Traveler: Storyteller Tales: Vordan, the Interview.

            Legal was on the third floor and pretty badly damaged by the look of it.  Most of the files against the outer walls were unscathed, and the important stuff was in the mainframe in the third basement – the bomb shelter.  Alice met some of the others, but hardly took the time to get to know them before she swooped up a laptop, a steno pad and a pen and followed Glen and Lockhart.  Boston showed her how to tap into the internal network so she could work while she watched, but she was not going to miss this.  The pen and paper were for writing down questions she planned to ask when she had the chance, and she already had a couple of doozies.

            The prisoner was in an isolation tank.  There was a bed, a table with three chairs around it and a fourth chair pushed against the wall.  There was also a toilet and sink behind a short partition, but that was it for decorations.  And then there was a mirror behind an unbreakable plastic partition which was, of course, see through on the other side.  Currently, the Vordan was sitting at the table with his back to the mirror, and Alice expressed surprise saying that she did not realize they could sit since they appeared to her to walk rather stiffly.

            “Probably not as stiff as it would walk now,” Glen said.  He noted that the Vodan was bandaged in several places.  The doctors had been in there to take tissue and blood samples, but otherwise he guessed no one else had ventured into the room.  He was wrong.

            “Mister Lockhart?”  The man, Belden, asked without asking before he answered Glen’s question.  Lockhart merely nodded and Belden opened up.  The woman in that room, Ms Franklin, was busy typing and taping everything the Vordan did and recording every noise it made, but she watched the exchange between Belden and Glen as well, having some questions of her own.

            “Actually, two security officers and professor Singh went in to see if they could communicate with the creature.”

            “Person,” Glen corrected.  “Just because he isn’t human, that does not make him less of a person.  And I bet he rushed the guards.”

            “It – he tried to,” Belden said.  He looked again at Lockhart as if to say he now had a different set of questions in mind.

            “Yes, well don’t do that again without permission.  Being taken prisoner is a great shame.  He will try to get you to kill him as penance for his sin, and then you will have nothing.  Just think of the Japanese in World War II.  One opportunity and it is hari-kari.”  Glen stepped up to the glass but was interrupted when the phone rang.  Belden answered it.  He listened a minute and mumbled and held out the phone to Lockhart.

            “Land line’s back working I see,” Lockhart said without showing any interest in touching the phone.

            “It’s for the Traveler?”  Belden did not know what to do except cover the phone to not be overheard.  Boston pointed at Glen.

            “Who is it?”  Glen asked.

            “It’s the director, sir.”  Belden held out the phone.

            Alice mumbled as she wrote a note on her notepad.

            “Tell her I’m busy,” Glen turned back to observing the Vordan.  Unfortunately, the Vordan did not seem to want to do anything other than sit there.  When Glen turned around a second time he saw that everyone was staring at him with open mouths, except Lockhart who was stifling his laugh.  “Oh, OK,” Glen took the phone.  “Bobbi?  Yes, I am busy.  I was thinking of waterboarding.  Huh?  No, just kidding…  What?  I don’t know anything yet, you interrupted the process…  Calm down, you will know as soon as anyone…  Huh?..  So sit on them.  Tell him to tell them… Tell them that for the first time in history we are all in this together and now is the time like no other to support and help each other, not accuse each other.  We need to let the experts do their job if we expect this threat to be neutralized… I don’t care if they don’t believe him…  Tell him to tell them anything you like.  Look, by the way, tell him I will be up there sometime tomorrow.  There is something I need to get out of his office… A secret compartment… No, I’m not going to tell you, oh, wait, that would be Lincoln’s office…  Yes, Abraham Lincoln.  I had to hide it in a hurry… No, I’m not kidding.  I suppose that would be the Lincoln bedroom now.  Just tell him to try not to push any buttons between now and then… Yes, that time I was kidding.”  He handed the phone back to Beldon with one more word.  “Sheesh!”

            “So?”  Alice had to know even if no one else did.

            “So the President called.   A couple of governments are making noises like the strike on their territories was an American plot.”

            “That’s ridiculous!”  Ms. Franklin was the one who expressed what everyone felt.  Glen looked back at the Vordan again with a final comment.

            “There is a lot to be said for Boom-de boom, boom.”

            “So what now?”  Alice asked.

            “So now I have to be someone else.”

            Boston drew in her breath with excitement.  Belden and Ms. Franklin did not know what this strange man was talking about.

            “Who?”  Lockhart was curious.

            “Lady Alice,” Glen said.

            “Me?”  Alice looked surprised, but Lockhart and Glen waved her off.

            “I thought she was tied to Avalon,” Lockhart said.

            “Not tied, exactly, but she is more contemporary than the Captain, in a way, and she is tied into the organic net.  The change isn’t required, but in my brain there would be some lag time in speaking as the language would have to be filtered through my memory.  She has direct access.”  Lockhart shrugged.  He did not quite follow that, but he smiled when Glen went away and Lady Alice stood in his place.  Boston clapped.  Ms. Franklin shrieked, but softly.  Belden had his mouth open, and Alice shook her head.

            “What?”  Lady Alice asked her namesake in a voice as sweet as her looks, and Alice the lawyer thought this woman was almost worse than the Princess.  This one easily stood about five-ten with blond hair and medium, sort of light brown eyes that were piercing – not a description normally associated with brown eyes.  What is more, that evening gown kind of a dress she was wearing showed off her slim body perfectly.  Any supermodel would die to look like that, and it seemed that the dress itself enhanced this beauty’s movements in a way that was more than supermodel graceful.  She was sort of ballerina graceful, or even more graceful than that; and she was very pale, like she never spent time in the sun.  Lady Alice just finished kissing Lockhart gently on the forehead when Alice the lawyer wrote “Avalon” on her pad and spoke.

            “So you are, what?  The Fairy Queen?”  That summed things up nicely.

            “No.”  Alice of Avalon laughed a laugh as sweet as the rest of her and the other Alice thought this one is very different.  She could see the Princess was a great tease and that she had a bit of a bawdy side, but this one probably did not know what bawdy was.  This one came across as totally innocent, like a perpetual virgin.  What is more, the Princess was more, well, everything – the kind of sexy, attractive beauty that men might fight and even die for.  This one was more the kind that could only be dreamed about and admired from afar.

            “No?”  Alice the lawyer found her hand writing fairy queen on her notepad and then was amazed at what she heard.

            “But I have perhaps been spending too much time with her of late.  She is so enchanting and rather hard to resist.”

            “Alice of Avalon lives in Wonderland.”  Lockhart smiled and pointed at the Lady.

            “Not exactly,” Lady Alice countered and she shook her finger at the man like a school girl might scold a little boy.  “But near enough.”  She dropped her hand, smiled that enchanting smile and gave Lockhart another kiss on the head.

            “Um.”  Boston hardly knew what to say.

