From pma@triton.dsto.gov.auTue Jun 20 09:14:33 1995 Date: Tue, 20 Jun 1995 16:36:24 +0930 From: Peter Asenstorfer To: rhaller@phloem.uoregon.edu Subject: PowerStar 88 I don't know if you're going to get all this, but here goes... -----------------Cut Here----------------------------------------------------- POWER STAR The Imagination Anthology ISSUE 88 JULY 1995 Kimberly Murphy, Managing Editor Jerry Seward, Editor Emeritus Monica Rose Kiesel, Production Director Brian Neale, e-mail "Postmaster" Bennet Pomerantz, Collectibles Columnist J. Calvin Smith, Manuscript Editor CONTRIBUTORS: D. Lynn Bivens, Robert Frederick, Parker Gabriel, L. Gray, Ken Saint John, Celestine St. Sauvier, Walter M. Scott III, Priscilla Tweed Strange Visitors From Other Planets "A Trader's Tale", By Robert Frederick . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .5 A space trader agrees to transport a very unusual cargo in this complete-in-this-issue original tale. "An Objective Rebuttal To `Ways That TWIN PEAKS' Dale Cooper Is Better Than X-FILES' Fox Mulder'", By L. Gray. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16 One of TWIN PEAKS fandom's most prolific writers, L. Gray, answers TWIN PEAKS novelist Ann Brill White's letter from POWER STAR issue 81 on Cooper vs. Mulder. "First X-Mas", By Celestine St. Sauvier. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 Can Scully and Mulder take a break from THE X-FILES to enjoy Christmas, each in their own way? Read this short- short and find out. "Reunion: The Men In Black Incident", Conclusion, By D. Lynn Bivens . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19 PROJECT:U.F.O.'s Fitz and Gatlin have learned things about the Men In Black they shouldn't have known--can they escape from the MIB nest with their knowledge? The adventure concludes! "Indestructible", By Parker Gabriel. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31 What if one of the Spectrum Angel Flight pilots were to serenade CAPTAIN SCARLET? The result might sound something like this filksong. "Pawns Of Evil", Conclusion, By D. Lynn Bivens And Kimberly Murphy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31 The war between CAPTAIN SCARLET AND THE MYSTERONS turns ugly as the Mysterons unleash their army of evil intent on the streets of downtown New York City while Spectrum experiences strife from within--can the earth survive? The conclusion is here! Native Inhabitants Credits `N' Stuff. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .2 The usual disclaimers, addresses, etc. Murphy's Musings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .3 We interrupt this musing for the following announcement... POWER STAR Shareware Distributors. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .3 Got a modem? Check out these BBSs where POWER STAR and lots of other great stuff can be found. Comm Panel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63 Strange visitors from the postal service and the internet. Subscription Rates . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71 Our usual advertising plug. "Ye Olde Collectables And Trivia Shoppe", By Bennet Pomerantz. . . . . . 72 Bennet Pomerantz's nationally-renowned column on the latest in collectables. Back Issues Cross-Reference. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 74 Previous visits from these beings in POWER STAR... Coming Next Time.... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .? ...our submissions are as hot as the summer. Read all about it. * * * * * * * * Ad, p. 15, courtesy One Trek Mind Productions POWER STAR is a monthly amateur fanzine devoted to science fiction, fantasy, and horror in all media and is published by Kimberly Murphy and Jerry Seward. Seeking material--fiction and non-fiction, prose, poetry, and artwork--on all forms of fantastic media. Comments are welcome. Submission guidelines are available upon request. Issues 1-23 are no longer available. Other issues are available upon request. Shareware copies (ASCII text only), starting with issue 71, are available on several BBSs worldwide, including the official BBS of POWER STAR, =ACE= Online. On your modem, dial (301) 942-2218 (8-N-1, 28800). Comments or submissions may be left as a message for Kimberly Murphy. A complete up-to-date (as of publication date) list of BBSs carrying POWER STAR can be found on p. 3 of this issue. BBS SysOps interested in distributing POWER STAR should contact Kimberly at either the post office or e-mail address below. Issues and shareware registration cost $5.00 ($7.50 in Canada/Mexico; $10.00 for other foreign countries) in U.S. funds. Discounts are available for volume purchases. All issues are shipped at Fourth Class Book Rate (U.S. orders) or Printed Matter Airmail rate (overseas orders) unless otherwise requested; there is an extra fee of $3.00 for faster shipping. Make check or money order payable to Kimberly Murphy. Address all correspondence to Kimberly Murphy: Regular mail: 9740-E Covered Wagon Drive/Laurel, Maryland 20723- 1512 USA/(301) 490-3706 Primary e-mail/internet submissions: kimberly.murphy@acenet.com America Online Submissions: Pwrstr Manuscript Editor's address: calvin.smith@ghawk.com Additional e-mail stops: kimmurphy@aol.com or kimberly.murphy@ghawk.com (Snailmail information requests, please enclose SASE. E-mail information requests, please include e-mail address in the body of request to prevent misrouting of replies.) Copyright 1994/1995, Jerry Seward/Kimberly Murphy. POWER STAR is in no way meant to infringe the rights of holders of copyrights referred to in this publication. All original stories and artwork are copyrighted to the authors. ==========Coming Up Next...========== Murphy's Musings Commentary By Kimberly Murphy The honour of your presence is requested at the marriage of Kimberly Ann Murphy to James Calvin Smith Saturday, the fifteenth of July nineteen hundred ninety-five at three o'clock p.m. Laurel Presbyterian Church Laurel, Maryland ==========Coming Up Next...========== POWER STAR Shareware Distributors ASCII text versions of POWER STAR are available on the BBSs and FTP sites listed below. These issues are "shareware"; they may be registered for a "final" finished paper copy for the same price as a regular issue. Discount registrations are also available. New issues are usually uploaded by the 10th of the month. Check out these boards! BBS Name Phone number =ACE= Online . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (301) 942-2218 001 Science Fiction (POWER STAR Online Bulletin) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 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(410) 893-1593 Ultimate Connection BBS. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (217) 792-3663 ==========Coming Up Next...========== A Trader's Tale A Short Story By Robert Frederick The small craft was racing through open space. It had reached its maximum speed of space warp 3.2 and was starting to groan from the stress of the chase. In the pilot seat, its captain was busy at the controls. All reserve power was now feeding into the shields. The nav-computer spilled out data on the ship's status from the small screen in front of the pilot. Wes Crockett was a medium-built Earther with dark hair and eyes. It had only been ten minutes since he had left Trading Post 4 when the Beta Sector Patrol had started pursuit. He did not even have time to change out of his trading tunic. Wes glanced at the screen and swore. He had run out of ideas. The dark-haired captain quickly punched in a set of numbers, and a star chart appeared. He scanned it quickly, hoping to find a way out of this situation. The SANTA ANNA rocked from another blast of the Beta Sector Police pulsar guns. They were closing rapidly. The nav-computer flashed a message: shields at 52% and dropping. There has to be something around here, thought Crockett. Then he saw it: An uncharted asteroid field. His small craft could squeeze into it and lose the cops in the process. He grabbed the helm and made a course change. The SANTA ANNA banked hard to port, narrowly escaping a pulsar bolt. "Just four thousand kilometers; the shields should hold," Wes said to himself. He could not help but think of his cargo. It was secure in his hold, but he hated the thought of the Sector cops getting their hands on it. He punched in an update on the ship's computer. Another pulsar bolt bounced off the shields, shaking the ship. Shields at 34%. It was going to be close. The asteroid field was in sight now. Crockett turned the craft to starboard and frantically searched for an opening. There...he saw a narrow corridor toward the end of the belt. He slowed to 1/3 power and maneuvered the SANTA ANNA into it. Once in the corridor he pulled hard over to port, circling a jagged asteroid. He then slid under two smaller ones and pulled up to a stop. His eyes searched intently for a hiding place in a neighboring rock. After a single orbit around this giant stone, he noticed a small enclosure. This would do nicely. He cut his engines to 1/4 power, made a slight course change, and drifted in gently. The craft disappeared from view in a couple of seconds. Crockett then shut down the engines and initiated the gravity field. The floating rock gently grabbed hold of the SANTA ANNA and held it in place. He was safe for now. Wes sat back in his pilot seat and let out a sigh. A big grin began to emerge on his face, and he released a chuckle. Luck was with him again, he thought. He leisurely pulled off his tunic, placed it in the co-pilot seat, and began a quick damage survey on the ship's computer. Two coolant leaks and a strain on the shields. No hull damage. That could be repaired in no time. But first, he needed to check on his cargo. Crockett rose out of the chair, exited the cockpit, and strode toward the belly of the ship. Halfway down, he detoured into the lavatory. After relieving himself, he glanced into the small mirror above the sink. The five-day beard growth, dark circles under his eyes, and tousled hair all showed his fatigue. The three years spent in the Trader's Guild was draining his body. However, this was his last transport run. After settling these last few deals he would secretly disappear and retire to the small piece of property he owned on Beta Centaurus. A quiet life was what he desired now. He turned, went out, and continued to the back of the freighter. A large bulkhead with a computer lock appeared at the end of the corridor. Wes keyed in a quick set of numbers, and it opened with a whine. He stepped in and surveyed for damage. The nine cases of ale were still secured by rope and netting. Neatly stacked were other crates marked as spare parts, dehydrates, and photon batteries. Everything was in place. To the right was a small alcove. A tarp, strung up on an overhead coolant pipe, covered the entrance. He pulled it back and peeked in on the most important piece of cargo in the small bay: Three Orion slave women, all quietly sleeping on a mound of cargo tarps and blankets. Wes gazed at them. Their firm, curvy violet bodies clad in bright silk and leather made him take a deep breath. The women were exotically pleasurable and always brought a handsome price. Crockett did not approve of selling or owning people. He was only transporting these three as a favor to a friend. Satisfied that they were all right, he started to leave. Suddenly, a soft voice said, "Did you lose them?" Startled, Wes quickly turned back and answered, "What?" "Did you lose the Sector Police; are we safe?" asked the youngest of the three women. "Uh...yeah," said Crockett, a little shaky. "I ducked into an asteroid belt. They won't follow us in here." "But will they be waiting for us?" she asked as she sat up, stretching. "No," he answered, shaking his head. "I'm too small-time; besides, their ships are too expensive to risk in an asteroid field." "Good," she replied with a sigh. "You're Wes Crockett, aren't you?" Crockett hesitated to answer. "Yes, I am." "I've heard of you," she said with a sly grin. "You're the trader with no past, and one of the most trusting in the Guild." Crockett did not answer. The Orion woman stood up gracefully. Her soft curly black hair fell past her shoulders, and rolls of silk clung to her light purple body. "My name is Kealy. Can you tell me our destination?" Wes thought for a moment, then finally answered, "No. I'm just repaying an old debt." "Oh." She took a step toward him, and asked curiously, "What's your story, Crockett?" Wes hated it when people asked him about his life. "What's yours?" he snapped back. "Well," she began, "I'm only half Orion. I was pushed into performing by an uncle. These are my cousins." She gestured to the two women still sleeping. "They like being owned by rich and powerful men. I don't. I want my own life. No deals to live up to, no traditions to keep. I'm looking for an opportunity to get out. Now what's your end?" Wes looked at her sadly and said, "Nothing special. Do you need anything?" "No," came the reply quietly as she sat back down on the floor of the bay. "Okay, I've got to make