THE WEARING OF THE GREEN: A POWER FANTASY

[huronna]

THE WEARING OF THE GREEN: A POWER FANTASY
By Paul E. Jamison

PROLOGUE

ISS Commander Andie Bergstrom looked out of the Cupola and watched the progress of the EVA. Things were going well. Dmitri and Cassandra were going over the DEXTRE robot parked nearby and, from what she'd heard so far, they weren't finding any problems; whatever glitch that had seized up the robot, they ought to be able to find it.

She studied Cassandra's pressure suit. Cassie had her back to the Cupola, and her tail was sticking out behind. It was a pity that ferrets hadn't prehensile tails; a fifth limb would be very useful.

Andie looked up at the S4 solar sail. Stephen was at the end of the Canadarm and was examining the solar cells about halfway up the sail, and his partner Fearless Fosdick –

Fearless Fosdick was nowhere to be seen. Uh-oh.

Andie thumbed her mike on and said, "Foz, I can't see you! Where are you?"

A high-pitched voice came over the radio. "I'm here, Andie!" She could barely see a tiny white figure appear at the very end of the solar sail. "I was on the other side!" She thought she saw Fosdick wave, but she couldn't be sure.

Andie sighed and replied, "Okay, I was worried. Please be careful. You get too far away or out of sight, we might not be able to help you if you get in trouble."

"Sorry, boss. Somebody has to inspect this end of the sails. I'm careful, but I'll keep that in mind."

"Okay, I understand."

There was a faint hissss at her side. Another ferret had floated up beside her. He was strapped into a miniature maneuvering unit, which looked like a cross between an armchair and a backpack.

Max tapped some keys on the arm; his unit's onboard computer would now keep him floating in place with the compressed-air jets. The Sable ferret looked up and smiled. "Hi, Andie. How's the EVA going?"

Andie replied, "Oh, fine. The ferrets are quite competent workers. The big problem I can see is that they're… independent." She pointed. "Fosdick climbed all the way out to the end of the solar sail, and that's way beyond NASA's comfort zone."

"Oh, Foz can take care of himself. He is called Fearless Fosdick, after all. If he's where you can't see him, the guys on Babylon are in a position to keep watch. If something happens, they'll get to him fast."

"Oh, yes. The Babylon. I keep forgetting." Andie looked over at the sleek shape of the orbiter, with the stubby wings and the elegantly curved lower surfaces. Her mind kept telling her it was farther away than it really was; actually, it was scaled to much smaller than human-sized.

Max softly said, "Please don't feel bad, old friend. You humans will build one of your own someday."

Andie nodded. "I hope so. If the bean-counters let us have the money. It is nice to see that it can be done. Right now it's like a carrot dangling in front of us; some folks don't –"

"INCOMING!!"

The shout over the radio startled Max and Andie, and they didn't react for a brief moment. Not that they could have done anything; nobody could. It was traveling far too fast.

Less than a quarter of a mile from the Station, a bright yellow fireball shot downward toward the Earth's surface. Had it actually hit, they would never have known what had happened.

They watched as the fireball hit the atmosphere and left an incandescent trail behind it. Then the radio was full of chatter.

"What was –" "Where did that come from?!" "– a bomb?" "– more than one?" "Meteor shower?"

Andie raised her voice and cut through the babble. "Okay, hold it, HOLD IT, people!! Calm down! Now then, is everyone in one piece?"

"I'm fine, boss." "No problem here." I don't see anything else, Andie."

"This is Skippy on the Babylon, Commander. Everything's okay from here. Whatever it was, it didn't pass close enough to either of us to cause any damage. And we're not tracking anything else coming."

"That's good. Thank you, Babylon. Could you track that whatever-it- was after it passed by? Is it going to impact the Earth?"

There was a slight pause. "We can't see it anymore, ISS. I'm guessing that it was going fast enough to reach the ground. The trail's disappeared, so it may have hit already."

Andie looked down. Below them was the Northern coastline of South America. To the South stretched a blanket of green, and to the North was the dark blue of the Caribbean. "Can you tell any more? Any signs of impact – a forest fire, or something?"

There was a brief pause. "Negative, ISS. No smoke or damage readily apparent. Give us a little time and we might spot a crater. As it is, the impact must not have been catastrophic."

"Okay. Guys, get back in. We'll lock down and talk with Ground about this." The four astronauts began to move toward the airlock.

Max looked up at the human. "Andie, how serious do you think this will be?"

"I don't know. Right now it doesn't look like we're in any danger. That must have been a meteor or something similar. It'll probably be awhile before we determine which country it landed in. When we do, we'll see what the local government has to say; we'll give them whatever help they need."

Surprisingly, the government in question didn't want any help. They said that there was no damage to speak of, and that they could handle things just fine on their own, thank you. They managed as well to turn aside any requests by foreign scientists to examine the object and never got around to telling anyone what it actually was.

So the rest of the world forgot about it.

To be continued...

[huronna]

Part 1

One year later…

For Charlie, driving a limousine around Washington D.C. had its perks and it had its pains. On the one hand, the pay was good, and there were tips. (Chauffeurs tend to define "tip" as "anything the passengers leave behind in the limo". Over the years, Charlie's tips had included decent umbrellas and fine raincoats, a hi-tech portable DVD player, and – thanks to a prominent televangelist in town to rant about the country's declining morals – two young and experienced blondes and what was left of a case of expensive scotch. On rare occasions, some passengers even presented financial gratuities.)

On the alternate hand, DC chauffeurs had to deal with a predictably large number of pompous asses – it came with the territory. Charlie had the habit of responding to the question "Do you know who I am, young man?" with painfully straight answers. He'd lost count of the number of times when the limousine service had received demands for his immediate dismissal, but nothing had ever come of it. Yet.

What Charlie really disliked was driving a stretch limo through traffic. He hated having to negotiate a tight turn in a long vehicle, and traffic always seemed to get tangled up when he was trying to get through. Charlie suspected that the traffic problems might be deliberate. DC drivers somehow do not regard VIPs, not foreign and especially not local, with due respect. Screeching brakes, honking horns, colorful language – Charlie was used to it, but it did get to him at times.

So today was a treat for him. The VIPs he was chauffeuring to the State Department were quite polite and friendly – and small. So small, in fact, that they would have found a stretch limo cavernous. A Lincoln Continental was plenty big enough for them, and turning corners was a blessing.

Charlie looked in the rearview mirror. His three passengers weren't even sitting in the back seat; they were up on the back shelf. It made sense, really; the three ferrets wouldn't have been able to see a thing of the Capital otherwise. Two of them – the white one with the black skullcap and the dark one with a spinal injury – were enjoying the sightseeing. The dark one in the red uniform, though, seemed subdued. Charlie figured he had something on his mind. Well, one of the primary rules a chauffeur lived by was "none of your business". So he drove on.

Max pointed out the window and said, "Hey, there's the Smithsonian! Oh, I hope we have time to take a tour around the city – there's so much to see."

Sammy replied, "Yeah, a lot. The Smithsonian Institution has 19 museums alone. Me, I want to see the Washington Monument. And the Vietnam Memorial. And the – well, you get the idea. Is there anything you want to see, Murph?"

The Sable in the red serge continued to look out the window and say nothing.

Sammy leaned forward and said, a bit louder, "Excuse me – Mrs. Lincoln? Other than that, how did you like the play?"

Murphy muttered, "Oh, it was okay, I guess."

"Murphy!"

Murphy re-entered the real world. "Huh? Sammy? What – oh, excuse me, guys. I've been thinking. I haven't missed anything, have I?"

Max said, "Murph, you were buried so deep that you would have missed a military coup! What's eating you, anyway?"

"Well…" Murphy looked out the window again. "I'm not comfortable in my mind about this meeting. What does the State Department want with us?"

Sammy replied, "Well, it's not the IRS, so we're not delinquent on our income taxes, I suppose. I'm guessing from past experience that they might have a job for us. It's happened before."

Murphy frowned. "That's it exactly. And that's why I'm not happy. Not after the last time we did some cloak-and-dagger stuff. Traveling all the way to the ISS to arrest someone for…" Murphy shook his head. "After that, I'm not exactly one of your government's biggest fans."

Max and Sammy looked at each other. Max said, "Fine. Murphy gets dual citizenship, and the minute something gets messed up, it's `our' government. That's gratitude for you."

Sammy said, "Murphy, I understand where you're coming from. You haven't seen our government – the US government at its best. But that was the FBI and this is the State Department. Things will be different." He thought for a moment. "Maybe. We won't know until we see what they want."

"True. I'll be honest. If it were up to me, I would have politely declined. But, I talked with the Canadian Consulate, and they suggested that it might be nice if I accepted." Murphy shrugged. "Actually, the Consul said, and I quote, `Go and see what those bozos want this time!'"

Max said, "Okay, well, this is a different set of bozos, so it will likely be a different problem. Let's see what it's about. Who knows? It might actually be important."

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

The three ferrets were escorted to a conference room, where they were met by an official by the name of James Slattery. Slattery was all smiles and pawshakes; Murphy took a dislike to him immediately. The Pentagon also had a representative there by the name of Colonel Denton Walters, who shook paws easily but didn't smile much.

The Colonel lifted Max up in his wheelchair to the conference table, and Murphy and Sammy climbed up beside him. The room was equipped with a computer terminal and a projection screen, and Slattery thankfully bypassed the small talk and started fiddling with the computer. A map of the Northern coast of South America was projected on the screen; two roughly rectangular areas along the coast were outlined. Slattery used a laser pointer to draw a circle of light around the smaller of the two outlines.

Max peered at the map. There was something familiar about it. A memory tickled at the back of his mind, but it didn't seem to want to make itself known yet.

"This is the reason we asked you gentle – um – gentlebeings here; the outlines mark the boundary of a country named Corto Maltese; things have been happening there lately that have caught the US government's attention."

Corto Maltese. Max recognized the name right off. Now he remembered. It couldn't be a coincidence.

"Corto Maltese is a democracy, more or less. The man in charge is El Presidente Franco Francisco. There's little opposition to his government allowed, but he's not a particularly cruel person. Corto Maltese is an ally of the United States – not quite neutral but not openly hostile, either; at least Presidente Francisco doesn't say much about the United States in public, for or against. The country's big problem is an economy slightly above poverty level. There is not much that they have to export beyond bananas and bat guano – the countryside is riddled with underground caves – and, in turn, they don't ask for much aid from the US. In short, we don't pay much attention to Corto Maltese – until recently, that is.

"Now this –" Slattery circled the adjacent outline with the pointer. "– is Corto Maltese's neighbor, the Republic of Hidalgo. Things are different there. Hidalgo has a stable economy, with a good standard of living for its citizens. The country has some extensive ore deposits, and they export the ore to the United States. Hidalgo is run by someone who actually seems to be an honest man. It's a lot better setup than most South American countries get.

"President Francisco considers Hidalgo to be his country's enemy. In his speeches, he constantly refers to Hidalgo's hostile intentions to Corto Maltese, although he's always vague about the details. It's the State Department's assessment that Francisco really wants to take over Hidalgo and its natural resources to boost his own country's economy. In any case, he claims that an attack by Hidalgo is imminent, and lately he's been talking of the necessity of what he calls a `pre-emptive invasion'."

Murphy said, "Interesting term. I wonder where he heard it?"

Slattery did not rise to the bait. He continued, "For years now, all this has been is talk. He's been making his anti-Hidalgo speeches primarily to keep his citizens interested, and we really don't think they're working. Hidalgo has a well-equipped army, as opposed to Corto Maltese's, which only has antiquated M-1 rifles to fight with. But now, that seems to have changed."

Colonel Walters said, "Two months ago, there was a skirmish along the Corto Maltese/Hidalgo border; we strongly suspect that Corto Maltese instigated it. Nothing came of it – the Corto Maltese troops were driven back. There were a couple of tourists hiking through Hidalgo who happened to be in the right place at the right time with a video camera, and they managed to record the skirmish from behind some trees. This is it."

Slattery fiddled with the computer again and a video file began to play. The image quality was mediocre and shaky, but the video was good enough to show a small platoon in dark khaki uniforms from about fifty yards away, hiding behind some stout trees and firing rifles at some unseen target to one side. Whatever they were firing at, it was firing back, and small gouts of smoke were thrown up from the tree trunks. Nobody seemed to be getting the upper hand.

A typical firefight – except that something was not right. Murphy, Sammy and Max leaned forward to watch more closely. When a soldier fired, he would raise his rifle against his shoulder as expected, but when he pulled the trigger, a bright blue beam would issue from the barrel. Even in daytime, the beams of light burned clearly. As they watched, one of the soldiers discharged his rifle while the barrel was pointed downward, and the grass in front of him burst into flame.

Sammy finally said, "Are those energy weapons?"

Walters replied, "We're certain that they are. Those rifles aren't what they seem." He bent over the computer again. "Here – we isolated a frame that shows one of the rifles more closely."

The image of the screen showed one of the soldiers holding his rifle up by the gun barrel. The barrel was obviously that of an older gun, as were the stock and the trigger guard; there was no ammo clip. But the main body of the rifle was an elongated ovoid, featureless and seemingly chrome-plated.

Max asked, "What is that – that –"

Walters said, "We don't know. Those oval things are obviously an energy source, and somebody has modified them by adding components from a more conventional rifle to make the weapons that you see. The resulting weapon wasn't enough to carry the fight this time, but the Corto Maltese army is apparently still learning how to use it. Give the soldiers time and they'll handle their new rifles better; the outcome of the next firefight may be different."

Slattery said, "Before that happens, we want to learn more about this new weapon. More than anything, we want to know how a country like Corto Maltese could get their hands on it."

Max asked, "Arms dealers?"

Walters replied, "We thought of that. But Corto Maltese can't afford such sophisticated weapons. Besides, the technology involved is extremely advanced; we know of no arms dealer that offers anything like it."

Slattery smiled. "So that's where you guys come in. The Department is impressed with how you handled the ISS arrest, and we figure you can handle a mission like this just as well. You can go places and see things that humans can't."

Murphy narrowed his eyes, ever so slightly. "I'm also guessing that if things go wrong, you figure the mess won't be quite as big. Smaller bodies are easier to bury than big ones."

Slattery said nothing.

Sammy said, "Okay, assuming we do this, how do we get there?"

Slattery smiled again. "You'd be traveling as tourists. As we've said, Corto Maltese hasn't much in the way of natural resources. However, they're trying to bring money in by working the tourism angle.

"Corto Maltese's capital is a coastal town, St. Hugo. There's only one location in the city worth looking at – St. Hugo Castle. It was erected in the mid-16th Century by the Spanish, not long after Europeans first arrived in the new World. It's a huge fortress – I've seen it up close – with battlements, turrets and all the like. Heaven knows why the early settlers thought that they needed such protection, but they built it anyway out of native stone. It's as impressive inside as out, with large rooms, high ceilings and plenty of corridors. The country's, as well as Presidente Francisco's, government offices are there now. Corto Maltese has always discouraged visitors, but they've recently started to develop a tourism program. They're offering ecotourist hikes through the forest, but the main draw is St. Hugo Castle. We plan to give you covers as rich tourists; I don't think they ever had a visit from Mustela sapiens, but there's always a first time for everything. It ought to be interesting what they'd make of you.

