Professor Snarfinkle
by Matthew Atanian
©2000 by Matthew Atanian
by Matthew Atanian
©2000 by Matthew Atanian
Kenny answered the World Super-Genius Hotline, and the image that was a cross between Einstein and Max Hedroom once again appeared on the Laboratory’s main screen.
“Kenneeth Ee. Peendreall!” the image said in a voice that was oozing with contempt.
“Professor Snarfinkle,” Kenny politely responded. “I’d like to say it’s good to see you again, but it is not you I see. Do we really need this computer-generated façade? After all, I have seen what you look like.”
The Einstein / Hedroom image began to dissolve. In its place, another image formed.
In the background was a complex that looked very much like a dark version of Kenny’s own Laboratory. In the foreground was a small albino boy, his
thin hair jutting out in every imaginable direction, giving his head almost a “Koosh-ball” appearance. He wore a long, double-breasted white lab coat with an ominous red smear across the front.
“Len?” Becker asked, astounded.
“There is no Len,” Kenny told his companion. “It was Snarfinkle all along.”
Kenny thought back to when “Len” had first come into the Laboratory, and how foolish he had been not to question the boy’s presence. Pride cometh before a fall, he thought grimly.
“Rieght yew arre, Kenneeth Peendreall!” Snarfinkle snarled.
“What can I do for you, Professor?” Kenny asked.
“Yew ken geet reeady to meeet yeor deztrection!” Snarfinkle responded. With that, the screen went blank.
The young genius sat in his underground layer, contemplating what must be done.
His infiltration of enemy territory was a complete success. Not only was he now able to complete his time machine, but he also had some interesting new leads that would give him access to interdimensional travel, as well! (He’d had quite a good look at the Stargate’s internal specifications when he had been committing his little act of sabotage.)
Now that he had taken what he needed from his enemy, his arch nemesis, he had no further use for him. Of course, he couldn’t simply go and kill him. Oh, no. What good would that be? Too easy, too simple, too clear-cut. He needed something that would tax his mind.
And thus, a plan began to form.
The best way to destroy Kenny would be to dominate the world.
Why? Why not. World domination might be a fun little challenge. And besides, he knew Kenny would try to stop him. And when he did…
“Engelbert! Are you down there again?” a woman called out from the top of the stairs, interrupting his train of thought.
“Yes, mom!”
“Honestly, down in the basement all day! You really should go outside and play on a nice day like today!”
“I’m just planning to take over the world to destroy my arch nemesis.”
“Of course, dear. Have you seen the ketchup?”
Snarfinkle looked at the smear on his lab coat. He thought it would look menacing. “I’m using it,” he called out.
“Of course, dear. Put it back in the fridge when you’re done, okay? And in the future, please don’t take food in the basement without asking.”
“Yes, mom!”
“That’s my good boy. Have fun down there!”
Soon after, he heard the sound of the door closing. He was alone with his thoughts once again.
How to take over the world?
He would need help.
Oh, he could do it on his own, sure. Nothing was impossible to him. But where would be the challenge in that? He needed minions to move around like pawns on a global chessboard.
Where would they come from?
“Ov courze!” he exclaimed as the idea hit him. He knew exactly where to get them.
Everywhere but here.
He smiled as he picked up the stolen temporal circuit and the rough drawing of the Stargate’s inner workings. He walked over to his Pinto and began to work.
“Boot,” he said to himself as he continued his tinkering, “Aie wiel stiel neeed zoomone weeth weech to beegin mye wourk.” He frowned. “Whoo?”
Justy Yung stood before the assembled members of Troop 192, spittle flying from his mouth and his baton waving wildly.
“Peons, all of you! You exist simply to service me! Why can you not see this? Why do you not do as your kind, benevolent, and loving God demands?”
“You tell ‘em, Captain!” Proctor, Justy’s obedient and loyal Assistant Senior Patrol Leader said in enthusiastic encouragement.
