II: The Night the FBI Came To Call
by Martha Wadley
©2013 by Martha Wadley and Matthew Atanian
Boy Scouts ½ created by Matthew Atanian
To Conquer the World created by Martha Wadley, from an idea by Matthew Atanian
by Martha Wadley
©2013 by Martha Wadley and Matthew Atanian
Boy Scouts ½ created by Matthew Atanian
To Conquer the World created by Martha Wadley, from an idea by Matthew Atanian
October 1998 aged and the woods around the Cabin shifted through leaves of green, to gold, to orange and deeper red. The squirrels’ coats thickened, prophesying a cold future. Martha supplied suitable adjustments to their nutritional intake. Birdseed mix and shelled peanuts, left out on a couple stumps, owned favored-treat status, but the rare bag of ranch corn nuts often disappeared faster than Martha could walk back to the cabin. Stewart, the squirrels’ computer-trained expert, loved wasabi peas. Martha often wondered about him.
Tonight, Martha glared at the computer screen before her. The PC stared back without blinking.
She really should have built the monitor housing out of alder instead of oak. Alder was a soft wood and didn’t have the spine to look intimidating. Oak, on the other hand, was a thing of boardrooms and fancy hotels. It was a wood that took itself too seriously and put on airs.
She shook her head in frustration and took a deep breath. What a time to get writer’s block, particularly since this was the first moment of free time she’d had in months. Ever since the Bed and Breakfast had opened, Martha, Lester, and the other squirrels had been running their paws to blisters.
Yes, granted, the guests brought in much-needed funds. They’d paid for the new generator, a new machine lathe, and replaced the sewer drain field with something that could better handle the new usage from the guests. (That had been a night Martha would rather not think about.) However, keeping guests required time for laundry, meal planning, shopping for ingredients, preparation, cooking, clean-up, taking down the beds, replacing the sheets, cleaning the ensuite facilities, finding an endless supply of guest towels (She’d had to quit hand-making those, the things kept disappearing!), running background checks on reservation requesters, checking reservations to make sure they didn’t double-book, billing, and constant maintenance of the cabin’s security system.
She had assigned Francis, their accountant, to see if they could afford a washer/drier. She hated to bring another piece of automated machinery into the cabin, but not having to hand wash sheets and towels every day would save a great deal of time. Time they could use for The Plan.
Even Lester was so busy he’d assigned the ‘haunting’ skits to one of the other squirrels to give himself the time to work out logistics for the current part of The Plan.
That decision had actually worked rather well.
A recent set of guests from Connecticut had asked if dinner was an option for an extra price. Francis had thought it could be a worthwhile venture, so Martha had agreed to allow it.
The cabin had no dining room. However, the library, with the furniture pulled back and a small table and chairs for four, set with linens and silver by candlelight, created the perfect setting for an intimate three-course dinner. The candles had flickered, gone out, and relit themselves mysteriously over and over during the meal to create cover for ‘ghostly’ waiters to swoop away plates, refill cups, and serve desserts. Light music, the tape player volume set low, had masked the soft patter of paws and claws on the floor. The guests had been enthralled.
The act had required a fair bit of timing and choreography. Chekov and the other fifty-five ‘acrobatic specialists’ had loved the chance to perform rolls and flying leaps while flipping and juggling serving dishes and full pitchers in the dark. Squirrels had better night vision than humans, but it had still been a risk.
They hadn’t had another dinner request since, but Martha had heard that Chekov was designing choreography for a few more dinners in his spare time. He’d even asked her if next time he could pick the background music. Chekov had enjoyed performing ‘Swan Lake’ those few times before the performance team had been kidnapped and Martha had put the kibosh on live performances.
Martha nodded to herself. It was nice that her squirrels managed to find time for their hobbies. If only she could do the same.
She glared again at the computer screen, but still no ideas came. Martha and Stewart had carefully adjusted the reservation website so there would be no guests to worry about tonight. The next stage in The Plan was ready to start in about an hour, so she actually had a little time for writing. No worries, no obligations. Everything was perfect, except for her writer’s block.
She growled in frustration. Her novel was going nowhere.
Ah well, maybe she could use the moment to check that Neon Genesis Boy Scouts website she’d found a month ago and see if the author had posted a new story…
No. If typing was out of the question tonight, there were other things that needed doing. Lester’s maroon waistcoat was growing shabby and starting to fray at the edges. That was not a good look for an American Grey squirrel leading a contingent of the Squirrel Revolution.
Martha shut down the computer, pulled out her sewing basket, and began to pick through the remnants.
A scrap of sable satin brought to mind a mental picture of Lester in a frock coat, white gloves, and little top hat. Martha smiled. He’d be so cute. However, the outfit wouldn’t be practical.
She set aside the satin for another time and dug deeper. A piece of dark brown velvet caught her attention. The color would look striking against Lester’s fur. She nodded and began pinning a vest pattern to the cloth.
A knock at the cabin’s front door interrupted her work.
Who in the world could that be? she wondered, closing the pin box and heading for the door. She adjusted her radio earbud and spoke into the attached mic, “Sunny? I thought we didn’t have guests scheduled for tonight. Am I wrong?”
Let me check! The office secretary Stewart had trained to monitor the website and maintain open communication channels cheerfully chattered back. Sunny was a European red squirrel, bright, and always perky and cheerful.
Nope, we’re not supposed to have guests tonight!
“Thanks, Sunny,” Martha pulled out the earbud and pocketed it. Then, she opened the door.
A man and a woman stood on the step. The man was taller than Martha, on the thin side, clean shaven, with brown floppy hair. He seemed excited and somehow expectant, practically bouncing on the step, as if something he had been waiting for was going to happen soon. The woman was shorter than Martha. Her red hair had been cut above her shoulders and looked as if it normally was carefully brushed straight, but tonight sections stuck out in places and looked as if she’d slept on it, then tried brushing it out with her fingers. She looked tired, and mildly irritated with her friend.
Both wore long, dark coats over their suits. Definitely odd apparel for people in the woods.
“Can I help you?” Martha asked. They might merely be looking for directions to Westfield or possibly the nearby campground. She hoped this would not take long, Lester and Rocky 6 would need her soon.
The man reached into his dark overcoat and pulled out a small leather wallet case, “Federal agents. Have you seen or heard anything suspicious tonight? Odd shadows? Strange noises? Bright lights?” He flashed open the wallet and Martha caught sight of the letters ‘FBI’ on a shiny badge before it closed again.
“What are you doing?” the red-haired woman hissed at him.
Martha considered the two carefully. This was not good. Government agents on her doorstep, tonight of all nights? She folded her arms across her Green Bay Packers sweatshirt, “How do I know you’re really federal agents?”
“I showed you my badge!” the man seemed surprised.
“Let me see it again,” Martha stated.
He did, pulling it out once more and flipping open for her. This time he left it open for her to examine.
Martha pulled out a note pad and carefully wrote down the serial number, then turned to the woman, “Yours too.”
The woman looked surprised, but held out her badge as well. “We’re sorry to bother you tonight,” she said. She really did look sorry. “But our car had some sort of system failure a few miles down the road.”
“The engine just shut down,” the man added, excited again. “The dash clock even died. Total power failure. Right in the middle of the road!”
The woman gave him a long-suffering glance, but turned to Martha, “We were wondering if you had a phone and if you’d call us a tow.”
Martha felt sorry for her, “I do have a phone, but the phone system is down tonight.”
“Ah ha!” the man looked at his friend, “But is the problem widespread, or is it localized?”
“Does it matter?” The woman sighed. “We’re out in the middle of the woods. This is the only place we’ve seen for twenty minutes.”
Martha considered options. Would it be better to send them away to wander the woods all night and possibly turn up in the wrong place at the wrong time, or to let them in? Neither was an optimal solution. Of course, in this case, it would probably be best to contain potential problems.
She cleared her throat. “I’m sure things will be cleared up by morning. Do you have somewhere to stay tonight? This is a Bed and Breakfast and I have rooms available.”
The woman looked interested.
The man narrowed his eyes and took the woman aside to whisper, “Can we trust her? Maybe this is all illusion and maybe she’s part of the weirdness going on here.”
The woman agent gave her coworker a tired look before nodding to Martha, “We’d like a couple rooms.”
“Come in,” Martha invited, stepping out of the way and motioning them to enter.
