in it._ Jerome was somewhat stunned, to put it mildly. "What...?" Recovering as best he could, he turned on Tom. "What...did you let them ...do to her?" Tom was just about to wet 'em. "I..." Warlock sighed. _Why am I bothering?_ he wondered before he spoke. "Falcon -- sir -- the Merritts knew what buttons to push. The kid did try, but his only real crime is..." A great deal of bitterness was focused in the next two words. "...utter incompetence." "Just like your father," Jerome said to Rust, then turned back to Warlock. "Your report was rather...vague." Warlock considered a moment, then replied, "So is my medical knowledge." "Kes?" Kes stammered futilely for a moment...then sighed. "I'm not a shrink. So I can't say for sure how bad it is. But...she is NOT well." "She's going to be a lot *worse* if we can't get her out of this city," Scar pointed out. Jerome's poorly-suppressed fury showed that Lynn hadn't only gotten her temper from Kate Cullen. "Someone...is going...to *die* for--" "Someone already *has.*" That interruption put all eyes on Daria. She pointed to Lynn and A.P. across the room; a momentary pause. "Thanks to *them,*" she added rather cruelly. That gave Jerome pause, and he looked at Lynn and A.P. again. A.P. gave a very slight nod. Jerome had to put in a deliberate effort to make his mouth work. "They..." He rounded on Warlock again. "Was there any reason you didn't accompany these...*children* to the stronghold straight away?" "We did *fine!*" Max objected. "We're *criminales!*" Scar's last drop of patience evaporated. "Oh, don't start! They had you cold until we got there and the Peril started plugging holes in their leader!" "The *pair* of you shut it!" barked Jerome. "Your excuse?" "We have other responsibilities..." Warlock replied, clearly feeling guilty as all get out. "To *hell* with `other responsibilities'! My daughters are more important!" A.P. reached to his hip for a weapon that wasn't there anymore. Daria stood up, walked calmly over to her biological father, and hit the man in the face hard enough to deck him. Reeling on the floor, he put a hand to his nose. It came away red. Everyone facefaulted except Jane and A.P., both of whom wore _Way-to-go-Daria_ expressions. Daria looked at the flabbergasted expression on Jerome's face and let out a brief bitter bark of laughter. All sorts of comments were wrapped in that laugh -- comments like _You *had* your chance to show us that your children were more important than the Family business_ and _If I'm so important to you, how come neither of us knew the other even existed until this year?_ What she said, in her best Lynn-voice, was "What a load of faeces tauri." Jerome and Daria locked eyes for a moment. Everyone could nearly *see* the lightning tracing their gazes...and then Jerome looked away, turning to Kestrel. "Can she be moved?" "Yes, she can be moved. I wouldn't really advise it, but..." "Then we put them on a plane and--" "Oh, yeah, great; oh, and be sure to prepare the flight crew for when she leaves the fugue state and has an attack of the screaming meemies." Everyone looked at her funny. "Look, I'm sorry, but I'm no good at subtle. There's no way of knowing how she'll come out of this - when or if she ever does - and if she has some kind of panic attack, it had better be in a vehicle that can be stopped on demand. Otherwise there's no telling WHAT could happen. Now do you WANT a mid-air mishap?" Now the looks were sheepish. "Fine. They drive." "They stay out of major cities and they'll be fine," Warlock assured. Jerome blinked. "Wait. Why should they have to stay out of major cities? -- WARLOCK?" Warlock dropped his voice. "Sir...I'd rather discuss this elsewhere. I don't think some of us need to relive this." Jerome raised an eyebrow at Warlock, then headed for the door. He stopped there and turned back. "Daria. Please. I'll need your views on this." Daria looked at him...then at Warlock, who shrugged and nodded. She looked at Jane for support; Jane nodded as she stood up, and the two followed the Falcon and the other gangsters out. Quinn looked almost thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged, got up and headed after them. A.P. looked from the stairs...to Lynn...back to the stairs... then back at Lynn with a sigh. He shifted position -- carefully, wincing all the way -- and put his head on her shoulder for mutual comfort. * * * Downstairs, They sat around a large table. Warlock had broken out a bottle of wine "for medicinal purposes." Quinn was finishing her account. "...And then Daria took out a rocket launcher and blew up the house and I don't know *why!