repairs. We'll be leaving in an hour." Crocket turned to leave, but stole a quick glance back. She was very beautiful and very desperate. He left the cargo bay feeling rather uncertain about this favor. The repairs took a little over an hour. The leaks were patched and the shields were regenerated. Wes sat in the pilot seat reviewing the star charts on the nav-computer. The conversation with Kealy replayed itself over and over in his mind. He had traded in many worlds with many cultures, but he had never felt this strange about transporting cargo. Had the old feelings resurfaced? Could he continue to keep looking away? "It don't mean nothing. It's not any of your business, just get the merchandise there," he had muttered to himself for the past three years. What was happening now? Crockett closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He let it out slowly, then went back to the charts. This load was due on Outpost 23's open market, on the planet Memos II in nine hours. Oben Farr and the bonus would be there waiting for him. The deal would be closed. He would then sell the SANTA ANNA, hire a transport to Beta Centaurus, and finally rest. Crockett punched on the controls and the engines came to life. The gravity field was shut down and the craft slowly inched out of the asteroid. A few course changes and the SANTA ANNA emerged from the field of floating rocks. Once clear, the freighter shot into warp space. Eight hours later, the trading ship slid into a smooth orbit around Memos II. Wes opened a channel to the Outpost Communications Office. A female voice came out of the speaker, "Earth Federation Outpost Twenty-Three. State your name, I.D., and business!" "Wes Crockett. Trader's Guild. Ship number 114, Beta-Class. Approaching with merchandise for open market," he replied back. There were several moments of silence. "You may land at docking hangar twenty-one. Welcome to Memos II." "Noted. SANTA ANNA out." Crockett plotted a descent course and ten minutes later set down on a faded docking hangar. The engines were shut down and a quick systems check of the ship was done. He then grabbed his hooded tunic and hopped out of the pilot seat. After putting on the tunic, Wes reached under the instrument panel and pulled out a small stunner pistol. "Always helps to be prepared," he said aloud as he placed it in his tunic pocket. The trader left the cockpit and headed for the cargo hold. Once there, the numbers were entered into the lock and the door opened. The three Orion women were standing just inside the threshold. Startled, Crockett stepped back. "Sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you," Kealy said with a grin. "We felt the ship land. Are we there?" "Yes," answered Crockett. "Great. Where have you brought us?" "Outpost Twenty-Three's open market on Memos II." "I've heard of it," Kealy stated. "Can we leave the ship?" "Not yet. My associate will not be here for another thirty minutes." "Oh, well, how about a tour of your ship?" Kealy asked excitedly. Crockett was not prepared for that. But what harm could it do? "Sure," he nodded. "We'll stay here. You go on, Kealy," a cousin said slyly. Kealy looked back at her cousin and smiled. Wes stepped out of the cargo bay, and the door closed. "This way," said Crockett and led her down the ship's corridor. Kealy walked with amazing grace. The silks and charms flowed like wind chimes in the breeze. Orion women did not need perfume. They had a natural sweet chemistry that could stimulate a man, and it was working on Crockett. The tour ended at the cockpit. Kealy sat down in the co-pilot's seat. "This is some ship!" she said. "Yes, she is that. I'll be sorry to sell her," Crocket answered with some disappointment. "What do you mean?" Kealy asked, puzzled. "This is my last deal. After I sell all my merchandise, I retire as a trader," Crockett said as he stared out the cockpit view glass. "I don't understand." Kealy seemed confused. "You are one of the best in the Trader's Guild. How can you get out?" Crockett turned and looked at Kealy. He did not want to reveal his plans to her. But something inside him kept pushing at the hard foundation that surrounded his past. "I have a plan," he stated to her. Kealy stood and quietly walked up to him, gently placing her hands on his shoulders. "Help me out of this, Crockett," she pleaded. "Please." Wes looked into her hazel eyes. She was determined to rid herself of the life she was trapped in. But she could not succeed alone. Crockett's heart was pounding. Trying to find a solution was almost impossible, unless he got involved. He started to answer when the com-panel buzzed. Wes turned aside and opened a channel. "Crockett here," he said. "Wes, you ol' Mars mutt. How've you been?" said a raspy, deep voice. "I'm coming to collect. Be there in four minutes." "Right, Oben," Crockett said back and closed the channel. "Come on." He grasped Kealy's hand and walked to the side hatch. "Wait here," he stated. "Maybe I can cut a new deal." Her face lit up with excitement. The hatch lowered and Wes stepped down onto the hangar deck. Oben Farr and two other aliens were approaching him from the opposite end. "Wes, glad to see you!" Oben Farr yelled with an outstretched hand. He was a short man with pale blue eyes, thinning blonde hair tied back into a short pony tail, and a bushy mustache. Clad in hand-woven, tan trousers, a red shirt, and a leather multi-pocket vest, Oben Farr resembled the original galactic trader. They shook hands. "How'd the cargo ride?" Oben asked. "Great, no problems," Wes answered back. "New boots?" "Yeah. Pure Orion lizard skin. You try out any of the merchandise?" he asked with a sleazy grin. Crockett smiled and just shook his head. "Well, let's check the cargo." Oben trotted to the two companions that stood behind him. One was a tall, dark, muscular woman clad in leather. The other was a younger, slender-built bald woman with an orange pigtail and tattoos. She had on a tight- fitting jumpsuit and a warning look. "Rovan...JoJo...get in there and make sure we have everything. But don't touch the merchandise." "Don't you trust me?" asked Crockett. "Always, my friend," Oben returned and pulled out a cigar. "Smoke?" "Not one of those," replied Crockett. Oben chuckled and lit it. Five minutes later, Rovan and JoJo returned. The tattooed woman stated, "Everything is intact. The ale, spare parts, and the Orion women." "Excellent!" nodded Farr. "Crockett, let's go across the street for a drink and settle up." He put his arm on Wes's shoulder and started him across the hangar. "All right." Wes began to walk alongside Farr. "I want to ask you about one of the--" He felt a sharp pain in his side and then blackness. Crockett crumpled to the hangar floor. Oben Farr stood over the unconscious trader and frowned. Wes awoke slowly. He felt a little dizzy and nauseated. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. There, it was passing. Crockett sat up and looked at the surroundings. It was a small room made of stone with no windows and one door. He was on an old surplus cot. He reached into his tunic pocket for the stunner pistol. It was gone. Wes rubbed the front of his head, trying to remember what happened. Yes, the hangar. Oben Farr and Kealy. KEALY! Wes immediately stood up. A wave of dizziness overtook him. He groaned and sat back down. "Won't do that again," he said aloud. Crockett then heard the voices. Lots of voices, outside the room. Carefully he stood and went to one of the stone walls. Listening intently, Wes theorized he was near the open market. The door opened suddenly. Oben Farr, JoJo and Kealy entered into the cell. Anger began to swell inside Wes. "You better have a good reason for this," he stated to Oben. "Take it easy, my friend," Oben said firmly. "This pretty young lady wanted to see you." He motioned her forward. JoJo gave Kealy a shove toward Wes. She stopped short and gave a threatening look back, then turned to face Crockett. "I just wanted to check on you," she said, not trying to hide her affection. "I'm all right," Crockett answered softly to her. He stared again into her seductive eyes. The trader then turned away and took a step toward his business partner. JoJo immediately produced a lazer-bow that had been slung to her shoulder. She pointed the weapon at Wes, threatening to blast him. Crockett eyed her with caution, then faced Oben. "Well?" he challenged. "It's like this: We know you're planning to give up membership in the Guild, but my associates and I can't let this happen," Oben Farr stated honestly. "You are much too valuable." Crockett stared at him blankly. "Look, Wes, this was the only way I could get you to listen. Sorry about using the Jupiter stinger," Oben said apologetically. "You have been in the Guild for three years now, and we've built a good business relationship." He paused. "I also know about Fed- Colony Five." Wes stiffened, then gave Oben a cold stare. "What do you know?" he asked, trembling. Kealy strode to Crockett's side and gently placed her hand in his. She could read the turmoil in the trader's face. "What is it, Wes?" she asked with concern. Crockett kept silent. Kealy looked to her friend for an answer. "Crockett lost his family to a pirate raid on Beta Palakus. The agriculture colony as well as the Federation garrison were destroyed," Oben said. "Wes was one of the medical officers assigned there while his wife was doing research. The raid happened so fast, no one had time to react. It was after that you joined the Trader's Guild, right, Wes?" Crockett bowed his head and stared at t he floor. All the bad memories flowed back into his mind. "I'm sorry, Wes," Kealy said with sadness. Crockett collected himself and faced Oben. "Let us go," he demanded. Oben Farr shook his head, frowning. "You have a career with us now. Forget the past. I am the only one who knows about it." He began to stroke his mustache cunningly. "We're willing to make you a deal." At that moment, the com-unit on JoJo's wrist whistled. She accepted the message and said to Oben, "Number One wants to see us, now!" "I'll be back later. You think on it." Oben hurried out with JoJo behind. The door slid shut and locked. "What kind of deal could they make with you?" Kealy asked. "Not a good one, I'll bet," Wes stated to her. "We're getting out of here, now!" He moved to the door and examined the lock. Crockett listened for movement in the corridor and then began entering codes into the lock at random. After ten minutes and no success, the trader stood back, frustrated. "Let me try," said Kealy with confidence. She removed a charm on her leather and gold belt, and proceeded to pick off the lock's front panel. Once she removed it, the Orion delicately pulled out and crossed pieces of circuit. A few codes were punched in, and the door opened. Crockett stared at her in amazement. "I'm impressed," he said. Kealy smiled. "I try to please." They both peeked out the doorway into the short hall. To the left was another room and a bend to the right in the corridor. Both were deserted. To the right, the corridor extended a short distance to an open door. Crockett could see the merchants in the marketplace. "Let's go," he whispered. The pair started down the hallway quickly. The opening was almost upon them when JoJo emerged through the entrance. All three individuals were caught by surprise. JoJo reached for her lazer- bow. Kealy reacted immediately by reaching into her belt and produced a secretly-hidden dagger. With quick skill and accuracy, the small deadly weapon whipped through the air and planted itself into JoJo's hand. The tattooed woman let out a howl and dropped the lazer-bow. On instinct, Wes scooped up the weapon and threw a punch. His fist connected with JoJo's jaw and propelled her backwards. She hit the stone wall and sank to the floor, dazed. Kealy quickly grabbed the jailer's hand stunner and tucked it into her waist belt. Just then, three burly men appeared at the opposite end of the corridor. All three stopped suddenly to examine the scene ahead. "Get them," JoJo cried as she pulled the dagger from her hand. Crockett pushed Kealy out the door. "Run," he cried, and aimed the lazer-bow down the corridor. Crockett let go a round which exploded into the ceiling. The three thugs ducked for cover and Wes disappeared out the door. The fleeing pair dashed into the marketplace for cover. Crockett and Kealy darted around vendor stands and buyhers trying to lose their pursuers. JoJo and the thug trio were seconds behind them. Wes took a second to look back and check the distance between them. He could see the rage on JoJo's face. She was determined to catch them. One of the thugs had drawn his fazer pistol. Crockett saw it and immediately pulled Kealy to the right around another market stand. The fazer bolt missed and exploded into a tarp support. The cover came down on top of the vendor and stand, spilling his goods onto the brick street. JoJo and her trio ran wide to avoid the mess, and lost sight of their prey. Meanwhile, Crockett and Kealy had momentarily slipped