“Are you sure we should be separated? Maybe one room would be better,” the man whispered in the female agent’s ear.
She gave him a glare, as if that answered everything.
They signed the guestbook.
Martha watched discretely from off to the side.
The man’s name was something like ‘(blot) Mueller’ and the woman’s name looked like ‘Danae (scribble)’. Neither had exceptional penmanship.
Mueller kept looking around, murmuring eagerly, as Martha led them down the hall to the guestrooms. She showed them the facilities and where the extra towels and blankets were kept.
“What time would you like breakfast?” she asked, hoping they were both heavy sleepers who would sleep in late.
“How early do you make breakfast?” Danae perked up slightly. “We’ll need to be on our way. If your phone still isn’t working, we’ll have to walk and find a gas station or convenience store that has a pay phone.”
Martha nodded, “Breakfast can be ready at seven. If the phone still isn’t working, I should be able to drive you into Huntington. I have a pickup truck for supplies.”
“Thank you,” Danae smiled. She glanced at Mueller, then turned and shut herself into her room. Martha heard the deadbolt snap shut.
Mueller glanced at Martha, eyes hopeful, and opened his mouth as if to begin a line of questions.
“Good night,” Martha bade him. “If you need anything during the night, I’ll be down the hall.”
She could feel his eyes watching her back as she walked down the hall and turned the corner into the kitchenette, but she didn’t turn around. Standing next to the sink, she waited silently, listening for any hint of noise. At last, she heard him shuffle into his room and his door click shut.
She breathed a quiet sigh. Finally. Lester was going to call at any minute.
She slipped her earbud back in, tapping it to let Sunny know she was listening again, then touched the hidden latch behind the refrigerator. The wall oven slid aside silently, revealing a gap just wide enough for her to slip through.
You’re just in time, Sunny informed her, ears twitching in anticipation. Lester’s in position.
“Good,” Martha sat down at the command center’s desk and scanned the wall of viewscreens. The views were mostly of squirrels, wearing little bowties as they crept down grey concrete corridors and ventilation shafts in what had the look of a military missile silo. Lester’s assault team cameras were working perfectly, despite the distance.
At one side of the wall, two screens showed views from the guestroom cameras.
I thought you might want to keep an eye on the guests, Sunny informed Martha.
“Yes,” Martha agreed. “Watch them and let me know if you see them leave their rooms.”
The radio crackled and Lester’s voice came across with a tinny, far-away quality, We’re in position!
“Excellent,” Martha steepled her fingers on the desk before her. “Proceed.”
Lester waved a paw to the troop, flicking his tail, and the entire pack swarmed down the corridor and ventilation shafts.
A security guard rounded a corner in front of the group’s lead scout.
“Pete has first contact!” Martha called out.
Lester signaled to the rest of the team, which halted, out of sight.
Pete flicked his tail, welcoming, as the guard approached. The man looked young, dressed in a crisp uniform.
“What are you doing here, little guy?” the guard frowned, eyes focusing on Pete’s bright red bow-tie. “You belong to someone don’t you?”
Pete chirped, tail flicking, and stood up on his haunches, sniffing the air in the guard’s direction as if hoping for a treat.
“Sorry, little guy, I don’t have anything for you,” the guard said, bending toward Pete slightly. Pete slowly hopped toward the guard, stopping every few feet until he reached the man’s shoe.
“Boy, you’re friendly!” the guard laughed.
Pete chirped cheerfully and began to climb the man’s pants. The guard held very still as Pete reached his shoulder and perched there. Pete chirped again and curled his tail around, carefully brushing the man’s cheek with it.
The guard blinked, then slowly, cautiously, reached his hand up to pet Pete, then paused, staring at the wire extending from Pete’s earbud.
“Alright. Now!” Martha called out.
The scratch of hundreds of squirrel claws on concrete caught the guard’s attention. His eyes flew wide open and his face went ashen before the squirrels were upon him. In seconds, his uniform had been shredded and he was bound and gagged with strips of the cloth. For his sake, Martha hoped he’d washed it recently.
One of Stewart’s tech trainees pulled the signal diagnosis/decoder he’d been lugging around from his back and hooked it up to the guard’s radio. For a minute, the entire squirrel horde stood silently, waiting, as the tech-squirrel twitched his nose and turned knobs on the decoder. Finally, the tech-squirrel wrote out a series of letters and numbers and held it up to the view screen.
“Punch that in,” Martha told Sunny. “Audio only.”
Sunny quickly did so.
The squawk and babble of human voices came over the radio.
“We’re picking up their signal clearly,” Martha informed Lester. “You’re clear.”
Lester signaled the troop and pressed forward into the maze of tunnels. Martha listened to the guards’ radio chatter and gave warnings and instructions when the tunnels differed from the building plans they’d found. One would think one underground bunker is pretty much like any other (the U.S. military does like standardization), however, people who design secret installations usually bend toward paranoia, a predilection for obscuring things, and tend to customize their facilities. Area 51 is no exception.
Sunny suddenly interrupted, The guests are on the move!
Martha glanced over at the two guestroom video panels. Apparently, Mueller couldn’t sleep and had knocked on Danae’s door for advice. Danae had opened her door a crack and was glaring at Mueller with a peeved look only a truly sleep-deprived person can achieve. Martha switched over her earbud’s audio transmission signal channel to the cabin’s in-house system.
“She’s hiding something from us.” Mueller was saying.
“Maybe she’s not,” Danae protested. “Maybe this is just an ordinary bed and breakfast in the middle of nowhere.”
Mueller looked at her, “Only forty minutes out from Springfield, Massachusetts?”
Danae paused, and chewed her lip. “Alright, maybe not ordinary. The towels are too nice for this to be a real B&B. The owner’d lose too many to theft.”
Martha had to give them that point. It did explain why the towels kept disappearing.
“Track their movements. Let me know if they’re getting close to anything…dangerous,” Martha told Sunny and turned her attention back to Lester’s crew.
Don’t they ever clean this place? Lester was asking, wrinkling his nose at the dust in the vent the team was currently crawling through.
Martha shook her head silently. Most squirrels didn’t mind dust. In fact, it helped keep off fleas and parasites. However, Lester fastidiously groomed himself and hated getting his tail filthy.
With care and a constant ear to the human radio conversations, the squirrels carefully worked their way down into the lower levels of the bunker, past the other guards, down into the secure levels, down where hidden things had been done and completed things had been hidden.
Why couldn’t I stay with the jet? Rocky 6 complained, crawling along near the rear of the team. I’m not much help here and you can’t expect Scotty to bring the jet back safe and sound.
“If the team finds ‘Roddenberry’s Glimpse’, they won’t have time to wait for you to come down,” Martha pointed out. “Did you want Scotty to fly the ‘Glimpse’ instead?”
Well, no. Rocky 6 admitted.
Rocky 6 wasn’t a coward. In fact, he followed a long tradition of squirrels who were so daring they were downright crazy in their own way.
Rocket J, a flying squirrel, had fallen in love with their experimental ultra-ultra light plane and refused to fly anything else.
Rocky 2 had gone AWOL during a previous experimental flight of grievous misfortune.
Rocky 3 and Rocky 4 had died during flight tests.
After seeing a couple un-piloted crash landings, Rocky 5 had developed a fear of flying and now would only leave the ground to climb things that were firmly rooted in the earth.
Rocky 6 was their most experienced pilot, only because he’d somehow managed to survive the last three test failures, including a spectacular engine fire which had resulted in a patch of charred pavement in the hangar. As it was, he had a limp and his tail was nothing more than a brown pom-pom. Scotty, the intern, had volunteered to become Rocky 6’s trainee and possible replacement. Unfortunately, Scotty had more enthusiasm than skill and there was (unofficially) a bet going on as to whether Scotty would outlive Rocky 6 long enough to take his place or not.
“You’re coming up on the first of the potential sites,” Martha announced, checking their position with the plans spread out on a small table next to her seat. “That door on the right.”
The door was locked.
That wasn’t a problem. One of the techs had brought along a set of lock-picks and got to work.
The lock popped open and Lester stuck his head through the doorway. The room looked vaguely like a coroner’s work room with wall cabinets, a countertop with wash sink, and a stainless steel exam table in the middle.
Martha grimaced. A dissection lab. It was stark, empty, and dusty, impossible to tell if it had ever been used or not.
“Keep looking,” she told Lester after the squirrels had made a careful sweep of the room without finding anything in the cabinets.
