part 10:
At the Ranch II: Electric Boogaloo
by Matthew Atanian
some plot elements suggested by Jason Bertovich
©2015 by Matthew Atanian and Jason Bertovich
Boy Scouts ½ Created by Matthew Atanian
At the Ranch II: Electric Boogaloo
by Matthew Atanian
some plot elements suggested by Jason Bertovich
©2015 by Matthew Atanian and Jason Bertovich
Boy Scouts ½ Created by Matthew Atanian
Matt Swett was bored. So bored. So very, absolutely, mind bogglingly bored.
Other than that brief entertaining adventure to Egypt, there just hadn't been much to do in the last month. For some reason, things just hadn't been the same in Western Mass recently. But he couldn't put a finger on why.
In a fit of boredom, he grabbed the telephone off of the wall and dialled a random number.
"Hello, Zissou's Bait shop. How can I help you?"
"Hey," Swett asked, "is your refrigerator running?"
"Um... Yeeeeees?" the voice on the other end replied cautiously.
"Well, that's all fine and good," Swett shot back, "but I'm bored!" He then hung up.
He then threw on a light jacket, walked out the front door to his house, and contemplated jumping into the street. Not because he had any death wish. Rather, he hoped that any cars would swerve and miss him. But maybe in the process, he would cause a massive multi-car pileup, and maybe that could be entertaining to watch for a while.
Nah... There was always a chance they could not miss him. Oh, and he supposed that causing accidents on purpose could also be ever so slightly sociopathic, and he supposed that might be a bit not good. So maybe not.
With a shrug, he instead decided to walk down the road to Card and Comic and go browse there for a bit. He supposed that was as good a way as any to kill some time before tonight's meeting.
Luke was not looking forward to tonight's meeting. He was sure that Justy would still be riding high on last week's victory. Last week had seen the troop get its annual influx of new kids moving up from the Cub Scouts, and Justy "coincidentally" decided that it was also the perfect week to hold the annual election for Senior Patrol Leader.
The Fluke Patrol had offered up Matt Swett. While Swett had declined to run for Patrol Leader a few weeks back, apparently the former Garden Snake saw this as a chance to, as he put it, "show up that smug son of a bitch" that he couldn't resist.
The rest of the Fluke Patrol got really excited at the prospect, and all cheered enthusiastically after the little speech that Matt gave prior to the election. But Justy... Justy did something truly insidious!
He was... Luke shuddered at the memory. He was nice. Before the meeting (and the announcement of the elections), Luke had observed Justy going up to each of the new scouts and interacting with them. But not his usual sort of interaction. No demands of, "You must bow to me!" or "My will is your command!" No! He asked them all about what they were looking forward to as they moved onto Boy Scouts, welcomed them to the troop, promised them an experience they would never forget, and just generally acted like something Luke knew he was not: a human being.
And as soon as Justy then announced SPL elections, Luke suddenly understood why. He remembered the reputation that Justy used to have, before he became SPL in the first place. That of the biggest brown noser that the Pioneer Valley Council had ever seen.
Apparently, although not a skill he had practiced in some time, it was not one he had forgotten.
And so, even though the members of the Fluke Patrol had universally voted for Matt Swett, between the new kids' patrol and Justy's and Proctor's own votes...
Well, Matt Swett had once said he didn't want to have to change the position patch on his uniform if he could help it. It seemed that he still wouldn't have to do so.
When the election results were announced, Justy's first response was to treat the troop to one of his trademark maniacal laughs. The new kids didn't yet know what it was that they had done. But, Luke suspected, they would know soon enough.
As for Luke...
He found it hard to care.
Damn it, why was everybody so damn weird?
"Luke?" His brother Ben was calling him. Must be getting close to time to leave.
He sighed.
Whatever.
Justy Yung was bored. Life just didn't have the same.... what was the term? Something or other, he didn't know, he'd ask Proctor later. But whatever it was, lately he found it to be lacking. Even his recent re-election, confirming his already undeniable superiority, seemed to feel strangely hollow.
He didn't know why. He should be happy. Troop 192 was under his complete control, and there was no one who could oppose him. But lately... He sighed. Lately he just didn't seem to be having as much fun.
"Proctor!"
Proctor swiftly came running into the room. "Yes sir, Captain?"
"Why am I not having fun?"
Proctor pondered this for a moment. "Perhaps, with no one to really challenge your rule, maintaining it just isn't the same as when you have to actively work on thwarting those who would dare oppose you?"
"You may be right." Justy frowned. "What about the Flukes? Why do they not dare to oppose me?"
"Well, sir, you haven't really given them much reason to, have you? You've not made any truly outrageous demands of them, and so I suspect that they'd just as soon not rock the boat and would rather leave well enough alone."
"Yes," Justy mused. "Yes... Perhaps it is time to do something about that..."
"Capitol idea, my Captain!" Proctor shouted with glee.
"Of course it is," Justy replied. "It was one of mine, after all. Mwa ha ha ha ha ha ha HA HA HA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!"
Proctor began to laugh as well, until Justy wacked him in the back of the head with his baton. "Stop that," he commanded. "Only I may do that!"
"Yes, sir."
"Oh Proctor... what was that term I was looking for?"
"Um... 'Je ne sais quoi'?" Proctor suggested.
"Yes!" Justy exclaimed. "That was it! Je ne sais quoi!" Justy laughed some more, until a thought gave him pause. "Um, Proctor?"
"Yes, my Captain?"
"How did you know what I meant when I asked you what term I was looking for?"
"Well, Captain, it's my job to know these things, isn't it?"
This seemed a good enough explanation to Justy. "Yes it is, Proctor," he affirmed. "Yes it is."
Deep in his Laboratory, Kenny sat cross-legged upon a plush cushion concealed inside a giant egg-like chair. There was a keyboard upon his lap upon which he typed away furiously.
A mechanical arm obeyed his instructions and lifted what looked like some sort of plastic rectangle from a large pile of identical plastic rectangles. The surface of the rectangles were all blank. (For now.) The arm carried the plastic rectangle it had lifted for a short distance and then inserted it into what looked suspiciously like a 1950's stainless steel toaster. The plastic rectangle slid into one of the two slots on the "toaster," and a little green box with the word "READY" inside of it lit up on the monitor screen in front of Kenny.
Kenny's fingers swiftly typed in a single command. "RECORD." Then, as an ever so slight smile appeared on his face, he pressed the Enter key. The little box on the monitor changed from green to red, and the word inside was now "RECORDING."
Kenny typed in a few more commands and the mechanical arm began to lift and load another blank rectangle into the "toaster's" second slot. Without Kenny giving additional commands, the arm proceeded to lift and load several more blank rectangles, each one into the non-recording slot despite the fact that the slot should have been already occupied. Kenny smiled. Incorporating mallet-space technology into the design had been an excellent idea.
"Fantastic," Kenny said to himself. "It is working. If all goes to plan, in a few weeks Becker and I can view the results!"
His glee was interrupted when a slight beeping sound came from his wrist. He glanced at his plastic digital watch, and then pressed one of the buttons on the side of the watch's face to stop the beeping.
Rising from his chair, Kenny put the keyboard down where he had been sitting. Then he went off to find his Boy Scout uniform. He had to get ready; it was almost time to leave for the weekly Boy Scout meeting.
Proctor opened the door and Justy stepped out from his mother's car and into the parking lot behind the Church in the Acres. There was the usual bustle of activity, as kids waiting for their scout meeting to begin were running around in the field, or standing together in small groups chatting.
Off in one corner of the parking lot, Mr. Shmuler, Troop 192's alleged Scoutmaster, was chatting with Mrs. Waversack, the leader of the Girl Scout troop.
"Oh, she's done wonders," Mrs. Waversack was saying. "All of the girls are so organized now, and working on their little projects. It's amazing! Word has gotten out, and I think we'll even see a growth in our membership thanks to her!"
Whatever she was saying, such piddle was of no interest to Justy, so he paid it no mind.
Instead he proceeded into the building, Proctor being sure to open all of the doors for him, and then ascended the stairs to Walker Hall to prepare for tonight's domination. He expected at this point that the hall would be empty -- perfect for his pre-meeting rant to Proctor about his plans for the evening.
What he did not expect was to find two girls there.
One of them was tall, slender, and elegant. Her face looked like it had been sculpted from marble by a Renaissance master. She had cold blue-gray eyes and straight blond voluminous locks of hair that flowed like a waterfall all the way down her backside, coming to an end around her ankles. She wore a somewhat stylized Girl Scout uniform, in that instead of the typical rather plain knee length shorts or skirt, she had a full length skirt that looked practically Victorian in design. This girl's posture was perfect, and she carried herself with an air of superiority that Justy found very familiar.
The other girl's uniform was more standard, and immaculately pressed. The only alteration to it seemed to be the strange, somewhat militaristic epaulettes over the shoulders. These were not at all like the simple colored fabric loops that you found as epaulettes on a Boy Scout uniform. These were the fancy kind with all sorts of embroidery and golden dangly bits that draped all across the shoulder. She also wore a gold necklace with a locket hanging from it. Beyond that, not much stood out about this second girl. She was shorter and younger then the first girl. Also blonde, but a darker shade, her hair was pulled back and worked into a very tight bun on the back of her head. Her eyes, framed by a thin pair of wire framed glasses, were very dark, almost pitch black! A very stern, no nonsense look on her round face caused Proctor to shudder a bit in fear.
The pair of girls had not yet seemed to notice they were no longer alone. Or perhaps they just decided not to care.
"Yes, this will do nicely," the first girl was saying. "Who is using it now?"
The second girl consulted a clipboard she was holding. "The Boy Scouts. A Troop 192."
"Ah. Well, one is afraid they will have to go," the first girl commented in an almost offhanded tone.
Justy cleared his throat. The two girls then looked in his direction, inscrutable looks on both of their faces. Justy then elbowed Proctor, cuing him into action.
"Announcing Lord God Yung, Dictator of the World and Supreme Commander of All He Surveys," Proctor decreed.
The first girl giggled a bit at that, covering her face with a back-turned hand as she did so.
However, the second girl was far less amused. "You watch your tongue, you rogue," she spat. "You are in the presence of Her Majesty, The Divine Czarina Vladimira Vasilieva the First, Sovereign by Birthright Over the Entirety of Creation. You will show the proper respect!"
What was this nonsense? Justy wondered. And that was certainly a hell of a mouthful. Ignoring the girl who spoke, he turned to this "Czarina" chick. "Well, Mira. May I call you Mira?"
"You certainly well may not," the second girl growled.
"Well, Mira," Justy continued.
At this, the second girl growled even more dangerously, and started forward. Only a very subtle gesture from Vladimira caused her to back down.
"'Lord God Yung,'" she said with an inquisitive yet authoritative voice. "Sherry, who is this?"
The second girl, presumably named Sherry, consulted her clipboard once again. After flipping through a few pages, she reported, "Senior Patrol Leader of Troop 192. 'Aided,' if such a word can be used in this case, by his live-in Assistant Senior Patrol Leader, Hecubus Proctor."
"Ah, so you know of me," Justy said smugly.
But Sherry hadn't finished. "No discernible threat," she concluded.
No discernible...?! "What are you doing here?" Justy demanded.
Vladimira smiled ever so slightly. No trace of it seemed to reach her eyes. "This hall. One simply must have it."
"'Have it?'" Justy repeated.
"Yes. Troop 42 is destined for expansion," she explained, "while one hears your little group's numbers are shrinking."
This was, alas, true. Even with the recent influx of new kids, Troop 192's numbers were down a bit from the previous year.
"Besides," she continued, "one is no basement dweller. By all that is Holy and Right, one belongs up here."
"Your Highness," Sherry interjected, "you belong amongst the stars."
Vladimira giggled slightly again, once again raising her hand to politely cover her mouth as she did so. "Let us not get ahead of ourselves, Sherry. This is the building's highest floor, after all."
Justy was flustered. What was all this, then? "Well... Well, you can't have it. I am no snake or worm that grovels in the dirt of a basement. Only this space here even begins to approach the level of worthiness for a meeting space I would assemble my forces in."
"You tell her, Captain!" Proctor beamed.
"Well," Vladimira said with a sigh, "let it never be said one cannot be magnanimous, even in the face of such discourtesy. One supposes that one might share this hall, so the solution is obvious. Troop 192 must change its meeting night."
"Why don't you change?"
"Simply impossible," Sherry explained. "As the fulcrum of the week, Wednesday is a day of special significance to Her Highness, and it is essential to the well-being of her subjects that she graces them with Her presence on that day."
"Well we can't move either!" Proctor replied. "The Captain... he has shows he watches on the other nights!"
"Shows?" Sherry snarled. "You dare to compare that with..."
"Sherry," Vladimira said, "there is no need for that." She then turned to Justy. "You. You are confident in your own Divine right?"
"My Divine right?" Justy laughed. "There can be no doubt of it."
"Well then," Vladimira said. "The solution is obvious. We let the Divine fates decide this. Whichever one of us is truly right cannot fail. So, to decide which of us is to move into the basement and which of us will assume our rightful place in control of Walker Hall, one has a simple proposal."
"I am listening," Justy said tentatively.
"One proposes," Vladimira said, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly, "a contest."
The scouts of Troop 192 assembled in Walker Hall for the start of their meeting. Most of the boys assembled into two groups towards the front of the hall, with the Fluke Patrol on one side and the new kids (who had been dubbed the Frog Patrol) on the other. Off to one side the adult leaders milled about, drinking coffee and otherwise being ineffectual. And at the front of the hall stood Justy and Proctor.