"So – that's the situation." Slattery looked very sincere. "Will you help us? Your country would be grateful."

Murphy, Sammy and Max looked at one another and didn't say anything. Finally Murphy said, "I'll admit the problem is… intriguing. We're going to have to think this over. Isn't that right, guys? If you'll give us overnight, we'll go back to our hotel room and discuss this; we'll have an answer to you by tomorrow morning."

Slattery smiled. "Certainly! That's fair enough." So everyone shook paws and the three ferrets left to reclaim their limousine.

On the way back to the hotel, Murphy, Sammy and Max said nothing. But they already knew what their answer would be. It wouldn't have looked right to reply so quickly, though. They still had a phone call to make first.

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

When they got back to the hotel room, everything seemed as they'd left it; the luggage was lined up against the wall, and their laptop was still sitting on the table. But the three ferrets said nothing as Murphy placed their largest piece of luggage – a trunk for formal wear – on the bed and opened it. He removed their suits and laid them neatly out on the bed. He then carefully inspected the bottom of the trunk. There were very small, almost invisible threads attached to the bottom and sides of the trunk at three different places.

The threads were still there. He nodded at the others – no one had tampered with the trunk while they were gone. Murphy fiddled around the edges and lifted up the false bottom. From the space beneath he picked up an electronic device about the size of a TV remote, and he handed Sammy about a dozen Spiders.

In order to eavesdrop on a hotel room conversation, one doesn't necessarily need an electronic bug; one doesn't even need to be close by. As a result of the occupants' voices, the room's picture window or patio door will vibrate in sympathy; all one needs to listen in is a sensitive enough microphone – say, in another hotel across the street – that will pick up the vibrations and translate them into speech. The Skippys had developed the Spider as a way to thwart this sort of eavesdropping. It was a small mechanical device, consisting of a small box with eight curved legs; six legs would have done, but the designer Skippy put two extra on, just so they could refer to it as a Spider. The box was attached to the window or glass door with a suction cup, and flipping a switch would set the legs to tapping on the window glass in a random pattern. This broke up the vibrations on the window, rendering useless any attempt to listen in. The Spider legs didn't have to make a loud noise as they tapped against the glass, so the legs were tipped with rubber. The Skippys had tested this system and had found it greatly effective.

Sammy climbed up the window curtains. He would stop frequently and attach a Spider to the window glass, turning it on before he moved on. By the time he was done, all of the Spiders were tapping away, and the resulting noise was like sleet on a window on a windy winter day. Meanwhile, Murphy walked slowly around the room, the closet and the bathroom, using his device to hunt for the run-of-the-mill electronic bugs.

Sammy finished installing all of his Spiders on the picture window, and he pulled the curtains shut. A couple of minutes later, Murphy stood in the center of the room and said, "We're clean."

Max said, "You know, maybe we're being a bit paranoid here. It's entirely possible that the Feds have no intention on listening in on us."

Murphy replied, "True. I'd even say it was likely." Murphy sat down and turned the laptop on. "But if the Government is so nosey about what's happening down in Corto Maltese, it's not hard to imagine that they'd want to get their hands on some of the Skippys' secrets." The SkippyOS® operating system quickly opened up, and Murphy began to run the SkippyIM® Communications Program.

Sammy said, "Just because you're paranoid, it doesn't mean that They aren't out to get you."

Murphy chuckled. "And you seem like such a trusting Rabbi." SkippyIM® was going through the opening routine of requesting the desired level of encryption for communications. For this conversation, Murphy selected the maximum level, which slowed down the computer by a few minutes. He leaned back as SkippyIM® churned away.

Sammy asked, "You do realize what that hi-tech stuff must be that the Corto Maltese folks are using, don't you?"

Murphy nodded. "It's almost certainly alien technology. The question is – do the Feds realize this?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Admitting the existence of alien civilization is a big leap for a lot of people. Their brains will do all the rationalizing that they can to keep from admitting it."

"That's so. The Big Guy in Metropolis told me once that a lot of people refuse to believe that he exists. Still, there must be some open-minded people in the Government, so the Feds might be considering the possibility that those soldiers are using alien tech. They just don't want to discuss it with us."

"Shows how much they think of us. What I'm wondering is – where did that stuff come from? How'd Corto Maltese get hold of it?"

Max spoke up. "I think I can guess. Remember last year, when I was up in the ISS on the Babylon? Remember how something odd happened?"

Murphy and Sammy looked at him. "The meteor?"

"Exactly. The Skippys tracked the trajectory as best they could, and they figured that whatever that thing was, it impacted somewhere along the Northern coast of South America. They couldn't say for sure, but they thought that it might have hit in Corto Maltese."

Murphy nodded. "That's too much of a coincidence. So what you saw wasn't a meteor, but an alien spaceship."

Sammy said, "And the government of Corto Maltese insisted that everything was fine, and they wouldn't let anyone else see the meteor. They must have found the ship, or what was left of it, and have been cannibalizing it to make weapons."

Murphy said, "That's bad enough, but now they're threatening Hidalgo." The laptop pinged. "We've got a lot to talk with the Head Skippy about." He began typing. "I hope we're not too late."

To be continued...

[huronna]

Part 2

The Head Skippy was in her office above the factory floor. The office was insulated, but you could still hear some noise from the many activities below. The Head Skippy was at her computer, and the SkippyCAD® Finite Element Modeling program was open.

On the screen was a computer model of a bracket; she turned it this way and that, studying it closely. As the design stood now, over two dozen of these brackets would be attached to the perimeter of the Skippy's first space station. The brackets were designed to attach structural tubing to the station, and – if the time ever came to use them – these brackets would have to carry a substantial load and the design had to be just right. The Head Skippy hoped that they would never have to be used, but the way that the humans were running things…

An icon on the computer screen began to flash. Someone was trying to get hold of her on the SkippyIM®. She maximized the icon and was surprised to see that it was Murphy, and he was asking for maximum encryption. This had to be serious. The Head Skippy pressed "Yes" on the query box, and a media screen opened to show Murphy's face.

"Hey, Murph! What's going on up in Washington?"

"Ma'am, have you sent the signal to Hidalgo requesting the new gold shipment yet?"

No small talk. That wasn't like Murphy. This was very serious. "No, I haven't. I was going to do that this afternoon."

"Don't. From what we've learned today, it would be very risky. The neighboring country of Corto Maltese just had a border skirmish with Hidalgo troops. And get this – they might be using alien technology for weapons."

This gave the Head Skippy a lot to think about. But Murphy had hit on the most immediate problem. "If they attack again in the next day or so, they might come across the mule train transporting the gold."

"Yes. If they do that, they'll obviously want to backtrack and find out where in Hidalgo the gold's coming from. It's possible that they might find our friends in the Valley."

The Head Skippy muttered, "And they might even find out who the gold's going to." That would be catastrophic. The gold – tended and mined by a lost Mayan settlement in a hidden valley in Hidalgo – was the Skippys' secret source of wealth. It funded the Skippy Compound, the many miniature aircraft, the Babylon and its sister ships. The space station. "Murphy, we can't let that happen."

"I know. The State Department wants us to go down and find out where Corto Maltese is getting its new toys, and we're obviously going to say yes. We wanted to talk with you first, of course."

"I understand. Thank you, Murph. I'll contact the Mayans and have them hold up on the shipment; we've got enough gold in reserve for awhile. Is there anything we can do from this end to help you?"

"Yes, there is." The image swung around and Max's face appeared. He said, "We're guessing that the meteor I saw on the ISS last year was really an alien ship crash-landing. I know we didn't pinpoint the impact location at the time, but could we get some SkippySat images of Corto Maltese before and after? If we can compare the two, we might spot some difference in the landscape that would show where the crash was."

"Good idea." The Head Skippy began tapping out an email to the SkippySat imaging office. "We'll shoot that to you after we've looked the images over. Do you think you'll need anything special for your trip to Corto Maltese?"

Max replied, "I think so – the normal disguise kits, surely. I'm getting ideas for what cover we'll use as tourists, and I'll talk it over with Murphy and Sammy. Just in case, have my special jeep checked out. If we go the way I'm thinking, I'll want to be able to do some driving."

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

Murphy called the State Department the next morning and got Slattery on the phone.

"Mr. Slattery? My friends and I have talked it over, and we accept the assignment."

"Excellent!" Murphy could just hear the big smile over the phone. "St. Hugo doesn't have an airport worth anything, so all tourists come in by cruise ship. We'll start putting together tickets and passports at our end. We ought to have you on your way in a few days. Do you have some ideas about cover identities or should we take care of that?"

"We've been thinking about that ourselves, and we've come up with something. We'll talk with you about it later today."

"Very good. Now I must tell you – you'll be on your own once you get down there. We have no idea what kind of spy system Corto Maltese has cooked up, so we can't take the chance that someone won't be listening in. You'll give us your report once you return. You'll have pretty much a blank check on expenses. Is there anything else?"

"I don't think so. We plan on supplying our own disguises, and with your permission, we'd like to take our own transportation with us."

"Hmmm… I see nothing wrong with that. When can you get hold of all this?"

"The Skippys can fly our things into Dulles as early as tomorrow."

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

Charlie thought that this chauffeuring assignment would be easy, but there turned out to be perks that he hadn't anticipated. The next day, he drove the ferrets and a couple of State Department suits out to Dulles, where he got to watch the smallest transport plane that he'd ever seen come in for a landing. As the three ferrets walked and rolled out to it, he realized that the plane had been scaled down to their size. Like, wow.

Max's jeep was in the cargo hold. It was ferret-sized, of course, and had been specially built for his use, with brakes, accelerator, shift gears and all other necessary switches and buttons installed on the steering column. The driver's seat had a six-point harness system for him and could swivel around to make it easier to get in or out. There was plenty of room in the back for anything he'd need to carry – in this case, their luggage – with special tie-downs for his wheelchair. Max examined the jeep closely, looking over the tires, suspension, even under the hood, until he was satisfied. The Skippys always kept it in tip-top shape.

Murphy, Sammy and Max met the Second-in-Command Skippy in the airplane's conference room. The aircraft looked normal enough from the outside, but the Skippys had installed a heap of electronic countermeasures and bug-jamming devices aboard. They could talk freely without fear of someone listening in.

Second-in-Command Skippy spread copies of two satellite photos on the conference table. "These were taken from orbit above Corto Maltese by the SkippySat four weeks apart, and they focus on a portion of the forest approximately 30 miles South of St. Hugo." He pointed at one photo. "This happened to be taken on a routine sweep ten days before the supposed meteor hit you saw, Max."

The three ferrets looked closely. There wasn't much to see – an overhead view of treetops, with a single clearing off in a corner.

"When nobody made any squawks about a meteor hit, we didn't pay much attention, so this one was taken on another routine sweep 28 days after the first one. You can see the change."

The clearing was still there in the corner, but right in the center there was a big elongated gash in the forest. Where there had been the green of trees, there was now the pale ocher of exposed dirt and rocks.

Sammy said, "Looks like some sort of ravine magically appeared overnight."

Skippy nodded. "After we talked with you the other day, we focused the SkippySat on this area and got some more data. This gash is a little over a mile long and a hundred yards wide. It's about 20 feet deep, but it's not symmetrical. One side of the ravine is pretty steep, a cliff, for all intents and purposes. The other side is a gentle slope – it would be easy to walk down. There's possibly some debris at the bottom, but we can't get any higher-definition pictures."

Max pointed. "What's this, a roadway? It's not in the older picture."

"Yes, it's a road. It extends north and connects with a highway that heads south from St. Hugo. They must have carved this road out to get to the site shortly after whatever-it-was happened.

"We studied some other photos of the area taken in the last year – after the crash – but we've seen little or no subsequent signs of activity. One or two vehicles, but nothing else. We've certainly seen no debris."

Murphy nodded. "Whatever they found there, they built that road and got the pieces out quick." He looked at the others. "Gentlemen, it's virtually certain that this is the crash site, and I'm willing to stake my reputation that what did this was not of terrestrial origin."

Max said, "That's the way things are pointing, Murph."

Skippy held up a folder of papers and said, "We figured that you'd want to look at the scene of the crime while you're down there, so we drew up some detailed maps. Topographical information, three- dimensional sketches and the like."

Max took the folder from Skippy. "I'll take charge of that." He placed it in a deep pocket on the side of his wheelchair. "Nobody will search my chair as long as I'm sitting in it. I'll see to that."

Murphy said, "We'll talk to the Feds about unloading our luggage and Max's jeep. Thanks, Skippy. You've been a big help."

"You're welcome." Skippy shook the three ferrets' paws. "Just make sure you get yourselves back without getting hurt. Good hunting, guys."

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

Somewhere the Corto Maltese government had managed to borrow enough money to fix up the St. Hugo seaport so that it was tourist-friendly or at least tourist-tolerant. A large dock now extended far enough into the bay that it could handle the largest cruise ships, and the dock even had a customs station.

The customs official watched from behind the counter as the first passengers walked down the ship's gangplank. They were an elderly couple – likely retired – who looked around and pointed at just about everything there was to see. He began to smile at them, but then he noticed the three animals that had preceded them. Oh, dear. This was going to be a problem.

As the couple came toward him, the official said, with as much firm deference as he could muster, "Hello, and welcome to Corto Maltese. I am terribly sorry, but perhaps you were not given the proper information. Our country has restrictions on the importation of pets without a period of quarantine –"

A high-pitched voice came out of nowhere. "We're not pets, you bureaucrat!"

The customs official blinked. The elderly couple said nothing and smiled at him.

"Hey! We're down here!"

The official leaned over the counter and looked down. He was getting a closer look at the three animals. They were weasels of some sort. Two of them – one dark and the other white – were standing on their hind legs, and the third, another dark one, with a touch of gray at the temples was sitting in an odd little chair on wheels and scowling up at him. The two standing ones were dressed in light tropical wear, but the one in the chair was wrapped in a heavy robe with his legs covered in a blanket.

Oh, that was it. Mimics, just like parrots. He wasn't aware that weasels could do such things, but he didn't know that much about animals. He smiled at the couple again. "I must say that I'm impressed. These creatures have learned to imitate human speech very well. I'm sure that some find them adorable. However, that does not change the fact that pets must be quarantined, and at the very least they ought to be on leashes –"

"I will NOT wear a leash!"

This time the high-pitched voice rattled the customs official, primarily because it had spoken in flawless Spanish. He looked down again.

The weasel in the chair continued, "And as much as these sons of mine need them, they won't wear leashes either!"