Sunny coughed, (which coming from a squirrel, is more of a squeak and quite attention-getting.) The guests have found the closet!
Martha glanced at the screen Sunny pointed toward.
Danae appeared to be falling asleep while standing up as Mueller knelt in front of the hall closet door, trying to pick the lock.
Martha switched her earbud channel just in time to hear:
Mueller, “See!”
The closet door swung open…to reveal mops, brooms, a dustpan, a shelf of fluffy towels, soap, toilet paper, various cleansers, and wood polish. In other words, the contents of a typical janitorial closet.
“Uh, huh,” Danae yawned.
Mueller snorted, then stepped into the closet.
Martha winced as he began twisting knobs, pulling handles, and moving the contents of the shelves around. Even she could hear the soft click when he activated the hidden latch release.
The concealed door swung open to reveal a stairwell that led down.
Martha grimaced. They’d found the hidden basement entrance.
“I told you she’s hiding something from us!” Mueller crowed.
Martha sighed in resignation. She hated having to wipe people’s memories. This looked as if it was going to be one of those nights when things just went wrong.
Danae followed Mueller down the stairs to the basement level. There was a door that led to the command room, but the two humans missed it in the dark and continued down until they’d reached the very bottom where the narrow stairs opened up into the underground hanger.
Martha caught the sound of a quiet splash across the hanger. In the scurry to hide from the intruders, one of the lab assistants had slipped and fallen into an engine oil-change pan that had been pushed aside and forgotten when they’d taxied the newly built mini stealth-jet through the underground hanger to the runway. (The other end of runway was carefully disguised as a hole in the ground in a nearby clearing.)
The oil pan had been full of used oil. Martha winced. That was going to be difficult to get out of his fur.
Danae and Mueller rounded the corner, flashlights sweeping about, just as the lab assistant clawed his way out of the pan, coughing. The flashlight beams both leapt toward the sound, bathing the sodden lab assistant in brightness.
He shot away out of sight behind a spare engine mount as Mueller shouted, “Did you see that! Black Oil! It moved by itself! Did you see it?!!”
Danae murmured something about how it was probably just a rat.
Thankfully, there wasn’t much in the underground hanger at the moment, except the generator, and the two agents swept around the perimeter without discovering anything truly remarkable. (Not that finding an underground hanger beneath a cabin in the woods the outskirts of Western Massachusetts isn’t remarkable.) Both noticed the burnt patch on the floor where the engine fire had occurred. Danae shivered at the sight, while Mueller grew excited and swept his flashlight beam back and forth around the hangar as if looking for more burned spots.
They ignored the doors to the hydroponics center and the machine shop, tried to open the door to the bio-diesel production set up, and, for a few minutes, they argued over whether to force the lock on the Lab door. Martha sighed in relief when they decided to follow the runway instead. The Lab was not a good place for FBI agents.
She turned her attention back to Lester’s extraction team.
Alright, potential site number four, Lester called out. Another locked door. This one had a keypad lock, which was harder to bypass, so the team took turns punching in codes. Squirrels could manage this much faster than humans and, despite the waste of time (a computer would have been quicker), it was hard to argue against a point of pride, so Martha bore through it.
Thankfully, before too long, the latch clicked and the door swung open.
And there, in the middle of the room, chained to the floor, sat one of their objectives:
The ‘Roddenberry’s Glimpse’.
The craft was sleek, powerful-looking, and almost seemed to shine on the curves, despite its dark grey matte finish. Two wings arched out from the main body and appeared to have weapons of some kind attached at points. Too small for humans, the craft still had room for the hundred-plus team Lester had brought.
Get that loose, Lester commanded. Rocky 6, get the engines started. The rest of you fan out. The ship’s crew has to be here somewhere.
Unless they buried them afterward, Rocky 6 muttered.
They’ll be here, Lester affirmed.
A metal storage cabinet stood against the far end of the room and appeared to have been fastened in place.
“That looks promising,” Martha agreed as Lester headed toward it.
The door was locked, which was no surprise at this point. A cabinet, sitting in a locked room, inside the most highly guarded secure area couldn’t possibly be broken into. It would be the most safe and secure thing in the entire world. So, of course, someone would lock it.
The lock was quickly dispensed with by Sven, a large squirrel with very steady paws and long practice with lock-picking.
Inside the cabinet sat four glass cylinders on a shelf. The cylinders were about a foot and a half tall and six inches in diameter. Within each of the cylinders, suspended in preservative, hung a small, grey body. Each had a tail.
Lester placed a paw on the glass of the nearest. Sorry it took so long, Tom, he said. But we’re here to take you home.
Ugh, why’d the humans shave them? one of the younger team members asked, disgusted.
Hey, didn’t Rocky 2 have three toes on his left foot? said another squirrel.
“Get a move on,” Martha called. “You guys don’t have much time. Security has found the guard you tied up. They’re still trying to get him to calm down enough to explain what happened, but they have the teams on alert for intruders.”
Lester nodded and the troupe swung into action, carefully tipping the cylinders off the shelf one by one into the waiting paws of squirrel teams, who rushed them over to the craft in the middle of the floor.
Lester hustled the teams into the craft’s cargo bay, where the cylinders were carefully tied down as he directed a team to shut and seal the doors. Lester left them to their work and scampered up to the cockpit.
Martha studied the screen views carefully, watching for scorch marks on the walls and floor. The unit had malfunctioned somehow, but hopefully the engines and controls were still good.
Rocky 6! How is it coming? Lester called up to the pilot, tail twitching with impatience.
Almost got it, Rocky 6 called back.
A moment later, the engines roared to life.
“That will have alerted security,” Martha commented drily. “Lester, give me a view of the controls for the dimensional device.”
The screen immediately showed a view of a control board.
“Can you plug in the remote controller?”
Nope, Lester replied. The connection looks black and melted. It won’t fit now.
A close up of the connection on-screen confirmed that.
“Great,” Martha used her skills of sarcasm. “A manual start. Well, open it up. If anything else is fried inside, we’re aborting. Got it?”
Right, Lester replied, already poking at the access panel’s screws with a Phillips.
Squirrels aren’t made with opposable thumbs, but Lester often practiced using human implements. Still, it was nearly a minute later
when the panel fell and clanged against the floor. Martha drew a deep breath as Lester stuck his head inside the opening.
The viewscreen went black.
After a moment, Lester spoke. Pretty dark in here, but I don’t smell anything else burned.
Lester drew his head back out and the view of the cockpit returned. Let’s give it a chance.
Yes, let’s! cried the rest of the extraction team above the howl of the engines.
“Very well,” Martha agreed, reluctantly. “Lester, make sure the fourth dimension controls are deactivated, please.”
The human security team had arrived and was already trying to force the door, but if something should go wrong and the dimensional device should whisk this team back to 1955 as well…A paradox would be created, which could possibly cause one or the other craft to implode. Historically, this craft had survived the first trip, evidenced by the fact that it was here now. That would imply that either the second version was destroyed, or else it didn’t repeat the trip back into the past. Martha hoped it was the latter scenario. She did not want to loose Lester.
Rocky 6 pulled his WWI aviator-style goggles down over his eyes.
This was the crucial part, the dangerous part. Martha wished Lester hadn’t been the one to go. She could train another lead squirrel, true, but it wouldn’t be Lester. She would miss his particular quirks.
Losing Tom had been bad enough.
Alright, Lester said, throw the lever! Four, three, two, one…
The screen picture filled with snow.
Martha quickly called Scotty, who’d been waiting in the mini stealth-jet outside Area 51’s hidden bunker entrance just in case Lester and the rest of the team had needed to abort the mission, and told him that he should head back home.
Scotty enthusiastically promised to break a record on the flight back.
Martha hoped he’d make it back in one piece.
As she signed off, Martha heard sounds outside, shouts and the roar of engines. She slipped out of the command center and over to the window above the kitchen sink.
Of course, Mueller and Danae had followed the runway all the way outside and had back-tracked to the cabin just in time to see the ‘Roddenberry’s Glimpse’ making a VTOL landing in the nearby meadow.
“Look! Look! I told you they exist!” Mueller was shouting like a little kid as he tried to fight his way through the backwash from the VTOL engines. “Hey, why does it look like a Klingon Bird of Prey???”
Martha waited in the Cabin’s doorway until the jet had landed and the engines had quieted before running out to meet the crew.
