War: NA:The Plane Truth Faction Opener (1/3) By Patt Elmore and Christy Stillman Takes place Monday, 11-8-04 after 12:01 a.m. All participants used with their permission Special thanks to High Priestess Jules for her input and caring The small portal window next to Christy's head was as clouded with condensation as her heart was shrouded in sadness. The turbo prop had left Shreveport Regional Airport just under thirty minutes ago, bound for Orlando via a connection in Memphis. The red-eye flight was turbulent, which matched Christy's thoughts as she remembered the events of the past several days. It had taken almost three years to come to the point where Christy and Caren could honor Patt's will and dispose of her belongings . . . to finally face the fact that the Mature Addict was gone and was not coming back. All there was left to do now was continue mourning. Christy sighed, checked her watch and returned her eyes to the airplane's window. She almost shrieked aloud. A gaunt, pale face framed by billowing long dark hair glared at her from the darkness. It mouthed unheard words and glared at the unkateer. *She's alive.* The words sprang into Christy's head, unbidden and with sudden clarity. Christy snapped the window shade shut with a sharp click which punctuated her terror. Mourning had very bad side affects, she'd discovered. *Well, fine friend you are, Mouse Ears,* the voice came to her again. Christy moaned inwardly. Or maybe it was just some bad chicken salad . . . *Addicts,* the voice echoed within her head. *They're all insane.* "Excuse me?" Christy said aloud. The passing flight attendant stopped and smiled. "Yes, ma'am. How can I help you?" Christy stared at the perky blonde woman standing over her. A flash of horrible deja vu enveloped the Nunkateer and she felt nauseous. She began scrambling inside the pocket attached to the seat in front of her. Sensing Christy's purpose, the flight attendant noted, "I'll get you a cool compress," and scurried away. *Woman,* the voice came again, *if you value your friend's mortal existence as much as you claim, you'll cease your hysterics and listen to me.* Christy started, suddenly recognizing the tone she was being addressed in. "Spark?" She snapped open the portal cover and stared at the face glowering at her. Yep, it was Spark all right. Christy quickly closed the shade once more and covered her head with a pillow. Something began tapping at the glass from outside. The attendant returned with a damp cloth and lost some of her wide smile as the exterior knocking grew louder. Then the woman's eyes glazed slightly, and she beamed at Christy, "Shouldn't you answer that?" Christy peaked from behind the pillow, staring at the attendant with one eye. The attendant smiled merrily, "I really think you should answer that, because it would be rude not to. And, I'm going to go get some coffee now. Bye bye!" The blonde turned and jerkily strode back to the galley. "She's got to have a cousin in Toronto," Christy muttered. The knocking from outside continued to escalate, and Christy finally slid the plastic covering up again. She stared at the vampire hovering outside and whispered, "What do you want?" *Out of respect to LaCroix, I will not play mind games with you,* the long-haired vampire projected into Christy's mind. *And, out of respect to Patt, who proved to be fair, I offered my assistance in contacting you. She IS alive.* Christy felt a sudden surge of hope, then total despair. "You're sick, you creep," Christy seethed. "Patt is dead, and, unless you dug her up and did something awful to her, she's remaining dead." *She only slumbers,* Spark retorted, his eyebrows knitted in angered sincerity. "And, if you don't trust my words, perhaps you'll believe this . . .* Spark's hand appeared, his long white fingers pressing an object to the window. It was a silver medallion encrusted with an amethyst dragon. A symbol exactly like that which had appeared on a Claymore sword known all too well to the Nunkateer. Christy felt a shockwave of recognition flow through her. "Jackson . . ." she whispered hoarsely. Spark nodded, his eyes gleaming. This time there was no containing the shriek. Christy's bellow startled the dozing passengers around her and woke the attendant from her hypnotic state. The moment the sound left Christy's mouth, the plane jerked within a new pocket of turbulence. Christy watched in horror as Spark's face slammed against the window, the metal crest pinned between his flesh and the glass. A small trickle of blood appeared on the vampire's pale forehead and his eyes went expressionless. He fell from the window, bounced twice off the plane's wing and disappeared into the darkness. *************** Rob Harding was in his element. While his home base was in Cleveland, the air traffic controller/instructor had been assigned Memphis due to