War: NA: Catching up and Catching on (1/4)
By Christy Stillman and Patt Elmore
Takes place Monday, 11-8-04 after "Can You Dig It?
All participants used with their permission

From the pit, Patt reached up her hand.  Several people extended
hands to offer assistance, but the Mature Addict waved them away.
She looked squarely at Christy and commented, "I thought those were
for me?"

Christy stopped in mid-chew of a particularly large nacho.  "Opps,
sorry."  She started to hand the bowl down to Patt, but stopped.
"You're gonna have to come all the way out if you want these."  Patt
scrambled out of the hole and was soon happily stuffing herself with
cholesterol covered chips.

Then Patt saw Jesse, approaching with a sheet of paper clutched
tightly in her hand. Patt dropped the nachos, bellowed and jumped
back into the crater.

"It's no use!!" Christy called out smugly.  She had suspected this
was going to happen.  Now she stood grinning as the Nunkwrangler
discovered that the beer fridge door had been padlocked.

"But, you know what Jess has in her hand, don't you?" Patt
protested.  "They've declared another darn War!"

"'Bout time," was the general rumble among the populace.

"But, my writing skills are rusty and I've lost track of the
fandom," Patt continued to yank at the chained door of the icebox.
"I don't know where to begin."

"How about with the premise," Jesse said helpfully, waving the
paper.  "We're looking for a rock."

"Now brick I could help you with."  Patt abandoned her tugging on
the fridge handle and began burrowing directly into the dirt.  "I
wonder how far Australia is?  While I was confined, I thought I kept
hearing an Aussie accent.  Down under has to be better than up
here."

"Give me the net."  Christy held out her hand to Jackson, who
complied with the Nunkateer's order.  Christy warned everyone to
"stand back" and then hurled the mesh into the pit like a pro.
Murmurs and nods of approval met her efforts as Christy began
tightening the ropes around her struggling catch of the day.  "Help,
please."  Others gathered around to help pull in the net.

"This is kidnapping and coercion," Patt yelled.  "I'd expect it from
Mercs or Vaqs, but from my own faction?!"  The Third Cousin reached
through the webbing and grabbed a piece of broken glass.  While the
Addicts heave hoed, the Mature Addict quickly began sawing through
the rope. As the top-siders pulled their burden up the final few
inches, Patt dropped out of the bottom of the net and resumed
digging.

"Patt," Paul called down into the hole.  "Why don't you come up.
Shelly and I are engaged."  A smiling Shelly held out her heart-
shaped ring.

The Nunkwrangler began digging faster.

"Well, let's see," Christy said thoughtfully, tapping two fingers to
her temple.   "We've tried food, force, friendship, guilt and good
times.  None have worked."  She looked at the assembly. "Any
suggestions?"

"How about charm?" Jackson suggested.

"Look around, dear," Christy informed the Imp.  "It's not quite dark
yet, so LaCroix can't come to the rescue.  Besides, Patt doesn't
find LaCroix charming . . . she finds him threatening, in a tingly
manner."

"Admittedly, I may be an upstart substitute, as this in Nunkies-
related fiction," Jackson agreed. "But, I'm willing to give it a
go."  The tall Imp looked down at the digging Nunkwrangler and
smiled warmly.  "Could you use some help down there?" he called.

Patt stopped digging and raised her head.  "That's the voice."  She
turned and looked up at Jackson.  "That's the voice that's been
talking to me each night.  Singing to me . . ."

"Singing?  You didn't say anything about singing to her."  Christy
said, irritated.  Jackson stopped her with a shooshing hand motion
then nimbly jumped down into the basin. He stood for a moment, then
dropped to his knees beside Patt, his powerful hands beginning to
shovel with hers.

"You are the one, aren't you?" Patt said.  She never stopped her
dredging efforts, but her pace did slow some.  "How come?"

Jackson was matching her, stroke for stroke.   "Your group helped me
get my life back," the Imp replied, shrugging.  "I missed all of
you, so I decided to hang out here. Sentimental claptrap, right?"

"Yeah, but it's kinda sweet," Patt said. The Mature Addict then
stopped digging for a couple of reasons: she realized she wasn't
going anywhere, her fingers were getting bruised and Jackson Hugh
smelled awfully good up close. She stood up, and soon found herself
dwarfed by the Imp's tall frame.

"Allow me," he said, slipping his hands around the Nunkwrangler's
waist.