Lester popped the hatch and the rescue team began pouring out, carrying the remains of their fallen comrades for proper burial.
Mueller stared, feet locked in place. “Little grey-furred…squirrels?!? Wearing little red….bow-ties?” Mueller began hyperventilating, then fell to his knees, staring at the ship, murmuring, “The squirrels! The squirrels!”
Martha hurried over to the extraction team. “Good job everyone! Anything interesting happen on the way back, Lester?”
Lester shrugged and shook his head. Not even any sparks.
“Good,” Martha nodded, carefully picking up Lester and setting him on her shoulder. He settled onto the perch as she bent over the grim remains of Tom, Rocky 2 and the rest of the team. “We’ll have a proper burial. Francis, would you pick the spot and get the teams digging? You know where the shoe boxes are.”
The little accountant did not look thrilled at the prospect of herding squirrels, but began issuing orders and the whole squirrely mass started moving toward the graveyard.
A cough behind Martha came from a human. Martha turned to look and might have knocked Lester off her shoulder in years past, but he’d had lots of practice and ducked low.
Danae stood at the edge of the clearing, a few feet from Martha. She looked surprised, but remarkably calm, considering the circumstances. She thumbed toward the ‘Glimpse’ sitting incongruously in the meadow. “Do you want to explain how that aircraft…spaceship…thing just appeared out of the blue like that? One moment, the sky was as clear as can be expected in this area. The next, that thing was just sitting in mid-air over the trees.”
“I’d rather not. Not right now,” Martha shook her head. “We’re in the middle of the patent process. Certain government departments have already tried to convince me that, in the interests of national security, I should turn over all my research with the prototypes and forget such a project ever existed.”
Danae arched an eyebrow, “How did you convince them to leave you alone?”
“We’re still working on that,” Martha grimaced. “Thankfully, we’d already prepared a contingency plan for such an emergency.”
They were definitely going to have to wipe this woman’s memories.
Danae silently studied her, then glanced over at the ship. “That’s not really shaped like a Klingon Bird of Prey, is it.”
“Nope,” Martha grinned. “Alien sightings are so very useful. I’m sure you can see the possibilities for a 3D holographic projector. That idea is patented, but now isn’t the best of time to explain how it works. Come visit some time, when we’re not so busy, and we’ll chat about polarized vectors and molecular vibration harmonics over tea. It’s fun stuff!”
Which it was, but Francis and Sunny should be listening though their earbuds. Help should be on the way. They just needed time.
“What you’ve managed to do is absolutely incredible.” Danae waved a hand toward the ‘Glimpse’, “It’s really too bad that I’m going to have to bring you in.”
Martha turned to stare at her, “What?” Just like that? Danae wasn’t going to try to get Martha talking about the details of how it worked first? How unusual, this was not an ordinary government agent.
“I’m going to have to bring you in,” Danae repeated slowly and carefully, snatching up Lester off Martha’s shoulder and pulling her federal-issue sidearm from underneath her bathrobe. The end of the barrel looked huge next to Lester’s head. “Do come quietly. I would hate to hurt this valuable creature.”
Martha signaled Lester to keep calm and stop squirming, as she spoke slowly and clearly, “I heard you. I meant: what do you mean, bring me in? Why? What for? Sorry for the confusion, but, like I said, most government agents just want the technology.”
“My department obtained reports several months ago, detailing a terrorist attack near here.”
Martha blinked, “The Canadians? You took that seriously?”
Lester also looked at the woman and rolled his eyes, despite the 9mm pointed at him.
Danae smiled smugly, “You know of it.”
“Yeah,” Martha snorted, “But I wasn’t part of it.”
“The reports came from the captured terrorists themselves, who told us the plot had been broken up by a woman who had commanded thousands of squirrels to attack. This person has been deemed highly dangerous and a potential threat. She obviously has a very unstable psychological profile,” Danae narrowed her eyes.
“I’m not unstable,” Martha snorted.
“You talk to squirrels,” Danae said, as if that proved her point. “Who wear red bow-ties.”
“They look cute.”
Danae hesitated a moment and chewed her lip. “True,” she admitted, “But nevertheless.”
Martha studied Danae, then cocked her head slightly to the side, “How did you find me?” Perhaps a question would distract the woman from her hold on Lester.
“You registered your business, got permits for running a bed and breakfast,” Danae ticked off on her fingers, “Ooh, and you’ve been paying your taxes.”
Martha shook her head, “Al Capone finally gets sent to prison for tax fraud, and I am hunted down for the opposite reason. A person just can’t win. Are you really from the FBI or are you the IRS?”
“Does it matter? You command a private army within the United States. The government can’t let such a possible threat go free.” Danae fingered the red satin still tied around Lester’s neck, then her hand tightened on Lester. He squeaked.
Martha waved her hands in protest, “Don’t hurt him! Besides, you can’t blame the victory on me. The Boy Scouts had already weakened their defense via a high mobile catapult platform and some excellent scout-craft!”
Danae frowned, “The Canadians said they’d built a tank.”
“Well,” Martha hedged, “It did look like one. But it had a catapult, not a cannon.”
Danae nodded smartly, “With which they conducted biological warfare. We are looking for those Boy Scouts as well. When we find them, questions will be asked.”
“Them? Why? They’re Boy Scouts!”
“They have been determined to be potential risks,” Danae adjusted her pistol’s aim on Lester’s head. “Where can I find them?”
This was not good, Martha realized. The FBI was looking for the Prophesied Leader of the Squirrel Conspiracy, for completely unrelated reasons.
Just where was Francis and the others? They should be here by now.
“Look,” Martha spoke to Danae calmly, “It’s not my fault Canadian terrorists decided to kidnap unhappy campers at a joint Boy Scout/Girl Scout spring camporee earlier this year. You can’t just…”
She was cut off as a gust of wind nearly knocked her over. Danae went sprawling. A wall of dust kicked up from the meadow and enveloped them as the wind howled in a higher pitch than ever heard in nature; something like the sound of ripping through the fabric of whatever it is that keeps the worlds apart.
Horrified, Martha tried to peer through the stinging grit and leaves toward where the ‘Glimpse’ sat. She had last heard that sound about a year ago when they’d lost Tom and Rocky 2.
Someone had started the dimensional device.
Tonight, Martha glared at the computer screen before her. The PC stared back without blinking.
She really should have built the monitor housing out of alder instead of oak. Alder was a soft wood and didn’t have the spine to look intimidating. Oak, on the other hand, was a thing of boardrooms and fancy hotels. It was a wood that took itself too seriously and put on airs.
She shook her head in frustration and took a deep breath. What a time to get writer’s block, particularly since this was the first moment of free time she’d had in months. Ever since the Bed and Breakfast had opened, Martha, Lester, and the other squirrels had been running their paws to blisters.
Yes, granted, the guests brought in much-needed funds. They’d paid for the new generator, a new machine lathe, and replaced the sewer drain field with something that could better handle the new usage from the guests. (That had been a night Martha would rather not think about.) However, keeping guests required time for laundry, meal planning, shopping for ingredients, preparation, cooking, clean-up, taking down the beds, replacing the sheets, cleaning the ensuite facilities, finding an endless supply of guest towels (She’d had to quit hand-making those, the things kept disappearing!), running background checks on reservation requesters, checking reservations to make sure they didn’t double-book, billing, and constant maintenance of the cabin’s security system.
She had assigned Francis, their accountant, to see if they could afford a washer/drier. She hated to bring another piece of automated machinery into the cabin, but not having to hand wash sheets and towels every day would save a great deal of time. Time they could use for The Plan.
Even Lester was so busy he’d assigned the ‘haunting’ skits to one of the other squirrels to give himself the time to work out logistics for the current part of The Plan.
That decision had actually worked rather well.
A recent set of guests from Connecticut had asked if dinner was an option for an extra price. Francis had thought it could be a worthwhile venture, so Martha had agreed to allow it.
The cabin had no dining room. However, the library, with the furniture pulled back and a small table and chairs for four, set with linens and silver by candlelight, created the perfect setting for an intimate three-course dinner. The candles had flickered, gone out, and relit themselves mysteriously over and over during the meal to create cover for ‘ghostly’ waiters to swoop away plates, refill cups, and serve desserts. Light music, the tape player volume set low, had masked the soft patter of paws and claws on the floor. The guests had been enthralled.