            “Lovely to meet you, Boston, dear,” Alice said.  “And Belden the brave, and Ms. Franklin too.” 

            The lawyer wrote on her pad, “and Toto too?” but Lady Alice was not finished. 

            “Now, I am sorry, but I will have to erase any record of my being here, and while that may make things more difficult in a way, you must trust me that it is safer.  And now, I am going to need some help with this work.”  She held out her hand and a metallic circle appeared in her palm.  Ms. Franklin held back the shriek this time, but Alice, the lawyer shrieked softly.  She held the volume at bay by writing “magic” on her pad. 

            Lady Alice stepped up to the window and picked up the microphone with one hand while she placed the circle against her throat with the other hand.  She paused and coughed a sweet little cough to clear her throat, a sound so sweet, Alice the lawyer was almost sickened from the sugar overdose.  Then Lady Alice spoke in a deep male voice that sounded like gears grinding in a factory with some crashing of waves against rocks and jackhammers making those rocks into gravel.  And it was loud enough to make everyone cover their ears. 

            The Vordan immediately stood and answered in kind and he seemed willing to carry on a dialogue for a while, but soon enough, he shut his mouth and though Alice tried several more times, the Vordan clearly decided to say no more.  Alice set down the microphone, backed up and sighed, and it was such a pleasant sound after that cacophony of conversation, everyone sighed with her.  And then she was gone.  She took that little metal circle with her, and Glen returned. 

            “Not much information.”  Glen said immediately as if he had conducted the interview himself, which Alice the lawyer was beginning to understand that in a sense he had.  “This one is merely a soldier and I don’t think he knows anything, except this is not the place they had planned to come and he was not sure if his superiors know how to get home.”

            “Great!”  Lockhart threw his hands up which said he thought it was anything but great.  “So we may be stuck with them, and that could make them very dangerous.  Don’t underestimate what desperation can do.”

Traveler: Storyteller Tales: Vordan Aftermath

             The building looked bad from the outside.  Most of the systems were down, not just communications, and there was smoke billowing out the front doors.  Some of the fires had just been extinguished.  People waited at the door and others ran up to Bobbi with reports as Bobbi, Glen and Alice made their way inside.  Bobbi never stopped walking so everyone had to keep up.  Some chose to walk backwards.  They stared at Glen and Alice, but since they were with Ms. Brooks, no one bothered them, and no one hesitated to speak in their presence.  The first thing they all heard was that there were reports coming in from around the globe on the emergency short-wave frequencies.  They were in code, of course, and that took a bit to translate without the computers functioning properly.

            “They hit offices around the world at more or less the same time.” 

            “It looks like a very coordinated effort, but we drove them off and so did most of the other operations centers.”

            “A couple of F-15s flew over from the capitol and the attackers did not appear ready for that kind of fight.  They got out, but the fly-boys managed to disable one of their landers.”

            “We hauled it into the back barn which is why you didn’t see it.”

            “We got a prisoner on ice.”

            “Personnel.”  A woman spoke above the din.  “Three dead and seven wounded.  All others accounted for apart from your crew.”

            “Readouts indicate a standard plasma propulsion system.”

            “Weapons appear laser-like with minimal disrupter effect.”

            “Hold it.”  Bobbi reached a door, stepped in and let Glen and Alice in with her, but kept all of the others out.  “Give me five minutes, then I want to hear the report from personnel first.”  She nearly shut the door before adding, “Oh, and they are called Vordan.  Start a search if the mainframe is still operational.”  She shut the door firm and loud and looked at Alice.  “The truth is we are all just paper pushers.”  She took the big seat behind the desk and let out a great big sigh.

            “Bobbi was a file clerk when I met her.”  Glen grinned.

            “I probably file more things now than ever,” Bobbi responded with a grin of her own.

            Glen sat in the chair that faced the desk and fiddled with the pens in his pocket.  Alice opted for the couch where she could keep an eye on the two of them, and on the door. 

“Well?”  Bobbi said the word but her tone showed the exasperation at having to say it out loud.

            “Well what?”  Glen was thinking.  Alice was about to say something when Glen continued.  “Sounds military to me, coordinated like that.  You said battleships on the moon?”

            “We just called them that because we did not know what else to call them.  Lincoln calculated that they were about the size of battleships or maybe air craft carriers.”

            “Yes, where is Lincoln?”  Glen asked.  He remembered the man from several past encounters.  Not the bravest fellow.  CIA if he remembered correctly.

            “Disappeared,” Bobbi said.  “About the same time we discovered the Vordan.”

            “Not likely a coincidence,” Glen said.

            “Could not possibly be,” Bobbi agreed. 

            “Too bad because I bet he could have everything summed up by now in that little notebook of his.”  Glen pulled a pen and pretended to write like he was holding a little hand-sized notebook.  He also made a face which Alice felt must have been a fair caricature because Bobbi laughed, softly, before she burst out with it.

            “Glen.  I have three dead.”

            “I know,” Glen said.

            “I don’t understand,” Alice admitted.  She was feeling rather useless at the moment.  Glen smiled for her as he explained.

            “They send a ship into the Carolinas.  I assume you had no trouble tracking it.”

            “Easy,” Bobbi said.  “We know they have two dozen or so ships outside the atmosphere, but normally we can’t track them at all.  They don’t show up on any of our systems.  We only know they are there because of the night shadow effect.”

            “Night shadow?”  Alice asked.

            “Call it the eclipse effect.  They show up by blocking the incoming light of the stars; like the old witch flying across the face of the full moon.  Anyway, this time they want to be seen to get Bobbi and her crew to follow in force.”

            “We figured it was a set-up and alerted Washington and prepared to defend ourselves, for all the good it did, but Boston figured out who they were after and so we had to go.”

            “You?”  Alice looked at Glen.  “But you don’t die.”  She felt she understood that much whether she believed it or not.

            “No, but as a baby I would not be much of a threat to them, especially for the first nine months.”

            “I see.  Of course.”  Alice gulped.  “You mean I could be your mother someday?”

            Glen lowered his eyes as he looked at her.  “Right now, I could be your father, and don’t worry, I have no intention of dying any time soon.”

            “I see,” Alice repeated herself.  “So if this outfit, organization or whatever…”  She waved her hands to indicate the building and everyone in it.  “If they don’t follow the Vordan ship, you get killed, but if they do follow, they take away a big chunk of their defensive capabilities and their headquarters becomes vulnerable.”

            “That sums it up,” Glen said, but before he could add a thought there was a knock on the door.  Lockhart came in.  His wheelchair had plenty of self propulsion options, but it looked like he preferred to have Boston push him around.

            “Interrupting, I hope,” he said.

            “Director.  You have a whole line of people waiting outside.”  Boston spoke overtop.

            “Shut the door,” Bobbi insisted, and turned quickly to Glen.  “So what are you going to do?”  She asked.

