Action, Adventure, Excitement, Part 9: Spin-offs Doc Energy: Chaos in Chinatown, Part 2 Subject: Adv of Doc Energy: Chinatown - Ch. 6: The Doctors' Den On Sat, 19 Jun 2004 18:59:44 -0700 (PDT) Ziactrice Said As SO.CAoL Message # 00000255 [Ed. note: This post was written by both Ziactrice and Doc Energy in the First Draft list before being forwarded to the Spin-Off list.] Chapter 6: The Doctors' Den The already broken door lost a hinge as a purple boot met if firmly near the frame. The diminutive form of Ultra-violet filled the gap for an instant, before she darted into the room. She brushed the private detective to one side with a quick, half-apologetic nod. A scoop of one hand brought the box up into a carrying position, nestled like a football on her arm. Her long, purple trench coat flew back from her speed. She ducked low, scooping the explosive up like a mother grabbing a baby in a basket. With a fluid motion, she hurled the bomb out the window, shattering the glass and sending it into the street below. Suddenly a large KABOOOM! sounded, shattering all the windows on the floor the room was on. "I always did enjoy crashing the party." The Just Violet observed, even as she turned concerned eyes toward the fallen Doctor Energy. "Is he all right?" Suddenly his body flashes and disappears, then reappears. The Good Doctor is standing up, though he looks a bit shaken and stirred. "You had me worried there for a second, Doc. Should we explain this to the local law? Or rather you. I try to keep a rather lower profile." Despite the scarf obscuring all but her eyes, Ultra-violet's relief is clear. "Your timing, as usual my dear Violet, is impeccable. Those were not normal bullets used in those guns. Were it not for my kinetic dampening field, they would have neutralized me. As it was, they impacted my outer shield. They were pretty strong. Strong enough to knock me out for a moment while my ionic field realigned itself and vaporized them. "I think he would have a hell of a time explaining, personally." Dixon Hill looks at the damage, and whistles low. "Actually, I think I can explain that it was a Telluric experiment that went wrong. I would have to contact The Society, possibly Primoris or Dr. Dixon for verification or some kind of alibi." The Good Doctor grins. "Someone knows too much." The lady in shifting violet color steps to the window, watching the sirens and emergency vehicles approach. "Too much noise. I'll have to find you again later, doctors." "Very well. The less the authorities know, the better." Romanov bows. Ultra-violet's color - and form - fade away as she dips her hat in a slow nod. * * * * Meanwhile, two floors below the shattered windows, Dr. Einstein's secretary wakes from her slumbers with a violent start. "By the Tail and Beard, what was _that?" She pulls on a robe, walking to the window, observing all the broken glass with a disquieted expression. * * * * "Time for me to call The Old Man. He would want to know about this." Dixon Hill reaches into his pocket. "Very well. Inform your superiors at the IDA about what has happened and make inquiries about support, if available. I need to contact one of my colleagues in the field of metallurgy about the nature of these bullets." The Good Doctor says as he levitates a stray bullet out of the lathe and plaster wall. <> * * * Later that evening, after dealing with the after-effects of the attack, the doctors have taken Dr. Mercer's invitation to safer lodgings within his home. ".......so that's basically it." said Mercer, as he emerged from his private bathroom. It was fortunate for him that his Danger Sense alerted him to what was about to happen, which gave him Time to alert the authorities. "It is fortunate for you that I was able to alert the authorities what was about to happen. They would have suspected something was up since it hadn't happened yet. Fortunately, the chief has been a good friend since that episode we had in the sewers under Chinatown. It was also fortunate that I had Dr. Dixon make a Telluric communicator that was fashioned into a stylish hatpin. Violet has made choice use of the accessory." Dr. Dixon distractedly spoke, "It's a good thing that Ms. Violet exudes massive amounts of Telluric energy, otherwise powering the device would have been a challenge." <> Not long after nightfall the following evening, at the service entrance to the mansion of Dr. Maxwell Mercer, a gloved finger was gently applied to the doorbell. In the deep shadows of the doorway, the figure was black. The wide hat and the trench coat were so dark the outline was likewise swallowed in blackness, until the door opens to form a silhouette. A butler answered the door, asking formally, "May I help you?" "If it pleases the master of the house, please inform him that Ultra-violet has come to pay him a call." The smaller figure's head rose, revealing a violet scarf under the hat so deeply purple it almost was black. Her eyes reflect the light in a deep wine color, as purple as the strands of hair barely shown beneath her hat and running under the scarf. She passes the butler a card of palest lavender. It was a simple name card, on very good cotton-bond paper, with a deep purple ink in perfect calligraphy stating, "Ultra-violet" centered upon the card." "Very good, Madam. I will inform the master. Please wait in the hall whilst I fetch him." "Thank you." The lady replied, passing within and waiting in the hall as instructed. "The closest closet would be?" Violet asks herself, with a mildy rueful smile hidden under her scarf, having been left alone in the hall with no offer to help remove her coat. The Just Violet calmly removes her own trench coat. For a second, she stands, eyes half-closed, as if listening. "Ah." She walks unerringly to a hidden panel, opens it easily by the flawlessly concealed latch, and hangs her deepest wine-burgundy trench coat next to others just as complex - without being nosy as to their properties. No doubt as special, or even more, than Doctor Energy's creations for her own wardrobe. A formidable armament of lethality is thus revealed, sleek instruments of mayhem held in readiness at every conceivable location along her petite frame. Violet, long used to her tools, pays this no heed, instead unwinding her scarf to study her reflection in a mirror. She frowns, tracing the old scar with a finger. Her image swims like a desert mirage. The scar vanishes, leaving unmarked, flawlessly fair skin behind it. The Just Violet nods slightly, tipping back the broad-brimmed hat a centimeter or so, before turning away from the mirror. Moments later, Jeeves appears in the study where Mercer, Romanov, Dixon and Primoris were lounging and doing calculations and contemplation. "Sir," said the butler to Mercers' meditating form, "a Ms. Ultra-violet has arrived to pay you a call. Shall I show her in?" Suddenly, Mercer opens his eyes as he emerges from his trance. "Yes, Jeeves, please show her to the study. And bring some refreshments. That will be all." "Very good sir." The butler clicks his heels together, bows, and backs out of the room, closing the door. He turns and moves with purpose to the hall. Just before he leaves, he reenters the study. "I almost forgot sir, she gave me this to give to you I assume." He hands the card to Mercer, who takes it carefully as to not tear or damage it. Doctor Mercer, better known grins bemusedly at the color of the paper [How fitting.] He reads the card aloud, watching with fascination as more words appear beneath the simply inscribed name of Ultra Violet. 'Justice done. Evil thwarted. Villains undone.' He smiles, admiring the handwriter's penmanship. "Fitting for a Just Violet. Was there anything else, Jeeves?" "No, sir." "Carry on, then." "Yes sir." * * * Moments later, in the hall a voice is suddenly heard besides Ultra-violet. "Master Mercer will see you now. Please follow me." What's interesting is that his approach was relatively unheard until he spoke up. "Of course." Violet, who had been sitting in a chair, gently lets the hammer down on the pistol she was holding, aimed at the butler. She knew he was there, even though she did not hear him. The lady rises with a grace resembling nothing less than a tigress in her prime. She glides after the butler, her boots striking no sound from the floor. The butler had become accustomed to handguns being in the manor the day Crackshot thought it would be amusing to test her formidable skills on the cheap china while drinking the vilest brew of rot-gut. Nonetheless, he raises an eyebrow at the rather large pistol pointed at him. He turns without a word, and walks down the hall. [She is much more sneaky than I am. And she's well aware. She has not failed to underestimate my sneakiness.] The butler walks a little more noisily down the hall, into the main greeting area. With a wave of his gloved hand, he motions to the large oak double doors. "This is the masters' study. Would the lady care for anything to drink?" He asks while opening the large doors. "No, thank you." Ultra-violet replies. Sometime during the stroll here her pistol, returned to the holster. The Lady in Purple pauses in the door, waiting to see if the butler - if he is a butler, which she doubts - will announce her, or if she will have to take care of the formalities herself. If Dr. Mercer is formal, in his own study. She is prepared for either eventuality. "Very good, madame." he says, opening the large heavy doors at last with practiced ease. The doors open to a massive study that would make Sherlock Holmes and any book lover pleased. "Mr. Mercer, a Ms. Ultra Violet to see you." Mercer looks up at the butler from his book on explosives. "Thank you, Jeeves. Fetch another bottle of vodka for Dr. Romanov, coffee for Dr. Dixon, a bottle of Bushmills for myself, and for Doctor Primoris - ?" "Tea please." says Primoris, studying the bullet that Romanov brought with him under a magnifying glass. "Very good, sirs." says the butler, showing the lady into the room. Jeeves then backs out slowly, closing the doors as he leaves. Violet stands on the thick, fine carpet, noting with appreciation the fine knot-work so indicative of an ancient Persian masterpiece. She almost fancies she can feel the pride of an entire family's workmanship in handcrafting it over long years through her boot's soles. She