"You can't lift me," Patt warned him.  "I'm a Wrangler of size."

"And, I'm a guy with some magic muscles."  Jackson nodded, and
lifted the Mature Addict easily out of the hole.  Amid the cheers of
the crowd, the Imp hopped out and stood beside the Third Cousin.
Then, in an absolutely wonderful Mary Sue moment that Patt has no
intention of apologizing for, the Imp leaned down and planted a soft
kiss on top of her head.  He pulled back and spit a bit of grit out
of his teeth.  "I'll bet you'd feel better with a bit of a wash,
don't you?" he said, brown eyes gleaming.

Patt could only nod.  Friends and fellow Addicts moved in,
surrounding the Nunkwrangler, chatting happily and guiding her
toward the Jeweled Peach.  All except one.

Christy stood at the edge of the crater, motionless.  To her utter
shock,  Jackson had kissed Patt in the same affectionate manner that
he had kissed the Nunkateer earlier.  Heat flared across the back of
Christy's neck and, as hard as she tried to kick it away, jealousy
nipped at her heals.

But Christy had little time to dwell on her resentment.  As the
crowd reached the Peach, she caught site of a tall, dark-haired man,
leaning against a pee-yellow convertible, arms crossed on his chest,
watching her.

Christy half-walked/half-stalked up to her waiting friend, who was
obviously displeased.  "Nice wheels," she remarked.  "What are you
doing here?"

"Trying to figure out what the heck is going on with you," Rob said.
"We had an encounter planned, remember?  Have a jog, listen to some
drum corps CD's."

Christy looked up into the face of her favored drone. "Go home,
Rob."

Rob's lips remained tight, his eyes glinting with a renewed and
confirmed state of suspicion. "That's all you have to say to me?"
the tall man said evenly. "I've traveled out of country, given up
seeing my dogs, voided my marathon entry fees, gone north *gawd*
instead of south, suffered frostbite and guffawing geese and all you
can say is, 'go home.'  Since I am here out of concern for you, the
least you could do is TALK with me."

"I appreciate that concern," Christy sighed. "I really do. Your
present concern ranks among the most precious gifts you have
bestowed on me . . . right up there with the shredded napkin
engagement ring . . ."

"So I see," Rob said sarcastically.  Then, his tone became more
accusing.  "What's going on here?  Was that Patt that you just dug
up?  And who was that guy you were hugging all over earlier?  Are
you going behind my back, starting a new hive?"

"Please," Christy shot back.  "I barely have time for my job, my
trips and all the friends I have.  I don't even have time to "think"
about buzzing around like you're accusing me of."

"Okay," Rob said uncertainly, knowing that it might be safer not to
anger the Queen.  However, the thought of his Favored Drone status
being in danger, Rob grew stern again. "I guess maybe I was being
foolish, but I got concerned when you didn't return my phone calls,"
He pointed to Christy's cell phone, peeping out of her pocket.
"Maybe I'd still be home if you had bothered checking your voice
mail and calling me back, as promised."

"Whoops."  Christy's face reddened as she checked the cell for
messages.  "Thirty-five?  All from you?"

"Until the mailbox was full," Rob nodded.  "So, this is your fault,
Queenie, and I'm not leaving until you tell me why YOU'RE here." Rob
again folded his arms across his chest and glared down at his
friend. "And that's it."

Christy did her best to return Rob's glare. "You know how you can't
tell me about parts of your job because it's top secret government
stuff?"

"Yes . . ?" Rob replied, his tone skeptical.

"Ditto," Christy said. She turned, prepared to walk away. Catlike,
Rob darted around in front of her, blocking her path.

"Top secret university mail outs? Like do I have dumb ass stamped on
my forehead -- you really think I'd believe that?"

Christy spread her arms in resignation and defeat. "Okay, Rob. Tell
me why YOU think I'm here."

Rob raised a brow, his eyes bright with certain knowledge.  "It has
something to do with that MCI."

"You think this is about phone service?"

"Not MCI the phone company," Rob said, his voice a cross between
eagerness and irk. "MCI -- Mode C Intruder. That little bump your
jet took on the way north-east."

The Nunkateer's face lightened a shade paler.  Too much knowledge,
too much involvement by Rob might cause her distinct world's to
collide and put everyone in peril.

"Go home, Rob," Christy said quietly, no room in her tone left for
bantering. "Go home before someone innocent gets hurt." Christy
turned and walked away from a momentarily stunned Rob. She had
disappeared inside the restaurant before his senses came back to
him.