            “I need to get Alice started on her job,” Glen said.  He leaned forward and took a clean page from Bobbi’s legal pad, then he used his pen to write the words, Kargill, Reichgo and Zalanid on the paper and handed it to Alice.  “There are other spellings, but what you want is to corral the legal freaks in this place and get them all working on digging up whatever they can find on the Reichgo-Kargill treaty, terms and conditions, clause after clause.”

            “Treaties.”  Alice said the word and shook her head softly.

            “Think binding contract.  We need something we can use legally against the Vordan.”

            “Will I be arguing in some galactic court or something?”  Alice sounded uncertain about that prospect.

            Glen laughed.  “No, but here is the quick scoop.”  He sat back down in his chair and motioned the others in close as if he was about to tell the secret of the universe.  “The second Reichgo-Kargill war is about to break out and they will spend the next hundred years or so fighting each other to a standstill.  So, for the second hundred years, they gather allies, well, the Reichgo mostly get help.  The Kargill doesn’t like anybody much.  It just barely tolerates the Zalanid, and, well, anyway, anyway.  The Vordan enter on the Reichgo side, and eventually are given faster than light technology, but that won’t be for a hundred and fifty years or so.  Even then, when the Reichgo and Kargill are wiped out, and I mean they exterminate each other, and the third hundred years finds everybody fighting everybody, we don’t run into the Vordan until long after the peace.  You see?  That’s what I don’t get.  The Vordan are so far away, at sub-light speed it would take years to get here, but a hundred years ago they did not have the technology.  What are they doing here, now?  How did they get here?”

            “I wouldn’t know,” Alice said.  “But the technology seems pretty advanced if you ask me.”

            “Uh-huh.”  Boston was agreeing and nodding her head.  This time Lockhart and Bobbi both looked at Glen. 

            “Believe it or not, on their home world they are not that far ahead of us, technologically speaking.  They are war-like and have ambitions since some fifty, or maybe a hundred years ago their probes confirmed that there are not only planets around some of their neighboring stars, but a semblance of intelligent life in two places.  They poured their resources into developing the means to reach and subjugate those poor alien races, and maybe that war-like drive is the reason the Reichgo took them as allies.  I know that was the case with the Orlan and the Bospori; but at this point, they have simply driven themselves into space and into war.  They aren’t concerned about saving their planet, or greening it, or making nice with everybody.  Do you know what they would do with a rogue state?  Boom-de boom, boom.  Hang the fallout.  Problem solved.”

            “Bospori?  You mean Martok?” Alice asked.  Glen nodded while there was another knock on the door.  A head poked in.

            “One more minute,” Bobbi shouted and the door shut quickly.  “So, Traveler.  What will you be doing?  Don’t think I forgot the question.  I’m not that old, yet.”

            Glen shifted in his seat.  “Yes, well.  I want to get Alice started and then I thought I might go interrogate your prisoner.”

            Alice shook her head in a definite no.  “I mean, I don’t mind the legal work, whatever, but I’m not leaving your side.  Don’t think I am going to miss talking to an alien.”  Glen looked hesitant so she added, “Every accused person needs a lawyer.”

            “We will read him his rights.”  Lockhart laughed and with a look at Boston, they turned back to the door.  Alice rose.  Glen asked a question of his own.

            “And what will you be doing?”

            “Me?”  Bobbi thought that was obvious.  “I’ll be glued to this chair for at least the next twenty-four hours.  I sometimes wonder if you did me a favor.”  Glen suggested she accompany them, but only with his hands.  She shook him off.  She knew her duty.  “Go on,” she said.  “Let me know what you find out.”  And they left.

On Stories: Journey Plots: Mysteries and Thrillers

Mysteries and especially their first cousins, the thrillers can be full of action and adventure (external stories) but at heart both are journeys – journeys of the mind (internal stories).  If done well, they are journeys as much for the reader as they are for the protagonist.

Read the greats: Agatha Christie, Arthur Conan-Doyle, Dorothy Sayers, Dashiell Hammett and you will quickly see what I mean.  From the beginning of the riddle to the revelation at the end there are miles to go before you sleep.  True, National Treasure may be seen as a thriller or mystery as much as a quest.  In The Hunt for Red October, action may be the draw.  It certainly is for an author like Ludlum.  Yet like any mystery, when the clues are followed, the mystery slowly unravels.

So the protagonist starts with a puzzle, perhaps something like a great jigsaw puzzle, and has to put the pieces in just the right places to see the final picture.  The journey, then, is from ignorance to knowledge, from confusion to understanding.  From questions to solutions.

The Plot

As with any journey plot, the trigger comes quick.  I would not recommend a chapter on what a wonderful person the victim is and another chapter on what an insane, evil creature the murderer is.  There is a reason why so many books start with a dead body.  That is where the mystery (the journey) begins.

Mrs. Lavender kept being slapped in the face by her own scarf as the wind roared through the broken conservatory window.  She did not mind, however, since she was dead.  The kitchen knife was planted firmly in her chest… 

OR 

Professor Pinch was lying on the plush oriental rug in the library, but he was not taking a nap.  The lead pipe with the blood stains beside his head assured that he would never take a nap again…

OR

Colonel Ketchup’s body swung from the end of the rope.  The chair was turned over and one of the officers handed his superior the suicide note in a plastic bag.  It looked like suicide, but as the chief detective reached for his Tums he decided it smelled like murder.

Once the protagonist enters the picture, it is off to the races.  There will be obstacles throughout the middle of the story like any journey plot and getting lost (misdirection toward the wrong suspect) is almost expected.  In the case of the mystery or thriller, though, there is another element that needs special attention: the clues.

The clues, above all, make for a good mystery and the slim chance that a reader might figure it out keeps the reader to task.  These must be done with great skill and dexterity, and probably why I will never be a true mystery writer.  I am too blunt.  But when done well, they make perfect sense at the end.  No one should doubt if the Butler really did it.

Again, as with all journey plots, the end comes with success or failure.  We are accustomed to success (probably because of all those detective/police dramas on television over all of those years).  But sometimes the antagonist gets away with it.  Everyone, including the reader knows, but…  The question in that case is should we be mad (upset) or cheer that they got away with it?

Traveler: Storyteller Tales: The Vordan 2

            Glen turned his eyes upward for a moment as if looking to the heavens might help him bring his memory into focus.  “I was really too young for nursery school.  I know these days kids are in day care almost from birth, but back in 1957 it was rather unusual.  Kindergarten was when most kids got their first introduction to that kind of group, social interaction thing, and my older brother was in kindergarten; but my mother was seven or eight months pregnant with my little sister and so she signed me up, too young or not, so she could spend some quality daytime hours with her new baby.  Of course, back then we did not call it quality time.  It was just time.”  Glen paused to think some more.  “That seems to be the story of my life.  Time, and there never seems to be enough of it no matter how many lives I live.”  Glen sighed and looked at his shoes.  “The school was called Happy Hill.  In later years I always thought it sounded more like an asylum than a nursery school.”  Glen paused again and returned his eyes to the ceiling as if seeking something that could not be found.