a temporary staffing needs transfer. Rob's specialty was URET, the User Request Evaluation Tool. At the moment, he was intently watching beacon flashes emanating from the screen in front of the trainee he was working with. Rob was especially interested in one of the beacon codes which had just appeared on the display. Rob knew his good friend Christy was on that particular flight. He was looking forward to a brief, but enjoyable, visit with his fellow Disnoid during her layover in Memphis. Rob noted that Christy's flight appeared to be going through some turbulence. Rob also knew the reason for Christy's flight--that she was returning home after disposing of another friend's worldly belongings. Rob had met Patt briefly, during a joint vacation at Disney World. Rob knew how much Christy missed Patt, and was determined to be there for his friend. Rob thought to himself, After he shift was over, Rob was looking forward to taking a well-deserved week of vacation. First, he'd fly home and check on his dogs, then he was headed south, glorious south, to take part in a marathon run. Rob had only discovered long-distance running in the past year, and was looking forward to the physical torture and sheer joy of pushing his muscles to the limit. Rob's eyes had never left the control screen, but an unusual occurrence now sharpened his focus. Attached to the beacon emanating from Christy's flight was another beacon code, indicating a possible collision in progress. "At what point do you intend to do something about that limited beacon traversing your airspace without any information on it?" After a stunned moment of silence, the trainee began sputtering a lame explanation, while obviously trying to figure out how he had missed the errant blip in the first place. Then, the identified beacon code appeared to waiver, and the unidentified code disappeared from the screen. Rob blinked, his brain processing quickly. He spoke calmly into his headset. "SkyHigh 213 . . . how do you read Center?" "SkyHigh 213 reads your 5 X 5," came the answer. Relieved that everything appeared to be okay with the aircraft, Rob frowned slightly at the display. "Problem?" the trainee's supervisor came up to the console. "Better call the SMIC," Rob replied, unplugging his headset and moving away from the console. "There's something wrong with this damn display. It's flashing indecipherable code from objects that aren't there." His stint in Memphis finished, Rob left the Center. He stepped out into the mild November night, his mind full of concern for Christy. Probably just some weather and a wonky radar screen, but still . . . strange things always seemed to surround his friend. Rob slipped his cell phone from his pocket, found Christy's number on the menu and, calculating that she should be on ground by now, dialed her. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Dodging and weaving through the slowly deplaning mass of humanity in the jet way, Christy fumbled for her cell phone and flipped it on just as she finally made her way to the rear of a line of hopeful standby passengers checking in at the gate. She scrolled through her list of contacts and punched up Caren's cell phone number. It rang. And rang. And rang. And finally patched her through to a voice mail box. "Cae!" she said frantically. "It's Christy. Give me a call the second you get this!" She flipped the phone shut and tucked it in her purse as the line inched forward. As the polyphonic strains of Mozart began, she frantically snatched at the cell, hoping to see Caren's name on the phone's tiny screen. The display uncooperatively flashed "Rob's Cell." Christy groaned, wondering how she was going to explain the fact that she wasn't going to be able to meet him during her layover after all, then flipped up the cover resignedly. "Hi, hon!" she said with a fake cheeriness. "How's it going?" On the other end of the line, Rob picked up on the false tone of voice immediately. "I was about to ask you the same thing," he replied. "I know there was some pretty rough air tonight." "Oh, definitely," Christy agreed. "I can't remember the last time I got bounced around so much. Thank goodness for Dramamine. " "Yeah, guess the weather must've affected the Center, too. The screen glitched. Looked for a minute there like something had run into your plane." There was silence on the other end of the line, and Rob spoke up again, "Hello? You still there?" "Yes, I'm still here," came the reply. There was a nervous giggle. "Funny about the glitch. (hee hee) We're fine. Nothing running into our plane, nosiree! (hee hee hee hee)" It all came out in a rushed jumble, and Rob was immediately suspicious. Finally getting her turn at the gate attendant, Christy walked toward the woman with a smile, which faded at Rob's next words. "So, I'm done here. Where shall I meet you?" She stammered