waits with a perfect Zen ease to be introduced or addressed, not interrupting any of the men's intense activities by her own initiative. This is the first time any here except Doctor Romanov have seen her face not obscured by the violet, silken scarf, which now lay draped around her shoulders and flowing behind at the slightest motion. The pearl-handled, heavy pistols - four in all show now, without her coat to cover them - are the only thing she wears that are not some hue of a purplish nature. Even the dark mane of hair streaming down from beneath the large hat reflects, in the study's ample light, tints of iridescent, deep purple like a blackbird's wings. "Ah, Violet. Wonderful to see you again." Mercer watches her enter the study, noting that she looks around the room in a manner suggesting that she is used to the finer things in life. "While we do things somewhat formally, in here we are all members of The Society. Allow me to introduce to you my fellow members. Dr. Romanov you already know. This rather harried young-man in the lab coat is Dr. Benjamin Franklin Dixon. His work in Telluric energy has been crucial to many of our excursions. The fellow in the dark coat with dark glasses, currently glaring a hole into that bullet Emil brought with him is Dr. Primoris. His skills in deductive reasoning are bar none, and I consider him to be one of my best friends." "I can only say that I am pleased to find myself welcomed to such an august and elite group, Dr. Mercer." Violet smiles sincerely. "How do you do, Dr. Dixon? Dr. Primoris?" She nods respectfully to each man as she pronounces their names. "I am very honored to meet you." "You have a manner that indicates you are of royal blood." Primoris turns away from his work for a moment, and regards the Just Violet. "Your manner of gait and stance indicates that you have extensive formal training in all manner of martial arts and those of the firearm class." He notes amusedly, glancing at the revolvers. "The only strange thing is the scar; it's a scar I have seen before. There were a number of disease victims during the early 20s who had scars similar to yours - but yours has a strange quality to it. It almost glows, to well-trained eye." <> Dr. Dixon looks away from his metallurgical equations for a moment, and nods at Violet, "Hello. Nice to meet you." then turns back to his chalkboard. "The glowing quality, Dr. Primoris," Violet replies, her tone carefully even as she represses the urge to be impolite to one of Dr. Mercer's friends, "is due to my attempt to conceal it rather than its composition. I shall give my failure in the matter due ponderance at my earliest convenience." She reminds herself that sometimes genius, as adept as it may be, fails to ever learn things such as discretion, or polite manners. She doesn't think such a man would have to show off by announcing every detail to his companions - perhaps he was merely establishing his bona fides and deserved reputation with her. "Please forgive my friend. He tends to analyze everything that comes within sight." Mercer notes the disquiet emanating from Violet. "Regardless of the consequences or whether it's polite or not. He has his better moments, however, and his insight into our little problem has proven to be very useful." "I'll be pleased to forgive him as you ask, sir, if he makes such a request of me himself should he feel it necessary. Without that, it is hardly my place to impugn his behavior. I merely came to see if I could be of further assistance, tonight." Violet proves once more how deserved her nickname is. "Please forgive my boorish behavior, madam. In my zeal to learn everything there is, I forget the rules of polite society." Primoris stands, then he gives her a low bow - but not too low. [That woman is an enigma, but not one that deserves further inquiry.] "If that were your reason, sir, there would be nothing to forgive. As some of your deductions were wide of the mark, I think I can well overlook your absent-mindedness." Violet grins faintly, as she curtsies in reply to his bow, equaling it but giving him no more respect than he offered. "However, if Dr. Mercer doesn't deign to grant me a boon and offer me a chair, soon, I might find more welcoming men to pass the night in company of." The Violet lady teases the esteemed Master of Time. As if he were anticipating her arrival, Mercer motions to the large purple chair next to the couch. "Please have a seat, my dear Violet." "My pleasure, my dear Maxie." She returns, with only the twinkle of a violet eye to belie the informality. She glides to the chair, and seats herself with a dainty crossing of ankles within it, posture perfectly erect even in the comfortable chair. Just as Violet sat down, Jeeves returns wheeling a large cart with a variety of drinks. A bottle of Black Bushmills, a bottle of Stolichnya, and a large coffee pot. Next to the coffee pot is a pack of Edgehill cigarettes. "I took the liberty, Mr. Mercer, of getting the cigarettes in the anticipation that Professor Dixon would need them. I also placed a tray of croissants here should you gentlemen require them." Mercer nods with approval, glancing up from his book at the stately figure of Jeeves. Violet notes the incorrect title applied to the master of the house himself with a mild feeling of satisfied curiosity. "Thank you, Jeeves. If you would, please inform Dr. Einstein that Professor Dixon, Dr. Romanov and myself will be late attending the reception at the university tomorrow." "I will do that first thing in the morning sir. Will there be anything else?" "No thanks, Jeevesie." said Mercer in a playful tone. "Carry on." "Yes, sir." Jeeves quietly closed the door as he backed out again. "So, Maxie, is that fellow actually yours? He isn't a butler." Violet states with certaintude. Dixon looked over at the large pot of coffee, and licked his lips. Walking over to the cart, he poured the coffee in a rather large mug, then put a liberal amount of Black Bush into the mug, followed by a healthy dose of sugar for good measure. As he doctored his coffee, he took a cigarette out of the pack and lit it with a Zippo from his pocket. Violet calmly draws pistol, shooting twice. Once to extinguish the cigarette, once to shatter the coffee cup. Neither bullet hits Dr. Dixon, and neither one impacts the wall behind him. Both disappear just after impacting her targets. <> "Please excuse my forwardness, Dr. Dixon, but I think even the Blue Mountain Jamaica coffee beans would be somewhat distasteful with the addition of that amount of percaptan." The Just Violet says, sadly. "I don't care for smoking, if you wouldn't mind waiting until I depart, please?" <>> "Jeeves also forgot entirely to fetch Dr. Primoris' tea, or to take my coat when I arrived. Are you gentlemen testing me, or is there something untoward afoot?" Professor Dixon nods, somewhat surprised that she managed to break a bulletproof coffee mug with no bullets. [That's a neat trick.] He produces another mug from the cart and goes straight for the Bushmills. Mercer nods. "Actually, I believe he is part of the reason why Max, Dr. Romanov and Dixon Hill were ambushed." Dr. Primoris answers instead of the intrepid Dr. Eon. "He's not a very good butler, but we have overlooked that to give him no reason to suspect anything. We believe that he's probably in the employ of either The King of The World or The Ubiquitous Dragon. At first I thought it might be The Dragon, since he's had it in for Max since he thwarted his white slavery ring in Beijing a few months back." "However, it seems that our man Jeeves had a bit of a run in with the law. Before he was a butler, he was a servant in the employ of Lord Darkstock. When Darkstock was dispatched some time ago, many of his servants mysteriously disappeared, dying in strange circumstances. Some of them have resurfaced as maids and butlers to heads of state around the world. They've had extensive surgery done to alter their appearance, save for one. Jeeves, if that is his real name, was also rumored to be a leg-breaker and extortion man in a small outfit in London. Which meant only one thing...." Dr. Dixon notes the additional oddity a few second's later. No scalding coffee touched his hand, no fragment of the coffee cup hurt him... and while there are pieces of the mug now on the floor, there is no coffee stain in the very nice carpet of Dr. Mercer's study. "I take it you've already ascertained he isn't listening to this conversation by some means?" Violet raises an eyebrow. "Professor Dixon saw to it," Mercer nods to the walls. "No manner of intrusion or eavesdropping can be done in this study." "Yes, I used a combination of Telluric energy and a sonic transducer, plus a combination vibranium, titanium and steel on the core of the walls." Dixon says taking a gulp from his mug of Bushmills. "The doors are also affected." "I note you have not - unless I am to take Maxie's nod as a yes to both - answered my original question. I am glad you are aware and, apparently, are using him to feed misinformation. I am also glad I didn't shoot the false butler in the entry hall." "Your skills with a gun are beyond reproach." Professor Dixon looked at the shattered mug on the floor. "I dare say that Crackshot would have a hard time matching a trick like that." As if on cue, the door opens and an impetuous young woman enters. Mercer sighs, and looks to the heavens as if in supplication to the gods of patience and understanding. "Violet, I would like you to meet Annabelle Lee Newfield aka Crackshot. Her skills at marksmanship and ballistics should prove useful, so I called her up and asked her to come by the mansion. Late, as usual, Annabelle." Crackshot shrugged, and flopped on the couch next to Mercer, putting her feet on the coffee table. Immediately she quickly removes several throwing knives and tosses them expertly at the large dartboard on the far wall. All of them hit bull's-eye. Violet rises, and, given Crackshot's slumping to the couch, merely directs her curtsy to the reclining lady rather than offering her hand. "Honored to meet you, Miss Newfield." Jeeves arrives rather hurriedly after her entrance, then regains his composure. "Mrs. Newfield...ah..I see she has let herself in again. Sorry to disturb you sir." Mercer nods, "Yes, thank you Jeeves. That will be