            “Go on,” Bobbi urged him gently.  He shook his head so Alice came up with a question.  “So who is this Mister Smith you keep talking about, and what is a Kargill?”

            “Who is the Kargill.”  One of the men at the table suggested.

            “No,” Glen countered.  “In the Kargill’s case, what may be more appropriate.  Mister Smith is a Zalanid and servant of the Kargill.  He spends a lot of time in suspended animation, but the Kargill revives him whenever it has to deal directly with humans, and that is inevitably when there are unauthorized aliens about.”

            “I take it this Mister Smith and this Kargill are more space aliens, like the Vordan,” Alice said, and everyone nodded.

            “That is why we are concerned that he has not shown up, especially since the Vordan have been sending scout ships to Earth for a month that we know of,” Bobbi said.

            “But what gives this Kargill the right to decide which aliens are unauthorized?”  Alice was quick to notice, and everyone looked at Glen, though they knew the basic story.

            “Treaty,” Glen said.  “The Kargill and Reichgo fought a war several centuries ago.  The Zalanid mediated a peace treaty, part of which included the Zalanid survivors becoming servants to the Kargill.  The Kargill got Earth, which was lucky for us because they just sit and watch.  They hate any outside interference with the natural course and development of a planet.  The Reichgo would have had us in slavery.”

            “When was that space war?”

            “Seventeenth Century.  Days of the English Civil War.  I can’t remember much about that time except not liking Cromwell.  I remember it had something to do with my husband.”

            “There’s a thought,” Bobbi said.  “You with a husband.”

            Glen stuck his tongue out at her.  “I have a wife.  No reason Elizabeth should not have had a husband.”

            “But what happened?”  The young woman at the table who was supposed to be working spoke up.  “With little Glen, I mean.”  She caught Bobbi’s look and turned her eyes to the papers in front of her, but her ears were clearly on the story.

            Glen smiled before he stumbled and dropped to the floor.  The plane hit what felt like more than just turbulence. 

“Fyodor.”  Bobbi called out for an explanation.  “Fyodor!”  Bobbi demanded an answer even as the plane settled down.

            “Minute,” came the response.

            “He’s on the com.”  One of the young men at the table spoke and gathered their attention.  He fiddled with the computer screen in front of him and he checked a radar screen behind his shoulder before speaking again.  “F-15 fly-by, and a bit close if you ask me.”

            “Everyone in Washington is paranoid,” Lockhart said to no one in particular.

            “As opposed to you folks?”  Alice asked, dryly.  “So we are going to Washington?”

            “Already there,” the man by the window said.  “My name is Josh by the way.”  He paused long enough to give Bobbi a sharp look but it gave Glen a chance to get a word in.

            “I remember you.” 

Josh continued.  “Our resident black in black is Wilson.”

            “Willie Wilson,” Lockhart interrupted.

            “Any relation to the ball player?”  Glen asked his friend.

            “Basketball?”  Wilson looked up.

            “Baseball,” Glen and Lockhart said at the same time.

            “Kansas City,” Lockhart added.  “Before your time.”

            “Hey!”  The young woman at the table protested at being left out.  Josh corrected the oversight with one word.

            “Boston.”

            “Mary Riley.”  She shook Alice’s hand.  “Pleased to meet you,” she said before she tossed back her red hair and reached for Glen’s hand.  “And an honor to finally meet you.  I’ve read all about you.”

            “There’s a scary thought.”  Glen returned the girl’s smile.

            “No, really,” Boston said.  She took a seat on their side of the table and swiveled away from the table so she could face them all and completely neglect her work.  “Only, somehow I thought you would be taller.”

            “I used to be,” Glen said with a look at Bobbi who understood.  “And sometimes I am.”

            “That was the Princess, wasn’t it?”  The poor girl could not contain herself. 

            “You want to see this.”  Fyodor spoke from up front.  Wilson was already turning on their side of the two sided television.  Obviously, the plane had cameras outside pointed in every possible direction.  Right then, the screen said “Below.”  What they saw was a five story building in a pastoral setting which Glen knew was out in the middle of some Virginia pastures, only the building had a big hole in the roof and smoke was seeping out of the hole.  It looked black down there as well, as if there were no lights at all.  Bobbi did not have to say anything.  Fyodor overshot the building and settled for the flat field beyond, just on this side of some woods. 

            Josh apologized.  “We had no contact with the office since we left.  You said to keep quiet so as not to tip our hand,”

            “But on the way back?”  Bobbi did not look happy, but it did not look like she was mad at her crew, just worried.

            “I thought they were maintaining the silence until we returned.”  Josh spoke honestly enough.  It was not an unreasonable assumption.

            “Well, we’ve returned,” Lockhart said flatly.

            “No.”  Josh shook his head.  “Nothing.  They must have busted the communications center.”

            “And who knows what else,” Bobbi said.  They were down and she was up and getting impatient.  “The door,” she said, but she still had to wait until the engines were off.

            “Boston.”  Lockhart called and the young woman came to wheel him down the ramp.   “My nurse,” Lockhart explained.  Glen and Alice both looked at Josh and Wilson, but the two of them were busy checking and shutting down the systems

            “Ugh.”  Boston shoved a little to get Lockhart’s wheelchair over the lip at the doorway.

            “I’m an equal opportunity employer,” Lockhart said.

            Glen smiled.  “So how is Hello, come in?” 

            “My sister is fine,” Lockhart looked toward the building but did not focus, like he was looking at something far away in space and time.  “Divorced.  But she has three good kids.  She is fine.”

            Glen was glad to hear that she was fine even if he could not exactly remember what had been wrong.

            Several golf carts came down from the building to pick them up and there was not time to say much more.  Bobbi was too anxious and Lockhart would be a few minutes getting down the ramp and saddled up in a cart.  Bobbi got in the first vehicle and patted the back seat.  “Traveler,” she said, and Glen grabbed Alice’s hand and to make sure she came with them.

On Stories: Journey Plots: The Rescue.

Any journey can be long enough to take weeks of travel, or short enough to be next door.  A journey plot is not dependant on the distance involved, but on the movement external or internal as the case may be.

When the rescue is mentioned, many first thoughts may be something like Rambo.  I suppose somebody had to save Private Ryan.  But consider Schindler’s List or more recently, the Blind Side.  In the Blind Side, a young man is rescued from a terrible situation and given a chance at life he could never have imagined… and the audience knows when the rescue is complete.  When he and they are a family

Consider how many fairy tales involve rescues: Snow White at the end, Sleeping Beauty, and Beauty and the Beast.  The beautiful thing about Beauty and the Beast is the way the story is twisted in the end (at least in the Disney version).  Gaston musters the courage to rescue Belle from the beast, but in the end we discover that all along Belle has been rescuing the beast.