*" The entire group, including Jerome, facefaulted. "DUH!" Slight pause. Jerome consulted his copy of the report. "What did you mean, left 11:15, came back 12:15? What happened in between?" Warlock hemmed and hawed. "Um...we broke in...got the drop on the Merritts while they were parleying..." "You sure have an odd definition of parley," Daria interjected. "Used loosely." Scar looked at him. "*Very* loosely. ANYWAY. While they were parleying with *that* group," a hand gesture at Daria and Quinn, "...destroyed the building...came back here..." "So," Jerome fairly purred, "the upshot of your little mission was you came, you saw, you destroyed." "More like," Warlock replied, "they took hostages, we kicked ass, we got everyone back alive." The Falcon raised an eyebrow. "Point. -- How did Jensen die?" "Gunshot to the head." Now DJ's was the raised eyebrow. "He got the job done. Center of mass or not." "And Merritt? How did he die?" Warlock winced, remembering. "Slowly." "So basically speaking, this means war." A frown. "That's how I see things." "Wonderful." Said blandly. "Three generations of my family have worked to avoid this sort of thing." Tom looked very uncomfortable, like a man hoping for the Earth to open and swallow him. "Alright, fine, for those of you who don't like war, there'll be war." Looks from all corners. "Well? Where do you think she got it from?" Daria addressed her next question to Warlock, pointedly not looking at Jerome. "So what do *we* do now?" * * * Back in the Sanctum, Daria stepped over to Lynn and A.P. Lynn was either asleep or unconscious -- it was hard to tell. A.P. was sitting on the bed, one hand on her wrist, the other over his eyes. He looked up as Daria made her way to a chair and sat down, but he didn't let go of Lynn's wrist. "So now what?" Daria decided to hold back the worst of it, except in case of a specific request. "We need to be sent back. We're going to go slowly ...on account of your injuries and Lynn's...condition." A.P. winced. "I'm sorry." "Daria?" She noticed, on a conscious level, that he was keyed- up enough to use real names instead of codenames. "She...is going to be okay...right?" "Do you want honest, or reassuring?" The effort it took him to get the word out was quite visible. "...Honest." She sighed. "I don't know. We don't even know what was done. -- But...she *has* survived a lot before now." "She's strong, but...he looked so..." A contrapuntal sigh. "She has all my words. I think this one started with V..." "Either vicious, vindictive or vindicated?" "That last one. -- I never thought I could kill anyone." Daria was curious. "Do you regret it?" "No," he said in the stubborn, sullen tones of a child. He squeezed Lynn's wrist slightly. "No." Daria looked at the floor. A.P. took her hand in the one he wasn't using. "But maybe I'm just not a nice guy." Daria chuckled slightly under her breath and patted his hand with *her* free one. Pagebert came in then. "Need to talk to you, Emerald. You know you guys need out of here and fast. We're thinking tonight. Or *very* early tomorrow at the latest. What works?" Daria went businesslike. "As late as possible. We need to recuperate." Pagebert nodded agreement and walked back out again. Daria turned back to A.P. -- and found him staring at her. "Gonna follow in Big Sis' footsteps?" She went pale at this notion. * * * Ready or not, there they were outside the Blue Motorcycle, loading the A-Tank and the other vehicles under the supervision of Warlock and Scar. Daria stepped out of the bar and moved to stand next to Warlock. "You're sure this is going to be safe." "Just keep your head down," he replied. "You and the Maverick especially. Use your judgement." Daria was stunned. "*My* judgement? But Tom--" She'd never seen so much contempt for another in a human face. "Oh, sure, get his opinion. Then do what *you* think is best. -- Oh, and take these for now." He handed Daria a set of keys. The keyring read 51% ANGEL, 49% BITCH. Daria stared at them, swallowed, and tried to hand them back. "No. I...the last time I drove it, I...She'd..." "Things have changed, Emerald. The situation. You. -- Her." She looked at him. He looked back impassively. A moment passed...and then Daria closed her hand over the keys. Warlock seemed satisfied. "Collect everyone else, willya?" "Mmhmm." The groups assembled in two rough lines, facing each other: In one, Daria, Jane, A.P., the Spiral, and Quinn; in the other, Warlock, D.J., Pagebert, Scar, and Kes. "Okay, guys, there's