The official's mouth moved up and down, but he couldn't seem to make any noise. He looked up at the elderly couple, as if they could or would help. They smiled even wider, and it looked like it was all they could do not to giggle. He looked down at the animals again and managed to get out "Uh… I…"

The creature rolled its eyes and switched to English. "Listen, we're Mustela sapiens. We're ferrets, and we can talk and think –" He looked at the other two. "– well, some of us think better than others. And I've paid for this trip and I want to visit this country and I want to get through Customs, okay? Here!" He held up a little book. "Here's my passport. You do want to see our passports, don't you?"

The official shook his head and his mind took refuge in routine work. "Um – yes! Yes, I have to. Sorry." He leaned over and took the animal's book, wondering why he felt that he had to apologize.

The ferret in the chair turned to the other two and snapped, "Well? Are you going to play hard-to-get with your paperwork?!" The other ferrets hastily fished through their pockets and came out with little books of their own.

The official looked over the documents and discovered that they really were passports, apparently all in order. The three ferrets were from America – somehow he wasn't surprised. The older sourpuss was named Maximillian, and the younger dark and white ones were named Morpheus and Sambaloelec. Sure enough, his passport identified Maximillian as "disabled".

He couldn't think of anything else to do, so he handed the passports back to the ferrets. Morpheus leaned down over the older ferret's wheelchair and said, as insincerely deferential as a high-pitched voice could be, "Be careful, Father dear. Please remember your blood pressure. Sam and I don't want anything to happen to you."

The old ferret cackled. "Hah! Don't you just! You two can't wait until I bite the Big One so you can get your greedy paws on my money and blow it all on jills and the gambling tables!"

Sambaloelec looked hurt and he stuttered, "N-ow, li-listen, F-F- Father, that's n-not fffair! Mumumorphy and I – I – I c-care a llllot about yu-yu-yu-you! W-we dudududon't want anything h-h- happennnning to you whu-while wwwe're huhhh – huhhh – here."

"Of course you don't! That's why I brought you two losers along with me! I've left word with my lawyers, and if I do keel over while I'm here – for any reason! – you two will be named the prime suspects and police will be all over you like mustard over ice cream – and, boy, will that leave a bad taste in your mouths!"

The situation was threatening to spiral completely out of control, and the customs official had just about convinced himself that he needed to reaffirm his Catholic faith and enter a monastery when he made a supreme effort and said, "Excuse me, gentlemen – ur – gentlebeings, but do you have anything to declare?"

Maximillian turned his attention back to the official and said, "No – nothing except our luggage and my transportation."

"Um – transportation?"

"I've had my personal jeep shipped with us as cargo." He cackled. "Why not? I can afford it. I figure that we might take a field trip out of town. And if that jeep gets so much as a scratch, I'm making a beeline for the American Embassy! Oh, yeah – what's there to see around here besides the rain forest? I've heard good things about this Castle."

The official brightened up. Here was familiar territory. "Oh, the St. Hugo Castle is well worth a look! There is a very large collection of medieval armor and weapons that fill several large rooms, and our Presidente Francisco has acquired some fine artwork. I'd highly recommend one of the daily tours – there are several every day."

Soon the three ferrets were on their way down the dock to the luggage claim area. The older ferret was loudly complaining about poor steering abilities of his worthless offspring and the rough planking on the dock and the flying midges and the heat and the humidity. The customs official took a brief moment of pleasure contemplating the reaction of the Castle tour guide to those creatures, before he turned back to the elderly couple, who were smiling very widely at this point.

While Maximillian was supervising the unloading of the miniature jeep and verbally abusing the bewildered stevedores, Morpheus leaned down and quietly whispered in his ear, "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Maximillian answered, even more quietly, "Yep."


To be continued...

[huronna]

Part 3

One wouldn't go so far as to say that the residents in St. Hugo were living in crushing poverty, but the poverty that existed was certainly exerting some pressure.

Parts of the town had been developed for the rising tourist trade, with hotels, restaurants and souvenir shops looking quite presentable. But a glance down the side streets showed old, run-down homes and businesses, and shabbily dressed people shuffled along all of the streets, tourist section or not. Scrawny, dirty children seemed to be everywhere, begging for coins from the tourists. When the beggars saw the three ferrets, it gave them pause; then they begged even more.

The residents' reaction to the sight of three animals, dressed in fine clothes and walking or rolling down the street, varied. More than once, someone thrust a crucifix at them and called upon God to smite these unholy creatures, but they'd received the same treatment on a street corner in Oklahoma City only weeks ago, and the mailroom at the Skippy Compound always received something interesting every day. At least once – in St. Hugo, that is – they'd heard two shifty- looking men discussing the possibility of kidnapping the funny animals and selling them to the tourist trade as exotic pets; when Maximillian shouted at them, "You try it and you'll be sorry!" – in his impeccable Spanish – the two men ran off screaming. For the most part, the locals just didn't seem to care – they'd taken one look at the strange creatures and gone on about their business.

The hotel room where the three ferrets had been booked was clean and neat. The air conditioner did what it could to keep the hot tropical climate at bay, and in general it succeeded. While Maximillian sat and verbally abused them for doing such a terrible job, Morpheus and Sambaloelec unpacked the luggage and arranged the contents in drawers and closets. There was no false bottom in any of the suitcases and certainly no hi-tech gadgets. Washington D.C. was one thing; no one knew what the authorities in Corto Maltese were capable of.

After unpacking, the rich ferret in the wheelchair set out for the Castle with his two sons in tow. Maximillian kept a sharp eye on the other two, apparently with good reason; when Sambaloelec sidled up to a soldier and started to ask about the nearest gambling house, his father caught him and gave him all sorts of grief.

The Castle of St. Hugo was everything they'd been told, and more. It was a heavy, imposing edifice, more suited for medieval Europe than South America. It hadn't changed much in appearance in centuries, but there had been efforts made to modernize it. All of the windows were glazed now, and someone had gone to the trouble to cut large doors and ramps in one side for a parking garage. As Maximillian and his boys walked up to the entrance, they noticed a loading dock and a very large door off to one side. They found this interesting. Why would a castle, or a government building, for that matter, need a door that big?

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

The tour guide was an officer in the Corto Maltese army, and he had no trouble accepting the three ferrets along with the human tourists. From what he'd heard, the one in the chair was paying generously for the vacation and for the tour; American money went a long way toward gaining acceptance.

In the castle entranceway, the officer smiled and greeted the tour group warmly. "Welcome! Welcome to Castle St. Hugo! I am happy to be at your service, and I hope you enjoy your visit here! Before we begin, are there any questions? Yes, Senor – er…?"

"Maximillian. I hope the floors in this place aren't too rough. I hate rolling this chair over a bumpy floor!"

"I can assure you, Senor Maximillian, the floors are quite smooth. There was a governor of Corto Maltese in the 19th Century who was confined to his own wheelchair, and he made sure that the floors were smooth. I do apologize, Senor, that the Castle does not have – what is the phrase? – handicapped access."

Maximillian waved a paw. "No problem. As long as someone helps me up any stairs, I'll be fine. This wheelchair doesn't weigh much, and I'm used to being carried."

"Very well. I'm sure we can arrange for that. Now, are we all ready? Good! Our first stop on the tour will be El Presidente's office. He is otherwise engaged, but you can see where he works!"

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

El Presidente Franco Francisco's office was elegantly appointed, with a large desk and a well-padded chair. There was a pile of papers on one corner of the desk, held down with a chrome-plated, shapeless paperweight. On the wall behind the desk were framed pictures of El Presidente with leaders from around the world, including the President of the United States and the Pope. From the ceiling hung a large, ornate chandelier. And there were the bookcases. Max took special note of these.

The guide said, "El Presidente wanted his office to look just right, so he hired the services of the world-renowned interior decorator Gerald Murtaugh of New York City to decorate the room."

Max said nothing. He knew all about Gerald Murtaugh. There is a particular class of decorators that loves books. But they don't respect them. Murtaugh was one of these. Like others, he cared nothing about the contents of books, but valued them solely for their appearance. Or rather, the appearance of their spines.

What Murtagh and his ilk would do was descend on a dusty old used bookstore and cruise the cramped little aisles until they came across a multivolume set – the more volumes, the better – that no one had even touched in years, on some esoteric subject – government records, Harvard classics, single-author collections. They would examine the books for spinal condition, overall wear and tear and, in particular, a consistent appearance. Once they had made a decision, they would gather all the volumes of the set of choice and take them up to the proprietor to haggle over the price. The proprietor would know what they wanted the books for, although no one ever came out and actually said it, and he would feel an ache deep down in the pit of his stomach. However, he had to eat and pay the bills, so a sale was inevitable; the proprietor would salvage as much pride as he could by getting as high a price as he could. Once the decorator had paid for the books and left, the proprietor would lock the door, put the "Be Back in 20 Minutes" sign in the window and go back to his little office to have a drink and a quiet cry.

After the decorator had returned to his shops, he and his assistants would go about preparing the books to be placed in the bookshelf. Once they'd arranged the books on a shelf in what they considered a pleasing manner, they'd remove them, arrange them in a vise and carefully drill a hole, about ½" to ¾" in diameter, through the center of all of the books. A corresponding hole was drilled in the wall on either side of the shelf, and once the books had been returned to the shelf, a metal rod would be passed through the holes and attached to either wall. The process was repeated until all of the books were anchored in all of the shelves.

This act of butchery was not uncommon among interior decorators, because there were plenty of clients who cared nothing more for books than the decorators did. Some customers, to compound the offense, wanted two or even three sets of bookshelves set up this way.

El Presidente Francisco's office was full of bookshelves, all containing multivolume sets of books which appeared to be in excellent condition. All of the titles were in English. Max knew it would be futile to try and take one of the books out to look at it, because he knew that none of them would come off the shelves.

He looked closely at one cabinet directly opposite the Presidente's desk. The cabinet had six shelves in all, and it looked like they contained all 128 volumes of "The War of the Rebellion: a Compilation of the Official Records of the Union and Confederate Armies". Even worse, the cabinet next to it contained all 34 volumes of "The Official Records of the Union and Confederate Navies in the War of the Rebellion"; there hadn't been enough of these to fill the whole cabinet, so the rest of the shelves were taken up with a bound set of the Records for the Albany NY District Court, 1885 – 1935. Max suppressed a sigh. He'd been negotiating for months with a rare bookseller in California for a complete set of both of the Civil War "Official Records", Army and Navy. And here… As upset as this made him, he'd even settle for the Albany District Court Records out of sheer sympathy.

Thankfully, the office visit didn't last very long, and the guide took them out to continue the tour.

The tourists were soon following the guide down a wide, fairly-well- lit hallway. On the walls hung some pictures and the guide paused occasionally to point out some of them.

"Now this, ladies and gentlemen, is an early work of Pablo Picasso. It is a portrait of composer Igor Stravinsky produced in 1920, right after the end of his Synthetic Cubism period. El Presidente Francisco acquired it a few years back during a trip to Europe. The Presidente has made it his goal to fill the St. Hugo Castle with as many examples of noted Spanish artists as possible. Some pieces, like this, are original, while others are reproductions. Yes, Mr. Ogilvy, do you have a question?"

"Yes, I do," replied the man from Perth Amboy. "I noticed a staircase through this door here. Where does it lead?"

"Ah, it leads upwards to the private quarters for Presidente Francisco and his staff; there are no plans for tours in those quarters in the foreseeable future. Downwards, however, it is much more interesting. The relations between the Spanish colonists and the locals were not particularly amiable, and it turns out that this castle has an extensive system of dungeons. I will admit that there are some chambers below in which we believe that torture was conducted. We are in the process of refurbishing these chambers, and we certainly plan on opening them up to public tours. That will be in the near future; for now, they house government administrative offices. Now, if we can move on. There is an old dining room up ahead with more artwork – reproductions, this time."

The little group was admiring a reproduction of Goya's "The Third of May, 1808", when the white-furred ferret nervously raised his paw. The guide said, "Yes, Senor Sambaloelec, is there something I can do for you?"

The ferret stammered and moved from one foot to the other, "Uh, Y- yes, I wwwas wuwuwuondering if I could – if you could – umm –"

Maximillian spoke up, loudly. "He wants to know where the john is!" Sambaloelec looked like he'd sink through the floor in shame.

The guide frowned. "The `john' – oh, you mean the restroom! Why, yes, you go out the door here and you turn left…" He pointed in one direction thoughtfully. Then he turned and pointed in the opposite direction. "Or is it that you turn right…" He thought some more. He finally shrugged and said, "Actually, this place is a labyrinth. It is very hard to find your destination without wandering around for a bit of time. Tell me, Senor, is this urgent?"

Sambaloelec shook his head. "N-no."

"It will be before you find the restroom. I speak from personal experience. I tell you what. I think it's back the way we came from. If it isn't, the best you could do is to ask around."

"Oh-okay. Cuhcould it bbbbe on the fl-floor beeelow?"

The guide thought about this. "You know, it just might. Go ahead, sir, and hunt for the restroom. Take your time, and when you're done, try and find us. There are other rooms down the hall and we'll likely be in one of them."

"Th-thanks." Sambaloelec ran out of the room.

To be continued...

[huronna]

Part 4

Sammy ran straight for the door to the staircase and went down. On the lower level, he peered out of the doorway and looked around. It was a corridor much like the one above, although there was no artwork on the walls. There were a few people walking down the hallway and he moved his head back in before they saw him. It didn't seem to be what he was looking for.

The stairway extended further downward to another level. Sammy leaned down the stairwell and listened. He could hear some noises coming up from below; that sounded promising. He silently moved down the stairway. He took care to make sure that he wasn't caught.

There was much more activity going on down below, and ironically this worked in Sammy's favor. The Castle's old rooms were not designed with data storage in mind, so the corridor was crowded with filing cabinets, shelving, carts and piles of boxes, pushed up close to the walls on both sides. There was a clear space in the middle of the corridor, just wide enough for three people to walk abreast. Even better, the corridor walls leaned forward just a bit at the top, so there was a gap between the cabinets and shelves and the wall at floor level. It was an ideal hiding spot for a ferret, and Sammy slipped in behind the nearest shelf.

There were quite a few people, dressed in military uniforms, lab coats or working clothes, walking up and down the corridor. Sammy scurried along behind the shelves and cabinets, traveling down the corridor and keeping an eye out for anything interesting.

As he moved down the corridor, Sammy noticed that the noise level was getting higher. Somewhere ahead, someone was doing machine work of some sort. At the same time, there were fewer cabinets and shelves next to him and more carts holding boxes. He stopped and examined the contents of one such box.

Sammy was familiar enough with aircraft structure to recognize stringers and bulkheads when he saw them. It looked like someone had been tearing down an airplane and here were the pieces. But looking closer, he thought that things didn't look quite right. He picked up one piece. It looked like a sawed-off bit of skin with part of a stringer still riveted in place. But the material was very light, and he saw no sign of fasteners or welding. So how was the stringer attached to the skin?