into the phone as the harried gate attendant looked at her expectantly, "Well, hon, there might be a bit of a problem with that." Back at Memphis Center, Rob heard someone ask how she could help Christy and the reply, "I need to get on the very next flight to Toronto, please." Traveling beyond suspicion at his friend's strange behavior and going right into the World of What the Hell is Going On, Rob shouted into the phone, "Toronto??!!! Why are you going to Toronto??!!. You're supposed to be headed for Orlando!" Christy grimaced, wondering how she was going to explain this to her dear friend. She knew she could trust him implicitly with the story. Of course, she also knew she could trust him implicitly to either have her immediately committed or, at least, have airport security hold her until he could get there, should she tell him of her encounter with Spark. She couldn't afford the delay. "Are you there? Talk to me!" Rob demanded. Christy took the ticket and her badly abused credit card from the gate attendant. "You'd better hurry," the attendant said. "That's the last flight out tonight, and it leaves in 20 minutes. Gate B-24." Christy grimaced yet again. She was standing at Gate A-5. It would be close. She took off running. "Christy? Answer me!" Rob said again, not knowing whether to be angry at his friend or concerned about her. "If you don't talk to me, I'm going to hang up and call TSA!" "Rob, darlin'," she panted, luggage getting heavier with every step, "I " Providence intervened, or at least the call waiting tone did. "Look, hon," Christy replied, "I'll tell you what's going on after I get to Toronto. I promise I'll call you the very second I get off the plane, if you want, but right now, I have a very important call waiting on the other line, so I'm going to have to go." Don't you hang up on ." Rob trailed off as the line went dead. What the hell was going on? Had the woman's grief over her friend, Patt, finally driven her over the edge? Well, there was one thing he knew for sure. Home and Marathon might just have to wait. He was booking a flight to Toronto, and Ms. Stillman was going to give him an explanation for all this odd behavior face-to-face. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ War: NA:The Plane Truth Faction Opener (2/3) By Patt Elmore and Christy Stillman Takes place Monday, 11-8-04 after 12:01 a.m. and into the morning All participants used with their permission Almost at the gate and horribly out of breath (*really MUST start exercising again*), Christy answered Caren's call and told her what Spark had said. "You're kidding! No way!" Caren said incredulously for what had to be the fiftieth time during the conversation. "He had the medallion from the pommel of Jackson's sword, Cae. It HAS to be true!" A panting Christy handed her boarding pass and ID to the waiting attendant and headed up the jet way, the last person to board. "You have to get to Toronto right away and help me find her!" "I'm getting off the phone and making my reservations right now!" Caren replied, her voice almost breathless. "Spark is one sick puppy, though. I hope to gawd he's not leading us on a wild goose chase." "I know, but we can't afford NOT to do anything," Christy replied as she found her seat. A nice gentleman sitting in the aisle seat kindly heaved her carry-on into the overhead compartment with a grunt. Christy took the middle seat and fastened the seat belt. "Yeah, that's true. Okay, girlfriend, I'll see you in Toronto, and hopefully we'll come away from there with some GOOD news this time!" Caren replied. Hanging up and stowing the urned-off-because-it-might-interfere-with- instrumentation cell phone, Christy really smiled for the first time that night. Yes yes, they just MIGHT come away with some good news for a change! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Her conversation with Christy completed, Caren re-cradled her phone and turned to her PC. She went to the Internet site where travel purchases supported her son's college funding, and quickly punched in information needed to arrange a flight to Toronto. "Darn it," Cae breathed, only a hint of irk in her tone. "None out of Shreveport until late this evening." "Sorry, dear," Monte replied absently. He was sitting across the computer room, his back to his wife. Theirs was a three-computer family, with Monte and Cae sharing the computer room, and their son, Paul, having his own PC in his bedroom. Monte was actively involved in his latest baseball simulation, but knew very well that his verbal sympathy to his wife's plight was an important ingredient in continuing their happy marriage. "Wait a minute," Caren's voice took a more hopeful note. "There is an earlier flight if I'm willing to make two layover stops. The first is Dallas, then route to St. Louis, and on to Toronto." "That sounds convenient," Monte