The act had required a fair bit of timing and choreography. Chekov and the other fifty-five ‘acrobatic specialists’ had loved the chance to perform rolls and flying leaps while flipping and juggling serving dishes and full pitchers in the dark. Squirrels had better night vision than humans, but it had still been a risk.
They hadn’t had another dinner request since, but Martha had heard that Chekov was designing choreography for a few more dinners in his spare time. He’d even asked her if next time he could pick the background music. Chekov had enjoyed performing ‘Swan Lake’ those few times before the performance team had been kidnapped and Martha had put the kibosh on live performances.
Martha nodded to herself. It was nice that her squirrels managed to find time for their hobbies. If only she could do the same.
She glared again at the computer screen, but still no ideas came. Martha and Stewart had carefully adjusted the reservation website so there would be no guests to worry about tonight. The next stage in The Plan was ready to start in about an hour, so she actually had a little time for writing. No worries, no obligations. Everything was perfect, except for her writer’s block.
She growled in frustration. Her novel was going nowhere.
Ah well, maybe she could use the moment to check that Neon Genesis Boy Scouts website she’d found a month ago and see if the author had posted a new story…
No. If typing was out of the question tonight, there were other things that needed doing. Lester’s maroon waistcoat was growing shabby and starting to fray at the edges. That was not a good look for an American Grey squirrel leading a contingent of the Squirrel Revolution.
Martha shut down the computer, pulled out her sewing basket, and began to pick through the remnants.
A scrap of sable satin brought to mind a mental picture of Lester in a frock coat, white gloves, and little top hat. Martha smiled. He’d be so cute. However, the outfit wouldn’t be practical.
She set aside the satin for another time and dug deeper. A piece of dark brown velvet caught her attention. The color would look striking against Lester’s fur. She nodded and began pinning a vest pattern to the cloth.
A knock at the cabin’s front door interrupted her work.
Who in the world could that be? she wondered, closing the pin box and heading for the door. She adjusted her radio earbud and spoke into the attached mic, “Sunny? I thought we didn’t have guests scheduled for tonight. Am I wrong?”
Let me check! The office secretary Stewart had trained to monitor the website and maintain open communication channels cheerfully chattered back. Sunny was a European red squirrel, bright, and always perky and cheerful.
Nope, we’re not supposed to have guests tonight!
“Thanks, Sunny,” Martha pulled out the earbud and pocketed it. Then, she opened the door.
A man and a woman stood on the step. The man was taller than Martha, on the thin side, clean shaven, with brown floppy hair. He seemed excited and somehow expectant, practically bouncing on the step, as if something he had been waiting for was going to happen soon. The woman was shorter than Martha. Her red hair had been cut above her shoulders and looked as if it normally was carefully brushed straight, but tonight sections stuck out in places and looked as if she’d slept on it, then tried brushing it out with her fingers. She looked tired, and mildly irritated with her friend.
Both wore long, dark coats over their suits. Definitely odd apparel for people in the woods.
“Can I help you?” Martha asked. They might merely be looking for directions to Westfield or possibly the nearby campground. She hoped this would not take long, Lester and Rocky 6 would need her soon.
The man reached into his dark overcoat and pulled out a small leather wallet case, “Federal agents. Have you seen or heard anything suspicious tonight? Odd shadows? Strange noises? Bright lights?” He flashed open the wallet and Martha caught sight of the letters ‘FBI’ on a shiny badge before it closed again.
“What are you doing?” the red-haired woman hissed at him.
Martha considered the two carefully. This was not good. Government agents on her doorstep, tonight of all nights? She folded her arms across her Green Bay Packers sweatshirt, “How do I know you’re really federal agents?”
“I showed you my badge!” the man seemed surprised.
“Let me see it again,” Martha stated.
He did, pulling it out once more and flipping open for her. This time he left it open for her to examine.
Martha pulled out a note pad and carefully wrote down the serial number, then turned to the woman, “Yours too.”
The woman looked surprised, but held out her badge as well. “We’re sorry to bother you tonight,” she said. She really did look sorry. “But our car had some sort of system failure a few miles down the road.”
“The engine just shut down,” the man added, excited again. “The dash clock even died. Total power failure. Right in the middle of the road!”
The woman gave him a long-suffering glance, but turned to Martha, “We were wondering if you had a phone and if you’d call us a tow.”
Martha felt sorry for her, “I do have a phone, but the phone system is down tonight.”
“Ah ha!” the man looked at his friend, “But is the problem widespread, or is it localized?”
“Does it matter?” The woman sighed. “We’re out in the middle of the woods. This is the only place we’ve seen for twenty minutes.”
Martha considered options. Would it be better to send them away to wander the woods all night and possibly turn up in the wrong place at the wrong time, or to let them in? Neither was an optimal solution. Of course, in this case, it would probably be best to contain potential problems.
She cleared her throat. “I’m sure things will be cleared up by morning. Do you have somewhere to stay tonight? This is a Bed and Breakfast and I have rooms available.”
The woman looked interested.
The man narrowed his eyes and took the woman aside to whisper, “Can we trust her? Maybe this is all illusion and maybe she’s part of the weirdness going on here.”
The woman agent gave her coworker a tired look before nodding to Martha, “We’d like a couple rooms.”
“Come in,” Martha invited, stepping out of the way and motioning them to enter.
“Are you sure we should be separated? Maybe one room would be better,” the man whispered in the female agent’s ear.
She gave him a glare, as if that answered everything.
They signed the guestbook.
Martha watched discretely from off to the side.
The man’s name was something like ‘(blot) Mueller’ and the woman’s name looked like ‘Danae (scribble)’. Neither had exceptional penmanship.
Mueller kept looking around, murmuring eagerly, as Martha led them down the hall to the guestrooms. She showed them the facilities and where the extra towels and blankets were kept.
“What time would you like breakfast?” she asked, hoping they were both heavy sleepers who would sleep in late.
“How early do you make breakfast?” Danae perked up slightly. “We’ll need to be on our way. If your phone still isn’t working, we’ll have to walk and find a gas station or convenience store that has a pay phone.”
Martha nodded, “Breakfast can be ready at seven. If the phone still isn’t working, I should be able to drive you into Huntington. I have a pickup truck for supplies.”
“Thank you,” Danae smiled. She glanced at Mueller, then turned and shut herself into her room. Martha heard the deadbolt snap shut.
Mueller glanced at Martha, eyes hopeful, and opened his mouth as if to begin a line of questions.
“Good night,” Martha bade him. “If you need anything during the night, I’ll be down the hall.”
She could feel his eyes watching her back as she walked down the hall and turned the corner into the kitchenette, but she didn’t turn around. Standing next to the sink, she waited silently, listening for any hint of noise. At last, she heard him shuffle into his room and his door click shut.
She breathed a quiet sigh. Finally. Lester was going to call at any minute.
She slipped her earbud back in, tapping it to let Sunny know she was listening again, then touched the hidden latch behind the refrigerator. The wall oven slid aside silently, revealing a gap just wide enough for her to slip through.
You’re just in time, Sunny informed her, ears twitching in anticipation. Lester’s in position.
“Good,” Martha sat down at the command center’s desk and scanned the wall of viewscreens. The views were mostly of squirrels, wearing little bowties as they crept down grey concrete corridors and ventilation shafts in what had the look of a military missile silo. Lester’s assault team cameras were working perfectly, despite the distance.
At one side of the wall, two screens showed views from the guestroom cameras.
I thought you might want to keep an eye on the guests, Sunny informed Martha.
“Yes,” Martha agreed. “Watch them and let me know if you see them leave their rooms.”
The radio crackled and Lester’s voice came across with a tinny, far-away quality, We’re in position!
“Excellent,” Martha steepled her fingers on the desk before her. “Proceed.”
Lester waved a paw to the troop, flicking his tail, and the entire pack swarmed down the corridor and ventilation shafts.
A security guard rounded a corner in front of the group’s lead scout.
“Pete has first contact!” Martha called out.
Lester signaled to the rest of the team, which halted, out of sight.
Pete flicked his tail, welcoming, as the guard approached. The man looked young, dressed in a crisp uniform.
“What are you doing here, little guy?” the guard frowned, eyes focusing on Pete’s bright red bow-tie. “You belong to someone don’t you?”
Pete chirped, tail flicking, and stood up on his haunches, sniffing the air in the guard’s direction as if hoping for a treat.