The noise level in the corridor rose briefly, and Sammy looked around. Just ahead, a soldier opened a door and walked through. As the door shut behind him, the noise quieted down again. Something was going on behind the door, and he had to see what it was. He moved to get closer.

It proved to be easier than he'd anticipated. He waited behind some shelving next to the door and when it opened again, he darted through. Nobody saw him. They simply weren't paying attention to what was going on down around floor level.

Once through the door, Sammy darted behind another cart which held some more boxes, and he carefully peered out.

Bingo.

The room was large, about thirty by thirty feet, and in the center was what had to be an alien spacecraft. It was streamlined like a jet plane, but it had no atmospheric control surfaces or wings. Sammy could see extrusions on one end that may have been for propulsion, but there were no exhaust nozzles – just a couple of rounded lumps.

Sammy thought that the design was quite elegant. Ordinarily it must have been completely covered with a sleek, silvery skin. But much of that skin had been removed, exposing the underlying structural framework. Sammy could see all sorts of odd-shaped objects underneath the surface. Humans were in the process of removing these objects.

The belly of the craft was packed with row after row and tier after tier of small, chrome-plated oval objects. Sammy recognized them immediately; they formed the body of the Corto Maltese army's new weapons. These oval devices must be part of the craft's propulsion system, and these humans were removing them and adding the necessary hardware to make them into the energy rifles. Next to the craft was a pile of these oval objects, ready to be taken away. Sammy noticed that there was another pile of oval objects, about three or more times larger. The larger objects were presumably more powerful; Sammy wondered what kind of energy weapons they'd make.

In another part of the room was a table, on which were a couple of silvery square boxes. Two men in lab coats were having a heated discussion, presumably about the boxes. They were either disagreeing on the purpose of the boxes or about what you needed to do to get the boxes to do something. Sammy leaned back a bit and thought about this. He wondered just how much these people were learning about the alien technology. Probably not a whole lot. How could you hope to figure out what all of this stuff did? Someone from Earth would have no frame of reference.

Sammy looked in a box on the cart he was hiding behind. It was filled with small trinkets, and who knew what they were for? He silently rummaged around. This tetrahedron might be used for recording information, or it might be used to cook dinner; there were no visible switches or buttons. This cylinder, over here, was covered with all manner of bumps and extrusions, and it might be nothing more than a piece of costume jewelry; to be safe, he didn't touch it. Sammy guessed that they couldn't figure what any of these things were for, so they'd tossed them aside like junk.

Sammy picked up a green ring at the bottom of the box. At first he thought it might really be jewelry; it was a simple enough design. It was almost all solid green, except for a white circle at one point.

Sammy looked closer. There was a design of some sort in the center of the white circle. It was a green circle, and in the center of that was a smaller white circle. The larger white circle also contained two green rectangles, lined up on either side of and just touching the green circle. Sammy wasn't sure what to make of it. The design could just be a decoration, but it could also be an alien symbol indicating that the ring was an electronic component of such- and-so capacity. Or, it could be the logo of the subcontractor that made the part in the first place.

Sammy started to put the ring back in the box, but then thought better of it. He couldn't have said why, but he placed the ring in his pocket. Then he had to figure out how to get out.

Again it was easy. He waited for the door to open and slipped out. Once he was back behind the shelves, he would have gone back up the corridor, but he noticed something that made him change his mind.

He smelled meat. Someone was coming down the corridor with a load of raw meat, and Sammy began to wonder about the alien pilot. What had happened to him?

Sammy peered out from behind the shelves and saw a man in a white coat with a tray piled high with slabs of raw beef and mutton; he felt some comfort from the fact that the meat wasn't alien in origin. It looked for all the world like the human was going to feed a caged animal.

He watched as the man went through a door in the opposite wall a few yards further down the corridor. With the door open, Sammy smelled something else. It was an odd smell, and the best way Sammy could describe it was the result of someone trying to replicate the smell of corn chips and not getting there yet.

Sammy had to get through that door. He carefully looked up and down the corridor. When he timed the moment right, he leapt across the corridor and scurried behind a cabinet. No one saw him. That's humans for you.

Again Sammy made his way behind the cabinets and boxes until he came up next to the door. Just as he got there, a soldier came up and opened the door. As the soldier walked through, Sammy darted in and to one side. There was one of the ubiquitous carts, empty of boxes this time, and he quickly hid himself from view.

Sammy surveyed the room. It was about twenty by twenty feet square, and in the middle of the floor was a pit ten feet wide, surrounded by handrails. The not-quite-corn-chip smell was stronger now.

The man in the white coat was tossing the last of the mutton into the pit; the soldier stood next to him and watched.

White Coat curled his lip and said, "Exactly how much longer are we to keep this… thing… alive?"

The soldier replied, "We will keep him alive as long as El Presidente wants to keep him alive. No more, no less. You know that. El Presidente wants to get as much information out of him about the workings of his craft as we can get. So far, we haven't been able to communicate with him."

White Coat snorted. "I say that's a waste of time. How can a creature that looks like this be capable of any rational thought?"

"Your opinion is noted, doctor. But keep in mind that there was no other `creature' on the craft when we found it. Until you can find evidence of some sort of automatic control system – and a good explanation for why he was along for the ride – I think that it's logical to assume that he was the pilot and that he is a rational being. And, as such, he is quite useful to us." The soldier smiled. "You really ought to be a little more open-minded."

White Coat failed to see what was so funny. He looked into the pit and said, "I need to get it more food." He strode for the door and tossed the empty container on the cart Sammy was hiding under.

The soldier said, "I must be on my way. I'll be back later." Sammy could have sworn that he wasn't talking to the other man. The soldier then followed the White Coat out the door.

Sammy sat behind the cart and listened. Whatever the creature was in the pit, he didn't make much noise while eating his raw meat. Sammy had heard humans at barbecue restaurants make more noise.

Well, he couldn't put it off any longer. He had to see.

Sammy left the safety of the cart and crawled over to the pit. He kept an ear out for the door opening.

He noticed that to pit was criss-crossed by iron bars about six inches apart, making a wide mesh. This guy must be big.

Sammy got to the edge of the pit and looked down.

The alien had a bright red hemispherical body about six feet in diameter and three feet high. Over the top of the body was a patch of black hair forming, of all things, something like a Mohawk; some punkers would probably give anything if they could get their Mohawks to undulate like this one. Spaced evenly around the edge of the hemispherical body were seven tentacles, each as thick as and half again as long as an elephant's trunk. But an elephant's trunk didn't have a dozen smaller feelers at the end.

The creature was delicately picking at the slabs of raw meat, but stopped when he realized Sammy was there. One of the large tentacles moved away from the meat and rose upward to the edge of the pit. The end of the tentacle stopped inches away from Sammy's face.

In the end of the tentacle was a remarkably human-looking mouth, with a pair of brownish lips and two rows of even teeth. Sammy couldn't see it very well, but he was sure that there was something like a tongue in there. Around the mouth were a total of thirteen smaller tentacles. Eight seemed to be manipulators of some sort, with a horny ridge set off to one side like a fingernail. The remaining five tentacles had eyes set into the ends – bright blue eyes. Sammy stood there as three of the eye tentacles positioned themselves to look at him more closely.

Alien eyes and ferret eyes looked into each other for several seconds. Sammy kept telling himself that you could not judge an alien being by Earth standards. But he couldn't help but come back to the old saw about the eyes as windows to the soul. If that were true for those from other stars, Sammy could look into these blue eyes and see a gentle soul indeed. And he could see that it was hurting.

How much patience must a thinking being possess to be imprisoned like this for a year without going mad?

One of the manipulator tentacles brushed against Sammy's cheek. The touch was soft, gentle.

"Twaaaayy…" He was trying to talk to Sammy.

"Twaaaahh…

"Unnfff…

"Ooorrr…"

Sammy reached past the small tentacles and stroked the larger tentacle with his paw. The red skin was almost as soft as velvet.

He said softly to the alien pilot, "I wish you could understand me. But my friends and I are here to help you. We will get you out of this. I promise you that we will!"

"Tway – Twah – Unff – Or!!"

Sammy said, "Yes." It was the only reply he could think of.

There were muffled voices outside the door. Sammy whispered hastily, "I've got to go – I'll be back. Don't give up!" He gave one of the manipulators a quick squeeze and scurried for the cart by the doorway.

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

Sammy had no trouble sneaking back the way he'd come. Soon he was on the next floor above, and he decided that he didn't need to hide anymore. Now he was just a tourist looking for the restroom.

Speaking of which…

Then Sammy noticed the sign on the door directly opposite. So he walked across the corridor and went in. It still wasn't urgent yet, but he was not one to pass up the opportunity.

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

The white ferret caught up with the rest of the tour group in another room, standing around a full suit of armor. The guide said, "Well, Senor Sambaloelec, I'm glad you could join us again. Did you find the restroom?"

"Uh, y-yes. Wuwuwas I gggone long?"

The guide looked at his watch. "About thirty-five minutes." He looked up and smiled. "Quite good time, actually. I've worked here for months and it still takes me an hour to find it myself. Well, you're just in time for us to examine this fine example of a full suit of medieval armor. Now, our research shows that this was most likely used in the Battle of…"

To be continued...

[huronna]

Part 5

An hour later the tourists left the Castle and went back out into the warm sunlight. Despite the heat and humidity, Maximillian insisted on keeping himself wrapped in his flannel robe. The two ungrateful wretches that he was forced to call his sons took turns pushing him along the sidewalk on St. Hugo's main street, Pratt Boulevard. Maximillian looked cheerfully unconcerned about anything as he sat back and listened to some Frankie Yankovic polka music on his wheelchair's built-in CD player. Morpheus and Sambaloelec made no secret of their contempt for his choice of music, but it was Maximillian's favorite. Indeed, the CDs had been put together exclusively for him, digitally remastered and with specially added subsonic harmonics designed to mask the three ferrets' conversations from pickup by long-range microphones. This was another of those little extras that the State Department didn't know about.

Murphy and Max listened to Sammy as he described his covert recon operation in the lower levels of the Castle. They weren't surprised at the revelation of the presence of the spacecraft, but they were very interested to hear about his meeting with the alien pilot.

Max said, "Sammy, are you sure that this creature is benign? You yourself said that we couldn't really fathom the thought processes of an alien mind. It's hard enough as it is for us to relate to humans. For all we know, he might consider ferrets to be a terrific between-meal snack."

Sammy replied, "Max, I was there and you weren't. You didn't look into those blue eyes – I did. I couldn't really communicate with him, but I could feel him. He felt… good. That's the best way I can describe it."

Murphy said, "Well, if anyone can be a good judge of character, it's you; that's why you're so good at the Rabbi trade. And he did try to communicate with you instead of chomping on you. Tell us again what he said."

"'Tway – Twah – Unff – Or.'"

"H'm. Okay, we'll operate on the assumption that he's a Good Guy that needs to be rescued. Right now I want to get back to discussing the spaceship. So you think that those oval thingies they're removing from the ship are the same things they're using in the energy guns?"

"I'm positive. They look identical to what we saw in the photographs."

Max asked, "How many of those things do you think were in the ship?"

"From what I saw, it must be hundreds. I think that they're part of the ship's propulsion system. Though why they use lots of little doohickies instead of one big one, I couldn't say."

Morpheus said, "But Father dear, you've had a busy morning already. Don't you want to go back to the hotel for a nap?"

As the soldier walked by, Maximillian snarled, "You two losers would just like that, wouldn't you? And while I'm sleeping you'd both go out and get into some mischief!"

Sambaloelec waved weakly at the soldier, who smiled, waved back and moved on. The ferrets bickered among themselves until he'd moved out of earshot.

Murphy shrugged. "Alien drive system – what do we know? I'm concerned with what other goodies that they'll scavenge from all that alien technology."

Max said, "Well, like Sammy said, probably not as much as they could if they knew what they were doing. Here's something else – if they don't use something, how likely is it that they'll try and sell it on the Black Market?"

Murphy replied, "It's a strong possibility. So some of that stuff might end up in the hands of someone who can figure out how to use it. Not good."

The soldier was about a block away now. He looked back down the street at the three animals. He then took out a cellphone and began talking into it.

Sammy said, "Well, at least there's one small piece that they can't use for their nefarious purposes." He took the green ring out of his pocket and held it up. "Granted, it's probably nothing more than junk jewelry, but you never know."

Murphy shook his head. "Honestly, petty theft from a respected Rabbi. What's the world coming to? Pass that ring over, Sammy, will you? I'd like to look at it."

"Here ya go." Murphy took the ring from him and looked it over. He looked a little closer at the green and white design. Then he stared.

"Oh, my God."

Max turned around in his wheelchair. "What? Murph, what is it?"

"Look at this." Murphy held the ring so Max could see the design. After a few seconds, Max shook his head.

Max looked at Murphy. "It can't be. But…" He looked at the ring again. "It must be."

Murphy nodded. "I'm certain it is. Nothing else fits."

Sammy spoke up. "Hey, what gives, guys? What's going on here? What did I find?"

Murphy looked at him and said, "You don't know, do you?" He held up the ring. "What did this design look like to you?" Murphy had the ring turned around so that the two rectangles were now above and below the green circle. Sammy shrugged.

"Does it look like a lantern?"

"Um… yeah. Yeah, it does, now that you mention it. Is that important?"

"Very. If we're right, what you picked up here is a power ring."

"Power ring?"

Max said, "Yes. Sammy, your new alien friend has to be a Green Lantern."

Sammy looked puzzled. "A Green Lantern? Like those two superheroes here on Earth?"

"Hal Jordan and John Stewart, yes."

"Yeah, those two. You're telling me there's another Green Lantern besides them?"

Max gravely nodded. "Sammy, there are thousands of Green Lanterns."

Sammy's eyebrows rose. "Thousands? Man, there seems to be a lot I don't know about these guys!"

Max nodded. "Murph, you know some about the Corps. Why not explain?"

"All right. The Canadian government has fairly extensive files on superbeings, and I've gone over parts of them.

"Okay, Sammy, short version: The Green Lantern Corps is an intergalactic police force that was founded several billion years ago by an immortal race known as the Guardians. The galaxy is divided into 3,600 sectors, and as it stands now there are two Green Lanterns assigned to each sector. Say, I just thought of something – what was it that the alien pilot said to you?"

"'Tway – Twah – Unff – Or.'"

"Hmmm. Could it have been, `Two – Eight – One – Four'?"

Sammy thought for a moment. "Might have been. He could have had trouble forming the syllables. Is that number significant?"

"Very much so. Earth is part of Sector 2814. Jordan and Stewart are the Green Lanterns assigned to this sector."

Sammy held up a paw. "Okay, let me get this straight. There are thousands of aliens out there just like our two Green Lanterns?"

"Well, they probably look different."