This latest tirade on the part of Justy Yung had begun when the members of Troop 192 refused to bow down and prey to him. Why wouldn’t they? Was it an unreasonable request on his part? He was, after all, a God to them. They loved him and worshiped him. They must. How could they not?
So why wouldn’t they openly show him their love and worship? This was the one thing Justy couldn’t figure out. Perhaps they were just afraid that it wouldn’t be enough, and he would punish them for their failing?
“Troop dismissed!” Justy said a second or three later.
The little robotic housefly that had been recording the entire meeting flew out as the Troop disbanded.
The next morning, Proctor woke at exactly 5:45 a.m. as he did every morning. He stood quietly so as not to wake his master. He quietly made his bed (if you could call it a bed – it was really just a crumpled sheet and a flattened cardboard box that was lying at the foot of Justy’s bed) and went to heat up some water for his master’s tea.
He then went back into Justy’s room and laid out Justy’s clothes for today. He thought his master might want to try out his new one, today. Proctor pondered this as he quietly went through the closet full of neat and freshly pressed, and all quite identical, Boy Scout uniforms.
There was not another thing in the whole closet.
At exactly 6:00, Proctor woke Justy and handed him his tea. “Good morning, Captain!” he said brightly.
“Oh, hello, you,” Justy responded as he took a sip.
Proctor pulled off Justy’s covers, revealing Justy in his favourite pyjamas, the pair that Proctor had hand-embroidered the word “God” over the breast pocket of. Justy sat up, finished his tea, and went into the bathroom.
Proctor followed him in and brushed his teeth for him. Then Proctor retreated to the kitchen to prepare breakfast as Justy showered and got dressed.
A half an hour later, Justy sat down to his breakfast of fresh Belgian waffles with a scoop of butter, powdered sugar, and grade A Vermont maple syrup. On the side was fresh bacon cooked to perfection, a tall glass of freshly squeezed orange juice (no pulp) and a tall cold glass of fresh milk. Once he was sure that everything was all right with his master, Proctor sat down to his cold bowl of oatmeal and a glass of water.
No sooner had Proctor been just about to take his first bite when the doorbell rang.
“Get that, would you?” Justy said dismissively.
“Yes, Captain!” Proctor said brightly.
A moment later, Proctor returned. “It’s for you, Captain,” he said.
Justy turned. “Who is it?” he demanded. Or, at least, he began to demand. He stopped half way through his demand when he saw who (or rather, what) had come to see him.
Proctor had been followed in by a television.
It was a simple television, a great big one from perhaps the mid 70’s. The kind with great big knobs to turn rather then simple little buttons you could push. Its antenna was fully extended, forming a gigantic “V”. It was able to follow Proctor in by virtue of the fact that it seemed mounted upon a motorized cart with a tread on either side.
There was an image upon the television’s screen. It was that of a young albino boy with a hairstyle that made him look as if he had just licked an electrical socket. Oddly enough, Justy thought the image seemed to be looking at him.
“Proctor, what is this?” Justy demanded.
“Looks like a television, Captain.”
“I know that, you nincompoop!” Justy hollered. “I mean, what is it…”
“Pleeze aelouw mee to eentrodoze myezelf,” the image said. “Aye aim Profezer Snarfinkle!”
“Proctor, get this thing out of here,” Justy said with his well-practiced dismissiveness. “I’m trying to eat breakfast.”
“Aind a loovely breekfazd eet eez, Joosty Yoong!” the image said.
Justy jumped slightly. He’d had no idea that the image would be able to hear him. He turned back to regard it once more.
“Just what would you like?” he asked.
“Aye vood liek… yew!”
With that, a small piece of paper was ejected from a slot beneath the television. Proctor caught it as it fell, grabbing it half way to the ground.
The television turned and let itself out.
Justy snatched the paper from Proctor’s grasp, oblivious to his loyal retainer’s slight gasp as he received a nasty paper cut. Justy looked at the paper.