The Plot 

Like the escape and pursuit plot, the plot begins with someone in need.  Escape and pursuit has someone held captive.  Rescue has someone taken captive, like Red Chief in O’Henry’s Ransom of Red Chief.  (I say someone is taken captive but to be sure it can be a dog, a cat, a whale, a snail or it may simply be someone in a terrible situation).  In any case, the protagonist is the one who must do the rescuing and often the story shows little of the one imprisoned.  Consider the cliché of the ex-husband who steals the kids and the mother who goes on a search and rescue mission.  The plot invariably focuses on the efforts of the mother.

The trigger, like in most journey plots comes quick.  It is the set-up.  Someone needs to be rescued and your protagonist is the only one for the job.

The middle is where the obstacles arise.  Again, like the escape and pursuit plot, a near miss or two can do wonders to build the tension.  Of course, if it is the Princess imprisoned by the dragon or Repunzel who for some reason has no capacity to exit the tower, there are no opportunities for near misses.  But the forest ranger might pass right by the child lost in the woods without realizing it, or the mother might get to the motel in time to see her ex drive away—the child looking out the back window and crying for her…

The end is the completion of the rescue, success or failure.  They are not all happy endings, but hey, that’s your call.  In any case, there is rarely a return pursuit.

Traveler: Storyteller Tales: Return to Happy Hill

The far wall cracked and about a quarter of the potential hole in the wall fell away.

Martok did not make a very big target since he was so short.  Only his head and shoulders stuck out above the lab table, but all the same he caught a bullet in the facemask in his cape.  The cape hardened immediately and rejected the bullet, but not before the bullet pushed into his lip and he bit his own lip with his very sharp teeth.  He ducked down and let out a very loud roar in his frustration.  That sound caused every person in all three rooms to stop what they were doing and tremble.  One poor man wet himself, but Martok could not worry about that.  His anger was up and he grabbed the nearest chunk of Reichgo equipment and heaved it toward the far wall.  This time the wall collapsed entirely, and Martok shot the box he saw with his laser-gun.  It was the box with the blinking lights and those lights went out instantly.  In the same instant, the three men in the next room as well as the two in the quarantined room collapsed, unconscious.

Martok ran and jumped into the quarantined room without waiting for the fire extinguishers to put out all of the flames.  Teacher Nancy was right on his heels.  “Glen, you are not escaping me.  I don’t care how strange you get.”  She spoke with as much volume in her words as she could muster and still whisper.  The whisper was not really necessary, but Martok smiled at the thought and felt good about the sentiment.  It abated his anger. 

After a quick examination of the room, he headed straight for the box which was sitting on a table in the center of the room.

David and Pickard came to join them after a moment while the others removed  the brain controllers, as they were calling them.  Goldman collected them and was careful to be sure he got them all.  He did not want one of these scientists slipping one in a pocket for later examination.

“What is it?”  David asked as he arrived.

“A computer,”  Martok said as he took off the cover to see what damage he did.

“Don’t be daft,” Pickard objected.  “Computers are great big things with reels of magnetic tape and stacks of punch cards.  This can’t be a computer.”

“Well.”  Martok paused as he looked inside.  He took a moment to put his hood down and sent his helmet back to where it came from while he called for Mishka’s black bag.  He pulled out the magnifying glass and examined some of the silicon chips to be sure he had not melted them.  “Actually, this unit probably has more computing power than every computer currently working on the Earth put together; but this is only a relay system.”

“No.”  The scientists were arriving and not believing what they were seeing.

“What are these?”  One man held up what looked like a pair of headphones.  Martok glanced over.  There were about twenty on the table there and several unfinished ones as well.

“Brain controllers.  Probably the only way Earth technology could make them, but they would have the same effect as the neck chips if worn.”

“No.”  That one man was determined not to believe any of it.

Martok found a speaker that he could turn into a microphone.  He ripped the hot wire out of his laser contraption and turned to David.  “Unplug.”  He said, and David ran back through the other rooms to where he could pull the plug.  He brought the whole extension cord into the quarantined room while Martok wired up what he was calling the relay computer.  When it was plugged in, he immediately rattled off a long string of numbers.  The he switched off for a minute.  “Gentlemen.”  He turned to face the crowd but looked at Goldman.  “You need to see who else may be unconscious in this building and be sure to get all of the brain controllers removed, starting with the Director.”

“The Director?”  Nancy asked.  She wondered if it was safe since Doctor Mishka was so concerned that they not touch him.

“He should be fine by now.”  Martok said, and again he did not add the words, “I hope.”  “But you and David can stay with me.  I will need your help.”  Then he paused while the others grumpily left the room.  They were certain they were going to miss something important.  “Pickard.”  Martok caught the man’s attention at the last minute.  “Please make sure Goldman gets them all.  If anything scares you, the idea of controlling people’s minds in that way should be at the top of the list.”

“Oh it does.”  Pickard responded.  “On this planet, we just overcame a fellow named Hitler not that long ago.  I shudder to think what might have happened.”

Martok nodded and waited for them to close the door before turning on the relay computer once again.  “Reichgo.”  He said.  “This is the Kairos.  The Kargill will be informed concerning what you tried here.  If you try it again, I will be very angry.”  He switched off and began dismantling the console, adding for the two present, “They do not want to get me angry.”

“I can believe that.”  David said as he and Nancy looked around at the room for the first time.  They were holding hands and needed that human touch at the moment.  It did not take long for Martok to dismantle and break the relay computer and his makeshift laser gun so they could not be rebuilt and would yield no real information to close examination.  He did slip a few pieces into Doctor Mishka’s black bag, but otherwise he left the junk where it lay.  When he turned to the couple, Nancy surprised him by reaching out to touch his alien, bloody lip.

“Just blood.”  Martok assured her.  “We are more alike than you know, but I will be fine.”  He tried to smile despite his puffy lip but decided his best option was to go away.  Doctor Mishka returned.  “And now there is but one more thing to do.”  She turned to her bag and pulled out what looked like a bug bomb.  She set it off where it would seep into the corners of all of the connected rooms.  She escorted David and Nancy into the hall and went to the unconnected rooms, tossing something like a horse pill into each – a pill that split on contact with the floor and fogged those rooms as well. 

She assured Nancy and David that the unconscious people in those rooms would not be hurt by the fog.  “It is merely an anti-viral that should clean up any residue of the pox on the men and the equipment.”  Then she smiled for her teacher before she turned to David with instructions.  “Tell Goldman to collect all of the Reichgo equipment and the homemade brain controllers as well and lock them away in his own building.  Tell him I will be along to collect them at some later date.  Now, be sure he gets them all and everything.  Please, David.  There are some things the human race does not yet need to know.  I only have you to depend on.”