"I know that. What I mean is, they're all superhero-types that can fly around and lift heavy stuff and stop bullets just because they wear power rings –" He stopped and stared at the ring in Murphy's paw; he'd thought it was just a piece of junk. Sammy whispered, "Gvalt."

Murphy nodded. "That's one way to put it. Max, maybe you ought to take charge of this – unless you want to take it back, Sammy."

Sammy held up a paw. "Oh, no, no, that's fine by me. You can take it, Max."

"Sure thing. Don't worry, Sammy, it won't explode." Max pulled a length of string out of one of the pockets on his wheelchair and took the ring from Murphy. He threaded the string through the ring and tied it into a loop. He held the loop of string up and peered at the ring. "Actually, it doesn't look like it wants to do much of anything at all. Murphy, what do you think?"

"I think that it needs recharging, and it's probably needed recharging for almost a year." He turned to Sammy. "These rings are extremely powerful; someone with enough willpower can do a lot with one of these. But they can only hold so much power before they need recharging; a Green Lantern recharges his ring when necessary with his own personal power battery. Weird things, those batteries – I've seen Stewart's up close. They're shaped like old-fashioned railroad lanterns for some unknown reason.

"I'm guessing that our alien friend somehow lost his own power battery when his ship crashed, and when his ring here lost its charge, he couldn't do a thing about it. So, the ring's been dead all this time. That brings up another question, though – how come his ring didn't protect him in the crash? I thought these rings would do that automatically."

Max looped the string over his neck and tucked it in beneath his robe. "I think I can answer that, Murph, now that I remember it. When I saw the spaceship pass by the ISS, it was bathed in a yellow fireball." He said to Sammy, "The power rings have one weakness – they have no effect over anything yellow in color. If his ship got caught up in some yellow cloud or energy, he couldn't have done anything about it."

Murphy nodded. "That must be it. I think this is what happened: After the crash, the Corto Maltese army went out to find what it was and discovered the alien Green Lantern and his ship. They carted them both back to St. Hugo and have been keeping him captive ever since and cannibalizing his spaceship. But the power battery was thrown clear and they didn't find it."

Max said, "Are you sure, Murphy? They might have the power battery in storage and Sammy didn't see it."

"I don't think so. With the power battery in close proximity, maybe the ring would have reacted in some way. They would have figured out what it was they had, and rest of the world would certainly know it by now."

"Yikes! No way these freaks would have kept that quiet! And Hidalgo would find it out real quick! Yeah, I think you're right. They don't have the battery."

"Right. Then it must still be somewhere at the crash site."

"And we've got to go find it."

Max and Murphy looked at Sammy. He continued, "That's a no-brainer, isn't it? If nothing else, we've got to help that poor guy in the dungeon. That's not even addressing the possibility of an invasion of Hidalgo. And what happens beyond that? What happens to the rest of the world? We have got to find that power battery!"

"No question about it." Morpheus turned and said in his oily voice, "Dear Father, didn't you say that you wanted to drive out into the forest?"

Maximillian snapped, "Of course I do! Now get my jeep ready and be snappy about it!"

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

On the southern outskirts of St. Hugo was "Cisco & Pancho's Full- Service Gasoline Station", a small, unassuming little business. Pancho was seeking shelter from the midday sun in his favorite rocker on the front porch when the little jeep pulled up beside one of the pumps. He'd heard of the strange little creatures who were in town on vacation. Talking animals didn't bother Pancho. His personal philosophy was to accept whatever life had to offer and not worry about it; such a philosophy had served him just fine over the years. On the other hand, he'd also heard that these talking animals were free with their American money, so he happily trotted out to the pump.

The older ferret behind the wheel said, "Fill `er up!"

Pancho smiled and said, "Certainly, Senor!" He removed the nozzle from the pump and began looking over the little vehicle.

The driver said, "Oh, for – hey, one of you lazy bums get the funnel out!" The white animal scrambled around in the back and picked up a funnel; he inserted the small end in a hole in the side of the jeep. The driver said to Pancho, "Seven gallons ought to do it."

"Si, Senor." Pancho quickly filled the gas tank and cleaned the little windshield. The driver was paid, and, sure enough, he did leave a generous tip. Pancho grinned and responded with a sincere "Gracias!" The creatures smiled and drove on southward.

Pancho wondered where they were going, but he didn't worry about it; it was none of his business. He walked back to the porch and sat in the shade in his favorite chair to contemplate the day and maybe doze a little more.

A full-sized jeep with several soldiers and one of those peculiar guns drove by five minutes later. Since they didn't stop, he thought nothing of it. It was none of his business.

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

The southern highway was a well-maintained two-lane blacktop, leading to a smaller town named St. Crepax several miles away. If it hadn't been for the Skippys' excellent maps, Max would have missed the turnoff for the crash site twenty miles out of St. Hugo. It was a bumpy single lane that the rain forest hadn't quite reclaimed yet, and Max had to drive slowly and carefully. The track was very faint after a year, and there were times when it had almost disappeared altogether. Thanks to Sammy's navigation expertise, he kept on the right track, and soon they were at the crash site.

This ravine was just as Skippy had described it – a little over a mile long and about 20 feet deep. Max stopped the jeep along the shallow side and the three ferrets sat and studied the gash.

Murphy said, "A year and no vegetation in the ravine yet. That's odd."

Sammy said, "Could be some sort of low-level radiation from the crash. You think it's safe?"

Max was playing with the radio on his jeep. He wasn't getting anything besides static. "The Geiger counter isn't picking up anything beyond background radiation. It seems to be safe. There might be stuff in the soil, though."

Murphy said, "Well, it's safe enough for us." He pointed at the steep cliff on the far side of the ravine. "There's something the satellite photos didn't show. The ground must be riddled with caverns around here." There were dozens of inky black openings in the cliff face, some of them at the base. "It's entirely possible that the power battery is in one of those caves."

Sammy snorted. "Oh, great. We've got a lot of searching to do, don't we?"

"Can't be helped. So, we'd better get to it." Murphy climbed out of the jeep, reluctantly followed by Sammy.

Max undid his seat harness and relaxed. "If you guys don't mind, I'll stay here. I can't be much help."

Sammy replied, "Gee, you think?" He and Murphy started to walk along the edge of the ravine.

The two ferrets studied the bottom of the ravine as they strolled along. Murphy said, "I'd say that the edge of the cliff looks pretty unstable. I expect that there's been plenty of rock falls along here after the crash."

"Yeah, and that makes it worse for us. I'm thinking of those rocks piled up in front of some of those cave entrances. Are we going to have to clear that stuff away?"

"I'm afraid so. I'm wondering how many caves have been blocked off completely. We're gonna have to check on that."

"Terrific. Say, if the power battery is so close, do you think the ring will react? That might help us locate the battery."

"Worth a try."

"Guys! Guys!!"

Murphy and Sammy whirled around. They had company. Parked next to the ravine was a human-sized jeep, carrying half a dozen armed soldiers in the back. The soldiers jumped out of their jeep, and someone began to swing around a large gun mounted in back. It looked like a run-of-the-mill .50-caliber antiaircraft gun, except for the large chrome-plated oval object in the center. Sammy had seen it as part of the partially-dismantled spacecraft, and he was horrified.

"No…" Sammy and Murphy began to run back, but they were too far away.

A heavy blue beam of energy struck the ground beneath Max's jeep, and there was an explosion. The jeep burst into flame and was thrown several feet into the air. It rolled down the slope of the ravine and finally came to a stop at the bottom.

Sammy screamed, "MAAX!!"

A soldier ran up and tried to pick up Sammy, but the ferret howled and slammed his fist into the soldier's jaw. The soldier sat down abruptly. Sammy jumped on him, but before he could do any more harm, another soldier came up from behind and pulled Sammy loose, pinning his arms to his sides. The soldier on the ground rubbed his jaw and stared at the ferret.

Murphy ran up to help, but he was lifted up by another soldier and his arms were pinned to his sides. The two ferrets frantically tried to twist themselves loose, but they couldn't get any leverage. They were carried over to the human's jeep.

Someone in charge shouted, "Get the cages ready!"

"Si, Capitan Diego!" There were three animal cages in the back of the jeep. One soldier opened the doors on two of the cages, and the two ferrets were placed inside. Murphy and Sammy put up a tremendous fight, but finally the doors were shut on them. The cages were strong, so they couldn't break out. As it was, Sammy howled and pounded the bars and pulled them and bit them and head-butted them and rocked his cage back and forth.

"What about the third roedor, Capitan Diego?"

Captain Diego looked down at the burning jeep and replied, "We won't take the time to hunt for him now. We have orders to take these creatures back to the Presidente as quick as we can; we'll go back now with these two. We may come back later to search for the other, but I think there is no hurry." He climbed back into the jeep with the rest of the soldiers; he had neglected to scan the slope of the ravine.

The jeep started back to town, with Sammy's wailing voice trailing behind and echoing through the forest.

"Maaaaaaax…"

To be continued...

("roedor" - Spanish for "rodent")

[huronna]

Part 6

Max was having another of his recurring dreams.

Only rarely did a dream cause Max any anxiety. There was the one about him being an hour late for a very important Mathematics exam which he'd completely neglected to study for; in the dream he'd be frantically rolling through hall after hall after hall, passing dozens of doors numbered according to a system that made no sense whatsoever, looking for a room that he couldn't remember the number for anyway. This dream always puzzled Max, since he'd aced all of his Math classes.

Most of Max's recurring dreams were easy to understand and really quite pleasant. There was the one in which he was taking part in a dance number from "The Royal Wedding", cutting the rug with either Fred Astaire or Ginger Rogers; Max preferred dancing with Ginger, because when he danced with Fred his dress never fit quite right. There was the dream in which Max was 500 feet tall and terrorizing Tokyo; he took particular glee in stomping flat every bad pet shop in sight.

His favorite dreams, however, concerned flying. Max would soar through the air, his arms spread out on either side like wings, flying over one of a variety of landscapes. He would skim over the golden ripe wheat fields of his native Kansas, or just above the rolling waves of the Atlantic. He would sail above and around the Alps or the Rockies, dipping down low enough to scoop a pawful of white snow from the peak of the Matterhorn. He would dodge and twist through the Grand Canyon or the Montana Badlands, or through the skyscrapers of a big city. He particularly loved it when he was flying through New York, since he always ended up zipping down Fifth Avenue, buzzing Rudy Giuliani and whoever his current mistress was.

This particular flying dream was different, and it didn't feel right. He was flying over the tops of a dense rain forest, and he felt like he was just on the verge of losing control. The treetops were whizzing by too fast below him, and they seemed to be getting closer and he felt like he was about to hit them…

"Max?"

He came to and every part of his body seemed to hurt, even those parts that hadn't felt anything in years. Max moved slightly and pain stabbed through his shoulder; broken bones there. It felt like there were a couple of broken ribs, too.

What happened? His head hurt so bad, and it was hard to think. The jeep – his jeep – no, the human jeep with a big gun. A blue beam. An explosion.

Max felt so tired. Maybe a nap would help. No! Bad idea! Open his eyes, look around. Take – take what? Inventory, yeah, that's the word. Opening his eyes did not prove to be easy. The sunlight hurt, and there seemed to be something salty getting into the right eye.

Max held up his head and looked down at himself. Ugh. He must have been hit with pieces from the jeep, glass maybe. His skin was covered with shallow cuts, with the occasional deep one like on his left leg. His robe was shredded, but by some miracle the string around his neck was intact and he still had the ring. The ring. For some reason the ring was important.

There was the taste of copper in his mouth. He'd lost a lot of blood, and there had to be internal injuries. He was pretty badly beaten up.

"Max?" He looked around. Standing next to him was a ferret wearing a skullcap.

"Sam –" His own voice croaked. He stopped and tried again. "Sammy?"

"No, I'm not Sammy." Max could see the other ferret a little better. No, this ferret was an older Sable. His yarmulke wasn't black like Sammy's; it was white with gold trim. Max had seen this ferret before, somewhere. He wished he could think clearly.

"Sammy," Max said. "Where's Sammy? And Murphy? Were they hurt?"

"Murphy and my grandson were captured by the soldiers and taken back into St. Hugo. They are not hurt, but they are prisoners. The soldiers are on their way back here now to find you."

Grandson? He remembered now. A picture on the wall of Sammy's office in his synagogue. A happy little dark-eyed white kit sitting on the lap of his beloved grandfather. That's where he'd seen this ferret before.

"You're – you're Levi."

"Yes. I'm Levi, Sammy's Grandpapa. And I know who you are. Hello, Max."

"Uh… hi. I thought you were – uh…"

"Yes. I am not of this world anymore. A spirit. Dead, if you want to be blunt."

"Oh." Max looked at Levi for a long time. "Does this mean that I'm dying?"

Levi shook his head. "I wouldn't think so. You're seriously injured, and you'll need medical attention. But I don't think death is inevitable right now. That's not why I'm here."

"Oh." Max lay his head back for a moment. Then he painfully raised it again. "Then why are you here?"

"It was felt by others that you need a guiding spirit. Tell me, how is your family?"

"My family? Well… Mom and Dad are fine; Mom says I don't call them enough. Sis is fine. I haven't talked to my brother in years, but Mom says he's doing well."

"That's good to hear. How about your grandparents?"

"Oh. They're fine. Both Mom's and Dad's folks are sharing an Alaskan cruise. They always did get along very well. I just got a postcard from them, and they're all having a lot of fun. I, uh, think I'm babbling, sorry. Thank you for asking about my family, sir, but is there a reason?"

"Oh, yes. You see, normally a person's guiding spirit is a departed relative, such as myself or Murphy's father. But no one in your immediate family meets this, so to speak, vital requirement. So, it was decided that in your case a substitute was necessary. It came down to either Constable Gordon Ferret or me, and I won the coin toss."

"Oh. That's good. Um, can you lift me?"

"I'm afraid not. I'm somewhat insubstantial right at the moment."

"I can't say that that surprises me. So, how can you help me?"

"You're here to search for some sort of power battery, correct?"

"Yes. It's used to charge this ring." Max tugged at the string around his neck.

"Dark green? Shaped like an old railroad lantern?"

"Yes!" Max felt excited. "Do you know where it is?"

"Yes, I do." Levi pointed to the base of the cliff. "Do you see that cave entrance down there? Your battery is in there. It's been there for the past year."

Max turned over on his side to look down the slope. The cave entrance looked to be five feet high; a rock pile about three feet high was blocking the lower part. To Max the pile of rocks looked as tall as Everest.

Max gazed at the cave entrance and the rock pile for several seconds. Then his head sagged to the ground. He slowly rolled over on his back and the tears began to trickle down his cheeks. Max lay there and sobbed.

Levi asked, "Max, why do you cry?"

Max sniffled and replied, "Because we've lost. We came all the way down here and we've lost. I'm injured. I'm paralyzed below the waist. Even if I can crawl down there and get the lantern, I'm over thirty miles from St. Hugo. The army will be here any minute and they'll find me. Murphy and Sammy are being held captive; I can't help them. There's no way I can get the battery back to the Green Lantern; I can't help him." Max sobbed. "I've failed."