"Who the hell do we know that's innocent?"

*********************

Inside the Jeweled Peach, Christy found the Addicts and Ala-Addicts
(concerned friends and family of Addicts) all gathered around Patt.

"So, it has something to do with carving on a large rock that might
explain the cure to vampirism."  Jesse was reading the note that her
office had intercepted earlier.

"A description of the correct angle to put a stake through the
heart?" Patt suggested, shrugging. Most everyone glared at her.
Paul nodded.  Jackson looked thoughtful.

"Well, according to Vachon's translation of the Mississauga text on
the treaty paper document," Jesse continued, "it's 'the cure for the
disease that bites viciously like a wolf in winter and often
kills.'"

"That could be frostbite," Patt argued as Rob followed Christy
through the door.  The Ohio resident realized his skin was starting
to tingle again, and decided that it was time for more ointment.  He
turned around and went back out the door.

Christy saw Rob leave, and was touched by just a twinge of guilt.
<Better guilt than regrets,> she reasoned.

"But, it could also be the cure that Nick's always seeking," Dee was
saying.  "And, if it is, we all know what LaCroix would want us to
do. He'd want us to find the Stone and bring it to him, so that he
could taunt Nick with it."

The Addicts all began to nod.  Outside, a male voice yelled and
began cursing.

"Or crush it," Patt continued, ignoring the interruption.  "And,
speaking of rock crushing, I guess I need to thank whoever paid for
all the equipment to get me out.  Or," the Third Cousin's eyes
narrowed, "am I gonna find MY Platinum card exhausted again?"

"Oh, no," Beverley promised.  "We got it on loan."

"You stole it?"

"Borrowed," Christy corrected Patt, walking up and placing herself
firmly by Jackson's side.

"Who'd you *borrow* it from?" Patt asked, knowing somehow that she
would end up responsible for the *borrowing* incident.

"Oh, let me tell," Katherine spoke up.  "It was pretty exciting, so
let me start at the beginning . . ."

*flashback-it *is* canon after all--earlier on 11-8-04*

If an ancient orange bus grinding its way through the streets wasn't
enough to alert Torontonians to the fact that they were once again
being invaded by those of the FK persuasion, certainly seeing a
group of women (one with decidedly purple hair) plastering
themselves up against buildings and humming the theme to "Mission:
Improbable" drove the reality home.  After three years of peace, it
was assumed that the periodic invasions had ceased.  Well, you know
what they say about the word "assume."

"Ow!" Krista complained as Cheyenne stepped on her heels for the
third time.  "You're interfering with my surreptitiousness here,
mate!"

The 16-year-old looked askance at the Addict from New Zealand.
"Your hair is purple.  How surreptitious can you be with purple
hair?"

"Shhhh!!" Beverley admonished, looking back down the line.  "How can
you hum your sneaky music when you're talking?"  She rolled her eyes
and shook her head newbies .

While Beverley led the line of Addicts supposed to be mimicking her
every move, Dee was in charge of the end.  She snagged a straggler
who had taken a moment to look around Toronto and sent the newbie
reeling against a wall once again.  "Surreptitiousness requires
concentration," she chided, head swiveling as a particularly
fetching Canadian male passed.  "Oooo..."  Turning back, she found
herself suddenly having to take evasive action as she passed too
close to the corner of the building.

The new Addict raised an eyebrow at the veteran.  Dee, undaunted,
rubbed her bleeding elbow.  "See!  That was a demonstration of how a
lack of concentration can get you hurt!"

Their objective was now in sight:  a construction yard near the
waterfront.  Either the company had gone out of business or today
was a little-known Canadian construction holiday, because all of the
equipment was still in the yard during early morning and absolutely
no one was around.  In fact, there wasn't even a security fence
around the yard, which was odd, yet accommodating to their plans.  A
more perfect set-up for the "borrowing" of equipment couldn't
possibly be found anywhere in the province.

The women spread themselves throughout the yard, choosing the most
likely machinery for their purpose.  Being Addicts, nature had lent
them an innate knowledge of how to hot-wire most anything.

Unfortunately, nature had not been so kind in teaching them how to
drive heavy equipment.  And, it was doubly difficult to do with
long, manicured finger nails.