At Justy's instruction, Proctor called the troop to order and led the assembled scouts in the Pledge of Allegiance and the Scout Oath. (The scouts were still pledging allegiance to the flag, and not directly to Justy. This is not to say that it had never occurred to him to try and change this, but at the time Mike Quadrozzi had actually managed to talk him out of it by saying, "Aren't you covered already? It does say, 'One nation, under God.'")
This business concluded, Proctor turned the meeting over to Justy.
"All right!" he hollered. "A threat to my superiority has made itself known, and a challenge has been issued! And at risk is our right to use this hallowed meeting hall!
"And thus, over the next week, you will be taking part in a scavenger hunt! There is a total of twenty items that must be gathered before next week's meeting. Each patrol will be issued a list of ten of these items, and you will gather them for me before next week. If you do not do this, you will pay. Yes, you will pay most dearly.
"Those insolent girls of Troop 42 will be trying to gather these same items. Do not let them get more of them then we do.
"I have faith that you will do this to honor my greatness! Mwa ha ha ha ha HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!"
As Justy's laughter continued into its third minute, Proctor took it upon himself to hand out the hand written lists to the patrols, and then dismissed them to confer amongst themselves.
The Fluke Patrol was seated around a table, and Luke held a piece of paper with a list of ten items on it. He read the list aloud to his assembled fellows.
"1. A photo of Julius Caesar drinking an Orange Julius.
"2. William Shatner's The Transformed Man on 8-Track.
"3. An equation for a Grand Unified Theory.
"4. An unopened can of either Crystal Pepsi or New Coke.
"5. A pre-owned copy of ECWCWWF Extreme Thunderous Attitude II
"6. A jeweled Easter egg.
"7. A real life Horton Hears a Who.
"8. A perpetual motion machine.
"9. A cure for the common cold.
"10. Receipt for the purchase of a major Springfield area landmark."
Luke put the list down and looked up at the rest of the patrol.
"Some of that sounds... unlikely," his brother Ben commented.
"Unlikely? How about impossible!" Swett followed up with. "Who does that jerk Justy think we are, anyway? No way we're doing this crap for him."
The other former Garden Snakes (except for Becker, who as usual was in his own headphone induced world) nodded their agreement with this. Ben even joined along.
"So how are we going to thwart Justy this time?" Shmuler asked.
"I've got a great idea how to go about that," Swett said. "But it involves a rabid wombat, a rusty tricycle, thermion, and a pair of boxer shorts."
"A rather specific and difficult to assemble list," Kenny commented.
"Indeed," Swett replied. "Although I do have a good lead on where I can find most of that. Except," he added, "the boxer shorts."
Wait, what? Luke thought to himself. He sighed. "Guys, is it really worth the effort?" he asked.
The rest of the patrol turned to look at him.
"What do you mean?" Swett replied. "Thwarting Justy is, like, what we do."
Why was everybody so weird? "Yes, but what's the point in the end? You'll just piss him off, and he'll come up with some even more crazy scheme. If you're going to go through all of this effort anyway," he asked, and then he held up the paper with the list upon it, "why not channel the effort into just actually trying to find some of this stuff? Could be fun, who knows? And maybe, if he gets his way for once, Justy will let up and not be as much of a pain in the ass in the future."
For a moment, the only reply Luke was met with was silent stares. Then finally, Swett shrugged. "Eh, why the hell not," he said.
"You're the Patrol Leader," Ben then said, signalling his agreement.
Soon everyone was nodding their consent.
"So," Luke said, looking down at the list once more, "how should we split this up?"
Kenny raised his hand.
"Yes, Kenny?" Luke asked.
"Well, number three should be easy enough. I already have one written on my computer at home. I just have to print it out. And I think I can also handle number one, and on the way home from that number four should be no problem."
"Right," Luke said. Taking out a pencil, he wrote a little "K" next to the items Kenny had mentioned. "I've got an idea about number ten," he said, writing an "L." "Anyone else?"
"I'm number eight!" Shmuler shouted in a grating, high pitched squeal.
"I can swing by the mall tomorrow and see about number five," Ben added.
"Number five is alive!" Shmuler added in the same high pitched squeal. Luke actually flinched a bit.
A "B" was written next to the fifth item. "Hey, Becker," Luke then said.
There was no response.
"HEY, BECKER," Luke then shouted.
"WHAT?"
"YOU LIKE MUSIC, RIGHT?"
"WHAT?"
"I SAID, 'YOU LIKE...'"
"WHAT!?"
Kenny reached over and pulled out the jack of Becker's headphones. "Hey," Becker said, his voice fraught with disappointment. "It was just getting to a good bit."
"Becker, you like music, right?"
Becker just gave Luke a look as if to say, "Duh."
"Think you can handle number two on the list?" Luke asked him.
"Sure," Becker replied. Then he asked, "What list?"
Luke sighed yet again, and passed the list over to Becker.
"Oh, are we doing a scavenger hunt?" Becker asked.
Luke face-palmed. Weirdo.
"Sure, I can look for that," Becker finally said. He handed the list back, then plugged his headphones back in.
Luke took back the list and wrote a "J" next to number 2. "Okay," he then said, "that leaves numbers six, seven, and nine. Any ideas?"
"Ah, what the hell," Swett said with some reluctance. "I guess I can try and find those ones."
Luke looked down at the list, then back up to Swett. "These three? Seriously?"
"Sure, why not? I've got some ideas," he cryptically replied.
"Fine," Luke said, "whatever. Anyway, I might be able to use everybody's help with mine a bit. I'll do all the prep work, but having a group with me when I try to finish it could be helpful. So how about we meet somewhere on Sunday to go over how we're doing so far, and then you can come with me?"
Everyone indicated agreement with this plan. "Where will we meet, though?" Swett asked. "Perfume's closed down."
"How about the Burger King near downtown?" Luke suggested. It wasn't far from some of the places he wanted to try, anyways.
Everyone agreed to that, and with that out of the way, they got on with their regular business of chatting and goofing off.
Sunday arrived, and around lunchtime the members of the Fluke Patrol all gathered at the agreed upon location. After all ordering themselves some food, they sat at two adjoining tables and went over their results thus far.
"I have all my items," Kenny informed Luke.
"Really?" Luke was surprised.
"It was rather simple, actually."
"Fine. Who's next?"
"Well, on Thursday, Becker and I went to the mall," Ben began.
Thursday evening was not the most busy of times at the Holyoke Mall, so Ben and Becker had no trouble navigating the mall's walkways. Their first stop was the Electronics Boutique. The store was otherwise empty, so the woman behind the counter, who's nametag read, "Evadne," greeted them as they entered.
"Hey, how's it going?" Ben replied, walking right up to the counter. I was wondering if you might have any used copies of ECWCWWF Extreme Thunderous Attitude II?"
"Oh," Evadne replied, "that was a real popular game, so we never got a lot of trade-ins on that one. But hold on, let me check."
She pulled out a large book from under the counter and flipped through it, consulting an inventory list contained within. "No, doesn't look like it. We do have a new copy, though."
"Nope, must be used!"
"It isn't that expensive used," Evadne assured him. "It's the 'Greatest Hits' release, so it'll only be about twenty bucks."
"No, I just have to have it used," Ben insisted. "How about this. Can I buy it, trade it in, and then buy the used copy?"
"I..." Evadne was somewhat dumbstruck by this question. "I suppose..."
"Great! I'll buy that new copy!"
"Ooooh-kay," Evadne said. She rang up the purchase. "That'll come to $20.99 with tax."
Ben paid her. She put his purchase in the bag and handed it to him. He took it out of the bag, pulled off the shrink wrap, and slapped it down on the counter. "I'd like to trade this in, please!"
"Um... well, that would trade in for five dollars in cash, or six dollars in store credit."
"I'll take the store credit please," Ben said. He winked. "I do have another purchase in mind."
Evadne sighed, and processed his trade-in. She handed him a card with his store credit on it. She then looked down at the game still sitting on the counter. Normally, there was supposed to be a waiting period before traded in games could be sold, but she was pretty sure she could count on this one not being reported as stolen. "Shall I ring this back up for you?" she asked dryly.
"Not yet," Ben said.
Evadne felt her right eyelid twitch.
"You need to wrap it back up and stick on the 'USED' price sticker."
Of course I do, Evadne thought. Mind you, she was there by herself, and she knew full well she was not supposed to go into the back room and leave the sales floor unattended in such circumstances. But she was pretty sure that no one would report her to the manager, what with her being the manager and all. And, as annoying as they were being, she somehow got a trustworthy vibe from these kids. "Fine," she said. "Fine. Just don't go anywhere. And holler if anyone else comes into the store, would you?"
Ten minutes later she emerged from the back room with an authentically packaged used copy of ECWCWWF Extreme Thunderous Attitude II. She rang it in, then processed Ben's store credit. "The remaining balance is $9.74," she informed him.
"Thanks a bunch!" Ben said. "And can I have a receipt? I don't need a bag, though." He waved the bag he'd been give when he first purchased the game. "I have one here."
Her eyelid twitched again as she handed over the game and the receipt. As the two boys left her store, she couldn't help but to mutter under her breath, "Man, I miss Jason. I liked it much better when I just had to listen to him bitch about bullshit like this, rather than having to deal with it myself."
Ben and Becker, meanwhile headed on over to Record Town. It was a fairly new store in the Holyoke Mall, but the man behind the counter greeted Becker as if he was an old friend. "Jonathan!" he said. "That new album of heavy metal remixes of ancient Austrian folk songs you ordered has come in."
Becker had, startling Ben, removed his headphones of his own accord as they entered the store. So he had no problem hearing this and responding to it. "Oh thank you, Simon. I suppose I will pick that up while I am here. But I was actually looking for something else today."
"Why certainly! What can I do for my favorite and most prolific of customers on this fine day?"
"Willliam Shatner's The Transformed Man."
"Ah, a most excellent choice for your auditory pleasure," Simon informed him. "How would you like that? It was re-released on CD just a few years ago, and I do have one copy in stock. Or, if you give me a few days, I can get a vintage vinyl copy for you if you want that extra special fidelity to capture the magnificent tones of Mr. Shatner's inflections."
"Simon, my good man, if it was up to me I'd take the vinyl in a heartbeat. But I fear I am on a specific mission today, and am seeking it on 8-track."
Simon gasped at this. "Oh. my most wonderful of patrons, it is with the deepest regret that I must inform you that The Transformed Man was never released in that format. It was never even released on cassette. You will only find it on vinyl or CD."
"So, a failure then?" Luke asked Becker, who had also removed his headphones while explaining his tale of woe.
"Yes," he said, "but not a complete one." Becker reached down to his backpack and pulled from it a large, flat object upon which Shatner's dramatically shadowed visage gazed slightly upwards. "I thought, if we got the vinyl, we could maybe at least get partial credit for the vintage format. I mean, we can't actually find something that doesn't exist, right?"
"No, I don't suppose we can," Luke admitted.
"And then I have a sweet album to add to my collection afterwards."
"Mr. Becker, might I borrow that?" Kenny asked.
Becker was so happy. Kenny had never expressed interest in his music before! "Sure!" he said, handing it over.
"I can copy it and transfer it to any format we may need," Kenny explained, "including 8‑track."
"Oh," Becker said, disappointed that he had apparently misconstrued Kenny's intentions.
"Do not worry, Mr. Becker," Kenny assured him. "I will return the original to you unharmed."
"I know, I know," Becker said, slipping his headphones back on. "I trust ya."
Luke turned to Shmuler, who was busy pulling apart his Whopper and reassembling it inside out. "How about you?" Luke asked him.
"No problem!" Shmuler assured him. "It'll be all set by Wednesday!"
"Sure," Luke said, although he could not help feeling a distinct lack of confidence. He turned to Swett. Now this was the real worry. Like Kenny, Swett had assumed responsibility for three items on their list. And unlike Kenny, Luke didn't think Swett was quite as reliable. Dreading the answer, Luke asked, "And you?"
Swett simply shrugged. "Nothing yet," he admitted.
Of course not, Luke grumbled internally.
"But I have some promising leads!" Swett assured him.
"Yeah, okay," Luke replied.
"So how about you then?" Swett asked, defensively.
"Well, I don't have anything locked in yet," Luke admitted.
"Aha!" Swett exclaimed.
"But..." Luke interrupted, "I have spent some time since last Wednesday's meeting researching several possibilities, and if you all can come with me after lunch, we have appointments at the Armoury, some of the museums, and finally at the..."
Wednesday evening had rolled around again, and Justy arrived at the Church in the Acres ready to celebrate his victory. First, of course, both troops had to present their results, but Justy was sure this was just a formality.
He heard footsteps behind himself, and he spun to see who it was. It was that wretched girl. "Ah, Mira," he said in greeting, being sure to add extra relish to saying the diminutive form of her name. "Flying solo tonight?"
As before, she ignored the deliberate slight where her name is concerned, which infuriated Justy. He did his best not to show this, however.
"Sherry is escorting the judge one has selected," she instead explained. "One assumes your Proctor is doing the same?"
"Indeed," Justy replied. They had each agreed to select someone who would act as an impartial judge of the results. In what others would see as a rare moment of competence, Justy had decided that the venerable Mr. Tanner would do nicely. And surprisingly (although not to Justy, because as far as he was concerned who would dare to say no to him?) the wizened old scout leader had accepted.
"Where did you come from, anyway?" Justy suddenly thought to wonder, and so boldly asked.
"What do you mean?" Vladimira asked.
"Well, not that I follow the measly comings and goings of you Girl Scouts very closely, but I know you haven't been around that long," Justy replied
"Ah. Indeed, one has not been here long," Vladimira answered. "One's family only came to this area recently. And, looking to begin to expand one's power base, one decided to grace this Girl Scout troop with the honor of being one's subjects. It was not even that difficult," she pondered. "There was already an existing structure in place with a vacancy at the top. Apparently, another girl used to have quite an operation going, but she seems to have moved away not long before one came along. A pity. If she ever comes back, one shall have to offer her a place in one's government."