On it was written only an address and a time.
“Proctor?”
Proctor pulled his bleeding finger from his mouth. “Yes, Captain?”
“Clear my schedule for this afternoon, would you?”
“Yes, Captain!”
“Oh, hello!” said the woman who opened the door after Proctor had knocked. “You must be the friends that Engelbert is expecting!”
“Right this way, Captain!” Proctor declared. Justy walked through the doorway with a slightly pompous flourish.
Justy couldn’t help but feel that the woman who had opened the door bore a striking resemblance to Donna Reed. In fact, it occurred to him as he looked around the kitchen that the whole thing looked like something out of a 50’s sitcom.
“Engelbert’s down playing in the basement again,” the woman said. They walked across the kitchen as she continued. “You know how he is, playing his pretend science games. The school councilor says we should encourage him, but I do wish that he’s go play outside once and a while.” She smiled. “It’s nice to finely meet some friends of his, he never invites people over. Maybe you could get him to go outside?”
Justy nodded absentmindedly as the woman opened a door. “Here you go! Right down here. Maybe later you three can come up for some cake and ice cream?”
Justy peered down the dark staircase.
“Mrs. Reed, can I have your autograph?” Proctor asked, awestruck.
The woman smiled. “My, you must have me confused with someone else!”
“Proctor, come on!” Justy clamored.
“Yes, Captain!” Proctor gleefully yelped as the two started down the staircase.
“You boys have fun!” the woman said as she closed the door behind them.
Where they had expected to find a basement, they instead found something that… well, the closest semblance Proctor’s mind could come up with was a sinister version of the Batcave.
There were huge stalactites and stalagmites jutting vehemently from the ceiling and the floor. Great contraptions of various types were strewn about in a seemingly random (but actually quite calculated) manor. On one wall was a huge poster, so big you could probably wrap a small elephant in it. On the poster was a rather unflattering photo of Albert Einstein.
There were great expanses of countertop, covered in vials and beakers and Bunsen Burners. Various things bubbled and boiled and frothed. There were gigantic computer banks, drive-in theatre screen sized monitors… and a chair.
On the chair sat a boy. A young albino boy, rather frail looking, his thin white hair seeming to be sticking from his head in every imaginable direction.
“Velkum!” the boy said. “Thaank yew fer akseeptink mye zummonz!”
Something within Justy suddenly snapped. Why had he come here, anyway? Of course, Justy wasn’t aware of the slight subliminal message that had been flashing across the screen of the television that had visited him earlier.
“No one summons me!” he exclaimed.
“Then eet pleezez mee to bee ze fierst.”
Justy was stunned. The boy seemed to not be impressed by his greatness. “What do you want with me?” he asked.
“Zimple. Aye waant yew to gahtheir an aarmy frum akroz tyme aind zpace… aind yewze zis aarmy to konkore ze worrld!”
For a moment, Justy remained silent.
Proctor blinked.
Justy chucked softly.
Proctor smiled.
Justy’s chuckle strengthened, and blossomed into a laugh.
A great big booming laugh.
Justy had treated (or, as they saw it, tortured) the scouts of 192 with some quite intricate laughs in the past… but they had nothing on this one.
This laugh lasted for hours.
Justy sat himself down in the driver’s seat of the Pinto and buckled the seatbelt.
“How did he say this thing worked again?” Proctor asked, taking the passenger seat.
“Idiot!” Justy exclaimed. “It was all quite simple! Weren’t you paying attention! You simply…” He paused. He frowned.
“Um… Well… Idiot!” Justy exclaimed again. “You should have paid attention! I demand you tell me how to work it, just to prove that you know!”
“Hmm… You know, don’t you Captain?”
“Of course I know!” Justy exclaimed. Anyone but Proctor would have easily noticed that he sounded rather defensive.
“Oh, that’s good. At least one of us knows. I think you just set the controls for where you want to go, and speed off to forty-two miles per hour.”
