🚀 go-pugleaf

          CRAPSHOOT & CO. #11: DO I REALLY NEED A TITLE?
                        By Robotech_Master


    Zen Navigator emerged from the elevator into a huge room at
the very tip top of the skyscraper.  The room was large, and
round, and very well-lit.  In fact, to call it well-lit would be
something of an understatement, for in addition to the overhead
lights, this room was resplendant with large computer banks that
were covered with flashing lights of all kinds.  Whirring
tape-reels, instrumentation, TV screens displaying raster
graphics, and various other strange instrumentation were also
present.  At one end of the room was a large window or viewscreen
of some sort.
    Zen Navigator walked up to a prominently-placed seat, behind
some kind of central control console.  There were four or five
screens here, some of which displayed raster readouts and others
had video images on them.  Below these were panels of switches
and knobs, joysticks, pushbuttons, and an old-looking
QWERTY-style computer keyboard.
    "Amazing!  I'll have to tell Chance about this!" Zen
Navigator decided.  "Now...which way was that elevator?  It must
be over there!  Yes..."  And so Zen strode off.  Since the
elevator was actually not in the direction he chose, he missed
seeing the elevator doors open once more to admit someone else.
It was Jimmy Smathers.
    Jimmy, videogame-addicted little twit that he was, had
wandered into the elevator looking for something to do.  A video
arcade, perhaps.  Surely a tower this size had to have at least
ONE.  And, as he often did in elevators like this, he'd pushed
all of the buttons at once--or at least as many as he could
reach.  And two of those had been the "door open" and "door
close" buttons.  Naturally that big red button had showed up, and
Jimmy, speculating on the resemblance it bore to certain video
game controls, had pressed it.  And here he was.
    "Wow!!!" Jimmy gasped, looking around.  He ran over to the
control seat, examined the raster-graphics displays.  It took
some examination of the controls before he could even begin to
comprehend its advanced operation.  Unfortunately, BEGINNING to
comprehend it was all Jimmy needed to do.  "Hey!  A Vectrex!  I
haven't seen one of those in YEARS!  Where's the start button?"

