>Chapter Sixteen : Hope [Everyone bursts out laughing.] TOM: Oh, that's rich! JOEL: And here we thought Nowak didn't have a sense of humor. Man, that's a riot! > >After the Battle of Casino, Jürgen and Widget agreed that CROW: Daleks just weren't as much fun in real life. > the risk of >hanging around was too great. The mere fact the Rangers had a spy JOEL: Bill Cosby? TOM: James Bond? CROW: Mrs. Ploifax? >following them suggested they had found proof Albacore had sunk >Minuscule. TOM: Too bad they didn't rob anyone. Then Widget would *really* be a one-armed bandit! > >Albacore ALL: Nevermore! > was running at a depth of two hundred feet, below a thermal CROW: Underwear. >layer just in case they were being hunted. They had left dock at three >in the morning, and were now almost one hundred miles from shore. Widget >was working on a stuck "tendon" in her left arm. TOM: Tearing up all those people is dangerous -- people's ligaments, tendons, and muscles get stuck in her arm all the time. > Her ear was bothering >her; it was bandaged but it still ached gently. JOEL: She wondered if the lemon-soaked bandage was the cause. CROW: I guess the doctor doesn't like her. TOM: [DOCTOR] This is for all those nightmares from your smiling! > >Jürgen knocked at Widget's cabin door. CROW: Too bad she was in the Engine Room. > >"Enter," she said abstractly. > >Jürgen stepped in, and his eyes showed surprise. TOM: [JÜRGEN] Did you know they raised the price on dish soap again? > Widget suddenly >realized it was her CROW: Dress he was wearing. > - instead of her usual wetsuit, she was wearing an >undershirt and the covering was off her left arm, showing the stainless >steel workings. TOM: And that's not even counting the arm! > She felt mortification setting in: he was seeing her as >the freak she was for the first time. TOM: Hey, it's a humiliating first impression, but look at the bright side; it's accurate! > >Jürgen had never seen her out of the black wetsuit before: JOEL: And he prayed he never would again. > what he had >thought were broad shoulders or even shoulder pads was actually a >support harness CROW: Formally belonging to Ordinary Guy. > for the arm she had built herself. JOEL: He could tell by the manufacturing date. > She was a bit slimmer >and lighter than he had imagined, but TOM: She still projected evil and hate with ease. > her right arm was surprisingly >well muscled; possibly from using it most of the time. CROW: Ripping out all those spleens of mouthy crewmen was paying off. > >"Something jammed in my arm," she explained, weakly. JOEL: [JÜRGEN] Could be that ICBM sticking out of your elbow. You really need to tell me that story sometime. > >"Oh," he said, recovering. "May I?" TOM: [JÜRGEN] Laugh at your disfigurement? Hahahahah!! > >She felt her left arm lift of its own accord. TOM: It's gaining free will! It's the prelude to "The Terminator"! ALL: ARRRGGGHHH! > She tried to flex her CROW: Personality, to allow for this sudden "soft" side. >thumb, so he could see the part sticking. TOM: Oddly enough, though, it was her middle finger that kept flexing.... > He watched intently and she >suddenly remembered he had been JOEL: Traumatized as a child from watching moving machinery. > a torpedo mechanic; he was familiar with >delicate, complex mechanisms. TOM: He had no clue how to repair them, unfortunately. JOEL: He never told her that all the ships he had sank were his own, did he? > >"From this angle it looks like it's rubbing against this support >member," he said, taking a pen from his pocket TOM: Rodent-sized pens? Okay, this too nutty. I was ready to believe the mechanical arm bit, but this is too much. > and pointing to a tiny >push rod. "Maybe some WD40 would help, CROW: Hey, yeah -- after a case or so, I know *I* always feel better! TOM: Ditto! > or you could try to bend it back >this way," demonstrating, TOM: On her real arm. > as though the pen were a lever. > >"That makes sense," she agreed slowly. JOEL: [WIDGET] So why did *you* think of it? > He hadn't shown disgust, >amusement, or pity; just a casual, low-keyed CROW: Air of superiority. > technical suggestion, as >though she had a locker that squeaked. He knew what she was TOM: Hell incarnate. > and it >didn't change the way he treated her. CROW: She was still a stupid broad. JOEL: A stupid broad that still signs his paychecks. CROW: Oh yeah... maybe not *that* stupid, then. > >When she was younger and didn't understand that love was a sentimental >lie, TOM: So she's Emily Dickenson now? > she might have thanked him. Like she had thanked others, the ones >that taught