behind a farmer's tent. After losing their jailers, they managed to catch their breath. Wes searched for any possibilities to avoid capture. Just then, a hover bike pulled up next to the tent. The farmer's young son was delivering more herbs. The boy hopped off and carried a crate to the front. Crockett siezed the opportunity. He and Kealy mounted the slick speeder. "Hold on tight," Wes yelled and roared the engines to life. He punched the drive lever and sped off down the street. The farmer's son returned only to find empty space. The boy scratched his head in confusion and strolled back to the front. The couple sped down a side street. Shoppers cursed and jumped from the bike's path. "Can you drive one of these things?" Kealy shouted over the noise of the engines. "No!" Crockett yelled back. "Oh, swell," said Kealy sarcastically. "Where are we going?" "Space Port hangars. We'll get aboard the SANTA ANNA and get the Hell out of here." "I'm all for that," Kealy replied as she hung on tighter to Wes. The hover bike and riders whipped onto another street. The end of the market place was close now. Crockett was just about to release a sigh when JoJo and her three thugs stepped out onto the street. All four hunters had confident smiles on their faces and carried fazers aimed straight at them. Wes Crockett's mind raced for ideas. Finally, he had only one choice. He reached for the lazer-bow and placed it under his arm. "Kealy!" he cried. But she had seen them too, and instinctively knew what to do. The Orion tucked her head close to Wes and pointed the stunner at the approaching foursome. Satisfied, Crockett cocked the lazer- bow, took aim, and floored the speeder. The gap closed quickly. JoJo patiently waited for them, a confident smile still on her face. The three hired henchmen behind her began to grow nervous. Wes stared ahead with gritted teeth. He placed his finger on the bow trigger. "Ready?" he called to Kealy. She acknowledged with a nod. When the distance closed to only a few yards, Crockett squeezed off one of the nitro-plasm-tipped arrows from the lazer-bow. It exploded directly in front of JoJo. The explosion and purple smoke caught all four off-guard. Kealy fired her stunner, taking out two of the henchmen. The riders raced by and out of the market area. JoJo tried to take aim, but the purple smoke stung her eyes, making her shots fly in wild directions. She cursed and kicked the ground. They had escaped. Wes guided the hover bike toward the hangar area. "We did it," Kealy squealed and kissed Wes on the cheek." Crockett smiled. They casually cruised through the space port and parked on the back side of Hangar 21. Wes dismounted and pulled the tunic hood over his head. "Walk behind me and pretend you're my property." She offered no protest. The trader and his slave strolled around to the hangar opening. Wes tried not to look at the other pilots and cargo crews working across the way. The SANTA ANNA was a pretty sight. He would feel a lot better at the helm of his ship flying away from this place. Crockett approached the side hatch with Kealy in step. He unlocked the hatch and brought down the step ladder. Before he could take the first step up, a gloved hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. Wes stared Roven in the face. The dark, muscular woman was holding a large blade and had a stern look on her face. Crockett went for the lazer-bow, but the security woman quickly disarmed him. They faced each other with determination. Kealy reached for the stunner in her belt, but with lightning speed, Rovan knocked it from her hand. Wes and Kealy stood together, unarmed and helpless. "I knew you would come back here," said a rusty voice. Oben Farr stepped out from behind the SANTA ANNA. "You two escaped from JoJo," Oben said with surprise. "Not many people can do that." Wes Crockett had had enough. "Call off your muscle and let us go, Oben!" Oben Farr gave a nod and Rowan moved behind him. Oben and Wes faced each other. "Why put us through this?" asked Crockett. "I need you," Oben replied. "If Beta Sector is to prosper, the Trader's Guild will need dependable businessmen. You and I can better the economy for all the worlds in this part of the galaxy. We can make Memos II the center of commerce." Oben Farr was actually serious. Crocket had known him only to be the type of trader to make a quick deal, then run off with the money. "Come on, Wes," Oben pleaded. "Forget your plans for retirement. You and the SANTA ANNA could make history." He pulled out one of the Orion cigars and lit it. "I'll make you a deal," Oben said as he took a draw from the spicy cigar. "You'll get 35% from all the overhead, a new license, and...the Orion woman." Crockett looked at Kealy. Her face held a hopeful look. "Give me a little time to think it over," he said. Oben puffed some more on his cigar thinking intently, the fine orange smoke circling his head. "O.K.," he agreed, "but don't take too long. I have some more deals to close." Oben stuck out his hand. Crockett took it. "You're a good man, Crockett." Oben turned and tooke the weapon from Rovan and handed it to Wes Crockett. "You're pretty good with a lazer-bow, I see. Consider it a consolation prize," Oben said with a sly grin. He walked out of the hangar with Rovan behind him. Wes and Kealy boarded the SANTA ANNA and closed the hatch. Both made their way to the front of the ship. Crockett set his weapons down behind the pilot seat and pulled off his hooded tunic. He leisurely laid it on the back of the chair, and plopped in it, adjusting the belt. Kealy took her place in the co-pilot seat. Wes fired up the engines and did a systems check. The sturdy little craft acknowledged all signals and began its ascent. Five minutes later, it left Memos II and headed into open space. "What's our heading?" Kealy asked to Crockett. Wes turned to face the Orion slave, aiming the stun gun at her. "First tell me who you really are," he demanded. Kealy gave Wes an innocent look. "What do you mean?" "I'm not conned that easily," Wes replied. "You handled that stunner like a real pro. Not to mention picking that lock. Who are you?" Kealy eyed the stun gun he had pointed toward her. It was no use. She might as well tell him. "All right. I was hired to find you, Wes. I'm a private agent, secretly commissioned by the Earth Federation Corps. Since I am half-Orion, I could fit the role best. They briefed me about you and Beta Palakus. There are people who wondered what happened to you, Crockett!" Crocket stared at Kealy undecided. "How did you find out..." "I got a tip about the Trader's Guild. I pretended to be an Orion slave and became part of your cargo. The rest you know." "Did Oben help?" "He doesn't have a clue." Wes let out a sigh of surrender and holstered the stunner. He turned and gazed out the cockpit into space. "I can't go back. That part of my life is over." "I understand," Kealy nodded. Wes stood and activated the nav-computer. "Where can I drop you off?" he offered. "Do you want to get rid of me, partner?" Kealy replied with a cocky grin. Crockett looked at her, dumbfounded. The private agent slid out of her seat and approached him. "We would make a great business team." Wes became confused. "What about--?" "No problem. This was my last assignment," Kealy stated. "I'll just send a coded message stating I did not find you. Case over." She paused. "Besides, I need a career change anyway." Wes gave her a questioning look. Maybe he shouldn't retire. Could Oben Farr have been right? Kealy curled her delicate arms around his neck. "Anyway, I might like the trading business," she whispered and kissed him softly. Their lips parted. The trader gazed into her eyes. Somehow his past really did not matter anymore. His hard shell seemed to crumble. "Well, this is a good business," he announced, "and I sure could use a co-pilot." Crockett grinned and kissed her back. Luck was still with him. They embraced each other fully. No, Wes Crockett, galactic trader, would not retire yet. The SANTA ANNA sped through space, passing by glowing suns and alien worlds, guiding and protecting a new trading team for the galaxy. T H E E N D ==========Coming Up Next...========== NoVACon `95 Washington DC's Premier STAR TREK Convention 29-30 July 1995, The Westpark Hotel (Tyson's Corner, VA) FEATURING Marina Sirtis (Troi, ST:TNG) Andrew Robinson (Garak, ST:DS9) ALSO Dave McDonnell (Editor, STARLOG Magazine) Dennis Russell Bailey (ST:TNG Screenwriter) Bennet Pomerantz (AUDIOWORLD) Kimberly Murphy (POWER STAR Managing Editor) Last year's show was our best yet! We're working hard to make NoVACon `95 even more fun! Come see the lovely and talented Marina Sirtis, the ever-popular Counselor Troi, in her first area appearance since the release of STAR TREK:GENERATIONS. Don't miss the first-ever area appearance of Andrew Robinson, who plays Garak the mysterious Cardassian tailor on STAR TREK:DEEP SPACE NINE--you may also recognize him from one of his many other roles in films such as DIRTY HARRY and HELLRAISER III. Come hear the latest behind-the-scenes news from the science fiction world presented by Dave McDonnell! Explore our dealers' room packed full of the most exciting science fiction and fantasy merchandise you could ever imagine. Plan to attend our special Saturday evening Ten-Forward Party and witness our famous costume contest. Both our celebrity guests will be talking, answering your questions, and signing autographs each day. Bring your favorite questions, your finest camera, and plan to have a wonderful time! Tell your friends and pass the word! DON'T MISS THIS FAN-RUN CONVENTION! CALL FOR INFORMATION: (703) 280-5373 ==========Coming Up Next...========== An Objective Rebuttal To "Ways That TWIN PEAKS' Dale Cooper Is Better Than X-FILES' Fox Mulder" Commentary By L. Gray [AUTHOR'S NOTE: When I read Ann Brill White's letter in issue 81 about how Cooper was better than Mulder, I knew I could not let that statement go unchallenged. But as I researched the matter more thoroughly through detailed viewings of both TWIN PEAKS and X- FILES, I made some interesting findings. Who's better? You be the judge....LG] Section One: Professional Behavior Cooper's boss believes him (but then, he's nuts). Mulder's boss thinks he's nuts. Cooper has Harry Truman, Hawk, Andy, Albert Rosenfield, and Diane. Mulder has a bunch of nerdy conspiracy theorists and Scully. Major Briggs gave Cooper what he claimed were messages from aliens. Deep Throat gave Mulder fake evidence of aliens. Cooper doesn't even show people his badge and they do what he says. People don't even listen to Mulder when he's pointing a gun at them; usually they take the gun away from him (or knock it out of his hand), then beat him up. When Cooper dreams who killed Laura Palmer, he calls Harry, DOESN'T TELL HIM WHO IT IS, then goes back to sleep and forgets. When the aliens finally come to Mulder, he shoots at them. Aliens may be sending Cooper messages. Aliens come to see Mulder. Cooper spends a season+ trying to solve one case. Mulder (and Scully) solve a case per episode (though they usually can't prosecute). Cooper's former partner kidnapped his girlfriend. Mulder's partner was kidnapped (possibly by aliens). Cooper gets his most valuable information from a giant who speaks in code, and whom no one else can see. Mulder gets his most valuable information from his source, Deep Throat, who lies to him, and whom Scully only sees shortly before he's killed. Cooper was inhabited by an evil entity named BOB. A woman inhabited by an evil slug tried to put an evil slug in Mulder's ear. Section Two: Romantic Involvements Cooper's had two serious girlfriends (as of the show). One is dead, and the other...well, we're not sure, but she is not in good shape. Mulder's had one serious girlfriend, a total manipulative bitch, and she dumped him. How believable is that? Linda Evangelista--is that a plus? Well, if Linda Evangelista's a plus, so's Perrey Reeves. Cooper had a gorgeous teenage girl try to seduce him. Mulder was seduced by a vampire-groupie. Section Three: Clothing Cooper wears boxer shorts (but does he swim in them?) Mulder wears Speedos for swimming; we don't know what kind of underwear he wears, but if I could get the funding and access, I'd be more than happy to research the matter personally. Kyle MacLachlan looked hot in his little leather number in THE FLINTSTONES. David Duchovny looked hot as Denise Bryson in TWIN PEAKS. Section Four: Miscellany Hanging upside-down may be very relaxing, but I've never heard that it does the cardiovascular system any good, which should be a consideration to anyone who eats as much pie and doughnuts as Agent Cooper. Jogging and swimming are real exercise, and sunflower seeds are good for you. Cooper has strange, vivid, sometimes precognitive dreams. Mulder doesn't sleep. Cooper's brother disappeared into Canada when he was 18. Mulder's sister disappeared into a light when she was 8. I don't know what Cooper listens to. The sound of the wind in the trees? The sound of one hand clapping? Mulder listens to Jimi Hendrix. ==========Coming Up Next...