With fits and starts, the Addicts jerked the various front-end
loaders, cranes, bulldozers, etc. around the construction yard,
whooping with delight and/or consternation.  One bulldozer made lazy
left-hand circles in near-misses around the other equipment, its
driver unable to figure out how to make it go straight.

Katherine caught something out of the corner of her eye shining
through one of the blacked-out windows of an abandoned warehouse
close by.  Turning her head to get a better look, she saw nothing.
She shrugged and went back to wrestling with her forklift.  <Must've
been a trick of the light,> she reasoned.

*************** End of Flashback ***************

"Very resourceful,' Patt said, nodding.  "So, what was the name of
the construction company. Christy?  You were in charge of this
extraction, right?  Who do we owe?"

Christy shrugged.  "I never paid any attention."  She turned to one
of the new addicts.  "Cheyenne . . . go check one of the dump
truck's for a logo, okay?"  The teenager saluted and left.  She
returned momentarily, her face puzzled.  "Does the High Priestess
own a construction company?"

Christy and Patt exchanged looks.  "Why do you ask that?"

"Because it's one of HER words: Grout."

Christy and Patt both blanched.  "Oh.  My.  Gawd.  G.R.O.U.T.   They
"borrowed" from G.R.O.U.T.  How could Dee and Beverley not see the
logo?  How?!"  Christy started pacing frantically while Patt buried
her head in her folded arms.

"Grout?"

"No, no!" Christy croaked.  "Not 'grout,' G.R.O.U.T.  They worked on
the Shrine renovation in War 10.  Back then, they had been turned
mortal along with all the other vampires in Toronto, but now now,
they're definitely re-vamped."

Christy gulped hard.  "Oh, well, there's nothing we can do about it
now.  It's after dark, and they will already know that their
equipment is missing.  Hopefully we'll find some way to negotiate
with Kriel and his crew."  Patt snorted, but didn't raise her head.

"Otherwise," Christy continued, "I may wind up his Forever Love
Bunny."  She shuddered at the thought of living for eternity with
such a moniker.

"Love Bunny?" Jackson asked, crossing his arms and looking down at
the auburn-haired woman, brows knitted with disapproval.

"Long story," she answered.  "Just never, EVER feed a vampire-
turned-mortal tiramisu, Jackson.  NEVER!"

"Tiramisu?"  Mon. Cabon came forward, rubbing his hands in
anticipation.  "You are all ready to order now?"

The swarthy pirate-dressed character who had accompanied Caren and
Shelly to the Shrine stepped forward.  He lifted his head and
smiled, gold teeth glittering.  "A spot of rum and some roast pig
would be nice."

Patt lifted her head and looked at Caren.  "Who IS he?"

** Flashback  -- 11-8-04 -- early morning and through the day **

Caren stared at the counter attendant, unwilling to accept the
information she'd just been given.  "How long?"

The scarved woman behind the SkyHigh gate check-in looked at Caren
sympathetically.  "It's an environmental delay which can't be
corrected at this time," the woman continued to explain.  "I'm
sorry, but all Toronto bound traffic is grounded until further
notice."

Caren returned to where Shelly was sitting.  "Geese," Caren
complained, sitting down next to the younger woman.  "Migrating
geese!"

"Did they have an estimate of how long it would be?" Shelly asked.

Caren shook her head.  "Just that we were grounded until further
notice . . . depending on how fast the ganders fly."

"Too bad all the geese travel this particular path," Shelly noted.
"Seems there could be some way to reroute."

A thoughtful expression spread across Caren's face, then she jumped
up, bound for the counter again. When she was arrived, the counter
attendant was involved in an animated conversation with yet another
disgrunted passenger.

"Geese?!"  The dark-haired man was gritting his teeth and staring at
the attendant. "Can't your controllers work around the situation,
reroute to the west or something?"

"This is a very heavy air traffic area," the woman continued to
offer her official explanation.  "To get all passengers to their
destinations would involve putting more  aircraft on minor flight
paths incapable of handling the traffic."

Grumbling, the man moved away from the counter.  A short distance
away, he flipped out his cell and began punching angrily at the device.

Caren moved up to the counter, her expression sweet, but determined.
"I know we can't fly to Toronto right now, but what about other
Canadian routes?  Are they all goosed-locked too?"

The gate assistant looked thoughtful for a moment, then began
checking the computer  terminal in front of her.  "Actually, no.  If
you don't mind rerouting through New Hampshire, I can get you on a
flight to Toronto.  It's not direct, but . . .