her about life when they were done with her. TOM: Uh... what? JOEL: I think it means Widget thanked people who treated her like crud, so now she doesn't thank people that treat her with respect. TOM: Oh. So she still thanks people that treat her like a freak? JOEL: I think so, yeah. CROW: I think "thank" is a euphemism. JOEL: Crow - TOM: Joel, it had to be said. "Thank" is a euphemism, everyone! JOEL: Tom, that's too depressing to think about. CROW: Your point being? > "What can I do >for you?" JOEL: [WIDGET] Need a family member whacked? > >"We're approaching the last waypoint you set. CROW: No way! TOM: Yes way! JOEL: Way cool! > We need to know if you >want to turn back to the mainland, or head out to sea." JOEL: They're already a hundred miles out at sea. Isn't it a little late to be asking? > >"What's your opinion?" CROW: [JÜRGEN] I'm allowed to have one? > >"I would consider it a personal favor if you would give permission to CROW: [JÜRGEN] Let the Bridge game be moved to Tuesdays. >head out to sea." > >"Oh." She thought. "Well, okay, but please don't consider it a favor. JOEL: [WIDGET] I don't do favors for lackeys. >It's only practical. My sister and her friends are on their guard. It >might be months before they relax enough for us to strike again." TOM: Yeah, or at least until another fanfic. > >"There is that." > >"And," she said, warming to her subject, JOEL: [WIDGET] Being on a sub full of men for the next few months is like a dream come true for me. > "I guess that in one sense, >even that would be hurting her - I mean, waiting for the sword to drop, >never knowing when the piper will be paid." CROW: Never knowing when the story will be over. TOM: We know the pain. Trust me, we know. > >"You could think of it that way," he agreed. CROW: [JÜRGEN] I'll agree with whatever you say, so long as the checks clear. > >"Jürgen," she said curiously. "Why do you follow my orders? JOEL: Guys go to great lengths when trying to get a date. > One word >from you and the crew would toss me out a hatch. You'd have a free hand >with Albacore." TOM: Hey, unlike her, he'd have *both* hands with the Albacore! JOEL: Ooooo.... > >"I was wondering when you'd ask that," he answered casually. CROW: [JÜRGEN] This is a big day for us! > "Well, >first, I did give my word. My word is important to me." CROW: [rapping] Word! > >"And second?" CROW: [JÜRGEN] There's more? > >"And second, from a strictly pragmatic aspect, there's enormous >potential in you. JOEL: [JÜRGEN] Your bank account is impressive. > This is the finest ship I have ever had the pleasure >of commanding. CROW: [JÜRGEN] Granted, it's the *only* ship I've commanded, but let's not worry about that. > Whatever you build next, I know I want to be a part of >it." He shrugged. TOM: He wants to be used as the hull frame? > >"Thank you." JOEL: [WIDGET] Here's a crewman's eyeball to show my gratitude. > >"There's a third reason, too." > >"Which is?" CROW: [JÜRGEN] Nuts! You called my bluff! > >He half smiled. "I don't think it would be best to tell you yet." TOM: Why shut up now? > >"Why not?" Her voice was simply curious, not distrustful. > >"Did I ever tell you my worst war story?" JOEL: You had to ask, Widget.... > he asked, apparently changing >the subject. "We were being depth charged by a destroyer - but if you >ever tell this story to Monty, make it an airplane to flatter him." TOM: Oh, good idea. She's supposed to have high tea with the Rangers next week, after all. I'm sure she wants to make the guy that left her to drown feel important. > >"All right," she agreed, mystified. JOEL: [WIDGET] I'll humor him; maybe he'll shut up quicker. > >"Anyway, we were leaking in the engine room. CROW: [JÜRGEN] That "spalling" effect turned us into sieves. TOM: Aspalling. Ha... Uh, get it? Appalling? Never mind. > The electric motors had >shorted out. We couldn't move. CROW: [JÜRGEN] We were in downtown New York at rush hour. > One of the torpedoes had slipped off its >rack while being loaded into the torpedo tube. It rolled over both >torpedo mechanics. TOM: [singing] What rolls down the stairs, rolls over in pairs, rolls over your torpedo mechanics? > That left one qualified torpedo mechanic aboard." > >"You?" CROW: [JÜRGEN] No. Let me finish, will you?! > >"Me. The torpedo ran wild. The engine started, TOM: Oh, the ones that shorted out? > the blades started >spinning. CROW: [JÜRGEN] So I sliced up some turkey for a quick sandwich. > The forward torpedo room was filling with steam. JOEL: [JÜRGEN] Good thing I was in the rear, eh? > Worse, this >was a classified torpedo designed to self destruct