“Of course! Of course, that’s it! I knew that all along!”
Proctor smiled with admiration.
“Well, Proctor?”
Proctor blinked. “Yes, Captain?”
“Set the controls!”
“Oh! Yes, Captain! Er… where did you want to go?”
“What do you mean, where?”
“Well, we can go anywhere, can’t we? He did say that this car could travel to any point in time or space, in this dimension or any other alternate one. So where do you want to go?”
“I don’t care, you idiot! Just take us anywhere!”
“Right-o!” Proctor quipped as he pushed a few buttons on the control panel. “She’s all set!”
Justy turned the ignition key, starting the engine.
“Um… Captain?”
“What is it now, Proctor?!”
“You do know… um… how to drive, don’t you?”
“Of course I know how to drive, you fool!!”
Justy slammed his foot on the gas.
A minute later, they were inspecting the damage to the car’s rear end, which had collided with the far wall.
A half hour later, they were on their way again. By some miracle, this time Justy got it right.
“What in the name of Sir Isaac Newton?” Kenny exclaimed.
“What is it?” Becker asked, He too, heard the alarm coming from the main console.
Kenny rolled out from under the Edsel. Becker wiped the dirt from his hands and followed the young genius.
As he sat before the console, Kenny frowned. “My sensors have picked up a disturbance,” Kenny told Becker. “Snarfinkle must have completed his time machine… except… no!”
“What is it?” Becker once again said.
“Snarfinkle’s time machine! It somehow is capable of not only time travel, but can function like my Stargate, as well! It can go anywhere!”
“We have to go after him! Stop him, somehow!” Becker said.
Kenny rested his forehead in the palm of his hand, deep in thought. Becker was right, of course. Whatever Snarfinkle was up to, it couldn’t be good. Somehow, he’d have to redesign the Edsel to include the functions of the Stargate… but it would be a most difficult feat, unless…
“Yes!”
“What is it?”
“Back to the Edsel, Mr. Becker!” Kenny said. His voice bordered on bold. “We have work to do!”
“Kenneeth Ee. Peendreall!” the image said in a voice that was oozing with contempt.
“Professor Snarfinkle,” Kenny politely responded. “I’d like to say it’s good to see you again, but it is not you I see. Do we really need this computer-generated façade? After all, I have seen what you look like.”
The Einstein / Hedroom image began to dissolve. In its place, another image formed.
In the background was a complex that looked very much like a dark version of Kenny’s own Laboratory. In the foreground was a small albino boy, his
thin hair jutting out in every imaginable direction, giving his head almost a “Koosh-ball” appearance. He wore a long, double-breasted white lab coat with an ominous red smear across the front.
“Len?” Becker asked, astounded.
“There is no Len,” Kenny told his companion. “It was Snarfinkle all along.”
Kenny thought back to when “Len” had first come into the Laboratory, and how foolish he had been not to question the boy’s presence. Pride cometh before a fall, he thought grimly.
“Rieght yew arre, Kenneeth Peendreall!” Snarfinkle snarled.
“What can I do for you, Professor?” Kenny asked.
“Yew ken geet reeady to meeet yeor deztrection!” Snarfinkle responded. With that, the screen went blank.
The young genius sat in his underground layer, contemplating what must be done.
His infiltration of enemy territory was a complete success. Not only was he now able to complete his time machine, but he also had some interesting new leads that would give him access to interdimensional travel, as well! (He’d had quite a good look at the Stargate’s internal specifications when he had been committing his little act of sabotage.)
Now that he had taken what he needed from his enemy, his arch nemesis, he had no further use for him. Of course, he couldn’t simply go and kill him. Oh, no. What good would that be? Too easy, too simple, too clear-cut. He needed something that would tax his mind.
And thus, a plan began to form.
The best way to destroy Kenny would be to dominate the world.
