🚀 go-pugleaf

(continued from part four...)

                                      ***

     "Well, we've just heard that Nader's taken Texas, South Dakota,
Florida, the Dixicrats, and in a surprise move, Minnesota -- where
traditionally no one votes because it's too damn cold.  We'd have to call
Ralph Nader the frontrunner at this point -- let me see if I can speak to
someone here on the floor and get a reaction.  Wait -- here's noted
Progressive and Green Party Representative Lord Tarkin.  Lord Tarkin, good
evening."
     "Hey there, Unorthodox Lass!'
     "Girl."
     "Whoever!  Isn't it great!  Go Imperial Forces!  Emperor Palpatine's
going to make a Kick Butt Senate Majority Leader, too!"
     "Er... actually... we don't have any reports of the Green Party doing
all that well in any of the races other than the Presidential race--"
     "Really?"
     "Yeah."
     "Excuse me a second."
     "Huh.  Well, Lord Tarkin's gone to speak to some other folks, and he
seems a little agitated.  We're doing some panning around... this is a real
vindication of the entire Liberal philosophy and a repudiation of the
conservative agenda... oddly, though, people look terrified, like they're
making merry under pain of horrid death... I think that's what sums the
mood up here... terrified but excited and optimistic.  Back to you."

                                      ***

     Jefferson leaned back in the seat of the cab.  "So, as you can see,"
he concluded.  "It's all a matter of applying the proper principles at the
proper time.  Success can be assured if one plans well, and follows that
plan assiduously."
     "Sure," said the cabbie.  He'd stopped listening to Jefferson even
before they left Virginia.  "You're right, Jefferson.  Gotta tell that to
my wife."  He looked at the gas gauge.  "We're almost there.  I'm gonna
need to get some gas during your meeting, though, OK?"
     Jefferson twirled his right hand expansively.  "Certainly.  Just
remember to be here on time after the meeting."
     The cab stopped at the curb.  "This is it," said the cabbie.  "Just
like usual."
     Jefferson opened the door.  "Please turn the meter off while you're
getting the gas.  That's your time, not mine."
     "Right," said the cabbie.  "Sure thing.  An hour?"
     "Make it two this time," said Jefferson.  "I'm in a good mood.  I
think I'll stay for the card game."

                                      ***

     The video of the unseen third debate rolled again.
     "Twenty-eight debaters have entered the ring thus far!" Jim Lehrer
announced.  "Let's have a recap, Wally Carville!"
     "Okay, Jim!  The first out of the ring was Pat Choate, Ross Perot's
vice presidential candidate!  He was soon followed by Elizabeth Dole, who
was ejected by Hillary Clinton and Newt Gingrich!  Jesse Helms was forcibly
ejected from the ring by Jack Kemp, who narrowly avoided a rush by Gus
Hall and Jo Jorgensen, the Libertarian VP candidate, who both toppled out
of the ring due to their own momentum!  Steve Forbes got flax taxed against
the post by Tipper Gore, who proceeded to door-slam him into the cheap
seats, only to be surprised when husband Al tossed *her* out!  He's going
to be sleeping on the couch tonight, let me tell you!
     "Harry Browne has proven to be a strong fighter, often teaming up with
Ross Perot to ambush unwary debaters!  Between them they've sent John
Hagelin and Vinton D. Tompkins, the Natural Law Party ticket, and Fred
Marzelis, the Social Equality Party VP candidate, off of the stage!  The
major candidates have been active, too -- Bob Dole bumped off James
Carville, while Bill Clinton got Dan Quayle to fall for the old 'I'll give
you a dollar if you step off the stage' trick!  Ted Kennedy and Colin
Powell then tossed Worker's Party candidate Monica Gail Moorehead over the
ropes, just before Pat Buchanan tripped her co-runner, Gloria La Riva off
of the stage.  Ralph Nader and Chelsea Clinton have been struggling to
knock one another off all night, but both are hanging in tough, while Pat
Robertson...."
     BING!
     "Here comes the next-to-the-last contender!" Lehrer yelled.  "Is it...
it is!  Jesse Jackson is entering the ring!"
     "And look at that!  A flying drop kick against Pat Robertson!  Pat is
down!  Jack Kemp and Ted Kennedy are pushing him off of the stage... and
Pat is out!  And now... what is this!  I don't believe it!  Ted Kennedy has
lost his pants!"
     "Why don't you believe that?"
     "I... you have a point there, Jim.  Anyway, Hillary's thrown Kennedy's
pants out of the ring, and the Senator from Massachusetts is chasing after
them!  He's out of there!  And we're down to thirteen combatants, with just
one more scheduled to come in...."
     "And now Bill Clinton is being ganged up on by Newt Gingrich and Colin
Powell!  Ross Perot has his arms and they're moving toward the edge of the
stage!  But the President twists and flips Ross out of the ring!  Ross is
out!"
     "Wait... he's giving money to the official... Ross is back in!"
Carville exclaimed.  "And he just sent Jack Kemp toppling out!  I don't
believe it!"
     "And now Bob Dole is swinging left and right!  He's got something in
his hands!  They're... position papers!  I don't believe it, Wally
Carville!  There's a foreign policy in the ring!"
     "What?  That can't belong to any of the candidates!"
     "Nevertheless, it's there and... there goes Ross again!  He's
approaching the official... but no!  The official is turning him away!
Ross is out!"
     "We're down to the big contenders now, Jim!  Just one more to go...."
     BING!
     "And here he is now!" Jim yelled.  "It's... I don't believe it!"