"Yes, yes," Justy said, having lost interest in the answer even though he had posed the question. Then he noticed two people approaching. It was Proctor and Sherry.
"Captain!" Proctor shouted, waving. "They're ready for us, sir!"
Mr. Tanner and his co-judge, a similarly well-aged woman named Mrs. Libowitz, had gone through half of the contest thus far, judging the submissions of the Frog Patrol and the first half of the Girl Scout troop. They gave up to a total of ten points for each item, based on some mysterious criteria that seemed to be a combination of accuracy to the item they were supposed to find and creativity if finding it proved (as it frequently seemed) to be impossible. At the half-way point the scores were tied at 64 points for each troop.
"Okay," Mr Tanner said, "let's move onto the second half." He looked down at the list. "Item one: a photo of Julius Caesar drinking an Orange Julius."
Kenny walked up to the judges, as did one of the girls from Troop 42.
Mr. Tanner and Mrs. Libowitz examined their submissions and conferred with each other briefly.
Mr. Tanner held up one photo. It was a random guy standing in a mall food court, a sheet draped over one shoulder and wrapped vaguely over his clothes, an Orange Julius in one hand, and a huge smile on his face.
"Troop 42," Mrs. Libowitz announced, "7 points."
Then Mr. Tanner held up the other photo. It showed a distinguished looking gentleman in a very authentic looking toga. He was standing outside, and behind him were similarly dressed individuals. Behind that was what looked like ancient Roman architecture, except that it did not look ancient and ruined, but new and pristine. The man in the foreground was holding an Orange Julius cup in one hand, and with a confused look on his face he was sucking the thick orange liquid through a straw."
"Troop 192," Mrs. Libowitz announced, "10 points."
The other members of the Fluke Patrol all applauded Kenny. "Great job faking that photo, Kenny!" Luke praised him.
"Yes," Kenny deadpanned. "Faked."
"Next," Mrs. Libowitz called out, "an 8-track cassette of William Shatner's The Transformed Man."
The Girl Scout who approached handed over a CD. "The person at the store said there never was a whatchamacallit version," she said timidly.
Becker bounded forward. "Then explain this," he said, pulling a boxy cassette from his pocket. The cassette even had on it a professionally printed label with the same shadowed visage of William Shatner that had been on the vinyl album's cover.
Mr. Tanner held it up and looked at it suspiciously. "Is this real?" he asked.
Knowing Kenny, Becker felt confident when he held up his hand in the Scout Sign and said, "Scout's honor! Don't believe me?" he added. "You're more than welcome to whip out an 8-track player and give it a listen!"
Again after some brief consultation, scores were announced. Troop 42 this time scored 9 points, and Troop 192 took in another 10.
"Next," Mr. Tanner said, "A... Um... An equation for a Grand Unified Theory?"
A very young representative of the Girl Scouts went up to the judges. "I'm sorry," she said, huge eyes looking plaintively up to the judges, "we didn't understand what that was."
Kenny, meanwhile, hefted up a large, impressively bound volume and, struggling slightly, managed to place it upon the counter. On the cover were the words, "A Grand Unified Theory for The Explanation of Absolutely Everything by K. Pendrell."
The judges opened the thick tome and flipped through it. It all seemed like indecipherable gibberish to them, and yet even after just their brief skimming of the work, they felt a strange sense of understanding. Understanding of what they didn't know. They just knew that they understood something, even if they didn't understand what it was they understood. It was, in the end, rather confusing, actually.
"Troop 42, 2..." Mr. Tanner looked down briefly once more at the girl, and her hugely plaintive eyes. "Er... 7 points." He cleared his throat. "Troop 192, 10 points."
Next up was the can of Crystal Pepsi or New Coke. The girl from Troop 42 who came up was once again apologetic, and said that they couldn't find any. The best thing they had to present was a heavily beat up can of something that the judges struggled to read the label on.
"Kiwi... something?" Mrs. Libowitz tried to make out. But whatever it was, it was clearly not any kind of Coke or Pepsi.
Kenny, meanwhile, with some help from Becker and Swett, carried up to the judges not a can but a whole case... each! of both Crystal Pepsi and New Coke. Both cases looked brand new, as if they might have come off of a store's shelf just yesterday. And as soon as they were brought into the proximity of the judges, it was clear to them that the cases were ice cold.
"I have a few more cases as well, if anyone is thirsty," Kenny said. "And some Slice and Surge, too."
Mr. Tanner took one of the cans of Crystal Pepsi, cracked it open, and tentatively took a sniff. Fresh carbonation within tickled his nose as he did so. He took a sip, and was rewarded with a flavor he had not tasted in quite some time.
"Troop 42, 5 points. Troop 192, 10." The Fluke's streak continued!
When it came time for ECWCWWF Extreme Thunderous Attitude II, the Girl Scouts could only produce a brand new copy of the game. Of course, Ben had no problem producing a used copy. "And a receipt to prove it!" he proudly pointed out. 8 points for the Girl Scouts, and another 10 for the Boy Scouts.
"A jeweled Easter egg!" the judges requested. Luke got nervous, as Swett had never said what he managed to find.
The girl scouts brought up a plastic Easter egg to which they had craftily glued on many little pieces of costume gems. It actually looked quite cute.
Swett brought up a small bundle carefully wrapped in tissue paper. When the judges unwrapped it, they revealed what looked like a golden, jewel encrusted egg sitting in a little silver chariot being pulled by a small cherub figure.
Swett left the egg on the table and turned back to his patrol and rejoined them, a huge, shit‑eating grin on his face.
"Where in the hell did you get that?" Luke asked him. "What in the hell is that?"
"Luke, my man," Swett replied, "I'd love to tell ya', but then I'd have to kill ya."
"Troop 42," the judges announced, "7 points. Troop 192, 10 points."
"Fine," Luke replied, satisfied with the scoring, "I won't ask."
Next up was a real life Horton Hears a Who, so Swett was up again.
The Girl Scouts brought up a little homemade statue of an elephant holding a puffy flower in his trunk.
Swett, meanwhile, ushered up a middle aged man in a baseball cap with an image of a bass on it.
"Who is this?" Mr. Tanner asked.
"Hi!" the man said. He thrust a hand forward in greeting, but Mr. Tanner declined to accept it. "I'm Horton Zissou of Zissou's Bait Shop, serving all of the Pioneer Valley's bait and tackle needs!"
"Here," Swett said, handing Zissou a pair of headphones attached to a Walkman he was holding. Zissou slipped the headphones on, and Swett hit play.
A moment later, a look of recognition crossed Zissou's face. "Sweet, Quadrophenia! This one has a great sound, man!"
The judges squinted slightly at this. After a moments discussion with one another, they announced their decision. "Troop 42, 7 points. Troop 192, 6 points."
It broke their streak of perfect 10s, but they were still well ahead of the Girl Scouts. Swett beamed.
Next up was a perpetual motion machine. A Girl Scout who looked very much worse for wear approached the judges. She was covered in fairly fresh scratches and adhesive bandages. "We attempted to construct a device," she exclaimed, "from a cat with a piece of buttered toast adhered to its back. The theory was that, if dropped from a sufficient height, it would levitate slightly above the ground and spin perpetually. The results were..." she frowned, "inconclusive."
At this point Will Shmuler, who until now had been running non-stop in circles around the back half of Walker Hall, came bolting forward and, without stopping, tossed a cassette tape on the table. He then continued running in circles, now around the judges' table.
Mr. Tanner popped the cassette into a combo TV/VCR that was on one side of their table and hit play. An image of Will Shmuler sitting on a stationary bicycle appeared on the screen. He was pedalling furiously. Mr. Tanner hit fast forward for a bit, and when he hit play not much had changed on the screen. A bit more fast forwarding, and still the same result.
"Fast forward all you want," Shmuler said as he circled the judges, causing Mr. Tanner to start feeling a bit dizzy. "That's a T-240 recorded in EP mode, so it'll run you about twelve and a half hours! And you'll see it just keeps going and going!"
"That's as may be," Mr. Tanner said, "but surely, if you're here, the bicycle is not still moving now, and thus not in perpetual motion."
"No, never mind the bike!" Shmuler said with glee. "It's me! I'm the perpetual motion machine!"
Mr. Tanner sighed. "Troop 42, 9 points," he said. "Troop 192... 1 point."
One point. One. Shmuler stopped dead in his tracks, crest fallen. It was almost worse than if he's been awarded zero points. It was like the one point was there just to rub it in. Crestfallen, he slumped his head and dragged himself back to the rest of his patrol.
They greeted him warmly upon his return, however. "You were robbed, man." "Great effort!" "Technically, the human body is an organic machine, and prior to death some part of it is always in motion, so technically your entry should have been valid." The words of his various patrol-mates warmed his heart.
Next up was the cure for the common cold. The Girl Scout who brought up this item placed a can of Campbell's Condensed Chicken Noodle Soup upon the judges' table. Swett placed a photograph upon the table.
"What is this?" Mrs. Libowitz asked, holding up the photo.
"Well, given the nature of my entry, I didn't think you'd appreciate me bringing in the real thing, so I hoped a photo would suffice."
"A bottle of cyanide?" Mrs. Libowitz then asked, her voice an incredulous tone.
"Yes," Swett said proudly. "It's a preventative cure! Take it, and you're guaranteed never to get a cold again! Do not take if you plan to operate heavy machinery. Possible side effects may include dry mouth, male lactation, and a one hundred percent chance of death."
Luke, from where he was standing, face palmed. Swett seemed to have that effect on him.
Results were announced for the most recent round. "Troop 42, 9 points. Troop 192, 1 point."
"What?" Swett was incredulous. "Chicken soup at best is a placebo to help you feel better while your body's natural defences do their thing. You can't deny that with my cure, you'd never have to worry about getting a cold again!"
"Swett," Luke called out, "get back over here and be quiet!"
Kenny mentally tallied up the scores so far. "We're tied up," he said. "132 points for each troop."
There was one final item to go. The judges called out for it. " Receipt for the purchase of a major Springfield area landmark." Well, Luke supposed as he walked up to the judges, I guess this will decide it. Here goes nothing!
The Girl Scout who came up first presented the judges with a post card of the Springfield Armory, and stapled to it was a receipt for the purchase of the post card. The judges thanked her, and she stepped back.
Luke stepped forward. "Well," he said, "we tried the Armory, too. But didn't have any luck there. Then some of the museums. Finally, we went to the Basketball Hall of Fame, and there we struck gold." And with this, Luke handed a small pile of papers to the judges.
The top sheet was a receipt from the Basket Ball Hall of Fame for one dollar. Beneath that was a paper on Hall of Fame letterhead, stating an agreement to sell the entirety of the building and all of its contents to the Fluke Patrol of Boy Scout Troop 192 for the sum of one U.S. Dollar, provided that the Fluke Patrol agreed to sell back ownership after no more than ten minutes from the time of their purchase, for the same sum of money. And then beneath that was, indeed, a photocopy of a receipt made out from Luke on behalf of the Fluke Patrol, returning the Hall of Fame to its original owners.
"Hmm..." Mr. Tanner commented.
"Hmm..." Mrs. Libowitz added as she examined the paperwork.
They quietly conversed for a moment, and then turned back to face the assembled.
Luke was feeling pretty good about their final entry, but he still couldn't help but to also feel nervous. This was, after all, it! All or nothing, with the fate of Walker Hall hanging in the balance!
"Troop 42," Mr. Tanner announced, "9 points."
The girl scouts all cheered.
"Troop 192..." Mr. Tanner paused for effect.
Kenny took the opportunity to test a theory, and dropped a pin. It was very quiet, but he did indeed hear the impact it made with the hall's hard, wooden floor.
Mr. Tanner continued. "10 points."
Troop 192 burst into applause, and the members of the Fluke patrol all assembled into a group hug. All except Swett, who had pulled out a boom box and was blaring Queen's We Are the Champions.
Justy smiled a particularly insidious smile and, followed by Proctor, walked over to where Vladimira and Sherry were standing near the judges' table.
"Well, Mira," Justy said, "it looks like your troop is in my troop's meeting place. You... you're supposed to be in the basement, yes?"
Sherry looked very much like she wished she had a sword at her hip, and Proctor was not unconvinced that if she had, Justy might just find himself in two pieces at the moment.
Vladimira, on the other hand, looked the serene picture of grace. "One congratulates you on your victory," she said. "One concedes Walker Hall to you, and wishes you nothing but the best of fortunes while you remain between these walls. Enjoy your victory, Justy Yung," she said. Then she looked directly at Justy with her cold blue-grey eyes. "For you never know what the future may hold.
"Come, girls!" she called out. The members of Troop 42 all fell in. Vladimira raised her hand to her mouth in a now familiar gesture and, giggling ever so slightly, she led her troop away and down the stairs.
"Congratulations, Captain!" Proctor beamed. "You won!"
"Yes," Justy said flatly. "I always win, lately."
Then he walked over to the Flukes. Luke turned to face him.
"Ah, peon #7," Justy said. He coughed. "Luke," he then added.
"Justy," Luke said back.
"You have... ah... you have pleased your master today."
"You're welcome," Luke replied drily.
Justy either didn't seem to notice or to care about the tone. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I am!"
And with that, he wandered off, filling Walker Hall with laughter.
After the Girl Scout meeting had ended, Vladimira and Sherry had remained behind in their meeting room.
"My Lady," Sherry was saying, dropping to one knee, "I am so very sorry we have failed you. I throw myself upon your mercy, and if you wish my life in penance, it is yours to take!" Her eyes were firmly upon the ground, her shame forbidding her from meeting Vladimira's gaze.