========== First X-Mas An X-FILES Short Story By Celestine St. Sauveur December 18, one week til Christmas, and once again Dana Scully was hit by the feeling that always accosted her at this time of the year--a warm, benevolent, almost maternal need to take in every poor lost soul she saw, feed them a hot roast beef dinner, sing Christmas carols with them, and all-in-all become a one-woman embodiment of the Christmas spirit. It was a little embarrassing. She was not normally a sentimental woman, but Christmas brought out a special sort of lighthearted hopefulness. In the past her practical side had always prevented her from actually doing anything like this, but circumstances had changed. Not that she had become any less practical, but now taking a poor lost soul home for Christmas did not mean some homeless stranger; now she had her partner. "Mulder, what are you doing for Christmas?" He didn't even look up from the file he was reading. "Waiting for Santa, what else?" "Seriously." "Yeah, you keep talking like that and all you'll end up with in your stocking is a lump of coal." "Is it even possible for you to give me a serious answer?" Now Mulder looked up from the file. "Well, Scully, if you must know, I'm spending the holidays engaged in serious scientific exploration." She narrowed her eyes at him, knowing she was being set up but unable to resist. "What kind of scientific exploration?" He rolled his chair over next to hers and leaned toward her, reducing the distance between his lips and her left ear to an intimate few inches. In a hushed voice he said, "I am spending the holidays with a woman who has assured me that if I pay close attention, she can show me the precise location of the G-spot." He leaned back and smiled at her. Yep, she had been set up again. "Sorry I asked." But she knew that the woman he was referring to was this year's Miss December and that he would be spending Christmas alone. "Why don't you come over to my place? My parents and sister will be there, and I'm cooking a pot roast--" "Sorry, Scully, but the whole Norman Rockwell Christmas scene just doesn't do it for me. I can never remember how many lords a- leaping and drummers drumming it is, and I always eat too much Yorkshire pudding and get sick. Anyway, I'd probably end up getting sloshed on eggnog and telling your family all about how you forced your way into my motel room in your underwear two days after we met." "Mulder--" Scully began, exasperated. "Never mind, I don't want you at my house." Then she started laughing. "I didn't force my way into your room." "You stick with that story," Mulder said, going back to his file. "Well, what about your parents?" Mulder put his file back down; he was being patient with her. "We have this arrangement; I don't send them presents, they don't send me presents, and that way none of us has to be bothered writing thank-you notes. It's been working out great for a long time now." Mulder looked into his partner's concern-filled face and weakened. "You don't have to worry about me, Scully. I've got big plans for Christmas. I've been taping Christmas specials all month--did you know that virtually everyone in the known universe has saved Christmas at one time or another? The Care Bears, the Smurfs, Barney, Freddy Kruger, Charles Manson, Elvis--" "All right, all right, I give up." She got up to walk away. "Hey, Scully--thanks for the offer." December 24, near dusk. Christmas carols played softly on the stereo; the pot roast had been eaten, followed by deep dish apple pie; the leftovers had been wrapped up and the dishes washed, and now they all sat around the living room as Scully's father passed out the presents that lay under the tree in a festive jumble. And Scully was momentarily overcome by a sharp sense of loneliness. She could see Mulder alone in his apartment, stretched out on his sofa watching IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE on one of the cable channels. "Genetically incapable of making life easier for himself," she muttered. Melissa looked at her, looked over at their father. "Did you just notice that? I've been saying that about the two of you for years. I think you inherited it from him." Oh, lord. Scully smiled at her sister, a feeling of serene euphoria coming over her. Mulder might be exasperating, but tonight she would have the last word. At midnight the jolly old fat man she had hired would be knocking on Mulder's door, all decked out in the red suit she'd rented; he would present Mulder with his very own prefab Christmas: One two-foot Charlie Brown- style Christmas tree, complete with ornaments, lights, tinsel and a star on top; a stocking filled with homemade oatmeal cookies, peppermints, an orange and an apple; and one Norman Rockwell Christmas card signed "Love, Dana." It had cost her an arm and a leg to set up this shindig, but she knew what her partner would say to that: For a pathologist, arms and legs are a dime a dozen. And her sister, who thought she was so predictable, would never believe she would pull such an elaborate prank. Scully chuckled to herself. "Merry Christmas, Mulder." T H E E N D ==========Coming Up Next...========== Reunion: The Men In Black Incident A PROJECT:U.F.O. Short Story By D. Lynn Bivens C O N C L U S I O N [March 2nd, 1991: My name is Jake Gatlin, retired U.S. Air Force Major and head investigating officer of the now-defunct Project Blue Book. On February 3rd, 1991, at 2300 hours, I received a strange phone call from my ex-partner, retired Staff Sgt. Harry Fitz, whom I hadn't spoken with in years. A half-hour later, I arrived at his house, where he was holed up, terrified of something. He claimed he'd found startling new evidence involving the UFO incidents we'd investigated for so many years...and the real reason for these aliens' interest in humanity. He told me that he'd broken into one of the secret hideouts of the mysterious "Men In Black" known for years throughout Project Blue Book, and discovered that they are really androids, sent here by alien masters to either kill or reprogram humans who may have seen aliens on Earth. I swore to Harry that I wouldn't let him die for having found out this information--a vow that was put to the test as we attempted to outrun the MIBs who had come to Harry's house in an obvious attempt to silence him. We managed to do so, and Harry led me to a place seemingly inside solid rock...the MIB's lair, where we saw honest-to-God extraterrestrials for the first time. We found evidence of bizarre experiments on men, women, and children going on--and Harry suddenly realized that he, too, had been taken here as a child and experimented on. Determined not to let them hurt any more children, we launched what can best be described as a suicide mission: Grabbing one little boy being operated on, we used firepower and good old Air Force scare tactics to startle the M.I.B. and the aliens with them. All that remained was to escape-- which we were attempting to do in one of the aliens' own craft....] 0230 Hours "Hurry up, Harry!" I urged my old and dear friend in a hushed- yet-tense voice as we reached the shimmering underbelly of a free- floating vessel of extraterrestrial origin. Our concern centered at the moment on locating a point of entry for us. "Gimme a second, will ya?" Harry replied through clenched teeth while frantically feeling about the super-smooth surface, which appeared to be made of some metallic compound unlike anything man-made. "There has to be some sort of touch- or pressure- sensitive panel here somewhere." "I wanna go home," whimpered the troublesome tike clinging so desperately with arms around my neck as his weight pushed down unforgivingly on my aching back with every movement. "We'll get you home, son," I comforted calmly while patting him tenderly in an attempt to alleviate his fears. My own fears were all too real to me at that particular time. "Just be quiet and relax. We'll get you home...somehow." "Found it!" The boy and I both looked hopefully toward a certain section of the saucer's underbelly, just as Harry's manual pressure caused it to illuminate briefly. A split-second later, a seam materialized in the shape of a rectangular door/ramp. Blinding light flooded forth as it soundlessly lowered itself to the crystallized floor of the huge underground hangar. But the motion was incredibly slow. I could hear footfalls approaching down the corridor leading into the area in which we were desperately attempting to escape certain death--at least mental, if not physical. In another few seconds, the Men-In-Black would certainly be upon us. "Hurry, hurry!" I rhetorically urged as the door-ramp continued to lower itself. The footfalls came closer. Our hearts pounded furiously in our chests--in fact, I could feel the boy's through his own as he tightened his grip about my neck--filling our thoughts. Lower, ever lower, the ramp descended as closer, ever closer came the pursuing MIBs. In another five seconds one of two things would occur: Either we would be cornered by MIBs with weapons of highly-destructive energy, or we would manage to board the hovering vessel just in time. Fortunately, it turned out to be the latter. "Get us to the cockpit of this thing, Harry!" I shouted. "I hope to God those robotic bastards don't realize we've gotten inside a saucer!" Harry replied worriedly as he led us through a short corridor leading up one level to the intricate control room of this small ship from some distant star. I hoped so as well. My hopes were significantly heightened by the almost imperceptible thrum of the door-ramp closing and resealing itself, using some electromagnetic technique undreamt of by modern man. Even the slight alteration in air pressure served to reassure me we were now somewhat safe inside the air-tight craft. "Here it is!" Harry stated excitedly between breaths as we rushed toward a small, rectangular door, probably between four-and- a-half and five feet in height. As we got within inches of the very solid-looking metal door, it swiftly and silently receded into the bulkhead directly above. The three of us ducked and dashed into the circular chamber beyond. "Not what I expected of an advanced race," I mumbled while lowering the boy, less frightened now, to the mirror-smooth surface of the deck as an undetermined source of illumination automatically filled what appeared to be an empty area. "Where's the control console?" "Wait," was Harry's only response as he seemed to be searching long-slumbering memories from a traumatic past, while carefully looking about the small chamber. Finally, it appeared as if a personal revelation had suddenly resurfaced to his forethought. "Yeah...Yeah!" As the boy and I looked on in shared perplexity, Harry stepped close to a gently-bulging area of the bulkhead directly across from the entrance--the door of which had slid to seal the chamber immediately after our entry. A short and simple nudge with his fingertips activated some unseen mechanism which soundlessly extended the bulge to reveal a fully-functional alien control console of both detailed and simple design. "Holy--!" I exclaimed. A microsecond after the extension of the panoramically- arranged console, I felt the saucer's engine come to life somewhere beneath my feet. "All right, Jake," Harry remarked with a heavy sigh due to unrelenting tension, "I did my part. Now it's up to you." "Thanks," I said drily as I walked to the console and looked at its illuminated array of instruments bearing extraterrestrial symbols and letters. I bent over, needing to stoop a bit to reach the console easily, and found myself wishing I could sit down. "Do these little guys stand when they use one of these things?" After an instant of silent reflection, Harry pointed to one particular control in the rounded cornor of the console and instructed, "Try that." I gave him a worried glance as if to say, "Hope this isn't a self-destruct button, Harry," then nervously touched the oval button with two fingers, half-expecting the result to be something disastrous. Then, with a brief-but-irritating high-pitched whine, three form-fitting chairs popped out of the bulkhead encircling us, coming to sudden stops at key positions before the console. I glanced at the boy, whose eyes were as wide as mine at having watched the chairs that seemed to come out of nowhere. Then I looked at Harry, who merely shrugged and replied in an off-hand manner, "Just like the Jetsons, huh?" I did not wish to respond to the statement--partially due to time, partially because I had no idea how to reply--so I squeezed myself into the center seat, apparently made for humanoids much smaller than I was. Harry did the same to my right, but, being somewhat emaciated, did not have the same trouble. The boy sat in the seat on my left, his five-year-old form fitting into it perfectly. Then came the moment of truth. "Keep your fingers crossed," I said. The boy did exactly that. Harry started to react amusedly at this, then apparently realized how immature that might seem, coming from a retired