                                      ***

     A clattering moved past Fawkes.  A tall, wildhaired man straddled a
blue Vespa.  He cursed at the machine, whipped at side of the machine's
back seat with what appeared to be a crumpled airline ticket.  "Infernal
machine," bellowed the man.  The scooter lurched beneath him.  "You must
serve me.  You must not fight against your rightful master.  You were made
by humans to serve humans."  The scooter accelerated for a few feet, braked
sharply.  "You'll wrench my neck, you foul contraption."  The man's airline
ticket battered the scooter furiously.
     The scooter passed Fawkes, clattered off down the street.  The man's
voice trailed off into guttural cursing.  The scooter turned a corner.  The
sound died away.

                                      ***

     Tonkin watched the cab pull up.  A hunched figure shuffled out of the
cab.  The figure carried a silver candelabra in his left hand.  The figure
waved to the cab, produced a cigarette lighter, carefully lit the candles.
The cab pulled away.  The figure watched it go, then turned and hurried off
around the corner of the building.  A limousine drove by, loud rap music
jarring Tonkin even through the closed windows.  He grimaced.  His phone
buzzed.  He flipped it open.
     "Tonkin," he said.
     The stale voice of the MIB's automated messaging system spat from the
phone.  "Operational message for Agent Tonkin.  Please dial your security
code to receive."  Tonkin swore, pushed at the buttons.  "Thank you," said
the voice.  "Don't forget, this year only Christmas Day will be a paid
holiday.  If you also plan to take New Year's off, please contact your
control immediately.  Your cooperation is appreciated to make this a most
pleasant holiday season."
     There was a beep.  A harsh voice came through the phone.  "Message
received.  Operation Gunpowder is approved for completion.  You are
instructed to move to the final stage.  Repeat, Project approved for
completion, move to the final stage."
     Tonkin frowned.  This was obviously a different person than the one
who had controlled the project so far.  He disliked changes in command
while an Operation was underway.  Still, he had already been censured once
for questioning a command.  He'd learned his lesson, he reflected.  At any
rate, he'd learned it well enough not to question an order that had
obviously come through proper channels.
     He didn't like it though.  Didn't like it one bit.  He dialed the
phone again.  "Request voice authentication.  Agent Gulf R. Tonkin,
assigned Operation Gunpowder."
     "Voice recognized.  Please enter Utter Secret clearance code."
     Tonkin again dialed the phone.  "Thank you," said the
irritatingly-synthetic voice.  "The information you are about to receive is
classified as Utter Secret.  Divulging this information carries the death
penalty.  Please press one to accept this information.  If you do not wish
to accept this information, press two.  For further assistance, or if you
feel you have reached this recording in error, please dial zero and stay on
the line.  An operator will be with you shortly."
     Tonkin pressed one.  The phone crackled.  A recorded voice spoke.
"This is Operation Gunpowder project control.  If you're hearing this
message, you've been assigned to carry out the first-strike phase of
Operation Gunpowder.  An attempt will be made to assassinate the Electoral
College.  Your mission will be to locate the assassin and capture him,
alive, for MIB questioning.  Pertinent information has been downloaded into
your phone.  Be warned, however, that the assassin is believed to be a
supernormal.  This voicemail message will erase itself in one second."
Hissing and crackling echoed through the phone.  The line went dead.
     Tonkin folded the phone.  He opened the glove compartment, took out a
PDA.  The end of the phone slid neatly into a slot on the end of the PDA.
He turned on the PDA.  A rough sketch of a man wearing a long overcoat
appeared on the screen.  He studied it carefully, put the phone and the PDA
in the glove compartment.