"Do you take one for a fool?" Vladimira asked.
Sherry gasped at the suggestion. "No, of course I don't!"
"Then why do you think one would be foolish enough to dispose of a subject as loyal and as capable as yourself?"
Sherry then chanced to look up. Vladimira was looking down at her, her normally cold eyes full of warmth and acceptance.
"My Lady!" Sherry exclaimed.
"Please rise, Sherry," Vladimira then asked. "You would not want one to strain one's neck, having to look down to talk to you, would you?"
Sherry rose as instructed. "No, of course not!" She then asked, "But... but what about Walker Hall? We failed you, and lost to that scum Justy."
Vladimira giggled. "Walker Hall. A piffle. Yes, it would have been nice. But in the long run, it will be meaningless. It is not as if, once one's power is secured, one plans to rule out of a small church in Springfield."
"No, of course not. But if I may ask, my Lady..."
"Why go through with the charade of wanting it? Why hold the scavenger hunt?"
Sherry nodded.
"One had a vision, you see."
"A vision?"
"Yes. The night before last week's meeting, in one's sleep one had a vision telling one that the Boy Scouts would bring one the final proof one needs that one's course is correct, and that one is destined to walk along the path one has long desired. And to discover this proof, one would need to set the Boy Scouts on a journey to find impossible objects."
"Ah," Sherry said. "And you knew that cur Justy would not just play along if asked..." Sherry began.
"Hence the subterfuge of a challenge to pique his interest," Vladimira said, completing the thought.
"My Lady, you shine with brilliance!"
"Yes, one knows," Vladimira replied without a trace of modesty. "Still, one thanks you for the complement. And please worry yourself no more about the apparent loss to that Justy Yung," she continued. "For it would have only been a loss if the game had been the one he thought it was, rather than the game one had actually orchestrated." Vladimira's lips curled up into a delighted smile.
"So, the proof you sought," Sherry inquired eagerly, "you found it?"
"Indeed," Vladimira said. "One does not know where or how one of those Boy Scouts acquired this, but one must admit that it was all one could do to contain one's surprise when this object was revealed to the judges."
And Vladimira then reached into the voluminous folds of her skirt and extracted from them a small bundle wrapped in tissue paper. She unwrapped the bundle, revealing Matt Swett's Easter egg.
"It is beautiful," Sherry breathed.
"Indeed it is," Vladimira replied, almost breathlessly. "Do you know what this is?"
Sherry shook her head.
Vladimira had pulled on white cotton gloves, and now lifted the object with clear reverence. "Crafted by the legendary court jeweller Fabergé for Alexander III, and given by him to his wife on the 24th of April in 1888. The last known definite sighting of it was in 1922, five years after it had been seized by that upstart revolution. It may have been in an auction in New York in 1934, but if the item being described was in fact this egg is not known with absolute certainty. Thus, the exact whereabouts of this egg have been unknown for over three quarters of a century, and it had been feared lost forever. But now... Now it has come home, to me."
She carefully placed the egg down again, and then she gently tugged on the top half of the egg. It came away on a carefully hidden seam, revealing inside an angelic figure holding a small clock.
Vladimira held out her hand towards Sherry. "Sherry, if you'd please, may one have the object one gave you to safeguard when one took you into service?"
"Of... of course!" Sherry replied. As she'd been shaking in awe at what was transpiring before her, she took a moment to breathe and steadied her hands. Then she reached for the locket around her neck and opened it. She took out a small, artfully crafted little key that looked as if it were made of pure silver and gingerly placed it in the palm of Vladimira's outstretched hand.
Vladimira took the key and inserted it into a tiny, almost hidden hole on the clock and carefully, slowly, she then turned it. That task completed, she handed the key back to Sherry, who secured it in her locket once more. Then Vladimira knelt down and carefully held her ear close to the exquisite timepiece.
She heard a faint tick... tick.... tick... The mechanism was still working, as smoothly as if it had been constructed only yesterday. Master craftsmanship, indeed.
"Yes, Sherry," Vladimira said, rising back to her feet and placing a hand warmly on her most loyal subject's shoulder. "This confirms what one has known to be the truth all along. Now one can continue on the path one has set oneself upon, free from any last lingering doubts.
"And woe to anyone, especially that impudent Justy Yung, who would dare to stand in one's way!"
Of course, Justy had no way of knowing any of this. As far as he still knew, he had won the evening. He should be happy! He should feel great!
So why did this victory instead leave him feeling hollow?
"Proctor?" Justy called out.
Proctor turned away from his task of setting out Justy's clothing for the next day. "Yes, Captain?"
"Why am I not happy?" Justy asked. "I am victorious, after all!"
"I don't know, Captain," Proctor said. "Are you not what you've always wanted to be? Master of all you survey?"
"And so I was yesterday." Justy sighed. "And so I shall be tomorrow..."
A conversation Proctor had once had with Matthew Atanian came suddenly to his mind. Something Mr. Atanian had said. “Tell me, Proctor," Mr. Atanian had said, "What would Moriarty be without Holmes? What would Kahn be without Kirk? What would The Master be without The Doctor?
“To be truly great,” Mr. Atanian had gone on to explain, “one must have an adversary to struggle against. We are just doing our part to see to Justy’s greatness.”
"Sir!" Proctor said. "The Garden Snakes!"
"The what?" Justy replied.
"The Garden Snakes!"
Wheels turned in Justy's head. Great mechanical wheels driving a mental calculator that would invariably calculate that two plus two was orange. "Of course, the Garden Snakes," Justy spat. "This was their plan, was it? Leave, lulling me into a false sense of complacency, so that they could try and crush me upon their return! Well, I'll show them! I will find them! And I will crush them, first!"
Justy paused.
"Damn it, but where are they?" he then asked.
"Japan!" Proctor said, helpfully.
Justy's head ever so slowly turned until his gaze was fixed upon Proctor. "And how," he asked, "do you come by this information?"
"Oh, well, sir, I've been keeping up a written correspondence with Ms. Kirstin," Proctor replied. He smiled. "She says she is my friend," he added. "Anyway, she and her sisters are in some sort of scholastic exchange program in Japan, and in her last letter she talked about her surprise in finding that Mike, Aaron, the Bills, and Mr. Atanian were all there, too!"
"You knew this," Justy seethed, "and never mentioned it?"
"Well, sir," Proctor said, "you never asked. So it didn't seem relevant."
"Proctor!" Justy exclaimed, gripping his baton.
"Ye... yes, sir?"
Justy relaxed his grip. "Get your savings, Proctor," he then said. "We have some airplane tickets to buy in the morning."
Other than that brief entertaining adventure to Egypt, there just hadn't been much to do in the last month. For some reason, things just hadn't been the same in Western Mass recently. But he couldn't put a finger on why.
In a fit of boredom, he grabbed the telephone off of the wall and dialled a random number.
"Hello, Zissou's Bait shop. How can I help you?"
"Hey," Swett asked, "is your refrigerator running?"
"Um... Yeeeeees?" the voice on the other end replied cautiously.
"Well, that's all fine and good," Swett shot back, "but I'm bored!" He then hung up.
He then threw on a light jacket, walked out the front door to his house, and contemplated jumping into the street. Not because he had any death wish. Rather, he hoped that any cars would swerve and miss him. But maybe in the process, he would cause a massive multi-car pileup, and maybe that could be entertaining to watch for a while.
Nah... There was always a chance they could not miss him. Oh, and he supposed that causing accidents on purpose could also be ever so slightly sociopathic, and he supposed that might be a bit not good. So maybe not.
With a shrug, he instead decided to walk down the road to Card and Comic and go browse there for a bit. He supposed that was as good a way as any to kill some time before tonight's meeting.
Luke was not looking forward to tonight's meeting. He was sure that Justy would still be riding high on last week's victory. Last week had seen the troop get its annual influx of new kids moving up from the Cub Scouts, and Justy "coincidentally" decided that it was also the perfect week to hold the annual election for Senior Patrol Leader.
The Fluke Patrol had offered up Matt Swett. While Swett had declined to run for Patrol Leader a few weeks back, apparently the former Garden Snake saw this as a chance to, as he put it, "show up that smug son of a bitch" that he couldn't resist.
The rest of the Fluke Patrol got really excited at the prospect, and all cheered enthusiastically after the little speech that Matt gave prior to the election. But Justy... Justy did something truly insidious!
He was... Luke shuddered at the memory. He was nice. Before the meeting (and the announcement of the elections), Luke had observed Justy going up to each of the new scouts and interacting with them. But not his usual sort of interaction. No demands of, "You must bow to me!" or "My will is your command!" No! He asked them all about what they were looking forward to as they moved onto Boy Scouts, welcomed them to the troop, promised them an experience they would never forget, and just generally acted like something Luke knew he was not: a human being.
And as soon as Justy then announced SPL elections, Luke suddenly understood why. He remembered the reputation that Justy used to have, before he became SPL in the first place. That of the biggest brown noser that the Pioneer Valley Council had ever seen.
Apparently, although not a skill he had practiced in some time, it was not one he had forgotten.
And so, even though the members of the Fluke Patrol had universally voted for Matt Swett, between the new kids' patrol and Justy's and Proctor's own votes...
Well, Matt Swett had once said he didn't want to have to change the position patch on his uniform if he could help it. It seemed that he still wouldn't have to do so.
When the election results were announced, Justy's first response was to treat the troop to one of his trademark maniacal laughs. The new kids didn't yet know what it was that they had done. But, Luke suspected, they would know soon enough.
As for Luke...
He found it hard to care.
Damn it, why was everybody so damn weird?
"Luke?" His brother Ben was calling him. Must be getting close to time to leave.
He sighed.
Whatever.
Justy Yung was bored. Life just didn't have the same.... what was the term? Something or other, he didn't know, he'd ask Proctor later. But whatever it was, lately he found it to be lacking. Even his recent re-election, confirming his already undeniable superiority, seemed to feel strangely hollow.
He didn't know why. He should be happy. Troop 192 was under his complete control, and there was no one who could oppose him. But lately... He sighed. Lately he just didn't seem to be having as much fun.
"Proctor!"
Proctor swiftly came running into the room. "Yes sir, Captain?"
"Why am I not having fun?"
Proctor pondered this for a moment. "Perhaps, with no one to really challenge your rule, maintaining it just isn't the same as when you have to actively work on thwarting those who would dare oppose you?"
"You may be right." Justy frowned. "What about the Flukes? Why do they not dare to oppose me?"
"Well, sir, you haven't really given them much reason to, have you? You've not made any truly outrageous demands of them, and so I suspect that they'd just as soon not rock the boat and would rather leave well enough alone."
"Yes," Justy mused. "Yes... Perhaps it is time to do something about that..."
"Capitol idea, my Captain!" Proctor shouted with glee.
"Of course it is," Justy replied. "It was one of mine, after all. Mwa ha ha ha ha ha ha HA HA HA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!"
Proctor began to laugh as well, until Justy wacked him in the back of the head with his baton. "Stop that," he commanded. "Only I may do that!"
"Yes, sir."
"Oh Proctor... what was that term I was looking for?"
"Um... 'Je ne sais quoi'?" Proctor suggested.
"Yes!" Justy exclaimed. "That was it! Je ne sais quoi!" Justy laughed some more, until a thought gave him pause. "Um, Proctor?"
"Yes, my Captain?"
"How did you know what I meant when I asked you what term I was looking for?"
"Well, Captain, it's my job to know these things, isn't it?"
This seemed a good enough explanation to Justy. "Yes it is, Proctor," he affirmed. "Yes it is."
Deep in his Laboratory, Kenny sat cross-legged upon a plush cushion concealed inside a giant egg-like chair. There was a keyboard upon his lap upon which he typed away furiously.
A mechanical arm obeyed his instructions and lifted what looked like some sort of plastic rectangle from a large pile of identical plastic rectangles. The surface of the rectangles were all blank. (For now.) The arm carried the plastic rectangle it had lifted for a short distance and then inserted it into what looked suspiciously like a 1950's stainless steel toaster. The plastic rectangle slid into one of the two slots on the "toaster," and a little green box with the word "READY" inside of it lit up on the monitor screen in front of Kenny.
Kenny's fingers swiftly typed in a single command. "RECORD." Then, as an ever so slight smile appeared on his face, he pressed the Enter key. The little box on the monitor changed from green to red, and the word inside was now "RECORDING."
Kenny typed in a few more commands and the mechanical arm began to lift and load another blank rectangle into the "toaster's" second slot. Without Kenny giving additional commands, the arm proceeded to lift and load several more blank rectangles, each one into the non-recording slot despite the fact that the slot should have been already occupied. Kenny smiled. Incorporating mallet-space technology into the design had been an excellent idea.
"Fantastic," Kenny said to himself. "It is working. If all goes to plan, in a few weeks Becker and I can view the results!"
His glee was interrupted when a slight beeping sound came from his wrist. He glanced at his plastic digital watch, and then pressed one of the buttons on the side of the watch's face to stop the beeping.
Rising from his chair, Kenny put the keyboard down where he had been sitting. Then he went off to find his Boy Scout uniform. He had to get ready; it was almost time to leave for the weekly Boy Scout meeting.
Proctor opened the door and Justy stepped out from his mother's car and into the parking lot behind the Church in the Acres. There was the usual bustle of activity, as kids waiting for their scout meeting to begin were running around in the field, or standing together in small groups chatting.
Off in one corner of the parking lot, Mr. Shmuler, Troop 192's alleged Scoutmaster, was chatting with Mrs. Waversack, the leader of the Girl Scout troop.