all for tonight." "Thank you, sir." says Jeeves, barely hiding his annoyance at Crackshot's brazen ways. Violet herself steps over, and gently closes the study's doors after Jeeves departure - the butler having left them open in yet another dereliction of the normal duties expected of a batman. "The honor is mine, Violet. Nice outfit." Crackshot looked over at Violet, and nods in greeting. "You ever traveled with the circus?" As she looked at Violet, she tossed the last knife, which landed on bull's-eye again. "Thank you, Miss Newfield. My travels have sometimes involved a carnival, which I suppose an American might equate with a circus. Or would you?" Ultra-violet (not yet introduced to anyone in this room by that name) casually glides over to the serving cart. Whereupon she picks up the teapot that was not there before. "If I may pour, Dr. Primoris, how do you like your tea?" Crackshot sat up, and looked at Violet with a mixture of respect and awe. "Yeah, some of the troupes I have traveled with are carnivals, complete with sideshows and freaks. My act there was Crackshot, markswoman the likes of which haven't been seen since Annie Oakley. At least that's how the barkers put it." Primoris notes that the teapot that wasn't there before, but says nothing. "Black as night and sweet as a lover's kiss, please." "Since Dr. Mercer asks your aid, Miss Newfield, I feel certain that the barkers were unable to achieve their usual level of legerdemain." Violet nods, adds three cubes of sugar to the cup - one that also was not there a moment before. Then she pours using both hands like an Englishwoman. She settles cup unto saucer, places a teaspoon alongside, then carefully takes the entire assemblage to the respective doctor's elbow. "Would you care for any tea?" She continues to Miss Newfield. If there is no decent servant, she can certainly deal with the serving in a civilized fashion. "Yeah, originally it was to show up that pig Safari Jack that a woman could do as well as a man, but now that I am in the club so to speak, I find it exciting. Actually, if you could just bring that bottle of Bushmills over here, that would be just fine. Gotta keep my skills up to par." Crackshot replies. <> "As you like." Violet pauses only long enough to add two tablespoons of whiskey - it not being Bushmills by the time it encounters her tea cup. She then corks the Bushmills again, adds it to another tray, with a shot glass. These items are then delivered to the younger woman with a professional hand under the smaller tray. Returning to the cart, Violet finishes her own cup with two cubes of sugar, a dash of milk, then tea to the brim. She doesn't stir it, oddly enough, merely takes it on a saucer back to the purple chair near the fireplace. Annabelle uncorks the bottle, and pours a liberal shot in the glass. She raises her glass to Violet. "To the noble carnival. Nice to meet another fellow carnie in this bunch." "Oh, I'd hardly lay claim to being a carnie; I merely had the good fortune to travel with some." Violet says demurely. "Much as I may have wished it, my true calling laid elsewhere. But to your good health, miss." She salutes and sips her tea. After Annabelle slugs down the shot like a pro, she pours another. As she pours carefully, she quickly draws another throwing knife, and shakes her head sadly as the knife misses the bull's-eye by an inch. "Must be getting rusty. So which troupe did you travel with and what was your act?" asks Crackshot, downing another shot, and throwing another knife, this time hitting the mark. "Wild Bill's, and I believe you've already mentioned it." Violet replies, with a ghost of a humorous smile. "Well, that was the most recent, at least." She temporizes, almost to herself. Just as Violet says that, the next knife Annabelle throws not only misses the mark, but careens off the bookshelf, bounces off of the crystal chandelier, and thunks harmlessly into the dartboard...far away from the target. "I suppose you'll be telling me that you personally traveled with Old Barnum Himself next." she said, laughing heartily. "You know, I've heard some real whoppers, but that one takes the Kewpie doll. My hat's off to ya, Violet." she quipped, removing her top hat, and bowing with a flourish. [There's no way she could be Annie. She's too young.] thought Annabelle. "An interesting application of angular momentum." Violet watches this caroming knife with no apparent alarm whatsoever, adding the compliment to Annabelle as a mild afterhthought. Annabelle suddenly realizes that maybe she was wrong, given Violet's assessment. "My aim was slightly off, so I compensated. And thank you. It's not everyday you meet Annie Oakley, you know." she says with newfound admiration. "Oh, I wasn't Annie Oakley. I just stood in for her when she got tired of the traveling and the fame. It was a favor for a friend. Miss Newfield, I actually, I don't like to talk about my past, given the reactions are often much like your own. A moment ago, you wanted to drink to me, as a fellow carnie, now you think I'm deceiving you. Do you think one of Maxie's friends would stoop to such a thing? I only miss the rifles, really. Those early Springfields had such a better feel than today's." "Aw heck. I should have known, actually, given the company. The way I see it, the best way to shoot is straight. Sometimes I forget that." says Annabelle, bowing in earnest. "My granddad taught me on a Springfield. I still have it locked away somewhere." she says wistfully. "I agree with you." Violet says. "Besides, hopefully these learned gentlemen have something more of moment to discuss than my misspent youth. Gentlemen?" "Yes, actually. The explosive found was unusual. Tell them what you found, Professor." Mercer replies readily. "Actually, it was quite interesting.” Dixon turns away from his notes, and takes another gulp from the mug. "I had never seen Telluric energy like this before. The sample that Primoris brought was quite interesting. Generally, naturally occurring energy such as this isn't found in a lot of places, which made this all the more interesting. It appears that the crystals used in concordance with the TNT is of a kind found in the San Bernardino Mountains." Violet nods, listening attentively in between further sips of her tea. "Which is interesting," Dr. Primoris adds, "because the San Gabriel Mountains are nearby, and there have been some strange goings on up there. I read something about experiments being conducted, but when the police arrived, they found nothing to indicate who was there. There were some captives left behind, some of them were still alive. All of them were missing children, men and women who had disappeared within the last 6 months. My own investigations led me to believe that Mister Saturday and - " He pauses to glance at Professor Dixon, then he continues. "The Machinatrix had been doing some tests there on the human anatomy and Telluric energy." Upon hearing the name of his infamous ex-wife, Prof. Dixon almost spilled his drink. He quickly recovered, and began to explain. "My ex-wife is Doctor Hephestia Geary-Wexler aka The Machinatrix. She seeks to perfect the human body by infusing it with Telluric powered mechanical creations. She's more machine than human now, and we've caught her at a number of illegal activities. The only reason she breathes free air now is because she usually had an ace up her sleeve that we didn't count on." "Hephestia," Dr. Eon further explains, "has contacts in the criminal underworld, mainly because her knowledge of machines and design theories are considered the best money can buy. Automatons that guard their masters, machine guns that shot all manner of bullets, plus human augmentations that can turn an average thug into a powerhouse...These are all her stock and trade. Which is why this bullet is interesting. It's a Machinatrix classic. There are no firing pin markings on this bullet, which means it was a previously unheard of design. Probably case-less and charged with Telluric energy." Romanov nods grimly, "Da, that would explain why I was knocked back like I was. Normal bullets don't affect me like that." "It seems, however, that there is a shortsightedness to the design. I noticed that same bullets had no effect whatsoever upon Mr. Hill's person." The Lady of Lavender observes. Professor Dixon nodded, "Actually that was the whole point. These bullets were designed to harm someone that had a specific Telluric signature. When the bullet struck Dixon Hill, they just passed through him without harming him. "There is a signature to Telluric energies?" Violet is surprised. "I had not previously been aware of such a characteristic. Most interesting. So, this is not a flaw, but the intentional design. Though it seems rather odd; why wouldn't Emil just change his signature?" "Yes." Dr. Mercer, better known to the world as Dr. Eon assures her. "Which means that our enemy is well ahead of us. They already figured the bullets wouldn't stop Romanov, so they planned to blow up the room with a Tellurite bomb. An explosion of TNT combined with Tellurian energy would have flattened the building and at least two square city blocks surrounding." "Yes," Professoer Dixon agrees with a grim tone. "The refracting nature of the crystal was changed at the last second, probably by use of ultraviolet rays. Telluric crystals such as those are susceptible to any kind of sunlight, which is why some of them don't survive long out of their caves. If the exposure were increased by some other means, that would break them down even further." "My. I wonder how that could have happened?" Violet asks, but her eyes twinkle at the Aeons gathered in this study. "I have my theories, but we digress." said Emil Romanov, the Good (Russian) Doctor. "It seems that there is only one person responsible for this. The King Of The World. He would have a personal interest in seeing that his attacks on The Ubiquitous Dragons' holdings here continue, and no doubt exists that Volkov is aware that I am here as much as I am aware that he is here as well." "So," says Primoris, "How do we stop two world spanning organizations that have been at each other's throats for years from allowing their war to spill out into the streets. Send them a 'Please Stop Killing Each Other Now' letter?" "In further bad news, I must