There was an edge now to Levi's voice. "No. Don't say that. It's too soon to give up."

Max felt the bitterness rise up inside. He muttered, "Oh, yeah? What can I do?"

"I think it comes down to the Green Lantern's power ring."

"What about it? It's not doing him any good out here."

"You're not thinking clearly. Ask yourself – is he the only one that can use it?"

The tears dried as Max digested this. He slowly raised his head and looked at the older ferret. "What – you don't mean –" Max's eyes grew wide. "Me?"

Levi nodded.

"But –" Max shook his head. "But – I couldn't – I'm not worthy –"

Levi snapped, "Don't give me that false modesty, boy! I don't believe in it! You're seriously injured, you're hurting bad, but when you woke up, did you whine about any of that? No, you asked about Murphy and my grandson instead! You came out here in the forest to help a being from another world that you haven't even met! You don't cry for yourself; you cry because you can't help them! You're brave, you're strong, you have a good heart. As I understand it, those are what it takes to be a Green Lantern. Yes, Max, you are very much worthy, and don't tell me or yourself otherwise!"

Max could say nothing. It didn't feel right to admit it, but he knew Levi was right. Was it possible –?

No. It wasn't. Something else had occurred to Max. "But – but I can't wear this ring. It's big enough for the alien's tentacle, but it won't fit my finger."

Levi sounded like he wanted to laugh. "Are you sure about that?"

"Of course I am! It's huge!" Max held up the ring. "Look for –" He stopped and stared.

The power ring was much smaller now.

"What was it you were saying?"

"Uh – it shrunk." Max pulled, and the string snapped easily. He felt like he was in a trance as he slipped the ring over his finger. It fit perfectly.

Max looked at Levi. "I don't have a choice, do I?"

"Oh, there are always choices. But a certain type of person – the right type of person – always seems to make the right choice."

Max looked again down the slope. The cave was about twenty feet away over rocky ground. And he'd have to climb that rock pile when he got to it. He murmured, "`Take this cup away from me, for I don't want to taste its poison.' Who was it that said that?"

"He was a Rabbi, too."

Max nodded. He took a deep breath – not easy with the broken ribs – and then rolled over onto his stomach. He almost fainted from the nausea and dizziness. After waiting a few seconds to recover, Max tentatively moved his right arm, but stopped when the pain got to be too much; too many broken bones.

Well, that limited his options. Thankfully, he'd always exercised his upper body hard, so his left arm alone was strong enough to pull him along.

Max reached out as far as he could with his left paw; gripped the ground and pulled his body forward. It wasn't very far, and the effort left him panting. But it was a start. After a few seconds, he pulled himself forward again.

Max settled down to a routine. Stretch out his left arm; pull his body forward; rest for a few seconds. Stretch… pull… rest. Stretch… pull… rest. It hurt, but he found that he could handle the pain. He moved slowly, but he was moving forward.

Stretch… pull… rest. Stretch… pull… maybe not rest so long this time.

Levi's question came out of the blue. "What will you say?"

Stretch… pull… "Beg…" Stretch… pull… "…pardon?"

"When you charge the ring. Don't Green Lanterns have to recite a poem or something whenever they recharge their power rings?"

Oh. Yes. The Green Lantern Oath. (Stretch… pull… rest.) Some of the Green Lanterns would recite anOath of some sort during the recharging. Not all of them, though. (Stretch… pull… rest.) The Oath wasn't necessary, but the recharging process took a few seconds, and the recital helped to measure out the time. More important, it helped to reaffirm the commitment to the Corps' ideals. (Stretch… pull… rest.) Max had heard the Earth Green Lanterns' Oath before, but couldn't remember it now. Well, he wouldn't worry about it.

Stretch… pull… rest.

Max had to drag himself over a small rock or two, but for the most part, his path was fairly smooth. He knew he must have ground some dust and dirt into his flesh wounds by now, but he couldn't afford to worry about that. Now he came across a larger rock that he couldn't ignore. He knocked it out of his way and moved on.

Soon he came across another rock, and another. He pushed them aside. Then he looked up and realized where the rocks had come from. He'd reached the rock pile that partially blocked the cavern entrance.

Max was exhausted, and he had to rest for a few moments. He studied the slope of the rock pile. It looked steep. It was going to be a rough climb. He looked at the cliff above the cave. The rock face looked very unstable; it wouldn't take much to set off another rock fall.

Max placed his left paw on the surface of the pile and pulled himself up. The rock was loose and he ended up pulling some of it down. But he managed to move up a little.

"Max, the jeep has just come in sight. They're stopping at the far end of the ravine."

Max didn't take the time to reply; he had to move, quickly. He stretched upward with his paw and pulled himself up a little more. The rocks dug into his wounds, but he couldn't stop now. Bit by bit, Max moved farther up the slope.

By now he could hear voices, talking in Spanish. Surely they could see him by now. But he risked a look to the side and saw that the soldiers weren't looking his way. The soldiers' jeep was parked at the crest of the gentle slope, and several of the soldiers were gathered around his own little jeep several hundred yards away, where it was still burning. That was good; it would take them a while to determine that his body wasn't there. He still had time.

Max turned around and discovered that he was almost at the top of the rock pile. Just ahead of him was the entrance to the cave. He was almost there.

He slowly pulled himself to the top of the pile and looked into the cave entrance. He could see nothing in there; it was as dark as the darkest night. He'd have to search around by feel –

A rock hit the pile to Max's right, and he heard a voice above him. There was a soldier up there at the top of the cliff. It sounded like he was walking close to the edge. And the cliff face was unstable…

Another rock fell. Frantically, Max raised himself up on both arms and pushed forward. Someone above cursed in Spanish and a rock fall roared down behind him. Max hit the inner slope of the rock pile and tumbled, rolled, bumped down into the darkness of the cave. When Max reached the cave floor, he rolled away from the rock pile as more rocks cascaded down after him.

He fainted.

To be continued...

[huronna]

Part 7

Max didn't know how long he was out. When he came to, he was lying on his left side on the cave floor and the rockslide had stopped, but he could see that a cloud of dust still hung in the air. The dust caused him to cough, and a sharp pain stabbed at his chest. His broken ribs – he maybe had a punctured lung now.

Max looked up at the rock pile in front of him. The cavern entrance was completely blocked now. There was no sign of the blue sky.

Now he was trapped in a cave, and was injured even more than before. But he felt no despair, and he wasn't sure why at first. Then it came to him.

The cave entrance was completely blocked. No sunlight could get in.

So why was he able to see?

A shimmering emerald light came from somewhere behind him. Max rolled over on his back and looked to his right. He knew what he was going to see.

It was only a few feet away. It really was shaped like an old railroad lantern. The main body was spherical, with a flattened extension from the bottom for a stand. There was even a wire handle attached to the top. Why a group of immortals felt that such a mundane shape was so important, Max was sure that he'd never know. But he took some comfort from it.

The green light came from the window in the front of the lantern. Max hadn't seen any light before he'd entered the cavern, but it was there now. And he thought he could feel some warmth coming from the ring on his finger.

From out of nowhere, Levi was back by his side. "The battery is so close now, Max. You've come so far to get here! Don't give up now, my boy! You have to reach the battery!"

Max looked at the older ferret kneeling by him for a few seconds. Abruptly Max rolled over on his stomach. He raised his head up and smiled fiercely. "Try and stop me!!"

Max stretched out his left paw and pulled his body forward. It was not like before. Max took no time between pulls to rest now, and he would let out with a loud grunt as he moved forward. Partly the grunt was a reaction to the pain, but primarily it was Max's bellow of defiance at a Universe that had just tried its best to kill him and had failed.

Stretch - pull - stretch - pull - Somewhere, Max's body meekly raised the possibility of passing out again, but his mind shouted it down.

Max was in great pain; it didn't matter. He had severe cuts and internal injuries; it didn't matter. He'd lost a lot of blood externally and internally; it didn't matter. None of it mattered.

Because Max had won. Nothing could stop him now.

Actually, Max did have to stop eventually. He had no choice. The lantern got in his way.

Max stared into the lantern's window, but he couldn't see much. The emerald light was uniform and didn't originate from any single point inside. It didn't matter, but the light was beautiful.

Max wasn't sure exactly what to do now. He rolled over on his left side and, with what had to be his last ounce of energy, lifted his right paw up and touched the ring to the window of the lantern.

A jolt of electricity shot through Max's body. The fatigue was blasted from his mind, and he could think clearly again. And he remembered. He began to recite as he held the ring to the battery.

"In brightest day, in blackest night…"

Max could feel his body rapidly healing. His bones moved around beneath his flesh to realign and fuse back together. The wounds in his lungs and stomach and on the surface of his skin closed up; the gravel and dirt were pushed out of the flesh wounds and clattered on the cave floor. The blood that he'd lost was swiftly replaced; he could almost hear the new blood bubble as it flowed through his veins. And with the healing came a feeling of strength.

"…No evil shall escape my sight!"

Max could feel a connection to the battery through the power ring. And he could sense the battery's connection to the Central Battery, thousands of light years away on the planet Oa. He was now part of the vast network that spread out from the Central Battery, like a web, to the other power batteries scattered across the Galaxy. And through them, he was connected to the thousands of other Green Lanterns.

"Let those who worship evil's might…"

So many incredibly diverse beings. Some were humanoid, give or take an extra limb or eye or two. Many of the humanoid creatures possessed tails and looked doglike, catlike, amphibious, avian, insectoid, reptilian, fishlike. Most weren't even close to humanoid. Some that wore the power ring possessed tentacles, or had no limbs at all. Some were plants, mobile or stationary. Some of the creatures ranged in size from a super-intelligent smallpox virus up to a living planet. Many of the creatures breathed methane or chlorine gas; one thrived in superheated steam. There were silicon- based creatures; robots; creatures made of pure crystal; a delicate- looking insect that looked like he was blown from glass. There was a sentient puddle of organic liquid on a jungle world, a cloud of intelligent gas on another world, an aggregate of radioactive particles in the depths of space, a burst of plasma on a red sun.

So many diverse beings. And they all had something in common: A sense of Right. And the will to fight for that Right.

"…Beware my power…
"GREEN LANTERN'S LIGHT!!"

Emerald light exploded and filled the cavern. When it died away, Max was floating upright in midair. He was dressed in a green body suit now. His fist, with the power ring flashing on his finger, was thrust into the air, and his head was thrown back. On his face was a smile of quiet bliss.

Someone began to applaud. "Now that was worth the price of admission!"

Max looked over at Levi and felt his face burn. "I, um, I guess I was grandstanding, sir. Sorry."

"Do not apologize. You've just been through a lot. You deserve to show off a little. You look much better now; the ring healed you nicely."

Max looked down at his legs. "Not completely, I guess. I still can't feel anything below the waist."

"That's a shame. Perhaps the spinal damage was too old."

"Possible." Max looked up. "But that's not important. I have to go help my friends."

"Yes." Levi's voice turned soft. "Max, when you see my grandson, tell him that his Grandpapa is proud of him. And of the friends he has made."

Max looked away. "I – I will, sir. And I know that he is so proud of his Grandpapa –" Max looked around. He was alone. He whispered, "Thank you for your help, Levi." Max looked down and watched as the power battery disappeared. That didn't worry him; it would turn up when he needed it.

Max had things to do. The first order of business was to get out of the cave.

He looked at the rock pile blocking the entrance. For all he knew, there were tons of rock outside. And he had to move all of it.

Max extended his arm and pointed the ring at the rock pile. Piece of cake.

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

Captain Don Diego and two of his soldiers were inspecting the smoldering remains of the little jeep when part of the cliff face gave way and Sgt. Garcia's swearing filled the air.

"Garcia! Are you all right?"

At the top of the cliff, Sgt. Garcia climbed back to his feet. "Si, Capitan Diego! I got too close to the edge, it seems. The rock is very unstable up here!"

"So I see. Be extra careful, Sergeant." Captain Diego was turning back to the little jeep when Garcia called down.

"Capitan! I can see something from up here!" He pointed down at the slope. "Over there! The soil is stirred up and tamped down in that spot, and I think I can see some sort of dark stain. It looks like something hit the ground there."

The spot the sergeant pointed to was not far from the path that the jeep had made rolling down the slope. Capitan Diego looked back at the jeep; they had not found a body yet. The creature might have been trapped under the jeep, but if it had been thrown clear, it might have landed there.

Diego and the two soldiers walked over to the spot. It did look like an impact point. One of the soldiers knelt down and examined the dark stain. "I believe it is blood, sir."

Captain Diego leaned over and looked more closely. There was a faint trail, possibly more blood, leading from the spot deeper into the ravine. The trail seemed to follow a straight line, and if one looked to where it was leading –

Ah. The trail ended at the large rockfall at the bottom of the ravine.

"If that was the creature we are looking for, Capitan, it may have been crushed by the rocks."

"That is possible. Perhaps he was making for one of the caves. He may have become trapped inside then."

"Either way, sir, it must not have survived. I think we will only find the body."

"If we can dig his body out. Still, we have our orders. Well spotted, Sgt. Garcia. Walk around to the end of the ravine to join us." Garcia saluted and began walking back along the face of the cliff, not too close to the edge.

Sgt. Garcia was soon several yards from the rockfall, and it was a good thing. The rock pile evaporated in a fireball of green, as did a large part of the cliff face. In the middle of the newly-formed hollow was the creature they were looking for. He was dressed in green now and was floating in midair. Not at all the way they'd expected to find him.

Captain Diego shouted an order, and he and the other soldiers unslung their rifles. Another order and the four soldiers aimed and fired energy bolts at the floating creature. The blue energy played up and down the roedor's body, but he didn't look like it bothered him very much.

A large green animal's paw appeared in midair in front of the creature and reached up to take Sgt. Garcia's rifle away. It did so easily enough, although it knocked Garcia down in the process. The roedor shouted in Spanish, "Sorry! I'm still getting used to this!" The giant paw did a little better taking away the other soldiers' rifles; it placed them all in a pile on the ground. Then the floating creature turned to Captain Diego.

Before the creature could do anything, though, a large bolt of energy struck him from the edge of the ravine; the soldier in the jeep was firing the energy cannon. He disappeared in a glowing ball of blue. For several seconds the cannon poured on more energy. Surely nothing could survive such an onslaught. Now if Captain Diego could only believe that.

Diego raised his hand and signaled to the jeep. The energy bolt disappeared.

The roedor was still there. Oh, dear.

The large green paw grew even larger and reached for the jeep. It paused to let the gunner and driver scramble out before picking the jeep up by the cannon. It shook the jeep from side to side; pieces fell off, but the cannon stayed attached. The roedor frowned, and the jeep was shaken more vigorously. Still the cannon wouldn't come loose. Finally a second green paw also appeared out of thin air. It grasped the body of the jeep, and the two giant paws pulled. With a big crack, the cannon came away, taking part of the jeep's roadbed with it. What was left of the jeep was placed back on the ground, and the cannon joined the pile of rifles.