                                      ***

     "We'll be showing more of that exciting match in a moment," Nouveaux
Skunk said.  "First let's go out to Eeksburg for the results of the
mayoral race there!"
     A picture of a newsroom appeared on the screen behind and to the right
of the Skunk.  It swiftly grew from the inset until it covered the entire
screen.  Near the bottom was the caption:

     SPECIAL ELECTION NIGHT EDITION - EEKSBURG TIMES AND DAILY KAZOO

     "And now, coming to you live from our newsroom in beautiful downtown
Eeksburg, I'm your host, Stanley K. Hubrious, with tonight's special guest
commentator, world famous Author and mathematical genius, Astatine H.
Valence!  I understand you have a personal interest in today's voting
results, Ms. Valence..."
     "Call me Teeny!"
     "Very well, err, Teeny.  Please fill our home viewers in on that, if
you would."
     "Well, this election is all about food, Stan.  Food-crimes are up a
staggering 63% in the last four years, with violent crime against animal
crackers accounting for 78% of that increase.  All the Democrats and
Republicans talk about is taxes and health care and junk that nobody cares
about.  But the Food! party cares about the poor animal crackers!  Yay,
animal crackers!"
     "Ah.  I see.  Then it will give you especial pleasure when I announce
these latest results.  Ahem -
     "In an upset victory tonight, Anghus McPeerson, former Learick staff
member and write-in candidate for Mayor, has swept the polls.  McPeerson
topped the next closest candidate, Councilman Elbert Schwubb, by a
resounding 2 to 1 margin.  Kappa Grabba candidate Joseph "Yobbo" Morone
trailed in at a weak third.
     "Reached at his home on Crabtree Street tonight, Elbert Schwubb
conceded McPeerson the victory.  When asked his views on the Socket
Sighters, he simply replied, 'No comment.'  Daily Kazoo reporters lurking
in the bushes, however, did later recount hearing several heartfelt
"ARRGH!"s emitting from the region of his study.
     "Yobbo Morone, on the other hand, was much more forthright.  'Ah was
set up!' claimed Morone.  'Those expletive deleted Socket Sighters got it
in for me!'
     "In fact, statistics do show it was those very same Socket Sighters
(local club at Veri Tech Posturpedic (M.A.D.) Scientific Institute of
Applied Phrenology), who, by making a 100% turnout of their registered
voters, tipped the scales and brought McPeerson to his landslide victory.
     "'I never expected it!' gasped McPeerson, when reached for comment.
'Nevertheless, I'll do my best to fill the position in a positive way.'
     "When asked what his priorities would be, McPeerson blurted out his
campaign slogan, 'Food!'  (Commentator's note - We observe that our Mayor
Elect does have a lean and hungry look...)"
     "Yay, Food!"
     "When asked to expound on this theme, McPeerson continued, 'The
wonderful ethnic diversity of our community deserves to be honored!  I
propose we do that by throwing a huge street fair, featuring culinary
delights from all countries!'  Wild cheering was heard from the attending
Socket Sighters.  'My good friends, here,' said McPeerson, with a sweeping
gesture to the group, 'will surely hold one of their now famous carrot cake
jumps.  I myself have sampled said carrot cake, and it is superb!  Other
applicants for a booth are requested to send a sample from their proposed
menu to Town Hall, where I will *personally* oversee the reviewing!'  Upon
which, massive cheering was heard from the entire student contingent, even
the lurking Kappa Grabbas.
     "'Not only that,' announced McPeerson.  'I will also accompany a
delegation from the Town Council to meet directly with President Schtreutel
about upgrading the campus dining hall menu!'  Several lean and weedy
sophomores began bowing and chanting, 'We're not worthy!  We're not worthy!'
They were immediately booted aside by a rowdy pack of seniors, chanting,
'Yes we are!  Yes we are!' and supplemented by a handful of graduate
teaching assistants yelling, 'REAL FOOD!  YAY, McPEERSON!'
     "The gathering at this point descended into happy chaos, with the
Socket Sighters carrying McPeerson on their shoulders through the streets,
and congalining behind him.  The group danced its way down Main Street,
around the corner past the Library and out to the Socket Sighters
clubhouse, where free carrot cake and raspberry cider was served to all.
'And just wait til you see our booth at the street fair!' boasted club
president Henrik Helsinki.  'We're planning to go all out!'
     "The Socket Sighters already have several kudos to their credit from
the current campaign.  Town maintenance staff were suprized and pleased to
find that the club had sent out a teams of members to remove all campaign
posters immediately after victory.  'I *like* these people!' declared Chief
of Services Johnson Pruitt.  'They're *tidy!*  We could use more like 'em,
by Elvis!'
     "The Town Merchants Association, headed by Marleen Smoot Basil,
immediately issued the club a Civic Pride of the Month Award.  'The Socket
Sighters are certainly helping Mr. McPeerson off to a fine start!' Ms.
Basil enthused.  'We look forward to working with them often, from now on.'
     "So look for exciting new activities to stir our sleepy little town in
the coming spring.  Your staff from the Eeksburg Times and Daily Kazoo will
be giving all upcoming events full ongoing coverage!"
     "Oh, by the way - the carrot cake *is* delicious!"
     "Well, that wraps it up for tonight fol - "  Click!
     Yobbo Morone stared sourly at the screen.  "#$%@& Socket Sighters!
*I'll* give 'em somethin' to cover, all right!  And it won't be no carrot
cake, neither!"