"Oh, she's done wonders," Mrs. Waversack was saying. "All of the girls are so organized now, and working on their little projects. It's amazing! Word has gotten out, and I think we'll even see a growth in our membership thanks to her!"
Whatever she was saying, such piddle was of no interest to Justy, so he paid it no mind.
Instead he proceeded into the building, Proctor being sure to open all of the doors for him, and then ascended the stairs to Walker Hall to prepare for tonight's domination. He expected at this point that the hall would be empty -- perfect for his pre-meeting rant to Proctor about his plans for the evening.
What he did not expect was to find two girls there.
One of them was tall, slender, and elegant. Her face looked like it had been sculpted from marble by a Renaissance master. She had cold blue-gray eyes and straight blond voluminous locks of hair that flowed like a waterfall all the way down her backside, coming to an end around her ankles. She wore a somewhat stylized Girl Scout uniform, in that instead of the typical rather plain knee length shorts or skirt, she had a full length skirt that looked practically Victorian in design. This girl's posture was perfect, and she carried herself with an air of superiority that Justy found very familiar.
The other girl's uniform was more standard, and immaculately pressed. The only alteration to it seemed to be the strange, somewhat militaristic epaulettes over the shoulders. These were not at all like the simple colored fabric loops that you found as epaulettes on a Boy Scout uniform. These were the fancy kind with all sorts of embroidery and golden dangly bits that draped all across the shoulder. She also wore a gold necklace with a locket hanging from it. Beyond that, not much stood out about this second girl. She was shorter and younger then the first girl. Also blonde, but a darker shade, her hair was pulled back and worked into a very tight bun on the back of her head. Her eyes, framed by a thin pair of wire framed glasses, were very dark, almost pitch black! A very stern, no nonsense look on her round face caused Proctor to shudder a bit in fear.
The pair of girls had not yet seemed to notice they were no longer alone. Or perhaps they just decided not to care.
"Yes, this will do nicely," the first girl was saying. "Who is using it now?"
The second girl consulted a clipboard she was holding. "The Boy Scouts. A Troop 192."
"Ah. Well, one is afraid they will have to go," the first girl commented in an almost offhanded tone.
Justy cleared his throat. The two girls then looked in his direction, inscrutable looks on both of their faces. Justy then elbowed Proctor, cuing him into action.
"Announcing Lord God Yung, Dictator of the World and Supreme Commander of All He Surveys," Proctor decreed.
The first girl giggled a bit at that, covering her face with a back-turned hand as she did so.
However, the second girl was far less amused. "You watch your tongue, you rogue," she spat. "You are in the presence of Her Majesty, The Divine Czarina Vladimira Vasilieva the First, Sovereign by Birthright Over the Entirety of Creation. You will show the proper respect!"
What was this nonsense? Justy wondered. And that was certainly a hell of a mouthful. Ignoring the girl who spoke, he turned to this "Czarina" chick. "Well, Mira. May I call you Mira?"
"You certainly well may not," the second girl growled.
"Well, Mira," Justy continued.
At this, the second girl growled even more dangerously, and started forward. Only a very subtle gesture from Vladimira caused her to back down.
"'Lord God Yung,'" she said with an inquisitive yet authoritative voice. "Sherry, who is this?"
The second girl, presumably named Sherry, consulted her clipboard once again. After flipping through a few pages, she reported, "Senior Patrol Leader of Troop 192. 'Aided,' if such a word can be used in this case, by his live-in Assistant Senior Patrol Leader, Hecubus Proctor."
"Ah, so you know of me," Justy said smugly.
But Sherry hadn't finished. "No discernible threat," she concluded.
No discernible...?! "What are you doing here?" Justy demanded.
Vladimira smiled ever so slightly. No trace of it seemed to reach her eyes. "This hall. One simply must have it."
"'Have it?'" Justy repeated.
"Yes. Troop 42 is destined for expansion," she explained, "while one hears your little group's numbers are shrinking."
This was, alas, true. Even with the recent influx of new kids, Troop 192's numbers were down a bit from the previous year.
"Besides," she continued, "one is no basement dweller. By all that is Holy and Right, one belongs up here."
"Your Highness," Sherry interjected, "you belong amongst the stars."
Vladimira giggled slightly again, once again raising her hand to politely cover her mouth as she did so. "Let us not get ahead of ourselves, Sherry. This is the building's highest floor, after all."
Justy was flustered. What was all this, then? "Well... Well, you can't have it. I am no snake or worm that grovels in the dirt of a basement. Only this space here even begins to approach the level of worthiness for a meeting space I would assemble my forces in."
"You tell her, Captain!" Proctor beamed.
"Well," Vladimira said with a sigh, "let it never be said one cannot be magnanimous, even in the face of such discourtesy. One supposes that one might share this hall, so the solution is obvious. Troop 192 must change its meeting night."
"Why don't you change?"
"Simply impossible," Sherry explained. "As the fulcrum of the week, Wednesday is a day of special significance to Her Highness, and it is essential to the well-being of her subjects that she graces them with Her presence on that day."
"Well we can't move either!" Proctor replied. "The Captain... he has shows he watches on the other nights!"
"Shows?" Sherry snarled. "You dare to compare that with..."
"Sherry," Vladimira said, "there is no need for that." She then turned to Justy. "You. You are confident in your own Divine right?"
"My Divine right?" Justy laughed. "There can be no doubt of it."
"Well then," Vladimira said. "The solution is obvious. We let the Divine fates decide this. Whichever one of us is truly right cannot fail. So, to decide which of us is to move into the basement and which of us will assume our rightful place in control of Walker Hall, one has a simple proposal."
"I am listening," Justy said tentatively.
"One proposes," Vladimira said, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly, "a contest."
The scouts of Troop 192 assembled in Walker Hall for the start of their meeting. Most of the boys assembled into two groups towards the front of the hall, with the Fluke Patrol on one side and the new kids (who had been dubbed the Frog Patrol) on the other. Off to one side the adult leaders milled about, drinking coffee and otherwise being ineffectual. And at the front of the hall stood Justy and Proctor.
At Justy's instruction, Proctor called the troop to order and led the assembled scouts in the Pledge of Allegiance and the Scout Oath. (The scouts were still pledging allegiance to the flag, and not directly to Justy. This is not to say that it had never occurred to him to try and change this, but at the time Mike Quadrozzi had actually managed to talk him out of it by saying, "Aren't you covered already? It does say, 'One nation, under God.'")
This business concluded, Proctor turned the meeting over to Justy.
"All right!" he hollered. "A threat to my superiority has made itself known, and a challenge has been issued! And at risk is our right to use this hallowed meeting hall!
"And thus, over the next week, you will be taking part in a scavenger hunt! There is a total of twenty items that must be gathered before next week's meeting. Each patrol will be issued a list of ten of these items, and you will gather them for me before next week. If you do not do this, you will pay. Yes, you will pay most dearly.
"Those insolent girls of Troop 42 will be trying to gather these same items. Do not let them get more of them then we do.
"I have faith that you will do this to honor my greatness! Mwa ha ha ha ha HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!"
As Justy's laughter continued into its third minute, Proctor took it upon himself to hand out the hand written lists to the patrols, and then dismissed them to confer amongst themselves.
The Fluke Patrol was seated around a table, and Luke held a piece of paper with a list of ten items on it. He read the list aloud to his assembled fellows.
"1. A photo of Julius Caesar drinking an Orange Julius.
"2. William Shatner's The Transformed Man on 8-Track.
"3. An equation for a Grand Unified Theory.
"4. An unopened can of either Crystal Pepsi or New Coke.
"5. A pre-owned copy of ECWCWWF Extreme Thunderous Attitude II
"6. A jeweled Easter egg.
"7. A real life Horton Hears a Who.
"8. A perpetual motion machine.
"9. A cure for the common cold.
"10. Receipt for the purchase of a major Springfield area landmark."
Luke put the list down and looked up at the rest of the patrol.
"Some of that sounds... unlikely," his brother Ben commented.
"Unlikely? How about impossible!" Swett followed up with. "Who does that jerk Justy think we are, anyway? No way we're doing this crap for him."
The other former Garden Snakes (except for Becker, who as usual was in his own headphone induced world) nodded their agreement with this. Ben even joined along.
"So how are we going to thwart Justy this time?" Shmuler asked.
"I've got a great idea how to go about that," Swett said. "But it involves a rabid wombat, a rusty tricycle, thermion, and a pair of boxer shorts."
"A rather specific and difficult to assemble list," Kenny commented.
"Indeed," Swett replied. "Although I do have a good lead on where I can find most of that. Except," he added, "the boxer shorts."
Wait, what? Luke thought to himself. He sighed. "Guys, is it really worth the effort?" he asked.
The rest of the patrol turned to look at him.
"What do you mean?" Swett replied. "Thwarting Justy is, like, what we do."
Why was everybody so weird? "Yes, but what's the point in the end? You'll just piss him off, and he'll come up with some even more crazy scheme. If you're going to go through all of this effort anyway," he asked, and then he held up the paper with the list upon it, "why not channel the effort into just actually trying to find some of this stuff? Could be fun, who knows? And maybe, if he gets his way for once, Justy will let up and not be as much of a pain in the ass in the future."
For a moment, the only reply Luke was met with was silent stares. Then finally, Swett shrugged. "Eh, why the hell not," he said.
"You're the Patrol Leader," Ben then said, signalling his agreement.
Soon everyone was nodding their consent.
"So," Luke said, looking down at the list once more, "how should we split this up?"
Kenny raised his hand.
"Yes, Kenny?" Luke asked.
"Well, number three should be easy enough. I already have one written on my computer at home. I just have to print it out. And I think I can also handle number one, and on the way home from that number four should be no problem."
"Right," Luke said. Taking out a pencil, he wrote a little "K" next to the items Kenny had mentioned. "I've got an idea about number ten," he said, writing an "L." "Anyone else?"
"I'm number eight!" Shmuler shouted in a grating, high pitched squeal.
"I can swing by the mall tomorrow and see about number five," Ben added.
"Number five is alive!" Shmuler added in the same high pitched squeal. Luke actually flinched a bit.
A "B" was written next to the fifth item. "Hey, Becker," Luke then said.
There was no response.
"HEY, BECKER," Luke then shouted.
"WHAT?"
"YOU LIKE MUSIC, RIGHT?"
"WHAT?"
"I SAID, 'YOU LIKE...'"
"WHAT!?"
Kenny reached over and pulled out the jack of Becker's headphones. "Hey," Becker said, his voice fraught with disappointment. "It was just getting to a good bit."
"Becker, you like music, right?"
Becker just gave Luke a look as if to say, "Duh."
"Think you can handle number two on the list?" Luke asked him.
"Sure," Becker replied. Then he asked, "What list?"
Luke sighed yet again, and passed the list over to Becker.
"Oh, are we doing a scavenger hunt?" Becker asked.
Luke face-palmed. Weirdo.
"Sure, I can look for that," Becker finally said. He handed the list back, then plugged his headphones back in.
Luke took back the list and wrote a "J" next to number 2. "Okay," he then said, "that leaves numbers six, seven, and nine. Any ideas?"
"Ah, what the hell," Swett said with some reluctance. "I guess I can try and find those ones."
Luke looked down at the list, then back up to Swett. "These three? Seriously?"
"Sure, why not? I've got some ideas," he cryptically replied.
"Fine," Luke said, "whatever. Anyway, I might be able to use everybody's help with mine a bit. I'll do all the prep work, but having a group with me when I try to finish it could be helpful. So how about we meet somewhere on Sunday to go over how we're doing so far, and then you can come with me?"
Everyone indicated agreement with this plan. "Where will we meet, though?" Swett asked. "Perfume's closed down."
"How about the Burger King near downtown?" Luke suggested. It wasn't far from some of the places he wanted to try, anyways.
Everyone agreed to that, and with that out of the way, they got on with their regular business of chatting and goofing off.
Sunday arrived, and around lunchtime the members of the Fluke Patrol all gathered at the agreed upon location. After all ordering themselves some food, they sat at two adjoining tables and went over their results thus far.
"I have all my items," Kenny informed Luke.
"Really?" Luke was surprised.
"It was rather simple, actually."
"Fine. Who's next?"
"Well, on Thursday, Becker and I went to the mall," Ben began.
Thursday evening was not the most busy of times at the Holyoke Mall, so Ben and Becker had no trouble navigating the mall's walkways. Their first stop was the Electronics Boutique. The store was otherwise empty, so the woman behind the counter, who's nametag read, "Evadne," greeted them as they entered.
"Hey, how's it going?" Ben replied, walking right up to the counter. I was wondering if you might have any used copies of ECWCWWF Extreme Thunderous Attitude II?"
"Oh," Evadne replied, "that was a real popular game, so we never got a lot of trade-ins on that one. But hold on, let me check."
She pulled out a large book from under the counter and flipped through it, consulting an inventory list contained within. "No, doesn't look like it. We do have a new copy, though."
"Nope, must be used!"
"It isn't that expensive used," Evadne assured him. "It's the 'Greatest Hits' release, so it'll only be about twenty bucks."
"No, I just have to have it used," Ben insisted. "How about this. Can I buy it, trade it in, and then buy the used copy?"
"I..." Evadne was somewhat dumbstruck by this question. "I suppose..."
"Great! I'll buy that new copy!"
"Ooooh-kay," Evadne said. She rang up the purchase. "That'll come to $20.99 with tax."
Ben paid her. She put his purchase in the bag and handed it to him. He took it out of the bag, pulled off the shrink wrap, and slapped it down on the counter. "I'd like to trade this in, please!"
"Um... well, that would trade in for five dollars in cash, or six dollars in store credit."
"I'll take the store credit please," Ben said. He winked. "I do have another purchase in mind."