Nancy was thinking.  “I assume the Reichgo were thinking if they got the smartest minds in the nation under control, it would not be hard to get the rest.”

“Not to mention they needed those minds first because they would be the only ones bright enough to figure out how to build more controllers with the limitations of the technology.”

“It is hard to think that way,” David said.  “The Labs was always years ahead of the rest of the world, but all of this makes me feel like we have not begun to learn anything yet.”

“And the scary part is realizing how close we came to being taken,” Nancy said.  The others looked at her without actually verbalizing their questions.  She got it, though, and fleshed out her thought.  “We would not have known anything if Bobby Thompson had not gotten sick.”

“Quite right,” Mishka agreed.  “The Reichgo might have succeeded if one of them had not had a cold.”

“Kind of H. G. Wells in reverse,” David said.

Indeed.”  Mishka spoke as a wry smile broke out on her face.  “Mister Wells was a strange man, but nice in a way.”  Nancy and David looked at her and then smiled at their own thoughts.  Mishka spoke again.  “Now, though, I believe it is time we got back to school.”

Nancy looked quickly at her watch.  “My God, David.  It’s eleven-thirty.  The Moms will all be showing up.”  She stuck her hand out and David reached for his keys.  “I have to get Glen back before his mother wonders where he is.  I’ll bring the Hudson right back after we are closed up.”  She reached down, picked Glen up off the floor and hugged the boy.  Without realizing it or noticing, Mishka had vanished and Glen had finally been allowed to return to his own time and place.  As Nancy carried him and followed David to the front door, where one of the security guards was trying in vain to wake the other one, Glen put his head down on Teacher Nancy’s soft shoulder.  He yawned a big yawn.  It had to be his nap time.

On Stories: Journey Plots: Escape & Pursuit

Some might see these as two separate plots.  I see them as intertwined, even when the entire story is focused on one part or the other.  For the One Armed Man, Cary Grant in North by Northwest, the Bandit in Smokey and the Bandit, and the trio of fools in O Brother where Art Thou the story is all but entirely about escaping the law.  And they are very different stories at that.  For others, such as the Great Escape or Alcatraz, the story is entirely or primarily about how to get free.

Even so, I see these ideas together because whenever someone is trying to break free or stay free, someone else will try to keep them captive.  And when the break comes, someone is going to pursue.

When The Count of Monte Cristo escaped from prison, there was no pursuit.  But he was clever and he was careful.  The idea of being caught again played havoc with his motivation and limited what he could do until he was secure and ready. 

When Huck Finn escaped his father, the pursuit was more imagined than real.  Still, it affected every action that followed for Huck and old Jim.

When the man in Hitchcock’s thriller, North by Northwest escaped being arrested for murder, the pursuit was all too real.  He needed to get away and clear his name at the same time without getting caught first.  Good trick, that.

When the soldiers broke out of the Nazi prison camp in the Great Escape, there was nothing but pursuit.  Few actually made it to safety (Switzerland or wherever), but what a story!

The Plot

Like any Journey plot, the story begins with a need to move.  This is the trigger and in this plot it is generally not complicated.  When Moses went back down into Egypt, the children of Israel were suffering under slavery.  Often it doesn’t have to be spelled out.  The reader can immediately sympathize with words like slavery and knows what needs to happen.

The middle, then, is more or less in two parts: the actual escape and the pursuit.

Moses performed miracles until Pharaoh surrendered.  Normally it isn’t that easy—if you consider that easy.  There are obstacles to be overcome, and if written well, the escapee should be nearly discovered at least once if not more than once.  Here is the tension that keeps a reader on edge.  But as with the quest, it really depends on the skill, creativity, imagination and ability of the writer.

In part 2 of the middle section, Moses lead the people to the red sea.  Suddenly Pharaoh had a change of heart and sent out the troops.  The people had their back to the wall, so to speak, but God did one more miracle.  The sea parted.  The people passed through and the Pharaoh’s army got swallowed up by the waters.

Again, you can see the tension.  They almost get caught,  They almost get slaughtered.  “Almost get caught” is key to the escape and pursuit plot.  And it better be “gets caught” if the rightly imprisoned person escapes from prison in order to murder someone… or maybe…

Anyway, the end of this plot is again like any journey plot.  Either success or failure ends it.

Next Journey plot:  The rescue.

Traveler: Storyteller: Aliens, it takes one to know one…

            Seven identical rooms later and there were eight people sleeping things off.  They had also gathered a crowd of five more like Pickard.  The Princess had pronounced everything she saw junk, and she assured everyone that the only things they might get out of their work was things that would be discovered in the next three to six years anyway, including the laser.

            “But isn’t that exciting?  An actual working light accelerator.”  At least Pickard was excited.  The Princess smiled for him, but as she tried to hustle that whole crowd back to the quarantine room, she was not surprised to see several gunmen guarding the door.  She backed everyone up to the laser room before they were seen and took a second, longer look at that piece of equipment.  It was a simple laser reader, like for a disc or some such thing, but it could be adapted in the right pair of hands.

            “Quiet.”  Goldman, David and Nancy kept whispering to the others, but these were men of science, not special forces operatives.  They had questions, and the Princess simply could not answer them all, in part because she herself might risk endangering the future if she said too much.

            “Hold it!”  That was a bit loud, but the room quieted for a second.  “I promise I will show you all something, but first you have to promise that you will not make a sound no matter what.”

            “OK.  Fine.  Sure.”  They were not even quiet in saying that. 

            “Now I mean it.”  The Princess reduced her own voice to a sharp whisper.  “I am going to change and I don’t want to hear one peep out of any of you.”

            The men all nodded, two leered, but as the Princess looked at her special friends.  David, Nancy and Goldman knew what she was talking about.  The others had no idea.  When the Princess vanished and Martok, the Bospori came to be in her place, three men had their mouths covered by other hands, Pickard had his own hand over his own mouth, but of the two uncovered mouths, one man shrieked, and it was rather loud.  Everyone stood still.  There was a knock on the door.

            “Professor Braun, everything OK in there?”

            David grabbed the man and shoved him toward the door, whispering.  “Yes, yes.  My hand just slipped with the screwdriver.”  He wrapped Doctor Mishka’s handkerchief around Professor Braun’s hand.  The men in the room quickly ducked down behind the table and equipment while Braun cracked the door.  Braun looked back once, but David, who was standing behind the door, nodded to encourage him.

            “Yes, yes.”  Braun said.  “My hand just slipped with the screwdriver.”  He said the line like a hack actor, but then he grinned and held up his hand wrapped with the handkerchief.  There was a long pause before everyone heard the voice again. 

            “OK.  Just be careful.”

            “Oh, I will, I will.”  Braun said and he smiled and shut the door.