going to be a little trouble getting you home." "Try to keep out of sight," added Scar, "and out of major cities." "But those two--" Quinn obviously had reference to Merritt and Jensen. "--are dead! Who'll you be fighting?!" "Whoever rises to the vacancy," Warlock snapped, exasperated by her density. "A Family isn't like that. You can't kill a couple people, not even the leaders, and kill it. The Family survives." "Unfortunately," Daria muttered bitterly. Jerome winced as he and Tom approached; he'd obviously heard that. The Lawndalians looked up and, as one, stepped back from the new arrivals. "Oh, and one more thing." Warlock held out his hand, one finger extended. From it hung a keyring with an amethyst in a silver setting -- the keys to Amethyst. A.P. reached out a hand and took the keys -- then just looked at them for a second. "Her...but..." A shrug. "Hang on to them for her. Safekeeping." A.P. blinked at Warlock, mouth opening and closing -- this was a clear note of hope. After a moment, he just gave up and hugs Warlock. Warlock stood stunned for a second, then patted A.P. awkwardly on the back. "I wouldn't do that in *this* town, kid," he replied, trying to make light of it. "People talk." A.P. pulled back with a sheepish shrug. "Sorry. No words." Warlock gave a sort of half-smirk. "Now get out of here. Daylight's wasting." Daria sighed. "And miles to go before we sleep." After a moment, she realized what she'd said and slapped her forehead. "Damn! Now you've got *me* doing it!" This broke some of the tension; there were slight chuckles as the lines broke up and they load into the vehicles. _The Road Home: Turn Back Time_ "I am standing at the water's edge in my dream I cannot make a single sound as you scream" -- Peter Gabriel, "Red Rain" A.P. shifted in his sleep and put his arm out...then came awake and patted the empty cushions beside him. He opened his eyes and propped himself up on his elbow just in time to hear the cottage door close. He looked toward the cottage door, face full of a combination of hope and fear. Then he stepped quietly out the door, closing it behind him and just standing, watching silently, for a moment. Lynn was standing on the balcony of the cottage where they were staying, almost but not quite leaning on the rail, looking at the stars. Her eyes didn't seem as empty. "Purple Peril?" No reply. "Lynn?" Still nothing. He stepped up behind her, but she didn't move. He put his hands on her shoulders and made as if to lead her away...but she wouldn't budge. Instead of allowing herself to be led, she stood firm and kept looking out into space. He shifted so he was standing next to her, an arm around her waist, and looked into her face. "Talk to me. -- If you can...?" "I shot someone. -- I blew holes in him in the places I knew it would cause him the most pain until he begged to die. -- It scares me that I could do that." A long silence. A.P. didn't know what to say to that, not with words, but his arm tightened supportively around her waist as he changed the subject. "You said--" "I know. -- You don't have to worry about it. I'm not going to...follow it up or anything. I just thought it should be said. Before..." She shrugged. There was a short silence. "You've said a lot of stuff to me. Some of it made me think. Some of it made me laugh. Some of it," he had to admit, "just made me confused. But that..." He swallowed nervously. "I only have one problem with what you said." A weak smile. "Why didn't you say it before?" Now Lynn turned to face him, her eyes wide. "We wasted years." Lynn stared at him a moment longer...then lowered her head and started to cry. Not even *trying* to find words, A.P. pulled her close and held her, stroking her hair. After a moment, she looked up. "Why didn't--?" A.P. shut her up with a kiss; the first one they both knew was mutual. Then he pulled away and looked back into Lynn's eyes -- and she'd blanked out again. Never one to hide his feelings, he looked as hurt and angry as he felt -- not at her, but at whatever Jensen had done to her. He pulled her close. "It's gonna be okay. It's over now, I swear..." Tom was watching them from the doorway, with an expression of extreme guilt and sadness. Daria stood behind him, and at this she put a hand on his shoulder. He covered it absently with his own, wondering, "How am I supposed to tell him?" Daria opened her mouth to speak, then just shook her head with a sigh. Her hand tightened a little on his shoulder. From the house, Trent watched them with hate and sadness in his face. _Postlude: Cruel Summer -- Lawndale, late August_ "Life was such a wheel that no one could stand upon it for long. "And the wheel came always round to the same place again." -- Stephen King, _The Stand_ Daria stopped typing and looked at what she'd written. Then she sighed, saved it, and shut the computer down. That done, she turned toward the phone, picked it up and dialed. "Jane?" "Daria? Do you know what time it is? What are you doing up?" "Yeah, and I could ask you the same thing." "Yeah, well, we're both bound to be too keyed up to sleep, I guess." "Yeah." "To answer the questions I know you're calling to ask, everything's...well, I can't say 'fine' but as good as we can hope for. Trent seems okay, but mention the band to him and he freezes up. Same with the other guys -- I talked to them on the phone to make sure they got back okay. And...Lynn's set up in Penny's room for now..." She sounded very sad. "I'd say she's comfortable, but there's no way to tell right now." "No, I understand. Thanks for this, Jane." "No big deal. Just wish the news was better." "And A.P.? Did he get home okay?" "He didn't `get home' at *all.* I think it'd take a crowbar to pry him away from Lynn right now." Daria groaned. "He called his parents, at least?" "Well, *I* did." That was reassuring enough. "Pretended to be stranded in a bar in Albuquerque. Told them he'd be back in a few days. Thought I'd give him some time, y'know." "Well, that's something, anyway. Thanks for letting me know." "Hey, no problem, amiga. Take care. And try and get some sleep, okay?" "Yeah. Thanks. You too. Later." Daria hung up the phone, moved to the bed, nearly fell onto it and was asleep, fully clothed, before her head hit the pillow, as dawn light came filtering in through the bars on her window. * * * The light coming in through his window woke Tom up. He stared at the ceiling, thinking out loud. "Okay, he was already going to slice me thinly from the feet up. What could be worse?" Three, two, one... "*Slowly* slicing me thinly from the feet up." He took a moment to look for something else to think about, and his eyes flicked to his computer. "Hmm. Mail..." He got up, moved to the computer and started his email program. "Spam, spam, spam...Warlock. Uhoh. Okay, decrypt...and..." He read it, muttering to himself. "...from Warlock, to me, cc...oh shit, Falcon Himself...Merritts...an eye, preferably *both*...second...and last--" He swallowed hard, so keyed-up that he didn't even notice the parting shot in the PS. "--chance...He found worse. Trust a Smythe." "It's too late to save your franchise, Jason the Iron Pumper, but it might not be too late to keep the sewer rats from eating your nipples for dinner." -- Neal Stephenson, _Snow Crash_ VOICE CAST IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE(S) Jake Morgendorffer -- Julian Rebolledo Helen Barksdale Morgendorffer, Quinn "Narcissa" Morgendorffer, Jane "Art- Smart Scarlet" Lane -- Wendy "Hannah" Hoopes Trent "Sir Naps-a-Lot" Lane -- Alvaro Gonzalez Max "Little Drummer Boy" Tyler, Nicholas "Poppa Bear" Campbell -- that information was not available at press time Daria "Erudite Emerald" Morgendorffer -- Tracy Grandstaff Lynn "Purple Peril" Cullen, Jan the Kestrel -- Janet "Canadibrit" Neilson Andrew Philip "A.P., Psycho-Maverick" McIntyre -- Ian James Corlett Thomas "Tom, H, Missing H, Rust" Sloane -- Russell Hankin Jesse "Leather-Boy" Moreno -- Willy Schwenz Redneck Bar Owner, Beavis, Butthead, Todd -- Mike Judge "S.S. Rat" -- John "mouserr" Smith "Tuxedo Slack" - Austin G. Loomis Cheerful Charlie, Fat Club Manager in Reno -- Mike Donovan Nigel Abrams, Bryce Merritt -- Harry Shearer W.L. Jensen -- Tony "Wind Lane" Jensen "Leopard Lady" -- Jill Friedman Elliot, "Wily" -- Frank Welker "Aph" -- Diane Long "Eco" -- Jon Kilner "NCM" -- "Crazy Nutso" "Warlock" -- Ben Yee "Scar" -- Kara Wild "Pagebert" -- Chad Page "D.J." -- Shelby McGowan Jerome Peregrine "Falcon" Smythe -- Alan Rickman ADAPTOR'S NOTES In certain circles, a "demi-sibling" is a half-sibling on the side through which your culture reckons lineage. Hence, in a patrilineal society like ours, half-sisters with the same father (like Lynn and this continuity's Daria) are demi-sisters. Yes, it is from _Soul Music_. "Yap" really is something I occasionally say in circumstances where a normal person would say "Yep." It comes from John Barnes' novel _A Million Open Doors_ (which I highly recommend) and reappears in its sequel, _Earth Made of Glass_ (which I don't so much). The threat to "do terrible things to [someone]. On purpose" was, in the unlikely event you've ever wondered, originated by Pete Wisdom, created by Warren Ellis during his run on Marvel's _Excalibur_. "Two sequins and a cork" came to my attention courtesy of Thomas A. Wilde, aka Wanderer (storyteller at msc dot net). "Why not the Narrator?" may or may not be a reference to my own casting for a "Lawndale Horror Picture Show." If it isn't, I trust Jan will allow me my delusions. The spelling "Honque!" is courtesy of Roy Thomas' _Captain Carrot and his amazing ZOO CREW!