Air Force officer. I could have told him at this moment, nothing seemed immature. After a deep breath and a long look at the arrangement of controls spread out in a large semi-circular pattern, I could see it all seemed to make some sort of sense. Call it intuition, coincidence, or blind luck...I somehow had a guess at the placement of certain controls involved in flight functions, a reckoning according to the placement of such had the saucer been of human design. "Here goes nothin'..." No sooner had my fingers and thumbs pressed against specific sections of the inwardly-illuminated controls, than the sensation of upward movement was felt, followed instantly by the activation of a panoramic viewscreen in the bulkhead directly in front of us. The display was so clear and realistic, it seemed as if a windshield had appeared from something that had appeared to be made of metal moments earlier. The display looked out upon the other parked craft of various sizes and shapes as we began a slow ascent. The display also gave us a glimpse of the arriving MIBs looking up through jet-black sunglasses who were realizing in unison just who were undoubtedly at the helm of the three-man vessel. They withdrew odd-looking pistols, which I assumed to be larger and more powerful counterparts of the cylindrical devices used by their alien masters in the experimentation chamber which we had fled before reaching the hangar area. The smaller cylinders had emitted energies capable of atomizing a sizeable section of solid rock. I imagined these could possibly burn through the hull of the saucer we occupied--otherwise, why would soulless automatons bother drawing them?. "Hang on!" I warned as I used seat-of-my-pants experience and instinct to engage the engines to their fullest gravity-bound velocities. "Time to blow this taco stand!" With sudden pressure from G-forces acting upon our bodies at the instant application of such sudden speed, we were pushed uncomfortably against the resilience of our chairs for a few seconds as the viewscreen's display showed a fleeting image of us launching through the holographically-generated ceiling and streaking straight up into the night sky at what must have been Mach Three or Four. Though the G-forces were palpable and somewhat uncomfortable, this was never to the degree generally experienced by fighter pilots who execute similar speeds in an upward direction. Apparently either something in the design of the ship itself or some form of gravimetric control was at work inside the vessel. Either way, the three of us were in no apparent physical distress or danger during this maneuver. Even the boy seemed to be in no more discomfort than he might experience on some amusement park rides. He seemed to actually like it. But enough was enough. "Time to level this baby out," I said in a strained voice as I reached out with my right hands and punched the appropriate controls--or at least the ones in the most logical place for such-- and decelerated the saucer while angling it into a proper flight- line. "Better than Disney World," Harry remarked as he relaxed while heaving a sigh of relief. The boy let out a laugh of childlike delight, giggling, "Let's do that again!" "Something tells me we're gonna get that chance, kid," I answered somberly as I saw what appeared to be an alien radar screen on the console showing three "blips" rapidly closing on us from the rear. "Bogies at six o'clock!" Harry reacted tensely and looked down at the screen on one side of the console. He was no ex-pilot, but he knew enough to deduce what the "blips" meant. "The aliens are after us?" he asked. "Looks that way, pal." Suddenly, as if to offer further proof of our mutual theory, one of the alien vessels swept past us while unleashing a blast of brilliant green energy that slammed into us with the impact force of a small missile. "Looks like one of those bogies got tired of trailing us, partner," Harry said. Although he was always one for understatement, the tense tone underscoring his words was enough to tell me that he was as worried as I was. "Hope this thing can perform like my old F-15," I said as I played with the illuminated controls which I had hoped were the right ones for what I had in mind. "Hang on!" Harry was already clutching the narrow armrests of the chair in which he sat. The expression on his face suggested he was not looking forward to what I had to do next. To tell the truth, neither was I. "Just pray that the hit we took didn't damage this thing's engines!" I said, swseat streaming down the sides of my face, and my hands tensing atop those controls I surmised would maneuver the vessel as I intended. "Oh...!" My thoughts exactly, as the saucer curved upward in impossible angles and swooped down toward the first ship that had open fire earlier. It was an oddly-shaped "flying wing" of about the same size as our saucer. "Now, if I can just activate this thing's weapons..." Even as I spoke--all the while speeding toward the "wing" at near-Mach velocity--I determined the most likely configuration for controls connected to weapons systems. "Yeah!" My enthusiasm was not at all shared by my two companions, as an alien version of a "heads-up" display began to settle over the target. A large oval control directly beneath the palm of my hand lit up as the fingers were spread out over a smaller cluster of controls. My instincts told me this meant only one thing... Slapping the palm down on the larger flashing oval unleashed a beam of the self-same greenish energy that had struck the saucer mere moments before...only my beam impacted dead-center into the "flying wing". "Gotcha!" Just as it seemed we might smash into the craft, it exploded into literally thousands of spinning pieces which would fall to Earth without generating much notice. Our small saucer zipped through the debris cloud as I managed to maneuver it back up. Another of the passing ships--this one an oblong cross between a cigar shape and an outright cylinder--moved to intercept us. I had been in this precise situation several times during my years as a fighter pilot-in-training. I had no doubts in my ability to handle what was happening. I was not sure the same could be said for Harry. "Bogies at nine o'clock and three o'clock!" he exclaimed in a controlled urgency as the two "blips" in question quickly closed from opposite sides of our craft. "Uh-oh," I said. "Stop scaring me like that, Jake..." "I can spin around to get one," I explained in exasperation, "but the other will have ample opportunity to open fire while we're still vulnerable. Looks like we've been outmaneuvered by the big- headed lizards, Harry." "Bull!" Harry railed as he leaned forward on the edge of his chair with a certainty ringing in his tone that I used to hear those many years ago while on active duty. "Look, you're still thinking like a jet-jockey, Jake! You keep forgetting that these babies don't hold to the laws of physics and aeronautics as we know them." He did not need to explain further. Besides, there was no time. The "blips" were almost on us, and I instinctively sensed that one or bothof them had our saucer in their sights. "Hope you don't get motion-sick, Harry," I quipped as Harry settled back and held his breath. Meanwhile, my hands hovered a few seconds over very specific controls which I had not attempted to use as yet. "Then, after a quick inhale and a glance at the "blips" on the screen to one side of the console, I put an impossible plan into immediate action. The spiralling fluctuations of whatever energies propelled the alien vessel we had stolen now caused it to literally spin like an airborne top. My right hand then slammed down on the flashing oval which caused the energy weapons to emit a continuous stream. The centrifugal forces pressed us against our seats, making movement extremely difficult. The viewscreen's display was a dizzying blur of black night and greenish energy beams. I imagined that from the ground it would be a fairly spectacular sight. And from the viewscreens of the two converging vessels, I imagined it would be a fleeting flash just before instantaneous destruction and death. "Can we stop now?" Harry asked in a strained voice as the enemy ships exploded and the centrifugal forces pressed us harder and harder against our seats. "My thoughts exactly!" I replied. Struggling with all my might and determination, I managed to extend my arms enough to reach the pressure-sensitive controls that had set this dizzying plan into motion. My teeth clenched as tightly as my eyes were closed, and my face was a contorted extension of the physical strain I was experiencing. I finally tapped the oval controls which abruptly halted the saucer's spin, the on-board gravitational systems somehow keeping us from being flung from our chairs at angles and velocities which no doubt would have proved fatal. Of course, the gravitational systems had no calming effect upon our nerves or the momentary drastic disruption of our fragile equilibria. "You all right, Harry?" "Ask me later," he grunted, grudging each syllable. "I'm too busy trying to stop my stomach from spinning right now." I looked to the boy and was not surprised to hear him giggling and see him smiling with delight again as his wide eyes stared up at me the way my own children had done whenever emerging from some especially nauseating amusement park attraction. "Can we do it again?" I shook my head at him and sighed, "Not in this lifetime, little pal." "Let's get the Hell outta here before more show up!" Harry urged as I was already programming the craft for such a hasty retreat. After our unerving experience with the centrifugal forces, the G-force we now experienced was no problem at all as we shot out into the night at better than Mach 10. I was determined to place as much distance between us and any possible pursuers who could be using extraterrestrial ships of equal capabilities. Of course, realizing that their radar could detect our direction and provide a roadmap of sorts which they could follow, I alternated trajectory and altitude precisely and frequently in order to make any such map they obtained as hard to read as possible. I prayed that this would actually make us harder to follow. At least it would buy us a little more time than straight- line flight would have done. Beep-beep-beep-beep... The shrill, repetitive signal meant only one thing... "Bogies!" Harry and I exclaimed in unison as we saw several "blips" approching in formation from a one o'clock direction Their much slower speed and pattern of approach told us immediately it was not the aliens. "Must be fighters scrambling to intercept and investigate, "I reasoned as my zig-zagging maneuvers continued and our speed never slowed. "What're we gonna do?" Harry asked tensely as he once again sat on the edge of his chair and eyed the small, circular radar- like screen. "I mean...they're ours! We can't just blast 'em!" "I've got no intention of doing that, Harry," I grumbled, a little insulted that he would even suggest such a thing, as I eyed the various ovals and extraterrestrial read-outs. "And there doesn't seem to be any clear-cut communication system incorporated into this console. Surely these beings have to speak to one another in different ships while streaking through the skies." "They do," Harry revealed with a heavy sigh, "but they do it telepathically." Figures. "But," he suddenly added as if remembering more of his past experiences as a child abductee, "they were able to tune in on communications of planes sent after them." I no sooner started examining the unexplored sections of the console in search of the most likely candidates than Harry pointed to an almost unnoticeable set of control ovals. "Those." "I'm right with you, buddy," I interjected while reaching out and touching the controls in question, apparently activating circuitry which instantly tapped into the pilot chatter of the approaching jets. "Tango leader to Homebase," a distinctly human voice seemed to say strangely close to my ears from some unseen source. "Target on screen. E.T.A., five minutes." Harry's reaction was the same as mine and instantly told me the intercepted transmissions hung inexplicably close to his ears as well. The boy, curiously enough, never seemed to hear the pilots' voices at all. Perhaps it had something to do with his still-developing brain and body. Or perhaps one had to want to hear. Whatever the exact reason, Harry and I were the only ones on board to receive the transmissions of fellow pilots no doubt sent to shoot down a UFO. "Homebase to Tango Leader," another voice said with a different ring to it, "Roger your E.T.A. Big Brass says to bring 'er down. Say again: Bring 'er down." "Tango Leader to Homebase. We copy. Tango team, lock and load." "Oh...," I moaned almost to myself as I stared at the blips closing on our position. "They've got orders to fire." "And with some of the weapons they're carrying," Harry offered with the same tense tone, "they could very probably damage this thing enough to cause it to crash." "And I don't