also report that dear ol' Ubiquity, no doubt in response to Volkov's pressure, has also picked up an ally." Romanov arches an eyebrow. "You don't mean....?" "I was tired last night, because I spent the former evening trying to infiltrate, only to be discovered. Yes, doctor, Infra-red has resurfaced. Most spectacularly. It isn't every night I get to dodge a real, fire-breathing Chinese dragon in Chinatown." Upon hearing the name Infra-Red, Professor Dixon begins to tremble, Primoris looks even more grim than usual, and Mercer's face becomes impassive, which usually means something is troubling even his great mind. Only Annabelle is still in the dark. "Who's this Infra Red dame?" "She is better known these days as the Queen of Spades, miss." Violet amplifies. "The Queen of Spades." Annabelle blanches. "She was rumored to be seen in Babylon, Texas, where a strange case of influenza was found." Mercer nods, "Yes, it was only thanks to Branch 9 that her scheme was neutralized, though the Black Queen herself escaped from the conflagration. It was my understanding that another figure was seen fleeing the scene as well, but my contacts at Branch 9 couldn't say who or what it was." <> "That was I. She has always been one step ahead of me, however. So far." Primoris mused for a moment, "What's interesting is one of the supervising agents was one Jiao Qui-Ju. She was a pretty good agent in the field, and was being groomed for a head position at the branch office in China." he said with a trace of irony. "Could you elucidate the interest, doctor? I have an aversion to identification, so I have been at great lengths to stay incognito. Sometimes, this means I lack information that would be most helpful." Violet wonders if anyone here has yet pierced any of the multiple veils of secrecy she has drawn about herself. Dr. Eon, as a master of time, certainly could have. Now, whether or not he has actually chosen to do so, is quite another question. Primoris nodded, and deferred to Max. Mercer spoke reluctantly. "Mrs. Qui-Ju is rumored to be in the pocket of The Ubiquitous Dragon. We have advised all Society members to avoid any contact with Operators from China, since we don't know who may be corrupt and who not." "Odd. Isn't that rather like shouting you've figured out his main contact? Though, given her name, her high position, and her relative... well, obviousness, it hardly seems like Ubi's usual style. He's usually exceedingly subtle and difficult to discover." Mercer nodded. "Well, yes. The Dragon and I go back a ways, like a Moriarity-Holmes thing. As to why, I can only suspect that he has multiple agents within the organization. Recent turmoil in the country has made that Branch susceptible to infiltration. Sarah Gettle received a letter addressed to The Dragon in one of his false names. The letter was signed Qui-Ju, and the body of the letter spoke of reverence to him. Unfortunately, it's very difficult to infiltrate his organization." Annabelle spoke up. "It was only because I saved the life of one of their agents that we know anything at all about Branch 9. There was some recent trouble in Arizona that I was called in to help out on." she said, pouring another shot, and downing it. "Bad business that was. It was only my luck and skill that me and Agent X were able to make it out alive." "Then it was fortunate indeed you were there." Violet observes casually. "I have revealed myself tonight for one reason only. I cannot answer the quandary Dr. Primoris posed. I do not know how to stop this rivalry from erupting. The retrieval of the Spear of Destiny from Volkov's hands seems the task best suited to my talents - or it did. Given this latest development of Telluric energy-signature specific weaponry, however, it may be I'm better suited to deal with that menace. As much as I am loathe to leave anyone else to deal with Infra-red, if it is better done so, I shall." Primoris said amusedly, "I have an idea. One that may serve both ends. San Francisco has been a hotbed of organized crime since it's inception. The only reason that the action has increased is because the King has a weapon that he is using most effectively. The King has his Ace, that being Volkov and The Spear and The Dragon has his Queen. If we remove the pieces from the board, the players will go back to just staring at each other" "Unfortunately," remarked Primoris, "This means that we are going to have to use a few pawns. Not imperil them, mind you, but use them as bait for the trap. The problem is going to be timing. We have to time it so The Dragon loses his Queen as The King loses his Ace. Because if you remove one or the other at different times, neither of the players involved will cease doing what they do, which will only increase the likelihood of a further escalation." "Neither will cease regardless, Primoris. It is only by unceasing action we curtail their activities to the extent we can. Though removal of these particular pieces should reduce the hazard level and activity substantially, I agree with that part." Ultraviolet replies, finishing her tea and sweeping the assembled Aeons wih a level glance. ================================= Subject: [Spinoff] The Doctors' Dilemma (follow-up on The Doctors' Den) On Fri, 02 Jul 2004 22:07:49 -0700 Roland X Said As SO.CAoL Message # 00000256 >On Sat, 19 Jun 2004 18:59:44 -0700 (PDT) >Ziactrice Said As SO.CAoL Message # 00000255 > >"Please forgive my boorish behavior, madam. In my zeal to learn >everything there is, I forget the rules of polite society." Primoris >stands, then he gives her a low bow - but not too low. [That woman is >an enigma, but not one that deserves further inquiry.] Primoris considers for a fraction of a second -- which allows him to ruminate for the subjective equivalent of several minutes. [Unless she will interfere with my ability to convince Maxwell of the proper course for the Inspired. ...unlikely.] >"I took the liberty, Mr. Mercer, of getting the cigarettes in the >anticipation that Professor Dixon would need them. I also placed a >tray of croissants here should you gentlemen require them." Mercer >nods with approval, glancing up from his book at the stately figure >of Jeeves. > >Violet notes the incorrect title applied to the master of the house >himself with a mild feeling of satisfied curiosity. OOC: Heh heh heh... >"Thank you, Jeeves. If you would, please inform Dr. Einstein that >Professor Dixon, Dr. Romanov and myself will be late attending the >reception at the university tomorrow." "I will do that first thing in >the morning sir. Will there be anything else?" > >"No thanks, Jeevesie." said Mercer in a playful tone. "Carry on." OOC: I winced when I saw this. I don't really see Max being _quite_ that playful with a butler, even a "suspect" one. Especially a suspect one. >"Yes, sir." Jeeves quietly closed the door as he backed out again. > >"So, Maxie, is that fellow actually yours? He isn't a butler." Violet >states with certaintude. >"Jeeves also forgot entirely to fetch Dr. Primoris' tea, or to take >my coat when I arrived. Are you gentlemen testing me, or is there >something untoward afoot?" > >Professor Dixon nods, somewhat surprised that she managed to break a >bulletproof coffee mug with no bullets. [That's a neat trick.] He >produces another mug from the cart and goes straight for the >Bushmills. Primoris' eyes narrow slightly beneath his dark glasses. [Interesting.] >Mercer nods. >Crackshot shrugged, and flopped on the couch next to Mercer, putting >her feet on the coffee table. Immediately she quickly removes several >throwing knives and tosses them expertly at the large dartboard on >the far wall. All of them hit bull's-eye. The Just Violet can, undoubtedly, tell that Crackshot is trying not to glance over in Primoris' direction. The Great, All-Seeing Doctor Primoris, amusingly, doesn't seem to have the slightest idea that she's interested. >Primoris notes that the teapot that wasn't there before, but says >nothing. "Black as night and sweet as a lover's kiss, please." OOC: The latter is only if "sweet as a lover's kiss" is a specific serving term (presumably three sugars, as below) -- though Primoris isn't (quite) above a bit of slang now and again, if it's used with style. >"Since Dr. Mercer asks your aid, Miss Newfield, I feel certain that >the barkers were unable to achieve their usual level of legerdemain." >Violet nods, adds three cubes of sugar to the cup - one that also was >not there a moment before. Then she pours using both hands like an >Englishwoman. Primoris files that away almost absently. >"There is a signature to Telluric energies?" Violet is surprised. "I >had not previously been aware of such a characteristic. Most >interesting. So, this is not a flaw, but the intentional design. >Though it seems rather odd; why wouldn't Emil just change his >signature?" "A most difficult task for stalwarts, Miss Violet," Primoris replies formally (if a bit pedantically). "Rather like changing one's skin pigmentation or fingerprint -- simple enough for those with the proper Telluric adaptation, but otherwise ranging from the exceedingly troublesome to unfeasible." Primoris nods distractedly in Romanov's direction. "Doctor Energy's unique state certainly allows him to alter his particular Telluric resonance, though as with most of the 'Awakened,' such effects require time, effort, and the application of expertise." Maxwell winces visibly at his dear friend's...let's be charitable and call it bluntness. 8^) >It was my understanding that another figure was seen fleeing the >scene as well, but my contacts at Branch 9 couldn't say who or what >it was." > ><Scotland Yard, and a host of other law enforcement agencies. The >difference being that they are the ones called in when the nature of >the crime is strange and unusual.>> OOC: Also a...well, "Branch" of the New World Order -- one of it's more noble ones, admittedly -- and ancestor to the modern "United Nations Tribunal on International Law," aka UNTIL. 