“Sorry, little guy, I don’t have anything for you,” the guard said, bending toward Pete slightly. Pete slowly hopped toward the guard, stopping every few feet until he reached the man’s shoe.
“Boy, you’re friendly!” the guard laughed.
Pete chirped cheerfully and began to climb the man’s pants. The guard held very still as Pete reached his shoulder and perched there. Pete chirped again and curled his tail around, carefully brushing the man’s cheek with it.
The guard blinked, then slowly, cautiously, reached his hand up to pet Pete, then paused, staring at the wire extending from Pete’s earbud.
“Alright. Now!” Martha called out.
The scratch of hundreds of squirrel claws on concrete caught the guard’s attention. His eyes flew wide open and his face went ashen before the squirrels were upon him. In seconds, his uniform had been shredded and he was bound and gagged with strips of the cloth. For his sake, Martha hoped he’d washed it recently.
One of Stewart’s tech trainees pulled the signal diagnosis/decoder he’d been lugging around from his back and hooked it up to the guard’s radio. For a minute, the entire squirrel horde stood silently, waiting, as the tech-squirrel twitched his nose and turned knobs on the decoder. Finally, the tech-squirrel wrote out a series of letters and numbers and held it up to the view screen.
“Punch that in,” Martha told Sunny. “Audio only.”
Sunny quickly did so.
The squawk and babble of human voices came over the radio.
“We’re picking up their signal clearly,” Martha informed Lester. “You’re clear.”
Lester signaled the troop and pressed forward into the maze of tunnels. Martha listened to the guards’ radio chatter and gave warnings and instructions when the tunnels differed from the building plans they’d found. One would think one underground bunker is pretty much like any other (the U.S. military does like standardization), however, people who design secret installations usually bend toward paranoia, a predilection for obscuring things, and tend to customize their facilities. Area 51 is no exception.
Sunny suddenly interrupted, The guests are on the move!
Martha glanced over at the two guestroom video panels. Apparently, Mueller couldn’t sleep and had knocked on Danae’s door for advice. Danae had opened her door a crack and was glaring at Mueller with a peeved look only a truly sleep-deprived person can achieve. Martha switched over her earbud’s audio transmission signal channel to the cabin’s in-house system.
“She’s hiding something from us.” Mueller was saying.
“Maybe she’s not,” Danae protested. “Maybe this is just an ordinary bed and breakfast in the middle of nowhere.”
Mueller looked at her, “Only forty minutes out from Springfield, Massachusetts?”
Danae paused, and chewed her lip. “Alright, maybe not ordinary. The towels are too nice for this to be a real B&B. The owner’d lose too many to theft.”
Martha had to give them that point. It did explain why the towels kept disappearing.
“Track their movements. Let me know if they’re getting close to anything…dangerous,” Martha told Sunny and turned her attention back to Lester’s crew.
Don’t they ever clean this place? Lester was asking, wrinkling his nose at the dust in the vent the team was currently crawling through.
Martha shook her head silently. Most squirrels didn’t mind dust. In fact, it helped keep off fleas and parasites. However, Lester fastidiously groomed himself and hated getting his tail filthy.
With care and a constant ear to the human radio conversations, the squirrels carefully worked their way down into the lower levels of the bunker, past the other guards, down into the secure levels, down where hidden things had been done and completed things had been hidden.
Why couldn’t I stay with the jet? Rocky 6 complained, crawling along near the rear of the team. I’m not much help here and you can’t expect Scotty to bring the jet back safe and sound.
“If the team finds ‘Roddenberry’s Glimpse’, they won’t have time to wait for you to come down,” Martha pointed out. “Did you want Scotty to fly the ‘Glimpse’ instead?”
Well, no. Rocky 6 admitted.
Rocky 6 wasn’t a coward. In fact, he followed a long tradition of squirrels who were so daring they were downright crazy in their own way.
Rocket J, a flying squirrel, had fallen in love with their experimental ultra-ultra light plane and refused to fly anything else.
Rocky 2 had gone AWOL during a previous experimental flight of grievous misfortune.
Rocky 3 and Rocky 4 had died during flight tests.
After seeing a couple un-piloted crash landings, Rocky 5 had developed a fear of flying and now would only leave the ground to climb things that were firmly rooted in the earth.
Rocky 6 was their most experienced pilot, only because he’d somehow managed to survive the last three test failures, including a spectacular engine fire which had resulted in a patch of charred pavement in the hangar. As it was, he had a limp and his tail was nothing more than a brown pom-pom. Scotty, the intern, had volunteered to become Rocky 6’s trainee and possible replacement. Unfortunately, Scotty had more enthusiasm than skill and there was (unofficially) a bet going on as to whether Scotty would outlive Rocky 6 long enough to take his place or not.
“You’re coming up on the first of the potential sites,” Martha announced, checking their position with the plans spread out on a small table next to her seat. “That door on the right.”
The door was locked.
That wasn’t a problem. One of the techs had brought along a set of lock-picks and got to work.
The lock popped open and Lester stuck his head through the doorway. The room looked vaguely like a coroner’s work room with wall cabinets, a countertop with wash sink, and a stainless steel exam table in the middle.
Martha grimaced. A dissection lab. It was stark, empty, and dusty, impossible to tell if it had ever been used or not.
“Keep looking,” she told Lester after the squirrels had made a careful sweep of the room without finding anything in the cabinets.
Sunny coughed, (which coming from a squirrel, is more of a squeak and quite attention-getting.) The guests have found the closet!
Martha glanced at the screen Sunny pointed toward.
Danae appeared to be falling asleep while standing up as Mueller knelt in front of the hall closet door, trying to pick the lock.
Martha switched her earbud channel just in time to hear:
Mueller, “See!”
The closet door swung open…to reveal mops, brooms, a dustpan, a shelf of fluffy towels, soap, toilet paper, various cleansers, and wood polish. In other words, the contents of a typical janitorial closet.
“Uh, huh,” Danae yawned.
Mueller snorted, then stepped into the closet.
Martha winced as he began twisting knobs, pulling handles, and moving the contents of the shelves around. Even she could hear the soft click when he activated the hidden latch release.
The concealed door swung open to reveal a stairwell that led down.
Martha grimaced. They’d found the hidden basement entrance.
“I told you she’s hiding something from us!” Mueller crowed.
Martha sighed in resignation. She hated having to wipe people’s memories. This looked as if it was going to be one of those nights when things just went wrong.
Danae followed Mueller down the stairs to the basement level. There was a door that led to the command room, but the two humans missed it in the dark and continued down until they’d reached the very bottom where the narrow stairs opened up into the underground hanger.
Martha caught the sound of a quiet splash across the hanger. In the scurry to hide from the intruders, one of the lab assistants had slipped and fallen into an engine oil-change pan that had been pushed aside and forgotten when they’d taxied the newly built mini stealth-jet through the underground hanger to the runway. (The other end of runway was carefully disguised as a hole in the ground in a nearby clearing.)
The oil pan had been full of used oil. Martha winced. That was going to be difficult to get out of his fur.
Danae and Mueller rounded the corner, flashlights sweeping about, just as the lab assistant clawed his way out of the pan, coughing. The flashlight beams both leapt toward the sound, bathing the sodden lab assistant in brightness.
He shot away out of sight behind a spare engine mount as Mueller shouted, “Did you see that! Black Oil! It moved by itself! Did you see it?!!”
Danae murmured something about how it was probably just a rat.
Thankfully, there wasn’t much in the underground hanger at the moment, except the generator, and the two agents swept around the perimeter without discovering anything truly remarkable. (Not that finding an underground hanger beneath a cabin in the woods the outskirts of Western Massachusetts isn’t remarkable.) Both noticed the burnt patch on the floor where the engine fire had occurred. Danae shivered at the sight, while Mueller grew excited and swept his flashlight beam back and forth around the hangar as if looking for more burned spots.
They ignored the doors to the hydroponics center and the machine shop, tried to open the door to the bio-diesel production set up, and, for a few minutes, they argued over whether to force the lock on the Lab door. Martha sighed in relief when they decided to follow the runway instead. The Lab was not a good place for FBI agents.
She turned her attention back to Lester’s extraction team.
Alright, potential site number four, Lester called out. Another locked door. This one had a keypad lock, which was harder to bypass, so the team took turns punching in codes. Squirrels could manage this much faster than humans and, despite the waste of time (a computer would have been quicker), it was hard to argue against a point of pride, so Martha bore through it.