            They waited until they were sure the man had moved on.  Martok worked the whole time, piecing several alien and human bits of equipment together and attaching it to the laser array.  He had Pickard, Braun and several others looking over his shoulder by the time he was finished.  “Don’t go on the stage.”  Martok suggested to Braun at last.  “Your acting stinks.”  He turned with a smile, but there was no disguising the deep alien tone and tenor of Martok’s Bospori voice, even in a whisper, and then his eyes were also yellow and cat-like, or perhaps snake-like.  Braun almost let out another shriek, but this time he bit down on his own hand, hard – the one wrapped in the handkerchief and a few drops of blood appeared on the white linen.

            “What will it do?”  One man on the other side of the lab table, one who had not gotten a glimpse of those eyes asked.

            “Nothing yet.  I need a power source.  This equipment is all dead.”

            People started looking around the room.  One person picked up a Bunsen burner while another pointed to the wall outlets.  Braun said, “Mmmph” through his hand and handkerchief and went to a cabinet where he pulled out fifty feet of heavy-duty outdoor extension cord.

            “Good.”  Martok immediately cut the end and hot-wired the cord to his contraption.

            “One-ten or two-twenty?” A man asked.

            “One-ten will do,”  Martok said, and he nodded when he was ready.

            “But what will it do?”  The same man asked the same question.

            “Watch.”  Martok said and he lifted the contraption and pointed it at the wall, only to lower it again before switching it on.  “Any fire extinguishers in this room?”

            One of the men grabbed one off the wall, and Braun took a small one out of a drawer while everyone backed up a giant step.  They had been crowding the place where he was pointing the laser.  Martok lifted it again, but paused and lowered it a second time as he spoke.

            “You realize, I did not have time to check every circuit.  I hope this thing doesn’t blow up, funny as that might be.” 

            Everyone took another giant step back, or two and Martok whipped the laser up and immediately began cutting a hole in the wall.  “Better than a blow torch.”  He quipped as the wallboard proved no match for the laser.  Unfortunatly, there was an old plaster wall under the wallboard and that took a little longer to cut, but not much.  Martok was a bit afraid that the laser might be scorching the next wall over, but he knew they were three rooms from the quarantined room and he knew it would not go that far.  In all it did not take more than a minute  and Martok switched off his toy.  He handed it to Nancy who took it in her shaking hands like the ultimate hot potato.  She dared not move a muscle, while he stepped forward to examine his handiwork.  Martok was from the Bospori world, a planet with a heavier gravity than Earth.  He was short, only standing about five feet tall, but he was more dense that a human and on Earth, he was about as strong as a gorilla.  In this case, though, all he had to do was tap the wall section and it fell away.  It made a great racket in the process.

            “We need to move fast.”  Goldman stated the obvious while the man with the big fire extinguisher sprayed the edges of the opening to cool them off so people could go through.  Martok went first and noticed that the second wall was indeed scorched.  Others ran to the door to lock it in case those outside were inclined to check out the noise.  Martok found something in that room to enhance the power of the laser and it took a few seconds to work it into his contraption, but he reduced the range of the laser and went right back at it.  The second wall came down faster than the first. 

            David ran back to the first room and pulled the plug as they had reached the end of their tether.  “I hope you haven’t cut through the power lines.”  He said as he plugged it into their current room.  Meanwhile, Martok was studying the next wall and using his sensitive hearing to listen in.  When he was sure he turned to everyone in the room.

            “Gentlemen.  Nancy.  They have invaded the next room so we have to be prepared for a firefight.”

            “My room?”  Pickard asked, knowing full well whose room it was.

            “I hope we don’t damage anything vital, but we have to go through that room to reach the quarantined room.  I will be cutting a little higher than normal in case Rupert is still slumped against the wall.”  He paused and found one of the scientists who had served in the Navy and knew something about firearms.  That man got David’s gun, over David’s objection, and he and Goldman each took a side of the lab table to give them some cover.  He made everyone else go back into the last room and promise not to stick their heads into the opening in the wall.  “You would be no more than rabbits in a shooting gallery, so please keep your heads down.”  Then he turned the laser up to full power with the hope that he might cut through the wall to Pickard’s room and the wall to the quarantined room at the same time.

            Martok called to the Traveler’s helmet–a Greek looking helmet with a face plate that left two eye openings.  It appeared like magic and covered his whole head, and he pulled the hood of his cloak over the helmet as well, causing it to come together over his mouth and nose like he would if he was in the desert or caught by a sudden snowstorm.  He put goggles overall, but there was not much he could do about his eyes since he needed to see what he was doing but in that way he was as protected as possible from any bullets that might come in his direction.

            He touched the on switch and there was a brilliant flash of light which flared once and went out.  Martok let out a few words in his alien tongue and banged his makeshift laser on the lab table.  Immediately, it flared up again, and this time, with the enhancements, it made very short work of the wall.  It also started the wall on fire in several small places and that was going to be a problem if they could not get to it quickly.

          “Ready?”  Martok asked his gunmen, but he did not wait for an answer.  He picked up an engine casing which was too heavy for a human to lift and chucked it at the wall.  It exploded the wall and caused the three men in that room to jump back.  Goldman got off the first shot and miraculously caught one of the men in the shoulder despite all of the rubble flying through the air.  Then one of the men returned fire, and the navy man realized it was his turn.  He did not hit anything, but then the bullets flew.  Martok ignored it all.  He had picked up another smaller, but more solid piece of equipment, one about the size of an oversized softball and he threw it as hard as he could for the far wall while he prayed that the laser had cut that far.

On Stories: Journey Plots: The Quest

Frodo Baggins left the Shire with only one thing on his mind: to rid himself of the ring of power.  It wasn’t going to be an easy trip. 

Don Quixote left home in search of glory.  He got beat up. 

Dorothy ran away from home and found herself in Oz, but she did not plan the trip.  Still, she had to travel from Munchkin City to Oz to get home again. 

So also a fine young lad once got caught up in the search for Treasure Island, or in the cartoon version, Treasure Planet.  Or in the modern version, a National Treasure.

I once left Princeton with one thing in mind: to give my new wife a chance to meet my grandmother, my last living grandparent who was in a nursing home in a small, rural Arkansas town.  Mine wasn’t an easy trip, either.

The Quest is the classic journey plot and a good place to begin these posts.  As no doubt you can already see, there is a common theme to each of the above.  Someone leaves home for some reason, willing or unwilling and there is a definite objective in mind to be obtained (or fail to obtain) before a return is possible—if they ever come back…  Let’s parse that.

The quest starts with a reason to go.  This is the story trigger, and it is often an imperative as in, the person has no choice.  Certainly Dorothy of Kansas and Gulliver are extreme cases of having no choice.  Notice, in both cases, though, the object of the journey is to get home.