after the engine ran >out of fuel." TOM: Guys, I'm still at a loss for who they were supposed to be fighting. CROW: They probably weren't. Just running around picking fights with movie sets. > >"So you were in a steam filled room, JOEL: A sauna? > trying to disarm a torpedo in the >ten minutes or so you had while the engine ran and depth charges >exploded all around." CROW: [JÜRGEN] Yes yes, now shut up and listen -- you're breaking the mood! > >"Exactly," Jürgen nodded. "I was sitting next to a warhead with enormous >potential energy, JOEL: Hey, he just told Widget the same thing. I smell another of those wacky metaphors coming up! CROW: So that's what stinks about this. > blinded by steam, working as quickly as I could and >hoping I wouldn't do the wrong thing and pull the wrong wire and make it >explode. Because CROW: [JÜRGEN] The damage would come out of *my* paycheck! > the saddest part is, I don't think JOEL: No kidding. > the torpedo wanted >to explode where it was, not really. But it was so badly damaged, it >couldn't tell friends from enemies and just might go off by mistake." TOM: What? We're suppose to believe that Jürgen has a "Commune with torpedo" power? > He >shrugged. "Mistakes happen, you know. CROW: [JÜRGEN] My mom always told me that when I asked where I came from. > There's more bad luck in the world >than there is evil." He waited, as though finished. TOM: [JÜRGEN] Duh, I always forget the end part. > >"And the point to your story?" CROW: Damned if I know. >she asked, faintly. JOEL: Fighting off the sleep that his incessant droning had forced upon her. > >"Be very careful around warheads," JOEL: Oh, I get it! It's a message from the National Board of Safety regarding the safe use of wartime devices! > he said promptly. Then added, "No >matter how you feel about them." JOEL: [WIDGET] Whatever; skip the moral and get the end. Did you disarm the stupid torpedo or not? TOM: [JÜRGEN] No, it blew up and killed me. CROW: Wishful thinking. > >"And... how do you, uh, feel about warheads?" TOM: What is this? The Wendy's survey? > >"I was married during the war. She died in a bomber raid." > >"I'm sorry." JOEL: [WIDGET] Now answer my question; do you like warheads or not? > >"Why?" CROW: He's left field. > Jürgen shrugged. "I heard you say love is a word people use to >get what they want." TOM: Well, it's true. > >"I didn't mean that you..." she said quickly. "I meant that..." she trailed >off. JOEL: [WIDGET] Look, it's complicated. Can we get back to something simple, like quantum equations and maximum torque ratios? > >"That it's true when someone uses it about you?" Jürgen asked. CROW: [JÜRGEN] But we'll get into that next session. Pay the receptionist on the way out, please. JOEL: Too bad Dale isn't here; he'd sort through her phobias in a snap. > >Widget looked down at her arm. "Thank you, Jürgen. You had best speak to >the navigator." JOEL: [WIDGET] I think he likes you. > >"Permission to speak plainly, gnädigens Fraulein." CROW: [WIDGET] Call me that again, and I'll give you the voice of Minnie Mouse.... TOM: I think it means something like "Highly esteemed unmarried woman." Except it should be "Fräulein." CROW: [disappointed] Oh. > >She blinked. "Of course," she said automatically. TOM: Having no trace of her established personality left. > >He stood very stiff, not awkward, but CROW: Emotionally dead? > military. CROW: Same thing. > Not looking at her >directly. "You have reason to believe what you said. I'm not denying it. JOEL: [JÜRGEN] I can't handle the truth! >But if you ever decide you're ready, I would like the honor of proving CROW: [JÜRGEN] The Spice Girls make some fun music. >it isn't always true." > >"Th - thank you, Jürgen. You had best speak to the navigator." Her heart >was pounding so hard she could hear it. TOM: Time to watch her salt intake, eh? > >Jürgen nodded politely. "Ma'am," He about-faced, and left her stateroom. CROW: I thought he was in her cabin? TOM: The rooms in this sub seem to bi-locate, don't they? > >Widget took a small can of WD40 out of her dresser. JOEL: Time for the junkie to get her fix. > Her hand was shaking >so badly she couldn't use it. JOEL: See? > >She gave up, covered her eyes. Her face and ears were so hot they seemed >to be burning. TOM: Standing in front of a sunlamp will do that, yeah. > She was so happy it hurt. JOEL: [WIDGET] Argh! Happiness! It's the poison in my blood! The cholesterol in my arteries! Help! I need a despair transfusion! TOM: [WIDGET] I'm happy. Given the way things work in the Nowakverse, that means I'm going to die. Thank you, God! > >Chapter