Why? Why not. World domination might be a fun little challenge. And besides, he knew Kenny would try to stop him. And when he did…
“Engelbert! Are you down there again?” a woman called out from the top of the stairs, interrupting his train of thought.
“Yes, mom!”
“Honestly, down in the basement all day! You really should go outside and play on a nice day like today!”
“I’m just planning to take over the world to destroy my arch nemesis.”
“Of course, dear. Have you seen the ketchup?”
Snarfinkle looked at the smear on his lab coat. He thought it would look menacing. “I’m using it,” he called out.
“Of course, dear. Put it back in the fridge when you’re done, okay? And in the future, please don’t take food in the basement without asking.”
“Yes, mom!”
“That’s my good boy. Have fun down there!”
Soon after, he heard the sound of the door closing. He was alone with his thoughts once again.
How to take over the world?
He would need help.
Oh, he could do it on his own, sure. Nothing was impossible to him. But where would be the challenge in that? He needed minions to move around like pawns on a global chessboard.
Where would they come from?
“Ov courze!” he exclaimed as the idea hit him. He knew exactly where to get them.
Everywhere but here.
He smiled as he picked up the stolen temporal circuit and the rough drawing of the Stargate’s inner workings. He walked over to his Pinto and began to work.
“Boot,” he said to himself as he continued his tinkering, “Aie wiel stiel neeed zoomone weeth weech to beegin mye wourk.” He frowned. “Whoo?”
Justy Yung stood before the assembled members of Troop 192, spittle flying from his mouth and his baton waving wildly.
“Peons, all of you! You exist simply to service me! Why can you not see this? Why do you not do as your kind, benevolent, and loving God demands?”
“You tell ‘em, Captain!” Proctor, Justy’s obedient and loyal Assistant Senior Patrol Leader said in enthusiastic encouragement.
This latest tirade on the part of Justy Yung had begun when the members of Troop 192 refused to bow down and prey to him. Why wouldn’t they? Was it an unreasonable request on his part? He was, after all, a God to them. They loved him and worshiped him. They must. How could they not?
So why wouldn’t they openly show him their love and worship? This was the one thing Justy couldn’t figure out. Perhaps they were just afraid that it wouldn’t be enough, and he would punish them for their failing?
“Troop dismissed!” Justy said a second or three later.
The little robotic housefly that had been recording the entire meeting flew out as the Troop disbanded.
The next morning, Proctor woke at exactly 5:45 a.m. as he did every morning. He stood quietly so as not to wake his master. He quietly made his bed (if you could call it a bed – it was really just a crumpled sheet and a flattened cardboard box that was lying at the foot of Justy’s bed) and went to heat up some water for his master’s tea.
He then went back into Justy’s room and laid out Justy’s clothes for today. He thought his master might want to try out his new one, today. Proctor pondered this as he quietly went through the closet full of neat and freshly pressed, and all quite identical, Boy Scout uniforms.
There was not another thing in the whole closet.
At exactly 6:00, Proctor woke Justy and handed him his tea. “Good morning, Captain!” he said brightly.
“Oh, hello, you,” Justy responded as he took a sip.
Proctor pulled off Justy’s covers, revealing Justy in his favourite pyjamas, the pair that Proctor had hand-embroidered the word “God” over the breast pocket of. Justy sat up, finished his tea, and went into the bathroom.
Proctor followed him in and brushed his teeth for him. Then Proctor retreated to the kitchen to prepare breakfast as Justy showered and got dressed.
A half an hour later, Justy sat down to his breakfast of fresh Belgian waffles with a scoop of butter, powdered sugar, and grade A Vermont maple syrup. On the side was fresh bacon cooked to perfection, a tall glass of freshly squeezed orange juice (no pulp) and a tall cold glass of fresh milk. Once he was sure that everything was all right with his master, Proctor sat down to his cold bowl of oatmeal and a glass of water.
No sooner had Proctor been just about to take his first bite when the doorbell rang.