Often the reason for vacating the comforts of home is the objective of the quest.  It may be something as substantial as a treasure, like King Solomon’s Mines.  It may be something insubstantial like Don Quixote’s ideals (Dulcinea) or eternal life (Lost Horizons or the Myth of Etana).  It may be something semi-real like “home” or of questionable reality like the Holy Graal.  Whatever it is, there is some objective in mind, and the beauty of Lord of the Rings was the quest in Frodo’s case was not to find something, but to get rid of something!

The quest officially ends on obtaining the object or in the failure to obtain (with no hope of continuing).  Indiana Jones found the Arc, but the government buried it deeper than before…

The return home (assuming home is not the objective) is denouement.

The Plot 

Okay.  You have your character, your objective, and your trigger: the reason why your character must obtain or achieve the objective.  In other words, you have your beginning and your end, but what about the middle? 

This is where obstacles invariably turn up and the success of the story will to a great extent depend on how well these obstacles are portrayed, how well they relate to the objective and how creative, imaginative and well written the obstacle sequences are.  (I suggest clicking on the “On Stories” button above and reviewing the posts on the Magic of Three).

I know when my wife and I got to Virginia, there was terrible road construction.  We had to detour so far, we got lost.  Then we also got a flat tire.  Then we also spent the night in a terrible place and my half-Italian wife ate spaghetti everywhere.  She did not care if it was pasta with ketchup (It turned out she was pregnant)…  We eventually saw my Grandmother, but there was plenty of living along the way.

And then there is this 

The quest is often seen in action adventure mode (external plot) like Indiana Jones, but like Don Quixote or Pilgrim’s Progress or Captain Ahab’s search for the White Whale, the true quest may be internal so that what happens on the inside of the person is the real quest and the external objective, achieved or not is a trigger but ultimately of secondary importance.  Dorothy learned if she should ever go looking for her heart’s desire again she won’t look any further than her own back yard.  Luckily, Frank Baum got over that lesson pretty quickly in order to write plenty of sequels.  Still, something to think about: that the real purpose of the quest may be what happens inside the mind and heart along the way.  The Journey is the thing after all.

Next time:  The Journey plot of escape and pursuit…

Traveler: Storyteller Tales: Labs of Junk

             “Come.”  The Princess said as she cracked the door to check the hallway.  She had to step over to grab Nancy by the hand, but as soon as they were out the door, David and Goldman followed.  “I’m not allowed out of the school without my teacher.”  The Princess teased as she kicked open the door to the emergency stairwell and climbed to the third floor.  She stopped there and turned to David.

            “Glen?”  David asked.

            “Still me.”  The Princess responded.

            “Princess.”  Goldman identified her.  He was huffing and puffing a bit.

            “Out of shape.”  The Princess slapped him in the stomach with the back of her hand, but not hard, and she smiled.

            “No one is in your shape.”  He responded and turned to David and Nancy.  “She works out most of the time, and with those weapons, too, but hunting and tracking and sneaking around buildings are her specialties.”

            “Hush.”  The Princess quieted him.  “Which way, David?”  She asked in a whisper.

            David had to think for a minute before he pointed.  They were by chance on the right floor, but they had some hallways to navigate.  The Princess went first in that armor of hers to sniff out the way.  She kept Nancy close at hand but behind her as much as possible, just in case.  David had picked up a gun from the floor and Goldman had his out of his holster and in his hand, but both men hoped they would not have to use them. 

            By chance or good fortune, the halls were empty and they quickly reached the laboratory rooms they were searching for.  The Princess was ready to enter the first door she found, but David pulled them along to the second door.  He pointed at the first and said, “Quarantined.”

            “The pox room,” the Princess said, and David slapped himself in the head for not realizing that sooner, and that slap was a very dangerous thing to do with a gun in his hand.

            “Pickard.”  David called as they entered the second room down the hall.  The man who was sitting on a high stool against a lab table that might have come out of any High School science room, looked up.  There were chalkboards on the wall, and the start of an equation on one, and file cabinets against one wall with some other chairs and a few end tables.  There was also a second man at the lab table in the midst of his own project, and every open space, including a good bit of the floor was covered with equipment of one kind or another.

            “David.”  The man, Pickard recognized his friend.

            “Check him.”  The Princess turned to Goldman who raised his gun and walked to where the two men were staring at him with unbelieving eyes.

            “Put your head down and hold still.”  Goldman said.  Pickard looked at his friend, but David assured him.

            “Just do it.  Everything will be alright.  Rupert, you are next.”

            Pickard complied while Goldman and Nancy examined the back of his neck and checked through his bushy brown hair.  Rupert ran for the door.  He did not get far.  The Princess’ long knife shot across the room and pinned the man’s lab coat and probably his shirt sleeve as well to the chalkboard with the equation.  Rupert looked like a pinned butterfly as David and Goldman ran to hold the man.  David actually had to hold him which was not too hard since David was young and Rupert was old.  Goldman had to look hard to find the thing.

            “He’s clean as far as I can tell.”  Nancy said of Pickard.

            “Got it.”  Goldman announced at about the same time, and as he separated the little thing from Rupert’s neck, Rupert collapsed into unconsciousness.  The Princess raised her hand and her knife vacated the chalkboard like it had a will of its own and sprang back to her hand.  As soon as she put it away, she traded places once again with Doctor Mishka so she could examine the man on the floor.  Rupert was out cold, but the Doctor saw no sign of serious trauma or permanent damage.  It almost appeared as if he was asleep, and she wondered if he had slept since receiving his little brain modifier.

            “He should be alright after a while.”  She said, and thought, I hope; but she did not say that part out loud.  Instead, she went away again and let the Princess return.

            “Look.  What is this all about?”  Pickard started to ask, but paused as the Princess began to examine the things on the table. 

            “A piece of the engine, useless in itself and no great technological wonder.  Navigation system with everything of real value removed.  Broken weapons array, but these are just fancy switches.  Junk, junk, junk.  Who said you would get anything out of this?”

            David and Pickard looked at each other.  David spoke.  “The Director was very excited that first day and said there was no telling what we might discover.”

            “You know what these things are?”  Pickard was amazed.  He saw the Princess in her armor, which was an unusual enough sight; and he just saw her change to the Doctor and change back again to the Princess, though most likely his eyes just glossed over that sight because his mind told him people did not do such things; but as for her to know what some of this alien equipment was; now, that was impressive.

            “We clear the hall and then head for the Quarantine room.”  The Princess looked at the others.  It was a question but it came out like a statement.

            “Sounds like a plan.”  Goldman said.

            “I’m in.”  David said, though the Princess feared the man might shoot himself in the foot if he ever used that gun.

            “Can I come?”  Pickard did not want to be left out.

            The Princess looked at Nancy, but Nancy looked surprised.  “Me?  I’m not letting Glen out of my sight.”  It was settled.