                                      ***

     Hamilton cursed the scooter. It lurched forward, the speedometer
soared to 45.  Hamilton braked ruthlessly.  The brakes squealed, the
machine dropped back to 30.  Hamilton snorted.  It was all he could do to
keep the beast under the speed limit.  And, he thought to himself, the
scooter really did handle like a beast.  The little Vespa seemed to go when
and where it wanted to.  Hamilton struggled constantly for control.  He
wrestled the handlebars around every turn, braked until the machine
squealed, forced it stay in second gear when it popped up into third every
chance it got.
     Hamilton smelled burning machinery from somewhere deep within the
machine.  He snorted.  Served the creature right, by his lights.  If it
wanted to burn its own clutch up, there was little Hamilton could do to
prevent it.  Not that he cared.  He felt that machines should serve their
purpose, keep their places.  Obedient servants, that was what machines
should be.  Not wild animals, running free at every opportunity.
     The Vespa shifted into third.  The speedometer turned to the right as
though it were a second hand.  Hamilton squeezed brutally at the brakes,
flicked the machine back down a gear.  The scooter jolted, shook violently
as the gears caught.  Hamilton smirked.  It was only a few blocks, now.
Even if the machine shook itself to pieces, it couldn't stop him from
getting to the meeting.  He snorted again.  You've been a worth opponent,
beast, he thought, but I've bested you after all.

                                      ***

     George and Martha Washington picked their way carefully down a long,
spiral staircase.  The staircase was dark, light filtered up from a room
far beneath them.  George missed a step, his leg slid down to the next one
before he caught himself.
     "Damn that Paine," cursed Washington.  "Should know to check these
lights at least once a year."
     Martha sniffed.  "You could take a turn, you know, if you don't like
the way Thomas does things.  I don't blame him for letting things slide.
He hasn't been out in years."
     Washington pulled himself up, leaned heavily on the banister as he
continued down the stairs.  "Nonsense.  I happen to know that Hancock was
here just two years ago.  He took over for Paine for a month and a half.
That's a good vacation, any way you slice it.  No, Paine's lazy.  That's
all."
     Martha huffed.  "Not as lazy as the rest of you, never taking your
turns.  I happen to know that the cards you and Ben used last time were
marked.  Don't try to fool me, George Washington.  I've known you far too
long for that."
     Washington mumbled as they continued down towards the light.

                                      ***

     Faint police sirens blared in the distance.  Klaxons split the air.
Tract houses burst into flames.  Panicked mobs flee through the streets.
Screams echoed through city.  A strong, low voice spoke slowly.  "It's a
horrible thing to think about.  Urban unrest.  Anarchy.  The strong prey
upon the weak."  Rifle shots.  The flames spread from house to house,
rapidly kindled nearby trees into torches.  "A president should be able to
handle times like these."  A form burst through the tract houses, spewed
radioactive breath around it.  Human beings melted into smudges of glowing
tar.  "One of the candidates has experience.  That candidate is Godzilla."
Godzilla's head appeared, framed by the burning flames.  The flames faded
out, were replaced by the Seal of the President of the United States.
"Godzilla.  He can dish it out, and he can take it."

                                      ***

     Tonkin locked the car.  He moved carefully away from it, hid himself
near a bush in the darkened space between two streetlights.  He knew who he
was looking for, now.  Tonkin's arms hung loose and limber at his sides.
He flexed his knees slightly.  His legs felt strong, resilient, ready for
the chase.  A knife's edge of adrenalin cut through his sternum.  He was
ready for anything.  The bulge of the gun under his arm was reassuring.
     Down the street, an engine sputtered.  Muffled cursing mixed with the
sound of the engine.  The engine raced, then suddenly slowed, whining as
though it had been forcibly downshifted.
     Tonkin winced.  This might be the man, he thought.  It would figure
that an assassin was a lousy driver.  He took a half step backwards,
pressed his back against the bush.  The engine sound came closer.  The bush
dug into Tonkin's back.  Easy, he thought to himself.  Whatever it is, let
it come to you.
     The engine sputtered, nearly died.  A snort echoed down tArticle Unavailable