8^) >Primoris said amusedly, "I have an idea. One that may serve both >ends. San Francisco has been a hotbed of organized crime since it's >inception. The only reason that the action has increased is because >the King has a weapon that he is using most effectively. The King has >his Ace, that being Volkov and The Spear and The Dragon has his >Queen. If we remove the pieces from the board, the players will go >back to just staring at each other" Mercer tapped the table, uncharacteristically distracted by something. Later. "Michael," Maxwell said softly, placing his hand on Primoris' shoulder as the World's Mightiest Stalwart moved to retire for the evening. "Mercer," Primoris replied coolly -- though not as coldly as he'd intended, "I do recall asking you not to touch me unless invited." "A strange request," Mercer said, removing his hand all the same, "but one I will of course honor." Seeing no other way around it, he simply added, "Something is bothering you, Michael." "Bothering me?" Michael replied, this time his voice as cold as the grave. "Oh, indeed. We are playing these foolish games with our adversaries -- 'arch-nemeses,' if you must -- on their terms, by their rules, and in their court. You _continue_ to insist on combating our foes with one proverbial hand restrained, when it is clear that we must become more pro-active if we are to put an end to these threats." Mercer straightened, staring Primoris in the eye. "I will do what I must to protect the innocent, Michael, when the occasion calls for it. There are moral limits, however, to what the individual can do--" "--within the law?" Primoris replied, almost with a sneer. "Within the boundaries of civilized _conduct,_ man," Mercer countered forcefully. "We are _explorers,_ guides. We are not vigilantes, let alone gods." Primoris' eyes narrowed as Mercer continued. "I have killed in the heat of battle, yes. While I regret every death, I can see, perhaps even more clearly than you can, the immediate necessity of each final blow. To decide who shall live and who shall die, however...that is murder." "The master of Time speaks of immediacy," Primoris sighed. As Maxwell prepared a reply, Primoris raised a hand. "No. If we are going to discuss this matter in this way, I would speak with Doctor Eon." The lithe form of Maxwell Anderson Mercer, powerful but somewhat slender, looked away. As he turned to face Primoris again, however, slicked-back black hair shortened, stiffened, and turned blond, muscles pulsed and grew, and with a gain of two full inches in height, the almost god-like Doc Eon gazed unshakably back at Dr. Primoris, eyes even and locked. Only the eyes, in fact, had not changed. "Donighal," Eon said, the soft voice as even as ever, but now a powerful baritone, "you know precisely what I am talking about." "Premeditation?" Primoris' jaw clenched. "What is science but the premeditated application of principles? When you can see the inevitable consequences of--" "You spoke of my knowledge of Time, Primoris," Eon interrupted. "It has taught me this: nothing is inevitable. _Nothing._" Primoris glared at Eon, heat literally rising from his scalp. "As you wish, Maxwell," he demurs -- barely. Instantly, he _is_ talking to Maxwell Mercer again. "Know this, however. Events are in motion that even you cannot control. The mediocre Austrian painter, the criminal emperors, the growing fear of our kind...when the dam breaks, I _will_ do what must be done." Maxwell seemed to shrink even further. For the first time since Michael Donighal met him, he looked _old._ Then suddenly, his gaze snapped back up, full of vigor -- and grim, unshakable determination. "If that day comes, Michael...and I pray it never does...then I will be there to stop you, as I am with _all_ who desire power over the destiny of others." Primoris' eyes went wide, and he took a stunned step back. Maxwell gazed unblinkingly even as Donighal felt his universe shake beneath him. Then, without a word, the Man of Many Tomorrows turned on his heel and walked away to retire to a night of troubled dreams. And, with both men oblivious to the world as they parted, Crackshot watched through the crack of an open door, eyes bright with unshed tears. -- (/) Roland Sometimes, being God sucks. ================================= Subject: The Adventures of Doctor Energy: Chaos in Chinatown On Mon, 1 Nov 2004 20:35:32 -0500 Dr. Energy Said As SO.CAoL Message # 00000258 Chapter 7: Symposium of Setbacks Jeeves was not really happy with things as of late. Jeeves thought back, [Things were so much easier for me as My Lord Blackstocks' batman. I knew the Master had his little peccadillos, but as long as everything about the household ran smoothly he had nothing to vent his frustrations on. Not that it stopped him from using the lower servants in many of his 'experiments'] he shuddered as he thought of that poor serving maid from Leeds that he had to dispose of long ago. [If it weren't for the fact that my current employer wishes it, I would not be serving under this 'Mercer' fellow at all.] He remembered that fateful day.... Many years before.... William Worthington Jeeves was a proud man. The somewhat stiffbacked manner in which he marched to the Letter box outside his flat denoted a stalwart type of fellow (but not the Stalwarts that the world had come to hear about lately) who maintained his composure in the face of all adversity. This was an admirable, if somewhat naive, notion because his circumstances had become straightened as of late. Ever since the demise of his Master, Lord Darkstock, his fortunes had been less than ideal. He took the letters back to his walk up flat (which he could only barely afford because of the money he had been left in Lord Darkstock's will) sorted the by priority by glancing at the address. One he knew was from a prominent placement service, no doubt it was yet another dreary addition to the "While you are well qualified for the position, etc. etc." pile. While his references from other Lords and Ladies were admirable, it was known that he had served under Lord Darkstock, and so therefore his services, while useful, would not be required for the controversy that his being there would no doubt bring up. He opened that one, scanned it to see that his feelings were true. He supressed a pang of frustration with a deep sigh, and tossed the rejection letter in the rubbish. The second letter was interesting in that it had no return address on it. It was addressed to him, but in a strange manner. The script was obviously done by hand but in a style that indicated nothing special about the writer. As he sauntered into the kitchen to make himself some tea, he set the packet of letters down. As he prepared the water, he sat down at the table and sorted the rest of his mail. The strange letter he set to the side, and with a meticulous fashion, he sorted the rest of his mail. There were letters from his creditors, bank statements which he didn't bother to read. [No sense in making bad news worse with that rejection letter. No doubt my account is getting thinner and thinner.] he thought with a twinge of discomfort. Once the news of Lord Darkstocks' deeds were made public, much of his vast fortune was divided among interested parties seeking compensation for a variety of misfortunes that his Lord had visited upon them. Of course once the news hit the papers, it was immediately surpressed by the press. The Night Royals were not ones to be mentioned in any circumstances, so any news of their activities that were obviously gross in their scope were quickly surpressed by the remaining royals who didn't want many to know about the dark little Family secret. What was left of his fortune went to his heirs, with a small pittance left for Jeeves himself. Jeeves knew that he had served the Darkstock family faithfully, but he could not bring himself to ask them for money, especially with their insistance of seperating themselves from Lord Darkstock's connections as quickly as the ink dried on the cheque. He placed the bank statement next to the strange letter as he heard the distinct sound of the kettle being ready to pour. He made his English Breakfast tea, and got a number of crumpets out of the jar. He sat them down, and began eating the crumpets one by one in a manner not unlike a condemned man eating his last meal. [If this continues, I may have to take that janitor job at that pub down in Whitechapel just to make my rent] he thought darkly, with a facial expression you would see on someone that had to do a task that was beneath him. When he had carefully dusted the crumbs into the rubbish bin, he sat back down and opened the strange letter. He read: Dear Jeeves, First of all let me express my deepest sympathies for your loss of station due to the passing of Lord Darkstock. Please forgive the brusqueness of my missive, but I must be rather vague as eyes are everywhere. If you wish to become gainfully employed again, please contact me at this number. Go to the payphone in at the Pig and Whistle Pub in Piccadilly Circus, and dial this number. There I will make you an offer for employment and give you the terms of which you will be serving under. Sincerely, Lord Scrope P.S. If you should have doubts as to the sincerity of my offer, please check your current bank statement. I think you might be a little surprised. His heart pounding in his chest, Jeeves excitedly put the letter down and opened his bank statement. Upon reading, he was floored as though dropped with a poleaxe. His account had grown by 1000 pounds. Finishing his tea quickly, he hurried to the coatroom of his flat, put on his Mack (the weather was decidedly wet today) and made his way to the Pig and Whistle. The Mercer Mansion, today. A sharp and sudden *BANG* broke Jeeves from his woolgathering. Looking down at his watch, he realized that he was running behind in his duties. What he remembered of that day was that he was now in the service of The Contedorri, through their contacts with The Order of Murder. Much information could be gathered about a prospective client of the Order of Murder from said client's butler or manservant. Jeeves was delighted to find steady work again, though sometimes he forgot that he was serving two masters at the same time. As a result, his service to the ones he was assigned to "watch" were sometimes lacking, and there was more than one occasion where it was noticed and he was reprimanded for it. However, this latest assignment was taxing even his nerves. Everywhere he turned, the order of things was consistantly being upturned. Whether it was Ms. Lee and her penchant for target practice with the good china, Professor