hardly think I could crash-land a saucer as easily as an F-15, Harry." We shot concerned glances to one another while still listening to the chatter among Tango team, somehow hoping to come up magically with a solution to this situation...one that would not end with the destruction of us or an entire squadron of jet fighters. "Only one way to go, Jake," Harry finallyh lamented as he turned his gaze upwards. "I was afraid you'd say something like that." Though I knew the craft was constructed to be as suitable for space travel as anything made by man--infinitely better, to be honest--the thought of rocketing up through Earth's thin atmosphere made my stomach twist into tight little knots of nausea. After all, I used to be a jet pilot, not an astronaut. "Here we go..." It was getting considerably easier to maneuver the vessel, and its controls were actually starting to make sense to me. I had no trouble at all bringing the craft up into an angle perpendicular with the ground far below and accelerating to escape velocity. The effect of the sudden increase in G-forces on my body was another matter. "Tango Leader to Homebase. Have target in sight, but it's attempting extreme maneuvers. Am climbing to follow. Say again: Am climbing to follow." "Homebase to Tango Team. Do not, again, do not break formation to follow Tango Leader. Other targets expected." "Roger, Homebase." Though I was certain the full effect on our bodies of our ship's launch was minimized by whatever artificial gravity controls were actively functioning, it was still many times more uncomfortable than it had been to travel at the earlier Mach speeds...especially in the small alien chairs. "Tango Leader to Homebase. Target has achieved unusually high altitude and is still climbing. Can no longer maintain pursuit. But I believe an air-to-air can take out target before it's out of sight." "Homebase to Tango Leader. Proceed with air-to-air. Again: Proceed with air-to-air." Oh, great! I thought. Almost in the safety of low Earth orbit, and this hotshot was about to let fly a missile before backing off. I could only hope and pray the saucer was fast enough and far enough away to avoid being hit. From what I could feel and see, we were still several tension- filled seconds from the desired safety zone. Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep... I did not have to cut my eyes toward the radar-like screen to know that the signal indicated an air-to-air was hot on our tail. I tried to reach out and urge the controls to increase the saucer's speed and outdistance the missile, but the G-forces were just too strong. It was as if an invisible strap had been attached to my arm, keeping the controls just out of reach. It was maddening. Beep-beep-beep-beep... "No-o-o-o!" 0900 Hours When Harry and I regained consciousness, we found ourselves in hospital beds in what must have been a military complex. Whey else would two armed MPs be standing guard just inside the door to our windowless room? "What the Hell--?" Harry groaned as he started to sit up and decided against it--probably because of the neck brace and bandaged ribs. "Last thing I remember," I replied through grimacing teeth as my own movements informed me of injuries obviously sustained during an uncontrolled crash, "was the explosion to our aft. Then, a rapidly-spiralling descent. Then, nothing." "Guess we blacked out before crashing that damn saucer. Wonder how come we're just banged up? We ought to be in sandwich baggies right about now." I shrugged--a painful act I decided not to perform again until some bandages were removed--and surmised, "Its metal hull must be a Helluva lot stronger than we thought." "That and some sort of emergency gravity control system which helped to cushion the impact of the crash, I'd guess," added Harry. Just then a terrible realization struck me: "The boy--?" "Is perfectly all right, Major Gatlin," someone answered knowingly, "and has been returned to his family in Oregon." We both looked in the direction of the thoroughly authoritative voice, and reacted to the sight of an Air Force general standing just inside the now-open doorway to our room. The uniformed guards stood at attention, as my own initial instincts would have told my body to do the same, had my injuries permitted. I said, "General...?" "Hartzoog," he gruffly replied as he paced back and forth at the feet of our beds. "General Montgomery E. Hartzoog, Major." "I'm a retired Major, sir," I respectfully corrected while wincing in pain. General Hartzoog stopped pacing and glared at us in a disturbingly intense fashion, then stated matter-of-factly, "Not any more, Major." Harry and I shot concerned glances toward each other. Then Harry bravely asked, "What's that mean, General?" "Just what is sounds like, Sergeant Fitz," the General growled while glancing at Harry in an intimidating manner. "As of today at 0600, you and Major Gatlin were officially returned to active duty status." "By whose order, sir?" I asked with strained respect in light of such shocking news. General Hartzoog gave me a lingering look which made me wish I had not even asked the question and simply said, "It was an executive order from the highest level." That kind of answer could mean only one person to those in uniform: The President of the United States. "Why?" Harry finally found his voice and inquired. "The moment the two of you commandeered that alien craft, then destroyed three in pursuit, you became candidates for reactivation." Harry and I were puzzled and a little apprehensive of this strange situation. Were we reactivated because of obvious inside knowledge of the subterranean base of extraterrestrials? Or were we being placed in positions which would make the military's task of censoring us and maintaining such secrets easier? I feared the answer was the latter. General Hartzoog must have anticipated our suspiciously perplexed reactions, for he added, "We have been involved with these aliens for a very long time, gentlemen; since just before the conclusion of Project Blue Book, to be precise. Your actions of a few days ago seriously jeopardized our cooperative efforts. The only reason the two of you have not been terminated is your potential usefulness to this mission, or, more plainly put, your ability to breach their own security measures and actually fly one of their craft!" "What the Hell are you saying?" I exclaimed in disbelief of what I was hearing, adding only absently, after a second, "Sir?" A hard look from Hartzoog was swiftly followed by a revelation of such an insidious nature, even by military standards, that it literally made my stomach churn. "I'm saying, Major, that our government has come to an agreement with these extraterrestrials, one which has existed through several Presidential Administrations, I might add. It has allowed us access to technologies undreamt of by our scientists prior to the reverse-engeneering of some of their smaller ships. This effort had begun yielding extremely useful advances in both military applications and the space program. But that agreement hinges on our continually downplaying proof brought forth by the public...and, in some cases, enacting more extreme measures. "Such as?" Harry asked as both of us struggled to understand the devious logic behind it all. General Hartzoog smirked as he stepped to the doorway while snapping his fingers in a signalling fashion... And, to our utter disbelief, two Men In Black stepped into view, with pale, expressionless faces shadowed by dark sunglasses and equally black suits. "You mean they're--" "Ours," the General quickly interjected as he gestured for the automatons to return to their previous positions out of our sight. "Oh, the intricate technology belongs to the aliens, but we are responsible for the external design and the programming upon which they act." "Those mechanical assholes are murdering people!" General Hartzoog seemed nearly to ignore Harry's outburst and shrugged, "If that's what their analog microprocessors determine to be the necessary action to take in order to maintain our relationship with the aliens, yes." "And they would've killed Harry," I surmised somberly, "if I hadn't come to help him." Nodding, Hartzoog arrogantly added, "Just as they would've killed you, too, Major Gatlin. Just as the aliens themselves tried to blow you from the skies that night...something in which they seldom involve themselves. Termination of risk elements is our job. Your little stunt has strained our relationship with them, but not beyond repair. Fortunately, they are not given to anger." I was completely unprepared for what I had heard, but not nearly as unprepared as Harry. He was one of the children who had been experimented upon by those cold-blooded bastards. And now he was learning that the very military he had spent a lifetime serving was a party to such atrocities. He was no doubt being overwhelmed by a variety of extreme emotions. I was certain that, if not for his ingrained respect for superior officers, Harry would have told the General precisely where he could shove the ribbons adorning his uniform. I felt like stating as much myself. But I, too, had too much training to react so disrespectfully. Besides, something told me to take physical action against the General's plans would cause the two automatons in the hallway to make certain we could not continue to be "risk elements". That was when thoughts of the safety of others entered my mind. "What about our families?" As Harry suddenly seemed to share such concerns as well as shame shared with myself for not having thought of it earlier, General Hartzoog pointedly explained, "At the present, they are well. They've been informed of your voluntary decision to become active Air Force officers on a Top Secret misison of national importance." I rolled my eyes and glanced toward Harry with a sarcastic expression that said, "Just like the military," then turned back to the General as he finished on an ominous note. "Of course, being families of military men involved in something touching on National Security, they shouldn't be too surprised to learn they are under constant surveillance. And some of those involved with such security procedures are Men In Black." "Why, you son-of-a--" "Harry!" I sternly interrupted as my red-faced former partner nearly made a fatal mistace borne of rage emerging from his sense of conscience. "This is most definitely not the time or place to forget yourself!" Harry stared at me a moment, then seemed to understand the true meaning of that innocent statement: We would have to play along until an opportunity presented itself so we could fight back without risking our families' lives. I had to make certain General Hartzoog had not read the same meaning into my wording. "General, although I question the sanity of leaders who would allow aliens to experiment on citizens just so certain technological secrets could be uncovered, and although it sickens us to participate...our families are too important to allow either them or ourselves to become risk elements!" "Very eloquent, Major Gatlin," General Hartzoog sighed as if bored by my rhetoric. "I assume this means there is no need for me to summon the Men In Black?" With my face frozen into a mask of disdain and suppressed rage, I growled through clenched teeth, "It means that Major Jake Gatlin and Sergeant Harry Fitz are once again involved with a governmental UFO project. And we'll do our damnedest to serve with honor!" General Hartzoog accepted that as an affirmative answer, though he did not know quite what to expect from us...just as we did not know what to expect from a military whose brass was in league with cold-blooded aliens. But, for both he and us, it would be wise to expect the unexpected. T H E E N D (?) ==========Coming Up Next...========== Indestructible A CAPTAIN SCARLET AND THE MYSTERONS Filksong By Parker Gabriel (To the tune of "Unforgettable" by Nat King Cole) [With a tip of the hat to Barry Gray, longtime Gerry Anderson composer--PG] Indestructible--that's what you are Indestructible because of Mars When you crashed your car that fateful day Your mortality was stripped away But you became more Than you were before Indestructible and tough to kill But though you've been through Hell I love you still And though your future's ineluctable Fate has made you indestructible And my love is indestructible too Indestructible you have become Since the Mysterons' war has begun Till it started you were powerless The London Car Vu Sky Park Tower was Where you became more Than you were before Indestructible and tough to kill But though you've been through Hell I love you still Yes, our fate is ineluctable Fate has made you indestructible And made my love indestructible too ==========Coming Up Next...