“Get that, would you?” Justy said dismissively.
“Yes, Captain!” Proctor said brightly.
A moment later, Proctor returned. “It’s for you, Captain,” he said.
Justy turned. “Who is it?” he demanded. Or, at least, he began to demand. He stopped half way through his demand when he saw who (or rather, what) had come to see him.
Proctor had been followed in by a television.
It was a simple television, a great big one from perhaps the mid 70’s. The kind with great big knobs to turn rather then simple little buttons you could push. Its antenna was fully extended, forming a gigantic “V”. It was able to follow Proctor in by virtue of the fact that it seemed mounted upon a motorized cart with a tread on either side.
There was an image upon the television’s screen. It was that of a young albino boy with a hairstyle that made him look as if he had just licked an electrical socket. Oddly enough, Justy thought the image seemed to be looking at him.
“Proctor, what is this?” Justy demanded.
“Looks like a television, Captain.”
“I know that, you nincompoop!” Justy hollered. “I mean, what is it…”
“Pleeze aelouw mee to eentrodoze myezelf,” the image said. “Aye aim Profezer Snarfinkle!”
“Proctor, get this thing out of here,” Justy said with his well-practiced dismissiveness. “I’m trying to eat breakfast.”
“Aind a loovely breekfazd eet eez, Joosty Yoong!” the image said.
Justy jumped slightly. He’d had no idea that the image would be able to hear him. He turned back to regard it once more.
“Just what would you like?” he asked.
“Aye vood liek… yew!”
With that, a small piece of paper was ejected from a slot beneath the television. Proctor caught it as it fell, grabbing it half way to the ground.
The television turned and let itself out.
Justy snatched the paper from Proctor’s grasp, oblivious to his loyal retainer’s slight gasp as he received a nasty paper cut. Justy looked at the paper.
On it was written only an address and a time.
“Proctor?”
Proctor pulled his bleeding finger from his mouth. “Yes, Captain?”
“Clear my schedule for this afternoon, would you?”
“Yes, Captain!”
“Oh, hello!” said the woman who opened the door after Proctor had knocked. “You must be the friends that Engelbert is expecting!”
“Right this way, Captain!” Proctor declared. Justy walked through the doorway with a slightly pompous flourish.
Justy couldn’t help but feel that the woman who had opened the door bore a striking resemblance to Donna Reed. In fact, it occurred to him as he looked around the kitchen that the whole thing looked like something out of a 50’s sitcom.
“Engelbert’s down playing in the basement again,” the woman said. They walked across the kitchen as she continued. “You know how he is, playing his pretend science games. The school councilor says we should encourage him, but I do wish that he’s go play outside once and a while.” She smiled. “It’s nice to finely meet some friends of his, he never invites people over. Maybe you could get him to go outside?”
Justy nodded absentmindedly as the woman opened a door. “Here you go! Right down here. Maybe later you three can come up for some cake and ice cream?”
Justy peered down the dark staircase.
“Mrs. Reed, can I have your autograph?” Proctor asked, awestruck.
The woman smiled. “My, you must have me confused with someone else!”
“Proctor, come on!” Justy clamored.
“Yes, Captain!” Proctor gleefully yelped as the two started down the staircase.
“You boys have fun!” the woman said as she closed the door behind them.
Where they had expected to find a basement, they instead found something that… well, the closest semblance Proctor’s mind could come up with was a sinister version of the Batcave.
There were huge stalactites and stalagmites jutting vehemently from the ceiling and the floor. Great contraptions of various types were strewn about in a seemingly random (but actually quite calculated) manor. On one wall was a huge poster, so big you could probably wrap a small elephant in it. On the poster was a rather unflattering photo of Albert Einstein.
There were great expanses of countertop, covered in vials and beakers and Bunsen Burners. Various things bubbled and boiled and frothed. There were gigantic computer banks, drive-in theatre screen sized monitors… and a chair.