Seventeen : Where the Socks Go CROW: When they've been bad in life. > >Shiro followed the Gray Mouse at a respectful distance. TOM: Oh, we're back to the Chromatically-Challenged Mouse, now? > He was a rat CROW: 'Nuff said. > who >had worked for several evil megalomaniacs before, but she was the only >one who CROW: Looked good in a swimsuit. > was willing to come back to the engine room and talk about >improvements to her own design. It had been several days since the TOM: Failure. >incident at Trellis Island, and the Gray Mouse probably wanted to put JOEL: On a puppet show for the kiddies. >aside thoughts of temporary setbacks with technical chatter. TOM: And making the occasional crewman walk the plank. > Shiro was JOEL: The first to go. >only too happy to oblige her. Courtesy to one's boss aside, she was the >only female on board, for all that he was careful to keep his behavior >around her perfectly correct. CROW: He's going to ask her out, you know it. > >"Yes, I served on that one," he said with a smile and nod to her >question. TOM: Which obviously wasn't important enough for us to hear. > "That huge drill on front didn't really work out. The first >time we used it on something harder than mud, it stopped cold and >started spinning the whole ship around in the opposite direction. CROW: Hey! They're talking about "Drill Sergeant" from Wheeled Warriors! TOM: I say it's Atragon. CROW: Drill Sergeant! TOM: ATRAGON! JOEL: Guys, maybe it was the Jet Mole from Thunderbirds. TOM: Okay. CROW: (whispers) Drill Sergeant. > Never >did get it to work right. Now this is what I wanted to ask you about," JOEL: [SHIRO] Someone keeps writing "The Gray Mouse is actually white" down here. Is it true? >he said, coming to a stop before the heavily sealed door to the engine >room. JOEL: [SHIRO] Why do we need a basement on a sub? > >Albacore used a version of the power generation system developed by the >evil Professor Nimnul. TOM: Not to be confused with the good Professor Nimnul, of course. > While he had powered his lighting bolt throwing >machine by kidnapping all the cats in the city and feeding them into a >machine that rubbed them, CROW: The wrong way. > the Gray Mouse's version used a wool sweater >and flannel shirt tumbling together in a drier. TOM: Rodent-sized? Human-sized? You decide! > The sparks flashing >between the two garments allowed Albacore to cruise as fast as twenty >five knots underwater, JOEL: Uh, how did they harness the energy in the sparks? TOM: Nowak Principle, Joel. Learn it, live it, love it. > and they carried enough laundry aboard to >circumnavigate the globe four times without refueling. CROW: Shouldn't that be "reloading"? > >"Most of the ship's electronics are TOM: Worthless Casio crap. > right behind the main generator," >Shiro explained. JOEL: [WIDGET] I built this sub. Don't patronize me about the layout. > "They're well insulated, and we have the backup bay up >near the bow, but it might be safer to move these further away." TOM: What? Now? > >"Unfortunately, the Nimnul Effect which makes this engine practical >rules that out. Nimnul was able to prove that the power of static >electricity is immeasurably increased when there is delicate electronic >circuitry nearby." The Gray mouse shrugged, hands out and palms up. JOEL: Is she asking for forgiveness? TOM: From who? Nowak? He's probably egging her on. > >"I see. I wasn't really aware of the theory behind it. CROW: [SHIRO] I'm just a cook, after all. > Although we're >not as fast as a big nuclear sub, at least we can't have a nuclear >accident CROW: [SHIRO] We had nuclear diapers installed. > - although I've noticed our laundry tends to be clingy." JOEL: Use some Bounce next time, Einstein. > >"Static cling is the least of our dangers," the Gray Mouse intoned. "You >see, what Nimnul doesn't realize, is that each spark is a small gateway >to an alternate dimension. TOM: Uh oh. I think the "goofy meter" just jumped a few notches.... > Usually that gap only permits energy to pass >through to this universe; CROW: Assuming it has exact change. > energy we can use. Otherwise, it would violate >conservation of energy. TOM: And we mustn't break the laws of nature without Nowak's blessing, now, must we? > But sometimes, a gap can open large enough for a >physical object to pass through." > >"You mean -" gasped Shiro. JOEL: [SHIRO] I don't *have* a last name?! > >"Yes, Shiro-san. CROW: That had better not be a precursor to something Anime popping up.... > That's where the socks go." > >A particularly strong flash highlighted her profile in blue. TOM: Static electricity. The