replied, his mind more focused on RBI stats than Caren's travel plans. "Better than just sitting here," Caren agreed, mouse-clicking the *okay* button to submit her credit card information. "Flight leaves in two hours, so I'd better get packing." "Packing for where?" Shelly, Paul's fiance (they just got engaged!!), wandered into the room, rubbing her eyes. She'd worked late, and had just finished taking a nap in Paul's room. "Toronto," Caren answered quickly. "Come on . . . you can help me get my stuff together." "Are you going on one of those Nanka adventures you're always talking about," Shelly asked, her eyes growing wide. "I thought those were over with." "So did I," Caren nodded, grabbing clothing out of the closet and throwing it on her bed. "After Patt passed away, I figured the *Nunkies* adventures were over, but a situation has occurred which may have changed all that." Caren turned to face the tall, blonde girl. "Patt may be alive." Bags on shoulders, the two women re-entered the Thomas computer room. Caren gave Monte a quick kiss. "Gone to Toronto, MJ. Shelly's going to drive me to the airport. See you in a couple of weeks." "Be careful, Cae," Monte said, releasing his gaze from his monitor and returning his wife's affection. Monte and Cae had long ago learned the real key to happiness in a marriage. Full trust. Monte knew his wife was on a mission, and didn't question her need to travel. "I love you." "I love you, too," Caren smiled, her fingers gently touching the man's cheek. "Don't eat too many sweets and remember to feed the dogs while I'm gone." "Okay. Have fun." Monte's attention was already returned to his game, as Caren, with Shelly in tow, left the house headed for Shreveport Regional. At the airport, Caren went to check one of her bags, then stopped short, turning her eyes on her *daughter.* "What is your work schedule like?" "Huhh?" Shelly stepped back, looking suddenly worried. "Busy . . . very busy." "Patt likes you, too, so you'd make an acceptable substitute for Paul. I'll have you back by Wednesday," Caren promised. "And, if not, I'll make sure the fanfic fairies bring you your homework and manufacture a clone to work in your place. You wear my clothes anyway, so you can just carry-on this second bag." Shelly opened her mouth to protest, but Caren was already making arrangements for the girl's airline ticket. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Exhausted from climbing ladders and making displays all day, Paul Thomas returned home from his job. He was met by the two dogs, Leo and Clyde, who greeted the boy with affection and looks of hunger. "Go bother Mom," Paul said, pushing past the dogs. He went to his room, noting the disheveled, empty bed. He next wandered into the computer room, occupied only by his father. "Where's Mom?" Paul asked, unbuttoning his shirt. "Headed for Toronto," Monte said, his eyes glued to the PC. Paul grew alarmed. "Why?" "One of her escapades," Monte replied. "Where is Shelly?" Paul was growing more alarmed. "Took your mother to the airport," Monte said. "How long ago?" Monte straightened. He turned to his son, frowning. "A couple of hours ago, I think." Paul looked toward the answering machine. The light was blinking. "Who called?" "I have no idea," Monte admitted. "I didn't even hear it ring." Paul sighed and went to retrieve the message. It was as he suspected: his mother's voice advising them that she had taken Shelly to Toronto with her. Resigned, Paul went to his room and began packing. Monte noted the young man's activity and raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I'm going after them," Paul answered the unasked inquiry. "You remember: I've been in one of these adventures before, and I know what is involved. I know Mom can take care of herself, but I want to be there for her and Shelly. Besides," Paul suddenly grinned, "the whole thing can be pretty fun at times." He reached for his sword, which was hanging on the wall above his bed. He hefted the Claymore and smiled. Shortly after returning from Toronto several years ago, he'd received the blade in the mail. It was an exact duplicate of Jackson Hugh's totem, minus the majick involved. The balance was perfect, and Paul knew it had been forged in the fires of the Faerie world. "You won't be able to take that on the plane," Monte remarked, as Paul sheathed the weapon and packed it in a garment bag. "I know," Paul replied. "That's why I'm not flying. I figure I'll hitchhike." "Not likely," Monte disagreed, his expression firm. Now it was the father's turn to be resigned. "Your mother is probably going to need her car anyway. Go gas the Tracker while I pack and find someone to watch the dogs. I guess I'm going to Canada this trip, too." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ She saw him before the cab came to a complete halt in front of the Jeweled Peach, a familiar silhouette atop a familiar pile of rubble. He stood out starkly, framed by the newly risen sun. Christy smiled broadly as Jackson Hugh sighted her and waved. Leaving her things just inside the restaurant door, Christy climbed up to join him. Jackson reached down and took her hand, helping her the last bit of the way. That same old jolt of electricity traveled down Christy's spine when their hands touched, and she nearly melted as she was drawn into a warm embrace and felt lips plant a firm kiss on top of her head. "I've missed you, Red," the denizen of the Faerie Realm murmured against her hair. "I was hoping you'd come back before now." "I've missed you, too," the Nunketeer said. "Unfortunately, real life has a nasty habit of interfering with my fantasy life." She pulled back a bit and stared into the deep brown eyes. "Now, tell me. Did you or did you not send Spark to tell me that Patt's alive?" He smiled. "Yea . . . at least, I was instrumental in relaying the message. LaCroix sent Spark." "I was wondering why you just didn't pick up a telephone and call." Christy's eyes studied the Imp's ruggedly handsome features. "Why the dramatics? Why the flying telegram service?" "Each realm has its rules," Jackson said, shrugging his broad shoulders. "You are an Addict first, my friend and companion second. Communication must be done according to the wishes of the host." A thousand emotions rushed through Christy at once, elation and relief being chief among them. "But, how do you know Patt's alive? Did LaCroix find her? Sense her? Was it you? How long have you known? Did she come out? Why are you talking so formal sometimes? What " A long index finger was drawn over her lips, effective as a gag in stopping the outpouring of questions. "Settle down, and I'll explain. But first, let's sit. You look tired." He helped her seat herself on a slab that looked like it had once been the base of a Bust of Nunkies. "Answer to last question first," Jackson said. "Since I got my majick restored, I've been slipping more and more back into the formal training of my youth. Proper tongue and all that. Don't worry, though," he grinned at Christy, "I can still get down and dirty, when necessary. Now, about Patt. "I've been coming here every day since you left, " Jackson began, his expression distant. "I'm not sure why. At first, I thought it might be because I felt a bit lost . . . . after searching so long for my rightful spot, then finding it . . . I felt strange not having a quest anymore. I had lived so long among mortals, and I felt a bit alienated from the fairy world." He smiled sadly at Christy's questioning, concerned look. "No, there was no rejection from my folke. In fact, they welcomed me with heartfelt embraces. It's just that I felt out of place. "Only here, among this rubble, did I feel at peace," Jackson continued, standing. "Here, I felt a purpose, a warmth among the wreckage, a stirring among the stone. I couldn't pinpoint it, and I figured it to be wishful thinking and," he looked pointedly at the woman, "missing you and your kith. But last week, something strange and tangible happened. At first, I thought it was nothing, but now well, I'm just not sure." "Well, this is certainly THE place for strange things to happen," Christy interjected. "But WHAT happened and how did it lead you to the conclusion that Patt is alive, Jackson?" Jackson resumed his seat on the slab, and took Christy's two hands in his. He looked into her eyes, his face very serious. "A week ago, I was here about the same time as usual. I'd made a habit of having a beer at this site each evening, as my own tribute to the NunkWrangler. That night, I was close to that big pipe you sent the Ira Rook CDs down before you left, and I set my unopened beer near the edge. I moved wrong and the bottle toppled down the pipe. When I came back the next day, the opened, empty beer bottle was laying on the ground, close to the pipe." Disappointed, Christy replied, "I think you've been had, Jackson. Anyone could have seen you come here every day and left the same type of bottle as a practical joke." "Yeah, I had the same thought," Jackson said. "That's why I conducted a little experiment." "An experiment?" "Yes. Every evening for the past week, I've dropped an unopened bottle of beer down that pipe. Every time I come back, there's an open, empty bottle lying just about where we're sitting now." As if on cue, the pipe spewed forth a brown longneck, which arced gracefully through the air and would have slammed into the side of Christy's head, had Jackson not pulled her back in time. Stunned, Christy stared at the bottle as it rolled to a halt at Jackson's feet. "This one's not empty," Christy stated. Sure enough, the bottle, though divested of its liquid contents, held something imprisoned within its