Evadne sighed, and processed his trade-in. She handed him a card with his store credit on it. She then looked down at the game still sitting on the counter. Normally, there was supposed to be a waiting period before traded in games could be sold, but she was pretty sure she could count on this one not being reported as stolen. "Shall I ring this back up for you?" she asked dryly.
"Not yet," Ben said.
Evadne felt her right eyelid twitch.
"You need to wrap it back up and stick on the 'USED' price sticker."
Of course I do, Evadne thought. Mind you, she was there by herself, and she knew full well she was not supposed to go into the back room and leave the sales floor unattended in such circumstances. But she was pretty sure that no one would report her to the manager, what with her being the manager and all. And, as annoying as they were being, she somehow got a trustworthy vibe from these kids. "Fine," she said. "Fine. Just don't go anywhere. And holler if anyone else comes into the store, would you?"
Ten minutes later she emerged from the back room with an authentically packaged used copy of ECWCWWF Extreme Thunderous Attitude II. She rang it in, then processed Ben's store credit. "The remaining balance is $9.74," she informed him.
"Thanks a bunch!" Ben said. "And can I have a receipt? I don't need a bag, though." He waved the bag he'd been give when he first purchased the game. "I have one here."
Her eyelid twitched again as she handed over the game and the receipt. As the two boys left her store, she couldn't help but to mutter under her breath, "Man, I miss Jason. I liked it much better when I just had to listen to him bitch about bullshit like this, rather than having to deal with it myself."
Ben and Becker, meanwhile headed on over to Record Town. It was a fairly new store in the Holyoke Mall, but the man behind the counter greeted Becker as if he was an old friend. "Jonathan!" he said. "That new album of heavy metal remixes of ancient Austrian folk songs you ordered has come in."
Becker had, startling Ben, removed his headphones of his own accord as they entered the store. So he had no problem hearing this and responding to it. "Oh thank you, Simon. I suppose I will pick that up while I am here. But I was actually looking for something else today."
"Why certainly! What can I do for my favorite and most prolific of customers on this fine day?"
"Willliam Shatner's The Transformed Man."
"Ah, a most excellent choice for your auditory pleasure," Simon informed him. "How would you like that? It was re-released on CD just a few years ago, and I do have one copy in stock. Or, if you give me a few days, I can get a vintage vinyl copy for you if you want that extra special fidelity to capture the magnificent tones of Mr. Shatner's inflections."
"Simon, my good man, if it was up to me I'd take the vinyl in a heartbeat. But I fear I am on a specific mission today, and am seeking it on 8-track."
Simon gasped at this. "Oh. my most wonderful of patrons, it is with the deepest regret that I must inform you that The Transformed Man was never released in that format. It was never even released on cassette. You will only find it on vinyl or CD."
"So, a failure then?" Luke asked Becker, who had also removed his headphones while explaining his tale of woe.
"Yes," he said, "but not a complete one." Becker reached down to his backpack and pulled from it a large, flat object upon which Shatner's dramatically shadowed visage gazed slightly upwards. "I thought, if we got the vinyl, we could maybe at least get partial credit for the vintage format. I mean, we can't actually find something that doesn't exist, right?"
"No, I don't suppose we can," Luke admitted.
"And then I have a sweet album to add to my collection afterwards."
"Mr. Becker, might I borrow that?" Kenny asked.
Becker was so happy. Kenny had never expressed interest in his music before! "Sure!" he said, handing it over.
"I can copy it and transfer it to any format we may need," Kenny explained, "including 8‑track."
"Oh," Becker said, disappointed that he had apparently misconstrued Kenny's intentions.
"Do not worry, Mr. Becker," Kenny assured him. "I will return the original to you unharmed."
"I know, I know," Becker said, slipping his headphones back on. "I trust ya."
Luke turned to Shmuler, who was busy pulling apart his Whopper and reassembling it inside out. "How about you?" Luke asked him.
"No problem!" Shmuler assured him. "It'll be all set by Wednesday!"
"Sure," Luke said, although he could not help feeling a distinct lack of confidence. He turned to Swett. Now this was the real worry. Like Kenny, Swett had assumed responsibility for three items on their list. And unlike Kenny, Luke didn't think Swett was quite as reliable. Dreading the answer, Luke asked, "And you?"
Swett simply shrugged. "Nothing yet," he admitted.
Of course not, Luke grumbled internally.
"But I have some promising leads!" Swett assured him.
"Yeah, okay," Luke replied.
"So how about you then?" Swett asked, defensively.
"Well, I don't have anything locked in yet," Luke admitted.
"Aha!" Swett exclaimed.
"But..." Luke interrupted, "I have spent some time since last Wednesday's meeting researching several possibilities, and if you all can come with me after lunch, we have appointments at the Armoury, some of the museums, and finally at the..."
Wednesday evening had rolled around again, and Justy arrived at the Church in the Acres ready to celebrate his victory. First, of course, both troops had to present their results, but Justy was sure this was just a formality.
He heard footsteps behind himself, and he spun to see who it was. It was that wretched girl. "Ah, Mira," he said in greeting, being sure to add extra relish to saying the diminutive form of her name. "Flying solo tonight?"
As before, she ignored the deliberate slight where her name is concerned, which infuriated Justy. He did his best not to show this, however.
"Sherry is escorting the judge one has selected," she instead explained. "One assumes your Proctor is doing the same?"
"Indeed," Justy replied. They had each agreed to select someone who would act as an impartial judge of the results. In what others would see as a rare moment of competence, Justy had decided that the venerable Mr. Tanner would do nicely. And surprisingly (although not to Justy, because as far as he was concerned who would dare to say no to him?) the wizened old scout leader had accepted.
"Where did you come from, anyway?" Justy suddenly thought to wonder, and so boldly asked.
"What do you mean?" Vladimira asked.
"Well, not that I follow the measly comings and goings of you Girl Scouts very closely, but I know you haven't been around that long," Justy replied
"Ah. Indeed, one has not been here long," Vladimira answered. "One's family only came to this area recently. And, looking to begin to expand one's power base, one decided to grace this Girl Scout troop with the honor of being one's subjects. It was not even that difficult," she pondered. "There was already an existing structure in place with a vacancy at the top. Apparently, another girl used to have quite an operation going, but she seems to have moved away not long before one came along. A pity. If she ever comes back, one shall have to offer her a place in one's government."
"Yes, yes," Justy said, having lost interest in the answer even though he had posed the question. Then he noticed two people approaching. It was Proctor and Sherry.
"Captain!" Proctor shouted, waving. "They're ready for us, sir!"
Mr. Tanner and his co-judge, a similarly well-aged woman named Mrs. Libowitz, had gone through half of the contest thus far, judging the submissions of the Frog Patrol and the first half of the Girl Scout troop. They gave up to a total of ten points for each item, based on some mysterious criteria that seemed to be a combination of accuracy to the item they were supposed to find and creativity if finding it proved (as it frequently seemed) to be impossible. At the half-way point the scores were tied at 64 points for each troop.
"Okay," Mr Tanner said, "let's move onto the second half." He looked down at the list. "Item one: a photo of Julius Caesar drinking an Orange Julius."
Kenny walked up to the judges, as did one of the girls from Troop 42.
Mr. Tanner and Mrs. Libowitz examined their submissions and conferred with each other briefly.
Mr. Tanner held up one photo. It was a random guy standing in a mall food court, a sheet draped over one shoulder and wrapped vaguely over his clothes, an Orange Julius in one hand, and a huge smile on his face.
"Troop 42," Mrs. Libowitz announced, "7 points."
Then Mr. Tanner held up the other photo. It showed a distinguished looking gentleman in a very authentic looking toga. He was standing outside, and behind him were similarly dressed individuals. Behind that was what looked like ancient Roman architecture, except that it did not look ancient and ruined, but new and pristine. The man in the foreground was holding an Orange Julius cup in one hand, and with a confused look on his face he was sucking the thick orange liquid through a straw."
"Troop 192," Mrs. Libowitz announced, "10 points."
The other members of the Fluke Patrol all applauded Kenny. "Great job faking that photo, Kenny!" Luke praised him.
"Yes," Kenny deadpanned. "Faked."
"Next," Mrs. Libowitz called out, "an 8-track cassette of William Shatner's The Transformed Man."
The Girl Scout who approached handed over a CD. "The person at the store said there never was a whatchamacallit version," she said timidly.
Becker bounded forward. "Then explain this," he said, pulling a boxy cassette from his pocket. The cassette even had on it a professionally printed label with the same shadowed visage of William Shatner that had been on the vinyl album's cover.
Mr. Tanner held it up and looked at it suspiciously. "Is this real?" he asked.
Knowing Kenny, Becker felt confident when he held up his hand in the Scout Sign and said, "Scout's honor! Don't believe me?" he added. "You're more than welcome to whip out an 8-track player and give it a listen!"
Again after some brief consultation, scores were announced. Troop 42 this time scored 9 points, and Troop 192 took in another 10.
"Next," Mr. Tanner said, "A... Um... An equation for a Grand Unified Theory?"
A very young representative of the Girl Scouts went up to the judges. "I'm sorry," she said, huge eyes looking plaintively up to the judges, "we didn't understand what that was."
Kenny, meanwhile, hefted up a large, impressively bound volume and, struggling slightly, managed to place it upon the counter. On the cover were the words, "A Grand Unified Theory for The Explanation of Absolutely Everything by K. Pendrell."
The judges opened the thick tome and flipped through it. It all seemed like indecipherable gibberish to them, and yet even after just their brief skimming of the work, they felt a strange sense of understanding. Understanding of what they didn't know. They just knew that they understood something, even if they didn't understand what it was they understood. It was, in the end, rather confusing, actually.
"Troop 42, 2..." Mr. Tanner looked down briefly once more at the girl, and her hugely plaintive eyes. "Er... 7 points." He cleared his throat. "Troop 192, 10 points."
Next up was the can of Crystal Pepsi or New Coke. The girl from Troop 42 who came up was once again apologetic, and said that they couldn't find any. The best thing they had to present was a heavily beat up can of something that the judges struggled to read the label on.
"Kiwi... something?" Mrs. Libowitz tried to make out. But whatever it was, it was clearly not any kind of Coke or Pepsi.
Kenny, meanwhile, with some help from Becker and Swett, carried up to the judges not a can but a whole case... each! of both Crystal Pepsi and New Coke. Both cases looked brand new, as if they might have come off of a store's shelf just yesterday. And as soon as they were brought into the proximity of the judges, it was clear to them that the cases were ice cold.
"I have a few more cases as well, if anyone is thirsty," Kenny said. "And some Slice and Surge, too."
Mr. Tanner took one of the cans of Crystal Pepsi, cracked it open, and tentatively took a sniff. Fresh carbonation within tickled his nose as he did so. He took a sip, and was rewarded with a flavor he had not tasted in quite some time.
"Troop 42, 5 points. Troop 192, 10." The Fluke's streak continued!
When it came time for ECWCWWF Extreme Thunderous Attitude II, the Girl Scouts could only produce a brand new copy of the game. Of course, Ben had no problem producing a used copy. "And a receipt to prove it!" he proudly pointed out. 8 points for the Girl Scouts, and another 10 for the Boy Scouts.
"A jeweled Easter egg!" the judges requested. Luke got nervous, as Swett had never said what he managed to find.
The girl scouts brought up a plastic Easter egg to which they had craftily glued on many little pieces of costume gems. It actually looked quite cute.
Swett brought up a small bundle carefully wrapped in tissue paper. When the judges unwrapped it, they revealed what looked like a golden, jewel encrusted egg sitting in a little silver chariot being pulled by a small cherub figure.
Swett left the egg on the table and turned back to his patrol and rejoined them, a huge, shit‑eating grin on his face.
"Where in the hell did you get that?" Luke asked him. "What in the hell is that?"
"Luke, my man," Swett replied, "I'd love to tell ya', but then I'd have to kill ya."
"Troop 42," the judges announced, "7 points. Troop 192, 10 points."
"Fine," Luke replied, satisfied with the scoring, "I won't ask."
Next up was a real life Horton Hears a Who, so Swett was up again.
The Girl Scouts brought up a little homemade statue of an elephant holding a puffy flower in his trunk.
Swett, meanwhile, ushered up a middle aged man in a baseball cap with an image of a bass on it.
"Who is this?" Mr. Tanner asked.
"Hi!" the man said. He thrust a hand forward in greeting, but Mr. Tanner declined to accept it. "I'm Horton Zissou of Zissou's Bait Shop, serving all of the Pioneer Valley's bait and tackle needs!"
"Here," Swett said, handing Zissou a pair of headphones attached to a Walkman he was holding. Zissou slipped the headphones on, and Swett hit play.
A moment later, a look of recognition crossed Zissou's face. "Sweet, Quadrophenia! This one has a great sound, man!"
The judges squinted slightly at this. After a moments discussion with one another, they announced their decision. "Troop 42, 7 points. Troop 192, 6 points."
It broke their streak of perfect 10s, but they were still well ahead of the Girl Scouts. Swett beamed.
Next up was a perpetual motion machine. A Girl Scout who looked very much worse for wear approached the judges. She was covered in fairly fresh scratches and adhesive bandages. "We attempted to construct a device," she exclaimed, "from a cat with a piece of buttered toast adhered to its back. The theory was that, if dropped from a sufficient height, it would levitate slightly above the ground and spin perpetually. The results were..." she frowned, "inconclusive."
At this point Will Shmuler, who until now had been running non-stop in circles around the back half of Walker Hall, came bolting forward and, without stopping, tossed a cassette tape on the table. He then continued running in circles, now around the judges' table.