"I'll take it," Caren smiled.  "Anything to get on our way."

Hearing the woman and attendant talking about Toronto had, of
course, caught Rob's attention.  He, like the dark-haired woman at
the counter, was just about ready to try any means available to get
to Toronto.

"I'm in on that too," Rob said, reaching across Caren to hand the
attendant his boarding pass.  "First available to Toronto, via New
Hampshire." He grinned down at Caren and said, "Hi, there."

"That's fine," the attendant replied, punching data into her
terminal.  "We have just enough available seats on that flight,
leaving in thirty minutes.  Three for rerouting through New
Hampshire to Toronto, with layover in Halifax."

Rob's smile faded.  "Halifax?"  The man's voice raised an octave per
syllable.  "As in NOVA SCOTIA?  It's friggin COLD in Nova Scotia!!"

Caren stared at the man.  "It's cold in Canada, for heaven's sake.
Just put on another sweater and quit complaining."  Grabbing her's
and Shelly's modified passes, Caren took off down the concourse.

"Frigging cold," Rob continued to mutter to himself as he strode
toward the jet which would take him to the east coast.  "Why
couldn't this series have been filmed in Honolulu, for heck's sake."
***************
St. Louis to Manchester, New Hampshire . . . no
problem.  Manchester to Halifax . . . major problems.

"Please fasten your seat belts and return all seat backs and tray
tables to their full upright and locked positions," the flight
attendant announced over the intercom.

Caren looked over at Shelly, whose face had gone a shade paler than
the girl's normal light coloring.  Although Caren wasn't feeling
very confident about the flight turbulence herself, she took the
girl's hand and squeezed it reassuringly.  Rob, sitting across the
aisle and just behind the two women, grimaced as another jolt from
the craft interacted with his stomach contents.  Still, he was more
glad than ever that he'd managed to get on this flight.  He'd
learned a helluva lot in the past hour or so.

To prepare the younger woman for her first trip to Toronto, Caren
had been giving Shelly a brief history of the Nunkies Addicts, the
Shrine, past events and the adventures that she and Paul had taken
part in several years ago.  Rob couldn't help but overhear, and
found himself almost as awestruck as Shelly.

"Vampires?"  Shelly's voice held a note of incredulity.  "Fairies,
mummies, cake, rats and tunnels?  Caren, are you sure about this?"

Caren nodded.  "Yep, and I don't blame you for being skeptical,
Shelly.  I was myself when Patt first introduced me to the FK
universe.  But she and Christy have made it so interesting that I've
found myself looking forward to each new adventure."

<What the blazes has Christy got herself assimilated into?> Rob
didn't know whether to be worried, furious or both. <The Queen has
got a LOT of explaining to do.>

The pressure in the cabin dropped suddenly, indicating the plane had
lost altitude.  It was righted quick enough, even before oxygen
masks could fall, but it left the tiny group of passengers white-
knuckled.

"Ladies and gentleman." The Captain's voice came over the intercom.
"We have, unfortunately, encountered a flock of migratory birds
which have veered from their normal flight path."

Rob looked outside his airplane window and noted a large swathe of
feathers floating from the jet exhaust.

"We've lost power in one of the engines, and are declaring an
emergency," the Captain continued.  "Please make preparations for a
forced landing."

Buckled in, pillows on their laps and tightly holding on to their
arm rests, the passengers waited breathlessly as the plane went into
descent.

Land appeared quickly below them - a very small spot of land,
surrounded by lots and lots of water, i.e., the Atlantic Ocean.
Skillfully, the Captain maneuvered the commuter jet toward the green
of the coastline, while everyone aboard held their breath.

On touchdown, the plane skidded a bit, but landed with all souls
aboard safe and unharmed.

After a general cheer went up from the passengers, they began
gathering their things and moving toward the emergency exit doors,
only to find themselves, upon departure from the conveyance, in the
middle of nowhere.

"Any idea where we are?" Rob walked up to the attendant.

She smiled and replied.  "The Captain is calling in with our
coordinates.  I'm sure emergency transport is on the way."

"That's not exactly what I asked," Rob reminded the woman.  "Where
are we?"

The woman looked around, then turned to Rob and smiled again.  "On
land . . . so be grateful."  She turned and walked away, offering
assistance to an elderly woman holding a cat carrier.

Rob looked around, spotted Caren and Shelly, and walked over to the
women. "Headed for Toronto, as I recall," Rob said.