Thankfully, before too long, the latch clicked and the door swung open.
And there, in the middle of the room, chained to the floor, sat one of their objectives:
The ‘Roddenberry’s Glimpse’.
The craft was sleek, powerful-looking, and almost seemed to shine on the curves, despite its dark grey matte finish. Two wings arched out from the main body and appeared to have weapons of some kind attached at points. Too small for humans, the craft still had room for the hundred-plus team Lester had brought.
Get that loose, Lester commanded. Rocky 6, get the engines started. The rest of you fan out. The ship’s crew has to be here somewhere.
Unless they buried them afterward, Rocky 6 muttered.
They’ll be here, Lester affirmed.
A metal storage cabinet stood against the far end of the room and appeared to have been fastened in place.
“That looks promising,” Martha agreed as Lester headed toward it.
The door was locked, which was no surprise at this point. A cabinet, sitting in a locked room, inside the most highly guarded secure area couldn’t possibly be broken into. It would be the most safe and secure thing in the entire world. So, of course, someone would lock it.
The lock was quickly dispensed with by Sven, a large squirrel with very steady paws and long practice with lock-picking.
Inside the cabinet sat four glass cylinders on a shelf. The cylinders were about a foot and a half tall and six inches in diameter. Within each of the cylinders, suspended in preservative, hung a small, grey body. Each had a tail.
Lester placed a paw on the glass of the nearest. Sorry it took so long, Tom, he said. But we’re here to take you home.
Ugh, why’d the humans shave them? one of the younger team members asked, disgusted.
Hey, didn’t Rocky 2 have three toes on his left foot? said another squirrel.
“Get a move on,” Martha called. “You guys don’t have much time. Security has found the guard you tied up. They’re still trying to get him to calm down enough to explain what happened, but they have the teams on alert for intruders.”
Lester nodded and the troupe swung into action, carefully tipping the cylinders off the shelf one by one into the waiting paws of squirrel teams, who rushed them over to the craft in the middle of the floor.
Lester hustled the teams into the craft’s cargo bay, where the cylinders were carefully tied down as he directed a team to shut and seal the doors. Lester left them to their work and scampered up to the cockpit.
Martha studied the screen views carefully, watching for scorch marks on the walls and floor. The unit had malfunctioned somehow, but hopefully the engines and controls were still good.
Rocky 6! How is it coming? Lester called up to the pilot, tail twitching with impatience.
Almost got it, Rocky 6 called back.
A moment later, the engines roared to life.
“That will have alerted security,” Martha commented drily. “Lester, give me a view of the controls for the dimensional device.”
The screen immediately showed a view of a control board.
“Can you plug in the remote controller?”
Nope, Lester replied. The connection looks black and melted. It won’t fit now.
A close up of the connection on-screen confirmed that.
“Great,” Martha used her skills of sarcasm. “A manual start. Well, open it up. If anything else is fried inside, we’re aborting. Got it?”
Right, Lester replied, already poking at the access panel’s screws with a Phillips.
Squirrels aren’t made with opposable thumbs, but Lester often practiced using human implements. Still, it was nearly a minute later
when the panel fell and clanged against the floor. Martha drew a deep breath as Lester stuck his head inside the opening.
The viewscreen went black.
After a moment, Lester spoke. Pretty dark in here, but I don’t smell anything else burned.
Lester drew his head back out and the view of the cockpit returned. Let’s give it a chance.
Yes, let’s! cried the rest of the extraction team above the howl of the engines.
“Very well,” Martha agreed, reluctantly. “Lester, make sure the fourth dimension controls are deactivated, please.”
The human security team had arrived and was already trying to force the door, but if something should go wrong and the dimensional device should whisk this team back to 1955 as well…A paradox would be created, which could possibly cause one or the other craft to implode. Historically, this craft had survived the first trip, evidenced by the fact that it was here now. That would imply that either the second version was destroyed, or else it didn’t repeat the trip back into the past. Martha hoped it was the latter scenario. She did not want to loose Lester.
Rocky 6 pulled his WWI aviator-style goggles down over his eyes.
This was the crucial part, the dangerous part. Martha wished Lester hadn’t been the one to go. She could train another lead squirrel, true, but it wouldn’t be Lester. She would miss his particular quirks.
Losing Tom had been bad enough.
Alright, Lester said, throw the lever! Four, three, two, one…
The screen picture filled with snow.
Martha quickly called Scotty, who’d been waiting in the mini stealth-jet outside Area 51’s hidden bunker entrance just in case Lester and the rest of the team had needed to abort the mission, and told him that he should head back home.
Scotty enthusiastically promised to break a record on the flight back.
Martha hoped he’d make it back in one piece.
As she signed off, Martha heard sounds outside, shouts and the roar of engines. She slipped out of the command center and over to the window above the kitchen sink.
Of course, Mueller and Danae had followed the runway all the way outside and had back-tracked to the cabin just in time to see the ‘Roddenberry’s Glimpse’ making a VTOL landing in the nearby meadow.
“Look! Look! I told you they exist!” Mueller was shouting like a little kid as he tried to fight his way through the backwash from the VTOL engines. “Hey, why does it look like a Klingon Bird of Prey???”
Martha waited in the Cabin’s doorway until the jet had landed and the engines had quieted before running out to meet the crew.
Lester popped the hatch and the rescue team began pouring out, carrying the remains of their fallen comrades for proper burial.
Mueller stared, feet locked in place. “Little grey-furred…squirrels?!? Wearing little red….bow-ties?” Mueller began hyperventilating, then fell to his knees, staring at the ship, murmuring, “The squirrels! The squirrels!”
Martha hurried over to the extraction team. “Good job everyone! Anything interesting happen on the way back, Lester?”
Lester shrugged and shook his head. Not even any sparks.
“Good,” Martha nodded, carefully picking up Lester and setting him on her shoulder. He settled onto the perch as she bent over the grim remains of Tom, Rocky 2 and the rest of the team. “We’ll have a proper burial. Francis, would you pick the spot and get the teams digging? You know where the shoe boxes are.”
The little accountant did not look thrilled at the prospect of herding squirrels, but began issuing orders and the whole squirrely mass started moving toward the graveyard.
A cough behind Martha came from a human. Martha turned to look and might have knocked Lester off her shoulder in years past, but he’d had lots of practice and ducked low.
Danae stood at the edge of the clearing, a few feet from Martha. She looked surprised, but remarkably calm, considering the circumstances. She thumbed toward the ‘Glimpse’ sitting incongruously in the meadow. “Do you want to explain how that aircraft…spaceship…thing just appeared out of the blue like that? One moment, the sky was as clear as can be expected in this area. The next, that thing was just sitting in mid-air over the trees.”
“I’d rather not. Not right now,” Martha shook her head. “We’re in the middle of the patent process. Certain government departments have already tried to convince me that, in the interests of national security, I should turn over all my research with the prototypes and forget such a project ever existed.”
Danae arched an eyebrow, “How did you convince them to leave you alone?”
“We’re still working on that,” Martha grimaced. “Thankfully, we’d already prepared a contingency plan for such an emergency.”
They were definitely going to have to wipe this woman’s memories.
Danae silently studied her, then glanced over at the ship. “That’s not really shaped like a Klingon Bird of Prey, is it.”
“Nope,” Martha grinned. “Alien sightings are so very useful. I’m sure you can see the possibilities for a 3D holographic projector. That idea is patented, but now isn’t the best of time to explain how it works. Come visit some time, when we’re not so busy, and we’ll chat about polarized vectors and molecular vibration harmonics over tea. It’s fun stuff!”
Which it was, but Francis and Sunny should be listening though their earbuds. Help should be on the way. They just needed time.
“What you’ve managed to do is absolutely incredible.” Danae waved a hand toward the ‘Glimpse’, “It’s really too bad that I’m going to have to bring you in.”
Martha turned to stare at her, “What?” Just like that? Danae wasn’t going to try to get Martha talking about the details of how it worked first? How unusual, this was not an ordinary government agent.
“I’m going to have to bring you in,” Danae repeated slowly and carefully, snatching up Lester off Martha’s shoulder and pulling her federal-issue sidearm from underneath her bathrobe. The end of the barrel looked huge next to Lester’s head. “Do come quietly. I would hate to hurt this valuable creature.”