silica embrace. It looked like . . . "It's a note," Jackson said, smashing the bottle to retrieve the piece of paper. He read it and passed it on to Christy, a broad grin on his face. "Well, Red, I think we have our first bit of real evidence that the Mature Addict was only taking a SHORT dirt nap as opposed to a LONG one." Taking the note, which was written in a familiar printed scrawl, Christy read: "Yo, mysterious benefactor. I just found a scrap of paper and a working pen. Thanks for the beer every evening. Think maybe you could toss down an extra tonight, and make it a Bud Light rather than a Fosters? And, if it's not too much trouble, maybe some chips, too? The cake down here is okay, but I'm really craving something salty. Thanks! -- Patt" Throwing her arms out, Christy cried, "She IS alive!! Oh, Jackson, she really IS!!" The woman pulled the Imp's head down and planted a big kiss right on his lips. "She's alive!! Oh, gawd, we have to get her out of there! Come on, Jackson, we have to get something to dig her up!" Christy scampered down the pile of rubble, shouting questions about heavy equipment rental and leaving Jackson Hugh behind, touching his lips with a bemused grin on his face. When he didn't follow or answer her questions, she turned to look behind her. "Jackson, are you coming or not?" the petite redhead demanded. He smiled. Yeah, the Nunketeer was back in town all right. "On my way, Red," he replied and started making his way down as well. War: NA: Can You Dig It? Faction Opener (3/3) By Patt Elmore and Christy Stillman Takes place Monday, 11-8-04 afternoon, into the evening All participants used with their permission Even with his very long legs, Jackson had to quicken his step to keep up with the feverish pace set by the Nunkateer. "I need a phone book," Christy was mumbling to herself, her tone fast and frantic. "Construction rigs, digging crews, blasting companies . . . I need action!" She raced toward the Jeweled Peach, intent on commandeering Mon. Cabon's reservation station as her base of operations. Then, Christy stopped short, whirled around, and stood nose to chest with a stumbling-to-a-halt Jackson Hugh. "What am I doing?!" Christy shouted up into the face of the startled Imp. "I've got YOU!" "Me?" Jackson looked confused. "Yes! You and the Earth Majicks! You can just waggle your fingers," Christy punctuated her words with a wiggling finger motion of her own, "and pop Patt out of there." "Sorry, Red," Jackson shook his head. "When I reconnected with the Majicks, I had to renew the old vows: No hocus pocus except in emergency circumstances or for the good of the populace." "And extricating Patt wouldn't fall into one of those categories?" Christy queried, her eyes narrowing. "Well, if she's still alive after three years of entombment, then getting her out would not be considered an emergency," Jackson reasoned. Then he looked a bit uneasy. "And can you really say that getting her out would be best for the population of Toronto?" Christy considered this, then set her features to stern determination. She ran toward the Peach again. "Back to Plan A." As suddenly as she had started, she stopped again. Jackson almost plowed into Christy for a second time, only aided in avoiding collision by his catlike grace, fairy sense of timing and . . . well, you get the drift. "Who am I KIDDING?" Christy wailed. "I have no way to finance this operation. Patt had the Platinum card. All I have is this!" She held up a tattered piece of blue and gold plastic. "My credit limit is so exhausted that it wheezes each time I push it through the swipey thing." And that is when providence chose to intervene . . . well, drive up anyway. Jackson and Christy were startled by a horrific grinding of gears, screeching of brakes, and an explosive backfire that would have sounded at home in any of a number of fireworks displays. An ancient bus of an indeterminate orange-ish hue, pouring roiling, dark smoke from its tailpipe, lumbered up to the curb and, despite all evidence that it might not, shuddered to a halt in front of the Peach. The door opened, and the aging vehicle divested itself of a number of shaking, wide-eyed women. They were quickly followed by another woman with extremely long, straight, dark hair who clapped her hands at the others to get their attention. "We have now arrived at Toujours Tours' final and most important stop on our tour of Toronto." The dark-haired woman was explaining. "The Site Formerly Known As The Shrine To Nunkies." She waved a hand dramatically toward the pile of debris. "At the end of War 11, a malevolent creature bent on the destruction of our Nunkies destroyed the Shrine in a fit of rage." The guide walked to a small plaque with a photo beneath a thick plate of Lexan . The guide pointed, pausing dramatically. "This is Patt Elmore, the NunkWrangler, tragically