========== [The Mysterons...sworn enemies of Earth, possessing the ability to recreate an exact likeness of an object or person--but first, they must destroy. Leading the fight, one man fate has made indestructible. His name: Captain Scarlet....] Pawns Of Evil A CAPTAIN SCARLET AND THE MYSTERONS Short Story By D. Lynn Bivens And Kimberly Murphy C O N C L U S I O N File-ID: <1.05633.69.0C51514D@cloudbase.spectrum.gov> Organization: Spectrum Cloudbase (Colonel White, Commander-In- Chief) Summary: Mission transcript--contains background information, video data, and restricted personnel information Restrictions: EYES ONLY--SPECTRUM RAINBOW CLEARANCE REQUIRED Beginning transferral of "eyes only" data pertaining to Spectrum mission codenamed "Pawns Of Evil": Background--Pre-Spectrum History It is 2068. The world's governmental structure is now unified under one president, James Younger, and one congress at the newly-built fusion zone known as Unity City ("Futura City" to its detractors). Yet the world is not at peace. To the east of Europe lies Bereznik, a small but predatory state. Below the Pacific Ocean lies the hostile kingdom of Titanica. And the world is still reeling from a series of Atomic Wars in the early 2000s which disrupted technical development and lives worldwide. The problems caused by the Atomic Wars resulted in a proposal to bring together the finest elements of the military and paramilitary forces worldwide into an elite planetary defense force that would take care of extraordinary defense measures, similar to the Green Berets or the SEALs of the 20th century. The study resulted in the signing of a charter by the World President on 10 July 2067 that founded an organization that truly encompassed all the worldwide elements. Its name, appropriately enough: Spectrum. Spectrum became the first truly worldwide organization with offices in nearly every nation. Its command center would not be in any country, but rather above all of them: A flying aircraft carrier known as Cloudbase. Only the elite of Spectrum would serve on Cloudbase, a senior core of officers whose identities would be protected by codenames taken from the colors of the rainbow. Its defense would come from five female fighter pilots codenamed the Spectrum Angel Flight. By 2068, humanity had embarked fully on its healing process along with the planet. Thanks to extraordinary efforts by such organizations as the unified World Military, the World Space Patrol, the World Aquanaut Security Patrol, and Spectrum, mankind had reclaimed its place in the universe. Even the technologies stalled by the global devastation of the Atomic Wars had begun to flourish once again. All seemed well and the world was once again adhering to the peace so vigilantly enforced by Spectrum. Then came April 2068...the ill-fated Zero-X mission to Mars led by Spectrum's own Captain Black...and the Mysterons... Summary Of Previous Attachments It is now January 2069, almost one year since the first encounter with the Mysterons. After a taxing mission against the Mysterons, a meeting is convened on Cloudbase to discuss the World President's concerns about strains on former Mysteron agent Captain Scarlet while Scarlet himself is in the midst of an accelerated retrometabolic recovery from injuries sustained during the mission. President Younger is concerned that Scarlet may snap one day due to stress and revert back to serving his Mysterons masters. But if Scarlet really is back for good, could Captain Black be brought back the same way? The key seems to be Scarlet's memories--or lack thereof--of his hours as a Mysteron, and Spectrum Medical Center researcher Dr. Joyce Hollander has come to assist Dr. Fawn in the effort to free Scarlet's memories. Captain Blue is angry that Spectrum is once again treating Scarlet like a traitor instead of a loyal officer, and Scarlet's first encounter with Hollander is not a pleasant one as she manages to offend him with her probing questions. But more may be at work here than meets the eye as Hollander begins surreptitiously searching Fawn's records and radioing a mysterious contact she calls "Black Knight". Meanwhile, Captain Black is in New York City--and predictably, people start dying and being reborn into Mysteron service as an army of evil intent begins to form on the streets of the once great American city. "The pieces are falling into place," Black tells his Mysteron masters. "Soon a blow of dark victory will be struck. Spectrum will most certainly respond...and send the great Captain Scarlet. And then, the trap will be sprung...and Spectrum, Scarlet, and all of Earth will fall...." VOICE OF THE MYSTERONS This is the voice of the Mysterons. We know that you can hear us, Earthmen. Our pawns of evil will wreak havoc on your world as you fight a battle within your own ranks. You will never defeat us. We will be avenged! Two doors in the personal quarters area of Cloudbase open almost simultaneously. Out of one steps CAPTAIN BLUE, out of the other steps CAPTAIN SCARLET. The partners turn to each other. Blue looks surprised to see Scarlet. BLUE Done already? SCARLET I would have walked out earlier if I could have. I hate visiting doctors. The boffins at Spectrum Medical Center think they can poke and prod me all they like when I'm in recovery because I can't do anything about it. BLUE (teasing) Oh, I don't know. I thought Hollander was your type--English rose beauty, dark hair, dark eyes... SCARLET (disdainfully) Arrogant, rude, obnoxious Yank doctor. BLUE Yep, that's her. You know, you two should get together later. SCARLET (sharply) That's enough. We've got a Mysteron threat to deal with. BLUE O.K., O.K.! What's eating you--wake up on the wrong side of the recovery bed or something? SCARLET (calms slightly) Sorry, Adam. It's not you. I just feel like I'm under a microscope again. It's almost as if they still don't trust me not to start shooting green rings from my eyes or some other nonsense. Maybe I'm imagining things. Blue looks guilty for a moment, then looks torn. SCARLET (CONTINUED) What is it? Blue gestures with his head toward the door to his quarters. The two men enter the room together. BLUE (quietly) You're not imagining things. You're under increased surveillance. SCARLET (disbelieving) What? BLUE The World President's got some bug up his backside about you flipping out and going back to the Mysterons. SCARLET (rolls his eyes) Spendid. BLUE That's not all. There's a new effort on to track down Captain Black. And they think you may hold the key. SCARLET (now curious) In what way? BLUE Something about your memories--especially when you were one of them. SCARLET But I can't remember what happened then. I barely remember the crash and waking up in Sickbay afterward. I don't remember anything in between. BLUE I know that and you know that, but apparently President Younger doesn't know that, or he doesn't believe it. That's why Hollander's here. She's a biochemist who thinks she can find some way to tap your mind. They think it may hold the key to where Black is hidden--and whether you'll slip back into Mysteron control. Scarlet looks thoughtful for a long moment, then begins pacing. Blue comes over to him. BLUE (CONTINUED) Paul? SCARLET (a bit too quickly) I'm all right. BLUE Yeah, right. This is Adam, remember? You may fool the doctors, but I know when something's not right. Talk to me. SCARLET (hesitates) They could be right. BLUE In what way? SCARLET My memories. What keys do they hold? Maybe they do hold the key to what happened to Black. Maybe they hold the key to retrometabolism itself. Maybe they even hold the key to the destruction of the Mysterons. (throws up his hands) Adam, I sense something is there--some explanation as to why I am so different from any other Mysteron agent we've ever encountered--but I can't find it. I can't reach it. And it is immensely frustrating. If Dr. Hollander can help...perhaps we should give her the chance. LIEUTENANT GREEN'S VOICE (over speakers) Attention all Spectrum personnel: Spectrum Is Red. Repeat: Spectrum Is Red. Captains Blue, Grey, Magenta, and Scarlet, report to the Control Room immediately. Both men come to attention quickly. BLUE They must have found something. SCARLET Or the Mysterons have struck and we are already behind the curve. Come on. The pair stride out of the room purposefully. In the Control Room, Captains Blue and Scarlet are joined by CAPTAIN GREY and CAPTAIN MAGENTA, and all four men sit on stools before COLONEL WHITE's circular desk/console. LIEUTENANT GREEN works quickly at his long console, attempting to gather information for the briefing. WHITE Gentlemen, we have a crisis on our hands. (to Green) The display, Leftenant. Green taps a button on his console as White swings his console around to face the display screen behind him. The screen shows an image of a walk-in freezer filled with bloody bullet-ridden bodies. WHITE (CONTINUED) This was the scene a few moments ago at the 5th Street Diner in New York City. A World Police detective, investigating suspicious behavior of two of his co-workers, found this carnage. Among the dead were two World Police street officers who were investigating a silent alarm at this very diner. These same officers checked into their precinct station two hours ago and left with their commander and heavy artillary. BLUE Good Lord... WHITE Reports are coming in from all over the city of bodies being discovered in various places, all of them bearing some connection to the patrons of this diner. SCARLET An army of Mysteron "pawns of evil". WHITE Precisely. And you can be certain their field commander is Captain Black. MAGENTA What's the latest report from our ground forces? WHITE The pattern of disruption and crime appears to be centering around the central business district of New York City. It would seem their plan is to completely disable the heart of the business district, then expand outward. Our ground forces cannot hope to contain them; the World Police Force is sending in reinforcements, and the World Army is standing by. (spins his console around to face them) Gentlemen, you are to head immediately for New York City. The Angel Flight will accompany you. Once there, your job will be to stop the Mysterons at all costs. Captain Grey and Captain Magenta, you will coordinate with the ground forces already present to contain the Mysterons so that an organized assault can be launched. Captain Blue and Captain Scarlet, you will seek out Captain Black and bring him back here. I will remind you that it is vitally important that Black be brought back here alive if we can ever hope to stop the Mysterons. Scarlet meets White's gaze coldly. White and the others realize Scarlet now knows about the World President's plans. WHITE (CONTINUED) Is there some sort of problem, Captain Scarlet? SCARLET (sharp-edged) No, sir. I am as eager to see Black apprehended as anyone. There is a moment of uncomfortable tension as two strong egos threaten to collide head-on. Everyone's eyes are on Scarlet and White, whose gazes never break from each other. WHITE I never had any doubt of that, Captain Scarlet. (a beat as White lets tension dissipate) When Captain Ochre finishes his rest period in the Room of Sleep in about fifteen minutes, he will be searching surveillance cameras in the area and giving you reconnaissance reports from them and from the Angels. Are there any questions? All four captains shake their heads. WHITE (CONTINUED) Right. Captain Scarlet will be your field commander. There is a flicker of surprise in Scarlet's eyes, quickly concealed. Scarlet nods his head in acknowledgement of White's command. White returns the gesture. WHITE (CONTINUED) I will remind you that there are perhaps hundreds dead across the city so far today, which means you will be facing a Mysteron force larger than you have ever faced. You must stay alert and stand together. On your way now--dismissed. All four captains stand as one and retreat from the room. WHITE (CONTINUED) Leftenant Green, launch all Angels. GREEN S.I.G. (taps button on console) Angels One, Two, and Three, immediate launch. DESTINY ANGEL'S VOICE (over speakers) Angel One, S.I.G. SYMPHONY ANGEL'S VOICE (over speakers) Angel Two, S.I.G. RHAPSODY ANGEL'S VOICE (over speakers) Angel Three, S.I.G. Angel One launches from the deck of Cloudbase as Angels Two and Three slide forward on magnetic tracks into launch positions. As SYMPHONY ANGEL and RHAPSODY ANGEL, already strapped into their seats, rise through the airlocks into clear tubes that connect to the underbellies of the waiting fighter jets, the Spectrum Passenger Jet rises through its airlock from the hangar bay to the secondary runway. The remaining two Angels launch from the flight deck as Captain Blue, in the pilot's seat of the SPJ, lowers his RadioCap microphone. BLUE Blue to Control--request launch clearance. GREEN'S VOICE Spectrum Is Green. Have a good flight, Captain Blue. The SPJ taxies the short length of the runway and shoots into the air, soon joining the Angels en route to New York. Captain Blue steers the jet into the midst of the inverted "V" formation the Angel Flight has created. Captain Scarlet, seated in the co-pilot's position, checks his instrumentation as Blue levels off. GREEN'S VOICE (CONTINUED) (over speakers) All scheduled personnel are to proceed immediately to New York City. Ground transportation has