Dixon's insistance on smoking those strange cigarettes of his and staining the rugs with ash and booze that he drank on a regular basis (that is when he wasn't up at all hours of the night in the barn, making all sorts of racket and waking everyone up, including Jeeves who slept in the servants quarters near the barn), Primoris' constant watchful eye, or Mercer's unequivocal Yank nature, it was only his loyalty to Lord Scrope that kept him from utterly quitting. But these new guests were something else entirely. Lady Violet seemed noble enough in bearing, if you leave aside the large handgun she pointed at him when he casually snuck up behind her. The sound muffling shoes that The Order had given him proved to be useful in instances where he wanted to hear what was said but did not want to be discovered. The fact that he was as of yet unable to hear any conversations when Mercer closed the door to his study only made his determination to learn things more prominent. He made his way to Professor Romanov's sleeping room, and quietly placed his newly pressed and repaired lab coat on a hanger in the closet, along with the black pants and white shirt made of imported Russian silk he had prepared for the other guest of the house. Jeeves looked down on the sleeping form of Doctor Romanov with a bit of admiration. The good Doctor was rather reticent in his origins, but Jeeves had served under a number of nobles to know someone of noble blood when he saw one. [He certainly has taste in clothes and the finest of things, even if he doesn't always indulge in them. Though I have to wonder why my Lord Scrope insisted that I repair his or anyone's clothing with that special thread he sent me. Damn thing was hard to use in my Husqavarna machine, so I ended up having to do most of the repairs by hand.] he thought. He walked briskly down the stairs in the main hall, hearing another loud *BANG*, no doubt from Ms. Lee's infinately loud rifle that she insisted on practicing with at odd hours of the day. Uttering a silent prayers to the gods of misfortune, he went to the telephone room and placed a call to Professor Einstein's secretary, per Mercer's request. After hanging up from the phone call, Jeeves went to the kitchen. There he instructed the cook to make Mercer's usual breakfast of 3 eggs over easy with a side of sausage on toast, as well as Russian chai for Romanov, Irish Breakfast tea and oatmeal for Dr. Primoris, a batch of huevos rancheros for Ms. Lee, and scrambled eggs, bacon on an English muffin for himself after all the others occupants were served. The cook dutifully took the orders and prepared the meals. Jeeves made a detailed analysis of the larder and called the local grocery store with a complete list of things he would need for the coming month. Jeeves then instructed the serving girls to check on each member not currently awake and report back to him. He was in the process of preparing the breakfast cart when Mercer popped into the kitchen. "Say, Stanley." he said to the cook. "Yes, sir?" asked the cook. Mercer grinned, "Could you also prepare your famous hash browns to go with mine and Annabelle's breakfast. We are going to need all the energy we can get today." Stanley the cook nodded and grinned, "Sure thing, boss. Does Senora Lee wish to have my special salsa to go with it?" Stanley was a Mexican short order cook who Mercer had saved the life of by rescuing him from a near-fatal accident at the diner he was working at while Mercer was dealing with a criminal strongman who missed Mercer and threw the Packard he was juggling at the diner instead. "Sure, and make some of your less fuego batch to go with mine as well. Jeeves, after you finish your breakfast, I need you to contact Mr. Dixon Hill and have him drive up here. If he asks why, tell him I got a job for him. "Yes, sir. Will there be anything else, sir?" said Jeeves. "No, Jeeves that will be all. I might add that your service has been exemplary, even in the face of Annabelle's penchant for using the best china. If she keeps it up, I might have to take the next batch she breaks out of her pay." he said in a somewhat jovial tone. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Mercer closed the swinging door, and Jeeves went about his duties. Romanov awoke to the delightful smell of Russian tea. He also noticed that the Turkish cigarettes he favored often were placed on the bedside table, with a book of matches and an ashtray to go along with it. He manipulated the gravatonic energy of the cigarettes and with a gesture, they floated into his hands. Sniffing the leaf that they were wrapped in, he exerted a trace amount of his energy and lit the end of the cigarette without lighting a match. He placed the cigarette in his mouth, and looked at the closet with bleary eyes. [Goodness. That blast must have really took it out of me. That's the first time I can recall having to sleep in a real bed in some time. Curious that I find my labcoat, pants and favorite silk shirt repaired and waiting for me, pressed and cleaned.] he thought as he stood up from his bed. The aroma of the Turkish blend filled the room in a heady smoke, which he savored. "It has been good that I have slept. I feel that this day will be quite interesting." he said aloud to no one in particular. Dressing quickly, he made his way out of the luxurious room and down the stairs to the dining hall where he hoped to get some of that delicious tea he was smelling. In the dining hall... As Romanov walked into the dining hall, he saw that all of the Aeon Society were assembled there. "Pardon me for asking, Max, but where is Whitley?" asked Romanov." Max looked up from his paper and said, "Whitley is back at the Chicago HQ looking up any more information we can get on the Queen of Spades and any possible names she might have travelled under. He's also having a few Society members look up any information about Hanoi Xan, The Spear of Destiny, or anything else regarding your associate Mr. Volkov. I've also contacted Sarah Gettle and tried to find out if any of her contacts in the German government have been inquiring about the Spear. Apparently, they had an appraiser authenticate it, and while it looked good, their man assured them that the spear they had was not The Spear. So there are some very upset Germans who are very interested to know where it is. I told Mrs. Gettle that her friends might want to track the whereabouts of Volkov, or whatever alias he's using at the moment. She also told me a very curious thing. One of her contacts in a certain occult order in England mentioned that there was a disturbance of sorts at one of the most unhallowed places on Earth." Primoris looked up from the report he was reading, "You don't mean...?" Mercer nodded, "Yes, apparently one of the Thule Society members is acually a mole for the British version of Branch 9, and she reported that a "summoning of great power occured on this day." Apparently some dark thing has taken an interest in finding The Spear. What this means, they couldn't say, but they sent me a travel voucher with a curious name. Albrecht Aleswand has a first class ticket to New York, then a trip by plane from La Guardia to San Fransisco Airport. Who this gentleman is, they couldn't say, only that he was "fearful in countenance, and of some aristocratic bearing." Whitley is also looking up this Aleswand character and matching any profiles we might have of him," Suddenly, the squeaking of the serving cart, as well as the light footsteps of the serving girls alerted the host and guest of the arrival of breakfast. Jeeves opened the door, and said, "Breakfast is served, my lords and ladies." "Bout time," said Annabelle, "My gut was about to start chewin' into my backbone." Jeeves asked, "Will Professor Dixon be joining us, sir?" "Not directly, Jeeves. As you have probably forgotten, Professor Dixon rarely wakes before 10 AM. He did say that he would like a bottle of Jack Daniels and a full pot of coffee delivered to his quarters in the barn outside. He mentioned something about last minute calculations before his speaking engagement with Professor Holtz from Stanford at the conference today." "Very good, sir." said Jeeves as he carefully placed his current Master's breakfast tray in front of him at the head of the grand polished oak table. A dark haired servant girl place a teatray in front of Dr. Romanov, and Jeeves wheeled the cart around to pour the chai for Romanov. Before Romanov could say how he wanted it, Jeeves said, "If it pleases you, Dr. Romanov, I have prepared your tea as you like it. 3 sugars, light milk and a tray of Russian cookies I had specially delivered from Little Russia in San Fransisco." Romanov smiled, and nodded, "Das vedanya, Jeeves. That is exactly how I like it." Jeeves was very perfunctory when serving the other guests in turn. Primoris noted the somewhat disdainful look he gave Annabelle, but it was subtle and disappeared quickly when his eye fell upon Jeeves. Primoris noted that quickly, and filed it away. He also noted that his shoes made very little noise, even as their master walked across the bare wooden floor briskly. Suddenly the doorbell rang. "Ah, that will be Mr. Hill. Jeeves, please show Mr. Hill to the dining room and give him anything he requests." "Very good, sir." Jeeves opened the front door, and looked down dissapprovingly at Mr. Hills' slightly disheveled appearance. He smoothed it over and said, "Good morning, Mr. Hill. The Master has been expecting you." stepping aside and gesturing into the hallway. As Dixon walked in, Jeeves took his offered coat and hat. Dixon was glad that he left his shoulder rig back at the office, but felt the comforting weight of the .38 revolver on his leg holster and found it comforting, if not necessary. Jeeves said in a formal tone, "Shall I get you anything from the kitchen, sir?" Dixon suddenly remembered that he hadn't eaten this morning, since the phone call came before he had his usual breakfast of scotch, neat. "Actually, I would like a patty melt, with grilled onions. Tell the cook to cook the onions till they beg for mercy. A double of scotch, neat. That's all." "Very good, sir. Shall I show you to the dining hall?" "Thanks, Jeeves. Lead the way." said Dix. "This way, sir." said Jeeves. Dixon noted that the butler made no sound walking