poor man's lightning bolt. JOEL: Ed Wood would be proud. > >They stood in silence for a moment. CROW: Having forgotten their lines. > It could have been pleasant, except >that TOM: Widget shoved Shiro into the drier and slammed the door shut. > with the sudden quiet they both heard from behind them, in a >lowered voice, "-think she's one of those lab mice-" before cutting off. JOEL: So was that a reference to Pinky and the Brain, or "The Secret of NIMH"? TOM: Let's not find out. > >Widget pretended to pay attention to the sparks in the Nimnul reactor, CROW: Purdy colors! >while Shiro turned to give his subordinate a short lesson in The Pecking >Order. JOEL: [SHIRO] I'll be asking questions after the lesson, so pay attention. > Shiro gasped in shock, which made Widget spin to see what he was >responding to. A young mole named Andy realized he had been overheard, TOM: Talking to who? Nobody else is around. JOEL: Casper. >and was taking a reflexive step backwards. Into part of the steering >gear. Which was moving. > >Widget took a flying leap TOM: I wish this fanfic would. > across the room as Andy's foot was pulled >between two large gears. JOEL: [WIDGET] Want to see *my* sprocket collection? > Andy started to scream as the gears began to >pinch the Achilles tendon in the back of his ankle. Widget came to a >stop next to him. JOEL: Pointed and laughed... CROW: [WIDGET] Hurts, doesn't it? Suffer. > She knew she could never pull Andy out from between >the two metal gears, so without hesitating she TOM: Shot him. > wedged her left arm >between two small ones. JOEL: Between two small arms? > >This gave her a considerable mechanical advantage. CROW: Now *two* people were caught in the gears! > The steering assembly >stopped moving. Andy's foot was still caught, but it was not being >pulled deeper in. > >Shiro was at an intercom on the far wall. He pressed a button marked >with a red cross. TOM: [SHIRO] Hello? Switzerland? > "Station three-nine, we have a crewman with his foot >trapped in machinery." Widget was next to another intercom; TOM: Which just happened to be within easy reach of her trapped arm. > she pressed >a button marked "Bridge." JOEL: Between the "Poker" and "Go Fish" buttons. > >"Hold rudder steady," she ordered. "Someone's stuck in the transmission >gears." She didn't bother to identify herself - she was the only female >aboard. TOM: I think we've established that by now. CROW: I'm starting to wonder if Widget admired Smurfette as a child.... JOEL: It might explain why she's been hit on more often than Gadget. > >"Hold rudder steady, aye," came Jürgen's immediate response from the >bridge. JOEL: [JÜRGEN] What's a rudder, by the way? > >The sharp, explosive sounds of compressed air blowing CROW: More flatulence jokes? TOM: Hot air? Blowing? That's pretty much what's happening, all right. > water out of the >ballast tanks filled the room, then the sound of a change in speed. TOM: [grinding gear noises] JOEL: No, no, clutch, shift, release clutch slowly.... >"Standard" to "Reverse Emergency." Pressure against her feet showed that >the Albacore was rising sharply. > >Shiro and Widget looked at one another steadily. JOEL: Time for their duet. > Boats in mid ocean >didn't simply move their rudder on a whim. Widget had hoped they had >reached a waypoint, but it was now obvious they hadn't. They were trying >to avoid something. Since they couldn't use the rudder to go around it, >Jürgen was now trying to go up above it. CROW: That's... important to know. I guess. Maybe. > >Shiro watched while the Gray Mouse tried to pull her arm out of where >she had wedged it. JOEL: [WIDGET] Oh no, don't offer to help. Really. I'm fine. > Her arm didn't move. CROW: Big surprise, as how she had *wedged* it into the gears! > He flinched, but she didn't, as >she threw all her weight against her left arm, popping it out from >between the gears. TOM: [WIDGET] Wait. That was my right arm. AAARRGGGGHHH! > >Albacore didn't have a doctor aboard. CROW: Sounds like the start of a poem. > Instead, they had a paramedic, or >"Pharmacist's Mate." JOEL: He's married to a pharmacist? That hardly qualifies him for medical duty. > He was a hamster named McKyle, who came skittering >into the engineering room, holding a bag of equipment. CROW: Wrenches. Hammers. Saws. The normal stuff. > He dropped down >next to Andy and started examining his foot. CROW: [MCKYLE] Doesn't look too bad. JOEL: [WIDGET] Glad your foot is okay. Now you want to look at Andy's? > >"I don't think the bone's crushed," TOM: [MCKYLE] But I can fix that. > he said. "The pressure of the