The creature floated forward until it was face to face with General Diego, and said, in very good Spanish, "Sir, are you in charge?"

Diego nodded. "Si, Senor Roedor."

The creature paused for a second, then said, "Before I do anything else, let me correct you on something." It opened its mouth wide and pointed. "Do you see these long teeth?"

Captain Diego expected them to grow ten feet long. "Si, I see them."

"Those are called canine teeth. They're as long as they are because I'm a carnivore. I am not a rodent – I am a ferret. Do you understand?"

"I see. I apologize for the error on my part, Senor."

"Spoken like a gentleman, and I accept. It's a common mistake. Ferrets do tend to be sensitive about it, though."

"I understand well. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Yes, there is. Um… which way is it to St. Hugo? I got turned around on the way out here."

Captain Diego pointed northward. A gentleman would have done nothing else. "The city is that way."

"Gracias, Senor." A large green bag appeared in the air and the giant paw placed all of the rifles and the cannon into it. The creature waved and said, "Adios!" He then rose into the air, pulling the bagful of artillery behind him, and flew north.

"Captain Diego?"

"Eh?" Diego looked at the soldier standing next to him. The other soldiers were walking up to them now.

"Captain Diego, what do we do now? When he reaches the Capital, the army will need every soldier to fight him! What are your orders, sir?"

Diego looked to the north. He thought he could still see a flash of green in the sky. "My orders? If you wish to travel to St. Hugo so you can meet the roedor - er, the huron again, you are free to do so. As for me, I will be heading south. If you wish to go with me, you may."

"Capitan? South through the jungle? With snakes, panthers, hostile natives?"

"On the other hand, he has gone north. The next time we see him, he might get angry."

The soldier swallowed. "South sounds attractive, Capitan."

Nobody traveled north.

To be continued...

"Roedor" - "Rodent" "Huron" - "Ferret"

[huronna]

Part 8

Max had flown about ten miles when he learned a valuable lesson about concentration. He was sailing along just above the trees, and it reminded him so much of his earlier dream. He was gazing at the treetops whizzing by below him when he heard noises. Max stopped and turned around; then he realized that the green bag had disappeared. The rifles and cannon had crashed down into the trees.

Max shook his head and headed back.

Finding the weapons was easier than it could have been; he just told the ring to do the hunting, and it soon found all of the rifles and the cannon. As he gathered the guns together, it occurred to Max that he didn't really need to tote them into town with him. So he began to dig a hole in the forest floor to bury the guns in; he could come back later.

As the giant green shovel was digging, Max's ring began to talk.

"Hey, Hal! Did you feel that? There's Lantern activity going on!"

"I felt it, too, John. It's happening somewhere in South America. It isn't you?"

"Not me. I'm with the Justice League in China fighting a flash flood. Who do you think it is?"

Max felt strange talking to a ring. "Um… hi. I guess that's me. My name is Max."

"What?! Who are you? What are you doing with a power ring?"

The hole seemed deep enough. Max put the guns in. "Apparently there's a Green Lantern being held captive down here. He somehow got separated from his battery, and my friends and I found it. Now my friends have been captured, too, and I have to use the ring to rescue them."

The voice called Hal said, "Describe this Green Lantern."

Max finished filling the hole and began tamping down the dirt. "Red hemispherical body. Seven large tentacles with thirteen small tentacles each. I haven't met him, but my friend did. Said he seemed like a nice guy."

"That sounds like Wstfgl. He disappeared about a year ago. His ring must have run out of power before anybody could find him. Max, where are you down there?"

"Corto Maltese. The government down here has been dismantling, uh, Wstfgl's spaceship and making weapons out of it. My friends and Wstfgl are in the capital, St. Hugo." Max was done burying the weapons.

"Okay, Max, that ring you've got is one of the most powerful objects in the Galaxy. Don't use it any more than you already have. I'm flying down right now to take care of this. Stay right where you are and I'll find you later."

Max didn't hesitate. "I'm sorry, sir, but I won't do that. I can't do that. My friends are in trouble and I will do what I can to rescue them. What would you do for your friends, sir?"

"He's got you there, Hal. I just thought of something, too. Not everyone has enough will power to use a power ring properly, but Max seems to be getting along fine with it. Whatever he wants to do, I don't think we can stop him."

After a pause, Hal said, "All right, Max, this is against my better judgment, but do what you feel you have to. But I'll still be flying down myself. Be careful until I get there."

Max took off and continued to fly north. "I look forward to meeting you, sir."

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

Murphy and Sammy, bruised and wearing what was left of their clothes, stood in front of the Civil War "Official Records". Two soldiers stood on either side, covering them with those energy rifles. Off to one side was General Duncan Renaldo, commanding officer of the Corto Maltese army.

Presidente Franco Francisco was sitting behind his desk now. He was a chunky, balding little man with a big smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eye. He was beaming now at the two ferrets, but they didn't seem to want to smile back.

Tears rolled down Sammy's cheeks as he scowled at El Presidente. The ferret muttered, "You murderous, evil… It's because of you that our friend was killed!"

Presidente Francisco softly replied, "I am sorry that your friend is dead. I gave orders to the men to bring you back here alive and unharmed, if they could. But they would have had to defend themselves. Your friend must have put up a fierce fight. He was surely a formidable foe."

Murphy snapped, "That's not true! Max did not fight back! He couldn't! He was a cripple!"

El Presidente sighed and shook his head. "My men would not lie to me. You, on the other hand, are His servants. As He is the Prince of Liars, so would His servants lie."

Murphy and Sammy stared at him.

Sammy whispered, "Why? Why are you doing all of this? Why keep that poor creature captive in the dungeon? Why take his spacecraft apart and use the pieces to make weapons? Why attack Hidalgo?" Sammy sniffled, "Why take us captive and kill our friend?"

Presidente Francisco looked at them for a few moments, and then threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, little creatures, how much you misunderstand! Your Master has told you so many lies! Now, I will tell you the truth, and you will see how much you have been deceived. That being below is not my captive. He is an Angel!" El Presidente's eyes gleamed. "He is an Angel sent down to me from The One Above, and he has brought so many gifts with him. They are gifts that I will need to fight the Final Battle."

All Sammy could think of to say was, "What?"

El Presidente shook his head. "You know what I am talking about; you are His servants. The Final Days are coming upon this Earth, and the Messiah will come forth to battle your evil Master. It humbles me to know that The One Above has chosen me as the Messiah."

He looked thoughtful. "My Angel's gifts are many, but the struggle will still be long and difficult. I must first bring my Crusade to my neighbors in Hidalgo. After I am done there, I must carry my work into the rest of South and Central America. So much of the world is already under your Master's control, but I must extend the Crusade as far as I can before the Final Battle. Perhaps even into North America, but it looks like I am too late there."

Murphy knew now what the twinkle in El Presidente's eyes really was. "You're insane."

Presidente Francisco smiled again. "Your Master's lies may convince others, but I know better. Your own presence here proves otherwise. A beast that walks and talks is obviously a product of a diabolical process, so I know that you are demons created by your Master to serve Him. I can see through your lies. As it is, you will never enjoy the Grace that comes from The One Above, and you will be cast down with your Master after I defeat Him. However, it does not have to be that way!" El Presidente leaned forward. "You can be saved from the eternal torment that awaits Him. All you need do is pledge yourselves to me and my Crusade, and Grace and Salvation will be yours for all time."

General Renaldo was a bit distracted. He thought he could hear shouting from outside, and he was certain he heard gunfire. No matter. The window was protected by stout iron bars. The soldiers stationed outside could handle whatever was going on.

Franco Francisco, Presidente of Corto Maltese and Messiah of the Final Days, stood up and held his hands, palms up, out to the two ferrets. "Come to me, little ones. Join me. Accept my love."

Sammy stepped forward and said, "I am a Rabbi. I am a child of Abraham. Many years ago my people made a covenant with God. That is the God we love, and that is the God that loves us! I do not bow down to any impostor, and I will NOT worship you!"

Murphy stepped up to stand beside Sammy. "I won't bow down to you, either."

Presidente Francisco sat back down behind his desk. He looked so sad now. "I am not surprised. You are your master's creations after all. I am truly sorry, little ones. General Renaldo, these servants of the Evil One must be put to death. There is no other way, I regret to say. Please see that it is done quickly."

General Renaldo crisply nodded. "Si, Presidente. We cannot do it here in your office. The energy weapons will cause too much damage. We will take them downstairs to the dungeons."

"Very well. Creatures, follow the General."

Sammy said, "No. I will not move. Whatever you do, you'll have to do it here!" Sammy glanced at Murphy; Murphy nodded. The two ferrets stood up straighter and glared at the humans.

El Presidente nodded. "General, I am afraid that things will get messy in here. Instead of the Angel's weapons, please use your sidearm."

"Si, El Presidente." General Renaldo unsnapped the flap on his holster.

It was then that a fist crashed through the window. It was a very big, very green fist, and it took out the glass, all of the iron bars, almost all of the window sash and parts of the basic wall structure. Everyone in the room became busy protecting themselves from the flying debris. When they looked up again, a small furred creature dressed in green had entered through what was left of the window and was now hovering next to the other two ferrets.

Both General Renaldo and Presidente Francisco screamed orders; the General's were slightly more coherent. The two soldiers got the idea in any case; they raised their energy rifles and fired.

A transparent green bubble immediately formed around the three ferrets, and the two energy beams splashed across the surface. From inside the bubble, this was quite a sight.

Sammy whispered, "Max?"

Max smiled at his friends. "Hi, guys. I found the battery."

Murphy replied, "Well, that much is obvious." He found that he was having difficulty swallowing. "We thought – we thought you were dead."

"It was close, I'm here to tell ya. I'm better now. It looks like I got here in time."

Sammy brushed at his eyes. "Yes, you did. Thank you, friend."

Max's smile became softer. "You're welcome. We'll have to put off the group hug until later, I'm afraid."

The energy beams continued to hit the green bubble. They had no effect on it, of course, but the soldiers didn't have much else they could do. The energy beams did cause damage elsewhere, though. All 162 volumes of the Official Records of the Union and Confederate Armies and Navies of the War of the Rebellion, and the Records for the Albany NY District Court, 1885 – 1935, were completely incinerated, leaving behind ashes and scorched iron bars in empty bookshelves. This can be considered an act of mercy.

The two soldiers finally gave up, and the energy beams died away. The soldiers looked at the three ferrets for a few seconds before they threw down their weapons and ran out the door. General Renaldo was made of sterner stuff. He took out his revolver and emptied the entire clip at the green bubble. This was a symbolic act; it certainly wasn't an effective one.

The green bubble disappeared and Max pointed at El Presidente. "You! You took things that don't belong to you, thief, and I'm here to get them back!"

Presidente Francisco gaped at the green creature in front of him and screamed, "No!! Those are gifts from my Angel!" He picked up the silver paperweight and threw it. Max didn't need a shield; it didn't even come close to him or his friends. "You will not take my gifts from me!"

Max looked at Murphy and raised an eyebrow.

Murphy said, "He thinks he's the Messiah."

"Oh. One of those. – Listen, Senor Presidente, I'm afraid you can't keep your, um, gifts. Now please don't give me any more trouble."

The problem with a lot of Messiahs is that when the Final Battle does come, they'll fold. Presidente Francisco at least had the courage of his convictions. He jumped from behind his desk and launched himself at Max.

General Renaldo was fascinated by what happened next. As he watched, he carefully slipped his hand in his pants pocket.

The Final Battle ended up being one-sided, if not downright ludicrous. El Messiah Franco Francisco ended up dangling from the chandelier by his belt. It had been a gift from the governor of Texas and was thankfully strong enough to hold him.

Max was saying, "Now then –" just as General Renaldo took his hand out of his pocket and tossed a small silver sphere at the three ferrets. Max caught it just in front of Sammy's nose with a green scoop, which quickly morphed to completely enclose the silver sphere. Sammy had a close-up view of the sphere exploding within the green container.

Max floated forward until he was nose to snout with General Renaldo. They looked into each other's eyes and neither one flinched.

Max said, "Please tell me if you have any more of those little toys in your pockets." He held up a paw. "Keep in mind that I can always pick up and hold you upside down. One good shake and I can find out the answer for myself. I'm just asking to be polite."

General Renaldo replied, "I give you my word as a soldier that I am now unarmed."

Max smiled. "Very good. I'm sure I can trust you."

From the chandelier, El Presidente whimpered, "My Angel… my Angel…"

Max said, "Thank you for the reminder, sir. General, will you do me and my friends a favor and take us to the prisoner you're holding downstairs? You know which one I'm talking about."

The General said nothing.

Max shrugged. "I guess I can find him on my own. I can just go down a couple of levels –" he pointed at a spot on the floor directly beneath him "– say, right there, and if I dig around, I'll come across him eventually. Oh, did I apologize for the mess I made of the window?"

The General stared at Max for a second, then nodded.

Max smiled. "Thank you kindly, sir. That makes things so much easier."

Just then another commotion started up outside. There were more gunshots and more screams, this time mixed with shouts of, "Oh, no! Not another one!"

Sammy listened and said, "What's that all about?"

Max replied, "Oh, that must be someone I talked to on the way up here. He's come down from the States to help."

To be continued...

[huronna]

Part 9

James Slattery smiled quizzically down at the two ferrets. He shook his head and said, "First off, let me tell you that your government is very grateful for what you did. However… let me see if I understand this. After all was said and done, you had a treasure trove of advanced alien technology within your grasp –" He chuckled insincerely. "– and you gave it all away?"

Sammy leaned forward on the handles of Max's wheelchair. He replied, "No, we didn't give it away. We returned it to the rightful owner."

Slattery nodded. "Well, now, the law is a bit, um, slippery on ownership in cases like this. We really have to be realistic. I'm sure that an argument could have been made about salvage rights. An arrangement could have been made that would have been satisfactory for everyone concerned."

"Except for Wstfgl."

"Who?"

"The pilot of the alien craft."

"Ah." Slattery looked a bit uncomfortable. "Well, as I say, satisfactory arrangements could have been made."

Sammy shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir. But we will not steal." Sammy pointed at Slattery's suit. "If you're wearing a cross on your lapel, you ought to understand that."

Slattery fingered his cross pin. "Of course I'm wearing this. America is a Christian nation, after all."

Sammy raised an eyebrow. "Interesting thing to say to a Rabbi."

Slattery looked like he was trying to chew the unchewable. Max spoke up. "Besides, there's always the possibility that the technology would fall into the wrong hands again. It did once and look at what happened."