Caren looked the man over carefully.  She vaguely remembered him
from the airport.  "Yes."

"Well," Rob said, looking around, "I would imagine this minor delay
will cause us to miss our connecting flight yet again, wouldn't you
agree?"

"Yeeessss . . ." Caren said, her eyes narrowing, wondering what the
stranger was getting at.

Rob jumped right in, now that he had the woman's attention.
Normally, he would have preferred going solo, but Caren might still
have additional vital information which he planned to obtain.  "I
see what looks like a village over there," he said, pointing north,
nestled inside that little cove."

"Oh, look at the lighthouse!" Shelly exclaimed, looking in the same
direction.

"We should probably stay with the other passengers," Caren said.

"And just be delayed for another two hours or so while they figure
out what to do with us," Rob said.  "I don't know about you, but I'd
rather get on to Toronto."

Caren considered this, then nodded.  "Okay . . . let's go."

During the walk to the village, Shelly convinced Caren that a short
rest stop at the lighthouse wouldn't delay them considerably.  The
younger woman reached the door first and knocked.  When no one
answered, she pushed the door open and peeked inside.  She felt the
cold steel of a cutlass caress her throat, and froze in her tracks.
"By what right do you take the liberty of entering my refuge
uninvited?"  A rather swarthy looking character appeared from the
shadows, his hand holding the hilt of the blade.  He tilted his head
to examine the girl's face, his eyes crinkled in wait for the answer
to his question.

"I . . . I . . ." Shelly stammered.

"Aye, aye?" the long haired man noted with a hint of amusement.  "Do
you fancy yourself a pirate, lass?  I do not think so."  He let the
blade drop slightly, sensing this girl was harmless. "You're one of
those privateer-seeking tourists, I would imagine.  Well, girl,
you've found what you sought."

And, indeed, the exotic figure facing Shelly did resemble her mental
image of a pirate . . . at least in dress.  The man was attired in a
white shirt with puffed sleeves and black leather britches, laced on
the side and belted with a red sash.  On his head, the man wore a
red scarf, snugly tied.  His long dark hair hung loose, except for
strands braided with multi-colored beads. When he smiled, gold teeth
glittered.

"Take your hands off her!"  The "pirate" whirled sharply as Caren
descended on him.  He lifted his blade, catching the tip below
Caren's chin.  Although she halted, the Cajun woman's eyes blazed
with fury.

The dark-haired pirate grinned in delight.  "Older, yes, but more to
my liking than the young one.  Give me feisty any voyage."

"I'll show you feisty," Caren responded, prepared to swing her
rather heavy suitcase at the attacker.

"Hold there, Missus," the pirate replied, just as Rob ran up and
caught Caren in a hug from behind.  The pirate looked at Rob.  "She
be yours?"

"We just met," he said.

"Well, if it's not too late, I'd be running for my life, lad," the
pirate smiled, moving away from the couple with an easy grace born
of many hours balancing on rolling seas.  He sheathed his cutlass
and looked at them carefully.  "Would I be amiss to suggest that you
are three passengers from the off-course aircraft which landed about
an hour ago?"

"You would not," Rob said, releasing a furious Caren and stepping in
front of her.

The pirate continued to size up the other man.  "And, why did you
not remain with your vessel?"

"Because we need to get to Toronto," Caren fumed, coming back around
Rob to face the pirate directly.

The pirate held up his hand in effort to quiet the woman.  "If you
have funds, I, Captain Jake Wren, will assist you in getting to your
destination port," he said, bowing dramatically.  Rob and Caren
looked doubtful. "I am master of the sloop Darting Dolphin," Captain
Wren continued, his eyes holding only slight hurt at the implication
that he was incapable of providing transportation.  "She's a single-
masted vessel, equipped with four cannonades plus swivel guns, and can
accommodate a crew of twenty-five."

Caren looked unconvinced.  "How much?"

The corner of Wren's mouth twisted in a smile.  "How much do you
have?"  Caren pulled out her credit card and dangled it in front of
the pirate's nose.

Captain Jake Wren tilted his head in agreement, his eyes never
leaving Caren's.  "If you can claim a cash advance on that account,
the deal is struck.  Shall we go?"

******* Flashback  11-8-04 *****************

"Wait a minute," Rob interjected.  "I don't know THAT much about

geography, but I could swear that there is no water passage from
here all the way to Toronto."