gears >is keeping him from bleeding much, but when we get his foot out, TOM: [MCKYLE] Boy, it'll be like Old Faithful erupting! > I can >control the bleeding." CROW: He has a remote for it? > >Widget nodded and hit the "Bridge" button on the intercom. "Jürgen, >please count to ten and then give me rudder amidships. Count to ten >again, and if I don't call you, you may resume rudder control." > >"Understood," Jürgen said briefly. JOEL: [JÜRGEN] Except for that counting part, but I'll wing it. > >Andy was tensing up. CROW: [ANDY] Boy, am I going get it for screwing up the boss's sub. > >"Andy," Widget said in her softest voice TOM: Which was as soft as two bricks grinding together. > and taking his hand, "look at >me." JOEL: [WIDGET] Have you washed your face today, young man? > >As the rudder gear reversed and popped his foot back out, Andy screamed >and gripped her hand so hard it felt like he would crush it. JOEL: [WIDGET] Watch it! I don't have a spare for this one! > McKyle got >to work on his foot; the smell of Andy's blood filled the room. JOEL: Oh, yeah, that's something we all needed to know. CROW: I don't feel so good, Joel.... > >"You okay?" Widget asked him. > >He grinned through tears. TOM: [ANDY] Hell, no! I had my foot crushed, you freak! > "Yes, ma'am." > >She laughed JOEL: [WIDGET] Oh, I just remembered this funny Ziggy cartoon! > and patted his hand before standing up. TOM: So I guess the point of this scene is that even though Widget wants to give her sister the memory of killing her own friends, she's a considerate employer. JOEL: Pretty much. > "We need guards on >those gears," JOEL: She wants to put more of the crew on the gears? Wouldn't that just make more maimed people? TOM: She's looking to make more like her. CROW: Collect the whole set! > Widget said to Shiro. "I'll do a sketch tonight, JOEL: [WIDGET] Stop by tomorrow and we'll set about fitting you for that dress. > we can >discuss it tomorrow morning." > >"Yes, ma'am," Shiro said. "Perhaps you should have your arm looked at?" TOM: Don't people stare at it enough already? > >McKyle looked up. Widget touched her metal arm. "No," she said finally. >"I'll take care of it myself." JOEL: [WIDGET] The warranty expired last month. > >"Doesn't it hurt, ma'am?" Shiro asked, worried. > >"Of course it hurts," she snapped back. TOM: What? She patched nerve endings into it? CROW: Name something in this fanfic that *doesn't* hurt. JOEL: Uhm, the spelling and grammar. TOM: "Pelagic." JOEL: "Accepting the Balsa Waffle for the most obscure grammar flame -" > >=== JOEL: [chanting] Give me an equal sign! Now another! Now another! What's that spell? BOTS: Scene change! [cheering] > >The obstacle had been a ballistic missile submarine, very silent, >probably American or British. CROW: Maybe Paraguayan. > Although a hard collision was unlikely, >Jürgen had been steering to avoid hitting the JOEL: Next bout with depression. > enormous, slowly drifting >warship's bow wave. Heading for the surface had made noise, and the >skittish leviathan, TOM: *That's* a strange combo. > perhaps thinking Albacore was a more distant Human >sized vessel, had plunged gently for the depths, TOM: And by some tremendous miscalculation, plowed into the ocean's floor, its hull splitting like an eggshell. > missing the rodent sub >by a considerable margin. The Gray Mouse shook her head. CROW: She had been hoping for a collision. Most of the crew would have died, and she needed the laughs. > She had no idea >if submarines carried weapons able to attack the torpedo-sized Albacore, >and she had no desire to find out. JOEL: I think a torpedo would do nicely. Doesn't even need to be armed. TOM: And Widget knows all about *unarmed* combat, right? Hah! > >She had fixed her left arm and was starting to sketch a guard for the >steering gears. CROW: [WIDGET] He should have broad shoulders, some blonde hair. Crew cut, I think. Definitely younger than that fossil Jürgen.... > She looked at the watch that hung on her wall: it was >three PM. Designing the guard was more difficult than it sounded, TOM: Body systems were the hardest things to build. >because the guard had to be firmly fixed to the floor, JOEL: [english accent] Nail that man's foot to the deck. > yet easy to >remove TOM: Whack 'em. Whack 'em good. > for repair work. She also wanted to design the guard in such a >way that CROW: He'd be available for dancing on Mondays. > it could also cover other exposed gears throughout Albacore. >That way, their machine shop would only have one pattern to repeat, and CROW: It would match the wallpaper. >they could keep