Slattery nodded. "Very commendable. And that is why we feel that we should have taken control of the technology. I assure you that the government would have done everything possible to make sure that it didn't fall into the hands of terrorists. What happened in South America would not happen again."

Sammy said, "I thought you said Corto Maltese was an ally to the United States."

The intercom on Slattery's desk buzzed. Slattery pushed a button and said, "Yes, Joyce?"

The secretary's voice said, "Sir, there's someone waiting out here. He's –"

"Please tell whoever it is that I'm busy. See if he'll come back later."

"He, um, said he'd wait. Sir, he's dressed in an odd green costume and a green mask."

Sammy spoke up. "Oh, that's our ride. After we're done here, he'll take us by the Canadian Embassy to pick up Constable Murphy, and we'll all head back to Kansas."

"Mr. Slattery, this person wanted me to assure you that he'll be happy to wait, and that he has no intention of breaking the door down, even if he could without breaking into a sweat."

"Yes, thank you, Joyce." Slattery's smile turned frosty as he turned to the ferrets. "Well, now… I admit that our country has made a few mistakes in the past. However, trust me, it doesn't happen all that often. After the recent incident, Franco Francisco has been removed as Presidente of Corto Maltese. We'll keep a close eye on the new government; hopefully it will be more stable than the old one."

Max waved a paw. "That's neither here nor there. As I said, we didn't want that technology falling into the wrong hands."

"But think of what this would have meant for America! The technology we would have acquired is amazing! Think of the things that this country could have done with it!"

Max nodded. "I know. That's another reason we gave it back."

The look on Slattery's face would have chilled a six-pack by now. "Surely you don't really believe that your government would have mishandled the alien technology?"

Max leaned to one side. "Mr. Slattery, please don't get me into a discussion about American history. You'd lose."

Sammy said, "He's not kidding. He reads a lot of interesting books."

Slattery stopped smiling. "All right, you two. You are perilously close to getting in serious trouble here. It might be worth looking into whether you broke any laws about collaboration with the enemy."

Sammy said, "Enemy, you say? Corto Maltese is an ally, isn't it? Or do you mean the Green Lantern Corps? That would be a confrontation that you would definitely regret!"

Slattery smiled again. "Maybe. Maybe not. In any case, I could give the word and you two would be, shall we say, detained pending further investigation. I could give no guarantee how long you'd be detained." He leaned forward. "And if that happens, you'd better give up any notion of some fancy lawyer getting you out any time soon!"

Max's thoughts turned to the Legal Division of the Skippy Compound. The Skippy lawyers had a suite of offices all their own, with shelves upon shelves upon shelves packed with hundreds of volumes of law books. These books could be taken off of the shelves. And they were, quite often. Fancy lawyers, indeed; the State Department had no idea.

Max smiled a very unpleasant smile. "Bring it on, Two-legs."

By one of those remarkable coincidences that life tends to toss out fairly often, the desk intercom buzzed. Slattery jabbed the button and snapped, "What is it now?"

"Um, sir, the man in the green costume out here wanted me to suggest to you that you get some more recent magazines for your waiting room. He is, however, more than happy to continue waiting and reading 20-year-old copies of `Newsweek'. He realizes that barging in on a private conversation is very rude, and he has no intention of doing any such thing, especially if the door is locked."

Slattery scowled at the intercom, then slammed his fist down on the button. He turned the scowl to the two ferrets.

"Get out."

Max looked innocent. "Are you sure, sir? Haven't we got some unresolved issues here?"

"I said – GET OUT!!"

"Yessir." Sammy turned Max's wheelchair around and pushed him to the door. The two ferrets left the office with as much dignity as they could maintain. Not to mention very straight faces.

To be concluded...

[huronna]

Part 10

Max watched as the Kansas landscape scrolled by. They were passing over Wichita now – there was McConnell Air Force Base below. Max wondered if they were showing up on McConnell's radar and what the operators made of them. Maybe they were used to flying humans by now.

Hal Jordan had extruded a green bubble from his ring, and was flying along now with the three ferrets riding inside in style. Max's wheelchair was solidly anchored to the floor of the bubble by some straps extruded from the interior surface. Murphy and Sammy were sitting in two green seats next to him. The seats looked quite comfortable. Murphy's chair even had a hook on the side to hang his campaign hat on; that was a nice touch.

Murphy was in the middle of a conversation. "You're serious? There really is a Green Lantern that's a math equation?"

Hal Jordan chuckled. "I'm serious. Dkrtzy RRR is a complex mathematical progression, whatever that means. Apparently only the Guardians can perceive him. Or it. We have to take the Guardians' word for it."

Murphy nodded. "Somehow I can't picture a race of immortals pulling a person's leg over something like that."

"Good point, but you never know with the Guardians. Trust me on that."

Sammy said, "I wanted to thank you again, Hal, for giving us a ride home like this."

"You're welcome. You three rescued a Ringbearer, so it's only fair. Besides, I've got a friend visiting his parents on their farm near Smallville; I'll drop in while I'm in the neighborhood."

Murphy said, "Tell Clark that Murphy says hello."

"I'll do that."

They were Southwest of Wichita by now, and Hal started his descent. The Skippy Compound was in view ahead. They'd be landing soon.

Sammy looked up and said, "Hal, how do you and the other superfolks handle it?"

"How do we handle what?"

"Being different." Sammy looked down at the Compound, sprawled across several acres of the Kansas landscape. They were too high up to see any picketers around the entrance; there might not even be any today. "My friends and I are members of an entirely new species – Mustela Sapiens. As best as we can figure – and believe me, the Skippys have done a lot of research – our species is only a little over two hundred years old; we may have even pinpointed the incident that caused the mutation. There's still some controversy in the scientific community over accepting us as a separate species; dozens of papers have been published in respected journals asserting that we're a hoax or a mass hallucination."

They were closer now; no picketers today. "And the religious folk – oh, my. President Francisco is far from alone in his certainty that we're instruments of the Devil. I have had a Bible waved in my face and have been soaked with holy water countless times." Sammy sighed. "There are even prominent members of the Jewish community who don't think I should be a Rabbi. That hurts.

"But it's the reaction of the average folks that gets to us. Most of you humans are very friendly to us, but many aren't. The point is – we're different. Humans don't handle `different' very well; not among other humans and certainly not when non-humans raise their heads. They talk down to us at the best of times; some of them have made enquiries about buying us as pets. At worst, our lives have been threatened. There's a special office at the Skippy Compound to handle the mail we get."

Murphy said, "I've seen some of the mail; it can get bad."

"That's true, Murph. We get along with the humans fairly well now. In general they leave us alone, and in return we try not to interfere with them. But I'm afraid someday that there will be a reckoning, maybe in my lifetime. I don't want it.

"So I ask – how do you handle it?"

After a few moments, Hal Jordan replied, "You're right; humans don't handle `different' well. A lot of ordinary folk don't trust superheroes. I've talked this over with Clark; he probably gets it more than the rest of us. We know exactly what you're going through. I can tell you that dealing with it all is not easy; I think all of us wonder sometimes if it's worth the hostility we get. The best we can do is to use the abilities that we've been given to help people – even those people – and put up with it and accept the gratitude when we get it. And, to be honest, we do get a lot of gratitude.

"I think we'll have a reckoning of our own someday. I don't want it, either – what's that on the runway?"

Murphy smiled. "I think the Skippys knew we were coming."

The Skippy Compound's runway was crowded with hundreds of little bodies dressed in coveralls, except for one clear spot in the center. As the Green Lantern set his burden down, a loud, if high- pitched, cheer went up, and hundreds of little paws waved hundreds of little caps in the air.

The green bubble disappeared, and the Skippys crowded around Murphy, Sammy, Max and Hal Jordan. There were hugs, pawshakes, backslaps and introductions as the Skippys continued to cheer the returning heroes.

Murphy grinned at Hal; there was a huge crowd of ferrets around the human, anxious to get the autograph of a Green Lantern. Murphy said, "I imagine that it's worth it now, isn't it?"

Hal smiled back. "It certainly is, thanks. Excuse me, sir, who did you want me to make this out to?"

"Hey, guys!" The Head Skippy was weaving her way through the crowd. "Glad to see you back! Max, we're working on a replacement for your jeep right now."

Max replied, "That's fine. You guys are busy. How is that special repair job coming along?"

"We're making great time, as always. I'll escort you guys to the shop now." She raised her voice. "Okay, people, you'll get your chance to see the heroes at the banquet tonight! Let them through!"

The sea of Skippys parted. Murphy, pushing Max ahead of him, and Sammy headed for the main factory building. Hal managed to tear himself away from the autograph session and followed.

The work on the Space Station components and the third Orbiter had been temporarily halted. All shop work was concentrated on the odd vehicle in the middle of the factory floor.

Max had not seen Wstfgl's spacecraft as Sammy had, disassembled in the dungeon of the St. Hugo Castle. Now, Skippys were swarming over the craft, and it was swiftly becoming whole again. Most of the skin had been reinstalled, and several Skippys were working off to one side, removing the barrels and triggers from the silver energy cells.

Hal gave a low whistle. "Boy, you guys are farther along than I'd expected." He looked down at the head Skippy. "You guys are good."

There was pride in her voice. "Well, sir… we're the Skippys. We're the best."

Hal watched the rebuild work. "You'll get no argument from me."

"Nor from me." A red hemisphere with seven large tentacles was off to one side. A small voice continued to issure from his ring. "I originally thought that I would supervise the repair work, but I soon realized that the… Skippys could do quite well without me. So I have stayed to one side and kept out of their way."

Hal said, "Hi, there, Wstfgl. You're looking better."

"Hello, Hal Jordan. I am feeling much better." One of the tentacles focused on the Head Skippy. "You have done well in repairing my craft. Thank you again."

The Head Skippy replied, "Glad to do it. It's too bad that some pieces are missing, and there's no way we can replicate the original structural attachment process. But what we're doing will be good enough to get you home." She grinned. "And, boy, has this ever been a learning process for us! We are having a lot of fun!"

Wstfgl made a noise very like a chuckle. "I can imagine. Max?"

Max pushed his wheelchair forward. "I'm right here. Hi, Wstfgl."

"Hello, little friend." The tentacle moved around and the eyestalks focused on the ferret. "I deeply regret that the power ring could not completely heal you. The injury to your spine is too old."

"I know. I'm fine with that. It happened so long ago that it's a part of my identity now."

"I will always be grateful to you and your friends for rescuing me. It was difficult to remain hopeful after all that time. I had no choice to eat it, but I hated the raw meat they were feeding me in all that time. I prefer my meat cooked."

The Head Skippy leaned over Max and said, "He's ordered barbecue for tonight's banquet. Turns out he loves the stuff!"

Wstfgl made the chuckling noise again. "John Stewart introduced me to it some years ago.

"Max, in the time that you wore the ring, you did well." One of his manipulators touched Max on his chest. "You are brave and resourceful, and you have a big heart. I believe that you would make an excellent Green Lantern."

Max's face turned red under the fur. "Thank you. I just did what I felt was right."

"And that is what makes a Green Lantern. Tell me, have you ever thought of moving to another part of the galaxy?'

"Um… no. I think I know what you're leading up to, but Earth is my home. My friends are here. I want to stay here."

Hal Jordan knelt down by the wheelchair. "I agree with Wstfgl; you showed that you have what it takes to be a Green Lantern. And that's one thing that I wanted to talk to you about, Max, while I'm here. I'm going to talk to the Guardians when I can get to Oa. I want to recommend to them that you be designated an Alternate Green Lantern for Sector 2814. John Stewart likes the idea and will second it."

Wstfgl said, "It is an excellent idea. I will third it."

Max looked up at the human, and he looked at his new friend with the seven tentacles. "I… I don't know what to say." Murphy, Sammy and the Skippys were grinning at him. "I… will accept."

Wstfgl said, "Excellent! It will be up to the Guardians, but I would say that your chances for acceptance are good. Now then, little friend, what can I do for you to show my gratitude? What would you want?"

Max said nothing. He just looked at the shimmering green ring on one of the other tentacles.

The ring expanded until it could slip off over the manipulators and eyestalks. Wstfgl removed the ring and held it out.

Max looked at the ring and said, "For an hour? Is that all right?"

"Why not make it two hours?"

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

Max watched the golden sea of wheat speeding by below him. It was a challenge to fly as close as he could without actually touching. Plowing into something yellow would cause all sorts of trouble for a Green Lantern.

As he flew along, Max turned over on his back and looked back the way he'd come. Okay, now that he hadn't anticipated. The wake from his passage was blowing against the wheat field. As far back as he could see, there was a narrow, long section of the surface of the yellow sea that was bent down and waving as in a stiff breeze. Cool!

Max soared to a higher altitude. He liked the green jumpsuit that the ring gave him; he thought that he cut a rather trim figure, flying through the air.

Now then, what to do next? He held up his paw and said, "Ring, how much time have I been out?"

A small voice said, "It has been fifteen minutes since you put me on." Max didn't care much for the voice. But it wasn't his ring, and he didn't feel right messing with the settings.

H'm. An hour and forty-five minutes left. He had time to at least fly to Chicago. That would be nice. Buzz the skyscrapers there and give the folks in the Sears Tower a thrill. After that, he could fly to the Grand Canyon and poke around. Come back by the Rockies and scoop some snow off the top of Pike's Peak.

He would have liked to have gone by the Matterhorn, but it was on the other side of the world. He wasn't sure he had that much time.

Then Max threw back his head and laughed. Silly weasel! Green Lanterns could use their rings to fly between the stars! Of course he had plenty of time to fly to the Alps and just about anywhere in the world that he wanted! He clapped his paws and did three snap rolls. Silly weasel!

Right, both the Matterhorn and Pike's Peak. And Mount Fujiyama? Why not? He'd never considered Mount Fuji before, but that would be great. And he could explore a lot of the Grand Canyon.

Max slowed to a stop in midair. Traveling all that far in the atmosphere was likely not a good idea. The superheroes got a lot of complaints about sonic booms. He looked up at the sky. Suborbital sounded like the best way to go.

And that brought up an entirely new possibility. He didn't know if anyone he knew was on the ISS right now. He wasn't sure when their sleep period was, either. No matter. It wouldn't hurt to give the Station a quick inspection. And if anyone was up, he could wave at them.

Oh, and Oakwood Memorial Park Cemetery in Chatsworth. He ought to stop there; he couldn't dance with Fred and Ginger, but he could at least visit them.

Well, he couldn't hang around here any longer. He had dreams to live.

Max quickly climbed into the sky, heading for the stars.

THE END

The characters Murphy, Sammy, Max, Skippy, Skippy, Skippy, Skippy, etc., are copyright 2007 by Paul E. Jamison. All characters are fictional; any resemblance between these characters and real people, living or dead, is unintentional.

Green Lantern, the Green Lantern Corps, Hal Jordan, John Stewart, the Guardians and most likely the power ring and the power battery are all copyright DC Comics. If they ever find out about this, I will be in such trouble.