    The sound of gun bolts being ratcheted back reverberated
through the corridor.  North Dakota Smith, Shorty, Chance,
Claymation, and Filmation spun, each instinctively going for his
weapon or power, but all stopped when they realized the magnitude
of the threat facing them.
    There's not much that's uglier than a gun barrel, any gun
barrel, when you're looking right down it.  When the gun in
question is a smooth Heckler and Koch G-11 or a sleek Steyr AUG,
with the power to liquify internal organs at the twitch of a
trigger finger, one tends to be even more hesitant.  And when
about twelve of these weapons are being trained upon you by burly
men in neoNazi uniforms, well, unless you're composed of heroic
stuff indeed, you're likely to soil your trousers.
    Fortunately, all those individuals in question were composed
of heroic (or at least semi-villainous) stuff, so it wasn't a
matter they had to worry about.  What they did need to worry
about was the man in a dark suit and fedora, with metal-rimmed
glasses and a Luger pistol, who was approaching them and seemed
intent on ND Smith.
    "And so we meet again, Professor Jo--er, Smith," he said with
a slightly German accent.
    "You bastard," ND growled.  "What do you want from me?"
    "You know what we want, and you will give it to us.  Or we
will...how do you Americans say...fill you full of holes?"
    "Boss!  Boss!  You aren't gonna give it to him, are you?"
Shorty looked concerned.
    North Dakota looked down.  "I don't have any choice."  He
reached inside his jacket.  The neoNazis noticeably tensed,
sighting through scopes or down barrels at North Dakota's chest.
"Hey, hey, take it easy.  I'm just getting the item out, nothing
to get nervous about."  He grinned that lopsided grin of his and
raised his left arm, palm open, while his right hand came out of
the jacket with the velour case.  "Here you go."  He tossed it at
the man in the suit, who easily plucked it out of the air with
his left hand while his right, which had the gun trained on ND,
never wavered.
    The man flipped the case open with his left thumb.
"Excellent...excellent.  Wait...there's something about it..."
    ND looked over at Chance, muscles tensed.  Chance nodded
imperceptively, then looked over at Filmation and Claymation.
They met his gaze coolly, signalled their understanding.  And
then, as one, they leaped.
    The neoNazis pulled the triggers on their guns--but not a one
of them fired.  Every single one had jammed inexplicably, at the
same time.  Except for the suited man's gun, which blew up in his
hand.  "Yaaaa!" he screamed, dropping the case and clutching his
bleeding and mangled hand.  North Dakota hit him in the face, and
he dropped like a rock.
    Chance picked a neoNazi thug, and decided that the chances
were ideal for slugging him.  The guard, who was still struggling
ineffectually with his mysteriously jammed AUG, went down
immediately.  Chance grabbed the AUG along the stock and barrel
and slammed the next thug in the chest with the stock end and
followed up across the face with the barrel, and that one dropped
too.  He ducked a burst from a neoNazi who'd somehow gotten his
rifle working, then threw the AUG with enough of a backspin to
catch the Nazi's gun and knock it out of his hands, then was upon
him.
    North Dakota Smith was handling himself quite well,
one-twoing a Nazi, forcing him backward, until the thug tripped
over Shorty who'd knelt behind him, and hit his head on the
floor.  He ducked a swing from another thug, then kicked him in
the chest, driving him back against the wall.  The Nazi drew a
knife and slashed at him.  ND ducked under the swing, grasped the
arm, and twisted.  The knife dropped.  Shorty caught it, spun,
and threw it.  It arced through the air and buried itself in the
leg of one of three neoNazis who were about to gang-tackle
Chance.
    Claymation was laying about with fists like
sledgehammers--Chance took a second look and realized they WERE
sledgehammers.  NeoNazis were flying left and right, and those
who managed to draw their sidearms or unjam their rifles found
that their bullets passed right through Clay to dig into the
walls behind him.  Filmation was lithely defending herself from
the onslaughts of four thugs at once with an incredible display
of martial arts finesse.  It certainly wowed Chance--it seemed
like she was bending her body in ways that bodies weren't meant
to bend.  Either she was just incredibly good, or her powers
somehow extended to her own body.  Or maybe both.  Either way,
Chance noticed, she didn't seem to be wearing
anything...supportive...under that tight bodysuit...
    Chance nearly had his clock cleaned for him by a guard behind
him, but, luckily, the blow missed by a hairsbreadth.  Chance
grabbed the arm, pulled, and threw, and the neoNazi went flying
through the air to land on top of two of the ones who were
attacking Filmation.
    "Thanks!" Fil called out, kicking one of the remaining thugs
under the chin and laying out the last one with a "1000 T" mallet
she'd produced from nowhere.  Claymation looked around to notice
that none of the neoNazis near him was still standing, and let
his fists become fists again.  Chance slugged his last opponent
at about the same time North Dakota Smith and Shorty took care of
theirs.
    The five of them exchanged glances.  "Well, I guess that's
about that," ND remarked, rubbing his hands together in a
dismissive gesture.  "Thanks for your--"
    "Not so fast."  All heads turned toward the source of the
voice.  It was the man in the suit.  A bloody handkerchief was
wrapped around his mangled right hand, but he held a G-11 rifle
in his left, and it was trained right on them.  "You're going to
pay for that, and pay dearly."
    "If I were you, I'd look behind you," Chance said.
    The man shook his head.  "That's the oldest trick in the
book.  You plan to rush me while I'm not looking."
    "But in all the cartoons where someone says that, that's what
the villain always says, and there's always something behind
him," Filmation pointed out.
    The suited man looked confused.  "No!  You're trying to trick
me!  It won't work, because there's--"  At that point, it became
largely academic, as he was suddenly entangled in a huge wad of
bubble gum.
    Sheri Brown and Sasha Borodurov stepped around the pinkish
mass.  "Looks like we got here just in time," Sheri remarked.
    "To be on time, da!  Not miss 7:30 train," Sasha added.
    "Wha?" Chance asked.
    "She's been studying from those 'helpful phrase' cards,"
Sheri explained.  "Those things that tourists use to find out
where they need to go."
    "Da!" Sasha nodded, waving her Skorpion around.  "Which way
to the lavatory, please?"  Chance groaned.
    "That's quite some power you've got there," North Dakota said
to the pinkish person who he comprehended had just saved them.
    "Thanks.  Who're you?"
    Sasha walked over to the thugs, examined their weapons.  She
took a Steyr AUG from one of the comatose Nazis and slung it on
her back.  She was turning back to talk to the others when
something caught her eye.
    It was a little white thing, and it was inside a clear
plastic box with a label.  Sasha picked it up, looked at it.
"Tic...Tac," she read.  "TicTac."  Then she understood what it
was.  One of those breath mints, which the Americanskis so
enjoyed.  She'd never had one of those before.
    As Sasha opened the box, Chance happened to catch a glimpse
of what she was doing.  His jaw dropped.  "Sasha, no!!!"  He
jumped over unconscious neoNazis, hoping he'd be lucky enough to
reach her in time.  For some mysterious reason, he wasn't.
    Sasha wondered what had Chance so upset.  Probably nothing
that concerned her, though...she shook the TicTac out into her
hand, popped it into her mouth, bit down...
    Chance hadn't arrived in time to prevent Sasha Borodurov from
ingesting the thermonuclear TicTac, but he did arrive in time to
catch her as her eyes rolled up in her head and she fell.  "Hey!
Guys!  I think we have a problem here!"
    North Dakota Smith turned.  "What the--"  And then the
distinctive (and strong) odor of peppermint began pervading the
corridor.  "Oh, no...she didn't.  Tell me she didn't."
    Chance held up the empty TicTac container.  "She did, I'm
afraid."
    Smith picked up the velour case from where it had fallen,
opened it up to look at the regular, peppermint TicTac within.
"This is great," he muttered.  "Just great."
    "Sorry about that," Chance said.  "Um...maybe they won't know
the difference?"
    "Just tell them you destroyed it rather than let it fall into
their hands," Bubblegum Babe suggested, jerking a thumb at the
floored thugs.  North Dakota Smith opened his mouth to reply, but
never got the chance.
    Just then, there was a lurch that shook the entire building.
Chance and the others looked at each other.  "What's going on?
Is it an earthquake?"
    "Attention please," loudspeakers announced.  "Builtmore
Towers will lift off in T minus ten minutes.  Please go to your
shock couches immediately.  Repeating, Builtmore Towers will..."
    "Lift off?" Chance asked.  "As in take off, launch from the
ground, depart the planetary vicinity?"
    "That's right," the loudspeaker said.  "Get to your shock
couches right away."
    "I'm out of here," North Dakota said.  "Space travel wasn't
in my contract."
    "But--" Chance said, nearly gagging on the pepperminty odor
which was definitely becoming stronger.
    "Who do I look like, Han Solo?"
    "Uh..."
    "Never mind, dumb question.  Later."  North Dakota Smith
closed the case, pocketed it, and gestured to Shorty.  They ran
off in the direction of the nearest elevator.
    "Builtmore Towers will lift off in T minus nine minutes," the
loudspeakers blared.
    Chance and Sheri looked at each other.  "How could--" Chance
began, then they both came to the same conclusion at once, albeit
a not entirely correct one.  "Zen!"
    "Right.  Come on--last time I saw him, he was going that
way--"  Chance hefted the unconscious Sasha Borodurov onto his
back and they ran off down the hall.