anyone from stumbling into or catching their fingers in >the other gears running the control surfaces of the submarine. Her >pencil rolled off the table. JOEL: Most drafting tables are slanted, yes. > >She frowned and looked at the three dials next to the watch: TOM: [WIDGET] I need to get some Dove soap. It's easier on my skin. > Albacore's >heading, CROW: Right for little Timmy! Who can save him?! > speed, and depth. They had gone from 2/3 speed to Full speed, >on the surface, and the direction they were moving had changed by almost >ninety degrees. TOM: Stay with us, reader. Consider this penance. > The air compressors wouldn't have enough power to run at >Full speed, so they weren't storing compressed air to replace what they >had expended earlier. Albacore did not run well on the surface; CROW: Hell, it just didn't run well at all. No legs does that. > just >about the only reasons she needed to surface in mid ocean was to >replenish compressed air, use the Iridium satellite telephone link, or >get a navigation fix via the Global Positioning System. JOEL: Or go shopping at the clearance sales. TOM: Yeah, no more paying full price -- the last dining room set she got like that cost her an arm and a leg! CROW: Tom's making a lot of amputation jokes. He's - JOEL: Going out on a limb. CROW: [angry] Darnit, Joel, I wanted to say it! > So, she was not >surprised when someone knocked on the door to her cabin. CROW: They always did this when she was in the Engine room. JOEL: [maid] Turndown service! > >"Come in," she said. > >Jürgen and McKyle stepped inside, and closed the door behind them. She >looked up, wondering what would bring them both in. "Andy has a >problem?" she guessed. TOM: You mean "another" problem. CROW: Andy ... has a problem. [JOEL and TOM start to scat-sing cymbals played with a brush.] CROW: He wasn't careful on shore leave, and now he's paying the price. > >"Yes, ma'am. Andy's foot needs surgery," McKyle said, JOEL: [MCKYLE] I brought it with me. See? > sitting on her >bunk, since Widget was in the only chair. CROW: He could always sit in her lap. TOM: He could always have his lungs torn through his snout. CROW: Point. > "The Achilles tendon is >detached and he won't be able to use his foot until JOEL: [MCKYLE] I glue it back on. > a hospital on shore >operates. CROW: Doesn't have to be on Andy. Just as long as they operate. It's a karmic thing. > Worse, he's allergic to the antibiotic I gave him." > >"Aren't we heading for shore?" TOM: [JÜRGEN] But we just got here! > >"Andy doesn't have enough time," Jürgen explained. "We need to call for >an airplane to pick him up and fly him to a hospital." CROW: [JÜRGEN] Can we use your phone? The payphone's broke. > >"Well, it's always a little embarrassing when a criminal mastermind has >to call for an ambulance," Widget said shrugging, "but it's justifiable >in this case. Thanks for asking me first." JOEL: She's not a criminal mastermind, though. Her deathtrap failed miserably, her plan of revenge went sour, and her trick with the "iceberg" was exposed. TOM: She's got an ego problem ever since Jürgen asked her out. CROW: Widget ... has a problem. JOEL: Not again. CROW: Sorry. > >Jürgen hesitated. "Ma'am, this might be ... very embarrassing." > CROW: Hey - maybe she *does* have a problem! >"Why?" she asked, blinking her pink eyes. CROW: Not her other set of eyes? > She Got It. TOM: [WIDGET] Capitalization Is The Wave Of the Future. > As an albino, it >was physically impossible for her to get more pale than she was. TOM: And at long last, The Gray Mouse is actually white. > "Oh, >no. Please don't tell me that -" CROW: Howard Stern is playing Scarecrow in the next Batman movie! > >"The Rescue Rangers are JOEL: Tickled pink they haven't been in this section. > the only organization in range with a vertical >takeoff aircraft able to reach us and return." Jürgen and Widget said >simultaneously. CROW: [JÜRGEN] Well, not really, but they're the only ones that would make it dramatically ironic. > >"Oh, no," Widget said. "No, no, no. Oh, spit!" she yelled, tossing her >Ticonderoga #2 clear across the cabin to a cork bulletin board where it >embedded itself point first. TOM: [JÜRGEN] You're cute when you're angry. > >McKyle whimpered softly. It had missed him by a fly's whisker. CROW: Flies have whiskers? JOEL: Ask... uhm, you know. The one guy... ah nuts, I don't remember. > >"How can I possibly ask them for a favor when they're the objects of my >vengeance?! It simply isn't done!" JOEL: I thought Gadget was the only one she really had a beef against. CROW: Hey, maybe she really *is* Ivana! > >"Ma'am, I'll handle it," Jürgen assured her. "They're usually happy to TOM: Laugh at another's plight. >do something like this." > >"So they can gloat! CROW: Wouldn't you? > Fine. Just don't mention this to me again." She >rubbed her temples. Her migraine was coming back. JOEL: Did it have a good trip? > >"Thank you, Widget." Jürgen looked at McKyle, as though encouraging him >to speak. TOM: Speak, McKyle, speak. Good seadog. > >"Ma'am," McKyle said, his voice choked, as though his mouth and throat >were dry. "Andy is very ill. He's delirious." JOEL: [MCKYLE] He thinks this is the best of all possible fanfic worlds. > >"Mr. McKyle, I appreciate your concern, but we're doing everything >possible to get Andy to a hospital as soon as we can." CROW: They're going to fire him out of a torpedo tube? > To McKyle's >grief, she started tinkering with another pencil. TOM: [MCKYLE] Not wooden objects! No! Evil! > Like most engineers, >she kept a large number of them. JOEL: One for every person she killed. > Sharp, too. > >"He's been asking for his mother, ma'am." CROW: [MCKYLE] Or calling people mothers, we're not sure. He mumbles. > >"Mr. McKyle, are you asking me to come down to sickbay to hold his >hand?" TOM: [singing] I want to hold your hand.... > her voice was sharp and angry. > >"Yes ma'am," McKyle gulped. "I am asking you to come down to sickbay and >hold his hand." TOM: [singing] Hold... his... hand.... CROW: Hold your Hootie impression, Tom, we gotta go. [Door sequence run in reverse.] [SoL. JOEL and the BOTS are at the main counter.] TOM: So, Nowak decided to spare us all the technobabble of Widget rebuilding her mechanical arm? Is anyone else surprised by this? JOEL: Well, not really, but I think if she's rebuilding it, she could at least make it more creative. CROW: How do you mean that, Joel? JOEL: Okay, well, we all know that her mechanical arm is fluid enough to fool most people, right? Well, I think that she should exercise some creativity and make some more interesting modifications. Not only will she feel better about herself, but maybe some honest cartoon flavor will finally be part of this fanfic. TOM: Yeah, it's something like a technical manual right now, only with mice. Maybe if she added in some high-tech weapon, like a missile launcher or a flamethrower? CROW: Yeah right, next thing you know she'll have a fleet of a hundred rodent-sized fighter planes hidden under the tree. Personally, I say she should take a clue from the other famous Gadget, and add in all sorts of wacky do-dads that never work right. JOEL: Oh, come on you guys, that's not what I mean. I was thinking more along the lines of like maybe a stereo system, so she would never be without her "Evil Genius" mood music. TOM: Oh, I see what you mean, Joel! How about a special matter-generating glove compartment with a "pork" setting, so she'll never run out of that mouse-sized bacon she needs? CROW: Or she could hook up a special WD40 IV to her arm, and an odometer so she'll always know when it's time for an oil change! TOM: How about a cable modem, so she can zip through downloads of all those "Angst Advocate" e-mails? CROW: Or fireworks display, so she can impress the crew after making the latest slacker walk the plank? JOEL: Now you've got it. I've always been partial to those electronic planners, you know. That way she can keep track of all her family and friends, and schedule them in for a grisly murder as needed. TOM: Good idea, Joel. I mean she needs to keep track of Gadget, Chip, Monterey Jack, and Dale. JOEL: You're forgetting someone. TOM: Lahwhiney? She was never Gadget's sister in the series. JOEL: No, not her. CROW: Geegaw? He's already dead, though. JOEL: No guys, Zipper. [Awkward silence.] BOTS: Who? JOEL: Oh, come on guys, don't tell me you forgot already. Remember that project we did a little while ago, when we all tried to show new ways to make Zipper more recognizable? TOM: What? No, should we? CROW: I think the fanfic has gotten to you, Joel. TOM: Yeah, buddy, the weight of angst broke through your benevolent exterior, I'm afraid. JOEL: Guys, come on! Tom, you suggested an evil twin brother named Velcro, remember? TOM: Well, actually, it does remind me of something, I think. JOEL: And Crow, you had the idea of having him killed off in various ways each show, remember that? CROW: Oh, wait, yeah... oh yeah, Zipper! I remember now! TOM: That's right, that little guy! He really needs a better P.R. agent, eh Joel? JOEL: Who does? CROW: Well, Zipper. JOEL: Who? [TOM and CROW exchange worried looks as the commercial sign flashes.]