On the chair sat a boy. A young albino boy, rather frail looking, his thin white hair seeming to be sticking from his head in every imaginable direction.
“Velkum!” the boy said. “Thaank yew fer akseeptink mye zummonz!”
Something within Justy suddenly snapped. Why had he come here, anyway? Of course, Justy wasn’t aware of the slight subliminal message that had been flashing across the screen of the television that had visited him earlier.
“No one summons me!” he exclaimed.
“Then eet pleezez mee to bee ze fierst.”
Justy was stunned. The boy seemed to not be impressed by his greatness. “What do you want with me?” he asked.
“Zimple. Aye waant yew to gahtheir an aarmy frum akroz tyme aind zpace… aind yewze zis aarmy to konkore ze worrld!”
For a moment, Justy remained silent.
Proctor blinked.
Justy chucked softly.
Proctor smiled.
Justy’s chuckle strengthened, and blossomed into a laugh.
A great big booming laugh.
Justy had treated (or, as they saw it, tortured) the scouts of 192 with some quite intricate laughs in the past… but they had nothing on this one.
This laugh lasted for hours.
Justy sat himself down in the driver’s seat of the Pinto and buckled the seatbelt.
“How did he say this thing worked again?” Proctor asked, taking the passenger seat.
“Idiot!” Justy exclaimed. “It was all quite simple! Weren’t you paying attention! You simply…” He paused. He frowned.
“Um… Well… Idiot!” Justy exclaimed again. “You should have paid attention! I demand you tell me how to work it, just to prove that you know!”
“Hmm… You know, don’t you Captain?”
“Of course I know!” Justy exclaimed. Anyone but Proctor would have easily noticed that he sounded rather defensive.
“Oh, that’s good. At least one of us knows. I think you just set the controls for where you want to go, and speed off to forty-two miles per hour.”
“Of course! Of course, that’s it! I knew that all along!”
Proctor smiled with admiration.
“Well, Proctor?”
Proctor blinked. “Yes, Captain?”
“Set the controls!”
“Oh! Yes, Captain! Er… where did you want to go?”
“What do you mean, where?”
“Well, we can go anywhere, can’t we? He did say that this car could travel to any point in time or space, in this dimension or any other alternate one. So where do you want to go?”
“I don’t care, you idiot! Just take us anywhere!”
“Right-o!” Proctor quipped as he pushed a few buttons on the control panel. “She’s all set!”
Justy turned the ignition key, starting the engine.
“Um… Captain?”
“What is it now, Proctor?!”
“You do know… um… how to drive, don’t you?”
“Of course I know how to drive, you fool!!”
Justy slammed his foot on the gas.
A minute later, they were inspecting the damage to the car’s rear end, which had collided with the far wall.
A half hour later, they were on their way again. By some miracle, this time Justy got it right.
“What in the name of Sir Isaac Newton?” Kenny exclaimed.
“What is it?” Becker asked, He too, heard the alarm coming from the main console.
Kenny rolled out from under the Edsel. Becker wiped the dirt from his hands and followed the young genius.
As he sat before the console, Kenny frowned. “My sensors have picked up a disturbance,” Kenny told Becker. “Snarfinkle must have completed his time machine… except… no!”
“What is it?” Becker once again said.
“Snarfinkle’s time machine! It somehow is capable of not only time travel, but can function like my Stargate, as well! It can go anywhere!”
“We have to go after him! Stop him, somehow!” Becker said.
Kenny rested his forehead in the palm of his hand, deep in thought. Becker was right, of course. Whatever Snarfinkle was up to, it couldn’t be good. Somehow, he’d have to redesign the Edsel to include the functions of the Stargate… but it would be a most difficult feat, unless…
“Yes!”
“What is it?”
“Back to the Edsel, Mr. Becker!” Kenny said. His voice bordered on bold. “We have work to do!”
...to be continued
Disclaimer:
The usual. ^_^