down the hall, stopping only to put Dixon's hat and coat in the coat closet. He also noticed practiced way in which Jeeves did everything, from the manner of gait, to the cut of his uniform. [Almost as if he's done this kind of thing before. And why does his face remind me of something else....], mused Dixon somewhat absentmindedly as he followed the butler across the hall into the magnificent dining room. Dixon took it all in, and felt humbled by his surroundings. It wasn't everyday you got to eat bacon and eggs with Max Mercer. Jeeves opened the doors to the dining room, and announced, "A Mr. Dixon Hill to see you, sir. Will there be anything else, sir?" Mercer swallowed the bit of sausage he was masticating and said, "No, Jeeves, that will be all. Carry on." "Very good, sir." said Jeeves, closing the door, but not completely. He stood just outside to overhear anything his primary employer might wish to know. Dixon took a seat near Annabelle, who was wolfing down her huevos rancheros with much gusto, stopping only to take a slug from the bottle of homemade hooch she kept at her side. Dixon could smell the brew from where he was, and it was enough to peel the paint off the finely decorated room. "Hi there, Max. Glad to see you made it out of the hotel in one piece." Dixon looked over and realized that Romanov was also sitting at the table, his tea and munching on some kind of cookie Dix had never seen before. "Doc!? Man, am I glad to see you. Last time I saw you, you were mostly intact, but still looked like you had been dropped off the building." Romanov smirked, "Da, Mr. Hill. As your American cowboys would say I had been 'rode hard and put away wet'. Thanks to Max here, I was able to sleep off the remainders of the attack. Best sleep I have had in some time." "So," said Dix, "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit. I figure it ain't for ball scores and symposiums." "Quite right," said Primoris. "According to your superiors at the IDA, the death of one Inspector Broomfield has your organization in quite a stir." Dixon whistled low. "Yeah, you could say that. His death was improbable enough, but the Old Man told him not to get too close to The King. We figured The King might have done it when we first heard, but when we investigated the accident itself, it was just too weird to be a planned hit." Primoris mused, [Not likely.] "What were the details of the accident?" "Well...first of all it was a simple smash-up. Broomfield was chatting with some Operative from Branch 9, when he got into his cab to go back to his hotel room. A truck carrying munitions entering a four way intersection at the same time lost control of his rig and smashed into the cab. Normally Broomfield would have escaped with just a broken arm, but apparently one of the rifles that was in the cargo hold got loose and fired. And it happens that this particular rifle had just one bullet in the chamber that some slacker had neglected to remove before placing it in the shipment. No other suspicious things about it. Just a...." "Coincidence." said Primoris. "What if we told you that Broomfield's accident wasn't an accident at all, but was a planned, if unusual, hit?" "Well, Doc, I know you're a genius and all," said Dixon with a wise guy grin, "But I would say that you've been out in the sun too long." Primoris looked somewhat ruffled and began to get an indignant look on his face. Mercer saw it, and spoke up, "Actually, Dix, my learned colleague is correct. It was a hit...and the weapon of choice was The Spear of Longinus." The door opened and in walked Jeeves with the serving tray. On the tray was Dixon's order, along with a healthy sized glass of what looked like scotch. Dixon nodded at Jeeves, and took the glass of scotch and drank a bit of it. Jeeves went back outside and closed the doors carefully, but leaving them open just a hair to remain listening. Dixon took another drink and bit into his melt. "Good melt. My compliments to the chef. No offense, Max, but what's this Spear you're talking about? Broomfield died by a bullet in the head, not a spear wound." "Exactly, my dear Mr. Hill." said Primoris, after swallowing the oatmeal he was eating from a rather large bowl. "The nature of the accident was of such a high probability that only a device that could channel Telluric waves could have done it. The Spear is just such a device. In a normal man's hands, the spear grants good luck in battle. In the hands of a Stalwart, like say a certain German ex-SS officer Romanov might know, it would be very effective in granting any misfortune to befall someone." Dixon thought for a moment, munching on his melt. He took another swig from the glass, then said, "Right. Like that incident at a known Fan Tan house in Chinatown. One of my cop buddies at SFPD said it was the weirdest thing he ever saw. Those that didn't look as if they had been scared to death seemed to die of accidents, like slipping on beer bottles and tripping over tables. What's curious about it is that no money was taken, and none of the customers or dealers at the tables were injured." Primoris nodded, "That would fit with the abilities of the Spear. Was there anything else unusual?" Dixon took a sip from his scotch, "Well, I had one of my contacts in Chinatown keep an eye on the place..... The preceeding day, outside of Wong's Restaurant: Egg Chen sat in his new tour bus outside the restaurant. The canary yellow paint stood in stark contrast to the red stylized letters painted on the side that said "Egg Chen Tours". He was eating a light lunch, eating his lo mein noodles with a practiced ease that comes with having eaten with chopsticks for a long time. He finished his lunch, and placed the carton in a garbage pail in the passenger side floorboard. He reached into a curious looking bag he had next to him and pulled out a set of small binoculars. Peering into the glasses, he sought the front of the restaurant. If one were to see what he saw, one would see regular families in the Chinatown area eating there. But that wasn't what Egg was looking at. His binoculars spied a curious looking couple eating at a table near the back area. One was a blonde woman, wearing a dress as red as the letters painted on the side of his bus. The woman seemed to be radiating a slight heat shimmer, as if she were like the desert. Hot, dry and dangerous to enter unprepared. She was gracefully examining her food before eating with an aristocratic bearing. The gentleman was even more curious. He wore an ice grey suit and slacks, with a white shirt and a ice blue tie. The ensemble only served to make him all the more striking with his height, close cropped blonde hair and ice blue eyes, which Egg noticed sparkled even from the distance he was observing. (OOC: Think Rutger Hauer from Fatherland with shorter hair, and you have the best description of Volkov) His features were a strange combination of Nordic and Slavic, the nose and high cheekbones being the most obvious. A black rectangular case sat in his lap at all times, and never seemed to leave his persone, even when going to the men's room. A waiter approached their table with hot tea, and after bowing profusely, set the hot pot down between the two curious diners. The gentleman removed his grey gloves and poured the tea for the lady and for himself. "So," said Volkov, "what does our mutual employer have for us this time?" Infra Red regarded him for a moment, then returned to her meal, talking in a firm but low tone "For now, The Contedorri is pleased with the results of your curious artifact. So far, our enemies seem to be in disarray, and we have not attracted the attention of local law enforcement. Not that I would mind capturing a few beat cops. They would make for an interesting study in my labs in the San Gabriel Mountains." Volkov surpressed a shudder. [That woman makes Stalin look like a rank amature on the subject of torture and brainwashing. I shudder to think what happened to that iguana that the madam of the bordello had and what Red did to it with her 'friends' with the Rational Experimentation Group.] "While your interest in Science is admirable, my dear lady, I think a few disappearances of cops would attract more attention than is wanted. It's bad enough that the Aeon Society has taken an interest in what we have done. My only hope is that the Telluric Bomb designed by Dr. Geary-Wexler was sufficient to discourage Mercer and....Romanov." said The Iceman, a combination of rage and fear barely breaking through his cold and blank countanance. "Now, now, my dear Aleswand." she purred, using his assumed identity. "If it's one thing I know, is that these heroic types tend to survive despite our best efforts to thwart them. No doubt, Mercer and his friends are formulating a plan to try and stop the two of us. What they probably don't know is that not only do we have a mole in organization, so to speak, but I also have a few of my 'pets' and a number of cards up my sleeves should we encounter any....trouble." she said, slightly licking her lips. Whether it was due to the meal, or the prospect of deadly combat, Volkov couldn't tell. "I find it facinating that the Fan Tan parlor was so well hidden and yet so obvious. The only reason I suspect that the local constabulary hasn't dropped the hammer on them is due to the well establishment of a few bribes among certain beat cops and a well organized escape plan if that should fail. Not that it really mattered, since any violent resistance was dealt with in a suitable, if somewhat unsatisfying, manner. The look on the patron's faces when my gas hit them was priceless. I would say that the trial run of my Fear Gas was a success. Fortunately for the owner of this fine restaurant, he figured out which way the wind was blowing, and made a deal with The Contredorri in exchange for his life and livelyhood being kept intact. Pity.... I've always wanted to learn more about the art of Chinese cuisine." said Red somewhat wistfully. Suddenly, the hairs on Volkov's neck started to rise. He had the feeling that he was being watched, and when he turned to look outside the large picture windows in the front of the restaurant, he caught the tail end of a large yellow bus pulling away. He started to get out of his seat and give chase, but Red put a hand on his arm. "Sit