Martha signaled Lester to keep calm and stop squirming, as she spoke slowly and clearly, “I heard you. I meant: what do you mean, bring me in? Why? What for? Sorry for the confusion, but, like I said, most government agents just want the technology.”
“My department obtained reports several months ago, detailing a terrorist attack near here.”
Martha blinked, “The Canadians? You took that seriously?”
Lester also looked at the woman and rolled his eyes, despite the 9mm pointed at him.
Danae smiled smugly, “You know of it.”
“Yeah,” Martha snorted, “But I wasn’t part of it.”
“The reports came from the captured terrorists themselves, who told us the plot had been broken up by a woman who had commanded thousands of squirrels to attack. This person has been deemed highly dangerous and a potential threat. She obviously has a very unstable psychological profile,” Danae narrowed her eyes.
“I’m not unstable,” Martha snorted.
“You talk to squirrels,” Danae said, as if that proved her point. “Who wear red bow-ties.”
“They look cute.”
Danae hesitated a moment and chewed her lip. “True,” she admitted, “But nevertheless.”
Martha studied Danae, then cocked her head slightly to the side, “How did you find me?” Perhaps a question would distract the woman from her hold on Lester.
“You registered your business, got permits for running a bed and breakfast,” Danae ticked off on her fingers, “Ooh, and you’ve been paying your taxes.”
Martha shook her head, “Al Capone finally gets sent to prison for tax fraud, and I am hunted down for the opposite reason. A person just can’t win. Are you really from the FBI or are you the IRS?”
“Does it matter? You command a private army within the United States. The government can’t let such a possible threat go free.” Danae fingered the red satin still tied around Lester’s neck, then her hand tightened on Lester. He squeaked.
Martha waved her hands in protest, “Don’t hurt him! Besides, you can’t blame the victory on me. The Boy Scouts had already weakened their defense via a high mobile catapult platform and some excellent scout-craft!”
Danae frowned, “The Canadians said they’d built a tank.”
“Well,” Martha hedged, “It did look like one. But it had a catapult, not a cannon.”
Danae nodded smartly, “With which they conducted biological warfare. We are looking for those Boy Scouts as well. When we find them, questions will be asked.”
“Them? Why? They’re Boy Scouts!”
“They have been determined to be potential risks,” Danae adjusted her pistol’s aim on Lester’s head. “Where can I find them?”
This was not good, Martha realized. The FBI was looking for the Prophesied Leader of the Squirrel Conspiracy, for completely unrelated reasons.
Just where was Francis and the others? They should be here by now.
“Look,” Martha spoke to Danae calmly, “It’s not my fault Canadian terrorists decided to kidnap unhappy campers at a joint Boy Scout/Girl Scout spring camporee earlier this year. You can’t just…”
She was cut off as a gust of wind nearly knocked her over. Danae went sprawling. A wall of dust kicked up from the meadow and enveloped them as the wind howled in a higher pitch than ever heard in nature; something like the sound of ripping through the fabric of whatever it is that keeps the worlds apart.
Horrified, Martha tried to peer through the stinging grit and leaves toward where the ‘Glimpse’ sat. She had last heard that sound about a year ago when they’d lost Tom and Rocky 2.
Someone had started the dimensional device.
To Be Continued…
Acknowledgements (Notes and Disclaimers from Martha):
While this particular story is my own invention, I am writing within Matt’s Boy Scouts ½ universe, using and exploiting scenarios originally set up by him.
The whole story exists because of Ranma ½, even though none of the Ranma characters or the Jusenkyo curses are even mentioned in this episode, except in a vague way whenever Mike Quadrozzi and the Boy Scouts are named.
Yes, Danae and Mueller are more than a little bit based on characters from The X-Files, and some of the scenarios are also based on stuff from The X-Files. The characters are not supposed to be Mulder and Scully, but I do enjoy picturing Gillian Anderson playing Danae.
The phrase “dimensional device” is probably from Robotech, the book series specifically. I don’t remember for sure, but that sounds right.
The home-made stealth jet and the underground hangar are nods to the Swat Kats TV show.
The Rockys are partly based on Rocket J. Squirrel from The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show, and partly playing on Stallone’s Rocky movies 1-5.
Yes, Scotty’s name and ‘Roddenberry’s Glimpse’ are references to Star Trek.
The Neon Genesis Evangelion/Boy Scouts crossover story is supposed to be the same one being written by the Matt Atanian character in Boy Scouts ½.
The whole story exists because of Ranma ½, even though none of the Ranma characters or the Jusenkyo curses are even mentioned in this episode, except in a vague way whenever Mike Quadrozzi and the Boy Scouts are named.
Yes, Danae and Mueller are more than a little bit based on characters from The X-Files, and some of the scenarios are also based on stuff from The X-Files. The characters are not supposed to be Mulder and Scully, but I do enjoy picturing Gillian Anderson playing Danae.
The phrase “dimensional device” is probably from Robotech, the book series specifically. I don’t remember for sure, but that sounds right.
The home-made stealth jet and the underground hangar are nods to the Swat Kats TV show.
The Rockys are partly based on Rocket J. Squirrel from The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show, and partly playing on Stallone’s Rocky movies 1-5.
Yes, Scotty’s name and ‘Roddenberry’s Glimpse’ are references to Star Trek.
The Neon Genesis Evangelion/Boy Scouts crossover story is supposed to be the same one being written by the Matt Atanian character in Boy Scouts ½.
Notes from Matt
And so we are blessed with another Squirrely story from the mind of Ms. Martha Wadley.
Martha had asked me some time ago what I thought of the prospect of using Mulder and Scully-like characters, even though it has been established in-Universe The X-Files existed as a TV show. I figured it could work. Perhaps the TV show existed to provide plausible deniability for an actual government program. This would be similar to the reasons that, within the fiction of Stargate SG-1, the U.S. Air Force allowed a television show called Wormhole X-Treme! to be produced.
Neat to see the references back to the Canadian Terrorist arc. I guess Officer Kelly didn't get them safely back across the border, after all. But it isn't unreasonable to think that they would have been intercepted by federal forces for questioning. Worrisome to think that the FBI might be looking for certain members of Troop 192... Fortunate that many of them are hiding in Japan at the moment.
I'm a bit curious what "dimensional device" Martha is talking about in Robotech. Unless she means the space fold systems used for FTL travel? If it is something specific to the novels, it's been a while since I read all the way through them. (Pity the novels have been relegated to a non-canon status, since it is the only complete version of the saga available. I always thought it a shame that The Sentinels never got past a few episodes worth of animation before they ran out of money.)
So... To be continued... I look forward to seeing what happens next, and it very much looks like we might possibly soon have a third spin-off within The Boy Scouts ½ Universe. It is a given, I suppose, that there will be at least one more of these. But if it gets up at least four of 'em, hopefully with a promise of more still, then I shall bestow upon these stories the honor of their own dedicated section on this website.
No pressure, Martha!
Martha had asked me some time ago what I thought of the prospect of using Mulder and Scully-like characters, even though it has been established in-Universe The X-Files existed as a TV show. I figured it could work. Perhaps the TV show existed to provide plausible deniability for an actual government program. This would be similar to the reasons that, within the fiction of Stargate SG-1, the U.S. Air Force allowed a television show called Wormhole X-Treme! to be produced.
Neat to see the references back to the Canadian Terrorist arc. I guess Officer Kelly didn't get them safely back across the border, after all. But it isn't unreasonable to think that they would have been intercepted by federal forces for questioning. Worrisome to think that the FBI might be looking for certain members of Troop 192... Fortunate that many of them are hiding in Japan at the moment.
I'm a bit curious what "dimensional device" Martha is talking about in Robotech. Unless she means the space fold systems used for FTL travel? If it is something specific to the novels, it's been a while since I read all the way through them. (Pity the novels have been relegated to a non-canon status, since it is the only complete version of the saga available. I always thought it a shame that The Sentinels never got past a few episodes worth of animation before they ran out of money.)
So... To be continued... I look forward to seeing what happens next, and it very much looks like we might possibly soon have a third spin-off within The Boy Scouts ½ Universe. It is a given, I suppose, that there will be at least one more of these. But if it gets up at least four of 'em, hopefully with a promise of more still, then I shall bestow upon these stories the honor of their own dedicated section on this website.
No pressure, Martha!