    When they got to the elevator, perky ex-intern Kissy McCall
was already there.  "What's going on?" Kissy asked.
    "That's what I'm hoping to find out," Chance said.
"Whatever's going on, Zen Navigator is probably involved, and I
last saw him headed this way."
    "All that's here is the elevators," Claymation said.
    "Right.  Then we'll just take it to the top floor and see
what we can find.  There's probably an elevator car here..."
Chance hit the "up" button and the doors opened immediately.
They all stepped inside and the doors slid shut.
    Of course, with six people in it, one unconscious, the
elevator was a bit crowded.  "Hey!"  "Stop pushing!"  "That's my
foot!"  "Whoa!"  "Oof!"  Somehow in all the jostling, Chance was
shoved hard against the control panel.  Putting up his hands to
absorb the impact, he happened to hit the "door open" and "door
close" buttons at the same time, and the red button was exposed.
    "Hey, what's this?" Chance pressed it.  The elevator began to
zoom upward at a phenomenal rate.


              WILL THE BUILTMORE STARSHIP TAKE OFF?

             WILL THE BUILTMORE STARSHIP LAND AGAIN?

              WILL THE NEONAZIS LEAVE THE BUILDING?

  ("Ladies and gentlemen, the neoNazis have left the building!")

                             SHUT UP.

           WHEN WILL NORTH DAKOTA SMITH SHOW UP AGAIN?

                    WILL HE MEET NORTH ALASKA?

         WILL SASHA BORODUROV EVER LEARN PROPER ENGLISH?

     WHAT EFFECTS WILL THE THERMONUCLEAR TICTAC HAVE ON HER?

                       FIND OUT ONLY HERE.

              SUPERGUY -- Where your eyes don't go.