_, the funny-animal superhero comic I read and enjoyed in the early 80s (literally years before we learned of Carrot Ironfoundersson's career with the Watch). Just because they haven't been mentioned in LAS continuity (due to "Of Human Bonding" not having happened as such) doesn't mean "Boys- R-Guys" (the reified boy-band invoked in that canon-S4 episode) don't exist. It's like the many other S4 refs CB's sprinkled throughout her S3. "Take me to your leader" can't be a _War of the Worlds_-ism, because neither Wells' and Pal's Martians were interested in *talking* with humans, just in extirpating us. The "virtual absence of cerebral event" comes from the late William S. Burroughs' _Naked Lunch_, an endless novel which will drive everyone mad. I'm afraid Ben's not recalling it quite correctly, or else I'm not. The Siege Perilous, as I remember it, was actually a seat at the Round Table in which nobody could sit without scorching their backside -- except the Perfect Knight, which was either Lancelot or Galahad, depending on whom you read. Obligatory legal blap: Daria Morgendorffer was created (as were the rest of the Lawndale characters) by Glenn Eichler and Susie Lewis Lynn; Beavis and Butthead were created by Mike Judge, and Todd probably by some MTV writer or other. They are all copyright 1993, 1997, 2000 MTV Networks, a Viacom company. (As Michelle Klein-Haess has pointed out, work-for-hire sucks the yolks from ostrich eggs.) Monty Python quotes and characters are copright 1970, 2000 Python (Monty) Pictures Ltd. Quotes from _The Geography of Nowhere: the rise and decline of America's man-made landscape_ are copyright 1993 James Howard Kunstler. Lyrics from "We Will All Go Together When We Go," "Poisoning Pigeons in the Park," "The Elements" and "The Masochism Tango" are copyright 1953, 1958, 1959, 1968 Tom Lehrer. Lyrics from "Sweet Transvestite" and other quotes from "The Rocky Horror Show" are copyright 1975 Richard O'Brien, but at least in the US, they're apparently public domain now; Audience Participation is apparently copyleft nobody in particular. Lyrics to "Sisters" are probably copyright someone, but I've no idea whom. They are here used, without the permission of their creators or owners, in the not-for-profit context of fan-fiction. The characters of Lynn Cullen, A.P. McIntyre, Jerome Peregrine Smythe, Nigel Abrams and Bryce Merritt are copyright 1999, 2000 Janet "Canadibrit" Neilson. All cameos are by permission of the authors involved. This storyline is copyright 2000 Janet Neilson and Ben Yee, and was adapted by Austin Loomis (to whom the prose format version is copyright 2000) with the specific permission of the former and the tacit permission of the latter. All other characters, locations and incidents (of which I don't think there are any, actually) are either imaginary or used fictitiously. Any coincidence of names is regretted, and any resemblance to persons living, dead, undead, or wandering the night in ghostly torment is either purely satirical or not my fault. As a "substantially transformative" derivative work, this story is protected by the Supreme Court's decision in re Campbell v. Acuff Rose Music. It may be freely redistributed as long as this copyright notice is maintained intact, but may not be in any way redistributed for profit without the permission of the legal owners of all concepts involved. The present author hereby gives permission for any and all keepers of Daria fanfic pages to archive this work (as if I could stop them). Any publication of this story for profit without the express written permission of Austin Loomis, Janet Neilson, Ben Yee and MTV Networks (like any of that'll happen, especially the last) is strictly prohibited, and violators, if I ever decide to track them down, will be strung up by the thumbs, beaten about the head and shoulders with a free-range carrot, and then handed over to corporate lawyers who will do terrible things to them. On purpose. Austin, and good day. Al D T0 W- Q Fw^Fr O+ Ow+OH+Of m c- MV+ F:111,208,313 BB+ FCT -DT+ q fJ^fj^fD