"Details, details," Wren quipped.  "Have a little faith, boy, and

follow me." Soon, Caren, Shelly and Rob, laden with luggage, trudged
down the hill, following a prancing Jake Wren.

They reached a rather secluded area, overlooking the cove.  Caren
looked around dubiously.  "So, where is your ship?"

Wren had reached the end of a precipice.  He turned toward the
Americans, lifting his chin, his eyes glittering in delight.  Then,
he pointed downward.  There, hidden in a small inlet, was a ship.  As
promised, the one-masted sloop bore the name Darting Dolphin.  It
was a sleek looking vessel, clean and well-cared for.

"I still don't think that you can get to Toronto by water," Rob
grumbled.

"And that is why we'll take the Propellered Porpoise, my secondary
craft," Wren countered.  He leaned to the left, indicating with his
posture an area behind the moored ship.  Caren and Rob leaned
likewise, and saw what Wren spoke of.

Beyond the sloop was a squared wooden area.  Atop the platform was a
bright red helicopter.

"The platform was built to only be seen from one particular angle."
Wren smiled, his hands fluttering.  "Don't you love illusions?"
Wren plucked a peach from his sleeve, offering the fruit to Caren.
"I certainly do," the pirate smiled at the woman.  Scowling, Caren
accepted the peach.

"Red?"  Rob looked at the helicopter dubiously.

Wren turned to the other man.  "If you knew your lore, mate, you'd
know that red is the color indicative of pillaging with no mercy."
Wren returned his attention to Caren, his eyes drinking her in.
"And, if you knew me, you'd know why the color was appropriate."

Caren returned the pirate's look, her own eyes smoldering.  She took
a large bite out of the peach and chewed it viciously.

Wren eyed the Cajun carefully.  "She'll carry four easily, so we
should be able to make Toronto by nightfall.  Shall we be leaving
then?"

Walking along the narrow plank, which connected the dock with the
platform, Wren offered his hand to assist the ladies aboard, then
turned to Rob, who stood there waiting with the luggage.

Wren pursed his lips.  "There may be a problem."

"Problem?" Rob said, not liking the pirate's tone.

"While the Porpoise will carry four, that equation did not account
for your baggage.  I'm sorry, mate, but either the bags or you will
have to stay."

Rob dropped the luggage and prepared to climb in.  Caren put a hand
on his chest to stop him.  "I'm paying, so the bags are coming.  You
can catch the next flight."

Wren turned to Rob, shrugged, then reached down and threw the bags
on board.  The pirate offered Harding a two finger to the temple
salute, then climbed into the cockpit and turned over the engine.
"Better back off, mate.  The wind will be picking up shortly."

Rob retreated . . . then remembered that HIS bags were also aboard
the aircraft.  "WAIT!" he cried, waving as the helicopter lifted
from the pad and hovered for a moment.  If the pilot saw Rob, he
ignored him.  The craft banked right and headed across the grassy
expanse.

"This really sucks," Rob growled.  Pulling his very thin feeling
coat tighter around his person, Rob began walking toward the village
they'd spotted earlier.
*********** End of Flashback************
"Hired help," Caren was saying, digging through her purse.  "We
missed our connecting flight, and he flew us here charter."  Finding
her credit card, Caren walked over to Cabon.  "I need a cash
withdrawl on this card, please."

Caren followed Cabon to the cash register, leaving the others to
worry about what to do about G.R.O.U.T. retribution.

"Only way I can figure to get out of the construction thing is to
offer them a victim," Patt concluded.

"Can't we contact LaCroix, and see if he can negotiate something?"
Dee suggested hopefully.

"A victim would be easier," Patt replied.  She looked around the
room, spotting the newbie with the purple hair. "Hey, Krista.
You're used to the cold and staying inside all the time.  Becoming a
vampire wouldn't bother you much, right . . .?"

"Patt," Christy warned.  "THAT is definitely against the rules.
I
know you have license to bend, but we CANNOT make turn faction
members into vampires."

Patt sighed deeply.  "Everyone out there is trying to stifle my
creative muse.  Okay, let's see if we can reach LaCroix," she said,
as Caren returned to the group.

"Here you are, Mr. Wren," the Louisiana woman said, handing a large
wad of cash toward the pirate.

"*Captain* Wren." The pirate helpfully corrected the woman.  Wren
reached for the money, only to have the action intercepted by
Jackson Hugh.  Wren squinted up at the Imp and said, "Do I know you,
sir?"