been arranged for you there. Your air lanes have been cleared. Good luck, Captains. Cloudbase out. BLUE I don't think I like our odds. SCARLET I know what you mean. We really don't know what we're heading into. BLUE Well, I know one thing we're heading into. (indicates radar with his head) A winter thunderstorm. Check out the cloud cover indication ahead of us. SCARLET Lovely. But that could be to our advantage. It will make things difficult for our opponents as well. GREY (entering from behind) In football, the offense has the advantage on a slick field because they know where they're going. SCARLET (looks back at Grey) In American football, not real football--or soccer, as you Yanks call it. In real football, both sides lose their footing equally easily. GREY Real football isn't played with a round speckled ball. SCARLET That inflated pig's bladder your game uses can hardly be called a "ball". BLUE All right, you two, knock it off. What brings you up here, Captain Grey? GREY Just curious. Didn't Green say our lanes were cleared? BLUE Yes--why? GREY Well, I'd almost swear I saw a plane off to starboard a minute ago. SCARLET (quickly checks radar) He's right, Adam. There's a commercial liner off to our right that's just entered our proximity--and it's closing. All three men look at each other. The Mysterons have tried this trick before. BLUE (to Grey) Go strap yourself in, Brad. GREY (heading out of cockpit) S.I.G. BLUE (drops RadioCap microphone) Blue to Angel Flight--incoming aircraft, possibly hostile. Evasive action. DESTINY'S VOICE (over speakers) S.I.G. Through the aircraft's forward windows, the three Angel Flight planes can be seen peeling off in separate directions. SCARLET (checks radar) Airliner still approaching. They have not altered course. BLUE They may be after a bigger target. Hang on. Blue takes the SPJ into a steep dive. The sound of the airliner roaring and the proximity alarms indicate a near miss. BLUE (CONTINUED) (pulling plane out of dive) Man, that was close! SCARLET Too close. (drops RadioCap microphone) Scarlet to Angel Three--I want a complete reconnaisance of that plane, including passengers and crew. Seek and report. RHAPSODY'S VOICE (over speakers) S.I.G. SCARLET (checks radar, then into plane's commercial radio microphone) This is Captain Scarlet of Spectrum Passenger Jet One to commercial liner C-S-Zero-Six. You have entered a restricted air lane and very nearly collided with four Spectrum aircraft on an emergency mission. Identify yourself and your reason for entering this restricted zone. Over. COMMERCIAL AIRLINE PILOT'S VOICE (over speakers, slightly shaky) This is Captain John Zukowski of Coastal Service Airlines flight 105. We're terribly sorry, Captain Scarlet; we certainly had no intention of passing so close to your air patrol. We were instructed by LaGuardia Control Tower that this lane was cleared for entry to New York. Probably a tower mix-up-- those guys get under so much pressure. I don't know if you heard, but they had a near- miss at the tower earlier and the airport was closed for a while... Blue and Scarlet look at each other. There is obviously something more here than meets the eye. SCARLET (into commercial microphone) One moment, Captain Zukowski. (shuts down commercial microphone, drops RadioCap microphone) Scarlet to Rhapsody--have you anything to report? RHAPSODY'S VOICE (over speakers) Just completing my sweep. (a beat) The plane appears to be fully occupied. The cockpit contains three commercial class airline pilots who all look more than a bit shaken. SCARLET Understood. Return to formation. Scarlet out. (into commercial microphone) Captain Zukowski, you were misled. This lane is currently restricted for emergency Spectrum use. If you would get on your commercial frequency and warn off other pilots, it would be most helpful. ZUKOWSKI'S VOICE (over speakers) Absolutely. Sorry again for the near-miss. I'll do what I can. Good luck, Captain Scarlet. SCARLET (into commercial microphone) We may need it. Spectrum Passenger Jet One out. (drops RadioCap microphone) Scarlet to Angel Two--possible Mysteron activity at LaGuardia Tower. Proceed at Speed Ultimate to tower. Seek and report. SYMPHONY'S VOICE (over speakers) S.I.G. Rain begins to spatter against the windshield. SCARLET (into RadioCap microphone) Scarlet to Angel Three--radar indicates other aircraft in area, and the weather's getting worse. Intercept and inform them they are in restricted airspace. Keep them out of our way. RHAPSODY'S VOICE (over speakers) S.I.G. SCARLET (into RadioCap microphone) Destiny, find us another place to land. We can't take a chance that there's not some sort of surprise waiting for us at LaGuardia. DESTINY'S VOICE (over speakers) The old Kennedy International Airport is nearby. It is seldom used anymore, but there may be room for us to land there. Starting reconnaisance sweep--will report on findings. SCARLET (into RadioCap microphone) S.I.G. Scarlet out. (to Blue) Adam, keep your eyes peeled. We may have to dive out of the way again at any moment. (into RadioCap microphone) Grey and Magenta...it appears at least part of LaGuardia may be in the hands of the Mysterons. We'll have to land somewhere else. Grey, notify ground forces to meet us at Kennedy. Magenta, find out if Ochre's got any surveillance camera reconnaissance he can share with us. GREY'S VOICE (over speakers) S.I.G., Scarlet. MAGENTA'S VOICE (over speakers, somewhat sarcastic) Ochre won't like being rousted from his beauty rest, but I'll see what I can find out. Magenta out. BLUE (concentrating on flying, trying to dodge air traffic) A near-miss at the tower. Makes you wonder how near that miss was. SCARLET Probably much nearer than Captain Zukowski came. BLUE (sharp turn to avoid commercial jet) I've got a bad feeling about this. SCARLET (dryly) That's my line. SYMPHONY'S VOICE (over speakers) Angel Two to Captain Scarlet. SCARLET (drops RadioCap microphone) Go ahead, Symphony. SYMPHONY'S VOICE (over speakers) There seems to be mass confusion at LaGuardia. There are planes everywhere--on the runways, on approach, on takeoff. I was nearly hit three times coming in, and the rain's not helping. There is construction debris everywhere and the wreckage of an airplane off to the side. The tower appears unoccupied. BLUE Mysterons! SCARLET And thousands of innocent airline passengers... (into RadioCap microphone) Angel Two, we must presume LaGuardia Tower is now in the hands of the Mysterons. Order all aircraft in the area to get clear, then destroy the tower. Again: Destroy the tower. SYMPHONY'S VOICE (into speakers) S.I.G. Confusion reigns supreme. There are jets everywhere on every runway, giving the tarmac area the appearance of a busy interstate. The sky is black; rain is literally sheeting down. Symphony Angel's sleek jet swoops in toward the tower. SYMPHONY'S VOICE (over outdoor speakers) This is the Spectrum Angel Flight. All airplanes and airport personnel in the area are ordered to clear the runways immediately. Proceed to the nearest gate and clear the tower area. Again, all airplanes and airport personnel in the area are ordered by Spectrum Command to clear the runways immediately. Airplanes begin moving off the runways and people begin running for cover. Symphony waits a few moments, then makes another pass around the tower. She swoops into the air, then makes a bombing run on a direct course toward the tower. As she approaches, a missile shoots from the Angel jet's nose. The tower explodes on impact. One more pass and one more missile, and the tower is reduced to rubble. CAPTAIN OCHRE sits at a desk with a large computer monitor on it, trying to call up various screens. He frowns at the screen in frustration. OCHRE (into RadioCap microphone) System's slow as Hell, Magenta. I'm trying to get you a report on Kennedy, but something's running in the background and chewing up resources. MAGENTA'S VOICE (over speakers) Scarlet's not going to want to hear that. OCHRE (into RadioCap microphone) Tell Scarlet to take tea or something. I'm doing the best I can. (a beat) O.K., here comes something. Kennedy looks reasonably clear. Ground forces are already entering the perimeter. You should have no trouble there. MAGENTA'S VOICE (over speakers) What about downtown? OCHRE (into RadioCap microphone) Coming up now. (a beat) A zoo. World Police and Spectrum Police have the business area cordened off, but the area around the Empire State Building looks like a war zone. MAGENTA'S VOICE (over speakers) Around the Empire State Building? What's so special there? OCHRE (into RadioCap microphone) Maybe a bus tour just came through--how the Hell should I know? MAGENTA'S VOICE (over speakers) Easy, Rick. OCHRE (sighs, rubs eyes, then into RadioCap microphone) Sorry, Pat. It's just that this damn computer's so slow I feel like I'm useless up here. MAGENTA'S VOICE (over speakers) Well, you're a lot more helpful there than down here. About all you'd be doing here is holding onto the armrests of your seat for dear life. Blue's a damn good pilot--I don't know if I could have gotten us through that mess without getting us all killed. OCHRE (into RadioCap microphone, sarcastically) Scarlet would have carried on. He always does. MAGENTA'S VOICE (over speakers, sharply) Lay off Scarlet, Rick. I'd almost forgotten how cool he is under pressure. It must be a three-ring circus in the cockpit, but he's not lost it once when he's been directing traffic. If the World President thinks Paul Metcalfe is going to snap anytime soon, he'd better rethink his notions. OCHRE (into RadioCap microphone) Yeah, you're right. Sometimes I forget that, too. (checks computer screen) Magenta, interference on all the downtown cameras is massive, and the storm's not helping. I've got to stop whatever's running here to see if I can enhance the images. Will get back to you shortly. MAGENTA'S VOICE (over speakers) S.I.G. Magenta out. Ochre taps keys on the keyboard, then slams the tabletop in frustration. OCHRE Come on, come on--what's the matter with this thing? (drops RadioCap microphone) Ochre to Control--Lieutenant Green, what's going on with the computer systems? I can't get anything to come up in a reasonable timeframe. GREEN'S VOICE (over speakers) We are having the same problems up here, sir. Dr. Fawn appears to be running a large-scale database search in the foreground. I've tried pushing it into the background, but it keeps returning to the foreground. OCHRE (into RadioCap microphone) Of all the times for Fawn to be doing research...Lieutenant, I'm going to go have a talk with the good doctor. See what you can do about getting some enhanced imagery on the cameras surrounding the Empire State Building. You may know some tricks I don't. GREEN'S VOICE (over speakers) Considering I helped build this system, there's not much I don't know about it. S.I.G., Captain Ochre. Control out. DR. JOYCE HOLLANDER is staring at Dr. Fawn's computer screen and going through printouts on Dr. Fawn's desk, looking for something. HOLLANDER Come on, come on, it's got to be here. There's no way Fawn didn't make notes on this. (gets up from desk; walks to printer) Maybe this is it. (reads page that has just come out of printer) Oh, you're kidding! But that's not possible... (reaches into pocket; pulls out personal radio; speaks into it) Black Knight to King's Pawn--Operation Twister may have failed. I have a report on Captain Scarlet's psychological evaluation post- incident. It says-- Suddenly, Hollander stops talking as a gun is shoved hard into her back. Captain Ochre snatches her radio out of her grasp. OCHRE (icy tones) You've got about thirty seconds to explain yourself, "doctor", before I demonstrate what Spectrum does to spies. A driving rain makes conditions difficult as Captains Scarlet, Blue, Grey, and Magenta disembark from the Spectrum Passenger Jet. Another officer in an orange Spectrum color-coded uniform, LIEUTENANT ORANGE, rushes to meet them, coming to attention. The officers exchange salutes, then all five run under an extended jetway for shelter. SCARLET What's the situation, Leftenant Orange? ORANGE The latest report from the World Police team on the scene says that the Mysterons are adding to their army as fast as they can. Civilians who try to flee get picked off almost immediately. GREY Do we still have them contained? ORANGE We've got about a three-block area cordened off, but that's still a lot of ground to cover. MAGENTA And a lot of civilians. BLUE Any sign of Captain Black? ORANGE We've had an unconfirmed sighting of him at the Empire State Building, but we haven't been able to get reconnaissance to give us a positive response. SCARLET We've got to push them inward. What about reinforcements? ORANGE World Army is sending a couple of tank units. The problem is the civilians--we certainly don't want to give the Mysterons any more troops for their army. BLUE That rules out an Angel air strike, too. SCARLET Yes. But we have to get them pushed in somehow. If only we could find Black... OCHRE'S VOICE (over RadioCap speakers) Cloudbase Control to all p