Mr. Tanner popped the cassette into a combo TV/VCR that was on one side of their table and hit play. An image of Will Shmuler sitting on a stationary bicycle appeared on the screen. He was pedalling furiously. Mr. Tanner hit fast forward for a bit, and when he hit play not much had changed on the screen. A bit more fast forwarding, and still the same result.
"Fast forward all you want," Shmuler said as he circled the judges, causing Mr. Tanner to start feeling a bit dizzy. "That's a T-240 recorded in EP mode, so it'll run you about twelve and a half hours! And you'll see it just keeps going and going!"
"That's as may be," Mr. Tanner said, "but surely, if you're here, the bicycle is not still moving now, and thus not in perpetual motion."
"No, never mind the bike!" Shmuler said with glee. "It's me! I'm the perpetual motion machine!"
Mr. Tanner sighed. "Troop 42, 9 points," he said. "Troop 192... 1 point."
One point. One. Shmuler stopped dead in his tracks, crest fallen. It was almost worse than if he's been awarded zero points. It was like the one point was there just to rub it in. Crestfallen, he slumped his head and dragged himself back to the rest of his patrol.
They greeted him warmly upon his return, however. "You were robbed, man." "Great effort!" "Technically, the human body is an organic machine, and prior to death some part of it is always in motion, so technically your entry should have been valid." The words of his various patrol-mates warmed his heart.
Next up was the cure for the common cold. The Girl Scout who brought up this item placed a can of Campbell's Condensed Chicken Noodle Soup upon the judges' table. Swett placed a photograph upon the table.
"What is this?" Mrs. Libowitz asked, holding up the photo.
"Well, given the nature of my entry, I didn't think you'd appreciate me bringing in the real thing, so I hoped a photo would suffice."
"A bottle of cyanide?" Mrs. Libowitz then asked, her voice an incredulous tone.
"Yes," Swett said proudly. "It's a preventative cure! Take it, and you're guaranteed never to get a cold again! Do not take if you plan to operate heavy machinery. Possible side effects may include dry mouth, male lactation, and a one hundred percent chance of death."
Luke, from where he was standing, face palmed. Swett seemed to have that effect on him.
Results were announced for the most recent round. "Troop 42, 9 points. Troop 192, 1 point."
"What?" Swett was incredulous. "Chicken soup at best is a placebo to help you feel better while your body's natural defences do their thing. You can't deny that with my cure, you'd never have to worry about getting a cold again!"
"Swett," Luke called out, "get back over here and be quiet!"
Kenny mentally tallied up the scores so far. "We're tied up," he said. "132 points for each troop."
There was one final item to go. The judges called out for it. " Receipt for the purchase of a major Springfield area landmark." Well, Luke supposed as he walked up to the judges, I guess this will decide it. Here goes nothing!
The Girl Scout who came up first presented the judges with a post card of the Springfield Armory, and stapled to it was a receipt for the purchase of the post card. The judges thanked her, and she stepped back.
Luke stepped forward. "Well," he said, "we tried the Armory, too. But didn't have any luck there. Then some of the museums. Finally, we went to the Basketball Hall of Fame, and there we struck gold." And with this, Luke handed a small pile of papers to the judges.
The top sheet was a receipt from the Basket Ball Hall of Fame for one dollar. Beneath that was a paper on Hall of Fame letterhead, stating an agreement to sell the entirety of the building and all of its contents to the Fluke Patrol of Boy Scout Troop 192 for the sum of one U.S. Dollar, provided that the Fluke Patrol agreed to sell back ownership after no more than ten minutes from the time of their purchase, for the same sum of money. And then beneath that was, indeed, a photocopy of a receipt made out from Luke on behalf of the Fluke Patrol, returning the Hall of Fame to its original owners.
"Hmm..." Mr. Tanner commented.
"Hmm..." Mrs. Libowitz added as she examined the paperwork.
They quietly conversed for a moment, and then turned back to face the assembled.
Luke was feeling pretty good about their final entry, but he still couldn't help but to also feel nervous. This was, after all, it! All or nothing, with the fate of Walker Hall hanging in the balance!
"Troop 42," Mr. Tanner announced, "9 points."
The girl scouts all cheered.
"Troop 192..." Mr. Tanner paused for effect.
Kenny took the opportunity to test a theory, and dropped a pin. It was very quiet, but he did indeed hear the impact it made with the hall's hard, wooden floor.
Mr. Tanner continued. "10 points."
Troop 192 burst into applause, and the members of the Fluke patrol all assembled into a group hug. All except Swett, who had pulled out a boom box and was blaring Queen's We Are the Champions.
Justy smiled a particularly insidious smile and, followed by Proctor, walked over to where Vladimira and Sherry were standing near the judges' table.
"Well, Mira," Justy said, "it looks like your troop is in my troop's meeting place. You... you're supposed to be in the basement, yes?"
Sherry looked very much like she wished she had a sword at her hip, and Proctor was not unconvinced that if she had, Justy might just find himself in two pieces at the moment.
Vladimira, on the other hand, looked the serene picture of grace. "One congratulates you on your victory," she said. "One concedes Walker Hall to you, and wishes you nothing but the best of fortunes while you remain between these walls. Enjoy your victory, Justy Yung," she said. Then she looked directly at Justy with her cold blue-grey eyes. "For you never know what the future may hold.
"Come, girls!" she called out. The members of Troop 42 all fell in. Vladimira raised her hand to her mouth in a now familiar gesture and, giggling ever so slightly, she led her troop away and down the stairs.
"Congratulations, Captain!" Proctor beamed. "You won!"
"Yes," Justy said flatly. "I always win, lately."
Then he walked over to the Flukes. Luke turned to face him.
"Ah, peon #7," Justy said. He coughed. "Luke," he then added.
"Justy," Luke said back.
"You have... ah... you have pleased your master today."
"You're welcome," Luke replied drily.
Justy either didn't seem to notice or to care about the tone. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I am!"
And with that, he wandered off, filling Walker Hall with laughter.
After the Girl Scout meeting had ended, Vladimira and Sherry had remained behind in their meeting room.
"My Lady," Sherry was saying, dropping to one knee, "I am so very sorry we have failed you. I throw myself upon your mercy, and if you wish my life in penance, it is yours to take!" Her eyes were firmly upon the ground, her shame forbidding her from meeting Vladimira's gaze.
"Do you take one for a fool?" Vladimira asked.
Sherry gasped at the suggestion. "No, of course I don't!"
"Then why do you think one would be foolish enough to dispose of a subject as loyal and as capable as yourself?"
Sherry then chanced to look up. Vladimira was looking down at her, her normally cold eyes full of warmth and acceptance.
"My Lady!" Sherry exclaimed.
"Please rise, Sherry," Vladimira then asked. "You would not want one to strain one's neck, having to look down to talk to you, would you?"
Sherry rose as instructed. "No, of course not!" She then asked, "But... but what about Walker Hall? We failed you, and lost to that scum Justy."
Vladimira giggled. "Walker Hall. A piffle. Yes, it would have been nice. But in the long run, it will be meaningless. It is not as if, once one's power is secured, one plans to rule out of a small church in Springfield."
"No, of course not. But if I may ask, my Lady..."
"Why go through with the charade of wanting it? Why hold the scavenger hunt?"
Sherry nodded.
"One had a vision, you see."
"A vision?"
"Yes. The night before last week's meeting, in one's sleep one had a vision telling one that the Boy Scouts would bring one the final proof one needs that one's course is correct, and that one is destined to walk along the path one has long desired. And to discover this proof, one would need to set the Boy Scouts on a journey to find impossible objects."
"Ah," Sherry said. "And you knew that cur Justy would not just play along if asked..." Sherry began.
"Hence the subterfuge of a challenge to pique his interest," Vladimira said, completing the thought.
"My Lady, you shine with brilliance!"
"Yes, one knows," Vladimira replied without a trace of modesty. "Still, one thanks you for the complement. And please worry yourself no more about the apparent loss to that Justy Yung," she continued. "For it would have only been a loss if the game had been the one he thought it was, rather than the game one had actually orchestrated." Vladimira's lips curled up into a delighted smile.
"So, the proof you sought," Sherry inquired eagerly, "you found it?"
"Indeed," Vladimira said. "One does not know where or how one of those Boy Scouts acquired this, but one must admit that it was all one could do to contain one's surprise when this object was revealed to the judges."
And Vladimira then reached into the voluminous folds of her skirt and extracted from them a small bundle wrapped in tissue paper. She unwrapped the bundle, revealing Matt Swett's Easter egg.
"It is beautiful," Sherry breathed.
"Indeed it is," Vladimira replied, almost breathlessly. "Do you know what this is?"
Sherry shook her head.
Vladimira had pulled on white cotton gloves, and now lifted the object with clear reverence. "Crafted by the legendary court jeweller Fabergé for Alexander III, and given by him to his wife on the 24th of April in 1888. The last known definite sighting of it was in 1922, five years after it had been seized by that upstart revolution. It may have been in an auction in New York in 1934, but if the item being described was in fact this egg is not known with absolute certainty. Thus, the exact whereabouts of this egg have been unknown for over three quarters of a century, and it had been feared lost forever. But now... Now it has come home, to me."
She carefully placed the egg down again, and then she gently tugged on the top half of the egg. It came away on a carefully hidden seam, revealing inside an angelic figure holding a small clock.
Vladimira held out her hand towards Sherry. "Sherry, if you'd please, may one have the object one gave you to safeguard when one took you into service?"
"Of... of course!" Sherry replied. As she'd been shaking in awe at what was transpiring before her, she took a moment to breathe and steadied her hands. Then she reached for the locket around her neck and opened it. She took out a small, artfully crafted little key that looked as if it were made of pure silver and gingerly placed it in the palm of Vladimira's outstretched hand.
Vladimira took the key and inserted it into a tiny, almost hidden hole on the clock and carefully, slowly, she then turned it. That task completed, she handed the key back to Sherry, who secured it in her locket once more. Then Vladimira knelt down and carefully held her ear close to the exquisite timepiece.
She heard a faint tick... tick.... tick... The mechanism was still working, as smoothly as if it had been constructed only yesterday. Master craftsmanship, indeed.
"Yes, Sherry," Vladimira said, rising back to her feet and placing a hand warmly on her most loyal subject's shoulder. "This confirms what one has known to be the truth all along. Now one can continue on the path one has set oneself upon, free from any last lingering doubts.
"And woe to anyone, especially that impudent Justy Yung, who would dare to stand in one's way!"
Of course, Justy had no way of knowing any of this. As far as he still knew, he had won the evening. He should be happy! He should feel great!
So why did this victory instead leave him feeling hollow?
"Proctor?" Justy called out.
Proctor turned away from his task of setting out Justy's clothing for the next day. "Yes, Captain?"
"Why am I not happy?" Justy asked. "I am victorious, after all!"
"I don't know, Captain," Proctor said. "Are you not what you've always wanted to be? Master of all you survey?"
"And so I was yesterday." Justy sighed. "And so I shall be tomorrow..."
A conversation Proctor had once had with Matthew Atanian came suddenly to his mind. Something Mr. Atanian had said. “Tell me, Proctor," Mr. Atanian had said, "What would Moriarty be without Holmes? What would Kahn be without Kirk? What would The Master be without The Doctor?
“To be truly great,” Mr. Atanian had gone on to explain, “one must have an adversary to struggle against. We are just doing our part to see to Justy’s greatness.”
"Sir!" Proctor said. "The Garden Snakes!"
"The what?" Justy replied.
"The Garden Snakes!"
Wheels turned in Justy's head. Great mechanical wheels driving a mental calculator that would invariably calculate that two plus two was orange. "Of course, the Garden Snakes," Justy spat. "This was their plan, was it? Leave, lulling me into a false sense of complacency, so that they could try and crush me upon their return! Well, I'll show them! I will find them! And I will crush them, first!"
Justy paused.
"Damn it, but where are they?" he then asked.
"Japan!" Proctor said, helpfully.
Justy's head ever so slowly turned until his gaze was fixed upon Proctor. "And how," he asked, "do you come by this information?"
"Oh, well, sir, I've been keeping up a written correspondence with Ms. Kirstin," Proctor replied. He smiled. "She says she is my friend," he added. "Anyway, she and her sisters are in some sort of scholastic exchange program in Japan, and in her last letter she talked about her surprise in finding that Mike, Aaron, the Bills, and Mr. Atanian were all there, too!"
"You knew this," Justy seethed, "and never mentioned it?"
"Well, sir," Proctor said, "you never asked. So it didn't seem relevant."
"Proctor!" Justy exclaimed, gripping his baton.
"Ye... yes, sir?"
Justy relaxed his grip. "Get your savings, Proctor," he then said. "We have some airplane tickets to buy in the morning."
Author's Notes & Disclaimers
Howdy, folks! Matt here! Would you believe a brand new story, only just over a week after I finished writing the last one... Who'd have thunk it? I guess I really can still crank this stuff out myself, after all, if I set my mind to it!
However, I would like to thank Jason for some invaluable help with this one. Hence the "some plot elements suggested by" credit I have given him on this story. I had written three of the four opening pre-meeting scenes (Matt Swett's, Justy's, and Kenny's) but then was at something of a loss as to where to take the story from there. And so I arranged a phone call with the good Mr. Bertovich, in the hopes that a joint brainstorming session may prove fruitful, and indeed it did!
He did have many ideas, some of which I didn't feel were quite what I was looking for, but one thing he suggested took root in my mind. There was the Girl Scout troop, Troop 42, that was pretty much unexplored territory once you remove the Porters from the equation. What if the Girl Scout troop had their own equivalent of Justy? And what if she became a new advisory for Justy?