buried beneath the rubble along with the creature who sought to bring about Nunkies ruin. "Feel free to walk among the ruins and choose a small token of your pilgrimage here. Due to the happy coincidence of having reinforced his walls before the tragedy occurred, Mon. Louis Cabon, manager of The Jeweled Peach, was able to save his business from destruction. He shares his good fortune and continues his long-standing relationship with the Addicts by offering a discount to Toujours Tours' patrons on his famed tiramisu." "Beverley??" Christy queried. The long-haired woman's face brightened, and another dark head, this one with short hair, poked from the doorway of the bus. "Dee???" Squealing their delight, the three Nunkies Addicts threw their arms around one another in a group hug. Christy pulled back just then, her grinning changed from the delight of seeing friends to the fiendishness of furious thought. Beverley and Dee knew that look. They exchanged expressions of fear, then turned back to Christy. "Don't do this, whatever it is," Beverley pleaded. "We got a good thing going here, showing Nunkies' related sites to newbie Addicts." "Yeah," Dee said, nodding. She turned and pointed to one of the Addicts. "That's Cheyenne. She's only sixteen, but a computer genius. She's making us a new database." "That's Krista," Beverley said, pointing to a purple-haired woman who had picked up a shard of shiny pottery and was testing it in her teeth. "She's into venison." "And that's Katherine," Dee quipped, indicating a blonde with short hair. "She screams really, really loud." "And that's Alyce," Beverley said. Alyce was atop the rubble, peering down into the exposed pipe. "She counsels us." "Hey!!" Alyce shouted. "When you breathe into this pipe, it breathes back. Well, rather it snores back!" All the newbie Addicts began scrambling up to where Alyce stood. They took turns, peering down into conduit. "This is better than hunting for the Ghost of Bons!" They were all chattering in excited awe. "Get down here. I need you! All of you!" Christy cried, her mind forming thoughts. No one moved. "Get down here or you won't be eligible for merit badges," Christy fumed. This got the Addicts-in-training moving. They scrambled down the slope and stood at attention, waiting. "We have good reason to believe that Patt is alive, buried under that pile of *brick* and mortar," Christy explained. "Nunkies (excited squealing) needs your help in rescuing his favorite (coughing, choking and wheezing) object d'torture, (nodding) next to Nick (booing), of course." "What do you want us to do?!" Unified exclamations of volunteerism. "We need to dig Patt out," Christy said as the cheers and chants got louder. "We need heavy equipment and lots of it." Nods of approval and more cheers of agreement. "We need creative acquisition of front-loaders, back hoes and drilling bits on a minimal to non-existent budget." Total silence. Skeptical, questioning looks. "We're gonna do what Addicts do best," Christy declared. "We're gonna go "borrow" the stuff to burrow." Beverley looked at Dee, who nodded. The Addicts-in-training looked bewildered. "Go steal some stuff!" Christy shouted. The Addicts all scattered. "You," Christy turned toward Jackson, who had been standing off at what he considered a safe distance. No such luck. "Let's go. We need one of your biggest fishing nets . . ." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Well, to make a long, expansive story short, Christy and Hugh arrived back at the Shrine rubble just as the Addicts rumbled up, driving backhoes, front loaders, bulldozers and cranes. Christy was so excited to see all of the heavy equipment that she completely missed seeing any insignia or markings on any of the machines. Slapping a hard hat on her head, she began shouting instructions, showing the newbies where to dig. And dig they did. They crunched gravel and hauled away boulders large enough to create a small dam across Lake Erie. Having tired of standing around, holding the net, Hugh finally caught the Nunkateer's attention. "I still can't figure out why you need this." Jackson shook his burden. "This is Patt we're talking about, Jackson," Christy replied, never taking her eyes off one Addict operating a drilling rig. "The odds are about 60-40 that she'll try to run right back into the hole after we finally dig her up. Once she's out, we're *keeping* her out." "You'd actually wrap your friend in a fishing net and keep her here against her will?" Christy looked at Jackson as if he'd just turned into a dancing camel. "Well, of course! She'd do the same for me!" During one short break, and out of sight of Christy-tyrant, Alyce joined Krista at the water cooler. "Hey! Did you notice Lisl in the firetruck as we were driving back with the equipment? She was parked in front of some sanatorium, I think. Do you