down, Mr. Aleswand. No doubt that is an informant employed by the IDA. I noticed him sitting out front, but decided that it would be better to wait, and find him later in the evening. I am sure my 'pet' will be telling us where he goes next, and will take steps to ensure our watcher never shadows us again. For now, let us honor our gracious host and finish the meal." While the Terrible Two were conversing, the maitre d' of Wong's pulled a small business card out of his vest pocket. The front said "Wing Xong Trading Company" and gave a telephone exchange number. On the back was another number, written in flowing Chinese script. He gave the card to the owner, who was watching the two conversing. He said a few short words in Mandarin and the maitre d' bowed, and went back to the table. While the young man was approaching the table, the owner went through the carved double doors to the kitchen. He made his way past numerous stoves, ovens and though stopping briefly to sample each dish being prepared, he entered his office, and dialed the number listed on the card. Moments later, as the couple left the restaurant and made their way to the waiting car, three figures floated down onto the roof of an adjacent building. They watched the figures get into the car and then drive away. Once they turned a corner, the three men disappeared in a flash of green smoke and flame. "......and the last thing Egg told me was that two strange figures were seen dining at Wong's. One matches the description of the European gentleman Irish told me after the incident at the bar. The female seated with him bears a resemblance to the Queen of Spades, but it seems odd to me that she would be eating someplace like that after all the fuss." said Dixon dryly. Max finished his breakfast, wiped his mouth on the napkin tucked into the collar of his shirt, and said, "Not likely. She likes to relish her triumphs. No doubt she had a hand in the effect that caused the rest of The Dragon's men to die of fright. I shudder to think what she might have done with the patrons that were there. You did say they found no other bodies, correct." Dixon grimly nodded, "Yeah, that was odd. Usually that parlor is filled to capacity. The fact that it was empty save for a few guards and flunkies means that there were a number of prisoners that were taken alive. It was good that the restaurant was closed for the evening, otherwise the butcher's bill would have been more expensive. That reminds me, I need to use the phone. I was supposed to call Egg before he went out on his tour route to tell him to check into the Wing Xong Exchange. Strangest informant I ever had. All he asked for payment was the whereabouts of Hanoi Xan. I was supposed to give him that information this morning before you called." Max nodded, "Certainly, my friend." Max took a silver bell he had next to his plate and rang it. The doors to the dining room opened, and Jeeves walked in. "Yes, sir?" said Jeeves in a professional tone. "Jeeves, please take Mr. Hill to the telephone in the parlor. And take Professor Dixon his booze and coffee. No doubt he is either still awake doing calculations or is just now waking." said Max. "Of course, sir. Very good, sir." said Jeeves, "Come, Mr. Hill." "Sure thing, Jeevesy." said Dix. "Lead the way." As the door closed behind the butler and Dix, Primoris looked up from his oatmeal. "Really, Max, how long must we keep this charade going with regards to Jeeves? It's bad enough that he's not what he appears to be, even worse is the prospect of who he might be working for. I know through my investigations that he was placed here through a placement service that has been known as a front for The Contedorri, which means that either he's working for The King of The World, or one of his left-tennants looking to rise in the organization." Crackshot paused in her 'grubbing' and said with a mouthfull of eggs, "Yeah, I never really trusted that butler anyway. I say we tell him to go peddle his papers." "My dear Crackshot," said Romanov, dusting the crumbs from his napkin and finishing his tea, "I believe it is our best interests to maintain the illusion that we are oblivious to the machinations of The King of The World. Have no doubt once they realize that 'the jig is up' as Dixon would say, The King would employ another unknown agent or possibly step up events. That would mean an open gang war, and I doubt that The Dragon or the King have care in whether or not innocents are involved. Suddenly the doors to the dining room flew open and in ran Dixon. He grabbed the remains of his patty melt, and ate in a hurry. Max noticed this. "Dixon, my man, you look as though you are going to be late to your own funeral." he said. Dixon swallowed his food, and knocked back the remains of his scotch. "Trouble, Max. I called Eggs' office, and I got a hold of him briefly. He said that he was in the middle of something, and before he could explain the line went dead. I'm afraid he's been made, but I don't know by who." Romanov finished the rest of his tea and said, "Then it would be best if haste was made. You, however, are needed here with Max and company. Do you know of anyone else who can take me to Mr. Chen's building?" "Actually, I believe I do. And I did promise Gracie that she would get an exclusive with the famous Dr. Romanov. Let me make a call, and I will have Gracie drive up here and take you there." said Dix with a wry grin. [Just as well, that woman has been hounding me to the ends of the earth ever since I told her about Romanov. And she also knows where the Wing Xong Exchange is, since she was the one who pointed me toward Xan in the first place.] " "Excellent." said Romanov, "If you will pardon me, Max, I must return to my room and gather a few things before I head out." "Certainly, Emil. Here..." said Max, tossing an ordinary wrist watch. "That's a combination transponder and Telluric resonator. If there's any trouble, just press the second button on the side, and the cavalry will come running." Dr. Energy put the wrist watch on, and it glowed for a moment as his biofield assimilated the watch. "Spaezbo, my friend." he said, putting on his trademark lab coat and goggles. He marched out of the room with Dixon leading the way. Sometime later, near Egg Chen's building: Romanov's nerves were on edge. Dix briefed him on what Ms. Law was like, but having met her for the second time, her applomb and determination were rivaled only by Sarah Gettle. In fact, when Ms. Gettle's name was mentioned, Gracie some how managed to expand her catalogue of looks to "Insulted Pride" [I think the words were, "Two bit hack writer who has the charm of a snake and the ethics of a viper." Not surprising, Ms. Gettle got an early scoop on a story Gracie was working on.] On a street near the edge of Chinatown, they approached a large warehouse. Inside, sounds of a fight were eminating. "Oh dear...looks like big trouble in Little China." said Gracie. "I better call the cops." "Good idea, Ms. Law. I will see if there's another way in. If I am not here when you return, please wait in the car, no matter what you hear." said Dr. Energy enigmatically. [Hmmm...] thought Gracie. [I wonder if....nah..I know he's pals with The Aeon Society, but he seems normal enough. Still, better call the cops nevertheless.] Gracie walked quickly down the street, her flats making a slapping sound as she hurriedly walked down the sidewalk to a corner diner she saw on the way in. Romanov waited until she was out of sight and then said, "Energize!" Suddenly there was a blue flash, and where Romanov stood, a quiksilver statue stood instead. The statue walked toward the sounds of battle coming from within. He opened the side door, and saw a strange sight. Egg Chen...at least he assumed it was him....was furiously throwing exploding potions at something. Through all the smoke and thunder, Doc couldn't see what he was fighting....until he looked up and saw an alligator sized Oriental dragon crawling on the concrete floor of the garage bay. [Hmmm.. Looks like one of the Queen of Spades little friends. Well, in for a penny...] thought Romanov. #Computer, analyze target.# said Doc into his comm system. #Compliance. Target analysis beginning. Targetanalysiscomplete. Target is a modified iguana with hydrocloric acid breath, increased size and speed. Target also has bioelectric field tuned to a frequence in the EM spectrum. Possible radio link detected.# said Ana. #Good girl. Calibrate energy weapon for stun only, and ready containment field. Attempt to block outgoing broadcast should the beast be incapacitated.# said Doc. As he was doing this, Egg saw the Doc out of the corner of his eye. Thinking that it was a trick of Lo Pan, he readied a second pellet as he climbed onto a shelf out of reach from the monster. He tossed one pellet at the creatures' feet, which promptly exploded, sending the beast sprawling across the oil slick floor. The second pellet he readied to throw. "Who are you and where is Lo Pan? Answer or be sent back to the hell that spawned you, demon." exclaimed Egg. "My name is Dr. Energy, and I am here to help you. What happened?" "I was just coming down the stairs to start my tour schedule when this thing crawled out from under my tour bus and tried to attack me. It was fortunate that I had the Six Demon Bag with me, since this beast would have had me for dinner, after he dissolved my flesh. He already ruined part of my bus when he spat acid at me. Strange, I thought you were a demon sent to me by....LOOK OUT!" Suddenly Romanov was bowled over as the dragon pounced on him. His reflexes were better than most, but he was still taken by surprise since the creature moved very quickly behind him after being knocked back by Egg's exploding pellet. A lesser man would have been sent to the concrete, but Doc was not a lesser man. Thinking quickly, he tucked and rolled over the dragon, sending it into a wall of odd looking jars. The smell would have knocked him out, were it not for his apparent lack of needing air to breathe. [Bolshi Moi. That thing hits like a train. Have to knock him out quick.] #Ana, prepare to magnify stun beam.# #Compliance.# said Ana. Doc took careful aim, and fired. Nothing happened. The dragon got back up and got ready to pounce again.... To Be Continued... =================================