Jason seemed to also have some knowledge of the movie I took this story's subtitle from, Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo. I must confess to not having such knowledge myself. I only knew the title, and that the title had somehow entered the cultural zeitgeist as a title to use when describing a bad, unnecessary, or otherwise unwanted sequel. And hell, it just rolls of the tongue, I had to use it!
But Jason, being the well educated man he is (at least, it seems, where 80's movies about breakdancing is concerned), suggested that a plot that at least slightly echoed that film's plot might be a good idea, and thus, a contest for control of Troop 192's meeting place was suggested.
And so, with those rough ideas in place, Jason and I went on to chat for a while more about other things, and then after I got off the phone, I spent the evening with the wheels turning in my head.
Before bed that night, I had come up with a name for this new character. And so I e-mailed Jason to announce to him that she would be Vladimira Vasilieva. The name is not without significance. Vladimira, obviously, is a feminine form of the name Vladimir, and means "greatest ruler." (You think maybe if Putin's folks had named him Pavel or something, we could get back to having some form of detente?) Vasilieva, meanwhile, is a Russian surname that traces its derivation back to a Greek word meaning "royal." The choosing of her name definitely shaped in my mind exactly what sort of character she would be.
Anyway, after I e-mailed Jason to share this name with him, his response was amusing to me. "Oooh... Spooky!" he had said. He went on to say that he, "was also thinking of proposing that she would be of Russian / Eastern Bloc heritage. Kinda like a female Bond villain type thing. Dude, sometimes, it can be scary when our brain waves sync up like that."
I maybe didn't end up going full "Bond villain" with her in the end... but, of course, she is still early in her career! Who knows what diabolical schemes she may come up with in the future?
Anyway, as for this story's diabolical scheme, I then hit upon the idea of a scavenger hunt. While I was certainly going to come up with some of my own ideas, I also thought I'd mine Jason's brain once more, and these were the suggestions he came up with when tasked with thinking of "impossible to find items":
A Lost Shakespearean Sonnet
Proof of the Existence of Sasquatch, The Chupacabra, or the Jersey Devil
The soul of an old blues guitarist who’s seen the worst o’ times
Emilia Earhart’s Compass
The grand unified theory equation
1 Jar of Ectoplasm
A hubcap from a 1982 Crown Victoria
A Bicuspid from a Tasmanian Tiger
A Bottle of Crystal Pepsi
A Mint Condition 1977 Jawa Star Wars Action Figure (with the plastic robe)
An 8-Track copy of William Shatner’s Album
The Real Mona Lisa (not that fake one in the Louvre)
A pre-owned copy of ECWCWWF Extreme Thunderous Attitude II
A Shrubbery
I was quite tickled by some of his suggestions, even the ones I didn't use. I strongly considered the Jawa action figure, for example, but decided against it because it seemed just too impossibly expensive item for a random kid from Massachusetts to just be able to luck upon. Likewise, a lost piece of art such as the real Mona Lisa. (if you don't get the joke, just know that this is a Doctor Who reference.) Especially since I was already forming in my mind that perhaps another rare and expensive item should be on the scavenger hunt list... but more on that in a moment.
First, though, a shout out to my lovely girlfriend Rachel, who suggested I should have something Dr. Seuss related on the list. (For those not in the know, Dr. Seuss was a Springfield native.) When seeing "perpetual motion machine" on my list, she also suggested the good ol' buttered toast on cat, and that someone should be covered in scratches as a result.
Now, back to that rare and expensive item... Even as I awaited Jason's reply to my e-mail seeking suggestions, I had been starting to think, "What if one of the items that was found was a rare and lost Russian piece of art?" And after some research into the matter, the perfect item came to mind.
Between 1888 and when the Russian Revolution occurred in 1977, a series of 54 eggs were crafted for the Russian Imperial family under the supervision of the famous jeweler Peter Carl Fabergé. Of course, when the revolution took place and the Imperial family's treasures were seized, eventually the fates of some of the eggs became murky. As of 1998 when this story takes place, eight of them were still lost. One of them was found in 2014, but it was not the one featured in this story. As of today, the Cherub with Chariot Egg is still considered lost. (That is, of course, unless it really has come into the possession of a young woman seeking to become the ruler of the world!)
Not a lot is known about the Cherub with Chariot Egg today, not even its exact appearance. What descriptions do exist were the basis of how it was described in this story. Only one photograph of it is known to exist, and unfortunately in that photo most of it is obscured behind another egg! (Although a very blurry reflection of Cherub with Chariot Egg is also in this photo.)
However, I would like to thank Jason for some invaluable help with this one. Hence the "some plot elements suggested by" credit I have given him on this story. I had written three of the four opening pre-meeting scenes (Matt Swett's, Justy's, and Kenny's) but then was at something of a loss as to where to take the story from there. And so I arranged a phone call with the good Mr. Bertovich, in the hopes that a joint brainstorming session may prove fruitful, and indeed it did!
He did have many ideas, some of which I didn't feel were quite what I was looking for, but one thing he suggested took root in my mind. There was the Girl Scout troop, Troop 42, that was pretty much unexplored territory once you remove the Porters from the equation. What if the Girl Scout troop had their own equivalent of Justy? And what if she became a new advisory for Justy?
Jason seemed to also have some knowledge of the movie I took this story's subtitle from, Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo. I must confess to not having such knowledge myself. I only knew the title, and that the title had somehow entered the cultural zeitgeist as a title to use when describing a bad, unnecessary, or otherwise unwanted sequel. And hell, it just rolls of the tongue, I had to use it!
But Jason, being the well educated man he is (at least, it seems, where 80's movies about breakdancing is concerned), suggested that a plot that at least slightly echoed that film's plot might be a good idea, and thus, a contest for control of Troop 192's meeting place was suggested.
And so, with those rough ideas in place, Jason and I went on to chat for a while more about other things, and then after I got off the phone, I spent the evening with the wheels turning in my head.
Before bed that night, I had come up with a name for this new character. And so I e-mailed Jason to announce to him that she would be Vladimira Vasilieva. The name is not without significance. Vladimira, obviously, is a feminine form of the name Vladimir, and means "greatest ruler." (You think maybe if Putin's folks had named him Pavel or something, we could get back to having some form of detente?) Vasilieva, meanwhile, is a Russian surname that traces its derivation back to a Greek word meaning "royal." The choosing of her name definitely shaped in my mind exactly what sort of character she would be.
Anyway, after I e-mailed Jason to share this name with him, his response was amusing to me. "Oooh... Spooky!" he had said. He went on to say that he, "was also thinking of proposing that she would be of Russian / Eastern Bloc heritage. Kinda like a female Bond villain type thing. Dude, sometimes, it can be scary when our brain waves sync up like that."
I maybe didn't end up going full "Bond villain" with her in the end... but, of course, she is still early in her career! Who knows what diabolical schemes she may come up with in the future?
Anyway, as for this story's diabolical scheme, I then hit upon the idea of a scavenger hunt. While I was certainly going to come up with some of my own ideas, I also thought I'd mine Jason's brain once more, and these were the suggestions he came up with when tasked with thinking of "impossible to find items":
A Lost Shakespearean Sonnet
Proof of the Existence of Sasquatch, The Chupacabra, or the Jersey Devil
The soul of an old blues guitarist who’s seen the worst o’ times
Emilia Earhart’s Compass
The grand unified theory equation
1 Jar of Ectoplasm
A hubcap from a 1982 Crown Victoria
A Bicuspid from a Tasmanian Tiger
A Bottle of Crystal Pepsi
A Mint Condition 1977 Jawa Star Wars Action Figure (with the plastic robe)
An 8-Track copy of William Shatner’s Album
The Real Mona Lisa (not that fake one in the Louvre)
A pre-owned copy of ECWCWWF Extreme Thunderous Attitude II
A Shrubbery
I was quite tickled by some of his suggestions, even the ones I didn't use. I strongly considered the Jawa action figure, for example, but decided against it because it seemed just too impossibly expensive item for a random kid from Massachusetts to just be able to luck upon. Likewise, a lost piece of art such as the real Mona Lisa. (if you don't get the joke, just know that this is a Doctor Who reference.) Especially since I was already forming in my mind that perhaps another rare and expensive item should be on the scavenger hunt list... but more on that in a moment.
First, though, a shout out to my lovely girlfriend Rachel, who suggested I should have something Dr. Seuss related on the list. (For those not in the know, Dr. Seuss was a Springfield native.) When seeing "perpetual motion machine" on my list, she also suggested the good ol' buttered toast on cat, and that someone should be covered in scratches as a result.
Now, back to that rare and expensive item... Even as I awaited Jason's reply to my e-mail seeking suggestions, I had been starting to think, "What if one of the items that was found was a rare and lost Russian piece of art?" And after some research into the matter, the perfect item came to mind.
Between 1888 and when the Russian Revolution occurred in 1977, a series of 54 eggs were crafted for the Russian Imperial family under the supervision of the famous jeweler Peter Carl Fabergé. Of course, when the revolution took place and the Imperial family's treasures were seized, eventually the fates of some of the eggs became murky. As of 1998 when this story takes place, eight of them were still lost. One of them was found in 2014, but it was not the one featured in this story. As of today, the Cherub with Chariot Egg is still considered lost. (That is, of course, unless it really has come into the possession of a young woman seeking to become the ruler of the world!)
Not a lot is known about the Cherub with Chariot Egg today, not even its exact appearance. What descriptions do exist were the basis of how it was described in this story. Only one photograph of it is known to exist, and unfortunately in that photo most of it is obscured behind another egg! (Although a very blurry reflection of Cherub with Chariot Egg is also in this photo.)
For more information on the Cherub with Chariot Egg, you can visit Wikipedia. Or there is also this webpage, which was also the source for the images above.
And thus ends the educational portion of these notes, I suppose.
To explain one other joke, for those who may not have gotten it, Quadrophenia is an album from the band The Who. And, of course, the man listening to it was named Horton Zissou. Hence, Horton hears a Who. (Or rather, Horton hears The Who. Perhaps the definite article there is why Swett came out a point behind the Girl Scouts on that one.)
As for the resolution of the story... Well, once I hit upon the idea of having the Cherub with Chariot Egg turn up in the scavenger hunt, the solution became obvious to me.
I had told Jason I planned to end this story with Justy and Proctor headed to Japan. His suggestion was that Troop 192 actually lose the scavenger hunt, and Justy's twisted logic would then send him on a roaring rampage of revenge against the Garden Snakes.
But my solution, with apologies to Jason, I feel is a bit more elegant. Justy actually thinks he won. And he did achieve the goal he set out to achieve, so in that sense he did win. Alas, unknown to him, Vladimira was actually working towards an entirely different goal. And so, in a way, both Justy and Vladimira can come away from their first conflict with each other claiming for themselves a victory.
But Justy is finding victory to be boring. I actually used Superman's General Zod as a bit of a model for this. (That's Superman II's General Zod, not Man of Steel's General Zod.) Zod quickly conquered the Earth, but there was no challenge in it for him. And he would also not be able to rest contentedly once he knew that the son of his jailor Jor-El was still somewhere out there. Likewise, Justy is just not feeling properly challenged. And somewhere out there, the Garden Snakes have escaped his wrath.
Well, that's about all I have to say At this point, since he did have some hand in helping get this story going, I might have turned things over to Jason for a bit, to see if he had any notes. But he and his wife Sarah are on a camping trip this weekend, and I simply cannot wait to get this story presented to the world! So hopefully, he just finds it a nice surprise to come home to once he is back in front of the internet.
Before I go, a quick shout out to Takahashi Rumiko. This is actually one of the rare Boy Scouts ½ stories that does not contain any elements "borrowed" from her works, but she should still be acknowledged as without her works there would have been no Boy Scouts ½ in the first place!
See you all soon as we head back to Japan!
And thus ends the educational portion of these notes, I suppose.
To explain one other joke, for those who may not have gotten it, Quadrophenia is an album from the band The Who. And, of course, the man listening to it was named Horton Zissou. Hence, Horton hears a Who. (Or rather, Horton hears The Who. Perhaps the definite article there is why Swett came out a point behind the Girl Scouts on that one.)
As for the resolution of the story... Well, once I hit upon the idea of having the Cherub with Chariot Egg turn up in the scavenger hunt, the solution became obvious to me.
I had told Jason I planned to end this story with Justy and Proctor headed to Japan. His suggestion was that Troop 192 actually lose the scavenger hunt, and Justy's twisted logic would then send him on a roaring rampage of revenge against the Garden Snakes.
But my solution, with apologies to Jason, I feel is a bit more elegant. Justy actually thinks he won. And he did achieve the goal he set out to achieve, so in that sense he did win. Alas, unknown to him, Vladimira was actually working towards an entirely different goal. And so, in a way, both Justy and Vladimira can come away from their first conflict with each other claiming for themselves a victory.
But Justy is finding victory to be boring. I actually used Superman's General Zod as a bit of a model for this. (That's Superman II's General Zod, not Man of Steel's General Zod.) Zod quickly conquered the Earth, but there was no challenge in it for him. And he would also not be able to rest contentedly once he knew that the son of his jailor Jor-El was still somewhere out there. Likewise, Justy is just not feeling properly challenged. And somewhere out there, the Garden Snakes have escaped his wrath.
Well, that's about all I have to say At this point, since he did have some hand in helping get this story going, I might have turned things over to Jason for a bit, to see if he had any notes. But he and his wife Sarah are on a camping trip this weekend, and I simply cannot wait to get this story presented to the world! So hopefully, he just finds it a nice surprise to come home to once he is back in front of the internet.
Before I go, a quick shout out to Takahashi Rumiko. This is actually one of the rare Boy Scouts ½ stories that does not contain any elements "borrowed" from her works, but she should still be acknowledged as without her works there would have been no Boy Scouts ½ in the first place!
See you all soon as we head back to Japan!