think she was considering self-admission?" "Doubtful," Krista said. "Lisl left us to go on a mission to earn Nunkies Scout badges and hooked up with that Shele woman. I hear that Shele is good friends with the Scribe, so they're probably off getting into some kind of mischief. "Okay, you've done the obligatory announcement of the arrival of Lisl, Shele and Bons in the opening post," Christy grouched, rushing past the newbies on her way to grab explosives. "Get back to work." The sun was rapidly setting as the final chunks of large masonry were being hauled away. A small red helicopter landed just outside the excavation perimeter. Christy yelled in greeting as Caren leapt from the chopper and began running toward her, followed by a tall, fair girl and a slightly taller swarthy man. Jackson noted the corsair-clad stranger, and frowned. "Did I miss it?" The Cajun woman hugged Christy enthusiastically. "No," Christy responded gleefully. "But, I think we're almost there." Metal clanged against metal as the drill bit hit something more solid than rock. Christy waved, and all machinery stopped. The Addicts waited, breathless. The Nunkateer jumped down into the crater, and brushed away the last of the loose shale, exposing the flat surface of the once-buried beer fridge. She tugged at the door pull. It wouldn't budge. "I knew it, I knew it," Christy fumed. "She's holding it shut. We've got to give her incentive to open it from the inside." Christy looked around. "Everyone sing!" she ordered. The Addicts looked nervous. Everyone but Jackson, that is, because he knew he had a terrific voice. He puffed out his chest, ready to serenade all with his current Broadway favorites. "That's the problem." Christy snapped her fingers, suddenly understanding. "Erik's not here to filk for us. We need Erik!" Now, Jackson looked nervous. "What?" Christy eyed the Imp with suspicion. "You know where Erik is?" "Kind of," Jackson admitted, his expression worried. "Erik still in the Faerie Realm?" Paul had just arrived. "Uh huh," Jackson admitted, while Christy eyed him with fury. "And, I guess the only way to get him back here is . . ." she wiggled her fingers. Jackson nodded. Christy stood on her tiptoes, looking into the Imp's eyes with fire in hers. "Can you spell E.M.E.R.G.E.N.C.Y.? GO!!" Jackson mouthed a brief protest, recanted his side of the silent debate and nodded once. He reached out, grabbed a surprised Paul by the arm and disappeared in a cloud of multi-colored glitter. A moment later, the two men reappeared with Erik. The Nunkamale's fingers were positioned securely around the Imp-Fairy's throat. Erik looked around at the smiling Addicts and guests. He turned back to face Jackson, babbled something about vegetables, and began throttling the Imp in earnest. "Well, that's not good,"Christy said, quickly realizing Erik would be of not use. "Anyone else have any ideas to entice Patt out of the hole?" "Have you tried beer?" Paul suggested. Christy considered smacking the young man, then decided that he was probably right. "Someone get me a Bud Light. Make that two, and a large bowl of nachos." Several Addicts ran into the Peach, got the items and exited quickly, a screaming Louis Cabon chasing them with a napkin holder. Taking the items to the edge of the crater, Christy held them aloft, letting the fumes waft downward, against all principals of physics except in the world of fanfic. The exposed beer fridge door began to quiver. Occupied as she was, Christy did not notice a very yellow Mustang convertible pull up to the curb outside the Shrine. She didn't notice the two occupants the blonde man who jumped from the vehicle and disappeared into an alley or the dark-haired man who got out of the vehicle and started heading her way. She didn't notice the dark-haired man pause when he saw Christy grab Jackson around the waist in sheer delight at her friend's promise of emergence. Christy also did not notice the mysterious hooded figure watching all from an upstairs room in a building across the street. She did, however, notice the young woman running toward her, waving a piece of paper, face contorted with inner suspense. "Wait, Jesse!" Christy shouted, holding up her hand to stop the young woman. "Let's get Patt out before you give your announcement. I don't want to scare her back down into the hole." "You've got the net, remember," Jackson waved the mesh for all to see. "She's gotta open the door first, hon," Christy said, reminding everyone that the drama wasn't over yet. One more faction member to account for, and only six lines left! "EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! It's a giant mole!!!" Addicts leapt for cover. Small dogs began to howl. A curly head appeared, covered with dust. "Add some "guaca" to that "mole," ladies - and I use the term loosely - and I might just stick around."