Jackson's mouth twisted into a half-smile as he fished a tattered,
yellowed piece of paper from his chest pocket.  He handed the paper
to Wren and replied, "Let's just consider this payment on account."

While Wren was perusing the note, Caren couldn't help but notice the
date 1822 on the billing.  "One of your ancestors leave a debt?" she
asked.  Wren flinched.

Jackson opened his mouth to comment, but Wren wiggled his fingers,
touching the tips to his mouth in an effort to silence the Imp.
Jackson furrowed his eyebrows, but complied.  Wren motioned for
Jackson to join him away from the crowd.  "What say I add this to
your payment, and we just forget the lineage report, mate?"  Wren
slipped a ruby ring from his finger and placed it in Jackson's palm.

Jackson frowned, but kept the offered compensation.  He gave Wren a
hard look.  "I suggest you leave now, *mate.*  These are nice
people, and they don't need the kind of trouble that *your* kind
brings in its wake."

Captain Jake Wren sniffed and tilted his head in response to
Jackson's rebuke.  "This coming from one such as yourself?  At least
*I* have human blood coursing through my veins, mate, which is more
than you can say."  Wren removed his three-cornered crimson hat,
bowed a courtly bow and left the restaurant.

Jackson returned to the Addicts and Ala-Addicts, who were looking
pretty morose.  "Perhaps the innkeeper was right," he said.
"Food
might help."

Patt nodded her head toward where Erik sat, knees to his chin,
rocking.  "Maybe Le'Phantom will share.  He's been sitting in that
corner over there, muttering to himself and stroking an onion ever
since we came inside the Peach."  The Mature Addict shrugged. "It
could be that he just freaked at the mention of G.R.O.U.T.  He and
Kriel have such history."

"Nahh, Erik's got other issues," Paul commented.  He was standing
slightly away from the group, near Shelly.  "Personally, I'm
beginning to think that Rob had the right idea, taking off when he
did."

"You know Rob?" Christy and Caren said simultaneously, then looked
at each other.

"Kind of," Paul nodded. "He was at the hospital with Dad."

"Hospital??  Dad??"  Caren's eyes flew open wide.  "What has your

father got to do with this?"

"He came with me to Toronto," Paul said, nodding.  "Didn't want
to
be left out of the adventure this time."
********* flashback -- 11-8-04  morning to evening **********
It was shortly before dusk when Rob entered the village
of Liverpool, Nova Scotia.  Of immediate interest to Rob was a
rustic-looking tavern displaying a hanging sign, which heralded the
establishment as the Rum Runner.

Rob stepped inside, welcoming the darkness and relative warmth.  He
took a seat at the bar and waited for the tavern keeper to approach.

" What'll ya have, mate?" The bartender eyed the newcomer with
interest.

"Make it Jack Daniels, straight, and the telephone number of a local
car rental agency."

Of course, all major auto rental shops were closed for the evening,
but with the tavern owner's help, Rob was able to persuade one local
to reopen his establishment with promise of a nice bonus.

Rob stepped into the dark garage as the owner flipped the switch.
The overhead lighting buzzed to life.  Rob looked around, his hopes
dissolving.  Within the shop, Rob identified three forms of transit:
a snowmobile with a missing blade, a lime green 1976 Pacer <tm> on
blocks, and a Yak.

"The Yak is reliable."  The owner nodded his encouragement for
completing the transaction.  "Very low mileage . . . hardly ridden
at all.  Runs on vegetable fuel."

Rob was preparing to stalk out of the garage when he spotted what
appeared to be a vehicle, covered by a gray tarp. "What's that?" Rob
demanded, pointing at the shrouded auto.

"That's my wee lass," the rental man said, moving toward the hidden
vehicle.  "It will cost you a pretty cent IF I rent it to you."

"Let's see it," Rob said, squaring himself to negotiate a deal.  The
other man shrugged, and removed tarp.  Rob gasped.  There, sitting
in pristine condition, was a 1968 Mustang <tm> Convertible.  Rob
began to shudder.  The Mustang was yellow.  A yellow reminiscent of
expelled bodily fluid.  Rob felt himself growing ill.

The man turned his eyes from the Mustang to face Rob proudly. "One
hundred and seventy-five dollars - American, of course - and you can
have her for the week."  Although he was trembling inside, Rob knew
it had to be done.  He handed the man the cash and accepted the keys
to the yellow car.

*********Flashback to be continued *************